The Living age ... / Volume 112, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 834 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABR0102-0112 /moa/livn/livn0112/

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The Living age ... / Volume 112, Note on Digital Production 0112 000
The Living age ... / Volume 112, Note on Digital Production A-B

The Living age ... / Volume 112, Issue 1439 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 834 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABR0102-0112 /moa/livn/livn0112/

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

The Living age ... / Volume 112, Issue 1439 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. January 6, 1872 0112 1439
The Living age ... / Volume 112, Issue 1439, miscellaneous front pages i-viii

~LITTE LbS LJYJNG AGE. B PLtrRIntrs U~UM. These publications of the day should from time to time he winnowed, the wheat carefully preserved, and the chaff thrown away. Made up of every creatures best. Various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of change And pleased with novelty, may he indulged. FOURTH SERIES, VOLUME XXIV. FROM THE BEGINNrNG, VOL. CXII. JANUARY, FEBRUARY, MARCH. 1872. BOB TON: LIT TELL AND GAY. Th A - LIlt -j At C TABLE OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS OF THE LIVING AGE, VOLUME CXII. THE TWENTY-FOURTH QUARTERLY VOLUME OF THE FOURTH SERIES. JANUARY, FEBRUARY, MARCH, 1872. EDINBURGH REVIEW. Lace-Making as a Fine Art, QUARTERLY REVIEW. Jowetts Plato Life and Writings of John Hookham Frere, Sir Henry Hollands Recollections. Lanfreys Napoleon the First, WESTMINSTER REVIEW. Faraday, Geographical Distribution of Anirinals and Plants, Geologically Considered, The First Earl of Shaftesbury, BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW. Mahomet, CONTEMPORARY REVIEW. On the Philosophy of Mythology, The Last Tournament, On Hibernicisms in Philosophy, John Huss and the Ultramontanes, The Secular Studies of the Clergy, The Fourth Gospel, REVUE DEs DEUX MONDES. The Venus of Milo, BLAcKwoODs MAGAZINE. 541 131 515 643 771 278 887 579 707 29 47 346 427 451 738 555 The Maid of Sker, 55, 117, 164, 225, 299, 334, 626, 786 67 259 800 Illustration French Children French Food FRASERS MAGAZINE. The Lofoden Islands, The Constitution of. Sweden, Wanted A Religion for the Hindoos, Laings Sir David Lyndsay, Notes on East Greenland, The Kriegsspiel, . . 107 155 - 360 - 502 619 764 GENThEMAN9S MAGAZINE. The Story of the Hostages, . . . 174 CORNHILL MAGAZINE. A Persian Passion Play 3 Story of the Plebiscite, 39, 79, 270, 399, 663, 726 The December Eclipse 88 A Reminiscence of Eton Life, . . 148, 203 Meteors Seedhearing and Otherwise, 288 Thomas Fuller 323 Riquet a la Houppe, . . . 351, 607 Spain: Her Manners and Amusements, 472 Quaint Customs in Kwei-Chow, 551 Wanderings in Japan 692 English Rural Poetry 756 MACMILLANS MAGAZINE. American Experience in the Relief of the Poor 215 The Current Street Ballads of Ireland, . 308 Mr. Helps as an Essayist ,...422 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton, 495, 533, 812 SAINT PAULa. Clipt Wings 373 Off the Skelligs, . . 414, 466, 685, 750 FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW. Church and State in Italy, 195 The Idealism of Milton 408 The Religion of an Indian Province, - 673 TEMPLE BAR. Old Fashionable London, - . . 240 GOOD WORDS. Hints for Essays GOOD CHEER. The Neap Reef 490 16, 97 III IV CONTENTS. EXAMINER. Constitutional Reforms in Switzerland, . 184 The Industrial Classes in Germany, . 883 SPECTATOR. The South Sea Islands Coolie, . . 61, 125 Of Solar Eruptions, . . . . 124 The Quakers and the International, . 182 Public Calamities and the Public Bearing, 188 The Political Influence of Humor in Amer- ica 191 The Queen of the French, 247 Affairs at Pekin Russian Diplomacy in America, . 319 Two Aspects of the Life of a Jesuit Priest, 440 Bishop Patteson In Memoriam, . 444 Important Discoveries during the late Eclipse 566 The Warm Lake of New Zealand, . . 639 EcoNoMIsT. The Situation in France, 767 SATURDAY REVIEW. The Peoples Diction of the Future, Ross Neils Lady Jane Grey, & c., The Ethics of Infection, PALL MALL GAZETTE. Hindoo Caste, Indian Forests The Buddhist Htee, . The Russian Militia An Eastern Confederation, . A. Mining Adventure The Duo de Persigny The Pertinacity of Minorities, The Next Phase of the American Difficulty, ATHENXUM. Robert Chambers CHAMBERS JOURNAL. An Old Himalayan Town, NATURE. Melting and Relegation of Ice, Fight between a Cobra and a Mongoose, The Solar Eclipse 186 250 637 127 252 816 378 511 568 574 819 821 634 571 379 382 483 INDEX TO VOLUME CXII. ADAMS, JOHN, LETTER FROM, American Experience in Relief of the Poor, Animals and Plants, Distribution of, American Difficulty, Next Phase of the, 64 215 387 821 BALLADS, CURRENT STREET, OF IaELAND, 305 Buddhist Htee, The 316 Beethoven CooLIE, THE SOUTH SEA ISLANDS, . 61, 125 Caspian Sea and Sea of Azoff, Canal be Caste, tween 116 Hindoo 127 Church and State in Italy, 195 Children, French 259 Clipt Wings Cobra and Mongoose, Fight between, 382 Color, Effect of, on the Growth of Plants, 447 Clergy, Secular Studies of the, 451 Confederation, An Eastern, 611 China, Quaint Customs in Kwei-Chow, 551 Chambers, Robert 634 DISTRIBUTION OF ANIMALS AND PLANTS. 387 EcLIPsE, THE~ DECEMBER, Important Discovery During, Eton Life, A Reminiscence of, Essays, Hints for Eastern Confederation, An, English Rural Poetry, 88, 488 566 148, 203 490 511 756 FUTURE, THE PEOPLES DIcTIoN OF THE, 186 Forests, Indian French Children 259 Faraday, 278 Fuller, Thomas 323 Frere, Lifeand Writings of John Hookham, 515 Fourth Gospel, The 738 France, The Situation in, 767 French Food 800 GERMANY, INDUSTRIAL CLASSES IN, Greenland, East, Notes on, Gunpowder Gospel, The Fourth, HOSTAGES, THE STORY OF THE, Humour, The Political Influence of, in America 383 619 625 738 174 191 Hibernicisms in Philosophy, On, Ilindoos, Wanted, a Religion for the, Heber and his Hymn, Helps, Arthur, as an Essayist, Huss, John, and the Ultramontanes, Himalayan Town, An Old, Hollands, Sir Henry, Recollections, ILLUSTRATION, . International, The, and the Quakers, Italy, Church and State in, . Indian Forests Ireland, The Current Street BallatIs of, Ice, Melting and Relegation of, Industrial Classes in Germany, Idealism of Milton, The, Infection, The Ethics of, Indian Province, Religion of an, 846 360 381 422 427 571 643 67 182 195 252 305 379 383 408 637 673 JOWETTS PLATO 181 Jesuit Priest, Two Aspects of the Life of a, 440 Japan, Wanderings in 692 KWEICHOW, QUALNT CUSTOMS IN, Kriegsspiel LOFODEN ISLANDS, THE, London, Old Fashionable, Law, Chaos in, . Laings Sir David Lindsay, Lace-Making as a Fine Art, Land Slips at Northwich, Lanfreys Napoleon the First, 551 64 107 240 447 502 541 703 771 MYTHOLOGY, THE PHILOSOPHY OF, . . 29 Maid of Sker, The, 55, 117, 164, 225, 299 334, 626, 786 Marie Ainelie, Queen of the French, 247 Meteors Seedhearing and Otherwise, 283 Milton, the Idealism of 408 Milo, The Venus of, 555 Mining Adventure, A 568 Mahomet 707 Mercury 749 Minorities, the Pertinacity of,. . . 819 NEAP REEF, THE Neils, Ross, Lady Jane Grey, & c., New Zealand, The Warm Lake of, Napoleon I, Lanfreys, . 16, 97 250 659 735 V VI INDEX. Orr THE SKELLIOS, . . 414, 466, 685, 750 Rural Poetry, English 756 PERSIAN PASSION PLAY, A, 3 SOLAR ERurrIoNs 124 Plebiscite, Story of the, 39, 79, 270, 399, 663 Sweden, The Constitution of, . . . 155 726 Switzerland, Constitutional Reforms in, . 184 Plato, Jowetts, . . . . 131 Secular Studies of the Clergy, . . 451 Public Calamities and the Public Bearing, 188 Spain: Her Manners and Amusements, . 472 Poor, American Experience in the Relief Solar Eclipse, The 483 of 215 Strange Adventures of a Phaeton, 495, 533, 812 Pekin, Affairs at 255 Seeds, Dispersion of, by the Wind, 512 Puppets for Novel-Writers, 345 Shaftesbury, The First Earl of, 579 Patteson, Bishop, In Memoriam, 444 Salt Mines in England 703 Persigny 57 in, 704 Poetry, English Rural Steam-Power, Saving . 799 Phillips, Sir Thomas 785 TOURNAMENT, THE LAST, 47 QUAKER, A CONSCIENTIOUS, 116 Turkey, Domestic, Origin of, 799 Quakers, The, and the International, 182 ULTRAMONTANES, JOHN HUss AND THE, 427 Quicksilver 749 VICTOR EMMANUEL, CHARACTERISTIC STO- RUSSIAN DIPLOMACY IN AMERICA, . 319 RY OF, 345 Riquet a la Houppe, 351, 607 Venus of Milo, The 555 Russian Militia, The 378 Religion of an Indian Province, . . 673 I WARM LAKE OF NEW ZEALAND, . . 639 PG B TRY. AUTUMN, A MORNING OF LATE, Asleep Anticipation Black Frost, A, Bird, The, . Christus Consolator, Cloud, The, Confines, Chersiphron Carcassonne Evening, In The, Gertys Necklace, Homes, Two Home IsltCome? Jerusalem, The Desolation of, Letters from Home, Loves Danger, Light of the Hearth, The, Organ Music at Twilight, 194 Poet, The 514 Power of Song, 514 Rest 130 Robin, To a 706 Sorrow, . 194 Sonnets 258 Sea View, A 450 Song of the Twentieth Century, 578 Sonnet by Tennyson, Sleep 706 Sweet Seventeen, Spring Caprice, 66 Time Thalassa, . 258 Tournament, The Last, 706 Thirty-one Thy Kingdom Come, 194 Unto Death 386 Wood, In the 450 Weary 450 What is that to Thee, 642 Winter Days, . Water Ballad, 3221 Winter, 2 642 194 706 2 130 514 514 578 770 770 770 2 2 47 66 706 130 66 130 322 514 578 642 I~DEX. VII TALES. CUrT WINGS, 373 I Off the Skelligs, . . 414, 466, 685, 750 Eton Life, A Reminiscence of, . . 153, 203 Plebiscite, Story of the, 41, 79, 270, 399, 663, 726 Maid of Sker, 55, 117, 164, 225, 299, 334, 626, 786 Riquet a la H& uppe 351, 607 Neap Reef, The 16, 97 Strange Adventures of a Phaeton, 495, 533, 812

The Living age ... / Volume 112, Issue 1439 1-64

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. No. 1439. January 6,1872. CONTENTS. Coruhill Magazine, 1. A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. By Matthew Arnold, 2. ThE NEAP REEF. By the author of Dorothy Fox. Part II.,. Good Cheer, 3. O~ THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. By Max Muller, 4. STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. Told by one of the Sev- en millions five hundred thousand who voted yes. By M. M. Erckmann-Chatrian, 6. THE LAST TOURNAMENT. By Alfred Tennyson, 6. THE MAID OF SKER. Part VII. 7. THE SOUTH-SEA ISLANDS CooLIE 5. DECEMBER 16, 1773 TIME, SORROW, THALASSA, Contemporary Review, Cornhill Magazine, Contemporary Review, Biaclewoods Magazine, Spectator, Boston Daily ~1dvertiser, POETRY. 2THE POET, 2 I THE LAST TOURNAMENT, - 21 A QUEENS SPEECH,. SHORT ARTICLES. - 64 I MISCELLANEOUS, .2 - . - 47 28, 60, 64 NUMBERS OF THE LIVING AGE WANTED. The publishers are in want of Nos. 1179 and 1180 (dated respectively Jan. 5th and Jan. 12th, 1867) of THE LIVING AGE. To subscribers, or others, who will do us the favor to send us either or both of those numbers, we will return an equivalent, either in our publications or in cash, until our wants are supplied. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. Fox EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING Aex will be punctually for- warded for a year,free ofpostage. But we do not prepay postageon less than a year, nor where we have to pay commission for forwarding the money. Price of the First Series, in Cloth, 36 volumes, 90 dollars. Second 20 60 Third 32 SO The Complete Work, 100 250 Any Volume Bound, 3 dollars; Unbound, 2 dollars. The sets, or volumes, will be sent at the expense of the publishers. PREMIUMS FOR CLUBS. For 5 new subscribers ($40.), a sixth copy; or a set of HoRsIES INTRODUCTION TO THE BIBLE, un- abridged, in 4 large volumes, cloth, price $10; or any 5 of the back volumes of the LIVING AGE, in nuIn- bers, price $10. .3 .16 29 39 47 66 - 61 63 2 TIME, ETC. TIME. TIME speeds away away away; Another hour another day Another month another year Drop from us like the leaflets sear; Drop like the life-blood from our hearts, The rose-bloom from the cheeks departs, The tresses from the temples fall, The eyes grow dim and strange to all. Time speeds away away away; Like torrent in a stormy day. He undermine the stately tower, Uproots the tree and snaps the flower, And sweeps from our distracted breast The friends that loved, the friends that blest, And leaves us weeping on the shore To which they can return no more. Time speeds away away away; No eagle through the skies of day, No wind along the shore can flee So swiftly or so smooth as he. Like fiery steed, from stage to stage, He bears us on from youth to age, Then plunges in the fearful sea Of fathomless Eternity! SORROW. UroN my lips she laid her touch divine, And merry speech and careless laughter died; She fixed her melancholy eyes on mine, And would not be denied. I saw the West-wind loose his cloudlets white, In flocks, careering through the April sky; I could not sing, though joy was at its height, For she stood silent by. I watched the lovely evening fade away, A mist was lightly drawn across the stars. She broke my quiet dream, I heard her say, Behold your prison-bars! Earths gladness shall not satisfy your soul, This beauty of the world in which you live; The crowning grace that sanctifies the whole, That I alone can give. I heard, and shrunk away from her afraid; But still she held me, and would still abide. Youtha bounding pulses slackened and obeyed, With slowly ebbing tide. Look thou beyond the evening sky, she said, Beyond the changing splendours of the day. Accept the pain, the weariness, the dread, Accept, and bid me stay! I turned and clasped her close, with sudden strength, And slowly, sweetly, I became aware Within my arms Gods angel stood, at length, White-robed and calm and fair. And now I look beyond the evening star, Beyond the changing splendours of the day, Knowing the pain He sends more precious far, More beautiul, than they. Dublin University Magazine. THALASSA. I LOOK across the land and sea, I gaze into the quiet west, I hear the waves low lullaby, And yet my heart is not at rest. The heron wings his stately way In silence to his reedy nest, The white mists steal upon the day, And yet my soul is all unrest. The even bells break from the coast, Like sudden songs of angels blest, That love at lingering hours the most To bring the hearts of mortals rest. Weep not, they say, the plaint of love Is but a holy loss confessd; Sweet eyes look ever from above. Be still, sad heart, and sink to rest! Once a Week. THE rOET. SWEET did you say that my verse was? O could I but bring to your ear The soundless songs that entrance me, Which only my, soul can hear, Songs learned when my soul was beginning, Before it was fettered in me, And could hear the universe singing Its endless symphony. I hear those harmonies ever, And whenever I strive to sing, My soul is sad with the failure To make my melodies ring As they rang when it bathed in the brightness That streamed on it from the Throne, Where thought of itself is music, And effort and fruit are one. Spectator. A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. 3 From The Cornhull Magazine. bodies of Protestant Dissenters, to do A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY, them justice, are never wanting; to a per BY MATTHEW ARHOLD. ception that the ease against the Church of England may be yet further improved EVERYBODY has this last autumn been by contrasting her with the genuine article either seeing the Ammergan Passion Play in her own ecclesiastical line, by pointing or hearing about it; and to find any one out that she is neither one thing nor the who has seen it and not been deeply inter- other to much purpose, by dilating on the ested and moved by it, is very rare. The magnitude, reach, and impressiveness, on peasants of the neighbouring country, the the great Place in history, of her rival, as great and fashionable world, the ordinary compared with anything she can herself tourist, were all at Amniergan, and were pretend to. Something of this there is, no all delighted; but what is said to have doubt, in some of the modern Protestant been especially remarkable was the affiu- sympathy for things Catholic; but in gen- ence there of ministers of religion of all eral that sympathy springs, in Churchmen kinds. That Catholic peasants, whose re- and Dissenters alike, from another and a ligion has accustomed them to show and better cause, from the spread of larger spectacle, should be attracted by an ad- conceptions of religion, of man, and of his- mirable scenic representation of the great tory, than were cnrrent formerly. We moments in the history of their religion, have seen lately in the newspapers, that a was natural; that tourists and the fashion- clergyman, who in a popular lecture gave able world should be attracted by what an account of the Passion Flay at Ammer- was once the fashion and a new sensation gau, and enlarged on its impressiveness, of a powerful sort, was natural; that many was admonished by certain remonstrants, of th~ ecclesiastics there present should be who told him it was his business, instead attracted there, was natural too. Roman of occupying himself with these sensuous Catholic priests mustered strong, of course. shows, to learn to walk by faith, not l)y The Protestantism of a great nnmber of sight, and to teach his fellow-men to do the Anglican clergy is supposed to be but the same. But this severity seems to have languid, and Anglican ministers at Ammer- excited wonder rather than praise; so far gan were sympathizers to be expected. had those wider notions about religion and But Protestant ministers of the most umi- about the range of our interest in religion, impeachable sort, Protestant Dissenting of which I have just spoken, conducted us. ministers, were there, too, and showing To this interest I propose to appeal in favour and sympathy; and this, to any one what I am going to relate. For the Pas- who remembers the almost universal feel- sion Play at Ammergau, with its immense ing of Protestant Dissenters in this coun- audiences, the seriousness of its actors, try, not many years ago, towards Rome the passionate emotion of its spectators, and her religion, the sheer abhorrence brought to my mind something of which I of Papists and all their practices, could had read an account lately; something not but be strik~ing. It agrees with what produced, not in Bavaria nor in Christen- is seen also in literature, in the writings of doni at all, but far away in that wonder- Dissenters of the younger and umore pro- ful East, from which, whatever airs of gressive sort, who show a disposition for superiority Europe may justly give itself, regarding the Church of Rome historically I all our religion Imas come, and where relin- rather than polemically, a wish to do jus- ion, of some sort or other, has still an em- tice to the undoubted grandeur of certain pire over mens feelings such as it has institutions ~nd mcmi produced by that nowhere else. This product of time remote Church, quite novel, and quite alien to the East I wish to exhibit while the remem- simple belief of earlier times, that between brance of what has been at Ammergau is Protestants and Rome there was a meas-~ still fresh; and we will see whether that ureless gulph fixed. Something of this bringing together of strangers and enemies may no doubt, be due to that keen eye for who once seemed to be as far as the poles Non-conformist business in which our great asunder, which Ammergan in such a re 4 A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. markable way effected, does not hold good and find a parallel even in Persia. Count Gobineau, formerly Minister of France at Teheran and at Athens, pub- lished, a few years ago, an interesting book on the present state of religion and philosophy in Central Asia. lIe is favour- ably known also by his studies in eth- nology. His accomplishments and intelli- gence deserve all respect, and in his book on religion and philosophy in Central Asia he has the great advantage of writing about things which he has followed with his own observation and inquiry in the countries where they happened. The chief purpose of his book is to give a history of the career of Mirza Ali Mahommed, a Per- sian religious reformer, the original B6b, and the founder of Bdbism, of whieh most people in England have at least heard the name. Bab means gate, the door or gate of life; and in the ferment which now works in the Mahometan East, Mirza Ali Mahommed,who seems to have been made acquainted by Protestant mission- aries with our Scriptures and by the Jews of Shiraz with Jewish traditions, to have studied, besides, the ~religion of the Ghe- bers, the old national religion of Persia, and to have made a sort of amalgam of the whole withMahometanism, presented himself; about five-and-twenty years ago, as the door, the gate of life; found dis- ciples, sent forth writings, and finally be- came the cause of disturbances which led to his being executed, on the 19th of July, 1849, in the citadel of Tabriz. The Bab and his doctrines are a theme on which much might be said; but I pass them by. ex- cept for one incident in the Bibs life, which I will notice. Like all religious Mahome- tans, he made the pilgrimage to Mecca; and his meditations at that centre of his religion first suggested his mission to him. But soon after his return to Bagdad he made another pilgrimage; and it was in this pilgrimage that his mission became clear to him, and that his life was fixed. He desired ~ I will give an abridg- ment of Count Gobineaus own words to complete his impressions by going to Kufa, that he might visit the ruined mosque where Ali was assassinated, and where the place of his murder is still shown. lie passed several days there in meditation. The place appears to have made a great impression on him; he was entering a course which might and must lead to some such catastrophe as had hap- pened on the very spot where he stood, and where his minds eye showed him the Imam Ali lying at his feet, with his body pierced and bleeding. His followers say that he then passed through a sort of moral agony which put an end to all hesi- tation of the natural man within him. It is certain that when he arrived at Shiraz, on his return, he was a changed man. No doubts troubled him any more: he was penetrated and persuaded; his part was taken. This Ali also, at whose tomb the Bab went through the spiritual crisis here re- corded, is a familiar name to most of us. In general our knowled~e of the East goes but a very little way; yet almost every one has at least heard the name of Ali, the Lion of God, Mahomets young cousin, and the first who, after his wife, believed in him, and who was declared by Ma- homet in his gratitude his brother, dele- gate, and vicar. Au was one of Ma- homets best and most successful captains; he married Fatima, the daughter of the Prophet; his sons, Hassan and Hussein, were, as children, favourites with Ma- homet, who had n@ son of his own to suc- ceed him, and was expected to name Ali as his successor. He named no successor. At his death Au was passed over, and the first caliph, or vicar and lieutenant of Ma- homet in the government of the state, was Abu-Bekr; only the spiritual inheritance of Mahomet, the dignity of Imam, or Primate, devolved by right on Ali and his children. Ali, lion of God as in war he was, held aloof from politics and political intrigue, loved retirement and prayer, was the most pious and disinterested of men. At Abu- Bekrs death he was again passed over in favour of Omar. Omuar was succeeded by Othman, and still Ali remained tranquil. Othman was assassinated, and then Au chiefly to prevent disturbance and blood. shed, accepted the caliphate. Meanwhile the Mahometan armies had conquered Persia, Syria, and Egypt; the Governor of Syria, Moawiyah, an able and ambitious A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. 5 man, set himself up as caliph, his title was recognized by Amrou, the Governor of Egypt, and a bloody and indecisive battle was fought in Mesopotainia between Alis army and Moawiyahs. Gibbon shall tell the rest In the temple of Mecca three Charegites or enthusiasts discoursed of the disorders of the church and state; they soon a~,reed that the deaths of Ali, of Moawiyah, and of his friend Amrou, the Viceroy of Egypt, would restore the peace and unity of religion. Each of the assas- sins chose his victim, poisoned his dagger, devoted his life, and secretly repaired to the scene of action. Their resolutioa was equally desperate; but the first mistook the person of Amrou, and stabbed the deputy who occupied his seat; the prince of Damascus was dangerously hurt by the second; Ali, the lawful caliph, in the mosque of Kufa, received a mortal wound from the hand of the third. The events through which we have thus rapidly run ought to be kept in mind, for they are the elements of Mahometan his- tory: any right understanding of the state of the Mahometan world is impossible without them. For that woild is divided into the two great sects of Shiahs and Sunis; the Shiahs are those who reject the first three caliphs as usurpers, and begin with Ali as the first lawful successor of Mahomet; the Sunis recognize Abu-Bekr, Omar, and Othman, as well as Ali, and regard the Shiaks as impious heretics. The Persians are Shiahs, and the Arabs and Turks are Sunis. Hussein, one of Alis two sons, married a Persian princess, the daughter of Yezdejerd the last of the Sassanian kings, the king whom the Mahometan conquest of Persia expelled; and Persia,through this marriage, became specially connected with the house of Ali. In the fourth age of the Hegira, says Gibbon, a tomb, a temple, a city, arose near the ruins of Kufa. Many thousands of the Shiahs repose in holy ground at the feet of the vicar of God; and the desert is vivified by the numerous and annual visits of the Persians, who esteem their devotion not less meritorious than the pilgrimage of Mecca. But, to comprehend what I am going to relate from Count Gobi~eau, we must push our researches into Mahometaa history a little further than the assassination of Ali. Moawiyah died in the year 680 of our era, nearly fifty years after the death of Ma- homet. His son Yezid succeeded him on the throne of the caliphs at Damascus. During the reign of Moawiyah Alis two sons, the Imams Ilassan and Hussein, lived with their families in religious retirement at Medina, where their grandfather Ma- homet was buried. Ia them the character of abstention and renouncement, which we. have noticed in Ali himself, was marked yet more strongly; but, when Moawiyah died, the people of Kufa, the city on the lower Euphrates where Ali had been assassinated, sent offers to make Hussein caliph if he would come among them, and to support him against the Syrian troops of Yezid. Hussein seems to have thought himself bound to accept the proposal. lie left Medina, and, with his family and relation~, to the number of about eighty persons, set out on his way to Kufa. Then ensued the tragedy so fau~i1iar to every Mahometan, and to us so little known, the tragedy of Kerbela. 0 death, cries the bandit-minstrel of Persia, Kurroglou, in his last song before his execution, 0 death, whom didst thou spare? Were even Hassan and Hussein, those footstools of the throne of God on the seventh heaven, spared by thee? No! thou madest them martyrs at Kerbela. We cannot do better than again have recourse to Gibbons history for an account of this famous tragedy. Hussein trav~ ersed the desert of Arabia with a timorous retinue of women and children; but, as he approached the confines of Irak, he was alarmed by the solitary or hostile face of the country, and suspected either the de- fection or the ruii~ of his party. His fears were just; Obei~allah, the governor of Kufa, had extinguished the first sparks of an insurrection; and Hussein, in the plain of Kerbela, was encompassed by a body of 5,000 hprse, whQ intercepted his com- munication with the cRy and the river. In a conference with the chief of the enemy he proposed the option of three conditions thm~t he should be allowed to return to Medina, or be stationed in a frontier gar- rison against the Turks, or safely con- 6 A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. ducted to the presence of Yezid. But the and their trihute of enthusiastic mourning. commands of the caliph or his lieutenant But Count Gobineau relates, in his book were stern and absolute, and Hussein was of which I have spoken, a development of informed that he must either submit as a these solemnities which was unknown to captive and a criminal to the Commander Gibb9n. Within the present century of the Faithful, or expect the consequences there has arisen, on the basis of this story of. his rebellion. Do you think, replied of the martyrs of Kerbela, a drama, a he, to terrify me with death? And dur- Persian national drama, which Count Gobi- ing the short respite of a night he prepared, neaii, who has seen and heard it, is bold with calm and solemn resignation, to en- enou~h to rank with the Greek drama as a counter his fate. He checked the lamen- great and serious affair, engaging the tations of his sister Fatima, who deplored heart and life of the people who have the impending ruin of his houses Our given birth to it; while the Latin, English, trust, said Hussein, is in God alone. All French, and German drama is, he says, in things, both in heaven and earth, must comparison a mere pastime or amusement, perish and return to their Creator. My more or less intellectual and elegant. To brother, my father, my mother, were better me it seems that the Persian tezyas for than I, and every Mussulman has an ex- so these pieces are called find a better ample in time Prophet. He pressed his parallel in the Ammergau Passion Play friends to consult their s~ fety by a timely than in the Greek drama. They turn flight; they unanimously refused to desert entirely on one subject the sufferings of or survive their beloved master, and their the Family of the Tent, as the Imam Hus- courage was fortified by a fervent prayer sein and the company of persons gathered and the assurance of paradise. On the around him at Kerbela are called. The morning of the fatal day be mounted on subject is somnetimes introduced by a pro- horseback, with his sword in omie hand logue, which may perhaps one day, as the and the Koran in the other; the flanks and need of variety is more felt, become a rear of his party were secured by the tent- piece by itself; but at present the prologue ropes and by a deep trench, which they leads invariably to the martyrs. For in- had filled with lighted fagots, according to stance, the Emperor Tamerlane, in his the practice of the Arabs. The enemy conquering progress through the world, advanced with reluctance; and one of arrives at Damascus; the keys of the city their chiefs deserted, with thirty followers, are brought to him by the governor; but to claim the partnership of inevitable the governor is a descendant of one of the death. In every close onset or sin~le murderers of the Imam Ilussein; Tamer- combat the despair of the Fatimites was lane is informed of it, loads him with invincible; but the surrounding multitudes reproaches, and drives him from his press galled them from a distance with a cloud ence. The emperor presently sees the of arrows, and the horses and men were governors daughter splendidly dressed, successively slain. A truce wa.s allowed thinks of the sufferings of the holy women on both sides for the hour of prayer; and of time Family of the Tent, and upbraids the battle at length expired by the death and drives her away as he did her father. of the last of the companions of Hussein. But after this he is haunted by the great The details of Husseins own death will tra~edy which has been thus brought to come better presently; suffice it at this his mind, and he cannot sleep and cannot moment to say he was slain, and that the be comforted; he calls his vizier, and his women and children of his family were vizier tells him that the only way to soothe taken in chains to the Caliph Yezid at his troubled spirit is to see a tazya. And Damascus. Gibbon concludes the story so the tazya comamnences. Or, again (and thus: In a distant age and climate, the this will shoxv how strangely, in the reli- tragic scene of the death of Hussein will gious world which is now occupying us, awaken the sympathy of the coldest reader. what is most familiar to us is blended with On the annual festival of his martyrdom, that of which we know nothing): Joseph in the devout pilgrimage to his sepulchre, and his brethren appear on the stage, and his Persian votaries ab. ndon their souls to the old Bible story is transacted. Joseph the religious phrenzy of sorrow and indi,- is thrown into the pit and sold to the nation. merchants, and his blood-stai ed coat is Thus the tombs of Ali and of his son, the carried by his brothers to Jacob; Jacob is Meshed Ali and the Meshed Hussein, then left alone, weeping and bewailing standing some thirty miles apart from one himself; the angel Gabriel enters, and another in the plain of the Euphrates, had, reproves him for his want of faith and when Gibbon wrote, their yearly pilgrims constancy, telling him that what he suffera A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. 7 is not a hundredth part of what Au fins- So we are carried back, on this old Asiatic sein, and the children of Hussein will one soil, where beliefs and usages are heaped day suffer- Jacob seems to doubt it; layer upon layer and ruin upon ruin, far Gabriel, to convince him, orders the angels past the martyred Imams, past Mahome- to perform a tazya of what will one day tanism, past Christianity, to the priests of happen at Kerbela. And so the tczya Baal gashing themselves with knives and commences. to the worship of Adonis. These pieces are given in the first ten The telcyas, or theatres for the drama days of the month of Moharrem, the an- which calls forth these celebrations, are niversary of the martyrdom at Kerbela. constantly multiplying. The king, the They are so popular that they now invade great functionaries, the towns, the wealthy other seasons of the year also; but this is citizens like the kings goldsmith, or any the season when the world is given up to private person who has the means and the them. King and people, every one is in desire, provide them. Every one sends mourning; and at night and while the contributions; it is a religious act to fur- tazyas are not going on, processions keep nish a box or to give decorations for a passin5, the air resounds with the beating te~qc; and as religious offerings, all gifts of breasts and with litanies of 0 Hassan! down to the very smallest are accepted. Hussein!~ while the Seyids, a kind of There are tekyas for not more than three popular friars claiming to be descendants or four hundred spectators, and there are of Mahomet, and in whose incessant popu- tekyas for three or four thousand. At larizing and amplifying of the legend of Ispahan there are representations which Kerbela in their homilies during pilgrim- bring together more than twenty thousand ages and at the tombs of the martyrs, the people. At Teheran, the Persian capital, tazyas, no doubt, had their ori~in, keep each quarter of the town has its tekyas, up by their sermons and hymns the entha- cvery square and open place is turned to siasm which the drama of the day has cx- account for establishing them, and spaces cited. It seems as if no one went to bed; have been expressly cleared, besides, for and certainly no one who went to bed fresh teky~ s. Count Gobinean describes could sleep. Confraternities go in proces- particularly one of these theatres, a sion with a black flag and torches, every tekya of the best class, to hold an audience man with his shirt torn open, and beating of about four thousand, at Teheran. The himself with the right hand on the left arrangements are very simple; the tekya shoulder in a kind of measured cadence to is a walled parallelogram, with a brick accompany a canticle in honour of the platform, salcou, in the centre of it; this martyrs. These processions come and salcomt is surrounded with black poles at take po. t in the theatres where the Scyids some distance from each other, the poles are preaching. Still more noisy are the are joined at the top by horizontal rods of companies of dancers, striking a kind of the same color, and from these rods hang wooden castanets together, at one time in coloured lamps, which are lighted for the front of their breasts, at another time be- praying and preaching at night when the hind their heads, and marking time with representation is over. The salcou, or cen- music and dance to a dirge set up by the tral platform, mnakes the stave; in con- bystanders, in which the names of the nection with it, at one of the opposite Imnams perpetually recur as a burden. extremities of the parallelogram length- Noisiest of all are the Berbers, men of a wise, is a reserved box, tdgmmumd, higher darker skin and another race, their feet than the salcou; this box is splendidly dee- and the .upper part of their body naked, orated, and is used for peculiarly interest- who carry, some of them tambourines and ing and magnificent tableaux, time court cymbals, others iron chains and long nee- of the Caliph, for example, which occur dies. One of their race is said to have in the course of the piece. A passage of formerly derided the Imams in their afflic- a few feet wide ms left free between the tion, and the Berbers now appear in expia- stage and this box; all the rest of the tion of that crime. At first their music space is for the spectators, of whom the and their march proceed slowly together, foremost rows are sitting on their heels but presently the music quickens, the close up to this passage, so that they help chain and needle-bearing Berbers move the actors to mount and descend the high violently round, and begin to beat them- steps of the tdgnmmrnd when they have to selves with their chains and to prick their pass between that and the salcou. On each arms and cheeks with the needles first side of the tdgammoid are boxes, and along gently, then with more vehemence; till one wall of the enclosure are other boxes suddenly the music ceases, and all stops. with fronts of elaborate woodwork, which S A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. are left to stand as a permanent part of their genuine sense of the seriousness of the construction; facing these, with the the business they are engaged in. They floor and stage between, rise tiers of seats are, hue the public around them, pene- as in an ampitheatre. All places are free trated with this, and so the actor throws the great people have generally provided his whole soul into what he is about, the and furnished the boxes, and take care to public meets the actor halfway, and effects fill them; but if a box is not occupied of extraordinary impressiveness are the when the performance begins, any ragged result. The actor is under a charm, street-urchin or beggar may walk in and says Count Gobineau; he is under it so seat himself there. A row of gigantic strongly and completely that almost al- masts run across the middle of the space, ways one sees Yezid himself (the usurp- one or two of them being fixed in the ing caliph), the wretched Ibn-Said (Yezids saleou itself; and from these masts is general), the infamous Shemer (Iba-Saids stretched an immense awning which pro- lieutenant), at the moment they vent the tects the whole audience. Up to a certain cruelest insults against the Imams whom height these masts are hung with tiger they are going to massacre, or against the and panther skins, to indicate the violent women of the Imams family whom they character of the scenes to be represented. are ill-using, burst into tears and repeat Shields of steel and of hippopotamus skin, their part with sobs. The public is neither and flags and naked swords, are also at- surprised nor displeased at this; on the tached to these masts. A sea of colour contrary, it beats its breast at the sight, and splendour meets the eye all round. throws up its arms towards heaven with Woodwork and brickwork disappear under invocations of God, and redoubles its cushions, rich carpets, silk hangings, India groans. So it often happens that the actor muslin embroidered with silver and gold, identifies himself with the personage he shawls from Kerman and from Cashmere; represents to such a degree that, when the there are lamps, lustres of coloured crys- situation carries him away, he cannot be tal, mirrors, Bohemian and Venetian glass, said to act, he is with such truth, such porcelain vases of all degrees of magni- complete enthusiasm, such utter self-for- tude from China and from Europe, paint- getfulness, what he represents, that he ings and engravings displayed in profusion reaches a reality at one time sublime, at everywhere; the taste may not always be another terrible, and produces impressions soberly correct, but the whole spectacle on his audience which it would be simply has just the effect of prodigality, colour, absurd to look for from our more artificial and sumptuousness which we are accus- performances. There is nothing stilted, tomed to associate with the splendours of nothing false, nothing conventional; na the Arabian Nights. ture, and the facts represented, themselves In marked contrast with this display is speak. the poverty of scenic contrivance and The actors are men and boys, the parts stage illusion. The subject is far too in- of angels and women being filled by boys; teresting and too solemn to need them; but the children who appear in the piece the actors are visible on all sides, and the are often the children of the principal exits, entrances, and stage-play of our families of Teheran; their appearance in theatres are impossible; the imagination this religious solemnity (for such it is of the spectator fills up all gaps and meets thought) being supposed to bring a bless- all requirements. On the Ammergau ar- ing upon them and their parents. Noth- rangements one feels that the archmolo- ing is more touching, says Count Gobi- gists and artists of Munich have laid their neau, than to see these little things of correct finger; at Teheran there has been three or four years old, dressed in black no schooling of this sort. A copper basin gauze frocks with large sleeves, and having of water represents the Euphrates; a heap on their heads small round black caps em- of chopped straw in a corner is the sand broidered with silver and gold, kneehiu~ of the desert of Kerbela, and the actor beside the body of the actor who reprc- goes and takes up a handful of it, when sents the martyr of the day, embracing his part is about to require him to throw, him, and, with their little hands, covering in Oriental fashion, dust upon his head. themselves with chopped straw for sand, There is no attempt at proper costume; in sign of grief. These children evidently, all that is sought is, to do honour to the he continues, do not consider themselves personages of chief interest by dresses to be acting; they are full of the feelinc~ and jewels which would pass for rich and that what they are about is something of handsome things to wear in modern Per deep seriousness and importance; and sian life. The power of the actors is in though they are too young to comprehend A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. 9 fully the story, they know, in general, that it is a matter sad and solemn. They are not distracted by the audience, and they are not shy, hut go through their pre- scribed part with the utmost attention and seriousness, always crossing their arms respectfully to receive the blessing of the Jmam Hussein; the public beholds them with emotions of the liveliest satis- faction and symyathy. The dramatic pieces themselves are without any authors name. They are in popular language, such as the commonest and most ignorant of the Persian people can understand, free from learned Arabic words, free, comparatively speaking, from Orient~l fantasticality and hyper- bole. The Seyids, or popular friars, al- ready spoken of, have probably had a hand in the composition of many of them. The Moollalis, or regular ecclesiastical authorities, condemn the whole thing. It is an innovation which they disapprove and think dangerous; it is addressed to the eye, and their religion forhids to represent religious things to the eye; it departs from the limits of what is revealed and appointed to be taught as the truth, and brings in novelties and heresies; for these dramas keep growing under the pressnre of the actors imagination and emotion, and of the ima~,ination and emotion of the public, and receive new developments every day. The learned, again, say that these pieces are a heap of lies, the produc- tion of ignorant people, and have no words strong enough to express their contempt for them. Still, so irresistible is the vogue of these sacred dramas that, from the king on the throne to the beggar in the street, every one, except perhaps the Moollahs, attends them, and is carried away by them. The Imams and their family speak always in a kind of lyrical chant, said to have rhythmical effects, often, of great I pathos and beauty; their persecutors, the villains of the piece, speak always in prose. The stage is under the direction of a cho- ragus. called oostad, or master, who is a sacred personage by reason of the func- tions which he performs. Sometimes he addresses to the audience a commentary on what is passing before them, and asks their compassion and tears for the mar- tyrs; sometimes, in default of a Scyid, he prays and preaches. He is always listened to with veneration, for it is he who ar- ranges the whole sacred spectacle which so deeply moves everybody. With no attempt at concealment, with the book of the piece in his hand, he remains con- stantly on the stage, gives the actors their cue, puts the children and any inexperi- enced actor in their right places, dresses the martyr in his winding-sheet when he is going to his death, holds the stirrup for him to mount his horse, and inserts a sup- ply of chopped straw into the hands of those who are . about to want it. Let us now see him at work. The theatre is filled, and the heat is great; young men of rank, the kings pages, officers of the army, stuart func- tionaries of State, move through the crowd with water-skins slun~ on their backs, dealing out water all round, in memory of the thirst which on these solemn days the Imams suffered in the sands of Kerbela. Wild chants and litanies, such as we have already described, are from time to time set up by a dervish, a soldier, a workman in the crowd. These chants are taken up, more or less, by the audience; sometimes they flag and die away for want of sup- port, sometimes they are continued till they reach a paroxysm, and then abruptly stop. Presently a strange, insignificant figure in a green cotton garment, looking like a petty tradesman of one of the Teheran bazaars, mounts upon the salcoo. He beckons with his hand to the audience, who are silent directly, and addresses them in a tone of lecture and expostulation, thus : Well, you seem happy enough, Mussul- mans, sitting there at your ease under the awning; and you imagine Paradise already wide open to you. Do you know what Paradise is? It is a garden, doubtless, but such a garden as you have no idea of. You will say to me: Friend, tell us what it is like. I have never been there, cer- tainly; but plenty of prophets have de- scribed it, and angels have brought news of it. However, all I will tell you is, that there is room for all good people there, for it is 330,000 cubits long. If you do not believe, inquire. As for getting to be one of the good people, let me tell you it is not enough to read the Koran of the Prophet (the salvation and blessing of God he upon him!); it is not enough to do every- thing which this divine book enjoins; it is not enough to come and weep at the tazyas, as you do every day, you sons of dogs you, who know nothing which is of any use; it behoves, besides, that your good works (if you ever do any, which I greatly doubt) should be done in the name and for the love of Hussein. It is Hussein, Mussul- mans, who is the door to Paradise; it is Hussein, Mussulmans, who upholds the world; it is Hussein, Musslumans, by 10 A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. whom comes salvation! Cry, Hassan, there rush in a number of big and fierce Hussein ! boys, and begin to pelt the little Imams And all the multitude cry: 0 Hassan! with stones. A companion shields ilus O hussein! sein with his own body, but he is struck That is well; and now cry again. down with a stone, and with another stone And again all cry: 0 Hassan! 0 hlus- hussein, too, is stretched on the ground sein! And now, the strange speaker senseless. Who are these boy-tyrants goes on, pray to God to keep you con- and persecutors? They are Iha-Said, and tinually in the love of Hussein. Come, Shemer and others, the future murderers make your cry to God. Then the multi- at Kerbela. The audience perceive it with tude, as one man, throw up their arms into a shudder; the hateful assailants go off in the air, and with a deep and long-drawn triumph; Au re-enters, picks up the cry exclaim: Ya Alich! 0 God! stunned and wounded children, brin~s Fifes, drums, and trumpets break out; them round, and takes Hussein back to the kernas, great copper trumpets five or his mother Fatima. six feet long, give notice that the actors But let us come at once to the days of are ready and that the lazya is to com- martyrdom and to Kerbela. One of mnence. The preacher descends from the the most famous pieces of the cycle is a salcou, and the actors occupy it. piece called the Marriage of Kasse?n, To give a clear notion of the cycle which which brings us into the very middle of these dramas fill, we should begin, as on these crowning days. Count Gobineau has the first day of the Moharrem the actors given a translation of it, and from this begin, with some piece relating to the translation we will take a few extracts. childhood of the Imams, such as, for in- Kassem is the son of Husseins elder stance, the piece called The Children Dig- brother, the Imam Hassan, who had been ging. Au and Fatima are living at Medina poisoned by Yezids instigation at Medina. with their little sons Hassan and Hussein; Kassem and his mother are with the Imain the simple home and occupations of the Hussein at Kerbela; there, too, are the pious fallily are exhibited; it is morning; women and children of the holy family, Fatima is seated with the little Hussein Omm-Leyla, Husseins wife, the Persian on her lap, dressing him. She combs princess, the last child of Yezdejerd the his hair, talking caressingly to him all the last of the Sassanides; Zeyneb, Husseins while. A hair comes out with the comb; sister, the offspring, like himself, of Ali the child starts; Fatima is in distress at and Fatima, and the granddaughter of having given the child even this momentary Mahomet; his nephew Abdallah, still a uneasiness, and stops to gaze upon him little child; finally, his beautiful daughter tenderly. She falls into an anxious rev- Zobeyda. When the piece begins, the erie, thinking of her fondness for the child Imams camp in the desert has already and of the unknown future in store for him. been cut off from the Euphrates and be- While she muses, the angel Gabriel stands sieged several days by the Syrian troops before her. He reprove~ her weakness: under lbn-Said and Shemer, and by the A hair falls from the childs head, he treacherous men of Kufa. The Family of says, and you weep; what would you do the Tent were suffering torments of thirst; if you knew the destiny that awaits him, one of the children had brought an empty the countless wounds with which that body water bottle, and thrown it, a silent token shall one day be pierced, the a,ony that of distress, before the feet of Abbas, the shall rend thine own soul ! Fatima, in uncle of Hussein; Abbas had sallied out despair, is comforted by her husband Ali, to cut his way to the river, and had been and they go to~ether into the town to slain. Afterwards Ali-Akher, Husseins hear Mahomet preach. The boys and some eldest son, had made the same attempt of their little friends begin to play; every and met with the same fate. Two younger one makes a great deal of Hussein; he is brothers of Ali-Akber followed his cx- at once the most spirited and the most ample, and were likewise slain. The amiable child of them all. The party Imam Hussein had rushed amidst th~ amuse themselves with digging, with mak- enemy, beaten them from the body of the ing holes in the ground and building Ahi-Akber, and brought the hody back to mounds. Ali returns from the sermon and his tent; but the river was still inacces- asks what they are about; and Hussein is sible. At this point the action of the made to reply in ambiguous and prophetic Marriage qf Kassem begins. Kassem, a answers, which convey that by these holes youth of sixteen, is burning to go out and and mounds in the earth are prefigured avenge his cousin. At one end of the interments and tombs. Ali departs again; sakou is the Imam hussein seated on hi~ A PERSIAN PASSION~ PLAY. 11 throne; in the middle are grouped all the members of his family; at the other end lies the body of Ali-Akber, with his mother Omm-Leyla, clothed and veiled in black, bending over it. The icernas sound, and Kassern, after a solemn appeal from Hus- sein and his sister Zeyneb to God and to the founders of their house to look upon their great distress, rises and speaks to himself: Ka~sem. Separate thyself from th~ women of the harem, Kassem. Consider within thyself for a little; here thou sit- test, and presently thou wilt see the body of Hussein, that body like a flower, torn by arrows and lances like thorns, Kassem. Thou sawest Ali-Akbers head severed from his body on the field of battle, and yet thou livedst! Arise, obey that which is written of thee by thy father; to be slain, that is thy lot, Kassem Go, get leave from the son of Fatima, most honourable among women, and sub- mit thyself to thy fate, Kassem. Hussein sees him approach. Alas, he says, it is the orphan nightin~aie of the garden of Hassan, my brother I Then Kassem speaks : Kasse?n. 0, God what shall I do be- neath this load of affliction? My eyes are wet with tears, my lips are dried up with thirst. To live is worse than to die. What shall I do, seeing what bath befal- len Ali-Akber? If Hussein suffereth me not to go out, 0 misery! for then what shall I do, 0 God, in the day of the resur- rection, when I see my father Hassan? When I see my mother in the day of the resurrection, what shall I do, 0 God, in my sorrow and shame before her? All my kinsmen are gone to appear before the Prophet: shall not I also one day stand before the Prophet; and what shall I do, 0 God, in that day ! Then he addresses the imam : Hail, thr shold of the honour and majesty on hi~h, threshold of heaven, threshold of God! In the roll of martyrs thou art the chief; in the book of crea- tion thy story will live forever. An orphan, a fatherless child, downcast and weepin~, comes to prefer a request to thee. Hussein bids him tell it, and he an- swers : 0 light of the eyes of Mahomet the mighty, 0 lieutenant of Ali the lion, Ab- bas has perished, Ali-Akber has suffered martyrdom; 0 my uncle, thou hast no warriors left, and no standard-bearer. The roses are gone and gone are their buds; the jessamine is gone, the poppies are gone. I alone, I am still left in the garden of the Faith, a thorn, and miser- able. If thou hast any kindness for the orphan, suffer me to go forth and fight. Hussein refuses. My child, he says, thou wast the light of the eyes of the Imam Hassan, thou art my beloved re- membrance of him; ask me not this, urge me not, entreat me not; to have lost Au- Akber is enough. Kassem answers : That Kassem should live and Ali-Akber be martyred sooner let the earth cover mc! 0 king, be generous to the beggar at thy gate. See how my eyes run with tears and my lips are dried up with thirst. Cast thine eyes toward the waters of the heavenly Euphrates I die of thirst; grant me, 0 thou marked of God, a full pitcher of the water of life; it flows in the Paradise which awaits me. hussein still refuses; Kassem breaks forth in complaints and lamentations, his mother comes to him and learns the rea- son. She then says : Complain not against the Imam, light of my eyes; only by his order can the commission of martyrdom be given. In that commission are sealed two-and-seventy witnesses, all righteous, and among the two-and-seventy is thy name. Know that thy destiny of death is commanded in the writing which thou wearest on thine arm.j This writing is the testament of his father hlassan. He bear~ it in triumph to the Imam Hussein, who finds written there that he should, on the death-plain of Kerbela, suffer Kassemn to have his will, but that he should marry him first to his daughter, Zobeyda. Kassem consents, though in astonishment. Consider, he says, there lies Ali-Akber, mangled by the enemies hands! Under this sky of ebon blackness, how can joy show her face? Nevertheless if thou commandest it, what have I to do but obey? Thy com- mandment is that of the Prophet, and his voice is that of God. But Hussein has also to overcome the reluctance of the in- tended bride and of all the women of his family. Heir of the vicar of God, says Kas- sems mother to the Imam, bid me die, but speak not to me of a bridal. If Zo- beyda is to be a bride and Kassem a bride-. groom, where is the henna to tinge their hands, where is the bridal chamber? Mother of Kassemn, answers the Imam solemnly, yet a few moments, and in this field of anguish the tomb shall be for marriage-bed, and the winding-sheet for 1~2 A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. bridal garment! All give way to the Hussein. Beloved child, what the will of their sacred Head. The women Prophet forbids, that cannot I mako and children surround Kassem, sprinkle lawful. him with rose-water, hang bracelets and Kassem. I beseech thee, let my lips be necklaces on him, and scatter bon-bons but once moistened, and I will vanquish around; and thcn the marriage procession thine enemies! is formed. Suddenly drums and trumpets Hussein presses his own lips to those are heard, and the Syrian troops appear. of Kassem, who, refreshed, again rushes Ibn-Said and Shemer are at their head. forth, and returns bleeding and stuck with The Prince of the Faith celebrates a darts, to die at the Imans feet in the tent. marriage in the desert, they exclaim So ends the marriage of Kassem tauntingly; we will soon change his fes- But the great day is the tenth day of tivity into mournin~,. They pass by, and the Moharrem, when comes the death of Kassem takes leave of his bride. God the Imam himself. The narrative of Gib- keep thee, my bride, he says, embracing hon well sums up the events of this great her, for I must forsake thee! One mo- tenth day. The battle at length expired ment, she says, remain in thy place one by the death of the last of the com- moment! thy countenance is as the lamp panions of Hussein. Alone, weary and which giveth us light; suffer me to turn wounded, he seated himself at the door of around thee as the butterfly turneth, gen- his tcnt. He was pierced in the mouth tly, gently! And making a turn around with a dart. He lifted his hands to heaven him, she performs the ancient Eastern rite they were full of blood and he ut- of respect from a new-married wife to her tered a funeral prayer for the living and husband. Troubled, he rises to go: The the dead. In a transport of despair, his reins of my will are slipping away from sister issued from the tent, and adjured me! he murmurs. She lays hold of his the general of the Kufians that he would robe: Take off thy hand, he cries, we not suffer Hussein to be murdered before belong not to ourselves! his eyes. A tear trickled down the sob Then he asks the Imam to array him in diers venerable beard; and the boldest of his winding- sheet. 0 nightingale of the di- his men fell back on every side as the dy- vine orchard of martyrdom, says Hussein, ing Imam threw himself among them. as he complies with his wish, I clothe The remorseless Sheiner a name de- thee with thy winding-sheet, I kiss thy tested by the faithful reproached their face ;~ there is no fear, and no hope, but of cowardice; and the grandson of Mahomet God! Kassem commits his little brother was slain with three-and-thirty strokes Abdallah to the Imams care ; Omm-Leyla of lances and swords. After they had looks up from her sons corpse, and says to trampled on his body, they carried his Kassem: When thou enterest the gar- head to the castle of Kufa, and the inhu- den of Paradise, kiss for me the head of man Obeidallab (the governor) struck him Ali-Akher! on the mouth with a cane. Alas! ex- The Syrian troops again appear; Kas- claimed an aged Mussulman, on those sem rushes upon them and they all go off lips have I seen the lips of the Apostle fighting. The Family of the Tent at Ilus- of God scm s command, put the Koran on their For this catastrophe no one tazya suffices; heads and pray, covering themselves with all the companies of actors unite in a vast sand. Kassem re-appears victorious; he open space; booths and tents are pitched has slain Azrek, a chief captain of the round the outside circle for the spectators; Syrians, but his thirst is intolerable, in the centre is the Imams camp, and the Uncle, he says to the Imam, who asks day ends with its conflagration. him what reward he wishes for his valour, Nor are there wanting pieces which my tongue cleaves to the roof of my carry on the story beyond the death of mouth; the reward I wish is water. Hussein. One which produces an cx- Thou coverest me with shame, Kassem, traordinary effect is The Glmris!ian Damsel. his uncle answers; what can I do? Thou The carna~ e is over, the enemy are gone; askest water; there is no water! to the awe-struck beholders, the scene Kassem. If I might but wet my mouth, shows the silent plain of Kerbela and the I could presently make an end of the inca tombs of the martyrs. Their bodies, full of Kufa. of wounds, and with weapons sticking in Hussein. As I live, 1 have not one them still, are exposed to view; but around drop of water! them all are crowns of burning candles, Kassem. Were it but lawful, I would circles of light, to show that they have en- wet my mouth with my own blood. tered into glory. At one end of the saAou A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. 13 is a high tomb by itself. It is the tomb sein. Yezid orders his wife to be put to of the Imam Hussein, and his pierced body death, and sends the head of Hussein to is seen stretched out upon it~ A brilliant the children. Sekyna, the Imams young- caravan enters, with camels, soldiers, ser- est daughter, a child of four years old, vants, and a young lady on horseback, in takes the beloved head in her arms, kisses European costume, or what passes in Per- it, and lies down beside it. Then Hussein sia for European costume. She halts near appears to her as in life: Oh! my the tombs, and proposes to encamp. Her father, she cries, where wast thou? I servants try to pitch a tent; but wherever was hungry, I was cold, I was beaten they drive a pole into the ~round, blood where wast thou? But now she sees sprin~s up, and a groan of horror bursts him again, and is happy. In the vision of from the audience. Then the fair traveller, her happiness she passes away out of life, instead of encamping, mounts into the she enters into rest, and the piece ends tagnuma, lies down to rest there, and falls with her mother and her aunts burying asleep. Jesus Christ appears to her, and her. makes known that this is Kerbela, and These are the martyrs of Kerbela; and what has happened here. Meanwhile, an these are the sufferings which awaken in Arab of the desert, a Bedouin who had an Asiatic audience sympathy so deep and formerly received Husseins bounty, comes serious, transports so genuine of pity, love, stealthily, intent on plunder, upon the and gratitude, that to match them at all saleou. He finds nothing, and in a parox- one must take the feelings raised at Am- ysm of brutal fury he begins to ill-treat mergau. And now, where are we to look, the corpses. Blood flows. The feeling of in the subject-matter of the Persian pas- Asiatics about their dead is well-known, sion-play, for the source of all this emo- and the horror of the andience rises to its tion? Count Gobineau su~gests that it is height. Presently the ruffian assails and to be found in the feeling of patriotism; wounds the corpse of the Imam himself, and that our Judo-European kinsmen, the over whom white doves are hovering; the Persians, conquered by the Semitic Ara- voice of Hussein, deep and mournful, calls bians, find in the sufferings of Hussein a from historub: There is no God but God! portrait of their own martyrdom. Hus- The robber flies in terror; the angels, the sein, says Count Gobineau, is not only the prophets, Mahomet, Jesus Christ, Moses, son of Ali, he is the husband of a princess of the Imams, the holy women, all come upon the blood of the Persian kings; he, his the sakou, press round Hussein, load him father Ali, the whole body of Imams with honours. The Christian damsel taken together, represent the nation, re- wakes, and embraces Islam, the Islam of present Persia, invaded, ill-treated, de- the sect of the Shiahs. spoiled, stripped of its inhabitants, by the Another piece closes the whole story, by Arabians. The right which is insulted bringing the captive women and children and violated in Hussein, is identified with of the Imams family to Damascus, to the the right of Persia. The Arabians, the presence of the Caliph Yezid. It is in this Turks, the Afghans Persias implacable piece that there comes the magnificent and hereditary enemies recognize Yezid tableau, of which I have already spoken, as legitimate caliph; Persia finds therein of the court of the caliph; the crown jew- an excuse for hating them the more, and els are lent for it, and the dresses of the identifies herself the more with the usurp- ladies of Yezids court, represented by ers victims. It is patriotism, therefore, boys chosen for their good looks, are said which has taken the form, here, of the to be worth thousands and thousands of drama to express itself. No doubt there pounds; but the audience see them with- is much truth in what Count Gobinean out favour, for this brilliant court of Yezid thus says; and it is certain that the divi- is cruel to the captives of Kerbela. The sion of Shiabs and Sunis has its true cause captives are thrust into a wretched dun- in a division of races, rather than in a dif- geon under the palace walls; but the Ca- ference of religious belief. liphs wife had formerly been a slave of But I confess that if the interest of the Mahomets daughter Fatima, the mother Persian passion-plays had seemed to me to of Hussein and Zeyneb. She goes to lie solely in the curious evidence they see Zeyneb in prison, her heart is afford of the workings of patriotic feeling touched, she passes into an agony of re- in a conquered people, I should hardly pentance, returns to her husband, upbraids have occupied myself with them at all this him ~vith his crimes, and intercedes for the length. I believe that they point to women of the holy family, and for the chil- something munch more interesting. What dren, who keep calling for the Imam Hus- this is, I cannot do more than just mdi- 14 A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. cate; but indicate it I will, in conclusion, and then leave the student of human na- ture to follow it out for himself. When Mahomets cousin Jaffer, and others of his first converts, persecuted by the idolaters of Mecca, fled in the year of our era 615, seven years before the Hegira, into Ahyssinia, and took refuge with the king of that country, the people of Mecca sent after the fugitives to demand that they should be given up to them. Abys- sinia was then already Christian. The kind asked Jaffer and his companions what was this new religion for which they had left their country. Jaffer answered: We were plunged in the darkness of ig- norance, we were worshippers of idols. Given over to all our passions, we knew no law but that of the strongest, when God raised up among us a man of our own race, of noble descent, and long held in esteem by us for his virtues. This apos- tle callcd us to believe iu one God, to wor- ship God only, to reject the superstitions of our fathers, to despise divinities of wood and stone. He commanded us to eschew wickedness, to be truthful in speech, faith- ful to our engagements, kind and helpful to our relations and neighbours. He bade us respect the chastity of women, and not to rob the orphan. He exhorted us to prayer, alms-giving, and fasting. We be- lieved in his mission, and we accepted the doctrines and the rule of life which he brought to us from God. For this our countrymen have persecuted us; and now they want to make us return to their idol- atry. The king of Abyssinia refused to surrender the fugitives, and then, turning again to Jaffer, after a few more explana- tions, he picked up a straw from the ground, and said to him: Between your religion and ours there is not the thickness of this straw difference. That is not quite so; yet thus much we may affirm, that Jaffers account of the re- lie,ion of Mahomet is a great deal truer than the accounts of it which are common- ly current amongst us. Indeed, for the credit of humanity, as more than a hun- dred millions of men are said to profess the Mahometan religion, one is glad to think so. To popular opinion everywhere, religion is proved by miracles. All reli- gions but a man s own are utterly false and vain; the authors of them are mere impostors; and the wonders which are said to attest them, fictitious. We forget that this is a game which two can play at; although the believer of each religion always imagine~ the prodigies which at- test his own religion to be fenced by a guard granted to them alone. Yet how much more safe is it, as well as more fruit- ful, to look for the main confirmation of a religion in its intrinsic correspondence with ur,,ent wants of human nature, in its pro. found necessity! Differing religions will then be found to have much in common; but this will be an additional proof of the value of that reli0ion which does most for that which is thus commonly recognized as salutary and necessary, In Christendom one need not go about to establish that the~ religion of the Hebrews is a better religion than the religion of the Arabs, or that the Bible is a greater book than the Koran. The Bible grew, the Koran was made; there lies the immense difference in depth and truth between them! This very inferiority may make the Koran, for certain purposes and for people at a low stage of mental growth, a more powerful instrument than the Bi- ble. From the circumstances of its origin, the Koran has the intensely dogmatic char- acter, it has the perpetual insistance on the motive of future rewards and punish- ments, the palpable exhibition of paradise and hell, which the Bible has not. There- fore, to get the sort of power which all this gives, popular Christianity is apt to treat the Bible as if it was just like the Koran; and because of this sort of power, among the little known and little advanced races of the great African continent, the Ma- hometan missionaries are said to be much more successful than ours. Nevertheless even in Africa it will assuredly one day be manifest, that whereas the Bible-people trace themselves to Abraham through Isaac, and the Koran-people trace them- selves to Abraham through Ishmael, the difference between the religion of the Bible and the religion of the Koran is almost as the difference between Isaac and Ishmael. I mean, that the serious- ness about righteousness, which is what the hatred of idolatry really means, and the profound and inexhaustible doc- trines that the righteous Eternal loveth righteousness, that there is no peace for the wicked, that the righteous is an ever- lasting foundation, are exhibited and incul- cated in the Old Testament with an au- thority, majesty, and truth which leave the Koran immeasurably behind, and which, the more mankind grows and gains light, the more will be felt to have no fellows. Mahomet was no doubt acquainted with the Jews and their documents, and gained something from this source for his religion; but his religion is not a mere plagiarism from Judea any more than it is a mere mass of falsehood. No; in the seriousness, A PERSIAN PASSION PLAY. elevation, and moral energy of huinseif and of that Semitic race from which he sprang and to which he spoke, Mahomet mainly found that scorn and hatred of idolatry, that sense of the worth and truth of righteousness, judgment, and justice, which make the real greatness of him and his Koran, and which are thus rather an independent testimony to the essential doctrines of the Old Testament, than a plagiarism from them. The world needs righteousness and the Bible is the grand teacher of it; but, for certain times and certain men, Mahomet too in his way, was a teacher of righteousness. But we know how the Old Testament conception of righteousness ceased with time to have the freshness and force of an intuition, became something petrified, narrow, and formal, and needed renewing. We know how Christianity renewed it, car- rying into these hard waters of Judaism a sort of warm gulf-stream of tender emo- tion, due chiefly to qualities which may be summed up as those of inwardness, mild- ness, and self-renouncement. Mahometan- ism had no such renewing; it began with a conception of righteousness, lofty indeed, but narrow, and which we may eall old Jewish; and there it remained; it is not a feeling religion. No one would say that the virtues of gentleness, mildness, and self-sacrifice were its virtues and the more it went on, the more the faults of its original narrow basis became visi- ble, more and more it became fierce and militant, less and less was it amiable. Now, what are Ali, and Hassan, and Hus- sein and the Imams, but an insurrection of noble and pious natures against this hardness and aridity of the religion round them; an insurrection making its authors seem weak, helpless, and unsuccessful to the world and amidst the struggles of the world, but enabling them to know the joy and peace for which the world thirsts in vain, and inspiring in the heart of man.: kind an irresistible sympathy. The twelve Imamns, says Gibbon, Ali, Hassan, hussein, and the lineal descendants of Hus- sein to the ninth generation, without arms, or treasures, or subjects, successively en- joyed the veneration of the people. Their names were often the pretence of sedition and civil war; but these royal saints de- spised the pomp of the world, submitted to the will of God and the injustice of man, and devoted their innocent lives to the study and practice of reli,,ion. Abnegation and mildness, based on the depth of the inner life, and visited by un- merited misfortune, made the power of the first and famous Imams, Ali, Hassan, and Hussein, over the popular imagination. 0 brother, said Hassan, as he was dying of poison, to Hussein who sought to find out and punish his murderer, 0 brother, let him alone till he and I meet together before God! So his father Ali had stood back from his rights instead of snatching at them; so of Hussein it was said by his successful rival, the usurping Caliph Yezid: God loved Hussein, but lie would not suffer him to attain to anything. They might attain to nothing, they were too pure, these great ones of the world as by birth they were; but the people, which itself also can attain to so little, loved them all the better on that account, loved them for their ahne- gation and mildness, felt that they were dear to God, that God loved them, and that they and their lives filled a void in the severe religion of Mahomet. These saintly self-deniers, these resigned suffer- ers, who would not strive nor cry, supplied a tender and pathetic side in Islam; the conquered Persians, a more mobile, more impressionable, and gentler race than their concentrated, narrow, and austere Semitic conquerors, felt the need of it most, and gave most prominence to the ideals which satisfied the need; but in Arabs and Turks also, and in all the Mahometan world, Ali and his sons excite enthusiasm and affec- tion. Round the central sufferer, Hussein, has come to group itself everythin~ which is most tender and touching; his person brings to the Mussulmans mind the most human side of Mahomet himself, his fond- ness for children, for Mahomet had loved to nurse the little Hussein on his knee, and to show him from the pulpit to his people. The Family of the Tent is full of women and children, and their devotion and sufferin~s, blameless and saintly women, lovely and - innocent ehildren; there, too, are the beauty and the love of youth; all follow the attraction of the pure and resigned Imam, all die for hhn; their tender pathos flows into his and en- hances it, till there arises for the popular imagination an immense ideal of mildness and self-sacrifice, melting and overpower- ing the soul. Even for us, to whom almost all the names are strange, whose interest in the places and persons is faint, who have them before us for -a moment to-day, to see them again probably, no more for ever, even for us, unless I err greatly, the power and pathos of this ideal are reco,,nizable. What must they be for those to whom every name is familiar and calls up the most solemn and cherished associations; I I Q 16 THE NEAP REEF. who have had their adoring gaze fixed all had set in unusually early; her grand- their lives upon this exarnpler of self-de- father had been entirely laid up with a nial and gentleness, and who have no severe attack of his old enemy, rheuma- other? If it was superfluous to say to tism; and the responsibility of gaining English people that the religion of the what little they could, at a time when Koran has not the value of the religion of work was scarce and provisions dear, fell the Old Testament, still more is it super- wholly to Margots share. Poor child! fluous to say that the religion of the Imams the nei~hbours who saw her with her load has not the value of Christianity. The in the village, and Mrs. Lee, who sneer- character and discourse of Christ possess, ingly said she looked like a packman, little I have often elsewhere said, two signal knew that the burthen she carried was powers: mildness and sweet reasonable- light compared with her heavy heart ness. The latter, the power which so heavy and sorrQwful, as she remembered puts before our view duty of every kind how small was the sum for which she had as to give it the force of an intuition, as to been able to sell her nets and one or two make it seem, to make the total sacrifice boxes, and how little it would do towards of our ordinary self seem, the most sim- giving them even necessaries in the home pie, natural, winning, necessary thing in from which she had started that morning the world, has been hitherto applied with all but fasting. but a very limited range, it is destined to She so wanted to take the poor old man an infinitely wider application, and has a a little tobacco; he hadnt had a pipe for fruitfulness which may yet transfoi~m the days, and, as he often said, he could stand world. Of this the Imams have nothing, anything so long as hed got his baccy. except so far as all mildness and seif-sacri- Not a murmur had escaped his lips, but fice have in them something of sweet Margot knew well the cause of his rest- reasonableness and are its indispensable lessness, and the reason why he couldnt preliminary. This they have, mildness and sleep at night. Just before she reached self-sacrifice; and we have seen what an the small shop, she turned up a side lane attraction it exercises. Could we ask for to count her money once more, and see if a stronger testimony to Christianity? she could only get half-an-ounce, even that Could we wish for any sign more convinc- would be such a treat to him; and resting ing, that Christ was indeed, what Chris- herself by leaning against the low stone tians call him, the desire of all nations? So wall, she stood looking at her money, and salutary, so necessary is what Christianity trying to persuade herself that she was contains, that a religion a great, powerful not so very hungry: she really thought she successful reli,ion arises without it, and might do without anything more until she the missin~, virtue forces its way in! Chris- got back again. tianity may say to these Persian Mahom- Margot, said a voice at her side, and etans, with their gaze fondly turned she started to find Dick Barry there. towards the martyred Imams, what in our Were you counting your money, he Bible God says by Isaiah to Cyrus, their asked laughingly, to see how much youve great ancestor : I girded thee, though got for Mother Whites sugar-sticks? thou hast not lcnown me. It is a long way Sugar-sticks! when she was so hunger- from Kerbela to Calvary; but the sufferers ing after a piece of. bread that she could of Kerbela hold aloft to the eyes of mil- scarcely think of aught else and the lions of our race the lesson so loved by the tears, which lay close to her eyes while sufferer of Calvary. For he said: Learn she battled to keep them down, brimmed of me, that I am mild, and lowly of heart; over and rolled in great drops down her and ye shall find rest unto your souls. cheeks. Whats the matter then, eh, Margot? and the young fellows tenderness spoke in his voice. Oh, nothing! she answered, brushing From Good Cheer. her hand across her eyes; but winter is THE NEAL REEF, a sad time, and grandfather has been ill, BY MRS. PARR, AUTHOR OF DOROTHY FOX. and is so stiff. Are ye going to Mayors with the CHAPTER V. nets? he asked, looking at her bundle. AND how had it fared with Margot dur- Ive been and and the tears ing these months of Philips absence? would come and the voice grew husky Alas! but sadly. The winter, which was they they took two boxes, but they always a time of hardship and privation, dont want any nets. THE NEAP REEF. 17 Love is the best sharpener of some in- acting and skylarking about as I do? No; stincts. Dick didnt want to be told 1 tis more often a heavy heart than a light more; he understood flow the reason of one sets me off; and somehow I dont find the drooping attitude, the wistful gaze at sprecing the same as it used to be; and, the few coins in her open hand, and why since that talk we had after Phil went, her tears were so ready to foxy, and you told me of your promise to him, Dont be ca~t down, he said softly, and how things could never he different If you didnt want to carry em back, and between us two, Ive thought over the youd let me have emIm goin~ to Lu- words you said, Margot, and I do want to ton to-morrow I might get an offer there do as you asked me to, only I havent for em. somehow got the upper hand o myself; Truly! Oh, I should be so glad to get and I aint able to. Oh, Margot! don them sold! for you know, Dick, we heve let me slip back for want o help; I feel been very hard driven this last month. almost as if I was iven a last chance, and I didnt knoxv, he said, looking down if I let this one go, the devilll see I never and kicking at the flints which lay in his get another. way. flow should I know? You never What do you want me to do? she tell me anything. You wont even treat asked softly. me like a friend. Tisnt as you promised Why, nothing, but let me come and see in that talk, Mar~ot; and Ive kept my you sometimes, and sit quiet and yarn with word, you know. the old man; then I should ha~ a reason She tried to avoid answering him by for stopping away from Crafts. And undoing the bundle she carried, Ilonfleur then if youd ask me to do any little thing fashion, across her back. so as I saw yon trusted me, why it ud Ah! she exclaimed with a sigh of cheer me up so that I know I should get relief; hut it was heavy. The nets will on. make it all the lighter when theyre gone. Margot was silent. Surely, she thought, You shant carry any of it further, said Philip could not objeet to this; he was a T)ick resolutely. Get what youve got to good man, ready to help anybody, and, a~ buy, and Ill wait where you like, and as he said, he only disliked Barry because he long as you like, hut Im going to carry was idle and too fond of gay company, this home for you. which he would not believe he ever in- No, no, please; Id rather not; let me tended to give up. Poor fellow! that was have the boxes; Im not a bit tired now. just it; nobody believed him; they all Of course I dont want to force my laughed at his intentions, though she felt company on you, said the yonn~ man certain he meant what he said. Then she moodily; if youre ashamed for it to be had told him that Philip and she were seen, or said, that you walked down the betrothed lovers; so of course Philip village with me, Ill go one way and you would not be jealous any more. Still she can go another. felt doubtful and hesitated. Did n t the Dick! and Margot looked into his good God see her heart and know her face, when youve just been so kind to wish was to please Ilim and Philip? me! Should she say Yes or No? lIe would Kind! he echoed impatiently. I help her; and repeating the words alter~ aint kind; tisnt kind to do what pleases nately on her fin~,ers, and finding the little ye most in the world. Oh, Margot! he finger and Yes came last and together, went on, you dont know what a different she turned round, and putting her hand on chap you might make o me only by giving Dicks, said me a hoist up now-and-then by askin~ me It shall be as you say now; and when to do any little thing for ye. I dont look Philip comes back we will all be friends, for more than that now, because I see you and he will help you more than anybody havent got it to give me; but hes away, could. Stay, and I will go and get my and the old mans laid by, and twouldnt bread and the tobacco for grandfather, be much to let me strive to make you see and then well go up the road and back by I aint such a reglar bad one but that you Turacross. might make a man of me. I know what On their road Margot artlessly let Dick youre thinking about, he continued look- into many of the privations which she and ing at her somewhat perplexed face; her grandtitther had lately suffered, the youre wondering what hed say. AhI consequence of which was that the kind- tis easy enough for him to keep straight; hearted fellow determined to stick hard at do you think, if Id had the luck to win work, and not spend his wa,,es beforehand, what he has, that I should want to go jack~ by which means he could, by different de- LIYWG AGE. VOL. XXIII. 1O9~ 18 THE NEAP REEF. vices, contrive to help Margot and her grandfather without their suspecting it. So a few days after, he went to the cottage with a story of a shop at Luton which had given him an order for various nets and lines. If youll make em, he said, addressing old Dutton, Ill undertake to get them convoyed all right. Whereupon, between receiving the money for those already disposed of, and this order, which insured more to come, the poor old fellow, weakened by his recent illness, was quite overcome, and in a quaverin~ whisper told Dick that God would bless ,him, for theyd bin two upon one for the last month. Ah! and its longer than that since my poor lass has known what the taste of a full meal is. I know the meaning of her being chock-a-block afore shes had enough to feed a sparrur; tis all cos o me that I shall ha the more, and a sob choked his utterance and obli~ed him to be silent lest Margot should overhear him. This, then, was the foundation for the village gossip. Dick Barry stuck to his work; he was frequently absent from Crafts, and when he went, instead of waiting to be among the last to leave, he was often amon~ the first to go, saying he must be up early in the morning: lastly, he hadbeen met several times crossing the beach, or, if the weather was bad or the tide hi0h, goin,, down Turncross way. Will Smith had met him, and asked if he was bound on a French cutting-out expe- dition; and his chums began throwing out hints about Margot, at which the young fellows good-looking face would redden-up like a girls, and he would stain- mner out such flat denials as only confirmed their suspicions. But Margot heard noth- ing of this.; she only saw that by degrees Dick was growing different. She felt their brother-and-sisterly sort of footing to be very pleasant; and it was cheerful for somebody to come and chat with her grandfather, whose stren,,th came but slowly. Dick had a fine voice, and loved music dearly, and first he would sing, and then Margot would join him. Sometimes they would make theold man give them one of his quaint ditties, and Margot would laugh till the tears came, as, in a very high key, he bellowed out Adoo to you panish ladies! adoo to you ladies of Spain! or sang the pathetic history which had for its chorus Oh! take lessonbya fly, Never give way to luxury. Assuredly no people in Redneap spent an evening more cheerfully or innocently, not excepting even Mrs. Lee, although she went to chapel and class meetings, and returned home criticizing th preacher or his hearers; or, if they happened to satisfy her, applying his condemnations am1d re- proof, not to herself, but to omebody she knew, and whom she felt sure they must ha come home to. Even when she prayed for her son, the sole possessor of all the softness in her somewhat hard nature, it was rather in the spirit of thanking God he was not like other sons whom she knew of. lie was honest, sober, upright; yes, she had brought him up to be very differ- ent from most whom she could name. All these praises, in her strong love, were repeated by poor Margot, as she, too, nightly asked God to bless Philip Lee, and send him home in safety to her. To her? AhI how came it that such as she should have the blessing of this mans love? And, in her humility, she joyfully thanked God for his goodness to one who had so little but love to offer in return. It happened about this time, that the rectory Christmas treat was given, and to it all Redneap was invited, including, of course, old Dutton and Margot. The prospect of a little gaiety filled the girl with deli,,ht, the only drawback being that her grandfather didnt see how he could get so far. Tis such a journey round, he said dolefully, and I dont think II could manage Turncross. Yes you can, and you shall, exclaimed Margot. Ill drag you, and push you, and pull you, until you cannot help going on and getting to the top. When Barry came, he volunteered his help, and so it was arranged that he was to come to the cottage at a certain hour, and between them the old man was in some way to be got up to the rectory. And you make your mind easy about getting back, Margot, said Barry, for if its fair Ill get Thompsons boat, and if not Ill go back with you and see him all safe home. Therefore, had all been known, there was really no need for such a nudging of elbows as went round the room when, a little late, her eyes dancing with excite- ment, her rich colour deeper than usual from the no small exertion of pushing. while Barry dragged, poor old D utton up the steep ascent Margot entered between the two men, and went forward to make her curtsey before Mrs. Chenevix and the ladies assembled. Annie ! dye see? Well, I nevcr THE NEAP REEF. 19 did, exclaimed Mrs. Lee in a half-audible whisper, following Margot with her eyes, while Annie thought she had never seen any one so bewitching in all her life. She didnt wonder at the gracious smiles of the gentry at the evident admiration of the men clustered together about the room. All her thought was, did Margot prefer Dick to Philip? if not, what chance had she? Why, he couldnt help himself; nobody could resist her. She believed young Mr. Chenevix even was losing his heart to her as he bent down talking to her in her own tongue, the sound of which brought out ber smiles, and made sweet dimples play about her laughing mouth. Oh I Philip will never give her up, she almost groaned, in answer to another whisper from the widow. Isnt she looking most lovely? Tis the foot, not the face, the devils knowd by, snorted Mrs. Lee; and shes showed her hoof rather too plain for my son, or any other honest man, I hope, to be fobbed off by her brazen face, how- ever pretty it may be. Annie said no more; but as she sat watching her rival her heart sank within her, feeling how little chance her homely face and prim ways gave her. The ques- tion that seemed uppermost in her mind, and which she felt compelled to ask every one who sat beside her, was, Isnt Margot Dutton looking sweet and pretty? Well, yes, answered Mr. Vesey, whom the hospitable rector always be,ged as a personal favour to be present at this gen- eral and social gathering. The gift of a very comely presence has been bestowed upon her, and I trust she will be kept from setting undue store upon what often proves to be one of Satans most powerful snares. We are speaking of our young foreign friend, he added, turning to Mrs. Lee, to whom the kind-hearted ministers charitable blindness was often a sore stum- bling-block. Friend, indeed! said the widow an- grily. I dont know of anybody whod own her as such. She looks to me for all the world like a tambourine wench, with that rory-tory red and yaller handkercher, and them miserable brass ear-drops. Yes, its a thousand pities that nobody takes it upon them to speak out to her, put in the ministers wife, whose amount of tact in smoothing over the numerous offences of the small congregation quite equalled her husbands share of the chief of the Christian virtues. When she came up to us just this minute, Id two minds whether I wouldnt say what lay on my tongue to tell her. My dear! my dear! interrupted her husband hastily, remember the word should be in season, and the girl is young, and has been without guidance. If we pluck at her feathers now, the flesh will he rebellious; let us rather seek to touch her heart by gentle means, and moulting time will come, and these gay feathers will fall off of their own accord. Eh, neighbour Lee? you will agree with me there I know; and he fortunately turned away to speak to some one near, and so escaped hearing the contemptuous snort by which the widow relieved her outraged feelings. I do declare, she exclaimed as soon as Mrs. Vesey was well out of hearing, if Mr. Vesey aint enough to aggravate a saint! Sometimes I wonder whether hes quite so sharp as he should be. You know his sister was a little hippy after her two boys was drownd, and praps tis in the family. Oh my, I hope not! said Annie; but Im glad Mrs. Vesey didnt speak to Mar~,ot; tis better left to some other time than this, I think. Well then, Annie, you think wrong; for if Mr. Vesey dont choose to answer to his call as a minister, his wife should speak for him. Hes a great deal too fond of keeping his mouth shut, is Mr. Vesey, and thereby lettin the devil score one on his side; and, mark my words, if folks as withhold reproofs they should ha uttered dont find that its no such easy business to wipe out that tally. Later in the evening, when Margot, after several attempts, which had been adroitly thwarted, got over to Mrs. Lees side, and feeling drawn towards any one belonging to her absent lover, said in a soft shy whisper, I wish Philip was here, Madam, he would so enjoy it, and we should have nothing left to wish for, Mrs. Lee answered her in a tone which all could hear, that she didnt know what difference her sons being there could make to her. She had to be told if there was any reason why it should make or mar her pleasure. Whereupon the bystanders said to Mrs Lee, that they thou,,ht shed given Marg@t her answer; and to one another, that there was no cause for speaking like that to the girl before everybody; and, as sure as eggs was eggs, Mrs. Lee would be sorry for it some day, for they could see Margot meant nothing towards Barry, though he seemed almost as mad after her as Philip Lee himself, 20 THE NEAP REEF. CIIAPTE~ Vi. Tn~ hawthorn was blossoming in the Redneap hedges, the cuckoo was telling its good tidings to the glad villagers; the winter was over, the spring time had come and with it had come Philip Lee. Yes, Philip was at home again; and, having done ample justice to the substantial tea she had set forth in his honour, he sat by his old mothers fireside, pipe in hand, pre- pared to listen to the vast heap of news which for his benefit, amusement, and in- struction she had been all these months past accumulating. Mrs. Lee took out her knitting, and set- tled herself to enjoy, as only a woman can, the pleasure of retailing all this amount of gossip and soon she was deep in John Chubbs illness and death, the unnecessary display made at his funeral, the sermon preached by Mr. Horan, of whom, it was said, Mr. Vesey was uncommonly jealous; the various good or bad ventures made by the different boats, the prospects of the fishing trade, & c.; until, in the midst of a graphic account of Mrs. Crafts headstone, her son interrupted her by saying, some- what irrelevantly, How are all the maidens? Mrs. Lee gave him a sharp glance, but she only answered, Oh! all very well. Annie Turle was here on Sunday. Ever since you left she would ha me go there o Wednesdays, and have my tea and go to chapel with her; tis quite a pleasure to go to a place o worship with that girl, for shell brine away the sermon, word for word, and repeat it like a book. Anhies her mothers girl there, for all the Bate- ons were wonderful hands at remember- ing tbings. Philip gave a few more puffs at his pipe, and then he asked, Have you seen any- thing of old Dutton? Not lately. Here something went wrong with the pipe, and Philip had to turn completely away from his mother to remedy it, dur- ing which time he said, with assumed in- difference, Nor Mareot? Naomi Lee pursed up her thin lips as, without taking her eyes from her knitting she answered her sons question. No- body ever went down to the beach, or passed Craft, without being pretty sure to see Mareot wherever tbe men are you may hear her voice above all. In my day, a girl wouldnt ha bin much thought of that every man could make free and have his joke with. Oh! she means no harm, mother. You forget how different she was broueht up; twas the natural thing there for the wo- men to sit gossipin~ with the men. Theyre all just like her. Oh, indeed! said Mrs. Lee, with well-feigned surprise. Then Im thank- ful I live in a Christian country where the women know what decency means, and sit in their own houses all the week, and go to church or chapel on Sundays, and dont go giggling and gosterin~ without a bit o bonnet on their heads, and long e ai~-drops hanging to tbeir ears; if thats the French way, thank the Lord that Im English. And Mrs. Lee knitted away more vigor- ously than before, while Philip sat with troubled face and heart, wondering how his mother would act on hearing that he had chosen the chief of these offenders to bear her name, to fill her place, and to step into those shoes which were now employed in shaking off the dust of her resentment into the faces of the whole nation of for- eigners. Come, come, mother, he said at length, you mustnt speak hardly of her, for but Mrs. Lee interrupted him by exclaiming Ale speak hard o her! Well, Im sure Philip, youd best listen to what others ha got to say. Just ask Mr. Vesey whats his opinion o a girl who could go up to the rectory feast flaunting her great long ear-drops as bold as brass afore the ladies, and sit up laughing and jabbering away her lingo to young Mr. Chenevix and Capen Portescue, as if she was one o their own sort; or put the question to Mrs. Davis, if shed let her Sarah Jane set foot inside a dancing booth, as I under- stand Margot might ha bin seen at Rick- field Revels, capering away like one o Richardsons show-gals. But there, tis no business o mine, nor o yours neither, for that matter, so we neednt waste our time haggling over things that dont con- cern us. What Margot does concerns me very considerably, mother, said Philip, deter- mined to avow the engagement without any more delay. Surely ! answered his mother. What a pity then, that you wasnt home to advise her against taking up with a raff like that Barry, who shes walked with for the last why, amost ever since you left. Twas in everybodys mouth; for, as Mrs. Vesey said, far better shed tie a stone round her neck and jump into the sea than drag herself down with such a fel- low as Barry. Ill never believe it! exclaimed Philip, TilE NEAP REEF. 21 breaking his favourite pipe in his excite-I turn up or aside into any place rather ment. Tis an invention o some o them than meet me. lying Redneap gossipers, whore always Was that her fault or yours, mother? on the look-out to ruin a girls character. asked Philip; who, resting his hands on Because they may have seen Barry phulan- the high mantelshelf, leaned his head upon dering about there, for I spied out his theni and gazed moodily into the fire. bearings long before I went away, The last time I saw you together, you theyve put it down at once as a settled was so chuff and stand off that it was no ob; but I know Margot better, mother. wonder she fought shy of coming here. Why, Id doubt my own self in such a Mrs. Lee avoided replying directly to matter as soon as I would her. her ~ons question, but went on, I may Mrs. Lee had been prepared to hear say that Ive never but once been fairly doubts and a certain amount of defence faced by her, and then I own that praps I and argument from Philip, but she was wasnt over cordial; for though, as I said quite unprepared for this excited display before, shes no favourite o mine, still Im of a passion which betrayed itself in voice a mother, Phil, and I have a feeling for and manner more than in words. Was it other mothers, and I thought what would possible that there was more between ha been the feelings o hers who, Ive them than she had known of? If so, all heerd from you, was a respectable, indus- the greater reason that his eyes should be trious woman to see her child enter that opened, and it would therefore need all room afore all the gentry and the village her woman~ s wariness and cunning to fan people with Dick Barry, whom many had his jealousy and inflame his anger. This their doubts if the rector should ha asked she would do without exhibiting her own at all. dislike towards the girl, for experience Margot went to Mr. Chenevixs with had taught her that Philip was ever ready Barry? almost groaned poor Philip. It to screen Margot from blame, and to take must ha bin accidental, mother. her part against any one who expressed Mrs. Lee shook her head. the smallest condemnation of her or her People dont come together and go to- doings. gether unless theyve fixed it all before- I dont -wonder at what you say, hand ;. besides which I heerd her say, if it Philip, his mother began, seeming not to hadnt been for Barry, she should never notice his emotion, for at the first go off ha got up Turncross. And then, when I didnt pay any heed to it neither. Mar- after all these fly-away airs she walks up got is no favourite o mine, and that I to me sayin something about, if Philip plainly own, bnt Ive allays credited her as was there she supposed 1 should be quite being a girl desirous o keeping respect- happy well, I answered rather short, able company, and knowing Im one as is and no wonder neither. set agin the French, Ive not bin above Philip was silent. lie couldnt answer asking my~elf if I didnt praps stickle his mother; he could only keep asking overmuch at her furrin ways. himself if it was possible that Margot had And you have always bin dead against forgotten and forsaken him. Had she, her, mother; from the first she couldnt while he was away toiling and saving that say, nor do, nor look so as to please you they might be married whenever he re- at all. turned, cast him off for the man of all Mrs. Lee checked her angry answer, others most odious to him, a man whom and paused to draw a fresh supply of oil she knew that he disliked and despised? to pour upon the kindled fire. Impossible; but why then go to the rec- I aint the first mother, Phil, whos tory with him, where everybody ~vould see thought nobody good enou~h for her boy, and make their remarks about her, more and perhaps a feeling did sometimes make especially his mother, whom he had begged me speak out more than I meant or felt in her to conciliate as much as possible? Oh! regard to Margot. Theres some mar- it was unkind, cruel! And then his love riages by which you seem to have gained began to plead for the offender, and su,- a daughter, and theres some make ye feel gest that his mother might be exaggerat. youve lost your son; but nobody can ac- ing. He would wait, and, if condemna- cuse me o ever breathing a false word tion must be given, it should be given by agin Margot, or of bringing a charge be- her own lips, not on anybodys elses rep- hind her back I wouldnt ha made before resentation. If he could but go at once and her face. Since youve bin gone shes see her, but it was already late, and the never bin the one to come anigh me, and distance to Shingle Cove was over two if by chance I met her in the village, shed miles, go which way you might. How 22 THE NEAP REEF. should he manage? I think Ill take a turn outside, he said suddenly; I shant be gone ten minutes; and, without wait- ing for the remonstrance which he knew was certain to come, he stepped out, hoping to gain from the cool air relief and inspiration how best to act. He was still calculating in how short a time he could run down to the cottage, in the direction of which he stood gazing, when his reverie was broken by that disagreeable but ac- credited British mode of welcome a hearty slap on the back the perpetrator of which pleasantry wheeled in front of him, exclaiming, What, Phil Lee! why whod have thought it I Come, tip us your flipper, mate. Why, you look more like a man whos got rid of the last shot in his locker than one just come back, as I hear you have, with your pockets full of shin- ers. Philip tried to put on a more cheerful expression as he took his friends proffered hand, and laughingly replied, I dont know much about the pocketful of shiners. Where did you hear that? Why, at the best news-shop in the vil- lage Crafts, to be sure. Oh! what, you still all meet there? I should think so, said his companion. Why I dont believe youd find a house to equal Crafts no, not in sailin0 round the globe. I never met with one; and wherever I go, I generally try em. Theyre such a one-and-all set of fellows there, ready to give and take a joke, and enjoy it, turn how it may no cutting up rou,,h nor moping with them; its Gail gail dessus le quai I And he roared out the refrain to one of Margots songs at the top of his hoarse voice. In his present mood, the sound made Philip feel as if he could have strangled the man. Where did you get that? he ex- claimed snappishly. Where? why from your old flame, the pretty Margot. AhI its well youve come home, or youd have found your flag hauled down, I can tell ye. Ha! ha! you should ha seen Barrys chopfallen look, when young Nat Condy told him you was at Luton; all the fellows were at him; for hes been on dooty at the cottage pretty regular since youve bin away, and he didnt half like being told hed have to sh6er off now to the tune of Get up, Jack, let John sit down. Philips rage seemed to choke him, to the unbounded delight of Sam Collins, who chuckled over the account he should give at Crafts of the clever manner in which he had raised Philip Lees dander, and made him so jealous. Fortunately they had arrived jusf in front of his home, so that. Philip could escape without being obliged to listen to any more of Collinss rollicking jocundity. Im going in, he said gruffly. Good- nir~ht. Oh! good ni,,ht, old chap. I shall tell em at Crafts Ive seen ye. Come now, look in some night and have a yarn with us. You know its always Gail gail dessus le quail And he went off, laughing heartily at Philips mode of receiving his invitation, which was to slam the door with such vio- lence that his mother jumped off her chair, while all the pots and pans and household crockery joined in chorus with her exela- ruation of astonishment. Philip muttered something about the wind being so strong and that fool Collins, and then threw him- self into a chair, and declared he thought he must turn in, for he felt too tired to speak. Mrs. Lee did not attempt to dissuade him. She lit his candle, and told him hed feel all the better for a nights rest; and, pretending not to notice his discomposure, the mother parted with her son for the night thankful that she had thus put a stop to what she saw had gone further than she had any idea of; pitying her boy, from whom she would have taken and willingly borne every pain and sorrow, but nursing hatred towards the girl who could cause him a heartache for which his mother had no healing balsam. And Philip? He tossed and turned, making his old bed creak and groan with his restlessness, as he wore out the long night with imaginary interviews, full of bitter reproaches and humiliating contri- tion, sharp words and timely penitence. Finally he sank to sleep, and dreamed that he was in the midst of a storm, whose fierce raging he heeded not, because he held Margot tight clasped in his arms, and all was for~,iven and forgotten. CHAPTER VII. IT was the day after Philips return, and by three oclock in the afternoon Margot had worked herself into a fever of excite- ment and expectation. What could be keeping him away? Something very im- portant, she felt sure, for no doubt or sus- picion of the truth ever crossed her mind. By a very early hour she had finished her house-work, dressed herself with more than her usual care, and taken up her po- sition on a seat at some little distance from the cottage, where she sat waiting with nervous anxiety for her lover to make THE NEAP REEF. 23 his appearance. Never before had she I had a little job to bring me thia pulled the twine of her netting into such way; so I thought Id just give a look in inextricable knots, never had she felt such here, and say to Lee that you and grand- impatience in undoing them. At length father had both took me by the hand, and her fingers made a sudden stop. She helped me to get quit o some old chums hears a step sees a shadow looks up who were rather too much for me; and and Dick Barry is standing before and that I hoped his coming home wouldnt her. make any difference, and that we should Oh! is that you, Dick? and if a hope all keep friendly, the same as weve bin still lingered in poor Dicks breast, that since hes bin away. look and tone of disappointment crushed And Philip will be the first to say and banished it altogether. Yes, exclaimed Margot. I wonder what Thats a sorry sort o welcome to get, is keeping him. I made certain he would Margot. But, there, I suppose I mustnt be down this morning, and now it is nearly expect much now hes back, he added bit- four oclock. Where can he be? terly. Where? Why so close to Margot that Margots nerves were too much on the he could jealously mark each look that strain to permit of her taking anything flitted across her face, watch every move- coolly; besides she felt vexed and angry ment of her lips as they framed the words with Barry for not being Philip, and, which he strove vainly to hear. woman-like, was inclined to vent her dis- It was thus with Philip. The whole pleasure on the innocent object who had morning he had been wondering what he disappointed her. should do, and how he should act. At You may expect as much as you ever one moment he would determine not to go get from me, she said in a sharp voice; near the cotta~,e for days; he would let and I dont know who you mean by he. her see, that as she could do without him, You know I mean Phil Lee, Margot. he could do without her; then he was for We never managed to put up our horses seeking Barry, and having it out with together yet, and Im doubting if we shall him; at another time he would start up, et on better now. Leastways, Im sure feeling that to listen to the damning evi- we shant if you dont stick by me. dence of Margots faithlessness, which his There, there, forgive me if I spoke mother kept quietly dropping, was more sharp, and Margot, already repentant, than he could bear; and finally, these nar- held out her hand to him. I do feel very rations of Mrs. Lees so maddened him, cross-tempered to-day, and she gave a that he determined to seek Margot and little sigh, tax her with her heartlessness and infidel- Dick divining the probable cause, said ity. Filled with these bitter thoughts, I reckon Phil hasnt got his business he hurried down the rugged path, every over, fore nobodys set eyes on him in the jutting stone and sharp turn of which was village. Have you seen him down here familiar to him, and forced him to recall yet? the times without number when he had Margot shook her head. hastened, joyful and light of heart, to Do you know if he came last night? meetings very different from the one he she asked. was now seeking. These happier memo- Yes, he came, cos I met one or two ries gradually softened him, and growing that saw him. tenderer by the time he gave the final Dick did not say that his principal in- jump, which brought him close to the back formant was Sam Collins, and that, fear- of the cottage, a great portioa of his an- ing from the broad hints thrown out by ger had vanished, and had given place to that worthy, he had been unduly riling a soreness which instead of urging him to Philip and casting false imputations on angry upbraidings, prompted him to take Dicks visits to Margot, he had certain the dear transgressor in his arms, and of finding Philip at the cottage started ask her how she could treat him so, know- off with the intention of setting all square ing as she did that all his heart and love at once. As it was, he hardly knew what and hope lay in her keeping? to do; he never intended letting Margot As usual, the cottage door stood open, suspect that there had been any banter and, as usual, its occupants were not with- relative to her among the frequenters of in to answer his summons. Well, that the village ale-house; still he wanted to gave him neither annoyance nor surprise. give her a hint, in case Philip should be- Most likely round the rock, which gave its tray any jealousy; so he went on, after a protecting shelter to that primitive abode, pause he should find old Dutton busily employed 24 THE NEAP REEF. in mending or painting somebodys boat, minds to step up to ask Annie to put it while Margot, seated on the edge, would off till next week. be chattering away to him, her tongue Dont do anything o the kind, moth- running and her fingers flying as she er, exclaimed Philip sharply. Im well made the coarse nets which her grand- enough. What nonsense you do talk! father so!d. For he felt any distraction would be a re While Philip had been absent, his imag- lief just then~ ination had brightened many a dark night Mrs. Lee said no more, and in due time by recalling the pair, who formed the Annie arrived, and was graciously re- principal figures in a far more picturesque ceived by both mother and son. Her fath- scene than even he realized. Familiarity er, she said would not be able to come had made him indifferent to the grand until the evening; so tea was taken, and beauty of the place, its perilous rockiness Mrs. Lee, havin~ cleared it away, sat and great patches of red sand which, be- down with a feeling of contented satisfac- yond the small pebbled landing-place tion that all was going on swimmingly. where the boats were hauled up, spread Philip talked and joked with Annie as he out for miles round. Often not a soul was had never done before, causing the shy, to be seen but the old grey-headed fisher- silent girl to brighten, so that, as Mrs. man, and by his side, in all the pride of her Lee expressed it, you wouldnt ha young beauty, his dark-eyed granddaugh- named her for the same girl. But alas ter, her well-devised costume setting off for those castles in the air, which are oft- to the greatest advantage a figure which times so suddenly dispelled! Most unex- health and exercise had thoroughly devel- pectedly up jumped Philip, feeling he oped. Philips heart had considerably should go mad if lie stayed much longer, softened, as he turned the point round though he merely said hed see how the which he expected to see the two he night was looking, and have a smoke out- sought; but in an instant every soft feel- side. Mrs. Lee did all in her power to ifl,, vahished, for close by Margot stood make him sit still, smoke his pipe indoors, Dick Barry. From his downcast face, he and be comfortable; but Philip only seemed to be receivin0 his dismissal a laughed as he looked round for his hat, dismissal his faithless siren cannot give and saying he shouldnt be long, closed without betraying, by the way she puts the cottage door behind him. her hand into his, how much pain she suf- Oh! what a relief it was to be in the fers in returning to the man to whom pm- open air, out in the dark night, under dence alone binds her. A rush of blind cover of which he could look as he liked, mad passion swept over Philip Lee, so and give way to all the thoughts he had that when, a few minutes after, stumbling, been striving for hours to battle against! he fell on the grassy cliff-side he was lie walked up the lane, and across to a mounting, he thanked God for turnin0 his rough stone boundary, whence~ when steps from, not towards the guilty pair the flying scud allowed the moon a chance who had wrecked his peace, and stranded of lighting up the darkness he could him desolate and lonely for ever, see the waves which would roll in to the When Philip returned to his home, beach close to where dwelt the cause of though he said nothing of what had all his misery. Leaning his arms on the passed, his sharp-sighted umother felt cer- parapet, he gazed abstractedly and hope- tam that he and Margot had met and lessly, until some one suddenly touched parted, and with the inconsistency of love, him and said softly, Philip! though she had striven for, and rejoiced It was Margot, who, unable to bear the in anticipation over, this end, she hated suspense lon~er, had been lingering near more bitterly than before the woman who the cottage for more than an hour with could cause such despair and agony as she the hope of seeing or hearing somethin~ detected under Philips moody silence, of him. She had said to herself that uP- abrupt movements, and fitful attempts at less it had been impossible for Philip to cheerful conversation. She almost wished run down amid see her, which she was she could find some excuse for putting off certain was the case, she should meet Annie Turle, whomn in honour of his re- him very coolly, and not tell him of her turn, she had invited to tea, and with this joy that her prayers were answered, and thought she ventured to say that he was back safe. She followed him You aint looking a bit yourself to- up the lane, and stealthily towards the day, Phil; your face is as peaky and cliff, intending to surprise himn on his way wished as can be, its so contrairy that to the cottage, to which she felt sure he the Turles should be coming. Ive two was going. THE NEAP REEF. 25 But what makes him stop and droop his head so dejectedly? Can he be in trouble? Ab, Philip I and in an instant she is by his side, her heart overflowing with love, and the tender wish to share his every sorrow. Philips whole frame vibra- ted at the soft touch and well-remembered voice, tic knew that if he did not summon up all his strength and pride, he should take her in his arms, and, in spite of her falseness, her folly, her heartlessness, im- plore her still to be his. But he would master himself; and, turning so that he mi~ht rudely shake off her hand, he said, in as sneering a tone as he could command his trembling voice to assume Yes, its me; not your new fancy, Dick Barry. Dick Barry! repeated the ~,irl all amazed. Philip, what on carth is it that y~n mean? And thereupon Philip gave way to the jealousy which was consuming him; he flung at her the most stinging accusations, the most bitter reproaches mingled with great bursts of a love which, in her roused anger, Margot declared she did not believe in, but that she gladly released him from a tie which they had both felt for a long time was a sore burden. And so they parted Philip standing dogged and sullen until Margot was out of si~ht and hearing, and then uttering the bitter cry, Mar0ot, Margot 1 All the stinging reproaches and hard words he had uttered vanished, and were forgotten in presence of the terrible wounds she had inflicted. Had she shown one trace of sorrow, or given one denial, though all were true he could have forgiven her. But to meet him in the way she had done, she must be false and guilty, and glad, as she said, that at length they were parted for ever. And Philip flun~ himself on the grass, asking how he should endure his life without her who had been its greatest joy and happiness. And Margot? She returned to the little cotta~e with white face and tightened mouth. Quietly she got her grandfathers supper, and sat down on her accustomed stool gazing vacantly before her. From time to time the old man asked her some trivial question, to which she answered yes or no, until, unable to bear seeing her in trouble; he got up and put his arm round her, saying Whats gone amiss, lovey? Taint no- thing wrong with Phil yeve heerd? No, only that he wont come here again. I met him, and he said things that were false and untrue. He said but it is of no consequence we have parted now altogether. No, no! exclaimed the old man, shak- ing his head. Dont ce say so, deane; dont cc say so. Youve only parted com- pany for a time, like most crafts do sooner or later; but youll come to one anchorage yet, spite o that old vinegar-faced mother o his, whos at the bottom o it all, Ill warrant, a-wanting him to take up with Shifty Turles maid. Where have you heard that? asked Margot sharply. Why, one place and tother, for ever so long. But never fear, lovey, Phil aint the one to go backing out o what he knows weve long set our hearts upon. Manys the promise hes gived to me that, come what might, you should be his wife, and not be cast adrift when Im dead and gone, like a ship without a rudder, for such I hold a woman is, without a purtector. Then it was pity which had bound Philip to her. That was all he had to give in ex- change for her love, and through the night long her bitterest cry was, Philip, why did you not tell me? I could have borne it then, but now I have given you all my heart, and I can never take it back again. CHAPTER VIII. Tuu summer months passed away, dur- ing which Mrs. Lee saw but little of her son, who pretended that it was impossible for him to run home as frequently as he had formely done. He had again taken command of the Bluebell, and was actively engaged in bringing fruit, eggs, fish, or whatever was saleable, from the French ports to Luton. Constantly did he regret his inability to throw up his vessel and her trade, and start off for the uttermost parts of the globe, in the vain hope that distance might prove efficacious in curing the hope- less passion which was still a barrier to either peace or contentment. But he could not leave his mother; now that she was getting old and dependent, it was his duty to try and make some return for all the sacrifices she had formerly made for him; besides which she had complained lately, in a way unusual to one who never com- plained, of feeling weak and poorly, and she certainly looked worried and anx- ious. The truth was, that though Mrs. Lees schemes had up to this point succeeded beyond her expectations, the completion of them seemed to be as distant as ever. When Philip came home he always ap- peared glad to see Annie, whom he called 26 THE NEAP REEF. a good girl. Often he would suggest, that his mother should divide with her some of the good things with which he came laden from Luton dainties which, he used to tell himself, stuck in his own throat, be- cause of her before whom he longed to place the finest and freshest of them. He was most kind and brotherly; but there his atteiitions came to an end, for neither by word nor look could Annie ever reason herself into the belief that Philip meant anything towards her; and it required all Mrs. Lees efforts to keep alive the fast- dying-out hope that, notwithstanding he had broken with Margot, he had no inten- tion of supplying her place with an- other. Nonsense, child, Mrs. Lee would say. If so be he is still hankering after her, why dont he go there? Im sure theres nought to hinder him, in a place where every mans free to come and go; but, to my certain knowledge, hes never been a- nigh the place. How is it that people with the love of rule in them so often become over-confi- dent? Mrs. Lee felt perfectly satisfied that her sons feelings, and movements were as an open book to her, and that she held the key to his character. And often would she complacently announce that her Philip was as open as the day, that he never hid nothing, and that what he said he meant, and so on. She would not have given credit to any one who had told her, that many a night, when she believed him safely on board the Blmtebell, he had stolen into Redneap, and hiding behind the rocks, or skulking round the boats, had sought to get a glimp~e of the face his eyes seemed hungering to look upon. Ah! how wearily and bitt:~rly he generally retraced his steps; for, with the usual unpropitious fate of luckless lovers, he always went on an evening when Margot was away, or when some of the old mans chums had strolled round the point to have a gossip with them, and Philip now couldnt speak in the presence of strangers. Poor Margot, too, was equally unfortu- nate; for twice out of the few occasions on which she had met Philip he had been with Annie Turle, and once she herself was walking with Dick Barry, whom she had only met five minutes before. Mrs. Lee never mentioned Margots name now. One evening she had begun talking about her to Annie Tune in Philips presence, when Annie with the intuition of love, tried to soften the old womans harsh accusations, gaining golden opinions from the man whose love she coveted, by the kind things she said of her rival, and the admiration she expressed for her beauty. After Annie left, Philip spoke to his mother very gravely; and though Mrs. Lee deeply resented her sons first attempt to lay any embargo on her speech, from that time she ,~ave up making Margot the subject of her uucbaritable comments at least, when he was present. Latterly, a new worry had arisen to tor- ment the anxious mother, and this was the marked attention paid to Annie by Mr. INathaniel loran, the popular preacher. He had met Annie at a chapel-tea, and had spent a Sunday at the Turles, when he had preached a sermon for the mission- ary fund, and ever afterwards the young preaTher had made constant excuses for coming to Redneap. Mr. Vesey too, with a sly look at Annie, had said that he had never any difficulty in getting Mr. [loran to take his pulpit. Finally, though Annie herself never gave him a serious thought, she was not averse to showing Philip and his mother that it wasnt for want of a chance. that she was not married; al- though, as she reflected, shed rather be an old maid all the days of her life, than tie herself down that way. Ive had enough o chapel ways, she thou0ht. I always want to do whats right; i~ut when Im married, I mean to be independent, and not forced to act only as Mrs. Vesey or Mrs. Davis thinks fit. Im sure Im afraid to open my lips before them; they two make a bodys life a complete burden, And Mrs. Lee d be every bit as bad, if she didnt want me for Philip; thou,h thingsll take a turn, I can tell her, if ever I do get him. Philips pride forbade him making in- quiries about Margot in the village, and even had it not, be would have, learned but little of her; for Mrs. Lees friends, like herself, were far too respectable not to be prejudiced against a girl who could live contentedly in that outlandish sort of boat- house place, and who might be found by the side of her old grandfather with her shoes and stockings off, and her legs bare, doing the work of a man. Poor child! her detractors never considered what a hard matter it had been for her to get these decent coverings, which were care- fully kept to put on when she went to the village, knowing that Philip would not like to see her otherwise. The people who could have told most about Margot were those stigmatized as a good-for-nothing, idle lot, into whose dwelling the village Pharisees entered not, only commenting on the frequent attacks of THE NEAT REEF. 27 fever and other complaints their ill-drained j Philip and Annie had heen seen walking, and ill-ventilated dwellings hrought upon and coming into chapel together. them hy saying, It served em right; On the strength, therefore, of this evi- twas a judgment on em. There was al- dence, Diek Barry now estahlished as a ways something the matter with such steady workman, if not an entirely reform- folks. It was to these poor cottages, ed character made up his mind once lying thick and close to the waters edge, more to try his fate, and speak to Margot that Margot often came as a ray of light. on the subject which still lay nearest to The inmates all knew that she was as poor his heart. But he was not allowed to as themselves; and when she did brine a proceed very far before Mar0ot stopped little of the vegetable soup on which she him, bidding him say no more; as, if they and her grandfather principally lived, it were to remain friends, he had better was saved from the share which at most remember that with her nothing was times was so~newhat scanty for her oxen changed since the last time they had healthy appetite. Gifts, therefore, she spokea on this subject. could not bring; hut she could bring her I only thought, Dick stammered out, wiliin~ heart and strong hands to wash that, as Phil seems to have taken up and dress the children, scrub out the room, with somebody else, in time, you know, and make many a neglected sufferer clean Margot, you might and comfortable. Was it any wonder, But Mar~,ot shook her head. therefore, that wherever these met her If Philip feels he can marry Annie she had welcome nods, outstretched hands, Turle, she said, I shall be the last to and familiar greetings, causing those who blame him. But as for me, until my heart stood apart to think of or sneeringly men- chances, I shall he as I am, all my life. tion the proverb, Birds of a feather flock And when, after renewed promises of con- together? tinued friendship, poor Dick very deject- During this past autumn, a season edly took his leave, Margot hid her face in when fever was always more rife among her hands, and tried, while the tears fell them, Margot had done more than ever from her eyes like rain, to pray that Philip she had done before. It seemed a sort of might be happy. Trouble had weighed relief to work, none to sit still. Therefore, rather heavily on Margot lately; for, in after toiling hard all day, she would take addition to her own heart-sorrow, her the little patched-up tub they called a grandfather had been, from the time the boat, and row herself round to Cockle colder weather set in, laid up with one of Cove, generally finding something upon his attacks, and she looked forward there- which to bestow a portion of her restless fore with dismay to the lone winter which energy. Unknown to herself, the shadow was before them. At Redneap November which had fallen on her life had greatly had been a month of continuous rain, chastened the girls naturally generous auguring, according to the weather-wise, and impulsive character. She was ten- a dry Christmas. It wanted now barely a derer than ever to her old grandfather, week to Christmas-day; and as Margot humourin0 him until he would cry out looked around her, she sighed, thinking it pettishly was very hard not to feel happy when You wont argify with me anyways, everything seemed clothed with beauty Margot. I want to see ye flare up as ye and gladness. used to do; but youre changed com- The early afternoon sun of a winter pletely. Tis all along o Phil, I know day was shining with all its cheerful that; and if youd only let me seek him brightness, touching up and lingering out, lovey, Ill warrant Ill make all square about the old black cliffs, while little in a brace o shakes. wavelets danced and rippled on the soft But to this she would not listen. Twas red sand, making a pleasant plashirig grandfather led him on, she thought. sound that murmured soothingly to the First his promise to poor mother, and girls wounded spirit. Naturally her then grandf ther all but asking him to thoughts turned to the happy days of her marry me. lie knew not how to act, love. Ilow. thoughtful, Ii ow tender, had perhaps. Philip been to her! never unkind, never From various circumstances, too, the unforgiving, but ever ready to make up report was very general that Philip was the quarrels, which were always of her keeping company with Annie Turle. Mrs. seeking. When first she came to Redneap Lee hadnt denied it; old Turle had turned a lonely child without a friend save him- it off by saying there was more unlikely self, ah! what had he not been to her birds than that flying; and, as a climax, then? Yes, until that last sad parting, 28 THE NEAL REEF. and once or twice when he was jealous of think I oughter my beauty, when I knowd her, and feared that she eared for some- Phil Lees father when his face was as body else who had paid her attention, smooth as yer own purty one is. Philip had never breathed a harsh word to Ah! Uncle Ben, exclaimed Margot, her. What could have made him so un- with a petulant shrug of her shoulders, just? And then she went over the inter- never mind tellin,, me about his father, view, recalling her own angry words and but say if you know when Philip will bitter speeches (oh! they had never have returned, and if you cannot, say seemed so bad before! how could she say what is the best way for me to find out. such things!) until she thought it was no Oh! as to finding out, replied Uncle wonder he was provoked. No doubt, but Ben, just you leave that to me; Ive only had she said this all would have been dif- to ax the old woman, which, as I dont ferent. True, it was wrong, very wrong know rightly myself, would be the shortest of him to suspect her, but then had not way. Philip often said he couldnt help being This being the point Margot desired to jealous? it was because he loved her so gain, she readily agreed with him, getting dearly. She could see now that it was a further promise that he would pay Mrs. almost entirely the fault of her own Lee an early visit the next morning, when wicked, proud temper she should have he would be sure not to let out to that spoken and acted differently to him, and sharp-sighted matron, by look or sign, that he would soon have seen that all he was the inquiry did not proceed wholly from saying was false. Now she could have himself. gone down on her knees before him and You know, added the girl, twisting asked forgiveness, only this about An- the corner of her woollen apron into a nie Turle? Was it true ? somehow she hard ball, we have not been quite friends did not believe it; but suppose it should of late, and I want to see Philip without be so? And after a few minutes further his mother, or anybody else, knowing any- reverie she suddenly jumped up, with the thing about it. Do you understand, Uncle determination that whatever might be the Ben? and she lifted up her sweet face all result, she would seek out Philip and have aglow with rosy confusion. a reconciliation. If they could be nothing The old man looked at her for a minute to one another, at least they need not be or so, and then with a comical expression ~enemies; and as, in her en~ erness, she ran he said, meditatively along the sands to the object of her first Sweetheartings a rum game nowadays. inquiries, notwithstanding her arguments Theres you a-mopin and frettin, for to the contrary, hope was strong within Ive seed ye when youve thought nobody her that all would yet turn out well, was nigh, and theres Phil Lee skulking The person from whom Margot thought about, as if he was ashore on the new act, it most likely she should obtain her infor- tryin to get a glimpse o ye, and then ination, was an old man known as Uncle when ye hove in sight scuttling off like a Ben, who, while pursuing his occupation rabbit. I but Margot had caught as seller of the fish he himself caught, and him by the arm. those which the few fishermen around Uncle Ben, she cried; how? tell iRedacap entrusted to him contrived to me what you mean; where have you seen become acquainted with all that took Philip? place in the various houses he visited. Why, peepin into the window, and be- Margot found him seated before an up- hind Flatpole rock not once, Lord love turned boat, busily employed in patching ye, but a dozen times. What, at it again! it and putting it into order. bless the maid, youre as leaky as my old Uncle Ben, she began Without further boat. Why I niver did introduction, do you know if the Bluebell Nor I either, laughed Margot in the is expected here, and whether shes at midst of her tears; for I nra crying be- Luton, or where she is? cause I am so happy now. Oh, Uncle Uncle Ben paused in his work, stood as Ben! but you are a dear old man! upright as a long life spent between low decks would permit him, pushed up his __________ old cap, and meditatingly repeated The Bluebell ? PaoFEssoRs E. CTJRTIIJS, Strack. and Adler, Yes, yes, cried the girl impatiently; have arrived in Smyrna on an arch~eologcal you know Philip Lees boat? mission, having for its main object the investi- Philip Lees boat? echoed the old gation of the ruins of Sardis and its neighbour~ man in the same low tone. I should hood. ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. 29 From The Contemporary Review, modern philosophers cannot resist the at ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF ~IYTHOLOGY. traction of these ancient problems. That BY MAX MULLER. stream of philosophic thought which, springing from Descartes (1596 1650), WHAT can he in our days the interest rolled on through the seventeenth and of mythology? What is it to us that eighteenth centuries in two beds thc Kronos was the son of Uranos and Gain, ideclistic, marked by the names of Male- and that he swallowed his children Lies branche (1638 1715), Spinoza (1632 tia, Demeter, hera, Pluton, and Poseidon, 1677), and Leibnitz (1648 1716); and as soon as they were born? What have the sensualistic, marked by the names of we to do with the stories of Rhea, the wife Locke (1632 1704), David Hume (1711 of Uranos, who, in order to save her 1776), and Condillac (1715 1780), till youngest son from being swallowed by his the two arms united again in Kant (1724 father, gave her husband a stone to swal- 1804), and the full stream was carried low instead? And why should we be on by Schelling (1775 1854), and Hegel asked to admire the exploits of this (1770 1831), this stream of modern youngest son, who when he had grown up, philosophic thought has ended where made his father drink a draught, and thus ancient philosophy began in a Philoso- helped to deliver the stone and his five phy of Mythology, which, as you know, brothers and sisters from their paternal forms the most important part of Schel- prison? What shall we think if we read hugss final system, of what he called him- in the most admired of classic poets that self his Positice Philosophy, given to the these escaped prisoners became after- world after the death of that great thinker wards the great gods of Greece, gods be- and poet in the year 1854. lieved in by Homer, worshipped by Sokra- I do not mean to say that Schelling and tes, immortalized by Phidias? Why Aristotle looked upon mythology in the should we listen to such horrors as that same light, or that they found in it exact- Tantalos killed his own son, boiled him, ly the same problems; yet there is this and placed him before the gods to eat? or common feature in all who have thought that the gods collected his limbs, threw or written on mythology, that they look them into a caldron, and thus restored upon it as something which, whatever it Pelops to life, minus, however, his shoulder, may mean, does certainly no~ mean what which Demeter had eaten in a fit of ab- it seems to mean; as something that re- sence, and which had therefore to be re- quires an explanation, whether it be a placed by a shoulder made of ivory? system of religion, or a phase in the de- Can we ima~ inc anything more silly, velopment of the human mind, or an in- more savage, more senseless, anythin0 evitable catastrophe in the life of lan~ua~e. more unworthy to engage our thoughts, According to some, mythology is history even for a single moment? We may pity changed into fable; according to others, our children that, in order to know how to fable changed into history. Some discover construe and understand the master-works in it the precepts of moral philosophy en- of Homer and Virgil, they have to fill nunciated in the poetical language of an- their memory with such idle tales; but we tiquity; others see in it a picture of the might justly suppose that men who have great forms and forces of nature, particular- serious work to do in this world, would ly the sun, the moon, and the stars, the banish such subjects for ever from their changes of day and night, the succession thoughts. of the seasons, the return of the years And yet, how strange, from the very all this reflected by the vivid imagination childhood of philosophy, from the first of ancient poets and sages. Epicharmos, faintly-whispered Why? to our own time for instance, the pupil of Pythagoras, de- of matured thought and fearless inquiry, dared that the gods of Greece were not mnytholo~y has been the ever-recurrent what, from the poems of Homer, we might subject of anxious wonder and careful suppose them to be personal beings, en- study. The ancient philosophers, who dowed with superhuman powers, though could pass by the petrified shells on moun- liable to many of the passions and frailties tam-tops and the fossil trees buried in of human nature. He maintained that their quarries, without ever asking the these gods were really the Wind, the question how they came to be there, or Water, the Earth, the Sun, the Fire, and what they signified, were ever ready with the Stars. Not long after his time another doubts and surmises when they came to philosopher, Empedokles, holding that the listen to ancient stories of their gods and whole of nature consisted of a mixture and heroes. And, more curious still, even separation of the four elements, declared 30 ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. that Zeus was the element of Fire. Here the element of Air, Aidoneus or Pluton, the element of Earth, and Nestis the ele- merit of Water. In fact, whatever the freethinkers of Greece discovered success- ively as the first principles of Being and Thought, whether the air of Anaximenes, or the fire of Herakleitos, or the Nous or Mind of Anaxagoras, was readily identified with Zeus and the other divine persons of Olympian mythology. Metrodoros, the contemporary of Anaxagoras, went even further. While Anaxagoras would have been satisfied with looking upon Zeus as but another name of his Nous, the highest intellect, the mover, the disposer, the gov- ernor of all things, Metrodoros resolved not only the persons of Zeus, Here, and Athene, hut likewise those of human kings and he- roes such as Agamemnon, Achilles, and Hektor into various combinations and physical agencies, and treated the adven- tures ascribed to them as natural facts, hidden under a thin veil of allegory. Sokrates, as is well known, looked upon such attempts at explaining all fables alle- gorically as ~oo arduous and unprofitable; yet he, too, as well as Plato, pointed fre- quently to what they called the hypdnoia, the under-current, if I may say so, or the under-meaning of ancient mythology. Aristotle speaks more explicitly : It has been handed down, he says, by early and very ancient people, and left to those who came after, in the form of myths, that these (the first principles of the world) are the gods, and that the divine embraces the whole of na- ture. The rest has been added mythically, in order to persuade the many, and in order to be used in support of laws and other interests. Thus they say that the gods have a human form, and that they are like to some of the other living beings, and other things consequent on this, and similar to what has been said. If one separated out of these fables, and took only that first point, viz., that they believed the first essences to be gods, one would think that it had been divinely said, and that while every art and every philos- ophy was probably invented ever so many times and lost again, these opinions had, like frag- ments of them, been preserved until now. So far only is ~he opinion of our fathers, and that received from our first ancestors, clear to us. I have quoted the opinions of these Greek philosophers, to which many more mi0ht have been added, partly in order to show how many of the most distinguished minds of ancient Greece agreed in demand- ing an interpretation, whether physical or metaphysical, of Greek mythology, partly in order to satisfy those classical schol- ars, who, forgetful of their own classics, forgetful of their own Plato and Aris totle, seem to imagine that the idea of seeing in the gods and heroes of Greece anything beyond what the.y appear to be in the songs of Homer, was a mere fancy and invention of the students of Compara- tive Mythology. There were, no doubt, Greeks, and em- inent Greeks too, who took the legends of their gods and heroes in their literal sense. But what do these say of Homer and ilesiod? Xenophanes, the contemporary of Pythagoras, holds Homer and Hesiod responsible for the popular superstitions of Greece. In this he agrees with lie- rodotus, when he declares that these two poets made the theogony for the Greeks, and gave to the gods their names, and as- si~ned to them their honours and their arts, and described their appearances. But he then continues in a very different strain from the pious historian. Homer, he says, and Hesiod ascribed to the gods whatever is disgraceful and scanda- lous among men, yea, they declared that the gods had committed nearly all unlaw- ful acts, such as theft, adultery, and fraud. Men seem to have created their gods, and to have given to them their own mind, voice, and figure. The Ethiopians made their gods black and flat-nosed; the Thracians red-haired and blue-eyed; just as oxen or lions, if they could but draw, would draw their gods like oxen and lions. This was spoken about 500 B.c. Herakleitos, about 460 B.C., one of the boldest thinkers of ancient Greece, de- clared that Homer deserved to be ejected from public assemblies and flogged; and a story is told that Pythagoras (about 510 B.C.) saw the soul of Homer in Ilades, hanging on a tree and surrounded by serpents, as a punishment for what he had said of the gods. And what can be stronger than the condemnation passed on Homer by Plato? I shall read an extract from the Republic, from the excellent translation lately published by Professor Jowett: But what fault do you find with Homer and Hesiod, and the other great story-tellers of mankind? A fault which is most serious, I said: the fault of telling a lie, and a bad lie. But when is this fault committed? Whenever an erroneous representation is made of the nature of gods and heroes like the drawing of a limner which has not the shadow of a likeness to the truth. Yes, he said, that sort of thing is cer- tainly very blameable; but what are the stories which you mean? ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. 31 First of all, I said, there was that greatest of all lies in high places, which the poet told about Uranos, and which was an immoral lie too I mean what ilesiod says that Uranos did, and what Kronos did to him. The fact is that the doings of Kronos, and the suflerin~,s which his son inflicted upon him, even if they were true, ought not to he lightly told to young and simple persons; if possible, they had better he buried in silence. But if there is an abso- lute necessity for their mention, a very few might hear them in a mystery, and then let them sacrifice not a common (Eleusinian) pig, but some huge and unprocurable victim; this would have the effect of very greatly reducing the number of the hearers. Why, yes, said he, these stories are cer- tainly objectionable. Yes, Adeimantos, they are stories not to he narrated in our State; the young man should not be told that in committing the worst of crimes he is far from doing anything outrage- ous, and that he may chastise his father when he does wrong in any manner that he likes, and in this will only be following the example of the first and greatest of the gods. I quite a~ree with you, he said; in my opinion those stories are not fit to be repeated. Neither, if we mean our future guardians to regard the habit of qu~ rrelling as dishonour- able, should anything be said of the wars in heaven, and of the plots and fightings of the gods against one another, which are quite un- true. Far be it from us to tell them of the bat- tles of the giants, and embroider them on gar- ments; or of all the innumerable other quarrels of gods and heroes with their friends and rela- tions. If they would only believe us, we would tell them that quarrelling is unholy, and that never up to this time has there been any quarrel between citizens; this is what old men and old women should begin by telling children, and the same when they grow up. And these are the sort of fictions which the poet should be re- quired to compose. But the narrative of He- phaestos binding Here his mother, or how on another occasion Zeus sent him flying for taking her part when she was being beaten such tales must not be admitted into our State, whether they are supposed to have an allegori- cal meaning or not. For the young man can- not judge what is allegorical and what is literal, and anything that he receives into his mind at that age is apt to become indelible and unalter- able; and therefore the tales which they first hear should be models of virtuous thoughts. To those who look upon mythology as an ancient form of religion, such freedom of language as is here used byXenophanes and Plato, must seem startling. If the Iliad were really the Bible of the Greeks, as it has not unfrequently been called, such violent invectives would have been impossible. For let us bear in mind that Xenophancs, though he boldly denied the existence of all the mythological deities, and declared his belief in One God, nei- ther in form nor in thought like unto mor- tals, was not therefore considered a her- etic. He never suffered for uttering his honest convictions: on the contrary, as far as we know, he was honoured by the people among whom he lived and taught. Nor was Plato ever punished on account of his unbelief, and though he as well as his master, Sokrates, became obnoxious to the dominant party at Athens, this was dee tc political far more than to theological mo- tives. At all events, Plato, the pupil, the friend, the apologist of Sokrates, was al- lowed to teach at Athens to the end of his life, and few men commanded greater re- spect in all ranks of Greek society. But, although mythology was not religion iii our sense of the xvord, and although the Iliad certainly never enjoyed among Greeks the authority either of the Bible, or even of the Veda among the Brabmans, or the Zend Avesta amon~ the Parsis, yet I would not deny altogether that in a cer- tain sense the mythology of the Greeks belonged to their religion. We must only be on our guard, here as everywhere else, against the misleading influence of word 3. The word Religion has, like most words, had its history; it has grown and changed with each century, and it cannot therefore have meant with the Greeks and Brah- mans what it means with us. Religions have sometimes been divided into national or traditional, as distinguished from indiricla- al or statutable religion. The former are, like languages, home-grown, autochthonic, without an historical beginning, generally without any recognized founder, or even an authorized code; the latter have been founded by historical persons, generally in antagonism to traditional systems, and they always rest on the authority of a written code. I do not consider this di- vision as very useful for a scientific study of religion, because in many cases it is ex- tremely difficult, and sometimes impossi- ble, to draw a sharp line of demarcation, and to determine whether a given religion may be considered as the work of one man, or as the combined work of those who came before him, who lived with him, nay, even of those who came after him. For our present purpose, however, for showing at once the salient difference between what the Greeks and what we ourselves should mean by Religion, this division is very serviceable. The Greek religion was clearly a national and traditional re- ligion, and, as such, it shared both the ad- vantages and disadvantages of this form 32 ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. of religious belief; the Christian religion Hesiod, nay, their betters, and in no way is an historical, and to a great extent, an fettered by the popular legends about individual rel4jon, and it possesses the gods and goddesses. While modcru re- advantage of an authorized code and of a ligions assume in general a hostile atti- settled system of faith. Let it not be sup- tude towards philosophy, ancient religious posed, however, that between traditional have either included philosophy as an in- and individual religions the advanta~ es tegral part, or they have at least toler- are all on one, the disadvantages on the ated its growth in the very precincts of other side. As long as the ancient imme- their temples. morial religions of the different branches After we have thus seen what limitations of the human race remained in their nat- we must place on the meaning of the word ural state, and were not pressed into the religion, if we call mythology the religion service of political parties or an ambitious of the ancient world, we may now advance priesthood, they allowed great freedom another step. of thought and a healthy ~rowth of real We have glanced at the principal inter- piety, and they were seldom disgraced by pretations which have been proposed by an intolerant or persecuting spirit. They the ancients themselves of the original were generally either honestly believed, or purpose and meaning of mythology. But as we have jnst seen, honestly attacked, there is one question which none, either of and a high tone of intellectual morality the ancient or of the modern interpreters was preserved untainted by hypocrisy, of mythology, has answered, or even asked equivocation, or unreasonin~ dogmatism. and on which, nevertheless, the whole The marvellous development of philosophy problem of mythology seems to turn. If in Greece, particularly in ancient Greece, mythology is history changed into fable, was chiefly due, I believe, to the absence why was it so changed? If it is fable rep- of an established religion and an influen- resented as history, why were such fables tial priesthood; and it is impossible to invented? If it contains precepts of mor- overrate the blessing which the fresh, pure, al philosophy, whence their immoral dis- invigorating, and elevating air of that guise? If it is a picture of the great forms ancient Greek philosophy has conferred and forces of nature, the same question on all ages, not excepting our own. I still returns, why were these forms and shudder at the thou~ht of what the world forces represented as heroes and heroines, would have been without Plato and Aris- as nymphs and shepherds, as gods and totle, and I tremble at the idea that the goddesses? It is easy enou0h to call the outh of the future should ever be de- sun a god, ~r the dawn a goddess, after y prived of the teaching and the example of these predicates have once been framed. thesn true prophets of the absolute free- But how were these predicates formed? dom of thought. Unfortunately we know Ilow did people come to know of gods and but little of the earliest fathers of Greek goddesses, heroes and nylhphs, and what philosophy; we have but fragments, and meaning did they originally connect with those not always trustworthy, not easily these terms? In fact, the real question intelligible, of what they taught on the which a philosophy of mythology has to highest questions that can stir the heart answer is this. Is the whole of mythology of man. We have been accustomed to an invention, the fanciful poetry of a Ho- call the oracular sayings of men like mer or Hesiod or is it a growth? Or to Thales, Pythagoras, Xenophanes, or He- speak more definitely, Was mythology a rakleitos, philosophy, but there was in mere accident, or was it inevitable ? Was them as much of religion as in the songs it only a false step, or was it a step that of Homer and Ilesiod. homer and Hesiod could not have been left out in the histori- were great powers, but their poems were cal progress of the human mind? not the only feeders of the religious life of The study of the history of lan~uage, Greece. The stream of ancient wisdom which is only a part of the study of the and philosophy flowed parallel with the history of thought, has enabled us to give stream of legend and poetry; and both a decisive answer to this question. My- were meant to support the religious cray- thology is inevitable, it is natural, it is an ings of the soul. We have only to at- inherent necessity of language, if we re- tend without prejudice to the utterances cognize in language the outward form and of these an~ient prophets, such as Xeno- manifestation of thought: it is in fact th phanes and Ileraklcitos, in order to con- dark shadow which language throws on vince ourselves that these men spoke with thought, and which can never disappear authority to the people, that they consid- till language becomes altogether commen- ered themselves the equals of homer and surate with thought, which it never will. ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. 33 Mythology, no doubt, breaks out more fiercely during the early periods of the history of human thou~ht than at any other time, but it never disappears alto- gether. Depend upon it, there is mythol- ogy now as there was in the time of lb- mer, only we do not perceive it, because we ourselves live in the very shadow of it, and because we all shrink from the full nieridian light of truth. We are ready enough to see that if the ancients called their kin~s and heroes Atoyrve~, sprung of Zeus, that expression, intended originally to convey the highest praise which man can bestow on man, was apt to lapse into mythology. We easily perceive how such a conception, compatible in its origin with the highest reverence for the gods, led al- tuost inevitably to the growth of fables, which transferred to divine beings the in- cidents of human paternity and sonship. But we are not so ready to see that it is our fate, too, to move in allegories which illustrate thin~,s intellectual by visions ex- hibited to the fancy. In our religion, too, the conceptions of paternity and sonship have not always been free from all that is human, nor are we always aware that nearly every note that belongs to human paternity and sonship n~ust be taken out of these terms, before they can be pro- nounced safe against mythological infec- tion. Papal decisions on immaculate con- ception are of no avail against that my- thology. The mind must become immacu- late to rise superior to itself: or it must close its eyes and shut its lips in the pres- ence of the Divine. If then we want to understand mytholo- gy, in the ordinary and restricted sense of the word, we must discover the larger circle of mental phenomena to which it belongs. Greek mythology is but a small segment of mythology; the religious mythologies of all the races of mankind are again but a small se0ment of mytholo- gy. Mythology, in the highest sense, is the power exercised by language on thought in every possible sphere of mental activity, and I do not hesitate to call the whole history of philosophy, from Thales down to Hegel, an uninterrupted battle against mythology, a constant protest of thought against language. This will re- quire some explanation. Ever since the time of Wilhelm von Humboldt, all who have seriously grappled with the highest problems of the Science of Language, have come to the conviction that thought and language are inseparable, that language is as impossible without thought as thought is without language; JJVLNG AGE. VOL. XXIV. 1097 that they stand to each other like soul and body, like power and function, like substance and form. The objections which have been raised against this view arise generally from a mere misunder- standing. If we speak of language as the outward realization of thought, we do not mean language as deposited in a dictionary, or sketched in a grammar, we mean lan- guage as an act, language as being spoken, language as living and dying with every word that is uttered. We might perhaps call this speech, as distinguished from lan- gu age. Secondly, though if we speak of lan- guage, we mean chiefly phonetic articulate language, we do not exclude the less per- fect symbols of thought, such as gestures, signs, or pictures. They, too, are language in a certain sense, and they must be in- cluded in language before we are justified in saying that discursive thought can be realized in language only. One instance will make this clear. We hold that we cannot think without language. But can we not count without language? We certainly can. We can form the concep- tion of three without any spoken word, by simply holding up three fingers. In the same manner, the hand might stand for five, both hands for ten, hands and feet for twenty. This is how people who possessed no organs of speech would speak; this is how the deaf and dumb do speak. Three fingers are as good as three strokes, three strokes are as good as three clicks of the tongue, three clicks of the tongue are as good as the sound three, or trois, or drei, or shaiosh in Hebrew, or san in Chinese. All these are si, us, more or less perfect, but being signs, they fall under the category ~f language; and all we maintain is, that without some kind of sign, discursive thought is impossible, and that in that sense, language, or ?~62o~ is the only possi- ble realization of human thought. Another very common misunderstanding is this: people imagine that ,if it be impos- sible to think, except in language,. language and thought must be one and the same thing. But a true philosophy of lan~,uage leads to the very opposite result. Every philosopher would say that substance can- not exist without form, nor form without smibstance, but no philosopher would say that therefore it is impossible to distinguish between formn and substance. In the same way, though we maintain that thought cannot exist without language nor lan- guage without thought, we do distinguish between thought and language, between the inward and the outward ?L6yo~, between 34 ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. the substance and the form. Nay, we go t gious mythology. The religions mythol- a step beyond. We admit that langua0e ogy consisted in speaking of the spirits of reacts on thought, and we see in this the departed as ghosts, as mere breath and reaction, in this refraction of the rays of air, as fluttering about the gates of Hades, language, the real solution of the old rid- or ferried across the Styx in the boat of dle of mythology. Charon. You will now see why these somewhat The philosophical mythology, however, abstruse disquisitions were necessary for that sprang from this name was much our more immediate purpose, and I can more important. We s~ w that Psyche, promise those who have hitherto followed meaning originally the breathing of the me on this rather barren and rugged track, body, was ~radually used in the sense of that they will now be able to rest, and vital breath, and as something independent command, from the point of view which of the body; and that at last, when it bad we have reached, the whole panorama of assumed the meaning of the immortal part the mythology of the human mind, of man, it retaiued that character of some- We saw just now that the names of thing independent of the hody, thus giving numbers may most easily be replaced by rise to the conception of a soul, not only signs. Numbers are simple analytical as a being without a body, but in its conceptions, and for that very reason they very nature opposed to body. As soon as are not liable to mythology: name and that opposition had been established in conception being here commensurate, no language and thought, philosophy began misunderstanding is possible. But as soon its work in order to explain how two such as we leave this department of thought, hetero~,eneous powers could act on each mythology begins. I shall try by at least other how the soul could influence the one example to show how mythology per- body, and how the body could determine vades, not only the sphere of religion or the soul. Spiritualistic and materialistic religious tradition, but infects more or less systems of philosophy arose, and all this the whole realm of thought. in order to remove a self-created difficulty, When man wished for the first time to in order to join together again what lan- grasp and express a distinction between guage had severed, the living body and the body, and something else within him the living soul. The question whether distinct from the body, an easy name that there is a soul or spirit,whether there is suggested itself was breath. The breath in man something different from the mere seemed something imniaterial and almost body, is not at all affected by this mytho- invisible, and it was clearly connected with logical phraseology. We certainly can the life that pervaded the body, for as distinguish between body and soul, but as soon as the breath ceased, the life of the lon0 as we keep within the limits of human body became extinct. Hence the Greek knowledge, we have no right to speak of name ~& v~ which originally meant breath, the living soul as of a breath, or to speak was chosen to express at first the principle of spirits and ghosts as fluttering about of life., as distinguished from the decayin~ like birds or fairies. The poet of the nine- body, afterwards the incorporeal, the teenth century says; immaterial, the undecaying, the immortal The spirit does but mean the breath, part of man his soul, his mind, his Self. I know no more. All this was very natural. When a person dies, we too say that he has given up the And the same thought was expressed by ghost, and ghost, too, meant originally Cicero two thousand years ago: Whether spirit, and spirit meant breath. the soul is air or fire, I do not know. As The Greeks expressed the same idea by men, we only know of embodied spirits, saying that the ~Pvv~i had left the body, had however ethereal th~ir bodies may be con- fled through the mouth, or even through ceived to be, but of spirits, separate from a bleeding wound, and had gone into body, without form or frame, we know as Hades, which meant literally no more than little as we know of thought without lan- the place of the Invisible (Ahbi~). That guage, or of the Eawn as a Goddess, or of the breath had become invisible, was mat- the Night as the mother of the Day. ter of fact; that it had gone to the house Though breath, or spirit, or ghost are of Hades, was mythology springing spon- the most common names that were assigned taneously from the fertile soil of language. through the metaphorical nature of lan- The primitive mythology was by nWguage to the vital, and afterwards to the means necessarily religious. In the very intellectual, principle in man, they were by case which we have chosen, philosophical no means the only possible names. We mythology sprang up by the side of reli- speak, for instance, of the shades of the ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. 35 departed, which meant originally their shadows. Those who first introduced this expression and we find it in the most distant parts of the world evidently took the shadow as the nearest approach to what they wished to express; some- thing that should be incorporeal, yet close- ly connected with the body. The Greek d& 7~ov, too, is not much more than the shadow, while the Latin manes meant prob- ably in the beginning no more than the Little Ones, the Small Folk.* But the curious part, as showing again the influ- ence of language on thought, an influence more powerful even than the evidence of the senses, is this, that people who speak of the life or soul as the shadow of the body, have brought themselves to believe that a dead body casts no shadow, because the shadow has departed from it; that it is, in fact, a kind of Peter Schlemihl. j Let us now return to mythology in the narrower sense of the word. One of the earliest objects that would strike and stir the mind of man and for which a sign or a name would soon be wanted, is surely the Sun. It is very hard for us to realize the feelings with which the first dwellers on the earth looked upon the sun, or fully to understand what they meant by a morning prayer or a morning sacrifice. Perhaps there are few people here present who have watched a sunrise more than once or twice in their life; few people who have ever known the true meanin,, of a morn- ing prayer, or a morning sacrifice. But think of man at the very dawn of time: forget for a moment, if you can, after hav- ing read the fascinating pages of Mr. Dar- win, forget what man is supposed to have been before he was man; forget it, because it does not concern us here whether his bodily form and frame were developed once for all in the mind of his Creator, or gradually in the creation itself, which is, I suppose, from the first monad or proto- plasm to the last of the primates, or man, the work of his mind; think of him only as man (and man means the thinker), with his mind yet lying fallow, though full of germs germs of which I hold as strongly as ever no trace has ever, no trace will ever, be discovered anywhere but in man; think of the Sun awakening the eyes of man from sleep, and his mind from slum- ber. Was not the Sunrise to him the first * Im-manis, originally not small, came to mean enormous or monstrous. See Preller, Romisohe Myihologle, p. 72 seq. t Unkulunkuin; or the Tradition of Creation as existing among the Amazuin and other Tribes of South Africa. By the Rev. J. Callaway, M.D. Natal, 1868. Part I., p. 91. wonder, the first beginning of all reflec- tion, all thought, all philosophy? was it not to him the first revelation, the first beginning of all trust, of all religion? To us that wonder of wonders has ceased to exist, and few men now would even ven- ture to speak of the sun as Sir John Her- schel has spoken, calling him the Almoner of the Almighty, the delegated dispenser to us of light and warmth, as well as the centre of attraction, and as such, the im- mediate source of all our comforts, and, indeed, of the very possibility of our ex- istence on earth. * Man is a creature of habit, and wherever we can watch him, we find that before a few generations have passed, he has lost the power of admiring what is regular, and that he can see signs and wonders only in what is irregular. Few nations only have preserved in their ancient poetry some remnants of the nat- ural awe with which the earliest dwellers on the earth saw that brilliant heing slowly rising from out the darkness of the night, raising itself by its own might higher and higher, till it stood triumphant on the arch of heaven, and then descended and sank down in its fiery glory into the dark abyss of the heaving and hissing sea. In the hymns of the Veda the poet still wonders whether the sun will rise again; he asks how he can climb the vault of heaven? why he does not fall back? why there is no dust on his path? And when the rays of the morning rouse him from sleep and call him back to new life; when he sees the sun, as he says, stretching out his gol- den arms to bless the world and rescue it from the terrors of darkness, he exclaims, Arise, our life, our spirit has come back! the darkness is gone, the light approaches ! For so prominent an object in the pri- meval picture-gallery of the human mind, a sign or a name must have been wanted at a very early period. But how was this to he achieved? As a mere sign, a cir- cle would have been sufficient, such as we find in the hieroglyphics of Egypt, in the graphic system of China, or even in our own astronomical tables. If such a sign was fixed upon, we have a beginning of language in the widest sense of the word, for we have a sign for a conception made up of a large number of siunle sen- suous impressions. With such definite signs mythology has little chance; yet the mere fact that the sun was represented as a circle would favour the idea that the * See .1. Samuelson, Views of the Deity, Tradi. tionai and Scientlllo, p. 144. Williams and Nor. gate, 1871. 36 ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. sun was round; or as ancient people, who had no adjective as yet for round or ro- ~uodus, * would say, that the sun was a wheel, a rota. If, on the contrary, the round sign reminded the people of an eye, then the sign of the sun would soon be- come the eye of heaven, and germs of my- thology would spring up even from the barren soil of such hiero~lyphic language. But now suppose that a real name was wanted for the sun, how could that be achieved? We know that all words are derived from roots, that these roots express general predicates, and that with few exceptions every name conveys a general predicate peculiar to the object that has to be named. how these roots came to be, is a question into which we need not enter at present. Their origin and growth form a problem of psychology rather than of philology, and each science must keep within its proper bounds. If a name was wanted for snow, the early framers of language singled out one pf the general predicates of snow, its whiteness, its cold- ness, or its liquidity, and called the snow the white, the cold, or the liquid, by means of roots conveyin~ the general idea of whiteness, coldness, or liquidity. Not only Nix, nivis, but Niohe too, was a name of the snow, and meant the melting; the death of her beautiful children by the arrows of Apollon and Artemis represents the destruction of winter by the rays of the sun. If the sun itself was to be named, it might be called the brilliant, the awakener, the runner, the ruler, the father, the giver of warmth, of fertility, of life, the scorcher, the destroyer, the messenger of death, and many other names; but there was no possibility of naming it, except by laying hold of one of its characteristic features, and expressing that feature by means of one of the predictive roots. Let us trace the history of at least one of these names. Before the Aryan nations sepa- rated, before there was a Latin, a Greek, or a Sanskrit language, there existed a * It has already been implied that the Aborigi- nes of Tasmania had acqnired very limited powers of abstraction or generalization. They possessed no words representing abstract ideas; for each va- riety of gnm-tree and waffle-tree, & c., & c., they had a name, but they had no equivalent for the expres- sion, a tree; neither could they express abstract qualities, such as hard, soft, warm, cold, long, short, round, & c.; for hard they would say like a stone; for tall they would say long legs, & c.; for round they said like a ball, like the moon, and so on, usually suiting the action to the ~vord, and confirming, by some sign, the meaning to be understood Milligan, Vocabulary of the Dia- lects of some of the Aboriginal Tribes of Tasmania. Hobart Town. 1866. p. 34. root svar or sval, which meant to beam, to glitter, to warm. It exists in Greek, aiaai~, splendour; ar?o5v~, moon; in Anglo-Saxon, as swelan, to burn, to sweal; in modern German, schwiil, oppressively hot. From it we have in Sanskrit the noun svar, meaning sometimes the say, sometimes the sun; and exactly the same word has been preserved in Latin, as sol; in Gothic, as sau ii; in Anglo-Saxon, as sol. A second- ary form of scar is the Sanskrit ss2rya for svarya, the sun, which is the same word as the Greek ~to~. All these names were origin ally mere predicates; they meant bright, brilliant, warm. But as soon as the name scar or siirya was formed, it became, through the irresistible influence of language, the name, not only of a living, but of a male being. Every noun in Sanskrit must be either a masculine or a feminine (for the neuter gender was originally confined to the nominative case), and as siiryas had been formed as a masculine, language stamped it once for all as the sign of a male being as much as if it had been the name of a warrior or a king. In other languages where the name for sun is a gemi- nine, and the sun is accordingly conceived as a woman, as a queen, as the bride of the moon, the whole mythology of the love- making of the heavenly bodies is changed. You may say that all this shows, not so much the influence of language on thought, as of thought on language; and that the sexual character of all words reflects only the peculiarities of a childs mind, which can conceive of nothing except as living, as male or female. If a child hurts itself against a chair, it beats and scolds the chair. The chair is looked upon not as it, but as he; it is the naughty chair, quite as much as a boy is a naughty boy. There is some truth in this, but it only serves to confirm the right view of the influence of language on thought; for this tendency, though in its origin intentional, and there- fore the result of thought, became soon a mere rule of tradition in language, and it then reacUmd on the mind with irresistible power. As soon, in fact, as siiryas or ~amo~ appears as a masculine, we are in the very thick of mythology. We have not yet ar- rived at Helios as a go,d that is a much later utage of thought, which we might describe almost in the words of Plato at the beginnin,, of the seventh book of the Republic, And after this, he will rea- son that the sun is he who gives the sea- sons and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. 37 he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold. We have not yet advanced so far, but we have reached at least the first germs of a myth. In the Homeric hymn to Helios, Helios is not vet called an immortal, but only tWLC1Ke2L0~ cWavirowt, like unto iinmortals, yet he is called the child of Euryphaessa, the son of Hyperion, the grandson of Uranos and Gaea. All this is mythology; it is ancient language going beyond its first intention. Nor is there much difficulty in interpreting this myth. Helios, the sun, is called the son of Hyperion, sometimes Hyperion himself. This name Hyperion is derived from the preposition ~5rip, the Latin super~ which means above. It is derived by means of the suffix u.w, which originally was not a patronymic, but simply expressed belong- ing to. So if Helios was called Hyperion, this simply meant he who dwells on high, and corresponds to Latin Sumn2anus or Superior, or Excelsior. If, on the con- trary, Helios is called Hyperionides, this, too, which meant originally no more than he who comes from, or belongs to those who dwell on high, led to the myth that he was the descendant of Hyperion; so that in this case, as in the case of Zeus Kro- nion, the son really led to the conception of his father. Zeus Kronion meant originally no more than Zeus the eternal, the god of ages, the ancient of days; but mv becom- ing usual as a patronymic suffix, Kronion was supposed to mean the son of Kronos. Kronos, the father, was created in order to account for the existence of the name Kronion. If ilyperion is called the son of Euryphaessa, the wide-shining, this re- quires no conmentary; for even at pres- ent a poe~ might say that the sun is born of the wide-shining dawn. You see the spontaneous generation of mythology with every new name that is formed. As not only the sun, but also the moon and the dawn could be called dwellers on high, they, too, took the name of Hyperionis & r Hyperionides; and hence Homer called Selene, the Moon, and Eos, the Dawn, sis- ters of Helios, and daughters of Hyperion and Euryphaessa, the Dawn doing service twice, both as mother, Euryphaessa, and as daughter, Eos. Nay, according to lb- mer, Euryphaessa, the Dawn, is not only th~ wife, but also the sister of Helios. All this is perfectly intelligible, if we watch the growth of language and mythology; but it leads, of course, to the most tragic catastrophes as soon as it is all taken in a literal sense. Helios is called d,cdua~, the never-tiring; * See M. Ms Chips from a German Workship n7cv6rpKi~, the aU-seeing; r~aiGno, the shin- (2nd ed.), vol. ii. p. 95, note 45. ing; and also ~o~3og; the brilliant. This last ephithet ~bo~J3o~ has grown into an in- dependent deity Phoebus, and it is par- ticularly known as a name of Apollon, Phoihos Apollon; thus showing what is also known from other sources that in Apollo, too, we have one of the many mythic disguises of the sun. So far all is clear, because all the names which we have to deal with are intelligihle, or, at all events, yield to the softest etymological pressure. But now if we hear the story of Phoibos Apollon falling in love with Daphne, and Daphne praying to her moth- er, the Earth, to save her from Phoibos; and if we read how either the Earth re- ceived her in her lap, and then a laurel tree sprang up where she had disappeared, or how she herself was chan~,ed into a laurel tree, what shall we think of this? It is a mere story, it might be said, and why should there be any meaning in it? My answer is, because people do not tell such stories of their gods and heroes, un- less there is some sense in them. Besides, if Phoibos means the sun, why should not Daphne have a meaning too? Before, therefore, we can decide whether the story of Phoibus and. Daphne is a mere inven- tion, we must try to find out what can have been the meaning of the word Daphne. In Greek it means a laurel, * and this would explain the purely Greek legend that Daphne was changed into a laurel tree. But who was Daphne? In order to answer this question, we must have recourse to etymology, or, in other words, we must examine the history of the word. Etymolo~y, as you know, is no longer what it used to he; and though there may still be a classical scholar here and there who crosses himself at the idea of a Greek word being explained by a ref- erence to Sanskrit, we naturally look to Sanskrit as the master-key to many a lock which no Greek key will open. Now Daphne, as I have shown, can be traced back to Sanskrit Ahand, and A hand in Sanskrit means the dawn. As soon as we know this, everything becomes clear. The story of Phoihos and Daphne is no more than a description of what every one may see every day; first, the appearance of the Dawn in the eastern sky, then the rising of the Sun as if hurryin~, after his hride, then the gradual fading away of the bright Dawn at the touch of the fiery rays of the sun, and at last her death or disappearance in the lap of her mother, the Earth. All 38 ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYTHOLOGY. this seems to me as clear as daylight and marik took it and extinguished it. Only dur 1. the only objection that could be raised ing four weeks ki summer they remain together against this reading of the ancient myth at midnight ; Koit hands the dying torch to would be, if it could be proved that Ammarik, hut Ammarik does not let it die, but Ahand does not mean Dawn, and that lights it agila with her breath. Then their be traced back to Ahand, hands are stretched out, and their lips meet, Daphne cannot and the blush of the face of Ammarik colours or that Helios does not mean the Sun. I know there is another objection, but the midnight sky. it seems to me so groundless as hardly to This myth requires hardly any commen- deserve an answer. Why, it is asked, tary; yet, as long as it is impossible to should the ancient nations have told these explain the names, Wanna Issi, Koit, and endless stories about the Sun and the Ammarik, it might be said that the story Dawn, and why should they have preserved was but a love-story, invented by an idle them in their mythology? We might as Lapp, or Finn, or Esthonian. But what well ask why the ancient nations should if Wanna Issi means, in their own lan- have invented so many irregular verbs, guage, the Old Father, and if Koit means and why they should have preserved them the Dawn? Can we then doubt any in their grammar. A fact does not cease longer that Ammarik must be the Gloam- to be a fact, because we cannot at once ex- ing, and that their meeting in the summer plain it. As far as our knowledge goes reflects those summer evenings when, par- at present, we are justified in stating that ticularly in the North, the torch of the the Aryan nations preserved not only their sun seems never to die, and when the grammatical structure, and a large portion Gloaming is seen kissing the Dawn? of their dictionary, from the time which I wish I could tell you some more of these, preceded their separation, but ~that they stories which have been gathered from all likewise retained the names of some of parts of the world, and which, though they their deities, some legends about their may be pronounced childish and tedious gods, some popular sayings and proverbs, by some critics, seem to me to glitter with and in these, it may be, the seeds of para- the brightest dew of natures own poetry, bles, as part of their common Aryan heir- and to contain those very touches that loom. Their mythological lore fills in fact make us feel akin, not only with Homer or a period in the history of Aryan thought Shakespeare, but even with Lapps, and half-way between the period of langua,.,e Finns, and Kaffirs. But my time draws and the period of literature, and it is this to an end. discovery which gives to mythology its If people cannot bring themselves to importance in the eyes of the student of believe in solar and celestial myths among the most ancient history and psychology the Hindus and Greeks, let them study the of mankind, folk-lore of the Semitic and Turanman And do not suppose that the Greeks, or races. I know there is, on the part of the Hindus, or the Aryan nations in gen- some of cur most distinguished scholars, the eral were the only people who possessed same objection against comparing Aryan to such tales. Wherever we look, in every Non-Aryan myths, as there is against any part of the world, among uncivilized as attempt to explain the features of Sanskrit well as a civilized people, we find the or Greek by a reference to Finnish or same kind of stories, t~ie same traditions, Bask. In one sense that objection is well the same myths. The Finns, Lapps, and founded, for nothing would create greater Esthonians do not seem a very poetical c6fifusion than to ignore the genealogical race, yet there is poetry even in their principle as the only safe one in a scientific smoky tents, poetry surrounded with all classification of languages and of myths. the splendour of an arctic night, and fra- We must first classify our myths and le- grant with the perfume of moss and wild gends, as we classify our languages and flowers. Here is one of their legends dialects. We must first of all endeavour to explain what wants explanation in one Wanna Issi had two servants, Koit and member of a family by a reference to other Ammarik, and he gave them a torch which rs of the sam Koit should light every morning, and Amma- membe e family, before we al- rik should extinguish in the evening. In order low our selves to c,lance beyond. But there to reward their faithful services, Wanna Issi is in a comparative study of languages told them they might he man and wife, but they and myths not only a philological, but also asked Wanna Issi that he would allow them to a philosophical and more particularly, a remain for ever bride and bridegroom. Wanna psycholo~,ical interest, and though even in Issi assented, and henceforth Koit handed the this more general study of mankind, the torch every evening to Animarik, and Am- frontiers of language and race ought STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. 39 never to disappear, yet they can no longer is but a sister dialect of Greek, Latin, of be allowed to narrow or intercept our German, Celtic, and Slavonic, and that if view. How much the student of Aryan the Greek says es-ti, he is, if the Roman mythology and ethnology may gain for his says est, the~ German ist, the Slave yeste, own progress by allowing himself a wider the Hindu said three thousand years ago, survey over the traditions and customs of as-ti, he is. This as-ti is a compound of a the whole human race, is best known to root as, to be, and the pronoun ti. The those who have studied the works of root meant originally to breathe, and dwin- Klemm, Waitz, Bastian, Sir John Lubbock, dled down after a time to the meaning of Mr. Tylor, and Dr. Callaway. What is to be. All this must have happened before prehistoric in language among the Aryan a single Greek or German reached the nations, is frequently found as still historic shores of Europe, and before a single among Turanian races. The same applies Brahman descended into the plains of with regard to religions, myths, le~ends, India. At that distant time we must and customs. Among Finns and Lapps, place the gradual growth of language and among Zulus and Maoris, among Khonds ideas, of a language which we are still and Karens, we sometimes find the most speaking, of ideas which we are still think- startlin~ analogies to Aryan traditions, ing, and at the same time only can we ex- and we certainly learn, again and again, plain tLse framing of those names which this one important lesson, that as in lan- were the first attempts at grasping super- guage, so in mythology, there is nothing natural powers, which became in time the which had not originally a meaning, that names of the deities of the ancient world, every name of the gods and heroes had a the heroes of mythology, the chief actors beginning, a purpose, and a history. Jupi- in many a legend, nay, some of which ter was no more called Jupiter by accident, have survived in the nursery tales of our than the Polynesian Maui, the Samoyede own time.* Nuns, or the Chinese Tiers.* If we can discover the original meaning of these * See a most interesting essay, Le Petit Poucet names, we have reached the first ground (Tom Thumb), by Guston Paris. of their later growth. I do not say that we have solved the whole riddle of mythol- ogy if we can explain the first purpose of the mythological names, but I maintain From The Cornhill Magazine. that we have gained firm ~round; I main- STORY OF THE PLEnIsCITE. tam that every true etymology gives us an historical fact, because the first giving of a TOLD BY ONE OF THE SEVEN MILLION FIVE name was an historical fact, and an histori- HUNDRED THOUSAND WHO VOTED YES. cal fact of the greatest importance for the BY M. M. EucKMATiN-cHATxiAN~ later development of ancient ideas. Think only of this one fact, which no one would now venture to doubt, that the supreme I AM writing this history for sensible deity of the Greeks, the Romans, the Ger- people. It is my own story during the mans, is called by the same name as the calamitous war we have just gone through. supreme deity of the earliest Aryan set- I write it to show those who shall come tlers in India. Does not this one fact after us how many evil-minded people draw away the curtain from the dark ages there a~re in the world, and how little we of antiquity~ and open before our eyes an ought to trust fair words; for we have horizon which we can hardly measure by been deceived in this villa~e of ours after years? The Greek Zeus is the same word a most abominable fashion; we have been as the Latin Jet in Jupiter, as the German deceived by all sorts of people by the Tiu and all these were merely dialectic sous-prbfets, by the pr6fet and by the main- varieties of the Vedie Dyaus.t Now dyaus isters; by the curd, by the official gazettes; iii Sanskrit is the name of the sky, if used in a word, by each and all. as a feuiiaine; if used as a masculine, as Could any one have imagined that there it is still in the Veda, it is the sky as a are so many deceivers in this world? No, man or as a god it is Zeus, the father indeed; it requires to be seen with ones of gods and men. You know, of course, own eyes to be believed. that the whole language of ancient India In the end we have had to pay dearly. We have given up our hay, our straw, our * See MMs Lectures on the Science of Relig- corn, our flour, our cattle; and that was ion, p. 41, seq. t See MMs Lectures on the Science of Lan not enough. Finally, they gave up us, guage (6th ed.), vol. ii., p. 468. our own selves. They said to us: You 40 STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. are no longer Frenchmen; you are Pins- sians! We have taken your young men to fight in the war; they are dead, they are prisoners: now settle with Bismarck any way you like; your business is none of ours! But these things must be told plainly; so I will begin at the beginning, without get- ting angry. You must know, in the first place, that I am a miller in the village of Rothalp, in the valley of Metting, at Dosenheim, be- tween Lorraine and Alsace. It is a large and fine villa~e of 130 houses, wanting neither its cure Daniel, nor its schoolmas- ter Adam Fix, nor principal inhabitants of every kind wheelwrights; blacksmiths, shoemakers, tailors, publicans, brewers, dealers in eggs, butter, and poultry; we even have two Jews, Solomon Kaan, a pedlar, and David IIertz, cattle-dealer. This will show you what was our state of prosperity before this war; for the wealthier a village is the more strangers it draws: every man finds a livelihood there, and works at his trade. ~Te had not even occasion to fetch our butchers-meat from town. David killed a cow now and then, and retailed all we wanted for Sundays and holidays. I, Christian Weber, have never been fur- ther than thirty leagues from this com- mune. I inherited my mill from my grand- father, Marcel Desjardins, a Frenchman from the neighbo urhood of Metz, who had built it in the time of the Swedish war, when our village was but a miserable ham- let. Twenty-six years ago I married Catherine Amos, daughter of the old for- est-ranger. She brought me a hundred louis for her dowry. We have two child- ren a daughter, Gr~del and a son Jacob, who are still with us at home. You must know besides that I have a cousin, George Weber, who went offi more than thirty years ago to serve in the Ma- rines in Guadaloupe. He has even been in active service there. It was he who beat the drum on the forecastle of the ship Boussote, as he has told me a hundred times, whilst the fleet was bombarding St. John dUlloa. Afterwards he was pro- moted to. be sergeant; then he sailed to North America, for the cod-fisheries; and into the Baltic, on board a small Danish vessel engaged in the coal-trade. George was always intent upon making a fortune. About 1850 he returned to Paris, and es- tablished a mauufactory of matches in the Rue Mouffetard in Paris; and as he is really a very handsome tall man, with a dark complexion, bold-looking, and with a quick eye, at last he married a rich widow without children, Madame Marie Anne Finck, who was keeping an inn in that neighbourhood. They became rich. They bought land in our part of the country through the agency of Monsieur Fingado, the solicitor, to whom he sent regularly the price of every piece of land. At last, on the death of the old carpenter, Joseph Briou, he became the purchaser of his house, to live there with his wife, and to keep a public-house on the road to Met- ting. This took place last year, duiing the time of the Pl6biscite, and cousin George came to visit his house before taking his wife, Marie Anne, to it. As for me, I was mayor; I had received orders from M. le Sous-Pr~fet to give public notice of the Plm~biscite, and to re- quest all well-disposed persons to vote Yes if they desired to preserve peace; be- cause all the ruffians in the country were going to vote No, to have xvar. This is exactly what I did, making every- body promise to come without fail, and sending the bangard Martin Kapp to carry the voting tickets to the very farthest cot- tages up the mountains. Cousin George arrived the evening be- fore the Plebiscite. I received him very kindly, as one ought to receive a rich rela- tion who has no children. He seemed quite pleased to see us, and dined with us in the best of tempers. He carried with him in a small leathern trunk clothes, shoes, shirts everything that he required. He wanted nothing. That day everything went on well; but the next day, hearing the Potices cried by the rural policeman, he went off to Reibells brewery, which was full of people, and began to preach against the Pl6biscite. I was just then at the mayorality-house with my official scarf on, receiving the tickets, when suddenly my deputy Placiard came to tell me, in high indi~nation, that certain miserable wretches were attacking order; that one of them was at the Ore- chon dOr, and that half the village were very nearly murdering him. Immediately I went down, and ran to the public-house where my cousin was call- ing them all asses, affirming that the PiTh- iscite was for war; that the Emperor, the - ministers, the prefects, the generals and the bishops were deceiving the people; that all those men were acting a part t~ get our money from us, and much besides to the same purpose. I, from the passage, could already hear him shouting these things in a terrible STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. 41 voice, and I said to myself, The poor fellow has been drinking. If George had not been my cousin; if he had not been quite capable some day of disinheriting my children, I should cer- tainly have arrested him at once, and had him conveyed under safe-keeping to Sarre- bourg; but, on giving due weight to these considerations, I resolved to put an end to this bad business, and I cried to the people who were crowding the passage, Make room, you fellows, make room 1 Those enraged creatures, seeing the scarf, gave way in all directions; and then discovering my cousin, seated at a table in the right-hand corner, I said, Cousin! what are you thinking of, to create such a scandal? He, too, was overcome at the sight of the scarf having served in the navy, and knowing that there is no man who claims more respect than a mayor; that he has a right to lay hands upon you, and send you to the lock-up and, if you resist, to send you as far as Sarreboug and iNancy. Re- flecting upon this, he calmed down in a moment, for he had not been drinking at all, as I supposed at first, and he was say- ing these things without bitterness, without anger, conscientiously, and through regard for his fellow-citizens. Therefore, he replied to me quietly: Mr. Mayor, look after your elections! See that certain rogues up there as there are rogues everywhere dont stuff into the ballot-box handfuls of Yeses instead of Noes while your back is turned. This has often happened! And then pray dont trouble yourself about me. In the Gazette of the Government, it is declared that every man shall be free to maintain his own opinions, and to vote as he pleases; if my mouth. is stopped, I shall protest in the newspapers. hearing that he would protest, to avoid a worse scandal I answered him: Say what you please: no one shall declare that we have put any constraint upon the elec- tions; but, you men, you know what you have to do. Yes, yes, shouted all the people in the room and down the passage, lifting their hats. Yes, Monsieur le Maire; we will listen to nothing at all. Whether they talk all day or say nothing, it is all the same to us. And they all went off to vote, leaving George alone. M. le Cur6 Daniel, seeing them coming out, came from his parsonage to place him- self at their head. He had preached in the morning in favour of the Pbhbiscite, and there was not a single No in thb box. If my cousin had not had the large meadow above the mill, and the finest acres in the country, he would have been an object of contempt for the rest of his days; but a rich man, who has just bought a house, an orchard, a garden, and has paid ready-money for everything, may say whatever he pleases, especially when he is not listened to and the people go and do the very opposite of what he has been ad- vising them. Well, this is the way with the elections for the Pl6biscite with us, and just the same thing went on throughout our canton: at Phalsbour~, which has been abundantly placarded against the PlThis- cite, and where they carried their audacity even to watchin~, the mayor and the ballot- box out of fifteen hundred electors, military and civil, there were only thirty- two Noes. It is quite clear that thin s were ma king favourable progress, and that M. he Sons- Pr6fet could not but be perfectly satisfied with our behaviour. I must also mention that we were in want of a parish road tq Hangeviller; that we had been promised a pair of church- bells, and the ylandee, or right of feeding our hogs upon the adorns in autumn; and that we were aware that all the villages which voted the wrong way got nothing, whilst the others in consideration of the good councillors they had sent up, either to the arrondissement or the department might always reckon upon a little money from the tax-collector for the necessities of their parish. Monsieur le Sous-Pr~fet had pointed out these advantages to me; and naturally a good mayor will inform his subordinates. I did so. Our deputies, our councillors-general, our councillors of the arrondissement, were all on the right side! By these means we had already gained the right to the dead leaves and our great wash-houses. We only sought our own good, and we much preferred see- ing other villages pay the ministers, the senators, the marshals, the bishops, and the princes, to paying them ourselves. So that all that cousin George could say to us about the interest of all, and the welfare of the nation, made not the least impres- sion upon us. I remember that that very day of the Pl6biscite, when it was already known that we had all voted right, and that we should get our two bells with the parish road I remember that my cousin and I had, after supper, a great quarrel, and that I should 42 STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. certainly have put him out, if it had not been he. We were taking our petit verre of lcirch, smoking our pipes, with our elbow~ on the table; my wife and Gr6del had already gone to bed, when all at once he said to me: Listen to me, Christian. Save the respect I owe you as mayor, you are all a set of geese in this village, and it is a very fortunate thing that I am come here, that you may have at least one sensible man among you.~~ I was going to get angry, but he said: Just let inc finish; if you had but spent a couple of years at Paris, you would see thin~s a little plainer: but at this moment, you are like a nest of hungry jays, blind and unfeathered; they open their bills, and they cry Jaques, to call down food from heaven. Those who hear them climb up the tree, twist their necks, and put them into the pot laughing. That is your position. You have confidence in your enemies, and you give them power to pluck you just as they please. If you ap- pointed upright men in your districts as deputies, councillors-general, instead of taking whoever the prefecture recom- mends, would not the Emperor and the other honourable men above be obliged then to leave you the money which the tax-collector makes you pay in excess? Could all those people then enrich them- selves at your expense, and amass immense fortunes in a few years? Would you then see old baskets with their bottoms out, fellows to whom you would not have trusted a halfpenny before the coup-de~at would you see them become million- aires, rolling in gold gliding along in carriages with their wives, their children, their servants and their ballet-dancers? The pr~fets, the sous-pr6fets say to you: Go on voting right you shall have this you shall have that things which you have a right to demand in virtue of the taxes you pay, but which are granted to you as favours, roads, washhouses, schools, & c. Would you not have them in your own ri~ht, if the money which is tak- en from you were left in the commune? Wilat does the Emperor do for you? lie plunders you that is all. Your money, be shows it to you before each election, as they show a child a stick of sugar-candy to make it laugh; and when the election is over he puts it back into his pocket. The trick is played. How can he put that money into his pocket? I asked, full of indignation. Are not the accounts presented every year in the Chambers? Then he shrugged his shoulders, and an- swered: You are not sharp, Christian; it is not so difficult to present accounts to the Chambers. So many chassepots which have no existence I So much muni- tion of war, of which no one knows any- thing. So much for retiring pensions; so much for the substitutes fund; so much for changes of uniform. The uniforms are changed every year; that is good for busi- ness. Do the deputies inquire into these matters? Who checks the Ministers bud- gets? And the deputies whom the Minis- ter of the Interior has recommended to you, whom you have appointed lke fools, and whom the Emperor would throw up at the very first election, if those genie- men breathed a syllable about visiting the arsenals and examining into the accounts what a farce! Why yesterday passing through Phalsbourg, I got upon the ram- parts, and I saw there guns of the time of Ilerod, upon gun-carriages eaten up by worms and painted over to conceal the rottenness. These very guns, I do believe are recast every third or fonrth year upon paper with your money. Ah, my poor Christian, you are not very sharp, nor the other people in our village either. But the men you send as deputies to Paris they are sharp, too sharp. He broke out into a laugh, and I could have sent him back to Paris. Do you know what you want? said he then, filling his pipe and li~hting it, for I made no reply, being too much annoyed; what you want is not good sense, it is not honesty. All of us peasants, we still possess some good sense and honesty. And we believe, moreover, in the honesty of others, which proves that we ourselves have a little left I No, what you want is education; you have asked for hells, and bells you will get; but all the school you have is a miserable shed, and your only schoolmaster is old Adam Fix, who can teach his children nothing, by reasomi that he knows nothing himself. Well now, if you were to ask for a really good school, there would be no money in the public fund. There is money enough for bells, but for a good schoolmaster, for a large well-ventilated room, for deal benches and tables, for pictures, slates, maps and books there is nothing; for if you had good schools, your children could read, write, keep accounts; they would soon be able to look into the ministers accounts, and that is exactly what his Majesty wishes tQ avoid. You understand now, cousin; this is the reason why you have no school mvnd you have bells. STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. 43 Then he looked knowingly at me; And, the Emperor has not bought enough in do you know, said he, after a few mo- foreign countries ; well, it will say with ments thou0ht, do you know how much this Pb~biscite, Go on, pray go on we all the schools in France cost? I am not are quite satisfied. Does that suit your referring to the great schools of medicine, ideas? and law, and chemistry, the colleges, and Yes. I had rather that than war, the lyceums, which are schools for wealthy said I, in a very bad temper. The Em. young men, able to keep themselves in pire is peace; I vote for peace. large cities, and to pay for their own main- Then George himself rose up, emptying tenance. I am speakin0 of schools for the his pipe on the edge of the table, and said: people, elementary schools, where reading Christian, you are right. Let us go to and writing are taught, the two first bed. I repent having bought old Brious things which a man must know, and which house: decidedly the people in these distinguish him from the savages who parts are too stupid. You quite grieve roam naked in the American forests ? ~ Well, the deputies whom the people them- Oh, I dont want to grieve you, said I selves send to protect their interests at angrily; I have quite as much sense as Paris, and whose first thought, if they are you. not altogether thieves, ought to be to dis- What! said he, you the mayor of charge their duty towards their constitu- Rothalp, in daily communication with the encies these deputies have never voted sous-pr~fet, you believe that the object of for the schools of the people a larger sum this Pl6biscite is to confirm peace? than seventy-five millions. The state con- Yes, I do. tributes ten millions as its share; the com- What, you believe that? Come now. mune, the departments, the fathers and have we not peace at the present moment? mothers do the rest. Seventy-five millions Do we want a Pl6biscite to preserve it? to educate the people in a great country Do you suppose that the Germans are tak- like ours it is a disgrace. The United en in by it? Our peasants, to be sure, States spend six times the amount. But, they are misled; they are indoctrinated at on the other hand, for the War budget we the cur6s house, at the mayoralty-house, pay five hundred millions; even that at the sous-pr~fecture; but not a single would not be too much if we had five hun- workman in Paris is a dupe of this peril- dred thousand men under arms, according cious scheming. They all know that the to the calculatiou which has been made of Emperor and the Ministers want war; what it costs per diem for each man; but that the generals and the superior offi- for an army of two hundred and fifty cers demand it. Peace is a good thing thousand men, it is too much by half. for tradesmen, for artisans, for peasants; What becomes of the other three hundred but the officers are tired of being cramped millions? If they were made available to up in the same ranks. Already the infe- build schools, to pay able masters, to fur- nor officers have been disgusted with the nish retreats for workmen in their dechin- profession through the crowds of nobles, ing days, I should have nothing to say Jesuits, and canting hypocrites of all sorts against it; but to ring in the pockets of who are thrust into the army. The troops MM. the senators and the bells of MM. are not animated with a good spirit; they the curis, I consider that too dear. want promotion, or they will end by rous- As cousin George bothered my mind ing themselves into a passion, especially with all his arguments, I felt a wish to go when they see the Prussians under our to bed, and I said to him, All that, cous- noses helping themselves to anything they in, is very fine, but it is getting late, please without asking our leave. You and besides it has nothing to do with the dont understand that! There, said he, Pl6biscite. I am sleepy. Let us go to bed. I had risen; but he laid his hand upon Then I began ,to understa~id that my my arm and said, Let us talk a little cousin had learnt many things at Paris, longer let me finish my pipe. You say and that he knew more of politics than that this has nothing to do with the Pl& I did. But that did not prevent me from biicite; but that PV~biscite is for all this being in a great rage with him; for ~he nice arrangement of things to go on. If whole of that day he had done nothing the nation believes that all is right, that but cause trouble, and I said to myself enough money is left to it, and that even that it was impossible to live with such a it can spare a little more; that the minis- brute. ters, the senators and the princes are not My wife, at the top of the landin0, had yet sufficiently fat and flourishing; that I heard us disputing; but as we were go- 44 STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. ing upstairs, she came all smiles to meet us, holding the candle, and saying: Oh, you have had a great deal to tell each other this evening! You must have had enough. Come, cousin, let me take you to your room; there it is. From your win- dow you may see the woods in the moon- light; and here is your bed, the best in the house. You will find your cotton night- cap under the pillow. Very nice, Catherine, thank you, said George. And I hope you will sleep comfortably, said she, returning to me. This wise woman, full of excellent good sense, then said to me, while I was un- dressing: Christian, what were you thinking of, to contradict your cousin? Such a rich man, and who can do us so much good by and by! What does the pl6biscite signify? What can that bring us in? Whatever your cousin says to you say Amen after it. Remember that his wife has relations, that she will want to get everything on her side. Mind you dont quarrel with George. A fine mead- ow below the mill, and an orchard on the hill-side, are not found every day in the way of a cow. I saw at once that she was right, and I inwardly resolved never to contradict George again, who might himself alone be worth to us far more than the Emperor, the ministers, the senators, and all the es- tablishment together; for every one of those pcople thought of his own interests alone, without even casting away a thought upon us: and of course we ought to do the same as they did, since they had suc- ceeded so well in sewing gold lace upon all their seams, fattening and living in abund- ance in this world, without mentioning the promises that the bishops made to them for the next. Thinking upon these things, I lay calmly down, and soon fell asleep. II. THE next day early, cotvsin George, my son Jacob, and myself, after having eaten a crust of bread and taken a glass of wine standing, harnessed our horses, and put them into, our two carts to go and fetch my cousins wife and furniture at the Liitzelbourg station. Before coming into our country, George had ordered his house to be whitewashed and painted from top to bottom; he had laid new floors, and replaced the old shingle roof with tiles. Now the paint was dry, the doors and windows stood open day and night; the house could not be robbed, for there was nothing in it. My cousin, seeing that all was right, had just written to his wife that she might bring their goods and chattels with her. So we started about six in the morn- ing; upon the road the people of Hauge- viller, of Metting, and Vechem, and those who were going to market in the town were singing and shouting Vive lEm- pereur! Everywhere they had voted Yes for peace. It was the greatest fraud that had ever been perpetrated; by the way in which the ministers, the prefects, and the Government newspapers had explained the Pl6biscite, everybody had imagined that he had really voted peace. Cousin George hearing this, said, Oh, you poor country folks, how I pity you for being such imbeciles! How I pity you for believing what these pickpockets tell you! That was how he styled the Emperors government, and naturally I felt my indig- nation rise; but Catherines sound advice came back into my mind, and I thought, Hold your tongue, Christian; dont say a word thats your best plan. All along the road we saw the same spectacle; the soldiers of the 84th, garri- soned at Phalsbourg, looked as pleased as men who have won the first prize in a lot- tery; the colonel declared that the men who did not vote Yes would be unwor- thy of being called Frenchmen. Every man had voted Yes; for a good soldier knows nothing but his orders. So having passed before the gate of France, we came down to the Baraques and then reached Liitzeibourg. The train from Paris had passed a few minutes be- fore; the whistle could yet be heard nuder the Saverne tunnel. My cousins wife, with whom I was not yet acquainted, was standing by her lug- gage on the platform; and seQing George coming up, she cried, full of joy, Ah! is that you? and here is cousin. She kissed us both heartily, gazing at us, however, with some surprise, perhaps on account of our blouses and our great wide-brimmed black hats. But no! it could not be that; for Marie Anne Finck was a native of W~ssselonne, in Alsace, and the Alsacians have always worn the blouse and wide-brimmed hat as long as I can remember. But this tall, thin woman, with her large brown eyes, as bustling, quick, and active as gunpowder, after hav- ing passed thirty years at Paris, having first been cook at Krantheimers, at a place called the Barri~re de Montmartre, and STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. then in five cr six other inns in the great city, might well be somewhat astonished at seeing such simple people as we were; and no doubt it also gave her pleasure. That is my idea. The carts are there, wife, cried George, in high spirits. We will load the biggest with as much furniture as we can, and the rest upon the smaller one. You will sit in front. There look up there thats the castle of Liitzelbour~, and that pretty little wooden house close by, covered all over with vine, that is a chalet, Father Iloffmann-Fortys chalet, the distiller of cordials; you know the cordial of Phals- bonrg. He showed her everything. Then we began to load; that big Y6ri, who takes the tickets at the gate, and who carries the parcels to Monsieur Andr& s om~ ibus, comes to lend us a hand. And the two carts being loaded about twelve o clock, my cousins wife seated in front of the foremost one upon a truss of straw, we started at a quiet pace for the village, where we arrived about three oclock. But I remember one thing, which I will not omit to mention. As we were coining out of Liitzelbourg, a heavy waggon-load of coal was coming down the hill, a lad of slxteen or seventeen leading the horse by the bridle; at the door of the last house, a little child of five years old, sitting on the ground, was looking at our carts pass- ing by; he was out of the road, he could not be in any ones way, and was sitting there perfectly quiet, when the boy, with- out any reason, gave him a lash with his whip, which made the child cry aloud. My cousins wife saw that. Why did that boy strike the child? she inquired. Thats a coalheaver, George answered. He comes from Sarrebrilek. He is a Prussian. He struck the child because he is a French child. Then my cousins wife wanted to get down to fall upon the Prussian; she cried to him, You great coward, you lazy dog, you wicked wretch, come and hit me. And the boy would have come to settle her, if we had not been there to receive him; but he would not trust himself to us and lashed his horses to get out of our reach, making all haste to pass the bridge, and turning his head round towards us, for fear of being followed. I thonght at the time that cousin George was wrong in saying that this boy had a spite against the French because he was a Prussian; but I learned afterwards that he was right, and that the Germans have borne ill-will against us for years without showing it to us like a set of sulky fel- lows waiting for a good opportunity to make us feel it. It is our good man that we have to thank for this, said George: the Ger- mans fancy that we have named him Em- peror to begin his uncles tricks again; and now they look upon our Phibiscite as a declaration of war. The joy of our sous- pr~fets, our mayors, and our curds, and of all those excellent people who only pros- per upon the miseries of mankind, proves that they are not very far out. Yes, indeed, cried his wife; but to beat a child, that is cowardly. Bah! dont let us think about it, said George. We shall see much worse things than this; and that we shall have deserved it throueh our own folly. God grant that I may be mistaken! Talking so, we arrived home. My wife had prepared dinner; there was kissing all round, the acquaintance was made; we all sat round the table, and dined with excellent appetites. Marie Anne was gay; she had already seen their house on her way, and the garden behind it with its rows of gooseberry-bushes and the plum-trees full of blossom. The two carts, the horses having been taken out, were standing before their door; and from our windows mi0ht be seen the village people examining them attentively, going round gazing with curiosity upon the great heavy boxes, feeling the bedding, and talking together about this great quantity of furniture and goods, just as if it was their own business. They said no doubt that our cousin George Weber and his wife were rich peo- ple, who deserved the respectful consider- ation of the whole country round; and I myself, before seeing these great chests, should never have dreamed that they could have so much belonging entirely to themselves. This proved to me that my wife was perfectly right in continuing to pay every respect to my cousin; she had also cau- tioned our daughter Gr~del; and as for Jacob, he is a most sensible lad, who thinks of everything and needs not to be told what to do. But what astonished us a great deal more was to see arriving about half-past three two other large waggons from the direction of Wechem, and hearing my cousin cry here comes my wine from Barr! Before coming to Rothaip he had him- self gone to Barr, in Alsace, in order to 46 STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. taste the wine and to make his own bar- cousin had bought up all the manure at gains, the gendarmerie; then how he had made Come, Christian, said he, rising, we a contract to have all his land drained in have no time to lose if we mean to unload the autumn; and then how he was going before nightfall. Take your pincers and to build a stable and a laundry at the back your mallet; you will also fetch ropes and of his house, a distillery at the end of his a ladder to let the casks down into the yard; he was enlarging his cellars, already cellar. the finest in the country. What a quanti Jacob ran to fetch what was wanted, ty of money he must have! and we all came out together my wife, If he had not paid his architect, the my daughter, cousin, and everybody. My carpenters, and the masons cash down, it man Frantz remained alone at the mill, would have been declared that he was and immediately they began to undo the ruining himself. But he never wanted a boxes, to carry the furniture into the penny; and his solicitor always addressed house: chests of drawers, wardrobes, bed- him with a smiling face, raising his hat steads, and quantities of plates, dishes, from afar off, and calling him my dear soup-tureens, & c., which were carried Monsieur Weber. straight into the kitchen. One single thing vexed George: he had My cousin gave his orders: Put that requested of the prefecture as soon as he down in a corner; set that in another arrived a licence to open his public-house corner. at the sign of The Pineapple. He had The neighbours helped us too, out of even written three letters to Sarrebourg, curiosity. Everything went on admira- and had received no answer. Morning bly. and evening, seeing me pass by with my And upon this arrived the waggons carts of grain and flour, lie called to me from Barr; they were obliged to be kept through the window, ilallo, Christian, waiting till seven oclock. Our wives had this way just a minute! already set up the beds and put away the He never talked of anything else; he linen in the wardrobes. even came to tease me at the mayoralty- About seven oclock everything was in house to endorse and seal his letters with order in the house. We now thought of attestations as to his good life and charac- resting till to-morrow, when Joseph said ter; and yet no answer came. to us, turning up his sleeves, Now, my Ond evening, as I was busy signing the friend, here comes the biggest part of the re~,istration of the reports drawn up in work. I always strike the iron while its the week by the schoolmaster, he came in hot. Let all the men who are willing help and said, Nothing yet? me to unload the casks, for the drivers Cousin, I dont know the meaning of want to get back to town, and I think it. they are right. Very well, said he, sitting before my Immediately the cellar was opened, the desk. Give me some paper. Let me ladder laid against the first waggon, the write for once, and then we will see. lanterns lighted, the planks set leaning in He was pale with excitement, and began their places, and until eleven oclock we to write, reading it as he went on : did nothing but unload wine, roll down casks, let them down with my ropes, and MONsiETJR LE StUS-PREFET, I have re- put them in their places. quested from you a licence to open a public- Never bad I worked as I did on that house at Rothaip. I have even had the honour day! of writing you three letters upon the subject, Not before eleven oclock did cousin and you have given me no answer. Answer me George, seeing everything settled to his yes or no! When people are paid, and well satisfaction, seem pleased; he tapped the paid, they ought to fulfil their duty. Monsieur le Sous-Pr6fet, I have the honour first cask, filled a jug with wine, and said, to salute you. Working men, come up, we will have a GEORGE WEBER, good draught, and then we will go to Late Sergeant of Marines. bed. The cellar was shut up, we drank in Hearing this letter, my hair positively the large parlour, and then all, one after stood on end. another, went home to bed, upon the stroke Cousin, dont send that, said I; the of midnight. Sous-Pr~fet would very likely put you All the villagers were astonished to see under arrest. how these Parisians worked. They were Pooh! said he, you country peo- all the talk. At one time it was how I ple, you see~m to look upon these folks as THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 47 if they were demigods, yet they live upon said, Thats the truth! thats the opinion our money. It is we who pay them; they of Monsieur le Maire! are for our service, and nothing more. Yes, all these things and many more Here, Christian, will you put your seal to passed through my mind, and I should that? have liked to seO cousin George at Jer- Then, in spite of all my wife might say, icho. I replied, George, for the love of heaven, This is just how we were in our village, dont ask me that. I should most assuredly and I dont know even yet by what means lose my place. other people had made such fools of us. What place? Your place as mayor, Jn the end we have had to pay dearly for said he, in which you receive the corn- it; and our children ou0ht to learn wis- mands of the Sous-Pr~fet who receives the dom by it. commands of the Pr~fet, who receives the orders of a Minister, who does everything that our honest mom bids him. I had rather be a ragman than fill such a place. The schoolmaster, who happened to be there, suddenly dropped from the clouds; his arms hung down the sides of his chair, and he gazed at my cousin with staring eyes, just as a man fearfully examines a dan,erous lunatic. I, too, was sitting upon thorns on hear- ing such words as these in the mayoralty- house; but at last I told him I had rather go myself to Sarrebourg and ask for the permission than seal that letter. Then we will go together, said he. But I felt sure that if he spoke~after this fashion to Monsieur le Sous-Pr6fet, he would lay hands upon both of us; and I said that I should go alone, because his presence would put a constraint upon me. Very well, he said; but you will tell me everything that the Sous-Pr6fet has been saying to you. He tore up his letter, and we went out together. I dont remember that I ever passed a worse night than that. My wife kept re- peating to me that our cousin George had the precedence over the Sous-Prhfet, who only laughed at us; that the Emperor, too, had cousins, who wanted to inherit everything from him, and that everybody ought to stick to their own belongings. Next day, when I left for Sarrebourg, my head was in a whirl of confusion, and I thought that my cousin and his wife would have done well to have stayed in Paris rather than come and trouble us when we were at peace, when every man paid his own rates and taxes, when every- body voted as they liked at the prefecture. I could say that never was a loud word To whom the King, Peace ,to thine eagle- spoken at the public-house; that people borne attended with regularity both mass and Dead nestling, and this honour after death, vespers; that the gendarmes never visited Following thy will! but, 0 my Queen, I muse our village more than once a week to pre- Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone serve order; and that I myself was treat- * This poem forms one of the Idylls of the ed with consideration and respect; that King. Its place is between Lelleas and Gum- when I spoke but a word, honest menevere. From The Contemporary Magazine. THE LAST TOURNAMENT.* By ALFRED TEFNvsoB~ POET LAUREATE. DAGONET, the fool, whom Gawain in his moods Had made mock-knight of Arthurs Table Round, As Camelot, high above the yellowing woods, Danced like a witherd leaf before the flail. And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand, And from the crown thereof a carcanet Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday, Came Tristram, saying, Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?~ For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once Far down beneath a winding wall of rock Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead, From roots like some black coil of craven snakes Clutchd at the crag, and started thro mid air Bearing an eagles nest: and thro the tree Rushed ever a rainy wind, and thro the wind Pierced ever a childs cry : and crag and tree Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous nest, This ruby necklace thrice around her neck And all unscarrd from beak or talon, brought A maiden babe; which Arthur pitying took, Then gave it to his Queen to rear: the Queen But coldly acquiescing, in her white arms Received, and after loved it tenderly, And named it Nestling; so forgot herself A momerrt, and her cares; till that young life Being smitten in mid heaven with mortal cold Past from her; and in time the carcanet Vext her with plaintive memories of the child So she, delivering it to Arthur, said, Take thou the jewels of this dead innocence, And make them, an thou wilt, a tourney-prize. 48 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn, Then Arthur turnd to Kay the seneschal, And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear. Take thou my churl, and tend him curiously Like a kings heir, till all his hurts he whole. Would rather ye had let them fall, she The heathen hut that ever-climbing wave, cried, . Hurld hack again so often in empty foam. Plunge and he lost ill-fated as they were, Hath lain for years at rest and renegades, A bitterness to me! ye look amazed, Thieves, bandits, leavings of confnsion, whom Not knowing they were lost as soon as given The wholesome realm is purged of otherwhere, Slid from my hands, when I was leaning out Friends, thro your manhood and your fialty, Above the river that unhappy child now Past in her barge: but rosier luck will go Make their last head like Satan in the North. With these rich jewels, seeing th~ t they came My younger knights, new-made, in whom your Not from the skeleton of a brother-slayer, flower But the sweet body of a maiden babe. Waits to he solid fruit of golden deeds, Perchance who knows! the purest of thy Move with me toward their quelling, which knights achieved, May win them for the purest of my maids. The loneliest ways are safe from shore to shore. But thou, Sir Lancelot, sitting in my place She ended, and the cry of a great jousts Enchaird to-morrow, arbitrate the field; With trumpet-blowings ran on all the ways For wherefore shouldst thou care to mingle with From Camelot in among the faded fields it, To furthest towers; and everywhere the knights Only to yield my Queen her owh again? Armd for a day of glory before the King. Speak, Lancelot, thou art silent: is it well? But on the hither side of that loud morn Into the hall staggerd, his visage ribbd From ear to ear with do~,whip-weals, his nose Bridge-broken, one eye out, and one hand off, And one with shatterd fingers dangling lame, A churl, to whom indignantly the King, My churl, for whom Christ died, what evil beast Hath drawn his claws athwart thy face? or fiend? Man was it who marrd heavens image in thee thus? Then, sputtering thro the hedge of splinterd teeth, Yet strangers to the tongue, and with blunt stump Pitch-blackend sawing the air, said the maimd churl, He took them and he drave them to his tower Some hold he was a table-knight of thine A hundred goodly ones the Red Knight, he Lord, I was tending swine, and the Red Knight Brake in upon me and drave them to his tower; And when I calld upon thy name as one That doest right by gentle and by churl, Maimd me and mauld, and would outright have slain, Save that he sware me to a message, saying Tell thou the King and all his liars, that I Have founded my Round Table in the North, And whatsoever his own knights have sworn My knights have sworn the counter to it and say My tower is full of harlots, like his court, But mine are worthier, seeing they profess To be none other than themselves and say My knights are all adulterers like his own, But mine are truer, seeing they profess To be none other; and say his hour is come The heathen are upon him, his long lance Broken, and his Excalibur a straw.~~~ Thereto Sir Lancelot answerd, It is well Yet better if the King abide, and leave The leading of his youngerknights to me. Else, for the King has willd it, it is well. Then Arthur rose and Lancelot followd him, And while they stood without the doors, the King Turnd to him saying, Is it then so well? Or mine the blame that oft I seem as he Of whom was written, a sound is in his ears The foot that loiters, bidden go, the glance that only seems half-loyal to command, A manner somewhat fallen from reverence Or have I dreamd the bearing of our knights Tells of a manhood ever less and lower? Or whence the fear lest this my realm, upreard, By noble deeds at one with noble vows, From flat confusion and brute violences, Reel back into the beast, and be no more? He spoke, and taking all his younger knights, Down the slope city rode, and sharply turnd North by the gate. In her high bower the Queen, Working a tapestry, lifted up her head, Watchd her lord pass, and knew not that she ~ighd. Then ran across her memory the strange rhyme Of bygone Merlin, Where is he who knows? From the great deep to the great deep he goes. But when the morning of a tournament, By these i-n earnest those in mockery calld The Tournament of the Dead Innocence, Brake with a wet wind blowing, Lancelot, Round whose sick head all night, like birds of prey, The words of Arthur flying shriekd, arose, And down a streetway hung with folds of pure White samite, and by fountains running wine, Where children sat in white with cups of gold, THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 49 Moved to the lists, and there, with slow sad steps Ascending, fihld his double-dragond chair. He glanced and saw the stately galleries, Dame, damsel, each thro worship of their Queen White-robed in honour of the stainless child, And some with scatterd jewels, like a bank Of maiden snow min~,led with sparks of fire. He looked but once, and vaild his eyes again. The sudden trumpet sounded as in a dream To ears but half-awaked, then one low roll Of Autnmn thunder, and the jousts began: And ever the wind blew, and yellowing leaf And gloom and gleam, and shower and shorn plume Went down it. Sighing weariedly, as one Who sits and gazes on a faded fire, When all the goodlier guests are past away, ~at their great umpire, looking oer the lists. He saw the laws that ruled the tournament Broken, but spake not; once, a knight cast down Before his throne of arbitration cursed The dead babe and the follies of the King; And once the laces of a helmet crackd, And showed him, like a vermin in its hole, Modred, a narrow face: anon he heard The voice that billowd round the barriers roar An ocean-sounding welcome to one knight, But newly enterd, t~ her than the rest, And armourd all in forest green, whereon There tript a hundred tiny silver deer, And wearing hut a holly-spray for crest, With ever-scatterin~ berries, and on shield A spear, a harp, a bugle Tristram 1 te From overseas in Brittany returnI, And marriage with a princess of that realm, Isolt the White Sir Tristram of the Woods Whom Lancelot knew, had held sometime with pain His own against him, and now yearnd to shake The burthen off his heart in one full shock With Tristram evn to death : his strong hands gript And dinted the gilt dragons right and left, Until he groand for wrath so many of those, That ware their ladies colours on the casque, Drew from before Sir Tristram to the bounds, And there with gibes and flickering mockeries Stood, while he mutterd, Craven crests! 0 shame! What faith have these in whom they sware to love? The glory of our Ibund Table is no more. So Tristram won, and Lancelot gave, the gems, Not speaking other word than Hast thou won? Art thou the purest, brother? See, the hand Wherewith thou takest this, is red!~~ to whom Tristram, half plagued by Lancelots languorous mood, Made answer, Ay, but wherefore toss me this Like a dry bone cast to some hungry hound? LIVING AGE. VOL. XXIV. 1098 Let be thy fair Queens fantasy. Strength of heart And might of limb, but mainly use and skill, Are winners in this pastime of our King. My hand belike the lance hath dript upon it No blood of mine, I trow; but 0 chief knight, Right arm of Arthur in the battlefield, Great brother, thou nor I have made the world; Be happy in thy fair Queen as I in mine. And Tristram round the gallery made his horse Caracole; then bowd his homage, bluntly say- ing, Fair damsels, each to him who worships each Sole Queen of Beauty and of love, behold This day my Queen of Beauty is not here. And most of these were mute, some angerd, one Murmuring All courtesy is dead, and one, The glory of our Round Table is no more. Then fell thick rain, plume droopt and mantle clung, And pettish cries awoke, and the wan day Went glooming down in wet and weariness: But under her black brows a swarthy dame Laughd shrilly, crying Praise the patient saints, Our one white day of Innocence bath past, Tho somewhat draggled at the skirt. So be it. The snowdrop only, flowering thro the year, Would make the world as blank as wintertide. Come let us comfort their sad eyes, our Queens And Lancelots, at this nights solemnity With all the kindlier colours of the field. So dame and damsel glitterd at the feast Variously gay: for he that tells the tale Likend them, saying as when an hour of cold Falls on the mountain in midsummer snows, And all the purple slopes of mountain flowers Pass under white, till the warm hour returns With veer of wind, and all are flowers again; So dame and damsel cast the simple white, And glowing in all colours, the live grass, Rose-campion, bluebell, kingcup, poppy, glanced About the revels, and with mirth so loud Beyond all use, that, half-amazed, the Queen, And wroth at Tristram and the lawless jousts, Brake up their sports, then slowly to her bower Parted, and in her bosom pain was lord. And little Dagonet on the morrow morn, High over all the yellowing Autumn-tide, Danced like a witherd leaf before the hall. Then Tristram saying, Why skip ye so, Sir Fool? Wheeld round on either heel, Dagonet replied, Belike for 1 ck of wiser company; Or being fool, and seeing too much wit Makes the world rotten, why, belike I skip To know myself the wisest knight of all. Ay, fool, said Tristram, but tis eating dry To dance without a catch, a voundelay 50 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. To dance to. Then he twangled on his harp, And while he twan,,led little Dagonet stood, Quiet as any water-sodden log Stayd in the wandering warble of a brook; But when the twangling ended, skipt again; Then being askd, Why skipt ye not, Sir Fool? Made answer, I had liefer twenty years Skip to the broken music of my brains Than any broken music ye can make. Then Tristram, waiting for the quip to come, Good now, what music have I broken, fool? And little Dagonet, skipping, Arthur, the kings; For when thou playest that air with Queen Isolt, Thou makest broken music with thy bride, Her (lantier namesake down in Brittany And so thou breakest Arthurs music too. Save for that broken music in thy brains, Sir Fool, said Tristram, I would break thy head. Fool, I came late, the heathen wars were o er, The life had flown, we sware but by the shell I am but a fool to reason with a fool Come, thou art crabbd and sour: but lean me down, Sir Dagonet, one of thy long asses ears, And harken if my music be not true. Free love free field we love but while we may: The woods are hushd, their music is no more: The leaf is dead, the yearnin~ past away New leaf, new life the days of ~frost are oer: New life, new love to suit the newer day New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love, free field we love but while we may. Ye might have moved slow-measure to my tune~ Not stood stockstill. I made it in the woods, And heard it ring as true as tested gold. But Dagonet with one foot poised in his hand, Friend, did ye mark that fountain yesterday Made to run wine ? but this had ren itself All out like a long life to a sour end And them that round it sat with golden cups To hand the wine t.o whomsoever came The twelve small d. mosels white as Innocence, In honour of poor Innocence the babe, Who left the gems which Innocence the Queen Lent to the King, and Innocence the King Gave for a prize and one of those white suns Handed her cup and piped, the pretty one, Drink, drink, Sir Fool, and thereupon I drank, Spat pish the cup was gold, the draught was mud. And Tristram, ~ Was it muddier than thy gibes? Is all the laughter gone dead out of thee? Not marking how the knighthood mock thee, fool Fear God: honour the king his one true knight Sole follower of the vows for here be they Who knew thee swine enow before I came, Smuttier than blasted grain: but when the Kin~ Had made thee fool, thy vanity so shot up It frighted all free fool from out thy heart; Which left thee less than fool, and less than swine, A naked au,ht yet swine I hold thee still, For I have flung thee pearls and find thee swine.~~ And little Dagonet mincing with his feet, Knight, an ye fling those rubies round my neck In lieu of hers, Ill hold thou hast some touch Of music, since I c re not for thy pearls. Swine? I have wailowd, I have washd the world Is flesh and shadow I have had my day. The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fould me an I wallowd, then I washd I have had my day and my philosophies And thank the Lord I am King Arthurs fool. Swine, say ye? swine, goats, asses, rams and geese Troopd round a Paynim harper once, who thrummd On such a wire as musically as thou Some such fine song but never a kings fool. And Tristram, Then were swine, goats, asses, geese The wiser fools, seeing the Paynim bard Had such a mastery of his mystery That he could harp his wife up out of Hell. Then Dagonet, turning on the ball of his foot, And whither harpst thou thine? down! and thyself Down! and two more: a helpful harper thou, That harpest downward! Dost thou know the star We call the harp of Arthur up in heaven? And Tristram, Ay, Sir Fool, for when our King Was victor welinigh day by day, the knights, Glorying in each new glory, set his name High on all hills, and in the signs of heaven. And Dagonet answerd, Ay, and when the land Was freed and the Queen false, ye set yourself To babble about him, all to show your wit And whether he were king by courtesy, Or king by right and so went harping down The black kings highway, got so far, and grew So witty that ye playd at ducks and drakes With Arthurs vows on the great lake of fire. Tuwhoo! do ye see it? do ye see the star? THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 51 Nay, fool, said Tristram, not in open And loved him well, until himself had thought day. He loved her also, wedded easily, And 1)agonet, Nay, nor will: I see it and But left her all as easily, and returnd. hear. The black-blue Irish hair and Irish eyes it makes a silent music up in heaven, Had drawn him home what marvel? then he And I, and Arthur and the angels hear, laid And then we skip. Lo, fool, he said, ye His brows upon the drifted leaf and. dreamd. talk Fools treason: is the king thy brother fool? He seemd to pace the strand of Brittany Between Isolt of Britain and his bride, Then little Dagonet clapt his hands and shrilld, And showd them both the ruby-chain, and Ay, ay, my brother fool, the king of fools! both Conceits himself as God that he can make Figs out of thistles, silk from brisdes, milk Began to struggle for it, till his Queen From burning spurge, honey from hornet- Grasp it so hard, that all her hand was red. combs, Then cried the Breton, Look, her hand is And men from beasts Long live the king of red! fools! ,, These be no rubies, this is frozen blood, And melts within her hand her hand is hot And down the city Dagonet danced away. With ill desires, but this I gave thee, look, But thro the slowly-mellowing avenues Is all as cool and white as any flower. And solitary passes of the wood Followd a rush of eagles wings, and then Rode Tristram toward Lyonesse and the west. A whimpering of the spirit of the child, Before him fled the face of Queen Isolt Because the twain had spolld her carcanet. Wlth ruby-circled neck, but evermore Past, as a rustle or twitter in the wood He dreamd; but Arthur with a hundred Made dull his inner, keen his outer eye Rode spears For all that walkd, or crept, or perched, or And far, till oer the illimitable reed, flew, many a glancing plash and sallowy isle, Anon the face, as, when a gust hath blown, The wide-wingd sunset of the misty marsh Unruffling waters re-collect the shape Glared on a huge machicolated tower Of one that in them sees himself, returnd; That stood with open doors, whereout was rolld But at the slot or fewmets of a deer, A roar of riot, as from men secure Or evn a falln feather, vanishd again. Amid their marshes, ruffians at their ease So on for all that day from lawn to lawn Among their harlot-brides, an evil song. Thro many a league-long bower he rode. At Lo there, said one of Arthurs youth, for length there, A lodge of intertwisted beechen-bou~,hs High on a grim dead tree before the tower, Furze-crammd, and bracken rooft, the which A goodly brother of The Table Ronad himself Swung by the neck: and on the boughs a shield Built for a summer day with Queen Isolt Showing a shower of blood in a field noir Against a shower, dark in the golden grove And therebeside a horn, inflamed the knights Appearing, sent his fancy back to where At that dishonour done the gilded spur, She lived a moon in that low lodge with him: Till each would clash the shield, and blow the Till Mark her lord had past, the Cornish king, horn. With six or seven, when Tristram was away, But Arthur waved them back: alone he rode. And snatchd her thence; yet dreading worse Then at the dry harsh roar of the great horn, than shame That sent the face of all the marsh aloft Her warrior Tristram, spake not any word, An ever upward-rushing storm and cloud But bode his hour, devising wretchedness. Of shriek and plume, the Red Knight heard, and all, And now that desert lodge to Tristram lookt Even to tipmost lance and topmost helm, So sweet, that halting, in he past, and sank In blood-red armour sallying, howld to the Down on a drift of foliage random-blown; King, But could not rest for musing how to smooth The teeth of Hell flay bare and gnash thee And sleek his marriage over to the Queen. flat! Perchance in lone Tintagil far from all Lo! art thou not that eunuch-hearted King The tonguesters of the eourt she had not heard. Who fain had olipt free manhood from the But then what folly had sent him overseas world After she left him lonely here? a name? The woman-worshipper? Yea, Gods curse, and Was it the name of one in Brittany, I! Isolt, the daughter of the King? Isolt Slain was the brother of my paramour Of the white hands they calld her: the By a knight of thine, and I that heard her sweet name whine Allured him first, and then the maid herself, And snivel, being eunuch-hearted too, Who served him well with those white hands of Sware by the scorpion-worm that twists in hell, hers, And stings itself to everlasting death, 52 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. To hang whatever knight of thine I fought Yelp at his heart, but turning, past and gaind And tumbled. Art thou King? Look to thy Tintagil, half in sea, and high on laud, life! A crown of towers. He ended: Arthur knew the voice; the fac~ Wellnigh was helmet-hidden, and the name Went wandering somewhere darkling in his mind. And Arthur deignd not use of word or sword, But let the drunkard, as he stretchd from horse To strike him, overbalancing his bulk, Down from the causeway heavily to the swamp Fall, as the crest of some slow arching wave, He rd in dead night along that table-shore, Drops flat, and after the great waters break Whitening for half a league and thin them- selves, Far over sands marbled with moon and cloud, From less and less to nothing; thus he fell Head-heavy, while the knights, who watchd him, roard And shouted and leapt down upon the falln; There trampled out his face from being known, And sank his head in mire, and slimed them- selves: Nor beard the King for their own cries, but sprang Thro open doors, and swording right and left Men, women, on their sodden faces, hurld The tables over and the wines, and slew Till all the rafters rang with woman-yells, And all the pavement streamd with massacre: Then, yell with yell echoing, they fired the tower, Which half the autumn night, like the live North, Red-pulsing up thro Alioth and Alcor, Made all above it, and a hundred meres About it, as the water Moab saw Come round by the East, and out beyond them flushd The long low dune, and lazy-plunging sea. So all the ways were safe from shore to shore, But in the heart of Arthur pain was lord. Then out of Tristram waking, the red dream Fled with a shout, and that low lodge returnd, Mid-forest, and the wind among the boughs. He whistled his rood warhorse left to graze Among the forest greens, vaulted upon him, And rode beneath an ever-showering leaf, Till one lone woman, weeping near a cross, Stayd him, Why weep ye? Lord, she said, my man Hath left me or is dead; whereon he thought What, an she hate. me now? I would not this. What, an she love me still? I would not that. I know not what I would but said to her, Yet weep not thou, lest, if thy mate return, He find thy favour changed and love thee not Then pressing day by day thro Lyonesse Last in a roky hollow, belling, heard The hounds of Mark, and felt the goodly hounds Down in a casement sat, A low sea-sunset glorying round her hair And glossy-throated grace, Isolt the Queen. And when she heard the feet of Tristram grind The spiring stone that scaled abont her tower, Flushd, started, met him at the doors, and there Belted his body with her white embrace Crying aloud Not Mark not Mark, my soul! The footstep fiutterd me at first: not he: Catlike thro his own castle steals my Mark, But warrior-wise thou stridest through his halls Who hates thee, as I him evn to the death. My soul, I felt my hatred for my Mark Quicken within me, and knew that thou wert To whom Sir Tristram smiling, I am here. Let he thy Mark, seeing he is not thine. And drawing somewhat backward she replied, Can he be wrongd who is not evn his own, But save for dread of thee had beaten me, Scratchd, bitten, blinded, marrd me somehow Mark? What rights are his that dare not strike for hem? Not lift a hand not, tho he found me thus! But hearken, haveye met him? hence he went To-day for three days hunting as he said And so returns belike within an hour. Marks way, my soul! but eat not thou with him, Because he hates thee even more than fears; Nor drink: and when thou passest any wood Close visor, lest an arrow from the bush Should leave me all alone with Mark and hell. My God, the measure of my hate for Mark, Is as the measure of my love for thee. So plnckd one way by hate, and one by love, Draind of her force, again she sat, and spake To Tristram, as he knelt before her, saying, 0 hunter, and () blower of the horn, Harper, and thou hast been a rover too, For, ere I mated with my shambling king, Ye twain had fallen out about the bride Of one his name is out of me the prize, If prize she were (what marvel she could see) Thine, friend; and ever since my craven seeks To wreck thee villainously; but, 0 Sir Knight, What dame or damsel have ye kneeled to last? And Tristram, Last to my Queen Para.. mount, Here now to my Queen Paramount of love, And loveliness, ay, loviler than when first Her light feet fell on our rough Lyonesse, Sailing from Ireland. Softly laughd Isolt, Flatter me not, for bath not our great Queen My dole of beauty trebled? and he said TilE LAST TOURNAMENT. 53 Her beauty is her beauty, and thine thine, And thine is more to me soft, gracious, kind Save when thy Mark is kindled on thy lips Most gracious; but she, haughty, evn to him, Lancelot; for I have seen him wan enow To make one doubt if ever the great Queen Have yielded him her love. To whom Isolt, Ab then, false bunter and false harper, thou Who brakest thro the scruple of my bond, Calling me thy white bind, and saying to me That Guinevere had sinnd against the highest, And I misyoked with such a want of man That I could hardly sin against the lowest. He answered, 0 my soul, be comforted! If this be sweet, to sin in leading strings, If here be comfort, and if ours be sin, Crownd warrant had we for the crowning sin That made us happy; but how ye greet me fear And fault and doubt no word of that fond tale Thy deep heart-yearnings, thy sweet memories Of Tristram in that year he was away. And, saddening on the sudden, spake Isolt, I had forgotten all in my strong joy To see thee yearnings ? ay! for, hour by hour, Here in the never-ending afternoon, O sweeter than all memories of thee, Deeper than any yearnings after thee Seemd those far-rolling, westward-smiling seas, Watchd from this tower. Isolt of Britain dashd Before Isolt of Brittany on the strand, Would that have chilld her bride-kiss? Wed- ded her? Fought in her fathers battles? wounded there? The King was all fulfilid with gratefulness, And she, my namesake of the hands, that heald Thy hurt and heart with unguent and caress Well can I wish her any huger wrong Than having known thee? her too hast thou left To pine and waste in those sweet memories. 0 were I not my Marks, by whom all men Are noble, 1 should hate thee more than love. And Tristram, fondling her light hands, re- plied, Grace, Queen, for being loved: she loved me well. Did I love her? the name at least I loved. Isolt? I fought his battles, for Isolt! The night was dark; the true star set. Isolt! The name was ruler of the dark Isolt? Care not for her! patient, and prayerful, meek, Pale-blooded, she will yield herself to God. And Isolt answerd, Yea, and why not I? Mine is the larger need, and who am not meek, Pale-blooded, prayerfuL Let me tell thee now. here one black, mute midsummer night I sat, Lonely, but musing on thee, wondering where, Murmuring a light song I had heard thee sing, And once or twice I spake thy name aloud. Then flashd a levin-brand; and near me stood, In fuming sulphur blue and green, a fiend Marks way to steal behind one in the dark For there was Mark: He has wedded her, he said, Not said, but hissd it: then this crown of tow- ers So shook to such a roar of all the sky, That here in utter dark I swoond away, And woke again in utter dark, and cried, I will flee hence and give myself to Gods~,, And thou wert lying in thy new lemans arms. Then Tristram, ever dallying with her hand, May God be with thee, sweet, when old and gray, And past desire! a saying that angerd her. May God be with thee, sweet, when thou art old, And sweet no more to me! I need Him now. For when had Lancelot utterd ought so gross Evn to the swineherds malkin in the mast? The greater man,. the greater courtesy, But thou, thro ever harrying thy wild beasts Save that to touch a harp, tilt with a lance Becomes thee well art grown wild beast thy- self. How darest thou, if lover, push me even In fancy from thy side, and set me far In the gray distance, half a life away, Her to be loved no more? Unsay it, unswear! Flatter me rather, seeing me so weak, Broken with Mark and hate and solitude, Thy marriage and mine own, that I should suck Lies like sweet wines: lie to me : I believe. Will ye not lie? not swear, as there ye kneel, And solemnly as when ye sware to him, The man of men, our King My God, the power Was once in vows when men believed the King! They lied itot then, who sware, and thro their vows The King prevailing made his realm : I say, Swear to me thou wilt love me, evn when old, Gray-haird, and past desire, and in despair. Then Tristram, pacing moodily up and down, Vows! did ye keep the vow ye made to Mark More than I mine? Lied, say ye? Nay, but learnt, The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself My knighthood taught me this ay, being snapt We run more counter to the soul thereof Than had we never sworn. I swear no more. I swore to the great Kin,,, and am forsworn. For once evn to the height I honourd him. Man, is he man at all? methought, when first I rode from our rough Lyonesse, and beheld That victor of the Pagan throned in hail His hair, a sun that rayd from off a brow Like hillsnow high in heaven, the steel-blue eyes, The golden beard that clothed his lips with light Moreover, that weird legend of his birth, 54 TilE LAST TOURNAMENT. With Merlins mystic babble about his end Amazed me; then, his foot was on a stool Shaped as a dragon; he seemd to me no man, But Micha~l trampling Satan; so I sware, Being amazed; but this went by the vows! O ay the wholesome madness of an hour They served their use, their time; for every knight Believed himself a greater than himself, And every follower eyed him as a God; Till he, being lifted up beyond himself, Did mightier deeds than elsewise he had done, And so the realm w~ s made; but then their vows First mainly thro that sullying of our Queen Began to gall the knighthood, asking whence Had Arthur right to hind them to himself? Dropt down from heaven? washd up from out the deep? They fail to trace him thro the flesh and blood Of our old Kings: whence then? a doubtful lord To bind them by inviolable vows, Which flesh and blood perforce would violate For feel this arm of mine the tide within Red with free chase and heather-scented air, Pulsing full man; oan Arthur make me pure As any maiden child? lock up my tongue From uttering freely what I freely hear? Bind me to one? The great world laughs at it, And worldling of the world am I, and know The ptarmigan that whitens ere his hour Wooes his own end; we are not angels here Nor shall be: vows I am woodman of the woods, And hear the garnet-headed yaffingale Mock them : my soul, we love but while we may; And therefore is my love so large for thee, Seeing it is not bounded save by love. Here ending, he moved toward her, and she said, Good : an I turnd away my love for thee To some one thrice as courteous as thyself For courtesy wins woman all as well As valour may, but he that closes both Is perfect, he is Lancelot taller indeed, Rosier, and comlier, thou but say I loved This knightliest of all knights, and cast thee back Thine own small saw, We love but while we may, Well then, what answer? He that while she spake, Mindful of what he brought to adorn her with, The jewels, had let one finger lightly touch The warm white apple of her throat, replied, Press this a little closer, sweet, until Come, I am hungerd and half-angerd meat, Wine, wine and I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come. So then, when both were brought to full ac- cord, She rose, and set before him all he willd; And after these had comforted the blood With meats and wines, and satiated their hearts Now talking of their woodland paradise, The deer, the dews, the fern, the founts, the lawns; Now mocking at the much ungainliness, And craven shifts, and long crane legs of Mark Then Tristram laughing caught the harp, and sang: Ay, ay, 0 ay the winds that bend the brier! A star in heaven, a star within the mere! Ay, ay, 0 ay a star was my desire, And one was far apart, and one was near: Ay, ay, 0 ay the winds that bow the grass! And one was water and one star was fire, And one will ever shine and one will pass. Ay, ay, 0 nythe winds that move the mere.~ Then in the lights last glimmer Tristram showd And swung the ruby c~rcanet. She cried, The collar of some order, which our King Hath newly founded, all for thee, my soul, For thee, to yield thee grace beyond thy peers. Not so, my Queen, he said, but the red fruit Grown on a magic oak-tree in mid-heaven And won by Ttristram as a tourney-prize, And hither brought by Ttristram, for his last Love-offering and peace-offering unto thee. He rose, he turnd, and flinging round her neck, Claspt it; but while he bowd himself to lay Warm kisses in the hollow of her throat, Out of the dark, just as the lips had touchd, Behind him rose a shadow and a shriek Marks way, said Mark, and clove him thro the brain. That night came Arthur home, and while he climbd, All in a death-dumb autumn-dripping gloom, The stairway to the hall, and lookd and saw The great Queens bower was dark,about his feet A voice clung sobbing till he questiond it, What art thou? and the voice about his feet Sent up an answer, sobbing, I am thy fool, And I shall never make thee smile again. THE MAID OF SKER. 55 From Blackwoods Magazine. to do his utmost; so I touched my grey TIlE MAID OF SuER, forelock, and made two good bows, and set a chair for each of them, happening to CHAPTER XXI. have no more just now, thou,,h with plenty of money to buy them. Self-controlled as CEO55EXAMINATION I always am, many things had tried me of THOsE justices of the peace, although late, almost to the verge of patience; such appointed by his Majesty, have never imputations as fall most tenderly on a sor- been a comfort to me, saving only Col- rowful widower; and my pure admiration onel Lounher. They never seem to un- of Bardie, and certainty of her lofty birth, derstand me, or to make out my de- had made me the more despise such foul- sires, or to take me at my word, as much ness. So it came to pass that two scanda- as I take them at theirs. My desire has bus men were given over by the doe- always been to live in a painfully loyal tors (for the pole I had cut was a trifle manner, to put up with petty insults from too thick), nevertheless they recovered customers who know no better, leaving bravely, and showed no more gratitude them to self-reflection, and if possible to towards God, than to take out warrants repentance, while I go my peaceful way, against me! But their low devices were nor let them hear their money jingle, or frustrated by the charge being taken be- even spend it in their sight. To be fore Colonel Lougher. And what did that pleased and trustful also with the folk excellent magistrate do? He felt himself who trust,, in me, and rather to abandon compelled to do something. Therefore he much, and give back twopence in a shil- fined me a shilling per head, for the two ling, than cause any purchaser self-re- heads broken, with lOs. cost (which he proach for havin, sworn falsely before the paid, as usual), and gave me a very se- bench, now if all this would not do, to vere reprimand. keep me out of the session-books, can any Llewdllyn, he said, the time is come man point out a clearer proof of the vi- for you to leave off this course of action. cions administration of what they call I do not wonder that you felt provoked; justice around our parts? And when but you must seek for satisfaction in the any trumpery case was got up, on pur- legal channels. Suppose these men had pose to worry and plague me, the only possessed thin heads, why you might chance left me of any fair-play, was to have been guilty of murder! Make out throw up umy days work, and wear out his commitment to Cardiff Gaol, in de- my shoes in trudging to Candleston Court, fault of immediate payment. to implore that good Colonel Lou~her to All this was good, and sustained ones happen to sit on the bench that day. faith in the efficacy of British law; and When those two gentlemen alighted trusting that nothing might now be amiss from that rickety old coach, and ordered in the muinds of these two magistrates, I that very low constable to pace to and fro fetched the block of sycamore whereupon at the door of my house, boldly I came out my fish were in the habit of having their to meet them, having injured no man, nor fins and tails chopped off; and there I sat done harm of any sort that I could think down, and presented myself both ready nf~ lately. Stew came first. a man of no and respectful. On the other hand, my lineage, but pushed on by impudence; visitors looked very grave and silent; Anthony Stew can look you through, whether it were to prolong my doubts, or an English poacher said of him~ and this as having doubts of their own, perhaps. he tried always to do with me, audi Your worships, I began at last, in thoroughly welcome he was to succeed. fear of growing timorous, with any bon~er 1 will not say that my inner movements waiting your worships must have niav not have been uneasy in spite of all driven far. my rectitude;. however I showed their two To see you, Llewellyn, Squire Stew worships inside, in the very best style of said, with a nasty snap, hopin~ the more the quarter-deck, such as I had gathered to frighten me. from that coroneted captain, my proud Not only a pleasure to me, your wor- connection with whom, perhaps, I may ships, but a very great honour to my poor have spoken of ere this, or at any rate house. What will your worships be ought to have done so, for I had the pleased to eat? Butchers meat I would honour of swabbing his pumps for him al- have had, if only I had known of it. But most every mnornin~ and he was kind one thing I can truly say, my cottage has enough to call me Davy. the best of fish. Every Briton, in his own house, is bound That I can believe, said Stew; be 56 THE MAID OF SKER. cause you sell all the worst to me. An- other such a trick, Liewellyn, and I have you in the stocks. This astonished me so much for his fish had never died over four days that nothing but my countenance could ex- press my feelings. I crave your pardon, Justice Stew, said the tall grey gentleman with the vel- vet coat, as he rose in a manner that over- awed me, for he stood a good foot over Anthony Stew, and a couple of inches over me; may we not enter upon the matter which has led us to this place.? Certainly, Sir Philip, certainly, Stew replied, with a style which proved that Sir Philip must be of no small position; all I meant, Sir Philip, was just to let you see the sort of fellow we have to deal with. My integrity is well known, I an- swered, turning from him to the gentle- man; not only in this parish, but for miles and miles round. It is not my habit to praise myself; and in truth I find no necessity. Even a famous newspaper, so far away as Bristol, the celebrated Fe- lix Farleys Journal Just so said the elder gentleman; it ]s that which has brought us here; al- though, as I fear, oii a hopeless er- rand. With these words he leaned away, as if he had been long accustomed to be disap- pointed. To me it was no small relief to find their business peaceable, and that neither a bare which had ~ushed at me like a lion through a gate by moonli~ht, nor a stupid covey of partridges (nine- teen in number, which gave me no peace while excluded from my dripping-pan), nor even a pheasant cock whose crowing was of the most insulting tone, that none of these had been complainin~ to the bench emboldened me, and renewed my sense of reason. But I felt that Justice Stew could not be trusted for a moment to take this point in a proper light. Therefore I kept my wits in the chains, taking soundings of them both. Now, Llewellyn, no nonsense, mind! began Squire Stew, with his face li~ke a hatchet, and scollops over his eyebrows: what we are come for is very simple, and need not unsettle your conscience, as you have allowed it to do, I fear, Keep your aspect of innocent wonder for the next time you are brought before me. I only wish your fish were as bright and slippery as you are. May .1 humbly ask what matter it pleases your worship to be thinking of? Oh, of course you cannot imagines Davy. But let that pass, as you were acquitted, by virtue of your innocent face, in the teeth of all the evidence. If yom~s had only dropped your eyes, instead of wondering so much - but never mind, stare as you may, some day we shall be sure to have you.,~ Now, I will put it to anybody whether this was not too bad, in my own house, and with the Bench seated on my own best chair~! However, knowing what a man he ~vas, and how people do attribute to me things I never dreamed of, and what little chance a poor man has if he takes to contradiction, all I did was to look my feelings, which were truly vir- tuous. Nor were they lost upon Sir Philip. You will forgive me, good sir, I hope, he said to Squire Anthony; but unless we are come with any charge against this Mr. Llewellyn, it is hardly fair to re- open any awkward questions of which he has been acquitted. In his own house, moreover, and when he has offered kind hospitality to us in a word, I will say no more. Here he stopped, for fear perhaps of vexing the other ma~istrate; and I touched my grizzled curl and said, Sir, I thank you for a gentleman. This was the way to get on with me, instead of driving and bullying; for a gentleman or a lady can lead me to any extremes of truth; but not a lawyer, much less a justice. And Anthony Stew had no faith in truth un- less she came out to his own corkscrew. British tar, he exclaimed, with his nasty sneer; now for some more of your heroism! You look as if you were up for doing something very glorious. I have seen that colour in your cheeks when you sold me a sewin that shone in the dark. A glorious exploit; wasnt it now? That it was, your worship, to such a customer as you.~~ While Anthony Stew was digesting this, which seemed a puzzle to him, the tall grey gentleman, feeling but little in- terest in my commerce, again desired to hurry matters. Forgive inc again, I be- seech you, good sir; but ore long it will be dark, and as yet we have learned noth- ing. Leave it all to me, Sir Philip: your wisest plan is to leave it to me. I know all the people round these parts, and es- pecially this fine fellow. I have made a sort of study of him, because I consider him what I may call a thoroughly typical character. THE MAID OF SKER. 57! I am not a typical character, I an~ swered, over-hastily, for I found out after- wards what he meant. I never tipple; but when I drink, my rule is to go through with it. Squire Stew laughed loud at my mis- take, as if he had been a great scholar himself; and even Sir Philip smiled a little in his sweet and lofty manner. No doubt but I was vexed for a moment, scenting (though I could not see) error on my own part. But now I might defy them both, ever to write such a book as this. For vanity has always been so foreign to my nature, that I am sure to do my best, and, after all, think nothing of it, so long as people praise me. And now, in spite of all rude speeches, if Sir Philip had only come without that Squire Anthony not a thing of all that happened would I have retained from him. It is hopeless for peo- ple to say that my boat crippled speech on my part. Tush! I would have pulled her plug out on the tail of the Tuskar rather than one moment stand against the light for Bardie. Squire Stew asked me all sorts of ques- tions having no more suhstance in them than the blowing-hole at the end of an egg, or the bladder of a skate-fish. All of these I answered boldly, finding his foot outside my shoes. And so he came back again, as they do after trying foolish ex- cursions, to the very point he started with. Am I to understand, my good fellow, that the ship, which at least you allow to be wrecked, may have heen or might have been something like a foreigner? Therein lies the point whereon your worship cannot follow me, any more than could the coroner. Neither he, nor his clerk, nor the rest of the jury, would listen to common-sense about it. That ship no more catne from Appledore than a whale was hatched from a herrings egg. I knew it, I knew it, broke in Sir Philip. They have only small coasters at Appledore. I said that the newspaper must be wrong. However, for the sake of my two poor sons, I am bound to leave no clue unfollowed. There is nothing more to be done, Mr. Stew, except to express my many and great obligations for your kindness. Herewith he made a most stately bow, and gave even me a corner of it. Stay, Sir Phiip; one moment more. This fellow is such a crafty file. Certain I am that he never would look so unnatur- ally frank and candid unless he were in his most slippery mood. You know the old proverb, I daresay, Put a Taffy on his mettle, hell boil Old Nick in his own fish- kettle. Dyo where did your boat come from? This question~ he put in a very sudden, and I might well say vicious, manner, dart- ing a glance at me like the snakes tongues in the island of Das Cobras. I felt such contempt that I turned my back, and gave him a view of the boofely buckens ad- mired so much by Bardie. Well done! he cried. Your re- sources, Dyo, are an infinite credit to you. And, do you know, when I see your back, I can almost place sonie faith in you. It is broad and fiat and sturdy, Dyo. Ah! many, a fine hare has swung there head downwards. Nevertheless, we must see this boat. Nothing irritates me more than what low Englishmen call chaff. I like to be pleasant and jocular upon other people; but I dont like that sort of thiag tried upon me when I am not in the humour for it. Therefore I answered crustily. Your worship is welcome to see my boat, and go to sea in her if you please, with the plug out of her bottom. Under Porthcawl Point she lies; and all the peo- ple there know all about her. Only, I will beg your worship to excuse my presence, lest you should have low suspicious that I came to twist their testimony. Well said, David! well said, my fine fellow! Almost I begin to believe thee, in spite of all experience. Now, Sir Philip. Your pardon, good sir; I follow you into the carriage. So off they set to examine my boat; and I hoped to see no more of them, for one thing was certain to wit, that their coachman never would face the sandhilU, and no road ever is, or ever can be, to Portheawi; so that these two worthy gen- tlemen needs must exert their noble legs for at least one-half of the distance. And knowing that Squire Stews soles were soft, I thought it a blessing for him to im- prove the only soft part about him. CHATER XXII. ANOTHER DISAPPOINTMENT. HIGHLY pleased with these reflections, what did I do but take a pipe, and sit like a lord at my own doorway, having sent poor Bunny with a smack to bed, because she had shown curiosity: for this leading vice of the female race cannot be too soon discouraged. But now I began to fear almost that it would be growing too dark 58 THE MAID OF SKER. very soon for me to see what became of find any wit in his jokes, supposing them the carriage returning with those two to be meant for such. worships. Moreover, I felt that I had no Well what did your worships think of right to let them go so easily, without even Porthcawl? I asked, after setting the knowin Sir Philips surname, or what chairs a~ am, while I bustled about for my mi~ht be the especial craze which had led tinder-box: did you happen to come them to honour inc so. And sundry other across the man whose evil deeds are al- considerations slowly prevailed over me; ways being saddled upon me? until it would have gone sore with my We found a respectable worthy Scotch- mind, to be kept in the dark concernin man, whose uame is Alexander Macraw; them. So, when the heavy dusk of au- and who told us more in about five mm- tumn drove in over the notch of saudhills ntes than we got out of you in an hour or from the far-away of sea, and the green of more. He has given us stronger reason to grass was gone, and you hardly could tell hope that we may be on the right track at a boy from a girl among the children play- last to explain a most painful mystery, ing, unless you knew their mothers; I, and relieve Sir Philip from the most cruel rejoicing in their pleasures, quite forgot suspense and anxiety. the justices. For all our children have a At these words of Squire Anthony, the way of letting out their liveliness, such as tall grey gentleman with the velvet coat makes old people feel a longing to be in bowed, and would fain have spoken~ but with them. Not like Bardie, of course; feared perhaps that his voice would trem- but still a satisfactory feelinir. And the ble. better my tobacco grew, the sweeter were Macraw thinks it highly probable, my memories. Justice Stew continued, that the ship, Before I had courted my wife and my though doubtless a foreigner, may have sweethearts (a dozen and a-half perhaps, touched on the opposite coast for supplies, or at the outside say two dozen) anything after a long ocean voya~,e: and though Sir more than twice a-piece, in the gentle cud Philip has seen your boat, and considers it of memory; and with very quiet sighs quite a stranger, that proves nothing indeed, for echoes of great thumping ones; either way, as the boat of course would and just as I wondered what execution a belon,, to the ship. But one very simple beautiful child, with magnificent legs, and speedy way there is of settling the would do, when I lay in the churchyard question. You thought proper to conceal, all of a heap I was fetched out of dream- the fact that the Coroner had committed ing into common-sense again. There was to your charge as foreman of the jury the great yellow coach at the corner of the and a precious jury it must have been old grey wall that stopped the sand; and so as to preserve near the spot, in case of all the village children left their hide- any inquiry, the dress of the poor child and-seek to whisper. Havin~ fallen into washed ashore. This will save us the jour- a different mood from that of curiosity, and ney to Sker, which in the dusk would be longing only for peace just now, or tender dangerous. David Llewellyn, produce styles of going, back went I into my own that dress, nuder my authority. cottage, hoping to hear them smack whip That I will, your worship, with the and away. Even my hand was on the bolt greatest pleasure. I am sure I would have for a bolt I had now on account of the told you all about it, if I had only thought cats, who understand every manner of of it. latch, wherever any fish be and perhaps Ahem! was all Squire Stews reply, it is a pity that I did not shoot it. for a horribly suspicious man hates such But there came three heavy knocks: and downright honesty. But without taking I scarcely had time to unbutton my coat, further notice of him, I went to my locker in proof of their great intrusion, before I of old black oak, and thence I brought that was forced to show my face, and beg to upper garment something like a pinafore, know their business, the sight of which had produced so strong Now, Dyo, Dyo, said that damned an effect upon the Coroner. It was made Stew f~saving your presence, I cant call of the very finest linen, and perhaps had him else]; this is a little too bad of you! been meant for the child to wear in lieu Retiring ere dusk! Aha! aba! And how of a frock in some hot climate. As I many hours after midnight will you keep brought this carefully up to the table, our hornpipes up, among the jolly sail- Squire Stew cried, Light another candle, ors! Great Davy, I admire you. just as if I kept the village shop! This I I saw that it was not in his power to might have done at one time, if it had only enter into my state of mind: nor could I happened to me, at the proper period, to TilE MAID OF SKER. 59 marry the niece of the man that lived next door to the chapel, where they dried the tea-leaves. She took a serious liking to me, with my navy trousers on; hut I was fool enough to find fault with a little kink in her starboard eye. I could have car- ried on such a trade, with my knowledge of what people are, and description of foreign climates however it was not to be, and I had to buy my candles. As soon as we made a fine strong light, both the gentlemen came nigh, and Sir Philip, who had said so little, even now forbore to speak. I held the poor dress, tattered by much beating on the points of rocks; and as I unrolled it slowly, he withdrew his long white hands, lest we should remark their quivering. You are not such fools as I thought, said Stew; it is a coronet beyond doubt. I can trace the lines and crossings, though the threads are frayed a little. And here in the corner, a moneygrum ah! you never saw that, you stupes . do you know the mark, sir? I do not, Sir Philip answered, and seemed unable to fetch more words; and then like a strong man turned away, to hide all disappointment. Even Anthony Stew had the manners to feel that here was a sorrow beyond his d3 pth, and he covered his sense of it, like a gentleman, by some petty talk with me. And it made me almost respect him to find that he dropped all his banter, as out of season. But presently the tall grey gentleman recovered from his loss of hope, and with a fine brave face regarded us. And his voice was firm and very sweet. It is not right for me to cause you pain by my anxieties; aud I fear that you will condemn me for dwelling upon them over- much. But you, Mr. Stew, already know, and you my friend have a right to know, after your kind and ready help, that it is not only the piteous loss of two little in- nocent children, very dear ones both of them, but also the loss of fair repute to an honourable family, and the cruel suspicion cast upon a fine brave fellow, who would scorn, sir, who would scorn for the wealth of all this kingdom, to hurt the hair of a babys head. here Sir Philips voice was choked with indignation more than sorrow, and he sate down quickly, and waved his hand, as much as to say, I am an old fool, I had much better not pretend to talk. And much as I longed to know all about it, of course it was not my place to ask. Exactly, niy dear sir, exactly, Squire Anthony went on, for the sake of saying something; I understand you, my dear sir, and feel for you, and respect you greatly for your manly fortitude under this sad calamity. Trust in Providence, my dear sir; as indeed I need not tell you.~~ I will do my best; but this is now the seventh disappointment we have had. It would have been a heavy blow, of course, to have found the poor little fellow dead. But eveii that, with the recovery of the other, would have been better than this dark mystery, and, above all, would have freed the living from these maddening sus- picions. But as it is, we must try to bear it, and to say, Gods will be done. But I am thinking too much about ourselves. Mr. Stew, I am very ungrateful not to think more of your convenience. You must be longing to be at home. At your service, Sir Philip quite at your service. My time is entirely my own. This was simply a bit of brag; and I saw that he was beginning to fidget; for, bold as his worship was on the bench, we knew that he was but a coward at board, where Mrs. Stew ruled with a rod of iron: and now it was long past dinner-time, even in the finest houses. One thing more, then, before we go, answered Sir Philip, rising; according to the newspaper, and as I hear, one young maiden was really saved from that disas- trous shipwreck. I wish we could have gone on to see her; hut I must return to- morrow morning, having left many anxious hearts behind. And to cross the sands in the dark, they say, is utterly impossible. Not at all, Sir Philip, said I, very firmly, for I honestly wished to go through with it; although the sand is very deep, there is no fear at all, if one knows the track. It is only the cowardice of these people ever since the sand-storm. I would answer to take you in the darkest night, if only I had ever learned to drive. But Anthony Stew broke in with a smile. It would grieve me to sit behind you, Dyo, and I trow that Sir Philip would never behold Appledore again. There is nothing these sailors will not attemot. Although I could sit the bow-thwart of a cart very well, with a boy to drive me, and had often advised the hand at the tiller, and sometimes as much as held the whip, all this, to my diffidence, seemed too little to warrant me in navigating a craft that carried two horses. Sir Philip looked at me, and perhaps he thou0ht that I had not the cut of a coach- man. however, all he said was this: 00 THE MAID OF SKER. In spite of your kindness, Mr. Stew, and your offer, my good sir, this was to me, ~with much di~nity I perceive that we must not think of it. And of what use could it be except to add new troubles to old ones? Sir, I have trespassed too much on your kindness; in a minute I will follow you. Anthony Stew, being thus addressed, was only too glad to skip into the carriage. By, by, Dyo, he cried; mend your ways, if you can, my man. I think you have told fewer lies than usual; knock off one every time of speaking, and in ten years you will speak the truth. Of this low rubbish I took no heed any more than any one would who knows mc, especially as I beheld Sir Philip signalling with his purse to me, so that Stew might not be privy to it. Entering into the spir- it of this, I had some pleasant memories of gentlemanly actions done by the supe- rior classes towards me, but longer agoue than I could have desired. And now be- ing out of the habit of it, I showed some natural reluctance to begin again, unless it were really worth my while. Sir Philip understood my feelings, and I rose in his esteem, so that half-guineas went back to his pocket, and guineas took the place of them. Mr. Llewellyn, I know, he said, that you have served your country well; and it grieves me to think that on my account you have met with some harsh words to- (lay. If your worship only knew how little a thin~, of that sort moves me when I think of the great injustice. But I sup- pose it must be expected by a poor man such as I am. Justice Stew is spoiled by having so many rogues to deal with. I al- ways make allowance for him; and of course I know that he likes to play with the lofty character I bear. If I had his house and his rich estate but it does not matter . after all, what are we? Ab, you may well say that, Llewellyn. Two months ago I could not have believed but who are we to find fault with the doings of our Maker? All will be right if we trust in Him, although it is devilish hard to do. But that poor maid at that wretched place what is to become of her? She has me to look after her, your worship, and she shall not starve while I have a penny.~~ Bravely said, Llewellyn! My son is a sailor, and I understand them., I know that I can trust you fully to take charge of a trifle for her. I love the maid, I answered truly; I would sooner rob myself than her. Of course you would, after saving her life. I have not time to say much to you, only take this trifle for the benefit of that poor thing. From a red leathern bag he took out ten guineas, and hastily plunged them into my hand, not wishing Stew to have knowledge of it. But I was desirous that everybody should have the chance to be wituess of it, and so I held my hand quite open. And just at that moment our Bunny snored. What! have you children yourself, Llewellyn? I thought that you were an old bachelor. An ancient widower,your worship, with a little grandchild; and how to keep her to the mark, with father none and mother none, quite takes me off my head some- times. Let me light your honour to your carriage. Not for a moment, if you please; I wish I had known all this before. Mr. Stew never told me a word of this. It would have been strange if he had, said I; he is always so bitter against me, because he can never prove anything. Then, Liewellyn, you must oblige me. Spend this trifle in clothes and things for that little snorer. He gave me a little crisp affair, feeling like a childs caul dried, and I thought it was no more than that. However, I touched my brow and thanked him as he went to the carriage-step; and after con- sulting all the village, I found it a stanch pledge from the Government for no less than five pounds sterling THE rarity of old Flemish wall-painting gives and, except that the colour is somewhat faded, a special interest to the discovery recently made is tolerably well preserved. It depicts Christ on in the Johanniskirche of llerzogenbusch, of a the cross, with the Virgin and St. John; at the wall-painting dating from 1447. It has been foot of the cross is a burgher family of the town, brought to light from beneath the whitewash, the donors of the picture. TUE SOUTH-SEA ISLANDS COOLIE. 61 From The Spectator. THE SOUTHSEA ISLANDS COOLIE. FROM A CORRESPO~DEKT. SIR, The South-Sea Islands Coolie, or, ~s he is commonly called, the Kanaka, has been, is, and will be a person of consider- able importance, both to the Australian sugar-planter who hires him, and to the English politician who talks about him. I venture, therefore, to ask for some small space in your valuable columns in which to show any of your readers whom the sub- ject may interest or amuse, who the Coolie is, where be comes from, and how I went to fetch him. Anything approaching the question of the rights of labour at home and abroad is now-a-days so delicate a matter that in the present letter I feel inclined to confine myself entirely to the subject of the South- Sea Islanders, ~nd to give my personal ex- perience of their life on their own islands, and of their treatment in the Australian colony, which has lately raised so much discussion. The Australian labour-market has been at various times supplied with convicts, free and assisted emigrants, Chinamen and Germans; but it is only within the last few years that the introduction of sugar- growing industry into Queensland has turned our attention to that large group of islands, the New Hebrides, lying within a weeks sail of our own colony, and crowded with an indigent and sava0e pop- ulation. The planters, in despair at the restless character of the English workman, became naturally very ea~er to obtain a quantity of cheap and reliable labourers for the sugar season men who could stand the heat of the sun, who would work together in gangs without grumbling, and above all, who would bind themselves to their employers for at least three years. Under these circumstances, several small ships started for the New Hebrides in quest of men, and the first arrival of wool- ly, stupid-looking Kanakas was regarded with great curiosity by all classes. Most of us had heard of the South Seas, and vaguely connected the subject with coral, cocoa-nuts, and Masterman Ready, but few English working-men, I fancy, had im- agined that actual South-Sea Islanders would ever be brought to compete with them on their own ground, the general opinion evidently being that Chinamen or Germans had already sufficiently en- croached upon their rights, and that the idea of anything like a niggerlowering their wages was monstrous and absurd; indeed, I remember that an aboriginal boy whom I brought down to Brisbane from the bush to lead my spare horses, after a long examination of his rival, coolly turned away from him with the contemptuous ex- pression, That fellow all same dog I It is hardly necessary for me to tell any of your readers who know Australia that the said boy had nothin~ on him save an old ragged red shirt of mine, and was then perhaps better dressed than he had ever been before. Now the planters must acknowledge and probably would not care to deny that the system of importing labourers as carried on previously to 1868 was liable to grave abuses. The Polynesian Labourers Act of 1868, however, abolished most of this, and compelled intending employers, before they were allowed even to apply for leave to import coolies, to enter into heavy bonds, by which they en~,aged to give them rations on the Government scale, consisting of 1 lb. meat and 1 lb. flour per diem, with ve~etahles, tea, sugar, tobacco, and soap; to pay them at the rate of 6 per annum for three years, and at the expirntion of that time to send them back to their native country. In fact, the Queensland Government paid almost more attention to the welfare of the coolie than to that of the assisted immigrant from England or Germany. The Act, however, does not seem to have been very strin- gently enforced at first, and Captain Palmer, of H.M.S Rosario, in his interest- ing book on the subject, has already told us his story of the cruise of the Daphne, and of the attempt of the charterers of that vessel to evade its very ambiguous terms. For nearly two years the importation of coolies had almost ceased, as the islanders had got tired of waiting for the return of their countrymen, and I verily believe suspected us of having eaten them. For my own part, I had always had a great longing for a cruise among these islands, and at last made up my mind that I~ would go myself and see whether I could not procure some labourers for the planta- tion. I was much amused by the conflict- ing pieces of advice I received on the oc- casion, everybody, however, agreeing that I must go armed to the teeth, while one man gravely informed me that the modus operandi was this You should take a trade musket, value say 15s., and having found a chief, present him with it, requir- ing so many men, on which he would say to his subjects, You go to Queensland; when you get there, in about a months 62 THE SOUTH-SEA ISLANDS COOLIE. time, white man will probably eat you, but if you dare to stop here Ill eat you my- self to-morrow. Lovers of the picturesque would, I be- lieve, have been almost satisfied could they have been present at the start from Bris- bane of the little schooner I had engaged. Cheers and chaff from the lookers-on upon shore, the warlike get-up of myself and trading-master, and the happy faces of the returning islanders who had served their time on some plantation, and were going home, each with a huge chest con- taining LiSs worth of calico, axes, grind- stones, knives, & c., and last, but not least, each darkie, despairing of getting rid of his money in any other way, and not appreciating the good old Australian cus- tom of drinking it, had bought himself a silk umbrella, and held it over his head with great glee, though there was neither sun nor rain to wash out the grease with which he had plentifully bedaubed his long frizzled locks. I shall cut short the account of the voya~,e to the New Hebrides, how we landed at one of the French islands, and how I was incontinently seized upon by two dirty soldiers without shoes, but with chassep6ts, who after a good deal of trouble succeeded in telling me, in what they called French, that all English trad- ing ships were forbidden to stop there, and that I must give an account of myself to the Commandant; of my interview with that gentleman, and how, after an ani- mated, but to me unpleasant conversation, we fraternized, and toasted La belle France in ruin of my own providing; and how glad I was to leave my new ac- quaintance and get on board again, pick- ing up our anchor in, s believe, as short a time as ever anchor was got up in 12- fathom water. It is all over now, and I can only add that the respect I have for France and her representatives has pre- vented my showing myself in that port again. A brisk north-east breeze took us over to Tanna, a distance of some 60 miles, before, I believe, M. le Commandant had awakened to the fact that light claret is scarcely good training for ne~w Queensland rum. I wish I had been an artist, to paint the beautiful view that rose before me that morning, the long swell breaking heavily upon the sunken coral reef, the glassy wa- ter beyond; then the cocoa-palms down to the waters edge, the steep rocks matted with such verdure as perhaps only Tanna pa~odnces; and in the distance the light cloud of smoke hanging over the sulphur volcano that crowns this island, catching the rays of the morning sun, and standing out against the sky like a mountain of gold. I think I never appreciated the lines: Where every prospect pleases, And only man is vile till I landed tbere, for a viler-looking lot it had never been my ill-fortune to behold. The shore was literally black with the lordly savage, every man with a musket over his shoulder, and every man daubed to the eyes with vermilion. It was with great satisfaction that I made out that this display merely meant that the gentlemen had had their breakfast, and were going out to fi~ht their next neighbours a tribe headed by a warrior who had acquired the name of Washerwoman, certainly not from his habits ur his linen in which little employment they regularly spent their days, coming back in the afternoon happy and hungry, in much the same way as we should come in from shooting in England to afternoons tea in the drawing- room. I must say, however, to give them their due, they very seldom hurt anyone, an islanders military tactics generally con- sisting in walking alone with his musket at full cock, performing at the same time on an instrument resembling Pandean pipes hung round his neck; and if during his martial progress he should happen to see anybody or anything, or think he did, he would let fly forthwith, and without waiting to see whether he had bagged anything, he would scamper back to his own bit of beach, where after a long harangue to the women he would reload his weapon and repeat the dose. In this style of fighting the great advantage is that you are always pretty sure, judging from your own case, that your adversarys musket wont go off. The hand-shaking with theBe veterans was something after the manner of Martin Chuzzlewits reception. The trade-box was taken out of the boat, and a brisk trade in yams, cocoa-nuts, and pigs was started forthwith, the native showing much shrewd- ness in feeling the market with small pigs before producing big ones; sometimes, however, his cupidity got the better of his judgment, and if he saw anyone with an object that struck his fancy in the way of a pipe or tomahawk, that article he would have at any sacrifice. I have often won- dered at the imperfect idea of number which a native possesses, he grasps easily the idea of one pig for one axe, but three pigs for three axes bothers him. I DECEMBER 16, 1773. 63 looked round for a chief and tried to open child among the Vril-ya wonld have killed the conversation with him, with a view to a krek. my great object, recruits for Queensland, Surrounded by a group of admiring and commenced an animated harangue, spectators, we overhauled the chests of pointin~ out to him the advantages the these the first men that had ever returned men would gain in going with me, and the to Tanna from Queensland. Every arti- strength they would add to the tribe when cle, from a fish-hook to a grindstone, was they brought back their muskets and pow- hailed with shrill cries of delight, and I had der. The chief smiled graciously, and little difficulty in improving the occasion manifested a sudden fancy for my sheath- and recruiting twenty or thirty yonng men knife, which being in a moment of weak- from the crowd around. It was when it ness given to him, he walked off leaving me came to parting that the great difficulty to a crowd of applicants for more sheath- arose. The old women on one side insist- knives of the same sort. I was not a little ing that their sons should not go, and the mortified at finding out afterwards that he young men on the other indignant at be- had not understood a sin~le word, being ing treated as children, made a very pret- of a different tribe from my interpreter. ty quarrel as it stood, while I, having And 50 1 learnt a great and most impor- learnt the wisdom of the aphorism that tant lesson, in all dealings with the na- you should never interfere in family differ- tives, and which I cannot help thinking ences, stood by endeavouring to look as might be profitably taken to heart by unconcerned as possible. charitable London ladies, Never give In my subsequent experience of the away anythin0 without value received, un- islands, I found the invariable custom of less you wish to put a stop to all trade leave-taking to be as follows The in- and make everybody a be,,gar. Man tending emigrant would strip himself of after man shook his head when I asked all he had on, consisting probably of only him to come over to Queensland. The one bracelet, and sitting down on the universal cry was, We are willing enough beach, would howl melodiously in the mid- to go and work and get muskets and pow- dle of a circle of women, after the payment der, but we should like to see some of our of which tribute to nature he would step brothers back here first, to hear what they briskly into the boat, as gleefnl as a child say of your country. in prospect of a holiday. If asked to bring It has never been my good fortune to the women with him he would indignantly contest an election in the old country, but refuse, evidently thinking he was already I had heard that the woman once gained, well out of that mess, and would become the man follows, is a maxim in canvass- quite reconciled to his new life before the ing, and acting on this plan, I approached south-east trades had blown us over to a matronly looking lady, with a ring in Yat6. But I fear that I have already tres- her nose and a baby on her shoulder, and passed too far on your valuable space, and tried to make friends, npon which, draw- will, with your permission, leave the ing her grass petticoat-fringe close round rest of my cruise to another letter. I am, her, she set up such a piteous howling, that Sir, etc., I concluded the progress of civilization had JAMEs L. A. HOPE. not yet wafted the notion of womans November 27, 1871. rights to those distant regions, and that far from having any infinence over her hus- band, she actually seemed to be afraid of him! However, on the arrival of a happy boat-load of returning brothers, every DECEMBER 16, 1773. little hitch was smoothed over, and forget- ful of yams and pigs, all rushed off to in- 35 COURT STREET, spect the contents of the chests they had BoSTON, DEC. 16, 1871. brought, and in the struggle that ensued To the Editors of the Boston Daily A deer- in carrying those heavy chests through C er: the breakers, I could not help thinking In reference to the destruction of the that a little less sea-water would have tea in Boston harbour, December 16, 1773, been advantageous to the silk umbrellas. I think the following characteristic letter Glad was I, then, that these men had been well treated in Queensland, for I am con- may be of interest to your readers. It is vinced that had a bad character been giv- a copy of one now in my possession, writ- en of us, they would have knocked us on ten by John Adams to General James War- the head with as little compunction as a ren of Plymouth, and if I mistake not, has 64 DECEMBER 16, 1773. never before been published. WINSLOW WARREN. Bosvo~, DEC. 17, 1773. Dr Sir The Dye is cast! The People have passed the River and cutt away the Bridge! last Night Three Cargoes of Tea were emptied into the Harbour. This is the grandest Event whieli has ever yet hap- pened Since the Controversy with Britain opened! The Sublimity of it, charms me! For my own Part I cannot express my own Sentiments of it, better than in the Words of Coll. Doane to me last Evening Baich should repeat them The worst that can happen, I think, says he in Conse- quence of it, will be that the Province must pay for it. Now, I think the Province may pay for it, if it is burned as easily as if it is drank and I think it is a matter of indifference whether it is drank or drowned. The Province mpst pay for it in either Case But there is this differ- ence I believe it will take them 10 years to get the Province to pay for it if so, we shall save 10 Years Interest of the Money whereas if it is drank it must be paid for immediately. thus lIe How- ever, He agreed with me that the Province, would never pay for it. and also in this that the final Ruin, of our Constitution of Government and of all American Liberties, would be the certain Consequence of Suf- fering it to be landed. Governor Hutchinson and his Family and Friends will never have done with their good services to Great Britain & the Colonies! But for him this tea might have been saved to the East India Company. Whereas this Loss if the rest of the Colo- nies should follow our example, will in the opinion of many Persons bankrupt the Company. However, I dare say, that the Govern- ors and Consignees and Custom House officers, in the other Colonies will have more Wisdom than ours have had & take effectual care that their Tea shall be sent back to England untouched if not it will as surely be destroyed there as it has been here. Threats, Phantoms, Bu~bears, by the million, will be invented and propagated among the People upon this Occasion Individuals will be threatened with Suits and Prosecutions, Annies and Navies will be talked of, military Executions Char- ters annulld Treason Tryals in Eng- land and all that But these Terrors are all but Ima~inations Yet if they should become Realities they had better be suffered, than the great Principle, of Parliamentary Taxation given up The Town of Boston was never more still and calm of a Saturday night than it was last Night. All Things were conduct- ed with great order, Decency and perfect submission to Government. No Doubt, We all thought the Administration in bet- ter Hands than it had been. Please to make Mrs. Adams most re- spectful Compliments to Mrs. Warren, and mine. I am your Friend J~I1N ADAMS. A QUEENS SPEEcH. The following speech of the Queen of Madagascar was delivered at the opening of a Memorial Church I thank the missionaries and the friends beyond the seas who have helped to finish this house; for com- pletion of this stone building as a place in which to pray to, and for praising God and giving glory to Jesus, on account of the redemption he has wrought, is a thing which rejoices both me and you. But not this building alone is called a House of God, but our hearts too; for Paul says in the Corinthians, Ye are the temples of the living God. Therefore it rejoices my heart when we all do what we can to extend the king- dom of God upon earth; for that was com- manded by Jesus Christ, saying, Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature. And our friends from beyond the seas have come here and do all they can to bene- fit us, that we may know Jesus Christ; much more ought we (who live in the land) to do so. Therefore, let all, whether men or women, be diligent for every one has a work to do; and let all of us strive to extend the kingdom of God to the very utmost of our abilities; for Solomon says, Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. Golden Hours.. THE Reveue ./Ircheol ique for October con- tinues the description of Livias house on the Palatine, and describes two paintings which re- present ladies engaged in divination with vessels of water, the well-known idpo~iavi-eta. it also supplies a detailed account of some of the stat- ues and windows of the cathedral of Strasburg, the latter representing a series of German em- perors.

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The Living age ... / Volume 112, Issue 1440 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. January 13, 1872 0112 1440
The Living age ... / Volume 112, Issue 1440 65-128

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. No. 1440. January 13, 1872. CONTENTS. 1. ILLUSTRATION 2. STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. Told by one of the sev- en millions five hundred thousand who voted yes. By MM. Erckmann-Chatrian. Part II 3. THE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. By Richard A. Proctor, 4. THE NEAP REEF. By the author of Dorothy Fox. Concluded 5. THE LOFODEN ISLANDS, 6. THE MAID or SKER. Part VIII. 7. OF SOLAR ERUPTIONS 8. THE SOUTh-SEA ISLANDS CooLIE,. 9. Hninoo CASTE Blackwoods Magazine, Cornhill Magazine, Cornhill Magazine, Good Cheer, Frasers Magazine, Blackwoods Magazine, Spectator, Spectator, . Pall Mall Guzette, POET R V. GERTYS NECKLACE, 66 THIRTY-ONE 66 IN THE WOOD I SHORT ARTICLES. CANAL TO CONNECT THE CASPIAN SEA AND INFLUENCE or GREEN LIGHT ON THE SEN THE SEA OF AZOFF 116 SITIVE PLANT,. . . . . 128 A CONSCIENTIOUS QUAKER, . . . 116 NEW BOOKS: OUR ENGLISH BIBLE AND ITS ANCESTORS. (An account of the Origin and Growth of the English Bible.) By Treadwell Waidron, Rector of St. Pauls Cathedral, Indianapolis. Philadelphia: Porter & Coates. NUMBERS OF THE LIVING AGE WANTED. The publishers are in want of Nos. 1179 and 1180 (dated respectively Jan. 5th and Jan. 12th, 1867) of THE LIVING AGE. To subscrsbers, or others, who will do us the. favor to send us either or both of those numbers, we will return an equivalent, either in our publications or in cash, until our wants are supplied. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. FOR EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to ehe Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually for. warded for a year,free of postage. But we do not prepay postage on less than a year, nor where we have to pay commission for forwarding the money. Price of the First Series, in Cloth, 36 volumes, 90 dollars. Second 20 50 Third 32 to The Complete Work, 100 250 Any Volume Bound, 3 dollars; Unbound, 2 dollars. The sets, or volumes, will be sent at the expense of the publishers. PREMIUMS FOR CLUBS. For 5 new suWcribers ($40.), a sixth copy; or a set Of baNES INTRODUCTION TO TH BIBLE, un- abridged, in 4 large volumes, cloth, price $10; or any S of the hack volumes of the LIVING AGE, in num- hers, price~ 10. 67 79 88 97 107 117 124 125 127 66 GERTYS NECKLACE, ETC. GERTYS NECKLACE. BY FREDERICK LOCKER. As Gerty skipt from babe to girl, Her necklace lengthened, pearl by pearl; Year after year it slowly grew, But every birthday gave her two. Her neck is lovely soft and fair, And now her necklace glimmers there. So cradled, let it sink and rise, And all her graces symbolize: Perchance this pearl, without a speck, Once was as warmon Sapphos neck; And where are all the happy pearls That braided Cleopatras cnrls? Is Gerty loved ? Is Gerty loth? Or, if shes either, is she hoth ? Shes fancy free, but sweeter far Than many plighted maidens are: Will Gerty smile us all away, And still he Gerty? Who can say? But let her wear her precious toy, And Ill rejoice to see her joy: Her baubles only one degree Less frail, less fugitive than we; For time, ere long will snap the skein, And scatter all the pearls again. IN THE WOOD. IF it be true I cannot tell That spirits in the forest dwell, But, walking in the wood to-day, A vision fell across my way; Not such as once, beneath the green Oerhanging boughs, I should have seen; But in the tranquil noon-tide hour, And in the crimson Campion flower, And in the grass I felt a power; And every leaf of herb and tree Seemed like a voice that greeted me, Saying, Not to ourselves alone We live and die making no moan. The sunshine and the summer showers, And the soft dews of night are ours; We ask no more than what is given; Our praise and prayer is leaf aad bloom, And day and night our sweet perfume Like incense rises up to heaven; Thus our sweet lives we live alone, We come and go and make no moan. And so out of the wood I went, Thinking, I too will he content With day and ni~ht, with good and ill, Suhmissive to the hcavenly will. The power which gives to plant and tree Its bound and limit, gave to me Just so much love and so much life; And whatsoever peace, br strife, Or sin, or sorrow, may be mine, Is bounded by a law divine. I cannot do the things I would, I cannot take the boundless good Which love might bring or heart desire, And though to heaven ray thoughts aspire, Tis only given me to behold, Far off, its spheres of living gold. The little orb on which I ride Around the sun in circuit wide, Is all an unknown land to me And waters of an unknown sea. The narrow bourne wherein I move, This little home of hate and love, Within whose set diurnal round By strongest fate my feet are bound, Has light upon it from afar, As when a dungeons iron bar Crosses the splendor of a star! This world of memory and care, This cave of thought, this cell of prayer, This House of Life in which I dwell, Is vast as heaven and deep as hell, And what it is I c nnot tell. Of this alone my mind is sure, That in my place I must endure To work and wait, and, like the flower That takes the sunshine and the shower, To bide in pe ce the passing hour; To know the world is sweet and fair, Though life be rooted fast in care; To watch the far-off light of heaven, Yet ask no more than what is given, Content to take what nature brings Of all inexplicable things, Content to know what I have known, And live and die and make no moan. Spectator. THIRTY-ONE. TO A LADY WHO TOLD HER AGE. WELL, if its true, this thirty-one, It proves that years are like their sun; That birthdays may as widely vary As months in latitudes contrary. Grain ripens at the Antipodes When waters here a foot thick freeze; And in New Zealand, as we know, June loads the Southern Alps with snow. And thus at thirty-one. perhaps, Some spinsters wisely take to caps; At thirty-one, just touched by frost, The bloom of beautys often lost. With you that birthday breathes of Spring, And Time has done a gentle thing. At thirty-one, spoiled child of fate! He brin~s your summer to you late. Just when with some Lifes sun grows cold, And wears towards October chili, On your fair head its costliest gold Sustains the year at April still. Macmillan. ILLUSTRATION. 67 From Blackwoods Magazine. fore, we should say, without the possession ILLUSTRATION, of it; for an apt illustration, an exquisite PERHAPS there is no intellectual gift simile, will out if it flashes into the brain. that conveys a greater sense of power There is a certain concentration in the than that of ready and felicitous illustra- matter in hand the scene, the situation tion, or one that wins its possessor a more which stands the writer instead of any undisputed pre-eminence. It is one of other gift, and dispenses with all orna- those points on which it may be said that meat. This, we should say, is the case all people know themselves, and are forced with Mr. Trollope, whose metaphor, when to acknowledge a superior. A man may he uses it, is from the open, acknowledged, talk nonsense and not know it, or write familiar stock of all mankind; and re- commonplace in full persuasion that he is markably with Miss Austen, in whose original, or uphold his fallacies against the whole range of writings no original figure conclusions of the ablest logician; but he occurs to us, unless it be Henry Tilney~s cannot help knowing when he is no hand ingenious parallel between partners in at an illustration. There is no room for matrimony and partners in a country- self-delusion or rivalry. Not only does it dance. Her experience probably pre- not come readily, but he beats his brain seated her with no example of ready illus- for it in vain. It would be a curious in- tration, and she painted men and women quiry bow many men live and die, re- as she found them, making a failure when spected and useful members of society too, she tried; like Lydia Bennet, who flour- without once hitting off a happy simile. ished her hand with its wedding-ring, and We are convinced they would immeasura- smiled like anything; or, adding trite- bly outnumber that formidable array of ness to common dulness, as in Mr. Collins, figures tellin0 the difference between the whose letter found favour with Mary; sexes, which causes so much anxety in the the idea of the olive-branch is not wholly present day. Of course it is competent to new, but I think it is well expressed. people to say that they do not, care for When we say that most men are without illustration that it proves nothing the gift in question, it is obvious that we that it is a mere toy of thought, inter- mean of original illustration. Only a fering with and often perplexing the busi- poet could first invest Time with wings; ness of reason and action; but whether but we talk of the flight of time now with- we like ourselves as well without this out pretending to any share of his gift. faculty or not, it is impossible not to en- There are certain figures incorporated joy its exercise in another. We may in the language which we cannot speak treat it as a superfluity; it may lack the without using. We are all poetical by solid satisfaction of reason and demon- proxy. Such common property is the stration, and be only like the nard pistic imagery connected with sunrise and the Jeremy Taylor talks of, the perfume of dawn; sunset and twilight; sun, moon, which is very delightful when the box is stars, and comets; lightning and storm; newly broken, but the want of it is no seas, rivers, frost, and dew; the road, the trouble we are well enough without it; path, the ladder; the rose, the lily, and but the sudden fresh fragrance is not the the violet; the dying lamp and its ex- less delicious while it lasts, and invigorat- tinguisher; angels, the grave; the lion, ing to the spirits. the tiger, the wolf, and the lamb; the We use the word illustration as em- eagle, the dove, and~ the parrot; the goose bracing the widest field, and including the and the monkey. But indeed the list of whole figurative machinery of fancy and incorporated metaphor is endless, and it imagination metaphor, simile, imagery, has required a real poet these several figure, comparison, impersonation in hundred years past to hit off anything fact, every method of elucidation through new out of the subjects of it. But they their agency. Of course invention many be are all capable in his hands of a sudden actively and delightfully employed without illumination, of figuring in new charac- any use of this charming gift, and there- ters, of imparting the surprise which is the 68 ILLUSTRATION. very essence of the illustration proper. And once a surprise is always a surprise that is, the flash in the poets mind plays and coruscates round it always. We may weary of the hackneyed use of it; in dull hands it may sound stale; but no taint destroys the first freshness when we come upon it in its right place. There it still delights us to read how The weak wanton Cupid Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, And like a dew-drop from the lions mane Be shook to air. The grandeur of the comparison when Pandemonium rose like an exhalation, never sinks to common-place. The sug- gestions of what is noble, beautiful, and familiar in nature, are really endless, how- ever the soil may seem exhausted to prosaic minds, which are yet quite capable of being freshened into awakened interest by a new epithet or an original collision of ideas, revealin~ some undiscovered sympathy with human feeling. Every poet adds something to the common stock of imagery, and so enlarges our percep- tions. Shakespeare, on saluting a beauti- ful woman as Day of the World, quickens~ our sense of beauty alike in nature and in man. It needed imagination first to affix the idea of sovereignty to the morning, but it was at once adopted by the general mind Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovran eye. Wordsworth first endued it with inno- cence, in which we own an equal fit- ness The innocent brightness of a new-born day Is lovely yet. Often as the dawn comes round, we do not know that anybody has called it confi- dent before Mr. Browning in his Lost Leader Lifes night begins: let him never come back to us, There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain; Forced praise on our part, the glimmer of twi- lights, Never glad confident morning again. Or associated dew with the memory as Mr. Tennyson does 0 strengthen me, enlighten me, I faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory. We have always liked, for its homely freshness, Christopher Norths simile of the dispelling powers of the sun upon the Scotch mist, in which, as a child, lie had lost himself; Like the sudden opening of shutters in a room, the whole world was filled with light. And for its energy, the Laureates stormy sunset And wildly dashd on tower and tree, The sunbeam strikes along the world. These images and epithets are all ob- vious enough as we read them, but in their place, we recognize them as the poets own coinage. There is no borrowed air about them. Byron tinges opening and closing day with his own spleen and dis- content, and makes them sentimental, when he throws upon their shoulders the task of making life just bearable. After a lovely description of sunset, with its tran- sient glories, his own temper speaks in the person of Myrrha in Sardanapalus, And yet It dwells upon the soul, and sootbes the soul, And blends itself into the soul, until Sunrise and sunset form the haunted epoch Of sorrow and of love; which they who mark not Know not the realms where those twin genii build the palaces, Where their fond votaries repose and breathe Briefly; but in that brief cool calm inhale Enough of heaven to enable them to bear The rest of common, heavy, human hours, And dream them through in placid sufferance.~~ The fitness of a metaphor to its place may ,,ive novelty to the most familiar analogies Put out the light, and then put out the li,bt. When the Ancient Mariner tells his un- willing hearer, I pass like night from land to land, he imparts to matter-of-fact minds a newly-conceived mystery of mo- tion to the most familiar of natures phe- nomena. Nothin0 is more common than to liken girlish beauty to the rose; but, nevertheless, George Eliots picture of Hetty awakes a more lively and amused sense of the fitness of the simile If ever a girl was made of roses, it was Hotty ILLUSTRATION. 69 that Sunday mornino and familiar as world, perfectly familiar with the little the type of the road is as conveying a cares, the homely objects, the minor pleas- moral, we find no triteness in Crabbe ures, troubles, inconveniencies, which be- when, satirizing the learning-made-easy set ordinary humanity, and taking them of some teachers of his day, he clenches it in precisely the same spirit. In his dis with course on fanatical scruples of comcienee, it is very agreeable, for instance, to find Jeremy Taylor illustrating a deep ques- tion of casuistry by a simile open to the comprehension of every man, woman, and child who has ever worn a shoe. Scruples, he says, are like a stone in the shoe: if you put your foot down it hurts you; if you lift it up you cannot go on. Its apt- ness, allied to its homeliness, tickles the fancy like wit. No subject can be dull under such handling. Illustration is an amiable gift amiable at least to the reader. It seeks constantly to relieve the tedium of attention and fixed thought. It is modest, and labours to save him the irksomeness of ek borate demonstration. It renders things clear and plain, with least trouble to ourselves, and throws in a good thing into the bar- gain. Coast antly, indeed, it is a necessity. We can know some things only through vivid illustration. How, for instance, can a stay-at-home receive any idea of the Stourbach but through such a picture as Tennyson draws of And some to Heaven itself their byway know. Nothing is so trite through other mens use that it may not be invested with new qualities, or brightened with renewed glory by the poet; but in speaking of illustration, of course we more particularly mean a fresh coinage altogether that happy fit and neat adjustment of things not coupled together before, which brings the matter illustn ted with sudden force to the reader or hearer. The gift of doing this implies very wide powers, and unre- mitting industry in the use of them: an activity of observation possessed by very few; a lifelong habit of taking in what passes before eyes and ears and reasoning upon them; an exceptional memory, and method in the training of it. What the illustrator observes he arranges in his mind, storin~ its treasures on a system which can produce them at the right moment. Most of us b ave an illustration to the point if we could find it; but our minds, even if they be busy ones, are furnished too much on the plan, or want of plan, of Dominie Sampsons stowed with goods of every description, like a pawnbrokers shop, but so cumbrously piled to~ether, and in such total disorga- nization, that the owner can never lay his hands on any one article at the moment he has occasion for it. This at least may be th~ case with the conversational blun- derers who lead up to where they expect an apt simile, tumble up and down for it, and do not find it. But a good illustrator has not only his attention alive and awake, and thinks to purpose he has sympathy with his kind in all those fields of observa- tion from which he derives his fund of illustration. And this is one main bond of union. We recognize a mind interested in what interests ourselves. Nothing is more charming, for instance, than to find a man of genius, whose thoughts and aspirations might all be supposed to circle above the heads of the common work-a-day The Alpine ledges, with their wreaths of dangling water smoke. Its serious office is to help along an ab- stract argument, to lighten and facilitate the discussion of grave topics, to adminis- ter a fillip to infirm attention, and arrest a straggling wayward fancy. Illustrations dont prove a point, but they help us to tide over the labour of proof, and sweeten the extreme effort to most men of steady thought. Of all gifts this secures readers for wei0hty and toilsome questions on mor- als, politics, and religion; and is the only legitimate method of lightening these, ex- cept, indeed, extreme neatness and pre- cision of expression, which can for a time dispense with all ornament or alleviation whatever to the severity of the topic under treatment. Locke, through an illustration, inflicts a sense of shame on the reader who has not thought for himselg which no re- proof in sterner shape would impart; and 70 ILLUSTRATION. at the same time, by a second metaphor, gives a stimulus to endeavours. In his Preface we read: He who has raised himself above the alms-basket, and, not con- tent to live lazily on scraps of begged opinion sets his own thoughts on work to find and follow truth, will (whatever he lights on) not miss the hunters satisfaction; every moment of his pursuit will reward his pains with some delight, and he will have reason to think his time not ill spent, even when he cannot boast of any great acquisi- tion. We have said that the illustrator habitu- ally keeps his attention alive; but this, of course, applies only to a mind of very wide sympathies. Most people are one- eyed; half the world is a blank to them they do not observe it. It was said of Tasso that he never departed from the woods that is, all his comparisons were taken from the country. We can imagine him, indeed, as passing over the common life of cities with eyes that saw nothing. Not so with Ariosto; his verse is enlivened, his story illustrated, by a hundred familiar allusions to the manners and habits of his time. One of his heroes, for example, passes from one danger to a worse, or, as it is expressed, ont of the frying-pan into the fire. Dante has appropriate illustra- tion for everything alike, when he conde- seends to use it, nature in its grandeur and repose, the pulpit, the studio, and the workshop. In every case, and however it is applied, metaphor may be said to be the natural link between man and the world he lives in; neither can be brought home to the feelin~s but through the help of the other. When nature is the theme, mans labours, his humours and passions, are necessary to give force to the picture: when man and his works occupy the front, then nature and in nature we include all that is not man and those works is instinctively sought into for means towards that comparison and likeness the mind craves for. We all think mistily in this vein. The poet gives it expression. Thus Wordsworth, in the history of his own mind, portrays the faculty of illustra- tion To every natural form, rock, fruit, or flower, Eea the loose stones that cover the highway, I gave a moral life; I saw them feel, Or linked them to some feeling: Add that whateer of Terror or of Love, Or Beauty, Natures daily face put on From transitory passion, unto this I was as sensitive as waters are To the skys influence in a kindred mood Of passion; was obedient as a lute That waits upon the touches of the wind. Every object in nature takes a colour in obedience to these varying moods. When apostrophizing the daisy, the wee modest flower, he finds likenesses for it in things most opposite. It is a nun; it is a spright- ly maiden; it is A queen in crown of rubies drest, A starveling in a scanty vest. But, Protean as these resemblances may be, nothing in nature can affect the poet but through his sympathy with man~ The waning moon allies itself in Bryants mind with waning intellect. Shine thou for forms that once were bright, For sages, in the minds eclipse, For those whose words were spells of might, But falter now with stammering lips. All pity for natures decay and weak- ness can only arise through this uncon- scious comparison with the same in our- selves. Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, As falls the plague on men.~~ Mrs. Browning draws from the familiar object, a shadow cast on running wa- ters, a sad hut just illustration of faith and constancy misplaced, thus giv- ing the key-note of the poem which it opens : The ladys shadow lies Upon the running river; It lie~h no less in its quietness For that which re eth never, Most like a trusting heart Upon a passing faith, Or as upon the course of life The steadfast doom of death. It is not necessary to a poet of genius to have seen either the illustration or the thing illustrated. Milton had neither seen Satan rear from off the pool his mighty stature, nor witnessed anythin6 at all approaching to the convulsion of nature to which he compares the demon stand- ing erect As when the force Of subterranean wind transports a hill, Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side Of thundering Etna, whose combustible And fuelid entrails thence conceiving fire, Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds, And leave a singed bottoms all involved With stench and smoke: such resting found the sole Of unblest feet. Neither had Bacons outward ear caught the tones of Greek music when he describes ILLUSTRATJON. 71 the mythological truths handed down by have made his own verses famous; as, old traditions as the breath and purer for instance, that which pictures the hor- spirits of the earliest knowledge, floating ror which held the Mariners cycs fixed down and made musical by grecian before him so that he little saw of flutes. But this method of illustration, what had else been seen: without distinct knowledge for eye and Like one that on a lonesome road sense, needs the rarest gifts. In meaner Doth walk in fear and dread, hands it is the source of most of the dull And, having once turned round, walks on and trite illustration of which we are so And turns no more his head; weary; and lies at the root of the preju- Because he knows a frightful fiend dice which popularly hangs about simile Doth close behind him tread. and metaphor as so much flimsy decora- This was neither anticipation nor af- tion, so that every sentence that seems to contain them is eluded by the practised terthought, but essential part of a whole. eye. In truth we trust a writer when we The department of nature that furnishe~i apply our minds with hope and animation the commonest illustration, and needs to his imagery. When authors insert met- least the gift as a distinction, is that which which is the way finds its most appropriate field in the aphor as as ornament, fable. The extraordinary sympathy that many people view it, it does not deserve to be read. A really happy metaphor is infancy manifests towards all forms of ani- of the work, and ought no mal life the passion every baby shows part and parcel for horse and cow, cat and dog, parrot and more to be regarded as a superfluity than a childs golden tresses, on the ground canary, so that for their sake it willingly that it can live in health without them. forswears mere intellectual converse Some authors allow it to transpire that makes us regret the general disuse of fable as moral teaching for children. This gen- they keep a note-book, in which they enter oration does not know sop as its pro- every happy thought or pretty simile that occurs to their leisure, to be incorpor- genitors of all time have known him. But ated subsequently into some larger - this natural affinity is reason enough for work. the universal habit of comparison between These prepared similes are very certain to animals and men; the alliance and resem- do him no credit, to be ornaments out of blance is so obvious, and of so long stand- place, and t~ betray their origin. Either they dont fit at all, or they manifest that ing, that everybody is alive to it. Dr. universal fitness which constitutes the Johnson died in this form of metaphor. commonplace so that we know all about His friends record his complaints of the man who attended him: Instead of it beforehand or they are led up to by watchino- he too transparent artifice, entangling and ~, sleeps like a dormouse; and breaking the authors line of thought. when he helps me to bed he is awkward The simile that lives is of the essence of as a turuspit-do, the first time he is put into the wheel. Everybody can call his the page where it is enshrined, coeval with the matter it illuminates, or at least flash- neighbour an ass, and liken a songstress or ing upon the author while he still muses a lover to a nightingale upon what he has written. De Quincey Sad Philomel thus but let similes drop, says that Coleridge in his early days used And now that I think ont, the story may the image of a man sleeping under a stop. manchineel-tree, alternately with the case The sympathy is so intimate that every of Alexander killing his friend Chitus, as passion expresses itself through this vocab- resources for illustration which Provi- ulary instinctively dence had bountifully made inexhaustible in their applications. No emergency could What, all my pretty chickens, at one fell possibly arise to puazle the poet or the swoop! orator, but one of these similes (please When we say that a writer does not use heaven!) shduld be made to meet it. So metaphor, we must therefore except this long as the manchineel continued to blis- form of it. In glancing over any one of ter with poisonous dews those who con- Mr. Trollopes novels, Dr. Thorne, for fided in its shelter, so long as Niebuhr instance, we find very lively use of the forbore to prove Alexander of Macedon a animal kinudom. His readers must be fa- hoax and Clitus a myth, his fixed deter- miliar with his habit of calling young men, mination was that one or other of these in their capacity of lover, wolves; and we images should come upon duty when he come upon decoy-ducks, birds of prey, tur- found himself on the brink of insolvency. tb-doves, chattering magpie, leeches, etc., Not so adjustable were the similes that and so on. When the Doctor wishes 72 ILLUSTRATION. to prepare his niece for the great for- tune that has fallen to her he talks in fable I fear, Mary, that when poor people talk disdainfully of money, they often are like your fox, born without a tail. If nature suddenly should give that beast a tail, w~u1d he not be prouder of it than all the other foxes in the world? Well, I suppose he would. Thats the very meaning of the story. But how moral youve become all of a sudden, at twelve oclock at night! Instead of being Mrs. Radcliffe, I shall think youre Mr. ZEsop. Mrs. Gaskell is seldom tempted to illus- tration, but this form of it suits the femin- ine genius. In the Cranford Papers, Mr. Mulliner, the Hon. Mr. Jamiesons pow- dered footman, the terror of all the good ladies who could not boast such a distinc- tion, in his pleasantest and most gra- cious mood, looked like a sulky cockatoo. In ordinary minds this modified ~xer- cise of the fancy is applied mostly to the purposes of common vituperation or en- dearment. Bird and beast gain nothing by this association with man. Bat the po- et idealizes his inspiration, glorifies them into types of power, dignity, ferocity, whatever their distinctive attributes, as Dantes Sordella Posasi come Leon che posa; as the wolf swells into demon, atrocity in Cowleys fine simile, occurrin in his de- bate with the fiend, Cromwells advocate. Failing in argument, that great bird of prey would have carried the poet off first to the tower, thence to the court of justice, ~nd from thence you know whith- er! but for the interposition of an angel. Naturally it irritates the fiend to be balked so unexpectedly, and Such rage enflames the wolfs wild heart and eyes, (Robbcd as he thinks unjustly, of his prize), Whom unawares the shepherd spies, and draws The bleating lamb from out his ravenous jaws. The shepherd fain himself would he aesail, But fear above his hunger does prevail, He knows his foe too strong, and must be gone; He grins as he looks back, and howls as he goes ~ Though it must be allowed in this case that Cowley had probably only his inner consciousness to guide him as to the de- portment of a wolf under these circum- stances. In another vein Southey uses the poly- pus ~s the type of the unintelligible. Hay- ing mystified one of his friends by a p - sage from Swedenborg, he bids him re. d again. Dont you understand it? Read it a third time. Try it backwards. See if you can make anything of it diagonally. Turn it upside down. Philosophers have discovered that you may turn a polypus inside out, and it will live just as well one way as the other. It is not to be supposed that nature ever intended any of its creatures to be thus inverted, but so the thing happen.. The satirist illustrates the qualities and passions of men by beasts, birds, and in- sects, in the spirit of fable, accepting the popular idea of their properties without troubling himself further. Our readers to whom it is familiar, must excuse our giv- ing the opening of the Hind and Pan- ther, for it is not everybody to whom Drydens masterpieces are familiar nowa- days. A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged, Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged; Without unspotted, innocent within, She feared no danger, for she knew no sin. Yet had she oft been chased with horns and hounds And Scythian shafts; and many winged wounds Aimed at her heart; was often forced to fly, And doomed to death, though fated not to die. Then follow the denominations the bloody Bear, an Independent beast; the Socinian Reynard; the Calvinis- tic Wolf, pricking predestinating ears; and last, the creeping things representing minor sects for liberty of conscience was not a poets theme in those days. A slimy-born and sun-begotten tribe, Who, far from steeples and their sacred sound, In fields their sullen conventicles found. The Panther the Church of England is drawn with elaboration. but in disdain of close analogy: her spots were all the poet cared for. The Hind enter.s into conversation with her Considering her a well-bred civil beast, And more a gentlewoman than the rest. After some common talk, what rumours ran, The lady of the spotted muff began. Swift finds the animal and insect king- dom a very convenient medium for his cynicism. A little wit, he says, is valued in a woman, as we are pleased with a few words spoken plainly by a parrot. His political opponent is the spider argu- ing with the bee, swelling himself into the size and posture of a disputant, with a ILLUSTRATION. 73 resolubon to be heartily scurrilous and angry, to urge his own reasons withont the least regard to the answers and objec- tions of his opposite, and fully predeter- mined in his own head against all convic- tion. This system of fable is perfectly different from the use made of the lower creation in modern poetry. It is still used as illustration, hut through close observa- tion of the individual. Nature is being studied now for it:- own sake, not only as it subserves mens uses; and the poet must share and illustrate the spirit of his age, though somethues at the risk of seem- in to play a game of definitions from a nicety of delineation which exceeds the readers powers of sympathy. Ger- aint, in the Idylls of the King, having commanded his wife to put off her fine clothes and don again the faded silk, scrutinizes her with the air of a robin Never man rejoiced More than Geraint to greet her thus attired; And glancing all at once as keenly at her As careful robins eye the delvers toil, Made her cheek burn, and either eyelid fall, But rested with her sweet face satisfied. This same Enid, when helpless in Earl Doornis hands, sent forth A sudden sharp and bitter cry, As of a wild thing taken in a trap Which sees the trapper coming through the wood. This cry the poet mnust have heard, as h had seen the fluster inside a dovecot of A troop of snowy doves athwart the dusk, When some one batters at the dovecot doors; and watched the manners of the pet par- rot, which turns Up through gilt wires a crafty loving eye, And takes a ladys finger with all care, And bites it for true love, and not for harm. There is a simile imagined in the mod- ern spirit of eareful truth to nature, in Mr Brownings Balaustions Adventures. An eagle in a very unusual predicament, who personates Death, is faced at a great disadvantage by the lion Apollo. The reader ~vill probably have to read it twice over to embrace the situation, but it will be found a vigorous image when once mastered And we observed another Deity Half in, half out the portal watch and ward Eyeing his fellow: formidably fired, Yet faltering too at who affronted him, As tomehow disadvantaged, should they strive. Like some dread he~py blackness, ruffled wing, Convulsed and cowering head that ls all eye, Which proves a ruined eagle who, too blind, Swooping in quest of quarry, fawn or kid, Descried deep down the chasm twixt rock and rock, has wed~ed and mortised into either wall 0 the mountain, the pent earthquake of his power; So lies, half hurtless yet still terrible, Jast when who stalks up, who stands front to front, But the great lion-guarder of the gorge, Lord of the ground, a stationed glory there Yet he too pauses ere he try the worst 0 the frightful unfamiliar nature, new To the chasm indeed, but elsewhere known enough, Among the shadows and the silences Above i the sky. There is a class of metaphor bringing home to us a sense of the awful, myste- rious, and unknown, through what is itself vague shadow, only half apprehended, that gives evidence of a lofty imagination be- yond any other form of this gift. To il- lustrate what we mean, we must again quote what is familiar, Miltons image of Death: The other shape, If shape it could be called that shape had none, Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb; Or substance mi0ht be called that shadow seemed, For each seemed either; black it stood as night, Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, And shook a dreadful dart. Or again Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar Stood ruled stood vast infinitude confined, Till at his second bidding darknessfied. Or And on his crest sat horror plumed. Such suggestion is involved in the secrets of the prison-house. And we find the same awe veiling itself in imper- sonation where the prophet Ezekiel warns his people that the day of trouble is close upon them, that his prophecy was not of a distant future, but of terrors close at hand : An end is come, the end is come; it watcheth for thee; behold it is come; the end ready to spring like a thing alive, and inevitable doom craving to de- stroy and exterminate. Woe, cries Bunyan, in his despair woe be to him against whom the Scriptures bend themselves. 74 ILLUSTRATION. Something of the same feeling attends the shadow in In Memoriam the shadow feared by man, that Bore thee where I could not see Nor follow, though I walk in haste, And think that somewhere in the waste, The shadow sits that waits for me. And where the fears of conscience in Guinevere are brought before us through the vague fears of superstition : A vague spiritual fear Like to some doubtful noise of creaking doors, Heard hy the watcher in a haunted house, That keeps the rust of murder on ths walls, Held her awake. Three qualities are essential to a perfect illustration. It must be apt, it must be original, and it must be characteristic of its author. So far we have treated illus- tration mainly in its poetical aspect; as the world reads and enjoys it oftenest and most familiarly, it is wit. An apt illustra- tion taken from the life we live in is wit, however grave the matter it illustrates, and sombre the surroundings. Our old divines allowed themselves these relaxa- tions much more freely than is the habit now, and in so doing imprinted themselves more vividly on their works. The preacher of our day keeps his good stories for his friends at his own fireside. There was nothing within the bounds of modest de- corous mirth that Jeremy Taylor or Fuller thought unfit to brighten a grave discourse or a weighty subject. There is a disease of infants, says Fuller, called the rickets. Have not many nowadays the same sickness in their souls? their heads swelling to a vast proportion, and they wonder- fully enabled with knowledge to discourse. But, alas! how little their legs, poor their practice, and lazy their walking in a godly conversa- tion! There is, again, his quaint impersonation of second childhood. The Pyramids, doting with age, have forgotten the names of their founders. And negroes, with him, are images of God cut in ebony. Jeremy Taylor abounds in illustration sure to excite a smile, whatever the con- text; as where he defines the weak reason- er: He that proves a certain truth from an un- certain argument, is like him that wears a wooden leg when he has two sound ones al- ready. Those who postpone the day of repent- ance are like The Ciroassian gentlemen who enter not into a church till they are sixty and past rapine, hut hear service out of window. On niceties of religious differences he argues: He that descrihes a man can tell you the colour of his hair, his st~ ture, and proportion, and describe some general lines enough to dis- tinguish him from a Gyclop or a Saracen; but when you chance to see the man you will dis- cover fi~ures or little features of which the de- scription had produced in you no fantasm or expectation. And on the exterior signification of a sect, there are more semblances than in mens faces and greater uncertainty in the signs. The casualties to which human life is in- cident are shown by examples : And those creatures which nature hath left without weapons, yet are they armed suffi- ciently to vex those parts of a man which are left obnoxious, to a sunheam, to the roughness of a sour grape, to the unevenness of a gravel- stone, to the dust of a wheel, or the unwhole- some hreath of a star looking awry upon a sinner. Of those whom the practice of fasting makes peevish and difficult to live with as was sadly experimented in St. Je- rome ) he says : It is not generally known whether the heast that is wanton or the beast that is cursed be aptest to gore. That fearlessness characteristic of the born illustrator is especially shown in his triads of examples. He leads up to them without knowing exactly what will come, making sure that fancy will not leave him in the lurch, and when he looked for one, three crowd upon him. A wise person, he argues, will put most on the greatest interest : No man will hire a general to cut wood, or shake hay with a sceptre, or spend his soul and all his faculties upon the purchase of a cockle- shelL To resolve is to purpose to do what we may if we wilL Some way or other the thing is in our power; either we are able of ourselves or we are helped. No man resolves to carry an elephant, to he as wise as Solomon, or to de- stroy a vast army with his own hand. Again, the humour often lies in a word of metaphor, as where the disconsolate husband, when his grief has boiled down somewhat, turns his thoughts to a second marriage. South talks of men made atheists by a bad conscience, who dare not look truth in the face, and had rather be befooled ILLUSTRATION. 75 into a prudent, favourable, and propitious lie; a lie which shall chuck them under the chin and kiss them, and at the same time, strike them under the fifth rib; and of the cheatin~ tradesman selling his soul like brown paper into the bargain. Hammond, in a grave discourse, likens the self-delusion of professors to the practice of some Mohammedans, who, when they would get drunk, get rid of conscience by exorcising their soul into some extremity of the body, thus relievin~ the mass of its responsibility. We do not gather, however, that illustration was ever thought essential to be cultivated where it did not naturally grow. Barrow, who exhausted every subject he took up, never illustrated it beyond the most matter-of-fact exam- ples. Drydens was the fancy that most teemed with illustration of the witty as well as poetical sort. His prose is enliv- ened with it almost to excess. He plunges into it, after the manner of a clever Times article, on the opening of a ded- ication or preface, all his observations on life, society or the court, ready at his pens end. It is with the poet as with a man who de- signs to build, and is very exact, as he supposes, in casting up the cost beforehand; but, gener- ally speaking, he is mistaken in his account, and reckons short in the expense he first in- tended. He alters his mind as the work pro- ceeds and will have this or that convenience made, of which he had not thought when he be- gan. So it has happened to me: I have built a house where I intended but a lodge; yet with better success than a certain nobleman, who, beginning with a dog-kennel, never lived to finish the palace he h d contrived. And he apologizes in the same vein for the poems thus prefaced I will hope the best, that they will not be condemned; but if they should, I have the ex- cuse of an old gentleman, who. mounting on horseback before some ladies, when I was pres- ent, got up somewhat heavily; but desired of the fair spectators that they would count four- score and eight before they judged him. By the mercy of God I am already come within twenty years of his number, a cripple in my limbs; but what decays are in my mind the reader must determine. He values himself on the fineness of his satire in a comparison we have seen quoted. There is, he says, A vast difference betwixt the slovenly butch- ering of a man, and the fineness of a stroke that separates the head from the body, and leaves it standing in its place. A man may be capable, as Jack Ketchs wife said of his ser- vant, of a plain picee of work, a hare hanging; but to make a malefactor die sweetly was be- longing only to her husband. Theocrituss Done, he says, has an in- comparable sweetness in its clownishness, like a fair shepherdess in her country russet talking in a Yorkshire tone. Infe- rior critics are French Iluguenots, and Dutch boors brought over, but not natu- ralized, who have not lands of two pounds per annum in Parnassus, and therefore are not privileged to poll. The age boasted itself a witty one, and false and true wit alike must wear the fashion of their day. The Drama overflowed with it. Thus Witwould, in Congreves comedy, never opens his mouth without a trope. He rushes upon the stage : Thats hard, very hard a messenger! a mule, a beast of burden! lie has hrought me a letter from the fool my brother, as heavy as a panegyric in a funeral sermon, or a copy of commendatory verses from one poet to another; and, whats worse, tis as sure a forerunner of the author as an epistle dedicatory. He overwhelms Millamant, whom he at- tends, with similes. liar entrance, indeed, is in a sort of firework of metaphor. 11cr irritated lover, expecting her to be fol- lowed by the usual troop of admirers, begins: .Mirabel. Here she comes, i faith, full sail, with her fall spread and streamers out, and a shoal of fools for tenders. Ha! no! I cry her mercy. You seem to be unattended, Madam; you used to have the beau monde throng after you, and a flock of gay fine perukes hovering round you. Witwould. Like moths about a candle. I had like to have lost my comparison for want of breath. JIIillamant. I have denied myself air to- day. I have walked as fast through the crowd Witwould. As a favourite just disgraced, and with as few followers. Millamant. Dear Mr. Witwould, truce with your similitudes, for I am as sick of em Wit would. As a physician of a good air. I cannot help it, Madam, though tis against myself. Millamant Yet again! Mincing, stand between me and his wit. Wit would. Do, Mrs. Mincing, like a screen before a great fire. I confess I do blaze to-day; I am too bright. It is not only the avowed wit who over- powers us with metaphor; the dramatist strives to show his own invention through the medium of the whole dramatis personce. 70 ILLUSTRATION. Everybody has an image or a figure to clinch his meaning; it is one main cause of the al~olute difference between talk on the stage and off it. Not that author or spectator quite knows this, for the humour for illustration is sometimes irrepressible a sort of fever on the authors side: and it is one of the chief merits and charms of a good play that it communi- cates to the listener an inner sense and share of its own cleverness; it being the great function of illustration to enlarge the common stock of human intellect, wit, and poetry. But we must not linger among the writers of a past age. Every memory will recall examples which they prefer to our own. Shakespeare is too familiar a friend to borrow much from. Ben Jonsons ex- quisite cluster of similes in The Triumph of Ghana need not be quoted; nor yet Popes equally delightful tumult of com- parisons, which fail to express Belindas despair. Indeed, all Popes best illustra- tions are wit of the first water, and as such proverbial. Lord Landesborough, The tall Bully, and a hur~dred other cues, need only be given to bring the neatest of couplets crowded with meaning to the readers memory, such as Who can escape Times all-destroying hand? Wheres Troy, and wheres the May-pole in the Strand? a lasting taste behind. Nobody else can say a word, but he is down upon the critic for stupidly mistaking the poets crowning excellence for defect; but when he takes him in hand he is presently reminded of some anecdote which the poet would not thank him for remembering at that mo- ment. Thus the story of Margaret in the Excursion, on which so much pathos and pity is lavished, suggests a tale in direct ridicule and disparagement of both, as merely abstract and sentimental. There is a story somewhere told of a man who complained, and his friends lso complained. that his face looked almost always dirty. The man explained this strange affi~ction out of a mysterious idiosyncrasy in the face itself, upon which the atmosphere so acted as to force out stains and masses of gloomy suffusion, just as it does upon some qualities of stone in rainy or vapoury weather. But, said his friend, had you no advice for this strange affection? Oh yes: surgeons had prescribed; chemistry had exhausted its secrets upon the case; magnetism had done its best; electricity had done its worst. His friend mused for some time, and then asked, Pray, amongst these painful experiments, did it ever happen to you to try one that I have read ofnamely, a basin of soap and water? And perhaps on the same principle it might be al- lowable to ask the philosophic wanderer who washes the case of Margaret with so many coats of metaphysical varnish, but ends with finding all unavailing, Pray, amongst your other ex- periments, did you ever try the effect of a gui- nea? Every age has its peculiar line; and every writer of genius uses similitudes after a manner of his own, whether na- Sydney Smiths wit goes out very much ture is treated merely as a picture, or in- in illustration, which is indeed the case vested with a human heart and temper, or with all wit; but his forte is put~ting an deserted altogether for social comparisons imaginary case. and crowding it with vivid found in man and his works. In this last, and appropriate detail. His arguments for a favourite method is the allegory or ap- Roman Catholic emancipation are all en- ologue, or niore familiar anecdote that riched with the choicest pictures in this case in point with which some minds are vein of begging the question, as when our so wonderfully stored, that it suggests the constitution is compared to a frigate going idea of invention. This, in clever hands, into action, in which the captain (whose is the engine or weapon of malice, of all name was Perceval), instead of talking de trees, from the playful to the venomous. to his sailors of king, country, glory, and A subject thus introduced has no chance sweethearts, gin, French prisons, and it takes any colour the author pleases. wooden shoes, claps twenty or thirty of But its influence is subtler when applied his prime sailors, who happen to be Cath- to nullify what has gone before, and to at- olics, into irons, and reminds the crew tach a sly sting at the tail of commenda- generally, in a bitter harangue, that they tion. We observe, for instance, that De are of different religions; exhorts the Quincey can never enlarge either on the Episcopal gunner not to trust the Presby- life or poetry of Wordsworth, without a terian quartermaster; rushes through touch of spleen or bile following close on blood and brains, examining his men in the approval of his taste and intellect, the Catechism and Thirty-nine Articles, He uses forcible words of esteem for his and so on. In his case this mode of proof person, and reverence for his genius: but is peculiarly effective, because, as he did then comes a little story or apologue, just not the least understand the grounds on the slightest infusion of bitter that leaves which his opponents acted, we need not ILLUSTRATION. 77 think him deliberately unfair. Nothing exhausts himself in simile to describe the could be stronger than his faith in his own hurry of his own genius Invention views, unless it was his contempt for those presses upon a man like a night-mare. of the other side. He had a profound All of a sudden a flash comes inside your contempt for what he thought non-essen- head as if a powder-mill had exploded tials in religion. To see people differ, and without any noise. The pedlar in the qnarrel, and legislate about and against Mill on the Floss, describes his head as them, was to him simply ridiculous; so his all alive inside like old cheese. And illustration expressed exactly the ground Charles Lamb is happy in the vein of his and bottom of the matter, and was ex- peculiarities, his likes and dislikes. There haustive to his own mind, is an order of imperfect intellects, he says I have often thought, if the wisdom of our (under which mine must be content to ancestors had excluded all persons with red rank), who, amon0st other things, seldom hair from the House of Commons, of the throes wait to mature a proposition, but een asid convulsions it would occash~n to restore them bring it to market in the green ear. His, to their natural rights. What mobs and riots I whole paper on Imperfect Sympathies, it would produce! To what infinite abuse and which is a personal one, is alive with meta- obloquy would the capillary patriots be exposed! j phor. Thus, of the Scotchman he is what wormwood would distil from Mr. Perce- pleased to say that he stops a metaphor val! what froth would drop from Mr. Canning! like a suspected person in an enemys how (I will not say my but our Lord Hawkes- country. His mind is put together on the bury, for he belongs to us all) how our Lord principles of clock-work. Jews he likes as Hawkesbnry would work away about the hair a piece of stubborn antiquity; but in their of Kin~, William, and Lord Somers, and the au- dress of modern Liberalism they are thors of the great and glorious Revolution! how neither fish nor flesh. In the negro coun- Lord Eldon woald appeal to the Deity and to the tenance he acknowledges traits of benig- hair of his children! Some would say that red- haired men were superstitious; some would nity. I have yearnings of tenderness prove they were atheists. They would be peti- towards their faces, or rather masks; tioned against as the friends of slavery and the though he would not wish to associate advocates of revolt. In short, such a corrup- or share his meals and good nights with tion of the heart and the understanding is the them because they are black. He would spirit of persecution, that these unfortunate starve at the primitive banquet of Quaker people, if they did not emigrate to countries life and converse. My appetites are too where hair of another colour was persecuted, high for their salads. would be driven to the falsehood of perukes, or The practised hand shows its skill some- the hypocrisy of the Tricosian fluid. times in a sort of tour de force, throwing a Minds of this lively order cannot ar0ue shower of graceful imagery over common without illustration. They rush to it as things and matters of the house. how rest from the pains of disquisition, as well pleasantly Lord Lytton glorifies sixpence as in confidence thus to win over the suf- in the Caxtons frages they are anxious for. Now, my mother, true woman as she was, The gift of imagination wreathes every had a womanly love of show in her quiet way abstract speculation, as well as all per- of making a genteel figure in the neighbourhood sonal experience, bitter as well as sweet, of seeing that sixpence not only went as far with these graces, which, when they come as sixpence ought to go, but that in the going it unsought, are associated with the subject- should emit a mild but imposing splen dour matter indissolubly. Every reader of not, indeed, a gaudy flash, a startling l3orealian Jane Eyre, remembers the simile of the coruscation which is scarcely within the mod.. snow in June as part of the blank despair est and placid idiosyncrasies of sixpence; but a where the marriage is broken off. It be- gleam of gentle and benign light, just to show where a sixpence had been and allow you time longs to some natures to pause, even in a to say, Behold! before crisis, in search of that sympathy from na- ture their reserve forbids them to look for The jaws of darkness did devour it up. in man, though more commonly illustra- It is the gentle feminineness of Mrs. tion is the amusement of the mind in Caxton that tinctures this passage with its greater leisure and composure of spirit, poetry, in spite of the banter; and places The illustration in George Eliots writings it in amusing contrast with a certain class that stands foremost in the memory is of of metaphor dealing with lucre, to be found this sort. The habit in some minds exer- in the mercantile columns of the press. cises itself mainly on itself. There are For trade, like other thin ,,s, instinctively, states of the mind that can only be cleared though in lubberly fashion, falls into simile, to itself through metaphor; so Haydon and appeals to nature for analogies. Sir, 78 ILLUSTRATION. As well the newt might make complaint, Because a nightingale it aint. Nor is it only nameless poets who have evinced a deadness of perception in this matter. The warmest admirers of the Botanic Garden were obliged to own that Dr. Darwin carried the Prosopop~ia the illustration of qualities by a bodily presentment of them too far. In fact this figure will not bear detail. It should be touch and go. Lady Macbeth uses it thus airily when she gives the sentiment Let good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both. writes a correspondent, dating from Mark the respectable members of the communi- Lane, the events of the last five weeks ty than to its outlaws and black sheep. A have but rippled the surface of the grain trade, society that has forty phrases to expres which has flowed in the direction I ven drunkenness, as those say who have count- tured to anticipate. Since the days of ed them, must be credited with some play drainage dawned, writes another. While of fancy. All callings that find plain we read of the hog crop, and of hogs corn speaking inconvenient, invent a dialect of manding a high price, and so on. It re metaphor and allusion, and acquire facility quires, indeed, a certain delicacy of per in the use of imagery. Come along, ception, denied to some, to distinguish the cried a drunken convict cook, sqnarin~r at appropriate field for metaphor. A biogra her master, who invaded the kitchen to pher who opens his subject thus: Born know why breakfast did not appear in the cradle of the wholesale book trade, Come along, my hearty! Them as wants certainly misses it; so does the writer of their breakfast must fight for it, lihe the a dictionary who pronounces truth to be dogs do. And, burlesque, which is the the soul of his work, and brevity its body; passion of the vulgar, ministers to this and so does the poet who warns against taste, both in langua~e and impersonation. discontent through the medium of fable. Impersonation is also a method for the exercise of the illustrating faculty in so- ciety of another order altogether. The poor Empresss fancy-dress balls, which amazed Paris and the world some years back, exhausted the invention of the belles and beaux. One lady person- ated a violet, another a snowstorm, others butterflies and other insects, another a pack of cards. To act out the qualities of all these objects must necessarily be the aim of a clever impersonator hard though the task, Punchs parody rep- resented it as possible even in the case of purer abstractions. The ilonourable Miss Top Sawyer wonderfully represented to Brighton and back for half-a-crown. He would have enlarged on digestive pro- The Duchess of Herne Bay was elegantly cesses till the hardiest stomach grew robed as the St. Martins baths and wash- qualmish, in the spirit in which he labor- houses. And the masterpiece of the eve- ionsly trifles with chemical affinities, mak- ning was Alderman Sir R. Gobble, as the ing Azoric Gas the lover of the virgin Air, General Omnibus Company (Limited). and transforming Fire into a jealons rival From all accounts the Americans beat indignant at the treacherous courtship. us hollow in illustration. No proyincial Again, where the mechanism of that famil- paper but has a corner of witticiems iar object, the pump, is illustrated by a mainly contributed by them. Sam Slick picture of matronly beauty administering al)solutely bristles with imagery. Every sustenance to her infant; the pump thus man far west is a Sam Weller. The com- furnishing matter for reproof to the fash- inonest incidents of life are portrayed, the ionable world, in which affluent mothers most ordinary questions are ansxvered in are seduced by indolence or dissipation metaphor. The lecturer is assured th~t into unnatural contempt for this delight- an audience will come with a rush like a ful duty. Those instances fail through shower of little apples. An imposture is the endeavour to raise the familiar and a steamboat; to be overreached is to prosaic by supplying them with artificial have your eye-teeth drawn; to drink wings. On the other hand, metaphor and is to conceal too much whiskey about the illustration are constantly used to lower person. Small means and modest pre- and familiarize the dignified or mysterious, tentions are represented by one horse; as where Thackerays simple heroine is left a one-horse show; a one-horse to the care of guardian angels with or reputation; swamps give a fine crop without wages, and Dryden indicates Dido of chills and fevers; coffins are wonden as the coming dowager. overcoats. Smething of time same tone When it is said that most men are with- characterizes American authors when out the gift and habit of illustration, it. they leave the woods, plains, and must be owned that this rather applies to streams for their inspiration, nod ro STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. 79 vive the grotesque and wild images de- So did Swift illustrate the hypochon- rived from the ferocities of savage life, or driacal fancies of discontent. Small the conflicts of the first settlers with na- causes are sufficient to make a man Un- ture and the wild man. Theodore Par- easy~ when great ones are not in the way. ker, the transcendentalist, had a habit of For want of a block he will stumble at a collecting every fact to the disadvantage straw. of the public men he did not like, with the Our aim has been to show and touch design some day to attack and expose upon illustration in its many forms as the them. These damaging charges were enlarger of the human mind. The mem- called by his friends his scclps. It was ory of every reader will supply a rush of complacently said of him, He keeps all further, and it may be thought, more ap- his scalps in the desk of the Music Hall. propriate and better-chosen examples. While you are listening to him, he sud- Those who treat it mainly as an ornament, denly draws one forth, shakes it at the altogether miss its functions and purposes. audience, and puts it up again. It was Metaphor is the educator of the imagina- the scalp of a clergyman. You recollect tion; perpetually building what is new the sin for which he was slain, and grimly upon the old, and compelling men into a recognize and approve. It. was a boast wider apprehension to see through the that this leader of thought was healthily mind as well as through the eye. What built. There was no room in Parkers would our ordinary talk have been but for head for vermin not a single rat-hole in the wits and the poets of all time, who the whole house. In their scorn for the have hung round every common sight, past these zealots invent a transatlantic and sound, and need of homely nature Billingsgate of foul similies. The Cate- with analogies: so forcing upon us the chism, for example, is a bundle of old rags. recognition, it may be the contemplation, With this is mingled a curious jargon of of higher things? scientific analogies. Venerable creeds are fossiliz~ tions; to rest on one belief or opinion is crystalization. In Francisco and the gold-di~ging dis- tricts, cards seem to supply the language of metaphor. We must understand the games of Euchre and Poker to follow their meaning. To become euchred, we are told, is to lose two points, and the right bower is the knave of trumps. So in the dialogues commemorated by Bret Harte: What have you got there? asks the pursued highwayman of King Lynch; who replies, Two bowers and an ace, showing two revolvers and a howie-knife. That takes me, returned Tennessee, and submit- ted to his fate. There are some objects in nature and art whose one use and purpose in life seems to be as illustrations. We ac- knowledge to finding no other utility in the thorn that is inseparable from the rose; nor in Prince I{uperts drop; nor in apples of Sodom, if there are such things; nor in house-spiders; nor in the stray atoms that float on the stream or lie in our path, to be swept into space after they have met the all-enibracing eye of poet or moralist. We can do very well without them; but Dryden wanted a comparison for the labours of petty critics who find faults and cannot see beauties, and noth- ing else would have done as well. Errors like straws upon the surface flow, He who would search for pearls must dive be- low. From The Coruhull Magazine. STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. TOLD BY ONE OF THE SEVEN MILLiON FiVE HUNDRED THOUSAND wno VOTED YES. BY H. H. ERcWMANN-cHATIIiIAN. AT Sarrebourg, I had to wait two hours before I could see Monsieur le Sous-Prdfet, who was breakfasting with messieurs the councillors of the arrondissement, in hon- our of the Phdhiscite. Five or six mayors of the neighbourhood were waiting like myself; we saw filing down the passage great dishes of fish and game, notwith- standing that the fishing and shooting sea- sons were over; and then baskets of wine; and we could hear our councillors laugh- ing, Hal ha I ha! They were enjoying themselves mni~htily. At last Monsieur le Sous-Prdfet came out; he had had an excellent breakfast. Ha! is that you, gentlemen? said he; come in, come into the office. And for another quarter of an hoar we were left standinr in the office. Then came Monsieur he ~Sous-Prdfet to get rid of the mayors, who wanted ditfereat things for their villages, lie looked de- lighted, and granted everything. At last, having despatched the rest, he said to me, Oh! Monsieur he Maire, I know the ob- ject of your coming. You are come to 80 STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. ask for the person called George Weber, authorization to open a public-house at Rothaip. Well, its out of thc question. That George Weber is a Republican; he has already offered opposition to the P1& biscite: you ought to have notified this to me. You have screened him because he is your cousin. Authorizations to keep public-houses are granted to steady men, devoted to his Majesty the Emperor, and who keep a watch over their customers; but they are never granted to men who require watching themselves. You should be aware of that. Then I perceived that my rascally dep- uty, that miserable Placiard, had de- nounced us. That old dry-bones did noth- ing but draw up perpetual petitions, to beg for places, pensions, tobacco excise offices, decorations for himself and his honourable family, speaking incessantly of his ser- vices, his devotion to the dynasty, and his claims. His claims were the denunciations, the informations which he laid before the Sous-Pr6fecture; and, to tell the truth, in those days these were the most valid claims. I was indignant, but I said nothing; and I simply added a few words in favour of cousin George, assuring Monsieur le Sous-Pr6fet that lies had been told about him, that one should not believe every- thing, & c. He half concealed a weary yawn; and as the councillors of the ar- rondissement were laughing in the garden, he rose and said politely, Monsieur le Maire, you are answered. Besides, you have already two public-houses in your village; three would be too many. It was useless to stay after that, so I made a bow, at which he seemed pleased, and returned quietly to Rothalp. The same evening I went to repeat to George, word for word, the answer of the Sons- Pr~fet. Instead of getting angry, as I ex- pected, my~ cousin listened calmly. His wife only cried out against that bad lot she spoke of all the sous-pr~fets in the most disrespectful manner. But my cousin, smoking his pipe after supper, took it all very easily. Just listen to me, Christian, said he. In the first place, I am much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken. All that you tell me, I knew beforehand; but I am not sorry to know it certainly. Yet I could wish that the Sous-Pnifet had had my letter. As it is, since I am refused licence to sell a few glasses of wine retail, I will sell wine wholesale. I have already a stock of white wine, and no later than to-morrow I am off to Nancy. I buy a light cart and a good horse. Thence I drive to Thiancourt, where I lay in a stock of red wine. After that, I rove right and left all over the country, and I sell my wine by the cask or the quarter-cask, ac- cording to the solvency of my customers: instead of having one public-house, I will have twenty. I must keep moving. With an inn, Marie Anne would still have been obliged to cook; she has quite enough to do without. Oh! yes, she said; for thirty years I have been cooking dishes of sauerkraut and sausage at Krantheirners at Mont- martre, and at Aubers in the cloister St. Benoit. Exactly so, said George; and now you shall cook no longer, and you shall look after the crops, the slacking of the hay, the storage of fruits and potatoes. We shall get in our dividends, and I will trot round the country with my little pony from village to village. Monsieur le Sons- Pr~fet shall know that George Weber can live without him. Hearing this, I learnt that they had money in the funds, besides all the rest; and I reflected that my cousin was quite right to laugh at all the sous-pr6fets in the world. He came with me to the door, shaking hands with me; and I said to myself that it was an abomination to have refused a publicans licence to respectable persons, when they gave it to such men as Nicolas Reiter and Jean Kreps, whom their own wives called their best customers, because they dropped under the table every even- ing and had to be carried to bed. On the other hand, I saw that it was better for me; for if my cousin had been found infringing the law, I should have had to take depositions, and there would have been a quarrel with cousin. So that all was for the best, the wholesale business being only the excisemans affair. What George had said, he did next day. At six oclock lie was already at the station, and in five or six days he had returned from Nancy upon his own char-k-bane, drawn by a strong horse, five or six years old, in its prime. The char-k-bane was a new one; a tilt could be put up in wet weather, which could be raised or lowered to de- liver the wine or receive back the empty casks, when necessary. The wine from Thiancourt followed. George stored it immediately, after having paid the blil and settled with the carter. I was standing by. As for telling you how many casks he had then in the house, that would be diffi STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. 81 cult without examining his books; but not a xvine-merchant in the neighbourhood, not even in town, could boast of such a wine- vault as he had for excellence of quality, for variety in price, of red and white, of Alsace and Lorraine. About that time, he sent for me and Jacob to make a list of safe customers. He wrote on, asking us how much may I give to so-and-so? So much. How much to that man? So much. In the course of a single afternoon we had passed in review all the innkeepers and publicaus from Droulingen to Quatre Vents, from Quatre Vents to the Dags- berg. Jacob and I knew what they were worth to the last penny; for the man who pays readily for his flour, pays well for his wine; and those who want pullin~ up by the miller, are in no hurry to open their purses to the others. That was the way cousin George con- ducted his business. He took a lad from our place, the son of the cooper Gros, to drive; and he him- self was salesman. From that day he was only seen passing throu~h Rothalp at a quick trot, and his lad loading and unloadin~. My cousin, also, had a notion of distil- hag in the winter. He bought up a quantity of old second-hand barrels to hold the fruits which he hoped to secure at a cheap rate in autumn; he laid up a great store of firewood. All our country people had nothing to do but to look at him to learn something; but the people down our way all think themselves so amazingly clever, and that does not help to make folks richer. Well, it is plain to you that our cousin s prospects were looking very bright. Ev- ery day, returning from his journey to Saverne or to Phalsbourg, he would stop his cart before my door, and come to see me in the mill, crying out: Hallo! good afternoon, Christian. How are yoh to- day? Then we used to step into the back par- hour, on account of the noise and the dust, and there we talked about the price of corn, cattle, provender, and indeed every- thing that is interesting to people in our condition. What astonished him most of all was the number of Germans to be met with in the mountains and in the plains. I see nobody else, said he; wood- cutters, brewers men, coopers, tinkers, photographers, contractors. I will lay a LIVING AGE. VOL. XXIV. 1100 wager, Christian, that your youn~ man Franz is a German too. Yes, he comes from the Grand Duchy of Baden. flow (loes this happen? said Geor~e. What is the meaning of it all? They are good workmen, said I, and they ask only half the wages. And ours what becomes of them? Ab, you see, cousin George, that is their business. I understand, he said, that we are making a great mistake. Even in Paris, this crowd of Germans, crossing-sweepers, shop and ware-house men, carters, book- keepers, professors of every kind, aston- ished me; and since Sadowa, there are twice as many. The more country they annex, the further they extend their view. Where is the advantage of our being Frenchmen paying every year heavier taxes; sending our children to be drawn for the conscription, and paying for their exemption; bearing all the expenses of the State, all the insults of the pr6fets, the sous-pr6fets, and the police-inspectors, and the annoyances of common spies aud informers, if those fellows, who have noth- ing at all to bear, enjoy the same advan- tages with ourselves, and even greater ones; since our own people are sent off to make room for these, and by their great numbers they lower the price of hand-labour? This benefits the manufac- turers, the contractors, the bourgeois class, but it is misery for the in~ass of the people. I cannot understand it at all. Our rulers, up there, must be losing their senses. If that goes on, the working-men will cease to care for their country, since it cares so little for them; and the Geri aus who are favoured, and who hate us, will qui- etly put us out at our own doors. Thus spoke my cousin, and I knew not what answer to make. But about this time I had a great trouble, and although this affair is my private business alone, I must tell you about it. Since the arrival of George, my daugh- ter Gr~del, instead of looking after our business as she used to do, washing clothes, milking cows, and so on, was all the bless~. ed day at Marie Annes. Jacob com- plained, and said: What is she about down there? By and by I shall have to prepare the clothes for the wash, and hang them upon the hedges to dry, and churn butter. Could not Gr~del do her own work? Does she think we are her ser- vants? He was right. But Gr~del never tron 82 STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. bled herself; she never has thought of of the quarry, asked for Gr6del in mar- any one besides herself. Down there she riage. was along with Georges wife, who talked For a long while, Monsieur Mathias to her from mornin~ till night about Paris, Heitz, junior, had come every Sauday the grand squares, the markets, the price from WTilsber~ to the Cruckon dOr, to of eggs and of meat, what was charged at amuse himself with Jacob, as young men the barri~res; of this, that, and the other; do when they have intentions with regard cooking, and what not. to a family. He was a fine young man, Marie Anne wanted company. But this fat, with red cheeks and ears, and always did not suit me at all; and the less be- well dressed, with a flowered-velvet waist- cause Gr6del had had a lover in the village coat and seals to his watch-chain; in a for some time, and that, when this is the word, just such a young man as a 0irl with case, the best thing to be done is always to any good sense would be glad to have for a keep your daughter at home, and to watch husband. her clo~ely. He had property too; he was the It was only a common clerk at a stone- eldest of five children. I reckoned that quarry in Wilsberg, a late artillery ser- his own share mi0ht be fifteen to twen- geant, Jean Baptiste Werner, who had ty-thousand francs after the death of his taken the liberty to cast his eyes upon our parents. daughter. We had nothing to say against Well, this young man demanded Gr6- this youn, man. Lie was a fine, tall man, del in marriage, and in a moment Jacob, thin, with a hold expression and brown my wife and myself were a0reed to accept monstaches, and who did his duty very him. well a~ the quarry by Father Heitz; but Only my wife thought that we ought to he could earn no more than his three consult cousin George and Marie Anne. francs a day: and any one may see that Gr6del was just there when I went in with the daughter of Christian Weber was not Catherine; but behold! on the first men- to be thrown away upon a man who tion of the thing she began to melt into earns three francs a day. No, that would tears, and to say she would rather die than never do. marry Mathias Heitz. You may imagine Nevertheless, I had often seen this Jean how angry we were. My wife was going Baptiste Werner going in the moruing to to slap her face or box her ears, but my his work with his foot-rule under his arm, cousin became an0ry now, and told us that stoppin0 at the mill-dam, as if to watch we ought never to oblige a girl to marry the geese and the ducks paddling about against her will, because this was the way the sluice, or the Jmens circling around the I to make miserable households. Then he cock on the dunghill; and at the same took us out into the passage, telling us that moment Gr6del would be slowly combing he took the responsibility of this affair; her hair at her window before the little that he wished to obtain information, and looking-glass,leaning her head outside. tell the young man that he~required a I had also noticed that they said good- month for reflection. morning to each other a good way off, and We could not refuse him that. Gr~del that that clerk always looked excited and would no longer come home; my cousins flurried at the si0ht of my daughter; and wife begged us not to pla0ue her; we had I had even been obli0ed to give Gnidel to give way to them; but it was one of notice to go and comb her hair somewhere the greatest troubles of my life. And I else when that man passed, or to shut her i thoucrht: Now you cannot give your window daughter to whoever you like; is not this This is my case, simply told. really abominable? That youn0 man worried me. My wife, I felt an0ry with myself for having lis- too, was on her guard. ened to my cousin: but, nevurtheless, You may now understand why I should Gr~del stayed with them a whole week, have preferred to have seen our daughter in consequence of which we were obliged at home; but it was not so easy to forbid to hire a charwoman, and Jacob exclaimed her to go to my cousins. George and his that Gr6del could not have offered him a wife might have been angry ! and that worse insult than to refuse his best com- troubled us. rade, a rich fellow who boldly paid down Fortunately, about that time the eld- his money for ten, fifteen, and twenty est son of Father Heitz,* the owner bottles at the club without so much as winking. * It is usual there for fathers cf families to be dis. However, he never mentioned it to tinguished as Father So.and-so. cousin George, for whom he felt the STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. 83 greatest respect on account of his expect- added a sou to his property, and the son ations from him, and whose stroug lan- has not a grain of good sense. gna~e dismayed him. But the other fellow why he has At last my wife found that Gr~del was nothing at all. staying too long away from home; the The other, Jean Baptiste Werner, is people of the village would have gone on good man, who has done his duty by Path- to talking about it: so one evening I went er Ileitz; it is he who knows everything, to see George to ask him what he had who manages everything, who takes in learnt about Heitzs son. orders, makes all the arrangements for It was after supper. Gr6del, seeiug me the carriage of stone by carts or by rail- come in, slipped out into the kitchen, way. Tleitz puts the money into his and my cousin said to me frankly: pocket, and Werner has all the work, for Listen, Christian, here is the matter in want of a little capital to set himself up two words Gr6del loves another. in business. lie has seen foreign service. Whom? I have seen his certificates of character in Jean Baptiste Werner. Africa, in Mexico. They are excellent. Father Heitzs clerk! the son of the If I were in your place, I would give Gr& woodward Werner, who has never had del to him. anything but potatoes to eat? Is she in Never!~ cried I, thumping the table; love with him? Let the wretch come I had rather drown her. let him come and ask her! Ill kick him Half the wine-glasses were shattered down the stairs! And does Gr~del grieve on the floor; but my cousin was not angry. me so? Oh! I should never have be- Well, Christian, said he, ~you are lieved it of her! wrong. Think of it. Gr6del will remain I could have cried, here. I will answer for her. You must Come, Christian, said my cousin, not take her away at present. You would you must be reasonable. be quite capable of ill-treating her, and Reasonable! she deserves to have her then you would repent of it. neck wrung! Let her stay as long as you like! I was in a fury; I wanted to lay hold of said I, taking my hat; let her never her. Happily, she had gone into the darken my doors again. And I rushed garden, and George held me back. He out. obliged rae to sit down again, and said: Never in my life had I been so angry What is Mathias Heitz? a fat fool who and so grieved. At home I did not even knows nothing but how to play at cards dare to say what I had learnt; but Jacob and drink. He was put to college at suspected it, and one day; as Werner was Phalsbourg, at M. ~Zerrots, like all the stopping in front of the mill, he shook his other respectable young men in the dis- pitchfork at him, shouting: Come on! trict; but he now drives about in a char- But he pretended not to hear him, and ~-banc in a flowered waistcoat and jing- went on his way. ling seals; he could not possibly earn a I was at last, however, obli~ed to tell couple of pence and the old man would my wife the whole matter. At first she like to get rid of him by marrying him. I was near fainting; but she soon recovered, have obtained information about him. lie and said to me: Well, if Gr~del wont may come in for from fifteen to twenty have young Mathias, we shall keep our thousand francs some day; but what are hundred louis, and we shall have no need fifteen thousand francs for an ass? He to hire a new servant. I should prefer will eat them, he will drink them per- that, for one cannot trust strange ser- haps he has already swallowed halfand vants in a house. if there is a family, what are fifteen or Yes; but how can we declare to Ma- even twenty thousand francs between five thias Ileitz that Gr~del refuses his son? or six children? Formerly, when girls Oh, dont trouble yourself, Christian, used to have an outfit for a marriage por- said she; leave me alone, and dont let us tion, and the eldest son succeeded his quarrel with cousin George, thats the father, things went on pretty well. It did principal thing. I will say that Gr6del is not want much talent to carry on a well- too young to be married; that is the established business, or to follow up a proper thing to say, and nobody can an- trade from father to son. But at the swer that. present day, mother-wit and good sense Catherine quieted me in this way; but stand in the foremost ranks. Grandfather this business was still racking my brain, Heitz was an industrious man; he made j when extraordinary things came to pass, money: but Father Mathias has never which we were far from expecting, and 84 STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. which were to turn our hair grey, and that of many others with us. III. ONE morning the secretary of the Sons- Pr~fet wrote to me to come to Sarre- bourg. From time to time we used to re- ceive orders, as magistrates, to go and give an account at the sous-pr6fecture of what was goin~ on in our district. I said to myself, immediately on receiv- iug this letter from Secretary G6rard, that it was somethin~ about our Agricultural Society, which had not yet delivered the prizes gained by the ducks and the ~eese a few weeks before. It was true that the Paris newspapers had for three days past been discussing a Prince of Hoheazollern, who had just been named King of Spain; but what could that signify to us at Rothaip, Illingen, Droulin- gen, and Henri4orf, whether the King of Spain was called Hohenzollern or by any other name? In my opiniou, it could not be about that affair that Monsieur le Sous-Prbfet wanted to talk to us, but about the old or a new Agricultural Society, or somethiug at least which concerned us in particular. The idea of the parish road and the bells came also into my mind: perhaps that was the object we were sent for. At last I took up my staff and started for Sarrebourg. Arriving there, I found the whole length of the principal street crowded with mayors, police-inspectors, and juges-de- paix.* Mother Adlers inn and all the lit- tle public-houses were so full that they could not have held another. Then I said to myself, no doubt some- thing quite new is iu the wind: as, for in- stance, a fate like that when her Majesty the Empress and the Prince Imperial, three years before, passed through Nancy to celebrate the union of Lorraine with France. Thereupon I went to the sons- pr~fecture, where I found already several mayors of the neighbourhood talking at the door. They were discussing the price of corn, the dearness of cattle food; they were called in one after another. In half an hour my turn came; Monsieur Christian Webers name was called, and I entered with my hat in my hand. Monsieur le Sous-Pr6fet and his secre- tary Gerard, with his pen stuck behind his ear, were seated there: the secretary be- gan to mend his pen; and Monsieur le Sous-Pr~fet asked me what was going on in my part of the country? * Magistrates. In our country, Monsieur le Sous- Pr6fet? why, nothing at all. There is a great drought; no rain has fallen for six weeks; the potatoes are very small and I dont mean that, Monsieur le Marie; what do they think of the Prince Hohen- zollern and the Crown of Slain? On hearing this, I scratched my head, saying to myself, What will you answer to that now? What must you say? Then Monsieur le Sous-Pr6fet asked me : What is the spirit of your popula- tion? The spirit of our population? How could I get out of that? You see, Monsieur le Sous-Pr6fet, in our villages the people are no scholars; they dont read the papers.~~ But tell me, what do they think of the war?~ What war? If, now, we should have war with Ger- many, would those people be satisfied? Then I began to catch a glimpse of his meaning, and I said: You know, Mon- sieur le Sous-Pr~fet, that we hate voted in the PlThiscite to have peace, because everybody likes trade and business and quietness at home; we only want to have work and . . . Of course, of course, that is plain enough, we all want peace; H. M. the Emperor, II. M. the Empress, and everybody love peace! But if we are attacked, if Count Bismarck and the King of Prussia attack us? Then, Monsieur le Sous-Pr~fet, we shall be obliged to defend ourselves in the best way we can; by all sorts of means, with pitchforks, with sticks Put that down, Monsieur G6rard, write down those words. You are right, Mon- sieur le Maire: I felt sure of you before- hand, said Monsieur le Sou~-Pr~ifet, shak- in~ hands with me: you are a worthy man. Tears came into my eyes. He came with me to the door, sayin The determnina- tion of your people is admirable; tell them so; tell them that we wish for peace; that our only thought is for peace; that his Majesty and their excellencies the Ministers want nothing but peace; but that France cannot endure the insults of an ambitious power. Communicate your own ardour to the village of Rothalp. Good, very good. Au revoir, Monsieur le Maire, farewell. Then I xvent out, much astonished; another mayor took my place, and I thought, What! does that Bismarek mean to attack us! Oh, the villain! But as yet I could tell neither why nor how. STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. 85 I repaired to Mother Adlers where I ordered bread and cheese and a bottle of white wine, according to custom, before returning home; and there I heard all those gentlemen, the Government officials, the controllers, the tax-collectors, the judges, the receivers, & c., assembled in the public room, telling one another that the Prussians were going to invade us; that they had already taken half of Gex- many, and that they were wanting now to lay the Spaniards upon our back in order to take the rest; just as they had put Italy upon the back of the Austrians before Sadowa. All the mayors present were of the same opinion; they had all answered that they would defend themselves, if we were attacked; for the Lorrainers and the Al- sacians have never been behindhand in defending themselves. All the world knows that. I went on listening; at last, having paid my bill, I started to return home. I was out of Sarrebourg, and had walked for half-an-hour in the dust, reflecting upon what had just taken place, when I heard a conveyance coining at a rapid rate behind me. I turned round. It was cousin George upon his char-~-banc, at which I was much pleased. Is that you, cousin? said he pulling up. Yes; I am just come from Sarrebourg, and I am not sorry to meet with you, for it is terribly warm. Well, up with you, said he. You have had a great gatherin~ to-day; I saw all the public-houses full. I was up; I took my seat, and the con- veyance ~vent off again at a trot. ~Yes, said I; it is a strange business; you would never guess why we have been sent for to the sous-pr6fecture. What for? Then I told him all about it; much ex- cited against the villain Bisinarek, who wanted to invade us and had just invented this iohenzollern to drive us to extremi- ties. George listened. A~ last he said: My poor Christian! the Sous-Prt~fet was quite right in calling you a worthy fellow; and all those other mayors that I saw down there, with their red noses, are worthy men; but do you know my opinion upon all those matters? What do you think, Well, my belief is, that they are lead- ing you like a string of asses by the bridle. That Sous-Pr~fet will present his report to the Pr~fet, the Pr6fet to the Minister of the Interior, Monsieur Chevandier de Valdr6me the organizer of the Pl6biscite he who told you to vote Yes to have peace and that Minister will present his report to the Emperor. They all know that the Emperor desires war, because he needs it for his dynasty. What! he~wants war? No doubt be does. In spite of all, forty-five thousand soldiers have voted against the PI& biscite. The army is turn- ing round against the dynasty. There is no more promotion : medals, crosses, pro- motions were, distributed in profusion at first, now all that has stopped; the infe- rior officers have no more hope of passing into the higher ranks, because the army is filled with nobles, with Jesuits from the schools of the Sacred College ; in the Court calendars nothin~ is seen but dcs. The soldiers who spring from the people begin to discern that they are being grad- ually extinguished. They are not in a, pleasant temper. But war may put every- thing straight again: a few battles are wanted to throw light upon the malcon- tents; there must be a victory to crush the Republicans, for the Republicans are gaining confidence: they are lifting up their heads. After a victory, a few thou- sand of them can be sent to Lambessa and to Cayenne, just as after the Second of December. At the same time, the Jesuits will be placed at the head of the schools, as they were under Charles X., the Pope will be restored, Italy and Ger- many will be dismembered, and the dy- nasty will be placed on a strong founda- tion for twenty years. Every twenty years they will begin again, and the dy- nasty will send down deep roots. But war there must be. But what do you mean? It is Bis- marek who is beginning it, said I; it is he who is picking a German quarrel. Bismarek, replied my cousin, is well acquainted with everything that is going on, and so are the very lowest workmen in Paris; but you, you know nothing at all. Your only talk is about potatoes and cabbages; your thoughts never go beyond this. You are kept in ignorance. You are, as it were, the dung of the Empire the manure to fatten the dynasty. Bis- marck is aware that our honest man wants war to temper his army afresh, and shut the mouths of those whose talk is of econ- omy, liberty, honour, and justice ; he knows that never will Prussia be so strong again as she is now she already covers three-fourths of Germany; all the Ger- mans ~vill march at her side to fight 86 STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. against France; they can put more than a million of men in the field in fifteen days, and they will be three or four against one; with such odds there is no need of genius, the war will go forward of itself one is sure of crushin the enemy. But the Emperor must know that as well as you, George, said I; therefore he will be for peace. No, he is relying upon his mitrailleuses: and then he wants his dynasty and what does the rest matter to him? To establish his dynasty he took an oath be- fore God and man to the Republic, and then he trampled upon his oath and the Republic; he brought destruction upon thousands of good men, who were defend- ing the laws against him; he has enriched thousands of thieves who uphold him; he has corrupted our youth by the evil exam- pie of the prosperity of brigands, and the misfortunes of the well-disposed; he has brought low everything that was worthy of respect, he has exalted everything which calls for disgust and contempt. All the mcii who have approached this pesti- lence have been contaminated to the very marrow of their bones. You, Christian, you evidently cannot comprehend these abominable things; but the worst rogues in this country, the wildest vagabonds among your peasants, could never form an opinion of the villainy of this honest man; they are saints compared with him; at the very si~ht of him the heart of a true Frenchman rises within him; for the sake of his dynasty he would sell and sacrifice us all to the last man. George, in uttering these words, was trembling with excitement; I saw that he was convinced to the bottom of his heart of what he said. Fortunately we were alone on the road, far from any village; no one could hear us. But that Hoheuzollern, I said, after a few minutes silence, that Leopold Ho- heuzollern is not he the cause of all that is goin~ on? No, said Geor~ e; if misfoi4unes come upon us, the honest men alone will be the cause of it. If you did but read a newspaper, you would see that the Span- iards wanted for their king, Mon4tpensier, a son of Louis Philippe; that could only have turned out to our good; Montpensier would naturally have become the ally of France, but that was against the interests of the dynasty; the honest man threatened Spain then the Spaniards nominated this Prussian prince in the place of Montpen- sier, a prince who could not stand alone, and whom a million of Germans would support if necessary. They fixed upon him to annoy our gentleman: of course they had no need to ask for his advice. Did France consult any one V did she trouble herself about England, Spain, or Germany, when she proclaimed the Re- public, or when she proclaimed Louis Boj~aparte Emperor? Has he then a right to thrust his nose into their affairs? No it is unpleasant for us, but the Span- iards were right; there was no need for them to put themselves out to please our worthj man and his fine family. And now happen what may I look no longer for peace; the Germans are withdrawing from our country in all directions they are joining their regiments; the order has been given, and they obey: it is a bad sign. In all the villages that I have been passing through, and upon every road, I have seen these fine fellows, their bundles over their shoulders they are off home I Thus spoke cousin George to inc. I thought this was a little too bad; but, on arriving home, the first thing my wife said to me was, Do you know that Frantz is going? Our young man? Yes, he wants his wages. Ah, indeed. Let him come here at the back, and we will have a talk. I was much surprised: and I made him enter into my room at the bottom of the mill, where I keep my papers and my books. His cow-skin pack was already fastened upon his shoulder. Are you going away, Frantz? Have you anything to complain of? No, nothing at all, Monsieur Weber. I am obliged to go; for I have received orders to join my regiment. Are you a soldier, then? Yes, in the landwehr. We are all sob diers in Germany. But if you liked to stay here, who would come and fetch you? That is an impossibility, M. Weber. I should be declared a deserter. I could never return home again. They would take away nil my property present and to come; my brothers and sisters would come in for it. Ah, that is a different thing! Now I understand. There theres your certifi- cate of character. I had written a good certificate for him, for he was a good workman. I paid him what I owed him to the last farthing and wished him a prosperous journey. Cousin George was right: those Ger- man~ were all moving homewards. You STORY OF THE PLEBISCITE. 57 would never have thought there were so many in the country: some had passed themselves off for Swiss, some for Luxem- burgers; others had quite settled down, and no one would ever have suspected that they owed t~vo or three more years service to their country. This gave rise to disputes. Those whose situations they had tnken, and who bore ill-will against them, fell upon them; the gendarmerie heat up the mountains: thin~s were taking an ugly turn. It was in vain that I affirmed at the may- oralty-house that the Emperor breathed only peace; as the Gazettes of the pr6fec- ture talked of nothing but the insults we had had to endure, the ambition of Prussia, revenge for Sadowa, the Catholic nations who were going to declare en masse in our favour, and all the powers which main- tained the justice of our cause, the enthu- siasm for war grew higher and higher day by day; especially that of the ped- lars, the tinker;, the small dealers, and 11 those good follows who come out of the prisons, and who are continually seeking for w~rk without flndin0 any; but they do find walls to get over, doors to break in, cupboards to plunder. All these excellent people declared that it was for the honour of France to make war upon Germany. And then the Paris newspapers in the pay of the Government, as we have more recently learnt, continued arriving and circulating gratis, saying that our ambas- sador Benedetti had gone to see Frederick William at the Waters of Ems, to entreat him not to precipitate us into the horrors of war, that he had answered that all that was nothing to him, that his cousin Leopold of Hoheuzollern had only consult- ed him out of respect as the head of the family; that he was too good a relation to advise him not to accept so good a windfall, which was coming down to him out of the clouds. Then, indeed, did the indignation of the Gazettes burst upon the Germans. They must, by all means, be brou~ht to their senses! Now, fancy the position of a may- or, who only two months before had made all his village vote in the Pl6biscite, prom- ising them peace, and who saw clearly at last-how they had only made use of him as a tool to dupe his people. I dared no lon- ger look my cousin in the face, for he had warned me of the thing; and now I knew what to think of the honourable members of the Government. Affairs werd going on so badly that war seemed imminent, when one fine morning ~we learnt that Hohenzollera had waived his right to be King of Spain. Ah! now we were out of the mess; now we could breathe more freely. That day my cousin himself was smnilincr~ he came to the mill and said to me: The Emperor and his ministers, his pr~fets and sous-pr6- fets have not. such long noses after all! how well things were going on too! And now they will be obliged to wait for another opportunity to begin. How they must feel sold! XVe both laughed with delight. More than twenty-five of the principal inhabitants came that day to shake hands with me at the mayoralty-house. It was concluded that his excellency, Monsieur Emile Ollivier, would never he able to tinker this war again, and that peace would be preserved in spite of him, in spite of the Emperor, in spite of Marshal Lebmuf, who had declared to the Senate that we were ready ~five times ready, and that during the whole campa~qn we should never be short of so much as a gcziter button. hloheuzollern was praised up to the skies for having shown good sense for everybody; and as the reserves had been called out, many young men were glad to be able to remain in the bosom of their families. In a word, it was concluded that the whole affair was at an end; when our good man and his honourable Minister informed us that we had begun to rejoice too soon. All at once, the report ran that Frederick William had shown our ambas- sador the door, sayin0 something so terri- bly strong against the honour of his Maj- esty Napoleon III., that nobody dared repeat it. It appears that his Majesty the Emperor, seeing that the Kin~ of Prussia had withdrawn his authorization from the Prince of hloheazollern to - accept the crown of Spain, had not been satisfied with that; and that he had given orders to his ambassador to demand, furthermore, his renunciation of any crown whatever that the Spaniards might offer him in all time to come for himself or his -family; and that this King, who does not enjoy at all times the best of tempers, had said some- thin~ very strong touching our honest man.. That day I was at the mayoralty-house about eleven oclock. I had just celebrated the marriage of Andrb Fix with hlaans daughter, and the wedding-party had started for church, when the postman Michel comes in and throws down the little Moniteur upon the table. Then I sat down to read about the great battle in the 88 THE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. Legislative Chambers, fought by Thiers, Gambetta, Jules Favre, Glais-Bizoin, and others, against the Ministers, in defence of peace. It was m%nificent. But this had not prevented the majority, appointed to do everything, from declaring war against the Germans, on account of what the King of Prussia had said. What could he then have said? his excellency Emile Ollivier has never dared to repeat it! My cousin George declared that he had said something that was right, and naturally very unpleasant; but it is known now by the reports of our ambassa- dor that the King of Prussia had said not/do at all, and that the indignation of M. Ollivier was nothing but a disgraceful sham to deceive the Chambers, and make them vote for war. Well, this is the commencement of our calamities; and, for my part, I find that this did not furnish a cheerful prospect. No! After having endured such miseries, it is not pleasant to remember that we owe them all to M. Emile Ollivier, to Monsieur Leb~uf, to Monsieur Bonaparte, and to other men of that stamp, who are living at this moment comfortably in their country-houses in Italy, in Switzerland, in England, whilst so many unhappy crea- tures have had their lives sacrificed, have been utterly ruined, have lost father, children, and friends, and we Alsacians and Lorrainers more than all that our own Fatherland! From The Cornhull Magazine. THE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. nv RICHAIID A. raucTox. THE eclipse of this month occupies a somewhat exceptional position. It is the last of a series of important total eclipses of the sun following each other at compar- atively short intervals, and each (thus far) distinguished by some noteworthy acces- ~ion to our knowledge. Between the eclipse of June, 1860, and that of August, 1868, very little was added to our informa- tion respecting those solar phenomena which are visible during total eclipses. Of course the sun was totally eclipsed more than once during that interval, but either the circumstances of such eclipses were unfavourable, or else the regions where they could be viewed were so sit- uated as to preclude the possibility of forming well-or~anized observing parties. The great Indian eclipse of Au~ust, 1868, terminated this long period of inaction. Then came the important American eclipse of August, 1860; and next, the so-called Mediterranean eclipse of 1)ecember, 18[i. During all these eclipses very striking di~- coveries were made. It remains to be seen whether the eclipse of the presulib month will supply the means of so suppe- menting those discoveries as to sati:i the craving minds of astronomers durim~ the next twenty-eight months. Is is ir any case certain that during the interval just named no eclipses will occur which will be worth the trouble of observing in the systematic and expensive manner j s- tified by the circumstances of the recent eclipses. My present purpose is chiefly to indi- cate the nature of the hopes entertained by astronomers respecting the approach- ing eclipse, as well as the position to which the observation of the eclipsed sun has already led the students of solar physics. But the opportun.ity i~ a favour- able one for a brief consideration of the laws according to which solar eclipses succeed each other. We are apt to regard the prediction of eclipses, and eclipses generally, as aulong the most mysterious of all the subject with which astronomers have to deal, and in one view of the matter this is not very far from the truth. Certainly the pro- cesses by which the exact circumstances of eclipses are determined years hefo~e they occur, are among the most surprising developments of the powers of the human mind which the whole body of science makes us acquainted with. But the gen- eral laws of eclipses are not particul:irly abstruse certainly not so abstruse as to account for the perplexity with which the subject is very commonly regarded I am inclined sometimes to think that our books on astronomy are not always strictly fair to their readers. Something must always be taken for granted in pop- ular treatises, while other matters are se- lected for special consideration. But it seems to me, with all deference to the au- thors of our original treatises on astrono- my, that they sometimes discuss far too thorou~hly certain matters which the general reader cares very little about, while, on the other hand, they occasion- ally take for granted and leave unex- plained just those matters which the stu- dent is best able, as well as most anxious, to comprehend. Eclipses certainly seem to me to be a case in point. There is somnething amnus- ing so at least I conceive iii the dab THE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. 89 orate care with which the student of the noblest of all sciences is informed that an opaque body can cast a shadow, and that this shadow will have such and such char- acteristics. I am not here speaking of el- ementary treatises. It is reasonable enough, perhaps, in a first book for chil- dren to explain that when the moon stops the suns light its shadow falls on a part of the earth, and that the people who live on that particular part of the earth where the shadow falls cannot see the sun because the moon is in the way. This is very pleasing and instructive for very small people; but when in treatises of a higher class the student is gravely in- formed of these things, as though they involved entirely new and striking con- ceptions, the idea is su ~gested that as- tronomers think but lightly of the capaci- ty of those who chance not to have made astronomy their chief subject of inquiry. On the other hand, the points about which most readers would care to hear something are commonly left untouched. Scarcely any reader of the usual explana- tionof eclipses fails to feel interested in the question of the laws according to ~vhich the moon comes between the sun and the earth, or the earth between the sun and the moon. The student feels that it may be very well to show him the con- sequences which follow when these bodies assume particular positions; but that lie would also like to know a little about the causes of their becoming so placed as well as of the laws according to which the se- quence of such events is determined. We are thus led to a niode of consider- ing the subject whiefi is very generally useful in the study of astronomy. I can- not, indeed, too earnestly recommend the student of the science to employ this method at every opportunity. It consists in imagining one self placed at some suit- able standpoint whence all the movements of such and such celestial bodies may be watched. In this case, the proper standpoint is the sun himself, and the bodies to be watched in imagination are the earth and moon. The student must picture to himself this earth on which we live, as a * Of course the path is not a real entity, and could small globe circling around his standpoiut not therefore be seen, as supposed. It is conve- once in a year. He must conceive this nient, however, to regard it as such. We may thus compare It to the outer rim of Saturns ring-system: gl6be as no larger in appearance than any and precisely as we see that ring-system closing up one of the planets as seen from the earth. and opening out systematically in the course sf lie would, indeed, require a good tele- about twenty-nine years, so certainly an observer on the sun, watching our moons course, wonid find scope to see the earth (from his place on her path opening out and closing up systematically the sun) actually as a globe. Now let in the course of eleven months eleven days, the him further conceive that around this seeming length of the l)ath remaining appreciably small globe a much smaller orb is circlinr unchanged, and about eqnal to three-fifths of the seeming diameter of the sun as seen from the cart once in rather more than four weeks; but that the direction in which he looks at the circular path of the smaller orb is always such that this orb seems to travel back- wards and forwards across or close past the larger one. To show exactly how long this path would look as seen from the sun, as well as to illustrate other points of interest connected with this ex- planation, the following pi-ocess may be employed. Let the reader draw a circle ten and three-quarter inches in diameter to represent the sun or moon as we see these orbs. At the centre of this circle draw a small one, one-tenth of an inch in diameter; this will represent the earth as seen from the sun. Three inches from this small circle set another, a fortieth of an inch in diameter; this will represent the moon as seen from the sun when at her greatest range of distance from the earth. Exactly on the opposite side of the little circle representing the earth, and three inches from that circle, set another little picture of the moon; this represents the moon as seen from the sun when at her greatest ran0e of distance from the earth on the, other side. The observer in the sun would see the moon pass back- waids and forwards froni one position to the other in rather more than four weeks. In thus moving backwards and forwards the moon passes always clo~e (in appear- ance) to the earth, but sometimes closer than at others, and sometimes right across or right behind the earths face. The path, in fact, opens out into an oval xvho;e greatest width, on our scale, is slightly more than five-tenths of an inch, then closes up, then opens out to the same de- gree, only tilted the other way, therm closes up again, and so on continually, while the earth all the time is circling round the observers standpoint once in a year, and the moon round her path (thus varying in aspect) * once in twenty-nine and a half days. Speaking roughly, we may say that once a fortnight the imagined observer in the sun would see the moon crossing the earths place. lie would always see the moon close to the 90 THE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. earth, since we have seen that the whole length of the moons path, as seen from the sun, is much less than the hreadth of the suns globe as we see it; hut twice in a month the moon would he very close by the earth. Now our observer in the sun would see that the moons path passed from its greatest opening to a seemin~ line, and thence to its greatest opening again (but with opposite tilt) in five months and ahout three weeks; passing hack to a seeming line anti to its original opening again, in all respects as at first, in the same time. Eleven months and eleven days complete the whole set of chanues. When the path seemed most open the moon would not at any time actually cross the earths face, or pass actually behind it. In other words, the moon would neither hide any part of the earth from the sun nor be hidden by the earth. Hiding any parts of the earth from the sun ~nieans obviously eclipsing the sun as viewed from those parts of the earth; while to say the moon is hidden from the sun by the earth means (no less obviously) that the moon is thrown into shadow, or eclipsed. So that when the moons path, as seen from the sun, is most open forming then a long oval there can he no eclipses either of the sun or moon. But wheu this path has in appearance closed up to a line, or nearly to a line, the moon can no longer pass by the earth (as viewed from the sun) without actually crossing the earths disc or passing actual- ly behind that disc. So long as this state of things lasts there must he an eclipse whenever the moons backward and for- ward motion carries her past the earth. We have seen that the moons path has this aspect, or is closed up into a straight line, as seen from the sun, at intervals of about five months and three weeks. For rather more than a month the path is suffi- ciently closed for eclipses to occur. I have suggested for these occasions the title of eclipse months. To show how they succeed each other, take the followin~, illustrative instance Let January in any year be an eclipse month, the middle of January being the time when the moons path appears closed up into a line as seen from the sun. Then five months and three weeks later, or about the 6th of July, the path is again closed up into a line as seen from the sun; and a period of rather more than a month, having this date for its middle or from about June 22 to about July 23 is again an eclipse month. Passing on from July 6, we reach in five months and three weeks, the date December 27, which is the middle of the next eclipse month. And so on continually. Other matters connected with the recur- rence and peculiarities of these eclipse months helong, or should belong, to treatises on astronomy. What has been said above suffices for my present purpose, which is to explain the sequence of the late eclipses. It will be observed that about eleven months and eleven days sep- arate an eclip~e month in one year from the correspondin~ eclipse month in the next. We thus see why the great Indian eclipse of August, 1868, had its analo ues, so to speak, in the total eclipse of August 29, in the preceeding year, and in the American eclipse of August 7, 1869. These three eclipses, occuring eleven days earlier in each succeeding year, were all three total. But the series did not end with the eclipse of August, 1S~J9. On July 27, 1870 (again eleven days earlier) there was an eclipse of the sun. It was, however, only a partial one, and closed the series. Now the eclipse of the present month belongs to another series. It will be re- membered by every one that there was an eclipse on December 22, last year; that eclipse was the first of the series to which the approaching eclipse belongs. This series, like the former, includes four eclipses. Last December the moon as seen from the sun crossed the earths face near its northern edge. In the eclipse of Tuesday, December 12, the moon, as sup- posed to be seen from the sun, will pass slightly to the north of the middle point of the earths face.* Thus the eclipse will be more important than that of last year, and the length of the actual track of the moons shadow considerably greater. The third eclipse of the series will occur on November 30, 1872. In one respect it will be one of the most remarkable ever re- corded; for it must be described as at once an annular and a total eclipse of the sun. This is readily explained, though the occurrence is alto,,ether exceptional. * It is a singular circumstance that the earth avill present almost exactly the same face towards the sun at the moment of central eclipse en the 12th inst., as at the middle of the transit of Venus, en Decemher 8, 1874. The fifteen pictures of the ro- tating earth, in Plate VIII. of nsy treatise on the sun, illustrate the approaching eclipse as exactly as though drawn for the purpose. The first shows the earths face as seen (rein the sun just hefore the moons passage hegins; the next thirteen show the earths face at successive intervals of a quartsr of an hour during the progress of time eclipse; and the last shows the earths face as seen from the sun just after the moon has passed off that face. THE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. 91 The reader is aware that the point of the tions of the moons shadow-track to which moons conical shadow sometimes extends it has been judged advisable to send ob- beyond and sometimes falls short of the servers. The track crosses the southern earth. In the former case an eclipse is extremity of the Indian peninsula, and total, in the latter it is annular. But in along this part of its course there will the eclipse of November 30, 1872, the apex probably be several observing parties, of the shadow falls short of the earths the arrangements being superintended by surface at the beginning of the eclipse; it Mr. Pogson, the Government Astronomer encounters the earth as the shadow-track at Madras, and by Colonel Tenant and passed onward towards the bulging cen- Captain Herschel, both known to fame tral part of the earths illuminated hemi- throu,h their observations during the sphere; and presently, towards the close great eclipse of 1868. Thence the shadow- of the eclipse, falls again short of the earths track passes to the northern part of Cey- surface. So that there are two points Ion, and along this part of its course the on the earths surface where, on Novem- En~lish eclipse expedition will be sta- ber 30, 1872, the eclipse will be exactly tioned. It will probably be in the remem- total, the moon just hiding the sun and no brance of most of my readers that the more, and only for a single instant. The English Government granted (several totality will nowhere last more than about rhouths back) the sum of 2,000, as well three-quarters of a minute; and as the as transport and the means of camping, place where this will happen lies very far for an expedition to Ceylon. It was south in the Pacific Ocean, it is not likely hoped that Professor Stokes would have that any observer will witness this eclipse, been able to take charge of this expedi- It is, however, the most considerable solar tion; but these hopes were disappointed. eclipse of the year 1872. The last eclipse Mr. Lockyer, however, has been able to of the series occurs on November 19, 1873, give his services, and doubtless the expe- and, like the last of the former series, it is dition will be a highly effective one. The altogether unimportant. The moon, as shadow-track passes from Ceylon to Java, supposed to be seen from the sun, will just where a French party under M. Jansseu graze the most southerly part of the will be stationed. Lastly, the shadow- earths disc. The circumstances of the track passes to the northern part of the eclipse are such, says the Nautical Alma- Australian continent, and a strong observ- nac, that a map has not been considered ing party has proceeded from Sydney and requisite. There will be no total solar Melbourne to the stations along this part eclipse at all in 1873. of the shadows course. Not until April 16, 1874, will any total The totality will last longest in North eclipse worth observing take place, after Australia, where its duration will be more the eclipse of the present month. Nor are than four minutes, or nearly two minutes the circumstances of the eclipse of 1874 longer than the duration of the eclipse of such as to encourage favourable hopes that last year at the best stations. In Java the much will be learned during its progress. totality will last more than three minutes. On April 6, 1875, there will be, I believe, a In Ceylon the duration of totality will much more important eclipse visible (as I barely exceed by a few seconds the dura- judge from a rou~,h calculation) in Amen- tion of totality last December. A some- ca; but I shall probably be excused from what curious mistake was made on this entering into an exact calculation of its point in a scientific journal. Mr. 1-lind, in circumstances, more especially as the his first and comparatively rough estimate Nautical Almanac for 1875 will, I believe, of the course traversed by the moons be published before this e~~say appears. shadow, had placed Tnincomalee on the It will be inferred that a considerable I border of the track, so that the duration degree of interest is attached by astrono- of totality at Trincomalee would havo mers to the eclipse of the present month, been very short. But after his final and followed as it will be by two years and more elaborate calculation, he set Trin- four months during which there will comnalee close to the centre of the shad- be no solar eclipses worthy of special ob- ow-track, with a duration of total ob servation. scuratiou am~iiounting to t~vo and a half Although the eclipse of the 12th inst. is minutes. Strangely enough the increase not nearly so favourable for observational of the estimated duration was alone no- purposes as the great Indian eclipse of ticed by the writer of an article in Nature 1868, yet there is a considerable variety and it was reasoned that since the dura- as respects the choice of stations. In fact tion is so considerable at Trincomalee on there are no less than four distinct see- the border of the track, it must be very 92 THE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. much greater at places on the centre of the track. I need scarcely point out that this inference was unwarranted. In fact the duration of totality can never under any circumstances be considerable for places close to the border of the shadow- track.* In southern India the eclipse will last about as long as the eclipse of last year at the best stations. It cannot be doubted that the observers this year will have a much more difficult task than those who have added so impor- tantly to our knowledge during the eclipses of the last three years. This will appear on a brief consideration of the progress and present position of the problem with which the observers are to deal. In 1868, the observers of the great Indi- an eclipse discovered that the solar prom inences are vast masses of glowing vapour, hydrogen being the chief constituent of these marvellous objects. But the solar corona, that glory of light which appears around and beyond the coloured promi- nences, did not at that time receive its in- terpretation. In 1869, the American ob- servers directed their chief attention to this beautiful p~~enomenon; and they were singularly successful in their observations. One result of a very remarkable character was obtained by several observers. The light of the corona when analyzed in the spectroscope was found to be in large part monochromatic, the coronal spec- trum showing one bright line. Now the reader is doubtless aware that in spectrum analysis the essential point is to determine where any bright or dark lines may lie along the range of that~ rainbow-tinted streak which we call the solar spectrum. In this instance the position of the bright line has been most satisfactorily deter- mined by a very skilful spectroscopist, Professor Young, of America. The line agrees in position with one of the lines in the spectrum of iron, a line also seen in the spectrum of the aurora bfrealis. But the spectrum of iron contains upwards of 400 lines, while even the simpler spectrum of the aurora contains several lines; that of the corona, on the other hand, has not been proved to contain any other bright lines except the one just mentioned. Others have been suspected, but the de- gree of their brightness has not been such as to prove beyond all possibility of question that they belong to the solar, corona. However, as Professor Young remarks on this point (writing in 1871), consider- ed as a demonstration of self-luminosity one bright line is just as conclusive as many.~~ It was in fact demonstrated by this observation alone that the corona, for a considerable part at least of its extension, is a self-luminous object. Nor can there be any doubt, we may add with Professor Young, as to the location of the self- luminous matter. It cannot be in our atmosphere, for no possible reason can be assigned why the particular molecules of the air that happen to lie near the lines which join the ey~ of the observer with the edge of the moon should become luminous rather than others in a different portion of the sky. Nor can it be at the moon; otherwise, of course, it would always be visible round her disc. Accordingly, he adds, it is now universally, I think I may say, acknowledged that one important element of the corona consists of a solar envelope of glowing gas reachirtg to a con- siderable elevation. Mr. Lockyer, who is still disposed to assign to the solar element of the corona a lower relative importance than most other astronomers, concedes a thickness of from six to ten minutes that is from a fifth to a third of the solar diameter. This, as I have said, was written by Professor Young in 1871, but before a certain most important fact had come to his knowledge, which without at all affect- ing what he here puts forward, renders it possible to say much more as to the real extension of the corona. We have seen that a certain object, surrounding the sun on all sides to a dis- tance of from 160,000 miles to 290,000 miles from his surface, is demonstrably a self-luminous envelope. It was to this envelope, or perhaps rather to its brighter portion as seen from the earth, that some proposed to assign the barbarous name leucosphere, to distinguish it from the bright layer of prominence-matter close by the sun, which is called the sierra, or chromatosphere. But the visible exten sion of the corona is greater yet, and before the eclipse of 1870 doubts still existed as to the actual extent of that solar corona, which all had now begun to recognize as a real entity. That some portion of the light seen around the sun during total eclipse is in reality only due to the illumination of our own atmosphere * A somewhat similar mistake occurred last year, is altogether beyond question. It is true, whereby the Sicilian eclipse party formed too san guine expectations of the duration of totality in that indeed, as was pointed out by Professors island Young and Harkuess, Dr. Curtis, and my- THE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. 93 self, that none of the coronal light for The question which ari~ es here, then, is several degrees from the suns place, can this at what distance from the eclipsed be solar light reflected by our atmosphere, sun has the light of the solar corona so as had been mistakenly supposed; but it diminished, and that of the atmospheric is no less certain that our atmosphere is glare so increased, that the latter light illuminated not merely in directions lying predominates over the former. This ques. close up to the moons edge, but even tion is not only exceedingly nice, but, as towards the body of the moon herself, by actually stated, it is wholly unanswerable, the light of the coloured prominences and unless as a matter of fact the real solar of the real solar corona. The observer corona has definite limits, recognizable himself sees these luminous objects during perhaps by more refined methods of ob- totality, and therefore the air all round servation than have yet been applied. him must be illuminated by thein.* But although it is unlikely that the Now here a question of extreme delicacy utmost actual extension of the corona can arises. The true solar corona undoubtedly be determined by means of such appliances grows fainter and fainter with increased as are at present available, yet it was extension from the sun. That is, if we possible last December to demonstrate the could see the corona from som~ point extension of the corona to a distance far raised above the earths atmosphere, so exceeding the six or ten minutes acknowl- that no terrestrial illumination could de- edged by those who had once sought to ceive us, we should see the corona gradu- reason away the corona almost wholly. elly diminishing in lustre with distance It is clear that if any definite coroni from the sun, until at last it became too feature extending more than ten minutes faint to be discerned at all. On the con- from the place of the eclipsed sun, could trary, the illumination of our atmosphere be seen at stations far apart, then beyond during totality must necessarily increase all question that feature would be shewn with distance from the direction of the I to be extra terrestrial. For instance, it eclipsed sun. This is obvious, because could not possibly be imagined that some those m6lecules of the air which lie directly peculiarity in the air over Syracuse could towards the moons place are thems4ves reprodnce a feature of this sort precisely suffering total eclipse from the suns direct as it appeared to the observers near Xerez, light, and are illuminated by a rather less owing to a peculiarity of the air over this proportion of prominence and coronal li~ht station. than the observer himself, whereas those Now, soon after the eclipse occurred, it molecules which lie in directions far re- was announced that the observers in Spain moved from the place of the eclipsed sun had recognized a peculiar gap, shaped like are suffering either but a partial eclipse, or a letter V, in the lower portion of the else, though their eclipse be total, they corona on the left hand. This gap was are yet illuminated by more lustrous por- pictured and described to me by my friend, tions of the corona and prominence-matter. Mr. W. II. II. Hudson, MA., and Fellow So that so far as atmospheric glare alone of St. Johns College, Cambridge, before is concerned, we should have, as I wrote any of the other accounts had come under in March, 1870, a relatively dark region my notice; and it was with some interest around the eclipsed sun and a gradual that I awaited the January meeting of the increase of light with distance from him. Royal Astronomical Society, before which the records of the observers in Spain were ~ One cannot but be surprised at the stress which to be presented. At that meeting a pic- was laid by some soon after the eclipse of last De- ture was exhibited by Lieutenant Brown, cember, on the fact that even directly towards the moon s place, light was received which the spectro- in which this V-shaped gap was a very scope showed to be similar in character to that prominent feature. But in the discussion of the bright inner portion of the corona. Not which ensued after Lieutenant Browns only was the fact dwelt on repeatedly as a proof that the corona lies on our side of the moon, but paper had been read, Mr. hudson re- it was commended to my own special attention as a marked that the gap had seemed somewhat proof that I had been mistaken in urging before the eclipse of 1870 that the corona is demonstrably a larger to him, on which Lieutenant solar appendage. In the very paper in which I Brown admitted that perhaps the size of urged this view before the Royal Astronomical So- ciety, on March 11, 1870, 1 ponted out that our air the gap had not been quite ade4uately pre- must be illuminated towards the moons place by sented in his drawing. the light of all the visible solar appendages as the After the meeting a photograph, taken prominences, chromatosphere, and corona as well as by reflected earth-light. My words were during the eclipse by Mr. Willard, of sufficiently distinct. They ran as follows: The America, was shown to a few of those light from all these sources should extend over the moons disc, since it would illuminate the air be- present. Why the picture was not exhib- iween time observer and the moons body. ited and described at the meeting itself I 94 THE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. do not know. Probably the description was reserved for American societies. But whatever the cause, it is certain that if the picture had been shown earlier, some doubts which were expressed respecting the real nature of the corona would have been obviated. For there, in the photo- graph, and occupying the precise position described to me much earlier by Mr. hudson, and publicly described and pic- tured by Lieutenant Brown and others, was this V-shaped gap. Mr. Willards photograph was taken at a station near Xerez, so that all that has hitherto been said relates to Spanish obser- vations. To complete this portion of the evidence, I quote the following passage from an interesting account of the eclipse by one of The observers in Spain. It is extracted from the English Mechanic for January 27, 1871. The corona proper, or glory, or radiated corona as it is variously called extended a distance of almost the moons diameter from the moons edge, but not equally in every direction. It had a greater extension in four directions, at the extremities of two diameters at right angles to each other, so as to give it the shape, roughly speaking, of a square with rounded corners. It was broken in parts, and notably by one decided V-shaped gap. This was observed, not only by one party, but at three stations, San Antonio, Xeres, and La Maria Louisa, which form a trian- gle, each of whose sides is five or six miles in length. But in the meantime news had been re- ceived from Sicily which conveyed the Un- pleasing impression that the observations there had been all but complete failures. In particular it was supposed that Mr. Brothers, who had the management of the photographic department there, had been unable to obtain any useful results, since no mention had yet been made of his suc- cess. I was indeed as much surprised as pleased, when I received a letter from him announcing that he had secured five photo- graps of the corona, in one of which the corona appeared as it had never been seen on glass before. It will be con- ceived that I awaited with great interest even the first rough sketch of the corona as there pictured. If the V-shaped gap appeared in such sketch, the conclusion would be inevitable that a real solar ap- pendage exists having an extension at least equal to that indicated by the bound- ing edges of the gap that is, an exten- sion of at least 600,000 miles. If, on the other hand, that well-marked peculiarity failed to present itself, the inference would be that it does not exist in the photograph, and that, therefore, the seeming gap was due to some peculiarity of the atmospheric illumination at the Spanish stations. It would not, in this case, be by any means demonstrated that the sun has no append- age reaching so far as five or six hundred thousand miles from the suns surface, but it would be quite certain that the evidence given by the V-shaped gap could not be accepted as demonstrative or even trust- worthy. The presence of the V-shaped gap in Mr. Brotherss photograph would supply an argument positive and final; its absence would supply a negative argument, proving nothing however, anti leaving the matter much where it stood before the eclipse-took place. The first sketch I received was con- tained in a hasty note from Mr. Brothers, written soon after his arrival in England. I was surprised, and, to say the truth, somewhat disappointed, to find that the V- shaped gap was not shown, as in the Span- ish pictures. There were several gaps, but not one in the lower left-hand portion of the corona. But in the next letter which I received, Mr. Brothers intimated that the sketch was only intended to show time general aspect of the corona to show its radiated structure, and that in fact he had not copied the sketch from the photograph, the negative not being as yet unpacked. Somne days elapsed before a drawing made from the photograph was sent to me. In this drawing the V-shaped gap was not omily presented in the same place as in the Spanish views, but, as in them, it formed the most remarkable fea- ture of the corona. Soon after, photo- graphs taken directly from Mr. Brotherss negative were in the hands of all who took interest in the subject, and there pic- tured by the. corona itself was the gap on which s~o much was held to depend. All possibility of mistake as to the reality of the agreement between this gap and the gap shown in the American photograph was removed by time circumstance that two other gaps, less marked but still recogniza- ble, appeared in both photographs. I have dwelt somewhat at length on this V-shaped gap, because it is in reality of extreme importance. On no former occa- sion had any distinctive feature of the corona been unmistakably recognized at stations far apart. It happened strangely that on the first occasion upon whi@h the corona was successfully photographed, a very remarkable and characteristic pecu- liarity was presented by the corona. Fa- vourable as are the circumstances of the TIlE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. 95 approaching eclipse, it is not by any means certain that the photographs taken at dis- tant stations will be so well suited for comparison as those taken during the eclipse of last year. So that it is well to set store by the great fact which was es- tablished by the observers of the latter eclipse. The following words, taken from a letter addressed to Mr. Brothers by Sir John herschel, serve to indicate the im- portance which he attached to the photo- graphic records of the V-shaped gap: Assuredly, he wrote, the decidedly marked notch or hay in both photographs (those taken at Cadiz and Syracuse) agreeing so perfectly in situation (marked so definitely by its occurrence just opposite the middle point between two unmistaka- ble red prominenees) is evidence not to be refused, of its extra-atmospheric on- gin.* . . . A terrestrial atmospheric origin is quite out of the question. And here, in passing, I may venture to note as somewhat surprisin0 in the pres- ence of such an opinion, announced pub- licly before the highest astromomical tri- bunal of this kingdom the statement made by the President of the last meeting of the British Association, that the obser- vations during the eclipse of 1870 proved the terre:;trial atmospheric origin of at least the principal portion of the coronal light. Even if we rejected the positive evidence obtained during that eclipse, and even if we regarded Ilersehels opinion as of no weight whatever, it would still be impossible to point to a sinnle fact dis- covered last December which tended to confirm the atmospheric theory. Facts were noticed then, as facts have been no- ticed before, which at a first view seem to suggest a terrestrial origin of the coronal phenomena; but undoubtedly none of those facts were novel. Every circum- stance that was new to astronomers was in favour of the extra-terrestrial origin, * The omitted words relate to the absence of any signs which could show the corona to he a phenom- enon produced within the space separating the earth from the moon. On this point, further, I may remark that I had occasion to snhmit to Sir John 1-lerschel certain considerations relating to a theory that the radiations of the corona are produced by the passage of the solar rays past the moons edge, through dispersed meteoric matter between the earth and the moon. I submitted, amongst other matters, this question to the great astronomer Whether the light due to the illumination of this dispersed matter would not be altogether inferior in amount to the light received from the illumina- tion of similar matter lying beyond the moon, up to and beyond the suns place? His reply was, as I ha4l fully expected, that undoubtedlythis consid- eration (which he had not before noticed) rendered the lunar theory of the corona altogether untena- ble. which, as we have seen, Sir John ilerchel regarded as demonstrated. It is at least unfortunate that in thus summing up the results of the costly eclipse expedition of December, 1870, Sir XV. Thomson did not mention what particular discovery then made seemed to his judgment to demon- strate the terrestrial origin (in the main) of the coronal phenomena. One can un- derstand why Professor Tait, after hear- ing a lecture on the general subject oil solar eclipses, should have remarked that what he had just heard convinced him that the corona was of terrestrial origin; for a variety of eclipse phenomena seem at a first view to suggest the atmospheric theory as the only available explanation. Moreover there can be no question that some of the most striking phenomena pre- sented at the beginning and towards the close of totality, are actually due to the illumination of our atmosphere at those epochs by departing rays or returning rays of direct sunlight. After a lecture chiefly devoted to the consideration of precisely such phenomena as these, and illustrated by striking pictures of such phenomena, the opinion might well be formed that the chief part of the coronal radiance is simply atmospheric. It is only on a complete sur- vey of the subject, and especially of the evi- dence relating to the corona as seen in the heart of the totality, that the immense weight of evidence in favour of the real existence of the corona as a sot r appen- dage of amazing extent is clearly recog- nized. But so far as could b~ judged by the report, Sir XV. Thomsons expression of opinion related solely to the new results the discoveries, in fact effected last December; and it is perplexing in the ex- treme to hear these results described as demonstrating the atmospheric origin of the chief portion of the corona. The only new fact which seems in the least to countenance this remarkable state- ment, is the circumstance that the li~ht received from the direction in which the moons dark disc lay, was found, when analyzed by the spectroscope, to resemble the light received from the corona. At first sight this seems to show that the corona itself is an atmospheric phenome- non. For certainly the light received from the direction of the nioons dark disc can- not come directly from a solar appendage. And, as great stress was laid on this cir- cumstance by some, unfamiliar with what was to be expected when this light came to be examined, it seems just possible tllat Sir W. Thomson may have been guided by their strongly-expressed opinion. 96 THE DECEMBER ECLIPSE. But as a matter of fact no other result lunar disc must give us an exaggerated could have been expected. I had myself measure of the true atmospheric effect. pointed out in March, 1870, that, reflected This illumination makes the edge of the light of precisely the observed nature, moon only enou0h brighter than the cen- must be received from the moons direc- tre to give it the appearance of a globe but tion. The air above and around the ob- of almost inky blackness. Dr. Balfour server including necessarily that lying Stewart, also, in a letter addressed to Mr. towards the moons disc must needs be Brothers, points out very clearly how in- illuminated by the same coronal ~lory significant relatively must be the atmos- which the observer gazes upon with such pheric illumination. The light which wonder during totality and the light of reaches us in a total eclipse from the cen- that atmosphere, so illuminated, must pre- tre of the moons disc, and which may be sent th.e same characteristics as the direct partly due to earth-light reflected from light of the corona, precisely as the light the moon, may be safely taken as some- of the sky when examined with the spec- what exceeding that which can possibly troscope shows the same dark lines as the be due to atmospheric glare and inas- direct light of the sun. much as in your photographs there is very We have only to remember, however, little effect on the centre of the moons that the moon looks so dark during total- disc, I am led to think that very little of ity as to seem perfectly black, to see the result obtained can be due to glare. I how very small a part atmospheric il- have here confined myself strictly to your lumination can have in producing the core- photo~raphs, but the principle laid down nal phenomena. The light received from is applicable to all kinds of observations the direction of the moons disc must be and I must confess that I cannot at the at least as strong as any atmospheric il- present moment see why the streamers, if lumination within the region occupied by they are caused by the atmosphere, should the coronal glory for this illumination if invariably shoot outwards, and never yen- we could see it alone, would be nearly ture to trespass npon the moons disc. uniform, while where the moon is, we re- The present position of astronomers is ceive (over and above the atmospheric this They have proved that there is a illumination) no inconsiderable amount of solar appendage extending to a vast dis- what astronomers call earth-light. The tance from the suns surface, radiated moons surface, at the moment of a total usually, if not always in structure. and eclipse, is illuminated by the earth soane shining in great part with its own inherent twelve times more brightly than the lustre. The portion of the coronas sub- earths surface in full moonlight. If we stance which is thus self-luminous is gas- look at a distant hill (not forest-covered) eous. It may well be, however, that there bathed in the light of the full moon, we is also a self-luminous portion in the solid see that it is appreciably luminous or liquid condition probably in a state brighter certainly, in appearance, than the of fine division. And it has been ren- dark looking disc of the moon during an dered all but certain that a considerable eclipse. Yet the moons disc during portion of the coronas light is simply sun- eclipse, is twelve times as luminous, at light reflected from solid or liquid matter least; and if all other light could be re- in the corona. For while it is perhaps moved, we should see the moon at that doubtful whether the solid or liquid mat- time as a disc illuminated with no incon- ter is self-luminous through intensity of siderable degree of brightness. Since the heat, no question remains as to the actual moon actually looks almost black though existence of such matter. Lastly, it seems this reflected light is reinforced by the at- highly probable that a portion of the cor- mospheric illumination we cannot but onal light has an electrical origin, like the admit that the atmospheric illumination light of our auroras. alone must be very inconsiderable corn- Astronomers hope to obtain, during the pared with the light even of the outer approaching eclipse, more satisfactory in- parts of the corona, which, though faint, formation than they have at present, re- seem by no means black. specting the actual extension of the core- Professor Young, of America, has rea- na, as well as of the various portions of soned similarly on this point. Some in- which it consists. The observers will fluence, he says, our atmosphere must, have to discriminate between the light of course, have; but remembering how due to atmospheric illumination, and much the inner portion of the coronal those fainter and more delicate portions ring exceeds in brightness the outer, it of the real corona which have as yet not would seem that the illumination of the been traced to their actual limits (if they TilE NEAP REEF. 97 have any). It is hoped, in particular, that and trolling out their chansons de corn- photographs taken at the extreme stations poynie. The young girls in their short, those in India and Northern Australia warm petticoats, gay coloured kerchiefs, will so confirm the evidence first ob- and prettily-fashioned caps, were repro- tamed from Mr. Brotherss photographs, ductions of Margot nor was the likeness as to convince the most skeptical that the lessened by their coquettish graces, free corona is not a mere atmospheric phe- speech, and merry, innocent gaiety. nomenon. It may well be that spectro- Philips heart smote him, as he recalled scopists and polariscopists will obtain some the many times he had blamed Margot for new information respectin~ the structure t practising the very attractions whici~ here of the corona; but to effect this they will lie thought so charming. how incousist- have to overcome great difficulties, owing ent he had been! how hasty, harsh, impet- to the way in which the I,ight from our air nous! Each day he retraced, and lingered is blended with the light from the corona. over, the places where they had been to- Altogether, I am disposed to believe that gether, the particular spots which, from at this stage of our progress chief reliance some little incident occurring there, were is to be placed on the powers of photo- most vividly impressed upon his memory, graphy. After Mr. Brotherss success dur- until he had nothing left in his heart but ing the last eleven seconds only of totality love for her and reproach for himself. (for a cloud veiled the eclipsed st~in for Madame Dutton, on her death-bed, had the first two minutes), it may fairly be left him a message, saying she knew she hoped that by applying his method the could trust him to be a friend to the photographers may obtain such pictures young girl she was leaving an orphan of the corona as will throw an altogether lonely and alone. Ali I he had proved a new light on this wonderfnl solar appen- sorry sort of friend, lie thought; ready to da0e. listen to anything, and heap all sorts of abuse upon her, the minute matters werent taking the turn he wanted them to do. lie could see it plainly enough now, his great love had made him selfish; From Good Cheer. she had become so necessary to his happi- THE NEAP REEF. ness, that where that wasnt concerned he nv MRS. rAflX, AUTHOR OF DOROTHY FOX. had given up studying hers. She was so much to him that he couldnt bear the CHAPTER IX. thought of another man possessing his Now, at this very time Philip Lee hap- treasure. Then as to Dick Barry! He pened to be at Honfleur a place to which was looked upon as a fine, handsome-faced for many years his tradin~ had not taken young chap, likely enough to take a girls him. Naturally, everything he saw and thucy, and she, poor child, had nobody to heard recalled the days when he used to advise her and tell her of his many failings land, with the certainty of a warm greeting and his idle ways; though from all that from kindly Madame Dutton and her dark- was said he had changed since she had eyed little daughter. Ah!it seemed but taken him in hand. Very likely there was yesterday, that he was a light-hearted some good in the poor fellow after all; stripling walking along towards the little but, oh! it was so hard to give her up. cottage, in sight of which he gave a shrill Nevertheless, hed do it; his mind was whistle a second a third and at the made up now, and the very first thing, as door would appear a tiny figure, to give soon as ever he set foot in Redneap, one eager look in his direction, and then, should be to go to Margot, tell her every- with outstretched arms and shouts of thing, and beg her forgiveness. She welcome, come fi-ying along to meet him. wouldnt stand out, he felt sure of that, Looking around, few, if any, chances for she had always been the first to come met his vieW. The old-fashioned tower round after their little tiffs, which they was still the same. In the narrow streets should never have had only for his brutish the same people inhabited the same quaint temper. The only wonder to him was houses, and before them they sat knitting that shed stood him so long; however, or twirling their bobbins until the light hed worn her out at last, and he nodded faded away, when they lounged chatting his head, sighing dismally to think that and laughing merrily together by the he had never been able in his poor way to water-side or sat in front of the Pomme tell her half the love he felt for her. Then dOr still kept by the good Veuve Bar- for a few minutes he sat letting his sweet dot sipping their cider, clinking glasses, and bitter recollections run on unchecked, LIVING AGE. VOL. XXIV. 1101 98 THE NEAP REEF. until, jumping up with an apology to himself for his eyes bein~ weak and wa- tery by reason of staring at the sea, he turned to go back to the town, finishing his reverie with God bless her and make aer happy. Anyhow, I spose if things run contrariwise in this world, we must look ior all righting itself in the next. ive bin hurryin all hands to look sharp about gettin the cargo aboard, he said to his mate on his return. I shant ~ut off starting from here any longer than can help, for the wind seems shifty, and unless Im mistook, theres dirty weather blowing up outside, so the sooner we up stick and away the better. His heart was so full of the one subject, that he could neither think nor speak on any other, and that evening, as he and Curtis leaned over the side of the little vessel smoking their pipes, Philip could not refrain from asking Have ye seen anything of old Dutton olate? Well no, I cant say as I have, but my missis cousin, whos Dick Barrys uncle s wife, told her that the poor old chap had bin terrible bad with the rheumatics agen. There was a pause, for Philip knew that though a Luton man, Curtis was perfectly aware of his quarrel wit~i Margot, and that this was the reason why he no longer went to the cottage. Still, having always studiously avoided the subject, it was somewhat awkward to commence it now. his companion was a particularly silent, stolid man, with who~n heatin0 about the bush would be so much lost time, there- fore ~ulping down his pride, he began again. Ive heard that Barry and Margot are keeping each other co npany. Ive heerd the same, replied Curtis, and another pause ensued. I hope tis true hes steadied a bit, Philip continued; bes usent to be the man likely to make a girl happy. Curtis made no remark. I reckon, said Philip with an effort, twas all a settled thing when she went over to Luton Revel with him? But Curtis continued to puff away in silence. Youre a nice lively sort o chap to be cast adrift with 1 exclaimed Philip testily, losing all patience. Better to go to sea with a Lascar Indian, or a Maltee man, for they will open their mouths, if nobodys the wiser for what they say. But as for you Now look ye here, mate, returned Curtis, moved to turn round and take his pipe from his mouth, if you axes me a question, never fear but Ill give ye an an- swer; but if so be you know the rights o everything certain yerself, and stands up and holds forth upon it, why unless I wants to get up a ar~yment what ave I got to say? Oh! thats all talk, said Philip sur- lily; you know fast enough what tis I want to know. Well, now then, what do ye want to know? Why, exclaimed Philip, the hot colour showing through his bronzed face, how long is it since Dick Barry and Margot have been trothed to each other? Well, then, youve stumped inc at the first go off, replied Curtis, for so far as Ive seen and heerd and leave the wo- menfolk for ferritin out a business o that sort Margot has no more thought o marryin Dick Barry than she has o mar- ryin me. And as were on this tack, Ill tell ye what it is, Phil Lee, if you aint one o the biggest fools I ever set eyes upon, you aint the man I take ye for. I may keep my mouth shut, but I keeps my eyes open, and I know youre no more like the chap you Was, than a herrins like a pil- chard. And as for Margot well, I neednt go no further than this, that she told Jane Tomlin that if Barry could deck her with dimonds she wouldnt have him, for shed rather beg her bread with you than eat off gold with any other man; and thats the truth, which you may be- lieve or not, for Jane Tomlin told it her own self to my missis. So there. It was Philps turn now to be silent. He could not trust himself to speak. Was it possible that this could be? Margot still his own; her love only his? Such a rush of happiness came over him at the very thought, that he could but pray God it might be true, for if so, no matter what else happened, he should be content; and some minutes later Curtis, who had returned to his pipe and his own reflec- tions, was roused from them by a hand bein~ laid on his shoulder, and Philip saying Mate, theres no need for much talk be- tween you and me, but youve lifted a ton weight off my heart, and I shant rest day nor night till I get Margot to say shell have me. Once let me hear her say her hearts mine, and I shant have another thing to wish for in the world. And they shook hands, and felt, as Curtis after- wards observed, more chummy like than they had done for months before. TilE NEAP REEF. 99 CHAPTER X. TRUE to his ~roinise the next morning, found Uncle Ben taking his ~way towards Mrs. Lees cottage. He set down his basket, which at this season was filled with a somewhat incongruous medley of nuts, oranges, peppermint water, and herrings, in front of the gate, and giving a sharp rap with his knuckles to intimate that he intended openin0 the door, thrust in his head, saytng to a coaxing voice Want a nice lierrin this morning, missis? No, not I, answered the widow sharply, for her mind being set upon her cleaning up, she had no wish to be interrupted. Ive had enough o herrins for one while, with the last 1 had o you. Ah, but the last wasnt like these, missis. You wouldnt know these from a ham. Now you only just put yer nose to one. Mrs. Lee shook her head decisively. I shant buy this mornin, she said. Come now, missis, dont ee say no, for if I get a hansel from you I shall be sure to have a lucky day, and its no use offer- ing o you oranges, nor one o that, with yer son allays a bringing ye things as cant be got no place else for love nor money. I reckon hes certain sure to be hack for Christmas-day? Well, so tis to be hoped, said Mrs. Lee, with a snort of important pride. The gentry about Luton ed sit down to a lairy dinner if not, for hes bringing all Mr. Briggs things, besides odds and ends for others, whod laugh tother side o their faces, I ~ness, if my Philip didnt come in, which I trust in mercy, dear feller, he will on Toosday evening at the very latest. Taint to be wondered at your money bringing luck, said Uncle Ben craftily ohucklin~ at the easy way in which he had obtained his desired information, for as Ive said hunderds o times you~ re one in a thousand, Mrs. Lee, apil yer sons the wery spit of ye. There go along, do, exclaimed the widow, in a mollified tone, or you wont sell nothink to-day. Not til Ive sold the fust to you, missis, I shant, and in an instant Uncle Ben re- turned with a couple of his vaunted deli- cacies, which after many protestations on the foolishness o takin things you had no use for, Mrs. Lee consented to buy, and Uncle Ben, after religiously spitting on the two-pence he received from her, went off, slily exulting over his super- iority. Never had Uncle Ben been so anxiously watched for as he was the whole of that day; for, though Margot knew that she should see nothing of him until ho had, by every coaxing art he possessed, emptied his basket, still, she argued, when one so desired that he should sell all he carried, there was no knowing how speedily the wish might be accomplished. She seemed to walk upon air, and very great difficulty it was to walk at all, when running and skipping accorded so much better with the lightness and gaiety which filled her heart. forcing her to break out into g].ad snatches of songs, makin~ her catch up the few stray toddlers on the beach, and toss theta up in her strong arms, until they and she laughed and screamed together in de- lighted chorus. At length, about three oclock, just as her impatience was becom- ing unendurable, she was relieved by seeing the old man come hobbling towards her. Oh, I am so glad to see you, Uncle Ben! I thought you were never coming. What a long time it has taken you to clear y6ur basket! Yes said Uncle Ben, you may well say that. People nowadays are uncommon contrairy about buying. Why, I blieve, in the matter o her in~ s, some on em would doubt their own fathers. If I say~ theym soft roed, they wants em hard; and if I tells em theym hard, nothin suits em but soft; and, when I tries to accommodate them with hard and soft too, they stands out I dont know tother from which. Lord, help us! he ejaculated sit- ting down on the boats side, to which Margot pointed. it is very tiresome, she said, in a con- soling voice. But never mind, Uncle Ben; for you always try to serve them~ well dont you.? Did Mrs. Lee buy anythin~ of you to-day? The chuckle which Uncle Ben gave as- sured Margot more than any words could have done. Never you fear, lass, but Ill get to windard of any woman as y.ou ever come across yet; and the more knowledgable they be, the more I loves to tackle em. Lord bless ye! a woman is all very well; but she cant encompass a man least- ways, not old Ben Ching, whos been round th& world, and sailed from pole to pole. Then you know when Philip will be here? All right, said the old fellow, with a knowing wink. Now, .whatll ye give in to tell ye? 100 THE NEAP REEF. be, and Mrs. Morris up to farm did de- clare how in crossing Turucross shed seed Moll, Did she speak? I says. No, says she, not a word. Then, I says, twarnt my old Moll, for you never seed her without hearing her too and no more you never did, for Moll had a ter- rible sperrit. I used to think twas a p1t~ tadnt bin put into the body o a man; not that she let it lie idle, poor soul, and that reminds me tis time I began to finish that little job o mine, for by all I see the sooner my Mary Janes high and dry the better. Ah! Grandfather said this morning that twould be squally. I hope it ~ont be a wet Christmas, but only a merry one. It wont be long to wait, will it? she added hopefully. Sunday, and perhaps Monday, for the wind being fresh he may be in before Mrs. Lee thinks, and youll be sure to let me know if you hear a word, wont you, Uncle Ben? Never you fear that, my lass. I knows Phil, and he knows me, and after Ive gived him the signal, twont be long be- fore hes bearing down full sail towards somebody as Ill tell him is a-waitin in anxious expectancy to hear him make his number. Good-bye, Uncle Ben, and thank you thank you thank you. All right, said the old fellow; and remember, though I cant dance at the weddin, I can drink yer two healths in a drop o that stuff Phils sure to bring across the water wi him. Margot nodded her head, and ran off, lau~hing, while Uncle Ben paused before he began his work, and stood for a few moments watching her as he solilo- quized. Phil Lees a fine, straightforward chap, and, whats more, a fust-rate sailor; but he aint too good to mate wi you, my lass no, nor he wouldnt be if he was post-cap- en of a 74. Oh, everything I have got in the 1 world I only do tell me, dear Uncle Ben. Well, what do ye say to Toosday morning? asked Uncle Ben, putting his head on one side, and steadfastly regard- ing the anxious face before him; or would late o Monday night suit ye better? Youve only to say the word. Dont tease me, please, Uncle Ben. I want so much to know what Mrs. Lee said. Why, then, twas this: that at the very latest, Toosday will see him home safe and sound; but she aint so certain but he may come afore, as hes bringing a power o things for the Luton gentry. Margot clasped her hands with delight. Here, I say, continued Uncle Ben, if Phil perseveres on the tack lies bin on this last year and a half past, youll be curlin yer hair with one-pound notes afore you die. Margot lau~hed outright, and then she tried to put on a very grave expression as she said But Im not sure twould be me, it might be to Annie Turle that he would give them. Now you know you dont mean that, said the old fellow, you only want me to contradict ye; you know well enough youve got poor Phil at safe anchorage; and no wonder neither, he said, putting his weather-stained old hand under her soft round chin. Why I wouldnt change my old Moll now shes dead, he added parenthetically for that maid o Turles with her Stand upon the mat, dont put yer basket down Lord help her! when shes come nigh seventy, ands a boxing the compass with a mann o fish on her head fit to break a hosss back, she aint the one, deane, to whip it up, and make out to run off wi it in joke, because she seed old Bens limbs was so screwy he could hardly turn; I knowd, I knowd, for all I blustered and bullied to bring it back; says I, she wont put it down till CHAPTER XI. Wem atop o Fairly Hill. Now Mrs. Lee had told Uncle Ben that Oh! but that was nothing for me, on Tuesday, at the very latest, Philip Im accustomed to it look at grandfa- would be at Luton, as his cargo must be then. all discharged before Wednesday, which Yes, poor old chap. Im better than he was Christmas Eve. Accordingly, by is; but there, hes got you, and Ive got Tuesday morning she had finished her tiobody, you see. cleaning, scoured her pots and pans to No, said Margot, it was sad that their last pitch of brilliancy; and, accord- Molly should die. ing to her notion, had made everything Uncle Ben gave a dubious shake of the comfortable and tidy for the combined fes- head. Tis a great comfort to me when I tivals of Christmas time and her sons ar- think shes at rest, he said, for Ive of- rival, of which she was now in hourly en- tentimes speckylated whether such could pectation. Still bent on her matrimonial THE NEAP REEF. 101 scheme, she sat working, and turning over~ any o you seeing her 7 asked the in her mind, the various opportunities widow. which this season of social gatherings Lord bless yer heart, why hed no would afford for bringing Philip and An- more get her past the Neaps now than nie together. During his last visit home, hed get her to fly; the winds dead ashore; she had been not a little vexed at the shed be straight on Flatpole, and nothing way he had taken some reports, she had to hinder her. You go home, missis, and repeated to him, of Mr. Jiorans attentions dont ce fret about Phil; hes all right, to Annie. saying he did not think either make yer mind easy about that. o them couid do better, they seeu~ed cut But to make her mind easy with a storm out for one auother.~ Anybody would coining on, and her son she did not know think the boy was overlooked to throw where, was more than the mother could away such a chance a good business do; and her heart felt very heavy and aux- ready to hand, a basket fortune from rela- ions as, unable to learn more, she turned tious, and everything old Turle possessed her steps in the direction of home. when he died. Well, why she should be Near Crafts she caine suddenly upon put to such a trial, as seeing her own flesh Margot, who stopped with the evident in- and blood act so inconsistent, she couldnt tention of addressing her; but the stern think. If twas doodle-headed Gibbins, or old woman wheeled round in the opposite that r~ttle-pated Barry. nobody ed won- direction, preferring, as she said, to go a der; but her Philip! and lost in amaze- mile out of her way rather than let that ment she let her work drop idly, and sat brassy-faced slut see she was in trouble. for a fe moments gazing vacantly out of I dont think shes a bad-hearted girl, the window, though, said Annie Turle, whom Mrs. She was aroused by a cloud of dust Lee had dropped in to see, hoping a gossip sweeping past, and the sudden rattle of might make her forget her anxiety. I doors and windows. She started up, cx- hear shes bin almost the saving o Nanny claiming: Mercy on us, how the winds Smiths eldest boy. getting up! I trust and hope that Philips Ugh! snorted Mrs. Lee; she must in or passed up before this. Then, throw- ha the stomach o a horse to go inside ing her apron over her head, she ran to their place; but there, I dont suppose the top of the lane, hoping she might learn much goes agen her as is used to her own from some passer-by whether any news country, where Ive heerd tell they throw had been heard of the Bluebell; but the out alt their mess and garbage in front o afternoon came without the desired tid- their doors, before which a nasty, foul ings, and, unable longer to hear the sus- gutters allays runnin. Call them Chris- pense, she put on her bonnet and cloak, tians! Ah! dont tell me, let em read thinking thia.t in the village she would their Bible, and see there that cleanliness be sure to meet some one who would know is next to godliness. whether Philip had arrived at Luton. I expect that Philip is in a way about John Dykes the carrier was the most all the things hes bringing said Annie likely person, and to his house she went; after a pause, during which Mrs. Lee had but John said, No, Philip warnt at Lu- gone to the door to see whether, according ton, and Maister Brig~s hes like a mazed to her hopeful expectation, the wind was man at his things net a comm; hes a told dropping with the rising moon; how me for to getn all the eggs, and the do you think hell get them brought to ducks, and geese lean lay sight on, and Luton? bring wi inc to-morrow inornin. This I am sure I cant tell, replied the information but increased Mrs. Lees anx- widow with an anxious sigh. I trust the iety, nor was her uneasiness lessened by Lord has guided him safe to some port the preparations which she saw every- before this. where being made in anticipation of rough Oh! you may depend upon that. weather boats were drawn up~ timber Come, taint like you to be nervous, Mrs. made fast, and all within water reach made Lee. as taut and firm as possible. The few I aint so young as I used to be, Annie, men who were about endeavoured to cheer and I find I cant bear worry as 1 used to. her by saying they had no doubt that Ah! if Philip would only give up seafaring Philip, foreseeing the weather, had put into and stop ashore, Im sure twould be joy sortie other port, and by next day hed come untold to me; but there, praps Im over on by land to Luton. wishful to have tiiin~s my own way; for You dont think hes passed without certain my earthly prayer o late has bin 102 THE NEAP REEF. to have all hindrances removed which keep you aud he from coming together. Annie coloured. I dont believe, she said, thatll ever be. And why not? asked Mrs. Lee sharp- ly. Im sure youre very fond o one anoth er. That I dont deny, and Annie hent down so as to prevent her colour being seen; but it isnt in a marryin way. Love too hot boils over the pot, said Mrs. Lee sententiously; much better be- gin life together with the knowledge that youve took each other with yer eyes open, and not bin blind to a lot o follies and failins youll see plain enough when theres no gettin away from em. How- ever, she added, I leave it to wiser hands than mine, to do as is best. here the conversation was interrupted by Mr. Turles arrival, though with no bet- ter news. The wind, he said, hadnt changed a point, but no fears were enter- tained about the Bluebell, for Philip knew the coast as well as any man sailing; and it he hadnt run in to so~ne port already which, considering his cargo, was most probable hed know as long as he kept well out to sea that he was all right. So with this consolation Mrs. Lee went home. not to sleep for that was impossible but to lie listening to the dull booming of the wind, and its rattle through the chinks of doors and windows, and to pray that her son might be kept from all harm, and that lie might he so turned, as to give up this perilous way of living. Poor soul she seems very moody about Phil, said old Turle, as he fastened the doors after seeing Mrs. Lee to the top of the lane. 1 hope hes all right, for its a dirty night outside, and we havent seen the tail o it yet, mark my words if we have. I think hes quite certain to have put in somewhere, Annie answered with the confidence of a not over-aoxious heart; for, fond as 5he was of Philip, she could not change her placid nature; besides which, of late, notwithstanding all his mother mui~ht say, she had been forced to confess, tIn t Puihips attentions were so brotherly as to exclude every hope that they would ever change into anything warmer. Many a discontented sigh had she heaved over the perversity of fate. However, a~ she told herself, it was iio use fretting and hankering after him; she shouldnt get him any the more for that, neither was there any good in keeping awake and thinking of all the dreadful things which might happen to him, it wouldnt do lihn any good, and would only make her fit for nothing the next day, with which truism she curled herself up in her snug little bed and slept soundly; only awakening, when the house was shaken by a gust of more than ordinary violence, drowsily to hope that poor Phil was safe somewhere. Meantime Margot was filled with anxious thoughts. Early in the afternoon she had set off for the quay in front of Crafts, hop- ing she might learn tidings of the Bluebell from some of the loungers there. Full of sympathy with Mrs. Lee, she intended, as the widow supposed, to speak to her; and, notwithstanding the rebuff she met with as she watched herwalking away, she felt that, act as the hard old woman might, there was a bond, now that Philip was in danger, between the two who loved him best in the world. Old Dutton could hardly believe he heard right when Margot said en her return home, Im late, grandfather, be- cause Ive been trying to hear something of Philip. The Bluebell is not here, and she has not put in at Luton. The Bluebell! Philip! deane, repeated the old.man in astonishment. Yes, grandfather, and the girl threw her strong arms round him, and hu~ ged his brown weather-beaten face close to her own youthful rosy cheek. It is all com- ing right again; he does not love any one but me, and Uncle Ben has ecu him ever so many times trying to look at ~me when I did not know it. And, grandfather, Martha Pearce told me this fmernoon that Mrs. Greig says its all lies abofit his mar- rying Annie Turle, for lie said to her, if he did not marry me he should never marry amiyhody there! and she held him off and looked at him with beatning face. I knowd it! exclaimed the old man delightedly. havent I told ye so a hun- dred times, but you wouldnt listen to me.2 No I have been very proud and wicked; I but I think he will forgive nie when I ask him, and I mean to do it as soon as ever lie comes iii. I wish he were in now, for it is blowing such a gale 1 could hardly stand until I got here, and I dare not come back Undereliff way. They think on the I quay that lie has put in at some other place. I hope he is safe. S fe, echoed the eLI sailor, hes safe enough ; only if he aint at anchor by this time, bes safe to eat his Christmas dinner on sea instead o ashore. Oh! but that is sad! exclaimed Mar- got dolefully. I so much desire on THE NEAP REEF. 103 Christmas-day we shall again be friends and Sweethearts, prompted the grand- father slyly. Margot gave a little happy laugh. Yes, she said, sweethearts; for I do love him with all my heart, and I am as happy as a queen, now that I think he loves me the same. Thin/c, deane; say youre sure, for I am as sure as Im alive, that Phil Lee never gived a thought to no other maiden living than yourself. And I am sure too! she exclaimed, clasping her hands; and oh, grandfather, it makes me think much of my own dear mother, for I know that she could not bear to see her child miserable, and so has en- treated for me that the good God would make me happy, and you will see that He will do so. And after this their evening meal cleared away, and the little oil lamp trimmed the two sat down to their occu- pations of net-making and shell-work, whil- ing a way the time with oft-told stories of Philip, and Honfleur, and the mother whom Mar~ot loved so much, and the father, of whom she knew so little, until it was time to seek what small amount of rest the rising storm would permit of their enjoying. Then, by his grandchilds help, the old man xvent outside, and tried to hobble and stagger up to a point where they could get a better view of the open sea; but the wind was too strong for him, and he was obliged to give his judgment en Margots report when she came scram- bling back drenched with spray, to tell, with grave face and anxious voice, that the clouds lay low and black, and the sea came dashing in with troubled sound and crested top. Lord save all at sea! said old Dut- ton reverently; but don~t ee fear for Philip, lovey, he added cheerily, lies all safe. And that it was so, the girl prayed through the long night, during which the storm rose and rated with unabated force. And after every prayer she sent up a thanksgiving because though I am afraid, she said, I am so happy, knowing that at last it is all coming ri~ht. CIIAPTEIt xir. THE early dawn found Margot climbing up the cliff to see if in the bay, or within any creek near, lay the Bluebell. But no; it was evident that she had not put in during the night. As soon, therefore, as she had given her grandfather his break- fast, and made things straight and tidy, she set off for the village, to gain which. in the present weather, she had to make a toilsome circuit over steep paths and rug- ged rocks. Besides Stephen, the Bluebell only car- ried a mate and a boy. The mate was a Luton man; but the boys mother lived iu the village, and she might have heard some fresh tidings. To her cotta_ e Mar- got made her way, but no news had as yet reached them of the little vessel, about which Mrs. Greig said she should certainly feel very restless, only her husband was so sure of Philip. Hes a safe man, a cautious sailor, and he knows the Neaps blindfolded, Greig says, and so we must be trustful, ad not go to nicet trouble half-way. True, she added they might be overtaken or misled, for by the wind it was plain most of the danger lay near the coast, but still, Greig felt certain that Philip knew how things were going, and if not in port, he would stand well out from the land until the weather changed. Already news had come that a large bark had run ashore some five miles down the coast, and most of the men had gone off to see u~hat help they could give. But Philip was a Redneap man, and that made all the difference, so that. this occur- rence by no means a rare one added but little to their anxiety. Margot was turning to take her leave when Mrs. Greig exclaimed XVait a minute. heres Mrs. Lee. Per- haps shes had some news. But, although within the doorway, n@ sooner did the old woman catch sight of Margot, whose face flushed scarlet at her appearance, than turning to Mrs. Greig she said she wouldnt intrude upon them, but would step in when she hadnt com- pany. Why, its only Margot, Mrs. Grei~, called after her. Shes come to ask if weve heard aught o our boys. But Mrs. Lee would not return. She only muttered out something about, Twas a pity people didaTh mind their own business, and walked away. There, dont pay no heed to her huffs, said the good-natured woman, who had always felt very pitiful towards the pool- motherless stranger. She ought to take it very kind o ye Margot, as I do, to coy e toiling up all this way to satisfy our minds that theres no sign o em down Bilcar way; but shes so set upon Phil ~ arryin Annie Turin, that she cant abide to hear his name in any other maidens mouth. 104 THE NEAP REEF. And Philip, has he any love for Annie, think you? asked Margot, with a beat- ing heart. No, my dear, laughed Mrs. Greig, that he hasnt; make your mind quite easy about that. I know all about the bit of a tiff you and he have had, but, la! thats nothing, youll only come together the sooner for that. Sweethearts quar- rels is sure to be made up; and then its post haste to get married, for fear you may fail out again.~ Marrot shook her head. Well, youll see. I said the very same thing to the mate afore they started. I went over to Luton, arid your name and Annie Turles was brought up, and Curtis had a fine laugh over the old womans scheme. He said if she could only see Phil mopin and frettin after you, she wouldnt think poor Annie had much chance. But mothers are all Mike, my dear, hankering after a bit o money for their boys, and forgettin their own young days. There, dont cc cry about it; itll all come right, you silly thing. Ah! Mrs. Greig, but you know not how badly I acted, nor the false things I said in my wicked rage; and, then, when by chance I met him, I laughed and talked as if my heart was as light as a feather, although the good God knows it was as heavy as lead. Oh! will Philip ever for- give me? Forgive you! well, that is a joke. Why, bless the maid, he thinks tis all his fault, and that you will never forgive him. IDoes he, Mrs. Greig? has he said so? do tell me. Why, I love him fifty times better than I ever did! Of course you do, laughed Mrs. Grei~, patting her kindly, and, of course, so does he, too; dont I tell ye thats allays the way? Well, go home and make your- self easy now, child; and as soon as we know that through the mercy of the Lord theyre safe and home again, which I trust will be this very day, Ill take good care it shant be long before I say a word in Phils ear, thatll send him down to your house in quarter less than no time. Delighted at this new proof of Philips unaltered love, and reassured by Mrs. Greigs confidence in his discretion as a seaman, Margot took her leave, and began retracing her steps up tIme steep ascent, at the foot of which stood Mrs. Grei~s cot- tage. The wind, which had considerably dropped in the early morning, was now raging again with unabated vi~our, bins- tering violently, howling dismally, so as to fill the girls mind with fresh and nude- fined terrors. Iii the hollow beneath, it seemed so easy to believe that all was go- ing well, but here with no shelter from the gusty squalls which every now and then came sweeping along, and sen ding up a cloud of sand and stones to obscure the leaden sky, it seemed impossible to banish the restless disquietude which had all the night long possessed her. Crossing the heights there were two paths, one led to the top of the cliff, the other to the beach, and at this point Margot stopped, debat- ing whether she should not take one more look, so as to be sure that Philip was not attempting to make the land, which, under present circumstammces, would be almost fatal. Perhaps she had better go home, for if it should blow any stronger she would not be able to stand; besides, every one else seemed confidemit; then why should she be so anxious? and she took some twenty slow steps down the cliff, then giving way to an irresistible impulse, she suddenly turned, amid ran as rapidly as she could to the top, where, behind a rough wall of stones rai~ed as a protection to any one looking out, she saw her grand- father and a fdw sailors. Ay, my lass, exclaimed old Dutton as soon as he saw Margot, Im sore afeard its poor Phil. ~ Who what poor Phil where cried the girl, pushing herself in front, and at once being answered by the sight of a little vessel labonring heavily to round the headland. Its that droppin o the wind thats done his business, said one of the men. Why, yes, said another; I never thought myself to see it freshen up agen like this: hes bin lying close-to, you see, all night, fearin to come in, and now hes tryin to tack out agen, but, Lord, hell never do it. What can he do? asked Margot, de- spairingly. Well, tis hard to say, lass; he knows what to do as well as any o us, but theres only One can answer for his coming safe ashore now. Josh Whites gone down for Greig, and to tell his rnother,~ said old Dutton, turning to her, and then with an effort to cheer the white terror-stricken face, he added, Never fear for more than the little craft, deane; what mens left will be here in no time, and theyll all do whatever cami be done for Phil Lee. Margot said no more. She mounted a little higher, so as to get as ;ood a view of the vessel as possible, and the inca took up their positions, keeping a silent watch. THE NEAP REEF. 105 Sometimes a subdued whistle, or Lord her being two short of the boats comple- help em, showed how keenly alive they ment but five men only were there. were to the danger with which the brave Old Dutton clamoured piteously to be little Bluebell was trying to battle. taken, but with his arm disabled as it was Great sheets of spray and foam, as the by rheumatism, they knew he would be of waves broke upon the high, slippery rocks, no use. often drenched the watchers and hid for The report of a gun made them start; many moments the vessel from their view, it was the second time this signal of dis- although she was now so near to land that, tress had been made, and had told that all under ordinary circumstances, they could Philip Lees hope now lay in Gods mercy have hailed those on board. and their assistance, for nothing more At length a word from the man next could he do of himself. The poor mother her made Margot turn for a moment, and gave a sharp cry of agony; she rushed in close by, breathless from the exertion, among them, imploring them to try and stood Mrs. Lee, and by her side Peter make an effort, to take Dutton, to do any- Greig. Margot jumped down, and helped thing only to help her boy. the old woman into her place, holding her Oh, Lord! she cried, if I could only round the waist as she pointed to the tiny go myself, but I cant, I cant! and she vessel in which all their hopes were cen- sank down helpless on the wet sand. tred. But I can, Mrs. Lee, said Margot, her Hell never do it, exclaimed Greig. mouth tightening, and her eyes dilating She aint answering anything now. with excitement; and I will go too. They cant keep her off the reef another No, no, murmured the men, we ten minutes. wont have that. But you can save them with a boat Yes, but you will, said the girl, in a below! cried out the distracted mother, determined tone. Grandfather knows catching hold of Peter Greig. Oh, youll well that I am as able and strong as any all do whatever you can to help my boy! man. It is he who often says so. I have she added imploringly to the few men no fear; I will take his place, and the around. God will reward you for it. good God will see no harm cot es to any Never fear, missis, he shant harm if of us. we can help it, answered the men sympa- There~s my brave lass! cried the old thizingly, while Peter Greig, taking her man. My Charlies spirit all over. hand, said Therell be Dutton blood in the boat after Neighbour Lee, my flesh and bloods all, and not one therell beat it, I war- as dear to me as yours is to you, and rant. while Ive breath left in my body Ill freely The men said no more, but began taking give it for the life of my little chap there; their places. Margot ran to her grand- so make your mind easy about all being father, and kissed him on both cheeks; done for em as can be. while Mrs. Lee seized her hands, exclaim- Then go down quick, exclaimed the ing widow, pushing him on. Youll come I dont deserve this from you, Margot; with me, she said to Margot, and with but Gods blessing ever rest upon you for one more look at the helpless Bluebell, they returning good for evil. began making the descent to the beach All will be well, cried Margot, her belo~v, whence alone being able to sweet face flushed with excitement: then, launch a boat they could be of any ser- throwing her arms round the old womans vice to their comrades in distress. neck, she ran down to the boat, and a few Philip would, in all probability, see minutes later the angry sea bore another them disappear, and would understand precious burden men who had gone out and be prepared for them. on one of those missions of mercy which The men soon outstripped Mrs. Lee and faintly shadow forth Him in whose image Margot., for the steep, rugged path made they were made. it most difficult for the poor old woman to The few people from the village who get down at all, and in her haste her un- were hurrying down to the beach now steady feet made many a slip, and she rapidly retraced their steps, that from the would have fallen only that Margots stout height above they might better watch all arm held her up: for all this they never that took place. Naomi Lee, however, re- spoke to one another, and in silence mained kneeling on the sand, praying for reached the spot where the men stood de- her sons life: and old Dutton, who, now bating and hesitating. It was not safe for that Margot had really gone, felt nervously a crew of less than six to go that num- anxious about her safety, triel to keep up 106 TIlE NEAP REEF. his courage by relating wonderful stories My Philip I she shrieked. of wrecks, where all hands was saved, as Yes, hes safe, answered Greig. these would be. He did his best to per- Safe, and not come at once to her, what suade the widow to go back to his cottage; could be the matter? She tried to mur- but Mrs. Lee at first refused to stir. Find- mur Thank. God! but the words died ing, however, that she was getting cramped away without utterance, a sound as if the and drenched through with spray, she so waters were closing in upon her over- far yielded as to allow herself to be placed whelmed her senses, and for the first time inside a sort of sheltered hollow or cave, I in her life, Naomi Lee fainted. while Dutton watched from behind a rock below. Left to herself; the time seemed to stand still; minutes passed as slowly as if they were hours. At length the old man hobbled up, roaring that they must be coming in, for hed just caught sight of the folks running down the cliff like mad. But youd better stay where you are, and the minute the boats in sight Ill come for ye. Mrs. Lee tried to move, but the exertion and excitement had been too much for the poor woman, and she sank back, feeling every limb paralyzed. Now stop there, missis, like a dear, said the old man coaxingly: and when theyre in sight, never fear but Ill fetch you. And without waiting for a reply he went off, leaving Naomi Lee to battle with all the feelings which strove within her. Hope was strong to believe that her son was saved, given back to her from the very jaws of death, and b whom? By the girl whom she had censured and con- demned, and harboured and spoken all manner of evil against; whom she had publicly said was not fit to be any honest mans wife. God forgive me! she murmured, and grant that I may live to recall my words. And then a dread would come, what if they had not been successful! what if even now her boy, the pride and stay of her life, should be tossed about by the pitiless waves, till, tired of their sport, they left him cold and lifeless on some shore, far distant from all who knew and loved him Why did not Dutton come? It seemed hours since he had left her. The sus- pense hecame unendurable, and unable to bear such torture longer she managed by a great effort to crawl out of her shelter, and dragging herself along she gained the spot where old Dutton had stood watch- ing. Nothing was to be seen. What could have happened? Perhaps and at the very thought her heart died away, and she leaned against a fragment of the rock for support. The next moment she saw a man coming towards her whom she reco0nized as Peter Greig. CHAPTER XIII. WHEN Mrs. Lee came to herself again, she was in old Duttons cottage, Mrs. Greig was chafing her hands, Philips mate held some burnt feathers to her nose, while the little ship-boy, with awe- stricken face gazed at the apparently dead woman. She had time to take all this in beiore she found strength to say in a broken voice Philips safe? Yes, deane, hes all right, answered Mrs. Greig, motioning to the mate to call him, and in another minute his mothers arms were around Philip, who laid his head upon her breast and sobbed like a little child. God has been merciful to me indeed! said the widow. My poor heart cant praise Him enoucrh. got? ~, but wheres Mar- Shes sleeping, answered Mrs. Greig quickly, Ah! I want to ask her to forgive all Ive said and done, for your sake, Philip, continued the old woman humbly, but Ill wait, poor child! I wor~t disturb her. Why, Philip! she exclaimed, starting up terrified by the trembling agony which seemed to sweep over the strong man. Tell me whats the matter shes safe, isnt she ? Yes, mother, said Philip, raising for the first time towards her his grief-stained face. Safe with the angels above! Oh, Margot, Margot! he cried. Would God I had died with you, or for you, only not been left here alone! So Naomi Lee knew that the girl whom she had despised, and had led all Redneap to condemn, had given her life to save Philip. There was not much to tell; the three men were got off the sinkin,, Blue- bell, and everything went well until, close in shore, the heavy surf upset the boat. All the men could swim, but Margot, alas! could not; and though Philip, after some desperate attempts, seemed by a miracle to catch her and hold her up, never letting her go until, long after the others were safe, he struggled to shore, Margot never breathed again. THE LOFODEN ISLANDS. 107 The graceful form Philip Lee had loved to watch was stiff and cold; the rosy mouth no longer dimpled or pouted in in- nocent coquetry; the dear eyes, which had been flooded with love for him as, clasped in his arms, death hovering around them, they had plighted a troth never to be broken, were closed; the warm quick heart, bounding with health and joyous- ness, was still forever! No wonder Philip Lee felt that from henceforth life for him would be a weary burden. Ah! all the village now could tell of her sweet looks, nnd loving actions, which they had before allowed to pass unnoticed. Dick Barry told Philip, with many a choking sob, how vainly he had tried to win her love; and how that it was she who had helped and cheered him to try and be a better man, and then he swore~ for her dear sake, hed carry out each wish shed ever formed for him. Naomi Lee, repentant, and with bitter sorrow, acknowledged to all around her worldly schemes and the hatred she had, from the very first, been guilty of har- bouring towards the motherless stranger. From that day her hardness seemed to vanish, her pharisaical religion to alter, and by nets of sympathy and kindness, done, she said humbly, in Margots name, she tried best to honour the now-loved dead. When old Dutton seemed to mope by himself, Mrs. Lee gladly took him to her home, and tended him with loving care until, he died. Annie Turle still continued to be a fa- vourite with Mrs. Lee and Philip, until, to the satisfaction of both, she married Philips now most devoted friend, Dick Barry. Philip Lee never married. He lived a long, prosperous, and, when time had soft- ened his sorrow, a happy life, beloved by all, and most by those in sorrow or dis- tress. The money he saved, he left in trust, as Margots Gift, to be a wedding por- tion to poor orphan girls, married in Red- neap Church on Christmas morning. When he died, they buried him under the shadow of the holly-tree which he had planted over Margots grave; and, though time and decay has destroyed all trace of the stone and its inscription, the holly-tree flourishes ~till; and each year, as the sweet season of Christs birth comes round, fresh, blooming brides, with new- made husbands, stand lingeringly by the old tree, and with Margots Gift in hand, and the first great flush of happi ness around them, they bless the two who rest beneath, telling to those who know it not, the story of a love which fear could not conquer nor death destroy. From Frasers Magazine. THE LOFODEN ISLANDS. AMONG the thousands who throng to the Continent for refreshment and adventure, how few leave the great ~outh ward-stream- ing mass, and seek the desolate grandeur of those countries which lie north of our own land! Of those who do diverge, the great majority are sportsmen, bent on piti- less raids against salmon and grouse. It is strange that the noblest coast-scenery in Europe should be practically unknown to so ubiquitous a people as we are: but so it is; and as long as the thirst for summer climates remains in us, the worlds winter- garden will be little visited. It is the old story: the Northmen yearn after the Nibe- lungen treasure in the South. Doubtless, for us who are supposed to shiver in perennial fog, this tropical idola- try is right and wise. With all, the pas- sion of Rosicrucian philosophers we wor- ship the unfamiliar Sun-god, and transport ourselves to Italy or Egypt to find him. But what if he have a hyperborean shrine a place of fleeting visit. in the far North, where for awhile he never forsakes the heavens, but in serene beauty gathers his cloud-robes hourly about him, and is lord of midnight as of midday? Shall we not seek him there, arid be rewarded perchance by such epiphanies of violet ad scarlet and dim green, of scathing white light and deepest purple shadow, as his languorous votaries of the South know nothing of? With such persuasive hints I would lead the reader to the subject of this paper. I imagine to most minds the Lofoden Islands are associated with little except school-book legends of the Maelstrdm, and, perhaps, the undesirable savour of cod- liver oil. With some they have a shadowy suggestion of iron-bound rocks, full of danger and horror, repulsive and sterile, and past the limit of civilization. So lit- tle has been written about them, and that little is so inadequate, th~ t I cannot won- der at the indifference to their existence which prevails. With the exception of a valuable paper by Mr. Bonney, that appeared some time back in the A l,oine Journal, I know of no contribution to geo~raphical literature which treats of the group in any detail; and that paper, both 108 TJIE LOFODEN ISLANDS. from the narrow circulation of the periodi- tend farther south than V~r6e, at the ex- cal, and also from the limited distriet of tremity of the ~rouD. The number of which it treats, cannot have had that in- boats collected has been estimated at fluence which its merit and the subject de- 3,000; and as each contains on an average serve. five men, the population of the Lofodens The Lofoden Islands, which I visited in March must be very considerable. Un- this slimmer, are an archipelago lying off fortunately for these toilers of the sea, the Arctic coast of Norway. Although in ,the early sprint is a season of stormy the same latitude as Central Greenland, weather and tumultuous seas: when the Siberia, and Boothia Felix, they enjoy, in wind is blowing from the north-west or common with all the outer coast of Scandi- from time south-west, they are especially navia, a comparatively mild climate: even exposed to danger; when in the former in the severest winters their harhours are quarter the sudden gusts down the narrow not frozen. The group extends at an channels are overwhelming, and when in acute angle to the mainland for about 140 the latter the waves are beaten against the miles, north-east and south-west. In violent current always rushing down the shape they seemn on the map like a great I Vest Fjord from its narrow a cx. The th fish is Hen- wedge thrust out into the Atlantic e centre of the busy trade in point being time desolate rockof Rbst, the ningsvmr, a little collection of huts perelmed most southerly of the islands: but this on the rocks under the precipitous flanks wedge is not solid; the centre is occupied, of Vaagekallen, the great mountain of Ost by a sea-lake, which communicates by Vaagde. I was told that in April, when many channels with the ocean. As all the the fish is all brought to shore, and the islands are muountainous, and of most fan- operations of cutting and cleaning begin, tastic forms, it can be imagined that this the scene on the shore becomes more peculiar conformation leads to an endless strange than delightful. The disgusting panorama of singular and eccentric views. labours which complete the great herring- The largest of the Lofodens is Hiadde, season in our own Hebrides are utterly which forms time base of the wedge; north outdone by the Norsk cod-fishers. Men, of this runs the long oval isle of Andiiie; women, and children cluster on the shore, to the west lies Langde, whose rugged busily engaged in their filthy work, and coast has been torn and fretted by the steeped to the eyes in blood and scales ocean into the most intricate confusion of and entrails: at last the rocks themselves outline; the central lake has for its centre are slippery with the reekimig refuse; one Ulvde thus the heart of the whole can scarcely walk amon~ it; and such a group; anti from the south of ilmudoc run smell arises as it would defy the rest of in succession towards the south-west, Ost Europe to equal. The fish is then spread Yaag~e, Vest Vaagde, Flakstad6e, Mos- on the rocks to dry, and eventusily piled kenmsde, V~r6e, and little ultimate Thist. in stacks along the shore: in this state it All these, and several minor satellites also, is known as klip-fish. Somne is split and are iuhabited by scattered families of fish- fastened by pegs to long rods, and allowed ermen. Ti~ere is no town, scarcely a vii- -to flap in the wind till it dries to the con- lage; itis but a scanty population so bar- sistence of leather: it is then called stock- rca and wild a land will support. fish. Before midsummer, flotillas of the But quiet and noiseless as the shores are swift boats called yagts gather again to when the traveller sees them in their sum- the Lofodens, and bear away for exporta- amer rest, they are busy enough, and full tion to Spain and Italy the dried results of of all energy and animation, in the months the spring labour. Bergen is the great of March and April. As soon as the emporium for this trade. The other in- tedious sunless winter has passed away, dustry of the islands is the extraction of the peculiar Norwegian boats, standing cod-liver oil: the livers of all kinds of high in the water, with prow and stern fishes supply this medicine, those of sharks alike curved upwards, begin to crowd into being peculiarly esteenmed. Along the low the Lofoden harbours from all parts of the rocks, and around the houses, one finds vast Scandinavian coast. It is the never- great caidrons in which these painfully failing harvest of codfish that they seek. odorous livers are being slowly stewed: a Year after year, in the early spring, usual- heavy steam arises,, and the oily smell ly about February, the waters around spreads far and wide. But this is not a these islands are darkened with innumer- feature peculiar to the Lofodens: all over able umultitudes of cod. They are unac- ,the coast of Finmuark the shores reek with countably local in these visitations. I was this flavour of cod-liver oil. assured they had been never known to cx- It is a matter of regret to me, in my THE LOFODEN ISLANDS. 109 function of a - olocrist for these islands that patient survey of the Norweigan Admiral- p truth obliges me to raze to the ground ty presented us with a minute and exact with ruthle~ h~nds the romantic fabric of chart of the coast, and the sea-line may fable that has surrounded one of them now be considered as accurately laid from time linmemorial. The Maelstrdm, down. But with the interior of the islands the terrific whirlpool, that it is not ~o they consist of inaccessible Whirled to death the roaring whale, crags, dreary morasses, and impenetrable snow-fields. The Lofoden islander prizes that sucked the largest ships into its mon the sea-shore, for it feeds and enriches. strous vortex, and thundered so loudly him; the fringe of rich pasture which that, as Purchas tells us in his veracious smiles along it, for it preserves his cattle Pilgrimage, the rings on the doors of but the land which lies behind these is an houses ten miles off shook at the sound of unknoxvn wilderness to him if he pene- it this wonder of the world must, alas! trates it, it is to destroy the insolent eagles retire to that Limbo where the myths of that snap up stray lambs, or to seek some old credulity gather, in a motley and fan- idle kid that has strayed beyond the flock. tastic array. There is no such whirlpool Hence it is very difficult to find names for as Pontoppidan and Purchas describe: the peaks that bristle on the horizon or the site of the fabulous Maelstrdm is put tower above the valleys; in many cases by the former writer between.Moskenmsiie they have no names, in many more these and the lofty isolated rock of Mosken. names have found their way into no printed This passage is at the present day called maps. It was an object with me to fix on Moskostrdm, and is one of those narrow the true appellations of these magnificent straits, so common on the Norwegian mountains; and I was in many cases en- coast, where the current of water sets with abled, through the courtesy of the people such persistent force in one direction, that and throu0h patient collation of reports, when the tide or an adverse wind meets to increase the amount of information in it, a great agitation of the surface takes this respect. It must be remembered that place. I have myself seen, on one of the many of the names given were taken down narrow sounds, the tide meet the current from oral statement, and that the spelling with such violence as to raise a little hiss- must in some cases be phonetic ing wall across the water, which cave out The only key to this enchanted palace a loud noise. This was in the calmest of of the Oceanides is, for ordinary ti avellers, weather; and it is easy to believe that the weekly steamer from Trondhjem. This such a phenomenon occurring during a invaluable vessel brin~s one, after a some- storm, or when the sea was violently dis- what weary journey through an endless turbed, would cause small boats passing multitude of low, slippery, grey islets and over the spot to be in great peril, and tame hills, to the Arctic Circle. Another might even suddenly swamp them. Some day through scenery which at that point such disaster, observed from the shore, becomes highly eccentric and interesting, and exaggerated by the terror of the be- and, in some places, grand, to Dodd. This holder, doubtless gave rise to the ~rodig- depressing village is the London and Liver- ions legends of the Maelstriim. Such a pool in one for the inhabitants of our catastrophe took place, I was informed, islands: every luxury, from a watch to a not long since, on the Salten Fjord, where piano, from a box of Huntley and Palmers there is an eddy more deservin,, the name biscuits to a pig, must be brought from of whirlpool than any in the Lofodens. Bodd. After a long stoppage here, the Until lately the topography of the islands i steamer passes on up the coast some was in a very unsettled state. The name twenty miles to a strange place called of the group begins to appear on maps of Grytde, a labyrinth of slimy rocks just North Europe about the year 1600; but high enough to hide the horizon. From for a century and a half there is no sign this the boat emerges through a tortuous to show that geographers were at all and perilous sound, and is at once in the aware of the real position of the islands. great Vest Fjord. Forty miles ahead in In Pontoppidans map the right point on one unbroken line rise the sharp mona- the coast is at last fixed, but the oval tains of the Lofodens, and without swerv- smooth pieces of land at a great distance ing a point, the good ship glides west- from one another which adorn the coast . north-west into the very centre of the of Finmark on his chart, are a sadly mac- great wall. If the traveller visit the islands curate realization of these firn~ly-compact- in summer, and make the passage across ed and fantastically-shaped Lofodens. the Vest Fjord at midnight, as he is al- Only within the last few years has the most sure to do, the scene, provided the air 110 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS. be clear and dry, will be gorgeous. In the the mainland, no more any conventional weird Arctic midnight, with a calm sea mountain forms or shapes in any wise f - shimmering before the bows, and all things miliar. Skottind soars into the clouds clothed in that cold yellow lustre, deepen- one vast cliff of dark rock split across now ing to amber and gold behind the great and then with a sharp crevasse, above blue mountains, which is so strange a~char- which rises another wall of cliff, and so on acteristic of the sun at midnight, the is wonderfnlly impressive. As the st ~cene to the summit, where thin spires and eamer sharp pinnacles, clear-cut against the sky, glides on, making for Balstad on the south- compl~te the mighty peak. This is char- ~vest corner of Vest Vaagde, Flakstadiiie acteristic of all the mountains ef this and Mosken~sde lie somewhat to our left; I southern and grandest range: especially and perchance, if the eye is very keen, far unique and perplexing is the thin look of away in the same direction it may detect the extreme summit; apparently the ridge the little solitary rock of Vterd, and still is as sharp and narrow as a notched in- farther Rdst itself, our u?tima Thule. The zor; one can see no marks of the reced- southern range of the Lofodens has been ing of the edge. All these points are mac- compared to a vertebrated skeleton, and cessible on one side; from the interior it the simile is vastly well chosen; for the might be possible to reach the top of isles taper off to a minute tail, and the some of them, and sublime would be the channels that run between themn are so view so gained. At present, this chilly narrow and fit the outline so exactly that July morning, Skottind rises a wall of they appear like joints. Seen from the darkest indigo blue between the sun and Vest Fjord the whole looks like one vast our faces; about its horns the heavy tin. land, undivided. Higher and higher on sue of clouds is smitten and shot through the primrose-coloured sky the dark peaks with brilliant white light of sunrise, and rise as we approach our haven. And now the fainter wreaths of vapour, delic~ tely the hills of Mosken~soe assume definite tinged with rose-colour and orange, pause shape; the two central points r~ing side before they rise and flee away over the by side are Gnldtind and Reinebring the awakened heavens. As for Balstad itself, former being the southern one. For an it is a cluster of wooden houses painted account, the only one I know, of Mosken- gray and green, and some deeply stained i~sde, I can refer the reader to the Reise with red ochre, scattered about on a (lurch ~, ully rugged Norwegen of I-Ierr C. F. Lessin~ fri~htf platform of rocks, so published, in 1831, at Berlin; a scarce uneven that I cannot think a square yard book, I believe. hem Lessino was an en- of earth or tolerably flat rock could be terprising naturalist, who visited Vmrb, found anywhere. Some of the houses are Mosken~sde, and Vest Vaagde, and wrote built on the outlying islets, treacherous an entertaining chapter about them in his low reefs on which the gray sea creeps excellent little book. The mountains of and shows his ominous white teeth. Such Mosken~s6e are not very lofty, but the places seem to promnise certain destructiomi island is very inaccessible, the shoresbeing in the first storm, but the cottages survive, so steep amid the outline so indented by and the bay certainly is very sheltered. the sea that it is necess ry to take a boat Leaving Balstad the steamer coasts along from haven to haven: one cannot go by the shores of Vest Vaagiie. The twin land. The highest mountain Flakstad6e, peaks that appeared from the middle of the pecipitous Napstind, is on the north- Vest Fjord as the highest land in this em extremity of that island, and hidden island lie on the northern coast, and are from us by the projecting promontories now far out of sight; they are known un- of Vaagbe; but the lofty hills very slightly der the collective name of Himmelstinder to our left belong to this island. Even a poetic and suggestive title. It may while we speak, see, we glide between be well to point out that tind is equivalent half-submerged rocks amid rounded islets to needle, spitz, and is descriptive of the crowded with sea-birds into the bay of pinnacle-character of the mountain. him- Balstad, and the Lofodens are around us! melstind was ascended y Herr Lessing, The hour is that one of glamour in these who crossed over to it from Buxums, and Arctic summers when the day is yet but a bravely ascended in spite of pouring rain few hours old, and the golden sheen of and the derisive remarks of the natives: midnight has given way to the strong his account of the adventure is hi~hly hu- chiarosenro of sunrise. Above our heads morons. We pursue our voyage throu~h rises the mountain Skottind, and we per- an infinite multitude of sterile rocks and ceive how stran0e is the ln~d we have ar- under fine stormy crags till we reach the rived in; no lon0er the rounded hills of mouth of the broad Gimsiiestr6m, the gulf TILE LOFODEN ISLANDS. 111 that divides us from Ost Yaagde. Here dented by the sea; but a shelf of rock, the colossal precipices of Vaagekallen covered with rough pasturagc, runs round come into sight, the sublimest, though not each of them, and then a mountain soars the loftiest, of all the Lofoden mountains, suddenly into the skies. Stor Molla, the This stupeudous mass occupies the south- one largest and nearest to Ost Yaagtie, is west extremity of Ost Vaagbe, and is al- a double peak of quite exceptional gr~ n- most always shrouded in cloud; the snow deur; and Lille Molla and Skraaven, lies in patches about its ravines, but most though less lofty, are scarcely tamer in of its summit is too sheer for snow to their forms. It is difficult to form a due rest on or any herb to grow. Vuagekallen conception of this peculiarly masculine is the beacon towards which the fisher, scenery; there is nothing pretty or charm- laden with finny spoils, wearily steers at ing about it, but it is extremely impres- fall of day; for under its spurs, on a group sive. Compared with the rest of Norxve- of islets in the sound, is built the village gian sea-scenery, with that south of the Arc- of llenningsvter, the most important of tic Circle especially, it differs from it as an all the fishing stations, and a flourishing American backwoodsman differs from a little place. It has a lighthouse also, the London counter-jumper. I would here largest on this coast. A little farther on protest a little, in wonder, at the compli- we pass the quaint church of XTaagen, ments paid to the coast scenery of South Kirkevaag, as the inhabitants call it, built and Central Norway: saving that terrible like all northern churches, of wood and sound which runs between Bremangerlancl painted dark brown. here we find the and the main, under the awful cliffs of only trace of historic importance that Lo- Hornelen, there is nothing from Torghat- foden can boast, I believe; for it was from ten to the Naze to call forth the slightest Kirkevaag that that enthusiast Hans enthusiasm. There is much finer country E~, ede, led by Christiati love for the souls in the Hebrides. To return to Lille Mol- of men, went in 1721 ~o preach the Gos- la. This island and its congeners are all pel to the desolate savages of Greenland. inhabited, and not two hours sail from We pass on through crowds of eider-ducks Svolvmr; on Stor Molla accommodation and terns and cormorants to Svolvmr, a of some sort might probably be found, and prominent station on Ost Vaagiie. The I think this little group would be well entrance to this harbour is through a maze worth investigation. They have just that of black, cruel rocks, round which the sea amount of geographical independence tumbles and glides ominously; at last, which often suffices to produce a difference after an intricate half-hour of steering, in flora and fauna. Between the two Mol- through passages where no path seemed las we steam, noticing the rough smters possible, a large village is reached, built on the shores, the rows of stockfish flan- like a lacustrine town on piles above the ping in the wind, and the caldrons of stew- water. Svolvmr is thrown about on a ing livers, faintly odorous from the steam- heap of islets and promontories, here a ers deck. The Okellesund (for so the house and there a house, on a site even northern passage between Stor Molla and wilder than that of Balstad. The mona- Vaagde appears to be called) is too nar- tam rising sheer behind it is the Svolvmr row to admit the stea~ner, but turning Fjeld. Tolerable accommodation may be north as we leave the M6ldoren, we en~er got at this place, though the house of en- the celebrated Raftsund. tertainment is, according to Mr. Bonney, The Raftsund, which has won the hearty very inconveniently situated. Leaving admiration of every traveller who has Svolvmer, the Ostuins Fjord, gloomy, nar- seen it, is a narrow channel, fifteen miles row, and terrible as that gate which Dante long, running north-east between Vaagde saw in Hell, looms on our left; enormous and hhiadde. It is of various width, nar- mountains hem it in. On the west side, rowest towards the north; on each side eminent above the rest, is a peak called, I mountains of the most vigorous and ec- believe, the Jomfrutind; it is a sombre centric forms rise in precipices and lose and sinister water-glen, on whose shores themselves in pinnacles and sharp edges it would be a dismal thing to live, that cut the clouds. As this is the one But now, straight before us, we perceive part of the Lofodens that has bcen some- three islands, not belonging to the general what minutely described, I need not linger range, but ~tandin~ at ri0ht angles to it, in painting it. A few of the peaks, how- running far out into the Vest Fjord; ever, I can name. All the loftiest and and between them we see glimpses boldest are on the Vaagiie side. Perhaps of the nainland, now not very distant. the strangest is histind, a gigantic mass These islanas are circular, and not in- with a tower-like cairn on the summit; 112 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS. Mahomets tomb we nicknamed it, till a native obligingly gave its true title. This is at the middle of the sund, where an island breaks the current, and several small fjords push into the land. Another very noble cluster of ai~uilles is Ruttind, on Vaagde, but much to the south of us- tind. These peaks are mostly wreathed with foamy cloud, that on a fine day daintily rises and lays bare their dark beauty, and as airily closes round them again. About the summits the rifts and joints are full of snow all the summer, and from every bed, leaping over rocks and sliding over the smooth slabs of gran- ite, a narrow line of water, white as the parent snow, falls in a long cataract to the sea. On the Hindde side, Kongstind, which lies north-east of Jistind, is the most striking mass. On both sides near the water the ground is covered with deep grass, of a bright green colour, and flow- ers bloom in beautiful abundance. In one place the harebells were so thick on the hill-side that they gleamed, an azure patch, half a mile away. Flocks of sheep and goats luxuriate in this lush herbage; here and there ferns are in the ascendancy, Polypodiumphiegopteris and dryopteris being everywhere abundant. Leaving the Raftsund, we suddenly en- ter that sea-lake which, as I said above, holds the centre of the archipelago. We are now at the heart of the weird land, and the si0ht before us is one of the love- liest that can be conceived. The bristling character of the southern coast gives place to a calmer, more placid scenery. Here there are no subtle rocks, no fright- ful reefs; all is simple, serene, and stately. I cannot do better than give my remem- brance of the first time I saw this scene, on a calm sunlit morning in July. Leav- ing the Raftsund, we bore due north. As we steamed through quiet shimmering wa- ter gently down on Ulvde, at our back the ghostly mountains lay, a semi-cirque of purple shadow; down their sides the clear snow-patches, muffling the vast crevasses, shone, dead-white, or stretched in glaciers almost to the waters edge. In sweet con- trast to their grandeur, sunny Ulv6e rose before us, with the little kirk of Hassel nestling in a bright green valley; in its heart one violet peak arose, and hid its dim head in the mystery of the vaporous air above. The sea had all the silence and the restfulness of dreamland: not a ripple broke the sheeny floor, save where a flock of ducklings followed in a fluttering arc th~ mother-bird, or where the cormorant hurled himself on some quivering fish. Round the eastern promontory of the lovely isle we drifted; peak by peak the pleasant bills of Langiiie gathered on our right, while to the left of us, and ever growing dimmer in the distance, the pro- digious aiguilles of Yaagde, in their clear majestic colour, soared unappi~oachable above the lower foreground of Ulvoc. Behind us now was Hiadde, less grand perhaps than Yaagtie, but displaying two central mountains of immense hei~ht, Fisketind and Mosadlen, the latter re- ported to attain a greater elevation than any in the group. Langiie lies very close on the right when we enter the Bor6esund and make for Stokmarkn~s. Borde itself lie~ in the strait between Ulviie and Langiie. The pretty hamlet on its shores was the centre of the investigations of Dr. George Berna and his friends, as related by herr Carl Vogt in his interesting Nordfahrt. On the northern shore of Ulv6e, at the mouth of a small valley, lies the large village of Stokmarkn~s. It is almost a town, con- taining perhaps 120 houses; it may be the most populous place in the Lofodens, though I am told that the discovery of coal in Audde has greatly increased the village-port of Dvergberg in that island. Stokrnarkn~s looks very pretty from the sea, with its clean painted houses of deal wood, and bright tiled roofs. Ulvde is the richest, most fertile, and most: populous of the islands. It stands in the sea like a hat, having a central mountain mass, and a broad rim of very flat and fertile land. To compare great things with mean, it is in shape extremely like that unpleasant island, Lunga, in the Hebrides, facetiously known as the Dutchmans Hat. Ulvoe culminates in a single peak, by name Sieterheid, which rises close behind Stok- markntes. This mountain, whose sides are principally covered by a thick jungle of birch underwood, slopes gradually away into a rocky ridge running across the island, and falls in steep precipitous cliffs to the flat lands that form the exter- nal rim. These flats were originally, I suppose, morasses, but have been in great part reclaimed, though on the eastern side of Sieterheid there are still great. bogs, and two little tarns, full of trout. At Stokmarkn~s (which is quite a place of importance, and had this summer a bazaar for the sick and wounded French) good accommodation can be had; Herr Halls, the laudhandler, being in a condition to make visitors very comfortable at a mod- erate charge, and it is a good station to leave the steamer at. Herr Halls also THE LOFODEN ISLANDS. 113 supplies karjols, and a very pleasant ex- from Ulv6e seems the highest, is Higraven, cursion can be made on one of those arm- the tomb or monument of the wild chairs-on-wheels to the south of the island, beast; and the other, really the loftiest There is one road in Ulvoe, running from peak in Vaagde, is Blaamanden. My friend Stokmarkntes round the eastern coast to Mr. W. S. Green, to whom I am much in- Melbo, a gaard or farmstead opposite debted for his help in the preparation of Yaagoe. It is a very good road, more these notes, accomplished this summer the like a carriage-drive through a gentlemans ascent of Higraven, and kindly permits park than a public thoroughfare. It is me to transcribe from his jonrual the story Thout ten miles from Stokmarkn~s to of his adventure. Mr. Greens familiarity Melbo. On the way one passes Hassel with Swiss Alpine scenery would tend to Church, at the eastern extremity of the make him a severe critic of mountain island, an odd octagonal building of wood, effects, and that he can write thus enthu- painted red, with a high conical roof. siastically of the Lofodens is no small Norwegian churches have an excessively proof of their x~onderful beauty. undi~,nified look; some are like pigeon- Mr. Green started from Melbo on a fine houses, some like pocket-telescopes. I-las- July morning, at 10 AM., the clouds, taage, sel reminded-me irresistibly of a mustard- masses of opaque white fleece on the sides pot. Yet it is a structure of high ecelesi- of all the peaks, promised very ill for the astical di0uity, for not only all Ulvde, but expedition; but soon these rolled away, parts of Langoe and undue, and the and left the snowy rocks clear-cut against whole north of Vaagiie, depend upon it an azure sun-lit sky. The face of the for pastoral care. A very pretty sight it sea was as smooth as glass, and over it is on a summer Sunday morning to see rose the long line of snow-capped peaks, the boats gathering from all parts to it, softening from rugged purple crags to full of the simple, devout people in their emerald-green slopes as they approached holida-y dress. - the sea, looking about a mile off, though To judge by the number of red-shank in fact the nearest of them was seven. I and curlew that wheel above the traveller, had determined beforehand which peak I or flutter wailing before him, the bogs be- should climb: it seemed to be the highest side the road must teem with wild-fowl. in Ost Vaag6e, and lay at the head of the The north side of the island is thickly Stover Fjord. My boatmen were pleasant dotted with farms and fishermens huts, fellows, and as I lay luxuriously in the but after leaving Hassel and the adjoining stern, steering, I conversed with them in hamlet of Steilo these diminish in number, bad Norse; my questions had reference till at Melbo the road itself disappears, principally to the sea-birds. A pretty and the flat land becomes a wild peat bog, little sort of guillemot with red ler,s they with only a few huts near the sea. Melbo call testhe; this bird is very common: is simply a large farm, owned by Fm another common bird, the hen-eider I Coldevin, a lady who opens her house in think, is called ac. We passed many of the summer for the accommodation of these with a train of young ones after sportsmen and those few travellers that them. As the boat skimmed along we wander to this far end of the earth. A passed many beautiful jelly-fish: one sort cluster of islets off the coast here is a part of bolina about the size of a goose-egg was of her property. She preserves these particularly common. At last, a-fter wind- rocks for the sea-birds, which flock to ing through many islets, we enter the them in extraordinary numbers. Little Stover Fjord: the only thing I can com- kennels of turf and stone are built to pare it to is the Bay of Un, which I think shelter the nests, and here the eider ducks it surpasses in beauty, and the Aiguille de strip themselves of their exquisite down Dru is rivalled by these snow-seamed pin- for the sake of their offspring, and in due nacles. But it was 12 oclock, and I time see it appropriated by Fm Coldevin. jumped ashore at a sort of elbow where From Melbo the lovely ran0e of snowy the fjord forks. I put some provisions points in Yaagbe is seen on a fine day into my pocket; then, with my sketching bewitchingly. Mr. Bouncy, who unhappily materials slung upon my back and my seems to have had execrable weather in alpen-stock in my hand, I commenced the the Lofodens, sighed pathetically at these ascent. I first scrambled over boulders peaks from Melbo. He gives Alpine covered with fern, bushes, and wild flow- names to the two highest, supposing am ers; these soon became very steep, and parently that they were nameless in the slin~,ing myself up hand over hand through native tongue: they are not so neglected, the bushes was very warm work. I took however. The foremost mountain, which off my coat and hung it in the strap on my LIVING AGE. VOL. xxiv. 1102 114 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS. back; after a sharp climb over steep rocks I got on to a slope of snow that filled the gorge. In about an hour and a half I reached a col that I had aimed at all through. I could see the boat, a speck below, so I jodeled at the top of my voice, and soon heard a faint answer. The place I had come up was very steep, and the thought of descending it again not very pleasant. I took the precaution, however, of fixing bits of white paper on the rocks and bushes where I had met with difficulty, to serve as guides in my descent. There was a glorious view from where I stood, and the day was perfection. After another hour of steep climbing I reached a cornice of snow, but was able to turn off to the right and cross a level plateau of snow, from the other side of which rose up my peak. I now encountered very steep snow- slopes and rocks, and just before the snow rounded off into the dom, forming a sum- mit, it became so hard that my feet could get no hold. I had to resort to step-cut- ting; about a dozen steps sufficed to land me on the dom; an easy incline then led to the summit, on which I stood at 4-30 P.M. I wished for an aneroid; but from the time I took to ascend, and from other circumstances, I should think the height to be over 4,000, and possibly 5,000 feet. Now for the view. I have yet to see the Alpine view that surpasses this in its extreme beauty: the mountain chain of the mainland was in sight for, I suppose, a hundred miles; then came the Vest Fjord, studded with islands. The mountains around me were of the wildest and most fantastic form, not drawn out in a lone, chain, but grouped together, and embosom- ing lovely little tarns and lakes. The inner arm of the Stover Fjord, over which I seemed to hang, was of a deep dark blue, except where it became shallow, where it was of a bright pea-green. This latter colour may be accounted for by the fact that the rocks below low-water-mark are white, with pure white nullipore and balani; there is no laminaria or sea-weed of any sort in these narrow fjords, except Fucus vesiculosus, and this grows only be- tween tide-marks. Looking away to the north came Ulv6e, with its fringe of islets; then Langoe, with its sea of peaks: these do not appear, however, to be so high or rugged as the peaks of Hindde, that come next to the sighL Here Mosadlen stands up with his Lovely crest of snow; far away, in an opposite direction, lies Vest Vaagoe, where I remarked another peak* * Himineltinder, probably. E. W. G. that seemed to be of a respectable height. The view was perfection: one drop of bit- terness was in my cup, and that was that a neighbouring peak was evidently higher than the one I had climbed. It was con- nected with my peak by a very sharp rock ar~te, just below which was a flattish plateau of crevassed n6v6; it was too far to think of trying it, and it looked very difficult; an attempt upon it would be more likely to succeed if made from the south-east. Having made a sketch and built a cairn of stones, I looked about for the easiest way to descend, and found that a long slope of snow led into a valley con- nected with the north arm of the Fjord; this I determined to try. I climbed down the steps I had cut, with my face to the snow; then sitting down and steering with my a~pen-stock, I made the finest glissade I ever enjoyed. As I neared the bottom it was necessary to go lightly, as a torrent was roaring along under the snow. I soon had to take to the moraine, which was of a most trying character. I now got down to a charming little lake, in which islands of snow floated, and in which the peaks were mirrored to their summits. Skirting along this, and descendin~, by the ed,e of a etream that led out of it, I came to another lovely tarn, on which were a cou- ple of water-fowl. From this I clambered down through bushes at the side of a waterfall, and arrived on the strand of the fjord all safe. At 6.30 PM. I was sit- ting in the boat, and in two hours arrived in Melbo. The superior peak that dashed Mr. Greens happiness was Blanmanden, which must now be considered the highest point out of Ilindoe. Yaagekallen is certainly lower even than Higraven. Of the northern islands of the Lofoden group space fails me to speak much; they are but little known. Langoe was skirted by the German expedition whose story is erziihlt von Carl Vogt, but his notes on this part of the tour are unfortunately very scanty. The northern peninsula would seem to be the finest part of Langoe. I hear of a splendid mountain, Kiotind, which fills this tongue of land with its spurs. And6e, the most northerly of the archipelago, is the tamest of all: the in- terior of it has been surveyed with such minute care, that it is impossible to sup- pose its mountains can be very rugged. For the sake of anyone desirous of visit- ing Audde, I may remark that a little steamer has been started this year in con- nection with the large boat, which meets the latter at Harstadhava in Hind6e, THE LOFODEN ISLANDS. 115 skirts the north of that island,, calls at Dvergberg and Anden~s in Andde, and after a visit to the north of Senjen, rtturns the same way to Ilarstad. The same steamer calls off the coast of Grytii, a mountainous Lotbden, whose vast central peak of Fussen one admires in the distance from the Vaags Fjord. In ordinary years the snow disappears from the low ground in these islands be- fore May, and the rapid summer brings their scanty harvest soon to perfection. A few years ago, however, the snow lay on the cultivated lands till June, and a famine ensued. These poor people live a precari- ous life, exposed to the attacks of a singu- larly peevish climate. A whim of the cod- fish, a hurricane in the April sky, or a cold spring, is sufficient to plunge them into distress and poverty. Yet for all this they are an honest and well-to-do population; for, being thrifty and laborious, they guard with much foresight against the seventies of nature. In winter the aurora scintillates over their solemn mountains, and illuminates the snow and wan gray sea; they sit at their cottt~ge-doors and spin by the gleam of it; in summer the sun never sets, and they have the advan- tage of endless light to husband their hardly-won crops. Remote as they are, too, they can all read and write: it is strange to find how much intelligent inter- est they take in the struggles of great peoples who never heard of Lofoden. It is a fact, too, not over-flattering to our boasted civilization, that the education of children in the hamlets of this remote cluster of islands in the Polar Sea is higher than that of towns within a small distance of our capital-city; ay, higher even pro- portionally, than that of London itself. I would fain linger over the delicious memories that the name of these wild islands brings with it; would fain take the reader to the pine-covered slopes of Santorv, the brilliant meadow of little Kjoen, so refreshing in this savage land; to the Tjeldtesund, as I saw it on a certain midnight, when the lustrous sun-light lay in irregular golden bars across the blue spectral mountains, and tinged the snow peaks daintily with rose-red. But space is wanting; and being forced to choose, I will wind up with a faint description of the last sight I had of the islands, on a calm sunny night in summer. All day we had been winding among the tortuous tributaries of the Ofoten Fjord, and as evening drew on slipped down to Trand, a station on the mainland side of the Vest Fjord, near the head of that gulf. It had been a cloudless day of excessive heat, and the comparative coolness of iiight was refreshing; the light, too, ceased to be garish, but flooded all the air with mellow lustres. From Tranii we saw the Lofodens, rising all alon~ the northern sky, a gigantic wall of irregular jagged peaks, pale blue on an horizon of gold fire. The surface of the fjord was slightly broken into little tossing waves, that, mur- inuring faintly, were the only audible things that, broke the sweet silence; the edge of the ripple shone with the colour of burnished bronze, relieved by the cool neutral gray of the sea-hollows. From Trano we slip across the fjord almost due west to the mouth of the Raftsund. The sun lay like a great harvest-moon, shed- ding its cold yellow light down on us from over Hindde, till, as we glided gradually more under the shadow of the islands, he disappeared behind the mountains : at 11.30 P.M. we lost him thus, but a long while after a ravine in Ilindoe of more than common depth again revealed him, and a portion of his disk shone for a min- ute like a luminous point or burning star on the side of a peak. About midnight we came abreast of Aarstenen, and before us rose the double peak of Lille Molla, of a black-blue colour, very solemn and grand; Skraaven was behind, and both were swathed lightly in wreaths and fox-tails of rose-tinged mist. There was no lustre on the waters here; the entrance to the sound was unbroken by any wave or ripple, un- illumined by any light of sunset or sunrise, but a sombre reflex of the unstained blue heaven above. As we glided, in the same strange utter noiselessness of the hour when evening and morning meet, up. the Raftsund itself, inclosed by the vast slopes of Hindoe and the keen aiguilles of Vaagoe, the glory and beauty of the scene rose to a pitch so high that the spirit was op- pressed and over-awed by it, and the eyes could scarcely fulfil their function. Ahead of the vessel the narrow vista of glassy water was a blaze of purple and golden colour, arranged in a faultless harmony of tone that was like music or lyrical verse in its direct appeal to the emotions. At each side of the fjord reflected each elbow, each ledge, each cataract, and even the flowers and herbs of the base, with a pre- cision so absolute that it was hard to tell where mountain ended and sea began. The centre of the sund, where it spreads into several small arms, was the climax of loveliness; for here the harmonious vista was broadened and deepened, and here rose listind towering into the unclouded 116 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS. heavens, and showing by the rays of bodies in healing waves of light, filling our golden splendour that lit up its topmost eyes with the loveliness of the colour of snows that it could see the sun, whose life and our ears with the subtle melodies magical fingers, working unseen of us, had of dumb thin~s that grow and ripen in thy woven for the world this tissue of vane- sight, how little men consider the great- gated beanty. When I remember the Lo- ness of thy work for us, and what a beau- fodens, I recall this moment, and think, 0 tiful and mystical creation thou art thy- wonderful white sun, who dost bathe our self! TnE proposal to connect the Caspian Sea with the Sea of Azoff by means of a canal was dis- cussed at a recent sitting of the Russian Geo- gr phical Society. A plan of the canal, accord- ing to which it is to pass between the Kuma and the Manytch, was laid before the society by the Grand Duke Constantine, and Prince l(rapot- kin read a report on the subject. The first accurate survey of the country, he said, was made by Von Baer, who visited the Manytch valley in 1855; and in the spring of 1858 Herr Bergstrdsser endeavoured, when the waler was hiah, to pass from the Caspian to the Sea of Azoff in boat. In 1860 the expedition of Colonel Kostenkoff, who ~as accompanied by MM. de Marny and Kryshin, surveyed the val- ley of the Manytch from the great Manytch- Liman to the mouth of the river Cholebe. Finally, in the years 1863 and 1864, Captain E. Blum, of the military topographic corps, made a trigonometrical survey of the whole of the eastern valley of the Manytch to the Cas- pian, and bored through the earth to the depth of four fathoms at six different places to the east of the mouth of the Kalan. The result of these investigations was the project of a canal, though the data are still very incomplete, as the western~ Manytch has not yet been explored for a distance of 350 versts. Three different modi- fications of the plan give the qw ntity of earth to be excavated as 65, 131, and 78 millions of cubic fathoms respectively. In estimating the ~ost of the excavations Herr Blum takes as his standard the expense of the works on the Suez Canal, where the quantity of earth excavated was 28,000.000 cubic metres. On this basis t~ie cost of the first of the above projects would be 422,000,000 roubles (~53,000,000), of the second 841,000,000 (~106,000,000), and of the third 507,000,000 (~64,000,000). These fi~- iires, thought the Prince Krapotkin, render it impossible for the Geographical Society to enter- tain the project. After a lon~ debate, in which M. Romanoffsky endeavoured to prove that the cost of such excavations has now become much lesS than formerly; and will continue to dimin- ish, the society passed to the order of the day, on the ground that Captain Blums project does not furnish any positive data for a thorough consideration of the subject. Pall MaliBudget. A CoNscIENTIous QUAKER. In the Beeren- straat (Bear Street), at Amsterdam, is a very neat building, occupied as an infant school. The premises comprise several school-rooms, an open play-yard, a covered play-room for wet weather, and a residence for the superintendent. One hundred and twenty little boys and girls are here carefully educated at an almost nomi- nal charge. The history of this school possesses a special interest for En0lishmen. During one of the wars of the last century, when Holland was allied with the enemies of Great Britain, an English privateer captured a Dutch merchant vessel anli cargo of considerable value. Amongst the owners of the ~nivateer was a Qm ker, named John Warder, who objected to the use of the ship for privateerin~ purposes, but whose objections were overruled by the other partners, who did not share in his scruples ag iinst war. When the spoils were divided, Mr. Warder duly received his share; but feeling conscientiously precluded from appropriating it to his own profit, he re- tained the money till the end of the war, when he caused different inquiriesto be made in Hol- land for the owners, or the surviving represen- tatives, of the captured vessel and cargo. So far as theinquiry was successful the losses were paid. But there still remained considerable sum of money in hand, which was allowed to accumulate, at interest, with the intention of its being appropriated in some manner to the welfare of the Dutch people. At length, a mer- chant of Amsterdam, the late Mr. John S. Mel- le.tt, the last survivor of the Society of Friends in Holland, undertook to superintend its expen- diture for the purposes of an infant school for the poor of that city, which ~vas commenced in 1830. After an interval of about thirty years, it was considered desirable to extend the school and erect better premises. Accordingly, s me friends in England, at the invitation of the late Peter Bedford, the Spitalfields Philanthropist, raised a further sum of money, and sent out an English architect, under whose direction the present neat and cm venient building was erected in 1864. This effort was the closing exertion of Mr. Bedfords life, and his portrait, together with those of Mr. Fry, Mr. Gurney~ and other worthies, now hangs upon the school walls. Leisure Hours. THE MAID OF SKER. 117 From Blackwoods Magazine. THE MAID OF SKER. CHAPTER XXIII. INTO GOOD SOCIETY. IN spite of all that poor landsmen say about equinoetial gales and so on, we often have the loveliest weather of all the year in September. If this sets in, it lasts sometimes for three weeks or a month to- gether. Then the sky is bright and fair, with a firm and tranquil blue, not so deep of tint or gentle as the blue of springtide, but more truly staid and placid, and far more trustworthy. The sun, both when he rises over the rounded hills behind the cliffs, and when he sinks into the level of the width of waters, shines with ripe and quiet lustre, to complete a year of labour. As the eastern in the morning, so at sun- set the western heaven glows with an even flush of light through the entire depth pervading, and unbroken by any cloud. Then at dusk the dew fog wavers in white stripes over the meadow-land, or in winding combes benighted pillows down, and leaves its impress a sparkling path for the suns return. To my mind no other part of the year is pleasanter than this end of harvest, with golden stubble, and orchards gleaming, and tbe hedgerows turning red. Then fish are in season, and fruit is wholesome, and the smell of sweet brewing is rich on the air. This beautiful weather it was that tempted Colonel Lougher and Lady Bluett to take a trip for the day to Sker. The distance from Candleston Court must be at least two good leagues of sandy road, or rather of sand without any road, for a great part of the journey. Therefore, in- stead of their heavy coach, they took a light two-wheeled car, and a steady-going pony which was very much wiser of them. Also, which was wiser still, they had a good basket of provisions, intending to make a long sea-side day, and expecting a lively appetite. I saw them pass through New- ton, as I chanced to be mending. my nets by the well; and I touched my hat to the Colonel of course, and took it off to the la~ly. The Colonel was driving himself, so as not to be cumbered with any ser- vant; and happening to see such a basket of food, I felt pretty sure there would be some over, for the quality never eat like us. Then it came into my memory that they could not bear Evan Thomas, and it struck me all of a sudden that it might be well worth my while to happen to meet them upon their return, before they passed any poor houses, as well as to happen to be swinging an empty basket conspicuously. It was a provident thought of mine, and turned out as well as its foresight de- served. They passed a very pleasant day at Sker (as I was told that evening), pushing about among rocks and stones, and rout- ing out this, that, and the other, of shells and sea-weed and star-fish, and all the rest of the rubbish, such as amuses great gentry, because they have nothing to do for their living. And though money is nothing to them, they always seem to reckon what they find by money-value. Not Colonel Lougher, of course, I meant and even less Lady Bluett. I only speak of some grand people who come rakinct along our beach. And of all of these there was nobody with the greediness Anthony Stew had. A crab that had died in chang- ing his shell would hardly come amiss to him. Let that pass who cares about him? I wish to speak of better people. The Colonel, though he could not keeR ill-will against any one on earth, did not choose to be indebted to Sker-grange for even so much as a bite of hay for his pony. P rtly, perhaps, that he might not appear to play false to his own tenantry; for the Nottage farmers, who held of the Coloncl~ were always at feud with Evan Thomas. Therefore he baited the pony himself, after easing off some of the tackle, and moored him to an ancient post in a little sheltered hollow. Their rations also he left in the car, for even if any one did come by, none would ever think of touch- ing this good magistrates property. Quite early in the afternoon, their ap- petites grew very brisk by reason of the crisp sea-breeze and sparkling freshness of the waves. Accordingly, after consul- tation, they agreed that the time was come to scie what Crumpy, their honest old butler, had put into the basket. The Colonel held his sisters hand to help her up rough places, and breasting a little crest of rushes, they broke npon a pretty sight, which made them both say hush, and wonder. In a hollow place of sand, spread with dry white bones, skates poUches, blades of cuttle-fish, sea~ snail shells, and all the other things that storm and sea drive into and out of the sands, a very tiny maid was sitting, holdin~ audience all alone. She seemed to have no sense at all of loneli- ness or of earthly trouble in the import- ance of the moment and the gravity of play. Before her sat three little dolls, ar- ranged according to their rank, cleverly 118 THE MAID OF SKER. posted in chairs of sand. The one in the middle was Patty Green, the other two strange imitations fashioned by young Watkins knife. Each was urging her claim to shells, which the mistress was dispensing fairly, and with good ad- vice to each, then laughing at herself and them, and trying to teach them a nursery- song, which broke down from forgetful- ness. And all the while her quick bright face, and the crisp grain of her attitudes, and the jerk of her thick short curls, were enough to make any one say, What a queer little soul I Therefore it is not to be surprised at that Colonel Lougher could not make her out, or that while he was feeling about for his eyeglass of best crystal, his sister was (as behoves a fe- male) rasher to express opinion. For she had lost a little girl, and sometimes grieved about it still. What a queer little, dear little thing, Henry! I never saw such a child. Where can she have dropped from? Did you see any carriage come after us? It is useless to tell me that she can belong to any of the people about here. Look at her forehead, and look at her manners, and how she touches everything! Now did you see that? What a wonderful child! Every movement is grace and del- icacy. Oh, you pretty darling! Her ladyship could wait no longer for the Colonels opinion (which he was in- clined to think of ere he should come out with it), and she ran down the sand-hill almost faster than became her dignity. But if she had been surprised before, how was she astonished now at Bardies re- ception of her? Done tush. Knee tushy paw, see voo pay. All e dollies is yae good; just go- ing to dinny, and e mustnt poil their ap- petites. And the little atom arose and moved Lady Bluetts skirt out of her magic circle. And then, having saved her children, she stood scarcely u.p to the ladys knee, and looked at her as much as to ask, Are you of the quality? And being well satisfied on that point, she made what the lady declared to be the most elegant curtsy she ever had seen. Meanwhile the Colonel was coming up, in a dignified manner, and leisurely, per- ceiving no cause to rush through rushes, and knowin~ that his sister was often too quick. This bad happened several times in the matter of beggars and people on crutches, and skin-collectors, and suchlike, who cannot always be kept out of the way of ladies; and his worship the Colonel had beeii compelled to ende. your to put a stop to it. Therefore (as the best man in the world cannot in reason be expected to be in a moment abreast with the sallies of even the best womankind, hut likes to see to the bottom of it) the Colonel came up crustily. Eleanor, can you not see that the child does not wish for your interference? Her brothers and sisters are sure to be here from Kenfig most likely, or at any rate some of her relations, and busy perhaps with our basket. No, said the child, looking up at him, Ise got no lations now; all gone nyac; but all come back de-morrow day. Why, henry, what are you thinking of? This must be the poor little girl that was wrecked. And I wanted you so to come down and see her; but you refused on account of her being under the care of Farmer Thomas. No, my dear, not exactly that, but on account of the trouble in the house I did not like to appear to meddle. Whatever your reason was, answered the lady, no doubt you were quite right; but now I must know more of this poor little thing. Come and have some dinner with us, my darling; I am sure you must be hungry. Dont be afraid of the Col- onel. He loves little children when they are good. But poor Bardie hung down her head and was shy, which never happened to her with me or any of the common people; she seemed to know, as if by instinct, that she was now in the company of her equals. Lady Bluett, however, was used to chil- dren, and very soon set her quite at ease by inviting her dolls, and coaxing them, and listening to their histories, and all the other little turns that unlock the hearts of innocence. So it came to pass that the castaway dined in good society for the first time since her great misfortune. Here she behaved so prettily, and I might say elegantly, that Colonel Lougher (who was of all men the most thoroughly just and upright) felt himself bound to confess his er- ror in taking her for a Kenfig nobody. Now, as it happened to be his birthday, the lady had ordered Mr. Crumpy, the butler, to get a bottle of the choicest wine, and put it into the hamper without sayin, any- thing to the Colonel, so that she might drink his health, and persuade him to do himself the like good turn. Having done this, she gave the cliildadrop in the bot- tom of her own wine-glass, which the little one tossed Qif most fluently, and with a sigh of contentment said THE MAID OF SKER. 119 Ise not had a drop of that yiney- piney ever since sompfin. Why, what wine do you call it, my little dear? the Colonel asked, being much amused with her air of understand- ing it. Doemnt a know? she replied, with some piLy; nats hot I calls a dop of good Sam Paine. Give her some more, said the Colonel; upon my word she deserves it. Eleanor, you were right about her; she is a won- derful little thing. All the afternoon they kept her with them, being more and more delighted with her, as she began to explain her opinions; and Watty, who caine to look after her, was sent home with a shilling in his pock- et. And sonic of the above I learned from him, and some from Mr. Crumpy (who was a very great friend of mine), and a part from little Bardie, and the rest even from her good ladyship, except what trifles I add myself, being gifted with power of secine things that happen in my ab- sence. This power has been in my family for upwards of a thousand years, coming out and forming great bards sometimes, and at other times great story-tellers. There- fore let no one find any fault or doubt any single thing I tell them concerning sonic people who happen just now to be five or six shelves in the world above me, for I have seen a great deal of the very highest society when I cleaned my Earls pumps and epaulettes, and waited upon him at breakfast; and I know well how those great people talk, not from observation only, but by aid of my own fellow-feeling for them, which, perhaps, owes its power of insight not to my own sagacity only, but to my ancestors lofty positions, as poets to royal families. Now although I may have mentioned this to the man of the Press whose hat appeared to have under- gone Press experience 1 have otherwise kept it quite out of sight, because every writer should hold himself entirely round the corner, and discover his hand, but not his face, to as many as kindly encourage him. Of late, however, it has been said not by people of our own parish, who have seen and heard me at the well and else- where, hut by persons with no more right than power to form opinions that I can- not fail of breaking down when I come to describe great people. To these my an- swer is quite conclusive. From my long connection with royalty, lasting over a thousand years, I need not hesitate to de- scribe the Prince of Wales himself; and inasmuch as Ilis Royal Highness is not of pure ancient British descent, I verily doubt whether he could manage to better my humble style to my liking. Enough of that. I felt doubts at begin- ning, but I find myself stronger as I get on. You may rely upon me now to leave the question to your own intelligence. The proof of the pudding is in the eating; and if any one fears that I can- not cook it, I only beg him to wait and see. Lady Bluett was taken so much with my Bardie, and the Colonel the same though he tried at first to keep it under that nothing except their own warm kind- ness stopped them from making off with her. The lady had vowed that she would do so, for it would be so much for the little souls good; and of course, so far as legality went, the Chief-Justice of the neighbourhood had more right to her than a common rough farmer. But Watty came down, being sent by Moxy, after he went home with that shilling, and must needs make show of it. He caine down shyly, from habit of nature, to the black eyebrows of the tide, where the Colonel and Bardie were holding grand play, with the top of the spring running up to them. She was flying at the wink of every wave, and trying to pusi him back into it; and he was laughing with all his heart at her spry ways and audacity, and the quick- ness of her smiles and frowns, and the whole of her nature ome whirl of play, till he thought nothing more of his coat- tails. What do you want here, boy? the Colonel asked, being not best pleased that a man of his standing should be caught in the middle of such antics. Watkin opened his great blue eyes, and opened his mouth as well but could not get steerage-way on his tongue, being a boy of great reverence. Little fellow, what are you come for? with these words he smiled on the boy, and was vexed with himself for frightening him. Oh sir, oh sir, if you please sir, mother says as Miss Delushy must come home to bed, sir. E go ayay now, o bad Yatkin! I antis more pay with my dear Colonel Yucca. I am not at all sure, said the Col- onel, laughing, that I shall not put her into my car, and drive away with her, Watkin. You may go home, my good boy, and tell your mother that we have taken this poor 120 THE MAID OF SKER. little dear to Candleston. This, of course was Lady Biuett. You should have seen Watkins face, they told me, when I came to hear of it. Betwixt his terror of giving offence, and his ignorance how to express his meaning, and the sorrow he felt on his mothers ac- count, and perhaps his own paip also, not a word had he to say, but made a grope ~fter the babys hands. Then the little child ran up to him, and flung both arms around his leg, and showed the stanchness of her breed. Could any one, even of six years old, better enter into it~ I yoves Yatkin. Yntkin is aye good and kind. And I yoves poor Moky. I ont go ayay till my dear papa and my dear mam- ma comes for me. Lady Bluett, being quick and soft, could not keep her tears from starting; and the Colonel said, It must be so. We might have done a great wron~, my dear. Con- sider all and here he whispered out of Watkins hearing, and the lady nodded sadly, having known what trouble is. But the last words h& spoke bravely, God has sent her for a comfort where He saw that it was needed. We must not give way to a passing fancy against a deep affliction; only we will keep our eyes upon this little orphan darling. CHAPTER XXIV. SOUND INVESTMENTS. between us was of the very simplest na- ture, as you may judge by the follow- ing: Hyse a been so long, old Davy, afore a come to see poor Bardie? Because, my pretty dear, I have been forced to work, all daylong almost. Hasn t a had no time to pay? No, my dear, not a moment to play. Work, work, work! Money, money, money! Till old Davy is quite worn out. I may have put horns to the truth in this. But at any rate not very long ones. And the child began to ponder it. I tell a, old Davy, hot to do. Susan say to me one day, kite yell, I amember, ickle Bardie made of money! Does a sink so? I think you are made of gold, you beauty; and of diamonds, and the Revela- tions. Aye yell! Then I tell a hot to do. Take poor Bardie to markiss, old Davy; and e get a great big money for her. She must have seen some famous mar- ket; for acting everything as she did (by means of workin~ face, arms, and legs), she put herself up like a fowl in a basket, and spread herself, making the most of her breast, and limping her neck, as the dead chickens do. Before I could begin to laugh, Moxy was upon us. Dyol Why for you come again? Never you used to come like this. Put down Delushy, directly moment. No fish she is for you to catch. When you might THE sprin~,-tides led me to Sker the have had her, here you left her through next day, and being full early for the ebb, the face of everything. And now, be- I went in to see what the Colonel had cause great Evans staff is cloven, by the done. For if he should happen to take will of God, who takes not advantage of up the child, she would pass out of my him? I thought you would have known hands altogether, which might of course better, Dyo. And this little one, that he be a serious injury, as well as a very great dotes upon hardship. For of Moxys claim I had It is enough, I answered, with a dig- little fear, if it came to a question of title nity which is natural to me, when females inasmuch as I had made her sign a doen- wound my feelings; Madame Thomas, it ment prepared and copied by myself, is enough. I will quit your premises. clearly declaring my prior ri~ht in virtue With these words, I turned away, and of rescue and providential ordinance. But never looked over my shoulder even, as against Colonel Lougher I durst not though the little one screamed after rue; think of asserting my claims, even if the until I felt Watty hard under my stern, law were with me; and not only so; but and like a kedge-anchor dragging. There- I felt all along that the matter was not fore, I let them apologize; till my desire one for money to heal, but a question of was to for,ive them. And after they the deepest feelings, brought forth proper things, I denied all And now the way in which Moxy came evil will, and did my best to accomplish it. out, while Bardie was making much of Mrs. Thomas returning slowly to her me (who always saw everything first, of ancient style with me, as I relaxed my course), and the style of her meddling in, dignity, said that now the little maid was between us, led me to know that a man gettin more at home with them. Mr. has no chance to be up to the tricks of Thomas. after what had happeued in the a female. For the dialogne going on neighbourhood this was the death of THE MAID OF SKER. 121 her five sons felt naturally low of spirit; and it was good for him to have a lively child around him. He did not seem quite what he was. And nothing brought him to himself so much as to watch this shadow of life; although she was still afraid of him. Every word of this was clear to me. It meant ten times what it expressed. Be- cause our common people have a height of kindness, some would say, and some a depth of superstition, such as leads them delicately to slope off their meaning. But in my blunt and sailor fashion, I said that black Evan must, I feared, be growing rather shaky. I had better have kept this opinion quiet; for Moxy bestowed on me such a gaze of pity mingled with contempt, that knowing what sort of a man be had been, I felt all abroad about everything. All I could say to myself was this, that the only woman of superior mind I ever had the luck to come across, and carefully keep clear of, had taken good care not to have a husband, supposing there had been the occasion. And I think I made men- tion of her before; because she had been thrice disappointed; and all she said was true almost. However, Sker-house might say jnst what it pleased, while I had mv written document, and Delushy herself (as they stupidly called her by corruption of Anda- lusia) was not inclined to abandon me. And now she made them as jealous as could be, for she clung to me fast with one hand, while she spread the beautiful tiny fingers of the other to Moxy, as much as to say, Interrupt me not; I have such a lot of things to tell old Davy. And so she had without any mistake: and the vast importance of each matter lost nothing for want of emphasis. Patty Green had passed throu~h a multitude of most surprising adventures, some of them even transcending her larceny of my sugar. Watty had covered himself with glory, mid above all little Dutch, the sheep- dog, was now become a most benevolent and protecting power. Hots a think, old Davy? Patty Geen been yecked, she has. Yecked! 1 dont know what that is, my dear. Ness, I said, yecked, old Davy; yecked down nare, same as Bardie was. It was clear that she now had taken up with the story which everybody told; and she seemed rather proud of having been wrecked. And Patty, she went on, quite out of breath; Patty poiled nfl her boofely cothes: such a mess e never see amost! And poor Patty go to e back pithole, till e boofely Dush yun all into e yater. Oh, and Dutch pulled her out again, did she? Ness, and her head come kite out of her neck. But Yatty put e guepot on, and make it much better than evar a most. Now, Delushy, what a child you are! cried Mrs. Thomas, proudly; you never hold Mr. Llewellyn that you ran into the sea yourself, to save your doll; and drownded you must have been, but for Watkin. Bardie poil her cothes, she said, look- ing rather shy about it: Bardies cothes not boofely now, not same as they used to be. But if she regretted her change of ap- parel, she had ceased by this time, Moxy said, to fret much for her father and mother. For Watkin, or some one had inspired her with a most comforting idea to xvit, that her parents had placed her there for the purpose of growing faster; and that when she had done her best to meet their wishes in this respect, they would suddenly come to express their pride and pleasure at her magnitude. Lit- tle brother also would appear in state, an so would Susan, and find it needful to as- cond the dairy-stool to measure Tier. As at present her curly head was scarcely up to the mark of that stool, the duty of making a timely start in this grand busi- ness of growing became at once self-evi- dent. To be a geat big gal was her chief ambition; inasmuch as hen Ise a geat big gal, mama and papa be so peased, and say, hot a good gal e is, Bar- die, to do as I tell a! Often when her heart was heavy in the loneliness of that house, and the less of all she loved, and with dirty things around her, the smile would come back to her thoughtful eyes, and she would open her mouth a~,ain for the coirse but whole- some food, which was to make a big gal of her. Believing herself now well em- barked toward this desired magnitude, she had long been makin~ ready for the joy it would secure. E come and see, Old Davy. I sow a sompfin, she whispered to me, when she thought the o~thers were not looking, so I gave a wink to Moxy Thomas, whose misbehaviour I had overlooked, and humouring the child, I let her lead me to her sacred spot. This was in an unused passage, with the end door nailed to jambs, and black oak- panelling along it, and a floor of has stone. None in the house durst enter it except 122 THE MAID OF SKER. this little creature; at least unless there were three or four to hearten one another, and a stron~, sun shining. The Abbots Walk was its proper name; because a certaiu Abbot of Neath, who had made too much stir among the monks, received (as we say) his quietus there during a win- ter excursion; and in spite of all the masses said, could not keep his soul at rest. Therefore his soul came up and down; and that is worse than a dozen spirits; for the soul can groan, but the spirit is silent. Into this dark lonely passage I was led by a little body, too newly inhabited by spirit to be at all afraid of it. And she came to a cupboard door, and tugged, and made a face as usual, when the button was hard to move. But as for allowing me to help her, not a bit of it, if you please. With many grunts and jerks of breath, at last she fetched it outward, having made me promise first not to touch, however grand and tempting might be the scene disclosed to me. What do you think was there collected, and arranged in such a system that no bee could equal it? Why, every bit of every- thing that every one who loved her (which amounts to everybody) ever had bestowed upon her, for her own sweet use and pleas- ure, since ashore she came to us. Not a lollipop was sucked, not a bit of taffy tasted, not a plaything had bech used, but just euough to prove it; all were set in portions four, two of which were double- sized of what the other two were. Nearly half these things had come, I am almost sure, from Newton; and among the choicest treasures which were stored in scollop shells, I descried one of my own buttons which I had honestly given her, because two eyelets had run together; item, a bowl of an unsmoked pipe (which had snapped in my hand one evening); item, as sure as I am alive, every bit of the sugar which the Dolly had taken from out my locker. Times there are when a hardy man, at sense of things (however childish), which have left their fibre in him, finds himself, or loses self, in a sudden softness. So it almost was with me (though the bait on my hooks all the time was dryin0), and for no better reason than the hopeless hopes of a very young child. I knew what all her storehouse meant before she began to tell me. And her excitement while she told rae scarcely left me breath to speak. Nat for papa, with e kean pipe to moke, and nat for mamma with e boofely bucken for her coke, and nat for my dear ickle bother, because it just fit in between his teeth, and nis with e ooking-gass for Susan, because she do her hair all day yong. She held up the little bit of tin, and mimicked Susans self adornment, making such a comic face, and looking so con- ceited, that I felt as if I should know her Susan, anywhere in a hundred of women, if only she should turn up so. And I be- gan to smile a little; and she took it up tenfold. E make me yaff so, I do decare, e silly old Davy; I doesnt know hat to do amost. But e mustnt tell anybody. This I promised, and so went a-fishing, wondering what in the world would be- come of the queerest fish I had ever caught, as well as the highest-flavoured one. It now seemed a toss-up whether or not something or other might turn up, in the course of ones life, about her. At any rate she was doing well, with her very bright spirits to help her, and even Black Evan, so broken down as not to be hard upon any one. And as things fell out to take me from her, without any warning, upon the whole it was for the best to find the last sight comfortable. And a man of my power must not always be poking after babies, even the best that were ever born. Tush, what says King David, who was a great-grandfather of mine; less distant than Llewellyn harper, but as much respected; in spite of his try- ing to contribute Jewish blood to the lot of us in some of his rasher moments? But ancestor though we acknowledge him (when our neighbourhood has a revival), I will not be carried away by his fame to copy, so much as to harken him. The autumn now grew fast upon us, and the beach was shifting; and neith~r room nor time remained for preaching under the saudhills, even if any one could be found with courage to sit under them. And as the nights turned cold and damp, every- body grumbled much; which was just and right enough, in balance of their former grumbling at the summer drought and heat. And it was mainly this desire not to be behind my neighbours in the com- fort and the company of grumbling and exchanging grumbles, which involved me in a course of action highly lowering to my rank and position in society, but with- out which I could never have been enabled to tell this story. And yet before entering on that subject, everybody will want to know how I discharged my important and even arduous duties as trustee through Sir Philips munificence for both those little children. In the first place, I felt that my THE MAID OF SKER. 123 position was strictly confidential, and that people would think, concerning Bardies it would be a breach of trast to disclose to property; for if I had not saved her life, any person (especially in a loquacious vii- how could she have owned any? lage) a matter so purely of private discre- So far, however, from dealing thus, I not tion. Three parties there were to be con- only kept all their money for them, but in- sidered, and only three, whatever point of vested it in the manner which seemed to view one chose to take of it. The first of be most for their interest. To this intent these was Sir Philip, the second the two I procured a book for three halfpence (paid children, and the third of course myself. out of mine own pocket), wherein I de- To the first my duty was gratitude (which dared a partnership, and established a fish- I felt, and emitted abundantly), to the see- ing association, under the name, style, and end both zeal and integrity; and for my- description of Bardie, Bunny, Liewellyn, self there was one course only (to which I & Co. To this firm I contributed, not am naturally addicted), namely, a lofty only my industry, and skill, but also nets, self-denial. This duty to myself I dis- tackle, rods and poles, hook~s and corks, charged at once by forming a stern reso- and two kettles for bait, and a gridiron fit lution not to charge either of those chil- to land and cook with; also several well- dren so much as a single farthing for proven pipes, and a perfectly sound to- taking care of her property until she was bacco-box. Every one of these items, and twenty-one years of age. Then as re~,ards many others, I entered in the ledger of the second point, I displayed my zeal im- partnership; and Mother .Jones, being mediately, by falling upon Bunny soon strange to much writing, recorded her after daylight, and giving her a small- mark at the bottom of it (one stroke with tooth-combing to begin with, till the skin one hand and one with the other), believ- of her hair was as bright as a prawn; after ing it to be my testament, with an Amen which, without any heed whatever of roars, coming after it. or even kicks, I took a piece of holy-stone But knowing what the tricks of fortune and after a rinsing of soda upon her, I are, and creditors so unreasonable, I cleaned down her planking to such a de- thought it much better to keep my boat gree that our admiral might have inspected outside of the association. If the firm her. She was clean enough for a cap- liked, they might hire it, and have credit tams daughter before, and dandy-trimmed until distribution-day, which I fixed for the more than need have been for a little craft first day of every three months. My part- built to be only a coaster. But now when ners had nothing to provide, except just an her yelling had done her good, and her Sun- anchor, a mast and a lug-sail, a new net day frock was shipped, and her black hair or two, because mine were wearing, and spanked with a rose-coloured ribbon, and one or two other trifles, perhaps, scarcely the smiles flowed into her face again with worth describing. For after all, who could the sense of all this smartness, Sir Philip be hard upon them, when .all they con- himself would have thought her consistent tributed to the firm was fifteen pounds and with the owner of five pounds sterling, ten shillings? And as touching the money itself, and It was now in the power of both my the honesty rightly expected from me, partners to advance towards fortune; to although the sum now in my hands was permit very little delay before they in- larger than it ever yet had pleased the sisted on trebling their capital; and so re- Lord to send me, for out and out my own, I invest it in the firm; and hence at the age nevertheless there was no such thing as of twenty-one be fit to marry magistrates. leading me astray about it. And this was And I made every preparation to carry the more to my credit, because that power their shares of the profits over. Neverthe- of evil, who has more eyes than all the an- less, things do not always follow the line gels put together, or, at any rate, keeps of the very best and soundest calculations. them wider open, he came aft, seeing how The fish that were running up from the the wind was, and planted his hoof within Mumbles, fast enough to wear their fins half a plank of the tiller of my conscience. out, all of a sudden left off altogether, as But I heaved him overboard at once, and if they had heard of the association. INot laid my course with this cargo of gold, ex- even a twopenny glass of grog did I ever actly as if it were shippers freight, under take out of our capital, nor a night of the bond and covenant. Although, in downright week did I lie a-bed, when the lines re- common-sense, having Bunny for my grand- quired attendance. however, when fish child, I also possessed beyond any doubt are entirely absent, the best fisherman in whatever belonged to Bunny; just as the the world cannot create them; therefore owner of a boat owns the oars aud rudder our partnership saw the wisdom of declar- also. And the same held true, as most ing no dividends for the first quarter. 124 OF SOLAR ERUPTIONS. From The Spectator. than half an hour, what was his s~irprise OF SOLAR ERUPTIONS. to find that the whole thing had been A SINGULAR interest is given to the literally blown to shreds. Tn place of observations to be made on the December the quiet cloud I had left, he says, the Eclipse by the results which have rewarded air, if I may use the expression, was filled the recent study of the suns coloured with flying debri.s a mass of detached fccq- prominences by Fr. Secchi in Italy and ments. These fragments were, in fact, so Professor Young in America. A very insignificant as to measure only from 4,50() strange theory of the corona the theory, to 13,500 miles in length, with a breadth namely, that it is in part due to solar (scarcely worth mentioning) of from 000 eruptions seems to receive countenance to 1,350 miles mere shreds, in fine, from these observations, and more particu- the least having a surface scarcely exceed- larly from one very remarkable phenome- ing that of Africa. They were rapidly as- non (presently to be described) which was cending. Already nearly 100,090 miles witnessed a short time ago by Professor above the suns surface when Professor Young. The labours of Secchi show the Young first saw them, they moved higher solar spot-zones to be the chief scene of and higher under his very eyes, with a the eruptions; and, as our readers are motion almost perceptible to the eye, probably aware, it is opposite the solar until in ten minutes some of them were spot-zones that the corona has been ob- upwards of 200,000 miles above the sur- served to have its greatest extension. face of the sun. This motion, almost But unless it could be shown that the so- perceptible to the eye, must in reality lar eruptive forces are mighty enough to have amounted to the utterly inconceiv- affect the distant regions to which the able velocity of 167 miles per second, coronal rays extend, it would be impossible this, too, only as an average velocity. At to admit that this coincidence can be cx- this enormous rate these fragments, these plained in the suggested way. Professor strips of glowing hydrogen (a score of Young has observed a solar outburst which perhaps would have sufficed to which seems to supply precisely the re- cover the whole surface of our earth), quired evide~ cc, an outburst so wonder- were flung upwards by some treuiemdous ful in its effects that apart from any refer- outburst, having its origin far down be- ence to the solar corona, it must be re- low the visible surface of the sun. They garded as absolutely the most striking seemed to dissolve away when they had phenomenon yet witnessed by observers reached the vast height of 200,000 miles. of the sun. We propose briefly to de- At a quarter past one less than half an scribe here what Professor Young actually hour from the commencement of the out- witnessed and watched, believing that the burst only a few filmy wisps, with interest of the results which may be ob- some brighter streamers low down, re- tained by the eclipse-observers cannot but mained to mark the place. be enhanced by the record of a solar phe- Ilere, then, was one of tho~e solar nomenon so imeosing. eruptions of which much has been im- Professor Young was studying on Sep- agined during the last few months, but tember 7 last a large coloured prominence, hitherto very little certainly determined. or rather a bed of solar clouds. It was Astronomers had begun to believe that an object of the kind compared by Mr. those long radiant beams which give to Lockyor to a banyan grove, a long layer the solar corona so striking an aspect, are of cloud-like masses, seemingly supported due to an outrush of matter from the by a few stems of the red prominence- depths which lie concealed beneath the re- matter. It was formed, in the main, of splendent light-surface of the sun. No glowin~, hydrogen. The hei~ht of the other explanation seemed available in- stems was estimeted by Young at about deed, when all the facts observed during 15,000 miles. The cloud-bed was about recent eclipses were taken into account. 100,000 miles long (some 13 times the earths And yet the explanation was so startling, diameter), and 40,000 miles deep, a long, that even those who advocated it were low, quiet-looking cloud, not very dense fain to apologize, so to speak, for urging or brilliant, nor in any way remarkable views wnich seemed at a first view al- except for its size. At half-past twelve together fanciful. For the solar orb this r ter remarkably large cloud was to vomit forth matter to distances seemingly as quiescent as at first, though corresponding to the vast extension one of the stems had become much of the coronal rays, required a degree brighter and was singularly bent. But of eruptive energy falling little short when Professor Young returned, in less of that which would be needed to project THE SOUTH-SEA ISLANDS COOLIE. 125 missiles clean away from the sun, to visit other suns perchance, hut never to return to the neighbourhood of the solar system. But here we have evidence of precisely such eruptions. Compared with the heavier erupted matter, the filmy wisps of hydrogen were hut as the smoke from a cannons mouth compared with the can- non-ball. We may he sure that the heavier matter really belched forth was propelled with far greater velocity and was carried very much farther from the sun than the light hydrogen wisps. Yet even to reach a height of 200,000 miles matter must pass the suns visible surface at the rate of about 210 miles per second. If the steam and smoke, so to express our: selves, of the great solar geyser rushed to so vast a height, how much greater must have been the height reached by the heavier matter propelled along with them Another question seems to be answered by the phenomena of this strange out- burst. It was pertinently asked by Sir John herschel, wby if the red promi- nences are eruptions the eruptive force does not scatter upwards and outwards those bri~,ht objects resemblioc, flakes or scales which can be seen over the whole surface of the sun, and have been called the solar willow-leaves. But the wisps watched by Professor Youn~ corresponded in appearance very closely to what we should expect to see if a number of the solar flakes were flung upwards by some mighty eruption. And we observe, too, that as the flakes were only visible for a few minutes, we need not wonder that the phenomenon has not oftener been wit- nessed. It is interesting to notice that on the evening of the day on which Professor Young saw this strange sight, there was a fine aurora borealis, the earths response, perhaps, he says, to the magnificent so- lar outburst. But we have something more than this inference sound as it unquestionably is to guide us. The rate at which the matter watched by Young passed from a height of 100,000 miles to a height of 200,000 miles, was far greater than that with which a solid missile propelled to the last-named height would traverse this space. From a careful calculation made by the present writer, it results that such a missile would occupy no less than 25 minutes 50 seconds in passing from a height of 100,000 miles to the extreme limit of its upward motion. Only one ex- planation of the rapidity with which the hydrogen wisps traversed this space is available. The hydrogen must have been travelling with a rapidity far exceeding that of our imagined missile, and was brou0ht to rest at the height of 200,000 miles, not by the suns attraction solely as in the case of the missile, but partly (almost wholly indeed) by the resistance of the solar atmosphere. We cannot won- der that this atmosphere, rare though it probably is in those high regions, should exert so great a retardin~, influence, when we remember that the flight of a cannon- ball through our own air is reduced by at- mospheric resistafice to a mere fr. etion of the range which would be attained in a vac- uum. If a globe of solid metal, propelled from the cannons mouth at a rate of per- haps half a mile per second, is thus re- tarded, it will h& conceived how enor- mously a mass of glowing hydrogen pro- pelled with a velocity many hundred times greater must be checked by atmospheric resistance. Secchi tells us that in the eruption-prominences several other ele- merits than hydrogen are present, most of them being metallic. It is almost certain that the fl~c,ht of these metallic vapours (much denser, no doubt, than the glo~ving hydrogen) is much less retarded by atmos- pheric resistance, and it is highly probable that no inconsiderable proportion of the matter thus erupted passes even further frora the sun than the outermost limits of the corona, if it does not in some cases pass finally away from his domain. Truly the study of the solar pro~ninences and corona will have led to a strange re- sult, if it teaches us to regard our sun and his fellow-suns as centres whence metallic matter such as we see in the meteor is scattered throughout space. - From The Spectator. THE SOUTH-SEA ISLANDS COOLIE. rnoai A couRESrOxDiixV. Sin, In -the former letter which you have done me the honour to insert in your paper I gave you a short account of the origin of the introduction of Coolie labour into Queensland, with a narrative of my cruise as far as the island of YaUm. Since I last wrote, the Australian mail has brought us news of several cases of murder and cannibalism in the New I-hebrides, and I resume the subject with the deepest feel- ing of regret for the untimely death of Bishop Patteson, a man who, as far as I can hear, was universally loved and re- spected on the Islands. I hope however, to be able to show you that the Queens- 126 TILE SOUTH-SEA ISLANDS COOLIE. land ve~els are not always to be held my notice during the latter part of my answerable for having provoked such an cruise. We had made the island of Api, outrage, as the fickle and treacherous and had taken the two boats in to get character of the uncivilized lianaka is at specimens of the coral that crows so all times only too prone to deeds of vio- beautifully on the reef there, when we lence. suddenly came on a wreck. The vessel, a A full description of these islands would New Zealand schooner in search of I bour be tedious, and would besides scarcely for Fiji, lay upon the reef with her back answer the purpose of this letter, so I shall broken. The crew, five or six whites, pass over the incidents of our cruise, with some twenty islanders, had only sue- how we picked up more men at each differ- ceeded in saving one of the sails, together ent place, how their eyes brightened at with their trade-box and their arms. They the sight of the loved tobacco and their had formed a sort of camp on the beach, mouths watered at the beef and biscuits, which was guarded by sentries with mus- how they could with difficulty be persuaded kets. Round this swarmed innumerable not to cut all the buttons off their shirts fierce-looking Api men, each with his bow and trousers and hang them as ornaments t~d bundle of poisoned arrows, evidently round their necks, how they quarrelled only restrained by the sight of the muskets and fought among themselves, and were from making a rush at the trade-box, which only quieted when one touch of nature in they knew was so full of what was to them the form of sea-sickness made them all untold wealth. They cleared out, how- kin. All these are mere details, and may ever, on seeing us, and allowed us to ap- be passed over, leaving us at the end of six proach the tent where the poor whites weeks at the Island of Ureparpara, the had been shut up three or four days, and I most northern of the group, with a full found myself the object of attraction to complement of men, and prepared for a three little black boys, who, appreciating, long heat to windward, homeward bound. I suppose, something in my face, never left Of course, at many of the islands we my side till I had promised to take them passed it was impossible to land, even to with me. Poor fellows, two of them never buy yams, on account of the hostility of lived to get on board; decoyed away by the natives, and more than one gentle hint the Api men the same night, the third with in the shape of a musket-ball or a shc~wer difficulty escaped, to tell us how his two of poisoned arrows has turned our boats brothers had been knocked on the head head out of some dark green cove over- and immediately roasted. I fancy the hung with creepers, and sent us helter- whole of the cast-aways would have shared skelter back through the passage in the the same fate, if we had not had the good reef. Often on these occasions have I fortune to pass so near them and take adm~ired the courage and coolness of the them off the island. On Tanna, too, I boats crew, at a time when mny own heart was shown a man who was a celebrated was in my mouth, and when standing up cook, and he described to me in a sort of to steer a whale-boat through those sunken bland and professional manner the process, rocks was by no means pleasant. The which, however, I will not enter into here. darkie will go anywhere, if he has a May I now offer an idea suggested to white man with him, and he gradually me by my own experience in dealing with gets so fond of any master who treats himn natives to those who are risking their lives well that I believe he would not hesitate as missionaries in the South Seas? Could to die for. him. On the whole, the South- not all mission stations be organized on Sea islander is of a far higher type than the principle of that most excellent plan the Australian aborigine, his faithful- which has for some time been found to ness, shrewdness, and docility have always work so well in Edinburgh, and which we made him a favourite with anyone who are but just introducing into London, I has taken the trouble to understand him mean a medical mission? For my own and study his character, and indeed, on part, I have found that a slight knowledge my leaving the colony the stroke of my of medicine and a well-filled medicine- boat, by name Pipe, cried so bitterly and chest have given me more influence over wanted so much to come to England with the minds of all natives than any amount me, that I had as much as I could do, by of trade or the display of any quantity of ghastly stories of English frost and snow, arms, and I believe that a missionary giv- to persuade him to leave the ship. At the ing out that he came among them as a same time, no one can deny that the South- doctor, would soon establish such an influ- Sea islander is a thorough-going cannibal, ence over his patients that they would and this fact was particularly forced on patiently listen to his words, and give him HINDOO CASTE. 127 an opportunity of ministering also to their souls, and that a Kanaka who should ven- ture to propose to kill the doctor would run a very bad chance at the hands of his own countrymen. They are constantly demanding medicines, and I was much struck by a naked savage nearly up to his neck in water refusing all other trade, and insisting on salts, though I am almost sure he had never seen a white man be- fore. In fact, at this moment a chief in Tanna ranks me amongst his greatest friends since I had the honour to adminis- ter a blue-pill and a dose of castor-oil to him. Their faith in medicine is quite touching, worthy of any homceopathist~ I believe that as far as any previous ideas of religion, or rather superstition, go, the missionary has a nearly clear field before him. I have never observed anything bordering on the subject in my experience of these tribes, except, indeed, on the is- land of Yanna Lava, where J found three hideous masks in a sort of deserted tem- ple, but even the sight of these seemed to have lost its hold on the minds of the native men, though spoken of by the wo- men with awe; and I believe the nearest approach to a belief in a future is the idea that they have a chance of being white men in the next world, or, as the Austra- lian aborigine pithily puts it, Tumble down black fellow, jump up white fellow! In about three months, then, from the time of starting, we sighted Moreton Island, and the wondering crowd on board made their first acquaintance with the steam-tug, which latter caused consider- able excitement and even terror amongst them, all agreeing that it was alive. Who shall describe the astonishment of these children of nature at our houses, streets, horses, and women? For hours they would sit motionless gazing at the stream of life hurrying past them on the wharves, and were much too afraid of losing them- selves to venture from the ship till taken away by their masters. All these men turned out well, and made docile and use- ful labourers on their various plantations. The planters say that the Coolies will, on the whole, if you work a sufficient number of them together, do as much and more work than the same number of white men; that they are always cheerful, and soon be- come attached to the place they are in. Often since that trip, while riding through the country, I have heard myself hailed by name, and a Kanaka has rushed forward to shake hands, and asked me to go and get his brother, and bring him along too. There is no doubt, then, I think, that until the English Government organizes emigration on a proper scale, and really peoples this vast continent by sending out thousands where they now send hundreds, the South-Sea Coolies will form a consid- erable portion of the population of Queens- land, and will participate in the advantages of a colony which only wants opening up to be one of the greatest countries iii the world. I hope, Sir, that I have shown you that a trip to the Islands for labour need not necessarily be a piratical or slaving expe- dition; and I may add that anyone who can take a Kanaka from his island against his will, or who, having done so, can es- cape the inevitable exposure and punish- ment that would follow the examination of the Immigration Agents, must be a far cleverer man than I am. I am, Sir, & c., JAMES L. A. HOPE. From The Pall Mall Gazette. HINDOO CASTE. IT is commonly said that the chief ob- stacle to the propagation of Christianity in India is caste. Whence th~re prevails a general belief that caste is a religious dis- tinction. But what if it be no more than a social distinction? And what if mis- sionaries fail chiefly because they begin at the wrong end? It is important to obtain as much trustworthy testimony as possible upon this subject; and those who main- tain that the caste of the ilindoos is a so- cial distinction pure and simple will find a powerful and experienced ally in Mr. Robert Shaw, British Commissioner in Ladak. He does not venture to speak about the rest of India, but certainly in the hill-country of the Punjaub caste is as purely a social ararngement as morning calls or dinner parties are in England; and he attributes the failure of our mis- sionaries, in some considerable measure, to the fact that converts are required not only to renounce their idols, but to do violence to every feeling in their nature, by eating and consorting with the filthiest of the human race. The consequence, he says, of the missionaries usual proceed- ing is that, if you were to a. k an ordin- ary native what becoming a Christian meant, he would probably reply, eating with sweepers. Mr. Shaw suggests that a mans Christianity should gradually win him to that perfection which consists in considering nothing common or unclean 1Q8 IIINDOO CASTE. in mankind, whereas the missionaries cx- l)e(:t the Hindoo convert to commence with that amount of perfection. Those Chris- tians who so love one another are not al- together free from the prejudice of a caste which has, perhaps, a more flimsy moral foundation than that of the Hindoo. But to show what, if any, is the connection be- tween the caste and the religion of the Ilindoos, it may be interesting to read a conversation founded upon what really took place between Sarda (a Brabman), Chootndroo (a high-caste Hindoo), and Shaw Sahib. S. S. The Goleiria Rajpoot has been made a Mussulman: can he recover his caste? S. and C. No ; unless the Cashmere Maha- aje, whose servant he is, should restore him to caste privileges by goin0 through the ceremony of eatLug with him, as he sometimes does in similar cases. S. S. Can no one but a rajah do this? I thou~ht some reli~ious ceremony performed by the Brahmans was necessary. S. and C. What has it to do with religion? It is merely a question whether his own kindred will eat with him or not, and the difficulty is to get all to agree. When a Rajah has set the example no one can then hold hack. S. S. We English fancy that your caste is a reli~ious obligation. C. There is no connection between the two. If I were to take up stones and throw them at one of our idols, my people would cry out, Ah! Mahariij, dost thou not punish this man who is mocking thee ? But the thought would never strike them to put me out of caste. S. If caste depended on our religion, we should have but one caste, for Brahmans and sweepers all worship the same deities. C. For some years past I have given up be.. lieving in all our fables about Sree RAm and Sly, but I am none the less secure in my caste. If I were to say the Mussulman na mAz daily I should in no way forfeit my caste, so long as I did not take into my mouth anything considered impure. S. S. But do not the (luties connected with caste necessitate some kind of acknowledgment of the national idols? S. and C. No: whatever worship we bestow on them is purely volnutary. If we should omit it altogether, superstitious old women would shake their heads and prophesy that evil would befall us; but the omission would not af- fect our caste standin~ in any way. To some a confirmation of what they have always heard and maintained; to others merely a proof of what has long been su3pccted as to the quantity of humanity in human nature. There is not in Chris- endom a city, town, or village in whIch the most perfect Christian may not by social imprudence lose caste, or belon to a caste so inferior that admission to a neighbours dinner-table is not to be heard o; and in which a man, if only he be careful of so- cial conventionalities, may not habitually break all the Ten Commandments and throw stones at the Christian religion without any fear of losing caste. Some superstitious old women would shake their heads and exclude him, to hi~ great delight, from their tea-tables; but at the dinner-party and at the club he might eat and drink with lords spiritual as well as temporal. The interesting conversation here given, is to be found, in a different form, in a book called Visits to High Tartary, Yflrkand, and Kflshgar (John Murray), the appearance of which was looked forward to with much expectancy, though for no reasons connected with caste, by the late Sir R. I. Murchison. INFLUENCE OF GREEN LIaHT ON TilE SENsI- TIVE PLANT. In order to test the effect of green light on the sensitiveness of the Mimosa, Ni. P. Bert placed several plants under bell- glasses of different coloured glass, set in a warm greenhouse. At the end of a few hours a differ- ence was already apparent: those subjected to green, yellow, or red light had the petioles erect and the leaflets expanded; the blue and ths vio- let, on t.he other hand, had the petioles almost horizontal, and the leaflets hanging down. In a week those placed beneath blackened glass were already less sensitive, in twelve days they were dead or dying. From that time the green ones were entirely insensitive, and in four days more were dead. At this time the plants under the other glasses were perfectly healthy amid sensitive; but there was a great inequality of development among them. The white had made great progress, the red less, the yellow a little less still; the violet and the blue did not appear to have grown at all. After sixteen days the vigorous plants from the uncoloured bell-glass were moved to the green; in eight days they had become less sensitive, in two more the sensitive- ness had almost entirely disappeared, and in another week they were all dead. Green rays of light appear to have no greater influence on ~egetation than complete absence of light, and Ni. Bert believes that the sensitive plant exhibits only the same phenomena as all plants coloured green, but to an excessive degree. (Bull. Soc. bot. de France, xvii. p. 107.)

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The Living age ... / Volume 112, Issue 1441 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. January 20, 1872 0112 1441
The Living age ... / Volume 112, Issue 1441 129-192

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. No. 1441.January 20, 1872. CONTENTS. 1. JOWETT5 PLATO, 2. A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE 3. THE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN 4. THE MAID OF SKER. Part IX. 5. THE STORY OF THE HOSTAGES 6. THE QUAKERS AND THE INTERNATIONAL, 7. CONSTITUTIONAL REFORMS IN SWITZERLAND, 8. THE PEOPLES DICTION OF THE FUTURE, 9. PUBLIC CALAMITIES AND THE PUBLIC BEARING, 10. THE POLITICAL INFLUENCE OF HUMOUR IN AMER- ICA Spectator, POETRY. 13OjUNTODEATH,. SHORT ARTICLES. WIGS AND THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON 163 THE FEVER TREE, MISCELLANEOUS, . 163 CHINA, A BLACK FROST, WEARY, . Quarterly Review, Cornhill Magazine, Frasers Jtlagazine, Blaclcwoods Magazine, Gentlemans Magazine, Spectator, . Examiner,. Saturday Review, Spectator, . NUMBERS OF THE LIVING AGE WANTED. The publishers are in Want of Nos. 1179 and 1180 (dated respectively Jan. 5th and Jan. 12th, 1867) of THE LIVING AGE. To subscribers, or others, Who will do us the favor to send us either or both of those numbers, We Will return an equivalent, either in our publications or in cash, until our wants are supplied. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. FOR EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually for- warded for a year,free ofpostage. Butwe do not prepay postage on less than a year, nor where we have to pay commission for forwarding the money. Price of the First Series, in Cloth, 36 volumes, 90 dollars. Second 20 50 Third 32 SO The Complete Work, 100 250 Any Volume Bound, 8 dollars; Unbound, 2 dollars. The sets, or volumes, will be sent at the expense of the publishers. PREMIUMS FOR CLUBS. For 5 new subscribers ($40.), a sixth copy; or a set of HORNES INTRODUCTION To r~ BIBLE, un- abridged, in 4 large voinmes, cloth, price $10; or any 5 of the back volumes of the LIVING Aex, in nurn. bers, price $10. 131 148 155 164 174 182 184 186 188 191 13~ 130 - 192 192 130 A BLACK FROST, ETC. A BLACK FROST. No gleam of sunlight warms the leaden sky With faintest tinge of gold. A murky pall Oerspreads the horizon, and with biting blast The east wind keen makes cottage casements creak, And in the rick-yard whirls the wheaten straws, Malignant in its sport. The farmers boy, With blue, pinched face, and fingers red and chill, Plods shivering through the fields toward his home, Where ruddy fire, and howl of porridge-milk, And mothers smile, and happy childhoods shout, Shall herald night, and close the ungenial day. Hard, bare, and black, and adamant the earth; Cold, black and chill, and lustreless the sky; Nor man nor beast comes forth this eve to dare The keen-toothed wind. The warrend rabbits lie Snug in their burrows, and the ivied wall Is full of shivering, feathered fugitives; The nooks and crannies of the old barn hide Sparrows, and bats, and jackdaws. Cattle crouch Close in their litter neath the cowhouse walls, And panting sheep, together packed for warmth, Bleat neath the red-tiled shed: the homestead cock, Long since, amid his dames, hath sought the perch, At earliest symptom of the waning light, Rest, warmth and rest, the whole creation seeks, And men and maids sit by the inn-door hearth; Cheerless and comfortless is all without, Relentless, icy, grim, and pitiless, The iron grip of Frost is on the earth. All the Year Round. WEARY. On, but to rest awhile! to rest from strife That as a fretting chain wears out the soul With endless thought; to gain and grasp the whole Dark mystery that shrouds our earthly life. And then to rest, to strive with doubt no more; Unmoved to sit and watch the ceaseless wave Of changing creeds roll onward to the shore, And cresting break and die; unmoved to brave The taunts of wild fanatics, and the roar Of halting crowds, that in their darkness rave Against the light of reason; and to be Like some fair ship in sheltered haven moored, Safe from the storm, by no vain meteor lured To track dark phantoms oer the pathless sea. Dark Blue. UNTO DEATH. 0, OFTTIME5 in the twilight I am sitting silently, When the glory of the sunlight Leaves its impress in the sky: And a low voice seems to whisper, With passion in each breath, I will love thee, love, for ever; You may trust me unto death! And I live upon the echo Of that passionate refrain; And my hope is firm and steadfast I shall hear it once again. Though years may pass and vanish, And life grow worn and cold, I am waiting the reutterance Of those pleading words of old. It may be an illusion, A myth, a fancy bare; But it keeps my heart from breaking, And my life from much despair. And as long as life shall linger Comes the echo of each breath, I will love thee, love, for ever; You may trust me unto death! Tinsleys Magazine.. SONNETS. Oun prayers are prophets. Father, be it so! My dream became a thought my thought desire, Desire a prayer, whose living wings aspire Unceasingly Thine awful will to know. Such prayers as with our beings essence glow. (The flush of a deep instincts holy fire). With earnest pulses rising high and higher, Absorbing by intensity earths woe; Prayers that, when other invocations fail, By the reality of Sorrows, cry. Or, to enforce the pathos of their wail, By thine All-might, by Love, Eter- nity, O let such pleadings by their truth prevail, Such prayers be prophets of our Destiny. FAR off my dream, and yet unearthly fair The vision of thy beauty in my heart, Hovring between my thought and its despair, And mercifully keeping them apart. Sweet as the mothers lullaby which brings Forgetfulness twixt infancy and tears; Calm as the misty shade time wisely flings Between to-day, and past and future years. Dear as the last fond look the lover holds Between his heart and doubts oppressive gloom, Blest as the radiant vista Faith unfolds, To part the mourner from eternal doom. Thus thou with me, my dream of comfort stay! My Hope, my Life in Death, pass not away! MILLICENT ORARA. Dark Blue. JOWETT S PLATO. 131 From The Quarterly Review. JOWETTS rLATO.* THE publication within a short interval of two such works as Mr. Grotes Plato and Mr. Jowetts translation seems to point to a phase of no slight importance in the general revival of English philology which has marked the last twenty or thirty years. The verbal scholarship of the last century, brilliant as it undoubtedly was, and important as its results became as the basis of future attainment, was too limited in its scope and too isolated from other de- partments of knowledge to maintain its hold on education. A period of barren- ness and lethargy followed, from which Arnold was one of the first to deliver classical studies. The earlier work of the great historian whom we have recent- ly lost has been, perhaps, the main instru- ment in sustaining and extending the movement. Along with the value which it had for scholars as a series of investiga- tions in the field of ancient history, it possessed a freshness and keenness of po- litical insight, and a sense of the reality and permanence of historical problems, which enga~,ed the interest of a much larger class of readers. The idea of ex- tending the range of popular reading to Platonic philosophy to the speculations, namely, which exhibit the spirit of an- tiquity in its most abstract form may be said to have been first carried out by Dr. Whewell in his Platonic Dialogues. The two similar experiments since made, on a larger scale and by far more complete and exhaustive methods, are evidence of an awakening of interest amounting almost to a new intellectual movement in the educated classes of the country. Other considerations put the importance of such books in a still stronger light. There is much in the progress of civilization which tends to give increased value and signifi- cance to the history of thought. The separate national life which is fed by the recollection of the past struggles and tri- umphs of a nation has been slowly but * The Dialogues of Plato translated into English, with Analysis and Introductions. By B. Jowett, MA., Master of Baliol College, Regius Professor of Greek iu the University of Oxford. 4 vols. Ox. ford. 1871. constantly giving way before the sense of mutual obligation and dependence, extend- ing to all alike. As a consequence of this process. the sympathy and Veneration of men will be increasingly directed towards those elements in the traditions of the past which are most cosmopolitan; and thus it will become, more and more, the office of literature to represent and interpret that comparatively hidden view of thought and knowledge in which the highest minds have had a part without distinction of race or nation. The work before us is eminently fitted to aid and direct the movement which we have ventured to anticipate. It has been the noble task of Mr. Jowetts life, like Socrates, to bring philosophy into the~ market-place, to awaken the spirit of research in active and growing minds, and to gain for knowledge and the faith in knowledge their true place in human affairs. He has now sought to carry this work into a wider field; and he has aptly chosen as his subject the philosophers in whom the Socratic faith bore its worthy and lifelong fruits; who was raised by means of it above the narrow complete- ness of Athenian culture, beyond the lim- ited horizon of Greek society; who created those ideals which are still. the ideals of history and of science, but were then, in Mr. Jowetts words, the vacant forms of light on which he sought to fix the eyes of mankind. The translation demands more than a passing notice, not merely for its high in- trinsic excellence as a work of literary art, but also for the less obvious merit which it has as being, in great measure, a new experiment. The problem, it need not be said, is of the highest order of dif- ficulty. A complex Greek period, such as Plato is accustomed to write, is incapable, as a rule, of being rendered without a sac- rifice either of the general effect or of the grammatical form. The separate clauses may often be exactly reproduced while the relation between them ~s expressed in a manner which belongs essentially to the idiom of the Greea language. A mere scholarly rendering, in such a case, is no more a true copy of the original than a heap of Ionic columns is an Ionic tern- 132 pie. On the other hand, all modern lan- guages, through long familiarity with log- ical forms, have analyzed many complex or ambiguous terms, and have gained power of brief expression in dealing with abstractions, which obliges the judicious translator sometimes to expand or com- ment upon his text; more often, perhaps, to prune down and condense its language in a seemingly arbitrary way. The diffi- culty of the task lies in deciding whether a particular rec~undancy or ambiguity is one of language only, and should vanish in translation, or one of thought, which must be studiously preserved. Thus there are two leading aims, which may be called the linear and aerial perspective of Pla- .tonic translation: the modern arrange- ment of clauses, and the modern equiv- alents for technical and haiftechnical terms. These observations may seem self-evi- dent enough: but translators who come to their task, as most modern scholars do, full of the associations of grammatical teaching, can seldom free themselves from the habit of regarding the construing ~s the first consideration. Mr. Jowett has seen this danger, and has shown that by looking to clearness and ease of expres- sion, and using the simplest and most nat- ural English, without aiming at archaic purity or any other artificial style, it is possible to render the works of the most consummate master of language with a fidelity of a new order. It is obvious that the work, as he has done it, needed the finest sense of sustained rhythmical move- ment and a rare command of happy and suggestive phrases; but much of the suc- cess depended upon following a true meth- od, or perhaps it would be more exact to say, upon consciously avoiding false habits of translation.* The value of a translation, after all, is chiefly for those who are least able to crit- icize it. Those who are already acquainted with Plato will turn to the Introductions, and especially to the short essays which they contain. To students of philosophy, these essays constitute the soul of the book. Their object is to recapitulate the arguments of a dialogue; to expose falla- cies; to point out the element of perma- nent truth which Plato has reached, or to which the course of his thought is tending; to draw out his relation to other systems; and, finally, to direct attention to artistic touches and striking or original features in the several pieces. They exhibit in the highest degree the qualities which are characteristic of Mr. Jowetts style: terse- ness and point, without the hardness of mere epigram; and closeness of reasoning, without the bewildering parade of logical form. The principle of the arrangement adopted in the work is that each dialogue should be separately discussed and ana- lyzed, no attempt being made to unite the results in a complete or systematic form. Mr. Jowett evidently attachesconsiderable importance to this part of his plan, regard- ing the dogmatic and harmonizing method as the most fruitful source of error in the interpretation of Plato. In the same spirit he is careful to preserve the dra- matic and conversational form, even when he is giving the briefest summary of con- tents. In all this he is no more than Pla- tonic. The dialogue was evidently adopt- ed by Plato as the nearest approach which a written composition could make to that which he looked upon as the true instru- ment of philosophical enquiry the living play of thought and opinion in dis- course : out, is active, and governs ~3o~v; Mr. Jowett * It wasnot to be expected that so vast a work makes it passive. should be everywhere free from inaccuracy. We lb. p. 62 B. K~L~ %pc.qLevol~ Av oi,coc~oFzia ical roi~ have noted the following: ci2?~ot~ 6~iotw~ ,cav6cu ,ca~ roZ~ ,ci,c?~to~. Mr. .low- Phileb. p. 17 C. What sounds are grave, and ett has not given sufficiently the force of 6jzohog; what acute is too periphrastio for 6~ir~r6~ ~ who uses in like manner rules as well as circles, 7rept ica~ pap6ryro~. Sounds are not divided into i.e. in each case alike he uses the divine to the ex- grave and acute, but the interval is constituted by a clusion of the human. relative graveness and acuteness. The sense is best Pout., 273 A. cipxri~ ye seal rc~.evr~ tvcvriav given, perhaps, by translating mu- ~ 6p~seoei~, having received an opposite im- & aarlf.Lara, pulse at both end~,is hardly clear. The meaning sical intervals, and omitting 6~I3r7Zro~ te.r.a. seems to be an impulse which reverses beginning lb. p. 30 B. (.seILi7Zavi~o6ae, as Mr. Poste points and end. JOWETT S PLATO. JOWETT S PLATO. 133 He who knows the just and good and hon- ourable, he says in the Phmdrus, will not seriously incline to write them in water with pen and ink or in dumb characters, which have not a word to say for themselves, and cannot adequately express the truth. . . . In the gar- den of letters he will plant them only as an amusement, or he will write them down as me- morials, against the forgetfulness of old age, to be treasuredhy him and his equals when they like him have one foot in the grave. . . . But nobler far is the serious pursuit of the dialecti- cian who finds a congenial soul, and then with knowledge engrafts and sows words which are able to help themselves and him who planted them, and are not unfruitful, but have in them seeds which may bear fruit in other natures, nurtured in other ways making the seed ever- lasting, and the possessors happy to the utmost extent of human happiness. vol. i. p. 612. It is true that in many of Platos writ- ings the dialogue is a mere form. In the greater part of the Republic there is no real discussion; all the arguments are put into the mouth of Socrates. The Eleatic Stranger in the Sophist prefers discus- sion, but only with a pleasant and facile respondent; and in the Laws the tone is almost wholly dogmatic. To the last, however, Plato retains the conversational form, and, it may be added, the theory of philosophical method of which it was tITle expression. For it is easily seen that to Platos mind the merits of dialogue and the evils of sustained or epideictic speaking were in great measure symboli- cal. The one represented and exemplified the Socratic spirit freedom from fore- gone conclusions, patience and mutual help in enquiry, acquiescence in ignorance in preference to the mere show of knowledge. The other contained in it all the opposite elements of passion and illusion; it was therefore the fitting weapon of pleaders and demagogues. It does not appear that Plato had any predecessors in the form of composition which he adopted. Greek philosophy clothed herself first in the garb of the epic singer, and afterwards borrowed the fash- ion of the law-courts. Plato first went back to living models, and created a fresh type of art from the conversations of Soc- rates. In so doing, he obeyed the analo~ gies of Greek literature. The disposition to idealize a historical situation, to treat the speakers as personifications of moral or political tendencies, is strongly marked both in Herodotus and Thucydides. It may not be too fanciful to say that Plato meant to oppose his ideal Socrates to the caricature which had already gained the ear of Athens through the genius of Aristoph- anes. But the character of the Socratic teaching, as Plato understood and applied it, pointed in an especial manner to Socra- tes as the fitting protagonist in the new cycle of dramas. The older philosophies, he tells us, delivered their wisdom in a somewhat oracular form; they went on their several ways with a good deal of dis- dain of people like ourselves; they did not care whether they took us with them or left us behind them (vol. iii. p. 506). Soc- rates represented the principle of ceaseless research: his method is a perpetual living process. It is therefore in a manner inde- pendent of any one life, for it is graven in the soul of him who has learned, and can defend itself, and knows when to speak and when to be silent (vol. iii. p. 611). iNo positive opinions or discoveries could be attributed in a strict modern sense to Socrates; yet all that was gained by his method might be treated as implicitly be- longing to him. But Platos habit of en- deavouring to carry on the thoughts of his predecessors is not confined to Socra- tes. Thus in the The~tetus he is at pains to draw out what Protagoras might say in answer to certain objections (voL iii. p. 388 if.); and he makes a very valorous defence, sparing no artifice of dramatic effect. He admits, however, that he is a stranger to the cause of Protagoras, who might possibly have made a different de- fence for himself. With the thoughts of Socrates he has no such hesitation, for hi3 is one of the heirs (to use his favourite comparison) of his masters argument, entitled to speak without reserve on that behalf. Yet he avoids representing him in contradiction with well-known traits: in the Tim~eus, for example, the chief part of the dialogue is not assigned to Socrates, probably because it was noto- rious that the real Socrates had not fa- voured purely physical speculations. These considerations obviously prepare 134 JOWETTS PLATO. us to find that the gradual and spontane- ous growth of Platos system out of the ideas of Socrates may be traced, to some extent, in the Platonic Dialogues. It is true that we have little or no external evi- dence to fix the order in which they were written, and that the internal criteria, as in the case of most great writers, are of an unusually subtle nature. Few, indeed, of the tasks of philology have been as laborious as that of determining the canon of the Pla- tonic writings, and distributii~g them over the wide space of his philosophical life. Mr. Jowett is far from claiming the char- acter of finality for his own arrangement. Many points in it, however, may be con- sidered as ascertained. A considerable group of dialo,,ues, for instance, is distin- guished by features which agree with those of the historical, as opposed to the Platonic or ideal, Socrates. Of these dia- logues the Protagorasis the most strik- in, example. The search for definitions, the simple form of the doctrine that Vir- tue is knowled~, e, thu seeming readiness to identify Pleasure with the Good, the absence of the Platonic theory of Ideas these are so many indications of a comp r- atively Socratic, and therefore early stage of Platos philosophy. At the other end ofthe series, external and internal testi- rnony concur in placing the Laws a work in which the fi~ure of Socrates does not appear, and in which the theory of ideas, though still affirmed, is set aside as inapplicable to the practical wants of the time. Earlier again than the Laws, and not earlier than the meridian of Pla- tos genius, must be placed his great con- structive effort, the Republic. These are the three cardinal points of Platonic chronology, with reference to which the place of the remaining dialo,ues has to be determined. The chief novelty of Mr. Jowetts ar- rangernent (compared, for example, with that which was proposed by Zeller) ap- pears in the number of dialogues placed after the Republic. Besides the Gor- gias (which closely resembles the Re- public, and probably belongs to the same period of Platos life) and the Themte- tus, already mentioned, we find. the Philebus, Parmenides, Sophist, and Statesman. Some modern critics, of whom Professor Schaarschmidt, of Bonn, is the chief representative, have doubted or denied the Platonic authorship of this whole group. The question is one which we shall not attempt to discuss at length, especially as Mr. Jowett has reserved it for the detailed examination which he has promised to give of the order and genuine- ness of the Platonic writings (vol. iii. p. 571). The issue, it may be said in passing, depends very much upon the possibility of explaining the various characteristics of these dialogues as intermediate between those of the earlier works on the one hand, and the Timteus and Laws on the other.* The Euthydemus a broad carica- ture~ of the verbal puzzles so curious]~y prominent in the age of Plato is placed by Mr. Jowett after the Protagoras. I)r. Thompson, in a graceful review of the hook, makes this collocation one of the few exceptions to his general agreement with Mr. Jowetts arrangement. Perhaps the best defence in the case of the Euthy- demus is to be found in the epilogue, where an attack is made on the writers of speeches as amphibious animals, who be- ing half philosophers and half politicians, succeed in combining the drawbacks of both. The passage could hardly have been written if Plato had then foreseen, even in a dream, his own conception of the philosopher-king as it appears in the Republic and the Statesman. Of the endless points of view from which different dialogues may be compared, and their relative place didactic or chrono- logical -~ more or less plausibly deter- mined, it will be found that the most use- ful are those which are derived immedi- ately from the theory of Ideas. The history of that theory is in reality the history of Platos lifelong speculation; and no one has seen this truth more clearly than Mr. Jowett, or has applied it more subtly to the various aspects of Platonism. It is impossible, in the course of a brief summary such as we shall now attempt, to give a just notion of the finish and delica- cy of his treatment of the subject; and it is especially difficult to avoid the fault from which he is most free, that of giving effect to a statement by exaggerating one or two points of view. Nevertheless it is necessary, in order to gain an idea of the main result of the book, that we should reproduce in some shape the impression which it conveys of what Platonism is in its essence, and what is its place in the general course of human thought. Socrates, according to the well-known saying, brought down philosophy from heaven to earth. The current of specula- tion, which in earlier times busied itself chiefly with nature and the universe, was * Mr. Campbells Introdnotion to his edition of the Sophist and Statesman contains a valu- able contribution to this part of the question. JOWETT S PLATO. 135 diverted by his teaching to the moral and Platonic language) he is inferior in dialec- political questions, that in various forms tics. He has faith in goodness, and uses had been more and more perplexing the his great powers of persuasion in its active world of Greece. The example of cause; but he is wanting in the scientific the heroic age was still the main source, methods and aims which belon~ed to apart from the laws of the several states, Socrates. The weakness attributed (in to which men turned for direction. But the Gorgias) to the rhetoricians Gor- in Homer, beyond a sense of the splendour gias and Polus is of the same kind. Gor- of certain human qualities and a respect gias is refuted because he is unwilling to for the sacredness of existing custom, admit that rhetoric can be wholly separ- there is nothin~ which can be called mor- ated from justice and injustice (vol. iii. p. ality. There is no moral system, how- 6). The Sophists if we may judge by ever simple no classification of actions the greatest names amon,, them fail be- as right or wrong. In the time of the Pel- cause, instead of quarrelling with the oponnesian War the traditional maxims world, they are content to represent the became more than ever inadequate. They better mind of the world to itself. barely sufficed within the most stable com- Socrates took a different course. He munities, or for those who, like Cephalus undertook at once to defend and to ex- in the Republic, were favoured by na- plain morality by applying to it the cou- ture and circumstances. They utterly ception of knowledge. He sought for the failed in the wider sphere of action in universal element in each class of cases . which the larger units, the Greek states that which answers the question, What is themselves, had to deal as moral agents such and such a virtue? He easily con- with each other. The Spartans, says victed his countrymen of the want of this Thucydides, are the best of men at knowledcre. They were in the habit of home, but abroad they know no duty ex- pronouncing actions good or bad, but cept their own interest. It is enough to without knowing why. They knew how allude to tife darker pictures which he to make shoes and build temples, for they gives of other parts of Greece. could tell in what the goodness of a shoe The overturning of ancient landmarks, or a temple consisted; and they could the fierce passions roused, the demoraliza- teach the knowledge as an art of shoe- tion which follows alike victory and de- making or of architecture. The arts of feat, combined with the intellectual activ- life justice, housekeeping, rhetoric, gov- ity of the time to bring about the crisis in eminent had none of these characteris- morality which, in the minds of most tics of knowledge. He himself was not readers of Greek history, is associated wiser than others, but he knew his own with certain teachers of wisdom called ignorance; and he was convinced that a the Sophists. We shall now enter upon science of conduct was yet to be attained the question between Mr. Grote and Mr. which would change the face of the moral Jowett as to the existence of a distinct world. class bearing that name a question The course of thought which led from which brings out to peculiar advantage the Socratic position to the Platonic theo- the subtlety and exactness of Mr. Jowetts ry of Ideas has been often analyzed, but critical powers (see especially vol. iii. pp. can hardly ever cease to afford the mate- 448 if.). For the present it will be enough rials of interesting inquiry. It may be re- to glance at two leading Sophists. The garded as the result of two distinct pro- picture of Prota,,oras, which is given in cesses distinct in theory, but always the dialogue of the same name is full of, perhaps combined in fact: first, the nat- friendly and even admiring touches. Pro- ural development of S6cratic principles; tagoras is the venerable missionary of vir- secondly, the contact of Platos mind with tue; one whose preaching (as it may al- other philosophies, chiefly, as we shall see, most be termed) exposes him to some dan- those of Ileraclitus, Pythagoras, and Par- ger from the blind upholders of existing menides, but including the later systems, things, but who scorns to hide it under which owed their rise, like his own, to the the veil of other kinds of instruction, Socratic impulse. The scientific ethics of glorying rather in the despised name of Socrates led directly to a new and more Sophist. Moreover, his opinions are far profound metaphysics. He saw that knowl- from being sophistical, in the worst edge is the apprehension of the universal, sense of the word. As Mr. Jowett oh- of something that is true of a class of serves, there is quite as much truth on thin0s; and he had applied, this concep- the side of Protagoras as on that of Socra- tion, gained from the arts of everyday tes. The difference is that (to speak in life, to the whole of human conduct. It 136 JOWETTS PLATO. was left to others to ask in what this ap- prehension of the universal itself consists, and to extend it to branches of knowledge which he had neglected or undervalued. Plato is distinguished among the followers of Socrates by the comprehensive spirit in which he undertook this new and great enquiry, and the zeal with which he pur- sued it through the theories and sciences of his time. In particular, he returned with new aims and methods to the earlier doctrines. In successive dialogues we find him supplementing or explaining one saying or opinion of an older philosopher by another, testing them in turn by the questioning method, and using all his strength against principles which seemed to stand in the way of scientific progress. Hence the unique value of the study of Plato for the history of philosophy. It was in the mind of Socrates that the moral perplexities of Greece gave birth to the idea of a science in which they should find their solution; but it was Plato who took up again the threads of earlier specula- tion, and wrought them with the teaching of Socrates into a single fabric. The great step which was thus made in advance of the Socratic mode of thinking one not confined to Plato, as indeed it was contained implicitly in earlier theo- ries, but which was turned by him to the greatest account as a basis of further speculation was the identification of the universal or ideal with the really exist- ent. The general notions which Socrates had sought for as the objects of true moral knowledge were now regarded as deriving their value from a truth or reality which they possessed in themselves, independ- ently of the instances under which they were presented to experience. Further, this conception of knowing as the contem- plation of a super-sensuous or abstract ob- ject was extended to all things capable of being known, physical and mathemati- cal as well as moral. Everywhere alike the contrast was traced between the uni- versal as the knowable or real, and the particular as the sensible or phe- nomenal : knowledge arose by the con- tact of the mind with the former; the op- posite of knowledge ignorance, error, uncertainty were inseparably connected with the latter. The celebrated doctrine of Reminiscence is a phase of this conception a particu- lar way of representing the separate ex- istence of the knowable. Constantly associated with Platos name, it is never- theless found in a very small number of his dialogues, viz., the Meno where it is put forward in a tentative manner as the tale of certain Egyptian priests the Phiedo, and the Ph~edrus. Mr. Jowett well says that it is a fragment of a form- er world, which has no place in the philos- ophy of modern times. But Plato had the wonders of psychology just opening to him, and he had not the explanation of them which is supplied by the an alysis of language and the history of the hu- man mind. The question, Whence come our abstract ideas? he could only an- swer by an imaginary hypothesis (vol. i. p. 394). The Republic by common consent the greatest monument of Platos genius is the first constructive dialogue. By constructive is meant one in which a definition is attained by dialectic and ap- plied to the realization in practice of the thing defined. The ~Republic is also the work in which the fundamental Pla- tonic contrast of the real and the phe- nomenal is exhibited with the greatest fulness of statement and illustration. It is, therefore, the work in which that cen- tral position of -Platonism may be best studied, not only in its various aspects as a theory, but also in its application to edu- cation and life. It is difficult to express in any language but Greek the connexion between the dif- ferent perceptions, feelings, and beliefs which Plato grouped together as unreal or uncertain, in opposition to real or certain knowledge. Sensations, in the first place, were confounded with the inferences de- rived from them the error which was first cleared up by Bishop Berkeley. Thus the immediate judgments (fiavrauia) which sight enables us to form of distance and the like were regarded as sense- knowledge, and their inaccuracy was con- trasted with the results of the science of measurement. Again, the attributes which depend upon a relation between ob- jects such as great and small were pronounced to be fleeting and uncertain, because they were not true of the same object in different relations. Similarly it was observed that an act of justice de- pends on relations, on the circumstances~ of the moment; whereas the idea of justice is the same for an infinite variety of cases. Again, desire is distinguished from rational choice by its direct connex- ion with sense or feeling (aZu6yot~ ), and by being dependent on a single moment of excitement; whereas it is characteristic of reason to neglect sense and to look beyond the present. Finally, many of these asso- ciations entered into the notion of seem JOWETTS PLATO. 137 lug or opinion (d6ga); the uncer- tainty of inference from experience, the relativity of particulars to circumstances, the illusion of the feelings all which are points of contrast with knowledge (i~irsari~ay). Thus several things which to us seem quite distinct sense, opinion, relativity, desire were blended together by the opposition which they present to a true or universal element. This list, how- ever, by no means exhausts the categories nuder which the opposition might be pre- sented. The universal nature in each case~~ called the Ideal or Formis the One, opposed to the Many, or to the infinite or indefinite; it is being, or essence, opposed to becoming, genera- tion; it is the permanent, opposed to the mutable. In practical life, the opposition shows itself as that of the philosopher to the sophist, the dialectician to the rhetorician and poet, the true statesman to the com- mon political leader. The peculiarity of the Greek language, by which the same word (cic64) means to make like, and also to conjecture (the connexion of likeness and likelihood in English is somewhat the same), led to a favourite metaphorical way of representing it as the relation of substance and shadow, or origi- nal and copy. The notion of the Ideas as clear (ow/i/f), suggested another com- parison, of which great use is made in the Republic that of knowledge and ig- norance to light and darkness. The meaning of this doctrine and its various corollaries cannot be summed up better than in Mr. Jowetts aphorism that the modern and ancient philosophical world are not agreed in their conception of truth and falsehood; the one identifies truth almost e~clu- sively with fact, the other with ideas. As he puts it elsewhere Plato, who is deeply impressed with the real importance of universals as instruments of thought, attributes to them an essential truth which is imaginary and unreal, for universals may be often false and particulars true. vol. ~ ii. p. 132. immediately before Socrates that the ten- dencies to which it is due first began to assume a distinct shape. A passage in the brilliant and exhaustive Introduction which Mr. Jowett has prefixed to the Tirn~eus describes vividly, and in lan- guage which pierces to the quick of Pla- tonism, the new power which abstractions were then gaining, and the manner in which they affected the course of specula- tion An inner world of ideas began to be cre- ated, more absorbing, more overpowering, more abiding than the brightest of visible objects, which to the eye of the philosopher looking in- ward, seemed to pale before them, retaining only a faint and precarious existence. At the same time, the minds of men parted into the two great divisions of those who saw only a principle of motion, and of those who saw only a principle of rest in nature and in themselves; there were born Heracliteans or Eleatics as there have been in later ages born Aristotelians or Platonists. vol. ii. p. 505. Platos philosophy, even in its simplest form, was a reconciliation in a higher unity of these opposite moments. The Ideas preserved the conception of knowl- edge from disappearing in the Ileraclitean flux of sensible things, and at the same time gave meaning and content to the thin Eleatic abstraction of Unity or Being. In earlier philosophies there was a gulf b~tween abstractions and -sensible things, and no one could pass from one to the other. In the scheme of education founded upon the Ideas, and drawn out in the Republic, the process is shown by which the soul is to be led, in Platonic language, from the shadowy half-lights of sense and opinion up to the unchanging day of truth and reality. The bridge over the gulf from particulars to the universal is found by Plato in the mathematical sciences.. Although it is only in the latest works of Plato that Pythagoreanism becomes a dominant influence, so as almost to extin- guish the Socratic side of his philosophy, yet from the first he attaches a high value to mathematics. Protagoras is evidently ridiculed for boasting that he teaches his Plato, in short, confused the method of pupils what they come to learn, and not science with science itself; and this fallacy calculation, and astronomy, and geome- will be found underlying every part of his try, and music (Protag. p. 318 n); and system. in the Meno the truths of geometry The origin of the theory of Ideas or, are taken as the types of knowledge. In as we may now say, the theory of the self- the Republic mathematical science be- existence and absolute value of abstrac- comes a stage in the progress towards tions reaches far back into the mythical dialectical or absolute knowledge, as dis- periods of Greece; but it was in the age tinguished by the character of its methods 138 JOWETT S PLATO. rather than by its object-matter (as mod- ern writers speak of a geometrical method in politics). It is easy to see the associa- tion which led Plato to such a view. Arith- metic and geometry offered, in the highest degree, the characteristics which belonged to knowledge certainty, independence of preconceived opinion, and independence of the senses. Other sciences which had these qualities less completely such as astronomy and music were seen by Pla- to to be capable of becoming more and more pure, i. e., independent of observa- tion. Such a mode of conceivin science was greatly encouraged, if not created, by the Pythagorean discovery of the harmonic ratios. This was the first great instance of the reduction to mathematical expres- sion of a law, or uniformity of external nature. To the enthusiasm of the first inquirers it presented itself as the key destined to unlock the whole secrets of Nature; it seemed at least to remove the field of investigation from outer ex- perience to the abstractions of their own minds. The science of harmonics was henceforth treated by the Pythagorean school as capable of being deduced, like Geometry, from a few suppositions, to wit, the harmonic progressions. In the same spirit Plato treats experiments on musical strings, for the purpose of deter- mining intervals, much as we should treat measurements made to verify the theorems of Euclid. In the age in which he wrote, it could hardly be otherwise than that Philos- ophy, seekin,~ ever to idealize Science, should be guided towards the part of science in which the greatest progress had been made; and it is for the same reason that- modern philosophy finds its meta- physics in the field of experience and com- mon sense. The relation of mathematics to dialectics is noticed in a passage of the Euthyde- inns. The geometers, and astronomers, and calculators (who all belong to the hunting class, for they do not make their diagrams, hut only find out that which was previously contained in them) they, I say, not bein~, able to use, but only to catch their prey, hand over their inven- tions to the dialecticians, to be applied by them, if they have any sense in them (p. 290). This agrees, so far as it goes, with the locus classicus of the Republic (p. 310). Mathematics is there made to be the lower of two sub-divisions of the in- tellectual world, that in which the soul uses the figures given by the senses (e.g. diagrams) as images, and in which the in- quiry must be hypothetical, i.e., as Plato explains this term, must make assumptions (the odd and even, the three kinds of angles, and the like), and argue down- wards from them; whereas in the higher division, that of dialectics, the soul uses no images, and rises above hypotheses to somethin~, not hypothetical, arriving ulti- mately at the first principle of all (the Idea of good), and descending again from it to the other Ideas. The mathematical divi- sion is further described as bearing the same relation to the dialectical as a shadow or reflection bears to the sensible object; by which probably nothing more is meant than that in mathematics the axioms re- main unproved, whereas in dialectics they are expected to lead to higher abstractions in Platonic language, to knowledge of a more real and absolute order.* The statement of the Ideal theory in the Republic is further distinguished from its earlier forms by the stress laid upon the Idea of ,,ood; that Idea is to the in- telligible what the sun is to the visible world not only the highest being, but also the cause of existence and knowledne. Dialectic is a way up and down; upto the Idea of good, using hypotheses as steps and points of departure ; and down when in the light of that Idea all knowl- edge has become absolute and self-proving. This seems to mean, translated into mod- ern language, that philosophy starts with induction, not from facts in the scientific sense, but from the conceptions given in particular sciences, in language, and in common opinion. By questioning and re- flexion the in~uirer or dialectician seeks to determine the relations between these hypothetical notions a process which results in successive definitions and classi * A valuable article in the Journal of Philol. ogy (vol. ii. No. C, pp. 96-103), by Mr. henry Sidg. wick, discusses this point among others connected with the passage in the Republic. He points out that Aristotle (Met. i. 6) offers an explanation which is exactly what we want, but which is not sup- ported in any way by Platos language. There can be little doubt, therefore, that tse is right in refus- ing to adopt it, and in doubting whether Plato, when he wrote the Itepublic, had clearly separated in his mind the mathema.tical from the dialectical object. But Plato had separated the mathematical from the classified method; and the conthsion of oh. ject and method is one that runs throughouthis sys- tem. As Mr. Sidgwick observes, When Plato says that geometers suppose the odd even, figures, & c., he means, that they suppose both the existence of objects corresponding to these terms, and the truth of their definitions. We have suggested above, that a similar remark will account for the further difficulty of the relation of the hypotheses to Ideas; namely, that in this as in other cases, Plato does not sufficiently distinguish, oreven purposely explains away, the distinction between the cer- tainty with which a thing is proved, the clearness with which it is apprehended, and the order of re- ality to which it belongs. JOWETTS PLATO. 139 fications and thus ultimately to rise to the highest knowledge, the conception at once the most abstract and the most self- evident, from which all the rest may then be derived. This ideal logic, as Mr. Jowett observes, is not the method which was pursued by Plato in the search after justice; there, like Aristotle in the Ni- comachean Ethics, he is arguing from ex- perience and the common use of language. That the higher certainty of the longer way round was, and remained, a mere aspiration, is plain, not only in the Re- public (p. 533), but in works of a more decidedly dialectical character. The supremacy of the Idea of good is a feature of Platos system, which is direct- ly descended from the Socratic teaching. With Socrates, as we saw, the knowledge which constituted morality was simply the knowledge of the good, or useful, or really desirable. No man desires what he thinks will do him harm; therefore, he who has desired wrongly did so in igno- rance. The thing seemed to him desir- able, but was not really so. The Platonic form of this doctriiie is that the Good is that which gives not only goodness but also Being to other parts of the world of Ideas. We say that a thing is bad because it is not what it professes to be, because the fact does not answer to the idea. Plato would say, inversely, that it is un- real for want of goodness. Language played a great part in this confusion. The same word (j3ov2o~r6v or aiprr6v) was used to express the object of a particular wish, the usual object of wish, and the right object of wish; and these three meanings shaded imperceptibly into each other. Mr. Mill has observed that the Idea of good in the Republic is less intelligible than the theory in the Protagoras, ac- cording to which good is the object of an art of measuring or calculating pains and pleasures. In the Republic, when the test of pain and pleasure is abandoned, no other elements are shown to us which the Measuring Art is to be employed to measure. The same fallacy has been already noted in Platos conception of Mathematics, when we found him insist- in~ upon the study of the movements and harmonies which are seen by the mind only. Because he saw that the value of mathematical science increases as it super- sedes observation and measurement, he was led to place its perfection in an absohite independence of facts, overlooking the circumstance that there was some elemen tary basis of fact, some measurement of distance or time, on which they must ulti- mately rest. Thus he imagines that the method of science can anticipate science: to use a favourite expression of Mr. Jow- etts, the Platonic Good is a vacant ideal; Plato sees the light, but not the objects which are revealed by the light. Inexperience in the observation of facts, and ignorance of the nature and history of language, are the two characteristic weak- nesses of ancient speculation. The con- temporary of Plato and Socrates could not isolate phenomena, and he was helpless against the influence of any word which had an equivocal or double sense (vol. 11. p. 505). The latter cause, indeed, and especially the habit which sprang from it of identifying language not with thoughts or representations, but with ideas (vol. i. p. 649), is almost sufficient to account for the Platonic theory. Plato, it may be said, confounded the power which words give of separatin0 notions from the iiidi- viduals that they represent, with a sepa- rate existence of the notions themselves; and, seeing that words connote what is uniform and permanent, whereas individ- uals are infinitely various and fluctuating, he did not see that this uniformity is only comparative, and amounts ultimate- ly to no more than uniformity in the impressions made upon the portion of mankind speaking a particular language. This lesson has since been taught, first by long experience, and then by a just analy- sis of language. With the advance of science the language of ordinary life has become more and more insufficient to ex- press the known relations of things; and modern Dialectic has made it one of its chief functions to warn enquirers against the influence of words, and to direct them to look for fixedness and certainty, not in abstractions, but in the opposite pole of experience. The increase of knowledge, however, has not only tended to limit the influence of language upon thought, but it has given a new conception of experience. The value of experience in scientific enquiry depends on the amount of facts already collected, and on the progress that has been made in digesting them in the form of generaliza- tions. Every new fact of observation, every impression on the senses, calls up a series of accepted and ascertained theo- ries; and it is from this stock of theory that it derives, not indeed its truth as a fact, but its power of modifying or con- firming opinion, its clearness to the under * Dissertations and Discussions, vol. iii. P. 345. standing, and even its power of retaining 140 JOWETT S PLATO. a hold on the memory. Plato did not start at a point in the progress of science at which the observation of particulars is applicable, except in the most imperfect way, to discovery. lie is like a man using his eyes for the first time, who fancies, because everything seems equally near, that sight cannot tell him the forms and distances of objects. Hence he could not systematically test opinions or notions by facts, but by comparing them with other opinions and notions, either consciously held or implied in language. His error was not in devoting himself to the analy- sis of abstractions; for, as Mr. Jowett says, summing up the whole matter in a line: Before men could observe the world they must be able to conceive the world. His error lay in giving to abstractions, as such, an absolute value; in supposing that the clearness which general notions give to experience was a clearness which they had in themselves apart from experience. Yet the Platonic mode of thought, which concerns itself with the abstractions under which phenomena are conceived, has its place alongside of the study of these phe- nomena in detail. The clearness and just co-ordination of ideas which makes the philosophic habit of mind is not the same thing as the agreement of ideas with facts which constitutes scientific accuracy; and positive science does not supersede meta- physics, except as it works out in their application the conceptions which meta- physics have supplied. The value of Platos scheme of Dialec- tic, as Mr. Jowett is careful to point out, lay in the high ideal which it held up as an aim to the science of the future. The correlation of the sciences, the conscious- ness of the unity of knowledge, the sense of the importance of classification, the unwillingness to stop short of certainty or to confound probability with truth, are important principles of the higher educa- tion (vol. ii. p. 157). On the other hand the weakness of the theory was soon felt in the difficulty of explaining consistently the very various degrees of value which Plato would not but recognize in the impressions and beliefs included by him under the term opinion or the seeming. He is far from treating everything which falls short of his conception of knowledge as equally worthless; but he is much at a loss for a satisfactory account of the true or valu- able element contained in particular in- stincts, conjectures, habits, and feelings. The modes in which he approaches the different sides of this problem form, per- haps, the most generally interesting part of his philosophy; for (as may be readily supposed) it is in connection with these attempts, rather than with more abstruse enquiries, that positive and fruitful results are chiefly to be found. Three or four points of view may be distinguished, from which the solution is more or less con- sciously attempted: (1.) Mythology; (2.) Supernatural influence or madness; (3.) Morality based upon habit only; and (4.) Systems of positive law. 1. Platos view of the office of mythol- ogy is expressed in the Republic, where he recognizes it as the earliest instrument of education, to be used in order to accom- modate truth to the tender mind; but partly also on account of our own uncer- tainty. In the tales of mythology, of which we were just now speaking, because we do not know the truth about ancient tradition, we make falsehood as much like truth as we can. So in the Phmdrus, the famous allegory (as we should term it) is called by Socrates himself a tolera- bly credible and possibly true, though partly erring myth. The value and in- tructiveness of a myth depends, therefore, on its being probable. Probability, so used, does not mean so much that the chances are in favour of its being true, as that it reflects certain truth, or embodies it in the concrete, and consequently will prepare the way for the reception of the same principles in a more abstract shape. An acute German critic * has endeav- oured to show that Plato only resorts to the mythical form when he is met by the ne- cessity of explaining the origin or growth (y~veatg) of a thing, The theory of Ideas, he argues, is a theory of the existent as necessary and immutable; the process of becoming has logically no place in it: Plato intended his myths to do for philoso- phy what the popular mythology did for religion to express a fundamental series of relations in a narrative form, as some- thing which is, and also which has come to be what it is. Thus (to take the most prominent example), the myth in the Phmdrus reconciles the eternity of the mind and of knowledge with the rise and progress of kndwledge in the individual. The theory, however, although it is highly suggestive, and opens up a new and inter- esting side from which to compare the an- cient opposition of the real and the phe- nomenal with the modern idea of devel- opment, can hardly be applied to. all the myths in the Platonic dialogues. A more * Deusehie, Die platonisehen Mythen. Ha- nau, 1354. JOWETTS PLATO. 141 adequate account is suggested in Mr. Jowetts remarks on the second book of the Republic (vol. ii. pp. 37 if.). Art (under which the composition of myths is included) may be another aspect of reason; and this conception of art is not limited to strains of music or the forms of plastic art, but pervades all nature. Mythology, in short, is made (like the mathematical sciences) a universal type; it represents the effort of the philosophic imagination to find modes of conceiving the unknown. In this wide sense there are myths taking the form, not only of his- tory, geography, and cosmogony, but even of arithmetic and etymology. Thus the number in the Republic expresses an undiscovered numerical relation, which is believed by Plato to govern the periodical decay inevitable in all human society. And tbe derivations in the Cratylus ex- press an equally undiscovered relation be- tween the sounds of words and the things which they represent. In neither case is the truth of the myth maintained; only its probability or likeness to truth; as we should say, its fitness to suggest truth. 2. The description of the pursuit of truth under the figure of a divine madness is found along with the mythical imagery of the Phiedrus but it exemplifies a dis- tinct mode of representing the true in- stincts which yet fall short of knowledge. Of madness Plato there says there are four kinds: that of prophets, of the mysteries, of poetry, and of love; and of these the last is also the best. The enthusiasm of the lover is a lower form, a shadow, of that of the philosopher: the object of the passion is desired because of the true rela- tions which (like the productions of true art) it embodies in a concrete form. Thu~ there is a progress from sense to reason; the erotic madness passes if rightly di- rected, into that enthusiastic anticipation of knowledge (called the love of wisdom, 4utaoao~bia) which animates the search for absolute truth. At the end of the Meno, the right opinion by which states- men have guided cities is said to be in politics what divination is in religion (p. 99). The same theory, applied to poetry, is drawn out in the Ion, and in a passage of the Republic, which prescribes the manner of treating the multiform or imitative poet. We will fall down and worship him as a sweet and holy and won- derful bein~,, but we must also inform him that there is no place for such as he is in our state the law will not allow them. And so when we have annointed him with myrrh, and set a garland of wool upon his head, we shall send him away to another city(p. 398). The tone of this passage, and of the Ion, is that of a gentle con- tempt for the irrational element. In other places, however, the same thing is treated with the utmost respeot. Thus, in the Laws, it is said that Athenians, when good, are so in spite of their constitution, by a divinely-given nature. Hence it is not necessary to suppose that the theory in the Meno, un-Platonic as it seems, is proposed in irony; of whicb, Mr. Jowett remarks, there is no trace. A person may have some skill or latent experience, which he is able to use himself and is yet unable to teach others, because he has no princi- ples and is not able to collect and arrange his ideas. He has practice, but not theory; art, but not science. This is a true fact of psychology, which is recognized by Plato in this passage (vol. i. p. 253). We may add that it is a fact which the Socratic doctrine and that of Platos earlier writ- ings had ignored; so that the Meno may be thought to mark Platos first attempts to place the relation of virtue and knowledge in a truer light. Plato, we may suppose, felt the difficulties of the Socratic identification, and had not yet gained the higher point of view that of Dialectic upon which his own identifica tion ultimately rests. 3. In the Republic, the progress from sense to knowledge is represented by means of a psychology from which mythi cal and allegorical elements are finally ex cluded. The efficacy of the various means of moral education in preparing the way for the higher or scientific morality is now ascribed, as in the Ethics of Aristotle to the influence of habit. Rhythm and. harmony find their way into the secret places of the soul, on which they mightily fasten, bearing grace in their movements and making the soul graceful of him who. is rightly educated, or un~raceful if ill- educated; and he who is thus trained will justly blame and hate the bad now in the days of his youth, even before he is able to know the reason of the thing; and when reason comes he will recognize and salute her as a friend with whom his edu- cation has made him long familiar (p. 402 Steph.). In the scheme of the seventh book this training is referred to as the music which was the counterpart of gym- nastic, and trained the guardians by the iufluences of habit, etc. (p. 522). In the State the same influences produce a lower kind of virtue, yet one of real value. Thus, in the myth of the Phiedo, those who have practised the civil and social * 142 JOWETTS PLATO. virtues which are called temperance and guage much of the same neglect of facts, justice, and are acquired by habit and or absorption of facts in the idea, which we attention without philosophy and mind, have already noted as the main character- are happy, and (it is added with a tinge istic of Platonism. Yet the passage, amid of irony) may be expected to pass into the despairing picture which it so vividly some gentle social nature which is like presents of the decay of Greek politics, their own, such as that of bees, or ants, or allows us to see that Plato is anxious to even back again into the form of man, and find a place in his philosophy for the les- just and moderate men spring from them sons of experience. Nor can we be sur- (p. 82). Yet, for want of knowledge, such prised that it is in political philosophy characters are liable to fail; their virtue that respect for facts seems to show itself wants the fastening of the cause; they for the first time, when we remember what do not know the real superiority of good a vast field of observation in this field to evil, was afforded by the Greek States. 4. In the Laws and also in the In the Republic, to which we now Statesman, the spirit of compromise turn, the absolute and intrinsic value of with the actual conditions of the time is justice is shown not merely, as in the carried so far that Plato renounces the Gorgias, by identifying morality with attempt to apply his ideal to human life, knowledge, but by answering the particu- In the place of philosophy he puts law: lar question, What is justice? And in the place of living guardians, governing the answer has two meanings, according -by the fewest and most abstract princi- as it is applied to the State or the individ- ples, he puts magistrates, bound by a vast ual. Justice, in the State, is the principle system of minute and unalterable regula- by which its different parts or classes are tions. The point of view from which this restricted to their proper work; in t4he change should be estimated may be ex- individual, it is the corresponding re- pressed in the words of the Statesman. striction of the various faculties reason, The best thing of all is not that the law spirit, the desires to their functions in should rule, but that a man should rule, the microcosm of the soul. Mr. Grote supposing him to have wisdom and royal objected to this mode of solution that power, and that because the law cannot justice, in the sense of Glaucon and comprehend exactly what is noblest or Adeimantus, is common honesty of deal- most just, or at once ordain what is best ing; whereas Socrates extends it to in- for all (p. 294 Steph.). Yet, until the dude all virtue. Plato would reply that perfect ruler is found, the best hope is in common honesty, which is the most famil- governing strictly according to law. mr kind of justice, must be considered not When the foundation of politics is in the by itself, but under the idea which fits letter only and in custom, and knowledge the whole. And that idea must be one is divorced from action, can we wonder, that can be realized both in the State and Socrates, at the miseries that there are, in the individual. In seeking to estab- and always will be, in States? Any lish the purely internal nature of justice, other art, built on such a foundation, he is met by the fact that man is a social would be undermined, there can be no being; and he tries to harmonize them as doubt of that. Ought we not rather to well as he can (vol. ii. p. 21). The diffi- wonder at the strength of the political culties are partly logical, as e. g., that there bond? For States have endured all this, may be justice between individuals who time out of mind, and yet some of them are themselves neither just nor unjust; still remain, and are not overthrown, partly practical, arising from the intimate though many of them, like ships founder- connection, yet not amouting to identity, ing at sea, are perishing and have perished, between justice and law. Aristotle cleared and will hereafter perish, through the in- up the subject by showing, in the first capacity of their pilots and crews, who I place, that the vague political use of the have the worst ignorance of the highest term justice was really different from that truths I mean to say that they are in which it meant honesty; and second- wholly unacquainted with politics, of ly, that justice, as the virtue of an individ- which, above all other sciences, they be- nal is not a thing in which internal take lieve themselves to have acquired the the place of social relations, but a state of most perfect knowledge (p. 302 Steph.). mind towards the acts required under Modern readers, aware how essential these social relations. Mr. Jowetts ac- the influence of custom is, not merely for count of the Platonic view hardly seems the smooth working of institutions but for to recognize the way in which Platos dis- their existence, will recognize in this lan- tinction complicates, while appearing to JOWETT S PLATO. 143 solve, the difficulty of the sufficiency of justice for happiness. The two brothers ask Socrates to prove to them that the just is happy when they have taken from him all that in which happiness is ordin- arily supposed to consist (Ibid., p. 20). And Socrates nadertakes this proof. His answer ia substance amounts to this, that under favourable circumstances, i.e. in the perfect State, justice and happiness will coincide: and that when justice has been once found, happiness may be left to take care of itself (Ibid., p. 22). This, however, is only the happiness of the State. The happiness of the individual depends, according to the sequel of the Republic, not upon the perfect State, but upon the perfect or just individual. The royally constituted man is especially happy when he is king in the ideal State, and the tyrannical man especially miserable when he is also a tyrant; but this is, in both cases, an exceptional enhancing of their position. In reality, as Aristotle per- ceived, the question is not so much, What is justice? as What is happi- ness? If happiness consists in external goods, then j~istice (or rather the rule of society), in the strong mans view, is that he should get as much as he desires; in that of weak men, that they should com- bine to keep what they can. Or, if happi- ness consists ia the pleasure of the great- est number, then justice depends upon the conduct by which that pleasure may be best secured. But if happiness is an idea the application to human life of a higher abstraction, the Idea of good, or the reali- zation of human perfection, or under what- ever form an ideal philosophy of ethics may conceive it then it is the task of such a philosophy to harmonize this idea with its conception of the world and of knowledge. If Plato fails, as Mr. Grote says, by representing (in the just man of the Gorgias ) a superhuman or transcen- dent virtue ; or again, as Mr. Mill points out, by finding no worthy place for an Aristides, a man whose justice consists in implicit obedience to law and traditional morality: the reason is, that in his ethics, as in other parts of his system, the highest truth is made to reside in the purest at- tainable abstraction. The notion of happi- ness, apart from ingredients, is parallel to th~ notion of an astronomy without the visible heavens, or of harmonics without audible harmony. The manner in which Plato treats the question of pleasure varies in the different dialogues, but always exhibits the ten- dency to make light of that which pre sents itself as a fact orprocess rather than as an idea. In the Protagoras Socrates begins, indeed, by assuming that pleasure is merely another name for good; but he soon shows that the choice of pains and pleasures involves comparison between them, and therefore an art of measure- ment. Pains and pleasures, it follows, are only, as it were, the material out of which the Good (or useful or happi- ness ) may be formed; whereas knowl- edge is the formative element. This mode of stating the theory of Socrates is hardly to be distinguished from the latest form of Utilitarianism; but with Plato, to whom the form or idea is always the real element, it led directly to the inference that pleasure is something transient and unreal, a view which naturally acquired strength and consistency with the development of the theory of Ideas. In the Themtetus, again, Socrates shows that the apprehen- sion of the useful, by bringing in the con- sideration of consequences, involves com- parison, and therefore t~i e universal ele- ment. In both cases, the difficulty which we feel in rightly understandin~ the issue arises from the extreme form in which the opposite doctrines are found. All philoso- phers, even the most opposed, would now agree in giving a value both to experience and to abstractions, and also in recogniz- ing pleasure as an element to be brought under regulation by a principle of some kind. Modern psychology lies wholly within the ancient extremes, Sense is the only knowledge sense is delusive; just as modern ethics lies within the anal- ogous extremes, Pleasure is the good, Pleasure is worthless. The confusion of ethics and politics is not, strictly speaking, the Platonic con- fusion of the State and the individual as moral agents, but rather a confusion of the relations in which an individual stands to the State with those in which he stands to other groups or to the whole of man- kind, to other sentient beings, and to his own character and prospects. The place which the organization of the State has held in this general fabric of moral duty has varied in different periods of history; but the tendency has been, on the whole, towards diminishing its importance. The duties enforced by law, or by a custom having the stringency of law though never in Greece, perhaps, co-extensive with morality are much less nearly so than they were in Platos time. The State, moreover, does not now make so exclusive a claim on the regard of its citi- zens. Other forms of common action and 144 JOWETTS PLATO. sentiment the town or district, the Church, the European public, the brother- hood of mankind divide with it the in- terest once concentrated on the ilellenic city. Mr. Jowett thus sums up the chief advantages and disadvantages of this ten- dency: we have added an occasional gloss The identification of ethics with politics has a tendency to give definiteness to ethics, and also to elevate and ennoble mens notions of the aims of Government ~and of the duties of citi- zens; for ethics from one point of view [that of mankind as a single community] may be con- ceived as an idealized law and politics; and pol- itics, as ethics reduced to the conditions of hu- man society. There have been evils [loss of in- dividuality, isolation of small communities, ste- reotyping of institutions] which have arisen out of the attempt to identify them, and this has led to the separation or antagonism of them, which has been introduced by modern political writers. But we may also feel that something has been lost in their separation [that ethics tends to evaporate in sentiment, and politics to degenerate into mere police, protecting selfish and isolated rights ] ; and the ancient phi- losophers who regarded the moral and intellec- tual well-being of mankind first, and the wealth of nations and individuals second, may have a salutary influence on some of the speculations of modern times. Many political maxims [e.g. laissez-faire, non-intervention, toleration) orig- inate in a reaction against the opposite error; and when the errors against which they were directed have passed away, in their turn be- comes errors. vol. ii. p. 151. It has been already observed that, al- though Plato retained to the last his be- lief in the ideal State, and consequently in the dialectical system upon which it de- pends, there are some dialogues in which he gives much greater prominence than in others to experience and common opinion. This difference shows itself in a curious way through the structure of the Re- public. The first four books contain little that rises above traditional Hellenic notions: it is in the last six that Plato at- tempts, as Mr. Jowett finely expresses it, to unite the past of Greek history with the future of philosophy. The effect of this peculiarity is, that all the main sub- jects receive a double treatment; the second proceeding on the basis of the first, and completing it from the higher point of view. Education is at first only music and gymnastic: homer is excluded from it on the grounds of common morality. Afterwards education is a lifelong work, leading through the mathematical sciences to dialectics. Poetry is found to be the imitation of an imitation. The virtues are first defined by a confessedly imper- fect method; they are afterwards seen in the light of a higher knowledge (p. 504 Steph.). The community of f~milies and property is hinted at in the first part; but the defence of it needs all the help of the longer way, and in fact, is made the oc- casion for introducing the doctrine of Ideas, and with it the reign of philoso- phers, on the stage of the dialogue. Thus by artistic arrangement, as well as in ex- press terms, dialectics is proclaimed as the central and necessary part of the system, to which all the previous discussions had been leading up, and without which they are shown to be imperfect. These considerations seem to illustrate a peculiarity of the Republic on which Mr. Grote laid some stress, namely, the abandonment of the Socratic cross-ques- tioning. The definitions of the virtues in the fourth book of the Republic are no better than those which are examined and rejected in earlier dialogues, such as the Charmides and Laches; indeed, they are sometimes actually the same. The logical and ethical difficulties still exist: they have never been elucidated; the Republic does not pretend to eluci- date them, but overlooks or overleaps them. * Plato, it may be answered, does not profess to attain perfect certainty in this part of the argument; he leaves that to the dialectic which is the ever- retreating object of his pursuit. Com- pared with the Laws where the ques- tioning method and the theory of Ideas alike disappear, the first four books of the Republic mark a less advanced stage in the course of Platonic speculation. In the large element of traditional opinion, and the disposition hinted at rather than confessed to be content in the pressure of circumstances with something short of certainty, they recall the later and more dogmatic vein. Hence, the re- lation between the two parts of the Re- public proves that a growing sense of practical aims and requirements was con- sistent with an undiminished faith in the value of the ideal and of the scientific methods which aim at absolute knowledge. Plato had not, in Mr. Grotes sense of the phrase, gone over to the Government benches. The shorter way which he had found, and which had yielded positive re- sults, did not make it less his duty to search for that longer way which he nei- ther did nor could find. The dialogues whicJa compose Mr. Jow * Grotes Plato, vol. 111. p. 165. Ed. 1867. JOWETT S PLATO. 145 etts third volume (except perhaps the 1 Gorgias ) are regarded by him as in all probability later Than the Republic. They have, as he shows in the successive Introductions, many common characteris- tics, not only of language and dramatic treatment, but also of method and doc- trine. The style, in most of them, is com- paratively hard and artificial, wautino in humour and liveliness; the personal inter- est and play of character is su to logical arrangement; there is much less cross-questioning, and more positive rs~- sult; definitions are not propounded, and one after another refuted, but are sought by a regular method of classifica- tion. The relation to earlier and to con- temporary systems is much more promi- nent. Indeed, in these dialogues, espe- cially in the Themtetus and Sophist, we find much that belongs to the modern historical study of philosophy: the coucep- tions, for instance, of the developme nt of doctrines, of the virtual identity of doc- trines under different forms, of opposing tendencies right and left wings of a school, of philosophical ideas implicit in literature and common opinion. And chief among the notes of progress or of decay which mark this part of Platos course must be ranked tbe new aspects assumed by his theory of Ideas. We have seen that the notion of pre-existent Ideas is confined to a few dialogues (the Meno, Phiedrus, and Phmdo ), and that in the Republic they are repre- sented (but without discussion) as all sub- ordinate or derivative, compared with the Idea of good. The group of dialogues which we have now reached is chiefly occu- pied with questions turning on the rela- tions of Ideas to each other, or with diffi- culties suggested in this part of the the relation of the mind to the thin subject by Plato himself or by his contem- known: and by denying plurality to ideas poraries. they did away with predication (since an The Parruenides may be described idea could. only be asserted of itself)4 and as the great critical or elenctic dialo0ue with the difference of kinds which is neces- of the later stage of Platonism, holding sary for classification. The Sophist~ somewhat the same place on the threshold works ont two important conceptions, for of later metaphysics which the Protago-. which the way had been prepared; as Mr. ;as holds towards Platos Own, theory. Jowett point; out, in the Parmenides, Mr. Jowetts apalysis is such as befits its that of relation between ideas, and that imnportan~e and obscurity. His view of of the ideas as motive powers. In them4 the aim and purpose of the work is new, to use Platos language, we must regard and is an example of that union of subtlety Being as both one and many; ad also as and simplicity which renders him so con- both rest and motion. In the dialogue summate an interpreter. The dialogue these questions are perplexed by the consists of two divisions: the principal puzzle about not-heing, which is ot speaker in both is Parmenides; the method over by making not-being equivalent pursued is the same, that of the Megarian to. difference. But this, as Mr. Jowett dialectic (which, as the latest phase of the acutely remarks, though a useful shift, is Eleatic philosophy, is fathered upon the not the permanently valuable part of the LIVING AGE. VOL. XXIV. 1104 founder of the school ), and is a criticism of the two forms of idealism, first the Platonic Ideas, secondly The Eleatic One or Bein0. The criticism is serious rather than hostile. No one can answer the questions ~vhich Parmenides asks of Soc- rates. And yet these questions are asked with the express acknowledgment that the denial of ideas will be the destruction of the human mind (Parm. p. 133 B). So in the second part, Plato did not mean to say that Being or Snb~tance had no existence, but he is preparing for the development of his later view, that ideas were capable of relation. To some ex- tent, too, the Megarian school were carry- in0 on, but with a serious purpose, the Eristic methods of the Sophists ; and Plato accordingly, who, in the Euthyde- inns, had attacked the Sophistical dispu- tatious by an extravagant caricature, is now preparin0 himself to meet the de- structive ar0uments of his Megarian con- tempor-aries by weapons taken from their own armoury. The Megarian dialectic is again Criti- cized in the Sophist, and in a manner which leads to more positive results and enables us better to understand their doc- trines. The Megarians, like the Eleatics, sought for certainty in the universal, and, like Plato, identified the highest abstrac- tion or Being with the Good. They also regarded this Being under the attri- butes of unity and rest, and thus denied that either motion or plurality could have a real existence. These doctrines, which are not inconsistent with Platos earlier writings, and perhaps are implicitly taught in them, were seen by him to be destructive to science~ B.y denying mo- tion they made it impossible to conceive 146 JOWETT S PLATO. dialogue. The greater service rendered This view is farther developed so as to (by Plato in the Sophist) to meni~al sci- give four orders or elements of existence: ence, is the recognition of the communion (1) limit or definite numerical relation; of classes, which, although based by him (2).the unlimited, or more and less; (3) on his account of not-being is independent the mixture of the two (the product or of this. He clearly saw that the isolation result of applying a law of measure to of ideas or classes is the annihilation of measurable quantity, e.g. health, beauty, reasonin ~. Thus, after wandering in harmony, favourable climate); and (4) the many diver~,ing paths, we return to com- cause or producer of the mixture. The mon sense (vol iii. p. 459). Moreover, first three are kinds: there may be many in admitting the idea of motion into the species of each, but all comprehended un- ideal world, Plato was planting the germ der a single notion. The last is mind or of a theory capable of superseding his reason that which furnishes our bodies own. The idea of progress or develop- with life and wise treatment, and, as we inent is perhaps to be traced in earlier may argue by analogy, is the cause and dialo~nes; but only, as we saw, under a deviser of the orderly and beautiful uni- mythical form. The return to common verse. sense, that is to say, the attainment by The theory in this form shows several philosophy of a mode of conceiving one or of the latest tendencies of Platonism. more of the phases of experience, gives in The representation of the cause of exist- this case an idea which reaches further ence as rational and half-personal a soul than that of classification,- and which of the universe parallel to the human soul was infinitely more difficult to ancient agrees with the passage in the Soph thirtkers. ist which (as we have seen) ascribes The Sophist is expressly represented motion and intelligence to the highest be- by Plato as a continuation of the Therete- ing, and prepares us for the cosmogony of tus. The main element of connexion is the Tim~us. The prominence given to not bein c, the confusion, as Mr. Jowett the conception of limit is a step to the rep- translates it into modern language, of ne- resentation of the Ideas as numbers the gation and falsehood. There are other in- Pythagorean shape which Platos theory dications, however, in the Themtetus finally appears to have assumed. On that Plato had begun to examine afresh the side of ethics the same conception, the vague and thin generalizations which as that of measure and the mean, underlie such words as bein whole, like- is a link of connexion with the States.. ness, sameness, motion, and that he was man, and with the ethical system of Ar- seekin~ to bring them into a~reement with istotle. his Ideas. And amid the wealth of sug- The dialogue called the Laws, which gestions which characterizes that dialogue, occupies most of Mr. Jowetts fourth vol- we find something not really differ- nine, is perhaps the part of Plato which is eat from generalization, by which Plato is least generally known. As a literary laying the foundation of a rational psychol- work it is certainly inferior to the Re- ogy (vol. iii. p. 356, ef. The~t. p. 186 D, and public; and its great length, coupled Parm. 132 A). with a style which those who are familiar The relation of the Philebus to the with Plato still find obscure, has led to Sophist and Parmenides is difficult this comparative neglect. Yet it offers, in to determine, because in it the dialectical some respects, the most interestin~ sub- element is subordinated to the ethical nd jects of study. No part of Plato, and, it physical. Mr. Jowett speaks of it as ear- may be said, no ancient writing, sums up her: in the well-known passage about One so well the highest religious thoughts of and the Many (Phileb. pp. 14 c17 A), he heathenism. The anticipation of the sub- discerns the germs of the attack upon sequent course of philosophy which is of- the ideas, and the transition to a more in- ten so remarkable in Plato is especially so tional philosophy (vol. iii. p. 253). Zel- in the Laws; and the treatment of ler sees in the same passage a brief state- some practical questions for example, meat of results already attained in the that of the different kinds of involuntary Parmenides. Each Idea, it is laid down, actions is at least as satisfactory as that includes the One and a finite plurality, i.e. of Aristotle. In its relation to earlier the notion of a higher kind, and those of forms of Platonism the dialogue is of pe- lower kinds, into which the higher may be cuhiar interest. Between the two types of divided: and it also has in its nature society which Plato has hitherto eputrast- the finite (in the general notions), and the ed that which ought to be and that infinite or unlimited (in the particulars). which is he now interposes a third, that .IOWETT S PLATO. 147 which may be. Instead of the bold specu- lation and the sweeping censure of exist- ing thin~s which mark his earlier works, he is found treating antiquity with scru- pulous veneration, anxious to collect and build into a single structure all that the wisdom of legislators or immemorial cus- torn has made most sacred. The ethical spirit which pervades the work is not less lofty than that of other parts of Plato; but it is gentle and tolerant. The hopeful tone inspired by the fancy of giving laws to an infant community is curiously mixed with the sobriety, the sense of illusion, the browner tinge inseparable from the autumn of life. The defence of the genu- ineness of the Laws which Mr. Jowett offers is not only satisfactory, but exem- plifies admirably the principles whhih ought to govern such cases. As a po- lemic, it is happily almost superfluous, the critics being nearly unanimous in ad- mitting the work to be Platos.* Much might still be said, especially in connexion with the Laws, of the histori- cal value of Plato: of the interest, that is to say, which his philosophy has, not merely as a stage in the discovery of truth, but as the reflection in the world of abstractions of a great and critical period of human history. Il faut r~fl6chir, says Montesquien, sur la Politique dAristote et sur les deux R6publiques de Platon, si lon veut avoir une juste id~e des lois et des mceurs des anciens Grecs. And the peculiar vividness arid sympathy with Greek life which distinguishes the wor.k of the latest historian of Greece (Dr. Ernst Curtius) is due in great measure to the appreciative study of these ideals. In many ways, too, the lessons are of universal application. The Platonic for- mulas are broad aspects, presented to the distant view of the philosopher, of rela- tions which belong to all known periods, as well as of those which especially characterized the Greece of Platos own time. The fundamental contrast so con- stantly dwelt upon between reality and appearance ~ is an expression of the struggle carried on at all times by the pro- gressive element of true ideas against the va~t slough of common opinion which ever threatens to engulf the better thoughts and strivings of men. The power which this opinion has of becoming embodied in sham ideas or generalizations of its own, ~ neither Mr. Jowett nor Dr. Thompson seems to have noticed that Zeller has long since withdrawn the doubts which at one time he expressed of the genuineness of the Laws. See his Gesch. d. Philosophie, ii. pp. 638, a. 2. and of raising up its own prophets with their cheap wisdom; the contest between popularity and higher thin~s, fought out in the minds of those to whom the capac- ity has been given of directing the course of human affairs; the causes by which the possible statesman or teacher is perverted into the demagogue or the solitary enthu- siast; the hopes of a new order of things by the reception, among men at large, of ideas which are to be first worked out by great thinkers: these are the materials of which Plato has formed the warp and woof of his philosophy; and they are still full of meaning. In other respects, the atti- tude and tendencies of Plato must be judged with more exclusive reference to contemporary politics, and we may have to admit that he himself needs the help of some of the pleas which he urges, in the Republic, on behalf of his order. He was not only opposed to the popular gov- ernment and the wide political toleration which prevailed at Athens, but he hardly recognizes the nierit even of statesmen who, like Pericles, certainly did not err by tco great submission to the fancies of the multitude. He would have trusted rather to a strict and all-embracing discipline, ad- ministered by a small number of rulers, such as that which had powerfully im- pressed the Greek imagination through the great part in history played by Sparta. The same bias prevailed widely among spec- ulative politicians, and perhaps wasjustified by the unhappy circumstances of the time. In an age of unsettlement and fierce pas- sion, when the Greek States were tossing about and like ships foundering at sea, it was natural to look upon all movement either as the fitful ebb and flow of unrea- soning impulses or as part of a ceaseless and inevitable change for the worse. It is characteristic, too, of those who have dwelt too exclusively upon the abstract notions of science to be absolutist, con- fident in the value of their ideal, and im- patient of the limitations of practice. The doctrine of development or progress has taught the world two great lessons not indeed of knowledge, but of Socratic wis- dom in ignorance: faith in the future, and toleration of the present. We have learned to hope, though we cannot demon- strate, that we live in a world which grows better, as Plato would say, nuder the hands of time,~ through the ceaseless working of infinite and silent agencies. Such a reflection should not lead to a spirit of fatalism, but rather to the feeling that, in judging of the efforts and tendencies around us, we should tolerate where we 148 A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. cannot dogmatize. We may learn from body esteemed Jickling. His house-feb what Plato has done, and from what he lows were ashamed of him, and regarded hoped to do, that the genuine pursnit of him as a black sheep in their small, cmi- truth may be most fruitful in the direction nently tidy fold; our tutor viewed him least suspected by the inquirer himself, with a cool and careful eye. If it had been and that the errors which he condemns put to auybody in the school whom it and would wish to destroy may contain would have been the least desirable fellow the germs of still greater but more dis- to mess with, hold a lock-up * with, or taut truth. indeed, be intimately associated with in any way, the answer would have been _____________ Jickling; and this impression was more than doubled by the cynicism, not to say effrontery with which Jickling bore off his From The Coruhill Magazine. shortcomings. For of shame at his own A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. unworthiness Jickling possessed none. AT that time, when the school, not hay- Thus I had not been five minutes in his ing yet swollen to its present bulky pro- company on the night of my arrival, before portions, contained only six hundred and he informed me not a little to my con- fifty fellows, and harrow, its arch-rival, sternation, when I understood what he something like half that number; when meant that he exp~cted to be swished the new school-buildings on the Slough on the very next morning for having, in road were not yet dreamed of, and both the train ddwn from Paddington, blown a fourth form and lower school attended ser- mouthful of peas into the face of an en- vice in the College Chapel like their supe- gine-driver, and been nailed~ in the act riors in the other divisions; when the Col- by a master who had got into the carriage lege Chapel itself was a cold and bleak next his at Ealing; and this communica- sanctuary, with but three or four stained- tion was quite of a piece with Jicklings glass windows and no brass candelabra; habitual confidences respecting himself. and when the College dining-hall, yet lIe was continually playing a part in those bleaker than the Chapel, had no stained- short but painful interviews with the head glass windows at all, no tesselated pave- master that are conducted in the presence ment, no polished wainscot, yawning fire- of the sixth-form pr~postor and two place, gilt scutcheons or stately portraits; holders down; and nobody would have when, instead of the Bucks constabulary ventured to assert that he came out from who now patrol its streets day and night, these interviews otherwise than hardened there limped solitary old Tom Butt, in his in spirit however it might be in person li~ht-blue livery, with the Eton arms on and steadfastly minded to be peccant his left sleeve and the Waterloo medal on again as soon as he had the opportunity. his breast; and when, in a word, Eton was He was one of those unfortunate boys who not quite the place it is now, nor yet so seem pre-doomed to go wrong. Thon~h different but that present Etonians may provided with good clothes enough, his easily imagine what manner of a spot it dress was always shabby and ill-matched, was ; then, in those days, when Dr. the trousers of one suit doing duty with Goodford ruled over the upper school, and the waistcoat of .another; and though he Mr. Coleridge over the lower, and when was supplied with money sufficient, and Spankie, the tart-man, still sold his wares more than sufficient, for all his needs, yet opposite Mrs. Drury s hoarding-house I, he never had a sixpence, and was always the present writer, was sent to Eton, and in debt. Desperate passages of arms became, after the usual fortnights grace, would take place between him and the the fag of Asheton, a fellow in the eight in Spankie already mentioned, as he endeav- the upper division of the fifth form, and a of my tutors house. * Lock-up (smsbaud.) boat. The lock-up boat is a captain private skiff chartered for the boating-season at a I think it better to premise, however, cost of 51. It is distin~uished from the chance- that this tale is not destined to commnemo- boat in that the subscriber to the latter pays 21. lOs, rate adventures of my own, but those of a biP must take his chance of any boat that happens to be unhired at the time he wants to row or scall fellow-fag called Jickling Jickling, who and has not the exclusive right to any particular had already been at the school a year when boat. The cost of a lock-np may be shared by I arrived there, and was by common con- two friends, that of a chance boat cannot be. The word lock-up, taken in another sense, Indicates sent accounted the most idle, unkempt, the hour at which boys must be back to their tutors incapable, and, in a general the least houses of an evening. This hour varies according way, to the season the extremes being 8.45 ram. at odd promisin,, among the six hundred and fifty I summer, and 5 ~.am. during November and Decem- of us. It is a painful thing to say, but no- ber. A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. 149 oured to glide unobserved past that wor- thy at school-hours, and not only with Spankie, but with all the other tart-men, Spankies colleagues, who lined the low wall which bisects the College part of High Street and forms a bulwark to the school- yard. No sooner, indeed, did Jickling heave in sight, with his necktie all awry,. his hat brushed the wrong way, and his pockets bulged out with fives-balls, stumps of half-eaten pears, and blotted pcenas (i.e. Punishment MSS.) than Spankie himself, brown-trousered Levi, Spankies next neighbour and sis-ii-vis, red-faced, straw- hatted Jobie, whose basket was a step further on, grey-coated old Brion, who wheeled about a whole vehicle full of con- fectionary, and certain desultory vendors, who sold apples peripatetically, would set up a chorus of howls and appeals, that would be taken up at the very school-gate itself by blue-cloaked Mrs. Pond more familiarly Missus who, keated on a low stool, retailing fruit and dormice, would shrilly call upon Jickling for pence long overdue. In school, Jickling was as unsatisfactory as out of it. When called up to construe, he never knew waere to go on: often he had brought the wrong book; and, somehow, be generally contrived to ~et himself weighted with a sentence to write out and translate the lesson before he had fairly started. And when he had started, who shall describe the torrent of solecism, false quantities, and hideous errors of translation that flowed imperturb- ably from his mouth? With a coolness utterly and unquestionably beyond rival- ling; he would declare that his was the da- tive plural of bos, and sum the accusative singular of sus, and that the correct rend- ering of basis virtuturn constantia was con- stancy is the basest of the virtues. Some- times indeed, under immediate and forci- ble threats of condigu punishment, he would so far prepare his lesson as to go through it twice attentively with a crib before proceeding into school, and on such occasions, his memory not being retentive, he would generally treat his heai~ers to something in this style : (Reading.) Nux ego juncta vim cum sim sine crimine vitie, A populo saxis prietereunte petor, & c. (Construing.) Nex ego I a nut, jurtcta vice joined to the road-way, CUIfl sins sine crinune since I am without crime, petor am sought for, preetereunte as I go by, apopulo saris by the Saxon people.Andso on, until pulled up by a dismayed howl from the master, and enjoined to write out Ovids Medea to Jason in a legible hand, and brin~ it the next day at one oclock. As to Jicklings verses they stood on a par with his prose performances, and were a continuous source of distorted nightmares to our unhappy tutor, whose duty it was to correct and put some sort of shape into them. It was currently re- ported that, having to turn into hexame- ters the two lines, He left a name at which the world grew pale, To point a moral or adorn a tale. Jickling had laboriously fabricated this Nomen linquebat per quocl jam palluit orbis, Pungere moralem aut caudam decorare super- bam; and certainly this would have been rather above than below the average of his ordin- ary productions. Needless to add that, although Jickling was in lower fourth, that is, in the last division of the upper school, he had only arrived there after fail- ing to pass his first examination out of the lower school. It was even rumoured that he would have been rejected the second time had it not been for the Macchiavellic determination of the lower master to get rid of him at any price, as a boy whose in- curable idleness was contagious, and like- ly to corrupt the whole form. So there was Jickling, at the very bottom of his di- vision a boy of about twelve, with lank hair of a muddy flaxen colour; fingers permanently ink-stained; Balmoral boots that were never laced; and a curious white face, that looked inquiringly at you, out of a pair of eyes so wild, shifty, and defiant in their expression, that it was a wonder Nature had not taken them to put into the head of a polecat. Now that Jickling should have flour- ished in our midst was a circumstance as- tonishing enough, seeing that of all the staid and proper youngsters I have ever met with, we Etonians xvere certainly the most exemplary; but that he should have been the fa~ of such a fellow as Asheton was a downright puzzle; for Asheton being captain of the house, and entitled to four fags, might have chosen any one he pleased and was under no compulsion whatever to select Jickling, who blacked his toast for him, spilled the gravy of sausages over his trousers, and when sent to carry a note, in- variably took it to the wrong place. There could have been no community of thought or sympathy between Ashetoii and Jickling; for the two were simply as opposite to each other as white is to black, 150 A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. or coal to sugar. What Jickling did wrong, Asheton did well; and what Ashe- ton did well, Jickling was morally certain to do wrong. Asheton was a quiet and finished type of that class of boys who at Eton are termed swells a subtle de- signation, the exact meaning of which it is not very easy to explain to outsiders. A boy was not a swell because he dressed well, or played cricket well; or boated well, or was high up in the school. All this had to be touched off with certain social quali- ties, and a great I was going to say almost exaggerated air of personal dig- nity, before the swell was complete. Stumpes maximus, the best bat in the eleven, who would alternately slash an innings of sixty and be bowled out first ball; who slouched about the streets with his hands in his pockets, and nodded good- naturedly to lower boys of his acquaint- ance Stumpes was a very pleasant fel- low, and immensely popular, but he was no swell. Cashman, again, whose father owned five millions sterling, and stuffed a fifty-pound note in each of his sons waist- coat-pockets in sending him back to school after holidays Cashman was anything you please: well dressed, well bejew- elled, generous and conceited, but nobody called him a swell, neither was he one. Asheton, on the other hand, was a swell nern con. He was not surpassingly excel- lent in anything, but he was good at every- thin,,, and might be relied on in every- thing. He pulled a capital oar, without great dash, but conscientiously and in fine form; he, moreover, bowled and batted well enough to hold his own with credit in any match that took place in that part of the playing fields called Aquatics, and reserved for wet bobs, or fellows whose habitual vocation was the river. At fives and football he was also counted among the first; but in these and all other pas- times the great merit of him was that his play was sure. As he had played to-day, so would he play to-morrow; there was nothing unequal in him, no wavering, no unexpected breaking down at a mo- ment when all the hopes of his friends were centered on his performance. Per- sonally he was neatness itself. About ei,,hteen years old, lightly built, and rather above middle height, he had a handsome aristocratic face of essentially English mould, though, perhaps, a little too serious for his age, a ad a figure that was fitly set off by the absolutely faultless style in which he dressed. His white cravat, tied as only Etonians used to tie them; his speckless linen, glossy hat, and trimly folded silk umbrella, were things to see admire, and copy; the more so as Asheton was always trim, always speckless, always glossy, whatever befell even though, for instance, he had been rowing up to Mon- key Island, and had reached Windsor Bridge on his return, with only seven min- utes in which to land, dress, and run down to College, to answer to the calling of his name at two-oclock Absence a cir- cnmstance of not unfrequent occurrence, and always particularly trying to the swell temperament. It would he diffi- cult to convey an idea of the extent to which we young shavers respected Ashe- ton; but mind, I say respected not liked; for Asheton would no more have familiar- ized with a lower boy in-doors, or taken notice of him in the streets, than a colonel would chum with a private soldier; and our feelings towards him were consequent- ly much of the same reverential order as a soldiers might be towards an officer who was kind and just, but cold and a little of a martinet. When I have added that in his school-work Asheton shone pretty much as he did in athletics, that is, uni- formly and moderately ~vell, without start- ling brilliancy that, for example, after an examination, his name was generally to be found between the fifteenth and the twenty-fifth on the list (out of seventy or eighty), and that in the half-yearly trials or collections he was habitually in the second class I shall, I think, h~ ye said all that is needful to fill up his portrait. To sum up: Without being one of those overpoweringly good youths whom we are bound to admire in books, and whom, in private life, we do so deeply and ardently long to see flogged, he was a slightly prim, accomplished, and honourable young Brit- on, whoni our tutor did well to enjoin us smaller boys to imitate, and whom we cer- tainly should have striven to imitate whether he had enjoined it or no. No- body would have said of Asheton (at least, not we his fags, who were apt to judge of things superficially) that he was one of those fellows who blossom out into Pitts, Cannings, Wellingtons, or other of those swell Etonians whose busts in marble adorn the upper schooLroom; but he was a boy who mi,,ht develop, when the due season came, into an unimpeachable M.P., a Chairman of Quarter Sessions void of reproach, or, if he took to soldiering, into an officer who, in victory or de- feat, would make an nabragging stand with his men against quintuple odds, and die, firm to his post, with cool intre- pidity. A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. 151 This said by way of introducing my not been here a week, pursued Greegleby, drarnatis personce, let me, with your leave, still very wroth, for it was evident that it take up the thread of my narrative at the went sore against his notions of morality point where, having just arrived at Eton that anybody should be deceived until he in the month of September of the year had been at school lonc~ en 185, I learned that untidy Jickling and I pared for it. ough to he pre- were to be fag-mates. If I waited a week he wouldnt be It was not Jickling himself who brought greenable, answered Jickling, coolly; and me this piece of news, but Stumpes minor, saying this, he turned one of the pockets brother to the Stumpes in the Eleven, of his trousers inside out, and proceeded who entered my room on the next morn- to remove a piece of Everton toffee that ing but one after my arrival, holding a was sticking in a corner thereof. New copper kettle in one hand and a plate fellows, added he, sucking the toffee, of muffins in the other, and said, Rivers, are like puppies they begin to see youre to come down with me to Ashetons clear towards the ninth day. room. Dont mind what he says, Rivers, ex- I cannot say this summons caused me claimed young Greegleby, loftily. No- anything like a great pleasure, for at the body pays any attention to him. private school whence I came the word fag No, nobody, assented Blazepole, who had been held up in terrorem over me by had just ascertained that his resources everybody who had ever pronounced it. amounted to one pound sixteen shillings Certain of my schoolfellows, amicably jeal- and a penny, and was restoring this wealth ous, no doubt, of my going to Eton, had to his pocket-book. given me clearly to understand that, as a So I was informed both by Greegleby preliminary to all further relations with and Blazepole, the one corroborating the me, my fa,,-mnaster would begin by ha4ing other, that I had nothing to fear of Ashe- me tossed in a blanket, then set me to ton, that he was a good fellow, and that blacken his boots for him, and that, on my he never bullied, because bullying was a failing to polish these to such a degree of blackguardly thing, only practised at low perfection as would admit of his shaving shops, (and here Gr~gleby mentioned himself by their help instead of in a look- the public schools which he regarded as ing-glass, he would order me to stand on low shops,) but never at Eton. Yet my head in the middle of the room and somehow these assurances must have left take shots at me with a toasting-fork. me xmot altogether convinced, for it was Jickling, who had apparently divined the with something very like a feeling of being existence of these fears in the course of about to suffer tribulation that on the fol- our first conversation, had, on the second lowing morning I obeyed the summons of occasion of our discoursing, taken benevo- Stumpes minor, and followed him, the cop- lent pains to develop them; and he was per-kettle, and the mnuffins down to the in the act of gloomnily relating to me how room where Asheton lodged. this very Asheton had once fagged~ him to I remember this room as if I were still go to the top of the Long Walk, a dis- standing in it now, on that bright Septem- tance of four muiles and a half, walking all ber morning, with my heart going thumnp the way on his hands, legs uppermost, thump against my brown waistcoat, when he was severely interrupted by one and my cheeks flushed with anticipatory Greegleby, four foot high, but irascible, emotion. It was a largish room, perhaps and protector of the weak, who joined twenty feet by fifteen, and had two win- us omm the pavement outside our tu- dows, both of which were curtained with tors house where the interview was tak- somne warm purple stuff, which I took for inc, place, and cried out indignantly, silk, but which was probably not that, and Shut up, Jickling: its a chouse greening filled with flower-boxes, where glowed new fellows. some scarlet geraniums, whose showy Youre always doing something cad- coats stood out bravely against the dull dish, followed up young Blazepole, whose bricks of a boarding-house opposite. The head was like an orange-coloured mop, carpet under our feet was what is, I be- and who, leaning against a door-post, was lieve, called a Kidderminster, but it was gravely counting what remained of three an honest Kidderminster of good ruddy pounds he had brought back with him hue, chosen to match with which was the after an equitable settlement of all his crimson figured paper, not very expensive debts. I should say the yard, but handsome None but a snob would tell such con- nevertheless, and sundry velvet brackets founded cracks as that to a fellow whos supporting pewter and silver prize-cups, 152 A REMINISCENCfl OF ETON LIFE. on one of which I read floridly engraved: Fredericic A sheton, Winner of the Pulling. FIweat Etona. In the way of furniture, provided by our tutor, and destined to pass along with the room itself to succes- ~ive owners, were, in addition to the carpet above-mentioned and its attendant hearth- rug, a shut-up bedstead, which had done unmistakable service already, if one might judge by its venerable oaken complexion; a bureau, on the leaf of which Asheton had (presumably in the lower-boy phase of his existence) carved his initials and crest; four XVindsor chairs, also carved and chipped; a shut-up wash-hand-stand, with a piece of oil-cloth in front of it; and a square deal table, covered with a red flowered tablecloth, and like the chairs, carve(l to any lengths, if you were only prying enough to lift up a corner of the tablecloth and see. But all these items played only a subsidiary part in the adorn- ment of the chamber, for it is not to his tt1tor that an Eton boy looks to make his room cozy. From the day when he is installed in the small apartment, which is his to do with as he pleases (blessed privilege!), the boys one thought is how to give it that habitable look which smells of home; and in Ashetons case this pre- occupation, extended over six years, had taken shape in pictures, stuffed-bird cases, and useful knicknacks, in such numbers as to make the ronn seem almost alive with comfort, colour, and cheerfulness. By gazing with a little attention, too, one could detect at what different dates the things had been bought, and so follow the boy through the various gradations of taste and culture engendered by his pub- lic-school training. Those flashy-looking sporting cracks, now relegated to an obscure corner, had clearly been purchased when a love of paint predominated over other considerations, and when ~he chief thin~ to be aimed at was the makin~ of much effect with little money. By and by taste had improved; the fourth form was abandoned and the remove was reached. The young invester had said: Instead of these starin~ things that are too cheap to be good, Ill lay out a couple of pounds at one sweep. Yet not daring to trust his own taste so far as to select something quite original, he had resolved to buy what he had most often heard praised; hence, Dignity and Impudenco and Laying down the Law, by Landseer; My dog, My Horse, The Rent Day, and a few more prints as well known and popular; in- termingled with which were a case of stuffed frogs playin0 cricket, and a case of stuffed squirrels fighting a duel, the blood of the worsted squirrel being realistically repre- sented by a blotch of meandering sealin...- wax. Then the upper-boy sphere of white ties, five-pound tips and ten-pounds half-yearly pocket-money, had been at- tained; and trained enough by this time to essay his own taste unshackled, the lover of river sports and member of the Eight had chosen a really admirable series of water-colours depicting Thames scenery and artistically done by hand, not chromo- graphed. You would think that this ag- glomeration of lights and shades must have formed a strange medley; but no, every- thing was in its place, looked well where it was, and did its share towards making up that cotnfortable total which means snugness. There was no such thing as a vacant place on the walls; every inch of space was filled up. Here a pair of prize foils with velvet and gilt handles; here a miniature out-rigger with the date of a race upon it; here again, nailed to the wall near the fireplace, three ribbons, scarlet, dark blue and light blue respectively, and lettered, Saint George, Britannia, and Victory, the names of three boats to which Asheton had in turn belonged; and there, five feet above the mantel-piece, a set of branching antlers decked out with a couple of those small silk ~flags such as flutter from the bows at boat-races, and with a gala straw-hat emblazoned with the Eton scutcheon, and made to be worn at the 4th of June and Election Saturday regattas. I shall not have enumerated everything, however, if I do not allude to a picture, of no great merit in itself, but which had evidently, through all changes and chances, held the same post in Ashe- tons room and that the post of honour. It was a picture of a country-house of home executed by mothers or sisters hand, and hung just under the antlers over the mantel-shelf, the first thing that struck you as you went in, and the thing towards which the eye most gladly returned after roaming over everything else. Asheton had stuck a couple of home valentines in the frame of this picture, and in one of the nail-ringi a wedding favour, memento of some home wedding, I took in all this at a glance, though I have been five minutes describing it; and I had leisure to examine the whole room in detail, while Stumpes mi., to whom, pres- ently, was added Blai~epole, began laying his masters breakfast-things. For Ashe- ton had not turned round on our ent.ry; he was seated at his bureau, reading up his seventy lines of JIoraco for eleven- A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. 153 oclock school, by the aid of Mr. Smarts translation; and as Stumpes did not see fit to call his attention to my presence, neither, of course, did I. Stumpes di- rected me to take my stand against a wall which I did meekly and to watch how he did the things, so as to be able to manage like rae, you know, in a fortnights time: which I also complied with, for to see a cloth laid by so extremely small and dignified a person as Stumpes was some- what of a novelty to me. First, Stumpes removed the scarlet tablecloth, and threw it to Blazepole, who folded it; then the pair between them laid the white cloth, which Stumpes had extracted from a cup- board, smoothed it, and set upon it a cup, saucer, sugar-ba sin, milk-jut, slop-basin, and two plates of a white pattern with blue rims. Then Stumpes possessed him- self of a Britannia-metal teapot, and put therein three powerful spoonfuls of tea, holding out the pot at the same time for Blazepole to pour in boiling water quan- tum suff; this done, out from the cup- board came a metal spoon, a knife and a three-pronged fork with white handles, three new rolls and a pat of butter edi- bles that were promptly followed by a ham, drawn out of an open hamper, and laid by Stumpes upon a dish which Blaze- pole was sent to fetch; a Yorkshire pie and a pot of marmalade, the bladder cov- ering of which Stumpes deftly removed with a knife, as if used to such work. The muffins came last, but were advantage- ously planted beside the tea-pot, along with a hot-water contrivance that had been employed to keep them from cooling. Thea Stumpes, having cast a searching glance to assure himself that there was nothing wanting, he and Blazepole were seized with a violent fit of coughing, which would have effectually precluded all fur- ther work on Ashetons part, had he not i~nderstood the hint, and risen. It was then his eye lit upon me. Oh, I be,, your pardon, he said, civ- illy; I didnt know you were in the room. Why didnt you tell me, Stumpes? With which words he seated himself at the table, and pointed silently to the ham, as a hint to Blazepole that the carving-knife and fork had been forgotten. Both fags rushed together towards the cupboard, ex- changing mutual reproaches sotto voce. Your names Rivers, I believe? added Asheton, buttering a roll. Northampton- shire or Somersetshire Rivers? And he made a second gesture towards the ham, thus intimating to Stumpes to begir~ carv- ing, which that model fag proceeded to do on the spot with the expertness of a pro- fescional. Somersetshire, I answered, feeling very much like adding, Sir. And in what form are you placed? continued Asheton, receiving on his plate a slice of ham half a foot in diameter, and thin as a wafer. Blazepole, youve forgotten the mus- tard, whispered Stumpes, sepulchrally. It was you that forgot it, retorted Blazepole, in the tone of a conspirator; but he made a dive at the cupboard for the empty mustard-pot, and vanished out of the room with it, scrambling down the staircase four steps at a time, en ro?tte for the kitchen. In lower fourth, I replied to Ashetons question, feeling more and more like say- ing Sir, and unable to take my eyes off him, as he ate a muffin, waiting till the mustard had arrived. Well, you are excused fagging till next Thursday week, he rejoined, cutting up his ham; and after that youll fag for me, along with Stumpes there, Blazepole, and Jickling. But, by the way, where is Jickling? Has he skirked faaging? And Asheton looked up from his plate and round the room inquiringly. Stumpes did not immediately answer. He had no respect for Jickling, but he had a great deal for those time-honoured prin- ciples that prohibit tale-telling; so with more solicitude for the interest of these principles than for those ~)f abstract truth, he proceeded to invent an excuse for his absent fag-mate, not knowing more than the man in the moon to what that absence was due. I think my tutor sent for him after prayers, he said. What about? Probably for not being at prayers,. responded Stumpes, bravely. But he was at prayers, remarked Asheton. Then it must have been for something else, said Stumpes, perplexed; but lie was spared the trouble of drawing further on his imagination, for at that moment there was a precipitate shuffling of feet in the passage, and a double entry Blaze- pole with the mustard, and Jickling him- self with nothing. It was the first time Asheton had seen Jickling that half, so he held out his hand. How do you do, Jickling? he said. Do, Asheton? mumbled Jickling, ex- tending a dusky paw. Late, of course, pursued Asheton. Yes, returned Jickling, withdrawing 154 A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. the paw,, and thrusting it deep into a trouser-pocket, where finding some cop- pers, it began to rattle them. And whats this I hear, asked Ashe- ton, helpin,~ himself to mustard, and speaking without a smile, that youve already been flogged, by way of beginning the half well? Yes, said Jickling, gloomily; I had seven cuts. For shooting peas? They were small peas, remonstrated Jickling. Besides, I dont see what right a master has to nail me when Im in a col- oured tie. I was in the train hadnt yet reached Eton, nor put my black tie on. The train stops at Hanwell. I fish out a pea-shooter, and let fly at the en- gine-driver of a neighbouring train. A master pokes his head out of the next car- riage window, and says, Whats your name? Where do you board? I shall complain of you. I call that snobbish. What do you call shboting the peas? asked Asheton, quietly. Jickling stared; but, after turning the matter over, declined to take any notice of this question. He recommenced to rat- tle his coppers. Ah that reminds me, broke in Ashe- ton; before youve spent all your money, please to pay me your football subscrip- tion. Jickling pulled an excessively wry face; not so Stumpes and Blazepole, who, with the alacrity of habit, and without being asked, drew out their purses, and laid on Ashetons table the sum of three shillings and sixpence apiece. Its for the footballs, the goal-sticks, the cad who takes care of the balls, and the beer we drink after playing, ex- plained Stumpes to me in a whisper. Fork out yours too. And under Stumpes direction, I forked out 3s. 6d. Jickling, meanwhile, had rummaged in his pockets, and produced a sovereign, which he gazed at with an eye of affection, as apparently his last. Then, after a good deal more fumbling, he managed to scrape together the requisite smaller sum, parting, however, with all his copper money to effect this total, ~rhich formed a brown heap on the table. Asheton bad been silently dis- posing of his ham. He now looked up fixedly at Jickling, and said, Have you paid all your debts, Jicklin ? What debts? asked Jicklin~, sulky and embarrassed. Your ticks to Spankie, Jobie, and the other men at the wall. You owed them all something. Yes, grumbled Jickling, more and more sulky. Then, you owe no one anything now? Nothing, answered Jickling, in a tone and with a morose look that bore an econ- omy of truth 011 the face of them. Well, then, returned Asheton, either believing or pretending to believe, you are free to make a fresh start now, and to turn over a new leaf for the future and you must try and do it for your own sake. I dont want to say anything unpleasant, mind you, added he, in a voice which I think took us all aback from its sudden seriousness; but up to this time, Jick- ling, your life at Eton has been a failure; and as we all in this house are concerned for our own honour in not seeing you go to the bad, I mean to keep a sort of a look- out over you this half. Yes. I dont mean to spy over you or pry about you, or any- thing of that kind; but I shall make an attempt to render you fit for something, as youve hitherto beei~ fit for nothing. Last half, and the half before, you never played and never worked. You spent your time mooning about, with your face unwashed, your lessons unlearned, and no sort of object in life, but to catch flies, count the dogs in Fisher the birdmans yard, run into idiotic mucks, and get swished. That wont do. Be anything you please a sap, a dry-bob, or a wet- bob * but be sometbiug. Going on as youre doing, youd be a confirmed muff, and perhaps a leg, by the time youre twenty, and then, of course, youd lay it half to me, and say that if Asheton who was your fag-master, had done his duty, you wouldnt be where you are. And thats true. If I had a brother here, I shouldnt let him follow the road youre treading, and so I dont see why I should al- low you. Ill say more I dont think it would be honest or fair to allow you. And now thats enough, concluded Asheton, quietly pouring himself out some tea. You may run along, all of you; and as for you, young man (turning his eyes on me), bear in mind what Ive just said to Jickling. Be something: give yourself an object, and, if its an honourable one, you wont be sorry for it by-and-by. in another minute we were all standing outside Asbetons door, and I, whom my fag-masters few words had impressed more than any pulpit-sermon I had ever heard, drew a sigh of relief to think what my fears of the morning had all come to, * A sap a dry-bob, or a wet-bob. An- glic?~, a book-worm, a cricketer, or an oars. mn. THE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN. 155 and what manner of a fellow it was I was cue them to the loss of their former glo- going to serve. ries. Till the beginning of this century Is he always like that? I asked of the history of Sweden was simply that of Jickling, with some emotion. its kings; and brilliant as the narrative of Yes, answered Jickling, in huge in- their exploits is, the interest attached to dignation; hes always fond of jawing. the development of the constitution as What business has he to question me well as to the improved condition of the about my ticks? they dont concern him. inhabitants fully supplies its place. A And why does be say he shall spy and pry greater contrast than the present relation into me all this half? He hasnt the right of the mass of the people to the govern- to do it. No, he hasnt. And its hateful ment compared with their former want of snobbishness of him to pretend he has. influence is seldom to he found. Even Whereat Jicklin~ turned round facing the Reformation which, in other countries, the door, and raising his hand to a level though initiated by the government, was with his countenance, made, I regret to the occasion of drawing forth warm feel- state, with his displayed fingers, that ges- in~s on either side among the governed, ture which, in all times and in all coun- in Sweden was brought about by the fiat tries, has been expressive of contemptuous of the sovereign amidst the indifference of defiance. the laity. The dawn of a better state of things was almost coeval with the change of dy- nasty which ultimately led to the accession of Bernadotte. The events which resulted From Frasers Magazine. in the seating a French family upon the THE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN. throne of Charles XII. are too well known ALTHOUGH the position of Sweden is to require to be narrated at length. Gus- far inferior to that held by her during the tavus IV., by his rashness and imprudence, stirring reigns of the great princes of the almost amounting to madness, had brou~ht Wasa line, her diminished influence is due the country to the verge of ruin, and his to causes common to most small states in obstinacy was such that there seemed little the present day, and not to a real lack of hope of prevailing on him to withdraw from prosperity. Insignificance in the world of the unequal contest on which he had en- politics is not inconsistent with substan- tered. In these circumstances a revolu- tial progress; and the welfare and happi- tion was effected, the King was forced to ness of Sweden have not suffered in the abdicate, and his uncle, the Duke of Suder- exchange of the alarms of war for the mania, proclaimed in his stead. The diffi- security of peace. By the loss of Finland culties of the revolutiosi did not terminate and Pomerania, scarcely compensated by there. Charles XIII. was childless, and it the union under one crown of the two was necessary that he should adopt some kingdoms of the Scandinavian Peninsula, one as his heir, to whom the crown might the Swedes have been deprived of a base descend unquestioned. Accordin,jy the of operations on the Continent at the same Prince Augustenburg was, in the first in- time that they have acquired a practical stance, declared Crown Prince, but his immunity from invasion, except by sea. sudden death shortly thereafter reopened Russia, the only power so situated as to the whole subject; and it was only after have the opportunity of marchin,, round some delay that the succession was offered the shores of the Gulf of Bothnia, would to Bernadotte, whose treatment of the find the undertaking certainly perilous, Swedish prisoners in Pomerania had rca- perhaps not even practicable; and the dered him generally popular. lie accepted danger of Sweden arises rather from the the offer, and his dynasty seems now to be inadequacy of its resources to the con- firmly established, and to have succeeded struction and maintenance of a fleet suffi- in attaching to it the sympathies of the ciently powerful to protect its extensive people. From these circumstances the sea-board. While other countries have present constitution took its first colour- been torn by internal dissensions or cx- ing; and though in the course of time hau~ted by the ravages of war, Sweden many important alterations have been has, since the Napoleonic era, been left made, its main outlines remain the same. in quiet to pursue time path of steady imn- It is contained in four Grendlaqar, or provement; and now, under the grandson fundamental laws, the sanctity of which of Bernadotte, enjoys a constitution well is guarded by the provision that they shall adapted to the genius of the people, the not be repealed or innovated, except by a material advantages of which may recon- decree which has received the assent of 156 THE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN. two successive Riksdags, in addition to the approval of the sovereign. These statntes are, the Regerings Form passed in 1809, t.he Successions Orduing in 1810, the Tryckfrihets FOrordning in 1812, and the Riksdags Orduing in 1866, and respec- tively define the Constitution, the Succes- sion to the Throne, the Freedom of the Press, and the powers and mode of elec- tion of the IRiksdag. The succession to the throne is strictly entailed upon the male descendants of Bernadotte, and all females or males connected through fe- males with the royal house are expressly excluded. Adherence to the pure Protes- tant faith, as contained in the Augsbur~, Confession, and accepted and explained by the Upsala Decree of 1593, is a sine qua non, the contravention of which would an- nul the rights of the reigning family. No prince of the blood-royal can marry with- out the consent of the King; but if he does, he ipso facto forfeits all claims which he or his children would otherwise have to the crown. In no case, whether with or without the consent of the sovereign, can a prince or princess marry a Swedish sub- ject, except another member of the royal family. A prince, accepting a foreign crown, or becoming entitled to it by mar- riage, also forfeits his rights, unless he has obtained the sanction of the King and of the Riksda~. When the heii~to the throne is in minority, the nomination of guardi- ans to him is vested in the Riksdag, whose right cannot be defeated by the will of the predeceasin0 monarch. In the event of the failure of the male heirs of Berna- dotte, the right of election to the vacant throne lies with the IRiksda~, which must be specially summoned within fifteen days after the throne has become vacant. The project has sometimes been mooted of the union of the three Scandinavian nations under one sovereign, with the pro- viso that each should retain its present constitution, and expectations have even been entertained of this result being ac- complished through the marriage of Prince George of Denmark to the only child of Carl XV. But apart altogether from the provisions of the Successions Ordning, the Swedish people would deprecate a propo- sal, the risks of which seem to their eyes more manifest than the advantages. They say, and with much truth, that a union with Denmark would contribute little to their strength; while it could not fail to add to the danger of their being embroiled with Germany. The fear of provoking the animosity either of that country or of Hussia is ever present to the minds Qf Swedish statesmen, and they not unnat- urally shrink from the prospect of a con- flict in which the combatants would be so unequally matched. No plan, however fair it may appear in the eyes of outsiders, is likely to find favour with them, which would, in an appreciable degree, increase the peril of their position. Whatever may be the consequences to Denmark, the law of self-preservation imperatively demands that they shonld first consult their own safety. Should Carl XV. die without marry- ing again and leaving a son to succeed him, the crown will pass to his brother, Prince Oscar, who is distinguished for his popu- lar manners, and is not wanting in ability. The executive and administrative fnnc- tions of government are vested in the sov- ereign, while he shares with the Riksdag the responsibilities of legislation. His consent is necessary to all measures passed by the iRiksdag, and his power of rejection is not unfrequently exercised. The norn- ination to the principal public offices alike in Church and State i~es with him, and the superimmtendencc of the judicial sys- tem is specially committed to his charge. There are some limitations upon his powers in this respect. Only Swedes are eligible for appointments, with the excep- tion of professorships in the universities (exclusive of the theological chairs) and teacherships in the various institutions for art, science, and technical instruction. To these foreigners may be nominated, if they profess their adherence to the Protestant creed; but commands in the army may be bestowed on foreigners without reference to their religious belief. Fortresses, how- ever, may not be committed to their keep- ing. By naturalization, foreigners receive all the riglmts and privileges of citizenship, except eligibility for nomination to the Stats-Rad or Council of State. The Stats- Rad forms the chief check upon the sov- ereign in the exercise of tbe very wide powers with which he is endowed by the constitution, and is responsible for all his public actings. It consists of ten mem- bers, seven of whom are the heads of the Departments of Justice, Foreign Affairs, the Army, the Navy, the Home Office, the Exchequer, and Ecclesiastical Atlhirs. The remainin0 timree have no special du- ties assigned tlmem, but nrc expected to be present at the deliberations of the Council, and to share the responsibility of the resolutions arrived at. The Stats- Rad is nomninated by the King, and occu- pies much the same position which the Ministry does in England. They are not, however, of necessity members of the THE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN. 157 Piksdag; to which, if not chosen by any in time of war is very extensive, so far as constituency, they have free right of en- concerns military operations; but fortu- trance and of taking part in the delihera- nately, for Sweden, her warlike resources tions and discussions, hut without the have not been put to the test since the privilege of voting. This system is re- days when the Swedish contingent, under commended by the consideration that the the leadership of Bernadotte, then Crown services of eminent statesmen are thus not Prince, aided in the deliverance of Europe dependent upon the accident of an elec- from the yoke of Napoleon. tion; and at the same time no excessive Compared with the great armies of the power is thrown into the hands of the cx- Continent Sweden now presents but a ecutive from the possession of such a seat poor figure, notwithstanding that its mill not conferring a vote. An adverse vote I tary establishment is much what it was does not ensure the dismissal of a Minis- when at the zenith of its glory. The reg- try whose policy is obnoxious to the ma- ular army, which is permanently embodied, jority, but naturally leads to their resig- numbers only five thousand five hundred nation when they find it impossible to men, but the chief dependence of the coun- carry on the government on account of the try is upon the indelter army, which is strength of the opposition. Thus the late maintained in a somewhat peculiar manner. Bill for the 11eor~anization of the Army, The whole cultivated land of Sweden was and for placing the liability to service on a anciently divided into hemman, an ar- different footing, only occasioned the bitrary measure varying according to the downfall of the government after it had then value of the ground. The hem- been several times before the Chambers man, can only be sold in whole or in cer- and as often rejected. No resolufion af- tam specified shares, (as in the case of fectin~ foreign affairs can be decided on ships under our Merchant Shipping Act), by the King, except in the presence of and public burdens are imposed with ref- three councillors, in addition to the minis- erence to this division among others, ter whose departuient it affects, and im- that of the support of a soldier, who must portant questions can only be determined be furnished with a cottage and a piece in a full Council. After hearing the opin- of ground sufficient for his maintenance. ions of the Council, the King decides the In process of time the inequalities of such question as many seem best to him, and the a mode of taxation have much increased, responsibility for his decision rests with through the unequal manner in which the those members who have either approved value of property has risen. The estates of, or, at any rate, not opposed his opin- of the nobles, too, possessed an exemption ion. The proceedings of all meetings from these burdens, which they still retain must be preserved in writing; and to es- even when in the hands of purchasers be- cape respousihility, the ohjections stated longing to other classes. Under this sys- must he carefully minuted. Although the tem the numher of soldiers only amounted. sovereign has the power of deciding, a to twenty-four thousand infantry and four check is provided against his arbitrary thousand five hundred cavalry, a force abuse of it by the requirement that, in quite inadequate to the defence of the addition to the subscription of the Kind, country; even if the National Bevitring, or all decrees shall he countersigned by the Militia, said to number eighty thousand minister to whose depart~nent it be- men, he taken into consideration. All longs, and who by so signing incurs full young men between twenty and twenty responsibility, five are liable to be enrolled in this latter In the event of his disapproval, he may force, and to undergo a slight amount of refuse to sign, but is then held to have re- drill~ exemptions are, however, obtained signed his office. War can be proclaimed, for a small payment, and not much reli- or peace concluded, oply after a discussion ance could be placed on such a force, even in a full meeting of the Council, from if it amounted to the full number above whichthe King receives authority ~o give stated. Accordingly, a modification of the effect to their resolution, though nominally i German system has been proposed; but the carrying of it out is left to his option. has been successfully resiste4, partly by The public duties incumbent on the mon- those who thought that their burdens arch are not inconsiderable; and the pres- would be thereby enlarged, and partly by ent occupant of the throne is understood those who were of opinion that no addi- to devote much time to the affairs of the tional security would be obtained. Prob- country, and to enter heartily into incas- ably some alteration in the mnilitary sys- ures proposed for its benefit. As Coin- tem of the country will be effected, though mander in-Chief of the army his authority not of such a sweeping character. 158 THE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN. Great improvements have been made in the representation of the people, the old machinery of which was cumbrous and anomalous in the extreme. The States of the Realm, as they were called, con- sisted of four distinct Houses, of equal weight, whose joint assent was required to every measure before it could receive the royal approval. If the object of the framers had been to devise a system under which legislation should be reduced to a minimum they could not have fallen upon a better plan. The heads of all the noble families in the kingdom were members of the House of Nobles, and numbered be- tween four hundred and five hundred; in that of the Clergy, the twelve Bishops had seats ex officio, along with forty-five repre- sentatives of the inferior clergy ; the burghers and peasants had respectively forty-seven and one hundred and twelve deputies; the former of whom were elected by the members of the guild, and not by the mass of the citizens. The anomalies of this system of representation pressed upon the people more than the slowness of legislation, which was partially obvi- tited by the great influence which the Court had over the members. In Sweden all the descendants of a noble were ac- counted noble, and as they were consid- ered to be represented by the seat which the head of the family had in the House of Nobles, no noble, except the head of the family, could sit in that House, and they were equally excluded from the other houses. More irritating still, farge classes of wealthy proprietors, who were not of noble birth and did not belong to the peasant class, had no representation at all; and in towns, all but the favoured mem- bers of the guilds were excluded from the right either of electing or being elected. No one was satisfied with this state of matters, not even the privileged classes, and heavy fines had to be imposed upon the electoral districts to induce the pea- sants to send representatives. As they were obliged to pay their deputies, they would willin~ly have ne~lected to exercise their privilege, and in default, sometimes returned, not the mnmt~worthy candidate, but the one who promised to accept the smallest remuneration. Accordingly, after much discussion and excitement, the Gov- ernment yielded to the strongly expressed wish of the country, and carried through the several Houses the abolition of the States of the Realm, subject to some con- cessions in favor of the nobility and clergy, and substituted in their place the Riksdag, which consists of two elective Chambers. The change has proved highly advantage- ous; and the pro~ress of the country has received a new impetus from the greater. ease with which the work of legislation is carried on; while the Government has been rendered sensibly more responsible for its acting~. The constitution of the Riksdag is set- tled with great care, as well as the mnode in which it is to exercise its powers. Though both Houses are elective, certain peculiarities in the first Chamber render it aristocratic alike in its personnel and in its tendencies. Its members are chosen, not by the electors, but in the counties by the Landsting, or provincial council; and in the towns by the Stadsfullmaktare, who perform similar functions. These bodies, thou~h chosen by the general body of the electors, are practically independent in the exercise of their powers of voting in the elections for the First Chamber. Their own elections turn not upon the manner in which they are likely to discharge this particular duty, but upon their general administrative capacity, and number in their ranks a fair proportion of the more intelligent classes. No one can be a mem- ber of the First Chamber who is not above thirty-five years of age., or does not pos- sess property taxed as of the value of 80,000 rix-dollars, or is assessed on an in- come of 4,000 rix-dollars. A rix-dollar is worth about is. 1 12d., and though this property is not high according to English ide as, it has an exclusive tendency in a country where there is little wealth. If, after having been elected, a member loses his property, he is obliged to resign his seat. The Members of the Second Chamber, again, are elected by the consti- tuencies, who choose electors, in the pro- portion of one for each parish, and an additional one for each 500 inhabitants. The sole duty of the electors is to give effect to the wishes of the parish by which they are chosen, and having voted for the candidates, their office ex- pires. The property-qualification in the case of the Second Chamber is much lower, and besides, the members receive a salary of 1,200 dollars fom each ordinary meet- ing of the Riksdag, in addition to their travelling expenses. The members of~ the First Chamber are mostly nobles, large landed proprietors, and officers; while the Second Chamber is composed of peasants, clergymen, and others of the middle class. It is impossible to be present at the Riks- dag without being strack with the appear- ance of inferiority in the latter, as xvell in rank as ih ability. By force of law the THE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN. 159 Riksdag meets 011 January 15 in each year, King for his approval, and the considera- and cannot be dissolved, except with its tion of proposals emanating from him. own consent, until it has sat for four The freedom of the press is jealously months. If the King think that circum- watched over by the Riksdag; which stances render it necessary, he may sum- throws a special protection over it by the mon an extraordinary meeting at any appointment of a commission of ~ix corn- time, at which only the special business petent men, before whom any author or for which it has been called can be dis- publisher may lay a new work, and de- cussed. The first duty of the members on mand their opinion upon the question, their arrival in Stockholm, where the Riks- whether its publication would expose ci- dag meets, is to present to an official, ap- ther of them to a prosecution for a contra- pointed by the King, their commissions, in vention of the laws relating to this sub- order to be verified. On the opening day ject. If the commission consider that its they attend divine service in one of the character is unobjectionable, no legal pro- churches, and immediately thereafter go ceedings can afterwards be instituted by to the Riksaal, a fine hail in the Palace, the government against the publisher or where the King reads an address. The author whose responsibility for fhe con- speakers of the two Chambers then read tents of the book is shifted to the should- addresses in reply, in which they express ers of the commission. On the 6ther hand, in general terms the loyalty of the iRiks- the parties may publish at their own risk, dat, without giving any opinion upon the if the opinion of the commission is adverse. subjects of the Kings speech. They then Practically the press is as free as in Eng- meet in their separate halls, and proceed land, and little or no restraint is placed to the election of secretaries and other upon the right of the newspapers, and officials. The speakers are named by the other organs of public opinion, to com- King, but must he members of the Riksdag. ment upon the conduct of the aflkirs of If not dissolved by the King, who has it in the country. his power to order a new election of A seat in the Riksdag, though regarded either or both Chambers at any time after as an honour, is not made an object of am- the expiry of four months from the date bition, and as yet the violence and party of meeting, the Second Chamber requires animosity which characterize our elections to be re-eleefed every three, and the First are unknown. One reason of this may be Chamber every nine years. The princi- the refusal of wealthy gentlemen to sit in pal peculiarity in the conduct of the busi- the Second Chamber; while the select con- ness consists in the system of Standing stituencies in whose hands the elections to Committees, which is regarded by Swedis the First Chamber are placed, are too politicians as a great aid to legislation. small and too independent to afford much Immediately after the verification of their scope for the action of election agents. It powers is complefed, each Chamber pro- would not be too much to say, that elec- ceeds to the election by ballot of half the tion as a member of the Riksdag is viewed members for five standing committees, re- rather as a duty incumbent upon those spectively called the Constitution, the who are nominated than as a favour for State, the Exchequer, the Bank, and the which they have to be grateful. The ben- Law Committees, to which all measures, efit conferred is thought to be on the part when brou~ht for the first time before the of the representative, and not on that of Riksdag, are remitted to be considered, the constituency; So far as parties exist amended, and reported on. Only after in the Riksdag, the antagonism is rather the report has been made, do the Chain- between town and country, than between hers proceed to discuss them. By this ex- the exponents of more or less liberal pedient crude and ill-advised legislation is opinions. avoided, and bills cannot be hurried In each county a Landsting, already through the Chambers without their real, alluded to, is constituted for the despatch import and hearing being understood, at of matters relating to its internal organ:- the same time that care is taken to pre- zation, such as the imposition of taxes fo~ vent contradictory enactments from beinglocal purposes. The members are chosm passed. This preliminary sifting also cx- directly by the constituencies, and gener- pedites the passing of measures through ally from a highly respectable class. The the Riksdag, the time of which is not matters brought before them are dmspose4 wasted in rambling and inconclusive de- of in a sensible business-like manner, with- bates. The two Chambers sit and vote out oratorical display. They hold their separately, and are occupied with the meetings at certain specified times, and preparation of bills to be presented to the fines are imposed for absence without cx- 160 TilE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN. cuse, for the ascertainment of which a acclamation, and acquiesced in. So far as roll is called at the beginning and end of a stranger can form an opinion upon such each days proceedings. No properly- questions, the governmeut of the country qualified person can refuse a nomination seems to be settled upon a basis, which not to the Landsting, unless possessed of cer- merely produces satisfaction in the gov- tam grounds of exemption, and great care erned, but is in fact well adapted to the is taken to secure that the members of the development of its resources, and the Landsting are of unblemished character. security of its well-being At a Landsting at which we were lately The administration of justice is anx- present, objection was taken against the iously cared for, and in the higher courts eligibility of one member when he pre- its purity seems to be undoubted. The sented his credentials on the ground that State has set before itself the twofold aim thirty years before he had been convicted of bringing justice to every mans door, of fraud in regard to the sale of a horse, and of doing so in the cheapest manner; and in spite of his defence, that he was in the latter of which objects its success wrongly convicted, the Landstin0 held him cannot be denied. For judicial purposes disqualified. The towns possess a similar Sweden is divided into three provinces; organization, and each parish or commune each of which is furnished with a Court is also endowed with the faculty of self- of Appeal, as well as numerous Courts of government, and elects persons to manage the First Instance. Forty-four Domsagor, matters purely relating to it. It will be or small districts, are subject to the juris- seen from this account, that there must be diction of Svea-llofratt, which holds its sit- a great amount of liberty enjoyed by the tings in Stockholm; forty-three to that of people, and that much power is placed G6ta-Hofriitt in Jdnkoping; while Scania- directly in their hands. Several causes Hofratt only comprises fifteen within its contribute to prevent its abuse. The pop- bounds. In the Courts of the First In- ulatio~ is sp~srse; and, except perhaps in stance a single Hiiradshiifding or judge Stockholm, no large class of the commu- sits for the trial of all cases, with no limit- nity is sunk in extreme poverty, though ation, either as to the amount of the prop- many of the comforts which an English erty at stake, or the nature of th~ law- workman would think indispensable, are suit. Excepting prosecutions under the often wanting. In thinly-inhabited dis- laws regulating the press, jury-trial is un- tricts there is little opportunity for noisy known; but its want is made up by the and unscrupulous demagogues obtaining presence of twelve substantial peasants in influence, and where every maii knows his the country districts, who act as assessors neighbour, character and respectability of the 1Iiirodshdfding, though vested with have their proper weight. but slight authority, since only when unan- Elementary education, too, is univer- imous can they over-ride the decision of the sally diffused; the acquisition of which is judge. These assessors are elected by the rendered imper~tive by the necessity laid inhabitants of the district, and hold their upon every Swede, with some exceptions, appointment for two years. In towns of being conflrmed before he can marry, there are also assessors, and the Burgo- or exercise many of the ordinary rights master who is appointed by the crown - of manhood, while none are admitted to from a list of three, chosen by the citizens, confirmation who are unable to read and is chairman of the court. In the absence write. The result is that the Swedes are of lawyers, the assessors are found of a well-educated people, if the possession some use in preventing the judge from of these simple acquirements be taken as taking a one-sided view of the case, for the test. The poorest classes again are ex- strange as it may appear, the Swedish law eluded from the right of voting, which is de- assumes that every m~ n can state his own pendent upon the payment of a small sum case, spite of the adage \varning the of direct taxes. The ballot is universally man, who is his own lawyer, that he has made use of, alike in the elections for the I a fool for his client. The profession of a IRiksdag, and for the parish board. In the barrister does not exist, and the only re- IRiksdag itself as well as in the Landsting source for a litigant, who is distrustful of and other governing bodies it is used in his own legal powers, is to give a mandate the determination of all questions. Even in to some clever friend to speak for him. the appointment of the Standing Commit-. The duty also is incumbent on the judge tees in the Riksdag, and matters so trifling to assist by his advice the suitors in the as the reduction of the salary of the see- conduct of the case; and in giving judg- retary to a Landstin~,, its use is impera- ment he must state the steps which the five, except where the decision is given by defeated party may take in order to obtain TIlE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN. 161 its reversal, as well as the time within younger judges, with smaller salaries. which he may avail himself of his privi- The Courts of Appeal sit in private for lege of appeal. Two other reasons exist, the revisal of the judgments complained which may explain the fact that such a of, and are divided into sections for the system does not frequently result in the greater despatch of business. The Gbta- miscarriage of ju~tice: the one is the ben- Hofratt is divided into five sections, each eral education of the people, and the other of which consists of two judges and three is the great simplicity of the Swedish assessors, and to each section an equal jurisprudence, number of appeals is assigned. In some The law, which was codified in the end few cases a larger number of jud~es is of the last century, is contained, with the required to consider the points raised; subsequcot additions and amendments, in hut a section, which is in doubt regarding a couple of volumes of no great size. the disposal of an appeal, cannot call in To them the peasant may apply his mind, the assistance of the others, though the and having found the law applicable to members may privately get advice from his circumstances, states it to the court. their brother judges. Before these courts, No difficulty is experienced in sepan ting neither the party nor anyone representing what is repealed from what remains in- him is permitted to appear, and the public tact, as the industry of Swedish jurists is are not admitted to their sittings, the exercised in the production of new cdi- whole proceedings at which are kept se- tions of the code, showing the changes in- cret. All the papers in the cases, with troduced in the law. Nor is the litigant the report of the evidence and the judg- driven to extract from the contradictory ment of the inferior court, are laid before opinions of learned judges the rule which the appellate judges, who give their deci- suits the facts, for precedents have no sion in writing. The appellant may also weight assigned to them. The Swedes, put in a written statement of the grounds besides, are not liti~ious, and the questions of his appeal. The expenses of an unsuc- arisifi~ for decision are rarely involved in cessful litigation, where there has been iauch intricacy. A very perfect system of little or no evidence led, sometimes land registers, under the immediate super- amounts, inclusive of the fee, to the sue- vision of the court, almost excludes that cessful partys mandatory, to not more large class of cases which elsewhere arise, than 18 rix-dollars, or 11. sterling. Law in regard to its possession; and the com- can scarcely be rendered cheaper than merce of the country has only. of late this. years begun to assume those dimensions From the Ilofratten, an appeal lies to which are fruitful in disputed points, the ll6gsta Domstol, a tribunal sitting in Still, the increased number and intricacy Stockholm, the proceedings of which arc of the relations into which persons are also private. It consists of twelve mem- brought by the rapid development of hers, eight of whom must be present at modern civilization cannot but prove fatal the decision of important matters, but to a system suited to a more simple state hve or four if unanimous, are sufficient for of society. Even as matters stand, people the settlement of smaller ca es. The begin to find that the demands made on King has the right of being present at its their time and attention will not allow of deliberations, and when present, has two their appearance in court. The change votes in the determination of every ques- has already begun, for in those cases in I tion. To t.his tribunal points regarding which a mandatory appears for the party, I the interpretation of the law may he re- the court allows him a small fee in the ferred by the inferior judges,. and. the event of success, and in the larger towns royal votes upon them are to be counted, men are to be found who make a trade of even when the King is not present in the pleading cases for litigants. They do not, court during the consideration of them.. however, occupy any reco0nszed position, The prosecution of criminals is entrusted nor do they necessarily pass through any to a Justitie Cauzler, or Attorney-General, legal training. As a rule, they are not appointed by the King, who, in his turn~ regarded with favour from the great num- names Fiscals to act as his deputies her of sharks who are said to he found in throughout the country. I-Ic is alsc~ their ranks. charged with the oversight of the judges, From the decisions of the Courts of whose deviations from strict rectitude he First Instance, an appeal lies in every case is bound to notice. This latter duty is to the appropriate Hofriitten, which con- also committed hy the Riksdag to an Om- sists of a president, judges, and legal as- hndsman, whose right of surveillance cx- sessors, the latter of whom are simply te ds to all the public offices, which he LIVING AGE. VOL. xxiv. llOa 162 THE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN. may enter at pleasure, and his demands refused to accept of the mitigation, and for information must be at once complied insisted on being executed. To escape with. He is entitled to be present at the from the dilemma, the Government deter- sittings of all the Courts, though not mined to celebrate the anniversary of the to take any part in their proceedin~,s. Landing of Bernadotte in Sweden, an Further, once in three years, the IRiksdag event up to that date quite neglected, by nominates a commission to take into con- the proclamation of an amnesty to all sideration the state of the Hdgsta Domstol, political prisoners, under which Linden- and to report whether any, and if so, berg, the only representative of that class, what judges ought to retire. No reasons was set at liberty. need be alleged; and this mode of dismis- No sketch of the Swedish Constitution sal does not infer any turpitude or inca- would be complete, without some allusion pacity on the part of the retiring judges, to the place occupied by the Church in its who become thereupon entitled to pen- relations to the State which, though not sions. so important as formerly, is still very The Constitution also provides for the influential in its official aspect. The erection of a Riks-Ratt, or High Court, country is divided into twelve bishoprics, for the trial of great public officials ac- among which that of Upsala holds the cused of malversation or other serious pre-eminence as the seat of an arch- charges. If condemned, they may be par- bishopric, an office conferring upon its doned by the King, but not to the effect holder merely a titular supremacy. The of being reinstated in their offices. archbishop presides in the Convocation of At the be~,inning of this century bribery the clergy, and represents the Church on was by no means uncommon, and the imi- the occasion of great state ceremonials; in tation of French manners and morality, other respects, his position differs in noth- patronized by the Court during the reign ing from that of the other bishops. The of Gustavus III. had undermined the old powers of the bishops in their respective Scandinavian virtues, and destroyed much dioceses, though not subject to control of the public spirit of the nation. The from the archbishop, are strictly limited, venom of corruption is only expelled with and the sanction of a consistory is required difficulty; and though the character of the in all important matters. In order to higher officials is now untainted, the pro- reconcile the clergy to the loss of influence visions relating to a former. state of things ensuing from the abolition of the House are retained, of the Clergy, a Convocation was instituted The prerogative of mercy rests with the for the discussion of purely ecclesiastical King, who is sometimes advised by the questions, and is endowed with the right Hiigstn Domstol in his exercise of it. He of vetoing any measure passed by the may also mitigate the sentence; but the Riksdag, which may seem to them to be criminal has the option of rejecting the injurious to the Church. The income of royal clemency, and insisting on the origi- the Church is derived partly from Church nal sentence being carried out. An mci- lands and partly from tithes, the latter of dent in the reign of Bernadotte affords a which in Old Sweden amount to an actual curious illustration of the working of this tenth of the produce, and are felt as a law. Captain Lindenberg, the editor of a severe burden on the land; but in Bohus- newspaper, was refused a license for an lan and the adjacent provinces, which additional theatre in Stockholm, which re- anciently did not belong to the Swedish fusal he complained of, as illegal, to the Crown, the tithes are lighter. The Gov- Ombudsman appointed by the States of eminent, in the attempt to conciliate the the Realm, and besides published his com- inhabitants of the conquered districts, fixed plaint in his newspaper. The Govern- the tithe, payable by each hemma at a ment prosecuted him, and strained the comparatively small sum in money, and law, so as to make it appear a case of con- certain annual dues of milk and butter. strnctive treason, proceeding upon some The glebes, farmed by the clergy them- half-forgotten and obsolete statutes. He selves are often large, sometimes extend- was convicted and condemned to death; ing to several hundred acres, the care of but the public indignation was so intense, which, of course, materially detracts from that the Ministry felt themselves obliged the time bestowed on the cure of souls to advise the King to mitigate the severity committed to their charge. The patronage of the sentence, which was accordingly to vacant churches lies either with the commuted to one of imprisonment for a parishioners, or with the Crown; the lat- short term of years. Captain Lindenberg, ter of which retains the right of nomina- howevem, in reliance on his legal rights, ting the bishops, but generally from a leet THE CONSTITUTION OF SWEDEN. 163 of three recommended by the clergy of the 1 diocese. Since the abolition of the States I of the 1{eahn, the Church has been shorn I of much of its former power; but as the Government continues to support it, its official influence is still extensive. The clergy lie under no disability so far as the right of election to either Chamber is con- cerned, and several of them have obtained seats in the Second Chamber, of which Archbishop Sundber,,, a man of considera- ble abilities, and administrative talents, has been appointed President by the king. Though regarded with much indifference by the mass of the laity, no powerful party is animated by feelings of hostility towards the Church. Such are the outlines of the civil and ecclesiastical polity of a country, which in former days played so important a part in the affairs of Europe; and whose customs and scenery still surround it with interest, and are every year attracting more and more Englishmen to visit its shores. WIGS AND THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. I was in the year 1834 or 1835 dining in company with the Duke of Wellington at Betshanger in Kent, then the seat of Frederick Morice, Esq., now of Sir Walter James. It was about the time when the Bishop of London (Dr. Blomfield) had first appeared in the House of Lords with- out his wig, and a smart controversy arising out of the fact was going on. Opposite to the duke at table hung a portrait of an admiral of Queen Annes time, an ancestor of Mr. Morice, and the finely-painted Ramilies wig upon his head caught the dukes attention. He took occasion from this to give, in his terse and de- cided manner, a complete history of wigs, hav- ing evidently mastered the subject in reference to the question of the day. He concluded, to the point, by saying Louis the 14th had a hump, and no man, not even his vakt, ever saw him without his wig. It hung down his back, like the judges wigs, to hide the hump. But the dauphin, who hadnt a hump, couldnt bear the heat, so- he cut it round close to the poll; and the episcopal wig that you are all making such a fuss about is the wig of the most profligate days of the French court. The mention of the bishop put him in mind of a curious correspondence which had lately passed: The Bishop of Lunnun, he said (so pro- nouncing it in the manner of the last century), was getting up his Church Fund, and wrote to me about it. A few days after I got another let- ter, as I thought from him, asking leave to go and see my trees at Strathfdsaye. Ive got some very fine trees at Strathfdsaye, but couldnt imagine what the bishop could want with em till II remembered that he had got a large estate near Harrow belonging to the see, and I supposed he was going to plant. So I wrote him a very polite note: My Lord Bishop, you are very welcome to see my trees at Strathf- dsaye whenever you do me the honour to call. I got a very polite note from the bishop: My Lord Duke, I write you a letter about churches (Id omitted all about the churches) : you write me a letter about trees. Dont exactly see the connection, but suppose its all right. Shall be thankful for answer to my letter. Yours, & c. Theres a great gardener who signs his name J. C. Loudon, and the bishop signs C. J. Lun- num, and I had mistaken Loudon for Lunnum. So I set it right by sending my name for the churches. I have seen the anecdote somewhere in print, but it may have additional interest as related by the duke himself, and I report nearly in his exact words. His manner it is. .impo~sible to convey; but the humour of his compressed lip, speaking eye, and condensed utterances will be in the memory of all who ever met or knew him. HERBERT RANDOIJ?H. Riugmore, near Ivybridge, Devon. Notes and Queries. THE cultivation, of beet-root sugar in France has now risen to, an. industry o~ the first impor- tance. It employs more than 400 manufacto- ries, and the process of manufacture is each year. brought to, a higher state of perfection. There are in France three or four journals spe.- cially devoted, to subjects connected with the manufacture, its cultivation, its sale, the ma- chinery required, t~he chemistry of the process, NEW creeda make their way in the world by a process of natural selection. Most converts are gained not by the balance of argument, but by a certain harmony, between the creed and their moral and intellectual wants, for which they are themselves unable to account. Therefore we should often measure the probable current of opinion less by its acceptance amongst the most qualified judges than by the charm which it ap- parently possesses for the average human being~ Saturday Review~ 164 TUE MAID OF SKER. From Blackwoods Magazine. wit, of a wretched warrant hem,, likely to THE MAID OF SKER. issue against me from that low tyrant Anthony Stew, on a thoroughly lying in- CHAPTER xxv. formation by one of his own gamekeepers. A LONG GOOD-BYE. It was true enough that I went through his wood, with a couple of sailors from IT is an irksome task for a man who has Porthcawl; by no means with any desire always stood upon his position, and justi- to harm, but to see if his game was fied the universal esteem and respect of healthy. Few things occur that exalt the the neighbourhood, to have to recount his mind more than natural history; and if a own falling off, and loss of proper station, man dare not go into a wood, how can he be without heing able to render for it any expected to improve his knowledge? The cause or reason, except indeed his own other men perhaps employed their means great folly, with fortune too ready to see- to obtain a more intimate acquaintance ond it. However, as every downfall has a with the structure and methods of various slope which leads towards it, so in my case creatures, going on two legs, or going on small dowahills led treacherously to the four; but as for myself, not so much as a precipice. In the first place, the dog-fish gun did any one see in my hands that day. ~~nd the sting-rays (which alone came into At first I thou~ht of standin~ it out on the nets of our new association) set me the strength of all my glory; but knowing swearing very hard; which, of course, was what testimony is, when it gets into the a trifling thing, and must have befallen mouths of gamekeepers, and feeling my St. Peter himself, whose character I can honour concerned, to say nothing of the well understand. But what was wrong in other fellows (who were off to sea), also inc was this, that after it went on for a cherishing much experience of the way fortnight, and not even a conger turned Stew handled me, upon the whole I had up, I became proud of my swearing with half a mind to let the neighbourhood and practice, instead of praying to be forgiven the county learn to feel the want of me. which I always feel done to me, if desired. Also what Joe Jenkins said perhaps For my power of words began to please had some effect on me. This was a young me which was a bait of the devil, no fellow of great zeal, newly appointed to doubt as every tide I felt more and Zoar Chapel, instead of the steady Nathan- more that married life had not deprived iel Edwards, who had been caught sheep- me of my gift of langua,e; or, at any rate stealing; and inasmuch as the chapel that widowship had restored my vigour stood at the western end of the village, promptly. next door to the Welcome to Town, my After this, being a little exhausted, for Lads, all the maids of Newton ran might- two days and two nights I smoked pipes. ily to his doctrine. For he happened to Not in any mood soever unfit for a Chris- be a smart young fellow, and it was large- tian; quite the contrary, and quite ready ly put abroad that an uncle of his had a to submit to any discipline; being ordered butter-shop, without any children, and also to lay by, and expect a si~n from bringing in four pounds a-week, at Chep- heaven. And at this time came several stow. preachers; although I had very little for There is scarcely a day of my life on them, and was grieved to disappoint their which I do not receive a lesson: and the remembrance of the ham that my wife difference betwixt me and a fool is that I used to keep in cut. And in so many receive, and he scorns it. And a finer words I said that now I was bound to the lesson I have rarely had than for letting Church by a contract of a shilling a-week, Joe Jenkins into my well-conducted cot- and if they waited long enough, they tage, for no better reason than that the might hear the clock strike something. Welcome to Town was out of beer. I This, combined with a crab whose sub- ought to have known much better, of stance had relapsed to water, and the sign course, with a fellow too young to shave of nothing in my locker except a pint of himself, and myself a good hearty despiser peppermint, induced these excellent pas- of schism, and above all having such a fine tors to go; and if they shook off (as they connection with the Church of England. declared) the dirt of their feet at me, it But that fellow had such a tongue they must have been much to their benefit. said it must have come out of the butter. This trifle, however, heaped up my griev- I gave him a glass of my choicest rum, when ance, although I thought scorn to think of all he deserved was a larruping. And I it; and on the hack of it there came an- nearly lost the church-clock throu~h it. other wrong far more serious. Tidings, to When I heard of this serious consequence, THE MAID OF SKER. 165 I be,an to call to mind, too late, what the chaplain of the Spitfire 32 - gun razy always used to say to us; and a finer fel- low to stand to his guns, whenever it came to close quarters, I never saw before or since. Go down, parson, go down, we said; sir, this is no place for your cloth. Sneaking schismatics may skulk, he an- swered, with the powder-mop in his hand; for we had impressed a Methody, who bolted below at exceeding long range; but if my cloth is out of its place, Ill fight the devil naked. This won over to the side of the Church every man of our crew that w~s gifted with any perception of reasoning. However, I never shall get on if I tell all the fine things I have seen. Only I must set forth how I came to disgrace myself so deeply that I could not hope for years and years to enjoy the luxury of despising so much as a lighterman again. The folk of our parish could hardly believe it; and were it to be done in any way consistent with my story, I would not put it on paper now. But here it is. Make the worst of it. You will find me redeem it afterwards. The famous David Llewellyn, of His Majes- tys Royal Navy, took a berth in a trading- schooner, called the Rose of Devon! After such a fall as this, if I happen to speak below my mark, or not describe the gentry well, everybody must excuse me: for I went so low in my own esteem, thut I could not have knocked even Anthony Stews under-keeper down! I was making notes, here and there, already, concerning the matters at Sker House, and the deli- cate sayings of Bardie, not with any view to a story perfect and clear as this is, but for my own satisfaction in case of any- thin~ worth going on with. And but for this fore-thou~ht, you could not have learned both her sayings and doings so bright as above. And now being taken away from it, I tried to find some one with wit enough to carry it on in my absence. In a populous neighbourhood this might have been; but the only man near us who had the conceit to try to carry it on a hit, fell into such a condition of mind that his own wife did not know him. But in spite of the open state of his head, he held on very stoutly, trying to keep himself up to the mark with ale, and even hollands; until it pleased God that his second child should fall into the chicken-pox; and then all the neighbours spoke up sQ much on account of his being a tailor that it came to one thing or the other. Either lie must give up his trade, and let his ap- prentice have it to think of which was worse than gall and wormwood to his wife or else he must give up all mned- dling with pen and ink and the patterns of chicken-pox. How could he hesitate, when he knew that the very worst tailor can make in a day as much as the best writer can in a month? Upon the whole I was pleased with this; for I never could bear that rogue of a snip, any more than he could put up with me for making my own clothes and Bunnys. I challenged him once on a button-hole, for I was his master without a thimble. And for this ninth part of a man to think of taking up my pen! The name of our schooner, or rather ketch for she was no more than that (to tell the truth), though I wished her to be called a schooner was, as I said, the Rose of Devon, and the name of her captain was Fuzzy. Not a bad man, I do believe, but one who almost drove me wicked, because I never could make him out. A tender and compassionate interest in the affairs of everybody, whom it pleases Providence that we should even hear of, has been (since our ancestors baffled the Flood, without consulting Noah) one of the most distinct an(I noblest national traits of Welshmen. Pious also; for if the Lord had not meant us to in- quire, He never would have sent us all those fellow-creatures to arouse unallayed disquietude. But this man Fuzzy, as every one called him, although his true name was Bethel Jose, seemed to be sent from Devonshire for the mere purpose of distracting us. Concerning the other two stone-captains (as we called those skippers who come for limestone, and steal it from Colonel Loughers rocks), we knew as much as would keep us going whenever their names were mentioned; but as to Fuzzy, though this was the third year of his trading over, there was not a woman in Newton who knew whether he had a wife or not! And the public eagerness over this subject grew as the question deepened; until there were seven of our best young women ready to marry him, at risk of bigamy, to find out the matter and to make it known. Therefore, of course, he rose more and more in public esteem, voyage after voy- age; and I became jealous, perhaps, of his fame, and resolved to expose its hollow basis, as compared with that of mine. Ac- cordingly, when it came to pass that my glory, though still in its prime, was im- perilled by that Irish Stews proceedings for he must have been Irish by origin having my choice (as a matter of 166 THE MAID OF SKER course) among the three stone-captains, I the whole of which I bravely put into my chose that very hard stone to crack; and will, and left them. And knowing that every one all through the village rejoiced, the proper thin, is to subscribe a codicil, thoug~h bitterly grieved to lose me, and therein I placed a set of delf, and after dreading the price there would be for fish, that my blessing. Eighteenpence I was with that extortionate Sandy Macraw left compelled to pay for this pious document alone to create a monopoly. There was to a man who had been turned out of the not a man in all Newton that feared to lay law because he charged too little. And a half-a-crown to a sixpence that I brought better shilling-and-sixpence worth of back the whole of old Fuzzys concerns: sense, with heads and.tails to it, his lord- but the women, having tried Skipper Jose ship the Bishop of Llandaff will own that with everything they could think of, and he never set seal upon; unless I make not understanding the odds of betting, another one. Only I felt it just to leave were ready to lay a crooked sixpence on my boat entire to Bardie. Fuzzy, whenever they had one. Having done my duty thus, I found a To begin with, he caught me on the bracing strength upon me to go through hop; at a moment of rumours and serious with everything. No man should know warnings, and thoroughly pure indigna- how much I felt my violent degradation tion on my part. At the moment, I said from being captain of a gun, to have to (and he made me sign) that I was prepared tread mercantile boards! Things have to ship with him. After which he held me chanced since then so much, through the fast, and frightened me with the land- parsimony o~ Government, that our very crabs, and gave me no chance to get out best sailors now tail off into the Merchant of his jaws. I tried to make him laugh service. But it was not so, when I was with some of the many jokes and stories, young; and even when I was turned of which everybody knows of mine, and likes fifty, we despised the traders. Even the them for long acquaintance sake. How- largest of their vessels, of four or as much ever, not one of them moved him so much as five hundred tons, we royal tars re- as to fetch one squirt of tobacco-juice. garded always as so many dust-bins with This alone enabled him to take a strong three of the clothes-props hoisted. And lead over me. Every time that he was now, as I looked in the glass, I beheld no bound to laugh, according to human na- more than the mate of a fifty-ton ketch, ture, and yet had neither a wag in his for a thirty-mile voyage out of Newton nose, nor a pucker upon his countenance, ba3H nor even so much as a gleam in his eye, However, I had lived long enough then so many times I felt in my heart that this to be taught one simple thing. Whatever man was the wise man, and that laughter happens, one may descry (merely by using is a folly. And I had to bottle down the manly aspect) dawning glimpses of that laughs (which always rise inside of me, li~,ht which the will of God intended to be whenever my joke has the cream on it) joy for all of us; but so scattered now until I could find some other fellow fit to and vapoured by our own misdoings, still understand me; because I knew that my it will come home some time, and then we jokes were good. call it comfort. When I found no means of backing out f Accordingly, though so deeply fallen in from that degrading contract, my very my own regard, I did not find that people first thought was to do strict justice to thought so very much the less of me. Nay, our association, and atone for the loss of some of them even drove me wild, by talk- my services to it. Therefore, in case of ing of my rise in life, as if I had anything undesirable befalling me in been a pure nobody! But on the whole short, if I should be ordered aloft with no we learned my value, when I was going leave to come down again there I made away from us. For all the village was my will, and left my property to establish stirred up with desire to see the last of credit, for a new start among them. I me. My well-known narratives at the well Chairs and tables, knives and forks, iron would be missed all through the autumn; spoons, brought into the family by my and those who had dared to call them wifes grandfather, several pairs of duds lies, were the foremost to feel the lack of my own, and sundry poles, as before of them. Especially the children cried described, also nets to a good extent Old Davy going to be drowaded! No though some had gone under usury more stories at th~ well ! Until I vowed bait-kettles, I forget how many, and even to be back almost before they could fill my character in a silk bag; item, a great their pitchers. many sundrythings of almost equal value ; These, things having proved to me, in TIlE MAID OF SKER. 167 spite of inordinate modesty, that I had a certain value, I made the very best of it; and let everybody know how much I wished to say Good-bye to them, al- though so short of money. From Felix Farley I had received no less than seven- and-tenpenee for saving the drowned black people under initials D. L. at the office; accruing to a great extent from domestic female servants. Some of these craved my capdid opinion as to accepting the humble addresses of coloured gentle- men in good livery, and whether it made so much difference. And now I thought that Newton might have a mark of esteem prepared for me. But though they failed to think of that purely from want of experience everything else was done that could be done for a man who had no money, hy his neighbours who had less; and sixpence never entered twice into the thoughts of any one. Richard Matthews, the pilot, promised to mind the church clock for me, without even handling my salary. As for Bunny, glorification is the shortest word I know. A young man, who had never paid his bill, put her into two-inch ribbon from the Baptist preachers shop. Also a pair of shoes upon her, which had right and left to them, although not marked hy na- ture. And upon the front of her bosom, lace that made me think of smuggling; and such as that young man never could have expected to get booked to him, if he had felt himself to be more than a month converted. Moreover, instead of Mother Jones (who was very well in her way, to be sure), the foremost folk in all the village, ~nd even Master Charles Morgan himself, carpenter and churchwarden, were beginning to vie one with the other, in desire to entertain her, without any word of her five-pound note. In short, many kind things were said and done; enough to make any un- bashful man desire to represent them. But I, for my part, was quite overcome, and delivered my speech with such power of doubt concerning my own worthi- ness, that they had to send back to the inn three times, before they could properly say Good-bye. CHAPTER XXVI. BRAUNTON BURROWS. THE weather was still as fair as could be, with a light wind from the east-north- east; and as our course lay west by south, and the ebb was running, we slipped along at the rate of six or seven knots an hour, though heavily laden with the Colonels rocks; and after rounding Porthcawl Point we came abreast of the old Sker House a lit- tle after sunset. Skipper Jose would never have ventured inside the Sker-weathers, only that I held the tiller, and knew every vein of sand and rock. And I kept so close in-shore, because one of the things that vexed me most in all this sudden de- parture,~was to run away without proper ceremony from Bardie. She was certain to feel it much, and too young to perceive the necessity; and fried pudding had been promised her at my table come the very next Sunday. The windows of the old grey mansion gleamed in the fading western light, but we descried no smoke or movement, neither any life or variance, only a dreary pile of loneliness in the middle of yellow sands. Then I rigged out my perspective glass, and levelled it on the cuddy chimney for the ketch was a half-decker to spy if the little one might so chance to be mak- ing her solitary play, as she was used to do all day, and most of all ere bedtime. And if she should so happen, I knew how wild her delight would be to discover a vessel so near the shore; because when- ever a sail went by, even at two or three leagues of distance, there was no contain- ing her. Out she would rush with her face on fire, and curly hair all jogging, and up would go two little hands, spread to the sky and the vast wide sea. Mammy dear, I ants a so. Dear papa, I has yaited so yon~,. Ickle bother, such a lot of things Bardies dot to tell a. And thus she would run on the brink of the waves with hope and sadness fluctuating on her un- formed countenance, until the sail became a speck. However, now I saw no token of this little rover, unless it were some washed clothes flapping on the rushen tufts to dry; and Jose called me back to my spell at the helm before I had finished gazing. And in less than half an hour the landmark of the ancient house was fading in the dew-fog. Our ships company amounted to no less than four, all hands told viz., Cap- tain Bethel Jose, alias Fuzzy; Isaac Hutchings, the mate; my humble self (who found it my duty to supersede Ikey and appoint myself); and a boy of general incapacity, and of the name of Bang. Making fine weather as we did, and with myself at the helm all night, and tak- ing command (as my skill required), we slanted across Channel very sweetly; an~I when the grey of morning broke, Lundy 168 THE MAID OF SKER. Isle was on our lee-bow. Hereupon I gave the hehn to old Ike, for beyond this was unknown to me, and Providence had never led me over Barnstaple bar as yet. So I tumbled in, and turned up no more until we were close on the bar itself, about ten oclock of the forenoon. This is a thoroughly dangerous place, a meeting of treacherous winds and waters, in amongst uncertain shoaling, and would b~ worse than our Sker-weathers if it lay open to south-west gales. We waited for the tide, and then slipped over very cleverly, with Hartland Point on our starboard beam; and presently we found ourselves in a fine broad open water, with plenty of grey stretch going along it, and green hills tuft- ing away from it. Everything looked so mild and handsome, that I wondered whether these men of Devonshire might not be such fools for bragging after all, when tested. Because, when I found no means to es- cape this degrading voyage to Devonshire, I had said to myself that at any rate it would enable me to peg down those people for the future. Not that they boasted, so to speak, but that they held their tongues at our boasts ; as much as to say, You may talk if you please; it does you good; and our land is such that we never need contradict you. But now when I saw these ins and outs and ups and downs, and cornering places, and the wrinkles of the valleys, and the cheeks of the very rocks, set with green as bright and lively (after a burning sum- mer) as our own country can show in May, 1 began to think though I would not say it, through patriotic unwillingness that the people who lived in such land as this could well afford to hold their tongues, and hearken our talk with pleas- ure. Captain Fuzzy said no word, to show that he was home again; neither did he care to ask my opinion about the look of it. And old Ike treating me likewise, though he ought to have known much bet- ter, there I found myself compelled by my natural desire to know all about my fel- low-creatures, to carry on what must have been a most highly flattering patronage towards the boy who did our slop-work, and whose name was Bang, because everybody banged him. This boy, forgetting the respect which is due to the mate of a ship of commerce for I now assumed that position legally, over the head of old Ikey, who acknowl- edged my rank when announced to him this ignorant boy had the inso lence to give me a clumsy nudge, and in- quire Du e knaw thiccy peart over van- ner? Them down-plasses, and them zandy backs? My boy, I replied, I have not the honour of knowing anything about them. Very likely ~rou think a good deal of them. Whai, thee must be a born vale. Them be Braunton Burrusses! Be them indeed? Take this, my boy. for such valuable information. And I gave him a cuff of an earnest nature, such as he rarely obtained, perhaps, and well calculated to be of timely service to him. He howled a good bit, and attempted to kick; whereupon I raised him from his nat- ural level, and made his head acquainted with the nature of the foremast, preserv- ing my temper quite admirably, but bear- ing in mind the great importance of im- pressing discipline at~ an early age. And I reaped a well-deserved reward in his life-long gratitude and respect. While Bang went below to complete his weeping, and to find some plaster, I began to take accurate observation of these Braunton Burrows, of which I had often heard before from the Devonshire men, who frequent our coast for the purpose of stealing coal or limestone. An up-and- down sort of a place it appeared, as I made it out with my spy-glass; and I could not perceive that it beat our sands, as those good people declared of it. Only I noticed that these sand-hills were of a different hue from ours. Not so bare and yellow-faced, not so swept by western winds, neither with their tops thrown up like the peak of a new volcano. Rushes, spurge, and goose-foot grasses, and the rib-leaved iris, and in hollow places cats mint, loose-strife, and low eye-bright these and a thousand other plants seemed to hold the flaky surface so as not to fly like ours. Ike broke silence, which to him was worse than breaking his own win- dows, and said that all for leagues around was full of giants and great spectres. Moreover, that all of it lon~, had been found an unkid and unholy place, bad for a man to walk in, an(l swarming with great creatures, striped the contrary way to all good-luck, and having eight legs every side, and a great horn crawling af- ter them. And their food all night was known to be travellers skulls and sailors bones. Having seen a good deal of land- crabs, I scarcely dared to deny the story, and yet I could hardly make it out. There- fore, without giving vent to opinions of THE MAID OF SKER. 169 things which might turn out otherwise, I He just set his eye, and then shut up the levelled my spy-glass again at the region glass, and handed it to me without a word of which I had heard such a strange ac- and walked off, as if I were nobody! This count. And suddenly here I beheld a vexed me, so that I holloned out: Are man of no common appearance wandering all of you gone downri~,ht mad on this in and out the hollows, as if he never side of the Channel? Cant a man ask a meant to stop; a tall man with a long civil question, and get a civil answer? grey beard, and wearin a cocked-hat like When he axeth what consarneth him,~~ a colonel. There was something about was the only answer Captain Fuzzy vouch- him that startled me, and drew my whole safed me over his shoulder. attention. Therefore, with my perspective I could not find it worth roy while to glass not long ago cleaned, and set ship- quarrel with this ignorant man for the shape by a man who understood the bear- sake of a foolish word or two, consideriun iugs after that rogue of a Hezekiah had how morose he was. and kept the keys of done his best to spoil it with this honest everything. For the moment, I could not magnifier (the only one that tells no lies) help regretting my wholesome chastise- I carefully followed up and down the ment of the boy Bang; for he would have figure, some three cables-lengths away, of told me at least all he knew, if I could this strange walker among the sand-hills, have taught him to take a good look. And We were in smooth water now, eliding as for Ike, when I went nnd tried him, gently up the river, with the mainsailpay- whether it was that he failed of my mean- ing over just enough for steerage-way; ing or that he chose to pretend to do so and so I got my level truly, and could (on account of my having deposed him), follow every step. or that he truly knew nothing at all It was a fine old-fashioned man, tall and at any rate. I got nothing from him. very upright, with a broad ribbon upon his This was, indeed, a heavy trial. It is ac- breast, and something of metal shining; knowledged that we have such hearts, and and his Hessian boots flashed now and strength of goodwill to the universe, and then as he passed along with a stately power of entering into things, that not a stride. his beard was like a streak of Welshman of us is there hut yearns to silver, and his forehead broad and white; know all that can be said about every one but all the rest of his face was dark, as if he has ever seen, or heard, or even thou~ht from foreign service. His dress seemed to of. And this kind will, instead of being at be of a rich black velvet, very choice and all repressed by discouragement, increases costly, and a long sword hung at his side, tenfold in proportion as others manifest although so many gentlemen now have any unkind desire to keep themselves out ceased to carry even a rapier. I like to of thc way of it. i\.Iy certy, no low curi- see them carry their swords it shows osity is this, but lofty sympathy. that they can command themselves; but My grandfather nine generations back, what touched me most with feeling was Yorath the celebrated bard, begins per- his manner of going on. He seemed to be haps his most immortal ode to a ,,entle- searching, ever searching, up the hills and man who had given him a quart of beer down time hollows, through the troughs with this noble moral precept: Lift up and on the breastlands, in the shadow and your eyes to the castle gates, and behold the sunlight, seeking for some precious on how small a hinge they move! The loss. iron is an inch and a quarter thick, the After watching this figure some little gates are an hundred and fifty feet wide! time, it was natural that I should grow And though the gates of my history are desirous to know sometlming more about not quite so wide as that, they often move him; especially as I obtained an idea, in on a hinge even less than an inch and a spite of the distance and different dress, quarter in thickness; thou~h I must not that I had seen some one like this gentle- be too sure, of course, as to the substance man not such a very long time ado. But of Bangs head. Ilowever, allow even I could not recall to my mind who it was two inches for it, and it seems but a very that was hovering on the skirts of it; trifling matter to tell as it did upon great therefore I looked around for help. Ike adventures. The boy was as sound as a Hutchings, my under-mate, was at the til- boy need be in a couple of hours after- ler, but I durst not lend him my glass, be- wards, except that he had, or pretended cause he knew not one end from the other; to have, a kind of a buzzing in one ear; so I shouted aloud for Captain Jose, and and I found him so grateful for my cor- begged him to take a good look, and tell rection, that I could not bear to urge his me everything that he knew or thought. head with inquiries for the moment. 170 THE MAID OF SKER. To Captain Fuzzy I said no more. If he could not see the advantage of attend- ing to his own business, but must needs go out of his way to isdminister public re- proof to me, I could only be sorry for him. To Ikey, however, I put some questions of a 0eneral tendency; but from his barba- rous broken English if this jargon could be called English at all the only thing I could gather was, that none but true Dev- onshire folk had a right to ask about Dev- onshire families. This might be true to a certain extent, though I never have seen such a law laid down. The answer, how- ever, is perfectly simple. If these people carry on in a manner that cannot fail to draw public attention, they attack us at once on our tenderest point, and tenfold so if they are our betters; for what man of common-sense could admit the idea of any- body setting up to be nobody? There- fore I felt myself quite ready to give a weeks pay and victuals, in that state of life to which God alone could have seen fit to call me as mate of that Devonshire ketch, or boy, or tub, or whatever it might be four shillings and a bag of suet- dumplings, twice a-day, I would hhve given, to understand upon the spot all about that elderly gentleman. It helped me very little, indeed, that I kept on saying to myself, This matters not; tis a few hours only. The moment we get to Barnstable, I shall find some wo- men ; the women can never help tellin0 everything, and for the most part ten times that. Only contradict them bravely, and they have no silence left. However, it helped me not a little when Captain Fuz- zy, with a duck of his head, tumbled up from the cuddy, brimful, as we saw, of the dinner-time. A man of my experience, who has lived for six weeks on the horns of sea-snails, which the officers found too hard for them, that time we were wrecked in the Palainede what can a man of this kind feel when a trumpery coaster dares to pipe all hands to dinner? However, it so happened for the moment that what I felt was appetite; and Fuzzy, who was a firstrate. cook, and knew sea- sonin~ without counting, had brought an iron ladle up, so as to save his words, aiid yet to give us some idea. Soup it was of a sort, that set us thinking of all the meat under it. I blew upon it, and tasted a drop, amd found that other peoples busi- ness would keep till at least after dinner. In the midst of dinner we came to the meeting of two fine rivers, called Tawe and Torridge, and with the tide still mak- ing strong we slanted up the former. The. channel was given to twists and turns, but the fine open valley made up for it, and the wealth of land on either side, sloping with green meadows gently, and winding in and out with trees. here were cattle, as red as chestnuts, running about with tails like spankers, such as I never saw before; but Ikey gaire me to understand that the colour of the earth was the cause of it, and that if I lived long upon corned beef made of them (whose quality no other land could create), I should he turned to that hue myself. At this I laughed, as a sailors yarn; but after regarding him steadfastly, and then gazing again at the bullocks, I thought there might be some truth in it. One thing I will say of these sons of Devon: rough they may be, and short of grain, and fond of their own opinions, and not well up in points of law which is our very nature queer, moreover, in thought and word, and obstinate as hedgehogs, yet they show, and truly have, a kind desire to feed one well. Money they have no great love of spending round the cor- ner, neither will they go surety freely for any man who is free to run; but vittels, as they call them, vittles I before you have been in a house two minutes out come these, and eat you must! Happily, upon this point I was able to afford them large and increasing satisfaction, having rarely enjoyed so fine a means of pleasing myself and others also. For the things are good, and the people too; and it takes a bad man to gainsay either. CHAPTER XXVII. A FINE 5PECTACLR. WE brought the Rose of Devon to her moorings on the south side of the river, about two miles short of Barnstable, where a little bend and creek is, and a place for barges, and Deadmans Fill was the name of it. What could a dead man want with a pill, was the very first thing I asked them; but they said that was no concern of theirs; there wore pills up and down the river for miles, as well as a town called Pill-town. The cleverest man that I came across said that it must be by reason of piles driven in where the corners were to prevent the washing, and he showed me some piles, or their stumps, to prove it, and defied all further argument. For the time I was beaten, until of a sudden, and, too late to let him know, I saw like a stii- pid that it must be no other than our own word Pwyl, which differs much from an English pool, because it may be either THE MAID OF SKER. 171 dry or wet, so long as it lies in a hollow, very likely a dead calm all round. Never- And with that 11 fell a-thinking of poor theless, somehow or other, the result seems Bardie and Pwyl Tavan. To he quit of always otherwise. remorse, and to see the world, 1 accepted I had just hailed a man with a colt to old Ikeys invitation to Barnstable fair for show off, and commodores pendants all the very next day. We could not begin over his tail, and was keeping clear of his to discharge our limestone, as even that counter to catch the rise of the wave for ohstinate Fuzzy confessed, upon a sacred hoarding him, when a hush came over all day like that. Fuzzy himself had a mind hands as if the street had been raked with for going, as we half suspected, although chain-shot. And on hoth sides of the he held his tongue about it; and my un- street all people fell hack and backed der-inate told me to let him alone, and see their horses, so that all the roadway stood what would come of it. as clear as if the fair had turned into a The town is a pleasant and pretty one, Sunday morning. and has always been famous for thinking Up the centre, and heeding the people itself more noble than any other; also the no more than they would two rows of fair was a fine thing to see, full of people, trees, came two grave gentlemen, daintily and full of noise, and most outrageous walking arm in arm, and dressed in black. dialect; everybody in fine broad humour, They had broad-flapped hats, long coats and no fighting worth even looking at. of broadcloth, black silk tunics, and buckled This disappointed me; for. in Wales we breeches, and black polished boots reach- consider the off-day market a poor one, ing up to the buckles. unless at least some of the women pull Meanwhile, all the people stood huddled caps. I tried, however, not to miss it, together upon the pitched stones on either having seen in foreign countries people side, touching their hats, and scarce whis- meeting peaceably. Of this I could have pering, and even the showing off of the had no intention to complain to poor Ikey horses went into the side-streets. Hutchings. However, he took it as if I After all the bowing and legging that I had, and offered to find me a man from had beheld in the Royal Navy, the double Bratton, or himself, to have a square with file, the noble salutes, the manning of the me, and stake half-a-crown upon it. He sides and yards, the drums, the oars all must have found early cause for repent- upon the catch, and all the other glorious ance, if I had taken him at his word; but things that fit us to thrash the Frenchmen every one would have cried shame upon so, there was nothin~, else left for me to me against such a poor little fellow. And suppose but that here were two mighty so we pushed on, and the people pushed admirals, gone into mourning very likely us. for the loss of the Royal George, or come After a little more of this, and Ikey on the sly perhaps to enjoy the rollicking bragging all the time, though I saw noth- of the fair, and sinking the uniform for ing very wonderful, we turned the corner variety. how could I tell, and least of all of a narrow street, and opened into a would I think of interfering with the plea- broader one. Here there seemed to be no sure of my betters; therefore I stopped in bullocks, such as had made us keep springs my throat the cheer (which naturally on our cables, but a very amazing lot of seemed to rise the moment I took my hat horses, trotting about, and parading, and off), for fear of letting the common people rushing, most of them with their tails up- know that I understood their Honours. hoisted, as if by discharging tackle. But after looking a~ain so long as one Among them stood men, making much of mi,,ht without being inquisitive, I saw that their virtues, and sinking their faults (if neither of these great men could walk the they had any), and cracking a whip every deck in a rolling sea. now and then, with a style of applause I had been so bold in the thick of the toward them. horses that Ikey had found it too much Now I have a natural love of the horse, for him always to keep close to me; but though I never served long on hoard of now, as the nearest horse must have drifted one; and I regularly feel, at sight of them, the length of two jolly-boats away, this a desire to mount the rigging. Many a little sailor came up and spoke. time I have reasoned to my own convic- Can e show the laikes of they two, in tion and my neighbours, that a man who Taffy-land, old Taffy now? can stand on the mizzen-top-gallant yard Plenty, I should hope, said I (though in a heavy gale of wind, must find it a proud in the end to say not one); ridiculously easy thing to hold on by a but what a fuss you make! Who are horse with the tackle to help him, and they? 172 THE MAID OF SKER. As if thee didnt know! cried Ikey, staring with indignation at me. How should I know when I never clapped eyes on either of them till this moment? Thou hast crossed the water for some- thing then, Davy. Them be the two Pas- sons! Two Passons! I could not say it exactly as he sounded it. I never heard of two Passons. A wants to draive me mad, a dooth said Ikey, in self-commune: Did e never hear tell of Passon Chowne, and Passon Jack, man alive now? It was hopeless to try any more with him, for I could not ding into his stupid head the possibility of such ignorance. He could only believe that I feigned it for the purpose of driving him out of his senses, or making little of his native land. So I felt that the best thing I could do was to look at these two great gentlemen accurately and impartially, and thus form my own opinion. Hence there was pros- pect of further pleasure, in coming to know more about them. Yerily they were goodly men, so far as the outer frame goes; the one for size, and strength, and stature and the other for face, form, and quickness. I felt as surely as men do feel, who have dealed much among other men, that I was gazing upon two faces not of the common order. And they walked as if they knew them- selves to be ever so far from the average. Not so much with pride, or conceit, or any sort of arrogance, but with a manner of going distinct from the going of fellow- creatures. Whether this may have been so, because they were both going straight to the devil, is a question that never crossed my mind, until I knew more about them. For our parsons in Wales, take them all in all, can hardly be called gentle- men; except, of course, our own, who was Colonel Loughers brother, also the one at Merthyr Mawr, and St. Brides, and one or two other places where they were custom- ers of mine; but most of the rest were small farmers sons, or shopkeepers boys, and so on. These may do very well for a parish, or even a congregation that never sees a gentleman (except when they are summpned and not always then); how- ever, this sort will not do for a man who has served, ay, and been in battle, under two baronets and an earl. Therefore I looked with some misgiving at these two great parsons; but it did not take me long to perceive that each of them was of good birth at least, what ycr his manners afterwards, men who must feel themselves out of their rank when buttoned into a pulpit for reasoning with Devonshire plough-tail Bobs, if indeed they ever did so; and as for their flocks, they kept dogs enough at any rate to look after them. For they both kept hounds; and both servcd their Churches in true hunting fashion that is to say, with a steeplechase, taking the country at full gallop over hedges and ditches, and stabling the horse in the vestry. All this I did not know as yet, or I must have thought even more than I did concerning those two gentlemen. The taller of the two was as fair and ruddy, and as free of countenance, as a June rose in the sunshine; a man of commanding build and figure, but with no other command about him, and least of all, that of his own self. The other it was that took my gaze, and held it, having caught mine eyes, until I forgot myself, and dropped them under some superior strength. For the time, I knew not how I felt, or what it was that vanquished me; only that my spirit owned this mans to be its master. Whether from excess of good- ness, or from depth of desperate evil, at the time I knew not. It was the most wondrous unfathomable face that ever fellow-man fixed gaze upon; lost to mankindliness, lost to mercy, lost to all memory of God. As handsome a face as need be seen, with a very strong forehead and coal-black eyes, a straight white nose, and a sharp-cut mouth, and the chin like a marble sculpture. Disdain was the first thing it gave one to think of; and after that, cold relentness humour; and after that, anythin,, dark and bad. Meanwhile this was a very handsome man, as women reckon beauty; and his age not over forty, perhaps; also of good average stature, active and elegant form, and so on. Neither years nor cubits make much odds to a man of that sort; and the ladies pronounce him perfect. When these two were gone by, I was able to gaze again at the taller one. Truly a goodly man he was, though spared from being a good one. He seemed to stand over me, like Sir Philip; although I was measured for six feet arid one inch, before I got into rheumatic ways. And as for size and compass, my parents never could give me food to fetch out my girth, as this parsons was. Tie looked a good yard and a half round the chest, and his arms were like oak-saplings. However, he proved to be a man void of some pride and some evil desires, unless anybody hove hard on him; and as fey reading the col~ TUE MAID OF SKER. 173 lects, or lessons, or even the burial service, I was told that no man in the British realm was fit to say Amen to him. This had something to do with the size of his chest, and perhaps might have helped to increase it. His sermons also were done in a style that women would come many miles to enjoy; beginning very soft and sweet, so as to melt the milder ones; and then of a sudden roaring greatly with all the contents of enormous lungs, so as to ring all round the sides of the strongest weaker vessels. And as for the men, what could they think, when the prea9her could drub any six of them? This was Parson Jack, if you please, his surname being iRambone, as I need not say, unless I write for unborn genera- tions. his business in Boutport Street that day was to see if any. man would challenge him. lie had held the belt seven years, they said, for wrestling, as well as for bruising; the condition whereof was to walk the street both at Barnstapie fair and at Bodmin revels, and watch whether any man laid foot across him. This he did purely as a layman might. But the boxing and bruising were part of his office, so that he hung imp his cassock always for a challen~e to make rent in it. There had been some talk of a Cornishman interfering about the wrestling; and bad people hoped that he might so attempt, and never know the way home again; but as for the fightin~, the cassock might hang till the beard of Parson Jack was grey, before any one made a hole in it. Also the Cornish wrestler found, after looking at Parson Jack, that the wisest plan be- fore him was to challenge the other Cor- nishmen, and leave the belt in Devon- shire. All this I found out at a little gathering which was held round the corner, in Bear Street, to reflect upon the business done at the fair, and compare opinions. And although I had never beheld till then any of our good company, neither expected to see t,bem again, there were no two opinions about my being the most agreeable mab in the room. I showed them how to make punch to begin with, as had been done by his Royal Highness, with me to declare proportions; and as many of the farmers bad turned some money, they bade me thihk twice about no ingredient that would figure on the bill, even half-a- crown. By right of superior knowledge, and also as principal guest of the evening, I became voted the chairman, upon the clear understanding that I would do them the honour of paying nothing; and therein I found not a man that would think of evading his duty towards the chair. I en- treated them all to be frank, and regard me as if I were born in Barustaple, which they might look upon as bein~ done other- wise, as the mere turn of a shaving; for my father had been there twice, and my mother more than once thought of trying it. Everybody saw the force of this; and after a very fine supper we grew as genial as could be, And leading them all with a delicate knowledge of the ins and outs of these natives (many of which I had learned at the fair), and especially by encouraging their bent for contradiction, I heard a good deal of the leading people in the town or out of it. I listened, of course, to a very great deal, which might be of use to me or might not; but my object was, when I could gather in their many-elbowed stories, to be thoroughly up to the mark on three points. First, about Fuzzy, and most important. Who was he? What was he? Where did he live? Had he got a wife? And if so, why? And if not, more especially, why again? Also, how much money had he, and what in the world did he do with it; and could he have, under the rose, any reason for keeping our women so distant? Particularly, I had orders to know whether he was considered handsome by the Dev- onshire women. For our women could not make up their mind~, and feared to give way to the high opinion engendered by his contempt of theni. Only they liked his general hairiness if it could be war- ranted not to come off. Upon this point I learned nothing at all. No man even knew Bethel Jose, or, at any rate, none would own to it, perhaps be- cause Ikey was there to hearken; so I left that until I should get with the women. My next matter was about Braunton Bur- rows, and the gentleman of high rai~mk who wandered up and down without tell- ing us why. And I might hereupon have won some knowledge, and was beginning to do so, when .a square stout man came in and said, hush! and I would gladly have thrown a jug at him. Nevertheless I did learn something which I mean to tell next to directly. But as concerned the third question be- fore me (and to myself the most itching of any), satisfaction, to at least half-meas- ure, was by proper skill and fortune. brough1~ within my reach almost. And this I must set down at leisure, soberly thinking over it. 174 THE STORY OF THE HOSTAGES. From The Gentlemans Magazine. bearing, while others, again, were of a THE STORY OF THE HOSTAGES. bearded, burly type, such as we sometime~ THE Story of the Hostages, of their find among French physicians. But there sufferings nd death, is a chapter in the were two who had a special and direct history of the Commune that has not yet connection with the tra~edy we are about been told. In England we have had only to describe namely, Ferr6 and Ranul a few glimpses of the terrible scenes that Rigault. Both these men were, curious to attended the end of these noble and re- say, of the same type; each with a dark sinned men. The story is besides intense- beard and moustache, and each wearing ly dramatic; and if it shows that a picture those French pinch-nose glssses, which of the Commune and its doings would not imparted a mince and dandified air, in be unworthy of Mr Carlyles Salvator grotesque contrast to the ferocious charac- Rosa-like pencil, the same reason proves ter of their creed. abundantly that the Commune movement Both were very young. Ferr6 was but is barbarous and brutal enough to form a five-and-twenty, and Raoul Rigault only a chapter in the old French Revolution of little older. Again the behaviour of these 1793. All the bloodthirsty and fiendish men their taste for blood, their cruelty, incidents have been faithfully reproduced, their cold mercilessness calls up, in quite and, happily, also the heroic virtues of pa- a vivid way, that no description could tience and courage by which those atroci- have realized, the figures of the demons ties were encountered. who figured in the great Revolution. It In many a window along the Boulevards helps us to understand the sea-green in- are to be seen little terra cotta busts, corruptible and his quiet, refined man- done with singular spirit and skill; and ncr; while his eye quested blood. Indeed, the print shop windows exhibit whole all the antics of these men of 1871 their lines of ecelesiatical portraits, an unaccus- decrees, burnings, levelling of columns, tomed spectacle in Paris, where they and the rest of their awful deeds, all ~surp the place of notorious demireps. crowded into a few weeks reproduced These are likenesses of those who are by instinct, and without any purpose of rather melodramatically labelled vic- imitation, the former era. But where the limes; in short, are dismal reminders of likeness was carried out only too faithful- that piteous story of the innocent hostages, ly, was in the thirst for PRIEsTs BLOOD. whose mournful fate, from the number of This, indeed, seems to be a motto of all surrounding atrocities, has scarcely excited Revolution; the first attack is made on the sympathy and horror it merits. In the clergy; the Jesuits and cur6s are the grotesque and hideous pantomime of driven out or slaughtered. And this is the Commune, this episode alone hai a not a mere devouring of the shepherds he- pathetic dignity, and the fi~ures of the in- fore beginning with the sheep; but a nocent stand out against th0e flaming back- sort of morbid fury, a grudge of years ~ronnd of burning Paris. Their story standing. For these unhappy victims are has not yet been told consecutively, and helpless to interfere with their purposes. we shall now attempt to follow it out. But this rabid phobia should surely be It is only by turniun over the newspa- considered a compliment to these good pers, pamphlets, caricatures, and photo- men, though one paid at the expense of graphs of this strange era, that we can get life itself. even a conception of the extraordinary Rigault was Delegate of Public Safe- state of things that prevailed during those ty, as it was called in the pompons jar- nine w~eks from March the 18th to May gon of the Commune, and he soon con- the 24th. The members of the Commune trived to be appointed to the office of themselves, with their theatrical dignities Procureur or Prosecutor for the Commune, of generals, colonels, dele~ates, ministers and later to that of Chief of Police. With of finance, installed at the great Govern- such powers, this man took a fiendish meat Offices where they held orgies pleasure in denouncing and arresting not together with their wild, half-dressed, half- those who might be oppo ed to his party drilled soldiers, seem to be figures out of but those to whom he had an instinct of Callots or Goyas pictures. Some, during dislike. In his friend Ferr~i he found ar~ these days of whirl and delirium, could associate of a congenial turn of mind. not resist being photographed in their These two men must be held responsible green-room finery, in comic military for the cold-blooded murders that fol- dresses, and girt abyut with sashes. Their lowed. The eyes of both turned eagerly to faces, too, corresponded. Some had a per- the cassocks then walkino abo feet circus air, others a shaggy, sans culotte with plenty to do. o ut Paris, THE STORY OF THE HOSTAGES. 175 On the 7th of April, the Hostage law part or conceal himself, saying that the was voted, which was to the effect that post of the shepherd was with his flock. every one suspected of holding relations The Delegate Reg~re, whoni the writer with Versailles should he brought before saw at the Versailles trial defending him- a jury, and, if found guilty, detained in self with great coolness and fluency, and prison as a hostage; so that if any pris- who affected to carry out the r6ie of a oner were put to death by the Versaillists, pious man, sending his children to relig- three of these hostages should he executed ions schools, actually paid him a visit with in reprisal. Fortified hy this decree, they this view. This strange official followed could set to work with effect; for every the offices of the Church with regularity, person who did not sympathize with them though once in the sacrist he denounced might ex oflicio, he suspected of holdin0 the Archbishop as a traitor, and said he relations with Versailles. would vote against him. The Arch- Mr. Leighton passed by the Rue St. bishop was considered a clever man, of Honori about three or four oclock one strong convictions. He had a fine ecciesi- mornin~, when he noticed a group of the astical head. The hostages were all con- ill-fed and grotesquely dressed Federals signed to the cells of the common prison- standing as if waitin~ for some one. In a ers and treated with extraordinary rigour moment a door opened in another street, the leading hostages being confined and a man issuing forth hurried away in a chiefly at the Mazas Prison. very alarmed fashion. Presently the door Weeks passed by, and the Versailles was opened again, and two soldiers burst troops were gradually drawing the circle out in pursuit, the man was caught, closer and yet closer. As they found the dragged in, and the door shut again. This end drawing nearer, the Communist lead- was the Abb4~ Deguerry, the well-known ers felt the necessity of committing their Vicar of the Madeleine, who was immensely followers to the cause by some desperate popular and loved by both rich and poor. acts which should make them feel they His very air was engaging; a fine tall hand- were cut off from all hope of mercy, and some old man, full of activity and vigour, thus make them fight the more savagely. with a singularly open and honest face and Ferr~ succeeded Raoul Rigault in his a quick and lively expression a fresh office of Chief of Police, the former wish- colour, and a cloud of wiry silver hair on ing to have wider and more general scope each side of his head. He was eloquent for his work, and on this change a fresh and witty, was recherch6 in the salons of impulse was given. The appetite for blood the swell congre~,ation who attended was yet more whetted: indeed, there can his fashionable church, but was far more be no question but that if the Commune at home in the squalid quarters of St. Ens- had had a longer respite, the old Reign tache, where he had formerly been vicar, of Terror would have fairly set in. The His charity was unbounded; he kept noth- crusade against the eassocks can be ing for himself. Finally, he had several followed chronologically. Their property times declined a Bishopric. Once he had had been systematically plundered. The been persuaded to accept that of Mar- Jesuits, the Missionaries of the Holy seilles, but a few hours later he repented. Ghost, the Dominicans, the Church of St. No, he said; I belong to the Madeleine. Sulpice and its Seminary, the Birds I shall stay there, and die there. To have Convent, and even that church of tender selected such a man for a victim shows not and sacred memories, Notre Dame des merely a fiendish hatred of such goodness, Victories, were all invaded and pillaged. but a dull stupidity and ignorance that On the 10th of April, a notice posted on would make their cause for ever odious. the Church of Montmartre spoke signifi- With this good man were also arrested cantly of the rising hostility to things the Archbishop of Paris; President Bon- sacred. It described the priests as ban- jean; the Archbishops second vicar, the dits, their churches as lairs where the Abbe Allard, who was also a member of people were morally assassinated. As the International Society for the Relief of yet no priests blood had, been shed. But the Wounded; Father Ducoudray, Rector the warnings and menaces were so signif- of the Seminary of St. Geneviive; and icant, and the silent apprehension of some Father Clere, a Jesuit. These names are cruel work to come so strong, that the familiar to us from their unhappy noto- writer well remembers an attempt being riety; but many more priests, monks, made in London by some English ecelesias- bankers, lawyers were seized and thrown tics, to get Lord Granville to interfere: into prison. The Archbishop had received but, naturally, without result. Nothing friendly warnings; but he refused to de- could be done. But when on the 21st of 176 THE STORY OF THE HOSTAGES. May the gate of St. Cloud wan forced by pire or Versailles were to be shot. He the Versaillists, and their artillery was selected three by name; but when they ran0ed along the Trocadero heights, the were brought out, one was found to he last bloody act of this nightmare began, mad, and was actually wearing a straight- almost at once. Then the desperate men waistcoat. He was put aside. The see- that led the Communists seemed to turn ond, when called for, had wit enough to at bay, or coolly to make their prepara- conceal himself. The third was one Veys- tions for turning at bay. set, a gendarme officer. He was hurried An unfotunate young journalist named out, and was heard to make the faint re- Chaudey had been carried off it was said, monstrance You promised to spare my to gratify the hntred of Raoul Rigault. life. The answer he received was, All M. Louis Enault was sitting by him in the right, all right; these men have no time Sdcle office, when a gigantic masquerader to lose; so get along. All through the with a vast plume of feathers, and at- scene that followed many bystanders re- tended by half a dozen comic guards, ar- called the figure of the Prefect of Police, rested him. lie had been carried to Ste. hurryin~ and bustling about, conspicuous Pelagie, and on the evening of the 23rd of by ~ light-coloured palet6t with a velvet May, close upon midnight, Raoul hurried collar, a little cane in his hand, and the to his cell, attended by two followers, gaudy Commune scarf about his ~yaLst. armed to the teeth. Tie told Chaudey be Many who did not Know him at all identi- must get ready for death, and on the fled him by this bizarre dress. A squad wretched prisoner remonstrating that he of men were waiting who called them- had had no trial, that it was an assassin- selves the Avengers of Flourens (Ven- ation, the Communist Prosecutor burst gears de Flourens), to whom he distributed into a gross and violent attack upon his money a process, it seems, always gone victim, accusing him of having fired through before bloody work began. And upon the people in his paper. A squad then the party set out for the quai, of Federals bad been sent for. There was which was close by. Travellers will re- no help at hand; for, either by accident call the strange mass of buildings which or design, all the regular prison officials formed the Prefecture all caked~ to- were absent that night. Thus the victim gether, the houses overlooking the water, was surrounded by spies and enemies. as in Holland, the tottering edifices cen- Even a prisoner was allowed to look on tunes old. The writer was lately looking and insult him. lie was led round to a at the spot to which they drag~ed their retired avenue of the prison, close to the victim, and where Ferr6 gave the word, chapel. A lantern fixed at a corner of saying, Theres your man 1 A volley the wall shed a dim li~,ht; while another was discharged, and he was then flung into was carried by one Berthier. Rigault, the water. That atrocity was followed by finding his men hesitate, drew his sword, an orgie at the Prefecture, when the Prefect and ~ssailed then with coarse reproaches;, and his band were said to have remained then gave the word. The journalist was twenty-six hours at table, which they con- only hit in the arm, but with undaunted eluded by setting fire to the place, with- courage, cried, Vive la R6publique. out releasing a number of malefactors Then one of the warders with two shots who were confined, and who would have stretched him on the ground; while a been burnt, but for the courageous be- Brigadier Gentil, with a coarse oath, fired haviour of one of the warders. his revolver at him. The prisoner caine While these things were going on, the last, and discharged his pistol into the Communists found a sort of amusement skull of the unfortunate man. The savage in announcing to the hostages confined in execration of the victim, with the by- the Mazas Prison that each day was to be standers taking a share in his execution, their last. A former police officer, named was a fair imitation of the procedure of Rabut a class of men whom the Coin- the old revolutions. Rigault was heard munists regarded with an almost demon- to say, We ought to have begun all this iacal hatred had been told on the morn- long a~o! ing of the 22nd, by a friendly warder, that These were the last days of the Coin- the Versailles troops were in the town, mune, and into them were crowded all and that he would soon be free. The sorts of dramatic horrors. On the 24th other answered, sadly, Provided we are of May, Ferr6 arrived at the Prefecture, not assassinated in the meantime. But accompained by Wurtz and another of his about eight oclock that evening, just as he familiars. He sent for the registers, and was getting into bed, the warder came to gave out that all who had served the Em- tell him that he must dress himself, and THE STORY OF THE HOSTAGES. 177 get ready to be brought to another prison cell. An honest doctor, also detained at La Roquette. At this news his heart La Roquette, tried hard to get him placed sank, for he knew that La Roquette was in a cell close to him, where he himself the one always associated with condemned could he at hand to attend him. And he prisoners. He was brought to a dark cell pressed the Archbishop to get this change and detained there an hour, when he was madc. The latter, thankin~ him heartily, brought to the office and confronted with said he did not wish to be separated from two delegates, who asked if his name was his friends. A young priest, Dc Marsay, Rabut. Ga being told that it was, they also confined in the prison, got him to turned to each other with sparklin~ eyes, accept his cell, which was No. 21, and in and said that It was all ri~ht. He was the 4th division, having a chair and a then brought down to the court, where a table, and a glimpse of a little garden. large furniture wagon, covered With can- The same good ecclesiastic had previously vas, and open at both ends, was waiting. exchanged cells with President Bonjean, Other hosta~es had been also sum- who found the glare of the sun too oppres- inoned, and were crowded into the wagon, sive. The Archbishop was very ill indeed. to the number of about a dozen. They M. Dc Marsay had some talk with both. were driven through the streets, while a The Archbishop repeated how he had crowd, half-drunk, thirsty for blood, pur- refused to fly, believing it was his duty to sued them with revilings and cries of remain. The President spoke tenderly of Death! death! A venerable mission- his wife. lie said lie had been offered ary, with a long white beard the Abbe forty-eight hours to go and see her, giv- Perni was among them, and his name ing his parole that he would return before was called third on the list. He described the hour fixed; hut that, considering the the shocking and coarse insults they re- difficulties of communication and the pos- ceived from the crowd of wretches about sibility of his being prevented carrying them, and declared that during his five- out what he had given his honour to un- and-twenty years life spent amongst say- dertake, he thought better to decline. ages, he had never seen anything so horn- More probably this upright man and ble as the faces of the infuriated women judge felt that he dared not trust him- and men who were howling for their self to his family and friends, and feared blood. Later events show that it was lest there should be a speck on the ermine only motives of policy that prevented he so adorned. their conductors allowiub them to be torn There was something simple and noble in pieces like the deer flung to the in this judges character. A Senator and hounds at Fontainebleau. They arrived, Dean of the Court of Cassation, he had however, safely at the grim prison, which felt it his duty to return to the city when closed its gates on them. One of the the moment of dancer came. He was actu- ,gaolers standing by witnessed their arri- ally leaving the bench when he was seized val, and heard the officer in charge say, and dragged away to prison. One of the We are doing to shoot them. The priests who was confined bore testimony gaoler made a sort of remonstrance, but to his noble demeanour under this awful was violently threatened by the officer, trial. This magistrate, good Christian, and warned to look to himself They and honest man, was actually the one spent that most gloomy night in their among us all who feared death the least. cells. The danger was coIning terribly lie it was who cheered and encourage~ near, though they might have a little hope us and strengthened us. A letter of from the news that the troops were mak- his, addressed to a young friend, has been ing way. preserved, which shows a state of mind This was on Tuesday, the twenty-third. worthy of a philosopher. My dear child, During the greater part of the next day he said, what I have done I would do there was a sort of unnatural calm. The again. However painful have been the police officer in the morning asked for consequences to my dear family, in the water, but received the rather ominous simple fact of doing ones duty there is an answer, You wont want it: as you will inward satisfaction which helps us to sup- be out of this to-morrow, or perhaps this port witi patience, and even with calm- evening. But the prison officials were ness, the bitterest trials. I have never secretly indulgent, as far as they dared to before now so well understood the passage be so. They were allowed to see and in the Sermon on the Mount: Blessed speak to each other. The Archbishop was are they who suffer persecution for jus- suffering a great deal from the long confine- tice sake. My dear friend, let us do our ment, and had been put into a wretched duty and remain cheerful, up to the foot LIVING AGE. VOL. XXIY. 1106 178 THE STORY OF THE HOSTAGES. of the scaffold. This was no platitude. All his fellow-prisoners were inexpressibly comforted by his never-failing cheerful- ness, and even gaiety, to the last moment. But he had always been a religions man and as he lived, so he died. That day passed over slowly. But at night~, about eight oclock, the Missionary heard the clatter of arms and footsteps in the passage of the prison; and, looking out, saw a hand of Communist soldiers. He presently heard one of them say, We must finish off these Versailles bandits; and one of the fellows answered him, Well floor them, youll see! He knew what this meant, and began to prepare himself for death. In a moment he heard some one open the door of the next cell, and ask the occupant, Was he the citizen Darboy? This was a young priest named Guersand, who answered No. The Mis- sionary then heard a voice answer gently, Here! It was the unfortunate Arch- bishop. They next passed to M. Bonjean~s cell. The prisoner was beginning to un- dress. He was told to come as he was, and make haste. He had time to press the hand of Abb6 De Marsay, whose cell was next his; and gave him this pathetic message, Tell my wife that I die with her memory at my heart. The Communists had been mustered in the court of the prison. They were a band of some forty or fifty, selected from the Avengers of the Republic, the for- lorn Hope of the Commune, the Las- cars, and the Zounves of the Column of July, and other fantastically named corps. Some were dressed up grotesquely in hats with red plumes, and long cloaks. All seemed to be half-drunk. Most were very young. At their head were two men; one in a workmans blouse, with a long beard; the other a member of the Commune, wear- ing his scarf over a light palet6t, and a red bow edged with gold. It was not very clearly established whether this was Ferr6, as the more careful and trustworthy of the witnesses would not swear to him; though, at the close of the Communist trial, a wit- ness swore to his presence in rather too wholesale a fashion. But as Ferr6 direct- ed the executions of a day or two before, and those of a day or two later, it seems almost certain that he was present on this occasion. While they were in the court, various prisoners were taking hurried glances from the windows, and listening with strained ears; indeed, all this account can only he put together, literally from dra- matic snatches of words, and glimpses caught up here and there from a window or a doorway. But this was checked, as soon as observed, with a ferocious menace. The band in the court were heard talking together, We are to have our fifty francs apiece and began trying their locks. But there were some symptoms of hanging back from the office of actual execution; some shifting it on to the others, with a You do it, No; you do it. But at last it was arranged, and they proceeded to load. Then Ferr6, or whoever was the Communist delegate, was heard to address them, Citizens, you know that six of our men are wanting. Well, we must have six of these! and, out of the list in his hand, selected six names. Then Le Fran9ams, Governor of the prison (who had been six years at the galleys), led the way up to the prisoners corridor. The Communists followed, and were drawn up in the gal- lery; and the Hostages, as we have seen, were called out. What dictated the selection of these six is not known, save that five were ecelesias- tics of high position. As the Archbishop passed into the corridor, he was heard to say, The justice of the oppressor is slow in comino! As each came out, they had to pass through the double file of Federals, who poured out on them a foul torrent of execration. When they got to the foot of the stairs leading to the court-yard, they all met and embraced affectionately. They were allowed to exchange a few last words. Then they were loaded with in- sults; and some one reproached the Arch- bishop with having done nothing for the Commune. lie answered that he had written to Versailles, and it was not his fault if they had not answered him. If he was to die, he added, he hoped he should die like an honourable man. Fresh abuse was heaped upon him. Rut a man in a blouse stepped forward, and said roughly that it was a cowardly thing to insult men who were going to be shot; and they should be let alone. This had some effect. Then they moved forward in a sort of lit- tle procession~ The Archbishop xvent first, the Judge leaning on his arm then the Abb6 Allard, his hands joined in an atti- tude of prayer; and then the brave and charitable old Abbe Deguerry, attended by the Jesuit Clere, and Pi~re Ducoudray. They were in the open avenue, walking towards a sort of grille or iron gate to the circular avenue, which had been opened, and the Archbishop, as he passed, rested his hand on it, and turned to speak. The Abbe De Marsay, who was at one of the windows, tried hard to catch what he said; THE STORY OF THE HOSTAGES. 179 but the Federals closed up and drowned his his gold cross, chain, & c., were gone words, one saying Get on! This is no even the gold cord on his hat. Such is the time for talk. Tyrants dont give us such history of their sufferings; and, however indulgences. They passed by, and Pa- calamitous the story, their unostentatious ther Ducoudray, glancing up at the win- dignity and courage furnish a welcome dow where his friend was, opened his contribution to the nobility of human soutane, and significantly pointed to his nature. heart. All were calm, gentle, resigned, Then followed the massacre of some and met their end with true dignity. poor Dominicans, who had been carried An avenue ran round the prison between off about a week before from their con- two high walls. The night was dark, and vent and schools. They were not classed the sky was even more darkened by clouds as hostages, though the title made no dif- of black smoke, for Paris had already be- ference in their fate. The fathers, profes- gun to burn. Some of the Federals car- sors, servants, all were taken away en ned flaming torches; the rest walked in masse. On the morning after the Arch- loose order round about the prisoners. bishops execution, about eight oclock, an They arrived at a spot where the wall officer entered and announced to them makes a bend; there they halted. It that they were free. But we cant leave must have been a strange procession. As you in the hands of the Versaillists, so you it tramped by a prisoner in his cell heard must follow us to the Gobelins; from thence one of the priests utter, 0 my God! my you can go wherever you please. This God! while the Abb6 Allard exhorted would seem to have been one of the cruel his companions to be firm. The six were jests of which the Revolutionists were placed against the wall in a line. The fond: for the ecclesiastics were led through Archbishop then advanced and addressed an infuriated mob, all threatening them the assassins in a few words, saying that with death. When they got to the Gobelins he heartily forgave them, which seems to they were told they could not be allowed have produced a strange scene. For two to go, as they would be torn to pieces in of the men advanced, and, dropping on the streets. The shells were falling on the their knees, begged for his blessing. Their buildings, and they were purposely thrust comrades rushed at them and loaded them out into the open court. They were then with abuse. A cruel, meagre-looking taken to a new prison in the Rue dJtalie. man, about thirty-five years old, dressed As they waited, the door was often thrown in a blouse, advanced to give the word. open, and a sort of Garibaldian announced his name was Virigg. Two discharges to them: Cassocks! get up. We are immediately followed, and the victims fell. going to put you on the barricades. Some were cruelly wounded, and the pris- They were accordingly conducted into a onors far off in the cells counted with sink- perfect rain of balls, but escaped being ing hearts the dropping shots that sue- struck. When the insurgents were driven ceeded. Yiri~,g advanced, and with his from the barricades they took their pris- pistol gave the coup de grace to the Arch- oners with them, and sent them back to bishop. The President, writhing on the the prison. There they prepared for ground, strove to raise himself, and was death, confessed each other, and received shot down. One of the assassins was their Priors exhortation. At half-past heard joking on it as they went away. four came Colonel Cerisier with a new You saw how the old fellow tried to get order; they were all to set out fathers, up! It was time to finish him off. They professors, and domestics. When they got suffered cruelly. The skull of Father to the gate of the prison the command was Ducoudray was literally broken in, and given: Pass out, one by one, into the M. Bonjeans legs were broken in many street. They obeyed. The Prior said: places. Let us go, my friends, in the name of our At eleven oclock that night, Lamotte, good God. As each came out a terrible one of the warders, was told to go on fire was directed on them by the mob duty in place of one of the Communists, waiting for them. Twelve were shot who was drunk, and to fetch a cart. The down; one miraculously escaped to tell bodies were then searched, the articles the story, his coat pierced with bullets. found on them were brought to the Di- lie was able to slip unobserved into an rector; then they were driven off to P~re open doorway, where a good woman hur- la Chaise. When they were disinterred ned him into her husbands clothes, and some days later, they were found placed sheltered him till all danger was over. in simple shells. The violet cassock of the Yet these were all good and holy men, Archbishop was all tattered with balls; whose lives were devoted to attending the 180 THE STORY OF THE HOSTAGES. poor, educating children, and serving in their church. It is fatal to the cause of the Revolution that such should be made the objects of its fury. We now return to the hostages remain- ing in La Roquette. Among them were three Jesuits Olivain, de Beugy, and Cauhert; the Director of a charitable or- phan-house; Pbre Planchat, a young scm- inarist; the good Abb~ Sabbatier, of No- tre Dame de Lorette, whose life, like that of the Abbe Deguerry, was given up to the poor and more especially to teaching poor children of his parish, who wor- shipped him. There were fourteen priests in all, and thirty-six gendarmes who were specially obnoxious to the people. On the twenty-sixth, two days after the first mas- sacre, the Versailles troops were in pos- session of a large portion of Paris; yet terrible scenes were going on. Ferr6 came in the morning to the prison, and held a sort of court for the trial of the soldiers. Some were hurriedly dealt with; a raging mob waiting at the gate for their prey. A member of the court would ap- pear at the door with a prisoner, hand out a scrap of paper with his condemnation written on it. The victim would be thrust out, under the pretext of being conducted to execution, but in reality to be de- spatched by the mob. In their despair some would try and run for their lives, only to be shot down, as a witness de- scribed it, like wild animals. The priests were dealt with after the same fashion. On Thursday, about four oclock, when the shells were falling on the prison a Brigadier Romain arrived, and with a joy- ful air announced to them that they were to be set free. We want fifteen, said the Brigadier; so answer to your names. They were not deceived by this pretence, and knew that their hour was come. When he came to one of the names which was written illegibly, a religious stepped forward and calmly said it was his. Another asked might he take his hat, but the Brigadier said it was not worth while, as they were only going to tl~e of- fice. In the court below was waiting a band of armed men, some of whom seemed to be the same who had assisted at the Archbishops execution. The leader was a Garibaldian, with very red hair, a huge sabre, and a revolver, which he flourished. An apothecary was watching all this from the window of his cell, and heard snatches of an angry conversation between this man and the governor of the prison, the ci- decent convict Le Fran~ais. The Garibal dian said, roughly: Twenty minutes wont do. I must have them at once. They were then taken away on one of those dreadful progresses through the streets to the notorious quarter of Belle- ville. How they got there, or where they passed that night or the following morning, is not known; but on Friday evening, at about six oclock, they were seen walking in terrible procession through the Rue de Paris. It was composed of the Federals chiefly belonging to battalions of the 5th and 11th quarters, some men of a body called Bergerets Forlorn Hope, and a band of vile and unsexed women, who are ad- mitted to have been the most ferocious of the whole. After these came some of the unfortunate gendarmes; then the four- teen priests; and then the remaining sol- diers. There were fifty prisoners in all! Drums and trumpets played a sort of a furious march; while the yells and execra- tions of the crowd that rushed on either side must have made the whole seem some- thing infernal. They turned into the Rue Haxo, a little behind which was an open space, which had been cleared just before the war broke out in order to build a ball- room. The ground had been dug out at one side for the foundations, so that the whole presented the appearance of a sort of circus with a deep trench at one end. Here, and in all the streets that gave upon this place, was waiting a surging, ~ crowd, which eddied still in un- clean waves as the head of the procession passed in. A man was riding among this mass who was greeted with shouts of ap- probation, and when the prisoners ap- proached he called out, Heres a good take, my men! Now, let me see you finish them! A young man, fair, pale, handsomely dressed, and evidently of superior station, was also seen with them, and was heard to say: Shoot them down, my friends; shoot them down! The whole place where the future ball- room was to be erected was now one mass of human beings. The fifty unfortunate men were dragged forward and thrust into the trench. The priests were already wounded, but were perfectly resigned and patient. Then commenced a slaughter with revolvers that could only be com- pared to a battue. Shot after shot was poured into the fatal trench until it be- came a mass of lifeless, bleeding remains. For a time all was like an orgie from the mixed sounds of yells, imprecations, and shots. Then came a sudden stillness. A THE STORY OF THE HOSTAGES. 181 man in a grey hat and blouse, with a gun lung on his back, came out of the trench and was received with delight and con- gratulations young and p~etty women patting him on the back, and saying, Well done; bravo, my friend! The unfortunate Abbi Sabbatier was pierced with ei~,ht balls, his braia blown out, his jaw shot away. We go back again to La Roquette, where there were still left a few hostages, amon~, whom were half a dozen priests. It was evident that the Commune were economizing their victims, using them in batches to stimulate the already whetted appetites of their followers. The old Chinese Missionary had somehow beea passed over, though he often thought his last moment had come. There were also Fathers Surat, Chaulieu, and about sixty laymen. It was now Saturday, the 27th. The end was at hand, and it was to be the last day of the Commune. About evening news spread through the prison that the terrible Ferr6 had arrived. He had come to carry off a fresh batch to execution. A brave Superintendent or Brigadier of the prison named Binet, was shocked at this fresh demand, and came down to Ferr6, whom he found flourishing a revolver, and surrounded by half a dozen of his men, their guns slung on their backs. The Brigadier began to plot with a companion how he was to save them, and for a mo- ment thought of snatching Ferr~s pistol and shooting him, but that was found too risky. He was forced to bring them down. There were of course in the prison the regular malefactors, and as he went up stairs it occurred to him that it would be a good idea to release and arm these men, on condition of their fighting in defence of the place. Accordingly all sorts of rude weapons, hammers, bars, & c., were fur- nished to them, and according to other accounts the Communists handed in arms through the gratings. Binet presently saw one of the criminals who was under sentence of death, aiming at him with a musket. Cries of Hurrah for the Coin- inune! echoed through the building. But the courageous officer went and warned the hostages not to be seduced down by any cries that the gates were open, and then barricaded himself and them. Tie was seen at a window, and an infurated Communist called upon him to come down. The whole place was now in confusion. All the cells were thrown open, and every one was told he might go where and when he pleased. No doubt this was owing to the general confusion now prevail- ing, for the soldiers were closing in. The hostages the priests especially so often deluded by such invitations, were at a loss what to do. Four of the priests, including Fathers Surat and Chaulieu, timorously found their way to the gate. They had got as far as the Place Prince Eug~ne, when they were stopped and searched. The Federals were about to shoot them on the spot when some women interposed and begged that they should not be executed there. They were taken back to the prison, when M. Surat made an attempt to escape. He was caught, and dragged along under the prison wall. At this moment a woman burst out of the crowd, and, flinging herself on him, tried to stab him. With one hand he tried to ward off her blows, and with the other made the sign of the cross. Shrieking, Let me have the priest. I must have him! she levelled her revolver, and as the unfortunate priest said Mercy, made- moiselle; have mercy! shot him through the head. A mere child then shot him in the chest. The other three perished in the same way. The Chinese Missionary, who had been ready for death, took things very quietly. At the general sauve quipeut, the warder, who behaved admirably all through, gave them lay dresses. The old Missionary went out, and wandering about the streets for more than an hour trying to obtain shelter, at last came to the resolution of returning to his prison where he found the servants with some gendarmes, who had done pre- cisely the same thing. The Abb~i De Mar- say was more fortunate. He found a Fed- eral who threatened him with his gun. The Abbd waited till he saw the mans at- tention engaged by some unfortunate sob diers who were being hurried by, and fled. The fellow fired after him, but niissed him. No romance of the late Dumas could be more full of excitin~ scenes, succeeding each other like a dreadful series of dissolv- ing views. Even this last incident is a little picture. But everywhere, through the smoke and crowd, the dark cassock of the baited priest is in the centre. It seems the prison was divided into several quarters, and in two of these the hostages had successfully barricaded them- selves. One of the hostages bade the priests to keep out of the way, sayin,g that their gown did not oblige them to fight. A priest answered them, But we can at least give you our blessing, which they did. The Federals came again and again, threatening arid cursing, and at last 182 THE QUAKERS AND THE INTERNATIONAL tried to set the place on fire. They then attrocities should be at large; ready, per- attempted their old ruse, announcing that haps, to repeat them should the occasion the prisoners were free and the doors offer. Thc blood of those murdered men, open, and that the place was about to who met their sufferings and death so no- be burnt. But they were not to be taken bly, cries to Heaven for vengeance. in. The Missionary and his friends were too ______________ few to think of defence, and a clever ward- er took them to the infirmary, and put them in bed in the sick wards, dressino- From The Spectator. them in the hospital clothes. This ide~ THE QUAKERS AND THE INTERNATIONAL. was the suggestion of a convict who THE International will not make much was employed in the prison. His name, of the Ipswich Engineers. The tyranny which should be preserved, was Ciesz- of capital seems to be felt in that rather anski. Again the Federals came, and out-of-the-way town as a very beneficent were told that the hostages had all gone influence, a kind of constitutional author- away. ity not to be attacked or upset without By this time, however, the Versailles very grave reflection. The accounts of troops had made great head, and the in- the movement there to secure the Nine surgents were falling back in all direc- Hours IDay published in the local papers tions. Two of the leaders came to take are very interesting, not only on account refuge that evening at the prison, with of the relation revealed as existing be- some horses and a mysterious chest, of tween masters and men a relation quite which they took great care, and which of the antique sort, manifested in ways was supposed to contain money. They that would have delighted Dickens, but brou~,ht a supply of wigs and chignons, on account of their couleur locale, the and a hair-dresser, who spent some time almost religious tone which seems to have in shaving and dressing them as wo- penetrated the proceedings. In Ipswieh men. One of these was believed in the they quote the Bible in favour of short prison to have been Ferr6. Both fled be- hours, and take as their song of triumph a fore night. hymn from Dr. Watts. Most of our read- At last Sunday morning came round, ers have heard, we imagine, of Messrs. and the Missionary and his companions in Ransome, Sims, and Head, the great the infirmary heard fresh confusion below. Quaker firm on the Orwell, which turns There was a tramping on the stairs, and out so large a proportion of the agricultu- the doors flew open. An officer in the ral machinery used throughout England, uniform of the French Army, his sword and is always coming to the front with raised in the air, strode in and called new inventions and appliances, like the out road steamer now being so largely ordered Who cries, France for ever! for India. This firm, now ninety years old, A shout, says the old Chinese Mission- is remarkable in industrial history for the ary, echoed him back his challen,,e of de- amity and long continuance of its relations liverance. His next question was tVhere with its employes. The founder Mr. Ran- is the Archbishop? It was Colonel some, a Quaker, in spite of a hard head Desplat. Rescue had come at last, and the and a somewhat despotic temper, had the true soldiers of France were below and Quaker habit of consideration for his men, filling the building. The Reign of Terror and his little foundry grew amidst difficul- was at an end. It must have seemed like ties such as one reads of in novels in some horrid nightmare to these survivors one case Mr. Ransome had to pay away his as they looked back. childrens bright pennies and little silver There had been another act of the tragedy to meet the wages of the week till it at the Mazas Prison. When the soldiers grew into one of the first establishments were drawing near, the rebels had opened in En~land, able to turn out at need a the doors, and bidding them go, the in- regiment of well-drilled, full-grown men. mates rushed out. But all round the Aided, no doubt, by local circumstances, prison were the barricades lined with the such as the absence of similar factories in insurgents, and as the wretched prisoners the district and its general poverty a scattered and hurried by, they were shot poverty long since removed but mainly down nearly to a man. by their mens sense of the governing tone Such is the Story of the Hostages. of the firm, the Ransomes were able on It is to be lamented that many of the one occasion to tide over a period which wretches who perpetrated these hideous was fatal to more than one of their rivals THE QUAKERS AND THE INTERNATIONAL. 183 in the trade. Some thirty-five years ago work was slack, money was scarce, and the firm was compelled to take the men into council, and ask for concessions which in many places would have been the signal for a determined strike. The masters, however, explained their situation frankly, the men entirely believed them, and after a single meeting the whole body agreed to work three-quarters time at reduced wages, that is, in fact, to put up with 12s. or 13s. in the pound of their usual receipts till better times came round. That mat- ter rested in my mind, says the present head of the firm, speakin~ so many years. after the occurrence, and doubtless tended to deepen an amity so remarkable that the firm, though noted for the strictness of its discipline, has now 456 hands in its employ whose services average 20 years, 328 who average 25 years, 51 who average 36 years, and 14 who exceed 46 years. In fact, de- parture has become among the more ex- perienced hands as unusual as dismissal, a fact all the more remarkable, because simi- lar works. are now in existence all over England, and Messrs. Ransomes men ex- press in their speeches about the Nine Hours movement complete sympathy with their order throughout the country, and are evidently not disposed to surrender any of the advantages generally enjoyed. Immediately after the termination of the newcastle Strike, the men, more than 900 in number, decided that it would be dis- creditable to Ipswich to remain behind- band in such a reform; but instead of striking or threatening to strike they held a meeting in the Lecture Hall, at which doctrines were propounded that would have made a Communist white with rage. One, which would, we fear, be received with little approval even in Northern Eng- land, was that it was to the workmans. ad- vantage that his master should get rich, a statement not indeed made by a work- man, but received by them with unanimous applause; another, that workmen had duties as well as rights; and a third, that if they were courteous and reasonahle, their employers would in all probability be so too. There was a bit of a fight as to the best hours for beginning and leav- ing off, but it ended in a unanimous deci- sion to ask for a full half-holiday on Sat- day, that is, from noon instead of 2 p. in., and such reduction on other days as would bring the weekly stint of labour down to fifty-four hours. A deputation accordingly waited on Messrs. IRansome with the mens request, and were, it seems, not only told that it would be granted, but that it was granted with pleasure, as a partial repay- ment of the ancient obligation conferred by the hands upon the firm. So touched were the men by this reception and the in- stant concession of their demand, that they could not be content without some public exhibition of their feeling, and ac- cordingly resolved to present their employ- ers with an address at a public soir~ie. The address, a most simple, straightfor- ward affair, remarkable only for its clear assertion that prosperity is a blessing to be prayed for instead of a snare to be avoided, was accordingly presented, and received by the partners in speeches which are really an echo of the mens, a distinct avowal that a short stint of daily labour is a good thing, good for the masters as well as the men, and one that in the end will cost nothing. There was. none of that reticence and caution with which most employers think it expedient to temper any concession whatever. We do not ob- serve in the very minute report of the speeches before us a single regret over the good old times when men worked from sunrise till they were too tired for any- thing but bed, while the manager of the Orwell Works, not a partner, repudiated in the strongest language the idea of mak- ing up the lost time by driving. He wanted more brain-oil put into their work, and not more elbow-grease; to see them all become workmen, instead of merely working-men. Nobody made the blunder of hinting that the men would misspend the new leisure; and the part- ners, with a touch of the true courtesy so often wanting in these struggles, insisted that the head of the workmens Committee the leader of the revolt, as they would say in Belgium or France should take precedence of the gentlemen, and be Chairman of the occasion. We have given this little incident a prominent place in our columns for two reasons. One is that we gravely believe this Nine Hours movement to be one of the most important that has ever occurred in the long strife of Labour and Capital, and its success of the brightest omen for the future adjustment of their relations. Masters and men have shown more common-sense than they have displayed for a century, and the effect of the reform in removing bitterness will be immense, for although some of the men still argue that wages are more important than leisure, and some of the masters still allege the reduction of hours is only a phrase for in- crease of pay, there can be no doubt that the old hours, the long monotony of toil, 184 CONSTITIJTIONAL REFORMS IN SWITZERLAND. the almost total absence of leisure in the centuries known how to maintain its inde- pendence. Composed of three antagonis- tic races, everywhere else engaged in un- ceasing struggles for mastery, its people display no other rivalry than a patriotic emulation for the welfare of their common country. With the still more dividing cir- cumstances of difference of language and difference of creed acting upon them, they are yet before the world one unsep- arated, inseparable brotherhood. Central- ized States may be torn asunder by the up- heavings of down-trodden nationalities, but federal Switzerland knows no such distrac- tions. There Germans, Frenchmen, and Italians, possessing equal rights, as they are subject to equal duties, feel that they have an equal interest in the preservation of their union, and well is this union en- titled to their attachmenh For it has solved that most difficult of political prob- lems, which so few States throughout the worlds history have succeeded in solving, how to reconcile individual liberty and local self-government with the maintenance of so much power in a central authority as will just suffice to preserve the indepen- dence and integrity of the country. And it has made, too, of their annals a story of continued progress and peaceful develop- ment. At first the bond uniting them sat very lightly on the several cantons. It partook more largely of the nature of a league for defensive pnrpo~cs than of a confederation, as we now ci ploy the term. Gradually, however, it was drawn closer and closer, until in 1848 a Constitution was adopted which turned Switzerland into a real federation, and strictly defined the rights of the cantons, as well as the pow- ers of the Central Government. Under this Constitution the Federal Legislature consists of two houses a Standerath, or Council of States, like the American Senate, representing the several cantons, each of which, whatever its im- portance, returns two members to it; and a Natiorualrath, or National Council, like the American House of Representatives, repre- senting the people, every 20,000 of whom return one member; but every canton must have at least one member in the Na- tionairath, and no electoral district can be made up of portions of different cantons. The executive is vested in a Council of Seven elected for three years, by the Leg- islature. The members divide the several departments of the administration between them, the Legislature selectin~ one to act as president. It will thus be seen that, while the LeAslature is an almost exact reproduction of the Americati Congress, From The Examiner. CONSTITUTiONAL REFORMS IN SWITZEJt- LAND. IN the Swiss Con~rem at Berne there is no.w under consideration a Reform Bill which is well deserving the attention of political students. Switzerland offers the most striking example, perhaps, ever afforded, of the advantages of the federal system. Surrounded by great empires continually on the watch for an oppor- tunity to crush its inconvenient liberties, it has yet, with its petty resources, for five sanliqht embittered workmens tempers, and left that sense of inconsiderate treat- ment, or, to speak plainly, of cruelty which makes obedience so hard. And the second reason is this. We have been profoundly impressed in all full accounts of strikes, whether En~lish or Continental, with what seems to us the almost undue effect of per- sonal courtesy from employers. Our read- ers may remember how a fancied slight embittered the strug~le between the work- men and the Directors of the South-East- ern Railway, and we never take up an account of a dispute which ended amicably without reading some acknowledgment by the workmen of the kindness or fair- ness or consideration with which their deputations were received. There is a sense of surprise, of pleased astonishment in some of these acknowledgments, which suggests thoughts at once melancholy and pleasant, melancholy because the sur- prise shows how deep the social chasm still is, pleasant because it reveals a method of avoiding, if not the struggle itself, at least some of its bitterness. The grand social difficulty of the Continent, the kind of hatred, as of. aristocrats for levellers, entertained by employers for their men a hatred due, we imagine, to concealed fear, and occasionally expressed with brutal insolence has never troubled us here much; but even in England a little more courtesy, a little more of the feeling which makes all Mussulmans courteous because every man is a creature of the Almighty, would seriously modify the tone of our social struggles. If all work- men in England were so treated that they thought it a plem~sant thing to see the mas- ters grow rich, as Messrs. Ransomes men said they did, the International might whistle up the storm till it fainted for want of breath. CONSTITUTIONAL REFORMS IN SWITZERLAND. 185 the executive more nearly resembles our own Cabinet. It differs from it, however, in at least two important particulars. In the first place, the whole of the members are elected by the Legislature instead ol?, as with us, the president only being indi- cated. And, in the second, they all hold office for a fixed term, instead of bein,, re- movable by a hostile vote. The Federal Government makes peace and war, and rep- resents the country internationally. The cantons, however, have the right to enter into conventions with other nations concerning fiscal and administrative mat- ters. This is a prerogative of sovereignty not possesscd by the American States. Foreign Governments can hold intercourse, in their case, only with the President through the Secretary of State. The Federal Government has also supreme jurisdiction over the army, the cantons be- ing forbidden to keep up a permanent force of more than 300 men in each. The Federal army consists of the elite, one per cent. of the population and the reserve half the glite. The Landwehr, or second reserve, is a cantonal force. The Federal Government has considerable jurisdiction likewise over fiscal matters, public works, and the like. With respect to reforms of the Constitution the provisions are com- plicated. If one House of Congress is in favour of revision, the other opposing, or if it is demanded by 50,000 qualified voters, a plebiscite is directed to be taken, a sim- ple Yes or No bein,, returned to the question, Is there to be a revision? If the majority votes affirmatively, a new Con- gress has to be elected for the special pur- pose of elaborating a reform bill. But this bill itself has to be approved by a majority both of the cantons and of the people before it becomes valid. how widely this arrangement departs from the Ameri- can system the reader will at once per- ceive. The framers of the Constitution of the United States never contemplated a to- tal recasting of that document. Additions and improvements, indeed, they made pro- vision for, but the necessity of a radical reform they did not reco,,nize. They re- garded their Constitution, as admitting of being developed, not of being supple- mented. Moreover, the people in America have no voice directly in the adoption of amendments. Amendments are proposed by Congress, and ratified by the Legisla- tures of the several States. The Constitution of 1848 secured to Switzerland an era of internal content- ment and peaceful progress, but it neg- lected to deal with. one very serious abuse. The confederation having been originally but a league of mutual defence against Austria the cantons were almost entirely independent of each other, and the inhab- itants of one settling in another were re- garded as aliens. This, which was natural enough two or three centuries ago, strange to say, has continued to the present time, A citizen of Lucerne, for instance, is not a citizen of Berne. He can vote at no elec- tion, can hold no office, can take part, in short, in no public business. As a conse- quence, the population of Switzerland is divided into two classes, nearly equal in number, but widely different as to privi- le,,es the citizens and the ressortissants. Besides being refused all rights of citizen- ship, the ressortissents are subjected to an- other very gross injustice. The Swiss cantons for administrative purposes are divided into communes. INow, these com- munes are possessed of extensive proper- ties, which are so valuable in many cases that it is said the members of the commune, that is, the citizens, are able to live in idle- ness on the share of the proceeds which falls to them. From all part in this pro-~ perty the ressortisssauts are rigorously ex- cluded. And not only this, but if any of them are unable t~ maintain themselves, they are conducted to the frontier by a gendarme, and warned that they will be sent to prison if again found in the canton. It is no wonder that an agitation has arisen for a chan,,e in this absurd system. The wonder, indeed, is that it could have maintained itself so long. But this state of things was not the sole ground on which the demand for a revision of the Constitution was based. The march of Bourbaki to the relief of Belfort having compelled the Swiss to call out their army, they found to their dismay that their mili- tary system was seriously defective. The men, indeed, showed abundance of zeal, but the officers, and still more the admin- istrative departments, proved wanting in some most important requisites. This dis- covery was decisive. A revision of the Constitution was at once determined on. The draft of the revised Constitution comprises a great number of articles, many of which relate to matters of no interest to foreigners. But there are three leading changes proposed. In the first place, the Federal Government is given exclusive control over the army, its training, clothing, and equipment, the education of officers, the col- lection and preservation of munitions of war, and the supervision of the national defence. It is empowered to construct 186 THE PEOPLE S DICTION OF THE FUTURE. whatever public works it deems necessary From The Saturday Review. for strategic purposes, and to prohibit any THE PEOPLES DICTION OF THE FUTURE. it thinks injurious from a military point of EVERY improvement in this world view. And generally it is authorized to brings changes with it which are not all legislate as it judges necessary, from time good. We cannot gain a great benefit to time, for the defence of the country. without the set-off of minor drawbacks; The cantons also are required to hand and some such drawbacks may be foreseea over to it for a reasonable compensation as a consequence of the present effort to all stron~, places in their possession, and provide universal education. It is a very all buildin,s and other cantonal property good thing that everybody should be able used for military purposes. This is, un- to read and write fluently, and we have no doubtedly, a step in the direction of cen- right to grudge to others accomplishments tralization, but considering the meagreness without which we should not feel ourselves of her resources, and the enormous and to be in the full possession of our senses. highly-trained armies the surrounding Nor are we at present concerned with the States now dispose of, Switzerland had no apprehension that all people may not make choice. It is part of the price she, in corn- the best use of the gift now pressed upon mon with all of us, has to pay for the mili- them. As members of a civilized commu- tary revolution effected by Prussia. The nity they are entitled to claim it as a second change relates to future revisions of birthright. Our fears are of a less solemn the Constitution. It proposes that, when cast. We are thinking of the change a revision shall be agreed to by Congress which will inevitably be produced by the in- the revised draft shall be submitted for fluence of book-learning on the vernacular ratification only to the people, the assent of the labouring classes. Hitherto, though of the cantons being dispensed with. The the children go to school, their learning, third change declares every citizen of a in country places at any rate, scarcely canton a Swiss citizen, and permits him to intrudes itself on their home life. They vote at all Federal elections at the place learn and they forget, and express them- where he resides. It also extends to him selves very niuch as though they had never all cantonal rights in any canton of the opened a book. But the teaching of the Confederation in which he may settle, ex- future is to be more thorough, an disto cept the right to share in the communal leave its mark. Children are not only to property. Imnportant as is the exception, learn to read, but to read as a consequence this is still a most valuable concession. of having learnt. With this acquisition In future the ressortissant will not be sub- of power must inevitably spring up an jected to laws in the making of which he ambition to improve upon the old modes had no voice, nor compelled to pay taxes of speech; and the obvious method of to which he did not consent by his repre- doing this will be to adopt the language sentatives. In the last place, by this of books, the books that please an unculti- change permission is given to every Swiss vated taste, in familiar talk. The inter- citizen to settle in any canton he pleases. course of different classes has hitherto The cantonal authorities may, however, been carried on in what may be regarded refuse permission, or withdraw permissioii as different tongues; and where one side after it has been granted, if the person has to force its meaning into a narrow and desiring to settle has been deprived of his rude vocabulary, this difference is very civil rights by judicial sentence in punish- marked and very shocking to sensitive meat of crime, or if he becomes perma- people. The present plans of education, neatly chargeable on the public funds, and in so far as they are effectual, must strike his native cantoa refuses to support him. a death-blow at the current speech of mul- It will thus be seen that if this revised Con- titudes. The child will be taught to talk stitutioii is adopted, the extraordinary differently from his parents, and will prob- spectacle of nearly one-half the inhabitants ably be ashamed of broad provincialisms of a free republic deprived of all voice in which, because of their rough force, will the government of their country will be stick to his memory like burrs. The world put an end to for ever. That it will be will be a gainer no doubt, but somethin0 adopted there appears every probability. will be lost of homely force and humour. The Nationalrctlt has already passed all It is not supercilious patronage that the main provisions, and the Stdndercth is makes us value the artless language of the also understood to be favourable to it. poor; we should, in fact, all be losers if the The only doubtful point appears to be the uneducated classes gave up the habit of disposition of the cantons. But no real striving to express what they mean in opposition is apprehended even from them. their own way. We thus realize what THE PEOPLE S DICTION OF THE FUTURE. 187 they tell us, the impressions they wish to convey, the views of life which influence them, more vividly than if they aspired to greater grammatical correctness. There is something of the freshness and sugges- tiveness of a foreign tongue, not only in provincial dialects, but in unfamiliar idioms. Rich and poor cannot converse together without ideas being imparted on either side when to neither is the vehicle of com- munication stale or hackneyed. So long as there are ranks and degrees, language and manner will show them. There can be no doubt that a corrected phraseology is a step towards social equality; but before all people speak a common tongue at once easy and correct, we shall have a widespread use of second-hand language borrowed from books and newspapers, which is of all modes of speech the most frigid and repellent. School books and school training by themselves, when taken as guides, encourage a formality of expres- sion which really keeps people apart more effectually than mere class distinctions. When each speaks in the idiom of his social life, inequalities may be forgotten; but when a man uses only hook words, a sense of estrangement is inevitable in the hearer. How irksome is social intercourse with a man or woman who discards thn colloquial word for the provincial news- paper substitute a practice which at presentis confined to the people who make a great display of looking down on igno- rance and low life, and who are always proving their superiority over the vulgar by using words which they have picked up without bein~, able to assimilate them. Who can enjoy a chat with a man who always talks of women as females, and of a man as an individual; with whom things are never like, but similar; who never begins a thing, but always commences it; who does not choose, but elects; who does not help, but facilitates; who does not sup- ply, but caters nor buy, but always pur- chases; who calls a beggar a mendicant; with whom a servant is always a domestic, when he is not a menial; who does not say a thing, but states it, and does not end, but terminates it; who calls a house a residence, in which he does not live, but reside; with wholTa a place is a locality, and things do not happen, but transpire; with whom a murder i~ always a tragedy, and shocking things are terrible to relate? It will be a day of bad omen for the harmonizing of class interests and feelings when this affectation of a choice diction descends from the middle class to artisans and labourers. And yet it seems in the nature of things that this must happen; and hence the rudenesses, roughnesses, and quaintnesses of the rustic dialect which still linger in our ears acquire a new charm, because they are invested with the pathos of things which are passing away and are not to be recalled. INow of course we ought not to wish mere barbarisms to be preserved; cultiva- tion demands their extinction. But when- ever people speak naturally, we take in the idea intended to be conveyed; where they do not, something is lost or super- aded. The little girl working in the brick- field who told the Commissioners, We swills the spottles off us faces before we has us dinners; made them understand exactly the degree of cleansing she went through. If the time ever comes when she will say instead, We perform our ablutions before we dine, more will be left to guesswork. Again, the woman using the same verb, Im a rare one for swilling, sinned against elegance, but conveyed a very distinct image of a brick floor reddening under a vigorous drench- ing, and of the cleanly impulse which nerved her aria to the work. Even where epithets are put to arbitrary uses, they may undesignedly do goed service, as when the grandmother pronounces a sickly infant (very suggestive of a changling) to be on the mend She hasnt the deathly comical look she had. The plea of pov- erty We must have something to fill us bellies cannot be surpassed in force. No amplification or periphrasis can add strength to the original wording. The cook-maid of the future may count up the dishes she has to wash, and expatiate on the toil of her task in pedantic English; but when the charwoman of the present day says, He fouled a matter o six plates, there is a protest against luxury in her choice of a verb that conveys more than the simple numbers would do if twice told. The coinage from the same mint is not less expressive. The ginger- bread is not so snappified as the last, leaves no doubt as to the kind of crispness which is relished. Greasified, woolified, bitterified, are equally expressive; we pre- fer to use the more grammatical forms ourselves, but these rough improvised words imply an energy and intensity of conviction in the inventor which wins our respect. We shall be sorry to see them exchanged for the style in which Eppss cocoa and Glenfield starch are recom- mended, or Brown and Polsons corn-flour, which so often courts our patronage as for childrens food unrivalled, invaluable 188 PUBLIC CALAMITIES AND THE PUBLIC BEARING. for invalids, for table delicacies delicious. in the habit of concluding his sermons with The rustic who owns himself a very mod- a text declaimed in the original Hebrew. erate footman wins our sympathy for Preaching to a village audience on one oc- weak limbs and scanty breath more casion, he followed his usual custom. The thoroughly than if he announced that his vicar, calling on a parishioner the following powers as a pedestrian are limited; now day, invited his comments on the power- he talks like a gentleman - that is, he ful discourse. Yes, sir, was the reply, chooses his words on the same principles, it was a very grand sermon, and the gen- though they are words of a different class J tleman thought so himself, for he finished from his masters; his son may talk like a lit off with Hip, hip, hip, hurra! Now prig, if what we fear comes true. At I the right view of this incident is not to present we detect no tendency that way laugh at the man for a blunder, but to ad- among our rural popiilation; hut upon mire his insight into the nature of the them the great experiment is going to be preacher. Any one who has once heard performed in all its rigour. They will be Dr. Wolff will recall the jubilant emphasis the better for it, we do not doubt, in a of his delivery, and the enormous self-es- great many ways, but just at first they timate it conveyed. The letter might be will not be more companionable. Hebrew poetry, but the spirit of his wind- At present the people have a certain up was always in strict accordance with jealousy of long words as promising more the rustics interpretation of it. than they perform such as Shakspeare The time is at hand, though we may attributes to the clown Costard; Re- not all live to see it, when this ingenuous muneration! 0, thats the Latin for three simplicity of ignorance will make way for farthings. Or they fancy that such words another sort of the same commodity cx- are somehow vituperative; thus a good pressed in another dialect, and probably Churchwoman, being persuaded by a glozed over after the fashion which is now neighbour to g~ to the Dissenting chapel, the especial accomplishment of the classes heard a philippic against the Establish- I who characteristically delight to call them- ment. She did not like it, but bore it selves genteel. We are not declaring our- with comparative patience till the preach- selves of his followin g,who er began calling the parson names; one Gainst Apollos harp decreed, name, she said, was too bad to mention, A but at last she admitted that he had called nd gave it for Pans oaten reed. her pastor an individual. Her instinct Nothing can equal the pleasure imparted was correct; for, in fact, who does like to by a rich, pure, correct diction; but this be called an individual, though it is not, as is a gift not to be imparted by the peoples she may have supposed, a statutable of- schools, or perhaps by any schools; and fence? Nor perhaps will a sister Anglican we cannot exchange greetings with a ever convey her meaning nearer to the truth poorer neighbour, and listen to his talk on than when she argued, with gentle alhitera- things about which be is at home, without tion, I like a mild minister, as opposed to a growing conviction that, whatever may the obstreperous piety of Ranters and Hal- be the ultimate gain from universal edu- lelujah bands. At any rate a good many cation, the language of the people will suf- adjectives must be called out to express fer in force and vividness when we have the same idea like a book, which must polished every class that speaks it. be with her the alternative for some time to come. It is well to know the meaning of words, but there is also a satisfaction in hearing shrewd good sense assert itself through From The Spectator the blunders of an excusable ignorance. PUBLIC CALAMITiES AND TIlE PUBLIC You have been on the philosophy this BEAIIINQ. morning, says an exasperated mother to WE English certainly have not the her truant son. Im sure I havent, is happy art of expressing the shades of the muttered denial. Yes, you have, feeling with any clearness and delicacy. she sternly rejoins; I can see it by your Just as language is very apt to fail the trowsers. After all, there are infinitely most accomplished and sensitive percep- more people who know the difference of tion in the attempt to discriminate be- sound between philosophy and velocipede tween the various kinds and de~,rees of than can define what philosophy really is. I pleasure which the beauty of natural seen- There is a clerical anecdote of the late I ery cans es to the beholder, so language Dr. Wolff, bearing on our point. He was us nll preposterously us a ation PUBLIC CALAMITIES AND THE PUBLIC BEARING. 189 when we have to give expression to the the space which it occupies in the thoughts national pain and regret which a public and imaginations of the people, beside calamity like the Prince of Waless immi- it in character, for while our national nent danger causes us, and find no words trouble has no claim to the character of at hand except those which paint the very that kind of shock to the affecticins which different emotions excited by the most the dreaded opening of a sudden grave in bitter individual bereavements, bereave- ones own home or family produces, it has rnents which alter entirely the colour of a much more in it of wide social and politi- life, and separate, as if by an impassable cal significance, much more of that imme- gulf, the future from the past. The feeling diately intelligible meaning to the intellect of the English people about the Princes and imagination of which the stunnin illness has been as sincere and real as pos- blow of a private affliction so seldom ad- sible. No doubt the excitement of the mits. The gloom which this illness and rapidly recurring telegrams may have danger bring with them to the nation at tended to make the public suspense and large is neither nearly so acute as that restlessness, which were thoroughly real, which would spring from a similar danger look more like the restlessness of passion- to every home, nor quite so mild as that ately clinging hope than it could be or which would be due to universal dread of ought to be. There has been a very gen- a sad ending for the hero or heroine of a nine regret for the good-natured Prince thoroughly popular fiction, like Dickenss himself; there has been deep sympathy Little Nell, a dread which brought him, with his wife, who is in as true a sense the it will be remembered, hosts of letters delight of the people as any woman whom pleading eagerly against her death. It is the millions only hear of, and at best very somethin~ between the two, less purely rarely see from a distance, could be; there imaginative than the latter, far less absorb- has been a real and earnest fear of another ing and paralyzing than the former, but heavy calamity falling upon the Queen, certainly of the two nearer the latter in and further darkening a lot which for ten degree and kind. The sufferings and years back has certainly not been a bri~ht griefs of the Royal Family constitute to one; and there has been, beyond all this, Englishmen at large a sort of vivid para- a feeling of genuine pity and awe at the ble of human calamity, into which we all prospect of so sudden and sad a termina- enter the more deeply because we know it tion to a career promising to be so bril- fascinates all alike, a lesson in sympa- liant, and yet that has not hitherto been thy, not in fortitude, in geniality and by any means what the nation could have breadth of feeling, not in patience or wished and hoped. Moreover, every one courage. Like the imaginative troubles has felt, what many of the papers have of fiction the sympathy which the griefs justly pointed out, that the Princes suffer- of the Royal Family excite in us is a feel- ing and danger is in some respects repre- ing indefinitely strengthened, even in kind, sentative of the similar private calamities by the number of those who share it, by of which almost every separate household the conspicuousness of the grief which has had its own bitter experience, an cx- calls it forth. Like that, again, it purifies, perience differing from the present one as it was said that all tragedy purifies, only in this, that the area of sympathy by pity and by fear, pity for the sor- was so much narrower, while now it is row which is so like our own, fear due to wide enough to include the entire nation. the lesson so vividly impressed on us that ilence the public are apt to feel as if the no elevation of rank or destiny can miti- nation were now lending its sincerest sym- gate the severity of these bitterest of hu- pathy to each familys own share in those man sufferings. But then, on the other old, unhappy, far-off thin0s and trials hand, the fact that the grief which calls long ago, of which we have all only too out our sympathies is real and present, vivid a recollection, no less than to the and not an artistic or represented trouble, great royal calamity of the hour, and with makes it, of course, graver in one respect, this comes something of a glow of satis- though it is less vividly placed befor~e us faction in this new sense of national unity. in others, than any merely painted sorrow. But after allowing for all these different Still it cannot be doubted that the national sources of the vivid public feeling of the pain and regret is nearer in kind to that moment, it is impossible to deny that the elicited by a vivid story of human trouble, language in which the Press has striven to than to that due to the threatened break- embody that feeling has been entirely be- ing of our own closest ties. yond and beside the truth, beyond it in Nevertheless, the language in which the intensity and the impression conveyed of public feeling has been expressed has been 190 PUBLIC CALAMITIES AND THE PUBLIC BEARING. almost exclusively suitable to the keenest 1an~uage of private affliction, the anguish of lacerated hearts; and this is mischievous not only because it is false, but because, being false, it throws an air of insincerity over the very different, but equally true, emotion which is really and universally felt. Men who over-express their feelings or express them unfortunately are very apt to be thought destitute of the feeling they have, and that is unquestionably the tendency of the extravagant and indeed utterly inappropriate language in which the papers have been so freely indulging this week. Take, for instance, the following from the Standard of Monday: Four days of unparalleled anxiety have now been spent, and a dread suspense still is master of the public bosom. We wait, and hold our breath; read and despond, and then return and read again, and re- fuse to be utterly downcast. At such a lacerating moment genuine comfort there can be none. But even in the midst of the national anguish it is something to be able to feel that this paralyzing blow, this overflow of crrief. is making of us one fam- ily. The language could not possibly be intenser if war had brought death into every home. If it were true language, if we were really holding our breath, if the sorrow we feel were really an- guish, if the blow were really paralyz- ing, we ought to be and should be quite unequal to reading with keen interest books like the biography of Charles Dick- ens, and George Eliots and Mr. Trollopes serial tales, or discussing the Tichborne case, or the Megrera Commission, or the translation of Sir R. Collier to the Judi- cial Committee of the Privy Council. Every one knows that these would not and could not be his real interests, if he were watching in terrible suspense by a bed where death was struggling with life for one in whose lot his own is bound up. When, therefore, we find any one saying, as one of our public writers did expressly say, and many of them said in effect, We all stand within the Palace to-day. It is our home for the moment, our hearth, the centre of our hopes and fears, we regret language so extravagant, because it tends to conceal, and even excite revulsion against, the true sentiment of the nation. Even the Times, when it assumed on Sat- urday and Monday that there was nothing to which the nation could possibly attend except the Prince of Wales, that all other subjects had lost their interest for Englishmen, gave in far more than we should have expected of it to this misehie vous temper of exaggeration, and contrib- uted to the sentimentalism, as distinguished from the real sentiment of the moment, by writing in Bulwerian capitals about the feelings of the Wife and the Mother for the husband and the Son. No doubt a remark made by the Times on the same day, and which has, we think, been misin- terpreted into an implied assertion of the divine right of Kings, is true, and has a valuable political drift, we mean that the personal relation of the reigning family to the nation is closer, and probably more cordial, because it is none of our making, because it has come down to us as our fimily relationships come down to us, from a tradition of indefinite length and variety. Nobody can doubt that our national feel- ing for the troubles of the Royal Family is far keener than would be any feelin~ for the troubles of the family of a President chosen by ourselves, even though he had been chosen for life, unless he were a man of great and very exceptional character, which had profoundly impressed itself on the affections of the people, and this it would be simply absurd to assert of the character of the Prince of Wales. Presi- dent Lincoln, in a time of very great na- tional trial, betrayed a homely magna- nimity which, no doubt, did make such an impression in only four years time, on the very heart of a great people. The Prince of Wales, on the other hand, had he been not Prince of Wales, but by any political chance elected to succeed the present head of the English nation, and then fallen into this deadly sickness, would have roused in our hearts a kindly commiseration, but nothing more. It is, doubtless, the histor- ical character of the tie, and the fact that we are compelled to think of him, even from his birth, as in a close relation to us, which creates half the strength of the rela- tion, half that customary feeling of recip- rocally belonging to each other, which, whatever men may say, lies at the root of almost all natural affection. To point out this is not in any sense an assertion of the divine right of Kings, but it is an asser- tion that a long past creates relations a great deal broader and stronger than we can intellectually gauge, and the grasp of which reaches far beyond anything that time mere rationale of the relation would lead us to suppose. Nor can anything be more useful to us than to be made to feel from time to time that whatever anoma- lies may surround the political institutions into which the nation has grown, they gain, through the mere fact of long exist~~ ence, a tenacity of hold upon us which it THE POLITICAL INFLUENCE OF HUMOUR IN AMERICA. 191 would be exceedingly di~cult for any amount of wisdom and statesmanship to replace. In England at least, habit, and that dumb affection which springs ont of habit, put forth, as it were, the mortar which holds the stones of the political edi- fice together, and if we were once to break up the tradition, it would be very long be- fore reason could furnish us with a cement nearly as strong. But the more clearly we recognize this, the more clearly are we bound to protest against the exag~,eration of sentiment which reflects a certain amount of ridicule on the real feeling of the nation, and promotes strong reaction at the next avail- able opportunity. The writers who have been exaggerating so extravagantly the intensity of the popular feeling, and writ- ing as if business were almost neglected, work laid aside, politics forgotten, science and art empted of their interest, and the English world exclusively employed in buying evening papers and running after bulletins, have contributed only to falsify a sincere interest, and create a feeling of disgwt at the travesty of a valuable as well as honourable anxiety. From The Spectator. THE POLITICAL INFLUENCE OF HUMOUR IN AMERICA. AMERIcANS have at least one genial quality. They do appreciate Humour. Of all the differences between society~ there and society here, we do not know one more striking than the political power which, across the Atlantic, humour ap- pears to exercise over the masses of the people. We have nothing of the kind left in England. A stroke of pictorial humour is, indeed, occasionally appreciated, an4 individual statesmen have sometimes bene- fited or suffered from caricature, but the English require to see fun in order to be impressed by it. The judgment of Eng- lishmen on OConnell was distinctly affect- ed by H. B.s drawing of him as the Big Beggarman; Sir J. Graham never quite got over the Little Dirty Boy; and Lord John Russells influence waned from the day Punch sketched him as the small lad who chalked up No Popery! and then ran away in a fright. The ideal of him in the British mind as the man of undaunted pluck, who would cut for the stone or take command of the Channel Fleet, suffered from the drawing. But since the days of the Anti-Jacobin and Cannings Needy Knifegrinder we can hardly recall a son~, or a story, or a boa mot which has exercised an important in- fluence on politics. The art of political squibbiog seems itself to have disappeared for we do not allow that the Battle of Dorking comes within that desi~nation. It is different, however, in America, where humour has very often of late years had high political or social effect, has brought certain truths home to the popular mind as nothing else could. By far the most formidable enemy encountered by Presi- dent Jackson in his war on the National Banks was the man whom it is said he refused on his death-bed to for, ive, Seba Smith, who published as Major Jack Downing a series of letters full of true Yankee humour Yankee as distinguished from Western humour spiced and fla- voured with keen intellectual iflsight. The Bigelow Papers, with their humourous scorn of slavery and of wars for its ex- tension, were a most important contribu- tion to the Abolitionist cause, as was the song about John Browns soul, to which the North marched to the conquest of the South. There is no humour in the mean- ing of that song, but there is in its form, and in the tune which accompanies it, and it kept the link between abolition and vic- tory incessantly before the minds both of soldiery and people. Lincolns huinourous sayings, more particularly his remark about swapping horses while crossing streams, and his rebuke to the perfervid abolitionists who were pressing him to go too far ahead of the national sentiment, I dont know, gentlemen, that I ever re- ceived a deputation straight from God Almighty before, had all the influence of great speeches, as had before his time the really wonderful burst of glowing fun in which Senator Hale, sitting in his place because he was too fat to stand, repudiated the annexation of Cuba. That was a speech, no doubt, but it was the humour in it, and not the eloquence, which des- troyed the formidable order of the Lone Star. Bret Hartes Heathen Chinee has distinctly modified the popular appie- ciation of the Chinamen, and helped to beat down the previously threatenin6 dis- like felt to them in Massachusetts, where they are competing with the powerful Order of St. Crispin, the great political Union of Shoemakers, which returns one- third of the State House of Representa- tives. The New York papers declare that much of the recent victory of decent citi- zens over the Tammany Ring is due to some pictorial jokes issuel, by an artist 192 THE POLITICAL INFLUENCE OF HUMOUR IN AMERICA. named Nast, in Harpers Weeldy, a publi- intellectual effort so swift and so keen? cation of vast circulation and clean of Is it that to their habitual reserve or pecuniary corruption. We have not seen gloom humour brings more pleasure than these drawings, but the consensus of New it brings to other men, giving in addition York opinion about them is complete. to enjoyment a sense of mental relief, or It is, we suppose, in this, the power of is it that Americans are e?sentially hu- bringing a subject home to the millions morons, though only a few can express that the efficacy of humour in America the hunour latent in them? We suspect lies. These masses do not re~ d the long the former is the case, for the only people speeches, and are not very attentive to as sad and reserved as the Americans, well-reasoned argument, getting weary of the Bengalees, have precisely the same its length; but they all enjoy and remem- faculty of appreciating rhymed jests, her a rhymed joke, or a rough epigram, though they like them a little more hit- or a short story, which tickles their some- ter than the Americans do. Or is the what peculiar fancy, and reveals clearly to explanation, after all, the much simpler themselves their half-thought-out convic- one that the Anglo-Saxon people every- tions. That we can understand, but ohat where loves rhymed humour, as it loves still perplexes us is the universality of this rhymed sentiment, but that this love is faculty of appreciation. Humour could only developed when the race has received hardly be subtler than it is in the Heath- a little education? The Lowland Scotch en Chinee, yet the point was taken at are in some respects very like the Amer- once throughout the States by labourers icans. With them also education is uni- as fully as by graduates, and with exactly versal, and wanting in humour as some of the same effect. The wild men of the them are, there is not a nuance in Burns West enjoyed Artemas Wards lectures humour which they are unable to appre- far more than the English did the epi- ciate. If this suggestion is true and we thet of much-married which he affixed make it with fear and trembling Eng- to Bri~ham Young did him as much harm land will get somethin5 more from educa- as the Seventh Commandment and the tion than she expects an antidote against descriptions of Saint Abe and his Seven misery more efficacious than anything ex- Wives will be relished by roughs in Cali- cept the religious sense. The apprecia- fornia as much as by the self-indulgent tion of the tragic does not increase with philosophers of Boston. What is there in cultivation, rather perhaps diminishes, but this grave and rather sad people which culture develops the perception of every makes their appreciation of this form of Ikin d of humour. THE FEvER TREE The cultivation of the Eucalyptus globulins is making great progress in the South of France, Spain, Algiers and Cor- sica; nor is this to be wondered at, remarks the Medical Times and Gazette, if an account lately given of its virtues by Professor Gubler, in the Bulletin de Thirapeutique, is even par- tially true. It is a native of Tasmania, where it was of old known to the natives and settlers as a remedy for fever. It prefers a marshy soil, in which it grows to a gigantic .hei~ht with great rapidity. It dries the soil by the evapo- ration from its leaves, and shelters it from the sun, thus preventing the generation of marsh mniasm. Its wood is hard as teak. Every part of it is impre,nated with a balsamie, oil-of-cani- phor-like odour; and, besides a notable quantity of astringent matter, it contains a peculiar ex- tractive, which is supposed to contain an alka- loid allied to quinine. At any rate, its efficacy in intermittent and marsh fevers has gained for it in Spain the name of the fever tree. It is a powerful tonic and diffusible stimulant, does onders in chronic catarrh and dyspepsia, is an excellent antiseptic application to wounds, and tans the skins of dead animals, giving the fra grance of Russia leather. We can vouch from personal observation for the flourishing condition of the Ilydres and Nice, where trees from seeds sown in 1859 are said to be now sixty metres high. We hope that experience will confirm Professor Gublers anticipations of the remedial virtues of the Eucalyptus. CHINA. The Mittheilungen contains a re- semi of the scientific journeys of Freiherr von Richthofen in Central China. This gentleman, who, as geologist, accompanied the Prussian ex-. pedition to Eastern Asia, afterwards independ- ently spent several years in travelling in Fur- ther India and CaliforuL. His explorations in China began in 1868, and terminated in the middle of 1870; and in making known the ex- traordinary richn~ss of the country in coal and iron, the mainstays of commerce and industry, mark an important epoch in our knowledge of the land. 11cr von Richthofens latest route lay in a direct line across the country from Cantou to Pekin. His reports on the provinces of Hunan, Hupeh, Honan, and Shansi, have been published, in English, at Shanghai.

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The Living age ... / Volume 112, Issue 1442 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. January 27, 1872 0112 1442
The Living age ... / Volume 112, Issue 1442 193-256

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. No. 1442.January 27, 1872. CONTENTS. I. CHURCH AND STATE IN ITALY, 2. A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. IL 3. AMERICAN EXPERIENCE IN THE RELIEF POOR 4. THE MAID OF SKER. Part X., 5. OLD FASHIONABLE LONDON,. 6. THE QUEEN OF THE FRENCH, 7. Ross NEILS LADY JANE GREY, ETC., 8. INDIAN FORESTS 9. AFIAIRS AT PEKIN Is IT COME? . A MORNING OF LATE AUTUMN, How TO STUDY PAINTINGS, Fortnigktly Review, Coruhill Magazine, OF THE Macmillans Magazine, Blackwoods Magazine, Temple Bar, Spectator, Saturday Review, Pall Mall Gazette, Spectator, POETRY. 194 CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR, 194 f REST SHORT ARTICLES. 224 I MISCELLANEOUS, NUMBERS OF THE LIVING AGE WANTED. The publishers are in want of Nos. 1179 and 1180 (dated respectively Jan. 5th and Jan. 12th, 1867) of THE LIVING AGE. To subscribers, or others, who will do us the favor to send us either or both of those numbers, we will return an equivalent, either in our publications or in cash, until our wants are supplied. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. - FOR EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually for- warded for a yeac,free ofpostage. But we do not prepay postage on less than a year, nor where we have to pay commission for forwarding the money. Price of the First Series, In Cloth, 86 volumes, 90 dollars. Second 20 50 Third 32 80 The Complete Work, 100 250 Any Volume B6und, 3 dollars; Unbound, 2 dollars. The sets, or volumes, will be sent at the expense of the publishers. PREMIUMS FOR CLUBS. For 5 new subecllbers ($40.), a sixth copy; or a set of HORNEs INTRODUCTION TO THE BIHLE, un- abridged, in 4 large volumes, cloth, price $10; or any 5 of the back volumes of the LIVING AGE, in num- bers, price $10. 195 203 215 225 240 247 250 252 255 194 194 224, 289, 256 194 IS IT COME? ETC. IS IT COME? Is it come? They said on the banks of the Nile Who looked for the worlds long-promised day, And saw but the strife of Egypts toil, And the desert sands and the mountains gray. From pyramid, temple, and treasured dead, We ask in vain for her wisdoms plan; They tell of the slaves and the tyrants dread But there was hope when that day began. The Chaldee came with his starry lore, That built up Babylons crown and creed, And bricks were stamped on the Tigris shore With signs that our sages scarce can read. From Nimus temple and Nimrods tower, The sway of the old Easts empire spread, Unreasoning faith and unquestioned power; But still Is it come? the watcher said. The light of the Persians worshipped flame, The ancient bondage its splendour threw, And once on the West a sunrise came When Greece to its Freedom2 trust was true. With hopes to the utmost ages dear, With human gods and god-like men, No marvel the far-off day seemed near To eyes that looked through her laurels then. The Roman conquered and reveled too, Till honour and faith and power were gone; But deeper old Europes darkness grew, As wave after wave the Uoth came on. The gown was learning, the sword was law, The people served in the oxens stead, But ever some gleam the watchers saw, And evermore Is it come? they said. Poet and seer that question caught Above the din of lifes fears and frets, It marched with letters, it toiled with thought Through schools and creeds that the world forgets; And statesmen trifle and priests deceive, And traders barter our world away, Yet hearts to that golden promise cleave, And still at times Is it come? they say. The days of the nations bear no trace Of all that sunshine so far foretold, The cannon speaks in the teachers place, The age is weary with work and gold; And high hopes wither and memories wane, On hearths and altars the fires are dead, But that brave faith has not lived in vain, And this was all our watcher said. (The Marquis of Landsdowne sent the author of this, Miss Browne, one hundred pounds.) A MORNING OF LATE AUTUMN. Tauis is the years despair: some wind, last night, Utterd too soon the irrevocable word, And the leaves heard it, and the low clouds heard; So a wan morning dawnd, of sterile light, The few flowers hid their faces out of sight, The cattle drowsed, and one disconsolate bird Chirpd a weak note; last came this mist, and blurrd The hills, and fed upon the fields like blight. Ah! why so swift despair! There yet will be Warm noons, the honeyd leaving of the year Hours of rich musing, ripest Autumns core, And lateheapd fruit, and falling hedge-berr~~L Blossoms in cottage crofts, and yet, once na6re, A song not less than Junes, fervent anch~lear. Da~k Blue. From The Transcript. CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR. ON the Church of our Blessed Lady, An image of Jesus stands; And stretches in mute benediction Over the passer its hands: And the sad and the weary and sinful, Lingering, take heart of grace From the fatherly feel of the blessing, And pitying light on the face. The innocent doves in the highway Trustingly gather their food; For a gentle and dove-like presence Over them seemeth to brood And when, with earths soil on their plumage, They flock to that unsullied breast, These weary and heavy-laden ones Remember His offered Rest. Mat. xi, 28. A. D. W. REST. REsT is not quitting The busy career; Rest is the fitting Of self to its sphere. Tis the brooks motion, Clear without strife; Fleeing to ocean After its life. Tis loving and serving The Highest and Best; Tis onward, unswerving! And that is true rest. Goethe. CHURCH AND STATE IN ITALY. 195 From The Fortnightly Review, given to the people of Italy about that CHURCH AND STATE IN ITALY. time. On the contrary, the Austrian Goy- No one would have ventured to predict eminent of Lombardy and Venetia, the five and twenty years ago that religious rulers also of Tuscany, the Roman States, liberty would within that period be as and Naples, all granted similar liberties fully established in Italy as in England. of a constitutional kind; but each one of Yet this great change in the condition of these governments got rid of those liber- the Italian people is to-day an accomplished ties as soon as they had power to do so. fact. In both countries civil disabilities Nor did they hesitate to enforce the arbi- on account of religious opinions have been trary rule which they substituted for free swept away; in both this has been ef- institutions, by calling to the~ir aid foreign fected despite the opposition of the ma- bayonets. In Piedmont alone the constitu- jority of the clergy, who have been forced tion was maintained in all its integrity to yield to the more tolerant and Chris- from the date of its first promulgation. tian views of the nation at large. And if While all other Italian rulers proved false in England and Italy there stills exists a to their peoples freedom, King Victor special connection between the State and Emmanuel, the son and successor of one particular Church, so barring the way Charles Albert, remained true to the con- to that complete religious equality enjoyed stitution granted by his father and sworn by the people of Ireland, Canada, and the to by himself. In vain were promises and United States, it is nevertheless true that, threats alike employed to turn him from as in Great Britain, so throu0hout the his plighted word. This fidelity to the Italian peninsula, perfect toleration and liberties of his people won for him the freedom are accorded to all denominations, title of Ii Re Galantuomo the honest king. This happy result forms to-day a bright It was, moreover, the reason which led contrast to the intolerance and persecu- each portion of the Italian people, as op- tions which have left so deep a stain upon portunity offered, to place themselves un- the past history of both countries. Nor der his rule. He had been tried, and found can it be forgotten that in both the chief faithful; the other Italian rulers had been abettors of such wrong-doing have been tried and found faithless. These unfaithful the priests, who, to whatever outward ones and their abettors feared the effect Church they belonged, have habitually which would be produced by the spectacle made use of the temuporal power to inflict of an Italian people (the Piedmontese) liv- disabilities, and often penalties, upon those ing under a free constitution, and their fear who differed from them in religious opin- was largely mingled with hatred. Nor ion, thereby flying in the face of that plain did this alarm exist without good reason, precept of Christ, All things whatsoever for the liberty of Piedmont soon became ye would that men should do to you, do the guiding star to whose light all other ye even so to them. Italians turned. As for the hatred, it wm It is the object of the present article to but natural, for dishonesty ever hates up- showfirst, by what means Italy has rightness, slavery freedom, and darkness been transformed from a land of religious light. intolerance into a land of religious liberty; The first articie in the constitution and, secondly, to give some account of granted to Piedmont in March, 1818, runs the actual relations of Church and State thus: The Catholic Apostolic and Ro- as established by the law of the Papal man religion is the only religion of the Guarantees, passed last May by the legis- State. The other forms of worship now lature of the Italian kingdom. existing are tolerated in conformity with The origin of the liberties actually en- the laws. That there might be no mis- joyed by Italy is to be found in the Statu- take as to the interpretation of this article, to, or constitution, granted in March, 1848, it was at once proposed and carried by to the kingdom of Piedmont by her then both houses of the Piedmontese parlia- reigning sovereign, Charles Albert. It ment that no mans religious belief, what- was not by any means the only constitution I ever it might be, should prevent his hold- 196 CHURCII AND STATE IN ITALY. ing any civil or political office. Thus Piedmont took up at once the position of a country acknowledging a State Church, but admitting, at the same time, every citizen to every public office, without re- gard to his creed. The members of both houses had, upon taking their seats, a promise of loyalty to the king and con- stitution read to them, to which each one replied, as his name was calledout, I swear it. This little Italian State was then, in 1848, ahead of England herself in the matter of religious liberty, for no form of oath precluded Jews from sitting in the parliament of Piedmont. If it be urged that the use of the word swear would be objected to by members of the Society of Friends, it is sufficient to reply that such an objection not having been urged by any one when taking his seat, the question was never brou,ht under the consideration of the legislature. Had such a case arisen, the Piedmontese would doubtless have found an easy mode of meeting it, by substituting the word promise for the word swear in the case of the deputy who objected con- scientiously to the latter expression. Nor would King Victor Emmanuel have hesi- tated, more than Queen Victoria, to re- ceive among his counsellors a member of that excellent Christian body, the Society of Friends. In this matter these Italians merely showed that practical good sense which is satisfied with meeting every case that actually occurs, or is really likely to occur among themselves. Such a good ex- ample has not been lost upon the rest of Italy, for when she became free she wisely preferred adopting a constitution which gave, in fact, all reasonable liberty, to the very difficult, if not impossible, task of drawing up a new scheme whose logical exactness and ideal perfection aimed at providing for every possible contingency which the, ingenuity of man might im- agine. Having then established religious free -dom on a broad basis, the Piedmontese Government proceeded to suppress the ec- clesiastical tribunals, which alone had the power to try offences committed by ecele- siastics. This measure, and others of a like kind, abolishing special privileges hitherto accorded to priests, were known as the Siccardine Laws, from Count Siccardi, the member of the Marquis dAzeglios cabinet who proposed and carried them in 1850. They were warmly supported by Count Cavour, at whose instigation, in- deed, they had been proposed. He truly said, The Church cannot, in a community governed on principles of liberty, preserve the- privileges to which it was entitled in a state of society in which privilege con- stituted law. For privilege he wished to substitute liberty liberty alike to the State and the Church. Such was his idea then, and such it continued to be to the end of his life. The clergy strongly op- posed all these reforms, whose object it was to treat priests exactly as all other citizens were treated, subjecting them to the same laws and the same tribunals. In the month of August of that year one of the ministers, Santa Rosa, died, but as he declined to disavow in any way the adher- ence he had given to the Siccardine laws, the last sacraments were refused him. This was one of the early episodes of the struggle in Italy between those who were determined to have civil and religious freedom, and a Church as determined to oppose that freedom a Church whose chief, some years later, in December 1864, distinctly condemned in his Encyclical Letter of that date, liberty of conscience and of worship as the right of every man.~~ Nor has the Papal Church hesitated to employ not only spiritual arms but also foreign bayonets, to uphold a policy di- rectly opposed to Italian freedom, both national, civil, and religious. The result, however, of this treatment of Santa Rosa is instructive, for it roused so strong a public feeling in Piedmont, that in coinpli- ance with it the Marquis dAzeglio gave the vacant seat in the cabinet to Cavour himself. Such was the fruit of this early clerical opposition to the cause of freedom in Italy. What fruit it has borne since that time is best seen by comparing the condition of that country in 1850 with its condition at the present time. It was in 1855 that Signor Ratazzi, a member of Count Cavours government, brought forward a law relative to ecclesi- astical property whose object was to sup- CHURCH AND STATE IN ITALY. 197 press gradually certain religious commn- on his way, strong in the support of his nities, and to apply their property to im- own people, in the approval of the vast proving the incomes of the inferior secular majority of Italians, and in the confidence clergy. Other stipulations of less impor- of the honest king. Yet, even so, Ca- tance were included in the measure. In- yours was no easy task. He had in Aus- stantly the government was assailed with tria, as she then was, a powerful and vigi- a violent opposition from the clerical lant enemy, strongly supported by the party. Invectives, denunciations, accusa- priests with all the influence of Rome to tions of sacrilege were poured forth. Cal- back them. These allies sought to crush umnies were spread amongst the people, that free constitution which Piedmont, intrigues were set on foot in the court. alone of Italian States, retained to the Just at this time, the Queen-mother, the benefit of her people, and to the lasting Queen, and the Duke of Genoa, King Vie- honour of her sovereign. Happily, how- tor Emmanuels brother, died within a ever, Cavour showed no less talent in the short period of each other. The clergy conduct of foreign than of home affairs. pointed eagerly to these facts as sure signs With a policy as far-sighted as it was bold of Gods wrath and displeasure. The he threw his country into the alliance of King was enjoined and entreated no the Western Powers, and won for her a longer to resist the Divine will thus plain- hi~,h position in the councils of Europe. ly manifested. The ministers were de- That position he used for the benefit of nonneed as the cause of these afflictions Italy at the Congress of Paris in 1856. It which had fallen on their royal master and was but the prelude to yet greater things. the country. But despite all the efforts of The alliance with France and the war the clericals and their friends, the against Austria in 1859, began that work measure touch~ng ecclesiastical property of emancipation in Italy which has ended became law. While the strn~,gle was at in makin~ her a united and free state, its height, Count Cavour, remembering wholly delivered from foreign bayonets. the way in which his friend Santa Rosa It is only just to acknowledge how great had been treated, sent for a confessor of a share France and her imperial govern- his acquaintance, Frate Giacomo, who said ment had in brin ~ing about this consum- to him, The day on which you are on mation. Doubtless the policy of Napoleon your death-bed, you may rely on me; I III. was often faulty and hesitating after shall not refuse to administer to you the the peace of Villafranca; unquestionably last sacraments. Within a few years he demanded and received payment, in the (June, 1861) the worthy Frate was mak- shape of two provinces, for the material ing his way through sorrow-stricken aid he afforded to Piedmont; assuredly he crowds to fulfil his promise to the dying wished the liberation of Italy to be limited statesman and patriot. By so doing Frate to the formation of a northern Italian Giacomo incurred the severe displeasure kingdom, but the fact, nevertheless, re- of his ecclesiastical superiors, mains that the victories of Magenta and While the Piedmontese Government, Solferino enabled the Italians to begin, under the direction of Cavour, carried out under the leadership of Cavour and Victor faithfully the principles of religious free- Emmanuel, that great work of giving na- dom, it diligently furthered every policy tional freedom to the whole of Italy, which and every scheme for advancing the moral has now resulted in delivering her from and material progress of the country. foreign occupation and placing her desti- Extreme reactionists and extreme radicals nies in her own hands. It is only just banded together to thwart, each for their then, while condemning the coup detat of own ends, the statesmanship of Cavour; December, 1851, the Mexican expedition, the diplomacy of the then tyrant Court of and the declaration of war against Prussia Vienna, and of the petty Italian despots in July, 1870, to praise the Emperor Na- whom its arms and counsels upheld, pur- poleons policy in the Italian war of 1859. sued him with unrelenting opposition; but That policy ought to have been counte- the Piedmontese statesman held steadily nanced by England and Prussia, instead. 198 CHURCH AND STATE IN ITALY. of being thwarted by them. The peace there, certain guarantees to be givcn to of Villafranca hastily brought the war him for the security of his spiritual inde- to a conclusion, though happily without pendence as head of the Church. The arresting the progress of Italian free- Italian parliament accordin~ly proclaimed dom. Rome the capital of Italy~ and always re By the close of 1860, the masterly states- fused to go back upon that vote passed in manship of Cavour and the daring patriot- the spring of 1861. Cavour pressed his isni of Garibaldi had united the greater policy upon France and the Vatican. What part of Italy under the sceptre of King mi0ht have been the result, arising from Victor Emmanuel. Venetia indeed was his genius and from the commanding p051- still held down by the bayonets of Aus- tion he now occupied in the world, none tria, while those of France maintained the can say; for he died, after a few days ill- temporal power of the Pope in that por- ness, early in June of that year. Baron tion of the old Papal States called the Ricasoli, who now became prime minister, patrimony of St. Peter. In February, endeavoured in vain to get either the 1861, the first Italian parliament assem- Court of Paris or the Vatican to agree to the bled at Turin, and the kingdom of Italy plans of his great predecessor. The policy was officially proclaimed. Throughout its of the Papal Court was summed up by the whole extent was at once sec ured by law words non possumus. Nothing would sat- that religious as well as civil freedom, I isfy it but the restitution of all the tem-. which Piedmont had been enjoying during poral possessions of the Holy See as they the past ten years or more. The triumph existed before 1859. The Romagna, IJm- of that freedom was completed when first bria, and the Marches, must all be restored Venetia and then Rome became united to to the temporal dominion of the Pope. Nor Italy. Her crowning work it has been to did the Vatican conceal its desire for the make the Eternal City tke capital of the restoration of the Bourbons to Naples, the Italian kingdom. Grand Duke to Tuscany, as well as the But. there is this difference in the posi- other ducal families to Parma and Mode- tion of Italy and all other European coun- na. Austria was stlll in possession of tries she is the land in which the head Venetia; the Roman Court would have of the Roman Catholic Church has for cen- been only too glad to have seen her again tunes resided. Nor do Italians wish that in possession of Lombardy. As for Vie- he should cease to do so. They have had, tor Emmanuel, the Vatican would indeed therefore, to solve the problem of preserv- have rejoiced at his being rele ~, ated to the ing to the Pope his residence in Rome, possession of his original kin0dom of Pied- with the free exercise of his spiritual mont, as the least that ought to have powers, while giving to Italy exclusive been inflicted on him for having risked possession of her own temporal govern- life and crown in the cause of Italian free- ment, whose very foundation is that civil dom, despite the anathemas of Pope and and religious freedom, now so happily ex- priests. This non possumus policy of the tended to the whole country. It was no Holy See has been maintained to the very easy task to solve such a problem in the last. It has been one of the best things teeth of the unrelenting opposition of the that could have happened to Italy. In the Papal Court and of the priestly party first place, it made clear to Italians who throughout Europe. Their policy was was the unrelenting foe of their national simply to obstruct, and if possible crush independence. In the next place, it ren- out, Italian freedom by any and every dered hopeless all the illusory comprom- means; so maintaining the temporal power ises of imperial France and other. such of the Pope. The Italians, on the contrary, counsellors. The Convention of Septem- while perfectly willing to acknowledge his her, 1864, the removal of the capital to spiritual headship, were determined to do Florence, the campaign of Mentana, the all they could to get rid of that Papal return of the French to Rome these and temporal power, which had been for years many other events, with all their attend- upheld by the arms of Austria and France, ant negotiations, intrigues, compromises, to the annihilation of Italys national inde- and failures took place; but the non pendence. All sorts of ingenious devices possumus of the Vatican happily remained and propositions were put forward as immovable. At length came 1870, with compromises, but they failed to content its giant conflict between France and Ger- either the Pope or the Italians. Cavours many. Curiously enough, none encour- policy was as usual bold and clear aged the French emperor in his fatal and Rome to become the capital of the Italian wicked declaration of hostilities more than kingdom, the Pope to continue to reside the clerical party in France. These pious CHURCH AND STATE IN ITALY. 199 folks preached war with all the fury of re- ligious hate. They little dreamed that one of that wars most remarkable results would be the entrance of the Italians into Rome. More significant still was the fact that not one Roman Catholic power en- tered even a diplomatic protest against the Italian Government taking possession of Rome, and making it the capital of the kingdom. Austria, when asked to do so by the Papal Nuncio, refused; while Por- tugal, Spain, France, Belgium, and Bava- ria, some with approbation, some with re- serve, acknowledged the right of Italy to Rome, and more than one of these powers counselled the Pope to give up his aon possumus. The Italians, once in possession of Rome, made it the capital of the kingdom, and applied there, as in every other part of the country, that constitution which has thus given civil and religious freedom to the whole of Italy. The Italian parliament then proceeded to discuss and draw up an Act which should define the position of the Sovereign Pontiff in relation to the kingdom of Italy. The labours of the par- liament resulted in the law of the Papal Guarantees, which after long and full dis- cussion finally passed both houses, and re- ceived the royal assent on 13th May, 1871. Its provisions run as follows PART I. PREROGATIVES OF THE SOVEREIGN PONTIFF AND OF THE HOLY SEE. ART. I. The person of the Sovereign Pon- tiff is sacred and inviolable. ART. II. An attaek (attentato) directed against the person of the Sovereign Pontiff, and any instigation to commit such attack, is pun- ishable by the same penalties as those established in the case of an attack directed against the per- son of the King, or any instigation to commit such an attack. Offences and public insults committed directly against the person of the Pontiff by discourses, acts, or by the means in- cNcated in the 1st article of the law on the press, are punishable by the penalties established by the 19th article of the same law. These crimes are liable to public action and are within the jurisdiction of the court of assizes. The discussion of religious subjects is com- pletely free. ART. III. The Italian Government renders throughout the territory of the kingdom royal honours to the Sovereign Pontiff, and maintains that pre-eminence of honour recognized as be- longing to him by catholic princes. The Sov- ereign Pontiff has power to keep up the usual number of guards attached to his person, and to the custody of the palaces, without prejudice to the obligations and duties resulting to such guards from the actual laws of the kingdom. ART. LV. The endowment of 3,225,000 francs (lire italiane) of yearly rental is retained in favour of the Holy See. With this sum, which is equal to that inscribed in the Roman balance-sheet under the title, Sacred Aposto- lic Palaces, Sacred College, Ecclesiastical Con- gregations, Secretary of State, and Foreign Di- plomatic Office, it is intended to provide for the maintenance of the Sovereign Pontiff, and for the various ecclesiastical wants of the holy See for ordinary and extraordinary maintenance, and for the keeping of the apostolic palaces anti their dependencies; for the pay, gratifications, and pensions of the guards of whom mention is made in the preceding article, and for those attached to the Pontifical Court and for eventual expenses; also for the ordinary maintenance and care of the annexed museums and library, and for the pay, stipends, and pensions of those em- ployed for that purpose. The endowment mentioned above shall be in- scribed in the Great Book of the Public Debt, in form of perpetual and inalienable revenue, in the name of the Holy See; and during the time that the See is vacant, it shall continue to be paid, in order to meet all the needs of the Ro- man Church during that interval of time. The endowment shall remain exempt from any spe- cies of government, communal, or provincial tax; and it cannot be diminished in future, even in the case of the Italian Government re- solving ultimately itself to assume the expenses of the museums and library. ART. V. The Sovereign Pontiff, besides the endowment established in the preceding article, will continue to have the use of the apostolic palaces of the Vatican and Lateran, with all the edifices, gardens, and grounds annexed to aad dependent on them, as well as the Villa of Cas- tel Gondolfo, with all its belongings and depen- dencies. The said palaces, villa, and annexes, like the museums, the library, and the art and archmological collections there existing, are in- alienable, are exempt from every tax or impost, and from all expropriation on the ground of public utility. ART. VI. During the time in which the Holy See is vacant, no judiciary or political au- thority shall be able for any reason whatever to place any impediment or limit to the personttl liberty of the cardinals. The Government provides that the meetings of the Conclave and of the ~IEcnmenical Coun- cils shall not be disturbed by any external vio- lence. ART. VIINo official of the public authority, nor agent of the public forces, can in the exer- cise of his peculiar offico enter into the palaces or localities of habitu 1 residence or temporary stay of the Sovereign Pontiff, or in those in which are assembled a Conclave or %?Eaumenical Council, unless authorized by the Sovereign Pontiff, by the Conclave, or by the Council. ART. VILIIt is forbidden to proceed witla 200 CHURCH AND STATE IN ITALY. visits, perquisitions, or seizures of papers, doc- six suburban sees the seminaries, academies, uments, books, or registers in the offices and colleges, and other Catholic institutions founded pontifical congregations invested with purely for the education and culture of ecolesiastics, spiritual functions, shall continue to depend only on the Holy See, ART. IX. The Sovereign Pontiff is completely without any interference of the scholastic au- free to fulfil all the functions of his spiritual thorities of the kind dom. ministry, and to have affixed to the doors of the basilicas and churches of Rome all the acts of the above-mentioned ministry. ART. X. The ecciesiastics, who, by reason of their office, participate in Rome in the send- ing forth of the acts of the spiritual ministry of the Holy See, are not subject on account of those acts to any molestation, investigation, or act of magistracy, on the part of the public au- thorities. Every stran~er invested with ecclesi- astical office in Rome enjoys the personal guaran- tees belon ~ ing to Italian citizens in virtue of the laws of the kingdom. ART. XI. The envoys of foreign govern- ments to the Holy See enjoy in the kingdom all the prerogatives and immunities which belong to diplomatic agents, according to international right. To offences against them are extended the penalties inflicted for offences against the envoys of foreign powers accredited to the Ital- ian Government. To the envoys of the Holy See to foreign governments are assured throughout the territory of the kingdom the accustomed prerogatives and immunities, according to the same (international) right, in going to and from the place of their mission. ART. XII.The Supreme Pontiff corresponds freely with the Episcopate and with all the Cath- olic world without any interference whatever on the part of the Italian Government. To such end he has the faculty of establishing in the Vatican, or in any other of his residences, postal and telegraphic offices worked by clerks of his own appointment. The Pontifical post-office will be able to correspond directly, by means of sealed packets, with the post-offices of foreign administrations, or remit its own correspondence to the Italian post-offices. In both cases the transport of dispatches or correspondence fur- nished with the official Pontifical stamp will be exempt from every tax or expense as regards Italian territory. The couriers sent out in the name of the Supreme Pontiff are placed on the same foQting in the kingdom, as the cabinet couriers or those of foreign governments. The Pontifical telegraphic office will be placed in communication with the network of telegraphic lines of the kingdom, at the expense of the State. Telegrams transmitted by the said office with the authorized designation of Pontificals will be receive I and transmitted with the privileges established for telegrams of State, and with ex- emption in the kingdom, from every tax. The same advantages will be enjoyed by the tele- grams of the Sovereign Pontiff or those which, signed by his order and furnished with the stamp of the Holy See, shall be presented to any tele0raphic office in the kingdom. Telegram~ directed to the Sovereign Pontiff shall be exempt The object of this law was to carry out from charges upon those who send them. still further than had yet been done the ART. XHL In the city of Rome and in the principle of a free Church in a free State, PART II. RELATIONS OF THE STATE WITH THE CHURCH. ART. XIV. Every special restriction of the exercise of the right of meeting on the part of the members of the Catholic clergy is abolished. ART. XV. The Government renounces its right of apostolic legateship (legazic.e apostolicce) in Sicily, and also its right, throughout the kingdom, of nomination or presentation in the collation of the greater benefices. The bishops shall not be required to make oath of allegiance to the King. The greater and lesser benefices cannot be conferred except on the citizens of the kingdom, save in the case of the city of Rome, and of the suburban sees. No innovation is made touching the presentation to benefices un- der royal patronage. ART. XVI. The royal exequatur~ and placet, and every other form of government assent for the publication and execution of acts of ecclesiastical authority, are abolished. How- ever, until such time as it may be otherwise pro- vided in the special law of which Art. XVIII. speaks, the act.s of these (ecclesiastical) author- ities which concern the destination of ecciecias- tical property and the provisions of the major and minor benefices, excepting those of the City of Rome and the suburban sees, remain subject to the royal exequatur and placet. The enactments of the civil law with regard to the creation and to the modes of existence of eccle- siastical institutions and of their property re- main unaltered. ART. XVII. In matters spiritual and of spir- itual discipline, no appeal is admitted against the acts of the ecclesiastical authorities, nor is any aid on the part of the civil authority recog- nized as due to such acts, nor is it accorded to them. The recognizing of the judicial effects, in these as in every other act of these (ecclesiastical) au- thorities, rests with the civil jurisdiction. How- ever, such acts are without effect if contrary to the laws oc the State, or to public order, or if damaging to private ri~hts, and are subjected to the penal laws if they constitute a crime. ART. XVIII. An ulterior law will provide for the reorganization, the preservation, and the administration of the ecclesiastical property of the kingdom. ART. XIX. As regards all matters which form part of the present law, everything now existing, in so far as it may be contrary to this law, ceases to have effect. ChURCH AND STATE IN ITALY. 201 by giving the Church unfettered power in Italian sees, without any control being ex- all spiritual matters, while placing all tern- ercised by the State. The nomination of poral power in the hands of the State. hishops and the exercise of their spiritual The freedom of the latter consists in the functions is therefore freed from any inter- complete civil and religious liberty he- ference whatever on the part of the civil stowed upon the subjects of the State, so power throu~,hout the Italian kingdom. that none are rendered incapable of filling j Nor are the bishops any longer required to any political or civic office on account of take an oath of allegiance to the King. their creed; while to all denominations. Such full liberty is not accorded to the Ro- alike perfect freedom is allowed for the man Church either by Spain, France, Ba- performance of divine worship, or for varia, or Austria; for in these countries the meetings in behalf of other religious ob- ex.equatur and placet are still re- jects. Although the Government of the tamed. So, too, in these latter countries Italian kingdom permits (Art. XVII) the government has a right to prohibit the spiritual authorities to punish spiritual publication of Papal bulls, briefs, etc. offenebs with spiritual inflictions, it refuses, whereas in Italy all such rights have now by the same article to aid iu any way in been renounced by the civil power. But the carrying out of such punishment. If, as regards temporalities, Article XVI. of for instance, a pastor of the Waldensian the law of the Papal Guarantees provides Church, or a priest of the Roman, be held that in the destination of ecclesiastical guilty of heretical teaching by the Church property, and the provision of the major to which be belongs, that Church can sus- and minor benefices, the royal exequa- pend him from his spiritual office, or de- tur and placet is to remain in force dare him to be cut off from the body of until such time as it may be otherwise the faithful; but the State refuses to provided in the special law of which Arti- take any ~art in the matter in the one ease cle XVIII. speaks. In Italy the State, as in the other. Should, however, the acts then, still retains certain powers over of these Church authorities go outside the Church temporalities, while giving up all domain of spiritual censure and depriva- power over matters purely spiritual. Still, tion, by interfering with the personal lib- as Article XVIII. clearly points out, fur- erties or rights of the alleged heretic, the ther legislation may be expected in the State would not allow any such temporal matter of these temporalities. It will he punishment to be inflicted by the spiritual interesting to watch what will be the fu- authorities of any Church whatever. To ture course of the Italian Government the civil judges is reserved the power of with regard to them. That course will deciding whether ecelesiastics have in their doubtless be in the direction of freeing the acts trenched upon the rights of the civil State still more from interference with power. Thus the State refuses to inflict, matters ecclesiastical. There are many in or to allow any Church to inflict, temporal Italy who would like to see the State re- penalties on any citizen, thereby prevent- nounce all control over Church temporali- ing all religious persecution, and leaving ties, and hand over the power it still re- all its subjects free to submit, according to tains as regards them to the municipal and their reli~ious convictions, to the authority communal authorities, so that they, within or censures of the Church (whatever it the limits of their jurisdiction, should have may be) to which they belong. The State charge of Church temporalities, and attend claims the exclusive power of inflicting to their management and payment. Such temporal punishment; but it does not in- a course, it is thought, would free the terfere in case of any person voluntarily State from ecclesiastical affairs, while giv- submiting even to temporal inflictions, be- ing the laity the means of protecting itself cause he wishes, in accordance with his against tyranny and encroachment on the own conscientious convictions, to submit part of clerical authorities, so carryin,, out to such punishment ; as, for instance, yet more fully the principle of a free penance, fasting, and the like. But in this Church in a free State. But without going case the act of submission must be wholly into future questions, it is clear that the new voluntary on the part of the individual: law makes a great advance in the applica- then, and then only, does the State remain tion of that principle. In place of the old neutral. union of the temporal and spiritual powers By this law of the Papal Guarantees the their separation is becoming very clearly consent of the Crown in the appointment defined. The spiritual liberty accorded to of bishops, known as the royal exequa- the Roman and other Churches in Italy is tur and placet, is given up. Thus the complete, while the temporal power of the Pope can now appoint whom be will to head of the Roman Church has been re 202 CHURCH AND STATE IN ITALY. duced to a minimum. That minimum! consists in handing over to the Pope t.he palaces of the Vatican and Lateran, the villa of Castel Gondolfo, and all the gar- dens, buildings, etc., which belong to them. To the Sovereign Pontiff as he is styled, royal honours are accorded. His repre- sentatives to foreign courts, and their rep- resentatives to the Vatican, are placed up- on the same footing as the representatives of foreign powers accredited to the Gov- ernment of the kingdom of Italy. Abso- lute freedom of communication between the Pope and all the rest of the world is secured. An annual sum, equal to that inscribed in the old Roman budget as forming the Papal civil list, is assured to him by the Italian Government. Such, then, is the temporal position accorded to the Roman Pontiff; while in spiritual mat- ters he has perfect freedom. No longer in the Italian kingdom do exequaturs, placets, or concordats place any re- strictions, as in France, Bavaria, an(l Aus- tria, on the appointment of bishops by the Pope, on the publishing of his bulls, allocu- tions, and briefs, or on any other of his spiritual acts. It is obvious, then, that as matters now stand Italy cannot be reckoned among those countries which have, completely severed as in Ireland and the United States all connection between Church and State. The first article of the consti- tution still remains, declaring that the Catholic Apostolic and Roman religion is the only religion of the state. The Italian Government, moreover, accords a special position, and special rights of a temporal kind, to the Holy See; and while giving complete freedom to the spiritual authori- ty of that see, the Government still retains a hold over ecclesiastical temporalities. But though all connection between the State and the Church has not been given up, Italy may fairly claim to have carried out, at least to a very great extent, the principle of freedom in both Church and State to a greater extent, indeed, than some of her best friends deem wise, though the writer cannot agree in that opinion. For in Italy assuredly the State is now free, if indeed the possession of a civil and religious liberty as nearly as possible iden- tical with that of Great Britain constitutes freedom; to say nothing of Italian soil be- ing at last delivered from the presence of foreign bayonets. Again, the Roman Church is free in the exercise of all her spiritual functions, which is more than can be said of her condition elsewhere; while other Churches, such as the Waldensian and Evangelical, possess no less liberty in Italy than that enjoyed by Nonconformist Churches in England. Whatever, then, logic may urge from its own point of view, practical common sense, at any rate, will admit that Italy has now very fully real- ized in her practice the maxim of a free Church in a free State. In the meanwhile the Pope denounces all that has been done, and declares him- self a prisoner in the Vatican. lie is nei- ther more nor less so than the Protest- ant Primate of the Irish Episcopal Church would be, if he chose to shut himself up in his palace, because the parliament of the United Kin~dom has deprived him and his Church of their former temporal power. As it is, both these prelates can leave their residences or countries, or remain in them, just as they please. The only difference is, that if the Protestant bishop appears in public no special attention is paid to him; but whenever the Bishop of Rome chooses so to do, the soldiers of the Italian army have orders to present arms, and royal honours are prescribed as due to him by law. But all this, with palaces, a civil list, and the freest exercise of his spiritual authority, are as nothing, according to some ardent supporters of the Vatican, unless once again 3,000,000 of Italians be replaced under the Popes temporal gov- ernment a government opposed alike to constitutional rule and to religious free- dom; but by no means opposed to the use of foreign bayonets for the suppression of such rule and freedom. Nor must it be forgotten that Romes ecclesiastical author- ities were just as bitter in 1850 against those wise and moderate reforms in Pied- mont, called the Siccardine laws, as against the establishment of a temporal govern- ment in Rome based upon civil and re- ligious liberty. The refusal of the last sacraments to Santa Rosa for his adhesion to those laws, was but a proof of the Roman Churchs unalterable opposition to just and equal legislation in matters ecclesiastical. Thus early did she fight against the cause of toleration and liberty in Italy. As it was then, so it was later, when Pius IX., in his Encyclical Letter of December, 1864, roundly termed delir- ium the opinion that liberty of con- science and of worship is the right of every man, and condemned those who affirm that the best condition of society is that in which the power of the laity is not com- pelled to inflict the penalties of the law upon violators of the Catholic religion, unless required by considerations of public safety. There are fervid supporters of A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. 203 the Papacy who have recently maintained the right of the Church to call in the arm of the civil power to protect and uphold her teaching. Were this, by no means new, development of priestly lore but in practice, the Church would once again have obtained the power of persecuting her opponents, and would once again do unto others what she would not that others should do to her. With such teaching set forth by high authorities of the Roman Church, it is easy to understand why no European government put forward so much as a diplomatic protest last year against the overthrow of her temporal power. None of them, indeed, could have done so with any consistency; for they all maintain by law the freedom of con- science and worship as the right of every man, which the chief of that temporal power distinctly condemns. Among the nations of Europe there are none who have more boldly and successfully repudiated that condemnation than the people and statesmen of Italy. Nor are there any who strive to carry out more faithfully the great principles of liberty, both national and individual, civil and religious. But yesterday their country was the victim of foreign occupation and priestly intoler- ance, to-day she has her place among the free nations of the earth. From The Cornhill Magazine. A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. II. Oun life at Eton was by no means a mo- notonousone, and a new fellow especially had so many things to visit, be initiated in, and marvel at, that his first month was a sort of honeymoon, very different from the first months at ordinary schools. We were not overburdened with work either, as times then went; or, to speak more correctly, we had plenty of work set us, but didnt do it, which came to the same thing. I used sometimes to wonder, as I sat on those good hard brown benches in the upper school, just under Camdens bust, what kind of thoughts must pass through our masters mind as he contemplated the sev- enty-five of us who formed his division, and ruminated over the distressing idea that not ten out of the whole company knew their lessons, or had known them yester- day, or purposed knowing them to-morrow. I do not mean to say by this that we were all as slothful as Jickling. The difference between him and us was, that we kept up appearances. When called up to con- strue, we could generally stammer through the lesson without committing more than a rational number of blunders say one per line; and we strove to do our verses and themes in such a way as to occasion us as few introductions as possible to the head-master. But beyond this, perhaps, the least said the better. It used to be the golden rule at Eton to give us twice more work than we could honestly do, and to class us in divisions three times as big as a single tutor could conscientiously super- vise; the result of which was that, with the exception of a few paragons (chiefly collegers or foundation boys) in every form, who went by the graceful epithet of sap, and were regarded with a respect- ful and affectionate contempt by the rest, everybody did just the amount of study that was, absolutely and barely necessary to keep him out of trouble, but no more. And what this bare amount was may be pleasantly judged by the fact that even when a boy had reached to such a position in the school as Asheton occupied, he still learned all his lessons by the aid of the Bohn classics, feeling quite powerless to master them otherwise. I mention this to explain how it was that I found I had a good deal of spare time on my hands as soon as I settled down to Eton life. My comrades quickly inducted me into the science of taking things easy with regard to school-work; and Jickliug, who was an apt teacher that way, would have had me adopt the same spirit in all the other businesses and obli- gations of our small world. Somehow he had taken a fancy to me, had Jickling. It must have been my newness that did it, and also the circumstance that we two were neighbours which allowed him by the way to bear down upon me at all hours and borrow articles of my property, which he scrupulously forgot to return. Jickling was not only one of those boys who are bent upon going wrong themselves, but he dearly loved to drag others into scrapes with him. I was warned of this fatal pro- pensity on his part both by Greegleby and Blazepole; Stumpes mi. also conveyed a friendly admonition to me on the subject, and Asheton one morning sent for me on purpose to say that I must be careful what I did when Jickling was by to advise me. But these counsels, though they kept me from falling into any of Jicklings more dangerous snares, did not remove him from my company. He was always with me. He acknowledged with a sandour 204 A I~EMINISCENOE OF ETON LIFE. that did him honour, that he liked fellows whom you could humbug till all was blue; and on my soliciting an explana- tion, abruptly and gravely asked me when my birthday was. In October, I answered, naively. Next month? said he. Well, its to be hoped (and his eyes glared on me half-intimidatingly) ~its to be hoped that youll do whats usual, and not be mean and shabby as some new fellows are. Every new fellow who is worth his weight in rags, goes to Goodford and asks him to give the whole school a holiday on the first birthday he spends here. Only the rule is to ask a month in advance, so as to prevent mistakes, and allow Goodford time to order the fireworks. What fireworks? I inquired. Why, the fireworks that are let off in the playing fields on a new fellows birth- day, answered Jickling. And then theres the ginger-wine. After the fireworks, gin- ger-wines handed round, and everybody has a glassful. Fifth form, two lasses full. Youll have to see to all that. Now there was nothing improbable in any of this to my fresh and unsuspecting mind. At my private school (we had num- bered twelve there) every birthday had been an occasion for festivity, and ginger- wine had always formed a prominent fea- ture in the days entertainment. I saw no reason why it should not be so at Eton; nay, I considered that Eton, being the worthier place, would probably hold the more strenuously to a worthy custom. So, to be brief, that self-same afternoon I was standing by Jicklings direction, under the colonnade of the school-yard, in the pres- cuce of Dr. Goodford and of all the school pr~postors gathered together, as was the rule, to deliver their bills of absentees, or of boys on the sick-list, after three-oclock chapel. Dr. Goodford, seeing me stand be- i4de him with my hat on, began by asking me, with stately courtesy, whether I had a cold in the head. I was about to answer that a tiresome cold, which had afflicted me some six weeks before, had happily disappeared, and to thank him for so kindly inquiring after it, when an opportune nudge from a priepostor to the right, and a cavernous whisper of Hat! from a pr~postor on the left, brought me to a vague sense of the situation. I uncovered, reddening; and Dr. Goodford then begged to know, with the same high politeness as before, to what he was indebted for the pleasure of my visit. I spoke without a shadow of diffidence, and asked for a non dies for the whole school (Jickling had furnished me with the precise words) in honour of my birth- day, which fell on the 25th of October. I have not forgotten the interminable laughter that followed, nor the convulsions of one particular prieposter, aged eleven, and habitually mournful, who rolled about against the colonnade pillars, holding his hand to his waistband, and shrieking Oh my! from the intensity of his feelin,,s. I was known by the name of Non Dies ever afterwards, and heaven knows what never-ending jokes this first successful and cruel hoax of Jicklings entailed upon me. The only one who did not laugh at it was Asheton; and as he had seriously set himself to the re~,eneratiou of Jickling, he told that youth roundly and firmly at fag- ging next morning that he meant to have an end of this. Jickling sulked. Ever since that disagreeable morning when Asheton had hinted at the necessity of his turning over a new leaf, his life had not been happy. Asheton insisted now upon his washing his hands and face proper- ly, brushing his clothes and keeping his room in order. Nothing could be more distasteful to Jickling. flis room was generally a higgledy-piggledy of torn books, crumpled papers, and scattered clothing. Great splashy stains on the car- pet marked the spots where he had let fall successive inkstands; and the solitary picture in his room was crashed right through the middle, from having been used as a target for a roll in a moment of sportive ebullition. All this was put to rights. The broken picture, by Ashetons order, was consigned to the dust-bin; the clothing was, by Jickling himself, acting under Ashetons surveying eye, neatly folded and put away into drawers; a cage- ful of unhealthy dormice, whom Jickliug seemed to rear tenderly for the especial purpose of taking them out in his pockets and letting them loose in school, was sum- marily confiscated, and on Jickling protest- ing loudly and untruly that these mice were his private and unseizable property, since he had paid for them, their full value (four shillings and ni nepence) was remit- ted to him in money. On the whole, Jick- ling began to see that a firm hand was ex- ercising its sway over him. Asheton went the length of seeing for himself every even- ing that Jickling learned his lessons for the next day, and did not pass his time tracing patterns on his bureau with a red- hot poker, as he much preferred to do. But there was one point on which the feud between the two was ceaseless and A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. 205 terrible. Every day, or at least every ions school-fellow at twelve will sell half-holiday (and there were three of these spavined horses at twenty, and he kicked a week) a game of football was played in off race-courses at twenty-five, he cx- our tutors field, and everybody was ex- claimed, pale with anger. Now cut pected to be present at it. The object along both of you in front of me to was, in t e first place, to train good foot- Fishers, and Ill follow. Well just see ball-players for the House Eleven, and in into this matter. the next, to make the games really pleas- The pair of us trooped on together with- ant, which they would not have been had out a word Jickling dogged and sullen, the attendance been fitful and limited, but not crying, for he was not the fellow Now, nothing would induce Jickling to to shed tears at a slap of the face, or in- play. Most solemnly was he told that if deed at any other physical mishap. Ashe- he were not at his post in the field at the ton walked at a safe distance behind time when the game began, it would go near enough to preclude all idea of escape hard with him. lie declined to take any on Jicklings part, far enou~h not to let it notice of these menaces, and when the he seen that he had us both in custody. game began he was invariably wanting. In this way we reached a small and dark Whats the use of my going to football? bird-case shop, which we entered, and so he ported aw~rily, ~s Ash ton c.nght him passed down a long and narrow passage in the very act of bolting up the H~eh at the back into a yard, which was, like all Street one ulorning after eleven-oclock bird-and dog-fanciers yards, filled with school. I never touch the ball once curs chained to kennels, plaintive terriers during the whole game. Its always you who had their ears cropped and were swells who have it; and then, when the whining shiveringly; wool-stuffed and pin- crames over, you drink all the beer, and I trussed bird-skins, set up in the sun to get none. dry; melancholy rabbits in hutches, and so Thats not true, Jicklin~ on. Jicklings dog, conspicuous by a total It is. I turned the can upside down absence of breed and by deficiency of hair, yesterday; there was nothing in it. I was seated on his hind-quarters, and set up ought to know. a dismal music at our approach. Youre teaching Rivers to be as disrep- There was an old man, with a~ weather- utable as yourself. What arc you doing beaten hat, giving a puppy milk out of a with Jickling, Rivers? broken saucer. I-ic looked up, expecting He was going to show me a dog, I to see some of the lower boys who were stammered, his most constant customers; but on catch- A mangy brute you swore you had got ing sight of a fellow in the Eight, he rose rid of at the end of last haig said Ashe- from his stooping posture and fingered ton, indignantly, to Jickling.~ Now, Ill the brim of his head-dress. be bound you meant Rivers to buy this Fisher, which is Mr. Jicklings dog? dog of you. Did he Rivers? Tell me the asked Asheton brusquely. truth. The man addressed as Fisher pointed I hung my head. Such was indeed the to the beast, and added, apparently for aim of our expedition. Jickling had con- his own private satisfaction, for he could sented to sell mc a mongrel cur, which I scarcely expect that anybody cisc would didnt want, nor he either, for fifteen shil- concur in the remark, And a andsome hugs and sixpence. He had assured me dawg too. that it was part of established and insur- Is he paid for? continued Asheton. mountable usage to possess a dog, and Fisher glanced at Jickling as if to know that by not having one I should be hold- what this meant. Jickling wore such a ing myself up as an object of scorn and hang-dog expression that there was no derision to the community. We were on making out. Asheton had taken out his our way to the bird-fanciers where Jick- purse,~which was a manner of eloquence un kept the brute. that Fisher seemed to understand. He Asheton guessed much of this by our cast a second look at Jickling, and then faces, and th3ugh we were standing in the said, Yes, sir, but there be twelve shil- most frequented part of the street, and uns owing for the keep and doctorin of though, as I have already stated, it was him. Very ill that dawg has been took not his habit to take the slightest notice more than a bucketful of physic last holi- of a lower boy in public, he dealt Jickling days. such a box on the ear as almost sent him As if to assent, the cur raised his head backward into a shop-window. A fellow aloft and piped the most dolesome notes. who will sell a worthless dog to a credu- Did Jickling tell you there were 206 A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. twelve shillings owing? inquired Ashe- ry-wise up to his chin. He was well off ton of me. was Spankie, and public rumour made I shook my head. Jickling, seeming to him out to be richer than perhaps was apprehend a second edition of the box on really the case; but for certain he had the ear, backed to a prudent distance. But subscribed 501. to the building of St. Johns Asheton simply said, It looks, Jickling, Church in the High Street, and for cer- as if you had meant to sell this dog with- tam, too, he led a snu,,ly luxurious exist- out telling Rivers that he was virtually in ence in the small well-furnished house he pawn, and leaving him to find it out for rented near the Fives Court. Of a Sunday, himself when he had paid you the money. too, he would bloom out superbly in black But as this pretty transaction was not clothes, grey gloves, a smoothly ironed completed you are entitled to the benefit white or nankeen neckcloth, and a hat of of the doubt. Now pay Fisher. unexceptional finish in which guise he In sulky silence Jickling fumbled for his would walk, prayer-book in hand, to the purse, and presently muttered that there church he had helped to build, and declare were only six shillings in it. Asheton himself a miserable sinner with a fervour looked for himself afterwards, feeling Jick- that was very mnch to his credit. But hugs waistcoat-pockets, and ordering him the distinguishing feature of Spankie to turn those of his trousers inside-out, was his acquaintance with the nobility of This injunction only produced an odd half- these realms. The man was an ambulat- penny, seeing which Asheton said he ing peerage. He knew Lodge by heart, would pay the other six shillings himself, and Burkes landed gentry, and every- and did. And, now, whats the sum thing about everybody who had ever done you were to give Jickling, Rivers? pro- anything, or was likely to do anything by- ceeded he, looking hard at me. and-by. Impossible to catch him tripping Fifteen and six, I answered, piteously. as to who was the son of who, or who was What a muff you must be, he rejoined, the hejr of this or that estate. The fol- with a half smile. Well, Jickling, I shall lowing pattern of dialogue would take buy your dog of you you may consider place between him and new fellows in the that I owe you nine-and-six. lower school or fourth form, who wished A andsome dawg, sir, repeated Fish- to buy wares of him on credit. er, with suppressed enthusiasm. Whats Spankie, I want you to tick me, to be done with him? would say a young gentleman some three Since you seem to admire him so feet and a half high, directing his hand much, you may keep him, answered towards the fruit-basket. Asheton. And now, you two, be back No, sir; I never tick, sir. Whats your to college, and go off to the football field. name, sir? Your nine-and-six, Jickling, I shall give to Plantagenet, would answer three- Spankie. You told me at the beginning foot-six, raising the lid of the basket, and of the half that yon owed him nothing thrusting his head in. Ive learned tha~t you never paid him at Oh, the Earl of Plantagenet. Yes, my all. lord; manys the apple Ive sold to his I did pay him, grumbled Jickhing. Grace your father; but he chiefly liked Spankie has told you a lie. But as if tarts, did his Grace. Help yourself, my to render the discomfiture of Jickling com- lord. I never takes ready money of a plete that morning, we were no sooner nobleman, my lord. Not that they often out of. Fishers shop than who should offers it me they dont; but it would be come waddling down the pavement but all the same if they did, my lord. this very Spankie, who immediately made Whereupon young Plantagenet would a wheezy dart towards Jickhing, and splut- help himself, and do so again the next tered, in the fat way peculiar to him, Ah, day, and the day after, and, at the com- Jickling, sir, youre a bad lot, sir. Owed me mencement of the next school time, find ten bob, . you did, sir, and never thought himself charged five times more than he of giving me a sixpence of it. No sir, expected; for it was a sagacious custom not you, sir catch you, sir! of Spankies to charge rather according He is dead now, poor Spankie, and there to the means of his customers, than accord- can be nothing personal in sketching him ing to the actual value of the goods they as lie was in his declining age a fat, had purchased of him. In this way mis- puffy, red-faced man of sixty, with a takes were prevented. greasy hat, which, if boiled down, might As to Jickhings debt, it probably have furnished a pint of oil, and a double- amounted, in real truth, to five shillings, breasted faded blue coat, buttoned mihita- or thereabouts; but Spankie, with a very A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. 207 pardonable love of round figures, had set the escort of Blazepole, Greegleby and it down at ten, appending an extra penny- young Stumpes, whom Asheton had man- halfpenny for forms sake, and to convey aged to render responsible for his pres- the idea that he was sedulously minute in ence; and such was the wholesome effect keeping his accounts. He now called of these repeated and much-hated games, energetically upon his debtor to liquidate that Jickling positively found no time in the moneys due; and appealed, bowingly which to get into scrapes, and tided over a and puffingly, to Asheton, to see justice whole month without being once flogged done him. or getting apcena if we except fifty lines There is no reason to excite yourself, once or twice for being late in school or at said Asheton, coldly for he evidently chapel. Those, however, who have seen a disliked to see an Eton fellow insulted in nag reputed weedy and vicious, ridden by this pitiful way by a tradesman and he a horseman who kept it well under by dint handed Spankie a half sovereign. This, of whip, spur, and curb, know full well said he, in a dignified tone, that quickly that the conduct of the animal, whilst it brought Spankies greasy hat from off his has its rider on its back, affords no sort of venerable head, this is money I owe Mr. clue to the demeanour it may adopt when Jickling, and he has requested me to pay the rider is away; and so it was with you. But for the future, mind, whatever Jickling. His doing well for a time was a Mr. Jickling takes of you will be paid for matter of compulsion. Ashetons look-out there and then. You understand. was so constant, that shying or kicking Spankie either did or didnt understand, was impossible. But Jickling was not but he made a profound inclination of the reformed by any means; and before this head, saying, Yes, sir; of course, sir; I could be effected, he had still had one always knew I could trust Mr. Jickling, quagmiry scrape to wade through, which, sir. Ave a apple, Mr. Jickling. Thats whilst it almost cut his career of scrapes what Ive just been to Windsor about, sir, short to all eternity, was indirectly the to buy apples at the market, sir a fine means of makin, him turn over a new leaf Ribstone, penny apiece sir; pay me when much more decidedly and definitely than you please, sir. Asheton or anybody else would ever have Habit was so inveterate in Jickling, dared hope. This scrape was brought that, despite everything he had just gone about by Windsor Fair. through, he actually stretched out his hand on hearing that a new credit was opened to him, and womild have taken the forbid- WINDSOR FAIR was an annual episode den fruit had not Asheton pushed him that enlivened the month of October. It roughly by the shoulder, exclaiming, was a three days saturnalia, during which You incorrigible young beggar you! I the royal borough was turned upside declare theres no trusting you even in down, and all Eton kept in a state of ones sight. Now run off, and if I dont adventurous effervescence. Eton boys find you at football when I come, youll see were forbidden attending the fair, owing what will happen. As for you, Spankie, I to cheap gambling that was conducted by warn you that if you trust Mr. Jickling means of low roulette-tables in a spot again, I shall forbid him to pay you. called Bachelors Acre; but like many Whatever he owes you I shall get from other prohibitions at Eton, this one was him, and hand over to my tutor, to put made with a very complete knowledge on into the poor-box. You know I keep my the part of the masters that nobody had word. the slightest thought of paying attention We played football, Jickling ~and I, that to it. Very strange the spirit that occa- day, and were kept severely to that pas- sionally actuated the Eton authorities. If time on every subsequent half-holiday or it had been really desired to keep the boys holiday. Asheton reasoned that whilst from the fair, one would think that nothing playing football one was at least out of would have been easier than to station mnischief; and much as Jickling disliked somebody permanently on Windsor Bridge, the game, and little as I myself enjoyed an to send back every boy who attempted to amusement which consisted, for lower cross. A master might have done it, or a boys, in racing in a flannel shirt after a detective. But instead of that, the course football which only upper boys caught, we pursued was, to give out that all boys soon had to make a virtue of necessity. caught at the fair would be flogged; and Punctually as the time for beginning the as this sort of warning never yet deterred game arrived, Jickling would be seen to any Etonian from doing as he listed, the march ruefully on to the ground, under scene at Windsor during the three days 208 A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. was one of reverend gentlemen in white of this coffee per cup was twopence, and cravats perpetually chasing boys in and that of the buttered bun that accompanied out of booths, over gingerbread stalls, up it another twopence total price of the and down highways and byways, greatly banquet, fourpence. We could cram about to the edification of profane spectators, a score together, at most, in Browns little and considerably, of course, to the uphold- shop, and the place was always as full as ing of pedago~ical authority, an egg : so full, indeed, that on the morn- iNow it stood to reason that Windsor ing in question, being on the point of stuff- Fair should be to Jickling the one bright ing my last fragment of bun into my date in the years calendar. It was better mouth, I was powerless to turn round, on than the Eton and Harrow match, and than feeling an arm laid upon my sleeve tug- 4th of June: for you broke no rule by gingly; but I recognized the voice. It doing to Lords or to Surly hall, whereas was Jicklings, and said I say, Rivers, in the Windsor Fair there was the fun Im going to the fair. Will you come? itself, then the pleasure of being vainly Arid fagging? I asked, astonished. chased by a master you hated, then the Pin going to shirk it, said Jickling. ineffable delight of breaking rules, all And prayers? three rolled into one perfect bliss in I shall shirk them too, was his an- short. It therefore fell like a thunderclap swer. on Jickling when, the evening before the I darent, I ejaculated, timidly. first day of the fair, Asheton said to him: Then youre a funk, responded Jick- Mind, Jickling, I wont have you going hug, with great contempt. This is just to the fair, for youll be certain to come to the time for the fair. All the masters are grief in some way if you do; and Ive busy between nine and eleven. Therell made up my mind that grief and you are to be two at the most there, probably only be kept apart this half. If I hear youve one, and weve got two whole hours and a been to the fair, you shall have double half before eleven-oclock school. Im go- fagging for a month, and something else ing, whether you do or not; but I must besides. say I shouldnt like to funk a swishing as Not go to the fair! Even Stumpes and you seem to do, sneered Jickhing, with Blazepole thought this a stretch of prerog- diabolical derision. ative. They had been following, with a I dont funk a swishing, I protested, syrnpathizin~, eye, the efforts of Asheton blushing up to the roots of my hair. to make Jickling walk in a straight line, Then you funk a licking from Asheton for Jickling had been undoubtedly such a for shirking fagging, railed Jickhing, wax- byword of reproach in the school that he ing more diabolical. I dont care that almost reflected discredit on the house in for Asheton; and Im just going to the which he boarded. But for all this, to in- fair now on purpose to spite him, the terdict a fellow from going to the fair, brute. where everybody went, and where Ashe- Now I did not like the imputation of ton himself would certainly go, was hard; funking. Being in my heart of hearts and Stumpes minor and Blazepole looked considerably afraid both of the swishing compassionately upon Jickhing, as though and the licking, I was the more concerned he were being victimized. As for Jickling to show that I stood in not the slightest himself, he said nothing; but I readily dread of either of these ordeals. Some guessed, from the expression that stole more conversation ensued between us, im- over his stubborn face and flashed out of I portunately tempting on his side, feebly his shifty eyes, that to the fair he meant resisting on mine; and the upshot of it to ~o, all prohibitions notwithstanding; was that, several other boys agreeing to nor \vas I wrong. join the party, I no longer had the moral The next morning, at about half-past courage to hold aloof; and in another ten eight that is, after first school I was minutes (having swallowed a second cup engaged in taking a bun and coffee at of coffee to screw up my valour to the Browns the pastry-cooks. There were starting-point) was crossing Windsor four pastrycooks within the College pre- Bridge with a beating pulse, throbbing cincts, and Browns was the lower-boy heart, and eyes strained to see if they house a place where you got such coffee would not behold a master spring up like as I have never tasted since, either here in a jack-in-the-box at the next street-corner. England, or on the Continent, or in the The noble old town that Windsor is! East; though, to be sure, I have not tried and, perhaps, never more noble than dur- Browns coffee since I was fourteen, which, ing these fair days, when, the glitter and perhaps, renders me indulgent. The ~riee bustle of the booths, the animation of the A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. 209 crowd, tbe tinsel trappings of beast and table, screened by a kind of sackcloth con- giant shows stand out in contrast with the trivance of poles and ropes, and safe as stately grandeur of the Castle. The the Bank. booths used to stretch right down to the The costerinonger was one of many who Castles foot, at the point called the hun- conducted business on a safe and pleasant dred Steps, and wind away through the princip!e. They decoyed as many boys to town up to the Bachelors Acre once men- stake pence, sixpences, or shillings as they tioned, making an unbroken row on either could, and then, when the board was well side of the roadway. At Bachelors Acre covered with money, a cry of Heres the lay the focus of the fair. Here were the masters coming! would be set up by circuses, shootin~-galleries, skittle-alleTs, a husky confederate; whereat the boys Aunt Sallies, roulette-tables, and all the would jump away like frighted fro~s, P~n that is popularly described as fast and and the stakes would disappear flowingly furious. In the town everything was into the pockets of the costermonger. Un- more mild. One could buy gilt ginger- fortunately, even such a simple system as iread there, flashy porcelain, false noses, this has its drawbacks, and the main one masks, and other interesting objects, and was that after trying on the joke a few iudulge in such slow gambling as may be times, it became the story of the wolf in the afforded by betting pence on marbles set fable, and nobody would believe the husky to race down an inclined plane studded confederate charmed he never so wisely. with pins. But, if you wanted excitement, Jickling, who had gathered practical cx- your way lay to the Acre, and thither, of perience of Windsor Fair the year before, course, we all sped. was up to a good many moves on the The walk through the town without board, and his first step when behind the meeting with a single master had embold- sackcloth screen was to exclaim, in his ened us, and I, for one, felt much more quick, wild voice, as he laid a shillings comfortable in stepping into the Acre than worth of pence on the table, Now, no I had done in setting foot on that bonn- master can see us here; so if this fellow dary bridge that divides Buckinghamshire or anybody else cries out cave, Itll be a from Berkshire. Jicklin ~, who was always false alarm, mind that~ I suppose the bold, showed himself the more so on this words could hardly have been out of his occasion from the possession of a sover- mouth, when, without the slightest warn- eign given him a couple of days before by ing, without a single premonitory indica- a relative, who had unexpectedly come tion of peril, the visage of the Rev. Mr. down to see him. A fourth-form fellow Jones, a stern master, intruded itself be- with a sovereign imagines himself, not hind the screen, and froze us all includ- quite master of the world perhaps, but ing the costermonger-croupier, I think lord of a good half of it. Jickling was no positively breathless with astonishment sooner in the Acre than he directed our and terror. Mr. Jones must have seen us attention to the booth where a learned pig at a distance, before we had passed behind was exhibited and suggested we should the canvass, and he now contemplated us go and see, the admission being moderate with that calm, sure, and sardonic eye of id. a head. a sportsman who has got all his fish in the We streamed altogether into the learned- net, and need not hurry himself. In his pig show (I think we were nine), then into right hand he carried a pocket-book, from a booth where was a calf with two heads, which he proceeded to draw the pencil, and so on through the usual round of fair ready to write our names down. monstrosities, not forgetting a lady who The space of awful time that we stood weighed five-and-twenty stone, and who, looking at one another he grimly elate, to give Jickling an idea of her muscular we speechless can scarcely have exceed- powe?s, which he seemed disposed to ques- ed ten seconds, but it remains branded on tion, lifted him up in mid-air by the seat my memory as if it had been ten hours. of his unmentionables, to his intense dis- My sensations were as if the soles of my gust. By this time we had forgotton that boots had become of lead, and suddenly such people as masters existed, and a little soldered me to the earth. Then Jickling, intoxicated by the beating of drums, the who had inspirations of genius in such squeaking of pandean pipes, the braying moments, abruptly dashed his handker- of horns, and the inspiriting sounds of chief over his face, and pulling me by the loud barrel organs spurring the cavalcades hand, shouted wildly, Come! if we bolt, of merry-go-rounds, we turned a ready he cant catch us all. And saying this, ear to the blandishments of a costermonger, dived through the aperture facing that who, behind his barrow, had got a roulette- where the master was standing, and rushed LIVING AGE. VOL. XXIV. 1108 210 A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. out precipitately, forsaking his pence to ing out of the passage as we ran up. their fate, I following him and the rest This seemed providcntial. Jickling took plunging after me. out a half-crown, threw it to the man and All this was enacted with the instan- panted, Do you see that fellow in the taneousness of thought; but imagine the white tie running behind ns. Stop him at breaking of the net in the sportsmans any price. Trip him up . The cad was hands just alluded to, and you will have an honest cad. When Mr. Jones appeared the position of Mr. Jones. He had made at eleven-oclock school that morning, a too sure, paused just one triumphant sec- fine scar on the face, and some remains of oud too long to consider his haul before dust on the shirt-front, testified to the calliuc, upon us for our names, and here neatness with which he had been sent was the result. But he was a man of en- sprawling on all fours by a purely acci- ergy, and quickly buckled to. Though all dental movement of the foot performed by the nine of us had flown headlong and the basket-man. This increased our lead (~uadrivious, dexterously eluding the grabs by a hundred yards tnd gave us a seconds he made to right and left of him, he did breathing-space we much wanted; but we not forget who was the kuthor of this mis- were not safe for all that. Mr. Jones was adventure, and without a moments hesi- not the man to drop us for a fall more or tation started after Jickling and me, leav- less. A short, sallow, straddling little lug the other seven to go their ways un- divine, with an immense lurking power hindered, of limb, he had determination enough to No pair of gazelles ever ran as Jickling chase us till Christmas if need were. We and I were doing. Bachelors Acre is a soon found this out; for havin~, impru- hollow and sunken piece of ground, full dently paused to draw breath in the up- of ups and downs, and rugged. Over these hill alley leading out of Peascod Street ups and downs we leaped and bounded, to the railway instead of waiting until with our hair flying to the winds, and our we reached the railway itself, where we eyes starting out of their sockets. At might have dodged our pursuer down least, I answer for mine. Jickling, more passages and given him the slip by con- cool, buttoned up his jacket as he ran, cealing ourselves in a porters room, we kept his elbows well pressed to his sides, saw him emerge from the Thermopylm and threw his head back to give his legs where he had been tripped up, brushing all their fair play. We scampered thus to his knees with his handkerchief and pur- the end of the Acre, and scaled its steep ple with rage. He saw us, and was cvi- sides, not knowiur, until then whether Mr. dently stirred with delight to the depths Jones was following us or the others. But of his soul, for he shot us a glance of no here all doubt left us. Our friends had dubious meaning and redoubled his pace, sped to the four cardinal points, and were we doing the same by ours. presumably safe; but, straight as the crow But now the hunt was going to assume flies, the Rev. Mr. Jones was bearing down a new complexion. In Bachelors Acre upon us, our start of him being not more there had been no great crowd at that than fifty yards. The moments agony comparatively early time of morning, hut which burst upon us when we made this in the streets it was another affair. Pre- discovery may be readily conceived. But cisely as we reached the station a train of it was no use feeling agonized. Theres old Etonians, from Oxford and Cambridge, a passage down there which leads across steamed in, and these understanding at a Peascod Street to the Great Western sta- glance what was the matter, when they tion, gasped Jickling. Keep up, Rivers; saw Jickling and I run, broke into shouts dont blow yourself. And this was no of laughter and gaily joined in the chase vain caution: for, short as the distance as spectators; to cee how it would all end. was we had covered, I already began to Any inoffensive stranger who beheld the feel as if I could not go much further at spurt that followed through Windsor this rate. Thames Street must have fancied it was a The passage into Peascod Street was a lunatic asylum burst loose. Two well- terribly narrow one, where two could dressed boys with steaming faces running scarcely run abreast, and where, should at the top of their speed as if they had we chance to meet anybody coming in the been stealing spoons; fifty yards to the opposite direction, we might be so delayed rear of theni a clergyman of the Church as to be caught like rats in a trap. Jick- of England, with a most unchristian glare ling saw this; indeed, he had a hunted on his countenance, also putting his best foxs instinct for scenting danger. There foot foremost; and behind the clergyman, was a cad with a basket on his head com- the mob of university-men, unable to hold A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. 211 their cigars in their mouths from laughing, if we take to the Home Park, gasped and doing their utmost one must ren- Jickling, we shall be run down in the der them that justice to impede Mr. open. Neednt go into the Park, an- Joness progress by getting in his way swered our Mentor, suddenly struck by whenever he seemed to be gaining too fast an idea. Make for the coal-wharves he- on us. There was especially one Oxford- hind the South-Western Station: you can man, whose name I afterwards learned lie hid there, and then double when Jones was Martingale Lord Martingale and has passed you, which hell be safe to do who did us valiant service. His lordship if you dont give him time to see where was an enthusiastic sportsman, and this you hide. But, unfortunately, this ad- boy-hunt was to him like drinking fine vice, like many other good counsels, was elixir. Racing along by our sides with impracticable, by reason of its coming late. his eyeglass screwed in his lea eye and his Our pursuer was now not more than twen- lavender-gloved hands describing frantic ty yards hehind us; he was gaining too, gyrations in the air, he bellowed vocifer- and it seemed as though another couple ous encouragements to us in a turf voice: of minutes must see our fate sealed. At Now then, young nuns, go it! Ill back this juncture, Jickling called upon me for you to win at five to one! If youre not a final spurt. We were in the Datchet caught you hreakfast with me at the Road, close to the South-Western station. White Hart to-morrow champagne In half a minute we had reached the door and all the deuce, and a five-pound tip for and dashed through, right into the midst both of you. Go it, I say, go it! his of a crowd of people taking tickets for the lordships noise was so terrific, and, in a next train. A guard made an attempt to general way, the scene was so tumultuous, stop us; Lord Martingale pushed him that it brought out tradesmen to their roughly aside with an oath. Down the doors; a few windows were thrown up; platform we sped, stumbling over luggage, some ladies paused on the pavement to jostling passengers, and trampling an un- look and exclaim, pityingly, what a shame fortunate dog under foot, amid piercing it was to chase those poor boys so; dogs shrieks from his mistress. At the extrem- began to bark, and all the tag-rag and ity of the platform, Jickling leading the bobtail of Windsor scattered among the way, jumped down in front of the engine fair booths hurried up, hooting, and that was aho ut to start, crossed the line, formed a befustianed rabble, that may in disregard of the chorus of shouts and have been two hundred strong by the imprecations set up by stokers and porters; time we were at the bottom of Castle Hill, ran for a short way between the two lines after a race that had left Jickling and me of rails, and struck off towards some waste with hardly the ghost of a breath in our grounds skirting the towing-path by the bodies. But now it became urgent to river-side. Martiugale and I were of take some immediate resolution. We course close at his heels. could not go on long like this. If Mr. This was no bad move: for Mr. Jones, Jones did not give up the chevy, as it was a clergyman, could not act in defiance of not likely he would now that he was the the railway companys by-laws, as we had cynosure of so many eyes, we must inevit- done. He would be obliged to go round ably he overtaken, for our legs were not by the wharf way to catch us, and this of a strength to cope with his. Here was would give us a start of about ten mm- Windsor Bridge in sight. What were we utes. At least, so we reasoned; but we to do make for Eton, or branch off reckoned without our host. Mr. Jones down the Datchet Road, toward the Ilome simply waited on the platform until the Park? Jickling, undauiited to the end, train had started that is, rather less though his strength and his hopes were than five minutes then, there being no beginning to flag, called to me in a brok- objection to his crossing the line, did so, en voice for my opinion meaning to say, and followed the identical path that we had I wind and spirits enough left for a had taken. We learned afterwards that new effort? I was not able so much as during the five minutes he spent on the to answer; and the question was settled platform the old Etonians with him had for us by Lord Martingale, who shouted pleaded for us, appealing to him to re- that by going towards Eton we must cer- nounce his pursuit, in consideration of th. tainly be caught, seeing that we should gallant struggle we were making. But probably meet other masters in the the very gallantry of the struggle seemed street; whereas, if we went up the Datchet to Mr. Jones the most cogent reason for Road, we might prolong the chase, and bringing us to punishment. He pro- perhaps tire out our enemy. Yes, but claimed his determination as he mopped 212 A REMINISCENCE OF ETON LIFE. his brow with his yellow silk handkerchief, is coming home from India next Christ- and brushed what remained of mud and mas will write to The Times and say it dust off his pantaloons, not to give us up was your fault. on any account; and he kept his word: I think I felt the terrible weight of this for, as Jickling and I were pelting along threat; but Martingale, who apparendy the towing-path at about half a mile from saw nothing to laugh at, turned round and the station, Martingale, who was in ecsta- made a sudden and violent use of his hand- sies at our escape, and counted upon our kerchief. When he showed us his face being able to find a punt or a skiff or again, I could have sworn his eyes were something to take us across the river fur- not clear. ther down, looked round, and suddenly You shant drown, Ill swear that! exclaimed, with real dismay in his voice, he said, energetically; not unless I do so By Jove, he has stolen a march on us, too. and HERE HE is! We had scrambled down the bank by Something seemed to break inside me: this time and were holding on by some it was my last spring of courage giving tufts of grass. The water was quite deep way. We had run so desperately, our under us turgid and rapid. Opposite us hopes had so revived at the thou~ht that lay the Eton playing-fields. Jickling shiv- by passing through the station we had ered, but I could see it was not for him, given our pursuer the slip, that to find this but for me. He looked wistfully to see if was all useless, and that we were on tbe the master would not give up the pursuit; very point of capture, was cruel. Martin- then seeing that Mr. Jones (who, of eourse, gale, almost as much concerned as we, could have no idea of what we were going cried out, with something, very like emo- to do) was close upon us, he muttered: tion, Well, never mind. Dn it! Id We cant let ourselves be taken, and rather do what youve done than win the floundered headlong in. Even before I Derby. Youre a pair of young bricks, had risen to the surface after following thats what you are, Ill give my solemn Jickling, I could hear the tremendous up- word. But this, after all, was but cold roar of astonishment and consternation, comfort. There we were, with the towing- and withal of admiration, that arose when path before us, an open space of mead to Mr. Jones and his companions perceived our right, and the river rushing in a broad what we had done. The throng of old swift stream to our left. Escape was Etonians, roughs and street-boys that had impossible. In this despairing moment escorted the master, crowded on the bank, Jickling turned abruptly round like a straining their eyes with genuine anxiety young cub at bay, looked at me with fire to see what would become of us, and in his eyes, and in a voice of frenzy cried, surely thinking that we were not going to. I say, can you swim? rise again. But when it was seen that we A thrill seemed to shoot through Mar- not only rose but struck out for the oppo- tingale. He glanced at the river, then site shore as well as our heavy water- at me. filled clothes would allow us loud cheers Yes, I gulped, with a great dry sob; burst forth and rose in peal upon peal to for, indeed I could swim, having learned encourage us. Mr. Jones who was not a that accomplishment at home. hard man, and whose sense of humanity Jickling stroked the perspiration that was now getting the better of scholastic was bathing his forehead, looked hungrily considerations, ran in dismay up and down at me again, and in that moment his the bank, shouting to us that if we would Ishmael countenance was radiant. come back he would not report us. But But swim in your c-c-clothes? we either did not believe him, or did not he stammered. Can you? Will you take hear him, or thought that once in, it was your oath you can? as well to go the whole way. Jickling He had clutched me by the jacket. was swimming a little in front of me, his Ill take my oath I can, I panted, with tall black hat bobbing curiously above the the amazing courage of fear and hopeless- water like a float. As we reached mid- ness. stream, however, he slackened so as to let Well, look here, said Jickling, darting me come up with him, and faltered with a a distracted glance behind him. Ill be- sud