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.

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 e