LITTELLS LIVING AGE. ~i~thSe~es~ } No. 2154. October 3, 1885k From Begiiiuxing, & Vol. CLXVII CONTENTS. I. Vvrroiu~ COLONNA II. FORTUNES WHEEL. Part XI., ILL THIBET IV. LAFFAIRE SPINKs V. NORWAY TO-DAY VI. A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF. Mrs. Oliphant. Part XXXV., VII. WILD-FLOWERS OF OLD LONDON, Gu~ FAWKES WHEN JACK IS TALL AND TWENTY, MISCELLANY, Nineteen/h Century, Blackwoods Magazine, Nineteenth Century, - Long-mans Magazine, Fortn:~htiy Rezaew, By - Chambers 7ournal, Chambers Journal, POETRY. 21 IN ST. PETERS AT HIGH MASS, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publlshers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded Los ayear,freeof,5oseage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office monev.order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to reglater Jettera when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money.orders should be made pay able to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIvING AGE, a8 cents. .3 5 23 38 48 56 6o 2 64 2 GUY FAWKES, ETC. GUY FAWKES. AN OLD SONG RE-SUNG. [The musical r:~hts reserved.I I SING the doleful tragedy, Guy Fawkes, that Prince of Sinisters, Who once blew up the Parliament, The king and all his ministers; That is, he would have, if he could, For he had all the effrontery To send each single Member back In that way to the Countery. He sneaked into the dreary vault At the witching time o night, Sir, Resolved to fire his devilish train Of Yankee dynamite, Sir; That is, he would ha used that stuff, And solely was prevented, Cause dynamite in Jamess time, You see, was not invented. But a little bird let drop a word To James, that very sly fox; So he bade them search the aforesaid vault, And there they found poor Guy Fawkes; A score or more of lively squibs Were peeping from his pockets, And a Catharines wheel was round his ribs, And a brace of big sky-rockets. But Sergeant Cox he collared him, Combustibles and all, Sir, And ran him safely into quod Right down Westminster Hall, Sir; That is, he would ha done that deed Of gunpowder and glory; But Cox, do you see, he didnt live Till the reign of Queen Victori. For trial they committed Guy Remandin and remandin him For more conclusive evidence, Till there wasnt any standin em; And theyd not ha found the missin link They wanted to convict him, If he hadnt coughed the time-fuze up That by swallowin down hed tricked em. The judge he sentenced him to death, But they sent him a reprieve, Sir, And in ten years time they let Guy out On a quiet ticket-of-leave, Sir. That is, they would ha done all that Just some odd centuries later; But, as it was, they went and took And hung him for a traitor. Spectator. WHEN JACK IS TALL AND TWENTY. WHEN Jack is tall and twenty, We know what Jack will do; With girls so sweet and plenty, Hell find him one to woo. And soon the lovers twilight Will hear a story told, And Jack will die or fly sky high For sake of hair of gold. Hearken, Jack, and heed me Ponder what I say! Tis fools are sold for locks of gold, For gold will turn to grey. But Jack, if truth be spoken, Is simple Jack no more; If gold his heart has broken, Tis scarce the gold of yore. He wots of dower for daughters Not all in ringlets rolld; To beauty steeld, his heart will yield To stamped and minted gold. Hearken, Jack and heed me Ponder what I say! If gold hath wing, as poets sing, Then gold may fleet away. When Jack goes forth a-wooing, If Jack has heart or head, And would not soon be rueing The hour that saw him wed, He will not pine for graces, Nor cringe for wealth to hold, But strive and dare by service fair To win a heart of gold. Hearken, Jack, and heed me Ponder what I say! The gear will fly, the bloom will die, But love will last for aye. Good Words. FREDERICK LANGBRIDGL IN ST. PETERS AT HIGH MASS. HIGH Mass! the stalled and bannerd quire White canonspriests in quaint attire The unfamiliar prayer; The fumes that practised hands dispense, The tinkling bells, the jingling pence, The taxed, but welcome chair; The beams from ruby panes that glow, Of rhythmal chant the ebb and flow; The organ that from boundless stores Its trembling inspiration pours Oer all the sons of care Now joyous as the festal lyre, When torch, and song, and wine inspire; Now tender as Cremonas shell, When hushed orchestras own the spell, And watch the ductile bow; Now rolling from its thunder-cloud Dark peals oer that retiring crowd; All that enchants, inspires, fatigues, And wafts you oer a thousand leagues Beyond the springs of Po! CHARLES BADHAM, M D., F.R.S. ROME, s834. Temple Bar. VITTORIA COLONNA. From The Nineteenth Century. VITTORIA COLONNA. Quest una ha non pur si~ fatta immortale Cot dolce stil di che ii miglior non odo, Ma pu6 qualunque, di cui parli o scriva, Trar del sepoicro, e far ch eterno viva. ARIOSTO. 3 fully developed in Italy in the first half of the sixteenth century as he became after. wards in Germany in the Thirty Years War. The princes, republics, nobles, if not quarrelling with the papacy, were fighting among themselves. The land was torn by the hatred and jealousy of state against state, of party against party, of family against family. Rancors, in- trigues, hostilities, raged incessantly; and the distractions of politics co-existed with the utmost depravity of public and of pri- vate morals. The ceaseless petty warrings of the despots with the condot/ieriopened a path for the stranger into Italy; but the great foreign powersas France, Spain, Ger- manyeach one of which was a compact and homogeneous nationality, would not, when called in, fight merely to attain petty Italian ends, and soon treated the lovely but distracted land as a battlefield for the objects of their own ambition. The feudal system did not really exist in Italy, and the rule of the despots, depending upon the help of mercenary soldiers, was based upon force and fraud ; while tyran- ny relied upon crime when force fell short. They acquired illegally and ruled ruthlessly. Ezzelino da Romano, Gian Maria Visconti, Barnabo Visconti, are types of the true Italian despot. The corruption of the papal court involved a corresponding moral weakness through- out Italy. Machiavelli says that the pa- pacy caused the moral depravation and political disunion of Italy. Guicciardini writes: It would be impossible to speak so ill of the Roman court, that more abuse would not be needed, seeing it is an in- famy, an example of all the shames and scandals of the world. Machiavelli, the admirer of Cesare Borgia, the Duc de Valentinois, writes: THE life of Vittoria Colonna extended over the years from 1490 to 1547. This period covered the occurrence of the most remarkable events, and included the ca- reers of many of the most eminent men who lent such distinction to Italy and to Europe in the sixteenth century. Two years after her birth Columbus sailed on his first great voyage and Rodri~o Borola purchased the papacy. Luther was born in [483; Savonarola was burned in 1498. She was the contemporary of Karl V., Francis I., and Henry VIII., and also of Rabelais. Her husband was the hero of the battle of Pavia, and she lived in the time of the sack of Rome. During her lifetime occurred the Reformation, and, in Italy, some years of the counter-Reforma- tion. She belongs to the Renaissance, and knew the restorers of Italian litera- ture. Of princely rank, of distinguished genius, of loftiest character, she was a woman of the Renaissance; and yet, in virtue of her individualism, was much more than a woman of the Renaissance. Her great works were her poems, her let- ters, and her life. She witnessed the most troublous time of Italy. She knew, or knew of, the popes of the Renaissance, Paolo II., the unspeakably infamous Six- tus IV., innocent VIII., the loathsome monster Alexander VI., Julius II., the sumptuous pagan Leo X., Adrian VI., Clement VII., Paul III. All that was noble and fair, much that was foul and base, of that distracted time was kno~vn of her and knew her. She passes among all the murky clouds of the vile time like a pure moon that we know to be stainless, Italy was more enslaved than the Hebrews, even when it is hidden from full view by more downtrodden than the Persians, more shadow and by mist. disunited than the Athenians; without a chief, In Italy there was no central govern- without order; beaten, despoiled, mangled, ment and no controlling power; the coun overrun, subject to every sort of desolation. try was not a nation. Incessant strife - . - The contrast between the sacerdotal pre- tensions and the personal immorality of the produced constant misery. The trade Popes was glaring. - . - A succession of Popes of war produced continual condoalere filled the holy chair with such dramatic pro- warfare in a hapless land; and the soldier priety, displaying a pride so regal, a cynicism by profession, the hireling of arms, was as so unblushing, so selfish a cupidity, and a VITTORIA COLONNA. 4 policy so suicidal, as to favor the belief that condemned in the Middle Ages into lib- they had been placed there in the providence erty a liberty which soon degenerated of God to warn the world against Babylon. into boundless license. It was a godless . . Undisguised sensuality, fraud cynical and and a shameless time, but yet natures unabashed, policy marching to its end by mur- rich in all capacities, and endowed with ders, treasons, interdicts, and imprisonments, d of sensibility, were frequent in the open sale of special privileges, commercial every kin it. traffic in ecclesiastical emoluments, hypocrisy and cruelty studied as fine arts, theft and per- Vittoria Colonna was born in 1490 at jury reduced to system these are the ordi- Castel Marino, a fief of the Colonna fain- nary scandals that beset the Papacy; yet the ily, a hill fortress perched upon one of the Pope is still a holy being. He riscs from the Alban summits between Rome and Ter- bed of harlots to unlock or bolt the gates of racina. Close together were castles of Heaven and Purgatory. a similar type belonging to the great Strong, indeed, are the pictures of the princely baronial houses of Colonna, of papacy of the Renaissance painted by con- Orsini, of Savelli. These great old races temporary and Catholic Italian historians; had risen to their highest power and and the amplest information on the subject glory in the second half of the thirteenth will be found in Mr. J. A. Symondss admir- century; but, at the beginning of the six- able work on the Renaissance, from which teenth century, they had been greatly de- the two latter passages are quoted. Into pressed by the superior influence of the such a world Vittoria Colonna was born; new ne~oti families, which were, in fact, and among so much that was profligate, composed mainly of the bastards of cardi- venal, wanton, blasphemous, dissolute, and nals and of popes. The father of Vittoria, depraved, she kept herself unspotted from a Christian name which she derived from the world which surrounded her, and a great-aunt of the Malatesta house, was walked her lofty path in purity, in sanc- Fabrizio Colonna; and her mother was tity, in nobleness, and, mainly, in solitude Agnese di Montefeltro, the youngest of the sad soul. daughter of the Duke Federigo dUrbino The gloom and austerity of the Middle and of a lady of the house of Sforza of Ages produced, in part, the license and Pesaro. Fabrizio Colonna was grand con- the crime of the Renaissance. The eman- stable of Naples, the lord of Paliano, and cipation of the conscience was co-existent Prince of Tagliacozzo. Vittoria came of with the stupefaction of the conscience. noble descent and of distinguished his. Sensuous enjoyment took the place of torical race. She was born into stirring sombre rigor. The reaction was great, and troublous times; but, while the pub- and resembled somewhat the change from lic events which surrounded her youth our Commonwealth to the Restoration. are well known to us, there is but scanty Manners both softened and depraved. Its record of her childhood or her girlhood. literature is the true type of the poison- Her early biogrhphy is a blank, except flower period of the re-birth, and the ani- that we find her, in her childhoods years, mal joy of life which succeeded to cen- betrothed to Ferrante Francesco dAvalos, tunes of repression is reflected in the Marquis of Pescara. This betrothal was writings of the Renaissance. Monkish brought about by the young king Ferrante legends gave place to pagan poetry. As II. (Ferrandino) of Naples, who desired you disinter a Pompeii, so the Renais- to cement the coalition in his favor of the sance dug out the classical humanities great barons by a union between the and the antique culture of Greek and Ro- daughter of his condoltiere supporter man literature. ln restoring joy to life Colonna, and the leading representative they divorced religion from morality, and of those noble Spanish families which had revelled in the very wantonness of new- settled in Italy. When Charles VIII. found freedom. One consequence of the made his fruitless promenade into Italy spirit of the re-birth was the emancipation (1494) Colonna supported French inter- of women, who emerged from the compar- ests, but had afterwards, with the political ative seclusion to which they had been levity which was the fashion of the times, VITTORIA COLONNA. seen it good to transfer his allegiance to the Neapolitan monarchy. Inigo dAvalos, son of the Conte de Ribadeo, constable of Castile, accom- panied his king, Alfonso of Aragon,to Italy, when Alfonso sought to enforce his claim to Naples against Rend of Anjou. This Spanish grandee had two sons, Al- fonso and Inigo. Their mother was An- tonia dAquino, sister of the childless Marchese di Pescara, whose title and estates descended to his elder nephew, while the younger, Inigo, received from Ferrante the title and accompanying pos- sessions of Vasto. Alfonso, Marchese di Pescara, was treacherously killed, in 1495, in the fight round the Castel Nuovo, in Naples. He had married Diana de Cor- dona, a lady of a noble Spanish-Neapoli- tan house; and King Ferrandino was very early active in arranging a match be- tween the young Ferrante Francesco, son of Alfonso, and the daughter of Fabrizio Colonna. This marriage took place on the 27th of December, 1509, at Ischia. The young couple moved to Naples, and the early days of Vittorias married life were passed amid the rich nature and splendid scenery of the siren city by the sea. The marriage was one of policy, and was arranged by parents and by politi- cians; but it is certain that there was on the side of Vittoria a passionate and stead. fast love for her young husband. What- ever he afterwards became, the Marquis of Pescara was, at the time of his mar- riage, young, gallant, chivalrous, courte- ous; and Vittoria, whose generous nature was full of genius and of grace, could, and did, idealize the showy young cavalier. Vittori Sommaria said later of Pescara that he was proud, envious, cruel; with- Qut religion or humanity. No historian of that day would reckon perfidy or in- trigue as faults in the character of a con- do/here chieftain ; and it is clear that the lover of her youth remained throughout her life enshrined in the faithful memory of the noble Vittoria. The politician must be distinguished from the lover and the husband, and Pescara was so constantly absent from his wife that his image could suffer little injury from his personal pres 5 ence. Indeed, the lives of the Marchese and Marchesa di Pescara were typical lives of lady and of knight during those stormy times. The lord, exposed to dan- ger, wounds, and death, was nearly always away from home, occupied in incessant warrings; while the lady spent the weary and lonely hours in her castle, thinking the long thought, and looking anxiously for the news, good or bad, which came so seldom. Vittoria occupied herself sedu- lously with culture, and, in so far, was bet- ter off than many other ladies of her day; but she had none of the lighter distrac- tions, or illicit attachments, which, in so many other cases, winged the flight of time and quickened the lonely hours. Her strenuous and lofty spirit lived in widowhood during her lords frequent ab- sences. Her first poem, a sonnet to her husband, paints pathetically the lot of woman and man when they are separated by cruel wars. She longs to be with him, to share his dangers, toils, and conflicts. When Pescara returned home, Isabella dAragona, sister of King Ferrandino, said to him, I wish I were a man, lord mar- quis, if it were only to receive wounds in the face, as you have done, and to see if the scars would become me as they do you. Isabella spoke the thought of Vit- toria. These wounds ~vere received by Pescara at the battle of Ravenna (1512), a French victory, saddened for the French by the death of Gaston de Foix. Fabrizio Colonna and Pescara were both engaged at Ravenna, and the father of Vittoria was taken prisoner and was sent to Ferrara, then under the rule of Alfonzo dEste and Lucrezia Borgia. In the time of the Re- naissance the ransom of prisoners was a matter of trade, and captivity was not harsh. Colonna was well treated at the court of Ferrara, and refreshed himself, after the toils of war, by a little love affair with Nicolina Trotti, a beautiful lady in waiting on the duchess. Pescara had behaved with distinguished gallantry. He led a body of four hundred light horse, which was always in the thick- est of the fight. The marchese was se- verely wounded, and received two hurts in the face. He was taken prisoner; was sent first to Ferrara and thence to Milan, 6 VITTORIA COLONNA. where he was ransomed for six thousand ducats His wife was all the while at Ischia. During his Milan captivity Pes- cara attended the funeral of the heroic Gaston de Foix. It is on record that, at Ravenna, Colonna wore six great feathers in his helmet, and these were preserved by the Ferrarese dukes brother, Cardinal Ippolito dEste. The son of Inigo, Conte del Vasto, and of Laura Sanseverino, was left an orphan; and the childless Mar- chesa di Pescara took upon herself the charge of the young Alfonso dAvalos. In later life the Marchese del Vasto showed signs of her training of his boy- hood by valiant captaincy and by writing verses. In the next year (1513) we find Pescara at his old work of fighting. This time the theatre of war was Lombardy, and Pescara was joined in command with Ramon cli Cardona. Pescara took Genoa, and, together with Prospero Colonna, de- feated the Venetians at Vicenza. Vitto- nas life was sad, lonely, thoughtful. She felt pride in her husbands glory and success; but there is good ground for believing that she suffered much from his continual absences. In the shifting scene of Italian politics great changes were introduced by the rise of new actors. In 1513 Julius II. died, and was followed by Leo X., who entered upon the pontificate with the avowed and cynical principle, Godlainoci ii pa~tzbo, poick?Dio ce 1 ha dato. in 1515, Louis XII. was succeeded by Francis I., and the new French king and the new pope became allies. In 1519 Charles V. suc- ceeded Maximilian I. During these years the evidence about the life of Vittoria Colonna is meagre. Her husband was but little with her, and she lived the quiet life of solitude and of thought. In 1517 a splendid marriage was celebrated at Ischia, at which she certainly was present. Costanza dAva- los, sister of Alfonso del Vasto, wedded Alfonso Piccolomini, Duke of Amalfi. In the same year, Bona, daughter of Isabella of Aragon, married, at Naples, King Sigis- mund of Poland; and Vittoria Colonna was, perhaps, the most distinguished of the lofty ladies who appeared in the brides train. We have a picture of Vittoria as she took part in the splendid ceremony. By her horse walked six equerries. Her robe was of crimson brocade and velvet, with a hood of gold, worn under a barrett- cap of crimson silk. Her noble and ear- nest beauty adorned the royal procession. Her attendants were six young ladies, of noble houses, attired in light blue damask. Pescara arrived on the evening of the nuptials, and, on the following day, he accompanied the new queen to Apulia. About this period Galeazzo di Tarsia con- ceived a passion for the fair marchesa, who applauded the poet, but repulsed the lover. After the wedding march the fu- neral dirge, and death became busy with the race and relatives of the Colonnas. In 1516 her elder brother, Federigo, died. In 1520 she lost her father, and two years later, her mother. Of her own family, her brother, Ascanio Colonna, was the only one left. We next find her (although the year is uncertain) in Rome, and ~vith her husband. it is probable that, during this Roman visit, she became first acquainted with Pietro Bembo, and with Jacopo Sadoleto; with Baldassare Castiglione, and with Gian Matteo Giberti. It was the splen- did time of Leo X.s papacy, and the pope had just given the red hat to Pompeo Colonna, the nephew of Prospero Colonna. Leo X. was ivell disposed to~vard the house of Colonna. It is certain that Vit- toria saw all that was noble, gifted, fair, at the then court of Rome. It is not clear at which date she first met Ariosto in Rome, but it may have been during the visit of which we are now speaking. No one can be surprised, says Ariosto, if I praise her [Vittoria Colonna] above all other women, since she stands high above all envy. His men- tion of her is so warm and full that he must have known her personally; and they could only have met in Rome. Dif- ferent as their character and tendencies were, she had yet some sympathetic rela- tions with the passionate and gifted poet, Francesco Maria Molza, who wrecked his life so early amid the characteristic ex- cesses of the sensual and dissolute Re. naissance. The reputation of Vittoria Colonna was rapidly spreading among the cultured classes of the Renaissance time. Not only was she known to her own class, to princes and to nobles, but she was recog- nized by the followers of Ariosto and the disciples of Boccaccio. In May, 1521, Leo X. concluded an alliance with Karl V.; and Prosl)ero Co- lonna and Pescara were appointed leaders of the imperial papal forces. Pescara was childless, and his heir ~vas the young Alfonso del Vasto. The marquis hesi. tated to expose the young heir to the dangers of war; but it is a characteristic trait of his noble wife that she said to her husband: Take the lad with you. if an VITTORIA COLONNA. 7 accident should happen to him, even if your family should end with him, that were a lesser evil than it would be if the glory of your ancestors should be lessened by the inactivity of your successor. The heroic poetess Vittoria could a warriors feelings share, And weep a warriors shame, Buckle the spurs upon his heel, And send him forth to fazime. She could not sympathize with a knightly heir who should shun danger and dread war. She herself presented a tent to young Alfonso, and over the entrance she embroidered the words, once applied to Vespasian, Never less idle than when most at peace. In August, 152!, the war began. The French, supported by Venice and by Alfonso dEste, could not save Farina from the clutch of Pescara, who, on the 19th of November, succeeded, after a bloody fight, in taking Milan. On the 1st of December Leo X. died suddenly. His death caused a momentary interruption to military operations ; but on the 27th of April, 1522, Lautrec, assisted by Italian and Swiss troops, attacked Prospero Co. lonna and Pescara, who defeated him at Bicocca. Pescara took and plundered Genoa; and French conquests in Italy shrank to very few possessions. On the 17th of August the new pope, Adrian VI., arrived from Barcelona. His reign was short, and on the 19th of November, 1523, Clement VII. was chosen pope. The constable Bourbon deserted his own people, and went over to Karl V., a step pregnant with after consequences for Rome and for Italy. Vittoria Colonna was delighted with the accession of Clement VII.; but she did not foresee the evils which the weak and vacillating bastard of Giuliano dei Medici would bring upon Italy. Clement, being confused, thought himself profound. He caused the sack of Rome, and met the Reformation b) the Inquisition. Once more Vittoria saw her husband, who, in October, 1522, was with her, for three days, in Naples. It is probable that this was the last meeting of warring husband and of lonely wife. I have leisure in plenty, she wrote to Giberti, with whom she carried on an active corre- spondence. She also knew Francesco Berni; and showed herself to be, in part, a woman of her time by an inexplicable intimacy with the abominable Pietro Are- tino. Through the life of Vittoria the blare of trumpets alternates with the still pursuits of literature, with sonnets and with letters rime e let/ere. Clement hoped, by temporizing, to establish peace between Charles and Francis; and Vittoria wrote a letter to the pope congratulating him upon his vain efforts. Meanwhile Pescara found always his dearest action in the tented field. Bour- bon gave him (1523) the post, under him- self, of general captain of the army which defeated the French at Robecco; which destroyed the French camp at Biagrasso; which won the fight at Romagnano, in which Bayard was killed Pescara treated the wounded and dying Bayard with chiv- alrous courtesy. Bourbon wrote to the emperor to excuse himself, while explain- ing that, without orders from the emperor, he had appointed Pescara to so high a post because he considered that the ser- vices of the warlike marquis were most valuable to his Majesty, and because Pescara was fully worthy of such an honor. Karl V. would, for some now unknown reason, seem to have somewhat distrusted Pescara The emperor may, however, have known many things which have now fallen very dark to us. Burning to retrieve French fortunes in Italy, Francis I., flushed with hopes of easy victory, hurried to the scene of war. The Imperial leaders were prepared to re- ceive him; and on the 24th of February, 1525, was fought the renowned battle of Pavia, in which Francis I. and his army were made prisoners. The hero of Pavia, on the Imperialist side, was the Marchese di Pescara. He planned the attack. He advised and en- couraged Lannoy. Though bleeding from three serious wounds, he continued to fight desperately, in the very thick of the battle; and he was there where the flower of the French nobilityLa Tremouille, La Palice, Saint Pol, De Foix, Bonnivet fell, before Francis surrendered. Pescara became highly dissatisfied with the emperor. He found Lannoy preferred before him; and there wasa further cause of complaint. The death of Prospero Colonna left the countship of Carpi in the emperors gift. Pescara applied for it, and his application was refused by Charles. The emperor, however, was pleased to write a letter of thanks and praise to Vittoria Colonna. He speaks with rec6g- nition of her husbands bravery, experi- ence in war, and successful leading; apd suggests that the marquis may well expect from the Imperial gratitude due reward for his long and brilliant services. Vittoria, who doubtless shared her bus- 8 VITTORIA COLONNA. bands feelings of discontent, was in Ischia when this letter reached her. On the 1st of May she replied to the emperor. Her letter is proud and dignified, nor is a touch of sarcasm wanting. She refers to the devotion of her husband, and of her whole house, to the emperor; and says that their long and true services were not unworthy of the gracious gratitude of his Imperial Majesty. She adds that she desires Imperial recognition, not out of greed or desire for advantage, but because due recognition and reward would be only a fitting acknowledgment of such zeal. She is conscious that she herself has de- served much of his Majesty, inasmuch as she has always been willing that her hus- band should incur so many dangers for the emperor, instead of enjoying peace at her side. I am proud of my own name, she declares. Her letter would not seem to have had much effect upon the obstinate and suspi- cious monarch, who distrusted Italians, and favored Spaniards and Netherlanders. No rewards or honors were conferred upon Pescara, who had become somewhat impoverished during his long and active military career. Indeed, both Pescara and Del Vasto died in disgrace with Charles. The importance of Pescara was, however, fully recognized by the enemies of Charles, who knew the marcheses pro- found dissatisfaction with his treatment by the great emperor, and Pescaras loy- alty was exposed to temptation. The papacy and France were both oppo- nents of Karl V., and a plan was concerted in Paris and in Rome which had for its ob- ject the destruction of the Imperial power in Italy. Girolamo Morone, grand chan- cellor of the Sforzas duchy of Milan, con- fided the intrigue, as a secret, to Pescara; and sought to detach the discontented warrior from his allegiance, by offering him the command of both the allied ar- mies which were to fight against Charles and the crown of Naples. Vittoria, it would appear, dissuaded her injured hus- band from engaging in the plot. Pescara was perhaps, at first, dazzled by the splen- did bribe, and felt that the unrewarded could revenge; but, whether actuated by loyalty or by policy, perhaps because con- vinced that the coalition would have no chance of success against the powerful emperor, he decided not to cast in his lot with Rome and France and Italy. The step which Pescara took was highly characteristic of the days of Machiavelli. He concealed Antonio de Leyva behind the arras, and caused Morone, who did not know of the hidden hearer, to repeat all the plot. Pescara then wrote a full ac- count of the whole intrigue to Karl V.; and remarks in his letter, Such practices do not suit me. He refers, of course, to the proposals of Morone, and not to the manner in which he, Pescara, had out- witted the astute chancellor. Morone had been led to believe that Pescara was fully inclined to join the ene- mies of Karl V.; but he was rudely unde- ceived. Pescara, who was lying ill at Novara, invited Morone to join him there. The chancellor arrived, full of trust in his supposed coadjutor, and was arrested in the name of the emperor and imprisoned in the castle of Pavia. From Pavia, Pes- cara marched to Milan, and once more seized city and castle in the name of Karl V. Francesco Sforza was a prisoner. But the long warrings and intrigues of Pescara were about to cease. He had not recovered from the wounds received at Pavia, when he was seized with serious illness at Milan. After the fashion of the day, his illness was attributed to poison; but there is, perhaps naturally enough, no evidence now extant that would support the suspicion. He summoned his wife to Milan; but when she arrived at Viterbo, Vittoria learned that her husband was no more. On the 25th of November, six- and-thirty years of age, died Ferrante dAvalos, Marchese di Pescara. He was buried in Naples; but the mon- ument, which was to bear an inscription by Ariosto, was never completed. The victor of Pavia rests in the vaults of the royal line of Aragon in the Church of San Domenico Maggiore. By his will Pescara chose Alfonso del Vasto as his heir. He left to his widow considerable sums of money, encumbered with heavy debtsdebts which would seem to have been contracted mainly in the service of the ungrateful emperor. Pescara has left but a tarnished name in Italian history. Guicciardini attacks him with peculiar bitterness. Of Span- ish descent, and with Imperial leanings, Pescara was no Italian patriot; but his convictions, such as they may have been, coincided with his ambitious condo/here career. In his dealings with Morone, Pescara no doubt thought that he was out- witting a traitor by treachery; and his treachery was of a kind which the political morality of the day would wholly approve. Paolo Giovio, in his Life of Pescara, mentions a letter (not now extant) which was written by Vittoria to her husband when the crown of Naples was dangled VITTORIA COLONNA. before his eyes. She reminded Pescara of his magnanimity, in which quality he surpassed many kings. Not, she says, throut~h extent of territory or greatness of title, but through noble sentiments, do men attain to that true honor which descends without blemish to later times. She does not care to be the wife of a king; but she is proud of being the wife of a great cap- tain, who, through courage in war, through magnanimity in peace, has overcome the greatest kings. A noble letter, which shows that~, though a daughter of Italy, Vittoria ranked fidelity to Karl V. more highly than devotion to the cause of Italy; and proves that to the last she estimated highly her husbands prowess, wisdom, and political attitude. She was an oppo- nent of Morones schemes. II. VITTORIA COLONNA is now a widow, comparatively young, still beautiful, high. souled, cultured. The second division of her life that of widowhood has been entered upon. Love, for her, was buried in Pescara s grave. Her widowhood was a time of sorrow, of song, of friendship, of saintly life. She had always lived the lonely, inner life; but while yet a wife her loneliness was the solitude of separation, and not the terrible void which was after- wards caused by death. During the life- time of her husband she had almost ef- faced herself, politically; but after his death she stood in nearer relation to pub- lic events and to the eminent actors in the struggles of politics. She saw more of poets and of popes; she mixed more with nobles and with politicians. italy was a geograj)hical expression, indicating a land torn by internal dissensions, the seat of the papacy, but also the battle- ground of the marauding foreigner, the divided booty of the stranger. Her in- terest in Italy was devoted chiefly to its literature and its religion. K arl V. did nothing for the widow of Pescara, and her fortune was never large. We know her residing places; we know the public, and even the private, events which affected her; we know her intimates, and, through letters and sonnets, by means of the rec- ords of contemporaries, we can attain to some insight into her inner or spiritual life. In her correspondence she has as she also has in her poetry two styles. One style is tainted with the affectation, the adulation, the concettiof her land and time; whils the other is fervent, sincere, natural, and vital. Her rime s~irituali are the fairest outcome of her poetical 9 talent. In them she rose to her highest flight. In them she imitated no model and followed no master. In them is mir- rored the purity of her soul, the loftiness of her characier, the truth of her reli- gion. It is interesting to note which contem- porary books, in prose as in poetry, she liked best. One of these is Baldassare Castigliones Cortegiano. This trea- tise may be called an essay on the char- acterof the true gentleman as he appeared in Italy, a country in which, in the days of Castiglione, he could only seek secular advancement as a courtier to some prince or noble. 11 Cortegiano was shown to Vittoria in manuscript; the book was pub- lished, in print, in 1528, by Aldus, in Venice. She was delighted with the trea- tise. She writes to Castiglione: Never have I seen a work in prose which has pleased me better, or so much as this one; nor is any other to be named with it. Next speaks the true virago, or learned woman of the sixteenth century, when she adds, critically: He who writes in Latin distinouishes himself, ac- cording to my judgm~nt, from those who write in other tongues. He is like a gold- smith compared to one who works in cop- per. - - - Your style in the vulgar tongue attains to such dignity that it may be compared with any work written in Latin. It does not surprise me that you should have depicted a perfect nobleman, be- cause, as a model for such a one, you have only to look in your mirror. Her praise was warm and hi~ graceful. bh, generous and The first period of her widowhood she spent as a boarder in the Convent of San Silvestro in Capite at Rome. Clement VII. dissuaded her from taking the veil, for she seems at first to have desired to accept the nuns vows. She sang sponta- neously out of a full heart, and wrote many sonnets to the memory of the hus- band whom death had made for her heroic. She calls Pescara ii ~nio e5el sole; mio lume eterno; and bewails her bereave- ment while she idealizes his glory. But trouble was near at hand for Rome and for the papacy. The pope, Venice, Flor.. ence, and Francesco Sforza allied them- selves with the French king. The answer of Karl V. was the sack of Rome, which began on September 20, 1527. The troops of the constable Bourbon (who was killed in the assault) and of Frundsberg, seized the very Vatican, and Rome was given up to pillage and to slaughter. During the siege Vittoria was conducted by her I0 VITTORIA COLONNA. brother, Ascanio, to Marino, and from Marino she retreated to Naples and to Ischia. Of course the turbulent Colon- nas were attached to the interests of Karl V., and after peace was restored in Rome, the Colonnas became objects of dire papal vengeance. Cardinal Pompeo was thrust out of the Sacred College, and many of the Colonna possessions were given to the flames. Vittoria sought, but vainly, to appease the papal anger through the in- tervention of Giberti. Guicciardini gives a full and vital pic- ture of the sack of Rome in 1527. Byron sings it in The Deformed Transformed, in which the soldiers chorus rises Oh, the Bourbon! the Bourbon I Sans country or home, Well follow the Bourbon To plunder old Rome I Spaniards, Italians, Germans, revelled in the pillage of the seven-hilled city; and the misery was great. Clement VII. re- turned, on the 6th of October, 1528, to Rome; but the pope was visibly nearing his end. Vittoria was in Rome when Clement returned to it. The ladies peace of Cambrai led to a cessation of hostilities between Karl V. and Francis I., and Ascanio Colonna was restored to favor in Rome. Vittorias only brother was married to Giovanna dAragona, the daughter of Fer- dinand, Duke of Montalto, who was a natural son of King Ferrante I. Giovanna was a celebrated beauty, whose charms received the homage alike of painter and poet. In the Orlando Furioso, Ariosto sings that all other beauty paled before that of Giovanna. Raffaelle painted her portrait, which, hang- ing in the Louvre, was long wrongly de- scribed as that of Queen Joanna. Vittoria stood in close intimacy with her sister-in- law, who was of distinctive intellectual power, of manly courage, and of sincere piety. Vittoria addressed to her a sonnet, of subtlest praise, in which the poetess explains why she does not sing her sister- in-laws praise. She is not worthy, says Vittoria, to sing the praises of a woman who stands above all praise. Maria dAragona, the sister of Gio- vanna, married Alfonso del Vasto; and the brother of these two ladies, Antonio, Duke of Montalto, wedded Ippolita della Rovere, daughter of the Duke of Urbino and of Elisabetta Gonzaga. The first- born son of Ascanio and of Giovanna was christened Fabrizio, after Vittorias father. The second son was Marc Antonio; and there was one daughter, who bore the honored name of Vittoria. The Renais- sance was born in Italy, and in a certain sense the Reformation, or, at least, the revolt from the enormities of the Church of Rome, may be said also to have origi- nated in Italy; though a want of earnest- ness and depth of national character left it to robuster and more manly nations as Germany and England to carry into full effect a great spiritual movement. The tendency to a Reformation was stamped out in Italy by the Inquisition but the Italian was born in and lived close to the Church which divorced religion from morality. The Italian did not pene- trate to the depths. He sought chiefly an improvement of the unimprovable. Savonarola remained a monk, and tried only to better a papacy which, in the per- son of Rodrigo Borgia, sent the over- zealous priest to the scaffold. Although she never by overt act separated herself from the Church, it is yet abundantly clear that Vittoria Colonna had abandoned the Church of Rome for Christianity. She escaped from a Church which she did not seek to overturn. She overcame the world, and then herself, says Anni- bale Caro. Always genuine, she sang of her dead love to ease her heart; but, as the lonely years crept on, she strove more and more for a peace that the world can- not give, and her religious poems are her highest productions. Pietro Bembo said of them that she clothed holy thoughts in heavenly words. Any sincerely Chris- tianly religious person may read the reli- gious poems of Vittoria Colonna. She does not deal with priests or saints, but strives to pierce direct to the living Christ. She is in all her poetry receptive rather than creative, but her sacred songs rise to a high pitch of fervent aspiration to- ward the divine. She stood in intimate and sympathetic relations with such men as Juan Valdez, Contarini, Carafa, Ber- nardino Ochino. She shared their views and furthered their objects. Ochino, born in Siena, 1487, was but eleven years old when Savonarola perished amid the fag- gots of the Borgia. Catarina Cybb, Duch- ess of Camerino (the sister of Eleonora, widow of the Count of Lavagna, Schillers Fiesco), and Vittoria Colonna, ~vere the two protectresses of Ochino and his re- formed Capuchin order. Both these noble ladies interceded with the pope to save I Ochino, the daring and eloquent priest who denounced the sins of priests and the crimes of the papacy. Catarina adopted I fully the Protestant doctrine of justifica VITTORIA COLONNA. I! tion by faith, while remaining within the pale of the Church. Vittoria Colonna had, as a poetess, a rival. This was Veronica Gambara, a noble lady, whose lyrics were held by con- temporaries to rank with those of Vittoria, though the laurel awarded by the public of her time to Veronica has somewhat faded in the long trial of slow time. Vero- nica was five years older than Vittoria. The former married, in 1509, Giberto di Correggio, lord of a small cou ntship in the neighborhood of Parma. After a union of ten years Veronica lost her husband, and she wore ever afterwards a widows mourning garb. One of her best poems is a homage to Vittoria; and Veronica was also honored by the praise of Ariosto. It is highly probable, though not certainly proved, that the two ladies met and knew each other well. Both were, in so far, daughters of their time that both flattered the worthless Aretino; and both enjoyed the highest worship of their day. In the thirty-seventh canto of the Orlando Ariosto pays a high tribute to the virtues and the genius of Vittoria. Both ladies were models of widowed devotion. In one of her many poems to Pescara, Vit- toria says that he, absorbed in the glory of his laurels, did not sufficiently consider how his love wa~ wanting life. - o her lonely In the Renaissance, the deepest enmi- ties were often healed by policy. On April 5, 1536, Karl V. came to Rome and was lodged in the Belvedere. The mighty emperor paid visits to two ladiesto Giovanna dAragona Colonna and to Vit- toria Colonna. He stayed twelve days in Rome. The terrible sack of the city seemed to be forgotten by those who wel- comed the conqueror. Karl V. had to do with a new pope. Clement VII. was dead, and had made room for Alessandro Farneseas Paul III. Ascanio Colonna held a great tournament in honor of the new pope; but Ascanio did not foresee the ~voe that Paul III. would bring to the great restless house of Colon na. As time rolled on~ religious feeling became the predominant interest in Vit- torias life. She zealously protected Ochino, and became mixed up with al.l his struggles and sufferings. She desired heartily to go to Venice, and thence to take ship for the Holy Land; but the dif- ficulties in the way of such a journey were probably too serious. Instead of visiting the Holy Land she went to Ferrara, arriving there on April 8, 1537. The reigning duke was Ercole II., the son of Lucrezia Borgia. Ercole was married to Ren~e de Valois, younger daughter of Louis XII. of France, and sister-in-law of Fran~ois I. This princess was an anomaly. A zealous Protestant, she occupied a ducal throne in Italy in the sixteenth century. When Vittoria came, Calvin and Clement Marot had been guests of Ren~e. Ariosto had died in Ferrara four years before Vittorias arrival. It seems certain that there was sympathetic intimacy between Rende and Vittoria. The latter became godmother to the daughter of Ercole and Ren~e to that princess who was afterwards Tasso s Leonora. Vittoria was treated with high distinction at the court of Ferrara. We find her on one occasion reading aloud several of her own sonnets before the court. Alfonso dAvalos, who had become captain-general of the forces of Karl V. in Italy, visited Vittoria in Ferrara; and Aretino, the greatest beggingletter im- postor of the day, wrote to her for sixty scudi. Under the plea of poverty, Vittoria gave the scoundrel only thirty. She en- joyed highly her stay in Ferrara, and her temporary residence at the ducal court re- mained a pleasure in memory. She left the place in February, 1538. Ren~e made Vittoria known to the re- nowned Margudrite, queen of Navarre. Marguerite at that time leaned to Protes- tant doctrines, and protected Protestant refugees. The sister of Franois I. was cousin of Ren~e de Valois. In contact with such a woman as Vittoria Colonna, the fair, wanton queen ~vould probably show the best side of her able character; and Vittoria sent a manuscript collection of her sonnets to Marguerite. The con- stable Montmorency told Fran~ois I. that there was much in the sonnets which was antagonistic to the Christian religion. The queen of Navarre, herself more than suspected of heterodoxy, made herself merry over this accusation against the Marchesa di Pescara, and kept the son- nets. Jeanne dAlbret allowed very free theological discussion in the chateau at Pau; but though the mother of Henry IV. must have heard of Vittoria Colonna, no correspondence between them is in evi- dence. Vittoria had a private secretary, Giu- seppe Jova di Lucca, to help her to con- duct her increasing correspondence. She still remained in closest intimacy with the Italian reformers, Contarini, Bembo, J acopo Sadoleto, Giovanni Morone, Mar- cello Cervini, Federigo Fregoso, Claudio 12 VITTORIA COLONNA. Tolomei, Caro, Giovanni Guidiccioni. Her letters to great personages are some- times tainted with the artificial style of the time; but her familiar letters are always simple and sincere. After her death Jova fell under suspicion of heresy. He was condemned to death, but managed to es- cape to Lyons, where he seems to have dwelt in safety. Perhaps the warmest of all her many friendships was that which existed between Vittoria and Michael Angelo. It was a passionate friendship, glowing with a force and fire which were characteristic of the ardent Titan artist. The date of their first acquaintance is un- certain ; but Michael Angelo settled in Rome on the 27th of September, 1534, and Vittoria was then residing in the seven- hilled city. Michael Angelo, born 1474, would at that date be sixty, and he had to execute for Paul III. frescoes in that Sistine Chapel in which he had labored for Julius II. Of Michael Angelo, Berni said: He speaks things while others speak only words; and his fiery nature could not be contented with a halffriend- ship for such a woman. The fair marchesa had all the qualities which would most strongly fascinate his virile, intense, powerful nature. She was beautiful, with a rare dignity of widowed charm. She was highly cultured, intellec- tual, a poetess; and was of lofty character and of steadfast faith. Buonarotti was attracted by her with a power which was commensurate with his intense, energetic, and noble mind. Francesco di Olanda was in Rome in 1538, and he thus de- scribes Vittoria, and a visit to her, which he owed to the introduction of Lattanzio Tolomei : In his [Tolomeis] dwelling I was told he had given orders to let me know that he would be at Monte Cavallo, in the Church of San Silvestro, with the Marchesa di Pescara, to hear a discussion upon the Epistles of St. Paul. Madonna Vittoria Colonna, sister of Ascanio Colonna, is one of the most excellent and famous ladies that are to be found in Europe, or in the world. Of a morality as lofty as her beauty, intellectual, and mistress of the Latin tongue, she possesses all the qualities and vir- tues which adorn a woman. Since the death of her heroic husband she lives, in retirement, a quiet life. Sated with the pomp and glory of her former circumstances, she now loves nothing but Jesus Christ and earnest studies; although she is always beneficent to poor women, and is a model of Catholic piety. The picture is valuable, and we know it to be true. Olanda was a Portuguese painter, in his presence, Vittoria said to Michael Angelo: Your friends rank your character as something even higher than your works; while those who do not know you value most that which is less perfect that is. the work of your hands. As- canio Condivi, the biographer of Buona- rotti, records : Above all persons he loved the Marchesa di Pescara, whose divine spirit attracted him strongly, and who felt the warmest attachment for him. He possesses many letters from her, full of the purest and the sweetest love, such as is nourished in such hearts. He addressed to her many sonnets, full of intellect and ten- der feeling. She often left Viterbo and other places of summer residence, and came to Rome solely to see Michael Angelo. His verses, strong and rough as the line of Ben Jonson, were replied to in gentle and graceful strains by the marchesa. The years of their greatest intimacy were 1538 to 1540. During a part of this time he was engaged in painting the Last Judgment; and Michael Angelo, who was in miseria di sfteranza ~iena, was helped and furthered by the sympathy as by the judgment of his fair and noble friend. Desiring to present to her some work of his own hands, Michael Angelo painted for her, and gave to her, a Christ upon the Cross. It was a fitting present from the painter to a saint, and it awoke the admiration and aroused the gratitude of Vittoria Colonna. In 1540 a papal breve announced a con- siderable rise in the price of salt; and this measure impelled the Colonna to re- volt against the papacy. Vittoria, who always loved her own great race, attempted to influence Paul Ill, in favor of Ascanio. She wrote to the pope: Where should one expect to find goodness and mercy if not with the heir and rightful possessor of the keys of the true shepherd, Peter, who should stand above all other men as a liv- ing example of the humility and mercy of the Saviour? She wrote more to the same effect, but such appeals were made in vain to the pope. The power of the Colonnas seemed broken, nor was it until after the death of Paul III. that Ascanio recovered his possessions. Vittoria felt deeply in this matter of the misfortunes of her kin, and she addressed two sonnets to the pope, which may be read now with pleasure, but were read then without re- sult. She herself was not included in the papal resentment against the house of Colonna. The governor of Orvieto, Bru- namonte de Rossi, wrote to Cardinal Carnese that Vittoria ~vas living in strict retirement in the Cloister of St. Paul; VITTORIA COLONNA. 3 as and adds that her life and walk were such beseemed a person who loved virtue and feared God. Karl V. wrote to her a very friendly let- ter to soothe her under the trouble which had befallen her race; and assured her that he would never forget the loyalty and service of the house of Colonna. The em- peror adds that Ascanio had gone too far in revolt; but promises Imperial inter- vention to arrange all amicably. In October, 1541, Vittoria withdrew to the Cloister of Sta. Catarina at Viterbo, in which she remained three years. Meanwhile, Ochino had been pursuing his devoted career with ever-increasing danger to himself. As his convictions deepened he became more daring, and he was running counter to the counter-Refor- ination. His friends dissuaded the ear- nest preacher from going to Rome. He himself well knew his danger. He writes to Vittoria Colonna, 22nd of August, 1542: In Rome I must either deny Christ or be crucified as he was. Deny him I will not, but I am ready to be cruci- fied when he, of his grace, shall will it so; but I do not feel myself called to run vol- untarily into death. Christ has shown me how to flee to Egypt or to Samaria; and St. Paul teaches me the like. - - - am accused of heresy, and other hateful matters; but I rejoice that the reform of the Church begins with me. Ochino had to take to flight, and was met with in Geneva by a Florentine merchant. The Florentine heard from Ochino that the pope was incensed against him; and that if he, Ochino, went to Rome he must either suffer death or deny the Christ. Ochino said, he had formerly preached Christ in a mask, but hoped in future to preach him naked. Accused of atheism, Ochino wandered far and wide in search of safety and of freedom to preach freely. He was in Geneva, Zurich, Strasburg, Augsburg, England; and at the age of seventy-seven he died, unknown, of pesti- lence, in a little Moravian town. Ochino married late in life, and had children. He ~vas a victim of the counter-Reformation. Vittoria stood also on terms of intimacy with Reginald Pole, and many of the let- ters which passed between them are still extant. When Contarini, the great friend of Pole, died, Vittoria wrote a noble and pious letter of exalted Christian consola- tion to Contarinis sister, Serafina. To the memory of Contarini she also indited a lotty sonnet. Contarini ought to have been pope, to make the age happy, says Vittoria. In the time of Clement VII. Pole ~vas a member of the body of Italian Church Reformers, and was suspected of a lean- ing to Lutheranism faults which the arrogant priest, become a persecutor, ful- ly expiated by his eagerness in burning heretics in England. Vittoria Colonna knew the royally descended Cardinal Anglicusin his best time. The red hat was conferred upon Pole, 22nd of Decem- ber, 1536, by Paul III. Pole was then reputed to have great knowledge of the world, and to have read much. He was also said to be of a pleasant conversation and to have courtly manners. It is cer- tam that there was great friendship be- tween Vittoria and Reginald Pole. On the 23rd of May, 1555, the terrible Paul lV. was elected pope, and he took from Pole his post of legate. He also ac- cused Pole of heterodoxy; of the same sort of heresy which condemned Cardinal Morone (who could be laid hold of) to an imprisonment in San Angelo, which lasted until the fierce popes death. In 1543 Vittoria passed through a dan. gerous illness, and in 1544 she returned to Rome. We find her on this occasion a boarder in the Benedictine cloister, Sant Anna de Funari. The famous Council of Trent began its sittings on the 13th of December, 1545. Lasting over the reigns of three popesPaul III., Julius III., Paul IV. it closed its sit- tings on the 4th of December, 1563. On the 14th of April, 1544, Del Vasto lost the battle of Ceresole, and retired to Asti, seri- ously wounded in the knee. The peace of Crespy, the last one concluded between the great royal rivals, Francis I. and Karl V., was signed on the i8th of September, 1544. Del Vasto, the defeated, ~vas treated with coldness by Karl V., and the heir of Pescara died 31st of March, 1546, at Vigevano. On the 7th of June, 1546, Count Fortu- nato Martinengo writes about Vittoria Colonna : Certainly she is a most rare and distinguished woman, filled with the love of Christ. - . - How great is her humility; how princely is, in accordance with her rank, her whole conduct! - - - I have often visited her, and had I not feared to become wearisome to her, I would never have left her. She has such a talent for conversation that it seems as if chains issued from her lips to bind the hearer to her. - - - So far as was possible I have filled my soul with her sweet and sacred words; and I de- light in the thought that I have made the acquaintance of the most excellent and the worthiest woman upon whom the sun shines, and that I have become her servant. VITTORIA COLONNA. 4 In 1546, Michael Angelo was so sen- Vittorias nephew, Marc Antonio Co. ously ill that his life was despaired of lonna (after the death of her brother The intimacy between the great painter Ascanio in prison in Naples, year un- and the great lady remained unbroken. known), married Felicia Orsini, and so Writing on March 7, 1551, to his nephew fused the two great old baronial houses. Leonardo, Buonarotti says: I possess a The marriage resembles somewhat, though little parchment volume, which she gave on a much smaller scale, the fusion by me about ten years ago, which contains marriage between the houses of York and one hundred and three of her sonnets; Lancaster. and besides these, I have forty others, Not yet has the world of culture ceased written on ordinary paper, which she sent to take an interest in the life and poems to me from Viterbo, and which I have had of the fairest and noblest lady of the bound into the same volume with the Italian Renaissance. Apart from the others.* In the beginning of the year homage of contemporaries, Italy has pro- 1547, Vittoria Colonna again fell danger- duced, between 1538 and 184o, fourteen ously ill. Giuliano Cesarini had married editions of the poems and letters della Giulia Colonna, and the dying poetess divina Vittoria Colonna, Marchesa di Pes- was moved from her cloister to the Pa- cara? In 1840 Prince Torlonia, the Ro- lazzo Cesarini. Her last days were sur- man banker, married Teresa Colonna, and rounded by the loving care and sympathy the prince employed the Cavaliere Pietrio of near relations. She said of her own Ercole Visconti to edit a splendid edition life, that it had known many bitter, few of Vittorias works, and to prefix to the happy years. She made her will. Her work a lifes of the illustrious poetess. heir was her brother, Ascanio Colonna. In i88i Alfred von Reutnont published To each of the four cloisters in which she his Vittoria Colonna; Leben, Dichten, had resided, San Silvestro and Sant Anna Glauben, im XVI. Jahrhundert, and to in Rome, San Paolo and Santa Catarina the labors of this painstaking writer I am in Viterbo, she left one thousand scudi; greatly indebted. In 1840 a medal was to Reginald Pole, nine thousand. For struck in honor of the marchesa. In her the poor, and for her servants, she also lifetime several portraits, I believe three, cared liberally. Her executors were Pole, were painted of her, but no one can now Sadoleto, and Morone, all liberal car- be identified with certainty as a likeness dinals - She signed, with her own hand, of the diva. The picture by Sebastian I/a testazi ei~o, Victoria Co/umna. He,r del Piombo is certainly not a portrait of letters are nearly all signed, Marchesa di Vittoria Colonna; the Colonna portrait Pescara. The end came on February 25, by Muziano is, at best, doubtful. 1547. She died in the afternoon of that The evidence of contemporaries is over- day. Her age was fifty seven. whelming as regards her beauty; but She was buried in the ordinary burial- every admirer of her in these latter days ground of the nuns. The ceremony was must paint her portrait in his imagination. of the simplest, and no stone marked the She was tall and stately, with a dignified grave in which the noble Vittoria Colonna carriage and a most gracious manner. reposed. Her bearing was ennobled by conscious Ascanio Condivi records, in his Life virtue in the Renaissance a pure woman of Michael Angelo I remember to could not but be conscious of virtue have heard him say lie regretted that, and tenderness, religion, purity, noble- when he looked on Vittonia Colonna lying ness, were all expressed in figure and in on lien death-bed, lie had not kissed her face. She was also grande dame, and a forehead and face, as he did kiss her Colonna, and may until her latter years hand. On August i, 1550 (three years have had some touch of pride of birth. after her death), Buonarotti writes to Genius, sanctity, and grace lend addi- Francesco Fattucci: I send you some tional nobleness and ideal elevation to the of my poems, which I addressed to the beauty of Vittonia as a woman. Marchesa di Pescara. She held me very She was a virago, a name which, how- dearly, and I felt no less warmly for her. ever misapprehended now, bore a differ- Death has robbed me of a dear friend. ent and a worthy signification in her day. (Morte mi to/se unogrande amico.) Ferdinand Gregorovius, in his Lucre- In the same year, 1547, both Francis zia Borgia, says: This title was en- and Henry VIII. died; the emperor, Karl tirely honorable. It meant the woman of V., seeming by the overthrow of the Smal- the Renaissance who, by means of cour- caldic league, to be master of Germany. age, culture, and understanding, raised * This volume is now in the British Museum. j herself above the common level of her FORTUNE S WHEEL. sex. She received a higher homage if she added to the distinction of learning, beau- ty and charm. Vittoria united charm with learning and with worth. The Renaissance in Italy is said, roughly speaking, to have extended from 1453 to 1527. In or soon after the latter year the sensuous southern temperament ceased to revel in the new-found pleasures of pagan joyousness and the zest of ani- mal life. With the counter-Reformation came (July 21, 1542) the terrors of the infernal Inquisition; and fair, soft Italy was gloorned by the shadow, brightened only by the glare of the faggot, of the terrors and the horrors of the Holy Office. A thoroughly frightened Church carried out savagely its one means of repression. The last years of Vittoria Colonna were certainly saddened by the operations of the Inquisition. Her friends were in flight or in danger. Carnesecchi was burned at Rome, and she herself, but for high protection and for the singular re- spect in which she was held, would have been in danger. Many of her religious poems are emphatically Christian in tone and sentiment. She ~vent to the very brink of the gulf which separated the Church of Rome from the Reformation, and in her deepest soul she had aban- doned the essence of the Church of her birth. Vittoria Colonna is, perhaps, the first poetess who excelled in religious poetry. She, indeed, may be said to have origi- nated the high poetry of sacred song. At first, as she tells us, scrivo so? per sfogar I, inlerna dog/ia; and this mirror of wife- hood poured into song her passionate grief for the loss of a most deeply loved husband. Whatever Pescara may have been, or seemed to be, to the Italian poli- ticians and historians of his time, he cer- tainly ~vas to her an ideal hero, wor- shipped for his valor, tenderly loved for himself, and, after his early death, her heart found relief in the song which mourned and honored him. Chiodibei sempre pensi, o ~ianga, o ~ar?i. But a time came in which she turned wholly to the Lord of earth and heaven, and then she was a solo a so? con Lul. A virago, she was never masculine; she never was the man-woman into which modern thought translates the now debased title. She was exquisitely womanly, and was al- ways magnanimous; was ever full of love, faith, humility, and heavenly hope. Im- portant as were the historical occurrences which surrounded her life, the events of her career were, like the mere action of 5 Shakespeares plays, chiefly important in so far as they educed and illustrated char- acter. She was greater than the adventi- tious. We picture her in gloomy palaces, in stern castles, in doleful cloisters; we visit her in Rome, Ferrara, Viterbo, Na- ples; or on the superbo scog/lo, the proud rock of seagirt Ischia; but her image re- mains ever that of the same gracious, gifted, and graceful lady. The skaters who glide about on white and wintry ice seem always dark and sombre figures, and the characteristic persons of the Renais- sance seem always dusky figures when contrasted with the pure white ideal of a Church. Vittoria Colonna was surrounded by men and women, romantic and pictur- esque, foul and fierce; but they only thro~v out into clearer relief the unsullied purity of her white and stainless soul. Her glory is that she stands out so clearly against the dull red background of the licentious, turbulent, and wicked time in which she lived and moved and had her being. A woman of the Renaissance, she yet re- mains a wholly noble and ideal figure. Indeed, the best, the purest, the most gifted woman of her land and day is Vit- toria Colonna. H. SCIUTZ WILSON. From Blackwoods Magazine. FORTUNES WHEEL CHAPTER XXl. A COUSINLY CONVERSATION. LESLIE found a pretext for his sudden departure, but somehow nobody seemed to give much credit to it. There ~vas a sense of mystery in the air, and the seren- ity of the social atmosphere was troubled. Moray strove to do his best to make him- self agreeable, but it was not in human nature to support the strain with the equa- namity he had assumed in the excitement of its first coming. His bursts of gaiety were forced and unnatural; they were fol- lowed by relapses into silent abstraction. His friends behaved according to their several idiosyncrasies. Winstanley, with his accustomed sagacity, scented trouble in the air, and thought that, for his own comfort as well as out of consideration for his host, it might be advisable to shorten his visit. The excuse was all ready. Julia ought to be going south her mother wanted her; and as he knew of no suitable escort, he had best take her in FORTUNES WHEEL. charge himself. If he felt inclined, he could always alter his plans en route, and consign her to her destination from Edin- burgh or Glasgow. Calverley Baker felt less clear as to his arrangements. He was attracted, if not entangled, both by Miss Moray and Miss Winstanley; he liked his present quarters, and ~vas loth to leave them, though he too had a shrewd idea that his room might be more desira- ble than his company. As for that rat- tling Celt, the MClaverty, he was inno- cently unconscious of any cause for troubling himself. He ate, drank, shot, and amused himself, and trod on his hosts corns at every turn. With Jack Venables, as we need hardly say, it was very differ- ent. He watched, he meditated, and felt sorely aggrieved that he had not been thought worthy of the confidence which bad been unquestionably extended to Les- lie. For though he said very little ~vhen Winstanley spoke to him on the subject, that there was a secret of some sort he never doubted. Yet he was too loyal to the friendly connection, and to what he was pleased to think his love, to aid a stranger in discovering what his uncle de- sired to conceal. For all that Mr. Moray cared compara- tively little, as his daughter caused him infinitely greater anxiety. Since they had been so much together, she had been in the habit of reading his face; and he very soon discovered, to his sorrow, that there was no possibility of deceiving her. He was too honest or too weak to act his part successfully, and with her his vaunted stoicism was a transparent sham. After trying repeatedly to win him over to tell her all she was eager to know, after af- fectionately making opportunites which he would resolutely ignore, although it was evident to her that he was longing to avail himself of them, she finally lost pa- tience in her desperation, and put the question to him direct. There is something very serious troub- ling you, papa; and as it must affect me as well, I have a right to know it. Oh, it is no use denying it, even if you dared! and though you may keep a secret from me, which I should scarcely have believed, you could never say what is untrue. And had it concerned yourself alone, though that is impossible, you would never have cared about it half so much. You have often said that we understood each other thoroughly, yet it seems that you can never have understood me at all, other- wise I should call you unkind, and even cruel. The only thing a girl is good for is comforting her father when he needs comfort. And you forget that when you are silent, I am imagining the worst, and very likely giving myself unnecessary anx- iety. Her father involuntarily groaned. See- ing that nothing short of ruin was before them, his daughters worst fancies could hardly play her false. Grace answered the groan with a sor- rowful look which was more eloquent than any appeal in words. With his pale face and his quivering lips, Moray seemed like a criminal under the pressure in the tor- ture-chamber. So that, in a spasm of re- morse at her playing the tormentor, she tried to speak more playfully, and only changed the form of torture. 1 should not have been so vexed had my cousin Ralph been your only con- fidant; but it is clear to me that Donald Ross is in the conspiracy of silence as well, and I cannot say I feel flattered by the preference. Oh, you must not blame poor Donald, she went on hurriedly, for her father had moved his lips with some- thing that suggested an execration. If he did tell me the story of the widow, he would not breathe a syllable in a case like this; but I am sure the old man was never more miserable in his life, and I only put two and two tocether Then Moray heaved a sigh that threw a weight off his chest, and made up his mind in a moment. He expected the let- ter from Leslie that very forenoon, so that, after all, the disclosure would only be an- ticipated by an hour or two. If his worst fears were realized, no harm would be done; if, on the contrary, things proved better than he expected, the shock of the great calamity would be lightened. He had taken her in his strong arms, and clasped her with a tender pressure, so that she could feel the palpitations of his heart. He had just begun with, You know well I never doubted you, dearest; that if I have hurt your feelings by my silence, it was all meant for the best, when a knock at the door interrupted him. Grace had come to seek him in his den, to which in these days he withdrew only too frequently. Who is it? he asked impatiently, pushing his daughter away from his em- brace. A boy with a pony has brought the post-bag on from the post-office, sir. One of the letters was marked for special and immediate delivery. And the mans tone of sympathetic interest irritated his mas- ter. it seemed to show that the trouble FORTUNES WHEEL. 7 he had sought to conceal was common case; but she was ready to welcome any talk in the household. He was on the sacrifices that might be imposed. To her point of telling the servant to take the high spirit, overstrung by her filial devo- letter.bag away, since there could be no tion, that seemed but a new form of pleas- possible hurry about the contents. But urable excitement. Had she foreseen the looking at his daughter, who seemed to separation it might involve, her feelings have been struck into a statue of suspense, must have been very different. he changed his mind, and sacrificed his It is sad, to be sure, that you should amour ~ro~re. Well, you may give it lose the fruits of all your labors, she me then, since you say one of the let- said; but after all, we shall only part ters is marked urgent; but remember an- with the superfluities, which were always other time, when you know me to be as much of a trouble as a pleasure. I engaged, that any urgent letters will never cared for that life in town; and as keep. for you, had it not been for your labors in So the man went away, more convinced East London, I am very certain it would than ever that his master had grave rea- have been nothing but positive wretched. sons for anxiety; and the moment the ness to you. door had closed behind him, Grace in Perhaps so, answered Moray, with a turn had thrown her arms round her fa. sigh; yet I begin to regret it, now that ther. She saw that his anxiety was great it has slipped from me. It is no light as her own, so she administered a kiss by thing to lose the power and pleasure of way of cordial. Though he was griev- doing good; and then Glenconan. How ously ashamed of his agitation, his fingers I wish it had been entailed! and I have fumbled as he opened the lock of the bag, rejoiced so much in freeing it from its and drew out a handful of letters and pa- burdens, and in the prospect of leaving pers. Letters for himself, for Winstanley, the old place to you and your husband. for Baker, etc.; and naturally the last he I dont know about the power of doing came to was that addressed in Leslies good, but as to the pleasure, it can only be hand. more keen when we do good on a narrow Confound those square envelopes that income. Remember the blessing on the are gummed all round and all over! widow who bestowed her two mites was His trembling fingers could hardly force greater than on the rich who gave out of their way in. But if he had hoped against their superfluities. And as for Glenco. hope, hope was extinguished at the first nati my husband, should ever I have glance. I am grieved, my dear uncle, one, must manage to make himself happy Leslie beganand then he knew that all without it. At all events, now, if I am was over. He laid the letter down, and married, it will be for myself, and not for before reading further, he briefly broke my money. So that you see, papa, on their condition and their prospects to his second thoughts even this calamity is not daughter. Of course he need have had without its compensations. no anxiety as to the immediate effect on I know a man who would make you her. So far as that went, he ought to happy, whether he married you with your have known her better. Grace, who had money or without it, thought Moray. been brought up from the cradle in luxury, And thinking so, his thoughts very natu- was ignorant as a baby of the sordid side rally reverted to the momentous commu- of life. It was impossible that she should nication lying on the table. It did not tell shrink on the spur of the moment from them much that was new; it merely con- the pecuniary sorrows that were quite firmed his worst anticipations. With unfamiliar. More especially when in a regard to the prospects of the liquidation, state of high nervous exaltation, all her Leslie wrote, which is the all.important thoughts and sympathies were concen- question, I regret to say that the gloomiest trated upon her father. What occurred reports are generally circulated and be. to her was, that here was a chance of ris- lieved. The largest shareholders are ing to her ideal mission as a ministering d angel. She had longed for some eeply indebted to the bank, by the fraud. occasion ulent complicity of their friends on the of proving her great love, and now and at direction, and I fear they are hopelessly last she had the opportunity. Moreover, insolvent. It is the story of the City of she believed so entirely in her fathers Glasgow over again, arid some of the courage and resources, that she was as directors have borrowed enormous sums slow as himself to admit that misfortunes which they can be in no position to repay. could shake him to his fall. Not that she The rest of the shares, with not many by any means blinked the real state of the exceptions, are held by persons of very LIVING AGL VOL. LU. 2654 i8 FORTUNES WHEEL. moderate means, or by small tradesmen who have sunk their savings in them. In the circumstances, it would be both cow- ardly and foolish to shrink from looking our misfortune in the face, and I know the firmness of your resolution too well, etc., etc. Then he passed from business to what may be called sentiment, and re- iterated the expressions of his heartfelt grief that his mother should have been the cause of beggaring his uncle. I know not how you are to break this to poor Grace, he went on. To a girl brought up as she has been But there Grace interrupted the read- ing. A girl brought up as she had been, indeed! Yet why should I complain of my cousin misunderstanding me, when my father could think I should be trou- bled for myself. Then changing her tone, she sighed out Poor Ralph! Putting herself in his place, she remem- bered how bitterly, with his unselfishness, he must feel his position. For her father had told her of Ralphs proposition, and of the practical arguments which had in- duced him to reconsider it. Perhaps. looking at these from another point of view, she attached less importance to them than he had done. But she did him the justice to feel that he would suffer the more severely, if he were persuaded to remain even in the nominal enjoyment of his estate when she and her father had been ruined. She knew enough of the world to be aware that evil tongues would talk ill of him, and that well-meaning peo- ple would misconstrue his motives. She knew how that sensitive nature of his would smart under such misconstruction. And although she had characteristically undervalued the loss of their lands and their money, she already began to realize some other of the sorrows in store for them. Moray was the first to break a silence that had lasted for some minutes. Well, Grace, my darling, now we are assured of the worst, there is no time to be lost in providing for it. I dont mean as to mat- ters of business, he added with a sad smile; they will keep for a time, since nothing we may do can mend them. And Ralph has full powers to act for me, and he will keep us informed of all that goes on. But it would be hypocrisy, and worse, to try to play the happy and wealthy hosts for an hour after we positively know that we are paupers. I hate a scene, but for- tunately no one has gone out shooting to- day; and when the party assembles at lunch, I shall tell them all about it. Of. course till that is over, you will keep your room. Nay, I ask it as a personal favor, for I will not lay my commands on you. Alone, I can go through with it well enough: I should be ashamed to break down over a mere loss of money. But with you at my elbow, I could not answer for myself; and you would not willingly be the cause of my weakness or the witness of it. Grace had nothing to answer to that ar- gument; but again she felt the sharp prick of the thorns. She was like the passenger who is ordered below under battened-down hatches, and denied the excitement of open-air dangers on deck, when the ship may at any momcnt be sent to the bottom. Of course, papa, I shall do as you de- sire ; and perhaps it may be the best. But there is still an hour to lunch, so I shall slip out at the side door, and wander up the woodpaths in the glen. The fresh air will do me good, and I may make the most of our beauties while we have them. Her eyes filled with tears, and so, to tell the truth, did her fathers. Next to the daughter who was so dear to him, he grieved over his beautiful Glenconan. But it was no time to give way to emotion, and he pulled himself sharply together, as he had often done before. You say it is an hour to lunch, dear, and there is one thing I ought to do: I must try to get hold of Jack beforehand. He is a good boy, and my nephew, and he would think it unkind if he heard nothing of our trouble till I announced it to stran- gers. With that he folded his daughter in a fond embrace; and never, even on the oc- casions when he had left for the East, were the two so loath to tear themselves asunder. From the window he followed her with his eyes as she stole swiftly to- wards the glen, like the lapwing that strives to elude observation as she seeks the cover of the rushes near her nest. But as Grace felt escape more assured, her pace began to slacken; and she moved with an air of melancholy listlessness that sat strangely on her light and active fig- ure. Heaven send, sighed her father, that the clouds may lift and pass; but meanwhile, and in a single hour, the whole brightness of her bright life has been trans- formed, and I hardly dare think how she may come out of the darkness. Grace was slowly climbing the winding path which led to a favorite seat of hers hanging over a murmuring waterfall. How FORTUNE S WHEEL. often she had sat there in pleasant day. dreams, listening to the cheery plash of the water that seemed to chime in with her own bright anticipations! The very foam-bubbles in the stream below, that sparkled in the sunshine as they danced and broke, might have been the emblems of the light and careless life, so free from all sorrows and anxieties. The reflection of the rainbow colors on the little clouds of spray had typified the varieties of a radiance that only took different forms. Now the merry memories of that happy past only made the present and the future weigh more heavily on her. The gay girl of the night before was a grave and thoughtful woman she felt as if she might have slept for years, and wakened with a weakened body, in a woful world of sad experiences. It was all very well keep. ing her spirits up when it was her duty and privilege to console her father. it was all very well to pretend in his pres. ence that the news he had broken need change nothing to her. She resembled him very closely in many ways, but natu. rally she was more emotional, nor had she his disciplined self.control. So that the reaction came with her more quickly than it had come to him, and already she was conscious of a sad depression of spirit of an intense craving for the sympathy of somebody with whom she could talk things over more freely than she dared talk with her father. Oh that Ralph were only here! was the natural thought that occurred to her, as she remembered the instinctive delicacy with which he had played the part of the consoler when the widow of the unfortunate keeper had been the object of their common charity. Then, forgetting Ralph and her own sorrows for a moment, she reproached herself bit. terly for the lightness of heart in which she had gone about that errand of mercy. No doubt she had been what she might have called very nice; she had said very suitable things in a sympathetic tone; she had spent her moneyor rather her fathers money liberally. But all the time, in practising her charity as a luxury, as a philanthropical distrac- tion, how very little had she really felt! And possibly she might never have the opportunity again of bestowing anything more than empty words of comfort. But how different had it been with Ralph! she was sure of that. He had really felt where she had tried to feel; so if he were only at her elbow now, what an in. expressible relief it would be! But as he was far away, and as she found herself in 9 a double solitude, she would do the next most comfortable thing in the circum- stances reach the haven of that lonely seat of hers, and indulge in the luxury of a good cry. She would have plenty of time before bathing her eyes and going back, since she had promised her father not to appear at lunch. Mr. Jack Venables, who had made no such promise, chanced then to be descend~ ing the hillside in excellent spirits and appetite. What he was thinking of at that particular moment I cannot pretend to sayperhaps, as was very much his habit, of nothing in especial. But it is certain that since his latest stroke of good luck, in spite of some vague anxieties about his uncle, he had moved about in an extreme sense of exhilaration. He had developed a novel taste for music, and had taken to whistling an accompaniment to his footsteps of reels and strathspeys, which, though for the most part they were wofully out of tune, appeared notwith- standing to please him excessively. Now, as coming by a short cut down the hill, bounding lightly from heather tussock to heather tussock, he was blundering with shortened breath at the second bar of Tullochgorum, when he reached a point which commanded a view of the bench on which his cousin was seated. Whereupon he stopped short, and stood at gaze, partly to make sure that she was Grace and not Julia, for he seldom saw his cousin alone of a morning. Sure enough it was Grace, but he was greatly struck by her attitude. For in place of sitting upright, she was stooped nearly double, and, unless his eyes deceived him, was weeping bitterly. Jack was very warm-hearted, and somewhat curious as well. His cousin was in trouble; it would be a melancholy pleasure to comfort her; and then, no doubt, she had the clue to the secret that had been exercising him It would be well if we analyzed our mixed motives more often, though instantaneous photographs of mental introspection might yield very ugly results. He resumed his descent some- what more leisurely, for his mind was more full of speculation than ever, and after what he had seen, he had no fear of his cousin making a move immediately. He had suspended the whistling, which might have given her warning of his ap- proach, but, being an honorable young fellow, he had no intention of taking her by surprise. Having made a slight circuit so as to cut off her retreat to the house, he struck up his Tullochgorum again, and more shrilly than ever, making a con- 20 FORTUNE S WHEEL. siderable rustling among the pine boughs go into exile a second time, just when, moreover, as he climbed the hill path in having been pauperized or beggared, turn. she most needed affectionate support. His attitude of amazement when he Though, to be sure, she need neither be stumbled upon his cousin did credit to his beggared nor impoverished. And then he histrionic powers; and the way in which melted to her in a great sympathy, which he rattled on about his mornings walk, was free for the time from ~ny touch of and the observations he had been making selfishness. it was with a trembling voice on Highland natural history, in the man- and a strange diffidence of manner that ner of the intelligent hero of Eyes and he reminded her how she and her father No Eyes in our old friend Evenings at could never want friends, and stanch Home, said much for his delicacy of feel- friends, in the earnestness of his feel- ing. But Grace, whose suspicions were ings, he spoke almost as Leslie might perhaps excited by her sorrows, and who have spoken. knew that she had vainly dropped a veil Remember that, through a long and over her swollen and streaming eyes, was honorable life, your father has not a single impatient both of the pretence and the in- action to reproach himself with. Remem- terruption. So long as all went well, Jack ber that, when he was rich and happy, he ~vas the most agreeable of companions; never neglected one opportunity of doing but it was not towards him she would have good. Look at me, for example, whom he turned in adversity. She showed her im- has loaded with kindnesses, and with patience and annoyance by a movement whom he offered to share his fortune; and that was more significant than flattering, be sure that in this passing adversity he Jack was hurt and humiliated, but, strange will reap the fruits of what he has sown. to say, in no way offended. Or if he was Why, there are men, and good men, whom annoyed. it was only with himself. it all he has bound to him by obligations, who came of his confounded finessing, although will think it the best day of their lives he had finessed with the best intentions; when he consents to accept some return. he had been artificial, if not false, where Trust me, dearest Grace, he went on, he ought to have been cousinly and natu and his sanguine nature did then good ral. And warm-hearted as he was, when service, for there was no mistaking that he he saw his cousin overwhelmed with grief, believed what he said, trust me that he felt nothing but an unselfish eagerness we shall pull through somehow or other, to help her. As he spoke out frankly and and that things will come out very differ- manfully, yet in tones of deep tenderness, ently from what you anticipate. visibly broken by real emotion, every It was Jacks candor as much as any- trace of resentment vanished from her thing else that gave Grace, at all events, heart and her face, and she frankly threw some momentary hope. He was too up her veil. It was the sign that she honest, being thoroughly in earnest, to try meant to have no more secrets with him; to befool her with commonplace remarks for had she not her fathers permission to to the effect that matters might be less tell him all? desperate than she fancied. it was possi- And indeed, as she told the pitiful story, ble, but he did not believe it; and he her heart warmed to him as it had never would not prepare disappointments for ~varmed before. The young man was her. She was quick enough to perceive quite overcome, and could conceal his as much, and to be grateful, and it gave sorrow as little as his astonishment. To her an agreeable sense of confidence in him the loss of worldly substance ap- his predictions and consolations. Then peared far more serious than it had the way in which he had spoken of her seemed to her at first sight. He was not father was very sweet to her; and she was one to undervalue the evils of poverty or grateful again that, in the circumstances, the loss of social position and considera- he paid no compliments to herself. She tion. He could put himself quickly in had always much liked him, as we know his uncles place, and realize all the bitter- but now she felt a great revulsion of kind- ness of seeing the fruits of a successful ness in his favor. Blinded by his super- career swept away when it might be too ficial brilliancy, and deceived by his gaiety late to recover them. And at once, by in- of manner, hitherto she had never done tuitive sympathy of temperament, he con- him justice; and she remembered re- ceived Morays mind and read his purpose. proachfully how but a few minutes before He foresaw, what had never yet occurred she had regarded his arrival as an intru- to Grace, that their ruin meant a new sion and a nuisance. It was never in her separation. Grace would see her father nature not to repay kindness with kind. FORTUNES WHEEL. 21 ness not to make reparation as she ing against one of the rustic posts had could, when conscience reproached her. gradually settled down upon one knee. Besides, Jack had been unmanned by ex- But he rose as Grace breathed her confes- cess of sympathyshe could see the sion of penitence, and for the first time tears still sparkling in his eyes, poor fel- she made room for him on the seat behind low! It was surely no time for reserve, her. To keep his hold of both her hands when she had so much to say that would in the circumstances would have been be pleasant for him to hear. He had laid awkward, if not impossible. So releasing hold of her hands, and pressed them in one, by way of recompense he softly stole his ardor, and she squeezed his in re an arm round her waist. It was done in turn. all cousinly honor, and whether she was Oh, Jack,~you make me so happy, and conscious of it or not, she made no ob- so miserable, and so much ashamed of jections. It was no time to stand upon myself. I always liked you and admired trifles, with her heart going out in grati. you, and knew you must get on and make tude to her kinsman. And Jack, to do your way. But I never knew how good him justice, was by no means consciously and how noble you were. There is some lover-like. He fancied he felt to her good already coming out of all this evil, something like a father. He longed to for the scales are falling a~vay from my attain to the privilege of a disinterested blinded eyes. But you must confess, she benefactor. He pled and he pressed his added, as she smiled through her tears, claims with all his native energy and elo- that you should bear some of the blame. quence. Why will you always talk lightly of all You cannot refuse, Grace, neither can things, and never give expression to the your father. It would be cruel in you; it real nobleness of your heart? But now would be churlish in him. We have been we have had our explanation, and I hope brought up like brother and sister, it may be a lesson to both of us. there he rather drew the long-bow, since Jack liked such lessons very much. he had only seen her once or so before And it was characteristic of him that, in their meeting at Glenconan in the previ- those transports of his, and in this mood ous summer; but the emergency admitted of exaltation, he accepted all she said to of poetical license, and neither, as I said, him very much as his due. Self-examina- was standing on trifles. We have been tion subsequently would have told a very brought up like brother and sister, said different tale. In the mean time he felt, Jack, with great fervor; and as for your with agreeable resignation to misrepresen. father, he has been a father to me. Do tations, that hitherto he had been a much you know that he placed his purse at misunderstood, not to say a maligned, my disposal, and offered to launch me in character; and that his unquestionable the East at his own expense, when that worldliness had been a mask, which should legacy of mine made acceptance unneces- nevertheless have been transparent. But sary? Do you know that when I went in it was the fate of virtue to meet with in- for my first fortunate speculation it was justice, while in this instance justice had at Oban, on the way south, after my ship- been done, although tardily; and on the wreck and when Mr. Winstanley ob- whole all was well that ended well. Then jected to the insufficiency of my means, I rising to the height of the situation, and told him with entire confidence that I without the slightest hypocrisy, he set could count upon Glenconans assistance? himself, in the most delicate manner pos- I should have asked anything of him, only sible, to give his cousin assurance of Winstanley stepped in. So you see that substantial assistance. His only desire really I am largely his debtor, and now I was to speak so that she might be induced have the first claim among many others to accept his offers and the sacrifices he to ask him to let me lighten my load of was ready, nay eager, to make. gratitude. All this time the minutes had been fly- It was well and delicately urged, as ing swiftly by, and the rest of the house Grace felt; and she was not unwilling party at Glenconan must have been safely herself to welcome relief from that q uar- seated at the luncheon table. But had ter. His gentle manner soothed her deli- any of them bent their steps towards Miss ciously; she remembered how steadily Morays sylvan bower, he or she must successful he had been, and leaned natu- have read the last chapter of a romance rally towards the support that was offered in a scene that was merely cousinly if them. So she did not refuse absolutely, not purely platonic. Jack, still holding as he had feared; as she would have re- both his cousins hands in-his, from lean- fused almost with scorn and indignation 22 FORTUNES WHEEL. had he spoken more abruptly. She rather temporized, and murmured the objection that from him, or from a man of her fa- thers age, offers of the kind came very differently. My father was an elderly man, and thought himself wealthy. As you said, he might have stood to you also in the place of a parent; and it was your duty to accept from him what we dare not accept from you.~~ Nonsense, Grace! There speaks your pride, and a false pride, as you know very well. As he saw her listening, hesi. tating, and half yielding, he resolved to carry her resistance with a rush. Non. sense! you know that age has nothing to do with it. I am old enough to be my own master, and to know my own mind and yours. To put it upon higher grounds, have you any right to refuse me the luxury of doing a duty that is compar- atively unselfish? I have never had such a chance before; I may never have such a chance again. I must have your help, of course the whole tenor of my future life may be trembling upon a single word from you. Refuse only you have not the heart to refuseand if I become a callous and self-seeking money-grubber, I only hope you may never reproach your- self. if you knew my temptations that way, you would surely come to the rescue. Accept, and only promise you will do your best to prevail on your father and do you really suppose I shall be the poorer or the worse? Even if I be a trifle the less rich for a time, I shall never have made a better speculation, and you cannot have the conscience to refuse me from false pride. Again Jack and his cousin Ralph seemed to have changed rt~les; and as he put himself in the place of the cousin that she reverenced, she was more and more moved in his favor. He was quite right, as she admitted. What had chilled the liking that might have once changed to love, was the suspicion that at bottom he was selfish and worldly. If there had been anything of truth in that, he had generous impulses, which only needed to be fostered into vigorous life. His fate, as it seemed, might be in his hands, and terrible might be the responsibility if she refused to help him. It would be hard enough in any case to deal with her fa- ther, with his rugged pride, with his haughty independence, but at any rate, was she not bound to try? If she failed, she would have done her best; she would have pleased her cousin by making com mon cause with him, and she would have delivered her conscience. While, if she succeeded and she knew something of her influence her fathers fall would be broken to him, and he would be easy in his declining years. It was not in her nature to give her confidence by halves, or to accept such kindness as this without doing her utmost to show her sense of it. Metaphorically she t.hrew herself into Jacks arms, and heart and soul she ac- cepted his alliance. And to do that honest- hearted but impulsive young gentleman bare justice, never in his life had he felt more grateful or gratified. Not when he had heard of the legacy that gave him wings to fly; not when Winstanley, reach- ing out a hand, had lifted him on to a firm standing-point; not when the private sec- retaryship to my Lord Wrekin had offered him an admirable opening in politics; not when, only a day or two before, the tele- gram about the American mine had given him the partnership in a possible El Do- rado. Again, it would be ungracious to analyze the motives which he assuredly did not pause to examine himself. He may have felt something of the pride of unfamiliar power, in the prospect of sav- ing such a man as Glenconan, whom he had regarded as the ideal of a successful adventurer. He may have had some ar- ri?re~ens/e of the hold he was laying upon Grace, who seemed leaning to him more and more, in her love and her fast- growing gratitude. Certain it is, that he behaved with rare delicacy and circum- spection. Grace had said, with delightful warmth and brevity, and with a look that meant much more than the words, Say no more, dear Jack; you have more than persuaded me, and I can only promise to do my best. Should my father accept these favors at your hand, you will have good reason to be proud, though it may seem ungracious to say so. You may be sure, at all events, that neither he nor I will ever forget what you have offered us to-day. And as the color had come back to her cheeks with reviving excitement and hopes; as her tears had dried themselves in the breeze, and her eyes seemed the brighter and the fresher for them; as the listlessness of her attitude had given place to her usual lithe and graceful vigor, with the earnest passion of the emotion that had left its traces on her face,Jack had never before known the richness of her beauty. It was destined to be a day of revelations. To his delight she intimated her acquiescence in his offers. He came THIBET. 23 back to something like his own familiar self. The sacredness of her sorrow had chilled him into reverence. With her promise to permit him to relieve it, and her reviving spirits, his passion began to awaken with his perception of the beauti- ful, and he admired the woman with a pas- sionate admiration. At that moment he would have stripped himself of all he had, willing to begin the world again, could he only have made sure of securing her as his wife; and yet but a few moments be- fore he had been thinking neither of love nor marriage. But Jack was a gentleman, and his generous intentions still made his cousin very sacred to him, and not for an instant would he have abused his oppor- tunities. It had occurred to him to ask her to be his wife on the spot: but he dis- missed the thought before he had enter- tained it. He would as soon have made love to a woman whose will had been par- alyzed by mesmerism, like a Lorenza un- der the spells of a Joseph Balsamo. On the contrary, with one last lingering pres- sure, which he could not resist, he gently withdrew his arm from around her waist. He sealed their bargain with a cousinly kiss on the cheek, which he did not prolong indiscreetly, and then, to all appearance, becoming once more the self-possessed man of business, he began to discuss ways and means, and to prepare his cousin for what she had to say to her father. He had not tried to blink the magnitude of this misfortune in the beginning of their interview, and now it proved that honesty was the best policy. He put the case to her with a precision that might have ap- peared cruel in other circumstances. Of course, till you told me, I never suspected how deeply we were concerned in this miserable failure. All the same, I was interested in it as a public calamity, and have been reading everything about it very carefully. If we are to trust the best information, there is no denying that the smash may swallow even a fortune such as your fathers. It would be no kindness to prepare disappointments for you by persuading you of anything else. And, like the friendly swimmer who told his drowning comrade in the water that he would not lay a finger upon him till he was helpless, I must not come forward ostensibly till the final arrangements have been made. Meanwhile and I was never so thankful for it before I have more money than I know what to do with. I am always so actively employed, that I have never the time to spend or to squan- der; and I have had marvellous luck, as you know, with every one of my invest- ments. You may say now a marvellous bless- ing, I think, suggested Grace softly. A marvellous blessing, then, if you choose to sanctify my money by drawing on it; and from henceforth, dear Grace, remember I have your promise to per- suade your father to treat me as his son. He did not venture to add, and as your brother, though he had to check the sweet words that were trembling on his lips. From The Nineteenth Century. THIBET. I THIBET! how little does the name of that unexplored and jealously exclusive country convey to the average European! To the scientific it is known as the most extensive and highest tableland in the world, the water-parting from whence the majority of the largest and longest rivers in the world derive their sources. It is also the Rome of the Buddhist religion of the present day, and upon the miscalled lama priesthood is bestowed the unde- served reputation of much learning and the possession of the secrets of ancient mystical and occult science. Whilst tempted to consider the Thibetans from a European standpoint as, if not effete, at all events a semi-barbarous people, it only requires a moments consideration of the striking fact that, notwithstanding its thousands of miles of frontier, no Euro- pean can now evade their frontier guards at any point along those thousands of miles, for it to become apparent that a country with a government which can or- ganize and maintain such a marvellous and efficient system can hardly in reason be called effete. Effete it certainly is not, and yet, strange to say, notwithstanding this apparent evidence of its power, there is probably no country in the world of equal size which contains within itself such real weakness from a political point of view, and which could be so easily made a prey of by a designing neighbor. To arrive at that conclusion it is necessary to thoroughly understand the internal econ- omy of that strange country, and so little is known concerning its people that no apology is necessary for entering into such minute details as space will admit of in this glance at its people and their hab- its, customs, government, and religious system. 24 THIBET. To begin, and in order to familiarize the reader with the surroundings and condi- tions of life of the people under descrip- tion, let us picture a typical Thibetan house. The outside walls are generally of stone, set in avery inferior kind of mor- tar, but oftener in a bedding of puddled mud. When clay is available the builders much prefer to have only the foundations of stone and the walls above ground of well-prepared clay, which latter they build up between plank moulds. These are removed as each layer is finished, and then raised to act as moulds for the next layer. The houses have two stories, and fre- quently there is a shed along one side of the roof, in which the inhabitants work when the sun is oppressive. A great part of their work is done on the flat roof, such as threshing grain, etc. The ground floor is devoted to the cattle horses and pigs, etc. The fowls usually roost with the family on the first floor. The construc- tion of the floor of the upper story is sufficiently curious. Its main supports are cross-beams; on these smaller beams are placed at right angles, on which are laid slabs of wood; on these again are laid small twigs like broom, and then a coating of mud plaster is spread, on which the planks are finally placed. A hole is left in this floor for their primitive ladder (a piece of wood with notches cut in it), up through which hole ascend all the effluvia from the animals below. There is only one door for the whole house. In front of this door there is gen- erally a courtyard surrounded by walls. All the manure and refuse is allowed to remain in situ under the house, and in the court, all the year through, till shortly before the season for manuring the fields, ~vhen it is all collected into a big heap and left to ferment there from a fortnight to three weeks, after which it is spread over the land. The larger houses have one or more wings and a veranda. The floor forming the roof is made in the same way as the other, only there is an addition of cow- dung to the mud instead of planks, and the plaster thus made is beaten for days with sticks to make it amalgamate, as in India. All cracks, as the plaster dries, are carefully filled up with fresh plaster till the whole is a good solid roof and floor combined, and very well adapted for threshing. The common room is the kitchen on the first floor in which they all sleep, with their heads towards the fireplace, never with their feet towards the fire, as that is considered an insult or affront in their etiquette. In summer they sleep on the roof. The Thibetans who live in the valleys are not as a rule fine men physically, but the highlanders, or hill-men, such as the shepherds, etc., up in the high Thibetan mountains, are massive beaux liommes, having somewhat the appearance of hav- ing been hewn out of solid blocks. The people of the valleys are more or less idle gossips, disliking work intensely. The men do no work in the fields except ploughing, and few who can afford to pay another to do it for them will do even that much. When not in reposei.e., when not absolutely doing nothingthe men occupy themselves by sewing, spinning, looking after the mules, horses, and cattle, but above all in attending to the petty business of the family. The women sow, irrigate, weed, cut the harvest, thresh, winnow, carry the grain to the granary, and do all the household work as well. If there are loads to be carried, the women carry them. If a man be asked to carry a big case or heavy load, he is certain, on seeing it, to say at once, That! thats a womans load, and of the baggage he will select the smallest parcel he can find as his burden. In the pasturages, the women milk, make the butter, and look after the flocks when these are grazing near the tents or encampment. The men herd the flocks when grazing at a distance. The women ride as well as the men, and in the same fashion. From constantly throwing stones at the cattle the women are adepts at this, and can and do make it very un- pleasant for any person who may have irritated them into putting their science into practice. Dirt is the ruling feature everywhere in Thibetan households. It pervades their houses and their persons, prevails in their customs, and gives a tone to and bears fruit in their speech. A European, an English official in India, once desiring to see the real color of the Thibetan skin, paid the parents of a child to have it washed in hot water, several waters, and with an unlimited supply of soap. Every effort was made in vain, the skin could not be reached through such an armor-plating of dirt. It is said with every show of truth that it would be quite impossible to wash an adult Thibetan down to the skin. The beauty of a woman in Thibet consists in her being stout, broad, thick-set, and heavily membered, and the accomplishments to be desired THIBET. are that she should be above all things audacious, a good hand at a bargain and at repartee; in fact, a typical Billingsgate virago, if massive enough, would pass as a Venus in Thibet. The ordinary food of the country is barley that, having been parched, is after. wards ground and called (sam ~a, or (sang ~a. This meal they moisten with tea made in the Thibetan manneri.e., of boiled brick-tea buttered and salted or else, if too poor to use tea, moistened with soup, by mixing it in a cup and work- ing the paste round with the fingers against the side of the cup. They eat this paste soft and moist. Tea made of the filthy brick-tea, boiled with butter, salt being added to taste, and the mixture well churned, is the ordinary drink of the country, soup taking its place among the poorer classes. There are, of course, other kinds of food, but the above is the staple. They have a kind of chupaul, or scone, a common food. They eat flesh, chiefly of pigs, and fowls, but all depends upon their locality and means. They have no established rules, customs, or fixed hours for eating, the nearest approach to a rule being to take what they can get on the spot when hungry. Tea, as stated above, is the chief drink, so much so that it has become the custom to ask people to come and drink tea, when to come and eat dinner is really intended, and this even in cases where the family is too poor to provide tea, and no tea in such cases is expected. After tea, as favorite beverage, comes a kind of barley beer called khiong in the east, (chong in the west, and then a kind of distilled barley whiskey called a ra. In the pasturages buttermilk is the ordinary drink, and curds and whey, called (a ra, are in favor. On the days on which they boil their meat they prepare no tea, but use the broth as a drink in- stead, on economical grounds; and on broth days they mix the tsam-pa with broth instead of tea. Coming to the Thibetan costume. The men wear the khru ba, a long and thick woollen robe, sheepskin in winter, de- scending down till it would drag consider- ably on the ground if let loose. It is doubled well across the chest and front till the ends or edges almost meet the shoulders, where one edge is fastened un- der the right arm with a tape or string bow. In dressing, the man, having on his tchru-ba hanging loose about him, holds his sash or belt about on a level with the knees, or a little above them, and this he draws in to make a gather, and 25 then the belt, with all of the robe above it, is drawn up and the belt fastened round the waist. This leaves a large pouch of course, falling over the belt all round, and leaves the foot of the robe about half-way between the knee and the calf. Into the pouch so formed they put anything they have to carry, such as their tsam-pa cup, and even little dogs, and sometimes little pigs. At night before lying down to rest, they take off their boots and belt, and with these make a pillow. They then judge their distance from the pillow, and kick that part of their robe (now trailing on the ground after removing the belt) which they intend to lie on towards the pillow; thus by a kick converting one side of their tchru-ba into a mattrass, and by this ar- rangement leaving themselves still the other side of the robe to act as a complete bed-covering on lying down; and all with. out undressing. Only the rich indulge in a carpet to sleep on, and rich people some- times use a Chinese carpet. The above system of bed-making is almost universally practised throughout Thibet, or at all events throughout eastern Thibet. Women often wear the above costume, but it is not their proper dress, which is as follows: a kilted petticoat of woollen stuff, sometimes considerably decorated in colors with flowers, is so worn as to fall to about the ankles. In putting it on they commence on the left hip, pass it round the body once, and again cross the front, thus havincr a double thickness in front; they fasten it on the right hip. This petticoat is made up of many narrow strips each a few inches wide, these being sewn together and kilted in such a man- ner as to have the pleats only down the sides, being quite plain both front and back. For a waistband it has a strong strip of long-cloth sewn to its inner side. Attached to this waistband is a sleeveless bodice, generally of cotton cloth, which is supported by bands over the shoulders, and this garment carries the weight of the petticoat. The bodice is doubled across the chest and tied on the right side at the neck, under the right arm and again lower down. They also wear a sash or cummer- band some six inches in width and about ten feet long, with the ends falling loose from under the belt on the right side. This is the ordinary female attire, but when they wish to dress better, they wear a sleeved chemise under the bodice; this however is very rarely worn at home in their houses or at work. On state occa- sions they wear a jacket with longer 26 THIBET. sleeves and longer body than the Chinese ma quoi, or guen sken Ize, but something like it. This jacket is of silk or cotton or woollen cloth, etc., and falls to about half- way down the thighs. The sleeves de- scend some seven inches lower than the tips of the fingers, and are very full, though not so much so as the ma.quoi From the wrist to the ends of the sleeves the color is always different and of a more vivid and striking nature (sometimes red, green, etc.) than the stuff or material of the main portion. The collar is nearly always of red broadcloth, and is fastened by a large silver and coral brooch on the chest. The jacket is closed down the right side with galloons or braids of mixed and pronounced colors. They wear boots like those of the men, the tops being of woollen or colored cotton material, and the soles of leather. They very seldom wear any kind of haL The coiffure varies much. Their ornaments are generally of silver (very rarely of gold) and precious stones, but chiefly of coral. The stones used are turquoise, lapis-lazuli, agate, aqua- marina, and amber, if the latter may be classed with the stones. They also wear ornaments made of a colored porcelain, etc. The very great people, such as gov- ernors, have large ornaments in gold. Most of their precious stones come from the neutral ground, or Singpho country, north of upper Burmah, between the British province of Assam and China, also from India vid Cashmere. When a woman prepares for sleep she simply wraps a mans tchru-ba round her head, and lets the skirts fall about her, rolling herself up in these, and with her boots and belt for a pillow, she requires to seek n~ couch. On the subject of trade very little can be said. Not that the trade is insignifi- cant by any means, but the system can be summed up in the one word peddling. Every family trades; the lamasseries trade; the officials trade; but it is in every case conducted on the pedlar sys- tem. Members of a family attend to the trade of the family, and travel immense dis- tances with their laden mule and yaks, exchanging their goods at different places as they go along. Shops are almost un- known on any scale. The lamasseries, as will be seen later on, have their own officials to look after the trade of the Ia- massery. This system prevails from Cash- mere in the west, from whence Indian goods and rupees are obtained, to Ta- tsien-lu, in China, on the east, and to the Shan states, east of Burmah. Hundreds of thousands of Indian rupees find their way all through Thibet to Ta-tsien-lu. Bricktea, made up in bales of so many bricks of different qualities, finds its way, on the other hand, from China to Cash- mere. The bricks bear little patches of gold-leaf, which indicate the quality of the brick, and according to the quality they are accepted in barter as currency, the weight being accepted in an arbi- trary way. These instances of the flow of rupees in the one direction and of the brick-tea in the other will illustrate sufficiently well the immense distances overcome under this primitive system of trade. Since the opening of the Darjeel- ing railway Thibetans have begun to find their way to Calcutta, and though their government will probably do its best to stop trade in that direction, the few trad- ers who succeed in visiting Calcutta will have wonderful tales to tell when they get back to Thibet. The Lepchas who visit Calcutta may have given rise to the idea that Thibetans from Thibet proper have taken to visiting Calcutta, and may there- by have raised false hopes. More may be said on this subject later on, should space permit, as it is one of great pos- sible consequences in the event of com- plications arising between Englan.d and China. Every male in Thibet, from the ta ii larna (or as he should be called, (a /ei lama) and the king and mandarins, down to the lowest mendicant, is an infatuated trader. The ta.lei-lama, king, manda- rins, lamasseries, private individuals, all have their mobs of baggage animals, and the great men and lamasseries their gar ~eng, or commercial representative. Gar- peng really means a customs officer, but it is always used as well in the above sense. Those again, who trade on their own account without garpeng, but on a decent scale nevertheless, are called (song ~eng. An agent, or business em- ployd, would be called a tsong ~a. None of them have real warehouses or shops for the sale of their goods, these being always in a packed-up state, ready for sending away by caravan somewhere else. Although there are no Thibetan shops in Thibet, in some towns, as Bathang, there are a few Chinese shops. The usual course, supposing an article is re- quired, say a cooking-pot, is for the pur- chaser to apply at the house of some one who has just returned from Yunan, from whence he knows they are usually brought; he inquires the price and bar- gains on the spot. The same practice is THIBET. 27 followed in the purchase of anything re- quired for use, silks, tea, horses, etc. There is no scientifically arranged large commerce in Thibet. There are no large undertakings embracing several agencies. The system, as already stated, is that of peddling, from the ta-lei-lama down. There is none of the Chinese capacity for combination or for highly developed schemes. The whole trade is done by travelling from one place to another, and the exchange of goods obtained at one town for others at the next. Thus salt, their original stock in trade, is obtained at Yur-ka-lu, on the eastern frontier, is taken to Ta.tsien-lu, in Ssuchuan (in China), and there exchanged for tea and silks. These are brought back and ex- changed again in different towns in Thibet for woollen stuffs, horses, mules, musk, silver, etc. What is left over they leave at home for sale locally, and then they again start off for the salt-pits. They keep no books or accounts, and never add up a profit-and-loss account or strike any balance. They never talk of how much money a person has, but of how many horses and how many mules he owns. The money question does not interest them, the horses and mules do, and these serve to indicate a mans standing and capital in trade. Even the herds on the pastures in the mountains join in this system of trade, by hiring their yaks and beasts to passing caravans of traders in want of carriage, carefully accompanying their beasts themselves of course. The value of an article in many places is still assessed at its value in brick-tea, or in bricks of tea, or in packages of brick- tea, but this is dying out since the large introduction of rupees from India. In private families, if the father is still robust, he goes on the journeys with the family venture, and one of the sons re- mains at home in charge of the family. If he be too feeble, then he remains at home, and the eldest son, or one of the sons, goes in his place. If the father is very old or dead, the eldest son remains at home in charge of the family, and he is recognized as its head by the government. When starting on a journey, small trad- ers combine in bands of five or six or more for the sake of mutual assistance en route, and for mutual protection against robbers. All their interests in trade, however, are quite independent, and in no way do they combine in matters of busi- ness. Once arrived at their destination, they separate to sell or barter their goods, each on his own account. The polyandry existing in portions of Thibet may be owing as much to this sys- tem of sending members of families away on long journeys (when, under ordinary marriage laws, the wives would be left at home unprotected for months at a time), as to any Maithusian ideas about over- population. All Thibet is Buddhist, but Buddhism is divided into a great number of sects all independent of each other. There is no hierarchy down from the ta-lei-lama to the lowest novice, as although the ta-lei- lama is the civil proprietor of Thibet, he has no control whatever over the Buddhist sects other than his own (the GI lz~k pa.) Owing, however, to his position of Chi- nese prox/gd, as chief of the official sect (the G~ lilk pa), the other sects often pay respect to him which they would not do but for his position in relation to the gov- erning race. He only exercises religious authority over his own, viz., the G~-lZik-pa sect. Each lamassery governs itself accord- ing to the general rules of the sect to which it belongs. As regards monastic regulations (if we can so call what cannot be compared properly to Christian monas- teries) and the internal organization of the lamasseries, we may mention first of all the titles of the members. The tchre ke, or (chre ko (meaning the person transmuted), a living Bud- dha or incarnation, is to be found in several lamasseries. He receives the adorations of the other members of the lamassery, and of the people in his juris- diction, shall we call it? For all that, the tchre-ke is not superior, as regards power or administration, to the other members of the lamassery. The real superior of a lamassery is the kheng bo, who is both spiritual and tem- poral chief, i.e., superior-general of his lamassery. Under him there is the gi ke, who is only a spiritual superior. Next is the gd .vhi, or prefect, in charge of the internal police of the larnassery, whose duty is to look after order and the observance of the regulations judging by results, very much of a sine~ure. Next is the ung dz/, or chapel-master, whose duty is supposed to consist of look- ing after the choir and the observance of religious ceremonies. After this we may mention the shiang ze, or purser and treasurer, who looks after the properties of the lamassery. All the preceding officers are appointed by election, and generally for three years. 28 THIBET. They form the administration of the la- massery, and at the end of their term they have to render an account to the body of members, and to their successors in office, elected in their place. The shiang-ze names another from amongst the body of members to assist him in the business of the lamassery, as a commercial assistant, and this assistant is called ski zo, or commercial chief. Then comes the Ia ~eng, in charge of the horses and mules used in the trade transport service of the lamassery. After him the nur~eng, who looks after the cat- tle. N B. There is no schoolmaster. Altogether apart from the above ad- ministrative section, and without any ad. ministrative authority derived from their degrees, is the section comprising the li/era/i, or, to use an utterly misleading term for want of a better, an academical hierarchy (very ignorant indeed in point of fact, their degrees notwithstanding). The degrees may be described as fol- lows, commencing with the first or low- est: i. The ram diang (or gissa, as it is called in some parts of the country). To obtain this degree no examination has to be passed. It is not even necessary to be able to read or write to obtain it. The qualification is to have been to Lhasa (Lassa) and to have presented twenty taels to one of the three great lamasseries there, all of the G& Wik-pa sect. 2. The ge dang; to obtain this degree the applicant must return to Lhasa, and must present thirty taels to one of the above lamasseries, and must be able to read and write a little; but it is not neces- sary that he should be able to understand what he reads. 3 The ge lung; for this degree the applicant must have passed several years at Lhasa, and there have studied seri- ously, and must have learned by rote a certain number of volumes, which are, however, barely understood, though par- tially so; and he must be able to write, though he is pardoned almost any number of faults. 4 The la ma (lama), which name has been so misapplied by foreigners to all the above indiscriminately, following in this the Chinese, who never take much trouble to go deep into such details. To obtain this degree, the ge-lung must pass a fur- ther period at Lhasa, and must be able to read and write fairly well, as the examina- tion consists in his being able to read and explain what he reads (to prove that he understands it) from a book taken down from the shelves at hazard, and opened in front of him. This is all the examina- tion a g& lung has to pass to obtain the highest degree, that of lama. He has, of course, to present more money at least five hundred taels. Very few, indeed, ob tam this degree of lama, perhaps two or three in a thousand, and it is from amongst them the kheng-bo of lamasseries are chosen. Should there happen to be no unemployed lama, then a g& lung is se- lected for the post. The general term for members of lamasseries not owning de- grees is /chra ~a or~en dd~ and most dis- tinctly, as will be evident from the above, not lamas, as we call them all. The young apprentices or novices, pass. ing through their novitiate, are generally called ~enggiong, and sometimes la /ck,-u (small lamas). These are generally re- cruited as follows: Should there be a son too many in a family, as the third would prove in a poor one, or the fourth in a richer one, he is generally packed off to the lamassery of the district. Not only to disembarrass the family of a surplus son is this done, but also to gain the favor of the lamassery, as although these have no civil power by right, still they are strong enough to usurp and exert a great deal of power. Again, if a boy has shown particular sharpness or boldness in fact, that he is worth havinga lama or some lower ecclesiastic walks into the par- ents house unasked, as is quite permitted to any Thibetan to do in any Thibetan house, and in the course of conversation this ecclesiastic casually tells the fortunes of the family. For the son he wants he predicts all sorts of ills and sickness which can only be averted by his entering a lamassery. This has the desired effect, and he is handed over to save him from the unhappy alternative. This result has often to be led up to by preparatory pre- dictions given from time to time concern- ing the son. Thanks to the above sys- tematic fraud, there is now about one- twelfth of the total population of Thibet in lamasseries. Deduct for the women and children, and it will be evident what a ruinous proportion of the male adult popu- lation is wasted in lamasseries, perfectly unproductive and living in a great meas- ure on the toil of the remainder. As regards the interior monastic life and regulations, the members of a lamas- sery (miscalled lamas) roam whither they will, and as a rule with no proper or moral purpose. They are practically sub- ject to no discipline whatever, nor can THIBET. 29 there be said to be any real rules followed, except perhaps at three times of the year. These periods are the fifth and ninth moon, during each of which three days must be spent in the lamassery, ostensibly in prayer, though the latter is not de ri- gueur; the other period is at the new year, when they must pass fifteen days in the lamassery, also ostensibly in prayer. The members have no communism, some being very poor these often act- ing as the servants of richer members; others being rich, and all living exactly as suits each individuals tastes and means. A few of the elders remain pretty con- stantly in the lamasseries, when, having outgrown the pleasures and passions of youth, their vices have left them, and they have in consequence elected to aban- don their vicious courses. The great majority, however, rove about at will, with no moral intent, as we have said. As far as the so-called lamas them- selves are concerned, their religion is a farce they do not believe, save in so far as it brings them in the good things of this world. For that purpose they thor. oughly appreciate its value. The people, too, already realize and make common talk of the immorality of the lamas as a body, and only except from slander a few, chiefly the very old living Buddhas. Nearly all large lamasseries have one or more of these living Buddhas. The ecciesiastics are chiefly disliked, however, for their rapacity, which is limit- less. Under one pretext or another they exact from any lucky layman most of his gains as soon as it becomes known he has acquired them. On the subject of the immorality of the ecclesiastics the little boys in the streets of towns, so far away as thirty days jour- ney from Lhasa, at the very extreme east of Thibet, sing songs in which they bring in a phrase, unfit for publication here, that speaks for itself of the public feeling on this point. There are but few religious ceremonies performed by the Buddhist ecciesiastics in Thibet. There are no ceremonies at a birth, but sometimes an ecclesiastic is called in to make his predictions. Even at a marriage there are no ceremonies, though an ecclesiastic is asked to declare a lucky day on which to give up the son or daughter, as the case may be. It some- times happens that the son is given up by his family, and he enters and becomes the heir in the family of his father-in-law. Should, for instance, the father-in-law have no son of his own, or should the bride be the eldest child of her house, even though she may have younger brothers, then the son-in-law is adopted and enters the fam- ily as heir, and gives up his name and all claim on his own fathers estate, and he takes the name of, and rights of heir in, the family into which he marries. The lamasseries have been called mon- asteries and convents by Europeans, but they are totally unlike Christian monas- teries, and should not be so called, as it is misleading. They have no cells, and although formerly they were within walled enclosures and their regulations require that they should be within walls, nowa- days such enclosed lamasseries are very rare. They are more like villages, and in many cases they may be said to form part of a town. They are, however, generally situated in a more or less retired Spot. The wealthier members who can afford it have a house for themselves, others rent a portion of a house, and others perhaps only one room; whilst the poorest are usually servants of other richer members, and live in the houses of their masters. The chapel or pagoda is generally in the centre of the lamassery, and before it is a covered gateway, in which are hung the drums or cylinders (about two feet and a half by one foot) used as praying- machines. Passers-by turn these drums, and all the prayers contained in them are supposed to be taken as read by the deity. At sunrise a drum is beaten, when the members are supposed to repair to the pagoda to pray; but this not being oblig- atory (except in a perfunctory way at the three seasons already mentioned), some go, but more abstain. This is the only time of the day allotted to prayer, and all the praying the inmates are supposed to do, except when called to pray in private houses, which call they gladly respond to, for the sake of the fees. There are isolated pagodas with gate- ways, as mentioned above, at certain shrines; but as people visiting them for prayer, instead of going to the lamasseries, are a loss of money to the lamas, these pagodas are not encouraged. Villages, and even individuals, own little water- wheels which turn a prayer-cylinder and thus materialize the idea of perpetual prayer. Another plan is to suspend ban- ners, with prayers written on them, to trees, and each time the prayer is turned by the breeze it is also taken as read. The Thibetans have four ways in which they perform the obsequies of the dead. The souls of wealthy people here, as else- 30 THIBET. where, require a good deal of ceremony 3. The most ordinary course is to take and prayer under the auspices of the eccle- the corpse to a river or to a hill, and there siastics, in fact, as much of both as the place it on the ground, naked, and tied by estate can pay for. In practice no less the head. The body is then cut in two will suffice, whatever dogma may assert. with a sword to further assist the wild r. If a man of means dies unfortunately animals in their office, and it is then left during the time the crops are standing, it alone. If the deceased desired this class would bring hail were he disposed of at of fi~neral, any ceremonies that may be that time, so he is pickled to await the performed (provided he could pay for any) harvest. This is done by tying his head take place at his house, and not where between his knees and putting him, sur- the body is taken to~. rounded with salt, into a bag. The bag 4. In the case of a poor person the body is put in a basket, and the basket is is carried, usually at night, and thrown sewn up well in cloth to prevent unpleas. into the nearest river, if there be one. antness, and he is placed in the stable un- Failing a convenient stream sufficiently der the first floor to await the harvest and large to carry away the corpse, it is treated the suitable day. Then, the day being as in the third class, mi~~us all rites and chosen for his mncremation, the ecclesias. ceremonies. tics commence their prayers, etc., as many There are two distinct administrations days ahead of the day fixed upon as the in Thibetthe Chinese and the Thibe- wealth of the family will allow. The day tan, or native and these are distinct in having arrived, he is cremated with fur- both the civil and military branches. To ther ceremony on a pile of wood saturated explain them both properly we must keep with melted butter to make it burn quick. them distinct, and will begin by describ ly. After that there only remains a good ing the native or Thibetan administration. dinner to the ecclesiastics, and the settle. To commence with the civil branch; first ment of their bill. in order of rank is the gy/wa rinbho 2. For very important personages, kkii, as he is called in Thibetan (gvlwa chiefs and high ecclesiastics, the body is = 24 hours, rin~ho = precious, khiI= the carried to the top of a mountain after the grand; or say, the grand precious twen- usual protracted ceremonies, and then ty-four hours, or day). This is the ta-lei. gongs are beaten and fires are lighted to lama of the Chinese, from whom Euro. attract vultures and wild dogs. These peans have accepted the designation. know only too well what the signals mdi- The gy~wa-rinbho.khid, or ta.lei.lama, is cate. The head ecclesiastic then cuts the the head civil and religious chief of Thi- body into very small portions, and throws bet, and is virtually the proprietor of the pieces, bit by bit, to the dogs and vul- Thibet. It may be as well to mention tures. When nothing is left but the big here that neither he nor any official in bones, these are powdered up and mixed the Thibetan or native administration is with barley meal (tsong ta), and then the allowed to correspond direct with the em- mixture is thrown after the flesh. The peror of China; this is a privilege reserved highest token of respect paid to a very for two of the Chinese officials, as will be exalted personage consists in the head explained later on. Under the gydwa. ecclesiastic (after having gone through the rinbho.khi~ is the ~eu gylbo in Thibetan, above process) mixing up a cup of tsong- or isang wang in Chinese (~eu, pro- pa with his fingers, without having washed nounced as in French = native name for his hands, and then eating it himself! Thibet; gydbo= tributary king; isang As a strange coincidence relating to the Chinese name for Thibet; wang= tribu- admixture of barley with the flesh of dead tary king). bodies, and connecting the present time The gy~wa-rinbho-khi4, or ta-lei-lama, with the early days of the Christian era, only occupies himself with religious af- we quote the following from Gibbons fairs and playing at divinity. The king Roman Empire, in which, speaking of is in point of fact the civil head under the abuse by the pagans of the moment him, and for the past fifty years the king of their prosperity under Julian, he says: has been a lama, so as to avoid the possi- The entrails of Christian priests and bility of the power becoming hereditary, virgins, after they had been tasted by and the danger that might thereby ensue those bloody fanatics, were mixed with to Chinese influence. barley and contemptuously thrown to the Under the king, orgydpeu bo, are four of- unclean animals of the city. Might not ficers of state called ka/ong, his ministers. the present Thibetan rite be traced back (Ka=commandments, /ong=councillor to the Huns? or interpreter.) These are as follows THIBET. 3 The tsi pang kalong, or minister of jus- tice. The di pang kalong, or minister of the interior (civil affairs). The ding ftang kalong, or minister of finance. The da pang katong, or minister of war. Each of these four kalong has four high mandarins under him who may be called secretaries to the ministers. All the above require commissions from the em- peror of China, the gia kong ma (gia= China, kong ma = independent king). They form the central (native) government and reside at Lhasa. The population of Lhasa, it may be as well to state here, is, after deducting some twenty-five thousand members of its lamasseries, not more than about fifteen thousand. We come next to the native provincial officials. Each province has its governor, called tigyd. Each province is divided into several prefectures, and the head prefect is called diba. Each prefecture is subdivided into sub- prefectures under a ski ngo, or sub-pre- fect. The above are all considered manda- riDs the following are not so considered. Each sub-prefecture is divided into two or more cantons, and the head of a canton is called ding pang. The cantons are again sub-divided into collections containing ten or twelve fam- ilies each, and the responsible official is called b/se in the east and kempa in the west. The mandarins generally hold office for only three years, except when their term, in individual cases, has been extended for special service rendered the State. In some places the ding-pang are hereditary, but as a rule they are appointed by the shd- ngo for a short period, and they are charged to execute his orders. The people are treated as little better than slaves by all the above officials, and are looted by them on every conceivable pretext, with- out mercy. Each mandarin in his own jurisdiction is judge, collector of revenue, and, in fact, everything he chooses to be. Before ob- taining a post a candidate for office has to pay a considerable sum to whomsoever has the nomination, and at the end of his term of office, an account has to be ren- dered to the person who nominated or ap- pointed him, and the vile profits are di- vided between them. As regards the military branch of the native administration. There is no estab- lished or permanent local native army in Thibet, but in the event of war each com- munity, consisting of a certain number of families (which number varies according to the importance of the war and the de- mand for men), has to furnish a man and provide him with arms and the means of living, and must send him off to join the army thoroughly equipped. These levies are under the civil authority of the place in which they are mobilized. There are, however, a few military officials called ma pang (ma = war, pang= chief) who are always in receipt of small pay from the emperor of China, as also a certain num- ber of important families, considered mili- tary families, and these form an official class of their own, receiving pay in the same way from the emperor of China for doing nothing, i.e., nominally receiving pay, as but very little, if any, reaches them, owing to the squeezes levied by the authorities through whose hands it has had to pass. This class forms a kind of aristocracy from which the civil officials are usually drawn, although its members are quite without education or instruction. These ma-pang are under the civil author- ity, but there is no real organization worthy of being so called. They receive no ex- tra pay in war-time, and requisition every- thing they run short of from the people. They are nothing better than licensed robbers by this system, and the people take care to hide their treasures, etc., on a band approaching. Cotning now to the Chinese civil admin- istration of Thibet. First of all come the three residents or commissioners of the emperor of China, who are always Man- chus, and who reside at Lhasa. The first two are called am ba or am bang in Thibetan and kin chaiin Chinese. The third bears the Chinese title of it sin. The first two, i.e., the am-bang, or kin- chai, correspond direct with the emperor of China, but their letters must be coun- tersigned by the third, or it-sin. This is part and parcel of the Chinese system of espionage. All correspondence between the Thibetan government and Pekin must pass through these officials. No other officials, from the ta-lei-lama and king downwards, are allowed to correspond direct with the emperor of China. The two am-bang or kin-chai rule the country in the name of the emperor of China, and they translate and forward all petitions, etc., to the emperor. 32 THIBET. The third commissioner, or it-sin, re- sides at Lhasa, and has charge of the in- dependent principalities, some eighteen in number, and independent of the Thi- betan civil code or procedure. Amongst these principalities are Sa-kia-gung, Hdu- kid, San sh~-kiu-tso, Tsam-tii, Tchra-ya, and Po-yew. Sa-kia-gung is southwest of Lhasa, near Nepaul. The head of the lamassery at Sa-kia-gung is the chief of this princi- pality. H~u-kid and San-sh& kiu-tso are both small states to the northwest of Tcham- tii. San-sh& kiu-tso means thirty-nine fami- lies, and is so-called, it is said, because thirty-nine families belonging to the Chinese army which conquered Thibet established themselves there, They have now become thoroughly Thibetan, not- withstanding their Chinese origin. Tcham-tii has for its chief the head of the lamassery at Tcham-tii. Tchra-ya is south of Tcham-tii, towards Kiang-ka, but to the north of the latter. The head of the lamassery for the time being at Tchra-ya is the chief of this state. Thus, though these are called principalities, their chiefs are rather presi- dents than princes. Po-yew is west of Kiang-ka and west of the Saluen, and west of the range of mountains bordering the Saluen, and al- most due north of the British station of Sadiya, in Assam. This state is divided into four parts, and each part has its chief. One of these is called the dongya pang. The people here are very inde- pendent and pay no tribute even to China. They are said to be well disposed towards an advent of Europeans. They are only divided from the Mishmi and Arbor tribes occupying the mountains between Assam and Po-yew by a very narrow strip of country only a few miles in width, join. ing the Thibetan district of Dza-yeu to Thibet proper, which strip is not inde- pendent like Po-yew, but is subject to Lhasa. It is probably, if not certainly, owing to this narrow strip being between the British in Assam and the Po-yew people that we do not find the latter com- ing down to trade in Assam at Sadiya The Mishmis, indeed, have spoken of a people to their north as being prevented by the Thibetans from coming down to Sadiya to trade. Besides the above states under the supervision of the third commissioner, or it-sin, there are several others. Although these states are independent of Lhasa by rights conceded to them, still Lhasa, being much more powerful, has gradually ob- tained a great influeuce over them, with the exception of Po-yew, which influence is not strictly speaking legitimate. After the three commissioners there are sevencivil mandarins called in Thibetan p/to pang and in Chinese hang thi (or lalung thai?). These reside at the seven followincr towns: Bathang, Litang, Chong- tti, La-rho (in Chinese called La-li; this official usually resides at Kiam-da), Lhasa, Kiang-tze, near the Nepaul and Sikkim frontiers, and Tra-chi-lung-bo (called Shi ga-tze by the Chinese). These officials are the paymasters of the Chinese soldiers, and of the subsidized lamas, and they are the collectors of the imperial revenue, and are civil mandarins. They decide all cases in which Chinese or Chinese mixed breeds are concerned, and may be asked to assist Thibetan officials in deciding cases. Next we have the Chinese military ad- ministration, as distinguished from the Thibetan. The Chinese army of occupa- tion numbers about four thousand of all ranks, very much scattered over the coun- try, from Ta-tsien-lu (in China now) in the east, to the extreme west. The officers rcceive pay regulated in proportion to their distance from China, and they are paid out of Chinese or imperial funds. The principal garrison is at Tatsien-lu. The next most important are at Litang, Bathang, Kiang-ka, Chra-ya, Cham-tii, Shti-pan-t6, Lo-rong-dzon, Lali or La-rd, Kiam-da, Lhasa, Kiung-tze or Giong~siri, Tra-chi-lung-bo, Tingrd. All along this ~ine at each days march is a post of about four soldiers to carry despatches. There are only about three to four hundred troops at Lhasa, the capital. The com mander-in-chief is only a brigadier-gen- eral, skid tal, residing at Ta-tsien-lu. Under him at Ta-tsien-lu are a major, t~ Se, and a few subordinate officers. At Lhasa and at Cham-tii there are lieuten. ant-colonels, tong un, in command. At Bathang there is a major, tii-se, in command. At the other places there are captains, or lieutenants, or yet lower offi- cers in command. The above rendering into English of the Chinese rank titles can only be consid- ered approximate and the following ta- ble will perhaps serve to show on what basis they are rendered into English. THIBET. 33 APPROXIMATE MILITARY RANK TABLE (ANGLO-CHINESE). English. Chinese. Distinguishing Badge. I. Field-Marshal. Tsiung Quin. Coral button. 2. General commanding a corps darmi~e. Ti Tai. 3. General of Division. Chen Tai. 4. Brigadier-General. Sh~ Tai. 5~ Colonel. Tsan Tsiance Generally coral button, but some- times dark blue button. 6. Lieutenant-Colonel. Tong lin. Dark blue button, and with it gen- erally a peacocks feather without the eye. 7. Major. Tti Se. Crystal button and sometimes light blue button. 8. Captain. Shii p1. Crystal button. 9. Lieutenant. Tsien Tsong. Porcelain button. 10. Sub-Lieutenant. Pa Tsong. The above officials have other badges of rank, and distinguishing braids on the breast The peacocks feather with the eye, and again without the eve, form two distinct badges of honor or decorations, the former being the higher. It is not a grade-badge, or mark of rank. These peacock feathers are seldom given in China to officers below the rank of tiise, but in Thibet, that being considered for- eign service, it is given to the rank of shii- pi. Below this rank, squirrels tails are worn as decorations. Having explained the peculiar system of government existing in Thibet, we may now pass on to notice the Chinese policy in connection with that country and its bearing on the foreign relations of Thibet in the present and immediate future. Formerly, Mongolia, the Corea, Cochin China, Siam, Burmah and Thibet were all tributary to China, and sent ambassadors to Pekin to acknowledge their depen- dence. Thus China was completely sur- rounded by a chain of smaller tributary states, and this fact helped to establish the belief that the emperor of China was emperor of the whole world, as even now represented in popular editions of Chi- nese maps on which China occupies nearly the whole sheet, leaving Japan, the Phil- ippines, and Europe to be represented by small dots. These maps are accepted and thoroughly believed in by the people in the interior of China. The belief that the emperor of China rules the ~vorld, so earnestly propagated by the Chinese offi- cials, found additional support from the fact of European ambassadors being sent to Pekin; these being understood by the people to be sent like the ambassadors of the tributary states already mentioned to pay respect and do homage to the Chinese emperor, and possibly to keep order among foreign residents in China. It LiVING AGE. VOL. LII 2655 was further supported until lately by the fact that no Chinese ambassador had to go to any foreign court, and even now they have only one for several states, and this much renders the mandarins of the inte- rior furious to think of (i.e., those of the old school, with all its credulity and igno- rance), as they cannot understand such a stooping to barbarian powers. In later times Cochin China, Siam, Burmah have either wholly or practically thrown off their allegiance, and no longer pay tribute. They now rarely (some of them even never) send ambassadors with presents to Pekin. This as a natural consequence is attracting attention and is commencing to prejudice the belief in the emperor of China as ruler of the world; and yet this belief is a part apparently of the Chinese nature, and almost a necessity to the tranquillity of that peculiar country, and to the stability of the throne. Recently, the Chinese government has sent demands to Siam claiming the re- sumption of the payment of tribute by that state. The Pekin officials fully realize that the loss of these states is owing in a great measure to the influence of Europeans since their arrival and settlement in those parts. Naturally, then, they fear that, if Europeans enter and settle in the Corea, or in Thibet, or in Tonkin, the same thing would happen in those countries, and so we see a similar game of obstruction played in all of them. They specially dread the entry of Europeans into Thibet, where it is well known there is a very strong party, numerically speaking, an- tagonistic to the present Chinese rule, and desiring autonomy. The people of Thi- bet too are quite different from the Chi- nese in character, and cannot agree with the latter. Again the Thibetans are tired of seeing all the Chinese mandarins sent THIBET. 34 to Thibet reaping large private fortunes out of the country, against which the sums spent by the Chinese government on the soldiery and lamas, divided in infinitesi- mal portions amongst many, are by no means considered as even a partial set-off. As a matter of fact, the Chinese gov- ernment does not derive much pecuniary gain from Thibet, say only a few thou- sands of pounds levied chiefly in duties at Ta-tsien-lu, still it is a mine to the Chi- nese officials, even though it may be actu- ally a burden pecuniarily to the Chinese government. The burden, however, is compensated for by having another do minion in the empire for the sake of pres- tige, and this is really why China is so jealous of European enterprise entering Thibet, the Corea, or Tonkin. It should also be remembered that through the oc- cupation of Lhasa as the centre of Ia- maism or Buddhism, and the derivation of the Taranath Lama from that holy city, China controls the whole of Mongolia, or at least exercises a dominant religious influence over it.* The following story, as it accounts for the present position of the G~-lZik-pa sect as the recognized official sect, and of the present influential position of its chief, the ta-lei-lama, may prove interesting, apart from the political importance some attach to it. At the end of the last Chinese dynasty there occurred a civil war in China against that dynasty, the partisans of which called in to their assistance a celebrated Manchu general. This general some years before had had his fortune told by a lama high priest of Thibet, and it was prophesied then that he would become emperor of China. Being called by the Chinese loyal party, he went to the emperors help, and finding on his arrival that the emperor had fled and that the throne was vacant, he sat down, and proclaimed himself emperor, thereby fulfilling the high priests prophecy. This, says the story, was the origin of the present Manchu dynasty, and the success is of course attributed to the old high priest, who belonged to the G6hik-pa sect. Owing to this, the present dynasty nominated that as the official sect, and in order to retain its prayers in favor of the dynasty, the sect is paid a yearly subsidy by the emperor, and the Manchus believe that, were those prayers to cease, the dynasty would fall and the whole of China be lost to it. rhe Chinese are * Space does not admit of comment here upon Rus- sian proceedings affecting Ogra, the nerve centre of uorthern Buddhism. fully alive to the probability, indeed cer- tainty, that were Europeans to obtain a footing in Thibet, the influence of the lamas (already so much hated by the people) would cease, and as the lamas themselves express it, their cup would be broken. With the collapse of the lamas would vanish the prayers for the dynasty. Thus it is evident how from political an~l religious motives it is entirely in the interest of the emperor of China and of the lamas, more especially of the G~ liik-pa sect, to exert every effort to keep Europeans out of Thibet. So runs the story as believed in Thibet, but there is one drawback, we are told, to its ac- ceptance in fob, and that is, that this story about the Manchu general cannot be reconciled with detailed history. The story, however, is believed in Thibet as it is told here, and the reasoning may be more correct, as to its consequences, than the historical details. Then, again, the Thibetan petty officials would be obstruc- tive as regards the entry of Europeans, fearing the loss of their unlawful exac- tions, to which the people would not submit, once they had been taught inde- pendence and a sense of justice by Euro- peans. The Darjeeling railway, and the inter- course it permits by allowing Thibetans to visit India, is already making a stir in public opinion in Thibet. It is encourag- ing comparisons between British rule, with its justice and freedom from official pilfer- ing and tyranny on the one hand, and the unhappy conditions ruling in Thibet on the other, where the people are looted by both lamas and officials to the last point of endurance. Following the above superstitious be- lief and its consequences, we may as well here mention four prophecies concerning Thibet, current there, and instructive in their way. i. There is a prophecy to the effect that the Thibetan religion will be replaced by another from the east. 2. 1hat after the thirteenth ta-lei-lama there would never be another. The present ta-lei-lama is the thirteenth (others say he is the twelfth), and even at his selection there was a strong party against raising another, protesting against the inutility and waste of money caused by having one. 3. There is a prophecy among the Bud- dhists, extracted from their Scriptures, and much talked about by the Thibetan people, which assigns dates or terms for the duration of sevcral Buddhist sects. THIBET. 35 According to these dates the Buddhist drones, and living by the labor of others. religion itself should pass away about this When we consider that tnese drones are time; and it is also said that it will be not content with necessaries of life only, replaced by a religion coming from the but require luxuries, and have powers south; not east, as in prophecy No. i. which they do not fail to use in their It is true that, as regards numbers and efforts to extort from the people the full wealth, the lamas were never so well off measure of their wants, it is hardly con- as now; but it is equally true that, as far ceivable that such a state of things can be as respect from the people and moral permitted to exist by any people in the strength are concerned, they were never world. Yet on the top of all this we have so badly off. Their rapacity, disgraceful the Chinese and Thibetan officials and misconduct, and immorality have extin- their exactions. guished all respect for the class as a whole, By the peculiar arrangement of the sys- leaving very few exceptions, personally tem of government, the Chinese can at respected. any moment lay all blame on the Thibe. 4. This prophecy is to the effect that tans for any hostile act against Europeans when a certain lakes waterprobably or for any obstruction they may have the Tangri Nor or Nam Tsoruns low thrown in the way of the latter; whilst at and becomes salt, then the lama power the same time the Chinese government will come to an end. This, in the matter may and probably have given the very or- of the water, is said to have already oc- ders which brought about the act of hostil- curred. ity or obstruction. Thus while apologizing Now, individually, perhaps, these proph. at Pekin for some Thibetan obstruction, ecies might be of little value, but taken the very orders for such obstruction prob- collectively, as indicating the presentiment ably emanated from Pekin. As an in- or anticipation of a ~ossib/e change in the stance of this sort of double.dealing, whilst established order of things, they may be Sir Thomas Wade was arranging the taken as the straw to show which way the treaty or convention by certain clauses of wind is blowing. Even on the principle which Europeans were to be allowed to of the wish being father to the thought travel in China, the Chinese government, they are interesting, if not instructive, agreeing to these clauses, at the same Further, the effect they would have on time despatched two special commission- the minds and actions of those interested ers to the Thibetan frontier with express in maintaining the established order of orders to see that the frontiers were extra things is perfectly apparent, and may col- well guarded, especially those adjoining lectively be taken as a factor and added Boutan and Sikhim! Had an attempt to the reasons by which to account for been made to enter Thibet by, let us say the exclusive policy, if we may so call it, for the sake of argument and with all adopted by China in regard to Thibet. respect, a Sir Richard Temple, even he If we consider the tendencies of all would have been turned back, and the Encrlish politicians, of whatever party, to Chinese govern nient, if appealed to, would object to any extension of British influ. have protested its sorrow, and would have ence, and especially to any territorial ag. regretted the obstructiveness of those grandizement, the conclusion is forced barbarian Thibetans. That the above upon us that a disruption of the Chinese orders were sent we have on excellent Empire can only end to the advantage of authority. Russia, and the increase of her resources, The Chinese government can apply a in warlike men particularly. It behoves similar system with almost equal facility us, therefore, to uphold the Chinese sway, to Tonkin, utilizing Black Flags in place especially in Mongolia and Thibet. of Thibetans. But the above is only one The Thibetans, on the other hand, hate instance of the obstructive policy adopted the Chinese officials, and say that the lat. for Thibet by China. Let us give a still ter come to their country beggars and more surprising and instructive one. grow rich at the expense of the country. The Count Sz~ch~nyi arrived in Pekin The people of Thibet are indeed simply with his European companions, and most considered by the official classes as the excellent letters of recommendation to the wealth suppliers of the lamas, and of the Pekin officials. After remaining some Chinese and Thibetan officials. The time in Pekin, in order, we presume, to lamas have been said to form nearly a become personally known to the authori- quarter, if not more, of the entire male ties there, and to acquire their good-will, adult population. This means that a quar. he obtained through his powerful letters ter of what might be bread-winners are of recommendation, and on account of his 36 THIBET. rank, an escort of some forty to fifty sol- himself to believe that the Chinese gov. diers, several mandarins, and every possi- eminent could stoop to such duplicity. ble requisite in the shape of passports He, therefore, determined to go on and and special letters commending him to prove the facts for himself. His troubles, the authorities in the interior. His first as he was warned would prove the case, object, we believe, ~vas to visit the Lup began at Litang. He was proceeding to Nor (lake) between Siberia and the Koko visit the lamassery there, containing some Nor (lake), to the north of the Quen Lung three thousand members, when he was (mountains). He followed up the Yang. met with a shower of stones, carefully tse-kiang to Ssuchuan. Hence he aimed aimed to frighten but not to hurt him, be for Kangsoo (or Kang-sli) and there he it understood. The same thing occurred met Tso Tsong Tong, governor of Kang- again at Bathang. The mandarins at sii, the general who commanded the troops Bathang told him that there were several against the Mahomedans of Kang-s~i. thousand Thibetan troops on the frontier Kang.sii, or Gong-sii is far up in the north expressly to prevent his entry into Thibet. towards Mongolia. From thence he start- Nevertheless the Chinese mandarins ed with his escort and travelled to Sin-in, treated him most hospitably all the time and thence to Koko Nor, of which he made he was with them, in order to make him an exploration; but when he attempted to believe the obstruction was no fault of go further towards the Lup Nor, he was theirs. They assumed the rc$?e of friends for the first time opposed by the Chinese and protectors, saying, how could they be authorities, by whom he was given a guide expected to oppose all those thousands of who had received secret orders to make Thibetan troops, with but a mere handful the party lose themselves in the desert. of opium.eating soldiers. Acting under These orders were carried out, and the their secret instructions, these very offi- party were obliged to return to Sin-in-fu, cials had sent on the orders to have the and there the count was informed that, all troops massed on the frontier. After sev- his papers and passports notwithstanding, eral days wasted in negotiations, the no Chinaman should be allowed to accom- count consented to return out of China pany him, because it was not the official vid the Yunan and Burmah route, but at route, because it is a desert in that direc- the same time he wished to pass along tion, because the Thibetans might do him the banks of the Kin-cha kiang at some some injury, and so on ad infinitum. He four leagues or less from Bathang. The was, however, advised to follow the offi- Kin-cha-kiang is some two days march cial route by Chen-tii (or Cheng-tu), Ta- from the Thibetan frontier, and, therefore, tsien-lu, Litang, Bathang, and so on, and well outside of Thibetan limits, yet the assurances were given him that he would Thibetan soldiery (probably under the meet with no obstacles by that route. authority or with the consent of the Ba. The count, disgusted, returned to Cheng thang officials) had advanced beyond their tu, the capital of Ssu-chuan. There the frontier these two days march, up to the viceroy Ting Kong Pao tried to turn right bank of the Kin-cha-kiang, which him from his project, but not succeeding they guarded. On the count coming into in this, he gave the count an escort of view, they fired towards him across the forty soldiers and four mandarins, but river, some hundred and fifty yards wide. gave orders that the count should be The officials with him said they heard the stopped either at Ta-tsien-lu, Litang, or at balls whistling past them, although the all costs or Bathang, the last frontier count, we understand, does not appear to town. This, indeed, was a secret order have heard them. After this trip he re- that had travelled ahead of the count turned to Bathang, and thence followed a long before from Pekin, and had reached route to Burinah somewhat unknown to long ere this the Chinese commissioners Europeans, save to missionaries. He in Thibet, one of these turning them to was accompanied by an escort, and treated his own profit, as we shall mention later with every outward mark of respect and on. These orders simply cancelled the honor. passports the Pekin officials had felt In this instance we have the case of a obliged to accord to the count, when he gentleman specially recommended to the was in Pekin, to save appearances. At court at Pekin, a person of high rank, Ta-tsien-lu he was well advised as to with practically unlimited means at his these secret orders having been in waiting command and with great determination, some time against his arrival, but we are and yet the above shows how all these not at liberty to mention by whom he was qualifications counted for nothing in as- so advised. The count could not bring sisting him to carry out his real object, THIBET. 37 that of crossing the Thibetan frontier. Cooper, Gill and Mesny have all been treated somewhat similarly, though with less indignity, and the ill-success of these several attempts has only ended in niak- ing the Chinese mandarins more auda- cious in their double dealings, and the Thioetans more audacious in their open resistance and obstruction. As a matter of fact, the Chinese mandarins play ex- ternally the role of friends and protectors, and under this use their authority to or- ganize the Thibetan opposition, which they pretend not to be able to control. This is now their successful and system- atic plan. Naturally never having been punished as they were only obeying or- ders, the Thibetans on the eastern fron- tier will probably carry their resistance further than mere demonstration on some future occasion. Whilst on this subject of the Chinese plan of satisfying aggrieved Europeans and loyally disobedient native officials, we may as well call attention to the fact that the instigator of poor Margarys murder has not been executed, as is supposed in England. In 1882 he was still at large and a rich and powerful leader of maraud- ers, constantly stirring up hatred and ~vzi- mus against the Christians in S~i-lin-hien (Ssu-chuan). The actual murderer has not only not been punished, but has been promoted, and is now, or was in 1882, a mandarin, with the full powers of his of- fice in the Kin-chang district. This is vouched for on the best local authority, all the clauses of the celebrated Margary proclamation notwithstanding. We stated at the commencement of this article that there is probably no country in the world of equal size which contains within itself such real weakness from a political point of view, and which could be so easily made a prey of by a designing neighbor. Having, we trust, prepared the reader in a measure for an acceptance of that statement by giving him an insight into the friction existing betwee nthepeo- pIe on the one hand and the lamas and Chinese and Thibetan officials on the other, owing to the ill-treatment of the people by the officials, and the unmerciful exactions the people are now powerless to resist, let us show how a designing neighbor might set to work with every chance of success. Let us suppose that the ruling power in India desired to an- nex Thibet at some future day, or being at war with China desired to create a di- vision on the Chinese western frontier. This could be done under capable guid ance with no very great difficulty. Apart frotn the above-mentioned friction, there exists a great jealousy between the vari- ous Buddhist sects, and this could be turned to account. The sects once set in action against each other, the people would rise against all the sects, and the next step, that of rising against the Chinese authority, would certainly follow. Whether in the latter case the people would be suc- cessful would probably depend upon the demands made on the Chinese army else- where, or upon the amount of assistance the Thibetans received from abroad. Al- though the Chinese army of occupation does not, it is said, exceed four thousand men in time of peace, and although these being scattered in small detachments over the whole country might be easily massacred to a man by the Thibetans, still, unless China were reduced to a de- gree almost im,~ossible to imagine, it could hardly be expected that the Thibetans would be able to maintain their indepen- dence permanently unless assisted by diplomacy or by force from abroad. As an example let us take the case of the chief of the lamassery at Sa-kia- gung. This lamassery is almost at the Indian frontier, viz., northeast of Nepaul (Nipal). The sect to which this lamassery belongs is one of the oldest and most im- portant, and its chief could be bought over. Take another case. At Tri-chi- lung-bo, on the Sampo, there is a very powerful lamassery, the chief of which is nearly equal to the ta-lei-lama. This lamassery is close to the town of Shi-ga- tze. The chief is believed to be the brother of the ta-lei-lama and could easily become his rival. About the fourteenth or fifteenth century of the Christian era there occurred a division to meet certain rivalries of the time, under two great re- formers. The ta-lei-lama or present head (officially considered so only) received the spirit of Buddha, whereas the Tri-chi- lung-bo-lama received the heart, thus es- tablishing twc Buddhas where formerly there had been only one. This chief of the Tri-chi-lung-bo lamassery is called ~en s/tan fu by the Chinese, and pen kAl;: rhinbo k/ti/by the Thibetans (pen = mas- ter; k/un = knowing; rhinbo= precious; khid= great, i. e., great, precious, know- ing, or learned master.) This chief is of the dominant G& liik-pa sect, but as front time to time other sects have been domi- nant in their day, and still exist, their present chiefs are spiritually independent of the ta-lei-lama and of each other. There are consequently several popes or 38 LAFFAIRE SPINKS. chief lamas, both names being inappro- priately used by Europeans. All this means a fruitful source of jealousies and antagonisms, and were the Chinese power withdrawn from Thibet without being im- mediately replaced by another, it is more than likely that there would be a general rising of sect against sect, of one lamas- sery against another (probably even of the same sect), of the people against the Jamasseries, of civil chiefs against others, and the people taking sides would fight against each other till civil war and anarchy would leave the opening for the designing neighbor to step in and form a new re~i;ne at the most trifling inconven- ience to himself. CHARLES H. LEPPER. From Loogmans Magazine. LAFFAIRE SPINKS. AGAIN I protest that, however much appearances may be against me, it was not really my fault. Besides, the lady was old enough to be responsible for her own actions, and I contend that she should have been as good a judge of propriety as myself. As for Mrs. Grundy and her votaries, I can afford to treat them with the contempt they deserve; but when ones own wife sides with the opposition, and concurs in the vote of censure, it be- comes necessary, however much against the grain, for the accused to deliver a statement of defence. Here, then, is the true story, and I leave it to you to judge whether, and how far, I am to blame. First of all, it was through no fault of mine that my wifes cold obliged me to ap- pear at Mrs. Browns dance in the char- acter of a bachelor. 1 protested vainly against being made to go, but my wife herself insisted that, considering the dearth of gentlemen in our neighborhood, it would be too bad of me to absent my- self on the plea of some one elses cold. Therefore, submitting to destiny, and under protest, I went. Secondly, my introduction to Miss Spinks was an honor utterly unsolicited, the gratuitous act of my hostess, kindly intended, no doubt, as a compliment to us both, Miss Spinks being, like myself, of a literary turn, the authoress of one or two society novels, and of some reams of sentimental verse, as yet unpublished. She was spending a short holiday with her friend Mrs. Brown, studying such as- pects of country life and manners as she could not acquire with equal facility in the reading-room of the British Mu- seum. Her next work was to be a sporting novel, and she was eager for all information on such subjects that I could give her. So much she confided to me in the course of our first set of lancers, and seeing that she was interested in my con- versation, I did perhaps dance with her, and sit in the conservatory with her, rather more frequently than would have been strictly proper had I been a bachelor and she ten years younger. But on this point the husband of my wife and father of my family need not stoop to defend himself. Among much varied information on sporting matters generally, it is by no means improbable that I mentioned that the otter-hounds were to meet next morn- ing at Penton Bridge, and I may even have added that I intended to be there, and that the fixture was for 7.30. At all events, Miss Spinks says that I did so, and I have no reason to doubt the cor- rectness of her statement. But of this I am quite certain, that neither she nor I said a single word about her going to Penton Bridge, nor did I express any opinion on the propriety of ladies indulg- ing in such pastimes. I may have said that certain of the fair sex in our neigh- borhood did attend the meets, and even followed the chase, but whatever inference Miss Spinks may have drawn from my remark, the fact remains that I made no suggestion, and held out no inducement whatever to her personally, to take any part in the sport. This I most emphati- cally declare. Consequently, I do no violence to my conscience by asserting that nothing was farther from my thoughts than a rencon/re with Miss Spinks, when, after three hours sleep, I donned my heaviest boots and oldest clothes, in preparation for a tramp over meadow and plough in pursuit of the anglers bt~te noire. The usual feeling of doing something very meritorious, which attends a feat of early rising, alone caused the elation which buoyed me up to shave with cold water, breakfast off half-cooked viands, and run wildly for half a mile to catch my train, with the certainty of a stitch in the side as a first instalment of the days labors. Reaching the station just as the train was due to start, I of course found the engine still uncoupled, and the driver indulging in playful pleas- antries with a semi-somnolent porter, as if time were of no consequence to the company or its customers. But diving LAFFAIRE SPINKS. into a smoking carriage, I was able to find some comfort, and was again in high good humor when I alighted at Penton Road Station, fifty yards from the ap- pointed rendezvous. Again I solemnly protest that nothing, not even the absence of the ever-punctual master himself, could have caused me greater astonishment than did the pres- ence on the platform of my partner of the previous evening. Any witness of her greeting of myself and of my wonder- struck return of her effusiveness must bear me out in what I say. I know that Mrs. DArcy Domville, a notorious gos- sip and slanderer, who under escort of Captain Heavitree, was nearest to us at the moment, has since characterized me as a consummate actor, but just the least bit too consummate, you know, my dear. But those who know her propensities would hardly take her insinuations against my plain unvarnished tale, and I am con- tent to be judged by an impartial jury, reserving the right to challenge any friend of Mrs Doinvilles whose name may ap- pear on the panel. But to resume. Alighting from a first- class carriage (I was modestly travelling third,) Miss Spinks glanced round, singled me out, and, advancing towards me, held out her hand. In my astonishment, 1 even omitted to raise my hat a fact which I learn has been scored against me by the DArcy Domviile clique, as implying greater intimacy than our very short acquaintance warranted and, be- fore I could utter a word, Miss Spinks was shaking hands with me warmly, look- ing confidingly in my face, and saying in a low tone, I knew you would be here, and wouldnt mind taking charge of me. You talked so cleverly about otter-hunting last night that I could not resist coming, so I have given Mrs. Brown the slip and am trusting entirely to you. Ordinary civility would not allow me to do less than consent. I could not sug- gest that the company of another lady would have been desirable, and reflecting that I was a sober married man, and she certainly not on the skittish side of thirty, 1 resolved to make the best of it. Be- sides, from her costume it was evident that she did not mean to do more than see the meet, and perhaps walk to the bridge to watch the hounds take the water, and then she could quite well return alone, leaving me to join the sport. She wore a fashionably made walking-dress, of some flimsy material, short enough to show a 39 modicum of scarlet stocking and a pair of high-heeled French shoes, slightly out of place even on our highroads, and calcu- lated to stamp their wearer as a lunatic had she intended to venture into the fields in them. I was therefore without misgiv- ings on that score, and indeed my mind was for the moment otherwise occupied. No doubt, as Miss Spinks said, I had talked cleverly of otter-hunting at the dance, and her absolute ignorance of the subject had perhaps tended to magnify my knowledge. But it was nevertheless true that I had never hitherto seen otter- hounds at work, and my wisdom was en- tirely derived from the pages of the Field, and from after-dinner accounts of great runs detailed by our neighboring squires. It was therefore essential that I should keep my eyes and memory on the alert, and should manage to remove my fair companion as much as possible beyond ear-shot of our better-informed neighbors, lest she should ask questions calculated to expose my ignorance. This explana- tion, though humiliating, I feel compelled to make, so as to answer the charges of isolating Miss Spinks and avoiding the rest of the field, which have, I understand, been whispered against me by the DArcy Domville faction. There was a general move to the cross- roads, where stands the Penton Bridge Hotel, a small roadside inn, to which a meet of the otter-hounds brings a welcome flash of custom and notoriety. Here we fell in with the equestrian contingent and a score or so of carriage folk, who had driven over to attend the meet. I could not help noticing one or two curious glances bestowed by my lady friends on my companion as I exchanged greetings with them. Some of those present had seen her at Mrs. Browns dance, and among these Miss Fortescue, a merry, pleasant girl and a noted pedestrian in our small circle, was pleased to rally me on my appearance in the rc~le of squire of dames. I hastened to explain that curios- ity to see the hounds, with a view to her forthcoming novel, was the sole cause of Miss Spinks s presence, hoping that Miss Fortescue would circulate this explana- tion, and withdrew as speedily as possible with my companion to a position of com- parative obscurity. Presently, with a rush and a scramble, the pack issued from an outhouse, in which they had spent an hour in rest and refreshment, and as they plunged pell-mell among the crowd, Miss Spinks gave a lit- tie shriek and clung to my arm. 40 LAFFAIRE SPINKS. Oh, Mr. Hastie! what horrible crea- tures ! Will they bite? I hastened to reassure her, and freeing my arm patted one of the dogs on the head, and induced her to do the same. She put a hand timidly on the animals shaggy ears, instantly withdrawing it again, and exclaiming, What curious dogs! Are otter-hounds always like that? I thought hounds were nice, smooth, brown-and-white things, such as one sees in hunting pictures.~~ You are thinking of fox-hounds, said I. Otter-hounds are naturally rough- coated to protect them from cold in the water. Oh! do they go into the water? Certainly, I replied gravely. That is their business in life2 And where is the otter? she asked~ glancing round her. In the river, I hope, I answered. But dont they bring it in a cart, like the deer at Windsor? I saw Miss Fortescue looking on with twinkling eyes, just near enough to catch the drift of this catechism, and hastened to save myself from further questions by giving a low-voiced lecture on the habitat of the wild otter, so far as my recollections of natural history would help me. Then to my great relief the whips called their pack together and led the way to the bridge. The whole posse followed, we bringing up the rear. Five minutes walk- ing brought us to the spot where the Penn rushes swiftly through a single span of masonry, to widen out again a few yards lower down into a sober, well-conducted trout stream, with pools and stickles suf- ficient to satisfy the keenest angler. The word was given, Up stream, and the red coats of the master and his satel- lites vanished through a gateway on the left-hand side of the road. A moment more, and a series of heavy splashes an- nounced that the pack had taken the water, and a general exodus of pedestrians fol- lowed. I lingered till only the carriage folk remained on the bridge to watch the hounds out of sight. Then turning to Miss Spinks, I said, holding out my hand: You will not have long to wait for a train, and when the hounds disappear you have only a few yards to walk to the sta- tion, so you will excuse my not waiting to escort you. She looked at me with an air of aston- ishment, and replied, 1 thought you were going to follow the hounds. So I am, I answered. But Im going too. You said you would take charge of me. But, Miss Spinks, I remonstrated, you dont intend to go in that dress? You will be wet through in five minutes. Of course I mean to go, she retorted half tearfully. What does my dress matter? But your shoes, I added. They would not last through half a mile of wet grass and ploughed fields. You dont want to take me, she ex- claimed petulantly, and youre making excuses to get rid of me. Well, if youre bent on going, I will not withdraw my promise, I replied, un- willing to have a scene. But remember that I warned you of the inconvenience you might expect. She said no more, but followed me through the gate into a pasture knee-deep in rich grass. The dew had been heavy, and at every step my boots and gaiters brushed a glittering shower of drops from the herbage. The first halfdozen yards must have soaked the scarlet stockings and Parisian shoes, but Miss Spinks made no sign, and plodded resolutely on. The hounds had got a long start, and we had to walk too briskly to allow of conversa- tion, but after crossing a couple of fields we got sight of the sportsmen grouped in the far corner of the meadow, while a chorus of deep notes from the stream be~ tokened the discovery of scent. I dropped into a more leisurely pace, and Miss Spinks, coming up with me, looked up in my face, saying in plaintive accents, Are you very angry with me? Arent you going to talk to me 7 Angry? Not in the least, I replied. Why should I be? I thought perhaps you didnt want my company, she murmured. If you are not afraid to risk a wet skirt or a sprained ankle, I cannot but be pleased to escort you. But my ankles are very strong, said she. Dont you think so They were, unquestionably, but I thought perhaps I had better not say so, so I changed the subject. There must be scent down yonder. You see they are all watching the hounds, and one or two of the pack are giving tongue. Giving tongue! she echoed. What nice sporting expressions you use! You must be quite an authority on sport, arent you? Well, hardly an authority, I replied deprecatingly. But one cannot live in LAFFAIRE SPINKS. 4 the country, as I do, without knowing something of such matters. How I wish I lived in the country! said she with a sigh. Then, perhaps, you would help me with my new novel. I shall be happy to do that if I can be of any use, I replied gallantly. Oh, will you? she cried. Will you help me while I write? and tell me what to say? and let me read what I have writ- ten to you? I thought, perhaps, my wife would hardly approve of my giving unqualified assent to this proposal, so I only said, I am flattered that you should value my opinion, and I will call some day to hear your opening chapters. But I want you really to help me, when I am writing, she said, with a tinge of disappointment in her tone. Well, we will see whether Mrs. Brown can suggest a plan, I replied, and fur. ther debate was postponed by our reach- ing the rest of the party. Once more I caught Miss Fortescues eye, as she glanced with surprise and amusement at my companions dress. Following the direction of her glance, I saw that the flimsy print was hancrin~ in limp, atten- uated folds, mud-stained and clinging closely to the wearers extremities, while the scarlet stockings were reduced to a deep blood-red, toning down to black, where the varnish from the ba/tines had run and soaked into their texture. In short, Miss Spinks was neither a spruce nor an interesting figure, and her costume, compared with Miss Fortescues neat kilted dark-grey skirt, and strong, shapely walking-boots, did not show to advantage. Of this Mrs. DArcy Domville was also clearly cognizant, and I could see the ma- licious delight with which she attracted Captain Heavitrees notice to the con- trast, doubtless considering that she too profited by the presence of such a foil. It was therefore a relief to one at least of the party when the hounds failed to find the otter at home, and the word was given to push forward. What! cried Miss Spinks, are they really going farther? Probably for some hours to come, I replied, perhaps with a hope that she might have had enough and be willing to turn back alone. But no! A moments hesitation was followed by an heroic re- solve to see it out; and Miss Spinks, moving with rather less elasticity than before, was again at my side. Another hundred yards, during which we were steadily falling into the rear, brought us to the first serious obstacle to our prog- ress. It was a stout rail fence, four bars high, but presenting no difficulty to expe- rienced climbers like Miss Fortescue. Miss Spinks approached it slo~vly, watched me ascend and descend, and then solemnly avowed her inability to get over it. Oh, I couldnt! I know I couldnt! I should fall and be killed! I know I should! Oh, Mr. Hastie, what am I to do? Could you get through? I asked. Oh, Ill try. But I never did such a thing before, and I know I cant. I hardly fancied she could, but I little knew what 1 was to expect. Miss Spinks eyed the fence, as if meas- uring the spaces between the bars. Then choosing her spot, she called me to her assistance. I went, not knowing quite how I was to help, and was beyond meas- ure astonished to see her stoop down and thrust her head and shoulders between the bars, apparently ~vith the notion of bringing her body after them, more quad- rupedum. The want of fore-legs seemed, however, to militate against the success of this plan, and again withdrawing her head she stood upright, and exclaimed, I cant do it. I told you I couldnt. And you dont help me a bit. I struggled to begrave, and mildly hint- ed that she would find it easier if she put one foot through first. Do you think so? she cried; and then with a sudden accession of maiden modesty, added, But you must turn and look the other way you really must. I obeyed, and a momentary silence en- sued. Then came a cry. Oh, Mr. Hastie, help! I am caught fast and I cant get out. I turned to behold a moving spectacle. One robust extremity was planted on my side of the fence. The other was waving in the air on the far side, apparently seek- ing a pied ~ terre. The owner lay prone along the second rail, her body firmly wedged between the bars, her hat crushed, her face crimson with exertion. I rushed to the rescue, but my task was not an easy one. To pull her through was impossible. I must, therefore, push her back. The operation ~vas delicate, but it must be per- formed. Hastily glancing round to be sure that there were no spectators, I ap- plied a steady pressure to the helpless fig- ure. It resisted my efforts, and I was compelled to increase the force. Sud- denly the resistance gave way, and with a despairing shriek Miss Spinks rolled over 42 LAFFAIRE SPINKS. a dishevelled mass, into the long grass on the far side of the fence. I clambered over and was at her side before she could rise. She slowly as- sumed a sitting posture, her dilapidated hat tilted jauntily over one eye, her hair loose, her garments dyed with lichen and mould from the rails. I expressed a hope that she was not hurt. Only shaken a little, she replied dole- fully, rising and tottering to the fence. Do you think you will be fit to walk back to the station? I inquired, feeling concerned for her sorry plight. She gave me a look of mingled pathos and reproach. The station! she echoed. How can you be so unkind? You promised to take me, and you have been trying ever since to get rid of me. This was hardly fair, but it was no time to argue. I merely asked, Do you mean to go on, then ? Of course I do, she replied, and if you had let me get over this place at first we should have been with the others by now. Really, Miss Spinks, I remonstrated, I think you were the one to insist that you couldnt get over it. Oh, but I will, she cried petulantly; and then added sweetly, as if to make amends, and youll help me over, wont you? If you ~vish it, I answered. Only show me exactly what to do, and then we shall be all right. Then you must get over first. I did so. And now take both my hands. I obeyed, and she laboriously climbed to the third bar. And now lift me down. It was more than I had bargained for, but it had to be done. I seized her by the wrist ; she threw her arms round my neck, and gave a spasmodic jump to clear the top bar. Preserving my equilibrium by a mighty effort, I staggered back a step, deposited her on her feet, and turned to see Captain Heavitree and Mrs. DArcy Domville, watching the whole proceeding from the gate at the opposite side of the field. How long they had been there 1 knew not, but that they had witnessed the whole of the closing scene was clear from the innocent expression of the ladys face, as she exclaimed, on our approach, How far behind you are, Mr. Hastie! Captain Heavitree and I are resting here before going home, for I find I am not so good at rough walking and climbing as some people. This with a giggle, and a glance at the captain for approval. Haw! hounds gone on dooce of a pace, haw! said he. Wont catch them this side of the cover unless you make more running, haw! and turned to con- tinue his improving conversation. I longed to know how much they had seen of the fence episode, but would not appear curious, so we hastened on as rap- idly as Miss Spinkss clinging skirts would allow. But we could catch neither sight nor sound of the field, and after half a mile of pursuit I saw that there was no hope of overtaking them before they reached the cover aforesaid. This was a well- grown wood, with dense undergrowth, on the side of a steep hill rising abruptly from the waters edge. The only way to get through it was to strike upwards, mak- ing ones own path, towards a gate some- where on the far side, leading into the fields beyond, where the ground again be- came fairly level. Miss S pinks struggled on, despite grow- ing fatigue and the agonies of tight shoes, to the entrance of the wood. There we stopped to listen, but there was not the echo of a voice or the rustle of a leaf to tell of the passage of men or hounds. Miss Spinks was a picture of despair, yet not a hint did she give of willingness to turn back, and my suggestions had hitherto been so coldly received that I was resolved to let her choose her own time for abandoning the chase. Where can they be gone? she cried. Cant you shout to them ? I raised my voice in a wild halloa. The echoes took it up, died away, and there was no response. Is there no place from which we can see farther up the river? she asked. Not until we get through the cover,~~ I replied. How far is that? About a quarter of a mile as the crow flies, I answered; but there is no path, and we must make our own way. She looked a little aghast, and my hopes rose, but only to be dashed again by the lachrymose rejoinder, And this is all you have shown me, after all your talk about the pleasures of otter-h untino I mentally registered a vow that never again would I talk of sport with a woman. Outwardly I assumed my blandest air, saying, It is hardly my fault that you have not seen more, but if you are anxious to try again, I am quite ready to go on. Now youre angry with me again, she whimpered. I cant help not being able LAFFAIRE SPINKS. 43 ~o climb and jump fences. I dare say, if I were that Miss Fortescue, you would not mind having me with you. Confound the woman! what was Miss Fortescue to me, or I to Miss Fortescue, that her name should be dragged into the matter? I felt my temper rising, but con- trolling it as best I could, I said, We are merely losing time here. If we are going on, let us go; if not, let us turn back at once. I dont want to turn back, she re- torted. If you would only be as kind as you were last night, I should like to go on. I opened the gate and led the way through the brambles and underwood. Miss Spinks followed in melancholy silence. Presently the passage on the level became impossible, and I was forced to turn up the steep hillside, trampling down the briars as I went, to ease the way for my companion. A few seconds later I missed the flip-flap of her wet skirts behind me, and turned to investi- gate. She was standing in an attitude of hopeless dejection in my extemporized path, apparently incapable of proceeding. if you really cared to have me with you, you would have offered to help me up here, she gasped. I returned, and holding out the crook of my stick, said quietly, If you will take hold of that, I will do my best. She grasped it, and I proceeded slowly, towing her along, and fervently wishing that the way were less steep or she less heavy. Suddenly the tension relaxed, there was a low wail, the sound of a heavy fall, and Miss Spinks had gone to ground. I was at her side in an instant. What has happened? I cried in alarm. You are not hurt? There was no reply. Miss Spinks sat huddled together in an inelegant mass, rocking herself to and fro, a very nine- teenth-century Niobe, in limpness of drapery and copiousness of tears. I was at my wits end what to do. Consequently I didnothing. This state of things lasted for some minutes, but at length, seeming to get the better of her paroxysm of weeping, she sobbed forth, Oh dearoh dear! I didnt (sob) think you could be so cruel (half-a-dozen sobs). Youve brought me here (sob) and now you wont even speak to me (sob, sob, sob). And now youd better go on and leave me here alone to die! Boo-hoo! boo-boo! This was more than human reason could stand. I took her by the arm, drew her hands from her face, and said in my sternest accents, Listen to me, Miss Spinks. You are making a fool of yourself. Now, either get up at once and cease this nonsense, or I must leave you here to get home as you can. My resolute attitude had an instanta- neous effect. Miss Spinks dried her eyes, rose to her feet, and said humbly, Oh, Mr. Hastie, Im very sorry I was so foolish. I wont cry again, hut I thought, as you wouldnt talk to me, that you were tired of my society, and wished I had never come. I could neither deny nor confess the truth of this surmise, so I held my peace. We resumed our former positions rela- tively to my stick and to one another, and proceeded on our way, I, like Spensers hero, feigning semely merth, and she coy lookes. Miss Spinks grew more cheerful, and ten minutes rough walking brought us to the farther gate. Arrived there, I looked up stream for the sportsmen. There was not a sign of them. Then for the first time I recol- lected that, just above the entrance to the cover, the river branched off at a fork, crossed by a plank bridge; and it flashed upon me that the otter-hunters had taken the farther branch. I suggested this so- lution to my companion, who received it with blank dismay. How are we to get to them? she asked; not back through the wood again, surely? We can go out to the middle of this field, I said, and from there we can see the other branch, and judge whether it is worth our while to try to overtake them. She consented, and we pushed forward. The field sloped more gently than the wood, and left a narrow level space at the edge of the stream, which here swept round the foot of the hill. This level space was railed off, and had a gate at one point, behind which a single plank laid across the river gave access to the tongue of land between the two branches. As we got farther out, and could command a view clear of the wood, the ghnt of a red coat on the far side of the valley proved my theory correct. I pointed this fact out to Miss Spinks, and she owned at last that pursuit was hopeless. At the same time I noticed that, by crossing the stream and going down the right bank on our re- turn journey, we could recross by the bridge at the entrance of the wood, and LAFFAIRE SPINKS. so avoid scrambling through the cover. Run! Run for your life! I yelled, My companion gladly agreed to this plan, suiting my own action to my words and owning that she was tired, and even ex- flinging my coat wildly towards the pur- pressing doubts of her power of reaching suer. The device was a lucky one. He the station on foot. I gallantly offered stopped a moment to trample and toss the my stick, but Miss Spinks, whose temper coat, and allowed me to put a few yards had quite recovered its balance, with a to my credit before he found that he was timid glance and slight hesitation, sug- wasting good energy. Then with a spurt gested, to make up for lost time, he thundered I believe I could get on better, if you after me. Summoning all my memories would not think me very bold, by taking of the science of sprint.racing, I tore your arm. along, head up, chest out, elbows squared. I could not refuse, and in another mo- But my boots were frightfully heavy, my ment was supporting the greater part of wind none of the soundest, and the thud her weight in the descent of the grassy of hoofs grew rapidly more and more dis. slope, an arrangement to which, from the tinct, the snorting of the pursuer sounded complacent expression of her face, she almost at my ear. I threw a wild glance appeared to find no drawbacks. over my shoulder, saw his head lowered, But her happiness was destined to be his horns at full charge, another instant shortlived. A terrific bellow, ~vhich woke and catching my foot in a tuft of grass the echoes of the wood, caused her sud- I fell headlong, and rolled over and over, denly to grip my arm with painful tight- hatless, breathless, almost stunned, as the ness, and me to face about apprehensively, bull, missing me by a miracle, shot past Fifty yards off, at the summit of the hill, my prostrate form and went careering on stood a fine young bull. Miss Spinks ut- to the foot of the hill. tered a shriek of terror. Shriek after shriek rent the air, pro- Oh, save me! save me ! she ejacu. ceeding from the lungs of the terrified lated; we shall be tossed, we shall be Miss Spinks, now safely ensconced be- killed. hind the rails and gate. Unintentionally Be quiet, I shouted sternly, loose she was doing the wisest thing possible. my arm, and keep cool. Half paralyzed The screams attracted the brutes atten- with fright, she obeyed. tion, and, forgetting me, he rushed blindly Now walk as fast as you can towards in her direction, only to find an impassa- the bridge. Dont run, or he will be after ble barrier between himself and his you. I will keep him off as long as I can. wished-for prey. I, meanwhile, scram- When you get near the gate run your bled to my feet, and, taking my opportu- hardest. Now go! nity while his back was turned, made for And leave you? she shrieked, the fence, dragged myself over it, and Leave you to perish? Oh never, never! sank down on the grass beyond in utter You had better be sensible and do as exhaustion. I tell you, I replied briefly. Unless No sooner did the impressionable dam- you wish to perish, as you call it, yourself, sel see me in safety, than, rushing to the you have no time to lose. Now start at spot, she proceeded to overwhelm me with once. Hes coming! her gratitude. The last words, though not strictly true, Oh my preserver! my noble deliv- had the desired effect. She looked unut- erer! my brave, generous, fearless hero! terable things at me and set off at a rapid how can I thank you? What should I hobble for the foot of the hill. I mean- have done without you? etc., etc., etc. while kept my face towards the bull and I do not know what the bull thought of was retreating in good order, slipping off this touching scene. I can only say that, my coat to accelerate my flight in case of in my battered condition, a less vigorous attack. cudgelling with epithets would have been The bull had watched our proceedings more to my taste. But Miss Spinks without moving. Now he gave another would not be checked. She continued to loud roar, charged afew strides, and again wring my hands, and to torture her own halted. I glanced over my shoulder, saw vocabulary, and I felt it a mercy that she that Miss Spinks was making good way, did not think it necessary to faint as a re- and gave her an encouraging shout while lief to her overcharged feelings. Fortu- continuing my own retrograde movement. nately adoration, even at the hands of the The bull taking my shout as a challenge, fair sex, is a luxury apt to pall on both again uttered his war-cry, tossed up his adored and adorer. After a time her head and started in pursuit. transports moderated, and I was able to LAFFAIRE SPINKS. 45 suggest a fresh start. But here a new difficulty presented itself. Miss Spinks declared herself quite too nervous to think of crossing the plank. I allow it did not look inviting. Our bank was about six feet above the stream, the other almost level with the waters edge. The plank therefore sloped pretty sharply from our side. It had no hand. rail, and indeed was only intended to give access to the bulls quarters from a farm- house a couple of hundred yards off, be. yond the stream. Moreover, it was damp, mossy, and therefore slippery, and being about thirty feet long, had an unpleasantly springy motion under foot. However, it was our only exit, so I boldly advanced three or four steps to convince Miss Spinks of its safety. But she would not be comforted. Oh! dear Mr. Hastie, pray dont trust your life to that plank. Youll fall off and be drowned, and then what shall I do? Nonsense, I replied reassuringly. The plank is quite sound. You need only be steady and walk slowly to be per. fectly safe. I cant do it. I wont attempt it, she cried. Then would you prefer to race the bull again? I asked impatiently. Oh, dont tease me. Dont be unkind. Do tell me what to do. Let me help you, said I. Take my hand and step carefully. She took two short steps; the plank vibrated under our combined weight, and loosing her hold she returned to the shore. I darent do it that way, she said. I must go sideways. Whatever way you like, I assented, and giving her my right hand she took it in her right, and we started, inelegantly shuffling, crab-fashion, along the plank. Still we were progressing, and appear- ances did not matter. Half the distance was accomplished, and I was already congratulating myself on the conquest of my final difficulty, when horribile dic/u that accursed bull, balked of his prey, raised his voice in one last prodigious bellow. Miss Spinks gave a heart-rending screech and a violent start, which commu- nicated itself to the arm by which I was supporting her. I felt myself wobbling, swaying, slipping, made a superhuman effort to recover my balance, overdid it. and turned a back somersault into the shining depths beneath. Gasping, blinded, and half choked by my sudden immersion, I rose to the sur- face, felt ground under my feet, and was struggling into an upright position, when lo ! a vision of whirling arms, a sensation of a heavy body rushing through the air, a crash ~vhich showed me countless constel- lations, I was seized firmly by the hair, enveloped in a bewildering cloud of dra- pery, suddenly and violently reimmersed, and Miss Spinks and I were locked in a deadly grapple in the bed of the stream. Luckily the depth was not great, and in a moment or two I regained my footing. Miss Spinks, still clutching my locks, was dragged up with me, and being unable to detach her hold I was forced to carry her ashore. Restored to terra ft rrna, she relaxed her grip, and sinking down on the bank, with a smile of ineffable satisfaction, she mur- mured, Oh, thank Heaven, I have saved you ! You have done what? I cried, mad- dened by the pain in my scalp and the un- necessary extra ducking I bad under- gone. Saved your life, she repeated ecstati- cally. I saw you were drowning, and flew to your rescue. If I had not caught your hair as you sank you would have been oh-h-h ! I could not laugh,or even speak. I merely stared blankly at the dripping naiad, and feebly wondered which of us was insane. She had closed her eyes, and lay smiling sweetly to herself, oblivious of everything but her heroism. The situa- tion was romantic, but not practical; and, much as it grieved me to break the spell, I was forced at last prosaically to suggest that we were catching cold. She languidly opened her eyes, and, again smiling, remarked, Mr. Hastie, Im going to faint, and did so. If at this juncture I was betrayed into an unparliamentary expression, it was surely a case in which Uncle Tobys re- cording angel should spare a tear. I help- lessly felt for the place where my coat pocket, and in it my flask, should have been, but the bull had omitted to return my property, and even for Miss Spinkss sake I was not prepared to encounter him again. I had no burnt feathers, and the cold-water cure in my patients present condition would have been coals to New- castle. There was nothing for it but to carry the senseless form of my companion to the farmhouse, a distance of quite two hundred yards, and there beg assistance. Now, where in a novel or picture the hero bears the inanimate fair one ten- 46 LAFFAIRE SPINKS. deny in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, her golden hair brushing his cheek, he seems to do it with consum- mate ease, and even to find pleasure in the task. But experience tells me that such descriptions are a highly colored fantasy. There are few things less easy of trans- portation than a healthy, vigorous maiden, even when she is a consenting party, and when one is so affected towards her that the merest touch gives a thrill of pleasure to the nerves. But the difficulty is infi- nitely magnified when the maiden is mere dead weight, is on the shady side of thirty, has a tendency to bones, and is habited in dank, clinging raiment which exudes water like a sponge. No matter how I took up Miss Spinks, she sho~ved most embarrass- ing symptoms of folding up. If I clasped her waist her head and hands at once became entangled with her feet. If I passed my arms under her recumbent form her limp extremities caused the weighty body to slip between its supports and she returned to mother earth. Finally a happy solution occurred tome. I hung her head and arms over my left shoulder, embraced her knees, and so, at the risk of asphyxiating her, set off at a double for the farmhouse. But the pace was too good to last. The trot became a walk, the ~valk degenerated into a stagger, and at last, fifty yards from the gate, I had just strength to lay down my burden and subside. At this instant the garden gate opened, and a stout, elderly female appeared on the scene. I shouted. She turned, and took in the purport of my appeal and hastened to the spot. Curiously enough, at this moment Miss Spinks shuddered, opened her eyes, closed them again and exclaimed wild ly, Oh, where am I ? where is he? what has happened? Come, my deary, cried the old lady soothingly. Dontee be frighted. The gentlemans all safe. Miss Spinks took comfort, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. Her new friend took her hand and raised her to her feet, say- ing , Now doee jump up and come along o me. Youll catch your death sitting about in these wet things. Miss Spinks seemed to realize this fact, and, supported on one side by the farmer- ess and on the other by myself, she made a very good essay to walk to the house. On the ~vay I sketched the accident which had led to our present plight, but could not help noticing that my mention of the fainting fit caused the ancient dame to look sceptically at her charge, while a sus- picion of heightened color showed itself in Miss Spinkss cheeks. Arrived at the farm, the good housewife took Miss Spinks at once to the upper regions, and, shortly returning, brought me an outfit of her husbands, and gave me permission to make my toilet by the kitchen fire an offer I gladly accepted. In ten minutes I was rigged out in Farmer Blizards Sunday-best suit of broadcloth, with the waist buttons some- where about my hip-joints, and a waist- coat which would have made me an ulster. Thus attired, I sallied forth, to find that the good soul had already sent a laborer, who was on speaking terms with the bull, to reclaim my coat and hat, and on his re- turn Mrs. Blizard took the former for need- ful repairs, ~vhile I availed myself of my recovered pipe and pouch to woo consola- tion in the form of the nymph Nicotiana. Even a pipe has its limits, and at length courtesy compelled me to knock out the ashes and return indoors to inquire after my companion. Our hostess met me in the porch with a beaming expression of intelligence and maternal interest, which I was at a loss to account for, and, usher- ing me into the best parlor, where a bright fire had been kindled in our honor, closed the door, and left me t~/e4-h~e with Miss Spinks. The ample garments in which she was now attired hung somewhat loosely upon her, and did not improve her appearance; but I felt that my own get-up was unromantic, and forbore to be critical. We partook of Mrs. Blizards sherry and biscuits, and under the genial influences of fire and refreshments I felt impelled to offer slightly equivocal thanks for the good intention with which she had followed me into the river. She modestly accepted my compliments on her presence of mind, adding, I have often wished for the time when I might face danger for the sake of an- other. But I could not have done so for everybody. I feel flattered, then, that you should make an exception in my favor. Ah I that was different, she mur- mured. I owed my life to you already. I3ut even without that I would have done it for you. And why for me more than for oth- ers ? I inquired jestingly. Oh, Mr. Hastie I she went on, ~~ith a curious irrelevance; do not you be- lieve in electric affinities? Have you never met with a kindred spirit, never felt a perfect sympathy which would impel you LAFFAIRE SPINKS. 47 to acts of heroism beyond your own con- trol ? Miss Spinks was growing sentimental, not to say hysterical. I must try a little gentle banter. The kindred spirit would have to be a very potent one to enable me to qualify it with so copious a dose of cold water, I replied. The remark was idiotic, but I hoped it might extinguish her sentimentality. Not so; she ignored it, and continued dream- ily, Mine has been a cruelly unsympa- thetic life. Pining for true appreciation, I have met with nothing but the cold dis- favor of the world. Dear me, Miss Spinks, said I, you look too gloomily on the world and its tastes. Some day you will sing a differ- ent tune when you figure as a successful novelist and poetess. What is success without sympathy? What is poetry without soul? How can the poetess write what the world will read, when her heart is a blank, her feelings a subject for mockery and contempt? But there must be some who can ap- preciate your yearnings, I said sooth- ingly. Some! she cried contemptuously. It is not the appreciation of the common herd that I long for. There must be one one heart to beat in unison with mine, one ear into which I can pour my hopes and my aspirations, one mind that will supply with its abundance what my pov- erty wants, one arm to which I can cling for support when all the world beside neglects me. Talking sentiment in a farmhouse par- lor, in garments the reverse of becoming, and amid circumstances the reverse of romantic, I felt was not my forte. Yet I could not ridicule her evidently earnest longings, even though forced to recognize the fact that she was hardly the being to inspire tender interest. She evidently expected to be cheered, so 1 answered, in my lightest and airiest vein, Do not despair, Miss Spinks. The time will come, and the strong arm and sympathetic heart will doubtless be at your service. Some day, some day, some day, you will find him. I hummed, adapting the song to the cir- cu instances. Some day! she echoed, in a tragic voice, and with a look which reminded me of Du Mauriers intense young ladies. Oh, Mr. Hastie, I have found kim! I HAVE FOUND HIM! This was embarrassing. I had no de- sire to receive Miss Spinkss confidences on such a tender subject, but I could not think of any means of changing the con- versation, and Miss Spinks sat for a mo- ment or two in silent rapture. Then suddenly risino from her chair, she ap- proached me where I stood on the hearth- rug, raised her hands in a supplicating attitude, and was in the act of laying them on the sleeve of Mr. Blizards Sunday coat, when a violent coughing in the pas- sage, followed by prolonged rattling of the latch, caused me to jump backwards into a vacant chair, as our hostess entered, smiling, to announce that our clothes were now quite dry and ready for us. I seized the opportunity of escaping further con- fidences, and, without regardino- a sort of free-masonic glance of intelligence with which Mrs. Blizard honored us both, has- tened from the room. Miss Spinks retired likewise; and before she reappeared, once more habited in the print frock and scarlet continuations, I had bespoken the further favor of the loan of Mr. Blizards market cart to convey us to Penton Road Station. I handed my companion to the front seat beside the driver, jumped up behind, and bidding our hostess a hearty farewell, we set off. The road was rough, the cart- springs stiff, and conversation therefore impossible. Half an hours jolting brouoht us to the station, where luckily a train was on the point of starting, and, ignoring my -third-class ticket, I followed Miss Spinks into a first-class compartment. We had it to ourselves, but with only a few miles to go I had no great fear of any further embarrassing secrets. Miss Spinks sat facing me at the win- dow, and I therefore stared steadily at the landscape. At. last she broke the si- lence. What ~vill Mrs. Brown think has be- come of me? The same thought was passing through my own mind. We shall have no difficulty in explain- ing our absence, I replied, though it would have saved us some ridicule if we could have suppressed the river incident. And say nothing of my saving your life? she cried. I smiled, and she went on. I cannot see why you should make so light of it. I was more grateful when you rescued me. I did not mean to appear ungrateful, Miss Spinks, but 48 NORWAY TO-DAY. Oh, Mr. Hastie, she interrupted, please dont call me Miss Spinks; it sounds so formal and cold after all we have gone through together. Wont you call me Leonora? she added tenderly. Really, Miss Spinks, I replied, em- phasizing the name, I think that would be taking too great a liberty. What would my wife say? Your what g she shrieked. My wife, I answered quietly, not un- derstanding her emotion. She stared stonily at me for a moment. Then recovering her tongue, Your wife! You have a wife? And you never told me of it? and youve al- lowed me to talk as I have to you? to betray my feelings? to oh h hI Her face was crimson, her hands clenched, her eyes darting fury, her atti- tude suggestive of a savage onslaught on my features. What in the world do you mean? I asked wonderstruck. Oh, you wicked man! You abandoned, heartless, deceiving villain! You dare to tell me you are a married man, when you have been paying me attentions all day, encouraging me to tell you my secrets, letting me save your worthless life, carry. ing me about in your arms! Oh, if I had only strangled you when you held me on your shoulder! She paused for breath; I saw my op- portunity and said quietly, You forget that you were unconscious at that period. Unconscious I she cried. I never was unconscious. Then seeing the force of the admission, she gasped, threw her- self back in the seat, and burst into tears. The train was slackening speed ; there was no time to be lost. I laid my hand on her arm and said gravely, Miss Spinks, I regret exceedingly that there should have been any misun- derstanding in this matter. Till this mo- ment I have been utterly unconscious of any such betrayal of your secrets as you speak of, and I am willing now to forget them all, if you will dry your eyes and be sensible. She pocketed her handkerchief and as- sumed an air of lofty dignity. I need no unconsciousness on your part, sir; I regret nothing that I have said; but if any word of mine has sug- gested to your vanity that you are other- wise than perfectly indifferent to me, the mistake is your own.~~ So be it !I replied. The train stopped. We stepped out, Miss Spinks ignoring my extended hand. May I trouble you to call a cab for me? she said coldly. I did so, held the door open for her, gave the driver his instructions, received a grand bow from the lady, returned it with my best air, and saw her start for the Brown abode. Then I walked home. When I arrived, Mrs. DArcy Domville was sitting with my wife. The former lady expressed surprise at my tardy appearance. The latter said nothing. Miss Fortescue and the Hawtry girls got back hours ago, said Mrs. Domville, but they did not know what had become of you. I was not going to tell my story to her, or give her an opportunity of gossiping over it, so I withdrew beyond range of her cross examination by going up-stairs to change. On returning I found my wife alone. She showed no curiosity and gave me no encourage ment, hut I told her all my ad- ventures, only omitting anything that could possibly compromise Miss Spinks. She made no comments whatever. On the following day Mrs. Brown called, in my absence, and was closeted with my wife for some hours. When I came home my wife was in tears, but she vouchsafed no explanation, and refused utterly to discuss the subject of Miss Spi nks. The next afternoon I called and asked to see Mrs. Brown. Not at home, sir, was the maids re- ply. But I saw Mrs. Brown at the window, I exclaimed in astonishment. Please, sir, missus has this moment said shes not at home. Is Miss Spinks in? I asked. Miss Spinks went back to London yesterday, sir, was the reply. I turned away, and from that day to this I have never succeeded in finding Mrs. Brown at home when I have called. Nor have I ever since that memorable day set eyes on Miss Spinks. Was I to blame? BERNARD HASTIE. From The Fortnightly Review. NORWAY TO-DAY. A THOUSAND years ago, every summer brought to our coasts its shiploads of Norwegian tourists. England was to them a l~unting-ground, ~vell stocked with beeves NORWAY TO-DAY. 49 and muttons, rich in high-piled granaries and capacious ale-vats. Now the whirli- gig of time has brought its revenges. The Messrs. Wilsons long ships, bril- liant in barbaric green and scarlet, convey their weekly cohorts of tweed-clad hunters and fishers over the North Sea, as intent on plunder as the most rapacious viking, though less peremptory in their methods of collecting it. The Norwegian of to-day regards the inevitable Anglo-Saxon inva- sion with amused equanimity, and is learn- ing more and more to profit by it. Hotels are rising by every lake and fiord, where the traveller pays as much for wax candles as he would have paid ten years ago for supper, bed, and breakfast at the old skyds-station, which probably stands dirty and deserted alongside of the spick- and-span white-painted modern edifice. To every river its English lessee returns year by year, much more regularly than the salmon he is in search of. Englishmen crowd the steamers, and tax to the utmost the horse-power of the posting-masters. A respectable contingent of Germans, and one or two adventurous Frenchmen, min- gle with the invading stream, but Anglo- Saxons (including Americans) so prepon- derate that the juvenile natives class all foreigners under the generic name of Enge/skrncend. When last I was in Ber- gen the little street boys followed me, begging, half in sport, for one penny, please, just as the Neapolitan urchins mechanically whine, Un soldo, signor. It was the first time I had observed this fatal symptom of cockni~ication - I sighed for the good old unsophisticated Norway of fifteen or twenty years ago. The English tourist is not apt to trouble himself greatly about the polity or politics, the contemporary literature or modern art, of the peoples among whom he so- journs. In Norway especially the lan- guage, though cognate to our own and easily acquired, is held to place a barrier between the stranger and the native which it is not worth while attempting to sur- mount. Historical monuments are few. Even the cathedral of Trondhjem (now being elaborately restored) arouses no as- sociations with familiar names; and the stave-churches of Hitterdal and Borgund are phenomena about as relevant as gla- cier boulders to our general knowledge, whether of history or of architecture. The viking ship dug up some years ago from an old grave-mound, and now preserved in Christiania, is perhaps the object which brings home most forcibly to the casual tourist the idea that Norway does not LiViNG AGE. VOL. 1.11. 2656 exist for picturesqueness alone, but has at least a history. A little farther inquiry would lead him to the discovery that not only has it a history in the past, but a vivid, self-conscious, rapidly progressive national life in the present ; that it stands intellectually, if not materially, in the fore- front of civilization, and that its noun- tains and waterfalls, grouse-moors and salmonrivers, form its smallest claim to a respected place among the nations of Eu rope. Fjelds and fjords are the two ~vords which occur to every schoolboy at the mention of Norway, and it is true that their fjords and fjelds are the great de- termining influences in the life of the Norwegian people. Their country is, in essence, a vast barren plateau from two thousand to four thousand feet in height, broken on the one hand by jagged, fantas- tic peaks, on the other by the narrow fissures, rather than valleys, where men can dwell and win a scant subsistence. Furrowed is the epithet which Bj6rn- son applies to Norway in his great national song, and the habitable tracts are, indeed, mere furrows in the primeval rock. The bottom of each furrow is filled by some fjord, lake, or river, and on the narrow strip of soil between rock and water the peasant clings like the parasite of some shaggy monster, while the fisherman, lim- pet-like, grapples his hut to the naked rock itself. Plains there are scarcely any, and nothing like a rich champaign is to be seen in the whole length of the land. Leaf-trees, with the exception of the birch, are rare even in the south of Norway, and the belt of pines which stretches between the margin of cultivation and the treeless wastes above deepens the gloom of the scenery when the sky is grey, though it adds a peculiar freshness and fragrance to the sunshine. The seaboard, exclusive of fjords and islands, extends to the enor- mous length of 3018 miles. The fjords run into the bowels of the land to the depth in some cases of eighty and even one hundred miles, while rocky islands stud the shore so closely that the coasting steamers from Christiania to the North Cape can perform their ten days voyage almost entirely within the sk~c~rgaard, or rock-bound channels, rarely emerging for a few hours upon some stretch of open sea. In this fjeld-oppressed, fjord-fur- rowed land between the devil and the deep sea, as it weredwells a people which, at the beginning of this century. numbered eight hundred thousand, and at the present moment falls considerably 50 NORWAY TO-DAY. short of two millions. Of these, only about a quarter of a million are gathered in the six towns ~vhich contain more than ten thousand inhabitants. Another quar- ter of a million inhabit the smaller towns and villages, ~vhile the remaining million and a half are scattered over the country in the ratio of about twelve to the square mile. But twelve to the square mile is quite as much as the meagre soil can maintain, and emigration has of late years gone on so largely and steadily that there are now considerable Norwegian colonies both in America and Australia. A coun- try with an area of nearly one hundred and twenty-five thousand square miles, which cannot provide house.room for a population scarcely half that of London, is evidently not, in physical respects, a bountiful motherland. It is by dogged, persistent, indomitable toil and endurance, backed up in some cases by irrepressible daring, that the Norwegian peasants and fisher-folk three-fourths of the popula- tion carry on with any sho~v of success their struggle against iron nature. Man in these regions is like the fly which gave Homer his simile for bravery shaken off here, he settles there, and clings to the very hand that is raised to crush him. One would scarcely look to such a coun- try as this for an efflorescence of imagina- tive literature and art, full of originality and instinct with modernness. The cor- relation between intellectual activity and extent of seaboard might go some way to explain the phenomenon. It does explain, no doubt, the extraordinary richness of the ancient literature of Norway and her off shoot, Iceland; and the philosophical his- torian will one day have to examine into the true relation between the modern poets and the skalds and saga-men of old. For our present purpose, however, such an ancestry is far too long to trace. Her seaboard did not save Norway from some half-dozen centuries of complete intellec- tual torpor. She contributed, indeed, two or three great names to Danish literature, but she cannot claim Holberg for her own any more than Ireland can claim Gold- smith. Norwegian literature is essen- tially a product of the last seventy years, and if, to understand it thoroughly, we must go farther back than 1814, it is to trace the political circumstances which have given it birth, and not to establish any continuous literary tradition. The interest of the spectacle presented by Norway to-day lies in the unity of her national life, the close interdependence of her politics, her literature, and her art. To politics, then, as to the very pulse of the machine, let us turn first, espe- cially as the national self-consciousness has just been stirred and stimulated by a sharp political crisis, healthy in its kind, happy in its outfall. In a country of such stern physical conditions, one is not surprised to find Emersons rather hasty generalization as to snow and civil freedom justified by a sturdy independence in the national char- acter, expressed in a well-developed sys- tem of democratic institutions. This sturdy independence may be said to have belonged to the people of Norway since the earliest recorded times. The kings and kinglings of her ancient history held sway only by the sufferance of the people from whom they sprang. Norway during the Middle Ages has been aptly described as an absolute monarchy resting almost directly on one of the most democratic states of society in Europe; and even during the centuries of Danish rule the system of land-tenure on which this state of society was founded remained practi- cally intact. When the Peace of Kiel, in 1814, trans- formed Norway from an appanage of Den- mark into a province of Sweden, the old national spirit, dormant for four centu- ries, suddenly awoke. Delegates from all parts of the country assembled at Eidsvold, and preparations were made to resist the pretensions of the Swedish king Karl Johan (Bernadotte). With scarcely any bloodshed, however, a peace- able arrangement was arrived at. Karl Johan accepted the constitution of Eids- voId, and Norway was declared a free, independent, and indivisible kingdom, altogether unconnected with Sweden, save in the fad that she accepted the Swedish king as the head of her executive. This arrangement continued to work without any great friction during sixty peaceful and prosperous years. The constitution gave the king a suspensive veto, but pro- vided that a bill passed by three succes- sive triennial Storthings (parliaments) should become law without his consent. Thus Karl Johan himself twice vetoed the bill which abolished hereditary titles of nobility; but it was passed a third time in 1821, and became law in spite of his opposition. In this way practical har- monv was maintained between the es- tates of the realm until, about 1870, the process of political development revealed a flaw in the constitution. It was this: while the ~vhole legislative and financial power vested in the Storthing, the minis- NORWAY TO-DAY. 5 ters had no seats in it, were entirely in. dependent of it, and acknowledged no responsibility save to the king. The diffi- culties of such an arrangement made themselves unmistakably felt as soon as the peasant proprietors, the backbone of the nation, descendants of the old Ilings, * jarls, and freemen of the Heimskringla, came fully to recognize their political power. Opposed to them were the towns- people, the commercial class, the bureau- cracy, with its strong admixture of for. sign elements, dating from the centuries of Danish rule. These were the Con- servatives, who shrank from the logical consequences of 1814, dreaded democracy or, as they chose to call it, peasant gov- ernment, and accordingly rallied round the king and formed a court party. About 1870, then, the awakened democracy, over- whelmingly strong in the Storthing, found itself face to face with a bigoted bureau- cracy, entrenched behind the fatal flaw in the constitution, on that vantage ground of possession which is nine points of the law. What followed is soon told. In 1872, a bill enacting that ministers should sit in the Storthing was passed by eighty votes to twenty-nine, and was vetoed by the king. It was passed again and again by successive Storthings, the last time by ninety-three votes to twenty; but now King Oscar came forward with a declara- tion that on matters afec/ing (lie cons/i- (u/ion his veto was not suspensive, but absolute, and once more vetoed the bill. This measure was meteby the Storthing with a resolution (9th June, i88o) that the act had become law in spite of the veto. The king ignored the resolution, and, by the advice of his ministers, claimed an ab- solute veto, not only on constitutional ques- tions, but on measures of supply. Then the Storthing adopted the last resource provided by the constitution: it im- peached the ministers before the Su- preme Court of the kingdom, a body coin- posed of the Lagthing (an inner committee of the Storthing, fulfilling something like the functions of an upper house) and the * On a recent occasion, when King Oscar was making a journey through Gudbrandsdal, he svas entertained by one of the wealthy peasants of the district. it is said that when the dinner hour arrived a long table svas laid fur the kings suite, while at the upper end of tlte room a smaller table svas prepared with only two covers. The king was conducted by his host to a place at this table, and the Swedish nobleman at the head of his suite was about, as a tuatter of course, to occupy the second seat, whett the tnaster of the house calmly mo- tioned him to a lower place at the feast. No, no, satd the old peasant, seating himself in the vacant place, this table is reserved for those of royal blood!~ judges of the High Court of Justice. Po- litical feeling, not to say rancor, ran in- credibly high, and there was a great final tussle over the constitution of the Su- preme Court; but the Liberals were mas- ters of the situation and carried all before them. One by one the ministers were dismissed from office and fined. The king ostentatiously testified his sympathy ~vith them, and selected a new ministry from the extreme right. They failed to carry on the government of the country, and matters were at a deadlock. It ~vas rumored that the king intended a coup dY/at, which, as it could not possibly have been successful in the long run, would have meant the establishment of a republic by means of a civil war. Wiser counsels fortunately prevailed. A few theoretical politicians apart, the great body of the Liberal party had no desire for a republic, or indeed for any change beyond the renunciation of the absolute veto and the establishment of ministerial responsibility. King Oscar, a humane and well-meaning man, gradually came to see that he was being made the tool of an obstructive minority-, and lie determined to yield gracefully ere it was too late. On the 26th June, 1884, he sent for Johan Sverdrup, the statesman who for a quarter of a century had guided the counsels of the Liberal l)arty with consummate ability and address. Sverdrup consented to form a ministry, and the battle ended in a Lib- eral victory along the whole line. Born in t8t6, and educated for the legal profession, Johan Sverdrup, even in his student days, formed one of the grou pof liberal thinkers who gathered round the poet \Vergeland. He made his start in life as a lawyer in the little coast town of Laurvig, which, in 1851, elected him to the Storthing. From this time forward politics absorbed his energies. He soon succeeded Ueland in the leadership of the opposition, mainly composed, as we have seen, of peasant proprietors. A strong popular orator, as well as a brilliant de- bater, he rapidly educated his party, which at each election returned a larger majority to the Storthing. It is futile to compare him with any of the leading European statesmen of the day, for his activity has been purely domestic, and lie has never had occasion tin) measure swords with thetn ; but his skill as a party leader, and his personal influence over his followers, justify the name which has been given him of the Gladstone of Norway. An earnest student of political science, hte has been actively concerned in every measure 32 NORWAY TO-DAY. of reform of the past five-and-twenty years, constitution of Eidsvold was ratified. and to his politic, resolute, and far-sighted The great poet of the first half of the cen- conduct of the popular cause the compara- tury, Henrik Arnold Wergeland, a lyrist tively speedy and entirely peaceful termi- comparable with Shelley, was an ardent nation of the late crisis may be mainly and powerful politician. It was on politi- attributed. He has now, at the age of cal quite as much as on literary grounds sixty-eight, crowned his life-work by be- that he found himself opposed by Johan ing the first Norwegian minister to ad- Sebastian Welhaven, a Conservative and dress the Storthing as a member of its classicist, a stickler for and a master of own body, and to acknowledge responsi. form and style, to whom Wergelands sen- bility to the representatives of the people. timental Radicalism and copious rhetoric The Sverdrup ministry is now in power, were alike abhorrent. Between Werge- the wheels of State are running steadily lands death in 1845 and the appearance and smoothly, and Norway is likely to re- of Svnn6ve Solbakken and Fru Inger main for an indefinite time to come a con- til Osiraat in IS~7, there was an inter- stitutional monarchy. The bureaucratic regnum, barren save for some of Wel- Conservatism, which had almost brought havens later ~vorks, the romantic pretti- about a revolution and a republic, no nesses of Andreas Munch, and the de- longer rears its diminished head. As lightful folklore collections of Asbj6rnsen time goes on, the dominant Liberalism of and Moe; but in 1857 Bj6rnson and Ibsen to-day will no doubt branch out into an strode simultaneously to the front, to advanced Radicalism and a healthy Con- share between them the kingship of liter- servatism; but the great principle of pop- ature. ular government is safe. It is particularly interesting to trace One remarkable feature of the struggle the parallel careers of these two great thus happily ended is the absolute una- writers, friends in youth, for a time es- nimity with which the intellecttial forces tranged though never at enmity, and now of the country ranged themselves on the working at the maturity of their powers popular side. The Conservatives might in mutual sympathy and good-will. Bj6rn- perhaps have made a stronger fight had son was the first to seize the popular ear they reckoned among their champions a with his novels of peasant life and his ex- single writer or speaker of commanding quisite lyrics. He it was, no doubt, who genius. But though the court party, carried on the work of Wergeland and through the capitalists, ~vas powerful in aroused his countrymen to literary self- the press, it could not even boast a con- consciousness. His brilliant, versatile, troversial journalist of any mark, much and eager genius has passed through a less a literary spokesman of acknowl- strange development. The son of a coun- edged light and leading. Against the im- try clergyman, he spent his boyhood in potent virulence of a handful of nameless passively imbibing that knowledge of editors was pitted the homely polemical nature and life in the upland valleys of vigor of Bj6rnstjerne Bjdrnson in the Norway which was to stand him in such press, as well as his magnificent eloquence good stead at the beginning of his literary on the platform. Henrik Ibsen, most im- career. It was not till he was four-and- personal of artists, sent home to both twenty (in 1856) that he made his first parties the shafts of his satire, but it ~vas timid literary essays in the shape of short not for a moment doubtful where his prac- stories of peasant life. Already in the tical sympathies lay. Alexander Kid- following year, however, he published the land, less prominent in the political sphere work which some people to this day per- than Bjdrnson, was in his way perhaps sist in regarding as his masterpiece. scarcely less potent. The bureaucracy Synn6ve Solbakken (the book takes its writhed under his lash, or, more correctly, name from its heroine) is indeed an ex- shrank from his scalpel. Round the three quisite piece of work, showing th emost leading spirits the lesser men ranged sympathetic insight into peasant character, themselves Lie, Paulsen, Garborg, Jan- together with vivid terseness of style as son. In the literary field the battle was original as it is telling. Norway was not one of strong men against anonymun- slow to recognize this talent born of her cules. own soil, and to lend an ear to such deli Norwegian literature came into being cate interpretation of some of her most when the country awoke to political life, characteristic moods and aspects. Werge- its infant babblings took the form of pa- land and Weihaven were poets who, had triotic Seventeenth May poetry, so they written in a more widely known Ian- called because on that day, in 1814, the guage, might have obtained European NORWAY TO-DAY. 53 fame; but here was a poet for whose pur- poses no other idiom could have sufficed, who gave Norwegian that touch of inev- itableness which entitles a language to stand alone among its fellows, and endows it, so to speak, with full rights of citizen- ship in the republic of letters. Syn- nave was followed by several other tales of peasant life, all showing the same quali- ties, though with a little less simplicity and a little more mannerism. But Bj6rn- son was not to be confined to the narrative form or to prose. His lyrics, many of them of the most penetrating quality, quickly found their way to the lips and the hearts of all his countrymen, and he soon began to turn his attention to the stage. The historical drama first attracted him, and among his earlier attempts the one- act play of Between the Battles stands out as a masterpiece in miniature. It was followed by a masterpiece on a larger, even a grandiose scale, the trilogy of Sigurd Slembe, which contains pas- sages as powerful as anything Ibsen has achieved in the direction of the saga-play. Mary Stuart in Scotland, though not without striking merits, is on the whole a weaker performance. This brings us to about 1865, and to this first decade of his career Bjdrnsons completest artistic successes no doubt belong. The next ten years form a com- paratively inactive period of transition. He seemed groping in vain for a new form. He had outgrown romanticism (which I here oppose not to classicism but to real- ism), and was slowly and almost painfully casting off its trappings. His optimistic and sentimental muscular Christianity gradually gave way with advancing years. The beginnings of the great political struggle in Norway awoke him to a vivid interest in the problems of modern life. Travel and study quickened from without the inward fermentation, and about 1875 we find him making bold strides in the direction of realism in art, while playing a more and more prominent part in the field of practical politics. Henceforth, cry his literary and political opponents in chorus, he is no longer a poet but a pam- phleteer. The truth is that, remaining a poet, he becomes a thinker as well. The ten years which have elapsed since 1875 have been for Bj6rnson years of pro- lific activity. The influence of Ibsen may no doubt be traced in the assiduity with which he has devoted himself to realistic dramas of modern life, but he has not, un- fortunately, the power of welding his idea into his action which Ibsen so strikingly possesses. Other external influences are apparent both in his form and his manner. He had clearly read Madame Bovary before he wrote Magnhild, and since his visit to America in r88i, a study of Darwin, Mill, Spenser, and the modern German physiologists has left its mark upon his work. His later plays are of very unequal merit. A Bankruptcy, and Leonarda have been successful on the stage, but The Editor and The New System are works of greater power. Failures of taste are conspicuous in these productions, and still more in A Gaunt- let(a three-act drama), and The Flags are Flying (a long novel), written during the past two years, while the poet has been resident in Paris. The latter, how. ever, is a work of extraordinary vigor, form- less, and full of crudities, yet brimming with vitality and uncompromising earnest- ness. From Synn~ve to Det Flager is certainly a long days journey. It seems as though the poet had begun with his period of repose to end in storm and stress; but ~vho knows whether this be not the healthier order of development? A more self-sufficing, less expansive genius is that of Henrik Ibsen, a man of sterner stuff. Born in 1828 (four years earlier than Bj~rnson), he began life as a druggists apprentice. He soon decided, how-ever, that the drastic remedies which he was destined to apply to society were to be sought elsewhere than in the phar- macop~ia. Though placed in the pinch of poverty he managed, in 1850, to pub- lish, with the help of a friend, a revolu- tionary drama named Catilina, which fell dead from the press. For the next six years the slow-ripening talent scarcely made itself felt. The first work in which his genius attained anything like maturity was the rather melodramatic tragedy, Fru Inger til Ostraat (1856), a play in ~vhich his iiiventive and constructive skill is already seen at its height. It was quickly followed by The Warriors at Helgeland, a tragedy dealing with the motive of the Vdlsungasaga. In it we already recognize the strong, simple, trans- parent style, quite free from mannerism or affectation, which gives all his work its classic quality. From this point forward, it may be said that his slo~v-moving, sternly self-critical genius, has produced nothing but masterpieces. Not that his works are faultless; on the contrary, they almost all have strange and seemingly un- accountable blemishes but, whatever its faults, each shows a peculiar and individ- ual mastery of invention, thought, and 54 NORWAY TO-DAY. expression. With the exception of some stage, occasions an excitement to which occasional poems and two short prefaces, nothing in our wider and more diffused all his writings are in dramatic form. literary life affords the most distant par- After a third prose tragedy, The Pre- allel. His countrymen admire and fear tenders to the Throne, he abandoned the him in about equal proportions, never field of Norwegian history, and the next knowing which of their national character- period of his career is mainly devoted to istics may next fall a prey to his remorse- satiric dramas in verse. Of these there less sarcasm, or which of their social are three, Loves Comedy, Brand, conventions he may next choose to sub- and Peer Gynt. The first is a satire ject to the test of his corrosive logic. His upon middle-class society, gleaming with fertility of dramatic invention is the least wit in every line, but altogether narr~ver of his gifts in that he is equalled, though in design than its successors. Soon after I think scarcely surpassed, by more than its appearance (in 1862), lie found himself than one modern Frenchman. When his in such hopeless disaccord with his sur- epitaph comes to be written, his true roundings at home that he left Norway greatness may be summed up in one line: for the Continent, and, as he puts it, He was a fearless idealist and a consum- burnt his ships. He has remained ever mate literary artist. since a voluntary exile, making his head- If Bjfirnson represents English thought quarters in Dresden, Munich, and latterly in Norwegian literature, Ibsen, so far as in Rome. It was in Italy that he wrote he has been in any way affected from Brands and Peer Gynt, t~vo fantastic without, may be said to represent Ger- satirical dramas in the richest, supplest many; and when we pass to Alexander lyrical measures. The former, sombre as IKielland, a younger but scarcely less re- the mountain gorge between fjord and markable writer, we find the influence of glacier in which its action passes, contains France preponderant. Kielland was born one act (the fourth) of so intense a pathos in 1849, but it was not until 1879 (in his as to place it among the very greatest thirtieth year) that lie published his first achievements of dramatic poetry. The collection of Novelettes. In these slight latter, a brilliant and scintillating phan- tales many influences were discernible tasniagoria, stands alone in its mordant the influence of Heine, of Hans Andersen, humor and inexhaustible wealth of sug- especially of Daudet; but the style was aestion. Brand, the tragedy of the so limpid, the touch so light and yet so idealist, and Peer Gynt, the tragi-com- graphic, the humor so fresh and unforced, edy of the egoist, wil4 always remain, in that the greatest expectations were formed my estimation, the greatest of the poets as to his future. He has more than jus- achievements. They were followed by a tified them. Unlike his two great con- vast and vivid world-historic ~ramain temporaries, lie has written little for the prose, entitled Emperor and Gahihean,~ stage, but in the five years of his career divided into two plays of five acts each, has produced five social studies of ex- Caesars Apostasy and Eniperor Ju- traordm nary power, and no less extraordi- han. Since its publication, now more nary charm. They are concerned almost than ten years ago, he has devoted himself exclusively with the life of a busy Nor- exclusively to prose dramas of modern wegian seaport, in which it is not difficult life. Of these, the most noteworthy are to recognize Keillands birthplace and the thrilling drawing-room t~-agedy, A home, Stavanger. The first, Garman and Dolls House, with its paradoxical con- \Vorsi~ (the name of a firm), deals with clusion, and the terrible family drama, several phases of commercial and rehi- Ghosts, a sombre study in the dark gious life. TIme second, Arbeidsfolk places of heredity. (workpeople) transports us for the most Living in his Roman seclusion, this part to the capital, and gives a very unin- austere satirist devotes himself entirely viting picture of bureaucratic society. In to his art. Unlike Bj6rnson, he takes no the third, Skipper Wors~, we are back part in practical politics, eschews journal- in Stavanger, at the time, half a century isni, and rarely goes into society. At ago, when the followers of a lay preachier intervals of two or three years he sends named Hans Nilssen Hauge were in the off to the north a packet of beautifully throes of a pietistic reaction against the neat manuscript, legible as an act of Par- latitudinarianism of the State Church, hiament, and then the announcement of a somewhat analogous to our Wesleyan re- new play by Henrik Ibsen throws all vival. This is perhaps the most complete Scandinavia into a ferment of curiosity, work of art Kielland has produced; as a Its appearance, in the press and on the study in the psychology of fanaticism it NORWAY TO-DAY. is most impressive. The fourth, named Gift (Poison) treats of education. It depicts the struggle between a father and mother the former a plausible pharisee, the latter a noble-natured woman for the soul of their son, and ends in the boys moral ruin and his mothers tragic death. The fifth, Fortuna, is a con tin- uation of Gift, dealing with the further fortunes of Professor L6vdahl, Kiellands greatest character, and his son Abraham. It gives a masterly picture of a season of over-speculation, with its attendant crisis, in a small business community. It is one of the few novels on record in which a character, successful in a former work, is further developed with equal success. Kielland, like the dominant French nov- elists of the day, is a pessimist and a real- ist. He is minutely and unflinchingly faithful to fact, yet never overburdens his pictures ~vith the fatiguing and be. wildering details in which the French naturalists love to indulge. Moreover, his formula does not exclude humor very far from itand his style is so clear, concise, and flexible that, for my part, I do not find a dull page in his writ- ings. They can scarcely be called pleas- ant to many of the authors countrymen their matter is full of offenceand still less amusing or exhilarating. Enthrall- ing is perhaps the nearest word. They are books to be read at a single sitting, from which one rises with widened knowl- edge and quickened sympathies, as though from a vivid personal experience. A novelist of less striking but still re- markable talent is Jonas Lie. He began his career with a weird and fascinating tale of life among the Lofoten Islands (his native place) entitled Den Frem- synte (The Wraith.seer), and afterwards set about applying to the sailors and fish- erfolk of the coast the somewhat idyllic method of portraiture which Bj6rnson had applied to the peasants of the interior. Lately, however, he has taken a success- ful plunge into realism with a powerful social study entitled Livslaven (The Convict for Life). Realism, too, is the note of John Paulsens novels, which are even accused of descending to personal portraiture; and in the work of Arne Gar- borg, a young writer of some promise, realism is again predominant. Garborg, like Kristoffer Janson, an older novelist and poet, who is now pastor of a Scandi- navian congregation in America, adopts the artificial idiom, constructed from different peasant dialects, which some en- thusiasts would like to see accepted as the national language of Norway. The dis- tinguished philologist, Ivar Aasen, has published an admirable dictionary and grammar of this dialect of dialects, which is in itself very characteristic and, even beautiful. The ,naalshyevers, as those who use it are called, have survived the satire of Henrik Ibsen, and have now a little literature and several newspapers of their own, as ~vell as a professorship in the Christiania University. In all proba- bil~ty, however, the battle will end in the victory of a slightly Norwegianized form of Danish, the present literary language of the country. The arts of design have accurately kept pace ~vith imaginative literature, though in this sphere, as a matter of course, for- eign influences are more distinctly trace- able. The two great painters whose fame may be called European. Adolf Tidemand, who died in 1876, and Hans Gude, now a professor in Berlin, are being rapidly left behind by a generation devoted to the most modern ideals and methods. The formers sentimental costume pictures of peasant life (not without a touch of tragic force) and the latters heroic idealizations of Norwegian landscape may still be stud- ied with pleasure at the summer palace of Oscarshall and in the Christiania Na- tional Gallery. Tidemands illustrations to Bj6rnsons last peasant tale, The Bridal March, mark the close of a dis- tinct period in Norwegian artthe pic- turesque period, if one may call it so. The poet and the painter in this period alike chose as their subject the ideal countryman and especially the ideal coun- trywoman, with their quaint and parti- colored costumes, their old silver belts, and buckles, and bridal crowns, their em- broidered linen, their elaborately carved coffers, and chairs, and knife-handles, and, in short, all their traditional and pic- turesque properties This ideal peas- ant was not exactly an imaginary person- age, but rather a carefully selected and furbished-up specimen, prepared, as it were, for the Norwegian court in some in- ternational exhibition. Such represen- tations have now had their day both in literature and art. The old silver and other properties have gone to the dealers in Bergen and Christiania; the ideal peas- ant, sad to say, has become a Radical. The younger generation has set itself by modern methods to discover and interpret the beauty and pathos of everyday life and commonplace nature. Realism has in- vaded painting just as it has conquered fiction and the drama. it is invidious to 55 A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF. select names from the long roll of young startling than solid. In mathematics Pro. painters on the acPve list, and in mention- fessor Ole Jakob Broch holds a place of ing Otto Sinding, Christian Krohg, EjI if acknowledged distinction. Petersen, and Fritz Thaulow as among the I feel very strongly that this catalogue most remarkable, I imply no disparage- of names is powerless to carry conviction ment to others whom I have perhaps not on the point I wish to prove, namely, that had the opportunity of studying to equal Norway to-day presents one of the most advantage, remarkable phenomena in the world of A characteristic vein of musical endow- European culture. A German writer could ment runs through the Norwegian nature. make out a better case, so far at least as The folk-songs and national dances of literature is concerned, for he could appeal the peasants are very remarkable. They to excellent translations of all the princi- are the invention, for the most part, of pal works referred to. Only a few have nameless spi/le;nand, handed down from been translated into English, and these not generation to generation of the local fid- very satisfactorily. Our Latinized idiom dlers vithout whom no peasant marriage has not, on the whole, the receptivity and or other merrymaking can possibly be pliancy which render German translations carried on. Halfdan Kierulf and Edvard at once so faithful and so readable, and I Grieg have arranged some interesting col- confess that such English renderings as lections of these quaint and plaintive airs, I have seen of modern Norwegian books and in their own compositions an unmis- seem to me to give but a mediocre reflex takable national strain is always traceable. of the original. Even the prose works of The name of Johan Svenasen is now Bjdrnson and Ibsen appear as in a glass known along with that of Grieg through- darkly when rendered into English ; their out the musical world, but Kierulfs ex- verse is practically untranslatable. Should quisite songs deserve a wider popularity this, then, meet the eye of any of the hun- than they have attained outside of Nor- dreds of Englishmen who return year way; and Nordraak, a composer who un- after year to their happy hunting-grounds fortunately died very young, claims men- in Norway, I would recommend them, if tion by reason of his masterly setting of they wish to get any insight into the in- Bjornsons finest lyrics. The great name tellectual life of the land of their summer in the record of Norwegian music, how- sojourn, not to trust to translations, but ever, is that of Ole Bull, who died in i88o. to take the very small amount of trouble He was in his way a tone-poet of the most necessary for acquiring a fair working original, but remained to the end simply knowledge of Norwegian. They will find an upland s~iZlernand raised to the high- it the key to a very interesting social est power. Both as composer and vir- life and a literature of quite extraordinary tuoso, he was a Norwegian of the Nor- vigor, charm, and open-eyed modernness. wegians, and his name is justly held in Compared with the intellectual output of reverence by the country which his art the great nations, that of Norway is in- may be said to have interpreted to the deed small in amount; but we must esti- whole world. mate it in proportion to the population In non-imaginative literature and sci- and physical resources of the country. It ence the Norwegians are not so distin- is surely no hyperbole to describe as mar- guished as in poetry and the fine arts, vellous the spiritual efilorescence which, though even here their achievements are from the small beginnings of national life sufficiently creditable for so small a corn- in 1814, has produced at the end of two munity. Peter Andreas Munch (died 1863) generations the Norway of to-day. is the author of valuable researches into WILLIAM ARCHER. the national history, and Professor J. E. Sars is a younger historian of ability. Biography is not greatly cultivated, but the Life and Times of Henrik \Verge- From Chambers Journal. land by Hartvig Lassen, is a standard A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF. work of literary history. In zoology Pro- fessor Michael Sars enjoys a European BY MRS. OLIPHANT. reputation. Professor Sofus Bugges re- CHAPTER XXXV. searches in comparative mythology have GAUNT did not appear again at Eaton lately attracted some attention, though Square for two or three days, not, indeed, the theory which finds in the Scandina- till after the great event of Francess his- vian myths mere corruptions of classical tory had taken place the going to court, and Christian legends is perhaps more which had filled her with so many alarms. A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF. 57 After all, when she got there, she was not frightened at all, the sense of humor which was latent in her nature getting the mas- tery at the last moment, and the spectacle, such as it ~vas, taking all her attention from herself. Lady Markhams good taste had selected for Frances as simple a dress as was possible, and her orna- ments were the pearls which her aunt had given her, which she had never been able to look at, save uneasily as spoil. Mrs. Cavendish, however, condescended, which was a wonderful stretch of good nature, to come to Eaton Square to see her dressed, which, as everybody knows, is one of the most agreeable parts of the ceremony. Frances had not a number of young friends to fill the house with a chorus of admiration and criticism; but the Miss Montagues thought it almost a duty to come, and a number of her mothers friends. These ladies filled the drawing-room, and were much more for- midable than even the eyes of Majesty, preoccupied with the sight of many toilets, and probably very tired of them, which would have no more than a passing glance for Frances. The spectators at Eaton Square took her to pieces consc~entiousIy, though they agreed, after each had made her little observation, that the ensemble was perfect, and that the po~ver of milli- nery could no further go. The intelligent reader needs not to be informed that Frances was all white from her feathers to her shoes. Her pretty glow of youth- fulness and expectation made the toilet supportable, nay, pretty, even in the glare of day. Markham, who was not afraid to confront all these fair and critical faces, in his uniform, which misbecame, and did not even fit him, and which made his in- significance still more apparent, walked round and round his little sister with the most perfect satisfaction. Are you sure you know how to manage that train, little Fan? Do you feel quite up to your cur- tesy? he said in a whisper with his chuckle of mirth; but there was a very tender look in the little mans eyes I-fe might wrong others; but to Frances, no- body could be so kind or considerate. Mrs. Cavendish, when she saw him, turned upon her heel and walked off into the back drawing-room, where she stood for some minutes sternly contemplating a picture, and ignoring everybody. Mark- ham did not resent this insult. She cant abide me, Fan, he went on. Poor lady, I dont wonder. I was a little brat when she knew me. As soon as I go away, she will come back. And I am go- ing presently, my dear. I am going to snatch a morsel in the diningroom, to sustain nature. I hope you had your sandwiches, Fan? It will take a great deal of nourishment to keep you up to that curtesy. He patted her softly on her white shoulder, with kindness beam- ing out of his ugly face. I call you a most satisfactory production, my dear. Not a beauty, but better a real nice in- nocent girl. I should like any fellow to show me a nicer, he went on with his short laugh. Though he uttered that chuckle, there was something in it that sho~ved Markhams heart was touched. And this was the man whom even his own mother was afraid to trust a young man with It seemed to Frances that it was impossible such a thing could be true. Mrs. Cavendish, as Markham had pre- dicted, came back as he retired. Her contcmplation of the dress of the d~bze- (ante was very critical. Satin is too heavy for you, she said. I wonder your mother did not see that silk would have been more in keeping; but she al- ways liked to overdo. As for my Lord Markham, I am glad he will have to look after your mother, and not you, Frances; for the very look of a man like that con- taminates a young girl. Dont say to me that he is your brother, for he is not your brother. Considering my age and yours, I surely ought to know best. Turn round a little. There is a perceptible crease across the middle of your shoulder, and I dont quite like the hang of this skirt. But one thing looks very well, and that is your pearls. They have been in the family I cant tell you how long. My grandmother gave them to me. Mamma insisted I should wear them, and nothing else, Aunt Charlotte. Yes, I dare say. You have nothing else good enough to go with them, most likely. And Lady Markham knows a good thing very well, when she sees it. Have you been put through all that you have to do, Frances? Remember to keep your right hand quite free; and take care your train doesnt get in your way. Oh, why is it that your poor father is not here to see you, to go with you! It would be a very different thing then. Nothino would make papa go, Aunt Charlotte. Do you think he would dress himself up like Markham, to be laughed at? I promise you nobody would laugh at my brother, said Mrs. Cavendish. As for Lord Markham But she A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF. bit her lip and forbore. She spoke to none of the other ladies, who swarmed like numerous bees in the room, keeping up a hum in the air. But she made very formal acknowledgments to Lady Mark- ham as she went away. I am much obliged to you for letting me come to see Frances dressed. She look~ very ~vell on the whole, though, perhaps, I should have adopted a different style, had it been in my hands. My dear Charlotte, cried Lady Mark- ham, ignoring this ungracious conclusion, how can you speak of letting you come? You know we are only too glad to see you whenever you will come. And I hope you liked the effect of your beautiful pearls. What a charming present to give the child! I thought it so kind of you. So long as Frances understands that they are family ornaments, said Mrs. Cavendish stiffly, rejecting all acknowl- edg~xie n ts. There was a little murmur and titter when she went away. is it Medusa in person? It is Mrs. Cavendish, the wife of the great Q. C. It is Francess aunt, and she does not like any remark. It is my dear sister-inlaw, said Lady Markham. She does not love me; but she is kind to Frances, which covers a multitude of sins. And very rich, said another lady, which covers a multi- tude more. This put a little bitterness into the conversation to Frances standing there in her fine clothes, and not knowing how to interfere; and it was a relief to her when Markham, though she could not blame the whispering girls who called him a guy, came in shuffling and smiling, with a glance and nod of encouragement to his little sister, to take the mother down- stairs to her carriage. After that, all was a moving phantasmagoria of color and novel life, and nothing clear. And it was not until after this great day that Captain Gaunt appeared again. The ladies received him with reproaches for his absence. I expected to see you yes- terday at least, said Lady Markham. You dont care for fine clothes, as we women do; but five oclock tea, after a drawing-room, is a fine sight. You have no idea how grand we were, and how much you have lost. Captain Gaunt responded with a very grave, indeed melancholy, smile. He was even more dejected than when he made his first appearance. Then his melan- choly had been unalloyed, and not without something of that tragic satisfaction in his own sufferings which the victims of the heart so often enjoy. But now there were complications of some kind, not so easily to be understood. He smiled a very serious, evanescent smile. I shall have to lose still more, he said, for I think I must leave London sooner than I thought. Oh, cried Frances, whom this con- cerned the most; leave London ! You were to stay a month. Yes; but my month seems to have run away before it has begun, he said confusedly. Then, finding Lady Mark- hams eye upon him, he added: I mean, things are very different from what I ex- pected. My father thought I might do myself good by seeing people who might push me, he supposed. I am not good at pushing myself, he said with an abrupt and harsh laugh. I understand that. You are too mod- est. It is a defect, as well as the reverse one of being too bold. And you have not met the people you hoped? It is not exactly that either. My fa- thers old friends have been kind enough but London perhaps is not the place for a poor soldier. He stopped, with again a little quiver of a smile. That is quite true, said Lady Mark- ham gravely. I enter into your feelings. You dont see that the game is worth the candle? I have heard so many people say so even among those who were very well able to push themselves, Captain Gaunt. I have heard them say that any little thing they might have gained was not worth the expenditure and trouble of a season in London besides all the risks. Captain Gaunt listened to this with his discouraged look. He made no reply to Lady Markham, but turned to Frances with a sort of smile. Do you remem- ber, he said, 1 told you toy mother had found a cheap place in Switzerland such as she delights in? I think I shall go and join them there. Oh, I am very sorry, said Frances, with a countenance of unfeigned regret. No doubt Mrs. Gaunt will be glad to have you; but she will be sorry too. Dont you think she would rather you stayed your full time in London, and en- joyed yourself a little? I feel sure she would like that best. But I dont think I am enjoying my- self, he said with the air of a man who would like to be persuaded. He had per- haps been a little piqued by Lady Mark. hams way of taking him at his word. But there must be a great deal to A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF. 59 enjoy, said Frances; every one says so. They think there is no place like London. You cannot have exhausted everything in less than a week, Captain Gaunt. You have not given it a fair trial. Your mother and the general, they would not like you to run away. Run away, no, he said with a little start ; that is what I should not do. But it would be running away, said Frances, with all the zeal of a partisan. You think you are not doing any good, and you forget that they wished you to have a little pleasure too. They think a great deal of London. The general used to talk to me, when I thought I should never see it. He used to tell me to wait till I had seen London; everything was there. And it is not often you have the chance, Captain Gaunt. It may be a long time before you come from India again; and think if you told any one out there you had only been a week in London! He listened to her very devoutly, with an air of giving great weight to those sim- ple arguments. They were more soothing to his pride at least than the way in which her mother took him at his word. Frances speaks, said Lady Markham and while she spoke, the sound of Markhams hansom was heard dashing up to the door Frances speaks as if she were in the interest of all the people who prey upon visitors in London. I think, on the whole, Captain Gaunt, though I regret your going, that my reason is with you rather than with her. And, my dear, if Captain Gaunt thinks this is right, it is not for his friends to persuade him against his better judgment. What is Gaunts better judgment go- ing to do? said Markham. Its always alarming to hear of a mans better judg- rnent. What is it all about? Lady Markham looked up in her sons face with great seriousness and meaning. Captain Gaunt, she said, is talking of leaving London; which, if he finds his stay unprofitable and of little advantage to him, though 1 should regret it very much, I should think him wise to do. Gaunt leaving London? Oh no I He is taking you in. A man who is a ladies man likes to say that to ladies in order to be coaxed to stay. That is at the bottom of it, Ill be bound. And where was our hero going, if he had his way? Frances thought that there were signs in Gaunt of failing temper; so she has- tened to explain. He was going to Switzerland, Markham, to a place Mrs. Gaunt knows of, where she is to be. To Switzerland! Markham cried, the dullest place on the face of the earth. What would you do there, my gal- lant captain? Climb? or listen all day long to those who recount their climbings, or those who plan them all full of in- sane self-complacency, as if there was the highest morality in climbing mountains. Were you going in for the mountains, Fan? Frances was pleading for London a very unusual fancy for her, said Lady Markham. The very young are not afraid of responsibility; but I am, at my age. I could not venture to recommend Captain Gaunt to stay. I only meant I only thought Frances stammered and hung her head a little. Had she been indiscreet? Her abashed look caught young Gaunts eye. Why should she be abashed ? and on his account? It made his heart stir a little, that heart which had been so crushed and broken, and, he thought, pitched away into a corner; but at that moment he found it again stirring quite warm and vigorous in his breast. I always said she was full of sense, said Markham. A little sister is an ad- mira~ble institution. And her wisdom is all the more delightful that she doesnt know what sense it is. lie patted Frances on the shoulder as he spoke. It ~vouldnt do, would it, Fan, to have him run away? If there was any question of that, Gaunt said, with something of a defiant air. And to Switzerland, said Markham with a chuckle. Shall I tell you my ex- periences, Gaunt? I was there for my sins once, with the mother here. Among all her admirable qualities, my mamma has that of demanding few sacrifices in this way, so that a man is bound in honor to make one now and then. Markham, when you are going to say what you know I will disapprove, you always put in a little flattery which silences me. He kissed his hand to her with a short laugh. The place, he said, was in possession of an athletic band, in roaring spirits and tremendous training, men and women all the same. You could scarcely tell the creatures one from anotherall burned red in the faces of them, worn out of all shape and color in the clothes of them. They clamped along the passages in their big boots from two oclock till five every morning. They came back, perspiring, in the afternoon a procession of old clothes, all complacent, as if they 6o WILD-FLOWERS OF OLD LONDON. had done the finest action in the world. Let us go to luncheon, said her And the rest of us surrounded them with mother. I am glad to hear you are a circle of worshippers, till they clamped not really in earnest, Captain Gaunt; for upstairs again, fortunately very early, to of course we should all be very sorry if bed. Then a faint sort of life began for you went away. London is a siren to nous autres. We came out and admired whose wiles we all give in. I am as bad the stars and drank our coffee in peace myself as any one can be. I never make short-lived peace, for, as everybody had any secret of my affection for town; but been up at two in the morning, the poor there are some with whose constitutions beggars naturally wanted to get to bed. it never agrees, who either take it too You are an athletic chap, so you might seriously or with too much passion. We like it, and perhaps attain canonization by old stagers get very moderate and method. going up Mont Blanc. ical in our dissipations, and make a little My mother is not in one of those go a long way. mountain centres, said Gaunt with a But there was a chill at table; and faint smile. Lady Markham was not in her usual Worse and worse, said Markham. force. Sir Thomas said, who came in We went through that experience too. as usual as they were going down-stairs: In the non-climbing places the old ladies Anything the matter? oh, Captain Gaunt have it all their own way. You will dine going away. Dear me, so soon I I am at two, my poor martyr; you will have tea surprised. It takes a great deal of self- at six with cold meat. The tablecloths control to make a young fellow leave town and napkins will last a week. There ~vill at this time of the year. be honey with flies in it on every table. It was only a project, said poor young All about the neighborhood, mild consti- Gaunt. He was pleased to be persuaded tutionals will meet you at every hour in that it was more than could be expected the day. There will be gentle raptures of him. Lady Markham gave Sir Thomas over a new view. Have you seen it, Cap. a look which made that devoted friend un- tam Gaunt? Do come with us to-morrow, comfortable; but he did not know what and let us show it you; quite the finest he had done to deserve it. And so Cap- view of Pilatus, or Monte Rosa, or tam Gaunt made up his mind to stay. the jungfrau, or whatever it may happen to be. And meanwhile we shall all be playing our little game comfortably at home. We will give you a thought now and then. Frances ~vill run to the window From Chambers Journal and say: I thought that was Captain WILD-FLOWERS OF OLD LONDON. Gaunts step; and the mother will ex- THE Great Herball of Gerarde, and plain to Sir Thomas: Such a pity our Parkinsons Theatre of Plants have an poor young friend found that London did interest apart from their quaint descrip- not suit him. - tions. They outline in flowers the envi- Well, Markham I said his mother rons of the London of their times; the with firmness, if Captain Gaunt found fields interspersing and surrounding it; that London did not suit him, I should the rustic lanes traversing some of the think all the more highly of him that he now busiest thoroughfares; and the rough, withdrew in time. solitary ways leading to the scattered vil- Perhaps the note was too forcibly struck. lages around. Gerarde addresses his Gaunt drew himself slightly up. There Dedicatory Epistle to Sir William Cecil, is nothing so very serious in the matter, Knight, Baron of Burghley, from his after all. London may not suit me; but house in Holborn by London a village still I do not suppose it will do me any ancient even in Elizabeths time, extend- harm. ing from Holborn Bridge to the Bar, Frances looked on at this triangular where the stream on whose margins it duel with eyes that acquired gradually rose, and from which it had its name the consciousness and knowledge. She saw Oldborne, a branchlet of the Fleet ere long that there was much more in it sprang up. A region of gardens and pas- than met the eye. At first, her appeal to ture lands all the way from St. Andrews young Gaunt to remain had been made on Church to Chancery Lane; and on the op- the impulse of the moment and without posite side, between the village and Turn- thought. Now she remained silent, only mill Brook, but separated from it by some ~vith a faint gesture of protest when Mark- fields, stood Hatton House and gardens, ham brought in her name. which had been extorted from their owner, WILD-FLOWERS OF OLD LONDON. 6r Bishop Cox, in favor of the lord keeper, Sir Christopher Hatton. In summer time, the air of Holborn must have been redolent of hayfields and flowers. On the slope of the hill, between what is now Ely Place and what was for- merly Fleet River, the neighborhood of the after notorious Field Lane, Gerarde had one of his physic gardens, with more than a thousand specimens of trees and shrubs and flowering plants in it; while roses were so abundant in the gardens of Hatton House that the ill-used bishop had reserved to himself and his successors the right to gather twenty bushels of them yearly. It may be that the originally half-timbered houses, the gabled upper stories of which project over the pavement in front of Staples Inn, made part of the ancient village of Holborn, then, as now, a main thoroughfare to and from the city. It had been paved on both sides of the way in Henry VIII.s time, and lanterns lighted it in winter. Nearly opposite the Bar, Grays Inn Lane with a little water- course on one side led between hedge- rows over Bradford Bridge to Pancras meadows, and farther on to Battle Bridge. West of Holborn stretched the fields about St. Giless, with that most ancient of social institutions, the pound, for straying cattle, at their junction with Tottenham meadows. Beyond were Maribone fields, with a few cowherds cottages scattered through them; in the background, the heights of Hampstead, Highgate, and Hornsey, with lesser slopes rising from Battle Bridge to Islington; and in the valley, the Fleet River ran swiftly on between steep, sometimes clifty banks, from its source in the clay, on the southern side of Hampstead Hill, to its outlet at the foot of Snow Hill, to the Thames.* Whichever way the curious and pain- ful searcher after simples bent his steps, sweet bits of unspoiled nature lay around him. East, west, north, or south, he was still in the neighborhood of woods and fields and hedgerows; fields from the Charter House to Clerkenwell, with Fins- bury and Moorfields stretching beyond the marsh by Ald or Aldersgate to the woods which lost themselves in Epping Forest; over London Bridge from South- wark to Lambeth Palace, Lambeth marshes, without a habitation; and St. Georges Fields and Redriff marshes, a district of solitary farmhouses, cottages, and grazing cattle,all of them happy l)Untina-arounds for the herbalists. But Storer and Cromwells History of Clerkenwell. places nearer home were still so unsophis- ticated that wild-flowers grew in them. We know how unsullied the air must have been in Chancery Lane when Ge- rarde found the earliest blown and most diminutive of our British flora, Draba verna, growing on the bricks of a wall there belonging to the Lord Southampton. But then, the common yellow wallflower sprang up between the tiles of the red, steep-roofed houses, and the accredited habitat of the bright flowering stonecrop (Sedu.n) was the tops of houses almost everywh ere. In Holborn meadows by Grays Inn, Gerarde found the red-flowered clary; and in Grays Inn Lane itself, mallow and shepherds purse, poor mans per- macity; and on the high bank by the footway going down the lane to Bradford Bridge, the bronzed leaves of the wild lettuce spread themselves. We know nothing of Bradford Bridge; but we can tell from the plants found there how tree- shaded and pretty the lower end of Grays Inn Lane must have been, especially on the right-hand side of the bridge, with the watercourse passing along thereby, where the sweet woodrofe nestled, and where the brown blossoms of the woodrush, the blue-flowered bugle, and Pauls betony grew. Behind Grays Inn, in the meadow where Mr. Lambs conduit stood, the one with the figure of a lamb on it, the white saxifrage flourished; and in the next pas- ture to the conduit head behind Grays Inn, the one which bringeth water to Mr. Lambs conduit in Holborne [Mr. Lamb had restored the conduit on Snow Hill], the sad-colored leaves of the winter rocket grew plentifully. The pastures spread- ing from this to Pancras, where the old church stood solitary in the fields, ap- pear to have been, in the language of Parkinson, a bountiful treasury of na- ture. Here grew the great red burnet, a gallant herb of the sun, the roots of which steeped in wine quickened the spirits, refreshed the heart, and yielded a certain grace in the drinking. In the field next the church grew the curious strawberry-headed trefoil, the inflated calyxes of which are so colored as to resemble the fruit from which it has its trivial name. The lesser hawkweed, yar- row, and all the common meadow flowers had their home here. The cuckoo-pint grew under the shady hedges leading to Ken tish-town, a village by London; and in the same neighborhood, the wild angelica spread its umbels of white flowers tinged 62 WILD-FLOWERS OF OLD LONDON. with pink, and the yellow gladwyn flour- ished. On Kentish-town Green a sadly uncared-for waste, ~ve could imagine the melancholy musk thistle, with solitary drooping purple heads and musky odor, grew plentifully, with other species of its tribe; while, by the waysides, the crowfoot grew so commonly, that unless one turned his head into the hedge, he must see it as he walked. Itgives one a vivid notion of the rusticity of the city to read that black cresses grow on all the mud walls about London; that mithridate mustard flour- ished in the High Street, Peckham; and that white dead-nettle known in those days as archangel grew almost every- where by ditch and roadside, except in the middle of the street. Ditches appear to have been frequent in the thoroughfares, a state of things extremely convenient for the herbalist, who found what he calls spotted porcecaria (persicaria) with spikes of pinkish white flowers, and large leaves plashed with purple, growing in the great ditch on the right-hand side of the way be- tween Blackman Street and Newington. Enchanters nightshade grew in a ditch- side against the Earl of Sussexs garden wall, at his house in Barnaby (Bermond- sey Street) by London, as you go from the court which is full of trees unto a farm- house near unto. In this same ditch the water buttercup (Ranuncielus aquatalis) floated its white flowers; and beds of epilobium (willow-herb), and the rigid leaves of the horsetail, covered its banks. This so-called ditch appears to have been the channel of a little brook, which had its source in higher ground at Cam- berwell, and running under the garden wall of Bermondsey House, made its way by what was then Kentish Street (now Kent Street) to St. Thomass Waterings, the Southwark place of execution, at the junction of Kent Street with the Old Kent Road. Here there was a little chapel and holy well, dedicated to St. Thomas, where pilgrims to his shrine were wont to offer prayers for the safety of their journey. The ditch or stream at this point appears to have been interesting from the number of aquatic and other plants which grew there; amongst others fit flo~vers for such precincts wild rue, the dwale or nightshade, and that funeral flower of the old Romans, mallow. In the Lock Fields (a hospital for lepers formerly stood there), on the left hand of the highway as you go from the place of execution unto Dedford by London, the large-flowered white sax- ifrage (a frequent plant in the environs of London in those days) grew plentifully. By Redriff, on the banks of the Thames, Gerarde found snowflakes a near rela- tion of the snowdropblowing; and in summer, in the same vicinity, the flower- ing rush in plenty. Here also the wild angelica flourished; but the whole south- ern side of the river, Southwark Fields, St. Georges Fields, Lambeth marshes, and Battersea meadows these last till quite recent times appears to have been a very paradise of simplers and botanists. The marshes themselves, and the watery ditches that divided them, abounded with moisture-loving plants, and hence old Ge- rardes frequent references to these trans- pontine places as their local habitat. Here in the still ditches on the banks of South- wark towards St. Georges Fields, he found the great horsetail growing, and with it arrowhead and burr reed. In St. Georges Fields, upon the ditchsides, tall cats-tail typha, and the great reed-mace, and yellow water-flags flourished ;and amphibious persicaria, ~vith smooth green spreading leaves and spikes of handsome rose-colored flowers, shared all the plashy places with water buttercup and frogbit. By Thamess side near to Lambeth the pretty water violet abounded. Twenty years after Gerarde noticed it, Johnson in his enlarged edition of the Herball, tells us that of water violets he had not found any such plenty in any one place as in the watery ditches adjoining St~ Georges Fields. Willows grew plentifully in these oozy places and the large-headed cotton grass spread its white flocks over wide spaces of the Surrey marshes. Imagine Thamess side then! A few clumsy barges sluggishly stealing up or down with the tide; a few wherries with a pair of oars or sculls ferrying passen- gers from one stair to another; or gilded and painted pleasure-barges giving life and animation to its surface; and every little point and bend of the shore fringed with osiers, and beds of tall-stemmed ~vil- low-herb flushing wide spaces with its large rose-pink flowers; and yellow lysi- machia, which Gerarde prettily calls tree primrose; and the long purples of com- mon loosestrife; and here and there an outer jungle of tall reeds or gray-plumed sedges, forever rustling to the ebbing or flowing tide. The yellow loosestrife grew not only by the riverside, but in the moist meadows as you go from Lambeth to Bat- tersea; and the purple kind lifted its tall spikes of handsome blossoms under the bishops house-wall at Lambeth near the water of the Thames. Ladies mantle, or parsley piert, grew WILD-FLOWERS OF OLD LONDON. 63 plentifully by the mere-stones byLam- beth which divide the liberties of Lon- don from Surrey. The narrow leaved rocket (rock cress), a kind of cousin to the cresses, was found in the chinks and crev- ices of a stone ~vall as you go from Lam- beth Bridge, and under a small bridge that you must pass over hard by the Thames. it was in a field at Southwark, at the back of the theatre by London the Globe, Shakespeares theatre that Gerarde found, amongst the glazed and golden cups of crowfoot growing there, one with a double flower. We find, from Tans~vells history of Lambeth, that Lambeth marsh was con- sidered, eighty years ago, a rural retreat. Leading from it were pretty walks, with pollard willows on each sidescions probably of those that grew there when Gerarde and Parkinson lived. At Batter- sea, the marshes became meadows, too recently the haunt of modern botanists to be regarded from an antique point of view. We of the present day have no idea of the little streams and rills that ran in and out about Old London and its en- virons, occasioning the frequent use of bridges. Thus, the lesser cats-tail typha grew by the bridge entering into Chelsea Fields as one goeth from St. Jamess to Little Chelsea. This was probably thefield next St Jamess \Vall, where, amongst many other grasses, the little quaking- grass, which in Spain is called arnou- re//es, or the lovely grass, flourished. There also grew that persistent weed clowns woundwort, which set up its square, rough stem with narrow, dark leaves and spikes of purplish red, gaping flowers, speckled with white, in all the fields and pathsides about London. Beyond the abbey, the Westminster side of the river was a mere marshy tract, its margins flowery with waterfiags and other aquatic flora, and guarded as it were by tall typhas and sedges, amongst which the ~vater-soldier, and the great burr and mace reed, predominated. Around -Westminster Abbey, Tothill Fields, notwithstanding that the Lords Gray and Dacre had their mansions in the neighborhood, appear to have been an uncared-for waste, in some places so dry and sandy that the red spurry and the buck-horns plantain grew there in plenty; in others, so wet and marshy, that the red-rattle covered wide spaces with its bright blossoms and chattering seed-vessels; and fleabane, with button- shaped flo~vers of a glistening gold color, and the handsome goats-beard, with grass- like leaves and purple flowers, made it their home. There, standing against the sun, maudlin wort or great moon daisy opened its white-rayed flowers; and the pretty speedwell Pauls betony, and pret- tier eyebright, Miltons euphrasy, found grassy spots in which to grow. There were plashy places also, in which, as lately as Curtiss time, Polygoniurn ;niuus spe- cially survived, and nowhere else around London. Even the Abbey had its flora, not sim- ply the wall-loving whitlow grass, sand- wort, pellitory, and the inevitable wall rue as proper to ancient ecclesiastical edi- fices in our days as the wallflower was in Gerardes, when he tells us it was in the corners of churches everywhere. The latter herbalist has noted that wall penny- wort grew on Westminster Abbey over the door that leadeth from Chaucers tomb to the old palace. A little lower down the Thamess side, right against the queens palace of White- hall, and in many other places, the graceful, trailing moneywort, with smooth, shining leaves, of a tender green, and large yellow flowers, fringed its margin. Here, the handsome flowering rush old Gerardes water gladiole a giant in those days, sent up its submerged, sword-shaped leaves and stately stalks, from one to six feet high, crowned with corymbs of many rose colored flowers. We have the Watergate of York House, the house in ~vhich Sir Francis Bacon was born, still standing at the bottom of Buckingham Street, Strand; but it is pleasant to recall the willows fringing the margin of the river near it, and giving freshness and beauty to it. Very near this site, the sea starwort (Gerardes blue daisy) grew; and hereabouts, near to old Hungerford Market, it continued to open its fair, lilac-rayed flowers with yellow cen- tres, amongst balks of timber imbedded in the ooze, within the memory of the writer. Still later, the arrowhead main- tained its place by Thamess side. But the floating beds of water ranunculus, and leafy rafts of frogbit (Morsus rana), crowded with pellucid flowers, white, and almost as delicate as snow crystals these ceased to beautify the shallow mar- gins of the river about the time when the water violets and the pond lilies (beloved of swans) withdrew themselves to its upper reaches. In the Tower moat, or ditch, as it was called, these Thamess side aquatic plants concentrated themselves. There they might be found, centuries after the Eliza 64 WILD-FLOWERS OF OLD LONDON. bethan herbalists had noticed their exist- ence in it. Although the water in this ditch was said to be the first to freeze in London, the low temperature apparently did not interfere with their thriving. The yellow charlock brightened the wayside going from Houndsd4tch by Bednall Green to Hackney, a village by London. Here between the bushes grew the pretty musk mallow, which towards evening, in hot ~veather, emits a faint, musky odor Gerarde knew it as the vervain mallow. Here also, delighting in shade rather than the sunshine, the avens herb benedicite, as it was sometimes ca~ed, on account of its remedial qualities, flour- ished. Faith in these has by no means died out in rustic places, the miners and colliers in what is known as the Black Country eagerly seeking it to make a kind of ale, which is considered excellent in chest affections, and a great purifier of the blood. On either side of the way, in both the wet and dry meadows, ladies bedstraw, or cheese-rennet, abounded. Both avens and the latter plant had their uses in household economy in those days, the one being used for the dairy service its second name suggests ; and the root of the other being dried and laid in press amongst linen and garments for the sake of its clove-like scent. In those old times, the cattle pasturing in Goodmans and the Spitalfields cropped cowslips with the vernal grasses; and East-end children found the first primroses and violets in the hedges there. The lesser bugloss was growing on all the drie ditch-banks in Pickedille; and the red dead-nettle continued to survive till Curtiss time on a bank on the right side of the way between Pimlico and Chel- sea. Wild roses specially grew on the borders of a pasture as you go from a vil- lage by London called Knightsbridge unto Fulham, a village thereby. In the wet, boggy places in the lane going by Tot- tenham Court towards Hampstead, the rush-grass ripened its brown spikelets of blossoms; and the vervain mallow, with its finely cut leaves and round, rose-col- ored flowers, which groweth not every- where, grew in the ditch on the left hand of the place of execution at Tyburn. But of all these now curious habitats of wild- flowers mentioned by the old herbalists, one of the most curious is that of the com- mon chickweed, which some, observes Gerarde, call ~assamum, because it re- freshes little birds in cages, especially lin nets, when they loathe their meat. The moist kind, he adds, is found commonly growing in the gutters of houses a place suggestive of the habits of our fore- fathers, and the absence of sanitary com- missioners in Old London. HERR J. MENGES describes, in a recent number of Globur, the language of signs em- poyed in trade in Arabia and eastern Africa. This appears to have been invented to enable sellers and buyers to arrange their business undisturbed by the host of loafers who inter- fere in transactions carried on in open markets in Eastern towns, and it enables people to conclude their business without the bystanders knowing the prices wanted or offered. It is especially in use in the Red Sea, and its char- acteristic is that beneath a cloth, or more gen- erally part of the unfolded turban, the hands of the parties meet, and by an arrangement of the fingers the price is understood. If one seizes the outstretched forefinger of the other it means i, to, or too; the two first fingers together mean 2, 20, or 200; the three first, 3, 30, or 300; the four, 4, 40, or 400; the whole hand, ~, ~ or boo; the little finger alone, 6, 6o, 6oo; the third finger alone, 7, 70, 700; the middle finger alone, 8, 8o, Soo; the first finger alone and bent, 9, 90, 9oo, while the thumb signifies woo. If the forefinger of one of the parties be touched in the middle joint with the thumb of the other, it signifies one half, and if the same finger is rubbed with the thumb from the joint to the knuckle it is one quarter more, but if the movement of the thumb be upward to the top instead of down- ~vard to the knuckle it means one quarter less. An eighth more is marked by catching the whole nail of the forefinger with the thumb and finger, while the symbol for an eighth less is catching the flesh above the naili.e., the extreme tip of the finger in the same way. It will thus be seen that, by combinations of the fingers of the seller and buyer, a large range of figures can be represented. It is, of course, understood that the average market value of the article is roughly known and that there can be no confusion between, for example, i, io, too, and tooo. This language of symbols is in universal use amongst European, Indian, Arab, and Persian traders on the Red Sea coasts, as well as among tribes coming from the interior, such as Abyssinians, Gallas, So- malis, Bedouins, etc. It is acquired very rap- idly, and is more speedy than verbal bargain- ing; but its main advantages are secrecy and that it protects the parties from the interrup- tion of meddlesome bystanders, who in the East are always ready to give their advice.

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fifth Series, No, 2155. October 10, 1885. From Begininng, Volume LII. & Vol. CLXVII. CONTENT S. I. THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. By Emile de Laveleye, IL FORTUNES WHEEL. Part XII., III. LORD HOUGHTON IV. A SCOTTISH DAME ON HER TRAVELS, 1756, V. RURAL ROADS VI. CHANCE CONTINENTAL ACQUAINTANCES, VII. A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF By Mrs. Oliphant. Part XXXVI., VIII. DEAN CHURCH ON THE PSALMS, IX. A TRAGIC TALE X. REST OR RECREATION? TILL THE DAY BREAK, PROMISE AND FRUITION, Nineteenth Century, Blackwoods Magazine, For/nightly Review, Blackwoods Magazine, Macmillans Magazine, Blackwoods Magazine, Chambers 7ournah Spectator, Time, Spectator, POETRY. 661 LIFES CHIVALRY, MISCELLANY, 128 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LIT TELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for ayear,freeojjlostage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the moneyshouldbe sent in a registered letter. All ostmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks sod money-orders should ~e made pay able to the order of LITTELL & Go. Single Numbers of THE LivinG AGE, i8 cents. 67 79 90 96 101 III 120 124 126 127 66 66 TILL THE DAY BREAK, ETC. TILL THE DAY BREAK. LIGHT of the early dawn! Sweet light, but dim: When, oer the hills, wheels up The suns broad rim, Through twilight mists that hide The glory of his pride, We strive the coming majesty to trace, And see, or think we see, What the orb itself must be When the clouds are torn asunder, And with glad surprise and wonder We look upon the brightness of his face. So, in the days gone by, Prophet and sage Watched from the misty heights From age to age, And, through the breaking night, Beheld the far-off light Glimmer and glance among the peaks of time, Thanking the hand that flung Their shadowy paths among Such fair forerunners of the light sublime. They, ere the morning hour, Each in his place, High on his lofty tower, With earnest face, Expectant stood to view The star-fires in the blue Fade in the coming of a grander light, Until the herald star Shone in the east afar, And the day rose with beams supremely bright. 0 watchmen! faithful all, Good watch ye kept, While in their sloth and sin, The nations slept, Scarce roused when, clear and shrill, Pealed from the lonely hill, Down through the dark, the solemn warning voice, Calling to vigil those In indolent repose, With a great shout that said, Awake! re- joice ! And farther to the west, In night more deep, A few great souls arose And climbed the steep; And though their aged eyes, Sweeping the silent skies, Saw not the sunrise flush, to them denied, Pity and Love decree That one day they should see The light for which they sought, and, groping, died. From grand but fruitless thought And pure designs, Dimly conceived beneath The Argive pines, Great Platos eyes, that saw The shadow of the law, And trusted in the God he could not know, Ere now have seen his face, And felt the pardoning grace More rich than all the wisdom prized below. And we, upon whose path And journey here So broad a ray descends, May cease to fear. The distant heights, that lay Once veiled in vapors grey, Have caught the morning light that never fades; We see and know the road To heavens serene abode, And far behind us flee the twilight shades. Sunday Magazine. HORAcE G. GROSER. PROMISE AND FRUITION. Nevertheless ~ AFTER the sweetness is rifled and robbed, After the bee has been there with its sting, After the tempest has scattered the bloom, After has vanished the splendor of spring; After the formings and shapings so small, After the tasteless and after the sour, After the sunshine and after the fall, Then do we see the kind ways of his power. Pink blossoms have changed to clusters of gold, And beauty of sight into beautiful food, The tasteless and sour into sweetness untold: All changes and chances have issue in good. Would, Lord, that ever we thought of thy wi2, Left changes and chances wholly to thee, Would that in trust we could live and be still, And say through all seasons, Gods har. vests shall be I Sunday Magazine. A. N. LIFES CHIVALRY. WHERE, in the busy citys care and strife, Its thirst for riches, and its toil for bread, Is found that soul of chivalry in life, Which some are mourning for as truly dead? Shall we seek for it in the forest glade; In hoary dim cathedral, gray with age? In chancel where the mail~d knights are laid With rusted lance, no further war to wage: In mouldring castle, or in ivied tower, Where pomp and pageantry were wont to be? Ah, no! But yet the ancient spirits power Is with us, and its form, if we would see: To labor cheerfully from hour to hour, To do good graciously, is chivalry. Chambers Journal. ARTHUR L. SALMON. THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. 67 From The Nineteenth Century. THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. BY EMILE DE LAVELEYE. ALL observers of late years have been struck by the rapid progress of democracy, and this has never been more apparent than at the present date, or more rapid than, recently, in England. Already, in 1821, Mr. Roger Rollard quoted the min- ister De Serres famous saying, La d~mo- cratie coule ~t pleins bords; and he added Others may regret and complain at this; but I render thanks to Heaven for thus per- mitting a larger number of mankind to partake of the advantages of civilization. This state of things must be accepted; the only other alternative would be to destroy, impoverish, and stunt the intellect of the middle classes. Democracy is everywherein our industries, our property, our laws, our memories, in men as in things; all will admit that this fact is absolutely undeniable, and that our politics should bend to it. In the introduction to his work on Amer- ican democracy, Tocqueville expresses this truth in even stronger terms. He says The gradual development of equality of con- ditions is then a providential fact; it is uni- versal, lasting, and daily escapes further from human power, while both events and men combine to assist and advance its develop- ment. Is it likely that, after having destroyed feudality and abolished monarchies, democracy will be scared by the rich and middle classes? Is it likely to stop, now that it has become so strong and that its adversaries are so weak? These truths, thus summed up by Tocqueville half a century ago, are far more evident at the present day than they then were. But it must not be forgotten that the word democracy may be un- derstood in two different senses. It may be understood to mean, in conformity with its etymology, government by the people; or it may be understood to signify, as in the passage just quoted from Tocqueville, equality of conditions. The present ap- parently irresistible movement is One tending to equalize conditions; and it is destined to continue, because it is the result of economic influences, such as the employment of machinery which dimin- ishes prices and places a larger number of commodities within the reach of all, the division of inheritance, and the greater diffusion of education by schools and the press; but the definite triumph of de- mocracy, in the sense of government by the people, appears to be far less assured. Many well-meaning persons fear that the attempt to establish greater equality of conditions may bring about a strife be. tween classes, in which free institutions will be destroyed: and that thus anarchy would lead to despotism. There would be then democracy in mens conditions and an autocratic government, a C~sarian democracy, a collection of enslaved indi- viduals, all owning equal possessions, but living beneath the tyranny of an all-power. ful master. Happily this future is y~t very far dis- tantat all events for most nations ; and in the mean time it is well to try to ascer- tain what democratic institutions are the best suited to a peoples government, so as to guarantee both order and liberty, and to avoid any recourse to that odious and shameful expedient of seeking safety and quiet in despotism. Switzerland has ad- vanced further in this direction, has made bolder experiments, and offers, I think, a wider field of instruction than any other nation. In this particular she acts as a forerunner, for the democratic r~gime has nowhere else (not even in the United States or in Norway) been applied more logically, and consequently more radically, than here. At the present time, not only the important affairs of the cantons, but frequently also those of the entire Con- federation, are decided by the popular vote. This is called the referendum, a wo~d borrowed from the ancient federal organization, when the delegates could only vote or bind themselves at the Diet ad referendumthat is to say, they were\ obliged to refer their decisions to the can- tonal councils of which they were the rep- resentatives. The referendum or, in other words, the ratification or refusal of laws by the people is in some cantons facultative and in others obligatory. It is obligatory when all the laws passed by the representative assembly must be sub- 68 THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. mitted, once or twice a year, to the popu- lar vote, and facultative when this vote only takes place on a request signed by a given number of electors, as is the case for the federal referendum. The 89th article of the Constitution of 1878 is as fol- lows Federal laws to be submitted, to be accepted or refused by the people, if this be demanded by 30,000 active citizens, or by eight cantons; the same~ to be the case with federal general orders which are not urgent in character. All the cantons of Switzerland, with the exception of Freiburg, have now intro- duced the referendum into their constitu- tions more or less completely. It will be interesting to examine in what manner this direct government by the people, and this pure democracy, has gradually be- come established in the whole of Switz- erland. In the forest cantons, the democratic regirne of ancient Germania which Taci- tus defined in these words, De minori- bus principes consultant, de majoribus omnes (The chiefs deliberate on matters of small importance, the whole of the people on others), has been maintained, almost uninterruptedly, from the com- mencement of history to the present day. In the cantons of Un, the two Unterwal- dens, the two Appenzells, in Glans, and, until within a few years, in Zug and in Schwitz, all the inhabitants who were of age met together, twice a year, in the gen- eral assembly called Landsgerneinde, and held in a meadow; here they passed the laws, elected functionaries, and discusseck matters of general interest. It is, as in the Greek republics, the direct govern- ment of the people by the people them- selves without the intervention of a repre- sentative council. This rigirne was also in force among Germanic nations, even after the invasions of the fourth century, when the assemblies of the fields of May were regularly held. If primitive democratic institutions have thus been preserved in the very heart of Switzerland, it is not, as is often where feudality, and later on, after the sixteenth century, centralization organized by royalty with the aid of a permanent army. With the difference of a few details the customs described by Tacitus have been maintained almost intact. Ut tur- b~ placuit, considunt armati, he writes; and even now in Appenzell, when the citi- zens go to attend the Landsgemeinde, they frequently arm themselves with some old sword or rapier. Until the end of the last century some small villages and certain districts constituted independent repub- lics, where the government was carried on directly by the people assembled in Landsgemeinde. This was the case at Gersau, Kussnacht, on the banks of the Lake of Lucerne; at Einsiedlen and La Marche, on the Lake of Zurich; at Sar- gans, Gaster, Utznach, and Toggenburg, in the present canton of St. Gall. Tog- genburg was a large district, where ten thousand six hundred citizens had the right to take part in the popular assembly. In the other cantons, and in the towns where a more or less aristocratic or pa- trician regirne had become developed, historians tell us that in important circum- stances the authorities submitted certain measures to the vote of all the citizens; for instance, in 1449, when the town of Berne could not afford to return the sums of money borrowed from Basle and Stras- burg, the people were consulted, and con- sented to a special tax being levied to meet the engagement. This was repeated several times; and even one hundred and eighty-eight years after, in i6io, the peo- ple were again had recourse to on the same subject. At the time of the Reformation the question as to whether or not the form of worship should be changed was decided by universal suffrage. In the canton of Valais the delegates of the twelve dis- tricts of the country, called dixains or zehnen, were obliged to defer the decisions of their assembly to the ratification of the inhabitants of their respective dixains. In the canton of Zurich, between the years 1521 and 1532, the peoples voice was di- said, because mountains are more favor rectly referred to more than once with able to liberty than plains, but because respect to furnishing mercenary troops to they keep off those two great enemies of foreign countries, and also regarding the democracy which have destroyed it else- treaty with France and religious reforms. THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. 69 In 1802 the constitution of the Helvetian republic was subjected to the approval of the whole people; and since that date it has been an established fact that every constitution, whether it be for a canton or for the Confederation, must receive the sanction of the majority of active citizens or electors before its adoption. After the start given to democratic movement in Switzerland, as elsewhere in Europe, by the Revolution of 1830 in France, several cantons modified their constitutions so as to give the people a more direct share in the government. To this intent the vetoi.e., the right of op. posing by vote the putting in practice of any given law or laws voted by the legis. tive council was granted. This ~vas a first step towards the referendum. St. Gall introduced the popular veto in 1831, Basle in 1832, Valais in 1839, and Lucerne in 1841. Valais was the first canton to adopt the referendum, but it was aban- doned for a time in 1848; it was, however, admitted into the Constitution of 1874 for all decisions of the Great Council involv- ing an expenditure of upwards of sixty thousand francs. The canton of Vaud adopted the facultative referendum in 1845, and Berne followed the example in 1846. The French Revolution of 1848, like that of 1830, gave a fresh impetus to the progress of deniocracy in Switzerland. Already, in 1831, very interesting debates had taken place with respect to reforms to be operated in the constitution of St. Gall, and Major Felix Diog of Rappers- wil had proposed to submit all laws to the votes of the people, who, he considered, ought also to have the right of proposing them. In suggesting this, he merely de- duced the logical consequences from a principle henceforth generally admitted, the principle of the sovereignty of the people. His arguments, which paraphrase Rousseaus Contrat Social, were as fol- lows The sovereign must exercise su- preme power: his will must be law. Sov- ereignty cannot institute delegates. Every nation which is content to have sover- eionty exercised by representatives abdi- cates its liberty. If an assembly of depu- ties make the laws, the people are no longer sovereign. We should seek, above all things, to administer justice even more than bring about the general welfare, be- cause the one is much more clearly dis- tinguishable than the other. After 1848 the theory of direct govern- ment was advocated and explained most powerfully by Rittinghausen in Germany, and by Victor Consid& ant in France; but the Conservative element looked upon any such scheme as a mere Utopia, not even worthy of refutation; and even the author- itative democrats, like Louis Blanc, con- sidered it to be a resurrection of the federalism of the Girondins: we will not have, they said, a state of universal Ba- belism, which would surely lead to the triumph of the counter Revolution; the people are far too unenlightened to do without guides. Nevertheless, what was looked upon as a mere chimera in France and in Germany became successively realized in Switzerland in nearly all the cantons. Schwitz and Zug commenced in 1848 by doing away with their Landsgemeinde, and adopting the representative system, at the same time introducing the referendum for all laws, and giving the right to any two thousand electors, at any time, to demand that any revision in the constitution be submitted to the approval of the people. Thurgau adopted the popular veto in 1849, and Schaffhausen in 1852. The same year the canton of Valais introduced the referendum for budget expenditure. Since that date twenty-four cantons and half- cantons that is to say, all, with the sole exception of Freiburg have adopted direct government in a more or less com- plete form. Some have the obligatory referendum for all their laws and general regulations, and, in addition, popular ini- tiative, which means that a certain number of citizens have the right to lay bills before the legislative assembly, which is bound to look into and deliberate upon them. This system is practised in the cantons of Zurich, Basle, and St. Gall. In other cantons the referendum is merely facultative, which means that the people only vote on the decisions of parliamen when this is desired and formally re- quested by a given number of citizens. 70 THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. In other cantons again, as in Valais for instance, the direct intervention of the people is still more restricted. They are only allowed to interfere in financial mat- ters, in the levying of new taxes or to sanction any important expenditure. The purely representative rdgime is then; we see, almost universally abolished now in Switzerland. It was, however, at a certain period, a grand progress, for it was the sole means by which the inhabi- tants of a great nation could themselves intervene in the making of laws by the in- termediary of their representatives. So long as only the direct form of government existed, as at Athens or in Germania, it could only be exercised within the limited circle of the city or the tribe. If several cities united, as in the Ach~ean League, or several tribes joined, as among the Franks, or if a conquering people became masters of a vast extent of territory, then the dis- tance and the difficulty of locomotion pre- vented the citizens attending the general assemblies; these were gradually aban- doned, and the government passed into the hands of the chiefs or the princes. The comparatively modern practice of representative government obviating this difficulty, we see it gaining ground in En- gland first, then in the Cortes of Spain, in the States-General in France, in the Netherlands, and spreading in fact all over Europe. Only the system and the entire obligations and duties of a repre- sentative were then quite otherwise un- derstood than they have been since the American and French Revolutions. At the present day, a member of parliament represents, not merely the electoral dis- trict he sits for, but the whole country; he must not vote in accordance with the opinions of his constituents, but in accord- ance with his own convictions, always keeping in view the general welfare as he understands it. Formerly, the members of the general assemblies were furnished with strictly limited orders: they had to express the wishes of those whom they represented ne varietur, and if any changes were su~ested they were obliged to refer to them, as ambassadors refer to their government at the present time. In the representative system previous to the Revolution, we see then that the opinions of the delegates had nothing to do in the making of the laws, they merely expressed the wishes of their constitu- encies. Now the referendum replaces the direction of the government in the hands of the people, and permits of an entire nation legislatingas did formerly a small number on the public places of an- cient cities, or on the fields of May of the Germanic tribes. The plibiscite, by a vote thrown into the urn at the local polling-booth, has rendered possible a system of government which had become absolutely illusory and impossible when the inhabitants, scattered over a vast ex- tent of country, were obliged all to meet together in a given spot for the purpose of voting. Certain uncompromising partisans of direct government maintain that this can only really exist in its true form when carried on as in the popular assemblies at the Forum, the Agora, or, as at the present day, in the Swiss Landsgemeinde. There, at all events, they say, the electors can listen to the voice of their orators, they can gather information from the argu- ments and discussions which take place, and can be convinced by an appeal to their reason or their patriotism. The vote by referendum that is to say, by a sim- ple paper on which the elector writes yes or no is lacking in the chief ad- vantage of democratic government, de- liberation. Such a vote is too often the result of intrigue and party man~uvres, quite apart from any merit which may be possessed by the measure it is proposed to accept or reject. The Landsge- meinde, said an eminent federal coun- cillor, Mr. Welti, is a true and living form, but the referendum is dead: it is a mere fiction, democracy on paper. In the Landsgemeinde each one feels him- self a citizen, acting in the fulness of his power, but ready to submit if needs be. In the referendum the man is replaced by a bit of paper. It is a government of atoms. My reply to this is that the an- cient orator has given place to the modern press; that the elector learns more re- specting the questions of the day in the newspaper he peruses each evening, and is rendered thus far more capable of form- ing an opinion for himself than he was after listening to a few discourses pro- nounced in the midst of tumult and agita- tion, just before the voting commenced; and that if the preliminary manceuvrings of parties are an evil, certainly the attrac- tions of eloquence are not without peril. Besides, the Landsgemeinde that is to say, the assembling for voting purposes of the entire number of electors in a given spot is no longer possible now, save in remote and primitive cantons, very scantil)- peOl)led, and where all is regulated by old-fashioned customs and laws, and there are but few changes to be made. THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. 7 Rousseau condemns the representative system most absolutely. He asserts that no nation can be free which has not estab- lished self-government on the same foot- ing as the Greek cities of old; but as, at the same time, he admits that such a rigirne would be impracticable nowadays, he comes to the conclusion that true lib- erty is beyond the reach of the modern man. He gives such a clear explanation of the whole root of the matter, that, al- though the passages are so well known, I think I cannot do better than refer to one or two of them Sovereignty being merely ~he exercise of the general will can never become alienated. The sovereign is a collective being, and can only be represented in his own person.* Sovereignty cannot be represented other than in the person of the sovereign, for the same reason that it cannot become alienated. It consists essentially in the general will, and will cannot be represented.t It must be admitted that if, as is daily repeated, especially in England, law ought to be the expression of the peoples will, then Rousseaus argument must hold good~ Every man is his own master. He alone is concerned in his affairs. No one has any right to rule or direct him. He owes obedience to those laws only to which he himself has agreed. But the reply to make to Rousseau is that the basis of his ar- gument is false. Mens acts are not legitimate from the fact of their being vol- untary; they are legitimate in so far only as they are in conformity with right, jus- tice, and the eneral interest of humanity. The object of all government is the wel fare of all. A law is good if it aid the attainment of this object; it is not ren- dered good by any action of the human will. The duty, the interest of each indi- vidual is to seek to discover what regula- tions would the best tend to the general well-being, to proclaim them, and to sub- mit to them. Man does not possess absolute power even over his own person. He owes obe- dience to whatever represents reason and justice. Mirabeau said most admirably, La raison est le souverain du monde, a truth which Guizot reproduced in the following terms: Cest toujours de Ia raison, jamais de Ia volont~, que ddrive le droit au pouvoir (The right to govern is always derived from reason, never from will). Why does a father possess author- ity over his child, and why is it his right * Contrat Social, chap. i. t ibid., chap. iv., p. 4. to command and the childs duty to obey? Because the father has greater experience and more reason, because he knows better what is good for youth, and because it is therefore to the interest of both that he should be obeyed. Why are persons with weak intellects placed under guardian- ship? Because a man has a right to dis- pose of himself and his belongings on condition that he is a reasonable being; when he ceases to be that, in his own interest, as ~vell as that of society, others must control his actions. See what shipwrecked sailors do on a raft. If the captain or an experienced sea- man be amongst their number, they give him the entire command, knowing that able management alone can save them, and they implicitly obey all his orders. Why? Because lie, more than any other, possesses the knowledge necessary to the safety of them all. Government and sov- ereignty ought always to be in the hands of those who have the most reason, and the most light on public matters that is to say, those who are the best able to discover and apply an order of things the best adapted for the welfare of all classes. A political r4ime is good if it place the direction of affairs in the hands of sen- sible persons, capable of well-governing, and wholly devoted to the cause of justice and to the general welfare; but where are such to be found? One is tempted to reply, among well-to-do people who have a certain amount of leisure time at their disposal, or those whose functions neces- sitate a certain degree of instruction and intelligencethat is to say, in the lan- guage of the day, among the censi/aires and ca~acit~zires, or as the ancients would have called them, the aris/ol. But it is certain that the experience of all time teaches us that man is ever tempted to seek his own personal advan- tage even at the expense of others; it follows, then, that if the government be placed entirely in the hands of the edu- cated classes, who can afford to live in ease and comfort, they will exercise their authority for their own, instead of for the general welfare, considering that in so doing they are serving the interests of the State. In all ages and countries the class deprived of rights has always been op- pressed. It is true that the aristocracy of Rome, Venice, and England did much to advance the art of government in their respective countries, and thus insured great power and splendor to the State they directed; but both laws and wars were always so ordered as to increase the riches 72 THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. of the great, without improving the condi- tion of the masses. The people were but the means to attain an end, and this end was other than their own happiness and prosperity. They merely supplied the men necessary for the battlefields, and the revenues to sustain the luxury of the wealthy lords, as also the arms which served to hold themselves in bondage. As the aim of every government should be the general welfare, which is formed by the collection of individual welfares, and as, at the same time, each is better able to judge than his neighbor what is necessary to his own personal happiness and comfort, it appears naturally to follow that all should be asked to select a govern- n-lent which should constantly keep in view the happiness and perfecting of all. Unfortunately, as far as laws and regula. tions of a general category, and apart from individual interests, or at least touching these but indirectly, are concernedthe man of the multitude, who has received but a very elementary education, the workman absorbed in his daily labor, has the greatest difficulty in discerning what measure ~vould be of the greatest utility to himself personally, and to the majority of his countrymen or fellow-citizens; his tastes and passions will, on the contrary, frequently lead him to vote for measures fatal to the nation and hurtful to himself. The organization of a system of polit- ical administration, where order would reign, and which would insure the utmost possible general happiness, seems thus a problem almost impossible to solve. Place the power in the hands of the rich and capable, and they will use it to serve their own personal ends. Distribute it among all, and the lower classes, unable to discern what is the most to their advan- tage, will vote for measures fatal to both the State and to order; anarchy will then ensue, which paves the way to despotism. This is a syllogistic circle from which escape appears difficult. The best alter- native to effect it seems to me to be the following: in the first place to accord the largest possible domain to individual ac- tivity, because, as this activity is stimu- lated by personal interest, it will gener- ally tend towards what is useful to the individual himself, and the total of these individual advantages make up the gen- eral ~velfare; for matters of common in- terest, to reserve the greatest possible number for that circle, where even the least cultivated man can discern the con- nection which exists between a regulation for public order, laws, and administrative decisions, and his own personal interest, and can give his voice accordinglyby this circle I mean the commune; finally, for measures regarding national interest, which, on account of the complications in relations which they imply, are beyond the appreciation of the masses of the popula- tion, defer to delegates who shall be so selected as to possess ample capacity on the subject in debate, and at the same time shall be as much as possible devoted to the welfare of the majority. In Switzerland, democracy has admira- bly realized the first two headings of this programme; and for the third, an attempt has been made to reserve final decisions to the people themselves by means of the referendum. Will this attempt be a suc- cess? It remains to be proved. At all events, let us wish it may be, and this chiefly for two motives. Firstly, because direct government is certainly the best stimulus to culture, and offers an aim to the acquirement of instruction, and useful employment for it when acquired. What population was ever so culttvated as that of Athens ? And, secondly, as the peo- ple naturally pursue their own advantage, if they become sufficiently enlightened to understand the measures which the best contribute to insure it, the general wel- fare will be more effectually and more simply attained than by any other system. But the question is, do the Swiss already possess sufficient enlightenment tQ take upon themselves the direction of the gov- ernment? This question can be exam- ined, firstly theoretically, and secondly experimentally, if we look into the results of the referendum since it has been in force. It will be easily understood that the question of the referendum was very fre- quently under debate in the Swiss parlia- ment, both before, during, and even after, its adoption. Recently, too, it has found two warm partisans in Mr. Theodor Curti, author of Geschichte der Sweizerischen Volksgesetzgebung, and Mr. Numa Droz, one of his countrys most distinguished publicists.* The opponents of the referendum main- tam that there are a great many measures proposed in parliaments on which the pop- ulation generally are wholly incompetent to pronounce a judgment. Under these * For further information consult Die Schweiz- erische Demokraeie, b~ Dr. J. Dubbs; Die Erweit- erung der Volksrechee, by F. Gengel; an article by Mr. Gustaf Kdnig in the revtew Organ des Zofinger- Vereins, April, 1884; and articles by M. Tallichee in the Revue Suisse he so ably edits. THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. 73 circumstances, an appeal to their opinion would imperil interests of the highest order, and, in the first place, those of the people themselves. For instance, an or- ganized system of higher education is an absolute necessity for a modern nation, but as the working classes ~vould not ben. efit by this they would refuse the neces- sary expenditure. And again, civil laws and trading regulations frequently offer such difficulties as to baffle the most able legislative assemblies, who content them- selves with passing measures which must needs be far from perfect. Would it not be simple madness to submit these laws to the approval of the masses? Can one imagine peasants and laborers set- tling a question at a bar, between two glasses of ale, which eminent legists could not agree upon? Conceive a code of law drawn up with thought and care by the most learned lawyers thrown out by a ma- jority of farm laborers. By thus appealing to the people to effect that for which they have no capacity you are simply holding them up to ridi- cule. At the same time, this call on the popular vote breaks the spring of the leg- islative assembly. With a representative system, each deputy feels himself respon- sible for the resolutions which his vote contributes to pass; but when he knows that the final decision rests with the peo- ple he will feel himself of less impor- tance, he will study the bills less and vote more indifferently. Parliament will be- come henceforth a mere preparatory corn- rnittee, a sort of council of State. The partisans of the referendum reply to this that parliament would not be an- nihilated, but would merely cease to be omnipotent ; that in most countries there is a second chamber, and bills have to pass at least two readings; but that it would be an exceedingly difficult matter to constitu-te a second chamber, endowed with requisite vigor and authority, in a country thoroughly democratic; and that therefore the appeal to the people replaces this; that this appeal acts as a sort of council of revision, to refuse or sanction, after a lengthened debate in what may be styled the popular forum, the decisions of the representative assembly. Mill admi- rably and clearly shows forth the dangers which may result from the unchecked omnipotence of a single chamber; the temptation to commit excesses is fre- quently too strong to be resisted, as the example of the Roman emperors and of all other despots proves. With the refer- endum this danger wholly disappears. The referendum possesses the advan- tage of showing decisively and surely where the true majority lies. The minor. itys only alternative is then to submit. Recently in England, in the course of last year, in order to break through the oppo- sition of the House of Lords to the new electoral law, a great number of public meetings were organized on both sides, where the numbers present were counted, so as to prove that the majority of the nation were in favor of the reform. This appeal to the people very nearly resem- bled the Swiss referendum, only it was productive of almost revolutionary agita- tion. In the autumn of last 3-ear, in Bel- gium, the supporters of both parties col- lected together their adherents, and from sixty to a hundred thousand men marched past the kings palace on two different days, each party being anxious to prove that it possessed the majority. If, after all, the majority of popular voices is to hold the reins of government, why not establish at once the system in force in Switzerland? It must be frankly admitted that uni- versal suffrage is too often a mere decoy, and that nations who have adopted it do not contrive to see their wishes fulfilled. The representatives often embark in for- eign expeditions or experiments, increase the army, borrow loans, and levy taxes; the people groan and complain, and no~v and then a revolution ensues. This makes new expenses, but nothing is altered. The house, miscalled representative, does not at all represent the wishes of the electors. The only real method for this to be absolutely fairly manifested is by the referendum. The associations which have been formed in different countries for the rep- resentation of minorities have clearly proved that very frequently the majority in a parliament is elected by a minority of electors, or even of voters, and that, at all events, the minority is as sacrificed as if it had no existence at all. With the refer- endum, on the contrary, it is perfectly certain that the decisions emanate from the majority of voters, and it becomes less important to represent the minority, be- cause, as each law is submitted to fresh voting, the minority of to.day may be the majority of to-morrow. Again, as laws must receive the peoples sanction, parliament will not vote them unless they are really necessary to the public welfare. Bills would be no longer carried by assault, as it were, by the per- suasion of an eloquent popular orator, or 74 THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. to toady to an iniiuential ministry. There to what is called Jacobin, or Radical policy. would be an end to those parliamentary It is a strange fact, and one that seems cliques, which in some countries, such as quite inexplicable after a cursory glance Greece and Spain, make and unmake Cab- at the subject, that the same universal mets, to the profit of certain private spites, suffrage which persistently nominates ambitions, or intrigues. It is possihle Radical members to parliament, as per- that some useful progress might be de. sistently rejects all that they propose. layed, but it is certain that an immense This is because at elections the names of amount of excess and abuse in legislation the candidates are given in, and the elect- would be avoided. ors all obey a watchword: whereas with Of the two forms of referendum, the the referendum each measure is judged facultative and the obligatory, Mr. Numa upon its own value. The authoritative Droz prefers the latter, and public opinion party is already beginning to discover inclines also more and more in its favor, with Louis Blanc that it is a counter-rev- The facultative referendum that is to olutionary institution, and it has been say, popular consultation, when this is indeed nicknamed the phylloxera of the requested by a given number of electors ballot. On the other hand, the Conserva is open to very serious objections. tives, changing their opinion quite as The agitation, says Mr. Droz, occa- completely as the Radicals, praise it to the sioned in procuring the necessary signa- skies, and consider it as their harbor of tures excites mens minds, and turns their refuge. thoughts from the real question at issue; The immense number of revisions that public opinion is thus pre-biassed, quiet have taken place in the Swiss cantonal, discussion of the projected bill becomes and even in the federal, constitution, are an impossibility, and there is every chance really curious. According to a very in- of its being rejected without due exami- teresting table published in i88o by M. nation : whereas the system which sub- Chatelanat in the Manuel statistique de jects all the laws voted by council regu- Ia Suisse, we see that from 1830 to t879, larly, twice a year, to the popular vote there were one hundred and fifteen revis- does not offer this inconvenience. ions in cantonal constitutions and three re- The most serious objection to the ref. visions of the federal constitution. Vaud, erendum is that it is not at all suitable Schaffhausen, the town of Basle, and for the direction of foreign affairs. When Schwitz each changed their constitution, a treaty is concluded with a foreign power, either wholly or in part, five times. it would be exceedingly difficult to have Between the years 1830 and 1847 twen- to submit it to the vote of the people. In ty-seven revisions took place, which con- Switzerland, exception is therefore made verted Switzerland from an aristocratic to the general rule in these instances, and into a democratic republic. Between 1846 the federal government settles such ques. and 1862 there were twenty-two revisions, tions without submitting them to the peo- with the object of definitely establishing pIe. It must also not be forgotten that representative democracy. From i86o t~ any treaty signed by the president of the i88o there were again fresh revision~, United States must receive the ratifica- with a view to attaining direct popular tion of the Senate to become effectual, and government; and in this single year, 1885, that in the majority of other countries the three cantons, Vaud, Berne, and Argau, sanction of the entire parliament is neces- revised their constitution. One notewor- sary for any treaty involving financial or thy fact is that these important changes in economic interests, the political rigirne were all accomplished Let us now examine what have been peacefully and quietly. Everywhere also the results of the referendum. It may be constitutional revisions have been facili- said that it has deceived both the fears of tated. Either councils or the people it~ opponents and the hopes of its par- themselves can, as a rule, take the initia- tisans. It was most strenuously sup- tive. ported by the Radicals, who have been The following sketch shows what direct successful in introducing it into the con- share the inhabitants of each canton take stitution of all the cantons save one; and in their respective govern ments. Zurich equally strenuously opposed by the Con- obligatory referendum twice a year, servatives, who looked upon it as the tri- and the initiative granted to all groups of umph of the Revolution. On the whole, it five thousand electors. Berneobliga- has shown itself economical, adverse to tory referendum; eight thousand electors centralization, to strong power, and to have the right to exact the demission or heavy outlays, and consequently hostile re-election of the Great Council. Lucerne THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. 75 veto against any expenditure exceeding two hundred thousand francs in capital, or twenty thousand francs annually, if this be in accordance with the wishes of five thousand electors. Un Landsgemeinde, that is to say, government by the whole of the inhabitants united in a general as- sembly. Schwitz obligatory referendum and veto for a minimum of two thousand electors. Obwalden Landsgemeinde. Nidwalden Landsgemeinde. Glans Landsge meinde. Zugveto for all ex- penses in excess of forty thousand francs in a lump sum, or of five thousand francs a year, if requested by five hundred elect- ors; initiative for laws to a minimum of one thousand electors. Freiburg rep- resentative democracy; no referendum. Soleure obligatory referendum, and ini- tiative for a minimum of two thousand electors Basle (town) veto, and faculta- tive referendum if requested by one thou- sand or more electors, and the initiative for laws for the same number. Basle (country) obligatory referendum, and the initiative for fifteen hundred electors and upwards. Schaffhausen veto, and the initiative accorded to a minimum of one thousand electors. Appenzell, A.R. Landsgemeinde. Appenzell, IR. Landsgemeinde. St. Gall veto for six thousand electors. Grisons obligatory referendum. Argau obligatory referen- dum twice a year, and the initiative to five thousand electors. Thurgau obligatory referendum, and the initiative to a mini- mum of twenty-five hundred electors; five thousand inhabitants have the right to insist on the demission of the council. Tessin facultative referendum when re- quested by five thousand electors. Vaud initiative for six thousand electors; facultative referendum proposed by the Great Council. Valais referendum for financial matters. Neuchatel faculta- tive referendum if requested by three thousand electors. Geneva facultative referendum on the demand of thirty.five hundred electors. Only one canton has not yet adopted direct government under one or other form it is Frieburg, which is Roman Catholic. The following are a few results of the federal referendum ~vhich was introduced into the constitution in 1874. A law is proposed for the modification of federal electoral rights, and 108,674 electors sign the veto against it; it is submitted to the popular vote on the 23rd of May, 1874, and thrown out by 207,263 votes against 202,583. On the same day another law respecting registration, against which the veto had been signed by 106,560 electors, is nevertheless passed by 213,199 votes against 205069. A law on bank-notes, struck by the veto of 35886 electors, was thrown out on the 23rd of April, 1876, by 193,293 votes against 120,068. A law relating to the indemnities to be ujaid by those dispensed from military service was twice consecutively thrown out; the first time on the 9th of July, 1876, by 184.894 votes against 150,157, and the second time when presented under a fresh form on the 21st of October, 1877, by 181,383 votes against 170,223. The Factories Bill was, on the contrary, accepted on the same day by 181,2o4votes against 170,857. An- other project for a reform in electoral rights was again thrown out by 213230 votes against 131,557. The opposition to the project had gained great ground. The law granting subsidies to the Alpine rail. ways, and principally to the Gothard, was passed by a large majority, 278,731 votes against 115,571, on the i9th of January, 1879, in spite of an exceedingly violent opposition. On the 14th of June, 1884, a federal law, based on the 27th article of the constitu- tion, was proposed, which suggested the organization of a federal office for public education, with a secretary and some sub. ordinate employls, the ~vhole necessitating an outlay of about twenty thousand francs. It was to have been an imitation of the Board of Education in the United States, which renders such valuable service in furnishing information and statistics, with- out at all interfering in school or academic legislation, which is the province of the State both there and in the Swiss cantons. The Catholic cantons and the Conserva. live Protestants considered this measure as a step in the direction of the centraliza- tion of education, which the Radicals are so anxious to see established. The refer- endum was demanded, and on the 26th of November, 1882, the bill ~vas thrown out by 318,139 voices against 172,010. The last popular vote took place on the i tth of May, 1884, and was concerning four la~vs i. A law touching the organization of the federal department of justice and police of the I ith of December, 1883. It was proposed to appoint a special secre- tary for justice and legislation, and to make the appointment worth from fifty. five hundred to seven thousand francs a year. 2. A law concerning the duty on com- mercial travellers patents on the tith of December, 1883. 76 THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. This was a most just measure, for foreign commercial travellers enjoy this advan- tage. 3. A federal law concerning the addi- tion of an article to the penal federal code of the 4th of February, 1883, proposed on the 19th of December, 1883, and desig. nated as the Stabio article. Article 74 bis. When there is a criminal trial in a canton, and that, owing to political agitations or other causes, the impartiality or absolute justice of the judges may be in any way called in question, the federal council to have the right to refer the investigation and the judgment to the federal court, even if the crime be one not anticipated in the present code. If this be so, the federal tribunal to judge the case according to the laws of the canton where the crime was committed. 4. A federal order according a grant of ten thousand francs to the Swiss legation at Washington fora secretaryship, i9th of December, 1883. The referendum was demanded for all laws and federal orders with the following results Votings for iith of May, 1884. Noes. This persistent rejection of federal laws was a declaration of distrust in central authority, and this distrust was chiefly attributable to the law respecting judicial competency, whose object, it was said, was to withdraw the Radical and turbulent minorities from the jurisdiction of the cantonal courts, an exceptional measure instigated by the disturbances which took place at Stabio in the canton of Tessin. It is seen then that the referendum is by no means complacent; it very readily rejects, and on an average negatives two proposals for one assent. It nevertheless accepted all the best laws submitted to its decision, and its refusals are generally at- tributable to a marked antipathy to heavy outlays and to centralization, a dislike which an economist cannot find fault with. It is a singular fact, too, that in most in- stances the votes are almost equally di. vided Federal order. Commercial travellers tray- Mr. G. Niederer of Trogen has pub- elling in Switzerland for a Swiss house, may lished in the ournaldestatistique Suisse be ahowed, on simply establishing their iden- (1882) a table of the referendum popular tity, to accept orders, either with or without votes for the canton of Zurich since the patterns, on condition they have no goods with them, revision of the constitution in 1869 to the year 1882. In twenty-eight different ref- erendums the people had given their opinion on ninety-one laws and decrees, eleven of which emanated from popular initiative. Here just the reverse took place to the federal voting; we find sixty- six acceptations, and only twenty-five re- jections. The most difficult questions were thus subjected to the peoples con- sideration for instance, the revision of certain books of the codes of civil and criminal procedure, a law on bankruptcy, on dispossessions, on educational organi- zation, on bank monopolies of issue, and even a regulation respecting the destruc- tion of cockchafers. The votes are very similar to those of an ordinary parliament, with this difference, that the people are naturally hostile to all expenditure for even necessary and justifiable public func- tionaries. They will refuse two or three times consecutively to vote the requisite sums for paying stipends, and will not grant indemnities to schoolmasters or pas- tors out of place. They will neither in- crease the subsidy for the Gothard Rail- way, nor for the new buildings at the Polytechnikum; but I cannot perceive Ayes. that any vote has a tendency to levelling or to demagogism. For example, five thousand citizens requested the State to take in hand the management of the corn trade; this was put to the vote and thrown out by thirty thousand votes against six- teen thousand. The number of electors who take part in the referendum voting is always very considerable; sometimes as many as eighty-eight per cent., and it has never been lower than sixty-six per cent. It is a noteworthy fact, and much to the credit of the population, that the non-attendances were much less frequent when laws re- specting education were to be voted upon. In such instances, too, the usual love of economy is less manifest; for example, State assistance was approved in the ex- penses of the communes for their school buildings, and facilities ~vere granted to poor scholars for completing their course of higher education. The proposal, too, made by five thousand citizens to suppress obligatory vaccination was rejected. As Mr. Niederer, the author of the article which supplies us with these details, says, it is unfortunate that no table of the pop- ular voting has been published in other I. Organization of the fed- eral department 2. Travellers patents 3. Penal code (Stabio ar tide) . - 4. Washington legation - 214,916 149,729 189,550 174,t95 202,773 159,068 219,728 137,824 THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. 77 cantons. According to notes taken on the subject, however, I think that the re- sults would very nearly resemble those of the canton of Zurich. In Basle country, the rural majority which are in force there are reproached for their excessive avarice, which is constantly reducing the appoint- nients of their pastors, schoolmasters and mistresses, and other employls. In Basle town the complaint is that the referendum has built a third bridge over the Rhine, which cost a million francs and is of very little utility: this prodigality is explicable because the rich pay and the poor use the bridge. In Neuchatel the Radicals of the Grand Council introduced progressive taxation, and, curiously enough, the pop- ular vote rejected it. On the other hand, recently the Radicals, also in power in the canton of Vaud, voted a tax on capital, progressing so rapidly that it was said that all independent gentlemen and families living in ease would leave the country. The people nevertheless gave their sanc- tion to the measure. On the ~vhole the referundum has not justified the objections that were made against it. It is true that the electors are frequently called upon to vote, but they are not yet tired of doing so, and their decisions have not been often adverse to the general interest. No one will affirm that they have always been the wisest and best, and they may be reproached with having been but too frequently governed by a narrow and parsimonious sl)irit; but where is a legislative assembly to be found that may set us an example of political intelligence, wisdom, and fore- thought? Far from exciting revolution- ary passions, the referendum calms them, because the wishes of the majority are so clearly manifested, that the minority have neither the right nor the desire to oppose them. Besides, it is perfectly free, by means of newspaper articles, speeches, and discourses, to convert the people to its views, and become, in its turn, the ma- jority. But the question is, could the referen- dum be adopted with advantage in other countries? It is quite certain that Switz- erland is in the enjoyment of conditions exceptionally favorable to this form of government. The country is divided into a vast number of small states, where au- tonomy is practised, and where frequent voting by the inhabitants is a much easier matter than it would be in a large country. The competency of the federal power is exceedingly limited; it has very few laws or general regulations to enact, and, con- sequently, the entire Swiss nation is but rarely called upon to vote. The com- munes and the Landsgemeinde have ac- customed the people to self-government from as far back as the Middle Ages. The republican regime has existed from very earliest times, and the nation has gradu- ally become completely democratic by a series of successive reforms which con- stitute, so to speak,a natural evolution, or a growth, as Spencer would call it. The distance which separates the differ- ent classes of society is less than else- where. Save in two or three towns, such as Basle, Geneva, and Zurich, there are no really large fortunes, and there are very few paupers to be found in the country. There is great equality of conditions, and this is, as the most eminent politicians, Aristotle and Montesquieu among others, demonstrate, the essential condition for the regular advance of democracy. Switz- erland is also a neutral State, placed un- der Europes guarantee, and therefore she need not trouble herself about foreign politics. It would probably be dangerous to trust these to the decisions of a refer- endum. But does it not become every day more evident that a parliamentary system is most unfit to direct the foreign affairs of a country where the decisive influence is held by the press and by a house elected at a very low suffrage? Recent facts, both in France and England, prove this beyond the shadow of a doubt. For for- eign policy to be what it should be, it is absolutely necessary that a Cabinet should follow up its ideas, that it should be free to act according to its convictions without any concern as to the opinions of the press, and that it should be established on a sufficiently firm footing for other powers to be able to enter upon engage- ments ~vith it. None of these conditions are to be met with in any of the constitu- tional governments of to-day. Since the year 1870 there have been twenty-four changes of ministry in France, and the minister for foreign affairs has been cer- tainly always a distinguished man, but several times not at all prepared to ful- fil such exceedingly difficult functions. France has been wise enough to hold her- self in the background, and not to advance into the black forest of alliances and dip- lomatic combinations. But, in spite of this, the Chamber has more than once con- tradicted itself and been guilty of grave mistakes. For instance, England pro- poses Frances interference in Egypt; she refuses, and she does probably wisely; 78 THE RECENT PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN SWITZERLAND. she, however, soon regrets this decision, or sovereign should have power to declare overth rows M. de Freycinet on the first war at will; this grave decision should be opportunity, and uses her utmost efforts reserved to those who support the conse- to reconquer the position she previously quences, and pay the cost in blood and disdained to accept. M. Ferry takes money. office, and, in deference to public opinion, The direct form of government estab- plunges at once deeply into colonial en- lished in Switzerland in the form of the terprises; this gets him into trouble and referendum was, and still is, very preva- there is an outbreak with China. The lent in the form of general town meetings Chamber then loses temper, and on the in Europe, and indeed all over the world. pretext of a slight defeat overthrows the As we have already mentioned, it existed Cabinet which is on the eve of concluding amongst Germanic tribes in the form of the treaty of peace it desires. In En- the fields of March and May. We find gland, what sight could be more distress. it again in the tunscz~5mo/ of the Anglo. ing than that of the hesitations, contra- Saxons, in the meetings of the townships dictions, and repeated mistakes committed in America, in the vestries in England, in by the most eminent statesman of our the assemblies on the public places in the age, solely because he was forced to heed Italian republics, and still quite recently the unreasonable requirements of public in the meetings held in the villages of opinion, of the press, and of certain par- Venetian Lombardy. We may meet with ties in Parliament? Endlessly worried it, too, in the Javanese dessak, in the by questions on all sides, by the attacks Russian ;,zir, in the Germanic A//mend, of the Opposition, by the resistance and as in the Scotch clan and the Indian tribe, diverging views of his own partisans, and where resolutions decided upon must re- - by the necessity to maintain a majority, ceive the sanction of all who are inter- not only his freedom of action is impeded, ested in them and what more natural? but he has not even the necessary time A law has been passed in England and quiet for reflection; and the House which introduces the referendum for de- of Commons, forgetful of Lincolns wise cisions as to the creation of free libraries; precept not to change horses in the midst and lately, in Glasgow, a question was de- of the ford, overthrows him on a taxation cided by ~/6bisciie when there were 29,946 question, just as, after most laborious votes against the measure and 22,755 for negotiations, he was about to sign a treaty it. It is, however, a matter of necessity with Russia. with the referendum for the people to be In Italy another distinguished states- enlightened, accustomed to self-govern- man and an ardent votary of peace, M. ment, and that all decisions be not referred Mancini, also in obedience to the restless to a central power. In Roman Catholic spirit of short-sighted politicians, commits countries, where the clergy are absolute the inexplicable mistake of occupying masters, the priest alone would settle the Massouah at the risk of bringing endless pldbiscites. trouble on his country, which is in need It is quite possible that democratic in. of her entire resources to ameliorate the stitutions do not sufficiently guarantee wretched condition of her rural popula- that order which our industrial and divided tions. It is well to convince oneself com- labor society stands in greater need of pletely of a truth daily becoming more than did society of old or of the Middle verified: democracy is equally incapable Ages; and, in this case, there would be a with a representative as with a direct gov- return to despotism, for, with a large per- eminent to carry on a satisfactory foreign manent army, the executive power, obe- policy. This is why the United States dient to the wishes of the upper classes, adopted the wise resolution to abstain can always stifle and stamp out freedom; therefrom. but, if liberty and democracy succeed in Is this a reproach against democratic maintaining themselves and in preserving institutions? Not at all; for the first duty us from Ca~sarisin, it is quite certain that of every government is to attend to its the desire of the people to take the reins home affairs, and the less interference of ~overnment into their own hands will there is with those of other countries the manifest itself more and more, as they be- better it is for the nation. At all events, come better educated and realize more it is certain that it would be an excel- thoroughly the close connection which lent innovation to defer decisions as to exists between legislation and their mdi- peace or war to the majority of the entire vidual interests. When this arrives, di- population. As Mr. Jesse Collings re- rect government, in one or other form, cently eloquently explained, no minister will be introduced. Switzerland, which FORTUNES WHEEL. 79 takes the lead in democratic reforms, has shown us the way to this. If the peoples will is to be obeyed, is it not far better that it should be peacefully, regularly, and legally demonstrated by a general ballot, as in the Swiss cantons, rather than with tumult and indecisively in meetings, pro- cessions, and street demonstrations as in England, or, worse still, in bloodshed and strife as in Ireland between Nationalists and Orangeists? If the masses of the population be called upon to vote laws, they will either educate themselves or be educated; and, in either case, true civil- ization, which consists in the diffusion of enlightenment and of equitable and just ideas, would benefit, and at the same time Tocquevilles maxim, so full of deep thought, would be realized, Extreme de- mocracy prevents the dangers of democ- racy. From Blackwoods Magazine. FORTUNES WHEEL. CHAPTER XXII. AN EXCITING LUNCHEON. GLENCONANS guests had enjoyed many a lively meal under his hospitable roof, or in his picturesque glens. But never had they had such an exciting repast as at the luncheon on that memorable black Mon- day. Though the great news was their ~i?ce de risistance, it really came in as dessert. Once again he had summoned his pride to his aid, and done the honors with something like his former joviality. Only a close observer might have re- marked that his appetite failed him, and that he trifled with the knife and fork that were wont to do signal execution. He was eager to precipitate the inevitable dis- closure; he was longing to know how those friends of his would take it. Their reception of the announcement would be a pretty fair test of what he might expect from the world. But he had made up his mind to wait till they had trifled with the cheese and the biscuits; and with eyes turning perpetually towards the clock, he suffered and waited accordingly. Then, as it chanced, Mr. Winstanley gave him an opening. Everything must stagnate, of course, towards the end of August; but really, on my word and honor, those papers become intolerably dull. Shooting is all very well for you young men, but I have become somewhat dependent on public sensations. And all the subjects are either threadbare or trivial, or at all events they do not recommend themselves to my selfishness. I know all about the national defences, and the wisdom of imperial federation, and the due protection of our coaling sta- tions. I confess that my sympathies are purely platonic for the shop-girls who are forbidden to use the chairs provided by their employers for customers. And I am personally indifferent as to openings in life for our boys, seeing that happily I have no boys to provide for. I must say, Moray, that in your favorite r~ie of Monte Christo, you are bound to supply us with a new sensation.,~ And I have got it for you, Winstan- ley, said Moray, so gravely that that sen- sitive gentleman felt he had put his foot in it. Remembering the mystery that had been floating in the air, he knew at once that he had pulled the string of a shower- bath, and might look out for a chilling douche. He had rather the string had been pulled by any hand but his own; but it was too late to laugh it off, and he sim- ply sat still and listened Then Moray told his story, frankly and with manly brevity. He made no moan over his misfortune; he did not conde- scend to apologize for his carelessness: what was present to his mind was the duty incumbent upon him of showing that he expected and would accept of nothing frcvrn his auditors. I should not have troubled you, he said, with those personal annoyances of mine, but they may become public prop- erty within the next day or two; and I felt that as you are living under my roof, you have the guests claim on my confidence. I think I should have been wanting in the duties of hospitality had I left you to learn anything of this from others, or possibly from the public prints. In his jealous fear of their misconstru- ing his motives, he was careful to say nothing of the claims of friendship; and yet, while his manner was stern and al- most repelling, he was longing for some frank outburst of sympathy. Had he thrown a bombshell by way of a dish for dessert into the middle of the little party, he could scarcely have surprised them more, or I may add, scattered them from Glenconan more effectually. Not that they were worse than the rest of the world, or that the world is so bad as it is popularly supposed to be. But our ordi- nary acquaintances, on the shortest possi- ble notice, cannot be expected to under- take the bearing of their neighbors bur 8o FORTUNES WHEEL. dens, more especially when the burdens mean unlimited liability. The first im- pulse is to put themselves out of reach of danger; the second, perhaps, to see what can be done. Calverley Baker was getting on towards becoming a millionaire by inheriting a lucrative business and looking sharply after number one. It was not to be ex- pected that in the first shock of a decep- tion, though it might have been an invol- untary deception, he was to fly in the face of all his principles, and commit himself. Moreover, he had been considerably smit- ten by Miss Moray, and could not pre- cisely remember how far he might have pushed his advances. The douche that Winstanley had thrown down on the luncheon party had effectually chilled any fervor in his affection; and while he mur- mured something sympathetic, he had made up his mind that he must be sum- moned to the south by some telegram on the morrow. Once at Cardiff, as he told his conscience, regaining his freedom of will, he could do anything that was friendly and judicious. As for the MCla- verty, the chieftain was an honest fellow enough, and s orrowed for the calamity more than might have been expected. He had taken kindly to Glenconan, who was a capital companion on the moors; and in his inborn pride of birth and race, he would have regretted the extirpation of an ancient Highland family. He was sorry for Glencon an, and very sorry for himself, for he too had had vague aspirations of marrying the heiress. And he spoke out the more heartily and unreservedly that nobody could reasonably expect anything of him. He enjoyed but a life-rent ot entailed acres ; and if he were not actually poor as Job, it would have been the height of absurdity had he held out a lean purse to the tottering Cr~sus. Winstanleys feelings were much more complicated. I must have been very un- successful in my sketch of that gentleman if I have not shown him as at once good- natured and inveterately selfish. Far more than Mr. Baker would he have been willing to help Moray. But even more than the wealthy Welsh ironmaster, thanks to his familiarity with boards of direction, was he paralyzed by the hor- rors of unlimited calls. Prompt offers of help seemed out of the question, yet his situation had become extremely awkward. It is true that he did not care for dissipa- tion, or even gaieties ; but he by no means assented to the dictum of the preacher, that it is better to be in the house of mourning than in the house of mirth. What had suggested itself to him before occurred to him again, that there is such a thing as overstaying your welcome. And so by a wide circuit he travelled to the same conclusion as Baker that he would do the best for himself as for his unfortunate friend by withdrawing his foot from his friends house as soon as possi- ble. But Winstanley was nothing if not considerate, and the ugly coincidence of a telegram next day was an idea that could not possibly have occurred to him. He determined to cover his deliberate retreat with a kindness that should leave nothing to desire, and which, indeed, he felt rather than feigned. And like Baker, only with more sincerity of purpose, he resolved that he would reach Moray a helping hand. As the oldest man in the company, as the crony and almost the confidant of their host, it clearly devolved upon him to reply. And to do him justice he weighed and chose his ~vords as much out of consideration for Morays feelings as for his own. God knows, Glenconan, how grieved I am. Had such a misfortune fallen on my brother, as it might well have come upon any man, I could hardly have been more sorry. It would be paying you a poor compliment to try to make light of it, and I know your character far too well to underrate its strength. At the same time, let me remind you, as an old man of the world, that our tendency under such shocks necessarily is to go to extremes. Bad as things may be, you may take it for granted that they are not nearly so black as they appear to be now. You see all the circumstances from adesponding point of view; you forecast none of the many chances that must mitigate them. Imay venture to add, perhaps, that you forget the friends who can never forget their many obligations to you. It must be confessed that the words of this speech of sympathy, though some- what cold, were not ill-chosen. In the last sentence, which had been added by way of rider, the speal~r had gone fur- ther than he originally intended. But in watching Morays impassive face, he had warmed up, so as to try to strike one re- sponsive spark from it; and after all, he had committed himself to nothing he was not willing to perform. He would gladly show himself a friend in due season, and even submit to some moderate sacrifices in the sacred cause of friendship. Morays answer was equally cool and extremely civil. When trouble softens FORTUNES S WHEEL. 8i before it hardens us, we are apt to hope against hope for fervent and active sym- pathy. But after all, Winstanley had said as much as might have been expected; with his orc~nary penetration preternatu- rally sharpened, he had followed the con- flicting workings of the other mans mind, and if hegave him littlegratitude, he bore him no malice. He bowed and smiled a little bitterly; and then, quietly rising to open the door, he threw it back for his guests to piss out. Miss Winstanley, as the lady, ought, of course, to have gone first. But though, unlike her friend Grace, she was by no means much devoted to dogs, she had stooped to pat the black retriever that lay stretched on the hearth- rug, and was playing with the fringes of her silken ears; while the gentlemen, who saw that their host was impatient, did not stand on the order of their going, but evacuated the dining-room promptly. Glenconan was impatient; he thought Miss Julias flirtation with Finette very ill-timed. He had never liked the young lady much; he had deemed her both arti- ficial and worldly, and had it not been for his confidence in Grace, would have wished his daughter a better companion. Consequently, being supremely indifferent to Miss Winstanleys opinion or feelings, he had hardly deigned her a look while telling his story. If he had looked, he would have seen that the girl was pro- foundly impressed. Worldly as she really was, she was all the less inclined to make light of the catastrophe. Appreciating profoundly, like Jack Venables, all Moray was losing, she could admire the manli- ness with which he had borne himself; and putting herself in his daughters posi- tion, she felt sincerely for Grace. Per- haps she may have welcomed a rare chance of indulging in the pleasure of genuine emotion; and she was desirous, besides, of making atonement for some shortcomings in her fathers speech. At all events, when she raised her head there were real tears in her eyes, and Moray was both touched and taken aback. For once the strong andready man had not a single word to say; and the girl who was generally so glib seemed to be equally em- barrassed. But it is the woman in such circumstances who first finds her tongue; and once she had broken the ice, Miss Winstanley felt no further difficulty. She spoke with a feeling to which Moray had believed her a stranger. Though her voice trembled she was voluble enough; and by frankly owning to her faults, she took him on his weak side. After some- LiVING AGE. VOL. LII. 2658 how expressing her sorrow and her sur- prise, she went on, But can you guess what selfishly troubles me the most in all this? Itis that Grace should never have thought me worthy of her confidence unless, indeed, you had forbidden her to speak. It would have been so natural to seek comfort from the only woman under your roof, and one who has been living for weeks in her com- panionship. Dont think that I blame her, sir, she added quickly, seeing that he was about to interrupt and to defend his daughter. It is myself I reproach, and I reproach myself bitterly. She thought I had no heart and no feelings, and, very likely, she was so far right; yet I surely have a heart somewhere, though I have often doubted. You need doubt it as little as I d9, said Moray kindly, laying his hand on her shoulder; and I ought to be a judge in those matters, he added, with a smile. The truth is, I knew as little of my mis- fortunes as you. Thank you, sir, said Julia, and she seized both his hands in hers. You dont know how happy you make me; and if you would only think of me for one moment as Grace, you might give me courage to speak freely. Speak freely, then, by all means, my dear. I am sure anything you say can only please me. Well, sir, all I wish to say is this, that you must not shake us off me and my father. Had he been alone with you had those other men not been in the room I know he would have spoken very differently. He is rich; he knows the world well. I am sure I am blunder- ing, but you have promised not to be offended. What I mean is, that I am cer- tain he intends you to count upon him, as I hope Grace will forget the past, and learn to lean upon me as a sister. You will try to persuade her, wont you, sir? Morays constancy had been proof to the cold reception of his news, but it was shaken by this genuine and unexpected outburst. He was very grateful to Miss Winstanley for convincing him that cyni- cism was to be made difficult, or impos- sible. Never mind now about your father, or what he or anybody else may do for us we shall have time enough to think about all that. But when either you or I tell Grace what has passed between us, I am sure she will agree with me that our losses may prove to be gains. You have made me cheerful, if not happy, my dear, if that 82 FORTUNES WHEEL. is any comfort to you; and now, if you mean to please me, you must dry your eyes and let me ~ And you will not misunderstand my father, she added pleadingly, laying a finger on his arm. If I might tell you all, I can read him so clearly. And so can I, believe me, rejoined Moray, with a smile. Then stretching his conscience slightly, he went ~on, I should have spoken precisely as he spoke in similar circumstances. Neither of us are quite so young as you, and we have long lost the freshness of your feelings worse luck. But all the same, I envy and understand them. And then he did what that morning he would never have dreamed of doing, and pressed a fatherly kiss on her forehead. I may almost say that Julia Winstanley felt a transformed girl, as he left her stand. ingon the rug over the impassible Finette, who, like a true cynical philosopher, had assisted at the interview, without even ~ne approving wag of the tail. That rush of warm, natural feeling might have changed the currents of her life. She had in- dulaed in the luxury of affectionate sym pathy, and was rewarded by knowing that it was a luxury indeed. And it was re- markable that the indulgence of unselfish. ness led on to ideas of self-sacrifice, though it may be true that they did not cost her very much. She had never been really in love with Jack Venables; she had never acknowledged to herself that she had more than a liking for him. But considering that he had been the adopted son of the house, that circumstances had brought him into perpetual contact with her, it was naturally somewhat irritating to her vanity that he had persisted in being constant to Grace. She had seen that any of his flirtations with herself had been platonic, and she had rather resented it. She had never known exactly what to make of him. Being young and ardent, he was naturally ambitious; and though he might regard money as merely making stepping-stones for his advance, he seemed to be as keenly set upon money-getting as her father. That he should have stuck to his attachment to his cousin, who was likewise the heiress to her fathers wealth, was only consistent. But how might he behave now that Grace was suddenly beg- gared? She had a sinister suspicion that he might turn towards herself, in which case she would have scorned and summa- rily rejected him. She would never have consented to be married for her money, by a man who had been proof to her charms while he could do better. And in any case, not having too high an opinion of the masculine nature, she thought that Jack might make a satisfactory enough husband, if once fairly wedded t~ a wife who had many fascinations. Now he was relatively rich, and had brilliant prospects before him. So Miss Winstanley loyally resolved that it should not be her fault if he were not retained in his allegiance to his cousin. Then the proud Mr. Moray might accept from a son-in-law and a daughter the assistance he would reject from anybody else. Having come to that comfortable conclusion, she remembered it was time that she left the dining-room. CHAPTER XXIII. JACK DRIFTS TOWARDS MATRIMONY. IT was an odd instance of the irony of circumstances that Jack Venables and Miss Julia Winstanley, having reached an identical conclusion by very different roads, should fall literally into each others arms as their thoughts had converged. Jack, coming back to the house, had made a rush for the dining-rooi~~ to ring for the cold meat and the bread and cheese, since before facing his uncle he felt that he needed fortifying. Opening the door, he found himself face to face with the young lady, who already had her hand on the handle. Miss Winstanley! he ejaculated, with some astonishment; and she set his surprise down to a guilty conscience. Yes, Mr. Venables, she answered gravely, we have just been hearing very sad news from your uncle. Now Jack, contrary to her surmises, was rather pleased to happen upon her than otherwise. He was full of all he meant to say to Mr. Moray; in his rapid walk to the house he had been thinking of little but his cousin; and in the conscious- ness that Miss Winstanley might possibly have misunderstood him lately, he was anxious to burn his boats and put every- thing on the most straightforward footing. He would feel his way as to offering him- self for Grace, but in any case he must be free of any arri?repensde. Nevertheless, and until the way was felt, he had no idea of taking anybody unnecessarily into his confidence. So he said nothing, and waited for her to speak on. Then, still under the influence of her recent emotion, she spoke on very strongly. Jack, at that moment, all glowing with health as he was after his exercise, seemed to shrink up and shrivel in her eyes. She imagined FORTUNE S WHEEL. him embarrassed as to transferring his love, and she meditated upon whited sepulchres and the miserable weaknesses of masculine humanity like a feminine Thomas ~ Kempis. So far as she was concerned, there should be no further misunderstanding; yet she felt con- strained to temporize for Graces sake. We have been hearing very sad news, and I need not say how grieved we have been for Grace and your uncle. How I wish I were in your place! In my place, Miss Winstanley! What can you mean? My meaning is plain enough. If I were in your place, I should have the claim of relationship. If I were in your place, I should go to Mr. Moray and force upon him, in the rights of relationship, what he would spurn were it offered as a kindness. And if I we~e in your place, she went on, looking straight into his eyes, I think I should take advantage of your double relationship with your cousin, and plead for her accepting the protection which she doubly needs in her isolation. Jack stared in amazement. Miss Win. stanley with her passionate eloquence was a new revelation to him, and perhaps not altogether a pleasant one. To have one exceedingly pretty girl, to whom he had necessarily and as mere matter of civility paid certain slight attentions, urging him frankly and with no semblance of disguise to go and offer marriage to another beauty, was altogether a new and startling expe- rience. However, as his aspirations coin- cided with her orders, there ~vas nothing more to be said. No doubt, honesty was the best policy; and as she showed her- self so absolutely indifferent, she should have no reason to complain of any want of frankness. I should never have dreamed of troub- ling you in this matter, Miss Winstanley; though I am sure we shall always be the best of friends. I had no notion you took so deep an interest in my future. But as you have condescended to interest your- self, and as my uncle has confided his own affairs to you, all I have to say is, that it rests with Grace and with her father how far they may permit me to sink or swim with them. My dearest ambition is to make her my wife; though I need hardly say, that I tell you that in strict confi- dence. The frank expression of feeling took Miss Winstanley likewise by surprise; we dare not say whether the surprise was entirely agreeable. Assuredly she liked Jack none the worse for the trace of pique 83 which gave point to his candor. At any rate, with perfect composure, and in the good-fellowship that had always existed between them, she took his hand as she had taken Mr. Morays. I cannot tell you what pleasure you have given me, for you may help them if anybody can. And though it may seem presumption to say so, perhaps I may be of some use in promoting your wishes. Grace is not much given to confidences; but surely a girl will talk in those circuin- stances, if she feels pretty certain of sym- pathy. And I think, after the conversation I have had with Glenconan, that she may feel more affectionately towards me than she has ever felt before. Whereupon Miss Winstanley did leave the dining-room at last; and Mr. Vena- bles, violently ringing the bell, sat down to a cold sirloin with a capital appetite. The next tack in his course so far was all plain sailing; he felt committed toastep he had only contemplated; and when he placed himself unreservedly at his uncles disposition, it should be with the intima- tion that his dearest desire was to obtain the hand of his cousin. It was decidedly his custom to be preoccupied by a single idea at a time; and Leslies rivalry, with his own gratitude, were dismissed as en- tirely as if he had never gone hunting the wild goats at Loch Rosque, or as if the man who had saved him lay buried at Tom-na-hourich. Moray had been brought into more charity with his fellow-creatures by the passionate outburst of the worldly Miss Winstanley. After that, it seemed blas- phemy to doubt of the love and care of an omnipotent Providence, vhich might man- ifest itself unexpectedly in the least likely quarters. But all the more, he looked forward to the meeting with Jack, when Jack should have learned the misfortune that had lighted upon him. He had loved the lad for his spirited impulses; he had marked his selfishness, or rather his self- absorption, but he had never doubted his sincerity ; and now his young friend would be brought to the test. From Jack, as from everybody else, Moray was deter- mined to accept nothing but good-will; but still it would be a sad addition to his troubles should Jack prove as guardedly sympathetic as old Winstanley. He had withdrawn to the solitude of his den ; he knew his nephew in common decency must come to him; and in all the distrac- tion of his roving thoughts, he sat listen- ing for the boys foot in the passage. The well-known footfall came in due course, 84 FORTUNES WHEEL. and then there followed the rap at the door. The strong man was so over- strained, so painfully excited, that he scarcely dared to look up when he called out, Come in. But in another instant his anxiety was relieved. His hand was silently grasped with a fervent pressure; and Jack, drawing a chair towards his, sat down affectionately beside him. Come what might, he was delighted to know that the nephew he had loved the best was of metal as true as the other. So you have heard all about it, Jack? Eh ? I have heard it; and by what I may call a happy accident, I have heard it all from my cousin. I chanced to meet her as I was hurrying home to lunch; and will you think me very heartless if I say that the bad news has affected me less than I expected hardly spoiled my appetite? I dont know ~vhy it should, I am sure, rejoined Mr. Moray. In other cir- cumstances he might have been disap- pointed, but he still felt the warm pressure of his nephews fingers, and he guessed already whither Jack was tending. And you will let me tell you why it should not though I think you might meet me halfway, and spare me some little embarrassment. How do you think Grace takes it? demanded Moray somewhat irrelevantly. Just as I should have expected. She is a noble girl, and a very sensible girl besides. Of course, her chief trouble is for you; and I believe she has such faith in your generosity of sentiment, that she feels that matters might have been very much worse. On my generosity? You speak in parables, Master Jack. It seems to me that for ever and a day, perhaps, the prac. tice of generosity will be far beyond my reach. You dont think that, sir. You know that if you were next door to a pauper to- morrow, you would be liberal still with your coppers, because you cannot possi- bly be otherwise. But Grace, as I fancy, thinks with me, that the real proof of gen- erosity with a man like you is in consent- ing to lay yourself under something like obligations. Not, of course, that there would be obligations really, added Jack, blushing and stammering. So you two have been conspiring to- gether, said Moray, his face lightening up; and as it ~vould appear that I am to be the victim of your machinations, I con- fess I am curious to hear what your ob- jects are. Oh, for that matter, I am only anxious to return good for evil; and I have no wish to keep any of my secrets from you. You know that no young fellow in this world has ever had more luck than I, since the day the letter came to me here with the announcement of my legacy. With- out being able to take the slightest credit to myself, I have tumbled out of one good thing into another. I made friends with Winstanley on that reef in the Atlantic; I have put my money and his credit out to something more than usury, since it is invested in all manner of speculations that are steadily looking up; through him I have formed a number of useful connec- tions; and I have been pitchforked into that place of private secretary, where I hold winning cards if I only play them decently, with lots of trumps, and possibly an honor or two. Then, by way of cap- ping it all, came that telegram the other day, which told me we had really struck oil in that American mine. I have ready money in hand, to say nothing of splendid contingencies; and when the opening comes, I am ready to cut into the game of politics with a sufficiency of fortune to back me. I know you have done exceedingly well for yourself, and no doubt you have had a most unusual run of good fortune. But such runs of fortune do not come to fools, and you are over-modest, Master Jack, in ignoring your own merits.,~ Very well, my dear uncle, have it your own way; all the more, that I wish you to think well of my prospects. I have a superstition against counting chickens be- fore they are hatched, but nevertheless you must allow that I am doing well in the poultry line. I never denied it. Quite the reverse. And now, said Jack, talking very quick, do you remember whence all my prosperity dates? From the day you called me into this room here as a penni- less young scapegrace, and put your purse and your whole interest at my disposal. Even then I knew you were a man who would perform more than you promised; and I felt that if you sent me out to the East my future was secured, should I only keep steady. You didnt go. And even if you had gone, I offered you nothing more than in- trod uctions. I said that you promised less than you would have performed. The long and the short of it is, without any beating about the bush, you treated me that day like a father, and spoke far more considerately FORTUNES WHEEL. than most fathers would have done. And if I did not go, I told you the reason; and when I ventured to show you all that was in my heart, and even suggested my being much more your son than you had in- tended, you did not resent my impudence by turning me ignominiously out of doors. Nay, you only repeated your generous offer; and if that does not give me a claim upon you now, I dont know what should, Of course, you know why I have been blowing my own trumpet. If I remind you now well I stand in a worldly point of view, it is to show you that there is enough and to spare for us all; so that we may share without scruple anything I have to offer. I am asking a great thing; but then, surely, I have strong claims on you. Morays pale face beamed with pleas ure. At any rate, my dear boy, you have done me a world of good. If I have learned nothing else, I have learned this forenoon how easily the sting may be tak- en out of money troubles. There is that girl, Julia Winstanley, behaving like a trump; she has been heaping coals of fire upon my head; for, to my shame be it said, I never greatly took to her. As for you, you have warmed my heart; but, to be sure, for you it has always beat very kindly. Then we understand each other, ex- claimed Jack, with delight; and, to do him justice, he had never been so grateful be- fore for the prosperity which put it in his power to be his uncles benefactor. After all, with an average share of faults, there was certainly a deal of good in Mr. Ven- ables. Softly, my boy, softly, said Moray; there can be no possible misunderstand- ing between us for the future you may be sure of that. But as for accepting what you offer so generously, that is an- other thing. To begin with, I fear I am dipped so deep, that I should only be dragging you into the abyss along with me. I dont know how that may be, re- joined Jack, changing all at once into the cool man of business. But, in any case, I have been talking things over with Grace, who seems to have the family tal- ents for business. I never contemplated this new partnership of ours commencing till the wretched bank business has been sifted to the bottom, and you have a dis- charge in full from all your liabilities. Strange it seems, added Jack musingly, that such a misfortune should fall on a man like you; and that a fortune, honor- ably made and nobly spent, should be swept away by an accident so cruelly in- iquitous. It is a hard case; but as for being iniquitous would it surprise you to hear that if I have not been actually expecting something of the kind, at any rate my conscience protests against my daring to say it is undeserved? Do you remember watching me as we sat in the carriage on your first visit to Glenconan ? You saw something in the expression of my face that puzzled you did you not? Well, now that you speak of it, said Jack, rather taken aback. To tell the truth, he had forgotten all about it, nor, for the moment, had he the faintest idea what his uncle might be driving at. I think I should like to tell you what it was that troubled me then. You wont take it amiss if I say that the warning may be useful; for we are much of the same turn of mind, which is the reason, no doubt, ~vhy I have always been drawn to you. Then Moray told the story of his mental anxieties, pretty much as he had told it once before to Leslie. Only now he had the opportunity of pointing it with the moral, that this misfortune might be meant as merited retribution. But Mr. Venables, as may well be supposed, lis- tened in a very different spirit from Les- lie. As a warning, he did not take the narrative at all amiss, nor hjd he the slightest intention of laying it to heart. He thought he might look back upon life with an easy mind, if he had nothing worse to reproach himself with than Moray. Had not his uncle said that these regrets had been haunting him for long, he would have thought his mind must have been shaken by recent trouble. What struck him most forcibly was the evidence of weakness in a man he had always regarded as so strong: it was strange that his hero should actually have been reproaching himself with those daring and successful combinations for which he had most ad- mired him. And, on the spur of the mo- ment, he spoke of such sensibilities with something that sounded very like con- tempt; though, on the other hand, he was so eloquent in his admiration, that Moray was far from being offended. He spoke as ninety-nine men in a hundred might have spoken, and Moray thought rather sadly that the comfort had come too late I may have been a fool to worry myself with fanciful regrets; but in that case it will be the harder to see Glenconan go from me. Then expressing the conclu 86 FORTUNES WHEEL. sion of his thoughts aloud, he said, And if sin there were, it seems hard, in any case, that the sin should be visited on my innocent child. Oh, so far as that goes, broke in Jack, who welcomed the opening he had been watching for so far as that goes, I make bold to say that you may make your mind perfectly easy. There are two thinas that lie near to your heart. You wish Grace to be independent; you would be glad to save Glenconan for her. If a girl is too rich, you know as well as I that she may be married to misery for her money and not for herself. There are heartless scoundrels stalking about look- ing out for heiresses whose substance they mean to devour; and though it is diffi- cult to imagine a ruffian who could behave badly to Grace, there is no fathoming the depths of human depravity. Now, you see, as we have settled things, he went on confidentially, Grace will be no heir. ess not to speak of but she will, nevertheless, be very comfortably off; and we can easily keep the estate in the family, though it may come cheaper to raise a mortgage on it in the mean time. An odd idea you have of a girls inde- pendence ! was the thought in Morays mind; but he dared not speak it out. For Jack, who was so ready with his replies to all objections, had assuredly an answer cut and dry to-that one. As he would not speak, Jack did. You wont help me sir, so I must help myself. As I said a little while ago, it is no use beating about the bush, so here goes. Give me leave to speak to my cousin to beg and entreat her to be- come my wife. Her answer, whether favorable or the reverse, can make no difference in our understanding. No understanding, interpolated Mo- ray. Her answer will make no difference in my resolutions, then, and I trust every- thing to time and your sense of justice. I cannot dare to hope she will say yes. But if it should chance so, then as your son-in-law, I shall take the liberty of ar- ranging the settlements without any refer- ence to you. Moray was more moved by Jacks gen- erosity than by his offhand eloquence. Honestly, should it please Grace, the mar- riage seemed an admirable idea. H he had the good luck to win the girl for his wife, his nephew gained more than he gave. But at the same time he remem- bered his obligations to another stanch friend and faithful counsellor. Jack might win the prize if he could, but Leslie should have no wrong. Speak to your cousin, by all means. If she does say yes, you shall have my cordial approval. And in saying so much, I am certain you will not suspect me of interested motives. If you and Grace ar- range to pull comfortably together, I shall be off to the East again, and paddle my own canoe. Nay, never mind protesting in the mean time, he said in answer to Jacks gesture of deprecation. You shall not find me hard to deal with. But as I have recalled certain circumstances to your recollection already, I must tax your memory again. You remember, when you made something like a similar pro- posal once before, I told you that you and Ralph Leslie should both have fair play. Jacks animated face blanched all over. For these two or three exciting hours he had forgotten the existence of Ralph Leslie, and now the reminder was dis- agreeable as might be. It chilled all his fervor; it threatened to dissipate all his dreams. If Grace were really attached to Leslie, she would certainly say no instead of yes. Even if Grace felt doubtful, and Leslie were really in love with her he suspected something of the earnestness of Leslies nature could he, in common gratitude, in common honor, abuse his accidental advantages to make his benefactor miserable? Here was an ugly complication with a vengeance. Moray understood all that was passing in the young mans mind, and again his affec- tions inclined to his favorite. It seemed fated that Jack should always behave in a way that won his liking as well as his es- teem. My dear boy, the decision rests with Grace, and the common wish of all of us is that she should choose for her own happiness. Leslie is in love with her that you must have known. So are you. I should willingly welcome either of you for a son-in-law. I love Ralph as much as I respect him; yet I frankly tell you that if I were a marriageable young woman, I think I should prefer you for a husband You may go and inquire, if you like, whether Grace agrees with me, and I as- sure you I shall be anxious to hear how you speed. CHAPTER XXIV. JACK GETS HIS ANSWER. POOR Jack was in a sad quandary. All his better feelings were in the ascendant, but unfortunately those better feelings FORTUNES WHEEL. fought against each other, and sophistry was enlisted on the more selfish side. Morays penetration confirmed what he knew by his own inner consciousness namely, that Leslie was in love with Grace. And if Leslie loved at all, Jack felt sure that he loved profoundly and passionately; it was a passion that would possibly color all his life. As for himself, had it not been for Leslie, he would not have been there cogitating at that moment; and so far as any rivalry of his was concerned, Leslie might have walked over the course. But then, on the other hand, he had lived and he had prospered; that he was there, was a fact there was no gettin gover. In this life we must take things as we find them, and make the best of the most un- toward circumstances. He loved his cousin at least as much as Leslie loved her, though even in those transports of his the thought would still come, that he might console himself more easily than Leslie for a rejection. He loved his cousin as much as Leslie loved her, and it was with his cousin that the decision must rest. If she preferred him, as was possi ble, she would say so more or less frankly, and in that case it would be cruelty to cross her affections. Then, in a worldly point of view, he was undoubtedly the more eligible suitor. Leslie had but a small fixed income at best; and though poetry might bring him fame, it could scarcely lead on to lucre. While as Graces husband, with his own elastic prospects, he must have a very great deal in his power. Moray might consent to take from a son-in law what he would never accept from anybody else. If he would not bring himself to condescend to pecuniary assistance, he might consent to avail himself of political influence. By the interest of Lord Wrekin, or somebody else, Jack thought he might get his uncle something good in the colonies. It would be no job. Moray knew the East thor- oughly; he had all the qualities of an able administrator; under any government, whether Radical or Conservative, surely the thing might be managed. At all events, matters must be settled somehow, for, above all things, he detested suspense. Grace should either put him out of his misery, as he was pleased to phrase it, or assure him that she was willing to make him happy. He determined, if possible, to get the interview over at once; but how to have a /~/e a-i~te was the question. After wandering alone about the woods through the morning, after not making her appearance as usual at lunch, Grace would feel doubly bound to do the civil to Miss Winstanley in the afternoon. In any case, and on the off.chance of some arrangement, he would look into the draw. ing-room, though disinclined for conver- sation. The stars in their courses fought in his favor, and Miss Winstanley conspired with the celestial bodies. She and her father, with Grace, were the only occu- pants of the drawing-room. Julia was as quick as Grace to remark Mr. Venabless preoccupation, and she readily found an excuse for removing her father from the room. Then as Jack was pulling himself together for a plunge into his subject, to his astonishment Grace anticipated him. I am so glad to have you alone for an instant, Jack. Indeed I had thought of writing you a note, only I could not send it by a servant. Will you meet me an hour hence at the seat by the waterfall, and you wont mind waiting if I should be detained? Say yes quickly, for there is somebody coming. Jack looked yes, if he did not say it. The MClaverty burst into the room like a modified Highland hurricane, only that the chief was brimming over with good humor, and meant no mischief. He had shaken off his young hostesss troubles already, as a water spaniel coming out of the water throws the showers of spray from his coat. Grace, with the hypocrisy instinctive to the best of women, had already taken a piece of worsted-work into her hands, and was lending a se& ningly attentive ear to some meaningless remark of the intruder. Jack, who was in no mood to stand on ceremony, made a bolt of it, slamming the door behind him. Quick-witted as he was, he needed time to think; yet he felt that his cousins frank- ness boded no good to him. Shes not the kind of girl to throw herself into any man s arms; and if she were, mine would be paralyzed; there is nothing I loathe like a willing woman. She has seen her father; she has heard what I said to him; and she is resolved that I shall labor under no misconceptions. Jack had an hour to think, and he made the most of a good part of it. He was one of those men who momentarily crave for a thing when they once have set their heart upon it; who desire it doubly when there are difficulties in the way; and whose desire turns to a passion when their object threatens to elude them. Grace had never seemed to him more lovable. Her beauty had been heightened by grief and agitation; there was a far-away, wist 88 FORTUNE S WHEEL. ful look in her eyes which profoundly had never found time for preparation. touched all that was impressionable in And then, when all appeared to be doubly him; moreover, he was quite able to ap. over, Leslie had voluntarily exposed him. preciate her higher and more estimable self to all that he dreaded. He had said qualities. I need not repeat that he set a little in the way of gratitude after that due value on money, and he would have daring rescue and marvellous escape, but shrunk from love in a cottage, unless it if he said little it was only because he felt were a cottage of gentility. He knew so much. He was content to be silenced himself well enough to be sure that he by misplaced mauvaise honk, because he was never made to live in hugger-mugger was assured that his preserver entered fashion and cater for a hungry brood. In into his feelings. But therefore, in love such circumstan~ces he must have fretted and honor he was doubly bound by that in company of the best women in the tacit compact. Now the occasion was world, and love would most likely fly out offering duly to redeem his pledge; nor of the window. But on the other hand, could he have hoped for such a chance of any amount of fortune without love would clearing off old scores. If needful, he have been far too dearly purchased; and should rise to a sublime height of self. the luxury of mating prudently with a sacrifice; for he really imagined at the penniless bride was one he felt to be well moment that the act of resignation might within his reach. In his softened mood entail upon him something like lifelong he thought how, with a husbands oppor. suffering. He altogether forgot that he tunities, he might endear himself to the would be in no way a free agent, in that it girl who inclined to him already. If he was Grace who must really decide the could only win her to a vord of assent matter, according to the state of her af- from the heart, their marriage might be fections. But as he did forget the fact the entrance to an earthly paradise. He most entirely, we may give him equal thought, too, how Grace in her gentle credit for his self-denial. All the same, dignity would do the honors of a hand- in his detestation of suspense he was some and hospitable home. How proud eager to know the best and the worst of he would be of the bright girl-matron, it; and accordingly, after some four-and- whose portrait should smile from the fifty minutes of rapt meditation, he antici- panel above the dining-room chimney- pated the tryst with his cousin by a quar- piece. Who should paint her? Should ter of an hour. it be Leighton ~r Millais, or some rising He was kept waiting and gnawing his artist of genius, who should Con- heart for nearly half an hour longer; and found it! there he was dreaming as usual, when he did see Grace ascending the and hq knew, or at least he more than path, his hopes sank even lower than they suspected, that the word of assent would had fallen already. No amount of mere never be won. Why not? Ali ! there maiden diffidence could explain the lin- was the rub. If obstacle there was, the gering pace of those light feet, and that obstacle was Leslie. It was his practice listless and preoccupied gait. Had she to clear obstacles away, by fair means or been on her way -to make a waiting lover by foul; and the thought that naturally happy, the shy timidity must have been occurred to him was how to clear Leslie buoyantly elastic. Her eyes, when she out of his path. raised them to his, were full of a sad sym Then came an equally natural revulsion pathy; and as he saw how deeply she of~feeling. He hated himself; he shook believed him to be in love, he felt more himself in horror; to all intents and pur- passionately and desperately in love with poses he was a murderer, if not a thief; her than ever. for if Grace had really given herself to For a minute or more both were silent, Leslie, he contemplated stealing her away. and the silence began to become painfully And to this man whom he meant to wrong embarrassing. Jack, whose manliness and rob he had vowed eternal gratitude. was unimpeachable, felt bound in his chiv- Looking up at those wild Highland hills, aIry to be the first to break it. Inter- that day above Loch Rosque came vividly preted by the expression of her face, it back to his memory. He shuddered again had rung the knell of his hopes as clearly as he recalled his feelings when his foot as any words could have done; and possi- had failed him, when his brain was dizzy, bly he might have shown more delicacy of when there seemed nothing between the feeling had he taken it for his answer, and strong young life and eternity. He re- spoken on the strength of it. But when membered how he had thought of being it is a case of parting with our cherished summoned to the account for which he hopes or illusions, we are slow to fling the FORTUNES WHEEL. 89 haft after the blade; and it was one of doubted him; and for once, all womanly Jacks fundamental principles never to as she was, she regretted the power of her throw away a chance. Besides, although charms. Had Leslie ever spoken as Jack he was showing himself most practically had done, had he ever breathed a word disinterested, it was not in his nature to on which she could found a promise of rise to those refined heights of generosity fidelity, her course would have been of which Ralph might have been capable. clear, however painful. As it was, she If he could not win his cousin and her hesitated; and as Jack saw her hesitation, love, at least by way of compensation he his hopes revived. After all, he might be would have as much gratitude as she could mistaken; and so once more, and this give him. And that essential difference time with an easier conscience, he opened in the character of the two men may ex- again the floodgates of his eloquence. If plain her preference for the one over the Graces hesitation gave h im hope, he made other. a fatal mistake. As he talked on, she Most men in the circumstances, even if kindly listened, for she knew all he had to they had delivered their minds, would say. She was imagining what would be have done so as the depressed or despair. their future if she spoke the irrevocable ing lover. Jack did not. He began by yes. And in her rapid self-searching, affecting the modest confidence he did not she as rapidly decided that she would do feel ; and as he fairly warmed to what foul injustice to him as to herself. Leslie would otherwise have been a pleasant had never spoken, it was true, but for rea- task, he pressed his suit with fire and fer. sons similar to those that had kept Jack vor. And the girl felt more sorry for him silent. She trusted his sincerity as she than before, as he spoke much of love and trusted herself, and she felt that he had little of money. Money, indeed, he could made his meaning unmistakable. She not altogether pass over; but he spoke could not change her heart from an im- lightly of his longing to be able to help pulse of kindness not even because the her father at the slightest possible sacri- change might be for the benefit of her fice to Morays pride, father and she knew that her heart was It may all come so naturally and so given to Leslie beyond recall. It was easily, Grace. Surely he will accept any. through his family that hers had been mdi- thing from you; and if you will only take rectly brought to grief, and what must he me, he cannot make distinctions between think of her if she threw him over in the his children. You know how fervently I circumstances? It was her melancholy have loved you from the very first. You lot to have to choose between two devoted knowihat nothing could have sealed my lovers; and she must give pain to one or lips but the sense that I had nothing, the other. But there could be no further while you were an heiress. You know doubt as to the decision. And as she you must have known that as I began came to that conclusion, her dimpled chin to feel my feet, the ambition of winning and her under lip took something of her you made each step a triumph. I counted fathers firmness; and Jack, whose eyes the months before I dared speak, and the were fixed on her face, felt, with a tremor, months were passing so slowly yet so that it was all over. Then his own reso- quickly. May heaven forgive me for it! lution was taken with his habitual prompt- but when I heard of your ruin, I believe itude. His hopes were already things of at first it brought me more happiness than the past, and he would have leisure enough sorrow. I am confoundedly selfish, he to make any moan over them. Now he interpolated, with penitent self conviction, must grasp the fleeting opportunity, and And now, if you cannot speak to me as rise at once to the role of the generous. I could wish, the punishment of my self- As Grace, all in a tremble, was going to ishness will be greater than I can bear. speak, he took the words out of her mouth: But you cannot, surely, have the heart to I have my answer, and I will spare throw me back on my worse self, and you the pain of speaking it. I reverence doom me to a life of selfish isolation? My you enough to know that if I were to talk future, for weal or woe, as for good or on for hours, I could not bring you to evil, is in your hands; and my fate is change your decision. Nor do 1 desire it, hanging on what you have to say to me. things being as they are. I am not one Jack paused to draw breath, and indeed of those who would strive to win my wifes it was high time. He had talked himself heart after marriage least of all, when into profound self-conviction, and the I have to contend with such a rival as pleading eloquence of his eyes exl)ressed Leslie. Forgive me, he added hastily, as much. As for Grace, she had never as he saw his cousin flush up; you may 90 LORD HOUGHTON. well pardon me in the circumstances, and I have no thought to give to the proprie- ties even to the delicacies. But I must win free pardon by frank confession; and for days, for months past, my doubts and fears have all been excited by a single man. Grace could say nothing. She could not confess an attachment which had never been avowed. Jack, with his quick wits preternaturally sharpened, again came to help her out of her embarrassment. She could almost have wished that her affections had been free, that she might have given them to him frankly and gratefully. He took her hand ; and in the certainty that he under- stood her, she left it in his, and softly re- turned the pressure. Not another word dont say another word; we are friends as we are cousins, are we not? and friends we shall ever con- tinue. Or rather, ~ve must remain brother and sister; I have a right to claim as much as that. But be sure I shall ask no question which you might find it difficult to answer. Remember that I owe my life to somebody, and in ti[ne that remem- brance must bring me consolation. And now, he went on, with a touch of bitter- ness, if I must not speak of love, we may talk of business. You feel that you cwe me something, do you not? For after all, I offered you all I have to offer, and you have struck a blow in return you would gladly have spared me. You are the most lovable, the most generous of men, Jack ! exclaimed Grace, with a flood of tears that at last found vent. For heavens sake, dont break down like that! expostulated Jack piteously, or I shall have to follow suit; and it is a sorrow I dare not console you under. And do not say I am the most lovable of men, he said, as he tried to smile, for I would still believe in your truth if I can- not have your affection. But I have yet another favor to demand, and you can be in no mood for refusino In her certainty as to what that favor was, Grace was again forced to remain silent. You must promise me for your fathers sake, as for mine, that this shall make no difference as to money matters. You must promise that you will labor heart and soul to give me the poor comfort of being able to help you out of these troubles of yours. And for Leslies sake as ~vell, for you know I owe him this troublesome life of mine. Perhaps Grace showed herself as gen- erous as Jack, when, looking straight with her swimming eyes into his, she drew a long breath and said, I promise.! And by way of seal to the pledge, she frankly tendered him her cheek, and for a second time that day he took a cousinly kiss, though in circumstances sadly different. From The Fortnightly Review. LORD HOUGHTON. THE delusion of comparisons is as dan- gerous a fallacy in the estimate of charac- ter as the falsehood of extremes. If there was ever any man the surest way to mis- represent and misestimate whom would be by resorting to that classification so dear to an age of schoolmasters and auc- tioneers, it was the late Lord Houghton. Remarkable for many things, he was re- markable chiefly for his strong individual- ity. He was a great social figure for considerably more than half a century. Yet it would be impossible to place him exclusively in the category of men whose reputation was social alone. A similar remark would hold good if he were looked at from the point of view of any other of his more commanding attributes. In the same way, to assert that he was a sec- ond-rate poet the violet a second-rate flower!or a politician who never at- tained political eminence, or a man of letters who never did justice to his literary capacities, or a speaker who missed being an orator, or a student of human nature who never rose to the lofty levels of di- vine philosophy, would, even if it were true, be to give an altogether false idea of the brilliant and accomplished man who, less than a fortnight ago, bade adieu to a prolonged, an eventful, and on the whole a singularly happy existence, in the man- ner which, above all others, he might have desired: Oh, that each of us might die When we are at the best, Pass away harmoniously To some fitting rest. So wrote Milnes in his remonstrance upon the habit a flat blasphemy against youth as it seemed to him of using the words second childhood, as a synonym for ex- treme senility. There is nothing specially excellent in the lines, but they embody the aspiration for the euthanasia that was the lot of their author. There was no dreary interval for him between enforced withdrawal from the world and the end of LORD HOUGHTON. everything; no gloomy tarrying in the vestibule of death before the final release came. The curtain fell suddenly, and all was over. Fortunate in his life, Milnes would have assuredly esteemed himself not less fortunate in his death. The exceptional circumstances of his earlier days must have tended to sustain and intensify the originality of a fresh and buoyant nature, which never lost the wild charm of being untamed, unsubdued. As a boy he was brought up entirely at home and by private tutors. Whatever disad- van tages his inexperience of public school life may have entailed, one can hardly conceive of any conditions better calcu lated to stimulate the free play and spon- taneous growth of his gifts. Nor were the scenes and the social environment of his boyhood less conducive to this end. Till a short time before he went to Cam bridge he lived much in Italy. Who can doubt that it was the free, unfettered life beneath an Italian sky, to the influences of which he vas indebted for that aban- don which, as it is entirely the reverse of English, is without any English equiva- lent, and which was the dominant trait of his manner and his mind. Intellectually he was as much the child of Italy as if he had been of Italian birth, nor did the gay idiosyncrasies which he had contracted in the south desert him in after years. At Cambridge he asserted himself and showed his quality as naturally, and with the same absence of cautious self-restraint that he afterwards showed in the turmoil of what is called London society. To the social position he was indeed born. His father single-speech Milnes was a man well known. He was offered, and he declined, the post of chancellor of the ex- chequer by Spencer Percival, as he was subsequently offered and refused a peer- age. His son, Richard Monckton, the future Lord Houghton, married Miss Crewe, a great favorite in that social realm which associated itself with Lansdowne House; and the house (No. i6, Upper Brook Street) in which Milnes, during many years, collected all that was greatest and most intellectual, and above all most poetical, in the London world, had a ped- igre e, if so we may speak, connecting it not only with the famous assemblies of Mrs. Cunliffe Offley (the aunt of Miss Crewe), but also, unless we mistake, with the Mrs. Crewe and true blue! who answered the Prince of Waless toast with her True blue and all of you! Never did there live a poet of any order who was so warm a friend of poets as Milnes. If 9 he loved poetry much he loved the makers of poetry even more. Their merit as poets was not with him the only question. What he admired and what interested him ~vas the poetic impulse. On the occasion of one of his daughter~s marriages, he specially aimed at securing the company of all the English bards of every degree whose addresses he could discover. Nor should it be forgotten that in his capacity of the poets friend he placed on record one illustration of his power which ~vilI always be gratefully remembered. It ~vas under the c& unsel of Milnes that the lau- reateship was conferred on his college friend, Tennyson. Already, as one of that little band of Cambridge undergradu- ates, surnamed the Apostles, most of whom became famous themselves, he had obtained a hearing for Tennyson, and had, not without difficulty, forced him upon a somewhat reluctant and at first very much puzzled world. The difficulty of the task and the unattractiveness ~vhich the muse of the new singer had for much of the culture of the day, may be judged from a single incident. Miss Berry, one of the brightest and most intellectual women of her day, piqued herself upon her capacity for keeping pace with the intellect of the younger generations. At the instance of some of the men who, like Milnes, were then preaching up the new poet, she seriously set to work to read Tennyson. Educated in the school of Pope and habit- uated to classical models she could make nothing of him. Perplexed and chagrined, she suspected that she was the victim of an amiable imposture, and full of misgiv- ings proceeded confidentially to interro- gate a common friend of her own and ~YIilness on the point. This, however, par- enthetically. When Wordsworths death caused a vacancy in the laureateship, Sir Robert Peel asked Mimes to tell him who, in his judgment, should succeed the bard of Rydal. Beyond all question, was the reply, Tennyson. I am ashamed, rejoined Peel, to say that, busied as I have been in public life, I have never read a line of Tennysons. Send me two or three of his poems which may enable me to form an opinion. The poems sent were Locksley Hall and Ulysses. Peel, with unusual warmth, expressed his admiration of both, bestowing upon the Ulysses his highest praise, and he made at once the appointment which Milnes had advised. Such an exercise of power, was, it must be confessed, an exceptional incident in Lord Houghtons career. For the most LORD HOUGHTON. 92 part his influence was disproportionate to his position as a leading member of Par- liament, to his abilities, to his social op. portunities and rank. Ascendancy is to the stern, is even perhaps to the fierce, while Milnes was the most kindly, for- giving, tolerant, and indulgent of men. Houghton, writes to me one who knew him well, with all his high gifts, had, like most really noble men, a good deal of the woman in his nature, not only of the gen- tle, the merciful woman, but also of the woman excelling man by her ready initia- tive, by her swift sagacity transcendent of the reasoning process, and now and then by her nimble, her clever resort to a charming little bit of stage artifice. My laundress had come to me one day in floods of tears because her little boy of eleven years old, but looking, she said, much younger (being small of stature), had wandered off with another little boy of about the same age to a common near London, where they found an old mare grazing. The urchins put a handkerchief in the mouth of the mare to serve for a bridle, got both of them on her back, and triumphantly rode her off, but were com- nutted to Newgate for horse-stealing. My laundress (not wanting in means) took measures for having her child duly de- fended by counsel, but I thought it cruel that the fate of the poor little boy should be resting on the chances of a solemn trial, and I mentioned the matter to Milnes. He instantly gave the right counsel. Tell your laundress to take care that at the trial both the little boysboth, mind shall appear in nice clean pinafores. The effect, as my laundress described it to me, was like magic. The two little boys in their nice pinafores appeared in the dock and smlingly gazed round the court. What is the meaning of this? said the judge, who had read the deposi- tions and now saw the pinafores. A case of horse-stealing, my lord. Stuff and nonsense said the judge with indig- nation. Horse-stealing indeed! The boys stole a ride. Then the pinafores so sagaciously suggested by Milnes had al- most an ovation in court, and all who had had to do with the prosecution were made to suffer by the judges indignant coin- men There were many other essentially feminine traits in his nature; prominent among them his love of domestic manage- ment - Although he was ever surrounded by the ladies of his family, and was com- forted in late years especially by the so- ciety of his sister, Lady Galway, with whom as a boy he had been brought up, and who devoted herself to him with an affection and assiduity infinitely touching and beautiful, he wrote his notes of invi- tation with his own hand and himself made the arrangements for the reception, the departure, and the general entertain- ment of his guests at Fryston. It was owing, perhaps, to this womanly element in his nature that he sometimes elicited confessions of a sort not often vouchsafed to men. During one of the divisions on the Jew Emancipation Bill, which was taking place at a time when the success of the measure was virtually assured, Milnes, finding himself by the side of Disraeli in the lobby, made bold to con- gratulate him in his character of a Jew. Yes, observed Disraeli, I am a Jew and a Radical, and I defy anybody to say I ever pretended the contrary. The true meaning of this little speech, which only stupidity can misconstrue, is obvious. What Disraeli desired to convey was not of course that he had never worn the Church of England and the Tory cock- ade, but that what he had worn was only, after all, a cockade, and that having en- listed with the Conservatives, he desired to help them for his own sake in fighting their battles, without really playing the hypocrite to the extent of making any intellectual man fancy that he really shared their notions. The mention of Mr. Disraelis name suggests another of Lord Houghtons dis- tinguishing qualities. In a letter written to me by the late Mr. Hayward, eight years ago, apropos of an opinion I had presumed to offer on Lord Houghton, are these words: Houghtons is a fine in- tellect, spoiled by paradox. A paradox is conventionally supposed to imply some- thing in the nature of a contradiction to involve on the face of it some aggressive inconsistency. One should rather under- stand by it something that runs counter to the received opinion, and inasmuch as there is always an a priori objection to the truth of whatever does this, every paradox may be thought to bring us to the verge of romance With Milnes, paradox was generally an instrument either for the suggestion of truth, in which case it served the same logical purpose as anal- ogy, or stimulating conversation and elic- iting the opinions of others. It was thus the precise sort of intellectual weapon nat- ural to one who was not what the French call un homme siricux, who was always pursuing truth tentatively and who, with that aim, loved to throw out views which LORD HOUGHTON. 93 were not necessarily the less sound be- cause they might be strange. When for instance Milnes declared some forty-four years ago that Disraeli, then strange and actually repulsive to the House of Com- mons, would achieve the highest place in Parliament, he was thought by those who heard him to be uttering a mere piece of uninteresting nonsense. It took the slower world years to learn that he had truly divined the future. An instance of the second kind of paradox, the paradox with a purpose, in which Milnes delighted, was the audacity with which, at a dinner table, lie once improvised a vindication of deception and falsehood. The object was rendered immediately apparent be- cause it dre~v Carlyle, who proceeded to do exactly that which Milnes had meant him to do, vehemently to take up the cudg- els in favor of the eternal verities. No one who has ever possessed any- thing like Lord Houghtons intellectual power has qualified it by so much of sport. iveness. And perhaps it would not be wrong if one were to say that intellectual sportiveness and intellectual curiosity were the two dominant notes of his mind. In one of his poems, The Men of Old, he contrasts the old pagan thinkers and patriots with their latter-day succes- sors. I know not, he writes, that the men of old were better than men now.~~ Yet on the whole he gives the palm to the former, of whom he says Blending their souls sublimest needs With tasks of every day, They ~vent about their gravest deeds As noble boys at play. The words noble boys carry with them a touch of illumination to those who have heard Lord Houghton talk of the intellectual friends with whom he lived at Cambridge as his playfellows a pretty, and, on his lips, singularly appro- priate expression. He was a worker, but he worked in his own light-hearted fash- ion; lie was a searcher after truth, but in his own easy way. Aristippus, the Cyre- naic, often wished that he could for a short time be a ~voman, and there was a heroine of Greek mythology, C~nis, who, pronipted by an analogous motive, actu- ally succeeded in effecting a correspond- ing transformation, and was henceforth known as C~neus. If Milnes never gave articulate utterance to the wish of Aris- tippus, he at least went so far in that path as to play Shakespeares Beatrice in some theatricals at Cambridge. There ~vas much, as will be presently pointed out, in common between the genius of Hough- ton and the genius of the poets of classi- cal Hellas. He resembled, too, the more restless of the Hellenic speculators by the intensity of his intellectal inquisitive- ness. His impassioned eagerness, ever of an intellectual kind, distinguished him from all other people. If, writes to me the friend from whose instructive letter I have already quoted, you had had the devil himself staying with you, Hougliton would have almost turned you out of your own house, in order to learn all that your guest could tell him; would have turned the conversation abruptly to the subject of hoofs and horns; would have asked whether the prowess of the angel Michael was not greatly exaggerated; and would not have gone away till he had mastered the whole subject of the Evil One, and his relations with the heavens above and the earth below. He never, like other young men, affected a love of dangers; but under the impulsion of insatiable curi- osity lie would brave anything. I once knew him go up in a balloon. This, a de- scent in a diving-bell excepted, was prob- ably the only achievement approximating to athletic which Lord Houghton ever at- tempted. Prodigious though as a young man, and even as a man matured or ad- vanced in years, his energy was, it dis- played itself always in an intellectual field. He was never a sportsman. He never hunted and lie never shot. There can be little doubt that what con- stituted to a large extent Lord Houghton s intellectual and social charm was an oh- stache in the way of his political advance- ment. He was not naturally a good speaker. Such, however, were the pains which he took with himself that he ended by acquiring the art, and what he once said to the Prince of Wales, The two best after dinner speakers, sir, are your Royal Highness and myself, was literally true. On occasions of a graver character he never commanded an equal success. The intellectual inquirer was so prominent in his nature, that although he might speak quite positively without uttering a word which tended to disclose the arri& e pensie, he always found it impossible to induce his hearers to take him in earnest. There is reason to suppose that he was well aware of this difficulty. What he lacked by nature he endeavored to make good by art. He even went so far as to assume in his speeches a kind of gravity or solemnity absolutely foreign to himself. Undertaking once at the Cambridge Union to deliver an oration glorifying the genius 94 LORD HOUGHTON. of Milton, he attempted to rise worthily to obsolete. I dare say Mimes to the utmost the height of his great argument by rev- of his kindly nature shared the indigna- erently calling the author of Paradise tion of Lady Palmerston; but he loved Lost Air. Milton. As an inevitable re- the drama, and could not have helped suIt, he threw the whole assembly into beinginterested byseeinga blow delivered roars of laughter. No one had a larger so apparently powerful and decisive, yet store of learning or of precepts on the destined, as perhaps he foresaw, to be subject of oratory in the House of Coin- after all so harmless. Before many more mons, and many are they who have prof. weeks had passed, the tables were turned ited by his counsels. Yet he could not on Lord John. practise what lie preached. He could not There is a sense in which this great make his audience take him as un h~~nrne lover of piradox illustrated in his life a sirleux. One need not, therefore, ~vonder paradox far more striking than any of that he failed to obtain the official rank those which he ever propounded in speech. which he coveted. His intellect indeed Forced by the eagerness of his nature to was so bright, so discursive, and his mdi- be always in a crowd, whether in London viduality so splendidly strong, that he was society, in assemblies of politicians, of not a man to be put in a team under the philanthropists, of poets, of philosophers harness of the public service. Yet he and publicists, he was yet at heart the did not think so himself, and was eager to least gregarious of men~ In his mind, at take office, singling out the most laborious least, he never trooped, never flocked, office in the world, the under-secretary- never herded with any of the myriads ship of foreign affairs; and, as his abili- of his fellow-creatures. Perhaps the man ties were universally recognized, his himself never spoke more sincerely, or knowledge vast, his speaking fully good more from the depths of his heart than in enough for the purpose, and his acquaint- what, though I believe it has been vulgar- ance with public men abroad and at home ized by being set to jingling music, is one almost universal, whilst, moreover, he en- of the finest and profoundest of his poems, joyed the esteem and confidence of Sir Strangers Yet. Take these two stan- Robert Peel, the prime minister, and was zas: afterwards on terms of friendship with Strangers yet! Lord and Lady Palmerston, it might seem After strife for common ends, that there was absolutely nothing to pre- After title of old friends, vent his attaining the object in view; but After passions fierce and tender, the one cause of the obstruction was as- After cheerful self-surrender, signed by Lady Palmerston, in three words Hearts may beat and eyes be met, spoken one day when Palmerston was And the souls be strangers yet. forming a government. To a friend of Strangers yet! hers who had mentioned Milnes prais- Oh, the bitter thought to scan ingly, she said simply, Yes, but I ob- All the loneliness of man, serve that men smile when they speak of Nature, by magnetic laws, him, as if they did not think him quite Circle untocircle draws, serious. But they only touch when met, Speaking of the Palmerstons, Milnes, Never minglestrangers yet. again to quote my correspondent, was It was not any instinctive tendency to with them at Broadlands in the Christmas go in the beaten track of humanity but of 1851, when no other guest was in the the inexhaustible kindness of his own house. All at onceI think in the even- good heart which bound him to his be- ing there came a despatch, brought by loved fellow-creatures. \Vhetlier this in- a queens messenger. Palmerston read dividuality would have remained through- the despatch quietly without betraying any out so strong, whether lie would have emotion, or even any particular interest, always stood firm as a rock against the and handed it silently to Lady Palmerston. examples of people about him, but for She seized its import at a glance, and the conditions under which lie had been putting no restraint upon herself burst brought up, his home education, and the out into violent wrath. The despatchi was early Itahianization, to use a barbarous one from Lord John, simply dismissing compound, of his mind, may be doubted. Palmerston from his office of secretary of But of the fact itself there can be nodoubt state for foreign affairs. The blow was the whatever. more startling, since dismissalun miti- The merit and beauty of Lord Hough- gated, unveiled dismissal under any such tons poetic performances are in an in- conditions had at that time become verse ratio to their length. He is seen at LORD HOUGHTON. 95 his best, his thought is most felicitous and his diction most polished, in his shorter pieces. He was, as Lord Beaconsfield described him, under the guise of Mr. Vavasour in Tancred a description so admirable that it practically exhausts the man a poet and a real poet. But then, his life was a gyration of energetic curiosity; an insatiable whirl of social celebrity. There was not a congregation of sages and philosophers in any parr of Europe which he did not attend as a brother. He was present at the camp of Kalisch in his yeomanry uniform, and as- sisted at the festivals of Barcelona in an Andalusian jacket. An existence of this kind could not but have the effect of with. drawing attention from his poetry. Speech in the House of Lords; meeting at Marl. borough House; speech by the chairman of this society; speech by the chairman of that no one reading of these labors every day in his Times would incline to turn from his newspaper to the lovely poems of Mimess early days ; and it is only now, ~vhen the grave has closed over him, that he will cease to intercept the public appreciation of his works. For years together a great critic, who never tired of declaring his exalted estimate of Houghtons genius, used to work himself into a perfect fury of passion at the spec- tacle of his poet appearing so constantly in public life. Intense sympathy is, perhaps, the key- note of Houghtons poetry as it is of his character. He did not describe so much as interpret. Instead of drawing a mere picture of Oriental personalities, or of the heroes of the old Greek mythology, he identified himself with them and told the world what they felt. Other poets, proceeding objectively, produced more or less frigid and inanimate presentments of the heathen life of Hellas, or of the sensuous existence of the gorgeous past. 1-loughton brought the subjective treat- ment to bear on old times and made them aglow with the warmth of actual being. Contrast the treatment of classical themes, as shovn in The Tomb of Laius or The Flowers of Helicon, with the treat- ment of Shelley or Keats. Contrast his handling of the life of the harem with that of Moore, and a difference, as between that of life and death, at once discloses itself. Houghton loved to linger on the borders of wonderland. He was forever laboring to believe. There was no mys- tery of the hour in which he did not strive to initiate himself. As it was with thought-reading, so had it previously been with table-turning. No yearning could be more insatiate than his to find that the destiny of poor mortality might not, after all, be so narrow, so meaningless, as sci- ence demonstrated it to be. He was en- amored of credulity; and although his keen, clear intellect and his sense of the ludicrous prevented the gratification of his passion, he still held that, impossible as it was to push his search after knowledge beyond the limits inexorably set, there still might be bliss, actual bliss, in belief resting on fancy. We would, he writes in Anima Mundi, We would, indeed, be somewise as Thou art, Not spring and bud, and flower, and fade, and fall, Not fix our intellects on some scant part Of nature, but enjoy or feel it all. We would assert the privilege of a soul, Zn that it knows to understand the whole. The lines italicized seem exactly to ex~ plain the attitude of Houghtons intellect towards the problems of the universe. He was, as he may have called himself in the lines entitled The Peace of God, this lifes inquiring traveller, endlessly busy with the unravelling of complicated truths and the solution of dark enigmas, ever analyzing the complex aggregate of human sentiment, ever impressed by the hidden analogies and resemblances of things, now ready to elevate the creations of his fancy to the dignity of immortal verities, now asking whether there be such a thing at all as truth. In some of the most exquisite of his earlier verses he laments the rapid, irre- trievable passing away of youth. ~ Youth he exclaims, is gone away; cruel, cruel youth 1 And he concludes, We are cold, very cold, All our blood is drying old, And a terrible heart-dearth Reigns for us in heaven and earth. Forth we stretch our chilly fingers In poor effort to attain Tepid embers, where still lingers Soul-preserving warmth, in vain. But the youth whose flight the poet de- plores is not merely the freshness of mans existence, it is the freshness of the world. It is more than the individual man that is growing old, it is the round earth and everything that is thereon. The ancients were the youths of humanity; we mod- erns, as Bacon said, are the true ancients. Houghton bewails the disappearance of the primitive paganism of mankind as if it were a personal loss which he had him- self sustained. He writes on all these 96 A SCOTTISH DAME ON HER TRAVELS, 1756. subjects like one born out of his due time. In those days in which he seems to say he fain would have lived, there was no depressing consciousness of the tvorlds failures, there were no gloomy yesterdays of aspirations baffled and sorrows accu- mulated on which to look back. The retrospect was bright in fancy; the pros- pect glorious with hope. What matter if rhe heathens of classic antiquity lived in an atmosphere of vain imaginings, and fed themselves only on the fictions of their fancy. It was enough for them; their fancies were to them as facts, and they therefore supplied a faith. The feeling which Houghton betrays in his classical poems towards these men is one of almost passionate envy. With such thoughts the poetry of his best and earliest period is charged. He realized and gave artic- ulate expression to the sentiments and aspirations of pagan antiquity with an enthusiasm and pathos that in their way have never been surpassed and seldom approached. Again and again he speaks as from the very soul of one of his Hel- lenic heroes or favorites who were trou- bled by no doubt that their worthy resolves would be sanctioned by the approving thunders of Zeus, might even be followed by counsels from the lips of Pallas Athene herself. He could not, like the emperor Julian, undertake to bring back into life the past which he loved so much by any positive edict, but he could testify his desire to do so, he could proclaim his sympathy with the vanished epoch through the mouth of his muse. As in Edward Bun burys great history of Ancient Ge- ography and its illustrative maps we see the small circlet of territories within the ring-fence of Oceanus, which was all that had then been irradiated by the mind and imagination of Greece, so under the spell of Houghton~s genius the circlet becomes all aglow with the rapturous fervor of a life illumined and glorified, and almost created by poetry. T. H. S. ESCOTT. From Blackwoods Magazine. A SCOTTISH DAME ON HER TRAVELS, 1756.* LORD COCKBURN was privileged to know the last surviving Scottish ladies of * Letters and ~ourna?s of Mrs. Calderwood of Pal/on, 1756. Edited by Alexander Fergusson, Lieu- tenant Colonel, Author of Henry Erskine and his Kinsfolk. Edinburgh: David Douglas. the old school, and himself pronounced a fitting eulogium on their characteristics, on their spirit, their humor, their cour- age, their independence, which made them stand out, he says, like primitive rocks above ordinary society. Their qualities of sense, humor, affection, and spirit were embodied in curious outsides; for they all dressed, and spoke, and did exactly as they chose their language, like their habits, entirely Scotch, but without any other vulgarity than what perfect natural- ness is sometimes mistaken for. The pity is, that so few means have been spared us of recalling the personalities of these grand dames with whom the last sparks of Scottish character appear to have been extinguished. They were not, as a rule, letter-writers the passion for memoirs did not exist in their day and they have come down to us mainly as the heroines of some eccentricity, or the authors of some shrewd saying or absurd remark. What a field for observation a Mr. Pepys or a Horace Walpole would have found in the society of the Scottish capital towards the middle years of the last century! What graphic pictures might we not have had of old Lady Stair es: pleine cour at Holyrood three times striking tl)e floor with her cane, and each time proclaiming the Earl of Dundonald a damned villain; or of that beautiful hoyden Jane Maxwell, afterwards Duch- ess of Gordon, riding on a pig, with her not less lovely sister Eglantine, the future Lady Wallace of Craigie, acting as driver; or of the witty Lady Dick in male attire engaged in even more questionable frolics in the High Street, and brawling with the watch; or, yet more pleasing retrospect, Susanna, Countess of Eglinton, the grand- est and fairest of great ladies, heading the procession of eight sedans ablaze with gilt and ar morial bearings, in which she and her seven daughters, not less fair than herself, were being carried towards the old Assembly Rooms! A curious mix- ture of high-descended dignity and sim- plicity must the leaders of Scottish fashion have presented, if we can believe Pate-in- Perils somewhat rash assertion, that a tartan screen, and once a year a new cock- ernony from Paris, should serve a count- ess. They passed, and left only their traces in the beauties which they lent to the canvases of Ramsay, Aikman, and Raeburn, and the traditional traits tvhich have been handed down to us as oddities of their generation; and if we picture to ourselves the Scottish lady of the last century, we are most readily tempted to A SCOTTISH DAME ON HER TRAVELS, 1756. fall back upon that delightful idealization of all her higher qualiPes, Sir Walter Scotts Mrs. Bethune Baliol. We were perhaps somewhat hasty in complaining that, beyond portraits and grotesque anecdotes, Scotch ladies of the last century have left no remains behind them. The ponderous tomes of the club- books have guarded the intellectual part of not a few of them as safely, and almost as undisturbedly, as the heavy headstones crowded with heraldic devices, cherubs, deaths heads, and cross-bones have pro- tected their material dust. Such, for instance, has been the case of Mrs. Calder- wood of Polton, whose intellectual life lay entombed in that weighty quarto the Coltness Collections for more than half a century, until it has been resusci- tated by Colonel Fergusson, the accom- plished biographer of Henry Erskine and his Kinsfolk. Except that she was a lady who took advantage of all the free- dom of language accorded to her genera- tion, little has hitherto been generally known of Mrs. Calderwood beyond the limited circle of club-book readers; and Colonel Fergusson has shown us excel- lent reasons for saying that this is much to be regretted - By a judicious selection from her correspondence contained in the Coltness Collections, and by editing her letters into a continuous narrative, he has succeeded in placing before us a most vigorous and lifelike personality of the writer. There is but little of the antique about Mrs. Calderwood; her duplicate might still be found among Scotchwomen, although we might have to seek for it some degrees further down the social scale. Her strongly marked individuality will probably appear even less singular to our more liberal notions than it must have done to her contemporaries. We can imagine her as a woman of keen wit and a sharp tongue, possessed of a dan- gerous power of effective ridicule, and a disposition to employ it when-her feelings or her prejudices were at work; a mind as much disposed to look at matters from a profane as from a pious point of view a kindly, shrewd, energetic, hot-tempered, and withal hot-headed person. Mrs. Calderwood possessed the advan- tage, unusual to the great ma ssof her countrywomen, of having been a travelled Scotch woman; and it is owing to her travels, and to the journals which she kept, and the letters which she wrote to her friends at home, that we are able at the present day to make her acquaintance so closely. There is a vein of romance LIVING AGL VOL. LII. 2659 97 connected with Mrs. Calderwooa s expe- dition which must be opened. She was the wife of Mr. Calderwood of Polton, who may exhaustively be described as a douce Scotch laird. He was a Whig and she was a Whig, being a granddaugh- ter of Sir James Steuart of Goodtrees, and connected by blood or marriage with all the leading families of the Covenant and the Revolution. To such a couple the defeat of Culloden, it might have been thought, could only prove a source of un- mixed rejoicing. Yet it brought a heavy cloud over the house of Polton, and con- demned its master and mistress to brave the dangers of the German Ocean, and to sojourn for a season among the depressed and ruined adherents of the Stuarts in their Continental retreats. For Mrs. Calderwoods elder brother, Sir James Steuart of Coltness, had in some inexpli- cable wayand indeed there are not a few points in his history that need clear- ing up fallen away from the political creed of his fathers, had become a rank Jacobite, and although he had never taken the field, was included among the pro- scribed adherents of the Chevalier. It seems strange that a gentleman who had ostensibly taken so small a part in the rising of the Forty-five should have con- tinued to be excluded from the clemency of the crown after many more active par- ticipators had received a free pardon. Sir James Steuart evidently considered himself the victim of special persecution at the hands of the crown authorities. Writing to his brother-in-law, the Earl of Buchan, from the Continent in 1746, he thus complains: I am sure there cannot be the least proof against me of high trea- son. . . - That I am deeply suspected I know very well, and that I was looked upon as a furious Jacobite by many; but, good God I is that a reason to class me in a bill of attainder without having some sort of evidence of my being guilty of high treason? Cautiously as Sir James had acted, there can be no question that he had played an active and secret part in Jacobite diplomacy, which, with all the other intrigues of St. Germains, did not escape George II.s ministers. His wife, Lady Frances Charteris, the flower of the Wemyss family, was as enthusiastic a Jacobite as her brother Lord Elcho, and shortly after their marriage he appears to have gone abroad in the interest of the house of Stuart. Among the Stuart pa- pers there are various traces to be found of his activity. For instance, we find him at Ghent in August, 1745, when on the 98 A SCOTTISH DAME ON HER TRAVELS, 1756. point of leaving to join the prince in Scotland, ~vriting to the Chevalier de St. George: I am now pleased finding that I have been able to be of some use here, and like to be of much more, by carrying to my Prince and country the glorious resolutions of the Kings of France and Spain, who have charged me by their Ministers to acquaint his Royal High- ness and nobles of Scotland that they shall support him and the King his fathers cause with all their force by sea, land, etc. - - - I shall make a good regiment in the country to serve my King, and I hope do better service there, that I hope in God there will be an in- vitation to the King soon to come to this country upon good grounds. Probably prudence and the persuasions of his Whig kinsfolk served to restrain his enthusiasm when he reached Scotland, although they did not prevent him from completely identifying himself with the Jacobite party. He had been a pensioner of St. Germains, and had also lent his talents to the difficult subject of Jacobite finance. The Chevalier de St. George, writing to Sir James in September, 1746, remarks, that with the money you brought back from Scotland, you will have a good deal of the Spanish money still in your hands, which cannot be better ap- plied than in relieving the necessities of the unfortunate exiles. There is extant, too, a draft commission to Sir James, dated December, 1746, to represent the princes interests at the court of France, where he was a ~ersonagrata to the Duke de Bouillon and the DArgensons. The attempts which either Sir James or his friends at home were making to minimize his connection with the Stuart interest, and to procure his pardon, seem subse- quently to have created suspicion in the French ministers; and Sir James retired to Angoul~me, where he resided until 1754, devoting himself with much success to the then infant science of political econ- omy. Before the breaking out of the seven years war with France, Sir James and his family migrated to Flanders, as their residence in a hostile country would not have contributed to the peace which he was still assiduously endeavoring to make with his own government. And it was mainly to cheer her brother and his wife, whose circumstances were then ap- parently much depressed, that Mrs. Cal- derwood and her husband set out upon their venturesome expedition. Never, assuredly, was a sentimental journey chronicled by a more practical per- son. From that eventful June 3, 1756, when at 4 afternoon I set out from Pol toun and sleeped at Pilmure, the good dame is all eyes and ears, and, according to her own admission, not a little tongue also. Hardly has she got over the Tweed than she has to take up her testimony anent Sabbath desecration by playing at football, and to record her admiration for the unwonted, not to say unwelcome, sight of hassocks for kneeling upon in Durham Cathedral, which she drily likens to so many Cheshire cheeses. I think [quoth Mrs. Calderwood] the cathe- drall of Durham is the most ridiculous piece of expence I saw, to keep up such a pagentry of idle fellows in a country place, where there is nobody either to see or join with them, for there ~vas not place for above fifty folks be- sides the performers. But in spite of the air of critical supe- riority with which she regards the south- rons and their ways, her journey to the metropolis was not altogether profitless. By the time she reached London, she had picked up a receipt for making Stilton cheese, another for salting butter, a pretty accurate estimate of how much an aiker land was rented at in the different shires through which she passed, and various weighty opinions of the different breeds of cattle she had met with. London was then excited over Admiral Byngs failure off Minorca, and Mrs. Cal- derwood was not slow to notice and sat- irize the wavering views of the statesmen, and the unreasoning clamors of the popu- lace. Her sense of reverence, never very strong, quite deserts her when she dis- covers that ministers of state, instead of answering to the grand ideas which she had entertained of them, were a parcell of old ignorant senseless bodies, who mind nothing but eating and drinking, and rolling about in Hyde Park. There is no depending on news at London [she continues]; there was a lye coined for every day I was there, and every one of them the English believed, providing it was agree- able. And the Court is no better informed than the vulgar: for, providing there are two lyes raised in one day, a good one in the fore- noon; then the Duke of Newcastle drinks Mr. Byngs health at dinner: out comes a defeat in the afternoon; he damns Mr. Byng for a scoundrell. Out goes one of the Princess~s masters to Kew; he tells Mr. Byng has defeat the French. The Prince of Wales hears it; then it comes, Who told you, Heny Peny? At last it lands on the French dancing-master, who lays it on a Hanoverian officer, whose name he knew not. So the reports go abroad. Mrs. Calderwood could only speak of A SCOTTISH DAME ON HER TRAVELS, 1756. the court by report, and indeed only saw fashionable society from side views at Ranelagh and Vauxhall. She does not endorse the general verdict on Mary Gun- ning, the Countess of Coventrys beauty, but regards her as a pert, stinking-like hussy. She was in dishabille, and very shabby drest, but was painted over her very jaw-bones. The good lady of Polton never once allows herself to be betrayed into admiration. London and its society she regards from a tolerant, not to say patronizing point of view, that would have been infinitely amusing to contemporary Cockneys could they have been privileged to read and gifted to understand her cor- respondence. She is, however, disposed to be pleased with Greenwich Hospital, which she pronounces a ridiculous fine thing, and remarks that no wonder the English are transported with a place they can see about them in. But on the whole, she views the sights of London very much in the spirit of Richie Moniplies, who un- blushingly maintained the superiority of the Edinburgh West Port to the White- hall gateways of the great Holbein, and of the Water of Leith and the Nor Loch as navigable rivers compared to the Thames. Even in the matter of English cookery, with which her countrymen were popu- larly supposed not to quarrel, Mrs. Cal- derwood is not to be appeased: As for their victualls they make such a work about, I cannot enter into the taste of [them]; or rather, I think, they have no taste to enter into. The meat is juicy enough, but has so little taste, that if [you] shut your eyes, you will not know by either taste or smell what you are eating. The lamb and veall look as if they had been blanched in water. The smell of dinner will never intimate that it is on the table. No such effluvia as beef and cabbadge was ever found at London. I never used to be fond of bacon or salt things, and did not reflect upon it, till after that I ate of them whenever I could, as it was without thinking but that it was better than it used to be, till I considered and found that it had been from its having more taste that made me have a naturall desire for it. I am not surprised the English run into French cookry, or to speak with so much pleasure of rashers of bacon or of roasted beef, for their beef and bacon are their best. Their London business despatched, the Calderwoods journeyed to Harwich, and took the government packet across to Helvoetsluys. The ladys account of this doleful voyage has been frequently quoted; and if our memory serves us rightly, her editor has somewhat toned down the elo- quent force of ber description. Suffice it 99 to say that a cross wind compelled them to cast anchor off the coast of Suffolk, when every one fell a-vomiting, and there was such sighing and groaning in the two cabins as I never heard the like. Mr. Calderwood had got possession of the state-room, and there lay he snug, with the door shut, very squeamish. There was such a stink below that I durst not go down, so sat above till it was almost dark; then down and into bed as soon as possible, very, very squeam- ish. I could not keep my feet in the cabin, and it was such an operation betwixt John [John Rattray, their servant] and me to get off some of my clothes, and to get on my night- clothes, that had anybody been inclined to laugh, they might have had a good subject. I at last got to bed, but such a night I think I never will forget. The reader may, with profit and amuse- ment, follow Mrs. Calderwoods footsteps through Holland from Rotterdam to Delft and the Hague, where the Dutch court was at that time presided over by the mother of the young stadtholder, Princess Anne, daughter of George II. The frugal and industrious Dutch impress Mrs. Cal- derwood more favorably than her own neighbors across the Tweed; but she coin- plains that almost none of them have the look of gentlemen or ladies. She finds the vivers dear; but their cookery is preferable to ours in all manner of stewes and stoved things. They travel on a trekscliuy/ from the Hague to Am- sterdam, commanded by a skipper ~vho sits on his hungkers; and on the way she finds time to~recall the followinganec- dote of Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun, the well-known Scottish republican and anti- Unionist : Salton could not endure the smoak of toback, and as he was in a night-scoot, the skipper and he fell out about his forbidding him to smoak. Salton, finding he could not hinder him, ~vent up and sat on the ridge of the boat, which bows like an arch. The skipper was so contentious that he followed him, and on what- ever side Salton sat he put his pipe in the cheek next him and whifed it in his face. Salton went down severall times, and brought up stones in his pocket from the ballast, and slipt them into the skippers pocket that was next the water, and when he found he had loadenecl him as much as would sink him, he gives him a shove so that over he hirsled. Ihe boat went on, and Salton came down amongst the rest of the passengers, who l)rob- ably were asleep, and fell asleep amongst the rest. In a little time bump caine the scoot against the side, on which they all damned the skipper; but behold when they called there was no skipper, which would breed no great amazement in a Dutch company. 100 A SCOTTISH DAME ON HER TRAVELS, 1756. Flanders, however, does not yield the same gratification to Mrs. Calderwood as Holland had done. Her Scottish Puritan. ism rises in furious wrath at the Church of Rome, and she writes so that her editor has been obliged to exercise his judgment in excising the more offensive remarks; and he might, without much indiscretion, have gone a little further. Mrs. Calder- wood indulges to the full in that coarse ridicule which since the time ~vhen, in David lindsays hands, it had proved a most efficacious instrument in breaking the keys of Romehas always been in high favor ~vith Scottish controversialists. Mrs. Calderwood wields these antique weapons with admirable skill; and we scarcely know whether we ought to be shocked at her utter lack of Christian charity or amused at her profane absurdi- ties, which, although less refined, recall the language which Voltaire much about the same time was making use of. Flan- ders was then full of English and Scot- tish priests. The religious houses were crowded ~vith ladies of the unfortunate families who had suffered in the cause of the Stuarts. The lady of Polton was as much an adept in the art of extracting in- formation as a modern newspaper inter- viewer, and she managed to get many curious details of monastic and conventual life from the Scotch priests and sisters whom she encountered, which are not the less readable for her own pungent criti- ci sins. It was at Spa that the Calderwoods suc- ceeded in meeting their relations; and they found the famous watering-place crowded with their countrymen, both Georgians and Jacobites, and with many notabilities from the Continental States besides. We may note en ~assan/ that Flanders at that time seems to have been regarded as a sort of quarantine for the British exiles, in which, away from the open influence of France, they might qualify themselves for the pardon which their friends were striving to procure for them. There was also the usual as- semblage of adventurers, sharpers, Jews, and eccentrics, ~vho furnished Mrs. Cal- derwood with excellent material for study and description. Some of her country- men at least were thriving, for there was a public room kept by a Mr. Hay, who was long about my Lady Errol, and who also managed a faro bank, which had more attractions for the majority of visitors than the twice-a-week dances. Mrs. Cal- derwood attributes this to the awkward- ness of the women of the country, who cannot go through a country-dance, but hobble, hobble, and never stir a foot. There was a family of Jews there, Minheir Pinto, from Amsterdam, his lady, daughter, and son-in-law, another daughter and t wosons, the oddest-like animals ever was seen, with high noses, and black round eyes set close to them, like so many owls. [hey were the keenest dancers, and the worst at it ever was. After the company had looked with wonder at their dancing for severall nights, and the men had begun to shun dancing with them (for they always asked them), Lady Hellen [daughter of Lord Wemyss, and sister-in-law of Sir James Steuart] and Lord Garless [Garliesi danced a strathspey minuet; whenever the Jews saw that, they fell to it, they lap, they flaughtered so like hens with their feet tied together, that you might have bound the whole company with a straw; and they were delighted. But there were more accomplished per- sonages at the Spaw who sat to Mrs. Calder~vood for their portraits, and with whom we have made acquaintance else- where. There was the rich Mr. Spen- cer, afterwards the first earl then a young man travelling with his governor, but already married. His mother-in-law, Mrs. Poyntz, commanded the party; a deaf, short-sighted, loud.spoken, hackney- headed wife. There was, too, the Prince- Bishop of Osnaburgh, a very civill body, just like Mr. Cunninghame the pack man. Then came Sir Thomas Worsley and his wife, and her brother Lord Dungarven, and their cousin Lord Boyle who had a bad temper and a strong Irish brog and various military ladies, with whom Mrs. Calderwood had some difficulty in hitting it off. To the social comminglings of these people, and to the inevitable scan- dals which float in the air of a watering- place, Mrs. Calderwood does full justice; and we know of no work in which En- glish life at a Continental spa in the eigh- teenth century has been so humorously and graphically described as in her let- ters. The Calderwoods had taken from home with them two Scotch servants, whose remarks and experiences furnish much amusement throughout the letters. We have already seen John Rattray acting as ladys-maid to Mrs. Calderwood during the eventful night on board the packet. We may now quote the following story of his linguistic difficulties We often got good sport with Johns French and the mistakes that happened betwixt him and her [Lady Frances Steuart] They wanted to have a h~g-gas, but John said we must set our hearts by [beyond] that, for he had seen RURAL ROADS. I0I nothing like meall in that town. That day Mr. Calderwood had bid the landlady get huh some honey, so when she was counting with John at night there was an article for miel. Meal! says John; devil a grain have I seen in your country! n~, no, madamno, no,,, and shook his head. Upon this she came to Mr. Calderwood, who put John right, and told the woman what he had mistaken it for; upon which she produced meal, to the great joy of the company, who by this mistake got a haggas. I asked John one day how they called the maid of the house. I dont know, says he, how they call the wemen-servants here, but they call us men durnbsticks. Troth, says I, you are really well named at~resenl However, John was very happy, for there were many Scots and English dumbsticks there with whom he made merry. . . . Then comes Peggie Rainy. 0 sir ! says she, I was learning French with Mr. Hair and Mr. Line, and you laught me out of [it]. I would have been a fine speaker if it had not been for you, but you said I was too old, and now Im older and will never learn. Indeeds he said true, for if she was told how to ask for a thing, she forgot or she was at the foot of the stair. Then she thought she would do like daft Jock and repeat it all the way; so one day she was wanting to walk to a fountain called the Tone/el, and after being directed the road was desired to ask anybody she met if that was the road to the Tonelet, and thought she had got a fast grip of le chernin ~ la Tone. let. Chambeing toutalon, says she to every one she met, and returned without finding the place. Ay, says she, I that caine from Edinburgh to Li& ge as if I had been led by a string, not to find a place within a mile of Spaw! It is gratifying to know that the Calder- woods had their brother restored to them shortly after the accession of George III., when Sir James Steuart was permitted to return home, and to live quietly on his estate. It was not, however, before the breach which had been gradually widen. ing between the French court and Sir James resulted in his arrest at Spa in 1762, and his imprisonment in the fortress of Givet until the conclusion of the war. The French government was scarcely to be blamed for this measure of precaution, illegal though it doubtless vas ; for Sir James, standing on the borderland be- tween the Stuarts and the English gov- ernment, and sharing the secrets of the former while he was most anxious to se- cure the friendship and forgiveness of the latter, was certainly a person dangerous to French interests. When and in what manner Sir James succeeded in finally disentangling himself from the Jacobite cause, has never been fully set forth. His friends and biographers have carried their endeavors to extenuate his connection with Jacobitism to an extent which pre- sents us with quite a misleading view of his connection with that movement; and Colonel Fergusson has showii less than his usual critical insight in so unreserv- edly accepting their statements. Sir James as a politician does not figure to advantage. As a thinker and a writer, of a school much in advance of his age, he has never received the consideration which he deserves. As the earliest ex- positor in this country of political econ- omy as a distinct science, he is entitled to no small amount of the credit which is usually bestowed on his better known suc- cessor Adam Smith. We presume the time is not far off when many of the other club-books ~re to be rifled in the same way as the Colt- ness Collections have been made to yield their treasures. These monuments of edi- torial acumen and patient research are, it is to be feared, sealed books to this gen- eration of superficial readers, while so many sources of interest are buried within their boards that they present a most in- viting field for the enterprising li//Ira- leur. If such be the inevitable fate of the Bannatyne, Abbotsford, Roxburghe, and Spalding storehouses, we can only wish that they may be assailed with the same taste and literary skill as have produced the delightful volume which we now lay down. From Macmillans Magazine. RURAL ROADS. THERE are certain patents, or rather copyrights, which it would be a blunder verging on crime to infringe. The sight- seeing of the British isles must be left to our American cousins; charioteering chronicles to the cosmopolitan millionaire, or members of the Four-in-Hand Club, and the discovery of new holiday haunts to the legions of enterprising tourists, whose most difficult problem at present is how to get out of each others way. The log of a bond ftde traveller who has oc- casion to trot leisurely through the rural roads of half-a-dozen counties in our native land must be acquitted of any rash ambition to compete with these estab- lished literary properties ; but it is not 102 RURAL ROADS. rain lifts, and only the distant views of Berkshire hills are spoilt; the brown at- mosphere seems to harmonize with the silence; all the hedge that is not snowy white is a moist, feathery green, uncon- taminated by shears and bill-hook, and even without the shadow of the wood upon the right, one might mistake these rural solitudes for the lotus-eaters para- dise, a land of long, lazy drifting, through silent fragrant afternoons. Five miles from Andover we come to Hurstborne Tarrant, again a favorite haunt of Cobbett, though he prefers the local and correcter pronunciation of Up- husband, a largish village with near nine hundred inhabitants. Wages here in t822, were 6s. weekly; in the same part of the country they are now 12s., but children no longer go to work at six or eight, so that the man with a long family has gained in money wages perhaps half-a- crown. They have thus increased in the interval by about a halfpenny per annum, a truly magnificent pace of progress, at which rate, if continued three hundred years hence, Hodge ~vill be earning just about the 62/. per annum which Cobbett calculated to be sufficient to find a labor- ers family in home grown bread, meat, and beer, without any such new-fangled luxuries as tea, school-pence, or potatoes. Perhaps, as B~ranger says, Celles-ci sont pour lan trois mil, ainsi soit-il l claiming too much for the British isles to say that within the length and breadth of them no continuous stretch of one hun- dred and fifty miles can be traversed with- out pleasure and some kind of instruction, most likely unforeseen; and if the chapter of accidents puts such a stretch of road within our reach, the invitation to follow it should not be neglected. A glance at Bradshaws map will show that, notwithstanding the development of railway enterprise, there is no direct route from the north-west corner of Hampshire to the south-west end of Lincolnshire, so that if a horse, trap, and human appen. dages have to be conveyed from one point to the other, it is economically possible to prefer the road to a days rail round the corner through London. It is the second week in June, but owing to the late spring the hawthorn is still only in its prime; the buttercups in the Hampshire meadows make a broader and brighter sheet of gold than usual, and the little villages which nestle mostly in cosy, wooded hollows, round about the neat and solid market town of Andover, still justify Cobbetts assertion that this country has its beau- ties, though so open, and we must now add, so turnip-ridden. Sixty years since, Cobbetts harangues to the farmers were among the attractions of the great October fair at Weyhill, which he describes as a village of half-a-dozen houses on a down, just above Appleshaw. It is not much larger now, but the fair buildings, long, More copse and hedges~ A ste eppull low sheds, with chalk walls and slate up the ridge which culminates in Beacon roofs, separated by green lanes, with down and Sidown hills, above Lord Carnar- outside, and a picturesque ex-inn and vons park. The famous rhododendrons farmhouse in the centre, give a curious of High Clere are in bloom, but we pass individuality to the place. by on the other side, through the village, The weather is cloudy, and we only the third and last upon the road to New- start at six P.M., intending to sleep at bury, which we reach, through its modest Newbury, after a short stage of sixteen fringe of villas, about half past eight. miles. Weyhill is known parochially as The little town is strange to us, and we Penton Grafton, and part of the parish seek guidance from an opportune police- belongs geographically to the neighboring man, and though the discreet guardian of village of Penton Mewsey, through which the public peace looks as if, like the un- we start. Penton is not on the highroad, dergradu ate pressed to discriminate be- and we follow lanes that meander gently tween the major and minor prophets, he right and left, up and down, with a leis- liked not to make invidious distinctions, urelv, rustic slouch. A couple of miles we gather from him that it will be on the brings us to a little corner public-house; safe side to put up at the White Hart. one boy represents the population of five But for the quarterly utterance of the cross lanes; presently we find ourselves church clock, the paved market-place is on the highroad from Andover to New- as silent as the hedgerows through the bury; here are milestones, mostly illegi- nights. ble, an uninhabited turnpike hut, two These first fifteen miles were not by laborers going home from work, one way- any means the most solitary of the road side cottage, a country parson and a gig before us, but they happen to be those crawling up the hill down which our old as to which it is easiest to quantify horse prefers to zigzag cautiously. The the impression we receive of traversing a RURAL ROADS. 103 scantily peopled country. It would be troublesome to ascertain for the whole distance the exact acreage of every parish traversed, but for these sixteen miles the population in a strip of country averaging about a mile and fourfifths wide along the road, averages about seventy-seven to the square mile. The soil is not poor; the land is almost entirely inclosed, is all cul- tivable and apparently all cultivated, ex- cept the pleasure-grounds at Doleswood and High Clere. Whether under these circumstances the above population can be considered normal in a civilized and crowded country may be judged from the fact that the general average for Great Britain is two hundred and eighty-nine to the square mile; the average in Ireland before the famine was two hundred and forty-nine; that of Bengal is four hundred and forty; that of the eastern province of China, including the great plain, is four hundred and fifty-eight; while three of the most populous of these provinces, with an area half as large again as Great Brit- ain and Ireland, had, at the beginning of the century, an average of nearly seven hundred and fifty to the square mile. Un- less our agricultural laborers are ten times as well off ~as John Chinaman we must have a good deal to learn in the way of rural economy; and, unfortunately, it is an open question whether the agricultural laborer is even as well off with us as he is (except in famine years) in the land of Mencius, where the test of good govern- ment has always been, that the aged agri- culturalist is able to eat flesh and wear silk, the latter of course for warmth, not ostentation. Most of the villages we reach have a stationary or declining pop- ulation, and as Cobbetts personal experi- ence of so many different counties gave a similar result, except about the then mod- est little town of London, it is easy to un- derstand his disbelief in the return of the second and third census (i8it and 1821), which represented the population of the whole country as increasing. With all his hatred of the war, he hardry real- ized how many villages could be emptied into it without making much impression on its apparent size. The next days journey must take in fifty-six miles to Banbury, so an early start is prudent. A pretty chambermaid keeps exemplary faith, and we are off at seven, through a quiet downpour suggestive of one of the lew weather proverbs that ex- perience justifies rather oftener than not. Rain before seven, fine before eleven in this case meant dry by nine and sunny by noon, and for the rest of the way we had only to congratulate ourselves on the showers which had laid the dust and cooled the roads for three days ahead. A shady road leads out of Newbury through Domington village; not being sightseers we leave the castle of that ilk on our left, cross the Lambourn on its ~vay to join the Kennet, pass an old roadside inn dedi- cated to the Fox and Hounds, catch a glimpse of Chievely church and village on the left, and admire a long row of labur- num-trees in full flower which some one has planted alternately with firs along a sloping meadow top. No hay is cut or carrying; one threshing machine is at work, but John opines that if the farmer has been holding back for a rise he is likely to be disappointed when he gets to market. About six miles from Newbury, with the disregard for horseflesh com- mon to English road-in akers, we charge straight up and down Beedon Hill, a round outwork of the Berkshire downs, avoiding the village which lies on a by-road at the western foot. On the north side of Beedon Hill we descend upon the interesting and pictur- esque village of Market lIsley, where sheep and lamb fairs are held fortnightly for several months. The village lies in the hollow between Beedon Hill and the range of downs which stretches west above the vale of the White Horse to Ashdown. Half the village street is taken up en permanence with the sheep-pens required for the recurring fairs or markets, and the adaptation of the whole village to a spe- cial and unusual purpose gives it the same half-exotic air in Weyhill, which it also re- sembles in the number of its public-houses there are seven inns besides beer- shops to a population under six hundred and in the presence of racing stables, brought by the fact that the grass of this down furnishes the best exercising ground for young horses. We had determined at starting to follow the custom of Swiss and Italian ve/turini, and make two short halts in the morning and afternoon, as well as the longer one at midday, and at lIsley horse and man tried the hospitality of one of the seven inns while the driver strolled up to the Ridgeway. Flocks of sheep were grazing in hurdled inclosures under the slope, the clouds were breaking, and gleams of sunlight flitted over the country, resting, as it seemed, by preference on the little marketplace. The summit of the hill is open, and as lovely a bit of down as one need wish to see. The dim grass track of the Ridgeway 104 RURAL ROADS. stretches alluringly to the west, and it would be a sacrifice to remain in sight of the highroad but for a copse or thicket on either side of it. Here the gorse in flower, with hawthorn-trees in the midst, made a perfect group with earth and sky; the delicate green, gold, and white hues fit for fairyland harmonize and blend with each other and the landscape, with a Jook of naturalness as well as beauty that the best arrangement of the best horti- culturists never quite comes up to. It is not by accident that primroses, wood anemones, and violets, cowslips and pur- ple orchises, wild rose and honeysuckle, loosestrife and meadowsweet, and many another floral pair, not only grow together, but set off each others beauty as they do so. Natures groupings are the best in our eyes, not merely because they are nat- ural, but also because our eyes have not yet altogether unlearnt the unconscious lessons of primeval life by which man adapts his taste to what is best in nature instead of adapting nature to what is worst in man. The inhabitants of the village, it is said, have the right of cutting furze upon the downs, but inclosures have crept up so far that the privilege cannot be worth much. As the crow flies, the Thames, just be- low Moulsford, is only six or seven miles off, but the view due east is blocked by the shoulder of the down, and the open country, watered by the obscure streamlets which debouch into the Thames at Abing- don, has no more charm than belongs to every wide outlook over cultivated land. A pond and farmhouse betoken the neigh- borhood of the little village of Chiltern, which, like three villages out of every four, stands off the highroad~ About seven miles from lIsley we cross the Great XVest- em Railway by Steventon station and vil- lage, the latter of which, no doubt, owes to the presence of the former the fact that its population is slightly on the increase. As if to assure us that, after all, the plains of Merrie England are a little more popu- lous than the Spljigen, we find the village street beyond the gate of the level cross- ing engaged in the wild dissipation which betokens a club feast2 There is a small booth by the wayside, and a red-coat is having a shy at Aunt Sally; fathers of families, in their Sunday best, saunter up by twos and threes; and a flag is flying at the inn, where the proceedings will termi- nate with the usual minimum of benefit to the club funds. Steventon, however, re- joices in attractions more permanent than those of Aunt Sally. On the Abingdon side the road passes through what at first sight seems only an unusually large and pretty village green, but a second glance shows that the avenue of tall trees around it belongs to the green and edges a raised path, like those along the Oxford mead- ows, skirting the green. Admiration is mixed with wonder, for we seldom meet a village seized of such a pretty bit of landed property. On inquiry it seems that a trust fund, somewhat under 40/. per annum, has been bequeathed for keeping up the cause- way and avenues; but while such pretty possessions are the exception, and the cus- torn of the country is to do ~vithout them, their owners will not know what to do with them, and accordingly we find the wild festivities of Steventon going on in the street, with as little picturesqueness as if no founder and benefactor had ever thought of its pleasures. After this the road passes through Drayton village, and in four miles reaches Abingdon. It is only on entering and leaving a town that any question as to the route arises. From Abingdon to Oxford there is a choice, and in following the highroadwecome in by Christchurch instead of over Magdalen Bridge. The number of notices to tres- passers about Bagly Wood and elsewhere suggests that we are in the neighborhood either of peculiarly illiberal landlords or a very destructive native population. We reach Oxford at noon, but these centres of civilization concern us not. Along the Banbury road we see some haymaking at last, and the scent of bean- fields is in the air. For a mile or so beyond Summerstown a few nurses and children, and further on a youth or two, taking their constitutionals on wheels, break the transition. We touch the cor- ner of the straggling village of Kidlington, and then the road settles down into the pretty agricultural solitude which we are learning to look upon as the travellers right. Roadside trees, rare in Hamp- shire, grow steadily commoner as we pro- ceed, their shade the welcomer as the sky clears; but one cannot have everything at once, and with them we lose a type of road which at least once a year is full of charm; it is edged with turf on either side, and the wheat or turnip fields are almost shut out of sight by the hedge of branching hawthorn, seldom less than ten or twelve feet high. Tackley parish pro- duces Sturdy Castle, an old junction inn, where the highroad forks to Wood- stock; but in Steeple Aston we find a better half-way house, owned by a farm- er and still called Hopcrofts Bolt, after RURAL ROADS. 105 some ancient occupier of equal wisdom. This is the typical or rather the ideal way- side inn, quiet and white and neat, with flowers before the porch and a little par- lor, which is also the familys best sitting- room, commanding a still and pleasant view of the copse and finger-post where four unfrequented roads diverge; here, at least, between five and six the wayfarer may rejoice in afternoon tea (though even then bread and cheese will be proffered first) and either try his hand at a well-bound novel, dedicated in 1830 to the newly con- fessed author of Waverley, or meditate on the confirmation given by our village inns to the thesis of Englands uninhab. ited estate. Some of these little hostelries are pretty and pleasant enough to compare with ought of their size in Switzerland or Bavaria or the Black Forest; but their pleasantness is in no case supported or suggested by the custom which they re- ceive. Tis not for guests or customers that flowers are set in the window and sweet peas trained up the door. If mine host and his womenfolk come of a com- fortable stock accustomed to these ameni- ties, the inn will have the homely pretti- ness of a country farm; if not, the farmer and his nag will respectively eat and drink in due season, the waggoner will stop to bait and Hodge turn in to swallow silently as much beer as his meagre budget will admit; and more exacting customers are too few to count. If the inn looks pros- perous, the odds are that the landlord is a farmer, or, may be, postmaster and tailor as well, or, as in Deddington just ahead, a blacksmith or a butcher, or, perhaps, proprietor of the mowing or threshing ma- chine which serves the district. Civilized travellers will beware of the man who lives by beer alone, and the effective de- mand for bread and cheese, to say nothing of bacon, is evidently inadequate to evoke a constant supply. At six oclock the best of the summer evening is before us; the low hill on the right, with the churches of Steeple Aston and North Aston, shields the road which presently crosses the little river Swere, and climbs the hill to Deddington,oncea mar- ket town, now in appearance a rather over- grown village, and not the ~vorse for that, since English villages are generally pretty, and small English towns almost always ugly, unless their growth was arrested a century ago. Handsome old timbered houses survive to tell the tale of departed glory, and a bicycle gyratingdown the hill casts a slender ray of hope on the imme- diate future of these rural roads and de caying village inns. Deddington has under two thousand and Adderbury under fifteen hundred inhabitants; they are only two miles apart and not unlike in situation, having each a hill and each a stream, and each a sleepy high street, though the green side of the hill sloping to the water meadows is of unequal steepness and beauty. Here again ~ve meet signs of life: no fewer than three carts, of various degrees of pretension, bearing ferns and flowers and more or less hilarious drivers canter by us; there must have been a flower show in Banbur~, and we ourselves are in the parish of Bodlicote, a spot of some botanical interest, for medicinal rhubarb is grown here. Apropos of rhu- barb, we pass to-day some plants of the common sort in flower, and wonder why it is not grown as a foliage plant in Hyde Park; the heads are finer than pampas grass. Drugs and flower shows not with- standing, the English settlements to the north of Banbury (to borrow the language of a dispassionate explorer) are in a de- clining state. Deddington has lost its market and Easington its parish church, or rather the church is still there but the parishioners are made over to the adjoin- ing cure of Cuxham; a flock of twenty- eight sheep left in the wilderness cannot expect to have a shepherd to itself, and, as every traveller knows, the ruined and deserted temples of an ancient faith are always to be met with as picturesque or- naments on the site of former prosperity and cultivation. The crimson sun sets behind Banbury, a quiet, comfortable little town ~vith about ten thousand inhabitants, justso to speaka size larger than Newbury, and not too large for a good contingent of the inhabitants to enjoy a summer evenings stroll along the shady roads outside the town, which are not without hospitable benches. By comparison with the roads we have been following we seem again in an uninhabited country, but as at Newbury we compared our own impressions of En- glands uninhabitedness with Chinese sta- tistics of population, we may now compare with both the impressions received by travellers in that really populous country. An Arab traveller of the ninth century at- tempts to give an idea of the populousness of the fertile plains in southern China, by saying that the villages seem so close as almost to touch, and the cocks answer each other continuously from hamlet to hamlet for one hundred leagues together. In En- gland we speak of barn door fowls, and our peasantry have no barn and but rarely io6 RURAL ROADS. fowls, so the music of chanticleer is less conspicuous a feature in village life than might be wished; but though every vil- lage kept wild cocks enough to spoil the slumbers of a score of Carlyles, along our highroad their voices ~vould not reach to make an echo in the nearest hamlet, but would die away desolately in the void. The Spanish and Portuguese travellers who visited China in the sixteenth century use corresponding expressions; pagodas stood within a stones throw of each other, and continuously for eleven days journey they see cities, towns, villages, boroughs, forts, and castles not a shots flight distant from one another. The Jesuit mission- aries of the eighteenth and the Protes- tants of the present century tell substan- tially the same story, describing agricul- tural China as we should describe the manufacturing parts of Lancashire and Yorkshire, where the smoke of one town meets its neighbor in the sky. One re- cent traveller * tried to explain the differ- ence by the choice of more productive crops, One acre of wheat will in Europe support two men; one acre in China will probably support twenty; but if one acre of wheat supported two men, a parish containing nin eteen hundred and twenty acres half laid down in wheat would sup- port nineteen hundred and twenty inhab- itants, or at the rate of six hundred and forty to the square mile, and still have a surplus to spare for Deddington market. The true secret of the matter is that the Chinese agriculturist does, and the En- glish does not feed and clothe himself directly out of the produce of his own labor. The consequence is that, as En- glish travellers observe, with a surprise that would itself be surprising to a China- man, the country people of China are well off in a fat, fertile district, and only poor when the soil and climate are against them. We manage these things differ- ently in England; and it might still be said, almost as absolutely as by Cobbett, that the richer the soil and the more destitute of woods, that is to say, the more purely a corn country, the more miserable the laborers. At Banbury the rights of chambermaids are respected, and we are not entitled, as the Scotch landlord says, to tea at 6.30, except by private arrangement with the damsel, who agrees to curtail her lawful slumbers for a consideration. We are off at seven, with a clear and cloudless sky; and begin now to diverge from the straight * Gills River of Golden Sand, p. 277. road to Lincolnshire, and make a sweep westward, in order to touch at Coventry. Outside the town we have a choice of roads one to Warwick and Leamington, the other to Leamington ; and, as the latter is our destination, we follow its guidance, and do not repent, though it proves not to be the one we had predetermined on. Close to the road, at our left, is the pretty church and village of Mollington, half in Oxford and half in Warwickshire. The country here is exceedingly pretty finely timbered, with fat, sloping pas- tures, ridged from old plough ing or drain- ing. There is a Fenny Compton station, near which we cross the line, but the village is safe out of sight; it used to be famous for its yeomen, whose sub- stantial houses are now divided and let to laborers. Pretty as the road is here it has once been prettier, for