LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fifth S ries, Volume LXXX]I ~ No. 2544. April 1,1893. { From Begiuring Vol. CXCVII I. II. IL. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. CONTENTS. STUDY IN CHARACTER: HIS HIGHNESS ABBAS PASHA, KHEDIYE, . . . New Review, SQUIRE JACK. Conclusion, . . . Temple Bar, ASPECTS Of TENNYSON. Part III. The Real Thomas Becket, . A KINGS TREASURER, . A PACKET OF OLD LETTERS, THE THOUGHTS OF A MAORI CHIEF, VENETIAN MELANCHOLY. By J. Adding- ton Symonds, THE RECORD OF POISONING, SPRING IN THE SOUTH, A MODERN MALADY, MISCELLANY, Nineteenth Gentury, Macmillans Magazine, Temple Bar, Spectator, Fortnightly Review, British Medical Journal, 3 S 15 32 42 56 59 .63 POETRY. 2 SAN LORENZO GIUSTINIANI S MOTHER, 2 2 WILLY TO JINNY, . . . . 2 64 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For RIGHT DOLLAIIS remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually for- warded for a year,free of postage. 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 money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single copies of the LIVING AGE,. 18 cents. 2 SPRLNG IN THE SOUTH. NOT as she comes to us In our rough northern island, comes the spring! With the pale primrose glimmering on her wing, And her soft sunshine, coy and tremulous, She wakes our England from her winter sleep, And spreads her tender green on hill and lea, Despite the fierce nor-easter storms that sweep Across the uplands from the great North Sea. Here, where Biscayan waves Come in long rollers up the golden sand, And from the rugged rocks and hollowed caves Send their deep echoes oer the mountain land; The sunbeams dazzle downward, broad and hot, The pine woods scent lies heavy on the air, The bright flowers leap to life in glen and grot, And April claims her empire everywhere. High on the Spanish hills, The sunlight melts the drifts of rosy snow, And dancing plainwards in a thousand rills To gorse-clad moors and ferny chines they go; White, between sapphire sea and sapphire sky Flashes the seamew on his gleaming wing; And calling to the world triumphantly, Swift, warm, and bounteous comes the southern spring. All The Year Round. A MODERN MALADY. To be without an impulse or desire, A heap of fuel with no spark of fire; To be a prey to modish melancholy, Without the force for any other folly; To watch the movement of the universe, And to believe it moves from bad to worse, Blind tendency the master of the whole, And man without a purpose or a soul; To see the good and evil, foul and fair, And not to take a side and not to care, But live contented in a calm despair. Not live! exist; with power and passion fled, A lean heart nourishing a thinking head. I, musing on these matters, walked apartT To be at peace and commune with my heart.. Ah! if the gods were gracious to us, then Some new Prometheus would be granted men, And as I mused, I thought one spoke with. me: I brought the fire from Heaven, he said, but aye Your eyes are holden that ye cannot see. Spectator. M. E. II. SAN LORENZO GIUSTINIANPS MOTHER. I HAD not seen my sons dear face (He chose the cloister by Gods grace) Since it had come to full flower-time, I hardly guessed at its perfect prime, That folded flower of his dear face. Mine eyes were veiled by mists of tears. When on a day in many years One of his order came. I thrilled, Facing, I thought, that face fulfilled. I doubted, for my mists of tears. His blessing be with me forever! My hope and doubt were hard to sever.. That altered face, those holy weeds. Ifilledhis wallet and kissed his beads, And lost his echoing feet forever. If to my son my alms were given I know not, and I wait for Heaven. He did not plead for child of mine But for another child divine. And unto Him it was surely given. There is one alone who cannot change; Dreams are we, shadows, visions strange;. And all I give is given to one. I might mistake my dearest son, But never the Son who cannot change. ALICE MEYNELL. WILLY TO JINNY. DUsKIEE than the clouds that lie Tween the coal-pit and the sky, Lo, how Willy whistles by Right cheery from the colliree. Duskier might the laddie be, Save his coaxing coal-black e e, Nothing dark could Jinny see A-coming from the colliree. JOSEPH SKIPSEY. Spring in the South, etc. From The New Review. STUDY IN CHARACTER: HIS HIGHNESS ABBAS PASHA, KHEDIVE. IT is just a year ago or,to be accu- rate, a year an(l three weeks, for he died in the afternoon of January 7th, 1892 that Tewfyk Pasha fell a victim to the conflicting ineptitudes of his physicians. Ills death was altogether unexpected, for he was a man in the prime of life he was thirty-nine years of age robust, vigorous,of an excep- tionally healthy stock on both sides, moderate almost to frugality in his mode of living, and, for an Oriental potentate, of a physical activity far beyond the average. The news of his decease, therefore, cabled without warning from the modest little palace beside the min- eral baths of Helonan (a favorite re- treat of his Highness when hipped or out of sorts), fell upon the capitals of Europe with the shock of a dynamite explosion and roused, in quarters ad- mittedly l)est entitled to be interested, emotions and even apprehensions of the most varied characters. In this country the removal of Tewfyk, a loyal and honorable ally who, albeit chaf- ing at tiIRes under a tutelage uatu- rally irksome to a Moslem prince, had throughout recognized and appreciated the rapid strides made by his people towards prosperity under the firm but benign guidance of his British advisers was justly regarded as a calamity that could not fail to retard materially the progress of the work we had reluctantly taken in hand, and must inevitably (Ic- lay, by an indefinite term, the moment when we might safely fulfil the pledge made, not more to Europe than to our- selves, and leave Egypt to her own devices. This reasonable view found ready enough acceptance in the more sober circles of French politics, but with these the press of France has no part. The gentlemen who for the past month have, judged only from their own pens, held revel over the national disgrace, promptly advanced the wildest and most contradictory theories as to the only possible course to be pursued in Egypt; that Tewfyk Pasha had a son they 3 knew, for had not young Abbas and hi~ brother, Mehemet All, been extrava-~ gantly ifted on their passage through Paris in 1886? But they were alto~ gether ignorant of his age, and, in com~ mon with the rest of the world, knew nothing of the young princes character or disposition. On all sides, theu it. was agreed that a regency was impera- tive, but opinions were widely divided as to the form that regency must take. The powers should be called upon to govern Egypt jointly while maintainin~, the new viceroy; the control of the government should be placed in the hands of the Porte, and a Turkish army be permitted to enter Egypt ; the dual control should be restored. If the sug- gestion that England should abandon the country and ask France to take her place was not indeed made in so many words, the propriety of such a step was very openly hinted at. Then suddenly Paris awoke to the knowledge that, according to the received Egyptian in terpretation of Mohammedan law, xvh ich fixes the age of majority at the termnina tion of the fifteenth year, AbbasPasha was of full age, and that therefore no sort of interference was necessary with the existing system of administeringhis inheritance. A leading French journal placidly informed its readers ~ In Egypt nothing is changed but the name of the khedive,~ and this view was re ceive(I with general approval, while, under stress of a national misfortune, it escaped special notice in England that this elaborate volte-face was coincident xvith the circulation of reports mi Vienna to the effect that Abbas Pashas sym- pathies were entirely French, and that he had no intention of subihitting to foreign control. As a matter of fact, no one, save pos- sibly his schoolfelloxvs at the There- siangum, knew anything of the young khedives character or intentions. Abbas Hilmi Pasha was born on the first day of Gamal Akher, 1291, i.e., July 14th, 1874, at the Palace of Kou- beh, where Ismail had established Tewfyk, when, having after ,immense exertions at length obtained from the sultan the long-coveted firman altering Study in Character. 4 the succession, he reluctantly submitted to the decree of the European powers, that the new order of succession should be in favor of the eldest son. Tewfyks tastes, even before his accession, were so far English that he provided English nurses for his children, and very soon after his sudden and unexpected acces- sion to power, though they were still almost babies, lie entrusted the educa- tion of his two sons to an English tutor, and that of his daughter to an English governess. Abbas and his brother had two English tutors first, Mr. Butler, and afterwards Mi. Mitchell, though during the periods when these gentle- men were directing their studies the boys were attending a native school founded by their father. Tewfyks se- rious turn of mind, indeed, had found a field for activity in educational ques- tions. When only two-and-twenty he had founded, at his own expense, a school for orphans and sons of officers within the walls of his palace, and after his accession to power lie established or rather re-established, the Ali School situated opposite the Abdin Palace an institution intended for the ac- commodation of about a hundred schol- ars, sons of princes and l)ashas, whose education was, however, to be entirely at the khedives expense. Abbas and Mehemet Ali attended this college until the present khedive was nearly twelve years old. Then it was that Tewfyk, who, having himself never been out of Egypt, had strong prepossessions in favor of an European education, began to cast about for a suitable college for his sons. His own wish was that they should be educated in England, and one of our great public schools (I have always understood it was Harrow) was at first selected as their destination. There were, however, obstacles in the way, the question of religion being, I believe, among them ,and the project was perforce abandoned. Then there was for a time talk of a great establish- ment in Switzerland, and finally the Theresiangum in Vienna was decided upon as being an institution where the two princes were likely to meet the sons of nobles of the highest rank. Study in Character: Meanwhile this was in the spring of 1886 the young princes had been started on a. preliminary European tour, acco1i~1)anied by a pretentious suite, comprising a governor, a cham- berlain, one or two secretaries, and an official interpreter. They visited in turn Rome, Paris, and London, before finally settling in Vienna. In Paris they received an enthusiastic wel- come, and were ftted in a manner well calculated to turn the heads of children of their age. They were in- vited to the Elys& , were accorded mag- nificent receptions of a more or less public character, in great houses elaborate entertainments were organ- ized in their honor ; and it is small wonder that when they crossed the Channel, and arrived, unknown and unnoticed, at the Metropole Hotel, in Northumberland Avenue, they should have been disappointed by their first glimpse of London, and have remained dazzled by the glamour of Parisian hos- pitality. Nor, during their stay in this country, was any adequate attempt made to annul the princes first gloomy impression. They were taken certainly to Windsor and to Marlborough House, but the quiet obscurity of these private visits must have impressed their youthful minds in salient contrast to their noisy acelamations on the banks of the Seine. And for the rest apart these sombre official visits, plus an excursion or two to 1-latfield and other great English homes, they were left severely to their own devices. It was very natural that it should be so. They were children, somewhat wilful and petulant, as all children of Orientals are, and not spe- cially well-mannered or interesting, or even amiable. They were here for over a week, and for the greater part of the time they moped or sulked, or quarrelled in the big, desolate rooms set apart for them on the first floor of the hotel, while the suite lounged around them with fezzes awry, yellow- fingered from incessant cigarettes, bored to distraction and gaping with weari- ness throughout the long, dull day. In the evenings, certainly, when their His Highness Abbas Pasha, Khedive. young charges were safely locked into their rooms, governors, chamberlains, secretaries, and interpreter essayed in a half-hearted fashion to console them- selves for the tedium of the day, and could be met with trailing their languid Eastern apathy through the prome- nades of fashionable music halls and supper-rooms, but always forlorn and miserable and out of place. When the word caine from Cairo to pack up, and move on, there was no one of the party but delighted in the prospect of escape. European tours and European educa- tion have always been alike fatal to Orientals. No good has ever resulted from one or the other. Of this proof has been furnished time after time by the experience of Turkish pashas, men who by their strength and transcendant abilities have risen to positions of para- mount importance in the realm, and have obtained the command of immense fortunes. Each and all of these great spirits has cherished the thought of an European education for his sons, and has sent them to be trained in Paris, or Vienna, or London. And the result has invariably been dire failure and bitter disappointment. It might almost be asserted that no wealthy or powerful Turk has ever produced a son worthy to follow in his footsteps, but without going so far as this it may be safely said that of all the sons of prominent Turkish pashas sent to acquire Euro- pean polish during the past fifty years there is not one in a hundred who has not returned to his native city perme- ated with the vices of the country of his temporary adoption, in addition to those which he inherited in the land of his birth. It is, indeed, not too much to say that many of Tewfyks sterling merits were due to the fact that his father Ismail so despised and dislike(i him as always to refuse to allow him to travel. Even while on this European peasL ure trip, and child though he was, Prince Abbas gave frequent signs of a headstrong and obstinate disposition. In London, for instance, there was a pitched battle fought over a visit to Windsor planned, of course, and 5 stereotyped for days beforehand, which unfortunately interfered with a cher- ished scheme of the two brothers to pay a second visit to the Zoological Gardens; while it was with immense difficulty, and at the expense of an h~- conceivable wealth of mingled expostu- lation and cajolery, that the princes were persuaded to forego the delights of a neighboring panorama (of whose attractions they had heard from the servants of the hotel) in favor of a luncheon at the Mansion House given in their honor. At the Theresiangum Academy, in Vienna, where Abbas, in company with his brother and several cousins, passed the five years that elapsed between his visit to Eiigland and his accession to the vice-regal throne, he followed the same curriculum, and was, for a time at least, fain to submit to the same rigid code of regulations that bound his fel- low pupils. If any exceptions, indeed, were made on his behalf, they were in the direction of a greater variety of les- soils from private masters than fell to the lot of his comrades. This was a distinction for which Abbas, albeit 1)0th docile and studious enough, showed no extravagant enthusiasm. He did not, however, complain, and his professors, as is indeed the manner of the instruc- tors of princes, invariably expressed themselves satisfied with his diligence and proficiency. If association with the scions of the highest aristocracy was essential to the training of this descendant of Mehemet Ali and of the Egyptian fellahin, no better selection could have been made than that of the Theresiangum, where, in the princes last year, out of three hundred stu- dents, there were but five commoners, while juvenile princes could be counted by the dozen and barons and counts by the score. The lives of these young nobles were governed by rules that would no doubt be deemed something more than irksome by English public school boys. Constant supervision was exercised over their movements, xvhether iii or out of school, by ushers or prefects, whose duty it was never to lose sight of the lads committed to their Study in Character: charge. And so arbitrary were the divisions of the different classes that even in play-hours no general inter- course was permitted among the bQys, but each class was marche(l at given hours to and from a particular section of the playground allotted to its use in military uniform and military omder. The idea of playing football in a mili- tary uniform would no doubt be received by Ru~beians or Wykehamists with contumely and derision. Yet to this fate were Abbas and his nol)le com- rades con(lemned, for Baron Pidol, the director of the school, i at once a man of progress and an ardent admirer of the British system of indoor and out- (loor training. his innovations had, indeed, to be cautiously introduced, and the ill-timed breakage of a collar-bone went near to upsetting his cherished theories. The baron, however, stood to his guns, and to this day the students of the Theresiangum may still be seen in fine weather aimlessly punting a flabby football from one to another, in close -buttoned tunics and knee boots. Abbas, who, presumably, found these joys pall on him, was allowed to (levote a good deal of his leisure to riding and dancing lessons. His special studies, which included very comprehensive lectures on history, and notably on the history of Egypt, comprised a thorough knowledge of English and French, while Nedjib Effencli, a Turkish pundit, was retained to instruct him both in the Kuran nn(l in Turkish amid Arabic, which are still, however, the languages in which he is least proficient. That the youn~ prince should, soon or late, weary of this restrieted exist- ence was inevitable, anti no doubt the measure of liberty accorded him which enabled him to attend court J~tes and functions, dine with archdukes and princes, and visit the opera-house and theatres, helped to deterijilne the sooner his revolt against the system. It was at length found necessary to provide him with a house and establish- ment of his own, which included at first a special usher attached to his sole ser- vice. But Abbas speedily tired of the attentions of this devoted gentleman, and after yet a further exchange of correspondence between Vienna and Cairo, the young prince and his brother for they were inseparable were at length left in peace to enjoy life a very quiet and decent life, be it said after their own guise, surrounded by a little coterie of friends of their own age, always, however, under the super- vision of M. iloulier, who had been appointed their Highuesses governor. When this pleasant and harnmless stu(lent life was interrupted by the sudden call of Abbas to his inheritance the young khedive was but seventeen and a half years (if age. Yet, accord- ing to all who saw hiiu at this trying time his reception (If the unexpected news urns most dignified and his subse- quent attitude left nothing to be de- sired. He assumed the responsible rOle thus prematurely thrust upon him by the turn of the wheel with a quiet assurance that seemed to sho~v flint, young as he was, he had long rehearsed this his new part. Ami (luring all t lie varied phases of his journey to Cairo, and of the inauguration of his reign ; at the time when lie so narrowly escaped being kidnapped at Trieste by the agents of his suzerain, and haled off to a very questionable welcome in Con- stantinople ; throughout the prolonged period of vexatious delays flint attended the man(iate of the imperial firman of investiture ; during the days when (lihilomatic patience was wracked almost to the breaking straiii stolid Monkhi- by tars bland and irritating quibbles over the very salient (histinctious between a closed and an open envelope ; on the occasion wlu~n, making his first public utterance of imuportamice at the opening of the Legislative Assembly, lie made the significant declaration flint it would be his sincere endeavor to continue the good work begun by his father, in each and all of these circunisfances his Kiemeanor was faultless, an(i his cordial sincerity unmistakable. This was but a year ago, and yet to- day all is changed. Abbas Pasha has for many months past been more or less at loggerheads with the British Lega- tion, with the English heads of depart- 3 His Higimess Abbas Pasha, Khedive. ments, with all his English servants, in fact, except the officers of his army, for whom he has nought but admira- tion. The present storm in a teacup in reality it is little more has long l)een brewing, as any person in this country who performed the some- what unprofitable task of studying the French newspapers, might easily have discovered. No doubt throughout the whole of the past year there has been a ~oustant concentration on Cairo of many different rays of intrigue priS- oner Ismail from his Bosphorus palace Ghazi Moukhtar on behalf of his padi- shah; MI. de I{everseaux from his Le- gation; and over and above these the trade interests the Levantine money- lenders ; au(l these last are important. A very long time has elapsed since the fellahin first realized that the land of Egypt was not for them. They might till the soil and slave at the shadouf, an(l dig canals, and shore up the banks of the Nile, but the fruits of all this labor was for others. For years they were undecided as to the identity of these others, but now they have long known that these beneficiaries are Greeks and Levantines, the men who have established banks for lending money on the crops, and who have coy- eredi the land with machinery that the fellah in his blindness prefers not to use. But the knowledge of this net- work of intrigue spun about Abbas Fasha has never been hid from us yet, though we have always known of its existence, we have not deemed it necessary to essay to combat it. Nay more, we have left to the IDe iRever- seaux, and the Cotanders, and the l3arriere Beys, and their allies, the pleasant task of flattering a young and susceptil)le prince, and of explaining to him that the somewhat lofty dignity with which we have seen fit to sur- round ourselves is in reality but the contempt we feel for a conquered and impotent foe. Tewfyk Pasha, as his son well knows, grew somewhat sore at times at the unbending (lemeanor of his English adviser, and was on one occa- sion heard to protest that lie could not invite a guest to dinner without Sir 7 Evelyns permission. And to-day we are reaping the harvest of this neglect. Abbas Pasha having made his ill-in- spired attempt at independent action, and having been constrained to ac- knowledge that the l3ritish government was fully determined to maintain its control, finds on all sides partisans eager to proclaim him hero and martyr, an(l to urge him to persevere in his undignified and profitless obstinacy. This is of our own causing. All these deputations and manifestos and con- gratulations from the different provin- cial towns and villages are the ~natural outcome of the contemptuous indiffer- ence with which, for years past, we have disregarded the ample warnings furnished us by the tone of the native press. We, in our pride and thought- lessness, have cared nothing for the scurrilous abuse, the calumnies, and in- cessant misrepresentations with which the fellahin throughout the country have been primed by the organs through which alone they are able to acquire any knowledge of what is hap- pening in the capital. In all Egypt there is but one native journal that at- tempts to place in a true light the vari- ous measures adopted by the English advisers of the khedive. Every other newspaper in the country is subsidized in the interests of one of the several parties confessedly hostile to the peace- ful maintenance of the British control, and not one of whom cares at all what suffering may be occasioned to the na- tives of the country if only its removal can be secured. If Abbas Pasha, some- what coldly treated by the representa- tive of Great Britain, has permitted himself to be carried away by the fair words and extravagant eulogy of the many fiatterers who surround him, there is, after all, no great cause for surprise. Much icss is there any cause for serious apprehension. The disturbance already shows signs of having reached the turning-point. Abbas Pasha is head- strong, obstinate, and nineteen years of age (which is saying nearly all that need be said), but he is anything but foolish, and cannot fail very speedily to awake, if he has not already done so, to the 8 consequences that must result from his imprudent impulsiveness. His earliest sympathies and associations are En- glish, and if they are momentarily weakened and thrust out of sight the blame is rather with us than with him. From Temple Bar. SQUIRE JACK. THE END ONT. THE first worm must have been largely gathered by our rural ancestors, for early rising was amongst their wis- doms. But on Squire Jacks natal morning the dawns eyes were fast shut when all the Bassetwyke household had theirs wide open, and there were sounds from the depths beneath and from the heights above; goings and comings, shufflings and skurrvings, with muffled feminine laughter. Only in the inter- mediate zone, the space comprising the long picture-gallery and the apartments of the south wing in Lady Dorothys exclusive occupation was there hush~ with the faint twinkle of a rare light here and there. There can be no question that the old English manorial houses are haunted. Who can dawdle about Haddon and fail to see the shadow of a ghost? or who can stand in full glare of sun and look up at the hard windows of Bess of Hardwickes parallelograms, without distinguishing a phantomy pair of thick black brows and straight crimson lips that might be mulberry-stained, or worse? The churchyards do not be- long to the ghosts but to the dead. Behind the sliding-panels, in the faded, misty mirrors, in the canopies of shadow that rest on twisted shafts of sun-motes, the ghosts glide. They neither wail nor laugh, nor wring hands, nor tear hair. They only are because they were, and because, as has been wisely written, we live in the future, but the past lives in us. The hall dome was supported upon rather graceful short pillars, upborne by a circular pediment stained blue and pierced at intervals by the mortic~d beam-ends carved into masks of extrav Sqitire Jack. agant ugliness. Looking down from the recess behind the pillars the great body of shadow was populous with ghosts. They were not wa.n, pale in- corporealities. The Bassetwyke ghosts shouldered the shadows aside as their originals had been wont to treat the oi poUoi in the market-place. There was truculent Jex Darrel, a little of the swashbuckler, a good deal of the pirate and sea-thief, a well-cursed man from Migu~lete to Punta-Cul~bres, from Car- thagena to Darien. His favorite play- thing was hanging up then in the dust, as ugly-looking a piece of iron as ever served in the propaganda of battle,~ murder, and sudden death. There was a jagged gap in its edge, the fragment from which was reputed to have been left in the shaven crown of Fray Bar- rias de Ponibal, superior of the Jesuit mission at Porto-Prayn. The monk, it is said, was taking out heavy chests of plate to his cathedral when he and they fell into the clutches of Gentleman- Adventurer Jex. Lee, end tells that the Fray scourged the sacrilegious her- etic with his knotted waist-rope, and fell with cloven skull, the braver man. and the only true gentleman of the two.. The shadow-folks were not all of this. type. Old Brierley Darrels visionary eidslon panted in some of the corners.. lie crossed the dividing line between time and eternity on a prodigious veni- son pie, which he persisted in regarding as the only satisfactory lenitive to gout in the stomach. But the grey dawn is. thrusting in chill fingers to roll up the shadows. Day is in the sky and Squire Jack is twenty-one years old. Warm as August ripened out the morning. Never in Bassetwyke mem- ory had been such an October as that of the year of Squire Jacks majority. The fog-billows that slowly melted or floated up the sides of Yewell-Beacon were harbingers of heat, and not so much as a murmur of the ra.in-~ods voice could be heard from rushing Whittenford weir, although the case- mnents were opened to their width be- hind Squire Darrel as he presided at the morning meal with a calipivered boars chine, slashed like a cavaliers Squire Ja& k. doublet jemmed with colored jellies on the one hand, and a cold baron of beef on the other. Astounding were the mouthfuls he washed (lown with un- sparing bumpers of frothy ale. Defi- ance of gout was in the somewhat wildly ranging eyes, and there wcre pallid patches about the twitchin~, mouth, but the old man had made his account with pain-darts and toe-throb- bings for the noncs~. The first day of Jacks manhood should be royally cele- brated if it were to prove the last of his own, ed be ef it shouldnt! Still a more unreasonable twinge than usual gave him pause, and sent one hand slipping slily into his coat-pocket to grasp the offending leg. When he withdrew the hand a crumpled letter came with it. Umph hoo! Why this is Chum- mys letter. Ive clean forgot it. He smoothed the paper and tossed it towards Parson Youl. Just tell us whats to do, passon. I dunt want Chummy Monkton to fail me to-day. Parson Youl swallowed an insuffi- ciently masticated morsel and then read Fountains-Averil, October, 17. M~ DEAR DARREL, Galanty Grims- wad& s grandson, Raven Grimswade, came here this morning in company with your kinsman, Paston Darrel, and asks me to find out if you will per- mit him to accompany us to Basset- wyke to-morrow to offer you his hearty congratulations on your sons coming of age. He says that if his father was a bad neighbor that is no reason why he should not be a ~ood one, and that if you will let the past go lie will do the same with all his heart. He is a well- spoken man and a presentable, and, my good old friend, I dont like a bit of him ; so do as you think well and send word by Collins. Ever yours to command, CHOLMONDLEY MONKTON. To the Worshipful Master Darrel, Justice of the Peace, Bassetwyke Manor. Raven Grimswade! Lanty Grims- wades grandson! The words dropped slowly from the old squire. I dunt like a luau thats ready to belittle is own father, but he may come ef e likes ;then he grumbled on under his breath. What e says is true ; were neighbors, thou~h Bowes isnt much of a place, and the Grimswade strain isnt a prime one neither. It must a thun dered and lightened when the first of em was brewed, I expect. Before the morning meal was well over, through all the widely opened gates to the park, thin streams of pedes trians and knots of horsemen were flow- ing in from the surrounding villages and market-towns. All tile domain was free to the whole world on that day, and they thronged into it much as the Israelites must have done over Jordan, as into a land flowing with cabbage and bacon; and the holiday folks sat down to eat and drink, and then rose up to play with hearty oneness of purpose that drove the astonished deer farther and farther to the distant confines. Meanwhile, another portion of Bas- setwyke claims attention. There was a nook of tile fruitful orchard that nestled into a corner of the warm red-brick wall where nectarines blushed into fragrant temptation, and raspberry bushes wound their suckers round the pedestal of the sun-dial. It could scarcely be called well-tended, that wan toning spot of nature. Wall-flowers and fox-gloves are not frugiverous, yet they were tilere and they were forgiven. A straight, bald glass door pierced the house-wall, and gave outlet by three stone steps to tile orchard. Tile dooi- was ajar, aild on the lower step stood Mistress Dorothy Scrope, only daughtei- of Sir Nevil Scrope of Cudlip, a distant relation of Lady Dorothy Darrel. Be- low her again, with a long tendril of bind-weed snaring his feet, Squire Jack leaned against tile sundial, his hat poised on tile guomon. If any of her (Iresses could be more dainty than the peach-colored figured brocade she wore, with its bunched dohlyvarden skirt and its falling lace sleeves, then Mis- tress Scrope must have possessed a dainty wardrobe indeed. The glory of wonderful girlhood was resting upon 9 10 her, and her beauty was a thing that made the heart laugh, and the senses drink of as they will of the scent of mignonette when the dew wets it. Do+othy does the thrush nest still in the old mulberry-tree? I cannot tell you, Master Darrel I was not at Bassetwyke at nesting- time. Will you walk that way with me and see, Dorothy ? If the nest be gone there is something else I wish to look for. There ought to be a J and a D below the great bough. Have you ever looked at them since I left home ? Yes, I have looked at them. Un- falteringly the limpid grey eyes met those of the questioner, and then Dor- othy Scrope folded her hands on her stomacher, and added quietly the J is plain still, but the D is well- nigh gone ,Master Darrel. Gone is it, Dorothy? Shame on the old tree for keeping such faithless watch. Ah well, life is not a mulberry- tree, and what love cuts into ones lifes core stays there. Give me ten minutes, sweetheart, to wander with you round our old play haunts. It is little enough I shall see of you to-day. He stretched out his hands as a beg- gar asks for a dole. The maiden said nothing, but she stepped down upon the gravel. If ever sweet honesty spoke from human eyes Dorothy Scrope was sure she had read it in his. Saunter on man and maiden ; it is only a garden spiders thread that stretches across the way you go Fashion in the eighteenth century did not shun the light of day. Noon was a quite good enough hour for our ances- tors to hold revel, and an easy digestion was better ton than dyspeptic bilious- ness. Thus before the sounding chime from the stables belfry had clanged many a high-pitched carriage swung upon leather straps, many a horse in saddle and pillion~ besides two or three imposing chariots, teamed by four heavy tailed Huntingdon horses, made locomotion in the stable-yards intricate enough. Squire Darrel and his lady received their guests in the hall. The wide stone portico and the hall itself were carpeted with orange and blue, the Darrel liveries. Very courtly was my lady in her hooped satin and trailing lace skirt, from the front of which her shapely feet peeped out, the insteps glittering with costly diamond buckles. Portly and squirearch was her spouse, in mulberry-colored coat not illiberally embroidered in gold on seams, flaps, cuffs, and skirts. Jabot, ruffles, cravat of unimpeachable Yalenciennes, soft- ened the stiff angularity of the dress, and the squire of Bassetwyke looked his best. On the other hand of Lady Dorothy stood Squire Jack, his three- cornered hat under his left arm, his long, lightly powdered hair tied with a broad, black bow, rested on the shoul- ders of his black satin coat ; as pleas- ant, thoughtful-faced a presentment of an honest English gentleman as need be, with a manfulness and solidity about the well-poised body that mdde one scarcely expect to meet the almost womanly softness of the brown agate- colored eyes. Far and away the best of the things of beauty there was Dor- othy Scrope, whose mothers well- patched face spoke of loyalty all over to the reigning dynasty. My Lord Tregantle, K. G., and his countess were there, a narrow, shrewd-faced pair, not of la viejUe souche, but respectably an- cient in Cornwall before Tregantle of Caradun made a faux-pus into the LTp~ per House by the interest of Mistress Masham. They were poor, and my lord had tried to patronize his rich brother-in-law on the strength of his blue-riband, and had been first jumped and then sat upon with true Darrel ponderonsness. Cholmondley Monk- ton, the tallest man in the county by half a head, was there with Sir Nevil Scrope, and a handsome, well-pr~served man who held a gold snuff-box in one hand and waved bland greetings with the other, Paston Darrel of Amberwick. Close behind the last, in all the splendor of the Kings Foot Guards, bee-hive hat and all, a slim, slightly built man edged himself to where Lady Dorothy stood, bending ~racioPs curtsevs to her Squire ~Jaek. Squire Jack. ndvancing guests. With a stiff but not ungraceful, military salute, the soldier prefaced a second salutation of haud on heart and profoundly inclined head 2nd then, turning to Squire Darrel withdrew his glove, and held out his iight hand frankly enough. I am Raven Grimswade, Mr. Dar- vel. Will you honor me with your hand and your friendship in it, as, with deep respect, I offer you mine, sir? ~ I am your servant, sir, an(l vastly obliged, Im sure. You are welcome to my pool house, and ef we baint good neighbors from this (lay forth, it 11 be your fault, Mr. Grimswade, not mine. There was a look of weariness in the old mans eyes, a ring of dryness in his voice, but Squire Jack stepped forward with cordlial alacrity and grasped Raven Grimswades hand. You have most kindly chosen to- day, Captain Grimswade, to offer us the best gift in your possession. It is not so far from Bowes to Bassetwyke but von may hear the dinnerbell here when you are out gunning, and I shall hold your courtesy debtor to me to an- swer its invitation as often as your inclination may prompt. I presume, you see, upon my privileges of to-day, but I know I am only expressing my fathers and my mothers sentiment. My gunning will not harm the pheasants, squire. I am ordered to join my regiment at Finchley next week. But I thank you with all my heart for what I trust is only a deferred pleasure. But surely Mr. Roger Darrel ought to be one of us. A pair of col- ors would not be Mr. Jack Darrel, by your leave, sli. Mv sons name is Jack. Thought all the country knew that. I crave your pardon, Mr. Darrel ; I have been misinformed. You know I have been a long time absent from Bowes. Lady Dorothys glance rested ap- provingly on the captains face, but she said nothing. ~~~Tl~ell the stork invited the fox to dinner she served it in a long-necked vessel. Jack. 11 It was my Lord Tregantle who whis- pered to Squire Jack, as he led Lady Dorothy to the dining-hall. Mr. Paston Darrel, who had not paired with a lady, found himself near the young squire. The latter was ma- meuvring to reach Dorothy Scrope, Who was barely visible behind the rampart of Cholmondley Monktons six feet four, to say nothing of half-a-dozen other worshippers. Try my rappee, cousin, said the well-looking gentle man, and pleasure me by accepting the box as a trifling testimony of my affectionate regard. You wont prize it the less for knowing that it once belonged to your great- uncle, Royston Darrel. Squire Jack could not have said what particular inflection it was that he dis- liked in the smooth, soft voice, but he felt sorry to accept the gift thrust upon him, and without any effort on his own part the words of Lord Tregantle about the fox and the stork came to his memory. Dr. Fell was probably an Amalekite and lived in the land of Uz, though lie is not mentioned in the book of Job. The ladies had been toasted and bowed out. They were scattered about the gardens and the park. It was well understood that the men would be only heard, not seen, for hours to come, for before those ladies spouses, fathers, brothers might be expected, flushed of face, thick of utterance, uncertain of step, to re-extend the protection of their care to their womankind, the closely ranged, long-necked claret bot- tles on the dining-h.all sidcboar(ls, the magnums of crusted port, the purple- red Burgundy flasks had to lie down among the dead imien, as the phrase went. Barton, the squires butler, wearing his silver corkscrew by silver chain, and dexterous from long prac- tice, (Irew cork after cork with a sono- rous pop. iKit-Kit, wearing for once a coat that fitted him, hovered behind his masters chair, watchful at once of his wants and of his moods. Many of the guests were waited on by attendants of their own, as was the Squire Jack. custom of the day, in addition to the Bassetwyke lackeys; and the great oak- framed hail, with its lavish display of good old plate and massive cut-glass, its richly dressed revellers shone upon by the slanting beams of sunlight that made the xvine in glass and decanter shed ruby and carbuncle rays athwart the board, presented a scene dramat- ically characteristic. It was not long before the ceremoni- ous decorum conceded to the presence of ladies slipped into the unrestraint of male topics and phraseology and the adoption of every conceiVable attitude of lounging ease. The speech-making was all over. Squire Jack would be nothing less than a centenarian if the wishes floated to him on a sea of bumpers were less perishable than the bubbles on the wine. There were cool- headed men who mixed not xvine with wine ; cautious drinkers, too, who knew to a spoonful how many glasses could trickle down their discriminating pal- ates without stealing away their brains. But the majority there were, or wished to be, held as two and three bottle men. Men of valor, if it were but pot-valiance. The conversation carried on between c6teries of men most nearly seated grew loud and free. It was not always easy to distinguish topic from topic, or apportion answer to query, but the roaring laughter and the unselected jests swamped the buzz of talk now and then, and the glasses on the table jingled to the thumping of fists. It was during a temporary lessening of the noise that a clear, quiet voice made itself heard. Few could have caught the purport of the spoken words, but the old squire, as he lounged in his reat armchair at the top of the board, did so and looked sharply at my Lord Tregaptie, whose shrewd face, with its deep, circular wrinkles round the mouth, was slightly inclined to the speaker, Captain Grimswade. Slowly Squire Darrel leaned his el- bows on the table, letting thereby his ruffle dye itself red in the Burgundy in his glass. Ef I understand ye right, Mr. Grimswade, yeve told my lud that my fathers brother, Royston IDarrel, didnt fight fair that day at Bedloe churchyard. I can oerlook a sons re- spect for his father, but ef yeve got anything to crumble at, just tell me~ about it when ye avent g~t yer legs. under my table~, and Ill give ye any sort of satisfaction ye may fancy. My legs have been under your table too long, Mr. Darrel, and it is time they took my ears out of reach of rudeness. Your. age, sir, protects you from my demand for the satisfaction I would ex- tort from a younger man. The soldier rose and- bowed, not without dignity, to the partly silenced guests, but l)efore he had well thrust. his chair back, thunderous caine the shouted answer from the old man, who, staggering to his gouty feet, shook his fist fiercely at his provoker. my age, sir; my swords not old if I am, and ef yeve 110 stomach to look at that, why ee, theres my unting-whip in the all arid yere wel- come to a share of it. Rudeness for- sooth ! Things is come to some ut when one of George of Hanovers Pres- tonpans men talks of rudeness to a Darrel of Bassetwyke. Kit, where are ye ? Show the gentleman in scarlet to the front door! There was uproar now. Cholmond- icy Monkton was on Ills feet, so was Paston Darrel, and Squire Jack hurried to his fathers chair, a look of painful shame on his comely face. My Lord Tregantle sat quite still, with his lips pursed up as if in expectation of a kiss. Father! for Gods sake do not let your irritation do dishonor to your hos- pitality. You are under your own roof, at your own board. I would rather you scourged me with your whip from Bas- setwyke to Crowsley market-place than that you should insult the guest I asked to eat of our bread to-day. Squire Darrels flaming, bloodshot eyes glanced uneasily from his son s face to Captain Grimswades. The lat- ter had gathered his hat and sword and looked no response. He certainly had all the best of the position and knew it. 12 Squire Jack. There, Jack, Im sorry I let my temper get t upper and. Mr. Grimswade, I ask yer pardon. I dunt say ye was right in what ye said about my kinsman, for ye warnt. I cannot accel)t your apology, Mr. Darrel. The kings guards would 1101(1 me unfit to wear their cloth with the smutch of insult upon it. I may not look to you, sir, for atonement, but I reject your apology and your friend- ship. now and forever. Well, sir, whats done cant be un- done ; ef it could Id unsay bcfore all our neighbors what I said just now. Mv son is right, Mr. Grimswade, and Im bound to confess that Eve (lislion- ored myself more than you. I say ~igain, sir, Im sorry as can be for showing myself wanting in respect to my sons guest. Theres only one thing more to say, an(l that i3 that I old myself at your service to render you any satisfaction the honor of your cloth may incline you to ask for. As the soldier merely bowed stifily in reply to this exordium and moVe(l towards the door, Squire Darrel rose from his chair and incliued his head ceremoniously to the departing guest, then called out: Kit! wait upon .Mr. Grimswade, and see that his orses are brought round. No, father, let me (10 that, if von please.. Squire Jack opened the door for IRa- yen Grimswade, and followed him into the hall, closing the door behind him. While waiting for the horses tile two y~ ung men stood on the l)ortico, the soldier adjusting his belt and gloves, as if to aVOi(1 conversation, but Squire Jack was not. to l)e thus foiled. Captain Grimswade, a brave soldier and an honest gentleman cannot be wanting in the forbearance that youth and strength, cool brains and calm judgment may honorably extend to age and weakness and the irritability engendered by painful disease. No smutch of dishonor rests upon you. I wish from my heart I could say as much for my myself. For mercys sake take my hand, sir, and my hum- ble, sorrowful apology, and you have my free permission to tell all your regi- ment that I ilave craved your forbear- ance and forgiveness. Mr. Darrel, your words admit only one interpretation. You desire me to regar(l tile deliberate insults bespattered upon me at your fathers table as the irresponsible utterances of drivelling inlbecility. Do you not think, sir, that instead of inculcating upon me tile du- ties of magilallimity and forbearance you should take upon your own shoul- ders the responsibility of atoning, after the fashion of men of Ilonor, for your fathers most insufferable coarseness ? You must not speak of my father in my hearing in sucil terms, Captain Grimswade. MuSt not, Mr. Darrel ? Those were my words, sir, not used in any unfriendly sense, however. Of course I cannot misunderstand your in- vitation, aiid equally of course, if noth- in~ but a meeting will satisfy you, you Illust look to me for what you want. Captain Grimswade bowed with p0- lite alacrity. Nothing could be better, Mr. Darrel. Shall we say toulorrow nlorning at live ? There will be light enough by then. The groom clattered up with tIle horses and held tile off-stirrup for his Illaster to illoulit. A few more half- xv Ilispe red words were exchanged, and thlen the soldier rode off. When Squire Jack returned to the (lilling-ilall tile noise was as boisterous as ever. Only Lord Tregantle froal one cIld of the table, and Paston Darrel from tile otiler, scaillied tIle young lllllll5 face watchfully. Jack ! quoth my lord, sit down Ilere. You will (10, Jack. You will Ilull tile wires to admiration after a few more years practice. Lid the man of war listen to blandishment? Give me a pinch of snuff, will you? I see you have your cousins box; a present, ell? Ah, yes. The earl half closed his eyes and smelled his snuff, then added, as if in meditation When the fox invited the stock to I dinner he served it in a shallow dish. 13 Squire Jack. the upshot is tobe. Raven Grimswade and I meet at five to-morrow inornin~ at Little Bedloc churchyard. He chose the time and place. I may count on you to second mc? Hoity-toit5~, Jack ! Why, the squire has just bespoken my services. Im to ride -to Bowes to-morrow and settle preliminaries with the red man hic cou(Th I But youre ~, ; ~ quite right. Gad, Jack, youre Royston Darrel down to the very pasterns. Ill second you, though Ill not dare to show my face to your father for a month. I say, Jack, can you do any- thing in this way ? hiccough ! The speaker practised a lunge or two with his forefinger. Oh, I dont wear my sword for ornament only, rel)lied Squire Jack: smiling drearily as he spoke. I will be at Fountains by half past four if you can be ready, a quarter of an hour will take us to Little Bedloe. I wonder. if he chose that place because his father and Uncle Royston fought there? Id rather have been his friend if he would have let me. When the last rays of sunlight were gilding the bronzed foliage on the tree- tops, a move was made by such of the guests as could comman(l any kind of locomotion. There was plenty to do yet before the days festivities could be regarded as exhausted. The quality had to visit the humbler revellers in the park. Squire Jacks presentation to his future subjects was amongst the things to be. - The beer-satiated rustics had yet to hurrah and shout adulation to their patrons, where the hissing car- case of a- spitted ox charred over the crackling logs on Yewell-Beacon, and lastly, there was a bonfire, suggestive of old Armada days, to be fired on the beacon-top so soon as darkness had set in. In time dinin~-hall Squire Darrel was conferring with his oldest and trustiest friend, Cholmondley Monkton, who, with a suspicion of hiccough and exaggerated seriousness of aspect, kept buttoning his long waistcoat awry. Chummy! Youll ave to ride over to Bowes to-morrow as my friend, and give that red fellow the length of my sword. Oh it, Darrel! That spindle- shanked daddy-long legs darent go out with you. Might as well fight his great- grandfather, if he ever had one; no disrespect to John Darrel of Basset- wyke; only youre nearly seventy-four, Darrel, and your gout wouldnt let you hold your sword half a minute. No, no, my good old friend, Im ten years younger than you, and if this Raven Grhnswade wants a hole made -in that flaming coat of his, why Cholmondley Monkton, ye re as drunk as King Solomons fiddler, or yed never talk to me al)out fighting my battles for me. Well not say any- thing more about it to-night. Go to Dorothy Scrope, sleeping in the the women and get sober, Chummy, pretty boudoir off Lady Dorothys bed- for to-morrow Ill want ye. room, half heard the distant sound of Squire Jack was not far off; he was horse-hoofs mingle in her rosy dreams strolling up and down the terrace out- just before day-dawn, and settled down side, and no sooner did Monkton pass to her beauty-sleeps, as happy a maiden through the window on his way to the as any in England. Could she- have gardens than he found himself inter- seen her lover ride forth in his caped cel)ted. - . riding-coat she would only have sent a- Mr. Monkton, you heard all th-at blessing, perhaps a kiss into the dark- passed to-day, and you must guess what ness after him whose manful, clean- Squire Darrel, tasselled night-cap on: head, ungartered, slippered, and at ease, with night-posset within easy reach, was in his glory. Kit-Kit, un- der his masters supervision, was fihifig away at the cuspisated point of the squires walking - sword, and very gloomy Kit looked. .File away, man, cried the old war- horse, snuffing the battle from afar, file away! it wouldnt prick a hogs pudding. Its no good any way; Id pi~etty well as soon fight with one of Sally Toots kuittin~needlcs. 14 Squire Jack. sobriety had glorified him yesterday in her sight as he moved amongst the reel- ing, flushed-faced topers. There were grooms with lighted lan- thorns afoot at the Fountains-Averil stables, but Squire Jack, who had rid- den sharply, refused to dismount. Is that you, Collins? No, the horse will do, thank you. Just let your master know I am at his service. Tell him it is just on the stroke of the halfhour. Collins, Monktons stu(i - groom, pressed up close to Squire Jacks stir- rup. Please, yer honor, Squire Chol- mondley as ordered the chaise. Its ready orsed, sir, and I think is honor . spects to drive yonder, if it please you. Evidently Collins knew more about the mornings business than his words disclosed. Whos that, Collins? Is Mr. Dar- rel come The tall form of the speaker loomed through the foggy darkness in the light of the lanthorns. Ah, Jack, glad to see you. Send your nag to the stables ; well (lrive to Bedloe. I have a spiced cup and a toast waiting for us to keep the morn- ing air out of our stomachs. Raven Grimswade had miscalculated. When the opponents and their friends met at the ruinous and disused building kno~vn as Little Bedloe church, the whole space was filled with ghostly grey mist, and there was not light enough to distinguish the grassy mounds in the burial-ground from the level sward. It was an awkward half- hour to get through while waiting for the, dawn. The seconds introduced themselves; while the principals, after exchanging formal bows, stood still or paced to and fro, castin~ frequent glances at the dull sky where a few stars twinkled still. The guardsmans friend was a Captain Cotton of Kirkes regiment of foot, talkative and cheer- ful, as if it were a wedding-breakfast he was about to assist at. Cotton! I can see now if the other gentleman is ready, Grimswades voice broke in irritably on his friends chatter. Captain Cotton looked up and around doubtfully. What do you say, Mr. Monkton; is there light enough for us to place our men ? Monkton slapped his boot with the heavy hunting-crop that; riding, driv- ing, or walking, he was never without. There was a stern, frowning look upon his rubicund face. , No, sir. Before I place my man I shall see there is light enough to enable. him to keep your mans sword out of his ribs. We men of peace dont fight in the dark, whatever you men of war do. We wait your good pleasure, Mr. Monkton, responded Captain Cotton quite blithely. Squire Jack, however, at once di- vested himself of his long riding-coat. We will get to work, Mr. Monkton, if you please ; the light is not bad now, and will improve every minute. But Monkton was resolute, and sev- eral minutes more elapsed before the principals stood face to face, stripped of coat and waistcoat, with shirt-sleeves rolled back above the elbow. Raven Grimswade scanned his oppo- nents every gesture with close atten- tion. He held himself to be a very good, swordsman. The regimental fencin& master rated him amongst his most proficient pupils, and it was not without considerable confidence in his own skill that he had contemplated a rencounter with Squire Jack. Yet now, as he confronted the latter, he observed that there was an easiness of grasp, an intwinin~ of the knuckles that held the silyer-hilted small sword that foreshadowed to the soldier good practice with the weapon., Confirina- tion was not long wanting. After cere- moniously saluting each other the two men crossed blades, and Grimswade, finding that Squire Jack left the attack to him, searched his opponents fence with fMgag~es and cautious lunges that Squire Jack stopped as easily as he might a shuttlecock with battledore. 15 16 Squire Jack. The soldier noticed that his adversary your coat, man, and lets be going. never parried en seconde, but always by Damme, Jack, if you shant have my a supple-wristed moulinet that caught brown hunter, Robin Hood, for this his carte or tierce indifferently, and yet days work. On with your coat. What never took the point of his own sword the deuce are you staring at? out of the line of his antagonists body, But Squire Jack gently put his friend hind Captain Griniswades confidence in aside, and, holding his sword by the his own skill began to lessen. Gas- blade below the hilt in his left hand, paio Chioggi, the celebrated scherrnato stepped quickly to where Captain Grims- at Turin, lla(l cultivated Squire Jacks wade stood leaning upon his second sight and wrist muscles in such sort with chin sunk upon his breast and that to him the clumsy wild fencing sword-point pressed into the turf. that passed muster with the majority Captain Grimswade, God is my wit- of Englishmen was mere childs play. ness that it was no intention of mine to It was soon evident to Grimswade harm you this day. You rushed on my that his opponent held him too cheaply point. I pray from my inmost heart even to condescend a riposte, and he you are not seriously hurt. lost his temper and coolness in conse- Slowly the wounded man raised a quence. It was hard to say how it hap- l~aggaid face and sta red at the speaker. pened exactly, but after a hotly pressed Who said I was hurt? The words rally, during which the guardsman came husky and hurried. Why made fierce efforts to get in past his you, its only a scratch. adversarys point, he suddenly went Jerking himself from Captain Cot- staggering back half-a-dozen paces or tons supporting arm the guardsman more, until his second hurried to sup- swayed once to and fro, and then, quick port him. as evil ever is, plucking his swordfroni Ali The exclamation burst forth its earthly sheath he drove the blade in a full breath of unmistakable satis- through Squire Jacks body until the faction I rom Cholmondley Moukton. shell of the hilt struck against the It was elicited by the sight of the breastbone. red patch that kept spreading over the With the yell of a wild beast Chol- frilled shirt-front of Squire Jacks an- mondley Monkton bounded forward, tagonist. There was something almost and by one down stroke of his heavy brutal in the undisguised exultation hunting-whip felled the soldier to the with which the tall squire of Fountains- ground, and stamped upon him with Averil seized his principals hand. In his great riding-boot. truth Monkton had been oppressed by You stinking foumart you! You a very real dread of his old friends re- common stabber! Ill have you nailed seatment of his underhand complicity on my kennel door amongst the ver- in the meeting he had, so to speak, mm ! bespoken for himself, and during the Then turning round to where Squire latter part of the struggle Squire Jacks Jack was propping himself against a very evident forbearance had begotten gravestone, and pressing his two hands the additional apprehension that it to his breast, while the blood trickled might fall to his lot to have to break to warmly through the white fingers, he the unforgiving old father intelligence tore off his cravat and making a pad of of his sons injury or even death. In it bound it as tightly as possible over the twinkling of an eye the apprehen- the blue-looking puncture, using Squire sion vanished, and just as a jubilant Jacks cravat as a bandage. robin, darting down from the church That was the end of the mornings roof, perched on a gravestone and broke work. With Collinss shirt torn into into a palpitating gush of morning supplementary bandages around his hymn, Squire Monkton broke into wound, in an uneasily reclining pos- praise of another kind. ture in the narrow chaise, Squire Hes got enough, Jack. On with Jack reached Fountains-Averil, whence Squire Jack. grooms rode in every direction for the doctors in best repute. Captain Cotton rode to the hail door some hours later and delivered a packet into Mouktons hand, after an urgent entreaty to see that unwilling gentle- man. Captain Grimswade with his dying 1)reath desired me to place these papers in your hand, Mr. Monkton, and en- treated your immediate attention to their contents. His last statement to me was this: Paston Darrel of Am- berwick bribed me to slay young Darrel that he might get his inheritance. You acquit me, sir, I hope, of all complicity in such a rascally piece of business. Cholniondley Monkton only clenched band in hand and stared stupidly at Captain Cotton. The revelation had tome too late to effect the issue. The doctors had seen Squire Jack, had tor- tured him with their probes and shaken their heads. Kindly, ~entle, brave $quire Jack would never leave Foun- tains-Averil till they carried him to rest with his ancestors in the vault at Bas- setwyke Church. Where is my son, Cholmondley Monkton? What ave ye done with my son ? Squire Darrel thrust aside the hands his old friend extended, and stiffened himself up fiercely, in spite of the tot- tering state of his gout-tormented feet. Dont hate me, Darrel, my old friend; God knows I hate myself enough without that. The old squire laughed bitterly. Ate! hoo, what ave you to do with love or ate? Take me to Jack, will ye? When the old father saw his son a suddenly reviving hope sprang up within him. The wounded man was pallid enough, but composed and bright- eyed, and all outward traces of his hurt were removed. Squire Darrel tried to kneel by the couch, but failed and fell on his hands~ recovering himself, however, instantly. Jack, my lad, youre not going to die. Youre not going to leave me all alone. Well have the best doctors from Lunnun, and theyll set you up LIVING AGE. VOL. LXXXII. 4210 in no time. Yer eyes are as bright as stars, Jack. Squire Jack slipped his hand into his fathers and smiled. Ay, smile again, Jack, my son; it makes my heart warm. And then the grey old head fell forward on his sons breast, and the father sobbed in the helplessness of his threescore and four- teen years. Chohinondley Monkton had not in- truded himself at the interview ; thus when a visitor rode to the hail (loor he was there to receive him, and looked at the new arrival with a mingling of per- plexity and deadly animosity that the suave-mannered Mr. Paston Darrel did not fail to remark. The deep conceVn visible on his serious face and that vibrated in his softly toned voice was not in the least overdone; it was sin~ply inimitable. Mr. Monkton, for kindness sake tell me that the rumor that has reached me at Bassetwyke is false. My kins- man is not killed? Surely, surely lie is not killed? No, sir, he is not killed. And then Monktomi glared at Paston Darrel with shut lips and a look on his face that was suggestive of a desire to worry him with his teeth. If you will walk in there he pointed to a room on the left you shall hear more of your kinsman after a bit. Truth to tell, Paston Darrel would rather have Walked into his own more modest room at Amberwick, but lie was not the man to betray his fe elings. At the bend of the circular drive sweeping past the entrance to Foun- tains-Averil the Ba~setwyke carriage stood drawn up and two ladies occu- pied it. Squire Darrel came bare- headed to the carriage door and opened it. Dorothy, wife, e wants to see er. Let in ave is Way, will ce, I think it 11 do im good. Es not so bad as they said; is eyes are as clear as water. Let the lass go to im; e wants er. You and me 11 stop withim all night. For a moment the mothers eyes 17 Aspects of Tennyson. looked resentfully at Dorothy Scrope, whose face was hidden by her black silk hood. They quickly softened. Go, Dorothy, and remember his life may depend upon you. Alone the young girl with widely opened tearless eyes entered the room where her lover lay dying, and at a glance she knew the worst without knowing how she knew it. Dropping the hood from her shoul- ders she sank upon her knees by the couch and looked down into his face, gently pushing back the hair that lay damp on his forehead. 0 Jack, Jack, what is this ? Not without an effort he encircled her neck and drew her mouth down till it rested on his own. The fresh cool lips were given up to his kisses without a thought of shame, without a shadow of resistance. Would she not have breathed her very life into him if she could, and what were kisses? Jack, yesterday, only yesterday you were my own true sweetheart ! 0 what is this to-day? I am so fright- ened, Jack! It is death to-day, Dorothy, my love ! my love! The shadow has over- taken the sunshine, and I know your heart will ache, my true love ; but I want to ask you to make my end happy, Dorothy. I want you to be my wife before I die. She shrank quiveringly as he pro- nounced the last word. Your wife, Jack! Yes, I will be your wife and, if God will, will die with you; for eternity will be full of love if I am with you, and the earth will be empty if you are not there. In another part of the house a scene over which a veil may be drawn was enacting which resulted in one of those miserable episodes of unbridled passion and lawless license characteristic of the epoch. Apprised by Cholmondley Monkton of the bargain made between Paston Darrel and Raven Grimswade, by virtue of which the latter was to receive two thousand pounds a year for taking Squire Jack out of the way of Paston Darrels succession to Basset- wyke, the old squire, transported by the frenzy of passion that lent him for a time a renewal of his former vast strength, had nearly strangled his crafty~ kinsman with his own cravat, and had then been carried off prostrated with gout to bed. He died three days after- wards, and Squire Jack, surviving him, reigned in his stead as squire of Basset- wvke. Notwithstanding this, Parson Youl made Squire Jack and Dorothy Scrope man and wife, and by virtue of the clause in the Darrel settlements, where- by in the event of failure of issue to a marriage the tenant for life could give usufruct and life interest to a surviving wife during widowhood, in bar of dower, when Squire Jack joined his 01(1 father in the mortuary chamber, which he did one month to a day after receiv-- ing his wound,beautiful Dorothy Dar- rel the younger became life-tenant of all the Darrel domain. She was a strange beautiful woman ten years later when she said to Lady Dorothy who lived with her No, mother! Jack is waiting for iRe; Ill go to him his widow. From The Nineteenth Century.. ASPECTS OF TENNYSON. III. THE REAL THOMAS BECKET. Love thou thy land with love far-brought From out the storied Past, and used Within the Present, but transfused Thro future time by power of thought. EIGHT years ago I was so bold as t~ say that Lord Tennysons Becket ~ was his noblest work. I was even bolder; I gave my reason for saying so. His Becket, I sai(l, closes a pro- longed struggle between prejudice and historic truth, and will reinstate in the affections of the English people the. memory of one of Englands greatest men, after centuries of alienation caused by an act of royal tyranny that for pettiness and malice cannot be matched in history. The intervening years have proved that I was not too bold; and I gladly -18 The Real Thomas Becket. avail myself of the opportunity now given me to dwell upon the point. Nearly four centuries ago Henry the Eighth enacted the miserable farce of commanding a qao warranto information to be filed by the attorney-general against Thomas, sometime Archbishop of Canterbury, summoning him, four hundred years after he had been treach- erously done to death, to answer the charge of high treason. To complete the mockery, counsel at the public cx- pense was assigned to the martyr ; he was declared guilty of contumacy, trea- son, and rebellion, and sentence was passed upon him. According to this sentence and the proclamation that fol- lowed, his bones were condemned to be publicly burnt; the offerings made at his shrine (they were of inestimable value, and the gifts of Christendom) were forfeited to the crown; all per- sons were forbidden to call or esteem him a saint, and compelled to destroy every image and picture of him; the festivals in his honor were abolished, and his name and remembrance erased out of all books, under pain of his Majestys indignation, and imprison- ment at his Graces pleasure.1 It was thus that the voice of the peo- ple was stifled, and the double reign of slander and prejudice inaugurated. But Henry the Eighth knew what lie was at when he blasted the fair fame of the great archbishop, dragged the martyr of liberty from his throne in tile heart of the nation, and destroyed his altars throughout the land. With the sure instinct of a tyrant, he attacked a vital l)rinciple directly in tile concrete form in which, appealing to tile reason with a new force, it had sunk (leep into the national mind, and been riveted afresh to tile affection of the l)eople. It is a noteworthy circumstance that, as the lifetime of St. Thomas of Can- terbury naturally falls into three dis- tinct epoells, so what may be called his history after his death, the history of his memory, (livi(les itself into three clearly defined periods. But here tile parallel ends; the sequence of the 1 Wilkins, Concilia, iii. 835-841. 19 periods varies. The brilliant chancel- lorship of Thomas Becket, preceded by the bright, promising days of his youth, was succeeded by the sad, weary time of his primacy, ending in martyrdom; the years of glory and worship immedi- ately following his martyrdom were, on the other hand, succeeded by a time of contulllely and misrepresentation ini- tiated by Henry tile Eighth, during which prejudice and perversity have borne such abundant fruit that only ili recent years Ilas there l)een a sion that truth would prevail. But now at last a third and glorious perio(l has set in. Inaunurated, as far as Englishmen as a nation are con- cerne(l, by Richard Ilurrell Froude, and advancing under, if not in spite of, the fluctuating lights of Southey, Giles, Lord Campbell, Milman, Robertson, Freeman, Stubbs, and J. A. Froude, it now, illuminated with the broad day ligllt of tile Rolls Series,2 culminates in the national drama of the laureate. Englishmen have ever felt the spell exercised in life and death by Englands greatest chancellor and primate ; 1)ut again and again prejudice has won the upper band. If, fronting the splendor of Beckets great deeds, or the radiance of a beautiful, touching, noble incident ill ills life, a ray of light for a moment pierced the dense fogs with wilich froivi cllildhood education Ilad confused their mental vision, prejudice quickly reas- serted its old ascendency and the light was lost to tilem. There is something much more to be dreade(l than the fierce light that beats upon a throne the obscuring of that. light.. And when Henry the Eighth. darkened the memory of Thomas Becket he blinded the nation for centuries. I do not speak at random, or with rhetorical exaggeration. Taken as a. whole, tile writers of this century excluding Catholic writers, for they venerate Thomas Becket as a saint 2 The publication, at the public expense, of the eight large volumes of the Rolls Series, dealing solely with the history of St. Thomas Becket, is one of the most striking instances I know of a na- tion making reparation for the evil deeds of its sometime sovereign. Aspects of Tennyson. considered in the light of the Mate- rials for the history of Archbishop Thomas Becket, of the Rolls Series, will be found to fully bear inc out. But there are not many that have the time to make such a review ; there are, per- haps, still fewer that have the patience. IIal)l)ily, the need for it of former times no longer exists. Lord Tennyson, with the sight and insight of a seer, saw the truth ; with the strength of a strong man he proclaimed it, and with the rhythmic graces of his art, and the win- ning beauty of his genius he clothed it. The strange travesties, the contradic- tions and inconsistencies, the false inferences, the clouds of misunder- standing and misrepresentation of a long line of writers, historians and biographers, all vanished before the single eye, the steady gaze of the poet who dared to look au(l was strong to see. But, distasteful and irksome though it be to plunge back into the darkness and windings of bigotry and prejudice when the simplicity and light of knowl- edge and genius beckon us forward, it is necessary, in order to understand the greatness, the true stability of Tenny- sons work, for a moment at least to glance at some of the contradictions and calumnies in which honorable and gifted writers have been involved when unconsciously misrepresenting the life of one of Englands greatest sons. Not one of these historians, not one of these biographers, has wholly es- (:aped the subduing power of heroic virtue ; however strong their pl(p05 sessions, however tough their preju- dices, an admiration of their subject bursts from them in spite of them- selves or rather in spite of their ad- verse circumstances,; but this very admiration itself has not unfrequently intensified the mischief of their mis- reading of hi story. For instance, when Southey 1 wrote that Becket was one of those men to themselves, and that his spirit was one of those which difficulties and dangers serve only to exalt, it certainly gave a false air of impartiality to his description of him as the boon com- panion of the king, who, up to his election to the See of Canterbury, had been anything rather than a Church- mnan. The praise is quickly obscured by gathering clouds of prejudice ; and thick as snowflakes fall, his lax no- tions of moral obligation, a spirit of aggression, an ambitious heart, ambitious zeal, a breach of faith~ duplicity, he acted with a deceit- fulness for which excuse can only be found in tile casuistry of his Church, whether lie entertained the fear that his life was in danger, it was plainly his intention to act as if he did, vio- lent and imperious in prosperity, an inflexible temper, an unbounded indignation. And then comes tile summing up In this long contention each party had committed acts as un- warrantable as the other could have desired. At the risk of digression I must re- call one act, a notorious act, of Henrys in his six years struggle to change, not only the Constitution of England, but also the ecclesiastical law of the whole of Christendom reminding my read- ers meantime that in his love of henry, which, in spite of everything, remaine(1 to the end, Becket never could bring himself to excommunnicate him, though, as ilis letters show, he used every argu- ment and entreaty that duty and affec- tion could prompt to soften the kings Ileart. In the depth of the winter, by tile command of Henry, all the kindred and friends of the archbishop were seized and transported beyond the sea.. Neither age nor sex was spared mar- rie(l and single, young an(l aged, the sick as well as the sound, orphans, widows, expectant mot Ii ers, nursing mothers with their babes in their arms, whose greatness is seen only in times feeble old men, delicate girls, his clergy of difficulty and danger when deprived and secular friQnds all were exiled, of all adventitious nid and left wholly after having, with a refinement of cru- elty, been forced to swear that they would present themselves before tile 1 The Book ot the church. 20 21 The Real Thomas Becket. archbishop (himself in exile) in order belief under the sway of one ecelesias- to break his resolution by the sight of tica.l law. We should then have heard their miseries. And heartrending their nothin~ of the wonderful transf or- miseries were; for by the same decree mation la the archbishop that exer- by which they were exiled their prop- cised Lord Campbell and so many erty was confiscated to the crown, and, others ; and contemptuous allusions to thus deprived of the means of subsist- hair-shirt and discipline would have ence, many died of cold and hunger. beca deemed as irrational, as mockery And the king did not stop here. In of those q~i in stacijo currunt. Neither, addition to this, he appropriated to whilst disclaiming mere vulgar ainbi- himself all the archbishops posses- tioi~ for Becket when he followed the sbus, including the property of his usual course in like circumstances and see, which he committed to the charge resigned the chancellorship, would of St. Thomass bitterest enemy, Ranulf there have been any temptation for a de Broc. Further, as Henry the Eighth historian of weight to sympathize with by royal proclamation proscribed a11 Henry because, forsooth, knowing his prayers to St. Thomas the Martyr, chancellor too well to believe that the Henry the Second, by public edict, pro- v~signation proceeded from real hu- hibited prayers for Thomas Becket the mility and dislike of temporal power, Confessor.1 his fears were aroused at such an mdi- Lord Campbell,2 like other modern cation of the higher and more danger- writers, has nothing but praise for ons ambition of a competitor strivin~ Becket up to the time of his primacy; to exalt the mitre above the crown. tlle handsomest and the most accom- Alas, for the manifold might of preju- pushed man in the kingdom captivated dice Just as though there would not bun as much as he captivated Henry, have been a far wider field for a mail until his principles thwarted the kings of Beckets attainments, had he been will. His splendor, his valor, his vig- an ambitions man, in the combined cx orous and impartial justice are without ercise of both tile highest ecclesiastical a flaw. But then comes the primacy, and secular authority in the kingdom. and with the primacy historic truth than in that of the ecclesiastical alone, Vailisiles. Lord Campbell avows the especially under such a sovereign as difficulty of analyzing the feelings of Henry the Second, the Rex Traasma- Becket on the announcement of the rinus i of his English subjects. Henry kings choice ; but immediately after, was even thought by contealporaries to under the shelter of probably, he aim at the establishment of a viceroy- begins the legend of the ambitious prel- alty when he obtained tile primacy for ate aIld his duplicity. He knows all Becket,4 the first Englishman since the about the glow of pleasure that Becket Conquest elected to that exalted post. felt at tile bare prospect of greatness, But I am digressing. thougil he was so far ills own dupe as Lord Canlphells final estimate of the to persuade ilimself that he was unwill- great archbishop is singularly instruc- inn to ilave it tllrust upon him. tive. Tile ulartyr for liberty was to Were there illore imagination in our him the man who of all the English English cilaracter, men would riot, even cilancellors since the foundation of the in these latter days of conflicting creeds monarcily was of the loftiest ambition, and religious division and contention, of the greatest firmness of purpose, and go so far astray in judging a man who tile most capable of making every sac- was donlinated by an unwavering faitil rifice to a sense of duty or for the acqni- in the great principles and dogmas of sition of renown. tile one Church tilat ill tile twelfth cen- Dean Milman 6 takes quite another tury united all Christendom in one Materials, iii. 121, 123, 127, 132. 1 Materials, i. 47; ii. 313, 314, 404; iii. 359, 360; Ibid., iv. 94. iv. 65. The italics are mine. 2 Lives of the Lord Chancellors of England. History of Latin Christianity. Aspects of Tennyson. view than that of the popular chancel- cast into prison a fit accompaniment br theory, exemplified in Southey and of such other cruelties as the exile of Lord Campbell ; but, notwithstanding Beckets kindred and friends under that he is ungrudging iii his admissions every species of aggravation of their of Beckets sacrifice of the unbounded wretchedness. power and influence which he might Nor is this all, nor nearly all ; but have retained had hc still condescended one short passage more, without criti- to be the favorite of the king, of his cism or comment of mine, will be accomplishments, transcendent capac- enough, if not more than enough, of ity I use Milmans own words of IDean Milman his extraordinary abilities, his preco dons, his unrivalled abilities, of his lofty and devoted churchmanship, his consummate al)ihities for business, of the promptitude, diligence, and pru- dence of a praetise(l statesman shown by him, of the conclusive testimonies ot his unimpeadhed morals, of his in- trepid character, his quiet intrepidity an(1 dauntlessness, notwithStandin(Y that he allows him to have been the most distinguished Church man in Chris- tendom, the champion of the sacerdota.l order notwithstanding that he allows and admits all this, he, too, falls into endless misrepresentations, and is guilty of precisely the same kinds of contradiction and assumption as the preceding writers, but more marked an(1 stronger. He cannot view the archbishop from the standpoint of the twelfth century, when one faith governed all, and the appeal to Rome, the centre of it, was the sole safety of the millions of Chris- tendom from the rapacity and, worse, the unbridled passions of tyrants. In Milmans hands the man of lofty churchmanship an(l quiet intrepidity, who freely am I willingly sacrificed un- bounded power and influence, becomes likewise a man of ambitious and inflex- ible heart, given to tergiversation, the approver of haughty counsels, revenge- ful, and guilty of a fury of haughtiness equalling the fury of resentment in the king ; of a king, be it remembered, who in his insane, brutal rage caused a messenger of the archbishops to be put to the horrid torture of having fin- gers thrust into his eyes as if to gouge them out, till the blood flowed, then 1 Materials, vi. 76. ordered scalding water to be forced 2 Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury: a Biog- down his throat, anti finally had him rapily. If the king would have consented to allow Churchmen to despise all law if he had not insisted on hanging priests guilty of homicide as freely as laymen he might have gone on unreproved in his career of ambition ; he might unrebuked have se- duced or ravished the wives and daughters of his nobles extorted without remon- strance of the clergy any revenue from his subjects, if he had kept his hands from the treasure of the Church. Henrys real tyranny was not the object of the Church- man s censure, oppu0nancy, or resistance. The cruel and ambitious and rapacious king would doubtless have lived unexcom- municated, and died with plenary absolu- tion. These three authors Southey, Camp- bell, and Milman are, I think, fair saml)les of what the animus born of Henry the Eighths policy has effected in cultivateti and learned men free from every charge of intentional unfair- fairness and ni isreprese utation ; and through theni we can judge of the spirit that has permeated more or less the mind of the nation. Of still later writers it would be un- possible to say that., with even increased facilities for knowing the truth, they have succeeded in divesting themselves of the old spirit of prejudice. I will say nothing of Canon Robert- son. 1-lis great a.n(l l)ainstaking labors in editing the Materials of the Rolls Series till death stayed his hand may, I think, be taken to have cancelled all that was unworthy in his earlier work.2 But of another historian, one of whom every Englishman is proud, I cannot be silent. I~rofessor Stubbs 22 23 The Real Thomas Becket. ~now Bishop of Oxford in dealing with was interpreted, in a way prejudicial to his St. Thomas 1 has shown himself some- reputation for sincerity. thing very different from an impartial Who so interpreted his behavior? judge, to say nothing of a sympathetic And why is there no word of the kings ~r generous one. He esteems St. insincerity in withholding the kiss of Thomas an extraordinary man, and he peace, in withholding the money prom- acknowledges that, at all times, what- ised for the arcilbishops return to En- ever he did he did it with all his might; gland, and of all the rest of Henrys but that is tile best he can say of him. faithlessness? These may seem slight Even for the great chancellor, who points ; but they are of cumulative has left his mark on the law and force, and reveal the bias of an influen- constitution of England for all later tial writer. time, 2 he has no Iligher tribute than At the Northampton Council tile fear that he was all in(lefatigable letter- that the kiun intended violence to the writer, an efficient judge, a cunning archbishop was so general that some of ilnancier, and that is all. For the the courtiers who remained faithful to archbishop he has barely a good word. Becket warned hinl of it; the recreant He becomes bishops urged it as a ground for his immediate resignation; and, to crown all, immediately St. Thomas entered the castle the gates were closed behind him and locked.3 Nevertheless, we read in the Early Plantagenets that the archbishop carried his own cross on the occasioll, partly as a safeguard against violence wilich Ile had no reason to ap- prehend, partly in an awful, miserable parody of the Great Day of Calvary. And so Professor Stubbss picture grows more and more grievously at va- riance with the picture of contemporary records The high ecclesiastic pure and simple, coveting the papal legation, hand and glove witil the pope. . . . An unflinching and unreasoning supporter of all clerical claims, right or wrong, wholesome or unwholesome, consistent or inconsistent with his previous life and opinions. In speaking of the archbishops ac- tion in enforcing the feudal rights of his see, Professor Stubbs says that he sllowed llimself sonlewhat grasping, or at all events made himself enemies at a moment when his experience silould have taught him to be more politic a style of writing surely unworthy of a great historian, and one peculiarly mis- leading: i.e..,to make ,a positive charge, and then immediately afterwards, when the first impression has been given to supplement it witll ail alternative one of quite a different kind. Anything of a grasping character was foreign to St. Thonlass nature, judged by contempo- rary history; but he certainly did not stop to consider tile mere policy of an action where the ulaintenance of a gre at principle was at stake. And this not the only place where Professor Stubbs nlakes tllis kind of alternative charge Three months, however, intervened be- fore Becket startel for honle, and during the time he had several llleetings with the king, in which he behaved, or his behavior 1 Epochs of Modern HistoryThe Early Plan- tagenets ; Constitutional History of England. 2 Freeman, C temporary Renew, 1878. All the rest of his career is the same a morbid craving after the honors of martyr- dom, or confessorship at the least, a crafty policy for embroiling Henry with his many enemies, combined with a plausible allega- tion that it is all for his good and that of the Church. There is in him some great- ness of character still, some sincerity, we will hope, but no self-renunciation, no self- restraint, no earnest striving for peace; little, very little care of the flock over which he was overseer, and which was left shep- herdless. And then at last we are told in conclu- sion that it is only by considering the horrible suffer- ings of his death that we can pardon him for, the conduct that brought the pains of death upon him. Surely there is something even worse than damning with faint praise! 3 Materials, i. 33. Aspects of Tennyson. Whilst such sad blots were once more defacing history, it is pleasant to re- member that, as R. H. Froude and Giles and Father Morris were modify- ing the influence of the Southeys and Campbells and Milinans of earlier years, a distinguished poet devoted himself to the like difficult task of counteracting, if not of removing, prejudice and effac- ing untruth. The reception that Mr. Aubrey de X~eres St. Thomas of Can- terbury received marked a growing fairness in the public temper. What chance of fixing attention or winning the least general recognition would even so beautiful a poem as this have had a few years previously? As little probably as Mr. R. A. Thompsons biography would have had now. Mr. Dc Yeres Becket is the Becket of history; but whilst some prefer the meditative strength of his poem, the popular mind will be most impressed with the rapid action and more vivid picture of Lord Tennyson. Mr. iDe Vere thinks most of the saint; Lord Tennyson thinks most of the hero. Mr. Dc XTere elaborates; tile poet lau- reate condenses ; and hence, whilst the former appeals specially to tile more thoughtful few, tile swift, concentrated strength of the latter will reach far and near, and win equally popular sym- pathy and cultivated appreciation. But I am anticipating. I would I were not. I should tllen be spared even a passing allusion to an illstance of the tougil vitality of prejudice, of its all-penetrating, all-corroding influence, that I would rather not revert to. Hap- pily, however, I need allude to it only to pass it by. For the very grave mis- represeIltations of that most brilliant fascinating writer, Mr. J. A. Froude 2 have already been met and refuted and condemned, singly and successively, by one whose ju(lgnlent has been neither reversed nor questioned; by one who, if unconscious bias did in some degree deprive him of the deeper insight of the elder Froude, nevertheless wrote nobly of St. Thomas, and assisted immensely Thomas Becket, Martyr Patriot. 2 The Nineteenth century, 1877: Life and Times of Thomas Becket. the progress of the vindication that ha~ been slowly worked out in this century. It is matter for profound regret, how- ever, that, though Mr. J. A. Froude was ilot utterly regardless of Mr. Free- mans remonstrances, he nevertheless. republished his four articles,5 with many of their base and baseless charges and! unjust imputations, in all the fulness of the picturesque force and daring that make his utterances so singularly seduc- tive to the unwary. But even these. will not now be easily misled by his graver misstatements ; and all the al- luremnents of alliteration and picturesque imagination can scarcely at tllis time of day reconcile people to a historian who, in ilis lightest manner, could covertly asperse the fair fame of the great arch- bishop, and fasteil the character of a profligate scoundrel on one of the most distinguished in en of any race that this island has ever produced, whose unspotted life at all times, in every cii- cumstance, under every temptatioll even the most exceptional after the sharp scrutiny of malice and the close investigation of anxious veneration, was the theme of historians and biographers~ aild the admiration and envy of a lax court and licentious society.4 I now naturally pass on to Mr. Free- man s influence. Mr. Freeman did s* muell in the vindication of St. Thomas of Canterbury,5 especially with regard to that early part of the martyrs careei- when he exercised his splendid admin- istrative gifts ill the secular service of tile king and country, that it is not easy at first sight to understand how he could Ilave thrown any weight into the other scale, For, alas! even Mr. Freeman has not escaped the effects of the uni- versal atmosphere of prejudice. In- deed, Ile frankly says that he has little or no sympathy with Becket as arch- bisllop ; that 1115 real personal interest ends with the chancellorship. This lack of sympathy, however, did not pre- vent him from declaring that above Short Studies on Great Subjects, 4th series. Materials, i. 6; ii. 303, 365; iii. 21, 166; iv. 14. Thomas Saga, Rolls Series, i. 53, 54. Historical Essays; The Norman Conquest; Contemporary Review, 1878, Life and Times of Thomas Becket. 24 25~ The Real Thomas Becket. all St. Thomas of Canterbury was em- as much as it at times escaped Mr. phatically a hero ; or from seeing that Freeman. the heroic grandeur of the Catholic This, I think, caused an acute critic saint appealed irresistibly to the heart (acute I must say, though in somc of the poet. But in his avowal lies, I points I differ from him) to regret that think, the explanation of the strange Lord Tennyson in his common-sense view he takes of Beckets later years, view of Beckets character had ignore4 and of the greatest blemish that is to the opportunity of depicting the one be found in his otherwise, for the most psychological problem which might well part, just and judicious estimate of a tempt a dramatist of analytic mood great man. his transformation froina statesman tc After Beckets elevation to the pri- a Churchman, from a man of the world. macy, artificiality, according to Mr. worldly to an ecclesiastic who wore the Freeman, colors and overwhelms and tonsure, not oiily on his head, but hi spoils everything else in Beckets ca- his heart the contrast of the Becket reer. He does not scorn Becket for it; of Toulouse and the Becket of Clar- he does not rail at him for it; he does endon. not even blame him for it ; but it The solution of all these paradoxes~ grieves and disappoints him beyond will be found in the perfect continuity measure. He cannot get rid of the of the mind and character of Tlioinas~ notion or the word. He harps on then~ Becket. His circumstances, duties, and. incessantly and to weariness. They surroundings changed suddenly and. run through his well-known essay St. greatly ; but he never changed. The Thomas of Canterbury and his Biogra- man was the same throughout. Let ii pliers ; they pervade that part of his read him as they read him who lived Norman Conquest that relates to St. with him. Thomas ; and they are echoed again The handsome, gifted son of Gilbert and again in his Life and Times of Becket and Matilda his wife was in Thomas Becket. A mistaken view boyhood a pupil of Robert prior of like this naturally leads to wron~ con- Merton ; he continued his studies at clusions ; inconsistency and confusioii the London schools and the University are the inevitable result. And, coming of Paris. At the age of twenty-five~ from a historian of such high standing after he had gained a practical insight as Mr. Freeman, it has doubtless had into the business of life, both in hi its share in retarding the vindication fathers house and with his kinsman that in other respects he did so much to Osbern Witdeniers, he entered the promote. household of Archbishop Theobald, audi Thanks, however, in no small degree there became a thorough and formed to Mr. Freeman, there is scarcely an ecclesiastic. During this time the arch- educated Englishmaii now that is not bishop took him to Rome with him, and ready to dwell with proud content upon sent him there independently on all one side of the brilliant chancellor days kinds of important ecclesiastical and of Becket, and to acknowledge the great political affairs. Amongst others lie things that England owes to his admin- was charged with the delicate negotia- istration as a secular ruler. Nearly all tions relating to the succession to the his countrymen pay ungrudging homage crown, which by his subtle prudence to Beckets great secular gifts, if I may and cleverness 2 he secured to Henry. so call them, and to the use he made It was also during this period that he of them. They even acknowledge his obtained leave of the primate Theonald piety, and generous charity, and pure to go to Bologna for the study of canon life. But when they come to talk of law. He remained there a year, under the great change that followed his ele- Gratian,3 and thence went to Auxerre vation to the primacy, it is manifest 1 PaU Mall Gazette, December 11, 1884. that the real inner life of the man as 2 Gervasii, Op. list., Rolls Series. chancellor has escaped many of them Materials, ii. 304. 26 for the same purpose. Few ecciesias- tics have had a more mature formation than he had. From the archbishops household he went straight to the court. At the court there was undoubtedly much in the outward life of the mag- nificent statesman, judge, and warrior that was incompatible with a strict observance of the ecclesiastical state. But there was a continuity in his inner, deeper life, marked by piety, purity, and severe personal austerities, that was never broken. And the whole stream of his life, which was partially diverted for a while, returned with full tide when he became priest and arch- bishop. The chancellorship was none of his seeking. lie accepted it at the injunc- tion of Archbishop Theobald. And even during his chancellor days, when in the fullest enjoyment of the kings favor and friendship, he longed to be free of the court and back in his old home with Archbishop Theobald; and he often begged the archbishop to take him back into his service. But the archbishop refused. Judging from what Fitzstephen says, Theobald was fully justified in his re- fusal. It would be difficult to produce a more striking passage from our early records than Fitzstephens account of what Becket mainly effected for the noble kingdom of England and Holy (Dhurch when, entering on his new duties as chancellor, he found the leg- acy of disorder and anarchy left by Stephen working the misery and ruin of the people.2 No wonder that, the most trusted and intimate counsellor of the king, he won favor and enjoyed it without stint among all classes Cancellarii sum- inns erat in clero, militia et populo regni favor. ~ As regards his ecclesiastical policy, even that underwent no real, intrinsic change when Becket became arch- bishop. His firmness in resisting breaches of ecclesiastical law, as witnessed in his I Materials, ii. 304; Thomas Saga, rot i. 59. 2 Materials, ilL 18, 19. ~ Ibid., 20. Aspects of Tennyson. opposition to the marriage of the kings brother and the Countess Isabel, and that of Mary of Blois and the Count of Boulogne, is certainly more character- istic of the high principles required in a ruler of the Church than of an easy- going, pleasure-loving, secular admin- istrator. The marriage of the latter was unquestionably hindered by him during his chancellorship. His opposi- tion to that of William and Isabel took place between 1159 and 1163, and if not during the chancellorship must have been very soon after his consecration and before his rupture with the king at Westminster and Clarendon. It was the undying hatred he caused by oppos- ing this unlawful marriage that insti- gated the savage brutality of Le Breton when he broke his sword on the pave- ment of Canterbury Cathedral by the violence of the blow with which he struck the prostrate archbishop, saying, Take that for the love of my Lord William, the kings brother. ~ In fact, allowing for the difference of circumstances, position, and responsi- bility, no change of principle can be discovered between the ecclesiastical policy of the chancellor and that of the archbishop. There were many things that as Chancellor Becket could not prevent, though he might disapprove of then~, but that, once in the higher and independent office of primate, duty would compel him to resist. Things that so long as he was chancellor he might use persuasion, counsel, diplo- macy, to prevent, or might even let be; but that, once archbishop, he would have to forbid. In those days the pri- mate was the yokefellow of the king; the chancellor was only his right-hand man. And so far froni being artificial, St. Thomass life, whether public or pri- vate, was after his consecration dis- tinctly in conformity with his previous character, though raised to a higher Materials, iii. 142. Hoc aratrum in Anglia duo boves eseteris prncellentes regendo trahunt, et trahendo regunt. Rex videlicet et Archiepiscopus Oantuariensis. Iste seculari justitia et imperio, ille divina doe- trina et magisterlo. (Eadmer, Hist. Nov. lib. i., p. 18.) The Real Thomas Becket. level. But when the king came to feel that he was no longer dealing with his chancellor but with an independent power, the head of the Church in En- gland, he resented the 01(1 ascendency and broke the bonds of friendship. His passing irritation at the archbish- ops resumption of alienated Church lands was succeeded by greater anger on Beckets refusal to obey a peremp- tory command to absolve William of Eynesford, excommllnicate(l for infring- lag the rights of the See of Canterbury and the breach went on rapidly widen- ing till the king made a direct attack upon the liberties of the clergy. It was as much a part of the law of the land then that a cleric should not be tried by a civil court as it now is that a peer of the realm shall be tried by his equals. Ecclesiastical sentences were very severe, though they (lid not amount to the hideous tortures of the tyrannical civil courts ; and, moreover, including as they did degradation that is, the total loss of every ecclesias- tical privilege and immunity the de- raded cleric, an outlaw from his own class, became thereby for any after- offence as amenable to secular tribu- uals as any layman. In such well-known cases as those of Philip of Brois, the cleric who stole a chalice, and the priest of the Salisbury diocese accused, not proved guilty, of murder, the severe penalties of degra- dation, public flagellation, deprivation, branding, imprisonment for life, and banishment were severally inflicted.1 But such punishment did not satisfy Henry. He summoned the Council of Westminster, and demanded that, con- trary to the laws of England, a cleric should suffer twice for the same crime i.e., that he should first be degraded in presence of the royal officials, and then be strai~htway handed over to them to receive corporal punishment without any defence from benefit of clergy that is, the exemption of the Church. The bishops not columns, but reeds, as Herbert of Bosha~m, who was present at the Council, called them were ready to yield. Becket, with the instinctive justice of an English- man, protested that it was unjust to condemn a man twice for the same fault, and, with the unerring prescience of a true Churchman, added that the liberty of the Church was in danger, for which a bishop should be ready to oive his life. Where concession was juatifiable, his old affection for the king and his yearn- ing to be at peace amidst his people made the archbishop only too ready to orant it but where duty and principle alike forbade it he was inflexible, and, in spite of the depth and warmth of his feelings, he endured exile himself, the exile of his kindred and friends, the insults and violence of his enemies, the alienation of his own order, and, perhaps hardest of all, the procrastina- tion and vacillation of the sovereign pontiff, perplexed by the conflicting statements of the various messengers who wore the threshold of the Apos- tles hurrying to and fro, 2 and harassed by the intrigues of corrupt officials of the iloman court. And here I must say one word about the archbishops momentary yielding in the matter of the customs customs, not laws, be it remembered. St. Thomas never either sealed or signed the Con- stitutions of Clarendon. Before the customs were written out or even drawn up he promised that on accepting them he would omit the words so obnoxious to the king of saving his order and at Clarendon, when he pledged himself to observe them still unwrit- temi, be it rernenibereci he omitted the words. Both these concessions, taken alone, may be deemed a weakness; but the bitterness with which the arch- bishop lamented it has, I think, led many to suppose his fault greater than it really was. Moreover, the circumstances under which he yielded must be borne in mind. Greater pressure could not be brought to bear upon any man than was then brought to bear upon St. 2 Ibid., iii. 415. 1 Materials, iii. 265. 27 28 Thomas. The whole world was against him ; or rather, he seemed to be stand- ing against the judgment of the whole world of that of his own friends and counsellors, as well as of the partisans and advisers of the king. Arnuiph, Bishop of Lisieux, instigated the king to try to win over the clergy, the Arch- bishop of York, and the rest of the episcopate to his side, first of all, in the hope that if their countenance were withdrawn the saint would yield; and six times he crossed the Channel (and only think what six journeys across the Channel implied in those days !) in or- der to bring the pope to a favorable view of the kings demand. Next Ililary of Chichester came with his expostulations.2 Then came John, Count of Vendflme, and Robert de Me- lun, Bishop-elect of Hereford, in the company of the Abbot of lAumflne, who brought letters purporting to be from the pope, which urged great mod- eration and submission to the king, saying that the Church was in trouble in the troubles of its head, and that prudence must avert a similar trouble from befallin~ England. In addition to this, the abbot insisted with plausible importunity that the pope counselled the archbishop to yield for the sake of peace, and that hence the responsibility of submission now rested with the pope. He also brought letters from the cardinals all on the same side, and declaring that the king had given his assurance that he intended no detriment to the Church.8 It was after this that the prialate made his first promise. The Council of Clarendon was summoned in order that the promise might be ratified in public. Meanwhile, doubts arisino as to the trustworthiness of the abbots assert.ions, St. Thomas decided against a public ratification. Whereupon Joce- lin of Salisbury and William of Nor- wich, in mortal terror of the king, besou~ht him with tears in their eyes to have mercy on them, as their very lives depended on his reconciliation 1 Materials, i. 14; ii. 377; iv. 29, 30. 2 Ibid., i. 14, 15; ii. 378. Ibid., i. 15; iii. 276278; iv. 31, 32. with the king; but they could not moves him.4 The Earls of Leicester and Cornwall added their entreaties and dire prognostications, likewise in vain and it was not until the master of the English Templars and Hostes of Bou- logne had reasserted the arguments of Philip of lAumflue, that weighed with him so much before, and had solemnly pledged themselves that the king would not attempt to injure the Church, and that nothing more should be heard of the Constitutions it was not until then that the archbishop, having con- sulted the other bishops anew, made the required promise,5 a promise repented of immediately. Ifenry 5. arbitrary and unconstitutional interpre~ tation of the customs showed the prom- ise to be incompatible with the primatial oath of office, and therefore void. The (la.y after his second promise,. when the Constitutions of Clarendon,, which meantime had been drawn up by the kings direction, were read aloud. ha Council and severely criticised and condemned by St. Thomas, on the kings demnaiid that tile archbishop and the bishops should affix their seal to themwhich, be it observed, was not sinlply exacting tile promise to ob- serve the unwritten customs already given, but also requiring from th~ bishops a particular interpretation of them the archbishop answered ,By God Almighty, never during my life- time shall my seal be set to them. ~ The critic of Lord Tennyson, whom I have already quoted, laments that the late poetlaureate has, in his Becket , been an annalist rather than an analyst,. seizing upon salient events, and leaving the intervening motives and emotions to take care of themselves. This is. what I think, under the special circum- stances, a signal merit of tile drama, in so far as it is a portrait of St. Thomas. Hitherto there has been a great deal too much meddling with motives and emotions in connection with the great Ibid., i. 6; iv. 34. 5 Ibid., i. 17; iv. 35. 6 Per Deum omnipotentern, nunquam me vi- vente sigillum useurn his apponetur. (Materials~ iv. 37.) Aspects of Z1~nnysom. The Real Thomas Becket. 29 archbishop, and too little regard shown is enough to undo a century of slander for the real facts of his life. It would and prejudice. What is the impression have been better both for historic truth at the outset conveyed by the dialogue? and English love of fair play if more We have at once the pleasure-loving, attention had been paid to the facts, passionate, arbitrary, grasping sover- and the motives and emotions had been eign contrasted with the brilliant, genial left to take care of themselves. This is chancellor, ready, it is true, to retura what has happened now. In Tenny- jest for jest, but also with an under- sons l3ecket we have a picture of current of serious purpose and strong the man in the narrative of facts by a principle running throughout his good- master-hand that, thrown upon the humored banter. popular mind, will appeal to it and win It is very skilful how, in the interest it by degrees, as in the past the living of the game, Becket is made to (lisre- facts themselves went home to the heart gard the kings violent outbursts against of the nation and directly swayed the the Church, yet promptly to check the affections of the masses, when they notion that, bishop or archbishop, lie found utterance in the glorious aiid would deal lightly with sin, lie lets now vanished shrine of Canterbury the king twit him for his constitutional Cathedral, or the fostering home for (lelicacy in matters of the table, but the suffering poor which has now gro~vn stops him instantly and boldly when into the vast London hospital that bears from meats anli wine lie would pass on his name. to gallantry ; and Thomas the chan- From the first page to the last, with cellor stands inches higher than henry a marvellous adhesion to historic fact the king. Thus slander dies and his- and sequence, ~vitli vigorous or sul)tle tory reigns again. strokes, Lord Tennyson swiftly and It is history, too, when, pointing to boldly paints his portrait, till the Beeket his gay sleeve, he repels the first hint of history, as he was known in his daily that he will succeed Theobald ; and outward life, stands a living man before history gleams and hashes and sparkles us. His purity, his lofty standard of in the humility, and piety, and pre duty, his humility and self-mistrust science of his answer to the king, press- his natural ardor of temperament and lug the point, and urging that, though im~)etuosity, his self-control and calm- lie mni~ht refuse to be a bishop, Nob ness, his heroic courage in the face of archiepiscopari is quite another mat- ~la.nger an(l sternness with tyranny, his ter ten(lerness of heart and patience in the A more awful one. ~resenee of weakness and suffering, Make me archbishop! Why, my ~ I his strong affections, his deep sense of know justice, his large-miadedness, his mi- Some three or four poor priests a thousand nate thioughtfnlue ss, his l)rofoun d rel i times ~xio us feeling, his keen pcrccl)tion of the Fitter for this grand function. Me arch- f~~ilings of the cloister, his great ad bishop mu in istrative po ~ver, his pap ular svmpa Gods favor and King s favor might so clash tIdes amid love of the pool, his fondness That thou and I That were a jest in- deed! for nature and animals, his patriotism. his splendor, his single-miu(le(llWss, So, too, his sorrow at the death of Isis generosity, his magn animit~ , Isis his 01(1 friend and master, Archbishop lassion for liberty all this, falling Theobald, is of history. And we have naturally into the action without strain the very words from Grim of the base, or effort, is either directly or implicitly brutal Fitzurse, who could not brook manifest, and makes itself felt. his lofty spirit Ay, but he speaks to Take the prologue a powerfully a noble as though he were a churl, and dramatic and condensed retrospect fore- to a churl as if he were a noble. casting the whole action of the piece. In the first scene at Northampton The vivid truth of the prologue alone there is,. alas! a slip, a great slip 30 Bccket is made to sign the Constitutions of Clarendon, and later this is repeated. And at page 28 the archbishop speaks as though he had given no warning to Henry, though history tells that he did warn the king of what he was to ex- pect. But wonderfully true to the real Beckct is his farewell to the cowardly retainers leaving him under the kings frown : God bless you all! God redden your pale blood! Farewell, friends ! farewell, swallows ! I wrong the bird; she leaves only the nest she built, they leave the builder. And his pity for the maimed dog: Poor beast! Poor beast! . . . Who mis- uses a dog would misuse a child they cannot speak for themselves. And for his sumpter-mule, mutilated poor brute. And the deeper tender- ness of such passages as the exquisite lines on the wild-fowl, and the little fair-haired Norman maid struck with leprosy. Even in the mistaken episode, as I judge it, of iRosamund the spirit of his- tory is preserved. There is no more of the narrow-minded fanatic or arrogant, merciless prelate than there is of con- nivance at royal vice; but there is the firmness, forbearance, and large- mindedness of a high-principled, godly man in his dealings with the woman wronged by Henry, who cannot see her own or others wrong : I fled and found thy name a charm to get me Food, roof, and rest. I met a robber once; I told him I was bound to see the Arch- bishop; Pass on, he said, and in thy name I passd From house to house. In one a son stone- blind Sat by his mothers hearth: he had gone too far Into the Kings own woods; and the poor mother, So soon as she learnt I was a friend of thine, Cried out against the cruelty of the King. Aspects of Tennyson. I said it was the Kings courts, not the King; But she would not believe me, and she. wishd The Church were King: she had seen the Archbishop once, So mild, so kind. The people love thee,. father. That they did; and when he returne(l from exile all Kent and all London poured forth to welcome him, the poor weeping for joy and crying out,. Blessed is he who cometh in the name of the Lord, the father of the orphans and the judge of the widows Eater orphanorurn etjudex viduarurn. the bells rang out even to deafening,~ Organ and pipe, and dulcimer, chants and hymns In all the churches, trumpets in the halls, Sobs, laughter, cries: they spread their raiment down Before me would have made my pathway flowers, Save that it was mid-winter in the street But full mid-summer in those honest hearts.. That is truly the scene descrihed by Fitzstephen and Herbert of Bosham. Indeed, I might quote innumerable pas-. sages to show how entirely the true archbishop has ~iven place to the legendary one of prejudice. It is the Becket of Grim, and Herbert, and Fitz- stephen, not the haughty one of legend and of fiction, that welcomes beggars prayers and asks for Rosamunds. It is the man who could bear to be told of his shortcomings, because four eyes see better than two, 2 that John of Salisbury rebukes for his firmness in rebuke till he is fain to end : I crave Thy pardon I have still thy leave to. speak. But it is in the last two scenes, after the entrance of the knights, that the power of the poem is felt at its fullest,. giving all the beautiful contrasts of St. Thomass character; his lofty spirit,. now firm in rebuking the traitors, now 1 Materials, iii. 477. 2 Pariter et excessum indica, si quo tu ipse videris et judicaveris excedentem. Et in calce sermonis adjiciens, clrcumspectius quippe, in- quit, et darius quatuor duo oculi vident. (Ma- terials, iii. 186.) The Real Thomas Becket. melting into tenderness at the thought of his people. No threats move him. Nay, when they seek to overturn our rights, I ask no leave of king or mortal man To set them straight again. Alone I do it. Give to the King the things that are the Kings, And those of God to God. At the threat of death seven hundred years ago his noble words anticipated his dauntless end ; they are nobly echoed here Ye think to scare me from my loyalty To God and to the Holy Father. No! Tho all the swords in England flashd above me, Ready to fall at Henrys word or yours Tho all the loud-lungd trumpets upon earth Blared from the heights of all the thrones of her kings, Blowing the world against me, I would stand Clothed with the full authority of Rome, Maild in the perfect panoply of faith, First of the foremost of their files, who die For God, to people heaven in the great day When God makes up his jewels. Once I fled Never again, and you I marvel at you Ye know what is between us. Ye have sworn Yourselves my men when I was Chan- cellor My vassals and yet threaten your arch- bishop In his own house. What follows is as close to history as Father Morriss harmony of contempo- rary writers, which for simplicity and beauty has not been surpassed.2 1 Frustra mill minamini; si omnesgladii An- glile capiti meo immineant, ab observatione justiti~e Dei et obedientia domini pap~e terrores vestri non me dimovere poterunt. Pede ad pedem me repe- rietis in Domini prmlio. Semel recessi timidus sacerdos; redii in consilio et obedientia domini pap~e ad ecciesiam meam: amplius in sempiternum non earn deseram. Si liceat mihi in pace fungi sacerdotio meo, bonum est mihi; si minus, fiat de me voluntas Dei. Prnter Thee, nostis quid inter me et vos sit; unde et magis miror, quod audetis archiepiscopo in domo sua minari. (Materials, iii. 1345.) 2 The Life and Martyrdom of St. Thomas Becket. For those who have neither the time nor the means to spend upon the Materials of the Rolls Series,, the last edition of this work of the learned and 31 Amidst all the confusion, haste, and terror surrounding him, the archbishop alone, as the several historians record, is calm. It is a calmness that makes itself felt in every narrative of the time. The monks drag and urge him hither and thither from tile palace to the cathedral, thinking that there dur in~ Vespers would be safety, and then flee. Tile archbishop having resisted them, waits till cross-bearer, mitre audi pallium, every one and everything, are in order, and then, seeing that th~ monks have fled, quietly says: Our dovecote flown! I cannot tell why monks should all be cowards. ~ When Grim and others in their terror shut the doors of the transept and bolt out the monks, it is the archbishop, pursued by his murderers, who com- mands the doors to be opened, and waits to see thc last monk illside, just as Becket really waited in the face of death, and forbade the cathedral to be made a castle.4 All have fears for him; he has fears only for others. Just at the last coin- puiiction seems to have touched De Morville, and he bade the archbishop fly; but St. Thomass resolution is un alterable I will not. I am readier to be slain than thou to slay. Hugh, I know well thou hast but half a. heart To bathe this sacred pavement with my blood. God pardon thee and these, but Gods full curse Shatter you to pieces if ye harm One of my flock.5 Wounded by the profligate Fitzurse, he prays I do commend my cause to God, the Vir- gin, accurate Jesuit is invaluable. It is the eight large volumes of the Rolls Series in brief, and gives many of the most important passages in the arch- bishops life in the very words of contemporary writers. Ne timeatis; plerique monachi plus justo timidi sunt et pusillanimes. (Materials, iii. 138.) Absit ut de ecclesia IDei castellum faciamus. (Ibid., ii. 435. See also iii. 139.) Sed anctoritate Dei interdico, ne quempialfl meorum tangatis. (Ibid., ii. 319. See also iii. 140. A Kings Treasurer. St. Denis of France and St. Aiphege of En- gland, And all the tutelar saints of Canterbury. Then, after Grims vain.defence, fall- ing on his knees under the blow of Dc Tracy, he utters his last word ere he sinks prone and his voice is stilled by De Britos sword : At the right hand of Power Power and great glory for the Church, 0 Lord Into Thy hands, 0 Lord into thy hands.2 And now I would ask any one who has read the whole poem and con- sidered the network of cruel mis- represeatation that has enveloped the memory of St. Thomas for centuries, whether any analysis, however subtle. could have given a more vivid idea of the archbishop than the impressive pic- ture by the poet laureate, and annalist if it must be, wrought from the very acts and words he did and spoke? Or whether there caa be a question of the i~ations debt to Lord Tennyson for his share in disposing us for a right appre- ciation of one of the grandest and most pathetic of human histories? I fearlessly conclude as I began: Lord Tennysons Becketis his no- blest work; for it will reinstate a great lEnglishman in the affections of a great people; and of nations as of individ- mials it is equally true that Blest Is he whose heart is the home of the great dead And their great thoughts. AGNES LAMBERT. 1 Inclinata in modum orantis cervice, junctis pariter et elevatis sursum manibus, iDeo et Sauct, 3Larin et beato martyri Dionysio suam et eccieske causam commendavit. (Materials, ii. 437.) 2 Tertio vero percussus martyr genua fiexit et cubitos, seipsum hostiam viventem offerendo, di- cens submissa voce: Pro nomine Jesu et ecciesin tuitione mortem amplecti paratus sum. (Ibid., ii. 437.) Archiepiscopus a capite definum cum brachio detergens et videns cruorem, gratias Deo agebat dicens In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spin- mm meum. (Ibid., iii. 141.) From Macmillans Magazine. A KINGS TREASURERi IN the town of I3ourges in Bern, once a royal residence and the capital of the province, fronting the street which is now tIme Rue Jacques Cecur, is a remarkable old house. It stands a little forward, as if to challenge the notice of the passer-by; as boldly as once its builder challenged the wonder and envy of his generation. From two false willdows on the first story, two sculptured figures, a valet and a maid, lean out to look into the street below. They are watching for the return of their master who rode out through the great arched gateway four centuries and a half ago, and came home no more. Architects tell us that this Ho- tel Jacques Cceur is one of the finest examples of mediteval domestic archi- tecture to be found in France, and the beauty of the structure is worthy, no doubt, of all attention. But for those who are not curious about Gothic spire or Italian fa9ade, or skilled in the lan- guage of arch and column and window tracery, this fragment of the stormy past has none the less a profound and melancimoly interest. Defaced and al- tered though it has been, within even more than without, it still recalls the day when the richest nman in France lavished his wealth upon it, till the king had no palace to compare with the merchants house. It is still a vivid record of that great son of Bour~es who sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, to die at last, an exile and an outlaw, on an island in the far i~~ean Sea. Those who are not well ac- quainted with Jacques Cteur and his strange vicissitudes of fortune may be interested in hearing his story. Pierre Cmeur, or Cuer as the name was origin ally spelled, was a wealthy fur merchant of Bourges who had two sons, Jacques and Nicolas. The first was born about the year 1395, a year or two before Dick Whittington fulfilled his destiny by becoming lord mayor of London. In 1418 he married Mac& , 1 ~ am indebted for most of the facts related in thispaper to M. Pierre Clements exhanstive work, Jacques Oteur et Charles VII. ~32 A Kings Treasurer. daughter of Lambert de Leodepart, provost of the city, and this isolated fact is all that is known of his early life. He probably took some part in his fathers business; his brother Nico- las became a priest. Jacques makes his first appearance on the historical stage in 1427, in rather disadvanta~ eous circumstances. Ravaut le Danois was a merchant of Ilouen whose business was ruined by the English invasion of 1420. lIe left iRouen therefore, and attach lug himself to the dauphins party, contracted with him for the charge of the mints at Bourges, Orleans, Poitiers, and St. Pour~ain. Bourges was at this time a l)lace of considerable importance. The (lauphin, driven across the Loire by the English and their Burgundian allies, had made it his seat of govern- ment; and it was besides a thriving manufacturing town, with two yearly fairs. The master of the Bourges mint must have been therefore a person of some importance. Ravaut had held this office for a few years when he took Jacques Ceur and Pierre Godart, a money-changer of the town, into partnership with him. The profits of the business were not so large as the l)aitners expected, and they presently resorted to illegitimate means of in- creasing them. Jacques Ceur appears to have been the most active agent in the process of issuing money which was considerably under the standard weight. When the fraud was discov- ered Ravaut ingenuously explained that they had been driven to commit the crime by the incessant demands for money made by the kings people, and l)y their loyal anxiety to meet them. In consideration of the services the master had previously rendered to the king, and perhaps in consideration also of the state of the royal treasury, jus- tice was satisfied with a fine of about 1,500. The kings of France had them- selves been too often ~uilty of tamper- lug with the coin of the realm for the offence to carry with it any very deep disgrace, or permanent disqualification for public service. Eight years later we find the principal culprit at the 33 head of the same mint, and in 1448 his accomplice held a similar post else- where. Jacques C~ur, however, ap- pears to have apprehended the moral which the detection and punishment of crime are commonly supposed to con- vey, and he cast about for a more hon- orable channel into which to direct his energy. Enterprising, keen-eyed, de- termined by some means or other to make his fortune, he naturally turned his face eastward. The trade between Europe and the Levant had never been more active than it was in the early part of the fifteenth century, in spite of the cede- siastical restrictions laid upon it. The Church, still dreaming of new crusades and a Christian rule in the Holy Land, sternly censured all peaceful dealings with the infidel. But the demand for Eastern luxuries silks, perfumes, spices, precious stones was immense, and the trade too lucrative to be re- nounced. Rome, whose best weapon has been her success in discovering a middle way in all such cases, consemited to allow the dangerous traffic to be carried on by certain persons and at certain places, within certain well-de- fined limits, and was handsomely paid for the concession. The markets of Egypt and Syria were thronged by Christian traders who were heavily taxed for the right of landing their wares. An Italian traveller of 13Sf tells us that so soon as a European ves- sel entered the port of Alexandria she was boarded by a score of Egyptian officials, who carried away her rudder and sail to prevent her departing till the sultans dues were paid ; and this was the custom at Aden also, and on all the Barbary coasts. So numerous were the Christians in Cairo and Alex- andria that nightly precautions were taken lest these successors of the Cru- saders should be tempted some evening to wrest the city from their Saracen hosts. The greater part of this com- merce was in the hands of Venice, Genoa, and Barcelona and these bold and crafty traders understood the value of their position as the middlemen of Europe too well not to strain every LIVING AGE. VOL. LXXXII. 4211 34 nerve to maintain it. When the king of Aragon in 1453 desired to borrow money from the Bourse of Barcelona, the merchants stipulated that lie should make peace with Egypt. For the trade with the Levant, said the wise Catalans, ~ is the principle and key of trade in general ; our relations with the East once disturbed, the whole of our commerce suffers more or less. When Jacques Cceur determined to establish direct commercial relations with the Levant he had formidable rivals to com- pete with. He chose Montpeflier for the centre of his operations. This town, besides being the first medical school of the day, did a larger foreign trade, through its little port Lattes, than any other in France. Its merchants had already obtained a license from Pope Urban V. to send one ship yearly, out of the six which they possessed, to the Eastern ports on condition that they carried for sale, neither arms nor iron nor timber for the construction of vessels nor any- thing else that might be hurtful to the general welfare of Christendom. They had also placed a consul at Con- stantinople for the honor of God and the convenience of the merchants of Montpellier. Jacques Czeur joined himself to this prosperous fraternity, making his first voyage in 1432, and built a house looking seaward, with a high roof whence he could watch the departure and arrival of the ships. Ceur had chosen a propitious mo- ment to begin his operations. Mar- seilles, Montpelliers Proveii~al rival, was crippled by the long war between Aragon and Provence; Genoa had never quite recovered the crushing losses she had sustained in her last great naval battle with Venice ; and France was only slowly beginning to rise from the prostrate condition in which her civil war had left her. The A Kings Treasurer. houses which were opened throughout~ the kingdom, and sometimes com- manded his galleys. The chief of them was Jean de Village, who married his employers niece and had charge of his affairs at Marseilles. To the furthest harbors of the Levant Ceurs vessels sailed with the fleur-de-lis at the mast- head ; his relations with the sultan assumed political importance. A con- temporary historian, growing poetic as he contemplates his countrymans suc- cess, describes him as a second Jason~ with Cairo for his Coichis strand. Nor with all Jacques Czenrs foreign undertakings was he without honor in his own country. Charles VII. had a genius for putting the right man in the right place ; and when in 1436 Paris at last consented to admit the king, he re-established an hOtel des Monnales in the capital and gave the direction of it to the man who had managed his own monetary affairs with such striking results It was in connection with this office that Ceur perhaps rendered his country his most important and perma- nent service. There was no department of public affairs which called more loudly for reform than the mint, or afforded a better field for the display of Czeurs financial genius. The French kings had early discovered a simple method of extricating themselves from the pecuniary difficulties which constantly beset them. When money was urgently required and could not be otherwise obtained, the value of the current coin- a.ge was suddenly lowered, sometimes to a fourth or a fifth of the sum it had till then represented. This expedient for filling the exchequer was too easy not to be popular with an embarrassed and short-sighted government occupied solely with its own immediate necessi- ties. It was freely practised by Phi- lippe he Bel, who, when.the Comte de French merchants ventures prospered Nevers attempted to follow the royal miraculously. Before long he was the example on his own estates, claimed owner of seven vessels, and employed the right of thus ruining his subjects no less than three hundred agents, or as the special privilege of the king. facteurs, who represented their master Charles the Wise recognized and scru- in all the chief commercial centres at pulously avoided the error of his pred- home and abroad, managed the branch ecessors; but his son Charles VI. A Kirtas Treasurer. 35 reverted to it in 1415, to obviate the of its former crimes. it is Jacques damnable enterprise of his adversary C~urs severest critic who says that he of England. Charles VII. does not invented just financing, and believed seem to have yielded to this particular that the way for the king to grow rich,. temptation; but in the early years of as for other people, was to pay hi~ his reign his poverty drove him to debts. contribute in his own way to the finan- I do not know in what year Charles cial confusion of the country. The made him a member of his Council and English during their occupation of conferred on him the post of argentier, Paris (14221436) put into circulation or treasurer, as we should say ; but it money of a high denomination, with was in 1440, in consideration of the the purpose of discrediting the smaller services rendered to the king in his money which was all their rival could office of argentier and elsewhere, that afford to issue. The French prince Charles granted him and his family let- met the emergency by placing on his ters of nobility. coins a fictitious value, far above the The treasurers business was to re- actual price of the metal. In 1418, for ceive and administer the sums granted example, the gold mark which the mint for the expenses of the royal house- purchased for three hundred and twenty hold, and the post was not in itself livres, when coined and put into circu- of any very great importance. But it lation represented more than nine times brought Cmur into close intercourse that value. The silver mark of eight with the court, and gave him op ounces in 1418 was worth nine livres ; portunities of acquiring an influence four years later it was worth ninety, which he was not slow to use. Charles Many of the seigneurs who had the granted him many valuable privileges right of coining money, imitate(i the by which he profited to the fullest ex- tactics of their superiors ; and the coun- tent. Among them was that of selling try was flooded with base coin, English, his merchandise in the precincts of the Burgundian, and French. royal residence, to the nobles and cour- Jacques Ceur perceived clearly the tiers ; and another, less desirable, of (lisastrons effects which inevitably fol- lending money to the whole court. lowed these capricious enactments, and The queen borrowed 140 from him, as soon as he became master of the and pledged a pearl for the repayment Paris mint he undertook the necessary of the money. Shortly before she reforms. The numerous ordinances is- had pawned her I3ible to her valet sued between 1435 and 1451 are all de charnbre for a much larger sum. believed to have been his work. Coin- Among the court bankers papers is a mnissioners were authorized to seize note of 130 borrowed by the kings money suspected of being under weight young daughter, Madame Aragonde, wherever they found it, even in private pour avoir une robe. purses; unauthorized persons were for- In these favorable circumstances 1)i(lden to act as money-changers ; the Jacques was not unmindful of his fain- number of masters of the mint was re- ily interests. His brother was made duced to seven, of whom Cenrs old Bishop of Lu9on ; he married his only friend Ravaut was one ; a new gold daughter to the eldest son of the Vi- and silver coinage of full value was comte of Bourges. The eldest of his struck. Buyers and sellers had taken four sons took orders, and at five- refuge from the arbitrary decrees of and-twenty was elected Archbishop of the government by stipulating with Bourges. The pope hesitated to con- each other for paymnent by weight, in- firm the election as the young ecelesi- stead of in the usual legal tender; and astic was under the canonical age, but~ this procedure was now strictly prohib- the king pressed him strongly, and he ited. The government inten(le(l hence- gave way. In 1440 Jacques was sent forth to deal honestly with the people, to Languedoc as one of the commis- afl(l desired to efface the remembrance sioners to the yearly meeting of the 36 Estates. in 1445 he was chosen to be one of the arbitrators in the dispute between the Comte de Foix and the people of Comminges. He went on important embassies successively to Genoa, Savoy, and Rome. At Rome they made an entry so magnificent that the spectators declared it was sixty years since they had seen the like but the expense was outrageous. Meanwhile the treasurers wealth con- tinued to increase. The poets of the time celebrated it in their verses his less prosperous mercantile rivals watched with bitter envy the surprising good luck of cc Jacquet. The lavish expenditure in xvhich the merchant- prince loved to indul0e caught the pop- ular fancy, and exaggerated stories of it wcre told. The common utensils of his house were said to be all silver; his horses were believed to be shod with the same metal. Nor were these inex- haustible resources attributed to such commonplace causes as fortunate spec- ulation, or royal favor. The legend went that Raymond Lulli, the great chemist, had taught Pierre Ceur the priceless secret persistently sought l)y the muedheval world, and that the father had passed the philosophers stone on to the son. Fortune, indeed, says the I3urgundian writer, Georges Chas- telain, had led this man to the sum- mit of the high rock whence to mount higher was impossible, and the descent of exceeding great peril. And he, who always loved the difficult thing more than the thing easily obtained, was dazzled at last by the too brilliant sunshine of his own success. Merchant, banker, statesman, and courtier, Jacques Cceur should have known his world well; but he acted like one wholly ignorant of it. He be- nan to have visions of founding a fam- ily, of leaving a name behind him, an(I he therefore began to buy ~reat estates from the impoverished nobles, his debt- ors ; S. Girard de Vaux from the Due de Bourbon, Yvel-lc-YieI and Meaulne in Bern from the Marshal de Culan, and a score of other castles and sci- gacuries, chiefly in his native province. Georges de la Tremonille, the kings old favorite, had bought estates in the Nivernais from the Marquis of Mont- ferrat and could not pay the price; Jacques was imprudent enough to step in between the two noblemen and pur- chase the place. The great seigneurs, who were forced by stress of poverty to sell their lands, had no very kindly feeling towards the upstart who was rich enough, and ambitious enough, to buy them out of their ancient posses- sions ; but the treasurer was too intent on his own schemes to observe the signs of the times, lie xvent on buying lands and building houses. He had mansions at Marseilles, Montpellier, Beaucaire, Lyons, Tours, 13~ziers, and Paris, besides his unrivalled house in Bourges. It is this house that reveals the man. The wealthy Jew of the Middle Ages, wise in his generation, was careful to present to the world a modest and unobtrusive front. His house within might be sumptuously furnished ; its exterior offered no indication of pecul- iar wealth. But the French money lender had none of the ~vary instincts of his Oriental rival. Not content with being rich when the king, the queen, and the princes were all poor, he needs must flaunt his wealth in their faces with the insolent ostentation of the true rot an er. His house, inside and out, from roof to basement, was as fine as he could make it, and sculptors and artists did their best to please theh wealthy patron. The treasurer had chosen to carry in his coat of arms three black cockle- shells and three crimson hearts, the latter of course in punning allusion to his name; and everywhere throughout the building we find these emblems repeated ; in the balcony, in the win- dows, on the mantelpieces, in the ban- queting hail as in the tiny chapel. The tiles of the roof, and the chapel bell bore the same device. Even the heads of the nails of the door fastenings are shaped like hearts. The cockle-shell conveys a suggestion of humility and faith ; it links the Levant trader with the pilgrim, with the crusader, with all the devout souls who, not for hope of A Kings Treasurer. A Kings Treasurer. 37 mirrored in the pooi? The key to the riddle is lost ; but the care with which the carving was hidden long after the actors in the little drama were dead, in- dicates that it had a more than allegor- ical significance. The HOtel Jacques Ceur was begun in 1443, and was not finished at the time of the treasurers fall. lie built also a fine sacristy for the cathedral, and a chapel on the site of the old sacristy, which he fondly destined to be a place of burial for himself and his posterity. In both these buildings we find his arms everywhere ; in the large window of the chapel his patron S. Jacques in pilgrims dress, staff in hand, fills one of the lower panels ; in the upper shine the crimson hearts and the flower of France. In Godefroys folio edition of the Chronicles of Charles VII., there is a half-length portrait of Jacques, which there is good reason to believe is genu- ine. It represents a man of about fifty wearing a skull-cap edged with narrow fur or swansdown, and a brocaded robe. The full neck and the powerful jaw in- dicate a certain coarseness of fibre they mark the bozugeois origin, of which there is no trace in the broad forehead, the straight, fine eyebrows, the noble poise of the head, the serious, melan- choly glance. In 1449 the four years truce with England was broken, and the French threw themselves vigorously anew into the war. The English, who twenty years before had been masters of the best part of France, retained nothing now of their conquests except Nor- mandy and Guienne. The dormant national feeling had at last awakened, and Charles set himself with unusual energy to efface the last traces of his countrys long humiliation. The campaign was planned, the army, re-organized by the Constable de Riche- mont, was ready, but there was no money. The king appealed to the only man in France able to meet the urgent earthly profit, had wandered eastward to the Syrian shore. But the legend attached to the hearts and the shells had nothing in it of the pilgrims spirit, no lowliness, no reverence, but infinite confidence and supreme audacity. Men pictured Raymond Lullis pupil carry- ing close locked in his breast the mys- terious formula that turned all to gold under his hand ; while all the time he was writing the true secret of his fame and fortune all over his house in stone and glass and marble for the whole world to read. A railkms ceurs rien impossible was the treasurers motto. Among the innumerable sculptures with which the house was decorated two are specially to be noted. One is over the fireplace in a large gallery on the first floor. It represents a tourna- ment, the aristocratic amusement still in fashion ; but instead of knightly riders, the combatants are peasants, for prancing steeds they are mounted on asses, for lance and shield they carry sticks and baskets, for waving plumes they wear cocks feathers. It is as though the man of the people had turned, in the midst of his dignity and opulence, to fling this malicious gibe at the ancient chivalry in which he had and could have no part. The other was in the apartment called the treasure-room on the third story of the great tower. The room could only be reached by an isolated staircase, and the door was of iron with a complicated lock. The carving represents a scene in a forest. A lady, richly dressed, with a crown on her head, is reclining on the flowery earth, while a man, generally taken to be the treasurer himself, is advancing cau- tiously towards her. In an oak-tree above them a crowned head is visible, regarding them attentively, the face reflected in a square pool at the foot of the tree. In the background a jester watches them with sidelong glance, while he catches flies on the trunk of an apale-tree beside him, on the top of which sits a large bird. Here is the necessity of the case. It was the great mystery of Jacques Ceurs life. Who moment of the treasurers life, and he is the crowned lady towards whom he was not unworthy of the occasion. lie steps, with his eyes fixed on the face was walking alone with the king, when 38 Charles broached the subject and in- vited him to advance the money for the Norman enterprise. All that I have, sire, is yours, was the courtly answer, and Charles had no further anxiety about the payment of his troops. The sum oianted careless with such grace, nominally a loan, virtually a gift, rel)re- sents not much less than half a million pounds sterling. The campaign was a series of victo- ries ; place after place was relinquished by the English, and when on the 10th of November Charles made his grand entry into Rouen, the part his treasurer had taken in the redemption of the province was fully recognized. Behind the Archbishop of ilonen and certain other dignitaries of the Church, rode the lieutenant-general Dunois, the hero of the day, magnificent in crimson velvet and sable fur with a black velvet hat and a great ruby in the hilt of his sword ; at his side was 13r6z~ the sea- esehal of Poiton ; and with these two great personages rode the fur meL chants son mounted and dressed cx- actlv like Dun ois ; while from a window in the street old Talbot, given by Som- erset to the French as a hostage for the surrender of 1-Tonfleur, watched the brilliant procession. It was the funeral of the English empire in France that passed through Rouen that day, and the old man. of eighty at the window, fort peosif et macri, was the chief mourner. The kings triuml)h was complete, but it was soon clouded by the sudden death of Agnes Sorel. She made an edifying end, and left her property to different abbeys and churches, naming as her executors Etienne Chevalier, Robert Poitevin, and Jacques Ceur. Her death was unexpected; the inevi- table rumors soon followed, and the crime was laid lightly enough at the dauphins door. lie was on the worst possible terms with his father ; he had never disguised his hatred of Agnes Sorel; he was said to have put his own young wife out of the way five years before ; it was easily believed that he knew more than other people about Agness death. No inquiry was A Kings Treasurer. made, however, and the king consoled himself with oilier favorites. Agnes had slept for eighteen months in her grand tomb at Lochies, when the accu- sation was sn(l(lenly brought forward again and launched, not at the dauphin, the kings enemy, but at Jacques Ceur, his trusted counsellor and friend. Jeanne de Mortagne, a lady of the court, formally accused the treasurer of being the murderer. All had continued till now to go well with the banker since the day when he ro(le with Dunois through the streets of I{ouen. He was honored and trusted and used by the court as much as ever. Charles was planning a campaign in Guieniie, and the treasurer no doubt was occupied with the question of ways and means. Rumors there certainly v crc that the notoriously inconstant king was growing a little weary of the man who had served hiini now some fifteen years, as Charles invariably did grow weary of those who were long about him ; but Cn~ur paid them little attention. He believed himself secure in the affection and gratitude of the king, not understanding the (hanger a subject incurred by being too generous to his sovereign. The whole court owed him money, and each debtor was an enemy in am- bush but there were two men who particularly desired his downfall. One was the favorite of the hour, Antoine de Chabannes, Comte de Danimartin, who had once been notorious for his brutal rapacity as a leader of ~corc1ieurs. The constable hind swept the country of those terrible bands ; military vio- lence and pillage hind been sternly re- pressed ; it was only in the shadow of the throne that the old ~corchear might still hope to ravage and plunder with impunity. The other was an Italian, by iiame Otto Castellani, a distant rela- tive of the Medicis, who had long cov- eted the treasurers office for hiniseif. I-Ic had employed a sorcerer of Toulouse to make two wax images for him, and as the wax melted away in the fire he looked for the melting away of his en- emy s wealth and honor. In July, l4~1, the court was at Taihlebourg, and A Kings Treasurer. 39 some hint of impending trouble had than any act set forth in the indict- reached the treasurer; but the kindli- ment; more certain to irretrievably ness of Charless manner fully reas- ruin the prisoner than any other that sured him, aud he wrote confidently to could be deviscd. He is accused (but his wife at Bourges that, whatever the assertion rests upon a very slight might be said, he stood as well with foundation) of baying lent money to the king as ever he had done. It soon the kings mortal enemy, the Dauphin appeared that Charles was only proving Louis. himself an admirable actor. The smil- There were eight witnesses to prove lug king, the fierce and hungry favor- the first charge. One of them told how ite, the Italian muttering his wicked one day several agents of Jacques Ceur spells, the unconscious treasurer, were at Montpellier, were seizing rascals, playing one of the oldest of historical ruffians, and other wicked people; and dramas, and the spectators the no- dragging them on board the galley St. bles who hated the ennobled upstart, Jacques which was about to sail. the merchants who envied the mer- Among these there chanced to be a chant his privileges watched eagerly German pilgrim, an honest man of good for the catastrophe. The blow fell xvith conversation. The pilgrim entreated dramatic abruptness. The letter to his to be set on shore, but Jacques Ceur, wife was probably written in the last or his agent, was inexorable, and the week of July. On the 31st of the unhappy German, preferring death to a month the writer was arrested on the long voyage, threw himself weeping charge of murder. into the sea and was drowned. The A special commission was appointed story of the runaway slave was still to try the case, and the first two names more moving. He was a lad of four- on the list sufficiently indicated the teen or fifteen from the land of Pres- probable course of events. The Comte ter John, who had met the captain of de Dammartin was president, and next Jacques C~nrs galley, the St. Denis, to him came Otto Castellani. Before at Alexandria, and throwing himself on the trial began the prisoners property his knees had exclaimed Eater No ster, was declared forfeit to the crown, and a Are 2lEarna ! On this the captain in- lust charge of 250.000 levied upon it quired if he wished to be a good Chris- for the expenses of the war in Guienne. tian. The slave rejoined that for this Jacques Ceurs generosity had re- purpose he had fled from his master. deemed one province ; a second was to The captain took him at once on board he recovered by his ruin, the St. Denis, and transported him The accusation of poisoning was so safely to Montpellier ; but on his ar- obviously ~ronndless that it was at rival his employer, far from praising once abandoned; but half-a-dozen other him for his charitable deed, had rebuked charges were quickly formulated against him harshly with threats and many in- him. The investigation began on the jurious words, and had sent the boy 10th of September, in the Castle ot hack to Egypt. Lusiguan. The prisoner was accused Before his marriage Jacques Czeur, of having forced several persons to join perhaps already struck by the uncer- his crews at Montpellier; of having tainties of life, had taken one of those sent back to Alexandria a Christian minor orders which conferred the privi- slave who had taken refuge on one of leges of the clergy without admitting his ships ; of having exported French to any special clerical office. He had money to the East; of having sold always been careful to stand well with arms to the infidel ; of having adminis- the Church, and he now hastened to tered the kings affairs fraudulently and claim the immunity from secular juris- tyrannically in Languedoc; and of hay- diction which the Church granted her ing issued light money from his mint, servants. But lie failed to prove his It is said that behind these charges point. None of his domestics remem- there lurked another, darker, more fatal bered seeing him wear the tonsure or A Kings Treasurer. the clerical garb. He was wont, on the contrary, to go dressed like the grand seigneurs, in green and grey and crim- son, with a gold chain on his breast and scarlet shoes. The plea not being admitted, Jacques Ceur replied to the charges. He showed that the pope had granted him special permission to sell or pre- sent certain pieces of armor to the sul- tan, and that the money he was in the habit of exporting was German and Lorraine money which lie had brought into France for the purpose. On the first charge he exhibited letters granted in 1443 by the king, to the effect that certain private persons having built at Genoa a great galley for the transport of merchandise and the encouragement of trade, they were permitted to press the idle and vagabond persons with whom Languedoc abounded into their service. Czeur had thought himself fully justified in applying this useful decree for his own benefit on similar occasions ; he regretted the accident that had befallen the German pilgrim. As to the runaway slave, he represented that the boy had been assisted to escape in direct contravention of the solemn agreement existing between the Euro- pean traders and the Egyptian govern- ment. The French merchants of the Levant, and the grand master of Rhodes himself, had written to urge him in the interests of the whole French coin- merce to surrender the fugitive. He had consulted his fellow merchants of Montpellier, and they had unanimously given him the same advice. His reply to the charge of peculation in Langue- doc was somewhat vague. While main- taining that on the whole he could give good and loyal account of his actions, he owned it was possible that the province might have furnished him with certain little sums of deniers which he might have applied to his own profit. The accusation of uttering base coin was only a reminiscence of the crime of his youth, long since atoned for, but not yet forgotten. He mioht have spared himself the trouble of a (lefence, for his judges had already agreed upon their verdict. He was dragged from one prison to another, protesting all the time, continually ap- pealing to his clerks privilege, till at last (March 23rd, 1453). lie was brought iiito the torture chamber of the Castle of Tours and threatened with the rack. Weak and weary from twenty months suspense and confinement the prisoners. heart failed him and he agreed to admit all the charges brought against him except the death of Agnes Sorel. On the 29th of May the sentence was pro- nounced. In consideration of the popes intercession, and of the prisoners for- mer services, his life was spared ; he was condemned to make a confession before Jean Dauvet, the procureur- general, to purchase and release the Moorish slave or another in his placer to pay the king 250,000 as restitution moiiey and 500,000 as a fine, and t~ be banished forever from the kingdom. On being notified of this decree Jacques replied he could not possibly raise the sums demanded; his goods. were .not worth so much, and he owed money hiniself which he had borrowed for the kings affairs. The procureur- general then proceeded to sell, by public auction, all the portable property be- longing to the prisoner that he could find, after diligent search throughout the kingdom. In the long list of furs,. silks, cloths, jewels, plate, tapestry,. and furniture, there is one curious item. From the report of t.he sale at Bourges it appears that Jacques Cieur and IDu- nois were joint owners of a couple of English prisoners, I3erquigny and Or- mond; three parts of the prisoners belonged to C~ur, and the fourth part to 1)unois. Ormond was relinquished to the count, and Berquigny came under the hammer with the treasurers other effects. I-Ic went for a comparatively small sum, but Dauvet, after consulting the king, decided to accept it, as there was danger of death and other incon- veniences if the prisoner were kept longer. So complete was the spohia- tion that the Archbishop of Bourges. was obliged to refund 20,000 which he had lately inherited from his uncle. the Bishop of Lu9on. Jacques, being his. brothers nearest relative, was declared 40 A Kings Treasurer. his heir-at-law, and the bishops legacy was swept into the procureurs net. Of the treasurers landed property the greater part had been distributed among the kings favorites long before the conclusion of the trial. The pres- ident, Dammartin, had secured the biggest slice. Subsequently it seems to have been suggested that, in making grants of the prisoners property to the judges who were trying the case while the trial was still in progress, enough consideration had not been paid to com- mon notions of decency and popular conceptions of justice. Daininartin was accordingly desired to restore the estates of which he had taken posses- sion, and they were put up to auction and sold to him for 45,000, which the king privately repaid him. The sale being at last concluded, Dauvet travelled into Provence to per- suade King R~n~ to deliver him Jean de Village, Jacques Ceurs confidential agent at Marseilles. Village was be- lieved to have concealed a quantity of merchandise and money of which Charles was now the rightful owner, and of which the agent refused to give any account. R~n6 received Dauvet courteously, but distinctly refused to grant the extradition. IDe Village was a citizen of Marseilles, and was pro- tected by the privileges of the town which the sovereign of Provence dared not infringe. The procureur urged the claims of the king of France, IR~n& s suzerain and brother-in-law, and quoted numerous precedehts, but to no pur- pose ; R~n~ stood firm. Then Dauvet left Aix and went to Marseilles to ar- range for the sale of Jacques C~urs house in that city, but here fresh disap- pointments awaited him. The syndics of Marseilles would not permit the sale, and after long wrangling IDauvet was obliged to accept the paltry sum of 700 as satisfaction for all the kings claims on the Marseilles property. He then had an interview with Village, trying hard to persuade him to come to Moutpellier to discuss C~urs affairs, an(l assuring him that he risked noth- mo in so doing. The agent preferred TO stay where he was, and Dauvet went 41 home pronouncing the men of Mar- seilles to he wholly without reason, and very difficult. Two years passed and the sentence of banishment was not yet executed on Jacques C~ur, perhaps because the fines were not paid. At the end of that time he contrived to escape from prison, by what means is not known, and fled towards Provence, in February, or March, 1455. At Beau- caire, with nothing but the width of the Rhone between himself aud freedom, he was recognized and had only time to take sanctuary in a Franciscan con- vent. The king sent to demand the fugitive, but the monks stood by their privileges and refused to give him up. Tie was kept, however, in a sort of cap- tivity, closely watched and guarded. Perceiving that the convent would not long be able to resist the kings impor~ tunity, he persuaded one of the broth- erhood to convey a letter for him to his loyal friend and servant Jean de Vil- lage, in which he set before him his imminent peril. His arch-enemy, Otto Castellani, he says, has sent assassins after him into the monastery. One night he was attacked, and would have been slain if the good brother Hugo had not been careful to leave within his reach a leaden mallet. Another time a powder was put into his wine which he pretended to drink and secretly threw away. For Gods sake, dear son and nephew, he wrote, hasten to my aid, or you will not find me alive. In reply to this appeal lie received a brief but encouraging message; he was to be of good cheer, Village would get him out. The Marseillais was as good as his word. There were plenty of men in the town who had sailed under him and fought under him, and would do his bidding, and of these he chose a score to go with him to Tarascon. All students of the immortal Tartarin are aware that Tarascon is situated on the Proven9al shore of the Rhone, exactly opposite l3eaucaire. Soon after mid- night the conspirators crossed the river in a boat, and entered the town by a hole in the wall which one of them knew of. Under cover of the darkness 42 A Packet of Old Letters. they marched straight to the monastery; where matins were being said, and breaking into the church seized their friend. A free fight ensued between the guards and the sailors, in which several of the former were mortally wounded ; it ended victoriously for the rescue, and Jacques Cmur was safely lauded on the Provenqal shore. But he did not feel safe even there, and hurried on by Nice and Pisa to Rome. his good friend Nicolas V. had died a few days before his arrival, and he was succeeded early in April by Calixtus III. How Jacques spent his year in Rome is not known, the end of his life being almost as obscure as its beginning; but that he was on excellent terms with the new pope is evident from what fol- lows. On the day that sentence was pro- nounced against the treasurer, 29th of May, 1453, the fall of Constantinople had shaken all Europe. For a moment it seemed as though the terror of the Turk would drive the Christian world into some united action. Nicolas V. proclaimed a great crusade, but death overtook him in the midst of his prepa- rations. His Spanish successor took up the task with the passionate reli- gious ardor of his nation, and preachers were sent from city to city, and envoys from court to court, to arouse both princes and people to a sense of their duty and their peril. But the days of the crusades were over ; the envoys reasoned, the preachers pleaded in vain. At last Calixtus, despairing of aid from any of the States, fitted out sixteen galleys himself (1456) and sent them to succor the Christian colonies in the Archipelago. The patriarch of Aquilea was the nominal chief; but an actual leader was required, and the pope offered Jacques the secondary command. The French exile was now over sixty, and his last five years had been years of intense suffering; but neither age nor anguish had blunted the, keen edge of his spirit. He ac- cepted the post; but his new career was a very short one. The expedition sailed first to Rhodes and thence to Chios, where the Gen- oese had long had a colony, and here Cceur fell ill, the result of a wound re- ceived in some skirmish on the way. lie died on the 25th of November and was buried in the Franciscan chnrch on the island, with his last breath forgiv- ing his enemies and his king. The canons of the Church of St. Etienne of Bourges, who had largely benefited by his generosity, recorded his death on their registers in terms that would have well contented that ambitious soul, Nov. xxv, says the obituary, died our noble lord Jacques Ceur; a sol- dier; captain-general of the Church against the infidel. No mention of his long days of wealth and honor ; no whisper of his deep disgrace ; the writer has forgotten everything except that while he lived he was the Churchs benefactor, and that he died the cham- pion of the cross. And it is thus no doubt that the kings treasurer would have chosen to be remembered. It was long before the facts concern- ing C~urs death and burial were gen- erally known, and romance was till lately still busy with his name. Some historians say that he fled to Egypt and lived ever after at the snltans court others that he travelled a while in Tur- key and then returned to France and obtained his pardon. Most of them declare that after his escape he went to Cyprus and took up his abode there, made a second fortune larger than his first, and married a lovely lady of the land whose name was Theodora. But these are fables ; the wave-washed rock of Chios holds the dust of the valiant heart. II. C. MACDOWALL. From Temple Bar. A PACKET OF OLD LETTERS. BY MES. ANDREw cEossE. AUTHOR OF RED LETTER DAYS. IN the corridor of an old manor- house in Somersetshire, there stands a massive oak cabinet with heraldic carv- ings of arms, initials, and date. By token of the latter, we know that this goodly piece of furniture, with its deep A Packet of Old Letters. 43 recesses and secret drawers, was set up now to make frumenty, mead, shrub, or in its place in the memorable year in carnation syrup ? There is in this same which Marll)orough an(l Prince Eugene book the receipt of a sauce which by put the French to rout at Blenheim, some other name for its own is too and the world said Twas a famous shocking might prove, if tried, a rival victory. to that of the deceased Worcester- The great events of history are lila- shire nol)leman. It is called Quiii s zoned forth, and every schoolboy knows I3lood, and is simply as follows Take them by rote ; but in some secluded 2 doz. of anchovies, 2 doz. of shalots, spot we come by chance upon a few a pint of walnut pickle, a pint of mush- trilling records that carry us back with room pickle, a pint of port wine, and all the magic of simple homeliness to one teaspoonful of cayenne pepper, boil the contemporary life of the past the it together, strain it off, and bottle undercurrent of history. The old cabi- for use. Was the name-giver of this net yielding its master-key to each sue- sauce, I wonder, Quin, the actor, who cessive heir, has heard many sounds, taught George the Third elocution, and the sad music of humanity in that ghost- who, when he heard that the monarch haunted gallery. There are echoes of had delivered his first speech from the the pattering feet of childhood, the throne very gracefully exclaimed, Ay, laughter and sighs of youth, the pacings it was I who taught the boy to speak. to and fro of meditative scholarly man- Poor boy they had not taught him hood. the tottering steps of age, and much in his young days, as he had then the heavy tramp of those who are good cause to feel afterwards. Quin bearing away the coffined dead to their lived some years in Bath, and died rest under the shade of the yew-trees, there in 1766 ; that town being the in the churchyard on yonder slope social capital of the west, and the These whispered sounds from out the centre of fashion, the country ladies past become very real and personal, went there to remodel their clothes, when an opened drawer of the guardian and pick up such novelties as they chest reveals its treasures of family could find in culinary and other re- letters and mementoes. I take up a ceipts, and most probably this one came childs toy and a little worn shoe, fit from thence. for a six years darling ; they are bound A prescription for a cough, accompa- together with white ribbon yellow nied by weakness, ends up with the with age now and a black seal is on injunction that the patient should Be the bow no name, no date. What merry, and keep from sad apprehen- need of either? The angels have their sions. This recommendation evidently recor(l of these little ones The old suo~ested the insertion of the doggerel life with all the commonplace of yester- couplet day is there, mingled with the sweet - Joy and temperance and repose, scent of dead rose-leaves. I take up Slam the door on the Doctors nose. the careful housewifes receipt-book for the use of kitchen and sick-room ; it The writer of the housekeeping book is beautifully transcribed in the neat soon becomes serious again, and now eighteenth-century handwriting. They gives a receipt for Fryars Drops. had excellent dishes in those days, me- The virtues of this balsamic are re- thinks, where nothing was stinted in l)orted to be marvellous, not only for the way of generous adjuncts. The burns and wounds, but for inward ap- stewing of a carp required three half phication. Amongst a number of other pints of good port wine. Haunch of things required to make this panacea, venison, jugged hare, mock turtle, and are roots of angelica, flowers of St. every stew and hash demanded their Johns Wort, rosemary flowers, spotted libations of wine. Some of the sauces sage, which remind one of the medi~- are worthy of note~ such as vine-leaf val physic-garden. It is directed that sauce with roast pigeon ; but who wants the Fryars Drops, when made, since gone out of the world. How- ever, the dealings of fate are regardless of party. It was a fine saying of Sir Humphry Gilberts that the wings of mans life are plumed with the feathers of death. The same newspaper an- nounces that the kings brother is also gone out of the world. On Septem- ber 13 it pleasd Almighty God, to deprive these nations of that Incompa- rable Prince henry Duke of Glouces- ter. He was carried off by Small Pox, that malicious proud enemy to all excellent Persons. The foreign news in the Irttelligeuicer comes from a variety of places, Madrid, Warsovia, Venice, an(l the Levant. It is curious to reflect that when these old sheets were new, the present capital of Hungary was in possession of the Turks, and had been since 1541, form- ing thereby a standing menace to Chris- tendom. The paragraph referring to the Moslem occupation of Buda reads thus We understand by a Vessel this week arrived from Zara that the Proveditor, Gen- eral Conaro doth continue the fortifying of Sebenico, and that word was brought him from Bossine, of a party of the Militia of that country, being upon their march to joyn the Bashaw of Buda.1 A Packet of Old Letters. should be put in a bottle well stopd and set in the sun all the dog days. The writer goes on to say that this receipt was given to the Duke of Marl- borough by a Friar abroad, and cured great numbers in his army. There is another prescription which has a curi- ous allusion to an historical personage. This is a lotion for Inflammation in the eyes and decay of sight. The re- ceipt has this concluding note Sir Stephen Fox, who could hardly see to read with Spectacles at 50 years of age, by the use of this liquor quite recovered his eyesight and could read the smallest print to the cud of his life, which consisted of 90 years, without the use of glasses. This Sir Stephen was, we know, the grandfather of Charles James Fox; he built an hospita.l for aged persons at his birthplace, Fancy in Wiltshire. His portrait by Lely is preserved in the building, but as the celebrated painter died in 1680, the likeness was probably taken before Sir Stephen Fox had re- course to the wonderful eye-lotion. Closing the housekeeping book, I take up three old newspapers. The first, not much larger in dimensions than an octavo volume, and contain- ing twenty-four pages, is number 38 of The Parliamentary Intelhigencer, comprising the sum of Forraiga Intelli gel~ce, with the affairs now in agitation 1 The powerful administration of Mahomet Ku in England, Scotland, and ~ prili as grand vizier had so raised the strength of the Ottoman Empire in tile seventeenth century, The date is from September the 10th, that the position of tile Turks in Hungary was a to Monday, September 17, 1600. Why perpetual menace to Europe. The wresting of this newsletter was put aside it is im- Buda from the Turks in 1686, and the reconquest by tile allies of a large portion of Hungary, form possible to say ; the only west-country an important epoch in the history of Christendom. matters of interest are a list of the It is an interesting fact that a valuable doco- deputy-lieutenants of the county of IDe- mentary work has recently been published in von, and the names of the colonels of Magyar, by the Bishop of Kassa, which throws fiesh light on the siege of Buda. A review of this the local regiments, all names familiar volume in the At/sen iiOfl of December 3rd, 1892, enough in the present day. informs us that the chief sources of the bishops Amongst the items of news signifi- information are derived from some lately (liscov- ered letters written by (Jornaro, then Xenetian cant of the date, it is mentioned that ambassador to Vienna. This, in all probability, is, The arms of the late prete adeci Coin- the same man who is mentioned in my old news monwealth are now taken clown in ~ paper. It will be remembered that there is a very rile curious account of the siege of Buda by an English- Isle of Jersey. Also it is mentioned man, Mr. Jacob Richards, in oiic of the Harlelan with an undertone of satisfaction that Manuscripts (No. 4989). He gives a list of the numerous Britishers who were volunteers in the Monsieur de Bordeaux, the late Imperial Army on this occasiomi. He tells with French ambassador in England who great satisfaction, how four hundred Hussars cap- made the famous articles with Oliver tured the bashaws faisiily as they were trying to Croircwel, and went out of England soon escape, and secured Booty to the amount of 100,000, besides what the women arid children will after his Majesties happy return, is sell for 44 A Packet of Old Letters. 45 I found two other old ncw~papers, For Sale by the CANDLE these were copies of the London Eren- At the Widow Prestons at the sign of ing Post of May 14th, and June 1st, the Barley Mow in Falmouth about the 1745. These papers contain accounts middle of this month the ship St. Esprit, of the battle of Fontenoy, with the with all her liig~,ing, Apparel and also all her Cargo, being bound for Newfoundland, names of the principal persons killed but taken by the Jlardwicke P~ivateer, etc. and wounded. I remember in the au- tumn of 1850, that my husband and I if I understand rightly, this peculiar were dining at Halswell Park, when custom at an auction means, that the our host, Colonel Tynte, then nearly last flicker of a candle-end decides the eighty years of age, told me that his distribution of the lots, instead of the father was present at the battle of Eon- tap of the auctioneers hammer. tenoy, and heard the gallant bidding of Laying aside these 01(1 newspapers, the French, when they called out for with all their quaint evidence of fash- the gentlemen of the English guard to ions changes, we come upon a packet tire first. I believe some writers con- of papers, endorsed, Letters recd dur- sider the anecdote as among the mock lug my travels 1770 1 R. C. These pearls of history ; others aver that the initials stand for Richard Crosse, a sly Frenchmen under the guise of coni- Somersetshire squire of ancient family tesy were but propitiating the Fates, and moderate estate. lie was born in who are said to be unfavorable to those 1789 ; his father, a younger son, was who strike the first blow. Colonel for many years vicar of Cannington, Tvnte told the story in the spirit that and had married a granddaughter of Thackeray accepts it, as an instance of Lord Sa~ and Sole. By the death in the grace and beauty, the splendor 1766 of his uncle, Andrew Crosse of and lofty politeness of the French. Fyne Court, Broomfield, this Richard The mention of this dinner at Hals- Crosse came into the family estates. well reminds me of a little incident, lie soon set to work making improve a survival of an old custom, which ments on the property, and in extending amused me somewhat, for it was the and laying out the ornamental grounds. first time I had been the guest of He is said to have been assisted by the Colonel Tynte and his widowed daugh- advice of Capability Brown, the fa- ter, Lady Cooper. We had dined at muons landscape gardener of the last seven, it was rather a ceremonious century, so much praised by ]i{epton, party. and the servants were more nu- his successor in popular esteem. morons than the guests. At ten oclock, Thackemy, in his Four Georges, fo my surprise, two footmen appeared and a host of other writers have de- bearing into the drawing-room a table picted the coarseness of manners and esipable of seating half-adozen peol)le. the laxity of morals in the last century Then, like a scene in a theatre, came with a breadth of shadow that is almost more servants bringing in a (lainty, hot unrelieved. It is iml)055ib10 to gainsay sapper. When tho repast was an- the facts of these writers ; the deca noanced to be ready, our host pressed dence of tone at our universities, and his guests to partake of supper, spe- the license of fashionable society are daily inviting the gentlemen to have (histinctive of the memoirs of the time. a stirrup cup. Every one declined, Vice is ever noisy, conspicuous, and Colonel Tynte himself seemed to feel amusing, while virtue is none of these no surprise that the supplementirv meal things ; the true balance is there, but it was declined, but it was a fad of his to is (lithicult to weigh and mucasure the keep up an old custom. unrecorded (lailv acts of kindness in a One of the advertisements in the good mans life. There must have newspaper of 1745, reminds one of an been a considerable leaven of right- old eust mn in another sphere, said not cousness in those (Irinking, gambling, to be altogether extinct even now in and corrupt old days, or the national some remote parts of the country life could not have preserved its nobler 46 A Packet of Old Letters. characteristics. The young squire of these off, and arranged his affairs, he Brooinfield is no bad example of what resolved on a Continental tour. He was to be found in all classes of society left England in 1769, going direct t@ in the eighteenth century a man of Italy, as I infer from family tradition. sense and soberness. His life would lathe winter of 1770 Richard Crosse not have qualified him for saintship, he was in Paris, and being provided with was undistinguished, and never even introductions to our ambassador and tried to make his mark in politics, other persons of distinction, he was at though he held strong liberal opinions, once launched into the best society of We know by tradition and by record the capital. In a drawer of the old that he was a good scholar and an hon- cabinet there still remained the dress. est gentleman, and there were scores suits that he wore at the court of Louis like him in the length and breadth of XV. Some of these smart coats and our England of that day. When years waistcoats are good specimens of the had passed over the squires head, and gorgeous habiliments in which ~eutle childrens voices were heard again in men of condition were clothed in the sunny gallery where stands the old those days. There was a white satin cabinet, his eldest boy a child full of coat beautifully embroidered in colors, the spirit of his race, was one day patted and to be worn with it a long, square- on the head by a friend, who said, I flapped pink satin waistcoat, stiff with like your father, he is such an honest gold lace and embroidery. Another man. The little fellow had heard this suit, a pale blue satin coat and waistcoat before, and, irritated at the repetition, of the same, was if possible still richer turned and said, Sir, would ~ou have in quality. What a picture it brought me the son of a rogue ? Young before ones mind of the time when gentleman~ replied the elder, when the wearer of these costly garments you are grown up you will know what I was a guest at the court which held its mean. revels on the thin crust of a hidden We learn that Richard Crosse was on volcano. There was the wicked, shame- friendly terms with Franklin, when he, less old Louis XV., grinning and bow who snatched the thunderbolt from ing over the hiamid of his mistress, the Jove amid the sceptre from tyrants, infamous Du Barry, who was sur- was lodging in Craven Street, Strand, rounded by intriguers and sycophants,, and was much occupied in trying to such as the Duke dAiguillon, and settle the difficulties between our Amer- Chancellor Maupeon. There was the ican colonies and ourselves. Crosse girlish bride of ~yesterday, the beautiful also knew Priestley, which seems cnn- Marie Antoinette, who was warned ous, for the formuer was a Churchman that even she, the proud daughter of and more literary than scientific. But Maria Theresa, must stoop so low as t& he was at one with all men of liberal conciliate the favor of the vile wonian opinions ; almost his closest friend, a who played the part of queen in this man of good parts, and an elegant hideous farce of royalty. scholar, was Mr. White, a Somerset- The Somersetshire squire saw Paris shire rector, of whom it is recorded society at a critical moment, for Choi that he was the first man in England seul, the only man of the day whose to sign a petition for the abolition of rule was beneficial to France, was slavery, driven from office by the intrigues of Our young squire was a good linguist, the Jesuit party and the influence of speaking French and Italian thoroughly Madame du Barry. The Englishman~ well ; he had probably acquired these Inixiug in literary as well as court cir languages with the view of travelling des, heard the New opinions abun- on the Continent. His uncle and pred- dantly discussed, and they made a. ecessor at Broomfield had been a man profound impression upon him, as fu- of profuse hospitality, and left heavy ture years testified. He is reported to debts; when Richard Crosse had l)ai(h have known and admuired Turgot, and A Packet of Old Letters. in all probability he encountered many others of the Eacyclop~dists, whose writings formed the leverage of the great Revolution. I have not the aid of Richard Crosses letters home at this period, but the let- ters from his correspondents, which I found carefully preserved, are not with- out interest. The first in the packet is from Henry Hobhouse, who was born in 1742. We hear of his eldest son in this centnry as the Right Honorable Henry Hobhouse, under secretary of state from 1817 to 1827. The letter is a sheet of foolscap, and is thus ad- dressed according to the fashion of the time. A Monsr Monsr Crosse, Gen- teihomme , Anglois. restante chez Signr, Ba.razzi, Banquier, Roma, Italia. DE~ CRossE, I received ye Favour of yours of ye 19th nit. from Rome at my re- turn from London to this place two Days ago. I believe I have executed your Com- missions in London very ill by sending Fir Seeds enough to plant all Quantock Hills. I was not aware till since how many it would amount to; I ordered Friend Obediah to send two hundred oaks, some pears and cherries, which I could not have in the neighbourhood. I was lately at a Gentlemans where among other Elegancies of Furniture was a set of Dressing Boxes on a Ladys Toilet made at Naples out of ye Lava of ye Moun- tain, which was brought home by Benson Earle. I almost wishd for the like, and if you had not quitted Naples should have requested you to have bought me the like Thing. As to Books in ye Italian print I cannot say I prefer it as supposing it not equally advantageous to the Eyes, however if it is sufficiently large and otherwise un- exceptionable I shall not object on that ac- count. I did mention iNlachiavel s Stone Florentine only if no good Edition of that work is to be had separate I shall choose the whole rather than none. I must on this subject give you a very general order, begging you that if you meet with any pro- duction of ye Italian press which for its Learning or Ingenuity is worthy to travel into England that you would remember your Friend by sending Duplicates for which I shall esteem myself doubly your Debtor. I presume by your shortening your in- tended stay at Naples that the whole Term of your sojourning in Italy will be propor 47 tionaily abridged; as for Sir Paul I suppose he is detained in captive chains by somne. Lady of Beauty and quality at Naples. England stands in the same place, our politics iii ye same State, our Divisions as wide, and our Colonies as rebellious as when you left. The Duke of Grafton has resign d his place to Ld North who now acts himself as premier but no other alterations have been made in our Ministry, nor are I believe likely to happen speedily. The late Lord Chancellor Yorke s Death tho at first at- tributed to his Doctors is not without some suspicion of Suicide, but this matter is full of Doubt. Your old friend Secretary Morris is la- bouring very hard to solicit subscriptions to deliver M Wilkes from ye Kings Bench against his Time is elapsd in April; for this purpose he press d ye Counsel in West- minster Hail ye last day of Term, but this was certainly ye wrong place to expect to get money from a Lawyer, his success cor- responded accordingly, and I believe he carried away as munch as he brought thither. The great patriots havin~ expended 7000 in ye Dover Election, from which they have no Fruit but what their petition will bring em, are much in need of money and re- duced to every Extremity to know where to find it. The people of this place are somewhat ap- prehensive of an attack from ye Spaniards upon ye Island of Jamaica, as they have collected together a large naval Force at Havaunah for what destination is uncer- tain ; however our Governor has thought it necessary to proclaima Martial Law in that Island as in Cases of extreme Danger. I hope soon to have a particular account of Rome from you. As his Holiness is so kind as to bestow his Blessing upon you I shall not be surprised to hear of his bestowing one of the vacant Hats of the sacred Col- lege upon you, I think you will make an excellent Cardinal and greatly promote the Reconciliation of England to the Iloly See, which might compensate somewhat for ye undutiful Behaviour of his sons of ye House of Bourbon. I wish you all Health and pleasure and shall be glad to hear of you every opportunity, and am Dear Crosse yours sincerely, H. HonmiousE. 4Jmifton, 24 February, 1770. The references in the foregoing letter to home and forei~n politics serve to draw aside the curtain of the past, and we see before us the society of the time, divided against itself, by the acri 48 A Packet of Old Letters. mony of party spirit, into various con- saries from the court of Spain and other tlicting groups. The first of Juniuss powers might not be present; adding, letters, as we know, had appeared in that persons had been admitted who 1769, in the Public Adcertiser; these had taken notes, and actually printed a fierce denunciations, following the steps speech lately made by a noble lord. A of kings and ministers into the very disturbance little short of a riot ensued Council Chamber, continued at inter- upon this, when the Peers insisted on vals to flash across the troubled sky like turning out the members of the Lower portents of evil. Woodfalls trial for house, though some of them retorted libel as the publisher of those letters they were there in discharge of their had the significant effect of raising the duty, that they were attending with a question of the powers and rights of bill. Upon this, they were commanded juries. Lord Chatham denounced what to hand up their bill, after which the he styled, this modern manner of di- outcry recommenced and the long- recting juries from the bench. Dun- tongued Lords hooted the members of iiing, Wedderburn, Burke, and many the Commons out of the house. others of mark, were with him on this What a delightful cartoon this incident vexed question against the strenuous would have made for Punch! actiomi of Lord Mansfield. Serjeant Richard Crosse, as I mentioned be- Glynn gave notice of a niotion in the fore, was in Paris at the end of the house of Commons for the appoint- year when Choiseul was driven from meat of a committee to inquire into office by Madame du Barrys intrigues; the administration of criminal justice, if France had to deplore the loss of an and when the debate came on he able niinister, England might rejoice alleged that judges were generally over the fall of a formidable enemy. believed to be unfriendly to juries and Spain was only a source of trouble to encroached on their powers. Though us when supported by France. strongly supported by the eloquence of Hobhouse indulges in a little good- Burke, Ghynns motion was negatived humored banter over the fact that his by 134 to 76, as we may see on refer- friend has been blessed by the pope. ring to this page of history. ills Holiness was no other than the llobhouses allusion to the appre- enlightened Clement XIV., better hension of an attack of the Spaniards known by his family name of Ganga- on Jamaica arose out of our dispute nelhi. It was said of him, in his youth, with Spain over the Falkland Islands. that it was no wonder lie loved music, The Spaniards were in excessively bad seeing that everything in his own char- odor with the British public at this acter was harmony. Ranke draws a time, for it was not forgotten that only beautiful picture of the gradual devel- six years earlier (1764) a diabolical opment of Ganganelhis spiritual nature. scheme had been formed in Spain to In blameless companionship and re- burn the dockyards of Portsmouth and tirement from the world, he diligently Plymouth, a scheme which was only studied the Greek writers, turning from frustrated by the timely discovery of Aristotle to find greater satisfaction of the plot by our anibassador, Lord Rochi- soul in Plato, and finally obtaining from ford, at Madrid. When the debate the Holy Scriptures the highest aid to camiie on in the house of Lords about a knowledge of God and to the service the defenceless state of Jamaica, Lord of humanity. Verily the blessing of Gower, a great stickler for the privacy such a man was worth a pilgrimage to of debate, interrupted the Duke of Rome! if, as we may iiifer, the young Manchester, who was speaking, by de- Englishman was admitted to an audi- siring that the House might be cleared ence,. one would like to have had hIs of all persoims except those who had a imupressions of the pope, who two right to sit there. He gave his reasons years later took that (lecision of imn- for doiflg this, saying that in a crowded mucasurable importance, the suppres- house there was no knowing that emis- sion of the Jesuits. 49 gon of Taste . . . Ye Ha! Ha! is a great advantage and ye Retreat which is placed above ye Shrubbery, over ye Garden com- mands a Noble prosp~ct The physical world are amusd at present with a newly discoverd Remedy for ye Gout, ye production of one Le Fevr~ a regular Physician at Libge in Germany. . . . Be- fore the cure is perfected ye moderate sum of one hundred guineas is charg d. The Discovery promises to have a mighty Run, it may obtain as much Renown as even Tar Water did and I believe it may have equal Merit to support it. For politics I avoid em as much as pos- sible. I am of no party and no Faction; ye Heads of both are Rogues, and their Followers are Dupes and Fools : Our squab- bles at Home will end in Noise and Smoke, but I wish they may not give too serious an Encouragement to those in America, for the men of Boston like their Forefathers are seeking the Lord in prayer and hatching ye most Devilish machinations, but it is their Abettors at home which alone make em formidable, and who perhaps direct their motions. The city of London is framing another remonstrance to the King, but it will avail as much as the former and as macli as it deserves, for while the Crown has two houses of Parliament at its command, it laughs with security at such attacks tho headed by Beckford and Wilkes: the latter of whom is now at Liberty, and presides with an Aldermans gown with the utmost gravity. Surely such a Magistrate is a Satyr upon public justice, and shows ye Folly and Madness of ye populace and proves to me beyond all other argument how unfit they are to have more share than they have in ye powers of Government. However defi- cient ye production of ye Italian Press may be in some Branches of Learning, where they labour under the restraint you mention, their Historians are nevertheless in good Reputation. I must therefore request of you to think of my Library in that Depart- ment principally by choosing ye best of them all according to your discretion. Adieu. Yours, H. IlonHousx. A Packet of Old Letters. In the month of May our traveller had moved on to Venice, as we learn from the direction of the following let- ter from his friend Hobhouse London, May 18, 1770. IDEAR CROSSE, Yours dated at Rome of ye 25th nit. reached me here this morn- lag, having first sought for me in vain at Clifton. I am now enabled to return you lay earilest Thanks for your obilging Re- membrance of me in ye sett of prints which you have inclos d for me from Naples; and I shall when I go into the country forward another sett of them to ye Reverend Doctor.1 The Residue of ye Contents of ye Box re- mains in my Chambers anchor d safe after their long voyage. My curiosity made me look into ye Contents, but I can assure you I was not the first, for ye Custom House officers had penetrated into its inmost Re- cesses, scrutinizing them with ye most piercing zeal, nor was tbis all, for when they had taken good Care that the Revenue should not be defrauded; it was assigned over to ye officers of ye very Reverend Bp of London, that they might examine lest it should contain Mass Books, Relics, Agnes Del, or other Articles of Superstition; so ever watchful and anxious are our worthy Prelates to prevent the growth of Popery, which next to poverty they have ye most horrid Fears of ; however if they had known both you and me, they might have spared these great precautions ; for ye Box turning out to have neither Contraband or Super- stition amongst its Contents It is Time for me to inform you that I was about a month ago at Broomfield, hav- ing made it on my way from Clifton to Taunton Assizes. I had then full oppor- tunity to contemplate the improvements your Major Domo Mr John Wood has made, his lawns, his woods, his cascades etc ; it would be vain for me to praise them, after I tell you that they have received ye stamp of Mr. Bampfylds2 Approbation that para- Dr. Jenkyns of Wells is here referred to, a man held in traditional respect by the descendants of his contemporaries. One of his sons was known to a generation now passing away as Head of Baliol and Dean of Wells. But it is a curious fact that his youngest daughter survived until 1891, dying at the age of (I think) 104. This estimable 1ady was Mrs. Thriug, the mother of the present Lord Thriug. Henry Hobhouse married a sister of Dr. Jenkyns about 1774 and a little later purchased Hadspen house, in the parish of Piteombe, Somer- setshire. - Mr. Bampfyld, of Hestercombe House, Kings- ton. The first necessity of travel in the old days was a portfolio full of intro- ductions to people of position, in the places where the traveller designed a sojourn. Evidently, Crosse was ex- tending his tour in a new direction, and had written to his friend and next LIVING AGE. VOL. LXXXII. 4212 A Packet of Old Letters. neighbor, Sir Charles Tynte, for intro- ductions to the British embassies at Dresden and Berlin. The following letters somewhat .quaintly expressed, refer to the subject DEAlt SiR, As soon as I came to Town from Bath (where I have been for my Health two months) I made it my business to get you letters of recommendation to our Ministers at Dresden and Berlin, not being acquainted with either of them, I applyed to a great man who made me a fair prom- ise, and I waited for some time, till I grew impatient, I then sent to an old acquaint- ance that I was told was very intimately acquainted with Both, who obliged me im- mediately with the inclosed Letters. They were sent me a few days ago. But my mind at that time was so much engaged in a melancholy affair, that happen d between My Friend Lord Poulett, and Lord Milton, prevented me from writing to you before now, but thenk God that affair is ended and much to my Friends Honour. The Lords met with their Seconds behind Montague House with Pistols only. Lord Poulett wounded his Antagonist, and Lord Milton was taken of the field. His Lordship has since asked Lord Pouletts pardon for giving Him a blow. I hope you have had yr Health ever since you left England, and that yr tour has afforded you a great deal of pleasure. If I can be of service to you let me know in what, that I may convince you I am your sincere Friend and hearty Servant, CHARLES K. TYNTE. Feb: ye 4th 1771. Lady Tynte begs her compts. This letter with its enclosures was wrapped in an outer sheet of paper, and sealed with Sir Charles Tyntes coat-of- arms; strange to say this had been broken, and the letter reclosed with two official seals in red wax, with the remark in writing Opened on account of the postage not being paid. Cappers farm, or, as it was more often called, the Field of the Forty Footsteps, behind the British Mu- seum, then Montague House, was the place where the Lords Poulett and Mil- ton met for their duel. It is very fre- quently mentioned in the memoirs of the last century as the rendezvous for duellists. The tradition connected with the forty footsteps, is that two broth- ers, who were in love with the same lady, fought together in this place so long and fiercely, that in the end both were mortally wounded, and that from that time forever after no grass would grow on the accursed spot! There is another letter of Sir Charles Tyntes which, like tile former, is not without some interest as indicating the change of style at the time in epistolary and colloquial English. He belonged to an older generation than young Hob- house, and there is a marked difference in the fashion of their phraseology, albeit they were both Somersetshire men, moving very much in the same society: DEAR Sm, I should have answer d your Letter long ago had I known who was appointed Envoy Extra. in the room of Sir Andrew Mitchel. My Friend that gave you the two Letters one to Dresden, and the other to Berlin I accidentally met, who told me that he had taken care of my friend Mr. Crosse, for he had wrote to his acquaintance Mr li. Gunning, who is appointed in the room of Sir Andrew Mitchel. I was yes- terday to call on my Friend Sir James Porter. Sir James Porter I was not at all ac- quainted with before this affair of yours, which has brought me to visit as knowing and as good-natured a Man as ever lived. I think you are very lucky to be out of England in these troublous times, for I be- lieve the storm will be quite blown over by the time you arrive in England. I suppose the news of the Lord Mayor of London being sent to the Tower is lookd on where you are to be a very extraordinary event. This morning we had a very hard frost, and the weather has been very unseasonable and severe for our Lands in Somersetshire. Lady Tynte desires her respects to you, and I am with great sincerity your friend and Sert, ChAR. K. TYNTE. Hill-Street, April ye 9th 1771. The well-known and sensational chapter of ilistory to wihich Sir Charles refers, has an interest of its own, when viewed through contemporary specta- cles. The picture is crowded with Ills- tone personages, the mention of whose very names sets ones ears tingling to catch the faintest echo of their voices. It would have been amusing to have heard Colonel Barr& s passionate yet comical description in the Commons, of 50 A Packet of Old Letters. the celebrated riots in the House of Lords against the presence of strangers, when one of the peers, hooted behind the disguise of a hideous mask, and a Scotch lord, in his peculiar brogue, called out repeatedly, Clear the Hoose. Clear the Hoose. Better still to have listened to Burkes well-turned compliment to the Earl of Chatham, when he said, I desire to hear the discussions of the other House, in my endeavor to get knowledge. I desire to learn of that great man, who, though not a member of the Cabinet, seems to hold the key of it, and to possess the capacity of informing and instructing us in all things.~~ Chatham, as we know, regretted the diminution of his audience, and writes to Lady Stanhope The House being kept clear of hear- ers, we are reduced to a snug party of unhearing and unfeeling Lords and to the tapestry-hangings. These tapes- try-hangings represented the defeat of the Spanish Armada, and were eloquent of a noble past. The burning question, however, that sent the lord mayor to the Tower, as we ~ll remember, was the right of outsiders to be informed of the debates in Parliament through the medium of printed reports. Strength- ened by the rapid growth of public opinion on this subject, the practice of reporting speeches in Parliament had already, in 1770, assumed nearly its present form, throxving aside the affec- tation of disguise and conce alments. A strong party both in Lords an(l Coin- muons were against the newspaper peo- ple. Colonel Onslow moved for and obtained a reading of the resolutions passed in the House in 1728, to the effect that it is an indignity to, and a breach of privilege of, this house for any persons to give in printed newspa- pers any account of the proceedings of this House. When it was proposed to summon the contumacious printer Evans to the bar of the House, Mr. Whitworth moved to add and with all his com- positors, pressmen~ type, and devils. Mr. Townshend thought the devils mi~ht be left out. but Burke thought otherwise, and said the devil is the 51 most material person in all this l)usi- ness the most material evidence for discovery. Ears polite were destined to hear a good many more joke2 about the personage who should be nameless, for Wedderburn, in a subsequent de- bate, remarked, I think the wisest thing we can do is to leave the devil to the printer, and the printer to the devil. An awkward complication, it will be remembered, had arisen. The messen- ger of the House of Commons had attempte(l to arrest, within the jurisdic- tion of the City, Miller, a printer of debates, whereupon the officer of the Commons was himself arrested for as- saulting a citizen. He was brought before the lord mayor, Brass Crosby, and aldermen Oliver and Wilkes, the result being that they committed the messenger, holding him to bail. The House of Commons, in a fury of indig- nation, issued orders for the lord mayor to a.ttend in his place before them, and on the 19th of March he went down to the House accompanied by an immense mob. It. is curious to recall the fact that Fox, the ultra-Liberal of later times, was against the freedom of the press, and conspicuously strenuous for the maintenance of privilege~ He was exceedingly irate on this occasion at being hooted at and hissed by the mob ; and in his wrath denounced the assassins of the other party. On the 27th of March the lord mayor had been sent to the Tower. On the 8th of May he was released from prison ; for the anxious session of the spring of 1771 was closed by proroga- tion. A gorgeous procession atte n(le(1 the lord mayor and Alderman Oliver from the Tower to the Mansiomi House, accompanied by a vast concourse of people ; and in the evening bonfires and illuminations gave further token of the general satisfaction. Warned, says Lord Ma.hon, by such signs of the popular feeling, the House of Com- mons, in the ensuing session, more wisely forbore any renewal of the con- filet. Sir Charles Tynte was quite right in his prognostics; the storm had blown A Packet of Old Letters. over long before Crosse returned from his travels. Another friend, whose letter Crosse ieceives while at Geneva, expresses his regret that an English acquaintance of Voltaire, to whom he applied, has de- clined giving Mr. Crosse an introduc- tion, because the philosopher is now too old and infirm to receive strangers at Ferney. He was nearly eighty, but destined for vet a few more years of life. The same correspondent writes that be has been frequently feasting his eyes on the fair ones at Ranelagh, which has been much in vogue this spring. He adds, If you return by Brussels, and can conveniently bring theni I wish you would buy me a good pair of lacd Ruffles, value about three guineas, and give me credit till we meet. No wonder that we come repeatedly on letters concerning the various pack- ages that are sent home by the squire from various places abroad. Two boxes from Leghorn were delayed by quaran- tine now very strick and after frequent visits to the City, are heard of by Mr. Sava~e, who says he has delivered a Petition, as usual, to the Custom House for their delivery. This correspondent writes a great deal of idle gossip about their mutual acquaintances. He says Poor Mr. Gunning has the great mortifica- tion to find his mortal enemy Hunter more respected and sought after in the hospital (St. Georges) than himself, also flying about Town in a Chariot for grandeur and magnificence next to that of the Sun. This was the celebrated John Hunter, the great surgeon and anatomist, who drove about town in his grand chariot. lie was living then in Jermyn Street, not having yet migrated to Leicester Square, where he built a museum for his large collections of anatomical ob- jects. Of fashionable gossip Mr. Savage has some items. He writes Our Countryman Mr. Coxe lays siege to Miss Colebrook a niece of the great Banker, Sir George Colebrook and Chairman to the East India Company. . . . Report says he lost in the Spring, at Hazard in St. Jamess Street half his fortune ; his best friends confess 20,000. From Mr. Hobhouse the traveller learns some local news What Disposition Sandford of Nynehead has made of his estate, I cannot precisely tell you, but from the best accounts I can get, he has lockd up his Estates from the immediate enjoyment of his son, without absolutely disinheriting him. You have undoubtedly seen in ye public papers ye Death of your Neighbour Lord Egmont, what is to become of ye Castles, Baronies etc. etc. I cannot tell you, the world has believed that he was not on the best of terms with his son, but whether his pride would suffer him to strip ye title of any part of the estates I should doubt.1 The celebrated patriot Mr Burke has un- dertaken ye Task of writing an History of ye Reign of George ye Third. I understand it is already publish d, but I am at present so far removed from ye Meridian of these things [lie wa5 at Clifton] that I shall. hardly be able to get it before my Return to London. He has undoubtedly a very able pen but what impartiality We are to expect from a man who is ye known Mer- cenary of the Head of a very Corrupt and disappointed party, who is paid for being an Advocate and not a Representative in Parliament, I will leave you to judge. However such a performance will out of respect to ye abilities of ye Author be uni- versally read, more especially as ye Author is enabled to lay open many Transactions, however he may be disposed to suppress or to misrepresent others. A set of Literati at Edinburgh have un- dertaken as I am told to compile and pub- lish an History of England to be comprised in seven volumes in 4to, divided into tea periods, one Volume to be published annu- ally, and to each period to be portioned out into various distinct titles of Ecclesiastical, Military, Civil, Legal, Constitutional, Arts and Sciences, Learning, etc. ; every one of these is appropriated to a different person, somewhat upon the plan which you may remember pointed out by Blackstone. . Lord Temple has declar d his Resolution never more to interfere in public affairs and has hitherto kept his word. The cautious 1 Thirty years later, the then Lord Egmont of Enmore castle bestowed much friendly attention on Coleridge. A man of culture himself, he was frequent in urging the former to more sustained literary effort, A Packet of Old Letters. and circumspect Conduct of Lord North has Andrew was moved to St. Petersburg. reconciled many to his Administration who Indeed I have my doubts whether the dislikd ye Character of the D of Grafton. squire ever got to Berlin, Vienna, or Hobhouse, as we know, was niisin- Prague, because letters of introduction formed respecting the publication of to these places are in the packet any treatise by Burke on the reign of and because the said squire fell in love George III., though he contributed, with and married a young lady at according to the fashion of the time, Geneva. Ulysses matched with an many pamphlets on contemporary pol- aged wife could not rest from traveb itics. He was more correct in express- but Richard Crosses spouse had youth lug the public opinion of the day, in on her side, and so he ceased roaming- saying that Burke was regarded as a with a hungry heart and now went paid advocate of a party rather than a back to his place with its several representative in Parliament. It was charges, in dear old Somersetshire, at this juncture that he had consented there to lea.d a Darby and Joan life to take the post of agent to the dis- along with his bucolic neighbors. No affected politicians in New York, with, mingling any more in the festive scenes it was said, a salary of little short of of Versailles and Paris for the hand- 1,000 a year. In the debates on some young Englishman, whom tradi- American questions, this taint of hired tion says had been wonderfully well advocacy, unfortunately for the issue of received by the great ladies, in all the affairs, robbed Burkes wisdom of its grandeur of those monstrons head- due influence, and impaired the force dresses, called pouf en sentiment, fash- of eloquence which should have carried ionable at the time. I3arely two conviction, while it won admiration, decades, and the towering headgear Such, indeed, was the power of Burkes like Gothic castles were to fall eloquence, that Gibbon, in the admira- and the heads too by the guillotine tion of his genius, chose to forget that There are many relics in my posses- he had a reverence for Church estab- sion that the traveller had sent home lishments, and almost forgave him for in those boxes so carefully overhauled being a Christian! by the Bishop of Londons officersa The packet of old letters contains table of pietra Wa-a work from Florence, many besides those I have quoted. I engravings from Rome and Naples, and unfold and read them one after another a lantern and other trifles made by the with the respect due to their age ; the monks of La Trappe. sand is glistening thick on the ink, A trifling incident of a personal na- the writing, the discolored paper, the ture forms a link which I have never huge seals, the formal superscription, forgotten with this remote past. One are strange and unfamiliar, yet one can morning in the early autumn of 1850, read into the human life of it all. 8ev- when I first settled down at Fyne eral of the letters before me are in Court, the home of my married life, we French, exquisite as to penmanship, received a visit from an old man, John with names subscribed that belong to Ingram by name. In his early days he the old r~ginie. In some instances these had been a gardener in the Crosse fain- letters are written l)y foreigners to ily, and though for many years past no their embassies introducing Mr. Crosse, longer in their services he kept up his who is now and again styled le Baron interests in all the family events no Crosse. The untitled English gentle- bad example of old-world loyalty. Thus man who is a gentleman, was always a it came about that he, a man gone trouble to our Continental friends. The ninety years of age had walked from letter of Sir James Porter to Sir Andrew Charlinch, a village five miles off, to Mitchell, recommending the bearer pay his respects to the squire and his Mr. Crosse a Somersetshire gentleman, wife on their marriage. The 01(1 man of great merit, etc., was never pre- was stone blind, and of course depen- sented as we know already, because Sir dent on the guidance of the lad who A Packet of Old Letters. age of thirty-two, 1)0th her parents are dead, and she is mistress of her own estate a comfortable little property on the Quantocks. her suitor credits her with excellent business capacity, for he explains fully and candidly the position of his affairs, and takes occasion to point out that their eldest son, if they are blessed with one (the blessing, by the way, is sometimes a matter of doubt) the eldest son, I repeat, must have his estates, which are strictly en- taile(l, and the prol)lematical second son will have her property for his sole pro- vision. This territorially assorted couple mar- ried, and in due conrse the exemplary wife fulfilled the obligations demanded of her, and two sons were born, respec- tivelv called by the family names of Andrew and Richard. There is no record of the distant cousin standing godfather to either of these boys. When the elder of the children was four years old the family wearied a little of dull neighbors and the monot- ony of being dragged up and down hill by four horses, through deep rutted lanes, in a country which Camden de- scribed as wet and weely to the exceeding great trouble of those that travell in it. And being thus weary of roads that had improved very little since old Camdens time, the Crosses resolve(l to set out for a tour in France. This was in 1788, and the old cabinet had in its keeping a diary written by Mrs. Crosse, Which will afford an ex- tract here and there respecting their journey accompanied him, but he was still quite erect in stature, strong of limb, with a most picturesque head, and his memory was unimpaired. When sitting by his side he took my offered hand, stroking it gently, and then amu~ed me by asking if he might just touch my cheek with his fingers. Naturally I complimented him on his ao~ and physical strength he was proud of his years ; this led him to speak of bygone times. In the soft, pleasant Som ersetshire dialect, with z for s aml(l c for f, which with its clh for th, Professor Earle says, was probably the speech of King Alfred my aged visitor told me much that was interest- ing. Amongst other things, he said he remembered the 01(1 squir& s first wife, the lady that came from foreign parts. He said he recollected how she used to laee up and down the garden, and, with a touch of poetic feeling, he added that she was more beautiful than the flowers themselves. Then he went on to say that the beautiful foreign lady died when he was a lad of fifteen, and there was a great talk about her funeral, be- cause she was buried by torchlight ; he remembered it well. The parish register has on record that Louise wife of Richard Crosse Esq. was buried Nov 4 1775, and I remember to have seen a locket with a curl of dark-brown hair, with her name, the date of her deathi, ai~d her age engraved on the back. She was only twenty-five There was no heir to the Broomfield estates except a distant cousin. who probably was as much liked by the Wednesday Oct 1st 1788 left Broomfield squire as remote heirs-presumptive are with Mr. Brown, Mr. Crosse, my little An- liked by childless landowners. The drew and two servants drank tea, suppd widower took seven years to consider, and slept at Pipers Inn. . . . Thursday and then, as time was going on, he re- morning we left, the two gentlemen in one solved to marry again. I have the let- chaise, Andrew myself and Sarah in the ters. both hers and his I caiinot call other; we caild on Dr. Lovell at Wells, tAemn love-letters, for in making the took fresh horses there. . . . We arrived offer of his hand, lie addresses the lady comfortably at Bath, took a cold dinner at of his choice as Madam. The oni the Bear. . . . We pursued our journey to scral) of sentiment in the whole lette~ Chipenham and slept there . . . heft again is where he conscientiously tells her on Friday morning and came on to Marl- borough. . . . We only stayed here to take that he cannot even now think of his fresh horses and went on to Newbury . . first wife withrnut tears. Miss Porter and suppd and slept at Reading. . . . At of Blaxhold has attained the sensible Reading nothing appeard worth remarking .54 A Packet of Old Letters. except the extravagance of the House and the affectation of the Domestics. From here we sat off on Saturday Morning, changed horses at Hounslow, and arriv d in London at 3 oclock. The travellers put up at the Bolt-in- Tun, near Tern pie Bar, and resumed their journey on Tuesday. Passing IDartford and Rochester, they arrived at Citenbourn in the evening. Suppd and slept there. The Rose Inn was remarkably lar~e and handsome the accommodation extremely good and reasonable. Wednesday we went on to Canterbury, took an early dinner and went on to Dover, where we were detained three days by contrary winds. . . . We left the Royale Hotel at Dover on Saturday morning being calid at 5 o clock. . . . We went on shipboard intending to sail to Calais but the wind blew quite contrary, after being six hours on the sea, the Captain proposd to the Passengers to go to Bonlogne, and within two hours we were in sight of it. A boat was now to carry us on shore . . . where were 40 or 30 women dancing and skipping in the water with their petticoats above their knees. They presented themselves by the side of our boat, to take us on their shoulders and carry us on shore. Some of the women were of 0igantic make, and made nothing of carrying Mr Brown and Mr Crosse on their back, and Mr Crosse very humourously knighted his Lady by bastinading her with his sword. The travellers in these old days were certainly spared the sick hurry of modern life. Mr. Crosse and his family remained for some time in Orleans and at Ronen, but of their precise movements there is no record. It must have been a very interesting time for a man who knew France so well as he did, and whose temper of mind led him to catch the enthusiasm of all that seemed good and et fair promise to humanity in the lib- craasm of the day. Joubert wisely says Liberty Liberty Let us have justice, an(l then we shall have enough liberty. it was on these lines that the Englishman had seen the strug~les for reform and freedom in his own country, the quarrels over privi- lege between Lords and Commons, the 55 maintenance of the rights and powers of juries, and other questions. In France there had been no retrench- ment, no concessions, the reckoning was the unbalanced wrong of centuries. The clilettarde liberalism of fashionable philosophy became a force terrible in its earnestness, when once wielded as a weapon by the starving, the oppressed, and the unscrupulous; it was no mere play of wit and flicker of sentiment, for it brought death and spoliation. Otie pauses to wonder if the foreign visitor in Paris had the faintest concep- tion of what was awaiting France. The well-known story, tol(l by La Harpe and repeated by Taitie, occurs to one. in its dramatic significance. It was in this same year of 1788, that, as La Harpe says A gay party were dining with one of the Coifr~res of the Academy, when a person named Cazotte, who had hitherto taken no part in the brilliant conversation, broke in by saying in a serious tone, Gentlemen, you will witness this great revolution that you so much desire. He then went on to describe how within six years one after another of the party would die by the scaffold. These are miracles, exclaimed La liarpe, and you leave me out.? You will be no less a miracle, you will be a Christian. Ah ! interposes Champ- fort, I breathe a~ am if we are only to die when La Ilarpe becomes a Christian we are immortals Mr. Crosse was in Paris throughout the summer of 1789 ; in all probability his wife and child had returned to En- gland in the spring, leaving him free to move in the feverish society of the cap- ital. What rumors must have reached him of angry speeches in the National Assembly ; above all, the echo of Mi- rabeans defiant words when, in reply to the message from the king, that the deputies should adjourn immediately, he had said to the Marquis de Breze: Return and tell your master that we are here by the power of the people, anti that nothing short of the bayonet shall drive us hence. Si~yes, as we know, brought the business of this meeting of the National Assembly to a conclusion, by voting the personal .56 inviolability of its members, and the penalty of death against any one who should attack their liberty. The memorable 14th of July quickly followed, which saw the fall of the Bas- tille. Mr. Crosse, wearing the tricolor cockade, had the satisfaction of stand- ing on the ruins of this stronghold of despotism The thin crust of the volcano on which the squire had danced and flirted in the bridal da.ys of Marie Antoinette had veritably fallen into the gulf of Nemesis, leaving society itself gasping for very life in the fumes of sulphurous fires. The next page of history, with sans- cnlottisrn for its heading, had not yet been turned when Richard Crosse left France a wiser and a sadder man. It took him the best part of a fortnight to get from Paris to Somersetshire, counting the passing visits he paid, accordin0 to the fashion of the time, at the llobhouses, the Jenkyns, and th~ Whites, whose houses lay on his route. Ere reaching the deep-set lanes on Quantock-side, the squire, who, by the way, had been high sheriff of the county two years before, found he had to reckon with his neighbors the town- folk of Bridgwater. Somerset gener- ally, and particularly this place, was vehemently anti-Jacobin. Republi- cans, levellers, and flaming democrats, were amongst the terms applied to all reformers alike. They stimulated the Tory fervor by taking oaths of loyalty to king and Constitution, and by occa- sionally burning in effigy their political opponents. Being in this temper, some of the more zealous defenders of the British Constitution resolved to stop Mr. Crosse on his way home, and smash his carriage. The incident of the tri- color cockade, and his presence at the fall of the Bastille, had got noised about, and Bridgwater was in a ferment of indignation. A friend in the hostile camp gave timely warning, and the traveller quietly took another route, and thus prevented the malcontents of Bridgwater from indulging in a foolish breach of the peace. The tricolor cock- ade, of no use in a country where lib- erty is sought through law and justice, The Thoughts of a iVfaori Chief was given over to the old cabinet as a relic of the past. From The Spectator. THE THOUGHTS OF A MAORI CHIEF. THE Weekly Press, a sporting jour- nal, of Christchurch, New Zealand, in appearance something like the Field published in December, 1892, a series of papers of some intellectual interest. They were the componentparts of ami essay by Apirana Turupu Ngata, a lead- ing chief of the Maoris, containing his views on the past and future of his own unhappy people,the first essay, it is believed, ever written by a Maori of unmixed blood. Apirana, though edu- cated at a local university, and full of English knowledge, remains a native in feeling, in sympathies, and in aspira- tions, and his whole utterance, which is often singularly eloquent, and always free from the Indian taint. of unreality. is penetrated through and throu~h by a kind of reflective horror of the white man, who, he nevertheless clearly per- ceives, in the inevitable conflict of their destinies will ultimately a.nd speedily stand a victor and alone. His thoughts are all sombre, and almost all worthy of attention. He does not, indeed, thon~h he evidently exults in the Maori past,. add much to our knowledge of its de- tails. He accepts the theory of Euro- pean inquirers, that the Maoris are probably either Malays or members of a race forced to emigrate by the Malays,. who, after a long residence in the Navi- gator Islands, set sail under some un- known impulse for New Zealand, and there gre xv and prospered and devel- oped, what, for want of a better word,. we may call a polity. The only thing he adds to the best English accounts is his belief, based apparently, on per- sonal investigation, that the islands, when the Maori adventurers landed, were not uninhabited, but contained a few people of some Ne~ro, or rather Negrito, race, whom the invaders con- quered, absorbed, and, as it were, civ- ilized, who are still recognizable by their faces and certain peculiarities of pronunciation, and who still form the tribe holding the land round Taupo and the lakes. It was to be expected that, as an antiquarian, Apirana Turupu Ngata, would be more or less of a copy- ist, though his references to his own legends, as supporting the European story, have a value of their own; but he has often quite distinctive thoughts. One of then~,in particular, is well wor- thy of missionary attention. There is a tendency among the new missionaries to rely for success chiefly upon the ethical teaching of Christianity, or upon the atonement it offers for sin ; but Apirana, though a Christian himself, believes that the attraction of the new creed for his countrymen consisted wholly or mainly in the miraculous career ascribed to Christ, which struck their fervid imaginations, always haunted by desire for the supernatural; and that the great relapse of the tribes, and the spread of the creed called Han- hauism, was due to the gradual wearing away of this interest, and the new stimulus offered to the craving for awe by the miracles related by the native priests. That is a singula.r statement, revealing as it does one whole side of the savage mind, and we wish Apirana had dwelt upon it longer; but he wan- ders away almost at once to that which evidently fills or, if we may say so, chokes his mind, the decay and, as he thinks, approaching extinction of his heroic people. In spite of their slight recent increase, which he acknowledges as an accidental fact, the Maoris are dying, he says, of contact with the white man ; and noth- ing can save them but a miracle, which will not arrive. His only hope is for the survival of a few who may be elevated in morale as well as mind ; and even in that fragment, as it were, of a national destiny, he has but little confidence. Through column after colnmn runs the same melancholy refrain of angry hope- lessness, hopelessness almost eqnal to that of the Marquesan who re~ards a coffin as the most acceptable of pres- ents, afl(l makes it thenceforward his bed. His countrymen, says the Maori 57 chief,in spite of all that has beentaught them, remain savages still. The feel- ings and motives that influence the Maoris inner and more private life to- day are the same that influenced him ages ago, though tamed and refined by conformity to European customs, by contact with European civilization, and by the far-reaching influence of Chris- tianity. Your Maori of to-day is but the savage of yesterday, polished and draped in English finery. Within him there are raging the fierce passions that but a while ago made him revel in slaughter and cannibalism. His hands are bound with the manacles of civil- ization arid humanity, but they are restless to grasp once more the spear~ the taiaha, and mere. Outwardly he accepts the truth of Christian teaching, and worships the Pakehas god most reverently, but his mii~d is governed by superstition, his secret longings and natural tendencies are towards the to- hungas, the only visible nionuments of his old priestly r~gime. No indelible impression has been made upon the Maori mind, nor can the surface impres- sion be deepened, for to deepen it there must be contact between the Maori and the Pakeha, and in that contact is the destruction of the weaker race. There is no hope in religion, says the chief, for the religious teachers of to-day have lost all touch with the inner life of the Maori, and no hope in education, though in itself the best of all things, for education does but take mental tone out of a Maori. Full as he is of hatred for the Pakeha., the latter still tyrannizes over his imagination, still compels him towards a degrading imita- tion of his ways of life, still draws him irresistibly towards the settlements where drink and idleness and sexual vice kill out the lower people, leaving behind them only a half-caste race upon whom the chief, with that incur- able pride which we find everywhere among the pure-blooded peoples, pours out, almost shrieking, the full vials of his wrath and contempt. Illicit in- tercourse, vice, and immorality, have already destroyed the purity of the race, The Thoughts of a .llfaori chief. 58 have stunted a race once famous for its physique, have rooted out whatever industrial tendencies survived other pernicious influences, and degraded the characteristics it once possessed of hos- pitality. liberality, bravery, and manli- ness. You view instead a pigmy race of men and women, a degenerate cross between the Pakeha and the Maori, inheriting the worst qualities of both, elevated by no sense of rank, with no (lign ity, possessing mental qualities that are employed for the fabrication of notorious schemes ; of theft, burglary, murder, and crime. There is no hope, says the chief, of improvement in this respect. The Pakeha lad is a god to the Maori maiden, and the only remedy is the (leportation from New Zealand of all the lower whites, a remedy which, while he suggests it, he himself pro- nonnces to be impossible. Educa- tion, as we have said, is worse than useless. By educating the Maori, you genei~ally render him unfit to take part in the struggle for life in which his race is engage(1. You render him versatile, pliant, and yielding under the influence of an English mind, conceited and over- bearing towards his own people. It is true that the higher Maori schools have sent into the world men and women who are in every way qualified to fulfil the duties of English subjects, who are socIally and morally equipped for the daily battles of life. It is true that their higher education has made them more sensible to the good that may be derived from industry, and has enlight- ened them to the danger in which their race is placed. But with all their sound intellectual and moral training, they have in the majority of cases relapsed into the ways of their parents, and exerted the most evil influence by their example. Instability of character and versatility in occupation place them in a position between the Pakeha and their own race from it they view with supreme contempt the shorteom- in~s of the one in such matters as dress, food, and dwelling, and survey with defective eyesight only the more prominent, the more fascinating, and The Thoughts of a JJfaori Chk( the more easily acquired customs and occupations of the other. It is despair, in fact, which is in the chiefs heart, and as it overwhelms huh it breeds only one desire, for a re- sistance which may possibly be only moral, but the idea of which is strangely obscured by metaphor if the essayist is not also dreaming of one last hopeless insurrection, in which the remnant of his people, gathered round their chiefs, should perish sword in hand. Only let the chiefs see that they are departing from the bravery, grandeur, and nobleness of their great ancestors when they help on the gen- eral ruin ; that they can retrieve their lost honor only by making a firm stand and rallying round them the remnants of their people, though they be on the verge of ruin and destruction. Then shall we witness a spectacle, once seen never to be forgotten, a spectacle that will fill the heart with pity, though call- ing for admiration ; a race battling bravely, nobly against the fates, now sinking under the leaden weight of the fear that the struggle is hopeless, now up and striking out fiercely against overwhelming odds, braced with the hope that the day may yet be won; the aged and the feeble trampled under foot, the ranks for a moment wavering as the black banner of death and de- struction sweeps down once more to the bloody attack; death gaining the day, warriors weltering in their blood, leaders stricken in the bloom of man- hood, yet gladly dying with the know]- ed~e that though their race is lost, it has died hard, bravely, and nobly. The chief is possibly too pessimist, though the whole history of the Pacific seems to confirm his fears ; but even if some poor remnant of the Maoris should survive, theirs is a melancholy history, and not one easily to be ex- plained. The English have not willed their destruction ; and though they have brought with them strange drinks, strange diseases, and, possibly owing to iheir superiority, new incentives to looseness of life, many races inferior to the Maori, such, for instance, as the negro, have survived all those things. The Maoris are brave to a proverb, physically strong, and though, as Api- rana affirms, almost incurably averse to steady industry, still they have fed themselves, while they have not, so far as history records, been attacked by any of the awful epidemics which have occasionally swept away whole peo- ples. The race, as the chief affirms, shows a tendency in the towns to merge, by crossing, into the greater multitude of whites, but there seems no reason why, in districts where the whites are scarcely visible, it should not at least linger on unharmed, as the Roman soldiers did in Dacia., and the Saxons who were lost in an alien popu- lation ia a corner of eastern Europe as, indecd, even gipsies have done for ages in Transylvania and Roumania. There seems to be in the Maori, as in all the other Polynesian and Melauc- sian races, a special liability to despair, as if their imagination were essential to their vitality, and when that was cowed by the obvious superiority of the intruders, they gave up with the wish to live, the capacity for living. Some - thing of the same kind was visible in the Peruvians after the first conquest it has been traced, though in lower manifestations, among all the thin tribes of Australia ; and it not unfre- quently appears in the strange wither- ing away of conscript armies, when engaged on expeditions for which they have no heart. It may have been strongest among the Maoris, for they were an imagi native people, full of the love of poetry and legend, find with a pride in the achievements of their tribes like that of Higlilanders. If that is the true explanation, the Maori race is perishing of heart-break, which has sapped a.t once the vitality and the morale of the entire nation. Certainly that is the conclusion, false or true, which seems to us indicated by this first essay ever l)ublishcd by a Maori chief this dirge in eloqnent prose over a van- ishing people, once owners of New Zealand, now only forty-two thousand strong. 59 From The Fortniglitiy Review. VENETIAN MELANCHOLY. BY J. ADDINGTON 5YMONDS. October 30, 1892. It is one of those evenings charged With an inexplicable melancholy, what the French call in- dicible tristesse. Outside, upon the broad canal of the Giudecca, fog-horns are calling from sea-going steamers, and now and then the weird sting of a siren, like a writhing sound-serpent or a ban- slices cry, shivers from nowhere, no- whither, through the opaque mist. Is it from our own nerves, or from some- thing altered and set wrong in nature, some unwholesome wind, some depres- sion prccediag thunderstorm or earth- quake, that this sense of a profound gloom settles down quite unexpectedly? Then all life seems wasted; the heart is full of hidden want; we know not what we desire ; but an atmosphere of wistfuln& ss is everywhere. What we have achieved, what we possess, shows dull, fiat, and unprofitable. Only what we have not, or what lies beyond the scope of possibilities, gleams before the souls gaze like a bright particular star. November 1. There has been a suc- cession of sad, sumptuous autumn days; the lagoons asleep, gently heaving in long undulations beneath the immense dome of varied greys, modulating from the warmest violets to the coldest, slaty lines ; mournful pagcants of sunset, hanging roses and flakes of crimson fire over the whole expanse of heavens pavilion. November 2. We go out in the gon- dola, Amigelo, Vittorlo, and I, every afternoon, and moor ourselves to a palo beyond the Porto del Lido, there where the new breakwater is being made, and one looks toward the open sea, with flocks of many-tinted fishing-boats in the far offing. Here we sit and smoke and talk a little. I read, and wine from Poggio Gherarclo ~urgles through the thin neck of a Tuscan flask. The ex- panse of water is quite smooth, with just an in(lefina.ble sense of ebb and flow. All phases of the sky are repeated on the glassy surface; and after the long, windless days we have lately been enjoying, time water itself has run crys Venetian lifelcrncholy. Venetian Melancholy. tal clear. One can look right down to the grassy weeds and to the bottom; and where light glints through upon an oar or whitened stake, gemmy patches of aquamarine tints (such as Tiepolo loved to splash for hi~hest color-accents on his blues), yield infinite if tranquil pleasure to the eye. Thea comes the sunset; and all the furnace of the west has long since smouldered into ashes above Padua before we regain our home on the Zattere. November 3. We rowed as usual to our palo, and let ourselves be lost, like a speck, in that immensity of sky and water. Not sea there is little feeling of the true sea here. Only messages exchanged between the Adriatic and Venetia by incoming or outgoing ves- sels. Low lines of long, shallow isl- ands, broken here and there by church towers and tufted with stunted trees, remind us that this is no more, than an outlying piece of mainland, covered by sheets of brackish water. There is a peculiar melancholy in this advanced guard of the continent, where the rivers of the Alps and Lombardy are gradually gaining on the sea, depositing their silt through centuries. I remem- ber experiencing the same sadness on the lagoons at Tunis, where Carthage has been utterly erased, as possibly Venice will be one day also. You for- get the rival mistress of the world with Rome, and only feel the desert and the solemn expanse of lake. Towards evening rosy shoals of cloud float across the sky, and take a keener hue on the sheeny deeps beneath, while between the heavens and their reflections sail ponderous battalions of flamin~oes, makin~ a third series of rose-tinted cloudlets. Melancholy and gorgeous color-richness are combined in a singu- lar degree throughout the landscape of lagoons. November 4. I will try to catch the special note of a sunset I saw yesterday from our customary station. Peculiar qualities of life and movement are given to these Venetian lagoons by the continual passage through them of con- siderable rivers, the Brenta and Sile. Also by the fact that there is a small tide in the Adriatic. It is not deadt water like that of a land-locked lake, but water subject to complex condi- tions of influx and outflow of salt-cur- rents, combined with the perpetual course of inland torrents debouching through channels delved by them in. the soft mud of the basin at points of least resistance and easiest access to the gaps between the belting islands. The lagoon then, though it in no way resembles the sea, has a character of change and varying motion which makes it interesting without disturbing its unrivalled excellence as a reflecting surface. The tide, at half past three, was run- ning out like a steady stream, making our moored boat throb with a rhythmic shudder seaward. Then caine a pause, and then a different tremor. New shivers in a contrary direction thrilled the keel, and we felt that the pulse of the lagoon was turning landward. It is. (lifficult to avoid shades of language appropriate to vital processes while speaking of this alteration in the tide. How can we think of it as the mechan- ical effect of gravitation upon fluid masses, when we remember how much of animal and vegetable life over the whole of that huge area is waiting on these subtle changes? To the sense of weeds and molluscs, sponges, crusta- ceans, and worms, ebb and flow must be equivalent to the systole and diastole of a mighty heart. We wrong the logic of our head perhaps, but we get closer to Nature by indulging mythological illusions, and making our nerves sensi- tive to what. for these creatures are the conditions of existence. Then, too, have not we emerged from them, and does not, perhaps, their sympathy with natural and diurna.l changes survive in all the operations of our sentient imag- ination? The sky was one vast dome of deli- cately graduated greys, dove-breasted, ashen, violet, blurred blue, rose-t.inted, tawny, all drenched and drowned in the prevailing tone of sea-lavender. The water, heaving, undulating, swirling, ~t no point stationary, yet without a ripple on its vitreous pavement, threw back 60 those blended hues, making them here and there more flaky and distinct in vivid patches of azure or of crimson. Not very far away, waiting for a breeze to carry them toward Torcello, lay half- a-dozen fishing-boats with sails like butterflies atremble on an open flower red, orange, lemon, set by some in- Qff:tble tact of nature just in the right place to heighten and accentuate her symphony of tender tints. The sun was nowhere visible. No last rays flamed from the horizon, illu- minating, as they sometimes do, that fretwork of suspended vapors with a sudden glory of mingled blood and fire. We knew that lie had set, for a cinderv pallor overspread the world ; and we turned homeward, splashing the silent waters with the cadence of our oars. But soon, as though some celestial quarrel between planetary or sidereal powers had ended, and heaven were washed with tears of reconciliation and repentance, the roof of clouds dissolved into immeasurable air. Luna, just risen, full aiid radiant, sailed in a sky uf brilliant blue. The color was in- tense and omnipresent ; so blue, so blue ; bathing thin mists whicli lay along the face of the lagoon ; tinging pearly mackerel clouds lazily afloat above. White-sailed ships, like sheeted l)hantoms, swam past us through the twilight. The churches of Venice, S. ~iorgio, liedentore, Salute, loomed, large and dusky silhouettes, emergent from the clinging vapors. Wherever ihie moistened lead upon their roofs ~:nd cupolas caught moonlight, it shone with silver. The coiicave of the sky mirrored in the concave of the water formed one sphere of azure mystery, timoving through which was like be ing in the heart of some pale, milky sapphire. Only at intervals, along the & ~uays, lamps dilated into globes, with golden reflections sagging down along the bluish water, broke and gave value to the dominant chord. Deep-tongued bells from far and near thrilled the whole scene, translating its motif of color into congenial qualities of sound. Norernber 5. Why do ye toil 01 hither and thither upon paths laborious and peril-fraught? Seek what ye are seeking; but it is not there where ye are seeking it. Ye are seeking a life of blessedness in the realm of death. It is not there. Stirred to the depths by these mira- cles, my soul seemed to know what she was wanting, and at the same time knew that even to desire it was vanity; to possess it would be dust and ashes. The pains of thought, the sickness of the soul, the thirst for things impossi- ble, are soothed by communion with nature. What can be more tranquilliz- ing than this breadth of sea and sky, the cool, caressing lisp of those inflow- ing waters, the simplicity of yonder overarching cloud-pavilion? The day is (lying imperceptibly. There is no question of a melodramatic display of color. The vapors of the plain already hide the suns disc. I gaze forward into the profound blues of the eastern heavens. And then, without turning my head west- ward, I become aware tha.t some change is taking place above the fields of Lom- bardy. For that vast gulf of blue, which erewhile was opaque and dull like indigo~is gradually gro~ving traus- parent, warming into amethyst, assum- ing hues of iris, violet, and hyacinth. Flame seems filtering dowmi into it from the zenith. The willows aiid acacia- trees upon the shore of S. Erasmo are passing from the dull green of distant foliage into the brilliancy of chrysoberyl, the fervor of chrysoprase, the pellucidity of jade. It is not easy to detach on& s gaze from this speetacle ; yet turn I must an(l peer int6 the west. Between Fusina and Malghera the cloud-canopy has lifted, leaving a blank space of sky above the buried sun. This is lumi- nous with crimson, orange, citron, flecked with stationary lakes of molten gold ; a great white planet swims sus- pended in their midst. The refraction of th)at light upon the eastern horizon cause the blues to blush. So, having fed my eyes with red and yellow and fire, I turn again, and now the purples of the east, by contrast with those other Venetian Mielancholy. Venetian 3felancholy. hues, appear intolerable in their ardor and intensity of color. The cold azure sucks our sense of vision into depths of incandescent fluor-spar ; and just athwart the core of that cerulean pyre floats a barge piled high with hay, the sombre green of which has also caught the glow, and burns. November 6. There has been a total eclipse of the moon. We were returii- ing after sunset from our accustomed post. The sun, this time, sank like a round vermilion ball into the plain of Padna. The sky was hard and clear. Like a flawless topaz the west shone, with all the buildings of the city cut out in solid shapes of purple darkness a0 ainst that background. There was no mystery, no illusion, except in the daffodils and saifrons of the heaving water-floor. Behind S. Pietro di Cas- tello peered up a little jagged notch of white light, like an abnormal planet splintered out of shape. This was the eclipsed moon rising. But the earths shadow gradually passed away, and the azure splendors of that previous even- ing were renewed, pitched in a key of higher clarity. November 7. This summer of S. Martin is overpoweringly beautiful; a gradual dying of the year in tranquil pomps and glowing pageants. Every evening on the lagoon brings a new spectacle of ethereal and subtly colored loveliness. So musical, so melancholy, so far diviner than the blare and glory of the springtime. It is infinitely sweet and sad, this whisper of the fading autumn bestowing all its stored- up passion and fruitage in dim twilight hours. ImmeasurabTh breadth, unfath - omable mystery, illimitable repose of coming slumber. I read in a book to-day that it must have taken one hundred millions of years to form the earths crust, and the crust has only an average of twenty miles in depth. Inside, all is still molten rock and raging gases in coin- bustion. One hundred millions of years to form a thin surface of elastic stuff for plants, beasts, and men, and cities to exist on. And of all that time the history of our race, ascertained by doc- uments, has only occupied five thousand years at most. Ah, what is man, and why does he disquietude his soul and think so much about his destiny ? Creatures of a day What is a man and what is a man not ? Dreaming so, I sweep along the jetty of S. Niccolo di Lido through the sun- set, with Angelo in front and Vittorio upon the poop. We pass a laden boat. On the boat, erect, sturdily rowing, is a young man, whose face, fronting the mellow spaces of the west, seems in its perfect and peculiar beauty to be time programme of all good. A whole life of exquisite emotion and superb energy expressed there. A God-created, inim- itable thing. A masterpiece of nature, to frame which all the rest seems made. I am a soul, he is a soul; we shall never meet; each of us has some incalculable doom, and neither of us knows what that doom is. What I really know is that in this intense, momentary vision resides the most poignant of all stings to wake me into passionate indifference to time and chance and change, the laws which clip me round and stifle me. It falls away and fades, and he becomes a memory which leaves an unextin- guished smart. November 7. All these beautiful pomps and pageants have been again engulfed in sea-fog, and I listen this night to the complaining fret of boats moored close beneath my windows, the dreary hootings of sea-going vessels, the shrill, thin eldritch scream of sirens. Moments come in the hyper-sensitive life of artistic natures, come unbidden and uncaused, when we are assailed by desolate intimations of the inutility of all things, the vanity of our existence, the visionary fabric of the universe, time incomprehensibility of self, the continuous and irreparable flight of time when our joys and sorrows, our pas- sion a.nd our shame, our endeavors to achieve and our inertia of languor, seem but a mocking film, an iridescent scum upon the treacherous surface of a black ~nd bottomless abyss of horrible 62 The Record of Poisoning. inscrutability. At these times, like Pascal, we fain would set a screen up to veil the ever-present gulf that yawns before our physical and mental organs of perception. Alas for those who, feeling the real- ities of beauty and emotion so acutely, having such power at times to render them by words or forms for others, must also feel with poignant intensity the grim vacuousness of the world, the irrationality of human life, the illusory and transitory nature of the ground on which we tread, of the flesh that clothes us round, of the desires that fret our brains, the duties we per- form, the thoughts that keep our will upon the stretch through months of unremunerative labor. It is easy to stigmatize these moods as morbid. It is clear that yielding to them would entail paralysis of energy, decrepitude, disease. It is not certain that recording them serves any useful. purpose. Yet they are real, a serious factor in the experience of sentient and reflective personalities. Duly counter- poised by strenuous activity and steady self-effectuation, they constitute for the artist and the thinker what might be compare& to a retreat for the reli- gio us. They force a man to recoguize his own incalculable littleness in the vast sum of things. They teach him to set slight store on his particular achieve- ment. They make him understand that seeming bitter sentence of the Gospel, Say, we are unprofitable servants, we ha.ve done that which was our duty to do. Also they have the minor value of dissipating vain glamours of fame or blame, of popular applause or public condemnation, of vulgar display and petty rivalries with others. Enier~, ing from them, the man, made wiser and saner, proceeds to work, at that which lieth nearest to his hand to do. Michelangelo, than whom none ever labored with more single-hearted pur- pose and with haughtier constancy in his appointed field of art, professed a special dedication to the thought of death. This thought, he said, is the only one which makes us know our proper selves, which holds us together 63 in the bond of our own nature, which saves us from being stolen away by kinsmen, friends, great men of parts, by avarice, ambition, and those other faults and vices which filch one from himself, keep him distraught and dis- persed, without permitting him to retire into himself and to reunite his scattered parts. Such then are the uses of what the world calls melancholy, sweet, dainty melancholy. Thanksgivings to the places where moods like these are nobly, beautifully nurtured, and where their very presence in the soul is the purgation of its baser passions. From The British Medical Journal. THE RECORD OF POISONING. THE publication of the annual report of the registrar-general for England and Wales furnishes opportunity for a minute consideration of the subject of poisoning, which has a special interest at this moment. The information it contains as to tIle particular kinds of poison which have been the cause of death is so complete that very useful conclusions may be drawn from the recorded facts. In several respects those facts will be found to give strong support to tile opinion which has been frequently expressed in the British Medical Journal, as to the necessity for more careful observance of the salutary provisions of the Pharmacy Act and for more stringently enforcing the penal- ties incurred by neglecting them. It appears that tile total number of deaths caused by poison in 1891 was eight hundred and seventy-six, or no fewer than two hundred and forty-two more thall in 1889. Of that number five huiidred and forty-four were accidental, three hundred and twenty-seven were cases of suicide, and five were cases of homicide. It is chiefly the cases of accidental and suicidal poisoning that are of interest. There were no fewer than one hundred and fourteen cases due to narcotic poisoning by opium, laudanum, morphine, chiorodyne, sooth- ing syrup, cordial, paregoric. The poison that comes next, iu regard to The Record of Poisoning. the number of deaths, is chloroform, to which sixty-two deaths are attributed; then carbolic acid, as the cause of death in thirty-one cases. The poisonous alkaloids aconite, belladonna, cocaine, and strychnine have been the cause of nineteen deaths ; the mineral acids of seventeen, arsenic of eight, chioral of seven, and oxalic acid of only two. Then there were one hundred and twenty-eight deaths caused by a nuni- ber of miscellaneous poisons. In twenty-four cases the nature of the poison was not ascertained. The fact that nearly one-fourth of the number of accidental deaths by poison were caused by some form of narcotic is most cogent evidence of the mischief done by the use of narcotic preparations. No stronger argumeiit could possibly be found in support of the action taken by the chairman of the Parliamentary Bills Committee of the British Medical Association, with the approval and sup-. port of the committee for setting the Treasury in motion to carry out prose- cutions, and calling upon the Phar maceutical ~ociety to carry out its long-neglected statutory duties. These figures may be taken as a l)ositive proof that the sale of such preparations, either as secret remedies or without due pre- cautions, constitutes a serious public danger. The number of deaths attrib- uted to chloroform is a remarkable feature of this return, but since the circumstances of the cases are not stated it is impossible here to consider them further. The number of deaths caused by articles which are not statu- tory poisons is considerable ; carbolic acid and the mineral acids are alone responsible for forty-eight deaths by accident. This fact recalls to mind the recommendation of the Council of the Pharmaceutical Society some years ago, that these articles should be included in the poison schedule, and it serves to show that there was good reason for the recommendation, though the Privy Council then declined to approve of it. It certainly appears that the sale of these articles should be subjected to greater control than it is at present. Comparing the number of deaths caused by these articles with the deaths caused by arsenic and oxahic acid (ten in all), it may be fairly inferred that the use of the poison label, requisite in the sale of the latter, and the restriction of their sale to qualified chemists have proved serviceable as a means of preventing accidental poisoning. A similar con- clusion may be drawn from the compar- atively small number of deaths caused by the vegetable alkaloids. THE U. S. Geological Survey, according ascribe a material part of the present indus- to the secretary for the interior, has had a trial activity in extracting and utilizing very marked effect on the mining industries mineral resources to the services of the of the country. The increase in value of Geological Survey through its correspond- mineral products during the past year was ence, and especially through its widely dis- seventy-five million dollars, and the increase tributed maps and reports. The cost of during the thirteen years since the institn- mineral production during the past year tion of the survey is three hundred million has been reduced about fifteen per cent., dollars. While a part of this development and during the period since the institution represents the normal growth of the popu- of the survey no less than forty per cent., a lation and industries, the increase is much saving to the consumers of mineral prod- more rapid than that of population, and is, nets amounting to millions of dollars annu- moreover, accompanied by a decided rela- ally being thus effected. A considerable tive decrease in importations of mining part of this saving must be ascribed uo the products; indeed, the mining products of diffusion of exact information concerning the country have more than doubled during mineral localities by the geological surveys the past thirteen years, while the popula- of the Federal Government and several of tion has increased only thirty per cent. the States. The secretary, therefore, thinks it fair to Nature.

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fifth Series, No, fl~A~ April ~ 1893. From Beginning Volume LXXXII. ~ hUU. 0, Vol CXCVII. CONTENTS. THE INADEQUACY OF NATURAL SELEC- TION. By Herbert Spencer, A DEFEATED TRANSCENDENTALIST, IN THE EARLY FORTIES JOEL GARSIDE HATESU THE MILITARY COURAGE OF ROYALTY, SCANDAL ABOUT QUEEN ELIZABETH, THE ECONOMIES OF THE RICH, THE STARS AND STRIPES v. THE UNION JACK, Economist, THE CHILD-SEASON, LOVE UNCRITICAL, Contemporary Review, Blackwoods Magazine, New Review, Temple Bar, (Jornhill Magazine, Contemporary Review, Blackwoods Magazine, Globe, . POETRY. 66 TRANSPLANTED,. 66 THE LAST EVENING,. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLARS remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually for- warded for a year,free of postage. 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 money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single copies of the LIVING AGE, 18 cents. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. XTIII IX. 67 76 90 99 105 112 117 125 126 66 66 The Child-Season, etc. THE CHILD-SEASON. o su~x life of childhood! blossoming To gladden all the world; as if the Spring Were captive made, and your soft hair Un- gird Had netted all Springs sunshine as it stirred Your little nest has still its singing bird. o youth! fast learning to be wise and vain, Whose aims are lofty. In the race for gain Great things seem possible and yet to-day Some grave that is a milestone on the way Says oer the worlds loud voice, Kneel here and pray.~~ O hearts that pain has chastened! well ye know The song of thankfulness. Ye but forego Your. joy a little while. The leaves may tell Of Autumn; yet bebrave; ye have fought well. Weep not; ye know that other fighters fell. O aged heads that many a Yule-tide snow Has whitened! Though the time be long ago Since first ye laughed in childhoods golden ray, The Child of Bethlehem takes your hand to-day. Gods blessing crowns your far more perfect way. HARRIET KENDALL. Chambers Journal. LOVE UNCRITICAL. WHEN first I gan to know thee, dear, Thy faults I did espy. And Sure this is a blemish here, And thats a vice, said I. But since that hour I did resign My judgment to my fate, Thou art no more than only mine, To love and vindicate. Henceforth thy champion am I vowd, And stultify my sense, Not owning what I proved, yet proud To die in its defence. The kerchief that thou gavst P11 wear Upon mine eyelids bound; And every man I meet Ill dare To find the faults I found. Speaker. Q. TRANSPLANTED. FAIR, fragrant flower, from woodland mazes torn Keeping sweet watch on haunted, holy ground, Art thou not pining, broken and forlorn, Within the crowded citys gloomy bound? The bee falls faint whose kisses wooed thy leaves, The laughing breezes die that fanned thy feet The sunny glade that nursed thy beauty grieves They call to thee, Why hast thou left us, sweet? A perfumed whisper, floating softly through The city, murmurs back to woodlands gay: Where tears of pity fall, there falls the dew; And honest toil sheds light on darkest day. Argosy. C. E. MEETKERKE. THE LAST EVENING. OVER sea the sun, in a mystery of light, Burns across the waters, on the blown spray glancing; Luminously crested, wave behind wave ad- vancing Pours its rushing foam with low, continual roar. The wide sands around us, flashing wet and bright, Mirror cliffs suffused with clearest warmth serene, Rosy earth, grey rocks, and grass of green- est green; We two pace together the solitary shore. A sadness and a joy are mingled in the air, From the dying day a voice, I go andy come back never ! From the waves an answering shout, We rush, we break forever ! Wake in my heart echoes, that conflicting swell. Now on the last evening, now we are aware Of something in our souls that will not say, tis ended. In our parting looks are thoughts eternal blended. See, our hands are joined; we cannot say farewell! Academy. LAURENCE BINYON. 66 like Inadequacy of Natural Selection. From The Contemporary Review. THE INADEQUACY OF NATURAL SELECTION. BY HERBERT SPENCEE. STUDENTS of psychology are familiar with the experiments of Weber on the sense of touch. He found that differ- ent parts of the surface differ widely in their ability to give information con- cerning the things touched. Sonic parts, which yielded vivid sensations, yielded little or no knowledge of the size or form of the thing exciting it whereas other parts, from which there came sensations much less acute, fur- nished clear impressions respecting tangible characters, even of relatively small objects. These unlikenesses of tactual discriminativeness lie ingen- iously expressed by actual measure- ments. Taking a pair of compasses, he found that if they were closed so nearly that the points were less than one- twelfth of an inch apart, the end of the forefinger could not perceive that there were two points; the two points seemed one. But when the compasses were opened so that the points were one- twelfth of an inch apart, then the end of the forefinger distinguished the two points. On the other hand, lie fonnd that the compass must be opened to the extent of two and a half inches before the niiddle of the back could distinguish between txvo points and one. That is to say, as thus nicasured, the end of the forefinger has thirty times the tactual discriminativeness which the middle of the back has. Between these extremes he found gradations. The inner surfaces of the second joints of the fingers can distin- guis h separateness of positions only half as well as the tip of the forefinger. The innermost joints are still less dis- criminatin~ but have a power of dis- crimination equal to that of the tip of the nose. The end of the great toe, the palm of the hand, and the cheek, have alike one-fifth of the perceptive- ness which the tip of the forefinger has; and the lower part of the fore- head has but one-half that possessed by the cheek. The back of the hand and the crown of the head are nearly alike 67 in having but a fourteenth or a fif- teenth of the ability to perceive posi- tions as distinct, which is possessed by the finger-end. The thigh, near the knee, has rather less, and ~he breast less still ; so that the compasses must be more than an inch and a half apart before the breast distinguishes the two points from one another. What is the meaning of these differ- ences? How, in the course of evolu- tion, have they been established ? If natural selection or survival of the fittest is the assigned cause, then it is required to show in what way each of these degrees of endowment has advan- taged the possessor to such extent that not infrequently life has been directly or indirectly preserved by it. We might reasonably assume that in the absence of some differentiating proc- ess, all parts of the surface would have like powers of perceiving relative p0- sitions. They cannot have become widely unlike in perceptiveness with- out some cause. And if the cause alleged is natural selection, then it is necessary to show that the greater de- gree of the power possessed by this part than by that, has not only con- duced to the maintenance of life, but has conduced so much that an individ- ual in whom a variation had produced bctter adjustment to needs, thereby maintained life when some others lost it ; and that among the descendants inheriting this variation, there was a derived advantage such as enabled them to multiply more than the de- scendants of individuals not possessing it. Can this, or anything like this, be shown? That the superior perceptiveness of the forefinger-tip has thus arisen, might be contended with some apparent rea- son. Such perceptiveness is an impor- tant aid to manipulation, and may have sometimes given a life-saving advan- tage. In making arrows or fish-hooks, a savage possessiug some extra amount of it may have been thereby enabled to get food where another failed. In civ- ilized life, too, a sempstress with well- endowed finger-ends might be expected to gain a better livelihood than on~ 68 iY~e Inadequacy of Natural Selection. - with finger-eiids which were obtuse.; forefinger has? To prove that these though this advantage wonid not be so differences have arisen by natural se- great as appears. I have found that lection, it has to be shown that snch two ladies whose finger-ends were small variation in one of the parts as covered with glove-tips, reducing their might occur in a generation say one- sensitiveness from one-twelfth of an tenth extra amount has yielded an inch between compass points to one- appreciably greater power of self- seventh, lost nothing appreciable of preservation, and that those inheriting their quickness and goodness in sewing. it have continued to be so far advan- An experience of my own here comes taged as to multiply more than those in evidence. Towards the close of my who, in other respects equal, were less salmon-fishing days, I used to observe endowed with this trait. Does any one what a bungler I had become in putting think he can show- this? on and taking off artificial flies. As But if this distribution of tactual per- the tactual discriminativeness of my ceptiveness cannot be explained by - finger-ends, recently tested, comes up survival of the fittest, how can it be to the standard specified by Weber, it explained? The reply is that, if there is chear that this decrease of manipula- has been in operation a cause which it tive l)ower, accompanying increase of is now the fashion among biologists to age, was due to decrease in the deli- ignore or deny, these various differ- cacy of muscular co-ordination and ences are at once accounted for. This sense of pressure not to decrease of cause is the inheritance of acquired tactual discriminativeness. But not characters. As a preliminary to setting making much of these criticisms, let us forth the argument showing this, I have admit the conclusion that this high per- made some experiments. ceptive power possessed by the fore- It is a current belief that the fingers tinger-erid may have arisen by survival of the blind, more practised in tactual of the fittest ; and let us limit the argu- exploration than the fingers of those ment to the other differences. who can see, acquire greater discrimina How about the back of the trunk and tiveness; especially the fingers of those its face ? Is any advantage derived blind who have been taught to read from possession of greater tactual dis- from raised letters. Not wishing to criminativeness by the last than by the trust to this current belief, I recently first? The tip of the nose has more tested two youths, one of fifteen and than three times the power of distin- the other younger, at the School for guishing relative positions which the the Blind in Upper Avenue Road, and lower part of the forehead has. Can found the belief to be correct. Instead this greater power be shown to have of being unable to distinguish between any advantage? The back of the hand l)oints of the compasses until they were has scarcely more discriminative ability opened to one-twelfth of an inch apart, than the crown of the head, and has I found that both of them could distin- only one-fourteenth of that which the guish between points when only one- finger-tip has. Why is this? Advan- fourteenth of an inch apart. They had tage might occasionally be derived if thick and coarse skins ; and doubtless, the back of the hand could tell us more had this intervenin~ obstacle so pro- than it does about the shapes of the duced been less, the discriminative surfaces touched. Why should the power would have been greater. It thigh near the knee be twice as percep- afterwards occurred to me that a better tive as the middle of the thigh? And, test would be furnished by those whose last of all, why should the middle of finger-ends are exercised in tactual per- the forearm, middle of the thigh, mid- ceptions, not occasionally, as by the dle of the back of the neck, and middle blind in reading, -but all day long .in of the back, all stand on the lowest pursuit of their occupations. The facts level, as having but one-thirtieth of the answered expectation. Two skilled perceptive power which the tip of the compositors, on whom I experimented. The Inadequacy of Natural Selection. 69 were both able to distinguish between and the middle of the thigh; and these points when they were only one-seven- parts have but rare experiences of ir- teenth of an inch apart. Thus we have regular foreign bodies. The crown of clear proof that constant exercise of the head is occasionally felt by the fin- the tactual nervous structures leads to gers, as also the back of one hand by further development. the fingers of the other; but neither of Now if acquired structural traits are these surfaces, which are only twice as inheritable, the various contrasts above perceptive as the back, is used with set down are obvious consequences; for any frequency for touching objects, the gradations in tactual perceptiveness much less for examining them. The correspond with the gradations in the lower part of the forehead, though tactual exercises of the parts. Save more pevceptive than the crown of the by contact with clothes, which present head, in correspondence with a some- only broad surfaces having but slight what greater converse with the hands, and indefinite contrasts, the trunk has is less than one-third as perceptive as but little converse with external bodies, the tip of the nose ; and manifestly, and it has but small discriminative both in virtue of its relative promi- power ; but what discriminative power nence, in virtue of its contacts with it has is greater on its face than on its things smelt at, and in virtue of its fre- back, corresponding to the fact that quent acquaintance with the handker- the chest and abdomen are much more chief, the tip of the nose has far greater frequently explored by the hands ; this tactual experience. Passing to the difference being probably in part inher- inner surfaces of the hands, which, ited from inferior creatures, for, as we taken as wholes, are more constantly mnay see in dogs and cats, the belly is oc2upied in touching than are the back, far more accessible to feet and tongue breast, thigh, forearm, forehead, or than the back. No less obtuse than back of the hand, Webers scale shows the back are the middle of the back of that they are much more perceptive, the neck, the middle of the forearm, and that the degrees of perceptiveness of different parts correspond with their 1 Let me here note in passing a highmy significant tactual activities. The palms have but implication. The development of nervous struc- one-fifth the perceptiveness possessed tures which in such cases takes place, cannot be limited to the finger-ends. If we figure to our- by the forefinger-ends; the inner sur selves the separate sensitivo areas which severally faces of the finger-joints next the palms yield independent feelings, as constituting a net- have but one-third while the inner work (not, indeed, a network sharply marked out but probably one such that the ultimate fibrils ~ surfaces of the second joints have but each area intrude more or less into adjacent areas, one-half. These abilities correspond so that the separations are indefinite), it is maui- with the facts that whereas the ini~er fest that when, with exercise, the structure has become further elaborated, and the meshes of the parts of the hand are used omily in network smaller, there must be a multiplication grasping things, the tips of the flilgers of fibres communicating with the central nervous come into play not only when things system. If two adjacent areas were supplied by branches of one fibre, the touching of either would are grasped, but when such things, as yield to consciousness the same sensation; there well as smaller things, are felt at or could be no discrimination between points touch- manipulated. It needs but to observe lug the two. That there may be discriminatlo there must be a distinct connection between ea~ the relative actions of these parts in area and the tract of grey matter which receives writing, in sexving, in jutlgiiig textures, the impressions. Nay more, there must be, in this etc., to see that above all other parts central recipient-tract, an added number of the the finae separate elements which, by their excitement ~ r-ends, and especially the fore- yield separate feelings. So that tills increased finger-entis, have the muost multiplied power of tactual discrimination implies a peripheral experiences. If, then, it be that the development, a multiplication of fibres in th trunk-nerve, and a complication of the nerve- extra perceptiveness acquired from extra centre. It can scarcely be doubted that analogous tactual activities, as in a compositor, is changes occur under analogous conditions through- inheritable, these gradations of tactual out all parts of the nervous system not in its sensory appliances only, but in all its higher co- perceptiveness are explained. ordinating appliances up to the highest. Doubtless some of those who remem 70 her Webers results, have had on the tip of the tongue the argument derived from the tip of the tongue. This part exceeds all other parts in power of tact- nal discrimination ; doubling, in that respect, the power of the forefinger-tip. It can distinguish points that are only one-twenty-fourth of an inch apart. Why this unparalleled perceptiveness ? If survival of the fittest be the ascribed cause, then it has to be shown what the advantages achieved have been; and, further, that those advantages have been sufficiently great to have had effects on the maintenance of life. Besides tasting, there are two func- tions conducive to life xvhich the tongue performs. It enables us to move about food during mastication, and it en al)les us to make many of the articu- lations constituting speech. But how does the extreme discriminativeness of the tongue-tip aid these functions ? The food is moved about, not by the tongue-tip, but by the body of the tongue ; and even were the tip largely employed in this process, it would still have to be shown that its ability to distinguish between points one-twenty- fourth of an inch apart, is of service to that end, which cannot be shown. It may, indeed, be said that the tactual perceptiveness of the tongue-tip serves for detection of foreign bodies in the food, as plum-stones or as fish-bones. But such extreme perceptiveness is needless for the purpose a percep- tiveness equal to that of the linger-ends would suffice and further, even were such extreme perceptiveness useful, it could not have caused survival of indi- viduals who possessed it in slightly higher degrees than others. It needs but to observe a dog crunching small bones, and swallowing with impunity the sharp-angled pieces, to see that a very small amount of mortality would be prevented. But what about speech? Well, neither here can there be shown any advantage derived from this extreme perceptiveness. For making the s and z, the tongue has to be partially applied to a portion of the palate next the teeth. Not only, however, must the contact be The Inadequacy of Natural Selection. incomplete, but its place is indefinite may be half an inch further back. To make the sli and zh, the contact has to be made, not with the tip but with the upper surface of the tongue ; and must be an incomplete contact. Though, for making the liquids, the tip of the tongue and the sides of the tongue are used, yet the requisite is not any exact ad- justment of the tip, but an imperfect contact with the palate. For the th, the tip is used along with the edges of the tongue ; but no perfect adjustment is required, either to the edges of the teeth, or to the junction of the teeth with the palate, where the sound may equally well be made. Though for the and d complete contact of the tip and edges of the tongue with the palate is required, yet the place of contact is not definite, and the tip takes no more im- portant share in the action than the sides. Any one who observes the movements of his tongue in speaking, will find that there occur no cases in which the adjustments must have an exactness corresponding to the extreme power of discrimination which the tip possesses ; for speech, this endowment is useless. Even were it useful, it could not be shown that it has been (leveloped by survival of the fittest~ for though i)erfect articulation is useful, yet imperfect articulation has rarely such an effect as to impede a man in the maintenance of his life. If he is a good workman, a Germans inter- changes of bs and ps do not disadvan- tage him. A Frenchman who, in place of the sound of th, always makes the sound of z, succeeds as a teacher of music or dancing, no less than if he achieved the English pronunciation. Nay, even such an imperfection of speech as that which arises from cleft palate, does not prevent a man from getting on if he is capable. True, it may go against him as a candidate for Parliament, or as an orator of the unemployed (mostly not worth employ- ing). But in the struggle for life he is not hindered by the effect to the extent of being less able than others to main- tain himself and his offspring. Clearly, then, even if this unparalleled percep The Inadequacy of Natural Selection. tiveness of the tongue-tip is required for perfect speech, this use is not suffi- ciently important to have been devel- oped by natural selection. How, then, is this remarkable trait of the tongue-tip to be accounted for? Without difficulty, if there is inherit- ance of acquired characters. For the tongue-tip has, above all other parts of the body, uncea.sin~ experiences of small irregularities of surface. It is in contact with the teeth, and either con- sciously or unconsciously is continually exploring them. There is hardly a moment in which impressions of adja- cent but different positions are not be- ing yielded to it by either the surfaces of the teeth or their edges ; and it is continually being moved about from some of them to others. No advantage is gained. It is simply that the tongues position renders perpetual exploration almost inevitable ; and by perpetual exploration is developed this unique power of discrimination. Thus the law holds throughout, from this highest de- jee of perceptiveness of the tongue-tip to its lowest degree on the back of the trunk; and no other explanation of the facts seems possible. Yes, there is another explanation, I hear some one say; they may be explained by panmixia. Well, in the first place, as the explanation by pan- mixia implies that these gradations of perceptiveness have been arrived at by the dwindling of nervous structures, there lies at the basis of the explana- tion an unproved and improbable as- sumption; and, even were there no such difficulty, it may with certainty be denied that panmixia can furnish an explanation. Let us look at its preten- sions. It was not without good reason that Bentham protested against metaphors. Figures of speech in general, valuable as they are in poetry an(l rhetoric, can- not be used without danger in science and philosophy. The title of Mr. Dar- wins great work furnishes us with an instance of the misleading effects pro- duced by them. It runs: The Origin of Species by means of Natural Selec 71 tion, or the preservation of Favored Races in the Struggle for Life. Here are two figures of speech which con- spire to produce an impression more or less erroneous. The expression nat- ural selection was chosen as serving to indicate some parallelism with arti- ficial selection the selection exercised by breeders. Now selection connotes volition, and thus gives to the thoughts of readers a wrong bias. Some in- crease of this bias is produced by the words in the second title, favored races ;~ for anything which is favored implies the existence of some agent conferring a favor. I do not mean that Mr. Darwin himself failed to recognize the misleading connotations of his words, or that he did not avoid being misled by them. In chapter iv. of the Origin of Species he says that, con- sidered literally, natural selection is a false term, and that the personifica- tion of nature is objectionable; but he thinks that readers, and those who adopt his views, will soon learn to guard themselves against the wroa~ im- plications. Here I venture to think that he was mistaken. For thinking this there is the reason that even his disciple, Mr. Wallace no, not his dis- ciple, but his. co-discoverer, ever to be honored has apparently been influ- enced by them. When, for example, in combating a view of mine, he says that the very thing said to be impossible by variation and natural selection has been again and again effected by varia- tion and artificial selection ; he seems clearly to imply that the processes are analogous and operate in the same way. Now this is untrue. They are analo- gous only within certain narrow limits and, in the great majority of cases, nat- ural selection is utterly incapable of doing that which artificial selection does. To see this it needs only to de-per- sonalize nature, and to remember that, as Mr. Darwin says, nature is only the aggregate action and product of many natural laws [forces]. Observe its relative shortcomings. Artificial se- lection can pick out a particular trait, and, regardless of other traits of the The Inadequacy of Natural Selection. individuals displaying it, can increase it by selective breeding in successive generations. For, to the breeder or fancier, it matters little whether such individuals are otherwise well consti- tuted. They may be in this or that way so unfit for carrying on the strug- gle for life, that, were they without human care, they would disappear forthwith. On the other hand, if we regard nature as that which it is, an assemblage of various forces, inorganic and organic, some favorable to the maintenance of life and many at va- riance with its maintenance forces which operate blindly we see that there is no such selection of this or that trait, but that there is a selection only of individuals which are, by the aggre- ate of their traits, best fitted for living. And here I may note an advantage possessed by the expression survival of the fittest ; since this does not tend to raise the thought of any one charac- ter which, more than others, is to be maintained or increased; but tends rather to raise the thought of a general adaptation for all purposes. It implies the process which nature can alone carry on the leaving alive of those which are best able to utilize surround- ing aids to life, and best able to combat or avoid surrounding dangers. And while this phrase covers the great mass of cases in which there are preserved well-constituted individuals, it also covers those special cases which are suggested by the phrase natural se- lection, in which individuals succeed beyond others in the struggle for life by the help of particular characters which conduce in important ways t.o prosperity and multiplication. For now observe the fact which here chiefly concerns us, that survival of the fittest can increase any serviceable trait only if that trait conduces to prosperity of the individual, or of posterity, or of both, ia ca importaat degree. There can be no increase of any structure by natural selection unless, amid all the which it arises than of other families. Variations which, though advantageous, fail to do this, must disappear again. Let us take a ease. Keenness of scent in a deer, by giv- ing early notice of approaching ene- mies, subserves life so greatly that, other things equal, an individual having it in an unusual degree is more likely than others to survive, and, among de- scendants, to leave some similarly endowed or more endowed, who again transmit the variation with, in some cases, increase. Clearly this highly useful power may be developed by nat- ural selection. So also, for like reasons, may quickness of vision and delicacy of hearing. Though it may be re- marked in passing that since this extra sense-endowment, serving to give early alarm, profits the herd as a whole which takes the alarm from one indi- vidual, selection of it is not so easy, unless it occurs in a conquering stag. But now snppose that one member of the herd perhaps because of more efficient teeth, perhaps by greater mus- cularity of stomach, perhaps by secre- tion of more appropriate gastric juices is enabled to eat and digest a not uncommon plant which the others re- fuse. This peculiarity may, if food i~ scarce, conduce to better self-mainte- nance, and better fostering of young, if the individual is a hind. But unless this plant is abundant, and the advan- tage consequently great, the advantages which other members of the herd gain from other slight variations may be equivalent. This one has unusual ngil- ity and leaps a chasm which others balk at. That one develops longer hair in winter, and resists the cold better. Another has a skin less irritated by flies, and can graze without so much interruption. here is one which has an unusual power of detecting food under the snow ; and there is on~ which shows extra sagacity in the choice of a shelter from wind and rain, That the variation giving the ability t~ slightly varying structures constituting eat a plant before unutilized may be the organism, increase of this particu- come a trait of the herd, and eventually lar one is so advantageous as to cause of a variety, it is needful that the mdi greater multiplication of the family in vidual iu which it occurs shall havu 72 The Inadequacy of Natural Selection. more descendants, or better descend- ants, or both, than have the various other individuals severally having their small superiorities. If these other in- dividuals severally profit by their small superiorities, and transmit them to equally large numbers of offspring, no increase of the variation in question can take place ; it must soon be can- celled. Whether in the Origin of Species Mr. Darwin has recognized this fact, I do not remember, but he has certainly done it by implication in his Animals and Plants under Do- mestication. Speaking of variations in domestic animals, he there says that, Any particular variation would gen- erally be lost by crossing, reversion, and the accidental destruction of the varying individuals, unless carefully preserved by man (vol. ii. 292). That which survival of the fittest does in cases like the one I have instanced is to keep all faculties up to the mark, by destroying such as have faculties in some respect below the mark; and it can produce development of some one faculty only if that faculty is predom- inantly important. It seems to me that many naturalists have practically lost sight of this, and assume that natural selection will increase any advanta.ge ous trait. Certainly a view now widely ac- cepted assumes as much. The consideration of this view, to which the foregoing paragraph is in- troductory, may now be entered upon. This view concerns, not direct selec- tion, but what has been called, in ques- tionable logic, reversed selection the selection which effects, not increase of an organ, but decrease of it. For as, under some conditions, it is of ad- vantage to an individual and its descend- ants to have some structure of larger size, it may be, under other conditions namely, when the organ becomes useless of advantage to have it of smaller size ; since, even if it is not in the way, its weight and the cost of its nutrition are injurious taxes on the or- ganism. But now comes the truth to be emphasized. Just as tlirect selec- tion can increase an organ only in cer- tain cases, so can reversed selection decrease it only in certain cases. Like the increase produced by a variation, the decrease produced by one must be such as will sensibly conduce to preser- vation and multiplication. It is, for instance, conceivable that were the long and massive tail of the kangaroo to become useless (say by the forcing of the species into a mountainous and rocky habitat filled with brushwood), a variation which considerably reduced the tail might sensibly profit the indi- vidual in which it occurred ; and, in seasons when food was scarce, might cause survival when individuals with large tails died. But the economy of nutrition must be considerable before any such result could occur. Suppose that in this new habitat the kangaroo had no enemies; and suppose that, consequently, quiekness of hearing not being called for, large ears gave no greater advantage than small ones. Would an individual with smaller ears than usual survive and propagate better than other individuals in consequence of the economy of nutrition achieved ? To suppose this is to suppose that the saving of a grain or two of protein per day would determine the kangaroos fate. Long ago I discussed this matter in the Principles of Biology ( 166), taking as an instance the decrease of the jaw implied by the crowding of the teeth, and now proved by measurement to have taken place. Here is the pas- sage No functional superiority possessed by a small jaw over a large jaw, in civilized life, can be named as having caused the more frequent survival of small-jawed individ- uals. The only advantage which smallness of jaw might be supposed to give, is the advanta~ e of economized nutrition; and this could not be great enough to further the preservation of men possessing it. Th decrease of weight in the jaw and co- operative parts that has arisen in the course of many thousands of years, does not amount to more than a few ounces. This decrease has to be divided among the many generations that have lived and died in the interval. Let us admit that the weight of these parts diminished to the extent of an ounce in a single generation (which is a 73 The Inadequacy of Natural Selection. large admission); it still cannot be con- tended that the having to carry an ounce less in weight, or the having to keep in repair an ounce less of tissue, could sensibly affect any mans fate. And if it never did this nay, if it did not cause a frequent survival of small-jawed individuals where large- jawed individuals died, natural selection could neither cause nor aid diminution of the jaw and its appendages. When writing this passage in 1864, I never dreamt that a quarter of a cen- tury later, the supposable cause of de- generation here examined and excluded as impossible, would be enunciated as not only a cause, but the cause, and the sole cause. This, however, has hap- pened. Weismauns theory of degen- eration by panmixia, is that when an organ previously maintained of the needful size by natnra.l selection, is no longer maintained at that size, because it has become useless (or because a smaller size is equally useful), it results that among the variations in the size, which take place from generation to generation, the smaller will be pre- served continually, and that so the part will decrease. And this is concluded without asking whether the economy in nutrition achieved by the smaller vari- ation, xviii sensibly affect the survival of the individual and the multiplication of its stirp. To make clear his hypoth- esis, and to prepare the way for criti- cism, let me quote the example he himself gives when contrastiun the alleged efficiency of dwindling by pan- mixia with the alleged inefficiency of dwindling from disuse. This example is furnished him by the Proteus. Concerning the blind fish and am- phibia found in dark places, which have but rudimentary eyes hidden nuder the skin,~ he argues that it is difficult to reconcile the facts of the case with the ordinary theory that the eyes of these animals have simply de- generated through disuse. After giv- ing instances of rapid degeneration of disused organs, he argues that if the effects of disuse are so striking in a single life, we should certainly expect, if such effects can be transmitted, that all traces of an eye would soon disap pear from a species which lives in the dark. Doubtless this is a reasonable conclusion. To explain the facts on the hypothesis that acquired characters are inheritable seems very difficult. One possible explanation may indeed be na.med. It appears to be a general law of organization that structures are stable in proportion to their antiquity that while organs of relatively modern origin have but a comparatively super- ficial root in the constitution, and readily disappear if the conditions do not favor their maintenance, organs of ancient origin have deep-seated roots in the constitution, and do not readily disappear. Having been early ele- ments in the type, and having continued to be reproduced as parts of it during a period extending throughout many geo- logical epochs, they are comparatively persistent. Now the eye answers to this description as being a very early organ ~1 But waiving possible interpre- tations, let us a(lmit that here is a diffi- enity a difficulty like countless others which the phenomena of evolution present, as, for instance, the acquire- ment of such a habit as that of the Vaaessa larva, hanging itself up by the tail and then chancing into a chrysalis which usurps its place a difficulty xvhich, along with multitudes, has to await future solution, if any can be found. Let it be granted, I say, that here is a serious obstacle in the way of the hypothesis ; and now let us turn to the alternative hypothesis, and observe whether it is not met by (lifficulties which are much more serious. Weis- mann writes While the proof of this article is in hand, I learn that the Proteus is not quite blind, and that its eyes have a use. It seems that when the underground streams it inhabits are unusually swollen, some individuals of the species are carried out of the caverns into the open (being then some- times captured). It is also said that the creature shuns the light; this trait being, I presume, ob- served when it is in captivity. Now obviously, among individuals carried out into the open, those which remain visible are apt to be carried off by enemies; whereas, those which, appreciating the difference between light and darkness, shelter themselves in dark places, survive. Hence the tendency of natural selection is to prevent the de- crease of the eyes beyond that point at which they can distinguish between light and darkness. Thus the apparent anomaly is explained. 74 The Inadequacy of Natural Selection. The caverns in Carniola and Carinthia, in which the blind Proteus and so many other blind animals live, belong geologically to the Jurassic formation and although we do not exactly know when, for example, the Proteus first entered them, the low organ- ization of this amphibian certainly indicates that it has been sheltered there for a very long period of time, and that thousands of generations of this species have succeeded one another in the caves. Hence there is no reason to wonder at the extent to which the degeneration of the eye has been already carried in the Proteus, even if we assume that it is merely due to the cessation of the conserving influence of natural selection. But it is unnecessary to depend upon this assumption alone, for when a useless orban degenerates, there are also other factors which demand consideration namely, the higher development of other organs which compensate for the loss of the de~enerating structure, or the increase in size of adjacent parts. If these newer developments are of advantage to the species, they finally come to take the place of the organ which natural selection has failed to preserve at its point of highest perfection.1 On these paragraphs let me first re- mark that one cause is multiplied into two. The cause is stated in the ab- stract, and it is then re-stated in the concrete, as though it were another cause. Mnnifestlv, if by decrease of tile eye an economy of nutriment is achieved, it is implied that the econo- mized nutriment is turned to some ad- vantageous purpose or other ; and to specify that the nutriment is used for tile further development of coinpensat- ing organs, simply changes tile in(lefi- ilite statement of advant nge into a definite statement of advantage. There are not two causes in operation, tllourh the matter is presented as though there were. But pnssing over this, let us now rep- resent to ourselves in detail this proc- ess wilich Professor Weismann thinks will, in tilousands of generations, effect the observed reduction of the eyes the process being that at each sue- eessive stage in the decrease, there must take place variations in the size Essays upon Heredity, p. 87. of the eye, some larger, some smaller, than tile size previously reaciled, and that in virtue of the economy, those having the snlaller will continually sur- vive and propagate, instead of those having the larger. Properly to appre- ciate tilis supposition, we must use figures. To give it every advantage we will assume that there Ilave been only two thousand generations, and we will assume tilat, instead of bein~ reduced to a rudiment, the eye has disappeared altogether. WIlat anlounts of variation shall we suppose? If the illca is that the process has ol)erated uniformly on each generation, the implication is that some advantage has been gained by tIle individuals having tile eyes ~l~~tll less in weight; an(l tllis will hardly be con- teilded. Not to put the hypothesis at this disadvantage, let us then imanine that there take l)lace, at long intervals decreasing variations considerable in amountsay ~l~th, once in a hundred generations. This is an interval almost too long to l)e assumed; but yet if we assume tlle successive decrements to occur more frequently, aild therefore to be smaller, the amount of eacil becomes too insignificant. If, seeing the small Ilead, we assume that the eyes of tIle Proteus originally weighed some ten grains each, this would give us, as the amount of the decrement of 1 tll ,oc- currin~ once in a hundred generations, one grain. Suppose that this eel- shaped amphibian, about a foot long and more than half an inch in diam- eter, weighs tllree ounces a very moderate estimate. In suell case the decrement would amount to TYkrtll of the creatures weight ; or, for conven- icilce, let us say that it amonilted to T~WW , ch would al 1 th whi low of the eyes being taken at some fourteen grains each.1 To this extent, then, each oc- 1 ~ find that the eye of a small smelt (the only appropriate small fish obtainable here, St. Leonards) is about one - one - hundred - and - eightieth of its weight; and since in young fish the eyes are dis- proportionately large, in the full-grown smelt the eye would be probably not more than one two- hundredth of the creatures weight. On turning to highly finished plates, published by the Biblio- graphisches Justitut of Leipzig, of this perenni branchiate Proteus, and other amphibians, I find 75 76 casional decrement would profit the oruanism. T he economy in weight to a creature having nearly the same spe- cific gravity as its medium, would be infinitesimal. The economy in nutri- tion of a rudimentary organ, consisting of passive tissues, would also be but nominal. The only appreciable econ- omy would be in the original building up of the creatures structures ; and the hypothesis of Weismaun implies that the economy of this thousandth part of its weight, by decrease of the eyes, would so benefit the rest of the creatures organization as to give it an appreciably greater chance of survival, and an appreciably greater multiplica- tion of descendants. Does any one ac- cept this inference ? Of course the quantifications of data above set down can be only approx- imate ; but I think no reasonable changes of them can alter the general result. If, instead of supposing the eves to have disappeared wholly, we recognize them as being in fact rudi- mentary, the case is made worse. If, instead of two thousand generations, we assume ten thousand generations, which, considering the probably great age of the caverns, would be a far more reasonable assumption than the other, the case is made still worse. And if we assume larger variations say de- creases of one-fourth to occur only at intervals of many hundreds or thou- sands of generations, which is not a very reasonable assumption, the implied that in the nearest ally there represented, the cadu- cibranehiate axoloti, the diameter of the eye, less than half that of the smelt, hears a much smaller ratio to the length of the body; the proportion in the smelt being one-twenty-sixth of the length, and in the axoloti ahont one-fifty-sixth (the body being also more bulky than that of the smelt). If, then, we take the linear ratio of the eye to body in this amphibian as one-half the ratio which the fish presents, it results that the ratio of the mass of the eye to the mass of the hody will he hot one-eighth. So that the weight of the eye of the amphibian will he but one-sixteen-hundredth of that of the body. It is a liheral estimate, therefore, to suppose that its original weight in the Proteus was one thou- sandth of that of the body. I ma~r add that any one who glances at the representation of the axolotl, will see that, were the eye to disappear entirely by a single variation, the economy achieved could not have any appreciable physiological effect on the or~anism. A Defeated Transcendentalist. conclusion would still remain indefen- sible. For an economy of T~-eth part of the creatures weight could not appre- ciably affect its survival and the in- crease of its posterity-. Is it hot then, as said above, that the use of the expression, natural selec- tion has had seriously perverting ef- fects? Must we iiot infer that there has been produced in the minds of nat- uralists, the tacit assumption that it can do what artificial selection does can pick out and select any small advan- tageous trait ; while it can, in fact, pick out no traits, but can only further the development of traits which, in marked ways, increase the general fitness for the conditions of existence ? And is it not inferable that, failing to bear in mind the limiting condition, that to be- conic established an advantageous vari- ation must be such as will, other things remaining equal, add to the prosperity of the stirp, many naturalists have been unawares led to espouse an untenable hypothesis? From Blackwoods Magazine. A DEFEATED TRANSCENDENTALIST. I. WHEN Evelyn Markham alighted in the evening at the little station of A on the Highland Railway, she found that the snowstorm which had been raging all day had increased in violence ; and the low, sullen, over- charged sky appeared to threaten its continuance. She had a drive of six or seven miles before her crc she reached Glenfoyle House, the residence of her friend Lady Nisbe t, with whom she was going to spend a fortninht. She found a clOSe(l carriage drawn by a pair of handsonie greys slanding just outside the station ; anti she recognized Alistair Macalpinc, Lady Kisbet s coachman, who was seated on the box with his habitual air of monnmental dignity. A porter conveyed 11cr luggage to the car- riare and she stoo(l for a moment to exchange a few words with Alistair. After a friendly greeting and inquiries A Defeated Transcendentalist. about Lady Nisbets health, she asked what was the condition of the roads. It will be very bad, inatam oh, very bad indeed; and Ill no be so sure that well win through. There is wreaths and wreaths here and there; but well chust trust in Providence. Now, matain, if you please, well be going as fast as ever we can. The road was fairly clear in the neighborhood of the station, for the wind swept across it and kept the snow from accumulating to any considerable extent ; but as they pursued their journey, the difficulty of progression became aggravated. It was also ex- ceedingly cold, and Evelyn hud(lled herself into a corner of the vehicle, tucking her mantle more closely round her. The dusk deepened rapidly, and soon she could only see the white snow scurrying past. Once or twice they en- countered wreaths which were only surmounted with diThculty, and with much floundering and plunging of the horses, whose panting and snorting tes- tified their excitement and the violence of their exertions. Alistairs guttural exclamations and objurgations in Gaelic also were not reassuring, for he was usually a very undemonstrative driver, and rarely compromised his dignity by intemperate language. To be sure, he seemed perfectly sober when they started, thought Evelyn ; but it was very cold, and who knows whether he had not fortified himself with an occa- sional drain from some private recep- tacle? Then might he not in the darkness stray from the road, which was possibly almost obliterated by the snow, and precipitate her over a bank or over a ravine? She sat and shiv- ered, partly with cold and partly with apprehension. At times, when one side of the carriage was tilted up at an angle perilously near forty-five degrees, Evelyn had to brace her feet against the opposite seat, expecting every mo- meat to find the vehicle capsized. When, as she judged, about half the journey had been accomplished, she perceived that the road began to de- scend, and the added gloom appeared to indicate that there were high banks or rocks on either side. She peered out, but could discern nothing in the impenetrable mass of gloom. All at once the carriage stopped abruptly, and Alistairs voice could be heard raised in seemingly anxious and angry ejacula- tions. Evelyn pulled down the sash behind the drivers seat, and asked what was the matter. It will be a snow-wreath stand still, ye swine and the beasts is up to their girths, and a trace is broke. Oh, what shall we do, Alistair? cried Evelyn, in a quavering voice. Theres a bit hoosie here, by the side of the road, a queer body lives int, no that wise, Im thinking ; and if the beasts would stand still, I would get down, and see if he would help us. Hi, there Mr. Casanove Just then a light appeared flickering about, and Evelyn heard a mans voice in refined accents exchanging some re- marks with the driver. She looked out and saw a tall man with a stable lantern in his hand, standing by the side of the road ; but the carriage -lamps seemed only to make the darkness visible, and she could not distinguish his features. Finally, he came crunching through the snow to the door of the carriage. Young lady, further progress is im- possible, he said. There is a deep wreath in front of my cottage, and it appears that one of the traces is broken. I think your driver should unyoke the horses ,get on to the back of one of them, and try to reach Lady Nisbets. If she has a~ sledge, it is just conceiv- able that it might reach you here ; but in the mean time I would beg of you to accept my hospitality, such as it is. I suppose there is no alternative,~~ remarked Evelyn ruefully. None whatever, madam, I am sorry to say. So saying, he opened the door of the carriage. She rose from her sent, and he lowered the step, on which she stood for a moment, surveying with a bewil- dered look the wreath in which he stood up to the knees. Allow me, he said coolly, and be- fore she could realize the situation, she felt herself lifted bodily by a pair of 77, 78 powerful arms and carried to the door of the cottage, where she was gently deposited. Though at heart vexed and irritated by the unceremonious though friendly act, she suppressed her annoy- ance, and thanked him with only a shade of cold irony in her tone. Literally and figuratively we can- not, in such circumstances, stand upon stepping-stones, he remarked, answer- ing her unspoken protest. And now, let me help our Highland friend. She stood in the doorway and watched the proceedings. The horses were de- tached from the carriage and extricated from the snow-wreath; one of them was relieved of part of its harness, a rug was thrown over its loins, and Alistair clambered upon its back. Maybe you will be having a drop of whiskey, he said insinuatingly. The exercise will warm you, my friend, was the cool reply. You will need all your sober wits to reach Lady Nisbets, and every moment is pre- cious. Alistair grunted something in Gaelic, presumably of an uncomplimentary character, for the stranger replied sternly in the same language, where- upon Alistair muttered a deprecatory reply in a comically discomfited tone, and rode off without further parley. The stranger now returned to his cot- tage door, and invited Evelyn to enter with an air of deferential courtesy. A huge Newfoundland dog rose from the fireside a.s she stepped into the cottage, and advanced to meet her with dignified scrutiny. What a magnificent dog! she ex- claimed, patting his noble head. The stately animal sloxvly waved its tail once or twice in token of amity, and then returned to its resting-place. C~sar evidently approves of you, remarked the stranger, with a smile but C~sar, C~sar, you forget the door! Whereupon the Newfoundland rose again with a curiously abashed and conscious look, and advancing to the door, slammed it to with its powerful paws, to Evelyns amusement. The apartment which she had entered A Defeated Transcendentalist. was tolerably roomy, and seemed to be a kind of compromise between kitchen and sitting-room. rphe floor was hard and firm and composed of some cement- like substance, while one or two rugs and deer-skins supplied the place of a carpet, and gave to the apartment a comfortable look. A dresser stood op- posite the fireplace; and a framework of plain, wooden shelves filled with books occupied a corner. A deal table was placed in the middle of the floor, and the stranger had evidently been writing, for a brass-mounted mahogany desk was lying open upon it. The roof was low, and, like the walls, was white- washed. A couple of chairs, one of them an armchair, flanked the fireplace, in which a peat fire was smouldering, with the pungent odor of which the atmosphere was impregnated. A cav- alry sabre was suspended over the book- case, on the top of which lay a flute and a bundle of mifsic. The stranger drew the armchair nearer to the fire and invited Evelyn to seat herself, which she did after divest- ing hers elf of her heavy, fur-lined mantle. Had you not better remove your hat? he suggested. You will feel more comfortable. She silently acquiesced, though she inwardly resented somewhat his aggres- sive hospitality, as she considered it. Then she hastily and almost pettishly pulled off her gloves, and held out her hands towards the fire; and where he stood he could see the sullen glow gleaming through the pink flesh on each side of her outspread fingers. Beauti- ful hands they were ; and the rings she wore one of them an engagement ring flashed and shimmered prettily in the light of the fire. The tall and hand- some bronze lamp standing on the table behind her irradiated her shapely head and her host, contemplating her for a brief instant, thought that a very charm- ing genre picture might be made of such materials and such a scene. She for her part was both embarrassed and per- plexed. The heteroclite character of the furniture and domestic arrange- ments, with their blending of the com A Defeated Transcendentalist. mon and the refined, puzzled her greatly, and uneasy speculations began to course through her brain. Was be quite sane? Was there nobody else in the cottage ? As if he had divined the current of her ideas, he said quietly, My house- keeper (I use the word in a very elastic sense) is just now milking the cow, I think, but she will be in presently. She is a Highland woman, and speaks flu- ently only Gaelic, but she is intelligent and kindly, so it will not be difficult to make her understand your require- ments. Thank you very much, but I re- quire nothing, replied Evelyn, consid- erably relieved. And I hope I shall not trespa.ss unduly on your kindness. He shook his head slightly, but made no comment. She shot a swift and comprehensive glance at him. He was a tall and handsome man, rather lean, but evidently robust and vigorous. His face had little regularity of feature, but wore a highbred and intelligent look ; his keen grey eyes peered out from beneath bushy eyebrows running in a straight line along a prominent frontal ridge. The forehead was full and broad, and the chin slightly pro- jecting. His hands were long and sinewy, and a white scar ran obliquely across the back of the right hand. I suppose, said he, smiling, I had better introduce myself as Mr. Austin Casanove. May I beg the favor I am Evelyn Markham, she re- plied. You know that I am paying a visit to my old friend Lady Nisbet; and oh ! what will she say about this ? lie shrugged his shoulders as a Frenchman might, and then re- marked, I am one of her tenants; and when she knows that you are here, she will have no further anxiety. But what about food? I am but ill provided for a ladys visit. Perhaps, however, you wont object to a little porridge and milk? Nothing could be better, said Evelyn, who was dying for a cup of tea. But I bethink me, he added thoughtfully, you ladies like tea. I wonder if there is any tea in the house. Permit me to explain that I dont take tea.? Nor coffee ? Nor coffee. May I ask why? It is a dangerous thing to begin to catechize a doctrinaire. Well, because I do not believe in any nerve-stimu- lants except fresh air and exercise. Then you dont take alcoholic bev- erages, I presume ? No; though not to take whiskey in the Hi~hlands is to be a kind of tree- frog or flying-fish. I venture to assume also that you dont smoke. I see you have an inductive turn of mind, Miss Markham. Well, you are right. I dont. Nor snuff? Nor snuff. Nor chew. She laughed merrily. But why dont you believe in nerve- stimulants ? Why, the juice of butcher- meat is one; and doctors say persons in a certain state might get drunk on a beef-steak. I dont take butcher-meat. And he smiled at her look of discom- fiture. Nor fowls ? Nor fowls, nor game. Though I confess to a little aberration or incon- sistency here, for I eat eggs. That involves a point of gastronomic casu- istry. You are in fact a vegetarian? Well, yes; if you wish to label me. And is C~esar a vegetarian too? C~esar does his best to imitate his master, but has lapses from virtue. You like a bone, dont you, C~sar? The Newfoundland raised his head, and the corners of his large black chaps began to quiver with such evident imag- inary enjoyment that Evelyn could not help laughing. After a sniff or two and a hollow moan he laid down his head again upon the rug, and blinked solemnly, perhaps reproachfully, at his master. 79 so Meanwhile Casanove had risen and proceeded to make the porridge. Eve- h-n watched his operations it was evidently a familiar process with in- ward amusement, but with a grave and attentive face. While he was thus engaged, chatting the while about the storm, Evelyn heard the sound of foot- steps; presently a side door opened, and an elderly woman entered the apartment. She had a pleasing, homely countenance, and despite the promi- nence of her cheek-bones must have been a very comely person when she was young. On seeing Evelyn she smiled and curtseyed. Casanove ad- dressed to her a few words in Gaelic and she nodded energetically, and hav- ing disappeared for a few minutes re- turned with a glazed earthenware teapot of a deep and matured color, which had evidently often stood by the fire in a brown study. She then proceeded to infuse tea. Flora likes both tea and toddy, remarked Casanove, smiling; and Flora gave a low laugh, and again nodded emphatically. Every doctrinaire, Miss Markham, he continued, ashe slowly stirred the porridge, which was now beginning to throb and sputter lazily, is apt to be a benevolent tyrant; and I have to guard against that. And therefore, as freedom is better even than temperance, I like to see Flora taking her tea. It is her ~ pwr si rnuove, her protest against my infallibility. I conceive that society has most to fear from the twin forces of the Radicals and the Fadicals ; for both of these classes are tyrants. But perhaps you are a Radical, Miss Mark- ham.; many ladies are such nowadays, I believe. Well, I dont much believe in gov- ernment by means of Policeman X. And you would have questions in Parliament every time Cohn Clout gets a blow from a baton tant de bruit pour une pomme de terre. Well, Cohn Clouts cranium is of great importance to him. Let Cohn keep his invaluable brains out of the range of batons ; he knows very well where they flourish A Defeated Transcendentalist. and are flourished. But I beg your pardon for talking politics. And it is not usual with me ; for, though a vege- tarian, I observe the Pythagorean maxim to abstain from beans that is, from voting and all the rest of it. Meanwhile Flora had by this time set the table for the evening meal. Eve- lyn got her cup of tea very good it was and took a little porridge and n~ilk~in honor of her host. Flora had seated herself on a stool and proceeded to knit industriously. I grant you, said Casanove, bal- ancing his spoon meditatively on his forefiager, that this is not a concise kind of feeding. It is, so to speak, voluminous. But why should we be in a hurry? Nature isnt. And what a comfort to reflect that if you only give this preparation time, it is sure to be digested. With more artificial dishes, there is always a dread Perhaps that they wont be assimilated, as they call it, though I confess I dont see how a lobster salad or a pdt6 de foie gras can appeal to me. My system refuses to recognize them. Well, your food will do I suppose well enough for a student and a re- cluse, said Evelyn; but I fear it would be insufficient for a man who undergoes severe physical exertion.~~ Pardon me, I roam about these hills all day long on the strength of bread and cheese and milk. She was silent for a few moments, and then said bluntly, Will you pardon me, if I ask what you really are, Mr. Casanove, for you are a perfect enigma to me. I am a kind of practical mineralo- gist, he replied, with a smile. I wander over all this region in search of the various kinds of rock that are found here, and I sell the specimens to the people who make up geological collec- tions and museums. It is rather an interesting occupation, for I make mi- croscopical sections, test with the blow- pipe and with chemical reactions, and so forth. The remuneration is far from princely, but it helps, and then I have my little croft, and grow potatoes and other vegetables. In a word, I live A Defeated Trauscendeutalist. 81 comfortably that is, I have all I want. she drank most ~ladly of the Hebrus I used to fish in a loch hard by, but I when its waters were dyed with blood. have given that up ; the game is not But lo in the midst of the path she worth the candle, for fish is not nour- came upon a naked Boy, who stood and ishing in proportion to its bulk; and gazed fearlessly upon her, and took the why should I (histurb the trout? I tigers by the mane and held them un- dont wish to annoy even my humblest dismayed. And the Dread Mother de- neighbors. I dont think man will ever scended from her chariot slowly and shake off his prinieva.l barbarism till lie with half-sorrowful, half-glad resigna- sits down to a guiltless feast. tion, for she knew that her reign was But I always understood these over; and coming to the Boy she laid things were created for the good of her hand upon his arching brow, and man. said in low and falteiing tones, and the People say so ; but remember that winds from llhodope sighed as she the animals have never been consulted spoke, and the tigers growled sullenly on the question. And observe that our like the sound of departing thunder: finer feelings are at variance with our Thou art come at last, bright offspring I)ractice. Conceive the absurdity of of the Dawn, a nobler Phebus. Tis this : the poet in a lyric mood goes thine to wield the power I have used forth on a fair May morn and sits him and abused. This superfluity and rank down, and makes a dainty little canzo- overgrowth of life has been an inces- net about the lambkins frisking on the sant care to me, and ravening tooth and lnea(l ; then he goes home and dines on claw, pestilence and famine, coupled roast lamb and mint sauce. I won(ier like my tigers here, have been my only he is not ashamed to look the poor remedies. But I grow old and am creatures in the face. Would you eat a weary of slaughter. Here in thy fair fowl if you had to wring its neck? brow resides a power greater than tooth I suppose not. and claw, awl pestilence awl famine. Well, but if you eat it, you are par- Use it well, for Reason can never be ~iceps crimiais. cruel. Destroy the relics of my former But a case might arise when you sway, slay the slayer, defeat organic must either k-ill or be killed. What if death, chase the lion to its lair, the viper you met a tiger in the jungle?~ to its hole. I appoint yon keeper of my I might be attacked by a robber, wi(le domains ; check this hot foison of and have to kill or disable him to pre- life, and keep it within bounds. Let serve my own life. It does not follow the mouth keep pace with the blades of that I am to run amuck among my grass. For if thou slay, as I have ever fellow-creatures. slain since the mists cleared off the Well, but why should you kill dan- face of chaos, then thou art not the gerous animals any more than (lomesti Deliverer, and a mightier than thou, cated ones? Nature made them so. mightier because more merciful, One After all, a tiger bnrnin~ bright in the foreshadowed in every peaceful sunset forest of the night, is as much entitled in every stilly dawn, in cloudless sky to respect as a lamb. awl waveless sea, shall come and sup- It is a hard question ; but I will plant thee, as the dragons of the 01(1 give you my answer in the form of an weltering world have been supplanted. apologue, as the divine Plato used to So saying, she took off her towered dia- do. He paused, and a whimsical dem, and put it on his head and kissed but pleasant smile lit up his features, him with her wrinkled hips. Then Once upon a time Cybele, the ancient mounting her chariot anew and hashing mother, was roaming through the her cowering and chap-fallen tigers woods of Thrace drawn in a chariot by with her bloody whip, all intertwined her two tigers, for she loved her fierce with piercing claws and jagged teeth, children and the sombre woods, the disappeared in the ancient wood, never home of slaughter and swift death, and more to return. LIVING AGE. VOL. LXXXII. 4214 82 Evelyn had listened to him with parted lips and a deep, intent look of boundless interest; and when he had ceased she sighed softly, and passed her hand across her brow. Then after a pause she said, It was worth my while to be storm-stayed to listen to all this. lie gave a low laugh, and slightly waved his hand. I must see if the storm abates ,lie said, and going to the door opened it. The wind charged with snow came whirling in. In this somewhat slid- tered situation the roar of the storni was subdued, but the blast could be heard trumpeting amid the distant hills. Your conveyance, Miss Markham, is quite buried in the snow, lie said. You need not look for deliverance to-night. XVell, well, she replied, & la guerre comme & la gaerre. And I can make myself very comfortable in this armchair. Oh, but you shall have Floras room. It will be a pleasure for her to do this slight service, for she has all a Highland womans respect for gentle- folks. Pray dont inconvenience her or yourself. I could doze quite corn- fortably in this chair. I am not fastid- ious. She took out a tiny watch and looked at it. Oh, it is not very late yet, she said cheerfully. Only half past eight. Would you like a book? I have a fair supply as you see, but in fiction only the divine Walter and Les Mis6- rabies, the prose epic of this cen- tury. I would rather listen to you, Mr. Casanove, she replied, smiling. Ah, I would bore you. All heretics are bores. That is why they have so often been put to death. I am, as you have perceived, a rank heretic, only I dont want to convert any one. You would easily convert me to greater simplicity of life. Indeed women are seldom fastidious about their food, and are very glad when the gentlemen dine out. A Defeated Transcendentalist. It is a singular reflection that cooking is the main occupation of most households, he remarked. No sooner has the lady of the house got up than the shades of her prison-house begin to gather round her. The fresh~ ness and hopefulness and inspiration of the morning are expunged by the thought what is to be for dinner to- day ? Say, shall it be beef or mutton,, arid how transmuted, garnished, bedev-- illed? Pi~ces de r~si stance indeed Let us steadfastly resist them, Miss Markham. I protest woman gets cooked and very much overdone in this broil- ing atmosphere. And then when she has been simmered away into a gelati- nous state, her husband finds that she is not intellectual enough for him. Rest assured no heavenly irradiation can penetrate this greasy steani. Evelyn laughed gaily, and then rising she walked across the apartment to the bookcase with a simplicity and, as it were, domestic ease that inwardly charmed Casanove. You permit me ? she said, as she ran her eyes over the backs of the volumes. By all means. Much of this is too learned for me, she remarked, with a slight shrug. And for me, too, unless in my more strenuous moods. But it is well to~ have books that embody an aspiratioa and remind you of your vows. Plato,, for example I dont often read him,. but his presence rebukes my meaner thoughts. You are a philosopher, Mr. Casa- nove. As for me, she said, with a tinge of sadness, I am a creature of convention without any faith in con- vention. All my paper-boats have gone down the streani. She walked slowly back to her seat,. and seemed to sink into a somewhat. melancholy reverie. After a short while she shook her head impatiently and looked at her host. Have you lived here long? Doyou intend to live here all your life? Why have you forsaken society? But per- haps these are impertinent questions. Given a certain degree of friendship A Defeated Transcendentalist. 83 and friendship may grow rapidly they are most pertinent. You have been in the army, she remarked, glancing at the sabre over the bookcase. Yes, in the French army. I served as a volunteer under General Faidherbe during the Franco-Prussian war. XVliat! you fought for democratic France ? the country of plebiscites, of universal suffrage, tempered by revolu- tion and directed by political boulevaid- ism ? Well, I am a descendant of a Hugue- not family, for one thing. And I dont like the latter-day Goths, the scientific Orsons of modern Europe. And you killed a few Orsons, I sup- pose. Oh, we were beaten, but we did our best, Miss Markham. I give you warning that I am not a benevolent being. Benevolence is often a kind of lazy purring in the sun. I wish people wellout of the world, if need be. Fair play first and philanthropy after- wards No, I (lOnt regret my cam- paigning. I have seen noble deaths an(l soul-satisfying extinctions. I wonder how long it would take to understand you, Mr. Casanove, re- marked Evelyn, with a smile. Perhaps we wish too much to un- derstand each other. Perhaps we should go on revealing ourselves to the very en(L, and leave the world with unguessed potentialities. Curiosity is not neces- sarily love of knowledge. I feel as if the globe would not be quite so inter- esting if the North Pole were discov- ered. Well, n ow, donnaut clomwat, pray tell me something about yourself. Oh, I have been a mere lichen growing on a wall. But it has been a pleasant wall ; for the house where I was born is very old, very quaint, and very beautiful. Then my ancestors have left a bit of their character in it. and so modified my character and tastes. One was a musician, and so he con- structed an organ-chamber; another was a Nimrod, and the spoils of the chase adorn many a corner; another was a book-lover, and compassed sea and land to make a proselyte of a first edition, and so we have a library which contains many rarities ; another col- lected paintings and engravings, and so forth. Oh, yes, dear old Paventry Hall has been my Academe, my college, my shrine and sanctuary. She leaned back in the chair and meditatively clasped her hands behin(i her head, manifestly quite unconscious of the graceful and charmin~ attitude. I perceive, said Austin, after a while, that you have made a fetish of your family abode. I quite understand your feelings ; but you should, I think, resist them. We should sit loosely to our surroundings. We are pilgrims, an(l should have as little scrip and scrip- page as l)Ossible. To be too much at- tached to any person is bad; to be anchored to a house is worse. We should grow on the surface, and not have to be pulled up shrieking like man(lrakes. How long have you been here, Mr. Casa.nove? Two years ; and I think it is nearly time to change my horizon. I detect a sameness in my thoughts and feelings which is ominous. As for family asso- ciations, they are very pleasant and in- teresting, but we have got to live our own life, and our own experiences are more valuable to us than all tli~se mouldy recor(ls. Let us get rid of lumber, inherited lumber particularly~ X~Thy should a thing be respectable be cause it is 01(1? unless it be 01(1 because it is resl)ectable. Happy is the man who has no grandfather, because he does not feel bound to pay him defer- ence. But if your gran(lfatller was a Quaker or a Papist, or an indurated Tory or a vaporous Radical, you are apt to have a leaning that way. lt is hard enough to get the grandfather out of our blood without binding him upon our back. Dont let us cast our nativity backwards. Orion shines for me as it (lid for Meno or Ptolemy. Why bind the sweet influences of the Pleiads? Life was meant to be for you and me a perpetual discovery. Well, for a groping and tottering child like nine it is pleasant to have my shadowy ancestors leading me by the 84 A Defeated Transcendentalist. hand. Apropos of music, I see you delightful, she thought, to waken with play on the flute. Will you not play a the flesh cool and the heart warm! In- little ? nocence is justified by the freshness of With pleasure, though I am but an every dawn. She dressed herself leis- indifferent player. Still, I love the urely, and caine down the little, creak- flute. It is a business-like instrument, lag, wooden stair. When she entered without arri~re-peas~e, while your violin the kitchen-parlor she found Mr. Casa- is a moody enjamt du si~cle, an impas- nove reading aloud to Flora, who was sioned pessimist, if the paradox is not bending over the fir~, preparing a sim- too glaring, even in its gayest humor pie breakfast. What he read seemed full of overtones of sadness. The flute, to be Gaelic from its wealth of gut- on the other hand, is as brisk and cheer- turals. lie greeted Evelyn with calm ful as a morning breeze or if plaintive, and gentle cordiality, and placed a chair never morbid ; it is s~veet without be- for her. ing luscious, lively without hysterics, The storm is over, he said ; I an instrument for alert pedestrians not think your imprisonment draws to an for lotus-eaters. It has even an air of end. I have dug your conveyance out grotesqueness and latent humor which of the snow, and cleared a portion of is diverting. The very triviality of the road, so von will be able to get a screwing it together and blowing little walking exercise. through it excludes artifice and affecta- How very kind and thoughtful of tion, whereas the tuning of a violin is a you ! she said ~ratefully. serious, indeed almost a solemn act. My motives were mixed, he re- Evelyn laughed gaily at the whimsical plied; I need a good deal of exercise description, and he smiled responsively, in the open air. And now for break- Well, I shall play you Beethovens fast. arrangement, with variations, of Ki2ld, The three people took their places at wilist do. rahig sChl((feo. May it prove the table. Flora closed her eyes and a happy presage. You know German, folded hei hands, and seemed to be re- I suppose? pea.ting inwardly a grace, which Casa- All but the genders, was the smil- nove respected by his attitude of silent ing reply, but I like the language. gravity. The meal despatched, Evelyn Yes, it will be very nice when it proposed to go out, and she hastily put gets a literature, remarked Casanove, on some wraps. Issuing into the open so gravely that Evelyn laughed again, air, she found the carriage standing When had she felt so happy? She lis- clear of the snow which had enveloped tened to his playing, which, without it. The air was still keen though no being masterly, was expert and pleas- longer harsh, and the wind had fallen ant; and there were intervals of con- (lead. Side by side with Casanove, she versation gay or thoughtful, till she felt paced to and fro the track which he had a little tired and sleepy, and lie left her cleared in the snow. to arrange with Flora about her quarters They chatted together like old friends, for the night. The bedroom was small, and Evelyn was probably more expan- but delightfully clean and tidy, and she sive than her companion ; for his man- had hardly laid her head on her pillow ner was consistently shaded with an when she sank into a dreamless sleep. air of respectful aloofness and reserve, When she woke next morning she which indicated how he interpreted his had the blissful sensation of having duties as a host brought into unconven- enjoyed a sleep so profound and so tional relations with a lady guest. It refreshing that it transcended mere was astonishin~ how much they found physical repose, and was a kind of fresh to talk about. Even the social themes reconciliation with life. Her feeling of that she touched upon at times seemed tranquillity had been supreme, and the to interest him, though he generally howling of the wind had only lulled her referred them to vast and, as it were, senses and deepened her content. How cosmic principles, and his line of com A Defeated Transcendentalist. ment took a parabolic sweep into ethe- real regions haunted by Platonic ideas and prototypes. Once, after a long pause, Evelyn re- marked half timidly, You indicated last night that you did not intend to remain much longer here. If you come as far south as Lon- don, my father and I shall be very pleased to see you. Daventry Hall is quite near Guildford. I am extremely obliged ; but it is not likely that we shall meet again, he replied calmly, but with a wistful look. She was conscious of quite a sudden pang of disappointment. I am sorry to hear that, she said lightly. My father is highly cultivated as a man of letters ; he held a diplo- matic post at one time ; and you would find his conversation very agreeable. Both indeed would be gainers, and I would sit in a corner and follow the st.range evolutions of a talk between an accomplished man of the world and an idealist. I, too, was once a man of the world, he rejoined gravely. Per- haps I am but a half-converted hermit after all. Let us, however, be satisfied with the short and pleasant meeting which the gods have conspired to grant us, and which I am not likely soon to forget, for such planets seldom swim into my ken. I shall think most of you when you have become a myth to me. Take comfort, if you need it ; you shall be planted like Berenice in the heav- ens, and I shall see your tresses now and then when my sky is clear. She remained silent for a while. mechanically twisting her engagement ring round her finger. You say you wont see me again, she resumed, looking suddenly up, with a shade of reproach in her hazel eyes. Wont is too personal, too full of vell~it~. Still the probability exists that we shall not meet again. Ere long I go to Brittany. I am studying the Celtic tongues. You see I am originally a Celt myself. Pray excuse me again, but women cant help being curious. Why should you condemn yourself to this voluntary poverty? With your talents you could easily Pardon me, Miss Markham, but I happen to be ridiculously rich. My only justification, indeed, for possessing so much wealth, is my ability to do without it. But you were going to tell me something, if I do not mistake. Yes. You call me Berenice, not that I know who she was; but you will suppose that Berenice is speaking. You must know that she was betrothed to her cousin Hector. He was an orphan, her fathers ward, and he and she were brought up together like brother and sister. He was an amiable and charm- ing youth, handsome, high-bred, gener- ous; and I3erenice had a warm and sisterly affection for him. He became a soldier. But, alas he went too often to the Olympic games, and staked his money heavily. How sorry she was, and how she pled with him TIe, too, was full of remorse and contrition, but still lie returne(1 to his fatal habitsytill his patrimony was sadly diminished. Now Berenice was very grieved, and wondered if it were wise to marry him for if he as a lover was so forgetful of himself and of her, what would he be as a husband? How could she be happy, if she could not trust her hus- band? Now what do you say to that ? Did Hector love Berenice? he asked, with a quaint smile. What did Berenice know of love? she replied impetuously. He was silent for a while. I think she should have married him, he said seriously. A betrothal is a sacred tiling. No happiness was ever built upon a broken vow. And if duty brings pain, it is an exquisite pain, not to be bartered for happiness. I have felt, for example, a wild (lelight as I roamed over the hills in stormy weather with a shrivelled and tinglin~ skin, but a warm and bounding heart, and thoughts as merry as morris-danc- ers in my brain. We have no right to grieve for anything save our own misdoing. Never weep for anything save a lost ideal. How selfish and individual that 85 A Defeated Transcemdemh list. is she exclaimed, almost bitterly. I am not so detached, and hope I may never be so. It is our only refuge, he replied, almost sa(lly. And after all we are only anticipating the effect of time. A few months console us for death and disappointment. And nature is inces- santly preaching peace and comfort. 01) ci heilig, ob er bLise Jammert sic der Ungliicksmann. You see me, how I am, and yet I have felt a misery which made life for a time a mere burden. And now I am con- tented and heartwhole, I sleep well, I eat well, I play my flute, I read my favorite books. Grief is a bad habit. If it was natural, nature would be con- tracted in one brow of woe, for death and disaster are universal. Well, I take you at your word, she said, almost defiantly. I3erenice marries hector, and so ends the myth. Soon after they heard the trampling of horses and the jingle of bells, and going to the door they found Alistair holding in a pair of horses harnessed to a handsome sledge. Ah everything comes to an end, said Evelyn lightly. I must leave you now, Mr. Casanove. While she went to put on her wraps, Casanove talked with Alistair, and ascertained that the road, though bad enough here and there, was quite prac- ticable. lIe then assisted Evelyn into I wrapped the rugs care- the sledge auc fully round her. She was pale and silent. Flora~, with whom she had ex- changed a farewell greeting in the cot- tage, stood at the door and gazed smilingly at her. Good-bye ,Mr. Casanove~ said Eve- lyn, holding out her hand. And many thanks for all your kindness. Think of me now and then when you are in Brittany. He smiled, bowed, and stood looking after the sledge till it disappeared at a turn of the road. II. Two years passe(l away. Evelyn had married her cousin and found him an affectionate husband, though there was in his nature an ineradicable fibre of boyish irresponsibility and wilfulness that caused her much anxiety and fre- quent distress. Their married life, however, came to an abrupt termina- tion. Poor h-hector perished in the Egyptian war, leaving Evelyn a child- less widow. She grieved sincerely for him, yet not as deeply as she would have wished to do. 11cr father, on the other hand, did not affect a concern which he did not really feel. His ward had been a source of constant vexation to him ; and he had never concealed his conviction that his brilliant and high-minded (laughter was far too good for the thoughtless and pleasure-loving youth. h3esides, I-hectors death gave him back his (laughter, for she bioke up her house and returned to Daventry hall. She was deeply touched by the eager joy with which the (lignitied and usually reserve(l gentleman had hailed this arrangement. lie took her in his arnm, kissed her fondly, an(l sai(I some- what huskily You should never have left it darling ; but alls well that ends well. Every one, indeed, seemed mile lighted at her return. Even Iharrison, the 01(1 butler, who was very tenacious of his dignity, welcomed her with an odd blending of almost paterna.l affec- tion and episcopal unction; whil ethe housekeeper, who was a Scotswoman and much given to the study of apoca- lyptic literature, so far forgot herself as to burst into tears )vhen she saw the grave, sxveet face of her former mistress. And so the (lays slipped peacefully and pleasantly away, till in the following summer Colonel Markham proposed a tour on the Continent. Evelyn, he said, was looking pale, she studied too much, ate too little, showed an aversion to innocent claret that was singularly ominous, and evidently needed a chanae of air and scene. Even the music she played was sombre. Beethoven was no doubt classical, but there was too much weltschrnerz about him. For his 86 A Defeated Transcendentalist. part, he was tired of those solemn strains in dreadfully flatted keys, that made one think of ones early follies and unpaid bills, and the heart-breaking disasters of Liberal governments. So reasoned the colonel with a whimsical smile, but with looks of tender anxiety. For he had become more than ever at- tached to his daughter now that he realized what her absence meant. Be- sides, the state of her health, her per- sistent sadness, which she evidently tried to throw off so as not to disquiet and distress him, her frequent fits of self-absorption, her increased devotion to her religious (luties, which seemed to him a gloomy presage, all had the effect of rousing him from the uncon- sciously selfish acceptance of her filial attentions which had characterized him in the past. Once when he gently asked her as to the cause of her sadness she said I have not been true to my higher self I should not have married my cousin ; a adi yet, 1 am ashamed and disappointed that the mistake has not proved irreparal)le. This was a psychological paradox that was absolutely unintelligible to the clear-headed man of the world ; aiid he inquired no further. They went to Brittany by Evelyns desire, and travelled leisurely from place to place, enjoying in a sober way the austere beauty of that corner of France, and pleased with the simple, sincere, and antique manners of the people, who have never vet lost their alien look and speech, and who are stamped with that air of vague mehan- chohv which accompanies a suppressed and isolated nationality. Reaching the little village of Polrac on the northern coast, they were so much attracted by its quaint and old- world beauty that they resolved to stay a short while there, and they obtained comfortable quarters at the Cerf dOr, the only atd~erge that it possessed. 01) Sunday they went to the little church where their presence excited no small interest and curiosity. The curd was an elderly man with snowy hair and pale, emaciated features, lit up by a pair of soft blue eyes limpid and inno 87 cent as a childs. In the evening ho called at the auberge, and was ush.ered into the sitting-room with every mark of reverential respect on the part of the cwbergrstes wife. It evidently never occurred to her that any formal prelim- inaries were requisite. The curd had his eatr~e everywhere, quoi / 211e was cor(hially received and in the course of conversation offered his services in showing the strangers the curiosities of the place and neighborhood. He had apparently a wide knowledge of antiqui- ties, and spoke with much zest about 5lolrnens and crornlechs, of which there were several interesting specimens within easy distance. The result was that they made several excursions to- gether, and were soon thoroughly good friends, lie possessed that rtaicete of the heart, that perfect simplicity and unaffected humility combined with cul- ture and unconscious dignity, that lent a rare charm to his companionship. lie knew the entire lore of the district his uncle, indeed, had been curd of the parish before him, and had witnessed many of the horrors and shared in the (langers of the Revolutionary epoch. One evening about a fortnPrht after their arrival he supped with them, and seemed strangely preoccupied and de- pressed. lie made mechanical and sometimes irrelevant replies to theh~ remarks, till at last~ becoming conscious of his seeming want of courtesy, he begged them to excuse him. The fact is, a dear friend of mine is extremely ill dying, I fear, of typhoid fever. He is an Engh~shman, though he fought for France in our period of disaster. lie is not indeed a Catholic, he added, with a sigh, but I fervently believe, notwithstanding, that lie is in bona Jide. I wish all Catholics were like my dear heretickind, compas- sionate, charitable, simple and pure in his life A tear twinkled in his eye, and lie took a pinch of snuff with an agitated look ami manner. Indeed, lie has lived too ascet- ically, he resumed, after a pause. One would have thought that he wished to mortify the flesh, as if he 88 A Defeated Transcendentalist. had much to mortify! he added, with regulated life, and that is favorable to a quaint smile. Once when I wished ultimate recovery. him to share with me an excellent God grant it; but he is very weak~ capon which my good Brigitte had pre- however, he is no longer delirious. pared with special success, lie said, Now, perhaps you will permit me t~ 2lfoa pare, I do not owe a cock to ~s- retire. I must visit my patient. culapius. However, he did take a lit- If you will allow me, Mionsieur le tie, only he said it was fortunate I could Curt, I shall accompany you, said grant him absolution. Evelyn quietly but firmly. Evelyn had grown extremely pale My dear child ! exclaimed Colonel during this guileless talk, her features Markham, the thing is absurd. Think had become tense, while there was an of the infection excited sparkle in her eyes. I dont think typhoid fever is rec- He has been a delightful compan- ognized as infectious. I must see him ion, the cur6 went on sadly. When once more, she added pleadingly. I think of him I am reminded of that Her father shrugged his shoulders fine saying of Goethes which he once with a resigned air. I-fe knew that quoted to me The golden age is indeed when the tiny vertical furrow appeared past, but good men bring it back. Oh, on her forehead expostulation was use- a good man! And with so gay a hu- less. mor at times. And to see him now! When they had left the auberge, th~ What does the doctor say? asked cur6 said, Evelyn, in a low voice. Pardon me, madam, but I under He speaks despondently, says that stood my friend to say that you had my friend has lived too much like a.n married monsieur your cousin. anchorite, even declares that lie got the Yes, I aid but he perished in the typhoid fever by drinking water or milk Egyptian war. We wished hini t~ instead of honest wine. Dr. Brissot is leave the army, but he refused. He a good fellow, but afarceur at times. said that lie wished to be of some use I think I know the gentleman, before he left the world, for he had a. said Evelyn huskily. Is not his name presentiment that lie would never re- Austin Casanove? turn. That is indeed his name, replied They then proceeded in silence along the curd, with an astonished look, the village street till they reached at it~ lie was too well-bred to ask ques- farthest extremity a little cottage with tions, but his look was significant small, arched bay-windows, and stand- enough. He re lapsed into a fit of pro- lug back from a small garden tilled with found abstraction. Suddenly a gleam flowers, which now exhibited the disar of intuition flashed across his face. ray of the declining year. The wester- Tiefts! I understand. You must ing sumi shone omi the windows and be the lady, madam, of whom he spoke illumined them with a roseate flush. to me one day. On the right a sonibre nioor, covered Did he speak about me? ex- with heath and dry and stunted furze~ claimed Evelyn, blushing keenly. stretched onwards to the rugged chiff~ lie seemed, if I am not indiscreet, that overlooked the sea. A soft even to have for you a yeritable c~dte. That lug breeze, impregnated with saline is, if you are the lady whom he once flavors and the odor of seaweed, brought entertained in his cottage, when you with it the deep murmur of the ocean. were overtaken by a snowstorm. Far to t.he left the dreary lande, out Yes, I ani the same person. of which emerged mossy boulders and My daughter was much impressed angular masses of granite, extended by him, reniarked Colonel Markham. bleak and bare till it reached a low line And all I have heard of him is greatly of hills, crested here and there with to his credit. Well, let us hope for the dark clumps of firs. best. He has led a very sober, well- The (loor of the cottage was opened A Defeated Transcendentalist. 89 by an elderly woman, apparently the centuries too soon; we have not yet femme dn manage, clad in the medueval learned of thee. But all those who costume of Breton paysaroles, and wear- have denied themselves and abjured ing on her head a monumental coiffe. the world are thy humble brethren. Her features were harsh and ru~ged, Que Ta grandenr soit rnis~ricordieuse but the eyes were soft, and bore traces pour ma petitesse. of weeping. She greeted the curd and his companion in low tones, and with the accent of one to whom French is a foreign tongue. Then, effacing her- self, she allowed the two to enter the cottage. The curd led the way into his friends bedroom. It was paved with brick and very plainly furnished. The tears came to Evelyns eyes when she recognized the cavalry sabre hanging above the empty fireplace. Casanove was lying on a low curtained bed, per- fectly inert, and apparently in a state of coma. His face was strangely attenu- ated, and the long, sinewy arm resting on the coverlet seemed denuded of flesh, and showed the corded muscles with the grim precision of an anatom- ical preparation. Evelyn was seized with a fit of trem- bling so convulsive that she sank into a chair placed at the 5i(le of the bed, and buried her face in the curtains. The cur6 poured a little brandy into a spoon, and tried to introduce it into Casanoves mouth. He swallowed the liquid with a painful grimace, and awoke. Ah, my good friend, he said in a faint voice, and with a long-drawn sigh, you (10 not forget me How are you now, mon enfant? asked the curd with a stifled voice. Je me meurs, je erois, was the quiet reply. Do you wish the last rites of Mother Church ? As you please, mon pare, Casanove replied. Then he went on in a solemn monotone, I have loved righteousness and hated iniquity. Will not God him- self say, Let him rest in peace ? The cur6 handed him an ivory cru- cifix, which Casanove pressed to his lips. Oh miracle of self-sacrifice ! oh divine example of resignation ! he murmured feebly. Give me of thy magnanimity. Alas! thou wert born Amen! said the curd, and made a sign of the cross upon Casanoves fore- head. Evelyn rose from her seat, and bend- ing over the bed gently grasped Casa- noves hand, and pressed it to her lips, while the tears streamed silently down her pallid cheeks. The effect was electrical. A smile of intense, incredulous joy illumined hi~ features. Are you really Evelyn Markham? he whispered, with a smile. En chair et en os ? You are not the reflection of my dream? She pressed his hand, and bending over him whispered in his ear, Do not die and leave me, Austin. I have loved you ever since I first saw y ~ Hold me, Evelyn, he said hoarse- ly ; I seem to be falling into abysses keep me back I oh, keep me back Then the surging blackness of the limbo of life and death swelled up and engulfed him. He sank back, and lay inanimate, while Evelyn, sick with dread, sat trembling in every limb, but still retaining a grasp of his hand. When she had sufficiently recovered her self-possession, she intimated to the cur6 her intention of watching by the bedside, and desired him to inform her father of this intention. It was a dreary vigil, interrupted only by the occasional entrance of the Bre- ton feruroc du rn& moge, an(l by a visit of Dr. Brissot, a stout, thick-set man with a massive, leonine head, who evidently had some (lifficultv in controlling hi~ quick, petulant movements. He fixed his keen and piercing eyes on Evelyn with such an imperiously inquiring look that Evelyn was constrained to say, An 01(1 friend, monsieur. He nodded 1)rusquely, and proceeded to examine his patient with a deft and delicate touch. He then gave Evelyn instructions as to the requisite treat- 90 ment, assuming in his rapid, intuitive way that she purposed to nurse the in- valid during the night~ He is no worse, he remarked, in- deed rather better ; but then an ebbing tide does not retreat from the shore all at once, there is influx and reflux. Still, for the present he is nm tcoitirtet mieex. The man has lived a hermits life and impoverished his blood. A pest on all moral pedants. Which is worse, mademoiselle ; to disbelieve in vo ur body or your soul? I shall return in the early morning. Adieu, made- moiselle. And lie bustled noiselessly out of the room, if such a paradox may be permit- ted. Casanove woke up again after a couple of hours profound stupor. He looked vaguely about him for a time, till he realized Evelyns presence, and then his look brightened. Mv head, ma ch~rie (Evelyns heart thrilled at the endearing tone), my head is as full of noises as a de- caying house. Did a door slam just now ? No, dear Austin, the stillness has been awful. Then let us suppose it was the gates of Hades closing. You hare kept me back. Ah! it is a reversal of the eld myth. Eurydice has gone down to the nether world to bring back Or- pheus. Give me time, Eurydice I fol- low the flutter of your garment. He showed a febrile eagerness to speak, but Evelyn placed her fingers on his mouth. He kissed them aiid fell asleep again. Casanove recovered, but his conva- lescence was slow and protracted. His ascetic habits had unquestionably re- duced his physical powers ; and eveii yet lie was inclined to rebel against the generous diet provided for him. But Evelyn was implacable. He too got to know what the furrow in her fair fore- head meant. The consciousness of her unlimited sway over his heart made her at times a little wilful and sportive a charming trait in one who had been habitually grave. In the Early Forties. And what shall I do with my money, Evelyn? he asked one day. Have no anxiety on that score, she rejoined, with a demure smile. I shall help you to spend it. In a ~vor(l, though he remained much of the idealist he had been for so many years, lie abandoned that Levitical scru- pulosity in meat and drink which Eve- lyn maintained to be only a kind of sublimated self-conceit for in a mar- ried man that is how originality is apt to be designated. He had, however, his compensations; his wife provided him with new ideals. G. DUNN. From The New Review. IN THE EARLY FORTIES. ATTENTION was called last year to the disappearance of an old house which was supposed to be haunted, and to those who knew it in its palmy days, when the most brilliant intel- lectual society was collected within its walls, it was indeed haunted by pleasant memories and tender regrets. One of the huge modern buildings, probably intended for flats, is now ris- ing on the site of what was once 13, Ilyde Park Gate, Kensington Gore, the residence of my father, the late Nassau William Senior, and built by him about the year 1826. On his marriage in 1821 he took a small house in Kensington Square. From its windows Cobbett was often seen digging in his garden, and a glimpse of Talleyrand caught as he walked round the square. James Mill and his family lived also in the square, and his celebrated son John was one of my fathers early friends. He was very kind to children, and I remember his dancing a quadrille with me at his fathers house. Many authors and artists lived at Kensington, and there was no lack of society. My father used to frequent the Duke of Sussexs and the Duchess of Kents parties at the palace, and at Holland Ilouse he was a welcome guest. Callcutt, Wilkie, and Sir Thomas Law- In the Early Forties. rence also lived near us. My brother sat for one of Lawrences pictures and our dog for one of Wilkies. A sedan chair even was kept in those days at the Kings Arms, and I remeniber going to a childs party in it with my brother. When children came the hotise in the square became too small ; my father was attracted in his walks to chambers by a plot of ground opposite hyde Park; he took it on a long lease and built the house he lived in to the end of his life. There could not be a more delightful situation ; the Park and Kensington Gardens in front and the real country on the other side. There is a minia- ture of my brother and myself as little children sitting by an open window, through which is a lovely country view, with the Surrey hills in the distance. This was the view from our back drawing-room ; every inch of it is now covereol with bricks and mortar. The highroad which divi(led us from the Park was very cheerful in those pre- railroad (lays. The turnpike was just below, and every evening at eight the mails assembled anol halted in trout of our nursery windows. The gay red liveries, the guards blowing their horns, the prancing horses, were a never fail- ing delight to the little people within, aiiol almost made up for the flatness of going to bed. The house and garden stood upon half an acre of ground ; the small plot in front was uninteresting a damp gravel passage connected it with the back garden. This passage was not without its charm, for in one corner stood the tap whence we tilled our watering pots, and proceeded to soak our pinafores and flowers. The back garden was the scene of our revels in the summer, which then seemed the longest part of the year. We were aided and abetted by our next door neighbors and earliest playfellows, the children of the late Sir James Stephen, all, except the eldest, who died early, now distinguished in their turn; and their friend, Frederick Gibbs, late tutor to the Prince of Wales. My nearest contemporary was Fitz-James, after- 91 wnrds the judge, who was at that time a charming little boy with long, fair curls falling on his shoulders. Sir Jamcs Stephen was at that time in the Colonial Office, and he used to call for mv father almost every morning on his way into town. Another walk- ing companion was John Mill. He used to striole up and dowmi our dining room as we were finishing breakfast, talking energetically in his calm, incas- ured tones. I remember an account lie gave us of a tour in Italy which inter- ested us young ones extremely. We lost sight of him, but not altogether, after he married and lived chiefly in the country. With the Stephcns, on the other hand, although thcy also. left London before I was quite grown up, our intimacy never slackened, and Sir James was so kind as to extend it to us of the younger generation. I never felt in the least afraid of him ; I used so visit them wherever they pitched their tent. Sir James used to say that when a mnami began to grow 01(1 lie felt the absolute necessity of looking on the face of nature. They mievcr stayed long in one place, for he found refresh- mnent in the change of external objects. Every afternoon he used to sally forth for a two hours walk. This he called winding up the clock. I remember how lie used to skim over the ground at Haileybury, his wide-brimmed hat crowned with large ferns to keep away the flies. Every morning lie worked in his study with a little National school boy, who read to him with the niost intolerable accent and absence of com- prehension. My room was once next to his study, amid I heard it going on, and marvelled how lie could endure it. His eyesight was so bad that his hiistor- ical studies hind to be carried on in this way, but his memory was so accurate that lie could point out the volumiie, and even the page, to which lie wished to refer. He would talk at leisure times by the hour together, in somewhat of a momiotomie, with his eyes shut ; deeply interested in his subject. He had a touch of romance which could astonish no one who was comiversant with his In the Early Forties. writings. The epilogue to Stephens Ecclesiastical Essays, which does justice to all denominations, and ex- presses a trust that no human being will be sentenced to eternal damnation, created a great sensation in the ortho- dox world. It was a subject which constantly engrossed his thoughts. 1 once heard him say, If, as I walk up Fleet Street, I believed that most of the mvriads of human beings I meet were doomed to perish everlastingly, I could not endure to live. Sir James always declared that he would not live beyond his seventieth year the al- lotted age of man and in his seventy- first year be died ; happily before his wife, for he never could have endured her loss. Maithus and Blanco White were in early days a great deal in our house, but all I remember of the former is that he had a cloven palate, which im- peded his utterance, and that the latter (who was my brothers tutor) was very affectionate and kind to me. I can see him now running to meet me with out- stretched arms after a short absence. He played delightfully on the violin. He had been a Spanish priest, and the book he wrote on his conversion, Let- ters of Leucadio Doblado, is very curious, an(l ma(le a great sensation. A relation of ours who had been con- verted in Rome by Cardinal Wiseman, found the book on the table on her return to our house. After reading it she exclaimed, Who can have written this book, filled with lies ? I did, replied Blanco White. She was never easy till she got him to talk of it and give his reasons for changing his reli- gion. A long stay at Archbishop Whatelys completed her cure. Whately was the greatest friend my father had; their intimacy began at college. It had not entered into my fathers plans to strive for honors. In a letter to my brother, written many years afterwards, he says My de- fect was in not having employed the first years of my residence in the studies of the place ; but I was elected at six- 1 Ecclesiastical and Historical Essays. teen years of age, and found the tutor anxious only to make his tutorship a sinecure. . . . I should have employed my two first years in the preparation for a first class. As it was, I did not altogether waste them, for I read a. great (leal of Latin, French, and En- glish, and some Greek. He wrote to his father: My dear father, I have been plucked. I ~ ill get first class next term, and he added a funny little drawing of a boy flinging a lexicon at his tutors head. It was in divinity that he failed. To the question, What is the inward and spiritual grace of baptism ? he replied in the sense, but not in the words of the catechism, and on being repri- manded he answered that if he had been asked the question when he was a child, he could have replied more ac- curately, whereupon he was plncked.a He at once engaged the services of Whately, who was then rising into no- tice as the first private tutor in logic and Aristotle that the university pos- sessed ; anol with his assistance, and by his own indefatigable exertions, achie ved the unprecedented triumph of winning at the very next public exam- ination the highest class of honors after a few months application. lIe wrote to his tutor : Deai- Whately, I had got ready plenty of fine, or rather strong (for they would have been true), speeches to express how truly I felt my obligations to you but the piesent event has spoiled all the need of them, for solely owing to you as it is, it is what only the highest talents and the most friendly zea.l in a tutor could have procured. I need only thank you now for a time and at a pe- riod of the vacation which I fear must have most materially interfered with your plans. I was at the time so con- vinced of the sacrifices I was occasion- ing you to make that nothing but the important interests that were involved in it would have made me press for your accepting me, but I calculated thus: that no inconvenience that I From the register of the Demies of Magdalen college, vol. iv., p. 165. 92 in the Early Forties. could occasion to you could be equal to the advantage I should obtain myself; and the event has proved, I hope, that I was right. You may suppose how many people 1 have to astonish with it, so for the present, adieu. Believe me, most sincerely and gratefully yours, N. W. S., For more than half a century the pupil and master remained firm friends, and they died within a few months of each other. Our house was Whatelys home whenever lie wished to come to London, and I cannot remember the time when his tall, gaunt ticrure was not familiar to me. Tie was very kind to us children, but lie had a way of holding us over his head with out- stretched arms lie called this turning us into weathercocks, awl it tlse(l to frighten us to (leath. When at that sublime altitude he would turn us round an(l rouli(l, an(l the next minute he would be crawling over the floor and growling like a lion. We liked it much better when he taught us to imike boomerangs, and talked about the trees and beasts an(l birds in Australia ; I fancy that his great interest in the col- onies was partly caused by his anxiety to suppress transl)ortation. One of his favorite occupations was budding trees. We had two mulberry-trees which, to- gether with a copper beach and a weep- lag ash, formed the glory of our lawn. We owed the second mulberrytree to the archbishops skill. A large branch of the l~arellt tree was for some time subjected to treatment, an(l then cut off au(l transplanted. It grew and flour islied, and was a comI)lete success. lie was utterly regardless of appear- ance. If lie canie to us without a ser- vant, and perceix~ci a hole in his black stocking, lie would put a piece of stick- ing plaster on the correspon(hing part of his leg to conceal the defect. lie used to sit by my side at breakfast, bal- ancing his chair, with his legs twisted into some extraordinary k not, which could not be untied in a hurry, playing with the tea leaves, scattering them over the table, and setting down his wet cup on the cloth so as to make a succession of little rings, totally en- 93 grossed in the conversation which was (Yoincr on. I never knew aiiy one who could drink so much tea except Dean Stanley. They would both imbibe cup after cup, till the tea became so atten- uated that they could relish no more. I often thought that he resembled Dr. Johnson in other respects besides his capacity for tea and talk. He had the same good sense, the same power of picturesque illustration, the same sin- cere piety, but entirely without the old doctors bigotry and superstition ; the sanie originality, the same generosity, for he was known more than once to give one thousand pounds to a deserv- ing object, although he declared that he had never given a penny to a beggar. his rule was to spend the whole of his official income omi his diocese. He lived as a gentleman with about three thousand pounds a year might have lived. i-ic had a l~ouse, Redes(lale, a few miles from Dublin, as well as the l)alace on Stephieiis Green, and in neither was there the least show or luxury. After Mrs. Whiatehys death he gave up Redesdale and took a very much smaller house, called Roebuck. When my father and I visited him there in 1862 we could not find the place, an(l asked several passers-by for the archbishops house, but all professe~l norance. At last we asked for Arch- bishop Whatelys house. ~ Ali is it Mr. Whiatehy ye muane ? was the re- ply, ami(l we were shio~vn it at once. They would not recognize his title. his theological works read somewhat cold comnl)are(h with those of the pres eat (lay. He was miot a mystic but reste(l faith entirely on reason. There miever were such excellent schoolbooks as those he compiled for the National schools, avoiding all topics likely to (his turb thie consciences of Protestants or Roman Cathiolics. Archbishop Murray and he were excellent friends, but since the death of that prelate, a history for Roman Catholic children has been used in all the Roman Catholic schools. In it Philip II. is described as one of the best and wisest kings of his time, Mary Queen of Scots as not only innocent but holy, James II. as the kind amid 94 good Duke of York, truthful, gener- ous, and affectionate, the idol of his people, Queen Mary II. was cruelly treated by her husband William III., the inventor of blood money and patron of Jonathan Wild. Excellent as were his writings, Whate- lys conversation was still more strik- ing. Some short sentences have been preserved, such as In a dark mind, as in a dark room, enemies may lie down in different corners without their presence being known. Bring in the light, and they instantly rise and fight until one expels the other ; the incon- sistency of conduct which arises from the co-existence in the mind of opposite opinions is not a moral, but an intellec- tual defect; it can be remedied only by bringing in light. Honesty is the best policy, but he who is honest from this motive is not an honest iuan. A man is not a pig because he is born in a pi~sty. Many of such aphorisms are to be found in his editions of Bacon, of Paley, his logic and rhetoric and in the selections from his commonplace book ; and some of his conversations are recorded in my fathers journals in Ireland. He was accused of quotlug only from his own and his friends works. His capacity for friendship was so great that he was perhaps led to overvalue his friends doings and writ- ings, and his life was too full of action and duty to give bun much time for neral reading. This was perhaps one cause of his originality, and an original man is apt to repeat himself. He de- lighted in Scotts and Miss Austens novels, and in narrative poetry. Lyrical, introspective poetry was not in tune with his active, healthy mind. He delighted in strange, true stories. I remember one story, in which he took special interest, as it presented a curious problem whether it was a womans duty under all circumstances to live with a husband who was beneath her in mind and habits. It was at breakfast one day that the story was discussed the party present, besides our own fam- ily, consisted of Madame Mohi and Madame and MIles. de Peyronnet. The heroine of the story was a woman in Iu the Early Forties. humble life, who married, when very young, a soldier, and was wrecked with him on the coast of India. All the crew and passengers were supposed te have been lost, except this one woman and an officer, who saved her. She was very beautiful, aiid he educated and married her. In time, she again be- came a widow, and ieturned to England; he had left her all his money, and she was well received by his relations~ being still very charming. C) ne day her maid told her that she was going te be married to a discharged soldier. The mistress approve(l, and asked to see him. When he was introduced, after looking stea(lily at him for some min- utes, she went up and fetched a shawl. Do you know that shawl ? she asked. Yes, he replied, I gave it to my wife when we married. I am your wife, she exclaimed. She took him back, and he drank away all his senses, and squandered her fortune, and finally died after making her life miserable. The discussion which followed was very animated. The archbishop main- tained that she xvas right ; that she had no business to consider her happiness; that the only worthy object for us all is to do our duty, and that when we have reached the end of this journey of life it will matter little whether we have travelled in a first-class carriage or plod- ded our way wearily on foot. Madame Mold was open-mouthed on the othei- side ; declared that no woman ought t~ degrade herself; that she ruined not only her own life but the lives of her husband and maid, who would have done very well if she had held her tongue and let them marry each other. She and the archbishop went into ali sorts of moral questions, and we were all very much excited. It was a mem- orable conversation, Madame Mohi wrote to me afterwards . . . the trimming I got for my immorality in (leclaring that she was a ~ 005 e,and should have kept it to herself, and your leavin~ me in the lurch instead of say~ ing what yoti thought that she had no right to keep her secOli(l husbands inheritance to maintain the first with. It was a fine story. In the Early Forties. 95 Few people know that the archbishop a report, which is still in the annals of wrote one of the best of modern fairy- the Home Office. The Royal Commis- tales in a delightful childs book by sion for the Amendment of the Poor Mrs. Whately, called iReverses, or the Law, of which my father was the lead- Fairfax Fanillv. The tale is called ing member, soon followed, and caused Norval, and describes a shepherd a complete change in the system of re- lad disgusted with his position, who lief. A knighthood and five hundred falls asleep in a fairy ring, and wakes pounds were offered to Mr. Senior and up to witness their revels. He longs refused by him, but he was very grate- to be a fairy and is admitted to their ful to Lord Melbourne for appointin~ bands. The complete disillusion and him one of the twelve masters in chan- his endeavors to regain his mortal state cery in the year 1836. It was not an are admirably told, and very suggestive, increase of income but of leisure, which I think the archbishop was, although he valued far more. lie was at that full of wit, deficient in humor, for he time a successful conycyancer. His never made us laugh as did another of only instructor had beeii Lord Chaneel- my fathers friends, Sidney Smith. I br Sugden, who has often told me of have not so much to say about him, the visit to his chambers of a middle for although he was frequently at our aged clergyman with his son, whom he house, and very kind to me, he died offered as a pupil. The offer was ac- just about the time I came out. But cepted, and from a pupil Mr. Senior when I was twelve years old we all soon became an intimate friend. The went to stay at Combe Florey, and lie work entrusted to him was done so well gave me The Mysteries of Udolpho and so rapidly that his teacher acquire(1 to read. There was a pony to ride, and a high opinion of his talent, and whelk the question was which of us, my Mr. Sugden took silk Nassau Senior brother or myself, was to have it, and succeeded to a great part of his busi Sidney Smith settled the qnestion by ness. He was welcomed to Sugdens taking a book and saying that the first house, where his dislike of dancing, letter lie came to beginning one of mnsic, and cards was sometimes em- our names was to be that of the winner. barrassing to his hostess, but he wa~ I also remember how he amused us always ready to talk and still mOre, to by telling us how he doctored the vil- listen to any conversation worth hear- lagers; and I recollect his calling on us ing. The career of Lord St. Leonards at Hyde Park Gate, and suggesting sub- was a very successful one He Wa jects from the Poor Law for decorating born quite in humble life and rose to our house. Ills genial manner, the the very top of his profession. I way you saw a joke dawn in his face, once asked him to describe his day. added much to the words lie spoke. Well, he replied, I will tell von The subject of all others which en- what my life was when I was attorney- grossed Mr. Seniors thoughts in early general. We will begin a.t three oclock days was the state of the poor. Many in the morniiig, when you may imagine years afterwards, when I was riding nie staggering with fatigue up the step with him in the green lanes round of my house in 2 Russell Square on my Hampstead, now, alas, covered with return from the House of Commnons,to houses, he said to me, When I was find Lady Sugden waiting for me with twenty-five I resolved to reform the a cup of tea. I then used to go to bed, English Poor Laws. His early life at with strict injunctions to be called at home in his fathers parsonage had six. My briefs were brought to me shown him the demoralizing effect of and I set to work for a couple of hours. the existing system, and in 1830, a few Its substance is contained in an article in His- days after Lord Melbourne became home torical and Phuiosophicai Essays, by N. W. Senior. secretary, he requested Mr. Senior to Vol. ii. Longmans, 1S65. 2 ~ cannot remember whether it was in Gujifordi inquire into the subject of comnbi- Street or Russell Square. It was somewhere in nations and strikes. The result was that region. 96 I then had breakfast and slept for a short time before I was obliged to at- tend consultations. At ten oclock I went into court, and there remained until it was time to go to the house, where I stayed answering questions until the small hours of the morning. Ofteu I was called upon to make a speech at the end of the debate, and so da capo to the next day of toil and trouble. On one occasion, when he was lord chancellor, he had to reply to the Duke of Newcastle, who annoyed him by speaking of him constantly as a law- yer. He got tired of this, and said, I do not understand why the noble (luke is constantly calling nie a law- yer, I have never called him a states- man. I-he went through all this labor, al- though he was subject to severe attacks of illness. Even these did not person- ally injure him, for on his iiinetieth birthday I took my little children to IBoyle Farm and heard him make a speech to the schoolchildren of the neighborhood, to whom he gave this fete to commemorate the event~ and he lived four years afterwards. He told me an amusing story of his being shut up in the great lunatic asylum near iDublin when he was Irish chancellor. He was ri(hing out quite alone before breakfast, and thought he would go and visit it. All went well till he tried to get out, when the officials strenuously Ol)pOsed his departure. But I am the lor(l chancellor, he said. Ak, I dare say, was the answer, we have a many lord chancellors here. My father was so thoroughly social that he used to like us all to sit in his room or be running in and out of it. A young prig of those days complained that he could never see Mr. Senior except surrounded by his family. I remember once bursting in when I was a child and seeing a stout, dark gentle- man, whom my father called the Corute (Ic Survilliers, alias, King Joseph of Spain. There never was a house better adapted for society. Lady Duff Gordon used to say that ours was the best house she knew to meet a friend or to avoid a In the Early Forties. bore. Sidney Smith used to call it the Chapel of Ease to Lansdowne House, where, at that time, every one with any claim to distinction and celebrity used to be gathered round the Mec~nas of the age. Drawn together by the New Poor Law, Lord Lansdowne was one of my fathers most intimate and kindest friends. Breakfasts were all the fash- ion. When two or three politicians wished to lay their heads together, or two friends wante(l an intimate chat without interruption, they asked each other to breakfast. My father used to brea.kfast in this way two or three times a week with Lord Lansdowne, and con- stantly a frieiid or two dropped in at our own table. Lord Dalmeny (father of the l)resent Lord Rosebery) was one of our most constant and welcome guests. Besides these intimate little gatherings, breakfast parties were given by Lord Lansdowne, Monckton Mimes, Bear Ellice, Van (icr Weyer, aiid many others. My father was very fond of giving them, and the most interesting and nourishing conversations I ever heard were at these parties. They would not suit the unwieldy society of the present day ; they were too small (twelve the very outside, including our- selves) to be of any use in paying off social debts. The same people were invited again and again if they were good talkers or listeners, or people that others wished to meet. It was the best opportunity for general conversation. Very few women were invited (Mrs. Grote used to say that women were non-conductors, and would split a party into t~te-& -t~tes). No one could say that such parties were waste of time, for it was mome improving to listen to Whately, Macauhay, Sidney Smith, Bun- sen, Guizot, or Tocqueville than to read a chapter of their works. Another social function of those days was the ride in Rotton Row. It was a much more important part of the day than it is now. Afternoon parties were rare, and voted bores ; and ladies days of reception, except Sunday afternoons, were unknown. It was the custom to ride all through the spring and summer In the Early Forties. from five to seven. Three times a week a military band played to a fashionable as well as motley audience on foot in Kensington Gardens, just before the bridge over the Serpentine, and the riders used to congregate round on the edge of the road. Often the queen in her carriage, with her military escort and outriders in scarlet liveries, would sweep through the Row, and the riders form into a hedge on either side, their horses reduced to unwilling immobility. Then the band would strike up God $ave the Queen, and loyalty was stirred in every breast. Nowhere but in London could such a scene take place, such an assemblage of fine horses and of men and women completely at home in their saddles. Any attempt at show-off was in bad taste. The em- peror, at that time Prince Louis Napo- leon, used to mount a fiery steed which pranced and curvetted down the Row, and excited nothing but ridicule. Peo- ple of all sorts and ages rode. Bishops, ministers, politicians, idlers, lawyers besides the gay motes brought out by the London season. Early in the forties I was promoted to ride with my father, and for more than twenty years we were joined in turn by nearly all the most distin~uished men of the day, and by no one more frequently than Lord Lansdowne, who talked over almost every political question with Mr. Senior. When in London they met several times a week, and when parted they kept up a lively correspondence, of -which I have a great many letters on both sides. Lord Lansdowne was like my father in one respect. He preferred listening to talking, but in a small party no one told better stories or was more delightful. His kindness and courtesy were perfect. He was essentially a grand seigneur, and he fulfilled all The demands made by society on those who occupy such a.n exalted position. At Bowood he had a splendid collection of pictures, most of which were chosen by himself, and Lansdowne House was ;also full of treasures. He was exceed- ingly fond of music, and there never -were such concerts as those at Lans days of the Italian opera, and Mario, Grisi, Persiani, Lablache, Tamburini, and many others were all heard within the walls of tbat magnificent concert- room. None but the best singers of the day were, admitted to perform. Everybody made a point of being punc- tual, although the room was so large that it never became crowded. The royalties, the Duke of Wellington, and other great grandees sat in front. Pres- ently a thrill went through the audience when Lord Lansdowne entered with Grisi on his arm and followed by the other performers. They always sang their best at Lansdowne House for they knew how highly they were appreciated by their courteous host. The dinner and evening parties were equally agree- able. Besides all the celebrated peo- ple one wished to stare at, one met all ones most agreeable friends. The first great party I ever was at was at Lans- downe House, and I was introduced to the poet Moore~ whose last party it was. As everybody knows, his cottage was near Bowood, where a room was always reserved for him and called the Poets Room. My father spent some time of every year at Bowood. There is a good story of his being busily engaged in writ- ing in a room full of company, to whom Moore was singing, and the scratch of my fathers pen was by no means an agreeable accompaniment. So one of the guests said very politely, You are not fond of music, Mr. Senior. ~ said my father, but it does not disturb me in the least, pray go on. It was not till the year 1850 that I was pro- moted to accompany my father in these visits. The society was made up of the same elements as that at Lansdowne House statesmen, philosophers, au- thors, foreigners, distinguished people of all sorts, beauties, authoresses, and artists. I remember very few musi- cians, but very probably my father was not invited to the musical parties as he was absolutely without ear and had to be told when God Save the Queen was played. I remember one visit to Bo- wood, when the last four blue coats and brass buttons were present our host downe House. It was in the palmy wore one the ordinary dinner dress LIVING AGE. VOL. LXXXII. 4215 97 98 of the beginning of the century, and Lord Pairnerston, Mr. Byng, called in those days Poodle Byng; the fourth, I think, was Lord John Russell, but I am not sure. Sometimes at Christ- mas time there was a family party the Howards, Lady Kerry, and Mr. Gore, the Flahaults M. de Flahault was the father of Lady Shelburne (now the Dowager Lady Lansdowne). On New Years day the Caine band came to play in the ~,allery at dinner tinie, and once when they were playing, Partant pour la Syrie, I turned to Lord Shelburne and said that it must be in honor of M. de Flahault (who was himself the original of the jeune et beau Dunois.) He was sittiag on the other side and caught what I said, and replied, Et jen ai le droit puisque que cest pour mol que c6tait fait. On one occasion Tom Taylor got up some very amusing charades. Miss Mary Boyle, who was an admirable actress, was the prima donna. The word was Gulliver, and for the whole the present governor-general of India, then a small boy, was discovered lying asleep; surrounded by the Brob- dingnags, of whom Sir Henry Codring- ton was one (he was six feet five), and with a head on the top of his own pre- sented an imposing appearance. In the mornings I generally used to walk alone with my father, and in the afternoons some drove, but my father and I were always of the troop of riders who, with Lord Lansdowne at their head, went scouring over the country. Long be- fore my time Miss Edgeworth was stay- ing at Bowood with her sister, and on the morning fixed for her departure, Lord Lansdowne was handing her into her carriage and said with his exquisite courtesy, I am sorry you cannot stay longer, whereupon she replied, Oh but, my lord, we can. The trunks were taken off, the carriage sent away, and the ladies returned, to the conster speak his voice, manner, and enuncia- tion proclaimed him the grand seigneur~ which I have said he was. It was cnn- ous that lie retained the pronunciation. of his own early days called Rome Room, obliged obleeged, China Chany,. and so forth. The painter Turners old caretaker does not seem to have been gifted with. penetration, for one of Lord Lans- downes favorite stories was of her calling to him up the area of the house in Queen Anne Street where Turner stored his pictures, ~ Please be you the cats-meat man? Another of his~ stories was of driving home in the afternoon from Holland House with the Lord Dudley of those days a sin- gularly absent man given to talk t~ himself. When they reached the turn- pike at Hyde Park Corner, Lord Dudley began soliloquizing, I suppose I must. ask this man to dinner. Its a great. bore, I dont wamit him. So Lord Lansdowne began in his turn, I hope I shant be obliged to dine with this. man. Its a great nuisance, he gives. shocking bad dinners. This consider- ation would not really have had much weight in Lord Lansdownes mind, for he told us that when the French ambas~ sador, M. de St. Aulaire, left London~ the Lansdownes inherited his chef. Af ter a short time the cook gave warning and when asked what he had to complain of, said that there was nothing against. M. and Madame de Lansdowne; but they never said anything about the din- ners, and flesh amid blood couldnt stand it. So they began to praise and blamer and the cook was happy. Lord Lans- downe was extremely near-sighted, and used to say that he knew his friends. better by their backs than by their faces. He had a royal power of stand- ing, which was sometimes embarrassing. to the person to whom lie was talking. Our last visit to Bowood was in the winter of 186263. For the last few nation of their hosts. years as I drove through what were There was nothing aristocratic in called the Golden Gates of the park, I Lord Lansdowne s appearance. He had not been able to help saying, We was small and spare; he had very bushy shall probably never come here agamn, grey eyebrows and by no means regu- and my father answered rather impa lar features; but when he began to tiently, You have said that so oftea In the Early Forties. Joel Garside. 99 I am quite tired of hearing it. But down the steps. With something be this was the last time for host and tween a shriek and an execration the guest. Lord Lansdowne died from the young man jumped to one side, and al- effects of a fall not many weeks after most at the same moment a voice pro- we left, and the next year was the last ceeding from the crack under the door of my fathers life, whence the flood had issued, said in a M. C. M. SIMPSON. measured and stately tone, I beg your pardon, sir. Now I am able to see your boots, I perceive you are not Mrs. Joshua Higgs. From Temple Bar. Now the door was unbolted, and, JOEL GARSIDE. opening a crack, showed a section of a BY MRs. WOODS. tall, loose-jointed man over sixty, with AUTHOR OF A VILLAGE TRAGEDY. spectacles, a bald forehead, a lono RATTAT-AT-RATTAT-AT. shaven and a thin upper lip, grey beard. Once more Mr. Charles fell upon the When he saw Charles he imniediately shabby door and delivered a thundering flung the door wide open, exclaiming, volley of knocks with the handle of his Oh, Mr. Charles, my dear, pray immaculate umbrella. He could hear walk in! You have had a most ungra- some one moving within, but the d6or cious reception, I fear; but I am sure remained obstinately closed. Outside you will excuse me when I tell you I it was bitterly cold. Below him the mistook you for my niece.~~ narrow street, so steep it broke here Is that the way you usually receive and there into steps, plunged down ladies, Joel Garside ? asked Mr. apparently into a pit of gathering dark- Charles sternly, pulling off his snow ness, but really into the crowded centre boots. Joel smiled a slow, indulgent of the little town, whose tall chimneys smile. an(l huddled roofs he could still discern Ladies ! Oh dear me, Charles! I distinct in the black and white of twi- cannot even imagine w hat I ~honld do light and snow. The house before were a lady to honor my humble roof. which he stood was the last; beyond But as I told you, I mistook you for a it lay a white, desolate world, whose female relative. boundary of hills could be half per- The narrow passage in which they ceived, half divined against the sky. stood was rendered narrower by a row The snow, in some temporary thaw, of large wooden boxes placed on their had slipped down the roofs, and lay sides against the wall, and converted curling and hanging in long sheets and into bookcases. The stone floor was fantastic festoons over the eaves of the wet, and the unprotected flame of the houses, where irregular fringes of ici- gas jet waved this way and that in the des were hanging too. The street was violent draught. It was here that Joel loneiy and almost dark, except for the commonly entertaine(l his visitors. long windows of the garrets, brightly The habit had been originally engen- lighted behind their lattice panes, and (lered by a jealous dislike of admitting showing sometimes the silhouettes of strangers or indifferent persons to his looms and of figures moving behind sanctum, but it was now exercised me- them. As the young man stood stamp- chanically. ing with cold and impatience in the I suppose we must talk in the pas- frosty dusk, he could hear all about sage, said Charles resignedly ; but him the click-clack of the busy shuttles, its beastly cold. Presently he heard the thud and clink Walk in, Charles, walk in, I beg! of a heavy zinc pail deposited on the cried Joel, opening the door of his par- stone floor; immediately afterwards a br with alacrity. You are well aware Niagara of ice-cold and remarkably that my little apartment is hardly fit to dirty water burst from under the door, receive visitors, but you are always dashed over his feet, and so flowed welcome. Joel Garside. 100 Joel Garside had a precise, elaborate her to conduct herself thus. The Gar- liianner of speech. He treated his syl- sides ignorantly suppose it to be an lables with judicial impartiality, giving offence and a disgrace to a respectable to each its meed of careful enunciation, family should any member of it leave and disdaining to curtail the meanest his money away from his blood rela- verb that is. He spoke like a man who tions. They are suspicious, and they reads more than he talks, and without suspect they suspect me of I know a trace of his native dialect; unless the not what. Oh, what will they not say exuberance of his h, which he in- over my grave such of them, I mean, serted at every available point in his. as may survive to see it? words, might be reckoned as such. Joel rose, and seizin~ a duster, began Mr. Charles entered the parlor and vehemently to polish the chair on which seated himself on the table, Qpening his he was sitting, as though to work off fur coat, and showing evening dress the irritation caused by the intolerable beneath. The slim young figure, with reflection that men, and more partien- the brPrht hair and clear-cut features, larly women, of the tribe of Garside strikingly blonde in the rich setting of might yet live to make observations the sealskin collar, brought a strange, over his crave, to which he would not incongruous note of luxury and grace be in a position to reply. into the little parlor. Not tha.t it was You have not given them a hint poverty-stricken, but it was bare of about the Institution? said Charles furniture and encumbered with books. interrogatively. There were books on the sofa, books Joel shook his head slowly with an on the chairs, and books innumerable air of infinite sagacity. on the floor; not in any disorder, but You must pardon my continuing 1)iled up regularly, one on the top of my household operations, he said in a the other. minute. One thats gone would un- And what does Mrs. Higgs say to der any circumstances be sadly shocked you, Joel, when she does get in ? at the state of the room, could she re- asked Charles. turn ; but I should not like to think she I scarcely like to repeat to an edu- would be positively unable to sit down cated man like you, Charles, what a without soiling her dress. coarse, ignorant person like Mrs. Higgs You could easily get some woman is capable of saying, returned Joel, to do all that for you, suggested seating himself with as much dignity as Charles. he could on a chair, already occupied Oh no, my dear, replied Joel l)y two quarto volumes and several oc- promptly and emphatically. tavos ; but since you will have it, I Why not, Joel ? will tell you. She personally insults Joel smiled his slow sniile, that curled me, he paused. She says, he up the corners of his straight-lipped (hew himself up and breathed rather mouth, arid at the same time, by some hard she actually says that that I law of its mechanism, drew the eyelids have come to a time of life when it is down almost over his eyes. It gave my duty to make my last will and testa- him a look of immense superiority to ment. Imagine it, Charles! She says his interlocutor, of profound and subtle this to a man like myself, in his very wisdom. prime, and likely, as I frequently tell She would marry me, he said. Rebecca Riggs, to outlive her a.nd most Oh, Id back you to defend your- of his relatives. Yes, she calls upon self, replied Charles carelessly. me to make my last will and testament. Joel looked at him, smiled again, and I suppose she wants to secure shook his head. your money for young Riggs, replied Ah, Charles, he said solemnly, I Charles. have often been surprised that no one No, sir; I will say for Rebecca it is has yet married you. mainly a sense of family duty that leads In the course of his dusting he had Joel Garside. come to the mantelpiece. A pair of brass candlesticks stood on it, a china shepherd and shepherdess, and two faded daguerreotypes in gilt frames. In one were still visible the outlines of a boy and girl, stuck up side by side in their Sunday clothes ; from the other looked forth dimly, with blurred eyes, the merest suggestion of a dark, hand- some Lancashire face. These daguerr- otypes were all that remained to Joel Garside of wife and children, all dead within one fatal week five-and-twenty years igo. I am aware, he said with a sigh, that this dusting takes up time which might be more profitably employed in study, but how could I suffer a strange and probably careless female to handle my Lairs and Penaits. And he rubbed the faded face of his wifes portrait gently and carefully. I mustnt stay, said Charles, rising. I just came to bring you a little con- tribution to your library, which I picked up in Paris. He ha.nded his friend a small and beautifully bound edition of Don Quixote in the original. Is it worthy of the Institution, Joel? I thought it pretty. Pretty enough, very pretty. But you consider the outsides of books too much, Charles, returned Joel, putting on another pair of spectacles, and mi- nutely examining the two little vol- umes. You are ignorant of the very elements of bibliography, and would be easily imposed upon by the merest forgery. However, this appears to be genuine, so far as I can at present as- certain. Thank you very kindly, my dear. It is like your goodness to have thought of your old friend when far away in the city of pleasure. Hows the Institution getting on? asked Charles, fastening his coat. Joels eyes lit up. He stooped his head and spoke low, as though some one might be listening. The Institootion is all settled, he said. Charles had known it settled and unsettle(l again twenty times in the course of the last ten years. ~ft will without doubt, continued Joel, take the form of an additional room to the Free Library, to be called the Garside Library. I have paced the ground behind the present building, and find it ample for the purpose. My funds are already more than sufficient to build the room, though not to pay a librarian. Oh! Mr. Charles, sir, what a lesson it will be to the people of this town when they see what a citizen, a working man like themselves, can achieve ! There will be an inscription over the door in gilt letters commemo- rating Polly conjax deleetissima or amatissima, and me. I intend to com- pose it this very evening, and will bring it to you for your criticism and approval. I am afraid my opinion is not worth your taking, replied the young man. No, Charles, I know very well it is not, but who is there in this town who is capable of assisting me ? It is such an unliterary place. Wykes the bookseller was telling me a fortnight ago his trade goes from bad to worse. However, as I was saying to him, it is not much wonder when he leaves that old tatterdemalion to mind the shop, with his elbows through his sleeves, and generally reading, so that he is quite unaware of a customers presence. Give me your boots, Charles, and I will put them on for you. There! Good- night, my dear, and mind you (10 not fall, for the steps are a mass of ice. So he let out Mr. Charles, and re- turned to the parlor. Saturday was one of the feast-days he allowed him-. self twice a week, when lie baked a piece of meat and had in a fresh jug of beer. On other days lie consumed the residue of the meat cold, and the res- idue of the beer fiat, or even mingled with water. Sometimes on these feast- nights wild visions of luxury would fipat before his minds eye. What was it like to live in a house with two or three parlors filled with bookcases, to keep servants, and have something different for supper every night? Perhaps lie had really got enough money to do that if he pleased. The idea would be mo- mentarily attractive, but after all there was the Institution to be considered. 101 Joel Garside. At supper to-night he thought of noth- ing but that and the inscription which was to be placed over the door. He kept a bit of pa.per by his plate, and wrote upon it as ideas occurred to him. Bibliothecaoi haac coacivibus suis he began; then having got as far as In memori(ofl conjagis arnatissirnce, he starte(l again with Fan5lator civis bene- volus. So absorbed was he that a low knock at the street door passed unnoticed. At length a sharp tap aroused his atten- tion, and muttering between annoy- ance and surprise, for his visitors were generally few and far between, he went out into the passage. He placed the candle on the stone floor, and lying down on his stomach, applied his eye to the crack under the door through which he had reconnoitred Mr. Charless extremities. i-fe could not make out much, but it was sufficient to assure him that his visitor was not Mrs. Higgs accordingly he opened the door a very little. One of the few and small gas- lamps in the street stood beside it, so that he could see pretty plainly the meagre figure of a small. elderly man, with grey, unkempt locks falling from under the shapeless wideawake that shadowed his face. His elbows were through the thin coat buttoned over his chest, and the ends of his trousers were frayed. He carried five or six books under his arm. Mr. Garside, I think? he said. Joel acknowledged his identity. ive served you in Mr. Wykess shop, Mr. Garside, but I dare say you dont remember me Joel now recognized the man, the tatter(lemalion he had blamed Wykes for keeping in his shop. lie opened the door rather wider. I remember you l)erfectly, sir, he sai(l. Has Mr. Wykes sent you to No. I came on my own account, replied the man, with some hesitation, and paused. Indeed said Joel. I have noticed you in the shop, Mr. (iarside. You were the only customer that seemed to have any taste for old books, and they tell me youre a scholar. I have acquired a few languages, sir, ancient and modern, returned Joel, relaxing a little. Well, I fancy youre the only man in this cursed den of a town thats likely to value a good book two straws. The people of this town are exceed- ingly ignorant and uiieducated, replied Joel, still further mollified. I know that. I dont want to part with my books, lie pressed his burden convulsively to his side. But there, I suppose I must. And I thought if theyd got to go, you were the only man Id care to bring them to. Are those the books? asked Joel, adjusting his spectacles and stretching out a hand. Yes. But its precious cold out here, Mr. Garside, returned the man, with a shiver. Well, you may come in. Joel made way for him to pass, and closed the door after him. The man took off his battered and rusty wide- awake, showing thin grey hair matted over a brow of unusual development in proportion to the small and sunken features beneath it. He leaned a~ainst a case of books, and looked on with a certain suppressed eagerness as Joel Garside turned over the volumes he had brought. They were a few old plays, and a Virgil of no particular merit. Joel peered into them, wonder- ing how much he should offer. He did not want them, but lie wished to assist the poor fellow, who had evidently come down in the world. Meantime the man turned away and began to ex- amine the books near him. Ah ~ he cried in a minute or two, laying his hand on a fine l3occaccio in three volumes, while his sunken eyes kindled under their shaggy brows now I wonder if this is genuine Genuine ! exclaimed Joel. Then, I do not wonder, sir, that you are sur- prised at seeing so valuable a book in so exposed a l)Osition. It is a tempo- rary arrangement, but careless, I ad- mit. 102 Joel Garside. May I look at it? asked the man ~quickly, .fidgetin~ with the top of it. Certainly, sir, replied Joel, with ~condescension. That book caught my eye in Paris, when our Mr. Charles took me to see the Exposition. I carcely knew the value of it at the time, but I have since been made ;aware that it was a complete bargain, and, from the point of view of the book-collector, perhaps Ihe gem of the entire Instit of my library. His visitor had wetted a not over- ~clean forefinger and was turning the pages. Yes, he said, pausing. Yes, it is the Venice counterfeit. I thought so. And an uncommon clever forgery it is, to be sure. Forgery! exclaimed Joel indig- nantly. What do you mean, sir? A gentleman much better acquainted with such matters than you are likely to be has examined my Boccaccio and highly ~commended it. Very likely, returned his visitor composedly. He didnt happen to know aboht the misprints in the ori~- inal. Look here now, on page eight, heres giornata. In the real article youd find giornat. Wrong, of course, so the Venice printer put it right, and .a fool for his pains! Joel bent his brows on the little man, and cleared his throat several times be- fore he trusted himself to speak. Do you say this Boccaccio is a for- gery? he asked at length, with the most awful slowness and solemnity. Oh, yes, its the counterfeit right ~enough, returned the other, una- bashed. Name your authority, said Joel, burning with repressed scorn and in -dignation, but still endeavoring to be judicial. The man sat down on the overturned zinc pail which still stood in the pas- sage, and thought. Its no good, he sighed, passing his hand t.hrou~h his hair; I cant remember. I cant cant remember anything. Joel drew an audible breath up through his contracted nostrils. 103 Then you must excuse my refusing to accept your statement, he replied, triumphant but still di~ nified. The man shrugged his shoulders and an- swered nothing. Joel tnrned to the books again, composing his ruffled feel- ings, and considering what he should offer for them. If you dont want those, I have some others you might like better Greek plays, said the man at length. He spoke slowly, hesitatingly, as though with reluctance. Euripides, for in- stance. ~ Oh, indeed! returned Joel, with awakened interest. What have you got of Euripides? I should be willing to purchase a nice edition containing the Iphigenia (he pronounced it Hiphigenya) in Tauride and the Iphigenia in Iphigenela, Iphigenela! inter- posed the little man irritably ; thats the right way to pronounce it. Joel drew himself up. You., sir, he said, may call it so if you please. I call it Iliphigenyn. Its not what I please, returued the man, rising, its the right way. Youre no scholar; its easy enough to see that. Look at me I am. I was educated at Ru~by School till I was fifteen, and if my father hadnt failed and blown his brains out, I should be a great gun at Oxford by this time. But he was made to study books, not to sell them. So was I. And now Ive got to sell them, Ive got to! I do not care where you were educated, said Joel, with concentrated scorn. You must be without com- mon intelligence if you suppose the dead pronunciation of languages to be anything but an arbitrary convention. Scholars of different nationalities pro- nounce them differently. I have an undoubted, right to say Hiphigenya if I choose. I shall continue to do so. Oh, pray do as you please, replied the little man, with rising excitem eat; its nothing to me. Only as long as you choose to say Hiphigenya you mustnt expect to pass as a scholar with educated men, whatever you may do in this beastly manufacturing hole. Joel Garside. And to think that I am obliged to part with my books to you to you! Oh, its a queer world! Joels wrath could no longer be re- strained; he trembled with indigna- tion. I will not continue to be insulted in my own house by a beggarly fellow like you, a tatterdemalion no better than a scarecrow. Begone, sir, and take your worthless books with you. He pushed them towards the man, who gathered them together with weak, trembling fingers, and broke out fiercely in a voice that was also weak and tremn- bling. You ignorant, conceited old donkey! Youve missed a find; youve missed a bargaiu. Serve you right. Hiphigenya, indeed! Ha, ha! Igno- ramus! This last epithet was a Parthian dart, sent throu~h the door just as he was closing it behind him. In a moment Joel appeared outside on the doorstep. The moon was now shining brightly on the snow in the deserted street. What did you call me, sir? he asked, with the same awful and judicial solemnity with which he had met the mans imputations on the character of his Boccaccio. Ignoramus ! called the other, go- ing away; Ignoramus ! Then he went on for a bit, turned again and re- peated, Ignoramus! with a weak, hoarse laugh. Hignoramus yourself, you tatterde- malion! shouted Joel, coming down into the street. His antagonist, who had continued his retreat, faced about, his feeble voice strengthened by excitement. So you pretend to know Greek! he cried. You impostor ! Joels dignity would hold out no longer, lie bounded forward, waving his long arms threateningly. If tha doesna hold tha ____ he began, and then breaking off abruptly; how dare you insult and blacken my character, you ignorant scoundrel ! Begone, I say Hark at him ! shrieked the little man mockingly ; why, he cant even j)ronounce English properly The neighbors hearing the loud an- gry voices in the silent street, lookec~ out of their windows. The moon was shining straight up the street, showing the meagre little figure of the ragged scholar dark against the snow. lie stood facing his adversary, his elbows~ pressing his books against his sides, they cold night-wind blowing about his thin garments. Much further up the figure of Joel presented itself to the aston~ ished gaze of his neighbors, who had seldom or never before seen him leave his house after he had returned front his days work at the mill. It stood or rather danced there long and lean, and behind it a black shadow, immeasur- ably longer and leaner, danced too in grotesque gigantic mimicry of his ges- ticulations. You insolent vagabond, he shout- ed, striding forward again. ~ If youm dont be off Ill give you such a les- son. Ive given you a lesson anyhow,. and gratis too, interrupted the other,. backing a little as Joel advanced.. You wont forget to say Iphigenela. next time. I shall adhere to my own pronun- ciation, sir, returned Joel fiercely. no ; youll say Iphigeneiafor- my sake, do. Hiphigenya ! yelled Joel, Hiphi genya! Hiphigenyal There ! ho yelled in a crescendo, and at every wordl advanced a stride nearer to his foe. The little man retreated hastily tilL he reached the turn of the street where it narrowed, and, breaking into steps,. plunged down out of the moonlight into~ black shadow. There, as though struck. by a sudden thought, he turned, andL shifting all his books under one arim stretched out the other, and pointing a. trembling finger at Joel, began to laugh.. It was a thin, ghostly cackle of a laugh,. but somehow he contrived to put into it. a whole world of scorn and derision.. It was too much for Joel. If tha doesna hold tha domned noise, he roared, bounding forward,, all gi tha the biggest hidin The rest was lost in the rush of his onset. In a moment he ha(l grasped 104 Joel Garside. his adversary by the shoulders and was shaking him violently backwards and forwards as a nurse shakes a naughty child. The poor creature was indeed hardly stronger than ~ child, and when Joel loosed him he fell down two steps and lay there with his books scattered all round him. Joel, ashamed of his own violence, picked him up in silence, set him on his feet, brushed the snow from his clothes, and restored his books to him without saying a word. The little man took them, also without a word, turned, and went hurrying and stumbling down the steep, ice-coated steps. The gulf of darkness swallowed him, while Joel paused panting for he was not accustomed to exertion at the top of the steps, and listened to the sound of his enemys retreat. The footsteps ceased, and for a minute all was silence ; then once more a ghostly cackle of laughter ascended to the listeners ears, and a thin voice from somewhere far away down there in the darkness reiterated, Ignoramus! Ignoramus ! Igijora- mus The next morning being Sunday, Joel Garside was walking through the town in company with Mr. Charles, whom he had accidentally iuet. He carried a large paper bag in his hand, for he was going as usual to renew the flowers on his wifes grave, although the bitter frost must certainly in a few hours destroy the white narcissus and purple violets which he purposed to lay there. The two friends were walking through a small street, and a squalid one compared to most of those in the prosperous little manufacturing town. Joel, with his hand on Mr. Charless arm, was eagerly reciting the different versions of his Latin inscription and asking Mr. Charless opinion, chiefly as it appeared for the pleasure of having some one with whom to differ. Pres- ently they came to a little crowd col- lected round an open door, by which a policeman stood on guard. The people all looked grave even agitated and talked to each other in hushed voices. Whats the matter? asked Mr~ Charles. A wrinkled old woman with a shawl over her head turned round and caught him by the arm. Eh, dear, Charles I she cried,. its shocking, that it is I What is it? he asked again. Why, lad, theres a mon clemmedi clernined to death i the night i that. poor moithering woman Shaws garret. Ay, mester, thats it, said a re- spectably dressed man, a poor chap dead of cold and hunger at our doors,. as you may say. Eh, thats bad! ejaculated Joel Garside. Terrible! exclaimed Charles. Do you know who he is? A Londoner, am thinking, an-- swered another, a mon that used to~ sit i the beuk shop up yonder, in Westgate Street. Joel went suddenly pale and clutched~ hold of Mr. Charles. Mr. Charles, sir, he whispered,. I must go in theres some mistake here, Im sure. Why on earth should you go in,. Joel ? asked Charles, a little pet tishly. Oh, my dear, do not inquire; but I must, indeed I must. I shall know n~ peace~till I have ascertained the facts. The policeman allowed them to pass,. telling them they would find no one in the house except the doctor and Mrs. Shaw, to whom it belonged. The gar- ret was easily found, for the ladder leadin~ to it was immediately at the head of the stairs, and Charles elimbedi up, followed more slowly by Joel. It was a small garret, which had formerly held Shaws loom, but his widow had sold it. Several broken panes in the window were plastered over with news- paper, but there had been no pretence of mending the skylight, which also had a broken pane. A large wooden bedstead almost filled the garret, which had no other furniture except a cracked jug and basin, and a rough deal box. On the bed, with the knees drawn up and the head, with its grey, (Iishcvclied io~ 106 hair, thrown back upon the bolster, lay if he did, for we were in bed when he the emaciated body of a man, turning up to the white sky above a face lined and wizened, not so much with years ~is with misery and Litter revolt. Do you know what he died of, doc ~tor? asked Joel abruptly. I sup- jpose it might be heart-disease or a stroke? Im afraid theres no need to sup- ~ose either, answered the doctor ~ just look at the poor creatnre hes a mere skeleton. Besides, he had noth- ing on but a shirt and his wretched coat and trousers, and you see what the beds like. There was nothing on it but an 01(1, olored, cotton tablecloth which the doctor had drawn off the body. Noth- lug except five or six books which the man seemed to have dropped beside him when he lay down. Joel knew the look of them but too well. It was the coldest night we have had for thirty years, resumed the doc- tor. There is no doubt the poor fel- low was starved to death. Well, but he was in Wykess shop, argued Joel. He must have been earning a wage. Not above a few shillings a week, sir, when he was in work, interposed Mrs. Shaw, who was standing by the doctor with her apron to her eyes, and Mr. Wykes he dismissed the poor gentleman a fortnight ago. He said as times were bad, and the customers had complained of him. Mrs. Shaw was a south-countrywoman uf the helpless widow type. Did you know he was in a state of destitution ? asked the doctor. Lor, sir, Ive enough to do to think of myself and the children, returned Mrs. Shaw, with a fresh burst of tears. My lodger, he mostly locked his door when he went out. He paid the rent reglar till last Saturday, but Ive said to him times and times, Why hever dont you sell them rubbishing books and get yourself something a bit com- fortable? He never would try till yes- terday evening, and then he went out to sell some of them but I dont know came home. Couldnt get anything for them, no doubt, poor fellow, said the doctor, taking up a volume and glancing at it. Theres a, lot more in the box, sir,~~ sajd ~[rs. Shaw. The doctor turned to go, telling her to come down-stairs with him. They were already both on the ladder when Joel called out, Stop, sir; stop, maam! It is my wish to pay this unfortunate persons rent. Also the funeral expenses. Mrs. Shaws voice was heard below in profuse thanks, and the doctor, whose legs only had as yet disappeared, paused. Very kind, sir, Im sure. But wont you look at the books ? They may be worth a few shillings. Charles opened the deal box. It was full of books, and he began to turn them over, while Joel remained stand- ing with his back towards him. Pres- ently Charles made an exclamation. Do come here, Joel ! Joel. turned a woe-begone counte- nance on him and slowly approached. Just look at that, said Charles ex- citedly, thrusting two faded but beauti- fully bound octavo volunies into his hands. It was an Aldine Euripides, dated L503. Joel looked at the title- page languidly and handed it back. Yes, he said, it is undoubtedly worth some money. There are several good Delphins here, Charles resumed, placing the books carefully on the floor. If the poor fellow had only known Joel made no reply, and Charles con- tinued his researches. Theres hardly a book thats not good of its kind, he observed after a while. By Jove, heres Pines Hor- ace ! I wonder where the fellow picked them up. He cant have known their value or lie would have sold them. Probably that born fool Wykes refused to make him an offer. What an awful pity he didnt bring them to you or me, Joel. Well, its a very sad business, but the poor things gone beyond our Joel Garside. Joel Garside. help now. These books of his will pay his landlady over and over again and bury him handsomely. You must buy Them for the Institution, Joel; theyll make a beautiful shelf all by them- selves. He was holding out the Horace to Joel who took it mechanically, but did not look at it. There was a pause, then Joel thrust it back upon the young ~inan. Dont, he said in a smothered voice, dont, sir. Then clasping his hands on the wooden ball that terminated the bed- post, he bowed. his face on them and cried with an exceeding bitter cry. Lad. lad, tha doesna know. Am a bad-hearted mon, a bad-hearted, on- merciful mon, is what a am. Eh, dear! iEh, dear! What ud she say if she were here to see it? Mr. Charles rose and laid his hand ~n Joels shoulder. Mv dear old boy, he said, do tell me what is the matter. Joel controlled himself by an effort and stood up. Charles, my dear, I will endeavor to tell you. I-Ic did come to me. He brought me those books yonder, point- ing to the bed, yesterday evening. It was l)itter cold, and I kept him stan(l- lug 011 my doorstep. You yourself have often complained of the cold there, and so did he last night. Think, my (lear, I had a warm fire and a good supper in my parlor, and 1 never asked this poor, starving fellow-creature in to share it. No, I let him freeze in the passage; because I am well-clad and not sensitive to cold myself, I gave no thought to his sensations. I might have saved him I sent him naked and hungry away, and, now, there he lies. Joels hard, grey cheeks were wet with tears, and his voice trembled. But he didnt tell you he was in want, did he, Joel? Mr. Charles rather affirmed than asked. No, sir. He brought a few books for sale, among the least valuable, as it now appears, in his collection. I did not waat them, but I saw he was in bad circumstances, and I was about to pur chase them, when he offended my pride, my miserable pride and vanity, and instead I drove him from me with angry words I might almost say with l)lows. Probably the poor fellow was rough and embittered by misery, said Charles. You couldnt tell he was starving. I ought to have observed his miser- able looks, returned Joel. As you say, the unfortunate creature was doubt- less irritable through starvation, and having received a better education than most persons of his class, he was anx- ious to show it off. He made some ill- judged remarks on my books and pre- soomned to correct my pronunciation according to some conventional rule he had been taught. And you naturally Mr. Charles began. Oh, do not talk of naturally ! Joel broke in. You wouldnt feel it natu- ral yourself, Charles, if you had driven a fellow-creature out to die. Yes, I drove him away I insulted his rags and wounded his feelings. I even per- haps deprived him of the only consola- tion he had left to him his confidence in his own learning. And it is too late now to make amends lie ap- proached nearer to the dead man with his hands clasped It is too late now to confess my fault and ask his forgive- ness. Charles laid his hand on Joels shoul- der and the two friends stood so for a minute, side by side, looking at the wasted remnant of mortality upon the bed. Then the elder sighed deeply, and drawing a large handkerchief from his pocket, slowly wiped away the traces of his tears. I should like to do something for him, my dear, he said; it is poor work only giving money. Do you put away the books and I will arrange things a bit decently. Charles turned away while Joel corn- posed the dead mans limbs and crossed his hands upon his breast. Then he went to his large paper bag which he had placed on the floor by the book- box. He lifted it and paused as though 107 108 Ilatesu. irresolute. At length he took out the violets and the great bunch of white narcissus from the South, and laid them gently on the breast of the dead and in spite of the coldness of the at- mosphere, the little garret was filled with a fragrance sweeter than that of the old spikenard very precious. Please to take my purse, Charles, he said, holding it out, and pay for everything that is required, including a gratooity to the poor woman. I must 00 now. Very well, Joel. I will arrange for you to have the books. No, sir, no! cried Joel vehe- mently. I cannot take them. It will be the best thing that can happen to them, urged Charles. They will be public property when they are in the Institution and think what an addition they will be to it. For a moment the temptation was terrible. Joel stood irresolute, fixing hungry eyes on the box full of books with the Aldine Euripides conspicuous on the top. But turning away with an effort, No, Charles, he repeated firmly, I will not take them. When he was half way down the ladder he paused. Take them yourself, sir, he cried with an heroic effort. Found an In- stitution yourself, Charles, and place them in it. The sacrifice was completed. He disappeared. Joel continued his interrupted walk, mechanically carrying his empty paper bag. He soon reached the open coun- try, where the white roads were hard and clean under foot. The sun had come out and glittered on the frosted hedges and the crystals of the snow; the sky overhead looked singularly high and blue. He turned into the cemetery and made his way with some difficulty, stumbling over concealed mounds and crashing into snowdrifts, to a grave in a far corner. At first he could not see the tin cross that always lay there, but disinterring it at length, he removed the snow and the withered replaced it on the mound. lie sto~4 looking at the empty cross, empty for the first time for so many years and. again the tears rose to his eyes. Im~ spite of the deep snow he sat down on the grave, laid his forehead on the low headstone, and embracing it in his arms7 sobbed aloud. I didna mean to do it, Polly, he whispered; eh, Polly, tha knows a didna. From The Cornhull Magazine.. HATESU. M~ first object in going to Egypt was to get warm. When the thermometer stood at 990 in the shade at Assuan, I felt I had attained my hearts desire in that direction. My second object was to practise what Horace calls strenu- ous idleness. People said, Go to Italy; but that was manifestly ab- surd, for Mr. liuskin, the old masters and a thing called the Renaissance, per- vade the entire country, and make life a burden to one. Then there was Athens. Well, I recalled Lord Ches- terfields remark that no gentleman was required to know Greek and Latin, but that he certainly was expected to have forgotten them. This latter gentlemanly qualification I abundantly possessed, for I knew that the simplest Greek inscrip- tion would hopelessly floor me. So II turned my attention to Egypt. Every- thing there was so very long a.go, and the Egyptian tongue itself such a very dead language, that no one could b~ expected to work at it. I had not been three days in Cairo before I found I had made a great mistake. In that very insanitary city there are many infec- tious diseases rambling about; but the one you are perfectly certain to catch is a deadly thing called Egyptology.. When once it grips you, good-bye t~ quiet days. It was impossible to escape it. I saw people just back from the Nile, literally reeking of it, B.C. bein~ stamped on every line of their faces. When your table-clhOte neighbor rattles off dynasties like a multiplication table flowers with which it was filled, and it is best to cave in, and go quietly with Ilatesm. 109 the stream. There was a man at Shep- I went to Egypt I had a lively admi- heards who bulged over his left breast; ration for Mr. Edison. It is true his that bulge was due to a bronze figure inventions seem to complicate life ; but, ~f Horus acquired by him at some at any rate, they were new. After ophthalmic village up the Nile. Horus visiting Egypt, I believe half of them never was made for breast-pockets ; he are simple infringements of old Egyp- is far too knobly ; but he was of such tian ideas, the patents for which have extraordinary value that his owner long since expired. Professor Piazzi lived in hourly dread of the curator of Smyth is sure (I am not) that the Pyr- the Gizeh Museum swooping down amid of Cheops contains a revelation of on him and claiming it. Everybody nearly all the scientific discoveries of seemed to have annexed something, the last six thousand years. Egypt is and they fetched their spoils out sur- a sphinx that is perpetually asking reptitiously at dessert, and gloated over questions, and modern civilization is Them. Then there were two radiant perpetually giving up the answers. American girls who babbled of Amen- Take the famous statue of Chephren, hotef and Usertsen, and talked as fa- carved from a block of green diorite. iniliarly of Phtah and Muht as I should Diorite is one of the hardest stones of a common councilman. Practically~ known ; it holds its own against mod- unless von could talk Egyptology, you em tools. How, and with what imple- were cut off from all conversation ; so ments, (lid the 01(1 Egyptians carve it ? I was drawn into the current, I bought Six thousand years ago bronze was Renoufs Egyptian Grammar, and many common in Egypt ; whence did they books on the history, art, and religion get their tin to make it ? Six thousand of Ancient Egypt. Now there are a years ago they produced the wonderful great many approved methods of going statue of the village sheik at Gizeh. mad. You may study bimetalhism, or It is infinitely superior to ninety-nine plunge into party politics or religious per cent. of modern English sculpture. controversy. I believe George Eliot Through what centuries of superb civ- had a leaning towards a course of the ilization did this art develop, and slowly prophetical writings as a short cut to ripen to such perfection? After a pre- insanity. I myself consider that a dip himinary survey of these and sumlar into the ancient religion of Egypt is as questions, it became manifest that, if good a method as any. Give a few Reason were to retain her seat, I must hours to the local triads, try to find take certain prominent figures, and out the one god of lambhichus, work in stick to them at all hazards. the solar myth, and then see how you I therefore selected Hatesu, Rameses feel. I heft the religion alone, and II., and the poem of Pentaur. I de- turned to history. This subject also vote myself at present to Ilatesu. You has its difliculties ; to begin with, it will observe that, in mercy to the Brit- ~)layfully spreads itself over thirty-four ish p111)1w, I have adopted a simplified dynasties. Three great authorities, spelling of her name. She herself Wilkinson, Mariette, and Brugsch, liked variety, and you find her figuring never by any chance agree as to (hates. variously as Ramaka, Amumos-net, At the very outset, as to the date of Ilatshepset - khnumt - Amen - Hatasou, Mena, the first historic king, they vary and Ilatshepsu. I was drawn to this to the extent of twenty-six hundred queen for many reasons; amongst years ; this is a margin you would hesi- others, I saw a rubbing of her profile 4ate to allow to your dearest friend, in the room of thie man who had an- Then, as regards the social and art nexed the Horns, and it appealed to me. life of Egypt, nothing is more healthily I thought I saw a vestige of expression lowering to the modern mind than to in her face which E~yptian bas-rehiefs find Egypt continually saying, I told seem to lack. After a time one wearies you so; and, what is more, I told you of the immortal calm and the monoto- ~o some thousands of years ago. Until nous repose, and craves for a touch of 110 Hatesu. the more vulgar emotions. Directly I began to study Hatesu, I had to sacri- fice one of my pet illusions and that was the modern woman. I was quite sure the older civilizations had nothing at all like her. Mary Woll- stonecraft Godwin set her going exactly ninety-nine years ago, and we have been developing her ever since ; she is the crown and flower of our boasted civilization ; she is learned, athletic, independent ; she combines the attri- butes of man and woman, and she breaks all conventional laws like pack- thread. Ibsen has put the coping-stone to her, and now she is complete. Ha- tesu looks calmly across three hundred centuries and says, I was all this, and more. Hatesu claimed the attributes of a man ; she dressed as a man, and even wore an artificial beard; she was described as son of Amen,~~ and in many of her inscriptions she is royally indifferent to grammar, and appears as His Majesty herself. In enerj, triumphant self-assertion, and the com- bination of manly qualities with femi- nine tact and insight, Hatesu remains unapproachable. Her portrait bust shows us a woman of heroic type ; she lifts her head fearlessly, and looks straight onwards. The eyes are deep set, the mouth resolute and masterful, the nose is Napoleonic. She caine into the world about 1600 B.C.; so that, as Egyptian things go, she is compara- tively modern ; but she belongs to the triumphant XVIII. dynasty, and holds her place between two great conquer- ors, Thotmes I., her father, and Thot- mes III., her brother. She was called the Faithful Daughter; for, like most notable women, she had an in- tense love for her father. At his death the throne passed to her jointly with her half-brother, Thotmes II. Now, Hatesu was in one respect iike Mr. F.s Aunt; she hated a fool, and this Thotmes II. was a dim kind of creature, ~ood-natured, and feeble, as you may see by his portrait. Hatcsu took matters in hand at once, and, ac- cording to Egyptian custom, married him straight away. That apparently did not lessen the difficulties, and after a while death removed him, and left the imperial lady free. They say Ha tesu assisted death who knows? it is- all three thousand years ago. Perhaps she opened the cage of life to the feeble creature and let him go. Directly he was dead, Hatesu made a clean sweep of his cartouches throughout the land, putting her own or her fathers in their place. She was a woman who did a thing thoroughly when she did it at all. There were two paramount duties that centuries of tradition laid upon every Egyptian monarch: the first was to b~ a great conqueror, the second a great builder. To swoop down on outlying tribes, to return with prisoners antI booty, and then to blazon the record of it on rock and temple, on wall and obe- lisk that was rateful to the mind of Pharaoh, and acceptable to his people. After that each monarch set to work to build a temple that should surpass- anything done before or likely to be done after. IKarnak was the usual out let and safety-valve for Egyptian vain- glory. This vast collection of temples was practically always in hand; round it centred the glory of the priesthood, the pride of the nation, and the individ- ual vanity of each king. Usertsen I. began it, and the last name inscribed on its walls is Alexander II., so that its history extends over about twenty three hundred years. Unfortunately, Seti I. added the great hall, and so took the wind out of the sails of all his suc- cessors, for that hall is truly, as Stanley described it, the grandest building which the world ever raised to the glory and worship of God. Ilatesu did not attempt to surpass the unsurpassable, but she discovered work to do of a dis- tinct character, and there, to this (lay, amidst those acres of ruins, she set u~ the finest obelisk in the world. I should like to say the highest too, but the au- thorities cannot agree even on a simple point like this. One would think any fool could measure an obelisk; how- ever, it is variously estimated at 108 feet 10 inches, 97 feet 6 inches, and 9~ feet. Any way, it is the most beautiful obelisk in the world, and, when one sees that wonderful pale rose-colored Hatesu. shaft outlined clear against the radiant sky, one thanks Amen IRa and all the gods that it has not been carted off to rot beneath the smoky skies of London, Paris, or New York. It weighs 3,673 tons. I give this vulgar fact to enable you to understand the difficulties of dealing with such a mass. It is poised on its base with the most exquisite precision exactly in the very axis of the temple. Originally there were two, but the other is shattered to fragments. Wonderful beyond all wonders is the cutting of the hieroglyphics upon it deep, sharp, and absolutely true. They record that She, I-Iatesu, the mistress of the Diadems, whose years do not wither, erected this monument to her father. (One never knows exactly what Shakespeare did or did not know, but I suppose we may safely say he certainly could not read Egyptian hiero- glyphics. It is strange, however, that in describing his Cleopatra who was a weak version of Hatesu he uses these very words, age cannot wither her. Is the long arm of coinci- dence long enough to reach back to 1600 B.c.?) She then covered the en- tire obelisk with gold~that it might shine over both lands like the suns disc, pure gold taken from the chief of the nations. Furthermore, she re- cords how the whole of this magnificent business was carried through in seven months from the very beginning when first hewn out of the quarry in the mountain. how often, as the royal lady swept past in her chariot, she would be gladdened by the sight of her great obelisk flashing back the burning rays of the sun! IDeep in its base she carved the triumphant statement that never, since the creation of the world, has anythin~ been made equal to those things set up by the child of the sun, Hatesu. This was a very ~ood begin- ning, but the queen intended to fulfil the two royal dvfties first to carry out a campai~n, and secondly to build her own particular temple to the glory of the gods and of herself. In southern Arabia there was a district known as the land of Punt. It was rich in cold and spices, silver and ebony, and the 111 great queen coveted them. Setting t~ work in a practical way, she built flv~ ships of war. If the tribes of Punt- were open to commercial transactions well and good; if not, they should be instructed by summary methods. Luckily for us, Hatesu not only buiW her temple, but wrote, carved, and! painted thereon the most charming and detailed history of her great tradin~ expedition. From beginning to end it was an exceedin~ly prosperous business.. Much barter and exchange took place one may guess with distinct advan- tage to the Egyptians. The ships re- turned laden with gold, incense, slaves, ivory, and ebony. Then Hatesu had a glorious time; a great national festival began, the great queen sat on her golden throne and all the treasures were poured out at her feet. All this is recorded in a series of wonderful has-reliefs at Deir el-Bahari, the great temple Hatesa built opposite Thebes. No other tem- ple in Egypt is at all like it ; it is builL in a series of terraces hewn out of the hillside, and along the front run a series of marvellous carvings cut in a beauti- ful white sandstone. They anticipate those days long after, wImej~ the navy of Tarshish ~ came once in three years laden with gold, silver, ivory, apes, and peacocks. Everything is here except the peacocks. Below, in the water, are carved many of the fish of the Red Sea, and so true to nature are they that each species can be identified, including a. sole with one eye bigger than the other, which folks learned in such matters say shows a keen eye for nature. I dare say Hatesu had naturalists and artists attached to her court, and sent them with her expedition to Punt. She merely anticipated the voyage of the Challenger by a few thousand years. Along with the treasures came the queen of Punt and manychiefs, and did homage to the royal Egyptian. Hatesu. has represented the rival queen as a hideous dwarf, hunchbacked and dis- torted. (Did not Cleopatra describe Octavia as dwarfish?) This may be feminine spite, or merely that th~ court artist found it easier to draw a sole than a woman. Never was a coni 112 The Military, Goura~je of Royalty. mercial transaction recorded in so pie- From The Contemporary Review. THE MILITARY COURAGE OF ROYALTY. turesque a fashion. If one is to enter into trading relationship with ones neighbors, this is the spirit to do it in, ~and llatesus, method of recording it seems infinitely superior to dull charter- parties, bills of lading, and custom- ihouse routine. But now trouble was -awaiting Hatesu. For fifteen years she reigned magnificently, keeping her young half-brother, Thotmes 1111., in sul)jection. Now the youth had grown to mans estate. He was a lad of very different metal from that other brother whom Hatesu swept away at the be- inning of her reign. With the excep- ~tion of Rameses IT., he was destined to ~e the greatest of all Egyptian kings. For seven years they reigned together, ~but Hatesu still claimed the foremost ~place, and her name always stands first in the state records. Seven turbulent years, one fancies, and then the great ~queen disappeared; not a word, not a ihint, comes to us from tomb or temple. As she was but forty years old, it seems likely that there was meted out to her the same measure that she dealt to Thotmes II. Directly the end came, her successor erased her name from all 2her monuments, and viciously hewed and hacked at the records of her great- ness. here and there, however, her cartouches are merely disfigured, not ~obliterated, and the name of the great Queea still holds a prominent place on ~the long roll of Egyptian history. The ~end is profoundly disappointing; we get to know Hatesu so well; and one is sure, whatever that end was, that she met it heroically. Jezebel, Cico- ,patra, Dido, Elizabeth, Marie Stewart step by step we follow each stormy life till the curtain rushes down at the tremendous last exit. Perhaps Ha- tesus end, no less than her career, was ~equally heroic and royal. She had aeigned gloriously for fifteen years, she ~opened up a new commercial world for Iher country, she erected the finest obe- lisks, and she built a glorious temple; then, in the prime of her vigorous wom- anhood, she steps out into the darkness, and the rest is silence. MR. E. B. LANINS paper in the January number of the Contemporary Review 1 on the present emperor of Rus- sin is so brilliant, so well-informed, and so interesting that one has the con- sciousness of being censorious in taking exception to an incidental detail of that masterly performance. But since the point is one of some importance, and as since I perhaps can bring to bear on it more knowledge of a personal char- acter than Mr. Lanin would seem to possess, I venture to advance some comments on one of his statements. Mr. Lanin observes: Marvellous personal courage is not a striking char- acteristic of tile dynasty of the Iloma- noffs a.s it was of the English Tudors. It will be conceded that periods materi- ally govern the conditions under which soverewns and their royal relatives have found opportunities for proving their personal courage. Tbe Tudor dynasty had ended before the Romanoff dynasty began. It is true, indeed, that the ending of the former with the (heath of Elizabeth in 1603 occurred only a few years before the foundation of the latter by the election to the czarship of Michael Feodorovitz Romanoff in 1612. But of the five sovereigns of the Tudor dynasty it happened that only one, Henry VII., the first monarch of that dynasty, found or made an oppor- tunity for the display of marked scarcely perhaps of marvellous personal courage; and thus Mr. Lanin s selection of the Tudor dynasty as fur- nishing a contrasting illustration in tile matter of personal courage to that of the Romanoffs is not particularly fortu- nate. Henry VIII. was only once in action; he shared in the skirmish known as the Battle of the Spurs because of the precipitate flight of the French horse. Edward VI. died at the age of sixteen, and the two remaining sovereigns of the dynasty were women, of whom it is true that Elizabeth was a strong and vigorous ruler, but in the nature of things had no opportunity for 1 LIVING AGE, No. 2537, p. 387. The Military Courage of Royalty. showing marvellous personal cour- age. Henry VII. literally found his crown in the heart of the ni~l6e on Bos- worth field; it matters not which of the alternative stories is correct, that he himself killed Richard, or that Richard was killed in the act of striking him a desperate blow. But Henry at Bos- worth in 1485 still belonged to the days of chivalry to an era in which mon- archs were also armor-clad knights, who headed charges in person, and gave and took with spear, sword, and battle-axe. Long before Peter the Great, more than two centuries after Bosworth, foanied at the mouth with rage, and hacked with his sword at his panic-stricken trooj)s fleeing from the field of Narx a on that winter day of 1700, the face of warfare had altered, and the rn~tier of the commander, were he soverei~ n or were he subject, had undergone a rad- ical change. Of a family of the human race it is not rationally possible to predicate a typical generic characteristic of mind. A physical characteristic will endure down the generations, as witness the Hapsburg lip and the swarthy complex- ion of the Finch-Hattons, in the face of alliances from outside the races ; but, save as regards one exception, there is no assurance of a continuous inherit- ance of mental attributes. What a con- trast is there between Frederick the Great and his father; between George III. and his successor; between the present emperor of Austria and his hapless son; between the genial, wist- ful, and well-intentioned Alexander II. of Russia and the monarch whom Mr. Lanin has depicted so graphically But II have reserved one exception to the absence of assurance of inherited mental attributes one mental feature in which identity takes the place of dissimilarity, and even of actual con- trast. And that feature tha.t inherited characteristic of a race whose progen- itors happily possessed it is personal courage. Take, for example, the Hoheuzol- lerns. One need not hark back to Car- lyles original Conrad, the seeker of his fortune who tramped down from the LIVING AGE. VOL. LXXXII. 4216 113 ancestral cliff-castle on his way to take service under Barbarossa. Before and since the Grosse Kurfurst there has been no Hoheuzollern who has not been a brave man. lIe himself was the hero of Fehrbellin. His son, the first king of the line, Carlyles Expensive Herr, was valiant in action during the third war of Louis XIV. The rugged Frederick William, father of Frederick the Great, had his own tough piece of war against the volcanic Charles XII. of Sweden, and did a stout stroke of hard fighting at Maiplaquet. Of Fritz himself the world has full note. Bad, sensual, debauched Ilohenzollern as was his successor Frederick the Fat, he had fought stoutly in his youth-time under his illustrious uncle. His son, Frederick William III., overthrown by Napoleon, who called him a corporal, did good soldierly work in the War of Liberation, and fought his way to Paris in 1814. His eldest son, Freder- ick William IV., the vague, benevolent dreamer whom Punch used to call King Clicquot and who died of soft- ening of the brain, even he, too, as a lad had distinguished himself in the War of Liberation, and in the fight- ing during the subsequent advance on Paris. As for grand old William I., the real maker of the German Empire on the quid facit per atiurn, facit per se axiom, he died a veteran of many wars. He was not seventeen when he won the Iron Cross by a service of conspic- uous gallantry under heavy fire. He took his chances in the bullet fire at Kflniggratz and again on the afternoon of Gravelotte. Not a Hoheuzollern of them all but shared as became their race in the dangers of the great war of of 187071 even Prince George, the music composer, the only non-soldier of the family, took the field, Williams noble son, whose premature death neither Germany nor England has yet ceased to deplore, took the lead of one army; his nephew, Prince Frederick Charles, a great commander and a bril- liant soldier, was the leader of another. One of his brothers, Prince Albert the elder, made the campaign as cavalry chief; whose son Prince Albert junior, 114 now a veteran field-marshal, commanded a brigade of guard-cavalry with a skill and daring not wholly devoid of recklessness. Another brother, Prince Charles, the father of the Red Prince, made the campaign with the headquarters ; Prince Adalbert a royal cousin of the sovereign and head of the Prussian navy, had his horse shot under him on the battle-field of Gravelotte. The trait of personal courage has markedly characterized the house of Hanover. As king of England, George I. did no fighting, but before he reached that position he had distinguished him- self in war not a little ; against the Panes and Swedes in 1700, and in high command in the war of the Spanish succession from 1701 to 1709. His son while yet young had displayed conspic- uous valor in the battle of Oudenarde and he was the last British monarch who took part in actual warfare. Cuin- berland had no meritorious attribute save that of personal courage ; but that virtue in him was undeniable. At Pet- tingen he was wounded in the forefront of the battle ; at Fontenoy the martial boy was ever in the heart of the fiercest fire, fighting at a spiritua.l white heat. His grand-nephew, the Duke of York, was an unfortunate sol- dier, but his personal courage was un- questioned. In the prcsent reign a cousin and a son of the sovereign have done good service in the field, and that venerable lady herself, in situations of personal danger, has consistently main- tained the calm courage of her race. Mr. Lanin has written that marvel- bus personal courage is not the striking characteristic of the dynasty of the Ro- manoffs. He make~ an exception to this quasi-indictment in favor of the Emperor Nicholas, who, he admits, was absolutely ignorant of fear, and could face a band of insurgents with the calm self-possession of a shepherd surveying his bleating sheep. The monarch who at the moment of his accession illustrated the dominant force of his character by confronting amid the bullet fire the ferocious mutiny of half an army corps, and who crushed the bloodthirsty ~meute with dauntless [Eke Jlfilitary Courage of Royalty. resolution and iron hand ; the maa who, fac lug the populace of St. Peters- burg, crazed with terror of the cholera. and red with the blood of slaughtered. physicians, cowed its panic-fury by commanding it in the sternest tones of his sonorous voice to kneel in the dust and propitiate by prayers. the wrath of the Almighty such a man is scarcely,. perhaps, adequately characterized by the expression employed by Mr. Lanin. But setting aside this instance of the fearlessness of Nicholas, facts appeai- to refute pretty conclusively that gen- tlemans reflection on the personal courage of the Romanoffs. No purpose can be served by cumbering the record by going back into the period of Russias semi-civilization ; illustrations from three generations ma.y reasonably suffice. At Austerlitz Alexander I. was. close up to the fighting line in thu Pratzen section of that great battle, and so recklessly (lid he expose himself that the report spread rearward that lie had fallen. He was riding with Moreau in the heart of the bloody turmoil of Dres- den when the French cannon-ball mor- tally wounded the renegade French general, and he was splashed by thu latters blood. Moreau had insisted oa riding on the outside, else the ball which caused his death would certainly have struck Alexander. That monarch participated actively and forwardly in most of the battles of the campaign of 1814 which culminated in the allied oc- cupation of Paris. Marmonts bullets. were still flying when lie rode on to thu hill of Belleville and looked down through t.he smoke of battle on thu French capital. Mr. Lanin has admit- ted that Nicholas, the successor of Al- exander, was absolutely ignorant of fear, and I have cited convincing in- stances of his marvellous personal courage. Two of his sons, the Grand Dukes Nicholas and Michael, were un- der fire in the battle of Inkerman and shared for some time the perils of the siege of Sevastopol. Alexander II. was certainly a man of real, although quiet .and undemonstra- tive, personal courage.. But for his disregard of the precautions by which The JJfilitary Courage of Royalty. 115 the police sought to surround him, he probably would have been alive to-day. The Third Section was wholly unrep- resented in ]3ulgaria, and his Majes- tys protection on campaign consisted merely of a handful of Cossacks. No cordon of sentries surrounded his sim- l)le camp ; his tent at Pavlo and the dilapidated Turkish house which for months was his residence at Gorni Stu- (len were alike destitute of any guards. The imperial court of Russia is said to be the most punctiliously ceremonious of all courts ; in the field the czar abso- lutely dispensed with any sort cf cere- mony. He dined with his suite and staff at a frugal table in a spare hospital tent ; his guests, the foreign attach~s and any passing officers or strangers who happened to be in camp. When he (lrOve out, his escort consisted of a couple of Cossacks. In the woods about Biela, at the beginning of the war, there still remained some forlorn bivouacs of Turkish families ; he would alight and visit those, his sole compan- ion the aide-dc-camp on duty ; and would fearlessly venture among the sullen Turks, all of whom were armed with deadly weapons, try to persuade them to return to their homes, and, unmoved by their refusal, promise to sen(l them food and medicine. Dis- pensing with all etiquette, he would see without delay any one coming in with tidings from fighting points, were he officer, civilian, or war correspondent. During the September attack on Pievna he was continually in the field while daylight lasted, looking out on the slanghter from an eminence within range of the Turkish cannon-fire, and manifestly enduring keen anguish at the spectacle of the losses sustained by his brave, patient troops. Later, dur- ing the investment of Plevna, his point of observation xvas a redoubt on the Radischevo ridge, still closer to the Turkish front of fire, and it was thence he witnessed the surrender of Osmans army on the memorable December 10, 1877. If Alexander was fearless alike in camp and in the field on campaign, he was certainly not less so in St. Petersburg, when he returned thither, after the fall of Plevna. He drove from the railway-station, straight tothe Cathedral of Kazan, in accordance with the custom which prescribes to Russian emperors that when setting out for, or returning from, any important enter- prise, they shall kiss the image of the Iloly Virgin of Kazan which the cathe- dral enshrines. In stately procession his Majesty reached the altar, bent his head, and touched with his lips the sacred image. As he turned to depart, the wildest paroxysm of enthusiasm laid hold of the great throng. Had all the myrniidons of the Third Section been present, they would have been power- less to protect the monarch from an assassins (lagger, and a(lmission had been free to all comers. The people closed in about the czar till h~ had no power to move. The great struggle was but to touch him, and the chaos of his subjects nobles, officers, shriek~ ing women, and enthusiastic m~ji1cs-~- swaye(i and heaved to and fro ; the em- peror in the centre, pale, the tears in his eyes, his lips tremnbling with emo- tion, just as I had seen him when his troops were cheering him on the battle tield, struggling for the l)are possibility to stand or move forward; for he was lifted by the pressure clean off his feet and whirlcd about helplessly. Alexan der II. liteiallx saciificed his life to his self-regardless concern for the suffer- lug. After the first bomb had burst on the Alexandra Canal Road, striking down civilians and Cossacks of the foL- lowing escort, but leaving the emperor unhurt, his coachman begged to be allowed to dash forward and get clear of danger. But Alexander forbade him with the words, No, no I must alight and see to the wounded ; and as he was carrying out his heroic and benign intention, the second bomnb ex- ploded and wrought his death. As did the men of the Hoheuzollern house in 1870, so in 1877 the adult male Romanoffs went to the war with scarce an exception. The Grand Duke Nicho- las, brother of the emperor, and com- mander-in-chief of the Russian armies in Europe, was neither a great general nor an honest man; but there could be ilO 110 question as to his personal courage. That attribute he evinced with utter recklessness when arriving, as was his Wont, too late for a deliberate and careful survey, he ~alloped round the Turkish positions on the morning on which began the September bombardment of Plevna, in proximity to them so dangerous that his staff remonstrated, and that even the sedate American historian of the war speaks of him as having ~ exposed himself imprudently to the Turkish pickets. His son, the Grand Duke Nicholas, jun., in 1877 scarcely of age, was nevertheless a keen practical sol- dier, imbued with the wisdom of getting to close quarters and staying there. He was among the first to cross the Danube at Sistova nuder the Turkish fire, and he fought with great gallantry under Mirsky in the Shipka Pass. The broth- ers, Prince Nicholas an(l Prince Eugene of Leuchtenberg, members of the impe- rial house, commanded each a cavalry brigade in Gourkos dashing raid across the Balkans at the begii~ni~~g of the campaign, and both were conspicuous both for soldierly skill and personal gal- lantry in the desperate fighting in the Tundja valley. The Grand Duke Vladi- mir, the second brother of Alexander II., headed the infantry advance in the direction of Rustehuk, and served with marked distinction in command of one of the army corps in the Army of the Loin. A younger brother, the Grand Duke Alexis, the nautical member of the imperial family, had charge of the torpedo and subaqueous mining opera- tions on the Danube, and was held to have shown practical skill, assiduity, and vigor. Prince Serge of Leuchtenberg, younger brother of the Leuehtenbergs previously mentioned, was shot dead by a bullet through the head, in the course of his duty as a. staff officer at the front of a reconnaissance in force made against the Turkish force in Jovan-Tehiflik in October of the war. I-Ic was a soldier of great promise, and had frequently distinguished himself. No unworthy record,it is submitted, earned in war by the members of a family of which, ac- cording to Mr. Lanin, personal cour- age is not the striking characteristic. The Miilitary Courage of Royalty. That writer, who certainly evinces no animus, may be warranted in stating that the czar has been frequently ac- cused of cowardice an indictment to which, it must be admitted, many un- deniable facts lend a strong coloring of probability ; and he further tells of the emperors aversion to ride on horseback, and of his dread of a horse even when the animal is harnessed to a vehicle. There is something, how- ever, of inconsistency in his observation that Alexander III. may well be a contrast to his grandfather without de- serving the epithet craven-hearted. The melancholy explanation of the strange apparent change between the ezarevitch of 1877 amid the czar of 1892 may, indeed, lie in Mr. Lanins state- ment that Alexanders nerves have been undoubtedly shaken by the terri- ble events in which he has been a spec- tator or actor. The term, surely, should not have been shaken, but shattered, if Mr. Lanins testimony or information is to be accepted on this point. In 1877 Alexander did not know what nerves meant. He was then a man of strong, if slow, mental force, stolid, peremptory, reactionary, the possessor of dull but firm resolu- tion. He had a strong though clumsy seat on horseback, and was no infre- quent ri(lCr. He had two ruling (his likes one was war ; the other was officers of German extraction. The lat- ter he got rid of; the former he re- garded as a necessary evil of the hour he longed for its ending, but, while it lasted, he did his sturdy and loyal best to wage it to the advantage of the Rus- sian arms; and in this lie succeeded, staunchly fulfilling time particular duty which was laid upon him, that of pro- tecting the Russian left flank from the Danube to the foothills of the Balkans. He had good troops; the subordinate commands were fairly well filled ; and his headquarter staff was efficient General Dochtouroff, its sous-chef, was certainly the ablest staff-officer in the Russian army. But Alexander was no puppet of his staff; he understood his business as the commander of the Army of the Loin, performed his fune Scandal about Queen Elizabeth. tions in a firm, quiet fashion, and withal was the trusty and successful warden of the eastern marches. His force never amounted to fifty thousand men, and his enemy was in considerably greater strength. He had successes, and he sustained reverses, but he was equal to either fortune always resolute in his steadfast, dogged manner, and never whining for rein- forcements when things went against him, but doing his best with the means to his hand. They used to speak of him in the principal headquarter as the only commander who never gave them any bother. S~ highly was he thought of there that when, after the unsuccess- ful attempt on Plevna in the September of the war, the Guard Corps was arriv- ing from Russia, and there was the temporary intention to use it with other troops in an immediate offensive move- ment across the Balkans, he was named to take the command of the enterprise. But this intention having been pres- ently departed from, and the reinforce- ments being ordered instead to the Pfevna section of the theatre of war, the ezarevitch retained his command on the left flank, and thus in mid-De- cember had the opportunity of inflicting a severe defeat on Suleiman Pasha, just as in September he had worsted Mehemnet Ali in the battle of Arkova. It is sad to be told that a man once so resolute and masterful should now be the victim of shattered nerves ; it is sadder still to learn that lie is a mark for accusations of cowardice which Mr. Lanin appears to regard as well founded. He never was a gracious, far less a lovable man ; but, if Mr. Lanins statements are accurate, his bitterest enemies may well pity him now. He was a brave man fifteen years ago. ARCH. FORBES. From Blackwoods Magazine. SCANDAL ABOUT QUEEN ELIZABETH. THACKERAY says that Queen Mary has still admirers who conspire for her in history. He might have added that the less fascinating Elizabeth also 117 enjoys the same advantage. The con- spirators on Elizabeths side work by the simple and easy process of not mentioning all the facts in the case and that cast the extraordinary one which makes the question of the guilt of the English queen an exact parallel to the charges against the Queen of Scots. Cumnor Hall was Elizabeths Kirk-of- Field ; Leicester was her Bothwell Amy Ilobsart answers to Daruley; and if Elizabeth be really involved, her sin was greater than Marys, for Daruley had given Mary cause of deadly hatred, and Amy Robsart had done nothing to harm Elizabeth. Here the writer niust frankly confess that lie cannot believe Elizabeth to have been guilty, while in his heart he is unable to acquit Mary. But this belief is rather the result of intuition than of evidence. When Mary, Elizabeths gm~iest, was her prisoner in 1568, she was infor- mnally tried, by a secret and slovenly tri- bunal, for being act and part in the murder of Daruley, on the amnbiguouis evidence of the Casket Letters. The English Commission deci(le(1 nothing, except that Elizabeth was too good and pure to admit Mary to a personal inter- view. Elizabeth herself was anxious not to see her captive, and she thus had an excuse for not seeing her. But had the latter met in private, Mary might have appealed to Elizabeth as a sister in misfortune. S~ven short years ago Elizabeth had been in as manifest dan- ger from a charge of complicity in mnur- dci as Mary now was. Much more certainly and openly than Mary, before Daruleys death, ever encouraged Both- well, had Elizabeth encouraged the suit of Leicester. Meanwhile Leicester, or, to speak more correctly, Lord RObert Dudley, was a married man. his wife died suddenly and strangely. Eliza- beth was iiot advised by a council of her nobles to marry Dudley. She was not beset and carried off by Dudley. Mary, on the other hand, had her no- bles request that she should mimarry Bothiwell under their own hands, and she might at least plead that Bothwell forcibly carried her away, whatever we may think of the value of that plea. 118 Herein alohe lay the difference between her ease, on a first view, and Eliza- beths. Elizabeth did not marry iDud- ley, though Cecil thought she did Mary did, under stress of events, marry Bothwell. Had Elizabeth married Dudley, and been attacked by the Duke of Norfolk and other nobles ; had she been defeated and fled into Scotland had the Catholic cause been victorious had Elizabeth been tried in Scotland as Mary was tried in England, then the two cases would have been absolutely parallel. If no letters of Elizabeths to Dudley were produced, on the other hand Elizabeth had told the Spanish ambassador that Dudleys wife was dead, or nearly dead, four days be- fore Dudleys wife (who was in her usual health) died by accident, or l)y murderous design. This remarkable statement of Elizabeths is carefully left out of view by one of the persons who conspire for her in history. It is plain, at least, that whcn Eliza- beth refused to sec Mary in 1558, she acted with sagacity. For Mary had an arrow in her quiver which must have gor~e homethe statement that Eliza- beth had been almast exactly in her own position. This has always been evi(lent to readers of Mr. Froudes first volume on the reign of Elizabeth, though Mr. Froude, while bearing heavily on Dudley, does not press for a moment on the case as regards the queen. Probably most people take their vague ideas of the affair from Kenilworth, in which Scott uses his customary freedom with facts. He dates ~ Ken~worth in 1575, when Amy ilobsart ha.d for fifteen years lain in her grave in St. Marys Church in Oxford. He introduces Shakespeare as alread~ the author of The Winters Tale, and, in brief, CO~l)O5~5 his- torical events as artists select and com- pose the features of nature in landscape. Scott absolves Leicester (as he calls him), and casts the blame on the vil- lany of Varner, his man. Now, though Varney doe s not appear conspicuously in the affair, Scott may have guessed right ; retainers of Dudley may conceiv- ably have gone beyond their commis Scaudal about Queen Elizabeth. sion, or been resolute where he was irresolute, and made sikker, as in the case of the Red Comyn. The fairest way of stating the circum- stances is to follow Mr. Froude, who is not prejudiced against Queen Elizabeth, and who discovered a curious compro- mising letter at Simancas. The point established by this letter is absent from the article which Canon Jackson wrote for the defence in the Nineteenth Cen tary (March, 1582). Nobody will accuse Canon Jackson of intentional unfair- ness. lie was communicating certain fragments of information found by him- self among the interesting manuscripts of Lord Bat.h at Longleat, and no doubt his l)reoecul)ation with these may have obscured his general view of the prob- 1cm. Still, as Thackeray says, he conspires by this doubtless unwit- ting suppressio yen. In 1559 it was highly desirable that Elizabeth should marry, audi secure the succession. On April 18 and 29, 1559, De Faria, the Spanish ambassador, wrote to Philip They tell me she is enamored of my Lord Dudley, and will never let him leave her side. Now Dudley had married, in 1550, when he was about nineteen, Amy, daughter and heiress of Sir John Ilobsart. Sir Johns wife had been a Mrs. Appleyard, and he had a son John, Amys half-brother, of whom more hereafter. About the married life of Amy and Dudley we know little. Dudley was in the Tower for Lady Jane Greys affair, and was released in January, 1554. In 1557, Amy, as a letter of hers shows, was in a position of trust, paying money for Dudley to some poor people in Dudleys absence, and staying with a Mr. 1-lyde, an old friend of the Dudley family, not far from Abingdon. Elizabeth came to the throne in November, 1558, and made her 01(1 companion Dudley her master of the horse. At this time he was much about the queens person by virtue of his office, moreover, she will never let him leave her side, says iDe Faria. It is now that Amy goes to Cumnor Place, of which Forster was tenant; while Mrs. Owen, the wife of its owner (the queens physi cian), with two other ladies, Mrs. Fors- ter and Mrs. Odingsell, a sister of Mr. Hydes, were also there. Mr. Forster purchased the house from Dr. Owen after Amys death, and on his own death left it with a charge on it, to Leicester.1 While they resided at Cumnor Hall, Amy a.nd the Forsters had different servants. Fors- ter died in 1572. Scott, who publishes his epitaph, observes that his character, as given on that authority, differs greatly from the churl of Kenil- worth. He was Leicesters chief con- troller of expenses. Canon Jackson shows that Amy had millinery to her hearts desire, though in the novel she had only one opportunity of shop- ping. When she went to Cumnor is not absolntely certain not much be- fore the very last year of her life (1560), thinks Canon Jackson. To return to Dc Farias letters. In April, 1559, Dudley is in such favor that people say she (the queen) vis- its him in his chamber day an(l night. This was not part of Dudleys duties as master of the horse. Nay, it is even reported that his wife has a cancer on the breast, and that the queen waits only till she (lie to marry him. 2 Thus in April, 1559, Leicester was on very familiar terms with the queen. On no such terms was Mary with Both- well. Meanwhile Leicesters wife, at Cumnor probably, is believed to be dangerously ill. There was no truth in that report. Whether the state of af- fairs was conducive to Amys happiness any reader may conceive. On Septem- her 7, 1559, Lady Sidney told the new Spanish ambassador, De Quadra, that there had been a plot to murder Eliza- beth and Dudley. Elizabeth, there- fore, pretended to think of marrying the Archduke Carlos. In October the Duke of Norfolk was speaking against Dudley. Elizabeth also quarrelled with Cecil, for what cause God knows, probably about Dudley. On November 15, 1559, De Quadra told Philip that 1 Canon Jackson, Nineteenth Century, 1582, p. A24. 2 Simancas MSS., ap. Froude, i. 85. London, 1863. 119 Lord Robert Dudley has sent instruc- tions to have his wife poisoned, and all the dallying with us (about the queens marriage) is merely to keep Lord Roberts enemies in play till this villany can be executed. I have learned also certain other things as to the terms on which the queen and Lord Robert stand towards each other, which I could not have believed, though he did believe that Elizabeth was possessed of a devil ! On December 27, De Quadra writes to the Bishop of Arras You would be astonished to know the things which take place here, but the less they are spoken of the better. I will not write of them. We now enter the last year of Amy Robsarts life, 1560. On August 27 Cecil dare not write to Throgmor- ton in Paris that he might speak. God send her Majesty understanding. On September 25 Randolph answered a lost letter of Cecils, of September 11. Cecils first wor(1s, compared with the reports bruited abroad by the French, so passioned my heart, that no grief that ever 1 felt was like unto it. What had Cecil written on September 11? The news of Amy Robsarts death was publicly known in London on that day! We now come to the darkest hint of all. The dates must be kept carefully in min(l. On September 5 Amy Rob- sart died. On September11 De Quadra wrote to the Duchess of Parma. His letter, in Mr. Froudes book, is headed London, Sept. 11. TIe writes to give information about great and un- expected matters. 1. On the 3d the queen had told him she would marry the archduke. 2. She has just now (September 11) told me dryly that she does not intend to marry, and that it cannot be. Between September 3, when the queen was determined to marry, and September 11, when she was deter- mined not to marry, Amy had died, and Leicester was free. 3. De Quadra goes on: After my 3Pronde, i. 148. Scandal about Queen Elizabeth. 120 conversation with the queen (which, as will be seen, must be that of Sep- tember 3) I met the Secretary Cecil. Now De Quadra, by after my conver- sation with the queen, may mean some days after, but nobody would read his words in that sense. Every one would take them to mean, on Sep- tember 3. Cecil said he wished to re- tire from affairs. Dudley was master of the business of the State, and of the person of the queen, with the in- tention of marrying her. The queen was moping in her palace, to the peril of her health and life. Last of all, he said that they (who ?) were thinking of destroying Lord Roberts wife. They had given out that she was very ill, but she was not ill at all she was very well, and was taking care not to be poisoned. So said Cecil on September 3, as far as we can gather. The day after this conversation (September 4), the queen, on her re- turn from hunting, told me that Lord Roberts wife was dead, or nearly so, and begged me to say nothing about it. Assuredly it is a matter full of shame and infamy. . . . Since this was writ- ten (on September 11) the death of Lord Roberts wife has been given ont publicly. The queen said, in Italian, Que si ha rotto ii eoUo (she has broken her neck). It seems that she fell down a staircase. 1 Elizabeth, who was too pure to breathe the same air with Mary Stuart, was, according to her own min- ister, moping for love of a married man. She stayed in the house to the peril of her royal health. On receiving news that the married mans wife was dead or nearly so, she went out hunting, and, for whatever reason, could not keep her story to herself. Yet the married mans wife was alive and well, and only died, by an accident, four days later. After which Elizabeth renounced her express promise to marry another suitor, the archduke. Of Ce- cil, who told the tale, and of Elizabeth, we may say, as some one quoted by Mr. froude said of Mary and the Bishop of Scandal about Queen Elizabeth. Ross, What a queen, and what a min~ ister ! These are the circumstances, these words of the queen and Cecil, which Canon Jackson never even distantly alludes to in his argument for the de- fence. The queens cause has also been advocated by Mr. Gairdner.2 Mr. Gairdner tries to explain away Cecils remarks to De Quadra. Cecil only wanted to frighten De Quadra~ and his words must })e construed ac- cording to the object he has in view. Cecil may have heard gossip about the poisonin~, and even thought it net incredible. This is making a pretty character for Cecil ; he not only tattled against the honor of his queen, but he tattled falsely. Mr. Gairduer omits to mention, as l)earing on Cecils real opinion, his letter to Throgmorton of August 27 I dare not write that I might speak. God send her Majesty understanding. lie admits Randolphs acknowledged receipt of information of an extremely agitating kind, as Mr. Froude calls it (September 11, Septem- ber 23). These two coincidences Cecils not daring to write what he thinks on August 27, and his desolating, secret letter to Randolph coincide with his conversation with IDe Quadra, and leave no doubt as to what was in his mind the purposed poisoning. Now gossip about poisoning was natu- ral, and not very important, when the queen was so familiar with a married man living apart from his wife. But when a minister believes in the story, alludes to it in private letters, and dis- cusses it with a foreign ambassador, things look very black. Yet Mr. Gaird- ner does not allude to these letters of Cecils. Mr. Gairduer next tries to show that when the queen told IDe Quadra that Amy was dead, or nearly so, she spoke after the event. But Amy was found quite dead; we are not merely nearly dead when we have broken our miecks, or had them broken for us. There could be no mistake about the matter. It is precisely the expression, dead or nearly so, which 1 Sirnancas MSS., ap. Froude, i. 278281. 2 Historical Review, i. 233. Scandal about Queen Elizabeth. suggests so much. The words are meaningless when the death and the cause of death have been ascertained, Mr. Gairdner, none the less, argues that the queen spoke after the event of the 8th September. First, De Quadra does not say, in so many words, that his conversation with Cecil occurred on the day (September 3) of his first talk with the queen. He only says I spoke with the queen, afterwards I met Cecil, and on the following day the queen told me Lady Dudley was dead or dying. But De Quadra, heading his letter Sep- tember 11, says, Just now the queen told me that she does not intend to marry. Mr. Gairdner is driven to say, Though he appears to have begun his letter before the 11th, the day on which he certainly finished it, there is nothing to prevent our supposing that he began it on the 9th or 10th, and had the inter- view with Cecil that same day. Now even on 9th September Elizabeth must have known of Amys death. How? Leicester w~s at Windsor on September 9, when he got the news. On Septem- ber 11 the queen was in London; prob- ably she was at Windsor on September 9, otherwise she could scarcely have known so early. But, however this may be, there is nothing in the letter to show, or as far as we see to suggest, that De Quadra began his letter before the day he dated it, the 11th. If he heads his letter September 11, as in Mr. Froudes copy, then he wrote it from the beginning On September 11; he did not commence it on the 9th or 10th, after an interview with Elizabeth on one of these days. Had he done so he would have said, just now, or to- day, the queen on her return from hunting told me of Amys parlous state. Mr. Gairdners theory requires us to believe this A man had an interview with the queen on September 3. He also (cx hypothesi) had an interview with her on the 9th or 10th. lIe is (still ex hypothesi) writing on the 9th or 10th. He speaks of his interview of the 3rd, of a conversation with Cecil afterwards, and of another conver- sation the day after this, by which 121 phrase he means the day he is writing on! And he heads his letter, Lon- don, 11th September We have never seen the advocates of Queen Mary Stuart driven to conten- tions quite so strange as this, quite so desperately at bay. For De Quadra~, to suit Mr. Gairdner, cannot be writing before the 9th, for Elizabeth could not have heard of Amys death before the 9th; and he is laboring to prove that Elizabeth said she was dead, or nearly so, after news arrived of the fact. Therefore De Quadra must be writing on the 9th or 10th. But his interview with the queen cannot, if it is to help Mr. Gairdner, be earlier than the 9th. Yet De Quadra, instead of saying, if he is writing on the 9th, the queen told me to-day, or if he met her on the 9th and wrote on the 10th, the queen told me yesterday, of Amys condition, dates the conversation the day after this undated talk with Cecil To argue thus is certainly, in an in- nocent and Thaekerayan sense, to con- spire in history for Elizabeth. No Marian has so decidedly allowed his affections to influence his judgment. Here, then, we have damnum mina- turn: popular report, the words of Cecil, declare that Amy is to be poi- soned; the queen says she is dead or dying; and then comes malum secuturn, Amy breaks her neck. In what circumstances did Amy break her neck down, a pair of stairs ? Mr. Bartlett, a local antiquary, found that it was a circular newel stone staircase that Amy fell down, - as Mr. Gairdner says, a corkscrew stair- case. On the other hand, the event was described at the moment as a fall from a pair of stairs, which, in the ~vest of England, means a staircase with two landings. About the whole business a messenger was at once sent from Cumnor to Dudley at Windsor, by whoni I do nuderstande that my wife is dead, and, as he saithe, by a fall from a pair of staires. Little other un- derstanding can I have from him, and nobody has had other understanding 1 Canon Jackson, Nineteenth Gentury, p. 426. 122 ever since. Dudleys letters and de- meanor are entirely compatible with innocence, and lend themselves to no other interpretation ; which, of course, only deepens the mystery. The letters or rather copies of them, are in the Pepys collection at Magdalene, Cain- bridge, and are pnblished in Lord Bray- brookes edition of Pepys. They state that on Sunday, September 8, there was a f~.ir at Abingdon. Mr. Gairdner can find no record of such a fair; but it was the Feast of Our Lady. Very early on Monday, Dudley sent Sir Thomas Blount, one of his officers, from Wind- sor into Oxfordshire, on what errand we know not; Blount met il3owes com- ing from Cumnor with the following news On Sunday, Amy sent all her people to Abingdon. Mrs. Odingsell, sister of Mr. Hyde, declined to go. Amy was left in the house with this lady, Mrs. Owen, and Forsters ser- vants. Nothing is here said about Fors- ter and Varney. When Amys servants came back from the fair, Amy was lying dead at the foot of the staircase in the hail. How long had she been dead? Why was she allowed to lie there ? Here all information stops. No record of the coroners jnry can be foniid. On receiving Bowess message, Dud- ley did not hnrry from Windsor to Cumnor as soon as a horse could be saddled. It is urged, with truth, that his presence at Cumnor might have unduly influenced a jnry, yet a fond husband could hardly have stayed at Windsor. On Tuesday Blount heard from Amys maid, Mrs. Pinto, who dearly loved her, that she judged it chance, and neither done by man nor by herself, for she was a good virtuous gentlewoman, and daily would pray upon her knees ; and divers times I have heard her pray to God to save her from desperation. The girl, however, denied that she suspected Amy of sui- cidal tendencies. Her desperation, for all that we are told, may have been theological, like Cowpers, or may have been produced by Dudleys relations with the queen, and by the rumors of an intended attempt on her life. But no one would commit suicide by jump- Scandal about Queen Elizabeth. ing down a pair of stairs ; and if Amy was so desperately ill as Elizabeth announce(l, she would not be running at top speed down a corkscrew stair- case, as Mr. Gairdner suggests. As to Dudley, he con)manded Blount to use all (levises and means for the learnin of the truth, the bottom of the matter, and to bid the coroner choose the discreetest and substantial men for the jury. He also sent for A.nmvs half-brother, Appleyard, and her ille- gitimate brother, Arthur Robsart, to attend the legal proceedings. The jury could find no presumption of evil dealing. Dudley sng~ested that a sec- ond jury should be summoned, but this was perhaps not done, though a second jury may have sat. Certainly, on all this showing, Dud- ley was guiltless. But Canon Jackson, innocently conspiring again, adduces Sir Nicholas Throgmorton, ambassador in Paris, as harboring no suspicion or unkind feelings on Dudleys part towards the wife of his youth. Yet Canon Jackson had before his eyes what Mr. Fmoude says about Throg- morton: lie at least refused to credit the Cumnor Inquest. 2 So far, me- thinks, Throgmorton wrote to Cecil, I already see into the matter, as I wish myself already dead, because I would not live to see ummto that day, of Dudleys marriage to Elizabeth.8 If it take place, we shall be oppro- briton hominmon et abjectio plebis. He finally sent to Elizabeth his secretary, Mr. Jones, whose letter to Throgmor- ton is in the Hardwicke Papers (i. 163). Jones carried Throgmortons message verbally: he vehemently inveighed against Dudleys race, but the queen only laughed! She thereon told inc that the matter (of Amnys death) had been tried in the country, and found to be contrary to that which was reported, saying that he (Dudley) was then in the court, and none of his at the attempt at his wifes house. As Mr. Froude says, this expression ad- 1 Froude, 1. 287, note 2. 2 Ibmd., .296. October 26, 1560, in the Hardwicke Papers, i. 121124. Scandal about Queen Elizabeth. mits that there had been an attempt of some kind, all(l l)y some one. Neither Canon Jackson nor Mr. Gairdner al- ludes to this curious phrase of Eliza- beths, which oniy serves to darken the obscure. The queen heard Jones gra- ciously, even when he rehearsed the terms of veaeftcii et male flcu ~ens. The queen was looking ill ; the mat- ter of my Lord Robert doth much per- plex her, and it is never like to take place. She had deferred creating him a peer, cutting up the papers with a knife. Thus we make no progress ; we only find that Throgmorton, at the moment, was no believer in Dudley, as Canon Jackson, by a curious letter found at Longleat, shows Lord Huntingdon to have been, or like Throgmorton, who also wrote a letter of condolence, to have pretended to be. There remains one circumstance in which Mr. Gairduer shows Mr. Froude to have pressed too hard on Dudley. We have heard of Appleyard, high sheriff of Norwich, Amys half-brother, whom Dudley sent to the inquest. In 1567 Appleyard was examined by the Council concernino certain words which he had used about the affair. He ad- mitted, says Mr. Froude, that the investigation had, after all, been in- adequately conducted. In fact, Ap- pleyard did not so much admit this, as admit that he had said this ; and, under pressure of prison and hunger, he with- drew his remarks. His evidence is worthless to either side. First when he grumbled against Leicester, he was really trying to blackmail him, to extort money or moneys worth. When lie withdrew his imputations, it was under stress of bonds, ruin, and imini- nent starvation. The story, in a nut- shell, is this In 1567 (the year of Marys trial, such as it was, about the Casket Letters), Appleyard was called before the Council to ansxver for cer- tain words concerning Leicester. lie said that, in 1566, a mysterious stranger had offered him 4,000 to re-open the Cumnor affair. He had refused, and he spoke of it to Blount, Leicesters xnan,who was riding to Cumnor the day 123 after Amys death. He admitted that Leicester had procured him the office of high sheriff of Norfolk and Suffolk, to gain him credit and countenance, the year after Amy died, and that Leices~ ter had got him posts of emolument but it is plain that he expected more. lie admitted having said that he had often asked Leicester to countenance him in the l)rosecuting of the trial of the murder of his sister. lie admitted having said that, though he held the earl innocent, yet there had been foul play. He admitted having said that the jury (the second jnry?) had not as yet given up their verdict. This is Appleyards confession, that is, lie confesses to having spoken about what he could do an he would. Another witness, Tryndell, had heard Appleyard use words of anger, and say, among other things, that he had, for the earls sake, covered the murder of his sister. Thins Appleyard, since Amys death, had been a hanger-on of Leicester, disappointed, surly, and threatening. Next Blount writes to Leicester, after this examination of Appleyards before the Council. Blount tells Leicester that he, too, has been exam- ined, as Applevard admitted having spoken to him. He gives Leicester a pr~cis of his own evidence before the Council, which was to this effect. Appleyards brother-in-law, Huggon, had warned Leicester that court per- sons were practisiug on Appleyard. Thereon Leicester sent Blount to ask Appleyard what was going on. Apple- yard would not write, but promised to call on Leicester. He never came. Blount visited him again, and was told the story of the mysterious stranger and the bribe, a strange tale, as he himself says. Still Appleyard would not visit Leicester. Again Blount was sent to Appleyard, but only saw hug- gon, who confirmed his story of the interview with the mysterious stranger, having witnessed it from the leads of his house. At last Blount brought Ap-. 1 The letter, in which some pages are missing, is in the Pepys collection. Mr. Gairdner publishes what is extant (list. Rev. i. 251) 124 pleyard to Leicester in the open air, near Greenwich. They spoke angrily, and Leicester would have drawn his sword upon him, if they had been alone. Finally, Leicester left Apple- yard with great words of defiance. Leicester then told Blount that Apple- yard was a very villain. here the letter eu(ls abruptly. What Appicyard was doing is obvi- ous. He was saying that hc had offers of money (from Norfolk and Surrey, it seems) if he would open the Cumnor matter, and he was attempting to extort blackmail from Leicester. Appleyard was now consigned to the Fleet Prison, which made him change his tune. He writes abjectly to the Council, asking for a copy of the ver- dict on his sisters death, whereby I may see what the jury have found. If he really was at the inquest, this is a curious request. He adds that he has to buy his own food, and has very little money. So he writes on the last of May, 1567. On the 4th of June he writes again. He has seen the verdict, in which I do find not only such proofs attested under the oaths of fif- teen persons, how my late sister, by misfortune, happened of death, but also such manifest and plain determination thereof as quite suffices him, and I have no further to say of that cause. He adds that he has been in prison for a month in sickness and most miser- able poverty, not having money left to find me two meals. A letter found at Longleat shows that, on June 6, he was brought before the Star Chamber, and showed himself a malytyons beast, for he dyd confess he accusyd my Lord of Lecyster only of malycs. What Appleyard confessed, under such a screw as the Council put on, is worth no more than what he said to extort blackmail. How fifteen persons can have seen and testified to the man- ner of Amys death is a mystery ; and a mystery is the attempt at her house of which Elizabeth spoke to Jones. The verdict which satisfied Appicyard in prison did not satisfy Throgmorton in Paris. Throgmorton was a very shifty person. On October Scandal about Queen Elizabeth. 10, 1560, lie wrote to Didley a letter of condolence on the cruel mischance to my lady your late bedfellow; but we have seen what his real opinion of the mischance was, as expressed by Jones to the queen.i On May 9, 1567, Throg- morton, now on fricudly terms with Leicester, wrote to him about Apple- yards examination before the Council.2 In 1571 Tlirogmortou died, aiid was said to have been poisoned by Leices- ter Events subsequent to Amys death may be studied in Mr. Froudes history. Dudley and the queen amused Dc Quadra by a proposal to marry, and bring back the Church, if the ki ugof Spain would support them. Cecil, in a private memorandum, noted Lei cester as infamed by his wifes death that is, tar~, of ill repute. The queen continued to load Leicester with gifts and hoiiors; much scandal was spoken about them, but scandal is always spoken of eminent people. To conclude, Dudleys letters to Blount, if carefully read, are exactly what an innocent man would have writ- ten. As to Varney and Forster, there is not a tittle of evidence in support of the cha.rges made against them in Leicesters Commonwealth, iior is it even certain which of two Varmieys is intended. Forster received many fa- vors from Leicester, but that is no proof, nor are there presumptions of guilt in benefactions to the Odingsells.8 Amy liobsart did not die in an unten- anted house ; there were several ladies in it at the time. Her own maid, who dearly loved her, declared her death to be an accident. The suspicion en- tirely rises from the coincidence of the death with the rumors of intended mur- der, and from the strange circumstance of her body being left, apparently for several hours, where it fell, till the ser- vants found it on their return from the fair. Of all the rumors, the most strange and startling are those attrib- 1 The ietter of condoience is quoted by Mr. Rye in The Murder of Amy Robsart, the Brief for the Prosecution, from State Papers, Foreign, Eliza- beth, i560. xix. 625. 2 Published by Mr. Rye. These are all traced in Mr. Ryes Brief for. the Prosecution (London, 1885~, pp. 52-60. The Economies of the Rich. uted to Elizabeth first, in announcing the death before it occurred ; next~, in speaking of the attempt at her house, not elsewhere alluded to by any one. So here we leave the mystery, only remarking that, as Elizabeth succeeded in life, she was left unscathed, whereas Mary Stuart, in circumstances curiously parallel, was practically condemned un- heard. The only absolute conclusion we can reach is, that Elizabeth had no moral right to stand on her stainless character and refuse an interview to Mary, when Mary was laboring under a charge like that of which Elizabeths own ministers thought her possibly guilty. But then Mary, in Paris, had said that Elizabeth was about to marry her horsemaster, who had killed his wife to make room for her. And this very horse-master was l)roPosecl by Elizabeth, later, as a suitable hus- band for Mary. Mr. Froude thinks the proposal was honestly made. So natu- ral and likely was it that a prou(l queen would marry a man whom she had de- scribed as a murderous horse-master! A. LANG. From The Globe. THE ECONOMThS OF THE RICH. IT is hard to reconcile the saying Penny wise, pound foolish with an- other quoted even oftener, Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves. The latter as a motto for the lid of a childs moneybox leaves nothing to be desired ; the for- mner is a. text from which sermons in miurnerable might be preached. It is not the poor who are penny wise and pound foolish so much as the rich. It is the rich woman who, when she wants to take a pound of grapes to a poor old woman dying in the workhouse infirmary, drives from Covent Garden to Westhourne Grove, from the nurs- eries at Fuiham to the Army and Navy stores, in search of some which shall cost a few pence less than those at her own immediate fruiterers. And it is the rich woman who travels third-class though her footman and maid must go second, for she thinks she sees the way to saving a shilling or two on the jour- ney by this needless sacrifice of personal comfort and (lignity. On no fait pas des economies en voyageant, was a favorite saying of a wise old French gentleman, which deserves remember- ing; and yet it is precisely when rich folks are travelling that they make the most strenuous endeavor to keep their purse-strings drawn. Who but the rich man squabbles over his hotel bill, and makes his wife and (laughters wretched by a sort of post-mortem ex- amination of it in the train when it is paid beyond recall, and there is no chance whatever of disputing it fur- ther? Hotel candles make the despair of the rich) who not infrequently carry on a few odd bits froD~ one halting- l)lace to another, replacing the long new ones in their bedrooms by these little short ends which if skilfully hus- banded will go a long way. In this manner as much as a franc a day may be saved by each member of the party. Five oclock tea in hotel is