The Living age ... / Volume 207, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 850 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABR0102-0207 /moa/livn/livn0207/

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The Living age ... / Volume 207, Note on Digital Production 0207 000
The Living age ... / Volume 207, Note on Digital Production A-B

The Living age ... / Volume 207, Issue 2674 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 850 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABR0102-0207 /moa/livn/livn0207/

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

The Living age ... / Volume 207, Issue 2674 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. October 5, 1895 0207 2674
The Living age ... / Volume 207, Issue 2674, miscellaneous front pages i-viii

LITTELLS LIVING GE. E PLURIBUS UNuin. These publications of the day should from time to time be winnowed, the wheat carefully preserved, and the chaff thrown away. Made up of every creatures best. Various, that tile luin(1 Of (lesultory man, studious of ch~ uge, And pleased with novelty, may be indulged. SIXTH SERIES, VOLUME VIII. FROM THE BEGINNING, VOL. CCVII. OCTOBER, NOVEMBER, DECEMBER, 1S95. BOSTON: LITTELL AND Co. /7,9+ \AC\ r%3 TABLE OF TIlE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS OF TilE LIVING AGE, VOLUME CCVII. THE EIGHTH QUAlITEELY VOLUME OF THE SIXTH SERIES. OCTOBER, NOVEMBER, DECEM BER~, 1895. EDINBURGH REVIEW. Medi~val Cyprus QUARTERLY Ii HUT F W. The Passing of the Monk, The Art of Translation, LONDON QUARTERLY REVIEW. Lessons from the Monuments, CONTEMPORARY REVIEW. MaCedonia and the MaCedonians, The Japanese Constitutional Crisis and the War The Romans Villeggiatura. Louis Pasteur FOETNIGIITLY RE VIEW. The Story of Stambouloffs Fall, Tudor Translations The Queens Prime Ministers, The Expressiveness of Speech, A Roman Reverie The Sultan and his harem, The New Study of Children, How Cuba might have Belonged to France 707 07 387 043 131 323 417 431 91 171 237 309 490 000 379 090 NINETEENTH CENTURY. Lion Hunting Beyond the Hand, 105 The Present Condition of Russia, 215 Frederick Locker-Lampson, . 300 The Land of Frankincense and Myrrh 342 Great Britain, Venezuela, and the United States 543 The Past and the Future of Gibraltar, 073 The New Spirit in History, 737 Matthew Arnold 771 Huiderico Schmidel 798 NATIONAL REVIEW. ir James Fitzjames Stephen, . . 45 My Residence in Bhopal, . . . Autumn Sessions in a Budlan Ca- den Tue Conseil de Famille in France, . 034 NEW REVIEW. James II. at Saint-Gernialus, SCOvTIsu REVIEW. Sancta Sophia, Constantinople,. ASIATIC QUARTERLY REVIEW. The Native Press of India, BLACKWOOD5 MAGAZINE. My Maid of Honor A Master of Deceit Owd Lads, A Foreign Mission in the Province of Canton Luminous Animals Wanderings in Persiall Turkestall, Ireland Revisited Professor Blackie A Trip hleaveliward Eothen and the AthenHum Club, GENTLEMANS MAGAZINE. A Sulnlner Ride in Eubcca, Durham and the Bishops Palatine, The Ladies of Liangollen, Bonfires in London Streets, A French Squires Diary in the Six- teelith Century, Village Craft Dandy Jackson Christlnas Customs in Central France, CORNIJILL MAGAZINE. A ilymeneal Fiasco Our Stone Crusaders, Havana An Affectionate Son 082 71 104 36 84 208 356 430 474 532 012 000 748 184 205 285 380 007 055 784 S1.~ 400 448 500 386 iv From the Note-Book of a Country Doctor A Convent Prison, Our Early Female Novelists, MACMILLANS MAGAZINE. The Men of the Hills, The Old One-Horned Stag, When we were Boys, Rachel and Leah, The Road to Rome, John Zizka, . The End of it Margaret Ward, Spinster, Some Thoughts on Saint Bruno, Prosper Merimee, Contents. 628 668 804 30 100 123, 425 201 228 297 337 459 501 515 TEMPLE BAR. The Future Emperor-King, 23 An Unpaid Governess, . 146 With Thomas Ingoldsby in Kent, 244 Mademoiselle de Maupin, 253 The Sources of Don Quixote, 277 Wordsworth and Carlyle, . 356 The Gibraltar of France, 440 Caught Napping 509 Private Jams 724 The Poet-Laureateship, . 787 SUNDAY MAGAZINE. Anna Pavlovna s Pilgrimage, 689 LEISURE HOUR. A People Adrift, 3 LONGMANS MAGAZINE. A Correspondent of White of Sel borne 177 Toms Second Missus, 525 Marseilles 572 UNITED SERVICE MAGAZINE. An Adventure with Chinese Pirates, 317 Oliver Cromwell as a Soldier, French Military Cycling, SPECTATOR. Annals of a Rookery, November on the Norfolk Flats, SATURDAY REVIEW. Some Reminiscences,. Gold-Digging in British Guiana, SPRAKRR. In Autumn Woods, . 598 700 637 766 63 446 702 PUBLIC OPINION. Literary Peculiarities: Henry Murger, Descendants of Cromwell and their Intermarriage with the Stuarts, CHAMBERS JOURNAL. ADeparturefromTradition, NATURE. The Pendulum and Geology, On the Habits of the Kea, the Sheep- eating Parrot of New Zealand, GRAPHIC. The Festival of the Bromo, 256 15 50 251 LANCET. On Mountain Climbing, 576 254 CHUMS. Rock-Fowling, JOURNAL DES VOYAGES. Formosa and its People, . . . 191 GOOD CHEER. A Footstep from the Unseen, KNOWLEDGE. Eruption of Krakatoa and the Great Air-Wave, . 817 823 INDEX TO VOLUME CCVII. AUTUMN Sessions in a Buchan Gar- den Affectionate Son, An Anna Pavlovna s Pilgrimage, Autnmn Woods, In . Athenieum Club, The, and Eothen, Arnold, Matthew . BUOPAL, My Residence in Bromo, the, The Festival of Butler, Lady Eleanor, Buchan Garden, a, Autumn Sessions in Bonfires in London Streets, Bruno, Saint, Some Thoughts on Blackie, Professor . CROMWELL, Descendants of, and their intermarriage with the 311 589 689 702 748 771 53 251 285 311 380 501 612 Stuarts 256 Carlyle and Wordsworth, . . . 357 Canton, the Province of, A Foreign Mission in . 359 Caught Napping 509 Children The, of the Regiment, 566 Children, The New Study of . 579 Cromwell, Oliver, as a Soldier, . 598 Country Doctor, From the Note-Book ofa 628 Conseil deFamille, The, in France, . 634 Convent Prison, A . . . . 66S Cuba, How it might have Belonged to France, . . . . 696 Cycling, French Military . . . 700 Cyprus, Medheval . . . . 707 Christmas Customs in Central France, 813 DEPARTURE, A, from Tradition, Durham and the Bishops Palatine, Dandy Jackson, . . EIJBEA, A Summer Ride in . 15 205 781 184 End of it, The 337 Eothen and the Athemeum Club, 748 FORMOSA and its People, . . . 191 Frankincense and Myrrh, The Land of 342 French Squires, A, Diary in the Six teenth Century, . . . 607 Female Novelists, Our Early . . 804 France, Central, Christmas Customs in 813 Footstep, A, from the Unseen, . 817 GIBRALTAR, The, of France, . . 440 Guiana, British, Gold-Digging in . 446 Gibraltar, The Past and the Future of HAMILTON, Alexander Hymeneal Fiasco, A Havana Heavenward, A Trip. History, The New Spirit in INDIA, The Native Press of Ingoldsby, Thomas, With, in Kent, Ireland Revisited, . Indian Station, An . 673 259 406 560 660 737 164 244 532 755 JAPANESE, The, Constitutional Crisis and the War 323 James II. at Saint-Germains, . . 682 KARL Ludwig, The Future Emperor- King 23 Kurdistan, Persian, Wanderings in . 474 Kea, On the Habits of, the Sheep- eating Parrot of New Zealand, 575 Krakatoa, Eruption of, and the Great Air-Wave, . . . 823 LION Hunting beyond the Hand, Liangollen, The Ladies of. 105 285 vi Locker-Lampson, Frederick London Streets, Bonfires in Lnminons Animals, MEN, The, of the Hills, Maid of Honor, My . Monk, the, The Passing of Master of Deceit, A . Macedonia and the Macedonians, Mnrger, Henry, Literary Peculiarities of Montaigne, Manpin, Mademoiselle de Mission, a Foreign, in the Province of Canton Margaret Ward, Spinster, Merimee, Prosper . Marseilles Mountain Climbing, On Monuments, the, Lessons from. NORFOLK Flats, November on the Novelists, Female, Our Early ~ Owi Lads, . PENDULUM, The, and Geology, Prime Ministers, The Queens Ponsonby, Miss Sarah Pirates, Chinese, An Adventure Pasteur, Louis . Private Jams Peshwa People, A, Adrift5 Poet-Laureateship, The QUIXOTE, Don, The Sources of. Quelern Index. 306 380 430 30 36 07 84 131 190 195 253 359 459 ~15 572 o76 643 766 804 268 50 237 285 with 317 451 724 755 763 787 277 440 RAchEL and Leah, Russia, The Present Condition of Rome, The Road to Rock Fowling Roman Reverie, A Rookery, a, Annals of SANcTA Sophia, Constantinople, Stephen, Sir James Fitzjames Slatin Pasha, Some Reminiscences of Stambouloffs Fall, The Story of Stag, The Old One-Horned Speech, The Expressiveness of Stone Crusaders, Our Sultan, The, and his Harem, Scbmidel, Hulderico . TWEED, the Upper, The Men of Tudor Translations, Translation, The Art of Toms Second Missus, 201 21~ 22& 254 490 637 45 91 100 369 448 553 798 30 171 387 525 14~ 817 417 the 545 655 WHEN we were Boys, . . 123, 42~ White of Selborne, A Correspondent of . Wordsworth and Carlyle, a Parallel, ZIZKA, John 177 Literary 356 297 POETRY. UNPAID Governess, An Unseen, the, A Footstep from VILLEG~ZUATURA, The Romans Venezuela, Great Britain, and United States, . Village Craft, ANTWEEP, The Chimes of Annie Ferguson, . . Almond-Tree, When the, shall Flour- ish Ave Atque Vale, . . According to His Excellent Great- ness, Brass Sundial, On an Cork,. Cobwebs, 258 322 450 578 770 194 94 258 Forgive, Finis, Five Oclock Tea, Garden, In the Growth, Garden, The Old 66 514 578 194 700 Harvest, In the Time of 450 Ici-bas, 386 Index. Little songs, The, which come and go, Life-tide, The Moondial, The Marriage Song, A Meditation, A, on ers, Psyche, A Song of some Dried Flow- Reconciled, Recollections of a Piano, Robin, To the Sea, At Stillness by the Lake, Summers Sleep, 258 770 2 130 642 386 66 66 386 . . 130 . . 130 . . 258 Second Childhood, Sursum Corda, Saint Marys Lake Yarrow, Street Sycamore, To a Soul-Drift Tax-Gatherer, The Through the Wood, Two Days, Vigil, . Voice, The, of the Trees, Voices of thc Human Heart, Vignette, A Wanderers, Wish,A . vii . 322 . 322 . 514 . 642 . 706 . 2 . . 578 . . 706 . 258 578 642 642 2 770 TALES. AFFECTIONATE Son, An Anna Pavlovnas Pilgrimage, Departure, A, from Tradition, Dandy Jackson End of it, The (A Sequel to Rachel and Leah), 589 Master of Deceit, A 689 Margaret Ward, Spinster, 15 781 Owd Lads, 33,7 Private Jams, Rachel and Leah, Footstep, A, from the Unseen,. 817 Toms Second Missus, Hymeneal Fiasco, A . 406 Unpaid Governess, An My Maid of Honor, 36 Village Craft, . . 84 450 268 724 201 525 146 655

The Living age ... / Volume 207, Issue 2674 1-64

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Sixth Series, Velune VIII No, 2674. October 5,1895. 5 From Beginning, Vol. COViI. CON T E N T S. I. SANCTA SOPHIA, CONSTANTINOPLE. By iRobt. Weir Schultz II. A IDEPARTURE FROM TRADITION. A Story of the Year 95. By Rosaline Masson III. THE FUTURE EMPEROR-KING. By Edith Sellers IV. THE MEN OF THE HILLS, V. M~ MAID OF HONOR. By H. Fielding,. VI. SIR JAMES FITZJAMES STEPHEN. By Sir Frederick Pollock VII. THE PENDULUM AND GEOLOGY. By 0. Fisher VIII. MY RESIDENCE IN BHOPAL. By H. C. E. Ward, IX. SOME REMINISCENCES. By Slatin Pasha, Scottish Review, Chambers Journal, Temple Bar, Macmillans Magazine, Blackwoods Magazine, National Review, Nature, National Review, Saturday Review, P0 E U Ti Y. 2 j THE TAX-GATHERER,. THE MOONDIAL, WANDERERS, 3 15 23 30 36 45 50 53 63 .2 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLARS remitted directly to the Publishers, the Llvueo AGE will be punctually for- warded for a year, free of postage. Itesnittances should he 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 LIVIEG AGE, 15 cents. The Jllioondial, etc. THE MOONDIAL. IRON and granite and rust, In a crumbling garden old, Where the roses are paler than dust And the lilies are green with gold. Under the racing moon, Unconscious of war or crime, In a strange and ghostly noon, It marks the oblivion of time. The shadow steals through its arc, Still as a frosted breath, Fitful gleaming and dark As the cold frustration of death. But where the shadow may fall, Whether to hurry or stay, It matters little at all To those who come that way. For this is the dial of them That have forgotten the world, No more through its mad day-dream Of striving and reason hurled. Their heart as a little child Only remembers the worth Of beauty and love and the wild Dark peace of the elder earth. It registers the morrows Of lovers and winds and streams, And the face of a thousand sorrows At the postern gate of dreams. When the first low laughter smote Through Lilith, the mother of joy, And died and revived in the throat Of Helen, the harpstring of Troy, And wandering on through the years From the sobbing rain and the sea, Caught sound of the worlds grey tears, Or sense of the suns gold glee, Whenever the wild control Burned out to a mortal kiss, And the shuddering storm-swept soul Climbed to its acme of bliss, The green-gold light of the dead Stood still in purple space, And a record blind and dread Was graved on the dials face. And once every thousand years Some youth, who loved so well The gods had loosed him from fears In a vision of blameless hell, Has gone to the dial to read Those signs in the outland tongue, Written beyond the need Of the simple and the young. For immortal life, they say, Were his who, loving so, Could explain the writing away As a legend written in snow. But always his innocent eyes Were frozen in to the stone; From that awful first surprise Ills soul must return alone. In the morning there he lay Dead in the suns warni gold; And no man knows to this day What the dim moondial told. Athennum. BLISS CARMAN. WANDERERS. WE followed the path of years, And walked for a while together Through the hills of hope and the vale of fears, Sunned by laughter, and washed by tears, In the best and the worst of weather, Till we came to a gloomy wood, Where our steps were forced asunder By the twisted, tangled trees that stood, Meeting above like a frowning hood, With a world of darkness under. And whenever by chance we met In the woodlands open spaces, We were bruised and tattered and soiled and wet, With much to pity forgive forget, In our scarred and dusty faces. Well it was long ago, And the leaves in the wood are falling, As we wander wearily to and fro, With many a change in our hearts I know But still I can hear you calling. A. E. J. LEGGE. THE TAX-GATHERER. AND pray, who are you? Said the violet blue To the bee, with surprise At his wonderful size In her eyeglass of dew. I, madam, quoth he, Am a publican bee, Collectin~, the tax On honey and wax Have you nothing for me?~ JOHN B. TABB. 2 Sancta Sophia, From The Scottish Review. SANCTA SOPHL4, CONSTANTINOPLE. THE Church of Sancta Sophia at Constantinople has been, and still re- mains at the present day, practically a sealed book to the archieologist and the student of architecture. While the great architectural monuments of the l)ast in other parts of Europe are easily accessible for the purposes of practical study an(l analysis, it is only by stealth that one can examine the structure of this church and glean fresh informa- tion regarding the details of its con- struction and decoration. We therefore gladly welcome any work, like the vol- ume now before us, that helps to in- crease our knowledge of this interesting building, which, ever since its erection more than thirteen hundred and fifty years ago, has been a source of wonder and delight to all beholders. Once only did the opportunity for detailed investigation present itself the occasion caine about in the year 1847, when, owing to the dangerous state of the fabric, the Sultan Abdul Mesjid called in an Italian architect named Fossati to advise regarding its reparation. Under his superintendence the building was put into a thorough state of repair, and it is probably owing to the care with which this was carried through that it remains at the present day structurally sound. During the time the building was in the hands of the workmen, a German architect, Salzenburg, taking advantage of the presence of extensive scaffolding, made very careful plans of the building, and drawings of the details of its decora- tion. These were published by the Prussian government in the year 18~4, an(l they form the principal records available for the purposes of study.2 Although these drawings give us a very clear idea of the building and its details, there are still many points the The Church of Sancta Sophia, Constantinople: A Study of Byzantine Building. By W. R. Lethaby and Harold Swainson. London and New York: Macmillan & Co. 1894. 2 Fossati also published some drawings, and there exists, in the library of the Royal Institute of British Architects in London a number of plans I by the French arch~eologist Texier, made in the year 1834. Constantinople. 3 why and the wherefore of which are wrapt in obscurity, and each fresil in- vestigation helps to add to tile sum of our knowledge on the whole subject. Many descriptions of tile church have been written from time to time, but the finest and most complete must always remain that embodied in the contemporary poem by Paul tlle Silen- tiary, Whicil, as our authors suggest, was probably written in the church was, tlley think re itself and , cited during tile ceremony of 24th Decem~ ber, 563, when tile repairs and partial reconstruction, rendered necessary through the damage caused by an earthquake in the year 558, having~ been completed, the church was re-con- secrated in the presence of the emperor and his court. In the preface to their work our authors say Our first object has been to attempt some disentanglement of the history of the church and an analysis of its design and construction; on the one hand, we have been led a step or two into the labyrinth of Constantinopolitan topography; on the other, we have thought that the great church offers the best point of view for the observation of the Byzantine theory of building. They appear to have carefully gone over everything that has been written regarding tile church, from tile time of its erection by Justinian down to tile present day, and we find brought to- gether in the text, as an important part of the whole work, very careful trans- lations of everything that can in any way help towards tile elucidation of its history, or that is explanatory of its arrangement and construction. The methods of construction employed by tile builders have also been minutely analyzed, and are discussed in consider- able detail, and many new theories are put forward, alike regarding tIle inter- nal arrangements of tile building, the disposition of the decorative scheme, and the practical development of the craftsmanship. The arrangement of the city at the time of Constantine, as far as it relates to the site and surroundings of tlle 4 Sancta Sophia, Constantinople. churc1~,is discussed in detail in Chap- which they identify with the Porticoes ter I., and the form and disposition of of Severus mentioned by Zosimus. the first church is also considered. The balance- of evidence seems to When the emperor selected Byzantium show that the first church dedicated to as the site of the new capital of the the Holy Wisdom was founded by Con- Empire in the East, the old settlement stantine, although it was not finished established there in the seventh cen- during his reign. It is very probable tury B.C., l)y Greek colonists from that it occupied the site of an 01(1 tem- Megara, had expanded into a consider- pie. On this point our authors make able city adorned with colored porti- the following remarks coes, stately buildings, and sacred There cannot be a doubt that the present shrines. The new capital was en- S. Sophia occupies the site of the first larged and enriched by Constantine in church. A church once made holy by the prevailing style of the period, and dedication and the reception of relics could the buildings which he erected were not be transported. Indeed it is possible largely based on the models of those that it may occupy the site of one of the he had left behind him in the old Greek temples, for there was a constant Rome. The topography of the city has tendency to this supersession on one sacred been the subject of considerable specu- site; and the present church stands on the lation by numerous writers through very crest of the old Acropolis. If there many centuries and much of it is still were any sufficient reason to identify the in obscurity many theories site with that of the Altar of Pallas, the wrapt dedication of the church itself would evi having been put forward only to be dently be one of the many instances of a controverted and superseded. The transference of title from the old worship. Great Palace has been the special ob- ject of much discussion, and writers They also point out that the lines of like Labarte, Paspates, and others, the ancient Hippodrome and probably have devoted much time and ingenuity of other pre-Christian structures were -to the work of trying to unravel the set out axially with it. intricacies of its plan and arrangement. They are inclined to the view that These, however, need not detain us the entrance of the first church was at here. Mordtmann, a German doctor the east end, as was usually the case in resident in Constantinople, has made early churches up till the fifth century, the topography of the city his special and they also suggest that the struc- study, and his spare time has been given ture was of basilican form. There is over to careful research and investiga- every reason to suppose that they are tion o1~ the old sites. The results of his right in both these contentions. A labois a~e embodied in a plan of the very ingenious theory is put forward to city published in 1872, on which many account for the curious plan of the reliable identifications are set down. present church. It is suggested that Our authors p4ut forward a small plan the church was of small size and that of their own illustrating their views re- its apse was situated at about the same garding the disposition of the Acropolis position as that now occupied by the and its surroundings at the time of western hemicycle of the present Constantine. We think the evidence church ; that after the Nika fire, when which they adduce to show that the the church was about to be recon- Augusteum and the Forum of Constan- structed turning the apse towards the tine were two separate and distinct east as had become customary by that places, bears out their contention that time the lines of the old apse sug- the former occupied the site to the gested the retention of the form at that south-west of the church, while the end as well. The squareness of the latter was a circular space round the plan is accounted for elsewhere as be- porphyry column of Constantine the ing the outcome of the practical exi- burnt pillar an(1 that they were sepa- gencies of the site. rated by the whole length of the 31ese, It is also suggested, with apparent Saneta Sophia, Constantinople. show of reason, that the circular brick building lying close to the north-east angle of the present church was the original baptistery of the first church, and a reference to the Silentiarys ac- count of the present church is given to show that it was used as such, even after the new church had been in ex- istence for over twenty-five years. The building, therefore, which is now known as the Baptistery, and which lies to the south of the church, must either have been built for or diverted to that purpose at a later time. During the two centuries which in- tervened between the reigns of Con- stantine and Justinian, the Roman methods of building underwent con- siderable change. The constant recur- rence of serious fires in the new capital had destroyed a number of the buildings which had been erected by Constantine. As these buildings were mostly constructed with 1)eamed roofs and fiat wooden ceilings they fell an easy prey to the flames. The first church of S. Sophia had been at least once seriously injured by fire before the Nika conflagration finally destroyed it. Since the time of Constantine, artifi- cers had been attracted to the city from all parts of the empire, and these brought with them the knowl- edge of the methods in vogue in their particular provinces. The influence of Eastern forms of construction gradually became apparent in the more general use of the arch and the vault. It was a time of experiment and progress both in construction and in the arrangement and form of the decorative features. There was no fixed tradition, the old decadent art of the Romans grafted on to a Greek stock and, plentifully nour- ished by ideas gathered from all parts of the empire, blossomed out into new life; the Greek intellect, ever eager after a new thing; absorbed all the Greek methods, and gradually evolved a type which it made peculiarly its own. Eventually the old stone lintel and beamed roof were entirely super- seded by the arch and the vault, and the structures were crowned with domes rising above the vaults and dominating the whole composition. The form of the plans adapted them- selves to the new construction, as did also the arrangements of the decora- tive scheme. By the time Justinian came to the throne the new methods and forms had established themselves, and the burning of the Church of S. Sophia during the Nika riots furnished the opportunity which was wanting for erecting a large building on the new lines, which should eclipse everything that had gone before. The emperor took full advantage of the occasion which presented itself, to invite artifi- cers and craftsmen of repute from the provinces to Constantinople it is worthy of notice that the chief con- structor, Anthemius, and his colleague, Isidorus, both caine from Asia Minor and neither skill nor money was want- ing to make the new effort a success, new taxes being imposed to meet the gigantic expenditure. Materials were brought from far and near, Egypt and Greece uniting with Asia Minor and the islands, each con- tiguous to the capital, in supplying their quota of marble for the columns and walls. For nearly six years the works went on with unabated energy, many difficulties were overcome, and many experiments were tried and found successful, and at length on 26th De- cember, 537, the church was dedicated amidst the acelamations of the pop- ulace, and the emperor exclaimed in the fulness of his pride, ~ Glory be to God, who hath thought me worthy to accomplish so great a work. I have vanquished thee, 0 Solomon! The emperors joy in his church was, however, destined to receive a rude shock some twenty years later, when the apse and part of the dome were thrown down by an earthquake; but the same energy which was shown in the building of the church again asserted itself. The damage was re- paired, the dome being heightened twenty feet to give it additional seen- rity, and the church was re-conse- crated on the 24th of December, 563, five and a half years after the disaster. 5 Saneta Sophia, Constantinople. The Church of S. Soplija has never been surpassed in the unity and coin- pleteness of its design, and in the dar- ing nature of its construction. In this building the arch and dome assert themselves and dominate everything, and we have a lightness, a spacious- ness, and a grandeur that had never been reached in the finest of the ha- silicas, and has never been surpassed since. During all the centuries which have elapsed since its erection, it has maintained its supremacy as the mas- terpiece of Byzantine architecture and construction, and it fixed generally the type on which most of the later churches in the East were based, but it has never been surpassed by any of them. Of the several descriptions of the church, that of Procopius, which is containe(l in his History of the Edi- fices erected by Justinian, for the reason that it makes no mention of the earthquake of 558, is supposed by our authors to have been written 1)revious to that catastrophe. It is a rather florid general description, largely lauda- tory of the emperor and much exagger- ating his share in the work. Nothing very tangible is to be gleaned from it. Three other contemporary descrip- tions are extant, viz., those of Paul the Silentiary, Agathias, and Evagrius. Agathias mentions that, when the earthquake occurre(I, Ai~tl~ei~~ius was dead, but his colleague, Isidorus, car- ried out the repairs. lie alludes to an alteration which was made at the north and south main arches this is dis- cussed further on in the book and he mentions that the curve of the dome was increased. Evagrius quotes a number of dimensions, but these our authors do not venture to discuss as they say that they appear to be so inac- curate. We find, however, on compar- ing them with the plan that at least two of them tally very nearly, while the others are capable of being explained. We should say that the two hundred feet quoted as the total length is a mis- take for three~hundred feet. 1 See our remarks further on regarding the ex- tent of the bema. The well-known poem of Paul the Silentiary is a panegyric in praise of the beauty and richness of the build- ing, couched in most beautiful lan- guage. It is at the same time a really (letailed description of the church of a most minute nature and of great accu- racy. Our authors have embodied in their book a very careful translation of the parts actually (lecriptive of the building and its furnishings. They devote a special chapter to the third part which describes the magnificent ambo, the chief feature of the interior, and which was set up by Justinian dur- ing the repairs, the earlier one having been entirely (lestroyed by the falling in of the apse and part of the dome. They also give a plan of this, and in their general plan of the church, they have shown it in what they consider to have been its position in the interior of the structure. We do not doubt that their views as to the arrangement of this are, in the main, correct, since they are based on the very (letailed (le- scription of the poet; and they have been guided in fixing its position imme- diately in front of the bema by the statements of an eighth-century patri- arch of Constantinople and of Simneon of Salonika, with regard to the position of ambones. We quote their descrip- tive summary The raised floor of the ambo was rounded on two sides, the other being open to the steps at the east and west. The breast wall on each side was largely covered with applied silver wrought into patterns; and the rest, together with the parapet slabs to the steps, were inlaid in ivory, probably carved like the contemporary bishops throne at Ravenna. The body of the ambo, inlaid thus with ivory and silver, was upheld on eight columns, the under- side of the floor stone being hollowed into a flat dome like the fluted soffite of the still older ambo at S. Apollinare at Ra- venna. On either skk, around the ambo, was a semi-circle of large columns of rosy- veined Synnada marble, on white bases, with bronze annulets and gilt capitals; between the columns breast-high slabs of Hierapolis marble inclosed a space. The circle of columns stood on a raised step, and above they were bound together by a 43 Sancta Sophia, Constantinople. carved beam, the pattern being gilt with the interspaceS painted in ultramarine. On this to east and west stood silver crosses ; their upper limbs bent like shepherds crooks, doubtless formed the XP monogram. Silver candelabra, cones of diminishing circles, stood round about on the top of the beam. From the eastern steps a passage way ran back to the step of the iconostasis, inclosed on both sides by marble slabs grooved into posts, bearing a top rail. This closure of Verde-antique slabs was inlaid in white and red patterns and gold mosaic. This magnificent ambo, together with the beautiful iconostasis and the other rich fittings of the interior, ap- pears to have been pillaged and de- stroyed or removed by the bands of Western pirates who, under the name of Crusaders fighting for the Cross, pillaged an(l desecrated this most mag- nificent temple of Christendom. The treatment of the building by the Turk- isfr conqueror, two hundred and fifty years later, shows up in marked con- trast to that of this baud of marauders from the West A translation is given of two descrip- tions of the ceremonies associated with the ambo at coronations. These, al- though of later date, are interesting as describing the nature of such functions in the age of the Pal~ologi. We notice tl~at,in the translations from the various Byzantine authors which are given in the text, a tran- scription of the actual names of the various artificers and of the different parts of the building and its details, is given in brackets in Roman lettering. The idea is most praiseworthy, but we think it would have been an additional advantage to have had the actual names in their Greek characters. In Chapter V. the arrangements of the interior of the church are discussed at considerable length. We are told that Du~ Cange, in his commentary (1670) to the Silentiarys poem, was the first to make a serious attempt to elucidate the interior arrangements. We are not at all disposed to ac- cept as conclusively proved, as our ~muthors seem to do, the suggestion made by several more recent writers that the extent of the bema was con- fined to the eastern apse. We are rather inclined to favor the view of Du Cange that it embraced the whole eastern hemicycle, and that the screen followed the line of the great eastern arch. The position of the ambo under this arrangement would still have been in front of the screen, but further for- ward than shown on the plan, coming out under the great dome nearly to the centre. The Silentiarys description of its position would quite justify this theory. lie says it stood in the cen- tral space of the wide temple, yet tend- ing rather towards the east, and the following description of the south aisle would also seem to confirm us in this theory: On the south you will see a long aisle as on the north, yet made bigger. For a part is separated off from the nave by a wall; there the emperor takes his accustomed seat on the solemn festivals, and listens to the reading of the sacred books. This may either mean that the emperors seat was in the nave or in the aisle, but in any case it places it opposite to the position which we have assigned to the ambo, whereas the ambo, as shown on the plan, is flanked by two of the great piers. He also classes together the apse and the exedras. Towards the east unfold triple spaces of semi- circular form ; and above, on an up- right band of wall, soars aloft the fourth part of a sphere ; and he pro- ceeds as follows The middle apse holds the stalls and steps ranged circle- wise, but no allusion is made to the position of the ciborium having been close to them. He says of the apse that it is separated by a space be- tween vertical walls. We presume we are right in assuming that the words from the nave, inserted in brackets after separated, have been put there by our translator. (We are unable at the moment of writing to refer to the original text). Now, the position of the ciborium in the larger examples of the Basilican type of church, from which the plan of S. Sophia was a development, stood 7 Sancta Sophia, Constantinople. out well clear of the apse, which, as here, contained the seats for the priests, and the ambones were situated right down almost in the middle of the length of the nave, one on each side, as, for example, in S. Clemente and S. Loreuzo at Rome. Another point to be borne in mind is the total number of clergy attached to the church in Justinians time there were over five hundred and the large amount of space that would have been required for their accommodation. Of course a large proportion of these had no stand- ing inside the bema, but even the priests alone would have uncomfortably crowded up the small apse, and, on the occasions of great ceremonials, addi- tional clergy would have been gathered together from all parts. Our authors themselves instance that on one oc- casion the number of priests was so great that the Church of S. Sophia, though it is the greatest of all on the earth, seemed then too small. The Russian Archbishops account, written in 1200, says In the sanctuary are eighty candelabra of silver for use on feast days . . . besides numberless sil- ver candelabra with many golden ap- ples. These could hardly have been contained in the small apse; but perhaps sanctuary is intended to mean treasury. We ought to bear in mind that in Justinians time the iconostasis, as it was afterwards called, was not a rigidly closed screen but a range of pillars with spaces between, the lower parts of which were filled in with slabs, and the remainder of which was open curtains, were hung in these spaces in smaller churches, but here, where a large ciborium overshadowed and en- closed the altar, which stood clearly detached inside it, the curtains to con- ceal the sacred rites from the laity were hung round it. The Silentiary specially describes in great detail the curtains round the ciborium, but makes no mention of any on the screen. Hence any argument that might be brought forward about the Holy Table being overlooked from the galleries is of no moment. Our authors themselves admit the narrowness of the space available for the screens when placed in their posi- tion in front of the small apse, and they very ingeniously get over it by assuming that the Silentiarys defini- tion of the pillars as six sets of twain entitles them to suggest that the l)illars were coupled behind one another. We admit the reasonable- ness of this suggestion, but do not ourselves think that the wording is anything more than a mere piece of poetic license. The twelve pillars, if spaced out regularly in one line across the wider space, would leave openings measuring less than eight feet between the pillars, not an extravagant width for each bay. The mass of decorative work on the screen would also have been better disposed on the greater width. We therefore contend that until further evidence is forthcoming for instance, an examination of the pavement might reveal much there is no reason to assume that the extent of the bema was confined to the single apse. The uppermost row of stalls round the apse was plated with silver, as were also the columns and arches of the ciborium ; and the Holy Table was plated with gold and decked with enamel. Our authors are probably right in conjecturing that much of the rich decorative work of the sanctuary was taken to Venice after the sack of 1203. and that some of the enamels, which form part of the Pala d oio in the Church of S. Mark, came from here. The columns of the screen were also cased with silver, and it was en- riched with figures of winged angels in pairs and representations of the Apostles. These must have been placed above the columns, either on the beam or in a deep frieze it is usual to find pictorial representations of the Apostles on the upper parts of later screens and probably the angels supported the candelabra which adorned the top. The description of this screen recalls to mind the disposition of the one at S. Marks in Venice and of that in the great church at Torcello. 8 The Silentiary makes no special allu- sion to the Prothesis and Diakonikon as such, and, as there is considerable doubt whether these chapels became essential l)arts of the arrangement of a Byzantine church till after Justinians time, there may not have been special places set apart for them in this church. The openings through the walls at either side of the apse may have been used for the passage of the clergy from the vestries behind. ~Te doubt much if the chambers at- tached to the outside of the east wall were more than mere retiring rooms for the priests, and places for storing the vestments, etc. The Treasury of the Relics might probably have been a l)illared shrine or enclosure situated in the centre of the chamber at the east end of the north aisle, in which case the relics would have been protected by metal doors fit- ting in between its pillars. Here also would presumably have been kept the Sacred Cross. A writer of the seventh century is quoted as saying: In the northern part of thc interior of the house (S. Sophia) is shown a very large and beautiful aumbry, where is kept a wooden chest in which is shut up that wooden Cross of Salvation on which our Saviour hung for the salvation of the world. The corresponding cham- ber on the south side may have been the Metatorion, in, or adjoining which, was the Holy Well. The princes go out of the right side of the Bema and enter the Metatorion. The square of rich Alexandrine work still existing in the pavement in the south-east quarter of the great square was probably the spot on which the emperors throne stood. The Russian archbishops description in 1200 says: On the right near the sanctuary is a piece of red marble, on which they place a golden throne ; on this throne the emperor is crowned. This place is surrounded by bronze closures to pre- vent people walking on it. Attention is drawn to the series of small crosses cut in the great verde antico columns of the nave. It was very usual for the Byzantine builders 9 to mark their principal stones, espe- cially when they had been transferred from pagan buildings, with crosses of consecration. On one small church in Athens, built out of materials from old temples, almost every stone is marked with a cross. Our authors suggest that the two great water vessels, which stand in the exedras at the west end of the church, and which are generally supposed to have been put there by Sultan Murad III., are B~~zantiue~ and they illustrate examples of others of a similar type, and of undoubted Byzantine origin. We think that they prove their conten- tion. Reference is made to the lavish use of hangings by the Byzantines for their doors and openings, and the nature of these is discussed, examples being quoted from illustrations on mosaics. It is pointed out that the doors enter- ing the narthex and those between it and the church have all got bronze hooks for suspending these from, and attention is drawn to the fact that Turkish hangings are in use on them at the present day. It is suggested that veils were frequently hung on both the upper and lower arcades of the church, having been suspended from the iron bars which cross the arches at their springing in the manner indicated in the mosaic on Theodorics palace. It is very probable that this was the case, at any rate in the upper tier. Iii fact an instance is quoted from the account of a traveller in the fourteenth century, who says that the women in the galleries remained behind curtains of silk so that none might see their faces. Chapter VI. is devoted to a descrip- tion and discussion of the relics, treas- ure, and lighting of the church. The most precious relic of the church was the portion of the true cross sent from Jerusalem by helena. It is supposed to have consisted of three pieces ar- ranged as a long stem with a double traverse, and this is suggested as hav- ing been the origin of the form of the cross so often found represented in Byzantine iconography. Sancta Sophia, Constantinople. Sancta Sophia, Constantinople. The exhaustive description of the relics given by the Archbishop of Nov- gorod, who visited the church three years before its sack by the Franks, is quoted at length and shows the quan- tity an(l richness of the treasure which was dispersed in 1203. his allusion to the practice of hanging the crowns of the emperors round the altar is most interesting. Above the great altar in the middle is hung the cro~vn of the Emperor Constantine, set with precious stones and pearls. Below it is a golden cross, which overhangs a golden dove. The crowns of the othcr empcrors are hung round the ciborium, which is entirely made of silver and gold. From the same ciborium hang thirty smaller crowns, as a remembrance to Chris- tians of the pieces of money of Judas. He goes on to say Behind the altar of the larger sanctuary is a gold cross, higher than two men, set with precious stones and pearls. There hangs be- fore it another gold cross a cubit and a half long, with three gold lamps, which hang from as many gold arms (the fourth is now lost). These lamps, the arms or branches, and the cross, were made by the Emperor Justinian who built S. Sophia. The arrangement of the lighting of the church is discussed in considerable detail. The Silentiary gives a beauti- ful account of the various methods employed, and his description is, as our authors say, one of the most fas- cinating parts of the whole poem. A great circle was suspended with chains in the central space under the dome, from this hung fiat circular discs of sil- ver pierced with holes into which were inserted small glass lamps, these discs alternated with metal crosses also hold- ing lamps, inside their outer rim was a large corona of other lamps and above it a large central disc. We find similar coronas to-day in some of the churches at Mount Athos, and many of us are familiar with the examples in the iRhenish churches, which were no doubt based on Byzantine models. Along the sides of the church and in the aisles and galleries were rows of lamps in the form of silver bowls, ships, etc. On the top of the iconostasis was a row of candelabra having circles of light diminishing upwards round the stem, and in the centre was a huge cross studded with lights. Similar can- delabra encircled the ambo. In the sanctuary were suspen(led single lamps which burned continually. Illustra- tions are given of various types of pierced lamp discs of the Byzantine era, and of types of standard candle- sticks. We find these latter in general use in the East to-day, almost identical in form with those made in the sixth century, and the grouping of small lamps in lines or circles or hung singly is still the usual method of lighting em- ployed in the churches at the present time. Chapter YII. goes into the later history and legends. Allusion is made to the addition of a belfry at the west end about the year 865. This was built to hold the bells sent by the doge of Venice to the Emperor Michael. The Greeks did not use bells but wood or metal plates hung on chains or cords and struck like a gong. Reference is made also to repairs undertaken at various times and especially at the end of the tenth century, when an earth- quake caused the hemisphere with the western arch to fall. Under the later Byzantine emperors the church never recovered its former splendor. They, however, kept it in repair and gradually got together a fresh collection of treasures, and they restored the ciborium, the icon ostasis, and the ambo, but not in such magnifi- cent form as before. In 1346 another earthquake threw down about one third of the roof. This was speedily rebuilt. After the Turkish conquest the church was again divested of much of its treasure, but otherwise did not suffer great harm. The outside appearance was however much changed by the addition of minarets and by the alter- ation of its surroundings. Our authors translate and examine the description of the church by the writer known as The Anonymous of Combefis. This they assign to the 10 & tncta Sophia, Gonstantinople. twelfth century. Of it they say : We believe him to be entirely unreliable where he speaks of the former state of the church. lie simply gathers the legends which had grown up, because facts were forgotten, and enumerates the relics. They also gather together the remarks set down by various trav- ellers, and the numerous legends which had clustered round the church and were quoted from time to time. Chapter VIII. refers to the repairs executed in 1847, but it is mainly occu- pied by a paraphrase of the description of the church given in Salzenburgs great work. We question whether it was worth while after all to reproduce this here as it is very difficult to follow, even by those acquainted with the technicalities, and it is hopeless to make anything out of it without having the illustrations of the work at hand to refer to. Salzenburgs book stands by itself, plates and text, and we can only think that our authors have included the translation of his text in their work so as to complete their series of En- glish renderings of the various authors who have written about the building. In Chapter IX. the ancient precincts and external parts of the church are discussed. Reference is made to the Great Palace, the Hippodrome, the Augusteum, the Milion, etc., and their arrangement and form in Justinians time is touched upon. It might have been better had this discussion followed on in Chapter I., after that of the earlier topography, but our authors have doubtless put it here as leading up to their description of the ap- proaches and outlying parts of the church. Immediately to the west of the church was the atrium or cloister. This was oblong and considerable por- tions of it were in existence as late as 1873. Now only the west side remains the present exonarthex. It had been suggested by Fossati and others that the four great buttress piers rising above this side and from which arches stretched across the farther wall, had carried the four bronze horses now in front of the church of St. Mark at Yen- 11 ice. Our authors scout this idea and point out that the horses are much too small for the position ; besides, they bring forward evidence to show that at one time there were ten buttresses along this wall. It is also pointed out that some parts of the exterior must have been lined with marble, and it is mentioned that some of the marble plating was seen by Salzenburg. It is suggested that the Court of the Atrium was paved with marble, and iii the centre stood the fountain ; fonr streams were figured in marble as flow- ing away from the centre, one towards each side symbolical of the four rivers of paradise and these gave their names to the fom~r walks of the cloister. The probable nature and form of the fountain is discussed in some detail, but on this we need not enter. The main approach to the church was from the south side, where stood the Augusteum and the palace. On this side also stood the great pillar erected by Justinian and bearing a statue of the emperor on horseback. The ar- rangement and position of the courts and buildings immediately to the south of the church and adjoining it, are so problematical that we need hardly dis- cuss them here. The remaining three chapters of the book are given up to the technical side of the subject, the discussion of the structural methods, their origins, devel- opment and application in the building, the nature and use of the material and the form and arrangement of the deco- rative detail. Our authors have a good deal to say on the question of the growth of the Byzantine architecture. We quote the following: Byzantine architecture was developed by the use of brick in the frankest and fullest manner, especially in domical vaulting. Wide spans were kept in equipoise by other smaller domes. The more concen- trated supports were marble monoliths, and the wall and vault surfaces were cov- ered by incrustations of marble slabs and glass mosaic. Directness, and an economy of labor relative to the results obtained, is perhaps the most essential characteristic Sancta Sophia, Constantinople. of the art both in construction and decora- tion in the great period. The building up of the dome from the square plan through pendentives was one of the finest of the Byzantine developments, and they follow this up through early examples to its complete perfection as seen in S. Sophia. They dwell on Choisys enquiry into the methods of workmanship and how lie points out the difference between the Roman and the Byzantine systems; that under the Romans the workman was compulsorily enrolled in associa- tions under State control, while with the Byzantine Greeks lie ha(l more individuality, and was recognized more as an intehli~ent power, and hind his own independent trade guilds. These associations had a council com- posed exclusively of those who, by ai)preuticeship and trial, had earned the title of masters. The original forni of the church and the details of the alterations made, under Justinian, after the earthquake, are gone into, and our authors bring forward a new theory regarding cer- tain alterations to the filling in of the great north and south arches. They point out that these great arches of seventy-two feet span are as wide as the great piers, viz., fifteen feet eight inches, but that the semicircles of wall, each of which contains twelve windows, are now filled in beneath these arches, flush with their inner faces, and the arches therefore do not show to the interior through the deco- ration; and they go on to say Now Agathias says that at the restora- tion, after the earthquake in 558, at the north and south arches they brought towards the inside the portion of the building which was on the curve. This, we think~ must refer to the filling wall in the arches of 72 feet span, which we sup- pose was formerly on the exterior, and thus left an upper gallery 12 feet wide and 72 feet long open to the interior. And they made the arches wider to be in har- mony with the others, thus making the equilateral symmetry more perfect. They thus reduced the vast space and formed an oblique design. That is, the arches of 72 feet, when filled up on the inside, were no longer visible, and the dome appeared to stand over arches of 100 feet span on north and south, as already on east and west, the transverse dimensions of the church being lessened between these points by some 24 feet. They give plans and sections to prove their case, and argue it out with great clearness, pointing out, for in- stance, that throughout the building, in every other place but this one, the curtain walls are flush with the ex- terior. They bring forward S. Sopliia, Salonika, as an example in their favor, for there the soffits of the arches show in the interior. Chioisy, who thought that this building was erected after the Constantinople church, says that here the error was remedied but our au- thors quote a recent reading of the in- scription on the mosaic there, which shows that the church was erected in 495. We think that the evidence hrought forward and the arguments adduced show clearly that this altera- tion was made as our authors suggest, and that it was not an improvement on the original design. Their theory as to the reason for the change is also a very probable one, viz., that some weakness in the supports of the inner order in the aisles made it essential that, as far as possible, the weight should be trans- ferred forward to the main pillars and arches. The general structural system is care- fully examined, how the (home and semi-domes are sustained, and how the thrusts are resisted or distributed. The forms of the arches are noted and considered, and the methods of the vaulting are discussed and compared with Choisys explanations. They dif- fer from him on essential points in connection with the setting out of the vaults, and we think that they are right in their contentions, but the points are so very technical that we cannot go into them here. They, however, agree with Choisy in his statement that the chief consideration of the Byzantine builders in the construction of their vaults was to avoid wooden centering, but here again they suggest a simpler 12 Sancta Sophia, method of arriving at the line of the construction than that put forward by him. The methods of dome construction are also entered into, and a description is given of the system in use in the East, ~vhereby domes are built without any centering, like the vaults. The question of how far any centering was used for the great dome is al-so touched on, and it is suggested that it was dis- pensed with to a great extent, but that for closing in the opening at the top a light centering, resting on the part already built, was used. With the exception of the marble monoliths with their capitals and bases, the structure of S. Sophia was a huge brick carcase or shell into which were inserted, after the building had had time to settle down, the marble jambs and lintels of the doors and windows, and to which were applied the thin marble linings of the walls and the mosaic work of the domes and vaults. Our authors endeavor to identify each variety of marble used in the building and to fix its provenance. They are inclined to the opinion that the great monolith shafts of Egyptian porphyry and green Thessalian marble, used for the main pillars, were specially quar- ried for this work, and not brought from older buildings, as some writers have asserted. The quarries of Mar- muora, which are still worked, supplied the bulk of the white marble for the capitals, bases, floors, etc., and for much of the wall lining, while the richer varieties formed panels and bands. They point out that All the wall-plating is arranged with de- lightful variety as to size, and in the alter- nate placing of light against dark, so that there is no rigidity or over-accurate set- ting out. Further on they say In regard to the wall-plating, we wish specially to point out the extremely easy way in which it is applied, without thought of disguise. The slabs, of great size, are placed vertically, entirely the reverse of solid construction; moreover, the slabs of the finer panels are opened out side by side, so that the veinings appear in sym Constantinople. 13 metrical patterns. At the angles the lap shows in the most open way; while it is mitred where restored. A most interesting dissertation is given on the development of Byzantine marble masonry, an(l -the evolution of the new form of capital Having the Corinthian and Ionic capitals before their eyes, and without forgetting or rejecting them, the Byzantine builders invented and developed an entirely fresh set of capitals, fitted in the most perfect way for arched brick construction. In the shaping of the capital the round of the column was gradually merged into the square of the impost of the arch, and the carving enriches the surface only, while preserving the form. These forms are divided by our authors into four main types, which they discuss in detail. They are of opinion that Constantinople was the great centre for the manufacture of sculptured marble masonry for the whole Roman world, and that from there carved capitals, slabs, etc., were exported far and wide. They think that all the fine work at Ravenna and other places was sent direct from the capital ready to be fixed in position. They base their contention mainly on the fact that identical forms are to be found in places so widely apart. They believe that it can be proved that the marble used is mainly Procounesian. Even if this were so it does not neces- sarily follow that more than the rough blocks were exported. We should like still to be allowed to think that, while Constantinople was the great centre from which trained craftsmen were sent abroad far and wide, the sculp- tures of the buildings themselves were to a large extent execute(l on the spot by the craftsmen who worked on the construction of the buildings ; that, as Choisy says in the passage quoted by our authors in another place In Byzantine buildings, the same name occurs in turn upon columns, capitals, or simply squared blocks of stone, an(l there is nothing to show that the fore- man of the works kept one man at one particular kind of work. 14 The large use made of bronze both in construction and decoration is re- marked on, the bronze bands round the pillars, the casings to the door- ways, and the linings of the doors themselves. Drawings and descrip- tions are given of the decorative treat- ment of these bronze doors. The outer doors of the south porch are sj)ecially discussed, and a corrected version is given of the inscriptions on the panels, which had been incorrectly quoted by Salzenburg. The arrange- ment of this inscription in the form of monograms is very ingenious, and it is interesting to note that these were deeply engraved into the metal plates and filled in with sirver. The form and manner of the mosaic work is described, and the economical way in which the material was used is commented on, an observation of Bonis being quoted to show how, in the domes, the maximum of effect was gained with the minimum of material. The decorative arrangement an~j the iconographic scheme is discussed space, however, does not permit of our entering into this subject. It is con- cluded, we think with reason, that none of the figure work belongs to the period previous to the iconoclastic con- troversy. The Silentiary does not de- scribe it, and he certainly would have done so had it existed. We quote the following: We believe the original scheme of deco- ration is best accounted for without fig- ures, and even if this were not so, we can hardly believe that in the Patriarchal church, at the door of the palace, fignres would have lasted through the reigns of the iconoclastic emperors and patriarchs, as they may well have done in remoter churches where the clergy were on the other side. A section is devoted to the elucida- tion of the ciphers or monograms which are carved on the bosses of the capitals. It is sho~vn very clearly that the bulk of these represent, in pairs, the wor(ls IQYCTINIANOY, BACIAEcaC, and eEOA~PAc, AVrOVTAC. The work concludes with a reference to a slab in the paving of the south gallery, which bears the name of the blind (loge of Venice, ilenricus Dan- dolo. Although ~ve have gone carefully through the whole book in considerable detail, we have been unable to touch on great portions of the wealth of most interesting and valuable information which has been brought together in such a comprehensive form at the ex- pense of so much labor and research. The collecting and transcribing into English of all that has been written regarding the great church will alone make the work of extreme value as a book of refereace for students ; while the part devoted to the structural methods, and the theories brought for- ward regard~ing them, having been written by practical architects well qualified to deal with the intricacies of a great building, will always command the attention of those interested in the subject. We could have wished, perhaps, that the translations of the ancient writers had been more complete although the essential parts in each case have been given to us and that each had been kept entirely separate and dis- tinct, with a commentary on the whole following after with the description and discussion of the church ; but our authors have thought otherwise, and we must respect their judgment. We must, however, draw attention to the want of a proper list of the works referred to in the text. This would have enhanced the u~efulness of the book, and would also have done away with the necessity for many of the footnote references. Another omis- sion is that of a list and index of the cuts in the text, of which not even references to the pages at whic hthey are to be found scattered throughout the book are given when they are alluded to from time to time. A few more drawings of various parts of the building might also have helped to make many of the descriptions appear clearer. These, however, are points that couki be amended in a second edkion. We cannot conclude without express- ,0 Sancta Sophia, Uonstwitint~ple. A Departure from Tradition. ing our sense of the loss which ar- chitectural arch~ology has sustained through the death, in Egypt, of Mr. Swainson, shortly after the publication of this book, while he was on a mission of further investigation on similar lines. A capable scholar as well as a trained architect, lie combined in himself the two principal qualifications necessary for an enlightened study of the monu- ments of the past, and the good work lie had already done gave promise of much future work of extreme interest and excellence. ROBT. WEIR SCHULTZ. From Chambers JournaL A DEPARTURE FROM TRADITION. A STORY OF THE YEAR 95. BY ROSALINE MAsSON. CHAPTER I. My good fellow, I said, a trifle patronizingly, a man wants something more nowadays than a mere doll a plaything. He expects his wife to be his companion. I am sure I have heard that be- fore, said George reflectively. It has a familiar ring. Is it from Ham- let, by any chance? His intellectual equal, I went on unhieedingly. Oh, come now, old chap, draw it mild. Your fiancee maynt be anything special, but she is no idiot! Capable of sharing his Shell probably take it all, my boy, and allow you a pound a week on account. And any one who knows Edith, I went on, leaning forward and taking my pipe out of my mouth as I warmed to my subject, knows that she Oh, good heavens ! yes ; and so does any one who knows you! has it all by heart. I resumed m~ pipe with dignity, and leaned back. George Seton was my oldest friend and as such was licensed. I had been engaged for two months, and I dare say I had talked to him a good deal about Eaithi during that period; but I was going to be married to her to- morrow. I wouldnt quarrel with old George this last night. George, I said presently, youll have to come and stay with us occa- sionally. Yes, poor old chap, he said feel- ingly. Just send me a wire any time you are in a difficulty. I ~hii~d at him. I dont anticipate being in any difficulty, I said stiffly, getting up and knocking the ashes out of my pipe. Ahi well, said George, before six months are over, you will probably re- member my words, and fly to my faith- ful friendship as to a But I never heard his simile, for I left the room. Six months ! It was, as it turned out, barely two and a half I Bu~ George is a gentleman and a good fel- low he never reminded me. Next day, George was best man. He saw us off at the station, and handed a bundle of papers and magazines in at the carriage xv indow (as if we were going to read.papers and maga- zines!) ; and the last I saw of my old friend was his tall, lithe figure on the platform, where lie stood waving an ironical adieu. As thie train moved slowly out of the station, I tursied to my wife, who xvas busy getting the rice out of the lace of her dress. I like Mr. Seton, she said. He is a trifle cynical, I remarked. Clever young men usually are, re- l)lied Edith. I am not, dear, I said reproach- fully. You dear goose, who ever sup- posed you were? she answered. We went up the Rhine, and across Switzerland into Italy ; and we came back by Paris. I couldnt speak any of their outlandish hingos ; but my wife was rather a good hand at them all. I didnt know they taught you mod- ern stuff at Newnhiam, I said to her once. I thought it was all dead lan- guages. Oh, Ive always known French, she said carelessly. 15 A Departure from Tradition. And German? Au well, German is absolutely nec- essary if you are to go at all into the modern school of philosophy, or if you want to keep in touch with science. Oh ! I said. And of course Italian comes very easy to any one who knows Latin. Very, I replied. During the week we spent in Flor- ence, my wife quoted enough of Brown- ing to have filled two sides of the Pink un. I learned to be very sharp about it, after one or two awkward slips. You see, Browning doesnt seem to be like any ordinary poet, where you can tell that it is poetry because it couldnt possibly be prose. Sometimes the things that Edith said sounded so natural that I answered them, and that made me feel foolish. I didnt like Florence. We came home at the beginning of October, and I made up my mind to read French and German a good deal, and other things. That is the good of marrying a girl who isnt just merely pretty ; she keeps you up. And Edith ~was pretty ; but it was rather a severe type. I wonder if you are a good house- keeper, dear, I said fondly, as we got into the train at Dover. Oh, I hate housekeeping, she an swered. What will you do, then? have a housekeeper ? Well, 11 have a plan of that sort. But Ill tell you all about it very soon. And she did. It was in a quibt corner of the park, down by the Serpentine, the day before we left London, that Edith propounded her scheme to me. She had on a very smart new frock that I hadnt seen before, and something pink in her bonnet, and her little nose was tilted up into the air, and her grey eyes were surveying the world with an air of calm and judicial consideration which was habitual to them. Harry, she said to me presently, we go home to-morrow. I said something foolish. And I have been thinkincw she went on, that it would be better to begin as we mean to continue. I assented. Now, dear, you are not clever. And you are. Oh, not really ! no. But com- pared with you, I am, of course. But my dear girl, I have been to Oxford, and I But my dear boy, I have been to Cambridge, and I Oh yes, you took your degree, and I never did. But you hadnt the calls upon your time that I had. A man cant read if he well, if he does other things, you know. That is why a girl goes to college; Ive heard you say so. She couldnt read at home. Precisely so. Now, I want to con- tinue readiwv I looked down at my placid and calm little helpmate, and a chilly horror came over me. Decidedly, Edith I I said, with forced heartiness. We have an excellent library at Oakhurst. It wasnt space, it was time I thought of claimino Yes? I queried vaguely. There was a pause. Shall we sit down on this seat? she asked. Certainly. We sat down, and my wife unfurled a pale green silk parasol, and then she unfolded her plan. You see, Harry, you arent clever, she sail in even, unimpassioned tones. You are a dear, good, manly, chival- rous boy that is why I liked you. I am so tired of the young man with brains who hails us as brothers. You have some of the old feeling about women left ; it is such a rest. I Dont interrupt. Now, you have absolutely nothing to do. You have no profession no pursuits. I mean, no serious pursuits. I dont count hunting and billiards. Now I am translating the Allegori~ Homeri of Heraclides ; and I am getting up political economy, so as to be able to take an intelligent interest in the ques- tions of the day ; and I contribute the articles on social and religious reform 16 A Departure from Tradition. to the JWonthly Investigator; and I am bringing out some critical essays on the Correlation of Inconceivables in Transcendental Apperception ; and, when they have gone to press, I have it in my mind to take up a subject that has long had a curious fascination for me: The Ontogenesis of the Ego, con- sidered in Relation to the Evolution of the Indeterminate. Now all this takes time. It must indeed, I answered faintly. I was sure you would own that, Harry I Now it seems to me that, looking at it from a perfectly unprej- udiced point of view, given two people setting up housekeeping one easy- natured, idle, but very sensible about practical matters ; the other intellec- tual, nervous, overstrained, and pressed for time there is but one conclusion. Good Lord! Edith. What are you driving at? My wife shut up her parasol. You must do the housekeeping, Harry, she sai(l decidedly. I do the housekeeping! What the dickens do you mean? That is the second time you have sworn, dear. I beg your pardon. But see the cook, and that sort of thing?~~ I looked at her anxiously. Why not? she asked coldly. But its generally the wife who does all that I It is generally the wife who has nothing else to do. Well, I argued for some time, for I felt my fate was trembling on the balance; but Edith was very firm, and I knew from the first it was a fore- gone conclusion; so at last I made a virtue of a necessity, and said I would try it for a month or two, and see how I got on. My wife was very pleased when I consented, and was charming to me all the way home ; but Im afraid I didnt respond; I was sulky. I couldnt help looking at all the other men I passed, and wondering if any of them did the housekeeping. Since the death of my mother, four years previous to my marriage, I had LiVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 366 not been very much at Oakhurst. An old housekeeper a former nurse of the family was in charge, and she an(l my groom managed very nicely for me when I was alone, or, as was frequently the case, had George Seton with me. When I had a larger party, at Christmas or in autumn, my married sister, Mrs. Jack Preston, used to come and act hostess for me, and bring her servants. She was a very managing little person, and it was she who had seen to pensioning off my old house- keeper and engaging the proper staff for Edith and inc. I could not help wondering, during those first few days, what Polly would think of Ediths and my arrangement, for Polly would no more have thought of allowing Captain Jack to interfere in her domestic man- agement than ali well I I wouldnt have cared for sister Poll as a wife. The first evening at home Edith and I didnt say much to one another about the housekeeping. It hung over us like a cloud, and made our conversation a little strained. While we dined, I cast furtive glances at the servants with an interest they would never, under ordinary circumstances, have inspired me with. Our establishment was small. I am not a rich man, though I have enough to live on comfortably. A sleek youth waited at dinner, and a very smart maid. I loathed the for- mer, and feared the latter. I discov- ered next day that besides this there was a blunt-featured, strong-armed housemaid, and a stout and awe-inspir- in~ cook with an attendant satellite whom it appeared the cook took charge of, and with whom I was not expected to interfere. My trials began next morning. I stood about aimlessly after breakfast, warming myself, and scanning the newspaper. My wife had another copy of the same ne~vspaper, and she sat reading it with exasperating quiet. Presently the smart maid came in, and, going up to my wife, said in a soft mur- mur : The cook bade me ask you, maam My husband attends to all that I said my wife, slightly waving her )i~nd 17 A Departure from Tradition. in my direction, but not looking up from her paper. The maid stared for a moment, dumb- founded. She made a step towards me, but thought better of it, and fled. Presently the sleek youth came in. I imagined he was smiling. William I I said to him sharply it was the first name I could think of let Charles know at the stables that I shall want my horse round at once. Yessir! and he vanished. Still my wife never moved. My heart began to beat. I had never known it (10 such a thing before. I am not a nervous man I am a bit of an athlete, and am used to feel- ing myself, even in mens society, muscularly superior; but the dentists waiting-room in our tender childhood was as nothing to this. My wife got up. I am now going to my study, dear, she said sweetly. I must ask you to see that I am not interrupted till luncheon. At the door she turned and gave me one look. I got up and walked right across the hall and down the passage and into the kitchen, and found myself standing face to face with the cook before I had given myself time to think. The cook wasnt the worstshe suggested all the dinner, and looked at me in a pity- ing, patronizing kind of way. But she would tell me a long yarn about the saucepans being all burnt, and she took me into a place behind the kitchen and insisted on my looking at them for myself. There we surprised the at- tendant satellite, who was doing some- thing horrid with her fingers and a greasy dish that had held bacon. She gave an hysterical giggle, and received a stern reprimand from the cook in consequence. This upset me so that I dropped my eyeglass into a saucepan I was peering into. I took down a list of all the things the cook wanted, and promised to tele- graph to London for them. I told her there was a man there who got my cigars and everything for me, and he would see to it; but still I left her looking unsatisfied. But the cook was not all. The housemaid ~vaylaid me in the passage. She wanted to know about the thorough-cleaning, and if James (so his name wasnt William) was to blacken the boots. I said that certainly James was to blacken the boots; he seemed an idle fellow; and I told her I strongly objected to the process of thorough-cleaning, and would never sanction it. She might get up in the night if she liked, and thorough- clean; but the rooms were always tn present their normal aspect during tho day. Then I tried to escape; but tho smart tablemaid was waiting for me at. the front door. She wanted to know about Sundays out, and if James was to carry up her coals for her. I told her that I was sure James would carry anything she wanted, and that she must settle about her Sundays her self; I never interfered with peol)les. religious observances. She was the only one who looked pleased. Then I seized muy hat and crop and bolted. Charles, my own old groom, was leading Silver. He put two fin gers up to his ruddy locks, and then suddenly he guffawed. So he had heard too. I rode off at an evil pace, and took to the open as soon as possible. I was rather proud of my little din- ner that evening. The curry was ex- cellent it was cooks idea, but there was no need to tell Edith that. But some sort of pudding came up instead of a fruit tart. I remembered ordering a fruit tart at least cook had sug- gested it, and I had thanked her. I was a little put out by the pudding ; it was taking a liberty to alter my orders. After dinner I was still more l)ut out. I was naturally aggrieved that my wife said nothing in praise of the repast; a man likes to be praised when he has taken trouble about the dinner. And then, while we were having our coffee, I rang and told James to put the whiskey and soda into the library at ten, and he stood grinning in the door- way like that dog in the Psalms, and observed Yessir, please, sir, the missis said, sir And then looked at my wife. 18 A Departure from Tradition. Edith glanced hastily up and had the grace to get a little pink and confused. Oh Harry, yes! I said I thought you wouldnt mind you see the library my papers ! I told them to put the tray in here. Put the tray in here, James, I said, withering him with my eye. When we were alone, my wife apolo- gize d, and I said it did not matter this once, but I could not maintain any authority with the servants if she inter- fered in my department. I would as soon think of writing her articles on religious and social reform for the Monthly Investigator. Edith was very contrite, and my sense of unanswerable rectitude lasted me until I faced the cook next morn- ing, and, with the first glance, remem- bered with a shock that I had utterly forgotten to telegraph for her utensils. I think I apologized too much; it is bad policy. I lost my power over the cook from that day the second day. CHAPTER II. I SHALL never forget the graphic de- scriptive power my cook betrayed when she told me about the black beetles. The very simplicity of her language and the directness of her thought made me feel as if the horrid things were crawling slowly up my back. I am not interested in zoology, and I flew out and consulted Charles, the groom, who prides himself on his veterinary arts. I dont know what was done. I thought it safer not to ask. Then, no sooner did the beetles sink into oblivion, than it appeared that the kitchen swarmed with mice, and that a particularly pow- erful-looking one had sent the kitchen- maid into hysterics. I again consulted Charles, and he suggested a cat; so, when I was passing through the vil- lage, I told the postmistress that Ii would give any child a shilling who would bring me a fine, healthy kitten. The following day was Saturday, and there was a meet at Sir Patrick Chris- ties. The weather was perfect, and we found almost immediately, and had a glorious run. On the way home, spattered and ~veary and hungry, I sud- denly nearly jumped out of my saddle, and an emphatic expression rose to my lips. I had completely forgotten to order the dinner! All the way back I was hot and cold with misery and anxiety. What might not have happened in my absence ? Had that stout cook been kind, and risen to the occasion ? Or had she horrors ! sent up to my wife? Or had she simply taken no steps what- ever, and should we sit down to flowers and salt and dinner-rolls? When I got home I slunk into the back premises, avoiding the half-opened drawing-room door. I found James in the pantry cleaning knives and whis- tling happy dog! I would rather it had been one of the maids ; but I was desperate. James, I whispered, what has cook done, do you know? James grinned. Shes egsiting her- self, sir. Yes, yes, I dare say I But she has managed somehow, I suppose? She says, sir, she aint a-going to give em nothink, not if they starves, sir! I squared my shoulders. You need not repeat what cook allowed herself to remark in the privacy of the kitchen, I told him sternly. Has she actually cooked no food? James stared at me. Well, sir, we could ardly expect er for to cook any- think, sim~, under the circumstances, sir; but Mary shes a tender-earted gal, Mary she did make bold to ask a drop o milk. Milk ! I ejaculated. Yessir. Mary said, sir, says she, being so young, sir, says she, and none o their fault, it go to er eart for to ear em squeak. Enough of this, James I ~ I cried angrily. This is not the way to speak of your mistress and myself. I will see cook. I dont rightly understand you, sir, axin your pardon, but I warnt speak- in~ of the missus and you, sir. But I wouldnt go a-near cook, sir, not if I was youno, I wouldnt! She says 19 A Departure from Tradition. youve done it o purpose to plague er. Shes in a orful way along of them cats, he added confidentially. Cats? What cats ? Why, sir, thats what Ive been a-telling you of. I thought as you was , ,, axin. What cats ? I repeated, a growing disquiet creeping over me. Why, the cats as you sent in from the village, sir I Twenty-one as ar- rived, and they be still coining, all sizes. Ten tabbies, sir, nothink to speak of; two whites, sir, which I ear is generally deaf ; five black as soot, sir; two sandy, and one tortoise-shell as is wuth keeping. Cooks egsited. The dinner paled by comparison. Beetles, mice, cats I It was as bad as the plagues of Egypt. I went up and tubbed and changed. The dinner was excellent, and I gave orders that every child should be sent for, and given an- other shilling to claim and take away its own animal. The whole trans- action cost me two pounds nine. In the long-run I fancy it must have cost me considerably more, for the kitten we retained, though it was of a very tender age, regaled itself on beef and mutton, several roast ducks, bottled beer, ham and eggs, cold game, fresh butter, Stilton cheese, crystallized gin- ger, green tea, and cognac. Besides being so unblushingly omnivorous, it broke a good deal of crockery, a Vene- tian glass decanter, and a piece of val- uable S~vres; and it was also guilty of denting the silver urn by falling heavily against it. The next plague that visited me was the monthly bills at the beginning of November. The cook had managed the orders to the tradespeople, and now they all sent in little account-books. I added up the totals on a bit of blotting- paper after I had made out the cheques. Then I multiplied that by twelve, and added what my horse and man cost me, and what my tailor cost me, and double what my tailor cost me for what my wifes dress would probably come to when her trousseau was worn out ; and then I put down the servants wages, and a good round sum for a holiday, and then I added it all up. It came to exactly a hundred pounds more than my annual income. I halved my wifes dress allowance, and was just going to add it all up again, when a host of other expenses crowded in on my mem- ory cabs, my club, theatre tickets, doctors bill. I felt so depressed that Edith noticed my wan looks. I Im not sleeping very well, dear, I said. This was perfectly true I had so much to think of at night. Dear me I she cried, opening her grey eyes. Neither am I I I have been working too hard, I think. We must both have a change soon. Alas, poor girl! She was all uncon- scious that ruin stared us in the face. I gazed at her sorrowfully. She was not looking well dark rings encircled her eyes, and she was pale and thin. You are overworking yourself, I said with sudden conviction. She laughed nervously. Well, per- haps I am, she owned. That night a fork dropped from my nerveless hand, and fell with a clang. Edith started and screamed. Your nerves are overwrought, I told her. Half an hour later, she dropped her coffee spoon into the fender. I bounded off my chair. Why, yo~ have nerves too, Harry I she exclaimed. Are you smoking too much ? We had in time local man to see us both, and lie spoke to me seriously about letting Edith work so hard. She is a delicate, highly strung organism, he said sternly ; and I warn you that if we dont take care, we shall have her on our hands with a nervous fever. She tells me she works six hours a day. That must be put a stop to at once. I shall prescribe a tonic; but she must have complete rest. I felt very dispirited. The medical maim evidently blamed me,. and I was too weak and crushed to complain. My wife obeyed the doctor for some days ; but the result was disastrous to me. She went about the house and 20 A Departui e from Tradition. noticed things. She had a way of touching furniture and books with her handkerchief, and of course the dust caine off. Then she sighed and looked at me. I took no notice. It was most interfering. It was about this time that my cook gave me warning. I ran up-stairs and told Edith. Youll have to get another, she said calmly. I felt sick and faint. And I think you had better dismiss Jane the housemaid too, she went on. The house is getting very dirty. I fancy you had better leave that to me, my dear, I remarked with some asperity. And may I ask you how you come to know that the housemaids name is Jane? About a week after this, Lady Chris- tie sent a note to say that she heard we were looking for a cook, and that hers was leaving her, and that she could send her to be interviewed. Lady Christie wrote to my wife; people cling to these old-fashioned prejudices, and seem to think that it must necessarily be the lady of the house who looks after domestic matters. That evening the cook came. My wife remained in the room, at my re- quest, and busied herself with a news- paper. The woman brought her umbrella in with her, and stood in the middle of the floor. Ohnh! Good-evening! I said. Good-evening, sir~ Wont you take a seat? I asked, wheeling forward an armchair. My wife rustled a newspaper. The woman preferred to stand, so I stood too first on one foot and then on the other for I couldnt think what the dickens I should say to her next. Suddenly I had a brilliant inspira- tion. Do you wear pink cotton dresses in the morning 9 I asked. henry ! my wife exclaimed, look- in~ over the top of her newspaper. Erercan you cook a steak with out letting the gravy run out? I hastily went on. 21 The woman seemed to think she could. Well,I think you will suit, I told her. Wages, reason of leaving, age, church, length of character, parent- age, prompted a voice from behind the newspaper. The woman said she did not think the situation would suit her, and she went away. My wife was curiously put out, and audibly wondered what Lady Christie would think. I made up my mind to have a list of questions written out be- fore I interviewed another, and to take down the answers in writing. Next day the housemaid gave warn- ing. I was terribly upset. I could scarcely eat a crumb all day, and I lay awake from two until ten. My wife noticed my pallid visage when I came down to breakfast. I had somehow run short of coals, and we had no fires in the house that day, and nothing could be cooked. We neither of us had much appetite, so it didnt really mat- ter. Also Mary was ill, I was told and Jane waited on us. Her boots creaked ; and, in the state Ediths and my nerves were in, we could not stand that. I wrote for coals, and sent James for the doctor, and then I went to my smoking-room and sat looking at the cigar ends lying in among yester- days ashes in the fender; and thought over the position. Perhaps it was the cigar ends, or perhaps the odor of stale smoke, or perhaps it was the interven- tion of my good angel, but suddenly George Seton came into my mind, and hope entered my heart. I found my wife walking up and down the library to keep warm. The dust had gathered on her books and papers since she had been idle. Edith, Isaid, I find I shall have to run up to town this afternoon to see about servants. Very well, she replied listlessly. Then I walked to the station and ~vired to George In a ~liffieul1y. Dine with me at the club to-night. It wasnt till after the train had fairly started that I remembered I had wired A Departure from Tradition. the identical words George had used to me the night before my marriage. Ah, well! How strangely things come round! George dined with me at the club. We had a cosy little dinner; it was quite like old times. Afterwards, we lit our pipes. It was difficult to tell George all about it he would laugh. lie laughed till I thought he would choke, and then he asked me to let him think it over, and he would breakfast with me next morning at my hotel, and give me the results of his reflections. George has a good strong chin; and, though he is not a married man, it is not always married men who under- stan(l women the best. In fact, I sometimes fancy that men who under- stand women the best remain unmar- ried. Anyway, after I had put my brief into Georges hands, I somehow felt a great weight off my mind. I returned home in the course of the morning. Have you found servants? was my wifes first question. No, I replied ; I have not. Then what are you going to do, Harry? You really must bestir your- self ! It is only a fortnight now till they leave, and several people are asked to dine here on the 27th, and im sure Edith had grown a trifle irritable in these days. It was a good sign. My dear, I said to her, I am not going to engage servants. I find that they are completely old-fashioned, and that we are behind the time in submit- ting to this obsolete custom. Now, whatever else people may say of us, they cannot say that we are behind the time, or that obsolete customs find con- sideration at our hands. No, my wife agreed. Did I de- tect a tinge of regret in her tone? I find that in London most up-to- date people live on the co-operative system. We cant manage this, living, as we do, in the country. Our houses are not adapted for modern ideas. There is a kitchen, several pantries a whole suite of rooms dedicated to the service of pampered menials, who eat our bread and take our money, and whose slaves we are. Edith looked impressed. I felt I had done well it was almost word for word what George had jotted down for me. And so, I went on , gaining cour- age and dignity, I intend adopting another expedient, which many of my friends have had recourse to with in- finite success. I am going to dismiss all our servants, and employ lady- helps. Oh ! said my wife. II have seen one or two al- ready, I went on, blushing at the fib, for I am a truthful man. My wife mistook my faltering tones. What were they like ? she asked. They were simply charming. Oh ! But would they do the work ? Ah, well, I replied evasively, one leaves that to them, you know. How do they dress ? I am not good at describing drcss, I replied, but I think they wear well, the sort of thing you have got on. Nonsense, Harry ! said my wife sharply; and, looking at her, I became aware she had on some sort of morning robe, with a profusion of lace and rib- bons. Would they dine with us ? Edith, I said, with an assumption of sternness, if you for a moment suppose that I should permit any gen- tly nurtured lady to feel herself slighted in this house, or to be shown even the negative discourtesy implied by Dont be silly ! how can a woman cook the dinner and eat it at one and the same time? A clever woman is capable of any- thing. I am told it is wonderful how these lady-helps adapt themselves how they get through their arduous domestic tasks, and yet appear always at leisure. The household matters move on oiled wheels, and one is never made aware of any haste or disquiet. It is a wonderful gift that some women have. The lady I saw seemed very well read, by the way. She told me 22 The Future Emperor-King. 23 she was a Browningite. I thought it The Archduchess Maria Theresa would would be so companionable for you, take good care, they maintained, that dear. But she was very interested in her husband never surrendered an iota cookery too, so I shant be left quite of his rights. Time has proved that out in the cold. they had reason for their faith; for, My wifes grey eyes opened to their although it is now six years since the extreme limit. She played with her crown prince died, the Act of Renun- rings nervously. How many would ciation is still unsigned. you employ? she asked presently. The Archduke Karl Ludwig is as one About six, I said, at random. born out of due season; he came into My wife got up from the table and the world some hundreds of years too stood by me on the hearthrug. We late. in medkeval days he might have ~ve should have no no time to done good service as a sovereign; at ourselves, she murmured, in a quiver- the present time no greater disaster ino~ voice, threatens Austria than his accession to Neither do we under the old yoke her throne. Yet he has many of the of servants. qualities nations most value in their Six lady-helps ! Wouldnt they rulers. He is emphatically an honest, wouldnt they rather wonder that I upright, straightforward man ; there is didnt I mean they might think not a touch of opportunism in his na- that I ought ture it would be better perhaps for So do the servants, I said grimly, his future subjects if there were. His There was a long pause, then I got intellectual power is considerable ; he up. I will telegraph to them all to- is a clear and logical thinker, and his day, I said, with a business-like judgment, if narrow, is acute and dis- promptness. criminating. lIe has a certain force of My wife flung herself into my arms. character, too, of the kind, though, Harry ! she sobbed, Harry, Harry more often found among martyrs than dear! I couldnt b b bear it! Give among leaders. He would mount a me the keys ! scaffold without flinching for a prin When George Seton came to stay ciple or a tradition and would with us at Christmas, ours was the sooner yield a crown than a dogma. most charming house in all England, He is profoundly religious religious and my wife the best housekeeper in as men used to be in far back days, the world. with a faith as blind and unreasoning as that of the veriest Abraham. The voice of the Church is to him as the voice of God; at its command he would From Temple Bar, plunge a nation into civil war without THE FUTURE EMPERORKING. a scruple, or lead tile most hopeless of WITHIN twenty-four hours of the crusades. He has never a doubt but death of the Crown Prince Rudolf that Austria will wear sackcloth and there were rumors in Vienna that ashes yet for having thrown in her pressure was being brought to bear on lot with heretics. With all his fanat- the Archduke Karl Ludwig to induce icism and intolerance, however, the him to renounce his right of succession archduke is by nature both kindly and to tile Austro-Hungarian throne. And generous. Habsburg of Habsburgs before a week had passed it was an- though he be, he has inherited from nounced, with every appearance of his mother, a Bavarian princess, keen authority, that he had consented to sympathy with suffering and a passion- stand aside and allow his son to take ate desire to humanize tile lives of the his place. In Ultramontane circles, poor. His charity knows neither bound however, men shrugged their shoulders nor limit; whoever stands in need of when they heard the news, and said a helping hand in Vienna turns to him the wish was the father to the thought. instinctively. The Future jEmperor-King. For the last four-and-thirty years the Archduke Karl Ludwig has held himself completely aloof from public affairs. lie is known to be bitterly op- posed to the policy pursued by the im- perial ministers during this time ; for, in his eyes, constitutionalism, religious freedom, and secular education are all as the accursed thing. He is firmly convinced that the emperor, 1)y grant- ing a constitution, committed an irrep- arable blnnder, and by allowing the power of the Church to be curbed, was guilty of something akin to sacrilege. In the early days of the reform period he was a veritable Cassandra. Reli- gious toleration would lead to atheism, he declared, and parliamentarianism to anarchy. If Austria were to be saved, it would be, not by adopting new-fan- gled ways, but by clinging to the tra- ditions of the past. The emperor and his ministers, however, turned a deaf ear to his warnings ; whereupon he resigned all his offices and retired into private life. He would have no deal- ings with a government embarking on courses fraught with danger, as he be- lieved, to the best interests of the em- pire. In those days the archduke was a very unimportant personage, for his elder brother, Maximilian, and the Crown Prince Rudolf were both alive. When it was known, therefore, that he had shaken the dust of democratic Vienna from off his feet, people were amused rather than troubled. It was the old Habsburg spirit, they said, and they thanked the gods that their em- peror took after his mother, not his father. Karl Ludwig was born at Sch6n- bruan, in 1833. His father, the Arch- duke Franz Karl, who thought much more of orthodoxy than of science, handed him over in very early days to the care of the Jesuits. Now the Jes- uits, admirable teachers as they arc in some respects, are hardly the men to have the training of a prince who may one day rule an empire. It was un- wholesome, to say the least of it, for an imaginative boy to hear the past always exalted, the preseat always con- demned, and to be taught that all that smacks of progress tends to damnation. The archduke passed the most impres- sionable years of his life in the atmo- sphere of a medi~val monastery, and he bears the traces of it evcn to-day. Then came the 48 Revolution, which, viewed from his standpoint, was not an episode calculated to give him a high opinion of the century in which his lot is cast. He shared the Emperor Ferdinands flight from Vienna, a most unedifying experience for a boy of fifteen, and, during the months that followed, witnessed some very unheroic proceedings. It must have shocked his sense of what is seemly to know that members of his family were carrying on intrigues with rel)els, and doing their best to induce the rival nationali- tics in the empire to fly at each others throats. He wa~ soon back at his les- sons again, however, for when Franz Josef was proclained emperor, the Archduke Franz Karl promptly took leave of the court and carried off with him his younger children. He had no fancy for witnessing the instalment of constitutionalism in the Hofburg, for he had the most tender consideration for the feelings of the dead Habsburgs, who, he was sure, would not approve of a descendant of theirs holding parley with democracy. Besides, now that he had offered up his eldest son to the nation as a solemn sacrifice this is the view he took of the arrangement by which Franz Josef received his crown he felt he must guard the other three more carefully than ever from demoralizing modern influences. It was a fortunate day for Karl Lud- wig when Count Heinrich Bombelles was appointed his guardian, for the count, who was a man of the world, speedily brought about a much needed change in his surroundin~rs. Under his influence, the prince soon began to throw off some of the monkish preju- dices with which he was imbued, and to discover that this latter-day world, with all its faults, is by no means an unpleasant place to live in. In 18~3 he was sent to Galicia as a sort of unoffi- cial viceroy, that lie might have an 24 The Future Emperor-King. opportunity of learning something of the science of ruling. He made such good use of his time while, there, that, at the end of two years, the emperor was able to appoint him to the gov- ernorship of Tyrol. At that time the archduke was two- and-twenty, full of life and vigor, and he threw himself into the duties of his position with an energy that spread consternation among the somewhat sleepy officials by whom he was sur- rounded. He was in Tyrol to rule, aad rule lie did, and on the whole wisely and well. He worked indefati- gably, performing all the functions of his office with the most scrupulous exactitude, even to wading through the dullest of reports. Every petition presented to him was considered, and at once, for lie holds strongly that just grievances are things to be redressed, not scheduled~ He insisted on seeing things with his own eyes, and lie trav- elled about through the whole province learning to know the people and their ways. Wherever lie went he im- pressed those whom he met with his intelligence, kindliness, and general alertness. He was a handsome young man then, with singularly charming manners, and he soon became im- mensely popular among the Tyrolese. To this day they speak of him as Unser Erzhierzog, and it is a favor- ite saying of theirs when anything goes wrong in the province If Karl Lud- wig were here that would never have happened. When in 1856 the archduke brought his bride home to Tyrol, lie was wel- comed by the whole population with an enthusiasm which excited no little astonishment in Vienna, ~vliere his ap- pointment as governor had been viewed with apprehension, chiefly be- cause he was known to be his fathers favorite son. The archduchess was little more than a child, but from the first her influence over her husband, who was passionately attached to her, was unbounded and most beneficial. She was the daughter of King John of Saxony, and had inherited many of the qualities which had won for her father they saw him again, and he had the his title of the Good. She was just a sunbeam, the Tyrolese say, and she certainly seems to have had a singu- larly bright, happy nature. She had intelligence, too, of a high order, and what was of supreme importance with such a husband as hers a plentiful supply of sturdy common sense. Be- fore she had been many weeks in his home, the archduke had freed himself completely from the superstitious gloom his early training had engendered, and was as frankly and openly happy as the veriest pagan. And well he might be, for in those days his lines were cast in pleasant places. As viceroy of Tyrol he was in an ideal position for a man of his temperament. his success as a ruler was acknowledged even by those who were most inclined to regard him with mistrust, and his popularity in the province was so great as to be both a source of pleasure to the em- peror and a subject of congratulation to his government. He had work in which lie delighted; was surrounded by congenial friends ; and, above all, he had a wife whom lie worshipped by his side. He was well with the whole world, in fact, and the whole world was well with him, for he bore his good fortune so gracefully, ~vas so full of sympathy and help for those to whom the gods scant their gifts, that even the envious could not find it in their hearts to grudge him his luck. His spiritual advisers, it is true, looked on him askance, for they were by no means too well pleased at the inde- pendence of thought lie was develop- ing. Mental vigor is ah)t to lead to a throwing off of trammels, and they were not blind to the fact that their old pupil no longer turned to them when in search of advice. If the life he was then leading had but continued, the archduke would not be to-day what lie is. But just when things were at the brightest, all was changed. The people of Mon~a tell how, one September day in 1858, they saw their viceroy enter the palace, laughing and talking with those around him, la joie de vivre in person. Within a week 26 face of a haggard old man. The castle flag was flying half-mast high, for the Archduchess Margarethe was dead. She died after a few hours illness, in the eighteenth year of her age. Karl Ludwigs grief was terrible. For the time being he was distraught, and had to be taken by force from the room in which his wifes dead body was lying. His friends hurried him away from Tyrol, in the hope that in fresh surroundings lie might the more easily recover from the blow he had received. He went to Rome, where all that was known of him was that lie passed his days shut up with monks. Before long, however, there were ru- mors afloat that he was going to retire into a monastery, and there is little doubt but that he would have done so at once, on his wifes death, if it had not been for the influence of the em- peror. As it was, for some months the matter hung in the balance, and mean- while he made no effort whatever to take up the threads of his life in the world again. If the Italian war had not come when it did, lie would prob- ably now be a monk. But he is not the man to desert his country when the enemy is at the gate. As soon as it was known that war was imminent, the archduke hastened back to Tyrol, where the people rallied around him with enthusiasm. They were sorely troubled, however, at the change that had come over their young viceroy. Not only was lie careworn and sorrow-bound, but lie seemed to have lost all touch with life. It was noticed, too, that wherever lie went there was always a priest within hail. Evidently the Church had turned his misfortune to its own account. Al- tered as lie was in other respects, lie had lost iione of his energy, and he at once set to work determinedly to organize the defences of the province. He is no soldier; it was the military experts on his staff who drew up the plans for the defence, but it was he who watched over the carrying out of them to the minutest detail. He worked night and day; wherever there was anything to be done lie was to the The Future Emperor-King. fore, encouraging the soldiers with kindly words, and exhorting the l)eople to stand firm by the emperor and by each other. All classes responded loy- ally to his appeal, more through per- sonal devotion to him than for any love of the empire. The result of the war was a terrible blow to Karl Ludwig, a blow, too, for which he was quite unl)repared, for he had never doubted but that ultimately Austria would triumph. He was fiercely opposed to the signing of the Treaty of Villafranca. It would be better for Austria to fight the battle out to the bitter end and perish, he held, than surrender Lombardy, her chief glory. It was only traitors, lie was convinced, who could counsel the emperor to make peace upon such terms. Before long he had other grievances against the imperial min- isters, for they were bent on rendering the government of the country consti- tutional in fact as well as in name. He bitterly resented their drawing up schemes for limiting the power of the emperor, just as if a Habsburg were not to be trusted to do his best for his own people. Then the battle for re- ligious toleration was raging, and the archduke was on the one side and the government on the other. On every point, indeed, he was at variance with his brothers ministers, and not with them alone, but with the majority of his nation. He had not yet recovered from the shock of his wifes death, a fact that predisposed him to take an exaggerated view of the dangers to which Austria was undoubtedly ex- posed at that time ; and it seemed to him that his countrymen were march- ing in a bee-line for ruin. He would gladly have laid down his life to save them, but they would have none of his help, and scoffed at his warnings. With such an untoward generation there was nothing to be done, he felt; therefore, on July 11th, 1861, he re- signed his viceroyalty and withdrew to Graz, where he lived in retirement, shunning all intercourse with his fel- lows. The next year the archduke mar- The Future Emperor-King. ned; not that he had any desire for a second wife, but then as now there was a scarcity of heirs in Vienna. The Archduke Maximilian was child- less; his younger brother Victor has always stoutly refused to marry, and the emperor had only one son. He had little to (10, however, either with the choosing or the wooing; he merely accepted, and none too gratefully, the bride his family provided for him. Nevertheless the marriage proved a fairly happy one. The new arch- duchess, Annunciata of Naples, was a sensible, good - natured woman, who adapted herself with admirable tact to her difficult 1)osition. She set to work quietly and unobtrusively to rouse her husband from the state of despondency into which he had fallen. This was no easy matter, for the archdukes troubles and anxieties had told upon him phys- ically, as well as mentally. As time passed, however, he recovered his early vigor; children came to brighten his home, and at length, though in a somewhat half - hearted fashion, he seemed to wake up to the fact that there were still things worth living for in the world, even though Margarethe was in her grave, and Austria was fol- lowing after false gods. His love of science revived, and he began to take an interest in the intellectual move- ments of the day. It was well he recovered his hold on life when he did, for Fortune had fresh strokes in store for him. Probably the result of the war with Prussia and Italy (lid not take him altogether by surprise, keenly as he deplored it. From his l)oint of view, the Austrians must mend their ways before they could hope to conquer. Those cries of loch Max- imnihian, however, cut him to the quick. It was an intolerable thought that a Ilabsburg, his own brother to boot, should be suspected of treason, and accused of encouraging intrigues against his sovereign. That ghastly scene on Cerro de las Campafias, when Maximilian paid for his Mexican crown with his life, was for Karl Ludwig only one degree more tragic than that drive from Schi~nbrunu to Vienna, when the 27 very air was alive with sedition. Strangely enough, the disaster of 66 and ~~,in stead of plunging him back into his old gloom, aroused him to new life and energy. He is devotedly at- tached to the emperor, strongly as he disapproves of some of his acts, and, in his keen desire to help him in the misfortunes that had befallen him, he seemed to forget that he had griefs and grievances of his own. Perhaps he learnt then for the first time how heavy a burden it is that the emperor has to bear, and was seized with compunction for having left him so long to bear it alone. Be this as it may, he began to take his place again in ceremonies of state, and to pass more of his time in Vienna. He could not stand apart from his own people now that evil days were come. Not that he was reconciled to the new state of things in the capital ; on the contrary, he was as firmly con- vinced as ever that the whole para- phernalia of constitutionalism was an abomination ; and he held that, for the government of St. Stephens sacred empire to be in the hands of Count Beust, a heretic, was an outrage to heaven. Still, by this time he had suc- ceeded in realizing clearly that nothing he could say or do would alter by one whit the policy Austria was pursuing; and to have continued to indulge in vain protests would have been undig- nified, even if it had not been disloyal. As the emperors brother he could not oppose the measures of the emperors chosen ministers ; if he lived in Vienna he must either speak well of them, or ignore them. Speak well of them he could not, and would not ; he therefore decided to ignore them, to hold himself completely aloof, in fact, from every- thing that concerns the government of his country. He soon made those around him understand that the sav- ings and doings of ministers, Reichsrath debates, and kindred subjects must never be mentioned in his presence; and that all who entered the Archducal Palace must leave their politics behind them. There was great distress in Austria The Future Emperor-Kina. at this time. The whole nation was plunged in poverty; and on every side there were men, women, and children on the verge of starvation. Here was work for the archduke to do, work of the very kind he could do, and he threw himself into it with a will. Be- fore long he was at the head of every important philanthropic undertaking in the empire. He is the possessor of great wealth inherited from the Italian branch of his family; and he distrib- utes it among the needy with a gener- ous hand. Nor is it only money that he gives. Every appeal to him for help receives his personal considera- tion; and he devotes endless time and thought to devising schemes for the prevention of pauperism as well as for its relief. He is always on the alert, too, to give a helping hand to those who to beg are ashamed ; and he seems to know instinctively when and how to give it. Stories without number are told in Vienna of how, in cases of tem- porary distress, the archduke has sud- denly appeared upon the scene; and, by some delicately offered gift, or a loan perhaps, has warded off ruin. He is a staunch supporter of all move- ments for improving the condition of the working classes ; for providing them with better houses an(1 cheaper food ; and for bringing technical train- ing within their reach. Exhibitions of all sorts and kinds are under his partic- ular protection. Artists, authors, and scientists, especially such as have still their way to make in the world, find in him not only a liberal patron but a warm friend. He takes the most lively interest in their work, he praises, blames, and criticises with delicate tact and nice discrimination ; and is equally ready to hail success and sympathize with failure. As the Viennese came to know the archduke, their old prejudice against him speedily vanished; for they are the last people in the world to cherish ill-feeling against one who de- votes himself to their service, and is willing to work not only for them, but with them. In a very short time he be- came socially a great power in the land, while remaining politically a nonentity. In 1871 the Archduchess Annunciata died, to the sincere regret of her hus- band, to whom she had been a devoted friend and true helpmate. Two years later, to the astonishment both of the world and his own family, Karl Lud- wig announced his intention of marry- ing again. This time he had found a bride for himself, and a very charming one too. No princess in Europe is so essentially alive, in the Matthew Arnold meaning of the term, as the present archduchess. She is a daugh- ter of Don Miguel, the Portuguese Pretender, and was only seventeen at the time of her marriage. She is ex- ceedingly beautiful, brilliantly clever, and has most winning manners an odd combination of royal stateliness and almost childlike simplicity. She is bright and witty, too, with a rare talent for repartee. She has not a touch of the Empress Elizabeths love of soli- tude or shrinking from the public gaze indeed, she seems never so happy as when she has a vast crowd around her. Her openly expressed delight in pag- eants and ceremonies whether court balls, Prater Fahrts or Corpus Christi processions, it matters not, for her taste is catholicwon for her at once the hearty sympathy of the Viennese and before she had been a month in the capital she was more popular than any member of the imperial family, with the single exception of the em- peror. In the early days of her married life, the Archduchess Maria Theresa is said to have found the atmosphere of Vienna somewhat stifling; she re- sented being tied hand and foot by the traditions of (lead and gone Habsburgs. It was at this time that she used to work off her superfluous energy by those rides that made the hair of her court ladies stand on end. According to Count Vasili, she once rode from Reichenau, to Guns and back, a dis- tance of between two and three hun- dred kilom~tres, without stopping. Mere physical excitement, however, did not content her for long. She is a woman of keen intelligence and wide sympathy, and she soon began to in- 28 The Future Emperor-King. terest herself in her husbands social and philanthropic work. Then, as the Hofburg was not at all to her taste, she determined to organize a court of her own. She has a perfect genius for en- tertaining ; whatever were her rank in life she would have her salon, though she held it in a kitchen ; and under her rule the Archducal Palace soon became renowned for its splendid hospitality. For years now it has been the centre of the life and gaiety of the capital, the meeting place of all who are dis- tinguished whether by rank or genius. The Austrians, especially the Vien- nese, are a splendor-loving race and they would idolize the archduchess if it were for nothing but the royal state in which she lives among them. She is their ideal of what a sovereign should be, their own sovereign above all; and they openly mourn over the fact that she cannot change places with the em- press. It is a favorite theory of theirs that, if Maria Theresa ruled in the ll6fburg, Vienna would at once cast off its gloom, and be as it used to be, the gayest capital in Europe. Then trade would revive, they are sure ; and the good old days when men lived in l)eace with each other would come back again. Many of those who regard with scant favor the prospect of Karl Ludwigs being their emperor, would gladly hail his wife as empress. If the archduchess had her will, there is little doubt but that years ago she would have tried to turn her great social popularity to account politically. She is ambitions, of course was there ever a Braganza who was not ? and she would give the ends of her fingers to play a dominant r6le in the empire. For the time being, however, the em- peror stands in her path. He shares Prince Bismnarcks abhorrence of petticoated politicians ; and if rumor may be relied upon, has had more than one sharp ~)assage of arms on the sub- ject with his sister-in-law. Karl Lud- wig would dislike as much as the emperor hi~ wifes meddling in poli- tics ; but that is of no great impor- tance, as he would never dream of opposing seriously anything she chose to do. It is a sacred dogma with him that all she does is well done. His devotion to her is unbounded; what- ever she wishes, he wishes; and he always ends, sooner or later, by approv- ing of what she approves. It was the knowledge of this fact that made those who know the archduchess smile when, six years ago, all Europe was declaring that the archduke was eager to yield place to his son. It is many a long year now since Karl Ludwig resigned his viceroyalty. Since then Austria has again and again been convulsed with excitement crisis has followed crisis with unparalleled rapidity ; and each Reichsrath in its turn has witnessed fierce struggles. Measures on which the honor, nay the very existence, of the empire depend, have been debated; and every subject on which men feel deeply has come to the fore. And he has looked on in silence the while. Even when the bat- tle around Prince Alois Liechtensteins Education Bill was at its height, though the Church in danger was the watchword, and the pope himself was in the lists, the archduke never ut- tered a word for the one side or for the other. It is only by a certain set look on his face, when he is playing the host to Prussians, that those around him know how sorely it goes against the grain with him to see the conquerors of his country its allies. In times of 1)0- litical excitement there is some thing almost uncanny about him; about his calm indifference to all that is passing around him. He seems so completely apart from those among whom he lives ; it is as if there were a great gulf between them and him. None the less, he is in Austria decidedly popu- lar. The Ultramontanes, Feudalists, and reactionists of all kinds look upon him as their own special champion and even the democrats have for him personally a warni feeling of regard. Oddly enough the populace are im- mensely proud of his grand seigneur bearing. The only grievance they have against him is that he has too many priests around him. In Hungary, the general feeli~~g with regard to the arch- 29 30 duke is much less friendly than in the other divisions of the empire ; for the Liberal Magyars have no sympathy whatever with the antediluvian. Dur- ing the Civil Marriage crisis, many bitter things were said of him in Buda- Pesth ; and, without a shadow of l)roof, it was taken for granted that he was trying to influence the emperor against the bill. So long as the Crown Prince Rudolf was alive, the Archduke Karl Ludwigs personal characteristics were of little importance so far as the world was con- cerned. No one was inclined to quar- rel with him then for his silent warfare against the Zeitgeist. If he chose to judge of men and things from the stand- point of a Jesuit fatherto dream of the pope as again a great temporal power; to count on the coming of the day when kings and emperors should rule once more as the patriarchs of old why, he was free to do so. There was no reason even why he should not, if he wished, show in his owa peculiar inscrutable fashion how much higher value he personally placed on Moscovite friendship than on Prussian. So long as he was a mere archduke, and nothing more, no one cared much either what he did, or what he thought. But now that he is heir to the imperial crown, it is otherwise. Austria to-day needs a strong hand and a cool head at her helm, for she is face to face with some terribly difficult problems. The struggle for political power between the few on the one hand and the many on the other, is just beginning. Class is arrayed against class more determinedly than ever before; and the strife between labor and capital is more ruthless. Socialism is spreading like wildfire in the land; and the people are indulging in dreams at once beautiful and un- realizable. The nationality question, too, is exciting mens minds; and Czechs, Germans, Magyars, Poles, and Roumanians are all to the fore with their rival interests, rival aspirations and grievances. The whole empire, in fact, is in a state of unrest; and what the end thereof will be depends in a great measure on its emperor. In Austria, it must be remembered, the sovereign does not merely reign, he rules. It is to him, not to his minis- ters, the nation turns when difficulties arise. The present emperor, Franz Josef, is in close touch with his people; lie holds the balance even between race and race, class and class, creed and creed ; and all goes well. But how would it be should Karl Ludwig one day ascend the throne? Would even Aus- trians, much less Magyars, tolerate for long the rule of a man who thinks more of Habsburg traditions than of Reichs- rath decrees; and who appeals for counsel to the vatican? The Archduchess Maria Theresa did an ill days work for Austria, for her- self, too, perhaps, when she induced her husband to refuse to renounce his right of succession. EDITH SELLERS. From Macmillans Magazine. THE MEN OF THE HILLS. THE Yale of the Upper Tweed is dis- tinct from the neighboring dales of Clyde and Annan, and no less from the rich strath into which the Border river enters in its maturer course, in a way which may seem strange to one super- ficially aware of their proximity. You pass almost at a bound from the fat lands of Dumfries, or the wooded holms of Melrose, to a country of miniature and yet greater beauties. There you have wide vistas and broad streams; here we have vistas, waters, hills, woods, an epitome of landscape, small in the acreage of the surveyor, but large by that curious measurement which is the prerogative of tile mind of man. It is indubitably a country of surprises, a dapper arrangement of landscapes which charm by their con- trast. The cotters garden, gay with all seasons flowers, runs into the heather; reapers ply their trade within hearing of the thrush and the curlew; a meadow of hay is own neighbor to a grim pine forest; and a sullen stream in one field may be an eddying torrent in the next. The art of the epigram- The Men of the Hills. The Men of the Hills. matist would be expended in vain in searching for the applicable word. One might call it austere, but for the grace of the woods; barren, but for the fresh green meadows and fruitful gardens; homely, were it not for some great blue shoulder of hill which bars the sky and gives solemnity to the little ridges. It is a country of contradiction, blended into harmony by that subtle Border charm which relates the crags of Moffat- dale to the lowlands of Berwick. The people of this Arcady are in certain ways akin to their countryside. They, too, are full of surprises. Harsh- ness and gentleness, worldly prudence and the most insane recklessness, hu- mor and a crass stupidity, unite in varying degrees in their composition. In these narrow valleys tragedy and comedy dwell side by side in a confu- sion as grotesque as any Wonderland, and to the seeing eye there are plays enough acted every day of the year. To the casual traveller there is incon- gruity, to the man who has long known thzm there is none; for he feels each whimsicality of character to be the artistic companion of the variant land- scape. Celtic and Saxon meet here, but Saxon has the predominance. Apart from such far-away histories there is one near and living fact of their gene- alogy. Their forefathers were those gallant gentlemen or disreputable ruffi- ans (call them what you please) who played fine havoc with well-stocked Northumbrian pastures ; who, and here is the sad part of the tale, so far forgot themselves as now and then to plunder their Scots brethren. Days and nights of riding, when a false step may be death, make a mans senses wonderfully acute. He learns to use his wits, which is well-nigh a lost art among us; he becomes versed in the lore of wood- craft and hillcraft; he can mark a glimmer of spears six miles away, and the saddle is more easy to him than his bed. Such a trade is not over good for morality, save for the virtue of courage which it undeniably tends to foster; but it is the very finest school in the world for the natural man. The folk of Tweedside to-day are sprung of this fighting stock. The fathers had little time to settle on their lees and sink into the country lout; and the children in consequence are of keener temper and finer spirit than the ordinary rus- tic. The difference is vividly seen when one looks at the Westland folk who have come from the remoter lands of Ayr and Lanark to settle by the Tweed. Honest and worthy, coura- geous and kindly, they lack few of the sterling virtues of life; they manage their farms with commendable indus- try; they fear God and do good in their several ways. But to set the in on a level with the true-born uplander is to rate butter-milk as high as burgundy. It is conceivable that at certain times the former may be the more salutary diet, but this cheap quality of whole- someness does not make the estimate any the more true. To this day you may find a certain enmity between the two strains, dislike on the one hand and distaste on the other. To the chance traveller in their midst that which appears the most prominent quality of the people is their singular acuteness of mind. To call them cul- tured or learned would be to brand them with an undeserved reproach. They have indeed something of a con- tempt for book-learning; the Scots phenomenon known as a dungeon of wit meets with less respect among them than elsewhere. The book of life is a volume which makes all printed matter of small significance. But in native shrewdness we should venture to set one of them against any other average inhabitant of the globe. Two well-known Scots philosophers, both sprung from humble origin, hailed from this place; but they are types and not exceptions. You may see any day, behind the plough or on the shearing- stool, men with faces as ponderously thoughtful as an Aquinas. This may seem an exaggerated picture, but we fancy it is not far from the truth. To be sure this intellectuality of counte- nance is often deceptive, and its pos- sessor may have no thought above whiskey or mole-catching; but again it 31 32 is not unfrequently only the index of the sagacity and gravity within. It is curious to note the floating f rag- ments of learning which perambulate the countryside, stories derived, we know not whence, often strangely marred in the telling, but hinting at some share of the humanities (to use the fine Scots word) which was the possession of some prior generation. One old woman of our knowledge had a distant acquaintance with some of the tales in the Odyssey. She sur- prised us on one occasion by declaring that her sons socks were no better than Penelopes web (she did not sound the last letter of the virtuous queens name), for what she mended in the morning was a hole again at night. She had never heard of Homer; the story was just an owercome, which she had got from her mother. Still stranger was the tale which another was wont to tell as a warning to those who take pride in ugliness, dirt, and poverty. There were once two men, she would say, a farmer and a plough- man, the one rich and the other poor, the one humble and the other proud as Satan. One day the ploughman came to the farmers home in his muddy boots, and was taken to the best room, where there was a very fine carpet. He had no sooner entered than he stamped his clogs upon the floor xvith every circumstance of scorn. There, said he, I trample on the pride of Platto Platto was the farmers name. Ay, says the other but with still greater pride. This is no less than the story of Diogenes and Plato, but the teller had no inkling of its source. Did you ever hear of any one whose name was Platto? we asked. No, she said, .but, well, theres folk called Latto, and Platto will just be an auld way of writing it. Dr. Penicuik of Romano, who wrote a book on Tweeddale in the beginning of last century, did full justice. to the good qualities of the folk, but added that there was one curious defect in all, a total lack of music ; For, he says, music is so great a stranger 4o their temper, that you will hardly light upon one amongst six, that c~n distinguish one tune from another. We combat the assertion root and branch, and cannot help suspecting that the worthy doctor had himself no very shrewd ear for music. No people who had not a true love and gift for melody could have produced so many fine airs, and their written songs, though few in number, are yet choice of their kind. To cite one instance, there is that excellent drinking song, Come sit ye doon, my cronies, which we would willingly set down were not our memory so feeble. But to pass to graver themes; there is one side of Scots life which no man can afford to neglect, though of late years it has rather been thrust down our throats. We mean the religious. It is a fine thing to say of any folk that their religion fills a large place in the world of their thoughts. But in the Border country we venture to think that it is weighted with a healthy worldliness, so much so that frequently it disappears from the surface alto- gether. For, say what we may, the men of the uplands are on the whole a worldly people. Explain it as you like by their descent or by their coun- tryside, the fact remains. They are not the stuff of which fanatics are made ; the temporal and the tangible are too much before their eyes. For this very reason in the days of the Covenanters and the Persecution the Peeblesshire men did not rise like the Westland Whigs. The fugitives in the Tweedside hills were mostly men from Annandale or gaunt-faced wanderers from the moors of Clyde. To be sure there were Habb Dab and David Din, who dang the Deil ower Dobsons ~ and who might have been ex- pected to save the reputation of the place. These two worthies, hiding in a cave at the head of Moffat Water, were assailed by Satan in the guise of a pack of dried hides, and being strong in the faith they promptly kicked him over the waterfall. As the song has it Like a pack of barkit shins Doon fell Satan ower the Linns. The M~n of the Hills. The kEen of the Hills. But from the very fact of their super- natural intercourse it is to be inferred that these were the exceptions, and that the zeal of the arch-enemy to con- vert theni may be attributed to a laud- able desire on his part to keep the countryside consistent. It would be a hard task to rouse the people over any mere matter of scrupulousness, any nicety of ceremonial or refinement of Church government. We have in our midst a sprinkling of earnest Whig- amores, but almost to a man they are of alien birth. The true Uplander conceives it to be a matter of little moment whether priest or presbyter chide his erring steps, or whether he worship his Maker on his knees or on his feet. Yet to call them a godless race would be to make a vast mistake. They are a devout people according to their light, which after all is not inconsiderable. In their daily life they are punctilious in the observance of certain minuti~ of the law, though when pressed they will a(llnit that they scarce see the reason of their conduct. The reason, we take it, is their deep-rooted conservatism, holding to the old customs as far as possible because their fathers did so and their grandfathers before them. They are in general excellent attend- ants on the kirk, coming down from their distant glens with grave, decent faces, sitting like statues through a sermon which may be mere pulp to their strong brains, and returning home with a sense of duty fulfilled. They will rarely speak ill of a minister, be- lieving, like George Herbert, that any want of appreciation on their part is (Inc to the hardness of their hearts which is a charming doctrine for the preacher. On the matter of the Sab- bath, too, you will find them rigid with a most whimsical and pertinacious rigidity. One man of good character but no pretensions to piety made the writers boyhood a burden by forbid- ding the reading of any secular book on the Saturday, Sabbath, or Monday. For, said he, though theres une- thing in the Bible about it, I hold that LIViNG AGE. VOL. VIII. 367 33 the Lords day shall aye get plenty of room to steer in. Nor are the humors which attend the Church in Scotland wanting here. There was the minister of Tweedsmuir who on a certain Sabbath found a salmon stranded in shallow water, and who, being unable conscientiously to take it out on such a day, built a hedge of stones around it, and returning on the morrow claimed his prize. There was the old farmer who could not go to the kirk because he had neglected to shave on the Saturday night, and he would not profane the day by the use of any edged tool. There was the min- ister of Broughton who prayed for dry weather in the midst of a perfect down- pour, and when notwithstanding his prayers the great blasts of rain still beat on the window, exclaimed in his aggravation, Lord, Lord, but this is maist reedeklous ! There is the story of the eminent Dr. Robertson the his- torian, who preached an eloquent ser- mon in the kirk of Peebles. but forgot that the door was just behind the pul- pit. He concluded in a whirl of rhet- oric and gracefully sank back upon hi~ seat; but the door was open and the congregation saw only the heels of the orator as he disappeared down the back stairs. There is no limit to such tales save the memory of the narrator and the patience of his hearers. We have said that there still exists in no inconsiderable measure the old fighting Border spirit, as dour as steel and as quick as a stream in flood. Few opportunities now remain for its ap- pearance, for peace broods like a shadow over the land and fines for the breach of it are not desirable. But one outlet exists in an election contest. Politics to these folks are a matter of the most vital importance. We know from Lockhart that not even his age, ill health, and great name could save Sir Walter from insult at the hands of a Jedburgh mob. A man seriously adopts his party, not without grave consideration, for he knows that it will bring him lifelong hostility from the other side. There is no half-hearted 34 hob-nobbing with the enemy. Each sticks to his camp, and if by any chance he sees fit to change it he will be pur- sued with such a storm of contumely as may make him wish himself back with ahearty good-will. Family ties are of no moment in the matter. We have heard of a farmer of undoubted respec- tability and a large kindliness whose own brother, just dead, had been of the opposite persuasion. He was talk- ing gleefully of the decrease of the enemy in the place where his brother had lived. There were a terrible lot o Tories, be said, and we were sairly bothered wi them ; but our Maker was very merciful to us and took a guid wheen o them to himsel. There is something Spartanlike in this devotion on one side, but there is something little short of demoniac, on another. The sight of the country town on an election day, when, con- trary to all hopes, the Tory candidate has been returned, is one which a man will remember all his days. The pro- letariat are deeply conservative in na- ture, but for no earthly reason they are Whig to a man by profession. They fill the street, a crowd of brown, deter- mined faces, howling profanity. The result is announced; theie is Bedlam for twenty minutes, then a mighty rush, and the honorable gentleman and his escort escape gracefully by a back close. Windows are shattered and a few heads broken; there is much marching and shouting; then the ex- citement calms by degrees, and by and by the men go home, very wearied, sometimes very drunk, and perhaps also a trifle ashamed. But a more agreeable proof of their spirit is the catholic fondness for sport which is common to both high and low. There is something admirable in this liking, for sport in itself is a good thing. It brings out all the virile and sterling qualities of a man ; it leaves little room, it is true, for some virtues, but it keeps the ground against the more unmanly vices. The true sportsman is a prince of good fellows; and by the name we do not mean a good shot or a skilled rider, but a man who has a love for motion and the open air, and the two valuable qualities of courage and self-repression. It is indeed this ele- ment of sport which redeems many characters. A poacher may be a black- guard in very truth, but he would be a worse man if lie were not a poacher. In him, too, is that love for danger and enterprise, that skill of hand and lore of nature, which go to ennoble his bet- teis in the trade. To us it is some- thing affecting to see the ragged weaver, out of work maybe, up to his knees in the stream intent upon his fish- ing, the herd-boy who whips the moun- tain-burn with his home-made rod, the village grocer who gets a days shoot- ing now and then from the laird. They love it, and are learned in it above the common. It would be a blessing to the land if this love were infused into all sorts and conditions of men, and the wealthy landowner would give the humbler tenants a share in the sport on his estate if they sought it, and the great merchant would set his poor, town-bred clerks to fish his waters, in- stead of filling his country houses with people who scarcely thank him. Again, this common taste sets all classes on a level. The curling-pond is a fine instance, where the laird, the minister, the farmer, and the laborer used to meet on a common ground. We well remember one man, the sheriff of a county, a scholar and a gentleman of birth, whose bosom friend on such excursions was one Rob Tait, an in- veterate poacher. The sheriff would be skip and Rob was beyond all ques- tion a most noted player. Come on, Rob, my man, he would say; show us what ye can dae. Eh, man, but thats great; thats the kind o shot ye read about in books. Theres no your match in a the countryside. I love ye like a brother, Rob. A week later the speaker would be on the bench, and the great player arraigned before him for some one of his manifold offences. Robert Tait, sixty days, would come the sentence in cold, judi- cial tones; and Rob would take it all hr good part as from a friend, knowing that when lie came out from prison The .2lfen of the Hills. and the winter returned there would be no estrangement. So much for the broad characteristics of the people, but what of the multi- tudinous interests and details of their daily life, their trades and professions, the little social ranks among them, the countless acts and scenes in the drama of their lives ? It would need a new Sir Walter to do them justice, unless perchance the Laird of Abbotsford has done it already. It is a fact of some celebrity that a man from Tweedside loves his native valleys with a love so indiscriininating that it will admit no rival. The story of the nameless en- thusiast who refused to have the mud of Tweeddale cleaned from his shoes, proves the affection which the grey old-fashioned land can inspire. So for one with a flying pen to venture to depict its arcana is a presumption more rash than that of the men who sought to carve the Koran on a nutshell. There is a gre at variety of character, but scarcely, we think, much choice of trades. Life is Pmpler there than elsewhere, and men have only a few narrow paths wherein to direct their energy. There are the farmers, slow- spokeii and hard-headed, hospitable, kindly, with little of the cloddishness of their brother of the lowlands ; the herds and laborers, big men, clad in the shadowd livery of the burnished sun, reserved of speech, humorous, and silently contented ; the more vola- tile folk of the towns who have seen more of the world and are sharper in their talk ; lastly the dregs of the people, the poachers and black fishers, sullen fello~vs enough but amusing if you take them aright, and full of stories as Chaucers pilgrims. Then there is the leaven in the lump, the lairds and ministers and country doctors, and the wealthier townsfolk, provided always they be of the true indigenous stock and not alien settlers. But there is a dark side to the pic- ture, one which can be shown of every community on the face of the earth. They have all the virtues of a high- spirited, high-handed race, and, let us add, not a few of its vices. The old 35 description of the county town as drouthy and God-fearing holds true, unless the former attribute has over- whelmed the latter. A thirsty place it is and a thirsty people, as any one will declare who has witnessed a mar- ket-day or a convivial gathering. The old punch-drinking times have not quite gone from the land. To be sure the men have strong heads and vast capacities, and what would make a speedy end of an urban bibulist is to them but milk and water. But it is playing with fire and does not always keep within bounds ; and the end too often is much dismal and sordid trag- edy. The riff-raff of the place, the ne er- do-weels and outcasts, are the main upstays of riot and debauch. Stories could be told of queer doings among these ragged, sunburned fellows, who spend their time in and out of jail. The salmon-poaching in the close sea- son is the refuge of the vagrant and unsettled part of the community. It is hazardous in the extreme, for the waters are often swollen high, and men in the pursuit of sport have no care of their lives. The bailiffs, too, are keen eyed and always on the watch, so that the game is pursued under the ban of the law and the hazards of the weather. Firing the water, asit is called, consists in flaring torches, made of pine-knots or old barrel-staves dipped in tar, over the surface of the river, and so attracting the fish. Who does not remember the inimitable scene at Charlieshope in Guy Manner- ing? The leister with its barbed prongs is a deadly weapon in a skilful hand, but in the use of it a novice is aI)t to overbalance himself and flounder helplessly in the wintry stream. The glare of light on the faces of the men, the leaping fish, the swirl of the dark water, the black woods around, the turmoil of the spot in contrast with the deathly quietness of the hills, the sack with its glittering spoil, the fierce; muffled talk, are in the highest degree romantic. Then, when the sport is over for the night, and if by a lucky chance they have escaped unmolested, The iJien of the Hills. 36 they will often return to some cottage, and there with barred door and shut- tered windows boil a fish, sup the broo, and finish with deep potations of whis- key. But if some bailiff meets them, then Nemesis has them by the heels, and they make the best of their way to the county jail if they lack money to pay the fine. If, as sometimes hap- pens, the might of the law be the weaker, a sharp scrimmage may ensue, some heads may be broken, and the band will scatter in hot haste to their homes. But we live in civilized times, when violence is sure to recoil upon the head of the transgressor; and sooner or later they will be brought to book for their misdeeds, and have leis- ure to repent in the quiet of a prison. There is, indeed, among the people a good deal of what sentimentalists name the Woodland Pan, what plain people call the old Adam, or plainer still, the Devil. But where does this not exist? At any rate if it has been driven out in one form, it has returned in a worse. Some are old-fashioned enough to pre- fer plain, strong virtues and vices to those refinements which pass by the name among a certain portion of Gods creatures. If such antiquated people are alive to-day, they may get some satisfaction out of the rough and tum- ble life of the hills. For the place is still unspoiled, still much as it was to Walter Scott and to the Ettrick Shepherd, when they wan- dered over its moors, drank at its ale-houses, and slept in its homes. Christopher North came often thither, and to him succeeded John Campbell Shairp, who has written the song which of all others most expresses its peculiar charm. It tells of the Bush abune Traquair, a scrap of birch on the hillside above the Quair burn, and of those who once met there. Frae mony a but and ben, By muirland, holm, and glen, They cam ane hour to spend on the green- wood swaird. But long hae lad and lass Been lying neath the grass, The green, green grass o Traquair kirk- yaird. They were blest beyond compare When they held their trysting there, Among thae greenest hills shone on by the sun And then they wan a rcist, The lownest and the best, I Traquair kirkyaird when a was dune. But alas, we can scarcely hope for the long continuance of the old fresh- ness and vigor of the people, the old unsullied beauty of the valley ; for the process of ruin is even now beginning. The 01(1 men are fast dying out, and the younger seek the cities, and so a new race is fast springing up which knows not the land. Water-works and the attendant horrors of brick houses and cheap shops are~ contemplated to fill the glens ; the shrill whistle of the engine is even now seeking to scare the curlews ; landlords are leaving their estates to dwell elsewhere, and ere long we may look to see Tweed tinged with another hue than the au- tumn floods. But that day is not yet, and if it ever comes it will scarce be regretted ; for by that time the valleys will be stripped of their kindly folk, the towns of their worthies ; and if the people are gone, he who once loved the land xviii seek elsewhere for his pleas- ure. From Blackwoods Magazine. MY MAID OF HONOR. SOON after my i~eturn to Burma, it was my good fortune to meet again the maid of honor who told me the story that I xvrote two years ago. I had never told her that I was going to pub- lish her story, and I was afraid she might be offended when she heard. I found that there was no necessity to tell her. She knew. The story had been copied into the Rangoon Gazette, and a translation had appeared in a vernacular paper. She was not at all offended, though she was a little shy at appearing in print ever so many thou- sands of miles away in the fairy coun- try of Belat (Europe). 1 See The Last Days of an Empire, LIvING AGE, No. 2557, p. 15. My Maid of Honor. 37 My Maid of Honor. However, when I produced a little Taingda Mingyi, the old minister who present that I had got for her, to show brought on the war. She was not his her that I had not quite forgotten her, own daughter, but adopted. They I think she was pleased. were sent on duty for six hours at a I told her of some of the criticisms time, and the queen herself distributed on her story ; how some people said the hours of service for each company. that it was not true, because it did not The maids of honor had nine silk agree with what had been written be- skirts a month given them, and money fore ; but mostly I told her of the besides for jackets and kerchiefs. The favorable things that had been said. queen wore, as a rule, much the same And when I had coaxed her into a good clothes as her maids ; but there was temper, there, in the shadows of the this rule, that if she was wearing a garden, I begged her to tell me some skirt of a certain design, no princess or more of the palace and the queen. I maid must wear one of that same kind did not find her very ready to do so. on that day. I think she had doubts as to how it But how did you manage ? I might sound in my translation to ears asked. Did you know beforehand that have never heard Burmese, or what the queen was to wear? what mistakes I might make. She When we went on duty we would looks upon inc as a person very igno- peep and see, hiding behind some one rant of the Burmese as indeed I am else. And if we were wearing a skirt and well-meaning rather than well- like the queen, we would run off and doing. change it and return. But I think she forgot after a while When I suggested that at the rate the object of our talks, and was pleased of nine a month skirts must have ac~ to recall to herself these long-past days cumulated, she said it was easy to give that she always says were so pleasant. them away to attendants. Nine a For it was very pleasant in the pal- month were none too many, for it was ace then, she says often, with a little necessary to look smart before the stop in her voice, queen. Then skirts got spoiled in It must not be forgotten that she was many ways. They would play hide- only a child, a little girl of thirteen, and-seek in the gardens. The queen when Mandalay fell, and that she saw would hide, and the princesses and with childish eyes, and was blind to maids of honor would look for her. Of many things an older woman would course they never found her, and the have seen. To children, all that those queen was very pleased. It must be they love do is done well. Criticism remembered that the queen was not does not come to us till later and less twenty-three when the palace was happy days. Our gods are near to us taken. She was only a girl too. when we are young, and we never look What happened if any one was at their feet to see if they be clay, rash enough to find the queen? I And who. xvould ask that our early asked. feelings and impressions should be The girl laughed. It appears that revised by later knowledge? I have when she first went to the palace and never told her a great deal that has played hide-and-seek she found the been said about her queen, and the queen. For indeed it was easy light in which some of her acts are re- enough. I could see her kneeling garded. Why should I? down on a little hill behind a clump of There appear to have been a great bamboos. Every one could see. So I number of maids of honor over five went up and found her. hundred in all, she told me. They And then ? were divided into companies of thirty She boxed my ears. She was very or forty, with some one as head. My angry. maid of honor belonged to a company I suppose you never found her whose head was the daughter of the again? I asked. 38 No! No one could ever find her exccl)t the kin~ who would come and 07 play with us too. Then after a time, when she was tired of seein~ us wander UI) and down and look in all the wrong places, she would come out laughing, and say she was too clever for us, and that some one else must hide. So one of us would hide, and there would be great fun looking for her all up and down the harden, in the boats, behind the rocks, or perhaps we would find her perchcd in a tamarind-tree. Then we would go out in the boats. The fish were so tame that if you put some rice on the edge and tapped the bank, and cried Hey! hey! hey! the fish would come crowding up and eat it. There were so many they would quarrel and fight and push each other about to get at the rice. Some had gold-leaf l)ut on their heads. Once when the queen was in a boat with the king a big fish jumped right into the boat, and the queen was delighted, an(l laughed and screamed, and took it up in her hands and put it back in the water. Her dress was all splashed over with water and mud, but she did not mind that. We also used to catch crows. What did you do that for? I asked. For fun. We would wait till a crow came into the room, and rush and slam the doors. Then there would be a great running about, and climbing on tables, and throwing handkerchiefs to fetch the crow down. What did you do then? Kill it? Kill it ? she answered with great surprise. What should we want to take its little life for? The queen would put gold-leaf on its beak, or put a ring on its foot, or tie a string with something on it round the crows neck, and let it go again. There was always a tremendous excitement among the other crows when this crow came out. They would crowd round it and caw very loudly, and the caught crow was ashamed. We never caught the same crow twice. If it was very hot, and we could not go out, the queen would wrap up a lily Maid of Honor. lot of things in paperrings a ad gold and stones and feathers and put them in a bag. The princesses and maids of honor drew the things out. When you got a ring or a jewel you were pleased, when you got a feather every one laughed at you. Did you ever get a feather? I put in. No ! I never got a feather; but I got a piece of tobacco-leaf once, and I got a small gold ring another time. Three times a year there was a great amusement throwing water at each other. A low bamboo barrier was put in the garden, and the queen and her maids were on one side and the king and his pages on the other. We got water in little cups, and threw it one side at the other. We got very wet, and we were not allowed to wear old dresses, but quite new ones. They were all spoiled, of course. Who threw water at the queen ? The king. Who else ? And did the pages cross over the barrier ? If any page crossed over the bar- rier to our side he would have been executed straight off. No one ever did, of course. No ! girls would never cross to the mens side. How can you ask such a questIon? Then twice a year money would be thrown by the king for the people to scramble for. He would throw fifty thousand rupees or more. One man would get thirty rupees or fifty rupees. What did you get ? I was a maid of honor. Maids of honor do not scramble for money. That was for the attendants, she an- swered somewhat severely. It seemed to me that I was asking rude questions. I changed the sub- ject. Did the king and queen have din- ner together? Yes ; they had breakfast at nine oclock, and dinner at four oclock in the evening. At midday the queen would have cake, Japanese cakes. She had a Japanese cook-woman who My Maid of Honor. knew how to make sugared cakes, which were very nice. The breakfast and dinner was rice, just like any other persons dinner. I never supposed anybody could live on anything but rice till I saw the English. The queen and king ate rice, and there was curry too. It was brought in golden bowls by the man who cooked it, and he had to eat a little himself to show that there was no poison in it. Was there ever any poison? I inquired. No ; never. And what else did you do all day? I asked. Did the king ever do any work, or the queen ? The time must have been very long. The king used to go to the court- house sometimes in the early morning. The queen did not go. It was not her business. The time was not long at all. It was very pleasant in the pal- ace. We used to read books, sacred books generally, and talk, and there was always new people coming and news to hear. You never got a newspaper, I sup- pose ? No. There were no newspapers in the kings time. What is the good of them? I have looked once or twice at the Miandalay Times, which I have seen in my mothers house. It says that a man fell down out of some house in Mandalay town and broke his neck, and that the Japanese are taking some place I never heard of before, and that some ship has sunk in the sea near Belat. I do not care to know these things. I do not even know if these things are true. I have a cousin who helps in one of the papers, and lie tells me that many of the things are not true at all. I do not see the use of papers. They are not any use, I answered, except to the proprietors. I suppose your cousin gets some money for help- ing on the paper ? Little enough, she said. Be- sides, it is a great shame to make money by selling things that arc all made up. I do not think the gov- ernment ought to allow newspapers. Besides they are very rude some- times. Probably she has seen some disa- greeable remarks about some of her friends. I thought I would change the subject again. What else did you do in the pal- ace? I must think, she said, and she moved round on the mat she was sit- ting on and looked up meditatively at the silver star that beamed above the sunset. Thakin, she said presently. Yes ? I)id you ever know of a king and queen cooking their own dinner? I said that none of the kings and queens of my acquaintance would do such a thing. No! she acquiesced ; it is un- heard of. But my king and queen did so one day. 1 assumed a look of extreme surprise. What for? I asked. For fun. There was nothing to do in the afternoon. It was hot, and we were all sleepy. The queen was not sleepy at all. Suddenly she said to the king, There is nothing to do. Let us cook our dinner. I never cooked a dinner did you ? The king said he never did. The queen said it was a thing everybody ought to know, even kings, an d it must be great fun. So we were sent off in a hurry. Some went here to get firewood, others to get earthenware pans for cooking others for rice and water. It was, A hundred rupees for a pumpkin, or here five hundred rupees for some curry-powder, or A thousand rupees for a few chillies. We got all the things at last and put them down in the shade outside, and the king and queen set to work. They would not let any one help. So we sat round and looked on. The king lit the fire after much trouble, and made himself dreadfully dirty. One of us had to tell him how to do it. The queen put the rice into the cooking-pot with water. She ought to have washed the rice first, but she did not knoW~ 39 lily Maid of Honor. that. Then the king set to and made another fire between three bricks and boiled the rice, and the queen made the curry. She did not know anything about making curries, and she kept ask- ing questions all the time. She never peeled the pumpkin, and she put in far too much chillies. While the king and queen were arguing about how much salt there ought to be in the curry the fire under the rice went out, and the king had to light it again. When he thought the rice was sufficiently cooked he took it off and thought all was done. But he could not understand why it was so xvet. We had to tell him to pour off the water and dry the rice. When at last it was done we had all of us to eat it, for the queen said she was not hungry. She ate just a little, and we ate all the rest. It was not good at all. The rice was quite hard in the middle and smoky, and the curry was so hot that tears came into our eyes. Fortunately there were a great many of us, and everybody wanted to eat a little because the king and queen had cooked it. For no one ever before heard of a king and queen cooking food. It was a quite unknown thing in all the world for kings and queens to cook. But it was very amus- ing. Alihit ~vas very pleasant in the palace in those days. She stopped again, and there came into my mind a saying of the wise old minister, the Kinwoon Mingyi, in those last days of the fall. How one day lie went into the palace to see the king about some very important business, that business on which lay the fate of the king and queen and their followers and their people, and lie could get no attention because the king was playing with the queen. The minister went away sadly to face the ruin coining swiftly up the river, and when lie came without the palace to his own house he met there some of his advisers, Euro- peans, who were trying to help him to save the king in spite of the king. They asked lilni how he had sped in his interview, and the minister told what had happened how the king was at play and could not be disturbed. The kingdom is in the hands of chil- dren, he said. There is no hope at all. Presently she went on again The queen used to go twice a day to the pagoda in the palace to pray, once in the morning and once in the evening as the sun set. What did she pray for ? I asked. What does one pray for, Thakin ? She prayed for what she wanted, I sup- pose, just as we do. I should think she asked that her little son might not die, and to keep the love of her hus- band, just as we all do. A queen would not pray differently from any other woman, would she? Both her sons died from smallpox one after the other, and the queen was very sorry. The girls did not die, and every morn- ing they came to bow to the king and queen. They lived in a separate part of the palace from the queen. The girls lived, but the sons always died. And yet the queen tried all she could to have strong children. When a baby was coming she would eat lizards eggs out of the jungle. They were toasted over the fire, and are very strong food. And she would eat the flesh of unborn calves. Only she of all the people in the l)ahace was allowed meat, and only when she was going to have a child. But it was all no good, the sons always died. The king also went to the pagoda twice a day to pray. And the monks would come and talk to him, and he would always listen to what they said. Monks would come to him when they liked. He was a good man, the king, and every one liked him. Some l)eople did not like the queen at all. She was very severe. If the king said that any person was to be h)unished, he gener- ally was sorry afterwards and the man got off; but the queen was never sorry. If she said that any one was to be executed, there was no hope at all. She had no mercy when she gave an order. There was a Roman Catholic sister in the palace who used often to come to the queen, and the queen gave her 40 My Maid of Honor. 41 four little girls to take away and edu- give offerings to the monks and to hear cate properly. She took them away them preach. It happened one even- and kept them for a year or two, and ing when she went there to hear a took them to Bengal and elsewhere, I sermon, that she noticed seated behind think. After a time they came back, the monk a boy just received into the and the queen sent for them to come monastery. All boys, as the Thakin to her in the palace. knows, must enter the monkhood once So the children came. They were in their lives, and take the yellow robe, dressed in European dress, and when and keep the vows, if it be only for the they came into the queens presence, months of fasting. This boy was about instead of sitting down, as all must sixteen then, and he had just come in, before the queen, they stood up. and sat there behind his teacher, hold- Mebya was very angry. Sit down, ing his fan, and the princess thought she said; but they did not. They were he was the most lovable of all boys frightened, I think, and did not under whom she had seen. stand. She caught one by the arm and She could not, of course, speak to pulled it down, and the others then sat him, but whenever she could she would down. What is this? said the go to that monastery to give offerings queen, and she pulled at a chain round and hope to see the little novice. the neck of one of them, and a little Sometimes she saw him, and some- image came out. It is the image of a times he was with his teacher and did god, she said, of a foreign god. Take not appear. But when she saw his them away and dress them properly, face she forgot all the teaching of the and take away their idols, for each had monk, all the prayers she came to say an image to its neck. she forgot everything, as girls do. Mebya was not at all pleased with So she was in love with the novice, these children, but soon they became and she thought always of him and of just like any one else, how she could tell him of her love. This was only a little anger. Once But it was very difficult. You see she I saw her very angry indeed, dread- was a kings daughter, and kings fully angry. I remember ho~v fright- daughters may only marry kings. ened we all were. There was no chance at all that she She stopped again for a moment. I could ever marry him, or even speak said nothing. I saw that she was quite to him except by some deceit. She lost in her memories of those palace was very carefully kept in the palace, (lays, and would talk on and on if I did and no men could come near her. To not interrupt her. The present was any man who caine into her presence quite forgotten in the recollections of unbidden, only one thing could happen, her youth. There was a far-away look and that was death. in her face, and a soft color on her The princess knew this, but still cheeks, as if she was very happy. she did not despair. She thought and It was dark now across the hills, and thought of some way. She was quite very still. The low whisper of moving certain she would succeed in the end, water came up out of the river, and the and this is what she did. night looked down upon. us with a There was an.old woman among her thousand diamond eyes. servants who had been her nurse when There was a princess, a half-sister she was a little girl, and she told the 01(1 of the king, younger than he, younger nurse about it. And the nurse begged than the queen Mebyn, the youngest of and prayed her princess to forget the all the princesses. She had a house- boy ; she said over and over again hold of her own, as all the princesses that nothing could happen but disaster, had, and she was very pretty. She grievous disaster, to both, and death. was religious too, and would go often But the girl would not hear. It is like with her attendants outsi(le the palace pouring oil 1.11)011 a fire to give advice to to the monastery near the south wall to one in love, the Thakin knows, and it 42 only made the princess more and more determined that the boy should come to her. Not all the guards and orders of the king, not all the thousand prying eyes of the palace, not anything in heaven or earth, not even the fear of death, should keep them apart. That she was sure. At last, when the prin- cess one day rushed out of her rooms in the palace to drown herself in the moat, the old nurse gave way, and said she would take a message to the boy but she meant quite a different message from what the princess thought. The nurse went to the monastery that evening, and in some way she managed to see the boy. She told him that the princess had fallen in love with him. Then she went on to say what a terrible thing it was, and how it could only end in one way. The boy must run away, she said, to avoid death. If he did not go, she said, she would herself tell an official, and have him sent to exile to Mogaung. lie must not stay and trouble the heart of the princess, but be off at once. The old nurse expected the boy would be terrified, and that she would have no trouble with him. He will run off at once, she said to herself and when the princess cannot see him every day nearly, as she does now, she will in time forget. This is the way out of the difficulty. But the boy refused to go. Whether it was he had noticed the princess looking at him, and had fallen in love with her too, I do not know; but he declined to go. If you, he said to the nurse, go and tell any official about it, and I am arrested, I will tell them all about the reason. I will say that you came to me with mes- sages from the princess. Everybody shall know. Go and tell your official if you like. You know what will happen. If the king does not punish you for bringing me messages, the princess will have you killed for getting me into trouble ; and the princess will herself be punished. Go and tell. The nurse saw she had made a tremendous mistake. She ought to have gone straight to some official and My Maid of Honor. got the boy sent off without his know- ing why he was sent. Now she saw that matters were very much worse than before. She went back to the palace in de- spair; and when the princess ques~ tioned her about what had happened, she was obliged to lie, and say that there was no way of speaking to the boy, as the monks were all about. The princess was exceedingly angry at this, and said it was because the nurse was stupid. Then she said if time could not be gained to talk to the boy, yet the nurse could get a chance of giving him a note. So the princess went off and wrote a letter, a love- letter. She wrote it very small upon a little piece of paper, which she rolled up like one of those rolls of paper that women wear in the holes of their ears to keep the hole open and in proper shape when they do not care to wear gold ear-rings. She wrote the letter very secretly so that no one should know, and next afternoon she came and put it in the old womans ear, and sent her out to the monastery to see the boy. So the woman went. She gave up trying to fight against the love of the princess, and she surrendered herself to fate. She went and gave the letter to the boy, slipping it into his hand by stealth as she placed some flowers be- fore the image of Buddha. She could not get an answer that night, of course, but the princess did not mind. When she heard that the letter had reached the boy she was happy again. Do you know what it was she wrote, Thakin? How can I know? I said; I never received a love-letter from any young lady. How do they write? Tell me. It was not just a letter. It was a little love-song. All women know it. It goes like this, and she began to hum to herself in curious minor tones a song of which this is a translation. She sang it so prettily that it seemed~to me she must be thinking of some one to whom she herself would like to say the words. Perhaps she did My Maid of Honor. My lover is gold, he is pure gold without any speck. I will love him for a hundred years, never shall I cease to love him. Do not doubt me, my lover, for I am not as other girls are who love here and there, but am true far beyond death. Love me, then, fdr there is no one that can love you as I do. Come, let us go, my lover to the pagoda, and we will pray there that we may never part ; not in this life, nor in the next, nor the next. For a hundred lives, for a thousand eternities, we shall live and live and be together. My lover is pure gold. I would wear him as a necklet about my neck that should not leave me forever. He is my king, my lord, and there is no one in my heart but him. When she had finished there was a silence. Far away across the river the gongs in a monastery began to ring, and the notes thrilled to us out of the distance like an answer to her words. In amongst the bushes of the garden the gauzy white-winged moths wavered to and fro, and a night-jar came fleeing past on noiseless wings. Next day the princess went in the evening to the monastery with the nurse and attendants to give offerings, and she saw him, the boy, her lover. They could not speak, of course they could only look a little, a very little, for fear people should notice ; but as they came away the boy managed to give a note to the old woman, who gave it to the princess. I do not know what was in the letter. I know what was in the one the princess wrote, because it was found afterwards, but the note he wrote her was never found. After this they wrote to each other often, using always the old nurse as messenger, and writing the letter on little slips of paper to be put in her ears. And when they saw each other at the monastery they loved each other more and more. It seemed as if this must be the end, for how could they ever meet she who was a princess, and he a lad in a monastery? Presently he left the mounstery and returned to his home in Mandalay ; but this made matters no better, only perhaps worse. But the princess was mad, and nothing would stop her. She thought 43 and thought, till at last a scheme came to her. She waited till the boys hair was growl~ long again it was shaved off in the monastery and then she sent out the old nurse to bun one even- ing secretly with a letter and a bundle. The letter was just a few words of love, for there is no room to write much on a piece of paper, but the old woman had her orders. She met the lad at nightfall in the house of a relation in the city, and she gave him the letter and opened the bundle. Here, she said, is one of my princess~ s own (iresses. Quick, change and put it on. Tie up your hair like a girl, and here is some false hair to add to it, and here are some flowers. So the boy changed quickly, putting off his boys dress, and putting on the pink and silver skirt and white jacket of a girl. He put flowers in his hair, and a pearl neck- lace about his neck, and gold bangles on his arms. Nothing had been for- gotten. With his round cheeks and his young fl0ure he looked just like a girl, and they went away, the nurse an(l the boy-girl, through the city to the palace gates. The nurse told the sentries that this was her niece, a young girl who was coming to be at- tendant on the princess, and the guards let her through. They went on through the gardens to the rooms where the princess lived. So they met at last, those two, and loved and kissed and slept in each others arms, with the fear of death covering them like a cloak. But they did not care. What did it matter? She stopped again. To make the end plain, I must ex- plain here what those who do not know the Burmese tongue would not under- stand. There are in Burmese two sets of pronouns. One is masculine and the other is feminine. Thus a man for I would say chundaw, but a woman would say ch~mm~t, and so on. it must have been very bewildering to one brought up as a man to say chundaw, to have to remember always to say ch,inirnrtuk. It is but a trifle, perhaps, but it was the flaw wherein the prin- cesss little intrigue failed, and it brought ruin to them both. 44 They lived, went on my maid of honor, together for months. Of course some of the attendants on the princess soon got to know that the new girl was no maid at all, but a boy. But the secret was well kept. You see, Thakin, that it was such a deadly secret that no one dared to speak of it. Had it been a little thing, no doubt it would soon have been spread all over the pal- ace ; but this was far too serious. The boy kept very quiet. He just stayed in the princess~ s rooms and went nowhere for a long time. I sup- pose the secret must have been found out sometime, but who could have sus- pected the way of it? One morning when I went to my wait at noon, I saw at once when I came into the queens presence that something had gone wrong. She looked very angry. She had a way of ruffling up her skirt to show her little bare feet when she was annoyed, and she had ruffled it up very much this morning. The king was seated by her, looking very troubled. All the maids were frightened to death, and in front of the king and queen, kneeling on the floor, were two guards of the gate with a girl between them. The gil ards were just explaining to the king how that this girl had come to the gate that morning to get out. They had challenged her. Who are you? they said, for they did not recognize her face. And the girl had looked up and asked, Chun- daw la ? Are you speaking to me ~ using the fatal masculine. The sus- l)icions of the guards were aroused. What girl are you that speak like a man ? they said, and they arrested this would-be girl, and soon enough discovered who she was. There was the lad kneeling before the king, grey with fear, for he knew his time was come. He could not speak for very horror, and you could see him panting for breath. We were all so sorry for him, for he was such a pretty boy, and looked prettier in his girls dress. Presently through the door and up tile steps came tile princess. She had been sent for by the king. I do not lily hi/laid of Honor. think she knew at first why she had been called, but when she saw her lover there she understood at once. She came up as near to hhn as she could, and knelt down before the king. She looked in great distress, and tears caine into her eyes and ran do~vn her cheeks. She looked only at her lover, she never looked at the king or queen or any one else. He was so afraid, I do not think he even knew she was there lie was quite distraught. Then there was an inquiry. It did not take long, for the princess confessed at once. She said it was all her fault ; the boy was not to blame, she insisted. If any one was to be punished it must be she, for it was by her orders that the lad had been brought into the palace. She pleaded and pleaded for the boy, and I think the king looked sorry, but the queen only got more and more angry. She was especially furious at the love- letter, the little love-song the princess had written to her lover, which was found on him when lie was searched at the gate. He had always carried it with him. It was a terrible scene, Thakin. Such an end to all their love- making ! I can remember it all now. I can see it as if it were before me. The room with gold-and-red pillars, and the sad king, and the angry queen, and the princess, and Her voice had begun to quaver, and she stopped suddenly and began to cry softly ; she was so sorry for them both. Poor child, it must have been a dread- ful scene for a little girl of only twelve years old to witness. No wonder she remembered it so well. Her tears seemed to give her relief, but I said, Do hot go on if it hurts you. I can imagine the end. I will finish now, as I have be- gun, she said. There is not much more. The iuquiry was soon over, for there was no doubt about it. No one denied what had happened. The boy, still in his girls dress, was led away, and the princess followed. Many of us who could escape unseen went after theni to see. The boy went along be- tween his guards like a man in a dreani. Once without the kings presence, the princess tried to get to her lover to kiss him, but the guards repulsed her, and her attendants took hold of her to take her to her chambers, as the king had ordered; but she broke from them, and seized a golden bowl of drinking water which one of her attendants was carry- ing for her. She went up to the guards aoain with it. Give it to him, she said, my last gift. The guards saw no harm, and gave the boy the water, and he drank to her with lack-lustre eyes. Then her attendants took her away. Be of good courage, she cried as she went. Be of good courage, for I love you always. She did not care who heard. The boy tried to speak, but his throat was choked, and they went each their own way, and they never saw each other again. The princess was shut up in a spe- cial prison. After a few days she was told that her lover had been exiled to Mogaung, far away on the Chinese frontier. It was told her so that she might not be too distressed. But she knew that he had gone to no Mogaung. She would not believe. She knew he was dead ; and in a few days more, brooding over her misery, she went mad. There she was found when Man- dalay was taken. She was released then, and gradually got back her senses and became a nun. She is now alive in Mandaiaya nun. And the boy? No one can love a princess and live. He was drowned in the Irrawaddy. He was tied up in a sack with great stones, and thrown from a boat into the waters of the great river. H. FIELDING. From The National Review. SIR JAMES FITZJAMES STEPHEN. BY SIR FREDERICK POLLOCK. IT would be an idle compliment to say ihat Mr. Leslie Stephens life of his brother is a good piece of literary .1 The Life of James Fltzjames Stephen, Bart., K.C.S.I., a Judge of the High Court of Justice. By his brother Leslie Stephen. London: Smith, Elder & Co. 1895. 8vo, K and 504 pp. 45 workmanship. That is no more than we have to expect of Mr. Stephen, whatever may be the subject on which he chooses to write. What makes his book eminently acceptable to every- one who wished to see Fitzjames Ste- phens memory duly honored, as well as making it a substantial addition to Mr. Leslie Stephens own achieve- ments, is the admirable judgment shown by the writer in dealing not only with many things to which he is the best living witness, but with a con- siderable mass of professional and more or less technical matters not naturally familiar to him, and largely taken, by the necessity of the case, from external information. It is diffi- cult for a friend of both the subject of tile memoir and tile biographer to be sure of being free from bias, but, so far as I can trust my impression, it seems to me tllat Mr. Stephens treatment of Fitzjamess work is really not open to any material exception, and deserves approval as nearly unqualified as can be deserved by any Iluman perform- ance in tilis kind. Even the tale of minute clerical errors and misprints is less than one commonly expects ill a first edition: an allusion to Madame de- Bovary, characteristic facts of the paper, i.e., the Saturday Review, which obviously should read parts, and equality, justice, and good con- science for the well-known Anglo- Indian formula justice, equity, and good conscience, are the gravest I have noted. Having nothing to offer that can properly be called criticism, perhaps the best thing I can do is to speak fronl my own point of view by way of confirmation, and possibly of supplement in some particulars. My acquaintance with Fitzjames Ste- phen began when he came Ilome from India in 1872. Like many other of the things for which I have had most cause to be thankful, it was due in a large measure to Sir Henry Maine, who was already pleased to treat me as a prom- ising learner in his school. I was very young at the bar, and as young men will, and perhaps ought, I cherished ideals of reform and developmenf Sir James Fitzjames Stephen. 46 Sir James Fitzjames Stephen. which at the time seemed objects of proximate attainment, and which I am now content to worship as somewhat remote counsels of perfection. I3ut I remain of opiaion that the drawbacks of being an enthusiast at twenty-five are less than those of being an obstruc- tive at fifty. Nothing less than a strong dose of scientific enthusiasm would have suf- ficed in this case to overleap the bar- riers of shyness, reasonable diffidence, and difference of age and standing, and make the best of the advantages given to me by my fathers friendship with distinguished Cambridge men, not only of his own undergraduate genera- tion, but of those which succeeded it down to the middle of the century. There was another influence of real importance, though it would be as difficult as it is needless to convince outsiders that it is not exaggerated by those who know it. So much has al- ready been said in print about the Cambridge Apostles, including what my father, the most discreet of men, thought proper to say in his iRemem- brances, and what is most well and judiciously said on the best authority in this very book, that I can have no scruple in adding my testimony to th~ singularly beneficent power of that society in preserving continuous intel- lectual fellowship and personal sym- pathy among its members of all ages, professions, and opinions. I do not know, and I doubt whether any one now living knows, exactly how a so- ciety founded in the form of an ordi- nary essay club came to assume this character; anyhow it did so at an early stage, and provided a common ground for men of such widely different facul- ties and tempers as Maurice, 0-. S. Venables (a remarkable man who, like Charles Austin, was condemned by the special branch of his profession to which he devoted himself to leave no tangible record), James Spedding, Thompson, Monckton Milnes, Clerk Maxwell, Maine, and Stephen to meet and exchange ideas with absolute frankness. Mr. Stephen has recorded Fitzjamess own statement that he and Maine took some time to understand one another; without the freedom of the societys meetings I suspect it would have been longer. For my own part I am sure I was beholden to the Apostles, if not for being so early ad- mitte(l to friendly relations by Maine and Stephen, yet for the rapid and easy growth of our friendship once begun. Maine and Fitzjames Stephen were quite at their best in each others com- pany. Their qualities had precisely the differences that were fitted to make each of them play, so to speak, up to the others hand. It was a large and luminous conversation, with none of the pettiness of common talk, and very little of the technical and professional detail of which lay people complain when lawyers are gathered together. Not that I allow the complaint ; for, as Theocritus says, who may speak Doric if not Dorians ? and it is not the least of our privileges that in any part of the English-speaking world two lawyers can always, within five minutes after they meet, be talking of things no foreigner can understand. However, Maine and Stephen met on a wider plane, and as men of the world, but not worldly. They both avoided insisting on small points (a fault which has spoilt many a good talk), though for quite different reasons. As Mr. Leslie Stephen has truly noted, Fitzjames s mind had not the subtilty and accuracy of a born scholar; he was accurate by taking pains and not by instinct, and there was a point beyond which he did not think it worth the pains, though he grudged no amount of toil for any ob- ject that he appreciated. Maine, on the other hand, was not of a laborious constitution, and rather shrank from undertaking any minute investigation his strength was in combining a wide and masterful view of his subject as a whole with rapid and exquisitely fine perception of the manner in which details told on the general result. Stephen, therefore, eschewed the mint and anise and cummin of discussion because such things did not interest him, but Maine rather because his knowledge and subtilty made him wary Sir Jwnes Fitzjames Stephen. of committing himself. Both Maine and Stephen, moreover, had the prac- tised journalists power of coming to the point in the most effective manner, and without loss of time ; and both, while they shared a sceptical or even pessimistic temper about many political and social questions, had that ample sense of humor which is the proper compensation of pessimism, and of which many respectable optimists are wholly deprived, lest they should be too happy for human fortune. It will be seen that the conversation of two such men, though constantly prolonged until it had to be cut short by the posi- tive exigencies of daily life, could not suffer either from prolixity or from un- relieved seriousness. For many years it was among my greatest pleasures, and I cannot but think that much of what I learnt from it, though not capa- ble of being set down in terms, has entered into whatever powers I may have acquired of making my own knoWledge useful or interesting to others by speech or writing. As time went on I naturally became more inde- pendent in my methods of work, which, indeed, from the first were nearer to Maines than to Stephens, and nothing could have been more generous than Stephens recognition of a younger man 5 right to go his natural way. Once he wrote to me, quite frankly and pleasantly, about his mixed feel- ings in seeing results not much unlike his own arrived at by widely different means. During those same years, and espe- cially before Sir James Stephen was appointed a judge, I saw a great deal of his work and l)rojects. Mr. Leslie Stephen has, according to my recollec- tion, slightly underrated the hopes entertained by him at one time of per- suading the heads of the legal profes- sion to take up Lord Westburys abandoned scheme of codification on more practical lines. I think his hopes were pretty high for some years, and not without reasonable grounds. Between 1872 and 1879 there were no means of foreseeing the recrudescence of party strife and external troubles which, now for half a generation, has thrown deliberate constructive reform into the background. As late as 1879, indeed, there seemed to be a fair pros- pect of passing an English criminal code which would have been better than any then existing. Meanwhile Italy has advanced while we have stood still, and the new Italian Penal Code holds the primacy for the present. About 18Th, however, I think Fitz- james Stephen had come to the conclu- sion that private enterprise must lead the way before any considerable sup- port could be obtained for a codifying movement. I was to have been asso- ciated with him in a digest of the law of contract, and we talked over it at various times at his chambers in the Temple (though I am free to confess that we were apt to diverge from Indian codes into other Indian matters, and from the philosophy of law into things in general). This plan, however, was cut off by his promotion to the Bench, and left so little record that it has only a passing mention in this book. One small part of it was executed, and was published several years afterwards in the first number of the Law Quarterly Review, where the curious may find it if they will. None of Stephens particular designs for the codification of English law have yet been carried into effect, but it must not be supposed that they were fruit- less. His example was followed by my learned friend Judge Chalmers on the subject of bills of exchange, and by myself on that of partnership. Both of our works have been substantially adopted by the legislature, and in both cases an important branch of commer- cial law has been made accessible and intelligible to men of business without producing (in thirteen years experi- ence in one case and five in the other) any of the increased litigation or other troubles foretold in general terms by the opponents of codification. The skilled hand of Judge Chalmers has now given us a code on the sale of goods which has not even been ad- versely criticised. I am not prepared to deny that Fitzjames Stephen may 47 Sir James Fitzjames Stephen. have wanted to go too fast in England, or may have actually gone too fast, in one or two cases, in India. Still, if work of this kind is to be kept in hand until it is in a form absolutely beyond criticism, it is in great danger of not getting done at all. It must also be remembered in any critical estimate of Stephens own performances, whether official in India or experimental in En- gland, that he always insisted on pen- odical revision and correction as among the necessary functions of a properly equipped legislative department. To point out, as I have myself done more than once, that the Indian Contract Act of 1872 has stood too long unre- vised, is not in any way derogatory to Stephens merit in finally settling that act and passing it into law after long (lelays caused by differences on two or three points of policy which his prede- cessors had been unable to overcome. Rather it is mere fidelity to Stephens own declared principlcs a code, as he was never tired of saying, is an elabo- rate piece of mechanism, and one might as well exl)ect the engines of a ship to run for a hundred voyages without ad- justments or repairs as a code to be administere(l for twenty years without disclosing any need for amendment. There has been some improvement in these matters, and in this country we may be thankful that we have a Parlia- mentary Counsels office, and that the House of Commons sometimes refrains from spoiling its work. But it remains true that only a minority of the edu- cated public, and even of lawyers, ap- preciate the importance of legislation as a distinct branch of legal science and ~art ; and among that minority still fewer understand its difficulty. Fitzjames Stephens official work in India filled a very short part of his life, but in some ways the most important and fruitful part. After the lapse of more than twenty years, as I can report from what I heard on the spot, it has left among both official and unofficial people at the seat of government a memory of strenuous and mainly suc- population of the most diverse races eessful exertion which is still lively, and manners ; but there is no doubt at and which is all the more remarkable all that in many cases Englishmen in because Stephen resigned the post of legal member of council after holding it only half the usual period of five years. I think some of his minutes and speeches, and especially the min- ute on the administration of justice which was the last or almost the last of his official writings, might well be republished here, as a selection of Maines has already been. The last- mentioned minute, in particular, con- tains some of Stephens best and most characteristic work, and many parts of it are of general interest to students of legislation and judicial systems. his general attitude towards Anglo-Indian life exhibits his fair-mindedness and sense of justice in a striking light. It is evident that the climate, the oflicial restraint, the elaborate routine of even private life, and the general incompre- hensibility of Asiatic ways to the West- ern mind, were irksome and rel)ugnant to him. As regards the absence of English comfort of ~vhicli he coin- plained, I can only suppose, knowing Fitzjames Stephen to have been in no way a fastidious man, that either he was exceptionally ill served or there has been a great improvement in the last twenty years. Yet he never wa- vered in his appreciation of India and the British Empire in India as being perhaps the most interesting things in the modern world. Once, under the stress of indignation produced by the murder of Lord Mayo, lie wrote of India as a country for which no En- glishman ever did or ever will or can feel one tender or genial feelinox Mr. Leslie Stephen has supplied the proper qualification in a note. In ad- (lition to the special circumstances, it may be said that Calcutta is in itself the least interesting and the least gen- uinely Indian place in the whole of northern India, and probably about the least favorable place for observing native types of character. I do not myself understand how one can be ex- pected to have any defined feelings towards a continent inhabited by a vast 48 Sir James Fitzjames Stephen. India have contracted a real affection for the people among whom and with whom they did their duty, and the affection has been mutual so far as the gre at gulf of religion and custom would allow. Not having seen much of India, I yet have seen how a Rajput gentle- man looks an English gentleman in the face, how an English scholar can be as much as ease among Mahommedan pupils as a fellow of an English college among his juniors, and how a Sikh gentleman can greet an English travel- ler like an old friend for the sake of his kinship to an official superior who left India many years before. Perhaps the evidence is slender ; but in such mat- ters ones impressions cannot be meas- ured by the quantity of the experience, and I stand convinced that the pessi- mist view of our relations with natives of good condition is on the whole to be set do~vn as an excusable passing mood and not as a justifiable opinion. In this as in some other matters Fitzjames Stephen did himself injustice by excess of candor, putting forward, as Mr. Stephen observes, the harsher side of his opinions rather than softening it. One thing more may be worth mention, upon a point occurring not in the ac- count of Fitzjames Stephens Indian office, but in what is said of his later correspondende with Lord Lytton. The suggestion of an authorized text- book of morality for Indian schools, which appears to Mr. Leslie Stephen rather quaint, would cause an edu- cated Asiatic to wonder, if at all, only that we have not done something of the kind long ago. Certainly it has been under quite serious consideration. It would in effect be a partial renewal of Akbars grand though premature endeavor for unity, on more modern and less ambitious lines. Mr. Leslie Stephen has spoken of his brothers interest in religious and phil- osophical speculation so fully and with such discernment that I cannot pretend to add anything. The beliefs at which Fitzjames arrived after much thought and searching of heart were those of a strong and sincere nature revolting against a dogmatic. education, but re LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. ~ volting, in the main, within the limits which that education had laid down. It is a vigorous reaction, but on the same plane and the same lines as the action to which it is opposed. Only personal and historical interest can now be claimed for most of the results. In the philosophy of politics and law, Fitzjaxnes Stephen was an uncompro- mising Hobbist. This doctrine amounts to making the ideas of one branch of law, namely the criminal law, the sole and universal measure of admissible conceptions not only in jurisprudence but in politics and ethics ; and Mr. Leslie Stephen has given a hint that this point does not escape him. It is not a doctrine I can accept, but it still has many supporters, who ought to be grateful to Fitzjames Stephen for hav- ing stated and maintained it with ex- treme clearness. Possibly some readers may expect me to speak of Sir James Stephen as an English judge. But, not having myself practised at the Common Law Bar, and not having been inside a crim- inal court since I was the late Mr. Jus- tice Willess marshal, just twenty-five years ago, I could say nothing at first hand except by way of comment on Sir James Stephens reported judgments, and what I could say of those would be much too technical for these pages. I do believe, however~ that at least once or twice his massive and direct presen- tation of legal principles did good ser- vice in checking one dangerous form of error; I mean that which consists in disguising a plain proposition of law in a cloud of uncertain words, and making a mystery of it for the purpose of do- (lucing unsound consequences and call- ing them equity. Stephen always had the courage of his common sense, a quality that has sometimes failed greater lawyers. I am not competent to comment on the preliminary chapter of family his- tory, which to a large extent is new at any rate in this complete and orderly presentation even to many friends of the family. But it is one of the most interesting chapters in the book, and, its record of a high level of ability and, 49 50 what is more, of character, kept up through so many generations and in so many branches of a common stock, is a document of permanent and intrinsic value. From Nature. THE PENDULUM AND GEOLOGY.1 SINcE the number of swings which 0, a pendulum of given length makes in a certain number of hours, depends upon the attraction of the earth at the place where it is swinging, it follows that, if an observer carries the same l)endulum to different places, and notes the numn- ber of swings at each place he visits, he can by that means compare the force of gravity at the several places. If the earth were a smooth spheroid consisting of concentric shells, each of uniform density throughout, then gmav- ity would have the same value at all stations situated on the same parallel of latitude. But if, as is the case in nature, there are mountains and ele- vated plateaus along the course fol- lowed by the observer, gravity ought to vary from its normal value, and in fact it is found to do so. Theoretically it is possible to calculate what variation of gravity at a given station ought to be caused by the altitude of the station, and the attraction of the neighboring visible masses i.e., of the mountain or plateau where the pendulum is swung, and of the rock masses round about, and when these disturbing causes are allowed for, and the corresponding cor- rections made, the value of gravity as deduced from the rate of the pendulum might be expected to tally with what it would be at the base level, supposing the mountains and all the surrounding masses carted clean away, and the smooth surface of the globe laid bare. This correction is termed reducing to the sea level, or to the mean level if the 1 Results of a Transcontinental Series of Gravity Measurements. By George Rockwell Putnam. Notes on the Gravity Determinations Reported by Mr. G. R. Putnam. By Grove Karl Gilbert. (Washington, U.S.A.: Philosophical Societys Belletin, vol. xiii., pp. 3176.) The Pendulum and Geology. reference is made, not to tile sea, but to some inlan(l station. The question then to be answere(l for each station is, whether when tilis correction has been made, or, in technical language, when gravity has been reduced to the sea, or give mean, level, does the reduction the value wllich might be expected for the latitude ? If it does not, this points to some deviation from regu- larity in the density of the earths crust below tile station, tile nature of which may be inferred from tile cilliracter and amount of residual discrepancy, when tile reduction has beets made. In this way it is that the peildulum becomes a kind of geological stethoscope. In investigations of tllis kind, tIle elevated ground which forms tile sta- tion is usually very much wider than it is IliglI, so tilat, bearing in mind tile law of tile inverse square, it may be regarded as an extensive plain. If from local peculiarities it cannot be so regarded, compensatory allowances lire made to bring it un(ler that category. The effects of the station being situ- ated on an elevated plateau are of tllree kinds, two of wilich cause gravity to appear smaller tilan it would appear at tile sea level beneath tile statiors, and one wilich causes it to appear greater. Of tile two which make it appear smaller, the more important is that tile increased distance from tile eartils centre causes tile attraction of the earth as a whole to be diminisiled tile otIler, which is insignificant, and usually neglected, is that the increased distance from the axis of rotation in- creases tile centrifugal force, which is opposed to gravity. The tilird effect, whiell causes gravity to appear greater than at tile sea level, arises from the attraction of tile matter of which the elevated plain, or mountain, is com- posed, for tilat may be regarded as an adventitious mass of rock, in excess of the sphere, placed beneath the pen- dulum. The reduction of the gravity observed at tile statioms consists, tilere fore, in adding a correction equivalent to the diminution due to the elevation of the station, and subtracting a cor- rection equivalent to the attraction of The Pendulum and Geology. the mass of the elevated plain. If the reduction so made does not bring the observed value to agree with the value at the sea level, appropriate to the lati- tude of the station, there must be some geological cause present to account for the discrepancy. It caine to light in 1847, in conse- quence of the great trigonometrical survey of India, that, on approaching the range of the Himalayas within about sixty miles, the plumbline, or vertical, was slightly deflected towards the mountains, so that it (lid not re- main exactly perpendicular to the earths surface. This was what might have been expected, because the great rocky mass would naturally draw the plumb-line towards it. But when the attraction of the mountains came to be calculated, it was discovered, that, al- though their action was great enough to have caused a source of perplexity to the surveyors, it ~vas nevertheless not so great as might have been ex- pecte(l. Clearly, then, some geological cause was latent, which required to be explained. After some not very successful at- tempts at explanation by others, Airy, the ii astronomer royal, proposed in 1855 a solution of the difficulty which met the case. He assumed, as in those days was usually done, that the crust of the earth was comparatively thin, and rested upon a more or less liquid sub- stratum, which in his paper in the Philosophical Transactions he called lava. Then he showed that a great mountain mass would break the crust through unless it was supported by a protuberance beneath it, projecting downwards into a layer denser than itself. In short, it is needed to be held up in hydrostatic equilibrium, much as an iceberg is supported in the ocean; an(l he explained how, under these cir- cumstances, the observed deficiency of attraction of the plumb-line towards the mountains would be accounted for. Although this observation upon the plumb-line ~vas not a direct investiga- tion of the force of gravity, it was nevertheless conducive to it, for the unexpected abnormality in the hon- 51 zontal effect of mountain attraction rendered it probable that the same cause, whatever it might be, would pro- duce some corresponding effect upon vertical attraction, i.e., upon gravity. It has been explained how the pen- duluin is the suitable apparatus for measuring gravity, and accor(lingly the pendulum was called into requisition to make more direct observations. At certain stations of the Indian Survey, of which the height and position had al- ready been determined, the mean num- ber of swings, called the vibration number, was observed, which were mna(Ie by the pendulum in twenty-four hours ; and the force of gravity at the different stations was thus compared. The local attraction of the elevated mass on which the l)endulumn stood, and the effect of elevation above the sea, were then allowed for, and the vibration number, when so corrected, was reo-aided ab the vibration number for that station when reduced to the sea level. The pendulum used would have made eighty-six thousand vibra- tions in twentyfour hours at the equa- tor. It must therefore have been slightly longer than a seconds pendn- lain, which would make eightysix thousand four hundred in the same interval. The observations showed that there was a more or less marked deficiency of gravity over the whole continent of India, and that the defi- ciency was greatest at the most lofty stations. At More, 15,408 feet above the sea, the deficiency was enough to make the vibrations in twenty-four hours twenty-four fewer than they ought to have been if the attraction of the mountain had produced its full effect. lt was obvious, therefore, that some hidden cause existed which coun- teracted the attraction of the mountain, and this could have been no other than a deficiency of density in the matter beneath it. The conclusion is identical with that reached by Airy in connec- tioli with the deflection of the plumb- line, namely, that the Himalayan range is supported by a downward pro- tuberance, projecting into a more dense substratum. 62 This mode of support, as already re- marked, is similar to what is termed hydrostatic equilibrium. As applied to the support of the earths crust Amer- ican geologists have given to it the name isostacy, which well describes the phenomenon. During the past year an extensive series of gravity measurements has been carried out by the Coast and Geodetic Survey of the United States by the use of the half-seconds pendu- lum, a much smaller and more porta- ble instrument for the determination of gravity than any hitherto employed. Observations were made at twenty-six stations, eighteen of which follow nearly along the thirty-ninth parallel of latitude; and these are particularly well adapted to throw light on important questions regarding the condition of the earths crust. This line of stations, commencing at the Atlantic coast, ascends to near the Appala- chians, traverses the great central plain, gradually increasing in altitude from 495 to 6,041 feet, then rises to the high eleva- tion of the main chain of the Rocky Moun- tains, reaching an altitude of 14,085 feet at iPike s Peak, descends into the eroded val- leys of the Grand and Green Rivers, crosses the summit of the Wasatch ridge, and finally descends to the great western plateau of the continent. This series of gravity determinations affords an exceptionally favorable op- portunity of helping to determine whether the support of the elevated regions traversed appears to be best accounted for by rigidity in the founda- tions on which they rest, so that, in spite of their weight and the large- ness of the area occupied by them, they are prevented from sinking down into the material beneath ; or, on the other hand, whether they are sup- ported, as ~we have said that Airy sug- gested, namely, by floating in a denser substratum, or, as the Americans say, by isostacy, which is the same thing as hydrostatic equilibrium. The general principle of the method pursued in reducing gravity to the sea level has been already explained. It consists in adding a correction equiva The Pendulum and Geology. lent to the diminution of gravity due to the elevation of the station, and sub- tracting a correction equivalent to the attraction of the mass of the elevated plain upon which the station may be considered to be situated. When these two corrections have bee n made, grav- ity so corrected would be the same as that appropriate to the latitude, or, as it may be termed, to the computed value, unless there is some deviation from regularity in the density of the matter below sea level. The result proved that this was the case. For gravity so reduced turned out to be in- variably less than that appropriate to the latitude. It was clear, therefore, that at these stations in America there was a deficiency in density beneath the elevated districts, just as had already been found to be the case in India. There could be no doubt that isostacy had a share in contributing to their support. The inquiry was now carried a stel) further. Did each mountain in- dividually owe its support to a separate l)lotuberance of its own beneath it, or was the mountainous region as a whole supported in that manner, each sepa- rate mountain owing its support to the strength of the crust on which it was a mere excrescence? The case might be illustrated by conceiving a number of logs of wood of different sizes. If these float side by side in water, the larger logs will stand the higher above the surface of the water; but each lo~ will have a part immersed which will be its individual support, and this will be deeper for the logs which stand the higher. But if these logs are placed upon a raft, the support will be gen- eral, and derived froib the 5U1)pOrt of the part immersed of the entire raft, and its depth will depend upon the ag- gregate weight of the logs. Neverthe- less it need not dip deepest beneath the logs which stand the highest above the water, or above the floor of the, raft. The presumption was against each elevation being separately isostatically supported, because the (leficiency in gravity, and therefore in density, was not found to be greatest precisely be- llfy Residence in Bhopal. 53 neath the highest stations. To carry but are maintained [supported] by the out the inquiry more fully, it was con- partial rigidity of the earths crust. sidered that, by omitting the part of (Putnam.) The measurements of the reduction to the sea level which gravity appear far more harmonious takes account of the attraction of the when the method of reduction postu- lates isostacy, than when it postulates high rigidity. Nearly all the local peculiarities of gravity admit of simple and rational explanation on the theory that the continent as a whole is ap- proximately isostatic, and that the interior plain is almost perfectly iso- static. (Gilbert.) It appears therefore that the crust of the earth is sufficiently thick and strong to carry such unequal loads as consider- able mountains upon its surface with- out necessarily breaking through ; but, when a large area is involved, it bends downwards into a denser material be- neath, so that the crust and the load it carries are conjointly in approximate hydrostatic equilibrium. mass of the plain (which would mean omitting to subtract the attraction pro- duced by it), we should, as it were, transfer its mass to the subjacent parts, and so make up for the lack of density, and obtain the condition of uniform density below the sea level. There would then remain only the correction for elevation necessary. If this pro- ceeding gave the value appropriate to the latitude under each station, it would show that the individual stations were seriatim in isostatic equilibrium. But the attempt failed. It was found that the attraction of the matter of the more elevated stations was not sepa- rately compensated by defect of density immediately below. The analogy of the detached floating logs did not hold good. It remained to inquire whether the series of stations was in isostatic equilibrium when considered as a whole the case more nearly analo- gous to the raft. If this were so, gravity, when reduced to the sea level, would be uniform for the whole tract. For this pnrpose a mode of reduction devised by M. Faye was adopted. The altitude of the country surrounding the station within a radius of one hundred miles was reduced to a mean altitude, and the attraction of a plate of rock of thickness equal to the difference of altitude between this mean plain and the station was allowed for, and it was found that this correction brought the gravity at each station much nearer to the computed value for the latitude than either of the previous methods. The conclusion was that, when lar~ge areas were considered, they were ap- proximately in isostatic equilibrium. The result of this series [of observa- tions] would therefore seem to lead to the conclusion, that general continental elevations are compensated by a de- ficiency of density in the matter below sea level, but that local topographical irregularities, whether elevations or depressions, are not compensated for, 0. FISHER. From The National Review. MY RESIDENCE IN BROPAL. As a rule in India, the English gov- ernment leaves its feudatory chiefs severely alone, trusting to the political agents to see that no grave injustice is done to the people ; but a few years ago circumstances in Bhopal forced on the rather novel experiment of an En- glish minister ; perhaps a short account of some of his experiences may be of interest. This Mussalman State of Bhopal has long been one of the most loyal in India, and for three generations its begums have managed their own affairs with singular success. All three have been conspicuous for broad views, loy- alty to the English, and tile firmness with which they have ruled some sixty- seven hundred square miles of terri- tory, with three-quarters of a million inhabitants, by no means wanting in turbulence and discontent. It is often assumed, from the fact of tile last three rulers having been ladies, that it is the rule of the State for the succession to run always in tile female 64 line ; but this is not the case, it is only the accident of there having been no male in the l)ast three generations. The present heir apparent has now two sons. In the Indian Mutiny (185758) the Sikundur Begum, mother of the pres- ent ruler, gave valuable assistance to the English in their hour of need. She protected General Durand, who, with other refu~ees, had been (Iriven from the Indore Residency by the mu- tinous sepoys of Maharajah Holkar; and later on she sent a contingent of trooJ)s to join the force of General Sir Hugh Rose (afterwards Lord Strath- nairn) in Central India, where they did good service. She maintained compar- ative peace and quiet throughout her extensive territory, in spite of the fact that to the east our own sepoys in Saugor gave serious cause for alarm; to the west, Holkars troops had openly revolted ; and to the north, the well- known Gwalior contingent had thrown off all allegiance to Scindia and joined the rebels. In the face of disasters to the English on all sides the Sikundur Begurn never wavered in her loyalty. I was present at a large durbar at Jubbulpore in the cold season of 1559 60, and there heard Lord Canning thank the begum in a magnificent speech for her assistance and loyalty he also conferred on her the sover- eignty of Bairsia, a province contiguous to Bhopal, that had been annexed from the Dhar State on account of its rebel- lion. All went well in Bhopal during the lifetime of the Sikundur Begum ; after her death, her daughter, the Shah Je- han Begum, followed her mothers good example to the best of her ability for some years; left a widow compara- tively early, she subsequently, either from caprice or ill-advice, took to her- self a second husband, quite unequal to her in birth, whatever he may have been in intellect. Sadik Ilasan was one of those many adventurers who have had extraordi- nary careers in Hindustan. Rising from an obscure family in Kanouj, ue~ir ]~elhi, he came to Bhopal as a My Residence in B/i opal. searcher after science (to translate lit- erally the term talub-i-Ilm ) ; he attracted the attention and then the favor of Jeh~ngir Khan, the prime minister of the State, whose daughter he married and by her had a family. He was provided with the post of a writer in his father-in-laws office, and subsequently rose to the position of head scribe (Mir Munshi) to the be- gum, and she eventually, after the death of Jehangir Khans daughter, married him. Once married, she con- ferred on him all the powers she had so ably exercised, and on the post be- coming vacant made him minister, she herself retiring behind the purdah and ceasing to take an active part in public life. I only saw Sadik Hasan some seven- teen years after this marriage ; he was then a tail, rather finebuilt map, with strong Jewish features ; he disliked looking any one speaking to him in the face, and had a shifty sort of expres- sion. lie was by no means unlike the portrait of Judas Iscariot in Leonardo da Vincis celebrated picture of the Last Supper, in the cavalry barracks at Milan. Events showed that Sadik Hasan was not equal to the position in which for- tune had placed him ; the administra- tion of the State fell into disorder and into the hands of adventurers and in triguers, who had been attracted to Bhopal partly by his luck and partly as vultures are attracted to a carcass. This was l)erhaps more the begums misfortune than her fault; she can hardly be blamed for conferring honor on her consort. lie gave me the i(lea of being an ambitious man, with a high opinion of himself, but his ambition inclined him more to pose as the head of a religious faction than as a man of arms and ac- tion. He was a Wahabi of strong reli- gious tendencies, and his rules as to all religious observances notably those connected with the Ramzan Fast were more stringent than I have seen in any other part of India. At 3 A.M. daily the guns from the fort announced that the hour of fasting had struck, My Residence in Bliopal. and until the sunset gun fired at 7 P.~., neither food nor water was touched by the true believer. This Wahabi sect is fanatical and at one time was credited with bitter feud against every one holding different views, especially the English unbe- liever. I have before me a defence of Wahabiism objecting entirely to this doctrine ; however that may be, Sadik ilasan s enemies did not scruple to charge him with corresponding with the queens enemies ; of this I never saw any proof, and I am quite certain that his wife never swerved in her loyalty, and would not willingly have allowed even a suggestion of disloy- alty. With the reins of government in the hands of the inexperienced Sadik Hasan, and his attention more con- cerned with the religious than the temporal aspects of life, it naturally followed that his subordinates im- proved the occasion. They induced the minister to introduce such part of the English system of land assessment as is based on a plane table survey and a classification of soils ; but they elim- inated all the safeguards which accom- pany every such settlement of land revenue in British India, and so suc- ceeded in enhancing the State demand from thirty-seven to seventy-five laks of rupees ; in other words, calculating, like the Indian government, ten rupees to the pound sterling (a rate which I sincerely wish was in force now), from 370,000 to 750,000. A new copper coinage was introduced on very favor- able terms for the State contractors, but the reverse for the public, and various other measures, more or less unpopular; finally, the cry of oppres- sion became so loud in 188485 that it forced the agent-governor-general at Indore to interfere. Sir Lepel Griffins large experience enabled him, in spite of great opposition, to learn sufficient to warrant the government of Indias removal of Sadik Hasan from the mm- istership, depriving him of the title of nawab an honor conferred on the be~ums consort by the British govern- meat his salute, and ordering him 55 not to interfere in future with the man- agement of the State. These orders vexed the begum to the bottom of her heart ; she looked on them as a per- sonal insult, in spite of the strongest assurances to the contrary, but she agreed to meet the views of govern- ment, and asked the viceroy to assist her in the selection of a minister. The Shah Jehan Begum has long been a prominent figure in Indian poli- tics ; she is undoubtedly a striking character, a woman of strong will and pass~~~~ ; a strong partisan and an equally bitter hater; in her youth, ac- tive and energetic, and both respected and feared by the mixed population of Mussalmans and Hindus who required to be ruled by a strong hand, if only to preserve law and order. Naturally she felt sorely the degradation of her hus- band, and refused to see that he had brought it on himself. Various native gentlemen of ascer- tained loyalty and talent were coin- mended to her, but she would have none but a European minister, and at last the viceroy reluctantly consented to this on the condition that the Euro- pean selected was approved by him be- fore appointment. In May, 1886, I was ordered to Siinla, to be personally interviewed and re- ceive the instructions of the viceroy, before going to Bhopal. The position was not sought for by me, and I had grave doubts as to its being tenable; I can safely say that it was only Lord Dufferins kindness and his singular power of foreseeing and providing for unexpected difficulties that enabled me to carry on as minister for two and a half years. At the end of that time Lord Dufferin admitted that the posi- tion was untenable and accepted my resignation. From the first the situation was diffi- cult; in direct touch with the foreign secretary to the viceroy, the minister was to work in accord with the agent- governor- general at Indore, an easy matter as long as that officer held statesmanlike views, but, as the Pio- neer put the case in December, 1888, Mr. II. had succeeded Sir Lepel 56 Griffin at Jndore, and Mr. H.s idea of policy was to reverse everything that had been done by his predecessor. The begum required a minister who would devote himself entirely to clear- ing the reputation of her husband at any cost, and obtaining the restoration of his title and salute. The viceroy informed the minister that these objects were not within the scope of practical politics. The political officers expected the minister to reform abuses and restore efficiency to a degraded administration. The people expected a reduction of the land tax ; a summary stop put to dacoity and cattle lifting then rife all over the state ; an(l the reform of all abuses before even the minister had time to discover what they were. The foreign secretary expected the minister to restore the begums confi- dence in the English government; to soothe her irritated feelings ; to make the people contented; and, above all, to avoid raising any questions which would entail interrogations in Parlia- ment. Obviously there were too many mas- ters, and they expected impossibilities. June, 1886, saw the new minister launched into office and a very unpleas- ant position. The begum, dissatisfied because she had not been allowed to appoint the man she selected as likely to carry out her views, received me with all those petty slights of which these chiefs are masters, in the vain hope that I would resign in disgust and return whence I came ; but I was prepared for slights and took no notice of them. After an interview matters improved thanks chiefly to my having been entrusted by the viceroy with various courteous messages to the begum another thing in my favor was that she was rather pleased to be relieved of Kawab Abdul Latifs Khan s presence; he had been for some months watching events in Bhopal and left when I came. The stiffness of our first meeting was greatly relieved by the appearance from behind the purdah of the be- gums grandchild, Bilkis Jehan, a ify Residence in Bhopal. pretty little princess between eleven and twelve years old, with most charm- ing manners, and a special favorite of her grandmothers. I told her that both Lord and Lady Dufferin had spoken to me about her, and she was soon talking away entirely at her ease she introduced quite a new phase into the proceedings, and it was not long before she and the begum put me through a complete catechism as to my antecedents. Who was my father? was he alive? Why had I not brought any of my chil- dren to Bhopal ? How many years had I served in military, how many in civil employ, and where ? Why had I left a comfortable post in the Central Province Commission to come to a bed of thorns in Bhopal ? Could I speak Persian? Where had I learned to speak Urdu so fluently? and many others. I explained that I had learnt Persian twenty-five years before, when I was serving with the Guides, but had nearly forgotten it, as since then I had been working as settlement officer and mag- istrate among Hindus, but I could read and write sufficient to be understood, an(l could recover my knowledge of the language, if necessary, and if the be- gum would kindly assist me with a word when I was at a loss. She finally closed the interview with a compliment to my fluency in Urdu, and we parted on much better terms than I expected from the commencement of our conver- sation. After this she issued formal orders, making over to me the executive au- thority in all its branches. She in- structed her officials to deal with me as they had been accustomed to deal with her, and to look to the European for orders, promotion, reward, or punish- ment. The treasury she kept in her own hands, giving the minister a liberal budget allotment for payment of estab- lishments. The question of the ministers escort came up in one of my early interviews as my predecessor told me he never went out without twenty cavalrymen. I have always disliked show, so asked My Residence in BhoRal. the begum what her wishes were, as I this introduction of good water there preferred going about alone; she said has been a marked decrease in cholera if I did that people would accuse her of in Bhopal. It used formerly to break not treating me with proper respect. out in violent epidemics ; during the Eventually we decided on four on ha- two and a half years I was there a few portant occasions, two at other times; sporadic cases only occurred. they were merely for show, not for pro- Mr. Cooke, the engineer, was the tection. only European resident in Bhopal For the first few months at Bhopal when I went there, and was greatly anonymous threats of assassination and respected by all classes. He soon laid warnings were constantly sent to me ; the water on to my hillside, and in a these were at once consigned to the few months the sandstone boulders waste-paper basket, but somehow the gave place to terraces and green turf, begum heard of them (as she heard where the flowers of the tropics everything said, done and I might bloomed side by side with English almost say thought, in my house), annuals and roses. I have never seen and asked me why I had not told her Marshal Niel roses in such perfection of them. I said the threats were far and profusion as in Bhopal. This gar- too foolish for me to trouble her with, den was almost my only real pleasure as I knew I was quite as safe in Bhopal its cost to the State was very small, for as in London. Probably safer, she I employed in laying it out some three said, for, if anything happened to you hundred and fifty prisoners, who be- here, Bhopal would be colored pink in fore my arrival had done no work, but the map. All British India is colored lived a life of comparative ease and pink, luxury, only dependent on their purses. This was in the days before the Ma- Their life was lacking in neither luxury nil)ur disaster. nor excitement ; it was very similar to On first arrival I lived in the guest- that described in any of the old ac- house usually occupied by the political counts of prison life in England one officers, and, as this was inconvenient hundred years ago. As long as money for them, I was ordered to build a lasted the rich could do much as they house for myself, to cost thirty thou- pleased, while the poor were by no sand rupees. I selected a site on a means badly off ; well fed, their lodg- hillside a little to the south of the town ings were somewhat overcrowded ,nnd where there was a beautiful view of the the worst offenders were fettered. city with its mosques and minarets, and Some had been rather long under trial, of one of the lakes which washes its and when they had been disposed of, I walls. Bhopai is built on the northern suggested to the beguin that it might side of tvo lakes ; the larger is some be well to make prison life a little more four miles round, and supplies the whole deterrent, by finding suitable work for place with abundance of good water, a the prisoners. She quite agreed, only blessing given by the Kudsia Begum, requested that they should not be cm- the grandmother of the present ruler, ployed near her palace ; I therefore who constructed an excellent system utilized them in quarrying stone for my of waterworks at her own cost, and en- house and laying out the garden. Nat- dowed them by will ~with sufficient urally the change of r~gime was unpop- money to ensure the payment of the ular, and we were once or twice on the skilful Scotch engineer who carried verge of a mutiny. One day the whole them out, as long as he continued in body of prisoners rushed their guards charge. in the hope of obtaining arms broke, The system is simple: the water is and fled in all directions. The attack pumped up by powerful engines to had been anticipated, the guards only reservoirs on the hill above, and thence carried sticks, and by nightfall the it is carried by its own gravity in pipes pickets brought back every single man, all over the city. I was told that since tired and crestfallen; they gave up My Residence in Bhopal. their ringleaders, and there was no fur- ther difficulty. They gave me infinitely less trouble than the porcupines, which climbed stone walls, burrowed under wire-netting, and revelled in the vege- table garden among young carrots a temptation they could not resist and cauliflowers, or feasted on arums and calladiums to their hearts content un- til they were trapped or shot at night, as they are nocturnal animals. Apropos of this shooting, (luring the very hot weather I used to sleep out in the gar- den, and as the jungle was not far off I generally had a rifle on a chair by the bedside ; one night the sentry roused me in great alarm, as there was a tiger close by he had just seen it pass I My sight at night was never good, the moon was not near full, so I strained my eyes in vain ; the sentry kept pointing out his tiger some forty yards off, and vowed he saw the tail moving, as the beast crouched under a bush. I thought I saw something where he pointed, the sentry swore by all his gods it was a tigerso to put an en(l to the crisis, I fired! The only an- swer to the shot was the loud bray of a donkey, which, fortunately, clean missed, cantered gaily across the grass braying loudly! I was often asked afterwards if I had shot any more don- keys. Work was unceasing ; petitions poured in probably in all the larger stream because my doors were al- ways open and many took undue ad- vantage of this unwonted easy access to authority. Had I remained, I should have introduced a stamp on all peti- tions ; this would have checked un- founded applications without interfering with true ; but at first, while the un- doubted land grievance was unre- (Iressed, I was bound to hear every one. As soon as the people saw that I was taking upthe revision of the land tax, village by village, they ceased their l)etitions and waited their turn pa- tiently ; alas ! poor people, I left be- fore one third of the work was done. When reporting to the begum one day that on visiting certain villages, and testing the classification of soils on the spot, I had found very grave errors in the papers, I asked Sadik Hasan, who was present, why, when this out- cry arose, lie had not visited a few villages where the complaints were loudest, and seen for himself whether wheat and rice land had been shown as irrigate d and growing opium I (nine out of ten of the complaints were of this, opium land paying twenty-five to forty rupees per acre, while wheat land paid four rupees). Sadik Hasan said at once, I know nothing of set- tlement officers work; any one could have deceived me I was forced to trust to the officials. It is not aston- ishing that these officials made hay while the sun shone. But technical details of an Indian settlement officers work are very nfl- interesting. I only refer briefly to them here as they made up the bulk of my two and a half years work, and were the occasion of many a stormy interview with my royal employer, whose vigorous outbursts were occa- sionally startling. Once I staved off a serious difficulty by making her laugh some question I had put before her caused considerable excitement ,andin the warmth of the discussion her lan- guage became hardly Parliamentary (as. it used to be before the Irish had intro- duced their vigorous vernacular). I waited till want of breath compelled a pause, then said that I had been mar- ried twenty years but never had such a scolding before ; on this she burst out laughing and apologized. One great drawback to my position was the necessity of transacting all business with the beguni behind the purdah. I never knew whether she was alone or not. During Sadik Ilasans life she adhered most strictly to that seclusion, although before her marriage to him she used to ride about the country and personally interest her- self in the well-doing of her people. Things went very well in those days. She was rather shocked one day to see on my wifes table a photograph of herself and daughter, the Sultan Jehan, that had been taken before she mar- ried the second time. She evidently 58 thought it was hardly proper my hav- ing it. Occasionally she would laugh at my slow progress in wading through some of the large files of Urdu papers known as Misls. Here, sahib, give me the MisI ; what paper do you want me to see ? and she would find and read it in a trice. The bitter feud between the begum and her daughter, the Sultan Jehan, the mother of little Princess Bilkis, was the most fertile source of trouble. She strongly resented the marriage of her mother and Sadik Hasan, and the former accused her of being the real cause of her husbands disgrace by bringing his iniquities to the notice of the English authorities at Indore. The Sultan Jehan lived apart from and in strong antagonism to her mother and the nawab consort but she allowed Bilkis to live with her grandmother, only visiting her own mother occasion- ally. There had been some gossip as to th~ intentions of Sadik Hasan to bring about a marriage between his son and Bilkis either fair or foul by means; she was nearly of marriageable age, but whether there was any truth in this gossip or whether the story was only noised abroad as an excuse for Sultan Jehans. next move, I know not, but in May or June, 1887, on Bilkis vis- iting her mother, the latter sent a mes- sage to the begum that for Bilkiss safetys sake she would for the future remain with the Sultan Jehan. One of the ladies of the palace came iii haste to summon me. I found the begum in the deepest distress, and she told me that I must go at once and bring back Bilkis, the child she adored and on whom she lavished all her affec- tions, 1 rnr only friend, without whom she could not live. I spent the day between the two houses. My sympathies were all with the begum in her loneliness, but I en- tirely failed in my mission. The sultan refused to allow Bilkis to return to her grandmother, even to say good-bye. On my offering to take the child and bring her back, the mother remarked, The begum would care nothing for 59 your promise ; once Bilkis was behind the purdah, she is effectually out of your reach. My harrowing accounts of the begumns grief did not move the dauoh ter. On returning unsuccessful the begum ordered me to take as many soldiers as were necessary and recover Bilkis by force. This, I had to explain, was quite impossible. There is very little doubt that had an English minister not been in Bho pal, the Sultan Jehan would never have (lared to remove Bilkis ; if she had the begum would have taken the child back by force, careless of the bloodshed, as long as Bilkis was unhurt. This fact of Sultan Jehans being thus protected from her mothers wrath by the pres- ence of an English officer increased my difficulties largely. In the absence of the childs soften- ing influence, the begum grew daily harder, and I felt so deeply for her loneliness that I could not blame her for looking on me as possibly the un- willing, but certainly the direct, cause of her sorrow. For weeks I carried messages back- wards and forwards, and did my ut- most to bring about a reconciliation, or induce the Sultan Jehan to visit the begum with Bilkis ; occasionally I hoped that I was on the verge of suc- cess, but palace intrigues and the wide- spread feeling that any reconciliation between mother and daughter would be disastrous for Sadik Hasan s cause were too strong for me. Neither mother nor daughter had the smallest faith in each other, so I failed entirely. Bilkis never returned to her grand- mother, who subsided into a life of loneliness, eating her heart out with bitterness. I will, tell the sad sequel of poor little Bilkiss story here, for it was the be- ginning of the end of my stay in Bho- pal. I think it was November of that same year the Sultan Jehan wrote me that Bilkis was suffering from severe fever; she wished me to see the child, and then call in an English doctor, as the native physicians, or hakims, reme lily Residence in Bliopal. My Residence in Bhopal. dies had failed. I consulted the be- gum; she said she had nothing to do with the child; I was responsible, as I had left her in her mothers charge. The English doctor from Hoshanga- bad, the nearest station, pronounced the fever typhoid, caused most likely by the insanitary condition and sur- roundings of the Sultan Jehans house. Dr. Henderson did his best; the child was moved to a garden-house about three miles from the city ; the parents would not agree to employ European nurses, or allow my wife to take charge of the patient and see that it was given that constant nourishment and unfail- ing attention which is of almost greater importance than medicine in typhoid fever. We did all we could and watched the child fade away day by day ; she was very patient, ani vcry grateful for the little we could do. I took constant messages from her to her grandmother, and latterly, almost hourly, reports of the want of progress. I begged the begum to set aside her feud, if only for a time, and visit Bilkis. Had she followed her own inclinations I am quite certain she would have gone to see the sick child, but the feeling among her household against reconcil- iation was too strong for her. She was told that my reports were exaggerated and that my real object was to bring the begum and her daughter together; her own hakims, after seeing Bilkis, assured her that the child was not so ill as I made out, and that the English doctor was mistaken as to the gravity of the illness, so to the last she would not go near the child. When it became a question of a few hours only the Sul- tan Jehan set aside her pride, went to the begum and implored her to come and say farewell to the dying child, who cried for her to the last; she was driven from the palace by a storm of abuse. That night the child died. I shall never forget the scene on my re~)orting to the be~um. I was accused of causing the childs death I ought to have sent away the English doctor and made over the patient to the be- gums hakims ; the begum had sug gested this two days before, but the parents at once refused. Now she was as one distracted and refused all com- fort or sympathy. I could obtain no orders or instructions as to the childs funeral; I had to listen to a storm of invective and reproach against the parents for removing Bilkis from the palace, and myself for not having coin- pelled them to bring her back. Her (leath was laid at my door, and finally I left, feeling deeply sorry for the poor lonely begum. As I drove home through the city, the streets were crowded, the people were like sheep without a shepherd they wished to show all due respect to the heir apparent, while they were afraid of incurring the anger of the begum by showing civility to the daughter, whom the very day before she had driven from her presence with curses and threats. I solved the difficulty by ordering a public funeral on the same lines as that of one of the beguins family some years before ; all officials were directed to attend, and early the next morning the remains of the bright little Bilkis were laid to rest in a small grove of orange-trees iu the garden of the house where she died. Almost the whole city attended, and I have seldom seen a sadder or more impressive scene. The next day I had to carry to the begum telegrams of condolence from the viceroy and Lady Dufferin ; she then took me to task for ordering a public funeral for the Sultan Jehans daughter. I pleaded precedent and want of other instructions, and I told her that some dayshe would thank me for not having allowed her grand- daughter to be buried like a dog. She said Never. And she never has. With Bilkis passed away all the poetry of my intercourse with the be- gum ; she was never the same after the childs death, she took little in- terest in anything, and after a few months, finding that her antagonism impeded the progress of administra- tion, in July I went to Simla and begged to be allowed to leave Bhopal. 60 My Residence in Bhopal. 61 When Lord Dufferin saw that I had away from Bhopal without injury to not only to strive with the passive an- my reputation. tagonism of the begum, but also the After it was all over I never re- bias of the political officers at Indore gretted the experience gained ; there against European management, he ad- was niuch in the position that was mitted that the position was untenable deeply interesting, and I learnt more and accepted my resignation. I did of real Indian life in those two and not, however, leave the state till the a half years than I had done in thirty end of December, just on the eve of years before in British India. There Lord Dufferins departure from India. the Englishman is kept outside the I then returned to the Central Proy- inner life of the people ; he cannot as- inces as commissioner of the Nerbada sociate with them on equal terms ; he division, thankful to be relieved of an is never admitted into the society of arduous and impossible task ; impos- ladies, and all his knowledge of the sible bccause, although I had the upper classes is gathered from the so- viceroys cordial support after Sir ciety manners of his visitors ; he is Lepel Griffin left Indore the political never allowed behind the scenes. We officers showed a marked bias against none of us in these days ever see do- European management, and to be of mestic life in India such as Meadows any use the European minister must Taylor pictured in Tara and his be able to count on either the loyal other books. support of the political officers or their In Bhopal my constant personal at- effacement; naturally they can hardly tendauce on the ruler, and the Bilkis be expected to approve a policy that episode when for some months I had makes their work a sinecure, but it to go between mother and daughter, seems to be an open question whether and was forced to hear both sides of they would not be of greater use to the many questions at issue opened government as ministers than as polit- up to me a novel atmosphere of in- ical agents. It would be hard to find trigue of which I would gladly have better men for the post, and they kept clear, had it been possible, and would gain a far closer insight into the gave me a curious insight into the inner internal economy of the States they life of an Indian palace. administered than they are ever al- Before going there I had vowed to lowed to obtain at present, while the keep myself altogether aloof from pal- change could be arranged with no in- ace or family intrigues, but circum- crease of expense. Possibly this pro- stances were too much for me; with posal might not be popular with the two strong parties in the State, each India for the Indians party, al- with their own partisans, I found I had though I see no reason why natives to hear something of every official of should be excluded from appointments any position, and startling enough of this description. India should be some of the things were. rnled by the best men we have, what- Most of these high State officials ever their color; we have seen two come from Afghan stock. The rulers, splendid specimens of ministers a gen- too, have no pretence to a long line of eration ago Sir Salar Jung and Rajah blue-blooded ancestors ; they are the Dhinka Rao. There is no reason why descendants of an Afghan general in there should not be others equally the service of one of the emperors of good. Delhi. He held an important com- Raja Dhinka IRao was a personal mand in Central India, and made him- frh~nd of mine, and I consulted him self ruler of Bhopal, while his master before goin~ to Bhopal; he foretold was fully engaged elsewhere ; he main- most of my troubles and strongly ad- tamed his position by the sword, as- vised me not to go. He was almost sisted by the warlike qualities of his the first friend I met on leaving, and Pathan soldiers ; his descendants have ~he congratulated me warmly on getting done the same, they have kept in teuch 62 with their AfThan forefathers. New recruits from beyond the north-western frontier have constantly settled in the state, and with a veneer of Western civilization, they have preserved the purity of their language, using Persian or Urdu for all official purposes, while they have persistently refused to adopt the many English words, especially legal technical terms, such as appeal, summons, etc., which have become practically incorporated in the local vernaculars in British India. Their begums have been conserva- tive, and have held strong religious views, though occasionally, perhaps, somewhat lax in their observance and moral tone ; at -the same time, they have always shown marked liberality to religion and the arts and sciences. There are few Christians in the state, outside the military cantonment of Se hore, with the exception of Roman Catholics, who have a church in Bhopal ; and their presence is due to the fact that for many years there has been in the service of the State a fam- ily which claims direct descent from that Philip of Bourbon who is said to have landed in India as an adventurer early in the seventeenth century, and to have placed his sword at the dis- posal of one of the many kings then struggling to divide India by strength of arms and wit. One of his descend- ants drifted into the Bhopal State, and until the second marriage of the Shah Jehan Begum, his family had consid- erable influence and held large jag- hirs (landed estates) which had been granted as rewards for many valuable services rendered when Bhopal was attacked and the city besieged in some of the early wars of this century. A history of this family would no doubt be curious, but it is beyond the scope of this article. I refer to them here, as I think that in a measure they ac- count for the extensive knowledge of English history and religion, which is a feature of the rulers of the State for instance, the Shah Jehan knew the name and genealogy of the whole of our royal family in itself no small task and she used frequently to com lily Residence in Bhopal. pare the Koran with our Bible ; it was a constant puzzle to her how the vari- ous missionaries who applied for per- mission to reside in her territory, Baptists, Presbyterians, Catholics, etc., all managed to have each his own in- terpretation of the precepts of our one book, the Bible. She has always been very antagonistic to the advanced school of thought, and when Sir Synd Ahmed asked for help for his college for Mussalman youth at Ahigurh, she directed me to tell him that she would never subscribe one rupee to a school which taught boys to believe in neither heaven nor hell. Almost at the same time she gave twentyfive thousand rupees to build a mosque at Woking, by no means the only mosque she has built and endowed. She has treated physic and education equally liberally. Of late years she has built a hospital and a house for a lady doctor, whom she maintains at her own cost. In the main street of the city stands the large Prince of Wales Hospital, worked on the English sys- tem by an assistant-surgeon, educated in the Bombay Medical Schools, while near at hand the State hakun manages a dispensary on purely native princi- ples ; both are charitable institutions paid for by the State. As regards education the Suhiman- i-Madrussa (or school) is kept up at large cost ; formerly some three hun- dred boys, Hindu or Mussalman, used to obtain a fairly good general educa- t.ion, and the school stood high in the estimation of the officers of the Central Provinces Educational Department, who at the request of the begum used to inspect it ; of late years the institu- tion suffered through the appointment by Sadik Hasan of a head-master with strong, not to say bigoted, religious views who confined instruction al- most entirely to the Koran Persian and Arabic. To improve the school without interfering with the head- master was not the least of my dif- ficulties ; and I fear that I cannot congratulate myself much on my suc- cess. It will probably be asked what hap- Some Reminiscences. pened after I left Bliopal; and this question I am hardly in a position to answer, for, once away, I avoided any- thing that might be construed into a semblance of interference with the administration of the State. I dis- couraged to the utmost of my power the many letters and some personal applications that I received begging me to return and complete the work I had begun for I was anxious in no way to hamper my successor, whose task was no easy one. Sadik Hasan died ten years after I left, so all necessity for intrigue to bring about his restoration to power ceased. To the best of my knowledge there has been no cessation of the feud be- tween mother and daughter ; the Bilkis episode has never been either forgot- ten or forgiven on either side and each still holds entirely aloof from the other. The political officers in Central India have done their best to give the Sultan Jehans two sons a good and liberal education to fit them for the position which, in all human probability, one of them is likely to occupy. They are, I hear, both growing up fine, manly young men. Their only surviving sis- ter, Azaf Jehan, died last year. When I saw her last she was, I think, pret- tier than Bilkis, with the same bright, charming manner; her parents were devoted to her, so that her death must have been a severe blow to them. When the day comes for the daugh- ter to succeed to the throne and it is to be hoped that that day is still far distant I trust that the Sultan Jehan may prove an accomplished successor to her very able and loyal mother. She, too, is a woman of strong will and great determination of character. She has marked intelligence, and will, I am sure, be as unswerving in her loyalty to British government as her mother has ever been. Both the rulers and the people have my best wishes for the future pros- perity, both of themselves and their country. H. C. E. WARD. From The Saturday Review. SOME REMINISCENCES. BY SLATIN PASHA. I WAS kept for eight months in chains by the Mahdi. The chains were of the thickness of my wrist, one round my neck and two about my arms and legs. In addition to this, I was tied to a pole like a dog or a bear. This treat- ment did not begin immediately upon my capture. The Mahdists never, of course, treated me very cordially, but considering their fanaticism towards all unbelievers, I had really not very much to complain of before I was cast into chains. To the Mahdists, all non Mahdists are infidels, whether Moham- medan, Christian, Jew, or anything else, and all infidels are deemed worthy only to be slain. I was taken in the Mahdis suite to Khartoum, and when we arrived at the walls, the Mahdi asked inc to write a letter to General Gordon, calling upon him to surrender. Accordingly I wrote a letter in Ger- man, which no one in the Mahdis camp could control in any way, and it was duly despatched. No answer, however, was returned, and from that, as well as from other indications, the Mahdi concluded that I had not carried out his wishes. Therefore he cast me into chains. For the next eight months I was very badly treated. The chains were so heavy that I could scarcely rise up at all. When we moved from place to place, I was put on to a donkey, and two men walked by the side to P0P me up. The object of this was to prevent my escaping into Khartoum, which they suspected I intended to do. When Khartoum fell, the Mahdists found certain documents which they considered incriminating, so they in- creased my irons and their severity towards me. Within an hour of Gor~ dons death his head was brought to me in my prison, wrapped up in a cloth which they unfolded before me. I had no difficulty in recognizing it at once. For some reason or other they had taken it into their heads that I was Gordons nephew, and no amount of arguing could disabuse them of that 63 Some Reminiscences. notion. They thought they recognized a likeness, and they kept repeating that we both had fair hair and blue eyes, as if that were conclusive. After all, one European seems very like another to them, just as one negro seems like an- other to us. I heard full details of Gordons death afterwards, and shall publish them in my book next October. Gordon defended Khartoum as well as it was possible for him to do under the circumstances. I think GorJon might have escaped from Khartoum, had he wished to do so, at the last moment. He was killed on the top of the steps of the palace during the first rush of the invaders. One of the foremost men plunged a spear into his body he was dragged down the steps in a wild tumult, and pierced through and through by countless spears. For three mouths my diet consisted only of various kinds of corn, cli iefiy dourra, not ground, but in its hard in- digestible state. Afterwards I was given beans and a kind of polenta. They would no doubt have killed me hut that they considered me too valu- able a prisoner. I had been governor- general of the Province of Darfur, and it added to their prestige to take me about with them and exhibit me as their prisoner. Besides, they thought it might be possible for them to make use of the influence I possessed in the district. I suffered a good (leal in health during my confinement, being attacked by fever and dysentery. No one made any attempt at nursing me, or provided me with any remedies. I had to lie oii the bare ground with a stone for my pillow, and was afforded no comfort or relaxation of any kind. I was released a couple of months or so before the Mahdi died, but the strictest watch was kept over me. On the death of the Malidi I was made one of the Khalifas bodyguard, which meant that I was practically always under his eye. I used generally to be stationed outside his door, and was liable to be called in to do his bidding at any moment. Of the two, I pre- ferred the Mahdi to the Khahifa. Until lie threw me into chains, the Mahdi was comparatively amiable to me. He was a man of some education, knew how to read and write, and possessed an intimate acquaintance with the Mohammedan religion. The Khinlifa has not the religious prestige of his predecessor, and is alienating many of his supporters by an attempt to found a dynasty. This lie has no earthly right to do either by law or tradition. Be- fore his son could succeed him, other Klialifas appointed by the late Mahdi would have a prior claim. Very strict rules are in force against either drink- ing spirituous liquors or smoking to- hacco. Nor do the Mahdists use opium or hashish for one reason, because they are not procurable. Any one caught smoking tobacco is liable to a punishment of a hundred lashes and tIme confiscation of all his property.. In spite of that, there are still a good many persons who venture to do it secretly. All these regulations are simply a cloak for the most monstrous immorality. The Khalifa has a harem of four or five hundred women, and de- votes a large part of his time to its amenities. The Khahifa maintains his influence by tyranny and despotism, and the in- habitants other than his own tribe look forward anxiously to the time when Egypt will once again claim her lost provinces. But that is not a proj- ect to be undertaken too lightly, and when we do set about it we must be sure that we are able to carry it out to a successful issue. 64

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The Living age ... / Volume 207, Issue 2675 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. October 12, 1895 0207 2675
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LITTELLS LIYING AGE. Sixth Series, Volume VIII. -~ I. 11. III. IV. V. VI. No. 2675. October 12, 1895. { From Beginning, CONTENTS. Tun PASSING OF THE MONK,. A MASTER OF DECEIT. By Jan Mac- laren THE STORY OF STAMBOULOFF s FALL. By Edward Dicey THE OLD ONE-HORNED STAG, LION HUNTING BEYOND THE HAUD. By H. C. Lowther WHEN WE WERE BOYS. Part V., Quarterly Review, Blackwoods Magazine, Fortnightly Review,. Macmillans Magazine, Nineteenth Century,. Macmillan a Magazine, RECONCILED RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIANO, POET H V. 66 FORGIVE, b6 06 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. - For RIGHT DOLLARS remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGR will be punctually for. warded for a year,free of postage. Remittances should be sciade by bank draft or check, or bypost-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-ordels should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single copies of the LIVING AGE, 18 cents. 67 84 91 100 105 123 66 RECONCILED. WE parted where the shadows crept Along the valley, damp and chill, And low the wailing breezes swept Around the solitary hill; And Love was beaten back by Pride With angry word and bitter speech, Till, pausing where the paths divide, We turned in silence, each from each. Have we been happy? Was the thing We strove for really worth the strife? What gifts could Scorn and Anger bring Save broken vows and severed life? Oh, sweet blue eyes with trouble dim! Oh, tender glance, half frank, half shy! Loves cup runs over at the brim, And shall we lightly put it by? Dear, lay thine hand in mine once more, In perfect trust of heart and mind; Turn to the happier days before, Leave we the darker hours behind. From Lifes dark past new hopes are born, The jarring discords slowly cease; And through an ever-brightening morn Sweet Love walks hand in hand with Peace. Chambers Journal. R. S. W. RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIANO. CHIFFONIER, your memorys failing You are older than I am. In the days long past bewailing, You held gingerbread and jam, Almonds, oranges, and spices, All as good as they could be; Tiny plates with quaint devices For the childrens Sunday tea. Chiffonier, of all your treasures, You retain no mouldy crumb, And Ive lost my sweet old measures, And my keys are chiefly dumb; Yet, when many memories mingle, Sometimes, in the dead of night, With a faint, unearthly jingle, I awaken in aifright. Voices lost to mortal hearing Murmur softly in the gloom. There are childrens faces peering From the shadows of the room; And I feel my faded curtain Softly lifted. Who are these? No chord sounds, yet I am certain There are fingers on my keys They for whom a tall wax candle In each polished sconce was set Singing Purcell, Bach, and Handel, Many a stately, staid duet. They were tenor and soprano; Pleasantly their voices rang No one but the old piano Can remember what they sang! Winter seems an earlier comer, Yet some days of warmth we win; Through the window, in the summer, Looks the white Cape jessamine. Ilas the old plant ever spoken Of the sprays that once were laid On my shining cover oaken And she found them when she played? On the lawn I still look over Where a footstep seldom falls There were joyous cries of Rover! There were clashing croquet-balls. Dull and deaf the chiffonier is, And he sleeps the whole day long; But the old piano wearies For the laughter and the song. I am battered, I am dusty, And my silk is dark with mould; No one rubs my sconces rusty, Tarnished now that shone like gold! The last breath of life is dwindling From my numb and voiceless keys. They may break me up for kindling Just as quickly as they please. Longmans Magazine. MAY KENDALL. FORGIVE. WAIT not the morrow, but forgive me now; Who knows what fate to-morrows dawn may bring? Let us not part with shadow on thy brow, With my heart hungering. Wait not the morrow, but entwine thy hand In mine, with sweet forgiveness full and free. Of all lifes joys I only understand This joy of loving thee. Perhaps some day I may redeem the wrong, Repair the fault I know not when or how. 0, dearest, do not wait it may be long- Only forgive me now. Academy. ARTHUR L. SALMON. Reconciled, etc. The Passing of the 3lonk. 67 From The Quarterly Review, thing more about a vanished order, on THE PASSING OF THE MONK. whose memory rests a sombre cloud of A GREAT wrong has been done, ignominy. Among these causes may knowingly or unknowingly, to the be cited the fasL-growing popularity of memory of a multitude of men who, our great cathedrals as centres of with rare exceptions, according to their religious life and human activity. It lights, seem on the whole to have done is well known that some of these cathe- their duty well and faithfully. The drals were the abbey churches of once monastic orders, who in the latter years famous monasteries. Could these mon- of King Henry VJJJ.s reign were sup- asteries, of which the well-loved cathe- pressed and whose goods were confis- dm1 was the living centre, have been cated, suffered the loss of all that in the home of men sunk in sloth and their lives made life beautiful ; a few of steeped in nameless vice? Another their leading men were put to death as cause is the awakening of religious traitors and felons ; the great majority, art, which finds in the ancient abbeys simply ejected from their ancient the noblest examples of religious archi-- houses, wandered forth landless, home- tecture, the truest form of religious. less, hopeless, well-nigh penniless. symbolism. To take one conspicuous. And this was not all ; their very mem- instance, the craft of stained-glass. ory was stained with obloquy, and sue- painters, which in late years has made cessive generations of Englishmen such notable advance, seeks and finds have been taught to regard them as so in the splendid remains of the scarred. vile that their doom was richly de- though still glowing windows of the served, cathedrals and abbeys, the best school~ Several centuries have passed since from which to study, the fairest ideals the monk was forcibly ejected from his at which to aim. Last but not least home, and until recent years he has recent study has stirred up among found no defender chivalrous enough Englishmen a suspicion that injustice to speak a word in his defence. His has been done to men who in their day guilt has been assumed as proved; and played a noble part in English history. the story of his supposed wrong-doing, It is indisputable that the reign of and of the punishment which followed Henry VII., and the last half of the his sin, took its place among the cre- fifteenth century, found the monasteries denda taught to every English boy and of England sensibly weakened. The girl. numbers of religious were dimin It is something more than a feeling ished by at least a third ; in many for a romantic past which has revived houses scarcely half their proper num- an interest in the ancient religions ber were maintained. This great nu- houses which once played so great a merical weakness was due in large part in the story of England. Several measure to the desolating sicknesses of causes may be said to have contributed the preceding centnry. The Black to this newly awakened curiosity, if we Death of 13491361 had carried off, give it no nobler term, to learn some- roughly speaking, nearly half the 1 ~, Obedientiary Rolls of S. Swithuns, Win- religions~ in the country. No mon- chester. By the Very Rev. Dr. Kitchin, Dean of astery could be said to have recovered Durham. London, 1892. from the calamity; aI)d when the 2. Winchester cathedral Records: A Consuetu- dinary of the Fourteenth Century. By Dr. Kitchin. spoilers hand was stretched forth to London, 1886. l)lunder, no house, large or small, 3. Henry the Eighth and the English Monas- was found with its proper complement teries. By Francis Aidan Gasquet. Two vols. of professed monks. This sudden re- London, 1890. 4. The Last Abbot of Glastonbury and his Corn- moval, too, of so many of the best panions. By Francis Aidan Gasquet. London, and most devoted, must, as it has been 1895. 5. An Account of the Priory of St. Peter and ~ well pleaded, have broken the con- Paul, Bath. By the Rev. W. Hunt, M.A. Lou- tinuity of the best traditions of eccle don, 1893. siastical usage and teachino 0~ 68 The Passing of the Monk. But a yet deeper source of weakness commission issued by Pope Innocent in the doomed orders must be sought VIII. Froude makes much of it in and found in the totally changed condi- two of his more famous works, in his tions of human life brought about Short Studies on Great Subjects, largely by the invention of printing, and in his History of England. The monk no longer possessed the No picture, he says, left us by monopoly of knowledge ; the printing- Henry V4II.s visitors, surpasses, even press took away from the cloister much if it equals, this description of a great of its occupation. The education of monastery. It contains open charges the world ceased to be in the hands of of the most flagrant immorality and the monk. Bishop Stubbs speaks of disgracefule excesses, together with the incurable uselessness of the mo- grave references to simony, waste, nastic orders in the time of Wolsey; carelessness, gross neglect of duties, and though this expression may be and other shameful disorders. After exaggerated, no fair-minded English- quoting this tremendous indictment at man can deny that considerable truth great length, Frou de proceeds to give underlies the sweeping assertion. A us, in the following words~ the result reformation, a complete recasting of of Mortons investigation We nee(l the monastic system, a revision of the not, writes our historian~ describe monks work and office, was needed ; further this overwhelming document and this necessity the clear-sighted it pursues its way through mire and ministers of Henry VII. and his son filth to its most lame and impotent con- (Morton and Wolsey) saw, though they elusion. After all this, the abbot was were unable, for various reasons, in not deposed ; he was invited merely to their day of power to carry out the reconsider his doings, and, if possible, change. amend them. Nor was St. Albans There is no question but that in the only abbey so accused before Mor- England, in the great upheaval which ton ; other important houses were sim- followed the Wars of the Roses, the ilarly attacked, and in each case a monasteries with their vast wealth simple reprimand was considered to be were viewed in many quarters with an adequate punishment. dislike and envy. A feeling that they Now, supposing that Morton bad were not doing the work which was been satisfied that even one-tenth of naturally expected from men who pos- the tremendous charges had been sessed such great means was general, proved, is it credible that such a man and it was shared by many thoughtful as the all-powerful minister of such a and earnest souls, men who by no king as Henry VII. an almost abso- means can be classed with the needy lute monarch, dogged in his determi- and the greedy, who had risen to nation to do his duty to his country power in the new state of things which would have passed them by, and suf- succeeded the suicide of feudalism. fered such a state of things to exist in Grave accusations largely false, but important religious centres like St. Al- still indicative of the direction of public bans? It must be remembered that opinion were listened to by serious Morton was no ordinary man. A dis- statesmen of the character of Cardinal tinguished lawyer, an able financier, of Morton, Henry VII.s illustrious mm- stainless character, he was the minister ister. of the great and, on the whole, benefi One of the most formidable accusa- cent reign of Henry VII., retaining the tions ever levelled against the religious great seal as long as he lived. The houses before the Reformation, is con- conclusion, then, seems irresistible. tamed in the well-known letter of, Car- The cardinal archbishop and his inns- dinal Morton to the abbot of the great ter, Henry VII., while evidently con- monastery of St. Albans, written in the sidering the necessity of changes in the year 1489. This letter preceded a for- life-work of the accused orders as im- mal visitation of the abbey under a minent, still looked upon the graver The Passing of the Monk. accusations preferred against the Ab- bey of St. Albans and other important monasteries as absolutely unproved. Thus one of the most serious of the pre- Reformation charges levelled against the moral character of the religious houses, and one upon which the ac- cusers of the monks lay the greatest stress, fails under examination~ Time went on ; Morton and his i~oya1 master were gathered to their fathers, and Wolsey and Henry VIII. reigned in their room. The urgent necessity for a great monastic reform grew yearly more pressing. Wolseys plan for a partial reform or recasting was connected with the establishment of colleges and places of education. his fall interrupted his projects; but, as Bishop Stubbs reminds us, the prog- ress the great minister had made in his partly developed scheme opened King Henry VIII.s eyes to a new pos- sibility. It is difficult to credit Henry VIII. with any lofty motives in the matter of the suppression of the monasteries. As a statesman of no ordinary capacity, trained by his great minister, Wolsey, he could not help seeing that much of the monks work was done ; and he, probably in the first instance, satisfied his conscience by purposing to employ the larger portion of the revenues he proposed to confiscate, for urgent State purposes, such as national defence; for more practical religious objects, such as founding new bishoprics; for education, such as the establishment of colleges and schools. These things Wolsey dreamed of in his day of ~ But the pitiful allotment for those objects that the king eventually made of the vast property which fell into his hands from the plundered houses, compels us to see in the whole business only a miserable example of greed. Even the poor excuses for the gre at robbery made in the days of the earlier confiscations, when he charged the dispossessed monks with nameless crimes and shameless profligacy, were all silently dropped as time went on, and the confiscation of all the greater houses and their vast revenues was 69 carried out by the imperious sovereign with scarcely an effort to throw the flimsiest veil of pretended justice over his act. But the accusations made in the first instance against the lesser monasteries, and upon which the act of Parliament legalizing the suppression of the smaller religious houses was based, have never been forgotten; they have even been grossly exaggerated as time went on, and have served to blacken perma- nently the characters of all the reli- gious who suffered such grievous wrongs at the hands of Henry VIII. The wickedness of the monk and nun of the Middle Ages became one of the articles of common belief among the English-speaking peoples. It was time that this error should be corrected, and that, even while we recognize some of the good which in the long run has resulted from the de- structive deed, we should do tardy justice to the dispossessed monastic orders. It was only fair now that the real story is better known that we should teach our children to look on the large majority of these hapless men and women as victims deserving our pity and respect, rather than as guilty culprits who met with a righteous doom. The edifice of all the subsequent def- amation of the character of the reli- gious of the English monasteries is really built upon the evidence of three sets of documents. The first is the so- called Black Book ; this has com- pletely disappeared. The second, which we still possess in manuscript, consists of reports comperta as they are called made by the official coin- missioners of Cromwell on one hun- dred and twenty houses, mostly situate in the province of York, and on twenty- four houses nearly all in the diocese of Norwich. The third consists of certain letters written by the commissioners (or visitors) to Cromwell. The Black Book is supposed to have been the document which con~ tamed the reports of Cromwells vis- itors or commissioners on the state of the monasteries, from which a digest The Passing oj the Monk. was apparently read to Parliament (1536). After hearing this paper read, the debate followed which resulted in the act for the suppression of the smaller religious houses, i.e., of those houses whose income did not exceed 20W. per annum (roughly in our present money, 2,0001. per annum). Now the first mention of the Black Book occurs in a paper written in the time of Queen Elizabeth. This was shewed in Parliament, and the villainies made known and allowed. The paper in which these words occur is supposed to have been written for the information of Elizabeth. If this Black Book ever existed and was presented to Parliament, it must have disappeared not long after it had been used. According to the common opin- ion, the Anglo-Romanists destroyed it in the reign of Mary, but this is abso- lutely unproven. Burnet, without any evidence to support him, suggests this explanation; and Froude adopts the suggestion of Burnet in the following clear-cut statement: Bonner was di- rected by Queen Mary to destroy all discoverable copies of it, and his work was fatally well executed. But our brilliant if somewhat fanciful historian omits to give us any proof that his assertion respecting its destruction is founded on fact. Canon Dixon, com- menting upon the story of the disap- pearance of this mysterious writing, says on the high authority of Mr. Brewer There is no trace of wan- ton or designed destruction among the records. The comperta and the letters of the visitors or commissioners therefore supply the only evidence of the alleged enormities of the dwellers in the mon- asteries. The comperta, no doubt, are very damaging to the character of the monastic houses; but they are, to say the least, singular statements upon which to base so terrible an accusation. Canon Dixon thus describes them : - sons whom it contained, ranged under sev- eral almost invariable classifications : some as thieves, some appear as suspected of treason, some are enrolled as guilty of unnatural crimes; others as incontineiit, incestuous, or adulterers. . . . There was~ no distinction made between one house and another. . . . Of the innocent there was no classification, nor was it possible to discover the proportion which they bore to the guilty, since the total number of in- habitants was never given. The letters of the visitors are totally different from these rigid cut and dried comperta. They, as Canon Dixon tells us, are vivacious or solemn, according to the temper of the writer ; they abound in anecdotes, yet they seldom mention any monk by name, much less give lists of them. The question presses, whence come the lists of names which the comperta exhibit? There is a wide belief that the monasteries made numerous con- fessions, and that it was in consequence of these confessions that they were de- stroyed. Now if such confessions could ever have been produced, they would have settled the question of de- pravity at once; but they never have been produced. King Henry VIII. refers to them in his Answer to the Rebels Articles of Doncaster; but he refrained from publishing them, and no trace of them exists. One notable confession alone we possess, that of the monastery of St. Andrew, Northampton, which contains an ac- knowledgment of voluptuous living. This (again to quote Canon Dixon), which was made under amusingly suspicious circumstances, has been printed more than once by historians with the insinuation that there were more of the kind, but that one speci men would be enough. Unfortu- nately for the argument, no more of such documents are forthcoming. Of the character of the Parliament which gave Henry the lesser monas- They follow a very rigid and a very sum- teries, Bishop Stubbs writes: Henry ~nary way of describing their [the monks] had clearly got a Parliament on which guilt; in them all the method is the same. lie could depend. Hallam, speaking The name of the house is given first, and of the obsequiousness and venality of under it follows a list of the religious per- Lords and Commons in this reign, 70 The Passing of the Monk. says: Both Houses of Parliament yielded to every mandate of Henrys imperious will; they bent with every breath of his capricious humor; they were responsible for the sanguinary statutes, for the tyranny which they sanctioned by law, and for that which they permitted without law. It is from Bishop Latimer, appar- ently an ey& witness of the scene, that historians have taken their well-known description of the thrill of horror with which the Parliament heard the kings description of the iniquities of abbots, monks, and nuns ; but the words of bitter irony with which the good bishop qualified his description of the thrill of horror are not so well known. When their enormities, wrote Latimer, were first read in the Parliament house, they were so great and abominable that there was nothing but down with them; but within a while after the same abbots were, made bishops, for the saving of their pensions. Nor does it seem by any way certain that even that Parliament upon which Henry could depend that Parliament which yielded to every mandate of henrys imperious will, and bent with every breath of his capricious humor, in spite of the thrill of hor- ror with which it listened to Henrys description of monkish enormities was really convinced of the truth of the kings descriptions; for Sir Henry Spelman, who, as Mr. Gasquet tells us, no doubt gave the traditional account of the matter, says : It is true the Parliament gave them [the lesser houses] to him, but so unwillingly (as I have heard), that when the bill had stuck long in the Lower House and could get no passage, he commanded the Com- mons to attend him in the forenoon in his gallery, where he let them wait till late in the afternoon; and then coming out of his chamber, walking a turn or two among them and looking angrily on them, first on one side and then on the other, at last, I hear, saith he, that my bill will not pass, but I will have it pass, or I will have some of your heads, and without any other rhetoric or persuasion returned to his chamber. Enough was said, the bill passed, and all was given him as he de- sired. The bill in due course became law, and three hundred and seventy-six of the smaller religious houses, their churches and their property, became the kings ; thirty-one of these Henry refounded, only to be confiscated again in the course of the next four or five years. Thus this high-handed deed of wholesale spoliation was carried into effect, covered, it is true, by the high- est legal sanction. Roughly speaking, some nine or ten thousand persons were turned adrift, with few exceptions almost destitute, and had to begin the world anew, as the result of the sup- pression of the smaller religious houses. In the preamble to the famous act of Parliament of 1536, suppressing the three-hundred and seventy-six smaller monasteries, we come upon the follow- ing remarkable words, which deserve careful consideration : The Kings most royal Majesty, being supreme head on earth under God of the Church of England, daily studying and devising the increase, advancement, and exaltation of true doctrine and virtue in the said Church, to the only glory and honor of God, and the total extirping and destruction of vice and sin, having knowl- edge that the premises be true, as well by the accompts of his late visitations as by sundry credible informations ; considering also that divers great and solemn monas- teries of this realm, wherein (thanks be to God!) religion is right well kept and ob- served, be destitute of such full number of religious persons as they ought and may keep, hath thought good, etc. Thus, in the one formal document which legalizes a comparatively small portion of the great confiscation which was based upon some sort of evidence, we find an admission, couched in grave and measured language, that there were great and solemn monasteries in the realm, wherein religion was right well kept. For these, Parliament thanked God. The only semblance of fault- finding in the case of these great and solemn monasteries appears to be that they were not quite full ! in other ~~ords, these houses did not con- 71 72 tam their normal number of religious persons (the decrease in the number of religious after the Black Death of the fourteenth century has been already noticed) ; and yet within five years all these great and solemn houses, with- out exception, were swel)t into the spoilers net ; the dwellers in them driven out ; their lands appropriated by the king; their most cherished pos- sessions confiscated ; very many of their stately minsters, abbeys, churches desecrated, ruined, destroyed, posi- tively for the sake of the lead which covered their roofs ; their holy vessels converted to strange uses ; their sacred vestments prostituted to unworthy pur- poses ; their priceless libraries scat- tered, tossed heedlessly aside. Never was so reckless a ruin accomplished never so vast a robbery consummated with the flimsy veil of a subsequent Parliamentary sanction. For, although no act, as in the case of the smaller houses, legalized this far more important confiscation, a retrospective edict by the kings direc- tion was prepared and introduced by Lord Audley in 1539, which threw over the destruction of the great monas- teries, where religion was right well kept, the shield of the law. Freely, voluntarily, under no manner of con- straint, exaction, or compulsion, so runs the utterly mendacious act of Parliament, which serves to whitewash the tremendous deed of spoliation, have many abbeys, priories, friaries, hospitals, and other religious houses resigned themselves, their lands, their property, their rights, into the hands of the king, since the twenty-seventh year of his reign [A.D. 1536, date of the Small Houses Suppression Act]. Let the king and his heirs possess these houses forever. Nor was this shameless act merely retrospective in its provision ; it ar- ranged for similar future deeds of con- fiscation thus Other religious houses may happen in future to be suppressed, dissolved, renounced, relinquished, for- feited, given up, or otherwise to come into the kings hands ; let him enjoy them. Two more years were needed The Passing of the Monk. to complete the work when this act was passed. Before 1541 was run out, all was over, and the last of the En- glish monasteries had passed into the hands of King Henry VIII. What now had been the past history of these great orders ? Dean Kitchin no passionate admirer of monasti- cism dwells upon their influence on the world around them, in the pattein which a religious house (he was writing of a Benedictine community) afforded for the organization of home and public life generally. Administrative completeness, such as reigned within the convent walls, was not to be found elsewhere; in no other place do we find so exact a subdivision o~ labor, so placid a sequence of routine. Even the kings court, in comparison, was but slightly organized; the feudal lord, who was in some ways the nearest parallel, lived careless and profuse, and his castle was a scene of rough, ill-ordered plenty, secured by no very scrupulous means. The civic communities had as yet but little of the common life, and administered few estates. On the other hand, the strong organization of the religious houses, the subdivision of responsibility, the custom of demanding and carefully auditing the yearly accounts of the officers, combined to make monas- teries patterns after which a better order slowly came into being. They had no need to take part in the fighting which ab- sorbed and destroyed the well-being of the lay world; within their walls peace reigned; from their stately churches ever rose the sound of prayer and praise; their gates were open to the pilgrim and traveller; hospitality and brotherly kindness softened in many ways the harsh incidence of feudal custom. A monastery to take chance in- stances such as the Priory of St. Peter at Bath, or the Abbey of St. Mary at Tewkesbury, was highly es- teemed by the people of the district where the religious house was situated, some of whom were benefactors or descendants of benefactors of the house, nor was the influence of such a monastery confined to a few fain- ilies ; the power of its example and its teaching was felt and acknowledged far beyond the boundaries of its immediate neighborhood. The Passing of the Monk. in the earlier Middle Ages it was the monks who taught Europe to practise ao~riculture, not to despise it; and to the end of their existence in England, they were ever among the best farmers and the most indulgent landlords. In commerce it is not too much to say that the monastic societies ~vere in a way forerunners of modern trade. Dean Kitchin, in his monograph on the Charter of Edward III. for the St. Giles Fair, speaks of the many stran- gers from various parts of England, and even from distant foreign lands, coming to this renowned fair, and pur- chasing silver or jewels or spices from the famed St. Swithuns stalls belong- in g to the great Winchester monastery, whose monks had more than one estab- lished shop in the fair, where they dealt in wines and stuffs as well as in spices and groceries, and in this way contributed not a little to the creation of the vast commerce of our country. In the early years of the fourteenth century we know that there were no fewer than one hundred and eigl ~ty religions houses in England xvhich supplied the Florentine and Flemish markets with wool. in art, during the Middle Ages, the Benedictines and the other orders were prominent, not only as the chief patrons of architecture, painting, sculp- ture, music, and embroidery, but as contributing from their ranks probably the majority of the number of En- glish artists. The stately and magnifi- cent abbeys and churches, and the beautiful buildings which clustered round them, were mostly built for the monks; they were probably lar~ely designed by gifted members of their order; they were certainly commenced and completed under their immediate direction. Works such as the Chapel of Kings, Cambridge, the Great Tower of Gloucester, the Bell Tower of Eves- ham, the Lady Chapel of Gloucester, carried out in the last century of their existence, show that to the end neither the hand nor brain of the monk artist had lost its cunning. We possess a curious and interest- ing memoir, the Rites of Durham. 73 The Rites have been accurately described as a document containing a connected account of life in a great mo- nastic community at the very moment of its dissolution ; as being certainly the work of a man who had personal information and who had seen what he describes. In this little plain record of about one hundred pages, again and again we come upon allusions to the innumerable art treasures contained in the stately church: every window in the vast building was evidently filled with brilliant jewelled glass, such as no following age has succeeded in im- itating; every wall was bright with frescoes ; its many altars were rich with sumptuous embroideries; its sto- ried shrines were adorned with cun- ning work in gold and silver, in brass and iron ; its treasury was filled with costly plate, its guest-chamber with rich and beautiful furniture; its sacred vestments were marvels of skill and taste. What we know of Durham in its palmy days is true of many another great monastic abbey church of the Middle Ages. In England for some four or five hundred years the monk was the great artist, as well as the great patron of art. The obligations of our country for several hundred years to the monastic orders in the matter of education and literature, in the production and multi- plication of books, if not of so con- spicuous a nature as in the case of art, still are by no means to be forgotten by the historian of the work of the monks. In some of the great houses where the cloisters are more or less preserved, a long row of carrells or little study chambers can still be seen. In Gloucester these are specially remark- able ; in the South Cloister-walk some twenty of them are absolutely perfect; they remain as they were on the day of the dissolution of the monastery, save that the desks and seats have vanished ; the very closets where the books in more immediate use were kept, can still be seen. In these little closets or carrells, during several hours of the day, the monks sat and read or wrote. A library was also a The Passing of the Monk. part of every considerable house ; this was under the care of one of the chief obedientiaries of the monastery. In some houses a special scriptorium 01 writing-room was set apart for the use of the monks who were employed in copying the manuscripts. Many an artistic monk, Dean Kitchin tells us, constantly spent the best part of a life- lime bending over a single important manuscript, copying it, and minutely illuminating the precious and beautiful volume. Not a few of these books so copied were lent to the clergy and others outside the monastery who cared for these things. A monastic library did not merely contain books bearing upon theology and sacred Scripture ; medical and philosophical works, classics, histories, etc., were carefully treasured up by the monks. Some of these books were richly bound, and splendid with illumi- nations in gold and various colors. The Durham Rites speak of a great store of ancient manuscripts possessed by the house to help the monks in their study. The Rites go on to say how the store inclUded the old auncient written Doctors of the Church, as other profane authors, with divers other holie mens wourks, so that every one dyd studye what Doctor pleased them best, havinge the Librairie at all times to go and studye in, besydes their carrells. From the same Rites we learn that in the dormitory each monk had a little chamber to himself with a win- (low, or a bit of a window, and in the win(low a desk for books, so that he could study, if he pleased, in the hours spent in the dormitory. Special di- rections were given that the monks and novices were not to be disturbed in their carrells while they were studying. In their care for education, in days when all training for the young, save in arms and field sports, was compara- tively little thought of, the record of the monastic orders is an honorable one. Besides maintaining a song school, the more important houses regularly trained their novices in other learning; and again, to use the words of the Durham Rites, yf the Maister dyd see that any of them weare apte to lernynge and dyd applie his booke, and had a pregnant wyt withall, then the Maister dyd lett the Prior have intelligence. Then streighteway after, he was sent to Oxford to school. Other people too sent their sons to the monks for education, which was some- times given freely and sometimes paid for. Mention has been made of Oxford. The Durham College, besides the pupils sent up from the abbey, ad- mitted regular students. A purely monastic college, as early as A.D. 1283, was founded in Oxford for thirteen monks of St. Peters Abbey, Glouces- ter. This, before the end of the thir- teenth century, developed into a great Benedictine house of learning, and a long list of abbeys united together to maintain this Benedictine college at Oxford, which flourished until the Reformation. Nor were the nunneries behindhand in the work of education in the rough and comparatively unlettered Middle Ages. Mr. Gasquet, quoting from con- temporary records, writes as follows Here (lie is speaking of a Wiltshire convent) the young maids were brought up and learned needlework, the art of confectionery, surgery, etc. Passing from the question of the enormous and beneficent influence ex- ercised by the monastic orders in a country like England during the Mid- dle Ages, it will be well to (Iraw a picture of the life lived in a great mon- astery such as Gloucester or Win- chester or Durham. First of all, any idea of a solitary life lived for the most part in separate cells, like the Carthu- sian ideal now carried out at the Grande Chartreuse and in the other houses of their order, must be put aside. In a I Benedictine (the principal and by far the most influential of the orders) mon- astery, the life was intensely social. The brothers worshipped together in the church, they took counsel together 74 in the chapter-house, they studied to- gether in the cloister, they ate together in the refectory, they slept in one great dormitory. The vast size of these refectories and dormitories may be clearly traced at Gloucester and other places. Under the lord abbot, as at Glouces- ter or Evesham, or the lord prior, as at Winchester or Durham, were gathered a group of officers or obedientiaries by whom the monks, their many depend- ants and tenants, were ruled ; the whole constituting a well-ordered com- munity which, to use Dean Kitchins words, on the one side kept up a perpetual protest against the rude vices of the age, and on the other side showed to the king, nobles, prelates, and burghers the pattern of an organization for the conduct of life and business which could hardly have been found elsewhere in mediieval times. By the abbots side stood the first, second, and third priors, the lieutenants of the abbot, and ready at once to step into his place should the chief be at any time incapacitated from exercising a general supervision over the whole community. After these dignified offi- cers came a group specially attached to the great church or abbey. The sacrist had charge generally of the innumer- able services ; everything that bore upon their order and dignity was re- ferred to him. This great official often had the care of the library, and acted as chancellor of the society, and wrote the letters which had to be sent out. After him came the precentor, who ar- ranged the elaborate music and singing, which formed so large a part of the many services. He presided over the singers, arranged the processions, and exercised, under the abbot and the prior, the chief authority in church. In some houses the offices of sacrist and precentor were combined. The circa was an official especially charged with the discipline of the ser- vices. His little stone desk, near the entrance of the choir, is still to be seen near the north gate of the choir of Gloucester. There, in the night hours or in the deep dawn of the early morn- 75 ing, he would stand, and carefully watch who was absent from the com- pany, and would report the truant to the full chapter on the following day; and when all were assembled in the gorgeous choir, the same officer went his rounds, with his little lamp gleam- ing in the dimly lighted church, to see if any weary brother had fallen asleep, and to rouse him up again to take his share in the perpetual nightly round of prayer and praise. The custos operum or master of the works ranks the last of these great obedientiaries. His was no light duty, the watching over the constant repairs needed in these vast hives called inon- asteries, which clustered round the abbey. In Jocelyn de Brakelondas delicious gossipy Chronicle of Bury St. Edmunds, the ruined state into which many of the abbey buildings had fallen during the careless reign of Abbot Hugo, in the reign of King John, was severely commented on. The monk was a restless artist, an indefatigable architect, and loved to be ever decorating his home with new, beautiful, sometimes fantastic work. Our cathedrals and abbeys, in the ex- quisite confusion of style of architec- ture which they present, tell us how successive generations of monks planned, designed, and carried out new works. They never wearied in their efforts to make their beautiful churches more beautiful ; over all this the custos operurn was supreme. We, who after long centuries are content to admire, and faintly to copy what our fathers have done in abbeys and cathedral buildings,owe a large debt to many an unknown, unrecorded custos operum. The next group of monastic officials is a more homely one. The first in order was the receiver or treasurer. He had the duty of receiving and account- ing for the rents of the abbey farms. His office in later days, when from various causes the religions houses grew poorer, must often have been an onerous, if not a painful one, and on him fell the perpetual strain to make ends meet, while sadly insufficient re~ sources were at his command. The Passing of the Monk. burial in the cemetery hard by, to lie among the brethren gone before. The infirmarian usually possessed a knowledge of medicine and surgery. This knowledge was not uncommon among the Benedictines. Every mo- nastic library contained books on these subjects, and not a few among the more famous mnedheval physicians be- longed to this order. The master of the novices was chosen for his skill in and love for teaching. The guest-master had the charge of vis- itors, an important (lepartment in many of the greater houses. Hospitality to travellers was a distinguish ing feature, and the remains of the great guest- halls we still possess tell us how carefully and even lavishly this was provided for. At Durham several of the large prebendal houses have been arranged out of the apartments and other offices belonging to the guests hall. Entertainment [says the Rites of Dur- ham,] was given to all staits, both noble, gentle, and what degree soever that came thether as strangers, ther interteynment not being inferior to any place in Ingland, both for the goodness of their diets, the sweete and daintie furniture of ther lodg- ings, and generally all things necessarie for traveillers. The Passing of the Monk. The obedientiary with the quaint title of hordarian shared, with the re- fectorarian and cellarer, the labor no small one of providing for the bodily needs of the numerous company who dwelt in a great house. Certain es- tates belonging to the monastery were set aside for this purpose. These were administered by the hordarian, who derived his somewhat barbarous title from his duties. He was set over the hoard, or the supplies of food re- quired for the refectory. The diet of the monks varied in different houses. IDean Kitehin, after careful examina- tion of diet rolls, does not consider that the religious on the whole fared amiss. There is, however, no doubt but in many, perhaps in the majority of houses, there was a wearying same- ness in the food provided, which was often rough and coarse. It must be borne in mind that most of the brethren were not drawn from the poor labor- ing folk, but rather from the upper middle class. An examination of the diet rolls shows that condiments such as mustard were freely used, especially on the many fast days. It would ap- pear that the tasteless and somewhat indigestible fish diet became often re- pugnant. Among the other notable obedientia- ries, the Thftrmarian occupies a prom- Another well-known obedientiarv in inent position. Tender care for the a great monastery, the camerarius sick and ailing especially distinguished (chamberlain), must not be forgotten. the Benedictines. Their infirmaries He had the charge of all the furniture were usually spacious, and not unfre- of the (lormitory and refectory, and of quently were richly ornamented. The the various chambers and halls of the ruins of the gracefnl arches, still grace- monastery ; and when the vast size ful after even a clumsy attempt at and complex arrangements of a large restoration, of the infirmary of the Benedictine house are borne in mind, Benedictine house of Gloucester, tes- it will be seen that the duties of this tify to the former existence of stately officer were no light ones, and required buildings erected for the sick monk, constant skill and forethought to pre- This hospital, which adjoined the clois- serve the necessary decency and clean- ter, the sick shared with the aged liness and customary dignity, without brothers whose waning strength was exceeding the sum of money set apart insufficient to enable them to take part for this purpose an amount which in the austere life and many services of gradually decreased in well-nigh all the the house. In this building, in slow, religious houses as time went on. tranquil decay, or in the little sunny There were a number of subordinate garden attached to it, they spent their officials, such as cooks, door-keepers, last days, without cares and without gardeners, and the like, who need not fears, till they were carried out to be specially described. Indeed the 76 The Passing of the Monk. policy of the great monastic orders was raFher to multiply offices, with a view of providing the brethren with occupa- tions which would give them an inter- est in the well-being of their order, and in the prosperity and discipline of their own particular house. The foregoing sketch of course refers to the organization of one of the more important Benedictine communities, such as Gloucester or Durham; but, with necessary modifications, it applies to the general government of even the smaller communities. But the centre of a monastery was the church or abbey. Mr. Hunt, in his Account of the Priory of St. Peter and St. Paul at Bath, gives the follow- ing r~sum~ of the daily service of a Benedictine house : In all seasons alike the monks rose from their beds at midnight, and went into a cold church think how terribly cold it must have been in the depth of winter I and there went through a service, or rather two services, Matins and Lauds, which were mostly sung, and lasted about an hour and a half. They then crept back to bed again. At 7 A.M. they again assembled in their church for Prime, and at its close there was a short meeting in the Chapter- house for the ordinary business of the house, and specially its discipline. After that, one of the monks in priests orders would, in his turn, celebrate Our Ladys Mass, while others would be reading or talking in the cloister. At 9 A.M. came Tierce, which was followed by High Mass and Sext. Dinner time was, in the four- teenth century probably 11 or 11.30, and during the meal some lesson would be read aloud. After dinner came Nones; and while most of the monks were engaged in that service, the Conversi, or lay-brethren, and the monks who had in their turn served the others at dinner, sat down to their meal. Then came a short time set apart, if desired, for sleep, which was fol- lowed by active employment of different kinds, by study or recreation. Vespers were sung at 3 P.M. Supper was at six, and was followed by a reading from some book of edification. At 7.30 came Coin- pline, and then at eight the brethren went to the dormitory to sleep until they were roused for Matins. It was in the intervals of these stated duties that the officers of a Benedictine house transacted its manifold business, and the other brethren studied in the carrells or wrote and illuminated in the Scriptorium. Up to the period of the dissolution of the monasteries, A.D. 15361541, with little change, this had been the unvary- ing use of the large majority of the religious houses in England. Prayer and praise to Almighty God in their church or abbey had been the principal object of their lives dating from the reforms of Lanfranc for well-nigh five hundred years. In the Durham Rites we read how before the high altar were three marvellous faire silver basons hung in chaines of silver ; these contained great wax candles, which did burne continually both day and night, in token that the house was always watchinge to God. Many and vari- ous are the estimates which men make as to the efficacy of prayer in changing or modifying Gods purposes towards men; few will, however, be found to deny the moral beauty of this concep- tion, which was the common heritage of all the monastic orders. The ideal of every monastery was the ideal typi- fied by the Durham ever-burning lights: The house was always watchinge to God. The well-known collects and prayers enshrined in the solemn lit- urgy of the Church of England, are, in large measure, the prayers and collects prayed and sung for so many centu- ries, by day and by night, in the one thousand abbeys and chapels of the monks; they were thus forever in- terceding for all sorts and conditions of men. But, besides the perpetual prayer for others, a peculiar spiritual fellowship existed between the religious of the same order, and was indeed often extended to those of other orders. Mr. Hunt (An Account of the Priory of St. Peter and St. Paul at Bath) gives us a remarkable illustration of this fellowship in the bond for prayer made between the Priory of Bath and six other Benedictine convents, as far back as A.D. 1077, in which the parties agreed to pray for one another and their brethren, and to be loyal to th& 77 78 king and queen with one heart and one soul. It will be observed, adds Mr. Hunt, that two of the abbots were of the conquering race, and their union with their English brethren is pleasant to contemplate. When a monk died, a messenger was despatched to all the religious coin- inunities from which prayers were due, and indeed to many others, with a mortuary roll, having at the head an announcement of the death and a short account of the deceased. Each com- munity acknowledged receiving the roll by writing upon it a promise of prayer for the soul of the departed, and, as a rule, a request for similar prayers for their deceased brethren and benefac- tors was added. The benefits of thcse prayers seem to have been granted to a large number of benefactors and others. Nor was this privilege by any means confined to the great and wealthy; a very small, even a nominal payment, such as a pound of wax, seems to have qualified a man or woman to be received, if otherwise fitting, into the number of fratres or sororcs of the convent. Those so admitted knew that the divine sacri- fice was daily offered for them in the church of the monastery, and that prayer was continually made for them while they lived, and that after death the welfare of their souls would be the subject of special intercession. The historian of the Bath Monastery goes on to say, that whatever our religious opinions may be, we can hardly fail to see something beautiful in this tie be- tween the outside world and the con- vent; the (laily common life, often rough and hard, thus enriched and softened by spiritual sympathy and love. To Lanfrane, the friend of William the Conqueror, the first Norman arch- bishop, the great monastic reformer of the eleventh century, the kindler of light and force among the Norman clergy, is owing in great measure the plan of life which with certain intet ruptions, occasioned as different houses fell away for a season from their ideal, was led in that vast network of reli The Passina of the Monk. gious communities which covered En- gland from 1070 to 1fl41. It was a noble as well as an enduring concep- tion. The principles of monasticism in the England of the last half of the eleventh century, as taught by Lan- franc and his great pupil and successor Anseim, are well summed up by Dean Church The hard, stern sa3culum (age) was un- manageable and uncontrollable. Those who believed in Christs teaching might be honest in leaving the wild tumult without, and, by adopting the monastic profession, secure ports of refuge and shelter, where men might find the religion which the con- ditions of active society seem to exclude. A man who wanted to be active in the world had little choice but to be a soldier; a man who wanted to serve God with all his heart had little choice but to be a monk. The governing thought of monastic life was that it was a warfare militia, and the monastery a camp or barrack. There was continual drill and exercise, fixed times, appointed tasks, hard fare, stern punish- ment ; watchfulness was to be incessant, obedience prompt and absolute. Monas- teries were to be places where the search after peace and light and purity, and the conquest of evil, were made the objects of human life. The life of a monk was a hard and austere one at best; it was sweetened and beautified with few of those luxu- ries men are ever accustomed to asso- ciate with even moderate comfort and happiness. The diet as we have seen was, if plentiful, gel~eralIy coarse and unvarying, and the fasts frequent and rigorous; and in a damp and chilly climate like that of England, the monk must have often suffered acutely from cold. There were few fires kept up in any monastery. For the monks, save in the common room or in the refec- tory at snow time, there was no fire. The common room or house is de- scribed in the Rites of Durham as havimv a fyre keapt iu yt all winter, for the mounckes to cume and warme them at, being allowed no fyre but that only. We are expressly told in the same Rites, they were allowed no fyre in the dormitory. We meet with constant notices respecting warm The Passing of the Monk. clothing, furs, etc., so chill was the atmosphere of the great church, the refectory, and the dormitory. Any one who has had experience of the cold, damp carrells of the famous mon- astery of Gloucester, where the cloister was no doubt glazed as it is now, can- not help wondering how study could have been ever carried on under such circumstances. Yet in most cloisters, as at Westminster, there was positively no glazing; the monks, as they sat or ~valked, were exposed to the winds and damp. The recreations of the monk were few aud monotonous; the chief of them was perhaps the pacing up and down the little walks of the narrow limits of the cloister garth and garden, or ceme- tery, during certain hours of the day, where even such gossipy talk as Joce- lyn de Brakelonda tells us of in his quaint Memoirs of the House of S. Edmund at Bury, in the days of King John, was sternly checked by that obedientiary the circa as he moved about among the brethren at recre- ation. There was a bowling-green for the novices, which the professed monks seemed to have used at times. These novices and the other schoolboy pupils in the house have left the traces of their games ; on the stone benches of the Gloucester cloisters, where we know these boys were taught, and where they spent a portion of their lives, are playboards not obscurely marked in the stones. These game- boards for Fox and Geese, Nine Mens Morris, In and Out, and other games, are found in other con- ventual buildings at Westminster, Nor- wich, Salisbury, Durham, etc. Other vestiges of unlawful recreations of the more youthful dwellers in a monastery, such as cutting and carving the stones with letters and other devices, are oc- casionally found ; for instance, half- way up the winding stair of the great tower at Gloucester, there is a rough little figure in the perfect dress of a burgher of the time of the Wars of the Roses, evidently the secret work of a youthful amateur carver in stone. In some monasteries the monk was 79 allowed to l)055C55 and to amuse him- self with strange pet animals, such as apes, peacocks, falcons, and even tame bears; and St. Swithuns Consuetudi- nary tells us that the cellarer had the special care of these animalia a di- versis fratribus per multa tempora ac- quisita. Much has been said and written con- cerning the evil example set by the monastic orders in matters of health and cleanliness, and there is no doubt but that in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, if not later, an ostentatious neglect in these matters characterized the dwellers in monasteries. The scene which followed the martyrdom of Thomas k Becket has been often quoted, when beneath the stately trap- pings of the murdered prelate were discovered the garments of a Benedic- tine, and beneath these, an inner cov- ering of a rough hair-cloth, which swarmed with vermin; boiling over with them, as one account describes the sight, like water in a simmering caldron. The passage in Archbishop Lanfrancs Decrees (eleventh century), which orders the chamberlain of the house to change the hay in the monks pallets once a~year, and once a year to clean out the dormitory, throws a strong light upon the state of a monas- tery in the days of the Norman kings. What must have been the general con- dition of a great chamber in which thirty, forty, or even many more monks, slept for a year on the same hay? Another act given by Lanfrauc pre- scribes one bath a year just before Christmas day. This strange neglect of the body, however, appears to have been based upon two considerations: the one, that disregard of the perish- able body was an acceptable service; the other, that dirt, however unwhole- some in itself, was regarded as a great preservative against cold. But, as the Middle Ages advanced, a very different rule of life was gradually adopted in the matter of cleanliness. In the fourteenth century the Con- suetudines in Refectorio of the important house of St. Swithun at Winchester especially charges the prior The Passing of the Monk. with the care of strewing the refectory with new rush mats seven times in the year, three in winter and four in sum- mer. These rush mats, Dean Kitchin tells us, formed a considerable item in the monastic life. They were often woven by the monks themselves, who slept under them or on them, prayed ~n them, sat on them, and lay on them when dying. They were harder than the straw litter and more wholesome. The same Consuetudinary tells us how one of the chamberlains duties was to renew the canvas cloths on the refec- tory table from time to time, and to Vrovide napkins to wipe the cups of silver and of wood; provision is also made for cleaning out the hall by the Vorter. In the Durham Rites, that accurate picture of a great religious house just before the dissolution, we read of a fair Almerie (close to the refectory door), joyned in the wall; all the forepart of the Almerie was carved work, for to give ayre -to the towels, and there was a door in the forepart of the Almerie, and every mounche had a key for the said Almerie, wherein Aid hinge clean towels for the mounches to Arye their hands on when they washed and went to dinner. The almerie hard by the refectory door, with the iron hinge of the door and the keautifully carved open work -above to let in the air to dry the towels, is still to be seen in the Gloucester -cloister opposite the lavatory, only -slightly injured by time and the horses -of a troop of Cromwells soldiers which were stabled there! The Durham Rites describe the ~ fair layer or conduit for the mounchs to wash their hands and faces at, coy- ered with lead, and all of marble, hay- Aug many little conditts or spouts of -brasse, with xxiiii. cockes of brasse. This washing, probably in the four- teeuth century, became part of the monastic discipline, for the Rites clene towels. The place where this call bell hung is still to be seen in the Gloucester cloister. The same Rites too provide for an obedien- tiary of the house seeing to the scru- pulous cleanliness of the geste chamber, where all the table clothes, table napkings, and all the naprie within the chamber, as sheetes and pillowes, were to be kept sweate and deane. A study on the monastic life, which in its day so powerfully influenced our country on the whole for good, and which, we are intensely convinced, trained up many earnest and devout souls, would be incomplete and one- si(led if no notice were taken of the more obvious faults which accompanied the system, and of some of the evil consequences to the outer world. The idea which has already been (lwelt upon as the ground idea of men like Lanfrauc and Anselm that earnest men could best fulfil Gcds pur- pose by leaving the unmanageable and uncontrollable world to follow its own way, and by securing for themselves ports of refuge and shelter out of its wild tumult, was arrived at by ignoring the solemn prayer of the founder of Christianity I pray not that Thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that Thou shouldest keep them from the evil. The natural re- sult of this selfish as it now seems to thoughtful men purpose was to beget a spirit of stern exclusiveness among the religious. This at once showed itself in the architecture of those splen- did and matchless homes of prayer, which the spirit of devotion and enthu- siasm for godliness, undoubtedly exist- ing among the monastic bodies, guided them to erect and adorn. In every great church and abbey the choir was looked upon as the most sacred part of the church this was beautified and cared for with an especial care, and was rigidly reserved for the monk ; from tell us how a bell hung near the con- this sacred choir every one who was -ditt door to give warning at a leaven of not a brother was excluded. In not a -the clock for the mounchs to cumme, few of the monastic churches, such as -wash, and dyne, having their closetts in the lordly Abbey of Evesham, the -~or almeries kept always with swete and nave as well as the choir was closed to ~8o like Passing of the Monk. the outer world, and another and less important church was erected close by for worshippers who belonged not to the charmed circle of professed monks. When the day of destruction arrived, the mass of the people cared little or nothing about the ruin of a building from which they had been always ex- eluded. The notion sank deeply into the heart of the monk that the object of his dedication to the religious life was to secure his own salvation, with little reference to the spiritual needs of the world outside. Self-centred, having few interests outside those cloistered walls where they proposed to pass their lives, under the shadow of which they hoped to die, they regarded themselves as a chosen band, they believed themselves to be moving heavenwards as a company and all together ; the whole notion underlying their existence was that of each helping the others within the narrow limits of the community. On the other hand, their religion had hardly any outward tendency; they had no vocation to save the outer world. The monks hardly realized that those outside were their brethren, hungry and naked, full of needs and sufferings; the provision for their stately church, their community, their administration, made them hard and unfeeling towards others; and this was fostered and aggravated by their own firm belief that they were, in a sense, especially Gods elect, the heirs of safety here and of salvation hereafter. This was the deliberate opinion of Dean Kitchin, one of the most thought- ful of our modern scholars in monastic lore, and this opinion is shared by other students of our tune ; and though perhaps in the above-quoted words it is somewhat exaggerated and unduly pressed, their estimate contains much truth, and the downfall of monasticism in England is no doubt very largely due to the undoubted existence of this stern spirit of exclusiveness. The monk, notwithstanding his splendid record of service done to religion, to urt, to letters, and indeed to well-nigh everything that made life beautiful and desirable in a nation, had failed in the ilong run to find the key to the peoples LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 370 81 hearts ; and when he fell, at the bid- ding of a tyrannical and unscrupulous king, the victim of a false and unjust cry, his fate was almost unpitied and well-nigh unnoticed. Monastic Christianity finds its most complete expression in that small man- ual of devotion put out in the fifteenth century, known as The Imitation of Christ. Its boundless popularity re- minds us, said Dean Milinan, that it supplies some imperious want in the Christianity of mankind; but, like monasticism, of which it is the perfect exponent, it is absolutely and entirely selfish in its aims as in its acts ; its sole, single, exclu- sive object is the purification, the elevation of the individual soul, of the man abso- lutely isolated from his kind, with no fears, no hopes, no sympathies of our common nature; he has absolutely withdrawn him- self, not only from the cares, the sins, the trials, but from the duties, the moral and religious fate of the world. The Dean of St. Pauls summary of the spirit of the famous Manual in connection with the aims of monasti- cisin is remarkable; and although some who love the book may be pained by Milmans words, they are worth pondering over. It was the knowledge of this fatal error which suggested to Dominic and Francis and their companions, in the early years of the thirteenth century, the idea of founding the Mendicant Orders. The acknowledged aim of the Dominican and Franciscan friar was to spread abroad those glad tidings which the Benedictine chose mainly to confine within the walls of his own religious house. Their primary ob- ject, different from the Benedictine ideal, was not the salvation of the in- dividual monk, but the salvation of others through him. The rapid growth of the popularity of the friars is a sufficient indication that in some re- spects at least they had found the key to the hearts of the people; nor is it too much to say that the coming of the friars put off the downfall of monasticism in England for two cen- turies. 82 Another grave accusation levelled at the Benedictines charges them with neglecting the churches on their broad lands and allowing them to be but im- perfectly and inadequately served by inferior members of their own com- munity, or by illiterate and poorly paid priests appointed by them. This sub- ject has as yet never been thoroughly investigated, but the language used by some of our modern writers in their review of this charge is inexcusable, and unwarranted by the facts of the case, so far as they are known. Mr. hunt, in his lucid and interesting ac- count of the Priory of Bath, speaks of these churches on the monastic and other lands, thus The system of appropriation of revenues which properly belonged to certain churches grew to its full extent by degrees, and was a general abuse. It was much ameliorated by the ordination of vicarages, by which in each case a fixed portion of the revenues of his church was secured to the parish priest, the remainder being allotted to the monas- tery. That men of an inferior calibre belong- ing to the house or elsewhere were generally appointed to these benefices, seems a baseless assertion. It will be remembered, for instance, in the well- known Memoirs of Jocelyn de Brake- londa, how desirous the monk Sampson, one of the ablest of the brethren of the great monastery of St. Edmund at Bury, was to obtain the living of Woolpit, which belonged to his house. The charge if properly substantiated, a grave oneof appoint- ing inferior and ill-qualified persons to cures of souls, most likely grew out of the state of things which followed the ravages of the Black Death. Some steps had been taken by Par- liament to mitigate the abuses which undoubtedly existed in the matter of parish churches belonging to the mon- asteries in the reigns of Richard II. and Henry IV. But they proved in- effectual. In 1529 Convocation ordered that the abuses of monastic appropria- tions should be investigated and amended. The great confiscation, however, rudely interrupted this and many another project of well-con- sidered reform of undoubted abuses, and the lands and goods of the monas- tic orders were seized by men from whose minds, to use Canon Dixons words, nothing was further than to restore the appropriations; and the incumbents of monastic and other benefices, instead of being better off, found themselves (after the great confiscation) sunk in a penury which grew greater with every successive generation. To many a thinker, perhaps to the majority, in the sixteenth century, the work of the monasteries seemed fin- ished. Be this how it may, through the long, dark period of the Middle Ages, these monastic foundations had rendered incalculable service to Chris- tianity and to civilization. If, as many think, it were well their work being done that in the sixteenth century they should disappear and give place to others, it is only common justice to lift off the veil of undeserved obloquy with which the authors of their down- fall, for their own mean purposes, have disfigured their memory. The accusations against the moral character of the monk were made in order that men might welcome the dissolution of the monasteries. But the charges were for the most part baseless. The evidence of the visitors of Henry VIII. breaks down when carefully examined. The visitors themselves were men of far from un- blemished character. Their testimony, such as it was, only applied to a very small proportion of the houses accused. The so-called Confessions~~ they pro- duced were infinitesimally few in num- ber, and bore unmistakable signs of being simply cut-and-dried documents. The usual stock stories of the iniquity of monks and nuns were clearly pieces of slanderous gossip, and even King Henrys summary in the preamble to the act of 1536 bore testimony in the strongest terms to the pure state of many great and solemn monas- teries, all of which, without exception, shared in the common ruin. Nothing to justify the traditional The Passing of the Monk. The Passing of the Monk. opinions appears in the results of the visitation of the houses. Mr. Gasquet estimates the number of religious of both sexes who were expelled from the houses as roughly eight thousand persons, besides probably more than ten times that number of people who were their dependants, or otherwise obtained their livelihood in the service of the religious houses. In the com- perta and letters scarcely two hundred and fifty monks and nuns are named as guilty of incontinence ; of these two hundred and fifty, one-third, he tells us, can be identified as having received pensions, which surely even Burnet would consider as disproving the charges in their regard. This would leave less than one hundred and seventy out of eight thousand, tainted by being accused of grave offences against morality by the royal visitors but being accused by such interested parties as the visitors undoubtedly were, is a very different thing from being convicted of guilt. No wit- nesses ever seem to have been pro- duced, nor in any case do the monks appear to have been allowed to answer to the charges brought against them. As regards the nuns, Mr. Gasquet tells us that only some twenty-seven in all were charged with vice, and of these twenty-seven, seventeen are known to have been afterwards pen- sioned ; and that further, in the whole visitation, extending over thirteen counties, the visitors only report that some fifty monks and two nuns were (lesirous to abandon the religions life. Dean Kitchin, in his exhaustive introduction to the Obedientiary Rolls of Winchester, considers that while in that great house the reputa- tion for learning which it acquired in earlier days unfortunately faded away as time went on, the moral character of the body seems to have been con- sistently high ; and again, later, he repeats that even slander had re- spected that venerable house, and the records carefully searched out reveal nothing that can be turned to its serious discredit ; and in his final summary, this writer, whom no one 83 will accuse of an undue partiality for the monastic system speaks of interested and truthiess persons who, in the Reformation time and in later days, have thought to honor God by blackening wholesale the monastic character. Deo per mendacium gratificari is still far too often the guiding line of many a polemic who tries to win his battle by flinging dirt in the faces of his opponents. A glance at a few of the strict dis- ciplinary rules of the famous Priory of Durham, which we find in the Rites already quoted, will form a fitting close to this little study on the monasteries of England at the era of their final dissolution. No woman was ever permitted to come within the body of the church but more than this, in section xviii. we read Yf any woman chaunced to come within the abel gaits or within any presynckt of the house, yf she had bene sene but her length within any place of the saide house, she was taken and sett fast and punished, to gyve example to all others for doning the like. In section xliii., treating of the dom- ter (dormitory), we read how every monk had in that faire large house called the dorter, a little chamber of wainscott to himself; every little chamber was partitioned of, and the novices had also little chambers, each sep- arate; and in the dorter [dormitory] every night was there a privy serche by the Sup~ prior, who did caule at every mounches chamber (by their names) to se good order kept, that none should be wanting (as also that there were no disorders amongst them); also the said Suppriors chamber was the first in the dorter for seing of good order keapt. The doors of the house were rigorously locked, and the keys placed in the charge of a responsible officer. Sec- tion xliii. contains the foliowino . All the dures both of the seller, the frater, the dorter, and the cloisters were locked at evin, at vi. of the clocke, and the keys delivered to the Supprior untyl vii. of the clocke the next morninge. A rigid watch was kept at night by one of the chief obedientiaries. 84 The Supprior s chamber was over the dorter dour, to the intent to heare that none should stir or go forth. And his office was to goe every nighte as a privy watch before mydnyght and after mydnyght to every mounches chamber and to caule at his chamber dour upon him by his name, to se that none of them should be lacking or stolen furth. If a monk were found guilty of any grave moral offence, the punishment was exceedingly severe. Underneath the Master of the Fermyres [infirm- ary] chamber was a strong prison called the Lynghouse, which was ordained for all such as were greate offenders. The guilty monk was to be immured in this dungeon for the space of one hole year in cheynes. No one was to have access to this dungeon save the master of the infirmary, who did let downe their meate thorongh a trap door on a corde, being a great distance from them. It would be interesting to know if offenders often emerged alive from this living death. Some think that the dissolution of the monasteries inflicted a terrible blow on the social state of England ; others are of opinion that the work of the orders was done when the six- teenth century dawned. Neither view prevents us from lamenting the irrepa- rable mischief which the rough and covetous hands of the spoilers worked, when they pulled down the mighty edifice of monasticism. Still less does either oppose our doing a tardy justice to the memory of an army of toilers for God, on the whole guiltless of the grave charges brought against them charges, as we have seen, largely man- ufactured for the purpose of providing an excuse for their spohiation. People of all ranks acquiesced in spiritless fashion in the great act of confiscation. Popular indignation showed itself, here and there, in armed risings or angry murmurs. But these manifestations of feeling were v cry far from being the voice of England as a nation, and they soon died down again ; the monk had disappeared, and only a few cared very much. Even those who still resent with most bitter- ness the irreparable losses brought about by the spoliation, who feel most intensely the wrong done to the mem- ory of a crowd of earnest, God-fearing men, cannot help acknowledging that England as a nation, if it did not ap- plaud, at least calmly accepted the act of its imperious master and his servant Cromwell. Thus the monk passed but no change, however far-reaching in its consequences, like that brought about by the printing-press, no na- tional upheaval, like that which closed the period known as the Middle Ages, can ever obliterate or even dull the memory of the splendor of the work done by the monastic orders. From Biackwoods Magazine. A MASTER OF DECEIT. WHEN Jamie Sontar dropped into the smithy one spring evening with an impracticable padlock, and mentioned casually that he was going to London next day, the assembled neighbors lost power of speech. Did ye say London, Jamie? Ilillocks was understood to have shown great presence of mind in unparalleled circumstances ; an are ye in yir senses ? As sune as ye recover yir strength, Smith, said Jamie, taking no notice of fatuous questions, ahl be obleeged gin ye wud turn the key in this lock. Its a wee dour tae manage ; a hevna used ma bag sin a gaed tae the saut water saxteen year past. Did ye ever hear the like? and the smith looked round the. circle for support, refusing to treat Jamies de- mand as an ordinary matter of busi- ness. What are ye glowerin at me for as if a wes a fairhie ? and Jamie affected anger ; lies a Drumtochty man no as muckle riclit tac see the metropolis o the country as ither fouk, gin lie can pay his fare up an doon ? Ave been wantin tae see the Tooer o London, whar mony a lord lies 1)airted wi his heid, an Westmins- ter Abbey, whar the michty dead are A .Miaster of Deceit. A Miaster of Deceit. Jyin, an the looses o Parliament, whar they haver a hale nicht through, an the streets, whar the soond o feet never ceases. The fact is, and Jainie tasted the situation to the full, am anxious tae improve ma mind, na gin ye speak me fair all maybe gie the Glen a lecture in the schule-hoose in the winter-time, wi a magic-lantern, ye ken. The neighbors regarded him with horror, and, after he had departed, united their wisdom to solve the mys- tery. Jamies by himsel in the Glen, summed up ilillocks, an hes a wy o his am. Ma thocht is that he juist took a notion o seem London, an noo that weve contered [opposed] him, Jamie ill go, gin it cost him ten notes. On his way home Jamie gave Janet Grant a cry, who was sitting very lone- some and sad-like before the door of her little cottage. lloo are ye, Janet? the smell o springs in the air, an the buds are burstia bonnie. Yeill no hae heard that am aff tae London the morrow, juist for a ploy, ye ken, tae see the wonders. As Janet only stared at him, Jamie offered explanations in atonement for his foolishness. Ye see ave aye lied an ambeetion tae see the big warld that lies ootside oor bit Glen, for its far-awa soon lies been often in ma ear. Ave savit a note or twa, an all get a glimpse afore a dee. Its a Providence, an naethin less than an answer tae prayer, broke in Janet, in great agitation; here hey I been murnin that a cudna get tae London masel, an that a kent nae- body there, till ma heart was weary in ma briest. Naethin is sairer, Jamie, than tae ken that ane ye luve is lyin ill amang strangers, wi naebody o her bluid tae speak a couthy word tae her, puir lassie, or gie her a drink. A wes juist seem her lyin ahane at the top of the big lioose, an wushin she wes WiS a in the Glen. 85 Posty said something aboot Lily bein a wee sober, Jamie remarked, with much composure, as if the matter had just come to his memory ; an noo a~ mind ye expeckit her hame for a holiday laist August. She wadna be wantin tae traivel sae far north, am jalonsin. Traivel! cried Janet; naebody cares for a lang road gin it brings us hame; an Lily wes coontin she would come up wi the Druintochty fouk on the first Friday o laist August. A wes cheanin up the place for a month tae haet snod, but she didna come, an am fearin shieill no be here again ;a lied a feelin frae the beginnin a wud never see Lily again. Her letter cam on a Thursday after- noon when I was beginnin tae air the sheets for her bed, an when Posty gave it, I got a turn. Lilys no comm ; sit (loon, a said. Scarlet fever hes broken oot amang the bairns in the family, an she thochit it her duty tae stay and help, for the hoose wes fu o nurses, an the cair- ryin wes by ordinar. It wes a sacrifice, said Jamie. Lily never eneuch cared for hersel the wark wud tell on her, all war- rant. Ma opeenion is that shes never got the better o that month, an, Jamie, a hevna hikit her letters a~ win- ter. Its little she says aboot hiersel, but shes lied a hoast [cough] for sax months, an a gither her breaths failin. Jamie, a hevna said it tae a livin soul, but ave lied a warnin no lan~er back than laist nicht. Lilys deem, an it wes London at hes killed her. Yeill gac tae see her, Jamie ; ye aye were a gude friend tae Lily, an she likit ye wed. Write hoo she is, an bring her back wi you gin she can traivel, that a may see her again, if it be the Lords wull. Dinna be feared o that, Janet; all no come back withioot Lily, and Jamies air of resolution was some con- solation. Before he left, Jamie visited a shel- tered nook in Tochty woods, and when A .Miaster of Deceit. he inquired for Lily Grant next day at the door of a London West-End house, there was a bunch of fresh primroses in his hand. Disna live here noo, did ye say? then what hae ye dune lvi Lily? a mann get tae the boddom o this, and Jamie passed into the hall, the majes- tic personage at the door having no strength left to resist. Tell yir mistress this ineenut that a freend hes come frae Drumtochty tae ask news o Lily Grant, an wull wait till he gets them, and Jamies per- sonality was so irresistible that the personage counselled an immediate audience. Grants father, I suppose? began Lilys mistress, with suspicions fluency. No? Ah, then, son~e relative, no doubt? how good of you to call, and so convenient, too, for I wanted to see some of her family. She was an ex- cellent servant, and so nice in the house; the others were quite devoted to her. But I never thought her strong. Dont you think London is trying to country girls ? Jamie did not offer any opinion. One of the children caught that horrid scarlet fever, and in the begin- ning of August, of all times, when we were going down to Scotland. Some of the servants had left, and the child had to be nursed here; there was lots of work, and it fell on Grant. She was going at that very time to her home Drum something or other; or was it Ben? its always the one or the other when it isnt Mac. IDrumtochty is the name o Lilys hame, an her auld grandmither wes lookin for her aifter three years ser- vice. Quite so; and thats just what I said to her. Take your holiday, Grant, and well worry on somehow, but she wouldnt go. We thought it so pretty of her, for servants are gen- erally so selfish ; and she really did wonderfully, as much as three women, do you know ? If it wudna hurry ye, wud ye tell me her address in London? but I felt you would like to hear all about her, for we had a great idea of Grant. It was a cold it began with, and one day I heard her coughing, and told her she must positively see a doc- tor; but Grant was very obstinate at times, and she never went. Its possible that she didna ken ane. An what cam o her cough? It was too dreadful, and they ought not to have taken me to the room. I could not sleep all night. Grant had broken a blood-vessel, and they thought she was dying. Is Lily deid? demanded Jamie. Oh no; how could you fancy such a thing? But our doctor said it was a very bad case, and that she could not live above a week. We were desolated to part with her, but of course she could not remain I mean, we knew she would receive more atten- tion in a hospital. So you under- stand A dae, broke in Jamie, fine Lily ~vorkit for you an yir bairns in a time o need till a the strength she broclit wi her wes gane, an then, when she wes like tae dee, ye turned her oot as ye wudna hae dune wi ane o yir horses. Yeve a graund hoose an~ cairry a high held, but yere a puir meeserable cratur, no worthy tae be compared wi the lass ye hey dune tae deith. You have no right but Ja mie s eyes went through her and she fell away ; she can have her wages for two months. No one penny o yir siller wull she touch beyond her lawful due ; gie me the name o the hospital, an all tak care o oor puir lass masel. When Jamie was told at the hospital that Lily had been taken away again in the ambulance next day to the house of the visiting physician, his wrath had no restraint. Is there nae place in this ceety whar a freendless lassie can rest till she gacs tae her laist hame? and Jamie set off for the physician, refusing to hear any explanation. Hey a an appointment wi Sir An- Of course ; Im coining to that, dra? Yes, a hey, an for this verra 86 A .Miaster of Deceit. ineenut. So again he got access, for the virile strength that was in him. We have done all we could for her, but she has only a day to live, said Sir Andrew, a little man, with the manner of a great heart; she will be glad to see you, for the lassie has been wearying for a sight of some kent face. Yere Scotch, said Jamie, as they ~vent np-stairs, softening and begin- ning to suspect that he might be mis- taken about things for once in his life; hoo did ye bring Lily tae yir am hoose? Never mind that just now, said Sir Andrew. Wait till I prepare Lily for your coming, and Jamie owned the sudden tone of authority. One of your old friends has come to see you, Lily Jamie noted how gentle and caressing was the voice but you must not speak above a whis- per nor excite yourself. Just step into the next room, ~ Jamie, and a flush of joy came over the pale, thin face, that he would hardly have recognized, this is gude o ye tae come sae far, a wes wantin tae see a Drumtochty face afore a Then the tears choked her words. Ou aye, began Jamie, with delib- emation. You see a wes up lookin aifter some o IDrumsheughs fat cattle that he sent aff tae the London mar- ket, so of course a cudna be here with- oot giein ye a cry. It wes a pioy tae find ye, juist like hide-an-seek, but, ma certes, ye hey got a fine hame at laist, and Jamie ap- praised the dainty bed, the soft carpet, the little table with ice and fruit and flowers, at their untold value of kind- ness. Div ye no ken, Jamie, that am But Lily still found the words hard to say at three-and-twenty. Ye mean that ye lievna been takin care o yirsel, an a~ can see that niasel, but he was looking every- where except at Lily, who was waiting to catch his eye. Yeill need to gither yir strength again an come back wi me tae Drumntochty. 87 Ye ken whar thae floors grew, Lily, and Jamie hastily produced his primroses ; a thocht ye micht like a sicht 0 them. Doon ablow the Lodge in the Tochty woods whar the river taks a turn an the sun is sliinin bonnie noo an a birk stands abune the bank an dips intae the water. The verra place, a couthy corner whar the first primroses come oot. Ye hevna forgot the auld Glen, Lily. Dinna greet, lassie, or Sir Andra ill be angry. Ye may be sure lieill dae a he can for ye. He hes, Jamie, an mair than a can tell ; a wud like Grannie an a the fouk tae ken hoo ave been treated as if a wes a leddy, an his am blude. When they laid me in the bed at the hospital, an a githered thatit wudna be lang, an a wfu longin cam intae ma hert for a quiet place tae dee in. It was a graund airy room, an everybody wes kind, an a lied athing ye cud wish for, but it gied against ma nature tae wi a thae strangers in the room; oor hooses are wee, but theyre oor am. Jamie nodded; he appreciated the horror of dying in a public place. Sir Andra cam roond an heard the accoont, an lie saw me greetin a cudna help it, Jamie an he read ma name at the tap o the bed. Youre from my country, he said, but he didna need tae tell me, for a caught the soond in his voice, an ma hiert warmed; dont be cast down, Lily; a coontit it kind tae use ma name; weill do all we can for you. A ken am deem, a said, an am no feared, but a canna thole the thiocht o slippin awa in a hospital ; it wud hae been different at hame. Yeill no want a hame here, Lily ;it wes braid Scotch noo, an it never soonded sne sweet; an, Jamie here the whisper was so how, Jamie had to bend his head a saw the tears in his een. Rest a wee, Lily ; am followin; sae lie took ye tae his am hoose an pit 88 ye in the best room, an theyve waitit on ye as if ye were his am dochter; ye dinna need tae speak; a wudna say but Sir Andra micht be a Christian o the auld kind, a mean, I was a stranger, an d ye took Me in. Jainie, whispered Lily, before he left, theres juist ae thing hurtin me a wee ; its the wy ma mistress lies treated me. A tried tae be faithfu, though maybe a didna answer the bells sae quick the mist sax months, an a thocht she micht hae peetied a lone cratur mair. Its no that a hey ony cause o complaint aboot wages or keel) a wes twice raised, Jamie, an lied athing a needed, an ain no hurt aboot being carried tae the hospital, for there were five stairs tae ma room, an it wudna hae been handy tae wait on me. Na, na, Jamie, am no onreason- able, buta houpit she wud hae come tae see me or sent a bit word ; gin a bodys sober [weak] like me, ye like tae be remembered; it minds you o the luve o God, Jamie, and Lily turned her face away. A wes prayin tae see a IDrumtochty face aince mair, an ave gotten that, an gin ma mistress lied juist said, Yeve dune as weel as ye cud, a wudna ask mair. Ye liaet then, Lily, said Jamie, taking an instant resolution, for ave been tae see yir mistress, an a wes fair ashamed the wy she spoke aboot ye, being Drumtochty masel, an no wantin tae show l)ride. As sures am here, she cudna find words for her tliochts o ye ; it wes naetliin but yir faithfulness an yir ~ude wark, hoo abody liket ye an hoo gratefu she wes to you. A wes that affeckit that a lied tae leave. What wud ye say, wumman, gin yon graund lady hes been twice a-day at the hospital speirin for you, kerridge an a, mind ye ; but ye ken theyre terribly busy in thae places, an canna aye get time tae cairrv the messages. But thats no a, for the glow on Lilys face was kindling Jamies in- spiration, and he saw no use for econ- omy in a good work. What think ye A Miaster of Deceit. o this for a luck-penny? twenty pund exact, an a in goud ; it looks bonnie glintin in the liclit, and Jamie emptied on the table the store of sov- ereigns he had brought from Muirtown bank without shame. The mistress surely never sent that tae me ? Lily whispered. Maybe a pickit it up on the street they think a~va in the country the very streets are goud here. Give her this from us all, were her verra words, said Jamie, whose conscience had abandoned the unequal struggle with his heart. Tell her that shes to get whatever she likes with it, and to go down to her home for a long holi- day. Did ye thank her, Jamie ? Kae man hes a better tongue. Ma tongue never servit me better; saIl, ye wud hae been astonished gin ye lied herd me, with the emphasis of one who stood at last on the rock of truth. Am rael content noo, Lily said, but a canna speak mair, an ave something tac say thatill no keep till the morn, and Jamie promised to re- turn that evening. Jamie waited in the hall till the last of the famous physicians patients had gone ; then lie went in and said, When a entered this hioose ma liert wes sair, for a thocht a defence- less lassie lied been ill-used in her straits, an noo a wud like to apolo- geeze for ma hot words. Yeve dune a gude work the day thats no for the like o me to speak aboot, but itill hae its reward frae the Father o the fatherless. Toots man what nonsense is this youre talking? said Sir Andrew you dont understand the situation. The fact is, I wanted to study Lilys case, and it was handier to have her in my house. Just medical selfishness, you know. A micht hae thochit o that, and the intelligence in Jamnies eye was s~ sympathetic that Sir Andrew quniled before it. We hey a doctor in oor pairisli thats juist yir marra [equal], aye practeesin on the sick fouk, an A Miaster of Deceit. for lookin aifter himsel he passes be- lief. Juist Weelum MacLure ower again, Jainie meditated, as he went along the street. London or Drum- tochty, great physeecian or puir coun- try doctor, theres no ane o them tae mend anither for doonricht gudeness. Theres nacbody ill hae a chance wi them at the latter end ; an for lecin tac, a believe Sir Andra wud beat Weelum himsel. When Jamie returned, Lily had ar- ranged her store of gold in little heaps, and began at once to give directions. Ye maun pay ma debts first, ye ken, Jamie; a cudna leave, thinkin that a wes awin a penny tae onybody. Grannie aye brocht us up tae live sae that we cud look abody in the face, and exceptin Chairlie Twal shilling tae the shoemaker, an honest, well-dacin man; mony a time hes telt me aboot John Wesley; and a poond tae the dressmaker; its no a for masel ; there was anither Scotch lassie, but that disna inaitter. Cud ye pay thac accoonts the nicht, for the dressmaker ill be needin her money? It wes ma tribble hindered me ; a started ae day, an the catch in ma side a hed tae come back. Noo theres ma kirk, an we maunna forget it, for ave been raci happy there ; ma sittin wes due the beginnin o the month, and a aye gied ten shillings tae the missions ; an, Jamie, they were speakin o pre- sentin the minister wi some bit token o respect aifter hem twenty-five years here. Pit me doon for a poond no ma name, ye ken; that wud be for- ward ; juist A gratefu servant-lass. Yeill get some bonnie handker- chief or siclike for the nurse ; it wudna dae tae offer her siller; an dinna for- get the hoosemaid, for shes lied a sair trachie wi me. As for Sir Andra, naething can py him. Heres five pund, and yeill giet tae Grannie; she kens wha its for; itill juist feenish the debt Ye can baud yir tongue, Jamie. Wull ye write a line tae Chairlie, an say that a wes thinkin o him at 89 the end, an expectin him tae be a. credit tae his fouk some day; an Jamie, gin lie ever come back in his richt mind tae the Glen, ycihl no be hard on him like ye wes laist time. Chairlie ill no want a freend gin a~ be leevin, Lily; is that a ? for yere tirin yersel. Theres ae thing mair, but ain dootin its no richt o me tae waste Grannies siller ont, for a wantit tae leave her somethin wiselike ; but oh, Jamie, ave taken a longin tae lie in Drumtochty kirkyaird wi ma mitlier an Grannie. A ken its a notion, but a dinna like thae cemeteries wi their gravel roadies, an their big monuments, an the croods o careless fouk, an the hooses pressin on them fine every si(le. A promised, Janet, broke in Jamie, that a wud bring ye liame, an all keep ma word, Lily; gin it be Gods wull tae tak yir soul tae himsel, yir body ill be laid wi yir am fouk, and Jamie left hurriedly. Next morning Sir Andrew and the minister were standing by Lilys bed- side, and only looked at him when he joined them. Jamie, thank ye a, ower gude tae a servant-lass, tell them at hiarne. Each man bade her good-bye, and the minister said certain words which shah not be written. Thae weary stairs, and she breathed heavily for a time ; then with a sigh of relief, Am comm Lily l~as reached thelanding, said Sir Andrew, and as they went down-stairs no man would have looked at his neighbors face for a ransom. A wrote that verra nicht tae Drumsheugh, Jamie explained to our guard between the Junction and Kil- drummie; an am no sure but heihl be doon himsel wi a neebur or twa juist tae gie Lily a respectable funeral, for she lies une man o her blude tae come. Div ye see onything, Robert? Jamie was in a fever of anxiety; the Kihdrummie hearse stands heich 90 A ililiaster of Deceit. an it sud be there, besides the mourn- ers. Kildrummie platforms black, cried Robert from the footboard ; theill be twal gin there be a man ; ye stick by ane anither weal up the WY; its no often a servant is brocht hame for beerial ; a dinna mind a case sin the line opened. While they went through Kildruin- mie, Jamie walked alone behind the hearse as chief mourner, with a jeal- ously regulated space of three feet between him and the neighbors ; but as soon as the pine woods had swal- lowed up the procession, he dropped behind, and was once more approach- able. Yeve hed a thne ot, said Hil- locks, treating Jamie as an ordinary man again ; wha wud hae thocht this wes tae be the end o yir London jaunt ? SaIl, and Hillocks felt himself unable to grapple with the situation. This is juist naethin, with vague allusion to the arrival by railway and the Kildrummie hearse ; no worth inentionin xvi the beginnin o the beerial at the itlier end, and Jamie chose Whinnies box, out of three offered, to brace him for descriptive narrative. Ye mann understand began Ja- mie, knowing that he had at least four miles before it would be necessary for him to resume his position of solitary dignity, that as sune as Lily turned ill she wes taken tae the hioose o a great London doctor, an Sir Andra ~vaited on her himself ; theres maybe no anither o his patients withoot a title ; a herd him speak o a duchess ae day; When it ~ves a ower, puir lassie, if they didna fecht tae py for the beerial. The minister threipit wi me that he lied a fund at his kirk for sic objects, a sonsy man wi a face that pit ye in mind o hiame to look at it, but a saw through his fund ; its fearsome hoo Scotch folk ill lee tae cover gude deeds. Div ye think lie wud hae pyd it oot o his am pocket? interrupted Hillocks. Na, na, a said tae the minister, for ilillocks was beneath notice, ye mann lat her mistress bear the berrial twenty pund, as am on this road, she gied ; a faithfu servant, shes tae want for nothing; it wes handsome, an ill be maist comfortin tae Janet. Ye saw the coffin for yersels, and Jamie now gave himself to details the London hearse lied gless sides and twa horses, then a mourning-coach wi the minister and me ; but thats the least ot. What think ye cam next? Some o the neeburs walkin may- be, suggested Whinnie. XValkin, repeated Jamie, with much bitterness, as of one who (le- spaired of Drumtochty, and saw no use in wasting his breath ; just so ; yeve hed mair rain here than in England. Never mind Whinnie, Jamie, intervened Drumshieugli ; we maun hiae the rest o the funeral ; wes there another coach ? What wud ye say, and Jamie spoke with much solemnity, tac a private kerridge, an mair than ane ? Ay, ye may look, allowing himself some freedom of recollection. Sir Andras was next tae the coach, wi the blinds drawn doon, and aifter it an elders frae her kirk. He heard o Lily through the minister, an naethin wud sateesfy him but tae dae her sic honor as lie cud. Gaein roond the corners o the streets a cuhdna help it, neeburs a juist took a ghisk oot at the window, an when a saw the bankers horses wi the silver harness, a wushed ye bed been there ; sic respect tae a Druni- tochty lass. Ye saw the lilies on the coffin, wound up Jamie, doing his best to maintain a chastened tone. Did ye catch the writin In remembrance of Lily Grant, Who did her duty. Sir Andras am hand; an Lily got nae mnair than her due. When Jamie parted with Drum- sheugh on the way home, and turned down the road to Janets cottage, to The Story of Stctmbouloffs Fall. give her the lilies and a full account of her lassie, Drumsheugh watched him till he disappeared. Thirty pund wes what he drew frae the Muirtown bank oot o his savings, for the clerk telt me himsel, an une- body jalouses the trick. Its the dcv- crest thing Jamie ever did, an ane o the best ave seen in iDrumtochty. IAN MACLAREN. From The Fortnightiy Review. THE STORY OF STAMBOULOFFS FALL. IT was my fortune to reside in Sofia during the last months of the Stain- bouloff ministry. It was my fortune also to be in intimate relations with various personages who were either actors or interested spectators in the drama of Bulgarian politics. The fate of the Stambouloff administration, or, more correctly speaking, of its great chief for in those days Stambouloff and his ministry were almost equiv- alent terms formed the one absorb- ing topic of interest at the time ; and, therefore, given the relations of which I speak, I was kept informed of every stage in the strange tragi-co medy which preceded the downfall of the so-called Bismarck of Bulgaria. I left Sofia on the eve of his enforced resignation. Of the events which followed I know comparatively little. As to the actual circumstances of his assassination I know nothing beyond what I have learnt from the newspaper reports, and I have not the power, even if I had the wish, to express any opinion as to the immediate causes of that atrocious crime. But I think a recital of the events which preceded the fall of the Stambouloff government may throw a certain amount of light on the personal causes which led first to the premiers deposition from his quasi-dictatorship, and ultimately to his untimely and cruel death. During the period to which I refer there happened to be no representative of the English press at Sofia. The story, therefore, of the last days of the Stambouloff regime is, I fancy, very little known to the British public, and may, in view of subsequent events, be worth recital. I reached Sofia a few days after the birth of the infant prince who is now the heir-apparent to the Bulgarian throne. This event, strangely enough, impaired the supremacy which Stain- bouloff had hitherto enjoyed, by lead- ing to an antagonism of policy between himself and Prince Ferdinand. As the key to the whole subsequent series of events is to be found in the rupture which occurred between the prince and the premier, it is necessary to dwell somewhat at length on the starting- point of their quarrel. Up to the birth of his son and heir Prince Ferdinand had little independent hold and, what is even more important, knew that he had no such hold on the sym- l)athies of his subjects. In the earlier years of his reign he labored under va- rious disadvantages, for many of which he was not responsible. He was a for- eigner, and all fom~eigners are unpop- ular in Bulgaria. He was a Catholic, and all Catholics are viewed with dis- trust by the Bulgarian priesthood, which forms one of the most powerful ele- ments in the principality, as in all com- munities belonging to the Eastern rite. He was ignorant of the country and the language, and could only communicate with his people through his ministers. He had succeeded a singularly popular sovereign in the person of the hero of Slievnitza, and had succeeded under circumstances which through no fault of his own, were not calculated to in- crease his popularity; and, more than all, he was notand never can be the kind of personage to enlist the sym- pathies of the people of the Peasant State. Indeed, up to the period in question, his chief, if not his only, hold on his subjects was that he was be- lieved to be the safeguard of their national independence, while the main ground for this belief lay in the fact that he was the nominee of Stain- bouloff, and was supposed to enjoy the full confidence of his nominator. With the birth of a son his position became materially altered. One of the dom- inant characteristics of the Bulgarian 91 92 nationality consists of a profound pride in a more or less mythical past, and a still more profound faith in a more or less problematical future. The fact that for the first time for many cen- turies a Bulgarian prince had been born on Bulgarian soil, bearing the name of the national hero of Bulgarian legend, seemed to the mind of the Bul- garian peasantry a certain sign and symbol of the restoration of the ancient Bulgarian empire. Residents utterly unconnected with the court declared to me that they had never witnessed such a display of enthusiasm amidst a singu- larly undemonstrative people as that which greeted the news of Prince Bo- riss birth. From that time Prince Ferdinand felt with some amount of justice that his title to the throne rested on grounds independent of Stambon- loffs support and favor. Very shortly after my arrival at Sofia I had an interview with Stambouloff at his own house. On this occasion he spoke to me very frankly, as was his wont, about his political position. He assured me that, personally, he should be very glad to retire from office, firstly on account of his health, which gave him uneasiness, secondly, on account of his private affairs, which suffered from his inability to give them the at- tention they required. At the time I thought these phrases were the mere commonplaces every minister in all countries and on all occasions is apt to employ when there is any talk of his resignation ; but later events have caused me to think they were spoken with more sincerity than I then sup- posed. However, he admitted that for the time being he had no idea of quit- ting office. His presence at the head of affairs he considered necessary to the maintenance of Bulgarian inde- pendence, and he was willing to remain in office so long as he enjoyed the ap- proval of the country and the confi- dence of the prince. So soon as one of these supports failed him, he was will- ing and glad to resign; but upto the present he had the country on his side, and he had every reason to believe that the prince approved of his policy. Of The Story of Stamboulojjs Fall. course it is impossible for me to say how far the confidence thus expressed was genuine, or was assumed for a pur- pose. But I am inclined to think that the premiers belief in his own per- sonal popularity was absolutely sincere. From all I could learn, I have no doubt that in so far as there is any genuine public opinion in Bulgaria, that opinion was then, and probably is still, in favor of Stambouloffs policy. A country in which the Bulgarian atrocities atrocities, it should never be forgotten, committed in the main by Bulgarians upon Bulgarianswere a possibility cannot be judged by our English ideas. Nations amongst whom the rule of force has prevailed for cen- turies, do not develop a sudden love for legality or a sudden horror of oppres- sion. Even if the stories of his de- tractors were true to the letter, which they certainly were not, and even if Stambouloff, when putting down all opposition, as he certainly did, with an iron hand, had disregarded not only legality, but humanity in punishing those who rebelled against his author- ity, his action would only have been condemned by the victims of his arbi- trary rule, and would have commended itself to the great majority of his fel- low-countrymen. A strong ruler is not only feared, but respected, and even liked, in all Oriental countries; and Bulgaria is, and for years to come must remain, an Oriental country in sentiment. Added to this, Stambouloff was completely in sympathy with the Bulgarian people. He shared their ideas, their aspirations, their preju- dices, and knew how to speak to them after their own fashion. Simple in his tastes and mode of life, accessible to everybody, good-natured and friendly to all, except to those who thwarted his will, he was an ideal ruler of a half-civilized comnn]unity of small peas- ant farmers. The only error I think he committed in his estimate of his fellow-countrymens feelings towards himself was that he underrated their Oriental readiness to side with the strongest, to obey servilely whoever may be in power. The Story of Stambouloffs Pail. 93 I think also, though I am not equally try. This may have been the result confident as to this, that Stambouloff of the egotism which forms the domi- was sincere in his expression of con- nant feature of Prince Ferdinands fidence in Prince Ferdinand. There character, but certainly if I had known were many reasons why this confidence nothing previously of the history of might have seemed well-merited. Not Bulgaria, and of the events which had only did the prince owe his throne to occurred since the abdication of his the ex-regent, but the success which predecessor, I should have supposed had attended his reign was by common from the princes remarks that the consent due to his prime minister, and policy of the State had been conceived his prime minister alone. Stambouloff and dictated by himself with the as- had seen too much of the world, and sistance, doubtless, of his prime minis- especially of the Bulgarian world, to ter, to whose ability he paid a fitting, believe implicitly in the potency of though by no means enthusiastic com- human gratitude, otherwise than ac- pliment. It struck me also as curious cording to the well - known cynical at the time that while speaking very definition as a hope of favors to bitterly about the personal animosity come. The chief ground of his reli- displayed by the then czar, he went out ance upon the princes support was a of his way to assure me of his gratitude conviction that he was absolutely in- towards Russia, and his deep sense of dispensable to his royal master, and the services she had rendered his that his royal master knew him to be adopted country. The impression left indispensable. The extraordinary vital- on my mind by the prince was not that ity of the man, his consciousness of of a man with any great original abil- being, in intelligence, energy, and ity, but of a man very quick in appro- courage a head and shoulders above his printing the ideas of others, possessing fellows, combined with his natural in- considerable insight into human char- souciance of character, led him to un- acter, especially in its lower and less derrate his opponents. I do not think, worthy aspects, and capable, notwith- judging from the terms he used in standing his seeming frivolousness, of sj)eaking of the prince, that he gave pursuing his own ends with pertinacity his Highness credit for the application and adroitness. The French word with which he had mastered the Bulga- maim, for which there is no exact En- nan language, and had studied Bulga- glish equivalent, appeared to me the nan politics, that he appreciated the best description of his undoubted clev- umbrage which his own masterful poi- erness, and I felt convince(l that if his icy and his personal manner had given ministers regarded him, whether for to his sovereign, or that he realized good or bad, as a quantit4 n~giig~abie in the fact that Prince Ferdinand was Bulgarian politics they were commit- anxious to escape from leading-strings, ting a mistake which might be attended and to become in fact, as well as in with serious consequences. name, the ruler of Bulgaria. The love Looking back upon the past by the ~f court pomp, pageantry, and etiquette light of subsequent events I cannot which distinguishes Prince Ferdinand doubt that at the time of which I speak was so alien to Stambouloffs nature the prince had already conceived the that it was difficult for him to imagine notion of getting rid of the virtual that a prince with whom this love tutelage in which he was kept by Stain- seemed to be a ruling passion should bouloff. Perhaps it would be more also entertain any serious political am- accurate to say that the prince had bitions. already foreseen the possibility of con- On the occasion of my first audience tingencies arising under which the the prince seemed unaccountably anx- interests of himself and his dynasty ions to impress upon me, as a foreign might prove inconsistent with the re- visitor, the importance of the part he tention of Stambouloff as his prime played in the government of the coun- minister. At the interview to which I 94 refer the prince, amongst other mat- ters, dwelt strongly upon the impor- tance of his formal recognition by the European powers in the interest of Bulgaria and of the peace of Europe. Only a short time before Stambouloff and Grekoff, the then minister of for- eign affairs, had assured me that far from desiring the recognition of the prince they had taken no steps to secure this recognition and should re- gard its accordance, in so far as Russia was concerned, as a national calamity. If once, they asserted, the czar agreed to accept Prince Ferdinand as the legitimate sovereign of the principal- ity, Bulgaria would lose and not gain. The couutry could get on very well without recognition, while the one practical result of Russias acknowledg- ing her legal status would be the ap- pointment of a Russian minister at the capital, and of Russian consuls in every town, and both legation and consulates would necessarily become centres of disaffection and intrigue against the established order of things. Naturally the ministers were anxious in speaking to me to put the best face on public affairs. But I learnt at the time, from persons more intimately acquainted with their ideas than a stranger could possibly be, that in their opinion the return of Russian representatives to Bulgaria would endanger the personal safety of all public men, who in com- mon with themselves, were opposed to Russian intervention in the affairs of Bulgaria. This divergence of policy between the prince an(l the premier, two men who were hardly capable of understanding each others point of view, was certain, sooner or later, to lead to an open rupture. I am anxious, in what I have to say on this subject, to do justice to both sides, and therefore I think it only fair to add that Prince Ferdinands intense desire for official recognition was not so unreasonable or so childish as it is often alleged to have been. To a man fond of state, vain of his personal posi- tion, and morbidly susceptible as to his own dignity, the constant slights and rebuffs which his non-recognition en- The Story of Stambouloffs Fall. tailed were more galling than they would have been to common mortals. But, apart from this, a less sensitive prince might well have considered that not only his own prospects, but those of his dynasty, were seriously imperilled by the reluctance of his ministers to take any steps to force on his recogni- tion. There is a story told that in the latter days of the temporal power a fer- vent Catholic visitor to the Vatican, who observed that the pope was much depressed, tendered the remark that it must be a consolation to his Holiness to reflect that the barque of St. Peter could never make shipwreck. The answer of Pio Nino was, La barca, no, ma ilpescatore, si. A similar reflection must often, I think, have presented itself to Prince Ferdinands mind. It was all very true, as his ministers as- sured him, that recognition or no rec- ognition, the safety of Bulgaria was assured, but how about himself and his dynasty? So long as he was not ac- cepted abroad by the powers as the lawful sovereign of Bulgaria, it was always possible, or even probable, that his deposition might be demanded as an essential condition of any settle- meat; and if such a demand were made lie was too shrewd a man to im- agine that his loyal subjects would hesitate about throwing him over, sup- posing it suited their interests. Given the character of Prince Ferdi- nand, it is probable enough that the manifest reluctance of his ministers to press for his recognition may have excited suspicions in his mind that they were really intriguing against himself and his dynasty. It is certain that there were persons about the court who were ready to suggest this suspi- cion to him, even if it had not already presented itself to his mind. He was assured from many quarters, from some honestly, from others with delib- erate deceit, that Stambouloffs person- ality and Stambouloffs anti-Russian policy were the real obstacles to his recognition ; that if lie could only get rid of Stambouloff in such a manner as to gratify Russian susceptibilities, the czar would withdraw all personal oppo The Story of Stambouloffs Fall. sition, and that then his own recogni- tion as sovereign of Bulgaria would follow as a matter of course. These assurances were too much in accord- ance with his personal ambitions and prejudices not to meet with ready ac- ceptance. Thus, if I am right, the resolution of Ferdinand to part com- pany with Stambouloff was formed upon arid largely in consequence of the birth of Prince Boris, and the resolution thus formed was carried out with a persistency and power of dissim- ulation for which the princes ministers were not prepared. The birth of the infant prince was followed by the long and alarming ill- ness of his mother, the princess Marie of Parma. The death of his wife at this crisis would have materially im- paired the princes hold on the Bulga- rian people. So long, therefore, as her recovery seemed doubtful, no active steps could be taken towards forcing on a ministerial crisis. Moreover, per- sonal anxiety as to his wifes health doubtless occupied Prince Ferdinands mind to the exclusion of other cares. Be this as it may, during the weeks which followed the princesss confine- ment Ferdinand held studiously aloof from all public affairs. He interfered very little, if at all, with his ministers, and they often found it difficult to ob- tain interviews with him on formal matters of business for which his sig- nature was required. At last, towards the middle of March, the princess was sufficiently recovered to be removed from Sofia, and in accordance with the doctors advice it was determined to take her to the neighborhood of Vi- enna. She was accompanied by her husband, and in his absence Stain- bouloff, as usual, was appointed regent. At this time the Bulgarian govern- ment was confronted by a very embar- rassing controversy, which might easily have led, and indeed was expected to lead, to a ministerial crisis. Without any apparent reason or motive, the sultan had suddenly issued a decree to the effect that the Bulgarian schools in Macedonia niust be placed under the ownership of some specified person, 95 not under that of any corporation or community. It would take far too long to enter into the rights and wrongs of this vexed question. It is enough to say that with or without justice, this decree was regarded as a deliberate attack on the Bulgarian nationality. The Macedonian question is not in reality a struggle on the part of the Christian population to get rid of the rule of Islam, but a conflict between the Bulgarian, Greek, and Servian na- tionalities in Macedonia, as to which of them shall establish its claim to the reversion of Macedonia, when, as may happen at any time, it is emancipated from Turkish domination. The schools under the old system were in the hands of the Bulgarian clergy, and were ad- mittedly employed as agencies for strengthening, extending, and consol- idating the Bulgarian nationality move- ment in Macedonia. The decree to which I allude was believed to have been issued at the request of the Greeks of the Phanar, supported, as usual, by Russian influence, and its supposed object was to favor the Greek nation- ality in Macedonia, to the detriment of the Bulgarian. In consequence there was a general outcry throughout the principality, calling on the government to intervene actively on behalf of the Macedonian Bulgarians, even if this intervention should lead to an open rupture with the suzerain power. This popular outcry placed the then ministry in a position of extreme diffi- culty. The whole policy of Stambon- loff was based upon the necessity of maintaining friendly relations with Turkey, as a guarantee against Russian a~ression; but friendly relations were an impossibility unless the obnoxious decree was repealed. In Bulgaria, as in all other Christian provinces of the Ottoman Empire, it is extremely diffi- cult, especially for a foreigner, to say how far any agitation against Turkey is real or fictitious, a home product or an artificial movement of foreign growth. All I can say is that there was in Bulgaria, during the spring of last year, all the outward indications of a strong popular agitation. Public 96 The Story of Stambouloffs Fall. meetings were held in all the large would be best promoted by cordial and towns ; re solutions were passed pro- loyal co-operation with the suzerain testing against the alleged persecution power. As I write I can hear once of the Macedonian Bulgarians ; sub- more the cheers in response to this scriptions were raised or, at any rate, declaration cheers which were given promised on their behalf, bands of by the mob within a few steps of the volunteers were enlisted ; and in the very spot where little more than a year papers, especially in those of the Oppo- later the speaker was literally hacked sition, the government was called upon to death. to mass troops upon the Macedonian It may render the course of events frontier, so as to be ready to invade the more intelligible to state here that the province in case Turkey should persist arrangement with the sultan was con- in upholding the school decree. I can- cluded in Prince Ferdinands absence, not doubt that this agitation, though I and without his direct sanction. The believe it to have been based upon a prince at that time was with his wife at genuine national sentiment, was also Ebenthal, near Vienna. The reason stimulated by Stambouloffs political why, according to Stambouloffs state- and personal opponents. zuent, the arrangement was not submit- The expectations of Stambouloffs ted to him, before its formal ratification, fall on the Macedonian school question, was as follows The arrangement had which were confidently entertained at to be accepted at once if at all. In all the time, especially in court circles, negotiations with the Ottoman govern- were defeated by the ability of the ment, especially under a sultan so premier. I believe, if the tine history capricious and so irresolute as Abdul of this curious episode is ever made Hamid, delays are dangerous. Every known, it will be found that Stambou- hour which intervened between his loff encouraged the agitation till it had Majestys offer and its acceptance in- reached dimensions which enabled him creased the risk of influences hostile to to intimate to the sultan that lie could Bulgaria being brought into play at not undertake to keep the movement Constantinople to upset the conclusion for intervention under controh, unless of the compact. The arrangement was concessions were made at Constanti- not one which could be safely commu- nophe. In his representations to the nicated by telegraph, and to have sent Porte he was, as lie himself assured a messenger to the prince must have me, warmly supported by Sir Philip necessitated a delay of at least a conple Currie, who hind only just entered on of days. The arrangement was so his post of British ambassador at Stain- manifestly advantageous to Bulgaria boul. The sultan grew frightened at that it was impossible to suppose the the storm he had raised, and resolved prince would object to its conclusion to give way. Not only was the decree and, therefore, Stambonloff took upon whichi had given such umbrage withi- himself, as regent, to accept it with- drawn, but permission was granted to ont previous reference to the sovereign. estabhislk two Greek Bulgarian bishop- The explanation, whether sincere or rics in Macedonia, thereby giving in- not, seems plausible in itsehf. Bnt thie creased authority to the Bulgarian fact that so important an agreement clergy, and increased encouragement to had been conchuded without his ap- the Bulgarian nationality propaganda. provah, and concluded in such a way In fact, Stambouhoff, in stead of being that the whole credit of its conclusion defeated had triumphed all along thie devohved on thie premier, rankled in line, as thie champion and vindicator of Prince Ferdinands mind, and later on Bulgarian rights in Macedonia. Mass furnished one of the chief pretexts for meetings were held in his honor ; and, Stambouloffs dismissal. in the speech which he delivered at The first attempt to oust Stambouloff Sofia to a torchlight procession, lie de- on the Macedonian schools question, .elared that the interests of Bulgaria and to replace him by a minister more acceptable to Russia, ha(1 resulted in increasing his authority. It was neces- sary to find some new ground of attack, an(l that ground was supplied by an unforeseen accident. Indeed, the only possible reason for doubtino this beino the result of chance lies in the fact that the accident in question occurred at a moment and in a manner which seemed especially chosen to secure the purposes of the anti - Stambouloff party. The Stambouloff ministry with the exceptions of M. Grekoff, the min- ister of foreign affairs, and M. Sala- bascheff, the minister of finance, might not unfairly be described as composed of itenis. One of the least con- spicuous of these items was M. Savoff, the ministcr of war, best known as the husband of a wife who was not only better looking than the run of Soflote ladies, but, having been educated abroad, was also better dressed and more used to society. During the princes absence the regent received a letter from M. Savoff tendering his resignation on the ground that lie could not sit in the same council with M. Slavkoff, the minister of public works, who, as lie alleged, had been ulI(luly intimate with his wife. Stain- bouloff refused to accept the resigna- tion, first, because the charge, whether true or false, seemed to rest on mere suspicion ; secondly, because it was obviously undesirable to have any re- constitution of the ministry while the prince was away in Austria. Shortly afterwards Savoff changed or rather extended his charge, an(l accused al- most all his other colleagues, and Stain- bouloff in particular, of having carried on intrigues with his wife. Gradually the charge narrowed into a distinct allegation that Stambouloff was the chief, if not the sole betrayer of his con fi(lelice. The common impression at Sofia was that Savoff was out of his niiiid. He consulted the ecclesiastical courts, about obtaining a divorce from his wife, and was assured by them that the evidence lie could produce was utterly insufficient to justify an appli- cation for the cancelment of his marriage. Yet, in spite of this, he LIVING AGE. VOL. YIII. ~71 97 persisted in accusing Stambouloff, and when the latter asked for evidence of the charge he retorted by challenging him to fight a duel. Indeed, towards the end his almost insane jealousy seemed to have culniinated in an un- reasoning desire to avenge himself on Stambouloff. The matter was placed in the hands of seconds, who unani- mously decided that Savoff could show no cause whatever for demanding satis- faction from the premier. The report prevalent at Sofia was that Savoff had been made a tool of by Stanibouloffs personal enemies to force the latter into a duel, in which the chances would have been decidedly on the side of his assailant. Meanwhile the Opposition papers had taken up the charge, and attacked Stambouloff with a violence which is unintelligible to the inhabitants of more educated and civilized communi- ties. I do not think, from what I could observe, that the standard of morality as to the relations between the sexes is at all higher in Bulgaria than it is elsewhere. But the hiareni view of women is still very prevalent in Bulgaria; and though a Bulgarian Benedict might coniniit any number of offences against his marriage vows without being the worse thought of by his fellow-countrymen, lie would undoubtedly be condemned by social opinion if he hind an intrigue with the wife of a friend and colleague. Any- how, the press hostile to Stambouloff kept on declaring that a man whose moral character rested under so grave a charge could not t~emain the head of the government; and this crusade against the minister was vigorously supported by papers supposed to repre- sent the views of the court. Immediately on the princes return to Sofia Stainbouloff asked his Highness to investigate the charge against him, and at the same time gave in his written resignation, requesting the prince to use it if lie saw cause to con- sider that the accusation, whether true or false, was supported by such evi- dence as to render hii~ continuance in office undesirable in the pubhid interest. The Story of Stambouioft~s Pall. 98 The Story of Stambouloffs Fall. Savoff was called upon to assign par- dent or otherwise, his Highness did ticulars as to the places and dates of not return the letter in which Stain- the occasions on which the alleged bouloff had tendered his resignation. offence had been committed, and in It so happened that I had an appoint- reply stated two occasions on which, inent with Prince Ferdinand very during his own absence from the capi- shortly after his interview with Stain- tal, Stambouloff, as he alleged, had bouloff. Two things struck me at the passed the night at Sofia with his wife. time. The first was that he utterly Thereupon Stambouloff was able to ignored some casual remark made in prove that on one of the two evenings the course of our conversation about named lie had been the princes guest the ability of the premier, a subject on at his seaside palace outside at Yarna ; which previously lie lost no opportu- on the second occasion he had been nity of dilating. The second was that present at a public banquet in Philip- he dwelt with extreme bitterness on a popolis, so that the particular accusa- statement which had appeared in a tions specified by Savoff were clearly London paper to the effect that lie had shown to be baseless. Moreover, with been refused permission to attend the regard to the general charge Stain- family conclave at Coburg in honor of bouloff, if I was rightly informed, used the Princess Alixs betrothal to the the same language in speaking to the then czarewitch. The prince after a prince which lie employed in discussing long absence had only recently re- the matter with other persons. lie turned to Sofia, and there was no idea stated that whatever his personal char- that his return was only temporary. acter might be lie was about the only There was no reason whatever why he individual in the country who was ab- should have informed me of his in- solutely incapacitated from carrying on tended movements, but certainly his a secret intrigue. It was known to tone of conversation conveyed to me everybody that since M. Beltelieff, the impression that lie had returned while walking by his side, had been to his capital for good. On the morn- assassinated by mistake for himself, he ing after my reception I learnt to my had never quitted his house without an surprise that the prince had quitted escort of soldiers. To use his own Sofia to rejoin his wife at Ebenthal. words one caii do many things, but On mentioning this news to one of one cannot keep a secret assignation the chief members of the corps dipho- when accompanied by a troop of matique at Sofia, lie assured me I mounted soldiery. I can say from must be mistaken, as an hour or two my own observation that Stambouhoff before Stamnbouloff had made an ap- never came to the club without being pointmnent for him to call upon the attended by an armed escort, though prince in the course of the day. It the club was iiot five minutes walk turned out, however, that the news was from his house; that the escort re- correct, and the only interpretation I mained on duty inside and outside the can offer is that the prince had quitted club as long as lie stopped there ; and Sofia without letting his ministers know that whemi there was a late sitting they till after his departure was an accom- slept in the passages of the building to phishied fact. It is supposed at the be ready to accompany him home in time that this hasty journey was due the early hours of the morning, to the receipt of alarming news about The prince, as I heard at the time, the health of the princess, but in as far expressed himself completely satisfied as I could learn later, no such intelhi- with Stamnbouloffs exculpation, and gence had been received. recommended the dismissal of Savoff I may also here call attention to an- as the best solution of the imbroglio. other incident, which shows how the The premier agreed to act upon the desire to seek reconciliation with Rus- advice, and considered the matter was sia at any price had impressed itself now at an end. But whether by acci- on Prince Ferdinands mind. Some months before, the metropolitan, Arch- bishop Clement, had preached a ser- mon in the cathedral of Tirnova, in which he had attacked the prince in the most violent terms. For this ser- mon lie was indicted for using treason- able language, and was sentenced by the civil tribunals to a period of im- prisonment, though in consideration of his exalted office lie was allowed to serve his term of imprisonment in a monastery. An appeal was made against this sentence on the ground that the metropolitans offence, if com- mitted at all, was committed in his capacity as a priest, and must, there- fore, be judged by the Synod of the Church, hot by the civil tribunal. The appeal finally came last spring before the Supreme Court at Sofia, and was dismissed by that on the ground that treasonable language was equally an offence against the civil power, whether it was committed by a layman or by a priest. Within a short time of the ap- l)eal being dismissed, Archbishop Clem- ent was pardoned, at, I have reason to believe, the direct instance of Prince Ferdinand. It is this Clement who has recently been to Russia as the leader of the Russophil party, and who is now sh)oken of as the future prime minister of the prince. Without laying any undue stress on these incidents, I think there can be no reasonable doubt that Prince Ferdinand had made up his mind to get rid of Stambouhoff as soon as lie could find a decent excuse for doing so, and that he had so determined because lie believed or had been led to believe that by so doing he would remove the chief obsta- cle to his recognition by Russia, as a prince de jure as well as de facto. My impression is, that Stambouhoff consich- ered the whole matter at an end. The friend to whom lie narrated the conver- sation I have recited above, and who repeated its purport to me a few hours later, told me that he had asked Stain- bouloff whether the letter tendering his resignation had been returned. No, Stambouloff answered, I never thought of asking for it, but the letter is of no consequence now as the 99 prince and I quite understand each other. I quitted Bulgaria within a few days of the interview to which I have re- ferred. Very shortly before I left I met Stambouloff at the Union Club in Sofia. He was in high spirits about the success of his negotiations ivithi the Porte and spoke very cordially of the assistance lie hind received from the British representatives in Turkey in bringing the sultan to reason. Oving to the absence of the prince, the Easter holidays, and the removal of all in mediate political difficulties, thiere wash very little doing at this period at the h)ublic offices; and day after day I used: to see Stambouloff driving out into thie country, on the shooting expeditions to~ which lie was passionately devoted, and at which lie was usually accompa- m]ied by some of his fellow-ministers and invariably escorted by a troop Qf mounted sohdiers. After I hind left, I can onhy speak as to thie course of events from the reports of the newspapers and from letters I received from friends at Sofia, who were in a position to know what was passing. I gather that the attacks upon Stambouhoff in the papers which were understood to be the organs of the court. were not only continued but displayed increased animosity. The re- lations between the prince and the pre- mier becanie more and more straimied, and within a month of my quitting Sofia, his Highness suddenly announced that he hind accepted Stambouhoffs resignatiomi, which he held in his hands, amid had instructed M. Stoiloff to form a ministry. Stanibouloff was, I believe, taken by surprise. As the prince held his letter of resignation, lie could not make a formal grievance of his dismissal ; nor, I gathier, was lie inclined to do so. It was the firm con- viction, not only of himself but of his friemids, that no government was possi- ble in the face of his opposition, and that the ultimate upshot of thie crisis which Prince Ferdinand hind brought about must be his own early return to office with renewed and increased authority. The Story of Stambouloffs Fall. 100 Unfortunately all these calculations were based on the supposition that the ex-premier would be allowed a free field of political action. I do not sup- pose, or still less suggest, that when Stambouloff was thrown overboard either the prince or his new ministers contemplated the necessity of resorting to violent measures in order to hinder the deposed minister from fighting his way back to power. All I surmise is that as they began to realize the chances of Stambouloffs return to office they began to realize also the necessity of clipping his wings. One step led to another. The personal and political enemies of Stambouloff were not satisfied with his downfall, but clamored for his dis- grace and punishment; and both the prince and his ministers, though they must have known that the charges brought against the ex-premier were false, still acquiesced iii these charges being brought, as they conceived that by so acquiescing they might ensure their own safety. Stambouloff, it must justly be admitted, damaged his own case by his invectives against Prince Ferdinand. His own administration, it must also be owned, had furnished examples of high-handed and arbitrary nction, which his assailants could plead in defence of the treatment they dealt out to their defeated antagonist. victis is the motto of all Oriental gov- ernment; and Bulgaria in her in- stincts, her ideas, and her traditions has still much of the Oriental character. There is an Arab proverb, that the wise man dances before the monkey as long as lie rides on horseback. If you add to this proverb the corollary that the wise man kicks the monkey as soon as he is thrown off horseback, you have a compendium of all Oriental statecraft. I do not, therefore, consider that the Bulgarian ministers or the Bulgarian people ought to be judged by a Western standud for their conduct towards the statesman to whom the principality owes its independence. A similar excuse, however, can hardly be pleaded in mitigation of Prince Ferdinands behavior towards the minister to whom lie was so deeply indebted. To assert that his highness instigated or even contemplated the persecution to which Stambouloff fell a victim, would be an act of injustice. On the other hand, it is impossible to deny that Prince Ferdinand tacitly sanctioned a persecution which he must have known was cruel and un- just, and which lie ought to have known might be attended with fatal consequences to its victim. The ex- planation of his con(luct is,--! believe, to be found in the fact that he was led to believe by the Russophil party in Bulgaria, which was mainly composed of Stambouloffs personal enemies, that to sever himself from Stanibouloff was the essential condition of his recogni- tion by the czar. He stood aside, therefore, when Stambouloff implored his intercession to save him froni his enemies. This refusal to risk his own prospects of reconciliation with St. Petersburg, in order to save the minis- ter who had served him so faithfully and so long, was, according to the well- known saying, worse than a crime, a blunder; and for bluiiders of this kind there is no place left for repent ance. EDWARD DICEY. From Macmillans Magazine. THE OLD ONE-HORNED STAG. HE ~vas (Iropped, as we reckon, early in the month of June, about the year 1874, probably in some quiet retreat under the oak coppice of Homer Wood, or it may have been in some shady coinbe full of grass and fern on Bren- don Common. Who shall presume, unless by rare chance lie may have assisted at the ceremony, to name the day and place of birth of a wild red deer? Yet if the knowledge of the ways of deer be not vain, and all ex- perience of teeth and head and slot be not at fault, our conjecture will not lead us very far from the truth. So he came into the world a do~vny-haired, white-spotted little red-deer calf, with four rather long legs and two rather large ears, and looked about him with The Old One-Horned Stag. two great beautiful eyes, and saw his heritage of Exmoor before him, fold upon fold of grass and heather with the shadows of the clouds coursing over it, bounded on the one hand by the blue sky and on the other. by the blue sea. A peaceful, happy world it must have seemed to him in those early months, singularly full for the moment of heed- less young creatures like himself. Now he would see an old vixen with her cubs around her playing merrily, as only fox-cubs can play, and hunting distracted beetles among the stones now a sober old grey hen, much cum- bered with the cares of maternity, watching anxiously over her brood of little poults ; now a bloodthirsty old weasel with two couple of young wea- sels behind her, all hurrying forward with little short legs and long, lithe bod- ies on the line of some hapless rabbit, and speaking joyfully to the scent as they ran. Sometimes, when walking leisurely among the burning stones on the sunny combe side, his dam would stop and swerve and stamp, and lay back her ears and look fierce, and he would see the old mother viper open her hideous wicked jaws, and the little vipers rush down her throat to their haven of refuge. Nay, even when she took him with her to the brown peat stream the trout-fry dashed away from the shallows before him, and he could watch them scurrying from stone to stone, half in fright and half in play. For all the world was young in those days, and all the young, except the trout, seemed to have a kind mother to look after them. So passed the long, bright midsum- mer days. The sun came up over Dunkery, and the light flew away on the wings of the morning along the Severn Sea to the Atlantic, and the warm wind sang through the waving grass and the stiff stubborn heather, and made the music of the moor. And the calf grew and waxed stronger and began to see others of his kind, other hinds like his own loving dam, with other calves like unto himself. And with these calves he could play, frisk- ing and gambolling and pretending to 101 fight; nor could he fail to note that some would submit to him at once, while others would butt and push and worry with great enjoyment. Now and again he would see a huge old stag, his head half grown and the velvet black with flies, stamping and twitch- ing and wincing under his tiny torment- ors, in piteous anxiety for the safety of the young, tender horn. And our calf, too, whisked his little ears and tossed his little head with great dignity, and stretched himself lazily when he rose from his bed as he had seen the old stags do; for he, too, meant to grow into a great stag one day, and it is always good to be of the male sex. Then his attention would be distracted by a shrill whistle overhead, and he would be aware of a pair of curlews sailing high in air, with their long bills cut clear against the blue sky, remind- ing him of the herons that he had seen in Badgworthy Water. Then another bird would cross his view, a little speck with wings that fluttered and paused and fluttered and paused; and he won- dered why the old grey hen, with whom he had been on most friendly terms, now cut him dead, having no eyes but for the speck above her, while the poults hid themselves away in ab- ject terror. One day he was startled from his play by an unusually sharp bleat from his mother, who came galloping in haste to meet him, and kept watching a mass of something white that was moving over the heather across the combe a mile away. Never had he seen her so much disturbed ; and he felt uneasy too, though he hardly knew why, and as they moved upward towards them his nostrils caught a new strange scent which some instinct within him bade him take note of. The mass kept closely and compactly to- gether until it reached the spot where he remembered to have passed in the morning, and then he saw a man on a horse gallop forward, and faintly heard a shrill yelp that made his dam quiver all over. She was doubly thoughtful and affectionate for the rest of the day, and that night they travelled further like Old One-Horned Stag. 102 than they had ever travelled yet, away to the south and west, and found a resting-place where few even of their own kind ever visited them. But there were thoughtful heads among the moving white mass of hounds also. Fisherman and Reveller and Nemesis and other grey-muzzled veterans were rejoicing that those tiresome, idiotic puppies had at last learned to follow the pack without being coupled to them ; and Chorister, still smarting under the lash, was bewailing his hard lot and wondering why, now that he was entering upon his second season, he could not be allowed a free hand. He had been hunting hinds strenuously all the winter; why should he now be punished for feathering on the stale line of a hind and calf? So the summer wore on, and August came in with bursts of westerly wind and mist and rain. And the water sank rustling into the turf and dripped from the ragged edges of the peat basin in a rich brown clear stream. The trout felt it and rejoiced, and the salmon rushed up from the sea into the Lyn; but the hind and her calf rested peacefully in the shade of the oak cop- pice, and when they moved lie watched her rear up to pluck some dainty piece of ivy or the red berries of the moun- tain-ash, and nuzzled at the fragments between her lips and pretended to en- joy them immensely. But one fine day, very early in the morning, just when they were settling down to be comfortable for the day, there came the sound of many hounds raising a terrible clamor, and they rose and moved up from the covert to the open. And after a time out came one of the fox-cubs that they had known on the moor, his tongue lolling and his back crooked, as though lie began to tire. He went up as if he would have gone away over the moor, but presently stopped and flounced back with desper- ation into the covert; and the hind trotted gently away, anxious but not alarmed. They are not after us, my son, she gave the calf to understand; and presently out came the hounds furiously on the line of the cub and flashed over the scent for fifty yards. Then the clamor died away and they spread out in all directions; and two wild puppies, catching the line of the hind and calf, lifted up their voices and began to run on. The rest had cast back, and, recovering the line of the cub, disappeared with a chorus into the oak coppice; but the two puppies, re- joicing in a stronger scent, ran on, and hind and calf fled before them. The calfs poor little legs were beginning to weary when lie found himself poked down quick as thought into a tuft of fern by his dams nose. Lie there, my son, till I come back to you, was her order; and there he lay, helpless and alone. Closer and closer came the puppies, loudly throwing their foolish tongues, and thinking themselves immensely clever ; but they missed his hiding- place and passed beyond him, though he did not know that his dani had waited for them on purpose to lead them after herself. Presently came the brushing of a horses hoots through the heather, and a mounted man gal- loped almost on to the top of him. He saw the horse swerve and heard the mans exclamation of surprise, but he lay still as he hind been bidden. Then the dull drum of hoofs died away, and after a time a melancholy yelping, such as he had once heard before, was borne to his ears, and lie again perceived the approach of horses. Then there was a noise of human voices. Where did you say she hind left her calf, Tom ? Straight afore you, sir, about ten landyard on, where you see the veearn. Then two horses came closer, and a girls voice said What a little duck I I wish I could take him home. And a mans voice answered: His mother will come and take him home presently, and the sooner we are gone the better she will be pleased. So the girl took a last regretful look, and they rode down into the covert; and in the silence that fol- lowed he heard a roar of baying, and the shrill notes of a horn and hahhooing from the valley, but lie did not know that it meant that the cub was dead, The Old One-Horned Stag. The Old One-Horned Stag. and that the man who had so nearly galloped on to him was even then fas- tening the ghastly mask to his saddle. Before very long, though it seemed very long to him, his dam came back and rejoiced over him. She was drip- ping all over, having taken a good bath at the end of her run ; and she led him quietly off for a little way over the heather, and then down a steep hillside among stunted gorse and hot, loose stones. No scent here, my son, was the lesson that she wished to teach, and he learned it once for all. Then, when they reached the water at the foot of the hill, she led him down the shallow for a little way, and jumped out on to the bank and followed it for a few yards ; and then she jumped in again and went up stream till they came to a comfortable, shady spot; and there they left the water and lay down together. On that night they did not return to their former place, but trav- elled till they came to the cliffs over- hanging the sea, and made their home in the coverts there. But the place that they liked best was a large plan- tation of Scotch firs, so closely cropped by the wind and the salt that they ran along the ground almost like ivy. One morning late in September, long after they had settled down for the day, they heard continuous and increas- ing trampling of hoofs on the road half a mile above them, and a great chat- tering of human voices. It lasted for a long time, but they lay quite still, though the hind was evidently uneasy. Then they heard hounds speak in the covert below them, and there was a shrill halloo and much blowing of horns ; and presently there was a great clatter of branches close to them, and up came a huge old stag with his mouth wide open and his head thrown back. He jerked his head impatiently for- ward, as if to say Be off at once, and the hind jumped up in terror and the calf after her; and as they went they saw the old stag lie down in their place with his horns thrown back on his shoulders and his chin tight against the ground. But they had no time to lose, for the hounds were coming 103 closer, and presently the hind led the calf on to a path, for his little legs could not keep up with hers in the tangle of the plantation, and there they ran on till they heard a horse trotting down the path towards them. Then they turned into the covert and lay down but the man hastened on along the path, looking hard at the ground, and meeting the hounds stopped them at once. What is it, Arthur? said a mans voice. Hind and calf, sir, said the man who had stopped the hounds, and then he blew a note on his horn and went away with the hounds, just three couple of them, at his heels. Hind and calf? said a girls voice, the same that they had once heard before; I thought we were hunting a stag. We certainly found one. Just so, answered the man, whose voice also was not strange; but the stag has turned up the hind and calf to be hunted instead of him. Do they often do that? said the girl. Its the commonest of all their tricks, as youll know when you have hunted them a little longer. The ywill turn out any deer that is weaker than themselves to take their place. And a hind is always weaker, I suppose ? continued the girl. Naturally, for she is only about three-quarters of the size of a big stag. Dear me, said the girl, then the stags make the hinds do all their dirty work for them. I really had thought better of them. Stags are very like men, it seems, she added with a little sigh. Yes ,they are incomparably superior to the hinds, said the man gravely. More strength, more beauty, and more brains. I (lont began the girl hotly, but the man held up his hand and said, Hark I what have they found now? Then the cry of hounds rose up again, and presently a horniess deer passed close to them, flying like an arrow from the bow. There I said the girl triumphantly, that was a hind. Do you mean to tell me that she is not twice as hand- some and graceful as a heavy, lumber- ing 01(1 stag? Far more graceful, The Old One-Itorned Stag. no doubt. said the man dryly; but it happened to be a young male deer, as you might have judged by his neck and action, and I am going to stop the tufters from him, and he drew up his reins in his hand, for he had dis- mounted. lies much nicer than the old stag, anyhow, persisted the girl, with a touch of temper. Stags can- not be very like men, said the man bitterly, as he swung himself into the saddle, if the young ones are much nicer than the old; but hinds are very like women, for it is well known that they prefer the old ones. And he looked at her rather sadly for a mo- ment, l)efore starting off abruptly at a gallop. l3ut I dont, said the girl, stretching out her hand as if to stop him. I dont, she repeated, gallop- ing after him at the top of her horses speed ; and the voices died away. But the hind and the calf lay still though they could hear men and hounds still wandering through the great covert, hunting for their lost stag. Then after a time there was another loud halloo which told them that lie was afoot again, and when another half-hour was past there was a great clamor in the road above them, and all the horses seemed to be galloping to one spot. Then the hub- bub died away aiid all was silent; the old stag had been forced into the open at last, and was flying for his life over the heather. And prcsently the hind rose and led the calf out of the covert and on to the open moor, and, when they had crossed one valley and reached the top of the hill above, they could see a long line of horses, cover- ing two or three miles, hastening on with what speed they could muster in the vain hope of catching the hounds. There they lay down in peace for two hours, and as the sun began to sink they saw the hounds, far away, and very close together, and they seeme(l to have a great deal to say to each other. The pair drew nearer, and they heard the girl say Hes not so very old, and youll admit that hes very nice ; but how you can have thought that I really cared for him And the man looked about him, rather foolishly but very happy ap~)arently, and changed the conversa- tion by saying, Look ! theres a hind and calf. And she said, I believe you are a great deal fonder of the deer than you are of me ; and so they passed on. And later on came a loose horse, all covered ~vith mire, with one stirrup missing from his saddle. And first he went down to the water to (Irink, and then lie lay down and rolled over and over till the girths parted with a crack and left the saddle on the ground ; then he got up, hung up one hind leg in the rein and kicked himself free, and then lie lay down once more and rubbed his cheeks against the heather till lie had forced the bridle off his head, and at last, apparently quite comfortable, lie began to graze. And some time after hini came a man, also covered all over with mire, trali)p- ing wearily through the heather in breeches and boots, with his spurs in his hand ; and he stumbled over ~ tussock of grass and nearly fell on his nose. And they heard him curse the moor as a place abandoned of Provi- dence and wish that lie had never set eyes on it ; and then lie, too, passed on, and so closed an eventful day. After another week or so, as October came in, the stillness of the night was broken by hideous roars, at first in a few places only, but soon froni all sides, and all the deer in the forest seemed to be incurably restless. The great stags seemed never to cease bell- ing except when they were cooling themselves in the water or taking a returning quietly home ; and very mud bath, and if two of them met they weary the horses that were with them fought furiously. Their necks were seemed to be. Then they heard voices swelled and their bodies tucked up, so much closer to them, and the hind that they looked very different from started to her feet. It was the man the sleek, fat creatures that had beeti and the girl that they had seen in the seen in the coverts in the summer. morning; thiey were riding quite alone And one would form a little band of 104 The Old One-Horned Stag. hinds to himself and drive them about like sheep, and another, perhaps some impudent three-year-old, would try to steal one of them away till the old stag caine down upon him in all his wrath and drove him to fly for his life. The calf felt very much afraid of the old stags at this time, but his mother took care to kcep him out of their way. After two or three weeks of this troubled life, the deer seemed to agree to live in peace again, and they drew together in great herds, so that some- times there would be two or three score of them on Dunkery alone. And now the autumn gales set in and blew furiously from the Atlantic over the moor; and the calf gre~v stronger and stronger, and noted with pride that the white spots which had dotted his summer coat had disappeared, and that he was now a veritable red deer. Week after week he lay with his dam in the warm sheltered coinbes of Dun- kery, and listened to the gale hunting the scud overhead, and the water roar- ing down from the bog to the sea. On very rough days there was always plenty of company in these combes, for a fox would often come in and make himself comfortable therein, and occa- sionally a hare, and all seemed to be equally fond of the place. But there was little rest, for the hounds ran over Dunkery from all parts of the moor regularly week after week, and many a time the hind and calf were forced to fly before them, sometimes alone and sometimes with others. And they had narrow escapes, too, for they were hard pressed more than once, and at last in January there came a day when they were forced to l)art from each other, and run their own ways. Worse than that, the pack divided after them, and some of the old hounds, knowing that a calf was more easily tired than a hind, chased him their haidest. He ran gallantly for more than half an hPur ii and about the large wooded valleys, but the scent was good and the pace so great that he dared not pause for a drink and a splash in the water ; and though he beat up one I This is a literal fact; the two were found in little stream for a few yards he soon the position described. left it, for he heard the hounds close to him. Then he made a final effort, and climbing up one hillside and down another, sank the hill to the water be- low and lay down in despair. But chance was kind to him ; for just as the hounds were casting down the water after him, a man viewed ilila in the stream, and tile hounds wer& stopped and laid 011 to another line. Then the men came back and stood over him, and one said: The pack is all over the place; hadnt we better stow the little beggar away some- where, or theyll kill him yet ? And the other said, Hold my horse, and ill go in after him. And he did go in after llim, but the calf was not s~ beat but that Ile scrambled up and made his escape down the water and into a hedge-trough, where he lay like a stone. All that day hounds were running round and round the great~ woods, and deer after deer, stags and hinds, came down the same water with a few hounds after them, until at last, as it grew dark, a tired man on a tired horse rode slowly up the valley blow- ing long notes on a horn and picking up couple after couple of the weary l)ack. But when night came on there was still a stray puppy mooning up and down tile valley, howling dismally from time to time that he was lost and did not know his way home, until at length he licked himself dry, and came sniffing along the hedge-trough where the calf lay to look for a warm bed. And when he reached the calf ile just stepped down and curled up alongside him ; and the two kept each other warm for the night.1 Next day his damn found him, an(1 she too seemed stiff and tired as though she had travelled far and fast on the previous day. They ran to- gether many times before the hounds ere the hunting-season ceased; but all thii~s come to an end, and at last, in March, the coverts were quiet and they could enjoy a peaceful life once mnore. Then the sun gathered strength and tile tilorns began to sprout and the 105 106 mountain-ash to flower, and the woods were carpete(l with wild hyacinth and primrose ; and a little later the ash- boughs, laid along the hedgerows round the skirt of the moor, began to throw out buds, and every young male deer came to eat them, greedy for the delicacy. The calf saw some new sights also that spring, the grey hens in the centre of the ring, and the black- cock dancing solemnly round them to show what desirable mates they were. And at the last he felt a new sensation, a pain in his forehead, which became remarkably tender in one spot, and eventually threw out a single little knob of dark grey velvet on the near side. All the other yearlings that he saw had two, and he felt himself ill- used in having but one ; but there the matter was, and not to be helped. He still remained with his dam through that summer, and as she had no calf that year he had her still to him- self; and by the time the winter was come he felt strong enough to lead the hounds a long dance before they should run up to him. But the day at last came when they were parted forever. It was a mild grey November morning, and they were lying with half-a-dozen more of the herd in some dry grass tufts in the boggy ground of Brendon Common, when the hounds came up to find them, and two couple of tufters catching view raced after them as he had never known them race before. lie went away in company with his dani and kept to her for two miles or more, though a man who was waiting for them tried hard to gallop in between them ; but at last the hounds drove them so hard that they lost all thought of each other and turned away in (lifferent directions. He galloped like the wind by the way that she had showed him towards the cliffs, and, when he came to the water, ran down and up as she had taught him; but he dared not linger long, and climbing ~l) with all haste to the covert, star- tling the woodcocks out of their day- dreams, never paused till he reached the stunted oaks above the sea. Then he stopped, and, finding all quiet, en- The Old One-Horned Stag. joyed a drink and a splash in a little stream, and lay down determined to go straight to the sea if lie were troubled again. But the hind made for Dun- kery, and soon the whole pack was after her, flying at the top of their speed. She found four stags together at the hill, but they drove her away, and she toiled on alone, black with sweat; then her beautiful neck began to droop and her feet to falter, and presently she sank the lull for Homer Water, which she never left again alive. But the yearling knew nothing of all this ; he knew only that lie never saw her again, and he did not care, for now he had grown a horn and could take care of himself. Then another spring came round, and the little horn on his forehead dropped off ; it was rather painful, but the pain was soon over ; and in its stead there grew up a slender sl)ire with two points, brow and trey, upon it. A great to-do lie made when the horn was full grown and the time came for fraying off the velvet ; lie chose a young ash-tree, and went round and round it rubbing and burnishing till he fairly cut all the bark off, and left the tree to die. But it was a great disad- vantage to have but one horn, for all the deer that had two made a point of bullying him whenever they met him. They turned him out and made him run for them again and again, and in October, when he thought of chioos- ing a wife, they drove him off with ease. Next year things were just the same. He was too young to be hunted, but lie was constantly obliged to run for others, until at last he grew so cun- ning, in baffling the hounds and in hiding himself from other decr, that it was a hard matter for either to find him. When October came lie did not stay long to fight with the others, but stole away a single hind from the herd as his companion, and took her away to the distant covert where he had lived as a calf. Still regularly as October came round he went back to Dunkery for the winter and joined the herd there. And as the years passed on lie grew The Old One-Horned Stag. into a great stag. He never bore more than a single horn, and that never very big nor heavy, but he was none the less a fine deer and could hold his own with the young ones at any rate. He was cunning too, and could hide himself away so that no hound could find him, in odd edges in the cliff, or in some patch of gorse so thick that no hound would face it. And he never walked into his lair, but stood at a distance and hurled himself into it with one great bound so as to leave no scent behind him, and lay like a stone. So for sea- son after season he escaped all trouble from the hounds. And as time went on he discovered how to take advan- tage of his one horn; for one day when he was shoving head to head with all his might against another stag, he slipped aside and gave his enemy such a thrust in the flank that the other was glad to run away limping and bleeding and fairly beat. And then he threw up his head and belied loudly in tri- umph. It was not until he was fully eight years old that he found the pack after him again. It was in October, the last (lay of the season, that they found him, and a long chase lie led them. For, starting from the foot of Dunkery lie made straight for the distant home of his calfliood, fourteen niiles away. The hounds did not get away very close to him, and lie felt as if lie could run on forever, old as he was. So away lie went over grass and heather eight miles, before he dreamed of touching the water, and, rising up refreshed after a short bath, cantered on in the teeth of the westerly breeze confident as ever. As lie ivent he caught the wind of a herd of hinds lying on the common, and ran straight into the mid- dle of them ; and up they rose, hinds with calves in terrible alarm, wondering what was going to happen. Then the hounds came up to them and scattered iii all directions after the hinds, while lie xvent on chuckling to himself, and having reached his refuge lay in the water till he felt quite cool and fresh, and curled up for the night as comfort- able as could be. Another year passed; October caine again, arid again he was in Dunkery among the herd. He went down to the fields to feed, and came back to a little brake on the hillside, a favorite place with all deer, and known as Sweetworthy, the sweet meadow; lie walked quietly up to a patch of gorse, jumped into the middle of it and lay down to sleep. Nor was lie conscious of the presence, a little before dawn, of a man who came creeping up to wind- ward of him and note(l the slot of his great feet leading into the brake but not out of it. The hounds canie to Cloutshiam, straight across the valley from him, at eleven oclock, and a nuniber of people to meet them, for it was the last day of the stag-hunting season. And the man who had crept round the brake went apart with the master, and said very quietly: In Sweetworthy, my lord a good stag. Im so sure that I would make a bet to find him myself. And the other said, Thats good, Miles. And presently the pair of them rode across the valley with the hiuntsman and two couple of hounds. The one-horned stag heard them coming, but lie only lay the closer. The hounds were laid on to the line by which lie hind passed five or six hours before arid hunted it slowly towards him, nearer, nearer, till at last they caine right up to his bed, and bayed with fierce triumph as lie juniped up before them. He made three bounds through the gorse thicket and came right upon a man who yelled tally-ho! in his face arid blew his horn so fiercely that he waited no longer but dashed down the steep wooded combe and over Cloutsham Ball to the valley that leads to the forest. And as lie reached the bottom lie heard the whole pack upon his trail and knew that the worst had come. Two miles he galloped straight up the valley to its head, the hounds flying after him and a hundred horsemen in their wake, and then lie climbed gallantly up the head of the combe, topped the bank above it, and pointed straight over the open moor for tIre distant home of his cahfhood. 107 108 He felt the cool wind in his face and ran gallantly on ; but the hounds were close behind hini, and lie could gain little on them. On and on he galloped, not daring to linger to soil in the cool brown stream till he left the heather for the grass of the forest. Then for the first time lie ran up the small thread of water, but lie had been in it only a very few minutes when the hounds came over the hill, aud he knew that he must fly once more. On they came to the water without faltering there were not a dozen horsemen with them nowflung down to the water and cast themselves upward. Then at last their pace slackened for a moment, but presently Telegram ran slowly up the bank, holding the line truly though it was still weak from water, and Fore- man pressed forward to hold it with him. And then they opened their mouths and spoke, and the one-horned stag heard them, and his heart died within him. Still he toiled gallantly on over the yellow grass of the North Forest, breasting the long ascent to southward that lay between him and his refuge. Could he only reach the top, lie would be able to hold his own yet; but strug- gle as he might the hounds gained on him, till just short of the top he turned back in despair, for they were hardly out of view. Wheeling on the line like a squadron of drilled horse, they raced down the slope as they had raced up it; and the old hounds came bounding to the front, for they knew that the end was at hand. Two miles they raced to the water at the bottom, and there the deer stood before them. Then they raised an exulting cry, and with one rush they swept him off his legs, and his head sank down below the water; but before they could harm him further the knife did its work, and the brown stream ran foul and reddened with his blood. The one horn still hangs in a Devon- shire home among the heads of Ex- moor deer that died in the year of Waterloo; and those that see it look learnedly at the skull and discourse at length on the strange chance that left its growth imperfect. But there are a few that forget all else in the memory of that race over the moor, and ask if they will ever enjoy a better fifty-five minutes than the death-chase of the Old One-Horned Stag. From The Nineteenth Century. LION HUNTING BEYOND THE HAUD. BEING a member of the profession of arms, I though t myself very lucky when I last year found myself entitled to sufficient leave to make it worth while going abroad in search of sport. A brother officer being in the same enviable position, we decided to join forces, and to go foreign together to some spot where sport and econ- omy could simultaneously be practised. Various localities, from the Zambesi to the Pamirs, came under consideration, but in the end we decided to take tickets for Aden and to try our luck in Somahiland. I will not presume too much on any ones geographical knowledge, but will say at once that the country in ques- tion occupies the most easterly corner of Africa, and adjoins Abyssinia. Those who examine a German map will find that the sphere of British in- fluence is depicted as being very small indeed ; while those who look at an English map will notice a correspond- ing decrease of French, Italian, and German influence, as represented by the dabs of various colors which are spread about the chart of this barren promontory. We will leave the account of the journey to Aden to the guide-books, and will commence with our arrival at that cheerless rock. The welcome of the assistant resident there (why should any one want assistance to reside any- where?) was not encouraging, being as follows Ohm, youre here, are you? We were just going to wire to the Foreign Office to stop you. I dont know where you can go, the country is shot out. Cheerful, this ! But our discouragement was not com menr mirate with the poor prospect lie afforded us Lion Hunting Beyond the Haud. Lion Hunting Beyond the Haud. and, seeing we were bent on going, this gentleman afforded us every assist- ance in his power. After two days at Aden my companion, whom I will call V., went over to Berberab, from which place we had decided to go up country, for the purpose of buying camels and other necessaries, an(l of engaging men. I spent a boresome fortnight at Aden, awaiting the cargo boat with our stores, ammunition, an(l guns. At last she arrived, the goods were transhipped to the Tuna, a little tub plying from Aden to the Somali coast, I got on board a proceeding materially alter- ing her draught and off we went. Reaching Berberah on a Thursday evening, we passed one night there under the roof of the political resi- dent, whose hospitality to sportsmen is unending; hustled about all the follow- ing morning from sunrise, arranging loads, and by ten oclock were on the move for the interior. At this point it would not be out of place to give some slight description of the personnel of our expedition, as well as the manner in which a large kafala, or caravan, progresses through the country. First in impor- tance came Hadj Achmed Warsama, our interpreter and head man, a tall, slight fellow of about thirty-five years of age with close-shaven head and im- mense mouth disclosing a row of gleaming white teeth ; a great man in the estimation of all the others, having three times made the journey to Mecca and having a fourth trip in prospect. He had been fifteen years in the En- glish navy as interpreter, and had accompanied Admiral Hewitt on his mission to Abyssinia. His long spell of British service gave him, of course, an excellent command of the English tongue, though perhaps his expressions sometimes savOre(l rather of the focsle. His authority over the camel men was complete, and those who have had to deal with colored races well know how greatly a powerful lieutenant adds to the pleasure of an expedition of this kind. To any one who may undertake a journey of similar character to ours I would say: spare no expense to get a good head man ; they are hard to find and require high wages ; but, for our part, we never had reason to regret one single anna of the large wages and backsheesh we paid to Hadj Achmed. Next perhaps in importance comes Deria Ali, our swarthy chef; a little wizened-up old fellow, much given to complaining of, and quarrel- ling with, the other members of the outfit, but, on the other hand, a first- class jungle cook. He had seen a good deal of the world, having visited Mel- bourne and other places in Australia; not finding them to his liking, how- ever, lie had returned to his native jungle. His wardrobe was, like Sam Wellers knowledge of London, ex- tensive and peculiar ; one day lie would appear wearing a tarhoosli, two yards of calico, and a spear; the next day very tight trousers and an old military overcoat; another day an an- cient and porous mackintosh, of which lie said, Him cost me five pounds at Melbourne. On the march his duty was to drive the sheep ; poor, white, fat-tailed things, they got so used to marching that after a few days they needed no driving, and would follow like dogs, getting gradually killed off day by day till they were all gone, and a fresh lot had to be bought to fill their place. It was necessary to take sheep with us in order to keep the l)ot sup- plied when our time was devoted ex- clusively to the pursuit of lions. On such occasions it would have been fatal to sport to discharge a rifle in order to supply ourselves with food. One sheep marched with us for about two hundred and forty miles, his day of execution having been postponed to the very last because we had become so mutually attached; when lie was killed he was barely eatable I V. and I hind each our two shilkaris, who always accompanied us. We were very fortunate in securing some of the best in the country, Nur Farah, who was with V., and Aden Ateyn, who was my head shiikari, being particularly well known. The latter was a little bullet-headed fellow of about five feet four in height, broad-shouldered and 109 110 sturdy, with a remarkable faculty for going up hill at a steady run with no apparent inconvenience to himself. Brave as the lion it is his profession to pursue, he often erred on the side of impetuosity and rashness, but withal he was a wonderful tracker and stalker and fully conversant with the habits of all game. His chief drawback was his religious mania, for I can call it nothing else, which sometimes drove him into fits similar to those of the howling dervishes at Cairo ; of this, however, we managed to cure him in a short time ; we told him that he would have to pay for any damage done to or by the camels if they stampeded in conse- quence of his antics, and finally threat- ened him with immediate discharge if he had another fit. He did not. Geleh flared, my second shikari, was almost as good a hunter as his superiora tall, slight boy of about nineteen, quite indefatigable and most willing. He had had some experience of Europeans when travelling with Captain Swayne, R.E., and I think I am right in saying that in his company he had visited Harar. He could not speak ten words of English, but had a slight knowledge of the Harari language. The camel men, fourteen of whom we armed with Snider carbines, were all engaged for us by Captain Abud at Berberah, and a better set of fellows I never wish to see ; willing and cheerful to a degree, they took all the hardships they had to undergo as part of the days work. Occasional discontent, arising out of nothing, was invariably sup- pressed as easily as it arose ; we always followed the plan of carefully investi- gating every matter of the kind that was brought before us and doing justice to the utmost of our power. Many people, in dealing with a Somali, take it for granted that he is not telling the truth ; true, the chances are against it, but he is such a child that he will con- vict himself of untruth in the first mo- ment and be the first to laugh at it himself. Burton, in his First Foot- steps in East Africa, well describes the rapid flight of the Somali temper from one extreme to the other, and it Lion Hunting Beyond the Haud. is indeed astonishing to see the man at whose childishness you have smiled one day capable of the most horrible cruelties the next. The Somalis are a peculiar race, in that they have no written language, no musical instru- ments, little or no filial affection, and rarely any gratitude. Their insensibil- ity to pain is remarkable. I have seen Aden smiling and chewing tobacco, whilst Geleh burnt little holes in his back with a red-hot stick. Fear of death is an unknown quantity among them. I must not omit to mention Aden Muhammid, V.s syce ; he was a great character and an excellent boy; he never seemed to tire, and was always ready to do every one elses work be- sides his own. One feat of his de- serves especial remark. We had found a lioness in an open plain about six miles wide, and fearing we should lose her in the bushes, we sent Aden off for a pony to round her up till we could get there. He got the pony and gal- loped off, armcd only with a little throwing spear, over ground honey- combed with holes (one of which gave him a heavy fall), and headed off the lioness ; time after time he brought her to bay under a bush, and time after time she charged, and he was obliged to gallop for his life till he had dis- tanced her; at last we got up to where he was, and the lioness was secured. This appears to me to be an act of as high courage as one can look for in any one, white or black. Only once did we have to reprimand him, and then his offence tended towards the ludicrous. It was as follows: As V. and I were walking along some distance behind the kafala we saw an old man, near a village, crying and raising a great com- motion; off we went to inquire what was the matter, and found that Master Aden and Bulaleh, my own syce, had stolen the old mans sword from him and gone off with it. Of course resti- tution was made, and the two syces were put on guard for a whole night as punishment, regardless of their protests. They took it very good- humoredly, but paid us out by waking Lion Hunting Beyond the Haud. us every hour or two through the night to tell us they had heard a lion in the neighborhood. Which they had not. To return to our kafala. The camel loads were of a very varied nature, nothing being procurable in the interior but a little meat and milk, and that only during the rains; so we had to carry with us everything that we were likely to need. The men were rationed with a pound of rice, half that amount of dates, and two ounces of ghee per maii per diem. As they numbered twenty -five and we carried rations for a hundred days, it will be seen that this item alone represented a consider- able amount of transport. A Somali camel carries a load of about two hun- dred pounds, but that amount varies greatly with the size, condition, and age of the animal, and with the work he has lately done and is expected to do. It is a good rough computation to say that one camel carries rations suffi- cient for twenty-five men for eight days. Seven camels were devoted to the transport of water; some carried casks containing twenty-six gallons each, one on each side, the very best possible way of carrying water on camel-back ; while others were loaded ~vith hams, as the native water vessels are called. They are woven of the inner bark of a tree and grass, and are saturated in ghee to make them watertight. They are of the shape of a short, fat cigar, one end being remov- able and forming a cup. The whole is enclosed in a cage of strong twigs, to which the ropes are made fast, which lash it on to the back of the camel. Our own private stores were packed in fifty-pound boxes, a selection of goods being put in each, so that only one, or two at most, were in use at a time. This plan I can strongly recommend to other travellers, as the trouble and an- noyance of having to open box after box to find some necessary article is very great, besides which damage is done to the boxes by constant opening and nailing up, and in the hurry arti- cles are not properly repacked, thus getting broken or spoilt. One camel carried our tent (in two packages) and 111 our clothes and books (in two kit bags). Ammunition, spare rifles, calico for presents and barter, tobacco for the same purpose, together with a few tools and spare rope, pretty well com- plete the list of our niat~riel. The manner in which a load is fixed on a camel is not unworthy of descrip- tion. The Somal has no saddle for his camel, but uses in its place a thick pad of mats, barns, which on camping he uses as a roof and walls for his lint, hanging them over curved sticks after the manner of gipsy huts in England. The soft hflru forming the padding next the camels skin lie uses as a couch. The camel having been made to lie down, after much grunting and roaring on his part, he is securely knee- haltered by passing the halter under each knee and over his neck, on the top of which it is tied. The soft h& ru is themi put on his back, covering all but his head and tail, and the front part folded back to make a double thickness over the withers and hump. (The hump of the Somali camel, by the way, is not nearly such a marked feature as that of the Arabian camel.) On this are placed the remainder of the lihrus to the extent of from six to nine thick- nesses of mat. The loading rope, a long, double-plaited grass rope, is then put on so as to form a complete har- ness, consisting of breast-plate, double girth, and crupper, but never passing over the back, the harness being lifted up as much as possible so as to leave the spine clear after the manner of an ordinary English saddle. The load having first been carefully balanced, it is then secured by lashing it to the loading rope. This adjustment of loads is a most important consideration in the marching of a kafala; for, if it is not properly attended to, loads will roll off, or shift backwards and forwards, or, worse still, the camel will get a sore back and be rendered unfit for work, necessitating the division of his load amongst other camels. Our loads being all properly divided and adjusted, we will march off. As each camel man gets his two camels loaded up lie ties the halter of one Qf 112 L~o~t Hunting Beyond the Haud. ~hein to the tail of the other, whose written home Potage tabloide, tont~ halter he in turn ties to any unoccupied nedos de Koodoo a loignon. Pain. tail he can see ; a fairly fast, steady Confiture. Caf~. Vms. Whiskey. camel is chosen to lead, and, as soon Eau alkaline. Very soon after sunset as the whole of the kafala is strung to- the temperature begins to fall, and at gether, the order is given to march off. such a rapid rate that by seven oclock For the first mile or so the camel men we are generally glad to put on our stay by their respective charges to see thickest coats and sometimes to wrap that the loads are travelling all right; rugs round us. when satisfied that this is the casethey Some of those evenings in the junzle gather into knots in front, in rear, or are among my pleasantest recollections. on the flanks and indulge in chaff, What greater pleasure than coming in songs of sorts, and occasional prayer, from a successful hunt to find that the latter entailing a run of a mile or ones companion has had his share of so to catch the caravan up again. If in sport, and, over the post-prandini a district whose friendliness is doubted, coffee, to mutually recite ones expe- a careful watch is of course kept while riences of the (lay? The (larkness suc- on the march, and no straggling ceeding the fall of day is just giving allowed. The shikaris, as a rule, way to the bright light of the rising formed the advanced guard, while the moon, whose rapidly widening silver ponies and syces brought up the rear. edge we see through the tops of the If the ponies are allowed to get in front mimosa jungle. The circle of fires in the whole rate of marching will be re- the zareba throws a ruddy glow on the tarded, as a Somali pony only walks picturesque figures of the men grouped two miles an hour when loose, a about them at their meal or preparing camels ordinary pace being half a mile for rest. In the far distance we hear per hour more. the howl of the hyena or the gruff bark The usual days work when on the of the questing lion. His majesty may march was as follows B~veit at three, perhaps be inclined to visit us later in a cup of coffee and biscuit, camp struck, the evening; very well, we will give loaded up and off at four, steady march- him a royal reception. Achmed, tell ing till ten or thereabouts, when we Aden to put the 10-bore and half-a- would find the shadiest spot we could, dozen cartridges by my bed! Eight amid halt for from four to five hours, oclock time to turn in. Wheres during which time we had breakfast, my revolver? Ah ! here it is. I will wrote up diaries, took any necessary put it under the i~illow as usual for astronomical observations. About two fear of accidents. Good-night! and a half hours more marching in the Night! and we are soon asleep to a afternoon brought us to the nights brief lullaby from the sentry, who never camping ground towards five oclock. ceases singing throughout his watch; Then there was a thorn zarcba to be asleep, but not a heavy slumber; any made, dinner to be prepared, beds put unusual noise, and we shall both be out, perhaps a little doctoring to be wide awake, having woken up su(ldenly done, and sometimes time to read a without a movement, unless it be that 1)00k for a few minutes before dark. of a hand to a weapon; wide awake, to At sundown Achmed called the faithful (Irop off again the moment we are sat- to prayers, and such as felt like it isfied that all is well. It is a wonder- attended; during the Ramadan indeed ful faculty of the human mind which there were very few absentees, but at enables it to adapt its sleep to circum- other times the attendance was smaller, stances; at home we lay our heads As soon as the men had done their down and sheep till shouted at by a ser- prayers our dinner was served by the vant who has banged about the room butler, Jama Agg Elhi, a capital for ten minutes previously; go to the boy whom we picked up in Aden. I jungle or the prairie, and our sheep is quote the carte du jour from a letter set on a hair-trigger, we wake ten Lion Hunting Beyond the Ilaud. times in the night and ten times we are asleep again within half a minute, having made sure all is right. As the uight advances we are glad to pull the waterproof sheets over us, sometimes Tright over our heads, to keep off the heavy dew, which otherwise would soak us to the skin. Long before daylight Jaina would be called by the sentry (whose clock was a star), and in his turn go and wake V. with the remark, I think so, sir, it half past three. V., drawing his watch our only chronometer from under his pillow, would check the accuracy of Jamas assertion with the aid of a match, and, if his statement held watcr, would order a start. My own watch, a cheap one, broke down very soon after enter- ing the Haud, so we had to rely entirely on V.s timepiece, an excellent lever watch, for our observations. On one occasion the sentry must have dropped off to sleep for a moment and woken up again to find the stars obscured by clouds. Thinking apparently that he had had a prolonged nap, he woke Jama, who addressed to V. his usual matutinal salutation of I think so, sim~, it half past three. Imagine my companions feelings when he found, on consulting his watch, that it was only just midnight It was wonderful to observe the celerity with which our camp was pitched or broken. About half an hour sufficed to see a thorn zareba built, and every one comfortably settled down after arrival at a fresh camp, while forty-five minutes from the ejaculation by either Oi. us of the mystic word Wars6kahaiy6Ji (what it means the writer has not a notion, but its action never failed), not a vestige would re- main to mark the spot when men, camels, and horses had lately lived, moved, and had their being. In appearance the Somal has the ad- vantage of most colored an(l of many white races. He is as a rule tall, slight, and well set up, with well-formed limbs covered with a ruddy brown skin, the texture of which would excite envy in the heart of many a European beauty. The features have, as a rule, nothing LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 372 ii3 in common with the coarse negro type which prevails in Kubia and the Sou- dan, but rather incline towards the Semitic type. Thick lips are the ex- ception, not the rule, and a broad, flat nose is also a rarity. The hair, when the head is not clean shaved, is allowed to grow straight out from the head in every direction, giving a very wild ap- pearance to the owner; among the Esa and Gadabursi tribes the hair seems to be softer, and hangs down to the nape of the neck in long, closely curled ring- lets. The women throughout the coun- try have the hair enclosed in a dark blue fillet, a difference in the disposi- tion of the latter distinguishing be- tween a married and an unmarried woman. The first fourteen days were of little interest except to ourselves, steady travelling, at about twenty miles per diem, being the rule. We knew it was no good stopping short of Hargaisa, as the coast range has been shot out dur- ing the last three or four years ; and our best chance of sport seemed to be to cross the Haud (not Hand as recently described in the Field), a waterless plateau extending for three hundred miles east and west, and being about one hundred miles wide. Ac- cordingly, after a short delay at Har- gaisa to obtain extra camels, for water, and to make arrangements with the local sheikh about keeping any letters that might be forwarded to us, we set out on our five waterless days march. On two successive mornings we found numerous lion tracks on the path, and in one case found traces of a lion hav- ing been driven from his morning meal of oryx by our approach; not being provided for delay beyond the neces- sary five days, we did not molest them at the time, but noted their positions for future guidance. A lion, if undis- turbed, will work the same district for months at a time, leaving it every six to ten days to go for water, according to the weather and the amount he has eaten. The writer had the good for~ tune a fortnight later to be able to fo1~ low exactly the movements of a troop of five lions and lionesses for seven Lion Hunting Beyond the Haud. days, during which time they never left a radius of ten miles ; perhaps this may be accounted for by the fact that he missed them consistently for three of those days and on the seventh killed one ; the remaining four de- voured all that was mortal of their poor friend that night, and were no more seen. The Haud was crossed without any staving in of water-casks or other mis- adventure such as generally happens to novices, and the morning of the fifth day saw us in Milmil. A two days halt brought me good luck in the shape of a greater koodoo, that splendid, spiral-horned antelope so well depicted in Mr. Selouss recent book. This was the second one I had got since starting, in each case a lucky shot on the top of a lucky find having brought about the desired result. One very seldom gets a sl)ecilnen without a lot of climbing over the most rugged hills imaginable. Captain Swayne, in his report on the antelope of Somaliland, says A fort- nights hard climbing is amply repaid by a good pair of horns. (The pres- ent writer, never having been a feather- weight, is better on the flat than on the hill.) The first place where we really settled down to business was Awhre, twenty-five miles east of Mil- mil, a slight cup in a plateau where sufficient water collects to provide for a small number of people throughout the dry season. Lion and rhino tracks on the way there, coupled with a visit from two lions the same night, augured well for sport. As soon as it was light, the morning after our arrival, we were off together on the tracks of the larger of the two lions whose tracks we had found. V. took the right, I the left, two of the shikaris keeping on the track itself in the centre. Three hours steady track- Ing brought us to some grass about ten feet in height, and quite impossible to see far through. The surrounding country was mimosa forest, a distant view in any direction being impossi- ble. As we were making our way cau- tiously along I heard a shot from V., followed by a most awful moaning roar about twenty yar(ls away ; my shikari Aden and I were round like a flash, at the ready position, standing, as we expected trouble, but two more shots and the succeeding silence assured us of V.s success. As we moved round to where he was standing, close to a splendid old black-maned lion, the syces and shikaris were just commenc- ing the song of triumph which is al- ways sung when a male lion has been bagged. There was extra rejoicing over the death of this one, as he had been a well-known man-eater, thirty five (call it ten!) deaths being laid at his door, in addition to being the first lion of the trip. On the way home I was successful in bagging a fine bull oryx, which fell to the first shot from my little single 450 Express, making me more pleased than ever with the weapon which had come to hand only three days before our departure. The next day is worthy of record. According to custom we had started off in oj)posite directions from camp as soon as the sun appeared. I had al- most given up hope of sport, my shikaris and I having walked about ten miles without a vestige of a lion track, when we came on quite fresh signs of two biggish lions that had been hunt- ing oryx; the tracks were so fresh that we knew we could not be far behind them, and exercised consequent can. tion. Through all the intricacies of their hunting prowl we followed them; now and again one could see where one of them had made a spring at an oryx and missed, or where the oryx had taken fright and bolted off. At last the place where they had rested in the morning was reached, and from there the tracks went straight away for about five miles, through a light thorn jungle interspersed with patches of high grass. I thought they must have es- caped us, and was inclining to despair when Geleh, my second shikari, who was in front, suddenly stopped and bobbed down ; I naturally did the same, took my double 10-bore from him, and looked cautiously up over the top of the thorn-bush in front. We were at the edge of an open grass glade 114 Lion Hunting Beyond the Haud. about a hundred yards wide, bounded by mimosa-trees and high grass. We were concealed by the bush in front of us, which was of just sufficient height to enable me to fire over its fiat top. Beyond it I could discern the yellow forms of the two lionesses, for such they proved to be, lying flat on their left sides, their hind feet pointing straight towards us, not forty yards dis- tant. They were absolutely unaware of our presence, and lay as if dead. Had the day not been cloudy they would doubtless, according to their habit, have been sleeping in the jun- gle ; on this occasion the rare event of an overcast sky had tempted them into the open to their own destruction and the ultimate advantage of the writer. As the two great cats lay there, fast asleep, I could not help waiting a moment before firing, as I felt sure they would not wake now, the wind being the other way ; and it is not given to many people to see lions in their native state in this l)eaceful con- dition. I suspect, however, that the moments delay was not quite so long as it seemed, but it was long enough for me to see that the further one was a lioness ; thinking, therefore, that the nearer one, whose head I could not see, was a lion, I fired, aiming for a spot just behind the elbow ; as I did so the other one looked up over her shoulder and almost simultaneously got the contents of the left barrel in the neck, killing her at once. The first one fired at which proved also to be a lioness still moved ; but Geleb, thinking her vitality less than it really was, strolled up to her, putting the butt of my Winchester on her head; as lie did so she seized it in her mouth, nearly perforating it with her teeth, thereby giving him such a respect for dead (!) lions that he was ever after- wards most cautious in dealing with them. I had to give her a shot from the 450 Express before it was con- sidered politic to commence skinning the other one which lay close by. This operation was not a long one, and the pelts and skulls were soon made up in bundles ready to pack on a pony. 115 The latter was very averse to this operation, and was only brought to reason by having his nostrils rubbed with a piece of the flesh of one of the lions. To the load was added a con- siderable amount of the inside fat, a perquisite of the shikaris ; this is melted and bottled by them, and after~ wards sold for a considerable price to native doctors on the coast and at Aden. It is highly valued by them for its supposed medicinal qualities, being rubbed into those who suffer from rheumatism and fever. On reaching camp that evening we found that V. had got a tremendous female rhino with a fine front horn.. His shikaris too had had a scare; tort as they were dancing on the body of~ the supposed defunct pachyderm, she had given a grunt, and looked round t~ see what was up. I believe their activity in regaining their rifles was. marvellous. It was in the neighborhood of Aware that the writer caught sight of some Bebbo Tag or Clarkes gazelle, one of the rarest of East African ante- lope, only having been shot for the tirst time about four years ago. A few~ days later, having no further ~port~ we moved two journeys nortli-west~ into the Haud, to Doa-ahleh, the spot where we had seen the tracks on our journey south. A weeks stay here increased our tale of lions by one each a week to be l)assed over by the writer as lightly as possible. For four days lie tracked from dawn to after- noon with always the same result, a galloping shot with 10-bore and a miss over the top constituting the usual finale to the proceedings. The fifth (lay saw the heavy rifle relegated to close work, its place for moving shots being taken by the little ~450 Express, with which in his hands the writer did not lose a single lion. A description of a certain mornings work will show how easily a good chance may be missed by a novice through ignorance of the sport. V. and I had been for some hours on the track of a band of lions numbering five, besides what Nur Farahi called Lion Hunting Beyond the Haud. the two small boys (two cubs). At last we came to the fresh trace of where something had been dragged into a patch of high grass, the tracks being so fresh as to leave little doubt that the lions were concealed in it, and probably busy feeding. Instead of going right round the thicket, as we should have done, our shikaris insisted on our walking straight down a slight opening into the centre of it. The re- sult of this move was that we walked almost on to the lions as they were devouring a dead oryx. I saw a lioness creeping through the bush ten yards ahead of us, and fired through the branches with no perceptible re- sult. Almost at the same instant an- other lioness rose up under a tree rather further away, and started towards us, looking very nasty; before her head was fairly lowered V., who had dropped on one knee, fired, strik- ing her in the region of the shoulder. She spun round and round half-a-dozen times like a top, and we lost sight of her. Aden and I dashed forward after a fine male lion he had caught sight of, an(l followed it up for some hours, but without success, the ground being hard and unfavorable for tracking. We made out that his tracks turned in the direction of the place where lie had been found, and then we lost him. V. had had no better luck with his wounded lioness, the blood trail having ceased after a short while, making tracking impossible. Disconsolately we turned our steps campwards, after a short halt for rest and abuse of our luck. Passing a patch of grass a few hundred yards from where we had rested, it was thought advisable to spread and walk through it in line. The moment we entered it Nur Farah spied a yellow object creeping along close to him. He shouted to V., who fired at close range at the object, scarcely knowing what it was; the first shot, which failed to touch it, startled it, and off went the beast with huge bounds over the grass tussocks, showing it to be the lion I had been after all the morning. He must have circled round after we had given him up, and probably intended to return to the meal from which we had disturbed him. We pursued him for a short dis- tance, but we could see by the tracks that his gallop never flagged at all, and we soon abandoned the chase. Had we not then beeii such green hands at the game the mornings bag would probably have been three lions at least, instead of nil. The first mistake was in blundering into the grass where we found them, instead of giving the matter a few moments consideration, during which they would probably have revealed their actual position, by the noise made in crunching bones. The second was tearing in after our shots instead of waiting for another chance which, with so many lions in the covert, would probably have offered itself. The third was to start off at once in pursuit of a lion disturbed whilst feeding. A lion, after its first bolt away from the hunter, generally stops after a little while to see if lie is being pursued ; if lie has left food be- hind him, the probability is that he will return cautiously to finish it; if not, lie will walk gently on to his desti- iiation. If, on the other hand, lie sees among the trunks of the mimosa bushes two or three pairs of legs rapidly ad- vancing in his direction, lie will break into a canter, followed by a steady jog- trot, and will probably not stop before sundown. With a very big heavy lion the case is rather (lifferent, as, having more to carry, he is much affected by the heat, and it is usually possible, on good tracking ground, to walk him down. In the case in point we ought to have lain behind a bush near the bones of the oryx, when our patience would almost certainly have been ic- warded by a shot. In this neighborhood we succeeded in adding a young lion and a lioness to the bag. The latter fell to V.s rifle by a curious shot. The bullet broke the neck, and the fore quarters of the lioness subsided with the head under- neath, the hind quarters remaining raised as though the beast were kneel- ing down; after half a minute she rolled over on her side, stone dead. 116 Lion. Hunting Beyond the Haud. My young lion gave me some excite- ment. He also was struck in the neck, just above the spine, the bullet passing completely through ; when he caught sight of us coming into the clearing where he lay, he endeavored, though half ~)aralyzed, to make a rush at us. It was with the greatest difficulty that I could restrain the shikaris from let- ting drive at him, I myself administer- ing the coup de grace behind the ear at a distance of about fifteen yards. It is curious how invisible a lion is in the jungle so long as he keeps still. In this instance I had looked straight at my lion through the bushes, as he sat up on his hind quarters, and thought he was the dead trunk of a tree. His back was towards us, and it was not till he turned his head that I realized what he was. The natives told us that the color of the skin of both rhinoceros and lion varies with the color of the soil. Our own short experience quite bore this out, the lions killed on dark soil having a much bluer tinge than those which we had secured on the red ground. As we intended striking ~vest from here, we now paid off Sheikli Muhamn- mi(l, son of Sheikh Elmi, the head man of Milmil, who had been with us ever since our arrival at the latter place, three weeks in all. He was a most obliging little man and an excellent guide. If he had a fault, it was his proclivity for saying his prayers at in- convenient moments. He amused us very much when it came to giving him the money. We first had an interview with him, to see with what amount he would be pleased. Twenty-four rupees ~vas fixed on as a sum with which he would be amply satisfied. He then begged to be paid sixteen rupees in his brothers presence, in order that the latter should believe it to be the whole sum, as he would be sure to demand a share ; the remaining money was to be paid him secretly after dark. This artfulness on the part of what Achmed described as De mos religiones man was rather quaint. We had some little trouble in getting away from Dagha- boor, owing to the unwillingness of the 117 sheikh to let us have a guide. This was due to the fact that he and his family were being rationed by our l)eople, and were naturally loth to cut off their free supplies by their own action. One morning, while deliberating about our future movements, a native came in with khabar (news) of a lion track close by. We started off at once together to follow it up. Aden and Geleh were leading the way, each car- rying a rifle, when suddenly I saw themu put the rifles down against some bushes, and fly at one another. They were on the ground in a moment, tear- ing and hitting at each other. Nur Faiah seized one, I the other, and we dragged them apart, while they panted and cursed with rage. A summary court-martial and inquiry was held, when we found that the whole thing had arisen from my having told Geleh that the rifles were not as clean as they should be. He had told Aden that it was his, Adens, fault. The latter had replied that it was none of his busi- ness. Thence they had drifted into mutual recriminations, embracing one anothers relations, appearance, and habits. It ~vas something to be thank- ful for that they had not used the rifles. The end of it was that V. and I changed shikaris for the day, and threatened the combatants with discharge in the event of a recurrence of the fracas. Justice having been dispensed, we started off on the lion track, V. taking the right, I the left. The course taken by the lion favored me throughout, bending steadily in my direction. Aden excelled himself in tracking on this occasion, following an almost in- visible trail at a rate of about four and a half miles an hour. After two hours tracking, he motioned to me to go very quietly, at the same time slipping off his sandals and hanging them over his arm. The track led into a mass of tufts of thorn and grass jungle divided by narrow paths, along which one could walk without hindrance. We were quietly slipping along in Indian file, Aden leading, when he suddenly stopped and pointed to the left front. 118 I looked out between the thorn stems to a clearing fifty yards distant, but saw nothing. The next moment he seized me by the arm, and then pointed to a spot in the high grass close to us, at the same time bringing his rifle to his shoulder. As he did so I saw lying in the grass a magnificent male lion; he appeared to be almost at our feet. As I caught sight of him, he had just woken up, and was turning his head to look at us over his shoulder as he lay on his left side. I fired at once, the bullet striking just beneath the eye. A second afterwards Aden fired also, to my annoyance ; but perhaps he was justified by circumstances. His bullet struck the lion in the right flank rather behind the heart. We deemed another shot necessary, and I let him have it from in front, firing at his open mouth, which was about all I could see from my position. The bullet unluckily broke some of his teeth, which were very fine ones, afterwards passing into the roof of the mouth, through the brain, and out at the neck. The first shot had likewise nenetrated and lodged in the brain. A shady march of two days in a north-westerly direction up the Tug Djerad brought us to Goderali, just within the borders of Abyssinia. The journey was uneventful, the country being devoid of both game and people. We saw old traces of natives, it is true, but they had been driven away or killed by the rapidly encroaching Abyssinians, leaving only their empty huts and za- rebas. From the hill on the side of which we pitched our camp a marvel- Ions view was obtainable. To the north, the black forest of the Hand stretched as far as the eye could reach, broken only by three small hills, well- known landmarks. To the south and west rolled the mountains of Harar. The range on which we stood, and which bounded the Hand for miles, was a low, stone-covered stretch of round- topped hills flanked by thick mimosa jungle, filled with rhinoceros. Wher- ever we ~vent we found traces of them, their feeding-ground being apparently restricted to a very small area. Never Lwn Hunting Beyond the Ilaud. having been hunted, they probably found no reason to leave such excellent pasture, and during the first four days of our stay at Goderali there was a herd of rhino feeding within ten miles of camp. The honey-bird, of which we saw several during the trip, is well worthy of mention as a natural curiosity. It is a little grey, common-looking bird about the size of a thrush. It first forces it- self upon the notice of the traveller by flying across his path, uttering a shrill, unlovely cry. It will then sit on a neighboring tree, still calling and wait- ing for him to follow. By short, rapid flights the bird will lead its guest on and on, till after a while the traveller notices that the bird has stopped its onward course, and is hanging about among a certain half-dozen trees. These being visited one after another and carefully examined, the search will be rewarded by finding a nest of bees in one of them. The probability is that there will be honey in it, but I have known the bird mistaken, It is a mat- ter of honor with the natives to set aside a good portion of honey for the bird. Although this action of the honey-bird is an established fact of natural history, it is none the less un- accountable, and it would be interesting to know whether he ever tries to entice quadrupeds also to assist him in obtain- ing his much-loved honey. Our first days sport at Goderali was unfortunate, as far as I was concerned. As usual, Y. and I started from camp in almost opposite directions ; very soon I came on rhino tracks, and fol- lowed them, he on a lion track which he also followed. The tracks must have converged, for, as I was creeping up to get a shot at one of the four rhino that we had been tracking, we heard the report of his rifle at a distance of about half a mile. Off went the rhino with us after them. Soon they stopped, and I fired a long side shot at the head of the biggest one who was standing half behind a tree. In ignorance I fired too far forward and lodged the bullet in the mass of bone which sup- ports the horn. The beast staggered, Lion Hunting Beyond the Haud. 119 but galloped off in a cloud of dust, fol- could only be done by leaving a couple lowed by Geleh and myself. (Aden of men on ponies, with rifles, to drive was down with fever and was absorb- les mis~rables back and prevent them ing antipyrine in camp.) coming on for some time after the de- Another shot as he stood under a tree parture of the kafala; even then they was fruitless, and after a pursuit of would sometimes arrive late at night eight miles we gave it up, reaching after we had camped, having followed camp just before sundown, to find that as soon as the rear-guard started to re- my companion had got a lioness. She join us. must have been the only one in the We soon quitted our old trail, inclin- l)lace, as we never saw the track of ing northwards over and along the another in the neighborhood of Gode- range of hills where Goderali stands. rali. We found tracks of greater and lesser For an account of the next days koodoo, but saw none of either species. sport I cannot do better than quote One midday halt afforded us an inter- verbatim from my diary. esting half-hour examining the leaf Aden looked very ill from fever, but he and stick insects which were crawling came with me. Passed endless rhino tracks about; they were most curious, the pointing south-east, but left them all, as resemblance to dead leaves and stalks they led towards V.s ground. Five miles of grass being in many cases perfect. from camp a low whistle from camel-man Unfortunately entomology had had no Mohammed, who was with the pony fifty l)lace in the curriculum of our early yards in rear, called our attention to a big studies, so we could only observe these she-rhinoceros two hundred yards away to extraordinary insects in a very amateur the right front. We stood motionless, and ~Tay. she came straight towards us, sniffing the When we got down again to the air, having evidently winded the pony. border of the Haud, we found ourselves She stopped forty yards away, looking in in a fine game country. Besides lion our direction, then wheeled off suddenly and rhinoceros there were awnl (0. and bolted. I got in a shot with the 10- bore in the front part of the brain, which Soemmeringii), gerenook, dik-dik (Na- bowled her over, and gave her another as notragus Saltii), dhera (G. Pelze~ni), she lay, to make certain. Went on three bustard, and many kinds of birds. hours more, but did nothing. Aden Ateya The awal gave us a lot of sport, and had a near shave of being struck by a snake their meat was very acceptable to the a yard long, and as thick as the calf of few villages we passed. They are not my leg. He speared it, whereupon it bit as a rule very difficult to approach, as itself. they generally feed on plains studded Several elephant tracks some months with bushes, the easiest kind of stalk- 01(1 showed that during the rainy season ing ground. One peculiarity, which they frequent this locality. We also we soon found out and took advantage found the skeleton of one killed by na- of, is that when disturbed while feed- tives about six months previously. ing in the neighborhood of a kafala on The beggars who follov a European the march, they nearly always gallop caravan from place to place are a great straight past the leading camel. If pest. It is next to impossible to get one of the guns places himself at the ri(l of them, and they sit outside the head of the caravan while the other zareba after dark and howl until they goes in pursuit, the probability is that gain admission. Where water was the former gets the easier chance. plentiful and there was no fear of ra- When killing meat for some natives tions running short we never interfered one day, I in this manner got three with them, they were such wretched- beasts out of a herd of awal that gal- looking objects ; but where there was loped past, with five shots from a little any doubt about the sufficiency of food, ~32O Marlin repeater which I usually out of fairness to our o~vn men we carried when on the march. The always tried to keep them away. It dhera are pretty little things, but most hon Hunting Beyond tk~ Ilaud. difficult to get near, besides affording a diminutive target. The lump of loose skin on the nose gives the head a very curious appearance. At a place called Kuri Deli, twenty miles from Fiambiro, we found that heavy rain had fallen a few days pre- viously ; the young grass was conse- quently growing rapidly, and a pond a hundred yards long had formed in a neighboring watercourse. As the camels had had very hard work for the previous fortnight we decided to give them a few days in which to recuper- ate, and we built a zareba not far from the water. We met t~vo Somali rhi- noceros hunters armed with bows and arrows, one of them carrying, in addi- tion, a colored cotton umbrella with which he seemed delighted. We wished them good luck, and they replied that if they killed a rhino the Habersheeny (Abyssinians) were sure to take the horns, this being their in- variable custom. The news that a lion had killed a donkey the previous night justified us in our selection of a resting-place, and we at once ordered zarebas to be con- structed for occupation the same even- lug one near the water, the other near the village five miles away. The first night spent in them addcd nothing to the bag, but the following evening was more successful. 1 quote from my diary which it nearly cut off. On looking out again, after reloading, I was greeted with a roar, and gave the now deceased donkey the first barrel through the nose, thinking in the darkness that he was the lion; the contents of the left barrel broke the shoul- der of the latter as he sprung at the loop- hole, and he went past us to some bushes near by, where we heard him moving about and growling and groaning till morning. At daylight we followed his tracks for a quarter of a mile, when we came on him, as we thought, dead. He quickly con- vinced us of the contrary by jumping up and making off. A shot from the 10-bore bowled him over, but he required two more shots from the ~450 to settle him. His tracks showed us that he had been and sat down within twenty yards of our camp the night before, but only the ponies had no- ticed his presence. Rain having already fallen in places, water was abundant, and a few flowers were forcing their way out. Amongst others we noticed three sorts of con- volvulus, a kind of bouvadia, and a giant jasmine; a week later we found a beautiful cluster of sweet-smelling lilies growing on stems about six inches long ; beyond these we scarcely ever saw a flower at all. It was interesting to observe the effect of the rain on insect life ; masses of ants of all sizes, ant-lions, beetles and other insects sprang into existence~ and made their presence evident in various ways. The large black ants were l)usy cutting the wings off swarms Built a second zareba near the water, a of May flies that the rain had beaten mile from V.s and close to our camp. A down and were dragging the bodies heavy shower fell just before and after Geleh and myself arrived there, but a into holes. Huge spiders were enter waterproof sheet which we had luckily ing into combat with other ants with taken kept us dry. I dropped off to sleep varying success, and at one place we at once, having spent the previous night came on a flock of birds feeding on a out; probably Geleh soon afterwards fol- swarm of great black and yellow locusts lowed suit, as lie was sleeping soundly which could hardly fly. It is a curious when I was woken at about midnight by fact which we l)roved by experinwnt, the donkey stamping about in evident that, if the leading ant of an army of terror. A crash, followed by a sound of ants on the move be killed, the remain- sniffing, brought me up on my knees in a (icr on moment, rifle in hand; and as I looked reaching the spot where their quietly out of the loop-hole i saw against leaders trail ceases, will turn about, the sky the outline of an immense lions and go back to their startingpoint~ head two yards from me. I fired at once, The size of the ants may be realized and thought I had settled him; but the when one considers that the larger shot was aimed too high, entering the fore- species are able to carry a date-ston& head and passing out by the ear, the top of single-handed. 120 Lion Hunting Beyond the Haud. Leaving the ilarawa valley we worked northwards in search of ele- phant, but found none ; the country was very mountainous and rocky, one pass in particular being barely passable for the camels. One of our ponies was overcome by my riding him for a couple of hours one day ; and the next morning, when asked to go up hill with an empty saddle, he, to use the native expression, sat down and died. The Somali pony is useless for a heavy man at any time, and, when food and water are scarce, a caravan is better without any ponies at all ; they are constantly stopping and sitting down, when either the caravan has to wait or one or two men must be left behind to bring them on in the cool of the evening. We found the track of an elephant one morning and followed it more or less for three days, at the end of which time we lost it; the bleaching skeletons of several ele- phants showed us where another En- glish party had met them; and we passed close to the spot where an An- glo-Indian had two months previously come across a herd while he was marching and had killed seven. He only got one lion though, so we stifled our jealousy. Only three weeks now remained to us before we were due at Berberah, so we decided to go out into the middle of the ilaud and try to pick up another lion or two. Leaving our main body at Hargaisa, where we heard of Lord IDelameres mauling by a lion, we marched out with small loads and all the water-casks a two days~ journey into the Hand, to a place called Arror. The writer was suffering from the ill effects of a draught of bad water taken a week previously, and was obliged to stay in bed for the first four days, which time V. spent in pursuit of a fine old lion who evidently belonged to the neighborhood. On the fifth day his perseverance was rewarded by get- ting him after a hot days .tracking. The next day I was out again, though very weak, and, after several hours tracking, traced two lions into a patch of grass. Aden and I slipped round to 121 the far side and got on an ant-heap ; two of the men followed the tracks in and nearly stepped on the lionesses fast asleep ; they rushed out past me, and I shot the first one through the apex of the heart as she galloped past, killing her after she had gone twenty yards the other I missed with the 1O-bore~ having foolishly changed rifles after the first shot. The second day after this we were on the march, heading for home, and were about a mile ahead of the cara- van as it crossed the Banki Arror, a treeless plain six miles in width. We came on the track of the lioness I had missed, and a few moments later up she jumped from a depression and made off across the plain. Of our pursuit of her and Aden Muhammids pluck I wrote in a previous paragraph, so I will take up the narrative at the l)oint where lie on a pony had rounded her up under a bush. By previous agree- ment V. was to have first shot, but our six.mile run in the blazing sun had un- steadied us, and it was almost impossi- ble to point a rifle within a foot of the mark aimed at ; he fired though, and, as far as we know, missed ; the lioness dashed off, but was stopped in a mo- ment by Aden on the pony ; she crouched under another bush in sight of me, lying broadside on, and I fired, striking her in the shoulder ; the shot had only the effect of making her crouch still lower, and to begin a low growling and switching of her tail from side to side. Again I fired, this time aiming at the head ; my unsteadiness spoilt my aim, and the bullet cut a neat hole in the tip of the ear, but did not other~vise injure her; the next mo- ment she swung round and charged me while I was loading, V. putting a bullet in her shoulder as she rushed past him, but without result. I could not get the cartridge in soon enough to fire during her rush, so endeavored to take a step to my right to avoid the spring I ex- pected. As I did so I felt myself held right in the lionesss path by a small thorn-bush which reached about to my waist, and the toothed arms of which held me in a close embrace. I thought 122 Lion Hunting Beyond the Haud. I was done for, and my relief knew no him careful, and he did not go up to bounds when she suddenly swerved to the beast till he was quite sure o~ its her right and passed behind me. In a demise. moment I tore myself clear and turne(l Poor 0-clchs wound gave us some round to find that the lioness had little anxiety, as lie had the bad taste, seized Geleh by the wrist, and that he after three days of time writers doctor- was stru~li to ~ rig thrust her off with ino to insist on being attended by a the rifle which he held in both hands. local leech, through the instrumnen- They were not more than three yards tality of whom lie nearly lost his arm. from me, but I dared not fire for her He completely recovered soon after heart, as she was so close to the man our return to Berberahi, and was made in fact it looked in the dust-cloud they quite happy by a considerable apphica- had raise(l as if they were wrestling. tion of palm-oil. Her back was towards nie, so I fired at Our tinie was now rapidly drawing to the spine about the loins, and she fell a close, and our sport was pmacticahly instantaneously, gave one quiver, and at ami end. We had still to go to liar- was dead. The shiot had been a fortu- gaisa to pick up the remnainder of our nate one, the little 450 bullet having caravan, pack up our rifles, and hurry completely broken her backbone. back to the coast. When we ~ot to After she was (Iea(1 things became if Hargaisa we heard the sad news timat a anything more lively than before, as poor woman, who hi ad attached herself Aden and Nur Farahi began bombard- to us two months before, hind beemi ing her from opposite sides in the most lost when out gathering firewood. reckless way, to the immuinent danger Whietlier she had been taken by a lion of every one except the lioness, which or whether she hind met some of her they did not hit, own tribe and joined them we never We examined Geheks hand and knew ; let us hope the latter was the found three holes in his wrist, made by case, but the formiier event is the three of the canine teeth of the lion- more probable. She was a wonderful ess ; though bleeding profusely, the worker and did more duty about camp wounds did not appear serious, so I than any two men as with Red In- bandaged them with one hiandkerchmief, dians, the Somali woman always does made a sling of another, and, as soon the greater shrnre of any work that has as the skin and head were ready, put to be done. him on a pony and set out on our six- We muade our adiens to Shieikh Mut- tee n-mile march to camp. For five tahi and to his blind son-in-law, who miles all ~vent well, then an artery in rules the place in the absence of time the neighborhood of one of the wounds shmeikhm, loaded up the now sorry-look- broke, and the bleeding became very ing camnels, and turned our backs with difficult to stop. I put a tourniquet on muany regrets on the country where we the upper arm, but Geleh seemed un- had enjoyed so many days of sport. able to stand the pain of it, and as soon The march from Hargaisa to the coast as I valked on lie always loosened it takes, as a rule, about four and a half ali(l the trouble began afresh. It was days. We believe we established a only by walking behind with a rifle and record for time distance, as with rhireatenimig hmini that lie was got home tired camiiels and full loads we covered at all. We had to halt several times on time distance in four hours over three the way, ammd it was more (hiffleult after days I The first three days we did each halt to get him started again, twenty-five miles each day, that dis- During one of these halts we heard tance being time most we ever covered several shots in tIme distamice, the numii in a day. The last nighit Oh tIme road ber making us rather anxious ; it after- we sent up our few rockets, whmiehi we wards appeared that V. had found two hind carried all time way in case of lions and had wounded one of them, Imecessity. They created a great sensa- but our mornings accident had made tion, not only in our own camp, but When we were Boys. also in that of some natives whom we met the next morning, and who were much relieved to find that the mani- festations were not due to superhuman agency. We sighted Berberah at daylight, and now was my chance to pay out Aden Ateya for the way he had run me up hills three months before. A pony had fallen and crushed my bare knee against a stone, rousing my ire, which had to find an escape some- where; so I took it out in walking Master Aden off his legs in the last eight miles into Berberah. Both V. and I were in the best of health and condition and it was with some sorrow that we doffed our rags, and, under the hospitable roof of Captain Abud, the British resident, returned to clean clothes and civilization. The sale of our camels and ponies occupied the bulk of the afternoon, the auction being conducted in the town square by a public auctioneer, each bid being called both in Arabic and Somali. The camels fetched about half what we gave for them, and with this price we were well satisfied. The stores only fetched about one-fourth of the cost price, so we gave most of them away as backsheesh to our followers. One day we spent paying off our men, with all of whom we parted on the best of terms; we stowed our trophies in bales and boxes, and the following morning left for Aden and home. H. C. LOWTHER. From Macmillans Magazine. WHEN WE WERE BOYS. V. WHEN we were boys, the farthest horizon from the windows, to our childish eyes, was a stretch of rolling blue hills at ten miles or so of distance. Blue they were generally, but often in that moist western county shrouded with the sweeping curtains of the rain- storms which rolled up under grey skies from the Atlantic; sometimes, when the sun shone with an unwonted treacherous brightness, painted dis 123 tinetly enough in the colors of the sea- sons. When the distant hills stood forth thus clearly, with fine-cut outlines an(l colors of Pre-Raphaelite hue, they would tell us, Tile hills look too close, we shall have lain.~~ It was generally a safe prophecy. We tried to draw better augury from the laugh of the green woodpecker who spent much of his time pecking away in tile rough, tussocky lawn which sloped down from the house towards the arable land below. We believed that tile green woodpecker knew whether it was going to rain;but we did not believe that the human people about us knew. We had often found them wrong, but the green woodpecker we had never found wrong. We had often thought that the intonation of his laugh had said rain, and rain had not come ; but we kilew that it must have been we who were at fault, and that in our stupidity we had failed to under- stand him. We were certain that tile woodpecker intended to tell us about the weather, for Joe said so, and we did not think that any one was his equal for general knowledge. Joe was by a few years our senior, and we be- lieved in him as unreservedly as in the woodpecker. It appeared to us that lie knew everything, everything, that is, whicll was knowledge in our eyes. By birtil he did not belong to our county but to Cornwall, whence he had come up, along the North Cornish coast, in a succession of carriers cars. He used to tell us wonderful stories of the people whom he had met on his journey ; folk who lived on the cliff- side facing tile sea, and never had any communication witil a town save througil tile medium of the weekly carrier; a folk sufficing to themselves. We ilave often wondered since whether tilese stories of his were quite true, but have never had the opportunity of testing them; at the time we accepted them as absolutely above suspicion. But, once arrived from this momentous journey, Joes experiences had been no more extended than our own. He could tell us nothing of what was be- yond the line of blue hills which pre When we were Boys. sented themselves to us as the edge of the world. How we longed to get to the top of them an(l to peep over! We never doubted for an instant that what we should see from them would be a vision utterly new and unlike any- thing of which the world within them gave examples; and it was the one gap in Joes knowledge which seemed to put him into touch with our own finitely informed humanity, that he was ignorant of this world beyond. More than that he seemed strangely incurious about it, as it struck us, evincing an indifferent attitude which inspired us with mixed feelings ; for whereas we reverenced it as betoken- ing an extended experience which nothing could astonish, we also criti- cised it severely as showing a deficiency of imaginative power. Joe thought that beyond those hills we should see just another world a succession of hill and dale and hedgero~v very like that in which we lived. It was the sole point on which his judgment ap- peared to us open to criticism. On going out of our front door you found yourself on a broad circle of gravel slightly sloping down to the lawn on which the woodpecker was so often pecking. In rainy weather the water used to run down and collect in a little pooi at the junction of the (~raveh and the grass, and here, so soon as it collected, used to come a water- wagtail to hunt for insects. We often used to lay plans for the destruction of this wagtail, but he was always too clever for us. In point of fact lie did not give us a fair chance. The width of the gravelled stretch was twenty yards or so, without a blade of cover. From the windows of the house the ,little puddle was within practical cata- pult range, but then the windows were rarely open in rainy weather and in dry weather the wagtail was not there. lie was off instantly, with his dipping flight and squeaky note, on the slight- est sound of the most cautiously opened window. It is true that there were two doors to the front entrance the house door proper, and the door of a plants and that the outer, or porch door, was sometimes left open, even while it rained, for the benefit of these exotics but the inner (loor never openc(l without a considerable noise, ~mnd the wagtaih was always alive to it. After a certain age we ceased to try to molest him. Attempts at stalking him had failed so often that we grew weary of them and used to sally forth, even when fully armed with catapult or cross-bow, regardless of the wagtail who would fly up to the roof of the house and wait there till we had disap- peared. He was safe from us there, even if we could still see him, for it was a three-storied house, and rever- ence for the windows had been severely instilled into us. Probably, of all the common birds, wagtails are those which least often fall to the weapons or snares of a boy; they are so very quick and wary and, though bold enough, generally frequent places where there is little cover and where they are likely to see before they are seen. Their black and white plu- mage blends well with wet stones and glancing water. Joe said that the right name for the water-wagtail was the dishwasher, a name under which lie is always known iii Devon- shire. It is not hard to guess its deri- vation ; he is always running about on the edges of streams and places where the cottagers are likely to be washing their dishes. From the circular gravelled stretch gravelled drives led off in two direc- tions one towards the left which bent upwards to the entrance gate, past the stables and the little house in which Joe lived with his father the coach- man, and the other, towards the right, past the croquet-lawn, l)ast an orchard, bending in a wide circle to embrace the rough lawn beloved of the woodpecker. It completed its circle, and the embrace of the lawn, at a point very little be- low the stables. Below the lawn, as we have said, was an arabIc field, and on either side of this field tIme gravelled drive joined a rough macadamized road leading on the right through a series of porch under glass, in which were gates to the main road, and 01) tIme left 124 When we were Boys. 125 to a footway along the banks of a little had a shot through the gate-bars; and stream which prattled through glen then, if the missile were a stone, it as and marshes down to a broad tidal often as not rattled with a clang on the river. The sea was only at two miles gate or the paling, and the uprising of distance, though not within sight of the the cloud of sparrows was accompanied house. by a hysterical outburst of porcine This path to the left of the arable consternation and a scamper which field, as one looked from the house, led recalled the Scriptural miracle. More- also to certain pastures which sloped over, if the stone evaded the timbers down towards the stream ; and up this and flew home to the heart of the pigs path, in the evening time, the cows place it remained there, a testimony to were driven for the milking, to take our misdeeds, an occasion of wrath to their place in the lin-hay, as we, in the under-gardener who had charge of the Devonshire parlance, called the the pigs and objected to stone-throw- cowshed. Joes abode, where he lived ing which might injure one of his with his father and mother, was above cherished ones. The catapult was the this ha-hay, and the access to it was by better weapon, and it told no tale. a flight of stone steps leading from the But, after all, it more often happened stable-yard. On the opposite side of that the appearance of a little head the yard were the stalls and loose boxes round the corner was the signal for the for the horses, and the harness-room, uprising of the cloud before a shot was The north side of the yard had a pump- fired. At the back of the pigs place house and wood-house. The third side the hedge was crowned with elms of of the little quadrangle was open, and moderate height. In these the cloud a cartway led round to the back of the would settle clamorously and pause to stables, where were the finest of our reconnoitre. There was a chance for preserves. For, first of all, there was a shot or two then, but it was always the pigs place, enclosed by the wall of an open question if it were not better the stables, by a boundary hedge, and, policy to steal forward yet a pace or on two sides, by paling. In the corner two in case of some greedy laggard was the sty, tenanted by pigs in num- having stayed behind among the pigs, bers varying as they were killed off or who would give us a better shot than replenished ; but the sty door was al- any of those in the hedgerow. Often ways open an(l its occupants spent most we would steal forward with this hope of their royal leisure either in grouting in view, tantalized the while by the among all the beautiful refuse of sta- chirps of definite faiewehl coining sue- bles, garden, or lin-hay which was in- cessively from the elms as one after differently tossed into their charming another the sparrows took their de- place, or in lying prone, in the glorious parture, only to find that after all no sunlight, on the kindly germinating loiterer had stayed. Then we cursed heat of the manure heap. fate by all our childish gods and re- It is impossible to think of a better pented us sorely that we had not taken occasion for the high beating of little the chance which lay before our hands. hearts than that which was offered by Or again, if we tried the other venture the stealthy, cat-like approach, round and assanlted the elms with all our bat the corner of two outbuildings of the teries, it seemed as if it must then stables, to get a shot, with stone or always happen that a bird would rise catapult, at the little cloud of sparrows from the very spot on which we might which invariably flew up from con- with most advantage have assailed testing their dinner with the pigs. It him. One could cry with vexation was seldom that one had a shot on the now at the annoyance of it all. ~round. The sparrows learned the Generally, after the dispersion of manoeuvre very quickly, and between the sparrows, there would yet be lert us and them were the pahings and gate in the elms a chaffinch, uttering his of th~ pig& place. Occasionally one sweetly monotonous note of protest, 126 and we could send a shot or pebble from the catapults spattering among the branches by him, till he, too, took the hint to leave. Oh, I say, that was a shave ! That was the invariable formula with which we concluded the unavailing as- sault. Once in a while, but so seldom that invariable is not too strong an epithet, we would fondly hug to our- selves the belief that we had seen the bird fall. Then we would climb through the hedge, or, if it were sum- iner time and the brambly defences defied a breach ,go round by way of the front gate and push ourselves into the bushes of the great overgrown hedgerow in search of our quarry, knowing ~vell in our heart of hearts that we should find nothing, yet saying to one another again and again, to keep hope warm, I know I hit him ; Im certain I saw him fall. When the flock of sparrows had gone from the elms it was not to say that they were lost to us. We knew where they went to then, to a big elm-tree at the back of the coach-house which was close to the main house, some fifty yards from the stables. Thither we could follow them, but with no good prospects of a shot. They had no clinging affection for this elm-tree they only occupied it as a post of observation from which they could drop down into a tiny little yard just outside the kitchen, or fly over, be- hind the house, to a matted thicket of thorn and bramble which was beyond the wash-house and was the corner of the boundary-fence of the orchard. Thither it did not well suit us to follow them, unless for an extended campaign in the orchard, for such pursuit entailed going through the back premises of the house (which was for- bidden by Authority both above and below stairs), or trespassing on land which was not ours behind the house (and w& had a respect, which we have since wondered at, for the law of tres- pass), or finally going round the front of the house, a matter of some hundred yards, and this did not seem good to our invincible boyish laziness. Our laziness we have since wondered at quite as much as at our respect for the law. The latter is fairly explica- l)le, the terrors which surround any breach of it are so indefinite to a boy; he is so ignorant, so utterly unable to measure the violence of the penalty which old So,and-So, the farmer, will exact on his hide if he be caught red-handed. It is excellent that it should be so. If a boy were to know that old So-and-So would be looked upon as a villain and a butcher too bad to live if he were to give a trespassing boy any but the mildest of castigations, there would not be a field or coppice or orchard that would not be black with boys in the bird-nesting season. The laziness is a won(ler beyond explana- tion. Later in life, ~vith a covey of partridges before one, one would walk a quarter of a mile for each one of the yards which seemed too long in those days for the pursuit of the sparro~v- covey; yet assuredly we were filled with as much ardor then for a sparrow as a partri(lge can inspire in us to-day. Plato has written, with justice, that of all wild beasts none is so savage as a boy. He might have added that none is so little known. This in- vincible laziness which is so large a factor in a boys character is hardly recognized and never analyzed. It is hard to recognize because it may co- exist with the greatest keenness in pursuit of an immediate object. It is only when the object is at a distance that the laziness shows itself ; but then it shows itself in a degree which is almost terrifying. A boy cannot be made, of his free will, to choose the greater good in the future in prefer- ence to the present lesser good. He may be induced to do so by motives supplied by anothers will, but of his own will never. It is only after lie has come into his inheritance, in the shape of an ability to apply his reason to the moral problems of life, that he begins to do this; and when he begins to do this lie is no longer a boy but a man. It is all of a piece, this, with his laziness, analogous on the mental side to the looseness ef limb in all young When we were Boys. When we were Boys. 127 things When we went our walks affected. This is a very favorite ma- abroad we found it impossible to reach neuvre of a blackbird, the darting up the goals of our errands without much from the foot of the hedge as you ap,- loitering by the way. One can per- proach him, then the dart downwards ceive now that we made tacit confes- on the other side as soon as lie has sion of this weakness, for when a man topped the branches; and you hear his with his solid, purposeful tru(lge passe(l wild laugh growing more and more dis- us, as we tarried searching the road- taut as he goes away, low-flying and side hedges for birds or their nests, we invisible, to dart into the thickest cover would say, one to the other, Let us of the hedgerow further on. If he has keel) up with him and try to get there a nest in your vicinity he will perform as soon as he. It was no nse, how a similar acrobatic movement, but will ever. For a quarter of a mile, per- not fly so far. His laugh will break haps, we would keep on the pedestrians off shorter, and you will hear instead, heels, sorely, no doubt, to his annoy- from a bush at no great distance, his ance; but then a chaffinch would fly anxious chuckle of alarm. If you do up off the road or a tit be pecking in not move away, his alarm will grow the hedgerow, our childish powers of more intolerable, his chuckle louder, concentration would fail us, and when until it does not permit him to remain we had finished with this passing di- concealed, but he must needs hop up version the wayfarer would be far on from his hiding-place to see what you his road ahead. Measuring distance are doing, restlessly flitting from branch by the full-grown standard of to-(lay, to branch, telling you (foolish bird I) one laughs often and often to think of as plainly as a bird can tell it, that you the length of time which we deemed are hard by his nest on which his mate, requisite for traversing the distance of perhaps, is sitting, almost within arms a mile, and this not at all by reason length of you, motionless, silent, but of any weariness of our sturdy little watching you with an intently anxious legs, but simidy on account of the eye. lightness of our foolish little brains. Joe always knew what the birds were To all which divers causes the sparrows saying, and it was he who taught their generally owed an immunity from fur- language to us. None of the other ther persecution when they betook people about us understood a word of themselves across the back premises of it; it was no wonder that we gave the house to the neighborhood of the them no credit for knowing anything orchard, about the weather. How could a boy Our hunting-grounds at th& back of be expected to have faith in people the stables were not exhausted when some of whom actually believed, on the we had chased the birds away from the strength of a foolish nursery story, pigs place. The hay, which the pas- that Jenny Wren was the consort of ture-land furnished in the summer, Cock Robin? We really did find peo- was stored in one large stack within pie, grown-up people, who positively the boundaries of the hedge, part of believed it; and to the days of our re- which served as one side of the pigs spective deaths we shall remember the enclosure. Behind the hay-stack, and shock that the discovery caused us. between it and the hedge, a blackbird It seemed to us incredible that any was generally pecking among the rub- human being could be so foolish when bish at the stacks foot. He gave us we could show them, at the season of little sport. The moment the head of the year, half-a-dozen robins nests, a stalker appeared round the corner of cup-shaped, with the ruddy-speckled the rick, and long before a catapult eggs lying in them, possibly even with could be brought to bear upon him, the red-breasted mother in person he would be away, up and over the seated upon them; when we could hedge, like an arrow, with a hysterical show them, too, as many wrens nests laugh of terror which we felt to be in quite different situations nestled 128 against the ivy growing ~iI ft tree or an old ivall, whereas the robins would be by preference in a hole or ledge of some hedge-bank dome-shaped nests utterly unlike any that ever a robin built, and entered by one tiny little hole in the side through which no robin could possibly squeeze himself, filled, likely enough, with many more eggs than a robin was at all likely to lay, much smaller eggs, besides, marked with darker speckles on a much whiter ground. How could a boy, having all these things most clearly before his mental eye, be expected to credit any wisdom to people who could believe that Cock Robin and Jenny Wren were man and wife? Close beside the hay-rick was the shed in which the one cart, sufficing for the agricultural business of our home, was laid up. The butt-linhay Joe called this building, butt being the Devonshire word for cart; and in its roof there oftea was a dome-shaped wrens nest. The first year the dome was never used for family purposes. Joe, absolutely denying that he had ever so transgressed, asserted that one of us must have put a finger into the hole, and he had repeatedly warned us that if ever one so iniaded the ~Iiiifitity of a wrens nest before the eggs were laid the mother always deserted. We stoutly d~clared that we had done noth- ing of the sort, but it is possible that once, in the hope of finding a tiny egg within, we may have been guilty; really it is very hard on a boy that a bird should build a round nest and put it in the roof of a shed so that he is not able to see into it ! However it hap- pened nothing came of the wrens nest that year. We watched long and zealously, but no little creeping, flut- tering, brown bird came to see what we were doing there, nor scolded crossly from the bushes. Since those days we have read that so many wrens nests are found deserted and untin- ished that it is the opinion of many naturalists that the wren habitually builds one or two trial nests to get its hand in for the one it means ultimately to finish and inhabit. It is easy to put these theorists into the difficult posi- tion of those who have to prove a negative, and we are quite as much inclined to Joes view, though later experience has taught us that he too was not absolutely exempt from human error. TELEPATHY AMONG INSECTS: Pno- FESSOR RILEYS DISCOVERY. Call it be that bugs are endowed with a wonderful sixth sense? Professor C.~ V. Riley thinks he has discovered satisfactory evidence of telepathy among insects that is to say, a sixth sense by which they are able to com- municate ideas from one to another at great distances. The power, as illustrated iu the case about to be mentioned, evi- 4ently depends not upon sight or smell or hearing. The fact that man is able to transmit sound by telegraph almost instan- taneously around the globe may suggest something of this subtle power, even though it furnishes no explanation thereof. Once upon a time Professor Riley had two ailanthus-trees hi his front yard. They suggested to him the idea of obtaining from Japaii some eggs of the ailanthus silkworm. He got a few and hatched them, rearing the larv~ and watching anxiously for the appearance of the first moths from the cocoons. He put one of the moths in a little wicker cage and hung it up out of doors on one of the ailanthus- trees. This was a female moth. On the same evening he took a male moth to a cemetery a mile and a half away and let him loose, having previously tied a silk thread around the base of his abdomen to secure subsequent identification. Professor Rileys purpose in this performance was to find out if the young male and the female moth would come together for the purpose of mating, they being in all probability the only insects of their species within a dis- tance of hundreds of miles, excepting only the others possessed by Professor Riley himself. This power of locating each other had previously been remarked in these insects. In this case, sure enough, the male was found with the captive female the next morning. The latter had been able to attract the former from a distance of a mile and a half. When we were Boys.

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The Living age ... / Volume 207, Issue 2676 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. October 19, 1895 0207 2676
The Living age ... / Volume 207, Issue 2676 129-192

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Sixth Series, ~ 5 From Beginning, Volume VIII. No. ~ ~,OuO.~er ~ ~~ voi, ccvii. CON T EN T S. I. MACEDONIA AND THE MACEDONIANS, II. AN UNPAID GOVERNESS III. THE NATIVE PRESS OF INDIA. By an Anglo-Indian IV. TUDOR TRANSLATIONS By Professor Raleigh V. A CORRESPONDENT OF WHITE OF SEL- BORNE. By Mrs. Andrew Lang, VI. A SUMMER RIDE IN EUWEA. By Neil Wynn Williams VII. LITERARY PECULIARITIES: hENRY MURGER VIII. FORMOSA AND ITS PEOPLE, AT SEA STILLNESS BY THE LAKE, Contemporary Review, Temple Bar, Asiatic Quarterly Review, Fortnightly Review,. Longmans Magazine, Gentlemans Magazine, Public Opinion, Journal des Voyages, POE T 11 V. 1~U~.AMArn, ~~~IAGE SONG, 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. 131 146 164 171 177 184 190 191 130 At Sea, etc. AT SEA. Tis the long blue Head o Garron From the sea, Och, were sailin past the Garron On the sea. Now Glen Ariff lies behind, Where the waters fall and wind By the willows o Glen Ariff to the sea. Ould Luirgedan rises green By the sea. Aye, he stands between the Glens An the sea. Now were past the darklin caves Where the breakin summer waves Wander in with their trouble from the sea. But Cushendun lies nearer To the sea, An thon s a shore is dearer Still to me. For the land that I am leavin, Sure the heart I have is grievin, But the ship has set her sails for the sea. Och, what~s this is deeper Than the sea? An whats this is stronger Nor the sea? When the call is, All or none, An the answer, All for one Then we be to sail away across the sea. Spectator. MOIRA ONEILL. STILLNESS BY THE LAKE. COME, seeker after quiet, guide Thy footstep here, And moor thy troubled thought beside This sleeping mere. No breath the holy pause impairs, The enchanted reed At its own limpid stature stares, The drifted weed Dreams him an island of the sea, So still is he. What was it that the wind said ere He went away? Was it a song he sang, some rare Seductive lay, Whose falling melodies have stayed The waters wild As when a lulling votce has laid To sleep a child? Was it a praise he whispered sent Such deep content? Is it the mountain that impends? In stainless air The marvel of his peak ascends. Before that rare Disrobing do they faint and kneel In worship low, As oer their glimmering front they feel His shadow grow, Awaiting what new bliss may come, Breathless and dumb? It is so still if any bird Amid the grove, Dreaming a~ dream unquiet, stirred, A wave must move. The shudder of a wing would shake A vexing crease Along the slumber of the lake And pierce its peace. Come, lover of the quiet, steer Thy footstep here. Speaker.. AMBROSE BENNETT. A MARRIAGE SONG. LOVE has two chords, in harmony they quiver; One tuned to earth with Natures music swells, Joining with bird and flower and tree and river Song of the mountains, song of shady dells. Piped on the lute of shepherd lad in hol- low, What time the world with mirth and joy did ring, Hymn ever new for Nature still we follow; Mother of all Thou taughtest us to sing. Love has two chords, in harmony they quiver: One tuned to heaven breathes melody divine, Strains sweet and low, and joyous to de- liver hearts from sad cares as flames the gold refine. Sung by the choir of seraphs in the chorus, Ringing eternally through heavens high halls, Echoed by mortals; Gods great love shed oer us Wakens the song that listening ears en- thralls. Academy. A. H. NI. 130 Macedonia and the Macedonians. From The Contemporary Review. MACEDONIA AND THE MACEDONIANS. THE Macedonian problem, like the Armenian, constitutes one of the most striking proofs of the melancholy truth embodied ia the last words of the Swedish Chancellor Oxenstjerna on his deathbed, viz.: It is incredible with how little wisdom the world is gov- erned I For the Macedonian ques- tion is entirely an artificial creation of European diplomacy, which at the Con- gress of Berlin frankly, and perhaps foolishly, sacrificed the elementary claims not merely of Christianity, but of humanity itself, to chimerical pout ical interests ; whereby it lost the one without securing the other, and learned a lesson all the more bitter that it is useless. The representatives of Great Britain and Austro-ilungary defeated their own avowed ends and forwarded those of Russia more effectually and more thoroughly than a council of the cleverest Russian statesmen could have done, had these been allowed carte blanche at the congress; and over and above all, they have made themselves morally responsIble for a system of mis- government, of oppression, of utter de- moralization such as has no parallel in any other part of Europe or Asia. Not, of course, that the enlightened statesmen who framed the Treaty of Berlin harbored the faintest sympathy with the infamous injustice and fiend- ish cruelty which characterize the deal- ings of Turkey with her Christian subjects; they only prepared the ground for the exercise of these shame- ful crimes, at a time when they were mere possibilities, but they have since given them a long lease of life, after they had become terrible realities. After the Turko-Russian war, in the course of which blood enough was shed to have purchased permane ut peace in the East, the Treaty of San Stefano was drawn up with the object of end- ing, for many generations at least, the hateful Oriental question. It acciden- tally served another purpose besides this: it gave clear, definite shape to Russias aims in eastern Europe, show- lug what territorial acquisitions and what other changes in the map of the Turkish Empire would satisfy her for the present. And these changes the bestowal upon Slavonic and non- Slavonic Christians of the elementary rights of human beings, whatever their purely political bearings w.ere, from a broadly humanitarian point of.view,: such as should have commended them to any and every enlightened nation of Europe and the world. It is, of course, quite conceivable that men, whose exclusive business it is to s~tfeguardL the political interests of their respec- tive countries, should refuse to allow their judgunen.t to be biassed by any such sentimental considerations as the sufferings of Christians and the vio- lated rights of human beings in other words, that they should view the question from a purely political point of view. In a case like that under con~. sideration, this is a heavy responsi~ bility to take, and the greater the human suffering that is likely to result.; from such a step, the heavier the re~. sponsibility. Yet the thing is quii~: conceivable, excusable, and may pos- sibly be even justifiable. But only on condition that the line of action, that the foreign policy which such a depar~ ture necessarily implies, be pursued to the bitter end. To put it plainly and succinctly : if we consider that the interests of the British Empire, en~, dangered by the insatiable appetite of Russia, are cheaply safeguarded at the price of the well-being of milhiouis of patient Christians, have we any right to affirm or even suggest that they are not worth the inconvenience that would result from a series of offensive and defensive treaties concluded with the object of paralyzing Russia in the future ? And if the latter be in. truth too high a price to pay for them, what are we to think of the former? But whatever the errors of states~ men, their practical results, in so far as these bear upon the Macedoniami question, are briefly as follows. Mace~ donia, as part of Great Bulgaria, was at first freed by a stroke of the Russian pen from all Turkish mis- government or government, and. en- 131 Macedonia and the Macedonians. 132 (lowed with a degree of indepen- render every assistance in furthering dence which would have resulted in her plans against Turkey. Its advan- such prosperity and progress as the tages were that it set the whole On- history of Macedonia never yet re- ental question at rest for decades to corded. This would have been the come, and accomplishe(l an act of corn- work of the Treaty of San Stefano. mon justice towards millions of Chris- But instead of this the Macedonians tians which should have gladdened all were erase(l from the list of the auton- men whose hearts were not encased in omous peoples by a stroke of the an impenetrable crust of politics. It Anglo-Austrian pen, but compensated had this fut then advantage incidentally, for their disappointment by a promise even for West Europeans of the purely of wide - reaching reforms, excellent political type but only for the far- laws, and a large measure of self-gov- seeing among them that it raised an eminent. This was the theoretical out- almost insurmountable barrier to the come of the Berlin Treaty, which was realization of the ambitious projects drawn up on political, as opposed to with which Russia was theretofore humanitarian, lines. Lastly, and as a credited; for a l)owertul and prosper- matter of mere fact, the inhabitants of ous Bulgaria would have proved such Macedonia were taken in hand by an effective spoke in Russias wheel as Turkish valis, kaiinakams, kadis, and was never dreamt of before or after by zaptiehs, hindered from producing her bitterest enemies. more than was necessary for ~he bare Statesmen, however, are not humani- support of their lives, compelled to tanians, and no one was disappointed deliver up the most even of this to the when our diplornatists, making light representatives of Islam and the law, of sentiment, determined to be guided and forced to divide the remainder solely by considerations of political in- among bloodthirsty brigands ~vhose tenest. But they ought to be far- profession of Mohammedanisin not sighted, to be endowed with what our only entitles them to heaven in the neighbors would term the flaire dipto- ncxt life, but allows them to condemn matique, to be able to reckon upon the honest Christians to something like mistakes as well as allow for the clever hell in this. Such was the practical moves of their opponents, and in these outcome of the Treaty of Berlin, as it respects they seem to have failed. To- was understood by the Turks, and ap- day, therefore, the r6les are changed, parently approved by the powers. and Russia alone cheerfully abides by The Treaty of San Stefano would the Berlin Treaty, while the authors of have emancipated all the Christians this document would be glad of any who inhabit the extensive territory that pretext to tear it up. lies between the Black Sea and the The lines upon which it was framed Adriatic to the south of the indepen- were those of a wretched compromise dent Balkan States and to the north of which, professing to consult all inter- what is still the Turkish Empire, rais- ests and satisfy all parties, depressed ing them to the level of an autonomous the Balkan Christians and embittered principality tributary to the Porte, and their Russian protectors, created a con- thus practically resuscitating the Great dition of things in those l)lacCS where a Bulgarian kingdom of eight hundred radical change was effected, which did years ago. The disadvantages of this not actually, and could not possibly, arrangement consiste(l mainly in the last, and left the condition of the na~: circumstances that it had been sug- tives, who were denied the benefits of gested by Russia and might therefore such change, infinitely worse than it be taken to be conducive to her own had ever been before. Instead of the peculiar interests, and also that a lively Great Bulgaria of the Treaty of San sense of gratitude would presumably Stefano, which included Eastern Ron- oblige the newly created State to be melia and Macedonia, a Little Bul- constantly at her beck and call and to gatia, deprived of thes~ two provinces, Macedonia and the Macedonians. was called into being as an almost in- dependent State, tributary to the Sublime Porte. Eastern Roumelia, separated from the principality of Bul- garia by a shadowy line of demarcation which laughs political and physical geography to scorn, was allowed to en- joy autonomy on the basis of a consti- tution framed by the powers and under the administration of a governor-gen- eral appointed by the sultan. Mace- (lonia, like Armenia, was relegated to the third and most unfortunate cate- gory it was handed back to the Turks, on the explicit condition that they would generously do what the powers themselves could not and would not do viz., sacrifice political interests to the demands of justice and humanity, intro(luce far - reaching reforms, and give these people such a taste of the advantages of self-government as would excite a ravenous apl)etite for more. in other words, the Sublime Porte was generously credited with self-abnega- tion enough to supply the remnant of its Christian subjects with the fulcrum and lever necessary to enable them to hoist itself into nothingness. Eastern Roumelia had slipped from Turkeys grasp, Bulgaria had become to all in- tents an(1 purposes independent, Bos- nia and Herzegovina had transferred their allegiance to Austro - Hungary, while the Macedonians and Armenians alone were left to play the part of ilelots, to support the Moslem in the enjoyment of his otium cum digrritate, and shrewd European statesmen pro- fessed to believe that the Porte would fatuously prepare them too for eman- cipation and separation It is consi(lered correct and proper to assume that the representatives of the powers were seriously concerned for the fate of those hapless and helpless Christians whom they had thus thrust back into the jaws of misery and death. And, seeing that intelligence iind diplomacy are not synonymous, it may be quite true. The degree of their sincerity or judgment, however, may be gauged from a comparison of the admirable precautions which they took to have the terms of the agree- 133 ment carried out in the case of Bulga- ria and Roumelia, with the seemingly criminal indifference manifested where Macedonia was concerned. In the former case, European commissions were left in the country to superintend the work, and to see the provisions of thetreaty fully carried out, because no Turkish commission, it was felt, could be reasonably expected to do this. And yet they appointed no European commission to supervise the introduc- tion of the stil)ulated reforms in Mace- donia, although no Turkish government or commission would ever dream of inaugurating reforms which directly and inevitably tend to break up the last renmant of Turkish power in Europe. Can it be honestly supposed, then, that there was any serious intention on the part of the powers to alleviate the lot. of the re-enthralled Rayhas? And if there was any such intention in the beginning, can it be seriously believed to have outlived the first flagrant breach of Turkish faith in May, 1879, when, Eastern Roumelia having been duly handed over to the newly appointed governor-general, the term fixed for the l)resentation of the Plan of Reforms for Macedonia expired without any such scheme having been submitted by the Porte? Yet the European com- mission in Roumelia was dissolved, and no effective means were taken to hold the Turks to their promises. Sixteen years have elapsed since then, and, although the Turk has during all that time made no sign, the powers have entered no serious protest. Nor is it complained that the Macedonians are as badly off as ever they were ; it is urged, and too truly urged, that their condition is incomparably worse ; Euro- pean cattle are better treated than they, for these are at least well fed be- fore being slaughtered, and enjoy im- munity from that moral anguish which sears the soul and shakes the very foundations of mans belief in good and God. And even now, in spite of a univer- sal cry of horror at crimes which from their very wantonness seem to proceed from inborn malignity rather than Macedonia and the lllacedonians. mere crass egotism, the powers mani- fest no intention of sendiug a European commission to Macedonia, or of taking the matter into their own hands. They will, it is fondly hoped, make repre- sentations to the Porte, who will be left to set about the suicidal work in her own leisurely way. The criminal condemned to death is told that he must take his own life, and at the same time is given to understand by his judges that if he declines to commit suicide they will not relieve him of the obligation by having hhn properly execute(l. Would not the natural ter- mination of this farce consist in a dec- laration by the condemned criminal that lie had decided to die of old age? Macedonia is practically as unknown to the general public as the great Un- shapen Land in which dwelt the three Grey Sisters who helped Perseus on his errand of death. Even the well- informed politician who could coin- fortably pick his way through Central Africa is very often unable to tell the difference between a Poinak and a Zin- zar, a Yooryk and an Arnaut, or to say whether they are fruits, implements, or peoples. Not only is the geography of the country a highly complicated and unsatisfactory study, seeing that nearly every district, river, lake, and town is known by at least two wholly different names, the one Turkish and the other Slavonian, Greek, or Albanian both of which are occasionally omitted from the few maps we possess but the ethnography is more bewildering than a Chinese puzzle, and no man born of woman can ever hope to solve the problems it offers in a way that will satisfy the peoples of Eastern Europe. In spite of a railway net of about six hundred miles ~2 communications with For instance, Veles, which is also called Kiepryly; Ventrok, Turnovo; Ueskiip, Skoplye; Monastir, Bitol; Rhodope, Despoto-Planina, etc. 2 The oldest railroad in the country connects Salonika with Mitrovitsa, and was constructed in 1860 by Baron Hirsch. This line is connected with the Servian railways. The next in importance, the Salonika-Monastir railway, was constructed by a German company, and will probably in time be extended to Aviona on the Adriatic. the interior are not merely primitive and painful, but highly dangerous. It is practically impossible to visit any of the outlying and many of the main districts without an escort of Turkish zaptiehs and sometimes even a few Arnaut cut-throats, as a hom60opathic precaution over and above. There are places in Macedonia especially in the country between the river Vardar,3 on the one side, and the Drin and Morava on the other which have been un- trodden by European feet since the days when the warlike Samuel was king, about nine hundred years ago. Macedonia, the land of the three streams, Yardar, Struma,4 and Vis tritsa,6 is hemmed in by lofty moun- tains, of which the best known or the highest are Olympus, Shardagh, and Rhodope, the last named rising to be- tween eight and nine thousand feet above the level of the sea. It is among the most picturesque countries of Europe, abounding in magnificent for- ests, which climb hills, fringe rivers, and cover islands ; in wild mountain scenes, wonderful waterfalls, silent, sailless lakes an appropriate setting for gems of emerald islets, deep gorges, dizzy mountainpaths, smiling phtins, and desolate passes, which ought to prove an irresistible attraction to the traveller who regards genuine danger and real discomfort as the appropriate condiment of pleasure. Lake Ochrida, for instance, which is shut in by cloud-capped mountains, is a sheet of marvellously translucent water, in the depths of which innumerable salmon-trout and various other kinds of fish can be clearly seen swimming hither and thither, as in the long gone clays when the now decaying walls on the summit of the towering cliff above were being built by the workmen of Czar Samuel. On the southern shore of this secluded lake stands out, in cheerful relief against the dark foliage of evergreens and the beautiful blue of the peaceful water, the dazzling white monastery of St. Naum, erected more 8 The ancient Axiss. The ancient Strymon. The ancient Haliakmon. 134 Macedonia and the Macedonians. than a thousand years ago by Czar Boris, whose name is now preserved only in the dustiest of Oriental archives. To the west the country is literally honeycombed with robber retreats and watch-towers, inhabited by ferocious Arnauts, who know no fear of man, sod, or the devil, and who plunder, rob, and kill the Christians that fall in their way after the manner of Sinis the Pine-bender and Sciron the robber of Theseus days, and with greater im- punity. There is, indeed, a potential Theseus in the shape of a high Ottoman official a kaimakam of the district, resi(lent at Pogradetz; but this locum ~enens of the sultan, although a zealous Mussulman, has long since learned the wisdom of dealing with Arnaut brig- ends on the Evangelical principle Agree with thine adversary quickly whilst thou art in the way with him. The wolf, therefore, dwells with the shepherd there, and the lambs are eaten between them. There is prob- ably no district within the Turkish Em- pire in which life is less secure, and violent death more certain, than in this romantic country. Murders are un- punished, unrecorded, unheeded, every one taking his chance, like soldiers in hard-fought battles. And yet there are few other places in Macedonia or in Turkey so favored in respect of climate, scenery, and fer- tility as this. It might be a sort of Paradise, as it once was, when Czar Samuel made it the headquarters of his eourt, were it governed by human or divine laws. It was evidently destined to be the fruit-garden and the granary of the entire country around, instead of a vast famine district in which hard- working men and women are being gra(lually starved to death. From the poets or the painters point of view, it is a sight to dream of, not to tell. Heaven-kissing hills, rock-ribbed, yet abundantly clad in dense foliage of many-shaded green, which creeps from the surface of the lake in which they mirror themselves up to half their height or more, ~vhere mouldering mossy walls of imperial palaces or stately cathedrals tell their melancholy tale to the whistling winds of heaven. Grapes hang down in clus- ters from the gentle slopes near the shore, and the red, ripe fruit of the pomegranate looks like balls of h~av- enly fire against the foil of dark green foliage which is the ground color of the beautiful but melancholy picture. Another most interesting lake is Prespa, at an elevation of about twenty- four hundred feet above the sea-level, whose opaque blue waters, accordingto folklore, descend thousands of feet be- low the mountain, and burst forth into the light of day once more as a spring of icy cold water by the monastery of St. Naum on Lake Ochrida, and play many other strange pranks besides. History asserts that the waters of Prespa are gradually but surely en- croaching upon the land, and fancy describes the forgotten villages, with their churches and towers ,glim pses of which are still obtained on soft, cloud- less summer evenings through the smooth, still water from some dizzy perch above. Science, in her guessing mood, surmises that here, in prehistoric days, villages were built upon piles driven into the lake-bed, as in Switzer- land and elsewhere, and that careful research for traces of these watery dwellings would be richly rewarded andI Herodotus has something to say on the subject of Macedonian lake villages which would confirm, had it not sug- gested, this belief. Plain, however, to everybody, the least scientific and the least superstitious, are two charmingly situated islands, one of whichGrad by name was one of the various cap- itals of the West Bulgarian Empire when Samuel was czar. They are both rich in moss-covered ruins of churches, palaces, bulwarks, which bear eloquent witness to the progressive and civilizing tendency of the founders and rulers of the West Bulgarian kinglom, and to the destructive influence of the Byzan- tines and the Turks. Grad is a fairy island such as in picture form might well adorn the pages of a childs story- book, but could scarcely be expected to have a real existence upon earth. Sit- uated but a very short distance from 135 136 the shore of the lake, it is a natural fortress which, when the Bulgarian czar reigned and lived here, might have been easily rendered impregna- ble. It is shut in by walls of granite rock nearly sixty feet high, which only a balloon could enable one to scale. There are but two spots by which this toy island can he entered and an idea formed of the depth of the abyss which divides what once was from what now is. The whole island, which is but a mile and threequarters in length, and perhaps a mile in breadth, is literally bestrewn with relics of the past. Among the most interesting and best preserved ruins are those of seven churches, the four bare walls of one of them standing still erect, alone of all the seven. The island is one mass of luxuriant vegetation, rank grasses, long-lived weeds, wild fruit-trees for- merly pruned and tended by gentle hands, but now abandoned to chance in a word, it is the ghost of such a gar- den as that in which the sensitive plant once flourished. The grapes that grow in profusion there are still be- lieved by the Christians of the main- land to be the most luscious in creation and, indeed, the whole island is looked upon as a weird, uncanny spot, the graveyard of a mighty empire, whose dead still haunt the scenes of their loves and lives. They stand in awe of it, and keep away. Hence it is wholly uninhabited. The apple, pear, and pomegranate trees still bud, blos- som, and wither without evoking a thrill of human pleasure or pain ; and over the gardens, orchards, lawns, and courtyards that once ornamented this residence of the great czar, before whom Byzance itself trembled and prayed to its miracle-working relics, nought but the notes of the love-birds songs are heard; only the sun and the rain, the winds and the lightnings still visit and alter the guestless halls, the choked-up walks, the dry fountains, and the empty aisles of the once famous city of Prespa. An ideal place for a pessimist like Schopenhauer to muse and moralize in. Here, if any- where, earth was a paradise, God a Macedonia and the Macedonians. perfect poet. And yet the Christians who behold this God-created heaveii never cease to suffer the torments of man-ma(le hell. Speaking generally, Macedonia is covered with the ruins of historic inon- uments, some of which may yet be made to tell the tale of that land of lost go(ls and godlike men. Near the pic- turesque lake Yenidshe, in the Payik Planina, once stood Pella, the seat of government of Philip of Macedon and the birthplace of Alexander the Great, later on one of the niost important stations on the Roman Yia Egnatia, and to-day a pestiferous marsh wherein are bred deadly fevers felt as far away as Salonika. If the fields and roads, the hills and valleys of this ancient land, whose very dust is historic, could be made to tell the chequered story of the noble and base deeds done or con- ceived by the various races of men who lived and worked here since Perdikkas in the seventh century, p.c., founded the Macedonian kingdom and the dy- nasty of the Augeads, since Philip con- solidated his empire and Alexander conquered the world, through the Greek and Persian wars, the Roman occupation, the Slav invasion, the West Bulgarian Empire and the agonies of Byzance down to the present time, when lust, murder, and all manner of uncleanness stalk shamelessly through the land, and the shrieks of violated women and the groans of tortured men are swallowed up by the death-like silence which the Turks have estab- lished and called peace, what a thrill- ing narrative would be presented to the world! But history and Macedonia are in- compatible terms. It is well-nigh im- possible to learn with any approach to accuracy what is going on there to-day~ much less what has taken place since the Bulgars or Volgars, having quitted their settlements on the banks of the Volga, entered the country in the last quarter of the seventh century, A.Th, adopted the language of the Slav peo- ple, and gave them in return their name. The descendants of these two races, the Bulgars and the Slays. con- Macedonia and the Macedonwns. stitute the predominant element of the population of contemporary Macedonia; and the sad story of their long suffer- ings is writ as large in their physical, psychical, and political condition as that of their country is in the dust of its palaces, the broken pillars of its temples, the crumbling walls of its for- tresses, and the utter neglect and de- cay of everything created by art or nature which depends for existence upon the fostering care of man. The Macedonians are the wreck of a once great and warlike people. All we know about their lives and sufferings, their hopes, fears, and aspi- rations, comes to us from outside, col- ored and distorted by the very worst of mediums party politicians, ambi- tious patriots, and paid advocates. Bulgaria, Servia, and Greece, the half- fledged States of the Balkan Peninsula, hunger already for slices of Macedonia, which Turk, Albanian, and Arnaut, painfully conscious that their time is short and their tenure precarious, ruth- lessly plunder and oppress ; while the wretched Macedonian, toiling and moil- ing from morning till night, from Jan- uary to December, hungers for the bread and meat with which he so liber- ally supplies his thankless masters and often dies for want of them Thus, we are informed by Servian writers, who confound abuse and vul- garity with science and research, that there are no Bulgarians in Macedonia at all, and that to annex that country to Bulgaria would be as reasonable as to try to weld Roumania and Greece into one happy kingdom. Travellers from the principality, on the other hand, assure us that the Slays there are all Bulgarians, or very nearly all, and to prove their contention urge the un(leniable fact that the people in question loudly proclaim this.1 The Roumanian subjects of King Karl are disposed to exaggerate the numbers of their kith and kin who reside in Mace- donia, while the Greeks swear that the land belongs to them by inalienable rights from time immemorial. 1 Most of the christian Slays in Macedonia call themselves Bulgarians. The incontrovertible facts are few and puzzling. One of the most trouble- some to tIle practical politician who would fain read as ile runs, is this: tllat ever since tile seveiltil centuryr B.C., Macedonia has been a jumble of fragmentary nationalities, an ethno- graphical sample storeilouse in which now one, 110W tile otiler race obtained a transitory preponderance. Even th~ ancient Greeks sneered at the Macedo- nians wilen they affectionately claimed kinship with tile countrymen of Homer and Plato. Tilere was much too strong an admixture of barbarian blood in tlleir veins, tiley said, for the claim to be allowed. And from tllat day to this tllings have gone from bad to worse in tilat respect. Tilus tilere are Bulgarians there who call themselves, by this name, wilo are recognized as sucil by tile Turks, speak a language wllicil is a cross between Servian and Bulgarian, and keep up customs wilich are cilaracteristic of tlle former rather than of tile latter. These constitute the preponderating element of the Cllristian l)opulation in Macedo- nia, and Serbs and Bulgarians fight for possession of them witll tile fury and determination wilich animated Greeks and Trojans wild tlley struggled for tile body of Patroclus. Tilell come tile genuine Serbs, who are proud of their kinship with the subjects of King Alexander. Next in influence, if not in numbers, come tile Greeks wimo are most numerous along tile coast of tile ~gean Sea and to tile soutil of Kas- toria. Next in order are tIle Zinzars, Kutzo-valachs,2 a brancil of tile Ron- manian race, who speak a dialect which (liffers considerably fronl tIle polite language employed at Bucharest and Jassy, amId are also to be found in nortllern Greece, Bulgaria, and Hun- gary. They ilave beell for a consider- able time past tile object of the paternal solicitude of tile Roumamlian govern- Illent, wilicil spends Ilundreds of thou- sands of francs on them annually Anotiler factor, by no means to be de- spised, are tile Jews, wilo are scattered 2 Literally: lame Valachs. 137 138 all over the country, with the excen- tion of those brigand-infested districts in which life is not worth a weeks purchase, and would be snuffed out for a couple of tshereks ; ~ and of these regions there are not a few. The Turks, as the ruling race, are found in varying numbers everywhere, but more particularly in those fortunate places where a mild climate and a fruitful soil render life delectable and work almost optional. Whenever the Turks look upon a fertile strip of land with desire, they simply encourage the brigands who dwell there, till murder thins out the Giaours, w hereupon the surviving Christians sell out for a song and the true believer enters into possession and buys off the brigands, who then follow the infidels. The Arnauts, Shkipetars or Albanians, are a remnant of the Illyro-Thracian race,2 who in some places are Catholics, in others Greek-Orthodox, and in others again Mohammedans, but who seldom allow the religious professions, on the strength of which they hope to be ad- mitted into heaven, to hamper very considerably their goings on upon earth. They are among the most cruel, blood- thirsty, and callous ruffians in an empire which includes Circassians, Koords, and Turks among its defend- ers. The Gypsies, too, whose lives are one long-acted protest against the conventional laws of property, and who very often profess, without practising, Islam, are found in considerable num- bers in Macedonia, as, for example, on the northern shore of Lake Tahino, where they form interesting communi- ties apart. The Pomaks, who occa- sionally play a r6le in the country, especially when the Christians in a fit of madness endeavor to shake off the Turkish yoke, are really Islamized Bul- garians, for whom Mohammedanism is both a religion and a country. Like the Bosnians, before the Austrian oc- cupation, tile Pomaks invariably take the side of the Turks against their own compatriots, whose language they speak with fluency and purity. Last of all 1 A tsherek is equal to ten pence. 2 A brancli of tlie Indo-celtic family. Macedonia and the Macedonians. come the Yooryks, a half-nomad Turk- ish horde who never took to sedentary life and civilization since they left their pastures in Central Asia. They still live in tents, or in huts which are less comfortable than tents, an(l allow their women to go unveiled and Mohamme- danism to sit lightly on them generally. Such, in brief, is the ethnological problem, as stated by Nature. The additions and complications introduced into it by the ingenuity of man can scarcely be done justice to in a mere review article. The desire of am- bitious little Balkan States to obtain a footing in, or acquire a district of, Mace- donia, has led to denationalization, in- ternationalization, hypocrisy, lying, and deceit of every conceivable kind. Thus there are Serbs who call themselves Bulgarians, because the patriots of the latter country sent them to Sofia to en- joy gratuitously tile benefits of a higher education. There are Bulgarians who have sold their national birthright and turned their talents to political propa- ganda, in return for analogous a(lvan- tages conferred upon them by the Holy Sava Society of Belgrade. Many of the Mohammedans who call themselves Turks are Bulgarians who apostatized for the sake of a quiet life and truly they have their reward ; other fanatical followers of Mohammed, who give themselves tile same name, are Alba- nians, who abandoned Christianity for the very same reason. Then there are numerous self-styled Hellenes who, 011 examination, turn out to be Kutzo- valachs in (lisguis e, their only justi- fication being a knowledge of Greek acquired in scilools supported by Greeks and gratitude for tile right of having their children educated in tile same establishments free of charge. But the Greeks are not the only people who purchase patriotism for moneys worth ; tile Bulgarians have also en- rolled a considerable band of wild Arnauts in tile ranks of Bulgar patriots by tllrOwing open their scilool doors to the chil(lren of these indigent savages. On the other hand, there are Ilot a few Albanized Bulgarians who reflect great credit on the race of their adoption Macedonia and the Macedon%ans. without acquiring very much for their own persons. Lastly, there are genu- ine Bulgarians, faithful to their coun- try and their creed, who owe spiritual allegiance to the exarch, and are con- sequently condemned as heretics by his beatitude the liatliatch of Constanti- nople,2 and equally good and Orthodox Bulgarians who acknowledge the su- premacy of the patriarchs, and are therefore looked upon with suspicion or contempt by their brethren the sub- jects of the exarch. These various peoples, tribes, and sections live sometimes in communities apart, and sometimes scattered over a village, town, or district. Thus in Turnovo, Nishopolye, Malovishte, Ma- garovo, etc., one comes across commu- nities of Zinzars or Kutzo-valachs; in Kashan the population is composed of Shkipetars or Albanians; in the vil- lages to the north of Lake Tahino of Gypsies, etc. In the city of Riessen there are twenty-seven hundred Chris- tian Slays, one thousand Pomaks, five hun(lred Kutzo-valachs, five hundred Gypsies, and a few dozen Greeks. Most of these idiosyncrasies and vagaries would be perfectly harmless in themselves, were they not used, or rather abused, by outsiders for the pur- pose of fostering discord, ill-will, and race hatred among a people which is already (Irowning in a sea of troubles of its own. The work of political propaganda gives occupation to hundreds of agents and sets millions of francs in circula- tion every year. The Greeks had the start of all the others, having opened schools in which members of most nationalities were educated and ilel- lenized, before Bulgaria became a principality and Servia was proclaimed a kingdom, and the results are still visible in such cities as Melnik, Seres, 1 In Goritsa, for example. 2 The name of the heresy was coined by the patriarch: it is Phylethelists. If it means any- thing at all, it should include the Orthodox Rus- sians, Serbs, and Roumanians. As a matter of historic fact, the Bulgarian Church was formally and properly separated from the Greek in 918, and the separation was duly acknowledged by the patriarch of Constantinople six years later. Nevrokop, and Petrits, where a large proportion of people who call them- selves Hellenes are genuine Slays. The Serbs concentrate their efforts mainly upon the Slays who owe spir- itual allegiance to the patriarch, be-. cause these are obliged to content themselves with (livine service in Greek, and are very often glad to ac- cept a church and a school ~vhich are Slavonic, without inquiring too closely whether it is Servian or Bulgarian. These communities or a considerable number of them ~O55C55 tile right of petitioning the Porte for permission to transfer their allegiance from the patriarch to the Bulgarian exarch, and tIle immediate result of the ac- cordance of this request would be tile departure of the Greek popes and selloolmasters for otller districts where their services might be in greater de- mand, the influx of Bulgarian priests and teachers, and occasionally the cre- ation of a new Bulgarian bishop. The diplomatic pressure and the bribes and threats and intrigues by means of which these concessions are sougilt for by the one side and opposed by tile other, can better be imngine(l than described. Servian patriots are in this respect, at least, obliged to maintain tile defensive, seeing that the Porte does not usually recognize as Servian those communities wilich acknowledge the supremacy of the patriarch of Con- stantinople. On tile otiler iland, they are making considerable headway in tile Vilayet of Kossovo, to say nothin~ of the valley of the Morava which, having been given to Bulgaria by the Treaty of San Stefano, was ilanded over to Servia by the Treaty of Berlin, and has completely changed its nation- ality during the few years that have elapsed since then. The Iloumanian propaganda is con- ducted principally by tile Macedonian Society of Bucharest in the quiet, un- obtrusive way characteristic of Ron- manian diplomacy, which contrives to spend yearly a sum of money repre- sented by no less tllan six figures (in francs) ill providing Macedonian Zin- zars with schools, etc. The Rouma 139 Macedonia and the Miacedonians. nian bishops there acknowledge the supremacy of the patriarch. The Bulgarian government, as such, takes no part in the propaganda. Everything is done through the Exar- chate, which is the regular channel through which a golden stream is con- stantly flowing. The sum annually spent in this patriotic work is variously estimated at from one to two million francs. And the agents of these States openly or in disguise employ every means they consider lawful to attain the end which they profess to believe desirable, bribing infidel Turks, buying the consent of parents to have their children educated in this school or in that, distributing gratis books, pam- phlets and leaflets in which they viru- lently abuse each other and eulogize the cause delighted at the conversion or apostasy of a child or a family, as if the political problem could be solved, at this hour of the day, on the basis of cooked or even genuine statistics. When Macedonia ceases to belong to Turkey, it will in all probability be annexed to Bulgaria, who after the lapse of a decade will have smoothed away all the ethnographical difficulties which at present beset the problem. And the knowledge of this circum- stance is the most powerful factor in shaping the policy of Prince Ferdi- nands government to-day. Most of the current descriptions of the character of the Christian popula- tion ofMacedonia, reaching us through the same tainted channels, are to be received with the greatest caution. We hear of their indomitable martial spirit which ages of thraldom are powerless to crush, and the frequent rumors of insurrections and local risings which call for sensational headlines in our newspapers, are calculated to confirm our belief in the accuracy of the infor- mation. As a matter of fact, the Christians are utterly broken down in spirit ; their manhood melted into pathetic servility, their enterprise turned to solid endurance, their hopes weak and their fears overwhelmingly strong. Like the salamander in the fire, they are grown familiar with suffering, and, ignorant of any less painful existence, take their unparal- leled misery as a commonplace and en- dure it in silence. To be robbed, beaten, maimed by their masters om- their masters friends and accomplices, is part of the rOle they are destined to play; and they know full well that there are forms of cruelty still mome terrible which complaint to an Otto- man official would be an infallible way to provoke. Hence. they fear to hint at the truth to friendly foreigners, who go away disappointed at their listless- ness or disgusted at their cowardice. If they possessed a native press like the Armenians, Macedonia would have. been rescued from Turkish oppression ten years ago. In most cases risings in Macedo- nia are the work of sympathizing or restless outsiders who organize bands of Christian brethren. These cru- saders cross the frontier, are shunned like the pest by the bulk of the wretched people, and are ultimately cut down by the Turks, Pomaks or Ar- nauts, or else driven back whence they came. No doubt it does occur once in a while that some dastardly crime which only a Turkish Mohammedan can conceive and execute causes the blood of the most phlegmatic to boil over, and drives the victim to slay his torturer then and there, and execute an Indian xvar-dance round his corpse. Such a man has forfeited his life, and the utmost he can hope for is to sell it dearly. He flees therefore to the mountains or the woods, and gradually gathers other outlaws around him who are as desperate as himself. This gang lives thereafter for the sole pur- pose of executing the wild justice known as revenge, the maddening thirst for which occasionally drives them to the commission of crimes akin to cannibalism. But these are the ex- ceptions. Take them all in all, the Christian population of Macedonia is submissive, industrious, frugal, and patient to a fault. The Turks them- selves frequently admit and admire their excellent qualities, and never 140 Macedonia and the Macedonians. neglect to profit by them. A high Ottoman official lately assured me that the Bulgarians in Macedonia were very loyal, thrifty, submissive subjects of whom the Porte has reason to be proud; and, he naively added, it is a calumny to affirm that, we have the slightest reason to be dissatisfied with them. If left alone by Bulgaria and Servian agitators, we and they could live in peace and harmony forever. Whether the Rayahs themselves would, if they dared to speak freely and frankly, return this compliment, may well be doubted. A man may grow so accustomed to a dungeon that, like the Comte de Lorge, he protests against being removed thence to better quarters; but if he smiles and bows when his wife and daughters are being outraged or his little children starved to death, it is only as the Persian courtier smiled when informed by his monarch that he had just dined off the body of his son viz., to conceal his thirst for vengeance. In truth, the Macedonians have little to feel grateful for. Like Sohak in the Persian legend, they have two serpents on their backs which live on their life- bloodviz., the government as repre- sented by taxes, tax-gatherers, and administrators, and the brigands who plunder and kill, sometimes with the positive approval, and always with the friendly connivance, of the Turkish officials. The result of this twofold system of injustice and crime is the utter impoverishment of the people numbers of whom, at this very mo- ment, are devoid of the means of sub- sistence, and their gradual abasement to the level of beasts of burden, which would long ago have been reached had it not been for the schools founded by interested agitators from without. And even as it is, many a Macedonian Christian differs but very little in habits, aims, and way of living from the beasts of the field; and such differ- ence as there is tends to intensify rather than alleviate the hardship of his lot. It would be easy to illustrate the present con(lition of Macedonian Chris- tians by filling pages of this review with harrowing accounts of concrete cases of injustice, outrage, torture, and murder, publishing names, dates, and places in full. But after the long article which appeared in it last month on Armenia, the present writer feels that this course would entail needless repetition. For the names alone would change, the nature of the crimes and outrages remaining the same. Turkish misgovernment is not different in Macedonia from what it is in Armenia, or what it was in Bulgaria. The Turks as rulers continue to place their trust in the principle which stood them in such good stead when they were mere invaders viz., that might takes pre- cedence of right. They never reason or argue with their subjects ; they siIn~)ly command, compel, condemn. And the latter are powerless to help themselves against either officials or brigands, for they dare not complain in court of the one, nor defend them- selves with arms against the other. They are tied, so to say, hands and feet, and delivered over to the mercies of men whose sense of moral right and wrong is still so primitive or perverted that the former conception includes violation, rape, and nameless outrages on boys of tender age ; while the latter implies the protection of the most cal- lous cut-throats so long as they exer- cise their calling upon mere Christian dogs. A Christian cannot hope to earn a competency in Macedonia, whatever his trade or profession not if he were as avaricious as Harpagon and as ab- stemious as Timon of Athens. If the possession of wealth by Christians were politically unobjectionable and it is considered to be anything but this it would be utterly impossible on other grounds. The impecunious pashas, begs, kaimakams, and kadis, with whom the country is crowded, are like the greedy but insolvent Christian sectarian who, when the head of his community placed a bag of money be- fore him the proceeds of a charitable collection and said, Brother, take from this bag what you need, replied, 141 Macedonia and the Macedonians. Brother, I sorely need it all. They are insatiable. The land in Macedonia cannot, on the whole, be termed fertile. But there are districts the Pelagonian Plain, for example which need hardly to be scratched with a plough to cause them to bring forth abundant harvests. Now, wherever there is a strip of laud which repays tilling thus generously, it is invariably taken pos- session of by Turks. The ways and means are various and criminal, but the risks are nil. I could name several such desirable properties which were suddenly rendered so undesirable by the brigands that the Christians were glad to part with them for a nominal sum, so as to escape with their bare lives. Thirty-five villages of the fertile Prespa district belong entirely to Mos- lems, while the Christians are either in solvent ispolitshars, or farm laborers, that is to say, serfs bound down to the glebe, worse fed and more cruelly treated than the negroes in the South- ern States before their emancipation. In the Pelagonian district four-fifths of the one hundred and thirty villages be- long to the true believers. The Turks, who generally have an insuperable objection to working be- tween meals, employ Christians to till the soil.l In cases where the land belongs to the latter, one of them is permitted, in return for his toil, to keep for himself as much of the produce as remains after a fixed quan- tity has been delivered to the owner. But the essence of the injustice lies precisely in the interpretation of the wor(ls fixed quantity. The Turk objects to hair-splitting in the matter; he appears when the corn is ripe but not yet cut, estimates the produce in grain at his own figure, which may be and very often is out of all proportion to the truth, and fixes his share ac- cordingly. Against this ~alculation there is no appeal. The Christian may argue, entreat, or protest, but his words 1 Occasionally Mohammedans are also employed, but then they are generally regarded as partners of the landlord, who receives one half of the produce. are wasted breath. lie must deliver the quantity demanded, even though he leave his family breadless. The Mohammedan ~vill hear of nothing that is not compatible with that. What he is quite ready and willing to do is to lend the man corn, even thougll there be little hirosPect of its being repaid. Indee(l, he rather hopes it will not be returned, for as long as the wretched peasant remains in his debt, he is to all intents and purposes his slave. He dares not leave the district or seek em- ployment elsewhere ; he becomes part of his masters chattels. But the bulk of the Christian pop- ulation are mere farm laborers, whose lot is unenviable indeed. They have nothing which they can call their own. Meat and money are almost unknown to them. The farm laborer dwells in a den provided by his master, eats refuse which the prodigal son would have re- fused with loathing, and lives like a beast of burden. If he have any aspi- rations or consciousness that lie pos- sesses a soul, so much the worse for his peace of mind. When lie marries, his wife, and later on his children, must give their services to the master who never pays them a piastre,2 and has ~)ractically the power of life and death over them all. He can flog, wound, and kill with impunity. Arid lie feels no hesitation about exercising this right should occasion seem to de- niand it. The idea of punishing a true believer for causing the death of a rayahi appears too grotesque to be entertained by Moslem or Christian. Even if the representatives of the law had tile wild courage to harbor suchl a thloughit, not a soul would bear witness against tile powerful criminal. Expe- rience has too deeply burned the lesson in their memories that, of two evils, the lesser is to be chosen. But if these things be true, why do the Macedonians not imitate the Ar- menians and emigrate? The answer is obvious. To leave the country, ~may, even the village, the Christian must be free from debt, a condition which in Payment is made in kind, but it is too paltry to support any adult member of the family. 142 .llifacedonia and the Afacedonians. too many cases is absolutely prohibi- tive. Over and above this he must pay for and actually obtain which are two different things a passport, and this is an enterprise of such extraordi- nary difficulty, to say nothing of the expense, that an ordinary individual wOUi(l as soon try to fly. I saw some extraordinary individuals who made the attempt, and I could not decide which to admire most, their remarkable spirit of adventure or the iml)erturba bility of the Turkish authorities who kept them waiting for three weeks at a seaport town, on the ground that there was no official paper on which to write the necessary permission! It was in the character of beggars that same of these would-be emigrants applied to me ; they will probably wind up. their careers in the capacity of outlaws. The taxes levied on Christians in Macedonia, as in Armenia, are exor- bitantly high, and would of themselves ren~ler it a herculean task to achieve anything like a competency. But the legal taxes are no measure of those which are really extorted. Laws in Turkey seldom extend further than the paper on which they are written. The tax for exemption from military ser- vice, for instance, which falls exclu- sively upon Christians, should be levied only upon males between the ages of seventeen an(l sixty. Such is the law. The practice is that it must be paid for every male from the year of his birth to the year of his death. This is known and admitted all over Turkey, but no one dreams of complaining. The Christian powers regard it as a do- mestic concern of Turkey; the na- tives as part of their wretched lot. Even in cases where the person liable to taxation has long since left the coun- try with permission of the authorities, or quitted the world by their contriv- amice, his name continues to figure on the books, and his neighbors are forced to pay the tax for him. In one village the money has to be forthcoming every year for five persons, of whom three are in Bulgaria, one in Roumania, and one is a cripple. In another, the tax is regularly levied for two men who are in the kingdom of Servia, and two who, if there be such a thing as divine jus- tice, are in the kingdom of heaven. If injustice of this kind i~ thus prac- tised openly, shamelessly, and univer- sally, in the teeth of explicit laws, is it not clear that reforms alone, however extensive and satisfactory, will leave the situation absolutely unchanged, unless there be established an effective sanction to those reforms, which can consist only in foreign control ? The tithe iii Macedonia is farmed out to the highest bidder, a system which speaks for itself. The tithefarmer is naturally a person anxious to enrich himself, and he has previously paid heavily for the privilege, lie there- fore employs the surest means of mak- ing a large profit; and he never fails. If the harvest prove exceptionally bad that is no concern of his, it means but a few extra turns of the screw. What- ever happens it is the unfortunate Christians who bear the loss plectun- tur Achivi. Tithe-levying in Turkey is consequently a curious and a comupli- cated system which frequently includes physical violence and various kinds of outrage, to say nothing of an occasional murder. The collection of the eleven and one-half per cent. of the corn is but a part, sometimes the least oppressive part, of the process. The tithe-farmers profits, which are unreasonably high, are, of course, not paid by the govern- ment ; it is the Christian who has to provide them ; the hungry officials, too, who are let loose upon the popula- tion to see that the last farthing is paid, must also be feed and fed, and this is likewise no concern of the government. The (lescriptions given inc of the scenes that take place during the collection of the tithes are of a nature to make a saint forget his duty and think only of his rights as a man. They are heart- rending to a degree unsuspected even by the woe-stricken sufferers who told me the tales. But a dispassionate de- scription of the ordinary course of pro- cedure, divested of the accidental though frequent details of outrage; will suffice. The tithe-collecto~s come to a village, and begin by quartering them, 143 Macedonia and the Miacedonians. selves on the inhabitants. Then they set out to examine the fields. Suppose the crops are far from satisfactory owing to drought, hail, or abundant rains ; some one or two acres are al- ways pretty sure to form an exception to the rule, and, taking the very best sheafs from these, they have them threshed. This is the basis on which the valuation is then made. If the farmers accept it, well and good, they are only depriving their wives and children of a portion of their daily bread. If they refuse to accept that ruinous standard, the. officials depart. Meanwhile the corn must remain un- touched ; nor will they return till it has rotted on the stalk, unless the peasants send and entreat, and pay them to come back on their own terms, which by that time have grown more exor- bitant than they were before. This period of tithe-collecting is a veritable saturnalia for the coarse, sensual ,bes- tial scoundrels who are entrusted with the task of despoiling men, women, and children, the mere aspect of whom would touch a heart of stone. If a Christian embarks in any little business, his shop is looked upon as the common storeroom of Turkish offi- ~cialdom in the village or town. The proprietor of the caft must entertain Them gratis, or at least at a loss to him- self. If he ventures to complain, lie is beaten and his shop closed, or lie is killed off as a deterrent example to others. The tailor exercises his craft merely for the honor of being allowed .to work for a true believer, and lie has often to supply the materials over an(l above. All these people and I have pur- posely abstained from enumerating the worst off, those whose daughters, wives, or sons are defiled and disgraced have no redress, no friend, no hope but in God, who is very far off indeed. Man cannot succor them as long as the Turks remain in possession, for all these things are among the domestic concerns of the Porte. Macedonia, like the Slough of Despond, is a place That cannot be mended until Turkish rule there has been brought to a close. But the notorious circumstance that life is utterly insecure and robbery and murder unpunished is as distinct a con- fes3ion of impotency on the part of the authorities as could be reasonably de- manded. Brigands live and flourish everywhere; you meet them in cities, rub shoulders with them in villages, and slumber by their side in the com- partments of railway carriages. Every one points them out ; many admire their gorgeous fustanella, or the rich scabbards of their daggers; all regard them with awe, but no one would think of molesting them. Part of the coun- try watered by the river Wardar, the shores of Lake Ochrida (especially the peninsula Lin), and the district round about Veleslitsha, are infested with them. Even in such cities as Monas- tir, where several European consuls reside, no one would venture out after dark without a strong escort. Yet none of these ruffians who live on the life-blood of the people is ever brought to justice. It would in very many re- spects be a suicidal act on the part of the local authority who should under- take it ; for, among other reasons, they are frequently the accomplices of the brigand chiefs, the sleeping partners in a system of wholesale thuggee, which is also part of the domestic concern~ of the Porte. As for the law courts, they are as silent as the oracle at Delphi. No one dreams of putting their machinery into motion well knowing that he and he alone would be hoisted by his own petard. Such in brief is the state of things in Macedonia, after the lapse of seven- teen years from the day on which the Porte undertook to introduce into the country a system of reforms based upon the organic statute of the island of Crete,2 which would give the people a voice in the administration of their local affairs and in the expenditure of their money; and law courts, composed equally of Christian and Mohammedan judges, which would generally allow 1 A sort of coat that forms part of the national costume of the Arnauts. 2 See Article 23 of the Treaty of Berlin. 144 Macedonia and the Miacedontans. them to make serious an(I not wholly unsuccessful efforts to cleanse the Augean stable of the filth of centuries. And such the situation will remain for a time. For there is no one willing to espouse the cause of the Macedonians, who are powerless to help themselves. And yet the powers who signed the IBerlin Treaty are responsible for this intolerable situation. When Russia rescued the population and gave it a chance of independence and prosperity as an integral part of Bulgaria, the powers cancelled the act of emancipa- tion, but solemnly promised that the people would at least be treated in future as men and Chaistians. And now that it is clear that they are being dealt with as beasts, the powers refuse to interfere and redeem their promise. It is l)etter that a number of rayahs should suffer in Armenia and Mace- (lonia, says a Continental journalistic oracle, than that the peace of Europe be endangered by any meddling on their behalf. While Europe sincerely Tegrets the sufferings of these people, it cannot fail to see that the laws or breach ot law under which they take place are aLnong the domestic concerns which Turkey had best be allowed to look after herself. If this way of looking at the matter implied no insincerity, breach of faith, or cynical selfishness, it might perhaps be defensible, but certainly not on the -score of its political wisdom. For when, sooner or later, Russia comes forward and once more annexes Mace -donia to Bulgaria, or approves the revolution which will lead to such annexation, not an honest man in Eu- rope or the world, whatever his polit- ical sympathies may be, will raise his voice to censure her. In war it is -extremely desirable to have a just -cause, or one that appears just, and extremely foolish to abandon that ad- -vantage to ones opponents. Now if it be true that sympathy with suffering ~humanity is but a shallow pretext for Russias policy in the Balkan Penin -sula, it is equally true that Europe has left nothing undone to raise that pre -text to the dignity of a justification. LIVING AGE. VOL. Viii. 374 Russia professes at least to feel sym- pathy with oppressed Christians, and her acts are not incompatible with that profession. Europe, on the other hand, frankly, indeed cynically, admits that the persecution and extermination of the whole pack of Oriental Chris- tians does not concern her in the least. It is a domestic affair of the Turks. This is hardly a wise policy, even in the restricted sense of that practical wisdom which has been identified with enlightened egotism. Even decency demands that some reasonable grounds be alleged in its favor, and in politics one is never at a loss for these. It might, for instance, be urged, and truly urged, that no reforms introduced by the Porte would satisfy a population composed of such heterogeneous ele- ments as are to be found in Mace- (lonia; and that any such partial changes for the better would only raise, in a most dangerous form, the ethnographical question, which separa- tion from Turkey can alone solve. It might also be alleged that with the inauguration of the promised reforms the Porte would virtually lose the last remnant of her power in Europe, and the sultan be degraded to the undigni- fled position of Tottipottymoy. This, too, is true ; and it is cruel to disguise the fact. The Porte must in future be watched over, controlled, and corrected, if Turkey is to be bolstered up some time longer. Seventeen years ago, ten years ago, or even less, the promised reforms would have sufficed, and Turkey would have been left to herself in the work of carrying them out. If she were to undertake to fulfil her promise to-day on the basis of the organic statute of Crete, or on still more liberal lines, not one iota would be changed. Even if these reforms were actually framed, sanctioned, and promulgated, the situation would be in nowise improved. For we should still have but the promise of the Porte that they would not remain a dead letter that is to say, the promise of a govern- ment which has been deliberately and systematically breaking faith with Eu- 145 146 rope and with her own subjects for the last quarter of a century. What are her excellent civil and criminal laws but the fulfilment of one of these promises? And yet they are as effi- cient for practical purposes as if they had been drawn up by the Liliputians for the use of the l3robdingnagians. If it be found desirable that the ar- rangement provided for by the Treaty of Berlin should be enforced in Mace- donia and the Turk maintained in Europe, on the principle of not send- ing away your cat for being a thief; then the only way of accomplishing this is to have the promised reforms carried out as quickly as may be, under the direct si~pervision of a responsible European commission. Mohammedans may find this control derogatory to the dignity of the Commander of the Faith- ful; but if they are wise they will not clutch at the substance lest they lose even the shadow ; or, as their own proverb puts it, they will not fall into the fire in order to escape from the smoke. When the time has come for a warlike nation, as for an individual warrior, to depart to Walhalla, he can enter it only as a shadow. From Temple Bar. AN UNPAID GOVERNESS. CHAPTER I. ENGLISH Mail passed Gutzlaff 1.30 P.M. Shortsighted though she was, Mrs. Harcourt had read these words on the Custom House board. It was about half past six on a drizzly April after- noon, and nearly dark. So tile street lamps were lighted, for the place was wealthy Shanghai, whicll can afford both gas and electric ligllt ; and the Bund, where the notice-board and the Custom I-louse stood, was by no means deserted, notwitllstanding the weather. Mrs. Harcourt, wife of the Reverend Richard ilarcourt, incumbent of Holy Trinity Cathedral, and popularly known as the dean, though ile had in re- ality no claim to such a title, had come out for her daily stroll on the Band. This stroll was to her an absolute necessity, for the very good reason that it was then the fashion. And Mrs. Harcourt was, of course, a leader of fasilion. She was a woman wilose beauty was an established fact. Tall and dark, her decidedly Jewish cast of features was somewhat modified by an equally decided British figure square, broad shoulders, small waist, and large hands and feet. Her llead was beautifully, l)erhaps not too intellectually, shaped her eyes large and dark, tllough a trifle close together; her nose long and straight, her mouth small and finely cut. And the whole of the features were set in tIle most delicate oval, re- lieved by masses of dark hair, that rippled back from the white forehead. Moreover, though she was short- sighted, she never wore spectacles. Dear me, Dick, you dont mean to say the mail is due in an hour? This is too provoking. Why? came in a tone of indiffer- ence from tile dean, a tall, tl)in speci- men of what is kno~vn in England as tlle Ritualistic curate a designation, however, which would have been scouted by tIle Rev. Richard himself. He was a good Churchman, but no Papist. Dick, I wish one could get you to keep your head on your slloulders I You dont seem to remember in the least that Nellie is on the mail, and will be here in less than an hour ! Exactly, said the dean, in pre- cisely the same tone as before. Well, but dont you remember that von a ad I are engaged for tile conversa- zione at tile Consulate this evening ? How can I leave Nellie alone tile first nigilt ~ Dont go, answered the dean. Ridiculous ! snapped Mrs. ilar court. You must go, Dick. Your position in the place demands it. Be- sides, perhaps Nellie will want to go herself. I am Ilot going, announced the dean, in a voice very determined for him. And you are not going either. All, there are the mail-guns I An Unpaid Governess. An Unpaid Governess. For just at that moment a sudden puff of light and smoke had shone out from the signal-station on the opposite bank of the river. The flash was fol- lowed by a report, and this again by another flash and report. And imme- diately the crowd on the Bund began to consolidate and move towards one point. For the guns had announced the arrival of the mail-launch from the steamer lying at the Woosung bar, and the interest of all would be centred on the P. & 0. jetty for the next half hour. Dick, Im going home. I dont like being pushed about by all these nasty Chinamen. The dean looked surprised. Perhaps he was thinking of the night, only three short weeks before, w lien Marion had stood in a crowd of Chinamen for an hour and a half, waiting to see a foreign prince land. But lie said noth- ing, only put lie r into a jinricksha, or man-carriage, and himself turned on to the jetty. The launch was steaming alongside by this time, and a dense crowd were jostlin.g each other in their haste to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals. The dean looked on in a kind of dream, from which he was with difficulty aroused by a grasp on the arm, and the sound of a voice which he seemed to reco~n ize. Dick, did you come to meet me? I was looking for you everywhere. Where is Marion? What a horrid place this is ! How are you ? The dean looked down in astonish- ment. Was this indeed Nellie, his wifes little, half-sister ? He had seen her last a child, and here she was, a grown-up young lady I He did not ap- pear to advantage as lie stammered out Youre very welcome, Nellie. Lets go home. My boxes! cried the new arrival, in a tone of the deepest concern. I have got every rag I possess in them How are we to get them ? Im sure I dont know, said the dean, in a helpless way. Is your name on them, Nellie ? Yes, but we surely have got to take them away. What do you generally do when you arrive ? Marion looks after everything, was the reply. Ah, theres Bernard walking along. Ill ask him. And the dean was off in a minute, leaving Nellie in an exceeding state of wonder- ment at the curious manner in which arrivals were managed iii the Far East. But the dean, if he did not know how to take possession of his own effects, had evidently found some one who did. The Bernard he had laid hands upon proved to be a young man of some eight-and-twenty years, with a head presumably screwed on the right way. The boxes were rescued from a heap of other packages, not looking as whole as they had done be- fore successive bumps down the side of the India at Woosung, but still quite recognizable by their owner. A. ~vhieehbarrow was found, and the lug-. gage put on it. And then, somewhat. to Nellies horror, she herself was put. into a jinricksha, which set off at a rattling pace for the Deanery, Dick and Mr. Bernard walking slowly behind,, and guarding the wheelbarrow. Nellie felt, to say the least, shy,. when the jinrickslia pulled up with a sudden jerk at the Deanery gate. It was strange to meet Marion again, ten thousand miles from where she had first known her, and with their re- spective positions so entirely altered. Through the lighted-up drawing-room windows, as she passed them, she could see this Marion ; not the half sister who hind been made first her nurse and then her governess, but a Marion transformed and glorified. Yet, to a critical eye, the sweet sim- plicity of girlhood might have seemed lost ; she was no more one of the inno- cents. But, instead of this, she was a leader among men, and looked up to and imitated by women. And that was ambition gratified for Mrs. Richard Harcourt. Nellie gave a vigorous pull to the bell, and heard Marions voice saying to some one she had not noticed in her glance through the window 147 148 Run to the door, Sybil, and open it for father and Aunt Nellie. A muttered I shant I floated to Nellies ears as the door was flung wide open by the Chinese boy. And then Marion came out of the drawing- room, with both hands stretched out in welcome, and poor tired Nellie grasped them tightly, with a warm feeling at her heart, while Marion said kindly Dear me, Nellie, you are exactly what you used to be, only prettier! I am so glad you have come, dear, and we will try to make your life very pleasant here. Thank you, answered Nellie. She did not know what else to say. Marion turned her round, and looked at her with approving little pats. You dont seem tired, Nellie. Do you feel inclined for a little quiet gaiety to-night, as an introduction to your life here? But I have not got my dresses, hnzarded Nellie, who in truth felt very tired, but did not like to refuse any- thing that this beautiful sister offered her. They will come in good time. It is only a conversazione at the Consulate. You see, I am so anxious to introduce my sister into the best circles, and this is the last evening of the season. Very well, said Nellie. And at that moment the dean arrived with the boxes, and Marion, having taken Nellie to her room, speedily brought her down again to dinner. The meal passed off smoothly enough. When coffee had been served round, the dean rose, and with the slightest perceptible yawn, said he was going to his study. Nellie and I are goin~ to the Con- sulate, announced Marion quietly. The dean looked at his wife. But her eyes did not meet his. She was deep in the mystery of breaking open a dried lichee. Then he looked at Nellie. She was leaning back in her chair, with her eyes fixed on the gas chande- her over the table. A very different woman from Marion. Pretty she might have been called, seen apart from her sister, for her eyes were blue, lar~~e and full of intelligence, her fore- head was low and broad, and her mouth had just a faint quiver as if of sensi- tiveness. In short, just the kind of girl who might with perfect safety be recommended to a dearest friend as wife, but one scarcely to be chosen for ones self. That is, if the eye had for- merly lighted on Marion Ilarcourt. The deans survey, however, was too brief to take in all this. He only felt convinced that Nellie did not want to go to this conversazione, and that Marion did; why, he could not understand. But, as invariably happened, he set off for the right goal in the wrong direc- tion. He made the appeal to Nellie. Nellie, are you not very tired? Would you really like to go this even- ing? Nellies eyes travelled back from the chandelier, vi~ Marion, to the dean. He was a trifle nervously turning over the pages of a magazine. Thank you, I can go. Marions head was raised for a minute, and her eyes looked straight into the deans. He turned on his heel, and went out. And Nellie felt dimly, as she dressed herself for the conversazione, that the Deanery household, with all its appar- ent calmness and felicity, was one divided against itself. CHAPTER II. THIS is my sister, Mr. Fletcher, Miss Russell, who has just arrived. Nellie, Mr. Fletcher. Nellie raised her eyes, which she had kept fixed on the ground while passing through a quizzical group at the door of the drawing-room, and encountered the gaze of a small, thin, wiry gentle- man, with pale grey eyes and sparse ginger-colored whiskers. He was dressed in ordinary evening dress, and would certainly have been passed over in any crowd on account of the insig- nificance of his appearance, had it not been for a peculiar trick which he pos- sessed of putting his head on one side, thereby obtaining a kind of private view of another mans face ; as also for the attitude and gait he habitually An Unpaid Governess. An Unpaid Governess. affected: his left hand in his trousers pocket, and a movement which covered a good many square yards in a few seconds of time. On being thus introduced, Mr. Fletcher stretched out his hand to shake the strangers. But Nellie, not perceiving the advance, gave a most formal bow, which seemed both stiff and awkward. Thereupon Mr. Fletchers face got a little dark. Still, he evidently consid- ered he was in duty bound to say a few words to Nellie. So he began with the well-known phrase : How do you like Shanghai ? Nellies eyes looked very mirthful as she answered : What is there to like? I have only been here three hours. Ali I said Mr. Fletcher, in an in- quiring tone. So you came by the mail? Who came with you? Nellie was beginning a long list of names, when her questioner suddenly caught sight of a new face near the , aud made a bolt in her direction, leaving Nellie, much to her embarrass- ment, standing alone in the middle of the floor. She looked round. The room was hot and crowded, gay with brilliant costumes. Every lady seemed provided with a chair, however, and with a group of men to talk to. Marion was nowhere in sight, though Nellie thought she heard her voice somewhere in the distance. She was moving in that direction, when another voice spoke close behind her : Would you like to sit here ? Nellie turned round, and saw, sitting close to one of the windows, a pretty, wax-doll face with most superb trim- mings and adornments. The lady pointed to a vacant chair, on to which Nellie promptly climbed. It was a very high and straight one, and the girl felt herself like a well- behaved child as she sat perched on it, with her feet dangling at least half an inch above the floor. But she was at any rate in a window, beyond the range of all eyes, and could sit quiet and feel tired as much as she liked. The lady was fanning herself vigor- ously, and taking in Nellie from head to foot. Who is Mr. Fletcher? The lady gazed at her in astonish- ment, and then subsided in a giggle behind her fan. Mr. Fletcher! How very funny of you not to know! Have you only just arrived? Yes, answered Nellie, who failed to see the comicality of her question. Oh, then you are Mrs. Harcourts sister, who has come out to live with her! A charming woman, your sis- ter. Yes. Nellie was waiting the an- swer to her question. The dear dean, went on the lady, is so good, too good for this world. Just a little bit unpractical, you know, though very charming also. Dear me! I forgot, you wanted to know who Mr. Fletcher is. The consul-general, and a dreadfully sarcastic man, and so naughty! You will know him well enough soon. How draughty it is here, to be sure! im dreadfully afraid of catching a cold. Excuse me, I must change my place. And the elegant dress and tinkling bracelets moved away to another corner of the room, where they were soon surrounded by a group of men, who evidently were in the best of spirits. The laughter and talking became louder and louder, and poor conscious Nellie, in the window, felt sure they were having a joke at her expense. Several looks were cer- tainly cast in her direction, and her face was gradually becoming purple with shame at her unlucky question, when she heard Marions voice just outside the window close to which she was sitting. The verandah round the house was dimly lighted with Chinese lanterns, and looked cool to Nellies eyes, smart- ing with conscious tears, and dazzled by the glare and heat inside. Had she not been so utterly a stranger, she might have enjoyed a stroll along that red-tiled floor, with its great china pots of ferns and miniature palms, and its quaint little rockery laid out in willow- pattern style. But she was much too 149 An Unpaid Governess. shy to venture to pass that terrible group round the wax-doll lady. So she sat still, and did some involuntary eaves(lropping. What a strange idea of yours, Mrs. Harcourt, to have your sister out, said a voice which did not sound alto- gether new to her. What do you mean, Mr. Fletcher? I mean, what have you brought her out for? To be a foil for you, or a rival ? You must not be too sarcastic. She is my half-sister, and her mother is dead, and with her my fathers pension has gone. Nellie is left absolutely penniless, and the dean and I are tak- ing charge of her. Now, are you sat- isfied? My dear Mrs. Harcourt, broke in another voice, which Nellie recognized as that of the wax-doll lady, I wonder you give in to such curiosity. Why, Mrs. Harcourt, we have all just been agreeing that you must be a perfect saint to undertake such a burden upon your means. Penniless! Why, you will have to provide her even with clothes ! Think of the expense and the bother she will be! I cannot ad- mire you enough. It was all Nellie could do to keep from crying out, Im not penniless I have 50 a year, and I can keep my- self! but that would have sounded too ridiculous. So she sat and listened to what would come next. We are her only relations in the world, said Marion gently. We felt we could not do otherwise. And, she added, you must at least think her pretty, Mr. Fletcher. I dont! interrupted the lady. Shes far too round and babyish. Not a sign of a waist, and no style at all. I was talking to her just now I found her standing, all forlorn, in the middle of the room, a ad gave her a chair and the only time she opened her lips was to ask who you were, Mr. Fletcher! Im afraid youll find her a dreadful drag on you, Mrs. Harcourt. Mrs. Harcourt needs a drag, came in a quiet tone of sarcasm from Mr. Fletcher. Naughty man! We know exactly what you think about all women, and dont want to hear a word more from you. Come along, Mrs. llarcourt. And Nellie heard their footsteps dy- ing away along the verandah. Her cheeks were burning with rage. All these people in Shanghai were the worst term of abuse in Nellies category underbred. How mean of them to laugh because she had made a mistake! Shanghai was a horrid place, and she hated the idea of living there. England, and her home in a country town of Bedfordshire, were infinitely superior. And then she lost sight of the dresses, and the disagreeable men and women, and was back in the coun- try church admiring from a distance the only bachelor of the place, the cu- rate, when she was aroused by Marion saying to her Are you ready to go home, Nellie? I have been dying of sleepiness for the last half hour. Nellie rose with a sigh of relief, and followed her out of the room. CHAPTER III. YOUR sister will never make the sensation in China you made when you first came out, dear Mrs. Har- court, remarked Mrs. Tyrwhitt, the doll-like lady of Nellies first evening, to Marion, one sultry evening in July, about three months after the girls ar- rival. Marion smiled. You require to know Nellie before you find out her worth. She would make an excellent wife for a hard- working man. Well, she has the best chance in Shanghai, I admit. If she had stayed in England, I dont doubt she would have been an old maid. It was very good of you to have her out, Mrs. Har- court. Marion took no notice of this last speech. Perhaps she had heard it so often before that it failed to give her any satisfaction. Or perhaps she had not heard it now, for her mind may have been where her eyes were, fol- lowing Nellie and the dean up and 150 An Unpaid Governess. down the path before the seat in the Public Gardens where she and Mrs. Tyrwhitt were sitting. Now the dean was finding out that Nellie suited him exactly. She was part of his household, so he did not need to make conversation for her. She never seemed tired, nor hot, like Marion, nor did she want to join the ladies whose mincing steps so sorely tried the deans patience. For Nellie had been accustomed to ploughed fields, and to those stiles of Bedfordshire whose height reacheth unto heaven. Moreover, she was very quick-sighted, and nudged his elbow whenever he passed any one to whom he must bow, thereby saving him many occasions of offence. In short, the dean had begun to enjoy having Nellie as his outdoor companion. Indoors he saw very little of her. Marion was accustomed to take life easily during the hot weather, and her i(lea of ease was to deliver the house- keeping to the boy, and the children to the amah and Nellie. Of course a new arrival did not require to husband her strength during summer. So, soon after Nellie caine, Mrs. Ilarcourt sud- denly found out that the children (aged respectively seven, six, and four) were much too old to be left entirely to amahs. She made so many complaints, indeed, both at meals and to Nellie in private, as regarded the disastrous ef- fects of a Chinawomans training, that Nellie felt compelled to volunteer her services. Thcse Marion eagerly ac- cepted, promising co-operation. But the only help she actually furnished was a list of the subjects she wanted Oscar and Sybil to learn. However, as neither Oscar, nor Sybil, nor Guendolen could speak or understand a word of anything but pidginEnglish, mixed with a few Chinese phrases of doubtful signification, Nellie decided that if she could teach them to speak their own mother-tongue by the end of six months she might consider she had done a great work. It was marvellous, also, what a quan- tity of invalid tablecloths and napkins the Deanery seemed all of a sudden to 161 contain. If Nellie was no genius at teaching, she at least knew how to darn and patch, as Marion very soon dis- covered. Mrs. Harcourt, never before reckoned among the first-class house- keepers in Shanghai, that is to say, among those who not only visit the cookhouse daily, and examine the pots and pans to see if they have been prop- erly cleaned, but among those who can produce tablecloths that have defied the stones and sticks of the washer- men, was on the high road to become the cynosure of all eyes. From un- known depths tablecloths, so named by courtesy, for the portion of them with- out holes would barely cover a box, were routed out for Nellies delecta- tion. And no sooner had one table- cloth been mended than another appeared, even worse than the last. Finally, Nellie protested. But this was an unwise proceeding. For Marion could conclusively prove that the ex- penses of these last few months had been so far beyond their means that the strictest economy was necessary. She, Marion, had already given up going to the seaside on that account. The least Nellie could do was to help in the economy they all had to prac- tise. Every now and then Marion, no doubt in quite good faith, would give a spur to the jaded horse. She had aa almost childish way of repeating such things as were likely to raise a sore feeling in Nellies mind. These say- ings would come out so innocently that Nellie could not find it in her heart to accuse Marion of malice. Neverthe- less, it was hard to present a smiling face to Mrs. Tyrwhitt, after Marion had said that lady thought Nellies hair very pretty, but her hands and feet shockingly bad, adding in another con- nection~ about four seconds afterwards, that a lady could always be recognized by her hands and feet. By dint of incessantly hearing these things Nellie grew shyer and more awkward than ever in society, and was rapidly becom- ing, as Mrs. Tyrwhitt observed, an excellent foil for her sister. Away from Marion, though at An Unpaid Governess. least so the dean had found Nellie was by no means the clumsy and silent girl she appeared in society. The dean may have had a lurking suspicion that Marion did not make matters too pleas- ant for Nellie. But though he kept his eyes wide open, as he was capable of doing when he was with the two sisters, he could not detect anything but kindness on the part of his wife. The dean himself, it must be owned, was very much under Marions witch- ery, as long as he was in her presence. Out of it he often seemed to see things in a different light. Unfortunately, this qualifying view did not help him much. For Nellie was as much under the influence of Marions presence as he was himself. The dcan seems to get on very well with your sister, Mrs. Harcourt, Mrs. Tyrwhitt said, after a lengthy pause. But you must find her a sad tie, though you are so good about it. A perpetual visitor in the house must be such a nuisance I And Miss Russell, excellent as I have no doubt she is, doesnt seem to attract the young men. I cant make it out at all, except that they all follow you as of old. Now Good-evening, ladies. And Mr. Fletcher, clad in the everlasting tall white hat, with his hand in its usual pocket, sank on to the seat close to them. Who are you discussing ? he asked, wiping his forehead with a large silk handkerchief. Nothing, nobody, said Marion rather shortly. She was watching the two walkers. Ali I said Mr. Fletcher, following her gaze, your sister, is it ? Found her a husband yet, eh, Mrs. Tyrwhitt? Shall I suggest a few names? Dont be naughty, said Mrs. Tyrwhitt, with a giggle. I am going to walk, announced Marion, and the other two following her example, rose and joined the dean and Nellie. The dean, unhappy man, fell to Mrs. Tyrwhitt, while Mr. Fletcher took pos- session of the two sisters. The little consul was in the best of humors, rub- bing his hands and guigling to himself. Marion felt eminently provoked with him this evening, lie was in one of his curious moods, and was pumping Nellie diligently as to her impressions of the people of the place. Not by direct questions ; Mr. Fletcher was far too wary to gain information in that way. But his indirect questions were infinitely more dangerous, as Marion well knew. And Mrs. Harcourt decid- edly objected to having her acquaint- ances run over, and the number of times she had seen them lately noted, in order to furnish materials for some of Mr. Fletchers scandals. For the worthy consul had a most wicked habit of romancing and composing strange tales anent various individuals, and Mrs. Harcourt had often before figured in these. When composed, these scan- dals would be circulated through secret channels, and for a few days be the talk of the place. And yet, though most people guessed Mr. Fletcher was the author of them, the fact had never actually been brought home to him. In truth, people were afraid of him. For the little consul had a terrible tongue, and as there was invariably a grain of truth in the parcel of lies, he could make it very unpleasant for those who charged him. And so, this even- ing, Marion hailed with satisfaction the arrival of Edmund Bernard on the scene, and, handing him over to Nel- lie, took charge of Mr. Fletcher her- self. Now Bernard, excellent though he was, was painfully shy and heavy. He could not originate a conversation, scarcely carry one on. He was in the customs service, and had a perfect mania for studying Chinese. This took the form of associating almost en- tirely with Chinamen. Day after day he might be seen walking with his teacher, a pompous old Chinee in round spectacles with enormous tortoise-shell rims, clad in most splendid satin leg- gings. Bernard was even reported to sleep on a Chinese bed, and eat with chopsticks. The burden of the conversation thrown on her shoulders, Nellie chose 152 An Unpaid Governess. what she thought the most appropriate themeChinese. Did not Mr. Ber- nard read a great deal of Chinese? A little. Talk a great many dialects? One or two. Nellie was growing hope- less, when a sudden inspiration came to her. What was the story about an autumn fan? Here Bernard bright- ened up at once. lie was evidently on his own ground. He even went so far as to ask her if he might not give her an autumn fan, an offer which Nellie, with a secret qualm as to what Marion would say, accepted. Indeed, Edmund Bernard had asked in such a humble, almost entreating way, that Nellie could not have found it in her heart to refuse. And so Edmund wcnt off to dinner with Mr. Fletcher in a state of nervous delight which the little consul was at a loss to understand, and Marion, Nellie, and the dean walked home in silence. Mr. Fletcher had not been wasting his time. He had been regaling Mrs. Harcourt with a few choice stories, in one of which Mrs. Tyrwhitt herself figured. And he wound up by say- in~ After all, do you think the De- ceased Wifes Sister Bill would be a mistake ? He said this while the dean, who had got rid of Mrs. Tyrwhitt, was actually walking with them. Dick looked astonished, and immediately argued the point. But Marion knew Mr. Fetcher had meant this thrust for her, and that lie was enjoying her silence with all the delight his malicious little heart was capable of. Perhaps it was in consequence of this discussion that Marion was very quiet at dinner that evening. Nellie, who felt rather guilty about the prom- ised fan, deemed it more prudent to make a clean breast of it. Marion,~ she said somewhat ab- ruptly, do you know, Mr. Bernard is going to give me an autumn fan? Very nice, dear, answered Marion sweetly. You mean to encourage him, then ? You like him ? Like him! What do you mean, Marion? 15S I mean, that young girls are not generally in the habit of receiving pres- ents from young men, unless they mean to go further. Nellie felt both cold and hot, froni anger, at the same moment. I dont understand you, Marion.~T Ask Dick, rejoined Marion coolly.. Is it customary, Dick, for girls to receive presents from young men? I dont know, said the dean dreamily. I dont think Nellie would do anything wrong, at least if sho knew it to be so. Were not talking about wrong! said Marion pettishly. Theres no getting anythii~g out of you, Dick, ex- cept that Nellie is sure to be right ! And she threw down her napkin and walked out of the room. Nellie is a bore in the house I she said to her- self as she sat down to the piano. Mr. Fletchers words had done their work. Marion found herself watching the dean and her sister as they played chess. Yes, Mrs. Tyrwhitt had no- ticed the intimacy also. It would not do. Before she went to sleep that night Marion had made up her mind that Nellie must be married before many months were over. CIIA~TER IV. So Miss Russell has actually got an admirer at last! said Mrs. Tyrwhitt to Mr. Fletcher, who was conducting her to her carriage outside the Gardens next day. Who ? asked Mr. Fletcher sharply, changing his pace, a most annoying habit of his, which signified that the conversation was becoming interesting. Oh, that young Mr. Bernard of the customs. I always thought he was too quiet and shy to speak to any one. But to-day he has come out in new shirts and collars, and has left off those everlasting yellow tweeds. And lie is actually making presents to Miss Russell. I told Mrs. Harcourt I won- dered her sister could go in for such a dowdy fellow. Why did you tell Mrs. Harcourt? asked Mr. Fletcher. You should An Unpaid Governess. have said it direct to Miss Russell. A want to help her not make herself good speech always loses in the repeat- talked about. Mr. Fletcher actually gave a low There you are, sarcastic as ever, whistle. But his manner was perfectly retorted Mrs. Tyrwhitt in a complain- composed, and his face unreadable ing tone. Dont you see it isnt when he jerked out his next sentence. my business to interfere with Miss Russell. But it is Mrs. Harcourts. To my mind, she doesnt interfere enough. Do you think the sun shines enough ? asked Mr. Fletcher, as he shut the carriage door. And then he turned back into the Gardens, and see- ing Marion sitting on a bench the other side of them, made up towards her. Where is your sister, Mrs. Har- court? She managed somehow or other to sprain her ankle this morning an- swered Marion, so shes on the sofa. I dont fancy she is dull, though, for she has the children, and the dean must have gone home. I dont see him about. Then allow me to keep you com- pany. And the little consul sat down as close to Mrs. Harcourt as he could. How did Miss Russell sprain her ankle ? How should I know? answered Marion snappishly. It is a very common accident. And not a painful one either. You are not very fond of your sister, remarked Mr. Fletcher casu- ally, his eyes fixed intently on a sail- ing-boat which was passing up the river before him. I am, retorted Marion. Her voice did not sound particularly amia- ble. At any rate, continued Mr. Fletcher, not taking any notice of her remark, it will very soon not matter to her whether you like her or not. I predict you and she will be parted. be- fore three months are over. I shall be very pleased to see her well married, if that is what you mean, answered Marion. Nellie would make an excellent wife for any man. But I feel a certain degree of responsibility as to her choice. She has not seen much of the world. I You are to be congratulated on your success, Mrs. Harcourt. I always knew that you were a clever woman. What a splendid diplomatist has been lost in you I Thereupon, in a most disagreeably confidential manner, lie offered to con- duct Marion home. But that lady, who really felt thoroughly out of tem- per with him, could not contemplate more of a conversation with him just then. She said she was tired, and would take a jinricksha. Which she actually did, to the corner of the Dean- ery road. Then, seeing a familiar figure emerging from her own gate, she got out and dismissed the China- men. It was that of Edmund Bernard. But he turned down a side road before she could get up to him. So she walked on slowly, and finally reached the Deanery gate. The gas had not yet been lighted in the drawing-room, nor the venetians closed. As Marion passed the win- dows, she could distinctly see in with- out being seen. Nellie was lying on a sofa, with her head turned towards, and almost touching, the deans, who was bending over her. They were speaking in very low tones. Marion~ s min(l, naturally jealous, saw iu this attitude a confirmation of all her sus- picions. But as it would not do to be found spying, she went on and opened the front door. The dean must have heard her foot- steps, for when she came into the room lie was busy cutting the leaves of a new magazine. And Nellie was turn- ing over and over a beautiful little black and gold fan, covered on one side with minute Chinese characters, and on the other with Chinese Pictures. Was that Mr. Bernard I saw just now? asked Marion, sitting down and taking off her gloves. Yes ; he brought this fan. Nel 154 An Unpaid Governess. lie handed it to Marion, who examined it critically. He might have given you a better one while he was about it, she re- marked at length. This isnt worth a dollar. The dean rose to leave the room. But Marion did not at all want this change in the scene. Im going up-stairs, Dick. You had better stay and talk to Nellie. She has been so much alone, havent you, dear? No, answered Nellie. Dick has been here, and Mr. Bernard. I hope you treated him wisely, Nellie. To tell you the truth, I dont quite like your manner with men, dear. In England, it is called running after them ; in China, giving encourage- ment. And you ought to see it too, Dick, IMlarion added, turning to the dean, who stood in the doorway longing to flee to his study, yet not liking to leave Nellie under fire. No, he answered dreamily, Nel- lie seems to go on in a very nice way, my dear. I cant say I see any fault in her behavior. Thats because you think every- thing she does is perfect! cried Marion angrily, walking towards the door. I want to go and take my hat off. For the dean had caught hold of her wrist, and was trying to hold her. Why are you so angry, Marion? This, to Mrs. ilarcourts mind, was adding insult to injury. She gave him a look of most profound disdain, and went up-stairs. Mr. Fletcher ana Mrs. Tyrwhitt were right! The dean was much too fond of Nellie. In truth, he was sliding into that frame of mind which begins by thinking no evil, that brotherly charity which dismisses as idle words any tales to anothers detri- ment. Out of doors, Marion dimly felt that she had a duenna in Nellie, with- out the advantage of having her old and ugly. Married, then, she must be, and away from Shanghai if possible. And the man she should marry why, there he was, ready to hand, Edmund Bernard, who would never set the Thames on fire, and whose wife could never hope to take precedence of Mrs. Harcourt of the Deanery. And so Marion would be left forever queen in Shanghai. But in all her calculations, Marion had left out one important factor her own jealous and impatient temper. It was all very well to plan that she would throw Bernard and Nellie to- gether, and get rid of her sister in an amiable way. But when two days had passed, and Bernards visit had not been repeated, and Marion invariably found the dean sitting with Nellie when she came in from her walk, or from calling, the present situation be- came very strained. Mrs. Harcourt began to feel it could not last. She could not evacuate the position, so Nellie must. The storm burst, of course, over a trifle. At breakfast one morning Oscar kicked Nellies sprained ankle. Where- upon the dean, blazing forth into sud- den partisanship for his sister-in-law, seized the boy and summarily ejected him from the room. Marion, whose maternal instinct was fairly dormant on most occasions, had been especially aggravated all that morning by the attentions she had fancied the dean was paying Nellie. She now thoroughly lost her temper. The dean walked quietly out of the room and left Nellie to face the storm alone. Perhaps he judged that his presence and aid would be disastrous rather than otherwise to the younger sister. What a person says when angry always sounds more than it looks in print. Nellie heard some very bitter truths about her dependence from Marion that morning. Sybil was listening open-mouthed, trying to piece together the fragments of conversation she could understand. But all things come to an end, even a passion. Marion flung herself out of the room, and Nellie hobbled into the drawing- room. Then came Oscar with his reading book, and Sybil with her tears. It was only when, at eleven oclock, Marion appeared to take Sybil in the carriage while she went shopping, that 155 156 Nellie was left to herself to think over the events of the morning. In this, however, she was to have a fellow-worker. A knock was heard at the door, and the dean put his face cautiously in, taking a good look round to see that Nellie was alone. Then he came and sat down close to the sofa. Nellie, he began, Marion has just been speaking to me about you. She has some cause of complaint against you, we must admit. I dont think much of it, I must tell you, but she evidently does. What cause? asked Nellie. After all Marion had said to her, an extra complaint could not make much difference. Yet it jarred on her to find the dean siding against her. Dick seemed somewhat confused by this question. He had been made to take up a mission which was utterly distasteful to him. He was not likely to carry it through diplomatically. Cause? Oh, its difficult to explain. But Marion does notwell, to speak plainly, I think it would be a good thing for you to go elsewhere for a little time.~~ Go where ? asked Nellie vaguely. A dun perception of the meaning of Dicks mission was dawning on her. I dont know. The dean pulled his whiskers violently. Dick, Nellie said, sitting bolt up- right on the sofa, has Marion been saying this to you, or do you want me to go away yourself? I dont want you to go away at all, put in the dean eagerly. I like having you in the house very much. Then its Marion. What reason did she give you for wanting me to go? But at this question the dean only got very hot and red, and looked alto- gether uncomfortable. What man does she not approve of my talking to? asked Nellie. Ill avoid him if I can. You cant, unfortunately, slipped from the deans lips before he knew what he was saying. Then Nellie looked up, and their eyes met, and they understood each other. Dead silence reigned in the room for quite five minutes. Nellie was trying to think out the new phase of affairs. Marion jealous of Dicks liking her Ridiculous ! Still, there was no doubt the dean was very fond of her. His; attitude now was a very affectionate one his hand on her pillow, and his dreamy eyes straying into distant worlds. They lighted up, too, with a very friendly smile, as they crossed hers. Yes, Marion ~vas right there. But Dick was to be shut away from her, because, forsooth, his wife ob- jected to his liking any other woman than herself! Marion objected, Marion who gave him nothing; neither love, nor regard, nor kind words, nor atten- tion. The dean stood decidedly loser. Meanwhile, Dick was divided between two ideas the desire not to be unjust to Nellie, and to wish to give the enemy no cause of offence. Innocent as was his liking for Nellie, he had been too honest to keep it to himself that morning. And Marion had taken full advantage of the admission. She would not have Nellie in the house any more. One or other of them must tell her so. And, to his utter self- astonishment, the dean found himself undertaking the mission. Themi, at any rate, he could be sure that the mandate of Marion was conveyed in as gentle language as possible. Ill go, Nellie said at length. But you must tell me where, Dick. Youre my guardian, and you know what I can afford to do. I must go to England, I suppose. No, not so far away, the dean heard himself saying. He felt like a mans shadow listening to what the substance was saying. Dick could not be held responsible for his words. Where then? asked Nellie. Stay out here. I dont know how! There was an awkward pause. Dick, I will think over it, and go away as soon as possible. My ankle will keep me from moving about, but will you find out about the mails home? I shall be well enough for the P. & 0. next week. An Unpaid Governess. An Unyaid Governess. The dean did not answer. He looked as before straight at the red cathedral between the trees. Then he got up and went to his study. And Nellie lay on the sofa, and thought, and thought, and thought, till her brain seemed whirling. The ci- cadas shrieking outside, and all the noises of the busy town, grew so mo- notonous that she was lulled into for- getfulness of her griefs. The dean, who came back in a little time, with the purpose of unsaying all he had said, found her fast asleep. CHAPTER V. MRS. HARCOURTS brougham stood, at half past eleven, the last of a long line, near the celebrated store of Weeks & Co. Mrs. Harcourt was not in it. She was busy getting bargains, for this was the first day of the clear- ance sale. Now a summer sale is a time of great searchings of heart to the female min(l. There are, spread out before her eyes, such screaming bargains ends of material that always come in useful (or are supposed to do so), though generally just a trifle too short for the purpose required; ends of rib- bon sure to be wanted for anything; gloves so little spotted with damp that no one would remark them at all, half the ordinary price, but, alas ! half the ordinary size! The heap Marion had put together to choose from was a con- stantly varying quantity, and the smil- ing shopmen under the punkah had a scarcely enviable time. For Mrs. Tyr- whitt, and this lady and that, had ex- actly the same piles, and in eight cases out of ten the ladies would go away without buying anything, but having, in the mean time, turned the place upside down. Sybil, whose little meddling fingers could not be trusted inside the door, began to feel it slightly dull in the brougham. The small mafoos stock of conversation (for lie and the chil- dren were great friends) had become exhausted, and lie had betaken himself to kindred spirits in other carriages. Sybil pulled the blinds, sat down, 157 stood up again, and finally fell to watching the passers-by. Twelve oclock clashed from gongs hard by. The tiffin hour of men of business had come. Some of the ladies came out from Weekss, and drove off. Then a hansomette or two passed, driving out into the country. Lastly came the foot-passengers, and among them one known to Sybil, one she had been hearing about that morn- ing, one Aunt Nellie ought to marry in short, Edmund Bernard. Hailed by Sybil, Edmund stopped at the brougham door to chat to her for a minute. Shy as he was with grown-up people, Bernard was quite at his ease and a great favorite with children. Are you going to marry Aunt Nel- lie? The question was direct enough. Children go straight to the point. So straight, indeed, that Bernard was taken quite aback. Why? Then caine the story of the break- fast scene that morning, as it had ap- peared to Sybils small intelligence, with the light of a commentary by Oscar in the nursery. As it came to Edmund Bernards ears, Aunt Nellie was very naughty, and mamma had scolded her. Aunt Nellie wanted to marry everybody. And she oughtnt to do so, because she was going to marry Mr. Bernard, and because of the fan. A very curious mixture, from which Edmund Bernard only gathered one thing: he was supposed to marry Nel- lie. The broken scraps of conversa- tion which Sybil brought out one by one all confirmed him in this theory. And here the child was, the uncon- scious mouthpiece of the world, asking him again what he meant to do. I am not going to be married at all, lie said, looking into the eager little face. Ill tell mamma so ! cried Sybil. And just at that moment Mrs. Harcourt and Mrs. Tyrwhitt came down the store steps. Edmund raised his hat, and was about to pass on, when Sybils voice 158 An Unpaid Governess. sounded shrill and clear all up the which was in the act of raising a road. French plum to her mouth, suddenly Mamma, Mr. Bernard says he went down on her plate, and she pro- wont marry Aunt Nellie ! posed to Nellie to go into the drawing- Had a thunderbolt suddenly dropped room. at the feet of the three who were stand- Im nearly ready, said Nellie, ing on the pavement, it could scarcely taking another plum. And Marion have produced a more terrible moment endured another three minutes of to at least two of them. Poor Edmund agony while Nellie ate, oh, so slowly, Bernard longed for the fate of Korah, and Dick fumbled about the envelope Dathan, and Abiram. Marion felt a and guessed at the writing. murderous desire to seize Sybil and Ah, Bernard ! the sisters heard strangle her. Mrs. Tyrwhitt looked him say in a slightly aggrieved tone, as on, intensely excited. No one dared they got to the door. You had bet- speak. ter wait and see what it is about, What is the matter? Why are you Marion. Its sure to interest you. ladies blocking up the pavement ? No, thanks, said Marion hastily, It was Mr. Fletcher, who, salamander as she got Nellie out of the room. She that he was, invariably took a walk at only accompanied her to the drawing- twelve oclock, summer and winter, room door, however. When the dean What the matter was, it would have came int.o that room a few minutes been difficult for any one but Mr. after, looking very disturbed and in- Fletcher to guess. Sybil gave the clue quiring for his wife, he was told she by subsiding into tears. had a headache, and was lying down What have they been doing to you, up-stairs. Had Nellie been a little Sybil ? closer to him, she might have been To Mrs. Ilarcourts horror, Sybil astonished by a very unclerical ejacula- sobbed out that they were angry be- tion he muttered under his breath. As cause Mr. Bernard wouldnt marry it was, she only knew that he went up- Aunt Nellie. It wasnt her fault, she stairs and knocked at Marions (loor. had only told him that mamma wanted Then the door opened, and closed him to, but papa didnt, because he again, and drowsy silence settled on wanted Aunt Nellie himself, the house. Candor in the young is very charm- What can it be all about? won- ing, Mrs. Ilarcourt, remarked Mr. dered Nellie, and fell to planning out Fletcher soothingly. I am glad to her own life. see you cultivate it. Good-morning. Come along, Bernard. CHA?TER VI. Before Marion had found her voice, Now explain to me, Bernard, all Mr. Fletcher had linked his arm this interesting street scene. Mr. through Bernards (he could only just Fletcher was sitting opposite Bernard reach up to it), and they were turning at the formers tiffin table. The consul the corner of the road. Mrs. Tyr~vhitt, had kept a tight hold on his victim till seeing the excitement was over, got he saw him fully employed in the dis- into her brougham, and Marion had section of a mutton-chop. only Sybil left with whom to fight it Bernard was eating much, and rap- out. idly, which were bad signs. Tiffin at the IDeanery was scarcely Oh, nothing lie answered, with a over when a chit was brought in for nervous laugh. Im afraid I must be the dean. Marion, from the other end going now. And he rose as he spoke. of the table, felt, without seeing the Nonsense. Mr. Fletcher had as- envelope, that she knew who had sumed his official air. What did that written it. It was not well that that little imp of a child say to you ? chit should be read in public. So, to The whole story came out, i~uch to the surprise of all, Marions fork, Mr. Fletchers secret amusement. He~ An Unpaid Governess. looked, however, pretty grave, put his head on one side in a meditative atti- tude, and cleared his throat aggres- sively. Youre in for it, Bernard, he remarked sagaciously. Some men wouldnt be sorry to be in your shoes. What do you mean, sir? asked Bernard, in great alarm. Im not aware that Im in for anything. Control your feelings, my dear boy. You are in for marrying Miss Nellie Russell straight away. No, no, no! cried Bernard, in a tone of agony. Why, I couldnt, Mr. Fletcher. Every one knows that. The every one must begin and end with yourself, then. Youve got money enough, I suppose ? Ye-es. Very well, then; where can be the objection ? Bernard looked round the room hope- lessly. There was nothing to inspire his tongue in the great leather chairs, the holland punkah, the sideboard with its rows of bottles, or the pictures on the walls. Driven back on himself, Edmund suddenly found himself be- coming a brilliant orator. It is not a question of objection, consul. I am not going to marry Miss Russell. Then, jerked out Mr. Fletcher, you had no business to pay her all the attentions you did. A man cant be a hermit one day, and a lady-killer the next. Why, your engagement has been the common talk of the place for the last week. No one will believe what you said this morning. Youre pledged, my boy! And Mr. Fletcher rubbed his hands together with a de- light quite diabolic. Im not! Im not! Edmund re- peated over and over again. He felt like a wild bird in a cage, with liberty and green grass and trees just beyond his reach. What, give up his cherished rooms, with the dusty heaps of Chinese books, and the society of his teacher with his Chinese pipe and tobacco ? Exchange his wanderings through the Chinese city, for a crawl on the Bund; his evenings at a Chinese theatre, for 159 an endless round of dinner-parties, and concerts, and balls? The thought was intolerable. The galling feeling might have worn away if Edmund had been given time to realize slowly how tre- mendously overwhelming were the points he would gain by marrying Nel- lie. But affairs had been hurried so much that his only feeling was one of repugnance. Mr. Fletcher was going on sweetly in the same strain when Bernard brought himself back from his day- mare. The dean and Mrs. Harcourt would certainly expect to hear some- thing from Bernard about the matter. Mrs. ilarcourt was compromised by that morning affair. No gentleman could leave her in the uncomfortable position into which she had been put. Even if Edmund did not mean to marry Nellie, lie must offer some kind of apology to her people. What am I to do? Mr. Fletcher thought a friendly call would be the most effective way of solving the difficulty. By his manner Bernard could then show Nellie she was perfectly indifferent to him, and at the same time prove to the dean that lie had no wish to break with the family. Mr. Fletcher further gave a severe reprimand for the gift of the fan. But this last was lost on Edmund. The horrors of going to call, in the capacity of a man who has refused a woman, had come before him in all their intensity. More than one man has actually found himself tied for life, because lie could not face such an ordeal. Bernard felt that lie could not answer for hiniself if lie once got into the deans drawing-room, with Marion expecting him to speak, and Nellie waiting for a l)roposal, and perhaps the dean himself coming in, in his char acteristic fashion, to offer congratula- tions on the very thing lie had come to get out of. No, lie said, thinking aloud, I cant do it. Cant do what? asked Mr. Fletcher. Go to the Deanery. An Unpaid Governess. Then what do you propose to do? Ah, there was the rub. Had Ed- mund studied his Taoist classics to any purpose, he would have found no diffi- culty in the situation. He would sim- ply have done nothing; and if the sages speak true, all things would have been accomplished. But he was emi- nently wanting in the faculty of living out the books he read. Perhaps, how- ever, years would do for him what much reading had hitherto failed to do. There is, alas, one refuge for those whose moral courage cannot carry them so far as to face a situation. A refuge, indeed, more dangerous than the dan- ger, yet one to which men are very fond of fleeing. And so Bernard an- swered I will write the dean a letter. And, wonderful to say, in spite of Mr. Fletchers protests, he stuck to his resolution. Certainly the little consul only admitted one alternative to writing, and that was going. This Bernard scouted. And so Edmund sat down and penned a masterpiece to the dean, and Mr. Fletcher went off to his office half an hour too early, whistling .a tune, and looking the very picture of happiness. Three letters Bernard wrote , one after the other, at Mr. Fletchers table in the drawing-room. Very amusing were they to that worthy, as he read them on the blotting-paper when he came back at tea-time. As far as he could make them out the drift was as follows I have to apologize very much for having led Miss Russell to think I was about to make a proposal. Such au idea was very far from my thoughts. I hope this will not interfere with our friendship (here a couple of lines were illegible) . . . Please convey to the ladies of your household the regret I feel for having unwittingly made this mistake. That piece of blotting-paper de- serves to be framed, said Mr. Fletcher to himself grimly. If I were half an artist, or had the time, I would do it myself, as a lesson to the world. Then he drank two cups of tea, and went out on the Bund. There must have been champagne, or a loose store of electricity, abroad in the air on that evening. Mr. Fletchers enemies would have said that he must have made some one particularly uncomfortable that day, so jaunty was his air and so gra- cious his manner. The Tingchai at the great entrance gate to the consular compound stared in astonishment as he passed with a friendly nod, and various urchins on the roof of the watchmans lodge were allowed to howl after him with impunity. And so he passed along in front of the Gardens, where the sun seemed still blazing, and reached the Bund. It was only five oclock, and the world of fashion was beginning to drive out to the Bubbling Well, the stock (Irive of Shan Thai. It disturbed Mr~ Fletcher to take off his hat to so many carriages in succession. So he wheeled sharp round, and set off for the Amer- ican settlement, better known as Hong- kew, where there are long woo(len wharves, stretching far along the river, very pleasant to walk on. Here he could be sure he would not meet one person he knew. But just as he got beyond the last steamer, and was congratulating him- self on haying a few minutes solitude, some one came up behind him, and spoke his name in his ear. Mr. Fletcher turned round with a snarl, which softened into a growl, as he beheld the dean, hot and panting from running. I have been looking for you in the Gardens, he said, when lie had got his breath. I am told you are the only one who can explain this myste. rious document. Then Mr Fletcher looked closer at the dean. He was very pale, and his hands were trembling exceedingly, whether from heat or from agitation it was hard to tell. The consul must have put it down to the latter cause, for he answered in a tone so slow and calm that it came over the deans spirit like an icy draught Do not distress yourself. Walk to 160 An Unpaid Governess. the end of the pontoon, and let us sit down there and read it. They did so. The pontoon was black with coal-dust, with a very grimy ledge running round it. Dick sat down on this without hesitation. Mr. Fletcher carefully spread a very large handkerchief for the protection of his white trousers. Now for the document. It came out, Bcrnards unluckly letter, if anything, more awkwardly, even insultingly, expressed than Mr. Fletcher had read it on the blotting- paper. That worthy gave a long whistle, folded up the paper, and re- turned it to the dean. My wife says you told him to write that, the dean said in a very unsteady voice. If you did he stopped short. If I did what then? Mr. Fletchers voice was cool and cutting as a knife. Oh, you did, then 1 The corners of Dicks mouth curled contemptu- ously. You are not by any means certain that I did, Mr. Fletcher went on. Regard me just now as not having prompted that letter. What made Mrs. Harcourt think I inspired it? This was a poser for the dean. Marion had asserted to him over and over again that afternoon, that it was all that odious Mr. Fletcher. Dick, unaccustomed to deal with difficulties of this kind, had never thought of ask- ing the reason of this assertion. In- deed, from blaming Mr. Fletcher, Marion had turned round on the dean himself, and reproached him so bitterly for his affection for Nellie, that he had fled from the house to get a few quiet hours of thought. Dicks brain seemed whirling round and round that unhappy chit. Mr. Fletcher had never seen him so hopelessly wide-awake before. Mrs. Ilarcourt has not told you why she thinks I am in it, said Mr. Fletcher at last, seeing the (leans wandering eyes fix on a blue funnel lying out in mid-stream. Now I will tell you. But you must be l)rcpared to LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 3Th 161 hear me censure some you are very fond of. Can you stand that ? Dick winced. A light was gradually dawning on him. Through the fog of his thoughts came fragments of sen- tences in which Marion had appealed to him to blame Nellie. For what? Had Nellie done anything objection- able? He had not watched her very closely. Some one had evidently done something to-day that had mortally offended Edmund Bernard. It would take a good deal to rouse him to write such a letter. Already Dick was exon- erating Mr. Fletcher from all share of blame. That was a mistake on Marions part. What had Maridn said to him? Nellie had brought it all on her own self. All she wanted was a husband? How could Bernard have heard this, with Nellie on the sofa for the last three days? Yet the choice of blame lay between her and Marion. Between a wife and a sister-in-law! The dean had been born, and bred up, and had cultivated diligently the prin- ciple, that a wife can do no wrong. Marion was part of himself, and he scouted the idea of meanness in her as he did in himself. True, she had often put him severely to the test. But she had always known exactly where to stop in a flirtation, and her admirers were so many that there was the pro- verbial safety in numbers. Yet a sore feeling came over Dicks heart when he thought of blaming his little sister- in-law. There was a mistake some- where, a mystery he did not want to have solved, especially by Mr. Fletcher. After all, Edmunds letter was not so objectionable. He would leave things to unravel themselves. Mr. Fletcher, watching the deans face, was terribly puzzled by its self- control. True, the sensitive lips twitched every now and then, but the eyes were firmly fixed on the distant vessel. And, to the consuls great chagrin, when he spoke it was to say: That is the Telemachus. Shall we walk now? You dont want to hear my story, then? queried Mr. Fletcher. 162 No. I am content that you had nothing to do with this letter. That is not quite the case. But the dean disdained even this feeler. So Mr. Fletcher became silent. If I were twenty years younger he began again presently, and then stopped short. What ? asked the dean, peering down at him from his superior height. Why, jerked out Mr. Fletcher, Id go in for the girl myself I Dick stopped short in amazement. Impossible I he ejaculated. Why impossible ? argued Mr. Fletcher testily. See the amount of widowers, much older than I am, who marry again, yes and pretty girls too. Im only forty-five; Im not a widower with half-a-dozen children, but a bach- elor with a fine position and plenty of money. Heaps of girls would only be too glad to marry me I Nellie is not one of them. An innocent remark enough, but one which brought down vials of wrath on the deans unhappy head. Do you, then, really think that Miss Russell would not choose to be married, have a home of her own, and be the first lady in the place, rather than be hounded about, and bullied, and maligned, by a jealous, tyrannical woman ? You cant, or you wont, realize the situation, Har- court. Forgive my speaking plainly; I am the only person who has the moral courage to do it. She leads a dogs life I beg your pardon! Dicks voice was trembling with suppressed passion. Now dont be angry, said Mr. Fletcher soothingly. I was put out, as any one would be, by what you said. Its no use saying yes or notill we hear what Nellie will say herself. I shall go and ask her to- morrow. Let Mrs. Harcourt be out, and keep this one secret from her. The last words came from behind a bale of cotton. When Dick got his temper sufficiently under control to be able to speak the consul was nowhere in sight. An Unpaid Governess. CHAPTER VII. MR. FLETCHER sat over his break- fast next morning in the most detest- able humor. It is enough to try the patience of Job, even after he has been in China twenty-five years, to find that four out of six eggs are stale. The exertion of storming at the boy had made him very hot. So he sat in his night-attire fanning himself angrily, rea(ling an article in the Shanghai. Herald which blamed his administra- tion for all the evils that had befallen the settlement since it came into being. Wheels driving up to the door made him jump up and close the venetians. Even at forty-five a man may have objections to being seen in pyjamas. Steps came along the passage, a knock was heard at the door, and the figure of a well-known doctor appeared in the doorway. Ai-yah I Im not ill I cried Mr. Fletcher, in some trepidation. He had a rooted antipathy to the faculty. The dean is, though. Sunstroke and dysentery. Didnt send for me soon enough. Wants to see you at once. He was gone as quickly as he had come. And Mr. Fletcher sat on, as though rooted to his chair. A complication indeed, and a very awkward one from the consuls point of view, of course. He had planned his campaign so splendidly, fitted in time so exactly, and here would come a delay, perhaps of a week. Mr. Fletcher was so accustomed to hearing alarming accounts given by doctors whose fortunes are made by miraculous rescues from a death that was never near, that lie (lid not think at all seri- ously of the deans illness. However,. as he was really most obliging, he shaved and dressed, took his great yel- low umbrella, and went off to the Deanery. Through the half-open dining-room door he saw Nellie, giving the children their breakfast. She saw him also, and called to him to come nearer. How is the dean 9 I dont know just now, she an- An Unpaid Governess. swered sadly. Marion says he must be kept very quiet. The doctor thinks him seriously ill. Yes, he is very ill, the consul said when he came down again. I will come round and see how he is at twelve oclock. Then he went, fear- ing she would ask him any more ques- tions. For Mr. Fletcher had received an awful shock when he stood by Dicks bedside. The man full of life and strength, with whom he had walked only last evening, lay as though al- ready dead. In spite of the heat, he was shivering with ague, and his eyes seemed to have lost all their color and expression. He did not recognize Mr. Fletcher at first, but when he did his face brightened up. Still he kept his eyes fixed on the door, as though he longed to see it open and another face appear. Marion sat near the bed, dressed in a becoming dressing- gown, fanning herself languidly. Mr. Fletcher bent over the dean, and whis- pered in his ear What do you want of me ? Dicks eyes travelled round to Marion, who rose and left the room. I take back what I said yesterday, the sick man whispered. It troubled my mind till I had told you. I hope she will marry you, and be happy. We will all be happy together, said Mr. Fletcher, trying to modulate the harshness of his voice. You must get well. And he left him. But he felt in his own mind that Dick was a doomed man. The dean was really as much prostrated mentally as physically. Never very robust, he had trifled dangerously with his con- stitution since he had been in China. Yet neither he, nor Nellie, nor Marion, nor the doctor, realized how ill he was. And most of the people in Shanghai had never heard of his sickness, till the news spread abroad at sundown on that day that he was dead. Nellie never saw him again. Marion kept the room jealously, and though the poor deans head often turned longingly to the door, she did not choose to understand him. And so he 163 passed away, while his wife was dozing in her armchair, and she did not find out. that he was gone till the doctor came for his evening visit. Of course it was heart disease. Every one remembered all the signs of it the dean had showed. Every one crowded the house to offer sympathy and help to Mrs. Harcourt. She was gracefully crushed, elegant even in her sorrow. While Nellies eyes were red and swollen with crying, Marions were dry with dark lines under them. She allowed herself to be waited upon with a hopeless smile. She did not faint, nor get hysterical, but she was just a trifle too theatrical. And yet she was sincerely sad, only she did not yet realize all the difference Dicks death would make in her life. Heart disease I growled M~. Fletcher. His wife broke his heart, you mean. A better fellow never stepped, nor was more shamefully treated. Ugh I But it was on Nellie that Dicks death fell most heavily. For some- thing had to be done for those who re- mained behind, and that in the near future. Yet when she asked Marion what she was to do, the elder sister only went into floods of tears, called Nellie hard and unfeeling, and be- moaned her fate at being left alone in the world. Of course the Deanery could be no longer their home ; but the dean had not left his family absolute beggars. They would go to England, where they had many relatives on Dicks side, and live either there or on the Continent in a quiet fashion. But what was to become of Nellie ? Money was not too plentiful in the Deanery, and it never occurred to either of the sisters that they had any- thing in common to make life endur- able passed together. So to all the people who asked Nel- lie, What are you going to do ? she answered, I dont know, till Octo- ber caine, and Marions steamer was chosen, and the furniture ready for the auction, and Marion herself was about to spend the last fortnight of her life in China with Mrs. Tyrwhitt. Then The Native Press of India. Nellie got a place as governess in Pe- king, and prepared to start for that for- lorn city. All the bitterness that had filled her heart against Marion had quite passed away since Dicks death. She parted from the beautiful widow, her only connection in the world, with more of her old affection than even Mrs. Tyr- whitt expected. And Mr. Fletcher himself took her to the steamer and saw her off. A week after, and the memory of beautiful Marion ilarcourt and of the dean and his strange ways had almost faded from the giddy mind of gay Shanghai. Another spring, and most of Mrs. ilarcourts friends would go home. And then another set would arrive, who knew not the name of Harcourt. And yet, though their memories were so fickle, Mrs. Tyrwhitt and all the gossips, male and female, declared they had known it all along, when they read the following notice in the Chinese Times of April 2nd At the British Legation, Peking, on the 1st inst., Orlando William Fletcher, TJ.B.M. s consul-general, Shanghai, to ~leanor Margaret Russell. Mr. Fletcher should have married Mrs. Harcourt, and left you to marry Nellie Russell, said Mrs. Tyrwhitt archly, to Edmund Bernard. But why Edmund said Yes, I think so, so quietly, puzzled Mrs. Tyrwhitt for many a long day. From The Asiatic Quarterly Review. THE NATIVE PRESS OF INDIA. BY AN ANGLO-INDIAN. I confess that since my arrival in India nothing has filled me with such astonish- inent, nothing has so disheartened me, nothing has made me feel so deeply how great are the difficulties of government in this country, as insinuations which have appeared in certain organs of the press with regard to this subject. When the government of India has succeeded, after many years of persistent effort, in obtaining a re-examination of the condi- tions of the India Civil Service, it is in- deed a matter for surprise that there should be found, I will not say amongst you, for I am happy to think that you have repudiated so unworthy an insinua- tion, but amongst some of those who represent themselves as the guides and leaders of Indian public opinion, men so incapable of appreciating what has been the character of English rule and of its English representatives, as to assert in the face of their countrymen that the only object of the government of India in appointing the Civil Service Commission has been to deceive the people of India and to resort to a base, mean, and abom- inable trick for the purpose of restricting still further the privileges of those who are so justly anxious to serve our sov- ereign in the Civil Service of their coun- try. (Extract from Lord IDufferin s speech to the Poona Sabha, 19 Novem- ber, 1886.) TIlE hostile attitude of a certain sec- tion of the native press towards the ruling class in India which called forth the words quoted above and which is, if possible, more marked at the present time than it was in Lord Dufferins day, affords a striking example of the difficulty of attempting to govern India 011 tile advanced principles of the West. The hope apparently entertained by Lord Ripon that tile semi-educated university graduates who in a large measure compose tile journalistic class in India would wield, with Ilonesty and moderation, the power entrusted to tilem by the repeal of the Press Act Ilas unfortunately not been realized. The voice of the native press has again become loud and menacing. Several organs are notiling more than mere mnoutil-pieces for outbursts of hatred and contempt of British rule. By their age Ilcy class feeling is aroused among an ignorant and superstitious popula- tion to sucil an extent, tilat otherwise peaceful citizens are found flying at each Otllers tllrOatS, as ilappened two years ago in many parts of India at the festival of the Id, and as will happen a~aiil on the first occasion that the pie- cautionary measures of the authorities are in any way relaxed. 164 The Native Press of India. 165 The scandal is a great and growing already rapidly spreading flame of r& one, and in no other country in the bellion. Several native editors were world would the existing state of things imprisoned, and many presses in differ- be tolerated. A conviction, however, ent parts of the country were confis- is gradually gaining ground that the cated. It was origin ally intended that day is not far distant when the gov- this law should remain in force for one eminent will be reluctantly compelled year only, but its actual repeal did not to resort to remedial legislation. Three take place until 1868. The vernacular years ago it was considered necessary press was once more free ; but the to withdraw the freedom of the press lesson of the Mutiny was still fresh in in places administered by the governor- the memory of all, and up to 1872 there general but not forming part of British was practically little fault to be found India proper, owing to the steady in- with it. Occasionally, it is true, gov- crease of scurrilous journals of the low- eminent was compelled to mark its dis- est ty~)e in these districts; and unless pleasure at the tone of some particular native cditors in British India are pre- print, but, on the whole, the press was pared to take warning by the fate distinctly on the side of loyalty and which has befallen their brethren in morality. native states and to confine themselves About that period a great impetus to fair and honest criticism of the acts was given to education in India. Its of their rulers, it is by no means im- advantages began to be in some meas- probable that many of them will sooner ure recognized and in the growing de- or later find themselves in a similar mand for knowledge the press found predicament. increased encouragement and support. The freedom of the press in India In some districts government itself sub- was first established by law in 1835 by scribed largely to the vernacular press, Sir Charles Metcalfe, then provisional distributing the newspapers among governor-general. It is true that the the schools in the hope of further stun- newspapers of the period were almost ulating this desire for knowledge. As exclusively Anglo-Indian. The native the spread of education increased, how- journals could be counted on the fin- ever, the supply of semi-educated na- gers of one hand and were small and tives soon exceeded the demand. Men altogether unimportant, none boasting began to find that as a means of obtain- of a circulation exceeding two or three ing a livelihood their education was in hundred copies per issue. The law, a great measure useless. Except in ho~vevcr, recognized no distinction be- the service of government there were tween the two sections of the press, few careers in which the training ac- and the freedom then granted applied quired in the government colleges was equally to all publications whether con- of much practical value, and the num- ducted by Anglo-Indian or by native ber of those who could reasonably hope editors, whether in English or in the to obtain employment under govern- vemnaculars. This freedom the vemnac- ment, though large in itself, was small ular press continued to enjoy until the when compared with the supply. days of the Mutiny, when, on the out- You have educated us, you must em- break of hostilities in 1857, it at once ploy us, was their constant cry. It became evident that only the prompt was, of course, impossible that govern- adoption of rigorous measures could ment, however willing it might be, prevent it from developing into an or- could find employment for all the gan of treason. The authorities were graduates whom the schools and cob equal to the occasion. A law was leges were turning out. The result, quickly passed rescinding the liberty of as might be expected, was much dis- the vernacular section of the press, content in the ranks of this half-edu- and giving to the executive summary cated class. Many of them turned to powers to prevent the circulation of the press as a means of earning a any matter calculated to add fuel to the living. During the years 18731877, 166 the number and circulation of the vernacular newspapers largely in- creased, more particularly in Bengal where the number of publications was nearly doubled, and it was only natural that these men should pour into the columns of their papers what they con- sidered their grievances. Had they stopped at that, no harm and some goo(l might have resulted; but unfor- tunately they did not. The loyalty which on the whole had characterized the vernacular press gradually gave place to language calculated to excite bitter hatred and contempt of British rule. Editors became advocates and promoters of sedition. Individual members of the government were grossly libelled and held up to merci- less ridicule and contempt. Vernacular papers in the hands of unscrupulous editors were used to intimidate and to extort money from our feudatories and native subjects. It was clear that this state of things could no longer be tol- erated. The opinions of this class were of themselves of little importance, and it could be easily dealt with should occasion arise ; but the government of the day was determined that the ma- chinery of the press should not be em- ployed to spread disloyalty and distrust of British rule among the people of the land. It was reluctant to interfere with the freedom of the press, but the policy of non-intervention could no longer be maintained, and in 1878 an act was passed by Lord Lyttons gov- ernment which completely gagged the vernacular press. Printers and pub- lishers were required to enter into a bond binding themselves not to print in any vernacular publication words or signs or visible representations likely to create disaffection to the govern- ment established by law in British India or antipathy between persons of different races, castes, religions, or sects nor to use, nor to attempt to use, any newspaper for purposes of intimidation or extortion. The ob- ject aimed at was thus effectually accomplished; the disloyal and sedi- tious utterances of a small class could no longer be communicated through The Native Press of India. the medium of the press to masses too ignorant to judge of their worth- lessness. Unfortunately this gag- ging act, as it was commonly called, remained in force for only three years. It was repealed in 1882 by Lord Ripon, who earned for himself a cheap popularity at the expense of sound administration ; and but little time elapsed before the gravity of the error committed was fully apparent. So far I have endeavored to sketch, in as condensed a form as possible, the past history of the native press and before proceeding to discuss its present extent and influence, a few remarks of a general nature, on the intellectual development of the people with whom the press has to deal, may not be altogether out of place. In the rapid advance towards Western civil- ization in India during the last decade the fact that the educated class bear but a very insignificant proportion to the mass of the population is too apt to be overlooked. Notwithstanding the great impetus to education, ignorance and superstition everywhere prevail to an extent which it is difficult to realize in England. India, it must be remem- bered, is essentially a nation of agri- cultum-ists. Of the two hundred and eighty million inhabitants of British Judia no less than seventy-two per cent. of the adult males are directly dependent upon agriculture for the necessaries of life. The dwellers in towns form but a small fraction of the total population, for those living in towns of over twenty thousand inhab- itants do not number above five mil- lions. The population is in fact almost exclusively rural, dwelling in hamlets and villages thickly dotted over the face of the country. Conservative to the backbone, these people cling to their hereditary homesteads, too often in(lifferent to the fact that their acres have long ceased to afford adequate support to their increased number. Extreme poverty is the lot of a numer- ous class; yet they abhor change of any kind, and view it with a supersti- tious dread hardly imaginable. I cannot better convey an idea of the The Native Press of India. incredible ignorance prevalent among this great rural population, than by quoting the following extract from the official gazette of the government of India, dated 27th June, 1887. It is by the pen of an intelligent native official and describes graphically the difficulties besetting the path of prog- ress in this country. The following cases, which came under my personal observations, will fairly illustrate the hopeless ignorance of the majority of village populations in this country. It was at Muham- madabad Post-Office, in Azamgarli dis- trict, I was one afternoon sitting under a tree close to the post-office talking to some Tahsil and police officials who had called to see me. The letter-box (a big, square, newly painted, red one, with a big, long, projecting mouth- piece) was lying at a distance of about twenty yards from where we were sit- ting, waiting to be built up in the wall. A villager approached with a letter in hishand and inquired where he was to place it. The letter-box was pointed out to him. He went up to the box, took off his shoes at a little distance from it, folded his hands reverently, put his letter in the box, bowed low before it and placed two coppers on the ground; retreated a few steps with face towards the box (walking back- wards), again bowed very low, then put on his shoes and walked away. I did not discover that he had left two coppers on the ground close to the letter-box till some time after he had left. In another case I saw a man drop a letter into the letter-box and then putting his lips close to the mouth of the box, calling aloud (very loud) that the letter was to go to Rewah as if somebody was sitting inside the box to hear and carry out his wishes. Numerous other cases of ignorance of this nature have occasionally come under my observation, but those men- tioned above are quite sufficient to show what class of people we have to deal with in rural parts. The town population is naturally many stages in advance of that of the villages, but even here it cannot be said that education has made much way among the masses. In painting this somewhat gloomy picture of the intellectual attainments of the people of India, I do not wish to appear to minimize the results that have already been achieved in this di- rection. Much has been done both by the State and by the people them- selves. The extent to which education has become popularized may be gath- ered from the fact that during the decade ending 189293, the annual ex- penditure under this head from all sources rose from 186 to 229 lakhs, while the total number of educational institutions increased from 109,085 to 144,699, and the number of pupils from 2~8 millions to 3~8 millions. These facts suffice to show the success which has attended our educational system in India. Readily admitting, however, that in the face of great difficulties much progress has been made, what I submit is, that the results are com- paratively small in proportion to the vastness of the population. The cen- sus returns of 1891 show that only twelve and a half million adults of both sexes are able to read and write, so that the percentage of those who possess the merest rudiments of edu- cation is very low. If we proceed a step further and take as our standard the entrance examination at the uni- versities of Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras, we find that out of seventy thousand candidates for matriculation during the five years ending with 1891 only thirty-four per cent. were success- ful; while if we go yet further we find that only one in every ten candidates for matriculation succeeded in obtain- ing a degree ; and of these, it must be remembered, only a limited few attain a standard which will bear comparison with Western ideas of progress. These facts should be carefully borne in mind in any discussion regarding the free- dom of the native press of India. I now proceed to consider the native press as it exists in the present day. Owing to the ephemeral character of 167 The Native Press of India. many native prints it is a matter of some difficulty to ascertain with accu- racy the actual number of papers in existence ; but I believe that there are at the present time some three hundred and fifty newspapers proper published under native management. Most of these are in the vernacular, but a few are conducted in English, while others are in both English and vernacular. The majority of these are weekly or bi-weekly, the number of daily papers being under twenty. The circulation is greater in Bengal than in other parts of India, but on an average it does not exceed eight hundred to nine hundred copies per issue. Sir W. Hunter in his Imperial Gazetteer estimated the weekly circulation of native papers at about two hundred and fifty thousand; but the circulation has increased con- siderably during the last few years, and at the present time cannot be less than three hundred and fifty thousand a week or about eighteen millions a year; in other words, out of every one thousand people fifty-eight can read and write; and they have about two papers a week between them. It must, however, be remembered that the read- ers, and not merely the subscribers, represent the true circulation of a paper; and it is probable that the former are five or six times as numer- ous as the latter. There is, moreover, reason to believe that the practice of reading out newspapers in the villages for the benefit of those unable to read is by no means uncommon, so that the true circulation of the native papers is very much larger than might at first sight appear. The first native newspaper was pub- lished in Bengali by the Serampur Mission Press in 1818; and for many years the native press retained the stamp of its early origin ; but at the present time, with the exception of a few of the Madras papers, it is almost entirely devoted to the discussion of political questions. In addition to the newspapers proper there are a consid- erable number of magazines and pam- phlets, but the majority of these are politically unimportant. In the front rank of native papers are the Daini1~ and the Ban gobasi, Bengali papers of Calcutta, which are under one manage- ment, the Dainik being published on the first five days of the week and the Ban gobasi on the sixth. The circula- tion of these two papers largely ex- ceeds that of any other paper in India; that of the former is about six thou- sand daily and that of the latter aver- ages twenty-three thousand. Other well-known Calcutta papers are the Hindu Patriot, the Bengali, the Amrita Bazar Patrika, the Beis and Bayyet, and the Indian Mirror. The chief ex- ponents of native opinion in Bombay are the Indian Spectator, the Bombay Samachar, and the Jarn-i-Jamshed. In Madras the Hindu, and in Upper India the Akhbar-i-am of Lahore and the Bharat Jivan of Benares are the most. deserving of mention. The native papers are of course small, few con- taining as much matter as is found in a single page of a London daily. While, however, it must be admitted that the native press is still in its in- fancy, it is only necessary to turn to the last official report on the working of the Indian post-office to be con- vinced that the circulation of news- papers is increasing at a very rapid rate. The figures given by the post- office, though they necessarily fall far short of showing the actual circulation,, give a very fair idea of the rate at which this circulation is extending throughout the country. The figures I quote include Anglo-Indian papers; but there is every reason to believe that the rapid expansion indicated is rather due to increased activity in the native press. owing to extra facilities introduced in 1881 for the despatch of light newspapers through the post, than to any very marked increase in the number of Anglo-Indian news- papers. Taking one hundred to rep- resent the number of newspapers. (excluding European papers), given out for delivery in 188384 the follow- ing table shows the rate of increas& during the last ten years 168 188384 188485 188586 188687 188788 188889 188990 189091 189192 189293 100 111 134 145 146 150 153 165 183 186 In 188384 the number of newspapers in circulation in India (excluding those exchanged with Europe) stoo(l at thir- teen millions; and in 189293, ten years later, this total had risen to over twenty-four millions. These figures prove very clearly that the circulation of newspapers is increasing at a very rapid rate; but, as we have just stated, they naturally faIl far short of the num- ber actually in circulation. A few of the native newspapers are conducted with ability and moderation; but too many are the mouthpieces of men whom it would be mere affecta- tion to credit with any true feeling of loyalty towards the ruling power in this country ; and their demoralizing influence on the ignorant cannot be questioned. They deal in no restrained sentiments, but denounce our rule boldly and with peculiar bitterness. Many of the editors stand so deeply committed as advocates and promoters of sedition that they spnre no pains to misrepresent the actions of the govern- ment, an(l to this end no falsehood is too glaring, no exaggeration too gross but will serve to poison the minds of their too credulous readers. On the other hand it must he remembered that to supply. antidotes to the poisoned weapons of the native press or to effec- tually expose the forgeries and mis- statements, in which many native writers indulge is completely out of the power of the government, while a mo- ments reflection cannot but convince any dispassionate thinker that the un- checked growth of sedition and its free circulation through the medium of the press must inevitably tend to un- dermine the loyalty and attachment of the people of India to the British crown. The Anglo-Indian press has, 16~ for some years past, endeavored to draw the attention of the government to the growing magnitude of this evil. The Pioneer, a leading journal, has frequently commented, in strong terms, on the evil effects which result from the unbridled license of the native press. The official, it stated on one occasion, is abused in terms of reck- less vituperation and, in many in- stances, is deterred from conscientiously doing his duty. The minds of the people are poisoned against their rulers and it is obvious to the most careless observer that the hostile attitude of the press an(l its disgraceful license are every day rendering the administration more difficult. These views are more- over fully shared by the more respect- able portion of the native press itself, and are, in fact, held by almost every man who has at heart the welfare and prosperity of our Indian Empire. Let ns now examine briefly the main grounds on which it is reasonable to suppose that the present policy of non- interference with the freedom of the native press is based. They are three. Firstly, an impression that the circula- tion of the papers is small and that what is written never reaches the masses. The true circulation, how- ever, is, as I have already shown, very much larger than would at first sight appear; and though the number of native newspapers in circulation l)~t annum does not exceed eighteen mil- lions, the number of readers is probably four or five times as great. Secondly, a conviction that these papers are so many safety valves, carrying off much that would otherwise accumulate dan- gerously near the surface, and which, if deprived of an exit, might lead to the formation of secret societies on a large scale. This argument, however, loses much of its force when it is remem- bered that the contributors to the press are confined to an extremely small class, a class which those most capa- ble of forming an opinion declare to be completely out of touch with the masses, and profoundly indifferent to their welfare. With regard to the latter part of the argument, it is sufficient to The Native Press of India. 170 observe that secret societies exist in countries which enjoy a free press, equally with those in which its freedom is materially curtailed ; and that they will exist in India on a formidable scale only when discontent has spread itself among the masses, a state of things which the native press is doing its best to promote. Thirdly, a belief that it is preferable to ignore the evil than to interfere with the liberty of the press. Those who entertain this opinion appear to lose sight of the fact that all the usual arguments in favor of a free press fall to the ground when the very backward state of the popula- tion, to which reference has already been made, is taken into consideration. Wrong opinions no doubt yield to fact and arguments, when in course of time facts and arguments are brought, face to face with them; but in the India of to-day how is this to be accomplished ? The people of India, born amid the ruins of an ancient civilization, are still in the very cradle of Western progress an(l their welfare is far safer in the hands of a wise and benevolent, if des- potic, government than it would be in thcir own. So long as this state of things exists, so long as the mainte- nance of absolute power in this country is a recognized necessity, there can be no question that to allow the seeds of sedition and disloyalty to be sown broadcast by the native press is in the highest degree impolitic, and must ulti- mately be productive of grave political consequences completely throwing into the shade any advantages which a free native press might otherwise confer on the country. It has been suggested from more than one quarter that the obvious cure for the evil is to put into force the ordi- nary law of libel; but the inadequacy of the existing law in such cases was clearly established on the occasion of the State prosecution of the Ban gobasi, which, a year or two ago, in the con- troversy over the Age of Consent Bill, exceeded the bounds of all legitimate criticism. Moreover, it is unfortu- nately easier to set the ball rolling than to stop it ; and the opportunities given The Native Press of India. by such trials for the propagation of seditious matter in a great measure nullify any good results which a convic- tion might otherwise effect. In all cases of this nature, so long as we have to (leal with a grossly ignorant and su- perstitious people, the object aimed at should be the suppression of seditious matter rather than the subsequent pun- ishment of the offendcrs. This can only be secured by a partial revival of Lord Lyttons press policy ; and the fact that this has not already been done is attributed by the natives of India not to a wish to avoid interference with the liberty of the subject which is one of the chief characteristics of the English nation, but simply to fear of the conse- quences of interfering with a liberty once conceded. It would not, of course, be necessary to withdraw the freedom of the native press generally. An act might be framed on similar lines to the Press Act of 1878 empow- ering the governor -general in Council to bring any bond fide native news- paper, irrespective of the language in which it is published, under the opera- tion of its clauses by a simple Gazette notification to that effect. Confining this power to the governor-general in Council would be an absolute guarantee that no unnecessary or unreasonable interference with the freedom of any particular paper would be permitted. Criticism of a fair and legitimate char- acter is essential to all progress ; but carried to its present extent it cannot but exercise a harmful and disturbing influence on the country. In India, where, as we have already seen, education of any kind is confined within such narrow limits, its value is naturally greatly enhanced ; and i)rob- ably no society in the world has ever been so entirely at the mercy of this small class which regards itself as en- titled by its intellectual superiority to dictate its opinions to others, as are the people of India of the present (lay. The unrefiecting, the vast majority who possess neither the energy nor the knowledge to sift the wheat from the chaff, are entirely at the mercy of self- constituted leaders, men, for the most Tudor Translations. part, too young and inexperienced to lead their countrymen with any safety along the path of political reform. No doubt the spread of knowledge is pro- gressi~~g rapidly throughout the land but many years must necessarily elapse before the evils of mental slavery can be said to be non-existent, or before the free exercise of individual judg- ment is, in any sense, a reality ; and until such time arrives it is clearly the duty of government to protect, as far as possible, the uneducated masses from the false and seditious doctrines of men who, whether from lack of in- telligence to grasp the true character of Englands work in this country, or from self-interested and spiteful mo- tives, spare no pains to throw odium on the government which has fostered them and which in return they are now doing their utmost to embarrass. If the Indian government, as Sir Lepel Griffin very justly remarks in his ar- ticle India in 1895, be too timid to protect itself from open sedition and too ungenerous to defend its servants against false and malicious misrepre- sentation, it has surrendered one of the elementary principles of a civilized government, popular or autocratic, and deserves the fate which attends on all rulers who do not know how to gov- ern. Simla, April 22, 1895. From The Fortnightly Review. TUDOR TRANSLATIONS. BY PROFESSOR RALEIGH. ONE of the best and most curious proofs of the snpremacy of Shake- speare among English writers is to be found in tIme length and depth of the shadow that has been cast by his fame. There is hardly a writer in the century of his apparition but has suffered from tile brightness of that neighborhood. The Works of great Elizabethan and Jacobean dramatists were ransacked for a hundred years to illustrate Silake- spenres poorest jests, before they were edited for their proper merits. Beau- mont and Fletcher may thank tileir migllty contemporary, and him alone, tllat their plays, for all the wit and romance that enlivens them, have remained a part of tile scholars furni- ture ; the greater British public has its Silakespeare, and will none of theni. The brave array of Caroline poets, Ilerrick and his company, long bore a twofold burden of neglect ; they were not Shakespeare, and they were not of his age. Only recently have they been securely reprinted. Backwards tile shadow lies deeper. Marlowe, Greene, Peele, and the rest, as dramatists and predecessors of Shakespeare, Ilave had their full share of attention ; but tile whole mass of literature that went to the making of Shakespeare, the output especially of the earlier half of Elizabetils reign, has, with this exception, been scarcely reprinted in modern days. So innocent and plenary has been the confidence of his countrymen in Sllakespeares tlliev- ery, that they have trusted him to steal for them all that was good in English literature during the years of Ilis up- bringing. It was an age of prose; Elizabethan prose, by a commonplace of criticism,is found wanting in tile qualities of luci(lity, balance, and pre- cision the most enthusiastic of the foragers among these forgotten works have been sworn to the service of poetry and bent on elucidating poetic origins; and hence it has come about that a noble tradition of English prose and a long line of works tilat glorified it have been left to tlle book-fancier and the British Museum. An adven- turer here and there, intent on some special interest, has earned gratitude by recovering some single book, buns- beds Chronicles, Scots Discov- ery of Witcllcraft, Painters Palace of Pleasure, and the Shakespeare societies Ilave trawled and dredged not in vain; but the larger task of raising a monument to tile age has beell left untouclled. it is, therefore, with a new sense of hope and in a spirit of the deepest thankfulness, that readers and lovers of English literature have seen volume follow volume in Messrs. Nutts series of The Tudor Transla 171 172 tions, edited by Mr. XV. E. Henley. It may be accepted as a happy omen that the series makes its appeal directly to the public through the medium of no academy or body of subscribers. A nation must be very careless, as well as very rich, if it can dare to neglect such of its own masterpieces as have now once more seen the light. That these works are merely inaccu- rate translations of the classics of other tongues has been pleaded in excuse for the dust that lies upon them. Mr. Henley does well in proclaiming from the first that they are to be considered and judged as original works. For this is the only enduring test ; fulfilling it, the translation of a bad book will live failing to meet it, the translation of the Iliad will wither as it drops from the press. The ambition of English scholar- ship for an absolute translation, at once correct and elegant, preserving, as the saying is, the beauties of the original while avoiding locutions that are for- eign to what is so often called, in this sad context, the genius of the English language; this will-o-the wisp has kept generations of wise men dancing, gravely and fantastically, in its train, only to plunge them at last into the de- spondent absurdity of translating verse by prose. Yet all the while it has been known to the artist that there is no such thing as an absolute translation that if, as a modern French critic has observed, all reading and understand- ing involves a fresh translation from the symbols of one mind into the sym- bols of another, no less does all trans- lation involve a fresh reading and appropriation. A translator should know two languages the proposition is easily granted ; but it is hardly an extravagance to say that lie may know one of them too well, so that his labor shall appear to himself a doleful vio- lence and no transfiguration. Fitzger- ald can hardly have preferred the Persian verses he found to the English verses lie left; Shelley, who was no German scholar, produced the only ver- sion of the opening chorus of Faust~ that is indubitably English poetry; and Sir Thomas North translated his Plutarch from the French. Yet of him it might be said, as was said of Shakespeare by the friendly admirer of his endowments, that he dothi retrieve the fates, Roll back the heavens, blow ope the iron gates Of death and Lethe, where confus~d lie Great heaps of ruinous mortality. A word dies every i~oment beneath the translators pen, and another i~ born ; the happiest translators are per- chance those in whom the sense of guilt is least and the joy of creation greatest, who betray their victims into a new un mortality without apologies~ Of this kind were the great English translators who flourished in the six- teenth and seventeenth centuries, from Lord Berners onwards. They made mistakes, some of them, on every page ; it is an act of justice to record a few of the mistakes they did not make. They did not, like their successors of the eighteenth century, avoid personal feeling and modern color by foregoing all feeling and color whatever, making Greek and Roman worthies talk the desiccated language of a philosophical drawing-room. They did not, like s@ many nineteenth-century translators, seek to retain ancient feeling and color by foregoing their own vocabulary and serving up a hodge-podge of archaisms. They wrote the language they talked, and let their own emotion and fancy color the tale they transcribed. In the vigor and versatility of the prose of Berners and of North there lay the promise, and something more than the promise, of the great poetry that was to come. The professional student of literature is prone, perhaps too h)rone, to treat books relatively to some wide scheme of his own, to trace in them origins and influences, and to be concerned with them for something that is not themselves. He enters a book as the bailiffs enter a house, to assess values, and to claim property in the name of others. This relative, historical in- terest, which often attaches especially to books that have been deservedly superseded, would hardly warrant the Tudor Translations. Tudor Translations. sumptuous reprints that Mr. Henley has given to Florios Montaigne , Mal)bes Celestina, and Norths Plutarch. In truth, these books deserve reprint for a much stronger reason they have been forgotten without being superseded. They are masterpieces clean dropped out of mind in the hustle of changing fash- ions. And yet a very great historical interest centres how should it not? in the prose, good, bad, or indiffer- ent, of the age of Shakespeare, inde- pendently of its artistic value. Take away from Shakespeare the three books to which he owed the largest of his ~debts, the works respectively of lPaiuter, Ilolinshed, and Sir Thomas 4orth, and the Shakespearean canon, in its threefold division of comedies, Jiistories, and tragedies, would have to be recast in imagination lie must perforce have found some other world to conquer. The last-mentioned and ;greatest of the three not only furnished Shakespeare with subjects, it possessed his imagination in and out of season. He read it, the critics have inferred, while he was writing Macbeth. There is noiie but he, says Mac- beth of Banquo, There is none but he Whose being I do fear, and under him My genius is rebuked, as, it is said, Mark Antony s was by C~sar. The corresponding passage in Norths Plutarch is reproduced later, in its due place, in the words of the sooth- sayer of Antony and Cleopatra : Thy diemon, thats thy spirit which keeps thee, is Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, Where Cinsars is not; but near him thy angel Becomes afeard, as being o erpowered. It is no matter for wonder if a book that thus intruded itself on the white- heat of the workshop where Macbeth was wrought, should have defied the creator of Macbeth to better all of it that lie touched; and Mr. George Wyndham, in his admirable introdnc- tion to the new e(lition, has no diffi culty in showing that, amidst niuch that lie heightened and much that lie left unchanged, Shakespeare found also some passages in North that he rendered with a paler glory. The three books which were richest in suggestion for Shakespeare made their first appearance in English dur- ing the years of his boyhood. They are typical of a threefold interest, awakened in this country at the time of the Renaissance an interest in the Greek and Roman classics, in the origi- nal achievements of the Renaissance spirit abroad, especially iii Italy an(l France, and in the earlier history of England herself, now newly conscious of her greatness and rousing herself to her destiny. Of these three educators the first was of the deepest import, and has left the most voluminous evi- dences. The early translations of the classics, Ovid, Virgil, and Homer, Livy, Sallust, and Thucydides, de- lighted a people hungry for story and indifferent for the most part to style. But here an all-important distinction is to be made between verse and prose. Verse-making in the days before Spen- ser was almost a lost art, the trans- lators of the poets were content to take their cue from Protestant psalmody, and Virgil and Homer were furnished, the oiie by Phiaer and Twyne, the other by Arthur Hall, M.P., the pred- ecessor of Chapman, with similar pairs of, whierethiroughi they droned the measure that has been quaintly named the Alexandrine of Master Sternhiold. A prolonged study of these works, or of Arthur Goldings immensely popular Ovid, serves to chasten the readers intolerance for the wild experiments in metre of Drant and Stanihiurst, and the excesses of the Areopagus. The outlandish metri- cal disguises that had so short a vogue were donned by men who were fearful lest a worse thing should befall them. When the new prosody arrived with Spenser, the day of the psalm-singers and of the Dranters alike was over, and there followed the noble metrical translations of Harington, Fairfax, and Sylvester, of Marlowe, Chapman, and Sandys. But this was later; the fact 173 174 remains that Shakespeare and his gen- eration, all but the scholars, made their acquaintance with Greek and Latin poets through the earlier trans- lators ; Hall, not Chapman, was the new planet that swam into their ken. So that while the prose of his immedi- ate predecessors lent Shakespeare some of his most dazzling tragic splendors, their verse, which he was loth to waste, furnished him with the grave-diggers hobbling chant in Hamlet, and the tedious brief scene of young Pyra- mus in the Midsummer Nights Dream. Indeed, when Bottom ap- pears with an asss head on his shoul- ders and Quince blesses him for that he is translated, the dramatist was probably thinking, not without grati- tude, of Master Arthur Golding and his Ovid a work very pleasant and de- lectable. But the prose of the same age, im- aginative and flexible, strong and rich, shows that Malory, Caxton, and Ber- ners, More, and Tyndal, had uot written in vain. Any one who would fain see the contrast at its most striking need only turn to Norths Plutarch, and note the odd patches of early Eliza- bethan doggerel that interrupt that wonderful texture of prose. Sophocles, Aristophanes, and the rest of the Greek poets, speak their sense with a gener- ous expansion in the interests of rhym- ing. Solon mounts UI)OU the heralds stone in the market-place, and sings the elegy that his friends praised be- yond measure, in this fashion I here present myself (an Heraulde) in this case Which come from Salamina lande, that noble worthy place. My mind in pelting prose, shall never be exprest, But songe in verse Heroicall, for so I thincke it best. Yet on the very next page North gives an account in prose of Solons stratagem in dressing the Athenian springals in womans apparel, and tells how, the Megarians, being deceyved by that they sawe a farre of, as soone as ever they came to the shore side, dyd lande in heapes, one in anothers necke, even for greedines to take these women; but not a man of them escaped, for they were slayne, every mothers son. A contrast like this is only to be matched by the two versions of the Psalms contained in a Scottish Bible. The passing affectations of a people and an age sensitive to all foreign fash- ions, have been allowed unjustly to overshadow the pure stream of English prose that ran through the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The pic- turesque loose Saxon syntax and the wealth of homely diction that are to be found in North fought hard and long against the invasion of the more per- fect mechanism of the Latin sentence and the tyranny of the Latin vocab- ulary. All the great artists of this period, however profound and wide their scholarship, knew the saving value of the Saxon blend. Milton him- self, at whose hands English poetry became classic, knew where to go for the best wealth of his prose invective. The superstitious man, he says in one passage, by his good will is an atheist, but being scared from thence by the pangs and gripes of a boiling conscience, all in a pudder shuffles up to himself such a God and such a wor- ship as is most agreeable to remedy his fear. When he speaks of the mina- tory visit of the king to the House of Commons, he alludes to the gentle- men of the royal train as the spawn and shipwreck of taverns and dicing- houses. And he works some of his most surprising effects by raising him- self on the slow gyrations of the Latin sentence, to swoop with the greater impetus upon a blunt Saxon phrase. Nevertheless, the English sentence, in the prose works of Milton, is already well on its way to the technique of Gib- .l)on for Milton respects the laws of formal syntax as North and Shake- speare never did, and seeks finality of expression where the earlier romantics were fearless of breach or expansion and the tags of emotion and after- thought. But the question is, whether the prose of Shakespeares age or of Gibbons age~, the two chief periods of Tudor Translations. Tudor Translations. 175 English translation, is better fitted for yot, whereby North also breaks the the rendering of masterpieces. continuity of the Greek sentence, to It is a quesLion that admits of but end it on some cadence of feeling or one answer. The eighteenth century note of color, is well seen in that has made comparison easy by rehan- 1)hrase they looke so pittiefully. dling almost all the books that had been The barest circumstances of war act translated in the earlier time. It is a themselves over again in his imagina- lesson in English prose to read Norths tion and vivify his style. Timoleon version of Plutarch by the side of sent help to the Corinthians, says Laughornes. And if, on the one hand, Langhorne, in small fishing-boats and North is no ordinary Elizabethan, on little skiffs, which watched the oppor- the other it may be pleaded for the tunity to make their way through the fairness of the comparison, that the enemys fleet, when it happened to be Langhornes were good scholars and separated by a storm. But North well above the average of the trans- sees the situation in detail, and elabo- lators of their day. All their decayed rates the key of it, speaking of the metaphors and their foolish conven- litle fisher boats and crayers, which tional expressions, neither good talk got into the castell many times, but nor good script, may be easily matched specially in storme and fowle weather, and beaten by the verbose futilities of passing by the gallycs of the barbarous their contemporaries, people, that layc scatteringly one from Some there be, says North, that another, dispersed abroad by tempest, for the death of a dogge, or their horse, and great bihlowes of the sea. And are so out of harte, and take such when he is dealing with the vicissitudes thought, that they are ready to go into of human life and of human conduct, the grounde, they looke so pittiefully. his words take an almost unconscious Other some are deane contrarie, who hue of sympathy and contempt. Per- though they have lost their children, seus, king of Macedonia, was com- forgone their friendes, or some gentle- pelled, says Langhorne, to escape man deare unto them, yet no sorrow- through a narrow window, and to let full worde hath commen from them, himself down by the wall with his wife neither have they done any unseemely and children, who had little experi- thing ; but have passed the rest of enced such fatigue and hardship. their life like wise, constant, and ver- Norths version is lie came down tuous men. For it is not love but in the night by ropes, out of a lithe weakness, which breedeth these cx- straight windowe upon the walles, and treme sorowes, and exceeding feare, in not only him self, but his wife and litle men that are not exercised, nor ac- babes, who never knewe before what quainted to fight against fortune with flying and hardnes inent. The pusil reason. lanimity of Perseus, says Langhorne, Laughorne renders the passage in deprived him even of pity, the only the strain of one who has insured his consolation of which fortune does not childs life. Some have expressed a rob the distressed. It is like the very great regret upon the death of close of a charity sermon, and almost dogs and horses ; whilst others have conceals the obligation that lay on borne the loss of valuable children, Perseus to kill himself, rather than be without any affliction, or at least with- led in a IRoman triumph. North does out any indecent sorrow, and have not stitch his words by the side of the passed the rest of their days with calm- Greek, inch for inch, but lie feels the ness and composure. It is, certainly, disgrace of the king. By his faint weakness, not affection, which brings heart and fear to die, he says, Perseus infinite troubles and fears upon men, deprived him self of others pittie who are not fortified by reason against and compassion towards him, being the power of fortune. that only thing which fortune cannot The beautiful trick, common in Am- denie and take from the afflicted, and 176 Tudor Translations. specially from them that have a noble When lofty thought heart. Once more, speaking of the Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, execution of the wives and children of And love and life contend in it for what Icetes, This seems, says Langhorne, Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live to be the most exceptional part of there, And move like winds of light on dark and Timoleons conduct ; for, if lie had stormy air. interposed, the women would not have suffered. North minces neither the This, then, to wind up the matter, is condemnation nor the pity. Of al the English Plutarch the work of the actes Timoleon did, this of al other t~vo great ages, given back to English (in my opinion) was the fowlest dede ; readers, the latest, it is to be hoped not for if he had listed, lie might have the last, of the gifts contained in the saved the poore women from death. series of the Tudor Translations. These, then, are some of the secrets Mr. Wyndhiam, who prefaces the book, that explain the fascination of Norths has written an introduction well-nigh enduring achievement. He has the vis- exhaustive in its information, happy in ion of a poet, and the phantom fabric its criticism, alive with that double of the past raises a clear outline against interest in politics and literature, iii the sky as lie builds ; he sees the action and passion, without which a people of Rome at thie triumph of true appreciation of such a miuster is Paulus ~milius, as if they were the impossible. His essay is not merely people of London, held up by sergeants the best that exists on the tissue of and tipstaves in corners and lanes themes he treats, it is equal to its op- ends, that thiey shiouhd not pester the portunity, and worthy to take shelter streetes, and hinder the triumphe. between the covers that hold the ~vork He has an artists sense of emphasis, of North. and knows when to have done with a It will be difficult, or impossible, to sentence, and how to give thie last match Sir Thomas North and Plutarch touch to a noble sentiment or a vivid with none but their peers in the vol- description. He is instinct with a umnes of the series that are yet to come. burning symupathy for action, and feels But the field of choice is wide, and it the strokes of fate, and thie cross- ~vould be a sad thing indeed if this en- chances of life and war, as if the noble terprise should share the hal) of so Grecians and Romans were his own many other generous literary schemes, body-guard, or the men of his house- and prove the torso merely of its im- hold. He interprets the heroic deeds agined self. From Sir Thomas Malory of another age in the heroic words to Sir Thomnas Urquhart is the better of his own, themselves thie offspring part of two centuries ; and the fine and counterpart of hieroisms as con- translations that fall within those limits vincing. are not few, even after a full selection Withal he was a lucky great man, in has been made from the Greek and that lie found Plutarch, and the assist- Latin. Florios Montaigne should ance of Amyot. A colder heart and a be companioned by Sheltons Don feebler hand than Norths might be Quixote and Urquharts Ilabelais, warmed and roused to energy by that this last redeemed by an editor, for the book of the ages. Plutarch is valued first time, from the illiterate extremes for his history, and for his studies of of sordidness and luxury. Froissart character (very different though they and Comnmines, Macchiavel and Gas- be fromn studies of character as con- tighione, Guicciardini, if his bulk do not ceived by the modern scientific spirit), forbid, Aheman and Guevara, all de- but it is his wisdom of life, his concep- serve a place. And some of the poets tion of nobility, and his passion for are no less clamorous for reprint. magnificence, that chief virtue of Ariosto and Tasso made their mark on princes, that make his book a primer English poetry through the translations for all peoples and all centuries, of Harington and Fairfax, why should A Correspondent of White of Selborne. Iloole be left to drive visitors away from a domain that is not his by any Tight, whether of priority or conquest? $yl vester, like Fairfax, is second only 4o Spenser as a metrist and teacher of poets, his version of Du Bartas is better, one is tempted to say, than his subject gives one any reason to expect. But thcse importunities may be multi- plied without end where thanks were filter, for an adventure well begun, and the assured possession of inheritances not lightly to be valued. From Longmans Magazine. A CORRESPONDENT OF WHITE OF SELBORNE.1 BY MRS. ANDREW LANG. IT is impossible to read any collec- tion of letters written by eminent men of the last century without being struck with amazement at the dulness of the correspondents upon whom these lit- erary treasures were lavished. Could anything be more tiresome, according to our ideas, than the prosy, long- winded effusions of Mann and Mason, ~xicasionally printed as foot-notes to some edition of Walpole or Gray ? yet Walpole and Mann corresponded without even meeting for forty-four years. In reading the Mulso letters it does not at first sight seem that White of Selborne was more fortunate than his contemporaries. His life-long and devoted friend had not the gift of letter- writing. ile is trivial, without the art of making his trivialities amusing ; he is apt to repeat himself and to gush, and has even been known to strive after jokes of a doubtful sort; yet in spite of all this, the friendship between the two men never flagged, and the letters, like all things relating to a by- gone day, have an interest of their own quite apart from any literary merit. John Mulso, whose unpublished let- ters to White extend over half a cen- tury (17441790), was one of the men best known and described by their re- 1 From a collection of manuscript letters, writ- ten by the Rev. John Mulso to White of Selborne, now in the possession of the Earl of Stamford. LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 376 177 lationship to somebody else. He was, emphatically, the brother of Mrs. Chapone, the alter ego of Gilbert White. Yet his capacity for hero- worship, and enthusiasm for those whose abilities were more brilliant than his own, earned him a lasting place in the affections of the leading literary men of the latter half of the eighteenth century. Not that Mulso was at all a stupid man. lie had cultivated tastes of all kinds, was fond of pictures, spent a good deal of time in reading, and had a keener perception of the beauties of architecture and the charms of moor- land scenery than was common in his day. He was simply a man without initiative power or much originality, and he lacked the subtle gift of expres- sion that makes a good letter-writer. Now, there are two reasons which induce us to read old letters ; one is the intrinsic interest present in many of tllem, and the other is the light that they throw on conteml)orary life. And, in many cases, the smaller the amount of literary ability the greater is the value of the unconscious revela- tions. If John Mulso has done nothing else to deserve our gratitude, he at least has shown how very erroneous are the conceptions of many people on the sub- ject of the clergy of tile last century. The common idea of a parson in the days of the Georges is either a gen- tle, illiterate being, who is vicar of a country parisil and goes his sleepy, kindly way; a broken-down drudge; a boorish farmer; a snuffy chaplain. John Mulso resembles in nothing either Goldsmitlls country pavson or the hus- band of Beatrix Esmond. In fact, there is but little to distinguish hint from the parish clergyman of our own day. Instead of marrying the waiting- maid, and being sent out before the pudding, John Mulso comes of a good middle-class family, associates with the neighboring gentry on equal terms, and has the oidinary education of a gentle- man. At Oxford he makes many friends Gilbert White, elected to an Oriel fellowship in 1744, the two War- tons, and Collins, the poet, being the 178 most celebrated. He watched with interest the struooie of the last three against the widespread influence of Pope, and their efforts, successful in the long run, to found a medi~val, or romantic, school. They held, as Jo- sepli Warton, the future head master of Winchester, pertinently observed, that invention and imagination were the chief faculties of a poet, and that a sermon was as much out of place in poetry as poetry in a sermon. At first a howl of indignation, which sounds strange to our ears, greeted the attempt to place Pope in a lower rank than Shakespeare, Spenser, or Milton, and even Johnson felt some satisfaction that Warton could not persuade the world to be of his opinion ; but mens eyes had been opened and blindness was no longer possible. The roman- tic revolt had been greatly helped forward by Wartons younger brother Thomas, author of the History of Poetry, and successively professor of poetry and poet laureate (1785), and by Collins, who, according to Gray, formed Thomas Wartons natural complement. Each, he says in his letters, is the half of a considerable man, and one the counterpart of the other. The first (Collins) has but little invention, is very poetical, has much choice of ex- pression, and a good ear. The second, a fine fancy modelled on the antique, a bad ear, great variety of words and images, with no choice at all. But if the Wartons passed through life with credit to themselves, poor, dear Collins, as Johnson calls him, was unlucky from the beginning. The habit of mind which forced him con- stantly to plan books and seldom to write them, showed itself in other and more serious ways. Collins has been some time returned from Flanders, writes Mulso to White on September 7, 1745, in order to put on the gown, as I hear, and get a chaplaincy in a regiment. Dont laugh, he adds pa- thetically. I dont on these occa- sions, and indeed the case was serious enough. Eight months later (May 28, 1746) Mulso writes again: Collins appears in good cloaths and a wretched carcass at all gay places, though it was with the utmost difficulty that he and I scraped together Si. for Miss Bundy, at whose suit lie was arrested, and whom, by his own confession, he never in- tended to pay. I dont believe lie will tell the story in verse, though some circumstances of his taking would be burlesque enough. The bailiff intro- duced himself with four gentlemen who came to drink tea, and who altogether could raise but one guinea. With Collins, as with many other gifted men, the d~gringolade, once be- gun, went on with fearful rapidity.. It i~ only seven years after the date of Mulsos letter that Johnson, who ~vas always fond of Collins and invariably kind to him, writes to Joseph Warton on the same subject : I think of him as he was a few years back, full of hopes and projects, versed in many languages, high in fancy, with a bnsy and forcible mind; now, laboring un- der that depression which enclinins the faculties without destroying them. Everything was done that affection or science could suggest. Foreign travel was called to their aid to exercise a stimulating influence, but it proved as useless as all other remedies, and after a short time spent in an asylum, Col- lins was iemoved to his sisters care at Chichester, where his clouded life soon after came to a close. Passing references are made in Melsos letters to that agreeable Toad Carter, Tom Manders, and dear Jack Rudge, but all his affection is centred on Gilbert White, to whom, to say the truth, he must have been rather a bore. His letters teem with protestations, with entreaties for a visit from White, with apologies and regrets for inability on his own part to stay with White, either at Faringdon or Selborne, wherever the naturalist hap l)ened to be curate ; and his reproaches. when White inadvertently begins a letter dear Sir instead of dear Mulso, sound as if they had dropped from the pen of a missish young lady. So much is known about White of Sel- borne, his work, and his charming per- sonality, that it is not necessary t~ A Correspondent of White of Selborne. A Correspondent of White of Selborne. add anything here. After Mulso left Oxford the two friends necessarily saw each other much less frequently, though White was adopted into the hearts of the entire Mulso family, of Tom and his ftanc~e, Miss Prescott or Pressy, of Ned the youngest son, and of the lively hester or Heck, Rich- ardsons critic, admirer, and corre- spondent. John Mulso was very fond and proud of his sister, who was a beautiful artist, a fair musician, a nov- elist at nine years old the mistress of several languages, an excellent housekeeper, and a passionate lover of races and balls. From repeate(l en- treaties in the earlier letters that White would not play with the tangles of Ne~ras hair, but would keep himself fancy free, we may guess that perhaps Mulso indulged himself in the hope of bringing about a marriage between his friend and his sister, but White never marrie(l, and Hecky blossomed into the admirable Mrs. Chapone. Por some time Mulso seems to have led a roving existence of an innocent and agreeal)le kind. On July 18, 1744, he writes to White from Leeds Abbey, Kent, at that period inhabited by a Mrs. Meredith, and his letter gives an interesting sketch of a prosperous coun- try house in the middle of the eigh- teenth century. The large apartments are neatly furnished, and the gallery above seventy feet long, filled with family pictures, of which (he goes on to say) there is not one tolerable to a man of your gusto; a large garden, well stocked with fruit, and adorned with fountains, cascades, and canals a most romantic wood behind it with large fishponds ; large stables, with a compleat set of foaming horses for a coach that has a prodigious easy corner, and riding nags that I am in love with. But, oh ! Gil, here is a loss the most severe that can be, this house had a fine library, which, not falling by will to the lady of it, has been sold off, and nothing remains but the skeleton cases. In spite of the bare shelves and skeleton cases, Mulso seems to have passed his time with great satisfaction to himself. A month later we find that he has been forever in the corners of coaches of a less prodigious easy kind than Mrs. Merediths, on his way to some festivity ; that he thinks the ladies of Canterbury insufferably handsome, and that no character can possibly be so shocking as Shy- lock performed by MackIm. Notices of l)ublic events are almost as rare in Mulsos correspon(lence as they would be in those of his great-grandchildren even the rebellion in the North only calls forth the casual remark that White, who is staying near Peterbor~ ough, is nearer the Rebells than his friend in London, and probably knows more about the subject. Ills indiffer- ence to the issue seems complete, and neither wars nor rumors of wars find any place in his closely written pages. Even the French Revolution and the taking of the Bastile pass un- noticed. The appearance of Marshal Belle-Isle in the hampton Court Gar- dens in August, 1746, merely gives rise to reflections as to the cause of the uni- versal desire to see great men, and the. conclusion that for his part he mostly prefers their work to their personality. Yet at that date, when foreigners were still a rarity, curiosity might have been pardonable concerning such an eminent prisoner who had been captured in such a daring and romantic way, on his journey from Cassel to Berlin, eighteen months before. Carlyle tells us that after his seizure on a tiny bit of Han- overian territory, where he had halted, the marshal was brought to Windsor in February, 1745, and set free the follow- ing August; but as Mulso, writing at the time, gives the date of Belle-Isles walk in Hampton Court, in company with the Duke of Grafton, as August, 1746, we may conclude that the histo- rian had made a slip of the pen, and put one year for another. Perhaps the love of gardens may have been caught from White, but cer- tainly the passion existed strongly in Mulso, though he hardly seems to have been very successful as a gardener. I have seen no pictures since I was at Windsor with you, he observes 179 180 A Corre~pondent of White of Selborne. (September 7, 1745), but I have been of most houses at the present time, and at the Duke of Argyles, and dined in it is a comfort to feel that the present his gardens. They are a Treasury of generation has not fallen away from Exotics, and this is their chief beauty. the Spartan virtue of their ancestors so Mr. Pelbains house and gardens have far as is generally supposed. Yet in nothing in them that struck me much ; this simple catalogue of faits et gestes the house is an addition to an old gate there is one point th~tt will strike left by Cardinal Wolsey, and is in the everybody. Mulso is not speaking of old taste, which I dont like as well as a Sunday, but expressly says every the modern, though I would not have morning he did these things. It is you tell your Uncle Snooke so. The not the custom in modern country Treasury of Exotics belonging to houses to turn out as a matter of course the Duke of Argyll was most probably to daily prayers ; so in this circum- the conservatory of Whitton, near stance, as in many others, Mulso upsets Ilounslow, and, unlike modern con- completely our pre-conceived ideas as servatories, was so well and firmly built to the views and habits of our fore- that it did not require much alteration fathers. to turn it into a mansion house, and The elder Mulso was a genial man of since that time it has been regularly enlarged mind, who welcomed his sons inhabited. friends and saw a good deal of the most The first hint we get of Mulso being interesting society of the day at his appointed to a cure is in May, 1746, own house. Garrick, Quin, and Mrs. but the earliest letter written from Sun- Cibber are once mentioned as being at bury (of which he was made vicar) was tea, and about 1750, the exact date is in August, 1747, and he seems to have uncertain, the Mulsos got into the served that parish in connection acquaintance of Richardson, a sort of with Hampton. Up to that time he an original for goodness and respecta- appears to have taken holiday and lived bility. Although John Mulso s resi- partly with his family and partly with dence in his various country parishes his friends, with White at their head. rendered it impossible that lie should One of these little tours, taken in be often in Richardsons company, he company with his father, to Sir John was kept well posted up in all the cele- Dolbens, Northainptonshire, lets in a brated authors writings and opinions curious light on the manner in which by his future sister-in-law, Pressy cultivated country people passed their (or Miss Prescott) and Heck Mulso, days, and may be compared with the who formed part of the admiring circle mode of life inaugurated about thirty at North End. He is in person, years later by the Duc and Duchesse says Mulso, soon after his first intro- de Choiseul at their country house of (luction, a short, fat man, of an lion- Chanteloup. We rose every morn- est countenance, but has ill-health and ing between seven and eight, took a shattered nerves. But his gentle man- walk, or went a-coursing; returned to ners, his general charitableness, his ex- breakfast between nine and ten, after treme tenderness to every proper object which a concert of musick of eight that comes within his notice, make him hands; went to Church at eleven, infinitely dear to those who know him where a new organ had just been put and studiously sought after by those up; more music; dinner at two, when who do not. there is constantly ten good dishes; The acquaintance was all the more walked or rode till tea-time ; more gratifying to Mulso because, ever since music ; prayers at eight; then to sup- the publication of Clarissa, he had, per of seven dishes, and sat laughing like the rest of the world, felt the deep- till near twelve in a little parlor. est admiration for the author. Indeed, Now, if we substitute the word din- he had even gone the length of writing ner for supper, and lunch for a poem on the subject, which he sen(ls dinner, the hours are exactly those to White, remarking that he never A Correspondent of Ifhite of Selborne. nit off anything with such ease and sat- isfaction. It is not every one who will share his feelings of complacency. The poem is rather involved, and be- yond the fact that it challenges a comparison between Clarissas forlorn condition and the Children of Israel on the banks of Kedar, it is not always possible to make out what it is all about. The versification is of the fash- ion of the day, and abounds in images and allegory. No man with a sense of humor could have written it, and any man ~vith a sense of humor would have found it very difficult to read such lines as the following with the seriousness demanded by their author o Richardson, if ought beneath those fires Which in wrapt souls th immediate God inspires, Tis sure the vigor of thy moving page Can touch, reform, and save a vitious age: No bigot zeal raves in each threatening line But all Ezekiels tenderness is thine. This is, perhaps, the first time that tenderness has been pointed out as the special attribute of Ezekiel I It is never definitely stated when Mulso became engaged to Miss Young, but he refers to you know who as far back as 1747, though the marriage only took place in May, 1756. We are not told what caused the delay, but it seems to have been borne by both par- ties with equanimity. They saw each other when they could at the houses of some of their relations; in London, at Sunbury, or at Rickmansworth, where it is not safe to ride without a servant, and where not a horse can pass for half a mile together and a carriage may run upon you without being able to help it. The relations between the ftanc~s were far less strict than is commonly supposed to have been customary, and when, in 1755, Mulso has a bad attack of illness, it is considered quite a mat- ter of course that Miss Young should nurse him back to health and keep his room cool and his person sweet by giving him clean linnen and open win- dows. Mulso was never a strong man, nor, according to him, was any- body else, but though he certainly was not a grumbler, he habitually saw everything en noir. In the eighteenth century (if we may judge from his let- ters) the rainfall must have l)een nearly equal to that of Chirra, Punji, and every rose that forced its way into blossom was an ertfant du miracle. Then his friends, as well as himself, invariably are the victims of ill-health, we are a set of crocks is an ex- l)ression he often uses, and it will come as a surprise to all who imagine the word a piece of modern slang. Yet he does not make a fuss about his ail- ments, and is quite ready to take an interest in outside things and to make the best of his enforced periods of con- finement. When he is a bachelor he plays bat- tledore and shuttlecock with Heck, and when he is a married man lie takes up cards, or the boxes of the Sounding Gammon with his wife. He keeps up his classics and his reading, though he finds it impossible, a~ any rate for a long while, to get hold of the Odys- sey. He watches eagerly for the publication of his friends books and gives minute criticisms of them. He even conducts his wife to the British Museum (1758), which lie considers royal in itself and grand and de- lightful as to prospect. It is curious to find him adding that White, who had had the supervisal of the Bod- leian Library, would perhaps think fifty thousand printed volumes but a private collection, but there are besides about five rooms full of manuscripts and four or five rooms where the vir- tuoso and the naturalist have high enjoyment of samples in this way.~~ Could any mortal undertake to guess how many millions of books are now contained in that labyrinth of gal- leries? For three and a half years after his marriage John Mulso lived quietly at Sunbury with his wife and little girl, who by a significant leer in her eye, promised to be droll. Then a change caine over his life, by the offer of the living of Thornhill, near Wakefield, which was in the gift of Sir George Savill. Mulso hesitated for some time, as at that period Yorkshire was practi 181 182 cally as distant as the Faroe Islands are now, but in the end he decided on acceptance. The living, we learn, was nominally worth 4001. a year, but so loaded with chapells that he fears it is not so much in income. This for a country living was a fair stipend. A short time after, when there is a ques- tioa of Whites brother taking the cure of Blackburn, it is considered fairly paid at the rate of 2501. a year ; in the case of a non-resident rector, two curates at 401. a year were (at the ex- press desire of the parishioners) to be provided out of that sum. No such difficulties, however, arose about Mulso. He had every intention of residing in his parish and being a jolly dog, which iii his case meant a little hunting and coursing and a great deal of gardening. Mrs. Mulsos equiv- alents for these pursuits were races and balls, in which her guests joined her. The 4001. a year seems to have been as elastic as the proverbial bulls hide, for Mulso had a well-stocked garden and well - filled stables, four maidservants, two men in livery, and a gardener. Perhaps Mrs. Mulso may have possesse(l some private fortune, but any way their income proved suf- ficient, and no mention is ever made as to debt. It was in April, 1767, that Mulso was appointed to Witney, near Oxford, and three years after offered a prebends stall at Winchester. This stall he ap- pears to have held till his death (1791), but the distance between Winchester and Witney proving inconvenient, he exchanged his country living for that of Meonstoke, seventeen miles from Alton, and comparatively close at hand. In all these changes it is interesting to note various little details of habits and prices, insignificant in themselves, but always curious when compared with those of the present (lay. In a letter dated June 24, 1765, Mulso calls on White to applaud his sister, Mrs. Chapones, courage in setting out alone from London and being hurried away in chance company in the Leeds machine. This machine comes to Wakefield about seven in the evening of the second day. The charge is about 21. 5s. (nowadays a first-class ticket is 24s.), and the expense on the road very little, because you have but little time to stop. No wonder, after such journeys, that visits were long, as it was not worth incurring such fatigue and expense for less than six weeks or two months, and poor Heck was forced to go alone as she had no one to travel with. Her husband, Mr. Chapone, whom she had married rather against her fathers wishes in 1761, only lived a few months, and her old friend Pressy, who was a little of the prude and a little of the delicate, had been united to Tom Mulso, and was now, as John would have said, a crock and in an ugly way. Hecks high spirits must have been consider- ably toned down by grief, but she was as popular as ever, and sought refuge from her troubles in literature. In spite of- her love of races and balls, she had cultivated serious studies in a manner unusual in her time, when a sharp line was generally drawn be- tween the butterfly and the blue-stock- ing. At twenty-three she had four billets accepted by Johnson for The Rambler, while her controversy with Richardson on parental authority had drawn on her the eyes of many distinguished men. Her odes were well known in literary circles, and after her widowhood she brought out a series of letters for the benefit of her niece, Jenny Mulso, which were presented by Queen Charlotte to the princess royal. Mrs. Chapone was a thoroughly genial woman, a favorite with all, and her prodigious ugli- ness, as Wraxall calls it, did not in the least affect her charm. Her broth- ers were all (levote(l to her, and her only difficulty was to divide her time among the various houses that clam- ored for her. She was a woman with- out enemies and highly appreciative of other people. Even Miss Burney, who was not specially ecstatic over her fellow-authoresses, allows that (not- withstanding her ugliness) she was the most superiorily unaffected crea- ture you can conceive an(l Mrs. De A Correspondent of White of Selborne. A Correspondent of Trhite of Selborne. lany, of whom she did a beautiful portrait, was her friend until death parted them. So to Thoruhill Mrs. Chapone caine and was welcomed with enthusiasm by all the family. We can fancy her put- ting aside her own sorrows to cheer up poor Mrs. Mulso, who was just recov- ering from a bad illness, and entertain- ing her with the last gossip from the literary world of London. Heckys acquaintance with race-courses would enable her to enter with interest into the question of her brother Johns horses always a tremendous subject of discussion in his letters to White and no doubt her quicksightedness and practical good sense rendered het ad- vice in this, as in other cases, worth having. We may picture her weighing the prospective advantages of taking a footman with 101. a year, no vails, but washed at home, or giving lower wages, and leaving him to pick up what he could (probably no inconsider- able sum) from his masters guests. Her opinion was certain to be asked al)out the cost of the garden, and the gardener, who had accepted 241. a year, and was to find a bed and necessary seeds out of that; and she would be consulted as to how China asters were likely to flourish in the climate of the north, and whether it would not be better to give up the attempt to grow laurestinus and take to box instead. They may even have looked forward a few years and begun to think of the expense of Master Jacks schooling, and where it would be best to send him if Mr. Williss school in hampshire is likely to prove convenient and suit- able by the time Jack is old enough to go to it, and if by that period his terms of 161. per annum will probably be in- creased. What a prosperous thing coach-building has become, and how impossible it is to get a chaise built nowadays under 701. 1 These and other kindred topics were discussed at the quarter-past-nine breakfast and the three-oclock dinner, not forget- ting, we may be sure, the chances of Whites being appointed to a living, and the comfort it was that all bishops 183 did not hold the unreasonable views of my Lord of Exeter, who had made himself highly unpopular by obliging his clergy to reside in their parishes, whether they had a house or no. Interested though he might be in gardening and moorland scenery, there is no doubt that Mulso felt Yorkshire to be something of a banishment, and he was delighted to find himself once more in the familiar shades of Hamp- shire, with Winchester as his metrop- olis. Mulso dearly loved the old city with which his life was mixed up where he records his wifes death in his last letter to White, dated Decem- ber 15, 1790; where he himself died during the following year, and where his daughter Jenny was married to the Rev. B. Jeifreys, one of the mas- ters of the school; and at Winchester, as far as his health allowed, he was destined to pass some happy and peaceful years. He takes a fatherly pride in the way that his children shone in the deanery theatricals, and hopes that White will publish an answer to the later chapters in Gib- bons history. He knows that his friend will be interested in the fact that Jack has shot a stint or summer snipe at Oxford, and recalls the good old win- ter days, now forty years ago, when the snipe-shooting at Oxford was some of the best in England. He always lived on excellent terms with his children, and except for his natural resentment at the drastic measures taken by his youthful son Bill to force his father to allow him to enter the navy, he has little to complain of in their conduct. Then, as now, men liked to see their wives and daughters look their best, though they gibed at the large trunks with which the ladies trav- elled ; and then, as now, young people who stayed at balls till four oclock took it out in the morning. In all respects John Mulso seems to have been a pleasant, easy-going man,facile ~t vivre, and in no way in advance of his generation. His views upon pluralism, quoted above, were the views of other men of his time, and his attitude towards the question of the election to 184 A Summer Bide in Eubo3a. scholarships and fellowships not at all in advance of other peoples. His let- ters to White teem with requests to use his influence on behalf of some friends friend, so as to ensure his ap- pointment to some piece of college preferment; and the research of en- dowment pursued in this particular manner is, unluckily, by no means a thing of the past. But one fallacy of universal belief was too much for Mulso, and that was the craze as wide-spread then as it is now for labelling aches and pains of every kind with the name of influenza. We have many ill here, he writes to White from Winchester, on June 2, 1782, but we have learnt the name of the influenza from London, where A was once used before. I do not find that the complaint here bad any other appearances than a feverish cold, which naturally operated differently on different constitutions, so they called it a fever and ague and let it pass. But now we have all a dread of the influ- enza. My Hester has got a bad cough and cold and the chancellor has a sore throat. We can give some guess at the causes, but it must be ex- traordinary and go by the new name. With these words of wisdom our brief sketch of Mulso must close. As we have said, he was a very average Englishman sensible, intelligent, and kindly, without much humor, or what was then called quickness of parts, not perhaps finely gifted with tact, but the most faithful of friends, steady and true, through evil report and good report; a man whom it was better to live with than to meet out at dinner, and also a man of whom we make sure that he did good to all within his reach, and harm to no one. onward progress by the grey towering mass of Mount Kandili. They suffuse it with a faint rosy mistiness that seems to glow as from an internal heat, which has at present insufficienb strength to pierce the black shadows of the gorges, where the great dark pines are still at play with the night breezes that come rushing to the revel from the blue ~gean. A cock crows, and his defiant challenge has scarce had time to die away ere his feathered comra(les remove their heads from their wings~ and reply in an irregular chorus that becomes a natural and melodious music in the crisp, fragrant air, whose solitary quietude is thus amorously disturbed, and, so to say, called into being by the very presence of the fugitive bird calls, in the otherwise stilly atmosphere that~ enwraps hill and dale, mountain and valley. The sun mounts yet higher into a heaven the varied hues of which are imperceptibly broadening into one intense blue, which swallows up and effaces the lingering presentment of Selene; and as his rays gather strength their kindly warmth summons into re- newed life the insect world that, with myriad buzz, creeps out in search of food. Light, more light it is broad daylight, and the music of the flock bells comes surging up the valleys with its suggestion of active and animal life~ and the pleasures and duties that an-, other day is unfolding to all but the sluggard. It was on such an August morning that we took the road from Achmetega to Chalcis, with many a kindly uttered pleasant jouri~ey to speed us on our way; but ere again setting out, this time in imagination, to traverse the well-remembered scenes, let us glance for a moment at the familiar face of forest-girt Achmetegathe home of Mr. Frank Noel, an Englishman, who~ in transacting the numerous duties connected with his large estate, seems. From The Gentlemans Magazine. ever to have a happy recollection of A SUMMER RIDE IN EUB(EA. his family motto, Pensez Ii bien, THE night gloom is fleeing fast be- and as a logical result to enjoy a popu-- fore the rising sun, whose bright rays larity among its peasants that is so~ flash with the rapidity of thought over evident in its demonstration that it be the green forest, to be checked in their comes our pleasant task to add our A Summer Bide in Eubcea. testimony to that of previous writers on this part of Greece, and to record it as a marked feature iu the society of this portion of Eubea. The village of Achinetega is situated at the junction of a Io~v rocky spur of Mount Kandili, with a broad and fruit- fiil valley, down the level course of which runs the road from the north of the island to the town of Chalcis, and is so placed as to include within its scope of observation not only the rich agricultural products of this smiling dale, whose fertilizing torrent, shaded by giant plane-trees, wanders hither and thither, but also that wide stretch of forest that surges over hill and mountain in the direction of Mount Pixaren on the one hand and the ~Egean Sea on the other. Its rough stone cot- tages, with their pink, white, or blue walls and red tiled roofs, cling to the rocky soil wherever it offers or is to be coaxed into offering a level support, and their bright colors appeal to the eye in a pleasant, homely fashion that, far from outraging the wealth of natu- ral scenery around them, merely serve by contrast to intensify its glowing beauties, and to somewhat relieve of their harshness, the savage pine-fringed clefts of Kandili frowning in the back- ground. Most of the buildings are of one story, but here and there one has ar- rived at greater stature than the rest, and carries a rough wooden balcony that projects in quaint fashion over the uneven roadway beneath. All are attended by a small, ~ oven, in which the peasants bake a bread that does great honor to the l)rimitive little furnace that warmcd it into a ripe maturity. Nestling close to the main village, and at the entrance to a grassy valley, there is a cluster of dun-colored huts, with wattled walls and thatched roofs, where the cattle fodder and other crops are housed; it is not so very long since these primitive edifices might have been taken as the representative type of the Eubcean vil- lage home, but now, like our o~vn thatched cottages, they are fast disap- pearing as human habitations. One more peep at an Achmetega landscape, and then to horse. Let us enter one of Mr. Noels sta bles warm, filled with a mellow light, snug. Let us throw open one off the wooden-shuttered windows, step back a pace or two, and admire what? A picture by nature hung out the line ? A vineyard study? No,. not exactly ; for in spite of the as- sertive foreground the feeling of the picture tends to the distant opalescent hued mountain, and even beyond into the blue vague into the realms~ of imagination. See how the lines of golden-green fir forests that clothe th~ low hills on either side of the vineyard direct the eye to the distant horizon ; not too monotonously, for they form grand curves here and there, that seem as if to press upon the green vines that crowd the valley with their wealth of tendrils, earth-drawn by the rich fruit. Light and shade, reality and harmony. A sameness in the mass of shimmering vine leaves? No! The purple fig, the quince, the mulberry, do not break but avoid the suggestion of a cloying repetition, for they appear to swim, to float, in the verdure that laps, that rip- ples round them, that is spotted here and there with the red fez and ~vhite foustanella of the peasant. What cob oring ! It is glorious ! and its varnish is a Greek atmosphere. Halt! A two or three hundred yards trot has brought us to the porch of the village inn and shop, and Mr. Stomate, the landlord, would look upon us as strange travellers indeed if we (lid not, according to Greek custom, pull UI) to indulge in a minutes chat with him, pending the arrival of th& boy with the brass tray weighty with tumblers of mastica, raki, and icy cold ~vater that pearls in sparkling dew- drops on the surface of the highly polished metal. It is a pleasant little hostelric, thishalf hidden by bushes of pink-flowering oleander, or bitter laurel, as they name the shrub here. One portion of it is devoted to the alcoholic beverages and has its ceiling made gay with strings of scarlet native shoes, bright colored kerchiefs, and all 18~ A Summer Ride in iEubcea. the hundred and one articles that min- ister to the simple wants of the vii- laoers; anot her wing, connected with the first by a vine-cla(l trellis walk, is the guest chamber. scrupulously clean, neat, and plain in its accommo- dation, and within a stones throw of the stables, where the mules and horses enjoy their well-earned repose. Oppo- site the inn and sufficiently with- drawn from the roadway to avoid the white, powdery dust, which Stomates customers tread into little ridges and furrows that resemble those ribbed sands that the ebbing sea so often leaves behind it in its track lies Gods acre, where for three years the wicker coffins encircle their dead, at the ter- mination of which perio(l the skeleton remains of what was once Xeaophon, Alexandra, or Achillaki (little Achilles) are disinterred and relegated to the lifeless but growing heap in the square mortuary chapel, which mournfully stands sentinel at the entrance gate- way. From our position on horseback we can overlook the low wall that sur- rounds the cemetery and can catch a glimpse of the grassy interior, that, falling into sudden depressions, now in one spot now in another, shows where the shallow graves have given way, perhaps carrying with them in their fall one of the simple wooden crosses that incline earthwards at every angle that age and decay can impart to them. Your health, Stomate, and good- bye ; and so saying we take the road to Chalcis at a good round trot which soon brought us under the shadow of enormous plane-trees, where brook aa(l road were playing at hide-and- seek amongst the great grey trunks which, with their eccentrically twiste(l branches, supported a green leaf world whose grey-blue atmosphere was pierced with delicate shafts of descend- ing sunlight that, striking the smooth spotted surface of the serpentine branches, seemed to impart a quiver- ing, snaky motion to the otherwise motionless boughs. Sometimes the hurrying stream in a paroxysm of win- try fury had laid bare the writhing roots of some father of the forest, who, in search of support, was now leaning wearily against the lusty foliage of an adjacent scion; sometimes the around damp with the secret spring, was car- petedl with a lovely, tender-tinted moss, on whose velvety surface a scarlet- waistcoated robin red-breast was danc- ing with a partner or two at a worm feast. Jogging steadily and steadily on, past groups of stone-pines that made the air heavy with their resinous exhalations, under great vine cables that clambered up to the thick growth above, with never a jarring note to disturb the woodland silence, but an occasional emphatic stoop as the cavalcade came suddenly upon some carelessly hung telegraph wire that, treacherously festooned across the road from tree to tree, lay like a dew-coated sl)iders web across our path; in and out of drifts of sunshine, scaring away tribes of little green lizards, hurtling through great armies of ants seething iii black ranks across the roadway, on till, the woodland tunnel passed, we ~von the broad blaze of unimpeded day- light, and with it a scene of cold, black desolation, which offered its profile to us with terrible distinctness in the truth-compelling clearness of the at- mosphere. Ahead of us lay a rocky gorge, trend- inggra(lually upwards by great curves and sweeps into a cloud region that half veiled, half revealed, obtrusive and fantastic peaks. From these the mists were gently pouring in fleecy layers into the pass, to float lazily along by the side of a hanging pine wood that, sun-ripened, lay glistening and golden-green on the lowest slope of the defile, which was dwarfed to a placid tameness by comparison with the rugged heights across the brook. Here the beetling crags and mountain side had been blasted into a dull red aridity, whose parched surface was dotted with thousands of withered pines that stretched out their gaunt arms above a burnt underwood of arbutus and heather bushes, which, black, rigid, and with an apparent tremulous nio~ tion imparted to them by the hot ab 186 A Summer Ride in Eubcea. rising from the gleaming rock, ap- peared the unnatural product of an unnatural soil. The wiuter and sum- mer gales, the rain and snow, had gashed the blackened trunks with white splints, had torn off and mangled the branches, or sent whole groups of lofty trees crashing into the red gulleys that seame(l the rock with hideous, naked scars. No brook (at least not to be seen) no moisture no greenery nothing from base to jagged summit but a drear, sapless vegctation fixed in a lifeless rigidity that infected the very heavens with the gloom of its long, un- ending lines of black silhouettes which clung to the mountain crest for miles. Broad and long had been the path of the conflagration that had worked this destruction ; for, as far as the eye could see, the mountain trending away to our right had been stripped of its verdure. Whilst the fire was raging, the valley through which we had just ridden had been well-nigh impassable to man or beast; in place of the sweet summer air hushed in sylvan silence, it had been tilled with great clouds of suffo- cating resinous smoke, that rushed and swirled to the glowing flames under the pressure of the gale created by a burning forest. During many nights a pall of lurid smoke had hung sullenly over mountain and valley, or had rolled in black, surging billows that quenched the silvery light of moon and stars, out to the ~geau Sea, till, gaining volume in their course, they had stretched away like a crawling serpent into the pur- ple, star-sown haze that brooded oer the ocean. Perchance swayed by the uncertain wind, the folds had writhed in a majestic contraction, and the fair moon, no longer hidden, gleamed across the edge of the monstrous shape, which assumed forthwith, at the touch of her cold white light, an inkier, more unholy, hue. From those portions of the valley accessible to a spectator, the scene presented by the burning forest had been one of awful grandeur. Again and again the roaring wind had sav- agely attacked through the vistas in the belt of plane-trees the smoke 187 pall, and, rending it open, disclosed to view the darting, leaping flames that, like a fiery mosaic of many colors, glowed in a cunningly devised pattern on the mountain side ; again and again it had driven furiously away the shower of evanescent sparks that marked the downfall of some fire-girt giant of the forest, and left in their place an inky blackness, whose opaque depths no human eye could pierce. The scene had resembled a vast nightmare, made doubly horrible by strange, weird sounds, that came rushing to the ear with a distinctness that was painful from their gruesome and assertive in- dividuality amidst such an uproar of wind and fire, and also by contrast with the teasing vagueness of their origin behind the clouds of ever shifting, ever rising smoke. Such forest fires are by no means un- common in certain parts of Greece, and may generally be traced to one of two causes either the carelessness of some charcoal-burner or heedless peasant, who by accident sets fire to a portion of the forest, and so gives birth to a con- flagration, which in summer time feeds on the resinous pines and dry under- wood with incredible rapidity ; or the intentional firing of the forest by some shepherd or herd-owning peasant, who looks beyond the deed of arson to the subsequent fresh and tender under- growth that he intends shall support in the future his herds of goats and sheep. Gradually we left the scene of the fire behind us, and, working into the depths of the gorge, mounted to higher and yet higher heights above the foam- ing brook below, picking our way through prostrate trees that, cumbering the cunningly built road, lay where they had fallen, save for a rough-cut gap to allow the mounted traveller to pass; up and up, till a little wayside shrine dedicated to St. George was reached. Here a halt was called to breathe the horses, and on the part of our attend- ants to mutter a prayer to the saint and bestow a small votive offering upon the stone slab in front of the holy pic- ture the moneys only and sufficient guard from the evil disposed. It was a 188 lonely spot no habitations within sight but a few ruined outbuildings, and a deserted cottage where formerly dwelt a solitary hermit, whose duties pertaining to the shrine were now per- formed by a deaf and dumb peasant. Each eventi(le the poor mute was ac- customed to walk over from a distant village to trim the flame of the prim- itive oil lamp that flickered before the sacred image during the still watches of the night one gleam of artificial light burning with cheerful ray in the solituIe of the dark and deserted build- ings of the gorge. Does not the scene recall to mind the verse running Turn gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray? Beyond this melancholy yet singu- larly peaceful spot the road assumed a wilder, sterner aspect; the great cliffs on either side of the track drew closer to each other and appeared as if totter- ing to some awful earth-cataclysm, similar to that depicted in Martins The Great Day of His Wrath. Stones and little spouts of earth, dis- turbed from the lofty heights above by a rambling flock of goats, came rattling or rustling to our feet, and drew our attention with uneasy glances to where great boulders had torn their way through the thick wall bounding the road, to rush with a meteor-like fury into the plashing brook that, dammed in its swift course, had resented the intrusion by carrying away a portion of the highway. Isnt the road dangerous, Georgi? For answer an expressive shrug of the shoulders, which rapidly gave way to an energetic pulling up of the horse, as shouts of Take care! Take care! came rolling to us from the height above, and echoed faintly and more faintly up the gorge Take care I Take care! We had hardly digested this warning ere there was a sullen rumbling from above, and a torrent of rocks, earth, and pink arbutus logs, crashed on to the path ahead, and in- formed us by their presence of the busy charcoal-burners above, who~ had hailed us in just sufficient time to es- cape the danger. Having thus made a distant acquaint- ance with these men of the woods so~ far the first human beings that we had met on our ride a consistency of chance determined that we should al- most immediately afterwards exchange a Good-morning to you with several groups of shepherds, wild, brigand- ish -looking creatures clothed in vo- luminous rough capotes of goat and bullock hair, with heads surmounted by shocks of hair dusty hair, t& borrow a descriptive word combination of Tennysonsthat wind, rain, and sun had dressed to a dull gloss, fur-like in its lustre. And then more society two-legged society in the shape of a neck- stretching, gobble gobbling flock of turkeys, who, under the pretence of being driven by a peasant to Chalcis market, were mannuvring about the road like a newly raised camel corps, under the command of an ancient cock, whose inflamed comb and passionate expletives showed that he was a bird of the old school, and not to be sold. Alas! much be-turkeyed peasant, you are yet a long way from. Chalcis mar- ket! Still the road ascends and ascends, and to avoid the steep gradients twists and turns to every point of the com- pass; and as the pass broadens out again, rules the hillside with a straight, white track, under rocks that some an- cient convulsion of nature has distorted and crumbled into gigantic fol (Is that, like written and unknown characters, catch the eye and urge it to a vain at- tempt at deciphering. And now we have an opportunity of seeing how they handle the ribbons in this part of the world, for here comes Mr. and Mrs. driving down the pass at a rate that, should a horse stumble or shy, would assuredly force them off the curving, unprotected road into the abyss below, which they come briskly trotting at, with a happy confidence of safely negotiating the curve that is t~ lead them out of harms way. They A Summer Ride in Eubxa. A Summer Bide in Eubala. make a bright, smart little cort~ge, with their escort of four or five cavalry sol- diers, who now press close behind the vehicle, now take advantage of some short cut that, avoiding a d~tour, gives them a minutes pause before again falling into position, and adding the clattering of their accoutrements to the silver-toned harness bells that tinkle out a gay advance. We also quit the highway at the point where its sinuous curves are pre- paring to attack the last slope, whose crest is the watershed of the district; and a very pleasant change for the bet- ter it is to be quit of its (lust and ride through the bush of myrtle, arbutus, and gay-flowering shrubs, or to rest after some unusually hard bit of climb- ing in one of the numerous clearings that are thickly carpeted witha certain species of blue thistle which, with a starch-blue flower, stalk, and spiky ~eaves,is constant to one, an(l only one, color. In the intense heat, too, it is far from disagrecalile to take advan- ~age of the modicum of shelter offered by a stone pine here and there, and whilst cooling down to polish ones glasses the better to enjoy the superb view offered by Mount Pixarea, which thrusts a vast grey-white peak into a iheaven glowing with the rich gold-shot blue of the Labrador stone. Distance blended, its rugged boulders show their profiles in one jagged but unbroken line against the sky, and losing their i(lentity in the mass, borrow a trans- parency from the purity of the atmo- sphere that renders pardonable the prosaic yet realistic remark of one of us to the effect that the mountain re- sembled a sheet of tissue paper that one could push ones hand through. One, two, three such rests in the up- ward climb, and lo ! we are at the head of the pass, out of the way of falling boulders and other minor or major dangers, and within ogling distance of a comfortably spread-out dinner. Now this dinner on the summit of the mountain was a masterpiece of its kind. Its very simplicity told favor- ably, and produced by a few bold strokes that feeling of satisfaction which a more complicated, more mi- nute style would have gradually sug- gested to the educated, and, in all probability, only the educated taste; for certain it is that the l)e~lsants who shared the meal with us, and who look upon a cup of coffee as a high creation of the culinary art to be rarely made use of, would have appreciated nothing that the French school could pro- duce so much as the roast lamb carved from its wooden spit, which was the pi~ce de resistance of the homely fare placed before us. And then, in that comfortal)le somnolent condition in- duced by open air and the indulgence of a hearty appetite, what pleasure it was to gaze out across the blue ~gean Sea, stretched beneath us in languorous calm, to distant Skopelos ; and with that mental activity sometimes born of complete bodily quietude, to note every hue, every distance-glorified rock that composed what we knew to be that island, but which imagination would fain have persuaded us to be some enchanted isle within whose rosy mists lay fairer and yet fairer scenes bosomed in the full peace of the azure sea. Or, wearied with the fugitive conceits suggested by the distant l)ros- pect, to turn and feast the eyes upon the broad luxuriance of the wealth of foliage that fell, that rose, in heavy undulations to the glittering ocean strand beneath, where all was heat, glare, and foam-flecked yellow sands. Ay! earth, sea, firmament, all and each were beautiful, but with a beauty that, while flowing in upon the human soul, yet found that soul unabsorbed, and by its own power of buoyancy riding over the tide, seeking, under the guidance of imagination, scenes of more, even ethereal, loveliness. What wonder that amidst such scenes the flight of the great eagle above should possess a more than ordinary interest, that his solemn (because solitary) trackless gyrations on outstretched pinions should fascinate the eye and urge it to follow him in his subsequent flight over mountain and sea till, space- hidden, from a black speck he vanishes into thin air? Good-bye to you, noble 189 190 bird! and good-bye to you, ye moun- tains, vales, and summer sea, for time moves on, and we we too must move, must cross the mountain crest, and, passing through fair fields of maize and nodding grasses, must wia the town of Chalcis ere the sun has set. NEIL WYNN WILLIAMS. From Public Opinion. LITERARY PECULIARITIES: HENRY MURGER. ARMED with a letter of recommen- dation, M. Mend~s visited Murger early one morning, and tile following is his account of the interview And so, said Murger, you have come to Paris to take a hack at litera- ture? His voice was somewhat hoarse, but soft, for all that, and there was an expression of bitterness and sadness in it. I replied, Yes ; and if you will have the goodness to , I could say no more, and so I handed him my manuscripts, tied up with a little piece of silk string. He jumped up suddenly, seized the papers, tore them to pieces, and threw them out of tile win(Iow. Then lie paced the room. Will you get out of here, boy, said he suddenly, and never come back to Paris again! Almost terrified, I walked toward tile door, muttering, Oh, yes ; yes, sir; I beg your pardon. I did not know I will leave. Then he took me by the siloulder, led me to tile sofa, and made me sit down beside him. After a little while lie said Poor child I That Rivet is a fool to put such nonsense into your head. But for all tllat, I must beg your pardon. Stop a moment, and wcll have a chat. I like Rivet very much. I went to bed late last night. You woke me up, and I was in bad humor. But you write poetry, and want to write romances and plays? Yes, sir. 1 M. Henry Murger is the author of La Vie de Boh~me, whom Paris is about to honor with a monument. He folded his arms, and his head drooped. I am forty-four years old, said he. I have worked a great deal, I have a great deal of talent, and I am cele- brated. You have come to me because you consider tllat I have a great deal of talent and some celebrity. Look at this chamber where I slept last night. It is not mine ; it belongs to a friend of mine. He sleeps up-stairs. You see there is no bed in it. I have a home of my own, but I prefer to stay here on account of tile ringing of the door-bell which wakes me up every morning. This ringim]g is done by my creditors. There is tile butcher, the fruiterer, and the coal man ; they de- mand their money, and they are right. They are not rich ; they need their money, and a fellow is ashamed of be- ing unable to pay them. You have read Sc~nes de ha Vie de Boh~me? Thank you. But what can we do? We are bound to make fun of sad tllinos There is the wife, who gets up before you, and wilo says to you, Come, come, hurry up, get a move on you; (10 something. And she is right. She knows that there are not tllree francs in the house, and that we will want to Ilave breakfast by and by, notwitllstanding the fact that we took supper tile night before in the Bras- serie des Martyrs, or at the Belle Poule. It was to escape her tongue this morning that I slept here last night. Now, as for my plays and my books I make n~oney by them, do I? I sold the Vie de Bohbme for five ilundred francs. I am loaded with debts, and the Revue des Deux Jlfondes hardly ever gives me more thaml three tilousand francs for each romance. Of course you expected to find me lodged like a primice, and dressed in Oriental stuffs; but I sleep on a lounge, like a servant waiting for his master, amId to the concierge of the house across tile way I owe for the mending of the overcoat that I will put on by and by on my way to breakfast on credit at tile Brasserie des Martyrs. Oh I but I know now what you are thinking of. What matter about poverty, you Literary Peculiarities: henry .Miurger. Formosa and its People. say, when one has glory! Glory, my child, does not exist. If you had met me at the Cafe Veron with Scholl, or with Lambert Thiboust, or with Barribre, I might have talked to you in quite another tone. When one has had breakfast because we do manage to get that, God knows how when a fellow has received an advance from some jour- nal, and lie is sure of a good dinner and a seat at a first performance of a piece that a millionaire would pay ten louis for, he is gay and healthy and pleasant; but now it is morning, and the morning brings the recollection of the sad things of yesterday. It does not believe in the vanities of the even- ing. Well, I cannot invite you to breakfast, because, although I have got credit for myself, I have not got sufficient credit to invite a guest. To tell you the plain truth, I advise you to go away and remain far away froni us. That is the best advice that I can give you. Skip! lie shoved me toward the door, and I went down the stairs heartbroken. From The Journal des Voyages. FORMOSA AND ITS PEOPLE. FORMOSA, the island that China has ceded to Japan, deserves its name, since it is of marvellous beauty. The Portuguese called it Hermosa, and tile English-speaking world has substituted for that name the Latin equivalent. The most savage people of Formosa are the mountaineers called Igorrotes, or by the Chinese, Song-Fan (savage men). They are head-hunters, like their supposed relatives in Luzon, and their arms are spears, bows and arrows, and great knives. The people of the plains are called Pepo-hoans. Tiley resemble the Igorrotes, but the latter are usually smaller, though some of the savage mountain tribes are noted for stature and agility. Their arms are very long, and their feet enormous. They step upon the ground only with the front half of the foot, and seem to seize it in running. There is much 191 variety of physiognomy among tilem, and their great, rolling eyes inspire terror. They love to adorn themselves ~vith copper bracelets, collars, and belts of coarse glassware discs. The Igorrotes are famous for cruelty and ferocity, and they resort to ingen- ious stratagems for the discomfiture of their enemies. They have for the coast dwellers a traditional hatred, like that of the highlander for lowlander, and their descents are like those of the Welsh and Scotch mountaineers of early days upon the more civilized people of the lowlands. The savages keep watch from their mountain-tops for the approach of imprudent coast dwellers in search of wood or coal. When the lowlanders are seen at work, the savages glide down behind them by paths unknown to the strangers and fall upon them with lance and knife. Tue heads of the victims are cut off and their bodies are left lying at the scene of the butchery. The heads are treated so that they may be kept as trophies, and when one of these people has taken a certain number of heads lie obtains, by way of honor, the right to sell pipes. The pipes are bits of wood representing the human head. They are decorated with bits of copper. The Igorrotes do not possess a writ- ten alphabet, but besides expressing some things by tattooing, they keep the calendar by means of knotted strings. Titus they keep tally of the seasons and the years. But in spite of their ignorance of matters civilized, they have a deep cunning that aids their ferocity, and thUs they use in their frequent wars upon their more civilized brethren of the coast and upon tile Chinese strano~ers. The isl- and waters are especially rich in fish, and thUs has led to the formation of Chinese fishing villages upon the coast. These villages are apart from tue set- tlements of the Pepo-hoans, though the latter and the Chinese are ordinarily at peace. The Igorrotes some years ago formed a plan of attack upon some of the people of the coast. It was de- cided at a council of tue savages that they divide themselves into two bands, Formosa and its People. one to attack the Pepo-hoans, who seemed to be too much in league with the invading Chinese, the other to de- ~troy a Chinese fishing village. The (lescent was made in the middle of the night, the Pepo-hoans were slain or taken captive, all the crops were de- stroyed, and the savages retreated with their prisoners in order that none might be left at the scene of the mas- sacre to tell the story. Meanwhile a Chinese fishing village, five leagues away, was attacked and burned. So sudden was the descent that the fisher- men living in boats had not time to cut their moorings and escape. Only those absent fishing remained alive, and they ~did not dare return to the burning vii- lage. Before leaving the Pepo-hoan village the savages had dropped in various places articles that could be identified as of Chinese origin. At the Chinese village they likewise left relics of the Pepo-hoans, such as a gun of ancient pattern, rice measures, a hat made of bamboo leaves, and other such articles. Then after a cannibalistic feast the savages returned to the moun- tains. The object of this stratagem was to spread the belief among each group of enemies that the other and not the mountaineers had perpetrated the butchery. So well did the device work that for six months the Pepo- hoans and the Chinese colonists were in a state of hostility. THE QUEE1~T OF ITALY. In Rome the ~queen is sovereign. It is a very hospitable court. State dinners, receptions, concerts, and balls fill up the evenings, with fre- quent visits to the opera and theatres. Her great love for music brings her to all the good concerts of the season; at the Sala Dante or the Sala Umberto she is present, coming quite simply in the landau with the red liveries, and passes in with a single ~1ady-in-waiting. There is nothing more gratifying than to see the enthusiasm with which the queen is greeted and the natural ~grace with which she receives it. The greatest distinction at court is to receive ~an invitation to the Mondays of the queen, when Sgambati and Monachese lead her quintett of classical music, under the direction of Marchetti, her master. This is an event to be remembered. Not only is the music perfect, but the company, barely exceeding thirty persons, is com- posed of the queens ladies and their hus- bands, her lords-in-waiting, and a few private friends. These she welcomes in her own apartments, not only without a vestige of etiquette, but with a joyous gaiety which gives free scope to her esprit and conversational powers, which are, with- out exaggeration, superior to any other woman~ s in Italy. One can only regret that, owing to the intimacy of these r5 unions, so few are admitted to form a judg- ment of what the queen really is. Never is she more charming than when presiding in the famous Blue Saloon in a simple tollette, her abundant hair bound with jewels, and her well-shaped arms bare, beneath a can- opy of azaleas and roses clustering over her fauteuit; the walls around trellised with plants and blossoms. In the intervals of the music she rises and converses with each lady in turn, her soft laugh ringing oul among the flowers. In the Royal Palace ot Monza, situated between Milan and the Lake of Como, where she goes on leaving Rome, she is the comely gentlewoman par excellence, tending the flowers herself (the royal gardeners say she knows more of botany than they do) in certain beds which are reserved for her, as are parts of the garden where she walks alone. Later on at Gressoney, on the Italian side of Mont Blanc, which she visits every summer, as the intrepid Alpist she displays the most reckless courage on the glaciers. Always serene and smiling, she leads the way, the very picture of health and youth in her short Alpine dress. Indeed, it may be said of her with all respect, she has within her the makings of a fighting captain of the old house of Savoy. Of this quality of courage she has often given proofs, not only on the Alps, but on land, and in a royal progress from Naples to Palermo, when she insisted on starting in a terrific gale. Studious as she is, she loves movement and travel ; but, like all Italians, King Humbert prefers to stay at home, and except a State visit to Berlin and Vienna, this great pleasure has been denied her. Englishwoman. 192

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The Living age ... / Volume 207, Issue 2677 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. October 26, 1895 0207 2677
The Living age ... / Volume 207, Issue 2677 193-256

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Sixth Series, ?- No 2677 October 26 1895 Volume VIII ) I { From 13eginning, Vol. 00 Vii. CON T Ii N T S. MONTAIGNE. By L. E. Tiddeman, RACHEL AND LEAH,. DURHAM AND THE BISHOPS PALATINE, By William Connor Sydney, THE PRESENT CONDITION OF RUSSIA. By P. Kropotkin THE ROAD TO ROME. Conclusion, THE QUEENS PRIME MINISTERS. By S. Walpole WITH THOMAS INGOLDSBy IN KENT. By H. Morse Stephens emple Bar, THE FESTIVAL OF THE BROMO. By W. B. DAlmeida Graphic, MADEMOISELLE DE MAUPIN. By II. de Vere Stacpoole, ROCK-FOWLING DESCENDANTS OF CROMWELL AND ThEIR INTERMARRIAGE WITH THE STUAI~TS, CORK ON A BRASS SUNDIAL, Temple Bar, Macmillans Ma~jjazine, Gentlemans Magazine, Nineteenth Century,. Macmillans Magazine, Fortnightly Review, Temple Bar, Ghums, Public Opinion, P0 R TRY. 194 IN THE GARDEN, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTIOY. For EIGHT DOLLARS remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIvuiG 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 Livixco AGE, 18 cents. I. II. III. Iv-. V. VI. VII. VIII. Ix. x. XI. 195 201 205 215 228 237 244 251 253 254 256 194 194 Cork, etc. CORI(. IVE taken my ticket for Ireland, To see the old country once more; Though many a change has it witnessed Since last IL set foot on its shore. Im sure I could find the old places Made dear by past pleasure and joy, But Ill miss and Ill mourn for the faces I knew and I loved when a boy. Yes, off for Old Ireland Im starting To-day from the quays of New York. Ho ! porter, bring hither your brushes And label my luggage for Cork. Bright scenes that I never set eyes on All through the dear country abound, But in the poor days of my boyhood I could not go touring around: Now over the bless~d island Ill lovingly travel to see The spots that are beauteous and famous, And well I can tell where they be. Id have the full worth of the trouble And cost of my trip from New York If after I landed in Ireland I never went further than Cork. Ive got to return to Columbia, A limit Ive fixed for my stay; But many a treasure and token Ill bring from Old Ireland away. To crown and complete the collection, To lighten and brighten my life, Ill choose from the daughters of Erin A fond and a fair little wife. At present I know not the partner 1,11 bring to my home in New York, But one thing is perfectly certain, She will be and must be from Cork. Speaker. T. ID. S. ON A BRASS SUNDIAL. (Dated 1579.) You have marked the passing hours, Upwards of three hundred years; But there is never a sign nor a trace Of all you have seen and known; Never a glimpse in your face Of the gladness, the joy, and the tears, That have past in three hundred years. You were only to count the hours, Not the sorrows and woes of men, The hopes that were crushed and blighted The deeds that still live in story, The lives that were love-united, For love, alike now as then, Is the mightiest power amongst men. Time, which destroys so much, Whose servant and slave you are, Who holds the world in his grasp, And who slayeth all men at last For none may escape his clasp On love leaves never a scar; He is powerless to hurt and mar. For Time is of this world only, And though he doth all things slay, Yet for us remaineth a distant shore, Where he shall be powerless to harm us, Where love is triumphant forevermore, And doubt and distrust are passed away, And that which was faithful will ever stay. Academy. F. P. IN THE GARDEN. OUR plot is small, but sunny limes Shut out all cares and troubles; And there my little girl at times And I sit blowing bubbles. The screaming swifts race to and fro, Bees cross the ivied paling, Draughts lift and set the globes we blow In freakish currents sailing. They glide, they dart, they soar, they break. Oh, joyous little daughter, What lovely colored worlds we make, What crystal flowers of water! One, green and rosy, slowly drops; One soars and shines a minute, And carries to the lime-tree tops Our home, reflected in it. The gable, with cream rose in bloom, She sees from roof to basement; Oh, father, theres your little room! She cries in glad amazement. To her, enchanted with the gleam, The glamour and the glory, The bubble homes a home of dream, And I must tell its story Tell what we did, and how we played, And lived, divinely double A father and his merry maid, Whose world was in a bubble! Good Words. WILLIAM CANTON. Montaigne. 195 From Temple Bar, the errors of his neighbors, he did not MONTAIGNE. shrink from acknowledging his own. THERE are some among us who are Indeed, it is doubtful whether he did nothing if we are not orthodox; to not claim a larger share of them than such I would say eschew Montaigne. was his just (lue. His worst enemy It is better to submit to the ignominy could not denounce him more boldly of hearing his name mentioned by your than he denounces himself. The friends with ease and familiarity, while best virtue I have has in it some tinc- to you it is but a dead letter, than to ture of vice, says he ; and again, when set yourself the painful task of reading discoursing on Task and Theme, his writings. For painful the task Others have been emboldened to would inevitably prove from the stand- speak of themselves, because they have point of orthodoxy. The student of found worthy and rich subject in them- Montaigne must be prepared to lay selves. I, contrariwise, because I have aside all prejudice, nay, even to sup- found mine so barren and so shallow press, for the time being, some of his that it cannot admit suspicion of osten- dearest and most sacred convictions, tation. I willingly judge of other not to mention a certain refinement mens actions ; of mine, by reason of with which nature, and the increased their nullity, I give small cause to civilization of the nineteenth century, judge. I find not so much good in have endowed him. myself, but I may speak of it without La Bruybre said of Rabelais, Il blushing. passe bien an-del~ du pire quand il est There is a suspicion of self-gloriflca mauvais, et quand il est boa il va tion in the avidity with which lie ac- jusquk lexeellent et lexqnis. This knowledges his own shortcomings criticism would need to be somewhat described by his facile pen they are diluted before it could be applied to apt to take upon themselves the guise Montaigne; yet it would be idle to of virtues. We are touched by an odd deny that our insular sensibilities are sense of self-reproach if bound to con- apt to recoil at times from his freedom fess that we do not share all the foibles of speech, even while we make due of this easy, egotistical, self-satisfied allowance for the corrupt age in which l)hilosopher, rather than elated by any he flourished. The condition of mind conviction of moral superiority. And in which the cheery philosopher lived what are his faults ? Of those attrib and died was undoubtedly one of seep- uted by Macaulay to the literary char- ticism. His motto, Que scais-je ? acter, namely, vanity, jealousy, rinos in our ears as we turn over the morbid sensibility, one alone could pages of his essays. The doubts and be applied to him, and that only by his questionings which assail all thinking detractors, since between egotism and men from time to time were his con- vanity there is a wide gulf fixed. That stant companions. This is surely, to a Montaigne was the prince of egotists great extent, a question of tempera- cannot be denied ; he himself admits meat, nay, perchance, of heredity, as is it with characteristic artlessness in his also the effect which this very scepti- answer to Henry of Valois, who con- cisni produces on us. Some are crushed descended to express admiration of his down by it ; they go through the world book. Then, replied Montaigne, with bent head and downcast eye. with his whimsical smile, your Maj Others, on the contrary, are genial in esty must needs like me, for my book spite of their uncertainties, their laugh contains nothing but a dissertation on being just as heart-whole, even though myself and my notions. This state- called forth by the faults and follies ment is supported by another made of others. with equal freedom, to the effect that To this latter class Michel de Mon- the l)ublic might learn as much of him taigne belongs par excellence, but it in three days from his book as in three must be owned that, while pointing out years acquaintance. If this be true, 196 Montaigne. surely Montaigne may claim the first rank as biographer, for though he has not favored us with any circumstantial account of his own life, we find in his essays (letails as to his tastes, habits, prejudices, principles, hopes, fears, loves, and hates, given with an ac- curacy that may be called Boswellian. He had, it appears, no desire to figure before the world as a hero; on the contrary, he makes public parade of his selfishness, the commonest, but withal the most detestable of vices, for he affirms boldly that he is entirely uninterested in other peoples affairs, is insensible to any evils which do not touch him personally, and that he would as soon lend any man his blood as his pains, etc., etc., sentiments which many may entertain, but to which few would confess, and which hardly appear consistent with his ad- miration of the good and noble as exhibited in the character of others. We turn with relief from avowals such as these to his encomiums on the vir- tues of the poor, a class which at that period seemed to exist only to be op- pressed and trodden down by their wealthier neighbors. He laughs to scorn the philosophy of which he him- self had been so diligent a student, when contemplating the noble patience of his suffering retainers, during a time of pestilence which drove him, with many of his compeers, into safer and more sanitary quarters. The poor people whom we see scattered there, writes he, who know nothing of Aristotle or Onto, of example or precept, from them floes nature draw forth day by day results of firmness and patience more pure and abiding than those which we study so curiously in the schools. The sym- pathy which prompted this utterance is also to be traced throughout his essay on Cruelty. As for me, he says, I could never so much as endure, without remorse or grief, to see a poor, silly, and innocent beast pursued and killed, which is harmless and void of defence, and of whom we receive no offence at all. And as it commonly happeneth, that when the stag begins to be embossed, and finds his strength to fail him, having no remedy left him, doth yield and bequeath himself unto us that pursue him, with tears suing to us for mercy, was ever a grievous spectacle unto me. I seldom take any beast alive, but I give him his liberty. Pythagoras was wont to buy fishes of fishers, and birds of fowlers, to set them free again. And further on, still speaking of his friends, the harmless beasts,~ and in (lefence of his own soft-heartedness, lest anybody should jest at this sym- pathy which I have with them, Di- vinity itself willeth us to show them some favor; and considering that one self-same Master (I mean the incom- parable worlds Framer) hath placed all creatures in this his wondrous place for his service, and that they, as well as we, are of his household, I say it l)ath some reason to enjoin us to show some respect and affection towards them, etc., etc. And finally: I am not afraid to declare the tenderness of my childish nature, which is such that I cannot well reject my dog if he chance (although out of season) to fawn upon me, or beg me to play with him. In face of the exquisite tenderness of sentiments such as these, which are scattered broadcast throughout the es- say, we are tempted to believe that Montaigne belied himself, exaggerating his own shortcomings in his wish to be perfectly truthful. He professes to care for no one but himself, yet he loved his father dearly, guarded with jealous care the stick which the old man had use(l when walking, and wore during his own riding excursions the cloak which had been his property. Of this father he speaks with tender- ness and reverence, entering into mi- nute details of his personal appearance, and dwelling with loving insistence upon his erect figure, modesty of demeanor, and pleasing expression. Montaigne pare is described by his son as of a conscientiousness and reli- giousne ss tending rather towards su- perstition than towards the other extreme. But whatever his beliefs Mon taigne. were, it is evident that they stood him in good stead as a guide to life. He was, like his son, a courtier, but he kept his soul pure, and appears to have profited by La Fontaines advice Messieurs les courtisans cessez de vous d& ~truire, Faites si vous pouvez votre cour sans vous nuire. In educating his third son Michel, he put into execution a plan of his own devising, an outcome probably of cer- tain theories then prevalent, which strikes one as sufficiently original. Determined that the child should be familiar with the language of the an- cients, lie saw to it that none should address him in any but Latin, which was also spoken constantly in his hear- ing, and initiated him into the intrica- cies of the Greek declensions, together with arithmetical and geometrical prob- lems, with a gentleness and patience which did him infinite credit. Meanwhile the ~sthetic side of the boys nature was not neglected, for by express arrangement lie was awakened from his slumbers every morning by soft strains of music. No wonder that with such a training all that was idyllic and poetic in his temperament was fostered, no wonder that later on in life he devoted himself to the service of the Muses, gaining from no less a critic than his countryman Sainte-Beuve, the title of the French Horace. Neither at school nor at college did the youth exhibit any extraordinary ability, and on quitting the latter lie appears to have lived the life of a gay young man of the period, studying law in a ditettante fashion. Paris was not without its attractions for hihn, and his conduct unfortunately formed no ex- ception to that of his compeers in that dissolute age. Yet to the last he never lost his admiration for the gay city, that great city by which alone he was a Frenchman. Travelling in those days was not so easy a matter as it now is, but Mon- tai~ne made more than one journey, visiting both Switzerland and Italy, and enjoying to the full new scenes and new exl)eriences. 197 It was during one of these absences that he was elected mayor of Bordeaux, an office previously held by his father. In accepting this appointment lie dis- claimed all special qualifications, con- trasting himself unfavorably with his predecessor, and though lie fulfilled his duties satisfactorily, there is no doubt that lie laid down the sceptre of office more willingly than lie had taken it up; witness the announcement made upon his retirement to the clifiteau of P~ri- geux In the year of our Lord 1571, aged thirty- eight, on the eve of the Kalends of March, the anniversary of his birth, Michel de Montaigne, having been long weary of the slavery of courts and public employments, takes refuge in the bosom of the learned virgins. He designs in quiet and indiffer- ence to all things to conclude there the remainder of his life, already more than half past; and he has dedicated to repose and liberty this agreeable and peaceful abode which he has inherited from his ancestors. It was during his term of office that lie made the acquaintance of Etienne de Ia Boetie; in spite of the stress and pressure of a public life lie found time for a friendship that has become classic, a friendship so full of passion and ten- derness that it may be described as passing the love of women.~~ For four years only were the two knit together by links of love stronger than iron bands, for four happy years, whose chiarnis he has in some nieasure laid before us in his memorable essay on Friendship. For truly [he writes] if I compare the rest of my fore-passed life, which, although I have by the mere mercy of God passed at rest and ease, and, except the loss of so dear a friend, free from all grievous affec- tion, with an ever-quietness of mind, as one that have taken my natural and origi- nal commodities in good payment, without searching any others ; if, as I say, I com- pare it all unto the four years I so happily enjoyed the sweet company and most dear society of that worthy man, it is nought but a vapor, nought but a dark and irk- some light. I do but languish, 1 do but sorrow ; and even those pleasures all things present me with, instead of yielding me Montaigne. 198 comfort, do but re-double the grief of his loss. We were co-partners in all things all things were with us at half ; methinks I have stolen his part from him. A single quotation froni an essay such as this is, however, miserably in- adequate, it must be read and re-read. This remark with a few exceptions applies to the whole collection ; in ~whatever mood we may chance to be we have but to turn over the pages, and we shall indubitably light upon a chapter to suit that mood. Eight years before his retirement Montaigne had taken to himself a wife, Fran9oise de la Chassagne, but for her he makes no protestation of love, nor does he in his writings exalt the state of matrimony. Might I have had my own will, he says, I would not have married Wis- dom herself if she would have had me but tis to much purpose to evade it, the common custom and use of life will have it so. By his own confession his morality would not commend itself to our mod- ern views; it was such as was preva- lent among the French nobility of the sixteenth century, and the immortal essayist was according to some critics neither worse nor better than his neighbors. This assertion may be per- fectly true as regards his conduct, but the license which he permitted himself in writing, o utstepped, according to his own admission that of the age in which he lived. Yet he condescends to de- fend it by an appeal to his readers, whose tastes he professes to consult in the matter. That he succeeded in pleasing them is undoubtedly true, that he pleased himself also, by indulging a tendency which increased with increas- ing years, is also, it is to be feared, equally true. Yet in other respects lie was a man of honor. The law of honor, he says, seems to me far stronger and more weighty than that of legal obligation. I am throttled less tight by a lawyer than by myself. A goodly sentiment this, which some of us might do well to make our own. In his country home he sought re tirement, not solitude. The man who had found pleasure in court life was not likely to hide himself from his fel- lows; on the contrary, lie made a genial and pleasant host. Picturing him in this capacity we wish that there had been preserved to us some records of his conversation. Surely it must have been sufficiently liuniorous. His essay on Physic lies open before us I have a contemptuous indifference to medicine at ordinary times, but when I am taken ill, instead of coming to terms with it, I begin more thoroughly to hate and fear it, and I reply to those who press me to take physic that they must wait, at any rate, until I am restored to my usual health and strength, that I may be better able to stand the potency and danger of their com- pounds. This view is certainly a novel one, and taking into consideration the posi- tion which the science of medicine occupied in his time, not altogether so preposterous as it appears at first sight. We are even tempted to believe in the truth of his assertion that the doctors killed a friend of his (La Boetie), who was worth the whole of them put to- gether. The man who could write thus must have been good company on a winters evening, when the curtains were drawn, the fire burnt cheerily, and ruddy wine sparkled in the goblet. On his egotism we have already dwelt; it must have inspired much of his talk, since his essays, to quote Emerson, are but the language of conversation transferred to a book. Some of our ablest and most amusing writers have been but poor talkers. Montaigne, however, did not under- value the pleasures of discourse or shrink from an argument, ranking both higher than the profit to be gathered from the perusal of books. If I con- verse with a man of mind, and no flincher, who presses hard upon and digs at me right and left, his imagina- tion raises up mine; jealousy, glory, and contention stimulate and raise me up to something above myself; unison is a quality altogether obnoxious in conversation. Montaigue. This latter remark can only be taken as true in conjunction with another made by the same author: I can peaceably argue a whole day together if the argument be carried on with order. As he proceeds to enlarge upon this subject, we awaken to the fact that he must have proved a very formidable adversary, somewhat Socratic in his method of dealing with his opponent, sometimes feigning obtuseness, some- times probing, sometimes cross-ques- tioning, never wearying in his search for truths, always and under all condi- tions, master of himself. He was not a strong man, but he bore his ill-health patiently, relieving his mind at times by a description of his ailments, minute details as to his habits, and a painstaking account of the diet he found most suitable to his enfeebled constitution. It was in the year 1592, at the age of sixty, that Montaigne died. He had been ill of a quinsy, and lay speechless for three days. Shortly before his death he ordered the mass to be cele- brated in his presence, having through- out his life observed with more or less regularity the rites of the Romish Church, in whose doctrines he pro- fessed to believe implicitly, although he appealed in his writings to ancient philosophers such as Plutarch, Seneca, Socrates, rather than to the authority of the Scriptures. This fact may per- haps be accounted for by a desire to air, for the benefit of the public, some of the learning which he had acquired during an extensive study of classical literature, although he points out at every suitable opportunity whence he has drawn his inspiration. We can talk and prate, writes he, when discoursing on pedantism. Cicero says thus ; these are Platos customs; these are the very words of Aristotle ; but what say we ourselves ? what do we ? what judge we ? A par- rot would say as much. This is not the language of a man who is willing to let another think for him ; nor was it as a mere mouthpiece of the ancients that Michel de Mon 199 taigue gained celebrity. On the con- trary, his essays are remarkable before all else, because they marked a new departure in literature. 1-Je abjured the stilted style of writing hitherto in vogue, and setting a fashion of his own, spoke to the people in a language which all could understand, not of set purpose, upon set topics, but easily, and at random, upon any subject which chanced to appeal to him at the moment, some of such paramount in- terest as to be worthy his pen; others so trifling as to possess attraction only because it was he who wrote. His lan- guage was simple, strong, and power- ful. I refuse no phrase of those which run in the French streets. This is his own definition, a better one than can be offered by the most elabo- rate of critics. lie was proud of his native tongue, and held in derision fools who will go a quarter of a league out of their way to run after a new word. The spirit of truth breathes through- out every line, whether he is grave or gay, jesting, or in earnest, meditative or sarcastic. We have the man him- self, not the man as he would fain figure before an admiring audience Nous sommes tous ignorants; quant aux i~norants qui font les suffisants, us sont an-dessous des Binges. This sentiment of Voltaire Mon- taigne would certainly have echoed. He gives his opinions of life with un- sparing frankness.; oftentimes we dif- fer from them, but we never have to quarrel with the author for having ex- pressed them vaguely, or to reproach him for allowing us to waste precious time in unravelling his meaning from a labyrinth of words. He has faults prob- ably; no writer has ever set himself up so boldly as a target for the critics; but he is true to the core, and scanty as are the records of his daily life, offer- ing but meagre materials for a biogra- phy, we feel that we know him. Even in describing his personal appearance he is painfully realistic, setting before us the image of a thick-set, broadly built, clumsy little man, so undersized that the passers-by jostled and elbowed .Afontaigne. him, while the mud from the ill-kept streets freely bespattered him; having no dignity of bearing, with a loud and noisy voice ; restless and fidgety awkward with his hands; with eyes that could not be kept from wandering, etc., etc. This is not an inviting pic- ture ; it is possible that Etienne de Ia BoThe, using the same materials, but seeing his friend in the light of love, might have painted one more to our liking. But Michel de Montaigne had a holy hatred for shams and pretences, and was entirely real in the most unreal of ages. Truth was, with him, the first of all virtues. To be sincerely true, he says, is the beginning of a great virtue, and the first article Plato re- quireth in his Commonwealth. In these modern days our authors are interviewed so constantly that our imagination is but little taxed as to their surroundings and mode of life; we are even favored with engravings of their studies, wherein the writers are depicted, seated pen in hand at their own desks. Montaigne, in a short paragraph, places before us a picture of his retreat, the library in the tower of the chateau, from whose windows he could survey his entire domain; below it, in the second story, is his sleeping apartment; on the lowermost story of all his chapel. But no place is more entirely his own than this, his library. Elsewhere I have but a verbal essence of confused authority, he says, having previously explained that here his sway is so absolute that neither wife, nor child, nor acquaintance dare enter uninvited. Five racks or shelves held his precious books, his most cherished companions. It is with a charming abandon that he describes his method of reading them not certainly that adopted by the orthodox student. He read as he felt inclined, according to the mood which possessed him, and Michel de Montaigne had more moods than most men. There is a quaintness peculiarly his own in the following avowal If, in reading, I fortune to meet with any difficult points, I fret not myself about them, but after I have given them a charge or two I leave them as I found them. Should I earnestly plod upon them I should lose both time and myself, for I have a skipping wit. What I see not at the first view, I shall less see it if I opinionate my- self upon it. If one book seems tedious unto me I take another, which I follow not with any earnestness, except it be at such hours as I am idle, or that I am weary with doing nothing. He gave the preference to ancient authors, and it is probable that the poets Virgil, Lucretius, Catullus, Hor- ace, Lucan, Terence, etc., were often taken down from their shelves. His criticisms and eulogies of his favorite poets are as simple and to the point as the rest of his utterances, but withal acute, painstaking, and scholarly. In this instance he not only tells us what he likes, but also the reason for his liking, and on such a point his opinion should be of some value ; nor does he, in o~iving it, lay himself open to the raillery of the younger Scaliger, who so indignantly repudiated the great essay- ists inveterate habit of confiding to the public his likes and dislikes, char- acterizing it as, La grande fadaisse de Montaigne, qui a ~crit quil aimait mieux le via blanc que diable a ton h faire de s~avoir ce quil aime? In answer to this remonstrance Mon- taigne might have pointed to words used in his preface, wherein he plainly indicated that he was the subject of his own book, and that he wrote for no other end but what was domestic and private. Yet at the present day his essays are translated into almost all European languages, John Florio and Cotton having rendered them in English, the latter, it is generally con- sidered, with the greater faithfulness. It was this translation to which Emer- son so constantly referred. He found it lying neglected in his fathers library, and records the delight and wonder with which he pored over its contents, feeling as though he had himself written it in a former life. This corresponds with the verdict on his essays given by another of his ad- mirers: On y trouve tout ce quon a jamais pensd. ~2OO Rachel and Leah. Surely this is high praise ; surely, also, it has been re-echoed by hun- dreds of readers in more modern days. He wrote, according to his own state- ment, to please himself, not with any rule or method, but just as the fancy seized him ; in following thus idly wherever the star of his genius led him, he succeeded in pleasing others. Nay, perchance, though he harbored no such purpose, he taught them also, since in the year 1833 Emerson came upon the tomb of a certain Auguste Collignon at P~re la Chaise, and paus- in~ to rea(I the inscription, found it asserted of the dead man, that he lived to do right, and had formed him- self to virtue on the essays of Mon- taigne. The words read strangely contrasted with those attributed to Addison and printed in The Spectator Perhaps the most eminent egotist that ever appeared in the world was Montaigne, the author of the celebrated essays. This lively old Gascon has woven all his bodily infirmities into his works ; and after having spoken of the faults and virtues of any other men, immediately publishes to the world how it stands with himself in that particular. Had he kept his own counsel he might have passed for a much better man, though, perhaps, he would not have been so diverting an author. The title of an essay promises, perhaps, a discourse upon Virgil or Julius Calsar, but, when you look into it, you are sure to meet with more upon Monsieur Montaigne than of either of them. This is perfectly true, but in spite of his egotism (perhaps in virtue of it), in spite of his numerous faults, in spite of the selfishness he so openly pro- claims, in spite of passages which repel and shock, Monsieur Montaigne lives still, and thousands reserve a warm corner in their heart for the cheery, genial gossip, who unconsciously, but none the less effectively, produced a revolution in an important branch of literature, sweeping the path clear of pedantry for such as should care to follow in his footsteps. He lives still, because he dared to tell the truth, whether speaking of himself or ad- dressing others. The fears that make traitors of most of us did not assail him, or if at times this was the case, he laughed them to scorn. He lives still as Shakespeare lives, although three hundred years have passed since the death which he contemplated so fearlessly, and which lie characterized as of a piece with life, reft him from his pleasant country home with all its familiar associations ; he lives still in the pages of the book which we finger lovingly ; he lives still in the motto he was so fond of inscribing, that per- petual interrogative which has haunted other minds than his, and will continue to haunt them, Que scais-je ? L. E. TIDDEMAN. From Macmillans Magazine. RACHEL AND LEAH. AND so that was the end of it? That was the md of it, yer Honor. And there was nobody hanged? How would tbere be, yer Honor? Didnt I tell ye, she swore she didnt see the one that done it? ~ And do you believe that? Well, Im not sure that I do, said Murty, scratching his red head ; hut it might be thrue for all that. We had come over the mountain by a short cut, from the fishing which I had rented for some years past, on our way to the cottage where I spent my summer holidays; and my henchman, Murty OSullivan, and I were resting after the steep ascent, and looking down at a comfortable farmhouse in the plain, where an old man had been mur- dered during the past winter. That was the md of it, repeated Murty after a long pause; but meself thinks the beginning was as bad, or worse. But you never told me the begin- nina said I. Yes I did, but yer Honor misre- mimbers. Begannies yer right; I was goin to tell it to ye last year, the day we hooked the big salmon near Innis- buy, and that fairly put it out of me head. This is how it was. Ye remimn 201 202 Rachel and Leah. bers Norry Ollalloran, the ould mans death for nearly a year, and thin he youngest daughther? Of coorse ye died; and the father he tuk sick wid does. Manys the time ye noticed her frettin afthei the boy, and he got a whin she was a shlip of a girl, and grate impression on the heart, and a the beautiful goolden head of her, and tearin cough, and he died too, and the big eyes that was nayther blue nor Patsy come into the farm; and then black, but like the deep of the sky be- ould OHalloran made no more objeck- hiad the full moon in the summer shun, and Patsy and Norry was to be night; and tisnt wanst nor twice that married that Shrove. we come on her unbeknownst, when Faix twould make ye young agen herself and Patsy Foley was coortin, (not that yere be any manner of manes and we on our way to the river, whin so ould as meself, God bless ye) to see yer Honor and meseif was younger, them two when theyd be meetin be and the pains wasnt in me bones as accident, forsooth, at the crass roads, they is now. Tisnt so long ago, or for that matther anywhares ; the ayther, but were goin down hill, light would be in her eyes, like the theres no denyin it, and tis a little glancen of the mornin off a mountain stone will thrip ye whin the road is lake wid the shadows of the hills all steep down, and yer a bit tired ; but round it ; and as for him, whin hed thats nayther here nor there, and yer be walkin along the road, hed shtip Honor anyways is a fine man yet, God that proud, yed think he wouldnt bless ye. brake an egg. But the Divil was walk- Well, ye know very well, and I ing about too, or Im grately mishtaken, neednt tell ye, that in this counthry and the ould priest that was always the matches is mostly made by the ould tightin him and batin him, was away people, an(l the young ones has little to in Dublin, whare he tuk the faver, and say to thim. Tis manys the boy and there was no man in the parish but the girl that never sees aich other even, coadjuthor, an(l he was a sthranger and till the ould ones has agreed upon the young; and the Divil was ould and match ; and very covetyous they does crafty. be about the fortune, and as most of it Well, as ye very well knows (for is in cattle, theyll brake it off for the ye has an eye for a purty girl yet, small sake of one heifer or even of a little blame to ye for that same, if any), miser of a calf. OLmId OHalloran was Norry was a girl that a man would a sthrong farmer, and well-to-do, and notice even if he was sellin a pig at the lie had only the two (laughthers, Norry fair and a buyer was comm to-wards and Ju(ly, and no son; and that was him, and she was as good as she was quare, for he had two wives, and Judy purty; God help the crayture this day; was the daughther of the first, and a and there was others that had an eye good bit oldher than Norry. on her besides poor Patsy. There was Patsys father had a dacent farm Thade Mulcahy at the cross roads, a too, and the grass of ten cows ; but he sthroug farmer, wid the grass of twinty had another son, and Patsy was the cows and money in the bank besides, youngest, and the landlord was always and he a widdy wid only two childher, death aginst dividin farms, and meself and he thrown an eye on her wid a doesnt blame him for that same ; so long time. I knows it bekase of a OHalloran wouldnt agree anyways to raison. He meets ould OHalloran at a match between Norry and Patsy. the fair, and they goes and they has a Well, maybe ye remimbers, that dhrop together, and Tom, ses he, one night, two year ago or more, Tim isnt this a quare thing Im afther (that was the eldher son) got a con- hearen, that yere ~oin~ to marry Norry thrairy sthroke from a boy of the before the eldher sisther? OLearys, and he comm from the fair, AhI dont be talkin, says the and havin a dhrop taken, more be other; sure no wan would marry token, and he lingered on the hinge of Judy, along of the blind eye of her; Rachel and Leah. moreover, she have a tongue, as maybe 1 ye knows. Och ! what matther ? ses Mulcahy. All wimin has tongues; and as for the blind eye, shtick a ten- pound note in it, like an ould hat in a windy, and ye may take yer affidavy no man will see the hole. Ould Ollalloran said nothin, but he tuk a dhraw of the pipe, and he kep his eye on the other, and they havin a noggin of whiskey aich of them, and dhrinkin always. Afther a good spell he says, What would I do wid Korry thin? Twouldnt be dacent to lave her widout a husband afther whats past and gone. Whisper, ses Mulcahy. I know a man that will take Norry, and wont ask for much fortune ayther. They parted so; for I know it from one that heard them, though they didnt think it. Well, Patsy and Norry ~vas to be married in her fathers house ; for in this wild counthry they houlds to the ould custom still, though in Cork and Tipperary Im tould they wont be contint unless theyre married in the chapel. Somebody (I wont mintion names) gets hould of the poor boy, and gives him more of the whiskey than he can carry along wid his sinses, and the 0111(1 divil of a father enticed poor Norry into the barn, and turned the kay on her, and she dhressed for her weddin and all and they kep a little blaggard boy of ould Mulcahys outside, to be batin the pig from time to time, in the way the people wouldnt hear her screechin; and the fool of a coad- juthor, who was just loosed from May- nooth, and who thought it a sin to look any kind of a horse godmother of a woman in the face, married him in the dusk to Judy ; and as they had been slashin about the whiskey for the last two hours, I dont believe any single soul was aware of it, except thim that was in the saycret. Afther a while they puts the light to the candles, and they goes to supper and Patsy was gettin a little sober by that time, and he looks about, and he sees Judy sated alongside of him. Wheres Norry? ses he. What dye want of Norry ? ses she. What do I want of her? ses he, laughin. Why wouldnt I want her, and I married to her? Indeed yer not, ses she. Yer married to me. Oh, the poor fellow ! Yed pity him when he found it was thrue. And oh, Father John, ses he, cant ye untie it? Do in the name of the great God, and his blessed Son. Sure tis well ye know, and all of ye knows, twas a mistake. And whia he saw it couldnt be done, he fell down on the flure in a faint, and he cried like a child. The people they was ashamed like, and they melted away one by one, and thin Judy she come up to him, and, What are ye cryin about, ses she, and dis- gracin me? Get up out of that, or maybe Ill give ye something to cry about. Well ? said I, after Murty had been a long time silent; for all this was news to me. ~Vell, sir, thats all. But what has that got to do with the murder? Ah replied lie slowly, as if col- lecting his thoughts. Ill tell ye. Patsy was never the same man since. The wife have the whip.hand of him, no doubt, except when lie have the dhrop taken, and thin lies dangerous, and lie takes it fraquently now. As for Norry, maybe yev noticed (for ye notices many things) a praty garden in the summer time wid the bloom on it, fresh and smihin in the mornin, aiid rich wid the promise of the harvest; an(l the poor man that owns it walks round in the evenin, and he takes off his ouhd hat, and lie thanks God for the good provision for his poor chihdhier in the winter time. And in the night there comes a blast, and a mist from the sea, and next mornin the stalk withers, and in place of the perfume of the flower there is a stink, and for bloom there is blackness, and the win- ters hope is faded and gone. It was that way wid poor Norry. No man could make her marry Mulcahy, and 203 Rachel and Leah. they gave it up; but she just dhried up and withered. Her temper went, and her beauty. She said nothin, but if she had poured out curses on the ould mans head out of a bucket, I think lie would have been better plazed. He was silent again, and his eye wandered over the plain beneath us, till I saw it settle on the farmhouse, where a tall, powerful woman was driv- ing a flock of turkeys from the door. Look at her, said lie ; rich, and warm, and well-to-do. Ye would think, if ye had no sinse, that God was weak, and that it was better to sarve the Divil. Ye axed me, sir, w hat was the md of it. I am only a simple man; but I dont believe the md of it is vet. Well, they was married, as I tould ye. The old man gave the half of the farm to Judy, she to pay the nut of it, of coorse but divil a fartliin would she pay, and she tould him so plump and plain, so he sarved her wid notice of ejectment at waust ; thinkin that would bring her to raison. Divil a bit. She just wint mad, and more thin one heard her to say that shed throttle the ould villain. One winters mornin, before the fair of Glanbeg, he was found dead in his bed,sure enough, and they hadan inquist on him; and whin the jury cum to view him, there was the mark of the fingers on his throat black and plain. There was no one in the house but himself and Norry, and they slep up-stairs in a loft wid a wooden wall between them. The pohiss they arrested Norry, and they tuk her before the crowner. Ye may sind me to jail, ses she, or ye may relase me ; I dont cai~e; but Ill tell ye all I knows. I heard a noise in the latther md of the night. I thought it might be the ould man gettin up, for he intinded to go to the fair airly wid some heifers. Thin it sounded a little quare, as if he was chiokin, and all at wanst it flashed on me that Judy was throttlin him, as she swore she would! And didnt you get up and see? asked the crowner. Why would I? said she. Twas no business of mine. Moreover, I knew, if it was Judy, shed throttle me too. Shes well able, ses she, liould- ing up the poor arms that was once se beautiful and round, and that you couh(l now amost see the daylight through. Yer own father ! ses the crowner. Father ! ses she. That was all she sed. And what did ye do? axed one of the jury. I turned round and wint to sheep till mornin. What else would I do? And wliin I got up, the door between the rooms was locked on the inside, and whin I come round the ould man was dead as ye seen. Why would I kill him? If I wanted to kill him, said she bittherly, I should have killed him before IL was born. Twas terrible to see her, wid the tired voice of her, and the eyes like the eyes of the dead. The pohiss they tuk up Judy of coorse; but where was the proof? Norry swore she didnt see her; behike twas thrue for her, and they had to let her go; and Korry sold her share in the farm to Judy, and wint away to America. And what was the verdict of the coroners jury? Well, first they wanted to bring in a verdict of manslaughter agin Judy, as there was no proof of the murder; but the crowner wouldnt take it, for some raison; and so they brought in a verdict of Died by the visitation of God under suspicious circumstances. The crowner lie do be very conthrairy in himself at times, and, faix, he wanted them to have out the latter part of it ; but they wouldnt listen to him any more; and sure now wasnt that a very fair verdict, yer Honor? The hand of God was in it anyways, for the ould man deserved what he got; and there was suspicion enough agia Judy likewise. Well, thats one way of looking at it; but its hard to believe, after all, that his own daughter killed him, said I. 204 205 Durham and the Bishops Palatine. Kill him, is it? Me own opinion mer glory. The city is, in short, an is, that theres a good many more than index to the national history. It is her in this barony, who if they had a one of the clearest, most intelligible, dispute about a bit of land wid him, records of its life, the reflection of its theyd throttle the pope ! thoughts and emotions, its progress and retrogression alike in sunshine and ____________ in storm. From The Gentlemans Magazine. When the rude Dane burn d their pile, DURHAM AND THE BISHOPS PALATINE. The monks fled forth from Holy Isle: Oer northern mountain, marsh, and Fon every lover of the historic and moor, autique, for those who delight in the From sea to sea, from shore to shore, contemplation of ancient memorials, Seven years Saint Cuthberts corpse they there are few more pleasurable expe- bore. riences than the perambulation of an old cathedral city. The venerable pile Chester-le-Street and Ripon saw itself, sprung from the majestic past, His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw those colossal times which are depart- Haild him with joy and fear; ing almost daily, with lingering steps, And after many wanderings past He chose his lordly seat at last, from the heart of the land, and furling Where his cathedral huge and vast, tile mighty shadows that they cast, is a Looks down upon the Wear; sign and symbol of the faith of which There, deep in Durhams Gothic shade, it is the offspring. Mens thoughts His relics are in secret laid. wander back to the times when its foundations were laid, and dwell upon The reader who is familiar with the its associations which hitherto, perhaps, poetry of Sir Walter Scott will have no have been only names in the pages of difficulty in recalling the source of tile history or romance. Recollections and foregoing lines. They form part of hopes crowd upon the mind together. the second canto of Marmion. The past and the future join hands ; Poetical though they be, they have the and bygone greatness, it is felt, is the merit of expressing, with a fair ap- ~gis and the screen beneath which proximation to exactitude, the rise of high hearts have caught true inspira- Durham cathedral, one of the fairest tion for the work which it has been glories of all Northumbria. reserved for later days to recognize and For the origin of this stately founda- to know. Durham is a case in point. tion we must go some distance away A walk through the grey, venerable, from the fane itself. Off the coast of time-worn city, redolent of ancient Northumberland, and within sight of glories, brings vividly before the mind land, there is a group of islands known of the intelligent and imaginative pil- as Fame Islands. One of thlem, Lin- grim the early period of British history, disfarne, or Holy Island as it is often the very beginnings of the ilistory of called, in the seventh century was tile that country which we now know as seat of a Scottish monk named Aidan, England. Here, perhaps for tile first and his brethren. Holy Island was a time, he realizes the missions of Cuth- retreat well adapted for religious m~ldi- bert and Columba, and the pathetic tation, and was rendered solemn by struggles of Christianity with Pagan- the presence of the fretting and chafing ism. Here too, perhaps for the first German Ocean, the restless tide of time, he realizes the spirit of the which daily excluded the residents from Norman Conquest, and the successive those who dwelt on the mainland. shiftings of the political fortunes of Here, in course of time, Aidan died, the land which. by the beginning of the and the sixth of his successors was present reign, had reduced that strange Cuthbert. Much uncertainty wraps remnant of the Norman sway, the the life of this holy man. Probably Bishop Palatine, to a shadow of his for- the personality of no other Northuni Durham and the Bi8hops Palatine. brian saint has been so obscured by the monkish chroniclers with the gaudy pigments of wonder and of mystery. Some musty records of monastic ex- istence aver that he was of regal ex- traction. Others maintain that in his youth he had been a shepherd, and became a Churchman in consequence of an extraordinary vision. Be that as it may, a Churchman he certainly be- came, and, being canonized after his death, it was fitting that he should become the patron saint of the diocese. The eighth century was one of tur- moil in England, and by the close of it Korthumbria was overrun by the Danes. Monastic establishments had no peace, and the good brethren of Lindisfarne were fain to abandon their quiet sea-girt home, and to go forth, like one of old, not knowing whither they went. St. Cuthbert had directed that when he died his body should be buried in a stone coffin, in the oratory of his hermitage at Fame, a dreary island whither he had retreated to lead a more austere life than that which was led by his more luxurious brethren. Nor was that all. The saint had or- dered that if the island should ever be invaded by Pagan Danes, whose in- cursions were so disquieting to the peaceful Christians who dwelt on the mainland, his brethren should flee, bearing his bones with them. In the year 687 the holy man departed this transitory life, and his body was sol- emnly enshrined, contrary to his ex- press wishes, on the right side of the high altar. Local tradition still loves to assert that St. Cuthbert yet retains an affection for the residence at Lindis- fame which he occupied while in the flesh, that he often revisits it in the glimpses of the moon, and on one of the rocks, which he uses as an anvil, forges what are popularly called his beads. Sir Walter Scott was thinking of this quaint tradition when compos- ing his Marinion, and some of our readers will remember how, in the second canto of that beautiful poem, he represents the nuns of St. Hildas Abbey, on the Yorkshire coast, as sending to their sisters of Lindisfarne in order to ascertain the authenticity of that marvellous legend, the truth of which, however, on ~ priori grounds, they were affecting to reject : But fair St. ilildas nuns would learn If, on a rock by Lindisfarne, St. Cuthbert sits and toils to frame The sea-borne beads that bear his name: Such tales had Whitbys fishers told, And said they might his shape behold, And hear his anvil sound; A deadend clang, a huge dim form Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm And night were closing round. But this, as tale of idle fame, The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. In the eighth century the hour dreaded so many times came in real earnest. Before, however, the bar- barians swooped down upon Lindis- fame their prey had fled. Bishop Earduiph and his numerous colony of monks had received the alarm, and had departed, bearing with them the body of St. Cuthbert and other precious relics in one shrine. From place to place the brethren wandered, vainly seeking, like the patriarchs dove, re- pose for the soles of their feet. At length, in 882, Eardulph established his see at Chester-le-Street. Here, in this retreat, calm religion sweetened the hours of those retired from the world and its vain allurements, and here the poor, the sick, the father- less, the widow, and the weary trav- eller found at all times a comfortal)le asylum. For one hundred and thir- teen years Chester-le-Street was un- troubled by the presence of the Danes but they came at last. The good monks were again compelled to fly with their burden to IRipon in York- shire, and when the road was clear and the land had rest they quitted Ripon, intending to return to their forsaken cathedral on Holy Isle. On the road, however, they came to a spot called Wrdelau, an eminence which commands a fine prospect of the vale of the Wear. Here the ark containing the body of St. Cuthbert became suddenly fixed and immovable. Hard as the monks tried, it resisted all their efforts to remove it. It was a sign, said some, 206 from Heaven, that the saint had no desire to return to his former earthly abode. For three days the monks con- tinued in prayer and fasting. At length the saint appeared to one of the monks in a dream, and bade them direct their steps to Dunheim. Imme- diately they obeyed, and their wander- ings ceased. On the summit of a peninsula which was formed by the windings of the river Wear, a tem- porary receptacle for St. Cuthberts body was erected. Soon a small city was formed in the vicinity, and before the close of the tenth century St. Cuth- berts body was borne with honor to a church of stone which Aidhun, the bishop, with the assistance of Uhtred, Earl of Northumberland, and all the population between the Coquet and the Tees, had reared in his honor. Yet a little while, and this church, solid and durable as it was, passed away to make room for a nobler and statelier fane. It is this magnificent structure which still meets the eye of the visitor to Durham, and presents in its massive strength one of the finest specimens of the architecture of the Normans which Western Christendom can boast. We must warn our readers at this point that our aim is now strictly indi- cated by the title of this paper, and that we do not propose to trace the his- tory of Durham in itself, or to attempt any archicological discussion either of the city or of the cathedral, Whose massive arches broad and round, That rise alternate, row and row, On ponderous columns short and low, Built ere the art was known, By pointed aisle and shafted stalk The arcades of an alley d walk To emulate in stone. What we shall attempt is simply to discuss, within brief limits, the rise, growth, progress, and fall of that order of prelates whom Durham sheltered for seven centuries, and to indicate their position in the political history of the realm. Dire as was the havoc which the Danish invaders and the Scottish marauders wrought upon Durham and 207 its vicinity, direr still were the ravages which William the Conqueror and his satellites wrought by fire and sword at a subsequent period. The north of England obstinately resisted the Nor- man duke. It was useless merely to vow vengeance against the provinces. By slicer force of arms alone could the inhabitants be subjugated. To this end the Conqueror sent one of his nobles, Robert Comyn by name, to en- force his sovereignty. At the head of seven hundred men the haughty and imperious Coniyn marched into Dur- ham. Egeiwin the bishop, who had wisely acknowledged the Norman duke as his sovereign liege, besought the new coiner to be merciful towards the citizens ; but it was useless to prefer such a petition. Disdaining all entrea- ties the intrepid Comyn passed on. On the following morning the townsfolk of Durham found the foe at their gates. The soldiers who had been dispersed within the city they soon vanquished, the house in which Comyn took refuge they set on fire, and in the flames the rash warrior perished. Awful was the retribution which William the Con- queror exacted when he received these tidings. Placing himself at the head of his army, lie marched to Durham to avenge the death of Comyn. Ills march was traced in characters of blood. Every village for a distance of sixty miles between York and Durham was razed to the ground. Neither age nor sex was spared. Even the sanctity of the monastic cloister failed to afford any protection from the sword of the relentless avenger. When the horrible work of carnage was over, but not till then, the miserable people submitted to the Norman yoke. Powerless to offer further resistance, the people remained quiet. On the death of Egeiwin, Wil- liam offered the see of Durham to one of his creatures, Waiclier, a native of Lorraine. Waicher accepted the see, rind not long afterwards, on the death of Waltheof, was created Earl of North- umberland by the king. In these circumstances that is to say, in the union of the ecclesiastical and the secular elements in the see of Durham and the Bishops Palatine. 208 Durham originated those palatine privileges and that temporal jurisdic- tion which form so peculiar a feature in its after history. At the time of the Norman Conquest the see of Durham was one of the richest in all England. Its territorial possessions had been in- creased by successive benefactors until the riches of the succession of the apos- tolic fathers contrasted singularly with the poverty and lowliness of him who, when on earth, had not where to lay his head, to say nothing of that poverty which was so cheerfully endured by the great Apostle to the Gentiles, in order that he might preach the Gospel of the Nazarene. Lest any misconception should arise concerning the term palatine, it may be proper here to remark that it originated in the palace of the By- zantine emperors, and signified, in its simple and restricted sense, nothing more than an inhabitant of the palace. Subsequently the term came to denote an officer of the household, a governor of a province with extensive delegated powers. Finally, when those poten- tates grew sufficiently powerful to make themselves feared by their masters, a palatine came to mean a feudal prince who owed little more than a nominal subjection to the paramount sovereign .~ The testimonies of a long line of great authorities, beginning with Camden and ending with Surtees, has demonstrated the fact that the pal- atine franchise of Durham began after the Norman Conquest. From the time of Walcher, who was appointed to the see of Durham previously to 1082, the successive prelates of the see were half warrior, half ecclesiastic. For four hundred years, within the limits of the county palatinate, the Bishops of Dur- ham owned no earthly superior, and exercised every right which belonged to a distinct and independent sover- eignty. At this juncture the question arises, why was it that the Conqueror initiated this royal franchise ? To answer this question we need little information be- 1 Surtees, History of Durham, C. ii. Durham and the Bishops Palatine. yond that which is to be found in the well-furnished and extensive work of Surtees. Scotland lay in close proximity to Durham. It was in Scotland that Ed- gar Atheling, the Saxon heir of En- gland, was sheltered at the time of the Norman invasion. It was the sister of Edgar Atheling, moreover, who was the wife of Malcolm, the Scottish king. The Norman duke knew full well that there was every likelihood of Scotland being at all times both an active and a vigilant enemy. Nor was William so blind as not to see that the northern province would always be restless un- der his severe and galling yoke, and that in consequence it would always be insecure. Thus, at such a distance from the capital, it was imperative that a power should be placed capable of acting in cases of emergency with promptitude and vigor. Nor can we wonder that motives of prudence should have actuated the Conqueror to delegate such an important trust to a wise and loyal Churchman, who was not only a nominee of the crown, but a vassal of the crown, in preference to an hereditary nobleman, who was less easily conciliated, and already possess- ing an amount of local influence not lightly to be despised. Here, then, we see the motives which influenced the king to invest the Bishops of Durham with secular powers. We have next to consider the making of those powers. Here, again, the aid of Surtees must necessarily be invoked. To hold paramount seigno- rial property in all lands to enjoy the privileges of escheat, forfeiture, and wardshipto possess mines, wastes, forests, and chases to exercise su- hrelue jurisdiction, both civil and mil- itary, alike along the coast and in navigable and other watersand to hold the royal privilege of the mint these were all included in the extensive franchise of the Bishops of Durham, the various branches being either gen- erally or individually ratified by ex- press confirmation or exception in various successive acts of Parliament. It is to be noted that the limits of this Durham and the Bishops Palatine. 209 remarkable franchise were at all times liberately set fire to the fane, and co-extensive with the boundaries of the Waicher, in endeavoring to escape, was palatinate, which, at the death of Wil- cut (lown by the sword of an unknown ham the Conqueror, included the chief assailant. His mangled corpse was part of the district that lay between the subsequently picked up by the monks Tees and the Tyne, the districts of of Jarrow, who conveyed it to Durham, IBe(llington, No rham, Holy Island, and and reverently interred it in secret Craike, besides Hexhainshire, the city within the cathedral. The murder of of Carlisle, and a district in Teviotdale. Walcher aroused the vengeance of his The jealousy of Henry III., it is true, friend and patron, the Conqueror, once deprived the Bishops of Durham, at a again. A large army, commanded by late period, of the three last-mentioned Odo, the military Bishop of Baycaux, districts, but the accessions of other once more ravaged the unfortunate property in subsequent ages amply province, and the guilty and innocent compensated them for such losses, perished alike at the edge of the sword. Seeing now the nature and extent of But, cruel as William the Conqueror the jurisdiction and possessions of the was, lie was also innately superstitious. Prince Bishop of Durham, let us glance Fearing that the vengeance of heaven briefly at the rolls of the successors would overtake him for his relentless in the see. These rolls begin with cruelty, he salved his conscience by Walcher, who was a favorite with the making rich offerings to the church of first Norman king, though lie did not Durham. lie restored a golden crucifix live long to enjoy the honors which studded with gems, the pontifical robes, his royal master heaped upon him. and other accessories of divine wor- Waicher was by birth a nobleman, a ship, and made some additions to the native of Lorraine, and distinguished monastic lands, and, after keeping thie alike by the fame of his sanctity and his see vacant for half a year, lie event- extensive learning. But lie failed to nahly filled it by the appointment of exercise his palatine powers with either William de Karilephio, who continued moderation or discretion, nor were to retain it until the accession of Wil- those to whom he delegated his powers ham Rufus. Participating in an insur- in the least worthy of the trust whiichi rection on behalf of the claim of he reposed in thiem. The archdeacon, Robert, the eldest son of the Con- Leof win, and Gilbert, Walchiers kins- queror, the bishop was compelled to fly man, were both charged withi malver- from the country and to take refuge in sation in their respective offices. The Normandy. Subsequently he was re- first plundered the treasures of the stored to the see by the good favor of Church; thie second tyrannized over Rufus, and employed part of its ample the people. Liulph, a Saxon noble, revenues in thie work of erecting a new having informed Waichier of the mis- cathedral on plans which he hind exe- conduct of his satellites, became the cuted in France. At the same time a victim of. a midnight assassination, large collection of books and ornaments The populace, disgusted at the escape which lie hind amassed during his exile of his murderers, denounced Waicher was presented by him to the church. as an accessory to his death. Walchier, The bishop lived to see only a portion iii self-defence, convened a council at of his projected cathedral rise beneathi Gateshead, amid appeared in person the cunning hand of the builder. In- with a few attendants. Here the cry curring the displeasure of the king for of Slay the bishop ! was the signal the second time he was forced to quit f@r a violent attack upon his person. his northern residence and to appear His bodyguard was soon vanquished by before thie king at Windsor Castle in the infuriated rabble, and Wahchier, as the winter of 1095. But illness over- a last resource, took sanctuary within took him on the road, and within a the church. Determining not to be very short timne after his arrival Wil- foiled in their prey, his pursuers de- hiamn de Karilepho had expired. By LIVING AGE. YOL. VIII. 37S Durham and the Bishops Palatine. his express wish he was buried on the north side of the chapter-house at Durham, a spot which continued to be the place of sepulchre of his successors for several generations. Praise and blame ia equal proportions seem to have been bestowed upon this prelate, who, with many virtues, was not desti- tute of faults which are incidental to human nature. From the days of Wil- liam the Red to the days of Henry the Eighth, the power and glory of the County Palatine of Durham rivalled that of the monarchy. But there was something essentially different in the character of each successive occupant of the palatinate throne. Perhaps the most noteworthy of Bishop Karilephos immediate successors was Hugh Pud- sey, archdeacon of Winchester and treasurer of York, who was elected to the see in 1153, when he was only in his twenty-fifth year. His noble birth and personal accomplishments ren- dered him very popular both among clergy and laity, and in 1188 King Henry the First commissioned him to levy a tax throughout Scotland for his proposed expedition to the Holy Sep- nichre at Jerusalem. Subsequently, however, Pudsev incurred the displeas- ure of Richard the First, and died at Howden, near Durham, in 1195. His works of public munificence were both numerous and substantial. It was he who added the Galilee or West Chapel to the cathedral, who erected a sumptu- ous shrine for the relics of the ven- erable Bede, and added a golden cross and chalice to the ornaments of the cathedral. To him the citizens of Durham owed the restoration of the borough of Elvet, which had been de- stroyed during the usurpation of Comyn, the construction of Elvet bridge, and the completion of the city wall along the bank of the Wear from the north gate of the Bailey to the watergate on the south. By him also the castle of Northallerton was re- paired and strengthened and the keep or dungeon-tower added to the fortress of Norham. Nor should it be forgotten tl~at it was he who founded and liber- ally endowed the hospitals of Sherburn and of St. James, near Northallerton, who restored or augmented the founda- tion of the college church of Darling- ton, and repaired all the manorial residences of the see. Not a few instances of the exercise of the palatine franchise occurred un- der Pudseys episcopate. From him the citizens of Durham received their first charter. From l~im,too, the bor- oughs of Gateshead and Sunderland received their charters of incorpora- tion. He not only confirmed to the nuns of St. Bartholomew in Newcastle the lands which had been given to them by his vassals within the borough of Durham, but ratified the possessions of the priory of Finchale, which had been founded by his son, Henry Pud- sey. Of his grants or confirmations to his lay vassals it is sufficient to say that they were more numerous than those of any of his successors. Men may come and men may go, says the late laureate, and his words are as true of bishops palatine as they are of other and less august person- ages. Between the episcopate of Pud- sey, which terminated in 1195, and that of Anthony Bek, which began in 1283, none of the palatine bishops rose above the level of mediocrity. Anthony Bek, however, was a remark- able man in more ways than one. His life was spent both in the court and in the camp, and in the important transactions which marked the reign of Edward he bore no insignificant part. We hear of him being employed in the affairs of Scotland and of Germany. We read of him distinguishing himself by his eloquence and address in a con- ference with two cardinals whom Pope Boniface VIII. despatched to England in 1295 for the purpose of reconciling the king of England and the king of France to each other. Great, however, as were the services which Bishop Bek rendered to his master, his extended wealth and power aroused the jealousy of that master, ever eager to restrain and to reduce the influence of his nobles. The king, seizing a favorable opportunity, laid hold of the temporahi- ties of the palantinate. Cited to ap 210 Durham and the Bishops Palatine. pear in the Papal Courts at Rome before the pope, Bek obeyed the sum- mons, and journeyed thither with a splendid train. The result was a tri- uinph over all his enemies. A second time his temporalities were seized, and a second time he was victorious. Finally he was granted the regal dig- nity of the Isle of Man, and was created titular Roman Patriarch of Jerusalem. In the munificence of his public works, Bek rivalled the most illustrious of his predecessors. During his sway the colleges of Chester and Lanchester were erected. Then rose the stately towers of Gainsford and Coniscliff, Alviugham Priory and Som- erton Castle in Lincolushire, and El- tham manor house in Kent. The palatine power reached its zenith under the episcopate of Bek, and at his death he was the first of all the Bishops of Durham to find a last resting place within the walls of his cathedral. A reverential awe had precluded all pre- vious occupants of the see from min- gling their dust with that of St. Cuthbert. Even in the case of the haughty Anthony Bek, the corpse was not allowed to enter by the doors, and to appease the fears of the supersti- tious a passage was effected through the wall of the cathedral for the recep- tion of the body near the place of its interment. The second half of the fourteenth century found the see of Durham in the possession of a prelate whose name is never lightly pronounced by any lover of literature and learning. We refer to Richard de Bury. Of high descent, this remarkable man was sent to the University of Oxford, became at a subsequent date a monk in the con- vent of Durham, and thence was trans- lated to direct the studies of the young Prince of Wales, afterwards Edward III. The fidelity and marked ability with which Richard de Bury dis- charged the duties of this office laid the foundations of his future eminence. In 1325 he become treasurer of Guienne, and in that capacity afforded an asylum to the queen and prince when driven into exile by the De 211 spensers. On the accession of Edward III. his merits were duly recognized. He rose rapidly through the grades of officer of the wardrobe, archdeacon of Northampton, keeper of the privy seal, and dean of Wells, to the see of Dur- ham. He was installed in his cathedral in 1333, and the imposing ceremony was attended by the king and queen of England, the king of Scotland, two archbishops, seven bishops, five earls, and all the northern nobility. A year later he was appointed chancellor of England, and in 1336 lord high treas- urer, enjoying both these offices until his death. But while engrossed with the cares both of Church and State, in his dual capacity of statesman and ecclesiastic,. Richard de Bury never forgot those studies which had been his delight while as yet, like Prospero, he had been only the master of a full poor cell. In his eyes learning was the handmaid of religion, the ally of faith, and he loved it with a love that many waters could not quench. From him the world heard little about working clergy, and that detestable cant of which we hear so much nowadays, that learning is out of place in the Church. Far from it. His l)alace was an asylum of learning. Within its walls the good bishop maintained, at his own expense, all the splendid and extensive appa- ratus of early English literature, be- sides numerous illuminators, binders, and subscribers. The most promising students of the age were welcomed as his chaplains. His agents were de- spatched in all directions to the hounds of the farthest east, to the bounds of the farthest west to pur- chase or to copy precious manuscripts. To diffuse the history of the cross, to make it speak to the hearts of all through the medium of the universally intelligible tongue of the eye, to aid in the extension of that religion which founded colleges, endowed churches, generated pilgrimages, dictated cru- sades, and compelled Christendom sub- missively to bend before the throne of the successors of St. Peter such was the aim of Richard do Bury, one of the Durham and the Bishops Palatine. most celebrated of early bibliomaniacs. So great were his collections of manu- scripts that he was able to convert them into the library of the handsome foundation called Durham College, which he erected in the University of Oxford. For the regulation of this noble library the good bishop drew up in Latin a series of rules. This work, which he entitled the Philobiblion, is curious in the extreme, and ranks among the earliest treatises on library classification and management. Dur- ing the last four centuries several edi- tions of this quaint work have been published under the care of successive editors, the last being the sumptuous edition of the late Mr. Ernest Thomas, century closed with the palatinate of Richard Fox, whose most noteworthy immediate successor was the great Cardinal Wolsey. He, however, held the see for only six years, and made way for the mild and amiable Cuthbert Tunstall, who was translated from the see of London in 1530. Tunstalls episcopate fell on evil days. The IRef- ormation was in progress. England, like other countries, soon felt the com- ing storm. The rulers of the Church saw with dismay Henrys final breach with the Vatican. At last the crash came. A compromise was effected be- tween Rome and Geneva, and the occupants of the English sees were called upon by their royal master to barrister-at-law, of Grays Inn, pub- choose whom they would serve. The lished in 1888. We are told that it Bishop of Durham, in common with was the custom for this worthy prelate others, long halted between the re- to depute one of his chaplains to read former and the pope. The arguments to him when at meals, and that he sub of the reformers, he could not but see, sequently conversed with his clerks or were sound; the logical conclusion of domestics upon literary and theological an aCcel)tance of those arguments, lie topics. Setting .no bounds to his gen- could not but see, was schism. No erosity, Richard de Bury opened the wonder the prelate betrayed weakness gates of his palace each day to the poor and indecision. Finally, however, lie and needy, and the result was that decided for the milk-white hind, and after his lamented death, at Auckland took refuge in the conservative arms Castle, in April, 1345, his coffers were of Rome. Then the violence of the found to contain nothing but his linen king broke forth. At one blow he and episcopal robes. Unlike his pred- severed the rich temporalities from the ecessors, he had regarded his emolu- possessors. Bowing to the storm in ments only as a trust for others, and silence, Tunstalls person was allowed not for the aggrandizement of himself, to remain inviolate, and the king In him learning lost a noble patron, troubled him no more. Edward VI., and to him may fittingly be applied however, formally deprived him of his what Shakespeare says of Brutus see in 1552, but Mary reinstated him iii the same year. Persecution now His life was gentle, and the elements so marched up and down the land, and all mixed in him orood Protestants found themselves That Nature might stand up and say to all the world, menaced by the fires of Smithfield in This was a man! right real earnest. Yet it redeunds to the credit of Tunstall that, during the De Bury was succeeded by the vener- height of the Marian persecution not able Thomas Hatfield, who ruled the a single victim perished within the Church and the palatinate during the palatinate of Durham. When the per- long period of thirty-six years. The secutors brought to Auckland a poor cathedral secured some of its finest reformed preacher named Russell, ornaments during Hatfields episco- charged with hieresy, Tunstall forbore l)ate, and these still bespeak his virtue. to condemn him. Hitherto, said Dying in 1381, his body was buried in he, we have had a good report among the cathedral, in a tomb which he had our neighbors ; I pray you bring not prepared in his lifetime. The fifteenth this mans blood upon my head. The 212 Durham and the Bishops Palatine. trembling preacher departed without being examined. When Elizabeth caine to the throne it was hoped that Tunstall would take the oath of su- premacy. This, however, he declined to do, and deprivation followed. He was committed to the care of Arch- bishop Parker at Lambeth Palace, where he breathed his last in Novem- ber, 1559. The first Protestant among the pala- tine bishops was James Pilkington, who ruled fifteen years, a period marked by much dissension in the diocese, as the people were sincerely attached to the old religion, and ex- tremely unfavorable to the reception of the reformed doctrines. Pilkington, on his death, in 1575, was succeeded by Richard Barnes, who in turn was succeeded by Matthew Hutton. The sixteenth century opened with the epis- copate of the learned Toby Mathew, one of the most eloquent preachers of his age. Mathew died in 1606, and at a distance of less than forty years from that date England, and especially the north of England, was plunged into the throes of civil dissension. At this time the see of Durham was held by Thomas Morton, who had been trans- lated from Lichfield in 1632. His char- acter as a bishop was unimpeachable. His greatness of mind was displayed both in his exercise of the palatine prerogative and in his execution of the episcopal office. The Reformation had made insufficient progress in the north of England, and the papal rites and ceremonies still retained their hold on a large section of the population. In 1641 Morton was impeached, along with eleven others of his right reverend brethren, for high treason, before the Commons, but was acquitted. Six years later he was deprived of his see. The good bishop, in common with all his right reverend brethren, was forced to turn his back upon Durham. And we can fain believe that some natural tears he dropped, but wiped them soon. The world was all before him where to choose his place of rest and Providence his guide. The Puritans having gained the ascendency, a total subver 213 sion of all order and decorum in the Church of England took place ; her revenues were seized, her ministers were either committed to jail or driven into exile. The sacred monuments of the dead were demolished. Religious services according to the Book of Coin- mon Prayer were entirely abolished. To complete all, after the signal defeat of the Scotch army by Cromwell at Dunbar in 1650, the soldiers who were taken prisoners were sent to Durham by the command of Cromwell, and lodgings were assigned to them within the precincts of the cathedral. Once in, this lawless band abstained from no act of wanton destruction. They de- molished the beautiful paintings with which Hugh Pudsey, the eleventh of the palatine bishops, had embellished the windows of the cathedral, they despoiled the internal structure of the stately church, and to protect them- selves from the winters cold they tore from their foundations the screens, the stalls, and everything composed of wood, and used them as fuel.1 The Restoration, and the triumph of national joy which accompanied it, re- established episcopacy. Durham en- joyed once more the presence of a bishop palatine in the person of John Cosin, Dean of Peterborough. As a divine Cosin was in sympathy with that section of the Church of England which lies nearest to Rome and furthest from Geneva. Tile people of tile dio- cese received the new bishop with open arms. Among his first acts were the rebuilding of Auckland Castle, the pal- ace of his predecessors, the visitation of the diocese, and the enforcement of residence on tile part of the parochial clergy. At a subsequent date he re- stored the cathedral services at Durham to their original beauty and splendor of ritual, removed the nun~erous irreg- ularities whlicil had been allowed to creep into the church during the Com- monwealth, and urged on the repair of the fabric which tile Saints had so wantonly mutilated. Worn out with age and disease, Cosin died in London 1 Zouchs Life of Dean Sudbury, pp. 4, 5. 214 in 1671. His body was conveyed with great funeral pomp to Durham, and, unlike that of his predecessor, was in- terred in the private chapel of the episcopal palace at Bishop Auckland. A period of nearly three years elapsed before a successor to Cosin was found. The new-corner was Nathaniel Crewe, who was translated from Oxford in 1674. The character of Crewe was that of a turncoat and a turnover. When James II. endeavored to Romanize the Church of , Crewe did nothing to mark his sense of wrong at the kings conduct, but silently acquiesced in the movement. In 1688 he supported the kings famous ~ and sus- pended thirty of his clergy who res- olutely declined to read it in their churches. When, however, James was forced to abdicate, and the Prince of Orange was invited to England, Crewe coolly turned his back upon his former conduct and made overtures to the new monarch. But though he joined in the vote of abdication, he was excepted by name out of the general pardon at the Revolution, and fled for safety to Holland. Soon afterwards, however, lie contrived to make terms with the new king, and, returning to England, solemnly took the oath of allegiance to William and Mary his queen. He had been deprived during his absence of the lord-lieutenancy of Durham, and tradition asserts that he was forced to place all his preferments at the disposal of the crown. But Crewe survived all these humiliations, and although lie had incurred the frowns of royalty, it was noticeable that his private fortunes prospered in the shade. He succeeded to a barony at the death of his last surviving brother, and to the family seat and estate at Stene. Attention to the epis- copal office, it seems, did not prevent this turncoat from paying court to the fair sex. His first love was the daugli- ter of Sir William Forster, the owner of Bamborough Castle. The lady was, however, in her fathers opinion, not sufficiently old to be a desirable help- meet for even a bishop palatine of Durham and he was rejected. But the Durham and the Bishops Palatine. bishops uxorious propensities would brook no refusal. He married a widow, and in eight years was a widower. The lady whom lie had first courted was by this time more eligible, and to him she gave her hand and her heart after a widowhood of only four months. Lady Crewe was greatly beloved by her husband during a union of sixteen years, and at her death she was buried in Stene Chapel, adjoining the family seat; where in 1712, at the age of eightynine, the bishop himself was laid to rest by her side. Space would quite fail us were we to speak at length of Crewes successors Talbot, who drew down upon himself the popular odium by advising the chapter of Durham to impose fines on the renewal of leasehold tenures, and set the example himself, whose (lebts were twice paid by his amiable son Chandler, who defended the menaced citadel of the Church and successfully vindicated the Christian religion froni the attacks of the deistical Collins Butler, who did more than any other prelate of his time to animate personal zeal and piety, and to place revelation upon the imperishable foundations of sound philosophy; Trevor, who left behind him the reputation of a sincere friend, a generous patron, and a mu- nificent prelate ; Egerton, who exer- cised his palatinate prerogative with exemplary discretion ; Barrington, who sought to encourage self-help among the poor, and disposed his immense riches in unostentatious bounty ; and William van Mildert, who was trans- hated to the see from Llandaff on the decease of Dr. Shute Barrington in 1826. Van Mildert was the last of the palatine bishops. his episcopate was cast in a trying time for both ecclesias- tical and political institutions. The great democratic movement which cul- minated in the triumph of the Reform Bill in 1832 was in progress. From the passing of the Catholic Emancipation Act in 1829 onwards, the English bish- ops were the butt of the popular odium. They were insulted, mocked, derided, and told in plain and unvarnished lan- guage to put their houses in order, for The Present Condition of Russia. the days of the Church, as an establish- ment, were numbered. Van Milderts attitude at this trying time was one of complete neutrality. He survived the shocks of reform until 1836, when the dread summons came. On March 1 in that year his body was interred with regal pomp before the altar of his cathedral. Many aged persons in Dur- ham and its vicinity can still remember that memorable day. An act of Parlia- meat passed at the death of the prelate ha(l severed all temporal jurisdiction and privileges forever from the see. Hence the desire was great to pay the last tribute of respect to the last pal- atine bishop. Business was entirely suspended. Crowds from all parts of the diocese assembled in the city. The dean, canons, prebendaries, and paro- chial clergy, in long lines, threaded the nave. Muffled peals broke the silence from time to time. Frederick William Faber, afterwards expressed the feel- ings of many on that solemn occasion, in a chaste effusion of his graceful muse Hark! the knell! Durham, the uncrowned city, in meet grief Prepares to celebrate within the shrine The obsequies of her last palatine; And natures gloom is felt as a relief. The blameless prelate in the antique gloom Of the low western Galilee is laid, In the dark pageantry of death arrayed, Nigh to the Venerable Bedes tomb And in the distant east, beside the shrine, There is a grave, a little earth up-cast Wherein to-day a rich and solemn Past Must be entombed with this old palatine. See how with drooping pall and nodding plume In many a line along the misty nave The sombre garments of the clergy wave, Bearing the last prince-bishop to his tomb And, as the burden swayeth to and fro, See a glorious relic, most sublime, A dread bequest from out the olden time, Borne from. the earth with ceremonial show. The chord of music hushed still loads the air; The herald brcaks the wand, while he proclaims The sainted palatines puissant names, Von kingless throne is now forever bare! At night upon the Minster I looked down: In all the streets through dismal mist and rain The lights were twinkling; and the mighty fane Seemed oer its seven subject hills to frown. This thought a light oer my old age will shine A grandeur, now no more on earth, touched me With its last outskirts, for on bended knee I oft was blessed by that last palatine! WILLIA~~I CONNOR SYDNEY. From The Nineteenth Century. THE PRESENT CONDITION OF RUSSIA. THERE is not the slightest doubt that the feeling which now dominates in Russia is the need of a deep, thor- ough, and sincere revision of all the most fundamental conditions of exist- ence of the nation. The best men of Russia, in all classes and strata, are convinced by this time that it is no longer possible to persevere in the di- rection which national life has followed for a time; that to do this would mean to throw all further development on a false track; to paralyze the best ener- gies,to vitiate national character itself, arid to prepare national catastrophes, unfathomable as to their ultimate re- sults ; that an effort must be made to get out of the old grooves and to find the way to open a new phase of devel- opment. All nations have known such periods. Western Europe, too, is feeling at this moment the need of a fundamental re- vision of the bases of its economical life. But nowhere is this need felt so acutely as it is in Russia. No other nation of Europe has ever had to face such national calamities as the famine years of 1891 and 1892, and to convince itself of its utter helplessness to pre- vent like calamities in the future ; no nation has undergone such a systematic annihilation of all its organs of local 215 216 self-government, and such an obstruc- tion of all the channels in which the local constructive forces could find an issue from the present difficulties ; and none has seen such formidable weapons of repression, so obstinately applied for a succession of five-and-twenty years, to prevent the best forces from becom- ing active factors in national life. No- where else do the problems at issue involve so deeply the very first condi- tions, economical and political, required for the life of a nation. The feeling I speak of is not of yes- terdays birth. It dates from the fam- ine of 1891, when thousands of men and women were brought face to face with the undescribable misery of the peasants,l and could ascertain on the spot how the best energies of private men, and the endeavors of what then remained of local self-government, were paralyzed by the functionaries, who treated every effort going beyond mere charity as an encroachment upon their own spheres of activity. Since that memorable year, optimism or in- difference being no mo re possible, a decided revival of public opinion has begun to take place in Russia. The whole tone of the daily press, the re- view, the book of economic science, and even the novel has changed; and it has become evident that nothing can prevent Russian society from tak- ing to heart the desperate condition of the down-trodden peasants, discussing what is to be done, and acting accord- ingly. It must be borne in mind that Russia -is, above all, an agricultural nation, and a peasant nation ; and that the misery or the wealth of the peasant is the misery or the wealth of the whole com- munity. Not that Russia has no indus- tries. On the contrary, her industries have immensely grown during the last three decades. But, as she has no for- eign markets worth speaking of for her manufactures, and has not that class, 1 More than twenty years ago an imperial com- mission concluded its report upon the state of the peasants by these words: The peasantry is now in snch a state, that a slight failure of the crops will unavoidably result in a terrible famine. The prediction was only too just. The Present Condition of Russia. so numerous in this country, of people drawing large incomes from tile worl(l- trade tile colonies, or the loans to, and the capital engaged in, all coun- tries of the world the cilief customer of the Russian industries is tile Russian peasant. The cottage industries are peasant industries, the very climate compelling the agricultural population to manu- facture something during the long winter months; they give occupation to at least eight million people, and are valued at a minimum of 180,000,00W. a year that is, nearly twice the pro- ductivity of the great industries. But few of them are for the rich,2 tile im- mense mass of their produce being consumed by tIle peasants. Even tile big industries (whicil employ only one million five hundred thousand workers in European Russia proper) have their chief customers among the scores of millions of the l)easants ; and they so much depend upon tile peasant con- sumner that every autumn the output is settled for all the greater factories of the ewpire for tile next twelve months at the Nizhniy Novgorod fair, after the l)rospects of the years crop Ilave be- come known. Tile nation thus lives almost entirely on her agricultural produce, and tile peasant is by far tile chief producer in agriculture. Out of the tllree hundred and three million acres cultivated in Russia, tile peasants own and cultivate two hundred and four million acres; and tiley cultivate in addition anotiler sixty-seven million acres rented from the landlords . that less than one-tenth of the aggre- gate fields of the country are kept un- der culture by means of hired labor. In order to understand Russia one must tllerefore imagine a compact mass of nearly eighty million peasants, who grow nine-tenths of all the cereals; grown, and maintain both the indus~ tries and the main bulk of tile tl~a(le. For them the railways upon which the cereals are carried to the centres for 2 Such are the Paris hats, the Vienna bent furniture, both of good quality, sonie silk and lace, the cutlery, the toys, the optical instruments fabricated in the middle provinces. The Present Condition of Russia. export ; for them the passenger trains which transport millions of peasants southwards, as they go in search of work on the fertile steppes, while their wives and children till and crop their poor acres at home. For them the fleet of two thousand steamers on the rivers ; out of the commerce in the corn which they grow originate the big fortunes ; and so on. Nay, the im- perial revenue, which now attains nearly 101,000,0001., is chiefly built of their coppers, and fluctuates accord- ing to the number of coppers which pass through the peasants hands. In fact, it so mucI~ depends upon the peasants condition that the years of least deficits, cheapest loans (loans are contracted every year), and least ex- penditure upon the interest paid Qn foreign loans are the years of the rich crops, such as 1888 and 1893. Good crops make the financial reputations of ministers of finance, because a surplus of corn in the peasants barn means a reduction of the deficit by a dozen of million pounds ; while the two last famine years cost the State 24,000,0001. of direct relief, over 2,000,0001. spent in relief works, and over 10,000,0001. of decrease in the revenue. What is, then, the life of those mil- lions to whom Russia owes all the gorgeous luxury lately displayed at St. Petersburg, her railways, her immense army, her fleet of fifty ironclads, and her large State revenue? Certainly, no West European is capa- ble of fathoming the poverty of the Russian peasant. A table and a wooden bench around the log walls ; no trace of bedding, the sheepskin or the woollen over-cloth being taken off the shoul- ders to serve as mattress, bed-cloth, and blanket ; no trace of pillow, even in the house of the rich peasant that is all the furniture of the Russian izba. Nay, a piece of cotton or linen The budget estimates are usually made upon the averages of the three preceding years, while the very bad crops recur on the average each ten to eleven years. This is why years of surprising surpluses in the revenue are so closely followed by years of equally considerable deficits. In fact, the estimates, to be of practical value, ought to be based on ten to twelve years averages. rag and a scrap of paper are a luxury which the doctor and tile midwife look in vain for in a peasant household. Food itself is often wanting. Wilen it was stated in this country in 1891, tl~at cach it. subscribed to the famine relief fund would sustain an adult for eight montils, till the next crop, the statement was met with incredulity. But this is really what the peasant lives upon for twelve months in ordi- nary times. And those wilo, on com- ing to Russia, are greeted with bread and salt, certainly have not the faintest idea of how difficult it is for tile peas- ant to llave enough of black rye bread and salt all the year round ; how every year, in seven ilouseholds out of ten, the question where to earn some bread for to-morrow, or to borrow a few pounds of flour, worries husband and wife for at least tllree or four montlls every year. The fact is tilat Russia produces no surplus of cereals. If all tile rye and wheat grown every year remained in tile country, and not one single busilel of it were exported, European Russia would have an aver- age of five ilundred and twenty pounds of rye and wheat per ilead of popula- tion that is, the lowest amount re- quired for one inhabitants food, and nearly two bushels less per inhabitant tilan wilat is really consumed of cereals in this country or in France.2 But Russia exports on the average one- tilird part of her crops,3 and conse- quently that much is wanted for the food of the population. So that chronic starvation, as Tolstoi wrote, is the real lIormal condition of the great bulk of the Russian peasants.4 2 It exported forty-eight per cent. of the crops during the three years which immediately pre- ceded the famine. The Russian agricultural statistics, collected by means of thousands of correspondents scattered in every district, are quite reliable, as has been shown wherever they have been verified by the local statisticians. About the productivity of Russia see the excellent work and maps of Bor- kovsky, published by the Russian Geographical Society (Memoirs: Statistical Section, voL xii.) Also the many works of the Agricultural Depart- ment and the central Statistical Committee. When one lady (V. D. Fushkina) began to dis- tribute to the peasants, during the famine, fifty- four pounds of rye flour, eighteen pounds of 217 The Present Condition of Russia. Every year the peasant is compelled to sell in the autumn the corn he needs for his own , altho ugh he knows that he will have to buy his bread in the spring at a higher price. He has no other means to pay the taxes. A few months before the conclusion of the last three and a half per cent. con- version loan, it was announced, with much booming in the European press, that in the budget of 1893 all ordinary and extraordinary ex- penditure had been covered by an extraordinary increase of the ordinary revenue. 1 The reality was, as we know from our correspondents, as also from the Russian press itself, that the most vigorous measures had been taken for flogging out of the peasants as much as possible of their arrears. Tile shameful executions, so truly described by Tolstoi in The Kingdom of God in Ourselves, were repeated all over Russia. Happy were those peasants who succeeded in borrowing some money at seven or eight per cent. per month from tile very Orthodox Russian money-lenders without the Jewish pale, or at five per cent. per month from the Jewish money-lenders within tile pale! And so it goes on every year, good or bad crop alike, until a more general failure of crops throws thirty millions of people into potatoes, and six pounds of millet per head, and per month, she was told, of course, on all sides, that never, not even after the best crop, does the peasant live on such rich fare. The remark was quite correct. Still better was her reply: Well, let them have, at least, this year what they need. 1 To understand this phraseology one must know that the Russian budget consists of two parts: the ordinary revenue and expenditure, and the extraordinary revenue and expenditure. The former includes all revenue, but it does not in- clude all expenditure the outlays for re-arma- ment, new railways, sea-ports, etc., being inscribed in the extraordinary budget. In order to avoid the word deficit, which yearly attains from 10,000,0001. to 20,000,0001. an extraordinary rev- enue is inscribed in the budget, and it consists of thc war contributions, never paid by Turkey and Khiva, and of what is realized through loans. The extraordinary revenue thus simply means loans contracted to meet the deficit. In 1893, owing to a good crop, and the stringent measures taken for the recovery of arrears, the real revenue, however, covered for the first time all expenditure; and when this became known a new loan was imme- diately contracted for conversion purposes. the clutches of starvation with its necessary sequel of hunger-typhus, dysentery or cholera, diphtheria and what not. In such years thousands of households will lose their last cow and horse. And no cow in the house means that the famishing mother, cry- ing herself at the sight of her dried breast, will feed her (lying child witll chewed sour rye bread; and no horse means that the husband will harness in the plough his lads and lasses, and, seizing tile plough witll his hands, he will pusll and pull it across the hard, dry, unmanured clay. Thereupon lie may have the honor of being compli- mented for his energy by the offi- cial Village Messenger (Selslciy Vyest- nik, December, 1892), a sister organ to the Official Messenger, published by the Ministry of Interior for the en- lightenment of the peasants. And the official organ will have the courage to ask its correspondent to send in more information as to the crops obtained in these interesting experiments ! Who knows? Perhaps the human team will pay, after all, the taxes due to the State ! 2 Round this dominating fact the ulldescribable misery of tile peasant all the great problems of Russian life are grouped. And when we consult the several hundreds of volumes of in- quiries, researches, and so on, pub- lished on this subject, we find that all of them agree in the following conclu- sions For the extensive culture, with very little cattle and almost no manure, which the peasants now carry on, their allotments are too small. They were too small thirty years ago at the time 2 Scores of budgets of peasant households have been published by Russian statisticians. I take the following figures from an average deducted by M. Scherbina out of seventy-five average house- holds in a middle Russia province: The taxes and rents make il. 5s. per soul. For cattle, tools, and other farming needs, 15s. Furniture and vessel, lOd.; tea and sugar, is.; fish, lid.; meat, lOd.; salt, 7 d.; kerosene oil, 5Ad. ; soap, 2d. (wooden ash is used for washing); dress and boots, 4s. 3d. All per soul and per year. The average household containing six souls, its total yearly expenditure for taxes, rent, and living is 15l. 15s., a figure which very well agrees with what is known from hundreds of other researches. The rouble is equal to 2s. 218 of the emancipation, and they are still smaller now that the population has increased by one-third 1 Consequently the rents and taxes alone, in an im- mense number of cases, are two or three times higher than what can be obtained from the allotment land under the present modes of culture. As for a more intensive and more profitable culture, the peasants have neither the necessary means nor the necessary knowledge to undertake it. At the same time they must not reckon upon finding occupation on the landlords estates ; and very few of them will find occupation in industry. We continu- ally read, indeed, in the press of the party of return to serfdom (the krye- ~ostniki or esclavctgistes) interminable complaints of the landlords finding no hands for the culture of their estates. To remedy this, the said press has ad- vocated the abolition of the village community, and the creation of mil- lions of paupers by law; the abolition of the justices of the peace ; the intro- duction of police chiefs nominated by the nobility; the creation of a nobility bank for privileged loans at the ex- l)Cfl5C of the State exchequer, and so on.2 But the reality is that few land- lords care to cultivate their estates. The 140,000,0001. that is, a sum equal to the contribution levied by Germany upon France which they have re- ceived from the government, either as a compensation for the loss of serfdom rights (the so-called redemption of land now repaid by the peasants), or as loans from the States banks, have been squandered in maintaining the old standard of living; and, apart from the Western and the Baltic provinces, the landlords prefer simply to rent their lands to the peasants.3 Two-fifths of the liberated peasants have re- ceived less land than what was recognized as the strictly necessary minimum for living upon by the Emancipation Law itself. 2 Of these measures, only the first was refused by Alexander the Third. Let us take a typical province of middle Russia Kursk with a productive soil and plenty of landlords. Out of about thirty-five hundred big estates, the zemstvo statisticians have described 1,757. There are a few quite model and prosperous farms in their number; but on from twenty-four 219 Tile Russian peasant has tilus him- self to create the very means for earn- ing a few coppers wherewith to get the living which he cannot get out of his allotment. And this is wilat Ile en- deavors to do, in so far as he can do anything under tile burden of his misery. Wherever there is a village of which tile peasants are less miser- able, they buy artificial manure, or enter into small associations for buying a plough, or even a threshing machine. The so-called drunkards, who, by the way, Ilave reduced their consumption of spirits by one-half since their eman- cipation,4 till every available square yard of their allotments (ninety-two per cent. of the total area), they undertake to pay rack-rents only to get land to work upon, and tiley spend in agricul- tural improvements tile pennies spared upon tlleir food when these pennies are not taken by some new indirect or direct tax, which is more often tile case. They work fourteen and sixteen hours a day for the sweater in the cot- tage industries ; they walk hundreds of miles to otiler provinces in order to find work; and when they look for any aid from without, be it only for getting instruction, or for finding a miserable loan of a few pounds of flour, in time of need, they find no one to help them out of their desperate con- dition. And yet there is in Russia a consid- el~able portion of society which only wants not to be prevented from coming to the aid of the peasants. Tilis class of reformers are certainly not social- ists; still less are they revolutionists; but this is tile class against wilichi the to fifty-four per cent. of these estates (thirty-six on the average) there is no landlords farming what- ever; all land is rented to the peasants. In 871 estates, representing an aggregate of 991,000 acres, only 4,672 hired laborers are employedone for each 183 acres. In 662 estates, covering another 602,000 acres, and partly cultivated by the land- lords, there are only 1,433 plougbs and 1,535 socs (one-horsed, of the old Roman type). For each one hundred acres of land actually tilled these landlords keep one horse and one pair of oxen for each 286 acres; 3.3 acres out of each hundred are manured, which means one manuring each thirty years. Six-tenths of a gallon per year and per inhab- itant in 1893, as against one and one-tenth in 1863. The Present Condition of Russia. 220 imperial government has most bitterly struggled for the last five-and-twenty years. The immense part which Rus- sian society took in the emancipation of the serfs and all subsequent reforms is by this time a fact of written his- tory. As soon as Alexander the Second had manifested his intention of liberating the serfs with land, and not as landless paupers the whole of the hard work which had to be done in order to elaborate the countless details of the scheme, and to fight step by step against the reactionists who wanted to maintain serfdom, or at least the most of it, was accomplisl~ed by thousands of volunteers. Men like N. Milutine, Tchernyshevsky (his reward was, as known, eighteen years of hard labor and imprisonment in a Siberian hamlet near the Polar circle), Aksakoff, Pro- fessor Byelayeff, Herzen in London, and a legion of less known men, accom- plished that work in the press or in the local committees. The liberation of the serfs, and the series of reforms which logically followed out of it (local self-government, reform of judicial law, reform of military service, and so on), were the work of these volun- teers. These men fully understood, how- ever, that after the serfs had been set free, the first next step was to give them some education; accordingly, thousands of Sunday and evening schools were organized by volunteers, and supplied with volunteer teachers. Methods for the rapid teaching of spelling were elaborated; books for reading, some of which are unrivalled in West Europe, were published. IRus- sia began to be covered with free schools for both children and adults. But then, all of a sudden, came the reaction. In a few schools the teach- ing had taken an anti-autocratic char- acter; one teacher, for instance, had taken the expenses of the imperial family as an exercise in the addition of long rows of huge figures ! This See Skrebitzkiys History of the Emancipa- tion; A. Leroy Beauliens works, especially the later one (Un homme dEtat russe), and many others. was sufficient for aU schools being closed at once. On this question of education of the masses began the estrangement be- tween Alexander the Second and Rus- sian society. On the ~tli (17th) of March, 1861 the day that the eman- cipation was promulgated ile was the most popular man in Europe, ranking in popularity with Garibaldi and Lin- coln. But one year later ile was no longer tile same man. New and totally different persons had taken hold of Ilim. He had had enough of reforms,. and the reforms already prepared (the zemstvo, the judicial law) were promul- gated during the next four years, only to be mutilated immediately after their promulgation. After the Polish up- rising of 1863 the reaction was vic- torious over the whole line. Thereupon began a struggle which is unique in history, and has lasted since for over thirty years in succession. A struggle in which Russian society con- tinually found out new channels for coming to the aid of the peasants ; and the imperial power, armed with all its formidable weapons, systematically de- stroyed these channels and stltle(l these efforts in their birth without, it must~ be owned, ever ol4aining a complete victory. An example will better illustrate the character of this struggle. A lady, let us say, wants to open a school for her ex-serfs. She surmounts the many, varied, and unexpected obstacles put in her way by all sorts of function- aries ; she obtains by prodigies of diplomacy the permission to open the school, and looks for a lady teacher. Naturally, she applies to one of the teachers seminaries, or to a pedagog- ical school for girls. There she finds two sorts of women: if I am allowed to use two Russianisms, she finds the careerist and the popularist. The former evidently would not do for the poor, lonely life of a Russian village and the hard work in view. So, after having taken her precautions for not falling upon a nihilist, the lady makes her choice from among the popularists. In a few months the The Present Condition of Russia. The Present Condition of Russia. young schoolmistress is worshipped by the children; she is on friendly terms with the lady, the elder peasants, and even the batyushka (the village priest), especially if he belongs to the old type of priests and cares not to increase his income by taking posses- sion of the school. But she belongs to that independent type of women whom we know well in England. She ad- dresses the school inspector as if she ignored that he is a bearer of supreme power ; she shows no special deference to the ispravnik of old or to the modern 2emskiy nachalnik, and if the latter belongs to the type of the flogging brutes, now in demand, she decidedly avoids him. This is enough. In a few months the idyll must come to an end the teacher is a suspect, and the good lady must part with her and begin anew her peregrinations in the teach- ers seminaries. Is there one school among the hun- dred schools which were opened either by private persons or by the district and county councils, where the same would not have happened more than once? Village schools, technical schools, teachers schools, universities, have all had the same history. Few in Western Europe know that Russia has by this time three hundred and forty-three good lyceums for girls with nearly one hundred thousand pupils, and a number of intermediate schools preparatory to the university, and that in the year 1886 we had four ladies universities, with over eighteen hundred students, where the same education was given as in the States universities, by the same professors, and with the same examinations. All this was the work of Russian women themselves, and was achieved with re- markable perseverance against the will of the government. The universities lived without asking a penny from the State, and their pupils certainly were not more revolutionist than the new woman of England is. But the opin- ion prevailed at the court that a woman can properly educate her children only when she is une(lucate(l herself, and in 188788 all ladies universities were 221 closed. True that one has again been opened at St. Petersburg; but the teaching of natural sciences dealing with life has been prohibited in the natural science faculty ! What need be added more? The same happened with the lady doctors. In 1888 Russia had nine hun- dred and ninety-seven lady doctors who had got their degrees, either at the St. Petersburg high medical school or at some West European university. The highest praise was always bestowed on their work, both by the Medical Depart- ment and the provincial and municipal authorities. In the villages, and for the poorer quarters of the big cities, they proved invaluable.1 But all this again was swept away by the govern- ment. The same tactics have been prose- cuted with regard to the universities for male students. The money neces- sary for opening a Siberian university had been long subscribed by Siberians, and more subscriptions were promised if the university were opened at Irkutsk. After long years of opposi- tion the government finally yielded to the pressure ; the university was opened at Tomsk but with two fac- ulties only law and medicine. Natu- ral sciences were found as dangerous for male students in Siberia as they are for lady students at St. Petersburg. As to the teaching in the universities, need I name the professors of~ European reputation who were compelled to leave their chairs rather than to con- tinue every day the petty war against the ministry of public enlightenment ? Some friends of progress in Russia as elsewhere will perhaps remark, on reading these lines, that all these are things of the past, and perhaps they will ask, why should we touch old wounds? But we cannot understand the present condition of Russia with- out knowing that past. And the great dilemma stands to-day exactly as it 1 See the report of the St. Petersburg munici- pality, which accompanied its vote of fifteen thou- sand roubles for the reopening of the Medical Academy for ladies. One-third of the lady doctors are in the service of the County and District Councils. 222 stood throughout the last thirty-two years Will Russian society have the right to take the necessary measures for spreading education in the coun- try ? Or, will it be prevented from so doing, and the gigantic task of provid- ing education for one hundred and twenty million people be undertaken by the imperial power itself, through its functionaries ? which means, as experience has shown, simply prevent- ing the great mass of the Russians from receiving any education whatever. The same dilemma stands there, even more impressive, when we turn our eyes towards any other field of activity. Perhaps no other nation of Europe has at this moment such an amount of cortstructive forces, ready to work in the interest of the masses, with no other hope of reward than the work itself. But for thirty years the govern- ment has stood always in their way, jealously obstructing all channels in which they might have found an issue for their activity. Various channels had been opened by the laws of 186166, which granted quite a system of self-government. In virtue of these laws, the primary unit of the organization is the village coin- munity, endowed ~vith extensive rights. It owns the lands allotted to the peas- ants, and its folkmote distributes the nllotments and assesses the taxes im- posed by the central and the provincial government. It has the right to open schools, to appoii~t a doctor or a mid- wife, to permit the opening of a public house on its territory or to refuse the permission; it rents and buys land as a judicial personality; it has even the right of punishing its members even to banish them to Siberia. Then, the village communities are united in vo- lostes, or cantons, all householders of the voloste nominate their o~vn execu- tive, and elect a peasant tribunal which pronounces its sentences in civil and criminal matters, according to the un- written common law. The village community and the vo- 7oste being peasant institutions only, Only in Poland the votoste comprises the land- there was next the self-government in which all classes of the population (peasants, artisans, in e rchants, clergy, and nobles) co-operated. The zemstvo~ that is, District Councils in the dis- tricts, and County Councils for the provinces were elected by the three orders of peasants, clergy, and nobles, and each council nominated its own executive ; while in the towns we had the municipalities (elected assembly and executive), which were organized on the same plan as the zemstvos with a similar range of attributions. More- over the zemstvos elected justices of the peace, who represented the first in- stance of justice, while the assembly of all the justices of the district, and the Senate next, acted as courts of ap- peal against the justices decisions. In short, Russia had obtained in 1861 66 a system of local self-government very similar as to its attributions and powers with, though different in the system of elections from, the system of self-government recently introduced in this country.2 But this system, al- ready battered by ministerial orders and bye-laws under Alexander the Second, was entirely annihilated during the last reign. The peasant self-gov- ernment was subordinated to special police chiefs (zemskiy nachabiik), nomi- nated by the government out of candi- dates named by the nobility ; the justices of peace were abolished,3 and replaced by the same nachalrtiks. As for the zemstvos and the municipalities, mere shadows of them remain, and it is announced that they will soon be en- tirely transformed into mere functioii- aries of the crown. No greater mistake could certainly have been committed. What was really wanted in the peasants institu- tions was not police supervision, but more freedom and less misery in the lords as well, but not the clergy. For additional details see the present writers articles, Russia, in Enclycop3edia Britannica, and in chamberss Encyclopndia. 2 More details about the zemstvo may be found in the Manchester Guardian, January 4 and Feb- ruary 19, 1889. They are provisionally maintained in a few towns only. The Present Condition of Russia. The Present Condition of Russia. village; and this last evidently could not be alleviated by an increase of the landlords authority. As to the jus- tices of peace, they undoubtedly were the most popular and the most success- ful institution in Russia. They were mostly landlords themselves, but to them Russia owes the fact that the Emancipation Act has become a real- ity ; they have introduced into daily life the practice of considering the ex- serf as a citizen, possessed of the same personal rights as his ex-owner. And, in asking their abolition and the nom- ination of police chiefs, chosen by the nobles, the reactionary wing of the nobles simply wanted a return to the summary proceedings of the manorial justice of old. This they have obtained to some extent. But the institution, hated by the peasants and by all intel- ligent men, has certainly not satisfied the reactionists, who will stop before nothing but a return to serfdom times. On all sides it is recognized a failure. With all its imperfections, the insti- tution of the zemstvos became, as years went on, more and more useful and popular in the village. In fact, what- ever progress was realized in rural life was realized through or with the aid of the ze?nstvos. Many zemstvos have very well-organized medical relief, or at least regular visitations of villages by doctors, and thus they have consider- ably decreased the fearful mortality among the peasants. The zemstvo mid- wife is now a regular member of most villages. The teachers seminaries and 1 The composition of the Provincial and District Assemblies out of representatives of the three orders (peasants, clergy, and nobles), and the censi- tary provisions taken for keeping the representa- tives of the pensants in a minority, were, as ~xperience has shown, a useless and vexatious )recaution. Moreover, the zemstvos, burdened by various expenditure for the States needs, were very much limited in their taxation rights, so that their chief ratepayer had to be the peasant. And ~ut of the taxes paid by the peasant, the State ~ok eighty-eight per cent, leaving only twelve per cent. for the zemstvos, although the proper part of the latter ought to have been one-fourth. consequently the arrears were mostly for the zemstvos; during the famine several zemstvos could not pay for eight and ten months their func- tionaries, and, the States bank having refused the loans they applied for, they bad to borrow money ~t ten and fifteen per cent. from private persons. 223 the zemstcos schools are undoubtedly the best in Russia; and the recent wide-spread and very popular move- ment for providing schools with model gardens or miniature farms was ~1ue to the initiation of the zemstvos ; though starte(l with very limited means, it is already bearing fruit. The agricul- tural inspectors young men trained in practical agriculture, who travel all the summer about tile villages, indi- cating the measures to be taken against insect pests and for general improve- ments of culture, and are considered as a most useful institution ; the spreading of perfected agricultural machinery, and the organization of the manufac- ture of effective and cheap threslling machines, which was accomplished by two Ural zemstvos ; tile varied measures taken in other provinces for promoting cottage industries or organizing tile sale of their produce ; 2 tile mutual insurance against fire, and so on sucil are a few of the many directions in which various zernstvos l~ave already done a great deal of good work. And finally, I must Inention tIle colossaL statistical work accomplished by many zemstvos and representing a minute Ilouse-to-house inquest, wllich was ex- tended over 3,309,020 households, while all the inquests of this sort cover a total population of twenty-seven million in- habitants and represent a library of four ilundred and fifty volumes a real treasury of information for all fur- thier discussions upon the economical conditions of Russia. In a word, although heavy mistakes and irregularities have been committed by several zernstvos, especially at tile beginning, it is a fact that a consider- able improvement has lately taken place in the activities of even the most retrograde of thlem. And the general impression from all tileir work is, that almost in every direction they ilave accomplished something useful. Now all this has to disappear, and when we look for the reasons for that sweeping reform, we find nothing but the desire of the central government for concen- 2 Some of them find a pretty good market in the United States. The Present Condition of Russia. trating everything in the hands of its officials (irresponsible in reality), and of getting rid of the representative principle in every corner of Russia. The principle of election as a source of authority [the Moscow Gazette wrote after the mutilation of the law of Municipalities] is thus entirely abolished in the new muni- cipal law. The law-giver does not want representation and does not try to have it. The organs of the towns administration being now put on the footing of civil service functionaries, the law-giver needs no popu- lar representation, as he does not need it for nominating the functionaries of any ministry. He simply intends choosing com- petent workers, acquainted with local con- ditions, and he wants nothing more. [And the Gazette added that if the new law does not yet carry through with full consequence the idea of simple service to the crown in lieu of representation, practice will show how to improve it in that direction.] No better appreciation of the policy of the last fifteen years could be made. Its leading idea was, indeed, that no one but the imperial power, through its network and hierarchy of function- aries, must have the right to care for the local needs of the country, and to do anything for their satisfaction. This is where Russia stands now.2 I can be brief in speaking of the press. Such as it was, with all its drawbacks, the law of 1865 undoubt- edly gave certain guarantees to tile writer. But tile law was always tram- pled under the feet with disdain by the 1 Moscow Gazette, August, 1892, 195. 2 It is a fact that since the last famine Alexan- der the Third took several measures which were meant in the direct interest of the peasants. The considerable sums granted for the famine relief funds from the States exchequer; the law of in- alienability of the peasants allotments, to be kept forever by the village community; and the further reduction, in April, 1894, of the Redemption Taxes, undoubtedly belong to this category. But, while trying thus to improve the condition of the peas- ant, measures were taken for placing the peasants under the rule of those same landlords, who began already, under the cover of law, to reintroduce the old economical and social relations between land- lord and serf. The new policy was thus a sort of C~esarism, benevolent to the peasants, but on the condition of keeping them under the paternal rule of the nobles and the church. The impossibilities of such a policy, based on two contradictory prin- ciples, would soon have become manifest if Alex- ander the Third had lived to continue it. guardians of tile law. By law an origi- nal book of one hundred and sixty pages, or a translated book of three ilundred and twenty pages, could be publisiled witllout preliminary censor- ship. And if the ministry objected to its contents, it could seize it before its being sent to the booksellers, and prosecute the nutilor before a court. Tilis law, Ilowever, was taken no notice of, and when a publisher asked, citiler to restore him tile book, or to prosecute him before a court, ile was simply told tilat if he insisted upon his riotts lIe would be transported to a spot whereto wolves themselves do not like going. Books and newspapers were suppressed, but no one Ileald of pre~s trials. Tile truth is tilat every minister acted just as Ile was pleased to act; and one Ilas only to wonder 110w tile press could, ne vertileless, succeed in doing what it has done for maintain- ing in Russia a lively illterest in public affairs. Tile same remark concerning tile arbitrariness of the proceedings applies to tile Judicial Reform Law of Novem- ber, 1863, which, notwithstanding all its imperfections (especially as regards the secrecy of preliminary inquest), was, nevertheless, conceived in a fair spirit, and was superior to tile French law, which had been taken for a model. Little of it has, however, remained un- touched. In fact, tilis law was only respected for tile first three or four years after its promulgation. Count Pahien, who became minister of justice ill 1867, began its demolition by means of ilis Circulars. From 1878 to 1885 M. Nabokoff was at the ministry, and ills policy has been well described by Professor Stasulevitcil as the policy of a captain wilo tilrows overboard tile less precious part of ilis cargo in order to save tIle remainder. But he fell in 1885, and his successor, M. Manasein, wilo resigned a few moiltils ago, Ilad 110 such captains scruples. Tile jus- tices of peace were abolished; both administrative and judicial powers were ilanded over to the new police clliefs, tile rigilts of tile jury were fur- tiler curtailed, the Ministry of Interior 224 The Present Condition of Russia. became a court of appeal for a certain category of judicial decisions, and so on. Now M. Muravioff, the present minister of justice, has announced in the Official .Miessenger, in December last, that the law, which he describes as a creation of theorizing cranks, will soon undergo total destruction. M. Muravioff will put things right by get- ting rid of the theories of Alexan- (icr the Second. One point more must be noticed in connection with law. The practice of suspending and altering law by means of Circulars, Obligatory Interpre- tations, Recommendations, and simple Orders has gradually be- come so widely spread in Russia, that by this time only the lazy one amidst the non-suspects does not resort to this means of affirming his own will. Here are a few authenticated facts 1 A zemskiy nuehalnik forbids his peasants to obey such decisions of the zemstvo. A district president of the nobility issues quite a code of regula- tions concerning schools and school- masters, who are supposed to be placed under the Ministry of Instruction. A chief of the police of a big city in the south-west declares to the municipal- ity that he will not recognize its regu- lations concerning the annual fair, although these regulations have been approved by the Senate. Another chief of the police, at St. Petersburg, issues a written order to a tradesman to close his shop as a punishment for his insolence towards a policeman. A governor of a province issues during cholera riots an order which reads as follows: In case of new disturbances I shall re-establish order by means of the military force at my disposal, and I will hang the ringleaders on the spot, while the others will be cruelly (zhestoko) punished under the eyes of all. And so he did, nominating his vice-governor and two functionaries to sit as a court. lEven the Grazhdanin found these proceedings too high- handed, the only legal tribunal, in case 1 All of them have been published and mentioned in the Russian press, with full names, which, I suppose, offer no interest for English readers. LIVING AGE. VOL. yin. 379 of military being called out, being the court-martial. In a southern province the governor orders a Jew to be trans- ported for five years to Yakutsk in Siberia, for usury, although a special law on usury, conferring no such pow- ers upon tIle governors, was issued a few months before. In a Baltic prov- ince a governor issues a circular to the voloste executives enjoining them not to recognize the legality of marriages contracted between Ortllodox Greeks and Lutherans, and to inscribe the children of such parents as illegal, thIns conferring upon the voloste tile right to pronounce a sentence which by law can only be pronounced by the Senate, and so on. The practice of making new laws by personal decision has thus spread from the central powers down- wards, and it is becoming a permanent feature of Russian life ; wIlile the nu- merous restrictions added to the judicial law of 1863 ensure impunity for func- tionaries ; so long as they profess un- bounded devotion to the throne tlley can do as they like. It is hardly necessary, after all that has been said, to dwell upon the causes of political discontent, and the man- ners in which discontents are treated. The subject is pretty well known by this time to English readers. Let me only add thlat since the day when Alex- ander tile Second had come (in 1878) to the unfortunate idea of himself re- vising and increasing the sentences pronounced in the trial of the Hundred and Ninety-three, by the special court he himself had nominated for this trial, full arbitrariness in political matters became the rule. Not only were laws continually altered for restricting the rights of the accused, but the whole of the proceedings, from the first search- ing (lown to the execution of the sen- tence, was, in at least nine cases out of ten, a mere violation of existing laws by the omnipotent State police. For thirty years exile by simple order of the administration has been practised on an unheard of scale; by law it was an abuse. But a few years ago, even this abuse had been sanctioned by the emperor. It is in virtue of imperial 225 226 The Present Gondition of Russia. decision that men and women disagree- as I once have treated the national able to the police can now be sent, question in Finland. On the other without any appearance of even a sham side, the national problems in Russia judgment, to Siberia, imprisoned for are all originating from the same lead- five years in a cellular prison, or trans- ing idea which has created all the ported to the Sakhalin island. Extra- present difficulties. If the dominant legal action has thus been rendered l)rillciple of the government is that legal. As to the evil done to Russia by every manifestation of local life must this reckless hunting down of all those be stifled, because to grant freedom to who dared in thoughts and words to the province would mean to create a disagree with the government, it only State in the State ; if this meaning now begins to be realized. Two gener- less phrase be taken as an expression ations of the best and most talented of political wisdom then, of course, youth of Russia let people ponder no nationality has the right of leading about what two generations mean a separate existence. All must be cen have been sacrificed outright. The tralized at St. Petersburg. One State, prosecution of every gifted boy and one official Church, one official lan- girl began in the school, and it always guage, one centre from which all offi- ended either in imprisonment and cials radiate, must be the principle or exile, or in the life of a spotted sus- rather the Utopia of the government. pect. How few, and at what sacri- Finland, Poland, Georgia, must be fice, have survived that systematic treated as Russian provinces. War weeding out of the best forces of Bus- must be waged against the Georgian, sin! Armenian, Ukrainian, Lithuanian, etc. Moreover, it must be borne in mind languages and literature. Nonconform- that till now Russia has in the fortress ists must be turned into orthodox of Schltisselbnrg its Bastille not in a Greeks, and every other belief must be metaphoric but in the strict sense of hunted down. The life of a State has the word and that the Bastille has its logic, and a fundamental principle till now its inmates. Men who have involves a mass of consequences. But been condemned to hard labor, and all this is easier said than done. The ought to be sent to Siberia, are kept government may, of course, treat Fin- immured in the fortress on Lake La- land as an annexed province; worse doga, in such conditions that the very violations of oaths by kings are re- horrors of a hard-labor convicts life in corded in history. It may prohibit the Siberia would be considered by them use of Polish signboards in Poland, and as a relief. They are buried alive, forbid a Polish or Ukrainian peasant to they can have no sort of intercourse dictate his last will in his mother Ian- with the outer world; and their near- guage the only one lie knows. It est relatives are only allowed to call may debar Georgians from teaching once a year at Schliisselburg, and to their mother tongue to their children. receive a written statement: Your It may order that no more than three son is alive, or Your husband died per cent. of Jewish boys be admitted this year. If there is in the world a into the schools which Jews pay for greater refinement of cruelty, let others like all other citizens. It may even name it I know none. find doctors who will refuse to admit to The above long list of problems now the Pasteur Institute an old Jew bitten standing before Russia does not yet by a rabid dog, because he is a Jew include one problem of the greatest this, tooMr. Errera affirms has gravity, namely, the relations between happened. But racial distinctions and the Great-Russian stem and the na- history are more powerful than even the tionalities which enter into the compo- sition of the Russian Empire. To treat 1 A. Errera is the author of a concise and very calm book on the Jewish question, Les Juifs the national problems adequately I russesEmancipation on Extermination, now ought to treat each of them separately, translated into English. The Present Condition of Russia. omnipotent Russian chinovniks. And every sensible Russian understands that the only net result of such a policy will be to prepare a succession of bloody wars, and finally to surround the terri- tory of the Great-Russian stein with hostile States. Such policy is certainly contrary to the very spirit of the Russian nation, which admirably lives on best terms by the side of any race and reli- gion. it is contrary to the federative spirit of the Russian, who, as a rule, prefers certainly to have in Poland a simple neighbor rather than a hostile dependency. Such a policy may be imperial, but certainly it is not na- tional, and the sooner it passes into history the better. Wherever we turn our eyes we thus see an immense problem rising before us, and imperatively demanding an immediate solution. Russia stands now in the same position as it stood after the Crimean catastrophe, when all bases of its economical and political life had to be revised from top to bot- tom. And all the problems at issue now merge into one great question which dominates all the others: Will Russia the Russia which lives in the villages and towns scattered on its ter- ritory have the possibility of taking into its own hands, in every village, province, and territory, the task of re- sponding to the daily growing needs of the population? It is not a mere ques- tion of political rights, because the question of daily bread for four months every year for the great mass of the l)opulation stands foremost. It is also not a mere question as to whether Russia shall have some sort of Parlia- ment or not; because now that all organs of the local life of the country have been annihilated, the problem is infinitely more complicated than it was thirty or even fifteen years ago. A representative Assembly, by the side 1 Jews baiting may be said to contradict that statement. But I have already shown elsewhere that in 1882, when Jewish quarters were wrecked in south-west Russia, Greeks baiting took place in south Russia, and Russians baiting in the south- west. In one or two places on the Volga, the houses of the Russian usurers were wrecked at the same time by the peasants. 227 of which the present centralization and the present overwhelming powers of the central government would be main- tained, can be of no avail. And as to tile Assembly of Notables which had been summoned by Alexander the Second on the 1st (13th) of March, 1881, afe w hours before his death, but tile law of which was never pro- mulgated by Alexander tile ThhA ,2 it had a quite different meaning in 1881, wilen tile zemstvos did exist than it would have now that these institutions have been wrecked. If the prepon- derance which was given in Loris Melikoffs scheme to the representa- tives of the central government over those who were meant to represent tile country (and now after the reform of tl~e zemstvos would only represent tile government or tile nobility) were main- tained, this would only further increase tile powers of the administration as against the country. An Assembly of tilis kind would certainly yield no prac- tical result. Sucil a havoc has been wrongilt in all provincial life, that notiling short of an entire revision and a total reconstruction of tile illner organization of Russia will be able to put an end to this cilnos. But an Assembly of Notables still less the one whicll was scilelned by Loris Mcii- koff cannot undertake that sort of revision, and the government will prob- ably see itself compelled to convoke a Constituent Assembly. But the real work of revision can be accomplished by no Assembly unless Russian society, growing conscious of the immeilse task which now lies upon it, itself undertakes that work in every province and local ceiltre. And no one who knows Russia will doubt that there is no lack of forces for accom- plisiling that work, and usina in it all experience accumulated during the last 2 See Leroy Beauliens Un homme dEtat russe. Also The constitution of Loris Meli- koff, a Russian pamphlet lately published in Lon- don, and based upon papers communicated by Loris Melikoff himself. The most interesting his- tory of the few weeks during which Alexander the Third hesitated between promulgating the last law signed by his father and keeping it back has not yet been written in full. The Road to Rome. thirty years. All seemed dead in Rus- sia by the end of Nicholas the Firsts reign; but a simple hope that the work done will not be lost was suf- ficient for thousands of forces, unsus- pected before, coming to the front, beginning the discussion of all burning questions all over Russia, and carrying by the weight and earnestness of their work the last resistances opposed to the liberation of the serfs by inertia and reaction at St. Petersburg. The same has to be done now. To expect that any power, however mighty it may be, should and could do that immense work, would simply mean to live in cloudland. The work of reconstruc- tion is a national work and the nation must do it itself. P. KROPOTKIN. From Macmillans Magazine. THE ROAD TO ROME. II. I HAD studied the time-table, and talked to every one who could give me information about the route to Flor- ence, where I was to meet my friend. I was to start by the southern train at 7 A.M., and was assured that I should reach Florence the same nigl~t, late it might be, but before midnight. I should have to change at Verona, and wait there two hours, which would give me time to explore tile famous arena, and perhaps also allow me a glimpse of ~he fair city. I might, too, hope to get some dinner if I met any one who could understand either of the tongues at my command. So off I went in ex- cellent spirits. Italy is a better land than I expected, mused I. There is plenty to look at, if even I have to look in silence. Fortune sent a German-speaking in- terpreter to my assistance at Verona station who put my luggage in safety and told me I sllould have ample time to do all I wished, for that owing to the floods the train from Venice which would carry me to Bologna was not due till tllree oclock, and would prob- ably not be punctual. But at what hour shall I reach Florence ? said I. Not to-night; your train only goes to Bologna. All, well, I shall taste the re- nowned sausage, I reflected, and was content. So I vie we(l the city and thought upon Romeo and Juliet, sat in the arena and admired its graceful architecture, carefully keeping my mind a blank as to what had been transacted there in the awful days of old. And then I ate my modest din- ner, sitting in the street under the awning to shade me from tile hot sun- shine. The veal cutlets, fried crisp in oil, were good, and so was the glass of foaming Asti. To the minute I was at the station, for I would run no risk of losing even an unpunctual train. My ticket to Bologna was sooii taken; since my money was giving out, only a second class, but I might just as well have taken a third for all the good I got out of it. As I wandered up and down in that circular waiting-room into which, by foreign custom, all intending passen- gers were safely locked, I had plenty of time for observing my fellow-travel- lers. We eyed each other. There was a party of six or seven ladies, Americans by their tongue, whether they spoke in English, French, or Ger- alan, and equally forbidding in all; fifteen or more commis-voyageurs (for which profession I (10 not know the Italian name), recognizable at a glance, pushing, eager, garrulous, and gesticu- lating; and, serving as a fine contrast to both parties, three brown monks with sandalled feet and grave demeanor. One was young and Italian, tile other two elderly, and as I gathered from their talk, Tirolese. I watched their embraces with much interest, as the Italian presently took his leave ; tile kiss on eacll cheek which he gave them, and their llumble return of the salutation on his Iland, betokened him as a superior. They spoke in Latin to Ilim, and he gave them Ilis b1essin~ in the same tongue ere he left. But Latin did not suffice for the 228 The Road to Rome. comfort of these poor souls. After much eying of me they stepped for- ward, as in my journey round the room I passed near them. We kiss the hand of the reverend mother, said the elder of the two, suiting the action to the word to my intense surprise. We heard her speak in our tongue ; she can tell us doubtless the way to Rome. For we are poor brethren from Schwatz in Tirol, and we do not know which road to follow. Slightly taken aback at the title given me, and repudiating all knowl- edge of Rome or the way to get there, I replied in my best Tirolese German that I would call the interpreter to their aid. But that worthy could only satisfy the wants of mundane travellers who desired information about trains and time-tables. Of what use was such information to poor monks who knew little of geography and less of railways? What they wanted was the advice of a fellow-Christian as to how they should proceed on their pilgrim- age: where they should halt; what it would cost them; and how long it would take to reach St. Peters and lay their errand at the feet of his Holiness. So they sat down again disappointed and tucked their hands in their long sleeves. By and by I passed that way again, and with a sudden glance at his brother the younger of the two jumped up. The gracious lady is certainly an abbess ; will she permit me to kiss the hem of her garment? She has surely been to Rome herself, and can tell her poor brethren how to get there. But indeed I am no abbess, said I. I have never been to Rome in my life, nor ever before have I set foot in Italy; how can I help you? Still, she is a Tirolerin, and assur- edly on her way to Rome now, per- sisted he. Heaven forbid I ejaculated I hastily. I am only going to Florence to meet a friend. In saying which I was far enough from the truth. The unlearned monk, in the coarse brown frock, saw further ahead than I, wrapped up in my conceit as to free- will. But he was at fault when he thought he discerned a lady-abbess hid- den away under my long black cloak and close-tied hat. Perhaps it was the gleam of a silver cross round my neck which misled his imagination, as in- deed it misled the pope himself later on. I am from England, added I in pity for his embarrassment; but I have learned geography, and I think if you can take a ticket for Florence, which will cost you so much (naming the sum for a third-class ticket), you will find brothers of your own order at St. Marks who will direct you further on. An EngUinderin! said they both together, in a tone of deep respect. Ab, the English are a wonderful people. And once more wrapping their robes around them, they sat down to reflect and count their little moneys and finally, before the train came in, I saw them with tickets in their hands. By that time it was so nearly dark that I could scarcely see the labels on the carriages. I could, however, see the conductor as he flashed his lantern on the insides while he demanded the tickets from their occupants. Per signore sole at last I read on an open door; and my intelligence leaping to the conclusion that Reserved for ladies was what the words meant, in I jumped, regardless of the expostula- tions of the party of Americans who declared it was full, a statement any- thing but true, even if, as they as- serted, there were three more to come who were looking after the luggage. However, the clamor they raised was so great that the conductor motioned me to get out again, and took me up and down the platform looking in vain for another vacant seat in either first or second class. The line was but just open again after weeks of delay and disappointment to travellers, and every one was eager and crowding. I saw no English person to appeal to, though I found afterwards that there was more than one in the train from Venice. 229 The Road to Rome. But at last, just as the bell for depart- ure sounded, the worried official opened the door of a third-class and found but three men sitting there. Hastily he helped me in, when, before he could shut the door, seven more dashed past him, and as the engine was already in motion my relief that no one fell through, to be crushed by the rolling train, swallowed up for the first few minutes my discomfiture at finding myself in such company. A third-class carriage and ten noisy Italians with a long journey in the dark before me! Picture my feelings ; but what could the strongest determination do for me now? Resignation was clearly the part I had to play. Furtively, I let down the window a few inches from my corner of vantage hoping that no one would notice it. Roystering commercials coming home from a spree, thought I, doubtless each with a dagger hid somewhere about him, are not persons to be opposed, but humored. I must keep my eyes open and pretend to be asleep. Presently, when with much clamor and pushing they had settled down in their places, one suddenly arose and, turning to me as I sat rolled up in my abbesss cloak, seemed with many gesticulations to be urging some fact on my attention. With my most affa- ble smile and a quick-beating heart, I replied gently, Non capisco, signor. The noise redoubled; all spoke at once. I appealed to them in German to talk but one at a time; I asked them in plain English what they wanted; I shook my head in French. All was useless. Three brown hands drew up the window which I had let down; two lean fore-fingers with dirty nails pointed to the inscription on the door, For smokers; to carry ten. Alas, we were eleven, and the eleventh was poor me! Clearly I had no right there. Still when it is impossible to move, I have always felt it best to sit quite still. Thus I sat now, motionless in my corner, pretending to sleep, with my head on my bundle of wraps, which was too tightly strapped for me to at- tempt to unbuckle it in these straitened circumstances, and my precious bag on my lap. Where is my guardian angel now? thought I somewhat reproach- fully and very foolishly. As it hap- pened, she was hidden in the form of the stoutest and most forbidding-looking of the Italians, and the one who smoked the largest cigar. All ten of them smoked, and their tobacco was the vilest I have ever smelled. Shall I suffocate? was my next thought, as I watched out of the corner of my eye one after another compose himself to sleep ; and I meditated on the best way of letting down an inch of my window when all should be snoring. But the remembrance of the daggers, which I had been informed all Italians carry about them and are apt at using, restrained my hand. The long hours went by. The stars of heaven were reflected in the waters of earth as we sped along. Poplars in straight line flanked the road, and I saw them dark and ominous lifting their heads to a stormy sky. On we went, sometimes slow and sometimes slower, but never once coming to a stop. Station after station was left behind, and still the ten slept and snorted, and the eleventh watched arid wondered. Well might I wonder; what would be the end of such a jour- ney? Suddenly down my neck I felt trickling something cold; my neighbor awoke with a start and an oath, and was on his feet in an instant. Some- thing red was running down his fore- head and standing in big drops at the end of his nose ; the next man had spots of blood on his shirt-front ; I put up my hand to my neck and my glove was stained purple. The babel of tongues broke out again. We all rose to our feet with exclamations of horror. The wooden seats had pools on them, and the red stream ran to the floor. Need I say that I was terrified? But being ever of the opinion that a calm front is a womans best weapon of de- fence I drew out my pocket-handker- chief and proceeded to wipe my throat. The Italians, not having one between the whole ten of them, made shift to 230 The Road to Rome. 231 mop their faces and the bench with said he again, and then he turned and pieces of paper. And then the stout fled. What could I do but flee after man with the evil countenance invited him? Had he not my bag and all my me by gesture to take his seat in the money? Even into a den of cut opposite corner, which was the only throats I was bound to follow him. dry spot. It was not till I was en- Away he went, and away I ran in his sconced there that I perceived what footsteps, away from the station, had happened. The seven men who away from lights, away down a had jumped in at the last moment had muddy, stony road, on and on with no each brought a flask of wine encased in time to think an(l my heart in my basketwork and stopped, as is the cus- mouth. At last, turning a corner I tom of the country, with a piece of saw lights again, and a long row of cotton-wool instead of a cork. This conveyances ready to start. At the acts very well so long as the bottles are door of the first, which was a heavy kept upright, and they are furnished omnibus, the fat man was standing, with a loop of string round the neck my bag in his hand waiting to help so that they may be easily carried in me in. I had no breath left to say that position. But placed in the rack Thank you, even had I known how above our heads, they had turned over to say it in his language ; but I kissed with the jolting of the train, and drop my hand to him as he took off his hat by drop the red Chianti had dribbled to nie, for I recognized my guardian away till at last an extra jolt had angel under his ugly mask. I will emptied the flasks on their careless never judge by appearances again,~~ owners. thought I, as he disappeared in the Just when all were lamenting, and darkness, and with much cracking of scolding, and laughing by turns, the whips and shouting of voices we were brake was put on, and with many a off. creak and jar we drew up at a station. The Americans were in the same Padna! shouted our guard, as he omnibus, and from their conversation threw open the door of our compart- I gathered that the line of rail being meat, adding some other words which flooded for several miles we were to I did not understand. The ten men be conveyed to the next station, the took their departure with much scuf- name of which I forget. Where should fling and noise ; the fat man turning I have been but for the kind Italians on the step, as lie got out last of all, help? But certainly his looks belied to say to me in a loud voice Padna, him; and I think that no one could pointing as he did so to a dark passage have guessed that the wings of my down which the rest were hurrying. guardian angel were tucked away under A Bologna, signor, was my reply, his dirty coat. pointing to myself to signify I was At the next station, where we found going further. That was all I said to a train waiting for us, the confusion him, but in my heart I said, Thank was great. With my bag in one hand, Heaven you are all gone; now I shall umbrella and rug in the other, I man- have the carriage to myself; and I aged to push up chose to a tall man let down both the windows and un- speaking English (oh, blessed tongue !) strapped my rug. Just as I was coin- who was steering a lady, a nurse, and fortably settled in my dry corner the a baby through the crowd. Where door was burst open again by the fat are we going? cried I. To Bo- man, who snatched up my bag, and logna, said he, if we can all find saying with an air of determination, room in the train. Catch hold of my Kornm, Fran, plucked me by the coat-tail and come along. ~ And I did sleeve and motioned me to alight, so, thinking of the words of Isaiah the Gathering up my rug and umbrella I prophet, beginning In that day. did as he bade me, knowing expostula- They are not in the least appropriate tioii to be useless. Komrn, Frau, to my case, I acknowledge, but when The Road to Rome. one is off ones base, memories come unbidden. Nourished on the Bible from my mothers lap, the familiar words of Scripture come bubbling to the surface of my mind whenever it is stirred to the bottom by fate or fright. Seven women, said the prophet? Nay, we were but three, and the baby; and the man being large was competent to us all, and we were landed safely in a first-class carriage. My ticket was only second, and when the guard caine round he began to gesticulate and throw about wild words. Non ca- pisco, said I, falling back on my for- mula. Non capisco, repeated I, with my sweetest smile, as the storm of words ceased for an instant. En- glish, I added with emphasis, and be- thought myself to say Signor with a bow. The worthy man returned my salutation as well as my ticket, and I saw him no more. At last, at long last, we rumbled over the stony streets of Bologna, and I was landed without any volition on my part at the doors of the HOtel Braun. Al- most before I could lay my head down on the clean pillows at two oclock A.M. I was fast asleep without giving a thought to my boxes. However, when I opened my door next morning there they stood outside. When it is so easy to lose ones luggage in a general way, I could but marvel to find mine there, albeit they were legibly directed to Florence. But by this time I was used to marvels and descended calmly to eat my breakfast in the spacious coffee- room. A little frail old lady in a pink cap, followed by a stout and smiling husband, sat down opposite. We are on our way to Rome, said they, after a few preliminary remarks; a lady in a cap was of course En- glish. I presume you are going there too? Indeed, no, said I. I am sep- arated from a friend by a series of mis- adventures too long to relate; but I go to meet her at Florence since that seems the only route open, and I shall probably return home by the Riviera if I am prevented from getting north- wards. I think you will come to Rome, said the little lady ; and if you do, ask for me at Pension B. All the En- glish know it. I will remember, said I, if I go; but I have no intention of going. The seven hills have no attraction for me. Meanwhile I must see Bologna since I was there willy nilly. Summer had come again, it seemed, and I songht the grateful shade of the arcades, where barbers shaved their customers, coopers hammered their casks, women cooked macaroni, and men fried fish, vending it with shrill cries. Toma- toes, grapes, and golden pears piled in heaps gave color to the shade, and light was flashed back from the spar- kles of the fountain that foamed and splashed in the centre of the Piazza. Such was my first impression of the town, and it remains clear on my retina. But in the background I re- member there was a dull university and the chairs of professors ; a gallery of pictures, and some cross-lines and con- fused arches belonging to the churchea and leaning towers mentioned in the guide-book. The next morning saw me at the railway station again, watching with amused interest the embraces of twa brother officers in blue uniform. The farewell kisses were given with effu- sion; arms were thrown round manly necks; swords clanked on the stony platform; spurs glittered in the early rays of the sun. Addio, addio I cried they, and wiped tears from their eyes with parti-colored pocket-handker- chiefs as the train slipped out of a tunnel and swept on through meadow and vineyard, which by and by gave place to valleys and rounded hills. I heard the sound of running brooks, and I saw little maidens with bright-colored petticoats and golden earrings twirling their distaffs as they herded a few sheep or a lean cow. Very pretty, very pleasant was this rapid change of scene, this journey so full of incident and adventure but I felt rather like a shuttle-cock tossed hither and thither by no will of my own. 232 The Road to Borne. That same afternoon I was sitting in the coffee-room of the HOtel de lEu- rope at Florence reading a telegram which had just arrived. My friend could not get out of Davos even yet; Go on to Rome, it said; we will meet there shortly. I suppose I looked rather forlorn, as well I might, for a sweet-faced old lady with silver hair, coming into the room to fetch a newspaper, stopped to speak to me, and after a little chat invited me to come to her sitting-room in an hours time, where she promised I should find a real English cup of tea ; And we can then discuss your plans, she added kindly. A bath and a change of dress fresh- ened me, and I tapped at the door of No. Si at the appointed time. A re- spectable English maid was cutting bread and butter; a courier of most genteel appearance was folding up maps; and the old lady with the snowy curls was inviting me to sit on the sofa beside her, as I entered. How like home it all seemed ! You must not go to Rome alone, said she, and laughed at my strange tale of adven- ture. If you can wait here till Mon- day, you shall travel with me. To be alone in a land of which you cannot speak the language is neither pleasant nor proper for a lady. Come with me to Rome, and my courier shall look after you and your boxes. My maid shall find us cups of tea, and my son shall entertain us en route. You will be sure to like Rome when you get there. Come, what do you say to my plan? What could I say? If there was no road open to me but the road to Rome, then to Rome I must go. So I said Yes, and Thank you, as I drank my second cup of tea. I do not dine at the table dh6te, said the 01(1 lady, so you will not see me again to-night. To-morrow I shall be out all day ; but on Sunday after- noon, if you will find your way here at the same hour, we will make our final arrangements for starting. So I ate my dinner that night with a tranquil mind, in company with various 233 specimens of travelling humanity all more or less entertaining, of whom I retain but a vague remembrance, save of one, who told me she always carried about her parrot with her for the sake of its society, and she strongly advised me to gct a bird of some sort for a companion. A doe she remarked, makes itself a nuisance, and you must pay for it wherever you go. But a parrot is no expense, for I carry it in my hand, and its cage hangs in my bedroom. I have taken mine all over the world. Last winter I was in Japan, the year before in New Zealand; and when I come back to London in May, Pollys cage hangs in my pretty fiat in Victoria Street for the season. It was with this lady I went the next afternoon to Fiesole, having spent the morning an~ong the galleries. She was a most amusing companion, and I en- joyed myself extremely in her society. Whether the parrot would have accom- panied her in this drive had I not been there, I know not. As it was she left him in his cage hanging outside the window of her room on the first floor, from whence he swore at her in Dutch just as we were stepping into the car- riage at the hall door, and the porter let her guide-book fall into the mud in consequence of the start it gave him. What a charming drive it was I There was not a care on my shoulders, since my journey on Monday was all planned for me without a thought or trouble on my part. To-day I was drinking in the sights and sounds of a wholly new city; and to-morrow I should go to church and say my prayers in the coin- pany of my own country-people, adding a special thanksgiving, not printed in the book of Common Prayer, for the special Providence haunting my steps. But what was the name of my angel with the silver hair? No one had seen her but me, I discovered; no one knew her name. I could not l)ossibly travel with any one whom I did not know how to address. She had asked my name; would it have been impertinent had I returned the question? But since that opportunity was lost, I stopped the hall porter on my way to church The Road to Borne. and begged to know the name of the lady in No. 81, adding, to excuse my curiosity, that I was going to tea in her room. Madame Ia Comtesse dAvigdor, said he in a tone of deep respect, look- ing at my rather shabby self with sur- prise. Dear me, thought I, what an escort for a hospital-nurse ! This time my angel has made a very wise choice of a body to play bo-peep out of. She may fold her wings and take it easy; the countess will do the rest. And when I knocked at the door of No. 81 I knocked humbly, and thought per- haps I had made a mistake in ven- turing to knock at all. But Madame Ia Comtesse answered Avanti, and looked just as friendly and English as if her name had been Mrs. Brown, and she had merely said, Come in. Everything was arranged ; the courier had secured a first-class carriage all for herself, and her son and her maid could not fill it ; there would be plenty of room for me. And there would be a lunch-basket provided ; I was to take no thought for the morrow. Truly, truly my angel has been busy, I reflected, and I gave thanks. You were at the English church doubtless, said madame. Surely, I replied ; did you not see me? I was not there ; I am not of your persuasion, she answered, smiling. Ah, Madame la Comtesse is a Cath- olic, I said. I might have known that from her Spanish name. Not so, answered she simply ; I am an Israelite. What on earth could take a Jewess to Rome? asked I of myself, as I lay down in bed that night. But I am glad I was not angry with the poor hunchback at Salurn; and so think- ing I fell asleep. In those days I was so much more used to looking after other people than being looked after myself that the eight or nine hours of our transit to Rome passed in amused contemplation and elation of spirit. Did I want to look out of the window? The old lady was ready to talk, and had something worth hearing to relate about every place of importance we passed, for she had often made the journey before. Did I want to read when the prospect was tame? Monsieur Sergius was most polite in offering me books and ~)apers. Was I hungry? The maid gave me meat and wine, spreading a clean napkin over my knees first. And once (I think it was at Orvieto) we saw a little pig being roasted whole on the platform where we drew up, and the ever-ready courier came up with a plateful of savory roast pork. Of course the nationality of my compan- ions compelled them to decline it ; but I ate with a relish, partly owing to the novel flavor of the prune sauce which accompanied it, but partly also to the sense of fun in my whole surroundings which was strong upon me. Where shall I tell the man to drive ? said the polite courier, as by the countesss orders he put me an(I my impedimenta into a carriage at Rome station. Pension B, said I, remembering the pink-capped lady at Bologna. Au revoir, said my angel as she waved her hand. Come and dine with me next Sunday. A thousand thanks, said I,and still some left for our next meeting! I shall never forget you. It was the 12th of November when I rang the bell at Pension B., humbly asking to be taken in for a week or ten days till my friend should join me, and we could take an apartment together; it was the 12th of March when that door shut behind me for the last time I Meanwhile the good ladies who owned that house looked me up and looked me down, as I sat in their ante-room on the day of my arrival. They were not accustomed to take in chance boarders, said they ; they had a large connection and their rooms were all bespoken, if not actually occupied. But I am alone, pleaded I, quite alone, and I do not know Italian; surely you will house me till my friend comes from Davos? We are so very particular, mur 234 The Road to Borne. inured they; the reputation of our pensiou depends on our guests, and they shook their heads. All sorts of people come to Rome. And I wished heartily that they had been Israelites, instead of genteel maiden ladies be- longing to the Church of England Still they had several rooms empty, and when I had faithfully promised to give up my quarters if required to do so, they at last consented that I should occupy a large double chamber opening out on the Piazza de Spagna. And so that first night in Rome I laid my head on the pillow, and dreamed of the scar- let lady sitting on the seven hills. I never felt more Protestant in my life than when I walked about the streets the next day. I had come there against my will ; I had protested at every convenient opportunity; and what had been the result? What in- deed? But you shall hear. It was weeks before my friend could get away from Davos, and when she came her sick child had to be left be- hind, the travelling being still too rough and uncertain for an invalid. So her visit was a flying one, and her chief errand an interview with the pope. Pension B. was really full by that time, for it was Christmas, but I had not been turned out. An apartment could not be found in the height of a busy season. So my friend put up at a Catholic hotel near, and ran in and out of Pension R at her pleasure. To- gether we made a round of the sights, while the strings were being pulled which would obtain the wished for audience. With her it was not a case of kissing his Holinesss toe, and talking of it ever afterwards as the tourists do. To her his voice came as a voice from Heaven saying: This is the way, walk ye in it. See him she must had she not come on purpose? But there are difficulties in the way, dear miss, said she, as we walked up and down the Pincian Hill, watching the sun set behind St. Peters. I was to have come with the gracious lady von Reisewitz, and the high-worthy Herr Pfarrer Albertus would have smoothed the road. But the popes chamberlain has promised his endeavors, and I await his answer. This was one evening at sunset as I have related. At six the next morn- ing she was at my bedside. Awake, awake, dear miss, the order has come! His Holiness will see me to-day at noon. There is to be a small audience of some sisters of the Sacr~ Czeur, and I am to be admitted with them, and you must go with me. Go with you! Certainly not; I am not a Catholic; ii want nothing of the pope, said I, startled out of my manners. But, miss, reflect, I cannot go alone; one lady alone without a chape- rone; it is impossible I And the chamberlain said I might bring you when I asked him. You will have nothing to do, nothing to say; and his Holiness will take no notice of you, when he hears you are of the Anglican Church. Think what a favor it is that you should be admitted to his pres- ence! Me think it a favor to see the pope? exclaimed 1 ungrammatically and fervently. But observing a grieved look on my friends hitherto joyful face I became calmer. If she really could not go without me, it would be unkind to forsake her. But she must understand; I did not go to pay my reverence to him, or to acknowledge his supremacy over an Englishwoman. I would go simply as a chaperone, re- gardless of the fact that we were of the same age and she was a widow. A black dress and a black scarf over my head was all that etiquette required, and I promised to be with her at half past ten, that we might start in good time. The hour found me waiting, but she was not ready. In a fervor of ex- citement she had rushed from siiop to shop choosing rosaries to be blessed and carried home to her friends. Hasten, my friend, hasten I said I. The pope is not accustomed to be kept waiting; you will lose your audi- ence after all. And I adjusted her beautiful lace over her more beautiful hair, and arranged the strings of 235 The Road to Rome. mother o pearl and silver over her arm and then we were off. You will promise that I may keep in the back- ground, said I. I would not for the world pretend what I do not feel. I promise said she, and we drew up at the Vatican. What would my dear dead father think of me? was my reflection as I mounted the long flight of stairs. Am I really going into the house of Antichrist after all the teaching of my childhood? I remembered how Naaman the Syrian felt, and like him I sai(l, Pardon me in this thing Then we were ushered into a vast empty ante-chamber hung with tapes- tries, with a brazier of charcoal in the centre, where the chamberlain pres- ently came and chatted with my friend and the sisters who were there before us. Soon we were moved forward (like chessmen, I thought) into the audience-chamber, where some nuns were kneeling in a row, and a sprin- kling of bright uniforms relieved their blackness on the opposite side. Down went my friend on her knees, and the chamberlain touched my shoulder. It is a form, said he in English comply with it. There was a Swiss Guard with a drawn sword, just behind, and what could I do but obey the voice? Pray Heaven I get safe out again I was my cry in spirit as I cast a terrified glance over my shoulder, for I have ever had a dread of soldiers. When I turned my head again there was a mild-looking old gentle- man clothed entirely in white even to his slippers and mittens, talking gently to the nuns in soft Italian speech. I drew back behind my friend as far as I could, without impaling myself on the Swiss Guards naked sword when his holiness came near us, and de- voutly hoped he would not see me. But lie gave us each a hand to kiss, and exchanged question and answer with my friend, whose family had known him when lie was only a car- dinal. I had plenty of time to look at him, for she had much to say, and of course I understood not a word of their talk. I was just recovering from my nervousness when he turned to hia chamberlain, or ecclesiastic in attend- ance, and asked in French, Who is this lady, and why is she here ? Oh, returned lie, she comes but as escort to her friend, and she is a heretic; your Holiness need not trouble to speak to her. If she is a heretic, said he, why does she wear the sign of our faith? touching as lie spoke the cross round my neck. The chamberlain shrugged his shoulders in embarrassment but my friend took up the word. She is no heretic, Holy Father, said she warmly. She is a good Christian who nurses the sick and the poor, but she had the misfortune to be born in , which is not to be laid to her door as a fault. My daughter, said the kindly voice of an old man, as he laid one hand on my head, and gave me the other to kiss for a second time. I give you my blessing; prosper in your good works, and lie moved away. The chamberlain followed ; the Guard formed round him ; lie turned on the threshold to wave his hands in bene- diction and then the audience was over and lie was gone. My poor friend! Picture her feel- ings as we drove back to Pension B. together. You have stolen my bless- mO- 5 ai(l she and here are all my rosaries which I was just going to ask him to touch for my friends I You have got my blessing ; you who do not value it! And she wept bitter tears. It was long before I could pacify her, but at last she said: I will forgive you, miss ; it was not your fault that the Holy Father thins singled you out for a special blessing in place of me, his devoted child. Doubtless lie knew how much more you needed it. Yes, I have been to Rome, said I when I got back to England, arid my favorite niece questioned me as to my travels. I went because I could not help it. The pope nevertheless received me kindly and blessed me particularly. He is a very nice old 236 The Queens Prime Ministers. gentleman, and I am no longer afraid of him. But I am still a Protestant. Aunt Hannah, said she gravely, you are romancing. But I give you my word it is all true. From The Fortniglitly Reyjew. THE QUEENS PRIME MINISTERS. WE live in an age of series. The ex- ample which was originally set by Mr. John Morley in editing short lives of English Men of Letters, has found imitators both in this country and abroad. Here the men of letters were followed by the men of action ; the men of action by the rulers of India; the rulers of India by the modern rulers of England. And the last of these series has one advantage over its predecessors. It was capable of being n]ade more complete than any of the others. With the exception of Lord Rosebery whose life we may hope is in preparation Mr. Stuart Reid has given us a short biography of all the men who have governed England dur- ing the present reign. In their lives we have, or ought to have, a brief history of England during fifty-four years from the accession of the queen, in 1837, to the spring of 1891, the date to which Mr. Traill and Mr. Russell have brought down their memoirs of Lord Salisbury and Mr. Gladstone. The series is necessarily unequal. Mr. Froudes memoir of Lord Beacons- field has all the merits and faults of its distinguished author. Mr. Dunckleys life of Lord Melbourne is executed in Veraxs best manner. Mr. George Russell has given us an interesting account of Mr. Gladstone. Lord Stan- more, in his life of Lord Aberdeen, has attempted an apology for his fathers administration, to which Mr. Stuart Reid, the editor of the series, has partly replied in his memoir of Lord John Russell. Mr. Justin McCarthys well-written little book on Sir Robert Peel is, perhaps, a little thin. And we venture to think that Lord Lorne, Mr. Saintsbury, and Mr. Traill can hardly be said to have pronounced the 237 last words on Lord Palmerston, Lord Derby, and the present prime minister. During the queens long reign there have been twenty ministries and ten prime mm isters. The average (lura ti()n of each ministry has been rather less than three years. But, as Lord John Russell, Lord Palmerston, and Lord Beaconsfield were twice ; Lord Derby and Lord Salisbury thrice ; and Mr. Gladstone four times prime minis- ter, the average rule of each minister has exceeded the average duration of each ministry, and has reached nearly six years. During his four ministries Mr. Gladstone held the helm of State for about twelve years; Lord Palmers- ton for nearly ten ; Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Salisbury, and Lord Melbourne (the latter partly in the reign of Wil- liam IV.) for rather less than seven Lord John Russell for six ; Sir Robert Peel for not quite five. No other man during the present reign has governed England for even four years. In the political history of the reign, as in the political history of England, the tide of progress has alternately swelled and ebbed. But the force of the current has been much more pro- nounced at some times than at others. When the queen came to the throne, the strength of the movement which carried, and was accelerated by, the Reform Act was almost exhausted. The Liberal government of Lord Mel- bourne, after 1837, found it iml)ossible to carry any really large measure, and had to content itself with administra- tive reforms, like the adoption of penny postage. On the fall of Lord Melbourne, the Conservative party had, perhaps, a right to expect a period of Conserva- tive government. But the country, though it had proved itself weary of the Whigs, was tired of the men rather than of their measures. Sir Robert Peel, rightly interpreting the situation, commenced the remarkable series of financial reforms which distinguished his ministry. He succeeded in pros ing that a Conservative government might consist of Tory men and Whig measures; and, though he fell under 238 The Queens Prime Ministers. the Protectionist onslaught of 1846, he was succeeded by a Whig ministry pre- pared to complete his policy. Except that they had been reared in opposite camps, and had constantly commanded opposite armies, there was no reason why Sir Robert Peel and Lord John Russell should not have sat in the same Cabinet. On the great questions of internal policy they were much more closely agreed with one another than they were with some of the members of their own administrations. Thus, for a period of nearly ten years, no sharp distinctions of opinion were visible between the Whigs under Lord John Russell and the Conserva- tives who acknowledged Sir Robert Peels guidance ; and the political pen- dulum receiving no impulse from either side almost ceased to swing. The Crimean War and the Indian Mutiny, distracting attention from do- mestic politics, still further arrested its movement. The country tacitly ac- cepted the conclusion that during the remainder of Lord Palmerstons life no great reforms should be attempted, and from 1850 to 1865 controversy on do- mestic questions almost ceased in Par- liament. Mr. Gladstones financial and commercial proposals formed nearly the only measures which broke the prevailing calm. In the mean while, however, a large and increasing party in the State was not easily reconciling itself to the Con- servative policy of the Whig ministry. On Lord Palmerstons death reformers saw that their opportunity had come. They were not able, indeed, in 1866 to carry the moderate measure of reform which the Russell Cabinet proposed, and which excited alarm on one side of the House without creating enthusiasm on the other. The defeat of the Whigs, however, and the accession of the Con- servatives to power, stimulated the action of the reformers. Demnonstra- tions in London and the fall of Hyde Park railings convinced society and the clubs that it was no longer possible to do nothing. The Reform Bill of 1867 became law. The wide measure of enfranchisement accelerated the im pulse which had been already given to the political pendulum. The Conserv- ative party suffered a great defeat at the general election, and Mr. Glad- stone formed his first, and most famous, government. The Liberal impulse, which a long period of stagnation had created, and the enthusiasm which Mr. Gladstone himself excited. were so grent that, in the three succeeding years, the Irish Church was disestab- lished, an Irish Land Act passed, purchase in the army abolished, ele- me ntary education in ad e compulsory, the ballot adopted, and the Peers them- selves voluntarily renounced the right of voting by proxy. But the extent of these changes caused the inevitable reaction. Threatened interests com- bined against the ministry. The work- ing classes thought themselves inju red by the retrenchments which the depart- ments had made ; the publicans were irritated by Mr. Bruces Licensing Act ; and the classes which had been attacked, and those which had been threatened, agreed in desiring a period of repose. The general election of 1874 gave Mr. Disraeli a decisive ma- jority ; and a Liberal peer, writing to a Conservative statesman, expressed a widely spread opinion in saying that he hoped that the Conservatives would come in and do absolutely nothing. So far as domestic policy was con- cerned the wish which was thus ex- pressed was, on the whole ,gratifled. The Conservative government at- tempted no heroic legislation. But, partly from its misfortune, partly from its fault, it drifted into serious compli- cations abroad. The country watched, with profound dismay, the progress of events which brought it into measur- able distance from war with Russia, and which actually involved it in war in Afghanistan and South Africa. They saw that the imperial policy of the prime minister was not free from both danger and disaster. The polit- ical pendulum again swung violently back, and the Conservative majority of 1874 was replaced by the Liberal ma- jority of 1880. We need not enter in any great detail into events so recent The Queens Prime Ministers. as those with which Mr. Gladstones second ministry was concerned. It is sufficient to say that an unfortunate series of events in Egypt, culminating in the death of General Gordon, im- paired the popularity of the ministry. A large measure of reform, which for the first time enfranchised the rural laborer, failed to restore it to favor. A defeat on the budget in June gave Mr. Gladstone an opportunity for es- caping from an impossible position, and Lord Salisbury became prime mm - ister. The issue of the general election which succeeded in the following autumn was involved in uncertainty. No one could foresee with accuracy the effect which the enfranchisement of the rural voters and the large redistri- bution of power which accompanied it, would have on parties. Mr. Gladstone appealed to the electors to provide him with a majority which would render him independent of Irish support. But when the election was over it was seen that the Liberal party was just short of the numerical strength which was required to defeat a combination of Tories and Parnellites. Mr. Glad- stone became at once convinced that the system of government which had hitherto been pursued was no longer practicable. He decided on making Home Rule in Ireland a cardinal fea- ture in his future policy. By so doing he ensured the defeat of the Conserva- tive government, but he undoubtedly broke up his party, and prepared the way for the long Conservative adminis- tration of 1886 and the Liberal rout of the present summer. Twice in the present reign a change of policy on the part of a prime minis- ter has broken up a political party, and on both occasions Ireland has fur- nished the reason for the change. The potato famine of 1845 convinced Sir Robert Peel that the time had arrived for repealing the Corn Laws, and the general election of 1885 coi~vinced Mr. Gladstone that Ireland must receive autonomous institutions. In both cases the change of policy was an- nounced with abruptness; in both, the 239 statesman who made it was assailed for his conduct with a violence which has few parallels in party history. It is a remarkable fact., moreover, that there is a close resemblance be- tween the characters and careers of the two men who were the chief actors in these episodes. Both were drawn from families which had previously given no great statesmen to England. Both of them were brought up amidst Conservative surroundings. Both at- tained the highest distinction at Ox- ford; both were chosen to represent their university ; both were dismissed from it by the votes of the clergy of a Church of which botl.i were faithful and zealous members. Both entered Parliament at an age which made it impossible for them to have thought out for themselves the great questions which they had ultimately to handle. Both thus inherited rather than formed their political opinions. Both were first led to doubt the soundness of their views by the examination of a great financial problem. Both of them made their greatest speeches on financial subjects. But while, in some respects, there is so much that is similar in these two men, in other respects they bear no resemblance to one another. Sir Rob- ert Peels cold, shy manner froze his followers in the House and aroused no enthusiasm in the country. Mr. Glad- stones warm, impulsive temperament, on the contrary, excites enthusiasm wherever he goes. No man was ever thrown into his society without feeling the magic of his personal presence. And the influence which he thus ex- erts over individuals lie wields over the multitude. In 1880, while travelling to the Midlothian campaign, he made a brief speech at every station at which the train stopped, and at every place at which lie spoke the Liberal candidate won a victory. It is never easy for a contemporary critic to determine the place which history will ultimately assign to any particular statesman. But, if the emi- nence of a minister may be determined by the impression which he makes on like Queens Prime Ministers. the legislation and policy of a nation, Mr. Gladstone and Sir Robert Peel must be placed as the foremost states- men of the reign. in finance, these two men stand, beyond dispute, above all their contemporaries. But in other matters each made his mark. Sir Rob- ert Peel reformed our currency, re- formed our banking system, reformed the criminal code, and removed one of the great grievances of Ireland by emancipating the Roman Catholics. Mr. Gladstone supplemented these labors by the disestablishment of the Irish Church and the passage of the Irish Land Act. Sir Robert Peel was cut off by an unfortunate accident be- fore the infirmities of increasing years had impaired either his intellect or his vigor. Mr. Gladstone, on the contrary, has survived to prove to us how easily the burden of fourscore years may be borne by men of exceptional strength ~f body and mind. Yet it is worth ob- serving that, if Mr. Gladstone had died at the age at which Sir Robert Peel passed away, he would have been ac- lknowledged, beyond all question, as the greatest minister of his age. But, whatever may be the ultimate decision of the nation in regard to Home Rule, ~it is difficult to believe that posterity will concentrate its attention on the period of controversy and failure in which Mr. Gladstones life is closing, and overlook his earlier career. It is by what men do, and not by what they fail to (10, that they are usually- judged. Sharply opposed, both to Sir Robert 7Peel and to Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Disraeli is not likely to rank in history as a ~zmeat statesn)an ; but he is probably mhe most interesting personage of the reign. Mr. Froude acknowledges that Mr. Carlyle once referred to the famous Tory leader as an illustration of his -opinion that, under a Parliamentary government, not the fittest men were chosen to administer our affairs, but the unfittest. Mr. Disraelis rise to be leader of the Tory party and prime minister of England is unquestionably 4he most surprising fact in modern En- glish history. reer by standing for Wycombe as what Mr. Froude calls a Radical of the Radicals. He came before the electors with recommen(lations from Mr. Hume, Mr. OConnell, and Sir F. Burdett. Even Mr. Carlyle said no harder things of the lauded aristocracy than Mr. Disraeli said of them in Sybil. He won his spurs by the bitterest attacks on the leader of his own party. Himself a Jew in lineage and in feeling, and zealous to remove any restrictions affecting his own race, he ultimately succeeded to the leader- ship of his party aftei Loid George Bentincks retirement; and Lord George retired because the Conserva- tives remonstrated with him for voting for the emancipation of the Jews. Disliked by many of his colleagues, and distrusted by many of his followers, he triumphed after years of waiting both over dislike and distrust. He ulti- mately lC(l his party to the greatest victory which the Conservatives had achieved since the first Reform Act, and his memory is preserved by a pow- erful organization, which takes its name from a flower which Mr. Disraeli is pop- ularly supposed to have admired, but which there is not the slightest evi- dence that he ever preferred. Such a career undoubtedly shows that Mr. Disraeli was a great person, but it docs not necessarily prove that he was a great statesman. Throughout his career, indeed, Mr. Disraeli seemed more eager to satisfy his own ambition than to promote the interests of the country. Few men who have served so long in Parliament, and have risen so high, have, left less mark on the Stat- ute Book. He was, no (ioubt, to some extent responsible for the Reform Act of 1867. But, in the first place, we have reason to believe that this meas- ure was not the product of his own thought, but had been actually offered to his predecessors, before it was ac- cel)ted by himself ; and, in the next place, the. shape which it ultimately assumed was determined by the amend- ments which Mr. Gladstone moved, and which Mr. Disraeli, in the first Mr. Disraeli began his political ca- instance, declared lie would never ac 240 i rte yueen s .urnme ivirnzs~ers. A1 cept. Few other measures can be associate(1 with his memory. Mr. Froude, indeed, claims that he had helped to drain London; he had helped to shorten the hours of childrens labor. His larger exploits had been to bring the Jews into Parliament, and to bring under the crown the govern- meat of India. But his name will not be prominently associated with liree out of these four reforms. Even the fourth, the admission of the Jews into the legislature, was effected by a compromise which, we believe, he had no share in suggesting. Mr. Disraeli, in fact, was a great member of Parliament rather than a great statesman. His most brilliant efforts were made in Opposition. He rose into prominence by his attacks on Sir Robert Peel, which most people imagine were prompted by disappoint- iiient. Mr. Disraeli had desired place and had not received it. Mr. Froude, indeed, has had the ingenuity to sug- gest that the opinions propounded in Sybil may teach us to understand Mr. Disraelis feelings towards the minister. He had seen, or supposed himself to have seen, a poisonous fun- gus eating out the heart of English life. In town and country . . . there was one rapid process of degeneracy. The peasantry were serfs, the town artisans were becoming little better than brutes. . . . The cause was everywhere the same. The gospel of political economy had been substi- tuted for the Gospel of Christ. With the powerful Protectionist majority re- turned by the elections of 1841, Peel, ia Disraelis opinion, had an oppor- tunity of bringing the demoralizing tendencies under the authority of rea- son and conscience. Mr. Froude, indeed ,gives us no hint what Mr. Dis- raeli thought, or what he himself thought, Peel should have done. And, in the absence of any such suggestion, we must adhere to the opinion that the course which Peel did take was both wise and effective. Admitting, as we do, that England reached its lowest depth of degradation in 1842, when crime and l)auperism both reached not T~TV1NG AGE. VOL. VIII. ~SO their relative but their actual maxima, it is, in our ju(lgment, one of Peels chief claims to be regarded as a. great statesman that, from the period of his accepting office, the tide of improve- ment began to flow which has hardly ever since been checked for any long interval. We do not say that the subsequent improvement was due exclusively, or even chiefly, to Peels legislation. But, to put the claim on the lowest ground, Peels measures proved not inconsistent with the improvement. Mr. Disraeli may have been sincere in opposing them. If so, he was grievously lacking in judgment and foresight. The time came, however, thirty- three years later, when Mr. Disraeli had himself an opportunity as great as that which Peel enjoyed in 1841. At the head of a powerful majority in. the House of Commons, with the full sup- l)Ort of the Lords, and with the conli- dence of the queen, he could do what lie pleased. Mr. Froude thinks that lie should have seized the opportunity to reorganize the internal government of Ireland, and to consolidate our colonial empire. Instead of which he left Ireland to simmer in confusion his zeal for the consolidation of the empire was satisfied by the new title with which he decorated his sovereign and his administration will be remem h)ered by the part which he played in the Eastern question. The banner of Imperialism was unfurled by the min- ister, and the grand chance, given to English Conservatism [was] lost in a too ambitious dream. The imperial policy which Mr. Dis- raeli thus propounded, and on which we shall have more to say later on, brought again into sharp relief the dif- ference between Mr. Gladstone and himself. Previously they hind often been opposed on domestic politics. From 1876 they were still more keenly opposed on foreign policy. In foreign politics Mr. Disraeli followed in the steps of Lord Palmerston. Mr. Glad- stone usually acted much more nearly on the precepts of Lord Aberdeen. The policy, however, which Lord The Queens Prime Miinisters. Aberdeen pursued at the Foreign Office from 1841 to 1846 is so little understood that we may usefully devote some space to this portion of the career of one of the queens prime ministers. Lord Aberdeen if we may apply the apophthegm of Tacitus would have been universally regarded as worthy of the first place in any minis- try, if he had not been prime minister. He succeeded to the Foreign Office at a critical period. Lord Palmerston, by his vigorous action, had brought us to the verge of a quarrel with three of the most powerful nations in the world. Distrust of Russia had produced the unfortunate series of events which were responsible for the first Afghan war. A resolute determination to maintain the Turk in Asia Minor had kindled a quarrel, which might easily have involved war with France; while a (lisputed boundary between Canada and the United States, and other ques- tions were handled, on both sides of the Atlantic, in a manner which brought two great kindred nations into sharp conflict. It was the merit of Lord Aberdeens policy that he com- posed all these differences without in any way lowering the credit of his country. But, in Lord Stanmores words, the principal achievement of the five years spent by Lord Aberdeen at the Foreign Office was the establish- meat and maintenance of a cordial and intimate understanding with the French government. Hardly ever in the history of England, or even in the history of the world, have the minis- ters of two great and rival nations been on such terms of cordial intimacy as were estal)lished between Lord Aberdeen and M. Guizot. The perfect understanding which prevailed between these two men was due to the conviction of both of them that differences on minor subjects should be subordinated to the great interest of peace, which it was the common object of both nations to pre- serve. As M. Guizot said, Rien ne gfite plus les grandes affaires comme les petites querelles. Occasion for little quarrels constantly arose. The feeling which was excited by Mr. Pritchards arrest in Tahiti provoked passions on both sides of the Channel, which, under other guidance, might easily have led to war; and the delicate negotiations respecting the marriage of the young queen of Spain, produced a violent quarrel between France and Spain the moment that Lord Aber- deens portfolio was transferred to Lord Palmerston. Lord Palmerston was not merely Lord Aberdeens predecessor and suc- cessor. He was his exact opposite in his conceptions of diplomacy. He had no idea of subordinating the little to the great. Wherever British interests were threatened, wherever the British citizen was injured, he thought it his duty to speak with the voice of a minis- ter conscious that he has the strength of England at his back. The British citizen, like the Civis Rom8nus, was en- abled to boast that in whatever land he might be, the watchful eye and the strong arm of England would protect him. A resolute policy of this char- acter has undoubtedly its attractions. But it fails to take into account the obvious facts that there are two sides to most questions ; that even English- men are not always quite reasonable in their conduct and their claims ; that a remedy should be sought for little in- juries with the least offence to the sus- ceptibilities of other nations ; that, in short, les petites querelles should not be allowed to mar great affairs of state. One of our diplomatists in 1860 is reported to have said that, much as lie admired Lord Palmerston, he wished that the British fleet was not used to exact every claim of eighteen- pence. The reader who studies the story of Don Pacifico will probably arrive at the same conclusion. Whatever may have been the merits or demerits of Lord Palmerstons for- eign ~)olicy, there is no doubt that it impressed the imagination of his fel- low-countrymen. And this impression gained strength from the events which prece(led the Crimean War. It is probable that this unfortunate episode in our history might have been avoided 242 [like Queens Prime Ministers. if the Cabinet had clearly announced its intention, either of resisting Russian aggression at all hazards, or of leaving Turkey unaided to settle her differ- ences with her great opponent. The first course, which would have been adopted by Lord Palinerston, would, in all probability, have induced Russia to pause ; the second course, which would probably have been taken by Lord Aberdeen, might have impressed on Turkey the necessity of timely conces- sions. But it was the misfortune of the Cabinet of 1853 that, while the prime minister was able to prevent the adoption of Lord Palmerstons pro- posals, he had not the firmness to insist on his own policy. The Cabinet drifted when it ought to Ii ave acted war ensued, and Lord Aberdeen, held responsible for the sufferings of the army, was driven from office. On his fall the country felt instinctively that the one man who had known his own mind throughout the preceding years was best qualified for dealing with the crisis, and Lord Palmerston became prime minister. The resolute foreign policy which Lord Palmerston habitually pursued, especially in the East, had been warmly praised by Mr. Disraeli years before in Tancred. But in 18761878, Mr. Disraeli did more than praise it; he imitated or exaggerated it. When the country was profoundly moved by the reports of atrocious cruelties in Bul- gari a, he made the great mistake of treating these stories as coffee-house babble. The secret history of the Bea- consfield administration has yet to be written; but it can hardly be doubted that many members of his own Cabinet disapproved of the Oriental sympathies and callous language of the prime min- ister. The country, roused to a sense of its true duties by Mr. Gladstones eloquence, refused to support the Porte. A conference was held at Con- stanLinol)le to endeavor to arrange terms of pacification, and Lord Salis- bury was selected to represent this country at the conference. The results of the conference tended to strengthen the hands of the more peaceful members of the Cabinet. For while Lord Salisbury had 110 difficulty in arranging matters with the Russian envoy, he found that the Turk was im- movably opposed to concessions. The British government could not obviously go to war with a power which was ac- cepting its suggestion, for the sake of supporting another power which ~vas rejecting its advice; and, at a meeting of the conference, Lord Salisbury warned the Porte, in the name of his government, that if it refused to give way the responsibility for the conse4 quence would rest solely with the sul.~ tan and his advisers. Even after the outbreak of war there was at first nothing to indicate any change in this policy. On the contrary7 Lord J~erby, as foreign minister, repre- sented the position of the Cabinet in~ a despatch which Mr. Gladstone might- have authorized; and Lord Salisbury endeavored to check the alarm which Russian successes in Asia were excit- ing by ascribing it to the popular use~ of maps on too small ascale. But, in December, 1877, or in January, 1878, the fall of Plevna and the passage of the Balkans placed Turkey at the mercy of her opponent. On the 23rd January, news arriving that the Rus- sians were marching on Adrianople, the Cabinet decided to send the British fleet to Constantinople, and to ask rar- liament for a credit of 6,000,000. Lord Carnarvon, the secretary of state for the colonies, thereupon re- signed office. At the end of March the Russian government admitted that it had signed the Treaty of San Ste- fano, and boldly announced that, though it left to other powers the lib~ erty of raising such questions as they might think fit, it reserved to itself the liberty of accepting or not accepting the discussion of those questions. The Cabinet then called out the, re~ serves; Lord Derby resigned office; and Lord Salisbury became foreign minister. Then ensued the Congress of Berlin~ and that Peace with Honor which so profoundly impressed the imagina- tion of the people. And, in one senae, 243 With Thomas Ingoldsby in Kent. the terms made at Berlin deserved ap- proval. It was worth while incurring some risk for the sake of ensuring the principle that arrangements which had been laid down by Europe should not be altered by a single power. In other respects there is good reason for doubt- ing whether the terms which were agreed upon at Berlin were preferable to those which had been enforced on Turkey at San Stefano. The chief points in the latter treaty to which Lord Beaconsfield took exception were the cession of Batoum to Russia and the consolidation of Bulgaria. Batourn remained Russian after Berlin. Ron- india was separated from Bulgaria; but the separation was only maintained for seven years. The controversy with Russia led directly to the second Afghan war. We are not prepared to assert that the govern inent of the day was wrong in refusing to permit a Russian envoy to remain at the court of Cabul when Shere Au had declined to receive an English mission. But it is doubtful whether the object could not have been gained by direct negotiations with St. Petersburg, instead of by measures which necessarily led to war with Afghanistan. The milder course should, ~at least, have been adopted before sterner and more uncompromising methods were resorted to. If, indeed, it be necessary, as specialists assert, to inaintain the kingdom of the ameer as a buffer state on our Indian frontier, common sense seems to indicate that we should strengthen, not weaken, the buffer. To cripple your buffer by in- vasion, and to treat it as an enemy, are, apparently, surc methods of mak- ing it both inefficient and hostile. We have no space in this article to deal with the careers of the other min- isters of, the reign. We cannot dwell on the great services of Lord John Russell, or the fervid eloquence of Lord Derby, or even attempt the parallel, which we should have liked to have drawn, between the characters of Lord Melbourne and Lord Rosebery. We have endeavored only briefly to indi- cate some of the salient features in the policies of the queens prime m%nisters. But perhaps the most striking testi- mony to the merits of our rulers during the period may be found in the growth of our empire and the prosperity of its people. S. WALPOLE. From Temple Bar. WITH THOMAS INGOLDSBY IN KENT. TOURISTS may be moved by many considerations in their travels ; they may be sentimental or unsentimental, commercial or uncommercial ; they may be in search of health, sport, re- laxation or the picturesque, but it is quite certain that no one ever left his home to travel without a motive of some sort. They may be antiquarians or arch~ologists, be at upon the inspec- tion of prehistoric tumuli or of ancient churches ; or historians, longin gtosee the scene of some great historical event; or, if of a more romantic turn of mind, may desire rather to visit places which have been made immortal by poets or novelists. Every traveller in Italy knows how a knowle(lge of George Eliots Romola increases the interest of Florence, and that Nathaniel Hawthornes Transforma- tionis the best possible supplement to a guide-book to Rome, and it may be averred that few intelligent English tourists in Belgium have ever wan- dered through the streets of Brussels without thinking of Thackerays Van- ity Fair, and of the partings of Raw- don Crawley and Becky, and of George Osborne and Amelia, on the memorable night which preceded the battle of Quatre Bras. But it is not only in foreign countries that a knowl- edge of great works of imagination adds a romantic interest to travel, for many parts of England are made equally memorable by similar causes, and of all the counties of England, Kent has, in this respect, been the most fortunate. The district round Rochester is redolent with memories of Dickens. Whoever went to that city without looking at the Bull where Mr. Pickwick and his friends stopped~ 244 With Thomas Ingoldsby in Kent. and asking to see the Assembly Rooms, where Mr. Jingle in the coat with the Pickwickian buttons cut out the chol- eric little Dr. Slammer of the 97th with the widow ? and many a visitor has purposely gone over to Cobham to visit the Leather Bottle, whore Mr. Tupman retired from the world to hide his grief at the perfidy of Miss War- dle. But Dickens is not the only writer of the present century who has made the county of Kent the scene of his creatures of the imagination ; there is another genial humorist, who was never so happy as when he wrote of the county he loved so well, Richard Harris Barham, otherwise Thomas In- gold shy. Barliam was a thorough Kentishman, delighting in its legends, traditions, and local history, and proud of its ancient mansions and churches, and its lovely rural scenery. In his biography by his son, he is shown as always full of ardor to restore the farmhouse, which he had inherited, of Tappington, and he man- aged~to twine many of his best legends round the old house, to which he gave the name of Tappington Everard. So realistically does lie describe the old house and grounds, and so skilfully by many side lights and trifling hints does lie elaborate the family history of an old Kentish county family, that it is difficult to believe that Tappington Everard, and the family of Ingoldsby, which had dwelt there, were alike fic- tions of his vivid imagination. It is hard, when wandering around Canter- bury surely one of the most fasci- nating of all English cities not to believe, when in presence of one of the beautiful old English houses in the neighborhood, that one has at last dis- covered the real Tappington Everard. But fortunately the author of the In- goldsby Legends did not invent sites for his most charming tales ; it is pos- sible to visit Minster in Sheppey and see the sculptured monument of poor Grey Dolphin ; any one can see, even from the train, the twin towers of the ruined church of Reculvers, commem- orated in the Brothers of Birchiing- ton ; and the roads along which the 245 companions of. Smuggler Bill galloped are real roads, and the villages through which that bravo himself passed are real villages. Of all the stories in prose, which Mr. Barham intertwined with his poetical legends, none is better known or more liked than Grey Dolphin, a Legend of Sheppey ; and the wanderer, who finds himself any~vhere within reach of that interesting island, cannot do better than make a pilgrimage to Minster. lie can spend a night or two at Sheer- ness, one of the dirtiest of English dockyard towns, and can by either walking or driving make a tour of the interesting part of the Isle of Sheppey in a single day. Sheerness is only in- teresting to a visitor who delights in inspecting dockyards, and who does not mind being aroused during the night by the hideous yell of the fog- horn on the Nore lightship, or awaked in the morning by the noise of the firing of the big guns ; for the lover of the picturesque it has few, if any, charms at all. Yet it is not unpleasant to sit upon one of the seats on the sea wall, and think of the little fort, built upon piles in the seventeenth century, which marked the commencement of the life of the present busy town ; and a philosopher on the fate of nations might think of the disastrous year 1667, when the Dutch under their great admiral, De Ruyter, destroyed the little fort, before proceeding on his way to burn the English ships at Chathain, and ponder on the condition of ilollaud now, as compared to those days, when it was the greatest naval and commer- cial nation in the world. From Sheer- ness the admirer of the Ingoldsby~ Legends can start off to Minster to see the tomb of the baron who called for his boots, and the sculptured me- morial of poor Grey Dolphin. The little village of Minster is perched upoii a hillside, and in the summer sun is the picture of a lovely Kentishi village. In its rural quiet, it seems not three but thirty miles at least from the busy, noisy, smoky town of Sheerness, and as the traveller climbs the steep hill towards the 246 church, he cannot help admiring the eurious old cottages, and the quaint old inn, which faces the old convent gate house. This gate house is all that is now left of the great convent of Bene- dictine nuns founded in 673 by St. Sexburga, widow of Ercombert, king of Kent, and re-founded on a larger scale by Archbishop William of Corbeil in 1130, after its destruction by the Danes in the ninth century. This convent must have been well known to Sir Rob- ert de Shurland, for tradition asserts that an underground passage still ex- ists between it and Shurland House, which stands on the site of the old baronial castle, a tradition for that mat- ter common enough in many other parts of the country. One cannot but think that if Mr. Barham had ever visited Minster himself, for there seems in his biography to be no record that he ever was in the Isle of Sheppey at all, he would have made some mention of the flurrying and scurrying of the nuns of St. Sexhurga at the news of the death of Father Fothergill. But it is not with the village or with the old convent of Minster-in-Sheppey, so called to distinguish it from Minster-in- Thanet, that the admirer of Grey Dol- l)hin is chiefly concerned; it is the church he wants to visit. It is not without some trouble that he will gain admission, for the church is not one of those which stand always open to the visitor. lie will have to go right to the other end of the village, in search of the individual who combines the offices of sexton and parish clerk, and when he has found him he will be re- joiced to find a character in which Tom Ingoldsbys self would have delighted. This Democritus, junior, or laughing philosopher will possibly inform the tourist, as he informed the ~vriter, that he is the best doctor in the village, be- cause he made people laugh, and will certainly amuse him, and earn his shilling more worthily than some of the lantern-jawed individuals, who, for inscrutable reasons, are generally se- lected as custodians of village churches. Yet he seems lamentably ignorant of the legend which gives his church its With Thomas Ingoldsby in Kent. chief interest, and in no way resembles the respectable elderly lady (per- haps a fiction of Barhams vivid imag- ination) who as she showed the monument, failed not to read her audi- tors a fine moral lesson on the sin of ingratitude, or to claim a sympathizing tear to the memory of poor Grey Dol- phin. The fine tomb of Sir Robert de Shur- land is on the south wall of the church, and is, considering its age, in very fair preservation. His hands, again to quote the biographer who has made his name and story household words, are clasped in prayer ; his legs, cro ssedin that position so prized by Templars in ancient, and tailors in modern days, bespeak him a soldier of the faith in Palestine. At his feet lies a little foot page, with a dirk in his hand, who has received no mention in the famous legend, but whose appearance must be much the same as that of the little foot page commemorated in the In- goldsby Penance ; by his side is rep- resented the famous sword, which the baron called Tickletoby, and close behind his dexter calf lies sculptured in bold relief a horses head sur- rounded by a sort of wavy fringe, which imagination may convert into an imitation of the waves of the sea. This then is the head of poor Grey Dolphin, the horse, who by his swim- ming won his masters pardon, and who was so ill requited for his gallant effort. Readers of the Ingoldsby Legends will always believe that this must be Grey Dolphin, and will reject with scorn the matter-of-fact explana- tion of the antiquarians, that in reality the horses head only signifies that Sir Robert de Shurland had received a grant of the wreck of the sea for his manor, and was entitled to everything he could touch with the point of his lance after riding into the sea at low water as far as possible. Happily the author of Murrays Guide to Kent admits that this explanation is by no means satisfactory, and we may be- lieve in Grey Dolphin, without being assured that his existence is purely a myth. iVith Thomas Ingoldsby in Kent. But the tomb of Sir Robert de Shur- land is not the only thing worth visit- ing the church of Minster for; and the pilgrim to the church consecrated to & ey Dolphin by Thomas Jngoldsby will not fail to notice many other ob- jects of interest. Foremost among these are the brasses of Sir John de Northwode and his wife, Joan de Badlesmere. Readers of the legend will remember that John de Northwode was the name of the sheriff who led the posse comitctus of the county of Kent to attack the castle of Shurland at the command of St. Austin, in order to punish the baron for the murder of the friar. He will remember too how, when the doughty little baron sallied forth with Tickletoby, John de North- wode fled away with William of Hever, and Roger of Leybourne; and here he will see the brass of the identical John (le Northwode. This brass has a curious interest of its own. flames in his Monumental Brasses says that the knights cffigy has undergone a peculiar Procrustean process, several inches having been removed from the centre of the figure to make it equal in length to that of his wife. The legs have been restored and crossed at the ankles, an attitude apparently not con- templated by the original designer. From the style of engraving these alterations seem to have been made at the close of the fifteenth century. Unfortunately the modern craze for in- terfering with and improving (Heaven save the mark!) the works of antiquity has not left this curious brass alone. It has been restored, and a piece let in in order to make it symmetrical, with the result that the brass of the good sheriff and knight is now several inches longer than that of his wife, and is made ridiculous by a bright patch of modern work in the midst of the en- graving of the fourteenth century. Why is it that such curiosities cannot be left alone, and that people will med- dle with things that do not concern them ! Perhaps the rage for restora- foil will next touch the tomb of Robert die Shurland himself, and interfere with the effigy of Grey Dolphin. It is a pity that instead of meddling with the brasses, more care was not taken of the old oak rood-screen, part of which, according to the Democritus of a parish clerk, was used by a bygone vicar for firewood! A curious chapel on the north side of the chancel, now used as a vestry, and containing a mag- nificent old oak chest of the fourteenth century, still possesses a bell, used, according once again to our laughing friend, to call the nuns of the convent to church, but more likely, in reality, to summon the village children to school, for the parish school used to be held in this chapel, before the days of School Boards. Some of the 01(1 pews are also worth looking at, as well as the carillon keyboard, which, however, is not much used now ; and then the inspection of the church of Minster-in- Sheppey is over. From Minster the visitor will do well to walk a couple of miles further to Eastchurch, in order to have a glimpse of Shurland farmhouse, which stands upon the site of Shurland Castle, the stronghold of the baron. Mr. Barham, with that extraordinary skill lie pos- sessed of weaving all his legends into some connection with his imaginary house of Ingoldsby, says that Mar- garet Shurland in due course became Margaret Ingoldsby ; her portrait still hangs in the gallery at Tappington. The features are handsome ,. but shrew- ish; but we never could learn that she actually kicked her husband. As a fact, Margaret Shurland, the daughter and heiress of the baron, married Wil- liam Cheyney, and her descendant, Sir Thomas Cheyney, warden of the Cinque Ports, whose tomb is in Mins- ter Church, built the present house of Shurland, on the site of the ancient baronial castle. Only part of this beau- tiful Elizabethan edifice, which is now turned into a farmhouse, remains, but the gate and gate towers still remain to perpetuate the name of Shurland, and the taste and wealth of the barons descendants. Not far from Shurland lies the village of Eastchurch, which possesses a fine parish church, in the perpendicular style, which has unfor 247 With Thomas Ingoldsby in Kent. tunately been so very much restored the present century, on account of the that no trace of antiquity is to be dis- encroachments of the sea; but the twin cerned about it by the ordinary tray- towers still stand, and with the dis- eller. The most iuteresting thing in mantled church are protected by an it is a fine Jacobean tomb of Gabriel embankment built by the Trinity Livesey and his wife, whose son, Sir House. The towers still act as bea- Michael Livesey, sat in the Long Par- liament as M.P. for the borough of Qucenborough, and signed the death- warrant of Charles I. From East- church an easy walk brings the wan- (lerer back to Sheerness, not regretting his pilgrimage to the tomb of Grey Dolphin. It has been worth while to describe Minster at this length, because the Isle of Sheppey is very little known to the tourist, though well worth visiting, and the recollection of Mr. Barhams most delightful prose legend might be an incentive to many people who like to travel with an object; but other and better-known spots in Kent are also chosen by him as the sites of some of his even more famous poetical legends. One of the most interesting of these places is Reculvers, of which the towers of the dismantled church can be seen from the railway after passing Herne Bay Station. Few places in Kent have a more interesting history. In Roman days it was the site of an ancient camp or fortress, which guarded the north mouth of the Wansum, then a broad band of sea, making the Isle of Thanet a veritable island, as Richborough, the ancient Rutupi~, guarded the southern outlet. From Regulbium, its old Ro- man name was converted by the Saxons of Kent into Raculf Ceastre, and it was thither that King Ethelbert, the Saxon king of Kent, retired after his baptism by St. Augustine. Apart from history, the place has an interest from the rav- ages of the sea, which has advanced there with much rapidity, and used to lay l)are the bones of the buried dead in the churchyard. The twin towers, known as the Sisters, have been made familiar by pictures of every sort, and the ruined church on the edge of the cliff is as well known as any spot in Kent. The old church itself was need- lessly demolished at the beginning of cons and landmarks to all travellers by sea in those waters, and it may be still remembered by some who sail that way that it was the ancient custom for all mariners to doff their hats and offer a prayer to Our Lady of Reculvers, as they looked upon the twin towers. It was regarded as a good omen if the towers were clearly seen on an outward voyage from the Thames, and as a cer- tain presage of coming evil if perchance they were concealed by fog. The best-known legend relating to them is that commemorated in their name of the Twin Sisters. The story goes that the abbess of the Bene- dictine Convent at Davington, near Faversham, was sailing to fulfil a vow made to Our Lady of Broadstairs at her chapel there, when a storm came on and the boat was wrecked. She herself was saved, but her sister was drowned; and in gratitude for her own preserva- tion, and in memory of her sisters fate, she erected the twin towers to serve as a landmark. This is not the legend which Mr. Barham adopted; he preferred to give a more amusing inter- pretation of the significance of the two towers, and he gave it in his Brothers of Birchington. The adjacent village has grown into a sort of poets and artists home by the sea; the Birchington bungalows are now well known, and the whole place is sacred to the memory of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who made it his home and died there. All lovers of Ingoldsby know the import of the legend, the description of the two brothers, the scandalous goings-on of Robert de Birchington, and the exemplary be- havior of Richard, Old Kicks mistake, and the fortunate intervention of St. Thomas h Becket. The traveller still, In the voyage that we talkd about, marks on the hill 248 With Thomas Inqoldsby in Kent. Overhanging the sea, the twin towers raised there By Robert and Richard, those two pretty men. Both tall and upright, And just equal in height; The Trinity House talkd of painting them white, And the thing was much spoken of some time ago, When the duke, I believe but I really dont know Well there the Twins stand On the verge of the land, To warn mariners off from the Columbine sand, And many a poor man have Robert and Dick By their vow caused to scape, like them- selves, from Old Nick. Mr. Barham seems to have always had an especial fondness for Herne Bay and its neighborhood; it was to Tierne Bay that he went when almost broken down with grief at the fearfully sudden death of his second son from cholera, and his knowledge of all the villages in the neighborhood is shown in that inimitable ballad the Smug- glers Leap. Herne, Sturry, Grove Ferry, St. Nicholas (better known as St. Nicholas-at-Wade), Chislett, Up- street, and Sarre are all Kentish vil- lages; and those who are fond of a country ride cannot do better than fol- low the course of Smuggler Bill or his companions, though they will have no Exciseman Gill at their horses heels. It is curious with what felicity Mr. Barham selected the site for the last exploit of Smuggler Bill, for the bay between Swale-cliff and Reculvers was one of the chief resorts for smugglers in the whole county of Kent; the glen, or chine, as it would be termed in some parts of England, called Bishopsbourne, half-way between ilerne Bay and Re- culvers, was particularly famous for them; and the last man killed in a smuggling affray in this part of En- gland lost his life wbere the modern watering-place of ilerne Bay stands, at a spot corresponding nearly with the end of William Street. 249 To describe every i)lace in Kent to which the Ingoldsby Legends have given an added interest is not so much the purpose of this article as to touch upon some of the less well-known spots which are mentioned in them. It can- not be said that Margate jetty derives any lustre from being associated with the misadventure of Mr. Simpkin- son with the little vulgar boy, or that a visit to Dover would be of any use in trying to understand and enjoy the witty Lay of the Old Woman clothed in Grey, which is entitled A Legend of Dover. But a knowledge of the Wizard of Folkestone will serve to give an interest to the pleasant walk from Folkestone to Westenhanger, though it is difficult from the present fashionable watering-place to build up a picture of the old town two centuries ago, which is so graphically described in that well- known legend in prose. Yet there is one city, the capital of Kent, indeed, the beautiful old cathedral city of Can- terbury, which Mr. Barham seems to have loved especially, and which is the scene of two of his most popular poet- ical legends, The Ghost, and Nell Cook. The first of these poems tells the story of Nick Mason, the cobbler, and his wife, the visit of the ghost to the former and its kindness in pointing out the iron ring of a trap-door in Can- terbury Castle, and Nicks attempt to mark the spot by driving his awl into the place, and concludes And still he listens with averted eye, When gibing neighbors make the Ghost their theme While ever from that hour they all declare That Mrs. Mason used a cushion in her chair. This poem is written in Don Juan metre, and never, it may be confidently asserted, have the peculiar tricks and nuances of Byrons versification been better caught. The couple of stanzas in which Mr. Barham describes the castle are worth quoting, both from their wit and humor, and from the truth of the description, for the gas- works still exist there, more shame to the citizens of the cathedral city 250 The castle was a huge and antique mound, Proof against all th artillery of the quiver, Ere those abominable guns were found, To send cold lead through gallant war- rior s liver. It stands upon a gently rising ground, Sloping down gradually to the river, Resembling (to compare great things with smaller) A well-scoopd, mouldy Stilton cheese but taller. The keep, I find, s been sadly alterd lately, And, stead of mail-clad knights, of honor jealous, In martial panoply so grand and stately, Its walls are fihld with money-making fellows, And stuff d, unless Im misinform~d greatly, With leaden pipes, and coals, and coke, and bellows In short, so great a change has come to pass, Tis now a manufactory of Gas. Still better known is the poem of Nell Cook, a Legend of the Dark Entry, and all lovers of the In- goldsby Legeuds will assuredly wan- der round the Precincts and see the dark passage, where the jealous Nelly Cook was buried alive, and where her spirit is reported to walk. All visitors to Canterbury go to the cathedral, and are shown over the choir and other reserved parts of the ancient building by the highly respectable vergers with the regular monotonous tale. All Chapters are not so kindly as those of Wells, and at Canterbury the traveller has to submit to the lecture of the showman, and is not allowed to look at things by himself, but is obliged to be shown round with a party. Fortu- nately he may wander as he lists in the Precincts, and if he remembers his Nell Cook will soon find his way round to the north side of the cathe- dral, and loiter into the Dark Entry sacred to the manes of Nell. The entry is no longer dark, however, for the arches have been opened, but the passage is still damp and bears an impress of mystery upon it. From it can be seen some of the canons houses, and it is easy to imagine the With Thomas Ingoldsby in Kent. person of Nell Cooks clerical em- ployer. The canon was a portly man of Latin and of Greek And learned lore he had good store yet health was on his cheek. The Priory fare was scant and spare, the bread was made of rye, The beer was weak, yet he was sleek he had a merry eye. The rest of the story is well known to all lovers of the Ingoldsby Le- gends, down to the fate ofthe unfor- tunate souls who had chanced to meet Nell Cooks sprite on a Friday night No matter who no matter what condi- tion, age, or sex, But some get shot, and some get drownd, and some gets broken necks; Some get run over by a coach; and one beyond the seas Got~ scraped to death with oyster shells among the Caribbees! Whatever their fates might have been, we have no fear of Nell Cook in this unsuperstitious age ; but all the same we feel grateful to the genial humorist who has given us the incen- tive to wander round Canterbury Ca- thedral and pause a while in the Dark Entry. Gratitude is essentially the feeling which every one who loves the In- goldsby Legends feels towards the author of those charming stories in prose and verse. Never has there lived an English humorist whose kindly wit grows more firmly in the hearts of those who know his works well ; and, if popu- larity be a criterion of merit, no author ranks more highly among the writers of the present century. If one thinks of the wits and humorists of Barhams time, it is easy to see that none of his generation has such an enduring and increasing popularity at the present time. Who now reads the novels of Theodore Hook? how many read any- thing by Maginn or Father Prout? and vet in their time these men had as high if not higher rcpntations than Mr. Barham. The Ingoldsby Legends have become classic, and it may safely be asserted that they will remain so The Festival of the Bromo. and wherever the English language is spoken, it may be taken as a fact that the works of Barhamn are known and loved. If so, enduring interest will always attach to the places of which lie wrote ; and Canterbury, Reculvers, and above all Minster-in-Sheppey, will be classic ground to the lovers of Thomas Ingoldsby, and many a pilgrimage will in future days be made to the tomb of Grey Dolphin. H. MORSE STEPHENS. From The Graphic. THE FESTIVAL OF THE BROMO. VERY few people are aware that there are Brahmins in Java. When Brahma is spoken of one usually thinks at once of India and Burmah, but Brahmins still flourish in the southern provinces of Java and the neighboring islands of Madura and Bali. I found myself in Java, and was advised to see their great festival, the worship of the Bromo. This ceremony is so called because on a certain day in October the Brahmins assemble in large num- bers in the extinct crater of the Bromo to propitiate the evil genius whose groans, as thcy term it, are heard from the only portion of this volcano which remains in an active state. To this presiding genius, known to them as the Pungooroo Gunong, or keeper of the mountains, fruit and poultry are offered in al)undance, and when we heard his growling at the guest-house at Tosari, about fifteen miles away, one of our servants remarked that it was the way the evil spirit manifested his desire for human flesh. To come to Tosari from Surabaya is a distance of at least seventy miles or more. To- sari is in the range of a wild mountain district, green with vegetation, at an altitude of four thousand feet above sea level. It is a district where coffee is grown below this altitude, and at the height where our hotel is situated grow all European vegetables, including aspar , and these are sent to the markets in the lowlands by Van Rhee pen- 251 sioned-off soldier, market gardener, and landlord of the guest-house. A thick November cloud, supervening while we were at early breakfast, com- pletely shut out the bright sun which had welcomed our rising at five, and in a very short time the rooms of the house or bungalow were filled with a damp atmosphere. This was followed by a downpour of rain, which disheart- ened us considerably; but by eight it began to clear a little, so we mounted our ponies, and our party of eight three Europeans and five natives made a start for the Bromo. After passing through endless fields on the mountain slopes covered with Euro- pean vegetables as luxuriant as they aie at home, and continuing our way for some miles over a winding road through a picturesque country, we reached the flagstaff mountain. Here the green slopes give way to a tall yel- low grass, to bushy, prickly shrubs and plants, spreading out like rhododen- drons, bearing delicate pink flowers. This undergrowth affords capital cover for peacocks and other wild birds, whilst above it are seen lanky trees with dark green leaves very like our firs. A ride of an hour and a half fur- ther brought us to the foot of the Mungal another high cone, where we dismounted and walked to the top, whence we had a birds-eye view of the enormous extinct crater at our feet, said to be the largest in the world, be- ing about four or five miles in diame- ter. Beneath us was the Dasar, or floor of the crater, called also, from the wrinkles on the surface, which resem- ble a sea bed at the ebb of the tide the Sagara Wadi, or Sand Sea. This seemed but a short leap from where we stood, so we were, therefore, sur- prised to be told by Yan Rhee that it would take a quarter of an hour to de- scend. Before descending, let me say that the mountain we were on forms one of a chain which, rising in irregu- lar or serrated ridges, surrounds the entire crater. The centre of the crater is bisected by a cluster of mountains of various shapes conical, pyramidal, and blunted, or worn down like the one The Festival of the Bromo. now in full action. Many of them 1)ave deep ravines running down the slopes from their summits, the effect of former rivers of lava or mud. Our descent on pony-back proved to be rather difficult, for the path was very slippery and the way narrow, being cut out or excavated in the mountains. The earth on each side was composed of clay and sand, veined with lines of chalk, and as we ap- proached the floor this changed to charred stone, gravel, and cinders. We set our ponies which resembled wild Arabs over a sandy desert at full speed, and in a short time reached a spot about a mile from the actual Bromo, or active volcano, from which issued dense smoke and a wild, deafen- ing noise. At this spot we saw a large number of people assembled in groups, who were eating and praying, or chatting, laughing, and singing. In the crowd walked the wodonos and mantries that is, heads of small vil- lages or districts gaily dressed, with their burnished krisses glittering amid the folds of their sarongs, or large piece of colored silk hanging over the skirt from the waist; while behind each was seen a small retinue, some carrying long spears, and one of whom bore a large gilt umbrella. There were also Arab vendors of amulets, charms, and vials of dye for the eyelids and for the nails. A large space was devoted to the offerings, chiefly of fruit, hung on wooden stands, and baskets of poultry, and on one side were spread about twenty mats, on which were patriarchal and juvenile looking priests, kneeling in the Arab fashion, their bodies partly resting on the calves of their legs. Before them were small boxes contain- ing sandal-wood, frankincense, and spices for sale or for burning in small wooden censers, and a basket of finely plaited rattan containing water, and near it a goupillon, or holy water sprinkler, of rolled-up banana leaves with flowers fixed at the top. Behind each l)ondita, or priest, sat a boy hold- ing a large payong, or umbrella. The priests wore white robes or gowns over the usual skirt, fastened round the waist by a broad red belt. Over the shoulders hung two stoles of yellow silk, bound with scarlet tassels and coins fringing the ends. A large tur- ban ornamented with kerchiefs of bril- liant colors completed their headdress. At some signal or sign, the crowd gathered before the priests and laid their offerings before them in humbl~ adoration, and loud prayers, then each priest dipped his bunch of flowers into the holy water and sprinkled it on the pineapples, bananas, and other fruits and on the accomplishment of this ceremony one heard shouts of Ayo ayo I Bromo I ~ Forward to the Bromo I and the tide of human be- ings made a rush for the volcano the first who reached it being sure to be favored by fortune. Sinking ankle deep in the sandy slopes under a burning sun ,weat length reached the rugged ridge of the volcano. The crater is about three hundred feet in diameter, sloping down- wards to a depth of fully two hundred feet. The interior basin is rocky and rough, and crusted over with deposits of sulphur, and the floor below is also coated thickly with red and yellow sub- stance. From about the centre issued dense volumes of smoke. Enormous cakes of red earth, like baked mud, which crumbled at the touch, lay about in masses on the ridge and sides of the crater. All the priests having attained the summit, prayers were said, after which they handed the offerings to their owners, who hurled cocoanuts, cakes, fruits, coins, and even live poul- try into the yawning gulf. After thi~ ceremony the people descended to the plain below and amused themselves with games, dances, throwing stones for luck over a pyramidal mound, and also in scrambling for chickens thrown up in the air to be caught or torn to pieces by the scramblers. The volcano is about thirteen miles in circumference, and it is considered to be one of the largest volcanoes in the world. I think the people inhabit- ing this province of Besuki have fallen off from the rigid simplicity of the 252 Mademoiselle de Maupin. Bralimin religion. In their mode of living they are considered to subsist chiefly on a vegetable diet, though my servant, who was a Mahometan, de- clined their invitation to eat with them because he said they ate unclean ani- mals, such as swine and other beasts of the forest. W. B. DALMEIDA. From Temple Bar. MADEMOISELLE DE MAUPIK. A SKETCH FROM LIFE. I. HOW SHE CAME. WHEN Bill retreated from my hearthrug to the precincts of tile kitchen one day three weeks ago, walk- ing backwards with tail erect and eyes -of flame, swearing double oaths at each stairstep ile descended, we little thought, Bill or I, that Fate, working -at the loom of our destinies, had in one fateful second changed the conditions -of our lives; making of him a plain kitchen cat, making of me a thing of trouble. It was half past eleven in the morn- ing. I was sitting writing at the win- 4ow, Bill was engaged in washing his -face or some such occupation before the fire; perfect peace reigned in my small room, only broken by the falling .of cinders on the hearth. I was in the act of scratching out a word and choosing between two sub- stitutes, when my door opened and tile servautmaid appeared bearing a band- box. She said it had just been left for me by a gentleman.~~ I expressed surprise, for as I never wear bonnets, bandboxes are never -left at my door especially bandboxes -of this description copper-colored ~and bearing the name of Madame Elise. Was there not some mistake? Oh, there was no mistake, my name was on it, and she opined here she placed it on the table, and retreated a little that there was somethink in it alive. Just then, as if ill support of her 253 statement, the bandbox on the table lurched and reeled. I glanced at the address. Yes, that was my name written in a womans handwriting, and my address. Here something in the bandbox gave a bound, and, placing tile Websters dictionary on tile lid for stability sake, I said to Mary: Just go down to Mrs. Thompson my landlady and ask her to come up. Ask her to bring a pair of scissors with her. A moment later Mrs. Thompson ap- peared with her scissors. I took the dictionary off the lid, and we coin- menced to cut the three pieces of cord securing it. Tile lid came off and we looked in. In tile dusky depths of the bandbox, on a bed of crumpled tissue- paper, gazing up at us with lambent green eyes, sat a thing like a very di- minutive feather duster. I said Oh! and succumbed. I had seen what I had seen, and could say no more. Then Mrs. Thompson, a practical woman of forty, incapable of love at first sight, seized the feather duster by the neck and placed it on the table. Sile said it was a French cat. I thought I had met things before like, but never so fair as this called Persian kittens. But Mrs. Thompson was right, it seems, for round the par- tridge-colored atomys neck was tied a string attaching a docket, and on the docket was written Mademoiselle de Maupin. As I was reading the in- scription, suddenly and without warn- ing, Mademoiselle de Maupin, docket and all, sprang to tile floor, beat Billy, the brindled tom-cat, before her out of the room down to the entrance-hall, and lastly to the kitchen, at the top of whose stairs I found her five seconds later, fluffy indeed, but triumphant. II. WHAT I HAVE OBSERVED OF HER MORALS AND MANNERS. SHE bath eleven different methods for obtaining milk under false pre- tences, yet she can scarcely be six weeks old. She deserves to have her Bock-Fowling. small ears smartly boxed fifty times a day; yet hath she fifty alluring ways of Condoning her offences, converting the rage of the offender into baby-talk and idiocy. As she sits on the mat gazing at the fire with the look of a surprised angel, you would never imagine that she was hatching plans for the stealing of mut- ton chops. Yet her system of strategy out-manmuvres all Mrs. Thompsons l)lans of fortification, though Mrs. Thompson weighs fourteen stone and she weighs but six ounces, thus prov- ing indubitably the power of thought over matter. She is deaf, and never responds when the ireful maidservant is in search of her, crying, Mawpy ! Mawpy! Yet the rattle of the tea-things bringeth her from nowhere at a full canter. She will upset the inkstand over my manuscripts, and then fall asleep in one of my shoes, thus converting the en- raged author into a delighted artist. She has more airs than a lady of Seville; and look at her now, lying in the attitude of a dying Desdemona could you ever imagine her defending a mutton bone with the ferocity of a tiger? Yet such is her occasional custom. Beneath her fluff and feathers she is absolutely skin and bone; yet I feel there is more stuffin this six ounces labelled Mademoiselle (le Maupin than in all ~he twelve pounds of insipid Billy drowsing in the kitchen below. III. OUR MUTUAL FEELINGS. THREE weeks have elapsed since the bandbox arrived. What, I wonder, would life seem like now without the perpetual worrit of a Persian kitten? I could hang Mademoiselle de Man- pin at times only for that delightful ruff round her neck; I could often with pleasure chop off that flat head, but the fuzzy tail intercedes for it. When she dips that tail in my ink-pot I could drown her, but when she regards her blackened appendage with such sweet surprise I can only laugh. Does she love me? Well, she is certainly attached to me at times. When I am busy her one desire is ap- parently to seat herself on my head, reaching that distracted eminence by twenty different uphill routes all of her own devising. Into my coat-tail pock- ets she will creep, and, getting up in- nocent of her presence, I pace the room a time or two, and sit down on a shriek. I have put on my tall hat in a hurry and removed it instantaneously to disentangle Mademoiselle de Maupin from my hair. And languidly dipping my fingers in the tobacco-jar, have been rewarded with a bite like the bite of a fish. She hath eaten my singing-canary, song-book and all; but that shall be thy last offence, shark in angels guise demon in nuns dress! sarcophagus decked in fluff! The cage door is open, into it you go, and there shall you stay till such time as you repent. H. DR VERE STACPOOLE. From Chums. ROCK-FOWLING. AT various parts of the British coasts, where the cliffs are high, and especially in the western highlands of Scotland and all around the Orkney, Shetland, and F~r6e Islands, rock-fowl- ing is a regular occupation. Where there are wild, isolated, and compara- tively inaccessible sea-cliffs, there all manner of sea-birds live and nestle. In springtime and early summer vast quantities of eggs are deposited in these rocky fastnesses. Dealing neither with land nor water to secure his object, the hardy fowler must assume familiarity with a neutral element; suspended like Mahomets coffin, he carries on his operations in the air. The edge of the precipice over which he ventures often overhangs the centre and base; and rare skill, nerve, and muscles of steel, and the heart of a hero, must all be attributes of the daring coastman or islander who follows the dangerous calling of the rock-fowler. His outfit is sim pIe and comparn tively inexpensive. Some fifty to sixty fathoms of rope (say 254 255 Bock-Fowling. one hundred and fifty yards at the edges of the cliff; and should it part, most), a net (somewhat similar to that the fowler finds a certain doom in the carried by the angler) with which to boiling surf that lashes the base of the take the eggs, and a bag to store them heady precipice, or upon the jagged in; these comprise the whole of the boulders that fringe the ocean one apparatus. As we know, the face of thousand feet beneath him. On the the cliff often curves inwards; so to other hand, the caution exhibited by gain the rocky ledge whereon he pur- the people of St. Kilda and some other poses to commence his operations, localities is commendable, a strong rope having lowered himself the requisite being used, which is made out of tough distance, the fowler is obliged to give raw cowhide, salted for the purpose, huinself a pendulous motion in order to and cut circularly into three thongs of reach the shelf within. His rope is equal length. These thongs, being managed with remarkable dexterity, closely twisted together, form a triple Having made fast one end to a rock or cord, able to sustain a great weight, stake, he swings himself boldly into the and durable enough to last genera- air, and generally contrives, on the tions; indeed, such a rope is frequently ropes return, to hit the spot at which treated as an heirloom, being handed he aims. Landing upon his elevated down from father to son. . . . In those ledge, with a cloud of clanging fowl districts where the dangerous occu pa- flapping all around him, he makes fast tion is followed, a thousand stories are his thread of life, and proceeds to ply told of life saved by the most astonish- his net and fill his basket. Sometimes ing self-possession, adroitness, and an old bird will viciously snap at his bravery. Here is one which will give net and fingers, though as a rule the some idea of a cragsmans desperate sitter, whether male or female, angrily resolution when the peril of the situ- retires and joins the noisily protesting ation demanded it. It has been shown mass that, between sea and sky, wheels that when the fowler swings himself to and fro before the invaded sanctu- into a recess of the cliff, he secures his ary. When gathered, the eggs will rope until he require