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BLACKWOOD'S 

MAGAZINE. 

VOL.  XV. 
JANUABY-^UNE,  1824. 


WILLIAM  BLACKWOOD,  EDINBl^RGH; 

AND 

T.  CADELL,  STRAND,  LONDON. 


1824. 

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BLACKWOOD'S 

EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


No.  LXXXV. 


JANUARY,  1824. 


Vol.  XV. 


THE  IRISHMAN. 
No.  II. 


Natioks  in  many  respects  resem- 
ble private  individuals,  and  in  none 
more  than  this, — that  those  which  ap- 
parently have  most  cause  to  be  con- 
tent, often  exhibit  the  strongest  symp- 
toms of  uneasiness  and  dissatisfaction. 


they  who  seem  to  want  nothing  are 
frequently  the  prey  of  restlessness  and 
discontent.  I  question  whether  the 
world,  at  any  period,  has  been  able 
to  furnish  such  a  living  picture  as 
Great  Britain  now  exhibits,  of  public 
and  private  prosperity,  of  high  culti- 
vation, of  extended  commerce,  of  opu- 
lent inhabitants,  of  national  renown, 
of  seneral  knowledge,  and  of  indivi- 
dual happiness.  Sure  I  am,  that  it 
would  be  vain  to  think  of  finding  a 
parallel  to  it  in  an  v  era  of  her  own  his^ 
tory,  previous,  at  least,  to  the  last  forty 
or  fifty  years.  How  much  more  in- 
dulgent soever  nature  may  have  been 
to  other  countries,  in  excellenoe  of  di- 
inate,  fertility  of  soil,  or  felicity  of  si- 
tuation,—or  whatever  advantages  their 
inhabitants  may  have  derived  m>m  the 
culture  of  some  peculiar  arts, — ^where 
is  the  candid  ana  intelligent  stranger, 
who,  returning  to  his  own  country  af- 
ter an  intimate  acquaintance  with  Eng- 
land, will  hesiute  to  acknowledge  the 
decided  superiority  of  the  Empress  of 
the  Ocean,  the  free  and  happy  lalaiid? 
Vol.  XV. 


Where  will  he  find  such  an  atistocraey 
as  that  which  the  great  landed  pnv- 
prietors  of  Great  Britain  present  to  hiA 
view  ?  Where  will  he  look  for  such  a 
profusion  of  magnificent  seats,  or  such 
a  number  of  munificent  proprietors  ? 
Where  will  he  behold  such  a  descrip- 
tion of  tenantry  as  that  which  flourish- 
es under  the  auspices  of  that  noble 
and  high-minded  aristocracy  ?  Where 
else  is  be  to  seek  for  a  land  which  wffl 
shew  him  among  her  Esquires  men 
who  almost  look  down  upon  Royal 
honours,  and  whose  prtde  is,  not  to  ac- 
cept tiUes,  but  to  decline  them?  Where 
will  he  find  such  a  House  of  Peerv, 
such  an  assembly  of  Representatives, 
as  are  presented  to  his  view  in  both 
Houses  of  the  Imperial  Parliament  of 
Great  Britain  ?  Where  can  he  hope  to 
behold  such  wealthy  spirit,  intelli- 
gence, generodtv,  and  enterprize,  as 
are  centred  in  that  vast  and  respect- 
able body  composing  the  mercantile 
interest  of  Great  Britain  ? — Volumes, 
not  pages,  are  re<^uired,  for  giving  eveil 
a  very  brief  detail  of  the  several  items 
which  make  up  the  sum-total  of  Bri- 
tish industry,  British  power^  and  Bri- 
tish prosperity.  Years,  not  days,  would 
sufiBce  to  make  a  person  acquainted 
with  the  immense  extent  and  variety 
of  her  arts,  her  manufactures,  her  lite- 
rarv  attainments,  her  cultivated  land% 
and  her  commerdal  cities ;  and  did  eir- 
cwDstanoet  pcmut,  I  do  not  know  how 
A 


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a  man  of  cnnoos  and  intelligent  mind 
could  for  years  be  so  deUghtfiilly  and 
so  instractively  employed.  All  the  rest 
of  the  world  can  not,  the  whole  of  the 
old  world  never  could,  boast  such  a 
throne,  such  a  senate,  such  a  country, 
and  such  a  people ! 

Are  we  now  to  be  told,  that  this 
great  country  is  ill  governed,  that  her 
constitution  is  imperfect,  and  that  her 
legislature  wants  refomi  ?  I  hugh  at 
an  assertion,  of  which  every  man,  who 

,  eoi^ys  Qply  t|^  sens^  of  skhj;,  mjyist . 
dfecesn  t||s  j»RQ>aile4)^l|r^y-  AXluld 
'Sttch  an  empire^  hate  ^iDwti,  cste  sttoh 
a  state  of  thmgs  be  found,  under  an  ill 
government  ?  Impossible.  Is  it  to  be 
believed,  that  there  exists  any  want  of 
imperial  protection,  of  wise  adminis-i 
tration,  of  legislative  vigilance,  in  a 
country,  the  moral  and  intellectual 
character  of  whose  people  has  attained 
the  highest  summit  of  nonourable  dis- 
tinction, whose  trade  embraces  the 
world,  and  the  opulence  and  industry 
of  whose  private  citizens  enable  them 

,  io  accomplish  the  most  arduous  under- 
takings, and  to  rival  princes  in  gene» 
rosity  and  mt^nifioence  ?  Impossible. 
The  defecto,  for  defecU  will  be  found 
in  everything  connected  with  huma« 
nity,  are  not  in  the  system,  but  in 
those  who  would  abuse  it.  I  can  rea- 
dily understand  that  the  country  may 
be  goveitied  worse — I  cannot  easily 
conceive,  with  fair  allowance  for  mor- 
tal firailty,  that  it  could  be  governed 
better.  Will  a  wise  man  risk  the  sta- 
bility of  a  form  of  government,  capa- 
ble of  conferring  sudi  blessings,  on  the 
vain  hope  of  renovating  its  strength, 
or  enlarging  its  powers,  by  a  change 
of  system  ?  Will  he  give  up  the  con- 
scious certainty  of  good  ei\joyed,  for 
the  fallacious  promise  of  theoretic  per- 
fection ?  Would  he  do  so,  if  the  cha- 
XBCters  of  the  theorisis  were  recom- 
mended by  the  highest  excellence  of 
moral  principle,  exemplary  conduct, 
and  benevolent  intention  ?  and  if  not, 
will  he  listen  tor  a  moment  to  coun* 
oellors  of  sudk  character  as  the  reform*^ 
ists  of  the  present  day  generally  pos- 

*  aesB  ?  No,  unquestionably  he  wiU  not ; 
because,  if  he  did,  he  would  forfeit  his 
pretensions,  not  to  wisdom  only,  but 
to  common  prudence  common  honeaty, 
and  common  sense.  I  speak  as  a  mere 
individual  partaker  of  the  general  wel- 
lare.  I  have  no  personal  connection 
svith  the  exercisers  of  .power,  or  their 
agenta  or  inatnimeiils>  directly  or  fn« 


[[Jan. 

dhrectly ;  but  as  a  subject  of  the  im- 
perial realm,  I  profess  my  unwiUing- 
ness  to  diange  a  single  foundatiou- 
stone  of  that  political  structure,  which 
long  time,  profound  vnsdom,  and  for- 
tunate circumstances,  have  concunred 
to  construct — ^which  surrounding  na« 
tions  find  it  much  more  easy  to  ad- 
mire than  to  imitate — which,  once  sha- 
ken, may  oerer  recover  its  stability — 
and  which  owes  its  great  value,  not  to 
symmetrical  order,  or  regularity  of 
mv(L,  but  u>  the  J^trength  xxf  its  h^U^ 
ttc^ t&e ^Mi4)Si^oi  Its riof» aM 
the  substantial  ^uifbris  of  its  internal 
arrangement,  and  its  multiplied  ac- 
commodations. 

If  Great  Britain  be  as  I  have  de- 
scribed it,  whence,  it  ma^  be  adced, 
can  so  much  discontent  anse — discon- 
tent, not  merely  confined  to  hair- 
brained  experimentalists.  Jacobin  re- 
formers, desperate  adventurers,  or  idle 
profligates,  but  pervading  occasionally 
superior  classes,  and  bearing  in  its  train 
recruits  from  every  profession,  clerical, 
jnilitary,  legal,  Uterary,  and  even  sena- 
torial? The  answer  is  obvious — it 
arises  from  the  nature  and  omstitution 
-of  man,  being  a  proof  as  well  as  a  con- 
aequence  of  free  govemm^t;  a  natu- 
ral excess  of  that  liberty  which  per- 
mits ./ffn^rrv  qw(t  velUfJari  ^ttm  tenHas. 
In  such  a  government,  where  the  com- 
munity is  large,  there  will  be  nume- 
rous candidates  for  place  and  power, 
and  all  cannot  be  successful.  Disap- 
pointment will  be  experienced  more 
or  less  in  other  pursuits  ;  and  as  no 
one  is  willing  to  acknowledge  defiden- 
cy  in  himself,  he  is  naturaUy  disposed 
to  account  for  failure  on  some  other 
.ground  than  his  own  ill  fortune  or  iU 
conduct.  Misgovemment  iinmediately 
presents  itself  as  at  once  a  pretext  and 
consolation  for  miscarriage — a  conve- 
nient butt  for  the  arrows  of  malignity 
'—an  abundant  receptacle  for  all  the 
oveiiBowings  of  angry  and  irritated 
minds.  As  discontent  is  naturally  que- 
ndous,  as  it  requires  little  talent  to 
£nd  &ult,  still  less  to  vituperate,  and 
least  of  all  to  falsify,  he  must  be  de« 
dcient  in  judgment,  indeed,  whofonns 
his  estimate  of  the  country's  real  state 
£rom  factious  clamour,  from  party  jour- 
nals, tumultuary  meetings,  reforming 
demagoguesx  and  opposition  orators 
To  obtain  a  true  knowledge  of  the  ac- 
tual situation  and  nature  oif  things,  he 
must  take  a  cool,  patient,  and  oompre* 
heudve  view  of  the  whole ;  to  form  a 


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19M.2 


The  IriiJmKm^   No.  IL 


I  judgment  9i  iSte  Britldi  G<v- 
rcnnxttnt,  be  imnt  exanune  all  its  cu- 
rioos  and  cevnplkated  machinery,  the 
baitnoniovB  operation  of  whose  parts 
idll  suiprise  nim  much  more  tiian  the 
occaaonal  irr^ularitj  of  a  few  mo^e- 
nenta.  The  great  cause  of  astonish^ 
ment  to  a  sound  and  sober  mind  will 
he,  daat  any  who  Hve  under  its  protec- 
tion, who  haTe  been  bom  within  its 
pfedncts,  mid  whose  attachment  ought 
to  haTe  been  strengthened  by  the  im- 
iNKssioDs  of  early  prefKNttession,  should 
be  foolidi  or  wicked  enough  to  har- 
bour sentinients  derogatory  to  its  ^Eune, 
or  subTergrre  of  its  establishment.  I 
am  not  one  of  thoee  who  feel  serious 
alarm  finem  the  insidioiis  derigns  of  the 
literary  underminer,  or  the  more  open 
attacks  of  the  Mictions.  The  sterling 
we^t  of  solid  kaming  and  sound  ta- 
lent is  on  the  side  of  the  constitution) 
sod  there  is  a  steadiness  of  character 
in  die  British  people  which  will,  I 
trust,  fiir  erer  dmat  itut  secret  machi- 
natioBs  of  the  pretended  friend,  as  well 
as  ^e  undisguised  enmity  oi  the  au- 
daeioos  aggresssr.  Real  danger,  as  it 
rapears  to  me,  is  only  to  be  am>rehend- 
ea  from  a  want  of  umaa  and  irmness 
in  GrOTemment — friom  a  ministry  who 
wonM  be  weak  enough  to  concede  too 

%  nudi  to  that  resdesB  Bpkii  of  elMnige> 
wiA  wtaicii  so  many,  wider  the  pre- 
tence of  reform,  ore  eiUier  deluded 

«    thcmseWeSyOrendeaTvurii^tv^ddude 
•then. 

But,  alas!  poor  'Ireland!  though 
marked,  both  by  die  and  situation,  as 
die  associate,  not  the  slave,  of  the  sis- 
ter Island^  though  now  at  length  hi- 
dispntably  connected  with  h^  for- 
tunes, goVemed  by  the  same  crown, 
sobfect  to  the  same  laws,  represented 
in  the  same  Fsrliament,  and  scarce 
less  &Toared  by  the  fertilising  hand 
of  benignant  nature,  the  just  reporter 
of  jour  internal  state  has  a  ^^mrent 
and  fir  less  gratifying  representation 
tomake* 

In  endearoming  to  give  a  cleur, 
though  succinct,  account  of  the  real 
state  of  Ireland,  it  is  not  dealing  fairly 
to  make  her  sit  for  her  picture  in  the 
hour  of  distress,  to  take  our  view  of 
her  features  wh^e  under  the  influence 
of  a  depression,  in  which  all  the  nations 
of  Europe  have  participated,  and  hom 
Ihe  shock  of  which  even  the  supericnr 
wealth  and  resources  of  Englkh  a^ 
cultmrists  are  but  ttowb^lin^fig  to  re« ' 


Their  nnmenms  pethiono  t^ 
Parliament,  complaining  of  i^cultn- 
tural  distress,  spoke  a  language  as  me- 
knch^y  and  despairing  as  the  famous 
petitkm  of  their  ancestors  to  &e  senate 
of  Italy,  when  the  Roman  protection 
was  obliged  to  be  wididrawn.  In  their 
despondency  they  predicted  a  general 
banlcruptcy  of  both  landlord  imd  te- 
nant, a  death-blow  to  agriadtuie,  and 
little  less  than  national  ruin.  Thev 
had  thehr  R«>ckites  too,  some  riots,  ana 
some  burnings,  though  soon  checked 
by  the  vigihmce  of  the  magistrscy,  and 
the  aenend  respect  of  a  long  dviliaed 
people  to  the  salutary  authority  of  the 
laws.  Ireland,  from  various  eircum- 
stanees,  has  hitherto  derived  her  prin- 
cipal wealth  from  the  productions  of 
her  land,  from  what  is  called  the  pro- 
visioti  trade— from  cattle,  and  mm 
com ;  for  both  of  which,  and  more 
e^MdaRy  the  former,  the  nature  of 
the  climate,  and  ihe  fertility  of  the 
sotf,  are  wdl  adapted.  It  cannot  sure- 
ly be  matter  of  surprise,  that  what  was 
msastrously  Mt  by  a  people  possessing 
BO  many  resources,  so  abiuidant  in 
wealth,  and  so  superior  in  civilization^ 
should  be  productive  of  deep  and  bit- 
ter calamity  in  a  country  deriving  its 
staple,  almost  its  only  support,  from 
that  verv  braneh  of  industry  whidi 
the  sudden  chanae  of  Eurc^iean  poli- 
tios  had  so  deeply  and  unexpectedly 
paralysed.  War,  which  impoverishes 
other  countries,  has  long  been  an  en- 
richer  of  Ireland,  by  employing  her 
spare  hands,  and  oonsimiing  her  super- 
aoundant  provisions.  But  the  hanreSt 
was  generally  diort,  and  the  gainers^ 
regardii^  it  only  as  a  temporary  re- 
source, were  probably  better  husmmdB 
of  the  nrefits.  The  unusual  duration 
of  the  last  w V  seems  to  have  given  it 
the  character  of  interminable.  Hie 
longer  it  lasted,  the  less  it  seemed  like- 
ly to  end.  What  was  got  with  ease 
was  spent  with  profusicMi ;  none  seem 
to  have  peculated  on  a  decrease  of  in- 
come. Rents,  which  had  been  pmd 
lor  fifteen  or  twenty  years,  appeared 
beyond  the  dang^  of  reduction ;  es- 
tates were  loaded  with  diaiges  pro- 
portionate to  ^ir  supposed  eternity 
of  value ;  prices,  which  for  num^  years 
had  been  advancing,  might,  it  was 
thought,  rise,  but  could  never  recede  ; 
and  when  the  shock  did  come,  there 
was  genend  alarm,  general  dismay^ 
general  cKsoontent^  and  general  djoh 


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trets,  because  there  was  no  prepantkm 
for  an  erent,  which^  however  distant, 
must  have  arriTed  at  last 

The  substitution  of  paper  for  cash 
— a  measure  which  nothing  but  the 
direst  necessity  could  justi^,  and  to 
which,  under  Providence^  Great  firi* 
tain  has  been  indebted  for  the  sucoes»- 
ful  support,  and  the  glorious  termi- 
nation of  her  long  protracted  struggle 
with  the  Gallic  Usurper— unfortunate- 
ly contributed  to  mcrease  the  evil. 
The  facility  of  obtaining  money  when 
the  stamp  of  a  banker  could  create  a 
circulating  medium,  gave  a  spur  to 
'  speculation,  of  which  Irish  ardour 
made  a  most  improvident  use.  That 
an  after  reckoning  must  come,  seemed 
never  to  be  contemplated  either  by  the 
Jender  or  the  borrower;  and  such  was 
the  peculiar  state  of  things  at  one  time^ 
that  the  only  person  in  danger  of  real 
suffering  was  the  actual  capitalist. 
The  bankers,  of  whom  an  inordinate 
Jiumber  started  up,  who  issued  their 
hundreds  of  thousands,  less  on  the 
credit  of  their  houses,  than  on  the  cre- 
dulity of  the  public,  and  who  lived 
like  princes  while  that  credulity  lasted, 
whatever  injury  they  might  do  to 
others^  could  do  little  to  themselves 
by  becoming  bankrupts.  Speculators, 
who,  with  the  aid  of  a  bold  front,  and 
a  new  coat,  got  deep  into  their  books 
luid  precipiuted  their  failures,  sported 
for  a  whDe  in  adventurous  notoriety, 
and  by  their  fall  injured  only  the 
tenders. 

The  money  expended  by  these  ad- 
venturers in  cotton  and  paper-works, 
corn-mills,  and  various  otner  schemes, 
though,  while  it  lasted,  much  sdvan- 
tage  seemed  to  accrue  in  consequence 
of  the  employment  given  to  trades- 
men and  labourers,  &c  yet  was  it  in 
reality  injurious,  by  advancing  wages, 
and  increasing  a  circulation  of  paper 
already  too  large,  as  well  as  from  the 
suddenness  and  frequency  of  their 
failures.  Many  of  them  bad  even  ad- 
jdress  enough  to  repeat  thdr  bank- 
ruptcies by  obtaining  fresh  credit,  and 
persuading  their  dupes  that  the  way 
to  recover  an  old  debt  was  by  making 
a  new  one.  The  failure  of  banks  was 
more  extensively  iigurious,  as  it  af- 
fected almost  the  whole  body  of  the 
peasantry  within  the  range  of  their 
issues,  whose  chief  means  of  meeting 
the  several  demands  upon  them  were 
those  verv  notes  which  the  shutting 
of  a  dcMT  nad  converted  from  moneyed 


CJaii. 

value  into  wordileflB  paper.  Tliejati*^ 
tained  also  very  serious  losses  throuf^ 
the  means  of  corn-buyers,  of  whom 
many  started  up  in  different  parts  of 
the  country,  outbidding  each  other, 
and  receiving  grain  into  their  stores 
on  the  promise  of  more  high  prieesi, 
manv  of  which  were  never  paid. 

These,  however,  were  not  the  worst 
evils  which  persons  deriving  income 
immediatelv  from  land,  and  particu- 
larly the  laborious  cultivator,  had  to 
encounter.  A  British  reader  can 
scarce  conceive,  and  will  be  unwilling 
to  believe,  the  extravagant  extent  to 
which  land-letting  and  land-jobbing 
were  here  carried.  I  know  that  in  se- 
veral parts  of  Great  Britain  there  was 
much  competitiou  for  farms,  and  ^at 
rents  rose  to  an  unusual  and  inordinate 
height.  But  Irish  land-jobbing  was 
quite  a  different  thing,  and  involved 
a  much  greater  variety  of  persons  in 
difficulty,  in  distress,  and  in  ruin. 
When,  in  consequence  of  an  unre- 
stricted circulation  of  paper,  and  a 
ready  demand  for  every  species  of  pro* 
vision,  the  price  of  land's  produce  rose 
beyond  all  former  example,  to  make 
fortunes  by  farms  was  the  favourite 
object  of  every  country  speculator.-  As 
the  duration  of  those  prices  was  never 
doubted,  all  that  seemed  necessary  to 
success  was  to  become  tenant  to  as 
much  ground  as  possible,  and  to  se- 
cure the  continuance  of  such  valuable 
interesU  by  length  of  lease.  The  rent 
which  a  man  might  thus  bind  himself 
to  pay,  was  a  minor  consideration,  as 
he  always  looked  to  an  increasing  vslue, 
particularly  where  the  farm  was  sus- 
ceptible of  any  improvement.  How, 
as  he  represented  tne  matter  to  him- 
self, could  it  be  otherwise,  when  twen- 
ty stone  of  wheat  brought  three  pounds, 
and  frequently  more,  and  when  all  the 
other  marketable  articles  of  a  farm 
were  in  proportion  ?  The  numbar  of 
these  competing  land-jobbers,  among 
whom  were  gentlemen  of  real  pro- 
perty as  well  as  greedy  adventurers, 
necessarily  raised  the  market  upon 
themselves,  and  ^ve  an  additional 
stimulus  to  enterpnze,  originating  from 
avarice,  fostered  by  ignorance,  and 
founded  on  delusion.  Every  noble- 
man and  gentleman  who  had  lands  to 
let,  was  besieged  by  suitors  and  a^ 
nlicants  vying  ¥rith  each  other  for  the 
nappy  pnvil^  of  becoming  tenant 
at  any  rent  they  might  be  j^ieaaed  to 
require^  tempting  the  needy  landkNrd 


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1894.;]  TJUInJ^mtm.    No.  IT.  $ 

yriih  finely  and  aolkitlDff  tbe&voarof  aimualeihibitionofiiMitriinoDkli 
•gents  by  bribet,  whidi>  it  may  be 
suppoced,  were  not  alwt^s  r^ected. 
There  were  no  doubt  a  few^  whom 
cooler  judgnaent  exempted  from  the 
dangerof  auchexceMes;  but^  generally 
^leaking,  botR  knd-owner  and  land- 
hdder  submitted  to  a  deception,  cm 
which  one  cannot  now  reflect  without 
the  utmost  d^;ree  of  wonder  and  as- 
tonishment. Thousands  of  engsge> 
ments  were  then  made,  which  were 
impossible  to  be  kept,  and  many  sums 
of  monev  sunk  in  speculations  as  fool- 
ish snd  deoeptious  as  the  famous  South 
Sea  Bubble,  a  project  bearing  great 
vmilitude,  in  absurdity  at  least,  to  the 
Iste  Irish  rage  for  land4etting  and 
Uud-jobbing.  Numbers  of  persons, 
substantially  wealthy  and  respectable, 
who  speculated  in  this  manner,  have 
been  reduced  to  a  state  little  short  of 
absolute  indigence.  Many  ha?e  been 
obliged  to  pay  douceurs  for  being  per- 
mitted to  relmouiah  their  bargains,  at 
the  loss  of  all  toe  money  expended  in 
bribes,  fines,  or  improvements ;  seve- 
ral were  under  the  necessity  of  flying 
the  country,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  rash 
and  ruinous  obligations;  and  some, 
who  strutted  for  a  while  in  fine  clothes, 
snd  sported  fashionable  gigs,  on  the 
strength  of  profit  rents  and  farm  in- 
comes, have  been  reduced  to  the  hum- 
ble mediocrity  of  a  plain  coat  and  a. 
walking-stick. 

What  then,  need  I  say,  at  the 
bursting  of  ^e  bubble,  must  have 
been  the  condition  of  the  Irish  pea- 
ssntry,  of  that  class  from  whose  la- 
bours all  those  emoluments,  present 
and  perspective,  were  to  accrue,  and 
on  whom  was  imposed  a  burden  of 
rent  to  the  utmost  verge  of  what  their 
ability  was  able  to  undergo?  Such, 
however,  was  the  idea  universally  en- 
tertained of  agricultural  capability, 
that  they  were  as  ready  to  give  high 
rents  as  the  land-letter  was  to  require 
them,  and  for  a  time,  and  a  long  time 
too,  they  not  only  paid  high  rents,  but 
prospered  on  the  payment.  They 
wore  good  clothes,  rode  good  horses, 
drank  liberally,  quarrelled  lustily,  and 
married  superabundantly.  Forthefort^- 
night  pre<»ding  Lent — ^for  marriages 
are  seldom  contracted  at  any  other 
time — the  priest's  hands  were  full  of 
business,  and  jovous  wedding  parties 
crowded  the  roads  leading  to  his  house 
from  every  part  of  the  pansh.  A  visi« 
tor,  fbnaing  hia  judgment  fiom  tMn 


ximent,  would  have  pronounced  them, 
and  not  without  reason,  the  happiest 
people  upon  earth.  They  did  really 
enjoy  all  the  happiness  wnioh  minds 
not  very  delicate,  nor  very  enlighten- 
ed, were  capable  of  tasting ;  absorbed 
in  the  festivities  of  the  passing  hour, 
pleased  with  thejpresent,  and  heedless 
of  the  fbture.  The  sudden  fall  from 
degree  of  prosperity  accommodated 


to  their  habits,  and  equal  to  their 
wishes,  fWim  actual  affluence  to  actual 
poverty,  was  at  once  woful  and  aa« 
tounding.  To  see  the  produce  of  thst 
industry  which  so  lately  sufficed  to  an* 
swer  all  demands,  snd  left  a  surprihis, 
not  only  for  subsistence,  but  for  eigoy^ 
ment,  either  unsaleable,  or  to  be  dis- 
posed of  for  less  than  a  third  of  its 
pristioe  value,  appeared  to  them  aa 
strange  and  unaccountable  as  it  was 
cruel  and  dissstrotts.  Had  the  demands 
of  their  several  creditors  diminished 
in  due  proportion,  and  had  the  reduc« 
tion  of  rents  kept  pace  with  the  re- 
duction of  prices,  though  they  might 
have  been  puzsled  by  the  cause,  they 
would  have  been  little  injured  by  the 
effect ;  their  nominal  rather  than  their 
real  property  would  have  sufiered. 
But  uiis  was  by  no  means  the  case. 
Tile  middle^man,  or  land-jobber,  in 
order  to  maintain  himself,  and  make 
ffood  his  engsgements  to  the  head 
kndlord,  was  obliged  to  exact  his  rent 
firom  the  occupier ;  and  to  do  this,  fre- 

auently  had  recourse,  not  merely  to 
tie  produce  of  the  knd,  but  to  the 
sde  of  his  tensnt's  stock  and  move- 
ables, a  measure  which  wholly  ruined 
the  <»ie,  and  eventualljr  iiijured  the 
other.  To  anticipate  this  result,  the 
tenant,  conscious  of  his  inabiUty  to 
make  up  the  rent  which  he  knew 
would  be  lequired,  removed  all  hia 
effects  a  litde  before  pay-day,  to  some 
distant  part  of  the  country,  and  as  the 
people  mutually  assisted  each  other  in 
these  schemes,  they  were  generally 
successful.  Thus  commenced  a  sort 
of  straggling  warfare  between  land- 
lords and  tenants,  the  former  endea* 
youring  to  get  as  much,  and  the  latter 
to  give  as  little,  as  they  possibly  could ; 
the  consequences  of  which  were,  the 
dissolution  of  that  friendship  and  con- 
fidence which  should  subsist  between 
them,  much  loss  aiui  ii\jury  to  both, 
and  a  general  spirit  of  resistance  on 
the  part  of  the  people,  to  the  payment 
of  aorastomad  demands,  even  whett 


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Tkelriskman.    N9. 11. 


tiioie  demanfltf  were  urged  idth  knlty 
and  modenttion.  From  disorderly  oe-^ 
cnrreiioes  of  this  nature,  originated 
thote  nightly  outrages,  nol  nmch  at- 
tended to  in  tbe  b^imiing,  whidi  at 
length  arrived  at  an  alanmng  height, 
and  asiumed  the  character  of  a  dan- 
genMu  and  rebellious  confederatk>n. 
It  is  yery  difficult  to  form  an  accurate 
estimate  of  tbe  extent  of  popular  con^ 
apiracy  in  Ireknd,  at  least  in  the  be* 
ginning  of  its  career,  because  they 
who  refiise  to  enlist  in  its  ranks  never 
off^  the  least  obstruction  to  its  pro^ 
gress ;  the  duty  of  giving  information 
of  any  criminal  prooeeoing  whatso* 
ever,  which  does  not  personally  afibet 
^mselves,  not  being  among  the  du- 
ties which  they  have  been  accustom- 
ed to  consider  obligatory  on  them  by 
the  laws  either  of  God  or  man.  The 
obstinacy  with  which  the  combination 
is  still  supported,  shews,  however, 
t^t  the  insurrectionary  ^irit  had  ta- 
ken deep  root,  and  spread  to  a  very 
wide  extent,  embracing,  as  it  al- 
ways does,  additional  views,  and  ob* 
jects  not  contemplated  at  its  com- 
Boeneement,  and  fomented  as  it  goes 
on  by  brawling  patriots,  disappointed 
pUoe-hnnters,  insidious  retormists, 
and  unprincipled  democrats. 

However  unwillingly  either  little 
men  or  great  men  reunauished  their 
daims  to  what  hope  haa  encouraged 
tiiem  to  regard  as  a  secure  and  perma* 
nsnt  income,  the  wants  oi  eaen  pa6»» 
ing  hour  demonstrated  the  necessitr 
of  submitting  to  circumstances,  and 
conceding  an  abatement  of  rents.  It 
was  begun  by  the  greater  proprietors, 
most  of  whom  evinced  a  disposition  to 
deal  liberally  with  their  tenants,  and 
to  contribute,  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, their  endeavours  to  diminisli 
Ae  pressure  of  public  distress.  If 
their  reductions  were  at  first  insuffi- 
cient, it  is  less  chargeable  on  their 
want  of  indinatlon  to  relieve,  than  <m 
tibe  unsettled  state  of  things,  and  their 
ignorance  of  the  quantum  of  reduction 
the  case  required.  Abatement,  bn  the 
part  of  the  petty  proprietor,  and  mid- 
dle landlord,  was  much  more  reluctant, 
and  much  less  considerable.  Hopes 
were  still  entertained  that  the  depres- 
sion was  but  temporary,  and  that  lands 
would  again  recover  their  value.  They 
either  wSfUUy  turned  their  eyes  from  a 
Mortifying  and  melancholy  picture,  or, 
what  is  more  probaMe,  as  the  views  odT 
Midi  persona  areumudlyboimdedby  « 


[[Jsife 

very  narrow  horfson,  were  ignorant  of 
the  operating  princi]^,  of  real  causey 
and  of  necessary  consequences.  It  was 
even  tbe  opinion  of  many  persons 
claiming  mate  title  to  wisdom,  that 
ministers  should  have  put  off*  the  evil 
hour  by  protracting  the  return  to  cash 
payments.  But  sound  policy  seems 
ftifty  to  justify  the  conduct  which  they 
diought  proper  to  pursue.  It  was,  I 
^ilnk,  fhr  more  advisable  to  know  the 
worst  at  once,  than  to  upheld  a  state 
of  anxiety  and  suspense.  It  was  bet- 
ter to  su^  one  smart  shock,  than  to 
prcdong  a  state  of  unheallhful  exist- 
ence by  a  fictitieus  shew  of  wealth,  by 
keeping  up  a  paper  system  injurions 
to  sound  credit,  deeeptious  in  opara* 
^n,  and  liable  to  so  many  abuses. 
No  prudence,  on  the  part  of  the 

nle,  could  have  prevented  indivi- 
suffering,  or  general  complaint. 
In  a  country  almost  dependent  upon 
agriculture,  nothing  could  materially 
affect  the  prices  ^  land's  produce, 
without  makhig  a  correspondent  im- 
pression on  its  inhabitants.  In  Ire« 
land,  which  unfortunately  does  not 
indude  frugality  among  its  nation- 
al virtues,  tbe  severity  of  the  shock 
was  greatly  aggravated  by  lavishness 
of  expenditure,  which,  in  almost  all 
dttsses  of  life,  more  than  kept  pace 
with  increase  of  income,  and  redun- 
dancy oi  profit.  For  many  years,  at 
least,  preceding  the  return  [of  peace, 
the  difficulty  was  not  in  makine  mo- 
ney, but  in  keeping'  it.  They  who  ftr 
twenty  years  and  upwards  had  enjoyed 
incomes  raised  to  two,  three,  or  lour 
times  their  preceding  amount,  have 
surely  none  to  blame  but  themselves, 
if,  at  their  return  to  the  old  income, 
diey  are  in  no  better,  and  veir  fire* 
quently  in  a  much  worse  concutton, 
man  when  they  set  out.  When  bank- 
ers and  merchants  built  palaces,  and 
lived  like  princes ;  when  dealers  of  in- 
ferior order  rqzarded  the  acquitotion 
of  a  rapid  profit,  not  as  a  foundation 
for  the  increase  of  capital,  but  as  the 
means  of  indulging  pleasurable  pur- 
suits ;  when  country  gentlemen  increa- 
sed their  expenditures  in  a  double  ra- 
tio of  their  new  raised  incomes ;  when 
there  were  no  Misters,  but  aU  Es- 
cjukes ;  and  when  few  oi  any  descrip- 
tion made  provision  fer  an  evil  hour 
to  come,  I  do  not  see  with  what  jus- 
tice the  calamitous  result  of  such  im- 
prudence can  be  charged  on  the  efieets 
Of  the  UmoB^  the  p«i«l  pcdieyef  the 


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sister  cmuitiTi  or  tbe  tuefj^gfsncB  tad 
iac&pftcity  of  the  King's  minkten. 

To  those  who  smoosly  despair  of 
any  sdid  advantages  fxmn  the  Uqioo^ 
.U  may  be  suffident  to  cite  the  mBto^ 


Tin  Iruifmm^    No.  11.  jr 

natioiial  wealth,  Imi  fumot  tltaB^ier 


suppress  it  among  a  fragal,  intdligetti, 
jand  industrious  people.  Under  any 
system  of  laws^  proTiding  for  the  reft- 
fionable  seourity  of  person  and  prcfter^ 


pie  of  Soodand,  to  whose  inhalntants    tj,  though  such  a  people  may  not  ap- 


the  inc<»ptfr«tion  of  their  interests 
with  EngUnd  appeared  still  more  ob- 
noxious and  exceptionable.  Many  years 
elapsod  before  any  sreat  national  beno- 
ftta  accrued  to  ScoUand  from  the  mea- 
sure, notwithstanding  her  doeer  affi- 
nity to  England  and  ner  more  thrifty 
population.  It  is  only  within  the  last 
40  or  50  years  that  her  trade  has  been 
ao  proaperously  extended,  that  her  ma- 
■fufiu^tures  have  been  to  flourishing, 
that  her  lands  ha?e  been  so  highly 
cultivated,  and  that  her  two  great  and 
besutifttl  cities  have  risen  to  such  oom- 
merdal  and  literary  eminence.  Let 
those  who  are  in  the  hi^t  of  im|>uting 
Irish  backwardness,  Irish  poverty,  and 
Irish  lailuces,  to  the  corruption  or  ia^ 
capacity  of  government,  ask  ^emsdves 
this  plain  question.  To  what  is  the 
flrett  sad  advancing  pnNiperity  of  Scot- 
ond,  a  country  mudi  inferior  to  Ire- 
land in  advantages  of  situation,  in  ex- 
tent, and  in  natural  fertility,  to  be 
ascribed?  Has  it  flowed  from  any  pe- 
culiar fosterage  of  government,  or  su- 
perior ei^oyment  of  repl^sentative  pri- 
vileges? Certainly  not.  It  is  attributa- 
ble to  heaself;  to  the  improved  dia»- 
rtcter  of  her  people ;  to  their  genersl 
exem]^ tion  from  the  debasing  influence 
4>f  antiquated  dogmas ;  to  an  awakened 
and  emulous  spirit  of  industrious  ex^ 
crtion  pervading  all  dasses ;  to  tn  tr* 
dttt  desire  of  knowledge,  unimpeded 
by  the  dqgs  of  religious  domination ; 
lo  t  liberty  wfaidi  government  cannot 
^ve  here,  idBttTy  of  mind  ;  to  the 
intelligence  of  her  gentry,  the  enter, 
prine  of  her  merchants,  and  (he  kindly 
co-opermtioB  of  all.  Such  a  people  as 
Ihey  are,  in  such  a  country  as  this  is, 
would,  in  a  very  few  years,  present  a 
picture  of  national  prosperity,  not  only 
by  means,  and  with  the  aid  of  govern- 
Acnt  favour  and  patronage,  but  in  the 
very  teeth  of  its  hostility.  InanlskMid 
ao  lavouied  by  nature,  government 
BUMt  be  ingeniousl  V  oppressive  indeed, 
to  prevent  the  inhabitants  from  impro« 
vii^  their  minds,  and  bettering  tneir 
eondition,  when  they  themselves  are  se^ 
dmiovAj  and  seridusly  bent  upon  both. 
I^jndieKms  restrictions  upon  trade, 
and  £ivour  ptrtitlly  bestowed,  may' 
impede  or  retard  the  accuitulation  of 


nve  at  great  riches,  at  least  it  must  be 
their  own  fiiults  If  they  become  very 
poor.  Whatever  the  conduct  of  go* 
veminent  might  have  been  previous  to 
178S,  and  it  was  usually  bad  enoudi> 
I  do  not  heritate  to  say,  that  since  that 
period  Ireland  has  enjoyed  her  full 
share  of  national  oonsideralion.  That 
she  has  not  better  availed  herself  of  it, 
is  ascribable  to  herself  alone. 

Among  the  advantages  which  were 
to  result  fVom  the  Union,  some,  it 
seems,  contemplated  the  immediate  ar- 
rival of  English  capitalists,"  to  em^oy 
their  superabundant  wealth  with  hi^ 
ac  advantage  in  the  auspidout  security 
nf  a  new  and  dieaper  country.  I  ctn*- 
not  see  the  justice  of  that  expectation, 
or  why  a  man,  who  in  Eng^nd  was  st 
rich  as  he  need  wish  to  be,  should 
ccNne  to  Ireland  to  become  richer.  An 
En^shman,  versed  in  the  arts  of  pro- 
cunog  riches,  but  unpossessed  <^  tnera 
himself,  mi^t  be  induced  to  try  his 
fortune  in  a  countrv  where  his  skill 
Would  stand  him  in  the  place  of  capitd, 
and  by  degrees  enable  him  to  create 
one.  This,  I  believe,  has  been  fre- 
quently done,  with  more  or  less  success. 
Scotland  was  still  more  liberal  of  emis- 
saries, sometimes  with  a  little  capital 
of  their  own,  and  sometimes  without 
and  among  them  we  have  to  reckon 
very  valuable  men,  as  well  as  fortunate 
adventurers.  To  one  in  particular,  tht 
county  of  Cork,  and,  I  may  add,  the 
South  of  Irdtnd,  through  which  he 
estaUished  mail  coaches,  has  been 
highly  indebted.  He  shewed  what 
miffht  be  done  even  in  thia  depressed 
and  ill  represented  country,  by  address^ 
in teUigence,  and  activity.  Tneeondu- 
aion  of  his  career  was,  indeed,  like  that 
of  Buonaparte,  unprosperous  to  him« 
self,  and  for  a  similar  reason ;  his  views 
expanded  with  his  success,  and  indu- 
ced lum  to  undertake  prqjects  tot 
mighty  for  performance.  Mr  Ander- 
son's fortunes  were  wrecked  on  dit 
same  rock  which  so  many  vessels  split 
upon.  He  made  laige  purchases  of 
kmded  property  on  the  inconsiderate 
notion  of  its  permanent  value,  and  the 
fruits  of  his  more  successful  industry 
were  unable  to  sustain  the  overwhelm* 
ing  weight  of  its  depreciation. 


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lU  Irkhmuu    JSTa  IT. 


In  emnnenitfaig  ilia  leading  causes 
of  Irdand's  inqiuetade,  distress^  and 
depression,  consequent  on  the  termiu»- 
tion  of  the  hist  war,  I  have  omitted 
ene,  not  from  its  insignificance,  for  it 
Tras  most  severely  operative^  but  from 
the  temporary  nature  of  its  character  ; 
I  mean^  the  kte  failure  of  the  crop  of 
popular  subsistence.  Visitations  of  this 
Kind  are  not  peculiar  to  any  country 
or  nation,  though  rodlst  distressing  in 
those  which  are  poor.  At  another  time 
it  would  have  been  much  less  sererely 
^t.  In  the  dry  summer  of  1800^  or 
1801,  as  remarkable  for  the  pectdiar 
excellenoe  of  wheat,  as  for  the  almost 
total  failure  of  potatoes^  the  staple  food 
of  the  people  was  still  more  scanty,  and 
the  distress  would  have  been  greater, 
had  the  internal  state  of  the  country 
then  been  similar  to  what  it  is  now. 
But  it  was  f\ill  of  money.  The  extra- 
va^t  prices  of  grain  and  export  pro« 
Tisions,  had  filled  the  pockets  of  all  ex- 
cept the  very  lowest  classes,  and  f^om 
that  abundance  the  poor  were  relieved 
and  fed.  In  the  last  case  of  similar  in- 
fliction, the  generous  contributions  of 
the  sister  country  nobly  supplied  that 
aid  which  the  altered  state  of  things 
here  was  unable  to  administer,and  esta- 
blished a  title  to  the  eternal  gratitude 
and  affection  of  Ireland.  Everything 
is  valuable  which  tends  to  strengthen 
the  bonds  of  connection  between  the 
sister  islands,  and  one  almost  ceases  to 
r^;ret  the  calamit]^,  on  account  of  the 
munificence  to  wmch  it  gave  rise,  and 
the  cheering  consciousness  of  possess- 
ing so  exceUent  a  friend  in  so  near  a 
neighhour. 

Of  Ireland's  general  and  striking  in- 
feriority to  the  sister  island,  there  are 
indeed  other  causes  which  shall  be  no- 
ticed hereafter ;  but  enough  has  been 
said  to  account  for  the  peculiar  wretch- 
edness of  her  condition  within  the  last 
five  or  six  years ;  a  wretchedness  which 
disappointed  ambition,  and  factious 
clamour,  under  the  mask  of  patriotism, 
have  very  materially  contributed  to 
aggravate  and  increase.  I  challenge 
an^  intelligent  person,  acquainted  with 
this  country,  to  disprove  tne  statement 
I  have  maae,  and,  admitting  it  to  be 
true,  can  any  man  in  his  senses  be  at 
a  loss  to  ascertain  the  prevailing  causes 
of  present  depression,  or  so  sottish  as 
to  oelieve  that  they  have  the  smallest 
connection  with  political  squabbles, 
any  farther  than  as  the  said  political 
squabble^  by  irritating  the  popular 


inind,  have  added  ftiellt)  thefluneof 
discontent,  andpromoted  inanrrectioii- 
aryphrenz^.  If^ministerial  negligence 
and  imbecility,  so  loudly  trumpeted 
by4ltatesmen  out  of  place,  or  the  re- 
jection of  the  Roman  Catholics'  last 
claim,  so  vehemently  dinned  into  our 
ears  by  demagogues  wanting  power, 
be  the  true  cause,  how  did  it  come  to 
pass,  that  neither  one  nor  the  other 
offered  any  obstruction  to  the  rapid 
growth  of  Irish  prosperity  during  the 
continental  war  ?  Simply,  because  her 
prosperity  hinged  upon  circumstances 
oifiercnt  fVom  either.  I  have  already 
observed,  that  it  wa?  not  ^r  to  make 
Ireland  sit  for  her  picture  in  the  hour 
of  a  temporary  digression.  For  the 
elucidation  of  the  present  subject,  it 
will  not  be  amiss  to  take  a  view  of  her 
situation,  as  it  presented  itself  during 
the  last  20  years  of  the  Buonapartean 
dynasty,  which,  though  the  selfish 
memories  oi  those  who  recollect  no 
bright  days,  save  when  the  light  serves 
to  Illuminate  themselves,  have  thought 
fit  to  erase  fVom  their  calendar,  are  in 
the  perfect  remembrance  of  others.  He 
must  be  a  young  Hibernian  indeed, 
who  does  not  remember  when  the  ra- 
pid growth  of  Irish  prosperity  was  the 
theme  of  universal  gratulation.  Mr 
O'Connell,  and  Mr  (rClabber,  and  Mr 
MacJabber,  ii  hoc  genus  omne,  might 
have  pined  and  fretted  at  a  national 
advancement  which  they  had  no  hand 
in  promoting ;  but  prosper  she  did,  and 
that  with  a  pace  of  almost  unparallel^ 
ed  celerity.  New  and  handsome  man- 
sion-houses were  erected,  demesnes 
were  extended  and  dressed ;  planting 
and  ftrming  became  favourite  pur- 
suits ;  new  towns  were  built ;  old  towns 
were  enlarged  and  beautified ;  mail- 
coadi  roads,  and  post  carriages,  esta- 
blished ;  banks  multiplied,  credit 
abounded,mercan  tile  speculations  flou- 
rished ;  dealers  of  all  jcinds  made  for- 
tunes, if  they  did  not  Are^them ;  pet^ 
ty  landlords  grew  into  Esquues,  Es- 

Siires  became  men  of  fashion  and 
essure ;  sgriculture  increased  every- 
where, and  improved  in  many  places ; 
farmers  wore  good  cloaks,  rode  good 
horses,  and  indulged  to  the  utmost  all 
their  propensities  to  rustic  gratifica- 
tion ;  all  was  bustle,  business,  profit, 
and  pleasure ;  and  the  enjoyments  of 
the  day  were  unembittered  with  an- 
xiety, or  apprehension  for  the  morrow. 
*Even  tithes  and  taxes  were  unable  to 
make  mudi  deduction  from  the  genc- 
9 


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Thelrisknum.    No.  IL 


iml  fund  of  happiness  and  hilaiityy  the 
Ibnner  being  easily  paid  while  the  fkr- 
mere  were  rich^  and  the  latter  only 
f^It  with  sererity  by  the  poorer  inha- 
bitants of  towns  and  cities.  Is  it  not 
obvious^  that  an  intelligent  Irish  gen- 
tleman^ warped  by  no  sinister  or  sel- 
fish views,  and  sitting  down  to  take  a 
fair  view  of  bis  country's  situation  du- 
ring the  greater  part  of  the  period  al- 
luded to,  would  have  drawn  a  very, 
favourable  and  flattering  picture  of  her 
internal  state  and  condition  ?  Sober 
judgment  might  incline  him  to  enter- 
tain apprehensions  fbr  the  permanence 
<rf  a  prosperity  that  was  so  much  in- 
debted to  causes  of  a  temporary  nature, 
but  the  fact  of  its  actual  existence  was 
undeniable.  Even  Sir  John  Newport 
himself  exceeded  by  few  in  occasional 
oUiquity  of  political  vision,  must  have 
•een,  and,  unless  out  of  place,  would 
not  have  hesitated  to  actmit,  the  extra- 
ordinary rapidity  of  national  improve- 
ment. Even  now,  amidst  all  the  just 
complaints  of  actiud  sufiering,  the  an- 
gry clamours  of  brawling  demagogues, 
the  hypocritical  kmentations  of  ex  of- 
ficio  sutesmen,  and  the  midtifarious 
effusions  of  fiictious  discontent,  let  any 
man  who  has  known  this  country  for 
the  last  forty  years,  compare  the  state 
of  Ireland  as  it  was  when  he  first  knew 
it,  with  what  it  is  at  the  present  mo- 
ment, and  I  ask  no  more  than  the  tes- 
timony of  his  senses  to  justify^ my 
statement.  Let  him  consider  also,  that 
within  the  limits  of  this  period,  ^e 
has  had  to  struggle  with  difficulties, 
dangers,  and  calunities,  of  the  most 
appalling  nature ;  with  democratic  se- 
dition, religious  rancour,  political  ani- 
t  mosity,  and  desolating  rebellion.  Any 
of  these  seem  sufficient  to  check  the 
calm  progress  of  national  prosperity, 
and  in  this  unfortunate  country,  each 
of  them  was  carried  to  an  excess  that 
direatened  not  merely  the  peace  and 
weUbdng  of  the  state,  but  its  very  ex- 
itCence.  Yet  such  is  the  power  of  re- 
vivification in  a  country  where  person 
and  property  are  under  the  protection 
of  laws  decently  administered,  and 
where  industry  is  even  imperfectly 
operative,  that  the  moment  of  danger  s 
ois^pearance  seldom  fails  to  mark  the 
commencement  of  a  new  course,  rather 
invigorated  than  depressed  by  the  re- 
coUectioD  of  past  disasters.  This  obser- 
vation was  here  very  strikingly  exem- 
plified. For  some  years  previous  to  the 
termination  <tf  the  rebeUion  of  1708, 
Vol.  XV. 


the  general  mind  was  in  a  state  of 
most  anxious  uncertainty  respecting 
the  result  of  those  revolutionaiy  prin- 
ciples, which  France,  not  content  with 
her  single  blenedness,  had  so  good-na- 
turedly laboured  to  diffuse  among  her 
neighbours.  I  do  perfectly  well  re- 
member when  it  was  the  opinion  of 
many  (perhaps  I  might  say  mostj  per- 
sonshighly  respectable  and  inteUigent, 
that  the  tide  of  democracy  was  irre- 
sistible, and  that,  ere  a  very  few  years 
elapsed,  there  would  not  oe  a  king, 
peer,  or  priest  in  the  world.  The  ma- 
nia, however,  was  shortlived,  repress- 
ed by  the  steadiness  of  British  policy 
under  the  auspices  of  the  greatest 
statesman  of  his  own,  or  perhaps  any 
other  age,  and,  finally,  dissipated  by 
the  spreaders  of  the  contagion;  to 
whom,  however  little  we  may  thank 
them  for  administering  the  poison,  we 
are  under  great  obligations  for  sup- 
plying us  with  the  antidote.  Full  dear- 
ly did  they  pay  for  both,  and  have 
perhaps  to  pay  still ;  but  as  to  what 
the  fliture  may  produce,  our  only  con- 
cern is  to  make  the  best  preparation 
for  it  by  acting  well  at  the  present 
No  sooner  was  the  rapturous  dream  of 
French  beatitude  vanished,  and  the 
hydra  heads  of  rebellion  cut  off;  than 
a  new  and  different  spirit  seemed  to 
animate  all  bosoms.  The  friends  of 
estabhshment  exulted  in  the  defeat  of 
those  schemes  which  threatened  its 
overthrow ;  the  revolutionist  abandon- 
ed his  projects,  the  wavering  became 
fixed,  the  timid  re-assured,  and  all  ap- 
peared disposed  to  return  with  fresh 
alacrity  to  the  cultivation  of  their  true 
interests  in  the  pursuits  of  industry. 
I  have  already  related  how  unfortu- 
nately the  contingent  advantages  of 
this  general  disposition  to  active  and 
profitable  exertion  were  counteracted 
by  that  wasteful  and  uncalcuk ting 
improvidence,  for  which  Ireland  has  so 
long  been  distinguished,  and  to  which 
an  unexpected  facility  of  acquiring 
wealth  seems  to  have  imparted  an  ad- 
ditional spirit  of  extravagance.  Ad- 
versity, tnough  a  rough,  is  often  a 
sage  instructor,  and  it  may  at  least  be 
hoped  that  the  salutary  lesson  so  late- 
ly and  80  feelingly  impressed,  will  not 
be  soon  or  easily  forgotten. 

Of  the  various  late  manceuvrinps  of 
Opposition  policy,  the  most  surprising 
(if  any  of  its  manoeuvres  can  surprise) 
seems  to  be  ^e  motion  for  a  Parlia- 
mentary inquiry  into  the  state  of  Ire* 
B 


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10 


The  Irishnian.    No.  11. 


land^  brought  fbrward  in  the  Lower 
House,  consistently  enouj^,  by  some 
hung7  or  discontented  Whig ;  but  in 
the  Upper  House,  prohjmdorl  by — 
the  Duke  op  Devonshire  ! ! !  by  the 
head  of  the  noble  House  of  Cavenoish  ! 
b^  the  man  whose  name  for  centu- 
nes  has  been  eminently  distinguished 
among  the  powerful  and  intrepid  as- 
sertors  of  liberty^  civil  and  relimous  ; 
by  the  princely  Feer,  who  should  scorn 
to  lend  his  illustrious  nan^e  to  the  pur- 
poses of  antf  party ;  by  the  exalted  no- 
bleman, whose  hereditary  property  em- 
braces a  laige  portion  of  two  great 
counties  in  the  South  of  Ireland,  with 
the  circumstances  of  which  immense 
estates  it  behoved  him  to  be  acquaint- 
ed; and  with  which,  if  he  was,  he 
ought  to  have  been  the  unfettered  and 
enlightened  communicator,  not  the  par- 
ty-led and  pitiful  seeker  of  informa- 
tion concerning  the  state  and  concerns 
of  Ireland !  We  can  make.  aUowance 
for  the  stings  of  envv,  and  the  rage  of 
disappointment  in  little  minds;  we 
can  forgive  pert  and  puny  agitators  for 
anno;png  where  they  cannot  injure ; 
for  hiding  vexation  under  the  veil  of 
public  good,  and  for  endeavouring  to 
embarnss  government  with  questions 
of  ostensible  utility  and  impossible 
embracement;  but  a  Duke  of  Devon- 
shire ought  to  stand  on  higher  ground. 
Respectable,  indeed,  ought  that  party 
to  be,  of  which  a  Duke  of  Devcmshire 
would  even  condescend  to  be  the  head  ; 
of  none  should  he  demean  himself  by 
holding  up  the  tail.  I  speak  this  with 
unfeigned  respect  for  his  Grace's  ex- 
alted rank,  and  still  more  for  his  pri- 
vate virtues.  I  speak  it  as  one  of  his 
Grace's  sincere  well* wishers ;  as  one  of 
those  who  lament  his  Grace's  late  con- 
duct in  the  House  of  Liords,  as  a  de- 
gradation of  his  diaracter,  as  a  stain 
on  that  more  than  ducal  spirit  of  mu- 
nificence so  extensively  displayed,  and 
hitherto  so  proverbially  untarnished. 
The  introduction  of  such  a  question 
would  create  less  surprise  had  it  pre- 
ceded some  late  parliamentarv  inqui- 
ries, though  even  then  it  would,  Hea- 
▼en  know9>  have  been  sufficiently  pre- 
posterous. With  them  in  view,  I  can- 
not easily  conceive  anything  more  ri- 
diculous, more  extravaganUy  absurd, 
than  an  inquiry,  viwi  voce,  into  the 
state  of  seven  nullions  of  people,  in- 
habiting this  terra  oeeidentalis  incog^i^ 
ia,  be^re  a  House  of  Commons,  cob-- 
suiting  of  OOOimmherB,  &u;fow&Be^  to 


QJan. 

summon  and  examine  all  or  any  of  the 
aforesaid  seven  millions,  though  unable 
to  administer  an  oath  to  one  of  them. 
The  points  of  a  measure  so  replete  with 
sapience,  the  information  to  be  collect- 
ed by  such  boundless  powers  of  inves- 
tigation, the  satisfactory  result  of  so 
multitudinous  a  scrutiny,  and  the  pro- ' 
bable  duration  of  so  pleasant,  so  tem- 
perate, and  so  constitutional  an  exami- 
nation, may  be  demonstratively  pro- 
ved from  the  felicitous  events  of  re- 
mote as  well  as  recent  examples.  The 
scrutiny  of  a  contested  election,  even 
before  a  select  committee,  has,  I  be- 
lieve, outlived  a  year's  session  of  Par- 
liament. The  investigation  of  the 
Lord  Chief  Baron's  (of  Ireland)  con- 
duct respecting  some  petty  charges, 
before  the  House  of  Commons,  conti- 
nued for  two  sessions,  began  in  fire, 
and  ended  in  smoke.  Need  I  remind 
my  readers  of  the  second  edition  of  a 
bottle  conjuror,  of  the  renowned  coiw 
i^iracy  or  the  broken  rattle,  of  the 
noble  seal  fdi^layed  in  the  ex  officio 
prosecution,  and  of  the  subsequent  a^ 
peals  to  the  representatives  of  the  Uni- 
ted Empire,  who,  after  several  months, 
employed  in  a  manner  highly  illustra- 
tive or  their  wisdom,  and  honourable 
to  their  character,  most  sa^y  termi- 
nated the  question  by  leaving  the  ap- 
pellants and  the  appellees— -just  where 
they  found  them. 

Exclusive  of  those  noble  senators, 
who  possess  titles  and  estates  in  both 
islanos,  and  therefore  may  be  presu- 
med to  know  something  of  eadi,  Ire- 
land sends  one  hundred  representa- 
tives to  the  Lower,  and  thirty  to  the 
Upper  House  of  Parliament.  These 
may  not  unreasonably  be  thought  sui^ 
^cient,  in  point  of  number  at  least,  to 
display  her  wants,  enforce  her  claims^ 
and  watch  over  her  interests.  When 
to  this  advantage  we  add  a  resident 
chief  governor,  generally  a  man  9i  ta- 
lents as  well  as  rank,  and  a  chief  and 
under  secretaries,  always  men  of  intel- 
ligenoe  and  political  sagacity,  I  am  at 
some  loss  to  conceive  how  parliament- 
ary knowledge  of  her  real  situation 
should  happen  to  be  numbered  among 
the  wants  of  Ireland.  Her  peculiar 
peers  and  reinresentatives  are  not,  I 
think,  justly  accusable  of  sQenoe  or 
remissness  in  the  exerdse  of  their  se- 
natorial functions,  some  being  always 
ready  to  communicate,  not  only  as 
much  as  they  know,  but  sometimes  a 
little  DKHre.    As  little  do  they 


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3%tf  Lruhman.    No.  11, 


11 


dutfgeable  (qpeaking  of  diem  coUec-    Uy>  a  kind  of  ex-derleal  conTOcatioii< 
'  "i  partial  leaDi] 


tiTely)  with  partial  leaDing  to  one  side 
of  a  question,  or  unworthy  deference 
to  the  higher  powers,  for  every  reader 
of  parliamentary  debates  will  find  the 
Opposition  (i .  e,  in  Aeir  own  vocabu- 
lary, the  patriot)  party,  commanding 
a  strong  posse  of  Irish  auxiliaries. 
From  such  sluices  Hibernian  informa- 
tion should  flow  in  ccmious  channels  ; 
from  the  edifying  collision  of  the  sen- 
timents of  80  many  opposing  sages  fbr 
more  than  twenty  years  past,  sparks 
of  knowledge  ought,  one  would  tnink, 
to  have  been  drawn,  sufficient  to  elu- 
cidate that  subject,  for  which  parlia- 
mentary inquiry  was  lately  demanded. 
The  most  active,  and  in  their  own  opi- 
nioQ  certainly,  not  the  least  salient  of 
those  senators,  have  been  peculiarly 
ardent  and  vociferous  for  the  proposed 
inquiry,  a  circumstance  whicm  I  can- 
not deem  very  creditable  to  them- 
idves,  as  it  seems  to  intimate  that  all 
their  past  labour  has  been  lost,  all 
Adr  energies  exerted  in  vain,  and  all 
dieir  eloquence— a  waste  of  words.  It 
appears  tantamount  to  saying,  '*  here 
we  are,  a  group  of  senators,  sent  to 
the  Imperial  Parliament  by  the  imin- 
floenc^  voices  of  free  ana  independ- 
ent Irish  electors,  fbr  our  superior  vir- 
tue and  intelligence — for  their  sake 
wc  have  neg^iected  our  own  private  in- 
terests, devoted  our  time  to  the  good 
of  the  empire  in  general,  and  of  our 
dear  native  island  in  particular — we 
have  let  no  opiwrtuni^  pass  of  dis- 
playing oar  distinguished  talents  in  so 
noble  a  cause ;  and  yet— at  the  end  of 
twenty  year8---the  House  is  never  the 
wiser  r  This  modest  admission  of  de- 
icieney,  the  usual  accompaniment  of 
true  merit,  may  possibly  account*  for 
the  laudable  anxiety  these  senators 
have  shewn  to  reinforce  their  parlia- 
BMDtary  pbalanx  with  recruite  from 
the  Roman  Catholic  population  of  Ire- 
land, with  what  they  may  not  impro- 
perly can  a  miraculoiu  accession  of 
strength.  It  is  not  one  of  the  worstof 
their  arguments,  though  I  do  not  think 
it  deriTes  much  weight  from  the  pre- 
sent exhibitkm  of  senatorial  abili^  in 
the  aelf-dected  parliament  of  Dublin. 
Whether  fVom  lack  of  matter  or  lack 
of  brains  I  cannot  tell,  but  that  meet- 
ing which  professed  to  exhibit  a  mo- 
del of  political  wisdom,  to  lecture 
diief  governors,  and  to  direct  imperial 
pariiamenta,  has  changed  its  plan,  and 
keoma  a  sort  of  non-descript  aisem- 


Weary  of  expending  their  verbal  am- 
munition upon  politics,  they  have 
turned  it  to  theolo^,  and  undertaken 
a  crusade  against  heretic  unbelievers, 
under  the  happy  auspices  of  a  princely 
German  quack,  a  superannuated  Irish 
titular  archbishop,  four  or  five  fnars, 
two  or  three  medical  doctors,  a  hypo- 
chondriacal matron,  and  an  hysterical 
miss,  supported  by  skirmishers,  and 
Kerry  evidences,  ad  libitum,  in  the 
shape  of  editors,  essayists,  attestators, 
&c.  The  success  of  this  holy  campaign 
appears  indubitable.  Entrenched  with- 
in tbe  impregnable  walls  of  a  Dublin 
nunnery,  de&nded  by  a  second  Joan 
of  Arc,  sanctified  bv  tbe  benediction 
of  infaUibility,  and  nanked  by  the  ri- 
flers  of  the  new  convocation,  whose 
leader  speaks  with  "  most  miraculous 
or^,"  the  good  old  cause  of  Popish 
miracles  defies  the  puny  malice  ef  its 
once  potent  foes, — wit,  learning,  truth, 
hon^ty,  and  common  sense.  Much  as 
I  reverence  this  unlooked-for  revival 
of  exuberant  Faith,  which  cannot  only 
remove  mountains,  but  make  them,  I 
have  some  doubts  whether  it  will  ope- 
rate favourably  for  the  advancement  of 
Irish  catholics  to  a  British  legislature. 
John  Bull  is  a  matter-of-fact  sort  of 
fellow,  mightily  given  to  apply  thatfii- 
culty  called  reason  to  all  subjects  that 
come  within  the  range  of  his  discus- 
sion, somewhat  distrustfrd  of  sancti- 
fied appearances,  afraid  of  wolves  in 
sheep  s  dothing,  and  horribly  alarm- 
ed by  the  idea  of  being  priest-ridden, 
in  consequence  of  what  he  once  suf- 
fered from  such  sticking  and  trouble- 
some jockeys.  When  he  considers  the 
number  and  magnitude  of  evils  and 
misfbrtunes  undi^  which  an  entire  na- 
tion reaUy  suffers,  he  will  find  it  im- 
possible to  believe  that  the  Grod  of  all 
the  Earth,  leaving  these  to  the  ordi- 
nary course  of  Providence,  or  regard- 
ing them  as  below  his  care,  should  em- 
ploy the  visible  arm  of  Omnipotence 
m  enaUing  a  few  knaves  or  fools  to 
work  a  couple  of  miserable  and  insig- 
nificant miracles!  to  make  a  sulky 
miss  recover  the  use  of  her  tongue, 
and  a  bed-ridden  nun  the  use  of  her 
limbs !  Nee  Deut  intersit  nisi  dignuM 
vindice  nodu$.  I  am  afraid  he  will  con- 
sider it  less  as  a  proof  of  divine  conde- 
scension than  of  divine  displeasur^- 
of  intellect  miserably  de^aded,  of 
shameless  bigotry,  ana  of  triumphant 
superstition  !  I  shall  be  glad  to  know 
9 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


IS 


Tki  Irishnuin.    No.  JL 


CJ" 


how  Mr  Broogham  likes  this  noTel. 
specimen  of  senatorial  qualification  ex- 
hibited by  his  new  cuents — ^whether 
it  will  animate  his  zeal  in  the  cause  of 
such  liberal^  pious,  and  enlightened 


a  yiew  of  their  ordinary  modes  and 
occupations,  discovers  nothing  here  hat 
slovenliness  and  pauperism,  r^»air  to 
a  Sunday  chapel^  a  zair,  or  any  holi- 
day place  of  recreation,  and  he  will 


petitioners— whether  he  will  feel  much  hardly  believe  that  he  is  beholding  the 

satisfaction  in  contemplating  the  pow-  same  people.    These  are  their  days  of 

erful   legislative  assistance,  he,   the  public  exhibition,  of  dress,  and  of cheer- 

Eroud  champion  of  civil  and  religious  ful  assemblage ;  to  the  first  of  which 

berty,  is,  if  successful,  likely  to  ob-  many  perhaps  resort  for  pleasure  as 

tain  from  the  disciples  and  admirers  of  much  as  for  devotion,  to  the  second  for 

Prince  Hohenlohe,  from  believers  in  mirth  as  much  as  for  business,  and  to 


all  the  trumpery  of  monkish  lies  and 
legends,  from  the  defenders  of  pious 
firauds,  from  the  assertors  of  all  the 
spiritual  rights,  powers,  privileges,  and 
immunities  of  tne  Hispano-Hiberniau 
church,  and  from  the  volunteer  advo- 
cates of  miracles  in  a  Dublin  nunnery ! 


the  third  for  merriment  only.  The 
ladies  appear  in  all  their  finery ;  those 
who  come  from  a  distance  freauently 
adopting  the  Caledonian  metnod  of 
keeping  clean  their  shoes  and  stock- 
ings by  wearing  them — ^in  their  pock- 
ets.   The  men  are  not  less  ambitious 


Happy  qualifications  for  the  exercise    of  shining  in  outward  array,  though 
of  legislative  functions  in  a  British  se-    after  a  different  manner ;  thei 


nate  of  the  19th  century ! ! ! 

The  circumstance  which  most  sur- 
prises, and  is  most  apt  to  mislead  an 
English  traveller,  in  the  opinion  he 
forms  of  this  country,  is  the  vast  dif- 
ference between  the  £b^t  classes  of  in- 
habitants and  the  last,  the  striking 
and  extraordinary  contrast  everywhere 
presented  between  the  man  of  fortune 
and  the  peasant,  the  frequent  conti- 
guity of  splendid  opulence  and  mise- 
rable squalidity.  Hence  the  tourist, 
who  travels  only  for  pleasure,  and  has 
means  of  introduction  to  the  nobility 
and  gentry,  by  whom  he  is  received 
with  polite  as  well  as  profuse  hospital- 
ity, will  give  a  more  favourable  opi- 
nion of  the  country  than  its  real  state 
fairly  warrants;  while  the  philanthro- 
pic visitor,  who  looks  with  more  scru- 
tinizing eye  into  the  condition  of  the 
common  people,  will  certainly  repre- 
sent their  wretchedness  to  he  much 
greater  than  it  actually  is,  because  he 
uses  a  false  standard  of  judgment,  and 
forms  his  opinion,  not  from  a  know- 
ledge of  the  people  he  visits,  bHt  from 
a  comparison  of  them  with  the  people 
he  has  left.  Opinions  formed  fVom 
transitory  and  superficial  observation 
can  never  be  depended  on  as  iust  re- 
presentations of  real  life;  however 
faithfully  they  may  exhibit  things  as 
they  seem,  it  is  hardly  possible  that 
they  should  be  faithful  pictures  of 
things  as  they  are.  To  acquire  just 
and  accurate  knowledge  of  a  people,  it 
is  necessary  to  live  among  them,  to 
become  acquainted  with  their  peculiar 
manners,  and  general  habits,  and  to 
see  them  at  vanous  times,  and  in  dif- 
ferent situations.  Let  him,  who,  from 


eir  prid^ 
of  dress  consisting,  not  in  the  qua- 
lity, but  quantity  of  apparel — a  mode 
of  costume,  which,  as  it  is  not  afiTect- 
ed  by  change  of  season,  subjects  the 
summer  beau  to  a  very  oppressive 
weight  of  ornament.  Fashion  indis- 
pensably requires  the  exhibition  of  all 
nis  new  or  good  clothes,  so  that  it  is 
not  uncommon  to  see  a  strapping  coun- 
tryman in  the  do^-days  sweltering  un- 
der two  cloth  waistcoats,  one  of  them 
with  sleeves,  a  body-coat  of  the  same, 
and  over  all  a  large  surtout  of  still 
stouter  material,  under  which  com- 
fortable burthen  he  has  perhaps  walk- 
ed half  a  dozen  miles,  actuated  by  pre- 
cisely the  same  motive,  however  dif- 
ferent in  mode,  of  the  dandy  in  high 
life,  the  vanity  of  appearing — a  weU- 
dr^sed  man !  I  must,  however,  ex- 
cept some  of  the  younger  men,  who, 
designing  to  take  a  share  in  the  dance, 
deem  themselves,  not  unreasonably, 
exempt  from  a  weight,  which,  how  ho- 
nourable soever  it  may  be  in  station- 
ary exhibition,  is  little  suited  to  the 
graces  of  the  dancer.  I  am  also  to  ex- 
cept the  inhabitants  of  towns  and  large 
villages,  among  whom  something  of 
modem  refinement  has  crept,  and  who 
are  much  less  rigidly  attached  to  the 
observance  of  ancient  forms.  The  parts 
these  people  act  are  not  assumed  ;  the 
exhibition  is  piquant  and  voluntary ; 
Nature  is  their  prompter,  and  her  dic- 
tates may  be  received  as  the  test  of 
real  feeling  and  actual  enjoyment. 
That  there  is  much  misery  where  there 
are  so  many  unemployed,  and  conse- 
quentty  so  many  poor,  is  too  true ;  but 
that  there  are  great  numbers  who  pos- 
sess what  thei/  consider  to  be  the  com- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


IBUT] 


Thi  Iriikmm.    No.  II. 


IS 


forts  aodoonvenkndes  of  life ;  tnd  thtt 
many  of  those  whom  a  stranger^  with- 
out beii^  very  fattidious,  would  num- 
ber among  tne  wretched^  do  by  no 
means  enroll  themselves  in  the  cata- 
logue of  the  unhappy,  is  a  &ct  no  less 
certain  and  undisputabie.  Most  things 
in  this  world  are  to  be  estimated  by 
comparison,  and  though  it  must  lie 
the  first  wish  of  every  friend  to  Ire- 
land to  improve  both  the  mental  and 
corporal  condition  of  the  people,  and 
diough  before  this  is  done,  they  can- 
not attain  their  due  weight  in  the  scale 
of  nadons ;  yet  it  is  consolatory  to  know 
that  their  wretchedness  is  neither  so 
great  nor  so  general  as  it  has  been  re- 
presented ;  that  much  of  it  has  been 
owing  to  temporary  causes ;  that  the 
work  of  improvement  has  begun,  and 
is  now  in  progress ;  and  that  under  the 
persevering  aid  of  a  paternal  govern- 
ment, and,  above  all,  of  vigilant  ma- 
gistrates, and  kind,  enlightened,  spi- 
ritual pastors,  encouraging,  benefi- 
cent, (and  would  I  could  add,  gene- 
rally resident,)  landlords,  nothing  but 
the  schemes  oi  rash,  selfish,  and  insi- 
dious ambition,  will  be  able  to  obstruct 
or  retard  the  growing  prospects  of  Ire- 
land. Much  as  there  exists  of  evil 
K>irit  still  to  be  reclaimed  and  sub- 
dued, and  extensive  as  discontent  and 
distress  appear  to  be,  there  are  never- 
theless msny  unequivocal  symptoms 
of  general  amelioration, — well  found- 
ed cause  to  hope  that,  of  the  shock  so 
deeply  and  universally  felt,  though 
the  tremor  in  some  degree  continues, 
the  perils  are  nearly  at  an  end.  The 
hand  of  improvement  is  distinctly  vi- 
sible. The  linen  manufacture  of  the 
South  is  rapidly  emerging  fVom  de- 
presnon ;  the  busUe  of  trade  has  begun 
to  reanimate  our  towns;  houses  of  a 
better  description  are  daily  adding  or- 
nament to  utility ;  the  fisheries  are  at 
length  receiving  that  attention  and 
encouragement  they  so  eminently  de- 
serve, and  the  happy  result  is  already 
discernible;  the  pnces  of  com  and 
provisions  be^  to  advance,  and  the 
drooping  spints  of  the  farmer  to  re- 
vive; rents,  on  the  due  regulation  of 
which  the  interests  of  the  peasantry 
so  mainly  depend,  and  which,  though 
not  the  sole,  have  been  the  principal 
cause  of  contention  between  high  and 
low,  are  in  a  course  of  attaining  their 
just  level,  prior  to  which,  the  peace  of 
the  counUry  vrill  not  be  established  on 
a  secure  and  pennanent  foundation. 
There  exists,  indeed,  one  evil,  or. 


as  I  would  rather  call  it,  obstmcCion 
to  national  prosperity,  for  which,  du- 
ring the  present  general  debasement 
of  popular  mind,  it  seems  altogether 
hop^ess,  and  for  which,  under  any 
condition  of  the  people,  it  will  be  very 
difficult  to  find  an  adequate  remedy. 
No  person  acquainted  with  this  coun- 
try will  be  at  a  loss  to  know  that  I  al- 
lude to  its  great  and  overgrowing  po- 
pulation. Mr  Malthus  appears  to  have 
been  the  first  who  called  the  public 
attention  to  a  doctrine  so  obvious, 
when  once  pointed  out,  that  the  only 
thing  which  now  surprises  us  is  how 
it  came  to  dude  prior  consideration. 
The  reason  seems  to  be,  that  preju- 
dice had  always  run  in  favour  of  po- 
pulation, infusing  a  general  behef, 
that  increase  of  inhabitants  exhibited 
the  most  indubitable  proof  of  national 
strength  and  prospentv.  It  was  not 
until  the  evil  began  to  be  felt  that  the 
validity  of  the  old  opinion  came  to  be 
suspected.  The  ingenious  gentleman 
to  whom  we  owe  this  salutary  warn- 
ing was  accordingly  treated  at  first  aa 
a  sporter  of  paradoxes ;  but  the  old  and 
sure  test  of  truth,  time,  has  satisfiicto- 
rily  confirmed  his  judgment,  and  done 
justice  to  his  sapdty.  It  is  indeed 
difficult,  if  not  unpossible,  to  fix  the 
utmost  point  of  extension  to  which 
the  support  of  population  in  a  given 
countiy  may  be  carried  by  the  vast 
powers  of  enlightened  industry,  and 
the  astonishing  efforts  of  human  skill; 
but  that  there  is  such  a  point,  seems 
capable  of  decisive  demonstration. 
That  which  happens  frequently  here 
in  a  smaU  district  of  five  thousand 
acres,  will  as  unquestionably  take  place 
in  one  of  fifty  millions,  the  growing 
inhabitants  of'^which  must  at  last  be- 
come too  nxmierous  for  their  means  of 
subsistence.  The  supplementary  sup- 
port afibrded  by  extmial  commerce, 
as  in  Great  Britain,  and  the  wealth 
arising  fVom  an  extensive  sale  of 
manufactured  commodities,  will,  no 
doubt,  protract  the  period  of  over- 
srowth,  so  as  to  render  its  prospect 
kss  aluming ;  but  the  chance  of  rail- 
ure  in  those  great  commercial  resources 
must  always  be  contemplated  with 
some  degree  of  anxiety  and  appre- 
hension. In  a  highly  civilized  coun- 
try, it  is  true,  the  danger  is  of  far  less 
magbitude,  because  the  restraints  of 
moral  feeling  and  prudent  reflection 
cannot  fail  to  oppose  a  strong  check 
to  the  evil,  by  forbidding  young  per- 
sons to  marry  before  thm  appears  a 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


u 


Thi  Iri^fnan.    iVb.  //. 


CJn 


retsonaUs  pvospeet  of  being  able  to 
provide  for  their  offiq[inng«  Itistotbe 
want  q£  this  prudential  dieck,  to  the 
utter  absence  d  mend  reflection^  that 
we  owe  that  inundation  of  pauperism, 
which  a  rude  peasan^^  yielding  with>* 
out  scruple  to  the  first  impulse  of  d^ 
aire,  pour  i^on  the  country  in  lament- 
able  and  oyerwhelming  abundance. 

How  deficient  is  human  wisdom  in 
the  calculation  of  fiiture  events,  the 
estimation  of  contingent  results,  and 
the  contemplation  of  prospective  ad- 
vantages !  What  were  the  hopes  and 
expectations  of  the  discoverers  of  Ame- 
rica ?  and  for  what  purpose  did  Spain's 
CkriiHan  adventnrars,  endure  almost 
iDcrediUe  fitigues,  aind  commit  the 
moat  atrodous  cruelties?    For  what 
were  petty  colonies  planted,  many  un- 
oflhnding  native  tribes  exterminated, 
and  others  reduced  to  a  state  of  the 
most  wretched  slavery,  under  the  lash 
of  Uie  most  unreloitii^  master  ?  For 
fldld — iat  the  acquisition  of  that  which, 
by  a  just  retribution  of  Providence, 
baa  become  the  means  of  debasing, 
hot  exalting,  that  haughty  nation,  of 
ponishing,  not  rewarding,  the  unorin* 
dipled  and  insatiable  avarioe  of  the 
discoverers.    How  little  did  it  enter 
into  any  imagination  to  conceive  that 
the.  new  worui  was  to  beoome,  what, 
with  respect  to  Europe  at  least,  seems 
to  be  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  it 
can  bestow, — a  receptacle  for  the  over- 
growing peculation  of  the  old,  a  glo- 
rious theatre  for  the  interchange  of 
oommerdal  amity,  for  the  cultivation 
of  new  interests,  tending  to  the  com- 
lort  and  improvement  of  both !    In 
this,  as  well  as  in  many  other  import- 
ant considerations,  we  seem  bound  to 
admowledce  the  hand  of  Providence 
peooliarly  di^kyed  in  the  timely  dia» 
ooverjf  of  so  great  a  resource  for  the 
erowing  necessities  of  mankind.    We 
have  onen  been  accustomed  to  hear 
emigration  Ismented  as  a  serious  cala- 
mity, by  those  who  did  not  consider 
that  in  all  casea  of  excessive  pc^iula- 
tion.  the  departure  of  some  is  a  relief 
to  the  rest ;  and  that,  generally  qpeak- 
ing,  too  many,  inst^  of  too  few, 
were  left  behind.    It  will,  no  doUbt, 
happen,  that  the  lot  will  sometimea 
fklt  on  those  whom  it  would  be  more 
desirable  to'  retain,  and  in  this  case 
only  can  emigration  be  a  sutnect  of 
regret,  but  even  in  this  case  there  ia 
something  gained  by  the  increase  of 
room  to  tnoee  who  are  lefL    Of  this 
idand  I  will  venture  to  say,  that  one 


of  its  seven  nifllioiia  might  be  spared, 
not  only  without  ix^nry,  but  with 
manifest  advantage  to  the  remaining 
six,  that  is  to  say,  provided  the  aelec* 
tion  waa  to  be  made  from  the  ranks 
of  ignorance  and  pauperism. 

I  am  now  going  to  o£fer  some  re- 
marks on  what  is  ukd^  to  be  general- 
ly uppermost  in  the  mind  of  an  Irish- 
man, as  affording  subsistence,  not  only 
to  men,  women,  and  children  only, 
but  also  to  all  those  live  appendages, 
pigs,  dogs,  horses,  cattle,  and  noultry 
—the  potatoe.  If  you  should  happen 
to  be  disposed  to  conjectural  antidpa^ 
tion,  you  will  perhaps  think  that  I 
mean  to  propose,  what  national  gprati- 
tude  ought  to  have  done  long  nnce, 
the  erection  of  a  statue  to  Sir  Wslter 
Raleigh,  by  whom  the  potatoe  was  first 
brought  to  this  country,  and  present- 
ed to  a  nobleman,  right  worthy  of 
being  the  dispenser  dT  natural  be- 
nefits, Richard,  the  first  Earl  of  Cork. 
But  no,  I  have  no  such  intention. 
I  question  whether  any  important 
advantage  was  in  the  contemplation 
of  the  £>nor;  and  moreover,  I  doubt 
whether  the  culture  would  have  been 
recommended  by  either  of  those  great 
men,  had  they  been  able  to  pr^ 
diet  the  Aiture  and  remote  coiiso« 
quenoesofthe^  The  great  Earl  of 
Cork,  (as  he  is  commonly  called,)  the 
munificent  founder  of  many  towns,  as 
well  as  of  an  illustrious  race,  to  whom 
the  county  of  Cork  haa  never 'Oeaaed 
to  owe  those  obligations  which  the 
rare  union  of  virtue  and  ability  so 
bai^Uy  enables  their  possessor  to  b^ 
stow,  certainly  contemplated  a  diffisr- 
ent  sort  of  subsistence  than  potatoe 
diet  for  his  numerous  tenantry.  Could 
his  lorddiip  have  foreseen  that  they 
would  become  almost  the  only  food  of 
&e  people ;  that  they  would  suj^ilant 
the  use  of  bread,  abolish  the  arta  of 
eulinanr  preparation,  and  by  the  ex- 
treme ucility  of  providing  a  mere  beU 
l3rful,  promote  idleness  and  vagabonds 
ism,  wd  multiply  an  ever-growing 
propagation  of  paupers,  he  would,  I 
will  venture  to  affirm,  havebeeUithe 
very  last  man  to  advise  or  encourage 
the  culture  of  potatoes.  But  let  me 
not  be  omsidered  as  meaning  to  de- 
predate so  extraordinary  and  valuable 
a  root  I  only  lament  the  excessive 
use,  or  rathor  abuse,  of  one  of  the  most 
usdU  vegetal^e  gifts  which  the  boun- 
teous hand  (Mf  the  Almighty  Creator 
has  conferred  upon  manldnd.  Used 
as  they  are  in  the  sister  raland,  as  an 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1884.3 

imzilitfT  to  better  Ibod,  tiieir  worth  ii 
inestimftUe;  but  constitating,  as  they 
do  here,  almost  Uie  sole  food  of  thie 
lower  orders,  the  effect  is  as  I  have 
stated ;  and  though  the  Uame  be  not 
attributable  to  the  article  itself>  yet  is 
not  the  consequent  wretchedness  of 
its  consumers  the  less  deplorable. 
They  are  objectionable  in  another  re- 
ject, as  bemg  only  a  supply  for  the 
current  year ;  so  that  the  superabund-* 
aooe  of  a  fiivourable  season  will  oon- 
sdtate  nothing  to  the  relief  of  a  defi- 
daiU  Hence  the  superfluity  of  sub* 
sistenoe  among  a  potatoe-fed  people 
in  any  given  year,  is  but  a  superfluity 
waste,  which  does  not  afford  the  small- 
est security  against  a  famine  on  the 
ensuing.  Etcit  other  species  of  sta* 
]dle  food  can  be  neld  over ;  and,  there- 
lece,  for  this,  as  well  as  other  rea- 
sons, it  should  be  one  of  the  prime 
olgects  of  all  those,  whose  ability  and 
,w>me8  to  promote  the  interests  of  the 
peo|de  go  oand  in  hand,  to  ameliorate 
thax  style  of  living,  and  render  them 
somewhat  leas  dependent  upon  the 
fluctuating  comforts  of  the  potatoe 
system* 

The  last  forty  or  fifty  years,  so  fer- 
tile in  neat  events,  chum  also  the  cre- 
dit, as  nr  as  it  can  be  so  termed,  of  ex- 
tending and  generalizing  th^  use  of  the 
potatoe.  Previous  to  this  period,  that 
vorackms  srticle  of  subsistence,  which 
in  several  places,  like  Aaron's  rod. 


T/W  Irishman.    No.  IL 


U 


expended  in  that  exercise  of  culinary 
art,  which  gives  additicNoal  nourish* 
ment  as  well  as  variety  to  the  homely 
meal,  is  far  firom  being  lost,  and  may 
rather  be  considered  as  supplying  a 
stimulus  to  useful  exertion.  Perhapsi, 
indeed,  the  falling  off'may  be  in  a  great 
measure  ascribed  to  the  evil  system  of 
middle -landlordship,  and  land<4ob- 
bing,  which  then  b^an  extensively  to 
prevail,  and  by  raising  the  rent  of  land 
toan  inordinate  d^;ree,  left,  I  am  afraid, 
in  too  manv  places,  to  the  laborious  oc- 
cupier, little  more  than  the  bare  pota« 
toe.  Of  one  thing  there  can  be  no 
doubt,  that  the  ntrmers  ^en  lived 
much  better  than  they  do  now.  In« 
habitants  weare  comparatively  few,  and 
oonsequentlv£ums,  of  Which  the  rents 
were  very  low,  oomparativdy  Inge. 
To  the  extraordinarily  rapid  increase 
of  population,  may  certainly  be  asori- 
bed  a  laige  portion  of  that  pauper- 
ism, to  wmch  other  causes  were  also 
contributory.     . 

I  can  never  reflect  <m  the  prodigii« 
ons  augmentation,  of  the  lower  oi^ 
ders  more  especially,  which  has  ta- 
ken place  within  my  own  memory, 
without  wond»  and  astomshment.  I 
shall  not  venture  to  calculate  the  ratio 
of  this  increase,  satisfying  myself 
with  observing  that  it  hi  exoeedr  the 
usual  standard  of  human  multipHcft* 
tion,  under  the  most  finrourable  cir- 
cumstances, short  of  actual  importa- 


has  swallowed  all  therest,  et^Cfved  but    tion;  and  that  too  m  die  very  despite 


a  limited  share  of  popular  preterencew 
I  can  myself  remember  a  time  when 
numerous  little  country  mills  were  at 
work,  of  which  only  tne  vestiges  now 
remain,  and  when  oaten  lir^  was 
the  gpeneral  food  of  the  people  in  spring 
and  summer.  On  days  of  pubHc  work, 
sudi  as  sand-drawing  and  turf-cutting, 
&e.,  iHien  kbourers  were  fed  by  their 


of  wars,  rebellions,  scarcities,  and  cmi- 
pprations.  Poverty,  in  other  countries, 
irrecondlablv  inimical  to  matrimonial 
connection,  nere  promotes  it,  pauper- 
ism  begetting  pairaerism  as  hat  n 
Shylock's  usuriousducats  b^^  others* 
Another  singularity  observable  hereia 
that  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  ap» 
pear  to  multiplv  mcnrerapidly  than  thoaa 


em^oyer,  potatoes  were  never  thouslit    of  the  towns,  (though  these  too  are  in  a 
on,  the  la ^'-  '^-^ ^i..^.^^-    .^..^ ^.i^ n 

fmnAtd} 


^  Ubk  bone  plentifkair    state  of  prog^i^ernereMe,). 
id  with  fresh  miUc,  and  oaten    of  whieh  is  tlte  want  of  thoae  extensivo 


cakes.  It  was,  I  think,  the  casual  intr«K 
doction  of  the  species  called  the  apple 
potatoe,  remarkable  far  retaining  its 
flrmness  and  flavour  throufffa  die  entire 
yev,  whieh  flrst  induced  the  people,  in 
an  evil  hour,  to  discontinue  the  use  of 
oaten  breftd.  Lisziness  probably  oontri- 
bo^  Dota  little  to  the  substitution  of  a 
Ibod  requiring  only  simple  boiling,  for 
abetter  and  stronger  diet,  attendedwidi 
more  labour  of  preparation.  But  the 
ahridgemeai  of  labour  idnch  Isaintss 
procareo,  only  serves  to  nuise  the 
grofwth  of  in  efQ  habit    The  time 


inanufaet(»ies  Uiat  require  the  loo^ 
union  of  many  hands,  and  thus  li^it- 
en  the  burden  of  rural  population.  In- 
crease of  numbers  always  aecompaniea 
the  rising  prosperity  A  a  town,  and 
is  regarded  as  one  of  its  unequivocal 
symptoms;  but  after  a  country  has 
once  attained  a  sufficient  number  of 
cultivators,  to  the  ddUbl  execution  of 
whose  art  great  numbers  are  by  no 
means  necessary,  au^entation  of  hf* 
milies  becomes  a  senous  encumbrance 
on  the  land,  uid  a  certain  forerunner 
of  tdtoessandpaupeiian.    l^ooly 


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15 
immediate 


The  Irishman.    No.  IL 


[;j« 


of  ttghtening  the 
weight  in  this  country^  for  mental 
improvement  is  of  slow  progress,  will 
be  found  in  a  more  extensive  and  skil- 
ful cultivation  of  flax^  one  of  those  few 
manufactories  suited  to  rural  manage- 
menti  and  to  which  the  soU^  situation, 
and  general  circumstances  of  Ireland 
are  peculiarly  adapted. 

To  the  causes  of  population's  rapid 
progress  already  assigned,  I  have  to 
add  one,  now  almost  forgot,  but  un- 
questionably entitled  to  a  high  place 
in  the  catalogue, — I  mean  the  cessation 
of  that  dreadful  malady,  the  small  pox^ 
for  many  years  little  inferior  in  devas- 
tation to  tne  plague  itself.  Many  old 
people  still  bear  in  mind  the  wauings 
occasioned  by  the  extinction  of  almost 
entire  families,  and  I  can  myself  remem- 
bw,  when  few  of  those  who  had^'sur- 
vived  its  attack  were  free  from  marks 
of  injury,  and  when  many  a  face  was 
hembly  disfigured.  The  general  prac- 
tice of  inoculation  took  place  here 
about  die  middle  of  last  century,  and 
the  recent  introduction  of  the  cow  pock 
seems  to  promise  a  gradual  annihila- 
tion of  the  disorder.  Indeed,  an  im- 
proved mode  of  treatment^  for  want  of 
which  many  of  the  first  inoculated 
were  Bufierers^  had,  even  before  Dr 
Jennor's  valuable  discovery,  almost 
disarmed  it  of  all  its  terrors. 

A  question  will  naturally  occur — if 
mankmd  in  general,  and  the  Irish,  in 
particular,  possess  this  instinctive  and 
irresistible  tendency  to  multiplication, 
— ^w  comes  it  to  pass  that  the  genial 
history  of  ancient  times  contains  so  lit- 
tle complaint  of  overgrowing  popula- 
tion, and  the  history  of  Ireland  none  at 
all  ?  The  (question  admits  of  easy  so- 
lution. With  respect  to  times  of  high 
antiquity,  the  paucity  of  inhabitants, 
and  their  simplicity  of  manners,  attest 
the  truth  of  the  Mosaic  account,  which 
places  the  creation  of  man  at  no  very 
early  period  of  the  world.  Had  it 
been  otherwise,  our  globe  must  have 
been  fidly  peopled,  and  generally  dvi- 
liied,  long  before  the  date  of  the  oldest 
lusUnr.  The  tendency  of  man  to  mul- 
tiply nis  land,  a  fact  incontrovertibly 
established  by  present  experience,  did 
therefore  exist  at  all  times,  and  if  we 
may  believe  the  maintainers  of  human 
degeneracy,  must  have  been  more  ope- 
rative  in  tbiout  days  of  superior  vigour 
than  at  present.  To  analogical  infer- 
ence, on  ^diich  in  this  case  we  may 
safely  enough  venture  to  rely,  we  can 
add  abundant  corrobfNration  from  his-t 


torio  testimony,  wfaidi  will  both  esta- 
blish the  existence  of  such  a  tenden- 
cy, and  explain  the  causes  of  its  fire* 
quent  miscarriage*  The  means  of 
counteraction  were  manifold,  and  ma^ 
ny  of  them  continue  to  exert  a  bane- 
ful influence  to  the  present  day — bad 
governments,  licentious  habits,  savage 
and  predatory  modes  of  life,  polyga- 
my, slavery,  pestilence,  famine,  and  the 
desolating  ravages  of  war,  frequently 
undertaken,  not  for  conquest,  but  ex- 
termination. A  review  of  this  black 
catalogue  of  misfortune,  ignorance,  and 
iniquity,  removes  all  difficulties  from 
the  question  of  multiplying  tendencies, 
and  only  leaves  the  reader  to  wonder 
how,  under  such  circumstances,  man- 
kind could  have  multiplied  at  all,  for 
that  they  did  multiply,  and  that  abun- 
dantly, m  the  face  of  these  general  dis- 
couragements, is  a  fact  supported  by 
the  same  unquestionable  evidence. 
From  what  small  beginnings  the  com-  . 
monwealth  of  Rome  arose,  and  what 
a  height  of  ^wer,  an  extent  of  terri- 
tory, and  a  mass  of  population,  her 
steady  and  skilful  pohcy  enabled  her 
to  obtain  in  the  course  of  not  many 
centuries,  is  known  to  every  classical . 
school-boy.  Greece,  too,  where  arts 
and  arms  so  eminently  flourished, 
in  spite  of  her  restless  spirit,  and  im- 
ceasing  as  well  as  sanguinary  commo- 
tions, was  obliged  to  relieve  ner  grow- 
ing weight  of  populous  encumbrance, 
and  enlarge  her  territory  by  emigra- 
tion and  colonizing.  Even  the  barba- 
rians of  the  Norm,  unpropitious  as 
their  mode  of  life  was  to  the  nurture 
of  children,  became  too  numerous  for 
their  forests,  and  after  many  repulses, 
at  length  succeeded  in  overpowenng  the 
degenerate  legions  of  Rome,  and  get- 
ting possession  of  the  imperial  city. 
Though  their  numbers  have  been  ex- 
aggerated by  terror  and  efi^eminacy, 
yet  were  they  in  reality  very  consider- 
able, supplied  from  such  an  immense 
extent  of  country,  capable,  under  the 
hand  of  civilized  culture,  of  support- 
ing twenty  times  their  amount.  From 
Ceesar's  report  of  his  Gallic  campaigns, 
and  the  multitudes  that  fell  under  his 
victorious  arms,  we  draw  indubitable 
proofs  of  theacceleratingprogress  of  po- 
pulation even  under  circumstances  of 
oarbaric  discouragement.  But  we 
must  not  employ  a  modem  scale  in  es- 
timating the  amount  of  a  nation's 
people  men  from  the  number  of  its 
warriors.  An  army  now,  even  in  a 
Buonapartean  calculation,  makes  but  a 


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7%e  Iri^^man.    Ab.  //. 


nr  asir 


smtll  portioB  of  the  people;  it  is  ocd- 
loctedeitlier  to  aggrandize  or  to  ddend. 
AH  wcK  wanriors  in  those  days,  and  the 
mardi  of  a  barbarian  army  mi^t  not 
unfire^cntly  be  called  a  march  of  the 
nation.  In  Met,  where  herds  and  flocks 
oonstitate  both  the  wealth  and  the 
sobaiatence  of  the  peonle^  it  is  altege- 
dier  impossible  that  tney  can  be  Terr 
munenmk    Cosm,  it  is  true,  was  ai£i 
tiTated in  Ganl,  where ciTilizationkad 
made  some  adyances,  bat  rarely,  if 
al  ally  in  Germany  uid  the  nortnem 
districts.  These  obserraCioBB  natoral- 
,  _dy  an  answer  to  the  Ouestion,  as 
as  Irebund  is  concerned,  the  pau- 
city of  whose  ancient  inhi^ttants,  and 
the  tardypitogress  of  i^iosepopulation, 
sore  lo  proye  what  indeed  has  been 
pveHy  wdl  prOyed  already,  that  their 
best  state  was  little  better  than  a  state 
of  barbarism,  and  that  they  ooiiitf  no< 
hayc  posMssed  the  arts  of  dyilizatioA 
aokyishly  bestowed  on  them  by  the  art* 
rogant  mendacity  of  modem  fcribUers^ 
because  those  arts   must  infiidlftly 
haye  led  to  the  building  of  towns,  t^ 
pursuits  of  trade,  and  Ae  coliiyation 
of  land;  all  which  employments  would 
of  necessity  haye  produced  •  npid, 
and,  in  no  yery  great  lenjith  of  tmae, 
an  oyerflowing  increase  of  population. 
The  stato  of  Irish  society  under  na- 
tiys  diiefi^  or  rather  the  perpetual 
boatility  of  those  petty  predat<OT  po- 
tentates, was  indeed  tolerably  wefl  cal- 
culated to  thin  their  numbers,  and 
ayerttheerilsofoyefgrowth.    In  this 
way  it  more  than  answered  aU  the 
bappj  puQiooea  of  Dean  Swift's  pny- 
ject  mrpreyentmg  beggary,  by  eating 
the  diildren  of  the  poor,  because  it 
not  only  ^mmished  tae  breed  of  pavb* 
Mrs,  but  kept  up  a  race  of  heroes. 
How  ftr  such  heroism  might  be  con- 
dndya  to  Irish  gbry,  I  kaye  to  those 
'wbo  so  piteously  lament  its  extinction 
to  detennine ;  it  waanotiBertainly  con- 
dociye  to  axxj  of  those  arts  and  acqul- 
sitiona  whidi  die  enlightened  philo- 
sophy of  modem  days  regards  as  in- 
dimensably  necessary  to  the  nroq>erity 
and  renown   of  a  ciyilised  empire. 
Tliewgh  the  exquisite  sou/,  or  (as  an 
author  like  me,  who  writes  only  to  be 
nnderstood,  would  say)  sound  of  mu- 
sic, which  ooee  ddigbted  the  ravish- 
ed ears  of  Irish  dammodB  in  the  halls 
of  Tana,  and  thoue^  ttle  songs  of  min- 
■tiels,  celebrating  eiqi^ts  not  alwi^ 
▼cry  dtssimilar  euther  in  plan  or  exe- 
nitioii  from  those  of  the  Rockite  hero. 
Vol.  XV. 


17 


mkht  haye  been  extremdy  pleasant 
and  appropriate  in  their  day  ;  yet  am 
I  incuned  to  think,  that  the  mmdioua 
bard,  who  now  so  patriotically  laments 
their  loss,  would  be  yery  little  plessed 
to  see  them  reriye  in  any  but-  poetic 
shape.    The  vesurrectioa  of  these  ter« 
rible  graces,  is,  I  trust,  a  miracle  bo- 
yond  the  utmost  heme  of  the  most 
sturdy  and  inveterate  MOesian.    Yet 
haye  we  lived  to  witness  the  return  of 
what  seemed  as  little  to  be  looked  for 
in  the  10th  century  of  the  Christian 
»ra.    In  times  of  national  barbarism^ 
when  pious  fraud  was  deemed  requi« 
site  for  die  sulgugaticm  of  minds:  in- 
capable of  rational  persuasion,  and  ac- 
cessible only  through  thsir  fears,  the 
mirade-mongPT  mighthavefound  some 
apology  for  ms  deception  in  the  neces- 
sity of  deceiving.    To  see  it  resorted 
to  now,  to  see  the  divine  truths  of 
Christianity  thrown  into  the  back- 
ground, and  a  confederacy  of  sacerdotal 
jugEglers  exhibiting  their  legerdemain, 
vrim  nuns  and  nufmeries  ;  to  see  po- 
pular ignorance,  rusddty,  and  siq^- 
sdtion,  not  endeavoured  to  be  renoyjod 
by  moral  and  ratlonid  instruction,  but 
^deayoured,to  be  retarded  and' con* 
firmed  by  the  grossest-  frauds  of  the 
grossest  ages,  is  no  less  to  be  wonder- 
ed at  than  dsj^lored.    Occasional  iiw 
stanees  of  fancied  inspiration,  of  en- 
thusiastic raving,  OF  of  monkish  quack- 
ery, would  never  surprise^;  from  indi- 
vidual acts  of  deceit,  of  foll;^,  and  of 
frlsdiood,  no  state  of  society  is  or  ever 
will  be  exempt    But  to  oehold  the 
hi^est  dignitaries  of  a  church  calling 
itself  Chnstifln,  and  professing  to  be 
the  lineal  possessor  of  apostolic  virtue, 
the  nerfeet  patron  of  evangelical  ree- 
tituoe,  and  the  scde  depository  of  dir 
vine  commission — to  see  also  a  ssge 
assembly  of  self-constituted  senators, 
flt^nnyng  more  than  an  equal  share  of 
natural  talent,  of  acquired  knowledge 
of  legal  ability,  and  of  liberal  patriot- 
ism;  to  see  sil  these,  I  say,  sanctify- 
ing, sanctioning,  and  defending  the 
miserable  delusion,  while  not  a  single 
voice  among  the  host  of  that  church's 
educated  imd  well-infi»nned  followers, 
raises  a  freah  sound  in  defence  of  rea- 
son and  9i  truth,  is  wonderful  end 
astonishing  indeed  1 1 !   Iftheybdieve 
this  linsey-woolsey  cQmpound.of  Irish 
sod  German  manufacture — ^what  must 
we  odl  them?— Fools.— If  they  do 
noi,  I  leave  my  readers  to  find  the  ap- 
propriate ^;»peflatioii.    I  have  retum- 
C 


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18 


Ike  Iriiknum*    No.  IL 


ed  nnwlllhigly  tothitptinM  subject; 
it  reotrs  uredstibly  to  evefy  intelli- 
gent and  enlightened  mind^  aliye  to 
we  fedings  m  real  patriotisni^  and 
anxious  to  wipe  off  the  stains  of  na- 
tional reproach.  It  must,  I  am  oon- 
▼inced,  lead  to  an  ultimate  dereliction 
of  those  unworthy  arts^  and  the  adop- 
tion of  better  modes  of  influence;  for> 
•ilent  as  they  may  be^  shame  and  sor** 
row  hare  at  this  moment  a  seat  in 
many  an  honest  Irish  heart ;  and  those 
who  are  now  passive  under  the  im- 
pressions of  habitual  respect^  of  shame, 
or  of  surprise,  will   unquestionably 


QJan* 

titudes,  and  oorered  shiTeriiig  naked* 
ness,  hi  the  land  of  mincles  in 
1H23?  The  power  and  goodness 
of  God  unquestionably;  but  it  was 
the  goodness  and  power  of  God  na« 
turally  operating  on  the  minds  of 
the  generous  and  beneficent  in  bo^ 
islands,  and  in  a  more  particular  and 
transcendent  degree  on  those  of  the 
heretical  inhabitants  of  Great  Britain. 
It  is  thus  that  the  Christian  revdation 
attests  the  divinity  of  its  origin,  main- 
tains its  character,  and  displays  its  in- 
fluence. '  It  is  thus  that  the  tvue  pro- 
fessor is  distinguished  from  the  spu- 


rsose  their  voices  at  last  in  defence  of   rious,  by  higher  views,  deeper  renec- 


outraged  decency  and  truth,  and  those 
voices  mtut  be  heard.  I  look  not  to, 
I  never  did  contemplate,  the  conversion 
of  that  Church  to  Protestantism ;  but 
I  do  look,  and  now,  perhaps,  with 
greater  hope,  to  its  adoption  of  a  more 
evangelical  character,  a  more  rationid 
and  efficacious  mode  of  communi- 
cating Christian  instruction.  Though, 
like  an  ovorgrown  tvee,  its  powers  are 
now  wasted  in  the  production  of  bar- 
ren foliage,  yet  ma^  the  hand  of  a  ju- 
dicious pruner  easdy  repress  unpro- 
fitable luxuriance,  redeem  its  charac- 
ter, and  restore  its  fruit.  To  promote 
this  happy  change,  I  take  leave  to  add 
a  few  additional  observations. 

Instances  of  nrovidenti^  favour  and 
protection,  both  to  nations  and  to  in- 
^dividuala,  have  been,  and  now  are,  suf- 
ficiently apparent  in  God's  mend  go- 
vernment of  the  world.  The  records 
of  the  past,  and  the  experience  of  the 
present,  abundantly  attest  the  over- 
ruling direction  and  allwise  and  al- 
mighty Power.  Although  the  clear 
voice  of  reason  nrodaims  the  necessity 
of  miracles  to  tne  primary  support  of 
our  divine  religion,  at  a  thne  when 
every  human  power,  p^udice,  and 
passion  warred  against  it,  yet  does  she 
employ  an  equal  strength  of  argument 


tions,  «id  more  exalted  sentiments, 
by  his  attachment  to  the  substance,  hia 
disregard  for  the  show.  Girt  with  the 
invuhierable  panoply  of  celestial  truth, 
difikniig  its  radiance,  though  widi 
unequal  lustre,  over  all  the  euth,  and 
receiving  hourly  accessions  to  its 
fitreneth,  Christianity  scorns  the  puny 
aid  ot  th^  bigot's  narrow  dogmas,  or 
the  wonder-worker's  fragile  crutch.  It 
^ums  at  the  appearance  of  pious  im- 
posture, whether  the  result  of  simple 
superstition,  of  stupid  credulity,  of 
grovelling  ignorance,  or  of  unworthy 
artifice.  It  rests  for  suppcnrt  on  its 
moral  fitness  for  the  wants  of  man,  its 
adaptation  to  every  sta^e  and  condi- 
tion of  life,  the  simplicity  of  its  prin- 
ciples, the  puri^r  of  its  doctrines,  and 
the  sublimity  of  ite  truth.  If  the  Di- 
vine Word  has  not  been  written  in 
vain,  we  know  already,  or  at  least  it 
is  our  own  fault  if  we  do  iu>^  know,  as 
much  of  its  nature,  obligatians,  and 
exalted  excellence,  as  can  possibly  be 
imparted.  All  that  remams  to  the 
pastor  is  to  teadi,  and  all  that  remaina 
for  the  disciple,  is  to  follow  the  in- 
structions of  the  Master.  This,  and 
this  only,  constitutes  the  sum  and 
substance  of  the  Gospel  Covenant; 
this  is  to  act  in  accordance  with  the 


in  aemonstrating  ihe  futility  of  fancy-    beneficent  intention  of  the  heavenly 

: —  ^u^-.   ^v X. .._   _i-^    Author;  this  is,  in  the  best,  and  only 

present  sense  of  the  words,  to  give 

EYES  TO  THE  BLIKD,andFEET  TO  THE 

LAME.  The  Church  which  departs  from 
these  principles,  and  substitutes  her 
own  prescriptions  for  diose  of  the  ce- 
lestial Healer,  written,  as  they  are,  in 
never-fading  colours,  and  attested  by 
inspired  ana  ineomiptible  witnesses, 
may  deck  herself  with  what  tides  or 
saiments  she  pleases,  but  her  religion 
is  not  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ 

G.S. 


Ing  that  they  are  to  remain  when 
those  obstructions  have  been  overcome, 
'and  the  system  they  were  wanting  to 
establish,  secured  upon  an  immove- 
able foundation.  It  must  be  no  ordi- 
nary cause  that  will  induce  the  Deity 
to  cnan^  the  settled  course  of  things, 
invert  ms  own  rules,  and  disturb  &e 
order  of  Nature,  for  such  is  the 
power  nossessed  by  the  real,  and 
claimed  i)y  die  pretended  performer 
•f  mirades.    Who  fed  starving  mul- 


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IMi.;]  TJk  Latfyt's  Brydalk.  It 

THB  LADYE'8  BRYDALLB. 

"  CoMS  hither !  come  hither,  my  little  foot-page, 

And  beare  to  my  gaye  Ladye 
This  ring  of  the  good  red  gowde,  and  be  sure 

Rede  well  what  she  telleth  to  thee : 

*'  And  take  tent,  little  page !  if  my  Ladye's  cheeke 

Be  with  watching  and  weeping  pale. 
If  her  locks  are  unkempt,  ana  her  bonnie  eyes  red. 

And  come  back  and  tell  me  thy  tale. 

"  And  marke,  little  page  !  when  thou  shewest  the  ringe. 

If  she  snatcheth  it  hastilye — 
If  the  red  bloode  mount  up  her  slender  throate. 

To  her  forehead  of  ivorye ; 

**  And  take  good  heede>  if  for  gladnesse  or  griefe. 

So  chaungeth  my  Ladye's  cheere — 
Thou  shalt  know  liye  her  eyes^if  their  light  laugh  out 

Throwe  the  miste  of  a  startynge  tear ; 

*'  (Like  the  summer  sun  throwe  a  mominge  doude) 

There  needeth  no  further  token. 
That  my  Ladye  briffhte,  to  her  own  true  Knighte, 

Hath  keepit  her  Suthe  unbroken. 

"  Nowe  ryde,  little  page !  for  the  sun  peeres  out 

Ower  the  rimme  of  the  eastern  heaTen ; 
And  back  thou  must  bee,  with  thye  tydinges  to  mee. 

Ere  the  shadowe  fiadles  fur  at  even.'  — • 

Awaye,  and  awaye  I  and  he's  &r  <m  his  waye. 

The  little  foot-page  alreddye. 
For  he's  back'd  on  his  Lord's  owne  gaUant  graye. 

That  steede  so  fleete  and  steddye. 

But  the  Knighte  stands  there  lyke  a  charmed  man. 

Watching  with  ear  and  eye. 
The  datteruige  speed  of  his  noble  steede^ 

That  swiftc  as  the  wynde  doth  flye. 

But  the  wyndes  and  the  lightninges  are  loiterers  alle 

To  the  glaunce  of  a  luver's  mynde  ; 
And  Sir  ^wynne,  I  trowe,  had  call'd  Bonnybelle  tk>we. 

Had  her  ileetnesse  outstnppit  the  wynde. 

Beseemed  to  him,  that  the  sun  once  more 

Had  stayedde  his  course  that  daye— - 
Nerer  sicke  man  longed  for  mominge  lighte,. 

As  Sir  Alwynne  &  eueninge  graye. 

But  the  longest  daye  must  end  at  last. 

And  the  brightest  sun  must  sette. 
Where  8tayed&  Shr  Alwynue  at  peepe  of  d&wne. 

There  at  euen  he  ttayeddo  him  yette : 


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And  he  tpyetbe  at  laste — ''  Not  we,  not  tot, 

'Tis  a  smalle  erayc  doude^  Sir  Knighte, 
That  risethe  up  like  a  courser's  head 

On  that  boraer  of  gowden  light<^" 

*^  But  harkel  but  harke !  and  I  heareit  now— 

'Tis  the  cominge  of  Bonnyfodle  V 
**  Not^soe,  Sir  Knighte  i  from  that  rockye  height 

'Twas  a  clattering  stone  that  felle*** 

''That  slothfuUe  boy !  but  lil  thinke  no  more 

Of  him  and  his  lagsing  jade  to-daye :"— - 
"  Righte>  righte.  Sir  Knighte  I"—"  Nay>^ore^  bye  this  lighte> 
Here  comethe  mye  page^  and  niye  gallante  graye." 

**  Howe  nowe>  little  page !  ere  thou  lighteste  downe, 

Speake  but  one  word  out  hastilye ; 
Little  page,  hast  thou  seen  mye  Ladye  lure  ? 

Hatn4nye  Ladye  keepit  her  iiEutfae  with  m^?" — 

"  I've  seen  thy  Ladye  luve.  Sir  Kniffhte, 
And  welle  hath  she  keepit  her  faiUie  widi  thee." — 

''  ^ighte  downe,  lighte  downe,  mye  trustye  page ; 
A  benTC  browne  barbe  shall  thy  guerdon  bee. 

''Tell  on,  telli|h;  was  mye  Ladye's  cheeke 

Pale  as  the  luye,  or  rome  red  ? 
Did  she  putte  the  ringe  on  her  finger  smalle  ? 

And  what  was  the  verye  firste  word  she  said  ?"— 

"  Pale  was  thy  Ladye*s  cheeke.  Sir  Knighte^ 

Blent  with  no  streake  of  the  rosie  red. 
I  put  the  rinse  on  her  finger  smalle ; 

jBut  there  is  no  yoioe  amongste  the  dead."— 

•  •  •  •  • 

•  •  •        **     •  « 

Tliere  are  tordies  hurrying  to  and  froe 

In  Raebume  Tower  to-nighte ; 
And  the  chapcAle  doth  glowe  withe  lampea  alsoe. 

As  if  for  a  brydalle  ryte. 

But  where  is  the  bryde  ?  and  t^e  brydegroome  where  ? 

And  where  is  the  holye  prieste  ? 
And  where  are  the  guestes  that  shoulde  bidden  bee. 

To  partake  of  the  marriage  feaste  ? 

The  bryde  from  her  chamber  descendeth  nowe. 

And  the  brydegroome  her  hand  hath  ta'en ; 
And  the  guestes  are  met,  and  the  holye  prieste 

Preoedeth  the  marriage  traine. 

The  bryde  is  the  faire  Maude  Winstanlye, 

And  death  her  steme  brydegroome ; 
And  her  father  follows  his  onlye  childe 

To  her  mother's  yawning  tombe. 


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169%.;]  lU  La^'i  AfSf^UUe.  SI 

^  An  affed  man,  and  a  woefbll  nian» 

And  a  heavye  moane  makes  hee : 
^'  Mye  childe !  mye  childe  !  myne  only*  childt ! 
Would  God  I  had  dyed  for  thee!" 

An  aged  man,  those  white  hairs  telle. 

And  that  hended  hack  and  knee ; 
Yet  a  stalwart  knighte,  at  Tewked^orye  fighte^ 

Was  Sir  Ardiibiad  Winstanlye. 

'Tis  a  moving  thing  to  see  the  teares 

Wrung  oat  from  an  ased  eye ; 
Seldom  and  dowe,  lyke  Sue  scantye  droppes 

Of  a  foontaine  that's  near  a-diye. 

Tis  a  sorrye  sighte  to  see  graye  haires 

Bro't  downe  to  the  grave  with  sorrowe ; 
Yonth  kwks  throwe  tro  doude  of  the  present  daye 

For  a  gowden  gleame  to-morrowe. 

Bt|t  the  dde  white  head,  and  the  fedile  knees 

Barefte  oi  earthlye  stays !— * 
God  help  thee  nowe,  olde  Winstanlye ! 

Good  Christians  for  thee  praye ! 

But  manye  a  voice  in  that  bnriall  traane 

Breathes  gloomUye  aparte, 
^  Thou  had'st  not  heen  childlesse  now,  olde  man  f 

But  for  thine  owne  hard  harte.** 

And  manye  a  maide  who  strewetii  flowers 

Afore  the  Lady's  biere, 
Weepes  out, ''  Thou  luufst  not  dyed,  sweete  Maude ! 

If  Alwynne  had  been  heere/* 


What  solonn  channt  asoendeth  slowe  ? 

What  voices  peale  the  straine  ?— 
The  Monks  of  St  Swithohn's  Abbeye  neare. 

Have  met  the  fbnerall  traine. 

They  hold  their  landes,  full  manye  a  roode. 
From  the  Lordes  of  Raebume  Tower, 

And  ever  when  Deathe  doth  claim  his  preye 
From  within  that  lordlye  bowere. 

Then  come  the  holye  finthers  fortii 
The  shrowdedde  corse  to  meete. 

And  see  it  laid  in  hallowede  grave. 
With  requiem  sadde  and  sweete. 

And  nowe  they  turn,  and  leade  the  waye 

To  that  last  home  so  nigh. 
Where  all  the  race  of  Winstanlye 

In  dust  and  darknesse  lye. 


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Tki  Ladjfe's  Brydalk.  C Jmu 

The  holye  altar  bbxetlie  brighte 

With  waxen  tapers  high. 
Elsewhere  in  dimme  and  doubtfiill  ligfate 

Doth  all  the  chapelle  Ijre. 

Hiu;e>  undefined  shadows  fidle 

From  pillar  and  from  tQmbe> 
And  manye  a  grimme  old  monumente 

Lookes  gha^ye  throw  the  gloome. 

And  manye  a  mstye  shirte  of  mail 

The  eye  may  scantlye  trace. 
And  crestedde  helmet,  blade  and  barr'd. 

That  grins  with  stone  grimace. 

Banner  and  scutcheon  from  the  walks 

WaTe  in  the  cold  night  aire, 
Gleames  out  their  goi^eous  heraldrye 

In  the  ent'ring  torches  glare. 

For  now  the  mouminge  oompanye, 

Beneathe  that  arched  dpore. 
Bear  in  the  lovelye,  lifeless  daye. 

Shall  pass  there-out  no  more. 

And  up  the  sounding  aisle,  ye  stiUe 

Their  solemn  chaunte  may  heare. 
Till,  'neath  that  blason'd  cata&lquQ, 

They  gentlye  reste  the  biere* 

Then  ceaseth  er'rye  sounde  oi  life 

So  deepe  that  awfnll  hushe. 
Ye  hear  from  yon  freshe  open'd  vaulte 

The  hoUowe  death-winde  rushe. 

Back  horn  the  biere  the  mourners  alle 

Retire  a  little  space. 
All  but  that  olde  bereaTadda  manner 

Who  taketh  there  his  |dace 

Beside  the  head ;  but  none  may  see 

The  workings  of  his  minde. 
So  lowe  upon  the  sunken  breaste 

Is  that  graye  head  declined. 


The  masse  is  said,' they  raise  the  dead* 

The  palle  is  flunge  aside ; 
And  soon  that  flower  untimelye  cropped. 

The  darksome  pit  shall  hide* 

It  gapeth  dose  at  hand—- deep  downe 

Ye  may  the  coffins  see 
(By  the  larope's  pale  glare,  just  kindled  there) 

Of  many  a  Wmstanlye. 
If; 

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MSi.;]  ne  Ladye's  Bry  dalle. 

And  the  giMed  nails  on  one  looke  brigfate. 

And  the  velvet  of  cramoisie ; 
She  hath  scarce  lain  there  a  full  told  yeare. 
The  last  Dame  Winstanlye. 

''  There's  roome  for  thee  here^  oh  daughter  deare !" 

Methinks  I  heare  her  saye— 
^'  There's  roome  for  thee,  Maude  Winstanlye ! 

Come  downe,  make  no  delaye." 

And  from  the  vanlte,  two  grimlye  armes 

Upraisede,  demaunde  the  dead- 
Hark  !  hark !  'tis  the  thunder  of  trampling  steedes ; 

'Tis  the  dank  of  an  armed  tread ! 

There  are  armed  heads  at  the  chapelle  doore. 

And  in  armour  all  bedighte. 
In  sable  Steele,  from  head  to  beele. 

In  steps  a  statelye  knight. 

And  up  the  aisle,  with  echoeing  tread 

Alone  advanceth  he. 
To  barre  his  wave,  dothe  none  essaye 

Of  the  fun'ral  companye. 

And  never  a  voice  amongst  them  alle 

Dothe  ask  who  he  mote  be ; 
Nor  why  his  armed  steppe  dlsturbes 

That  sad  solemnitie. 

Yet  manye  an  eye  with  fixed  stare 

Dothe  stemlye  on  him  frowne ; 
But  none  may  trace  the  strangerre's  face, 

He  weares  his  vizorre  downe. 

He  speakes  no  worde,  but  waves  his  hande. 

And  straighte  they  alle  obeye ; 
And  everve  soule  that  standethe  there, 

Falles  tMck  to  make  him  waye. 

He  passethe  on — ^no  hande  dothe  stirre— 

His  steppe  the  onlye  sounde ; 
Hepassetne  on — and  signs  them  sette 

The  coffinae  on  the  graunde. 

A  momente  gazinge  downe  thereon. 
With  foldedde  armes  dothe  staye ; 

Then  stoopinge,  with  one  roightye  wrenche. 
He  teares  the  lidde  awaye. 

Then  risethe  a  confused  sounde. 

And  wme  half  forward  starte. 
And  murmur  sacriledge,  and  some 

Beare  hastilye  aparte. 


\ 


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t4 


Thi  Ladye's  BrydaBe.                                  CJan*'  « 

The  agedde  kniglite^  at  that  8traiM;e  aghte. 

Whose  consdousnesse  hath  fledoe ; 

Bat  eigne  nor  soonde  disturb^e  hini>  i 

Who  gazethe  on  the  dead.  ^ 

And  seemcthe,  as  that  lordye  fiu»  I 

Doth  alle  exposed  lye,  ^ 

As  if  its  ho]ye  calme  o'erspreadde 

The  frowninge  fiwxs  bye.  a 


And  nowe,  bedde  the  Yirj^c  corse, 
Kneeb  downe  the  stranger  kiughte. 

And  up  his  vizorr'd  helme  he  throwes. 
But  not  in  open  sighte. 

For  to  the  pale,  colde,  dammye  fece. 

His  owne  he  stoopcAe  lowe. 
And  kisseth  first  the  Moodlesse  dieeke. 

And  then  the  marUe  browe. 

Then,  to  the  dead  Bpped  glued,  so  long 

The  livinge  lippes  do  staye. 
As  if  in  that  sad,  stlente  Idsse 

The  soule  hadde  passed  awaye. 

But  suddenne,  from  that  mortalle  trance^ 

As  withe  a  desp'rate  straine  ; 
Up,  up,  he  sprmses !  his  annoure  ringes ! 

The  irizorre's  downe  againe. 

With  manye  a  flowerre,  her  weeping  naides. 
The  Lacke's  shrowde  have  dressed  ; 

And  one  white  rose  is  in  the  fedde 
.That  veiles  her  whiterre  breaste* 

One  goldenne  ringlette,  en  her  browe, 
(Escappede  fomie^  doth  straye ; 

So,  on  a  wreathe  of  wfitedde  snowe. 
The  wintrye  sunbeames  playe. 

The  mafledde  hande  bathe  ta'ene  the  rose 
From  offe  that  breste  so  hjre ; 

The  &uldiion's  edge,  from  that  pale  head. 
Hath  shome  the  goldenne  hayre. 

One  heavy  sighe !  the  firste  and  laste. 
One  deepe  and  stiflede  groane ; 

A  few  long  strides — a  dange  of  hoofc»— 
And  the  armedde  strangerre's  gone ! 


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lesi.]] 


Ptrc^  Mailonf. 


9$ 


P££CT  MALLORY.* 


Amoko  the  rest  of  those  sdenoes, 
beneficial  and  ornamental^  which  have 
been  making  hi:^  strides  of  progress 
during  the  last  fifteen  years^  the  ad- 
vancement of  the  art  of  novel- writing 
(in  this  country^  stands  very  eminent- 
fy  distinguished.  "  Mrs  Rodie"  has 
eessed  to  rave;  and^  if  she  raved  stilly 
no  man  would  mark  her.  "  Mr  La- 
tiiom"  can  no  longer  terrify  the  'pren- 
tices, nor  "  Anne  of  Swansea'^  now 
ddigfat  the  kdies'  boarding-schools. 
"  Mrs  Blupmantle"  (alas,  poor  "  Brid- 
|et!")  has  washed  her  hands  (of  ink) 
ttr  ever  ;  and  but  a  water-colour  kind 
of  Rjmtation  is  left  to  Mrs  Raddifife 
and  Mrs  Hdme.  Harp  of  Leadenhall 
Street,  thy  strings  are  craidced  past 
mending  ! — ^Messrs  Lane  and  New- 
man's *'  occupation's  gone !" 

In  fact,  (poetry  apart,)  the  standard 
of  novel-writing  has  changed  among 
us.  That  whidi  was  the '^  trash"  (eo 
nomine)  "  of  the  circulating  libraries/' 
the  circulating  libraries  now  can  cir- 
culate no  more. 

Nonsense  will  be  printed  in  the  year 
1884,  but  not  much  that  is  pure,  un- 
adulterated nonsense.  The  dog-eared 
darlinas  of  the  dressmakers'  work- 
rooms have  been  at  auction  fbr  the  last 
time!  ''  Miss  Nimifie"  and  ''  Miss 
Hoflht,"  and  all  the  ''  ladies"  and 
"  gentlemen"  of  "  fashion,"  have 
jumped  up,  to  be  '*  knocked  down," 
at  seven-peno&-lialfpenny  a  volume ; 
and  the  cheesemonger  smiles,  for,  at 
Ihe  next  transfer,  he  knows  them  for 
his  own. 

For  an  array  of  new  combatants  have 
burst  into  the  litorary  field,  who  can- 
ter, and  caracole,  and  bear  down  all 
befetethemi  There  is  the  Waverley 
knight — he  of  the  hundred  weapons ! 
*-and  his  war-cry  rings  loudest  on 
the  plain.  There  is  the  author  of  Va- 
lerius, in  his  Roman  armour ;  and  the 
Ettrick  Shepherd,  with  his  knotted 
dul} ;  and  tnere  is  Hope,  on  his  barb 
of  the  desart;  and  Gait,  in  his  paw- 
kie  costume;  and  Maturin,  witn  his 
frigfatful  mask ;  and  Washington  Ir- 
ving, just  in  his  silk  doublet,  throw- 
ing darts  into  the  air,  and  catching 
them  again,  and  riding  as  easily  as  if 
he  were  on  parade  ;  and  then  there  are 


the  Amaaons,  equipped  after  every 
fancy  and  fkdiion !  Miss  Porter,  wa- 
ving her  Polish  lance,  and  Miss  Edge- 
worth,  holding  up  her  ferula,  and  the 
authoress  of  *^  Marriage,"  (in  Miss 
Jacky's  green  Joseph,)  tucked  up  upon 
a  piUion;  and  Ladv  Morgan,  astra- 
delle,  (and  in  Frencn  breeches,)  since 
she  has  taken  to  be  mad  about  politics  1 
and  poor  dd  Mrs  Thickenwell,  and 
her  friends,  are  no  more  able  to  stand 
their  ground  against  the  tramping, 
and  jostling,  and  capering,  of  this  rab- 
ble rout,  than  a  washing-tub  (with  a 
north-west  wind,)  could  be  fit  to  carry 
sail  in  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  or  a  po- 
ney  chaise  hope  to  pan  uopulveriaed 
through  Bond  Street,  in  Julv. 

A  modem  novel,  indeed,  if  it  hopes 
ever  to  he  cut  open,  must  shew  talent 
of  some  kind  or  other.  Accordingly, 
vre  find,  one  author  trusts  to  passion, 
another,  to  invention ;  one,  to  an  acute 
perception  of  what  is  ;  another,  to  a 
vi^rous  fiincy  for  what  cannot  be.  One 
bnn^  to  market  wit^-«nother,  meta- 
physics— a  third,  descriptive  force — a 
fourth,  poetic  feeling;— a  few,  like  the 
Waverley  writer,  bnng  the  rare  fiMml- 
ty  of  managing  a  long  storv ;  but  very 
few  venture  to  come  at  all,  who  can- 
not bring  some  faculty  or  other. 

People  commonly  find  out  the  value 
of  any  qualification  best,  in  A,  when, 
proceeding  in  their  spe<mlations>  they 
fail  to  meet  with  it  in  B.  The  pecu- 
liar felicity  of  the  Scottish  novelist,  in 
the  business  of  teUing  a  story,  strUces 
us  nowperhaps  from  a  certain  want  of 
Uie  same  power  in  the  author  before 
us.  But  it  is  curious  to  observe  the 
manner  in  which  that  extraordinary 
writer  contrives  to  maintain  as  perfect 
an  arrangement  through  his  history  of 
four  volumes,  as  the  Italian  conteur 
ever  did  in  his  anecdote  of  four  pages. 
The  Tuscan  artist  built  pevilions--the 
Scottish'  sorcerer  raises  cities ;  Boc- 
caccio can  steer  a  gondola,  amid  the 
*'  crincum  crankum  of  a  Venetian  ca- 
nal ;  but  the  author  of  WaverW  is 
**  The  Flying  Dutchman,"  who  dou- 
bles Cape  Horn  in  the  eye  of  the  wind. 
The  Italian  prances  along,  to  a  hair's 
breadth,  in  his  cabriolet,  the  prettiest 
Fall  Mall  pacing  in  the  world !  but 


*  Percy  Mallory,  a  norel,  in  three  Yolumei,  by  the  autlior  of  Pen  Owtn.     Wil- 
fiam  Bkckwiood,  Edinborgh ;  Thomas  Cadelly  Londoo. 
Vol.  XV.  D 


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Percy  Malhry. 


HJin. 


the  Waverley  man  draws  Thb  Mail 
**  through"—"  from  London  to  Edin- 
Imrgh"— ^'  'twice  a-week !"— He  kwka 
to  his  ''  way-hill" — ^takea  care  of  his 
passengers^  loses  no  parcels^  and  never 
'' drass"  an  inch  of  the  road !  He  has 

Kt  his  four  "  hig  ones"—"  well  in 
nd" — ^before  him.  His  "  five-and- 
thhrty  hundred  weight," — "  lire  and 
dead  load/'  behind  him.  He  gets  his 
four  "insides"  up,  and  his  three  "  out" 
— ^his  "  hags"— -iiis  "  time-piece"— 
spare  whip,  and  six  great  ooats.  The 
horn  blows— he  handles  the  "  rib- 
bands"—lets  go  the  traces :  off  they 
go,  and  he  comes  in,  five  hundred 
miles  off,  wiUiout  craddng  a  splinter 
httx,  sleqw  his  six  hours,  has  his  boots 
cleaned,  and  is  ready  to  start  again. 

Piecemeal,  perhaps,  we  might  match 
the  auUior  of  Waverley,  but  we  can- 
not matdi  him  as  a  whole.  He  awa- 
kens an  impatience  in  ns  as  to  the  fate 
of  his  dramatis  personoB,  from  the  very 
moment  that  we  are  introduced  to 
them.  He  keens  us  straining,  and 
*'  craning,"  and  tiptoeing,  aiWr  his 
catastrophe,  and  trotting  along,  with 
«ur  noses  in  the  air,  like  the  Imckney 
coacb-horses  of  Dublin,  who  are  coax- 
ed forward  by  a  pole  with  hay  upon 
It,  ]^shed  from  the  window  of  the 
carnage  before  them.  We  are  always 
Tillainously  inclined,  before  we  have 
«ot  a  hundred  pages  into  his  book,  to 
£ill  the  goose  at  once,  and  get  the  eggs 
out  of  the  last  volume ;  and  we  are 
just  now  (aa  we  observed  before)  put 
in  excellent  condition  to  admire  the 
dexterity  and  facile  conduct  of  this 
author,  the  adroitness  with  which  he 
keeps  constantly  dramng  his  readers 
on,  neck  and  heels,  (sometimes,  too, 
by  the  way,  when  thev  might  be  in- 
cuned  to  grumble  a  littk,  if  he  allowed 
them  time  td  stop,)  by  the  want  of 
that  same  facility  being  the  chiefest 
defect  of  the  wnter  whose  work  lies 
before  us  for  dissection. 

"  Percy  Mallory,  a  novel,  by  the 
author  of  Pen  Owen."— It's  a  pretty 
pactioe  this,  upon  "  the  living  sub- 
Jeet;"  and  we  are  inventing  (only  it 
most  be  a  great  secret)  an  miproved 
System  of  "  operative"  surgery,  by 
which  we  propose,  shortly,  to  "  cut 
up"  authors  in  an  entirely  new  way ! 
In  the  meantime,  however,  we  will 
open  Monsieur  Pen  Owen,  "  from  the 
systole,  to  the  diastole." — So  ! — one 
cut  across  the  abdomen,  from  right  to 
left;anotherindBion(tran8ver8e)about 


fh>m  eight  to  eleven  in^es.  There ! 
now  we  shall  see  what  Uie  gentleman 
is  made  of. 

The  author  of  "  Percy  Mallory"  haa 
great  talents,  and  his  books  will  be  ge-' 
nerally  read ;  but,  either  he  has  net 
the  knack  of  managing  a  narrative,  or 
he  will  not  be  at  we  trouUe  of  exer-» 
cising  it.  His  main  excellence  lies  in 
the  rapidity  and  boldness  with  which 
he  sketches  character.  He-  w  a  ^ck 
observer  of  men's  habits  and  oddidea^ 
and  has  a  clever  sort  of  idea  of  dieir 
passions  and  affi?ctions;  he  ^vtites  a 
smart,  petiUant  dialogue,  with  great 
apparent  fiBudlity,  and  gives  the  chit 
cnat,  in  general,  of  a  mixed  com- 
pany, with  an  adroitness  hardly  to  be 
exceeded* 

Against  these  **  good  gifts"  in  tti 
author,  there  are  some  grievous  ill 
tricks  to  be  set  off.  We  wmd  wager, 
although  we  don't  know  who  he  is, 
that  he  could  vnrite  farces  as  ftst  aa  he 
could  move  his  pen.  He  has  the ''touch 
and  go"  &cultv  (so  lauded  in  the  ^*  m»- 
nager'a  room")  as  li^t  as  any  gentle- 
man we  ever  met  with.  No  man  ia 
less  likely  to  overiay  a  conversation, 
or  understands  better  the  advantage 
of ''  shifting  a  scene ;"  but,  in  retom, 
«  general  heedlessness  makes  his  tran- 
aidons  pantomimic ;  his  *'  aitdatieiia" 
fidl  out  inartifidally,  and  his  means 
are  seldom  proportioned  to  his  end ; 
he  seta  a  great  deal  of  ma^inerv  to 
work,  which  he  cannot  manage  wnen 
it  is  in  action ;  he  makes  a  great  bustle 
where  he  comes  to  a  difficulty,  walks 
round  it,  and  fiancies  that  he  Km  over- 
come it.  The  links  that  connect  hia 
tale  are  often  dumsy,  and  sometimes 
inefficient ;  and  probable  incident,  or 
accurate  description,  are  points  upon 
which  he  seldom  pauses  to  attend  to. 

But  he  doesn't  prose,  and  therefore 
we  won't  do  it  for  him.  SenJmr  Pen 
Owen  shall  speak  for  himself. 

"  Percy  Mallory,"  otherwise  *'  Percy 
Rycett,"  otherwise  "'Percy  Claren- 
don— Lord  Brandon,"  begins  his  ac^ 
quaintance  wjlh  the  reader  when  he 
is  no  more  thin  three  months  old.  At 
that  '^  tender  age,"  he  is  stolen  (or 
charged  to  be  stMen)  from  ^e  hoose 
of  his  (supposed)  ^ther,  "  Levison 
Rycott,  Esq.,"  of^Curoberiand.  After 
giving  a  great  deal  of  trouble  at  the 
London  police  offices,  and  at  the  Old 
Bailey,  he  occasions  the  "deportation" 
of  two  ladies,  "  Alice  Halpin,"  and 
"  Judith  Mallcny,"  the  hst  of  wfaom^ 


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{ewea  while  nnder  ianUoBe,)  iweMv 
to  him  for  her  diOd  ;  and,  ftt  ^bteen^ 
(bftfiDg  duly  been  reconducted  to  tibe 
nortb, j  being  stout— valiant— hand« 
ionie— «nd  a  "  cragBman/'  he  meets 
with  a  rock  adventure — ^rather  too 
mudi  like  that  of  Lovel  in  The  Anti- 
ouary— and  rescues  *'  Miss  Loo  Bel- 
lendai/' firom  a  jeopardy,  into  which 
Heaven  alone  Imows  how  she  ever 
could  hove  fallen. 

The  lady  being  carried  to  a  cottagei 
■ear  "  Wokton  Worthy,"  (Mr  Hy- 
coCt's  seat,)  a  servant  is  seat,  post^ 
haite,  for  medical  aasistanoe. 

**  Dr  Drizzlethwaite,  as  he  was  called, 
at  length  made  his  appearance ;  and,  aU 
tfaovgfa  his  hone  was  covered  with  dust 
aad  foam,  the  gentleman  hin^ielf  was  cool 
and  celkcted,  as  if  he  had  just  passed  fitim 
SOS  room  toanother. 

*''  ^  For  Heaven's  sake,  my  dear  Drizzle,* 
cried  Percy,  *  make  haste  every  moment 
ispredous.* 

**  Hie  other,  taking  oat  his  watch,  seem- 
ed to  be  calculating  &e  time  he  had  taken 
in  reaching  his  present  destinatbn,  as  a 
sett  of  tadt  answer  to  the  young  man*s  im- 
petuosity. He  returned  the  watch  to  his 
fbb— and,  repeating  in  a  low  tone  of  voice, 
'  Tbbty-seven  minates  and  two  seconds,' 
quietly  drew  a  chair,  and  seated  hunsdf, 
whilst  he  ddibcratdy  took  his  hat  from  his 
hssd.  He  wiped  offa  few  partides  of  dust 
from  it  with  one  of  his  gloves,  which  he 
had  imtthodicsDy  drawn  from  his  hand." 

Mr  Penj  becomes  fidgety. 

•*  ^Come,  come,*  he  impatiently  repeat- 
ed more  than  once,  of  whidi  Dr  Drizzleth- 
wvts  seemed  to  uke  no  note  whatever — 
his  attention  beinff  evidently  pre-oocupied 
fa  onbnttoniiig  tte  overalls  which  had 
been  the  saftgunrd  and  protection  of  a  pair 
af  hij^ily  po&hed  boots,  now  slowly  dls- 
doafaig  themselves  to  view. 

M  «  Why-^Jh  Dnzslethwaite  I* 

**  '  Sir,*  responded  the  doctor,  as  ha 
tamed  up  bis  head  sideways  from  dis- 
chaigi^  the  last  button  at  hu  heel. 

** »  The  patient.' 

**  *  True,'  answered  the  imnertuxbsble 
doctor,  as  he  neatly  folded  up  me  leathern 
i^ptuteBaaeea,  and  turned  them  over  the 
baA  of  a  diair. 

**  •  Mm  you — ^wflU  you  go  up  stairs, 
sir  ?*  demanded  Perey,  out  of  all  patience 
with  this  son  of  Escohpius,  although  well 
anqnaintrd  with  his  habits,  which  might — 
as  they  had  often  done— affiird  food  for  a 
pasiing  joke— but  were  insufferable  in  a 
— ment  of  real  agttatioo  and  anxiety. 

*' '  I  win,  Mr  Perey— but  iist,'  pnlL 
iDgdown'hia  sbirt  slesves,  and  adjusting 
iBa  bocUs  of  h»a(Dd^  •  the  case  ?' 


**  *  How  should  I  know  f  Corns  and 
judge  for  yourself.' 

''«Maleorfomale?' 

«  *  A  lovdy  girl    a 

«««AUibour?' 

"'Pshal-anacddent' 

**  *  A  miscarriage  ?' 

*^  A  miscarriage  !-^  mis— —— conns, 
come.  Drizzle,  for  God*s  sake,  see  the  pooc 
sufferer.  She  has  had  a  fall— She  was 
neurly  destroyed.— She  may  be  bruised— a 
limb  broken.' 

**  ^  The  case— idiy  didst  not  say  so  be- 
fore ?*  slowly  demanded  he,  as  he  ddibe^ 
ratdy  raised  himself  firom  the  chair — ^whcn, 
turning  somewhat  more  abruptly  towarda 
the  window,  as  Percy  had  taken  the  lead 
towards  the  door,  he  quieUy  opened  the 
casement,  and  calling  to  a  boy  who  held 
his  horso— *  Walk  the  mare— walk  the 
mare— gently,  dium-*^ere — don't  let  her 
stand  stilL* 

^'  He  followed  slowly  up  the  narrow 
staircase,  and  Percy  retreated  to  the  lower 
apartment." 

Dr  Drizzle  finds  it  expedient  '*  to 
bleed."  Meanwhile^  oar  nero  firets  np 
and  down  Uie  cottage  kitchen ;  and  al 
last  knocks  the  doctor's  overalls  into 
the  fire. 

At  length  the  landlady  descends^ 
and  is  going  towards  the  house-door. 

*^  Percy  caught  her  arm,  and  arrested 
her  progress.  '  Where  are  -you  going  ? 
What,  m  the  name  of  Heaven,  do  you 
want?' 

**  *  The  doctor's  horse,  sweetheart.' 

''  ^  Psha !  the  doctor  can't  have  his 
horse  yet.  How  is  the  young  lady  ?  how 
has  she  borne ? 

**  Here  the  doctor^s  long  weIl*polished 
boots  appeared  on  the  upper  part  of  the 
staircase,  and  gradually  brought  after  them 
the  rest  of  his  long  gaunt  figure,  bent  near- 
ly double,  in  order  to  bear  him  harmless 
fiom  its  shdviog  roof  and  cofitracted  waOs." 

PeroT  assists  him,  and  (of  course) 
nearly  mreaks  his  neck. 

^*  *  How  now,  master  Percy  ?'  cried  hst 
rather  more  rapidly  than  was  his  wont. 

^*  *  A  thousand  pardons,  my  good  doc- 
tor ;  but  how  is  the  lady  ?  how  has  she 
borne  the  opeiation  P  how  b  she  sffiwted  f 
any  fractnre  ?  any ' 

**  *  Can*t  answer  ten  qussticiis  mt  a 
time.' 

«•  *  Nay,  nay  then,  how  is  she  ?  is  shs 
in  danger?' 

«4 « It  is  impossible  to  say.' 
^    ^*  Have  you  then  doubts?' 

^*  *  Never  come  to  hasty  condnskms— 
vdiere's  my  hbrse,  good  woman  ?' 

•*  *  Why,  you*— you  wouldn't  leave  me 
in  this  state  ?' 

•« «  Why,  what  ails  thee  ?'  instinctivdy 
advancing  Ins  hand  to  fod  his  pulse. 


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se  Percy  MaUortf. 

M  «WiU  jcm  not  tell  mt  bow  tlie  luf- 
fering  aogd  u  ?' 

**  *■  No  acquaintance  with  angels.' 

•'  *  Your  patient  above  stain,  then  V 

'•  <  I  have  said 

••*WiUsheclie?' 

"  *  Perhaps  not.' 

♦* «  Only  perhans  ?  Good  God !  doctor, 
do  you  redly  think  there  is  a  chance  ?' 

*'  •  There  is  always  a  diance.* 

•*  *  And  only  a  chance  I' 

«• «  What  wouldst  have  ?' 

**  *  A  certainty— a  hope  at  least— nay, 
do  not  trifle  with  me.' 

*•  «  I— I  trifle,  Mr  Percy !'  cried  the 
doctor,  with  something  Uke  an  air  of  sur* 
prise. 

'^  ^  Psha !  I  mean — do  you  think — do 
you  think  she  is  in  inmiediate  danger  ?' 

*«  *  Not  exactfy.' 

•'  '  Then,  why  did  you  not  say  so  be- 
fore ?•  asked  Percy,  peevishlv. 

•* '  Because  you  didn*t  put  the  question.' 

*'  *  Did  I  not  ask  whether  she  was  in 
danger  ?  Did  I  not  inquire  her  state  ? 
her ' 

'^  *•  Repeat,  I  can't  answer  ten  questions 
at  once.* 

*» '  Is  she  suffering  ?' 

'<  *  Suppose  so — sickness  is  suflering. 
What  has  happened  to  my  spatterdashes, 
woman  ?'  vainly  trying  to  button  them. 

" '  Nothing,  your  honour,  1*11  be  sworn.' 
.    "  •  Nothing,  fah  I  been  in  the  fire.* 

«'  '  1*11  take  my  Bible  oath,  your  ho- 
nour.' 

"  »  Don't  do  that.  Goody,'  interrupted 
Percy,  •  for,  in  the  fire  they  certainly  have 
been ;  and  I  wish  they  had  been  burned 
to  ashes,'  added  he,  grinding  his  teeth  at 
the  phl^;matic  doctor. 

"  '  Mr  Percy  Rycott !» 

*'  *  Yes,  you  are  enough  to  drive  one 
mad.' 

•• '  Mad,  in  verity,'  returned  the  doctor, 
with  perfect  tofigfroidy  as  he  rose  up  from 
the  vain  attempt  to  reconcile  and  brmg  to- 
gether the  lower  buttons  and  buttonholes 
of  the  shrivelled  straps  of  his  overalls,  or 
fpatterdashes,  as  he  preferred  to  call  them. 

*'  *  Good  day,  mistress ;  keep  her  cool ; 
barley-water;  panada.' 

**  *  Yes,  your  honour ;  I'll  take  care  of 
her  as  if  she  were  my  own.' 

*^  *  Thine !'  muttered  Percy,  as  he  look, 
ed  upon  the  woman  with  horror,  at  the 
bare  supposition  of  her  being  even  of  the 
same  species. 

^'  *  I  will  see  her  friends,'  said  the  doc- 
tor, OS  he  stalked  out  of  the  door,  again 
stooping  to  make  good  his  retreat. 

«^ «  Her  friends  !*  exclaimed  Percy,  as 
he  caught  at  Driazlethwaite's  arm,  and  had 
affain  nearly  overset  him,  '  do  you  know 
them?' 

*'  *  What  then  V 

»•»  WillyonnotteUme?' 


"♦Andwhyr 

**■  *  Because  I  wish  to  bt  Inftnmed.' 

(i  (  Wish— wish  to  bum  my  spatter- 
dashes!' 

**  *  111  give  you  a  dozen  new  pair.' 

^*  *  Hold  the  stirrup,  man,  there' 
•   "  *  Will  you,  or  will  you  not  teU  me  ?» 
fiercely  demanded  Percy,  seizing  the  bridle, 
as  the  doctor  seated  himself  in  the  saddle. 

« *  If  not  ?'  cooUy,  asked  the  doctor. 

**  •  Then  you  are ' 

(« •  Off  !*  interrupted  the  doctor,  who, 
striking  the  spurs  into  his  mare's  sides, 
jerked  the  bridle  out  of  Percy's  hand,  and 
threw  him  nearly  to  the  ground,  whilst, 
upright  as  a  dart,  and  collected  as  if  no- 
thing had  happened,  he  cantered  away 
without  once  deigning  to  turn  his  head  up- 
on his  enraged  opponent." 

After  an  interview  with  Miss  Bel- 
lenden,  with  whom  he  becomes  des- 
perately in  love,  Mr  Percy  rides  to 
*^  Glendara  Lodge,"  and  frightens  a 
French  governess  into  fits.  He  returns 
to  the  cottage,  but  Miss  Bellenden  is 
gone — her  aunt,  Miss  Nordiffe,  (^ad- 
vised  by  Dr  Drizzlethwaite)  having 
kidnapped  her  in  the  meantime.  Then^ 
having  nowhere  else  to  go,  he  goes 
back  to  the  house  of  his  father. 

Mr  Rycott,  of  Wolston  Worthy,  is 
a  valetudinarian,  and  half  a  hypo(»on- 
driac,  despotic — kind-hearted — but 
impatient  of  contradiction.  His  cba* 
racter  is  a  sketchy  in  lines^  spirited 
enough. 

A  servant  has  been  dispatched  in 
pursuit  of  Pa*cy,  with  orders  to  say, 
that  *'  Air  Rycott  is  dying."  Percy 
finds  his  father  in  apparent  health; 
but  professes  to  be  "  sorry,"  never* 
thdess,  for  his  absence. 

'*  *  Sorry,  sorry,  what  sood  win  your 
sorrow  do,  you  graceless  dog  ?  Hev  I  will 
it  cure  the  gout  ?  will  it  drive  it  nom  the 
vitals  when  your  insolent,  audacious  ?— ' 

'^  *•  Indeed,  my  dear  sir,  I  was  not  a* 

"  •  Not  aware..-not  aware  of  my  com- 
mands ?' 

"  •  Your  commands ' 

**  *  Have  I  not  a  thousand  times  forbid- 
den you  to  repeat  my  words  ?  Did  I  not 
forbid  you  to  leave  the  room,  and  did  I  not 
bawl  after  you  till  I  had  nearly  broken  a 
bkx»d  vessel  in  my  Innss  ?  1  bdieve  I  spat 
blood.  Ask  your  mower  there  ?'  addros- 
ing  his  lady,  who  sat  on  the  other  side  the 
fire-pUce." 

Mrs  Rvcott  is  a  quiet  woman. 

*♦ '  I  thmk  it  was  snuff,  Mr  Rvcott,'  re- 
plied  she,  with  most  provoking  frigidity  of 
tone  and  manner. 

'^  *  You  think,  you  think  I  why  riiould. 
n*t  it  have  been  blood  ?  answer  me  4at.* 


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iMi.;] 

•« «  Only  beerait  I  don't  HAik. 

**  *  Thank,  think  anin ;  what  hat  a 
vonan  todo  with  thinking?  Theboyhaa 
inherited  it,  and  presumes  to  think  fbr 
himself  and  set  his  father  at  nought* 

^  *  I  protest,  sir,*  interrupted  the  son, 
*  I  had  no  intention  of  giving  offence.* 

«« '  Who*8  the  best  judge  of  that,  sirrah  ? 
Did  I  not  command  you  to  stay  ?  did  you 
Mt  boonoe  out  of  the  window  ? 

•«  ^  It  was  to  save  a  life  more  valu. 

^  *  Than  your  father's,  dioa  onnatoral, 
haidfnwl,  young  ■* 

**  *  Excuse  roe,  si*.' 

^  *  I  will  not  excuse  you,  sir.' 

*' '  I  hare  done.' 

^  *  You  hare  not  done,  sir;  you  shall 
not  have  dctae ;  I  will  not  have  my  autho- 
rity disputed  in  my  own  house ;  your  mo- 
fhcr,  there,  never  disputes.' 

**  *  Never,  my  dear.* 

•*  *  rm  sure,  sir,'  said  Percy,  •  I  never 
fid.' 

M  *  Becanse  I  couldn't  taSa  it,  by  Jove  t 
Mr  wiD  I  suffer  it  now.    Whv  don't  you 

BMwer  ?  are  yoQ  dumb,  or  sulky,  or ? 

Now,  I  dare  swear,  in  your  heart  you  are 


setting  up 
tyrannlfal. 


your  fikther  aa  an  oppressivei 
old • 

'•*Wbo,I,slr?' 

^  *  Yea,  you,  sir !  deny  it  if  you  can  ?' 

Percy  bta  a  conscience^  uid  is  si- 
IcDi. 

**  Doiy  It,  deny  it,  sir,  in  so  many  words, 
if  yoa  can;  I  insist •' 

*«  *■  Why,  sir,  indeed,  I  am  sony.* 

*«  *  No  doubt,  no  doubt ;  for  having 
mA  a  and,  overbearing,  hard-hearted 
fciker;  bat,  by  Jove  * 

««  *  No,  sir ;  but  I  cannothelp  thinking 
k  had  dwt  I  should  incur  your  anger  for 

**«  for  nothing ;  and  so,  sir,  to  disobey 
ymu  foiher's  solemn  injunctions,  to  leave 
dto  booae  merdy  because  he  enjoined  yoa 
Is  stay  in  it ;  to  exasperate  a  man,  and 
dat  oaan  your  tender  parent,  whose  lifo 
jwa  know  hann  by  a  thread,  by  a  hairi 
wkh  the  gout  lying  about  htm  and  only 
vHdsg  an  opportuni^  to  fix  on  some 
vkal  pAit,  with  lunos  uke  a  honoyoomb ! 
^  Jwv»,sir 

••  *•  Indeed,  sir,  I  knew  no  sudi  thing. 

M  4  Yon  did'nt ;  you  haven't  heard  ma 
dadsrcitwvcraad  over  again— the  arthri- 
ttca  vacfr— the 

•> »  V«,  sir,— but  I  rtmember  your  say- 
«g  so  from  my  cradle.' 

♦*  •  Oh  I  is  it  so,  Mr  Wise  Acre  ?— 
Ton  don't  credit  it  ?— Your  fother's  an  old 
fod  a  hjpnrhnniMsr  as  that  blockhead 
Drialethwaite  had  the  efiontery — and  he 
>  can  me    a     ' 


By  Jove !— 40  be  told  by  my  own  cWkt 
my  own  lawfully  begotten  son— that  all 
my  deadly  symptoms  are  mere  nervous  af- 
fections T" 

Percy  would  fain  be  heard  ont. 

"  •  Hear  you  out !— what  need  of  it  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  enoueh?— to  be  told 
by  a  boy— an  imp — a  su&ling<^-a  babe^ 
Zounds!  there's  my  £atal  vertigo— ring» 
ring  for  Schwartz.' 

fSchwartz  is  a  German  quack,  retain- 
ed m  the  house ;  he  does  not  come  at  the 
first  rins.] 

•«  *>  Ring — ling  again ;  do  you  wish  me 
to  ffo  off  in  an  apoplexy  before  your  eyes— 

wiuout   aid^^witnout Ring — twice^ 

twice.'  He  was  obeyed,  and  a  stranger 
perhaps  would  have  been  surprised  at  see- 
mg  Mrs  Ryoott  quietly  resume  her  place, 
and  her  knotting-needle,  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred.  But  she  was  used  to  this  sort  of 
scene,  and  knew  that  the  best  remedy  was 
near  at  hand ! 

«« *•  The  devil's  in  you  all,  I  believe,* 
exclaimed  her  husband,  as  he  held  both 
his  hands  to  his  head,  in  seeming  appr». 
hension  of  its  bursting  asunder.  *  Mliy 
don't  you  run,  sirrah,  and  brine  tlie  feU 
low  here  neck  and  crop  ?  By  Jove,  you 
are  all  in  a  conspiracy  against  me.'    Off 


ran  Percy,  happy  in  the  opportunity  of  es- 
caping. *  WiU  the  scoundrel  never  come  ? 
Rmg  again,  woman ;  ring  till  the  spring 
bredi— I'll  trounce  the  neeliffent  puppy.— 
Ay,  ay,  iu  all  over— I  fod  the  effect  of 
the  bursting  of  that  vessel' 

•^  *  It  was  snuff,  I  assure  you,  Mr  Ry- 
CX)tL"» 

At  last  Schwarts  comes;  and  his 
German  English  is  very  happy.  The 
dialogue  of  the  French  Governess  (in 
aerml  conversations)  is  equally  so. 

«^  ^  Oh  !  Schwarts,  my  foithfol  fellow, 
I  verily  believe  I  am  going  off  in  earnest 
now.* 

«^  *  Bah  r 

«« '  It's  iiobah,Sdiwarts,  Ifed  ithofw' 

**  •  You  fedn  it  everywhere— vat  the 
deivel  ish  the  figary  you  get — the  Kim- 
mer  raeid  com  to  me,  and  say  her  mash- 
ter  ish  ringing  for  life  or  de  dead,  and 
here  you  look  pkrnip  and  firaish  like  your 
own  An^idi  rindfleish.*    / 

«« «  Plethora,  Plethora,  be  assured  my 
good  Schwartz. 

***  ninobeassnrtdofnosochdhig 
your  poise  beat  voo,  two,  dree,  like  do 
dock ;  and  tish  nodding  hot  von  great  pas- 


Percy  ventores  somrtfiing   aboot 


|..Mtor0ysi^tl 


^«Nsi 


( arardMonopa.' 
^sai    Mffsil-^^ 


***  My  head  throbs,  Scl)warts,  ai 
there's  no  pulsation  at  the  heart.' 

^*  *•  Vat  den,  aa  the  heart  got  into 
head?' 

•«  *'  I  must  lose  blood.' 

«<«  Lose  the  deivel.  Doctor  Dweesa 
pate,  swear  you  bleed  yooself  into  waa 
i-dat  Is  drobasy.' 


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30 


Peresf  MaUorjf> 


Ui 


«<  <  Whti  am  1 10  do»  fiohwaiti  V 

•*  *  NodiDff  ad  alL' 

i<«  WithUiiipulM?' 

••  •  TUh  no  poise.*      ^ 

•t «  No  pttlie  ( then  iti  all  orcr  wUhme, 
iodeecL* 

«• «  Tish  no  ower  wid  jrou,  ban  quiet, 
and  no  scolden  de  weif  and  child.' 

**  *•  I  have  no  patience  with  them.' 

^^  *  I  zee — I  know  dat  quite  a  well 
enough.' 

«« «  They  think  nothing's  the  matter 
with  me.' 

*^  *  Dere  is  noding  de  matter  wid  you, 
I  say,  and  data  true.* 

^*  ^  Ay,  Schwartz,  but  you  are  tender 
of  me,  and  know  my  constitution.' 

•t «  Well,  den,  cannot  you  be  zatisfied  ?* 

**  *  I  must  be.* 

**  ^  £ef  you  pot  Tourzelf  in  socfa  grand 
passion  just  for  noding  at  alL' 

«( •  For  nothing  at  all  ?' 

'*  ^  I  say,  joost  for  noding  at  all — ^yoa 
ml  borzt  some  blode  vein.' 

"  '  Mv  God  I' 

^*  *  I'd  ish  true,  pon  mein  zole.' 

**  *  I  wont,  I  wont  utter  a  word.' 

'^  *  Nonsdnce — you  speak  wer  well ; 
but  no  speak  in  Ton  passion.* 

"  •  I'll  try.* 

*-^ '  Mein  Gode !  you  most  do  eetf  or 
you  shall  die* 

"  '  Die  !• 

«« «  Like  ein  dog.* 

•*  •  You  may  go,  Schwartz.' 
'    ^*  'I  need  note  to  have  com,  dat  I  zee.' 

«*  And  away  stalked  Mynheer  Schwartz." 

There  is  a  scene  after  dinner,  in 
which  Mr  Ryoott  determiues  not  to 
be  in  a  pasaion,  quite  as  good,  or  bet- 
ter than  the  aboTe. 

Our  friend  Percy  ia  forbidden  ever 
to  think  of  Miss  Bellenden^  to  whose 
birth,  as  well  as  fortune,  his  father 
has  some  objection,  and  is  command- 
ed to  march,  without  a  moment's  loss 
of  time,  on  a  visit  to  the  mansion  of 
''  Sir  Hugh  Ferebee  de  Lacy." 

The  tenth  and  eleventh  chapters  lie 
at ''  Lacy  Royal,"  and  are  incompa- 
rably the  most  characteristic  in  the 
book;  but  we  do  not  yet  arrive  at 
them. 

Being  ordered  to  go  straight  to  Lacy 
Bojral,  Percy  can  do  no  leas  than  go 
struct  to  Glendara. 
'  On  his  wajr,  he  meets  a  gipsy — the 
"  Mrs  Halpm,"  who  purloindl  him 
fai  his  infancy — who  warns  him  from 
his  morning  call,  and  f^om  Miss  Bel- 
lenden  altogether.  He  goes,  however, 
to  Glendara,  (where  there  is  a  brauil- 
Urie,  that  we  have  not  room  to  ex« 
tract)— discovers  Miss  Bellenden  in  a 
strange  kind   of  durance — quaneli 


with  her  anal,  and  abakea  a  metho- 
dist  parson.  He  finds  an  ally  in  the 
French  lady,  whom  he  had  mghteiH 
ed  into  fits ;  and  departs,  in  ill  spirits^ 
for  the  domicile  of  the  I)e  Lacy  s. 

Sir  Hugh  de  Lacy  claims  to  be  a 
branch  of  the  '^  Grandison"  family.— 
A  descendant  from  the  same  stock  with 
Richardson's  **  Sir  Charles,"  and  an 
inheritor  of  that  gentleman's,  style, 
opinions,  and  deportment ;  of  oousse 
lus  house,  his  lad^,  aU  his  personal 
arrangements,  are  m  the  lUtra  manner 
of  the  veilU  cour.  He  is  a  little  bit  of 
a  coxcomb— ouite  without  being  aware 
of  it ;  but  fViIl  of  hi^  sentiment  and 
chivalrous  feeling.  • 

The  dinner  scene  at  Lacy  Royal  ia 
the  very  best  ifii  in  these  three  vo- 
lumes. Our  hero,  Sir  Hu^,  Lady 
Rodolpha,  and  Miss  Gertrude  de  La- 
cy, are  present.  The  chaplain  is  away 
upon  business,  and  '' Grandison  die 
Lacy,"  the  eldest  son,  ia  absent,  ma- 
king the  tour  of  Eurc^ 

-Mr  Percy,  being  a  lover,  is  necessa- 
rily too  late  for  dinner. 

**  *>  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons,  Sir 
Hug^Lady  Rodolpha—but * 

**•  ^  Lady  Rodolpha's  hand  awaits  you, 
Mr  Percy  Rycott ;  we  will  discuss  joai 
apologies  at  a  more  convenient  moment. 
Dinner  has  waited  near  seven  minutes.* 

Oh  this  politeness !  and  the  cursed 
stop-watch  calculation  too  I 

«^  Percy  led  forward  the  hostess  in  aO 
the  pomp  of  Mecklin  lappets,  point  ruffles, 
and  damask  drapery,  that  moved  without 
the  rumple  of  a  fold,  Uke  a  Dutdi  toy  on 
wheels.  He  would  have  made  his  pcaoa 
durins  the  journey  across  a  hall  that  tra- 
versed  the  whole  depth  of  the  mansion,  and 
through  a  suite  <n  papered  and  bagged 
apartments,  which  led  to  the  takm  d  diner^ 
but  a  very  short  observation  of  her  lady- 
ship's checked  his  first  attempt 

*' '  There  were  few  points,*  she  remark- 
ed, *>  in  which  good  Sir  Hugli  was  so  par- 
ticular as  puncmality  in  all  engagements.* 

*••  Percy  said  no  more.  Her  ladysh^ 
on  their  arrival,  took  her  seat  at  the  head 
of  the  table ;  Sir  Hugh  seated  himself  at 
the  bottom ;  Miss  Gertrude,  and  Percy, 
vit-a-vU^  made  up  the  partie  carHt,^'* 

It  is  in  this  farite  carrke  chit-chat, 
that  our  author  always  excels. 

^'  *  Good  Br  Paterson  is  obliged  to  ab- 
sent himself,  on  account  of  some  urgent 
business  at  Kendal,'  observed  Lady  Rodol- 
pha, as  a  sort  of  implied  apology  to  Percy, 
for  Sir  Hugh  taking  upon  himsdf  the  duty 
of  saying  graosw 

«^  •  Indeed  V  sidied  Percy,  viewing  the 
fimmdaUearrayofdomcatics  planted  rmmd 


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1W4.3  Ptrey 

bim«  MtfpTCMndngantwbanlertgaintl 
escape,  wfaicfa  teemed  to  «ngige  hit  specu. 
ktums  to  the  ezdvaioa  of  enfytfainff  else. 

"  After  a  long  muue,  *  Tell  MnKno v. 
let,*  said  Sir  Ha^  looking  beneroleDtlv 
towards  the  butler,  whilst  his  eyes  watered, 
and  the  colour  in  his  cheeks  was  som^ing 
heightened,  <  ^lat  she  hss  been  rather  too 
bountiful  with  her  seasonbg  in  the  soup.* 

"  «  Certaiak,  Sir  Hugh ;  but  I  had  in- 
formed  Mrs  Knowles,  Sir  Hush,  that  her 
bdyship,  on  Tuesday  but,  Sought  the 
vermioali  rather  insipid.* 

**  *  Excellent  Rohmd,'  inteimpted  her 
ladyship,  «  yon  recollect  my  most  trifling 

*»  •  Tlicy  are  our  Uw,  my  lady  ;*  and, 
at  the  signal,  all  the  grey-headed  lirery. 
men  bowed  in  token  oftheir  sympathy. 

**  *  Sztremes,*  obsenred  Sir  Hugh,  with 
a  smile,  '  are  generally  pernicious.  And 
to,  my  good  Lady  Roddpha,  I  have  been 
a  martyr  in  your  cause ;  your  ladyship  can- 
not do  less  than  assuage  my  tonneots  by  a 
glass  of  Madeira.' 

^'  *'  God  forbid,*  returned  the  gracious 
lady,  *  that  I  should  ever  be  the  occasion 
of  torment  to  my  ever-indulgent  Sir  Hugh. 
But  I  flatter  myself,  if  your  present  suror- 
ings  can  be  so  easfly  relieved,  they  have 
not  been  very  excruciating.  Am  I  not  a 
aaocy  creature.  Sir  Hugh  ?*  '* 

This  making  in  parables  is  really 

*'*'  *  You  are  all  excdlenoe,  and  are  never 
more  endeared  to  me  than  when  your  lady- 
sldp  suffers  your  litHe  playfulness  of  fimcy 
to  animate  our  happy  domestic  circle.-.- 
Good  Boland,  a  glass  of  old  Maddra  to 
your  excellent  lady.' " 

There's  tto  reaisting  this— we  must 
pMtively^ thestyle  oundTes.  '< Ex^ 
cdlent  What's-yoar-name^  a  small 
glass  of  wann  brandy  and  water — (we 
dtinkj — Why,  you  first-bom  of  Sa- 
tan !  did  we  bid  you  bring  it  us  boil- 
ing hot  ?" — ^But,  to  continue, — 

^^  *•  You  have  forgiven  good  Mrs  Know. 
let,  my  best  of  friends,*  said  Lady  RodoU 
pha,  with  one  of  her  most  winning  smiles, 
*  for  her  boundfiil  extreme.' 

**  *  Sweetly  engaging  Lady  Rodolpha  ! 
had  I  really  cause  of  offence,  your  ladv- 
ri^ip's  hi^ppy  mode  of  intercesaon  would 
msLke  me  forget  it,  in  the  admiration  of  a 
talent  to  peculiarly  your  own.' 

«« *  Kind  Sir  Hugh  !— you  will  make 
me  Tain.* 

**  *  No  one  hat  more  reason — no  one  is 
IcBs  Ckdy  to  become  so  than  Lady  Rodol- 
pha de  Lacy.* 

«**Idcdare, 
blush ^ 

*^  *  For  a  naughty  woild,  excellent  wo- 
man, but  never  for  vourself.  Worthy  Ro- 
land,' turning  to  tt\e  butler,  «  teU  Mis 


f  Sir  Hugh,  you  make  mt 


MaBory.  ji 

KnowUt  that  her  lovp  is  like  all  she  dsea 

—she  is  indeed  a  most  excellent  person.* 

«« ^  You  are  the  most  charitable— Sir 
Hu^,'  said  her  kdyship,  in  a  subdued 
tone  of  voice. 

^  *  It  is  my  humble  efibrt  to  be  so— it 
is  the  duty  of  us  all  to  be  so.  Tell  her, 
good  Rohmd,  that  her  soup  is  admirable ; 
but  add,  as  fK>m  yourself,  that  perhaps  it 
would  suit  the  taste  of  Lady  Rodolpha  and 
myself  better,  were  it,  in  fotore,  less  hig^ily 
seasoned.' 

" '  I  shall.  Sir  Hugh— What  a  mastse  !• 
was  added,  in  a  half  whisper  to  Mrs  Pol^ 
son,  who  stood  retired— and  was  seconded 
by  a  bend*  as  before,  horn  every  one  of 
Che  grey-headed  circle  in  worsted  lace.** 

Sir  Hugh  continues  to  be  tedious, 
and  makes  an  observation  touching 
''  the  nooral  virtues."  Percy,  at  the 
same  moment,  asks  Lady  Rodolpha 
for  '^  some  trout— before  it  is  c^'^ 
Miss  Grertrude  smiles,  and  Lady  Ro- 
dolpha requests  the  cause. 

^' '  Why,  dear  mamma-.!  really  am 
ashamed  of  mysel^I  was  only  thinking  of 
Percy's  interruption.' 

"  '  MitUr  Percy,  nov,  if  you  please, 
my  excellent  Gertrude. 

'«  The  girl  blushed  agun  I 

''  <  Say  on,  sweet  innocence,'  said  Sir 
Hugh,  in  an  encouraging  tona«-^or  a  sub- 
ject once  introduced  was  never  raffeicd  to 
die  a  natural  death. 

*•  •  Only,  sir,  I  was  struck  by  the  odd 
circumstance  of  Mr  Percy ^ 

'*  •  What  have  I  done,  Oettrude  ?'  ask- 
ed Percy,  looking  up  from  his  plate. 

(The  cause  of  action — the  trout- 
haying  ceased^  no  doubt,  to  hedee^^ 
uteniihus.) 

•'  *  Miis  Gertrude,  Mr  Percy  Rycott, 
is  about  to  inform  us,'  observed  Lady  Ro- 
dolpha, drawing  herself  up  in  form. 

•*  '  Merdy,"  continued  the  hesitating 
^rl,  *  that  he  should  think  of  the  fish  be- 
ntg  cold,  just  as  papa  was  talking  of— 
talking  o^--moral  virtues.' 

*•  '  I  beg  pardon,'  said  Percy;  •  but  I 
thought  Sir  Hugh  had  been  scolding  the 
cook  for  putting  too  much  pepper  in  the 
soup.' 

**  *  I— I  scold  I  Mr  Percy  Rycott !' 

«  *  Sir  Hugh  Fcrebee  de  Lacy  scold  his 
domestics  I*  exclaimed  her  ladyship,  with 
a  look  of  utter  dismay. 

A  sudden  cosnmlsive  movement  agitated 
the  whole  line  of  domestics. 

*'  <  It  is  dear  that  |ny  good  yoang 
friend,*  observed  Sir  Hugh,  *  did  not  pay 
▼er]r  particular  attention  to  the  few  oImct- 
vations  which  the  occasion  appeared  to  re- 
quire.* 

^  *  The  transition  from  soup  to  fish  was 
natond,'  said  Perry,  laughing,  in  the  ob- 


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St  Ptrcif  Maihry. 

vhom  deitvs  to  aToid  any  ISuthcr  explana- 

tlOD. 

«« <  I  should  rather  have  said  arti/Mmly 
mj  good  Air  Percy,  as  it  is  habit  only 
which ' 

^'  ^  Habit  is  second  nature  you  know, 
Sir  Hugh ;  and  therefore—-' 

*^  *'  1  must  not  be  intenrupted,  Mr  Per- 
cy "• 

And  the  bare  thought  of  such  a  he- 
resy 10  startles  the  servant  who  is 
changing  Sir  Hujgh's  plate,  that  he 
letsitflul,  and  disposes  the  contents 
OTer  his  master's  laoed  waistcoat. 
.  **The  poor  man  apologized  and  trem- 
bled. Mr  Butler  pushed  the  man  with 
some  rudeness  fh)m  the  post  of  honour, 
and  frowned  on  him  whilst  he  applied  his 
nj^kin  to  the  part  affbcted. 

**>  •  It's  no  matter,'  obsenred  Sir  Hugh, 
ooUeoting  all  his  benevolence  of  manner 
(which  appeared  to  be  necessary  on  the  oc- 
casion) ; '  Good  Richard  did  not  intend  it.* 

*^  *'  No,  indeed,  your  honour.  Sir  Hugh.' 

*(  *  I  vn  perfiBctly  assured  of  that — Go, 
my  worthy  Richard,  you  had  better  retire ; 
you  seem  much  agitaited.' 

**  *•  Such  a  dumsy  fellow  1'  muttered 
the  steward. 

*< « Such  a  master !'  repealed  the  but- 
ler. 

**  <  Ood  Uesshlm  V  whispeml  the  Uve- 
ried  semi-chorus. 

«« *•  The  Dresden  se^  too!'  exchumed  Mr 
Fblsoo,  the  steward,  in  a  louder  and  more 
emphatic  tone  of  voice." 

This  last  fact  ahnost  ruffles  the  pile 
of  her  ladyship's  velvet;  but  she  ob- 
serves that— 

««  *>  Oood  Richard  must  not  have  his 
mind  disturbed  by  that  reflection.' 

**  ^  Heavenly,  considerate  being  I'  cried 
Sir.Hugh,  who  stood  in  the  act  of  being 
rubbed  down,  like  one  of  his  own  long- 
toiled  coach  horses,  by  his  zealous  grooms. 
*Tbou  ' 

<«  *  Mittrett  of  thvtelf,  though  china 

bis  quQtction  is  out  of  its  place. 
Sir  Hugh  is  perfectlyserious  in  all  his 
commendations  of  Lady  Rodol^ha, 
and  would  be  shocked  at  the  very  idea 
of  a  joke  upon  such  a  subject  Even 
the  spilling  of  the  soup,  however,  can- 
not break  the  thread  of  the  worthy 
baronet's  reflections;  and  he  is  get- 
ting back  to  the  analysis  of ''  the  mo- 
ral virtues/'  when  the  sound  of  a  car- 
riage, under  the  windows,  makes  a  di- 
vereion  fin  Percy's  favour.  This  is 
Grandison  de  Lacy — returned  from 
his  travels.  The  servants  are  drawn 
up,  in  fbrm,  in  the  avenue ;  and  the ' 
dmner  party  ad[joums  to  receive  him, 
at  the  entrance  of  the  great  hall. 


ISm: 


liif 


There  was  ample  time^  as  well  as 
space,  to  afibrd  the  worthy  host  and 
hostess  a  full  opportunity  of  making 
their  observations  upon  the  person  and 
appearance  of  Mr  Grandison  de  Lacy. 

*•  •  The  excellent  youth  still  preserves 
the  dignified  deportment  of  the  family,* 
observed  the  Baronet  complacently  to  his 
lady. 

'*  *  Ingenuous  Grandison  ! — But  what, 
my  good  Sir  Hugh,  has  the  beloved  child 
of  my  heart  tied  round  his  neck  ?' 

'•  '  It's  a  Belcher,'  interrupted  Percy, 
thrusting  his  head  forward. 

"  *  MX  Percy  Rycott  I—we  are  not  ac- 
customed to— >' 

•«  *  Good  heavens!*  ezdaimed  Lady 
Rodo^ha,  *•  he  walks  lame— I  trust  no  ac- 
cident  • 

« ^*  *  Harbour  no  fears,  my  too  sensitive 
Lady  Rodolpha,'  said  Sir  Hugh,  sooth- 
ingly. 

"  *  His  eyes  seem  affected,  papa,'  whis- 
pered Miss  Gertrude.  *  Grandison  never 
used  a  glass  before  he  left  England.' 

«*  ^  None  of  the  Orandisons  were  near, 
sighted,'  said  her  ladyship,  who  had  also 
observed  that  he  was  eyeing  everything 
and  every  person  through  his  glass.  But 
there  was  no  more  time  for  observation,  the 
hero  approached." 

He  appears,  aooomnamed  by  a  friend, 
and  loolung  a  good  aeal  like  a  puppy. 

^^  Towards  the  end  of  the  line,"  (of  ser- 
vants) ^'  a  cherry-dieeked  dairy-maid  at- 
tracted his  eye,  whom  he  patted  under  the 
chin  ;  and,  turning  to  his  companion,  ob- 
served, ^*  a  fine  Cumberland  pippin,  upon 
my  soul,  Birty  !' 

•«  Sir  Hugh  and  Lady  Rodolpha  abao- 
lutel^  started,  in  defiance  of  the  habitual 
rigidity  of  their  musdes ;  but  thc^  fth 
that  it  waa  not  intended  for  their  ears ;  and 
suddenly  resaining  their  self-possession, 

Caously  advanced  a  few  steps,  hand  in 
d,  towards  their  son. 

^' '  My  beloved  Grandison !'  cried  her 
ladyship,  with  a  tearful  eye. 

u  c  'HTeloome,  most  excellent  son,  to  the 
hall  of  thy  fathers !'  said  Sir  Hugh. 

«( *•  Hah  V  looking  at  them  through  hit 
fflass — ^  My  father,  and  my  lady  mother 
here  too  !*  shaking  both  with  a  listless  cor- 
diality by  the  hands,  which  had  been  ex- 
tended .ror  him  to  kiss  upon  his  bended 
knees  I — '  Delighted  to  see  you— am  upon 
my  honour — not  a  day  older— who  should 
tmnk  of  seeing  you  in  the  hall  among  thia 
omnium  gatherem — taken  by  surprise, 
*•  pon  my  souL 

*^  •  Whtn  should  we  be,  Mr  Grandison 
de  Lacy,  but  in  our  proper  station  ?*  de- 
manded Sir  Hugh,  with  no  slight  accfasion 
to  the  austere  formality  of  his  manners. 

^^  '  Beg  pardon  — quite  forgot— ^you 
11 


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Ptrtff  MaUory.  33 

•till-liejt  meets  with  a  Mn  Wigram  (the  tt  1^ 
vami  Jody  MaUory^  who  was  tnn- 
^orted  fbr  filchiog  mr  hero  from  his 
nmrsery ;)  and  Mrs  Mallory  (as  she  had 
done  at  the  Old  Bailey)  again  claims 
Perc^  for  her  child.  This  strange  is- 
sue IS  eventually  tried  at  law^  and  Mrs 
Wigram  is  successful.    Mr  Rycott  is 


kmp  t^  the  aatiqiMited 
my  very  best  of  &thcn!' 

'*  Sir  Hugh  was  thrown  oat-— ^  You 
do  not,  Mr  Orandison,  team  to  recollect 
yottraater  Gertrude  I* 

^  ^  Gertrude !— is  that  fine  girl  my  lis- 
ter Gertrude  ? — may  I  die  if  I  thould  hsYe 
tttspeeted-1  three  years  ha?e  done  won- 

^« « Indeed  they  ha?e,*  sighed  Sir  Hugh  hroken-hearted^  and  would  oompro- 
— and  Lady  Rodolpha  signed  Hke  a  triple  mise ;  but  Percy  (now  Mallory)  he- 
echo,  comes  heroic   Miss  Bellenden  owns 

" '  Come,  my  girl— give  me  a  kiw — I  her  passion  for  him ;  but  he  renounces 
like oldcoitoms aomethnai.'  both  love  and  fortune ;  and  starting 

*'«  TheM  are  not  the  customs  of  Lacy    -      -      -  ••       -^ 

RojaL,'  observed  Sir  Hugh,  in  a  tone  which 
proved  that  his  equanimity  was  not  quite 
proof  against  unexpected  assaults ;  *•  but/ 
reooUectiDg  bimsdf,  he  added,  *  we  had 
better  adjoom,  with  thepermissidb  of  your 
best  of  mothers,  to  the  Oak  Parlour.*  ^* 

They  do  adjourn  to  '^  the  Oak  Par« 

lour ;"  and  there  our  author,  to  carry 

on  his  action,  takes  (right  or  wrong,) 

Uie  first  means  that  hapnen  to  present 

themselves.  Grandison  ae  Lacy — who 

is  afterwards  to  ''  do  amiable '  in  the 

book— outru;es,  without  the  slightest 

reason,  the  flings  of  all  his  family  ; 

and  insults  his  ola  play-mate  Percy, — 

who  leaves  the  house  upon  the  instant  \ 
The  next  chanter  is  full  of  (not 

very  original)  night  adventure.  Percy, 

halting  at  an  inn  half  way  between  ^ 

Lacy    Roysl  snd  Wolston  WorUiy,    whcTmra^ri^'ilid  mrwhims,  ^ "my 

wanders  about  in  the  dark,  and  falls    fancies,  are  consigned  to  the  vault  of  aU 

the  Capulets.* 

'* '  Heaven,  in  its  mercy,  long  avert  the 
day!* 

*'  *  I  believe  you  love  mc,  Percy  ;*-*and 
again  the  old  man  was  softened.  '  I  will 
not  press  you ;  you  have  much  to  contend 
with.  It  is  a  heavy,  cruel  rererse,  and  yao. 
bear  it  better,  fiur  better,  than  your  poor 
deserted  father;*  and  he  grasped  the  hands 
of  Percy,  whilst  he  attempted  to  raise  his 
eyes  to  his  face.  ^  I  have  run  riot  so  long, 
Percy,  and  commanded  others  until  1  have 
no  command  over  mjrsdf.  Go,  whilst  I  am 
able  to  part  with  you.  You,  Pcrcy,my be- 
loved boy,*— and  he  paused  tiemukvaly, 
*  are  no  longer  my  son ;  but*  and  hs 
seemed  at  once  animated  by  a  new  spint 


for  London,  to  enter  himself  for  the 
Bar, — takes  leave  of  his  bng  supposed 
father. 

The  partfhg  interview  between  Per- 
cy and  Mr  Rycott  is  a  fair  example  of 
our  author's  talents  for  serious  wri- 
ting ;  but  it  is  long,  and  we  must  li- 
mit our  extract  f^om  it  almost  to  a 
single  passage. 

The  question  is  as  to  our  hero's 
marriage  with  Miss  Bellenden.  Real- 
leges ms  poverty,  and  reftises  to  let 
Mr  Rycott  remove  the  obstacle.  It  Is 
Mr  Ryo9tt  here  who  replies — 

"  *By  Jove  !  sir,  I  will  be  obeyed.  Not 
now — not  now — ^you  have  it  all  your  own 
way,  and  I  cannot,  must  not,  deny  that 
you  are  right;  but  my  time  may  come, 
nay,  shall  come — ^yes,  sirrah,  when  these 
ola  bones  are  whitening  in  their  grave 


into  a  house  occupied  by  smugglers. 
He  is  wounded  almost  to  the  death- 
hears  strange  things  from  the  gipsy, 
Alice  Halpin — ^is  saved  by  a ''  Gnost," 
who  turns  out  to  be  his  oldest  ac- 
quaintance— and  attains,  grievously 
battered,  in^  the  fair  han£  of  Miss 
Bellenden. 

The  second  volume  opens  with  a 
visit  (again)  from  our  friend  Dr  Driz- 
zlethwaite.  Before  Mr  Percy  sent  for 
him  to  Miss  Bellenden — now.  Miss 
Bellenden  sends  for  him  to  Mr  Percy. 

The  Doctor  arrives  (it  being  very 
early  in  the  morning)  without  having 
made  hip  toilet ;  and  he  shaves  him** 

self  at  the  sick  man's  bedside-using    equally  remote  from  queruloosneasmdim- 
the  French  governess's  flounced  petti-    lytuosity,  as  he  solemnly  wae  ftom  his 


ject  not— what  I  have,  or  may  have,  in 
,  •        ,     ,  cm  w    ^jj  ii^orld,  was  destined  to  you  from  the 

Aave  on   hcMrsehack,  as  they   come    Yionr  I  hoped— I  thought- 1  possosed  a 


tent  raior,--.which  enables  them  to    '^^  ^^rld,  was  destinnl  to  y«i  from  the 


along-— The  story  then,  for  about  two  ^n.  Not  ui  act,  not  a  iord,  not  a  thought 

hundred  pages,  grows  very  intricate  from  your  cradle  to  this  hour,  has  cast  a 

indeed.     Mr  Rycott,  going  to  Miss  shade  over  your  ehtims  to  my  affectkm. 

Bellenden's  to  fetch  his  son  home.  Do  not  speak  to  me ;  I  cannot  bear  it  On 
Vol.  XV  E 


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34  Poxy  Mathry, 

thk  point  I  am  l^biolute,  and  I  have  a 
right  to  be  sow  There  if  not,  on  the  wide 
surface  of  the  globe,  a  being  who  haa  a 
dium  upon  my  prq)erty,  mueh  lesi  upon 
my  luSection^  excegt  youneli  Not  a  word 
for  once  there  it  yirtue  in  despotiam.'  '* 

The  chief  fault  of  this  separation  is, 
that  there  seems  very  little  reason  why 
it  should  take  place.  Percy  Malhny, 
however,  goes  to  London,  recommend- 
ed to  Mr  Clement  Dossiter,  attorney  at 
law,  of  Chancery  Lane ;  and  he  be- 
comes acquainted  witih  Mr  Dossiter's 
son,  Mr  Clarendon  Dossiter,  who  lays 
a  plan  for  plundering  him  at  the  ga- 
mmg-table.  The  intrigue  is  at  last 
frus^ted  by  the  interference  of  Gran- 
disoB  de  Lacy,  who  now  appears  as  a 
dashing,  but  an  intelligent  and  respec- 
tahle  young  man. 

Modish  parties  have  heen  hacked 
out,  over  and  over  again,  as  subjects 
among  novel  writers ;  but  De  LacVs 
cabridet  is  the  first  of  those  vehicles 
([we  believe)  that  has  been  desoibed 
in  point. 

<*  Hit  (Pere7*8)  turpriaee  were  not  des- 
tined to  end  here ;  for,  when  fairly  landed 
on  the  outside  of  the  threshold,  instead  of 
a  carriage,  which  he  concluded  would  be 
either  a  chariot  or  a  coach,  he  perceived 
drawn  up  to  the  side  of  the  pavement,  a 
non-descript  vehicle,  which  appeared,  at 
first  sight,  like  a  French  bonnet  in  mourn- 
ing* 

" '  In  with  you,  Percy,'  cried  De  Lacy, 
pointing  to  the  nuu;hine.  ^  Birtwhistle, 
you  must  walk,*  and  the  shadow  lost  its 
grade  in  departing  from  its  substance.'* 

Mr  fiirtwhisUe  is  a  sort  of  hanger 
on ;  not  a  true  Toady  (^ough  he  is 
called  one)  to  De  Lacy,  whom  the  au- 
thor afterwairds,  most  unexpectedly, 
marries  to  Miss  Gertrude. 

" '  In  with  you,  Percy,'  said  De  Lacy. 

***In!— how?" 

"  •  Thus,'  replied  he,  duckuig  his  own 
head  under  the  leathern  pent-house,  whilst 
one  servant  stood  at  the  horse's  head,  who 
was  fidgetting  and  plunging  amid  the  tu- 
mult thqgit  him  ;  and  another  held  down 
the  front,  or  spron,  as  he  dived  into  the 
vehicle.  Dexterously  seizing  the  reins,  he 
held  out  his  spare  hand  as  a  guide  to  Per- 
cy, to  place  him  by  his  side.  Seeing  the 
disposition  of  the  horse,  the  Utter  was  per- 
fectly aware,  that  to  hesitate  was  to  be 
lost ;  and>  trusting  to  his  pilot,  he  made 
the  leap  in  the  dark,  and  fbund  himself,  in 
two  seconds,  fast  bound,  tnd  locked  in  a 
sort  of  band-box,  or  rather  pOlory,  where 
the  head  and  hands  of  the  charioteer  only 
were  visible  above  board ;  and,  if  Ae  mob 


CJtt. 


of  rival  eorttsndirs  by  wham  they  wwa 
surrounded,  had  been  at  liber^  to  bestow 
as  much  manual  aa  oral  filth  upon  the 
*  Gemmaa  saivey,'  and  his  ^  Frenchy  oo 
cait,'  their  position  would  have  been  still 
more  appropriate ;  for,  be  it  known,  that 
this  was  the  first  spring  in  which  ^e  French 
discoveries  in  comfort  and  carriage-building 
had  been  translated  into  £n^h  in  the 
form  of  *  noddies,'  or,  more  technically 
speaking,  *  cabriolets,'  as  dandy  conveyan- 
ces to  operas  and  parties." 

In  the  third  volume,  our  author,  at 
great  length,  allows  his  plot  to  thick- 
en ;  but,  when  it  comes  to  the  busineta 
of  unravelling,  he  takes  us  up  very 
short  indeed. 

Vapid  found  '  the  last  line'  the  de- 
vil, and  so  does  the  author  of  Percy 
Mallory.  But  Vapid  refused  to '^  pat 
in  anything,"  and  so  does  not  the  au- 
thor of  Percy  Mallonr. 

A  clertaii^  "  Lord  Harweden"  is  in- 
troduced upon  the  stage,  who  happens 
to  be  Mr  Rycott  of  Cumberland's  oro- 
ther ;  and,  m  the  supposed  son  of  Lord 
Harweden,  (a  weak  lad,  called  *'  Lord 
Brandon,"^  Percy  fkndes  he  discovers 
Mr  Rycott  s  real  son,  whom  he  him- 
self for  so  many  years  represented. 
Here  is  one  incident,  sufficient,  of  it- 
self, to  fill  half  a  doxen  volumes  with 
perplexity;  but  the  author  of  Pen 
Owen  Roes  on. 

Lord  Brandon  is  killed  in  a  fray  at 
a  gambling-house.  Lord  Harweden 
confesses  tnat  the  deceased  was  not 
his  son ;  opens  a  story  of  his  having  a 
daughter,  (who  can  be  no  other  than 
Miss  Bellenden,)  confined  (the  Lord 
alone  can  tell  wny)  in  a  mad-house ; 
and  sends  off  Percy  (whom  he  has 
made  his  confidant^  to  liberate  and 
protect  her.  Now,  this  is  furious  dri- 
ving, without  much  respect  to  posts 
or  corners;  but  "  over  shoe8,-'Ovcr 
boots,"  seems  the  perpetrator  of  Percy 
Mallorv's  motto. 

Lonl  HarwedOh  dies — "  the  people 
do  nothing  but  die  at  Tadcaster  r  and 
Mr  Rycott  succeeds'  to  his  title  and 
estate.  Lord  Brandon  is  ascertained 
to  have  been  the  mysterious  son  of 
Judy  Mallory,  and  Percy  belongs  again 
to  his  original  reputed  parents  f  ^nien 
there  is  mercy  for  the  rogues  of  the 
piece,  and  marriage  for  the  young 
people ! — One  or  two  caitifib  more  are 
transported— lust  to  match  the  end  of 
the  book  with  the  beginning! — ^And 
the  author  concludes  with  an  apology 
fbr  the  intricacy  of  his  tale,  observing. 


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1894.;]  PSrrcy  MoUar^. 

llMit  tbe  Imt  is  tiotf  a2aMf|t#  tbe  pro*     the  best  use  of  it. 
bakle ;  wkidi  positioii,  as  regards  the 
"*  may  be  perfectly  sound ;  but 


book. 


tmc," 
tbe  probabilitj  of  fhlnkood  should 
oertainlj  be  inyariable. 

We  haye  used  up  our  allowance  of 
roomfor  selection ;  and  the  di£[li8e  style 
in  which  the  author  of  Percy  Mallory 
succeeds  best,  would  make  short  ex- 
tracts unavaiHng.  There  are  many 
admirable  things  in  the  last  volume^ 
mixed  with  a  grnt  deal  that  is  sloTcn- 
ly.  The  scene  in  which  Percy>  by 
r's  contriTance,  is  taken  for  a 
J  is  one  of  the  best  hits  in  the 
Dr  Beekerdyke,  tho  lunatic 
ptoleasor,  is  Tery  happily  touched  in- 
deed. We  feel  sure,  through  sil  his 
solenmity^  that  he  has  a  strait  waist- 
coat in  lus  pocket  And^  indeed,  the 
whole  scene  in  which  he  questiom 
and  cross-examines  his  supposed  pa- 
tient, shews  so  much  Icquaintance 
with  the  etiquette  of  Bedlam,  that  we 
are  not  sure  that  our  author  is  not  a 
mad  doctor  himself. 

But  be  he  what  he  may— and  if  he 
were  eren  a  mad  man,  much  less  a 
mad-doctor,  we  should  on  that  score 
laise  no  oK^eetion  to  him—- he  has  ta- 
lent, and  a  Tast  deal  of  talent,  if  he 
would  but  take  the  trouble  to  make 


His  pment  work 
is  better,  upon  the  whole,  than  Pe|i 
Owen;  but  its  faults  (and  they  are 
not  few)  are  pretty  generally  of  the 
same  character.  In  both  novels,  the 
mreat  charm  lies  nnquesdonably  in  the 
display  of  a  rtrr  extraordinary  mea- 
sure of  practical  stirewdness  and  know- 
ledge of  life.  In  addition  to  this.  Pen 
Owen  had  a  strong  ^ice  of  political^ 
and  this  book  has  astrong spice  of  ro* 
mantie  interest  The  author  appears 
to  be  gaining  skill  as  to  the  manage- 
ment of  fftble ;  althoufl^  we  are  ftf 
from  wishing  him  to  bdieye  thatihe  is 
not  still  much  below  what  he  might 
make  himsdfas  to  this  point  In  that 
and  other  minor  matters  he  may  and 
must  improve ;  we  certainly  can  scarce- 
ly hope  to  see  him  better  than  he  is 
already  in  regard  to  certain  qualifica- 
tions of  a  much  higher  order — ^uali- 
^tions  in  which  he  certainly  is  not 
surpassed  by  any  living  author,  in  any 
atyfe  whatever — the  charming  idiom- 
atic character  of  his  knguage— the  na- 
tive flow  of  his  wit— his  keen  satire 
and  thorough  acquaintance  with  man, 
as  man  exists  in  tbe  19th  centurjr, 
and  more  enpeeially  as  he  exists  m 
London. 


SEA-SIDE  SKETCHES. 

No.  III. 

A  Day  at  Hurst  Castle, 

Yet  once  more,  azure  ocean,  and  once  more. 
Ye  lighted  headlands,  and  Uiou  stretching  shore, 
Down  on  the  beauties  of  your  scenes  we  cast 
A  tender  look 

Bowles. 


A  PiMB  day's  lounge  on  the  sea- 
dbore  is  as  hign  a  treat  aa  can  be  ima- 
s;iiied  for  all  young  persons,  to  whom 
it  is  either  a  novelty  or  an  indulgence, 
some  space  removed  out  of  their  every- 
day reach.  During  my  early  years,  I 
was  in  the  latter  predicament ;  the 
beadi,  wfakh  atretchcafrom  a  pdnt  op- 
WBte  to  the  west  end  of  the  Isle  of 
Wig^t  on  toDorsetdiire,  being  at  the 
distance  of  afew  miles  from  my  abode ; 
it  waa,  indeed,  eenly  within  a  ride ; 
aod,  after  I  had  entered  my  teens, 
come-at-able  by  me  in  a  walk,  provi- 
ded that  I  put  my  best  foot  foremost, 
•ad  steppea  ont  stoutly ;  but  then  this 
WIS  BO  pioper  prdode  to  uie  sort  of 
cijojmeBt  1  hi^e  been  speaking  of. 


Such  a  day  as  I  mean,  must  begin  with 
an  uninterrupted  morning,  spent  in 
idling  beneatn  the  sun — ''  One  lon|| 
summer^s  day  of  indolence  and  mirth, 
is  the  postulate  of  the  gratification  ;— 
to  have  nothing  to  do  <^  more  moment 
than  to  pelt  t&  tenth  wave,  which  is 
the  largest,  though  some  say  the  ninth, 
some  tne  sevenUi, — ^wdl,  it  shall  be 
allowable  to  bring  that  knotty  point, 
and  that  only,  under  discussion ; — to 
ramble,  as  humour  urges,  along  this 
selvidge  of  nature's  web; — now  labo- 
riously to  plod  your  way  in  the  loose 
shingle  above,  that  rattles  and  rolls 
under  your  tread,  as  if  you  were  on 
the  roof  of  a  house  where  the  tiles  are 
loose  ;«-«ow  to  paee,  and  be  almost 


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Si 

tempted  to  ttampi  upon  the  white  sand 
beneath^  which  feeb  uimaturally  firm, 
and  lereli  and  silent,  whenever  you 
soddenly  leave  your  noisy  and  unsteady 
footing  on  the  gravelly  rampart  whicn 
borders  it ; — to  revel  iiour  after  hour 
amidst  the  in-drawing  breeze  from  the 
ocean,  which  has,  for  both  the  sensa- 


Sea^iide  Sketches.  No.  III.  ^Jm. 

inconsiderable  a  one,  whidi  has  the 
better  fortune  of  having  a  name,  be- 
ing called  the  Start.  We  landed  on 
the  small  barren  peninsula,  which  fiur« 
nlshes  a  site  for  the  fortress,  and  has 
an  area  bearing  about  as  much  propor- 
tion to  the  long  contracted  path,  wnich 
fastens  it  on  to  the  mainland,  as  the 


tion  and  the  imagination,  something  of  crook  of  a  bishop's  crosier  does  to  the 


elemental  purity,  and  of  renovating 
freshness  iu  it,  that  is  soberly  luxu- 
rious : — this,  then,  is  the  sort  of  sea- 
side enjoyment  which  is  the  perfection 
of  d)at  kind  of  delight;  and  with  all 
appliances  and  means  to  taste  it,  I  had 
i^  when,  as  a  stripling,  I  sometimes 
staid  at  a  little  village  in  the  immedi- 
ate neighbouroood  of  HordleClifP.  Let 
me  now  endeavour  to  live  over  again, 
onedav  at  least,  of  that  season  of  buoy- 
ant spurits,  and  well-tuned  nerves,  and 
of  ravenous  but  easily-fed  curiosity ; 
and  if  I  should,  percmnce,  combine 
as  the  occurrences  of  one  day  what  were 
bdike  those  of  divers,  I  will  not  in- 
tentionally stray  finom  substantial  and 
intrinsic  truth,  however  I  may  tread 
a  little  awry,  where  thatwhich  is  mere- 
ly formal  and  non-essential,  comes  in- 
to the  woof  of  m  J  narrative.  My  wish 
is,  to  go  again  in  a  day-dream  upon 
one  of  my  old  visits  to  Hurst  Castle. 
The  spot  where  it  lies  is  a  little  world's 
end  of  its  own,  terminating  a  weari- 
some and  narrow  spot  of  heaped-up 


tap^  shaft ;  and,  on  the  map  of  Hants, 
the  ichnography  of  the  whole  bears  no 
unapt  resemblance  to  the  shape  of  that 
emblem  of  prelatical  authonty.  We 
have  landed  on  no  valuable  territory  ; 
it  is  a  mere  waste  of  brown  pebbles^ 
girdled  with  a  belt  of  pale  grev  sand. 
The  castle  is  a  fortification  of  Harry 
the  Eighth's  days,  though  it  has  been 
remodelled  in  pur  times,  and  sinee  the 
date  of  my  visits,  by  having  the  oen* 
tre  turned  into  a  martello  tower. 

It  is  chieflj  remarkaUe  as  having 
been  at  one  time  the  place  of  captivity 
of  Charles  the  First— unluckily  the 
alterations  made  it  necessary  to  demo- 
lish the  room  he  was  confined  in ;  so 
that  now  the  call  for  local  emotion  is 
not  so  urgently  made  upon  our  sym- 
pathies. When  I  was  there,  however, 
the  dark  chamber  was  in  being,  and 
though  the  shores  of  the  beautiful  isle 
were  before  the  eyes  of  the  royal  pri- 
soner, yet  was  he  within  such  pre- 
cincts of  actual  barrenness  and  desola- 
tion, that  it  must  have  weighed  heavy 
on  his  spirits.    The  rest  of  the  habit- 


gravel  ofroore  than  twomiles  in  length;  

this  only  road-way  to  the  Castle,  has  a    able  world  here  may  be  summed  up 
limitless  view  of  the  main  ocean  on    in  saying,  there  is  a  public-house,  two 


the  right  hand,  while,  on  th&left,  the 
water  touches  it  inde^  when  Uie  tide 
is  up ;  but,  as  it  ebbs,  a  vast  expanse 
of  weedy  ooze  o£fers  itself,  spreading 
out  towards  the  channel,  which  sepa- 
rates the  Isle  of  Wight  firom  Hamp- 
shire. 

Well  then,  I  am  off  for  Hurst— a 
gloriously  bright  morning — ^my  com- 
panions, two  boys  and  a  girl  of  my 
own  age,  with  an  elder  sister  of  hers, 
<^  authority  enough,  from  her  ftrther 
advance  towards  womanhood,  to  keep 
us  in  check,  without  any  suspicion  on 
our  part  of  ho*  wishing  to  thwart 


-*^  It  seems  a  day. 


I  epeak  of  one  tnm  many  singled  out, 
One  of  those  heavenly  days  that  cannot  die. 
When  forth  I  jjaUied." 

A  boat  conveyed  us  ttcm  the  ham- 
let of  Keyhaven,  down  the  winding 
outlet  of  a  nameless  stream,  which  waa 
joined,  before  we  got  to  Hurst,  by  as 


light-bouses  (one  a  recent  erection,) 
and  they  answer  to  the  high  one  on 
the  down  at  the  Needles,  for  the  jawa 
of  our  channel  are  of  no  safe  approach 
— and  there  is  here  an  anomalous 
structure  or  two  besides,  the  relics,  I 
believe,  of  an  abandoned  speenlatton 
in  fish-curing.  What  then  is  there 
for  such  hi^ly  applauded  amuse- 
ment ?  some  one  may  say.  Never  Bear'— 
let  us  work  our  way  over  the  heaps  of 
loosely-piled  shingle,  down  to  the ''  tip 
of  ocean,"  and  we  shall  find  matters 
enough  to  hold  us  in  some  sent  of  oc- 
cupation. Now  look  seaward — ^is  not 
this  capacious  bay  wmrth  gazing  upon, 
with  the  Needle  Rocks  for  our  PillarB 
of  Hercules  at  the  home  extremity, 
and  having  the  fkr-off,  but  stiU  dai^- 
zling  clifiii  of  Pcnrtland,  at  the  other 
horn  of  the  crescent?  Often  on  thia 
coast  have  I  seen  those  exquisite  lines 
of  Southey  verified,  oftra  borne  wit- 
ness that  they  are  not  extravagant—- 
the  marine  picture  has  been  as  bright 


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before  my  eyei  at  it  was  before  thoie 

of  Madoo— 

•'  There  vas  not  on  that  day,  a  speck  to 

stam 
The  azare  hea?  en ;  the  blessed  sun  alone, 
In  unaporoachable  divinity 
Careeredt  lejoidng  io  his  fields  of  light. 
How  beautiful,  beneath  the  bright  blue 

•ky* 
The  billows  heave  !  one  ^wing  green  ex* 

panse. 
Save  where  along  the  bending  line  of  shore 
Such  hue  is  thrown,  as  when  the  peacock's 

neck 
Assumes  ito  proudest  tint  of  amethyst, 
.Bmbathed  in  emerald  glory.** 

If  it  80  happens  th^t  the  atmosphere 
doea  not  favour  you  with  all  this—or 
tf  your  fancy  ia  oppreaaed  by  the  ex- 
tent and  indefiniteness  of  the  whole 
mxrrej,  take  some  particular  otgect— 
look^  there  is  aomeuiing  on  the  hori- 
son,  doubtlesa^  a  vessel;  watch  her 
appnaeh  with  the  apy-glasa,  for  that 
implement  ia  to  be  found  in  every 
one'a  hand. 

^^  A  sail,  a  sail !  apromised  prize  to  hope— 
Her  nation?   flag?   what  says  the  tele- 
scope?** 

Much  and  boyishly  did  I  uae  to  mar- 
vd  when  my  eye,  by  means  of  the  <^ 
tic  tube^  caught  view  of  such  a  far-off 
object.  Feep  attentively,  do  you  not 
now  diatincUy  discern  that  it  is  a 
ahip,  ahapeleaa  aa  it  ia  to  the  naked 
eye  ?  Weil  now,  if  you  be  not  a  phi- 
loBcmher,  or  at  least  ingrained  in  nau* 
tical  experience,  you  will  wonder  as  I 
used  to  do— for  do  you  not  see,  ay, 
plainly  see,  that  she  ia  half  immer- 
sed in  the  wavea  that  heave  and 
toea  around  her?  Her  topmasts  and 
saila  are  alone  visible,  and  were  she  a 
mere  raft,  so  little  of  her  lower  parts 
cotild  scarcely  be  presented  to  us  ;  and 
yet  ahe  comes  on  aa  gallantly  as  if  ail 
were  rig^fe— and  ao  it  ia.  Long  waa 
it,  ere  I  could  quite  reconcile  myself 
to  this  practical  exemplification  of  the 
earth's  rotundity ;  and  I  used  to  think, 
with  the  aelf-congratulating  diudder 
of  conacioua  aafe^,  such  aa  comes  over 
one  at  the  warm  fire-side,  when  sleety 
wind  hiasea  and  hurtlea  upon  the 
window  panes,  that  at  all  eventa  I 
would  rather  sail  in  a  vessel  which 
might  appear  on  the  surface  of  the 
water,  aa  wdl  aa  really  be  upon  it,  for 
ao  I  waa  gravely  assured  that  very  ship 
actually  was,  in  ^te  of  all  that  per- 
suaded me  to  the  contrarv.  But  we 
will  let  our  new  disooverea  one  arrive 


Sea-9ide  Sketches.  No.  111. 


37 


at  leisure,  and  she  will  not  apparently 
use  much  hurry  to  overtaJce  us.  Mean- 
while, what  are  those  great  black  spots 
that  come, and  go  among  the  waves  ? 
'*  Porpoises,  little  master,"  quoth  an 
old  gunner  from  the  Castle,  who,  in 
the  dreary  lack  of  boon  companions  in 
this  half  isolated  place,  was  glad  to 
tramp  about  with  our  little  squadron. 
"  Ay,"  said  he,  "  and  I  vrarrant  me, 
they  are  after  a  fine  shod  of  macka- 
rel.' 

This  was  information  indeed ;  and 
many  little,  bright  eyes  kept  sharp 
look-out— many  too  were  the  questiona 
upon  the  point  which  we  put  to  our 
self-elected  Cicerone,  in  his  formal  cut 
dark  blue  coat,  edged  with  yellow  lace, 
and  whose  nrey-haired  pate  waa  sur- 
mounted wiUi  a  knowing  cocked  hat,  for 
the  glory  of  that  species  of  head-gear 
had  not  then  departed,  aa  it  now  aeema 
to  have  done,  irrecoverably  and  forever. 
We  learnt  from  him,  that  the  porpoises 
would  drive  in  nearer  with  the  state  of 
the  tide ;  and  truly,  bv  and  by^  they 
came  so  much  into  the  bay,  as  that  we 
could  discern  their  shining  black  gib» 
bona  backs,  which  rose  and  aunk  aa 
they  rolled  forward — much  about  with 
a  curve,  as  I  conjecture,  like  that 
which  the  hump  of  a  dromedary  must 
deacribe,  when  the  animal  is  delibe* 
rately  advancing  in  a  long  swinging 
gallop.  These  sea-swine  studded  the 
waves  by  twos  and  threes  for  a  few 
momenta,  and  then  povelled  deeper. 
I  sigh  to  say  it,  but  it  haa  been  sup- 
posed bynaturalists,  that  these  are  the 
dolphins  of  the  andenta,  whidi  are  al- 
ways represented  in  an  arched  posture 
— and  bui  enough  it  is,  if  all  our  fine 
dreams  about  them  are  to  end  in  sur- 
veying the  swart  chines  of  a  shoal  of 
porpoises.  And  yet  there  are  worse 
competitors,  at  least  as  fiir  aa  name 
goes;  for  some  men  of  science  aver, 
Uiat  the  bottle-noaed  whale  is  the  veri- 
table classic  dolphin.  Powers  of  taste- 
ful association,  what  a  blow  is  aimed 
at  you,  when  we  are  tied  down  to  diink 
of  Arion  touchinff  his  lyre,  as  he  squat- 
ted on  the  dorsal  fin  of  a  bottle-nosed 
whale!  While,  however,  we  have  been 
watching  the  unwieldv  gambola  of 
these  ravenous  fish,  the  vessel  haa 
come  better  within  view ;  and,  aa  tbe 
channel  is  so  narrow  between  the  is- 
land and  us,  she  must  give  us  more 
and  more  opportunity  of  examining 
her.  She  turns  out  to  be  a  Kingns 
ship,  a  small  firigate— and  oh  how 


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38  Sta-iide  Sktkhei* 

steadily  iom  the  eni  through  the 
crowding  ■nrget— every  moment  lets 
vs  see  somethmg  mora  of  her— at  first, 
an  hour  or  two  ago,  she  was  a  speck 
on  the  verge  of  "  the  low  wavering 
dcy," — then  she  assumed  the  appear- 
ance of  a  distant  tower — the  perspeo* 
tave  glass  annihilated  much  of  the  in- 
terspace, and  we  made  out  her  sails — 
sb^y  the  hull  loomed  into  view— and 
now,  minute  after  minute  makes  eadi 
part  of  her  more  dear  and  evident 
even  to  the  naked  eye — ^we  see  how 
stiffly  her  sails  are  bent—we  can  count 
her  port-holes  on  the  nither  side,  and 
guess  at  her  rate — we  see  her  pendants 
and  the  broad  union— some  dark  move- 
able spots  above  and  below  betray  that 
they  are  the  tars  who  people  her^— and 
anon,  as  she  passes  under  the  walls,  we 
may  catch  glimpses  of  the  privileged 
demaens  of  the  quarter-deck,  yn,  per- 
haps, makeouttbeoommand^  himself, 
the  dignified  viceroy  of  this  moving 
Uand.  Passive  admiration,  however, 
will  not  do  for  childr^,  if  a  long 
Btretdi  of  it  be  reouired— we  had  pock- 
ets and  baskets  wnich  were  destined  to 
carry  home  trophies  and  pzoofi  of  our 
visit  to  Hurst.  Now,  there  were  two 
lines  a£  discovery  which  such  searchers 
for  trifles  as  we  youngsters  were  might 
profitably  pursue.  One  lies  high  and 
dry,  and  is  upon  the  gravd,  where  all 
those  things  are  accumulated  whidi 
die  winter  storms  fiing  up  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  ordinary  ttdes,  and  which 
the  blast  can  toss  no  fiutfaer ;  for  here 
the  pd>ble8  begin  to  be  heaped  into  a 
series  of  natural  terraces,  and  the  trea- 
sures we  came  hunting  for  lie  at  the 
foot  of  not  quite  the  bwermost  of 
these.  They  were  not  exactly  of  the 
value  of  those  which  Clarence  tells  us 


*'  Lie  scattered  at  the  bottom  of  the  i 
Wedges  of  gold,  great  andiors,  heaps  of 

pearl, 
loestimable  stones,  unvalued  jeweb.**— 

No,  ours  were  of  that  incidental  value 
which  exdtes  no  envy,  and  there  were 
enough  for  all  who  thought  it  worth 
while  to  glean  them.  Fiist,  then,  we 
seeuredsomeof  the  boat-shaped  exuvim 
of  the  cuttle-fish,  snowy  white,  and 
fiunous  among  school-boys  for  scraping 
into  pounce; — next  offfcred  themselves, 
little  purse-like  things,  of  which,  to 
this  day,  I  know  not  whether  they  be 
of  the  animal  or  vegetable  kingdom ; 
their  substance  is  lue  court  sttcking- 
plaister;  they  are  square,  and  bulging. 


No.  IlL  [;jan. 

and  hdlow,  with  a  string  at  eadi  cor- 
ner ;  and  if  you  open  one,  you  will 
find  nothing  good,  lyad,  or  indiffisrent 
within  it ;  they  were  a  puzzle  to  me 
then,  and  I  am  content  that  they  diould 
remain  so  now ;— then  we  gathered  up 
bolls  of  marine  growth,  exactly  like 
the  flowers  of  the  gudder  rose  ;  and  no 
wonder  we  called  tnem  sea-foam,  since 
Cowper,  speaking  of  that  shrub,  says 
it  throws  up 

'* into  the  gloom 

Of  neighbouring  cypress,  or  more  sober 

jrew, 
Its  Sliver  globes,  light  as  the  foaming  surf 
Which  the  wind  severs  from  the  broken 


Other  valuables  here  found,  were 
feathers  of  aquatic  fowl,  foreign  seeds, 
such  as  cashew  and  cocoa-nuts,  corks, 
and  all  matters  buoyant  enough  to  sup- 
port themsdves  through  a  world- wioe 
voyage.  The  pieces  Si  wood  that  lay 
here,  had,  from  immersion  in  se^wa- 
ter,  and  subsequent  exposure  to  wind 
and  sun,  acquired  an  almost  sattiny 
lustre.  Shells,  of  course,  were  obvious 
enough,  though  none  of  value  or  great 
beauty — ^though,  let  me  except  the  de- 
licate coat-armour  of  the  sea-urchin, 
too  flngile  almost  to  be  found  unbro- 
ken ;  and,  as  the  dandies  of  the  days 
of  chivalry  had  their  cuirasses  embo»- 
ed  with  predous  stones,  so  does  it  seem 
as  if  the  echini  had  theirs  studded 
with  pearls.  The  rest  of  the  rubbith 
(as  some  would  call  it,)  consisted  of 
bits  of  cornelian,  and  pretty  stones, 
and  ludcy  stones,  for  such  we  young 
things  accounted  those  which  had  a 
hole  through  them.  But  it  is  time  to 
go  beneath.  Now  to  be  a  collector  on 
the  lower  gtraium,  vras  a  service  of  a 
more  adventurous  cast,  for  at  all  timea 
on  the  margin  of  the  open  sea,  there  is 
eurf.  This  day,  however,  ^e  billows 
came  landward  most  ddiberstdy,  and 
arrived  ashore  generally  in  one  long 
line;  there  they  were  poured  down  in 
a  graceful  curve  every  minute,  and  the 
body  of  water  wm  instantly  ahot  for- 
ward over  the  flat  sand,  where  it  ^read 
like  a  fine  piece  of  ganz^work,  and 
then  hurriea  back  to  be  in  time  for  the 
next  race;  and  the  absorption  on  the 
sand  was  so  quidt,  that  all  iras  in- 
stantaneoudy  dry.  This  *'  land  de- 
bateable"  was  our  field  of  action,  and 
it  was  needful  to  retreat  pretty  brisk- 
ly, while  the  long-extended  wave  vras 
hanging  on  the  turn,  or  your  ankles 
.ran  the  risk  of  a  cooling  bath— «  cak- 


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1824.3 


Sea-side  Skeichet.  No.  Ill, 


39 


mity  which  etch  was  on  the  watdi  to 
entitp  the  othen  into  safiering^now 

adtfing  them  to  stay  at  a  mark  not 
rays  mched  by  the  water — ^now  by 
^Bstncting  some  witless  one's  atten- 
tion, wh^  he  was  confessedly  on  a 
spot  liable  to  the  incursion  of  the  in- 
vading enemy— and  many  a  merry 
laogh  chimed  in  with  the  dash  of  the 
surge,  either  as  it  caught  a  loiterer,  or 
swept  off  from  his  stretched-fbrth  fin- 
gers the  Drey  he  was  just  going  to  se- 
cure. Tne  chief  spoils  hm  to  be  ex- 
pected, are  sea^weeds  in  their  more  re- 
cent state.  Of  the  minuter  sorts,  there 
is  considerable  variety,  and  pretty 
enough  they  are  in  themselves,  but  1 
used  to  put  them  to  a  purpose  for 
which  they  were  not  wejl  qualified. 
Many  a  sneet  of  letter-paper,  and 
many  a  sticky  bottle  of  ^m-water, 
did  I  lavish  upon  them  m  days  of 
yore — hours  were  spent  in  spreading 
out  and  disentangling  with  a  pin  thdr 
filaments  of  red,  or  green,  or  ydlow, 
or  brown — and  so  far  was  well  enough. 
But  I  wanted  to  aid  my  graphic  talents, 
and  pressed  them  into  the  service  as 
trees,  whidi  they  represented  rather 
vilely,  though,  to  be  sure,  they  were 
kept  in  countenance  while  acting  in 
that  duuracter,  by  the  houses,  and 
men,  and  steeds,  which  I  sketched 
around  them.  Of  the  lar^  sorts  (Xf 
sea-ware  which  la^  within  our  ken, 
all  flaccid  and  dripping,  we  found  some 
of  the  consistence  of  Indian-rubber, 
having  a  round  flexible  stalk,  with 
long  evenlv  cut  thongs  diverging  from 
it--(and,  by  a  boy,  in  a  passion,  I  saw 
it  ^lied  as  a  whip  most  furiously, 
but  this  was  not  in  the  present  jaunt;) 
then,  too,  there  was  that  better  known 
kind,  of  the  breadth  of  antiquated  rib- 
bon, once  used  for  sashes,  sU  puffed 
and  wrinkled  at  the  edges,  which  in- 
land folks  carry  off  to  himg  up  as  a  na- 
tural hygrometer — and  himiia  enoudi 
all  last  summer  (if  summer  it  might  be 
called,)  this  monitor  truly  was  f  Fain 
would  I  think  that  England  had  usu- 
aUy  a  more  delictous  mnate,  when  I 
was  wont  to  bask  on  the  shore  near 
Hurstr— but  this  remark  savours  of 
Smellfringu»— and,  besides,  we  have 
not  run  tnrough  our  Kst  of  waift  and 
strays.  Here,  perhaps,  a  dead  star-fiidi 
raised  our  surprise,  more  like  a  bota- 
nical than  a  aoological  product^there 
drifted  in  a  cocoa-nut  shell,  covered 
widi  some  fifty  bamades,  each  some- 
thing Uke  the  neck  and  bill  of  a  bird ; 
whemipcm  our  old  artiHery  play-mate 


made  us  gi^  and  listen,  while  he 
shook  his  noddle  knowingly,  and  re- 
ported half  credulously.  Sat  «  they 
do  say,  that  somewhere  or  otfier  they 
little  creatures  turn  into  birds,  thougn 
I  won't  swear  as  how  anybody  here  has 
seen  such  a  thing  happen."  No  hatch- 
ing took  place  during  our  notice  of 
them,  so  we  strayed  on  to  a  part  where 
there  were  some  rocky  fragments  or 
accretions  embedded  in  the  sand,  on 
which  we  saw  the  sea-anemone,  not  a 
fiower,  although  so  like  one,  but  a 
beautiful  living  creature,  which  ex- 
panded as  if  it  were  blossoming,  every 
time  the  pure  wave  washed  over  it  ;«- 
here,  too,  were  limpets,  with  their  co- 
nical shells  as  tenaciously  stuck  to  the 
atone,  as  if  they  were  its  own  natural 
excrescences;  closely  as  they  adhered, 
they  were  not  secured  against  the  per- 
severing intrusion  of  our  school-boys' 
knives,  which  chiselled  them  off.  Else- 
where the  stranded  jellv-fish  caught 
the  eyes,  ay,  and  the  fingers  too,  of 
the  heedless,  for  not  without  reason  Is 
it  also  called  the  sea-nettle— but  what 
says  Poet  Crabbe  about  them,  as  he  is 
delightfully  in  his  element  when  he 
has  to  write  of  the  sea-shore  ? 

Those  living  jellies  which  the  flesh  inflame. 
Fierce  as  a  nettle,  and  from  that  its  name ; 
Some  in  huge  masses,  some  that  you  may 

bring 
In  the  small  compass  of  a  latly^s  ring ; 
Figured  by  art  dirine — there*8  not  a  gem 
Wrought  by  man*s  art  to  be  compared  to 

them; 
Soft,  brilliant,  tender,  through  the  wave 

they  glow. 
And  make  the  moonbeam  brighter  where 

they  flow. 

Our  perambulation  has  brought  us 
within  sight  of  Uie  public-house  again 
— the  Mermaid,  I  fancy,  from  a  figure 
head  of  some  defunct  ship  over  the 
door ;  but  it  will  bear  a  Question.  As  the 
author  of  Reginald  Dalton  has  incon- 
trovertibly  proved,  that  all  great  wri- 
ters Ining  in  somewhere  or  other  the 
im^rtant  topic  of  eating,  I  shall  not 
ahnnkit.  The  air  we  had  been  breath- 
ing, had  by  no  means  been  of  a  kind 
to  wear  away  the  keenness  of  youthfrd 
appetite ;  incieed,  our  twists  were  screw- 
ed up  tighter  than  ever.  Stop  a  mo- 
ment, thoueh ;  talking  of  eatables  re- 
minds me  that  you  should  look  down 
at  that  solitary  pLint,  for  Flora  keeps 
court  soberiy  and  sparingly  in  tms 
Arabia  Petrsa.  That  dark-cdoured 
thing  among  the  flints  is  now  account- 
ed a  culinary  delicacy ;  it  is  no  otiier. 


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Seo'-Me  Sketches.  No.  III. 


QJan. 


indeed^  than  iea»kail  in  its  native  bed^ 
and  within  the  memory  of  man  it  was 
first  introduced  into  our  gardens  by 
Curtis,  who  b^an  the  well-known  bo- 
tanical publication.  At  Hurst,  how- 
ever, long  before  that  time,  it  was 
known  and  used;  they  bleach  it  in 
the  rudest  manner,  merely  by  piling 
the  shingle  over  the  shoots  when  dis- 
covered. I  cannot  say  that  the  wild 
sprouts  are  auite  so  tender  as  tl\e  cul- 
tivated— still  let  all  due  respect  be 
shewn  to  the  parent  plant — ^though 
the  coast  of  Sussex  furnished  Curtis 
with  his  first  seeds.  In  this  local 
dearth  of  Flora's  bantlings,  we  ought 
not,  perhaps,  to  overlook  any — we 
have  found  an  esculent  vegetable ;  now 
for  a  flower,  and  there  really  is  a 
handsome  one  indigenous  on  theshore ; 
here  you  see  is  the  Homed  Poppy  with 
its  orance-tawny  petals  and  long  sta- 
mina, which  entitled  it  to  its  distin- 
guishing enithet.  I  hope  the  Nereids 
make  raucn  of  it,  and  wreatii  their 
locks  with  its  blossoms ;  for  really  this 
fiower  of  ocean's  marge,  would  be  more 
becoming  amid  their  hair  than  dank 
sea-weeo,  which  painters  and  poets 
bestow  on  them  for  coronals,  but  which 
cannot  but  have  a  very  slatternly  and 
tattered  appearance.  Look,  moreover, 
at  this  shrub,  and  then  we  will  |o  in ; 
this  is  a  curiosity,  if  the  tradition  be 
true,  which  is  annexed  to  its  appear- 
ance here.  It  is  a  Tamarisk,  and  mine 
host's  garden,  you  see,  has  a  hedge  of 
them,  all  growing  very  flourishingly ; 
they  seem  to  love  the  arid  soQ  and 
briny  atmosphere.  Now  it  is  said  of 
them,  that  the  first  plant  of  the  sort 
which  England  saw,  was  brought  hi- 
ther, to  this  very  spot  where  Hurst  Cas- 
tle was  afterwards  built,  and  that  the 
importers  were  warriors  returning  from 
the  Crusades.  The  trees  of  themselves 
are  pretty  trees  enoiu^h,  but  ten  times 
more  worth  notice,  if  this  romantic  re- 
port of  them  be  true— I  have  warrant 
ibr  it,  which,  with  many  good  simple 
readers  is  decisive  and  fiinal — I  have 
read  it  in  a  printed  book !  Only  think 
of  a  Montacute,  or  an  Umfreville,  or  a 
De  Argentine,  half  in  earnest,  half  in 
sport,  sticking  in  a  wand  which  he  had 
^thered  in  the  Holy  Land,  on  the 
first  spot  where  he  knded  in  his  dear 
Bngland !  The  twig  stands  unmolested 
in  this  sandy  haven — the  next  spring 
it  begins  to  sprout — and  ere  long  it 
displays  to  the  amphibious  race,  who 
occasionally  came  nither,  the  foliage 
of  eastern  cUmes,  nay  of  Palestine  itself. 


But  our  conjectural  romance  must 
not  make  us  lose  our  noondav  meal, 
nor  a  hearty  draught,  for  tne  sun 
has  been  potent  of  late.  Most  part  of 
the  regale  we  brought  with  us,  trust- 
ing to  the  publican  for  the  more  ordi- 
nary victual  to  make  the  table  com- 
plete, so  that  a  good  cold  collation, 
backed  by  a  foaming  jug  of  ale,  stood 
before  us.  We  invited  the  old  gunner 
to  join  in  this  part,  ^and  that  not  the 
worst  part,)  of^  the  aay's  enjoyment 
A  girl  of  the  public-house  waited  on 
us,  and  as  she  did  not  fh>th  the  ve- 
teran's glass  of  stingo  with  the  dexteri- 
ty of  a  true  tapster,  it  drew  forth  from 
him  a  rueful  reproach  as  soon  as  she 
was  out  of  heanng,  couched  in  these 
terms : — '^  Ah  !  now,  that  girl  can't 
even  give  one  a  draught  of  ale  as  she 
should.  How  it  makes  one  miss  poor 
Mary !"  Poor  Mary  I  had  known ;  she 
was  the  daughter  of  the  master  of  the 
house,  and  had  been  dead,  by  a  la- 
mentable accident,  about  a  year  or 
more.  As  a  book,  originally  belonging 
to  one  of  my  brothers,  had,  in  some 
sort,  contributed  to  the  catastrophe,  I 
drew  nearer  the  old  man's  knee,  and 
heard  with  more  heed  what  his  kind 
old  heart  had  to  say  in  praise  of  her. 
I  think  her  name  was  Mary  Chiddell. 
What  made  my  young  feelings  more 
especially  alive  wnen  her  fate  was  de- 
plored, was  this : — A  highly  respecta- 
We  oflScer,  who  was  intimate  with  my 
father's  family,  was  called  into  garrison 
at  Hurst  Castle,  and  as  there  were  no 
comfortable  apartments  for  him  in  the 
fortress,  he  lodged  at  the  littie  inn. 
Naturally  enough  he  borrowed  some 
books  firom  us  to  amuse  himself  with 
in  this  dreary  state  of  half-exile.  This 
*'  Mary  the  Maid  of  the  Inn,"  of 
course,  waited  on  him  to  keep  his  room 
in  order — she  was  at  that  time  engaged 
to  a  young  carpenter  living  at  Key- 
haven,  who,  no  wonder,  spent  all  his 
spare  time  and  holidays  down  at  Hurst, 
and  their  marriage  was  soon  looked 
forward  to. 

One  Sunday  afternoon,  it  was  pro- 
posed that  herself,  her  lover,  and  her 
brother,  should  take  a  sail  in  a  boat 
up  to  Yarmouth;  and  (without  leavej 
she  took  one  of  the  officer's  borrowed 
books,  in  order  to  while  away  the  long 
afternoon  of  their  voyage — a  petty  li- 
berty, which  she  perhaps  considered 
herself  half  entitled  to  use,  being  so 
great  a  favourite  with  their  guest  for 
her  neatness,  readiness,  industry,  and 
eternal  good-humour ;  but  it  was  des- 


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Sea-side  Sketches.    No,  III. 


41 


tined  to  be  her  destractioiir-the  ne- 
ver came  back.  It  was  fine  summer 
weather,  with  a  very  fresh  breexe.  The 
lover  was  to  manage  the  sail ;  and  as 
I  am  no  proficient  in  nautical  terms, 
I  can  only  blunderingly  relate  the  dis- 
aster according  to  my  conceptions  of 
it  The  lover  sat  with  one  arm  round 
Mary's  waist,  and  read  on  the  same 
page  of  the  book  with  her  ;  he  held  in 
the  other  hand  the  sheet  or  rope  which 
r^;;;ulated  the  saU,  and  did  not  fasten 
it  to  its  proper  place.  In  assisting  to 
turn  over  a  leaf,  he  let  the  rope  fly 
loose — a  squall  came  on  at  that  very 
instant — the  boat  upset,  and  out  of 
the  three,  the  brother  only  (from 
whom  these  particulars  were  heard) 
was  saved  by  regaining  the  overturned 
boat,  as  it  floated  bottom  upwards ; 
and  the  corpse  of  the  hapless  young 
woman  was  discovered  some  days  ai^ 
ter,  a  great  way  off;  upon  the  mud. 
Can  it  be  wondered  at,  that,  as  a  boy, 
I  crept  closer  to  the  old  mourner,  and 
beard,  with  a  fiiU  heart,  the  dismal 
story,  which  I  knew  so  well  before  ? 
Bat,  as  I  have  said,  it  noade  more  than 
an  ordinary  appeal  to  my  sympaUiy  ; 
for, I  thought  myself  somewhat  m- 
volved  in  it  by  the  circumstance  of  the 
book.  Indeed  the  volume,  young  as 
I  was,  was  a  thing  not  above  my  com- 
prehension, for  it  was  one  of  a  mised- 
lanv,  called  the  Pocket  Magazine.  I 
had  read  in  the  identical  one  so  lost ; 
and  the  gap  in  the  set  at  home  did 
then  bring,  and  has  often  since  brought, 
that  fttal  taming  of  the  leaf  full  upon 
my  imagination.  Upon  what  a  brittle 
thread  does  our  existence  hang !  The 
warm  pulses  of  youth,  and  love,  and 
beaaty,  of  high  and  undoubting  hope, 
and  of  passionate  but  innocent  trans- 
port, were  all  stopt  without  a  warn- 
ing! Here  sat  two  young  creatures, 
this  moment  in  fond  belief  that  their 
coarse  of  life  was  as  fair  before  them 
as  the  sunny  ^th  upon  the  waves, 
ofer  which  their  boat  was  dancing — 
the  next  moment,  "  the  rush  of  water 
was  on  their  souls !"  Little  bosoms 
heaved  with  sighs  at  the  recital,  and 
Kttle  eyes  swam  with  tears  in  that  inn- 
ptrloor — but  the  tears  of  childhood 
are  proverbial  for  their  rapid  evapora- 
tion ;  and,  with  reference  to  the  pre- 
sent circumstance,  I  might  allegorize 
this  pretty  stanza  which  fixes  the  time 
of  jrear,  m  a  little  poem  of  my  ac- 
qnaintance, — 
Vol..  XV. 


*■  It  was  the  pleasant  season  yet. 
When  stones  at  cottage  doon 

Dry  quickly,  while  the  rcMuls  are  wet. 
After  the  silver  thowerk*' 

Let  the  shining  stones  be  the  smooth 
cheeks  of  the  cbud,  and  the  roads  the 
channelled  features  of  the  aged— and 
here  were  some  of  us  younasters  in 
the  pleasant  season  yet,  in  wnich  the 
silver  showers  of  s^pathy  dry  quidcljf, 
while  the  transition  refused  to  Xske 
place  so  easily  beneath  the  wrinkled 
eyelids  of  our  old  guide,  whidi  still 
were  wet,  and  for  a  time  he  was  not 
so  light-hearted  as  before.  Children, 
however,  are  restless  animaJs ;  no 
sooner  was  our  campaigning  dinner 
at  an  end,  than  we  began  to  think 
what  might  be  done  next.  Hie  glare 
of  noon  was  over  the  beach — it  was 
too  hot  work  to  go  again  upon  the 
sands — it  would  fiive  been  toil,  in- 
stead of  sport,  again, 

•'  with  printless  foot. 

To  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  to  fly 

him 
When  he  comes  bade" 
So  we  wandered  over  the  drawbridge 
of  the  Castle,  and  lurked  about  under 
the  shade  of  its  walls,  peeping  from 
time  to  time  through  the  embrasures, 
where  the  moving  pictures  we  caught 
through  them  were  heightened  in  de- 
fect by  the  setting  of  the  dark  frame. 
Carronades  and  pyramids  of  iron-balls, 
and  serpentlike  coils  of  cordage,  and 
the  rest  of  the  materiel  of  a  fort,  had 
no  very  permanent  attractions,  even 
though  our  friendly  old  engineer  was 
now  upon  his  own  ground,  and  loqua- 
ciously descanted  on  many  topics  of 
great  mterest  to  himself;  such  as  the 
range  of  the  guns,  and  what  execution 
would  be  done,  if  the  French  dared  to 
sail  in  between  the  Needles,  and  much 
of  the  same  import.  At  last  the  tide 
began  to  give  signs  of  serving  our  pur- 
pose again ;  our  boat  was  seen  afloat ; 
and  the  old  waterman  who  brought  us 
down,  called  out  to  us,  as  he  hoisted 
his  waistband  with  one  hand,  while  he 
scratched  his  poll  with  the  other,  that 
he  could  now  take  us  back,  if  we  had 
a  mind  for  it.  He  only  delayed  while 
we  coUected  our  treasures,  wnich,with 
ourselves,  being  safely  stowed,  our 
Charon  pulled  stoutly  for  my  place  of 
sojourn,  where  a  bubbling  kettle  for 
tea,  an  ample  milk  jug,  and  a  hot 
hearth  cake  large  as  our  appetite, 
awaited  our  return.  R. 

F 


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41S 


Sonnet, — HoriP  Canfalnifficnxrs,     Xo.  VIII, 


t:j.n. 


SONKBT. 


TwAS  in  those  hours  of  Youth's  delidous  spripg. 
When  not  a  cloud  'mid  ether's  depths  can  stray. 
But  Hope's  fond  vision  sees  it  melt  away. 

And  every  gale  hears  fragrance  on  its  wing— 

I  first  adventured  my  weak  hand  to -fling 
O'er  the  sweet  lyre,  and  nour'd  a  simple  lay 
To  Her  who  held  me  in  ner  secret  sway— 

Ah !  all  unworthy  I  those  charms  to  sing ! 

Since  ihexi  seven  lustres— half  a  life ! — ^have  flown. 
And  many  a  meteor-hlaze  has  flamed  and  fled, 
And  many  a  bright  illusion  charm'd  and  died  ! 

— Still,  still  She  sits  upon  my  memory's  throne. 
Unchanged !  with  such  effulgence  round  her  shed, 
111  yet  mine  eyes  the  glorious  scene  abide. 


F.  R.  S. 


HORJt  CANTADRIOIEN6E8. 
No.  VIII. 


Dear  Christophbb, 

It  has  struck  me  that  Horace,  the 
Fates  of  old  Rome,  may  have  had  a 
prophetical  reference,  in  his  Donarem 
pateras,  &c  (Od.  iv.  8.)  to  these  later 
times.  You  shall  judge  of  the  extent 
and  closeness  of  the  parallel  from  the 
following  paraphrase,  to  which  I  have 
but  little  to  premise. 

You  will  observe,  that  I  apply  the 
voia  in  the  last  line  of  the  original  to 
the  devoted  Cockneys,  and/the  rates  to 
the  vessels  of  the  Ivewery  immortali- 
aed  by  Peter  Pindar — ^reading,  by  the 
by,  Pindarida  for  Tyndaridte :  to 
the  latter  version  our  fViend  Buller 
says,  the  quassas,  "  quassia'd,"  gives 
irresistible  sanction.  Those,  who  re- 
collect the  part  taken  by  the  late  Lord 
Londonderry  in  early  life  on  the  ques- 
tion of  Reform,  et  similia,  will  rea- 
dily admit  him  to  be  a  fit  represen- 
tative of  Alcides,  {quasi,  All- sides.) 
The  Liber  of  the  last  line  I  have  tran- 
slated, "  The  Book,"  meaning,  of 
course,  yovr  Book.  I  am  aware,  that 
it  is  usually  construed,  '^  Bacchus." 
Archdeacon  Wrangham,  I  see,  in  his 
Version  of  the  Lyrics,  adopts  the  re- 
ceived interpretation  ;  and  I  will  fair- 
ly own,  that  I  was  myself  staggered 
not  a  little  by  the  preceding  pampinus 
— ^it  is  the  nature,  you  will  add,  of 
the  plant — till  it  occurred  to  me,  that 
it  was  most  probably  put  o-u»i*>.x»**- 
for  vitis,  Uie  ordinary  instrument  of 
castigation  in  the  Roman  armies.  This, 
instantly  set  all  to  rights.  I  cLiim  your 
''  hen  irwaio" 


Buller  further  assures  me,  that  as  a 
dofubU  of  the  Ilia  Mavoriisque  piier, 
I  have  hit  upon  a  right  personage  in 
the  ''  Marchesa's  son."  He  throws  in 
a  sly  coi^jecture,  that  her  Ladyship 
may  be  rather  hard  upon  her  tenants 
in .  these  times,  the  dura  messorum 
Ilia.  I  rather  take  her  to  be  ob- 
scurely obumbratcd  as  the  Ilia  ni* 
mii^  querens. 

Yours,  very  truly, 

W.  Sewarp. 

Christ-Church,  Oct.  29, 1923 

P.  S.  You  will  give  our  common 
friend  credit  for  some  forbearance, 
when  I  tell  you  that  he  thinks  it  invi- 
dious to  press  the  word  interest,  as  ap- 
Slied  to  the  modem  Hercules,  or  to 
etail  his  very  happy  parallel  of  the 
Twelve  Labours:  only  hinting,  that 
in  old  Wood  he  had  to  encounter  the 
Boar  of  the  Forest  of  £ry  man  thus ; 
that  the  Hydra  is  the  radical  ''  beast 
of  many  heads ;"  the  Bull,  any  an- 
tigonist  Irishman  you  choose.  M.  A. 
Taylor,  one  of  the  carnivorous  Birds 
of  the  Styrophalides ;  and  Hume  the 
Dragon, .  guarding  tlie  golden  apples 
of  Hesperia,  the  island  of  the  West. 
Other  points  of  more  painful  resem- 
blance nc,  in  generous  delicacy,  whol- 
ly omits.  His  greatest  difficulty  was, 
to  find  the  "  golden-horned"  equi- 
valent in  the  Opposition,  whether  we 
apply  it  to  the  Cortiu  Copitp,  or  to  the 
Comu  Conjtiga/e* 


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16«4.]  Hone  CantoMgiensc*.    No.  VIIL  43 

HOB.  OD.  IV.  8. 

Gold  would  I  give  my  friendsy  or  plate — 
Tureens  for  soup,  epergnes  for  state— 
Or  medals  won  at  Cambridge,  prizes 
For  Greek  and  Latin  exer^ses ; 
Nature's  sweet  scenes  from  Turner's  easel. 
Or  breathing  stone  from  Chantrey's  chisd ; 
Portraits  and  busts,  by  waggon-loads. 
Of  diieftains  only  less  than  Gods : — 
Nor,  Walter,  should  you  bear  the  least 
Of  these  rich  bounties,  were  I  blest 
With  plenty  of  such  predous  stuffs 
But  you've  already  quantum  tuff. 
Since  then  you  say  you  like  the  chime. 
For  onoe  I'll  treat  you  with  a  rhyme : 
And  rhyme  has  merit  now  and  then. 
When  Scott  or  Wordsworth  wields  the  pen. 
Nay — that  I  may  not  seem  to  flatter — 
If  negatives  will  mend  the  matter. 
Not  uianks  unanimously  sent 
By  either  pouse  of  Parliament ; 
Gazettes,  whose  page  embalms  the  dead. 
Or  wreathes  with  bays  the  living  head ; 
Thy  billows,  Spain,  with  carnage  dyed ; 
Napoleon's  menaces  defied ; 
Boukigne's  armada  wrapp'd  in  flames. 
Or  bl^in^  Denmark's  widow'd  damesr— 
So  everlastingly  record 
The  memory  of  Trafalgar's  Lord, 
As  can  the  Muse.    If  she  her  lyre 
Unstring,  the  hero's  deeds  expire. 
O,  what  were  the  Marchesa's  son. 
Had  not  the  Post-bag  of  Tom  Brown 
Given  hiin  to  fame  ?  The  Poet's  breath. 
Omnipotent,  o'er-masters  death. 
Brook  Watson,  'mid  West-Indian  waves 
By  shark  half-gorged,  die  RolHad  saves : 
Sung  by  Tom  Brown,  at  Congress-feast 
Sits  Castlereagh,  a  jovial  guest : 
By  Pindar  snatch'd  from  Lethe's  tide. 
Old  Whitbread's  quassia'd  vessels  ride ; 
And  fools  by  satire  kept  alive. 
Vine-scourged,  in  Blackwood's  book  survive. 


HBNDECASYLLABL*  LADV  HOLLAND, 

On  the  Snuf'Bojf  bequeathed  to  Iwr  by 
BmonMparie. 

Dooum  tonne,  Chloc:  fluitcniore!  Lady,  reject  the  gift!   'tis  tinged  with 

Atrox  h»  maculae  doqui  videntar  go***  ,      ,^  ,     , 

t^ii  voce  uefas !  Manus  (nee  i»t4  ThoM  crimson  t«pots  a  Oreadfal  tale  re- 

Vidk  ipac  Acheron  icdestiorem)  late : 

Hoc  que  dat  tibi«  stratH  Enghienum  !  It  has  been  pasp  d  by  an  infcrnU  Power ; 

And  by  that  hand,  which  sealM  young 
£nghien*s  fate. 


•The  two  toDoihttiWtUq  piece*  «i«fhm»Uio  cla«ic  pen  of  Archdca^  We  venture 

to  lefdnt  than  tram  one  of  me  copies  meant  for  private  circulation. 


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44  HendecatyUabL 

Donum  lenint,  ChUte ;  latent  in  ilia 
Ckuss  pyxide  Fnusque,  Erisque,  et  omne 
Quod  vastatque  teritque.     Tune  terras 
Monstris  hiice  iteriUn  dabb  legendas  ? 


CJao. 


In  te  quid  nbi  saxeus  tjrrannus, 
Taro  molli,  reperire  par  putabot  ? 
Quando  inter  se  aquil»  et  levi  columba 
Convenit ;  lupus  aut  tenebat  agnum 
Amplezans  ?  Domus*  Addisono  amata 
In  mentem  veniat  tibi,  dapumque 
Sull!  oonscia ;  chorda  ubi  Rogersi 
Mellito  laqueata  tecta  cantu 
Jam  nunc  personat,  aodnente  Musi, 
Et  saltat  chorus  usque  Gratiamm. 


Tale  illas  sinis  inquinare  donum 
^des  ?  Ah  !  quid  agis  ?  Nefas  dolosimi 
Frangas,  ni  Dryadas  cupis  fugare, 
Pacemque,  et  quot  amant  nemus  quietum 
Virtutes ;  quibus  inde  dira  pulsis 
8ucoedet  Lemurum  cohors  querentikm. 
Istam  tangere  velle  delibutam 
Tabo  p jxida  perge — casa  turba 
Nili  ad  ostia  Af  oscusaue  in  oris 
Ezsurget,  tibi  que  polum  occupabit 
Atra  nube,  adimetque  flendo  somnos. 


Vosque  6,  compede  quos  mail  tjrranni 
Verdune  tenuit  dolus,  peresos 
Longi  tabe,  animo  banc  satani  pusillo 
Indignatio  nonne  libera  omnis 
Aversatur  et  odit  ultionem  ? 


Tu  ne  spemito  qualecunque  nostrum 
Carmen,  ceu  leve :  sed  sacrum  profundo 
Merses,  oro,  malum ;  vel  hauriendum 
Magno  des  Thamesi,  quod  iste  flumen 
Solum  baud  polluit-Jhaud  datum  est» 
cruere. 
Nov.  7,  1021. 


Lady,  reject  the  gift :  beneath  its  lid 
IMscord,  and  Slaughter,  and  rdentless 
war. 

With  every  plague  to  wretdied  man  lie  hid — 
Let  not  these  loose  to  range  the  world  afitf . 

Sav  what,  congenial  to  his  heart  of  stone. 
In  thy  soft  bosom  could  the  Tyrant  trace  ? 
When  does  the  dove  the  eagle*s  friendship 
own. 
Or  the  wolf  hold  the  lamb  in  pure  em- 
brace? 

Think  of  that  f  pile,  to  Addison  so  dear. 

Where  Sully  feasted,  and  where  Rogers* 

song 

Still  adds  sweet  music  to  the  perfumed  air. 

And  gently  leads  each  Grace  and  Muse 

along. 

Pollute  not,  then,  these  scenes — the  gift 
destroy ; 
*Twill  scare  the  Dryads  from  that  love- 
ly shade ; 
With  them  win  fly  all  rural  peace  and  joy, 
Andscreaming  fiends  their  verdanthaunts 
invade. 

That  mystic  Box  hath  magic  power  to  raise 

Spectres  of  myriads  slain,  a  ghastly  band ; 

They*ll  vex  thy  slumbers,  doud  thy  sunny 

days. 

Starting  from  Moscow's  snows  or  Egypt's 

sand. 

And  ye  who,  bound  in  Verdun^s  treache. 
rous  chains. 
Slow  pined  to  deaUi  beneath  a  base  con- 
trol, 
Say,  shall  not  all  abhor,  where  Freedom 
reigns. 
That  petty  vengeance  of  a  little  soul  ? 

The  warning  Muse  no  idle  trifler  deem  : 
Plunge  ue  cursed  mischief  in   wide 
Ocean's  flood ; 

Orgive  it  to  our  own  majestic  stream — 
Tht  only  stream  he  could  not  dye  with 


\ 


HENOECASYLLABL 

Lites  Offidum  diu  et  Voluptas 
Gessere.    Ut  fit,  in  ambulatione 
Huic  Ille$  obvius ;  «^  Hand  mihi  roolesta," 
Dixit,  *'*'  tecum  h^ita  :*'  simul  minando 
Snbridens ;  '*  nimis  ah  !  amata,  abito : 
Not  parikm  juvat  esse  tarn  severot." 

Contra  H«c ;  ''  ne  tetricus  sies,  labo- 
remve 
Insanum  tolerare  peige ;  tantis 
Quid  nos  dissidiis  teramus  usque  ? 
Esto,  si  Ubet,  asper — baud  repugno — 


DUTY  AND  PLEASURE. 

Duty  and  Pleasure,  kms  at  strife, 
Cross'd  in  the  common  walks  of  life. 
*'*'  Pray  don*t  disturb  me,  get  you  gone,*' 
Cries  Dutv,  with  a  serious  tone : 
Then,  with  a  smile ;  ^^  keep  off*,  my  dear. 
Nor  force  me  thus  to  be  severe." 

"  Dear  Sir,"  cries  Pleasure,  "  you're  so 
grave; 
You  make  yourself  a  nerfect  slave. 
I  can't  think  whv  we  disagree ; 
You  may  turn  Methodist  ror  me  t 


•  iEdcs  HoUandun*.  t  HolUmd  Houic. 

t  Sic,  flua  Gtycerium,  apudTer. ;  ServUia.  sua  aberialiM  imn:mireM»  apud  Liv.  i^c. 


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18840 

Et  ludot  rB^M«  ut  soles,  joeoique : 
At  Bie  iudoe,  me  unas  jocari. 
—  Poiset  attamen  innocenter  una 
Spectandc  honila,  trbtis  una,  Neil^k 
Insumi :  cia  tantulum,  nee  ultra ; 
£t  vit«  breve  pone  id  omne  lucro. 
Audin*?  cantat  avis  i  viden*  ?  renident 
Plorca    qnin  cderes  morare  pasaus.** 

**  Vizdnm  dimidiuin  (gemit)  ret,  quarn 
lo  vocia  Ibh  eiiei}tii,  peraetmn  eat : 
Fain,  qnb  trahii  insdum,  eolorea 
jAdunt  me  uiMbque,  tmaginoBqae  falsie. 
Qua  jactM  (stimulis  sed,  ah  !  relictui) 
Veoti  gaudia  difierunt  protervi ! 
Qu6  me,  quo  rapis  ?**  Admonent  strepen. 

Han 
Voces ;  **  Quam  petis,  evolavit :  urget, 
Obrepens  tacito  gradu,  Senectus : 
Diem,  dum  licet,  occupes  fogacem. 
En  !  poet  terga  premit  roal4  JEgntndo, 
Impendet  Dc^or — abstineto  fletus : 
Uno,  pcrstiterb,  labore  portie 
Codertea  pateant ;  ibique  amore 
Coojwiicti  Oflfeium  et  aimal  Viduptas 
JRumo  pariliqae  ament,  aroentur.** 


But,  if  you*U  neither  laugh  nor  pkjTy 
At  least  don't  stop  me  in  my  way. 
Yet  sure  one  moment  you  misht  steal, 
To  see  the  lovely  Miss  0*Neil : 
One  hour  to  relaxation  give ; 
Oh  !  lend  one  hour  from  lif6— to  live. 
And  here's  a  bird,  and  there's  a  flower — 
Dear  Duty,  walk  a  little  slower.** 

^  My  morning's  task  is  not  half  done," 
Cries  Duty  with  an  inwud  groan ; 
*'*  False  oolonn  on  each  object  spread, 
I  know  not  whence,  or  where,  I^m  led  ! 
Your  braggM  enjoyments  mount  the  wmd, 
And  leave  dieir  venom'd  stings  behind. 
Where  are  you  flown  ?" — ^Voices  around 
Cry,  ••  Pleasure  long  hath  left  this  ground  ; 
Old  Age  advances ;  haste  away  ! 
Nor  lose  the  light  of  parting  ^y. 
See  Sickness  follows,  Sorrow  threats- 
Waste  no  more  time  in  vain  regrets : 
O  Duty  !  one  more  effort  given    > 
May  reach  perfauM  the  gates  of  Heaven ; 
When  only,  each  with  eadi  delighted, 
Pleasure  and  Duty  live  united  !" 
Nop.  5, 1821. 


BANJOANA  ON  ABPaSSENTATlON. 


SlA, 


To  Chrulopher  North,  Esq. 


The  reidy  uifleition  which  yoa  gave 
to  my  former  letters,  han  embold^ied 
me  to  address  yoa,  in  the  some  free 
style,  on  a  more  general  topic 

I  think,  iir,  that  it  is  of  some  use 
to  myself^  and  may  also  be  useM  to 
others,  to  Uke,  f^m  time  to  time,  a 
bird's-eye  yiew  of  the  state  of  pnbfic 
opinion,  and  to  consider  what  has  been 
resolved  into  principle,  and  what  is 
still  bnt  notion  and  sentiment.  Per- 
haps, for  a  long  period  of  years,  there 
has  been  no  epodi  at  whidh  thiscoald 
be  so  advantsgeously  done  as  the  pro- 
sent.  The  last  embers  of  the  Revohi- 
tumary  oonflaffratiGn,  whidi  so  long 
agitated  and  aurmed  the  world,  have 
Jnirt  been  extinguished.  Everywhere 
the  ancient  governments  have  been 
restored;  throngfaomt  the  whide  of 
Christendom,  such  is  the  apparent 
resoadtation  of  the  past,  that  it  would 
pussle  one  who  was  feuniliar  with  the 
previous  state  of  Europe,  but  aoddent- 
alty  imaoquainted  with  the  events 
wmch  have  occurred  in  the  interim, 
to  say  that  an^^  material  alteration,  be- 
yond what  ni^t  have  been  anticipa- 
ted from  the  progress  of  time  and  the 
casualties  of  human  life,  has  taken 
place  in  the  fiame  of  society  since  the 
autumn  of  1788. 


This  is  curious, — a  renovation  so 
singular,  after  a  dinolutum  so  general, 
might  abnost  justify  me  to  caU  the 
present  state  of  the  world  a  marvel- 
lous resurrection,  if  the  i^enomenon 
were  in  substance  what  it  is  in  seem- 
ing—if it  possessed  that  ori^dnal  life, 
nature,  and  conformation,  mich  be- 
longed to  the  system  prior  to  the  Re- 
volutionary destruction.  But  when 
we  approach  to  examine  it,  the  appa- 
rition pssses  from  our  grasp ;  as  we 
advance  it  retirea,  and  we  are  appalled 
when,  inatead  of  the  Hving  and  practi- 
cal being  to  which  we  were  reverential- 
ly diuKMed  to  do  homage  as  to  a  re- 
stored and  bek>ved  olgeot,  we  find  it 
is  but  the  phantom  of  a  charnel-house, 
and  that  we  are  surrounded  by  the 
shreds  of  those  honours,  and  the  ske- 
letonsof  those  powers,  which  gave  grace 
and  energy  to  the  olden  condition  of 
man! 

Inaword,  to  consider  the  present  ap- 
pearance of  the  political  state  and  rela- 
tions of  the  world  as  endowed  with 
any  substance  or  principle  of  vitality, 
vrould  be  to  deny  the  influence  of  mo- 
ral and  of  physical  sensation;  for 
statesmen  to  reason  and  to  act  now 
aooMding'  to  the  maxims  of  their  pre- 
decessors—that is,  of  those  who  were 
in  power  before  the  French  Revdu- 


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46 

tion^  tnd  who,  by  not  diBcerning  how 
mudi  of  a  dumge  in  political  dogmas 
was  involved  in  the  evolutions  of  that 
catastrophe,  accelerated  its  devasta- 
tions, would  be  to  contemn  the  in- 
struction of  history,  and  to  betray  a 
total  ignorance  of  the  character  and 
qtirit  of  the  age. 

It  was  a  wise,  and  it  was  a  brave 
policy,  during  the  deluge  of  French 
principles,  to  maintain  that  the  an- 
cient institutions  of  £un^  were  sa- 
cred things ;  that  to  them  we  owed 
whatever  was  estimable  and  delight- 
ful in  society,  and  that  if  they  were 
allowed  to  perish,  it  was  impossible  to 
foresee  or  to  provide  against  the  anar- 
chy that  might  ensue.  The  wisdom 
of  that  policy  derived  an  awful  confir- 
mation from  the  excesses  of  Parisian 
guilt,  and  the  extravagance  of  Pari- 
sian theory ;  but  now  when  the  flood 
has  subsicfed,  when  the  guilt  has  been 
punished  and  the  extravagance  cut  off. 
It  may  be  safely  re-adoptad  as  a  maxim 
of  government  and  legislation,  that  the 
institutions  so  much  venerated  were 
not  the  causes,  but  the  ^fleets  of  the 
virtues  ascribed  to  them,  and  that  to 
enaUe  them  to -preserve  the  affection 
so  eloquently  and  so  effbctually  claim- 
ed for  them  during  the  reign  of  Con- 
sternation, they  must  be  modified  and 
adapted  to  suit  the  wants,  and  to  sa- 
tisfy the  judgment  of  the  people. 
That  modification,  and  that  adaota- 
tion,  is  not,  however,  more  now,  tnan 
in  the  Revolutionary  period,  to  be 
effected  by  general  and  entire  dianges. 
There  is  in  fact  never  any  such  ex- 
igency in  human  afl&irs,  nor  in  the 
very  natureof  things  can  Uiere  be  such, 
as  to  require  a  sudden  alteration  in 
the  institutions  of  any  country,  whik 
it  must  be  admitted,  that  in  a  progres- 
give  state  of  society,  some  sort  of  cor- 
responding improvement  ought  to  take 
place  in  them,  and  will  necenarily.  take 
place  in  despite  of  all  opposition. 

All  governments  have  their  origin 
in  the  usurpations  of  some  accidental 
union  of  moral  and  physical  strength  ; 
hence  there  ever  exists  of  necessity  a 
nadual  controversy  between  what  may 
be  called  the  spirit  of  government,  and 
the  spirit  of  the  pe^e;  the  latter 
eoDstantly  endeavouring  to  procure 
concessions  from  the  former  in  the 
shape  of  laws  and  institutions,  that 
will  enabk  individuals  to  manage  their 
particular  intere^tts  loss  and  len  sub- 
ject to  the  interference  of  public  func- 


CJan. 


tionaries,  either  with  respect  to  con- 
duct, industry,  or  pleasure.  The  na- 
tural tendency  of  a  progressive  state  of 
political  institutions,  is  not  to  induce, 
as  Owen,  and  Godwin,  and  the  other 
defective  reasoners  and  visionaries  al- 
lege— an  agreement  among  mankind  to 
constitute  a  community  of  goods,  but 
the  y&ry  reverse ;  or,  in  other  words,  to 
induce  institutions  which,  while  they 
bind  society  closer  together,  will  leave 
individuals  freer  to  pursue  the  bent  of 
their  respective  characters.  This,  how- 
ever, is  a  topic  too  important  to  be  so 
slightly  alluded  to.  On  some  other  oc- 
casion I  will  address  you  on  it  exclu- 
sively. 

The  only  free  constitution  which 
can  exist  practically  applicable  to  hu- 
man wants  and  properties,  is  that 
which  is  governed  in  its  deliberations 
and  measures  by  a  temperate  and  re- 
gulated deference  to  public  opinion. 
Of  this  kind  I  regard  the  British,  ac- 
cording to  the  state  of  society  in  this 
country,  and  the  genius  of  the  people 
to  be  curiously  admirable.  There  is  so 
much  of  ancient  partialities  mixed  up 
with  modem  expedients  among  us, — 
so  much  of  ascertained  fact  with  theo- 
retical opinion  and  undetermined  ex- 
periment, that  we  require,  as  we  pos- 
sess, a  constitution  that  will  work  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  give  each  and  all  of 
them  occasionally  their  due  predomi- 
nance. In  so  far,  therefore,  as  the 
practice  of  the  leg^ture  is  oonoem- 
ed,  the  British  constitution  <'  works 
well,"  and  we  see  that  the  executive 
government,  though  it  is  so  swaged 
by  public  opinion,  as  to  render  it  a 
very  nice  question  to  determine  whe- 
ther the  circumstances  of  the  king- 
dom have  become  so  changed  as  to  call 
for  any  tdteration  in  the  constitution, 
such  as  we  hear  commonly  spoken  of 
by  the  name  of  Parliamentary  Reform 
— I  say  it  is  a  very  nice  question,  merely 
because  the  (nroposition  has  advocates 
and  opponents  among  the  shrewdest, 
the  most  enlightened,  and  the  most  pa- 
triotic gentlemen  in  the  country.  But 
in  the  discussions  to  which  the  ques- 
tion has  given  rise,  both  within  and 
without  the  House,  it  has  nevet  been 
sufficiently  considered,  that  during  the 
last  century,  the  constitution  botn  in 
the  Peers  and  Commons  has  been  twice 
essentially  and  radically  altered-^I 
would  say  reformed. 

Let  us,  sir,  consider  this  dispassion- 
ately. 


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Firet  then,  in  the  reign  of  Queen 
Anne,  the  whole  government  of  Greet 
Britain,  which  had  previonBly  under- 
pone  a  revision  in  theoretic  dogmas,  hy 
the  re-assertion  of  popular  rights  at 
the  Revolution,  was  virtually  changed 
hy  the  union  of  Scotland  and  Eng- 
huid.  The  two  distinct  ancient  go* 
veniments  of  both  kingdoms  were  vir- 
tually abrogated,  and  one  was  sub- 
stituted, in  which,  though  the  consti- 
tution of  England  preponderated,  yet 
it  was  essentially  modmed,  by  an  ad« 
dition  of  peers  and  commoners  into 
the  legislature,  chosen  b^  electors, 
coDsti  tu  ted  on  principles  w  hich  had  no- 
thing previously  similar,  either  in  the 
constitution  of  Scotland  or  of  England. 
Sixteen  elected  peers  were  added  to 
the  Lords,  whicn  peers,  unlike  their 
compeers  in  the  bouse,  were  not  the 
organs,  strictly  speaking,  of  their  own 
sentiments,  but  the  repre^ntatives  of 
the  sentiments  of  others.  Thus,  there 
was  admitted  into  the  permanent  and 
unchange^le  department  of  the  legis- 
lature, a  new  constituary  principle, 
that  cannot  but  have  had  some  conu- 
derable  influence  on  its  proceedings 
and  deliberations.  The  introduction 
of  the  forty-five  new  members  into  the 
House  of  Commons  was  of  itself  a 
great  acoessbn  of  the  means  of  con- 
veying the  influence  of  public  opinion 
into  the  measures  of  government.  But 
it  has  not  been  enough  considered  in 
what  manner  these  members  are  cho- 
sen. 

Admitting  far  a  moment  the  utmost 
degree  of  corruption,  of  which  the 
Scottish  boroi^hs  are  accused,  still  it 
should  be  recollected,  that  as  they  re- 
turn by  districts,  each  borough  of  each 
district  respectively  operates  as  a  check 
on  the  other.  The  English  radi- 
cals, when  they  hear  of  a  member  for 
an  obscure  and  mangy  Fife  town, 
think  he  has  been  returned  much  in 
the  same  sort  of  way  as  the  worthy 
burgesses  from  Cornwall.  They  are 
not  aware  that  he  represents  five  dif- 
ferent towns;  that  aithough  each  of 
those  towns  may  be  what  is  called  a 
close  borough,  still  it  is  governed  by 
a  numerous  corporation,  and  that  each 
corporation  is,  in  the  case  of  a  con- 
tested election,  liable  to  be  divided 
in  choosing,  not  the  member,  but  the 
delegate,  who  is  to  vote  for  the  mem- 
ber, by  which,  in  point  of  fact,  the 
members  for  the  Scottish  boroughs 
undergo  a  much  severer  ordeal  in  ihe 
process  of  election  than  is  at  all  un- 


47 

derstood  on  the  south  side  of  the 
Tweed.  Then,  again,  the  Scottish 
county  members  are  not  generally  dio- 
sen  by  the  proprietors  of  the  land,  but 
by  persons  who  may  be  said  to  possess 
transferable  charters  for  exercising  the 
elective  ftandusc. 

The  constitution  of  Scotland,  in  so 
far,  therefore,  as  respects  the  county 
members,  is  at  once  curious  and  en- 
lightened. It  comprehends  a  principle 
of  deputation  from  the  landholders 
who  grant  the  elective  charters,  by 
which  the  landlord,  without  parting 
with  his  property  in  the  soil,  cieuudes 
himself  of  the  political  privilege  at- 
tached to  it,  and  transfers  it  to  another 
person,  who  has  wealth  without  land. 
Thus,  as  the  country,  since  the  Union, 
has  prodigiously  increased  in  capital,  it ' 
cannot  be  questioned  by  any  one,  who 
looks  over  the  lists  of  freeholders, 
and  also  sees  how  many  landless  per- 
sons possess  county  votes,  that  a  very 
material  popular  influence  is  exercised 
in  the  choice  of  the  Scottish  county 
members,  which,  practically  speaking, 
must  have  produced  a  material eflbct  on 
the  House  of  Commons ;  and  which, 
when  taken  into  consideration  with  the 
state  of  the  Scottish  borough  represen- 
tation, fully  justifies  me  in  saying  that 
an  important  radical  change  and  re- 
formation was  eflected  in  the  House  of 
Commons  by  the  Union  with  Scodand* 

You  will  readily  anticipate  that  the 
other  change  to  which  I  have  alluded 
is  the  Union  with  Ireland,  and  there- 
fore I  shall  say  but  little  respecting  it. 

Now, will  it  be  denied  that  the  people 
of  the  United  Kingdom  have  not  acqui- 
red an  accession  of  power  and  influence 
in  the  House  of  Commons  by  the  two 
Unions,  which  two  Unions  have  added 
no  less  than  one  hundred  and  forty- 
five  members  to  a  popular  branch  of 
the  constitution,  besides  materially 
improving  the  principle  in  many  cases 
upon  which  the  returns  are  made  ?  It 
may,  however,  be  said,  that  the  addi- 
tion to  the  English  House  of  Com- 
mons, and  the  erection  of  an  Imperial 
Parliament,  is  not  equivalent  to  Uie 
loss  which  the  people  of  Irdand  and 
of  Scotland  have  sustained  by  the  dia- 
sdution  of  their  Parliaments.  To  this, 
however,  I  w(Hild  say,  and  leave  the 
proof  till  the  postulatum  is  denied, 
that  a  great  general  council  for  legis- 
lative purposes  is  infinitely  prefcr&le 
to  a  number  of  small  ones.  But  not 
to  dwell  on  what  is  so  obvious,  I  would 
simply  ask  of  those  who  deny  the  ad- 


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48 

▼antaget  of  a  refonn  in  the  House  of 
Commons^  and  of  those  who  demand 
it,  if  it  is  not  the  fact,  that  two  mat 
and  important  practical  changes  nave 
heen  nmde  during  the  last  century  P 
and  then  I  would  say  to  the  former, 
have  they  not  heen  attended  with  great 
and  manifest  advantages  to  the  country 
and  the  empire  at  large  ?  The  fair,  the 
true,  and  the  imdeniahle  answer  to 
these  Questions,  reduces  the  question 
of  Parliamentary  Reform  into  a  very 
narrow  compass— indeed,  to  so  little 
as  this:  has  there  any  such  change 
taken  place  in  the  state  of  the  coun- 
try, since  the  Union  with  Ireland,  as 
to  reauire  the  introduction  of  any  more 
roemDers,  or  any  new  principle.^  I 
shall  perhaps  he  answered,  no— we  ad- 
roit that,  so  far  as  respects  the  number 
of  members ;  but  it  is  not  to  the  num- 
ber, it  is  to  the  manner  in  which  the 
members  are  returned,  that  we  require 
a  reform.  So  that  the  whole  Question 
of  Parliamentary  Reform  is  reduced  to 
the  manner  of  election. 

Let  us  suppose,  then,  that  the  mode 
of  dection  were  altered,  is  it  probable, 
practically  speaking,  I  would  ask,  that 
the  returns  would  be  very  essentially 
different  to  what  they  are  afpresent  ? 
Would  the  orators,  whose  speeches  we 
read  in  all  important  debates,  not  pro- 
bably be  returned  ?  and  if  the  sense 
of  the  House  is  in  any  measure  govern- 
ed by  their  opinions,  would  we  see 
much  alteration  produced  in  the  phase 
of  the  house,  if  I  may  use  the  expres- 
sion, from  what  it  appears  to  be  at  pre- 
sent? 

But  to  bring  this  clause  of  my  sub- 
ject to  a  conclusion,  although  it  can- 
not be  denied  that  there  does  exist  a 
strong  desire  among  the  operative  clas- 
ses fyt  some  change  in  the  legislative 
department  of  the  Statie,  it  may  well 
be  asserted,  that  the  change  is  not  re- 
quired by  anything  in  the  constitution 
of  the  Lords  or  Commons.  It  is,  how- 
ever, required,  and  it  must,  sooner  or 
later,  in  some  shape  or  form,  be  con- 
ceded to  the  extended  concerns  and 
inteiiests  of  the  empire  at  large. 

It  is  dear  and  indisputable,  that 
Parliament  interferes  and  regulates 
many  diings  which  in  the  existing 
state  of  the  empire,  would  be  better 
managed  by  another  council.  There 
exists  no  reason  whatever,  why  the  de- 
liberations of  parliament  should  not  be 
restricted  to  the  concerns  of  the  United 
Kingdom,  while  a  thousand  may  be  gi- 
ven, to  shew  that  general  questions,  af- 


nj«i. 


fecUng  the  colonies  and  foreign  depend- 
endes,  should  be  deliberated  upon  bv 
an  assembly,  in  which,  in  common  with 
the  United  Kingdom,  they  should  have 
representatives.  How  such  an  assem- 
bly should  be  constituted,  whether  by 
an  addition  to  the  House  of  Commons^ 
or  whether  by  the  creation  of  a  Su- 
preme Parliament  in  which  the  dective 
prindple,  already  admitted  into  the 
House  of  Peers,  should  be  adopted  for 
the  general  formation  of  an  upper 
house,  and  a  district  representation, 
the  prindple  of  which  was  first  intro- 
duced at  the  Union  with  Scotland — for 
the  formation  of  a  lower  house,  is  a 
question  too  multiform  to  be  discussed 
here.  All  I  intend  by  alluding  to  it, 
is  to  shew,  that  in  the  spirit  and  cir- 
cumstances of  the  times,  something  is 
gravitating  towards  such  an  issue.  Al- 
ready have  we  lost  thirteen  provinces, 
and  in  them  constituted  our  most  for- 
midable rival,  by  the  want  of  some 
such  supreme  legislature ;  already  have 
the  inhabitants  of  Jamaica  loudly  pro- 
tested against  the  interference  of  the 
Parliament  of  the  United  Kingdom 
with  their  insular  affiurs,-and  already 
in  other  colonies,  to  which  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  allude,  have  there  not  been 
tbreatenings  of  the  same  spurit  ?  It  ap- 
pears, ind^,  from  the  very  nature  of 
all  political  organizations,  that,  unless 
some  common  tie  is  formed  between  a 
parent  country  and  her  colonies,  the 
colonies  will,  as  soon  as  they  can, 
maintain  themselves;  or,  as  soon  as 
they  find  their  interests  sacrificed  to 
those  of  the  parent,  separate  them- 
selves, or  sedc  some  other  alliance. 

Now,  it  so  happens,  fVom  the  ex- 
tent and  ramifications  of  our  commer- 
cial and  manufacturing  interests,  that 
out  of  our  dealings  with  the  colonies, 
and  other  fordgn  dependendes,  the 
colonies  and  dependendes  have  al- 
ways strong  pecuniary  motives  to  in- 
duce them  to  cancel  thdr  connection 
with  this  country.  They  send  us  but 
raw  materials,  and  recdve  from  us  the 
enriched  products  of  our  looms  and 
of  our  skill ;  and,  in  consequence,  they 
are  always  indebted  to  us  a  consider- 
able something  between  the  value  of 
the  raw  material  which  we  recdve  from 
them,  and  that  of  the  manufkctured  ar- 
tide  which  we  send  them  back.  There 
is  ever,  therefore,  a  burden  of  dd>t 
due  to  us  from  the  colonies,  and  which, 
without  at  all  disparaging  their  hones- 
ty, they  must  naturally  widi  to  throw 
off.  The  only  thing  that  can  make  them 


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bciititfe  betwiien  wpon^on  and  oon- 
neetioBy  is  Ibe  piotecttoa  which  they 
leodva  from  vs,  and  whidi^  in  addition 
to  that  dd>t9  we  |>ay  for.  Whenever 
they  ara  in  a  condition  to  protect  them- 
aelTca,  or  to  daim  with  c^ect  the  pro- 
taction  of  another  state,  on  better  terms 
than  they  have  ours,  we  must  pre- 
paie  OQiwAyen  to  expect  that  they  will 
tloow  ns  off.  Bat  as  they  cannot  do 
tbia,  nor  even  indicate  any  disposi- 
tion towards  it,  without  threatening 
many  of  oor  merchants  and  manu- 
imdblatsn  with  roin,  there  is  among 
na  a  strong  party  watching  those  pro- 
oaedings  cSf  the  kgislainre,  by  wnich 
ookniai  interests  are  likely  to  l!e  affect- 
ed ;  and  this  party,  by  the  attraction 
of  their  own  concerns,  are  ever  incli- 
ned, when  they  see  colonial  interests 
considered  but  as  secondary,  to  j(Hn 
wkh  those  who  cry  out  for  a  diange  in 
the  manner  of  returning  members  of 
Fvliament. 

Thus  it  is,  that  if,  in  the  spirit  of 

the  times,  which  is  everywhere  active 

and  eager  for  representation,  there  ii 

a  disposition  resolved  into  a  principle, 

whicA  requires  a  diange  in  the  con- 

atitution  of  the  British  House  of  Com- 

■nns,  I  would  say,  it  will  be  found 

oot  to  be  produced  so  much  by  what 

is  smpposed  to  be  amiss  in  legislating 

foi  the  united  kingdom,  as  in  the  ef- 

Jeet  of  kigisUtive  enactments  caused 

by,  and  which  affect  the  colonies.    It 

•aaoBw,  ioT  ^Larople,  out  of  all  reason 

4o  tax  and  dcain  the  industry  of  the 

peo^  af  this  country  for  the  expense 

«£  protecting  the  colcmies.    But  how 

ia  it  possible  to  raise  a  fund  from  the 

fnlamfs  tbomselves,  to  assist  in  de- 

Jtaying  that  expense,  when  it  is  denied 

t»die  British  Parhment  to  tax  them  ? 

Nor  ia  it  less  unreasonable  that  the 

Biitiah  Parliament  should  legislate  for 

inJcncits,  of  which,  constituti<mally 

apealdng,  it  can  know  nothing.    In  a 

WMd,  thensfore,  though  it  is  very  wdl 

to  say,  that  ^e  House  of  Connnons 

daea  not  require  any  reform,  it  must 

be  held  to  mean,only  in  so  £uras  certain 

borne  interests  are  ooncenied ;  for,  that 

it  doea  reonire  reform,  the  state  c^our 

ooloiiiea,  tneir  eonn^aints,  and  the  va- 

lioiis  expedients  nom  time  to  time 

adepted  to  obviate  these  complainta, 

togmcr  with  tiie  enormous  expense 

iar  their  protection,  which  &lls  exdu- 

aivdy  on  the  Ui^ted  Kingdom,  all 

prove  that  aome  reform,  or  some  neir 

mslktttxon,  is   requisite.     Far   and 

wisely  ja  we  bam  eanltd  the  tem* 

Vol.  XV, 


49 

aentative  system  into  our  constitu- 
tion and  ^vemment,  there  is  yet  in  it 
a  wide  hiatus  to  be  filled  up ;  there  is 
yet  wanting  some  l^islative  union,  not 
only  among  the  colonies  Uiemselves, 
but  between  them  and  the  mother 
country,  Uiat  will  hold  and  bind  them 
together,  and  render  them  all  oo-ope- 
xative  in  their  resources  to  the  mainte- 
nance of  one  and  the  same  power. 

It  may,  however,  be  said,  that  in 
this  I  aamit  much  of  what  Uie  whig 
and  radical  reformers  assert,  that  if  the 
House  of  Commons  were  returned  on 
more  popular  principles,  the  vast  suma 
squandered  on  the  colonies,  and  for 
their  protection,  would  not  be  drawn 
from  the  industry  of  the  inhabitants  ci 
the  United  Kingdom.  It  may  be  so 
and  I  am  willing  to  admit  all  that ;  but 
then  if  it  is  advantageous  to  our  com- 
mercial  and  manufacturing  interests, 
and  by  them  to  our  agricultural,  to 
possess  those  colonial  sources  of  raw 
materials  and  necessaries,  and  to  ei\joy 
the  exclusive  privilege  of  their  mar** 
kets  for  our  products,  would  we  pos« 
BOSS  that  advantage,  without  granting 
that  care  and  protection  to  which  I 
have  adverted  ?    I  hold  it  to  be  indis- 

gutable,  that  the  possession  of  our  co« 
)nies  is  a  vast  ana  incalculable  advan*< 
ta^e  ;  and  I  fear  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  our  existing  state  of  things 
not  odculated  to  retain  it,  or  at  least  of 
such  a  nature  as  to  blight  many  of  the 
b^iefits  which  we  might  derive  from  a 
more  enlarged  colonid  and  l^islative 
policy. 

The  demand  in  the  spirit  of  the 
times  for  representation  in  govam« 
ment  and  legudation,  is  operating,  in 
a  manner  singularly  aavantageous, 
calmly  and  silently  towards  that  effect. 
Several  of  the  colonies  and  dependen- 
cies have  regular  agents,  some  of  whom 
are  in  the  House  of  Commons,  in  what 
I  may  be  allowed  to  call  a  surreptiti- 
ous manner,  for  the  purpose  of  guard- 
ing the  special  interests  of  their  colo- 
nial constituents,  insomuch,  that  it 
may  be  said  there  is  a  palpable  con- 
verging of  the  elements  of  a  more  ex^ 
tensive  legislative  representation,  gra- 
dually pressing  on  the  attention  of  go<- 
vemment,  and  claiming  for  the  depen- 
dencies of  the  united  kingdom,  a  ge« 
neral  constitution,  connected  with  the 
moth^  country,  quite  as  strongly  and 
as  justly  as  the  Prussians  are  crying  out 
for  theconstitution  which  waspromised 
to  them  by  their  king.  With  us,  how« 
ever,  the  claim  will  be  aatiafied  diffiN 
G 


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rently.  What  we  want  is  withheld 
partly  from  prejudice,  partly  from 
doabt  as  to  how  it  mar  operate,  and 
chiefly  from  the  official  inconveniences 
to  wmch  it  may  give  rise.  With  the 
Prussians  it  is  denied  bya tremendous 
array  of  soldiery.  The  same  moral 
paraljsiB,  however,  which,  at  the  b^ 
ffinnmgof  the  French  revolution,  ren- 
oered  5)e  Gaman  armies  so  ineffect- 
ive, will  seize  the  ranks  of  the  Prus- 
sians, and  a  volcano  will  break  out 
under  the  throne  itself,  and  overwhelm 
it  with  ruin  and  with  crimes ;  whereas 
our  government  will,  from  the  influ- 
ence of  public  opinion,  either  give  the 
sulject  a  fUU  and  comprehensive  con- 
sideration, or  endeavour  to  repair  and 
adapt  the  old  and  existing  system  to 
meet  something  like  what  is  required, 
and  which,  practically  speaking,  may 
*'  work  wdl '  enough. 

The  next  olgect  that  presents  itself, 
after  contemplating  what  bears  on  the 
State,  is  the  situation  of  the  Church. 
It  is  dot  to  be  disputed,  that  the  pro- 
digious rush  which  infidelity  made  du- 
ring the  last  ten  years  of  the  last  oeh- 
tury,  has  not  only  been  checked,  but 
lliat  there  has*  been  a  remarkable  re- 
edification  of  all  the  strong-holds  of 
'  Christianity — so  much,  that  piety^  it 
may  be  averred,  has  become  sa  fa- 
shionable, as  to  he  almost  a  folly ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  same  sort  of  minds 
which,  five-and-twenty  years  ago, 
would  have  been  addicted  to  philo* 
Bophy,  are  inflamed  with  a  church- 
p>ing  zeal.  Churches,  and  theological 
instruction  of  all  kinds,  are  rising  and 
flourishing  everywhere.  It  has  not, 
however,  been  much  observed,  that, 
although  there  is  an  astonishing  in- 
crease of  ecclesiastical  edifices,  there  is 
no  augmentation  in  the  number  of 
church  dignitaries,  a  circumstance 
which  would  seem  to  imply  that  some- 
thing of  a  presbyterian  spirit  is  creep- 
inginto episcopacy ;  or,  in  other  words, 
the  Church  of  England,  seeing  that 
'  the  people  were  attaching  themselves 
to  plain  and  simple  modes  of  worships 
is  gelding  half-way  to  that  very  spirit 
by  which  the  dissenters  have  so  pros- 
pered. 

This  policy  in  that  church,  if  it 
can  be  called  policy  which  is  the  ex- 
pedient result  of  the  force  of  circum- 
stances, is  the  first  example  that  has 
ever  appeared  in  the  worm  of  so  great, 
80  wealthy,  and  so  powerAd  a  body, 
and  a  priesthood  too,  adapting  its^ 
Tohuitarily  to  the  spirit  of  the  times. 


CJan. 


It  Uys  open  to  onr  view,  and  to  oar 
admiration,  the  liberality  of  the  eocle« 
siastical  establishment  (^England,  in 
a  light  that  language  cannot  sufficient* 
ly  applaud ;  and  when  we  consider  the 
strict  intermarriage  in  that  country  be- 
tween the  Church  and  the  State,  it  must 
be  allowed  that  the  wisdom  of  this  po- 
licy of  the  English  church  is  a  ^rioua 
demonstration  of  the  enlightened  views 
and  temperate  principles  in  the  gp« 
vemment  of  the  state. 

Bxit  the  strain  and  tendency  of  our 
literature  is  the  best  comment  on  the 
progressive  state  of  opinion,  and,  con- 
sequently, of  national  advancement. 
Except  m  a  few  remarkable  instances, 
criticism  is  the  prevalent  taste  of  the 
times— a  criticism  not  confined,  as  of 
old,  to  the  execution-,  or  to  the  manner 
in  which  subjects  axe  conceived,  but 
which  comprehends,  together  with 
style  and  conception,  not  only  the 
power  employed,  but  the  moral  and 
philosophical  tendency  of  the  matter. 
It  is  impossible  that  so  mudi  general 
acumen  can  be  long  employed  without 
inducing  improvement  in  all  things 
which  are  either  the  subjects  or  the 
objects  of  literary  illustratioB,  and 
these  are  in  fact  aU  thin^  No  greater 
proof  of  the  advance  which  haroretdy 
taken  place  in  the  moral  taste  of  the 
country,  making  every  allowance  for 
cant,  need  be  assigned,  than  what  it 
involved  in  the  simple  question-*- 
Would  such  novels  as  Uiose  of  Fidd-« 
ine  and  Smollett  be  now  readily  pub- 
Ksned  by  any  respectable  bodnoler? 
We  have  seen  what  an  outcry  was 
raised  about  Don  Juan ;  but  is  thai 
satirical  work,  in  any  degree,  so  fimlty 
in  what  is  its  great  proclaimed  fault, 
as  either  Tom  Jones,  Roderidc  Rnn 
dom,  or  Peregrine  Pickle  ? 

I  have,  however,  so  long  tiesptned 
at  this  time,  that  I  must  for  the  pre^* 
sent  conclude.  I  shall,  however,  aa 
early  aa  possible  resume  the  subject, 
and  I  expect  to  make  it  phda  to  yoo, 
that,  although  the  world  is  overspread 
with  wrecks  and  ashes,  and  there 
is  but  an  apparent  restoration  of  old 
customs  and  habitudes,  there  lies  yet 
before  our  beloved  country  a  path  to 
greatness  and  glory,  which  nothmg 
but  some  dreadful  natural  calamity 
ought,  I  would  almost  say— can  pre- 
vent her  from  pursuing,  to  heights 
that  will  far  exceed  aU  Greek  and  Ro» 
man  fkme. 

Glasgow,  2^hrDe€ewd>€r,  18S3. 


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Hajji  Baba  of  Ispahan. 


51 


nun  BABA  or  ibvahan.^ 


Whbm  AoattaduB  first  made  its  ap- 
pcimieey  everybody  thought  Lord  By- 
ron was  taking  to  write  proae;  for 
there  was  no  living  author  but  I^ord 
fiyro»8uppoeed  capable  of  having  writ- 
tok  nicb  a  book.  When  Bvron  denied 
the  worky  (and,  in  iact,  nis  lordship 
could  nothave  written  it>^  people  look- 
ed about  asain,  and  wondered  who  the 
.author  oomd  be.  But,  when  the  pro- 
4oction  was  claimed  by  Mr  Thomas 
Hope,  who  had^  heretofore,  written 
only  about  chairs  and  tables,  and  not 
written  very  well  about  cliairs  and  ta- 
bles neither,  then  the  puzzlement  of 
ntiodnators  became  profounder  than 
ever. 

All  that  could  be  made  out  at  all  in 
common  between  Mr  Hope  and  Anas.- 
taaiusj  <vras,  that  Mr  Ho|)e  had  had 
opportanities  of  getting  at  tlie  local  iiv- 
£mnation  which  that  hook  contained. 
He  had  visited  those  parts  of  the  world 
in  which  the  scene  was  chiefly  laid ; 
and  had  resided  in  some  of  them  (as  at 
Constantinople)  for  considerable  pe- 
xiods. 

But  Anastasius,  though  full  of  ^* 
cumatance  which  necessarily  had  been 
colle<^ted  by  travel,  was  (tbiat^drcum- 
stanoe,  all  of  it,  apart)  a  work  of  im- 
acnae  genius,  and  nauiral  power.  The 
thing  told  was  good ;  but  the  manner 
of  teUing  it  was  stiU  better.  The  book 
was  absuotdy  crammed  with  bold  in<> 
cidents,  and  brilliant  descriptions — 
with  historical  details,  given  in  a^tyle 
jwhich  Hume  or  Gibbon  could  scarcely 
have  Sttipassed ;  and  with  analysis  ra 
human  character  and  impulse,  such  as 
even  Mande viUe  ihig^t  have  been  proud 
lo  adcoowledge.  Material,  as  regards 
evary  descrijption  of  work,  is  perha^ 
ihft  first  pomt  towards  success.  It  is 
not  easy  for  any  man  to  write  ill,  who 
has  an  overflow  of  £resh  matter  to  wri^ 
nbottt. 

But  Anastasius  was  anything  rather 
than  a  bare  compilation  of  material 
Hie  anthor  did  not  merely  appear  to 
have  imboed  himselfcompletely,  with 
a  scarce  andimecesUng  species  of  in- 
fimnation,  and  to  have  the  power  of 
pouring  that  information  forth  again, 
m  any  ahape  he  pleased  ;  but  he  also 
1  to  We  jme  powor,  (and  wi^- 


sl,  almost  equally  the  fiBcllity,)  of  origi- 
nating new  matter,  of  most  curious  and 
valuable  quality.  He  paraded' a  super- 
fluity of  attainment  at  one  moment, 
and  shewed  a  faculty  to  act  without 
any  of  it  the  next ;  displayed  an  extra- 
ordinary acquired  ialent  for  drawing 
man,  as  he  is  in  one  particular  country ; 
but  a  still  more  extraordinary  intuitive 
talent  for  drawing  man,  as  he  is  in 
every  doss,  and  in  every  country. 

His  capacity  for  producing  effect 
was  so  extended,  that  he  could  afibrd 
to  trifle  with  ic  Anastasius  was  not 
merely  one  of  the  most  vigorous,  but 
absolutely  the  most  vigorous,  of  the 
''dark-eyed  and  slender-waisted  he- 
roes," that  hod  appeared.  We  liked 
him  better  than  any  qf  his  cater  cou- 
sins, because  the  famUy  characteristics 
were  more  fully  developed  in  nim.  The 
Giaours  had  their  hundred  vices,  and 
their  single  virtue;  but  Anastasiua 
came  without  any  virtue  at  all.  The 
Corsairs  were  vindictive,  and  rapacious, 
and  sanguinary,  as  ref;arded  their  fel- 
low-men; but  Anastasius  had  no  mercy 
even  upon  woman. 

The  history  of  Euphrosyne  is  not 
only  the  most  powerful  feature  in  Mr 
Hope's  book ;  but,  i>erhaps,  one  of  the 
most  poweH^  stodes  that  ever  was 
written  in  a  novel. 

There  is  a  vraisembIance<ftboUit  the 
villainy  of  that  transaction,  which  it 
sickens  the  soul  to  think  of.  Crabbe 
could  not  have  dug  deeper  for  horrible 
realities ;  nor  could  the  author  of  the 
Fable  of  the  Bees  have  put  them  into 
more  simple,  yet  eloquent  and  ones- 
getic,  language.  For  throughout  the 
whole  description  of  Euphrosyne's  si- 
tuation, after  she  becomes  the  mistress 
of  Anastasius — his  harsh  treatment  of 
her  in  the  first  instance,  by  degrees  in« 
iareasing  to  brutality — his  deliberately 
torturing  her,  to  compel  her  to  leave 
him,  even  when  he  knows  she  has  not 
a  place  qf  refuge  upon  earth-^her  pa«- 
tient  submission,  after  a  time,  only 
l^^gravating  his  f\u7,  and  his  telling 
her,  in  terms,  « to  go !"  that "  he  de- 
sires to  pee  her  no  more !"  Throng^ 
out  all  this  description,  and  the  admi- 
rable scene  that  follows— his  leaviiug; 
ha  when  she  faints^  believing  her  iUU 


*  The  AdvcntUTss  of  Uai ii  Baba  of  Inahan  i  a  novel,  in  thr^e  volomss. 
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Hqiji  Baba  of  Ispahan* 


nesa  to  be  afibcted-— the  nervous  fore- 
bodings that  come  over  him,  after- 
wards, at  the  banquet,  until,  at  length, 
he  is  compelled  to  quit  the  party- 
hurries  home — and  finds  her  gone! 
Throughout  the  whole  of  this  narra- 
tive, there  is  not  an  epithet  bordering 
npon  inflation.  The  writer  never  stops 
to  make  a  display  of  his  feelings ;  but 
keeps  up  the  passion  as  he  goes  on, 
merely  bv  keeping  up  the  action  of  the 
scene.  The  simplicity  all'through,  and 
the  natural  elegance  of  thestyle,  catches 
attention  almost  as  much  as  the  com- 
manding interest  of  the  sulject.  The 
tale  is  one  of  the  most  painfld  that 
ever  was  related ;  and  it  is  told  in  the 
plainest,  and  most  unaffected  possible 
manner. 

And  it  is  the  great  art  of  Mr  Hope, 
in  this  story  of  Euphrosvne,  as  in  the 
conduct  of  a  hundred  other  criminali- 
ties into  which  he  precipitates  his  hero 
—throwing  him  actually  into  scrapes 
sometimes,  as  though  for  the  pleasure 
of  taking  him  out  of  them  again — it  is 
the  author's  great  art,  that,  with  all  his 
vices,  Anastadus  never  thoroughly 
loses  the  sympathy  of  the  reader.  There 
is  a  rag  of  good  feeling — a  wretched 
rag  it  is,  and  it  commonly  shews  itself 
in  the  most  useless  shape  too  (in  the 
shape  of  repentance)— but  there  is  a. 
remnant  of  feeling  about  the  rogue, 
'  (though  no  jot  of  moral  princime,) 
and  a  pride  of  heart,  which,  with  ro- 
mance readers,  covers  a  multitude  of 
sins ;  and  upon  this  trifle  of  honesty, 
(the  very  limited  amount  of  which  is 
a  curiosity,)  joined  to  a  vast  fund  of 
attractive  and  popular  qualities — wit, 
animal  spirits,  gay  figure,  and  person- 
al courage — ^he  contrives,  throueh 
three  volumes,  to  keep  just  within  the 
public  estimation. 

And  apart  too  from,  and  even  be- 
yond, the  interest  of  the  leading  cha- 
racters in  Anastasius,  there  is  so  much 
pains  laid  out  upon  all  the  tributary 
personages  of  the  tale :  the  work  is 
got  up  with  the  labour  of  a  large  pic- 
ture, m  which  the  most  distant  figure 
is  meant  to  be  a  portrait  Suleiman 
Bey — ^Aly  Tchawoosh — the  Lady  Kha- 
d^^Anagnosti— the  Jew  apotnecary 
^— Oasili,  the  knight  of  industry — even 
the  bravo  Panayoti — there  is  not  a  per- 
tonage  brought  in  anvwhere,  even  to 
fill  up  a  group,  who  nas  not  a  certain 
quantity  of  finish  bestowed  upon  him. 

Then  the  historical  episodes.  The 
character  of  the  Capitan  Pacha,  and 


CJan. 


the  circumstances  which  lead  to  his 
appointment  in  the  Morea.  Cjezzar 
(the  Butcher)  and  his  atrocities — ^ia 
the  third  volume.  The  court  of  So* 
leiman  Bey  in  Egypt,  and  the  march 
of  Hassan  Pacha  into  that  country. 
The  nervous  terseness  and  brief  style 
of  these  details,  contrasted  with  the 
brilliant  eloquence,  the  lively  imagi- 
nation, the  strong  graphic  faculty,  and 
the  deep  tone  and  feeling  displayed  ia 
such  passages  as  the  bagnio— tlie  first 
field  of  battle~-the  flight  of  Hassn 
Bey  through  the  streets  of  Cairo — the 
death  of  the  Hungarian  Cdonel — the 
Uvet  of  all  the  women — and,  beyond 
all,  the  cemetery  near  Constantinople, 
and  the  reflections  which  arise  on  it 
in  the  third  volume !  If,  besides  aU 
this,  we  recoUect  the  occasional  rich 
descriptions  of  local  scenery ;  the  wit 
and  q[>irit  of  those  lighter  sketches 
which  abound  in  the  first  and  third 
volumes ;  and,  especially,  the  polish- 
ed,  cultivated  tone,  and  the  graoeftd- 
ness  of  style  and  manner,  which  runs 
through  the  whole  winrk,  it  will  not 
appear  surpriang  that  the  production 
of  Anastasius  by  an  author  of  (comp»- 
rativdy  )!no  previous  estimation,  should 
have  b^n  considered,  in  thelitenry 
world,  as  a  remarkable  event. 

But,  if  it  excite  wonder  that  Mr 
Hope  should,  on  the  sudden,  have  be- 
come the  author  of  Anastasius,  it  will 
be  found  quite  as  surprisinc,  that  the 
author  of  Anastasius  should  ever  hmve 
written  Hajji  Baba.  The  curioMty 
about  this  book  was  great ;  the  disap* 
pointment  which  it  produces  will  not 
be  little ;  not  that  it  is  absolutdy  des- 
titute of  merit,  but  that  it  fklls  so  very 
far  below  what  the  public  expected. 

It  is  not  easy  to  get  at  the  sdutioii 
of  a  fiiilure  like  this.  Mr  Hope  evi- 
dently means  to  do  his  best.  He  sets 
out  with  all  the  formality  of  a  long  in- 
troduction— Hajji  Baba  is  only  »jp«* 
lude  to  much  more  that  is  to  tie  enect* 
ed.  And  yet  the  work  is  not  merely, 
as  regards  matter,  interest,  taste,  and 
choice  of  subjects,  three  hundred  per 
cent  at  least,  under  the  marit  of  Anas- 
tasius; but  the  style  is  never  fomble 
or  eloquent ;  and  in  many  places,  to 
say  the  truth,  it  is  miserably  bad.  Some 
of  this  objection  may  be  comparative ; 
but  objection  must  be  so,  and  ought 
fairly  to  be  so.  If  an  author  takes  the 
ben^t  of  a  certain  accredited  faculty 
to  get  his  bode  read,  it  is  by  the  mea- 
sure of  that  accredited  £mii]I^,  thai  hs 


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1884.^ 


Hqjji  Baba  qf  Ispahan. 


most  expeet  the  prodaetkm  to  be  tri- 
ed. We  can  drink  a  wiiie^  perhaps,  of 
Ibnty  $em$,  as  a  wine  of  thirty  sous, 
but  we  will  not  sahmit  to  have  it 
brought  to  ns  as  ehiret.  We  might 
manage,  upon  an  eraergeney,  to  i^ad 
a  doxen  lines  of  Lady  Morgan ;  but 
who  would  read  half  a  line,  if  she  were 
to  get  herself  hound  up  as  Lady  Mon- 
tague? There  are  chapters  in  Hi^jji 
Baba  that  may  amuse ; — there  are  a 
great  many,  most  certainlr,  that  wiUnot 
amuse ; — bnt,  perhaps,  tne  easiest  waT 
of  makingita  defideneies  apparent,  wiu 
be  to  gire  a  short  outline  of  the  pro« 
duetien  itself. 

Mr  Hope  seta  out,  in  the  character 
of  **  Mr  Peregrine  Persic,"  by  writing 
to  ''  Doctor  Pundgruben,"  diaplain  to 
the  Swediah  EmbwT,  at  the  Ottoman 
Forte — a  letter  whicn  explains  the  in- 
tention of  his  book. 

Mr  Fersie  is  dissatisfied  (and,  pjer- 
bapa,  fidrbr>  may  be)  with  all  existing 
pietmres  or  Asiatic  habits  and  manners ; 
and  be  auggeata  the  advantage  of  in* 
ditins,  from  "  actual  anecdotes"  col- 
lected in  the  East,— a  novel  upon  the 
I^an  of  Gil  Bias,  which  should  supply 
tile  (as  he  views  it)  deficiency.  Dr 
Funogmben  approves  the  idea  of  Mr 
Fersie,  but  doubts  how  far  any  Euro* 
pescn  would  be  capable  of  realizing  it : 
be  ^inks  an  oriental  Gil  Bias  would 
be  moat  conveniently  constructed,  by 
procuring  some  "actual"  Turk,  or  Per- 
sian, to  write  his  life.  The  discussion 
which  fc^ws  between  the  friends, 
would  not  convey  a  great  deal  to  the 
reader.  What  the  Swedish  Doctor 
cnpines — we  will  give  his  own  words— 
''That  no  education,  time,  or  talent, 
can  ever  enalde  a  foreigner,  in  an^ 
nven  oountry,  to  pass  for  a  native ;" — 
ttis  (for  a  Doctor,  who  should  mind 
mkoLt  he  says)  has  a  smack  of  exagge- 
ration ;  and  Mr  Persic's  charge  ofob- 
acurity  against  the  Arabian  Nights,  (so 
iar  as  he  himself  illustrates  it,)  seems 
to  amount  to  nothing.  At  a  period, 
however,  subsequent  to  this  supposed 
conversation,  Mx  P.  (who  is  employed 
himself  u|»on  an  embassy  to  Persia) 
ttves  Hajji  Baba,  a  Persian  of  some 
stadooy  from  the  hands  of  an  Italian 
quadc  Doctor ;  and,  in  gratitude  for 
certain  doaes  of  calomel,  by  the  Eng- 
lish gentleman  administered,  the  Is- 
palumi  pieaenta  his  written  memoirs^ 
for  the  benefit  of  the  Enslirii  pubHc 

Ko«r  bsaa  ia  s  blot  in  Uie  vary  out* 
aetofthabook.  MrHopeatart^moit 


53 

transparently^  with  Gfl  Bias  in  hta  eye, 
and  never  conaiders  diat  a  character 
perfectly  fitted  for  a  hero  in  one  ooun- 
tfT>  may  not  be  so  well  calculated  to 
fiU  the  same  role  in  another.  The  at- 
tendon  to  Gil  Bias  is  ebrious.  The 
diapters  are  headed  in  Le  S^;e's  man^ 
ner. — "  Of  Hajji  Baba's  birth  and  edu^ 
cation."—''  Into  what  hands  Hajji 
Baba  fells,  and  the  fortune  which  his 
rasors  mrove  to  him." — *'  Hajji  Baba, 
in  bis  distress,  becomes  a  Saka,  or  wa- 
ter-carrier."— "  Of  the  man  he  meets, 
and  of  the  consequences  of  the  encoun- 
ter," &c,&c  There  are  occasional 
imitations  too,  and  not  happy  ones,  of 
the  style  eoupSe  of  some  of  the  French 
writers.  An  afibetation  of  setting  out 
about  twenty  unconnected  facta,  in  just 
the  same  number  of  short  imconnect* 
ed  sentenees.  A  rolling  up,  as  it  were^ 
of  knowledge  into  little  hard  piUs,  and 
giving  ua  doaena  of  them  to  awal* 
low,  (without  diluent,^  one  after  die 
odier.  This  avoidance  (from  whatever 
oanaeit  proceeds)  of  ooiy  unction,  and 
connecting  observation,  leads  to  an 
eternal  recurrence  oi  pronouns — ^rat« 
tling  staccaio  upon  ihe  ear.  It  makea 
a  book  read  lilce  a  judge's  notes  of 
a  trial,  or  a  report  of  a  speedi  of  a 
newspaper.  And,  indeed,  throughout 
the  work  before  ua-^we  can  scurcely 
suppose  the  author  to  have  written  in 
a  hurry)— but,  throughout  the  work, 
there  ia  a  sort  of  slovenliness ;  an  in- 
attention to  minute,  but  nevertheless 
material,  drcnmstances ;  which  could 
scarcely,  one  would  think,  have  been 
overlooltfd,  if  it  had  been  cautioualy 
revised. 

Hiyji  Baba,  however,  ia  the  son  of 
a  barber  at  Ispahan,  and  is  educated 
to  follow  his  nither's  profession.  He 
leama  shaving  upon  the  "  heada"  of 
camdUdrivers  and  muleteers — a  field 
oi  practice  more  extended  than  bar- 
bers have  the  advantage  of  in  Europe 
—and  having  got  a  smattering  of  po- 
otry,  and  a  ^etty  good  idea  of  sham« 
pooing — some  notion  of  reading  and 
vrriting,  and  a  perfect  dexterity  at 
cleaning  people'a  ears ; — at  sixteen,  he 
ia  prepared  to  make  his  entrfe  in  so- 
ciety. 

Starting  aa  a  barber,  is  starting  ra- 
dier  low ;  and  it  is  one  material  fault 
in  our  friend  Hajji  Baba,  that,  from 
beginning  to  end,  he  is  a  low  charao« 
ter.  Obirarebirthisnobartoaman'a 
fortune  in  the  East;  nor  shall  it  he 
any  hiaderance  to  him  among ns;  but 


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H 


Btt^ji  Buba  oflspahoH* 


[^Jan. 


we  can't  take  oordiaUr^  East  or  West, 
to  a  comBQon-pIace  fellow.  Anastasiua 
is  meanly  born^  but  he  has  the  soul 
that  makes  all  ranks  equal.  Beggar 
him— «trip  him — starve  nim — make  a 
slave  of  nim — still  nature  maintains 
him  a  prince,  and  the  superior  (ten  to 

.  one  else)  of  the  man  tnat  tramples 
upon  him.  Like  the  Mainote  captain^ 
in  that  exquisite  chapter  of  "  The 
Ba^io/'  he  is  one  of  -those  spirits 
which^  of  themselves,  even  in  the  most 
abject  condition,  will  command  atten- 
tion and  respect ; — which,  '*  like  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon,"  to  use  the  author's 
own  simile,  "  though  scathed  by  ibe 
lightning  of  Heaven,  still  overt^  all 
the  trees  in  the  forest." 
But  it  won't  do  to  have  a  hero  (cer- 

^  tainly  not  in  Turkey)  an  awkward  fel- 
low. We  don't  profess  to  go  entirely 
abng  with  Mowbray,  in  Clarissa,  who, 
extenuating  Lovelsce's  crimes,  by  re- 
ference to  the  enormities  of  somebody 
else,  throws  his  friend's  scale  up  to  the 
beam,  by  recollecting  that  the  counter 
rogue  is  "  an  ugly  dog  too !"  But  we 
thmk,  if  a  hero  is  to  be  a  rascal,  that 
be  ought  to  be  a  rascal  like  a  gentle** 
man.  Mr  Hope  denies  Higji  Baba 
even  the  advantage  of  personal  cou- 
rage. As  he  got  on  in  his  last  work 
without  virtue,  so  he  proposes  to  get 
on  in  this  without  qualification.  This 
is  Gil  Bias ;  but  we  wish  Mr  H.  had 
let  imitation  alone.  Gil  Bias  {j)er  se) 
is  no  great  model,  anywhere,  for  a 
hero.  It  is  the  book  that  carries  him 
trough — not  him  that  carries  the 
book.  Gil  Bias  (that  is  the  man)  has 
a  great  deal  more  whim,  and  ten  times 
more  national  characteristic,  than  H^g- 
ji  Baba  i  and  yet  we  long  to  cane  hiih, 
er  put  him  in  a  horse-pond,  at  almost 
every  page  we  read.  And,  besides,  Gil 
Bias,  let  it  be  recollected,  Gil  Bias  was 
the  oaiGiNAL.  We  have  got  imita- 
tions of  him  already  enough,  to  be  for- 
gotten. The  French  Gu  Bias— ^d 
the  German  Gil  Bias — and  now,  the 
Persian  Gil  Bias  J  It  is  an  anprofita^ 
ble  task;  at  least,  Mr  Hope,  at  all 
events,  has  made  it  one. 
^  To  proceed,  however,  with  Mr  HflJ- 
ji  Babu,  whom  we  drag  along,  as  it 
were,  critically,  by  the  ears ;  and  whose 
first  step  in  public  life  ia  into  the  ser- 
vice of  Osman  Aga,  a  merchant  of  Bag- 
dad. His  father  gives  him  a  blessing, 
accompanied  by  '^a  new  case  of  ra- 


zors ;"  fads  mother  adds  '^a  small  tin 
ease  of  a  certain  predoos  unguent/' 
calculated  to  cure  **  all  fractures  aad 
internal  complaints ;"  and  he  isdirect-r 
ed  to  leave  the  house  with  his  faee  to- 
wards the  door, ''  by  way  of  propitia- 
ting a  happy  return."  • 

Osman  Aga  has  in  view  a  journey  to 
Meshed,  where  he  will  buy  the  lamb- 
skins of  Bokhara,  and  afterwards  re- 
sell them  at  Constantinople.  He  leaves 
Ispahan  with  the  caravan,  accompanied 
by  his  servant ;  and  both  are  taken  pri- 
soners by  certain  Turcomans  of  the 
desert.  Hi\jji's  sojourn  among  these 
wandering  people,  with  their  attacl^ 
and  pillage  of  the  caravan,  is  given 
with  the  same  apparent  knowledge  of 
what  he  writes  about,  which  Mr  Hope 
displayed  in  Anastasius. 

The  prisoners,  after  being  stripped, 
are  disposed  of  according  to  their  me- 
rits. Osman  Aga,  who  is  middle-aged, 
and  inclining  to  be  £iit,  is  deputed  to 
wait  upon  the  camels  of  his  new  mas- 
ters ;  Hajji  is  admitted  a  robber,  upon 
Uking,  in  which  capacity  he  guides  the 
band  on  an  excursion  to  Isj^ihan,  his 
native  city. 

The  movement  upon  Ispahan  is  suo- 
oessful ;  the  robbers  plunder  the  cara* 
vanserai.  Afterwards,  in  a  lonely  deU^ 
five  parasangs  from  the  town,  they  ex- 
amine the  prisoners,  who  turn  out  not 
so  good  as  was  expected.  A  poet — a 
ferash  ^house  servant)  and  a  cadi  ;— 
"  egr^ous  ransom,"  seems  hardly  pro- 
bable. The  scene  that  follows  has  some 
pleasantry^. 

The  poet  ( Asker^  is  doomed  to  deaths 
as  being  an  animal  of  no  utility  anyi- 
vhere.  Hcgji,  however,  is  moved  with 
compassion,  and  interferes. 

^^  ^  What  folly  are  you  about  to  com- 
mit? KiUdiepoetf  Why  it  will  bewone 
than  killing  the  goose  with  the  golden  ea» 
I>on*t  you  know  that  poeti  ace  very  n^ 
tometimes,  and  can,  if  mey  cbooie,  be  rich 
at  all  times,  for  they  carry  their  wealth  in 
their  heads  ?  Did  you  never  hear  of  tbp 
kinff  who  gave  a  famous  poet  a  miscal  ik 
gold  for  every  stanza  that  he  composed  ? 
And — who  knows  ? — perhaps  ytmr  prison- 
er may  be  the  king*s  poet-laureat  himsellL*  '* 

This  observation  changes  the  fiice 
of  the  affiiir,  and  the  Turcomans  are 
delighted  with  poetry. 

^^  •  Is  that  the  case  ?*  said  one  of  the 
gang ;  ^  then  let  him  make  stanzas  for  us 
immediately ;  and  if  they  don*t  fetdi  a 
mitcal*  eadi,  he  shall  die.' 


*  Twcnty.foor  grains  of  gokL* 


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1894.;] 


Hqjlji  Baba  of  Ispahan* 


**  *  Make  OD 1  iiMk«  ca  r  esdalmed  die 
whole  of  them  to  the  poet,  dated  by  to 
bright  a  pioepect  of  gain  x  *  if  you  don*t» 
well  cat  your  tongue  out.*  ** 

At  length  it  is  decided  that  all  the 
prisonera  shall  be  spared;  and  the 
cadi  is  sftt  to  woric  to  divide  the  booty 
among  the  dueres.  When  it  comes, 
however,  to  H^jji's  turn  to  share,  he 
finds  that  he  is  to  be  allowed  nothing, 
and  tbereopon  reM^ves  to  escape  from 
hia  new  brethren ;  whidi  he  does  on 
the  first  opportunitT. 

Arriving  at  Medied,  without  any 
meana  of  sabsistence,  he  becomes  first 
a  **  Saka,"  a  water-bearer,  and  after* 
wards  an  itinerant  tobacconist,  or  "  ven- 
der of  smoke."  He  afterwards  ^ts  ac- 
quainted vrith  a  party  of  denniBhea— 
one,  a  man  of  sanctity— another,  a 
story-teller^-imd  the  third,  a  talisman 
writer.  He  is  ba8tinadh)ed  by  the 
Mokie$ib  for  adulterating  his  wares, 
turns  dervish  himself,  and  quits  the 
city. 

A  variety  of  adventures,  readable, 
hut  not  worth  talking  about,  then  con- 
duct Hiyji  to  Tehran,  and  place  him 
in  the  service  of  the  king's  chief  phy- 
sician. He  reaches  this  promotion  just 
as  vre  are  terribly  tired  of  reading  on, 
almost  without  knowing,  or  caring, 
about  what,  and  recollecting  how,  m 
Anastanus,  we  stopped  at  every  third 
e,  to  read  something  or  other  half- 
[»en  times  over.  At  last  our  {e^- 
\  get  a  fillip,  by  Monsieur  Hi^i's 
Jfing  in  lo^e* 

Hajji  Baba  is  a  vulgar  man,  and  of 
course  makes  but  an  indifferent  lover. 
The  lady,  however,  "  holds  her  sUte," 
of  whom  he  becomes  enamoured,  and 
prttttlea  away  through  twenty  pages 
very  thoughtlessly  and  delightfully. 

l*he  spring  has  passed  over,  and  the 
first  heats  of  summer  are  driving  most 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Tehran  to  sleep 
upon  their  house-tops.  Hajji  disposes 
his  bed  in  the  comer  of  a  terrace,  which 
overlooks  the  court-yard  of  his  mas- 
ter's andcrwi,  or  women's  apartments ; 
and,  one  night,  looking  over  the  wall, 
he  sees  a  female  in  this  court,  whose 
f^fure,  and  her  face,  (as  far  as  he  can 
see  it,)  are  exquisite.  After  gaaing  for 
some  time,  he  makes  a  slight  noise, 
which  causes  the  lady  to  look  up. 

*^  And,  before  she  could  cover  herself 
with  her  TeO,  I  had  had  time  to  see  the 
moit  cDcfaantiiigfeainref  that  the  imagina- 
tioo  can  conceive,  and  to  receive  a  look 
Cnan  ejrei  to  bewitduog,  that  I  immediate- 


66 

IvfldtmyhoMrtinablaBe^  Widiapparent 
obpleature,  the  covered  hendf ;  but  itiU 
I  could  perceive  that  ahe  had  managed  her 
veil  with  so  much  art,  that  there  was  room 
for  a  certain  dark  and  sparkling  eye  to  look 
at  me,  and  enjoy  my  agitation.  As  I  con- 
tinued to  gaze  upon  her,  she  at  length  said, 
dunigh  stul  going  on  with  her  work, 
[[She  is  sorting  tobacco  leaves,]] 
^*  Why  do  you  look  at  me  ?^t  is  cri- 


^  «  For  the  sake  of  the  sainted  Hoaicn,' 
I  exdaimed,  *  do  not  tun  from  me ;  it  is 
no  crime  to  love — ^your  eyes  have  made 
roast  meat  of  my  heart.  By  the  mother 
that  bore  you,  let  me  look  upon  your  fiuas 
again!* 

^^  In  a  more  subdued  voioe  she  answered 
me, — *•  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  You  know 
it  is  a  crime  for  a  woman  to  let  her  fitce  be 
seen,  and  you  are  ndther  my  Aither,  my 
brother,  nor  my  husband ;  I  do  not  even 
know  who  you  are.  Have  you  no  shame 
to  talk  thus  to  a  maid  ?*  ** 

This  is  a  touch  of  our  author's  true 
spirit ;  but,  unfortunately,  it  is  but 
transient.  At  this  moment,  she  lets 
her  veil  fall  (so  shewing  her  face)  as 
if  by  acddoit ;— but  a  voice  is  heard 
within,impataentlv  repeating  the  name 
of '<  Zeenah  1"  and  she  disappears,  lea- 
ving HtMi  nailed  to  the  spot  ftom 
whence  £e  departed. 

This  lady,  who  sorts  tobacco  leaves, 
is  a  slave  belonging  to  the  chief  physi- 
ciaui  and  an  object  of  jealousy  and  dis- 
like to  his  wife.  The  lovers  meet  on 
the  next  evening ;  and  Zeenab's  scan* 
dal  about  the  afibirs  of  the  harem  is 
as  light  and  chatty  as  Miss  Biddy 
Fudge's  letters  about  *'  Pa!"  and 
''  Monsieur  Calicot,"  and  the  '^  rabbit- 
skin''  shawls. 

*<  We  are  five  in  the  harem,  besides  oar 
mistress,**  said  die :  **  There  is  Shireen, 
^e  Georgian  slave,  then  Nor  Jehan,  the 
Ethiopian  slave  girl ;  Fatneh,  the  cook, 
and  old  SeiUdi,  the  duenna.  My  situation 
18  that  of  handmaid  to  the  AAomnn,  so  my 
mistress  is  called ;  I  attend  her  pipe ;  I 
hand  her  her  coffee,  bring  in  the  meals^ 
go  vrith  her  to  the  bath,  dress  and  un- 
dress her ;  make  her  dothes,  spread,  sift, 
and  pound  tobacco,  and  stand  before  her* 
Shireen,  the  Georgian,  is  the  tandukdarp 
or  housekeeper ;  she  has  the  care  of  the 
clothes  of  both  my  master  and  mistress, 
and  indeed  the  clothes  of  all  the  house ; 
she  superintends  the  expenses,  lays  in  the 
com  for  the  house,  as  well  as  the  other 
provisions ;  she  takes  charge  of  all  the 
porcelain,  the  silver,  and  other  ware ;  and 
in  short,  has  the  care  of  whatever  Is  either 
precious,  or  of  consequence,  in  the  fia- 


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U  Hi^Baha 

vOif.  Nor  J«liaii,tliel4Mkak^actiM 
fmuht  or  aarpet-qpTMder ;  she  4oe8  all 
Che  dirty  work ;  spreads  the  oarpets, 
•weeps  the  rooms,  sprinkles  the  water 
over  the  court-yardi  helps  the  cook,  car- 
ries parcels  and  messages,  and»  in  short, 
IB  at  the  call  of  every  one." 
,  All  this  is  delightfully  naif,  andtoa- 
tuzal!  One  aees  so  plainly  tHatZeenab 
has  not  had  any  one  to  talk  to  for 
*^  these  two  hours." 

*<  As  lor  <dd  Leilah»  she  is  a  sort  of 
dnenna  over  the  young  alaves;  she  is 
employed  in  the  out-of-door  service,  car- 
ries on  any  little  aflkir  that  the  JSkamtm 
may  have  with  other  harems,  and  is  also 
supposed  to  be  a  spy  upon  the  actions 
of  the  doctor.  Such  as  we  are,  our  days 
are  past  in  peevish  disputes,  whilst,  at 
the  same  time,  two  of  us  are  usually 
leagued  in  strict  friendship,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  the  others.  At  this  present  mo- 
ment, I  am  at  open  war  with  the  Geor- 
gian,  who,  some  time  ago,found  her  good 
luck  !n  life  had  forsaken  her,  and  she  in 
consequence  contrived  to  procure  a  talis- 
man from  a  Dervish.  She  had  no  sooner 
obtained  it,  than,  on  the  very  next  day,  the 
JOumum  presented  her  with  a  new  jacket; 
this  so  excited  my  jeatousy,  that  I  also 
nade  Intarest  with  the  Dervish  to  soppty 
me  with  a  talisman  that  should  secure  me 
a  good  husband.  On  that  very  same 
evening  I  saw  you  on  the  terraoo«-«oiw 
«eive  my  happiness !" 

We  will  becrucified  if  there  be  not 
six  Zeenabs  in  every  boardingHSchool 
for  five  tniks  roond  London. 

**  But  this  has  established  a  rivalship 
between  myself  and  Shireen,  which  has 
ended  in  hatred,  «nd  we  are  now  mortal 
enemies;  perhaps  we  may  as  suddenly 
he  friends  sgain." 

AgreeaUe  variefy ! 

*<  I  am  now  on  the  most  intimate  terms 
with  Nur  Jehan;  and,  at  my  persuasion* 
she  reports  to  the  &anum  every  storyun* 
Inrourable  to  my  rival.  Some  raie  sweet- 
meats, with  UAkma  (sweet.«ake)made  ia 
.the  royal  seraglio,  were  sent,  a  few  di^ 
sigo,  from  one  of  the  Shah's  kdies  as  m 
present  to  our  mistress ;  the  rats  eat  a 
great  part  of  them,  and  we  gave  out  that 
the  Georgian  was  the  culprit,  for  which 
she  received  blows  on  the  feet,  whidi 
Nur  Jehan  administered.  I  broke  my 
mistress's  favouritedrinldng  cup,  Shireen 
incurred  the  blame,  and  was  obliged  to 
supply  another.  I  know  that  she  is 
ptotting  agaUist  me,  for  she  is  eternal- 
ly closeted  with  Leikdi,  who  is  at  pre- 
sent the  confidante  of  our  mistiess.  I 
^idce  care  not  to  eat  or  drink  anythmg 


of  Ispahan,  C^Vk 

mhkh  has  passed  tbRNigh  her  hands  to 
me»  for  foar  of  poison,  and  she  retons 
me  the  same  complim^it.*' 

The  ladies  will  kill  Mr  Hope  for 
having  written  thk  part  of  the  book, 
and  we  shall  kill  him  for  having  witt« 
ten  the  other  parts  of  it. 

1%ere  is  a  subsequent  soese,  ia 
whidi  Hajji  is  admitted  to  ibe  amd€ 
run,  written  with  the  same  spn£^^ 
lioess  and  gomiping  i^easaolry  as  the 
foregoing.  Zcenab  has  been  engaged 
to  cry  at  a  fhneral,  to  whidi  the  Kha^ 
mm  goes  with  all  the  fimodly;  and 
for  whidi  service  she  is  to  rtodve  a 
black  handkerchief,  and  <'to  eat  sweet- 
meats." Instead  of  going,  she  beckons 
Hajji  into  the  andenm  to  breakfast. 

•*  '  By  what  mirade,'  eadaisMd  ^ 
*  have  you  done  this  ?  Where  is  the  Xkom 
num  I  where  are  the  women !  And  how^ 
if  they  are  not  herei  shall  I  escape  the 
doctor?* 

^  <  Do  not  fear,'  she  repeated  again* 
*■  I  have  barred  all  the  doors.  You  must 
know  that  our  destinies  are  on  the  rise^ 
and  tliat  it  was  a  lucky  hour  when  we 
first  saw  each  other.  My  rival,  the 
Georgian,  put  it  into  the  Elianum%  bead 
that  Leilah,  who  is  a  professed  weeper 
at  burials,  having  learned  tlie  art  in  all 
its  branches  since  a  child,  was  a  person- 
age absolutely  necessary  on  the  present 
occasion,  and  that  she  ought  to  go  in 
preference  to  me,  who  am  a  Curd,  and 
can  know  but  little  of  Persian  customs  ; 
all  this,  of  course,  to  deprive  me  of  my 
black  handkerchief,  and  other  advantages. 
Accordingly,  I  have  been  left  at  home; 
and  the  whole  party  went  oil^  an  boor 
ago,  to  dte  house  of  the  deceased.'  ** 

That  fine  perception  about  the 
**  black  handkerchief,"  is  worth  a  mil- 
lion! Zeenab  afterwards  relates  her 
life^  which  is  amusing^  but  not  re- 
markable— exhibiting  Use  customs  of 
the  YezeedieSy  a  vrildCurdish  tribe,  to 
which  she  belonged.  Eventually^  tbe 
diief  physician  makes  a  present  of  her 
to  the  Shah ;  and  Hajji  (who,  in  the 
meantime,  has  become  a  nasakchi,  or 
sob-provost-marshal)  is  compelled  to 
witness  her  execution,  for  a  fault  of 
which  he  himself  is  tb^  author.  But 
this  scene,  which  the  same  pen  that 
wrote  the  story  of  Euphrosyne,  might 
have  rendered  (we  should  mive  suppo- 
sed) almost  too  fearful  for  endurance, 
has,  abstractedly,  very  little  merit; 
and,  coming  from  the  author  of  Anas« 
tasius,  is  a  dedded  failure. 

Indeed,  tbe  latter  half  of  the  book 
17 


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IWkJ 


Httjlfi  Baha  of  Ispahan. 


mainly  of  mattery  very  little 
worthy  ofaoonaiderable  writer.  Haj- 
Ji's  adTeotures  aa  a  nawikchi  have  not 
a  great  deal  of  novelty  about  them  ; 
and  the  penona^  are  weak  in  to  whose 
anodation  be  la  thrown.  The  chief 
cxecatioDery  for  instance^  is  a  dull  fel- 
low ;  and  the  attack  (vol.  II.  p.  97?) 
by  two  Riuaian  aoldien  upon^t^  huu" 
ircrf  Turkic  horae,  should  be  authen- 
tiealed.  Ttiembsequent  business^  in 
which  Hajji  becomes  a  moflah,  (priest,) 
wilb  the  attack  upon  the  Armenians, 
Isoda  to  almoat  nothing.  The  episodes, 
lao,  are  in  no  instance  fortunate.  The 
ilory  of  Yusnf  and  Mariam  is  tedious. 
Hie  adventures  of  the  Dervises  few 
pcnona  will  get  through ;  and  the  le* 
^  of  '<  The  Baked  Head"  is  a  weak 
mutation  of  the  little  Hunchback  of 
the  Arabian  Nights. 

The  hero  anbsequentlv  runs,  during 
the  whole  of  the  last  volume,  through 
a  found  of  incoherent,  and  often  care- 
kriy  rdated  adventures.  He  becomes 
a  merdunt,  and  thai  is  not  entertain- 
kig ;  marriea,  and  ia  divorced  again  ; 
wrhca  aecoonta  of  the  Europeans  and 
their  eoatoma,  which  are  puerile ;  and. 
It  last,  just  aa  he  ia  appointed  SMnre- 
tnr-io-chSef  to  the  Persian  English 
aBbaaiy  ill  Penda,  (our  supposed  trans- 
lator,) atopa  diort,  and  addresses  the 
mdcr.  Profiting  by  the  example  of 
the  P^nian  atory-t^ers,  he  pauses  in 
Us  tale  at  the  moat  interesting  point, 
«d  aaya  to  the  public, ''  Give  me  en* 
eouagement,  and  I  will  tell  you  more. 
ToB  ahaH  be  informed  how  Hajjl 
Baha  accompanied  a  great  ambassadc^ 
l»  Knateid ;  of  their  adventures  by 
na  and  land ;  of  all  he  saw  and  all  he 
TCmarked ;  and  of  what  happened  to 
him  on  hb  return  to  Persia.  But,  in 
CBte,**  he  adds,  like  the  third  Dervise, 
<a  penooage  in  the  tale,)  "  he  should 
and  that  be  has  not  yet  acouired  the 
art  of  leading  on  the  attention  of  the 
ewiooa,  he  wiU  never  venture  to  ap- 
pear a^^  before  the  world,  untfl  he 
baa  gamed  the  necessary  experience  to 
cttMire  aooeeas* 

Now,  the  author  of  Anastasius  may 
■oomaMmd  enoouragemenlin  abundance 
fa  do  anything  else ;  but  he  shall  have 
no  cQoOunigement  from  us  to  continue 
diehiatoryofHsJjiBaba.  AnOrien- 
tal  gentleman,  who  can  neither  fight 


5T 

nor  make  love,  will  never  do  to  bockle 
three  more  volumes  upon  the  back  of. 

Besides,  we  have  siready  got  some 
specimen  of  Higji's  talent  for  descri- 
bmg  European  peculiarities;  and,fh)m 
what  we  see,  we  should  say  most  de- 
cidedly. Let  us  on  that  head  have  no 
more.  All  the  business  about  the  vacd- 
nation — and  the  doctor's  desire  to  dis- 
sect dead  bodies — "  Boonapoort,"  the 
East  India  **  Coompani,"and  the  Eu- 
ropean constitutions,  is,  to  spesk  the 
truth  plainly,  very  wretched  %ta(£  in- 
deed. And  we  say  this  with  the  less 
hesitation  to  Mr  Hope,  because  wo 
have  expressed  our  unfeigned  admira- 
tion of  his  former  work.  It  should 
seem  that  he  can  do  well ;  and  if  so, 
there  is  no  excuse  fbr  him  when  he 
does  miserably  ill. 

Let  us  guard  ourselves  against  being 
mistaken.  Hi\jji  Baha  may  be  read  ; 
and  there  are,  as  oar  extracta  will  prove, 
gome  good  things  in  it  But,  as  a 
whole,  it  ia  tiresome,  incoherent,  and 
foil  of  ''  damnable  iteration."  Com- 
bata— caravans  —  reviewa — palaces- 
processions — repeating  themselves  over 
and  over  again — and  many  of  them  re- 
petitiona,and  weak  repetitiona,  of  what 
we  have  had,  in  atrength,  from  Mr 
Hope  before. 

Seriously,  Hi^i  Baha  should  be  ca* 
shiered  fbrtbwith.  As  far  aa  the  pub- 
lic is  concerned,  the  journey  of  the 
''pilgrim"  should  be  at  an  end.  And, 
indeed,  England  to  be  described  by 
any  foreigner,  ia  a  subject  just  now 
not  the  most  promising.  For  the  dif- 
ference between  Mr  Hope's  last  work 
and  hia  present  one,  it  would  be  verv 
difficult  to  account ;  but  certainly,  if 
he  writes  again,  let  him  at  least  trust 
ireely  to  ms  own  conceptions.  The 
present  book  has  none  of  the  eloquence 
or  poetic  feeling,  very  little  of  the  wit, 
and  still  less  of  the  fine  Uste,  which 
distinguished  the  former  in  so  eminent 
a  degree.  Of  Anastasius,  one  would 
aay,  that  it  seemed  to  have  been  writ- 
ten by  some  mighty  hand,  from  a  store, 
i^ll,  almost  to  overflowing,  with  rich 
and  curious  material ;  of  Hajji  Baha, 
that  some  imitator,  of  very  litde  com- 
parative force  indeed,  had  picked  up 
the  remnant  of  the  rifled  note-book, 
and  brought  it  to  market  in  the  best 
shape  that  he  was  able. 


Vot.  XV. 


H 

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58 


Letttr  from  Sampson  Standfast,  Esq. 


y* 


LETTER  FJIOM  SAMPSON  STANDFAST^  ESQ. 
TO  CnRISTOFHES  KORTH^  ESQ. 


Sir, 


The  Session  of  Parliament  seems 
likely  to  be  ushered  in  by  circumstan- 
ces^ alike  happy  and  extraordinary.  At 
home^  agricultnral  distress  has  vanish- 
ed ;  reform,  even  as  a  term,  has  become 
obsolete ;  faction  has  been  disarmed  by 
the  scorn  of  '^  the  people,"  and  all  isun- 
douded  prosperity  and  peace.  Abroad, 
the  demon  of  revolution  has  been  again 
smote  to  the  earth,  and  its  followers 
only  exist  to  be  derided  for  their  mad- 
ness and  imbecility.  Fate,  which  has 
been  prodigal  of  its  favours  so  long  to 
party  spirit,  seems  now  resolved  to 
place  public  affairs  above  its  reach,  and 
to  dome,  that  the  Ministry  and  Oppo- 
sition shall  pass,  at  least  one  session, 
without  evei^  a  pretext  for  quarrel  and 
combat. 

Transcendently  beneficial  as  this 
state  of  things  is  to  the  nation  at  large, 
there  are  those  to  whom  it  is  tran- 
scendently disastrous.  There  is  a  class 
in  the  State  which  it  plunges  into  the 
extreme  of  loss,  and  distress,  and  hope- 
lessness. X  cannot  conceive  any  situa- 
tion more  tndy  pitiable  than  that  in 
which  the  brilliant  aspect  of  public 
aflbirs  places  the  heads  of  Opposition, 
frwn  Qreyy  down  to  WiUcn.  Out  of 
doar9,  their  general  principles  are  cover- 
ed with  contempt  and  ridicule,  and  the 
few  followers  tne^  retain  will  not  8u£Per 
them  to  open  their  lips ;  and  in  Parlia- 
ment, they  seem  to  be  deprived  of  every 
topic  that  might  enable  them  to  keep 
themselves  in  sight  as  public  men. 
Without  the  assistance  of  the  charita- 
ble and  humane,  their  utter  ruin  seems 
to  be  inevitable. 

It  is  impossible  to  withhold  our  com- 
passion even  from  the  distress  of  an 
enemy.  We  forget  the  dangers  which 
he  has  drawn  around  us,  and  the  inju- 
ries which  we  have  received  at  his 
hands;  and  we  only  remember  that 
he  rent  the  veil  which  concealed  our 
talents,  and  lit  the  blaze  of  our  glory. 
If  there  had  been  no  Buonaparte,  there 
had  been  no  Wellington.  We  have 
passed  together  through  a  portion  of 
life  front  to  front,  if  not  side  by  side ; 
we  have  become  fiuQiliar  from  sight 
and  contact,  if  not  frx>m  sympathy  and 
affection ;  and  we  therefore  regard  the 
fall  of  a  foe  with  more  pity,  than  that 
of  a  stranger  who  never  wronged  us. 
I  have  long  been  the  bitter  enemy  of 


the  individuals  to  whom  I  have  advert* 
ed,  because  I  believed  their  sdiemea 
to  threaten  the  State  with  ruin;  but 
when  I  now  glance  at  them,  I  should, 
if  I  were  addicted  to  weeping,  shed 
tears  over  their  wretchedness.  If  they 
could  be  rdieved  by  legislative  enact* 
ments,  I  would  actually  sign  a  petition 
to  Parliament  in  their  behalf;  and  if 
a  subscription  could  serve  them,  I  pitH 
test  I  would  put  down  five  pounds 
wilh  the  utmost  alacrity.  In  truths 
the  sole  object  of  my  present  eoaunii«» 
nicati(m  is,  to  fumisn  the  means  for 
I>re6erving  them  from  total  annihik* 
tion. 

These  truly  imfortunate  and  un* 
happy  persons  are  weU  aware  that  tiiey 
must  have  matter  for  ParUamentary 
motions,  or  lose  their  political  being; 
and  that  all  their  old  subjects-— reform* 
public  distress,  forei^  policy,  finance* 
alteration  of  the  crimmal  laws,  &;c.  &€; 
— are  now  utterly  unserviceable.  I 
here  tender  to  thiem  im  entirdy  new 
set  of  Parliamentary  moticms.  If  they 
are  wise  men,  they  will  eagerly  accept 
my  offbring ;  and  if  they  are  grateral 
men,  they  wiU,  in  due  season,  honour 
me  with  a  statue  as  their  saviour. 

In  the  first  place,  let  Eari  Grey  in 
the  Larde,  and  Mr  Tierney  in  the 
Commons,  move  that  a  committee  be 
appointed  to  aseertain  precisely  the 
creed  and  nature  of  modem  Whif4(Utt- 
The  Committee  must  be  instructed  to 
point  out  with  the  greatest  care  the  dii&*' 
ference  between  the  Whiggism  of  the 
present  day,  and  that  of  1668 ;  and  to 
state  with  the  utmost  exactness,  the, 
distinctions  in  fiuth  and  practice  be- ' 
tween  the  Whigs,  and  the  huge  Con- 
tinental faction,  which  is  known  by 
the  thousand  and  one  names  of,  thie 
Carbonari,  Liberals,  Revolutionists, 
Constitutionalists,  Anarchists,  &c&o. 
The  committee  should  likewise  shew, 
where  modem  Whi^sm  agrees  with, 
and  where  it  is  hos^  to,  ttie  British 
Constitution;  and,  as  the  terms,  Mbeiw 
t^,  despotism,  constitutional,  patrio- 
tic, &c  &c,  would  probably  be  often 
employed  in  the  discussion,  it  ought  to 

give  correct  definitions  of  these  terms, 
y  wav  of  preface  to  its  report. 
In  Que  time  afterwards,  let  the  same 
most  eminent  individuals  move  fbr  a 
committee  to  inquire  into  the  causes  of 
thededmeandfallof  Whigg^.  This 


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•IWI.;]  .  ZtiUrfrom 

ocNUilltee  matt  not  fid!  to  nodoe  in 
its  report  the  conduct  of  ^e  Whigs 
dming  the  Peninmlar  wiup--at  & 
peftoe--en  the  repeal  of  the  income-tax 
—during  the  Manchester  and  other 
riota— on  the  trial  of  Qneen  Caroline 
--Howards  Carlile  and  other  blaajdi^ 
nan  at  home,  and  the  Continental 
•dciata  and  traitars,  &c.  &c. ;  and  it 
.most  be  earafhl  tDgi^oajustdescrip- 
tkm  of  die  pceaent  Whigs,  touching 
Ihcur  abilities  and  acquizements — their 
character  aa  honest  men  and  statea- 

That  the  long  and  arduons  labours 
of  these  committees  may  be  in  some 
^kgrse  diortened  and  snnplified,  let 
the  following  motions  be  made  by  the 
indiTiduals  to  whom  I  assign  th^. 

]>t  fori  Grey,  on  the  b^ialf  of  the 
Whigi  as  a  body,  propose  a  string  of 
lesehttions  for  the  adoption  of  the 
Lordg,  pornorting  that  the  British  a«- 
atttutkm,  tnough  apparently  a  monar- 
chy, is  in  intent  and  essence  a  r^ub- 
lio--4hat  all  the  powers,  duties,  and 
priTifegea  which  itassigns  to  the  King 
and  the  Aristocracy,  are  mere  names, 
•and  that  it  ia  highly  unconstitution- 
al to  regard  them  as  anything  else ; 
and  that,  as  the  Constitution  in  sgint 
and  working  means  the  Democracy  to 
ooDstitnte  ue  nation,  and  a  faction, 
domineering  alike  oyer  King  and  peo- 
ple, to  constitute  the  Government,  it  is 
IB  the  highest  degree  unconstitutional 
to  bdieve  that  faddoDs  ought  not  to 
poBsew  demotic  power,  or  that  they 
can  commit  wrong — and  that  all  who 
djaacnt  from  this  are  enemies  of  die 
CiniBtttution* 

'  Let  die  same  noble  person,  on  his 
own  personal  account,  move  the  Peer^ 
4o  reMTe,that  no  man  is  qualified  to  be 
thePrime-Ministeritf  this  great  naticm, 
whose  pditical  reasonings  and  predic- 
tions have  not  been  through  me  fain- 
ted by  events— who  has  not  constant- 
ly atodied  to  render  inflammatory  and 
tarbuknt  times  still  more  inflamma- 
tory and  turbulent— who  has  not  betti 
^ke  Birliamentary  champion  of  the  in- 
fidela  and  democrats  of  the  Continent, 
«-aDd  who  has  not  invariably  made 
die  weal  of  his  country  subservient  to 
that  of  his  V^^,  and  the  propagatimi 
<if  die  tenets  of  modem  Whiggism. 

Let  die  Bithop  of  iVonmcA  move, 
that  the  alliance  between  Church  ami 
State  be  dissolved— 4hat  the  Catholic 
ascendency  be  substituted  for  die  Pro- 
tisrintone    that  all  passages  be  ex- 


&Mi^pffOJi  StamffiiH,  Ekq. 


39 

punged  from  the  Scriptures  whfioh  mi- 
litate apainst  schism — and  that  it  be 
made  high  tresson  for  any  one  to  say, 
that  the  Catholic  claims  have  other 
opponents  than  the  Ckigy  of  the  £s- 
taUidiinent* 

Let  Mr  Tiermp,  in  a  most  pathe- 
tic nieech,  move  that  it  is  in  the  high- 
est degree  cruel,  unconstitutional,  and 
Urannical,  to  suffisr  the  damourers 
£or  office  to  sink  into  their  graves, 
without  permitting  them  to  have  more 
than  a  trifling  taste  of  it. 

It  will  be  alike  ben^dal  to  Sir 
Jamw  MaMnUmh  and  his  pftrty,  if 
he  can  carry  a  resolution  to  this  enect : 
«— A  writtf  wUl  be  an  impartial  his- 
torian, in  proportion  as  he  is  a  bigotted 
politiod  partisan.  The  despot  Buo^ 
naparte,  the  murderer  BuimaparU, 
the  treaty-violator  Buonaparte,  the 
enslaver  of  the  Continent  Buonaparte, 
was  a  paragon,  as  a  man  and  a  Sove- 
reign, and  his  memory  oueht  to  be 
revered  by  every  friena  of  humanity 
and  freedom.  It  is  highly  expedi^t 
that  this  country  do  forthwidi  erect  a 
monument  to  the  mem(H7  of  that  be- 
nefacUn:  to  mankind.  Napoleon  Buo- 
naparte. Crime  will  be  restrained  by 
mildness  of  punishmaat,  and  vice  ver^ 
ea.  Imprison  a  murderer  for  a  quhiUi, 
and  you  purge  the  nation  of  murder- 
ers ;  hang  hmn,  and  you  make  them 
abound. 

Be  it  Lord  John  Rusoeffe  care  to 
move,  thftt  a  day-labourer  from  every 
town  and  village  in  the  nation  be  sum- 
moned to  the  bar  of  the  Houae  ^ 
Commons,  to  be  examined  with  regard 
to  his  profid^icy  in  polidcal  and  other 
learning.  If  such  labourers  answer, 
as  in  all  probability  they  will,  diat 
they  believe  the  Constitudon  to  be 
some  strange  animal  brought  over-sea 
—the  ffouee  ofCommone  to  be  a  pub- 
lic ahns-houae — the  House  o/Peerf, 
to  be  the  place  at  which  Pears  are  re- 
tailed to  the  Cockneys,  &c.  &c.,  let 
Lord  John  move  the  House  to  resolve, 
that  such  persons  are,  of  all  others, 
the  best  qualified  for  choosing  Law- 
givers and  Statesmen.  He  must  follow 
this  with  a  set  of  resdudons  to  this 
efiect : — ^Because  a  stray  copy  of  Don 
Carlos  has  been  seen  in  a  remote  nor- 
thern village,  it  is  the  opinion  of  diis 
House  that  the  labouring  pc^uladon 
of  the  three  kii^doms  has  become  ex- 
ceedingly learned  and  refined.  False- 
hood, sedidon,  and  blasphemy,  are 
knowledge  and  wiadom;  thetelore,this 


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00 

Houie  aooidendomly  bdievet  that 
the  lower  classes  have  been  renderad 
extremely  knowing  and  wise,  ospa 
dally  with  regard  to  State  matterSy  by 
the  in^hty  increase  of  Sunday  News- 
papers. A  large  stake  in  the  weal  of 
the  State^  and  a  good  education,  posi- 
tively dibble  a  man  from  giving  an 
honest  and  viae  vote ;  theceforey  this 
House  is  abundantly  certain  that  none 
will  ever  vote  hon^tly  and  wisely  at 
elections,  except  those  who  are  igno- 
rant and  destitute,  whose  votes  are 
constantly  on  sale  at  the  rate  of  a 
guinea,  a  yard  of  ribbon,  and  a  couple 
of  gallons  of  beer,  and  who  know  that 
Burdett,  Hunt,  Dr  Watson,  and  Wad^ 
dington,  are  the  only  men  in  the  nation 
capable  of  forming  a  government. 
This  House  feels  itself  bound  to  de- 
clare, that  all  are  evil-disposed  persons 
who  dare  to  assert  that  a  House  of 
Commons,  chosen  exdusivelv  by  such 
voters,  would  yield  anything  but  bless- 
ings to  the  country.  This  House  is 
fuUy  convinced,  that  it  was  originally 
formed,  not  for  purposes  of  nationiu 
sood,  but  that  every  po<Hr  roan  midht 
nave  a  vote  to  sell  at  elections,  and  it 
declares  it  to  be  highly  slavish  and  un- 
constitutional to  tnink  otherwise. 

It  will  be  advisable  in  Mr  H.  Q. 
Bennett  to  move,  that,  whenever  a 
statement  of  the  misery  of  criminals  is 
made  to  the  House,  every  member  be 
compelled  to  shed  tears  over  it;  and 
that  every  member  be  ordered  to  go 
into  slight  mourning  on  the  transpor- 
tation of  every  convict,  and  into  deep 
laouming  at  every  i>ublic  execution. 
He  mtLj  follow  it  with  a  resolution, 
atating  it  to  be  highly  necessary  for 
public  good,  that  honourable  members 
should  lose  their  temper,  and  midce  in- 
flammatory speeches — Uiat  the  Tory 
press  should  be  destroyed  by  priviWe 
of  Parliament--and  that  he,  nims^ 
should  be  regarded,  as  Hume's  friend 
and  equal. 

Mr,  late  Sir  Robert  Wilson,  may 
move  for  a  committee  to  ascertain  how 
bis  character  stands  at  present  with 
the  nation.  The  committee  must  be 
instructed  to  report  on  the  following 
particulars: — Is  not  Mr  Wilson  a 
greater  statesman  than  Prince  Met- 
temioh,  and  a  more  able  general  than 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  ?  and  was  be 
not  warranted  in  aildresaing  Spain 
and  Portugal,  as  he  did,  in  language 
which  clearly  indicated  that  he  be- 
lieved hiniiett  to  havea nght  to  dia« 


IMierfrom  8<anp9tm  Stam^ut,  Eig. 


[IJaa. 


Bote  as  he  pleased  of  faotfa 
Is  there  any  Uus  ofkmwtr  in 
diarging  Buonaparte  with 
heinous  crimes,  and  then,  through  the 
mouth  of  a  fHeiid>  setracting  the 
diarge  on  the  hustings  for  eklctioi»» 
eermg  purpoaea— in  vidlating  the  lawa 
of  a  foreign  eonntry  to  save  firom  poi» 
nisfament  a  criminal  convicted  of 
jury  and  treason — ^in  bemg  exi 
the  British  army*-in  being  pul 
Btm^^  of  various  foaign  orden-*- 
anam  being  indebted  for  bread  to  a 
fiuitious  subKription  ?  On  the  bringiag 
np  of  the  report,  Mr  Wilson  m^ 
move,  that  alt  writers  be  in  ftituve 
eompelled  to  maintain,  that  when  an 
aUeji  endeavoura  to  force  a  natbn  to 
accept,  at  the  sword's  point,  a  form  of 
government,  and  a  set  ofruJeta  which 
the  vast  minority  of  it  abhors,  he  is 
proving  himself  to  be  a  champion  of 
national  liberty,  and  an  enemy  of  Jb- 
reifim  interference. 

Mr  Aldemuui  Wood  may  move,  that 
the  House  do  cause  it  to  be  notified  to 
the  public,  that  he  is  still  alive,  an^ 
in  good  halth — that  it  is  a  high  crime 
and  miademeanour  in  the  mob  not  to 
cheer  him  aa  usual — and  that,  if  haa 
popularity  be  not  restored  for^iwith, 
ne  wiU  commence  an  action  against 
the  state  for  the  recovery  of  hia  kigal 
and  constitutional  property. 

Sir  Francis  Burdett  may  move  fer 
a  committee  of  discovery  to  search 
the  records  of  the  Hous^  and  x^soct 
upon  the  following  pointa.-^What  b^ 
nefidal  law  calla  him  parent  ?  Did  he 
ever  attempt  to  carry  any  auch  kw 
through  Parliament  ?  Did  he  ever  iiw 
troduce  or  aupnort  any  meaauBe  of  fpm 
neral  utility  wnidi  had  no  connection 
with  party  politics  ?  Has  honest  con^ 
victioo,  or  party  madness,  produoed 
his  violent  and  disgusting  changes  of 
opinion  on  Reform  ?  Waa  he,  or  was 
he  not,  the  parent  of  radicalism  ?  What 
will  be  hia  character  with  historians 
twenty  yeara  after  hia  decease?  On 
the  bringing  up  of  the  report,  Sir 
Prands  may  move  the  Houae  to  de* 
dare,  that  patriotism  consista  in  the 
making  of  senseless  and  infiamm»- 
tory  speeches  to  the  multitude^ — in 
the  diihisiog  of  hatred  towards  con* 
stitnted  authorities, — and,  in  thecon* 
stantly  opposing  of  all  measures  cal- 
culated to  yield  public  good. 

Mr  Hume  must  prevail  mi  the  House 
to  resolve,  that  the  rules  of  aiithme* 
tic,  which  have  been  hitherto  •naed 


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Litter  frcm  Smap§(m  Siandfiut,  Esq* 


U 


bj  tfaepnifalk^  angnirijr  cnoneout-*- 
t£at  no  man  in  the  nation  can  make 
conect  arithmetical  calcnktiona  ex- 
cept himadf— «nd  that  the  cakmini- 
QUI  and  groondlen  attacks  which  he 
ia  in  the  practiee  of  making  on  ahient 
indivichiala,  are  exoeedii^T  jost  and 
praiseworthy.  He  may  tnoi  move 
te  pmniaainn  to  place  on  the  table  a 
aeneaof  cakulationsy  shewing^  1.  That 
the  aatioDal  debt  ia  more  by  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty-two  milHoni  than  it 
xadly  is.  S.  That  to  expend  ten  thoa- 
aand  pounds  on  a  building  on  shore^  is 
to  expend  twenty  thousand  on  a  num- 
ber oC  seamen  at  sea.  3.  Tiiat  two.and 
two  are  five.  4.  That  armies  and  fleets 
ahould  be  lessened  in  proportion  as 
territory  ia  extended,  and  that  the 
number  of  public  servants  shoukl  be 
diminished  with  the  increase  of  public 
huaneaa.  5.  That  his  own  popularity 
ia  juat  ei^ty-nine  times  greater  at 
pceaeat  than  it  waa  before  fie  became 
die  okgect  of  public  dehsion.  And, 
tf.  That  the  sunporters  of  the  Whigs 
are  one  hundred  times  more  numerous 
than  they  were  two  years  ago.  He 
may  then  make  the  following  mo- 
tions : — 1.  That  he  be  appointed  sole  fi- 
nancier and  accountant  to  the  state,  and 
Id  erery  individual  in  it.  2.  That  that 
horrid  old  nmsanoe  theChurch  of  Eng- 
land be  destroyed,  and  that  liichanl 
Carlile  bemade  director-general  of  the 
BatioB's  conscience.  3.  That  utter  ig- 
nonmce  of  a  subject  be  regarded  as  a 
memher's  best  qualification  for  making 
a  long  speech  on  it.  And,  4.  That 
every  detection  of  1^  errors  in  calcu- 
lation and  ooinion  be  regarded  by  the 
House  and  tne  nation  as  a  proof  that 
he  cannot  err.  His  zealous  friend, 
Mr  H.  G.  Beonct,  being,  ci  course, 
his  ooBStant  seconder. 

Let  Mr  Hobhouse  move,  that  Don 
Joan  and  Tom  Paine  be  uaed  in  our 
diurohea  instead  of  the  Prayer  Book 
and  the  Bih)e.-^Lord  Nugint,  that 
a  dukedom  and  pension  be  decreed 
him  £or  hia  glorious  exploits  in  the 
{yaniah  war. — ^And  Mr  Peter  Moore, 
that  the  nation  be  indicted  for  per- 
j«r^»  because  it  will  not  buy  "  A 
Voiee  from  England,  in  reply  to  A 
Voice  from  St  Helena." 

Lord  Holland  may  move,  that  the 
Bishop  of  Peterborough  be  expelled 
the  church  for  intermeddling  with 
charch  matters — that  the  nation  may 
be  placed  under  the  care  of  some  eyc- 
doctfw,  to  enable  it  to  see  his  own 


wisdom,  and  the  imbecffi^  of  i 
ters,  which  have  been  ao  long  dearW 
aeen  by  himself,— and  that  five  mit* 
lionsbe  annually  set  apart  for  the  main- 
tenance of  his  distinguished  friends, 
the  Spanish  reftigees.  In  his  speech 
on  the  lifter  topic,  he  may  introduce 
some  droUand  pointed  story  like  this: 
— *A  distinguished  foreigner,  whom  I 
have  the  honour  to  call  my  tMiTticukr 
friend,  asked  me  the  other  day — ^why 
are  the  members  of  yoiir  party  caHed 
Whigs?  My  answer  was — Because 
our  office  is  to  cover  with  plasters  the 
broken  heads  of  foreign  runaways ! 

I  would  place  a  mighty  burden  on 
Mr  Brougham's  shoulders.  Whatever 
the  authors  of  a  revolution  may  be  in 
personal  character  and  prindpks,  sudi 
revolution  cannot  £dl  of  being  in  the 
highest  degree  beneficial  to  the  state 
in  whidi  it  takes  place.  Every  man, 
or  at  least  every  foreigner,  who  plota 
the  overthrow  of  his  government,  and 
his  own  exaltation  to  a  share  of  the 
sovereign  power,  is  a  disinterested  pa- 
triot, and  friend  of  libertv.  It  is  essen- 
tially necessary  that  the  sovereign 
power  in  everv  country  be  exclusiv^ 
possessed  by  Actions,  for  factions  can- 
not oppress  and  tyrannize.  Liberty 
can  only  exist  under  the  ruleof  a  fiic- 
tion.  That  kingdom  must  of  necessi- 
ty be  finee,  prosperous,  and  happy,  in 
which  the  king  is  stripped  of  all  pow- 
er, and  the  sway  of  a  faction  is  absoo 
lute.  The  same  institutions  will  pro- 
duce the  same  efl^cts  in  all  countries, 
and  the  English  constitution  is  as  well 
calculated  for  any  other  country  as  for 
England ;  for  the  working  of  pubHc 
institutionsdepends  in  no  degree  what* 
ever  on  the  conduct  and  circumstances 
of  the  peoide.  Public  institutions 
oup;ht  to  he  invariably  founded  on  the 
axiom, — Man  is  a^  perfect  creature* 
In  proportion  as  this  axiom  is  adhered 
to,  they  will  render  him  perfect,  and 
vice  versa.  The  Spanidi  Revolution* 
ists,  as  a  body,  were  embued  with 
the  prindples  of  the  French  Rev»- 
hitionists,^therefoTe,  it  was  imposd* 
ble  for  the  revolution  which  they  ac- 
complished to  be  anything  but  a  mess- 
ing to  Spain.  Because  the  constitution 
was  forced  upon  Spain  by  the  arn^» 
it  was  unanimously  called  for  by  the 
people.  Spain  can  only  be  free,  by  ha- 
ving a  form  of  government  and  a  set  of 
rulers  which  she  detests.  The  friends 
of  revolution  throughout  Europe  are 
notorioudy  infidels,  as  wdl  aa  enemies 


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Letter  fnm  Sampeot^  Staftdfii$t,  Eeq. 


\jhik. 


•€f  mibttaotUI  monarchy^and  thdrhoi- 
tility  i&  avowedly  dii^cted  as  much 
-against  religion  as  against  existing go- 
▼ernmenta.  Thev  are,  in  general,  not 
less  Immoral  ana  prcdSigate  as  mem- 
bers of  society,  than  mercenary  and 
unprincipled  as  public  men :  There- 
fore they  are  admirably  qualified  for 
re?dlutioniaing  Europe,  and  remodel- 
ling sode^ ;  and  they  are  the  sole 
frioids  d  Icnowledge,  Hberty,  patriot- 
ism, and  philanthropy — the  sole  friends 
of  mankmd  that  toe  world  contains, 
MTe  and  except  the  Whigs  and  Radi- 
cals of  Great  Britain.   Mr  Brougham 
must  embody  all  this  in  a  set  of  reso- 
lutions, fmd  prevail  on  the  House  to 
adopt  Uiem  by  a  speech  of  inordinate 
length,  and  replete,  eren  to  redundan- 
cy, with  misrepresentations,  roiscalcu-. 
lations,  hideous  metaphors,  low  scur- 
rility, nauseous  Billingsgate,  and  hor- 
rible imprecations.  He  may  afterwards 
move,— 1.  That  it  be  made  hi^h  trea- 
aon  to  call  a  man  who  maintains  thu, 
'^  aBrummasem  statesman." — 9.  That 
the  House  do  issue  an  order  for  be- 
heading the  French  Minister  of  Fo- 
reign Affidrs.— 3.  That  a  committee 
be  appointed  to  ascertain  why  his  jpub- 
lic  prayer  for  the  destruction  or  the 
Bourbons  was  not  granted.— 4.  liiat 
Mr  Canning  be  compelled  to  hear  in 
ailence  anylUiing  that  Mr  Brougham 
may  be  pleased  to  say  of  him. — 5.  That 
the  community  be  compelled,  on  pain 
of  extermination,  to  forget  all  the  po- 
litical predictions  which  he  has  hither- 
to dehvered  in  Parliament,  the  Edin- 
burgh   Review,    and  elsewhere.— 6. 
That  the  Lord  Chancellor  be  impeadi- 
ed  for  refusing  silk  gowns  to  himself 
and  Mr  Williams.— 7.  That  the  ex- 
dusive  power  of  prosecuting  for  libel 
be  vested  in  the  Whigs.— 8.  That  if  a 
man  call  himself  a  Whig,  he  be  per- 
mitted to  promulgate  any  principles 
whatever,  without  being  deemed  an 
enemy  of  the  constitution. — 9.  That 
no  m&n  be  sufiered  to  call  himself  a 
Whig,  who  is  not  the  libeller  of  the 
church,  the  clergy,  and  religion— the 
slanderer  of  constituted  authorities — 
tt  damourer  for  vital  changes  in  the 
constitution — an  advocate  for  mving 
CO  fiKition  despotic  power — and  the 
friend  and  champion  of  Europe's  infi- 
dels and  rebels. — 10.  That  our  allies 
be  henceforth  only  known  by  the  names, 
tyrants,  despots,  enemies,  and  destroy- 
ers of  Uie  human  race,  &c  &c ;  and 
that  he,,  Henry  Brougham,  bo  f(vth« 


with  made  the  oracle  tall  empenr  of 
the  whole  universe. 

I  will  supply  no  more  motions  at 
present  Theae  will  frimidi  the  Whigi 
with  ample  matter  of  declamation  for 
more  than  one  aession,  and  they  wfll 
enaUe  those  eminent  and  distressed 
persons  to  bring  themselves  uid  their 
creed  more  frdly  than  ever  before  the 
eyes  of  the  country.  If  they  do  not 
profit  by  it,  let  not  my  chanty  be  ^ 
tuperated  for  the  failure.  I  do  not 
aeek  to  trepan  them  into  inconsisten- 
cy— ^I  propose  no  new  faith  for  their 
adoption.  So  fo  as  general  principles 
are  comprehended  in  my  motions,  I 
only  translate  into  plain  En^^iah  what 
they  have  again  and  again,  though  in 
a  less  honest  tongue,  dedared  to  be 
their  own* 

I  will  honestly  own,  that  I  have  the 
good  of  the  Stete  in  view,  as  wdl  as 
uiat  of  the  Whigs  ;  but  I  must  now 
cease  to  be  jocular.  A  party  like  this, 
which  makes  The  Morning  Chnmkk, 
The  Times,  and  their  copyists,  its 
organs — ^whidi  iroreads  its  protecting 
wings  over  evenr  blasphemer  and  trai- 
tor, from  Ix>rd  Byron  to  CarlUe— 
which  never  has  the  weapon  out  of  its 
hands,  wh^  royalty,  the  church,  and 
all  the  best  institutions  and  feelinoB 
of  society,  can  be  attacked — ^whidi 
apeRlYfhUemi^ei  with  the  revolution- 
ary factions  of  Europe— and  which 
boldly  maintains,  what  are  called  *'  ii^ 
Iteral  opinions,"  to  be  the  onlv  true 
ones — A  party  like  thia  is  tolerated 
among  us,  as  an  equally  honest  and 
harmless  one,  and  with  even  increasing 
feelings  of  ixidulgence and  good  will! 
We  see  here  me  midb^  magic  of  a 
name.  There  are  neiuier  ^^lugs  nor 
Tories  in  the  land,  according  to  the 
original  meaning  of  the  terma ;  and 
assuredly,  if  any  men  amongst  us  can 
with  propriety  be  called  Wlugs,  these 
are  the  Tories.  Nevertheless,  because 
the  persons  of  whom  I  have  spoken 
call  themselves  Whigs,  they  are  tde- 
rated  aa  well-affi^cted  and  somewhat 
clever  persons,  although  their  cresd 
manifestly  contemplates  the  destruc- 
tion of  all  the  principles  which  the  ex- 
perience of  men  and  nations  has  proved 
to  be  the  only  true  ones.  Let  them 
change  their  name  to  Liberals,  Carbo- 
nari, or  Constitutionalists,  without  al- 
tering in  one  jot  their  conduct  and 
prinoples,  and  they  will  be  at  once 
trodden  under  foot  by  an  indignant 
nation* 


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Lttterfrom  Sampion  Stcmdfait,  Etg. 


To  hate  a  party  like  this,  constant- 
ly fcHTciDg  poison  into  the  bowels  of 
the  state,  is  bad  enough ;  but  if  it  hpil 
been  die  worst,  I  should  have  remun- 
ed  silent  The  cry  of  ConciHaHon  is 
now  daily  rung  in  our  ears ;  and  by 
whom?  The  Tcnies.  And  to  whom 
is  it  addressed?  To  each  other.  If 
this  meant  only  the  baniidiment  of 
party  rage,  my  voice  should  be  among 
thelondest  in  propagating  it ;  but,  alas! 
like  almost  all  omer  political  terms 
DOW  in  £uhion,  it  is  meant  to  convey 
almost  any  meaning,  except  its  John- 
sonian one.  The  cry  is  not  to  the 
Whigs — ^Abate  your  evil  practices,  but 
to  the  Tories — Abate  your  hostility 
to  these  inractioes.  To  eoneUiate, — 
the  principles  of  the  government  and 
its  supporters  must  be  modified  until 
they  approximate  to  those  of  the 
Whigs,  and  their  tone  must  be  lower- 
ed until  the  Whigs  cannot  goad  them 
into  a  word  of  contradiction ;  while 
the  principles  and  rancour  of  those 
persons  are  to  remain  unaltered.  It 
was  notorious  that  the  Spanish  revolu- 
tionistB  held  principles  diametrically 
opposed  to  those  of  the  Tories— in  a 
wm,  '*  liberal"  principles,  i.  e,  in 
substeDoe,  the  old  Jacobin  ones — and 
that  some  of  them  even  openly  pro- 
posed a  repetition  of  the  enormities 
which  were  perpetrated  in  France. 
Hie  limes  newsijaper  actually  confess^ 
ed  that  the  Spsnisn  revolution  seemed 
to  be  closely  following  the  steps  of  the 
Freodione.  Yet  for  purposes  of  Con- 
eUiali4m,  no  doubt^  while  the  Whigs 
tnunpeted  forth  those  nersons  as  mo- 
dels (rf*  whatmen  shoula  be,  the  Houses 
of  Parliament  and  Ministers  of  Eng- 
land were  to  afiect  to  sympathize  wim 
them — to  regard  them  as  honest,  well- 
prineipled,  patriotic  men — and  to  treat 
them  as  the  bona  ^fide  repnresentatives 
of  the  Spanish  people.  The  Protes- 
tants of  Ireland  were  to  be  stimnati- 
led  by  the  Whigs,  throudiout  tne  last 
Session,  as  a  faction,  a  detestable  fac- 
tioo,  the  grants  of  Ireland,  the  au- 
thors of  Ireland's  wretchedness,  &c  &c 
and  this,  unquestionablv  for  purposes 
of  OmcUiation,  was  to  oe  listened  to, 
by  Hiniaters  and  the  House,  in  silent 
aequieseenoe,  bating  the  disbelieved 
denial  of  some  nupeeted  Orangeman. 

Against  this  system,  I,  for  one,  so* 
lenmly  protest  If,  to  be  liberal  and 
to  conetHate,  we  must  abandon  our' 
creed,  let  us  still  be  termed  bigots, 
wd  dwell  amidst  the  thunders  of  par- 


ty madness.  If,  after  all  our  risks, 
and  sufi^ngs,  and  perseverance,  and 
triumphs,  we  are  at  last  to  sacrifice 
our  principles,  let  us,  at  least,  do  it 
like  £ngli^men,  and  not  adcmt  the 
frenchified,  Whiggish  mode,  of  fancy- 
ing that  whatever  change  we  may 
make  in  our  faith,  we  shall  remain  tiie 
same,  so  long  as  we  call  ourselves  To- 
ries. The  "  Pitt  system"  was  a  sys- 
tem of  principles,  it  it  had  any  pecu- 
liarity whatever ;  the  Pitt  war  was  a 
war  against  principles,  and  he  who 
would  now  aamit  these  principles  in- 
to the  grand  sphere  of  European  ac- 
tion, is  no  disciple  of  Mr  Pitt  The 
last  ban  was  cast  upon  them,  when 
the  High  AlUed  Powers,  induding 
England,  proclaimed  Buonaparte  to  be 
a  man  witn  whom  no  fkitii  could  be 
kept — an  outlaw.  The  proclamation 
was  against,  not  the  man,  out  his  prin- 
eroles.  It  stated  in  efi^ect,  that  raleni 
wno  held  religion  to  be  a  fiible,  and 
scorned  the  uiws  of  morality — who 
practised  the  doctrines  for  the  guidance 
of  human  life,  which  fordgn  "  Con* 
stitutionalists"  noio  maintain — ^were  a 
curse  to  the  world,  and  could  not  be 
tderated  in  it  Be  it  remembered 
that  it  was  dictated  by  experience,  and 
not  opinion. 

In  judging  of  the  Spanish  Revolu- 
tionists, we  must  look  at  the  contri- 
vers and  heads,  and  not  at  those  who, 
after  their  success,  accepted  employ- 
ment under  them,  and  swelled  their 
train.  We  must  look  less  at  what 
they  did,  than  at  what  they  evidentiy 
intended  to  do,  and  at  what  the  prac- 
tice of  their  creed  was  sure  of  accom- 
plishing. Of  all  Englishmen,  dead 
and  aUve,  Jerry  Bentham  was  the  man 
to  whom  they  decreed  public  honours. 
This  fact  is  of  itself  decisive.  If  we 
believe  that  England  could  bo  govern- 
ed on  the  principles  of  Radicalism— 
that  even  tne  practice  of  the  modem 
WMg  tenets  would  not  plunge  the  state 
into  ruin,  we  must  then,  in  consisten- 
cy, fralemize  with  the  revolutioniste 
in  question,  or,  at  least,  acknowledge 
them  as  one  of  Uie  innocuous  and  le- 
gitimate parties  of  Europe.  But  we 
must  then  raQ  no  more  against  Whig- 
gism  and  Radicalism— against  Bent- 
bam  and  Byron,  and  Hunt  and  Ck>b- 
bet : — ^we  must  ihen^eaae  to  be  Tories 
and  Pittites,  and  anything  but  apos- 
tates. The  question  will  admit  of  no 
compromise.  If  we  believe  "  Uberai 
epinioni"  to  be  fraught  with  cunea  to 


Drgitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


Letter ^from  Sampeon  StanJftui,  Esq. 


CJtB- 


mankind,  we  must  oppoee  them  in 
Parliiment^  u  well  m  out  of  it— in 
foreigners^  as  weU  as  in  our  country- 
men— abroad,  as  well  as  at  home — ^m 
goremnients,  as  wdl  as  in  individuals 
— 4md  in  the  practice,  as  well  as  in 
the  promulgation. 

How  did  the  system  of  Conciliation 
bear  upon  the  Irish  protestants  ?  Those 
of  them  who  are  Orangemen,  assured- 
ly formed  an  association,  but  there 
was  not  a  man  living  who  doubted 
their  loyalty — who  did  not  know  that 
their  bbject  of  union  was  to  defend 
the  Constitution  in  church  and  state 
— and  who  was  not  auite  sure  that 
their  mysteries  were  of  no  public  mo- 
ment whateyer.    What  then  ?    Had 
we  no  other  pohtical  associations? 
Had  we  not  more  than  one  Catholic 
association^— Pitt  Clubs — ^Fox  Clubs 
-^«  Canning  Club— and,  above  all, 
a  grAiid  Whig  Club?     In  regard  to 
poutical  exertions  and  baleful  fuinci- 
pies,  how  would  the  Whig  Club  stand 
m  comparison  with  the  Orange  A  sso 
dadon  ?  Yet  the  latter  body  was  spo- 
ken of,  as  though  it  was  the  only  po- 
litical combination  in  the  empire,  and 
as  though  sudi   combinations  were 
pregnant  with  public  ruin.  It  is  amu- 
sing enough  to  hear  any  members  of 
the  contending  parties  in  Parliament, 
rail  against  party  spirit  and  party  fu- 
ry, but  it  is  actuaUy  sickening  to  hear 
such  men  as  Brou(;^m  and  Burdett 
raise  the  outcry.  Yet  these  men,  who 
have  been  so  long  the  most  cmtrageous 
party  men  in  the  countir— who  have 
so  long  laboured  beyond  tneir  strength, 
to  inoculate  every  mechanic  and  la- 
bourer in  it,  with  party  madness,  ay, 
and  with  such  madness  as  would  only 
flame  against  our  best  institutions— 
these  men  could  afiect  to  shake  with 
horror,  over  the  party  feelings  of  the 
Orangemen,  as  thougn  they  had  never 
before  known  that  party  reelings  ex- 
isted in  the  world.  Still  no  man  could 
be  foundto  whisper, — "  Look  at  home 
—compare  your  party  principles  and 
party  rage  with  theirs,  and  blush  your- 
selves into  reformation."  With  respect 
to  the  diarges  that  were  heaped  upon 
the  Orangemen,  Ireland  has  a  Camo- 
lic  Board,  which  is  most  anxious  to 
collect  every  scrap  that  could  be  work- 
ed up  into  a  complaint  to  Parliament 
—she  has  a  disaffected  ^pulation  most 
anxious  to  supply  tms  Board  with 
what  it  seeks — sne  has  a  considerable 
number  of  members  on  the  opposition 


side  of  the  House  of  Common^  in  ad- 
dition to  many  English  ones,  whose 
pride  it  would  oe  to  lay  her  complaints 
Defore  Parliament,  yet  no  proof  could  • 
be  brought  forward  in  support  of  these 
charges.  Nevertheless  the  Tories  did 
not  venture  to  say  a  syllable  in  defence 
of  the  absent  objects  of  the  calumnies. 
It  seemed  to  be  understood  that  die 
Whigs  and  Tories  of  England  ought 
to  coufederate  and  squabble  at  plea- 
sure, but  that  it  was  highly  ui^usti- 
fiable  for  the  Orangemen  to  follow 
their  example, — that  it  was  mighty 
constitutional  for  the  Catholics  to  ss- 
sociate  for  the  attainment  of  their  po- 
litical objects^  but  quite  the  contrary 
fOT  Protestants  to  associate  to  oppose 
them. 

In  what  do  we,  who  are  opposed  to 
the  Catholic  claims,  diffb'  f^m  the 
Orangemen  in  principle,  and  in  what 
do  the  Tories  differ  fVom  tliose  who 
are  favourable  to  these  claims  ex- 
cept on  this  single  point  ?  Did  not 
this  conduct  then  amount  to  a  cow- 
ardly desertion  of  our  brethren,  and 
compromise  of  our  principles,  for  the 
sake  of  Conciliation  f 

These  observations  can  scarcely  fkil 
of  being  of  some  use  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  session.  They  may  serve 
to  put  the  unwary  on  their  puard. 
Let  party  rage,  if  it  be  practicable, 
be  extinguished — totally  extinguish- 
ed; but  let  us  perish  rather  than 
surrender  one  iota  of  those  glorious 
principles,  that  have  rendered  us  the 
nappiest  and  the^greatest  of  nations. 
We  live  in  times,  which,  if  philoso- 
phy were  not  exploded,  would  fiir- 
nisn  abundant  labour  for  the  philoso- 
pher. We  look  with  scorn  upon  all 
former  generations,  as  having  been 
composed  ofdolts  and  barbarians;  and 
we  regard  omrselves  to  have  reached 
the  highest  point  of  perfection  attain- 
able by  man.  Where  is  the  justifica- 
tion of  our  arrogance  and  boasting  ? 
One  portion  of  us,  the  ultra  learned, 
good,  and  wise,  have  discovered  that 
civil  and  religious  liberty  cannot  exist 
with  civil  and  religious  obedience^ 
and  their  cry  is,  in  meaning,  whatever 
it  may  be  in  phrase,  Down  with  kings 
and  priests-rHSway  with  the  bible  and 
prayer-book^-subjects,  scorn  your  ru-» 
Icrs. — Ye  wives  and  daughters — ye 
apprentices,  shopmen,  and  servants  ot* 
all  descripdons,  think  no  longer  that 
lewdness,  debauchery,  proflkacy,  and 
theft,  are  forbidden  by  God,  or  that 
11 


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Letter  from  Samuel  Statu^oity  Esq. 


tbcj  aie  difignoefbl  in  the  eyeg  of  nan ! 
Those  who  teach  this  are  the  pre^emp' 
neutly  wise  and  knowing  men  who  look 
down  from  their  pinnacle  of  exaltation 
with  mingled  contempt  and  compag- 
sion  on  all  who  differ  from  them,  and 
who  know  that  the  adoption  of  their 
doctrines  will  fill  the  earth  with  the 
parity  and  happiness  of  heaven.  The 
other  portion  of  us  who  have  not  kq>t 
nace  with  them  in  the  pursuit  of  know- 
ledge and  wisdom,  are  still,  it  seems, 
more  knowing  and  wise  than  our  fore- 
fathers. We  must  not  gag  and  hand- 
cuff those  who  would  fill  the  world 
with  rebels,  thieves,  and  prostitutes. 
We  must  not  even  dash  to  pieces  their 
assertions  with  fkcts,  and  their  theories 
with  past  experiments,  and  hold  them 
up  to  the  derision  of  those  whom  they 
would  seduce  to  ruin.  Oh,  no !  This 
would  be  barbarism  and  bigotry.  We 
roust  conciliate;  we  must  near  them 
in  the  House  of  Commons  openly  at- 
tack the  Christian  religion,  attempt  to 
legalize  the  circulation  of  blasphemous 
and  treasonable  writings;  brand  the 
only  well-affected  and  weU-principled 
portion  of  the  Irish  people  as  public 
enemies ;  promulgate  the  most  mad 
and  atrocious  principles  of  civil  go- 
vernment; and  exhaust  the  mighty 
powers  of  language  in  ^investing  the 


66 

infidels  and  democrats  of  the  continent 
with  the  attributes  of  perfection.  We 
must  hear  them  do  this  in  polite  and 
complacent  silence,  lest  we  for^t  our 
ohaittcter  for  Uberalii^    We  should, 
perhaps  gain  the  epithets — monks, 
parsons,  tyrants,  serviles,  parasitea^ 
&G.,  &c,  were  we  to  avow  principles 
hostile  to  theirs;  and  th^bre  we 
must  by  all  means  remain  dumb  when 
we  can ;  and,  when  we  are  compelled 
to  roeak  out,  we  must  accompany  the 
confession  df  our  principles  witn  an 
elaborate,  canting,  crinnng  apology, 
for  entertaining  them.  On,  man,  man ! 
is  this  all  that  the  exercise  of  thy  won- 
derful and  stupendous  faculties  can 
m^e  thee  ?  Is  this  all  the  instmction 
that  thou  canst  extract  from  the  ex- 
perience of  six  thousand  yean,  and 
the  miracles  which  Heaven  has  spread 
around  thee  ?    Boast  no  more  of  thy 
reason,  and  of  thv  superiority  over  the 
beasts  of  the  field.  Call  the  worm  not 
only  thy  brother,  but  thv  superior; 
for  its  instinct  can  teach  what  thy  rea- 
son cannot,  the  means  of  avoidi^  in- 
jury, suflfering,  and  destruction. 
I  am. 
Sir, 
Your  obedient  servant, 
Sampson  Stanjdfast. 
London  :  Sth  January,  1824* 


LOMBARD  8   MEMOIRS.* 


There  are  two  or  three  points  of 
doubt  and  darkness  in  the  French  Re- 
volution, which  will  be  a  great  stum- 
bling-block to  its  historian,  and  which 
stand  in  great  need  of  being  cleared. 
And  there  are  mjrriads  of  memoirs 
pouring  forth  from  the  Parisian  press, 
written  by  actors  and  subactors  in  that 
great  tragedy,  which  somehow  or  ano- 
ther treat  of  every  sul^ect  but  the  one 
we  are  anxious  to  be  informed  about 
Our  minds  were  quite  made  up  about 
Queen  Marie  Antoinette's  comparative 
innocence,  and  Mad.  Campan's  silly 
attempts  at  exculpation,  have,  if  any- 
thing, thrown  us  back  into  suspicion. 
The  present  King's  book  has  told  us 
nothing,  but  that  his  ms^est^  resem- 
bles ourself-— fond  of  scnbbhng,  and 


good  living.  Napoleon,  with  his 
volumes  on  Ciesar  and  Turenne,  mere- 
ly puts  his  finger  in  our  eyes,  and  well 
buy  no  more  of  them.  In  short,  we 
are  disappointed,  and  begin  to  think 
that  the  best  secrets  are  out,  and  no- 
thing but  dregs  and  lies  left  in  the 
foul  cask  of  revolutionary  biography. 
The  truth  ought  certainly  to  be  appa- 
rent by  this ;  never  were  events  nar- 
rated oy  so  many  writers,  all  astors 
or  witnesses  of  them, — the  most  strik- 
ing scenes  described  by  men  just  fresh 
from  their  horrors.  Never  were  so 
many  different  characters,  and  various 
talents,  all  absorbed  by  the  one  great 
object,  the  unprecedented  events  of 
their  day ;  these  we  have,  in  their  dif- 
ferent works,  viewed  from  all  sides, 


*  Memotres  Anccdotiqties  pour  servir  k  rHistoire  de  la  Revolution  Francai«e, 
par  Lombard  de  Langres,  Ancien  Ambassadeur  en  HoUande.  Paris,  1823. 
Vol..  XV  I 


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69 


LrnnbatfTi  Memoirt. 


QJta, 


in  eiery  ihade  of  ptrtv,  and  eren  in 
every  minor  shade,  wbidi  the  pecu- 
liiff  chanctcr  of  the  writer  dirae  on 
the  ohjeets  of  his  oontempUuion. 
ETery  kind  of  intellect  seems  to  have 
had  its  representatiye  at  this  satomalia 
ci  pbilosophj,  from  the  poetic  do- 
qaenoeof  beStaM  to  the  dnlland  im- 
pious theism  of  Robespierre— orators 
and  philosophers  e?en  in  crowds ;  re- 
spectable poets,  suitable  to  the  poriod, 
were  not  wanting,  and  Lomret  was  a 
noTclist  worthy  ^  the  times.  With 
Camot  and  Tall^hrand  for  its  states- 
men, and  Napoleon  fbr  its  hero,  what 
conld  the  aoe  haye  wanted  in  a  lite- 
rary point  or  yiew  ?— a  Joe  Miller,  a 
collector  of  jests,  a  gleaner  of  bon 
mots,  uttered  in  prisons,  on  scafiblds, 
and  under  the  axe  of  the  guillotine. 
Such  a  personage  has  it  found  in  the 
audior  of  these  dfemotret,  Mons.  Lom- 
bard de  Langres,  a$icien  Ambassadeur 
e»  HoHande* 

Mr  Lombard,  the  son  of  somebody 
or  nobody  at  Langres,  and  hence  im- 
imdently  self-styled  De  Langreg,  af- 
ter haying  receiyed  his  early  education 
in  the  College  of  Chaumont,  Ibund 
himsdf,  in  the  year  1793,  a  student 
in  Paris,  and  an  inhabitant  of  that 
learned  quarter  of  it,  called  the  Pays 
Latin.  He  narrowly  escaned  being 
included  in  the  massacre  of  toe  Cannes 
and  the  Abbaye,  and  to  avoid  a  simi- 
lar danger,  he  closely  adhered  to  the 
revolutionary  council  of  his  section. 
This  worthy  collection  of  legislators 
was  led  by  a  f\udous  demagogue  of  an 
ironmonger,  who,  with  an  eye  to  busi- 
ness, as  well  as  to  the  republic,  pro- 
posed one  evening,  in  fUU  section,  that 
the  whole  body  uiould  proceed  to  de- 
molish the  uron  grill  and  railing  of 
the  Val  de  Grace,  and  therewith  to 
arm  the  fmiUifbl  populace.  An  itch 
to  distinguish  himself  urged  Lombard 
to  unmask  Use  popular  ironmonger,  in 
which  he  succeeded ;  for  whicn  suc- 
cess he  was  obliged  to  decamp,  and 
beat  a  speedy  and  secret  retreat  from 
the  metropolis  to  die  little  town  of 
ViUeueuve,  on  the  great  south-east 
road  from  Paris.  Here  ^e  Memoirs 
become  interesting,  depicting  in  lively 
colours,  but  with  very  ill-placed  wag- 
gery, the  state  of  a  httle  town  during 
tbe  reign  of  terror.  The  leading  cha- 
racters of  the  village  are  all  sketched 
(somewhat  better  than  Irving's  ill- 
shaven  radical,)  ending  with  "  Mr 


Vautrin,   ctiisinier  retire :   il  savalt 
lire,  et  k  politique  etait  son  fbrt*** 

On  the  insurrection  of  the  Lyon* 
nese,  the  good  people  of  Villeneuve 
wished  well  to  their  cau8e,and  sent  their 
congratulations,  at  the  same  time  that 
they  dispatched  an  episde  to  the  jaco- 
bins at  Paris,  disowmng  any  fraternity 
with  them.  But  Lyons  succumbea, 
and  Villeneuve,  at  tne  instigation  of 
Lombard,  who  had  become  the  poli- 
tician of  ihe  village,  sought  to  retrace 
its  steps.  The  club  was  re-opened, 
the  streets  fenced,  and  the  red  night- 
cap in  dl  its  glOTy.  Mr  Trudiot  was 
the  first  commissioner  of  blood  Uiat 
came  among  them,  and  they  escaped 
him.  Mr  Truchot  has  since  returned 
to  his  old  profession,  a  leader  of  dan- 
cing dogs  on  the  boulevard.  But  what 
vras  the  peril  of  the  whole  town,  when 
a  column  of  republican  troops,  in  pass- 
ing Villeneuve  one  summer  noon,  dis- 
covered that  the  cross  stiU  existed  on 
the  spire  of  the  chureh !  Lombard, 
the  then  president  of  their  dub,  was 
near  paying  the  omission  with  his 
head.  In  the  midst  of  all  this,  Mr 
Lombard  amused  himself  with  writing 
tragedies  d  la  moifr— Hear  him ! 

**  In  the  flourishing  times  of  the  ier^ 
roTf  I  shone  forth  in  all  the  splendour, 
wiih  which  Melpomene  can  surround  a 
&vourit6.  At  this  tima  they  represent- 
ed at  Paris,  in  short,  in  all  theatres  of 
the  republic,  a  tragedy  of  my  build,  in 
three  acts,  and  blank  verse,  entitled,  Le 
Francois  dans  tinde.  It  consisted  of 
the  grand  inquisitor  of  Ooa  violating  a 
woman,  roasting  a  man,  and  himself  get- 
ting roasted  in  his  tiutu  Since  the  in- 
vention of  theatrical  rhapsodies,  never 
were  there  better  conditioned  ones.** 

Strange  historic  pets  some  people 
take  a  fancy  to.  Warton  says  of  Henry 
the  Eighth,  "  That  had  he  never 
murth^ed  his  wives,  his  politeness  to 
the  fair  sex  would  remain  unimpeach- 
ed."  Dr  Clarke  takes  the  ^ptart  of 
Richard  the  Third.  Napoleon,  in  his 
Memoirs,  thinks  Robespierre  a  man 
of  humanity,  and  no  shedder  of  hu- 
man blood.  Danton  is  the  favourite 
of  Lombard,  as  he  is  indeed  of  La- 
cretelle.  He  was  the  fine,  black,  bold- 
fhced  villain  of  Venice  Preserved,  who, 
though  inconceivably  blind,  and  in- 
capable of  exerting  nimself  to  avoid 
his  impending  fate,  still  never  lost  his 

liety  and  presence  of  mind,  even  on 

le  scaffold :  ''  As  they  struck  a  great 


Sie 
ei 


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number  of  vktuDi  at  (mce,  the  leather 
aiek  which  was  to  contain  the  heads 
was  ample.  While  the  aze  was  de« 
acending  upon  some^  the  others  await- 
ed their  turn  at  the  foot  of  the  scaf- 
ftld.  H^ranlt  de  Sch^lles  and  Dan* 
ton  were  of  these  last;  theywereoon- 
Tcnii^  together  when  the  executioner 
lold  H^rault  to  mount  H^rault  and 
Dantoniqpyroaching  each  other  to  em<« 
bno^  Ihe  executioner  pre?ented  them. 
Fst  cntel,  said  Danton^  nos  tke$  se 
rmknthenrnt  dam  le  sac»" 

There  is  a  meeting  snd  «oene  of 
some  interest  related  in  the  Memoirs, 
which  took  place  between  Robespierre 
and  Denton  a  little  before  the  fall  of 
die  latter.  At  length  Thermidor 
faiou^t  the  turn  of  Robespierre  him- 
self, and  his  fall  put  an  end  to  the 
icjgn  of  terror.  Wnat  were  the  sen* 
tiauats  and  conduct  of  French  sode- 
$f,  onerging  fnm  those  times  of  blood 
and  crime  ? — Hear  again  Lombsrd. 

^  To  the  rage  lor  carnage  succeeded, 
in  Fftris,  the  rage  for  pleasure.  The 
pSTemcnt  was  still  red  with  blood,  when 
games,  feasts,  spectacles,  and  balls,  be- 
came a  frensy.  Balls !— you  would  not 
believe  it,  if  an  hundred  thousand  indivi- 
duals  were  not  there  to  vouch  the  fiict : 
—There  were  balls^  to  which  one  could 
not  be  admitted,  unless  he  had  lost  some 
one  of  his  fiunily  upon  the  scaffold,  and 
where  one  could  not  dance  without  ha- 
ying the  hair  cut  Nke  those  going  to  be 
decapitated ;  if  one  had  not,  in  short,  ao- 
cordhig  to  the  expression  of  the  dsy,  la 
cAcoevx  aUi  vtcnntc* 

An  aneodoteof  ayery  difRventkind 
is  die  next  we  meet  with  in  the  coUeo- 
tion ;  it  is  of  the  faite  Pope,  Pius  the 
Seventh.  ''  He  was  traversing  the 
great  gallery  of  the  Louvre.  The  crowd 
&n  prostrate  as  he  passed,  to  receiYe 
his  benediction.  Two  puppies,  link- 
ing to  do  something  admirable,  allbet- 
ed  to  hold  themselves  upright  and  un«- 
moved,  and  began  to  smile  and  titter 
as  the  Pontiff  approached  them.— 
*  Messieun/  ssid  Pius  to  them,  *  the 
benediction  of  an  old  man  is  not  to  be 
despised.'  **  The  answer  of  Pius  to 
the  threatening  emissary  of  Buona- 
parte, who  ibmid  him  at  his  frugal 
dinner,  is  equally  dignified.  "  Mon- 
sieur," sdd  he, "  a  sovereign  diat  needs 


LombttntM  MamHTs* 


67 


but  a  crown  a-day  to  live  i^u,  is  not 
a  man  to  be  easily  intimidated.** 

Under  the  Directory.  Lombard 
found  himself  judge  in  the  Court  of 
Cassation^  from  whence  he  waa  taken 
by  Talleyrand  (far  want  of  a  better) 
to  act  ambassador,  or,  in  other  words, 
pto-oonsul,  in  Holland.  The  old  me- 
moiriat  dwella  with  greaitaelf-compla- 
cenoy  on  dioee  times  of  his  grandeur, 
and  remarks,  how  easy  it  would  have 
been  for  him  to  have  covered  himaelf 
with oidenand  decorations,  ^'^utea 
dcela  la  decoration  dn  liiu  qu'on  do»- 
Bait  pour  rien ;  ceUedel^peroad'or, 
ou'on  a  pour  troia  sous ;  et  du  lion 
d'Hoktem,  qu'on  lend  six  Uanca :. 
▼oila  le  fila  d'un  direotenr  de  la  poste 
anx  lettres  chang^  en  copstellation." 
•  Among  theaoquaintancesof Lombard 
at  thia  tune  was  Kosciusko,  who  had 
come  to  Paris  with  a  proposal  of  rai* 
sing  Fdish  regiments  £br  the  Diree* 
tory.  His  proposal  waa  accepted,  and 
die  regiments  were  raised.  Rut  in  the 
ttcantuoe  amved  the  18th  Brumaire, 
and  die  fidl  of  the  Directory;  the 
leading  power  waa  NaDoleon>  and  the 
Pdiiah  hero  waited  on  him.  '^Buona* 
parte  was  yet  lodged  at  the  Luxcm* 
Dovg,  when  Kosciusko,  still  in  pur* 
suit  of  his  project,  wsited  on  him,  ac* 
eompaniad  by  hia  two  aida^de-camp, 
Kidnadvits  and  DombrouakL  Jealoua 
of  evervdung  sreat,  the  first  Consul 
afibcted  to  ad£ess  the  two  aid»-de« 
camp,  and  turned  hb  back  on  Koaci- 


The  only  historical  pointa  on  which 
any  light  ia  thrown  by  these  volumes, 
are  the  death  of  Pichegru,  who,  th^ 
assert,  was  strangled,  by  Buonapsrtes 
eider,  in  prison;— -the  assasainatiott 
waa  pot  off  for  a  day,  and  the  appoint- 
ed cners,  uninfbrmed  of  the  change, 
be^n  to  proebim  a  whole,  full,  and 
partieular  account  of  Pich^pru's  sui« 
dde,  till  they  were  set  right  bv  some 
agents  of  the  police,  that  Pichegru's 
suklde  was  put  off  till  the  marrow. 
The  other  one  discussed  is  the  18th 
Brumaire,  accompanied  with  remarks 
on  Laa  Caaea,  which,  however,  we  shall 
not  trespass  on-^We  have  been  inun- 
dated with  reviews  and  articles  on  the 
subject. 


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The  We$i  Indian  Controversy.    No,  II L 


CJi 


THE    WEST    INDIAN    CONTROVERSY^ 

Na  III. 

Though  Honesty  be  no  Puritan,  it  will  do  no  hurt. 

Shakespeare. 


Thrrb  has  just  appeared  in  the 
58th  Number  of  the  Quarterly  Re^ 
view,  a  pi^»er  of  very  high  raerit^ 
''  On  the  condition  of  the  negroes  in 
OUT  colonies."  This  essay  is  evident- 
ly ^e  work  of  an  able  hand,  the  re* 
suit  of  laborious,  and,  above  all,  dis- 
passionate investigation.  It  is  com- 
posed in  a  style  of  calmness  and  clear- 
ness which  undoubtedly  presents  a 
ver^  remarkable  contrast  to  that  in 
which  the  authors  of  the  African  In- 
stitution pamphlets  have  (with  scarce- 
ly an  exception)  indulged  themselves. 
The  writer  gives  a  distinct  view  of  the 
Questions  at  issue,  and  also  of  the  main 
nets  hitherto  adduced  on  both  sides 
concerning  them :  he  points  out  the 
spirit  of  tumultuous  exaggeration  that 
TM  ttJit/brm/ybeen  exhibited  on  the  one 
hand ; — and  commends,  ahnost  while 
he  lunents,  the  feelings  that  have, 
comparativdy  speaking,  mi  those  who 
act,  and  have  all  akmg  acted,  under 
the  influence  of  this  unsuitable  tem- 
per, in  the  fiill  and  entire  command 
of  the  arena  of  popular  discussion— 
the  press.  The  pnilosophical  prin- 
ciples on  which  these  questions  must 
eventually  be  decided,  are  laid  down 
and  illustrated  with  much  logical  pre- 
cision, and  a  liberalitv  of  feeing  wor- 
thy of  the  age :  and  altogether,  the 
impression  wnidi  this  paper  leaves,  is 
perhaps  as  nearly  as  may  be,  that  un- 
der which  the  Members  of  the  British 
Senate  ought  to  come  to  such  spedflo 
discussions,  as  the  Buxtonian  agitators 
are  most  likely  to  force  upon  thdr 
notice  at  the  commencement  of  Uie 
ensuing  session. 

We  con&ss,  then,  that,  so  fiur  as 
the  senatorial  intellect  is  concerned, 
enough  seems  already  to  have  been 
done  as  to  those  parts  of  this  great 
subject  on  which  the  Quarterly  Review 
has  thought  flt  to  touch.  In  a  few 
instances,  indeed,  we  dissent  from  the 
writer;  but,  on  the  whole,  we  are 
disposed  to  say,  that  his  Essay  is  a 
niasterlv  and  unanswerable  one,  and 
that  it  has  exhausted  the  sulrject,  in 
so  far  as  it  has  gone,  with  a  view  to 
men  in  Parliament. 

In  two  respects,  however,  wc  con- 


sider this  Essay  as  altogether  defec- 
tive. In  discussing  the  matters  at  is- 
sue, regarding  the  actual  condition  of 
the  negroes,  the  author  has  written  too 
exdusively  for  the  highest  and  roost 
intelligent  class  of  readers ;  and,  se- 
condly, vdiat  is  of  yet  higher  import- 
ance, he  has  abstained  entirdy  frtmi 
the  most  difficult  and  perilous  part  of 
the  whole  subject  before  him.  Far  from 
us  be  the  vanity  of  supposing  that  we 
are  capable  of  supplying  these  defi- 
dencies ;  at  present,  indeed,  it  is  fr^om 
particular  circumstances  impossiUe  fbr 
us  even  to  make  an  attempt  towards 
this :  But  without  entertaining  any 
views  of  this  sort— with  the  most  pw- 
fect  feeling  that  at  diis  moment  any 
such  views  are  altogether  out  of  the 
question  as  to  ourselves — ^we  may  ne- 
vertheless presume  to  say,  that  we  have 
the  materials  in  our  possession,  and  to 
think,  Uiat  by  indicating  the  nature  of 
these  materials,  somethingm&y  be  done, 
we  shall  not  say  by,  but  through  our 
means^ 

We  are  of  opinion,  then,  that  the 
Quarterlv  Review  has  written  a  paper 
which,  mm  the  manner  in  which 
things  are  condensed,  and  from  the 
totid  absence  of  quotation,  will  scarce- 
ly produce  its  right  eflfect,  unless 
among  those  who  have  the  external  as 
well  as  the  internal  reauisites,(fbr  fill- 
ing up  the  blanks  for  tneir  own  use  as 
they  proceed  in  its  perusaL  He  pre- 
supposes a  measure  of  knowledge 
which  the  whde  history  of  this  con- 
troversy, up  to  this  hour,  shews  not 
to  exist  at  all ;  herefers  to  books  which 
^are  in  few-  himds ;  considers  that  de- 
bate as  understood  to  the  bottom, 
which  was  but  cursorily  read  at  the 
time,  and  has  since  been  forgotten  by 
many,  and  misrepresented  by  many  ; 
in  a  word,  loses  sight  of  this  great 
fact — that  the  parliamentary  pro- 
ceedings in  r^ard  to  these  matters 
have  lui&rmly  been  the  result  of  ^- 
norant  noise  and  clamour  out  of  docHv 
— that  the  agitators,  even  when  they 
are  Members  of  Parliament,  uniform- 
ly write  and  publish  the  pamphlets 
before  they  come  into  the  Hmise  to 
make    their    speeches — and  that,  of 


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The  West  IndUm  CotUrovers^*    No.  III. 


60 


cofoane,  the  bfannefltof  tbose  who  would 
reduce  diese  affitatora  to  their  proper 
level,  18  not  (generally  apeaking)  to 
convince  the  Memhera  of  the  Bmidi 
Fteliament,  who,  with  a  few  intelli- 
gihleexceptiona,  areandhaveheento-  < 
krably  wdl  infonned  aa  to  thia  sub- 
ject in  ita  moat  important  bearinga 
at  leaat — hot  to  ^w  the  aignen  of 
petiCioBa,  the  aabacribera  to  aaaoda* 
tiona,  the  maaa  of  the  paUio— that 
they  really  have  been  played  upon 
by  a  aet  ^  uncandid  agitatora,  who 
have  umfonnly  entertained  them  with 
argnmenta  and  facta,  bearings  or  aup- 
poaed  to  bear,  in  favour  of  one  tide 
M/jf  / — ^that  tlMae  men  nave  dealt  wi^ 
than  in  a  manner  degrading  to  the 
British  public,  and  implying  die 
groaaeat  insult  to  the  general  intellect 
of  the  nation.  The  two  papera  which 
have  already  appeared  in  thia  Journal, 
were  demgaea  eki^if  for  these— fbr 
the  common  dtiaen  and  the  common 
reader — and  we  purpose  to  devote  our- 
aelvea  on  this  occaaion  also  to  their 
aerviee,  by  coUectinff  in  our  columns 
some  statements  and  aome  argimienta, 
loo,  which  we  apprehend  are  not,  in 
their  preaent  ahape,  very  likely  to  be 
extensively  oonaidered  through  the 
country  at  Itrige.  Our  ambitimi  ia,  in 
ao  fipr,  therefore,  a  very  humble  one ; 
on  aome  future  occaaion  we  may  pei> 
hi^  do  something  in  another  way ; 
at  preaent  we  do  what  our  time  and 
means  permit  towarda  an  object  which 
we  certainly  consider  aa  of  the  highest 
and  moat  immediate  importanoe^ 

The  great  artifice  of  the  a^tatora, 
haa  been  to  aay  or  inainuate,  that  the 
wIk^  of  diia  affiur  is  quite  eaay  and 
nm^  of  oomprdiension — ^that  it  ia  a 
matter  inwhicnanymanwfao  poaaeasea 
common  aenae  and  human  feelings, 
HI  qualified  to  judge  de  fiama — that 
minute  detaHa  are  of  no  impOTt- 
anoe  in  reality— 4hat  the  great  out- 
lineaare  dear,  and  that  they  are  auffi- 
cient  to  all  intenta  and  purposes. 

This  ia  always  a  cunnii^  method  of 
procedure,  wh^  tiie  o^^eot  is  to  woi^ 
upon  die  multitude.  It  £rt«avordinaiT 
people  to  be  told  that  they  know  all 
that  there  ia  any  need  for  knowing. 
Above  all,  such  flattery  ia  deUflhtfcu, 
when  it  comes  from  men  of  a&now- 
ledged  intellectual  eminence.  Mr 
Brougham  is  indeed  die  only  man  of 
thoae  who  have  recendy  taken  any  lead 
in  thia  scheme,  that  can  be  justly  held 
entitled  to  sudi  a  character  as  this ;  but 


somdio w  or  odier  many  ineAbly  infe- 
rior persona  have  acquned  a  temporary' 
and  fiicdtious  sort  of  credit  diat  servea 
the  turn  of  die  moment;  and  die  flat- 
tery even  of  a  Buxton  or  a  Macaulavy 
haa  not  always  been  treated  aa  it  should 
have  been. 

Mr  Broug^uun,  then,  adopts  boldly, 
in  the  Edmborgh  Review,  the  very 
simple  and  aati^aetory  argument  on 
which  Mr  darkson  rests  the  whole 
substance  of  his  late  pamphlet.  It 
amounta  to  diis : — ^Every  man  has  air 
in-born  indefeasible  right  to  the  free 
use  of  hia  own  bodily  atrength  and  ex- 
ertion :  it  foUowa  diat  no  man  can  be 
kept  for  one  moment  in  a  state  of  bond- 
age, without  the  guilt  of  hobbebt  : 
th^efore,  die  West  Indian  negroes 
ought  to  be  set  free.  This  is  an  argu- 
ment of  very  eaay  comprehension,  and 
the  Edinbur^  Reviewer  exdaims, 
with  an  air  Of  very  wdl  enacted  tri« 
umph,  "  Such  plain  ways  of  consider- 
ing die  question  are,  after  all,  the 
beatr 

Ingmoua  Quaker,  and  most  infl»* 
nuous  Reviewer !  If  this  be  so,  vrny 
vmte  pamphlets  and  reviewa  fdll  ii 
aigumenta  and  detaila,  or  pretended 
detaib  of  fact  f  If  every  West  In- 
dian planter  ia  a  thief  and  a  robber, 
why  bother  our  heada  about  the  pro- 
priety, the  propriety  forsooth,  of  com- 
pelling him  to  make  readtudon  ?  If 
the  BritiA  nation  is  guilty  as  an 
accessary  both  before  the  fact,  and 
tif  the  fact,  of  thbft  and  bobbery, 
why  tdl  the  British  nadon  that  they 
are  the  most  virtuous  and  reUgioua 
nadon  in  the  world,  and  that  they 
oi^ht  to  resttve  what  they  have  stolen 
and  robbed,  because  they  are  ao  vir- 
tuous and  so  rdi^ous  ?  The  afikir  is 
ao  baae,  that  it  will  acarody  bear  look- 
ing at  for  one  second.  What !  long 
prosing  discussions  about  whether  we 
ought  to  cease  to  be  thieves  and  rob- 
bewrs,  now,  or  ten  years,  or  a  hundred 
years  hence  I  Was  ever  such  a  iiion- 
atrous  perversion  of  human  powers  ? 
Sir,  that  estate  is  not  youra — It  ia 
your  neighbour's  estate,  and  you  have 
no  more  right  to  cultivate  it,  or  any 
part  of  it^  for  your  own  behoof,  thm 
the  roan  in  die  moon.  You  muat 
reatore  thiseatate  toitarif^tfUl  owner 
—Immediately?  No,  not  immediate- 
ly. Your  neighbour  ought  t^  ft*ve 
the  acres,  and  he  know*  that  be 
ought  to  have  them.  They  are  his  right, 
henas  been  long  deprivra  of  the  estate 


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7%e  West  Indian  Omt^ver^.    No.  III. 


U^Ui 


JMi  HAer  was  deprived  of  it  btkn 
lam*  TheftmiWhaTealibeailiioiiflht 
«p  m  8  wtLj  mute  difticttt  from  wbtt 
wimld  htfw  been>  had  ^bey  been  in 
poiMHiori  of  tbeir  lights.  They  havo 
ftnned  habile  Mkogatur  mdike  what 
those  of  the  proprieton  of  such  an  ea* 
tate  oug^  to  foe.  Hi^  haire  been  ac- 
cuatomed  to  pofertj,  and  thejr  aie  an 
%noi!anty   unedncaMl  frmodlj.     Tou 
must  not  give  up  their  land  hnmedU 
alely.  Na---the  poor  people  would  eer- 
taimy  go  and  set  drunk,  if  vov  gave 
them /Aft  r  land.  They  would  plaT  the 
devU  in  all  the  ale-houaes.    In  sfaor^ 
they  would  be  injured  in  their  health 
and  morals,  by  the  immediate  posses- 
sion of  their  estate.  Indeed,  it  may  be 
doubted  whether   the   present  man 
ou^t  erer  to  get  to  lana  at  all.    His 
ton  is  young;  he  may  be  sent  to 
school,  and  taught  reading,  writing, 
arithaoetic,  &c. ;  and  then,  when  he 
oomes  of  age,  you  may  give  him  the 
estate  whicn  you  have  rolM)ed  him  of— 
YOU  may  then  cut  robbery,  and  give 
aim  his  property ;  or,  if  he  turns  out  a 
wild  Tounff  man,  perhaps  it  might  be 
as  well  to  let  another  generation  still 
pass  before  you  give  up  the  estate* 
You,  therefore,  must,  from  a  regard 
for  die  best  interests  of  this  &mily, 
continue,  in  the  meantime,  thief  and 
robber  of  their  goods.    Let  the  young 
men  be  hedgers  and  ditchov  on  your 
estate^  as  the^  have  been ;  let  the  young 
women  contmue  at  sendoe.    But  you 
muit  improve  the  parish  school ;  lower 
die  sdiooknaster's  wages  by  degrees, 
•0  as  to  let  all  these  youi^  people  have 
an  of^ortunitv  of  pickmg  up  some 
education.  Be  kind  to  them— promote 
the  best  hedgers  and  ditchers  to  be 
coachmen,  and  even  bailifi,  if  you  find 
them  trust«worthy :    By  all  means, 
make  the  well-behaved  girk  of  than 
lady*s  maids  and  housekeepers.    By 
this  means,  the  family  will  gradually 
get  up  their  heads  a  little;  and,  at 
some  future  period,  it  may  be  found 
ouite  safe  and  proper  to  give  them  all 
ttiefar  rights.    The  present  people,  to 
be  sure,  will  be  dead  and  rotten  ere 
then— but  how  can  you  help  that? 
Yon  are  not  the  original  thief,  you 
know, — ^you  can't  anawer  for  all  the 
consequences  of  a  crime,  into  whidi 
y^u  may  be  said  to  have  been  led  1^ 
your  wmi  parents,  and  by  die  whole 
course  of  ^^mr  own  education.    No, 
no— it  would  never  do  to  give  up  the 
stolen  goods  at  once.    Ai  I  said  be- 


foie,  it  WQidd  certainly  turn  the  heads 
of  all  these  poor  people — the  parnh 
would  be  knpt  in  a  state  of  hot  water 
by  them,  rarhaps  they  would  take 
it  into  their  heads  to  bother  you,  even 
you,  with  law-suits  and  prosecutions 
for  damages  and  by-gone  rents,  Ste.  ^cc. 
TimemustbaaUowedfor  taming  them; 
they  wen  alwaya  a  hot-headed  fomily. 

Iir  DOB  TIMS  YOU  OUOHT  TO  9SSIST 

raoM  Youa  rassENT  camss. 

Such  substantially  is— such  csnnot 
be  denied  to  be— the  *'  plain  and  rim* 
pie"  argument  of  Mr  Clarkson,  and 
his  dis^le  Mr  Brougham ;  and  so  is 
it  applied  by  themselves  to  the  subject 
whna,  plain  and  simple  as  it  is,  they 
havetabBUBUch  hugepains  toeluddate. 
Of  Mr  Cbricson's  heart  we  have  the 
best  opinion  possible ;  and  we  have  an 
excellent  opinion  of  Mr  Brooi^iam's 
head ;  but  redly,  looking  at  the  mat* 
ta  as  they  have  been  pleased  to  set 
it  fbrth,  it  appears,  we  must  own, 
ssiiewhat  diffiodt  to  suppose,  that  ei- 
dier  a  sound  head,  or  a  feeling  heart, 
oauld  have  been  in  any  way  consulted 
in  the  promulgation  bt*  this  exquisite 
forraoo.  Theabmrdities  in  which  these 
aposUes  have  involved  themselves  are 
so  glaring,  that  a  child  must  smile  at 
them ;  and  yet  it  is  upon  such  aigu* 
mento  that  die  poUic  of  1883  are  call- 
ed to  force  the  Bridsh  Pariiam^t  into 
a  measure*  or  rather  into  a  series  of 
measures,  by  for  the  most  delicste,  as 
regards  principle,  and  by  far  the  most 
peiilons,  as  regards  effect,  of  any  that 
ever  engaged  the  attention  of  an  en- 
lu^tenM  political  assemUy  in  any  age 
of  the  world.    It  is  upon  such  azgu* 
ments  that  a  complete  revolution  of 
the  whole  domestic,  tm  well  as  pditical 
relatieiis,  in  the  whole  of  these  oeat 
odooial  establishments,  is  demanded ; 
a  revelation  involving,  if  we  are  in 
listen  for  a  moment  to  the  proprietors 
•of  these  islands,  the  absdiute  ruin  of 
•all  their  possessions;  a  revolution,  the 
periloi»  nature  of  which  is  confessed 
by  these  men  thosselves  in  die  lan- 
guage—the indescribable,   inefl&ble 
ttnguage— which  says  to  all  the  world, 
'^  This  revolution  must  be :  Justice 
demands  it— Rblioion  demands  it: 
but  we  oonfoss,  that  in  spite  of  Justice 
and  Rdigion,  it  must  not  be  kow." 

If  such  imbecilities  had  been  intro- 
duced where  none  but  Britons  were  to 
be  entertained  with  them,  it  might 
have  been  of  litde  oonseouenoe.  The 
fallacy  of  the  outset  might  have  been 


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l%e  West  Indian  Conironersy,    Al».  ///.  Tt 


moMdeadf  manifipitil  by  the  groM  «b» 
surdity  of  the  omt^jman,  anda  laogh 
beeo  ul  the  iasae.  But  only  to  think 
of  TMfQ,  imtiona]  bmb^  being  cantble 
of  rnvdy  tad  deBbentely  pubwiiiur 
tfoStk  riews^  after  they  knew  from  afl 
experience— <ay^  fironi  the  experience 
of  bk>od  itadf--that  thepromalgatum 
was  Tirtnally  to  be  for  the  minds  of  the 
negroes  in  tne  West  Indies,  as  well  as 
of  the  amis  des  noivM  at  home.  Theft 
and  robbery  dedared  to  be  the  unde- 
niable sins  of  the  masters  on  whose 
fields  they  labour,  around  whose  couch- 
es they  watch !  The  cool  insolence  too, 
mixed  up  as  if  iotr  the  express  purpose 
of  fastening  a  spur  to  the  galled  side 
of  Furr!  Absolute  emancipation  pro- 
daimed  to  be  no  other  than  the  un<* 
alienable  right  of  man ;  and  yet  a  calm, 
contemptuous  argument,  about  the 
emancipating  when  !  We  beheve  the 
pi^  <tt  history  may  be  ransacked  in 
wn  for  anything  worthy  of  being  set 

Sthe  side  of  this  glorious  amalgation 
an  that  is  feebte  in  folly,  and  all 
that  ia  reckless  in  prafligacy ;  and,  to 

5s  over  the  Quaker,  we  venture  to 
^  that  when  Mr  Brougham  quo- 
,  with  approbation,  in  December 
1893,  a  toast  about  **  suecess  to  the 
next  negro  insurrection  in  the  West 
Indies,"  he  laid  upon  his  own  shoul- 
ders a  burthen  which  no  odier  man  in 
England  (we  mean  no  other  held  re- 
sponsible among  rational  men)  would 
have  run  the  risk  of  for  all  the  wealth 
of  Potosi.  We  earnestly  hope  that 
there  is  no  other  Brougham  / 

The  dismal  nonsense  which  lies  at 
the  bottom  of  all  this  has  been  so  com- 
pletely answered  in  the  philosophical 
and  masterly  pages  devoted  by  the 
Quartedy  Reviewer  to  Ae  true  history 
of  labour,  and  tfte  changes  which,  from 
&e  nature  of  things,  do  in  every  society 
take  place,  in  regard  to  the  mode  qfre^ 
warding  iabour,  that  it  would  be  worse 
than  Idle  to  go  into  any  part  of  that 
wgomcnt  now  and  here.  In  addition, 
however,  to  the  philosMihical  and  hia* 
toiioal  answtf  which  that  able  writer 
baa  given  to  the  great  preliminary  aa- 
snmpdoa  of  the  aheobde  crisnimaUhf 
•f  eoasdhog  any  man  to  labour,  we 
shall  take  the  fteedom  to  quote  three 
several  passagerfrom  as  many  writers 
•f  the  very  highest  authority;  ptasa- 
ges,  one  of  which  haa  be^  quoted 
before  by  Mr  Canning,  and  another  by 
Mr  Marryatt,  but  the  third  of  which 
is  fhmi  ft  work  diat  was  only  publish- 
ed in  London  about  a  week  ago.  « 


We  diall  quote  the  words  of  Palbt, 
as  they  were  introduced  in  the  Buxton 
debate  by  the  wocda  of  Canniko  : 
Cne  *'  honourable  member"  whom 
the  secretary  alludes  to  is  tiie  fporthy 
brewer  himself.)} 

"  The  honooraMe  gentleonn  begina 
his  restrfation  with  a  reeital  which  Icoa- 
fess  greatly  embarrasses  me ;  be  sayi^ 
that '  the  state  of  slavery  is  repugnant  to 
the  prhidples  of  the  British  constitution, 
and  of  the  Christian  religion.'  God  forlnd 
that  he  who  ventures  to  object  to  this 
statement,  should  therefore  (mb  held  to  as- 
sert a  contradiction  to  it !  I  do  not  say 
that  the  state  of  sUiveiy  is  consonant  to 
tiie  principles  of  the  British  constitution  ; 
still  less  do  I  say  that  the  state  of  slavery 
is  consonant  to  the  prindples  of  the 
Christian  religion.  But  thouigh  I  do  not 
adv,ance  these  propositions  myself  never- 
theless I  must  say,  that  in  my  opinion 
the  propositions  of  the  honourable  gen- 
tlemen are  not  practically  true.  If&eho- 
notutUile  gentleman  means  that  the  Bri- 
tish constitution  does  jiot  admit  of  sfat- 
very  in  that  part  of  the  British  domi- 
nions where  the  constitution  is  in  full 
play,  undoubtedly  his  statement  is  true ; 
but  it  makes  nothing  for  his  object^  Iff 
however,  the  honourable  member  is  to 
be  understood  to  maintain  that  the  Bri- 
tish constitution  has  not  tolerated  ibr 
years,  nay  more,  for  eenturies,  in  the  co- 
lonies the  existence  of  slavery,  a  state  of 
sodety  unknown  in  the  mother  country, 
•^that  is  a  position  which  is  altogether 
without  foundation,  and  posidvely  and 
practically  untrue.  In  my  opinion,  when 
a  proposition  is  submitted  to  this  House, 
for  the  purpose  of  inducing  the  House  to 
act  upon  it,  care  should  be  taken  not  to 
confound,  as  I  think  is  done  in  this  reso- 
lution, what  is  morally  true  with  what  is 
historically  false.  Undoubtedly  the  spi- 
rit  of  the  British  constitution  is,  in  its 
principle^  hostile  to  any  modification  of 
sUvery.  But  as  undoubtedly  the  British 
Parliament  has  for  ages  tolerated,  sanc- 
tioned, protected,  and  even  encouraged  a 
system  of  colonial  estiAilishment  of  which 
it  well  knew  stovery  tobethefoundatiott. 

«<  In  the  same  way,  God  foibid  that  I 
diould  contend  that  the  Christian  feH. 
gfonis&Toumbletodavery.  Bntloon- 
f^  I  fed  a  strong  objeetion  to  the  hitio* 
dnetion  of  the  name  of  Ohristiao^,  as  it 
were  bodily,  into  any  parliameataryques^ 
tion.  Religion  ought  to  control  the  nets 
and  to  regubte  the  eonsdences  ^  f^ 
vemments,  as  wdl  as  of  individual^  I  but 
when  it  is  put  forward  to  sen«*pol>tJ«l 
purpose,  however  toudiAie,  it  is  done>  I 
think,  afcer  the  sample  oCill  tunes,  and 
I  cannot  hut  remember  the  ill  objects  to 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


T9 

which  in  diose  tinet  soeh  a  prtcticewas 
applied.  Atsuredlj  no  Christian  will  de- 
ny that  the  spirit  of  the  Chriftian  reli- 
gion is  hostile  to  slavery,  as  it  is  to  every 
abuse  and  misuse  of  power;  it  is  hostile 
to  all  deviations  from  rectitude  moraUty, 
and  justiee;  Irat  if  it  be  meant  that  in  the 
Christian  religion  there  b  a  special  de- 
nunciation against  slavery,  that  slavery 
and  Christianity  cannot  exist  together,^- 
I  think  the  honourable  gentleman  him- 
self must  admit  that  the  proposition  la 
historically  false ;  and  again  I  must  say, 
that  I  cannot  consent  to  the  confounding, 
for  a  political  purpose,  what  is  morally 
true  with  what  is  historically  fidse.  One 
peculiar  characteristic  of  the  Christian 
dispensation,  if  I  must  venture  in  this 
place  upon  such  a  theme^  is,  that  it  has 
aoeommodated  itself  to,  all  states  of  so- 
ciety, rather  than  that  it  has  selected  any 
particular  state  of  society  for  the  peculiar 
exercise  of  its  influence.  If  it  has  added 
lustre  to  the  sceptre  of  the  sovereign,  it 
has  equally  been  the  consolation  of  the 
slave.  It  applies  to  all  ranks  of  lifo,  to  all 
conditions  of  men ;  and  the  sufferings  of 
this  world,  even  to  those  upon  whom  they 
press  most  heavily,  are  rendered  compa- 
ratively indifferent  by  the  prospect  of 
compensation  in  the  world  of  which  Chris- 
tianity affords  the  assurance.  True  it 
certainly  is,  that  Christianity  generally 
tends  to  elevate,  not  to  degrade,  the  cha- 
laoter  of  man ;  but  it  is  not  true^  in  the 
qiecific  sense  conveyed  in  the  honourable 
gentleman's  resolution,  it  is  not  true  that 
there  is  that  in  tiie  Christian  religion 
which  makes  it  Impossible  that  it  should 
co-exist  with  sUvery  in  the  worid.  SU- 
very  has  been  known  in  all  times,  and  un- 
der all  systems  of  religion,  whether  true 
or  ialse.  Nim  man  hie  9ermo :  I  speak 
but  what  others  have  written  on  this 
point;  and  I  beg  ^eave  to  read  to  the 
House  a  passage  from  Dr  Fale^ ,  which 
is  directly  applicable  to  the  subject  that 
ire  are  d^ussing. 

'* '  Shivery  WM  ^^  P<^  of  the  dvil  con- 
stitution of  moat  countries  when  Chris- 
tianity appeared ;  yet  no  passage  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Christian  Scriptures  by  which 
it  is  condemned  and  prohibited.  This  is 
true;  for  Christianity,  soliciting  admia- 
sion  into  all  nations  of  the  world,  ab. 
stained,  as  behoved  it,  from  intermed- 
dling with  the  civil  institutions  of  any. 
But  does  it  follow,  from  the  silence  of 
Scripture  oonceming  them,  that  all  the 
«<vil  institutions  which  then  prevailed, 
were  ri^ht ;  or  that  the  bad  should  not  be 
exchangee ibr  better?  Besides  this,  the 
discharging  of  bU  giaves  from  aU  obliga- 
tion to  obey  their  maat4>rs,  which  is  the 


The  Weit  Indittn  Cdnirovtrsy.    No.  III. 


CJm. 


conseqaence  of  prononnciag  slavery  to  be 
unlawfiil,  wonld  have  no  better  effect  than 
to  let  loose  one-half  of  mankind  upon  the 
other.  Slaves  would  have  been  tempted 
to  embnoe  a  religion  which  asserted  their 
right  to  freedom ;  masters  would  hardly 
have  been  persuaded  to  consent  to  daims 
founded  upon  such  authority;  the  most 
calamitous  of  all  consequences,  a  beUum 
aervUe,  might  probably  have  ensued,  to  the 
reproach,  if  not  the  extinction,  of  the 
Christian  name.  The  truth  is,  the  eman- 
cipation of  sUves  should  be  gradual,  and 
be  carried  on  by  the  provisions  of  law, 
and  under  the  protection  of  civil  govern- 
ment  Christianity  can  only  operate  as 
an  alterative.  By  the  mild  diffusion  of 
its  light  and  influence,  the  minds  of  men 
are  insensibly  prepared  to  perceive  and 
correct  the  enormities  which  folly,  or 
wickedness,  or  accident,  have  introduced 
into  their  public  establishments.  In  this 
way  the  Greek  and  Roman  slavery,  and 
since  these  the  feudal  tyranny,  had  decli- 
ned before  it.  And  we  trust  that,  as  the 
knowledge  and  authority  of  the  same  re- 
ligion  advance  in  the  world,  they  wiB 
abolish  what  remains  of  this  odious  in- 
stitution.' 

**  The  honourable  gentleman  cannot 
wish  more  than  I  do^  that  under  this  gm- 
dual  operation,  under  this  widening  dif- 
fusion of  light  and  liberality,  the  spirit  of 
the  Christian  religion  may  effect  all  the 
objects  he  has  at  heart  But  it  seems  to 
me  that  it  is  not,  for  the  practical  attain- 
ment of  his  objects,  desirable  that  that 
which  may  be  the  influencing  spirit  should 
be  put  forward  as  the  active  agent  When 
Christianity  was  introduced  into  the 
world,  it  took  its  root  amidst  the  galling 
slavery  of  the  Roman  empire ;  more  gall- 
ing in  many  respects  (though  not  precise- 
ly of  the  same  character)  than  that  of 
which  the  honourable  gentleman,  in  com- 
mon I  may  say  with  every  friend  of  hu- 
manity, complains.  Slavery  at  that  pe- 
riod gave  to  the  master  the  power  of  lifo 
and  death  over  his  bondsman ;  this  is  un- 
deniable, known  to  everybody ;  Ita  mvut 
homo  at/  en  the  words  put  by  Juvenal 
into  the  mouth  of  the  fine  lady  who  calls 
upon  her  husband  to  cruelty  his  slave.  If 
the  evils  of  this  dreadfol  system  neverthe- 
less gradually  vanished  before  Ae  gentle 
but  certain  influence  of  Christiaoity,  and 
if  the  great  Author  of  the  system  trusted 
rather  to  this  gradual  operation  of  the 
principle  than  to  any  immediate  or  direct 
precept,  I  think  Parliament  would  do 
more  wisely  rather  to  rely  upon  the  like 
operiftion  of  the  same  principle  than  to 
put  forward  the  authority  of  Christianity, 
in  at  least  a  questionable  shape.  The 
4 


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The  West  Indian  Controvcny,    No.  III. 


73 


name  of  Chrittianity  ought  not  to  be  tha 
used  unless  we  are  prepared  to  act  in  a 
mudi  more  sammary  manner  thau  the  ho- 
nourable gentleman  himself  proposes.  If 
the  existence  of  slavery  be  repugnant  to 
the  principles  of  the  British  constitution 
and  of  tlie  Ctiristi^  religion,  how  can  the 
honourable  gentleman  himself  consent  to 
pause  ereo  for  an  instant,  or  to  allow  any 
cousideratiotts  of  prudence  to  inteiTene 
between  him  and  his  object  ?  How  can 
he  propose  to  divide  slaves  into  two 
claa»es  ;  one  of  which  is  to  be  made  free 
directly,  while  he  Iciives  the  other  to  the 
gradual  extinction  of  their  state  of  suffer- 
ing? But  if,  as  I  contend,  the  British 
constitution  does  not,  in  its  necessary 
operation,  go  to  extinguish  slavery  in 
every  colony,  it  is  endent  that  the  ho- 
nourable gentleman's  proposition  is  not 
to  be  understood  in  the  precise  sense 
whicli  the  hoiioiu-able  gentleman  gives  to 
it ;  and  if  the  Christian  religion  does  not 
require  the  instant  and  uitqualified  aboli- 
tion of  slavery,  it  is  evident,  I  apprehend, 
that  the  honourable  member  has  misCated 
in  his  resolution  the  principle  upon  which 
he  himself  is  satisfied «to  act." 

Our  second  quotation  is  from  the 
"  Essays  on  Christianity,"  just  pub- 
lished oy  Mr  Mitford,  the  admirable 
historian  of  ancient  Greece — clarum  et 
venen^ile  nomen.  The  passage  occurs 
in  a  work  which  will  ore  long  be  suf- 
ficiently familiar  to  every  one.  At  pre- 
sent, however,  it  is  a  new,  a  very  new 
book,  and  therefore  we  quote  from  iU 

"  It  Is  unquestionably  a  Christian 
duty  to  improve  the  condition  of  man  as 
cxtenrivety  as  possible.  The  Jewish  dis- 
pensation did  not  require  this,  but,  on 
Uie  contrary,  by  its  limitation  of  iater- 
eourse,  was  considarably  adverse  to  it. 
Rules  for  ttie  Jews,  ther^ore,  concerning 
slavery,  as  eoncemuig  numerous  other 
matters,  will  not  be  rules  for  Chrisdaiis^ 
and  yet  may  deserve  the  consideration  of 
Christians.  The  very  first  artieUs  in  the 
Jewish  code  relates  to  slaves;  and  it 
sanctions  the  slavery,  not  only  of  Gen- 
tiles to  Jews,  but  of  Jews  to  Jews ;  gi- 
ving different  rules  for  their  treatment. 
If  indeed  dispassionate  consideration  be 
given  to  the  subject,  it  will  be  obvious, 
that,  in  the  state  of  mankind  in  the  early 
sges,  slavery  was  an  institution,  not  only 
of  convenience,  and  almost  of  necessity, 
totvard  the  wanted  cultivation  of  the  soil 
for  the  production  of  food  for  increasing 
mankind,  but  redly  of  mercy.  Among 
bnrharianw^  from  earliest  history  to  this 
d«y,  it  has  been  little  common  to  spare 
the  lives  of  those  overcome  in  battle. 

Vol.  XV. 


Even  am6ng  the  Greeks,  to  HoraerV 
mgCt  it  was  little  common  ;  and  this  not 
without  reasonable  plea  of  necessity.  The 
conquerors  iiad  not  means  to  maintain 
prisoners  in  idleness,  and  could  not  safe- 
ly set  them  free.  In  that  state  o^  the 
world,  therefore,  wars  being  continual,  it 
was  obviously  a  humane  policy  to  provide 
that,  prisoners  being  made  valuable  pro- 
perty, it  should  be  the  conqueror's  inte- 
rest to  preserve  them.  Such,  however, 
was  the  kind  of  civil  government  which 
had  its  growth  under  influence  of  that 
early  policy,  that,  even  in  the  most  Iknu 
rishing  times  of  Grecian  philosophy,  the 
ablest  cultivators  of  political  science  were 
unable  to  say  how  society  could  be  main* 
tained,  how  states  could  be  ruled  and 
defended,  without  skves  to  produce  food 
and  clothing  for  the  rulers  and  defendersw 
In  this  remarkable  instance  thus  we  find 
heathen  philosophy,  as  formerly  we  ob- 
served heathen  religion,  holding  conso- 
nance with  what  is  approved  in  holy  writ. 
"  But  the  necessity  for  slavery  is  an 
eWl  peculiar  to  the  infancy  of  nations. 
Wherever  the  state  of  population  and  of 
civil  society  is  such  that  slavery  is  no 
longer  necessary,  or  of  important  expe- 
diency, it  must  be  the  interest,  not  lessT 
dian  the  moral  and  religious  duty,  of  the 
governing  among  mankind  to  abolish  it. 

*•  Policy,  howevir,  though  to  be  controlled 
by  religion  and  morality,  iJtouid  not  be  co«- 
founded  with  them.  That  davery,  authorized 
by  the  Old  Testament,  is  forbidden  by  the 
'  New,  cannot  be  thewn  ;  and,  if  trial  is  the 
purjxmfor  t^dch  man  has  his  existence  in 
this  world,  the  aUowatice  (fdaoery,  for  from 
being  adverse,  is  an  additional  modefojr  both 
slave  and  master.  Yet  a  serious  consider- 
ation remains.  To  measure  moral  trial 
for  man  is  the  office  of  almighty  wisdom 
and  all-perfect  goodness  only.  It  is  man's 
duty  to  do  as  he  would  be  done  by ;  or 
as,  were  he  in  the  other's  circumstances, 
using  unbiassed  reason,  he  must  think 
right  to  be  done.  Compulsion  from  man 
to  man,  of  any  kind,  though  necessary  in 
every  state  of  society,  yet  being  allowable 
only  for  common  good,  it  fbllows  that,  in 
one  state  of  society,  slavery  may  be  war- 
rantable, and  even  requisite ;  not  for  the 
good  of  every  indiridual,  but  for  the  ge- 
neral good,  even  of  those  in  shivery; 
whereas  in  another  it  is  adverse  equally  to 
good  policy  as,  not  indeed  to  the  direct 
word  of  scripture,  but  to  the  principles  of 
the  Christian  religion.  Difficulty  for  le- 
gislators, thus,  in  former  ages,  has  been, 
and  again  may  or  even  must  be.  The  ready 
observation  on  this  is  that,  90,  both  the 
legisUtor,  and  tile  sUive  on  whose  eoodi- 
tion  hfl  d0cid«%  is  snigecied  to  the  i 


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n 


The  Wat  Indian  Omiroveny.    No.  IIL 


CJin, 


purpote  of  the  ezifltence  of  bdth  in  this 
world,  triaL  Indeed  the  world  being  eo- 
oonstituted  that,  without  evil,  good  deeda 
cannot  be,  opportuni^  for  evU  is  found 
everywhere ;  and  ikm  a  nalioniol  quetdon. 
aboui  tiavery  mayfwrmsh  toopefar  jejCm- 
temif  vam-ghiyt  ^nd  fypocmy,  egwUfy  as 
for  the  g/Bnenmt  ptunoM  and  corraponding 


Our  third  authority  is  one  quite  of 
a  different  class^  and  meant  prindpal- 
lyft^  a  diffisrent  sort  of  persons.  None, 
however,  will  hear  without  some  re- 
spect the  words  of  Lord  Stowell ;  the 
words  of  him  who  has  done  more,  per- 
hupB,  than  anyone  man  that  ever  Hved, 
to  remove  the  old  reproadi  of  lawyers ; 
whose  life  has  been  the  triumph  of  an 
intellect  of  the  first  order,  exerted  un- 
der the  influence  of  the  finest  taste, 
upon  subjects  where  elegance  of  any 
kind  was  before  thought  to  be  unat- 
tainable ;  where  acuteness  had  been 
degraded  into  subtlety,  and  where  law 
had  lost,  if  not  the  real  dignity,  the 
apparent  liberality  at  least,  and  appro- 
priate beautv  of  a  science. 

It  was  in  tne  decision  of  a  celebrated 
case,  which  came  before  the  Court  of 
Admiralty  in  1813,  that  Sir  William 
Scott  expressed  himself  as  follows,  in 
reference  to  the  validity  of  a  contract 
affecting  a  purchase  of  slaves. 

«  Let  me  not  be  misunderstood,  or 
misrepresented,  as  a  professed  apologist 
for  this  practice,  when  I  state  focts  which 
no  man  can  deny— that  personal  slavery 
arising  out  of  forcible  captivity  is  coevid 
with  the  earliest  periods  of  the  history  of 
mankind — that  it  is  found  existing  (and 
m/ar  at  appeart  withmU  ammad»enion)  in 
the  earliest  and  most  authentic  records  of 
the  human  race— that  it  is  recognized  by 
the  codes  of  the  most  polished  nations  of 
antiquity— <bat  under  the  light  of  Chris- 
tianity itself  the  possession  of  persons  so 
acquired)  has  been,  in  every  civilized 
country,  invested  with  the  character  of 
property,  and  tecured  a$  mch  by  all  tke 
prolectiont  ^  lawt  solemn  treaties  have 
been  framed,  and  national  monopolies 
eagerly  sought,  to  facilitate  and  extend 
the  commerce  in  this  asserted  property ; 

AND  ALL  THIS,  WITH  ALL  THE  fAWCTIONS 
OF  LAW,  FUBUC  AND  MUNICIFAL." 

Leaving  these  passages  to  produce 
the  effects  which  we  are  sure  t^y  can- 


not £ul  to  prodttoe  tm  every  di^a»- 
sionate  mind — ^we  now  proceed  to  that 
great  questioa  whidi  the  Quarterly 
Review  has  for  the  present  piiased  ni 
Hlentio, 

The  question  is  indeed  a  weightj 
one;  it  is  this:  **  Has  the  Bntish 
Parliament  the  rig^  to  interfere  with 
the  internal  and  municipal  regulations 
of  the  affiiirs  of  the  British  Colonies  in 
the  West  Indies,  whidi  are,  and  have 
been,  in  the  possession  of  constitutions 
of  their  own,  framed  upon  the  mo- 
del of  the  British  Constitution  ?"  This 
was  Uie  question  which  British  states- 
men once  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
when  Uie  negative  was  maintained  by 
the  British  colonies  of  •North  Ameri- 
ca. This  was  the  question  which  was 
over  and  over  again  answered  in  the 
affirmative  in  r^Etrd  to  Ireland.  What 
die  result  was  as  to  these  cases,  wi 
need  not  say.  Let  Mr  Marryat  (there 
is  none  more  entitled  to  speak)*  saj 
what  is  his  view  of  the  matter  as  it 
concerns  the  Amerioan  isUnds,  still  in 
our  possession  :-*t- 

**  For  a  long  time  past,  the  colonies, 
either  under  royal  instruction  or  royal 
charter,  have  enjoyed  the  privilege  of 
making  laws  for  themselves,  in  all  mat- 
ters of  internal  regulation,  subject  to  the 
confirmation  of  the  Crown.  His  Bfajes- 
ty'a  Proclamation  of  October  15th,  1703, 
which  may  be  considered  as  the  diarter 
of  the  numerous  colonies,  ceded  by  Firsaee 
to  Great  Britain  by  the  treaty  of  that 
year,  runs  thus  t 

« *  We  have  also  given  power  to  the 
said  Govemon^  with  the  advice  of  our 
said  Councils,  and  the  Representatives  of 
the  people  to  be  summoned  as  aforesaid, 
to  make,  oonstitute,  and  ordain  laws, 
statutes,  and  ordinances,  for  the  public 
peaces  wdfore,  and  government  of  our 
said  colonies,  and  of  the  people  and  in- 
habitants thereof,  as  for  as  may  be  agree- 
able to  the  faiws  of  England)  and  under 
such  rsgulations  and  restrictioiis  as  are 
used  in  the  other  colonies.* 

**  These  vtords  clearly  give  them  a  ju- 
risdiction, but  limit  it  to  matters  of  inter- 
nal rtguUUion.  The  consent  of  the  Go- 
vernors »  necessary,  to  give  the  acts  of 
the  Councils  and  Assemblies  the  force  of 
law;  and  as  a  forther  check  upon  their 
proceedings,  copies  of  all  their  sets  are 


*  TlAg  excellent  man  has  died  sinee  these  words  were  written. — Jimwiry  15. 

f  When  Mr  Abrryat  is  quoted  in  this  paper,  the  references  are  to  one  or  other  of 
his  pamphlets—^  Thoughts,  ««?."  «  More  thoughts,  &c."  ••  Mors  thoughts  still. 
Soe.**    FMished  in  1616  and  1817. 


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i89i.:] 


Th0  Wlut  IiMm  CemiPimerty.    Ko.  IIL 


,  tat  tiM  oomidflntloB  oT  the 
Kuvin  Council,  tod  if  not  allowed  with- 
in  a  eertam  period,  become  null  and  void. 
So  that  the  acts  of  the  Colonial  Lcgitla- 
tnrea  reeeive  the  double  sanction  of  hit 
Majesty's  Gorernment;  first  in  the  con- 
sent of  the  King's  representative,  acting 
under  their  instructions  abroad;  and  then 
in  the  approbation  of  the  Ministers  for 
the  time  beings  at  home ;  a  circumstance 
which  might  have  exempted  them  from 
•ODe  of  the  obloquy  with  which  they  are 
mentioned  by  the  Committee  of  the  Af- 
rican  Institution. 

^  Most  of  the  instances  stated  in  the 
Reports,  of  laws  passed  at  home,  inter- 
fering with  the  r^ts  of  the  Colonial 
Lcghdatures,  appear^  when  eiamined,  to 
be  either  acts  made  to  regubte  the  ex- 
tccnal  trade  and  navigation  of  the  eolo- 
nitSi  (which  the  Report  admits^  '  have 
certably  been  the  purposes  which  hawe 
mott  commonly  invited  the  exercise  of 
the  jurisdktion  in  qneetion;**)  or  laws 
paesad,  either  at  the  request,  or  for  the 
beaeilt,  of  thoee  interested  in  the  eolo* 
nies;  to  confirm  and  extead  the  oper»- 
tioa  of  their  acts,  to  give  validiQr  to  their 
securities^  and  to  kipBlize  their  kian%  aC 
a  higher  rate  of  interest  than  is  allowed 
ia  Great  Britain. 

**  The  right  of  regulating  external  trade 
and  navigation,  was  originally  reserved  by 
the  parent  L^teture,  and  has  uniformly 
been  exercised,  by  naval  and  custom-house 
ofliccrs  appointed  for  that  purpose ;  (an 
exception  to  the  general  rule,  which  may 
be  said  to  prove  the  rule  itself;}  but  the 
only  right  of  internal  legislation,  that 
ever  became  a  question  between  Great 
Britain  and  her  colonies,  the  great  right 
to  vrhich  all  others  are  subordinate,  the 
r%ht  of  taxatton,  was  solemnly  conceded 
to  them  by  the  18th  of  George  III.,  with 
the  exception  of  only  such  duties,  as  it 
might  be  e]q>edient  to  impose  for  the  re- 
gulation of  commerce ;  the  produce  of 
wWcfa,  was  to  be  applied  to  the  use  of 
the  colony  in  which  they  shoatd  be  levi- 
ed. 

"  Admitting,  however,  as  the  fKt  Is, 
that  tlie  mother  country  has  oceasionally 
incerfsred  in  the  internal  regulationB  of 
the  colonies ;  does  it  follow,  that  because 
they  made  no  remonstrances  in  cases  of 
triffing  importance,  they  are  precluded 
from  making  a  stand,  when  their  proper- 
ty and  even  their  existence  are  at  hasard? 
or  that,  having  once  acquiesced  in  the 
exercise  of  thus  right,  whether  from  ne- 
gUgence,  or  a  ^trit  of  conciliation  and 


f$ 

forfaearaaee,  they  are  for  ever  hanad,mi» 
der  any  drcumstauces,  from  inquiring 
upon  what  principle,  consistent  wkh  the 
British  Constitution,  they  can  be  called 
upon  to  surrender  the  privilege  they  have 
so  long  enjoyed,  of  legislating  for  them- 
selves; and  submit,  in  future,  to  laws 
enacted  by  a  Parliament  in  which  they 
have  no  representatives  ? 

**  The  British  empire  consists  of  dif- 
ferent component  parts,  under  one  com- 
mon head.  Under  such  a  Constitution, 
nothing  but  the  cold  dead  uniformity  of 
servitude,  could  prevent  the  sidbordinate 
parts  from  possessing  local  privileges; 
and  it  may  occasionally  be  very  difficult 
to  draw  the  precise  line,  between  those 
privileges  and  the  supreme  common  au- 
thority. Such  is  the  ease^  with  the  right 
of  the  mother  country  to  pass  laws,  af- 
fecting the  internal  regulation  of  her  co- 
lomas;  it  ia  one  of  extreme  theoretical 
delicacy  and  great  practical  daager ;  it 
haa  bean  the  salgeot  of  contest  twice^ 
within  the  mesiory  of  the  present  gene- 
ration, and  the  result  has  not  been  such 
aa  should  dispoaa  us  lightly  to  hasard  a 
third  experiment  In  the  instance  of 
America,  it  terminated  in  the  indepen- 
dance  ol  tliat  great  aiaM  of  British  co- 
lonies ;  and  in  the  instance  of  Ireland,  in 
a  series  of  eonoession  after  concession  on 
the  part  of  Great  Britain,  till  the  quea- 
tioa  was  at  length  happily  set  at  rest  by 
the  Act  of  Union,  which  incorporated 
the  Legislature  of  Ireland  into  the  Im- 
perial Legislature  of  the  United  King- 
dom. . 

•'Great  Britain,  whatever  general 
daims  she  may  have  asserted,  has  never 
yet  attempted  to  enforce  the  exercise  of 
this  right  upon  her  West  India  colonies. 
The  Abolition  of  the  Slave  Tradci  was 
only  an  act  of  external  limitation  and  ex- 
clusion; and  with  whatever  pertinacity 
some  Individuals  may  be  disposed  to 
maintain  the  right  of  internal  control, 
none  would  probably  recommend  the  ex- 
pediency of  its  exercise,  except  as  a 
dernier  resort,  in  case  of  some  ufgent  ne- 
cessity, some  flagrant  abuse,  obstinately 
persisted  in  by  the  Colonial  Leglstoture^ 
in  despite  of  every  admonitioo  on  the 
part  of  the  mother  country.  If  any  there 
be,  who  would  wantonly  and  uselessly 
involve  Great  Britain  and  her  colonies  in 
the  agitation  of  this  question,  they  mast 
be  actuated  by  the  moH  intolerant  sphrit 
of  tyranny  and  oppression ;  and  can  only 
hazard  such  a  step,  on  the  presumption 
that  the  West  India  colonies  ar«  too 


*  Reasons  for  Registry,  p.  06. 


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76 


J%6  West  Indian  €kmtro9eny.    ATo.  ///. 


pwr. 


weak  to  conqner  their  independence  Hke 
America,  or  to  present  that  fbrmidable 
array  of  national  preparation,  which  ea- 
tablinhed  the  claims  of  Ireland. 

*•  Such  i«  the  spirit  manifested  by  those 
constitutional  guardians  of  the  rights  of 
the  people,  the  Edinburgh  Reviewers, 
who,   in  this  case,  forgetting  all   their 
wonted  principles,  and  snhstituting  might 
for  right,  affect  to  despise  the  impotence 
of  what  they  term  •  West  India  clamour 
and  swagger ;'  •  who  ridicule  the  idea  of 
the  West  Indies  following  the  example  of 
America,  by  saying,  that  •  what  was  bold- 
ness in  the  one  case  would  be  impudence 
in  the  other  ;*  and  that  *  England  must 
be  reduced  very  low  indeed,  before  she 
can  feel  greatly  alarmed^  at  a  Caribbee 
Island,  like  Lord  Grizzle  in  Tom  Tlramb, 
exclaiming,  <  'Sdeath,  1*11  be  a  rebel.*  f 
This  is  Just  the  ianguage  thai  was  held  by 
some  equally  sapient  poliHeians,  and  redoubt- 
ed generalst  on  the  first  breaking  out  of  the 
disturbances  between  Great  Britain  and  her 
colonies  in  North  America  ;  when  a  general 
officer  declared  in  the  House  of  OommonSf 
that  he  would  march  through  Jmerieoyfrom 
one  end  to  the  other,  with  a  thousand  men. 
Every  considerate  mind  must  deprecate 
this  contemptuous  manner  of  treating  the 
colonists ;  for  if  any  thing  can  drive  men 
to  desperation,  and  decide  them  to  hazard 
every  extremity,  it  is  thus  adding  insult 
to  injury.    This  is  indeed  at  once  throw- 
ing the  sword  into  the  scale,  and  putting 
an  end  to  that  dispassionate  discussion, 
which  alone  reconcile  the  rights  of  the 
cplonies,  with  the  dignity  of  the  mother 
country,  and  the  interests  of  humanity." 
The  feelings  of  the  Colonial  Assem- 
blies themselves,  as  to  these  matters, 
were  embodied  in  Resolutions,  Pro- 
tests, Reports  of  all  sorts,  during  the 
period  of  ferment  excited  by  the  ques- 
tion of  the  Registry  Bills— that  is  in 
1816andl?17.  That  the  negro  revolt  of 
1816  had  beei)  excited  by  the  agitation 
of  this  question^  the  fla^,  and  inscrip- 
tions, and  devices  of  the  insurgents, 
nian^ested  from  the  banning ;  and  if 
any  doubt  could  have  existed,  that  was 
annihilated  by  the  subsequent  confes- 
sion of  those  who  were  tried  and  con- 
victed,  after  the  Government  had  suc-» 
oeeded  in  putting  the  revolt  down.  That 
it  was  put  down  without  a  far  more  ter- 
rible cost  of  life,  was  entirely  owing  to 
the  local  circumstances  under  wmch 
it  had  occurred — ^Barbadoes  being  a 


veij  small  and  flat  island,  everr  port 
of  it  cultivated  ground,  the  population 
concentrated,  and  no  possibility  of  es- 
cape after  defeat.  Haa  the  thing  been 
attempted  then  in  Jamaica,  how  dif- 
ferent must  have  been  the  result !  But 
the  revolt,  such  as  it  was,  and,  above 
all,  the  AVilberforcian  war-cries  and 
emblems,  of  which  the  n^oes  were 

§  roved  to  have  made  use,  cflfectually 
amped  for  the  time  the  ardour,  or  at 
least  ^e  rciiolution,  of  the  agitators  in 
England,  and  all  the  world  knows  how 
the  Refi;istry  Question  was  at  length 
settled  Dya  sort  of  compromise,  where- 
in die  rarliament  at  nome,  and  the 
Colonial  Parliaments,  met  each  other 
half  way. 

The   recent    adtations,   however, 
have  shewn  abundantly,  that  the  C<^ 
lonlal  Assemblies  are  still  of  the  same 
mind  they  ^roressed  in  1816.    In  Ja- 
maica, in  Ba34MidoeB,  in  Grenada,  and 
indeed  everywhere,  ResolutionB  have 
again  been  resorted  to,  and  the  repub- 
lication of  some  of  these  documents 
has  already  begun  to  attract  not  a  lit- 
tle notice' on  this  aide  of  the  water. 
We  have  before  ua  a  mass  of  these  Co^ 
lonial  papers.    They  all  breathe  the 
same  sphit :  but,  as  might  be  expected, 
they  do  not  all  express  this,  either 
with  the  same  temper,  or  with  the  same 
talent.   In  several  partictdars,  we  give 
the  decided  preference  to  the  manifes- 
to of  the  Bahamas,  which  has  just  been 
reprinted  in  London,  (we  Imow  not 
whether   for  general  publication  or 
not,)  imder  the  title  of  "  An  Official 
Letter  to  George  Chalmers,  Esq.  (Co- 
lonial Agent  for  the  Bahamas,)  con- 
cerning the  proposed  abolition  of  sla- 
very in  the  West  Indies."    This  let- 
ter is  written  with  a  degree  of  calm- 
ness which)  under  all  the  circumstan- 
ces, wc  reaUy  regard  as  astonishing. 
The  writers  go  over  the  different  ac- 
cusations on  which  the  Wilberforces 
have  so  long  harped,  and  most  4^ec- 
tually  vindicate  their  own  character  in 
the  teeth  of  all  those  venomous  com- 
mon-places.   But  their  defence  has 
alreaay  been  anticipated  by  ourselves, 
as  to  the  most  important  of  these  par- 
ticulars :  we  shall  therefore  quote  only 
the  following  passages,  in  which  the 
second  and  more  general  class  of  topics 
is  handled. 


•  Edinburgh  Review,  No.  50,  p.  341. 
I  Edinburgh  Keviow,  No.  60,  p.  344. 


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189*.l 


3!*tf  West  Indian  Coniropeny.     Ko.  III. 


*•  Eren,  shonid  Pftrliftment  conceive 
that  it  possessed  a  legitimate  authority, 
to  interfere  with  the  domestic  and  other 
internal  concerns  of  these  colonies ;  let 
us  ask,  has  Mr  Wilberforce  made  out  a 
case,  sufficient  to  justify  so  unprecedent- 
ed an  exercise  of  that  authority?  At  a 
time  when  few,  if  any,  of  the  colonies 
had  passed  laws  for  the  protection  of  the 
stares,  or  the  amelioration  of  their  con- 
dition ;  before  scarcely  an  attempt  was 
made  to  introduce  Christianity  among 
them,  and  crimes  against  them  might 
liave  been  openly  committed  with  impu- 
nity ;  even  then,  the  right  of  property  in 
Slaves  was  reverenced  as  sacred,  and  in- 
tangible even  by  Pkriiament  itself.  But 
now,  after  the  most  important  changes 
have  taken  place  in  almost  every  particu- 
]ar ;  when  the  Slaves  are  everywhere  un- 
der the  protection  of  wholesome  laws, 
which,  let  the  Abolitionists  assert  what 
they  please,  are  enfbrced  with  more  or 
less  rigour  in  every  colony ;  when  Chrii- 
Uaniitf  is  rapidfy  gaining  ground  ammtg 
tkem  ;  wkenf  hy  the  Abolition  of  the  SUne 
TratUt  the  Mcwei  in  M«  West  Indies  are  ef' 
JeetuaOy  cut  off' from  aUfrttiher  contagion 
^bnrbarism  and  paganism  from  yffricat  ond 
atready  begin  to  ewnce  considerable  advances, 
in  point  of  habits  and  jrrificiples,  to  a  better 
amdition ;  when  emandpntions  are  dmXy  be^ 
coming  more  common,  ond  the  riglUs  qfboth 
free  Negroes  and  SUxves,  are  placed  under  a 
degree  even  of  unnecessary  protection  by  the 
late  Registry  laws,  so  ttrenuously  recom^ 
mended  by  the  Abolitionists  themselves  ;  still 
that  restless  jtarty  apjiear  to  be  even  more 
dissatisEed  than  ever;  and^  in  the  fretful' 
ness  (f  their  impatience  for  our  fowl  ruin, 
have  at  length  discovered,  that  Parlia- 
ment not  only  has  a  constitutional  right  to 
divest  us  of  our  property,  or  otherwise 
deal  with  it  at  discretion  j  but  also  that, 
unless  ParUametit  does  interfere,  nothing 
can  or  will  ever  be  done  for  the  redress 
of  those  enormous  but  imaginary  wrongs, 
with  which,  unftninded  in  fact,  as  they 
are  unsupported  by  proof,  every  colony 
in  the  West  Indies  is  indiscriminately 
charged. 

•♦  What  may  be  within  the;m£i«r  of  the 
British  Parliament,  it  would  perhaps  be 
aa  difficult  to  deine,  as  it  might  be  peril- 
oos  to  question.  But  power  does  not  al- 
ways constitute  right  Our  coioniits, 
beinif  no  longer  represented  in  the  Pw- 
liameot  of  the  mother  country,  wer^ 
|4aeed  by  the  Crown  (and  the  right  of 
tile  Crown  in  this  instance  has  never 
been  questioned)  under  the  government 
of  Parliaments  of  their  own  ;  the  mother 
country  reserving  to  herself,  or  her  Par- 
liament, only  a  sort  of  homage  from  the 


77 

colonies,  in  matters  relating  to  their  ma- 
ritime concerns.  A  political  right,  once 
unconditionally  conferred,  never  can  be 
recalled  ;  or  the  liberties  even  of  Eng- 
land would  be  at  tills  day  enjoyed  only 
by  sulferance  of  the  reigning  Monarch. 
What  was  Magna  Ouiria  itself,  but  a 
royal  boon  ?— extorted  indeed  by  intimi- 
dation, but  perhaps,  on  that  very  account, 
oAly  the  less  binding  on  the  bestower. 
The  same  might  perhaps  be  said,  with 
very  little  abatement  of  circumstance,  as 
to  the  Bill  of  Rights,  as  well  as  many 
other  of  those  high  securities  for  British 
freedom,  which  we  have  been  so  long  in 
the  habit  of  regarding  with  veneration. 
And  yet,  has  it  ever  been  pretended,  that 
Parliament  could  constitutionally  revoke 
those  concessions? 

"  Whatever  principal  therefore  of  sup- 
posed dependence,  may  be  attached  to 
those  colonial  bodies  that  have  been  in- 
corporated only  by  charters,  which,  per- 
haps»  as  such,  may  be  liable  to  forfeiture ; 
or  to  those  colonies,  as  the  Canadas,  the 
Constitutions  of  which  were  originally 
created,  and  afterwards  altered  by  the 
British  Parliament;  we  conceive  that 
the  present  Constitution  of  tha  Bahama^ 
as  well  as  that  of  Jamaica,  and  several 
other  West  India  colonies,  stands  in  thia 
respect  upon  the  highest  possible  ground. 
We  purposely  avoid  details,  because  they 
are  already  well  known  to  all  who  interest 
themselves  in  West  India  afiairs;  and 
to  those  who  do  not,  they  would  be  of 
little  use.— Among  the  rash  measures  of 
the  British  Ministry,  in  the  early  part  of 
the  revolt  of  the  North  American  colo- 
nies. Parliament  was  induced  to  declare 
by  law,  that  it  had  the  right  to  legislate 
for  the  colonies  in  all  cases ;  a  dedara- 
tioo,  by  the  by,  which,  from  its  being 
deemed  necessary  at  such  a  season,  ad- 
mits the  existence  of  some  serious  doubts 
upon  the  subject.  This  high-toned  pre- 
tension accordingly  was  very  shortly  after- 
wards modified  by  the  important  excep- 
tion of  the  right  of  taatation  s  <md  at  last 
virtually  abandoned,  in  toto,  by  the  recog 
nition  of  the  revolted  Provinces,  as  Inde- 
pendent States.  As,  therefore,  the  Gene- 
ral Assembly  of  these  islands  was  lawful- 
ly constituted  by  the  Crown,  without  any 
manner  of  Pariinmentary  sanction,  ex- 
cept so  far  as  the  Assembly,  with  the 
King  at  its  bead,  is  in  itself  a  Parliament 
for  all  local  purposes,  we  sincerely  hope 
that  the  question  may  never  be  seriously 
raised  as  a  matter  of  contention  with  the 
mother  country,  whetlier  the  British 
Parliament  can  constitutionally  interfere 
with  our  internal  concerns  ;/ir  ow  that 
point,  there  can  be  but  one  opinion  among 


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Tk€  Wea  Indian  Qmtrtmeny.    No.  III. 


76 

tU  migpenOeni  pari  tf  aU  tktjrot  ooAk 

Take  in  connection  with  these  ex- 
pressions of  the  principal  authorities 
u  one  colony,  what  Mr  Brougham, 
yes,  Mr  Brougham  him^lf,  said,  long 
a^o,  about  the  general  question  (^Par- 
liamentary intmerence. 

**  After  the  Oovsmment  of  the  mo- 
ther country  has  abolbbed  the  African 
tnMle,  the  Colonial  Legislatiiret  are  ftil- 
ly  competent  to  take  all  tbfe  steps  that 
may  be  necessary  for  improving  the  sys- 
tem. They  are  precisely  in  the  sittia- 
tkm  which  insures  the  adoption  of  wise 
measures;  they  are  composed  of  men 
immediately  interested  in  the  ptimiit  of 
that  very  conduct  which  the  good  of 
the  system  requires.  All  the  indivi- 
doals  who  form  the  Assemblies,  are  con- 
cerned in  the  presenration  and  increase 
of  the  negro  stock ;  in  the  improvement 
of  the  whole  colonial  society ;  in  the  gra- 
dual reformation  of  the  general  system. 
They  are  separated  from  their  brother 
colonists  only  by  that  election  which  con- 
fers upon  them  the  power  of  watching 
over  the  common  good,  and  imposes  on 
them  the  duty  of  investigating  the  means 
whereby  it  may  best  be  attained.  For 
the  same  reason  that  it  would  be  in  vain 
to  expect  fh>m  such  men  the  great  mea- 
Burt  of  Abolition,  it  would  be  foolish  to 
despair  of  obtainmg  from  them  every  as- 
sistance in  promoting  those  sobordinate^ 
schemes  wMch  may  conduce  to  the  ame- 
iiofation  of  the  eokmial  policy.  Of  their 
superior  ability  to  devise  and  execute  such 
measures,  we  eamiot  entertafai  the  small- 
est doubt.  They  are  men  intimately  ao- 
quainted  with  every  minute  branch  of  co- 
lonial aflkirs,  and  aecostomed  from  their 
earliest  years  to  meditate  npon  no  other 
subjects.  They  reside  in  the  heart  of  the 
system  for  which  their  plans  are  to  be 
lttid»  and  on  which  the  success  of  eveiy 
experiment  is  to  be  tried. 

"  The  genera]  question  of  Abolitkm 
may  easily  be  examined  at  a  distance. 
All  the  information  that  is  necessary  for 
the  discussion  of  it  has  already  been  pro- 
cured by  the  mother  countries  of  the  di^ 
ferent  European  colonies.  Its  connec- 
tion with  various  interests,  not  colonial, 
renders  the  provincial  governments  in- 
competent to  examine  it,  even  if  their 
interests  and  prejudices  left  them  at  li- 
berty to  enter  upon  a  ftiir  investigation. 

^  But  the  details  of  the  Slave  Laws  re- 
quire more  minute  and  acemate  acquaint- 


CJ. 


ance  with  aa  infinite  variety  of  particu- 
lars, which  can  only  be  known  to  those 
who  reside  upon  the  spot.  To  revise  the 
domestic  codes  of  the  colonies,  would  be 
a  task  which  no  European  government 
could  undertake  for  want  of  information^ 
and  for  want  of  time.  Any  Parliament, 
Coundlf  or  Senate,  which  should  begin 
such  a  work,  would  find  it  necessary  to 
give  up  legislating  for  the  mother  coun- 
tiy,  in  order  partly  to  mar,  and  partly  to 
negleet,  the  legislation  of  the  colonies. 
Let  this  brsnch  of  the  imperial  admini- 
stration, then,  be  left  to  the  care  of  those 
who  are  themselves  most  inunediately  in- 
terested  in  the  good  order  and  govem- 
meiit  of  the  distant  provinces,  and  whose 
knowledge  of  local  cireunstanoes,  of  those 
things  that  cannot  be  written  down  in  re- 
ports, nor  told  by  witnesses,  is  more  full 
and  practical,  llie  question  of  AboHtion 
is  one  and  simple ;  it  is  answered  by  a  yea 
or  a  nay;  its  solutkm  requires  no  exer- 
cise of  invention ;  the  questions  of  regu- 
latioii  are  many  and  complex ;  they  are 
steted  by  a  <  quomcdot*  they  lead  to  the 
discovery  of  neans,  and  the  comparison 
of  measures  proposed.  Without  pretend- 
ing to  dispute  the  supremacy  of  the  mo- 
ther country,  we  may  be  allowed  to  doubt 
her  omniscience;  and  the  colonial  history 
of  modem  Europe  may  well  change  our 
doubts  into  dlabelie£  Without  standing 
out  for  the  privileges  of  the  colonies,  we 
may  suggest  their  more  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  details  of  the  question,  and 
maintain  that  the  interest  both  of  the  mo- 
ther country  and  the  colonies  requires  a 
subdivision  of  the  labour  of  legisktion ;  a 
delegation  of  certain  duties  and  inquiries 
to  those  who  are  most  nearly  connected 
with  the  result,  and  situated  within  the 
reach  of  the  materials  When  the  Aboli- 
tion shall  have  rendered  all  the  planters 
more  carefiil  of  their  stock,  and  more  dis- 
posed to  encourage  breedings  theonly  task 
for  the  cotonlal  governments  will  be  to 
regulate  the  relative  rights  of  the  two 
classes,  to  prepare  the  civilization  of  the 
subordinate  race,  and  to  check  those  cruel- 
ties which  may  still  appear  in  a  fiew  In- 
stances of  individual  inhumanity  and  po- 
liqr."» 

And  last  of  all,  hear  what  Mr  Mar« 
ryat  said  in  1816,  ^ii^l  6e/brethe  Bar- 
badoee  retsoU  broke  out. 

**  An  eminent  poNtkal  writer,  speak- 
ing of  the  British  colonists,  says,—* 

**  *  Masters  of  shives  are  by  far  the 
most  proud  and  jealous  of  their  freedom. 
Freedom  is  to  them,  not  ouly  an  enjoy- 


BrougUiim's  Colonial  Policy,  vol  II.  p.  50t. 


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The  West  Indian  Omiroifersy.    No.  IJL 


BMnC»  bat  a  kind  of  rank  mmI  privilege. 
Not  Mting  tbere^  that  fireedoai,  at  in 
coontriai  wbere  it  is  a  commofi  Ue$aiiig^ 
waA  at  broad  and  genenU  as  the  air,  aaay 
be  united  with  much  abject  toil,  with 
fTMt  nriaefy,  wkh  all  the  exterior  of  tee- 
▼itado,  libertj  looks  aoMMig  them  like 
aomethiog  that  is  BMCje  noble  and  liberaL 
Soch  were  all  the  ancient  common- 
wealths; sncli  were  our  Gothic  aaees- 
tors ;  aaoh,  in  our  days,  were  the  Boles ; 
and  sndi  will  ever  be,  all  roasters  of 
sls^ee  who  are  not  skives  themsdvea. 
In  them,  haughtiness  coaibioes  with  the 
apirit  of  freedom,  fortifies  it,  and  renders 
it  onrkMiUa.'* 

**  It  would  be  degrsdiogto  the  memory 
•f  that  great  man,  who  wrote  and  spoke 
on  oohmial  subjects  with  a  propketic  api- 
Tit,  to  compare  his  observations,  founded 
«n  a  deep  knowledge  of  human  natwe^ 
with  the  superficial  and  fitppant  remarks 
«f  the  Edmburgh  Reviewers.  Whether 
Che  haughty  spirit  of  the  White  inhabi- 
tanta  in  the  West  Indies,  asay  or  may 
not  submit  to  superior  force,  one  thing 
is  certain,  that  Great  Britoin  cannot 
Moke  the  experiment,  without  fotfeiting 
the  eoofidence,  and  alienating  the  affec* 
tioas  of  that  daas  of  her  subjiccts.  The 
British  West  India  colonies  labour  under 
greater  disadvantages  than  those  of  any 
other  European  power;  for  although  ex- 
empted from  direct  taxation,  the  double 
UMMiopoly  to  which  they  are  subjected, 
of  receiving  all  their  supplies  from,  and 
skipping  all  their  produce  to  the  mother 
country,  eomprehends  within  itself  every 
possible  apecies  of  taxatkin,  and  renders 
the  whole  of  their  industry  contributory, 
in  an  unexampled  degree,  to  the  increase 
of  her  eocnmereial  greatness  and  nawd 
power.  Their  only  compensation  for 
tkts  diaadvantage,  is,  that  they  ei^oy  the 
Meseinga  of  a  free  Gevemmeat;  that 
ihey  are  adarittad  into  a  participation  of 
the  privilegea  and  benefits  of  the  British 
Constitution.  Deprive  them  of  these, 
and  the  tic  that  attaches  them  to  the 
aMither  country  will  at  once  be  broken ; 
the  charm  that  hat  secured  their  loyalty, 
mder  the  roost  trying  hardships,  will  at 
once  be  diasoli-ed.  They  will  brood,  in 
suUen  filenoe,  over  their  lost  rights ;  and 
amdicste  the  means  by  which  they  may 
facrsaffear  be  regained. 

*  The  Abb^  Raynai  has  predicted, 
that  the  West  India  Islands  will  one  day 
belong  to  America,  on  account  of  their 
natural  dependence  upon  her  for  the  great 
necessaries  of  life;  and  the  accomplish- 


r9 

ment  of  this  predictfon  is  likely  to  be 
hastened,  by  the  intemperate  counsels 
of  the  African  Institution.  When  the 
constitutional  rights  of  the  colonies  were 
invaded,  the  Stamp  Act  was  burnt  as 
publicly  in  the  British  West  India  Is- 
lands, as  in  the  American  colonies, 
though  the  contest  between  the  mother 
country  and  the  latter,  afterwards  turned 
upon  points  In  which  the  former  had  no 
concern  ;  and  nothing  can  be  so  likely  to 
bring  about  an  union  between  the  re- 
maining, and  the  revolted  colonies  of 
Great  Britain,  as  a  new  dispute  concern- 
ing legislative  rights.  The  hostile  spirit 
of  America  towuds  this  country,  and  her 
ambition  to  become  a  great  naval  power, 
would  induce  her  to  watch  the  first  Ih- 
vouraUe  opportunity  of  supporthig  the 
West  India  colonies,  in  asserting  that 
independence  which  she  herself  establish- 
ed ;  and  to  fan  the  erobers  of  rising  dia- 
oontent  aroong  them  into  a  flame,  in  of^ 
der  to  sever  those  valuable  possessions 
from  Great  Britain,  and  unite  them  to 
her  own  Government** 

We  confess  that  the  goieral  aspect 
of  the  New  World  at  tnis  particular 
time,  has  no  tendency  to  make  us  view 
aome  cf  these  matters  more  easily  than 
thla  hi^y  intelligent  person  was  able 
to  do  seven  years  ago.  On  the  con- 
trary^ who  can  beblind  to  the  fitct,  that 
the  whole  of  that  immense  region  is, 
at  thia  moment,  in  a  state  of  moat 
alarming  confuiioB?  who  has  not  had 
jome  fears  that  England  may  be  call^ 
^ed  upon  to  arm  herself  in  cooaequence 
of  events  not  yet  developed,  naj,  of  in« 
fincncea  not  yet  capable  (^  hemg  ana- 
lysed ?—iAnd  if  she  dionld  be  ao  call* 
ed  upon,  who  bat  a  fanatic  oan  be  fool 
enough  to  doubt— who  but  a  Whig  can 
be  base  enough  to  pretend  to  doubt-^ 
that  there  ar^  powers,  ay,  more  than 
one,  which,  in  aeeking  to  derive  ad* 
Yantage  from  the  agitated  state  of 
Reeling,  ^lat  already  hag  been  excited 
in  our  colonies,  and  that  may,  unless 
a  very  di£ferent  tone  be  taken  in  cer* 
tain  ouarters,  be  pushed  very  easily 
to  a  degree  of  excitement  as  vet  hap* 
pily  unknown,  would  do  notning  but 
wliat  abundant  preoedenta  have  here- 
tofore shewn  them  quite  capable  of 
doing,  and  that  undar  circumstances 
b^  no  means  so  favourable  for  their 
▼lewa,  as  are,  or  may  aoon  enough  be^ 
exhibited?  Who  has  not  dreamt,  at 
kasty  of  the  poaaihility  of  a  Sarth 


•  Burke*s  Works,  8vo,  vol.  iii.  p.  354. 


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The  Wtit Indian  Controversy^    No,  IIL 


80 

American  alliance  against  Britain, 
purchased  by  the  bribe  of  all  others  the 
most  likely  to  captivate  the  imagination 
of  those  sagacious,  not  less  than  ambi- 
tious republicans  ?  And  who,  suppos- 
ing such  a  bargain  to  be  really  in  posse, 
would  voluntarily  court  the  risk  of 
contemplating  it  in  vase  and  in  opere  ? 

Some  of  the  publications  which  the 
recent  march  of  events  has  called  forth 
from  among  the  British  colonists  them- 
selves, deserve,  however,  to  be  referred 
to  for  many  things,  besides  the  in- 
formation they  anord  concerning  the 
present  state  of  feeling  among  our 
own  fellow-subjects  in  toat  quarter  of 
the  world.  In  one  point  of  view,  there- 
fore—we roust  admit,  to  be  sure  it  is  a 
very  subordinate  one — the  agitators  at 
home  have  done  some  good  by  their 
new  outcries.  They  have  compelled, 
80  to  speak,  the  production  of  the  only 
thing  that  was  wanting  for  their  own 
destruction — a  mass  of  really  genuine 
and  authentic  facts,  illustrative  both 
of  the  actual  condition  of  our  own  ne- 
groes now,  and  of  the  effects  of  which 
rash  revolutionary  experiments  have 
actually  been  productive  among  the 
negro  population,  and  upon  the  com- 
mercial prosperity  of  the  great  Island 
of  a^  Domingo.  It  was  only  the 
culpable  state  of  ignorance  (for  we 
must  call  it  se)  in  which  we  had 
been  suffered  to  remain  by  those  who 
ought  to  have  laboured  in  furnishing 
us  with  knowledge, — it  was  this  alone ' 
that  put  in  the  power  of  the  Clark- 
sons,  Wilberforces,  and  other  well- 
meaning  dupes  of  Brougham  and  the 
East  Indian  free-traders,  to  excite 
that  measure  of  paUic  feeling,  of  which 
we  all  witnessed  the  unhappy  efi^cta 
during  the  last  session  of  Parliament. 
HappUy,  there  is  no  need  for  la- 
menting what  is  past  and  irrevocable 
—happily,  no  such  excuse  remains 
now.  The  English  planters  have  vin-i 
dicated  themselves  with  a  modesty 
that  adorns  their  firmness— -and  they 
have  shewn  us,  in  their  genuine  views 
of  Hayti,  something  very  difierent  in- 
deed ^om  the  paradisairal  creations  of 
Mr  Clarkson's  Mtue, 

Into  this  wide  field  we  cannot  at 
present  enter.  We  shall  merely  make 
two  short  extracts  from  two  distinct 
works  that  have  just  appeared,  in  refer- 
ence to  the  vaunted  Utopia  of  revo- 
lutionized St  Domingo, — And  first, 
what  says  *'  the  Official  Letter  from 
the  Bahamas?" 


HJai. 


*'  It  is  absolute  trifling  with  the  people 
of  Great  Britaiii,  and  worse  than  trifling 
with  the  colonies,  to  persist«thii8  in  hold- 
ing oot  the  absurd  idea,  that  negroes, 
when  emancipated,  (die  writer  means  ^ 
emancipated  in  their  present,  or  in  aoj^ 
thing  like  their  present  state,)  would  con- 
tinue to  employ  themselves  in  the  culti- 
vation of  West  India  produce  upon  wages. 
Does  the  experience  of  any  one  island  in 
the  West  Indies  justify  it  ?  Not  one ;  let 
Mr  Wilberforce  say  what  be  pleasesabouC 
his  disbanded  soldiers  and  American  de- 
serters; or,  to  come  still  closer  to  the 
point,  do  the  present  situation  of  St  Dok 
mingo,  and  the  dreatyul  aspect  rfwfmn  i» 
that  abyss  of  anarcky,  kept  dawn  onfy  by 
omu,  justify  it  ?  On  the  contrary,  to  rsise 
a  twentieth  part  of  what  once  was  the 
produce  uf  that  unfortunate  island,  tite 
peasantry  had  to  be  reduced  to  a  state  of 
worse  than  roilttaiy  vassalage,  iuflnitely 
more  degrading,  unjust;  odious*  sanguina- 
ry, and  cruely  than  Mr  Wilbenbroe  bimi. 
sel^  even  under  the  malignant  influence 
of  one  of  his  worst  West  India  night* 
mareSf  could  possibly  dream  of  finding  in 
any  portion  of  the  western  worldi  The 
cultivators  of  the  soil  in  Hayii,  we  un-* 
derstand,  are  not,  like  our  stoves  or  our 
soldiers  and  sailors,  exposed  to  the  hoiV 
rors  of  the  cat*o*-nine-tails.  No,  they 
are^/rve-^and  therefore  they  are  only  jo* 
bred  or  shot  when  they  fail  to  bring  the 
expected  quantity  of  produce  into  the 
piondam  royaU  but  now  presidentiali 
exchequer.  Mr  Wilberforce*s  allusion^ 
indeed,  to  the  present  state  of  St  Do- 
mingo, is  most  unfortunate  for  his  cause  9 
particularly  with  respect  to  the  religious 
improvement  likely  to  be  the  resuls  of 
suddenly  manumitting  any  large  body  of 
slaves.  In  that  ilUfisted  island,  our  mis* 
sionaries,  reasoning  possibly  with  Mr 
Wilberforce,  calculated  no  doubt  on  ■ 
rich  harvest  of  grace  among  negroes^ 
now  no  longer  restrained  bjr  the  chains 
of  bondage^  from  the  means  of  religious 
bistructton.  Let  the  mission  speak  for 
itselt  While,  in  nearly  every  other  part 
of  the  West  Indies,  the  missionaries  boast 
of  increasing  success  and  brightening 
prospects,  the  modem  St  Domingo  stands 
alone  impregnable  to  the  real  truths  of 
Christianity.  On  the  I5th  of  January, 
1821,  the  Rev.  Mr  Evariste,  the  mission- 
ary sent  thither^  writes  thus: — *  Evary 
door  is  shut  agamst  us»  and  we  are  de- 
prived in  every  possible  way  of  liberty  to* 
act  either  according  to  the  Gospel  or  our 
own  conscience,  or  the  light  of  truth.' 
Again,  *  This  city  is  a  burden  to  me,  on 
account  of  tBe  fearful  and  horrible  things 
which  I  see ;  particularly  the  Imbituol 
9 


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The  West  Indian  Controversy.    No.  HI. 


mild  sinftil  violttUm  of  the  Sabbftth.' 
Agitn,  *  We  «r»  like  theep  exposed  to  the 
tuj  ofike  njdveg.'  Again, '  Forme,  lam 
considered  by  them  as  one  deprived  of 
roaooB,  a  f(K>l,  and  enthusiast.*  And 
agmn,  towuda  the  oonelusion  of  the  let- 
ter, *  The  only  thiag  that  keeps  me  here 
ia  our  dear  aocie^,  which  languishes  like 
M  irte  pitmted  by  ike  tide  of  a  flamino 
fUENACs!*— <See  the  Methodist  Mission- 
ary  Beport  of  1821,  p.  xoiv.)  The  me- 
Jaocholy  fact  is,  that  St  Domingo^  once 
the  garden,  the  Queen  of  the  West  In- 
dies, is  now  inhabited,  not  exactly  by  aair 
^•geM,  but  by  a  race  of  beings,  infinitely 
worse,  degraded,  in  (act,  beneath  what 
they  ever  were  before.  The  unsophisti- 
cated denizen  of  the  African  wilds  is  en- 
nobled in  comparison  with  the  wretched 
degradation  of  his  Hay tian  brethren ;  not 
merely  relapsing  into  barbarism,  but  sink- 
ing fitft  under  an  odious  combination  of 
the  darkness,  ferocity,  vices,  and  super- 
stitions of  all  colours  and  all  nations; 
unredeemed  by  the  virtues  of  any.  To 
this  state  of  terrific  desolation  it  is,  that 
Mr  Wilberforoe  and  his  friends  are  now 
finally  labooring  to  reduce  the  whole  of 
the  British  West  Indies.*' 

Our  other  extract  on  this  head  shaU 
be  from  a  letter  addressed  to  Lord 
Liverpool  by  *'  a  West  Indian,"  (Mr 
S.  P.  Hard.)  It  consists  of  a  precis 
made  from  the  Custom-house  books  of 
St  Domingo. 

**  The  ishmd  of  Doming,  previously  to 
the  French  revolution  and  the  emancipa- 
tion of  the  negro  population,  exported  to 
France,  in  353  ships,  of  from  800  to  1000 
tons  each,  the  under-mentioned  pro- 
duce:— 

QuIaCah. 
SMff,        1^99.973.  which  Mid  for  L.1,900,000 
Ca&be,  45d»S50.  —  1,009,000 

iMdlpK  18,080.  —  650,000 

Cboo^p  6,7901  -  17.000 

Aniotto,  518,  —  1.500 

Cotton,  96,900,  —  300,000 

UMn.  14,500,  —  7,000 

nap^^ftm,      44,000,  ^  9,000 

■^ 40,000 

100,035 


Dmioods.  1^,000,  — 

Mljrrlhmwwii  drof^  to.        — 


L.4,066,S35 

**  This  exportation  arose  from  385  su- 
gar plantatk>ns  for  raw  sugar,  and  263  for 
clayed,  or  dried  sugars ;  from  2587  plant- 
ations for  indigo;  14^618,336  cotton 
plants ;  92,893  coffee  trees,  and  757,000 
eoooft  trees. 

•*  At  diat  period,  the  catUe  of  the  colo- 
ny amoanted  to  76,056  horses  and  mules, 
and  77,904  head  of  homed  cattle.  The 
labour  occupied  33,000  white  persons  of 


81 

all  ages  and  both  sexes;  6500  persons 
of  free  condition ;  and  between  3  and 
400,000  slaves. 

"  In  the  year  1813,  this  once  beauti- 
ful, rich,  and  happy  colony  was  reduced  to 
a  miserable  population,  not  exceeding 
150,000.  Its  flourishing  plantations,  po- 
pulous towns,  and  elegant  residences^ 
were  fiillen  into  one  general  mass  of 
ruin.  Hie  soil  produced  barely  sufficient 
to  support  its  wretched  inhabitants,  un- 
der idleness  and  accumuhiting  poverty. 
Instead  of  occupying  in  its  trade  353 
large  vessels^  the  American  merchants  of 
the  United  States  oouhi  barely  obtain  a 
return  freight,  for  from  15  to  20  sehooners 
and  square-rigged  vessels  of  about  180 
tons  each ;  and  England  sent  about  one- 
third  of  that  number;  and,  in  the  room 
of  growing  1,230,673  quintals  of  sugar, 
the  inhabitants  were  then  supplied  with 
that  article  from  Jamaioa.** 

We  earnestly  eutreat  such  of  our 
readers  as  really  wish  for  complete  and 
satisfkctory  information  as  to  all  these 
matters,  to  peruse  without  delay  this 
"  Official  Letter"  to  Mr  Chalmers :  the 
"  Report  of  the  Debate  in  the  Council 
of  Barbadoes  on  the  receipt  of  Lord 
Bathurst's  Letter :"  and  last,  not  least 
important,  "  Remarks  on  the  Condi- 
tion of  tlie  Slaves  in  Jamaica,  by  Wil- 
liam Sells,  member  of  the  Royal  Col- 
lege of  Surgeons,  London,  and  many 
yecrs  practitioner  in  the  parish  of  Cla- 
rendon, Jamaica."*  The  number  and 
obviously  total  want  of  connection  and 
concert  among  the  writers  of  these, 
and  the  other  recent  pamphlets,  take 
away  everything  like  suspicion  from 
the  strong,  uniform,  overwhelming, 
and  unanswerable  evidence  which  they 
give,  in  regard  to  the  rapid  and  deci- 
sive improvement  that  has  been  going 
on  iu  all  our  colonies,  under  the  eye 
and  through  the  exertions  of  the  much 
calumniated  planters,  and  their  equally 
calumniated  legidatures.  The  brief 
abstract  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  as 
well  as  that  given  in  our  own  last  paper 
on  this  subject,  will  be  found,  on 
comparing  them  with  these  authentic 
documents  of  evidence,  (for  we  can 
consider  them  in  no  other  light,)  to 
have  stated  the  case  throughout  rather 
less  favourably  for  the  planter's  ma- 
nagement than  the  facto  would  have 
warranted. 

Throughout  this  discussion  we  have 


*  Published  by  Ridiardson,  Comhill,  and  Ridgcway,  Piccadilly. 
Vol.  XV.  L 


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7%i  Wnt  Indum  Ominomjf.    No.  III. 


92 

abstalnod  ftom  everything  that  could 
bear  ihe  least  sembiaDce  of  personal 
attack  upon  the  individuals  whose 
schemes  we  hare  been  compelled 
to  expose  and  denounce.  Some  other 
journals,  and  in  particular,  the  Sun- 
day paper  John  Bull,  have  adopt- 
ed a  somewhat  different  course :  and 
Mr  Bull,  we  observe,  has  seen  a 
prosecution  commenced  against  him 
by  Mr  Zachary  Macaulay,  the  great 
Solmi,  or  perhaps  he  would  rather  have 
us  style  him,  the  great  Moses  of  Sierra 
Leone.  Of  the  facts  of  die  ease  be- 
tween  Jc^BuU  and  Mr  Zadiary  Mac- 
aulay we  know  nothing.  One  thing, 
however,  we  do  happen  to  know,  and 
that  is,  that  statements  not  very  dis- 
shnilar,  so  far  as  we  could  observe,  and 
certainly  quite  as  strong,  were  made 
against  Mr  M.  seven  or  eight  years 
ago  in  certain  pamphlets,  to  which  a 
gentleman  well  known  in  the  House  of 
Commons  put  his  name  at  the  tune 
when  they  were  published.  Now,  we 
humbly  think  that  if  Mr  Macaulay 
was  resolved  to  prosecute,  he  ot^t  to 
have  attacked  the  first,  the  open,  and 
the  eaual  enemy — not  the  Sunday  pa- 
per— but  gentlemen  will  no  aoubt 
follow  their  own  feelings  in  matters 
where  they  suppose,  rightly  or  not, 
their  personal  honour  to  be  concerned. 

The  Rulers  of  the  African  Institu- 
tion, however,  have  sometimes  had  the 
fortune  to  stand  in  situations  at  least 
as  undignified  as  Mr  Bull  con  on  the 
present  occasion  be  exposed  to :  and 
we  venture  to  reiVesh  their  memory,  in 
case  that  faculty  should  be  more  inert 
than  their  imagination  appears  to  be, 
with  a  short  abstract  of  what  occurred 
in  regard  to  a  certain  Mr  Hatchsffd, 
who,  we  observe,  still  continues  to  act 
as  bookseller  for  the  African  Institu- 
tion and  its  pamphleteers. 

Among  many  other  goodly  matters, 
then,  we  find,  in  a  Report  made  at  a 
meeting  of  the  African  Institution  in 
1817,  some  allusions  to  what  is  desig- 
nated as  '^  the  unfortunate  and  singu- 
lar circumstance,  of  an  innocent  man, 
Mr  Hatchard,  the  publisher  of  their 
loth  Report,  having  been  convicted 
of  a  libel  against  the  Aides-de-Camp 
of  Sir  James  Ldth,  and  the  Courts  of 


CJan. 


Criminal  Justice  at  Antiguft."  It  is 
stated^  **  that  the  Directors,  on  bdog 
made  acouainted  with  the^roceedingf 
institutea  against  Mr  Hatdiard,  had 
come  to  certain  ReaolutioBa,  and  had 
addressed  letters  to  their  eonrespon* 
dents,  in  order  to  aseertain  tko  truth 
orfaioehood  qf  the  aOegationo  oontam^ 
od  m  their  XOth  R^^t;  but  had  oh^ 
tamed  no  eaHefadory  annoer.  The 
Direetore  them  thought  it  expedient  to 
aequaini  Mr  Hatehardofthie,  and  iv- 
commended  hkn  to  eontraduit^ttat&' 
merU  he  had  pubUehed,  trough  eoery 
channel,  and  by  every  mean*  in  hie 
power,  and  to  adciee  wi^  Couneel  on 
the  subject" 

Mr  Hatchard  put  in  an  affidavit  in 
mitigation  of  punishment,  in  which  he 
swore  that  '^  ne  had  used  all  possible 
diligence  to  discover  the  ^uthor,  but 
was  unable  so  to  do." — In  what  light 
this  transaction  was  regarded  by  the 
Judge  who  tried  the  case,  the  following 
sentences  of  his  speech  mW.  sufficiently 
shew : — 

**  It  is  indmuUed,  that  this  originated 
in  a  letter  from  the  West  Indies.  There 
is  no  qffidavit  that  any  suck  letter  exiUed, 
That  somebody  is  very  highly  criminal  in 
this  case,  no  one  who  has  read  the  pub- 
lication «an  at  all  doubt.  That  U  lias 
originated  in  vf^tU  and  vfickedfabricationSf 
no  man  oHve  can  doubt.  That  it  is  de- 
feating the  purpose  of  justice,  to  prevent 
the  information  by  which  the  wicked 
calumny  might  be  traced  up  to  the  ori- 
ginal author,  is  obrious.*'  * 

This  is  what  Mr  Stephen  in  his 
speech  at  the  Anniversary  meeting  of 
1817,  cslled  **  a  singular  and  unfortu- 
nate case,"  The  African  Institution 
libelled  the  administration  of  criminal 
justice  in  Antigua  in  their  tenth  report, 
and  their  bookseller  was  punished  se- 
verely for  the  publication  of  their  pro- 
duction :  and  this  they  call  unjortu^ 
note.  If  Mr  Hatchard  was  unfortu^ 
note,  it  is  easy  to  see  who  ought  to  have 
stood  between  him  and  his  misery ; 
and  if  the  punishment  was  a  singular 
instance  in  Mr  Hatehard's  life,  p^- 
haps  the  offence  was  not  quite  so  in 
the  career  of  the  "  great  and  good 
men,"  (to  use  their  own  phrase,}  who 
have  so  long  employed  him. 


*  Trial  of  the  King  v.  Hatchard,  p.  122  &  133. 


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1894.;]  ^Toit  on  th$  QmrUrty  Rewiewerg  8S 

NOTS  ON  TUS  QCTAATBELT  R£VIBWSR8. 

Wb  cannot  allow  the  preceding  article  to  pass  through  the  press, 
without  embracing  the  opportunity  which  it  affords  us  of  saying  a  single 
word  in  regard  to  the  last  number  of  the  Quarterly  Review.  Our  much 
esteemed  correspondent  has  had  occasion  to  bestow  his  energetic  eulogy 
upon  one  particular  paper  in  that  number ;  but  we  cannot  refuse  our- 
selves the  gratificatioD  of  speaking  our  mind  as  to  the  whole  of  it.  We 
have  no  hesitation^  then^  in  saying  distinctly^  that  we  consider  this  as  the 
very  be*t  Number  of  the  Quarter^  Review  that  ever  yet  appeared ;  and 
the  pleasure  we  have  had  in  observing  this^  has  certainly  not  been  the 
less,  in  consequence  of  various  circumstances  of  what  we  may  call  an  ex- 
ternal kind ;  more  especially,  of  the  rumours  that  have  been  of  late  so 
widely  circulated,  concerning  the  foiling  state  of  Mr  Gifford's  health, 
and  the  malevolent  joy  with  which  the  writers  of  the  Whig,  Radical,  and 
Infidel  Journals,  have  been  expatiating  upon  the  supposed  likelihood  that 
the  best  days  of  the  Quarterly  would  be  at  an  end  whenever  that  gen- 
tleman ceased  to  be  its  principal  conductor.  Earnestly  do  we  hope  that 
Mr  Gifford's  health  and  strength  may  endure  much  longer  than  these 
cowardlv  ruffians  flatter  themselves ;  but  the  fact  is  evident  enough,  that 
Mr  Gifford  has  done,  comparatively  speaking  nothing  about  this  number 
of  the  Quarterly — which,  nevertheless,  is,  and  willbe  universally  admitted 
to  be,  more  than  equal,  taken  as  a  whole,  to  any  of  those  which  Mr  Gifford 
ever  wrote  or  superintended.  It  is  the  assurance  which  this  gives  us  of 
a  wide  and  increasing  store  of  intellectual  vigour,  far  above  the  chance 
of  being  impeded  in  its  exertions  by  anything  that  can  hsmpen  to  any 
one  person,  however  eminently  gifted  and  distinguished — ^it  is  this  assu- 
rance that  has  filled  us  with  a  proud  pleasure— a  pleasure  not  a  bit  the 
less,  because  we  very  well  know  we  shall  not  obtain  credit  for  really 
feeling  it  in  certain  quarters, 

lliere  is  not,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  this  Number,  one  nngle 
article  of  a  mediocre  kind.  Talent  the  most  various,  erudition  the  most 
rarious,  are  here  displayed ;  but  there  is  always  just  that  talent  and  that 
erudition  which  the  particular  subject  in  hand  ought  to  have  engaged. 
The  Review  seems  to  have  paid  off  a  host  of  heavy  worthies,  whose  lum- 
bering virtue  acted  as  a  desui-weight  upon  the  spring  of  intellect,  both 
within  the  work  and  among  its  readers.  Above  all,  there  is  displayed 
iknmghout  (what  our  correspondent  has  observed  in  regard  to  the  article 
OD  his  own  subject)  a  certain  liberality  of  thought  and  feeling,  which, 
as  a  general  feature  of  this  work,  is  certainly  somewhat  of  a  novelty. 
There  is  almost  nothing  of  the  old  monastic  leaven  perceptible.  The 
writers  shew  themselves  to  be  learned  in  all  the  learning  of  the  E^yptian^ 
at  least  as  much  as  heretofore ;  but  they  seem  to  have  laid  asicle  their 
caps  and  gowns,  and  written  their  respective  contributions,  not  within 
the  cold  vaulted  chambers  of  Cambridge  and  Oxford,  but  amidst  the  hum 
of  St  James's  and  the  Park.  In  short,  we  feel  that  we  are  in  the  society 
of  people  of  the  world,  and  enjoy  the  talk  of  gentlemen,  scholars,  and 
Christians,  with  considerably  the  greater  zest,  because  our  eves  have  not 
been  awed  by  a  long  row  oi  "  fire-shovels"  on  the  hall  table,  as  we  en- 
tered the  house. 

The  first  article,  on  "  Pulpit  Eloquence,"  for  example,  we  pronounce 
to  be,  in  spite  of  the  theme,  not  the  work  of  a  clergyman.  It  is  a  very 
admirable  paper,  exhibiting  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  whole 
stream  of  our  literature,  a  severe  and  scholarly  taste,  and  the  generosity, 
at  the  same  time,  and  open  candour  of  a  man  of  genius,  above  being  kept 
iaintdlectua]  leading-strings  by  any  authorities,  however  grave  and  ve« 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


84  NqU  on  the  Quarterly  Reviewers,  d*'*^' 

nerable.  We  doubt  if  any  churchman,  if  any  man  that  ever  either  read 
or  spoke  a  single  sermon,  could  have  discussed  these  matters  in  a  tone 
so  lively  to  meet  the  feelings  of  the  general  reader.  Considering  the  hifi;h 
standards  according  to  which  everything  is  tried  by  this  far-seeing  Rhada* 
manthus,  we  assuredly  think  that  our  haur-brained  countryman,  Mr  Irving, 
has  good  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  admission  which  has  been  made  as  to 
his  ^ents ;  and  we  would  fiun  hope  that  he  is  not  yet  so  far  gone  in  self- 
conceit,  as  to  shut  his  eyes  upon  all  the  good  and  kind  hints  that  his  betters 
have  thought  fit  to  bestow  upon  him.  Of  tlie  second  article,  it  is  suffi- 
cient to  say,  that  we  recognize  in  it  the  exquisite  literature,  and  the 
flowing  pen,  of  the  translator  of  Aristophanes,  and  that  it  will  probably 
operate  as  a  complete  quietus  upon  the  very  inferior  scribe  whom  the 
Edinburgh  Review  has  been  suffering  to  insiilt  the  manes  of  Demosthe- 
nes. The  article  on  French  Comedy  is,  we  cannot  doubt,  the  work  of 
Mr  Chevenix,  since,  if  there  be  any  other  man  in  England  so  thorough- 
ly as  he  isldodus  utriusque  lingua,  the  chances  certainly  appear  iufinitesi- 
mally  small,  .that  that  person  should  also  possess  the  wit  and  the  elo- 
quence, and  the  strong  original  conceptions,  of  this  remarkable  man. 
We  cannot  speak  positively  as  to  the  author  of  the  paper  on  Mr  Faux's 
Memorable  Days.  It  is  done,  like  all  the  Quarterly's  ps^ers  on  such 
books,  with  infinite  laboiu*  and  skill ;  but  surely^  surely  it  is  rather  too 
much  of  a  joke  to  treat  such  a  work  as  this  with  so  much  gravity.  To 
affect  to  consider  a  stupid,  bilious,  ignorant,  indelicate,  gross-minded, 
and  foul-mouthed  old  fusty  of  a  Zummerzetshire  clodhopper,  as  a  perscm 
upon  whose  ipse  dixit  the  whole  society  and  statesmanship  of  that  great 
country,— -ay,  that  English  country,  are  to  be  judged  and  condemned ! ! 
This  is  the  solitary  effervescence  of  the  old  bigot  gall  of  the  Quarterly. 
The  papers  on  Central  India  and  on  Bornou,  are  distinguished  by  the 
same  merits,  and  by  the  total  absence  of  these  defects.  They  are  both  of 
them  most  valuable  contributions  to  the  stock  of  public  knowledge,  and 
every  way  worthy  of  Mr  Barrow. 

The  Essay  on  the  Ecclesiastical  Revenues  of  England  is  another  pro- 
duction of  great  labour  ;  and  the  conclusions  to  which  it  leads  are  such, 
that  we  have  been  infinitely  rejoiced  in  seeing  them  established  beyond 
all  future  cavil.  We  speak  of  the  conclusions  to  which  this  paper  leads 
in  respect  to  the  Church  of  England ;  for,  as  to  the  very  dinerent,  and 
certainly  the  more  difficult  question  about  the  Protestant  Church  of 
Ireland,  the  writer  has  passed  it  over  altogether  for  the  present ;  a  de- 
fect which  we  would  fam  see  filled  up  by  the  same  pen  on  some  esrly 
occasion.  We  assure  him,  in  case  he  has.  not  seen  it,  that  Dr  Doyle's 
letter  to  Lord  Wellesley  is  the  most  insidious  attack  which  has  ever 
yet  been  made  against  the  Protestant  establishment  of  Ireland,  and  an 
answer  it  must  have.  The  reviewer,  by  the  way,  does  not  know  so  much 
as  he  thinks  he  does  of  Scotland.  It  is  very  true,  that  the  Scotch  cler- 
gymen are  individually  paid  very  little  below  the  average  rate  among 
the  clergymen  of  the  Church  of  England ;  but  the  Quarterly  author  en- 
tirely loses  sight  of  the  feet,  that  the  Church  of  Scotland  is  proportion- 
ably  the  much  cheaper  establishment  of  the  two>  for  this  reason,  and  for 
this  alone,  that  she  has  proportionably  a  much  smaller  number  of  livings. 
The  proportion  between  the  1 0,000 ^parishes  in  England,  and  the  948 
parishes  in  Scotland,  is  not  what  we  would  expect  from  the  comparative 
amount  of  population  in  the  two  countries.  We  mention  this  merely  to 
set  the  Reviewer  right  as  to  a  matter  of  detail.  As  to  the  principle  of  the 
thing,  our  opinion  is,  that  the  parishes  in  Scotland  are  too  large  and 
too  few ;  that  thoy  ought  to  be  subdivided  both  in  the  towns  and  in  the 
country ;  and  consequently,  that  the  expense  of  the  Church  establish- 

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1834.^  Note  on  the  Quarter^  Reviewers,  B& 

inent  of  Scotland  ought  to  hfe  increased^  not  diminished.  It  is  entirely, 
or  almost  entirely,  owing  to  the  extent  of  the  parishes,  that  any  dissen- 
ters  hare  thriven  in  Scotland;  for  the  people  quit  their  own  church  only 
when  it  is  too  &r  off  for  their  pedestrian  powers,  or  when  they  do  not 
like  the  pulpit  eloquence  of  the  parish  priest ;  which  last  woula  be  very 
seldom  a  reason  for  abandoning  The  Kirk  herself,  if  the  fastidious  Pres- 
byterian had  two  or  three  other  parish  priests  not  yery  far  off,  whose  ser- 
mons he  might  choose  among  without  one  farthing  of  cost  It  always  ap- 
.  pears  to  us,  that  it  must  be  highly  disgusting  to  pay  so  much  per  annum 
to  a  dissenting  minister,  if  one  could  possilny  avoid  it.  The  luxury  is 
dearly  bought ;  and  we,  for  onb,  should  always  stretch  a  point  to  keep 
ourselves  me  from  its  indulgence. 

We  think  we  have  now  particularized  all  the  articles  except  the  very 
peppery  ones  on  Lord  Johnny  Russell's  tragedy,  and  M.  le  Due  dc  Ro- 
vigo.  These  two  Liberals  are  well  dished.  His  lordship  will  not,  we 
guess,  be  in  a  hurry  with  any  more  attempts  to  trip  up  the  neels  of  Schil- 
ler and  Alfieri.  Mr  Gifford  himself  has,  we  think,  been  the  executioner 
here.  The  exit  of  Savary  appears  to  have  been  accomplished  under  the 
auspices  of  his  able  ally,  MrCroker.  But  what,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  does 
Croker,  or  whoever  the  writer  is,  see  in  old  Talleyrand,  to  make  him 
gulp  the  whole  of  his  ante-revolutionary  bile  the  moment  that  arch- 
apostate  spears  upon  the  stage  ?  It  seems  very  true,  that  the  ex-bishop 
stands  dear  as  to  the  Duke  of  Enghien's  death ;  but  what  avails  this  ? 
Thurtell  himself  does  not  seem  to  nave  murdered  mani^  people ;  and  we 
are  quite  sure  he  did  not  murder  either  Johnny  Keats  or  Begbie.  As 
for  M.  Savary,  we  conclude  the  rip  is  sewed  up  for  ever  and  a  day. 

We  b^  pu^don ;  we  observe  that  we  have  overlooked  the  article  on 
guperHition.  It  is  probably  Southey's,  but  the  doctor  has  shone  brighter 
of  yore.  Somebody  has  been  bamming  him  a  little  about  Noma :  she  has 
been  dead  more  than  ten  years. 

As  to  the  paper  on  the  negroes,  we  need  not  interfere  with  our  cor- 
respondent, who  has  so  warmly  lauded  it.  Our  own  opinion  is,  that  the 
papers  we.  ourselves  have  published  upon  this  subject,  have  effectually 
•et  things  to  rest,  so  fsur  as  rational  beings  are  concerned.  The  pieces  of 
evidence  from  the  private  letters  of  clergymen  in  the  colonies,  were, 
however,  well  timed;  and,  altogether,  we  have  no  doubt,  such  a  paper 
as  this  was  wanted  for  the  benefit  of  certain  classes  of  readers,  if,  in 
spite  of  all  that  has  been  done,  the  clamours  of  the  Macaulay  faction  are 
again  raised  within  the  walls  of  Parliament,  we  have  very  humbly  to 
submit,  that  the  first  and  most  obvious  duty  of  the  House  of  Commons 
will  be,  to  insist  upon  being  furnished  with  data  before  they  go  into  any 
decision ;  nay,  before  they  listen  to  one  word  more  of  discussion.  As  to 
facts,  the  two  parties  are  completely  at  issue.  Why  fight  about  minute 
points  of  law,  before  the  facts  of  the  case  to  which  they  must  be  applied 
have  been  ascertained  in  so  far  as  we  have  the  means  of  ascertaining 
them  ?  Why  not  comply  with  the  petitions  which  these  ill-starred  co- 
lonists have,  it  appears,  been  eternally  reiterating  during  the  last  two 
years  ?  Why  not  send  out,  since  that  is  all  they  ask,  some  of  their  ewe- 
mies  themsewes  to  he  their  judges  ?  If  Mr  Broueham  goes  out,  we  trust 
he  will  shew  himself  the  same  good  fellow  which  we  sdl  found  him  here 
in  Scotland  last  summer  ;  and  if  our  jolly  friend  does  make  the  tour  of 
the  region  of  rum  and  turtle  in  that  temper,  we  have  no  doubt  the  results 
win  be  highly  beneficial  to  the  country,  and  highly  injurious  to  the 
Whigs.    But  "  paucas  palabrast"  quoth  Nym.  C.  N. 


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UUrt^Crtpidttrius* 

ULTEA-CRSFIDARIUS,  ftc* 


CJiB 


This  is  a  very  pretty  little  preco- 
cious performance,  and  proves  young 
Master  Hunt  to  be  a  promising  plant 
of  the  Cockney  nursery  -  ^und. 
**^  Heigh  Johnny  Nonny,"  as  his  papa 
called  him  in  short  metre  some  four 
or  five  years  ago,  cannot,  we  think, 
have  done  mucn  more  than  finished 
his  digits.  Now,  such  a  copy  of  verses 
as  this  is  most  creditable  to  a  boy  of 
ten  years,  and  this  small  smart  smat- 
tering satirist  of  an  air-haparent,  as 
he  ia  pronounced  in  Cockaigne,  really 
seems  to  smack  of  his  sire,  almost  as 
racily  as  that  michievous  urchin  the 
Duke  of  Rdchstadt  does  of  Napoleon 
the  Great 

Joking  apart,  this  is  one  of  the 
cleverest  puerile  productions  that  have 
been  published  of  late  years  by  fond 
and  doting  Others.  The  author  writes 
like  a  scholar  and  a  schoolboy,  and 
at  whatever  academy  he  may  be  re- 
ceiving his  education,  we  suspect  it 
would  puzzle  the  Pedant  who  for 
years  has  whipped  his  posteriors,  to 
pen  such  a  capital  ana  ciack  copy 
of  long  jinglers.  Master  Hunt,  no 
doubt,  apes liis  daddy,  and  the  Cock- 
ney-chick crows  so  like  the  old  cock, 
that,  but  for  a  certain  ludicrous  tenui- 
ty in  the  stutter  of  his  unformed 
8craich,f  we  could  at  times  have  be- 
lieved that  we  absolutely  heard  the 
old  bantam.  His  comb  and  wattles, 
too,  are  distinctly  visible ;  the  germ  of 
a  spur  is  noticeable  upon  either  fea- 
thered leggikin  ;  he  drops  a  wing,  too, 
with  a  swaling  and  gracefVd  amor- 
ousness— quite  "  with  such  an  air" 
when  any  smooth  pullet  picks  up  a 
worm  near  his  tumed-out  toes;  and 
if  you  only  so  much  as  hold  out  your 
ibraging-cap  at  him,  why  the  fierce 
li^e  fumbling  fellow  attacks  it  tootii 
and  nail,  as  jealous  as  an  Othello,  and 
then  goes  vapouring  off  in  siddong 
triumph,  cacldinff  as  at  an  ovation. 

Now,  althougn  the  talent  of  Mas- 
ter Hunt  be  considerable,  we  think 
few  parents  will  approve  of  the  direc- 
tion which  his  father  has  given  it, 
and  that  little  sympathy  wifi  be  felt 
for  that  man  who  employs  his  son— a 
mere  Isd— a  boy — ^ild— infant  iur 
deed,  almost  it  may  be  said — to  wreak 
that  vengeance  on  his  enemies,  which 


his  own  acknowledged  Imbecility  and 
impotence  is  incapable  of  inflicting. 
The  sight  is  not  a  nleasant  one — ^we 
had  nearlv  said  it  is  oisgustins,  for  al« 
though  final  piety  is  always  interest- 
ing,  not  so  sach  paternal  solicitude. 
Had  Ldgfa  Hunt,  the  Papa,  boldly 
advanced  on  any  great  emergency,  at 
the  peril  of  his  life  and  crown,  to 
snatch  the  legitimate  issue  of  his  own 
loins  from  tne  shrivelled  hands  of 
some  blear-eyed  beldam,  into  whose 
small  cabbage-garden  Maximilian  had 
headed  a  lorlom  hope,  good  and 
well,  and  beautiful ;  but  not  so,  when 
a  stalwart  and  cankered  carle  like  Mr 
GiSbtd,  with  his  quarter-staff,  bela« 
hours  the  shoulders  of  his  Migesty,  and 
sire  shoves  son  between  himseff  and 
the  Pounder,  retreating  into  the  in- 
most recesses  of  his  own  palace.  This, 
we  say,  is  not  only  to  the  widest  ex- 
tent unfatherly,  but,  which  is  much 
worse,  unkin^y,— such  pusillanimity 
involves  forfeiture  of  the  Crown,  and 
fh>m  this  hour  we  declare  Leigh  de* 
throned,  and  the  boy -bard  of  Ultra- 
Crepidarius  King  of  Cockaigne. 

Master  Hunt'being  in  Tooke's  Pan* 
theon,  has  called  in  the  Heathen  My- 
thology to  the  aid  of  his  fether  and 
king,  and  the  folloMring  passage  is 
equal,  we  think,  to  anything  in  "  Ri- 
mini." 

" '  I  wonder,'  said  Mercury,— potting 

hit  head 
One  rosy-fiiced  morning  from  Venus's 

bed,— 
*  I  wonder,  my  dear  Cytberea,— don't 

you? — 
What  can  have  become  of  that  rogue  of  a 

shoe. 
fve  March*d  evay  comer  to  moke  n^fiejf 

certahif 
And  lifted,  Vm  sure,  every  possible  cttrtom. 
And  how  I*m  to  manage,  by  Jove,  I  don't 

know, 
For  manage  I  most,  and  to  earth  I  amst 

*Tis  now  a  whole  week  since  I  lost  it } 
and  here, 

like  a  dove  whom  your  urchin  has  crip- 
pled, my  dear, 

Have  I  loiter'd,  and  flotter'd,  and  look'd 
in  those  eyes, 

While  Juno  keeps  vesting  her  crabbed 
surprise; 


*  Ultra- Crepidarius ;  a  Satire  on  William  Gifford. 
John  Hunt.     1823. 
f  See  Dr  Jamieson. 


By  Leigh  Hunt.    London* 


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18M.3] 


Ultra^Crepidarius* 


And  Apolkswltlian  that  floe  ftOth  in  his 

Aiki  me  daily  accoontt  of  Ronasean  and 

Voltaire» 
And  Jove  (whom  it's  awkward  to  rislc 

such  a  thing  with) 
Has  not  enough  thonder  to  frighten  a 

king  with. 
8o"-there  then—now  don't  look  so  kind, 

I  beseech  yon, 
Or  else  I  sliall  stay  a  week  longer,  you 

witch  you — 
I  can*t  ask  the  gods;  buM*U  search  once 

again 
For  tUs  fogidye  shoe^  and  if  stiU  it*8  hi 

Tain, 
I  most  tiy  to  make  somethhig  a  while  of 

sheer  Ittther, 
And  match  With  a  mortal  my  fiur  widow'd 

feather.' 

And  sammon'd  his  winged  cap  on  to  his 

head; 
Aifdtke  widow  mqttaUMjUwtmaekrotmd 

kufooty 
And  up  he  was  getting  to  end  his  pursuit. 
When  Venas  said  softly  (so  softly  that  he 
Twnwd  aboui  on  kis  elbowh^*"  What!  go 

without  Mr/" 
We  bad  just  scored  the  above  for 
oaoCalioD,  when  who  ahould  c(»ne 
nanking  and  cUttenng  into  our  study 
bat  ODoherty.  Clutching  the  pamph- 
let into  his  ainewy  and  nairy  fist,  he 
ezdaimed^  *'  By  the  powers,  ia  not 
lie  a  jewel  of  an  ould  one?"  We 
•taiedy  as  the  adjutant  informed  ua, 
that  "  Ultn-Cr«ndariu8"  was  not 
written  by  Leig^  Hunt's  son,  but  by 
hh  grannfathcT !  an  extremely  old 
man,  indeed — a  most  unconscionable 
annuitant,  who  had  carried  longevity 
to  the  most  scurvy  exoess— a  para- 
lytic of  mnet^-six — the  Methuaekh 
on  die  list  of  decayed  authors,  who 
had  been  absolutely  twice  married,  be- 
fore Mr  Fitigpralfl,  of  all  those  lite* 
rary  aodetiea,  waa  bom.  What  a 
chttige  came  over  the  spirit  of  our 
dream !  The  very  passage  which  we 
had  admired  as  the  production  of  a 
briak  boy,  became  odious  as  the 
drivelling  of  a  toothless  dotard.  We 
certainly  disi^proved  of  so  much 
knowingneaa  m  the  love  verses  of 
**  Johnny  Nonny ;"  but  look  at  them, 
fidr  and  gentle  reaider,  and  tell  us  by 
retcm  of  post,  what  you  think  of  the 
ginating  and  a^owermg  of  tlie  super- 
annuated Zafhariah  Hunt  What  a 
«M^  Tulgar,  leering  old  dog  it  ia ! 
Waa  ever  the  oooch  of  the 


87 

io  profluied  befbre!  One  thinks  of 
some  aged  cur,  with  mangy  back, 
grazed  eye-balls  dropping  rheum, 
and  with  most  diaoonsolate  mazzaid 
muzzlinff  among  the  fleas  of  his  abo- 
minable loins,  by  some  acddent  lying 
upon  the  bed  where  Love  and  Beauty 
are  embracing,  and  embraced. 

The  Adjutant  is  a  sood  trotter,  and 
we,  good  easyman,  tne  very  soul  of 
credulity.  Why,  what  do  you  think, 
when  we  tell  you,  afker  all,  that  thk 
confounded  "  Ultra^Crepidarius"  ia 
written  neither  by  King  Leigh's  son, 
as  we  conjectured,  nor  yet  by  his 
grandfather,  (the  theory  of  the  En- 
sign,) but,  by  all  that  is  vernacular 
and  idiomatic, — ^by  himself. 

Now  this  is  a  quite  diflffarent  guesa 
sort  of  a  matter,  so  let  us  follow  the 
royal  bard.  Venus,  he  tdls  us,  had 
bc^  reading  the  new  Eloisa,  (in  bed 
widi  Mercury,)  to  the  numifest  danger 
of  setting  fire  to  the  dimity  curtains; 
and  "  having  prodigiously  felt  and 
admired  it,"  sent  down  one  of  Mer- 
cury's shoes  to  the  village  of  Ashbur- 
ton,  to  order  such  another  pair  to  be 
made  for  herself  by  a  famous  cobbler 
there,  with  which  she  proposed  forth- 
with  to  pay  a  visit  to  Rousseau. 
What  a  natural,  graceful,  and  beau- 
tiful fancy !  Pone  and  Belinda,  hide 
your  dishonoured  heads !  Hark  to  the 
song  of  the  nightingale ! 
**  She  had  sent  down  to  earth  this  same  • 

shoe  with  an  errand. 
To  get  a  new  pair  at  Ashburton  for  her, 

and 
Not  think  of  retummg  without  what  it 

went  for, 
Unless  by  its  master  especially  sent  for. 
The  shoe  made  a  scrape,  and  condudmg 

thatthii 
Had  been  tettled  'tioof  her  and  her  maaetf 

took  wing. 
And  never  ceased  beating  through  sun- 
shine and  rain. 
Now  cUsp'd  in  a  cload,and  now  loosen'd 

again, 
Till  it  came  to  Ashburton,  where  some- 
thing 80  odd 
Seem'd  to  strike'  it,  it  eould  not  help 
saying,  My  God!" 

There's  poetry  for  you,  you  infidel. 
Will  you  dare  after  sudi  a  strain  to 
Uugh  at  Leigh  Hunt?  What  a  finish- 
ed gentleman  he  is !  Why,  he  breathea 
the  very  air  of  courts  and  camps !  O 
dangerous  deodver !  what  woman 
oouM  be  chaste  in  thy  presenceJ  Is 
there  a  Wurgin  firom  Cockaigiie  to 


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88  Ultra' Crepidarius, 

Cochm-China,  who  -would  not  hasteD^ 
to  use  your  own  subduing  words^ 
**  To  take  due  steps  for  expressing 
Her  sense    of  sach  verj  well-worded 
caressing?'* 
Is  there  a  widow  in  all  the  land  of 
Lud  who  would  not  fling  her  loaUi- 
some  weeds  away  at  sight  of  your  pro- 
portions^ 

**  And  having  prodigiously  felt  and  ad- 
mired it» 
Could  not  but  say  so  to  bim  who  inspi- 
red it  ?•• 
But  let  us  go  on  with  the*  thread  of 
this  fedry  satire.    Mercury  and  Venus 
are  still  in  bed,  for  our  fair  readers 
will  please  look  back  to  our  introduc- 
tion^  and   they  will  see  that  '^  the 
god  put  a  leg  out  of  bed^"  but  had 
not  been  seen  to  put  on  his  inexpres- 
sibles.   What  godlike  and  goddess- 
like love — ^whispering ! 
**  I  know  not  precisely  how  much  of 
this  matter 
Was  mention'd,  when  Mercury  iparUed 

nmndatherg 
But  Venus  proposed,  that  as  one  shoe 

was  fled. 
Her. good  easy  virtue  should  help  him  in 

stead. 
*  You  know,  love/  said  she,  *  'tis  as  light 

as  a  feather : 
And  so  1*11  be  guide,  and  we'll  go  down 
together.*  " 
We  nave  all  read  of  Iris  arching  her 
vivid  flighty  in  one  glorious  sweep, 
from  heaven  to  earth, — we  liave  sul 
seen  her  do  this,  with  the  black  rain- 
cloud  at  her  back,  and  fronting  her 
beauty  at  the  enamoured  Sun.  But 
what  is  she,  a  solitary  phenomenon,  in 
comparison  with  the  Venus  of  Leigh 
Hunt^  and  her  Joe,  the  two-winged, 
one-shoed  Mercury  ? 

*'  I  leave  you  to  fancy  how  little  he 

check*d  her : 
They  chalk*d  out  their  journey,  got  up, 

took  their  nectar; 
And  then,  with  his  arm  round  her  waist, 

and  his  eyes 
Looking  thanks  upon  hers,  came  away 

from  the  skies. 
I  cannot,  I  own,  say  he  came  much  the 

faster. 
How  earnest  soever  he  look*d  and  em- 
braced her ; 
But  never  before,  though  a  God  of  much 

grace. 
Had  he  come  with  such  fine  overlooking 

o(hce: 
And  as  she  tiaveU'd  seldom  herself  in 

this  style. 
With  a  lover  beside  her,  and  cUsp*d  all 

the  while.'* 


CJan. 


The  last  time  we  ever  saw  a  picture 
of  such  a  couple,  a  cull  and  a  trull, 
was  about  a  fortnight  ago.  We  were 
sitting  in  a  snug  little  sylvan  palace, 
up  to  the  door  of  which  winded  a  ser- 
pentine gravel  walk,  shaded  with  lau- 
rels, and  other  ever-greens.  This  lit- 
tle sylvan  palace  was  but  an  adjunct 
to  a  very  commodious  dwelling-house, 
in  which  resided  a  large  family.  Thi- 
ther, ever  and  anon,  would  one  or  other 
of  the  inmat^  repair  for  meditation  ; 
and  on  the  humble  wall  opposite  to 
where  we  sat,  was  the  picture,  batter- 
ed on  with  batter,  which  so  strongly 
resembled  the  passage  now  before  us. 
It  represented  Roger  and  Dolly  coming 
down  a  ladder  fVom  the  tftp  of  a  hay- 
stack; and  their  air  and  attitude^  as 
they  descended  together  from  heaven 
to  earth,  are  so  shadowed  forth  in  the 
above  description,  that^  but  for  his 
absence  in  a  foreign  land^  we  could 
have  sworn  that  Mr  Hunt  had  sat  on 
that  seat  during  the  hour  of  inspira- 
tion, and  that  the  poet  had  painted 
from  that  very  print^-But  the  thing 
is  impossible. 

Well,  well, — ^be  it  so;  but  Venus 
and  Mercury  arrive  at  Ashburton, 
and  there  a  snoe,  yes,  a  shoe,  nearly 
trips  the  goddess— but  not  Mercury  t 
sandal,  which  is  nowhere  to  be  found. 
Not  to  keep  the  reader  any  longer  in 
suspense,  this  shoe  is — ^Mr  Giffbrd, 
Editor  of  the  Quarterly  Review — ^Mer- 
cury proves  to  be  no  less  a  personage 
than  Mr  Leigh  Hunt,  Editor  of  the 
Examiner  Newspaper;  and  Venu8> 
that  identical  char- woman,  who  wash- 
ed, for  so  many  years,  the  foul  linen 
of  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table, 
and  who  only  ceased  to  do  so  ''  when 
Rowland  brave,  and  Oliver,  and  every 
Paladin  and  Peer,"  proposed  striking 
off  a  penny  on  every  pair  of  dirty 
drawers,  twc^nce  on  every  dosen  of 
sweaty  socks,  and  would  aUow  not  a 
single  stiver  for  stains  on  the  celebra- 
ted yellow  breeches. 

There  is  nothing  that  Mr  Hunt  is 
so  fond  of  as  beug  a  heathen  god. 
•  More  than  once  he  has  sported  Jupi- 
ter Tonans,  but  his  thunder  was 
wretched,  and  his  lightning  very  poor. 
His  Appcdlar  was  not  much  better,  but 
it  was  summat.  He  was]  shooting 
(with  bow  and  arrow)  at  an  old  sign- 
board, once  the  property  of  Mother 
Red-cap ;  and  once,  during  the  course 
of  a  forenoon,  he  sent  nis  missile 
through  the  left  sparkler  of  the  old 
landlady;  on  whicn  achievement  he 
9 

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1894.3 


VUra^Crepidariui. 


looked  u  majnUaXLy  and  trinm* 
phandy  indignant,  as  Frofessor  Mil- 
man'a  or  Profefisor  unison's  Sir  Roger 
Newdigate's  Prize  ApoUo,  when  he  has 
settled  the  hash  of  the  Pjthon.  But 
these  are  harmless  sports,  compared 
with  his  Mercurial  tricks  in  Ultra-Cre* 
pidarius.  Fye,  fye.  Mr  Hunt— Idss 
andteU? 
**  I  wonder/  ioid  Uirewy,  potting  his 


One  rosy-laced  momiiig  ftom  Venos's 

Bat  now  let  us  rush  into  the  heart 
of  the  satire  ;  finr  this  is  a  satire,  how 
eicr  onlike  one  it  shears.  There  is 
no  trusting  to  appearances  in  this 
wicked  wond ;  so  our  readers  may  de- 
poid  upon  it,  that  this  is  a  satire, 
and  that  Mercury  is  no  other  heathen 
than  diat  most  powerful  ^atyr,  Leigh 
Hunt. 

«  Bat  now  the  Ood,  aiiger*d,  shot  into 
that  leather 
A  terrible  sense  of  whp  stood  there  to- 
gether, 
And  while  it  sionl^  shaking,  half  into  tt- 

Deaimoeed  it  In  word9f  thai  thoB  die  an  m 

Look  at  these  fo«r  lines.  TiiaGonI 
whj  we  ottlj  called  him  a  king.  The 
deification  of  the  Colonel  of  the  Hamp- 
•tead  Heavy  Dragoons  I  Ldgh  Hunt 
DiToa  J  ''  A  terrible  sense  of  who 
stood  there  together  r— a  Cockney  and 
a  Queeii— a  Radical  and  a  Red-rag— a 
Scribbler  and  a  Scold— two  people, 
who,  instead  of  looking  as  if  they  bad 
diTendfd  ftxmi  heaTea,  weore  eri. 
deotiy  trampers,  who  had  got  a  lift  on 
tile  top  of  a  strongly  garrisoned  Cheap* 
aad-Nasty,  and  who,  on  being  forced 
to  dismount  fbr  smutty  iokes,  tooun- 
emdyocal  for  such  refined  society,  vent* 
ed  their  abuse,  their  obseeni^,  and 
their  bUckffuardism,  on  the  first  well- 
dressed  ana  respectable  person  whom 
they  chanced  to  meet  sauntering  from 
his  native  village. 

Leigh  Hunt,  the  god,  encouraged 
by  the  drab  whom  he  '*  keeps  com- 
pany  with,"  the  Venus  whom,  in  words 
whollv  unintelligible  to  us,  he  calls 
**  the  Ki|idgoddes«,oneof  whosecharm- 
ingest  qualities.  Is  at  a  tmaU  Viing  to 
wonder  how  small  it  is !"  This  a£&ds 
a«  a  qpedmen  of  "  celestial  colloquy 
divine.'' 

Vol.  XV. 


89 

**  *  As  soonas  I  ftnidi  my  words,  thou 
Shalt  bcb 

Not  a  man,  for  thou  canst  not,  but  hu- 
man to  see : 

Thy  appearance  at  least  shall  be  taken  for 
human, 

However  perplexing  to  painter  or  wo- 


And  again, 

«  AU  things,  in  short,  petty  and  fit,  say, 

and  do. 
Becoming  a  man  with  the  soid  of  a  shoe.** 

And  again, 

**  Be  these  the  Conct-eritics,  and  vamp  a 
Reriew; 

And  by  a  poor  iigitre,  and  thereforea  true, 

For  it  salts  with  thy  nature^  both  shoe- 
like and  slaughterly. 

Be  it's  hue  leathern,  and  title  the  Q^ar- 

And  again, 

^  Like  a  rogue  from  a  regiment  be- 
dmmmer'd  and  fifer'd. 
It  skmk  out  of  doors,  and  men  caU*d  the 

thing  GiFroan.** 
**  Here  Venus  entreated,  and  fain  would 

have  gpne, 
But  the  god  only  claspM  her  the  more, 
and  went  on.'* 

Now,  Master  Mercury  and  Mistress 
Venus,  are  you  npt  a  pretty  pair  of 
vagabonds,  and  have  you  no  fear  of 
the  tread-mill?  Will  the  parish  offi- 
cers suffer  such  doings,  that  will  be 
l»inging  a  burden  upon  the  poor's- 
rates  ?  To  be  sure,  yon  have  no  set- 
dement,  but  diere  is  expenae  in  pass- 
ing  paupers*  So,  ma^  4<Qwn,  ^  relie- 
ved at  the  Vagrant  Office,"  ii,  and  on 
your  peril  shew  your  mugs  again  at 
Ashburtoiu 

We  have  written  so  much  for  this 
Number  (that  Article  on  Ireland  coat 
4istwo  days'  hard  driving,  and  is  itself 
a  work)  that  our  fingers  are.weary ; 
so  we  conclude  with  one  single  obser- 
vation, which  we  hope  will  be  taken 
in  good  part — ^You,  Leigh  Hunt,  are, 
wimout  exception,  the  weakest  and 
widiy-washiest  satirist  whose  pen  ever 
dribbled.  You  are  like  a  jack-ass  that 
oomea  braying  out  of  a  pound  in  which 
he  has  been  endoeed  from  Monday  till 
Saturday,  precisely  the  same  in  sorrow 
as  in  anger— sulkily  diqKwed  to  kick 
— but  bhl  weak,  weak  in  the  hams 
is  the  poor  Vicar  of  Bray !  Why,  you 
poor  devil,  you  talk  of  kicking  J  you 
M 


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cannot  kick,  neither  can  tou  strike. 
You  quote  horn  the  liberal  two  yeraes, 
aUudrng  to  your  intended  exposure  of 
yourself^  which  say, 

«<  Have  I,  these  five  yean,  spared  the  dog 

a  stick, 
Cut  for  his  special  use,  and  reasonably 

thick?" 

and  you  add  in  prose,  (for  you  call 
that  verse,)"  the  following;cu-d*e*pn7 
is  the  stidL  which  is  mentioned  in  the 
third  Number  of  the  Liberal,as  having 
heen  cut  for  Mr  Giflford's  special  use. 
Instead  of  a  stidc,  why,  it  is  only  a 
strip  of  peeled  willow-bark,  held  in  a 
pdsied  nand.  A  tailor  might  as  well 
threaten  to  murder  a  man  with  a  yard 
of  remnant 

If,  instead  of  good-humoured  jocu- 
larity, we  were  to  treat  our  satirist 
*'  with  a  fine  serious  air,"  we  shoidd 
present  him  with  a  parallel  between 
nimself  and  Mr  Gifford,  after  the  man- 
ner of  Plutarch.  We  should  draw  the 
character  of  Mr  Gifibrd  as  an  honest 
man,  an  accomplished  scholar,  a  aound 
writer ;  often  tne  eloouent,  always  the 

Judicious,  defender  ot  religion,  monn 
ity,  and  social  order  ;  a  man  with  an 

En^sh  heart We  should 

draw  Leigh  Hunt  as  a but 

we  tremble  to  think  of  it :  perhaps  he 

will 

"  Denounce  us  in  words  that  shall  die  on 

no  shelt** 
Solet  us  part  ffoodfiiends  after  all;  and 
that  you  may  hop  offwith  fiying  colours 
firom  this  '*  flytinff,"  here,  you  god  you, 
with  the  organ  of  self-esteem  as  large 
as  a  haddo^,  swallow  your  own  de- 
scription of  yourself,  and  then,  pulling 
Sj  your  yeflow  breedies,  ^rin  in  Mr 
iffbrd's  face,  and  cry  out,  in  choicest 


VUra^Crepidafius.  CJ«n. 

Cockney,  "Well !  soul  of  a  sho^— yy 

vont  you  speak," 

**  But  despair  of  those  nobler  ascents, 

which  thou'lt  see 
Stietching  for  overhead  with  the  Del- 
phian tree^~- 
Holy  ground,  to  climb  up  to  whose  least 

laureUM  shelf 
Thou  wouldst  have  to  change  natures, 

and  put  off  thyselC 
Stop,  and  strain  at  the  base ;  yet,  to  ease 

thy  despair, 
Do  thy  best  to  obstruct  all  the  feet  that 

come  there, 
Eq)eeialfy  younger  met,  winged  S/ce  mme, 
TiUM^fVp  above  thee,  iheyeoar  and  Ihey 

tkine.*" 
There  he  goes  soaring,  and  swaling, 
and  stradiUing  up  the  sky,  like  Da- 
niel O'Rourke  on  goose-back!  Hold 
fast,  Leigh,  by  the  gabbler's  gullet,  or 
you  wiU  fall  into  the  Bay  of  Genoa,  or 
the  New  River.  Toes  in  if  you  please. 
The  goose  is  galloping— why  don't 
you  stand  in  the  stirrups  ?  There — 
that's  riding.  Why,  you  are  another 
Buckle.  Don't  poke  your  nose  so  over 
your  horse's  ears— I  beg  pardon,  the 
goose.  Mercy  on  us !  he  noes  that  fu- 
rious animal  in  a  snaffle.  Alas !  P^a- 
8U8  smells  his  native  marshes ;  instaetd 
of  p>ftVing  for  Olympus,  he  is  off  in  a 
wallop  to  the  fens  ci  lincolnshire. 
Bellerophon  has  lost  his  seat— now  he 
clings  ^fesperately  by  the  tail— a  single 
featfier  holds  him  urom  eternity.  Al- 
though strong  as  the  quills  one  sees  in 
public  offices,  it  gives  way  from  die 
socket ;  too  late  he  finds  tnat  it  is  all 
a  mistake  about  his  having  wing^ 
feet;  and  poor  Leigh  is  picked  up, 
ritting  on  his  rump,  in  a  green  fidd, 
dead  as  the  Liberal,  and  consequently 
speechless  as  a  Scotch  member  in  the 
Ix>wer  House  of  Parliament. 


•  Sec  the  azticla  hi  the  QvmUrly  on  Mr  KmIi,  Mr  Shdky,  andotiiai. 


LETTSBS  OF  TIMOTHY  TICKLEE  TO  EMINENT  CHARACTBBS. 


To  C.  North,  Esq.  <SfO. 

No.  XIIL 
Mr  Theodore  Hook. 


Dear  N.  This  Quarterly  is  a  very 
decent  Number :  Hdl  of  good  sense, 
good  learning,  good  feeling,  good  po- 
ntics, good  geography,  and  good  Iml- 
laam.  Johnny  Russell's  Don  Carlos 
is  disposed  of  in  a  quiet  and  gentleman- 
like way,  quite  edifying  to  reul.  Some- 
how or  other,  when  f&e demolish  a  man. 


we  tear  the  fellow's  heart  out,  leaving 
him  a  sort  of  automatic  machine  for 
the  rest  of  his  apparent  vitality.  ThSs 
review  of  poor  Johnny,  on  the  con- 
trary, merely  scrapes  the  skin  off  him, 
exporing  him  to  the  cold  weather  quite 
raw,  but  still  suffering  him  to  exist, 
and,  if  he  pleases,  to  go  into  company 
3 


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8»*.3 


LeUen  of  TimoU^  TUkkr,  Etg.    No,  XIII. 


in  that  tiiiuUioii.  Croker  hat  alio  than 
Savaij  in  the  fathion  ci  a  tnie  man : 
Lm  Bahh6  himadf  nerer  hewedbdown 
a  ra^bond  more  completely. 

Give  roe,  therefoe,  lett  for  one 
month.  I  will  not  write  an  artideon 
the  Metropolitan  Review;  I  with  it 
ever^  saccett,  and  hail  itt  sreat  and 
contmuallj  increasing  drciuation,  as 
a  proof  that  the  coontry  is  in  ahealthy 
state.  I  am  told  it  tellt  about  13^600, 
while  Jeffirey't  stuff  certainly  can- 
not pollute  the  nation  to  a  greater 
extent  than  5000^  if  so  much.  We  re- 
member^ Kit,  when  affldrs  were  dif- 
foendy  arranged  in  the  monde  lite- 
raire^  and  I  flatter  myself,  that  you,  and 
others,  whose  names  need  not  to  be 
mentioned,  are  to  be  not  a  little  thank- 
ed for  the  amelioration.  But  though 
I  do  not  wish  to  make  my  usual  ap- 
pearance in  Maga  this  month,  I  have 
yet  a  snlgect  to  write  to  you  about, 
which  I  am  ashamed  that  you  or  some 
odier  person  on  our  side  of  the  ques- 
^  tion,  more  competent  or  more  influen- 
tial than  I  am,  has  not  taken  up  al- 
ready. I  mean  the  case  <^  Mr  Theo- 
doie  Hook,  who,  I  perceive  by  the 
pap»s,  has  been  arrested  for  his  defi- 
ciency at  the  Mauritius.  His  case 
never  has  £urly  been  exhibited  to  the 
public,  for  reasons  which  I  shall  pro- 
Dably  explain  as  I  go  on. 

Let  me  make  a  few  prefatory  re- 
marks on  the  conduct  of  the  press. 
You  know— everybody  knows— the 
intensity  of  my  contempt  for  the  peo- 
ple connected  with  the  London  news- 
papers: I  make  this  assertion^  of 
course,  with  due  exceptions.  But 
really  I  was  not  prepared  for  the  blood- 
hound exultation  which  some  of  them 
expressed  on  this  occasion.  The  same 
papers  which,  with  blockhead  sympa- 
thy, lamented  over  the  firm  mind,  the 
vigorous  determination,  the  &c  Sec.  of 
Jack  Thurtell  the  murderer,  a  fellow 
who  was  no  more  to  be  respcfcted  on 
aeoonnt  of  anj  mental  accomplishment 
dia^  the  ordmary  run  of  gentenen  of 
the  press,  chuckled  with  joy  at  the  ar- 
rest of  Mr  Hook,  who,  by  the  way, 
never  had  done  anvthing  to  avoid  that 
nsult.  Faraffrapii  alter  paragraph 
poured  &om  the  filthy  prints,  lie  after 
lie  was  studiouidy  repeated,  and  I  am 
infirafmed,  that  it  was  even  pkcarded, 
with  every  circumstance  of  msult  that 
oonld  enter  the  numsoill  jobbemouls 
of  theur  conductors.  And  why  was 
thitdone.^    Had  Mr  Hock's  ofibnce 


91 

such  damning  marks  of  guilt  about  it 
as  to  call  for  any  particular  demon- 
stration of  pleasure  at  its  punishment? 
Not  it.  For  even  supposmg  him  to  be 
guilty  of  what  these  ruffians  charge 
him  with,  it  would  be  at  most  a  mere 
sin  of  <^ce,  and  certainly,  taken  at  its 
worst,  not  pointed  out  by  anything 
peculiar  frmn  the  common  herd  of 
such  affidrs.  Many  a  good  Whig  fol*- 
tune  is  ultunatel^aerivable  from  pecu« 
lation,  but  tl^at  is  never  flung  into  the 
&ce  <^  my  Lord  Holland^  or  any  other 
of  the  worthies.  But  nobody  who 
knows  the  man  or  the  transaction  sus- 
pects him  of  guilt  There  must  then 
be  something  personal  in  the  rancour 
against  Hook :  and  that  is  ndther  more 
nor  less  than  that  he  is  supposed  to  be 
a  chief  writer  in  John  BuU.  This  ia 
the  real  reason  why  he  is  persecuted 
by  people  in  office,  and  abused  by 
scoundrels  out  of  it. 

Whether  Hook  is  John  Bull  or  not, 
I  cannot  say.  He  denies  it ;  but  in 
this  unbelieving  aj^  denials  of  such 
things  go  for  nothm^.  John  Wilson 
Cro&t  was  suspected  ;  he  too  denied 
it;  so  did  Luttrel;  so  did  Horace 
Twiss ;  and  perhaps  we  shall  by  and 
by  have  a  flat  nesative  from  Joseph 
Grimaldi,  or  Joseph  Hume.  But,  ad* 
mitting  the  fact,  what  is  the  particular 
sin  in  conducting  the  Bull  ?  It  abuses 
its  pditical  opponenta  right  and  left, 
but  I  submit  that  is  no  more  dian  what 
is  done  by  every  clever  newspaper  on 
every  side  of  toe  question :  I  never 
heard  of  a  Tory  who  would  feel  any 
satisfaction  on  learning  that  any  un- 
political calamity  had  befallen  Jamea 
Perry,  or  William  Cobbett.  The  dar- 
ling feUows  who  bawl  against  it,  talk 
wiUi  fiices  of  brass  of  the  peculiar 
cruelty  of  its  observations  defamatory 
to  female  reputation.  Gentle  and  chi« 
valrous  souls !  Is  it  not  enough  to 
make  a  man's  gorge  rise  to  hear  such 
undefecated  humbiig?  Female  re- 
putation indeed !  John  Bull  had  the 
courage  to  oppose  the  rabid  flu^on 
which  advoGsted  the'  unfortunate 
Queen,  and  to  displajr  her,  and  those 
who  were  linked  with  her,  in  true 
coloursi,  to  the  indignation  of  the 
chaste  and  virtuous.  You  might  as 
well  reprobate  the  Rolban  historian! 
for  painting  Messalina,  as  the  John 
Bull  for  exposing  Caroline.  And  who 
are  they  who  nu«e  the  chaige?  The 
Whigs— the  men  whose  poetical  mr- 
gan  is  Tom  Moore^  the  author  of  th« 


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LeiliriqfTimoayTkkler^Esg.    No.  XIII. 


.0« 

* 

Twopeimy  Postbag,  (fdiose  puUic 
defalcation,  by  the  way,  they  never 
allude  to)---and  whose  most  fiftvotiiite 
laureate  was  Wolcot,  the  author  of  the 
Lousi^.  From  these  derer  lam* 
pooners,  for  derer  they  are,  in  niite  of 
Aeir  filth  and  venom,  we  could  ex- 
tract hundreds  of  passages  faurtM  to 
female  character,  slanderous  to  female 
reputation,  and  irritating  to  female 
fedings.  I  pass  by  die  scores  of  in- 
ferioor  libellers  in  Whig  pay.  They 
indeed  to  talk  of  'slando:  f  No,  no ; 
the  real  reason  of  the  hatred  against 
Bull  is  not  such  nonsense  as  diis.  Its 
irue  crime  is  its  wit,  its  keen  satire, 
by  which  it  hasprostrated  the  black- 
guards of  the  Wn%  press,  demolished 
the  projected  Queen  s  Court,  covered 
Ae  party  everywhere  with  ridicule, 
and  put  an  end  to  those  Uoodv  fiurces, 
''public  meetfngs  for  constitutional 
purposes."  For  this,  Hodc  is  hated  by 
the  gang,  and  out  of  the  blessed  min- 
dple  of  OmeiikUion,  which  is  aoing 
such  sad  mischi^  in  matters  of  infi- 
aitdy  hi^er  moment,  sacrificed  by 
tiiose  whose  most  vital  interests  the 
publication  supposed  to  be  his  has 
served  in  the  highest. 

Such  has  been  the  extent  of  misre* 
presentation  on  the  subject,  that  I  ven- 
.ture  to  say,  not  one  in  athousand  who 
' :  about  it,  knows  exactly  how  the 
If  is.  The  common  impression  fo^ 
[  by  the  pot-house  piper  is,  thai 
Hodc  robbed  the  treasury  committed 
to  his  care  of  £18,000 ;  that,  in  fiact,  he 
AruBt  his  hand  into  the  chest,  ab- 
stracted that  sum,  and  put  it  coolly 
into  his  podcet.  Nothing  can  be  more 
directly  contrary  to  ^  fact  In  a  few 
words  I  diall  give  you  Hook's  real 
case,  and  then  trouble  you  with  some 
remarks  on  the  buitoess.  Here  are 
tiie  facts. 

Mr  Hook's  chief  confidential  derk. 
Whose  dutyit  was  to  rodceu^  theTrea- 
sury  accounts  of  the  Mauritius,  made 
up  those  of  November  1S16  with  an 
ektor  of  £9000  in  diefti ;  notwithstand^ 
ing  which,  they  were  audited,  and  htad 
hem  p«B8«d  correct  f&r  twoyearo.  In 
ihe  meantime  he  delivered  over  the 
Trea^fry  to  a  new  governor,  and  r^ 
e^ved  a  Certificate,  whidi  is  published 
hn  die  pirHamentary  jMipers  on  the 
subject,  froB^  five  jpafindpal  officers  of 
l^vemment,  altestmg  its  correctness, 
and  giving  hixn,  under  their  hands,  a 
tRicharge  for  Hie  entire  balance.  Three 
tkfmAa  after  thds,  the  chief  derk  who. 


Uan. 


two  years  befoce,  had  made  the  error, 
reported  it  himsdf  to  government^ 
the  error  having  i^ven,  of  course,  op* 
portunity  in  the  interim,  to  anybody 
who  was  aware  of  it,  to  have  abstrsct- 
ed  the  amount  in  money,  at  the  time 
of  the  transfer.  An  investigation  of 
theafi&ir  was  ordered;  on  the  second 
day  of  which,  that  confidential  cknrk 
deetro^  hinueif^  without  giving  any 
due  as  to  the  fate  of  the  moDef.  He 
oould  not,  in  feet,  stand  the  investi- 
gation. For  thiS)  Mr  Hodc  is  now  in 
prison. 

Nay  more,  so  far  is  his  case  from 
being  feiriy  understood,  that  almost 
everybody  who  thinks  of  it,  siqpposes 
that  the  sum  for  which  he  has  bem 
arrested,  is  the  amount  of  the  defici- 
ency in  his  chest— and  yet  it  is  no 
miai  thing. — The  sum  for  which  he 
is  a  defendant  at  flie  suit  of  the  crown, 
is  made  up,  besides  the  amount  of  the 
defidency,  of  diarges  under  diflbrent 
acts  of  Parliament,  on  the  ground  that 
he  did  not  make  the  best  bai^gsins  for 
Government  in  sales  of  biUs,  and  that 
he  was  not  suffidently  careM  in  the 
issue  of  specie,  which  he  made  against 
paper,  or  lOGd  arrangements, — and 
other  details  which  would  not  be  in- 
tererting  to  you,  or  your  readers,  and 
with  which  I  suppose  we  shall  be  re- 
galed in  due  time  fi'om  his  own  pen. 
I  allude  to  them,  merdv  to  shew  that 
he  has  beoi  most  stuoioudy  misre- 
presented, and  most  determinatdy 
misunderstood. 

Why,  it  may  be  adced,  do  I,  living 
here,  m  this  auld-warld  neuk,  give 
tnysdf  the  trouble  of  defending  a  man 
whom  I  never  saw,  and  whom,  in 
all  prdMbility,  I  never  shall  see  ?  or 
what  is  there  in  his  arrest,  whidi 
oi^t  to  call  fbrth  our  attention?  I 
shdl  just  tdl  you.  i  do  not  care  a 
fig's  end  for  Hook — but  I  do  care  for 
mt  intense  piuddessoess  of  our  party. 
It  mains  me  perfectly  indignant,  at 
times,  when  I  thiid^  of  me  courage  with 
which  the  Whigs  have  at  all  times  pa- 
tronixed  their  men,  and  the  oowarmoe 
generally  disi^yed  by  our  Tory  chae^ 
tains.  I  di^  not  go  back  to  Sir  R« 
Wa^fKde,  for  Ae  management  of  ham 
Whiggidi  sovereignty  would  be  to» 
gross  and  palpable  for  our  times.  But 
look  at  what  diey  did,  when  diey  had 
last  a  glimpse  of  authority.  Tkey|^ve 
a  jAioe  to  Moore,  thehr  lampoon-mioi — 
to  Haliam,dieir  great  Balaamite— they 
posted  Sidney  Smith,  Aeir  jack-p«d'- 


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ISMTl 


LeUeri  of  TbtMh^  Tkkler,  B$q.    Ko.  XI I L 


ding  panoii— in  &ct,  everybody  who 
could  write  a  libel  for  thon^  or  who 
had  erer  wielded  a  pen  in  dieir  csuse^ 
DO  mattter  how  obtuse  and  nebleds  the 
iofA  might  have  been>  was  rewarded. 
On  the  contrary,  it  appears  to  be  al<* 
mo0t  a  fixed  principle  with  nt,  that 
whenever  a  man  does  anything  for  the 
cBUt  of  Toryism,  he  ia  tobe  immedi* 
•teiy  given  up— he  is  looked  iraon  aa 
a  sort  of  thin^  of  course,  and  left  to 
battle  with  his  adversaries,  not  only 
without  the  countenance  of  the  ereat 
Tory  leaders,  but  under  a  stnouous 
wittdrawing  of  their  support.  I  must 
say,  that  th^  order  theqe  things  bet- 
ter among  the  Whigs.* 

Let  me  not  be  somisundentood  fbr 
a  moment  as  to  be  thought  to  be  pray* 
teg  for  patronage.  I  despise  such  a 
thoii^t  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul. 
We  know,  Ncnrth,  how  little  of  that 
kind  of  tldng  we,  fca  instance,  either 
looked  for  or  received.  Thank  Heaven, 
^  general  strength  of  Toryism  Just 
now  is  80  great,  mat  we  are  indepen-* 
dent  of  toe  smiles  or  the  frowns  ^ 
any  knot  of  ministerial  people,  whom 
we  puif  or  abuse  as  we  please.  But  I 
must  say,  that  it  is  not  fiidr,  that  he* 
9mue  a  man  has  been  active,  or  has 
been  suspeeted  of  bein^  active  in  their 
belialf,  he  should  be  condHated  away 
—that  he  should  su€er  harder  treat* 
ment  than  anybody  dse,  out  of  mere 
candour  and  official  deference  to  w^ 
ponenta.  Now  here  is  a  case,  in  which 
a  gentleman,  whom  nobody  at  aQ  a(>* 
cuaea  of  dishonourable  proceedings,— > 
wboae  affidrs  admit  of  equitable  ar* 
ra^ement,— who  is  labouring  under 
difficulties  brought  on  by  the  negli* 
pence  of  people  under  hnn  and  wet 
mm,  is  treated  with  adegree  of  rigour 
never  exerted  a^ndnst  one  but  the  most 
marked  criminal.  Extents  have  been 
issued  i^nst  his  property,  whidi  has 
been  twic&seised  and  sold,  and  against 
his  person,  whidi  has  been  thirteen  or 
ftmrlem  months  in  confinement  hi  one 
priaoB  «r  odier.  All  the  little  malice 
of  an  mudekling  board  has  been  exert* 
cd  against  l^m,  instigated  bj  political 
fmiiilt'S,  whohate  him  fbr  his  suspect- 
ed sttppoK  of  minlwtcts ;  while  peo^pte 


93 

in  authority  calmly  look  on,  and  con« 
tent  themselves  with  saying,  "  A  venr 
hard  case  this  of  Hook's.  We  wisn 
him  out  of  it ;  but,  you  know,  it  would 
not  look  wdl  for  tt9  to  interfere." — 
Why?— The  answer  is  at  hand.  <' Be- 
cause we  should  be  afraid  Ihatj  if  we 
did,  it  would  beisaid,  we  did  so  on  ac- 
count of  his  supposed  conneecion  widi 
John  BuU ;"— ^iid  there  is  the  plucks 
iMsness  of  which  I  complain,  and 
which  is  the  reason  of  my  writing 
you  tins  letter. 

This  sneaking  cowardioe  our  mini- 
sterial men  carry  into  a  thousand  de- 
partments. As  I  have  often  said,  it  is 
a  sin  not  visible  among  the  Whigs. 
Had  they  a  John  Bidl  among  th^, 
they  would  boldly  stand  by  him  for 
his  writings  in  thdr  behalf, — ^not  af- 
fect to  cut  him  in  hb  diffiadtiea.  I 
wirii  we  could  Ixhtow  this  leaf  out  of 
their  book ;  not  that  I  wish  for  any 
undue  support  for  our  literary  peoj^ le, 
but  that  the  mere  fact  of  their  being 
for  us  diould  not  deprive  them  of  com- 
mon justice.  I  hope  Hook's  business 
will  make  its  appearance  befbre  Par- 
liament this  approaching  session,  and, 
when  there,  that  it  will  be  fairly  met 
by  ministers.  Among  them,  there  is 
at  least  one  man  who  ought  to  ti^e 
the  courage  of  speaking  i^>>-^I  mean 
GeoTge  dinning.  The  editcn*  of  the 
Antyacobin  ought  not  to  look  on  it  aa 
a  crime  unpardonable  to  be  accused 
{fot  it  comes  to  that)  of  writing  the 
John  BiilL 

Loves,  eompliments,  &c.  in  sll  quar- 
ter whm  ^ey  are  due.    Tours, 
T.  TiCKLsa. 

P,  S.**A  hope  you  are  above  the  sil- 
liness of  defining  to  print  my  letter- 
There  wUl  be,  a  course,  the  usual 
trashery  of  a  fellow-ieelinff  fbr  John 
Bull, — or,  it  may  be  said,  that  I  have 
written  this  to  oblige  Hook, — or,  in 
£ict,  what  the  jack^-asses  about  you 
Mte  always  braying  about.  But  never 
mind  that  Forf  know  why  I  have 
written  it;  and  yoU  knowtiiat  is  what 
I  have  been  in  Uie  habit  of  saying  for 
a  very  long  time. 

T.T. 


*  TlMre  was«  ilae  story  kitely  in  the  Morning  Qiromcle»  given  on  oecanon  of 
liord  £rskine*t  death.— It  represented  him  sa  leaving  the  woolsack  when  ChanoeU 
lor  of  Ei^and ! ! !  and  waikiag  to  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Lords ! ! !  on  purpose  to 
tdl  Jemmy  Fine  that  he  (the  Ghaaceltor)  had  that  morning  given  a  living  in  the 
Chueb  of  England  M !  to  one  of  hU  (Jemn^*s)  worn-out  hacks  of  reporters  1 1 !  This 
anecdote  should  never  be  forgotten. 


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Ouci  mort  in  Londtm. 


CJ. 


ONCE  MORE  IN  LOKDOX. 


Londmkm^^^cognomento  quidem  colonue  non  insigne !  !-~sed  copia  negotiato 


rum  et  commeatuum  maxime  celebre. 

The  taking  up  of  old  and  interrupt- 
ed local  associations,  is  generally  at- 
tended, in  consequence  of  the  mere 
lapse  of  time,  and  the  ordinary  effects 
of  that  circumstance,  with  more  pain 
than  pleasure ;  the  revival  of  acquaint- 
ance, even  with  his  own  country,  is 
to  an  Englishman  rather  striking  than 
agreeable,  as  far  as  all  external  circum- 
stances are  concerned.  The  advanta- 
ges of  England  do  not  present  them- 
sdves  in  relief,  even  to  ourselves; 
they  all  lie  below  the  surface;  we  are 
compelled  to  look  for  them,  to  insinu- 
ate ourselves  anew  into  them,  and  to 
accede,  in  a  variety  of  ways,  at  first 
disagreeable,  to  the  conditions  annexed 
to  them.  Our  society  (though  we  on- 
ly find  it  out  by  comparison)  is  all 
stiff,  formal,  frigid ;  "  se  giner,"  a 
term  so  abhorrent  to  other  nations,  is 
inseparable  from  it :  but  it  is  rational 
and  intelligent,  although  d^ective  in 
gaiety,  and  after  its  own  fashion,  even 
polite.  One  of  the  very  worst  forms 
m  which  London  presents  itself,  even 
to  a  Londoner,  is  that  of  the  inn,  ho- 
tel, xenodocheion,  khan,  or  caravanse- 
ra,  to  which,  (if  he  have  no  household 
gods  of  his  own,)  he  must  repair  on 
his  arrivaL  What  then  must  a  French- 
man, or  a  native  of  Southern  Europe, 
think  of  a  similar  reception  ? — ^The 
soi-disant  coffee-room,  stalled  off  like 
a  stable,  with  its  two  or  three  miser- 
able candles,  its  sanded  floor,  its  pha- 
lanx of  empty  decanters,  and  wine 
^flasses  full  of  tooth-picks  and  wafers. 
Its  solitude  and  its  silence !  To  such  a 
place  was  I  obliged  to  betake  myself, 
after  a  first  and  a  long  absence,  whidi 
had  canceUed  abundance  of  national 
pr^udices,  and  impaired  the  power  of 
accommodadng  to  the  habits  I  was 
about  to  resume.  The  newspapers, 
those  polyglott  versions  of  the  in^te- 
ly  diversified  events,  accidents,  crimes, 
punishments,  and  contingencies  of  an 
enormous  metropolis,  for  a  single  day, 
were  the  only  resource.  But  theur 
interest  was  lost  to  me,  and  after  lis- 
tening a-while  to  the  ticking  of  the 
dial,  and  making  many  a  fretful  glance 
at  the  oofi^house  system  of  mples, 
Venice,  and  Paris,  I  abruptly  sum- 
moned Uie  chambermaid,  and  foUowed 
her  to  the  cell  to  which  she  had  dra- 
tined  me  for  the  ni^t.    One  advan- 


Tacit.  AnnaL  xiv.  33. 
tage,  indeed,  there  was  in  this  ambi- 
tious anartment,  that  if  a  fire  should 
take  piaoe  in  the  better  freqoentefl 
floors  of  this  immense  barrack,  '^  our- 
selves" and  the  pigeons  would  proba- 
bly be  the  longest  survivors. 

'•  UlHmus  ardebit  qucm  tegula  sola  tuetur 
A  pluviJl,  moUes  ubi  reddunt  ova  colum- 
b«." 

The  balance  between  sleep  and 
watching  is  often  very  nicely  poised.  In 
the  present  instance,  it  was  quickly 
turned  in  favour  of  die  latter,  by  the 
novelty  of  my  position,  and  a  svraim  of 
accumulating  recollections.  At  last 
came  the  dawn,  and  with  it  the  consci- 
ousness (more  luxurious  than  sle^  it- 
self) of  going  to  sleep — the  night  ser- 
vants were  all  snoring,  the  coach  office 
itself  was  hush'd,  not  a  hoof  was 
yet  heard  on  the  silex  below,  nor  other- 
sound  than  that  of  a  restless  fidgetQr 
horse  takins;  a  snatch  or  two  of  hay  at 
unseasonable  hours,  when  long  before  a 
sparrow  thought  it  worth  his  while  to 
cnirp  at  the  window,  a  little  demon 
emerged  from  a  neighbouring  chimney, 
and  uttered  the  aolorous  cry  of  bia 
miserable  trade !  I  never  curse  a  chim- 
ney sweeper,  though  a  good  curser  in 
my  own  way,  however  unseasonably 
he  visits  me,  diiefly,  I  believe,  because 
he  is  a  child,  and  of  all  children  the 
most  luckless :  '^  Ah,  who  can  tdl  how 
hard  it  is  to  climb  !*' — I  betook  myself, 
therefore,  to  the  more  innocent  em- 
ployment of  musing  on  other  visidngi 
of  aerial  voices  that  I  had  chanced  to 
hear.  There  was  the  hymn  by  the 
little  choristers  from  the  tcm  of  Mag- 
dalen tower,  on  the  first  of  May,  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning — '^  0  mihi  prs- 
teritos  referet  si  Jupiter annos  !"--One 
could  easily  dispense  with  a  night's 
rest  inlthose  days  1 — (  Youpny  very  dear 
Oxford  reader,  should  not  neglect  to 
assist  for  once  at  this  ancient  and 
touching  piece  of  monastic  devotion  ; 
you  mav  afterwards  walk  up  Hedding* 
ton  hill,  and  be  back  in  plenty  time 
for  chapel,  or,  what  you  care  more 
about,  for  breakfast.^  To  this  sue* 
oeeded  another  propitious  leoolleetion : 
namely,  my  first  exporgefaction  at 
Farsa  (Pharsalia;)  there  was  a  tall 
minaret  just  above  my  window:  m, 
thin  silvery  voice  awolce  me  on  the 


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1894.3 

the  mott  ddi^tfiil  of  lutcimiial  mom- 
iags.  It  was  directed  toward  Mecca, 
and  it  apoke  of  Universal  ADah^  and 
of  prayer!  Unfortunately  this  last  re- 
flecdon  (when  a  man  begins  to  reflect, 
diere  is  no  knowing  where  it  will  end) 
sufl^ested  another — I  had  beffun  to 
^t^k  of  ioriting  aboat  my  travds,  and 
this  made  all  farther  expostulationB 
with  sleep  nadess ;  fbr,  except  a  bad 
eonsdence,  nothing  is  so  fatal  to  that 
best  gift  of  the  gods,  as  projected  or 
progreaaive  authorship.  What  would 
not  one  sometimes  aye,  during  these 
unwelcome  vigils,  for  a  'candle  and  a 
pencil?  In  the* morning,  either  the 
nought  is  gone,  or  the  curioia/tii4si' 
ku  S[  expression,  in  which  you  had 
fhiaDy  amahned  it,  cannot  be  recover- 
cd !  That  the  author,  whether  of  books 
or  muMef,  can  contrive  to  sleep  at  all, 
is  indeed  a  marvel ! ''  L'auteur  de  tant 
de  matuf  connoit  done  le  sommeQ  ?" 
Gentle  reader,  read  MoU~~meoperieu-» 
h,  as  Bentley  says. 

The  first  morning  of  one's  return 
ftXnf  H  in»r#«l»  ymmf,  has  plenty  of 
occupation— Jliodgings  to  be  procured, 
a  matter  of  very  grave  consideration, 
and  not  always,  where  so  many  jtvg" 
naniia  i«cvm  points  are  to  be  reooncil^^ 
of  very  fiicue  accompUsbment — per 
▼arioa  casus,  tendemus  in  Latium— 
quarters  at  once  genteel,  quiet,  airy, 
dieerful,  sunny,  economics ;  not  too 
near  one's  tailor,  (you  have  perhaps 
just  stumbled  on  his  last  years  bill, 
with  all  its  array  of  blue  coats  no  long- 
er in  existence:)  hie  labor,  hoc  opus 
est !  The  night  coaches  and  mails  were 
DOW  /nmd/mg' in,  and  the  morning  ones 
rattUngoxii;  (Ilike  to  avail  myself  of 
improvements  in  language.)  Those 
vast  cinerary  urns,  the  dust-carts, 
equipped  witn  bell,  basket,  and  ladder, 
and  nuge  as  the  soros  of  an  Egyptian 
kix^  were  collecting  their  morning  of- 
feings  of  dust,  and  ashes,  and  other 
penitential  exuvia ;  all  sufficient  inti- 
mations, that,  for  a  man  who  had  hia 
lodgings  to  netk,  it  was  not  quite  time 
to  rise. 

^  I  hate  bells  :Ihate  all  bells  whatever, 
except  sheep-bells;  even  muffin-beUs 
find  no  Ikvour  in  my  sight;  and  I  there- 
lore  hold  in  particular  abhorrence  that 
consecrated  barbarian,  Urlmnus  VIII., 
-who,  not  content  with  the  spoliation  of 
the  Pantheon  of  all  the  bronzeof  Agrip- 
pa,  as  a  sort  of  uilrni-barbarism,  caused 
It  to  be  made  into  what  he  calls '^  sacra 
tympana.**  How  g^  I  am,  therefore. 


95 


that  in  the  order  and  eoonomy  of  hu- 
man afikirs,  my  visit  to  Rome  was 
fxntjxmed  UU  those  horrid  fellows,  the 
Corvbantes,  fwho  usedio  run  about 
clashing  cymoals,  and  making  other 
hideous  noises,)  were  as  dead  as  Con- 
stantine.    Indeed,  I  hate  noise  of  all 
kinds,  where  the  dements  of  it  can  be 
distinguished ;  where  these  are  blend- 
ed into  one  grand  and  imponng  com- 
position—one magnificent  diapason — 
as  in  the  great  streets  of  London  or 
Naples,  one's  ear  drinks  in  the  har- 
mony of  the  great  wave  of  sound  with 
a  pleasure  analogous  to  that  which  the 
eye  derives  from  examining  compli- 
cated machinery,  or  even  from  the 
sight  of  multitudes  ^ing  we  know 
not  v^hither,  and  cominff  we  care  not 
whence.  But,  in  the  small  9inW  streets 
and  squares,  where  the  vocal  and  in- 
strumental parts  are  directed  by  the 
venr  demon  of  discord ;  where  tracheal 
of  both  sexes,  and  of  all  calibres,  sus- 
tain themselves  contentiously  among 
bells,  bagpipes,  ballad-sing;ei«,  barrel- 
organs,  clanonets,  cod-fish,  cabbages, 
and  cat's  meat— to  say  nothing  of  the 
rumbling  of  carts,  the   ratuing  of 
coaches,  the  jingling  of  hoops,  and  the 
barking  of  curs,  which  are  merely  ac- 
companiments— why  the  man  that  is 
not  moved  bv  this  concord  of  sweet 
sounds,  is  well  deserving  of  the  ana- 
thema of  Shakespeare.    How  thank- 
ftilly   does  one   near  the  emphatic 
douDle  knock  of  the  postman  at  12 
o'clock,  which  usually  disperses  these 
'*  diversa  monstra  ferarum*'  for  the 
day.     Where  is  the  book,  in  these 
d4;enerate  times,  so  amusing,  or  the 
occupation  so  interesting,  as  to  sus- 
pend the  acute  sense  ofthem?  The 
Greeks  and  Per8ian8,you  recollect,  were 
so  hard  at  it,  as  to  lose  theitgremeni  of 
the  earthquake  that  happened  during 
thebattleof—Iforgetwhioh— the  story 
is  known.  See  Herodotus.  It  is,  Scot- 
tish reader,  or  Irish,  allow  me  to  inform 
you,  that  it  is  of  no  use  to  ouit  your 
lodgings,  for  these  Eumenides  stick 
to  your  flanks  as  they  did  to  Orestes  ; 
omnibus  umbra  locis  adero  ;  dabis,  »m- 
probe,  posnas; — of  no  use  to  pay  or  per- 
suade creatures  alike  inexorable  and 
incorruptible.  The  only  fjoZtia^tVe  that 
I  know  is,  to  read  a  canto  of  the  Oieru» 
salemme  aloud,  or  a  long  passage  of  the 
iEneid,  in  your  softest  and  mellowest 
tone ;  (this  expedient  used  to  compose 
Burke  when  he  was  ruffled.)  Above  all 
things,  beware  of  fiddling  or  fluting  in 


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90 


One$  mope  hi  Xdowdom* 


opposition  or  deepilc  of  tb6m>  iinle« 
you  mean  to  convert  a  simpte  head- 
ache into  a  legitimate  delirium. 

I  had  returned  in  the  pleaong  hap9 
that  the  oourse  of  nature  had  pro- 
bably removed  many  of  my  per8eett« 
tors  to  the  stara^  and  that  in  all  like- 
lihood the  vocal  organs  of  several  of 
the  more  distinguished,  had  been  p^mr 
mo(mra^er  hi  autresjf  long  since 
cleverly  suspended  in  spirits,  by  the 
lovers  of  comparative  anatomy,  gen- 
tlemen who  are  indeftitigable  in  get- 
ting posnenoion,  perfa$  iiquien^,  of 
any  ftvoorite  morsd  of  your  ni(»rtal 
spmls.  Alas!  I  am  now  convinced 
that  thev  never  die !  The  same  ca- 
dence^ ^  aeote  dagger-like  scream 
from  the  top  pf  the  wind-pipe,  (£or 
the  wretches  lUeroUy  '^  9pmk  dag^ 
^ert"^  all  as  audible  aa  ever.  Hie  pa- 
rental kowl,srr9u4,  icnech,  fteW,  jfcli, 
or  whine,  (if  the  sire  reidly  6s  mortal, 
which  /  doubt"^,  must  be  taught  with 
uncommon  dih^ce  to  the  young  Ar^ 
cadiaus,  for  I  did  not  escape  a  sing^ 
agony,  or  find  a  single  cord  of  catgut, 
^'  weal  no  wtore."  To  whatever  pre<* 
cautiooe  of  the  parties  themsdves,  or 
to  whatever  beBeOeent  foovisions  of 
nature  it  may  be  owing, 

"  Uno  ETulso  non  deficit  alter 
Aureus^  Hmllique,  frondesdtTirgam^i/o." 

A  blind  man  in  partknlar  lives  for 
ever ;  of  that  there  can  be  no  deubt.  A 
blind  man,  did  I  say?  every  blind 
man  that  I  recollect  when  I  was  a  boy 
at  school,  or  his  $ii0^»  eonttnuas  to 
cross  me  now,  an  interval  quite  suffi-* 
dent  to  constitute  what  the  Italians 
call  fin  ffezzo ;  or.  Madam,  if  yanr 
curiosity  is  still  laere  knportttmate,  I 
am  exaetly  as  old  as  Horace  was  when 
be  wrote  his  ISth  Satire^ 

**  Me  q%tater  undenot  SCMS  implevisse 
>^  Decembrtt.** 

There  is,  for  instance,  the  man  who 
aells  hoot  laces,  and  enjoys  as  flourish- 
ij|£  a  commerce  of  leathern  thongs  as 
if  he  hiid  lived  among  the  if/jtn^Jbf 
Aj(/e*u,  or  the  modem  Albanians,  (as  I 


aineerely  wish  he  hadW yon  atUl  hear 
the  tap  of  his  protruded  stick  on  the 
pavement  for  half  a  league  before  he 
arrives  1  Then  there  is  the  Corydon, 
whose  claricmet  has  been  persecuting 
'*  Nann/'  to  "  sang  wi'  ham,"  to  my 
knowledji^  for  t^ese  t^  years;  but 
she  remains,  it  seems,  as  attached  to 
London,  as  inexorable  as  ever,  as  in- 
diffisrent  to  his  suff^inga— and  mine. 
I  used  to  wonder  that  another  of  my 
blind  friends,  who  delif^hted  to  malce 
an  ecUit  of  his  uiuustifiable  passion 
for  ^' Roy'e  Wife"  was  not  put  down 
by  the  Sodetv  fox  the  Suppression  of 
viee,  (Oh  I  that  tb«ne*was  one  fyt  the 
suppression  of  noise !)  as  an  inimical    ' 
person ;  he  kte  happily  dis^ippeared, 
no  that  perhape  my  eo^jectnre  is  ve- 
rified, or  a  reoonoi&aMon  has  been  ef- 
feeted  between  the  parties,  and  Roy 
has  obtained  a  proper  compensation 
fbr  his  injuries  in  the  dvU  and  eccle- 
siastical courts.    In  the  nonage  of  my 
experience,  and  the  immaturity  of  my 
taste,  I  used  to  be  soandaliied,  also,  at 
several  of  these  p^fialifiti^  who  call- 
ed vq^n  you  in  strains,  as  I  foolishly 
thought,  quite  destructive  of  the  emo* 
tion,  to  "yity  the  poor  blind,**  or  talk- 
ed (^  their  "  precious  eight,    with  ap- 
propriate gestures^  and  an  adequate 
exhibition  of  white  eyeballs,    I  am 
now  convinced  that  the  ostentation  oC 
misery  is  altogether  <xf  domeo/  and 
heroifi  origin.    Philoctetee  utters  more 
"  O  mef  /"  about  his  spre  foot,  than  a 
patient  at  St  George's :— and  OEdmue 
exposes  hi#  bodily  ails  and  misfor- 
tunes in  a  strain  <n  very  edi^ring  pa- 
tbo6.t    I  trust  nothing,  theremrsj  will 
ever  be  attempted  in  preventing  these 
good  people  from  gomg  at  laigei,  on 
account  not  less  of  these  pleasing  eou^ 
venire,  Uian  of  the  positive  advantage 
derived  from  their  undisputed  posses- 
sion of  the  pavement.    All  gives  way 
before   them.     I  have  seen  one  ca 
them  penetrate  the  phalanx  of  Jewa 
and  Gentiles,  coachmen  and  oade,  at 
the  White  Homie  C^lar,  with  as  nuich 
ease  as  the  Telamonian  Ajax  would 
have  deft  a  column  of  Trojans,  with 


•  When  C«ndi4  arrived  at  Portsmouth,  he  saw  an  officorof  distinction  (poor 
Byog)  with  bis  eyes  baDd«fed^*<  qa'on  alloit  lusiUer  avee  beaiieein>  de  eeremoi^ 
ptmr  encQHrager  la  autresJ* 

\  m  JmlJ 
^9tt,  ftp,  hter^fH  eytt.  wi  ymt 
^t^t^t  rhmf^v,  Ac.  &C. 

SoPHOCL.  CBdip*  Tyrann. 


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Once  more  in  Londofu 


07 


Hector  at  thdr  head^  and  liave  occa- 
aioiially  taken  siy  advantage  of  the  cir« 
comstanoe,  and  followed  in  die  rear; 
so  that  I  am  hound  to  say, 

"  Sieijbrhma  domus  a  avi  numamtut 


And  yet  how  oflen,  when  I  lodged 
at  the  shoemaker's,  on  the  sunny  or 
jMeian  side  of  Berkeley-square,  naye 
I  heen  ohliged  to  endure  the  "  ctet" 
eente,"  or  '* diminuente"  of  "many 
a  winding  hont  of  linked  sweetness/' 
always  executed  on  the  long  side  of 
diat  pleasant  parallelogram!  Al« 
though,  as  I  was  inducted  into  a  great 
deal  of  local  knowledge  while  I  dwdt 
in  that  dtuation,  I  miould  he  rather 
nateful  than  otherwise.  It  was  there 
that  I  began  to  attend  to  the  harmony 
Old  expressiyeness  of  the  yarious 
knockinge  or  puieatkmg  of  which  a 
•Ireet-door  is  susceptible.  I  shall  say 
a  word  or  two  on  thissulrject,  as  there 
are  no  knockers  across  the  Channel.— 
''  Quanquam  animus  meminisse  Korrei 
— Indpiam." — ^These  instruments,  like 
naortars,  are  made  of  bronsse  or  cast 
iron ;  and  as  they  are  of  yarious  cali- 
bres, they  can,  of  course,  project  eound 
to  yarious  distances.  A  discharge  of 
diia  kind  in  Grosyenor-Bquare,*when 
the  wind  is  fayourable,  wul  frequent-* 
W  9tmrtk  ike  deer  in  the  Park,  ruffle 
tbe  water  of  the  Serpentine,  and  yi-> 
brate  in  the  alcoyes  of  Kensington.f 

I  also  oonceiye  that  there  is  already 
room,  eyes  in  the  inresent  imperfect 
''  state  of  the  sdenoe,"  for  distinguish-* 
ing  the  different  kinds  of  performance 
on  diis  instrumoit,  by  an  adequate 
nomenclature. 

I  would  diyide  knocks,  for  the  pre- 
sent, into,  I.  Hesitating  or  submissive. 
These  are  usually  performed  by  thin 
pale-looking  persons  with  folded  pa- 
pers in  their  hands. — ^  Could  I  speak 
far  a  moment  to  the  lady  f"  2*  Im- 
portunate or  expostulating,  perform- 
ed by  tradesmen. — "  Did  you  tell  Mr 
A.  I  called  twice  hut  week?  When 
wiU  he  be  at  home?"  3.  Confident 
or  ftiendly. — "  Well,  John,  is  your 
ster  at  home?"    4.  Aliuming  or 


£uhionable.  These'  are  preceded  by 
the  short  sharp  stop  of  a  carriage,  ge- 
nerally of  the  barouche  kind,  and  are 
followed  by  the  sound  of  many  feet 
in  kid  slippers  on  the  staircase.  Of 
flfaigle  knocks  I  say  nothing — ex  uno 
disoe  mnnes — there  is  no  eloquence  in 
them.  The  postman  and  the  tax- 
ostherer's  knock  of  office,  expresses 
me  impatience  of  authority  very  in- 
telligibly; and  the  knock  domestic, 
pofir  own  knock,  makes  everybody 
/  hope  glad,  and  stirs  ud  the  spaniel 
.ftora  the  hearth-rug.  I  nave  not  lei« 
sure  to  notice  the  interesting  associa- 
tion of  bells  and  knockers  into  one 
oompofund  instrument  of  considerably 
increased  power,  but  at  some  future 
time  I  may  probably  favour  the  world 
with  a  small  volume,  entitled,  '^  Tup^ 
tologia"  {Keraunohgia  would  be  bet- 
ter still),  with  plates  of  the  various 
kinds  of  knockers,  and  directions  for 
their  use.  In  fashionable  streets,  (sit 
obiter  dictum,)  the  knockers  ought  to 
be  of  silver,  the  only  objection  to 
which  is,  that  {notwithstandina  the 
marvellous  efiects  of  education)  they 
would  occaeionaUg  be  stolen. 

I  suljcnn  the  following  Table,  in 
which  I  have  availed  myself  of  the 
language  of  science,  to  shew  merely  of 
what  nicety  the  subject  is  susceptible. 

Synopsis  rmv  K.^^va-tm, 

1.  Hypocrousis. — ^A  modest  timid 
inaudible  knock.  - 

2.  Monocrousis. — The  plain  single 
knock  of  a  tradesman  coming  for  or- 
ders. 

S.  I>icrou8is.-^The  postman  and 
taxgather. 

4.  Tricwmsis.— The  attempt  of  the 
same  tradesman  to  express  his  impa- 
tience, and  compel  payment  of  nis 
bill ;  he  will  not  submit  to  the  single 
knock  any  longer,  and  dares  not  ven- 
ture on  thcfoOowing. 

5.  Tetraerousis. — Your  own  knock  ; 
my  own  knock ;  a  gentleman's  knock. 

6.  Pollacrousis,  or  Keraunos, — A 
succession  of  repeated  impulses  of  dif- 
ferent d^rees  of  force,  ending  in  three 


t  The  dassieal  reader  ought  not  to  be  mcredu/ai»;  be  recollects  the  blast  of 
.^Xseto  wss  heard  at  Nami. 

Audiit  et  Trivis  longe  lacus,  audiit  amnis 
Sulfurea  Nar  albus  aqua,  fontesque  Velini. 
*'  Thy  springs,  Velinus,  caught  the  sound  aikr. 
And  Trivia's  distant  lake,  and  livid  Nor." 
Why  should  not  the  Serpentine  have  as  good  ears  as  the  Nar? 
Vol.  XV.  N 


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Once  more  in  London* 


or  four  of  alarming  emphaei* — ^vul- 
go  a  footman's  knocks  a  thundering 
knocks  &c  &c.  Sec 

In  order  to  complete  the  little  sketch 
that  I  propoeed  to  give  of  the  impres- 
sions whdch  a  return  to  London  makes 
upon  the  seneee,  I  now  add  a  fewmis- 
cdlaneous  remarks. 

The  climate  and  atmosphere  of 
XA>ndon  is  not  only  extremely  salu- 
tary and  con tributi ve  to  the  longerity  of 
blind  men,  and  other  mendicants,  out 
it  is  astonishingly  favourable  to  that 
of  J^h,  which,  however  deprived  of 
their  natural  element,  remain  alive  for 
a  very  considerable  time.  Cod,  soles, 
and  flounders,  in  London,  are  always 
''  alive  /"  and  livins  sjH'ats  are  vend- 
cd  in  myriads !  The  tenacity  of  life 
of  some  of  these  animals  is  so  obsti-> 
nate,  that  there  is  reason  to  believe 
they  continue  to  live  for  several  days 
together.  It  might  be  interesting  to 
mark  the  tail  of  a  particular  indi- 
vidual, in  order  to  learn  how  long 
he  continues  in  this  state  of  disagree- 
able existence.  Salmon  and  haiing,  I 
observe,  are  only  announced  as  bein^ 
fresli,  that  is,  recently  dead.  I  looked 
out  of  my  window  one  ^y  on  a  basket 
of  lobsters,  which  the  proprietor  de- 
clared to  be  alive  ;  a  pecufiar  species, 
I  presume,  for  they  were  of  that  fine 
coral  colour  which  this  animal  usually 
assumes  when  hoUed, 

In  the  early  spring,  among  many 
little  elc^nt  local  customs,  this  is  one : 
That  as  you  take  a  morning  walk  in 
the  green  park,  you  meet  sev^^  voung 
women,  who  extend  a  bimch  of  mat' 
ches  to  the  immediate  vicinity  of  your 
nose,  with  as  much  confidence  as  if 
they  were  primroses.  These  flowers 
of  brimstone  are  the  first  vernal  pro- 
ductions of  the  Flora  Londinensis; 
they  are  not  presented  quite  in  so  win- 
ning a  way  as  the  violets,  that  are 
thrown  at  you  in  the  palais  royal; 
but  I  have  no  doubt,  that  the  bouquet, 
on  the  whole,  is  a  wholseome  one,  and 
very  probably  useful  as  a  prophy- 
lactic To  persons  of  dassical  mind, 
this  ofiering  of  matches,  '^  Sulfura  cum 


CJan. 

iadie,"  will  suggest  the  Luitratione  of 
the  ancients ;  though  to  others,  of  an 
irritable  fibre,  or  uneasy  conscience, 
I  should  be  apprehensive  that  it  mi^t 
excite  disagreeable  reflections.  Vide 
Giovanni^  scene  laet.  The  usual  impe- 
diments to  accelerate  motion  continue, 
I  find,  to  occur  in  various  parts  of  the 
town.  At  the  comer  of  Durnam  Street, 
on  a  rainy  day,  I  think  I  may  promise 
you  a  pause  of  about  ten  minutes, 
(which,  if  you  don't  employ  in  some 
profitable  manner — as  the  pickpockets 
do — it  is  your  own  fault,)  under  a 
Teetudo  of  wet  silk  and  gingham,  af- 
ter the  fashion  of  that  plexus  <tf  shiddb, 
under  which,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
ancient  warfare,  II  pio  Goddofredo 
got  possession  of  Jerusalem.* 

Often,  too,  when  you  are  most  in  ft: 
huiry,  you  will  attend  the  passage  of 
the  same  procession  (a  tram  of  coal 
waggons,  SIX  in  number,  with  six  horses 
eado!)  in  long  diagonal  from  the  end  of 
the  Haymarket,  to  Marybone  Street, 
cutting  off*  parties  of  lipit  and  heavy 
armed,  impetuously  facmg  each  other. 
These  at  Weeks's  museum,  and  Those 
at  Eggs'  the  gun-makers — I  have  seen 
a  great  many  manoeuvres  practised  on 
those  occasions,  but  the  coal  waggons 
have  always  the  best  of  it. 

Such  are  the  TVtvia/hinderanoes  to 
the  pedestrian  in  London.  On  sudi  an 
ample  theme  it  is  difficult  to  desist ; 
but  troppo  e  iroppo  ;  I  shall  just  run 
over  the  heads  of  my  notes,  and  have 
done. — ^Walk  into  the  dty  more  plea- 
sant than  formerly — pavements  widar, 
especially  about  Colnaghi's — ^houses 
down — more  coming — ^multa  cecidere 
cadentque)  whole  of  city  more  Jbeal- 
thy  than  formerly — ruady  nursery- 
maids (id  genus  omne  interesting)  and 
fine  children — young  cockneys  grow 
taller — Collie  of  Physicians,  removal 
of— how  connected  with  forgoing  re-- 
mAtka-H^ause  or  consequence  f — winter* 
esting  question,  but  delicate — Bakers 
great  admirers  of  the  fine  arts,  st&nd 
at  print  shops — position  ci  their  BaS" 
ket  on  those  occasions — tlirown  on  the 
back  like  the  clypeus  of  a  hero  in  re- 


Giunsersi  tuUi  seco  a  questo  detto 
TtM  gU  scudi  alxar  sovra  la  testa 
£  gU  uniron  cosi,  die  ferreo  tetto 
Facean  contra  rorribile  tempests : 
K  la  soda  Testiiggiiic  sostienc 
Cio  che  4i  ruinoso  m  ^'m  ne  wcnC' 


GiEIlUSAL.  C.  18.. 


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1984.:] 

p09o--tdTaiitage  to  ^assert  by  from 
that  attitude— espedaOy  with  black 
coats — Lami>-lifiliter8--alann  occa- 
sioned by  their  Umribiilum— benevo- 
lent provision  for  cats  and  dogs — ^bar- 
rows containing  ditto  on  the  pavement 
— ^provocative  of  appetite— »Tew8  ready 
to  strip  you  to  the  skin^  or  dothe  you 
at  any  price— or  cram  your  pockets 
with  open  pen-knives  and  oranges 
(bad  neighbours)  on  your  own  terms. 
White  Dane  odlar^  enkvement  of 
young  women  (struggling  in  vain,  to 
go  to  Fulham,)  to  Hammersmith  or 
Brentford. 

I  hope  I  have  now  said  enough,  to 
put  you  in  decent  humour  with  the 
narrowy  unparallel>  mUleadinff,  greasy 
streets  of  Paris,  with  all  the  acces- 
sories of  cabriolets,  puddles,  and  pon- 
toons, by  day,  and  the  parade  of  sen- 
tinds  and  ^d'armes  by  nkht,  the 
"  mille  pericnla  jkbwb  ur bis,  against 
which  no  carte  de  suretc  wUl  protect 
you.  (By  the  way,  old  Cronsaivi  set 
up  that  sort  of  thing  at  Rome  last  win- 
ler,  together  with  a  squad  of  saucy 
domanicrs.  Poor  man !  he  might  have 
been  too  happy  to  wear  his  red  stock- 


Osce  murt  in  London. 


9» 


ings  In  safety,  without  tliesc  plllM 
imitations.) 

In  one  respect,  and  with  this  I  con- 
clude, London  has  as  yet  unrivalled 
advantages.  To  persons  who  are  cu- 
rious to  study  the  fktes  of  heroes  to 
the  last,  remembering  that 

Vox  facunda  Solonis 
Respicere  ad  longe  jussit  ^xuia  uitima 
vine. 

To  sudi  a  phaoeophically-constitu- 
ted  mind,  \ 

a  lodging  in  the  Old  Bailey  offers  de- 
cided advantages.  He  may  there  see 
the  elements  of  tragedy,  working  h 
tXtH  fuu  ^oydtv  about  every  six  weeks. 
There  are  several  sood  houses  just  op- 
posite to  that  well-known  rendezvous 
of  the  luckless  orator  ;  that  Anabathron 
from  which  none  descends ;  that  P/wm 
(truly  such)  where  he  makes  probaUy 
bis  first  sp^ch,  and  very  certainly  hu 
last — here  literally— 

Mors  Qlthna  Immo  reruni. 

C.  B. 


Mo^txn  enaUal^  MaOattft, 

No.  I. 

[♦  •  •  •  The  Ensign  was  evidently  much  affected  on  the  defeat  pf  his 
countryman.  It  was  remarked,  that  for  some  days  after  the  event,  he 
went  to  bed  bare-footed,  androse  fastine.  But  on  the  occasion  of  Spring's 
triumphant  entry,  he  was  pecoiiarly  cujected,  and  refused  to  look  at  it, 
which  called  forth  the  following  ballad.  It  will  be  often  inkated  by  mo- 
dem poets,  both  in  Spain  and  Germany. 

Pon  le  a  tancard  de  brounstout,  dexa  la  suipa  de  stnmgsnig 
Melancholico  Odorti,  veras  al  g^opin  Tomspring,  &c 

It  bears  a  great  resemblanoe  to  the  bridal  of  Andalla,  p.  129,  in  Lock- 
art'a  Spanish  Ballads ;  and  the  succeeding  one  on  poor  ThurtcU  may, 
more  remotely,  remind  the  sentimental  reader  of  his  '*  LanAent  for 
Celin/'  originally  published  in  this  Magazine.]] 

iPEINo's  RETURN* 

Rise  up,  rise  up,  my  Morgan,  lay  the  foaming  tankard  down. 
Rise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gizc  with  all  the  town. 
From  gay  shin-bone  and  deaver  hard  the  marrowy  notes  are  flowing. 
And  the  Jew's-harp*s  twang  sings  out  slap-baog,  'twixt  the  cow-horn's  lordly 
blowing ;« 


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100  Modem  EnglM  BaUads.    No.  I.  £^Jiii. 

Aud  greasy  caps  from  butchers'  heads  are  tossiiig  ererywhere. 
And  me  bunch  of  fives  of  Kngland'a  knight  wags  proudly  in  the  air. 
Rise  up,  rise  up^  my  Morgan,  ky  the  foaming  tankard  down, 
Bise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with  all  the  town. 

Arise,  arise,  my  Morgan,  I  see  Tom  Winter's  mug. 

He  bends  him  to  the  Fancy  coves  with  a  nod  so  smart  and  smug ; 

Through  all  the  land  of  great  Cockaigne,  or  Thames's  lordly  river. 

Shook  champion's  fist  more  stout  than  his,  more  knock-me-downish  never. 

Yon  Belcher  twisted  round  his  neck  of  azure,  mix'd  with  white, 

I  ^ess  was  tied  upon  the  stakes  the  morning  of  Uie  fight. 

Bise  up,  rise  up,  my  MoiiKan«  lay  the  foaming  tankard  dowii> 

Bise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with  all  the  town. 

What  aileth  thee,  my  Morgan  ?  what  makes  thine  eves  look  down  ? 
Why  stay  you  from  the  window  £u,  nor  gaze  with  aU  the  town  ? 
I've  heard  thee  swear  in  hexameter,  and  sure  you  swore  the  truth. 
That  Thomas  Spring  was  qiute  the  king  of  the  fist-beshaking  youth. 
Now  with  a  Peer  he  rideth  here,  and  Lord  Deerhurst's  horses  go 
Beneath  old  England's  champion,  to  the  tune  of  Yo,  heave  hoT 
Then  rise,  oh  rise,  my  Morgan,  lay  the  foaming  tankiu'd  down. 
You  may  here  through  the  window-sash  come  gaze  with  all  the  town. 

The  Irish  Ensign  rose  not  up,  nor  laid  his  tankard  down. 
Nor  came  he  to  the  window  to  gaze  with  all  the  town  ; 
But  though  his  lip  dwelt  on  the  pot,  in  vain  his  gullet  tried* 
He  could  not,  at  a  single  dmught,  empty  the  tankard  wide. 
About  a  pint  and  a  half  ha  dcank  before  the  noise  grew  nigh, 
When  the  last  half-pint  received  a  tear  slow  dropping  from  his  eye. 
No,  no,  he  sighs,  bid  me  not  rise,  nor  lay  my  tankard  down. 
To  gaze  on  Thomas  Winter  wi^  all  the  gazing  town. 

Why  rise  ye  not,  my  Morgan,  nor  lay  vour  tankard  down  ^ 
Why  gaze  ye  not,  my  Morgan,  with  all  the  j;azin^  town  ? 
jr,  hear  the  cheermg,  how  it  swells,  and 


Hear,  hear  the  cheermg,  how  it  swells,  and  now  the  people  cry, 

He  stops  at  Cribb's,  the  ex-champion's  shop  ; — why  sit  you  still,  oh !  why  ? 

'^  At  Cribb's  good  shop  let  Tpm  Spxim  stop,  in  him  shall  I  discover 

The  black-ey^  youth  that  beat  the  lad  who  cross'd  the  water  over  ? 

I  vrill  not  rise  with  weary  eyes,  nor  ky  my  tankard  dovm. 

To  gaze  on  Langan's  conqueror,  with  all  tne  gazing  town."* 

^  Mr  Lockhart'8  Spanish  balkd,  ''  The  Bridal  of  Andalla,"  of  which 
Mr  ODoherty  has  indited  an  imitation,  runs  thus.  The  Lament  of  Celin 
we  have  not  room  for*    A  proae  article  on  Thurtell  next  month. 

*^  Rise  up,  rise  up,  Xariia,  ky  ihe  golden  cushion  down ; 

Bise  up,  oome  to  uie  window,  and  gase  with  all  the  town. 

From  gay  gi^tar  and  violin  the  silver  notes  aie  flowing. 

And  &e  lovely  lute  doth  &peak  between  the  tmmpet's  lordly  bkwing, 

And  banners  bright  ftom  lattice  light  are  waving  everywhere. 

And  the  tall  tall  plume  of  our  oousin*s  bridegroom  floats  proudly  in  the  air ; 

Rise  up,  riseup,  Aarifa,  ky  the  golden  cushion  down. 

Rise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with  all  the  town. 

**•  Arise,  arise,  Xari&,  I  see  Andalla^s  face. 
He  bends  him  to  the  people  with  a  calm  and  prinody  grace, 
Through  all  the  knd  of  Xeres  and  banks  of  Guadalquiver 
Rode  forth  bridegroom  so  brave  as  he,  so  brave  and  lovely  never. 
Yon  tall  plume  waving  o*er  his  brow  of  azure  mix*d  with  white, 
I  guess  'twas  wreathed  by  Zara,  whom  he  will  wed  to-night ; 
Rue  up,  rise  np,  Xarifa,  ky  the  golden  cushion  down ; 
Rise  up,  oome  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with  all  the  town. 


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1834.;]  Modem  BngHih  Ballads.  No.  J.  101 

THE   LAMENT  FOR  THURTELL. 

A  loud  Ltmait  is  heard  in  town— -a  voice  of  std  complRiniDg— 

The  •orrow  Whig  is  high  and  big,  and  there  is  no  restraining. 

The  great  Lord  Mayor,  in  civic  chair,  weeps  thick  as  ^eins  of  cotton^ 

And  wipes  his  eyes  with  huckaback^  sold  by  his  own  begotten. 

Alas^  says  he,  th  v  thread  of  life  is  snapt  by  sheers  of  Clothor 

And  a  winding  sheet,  a  yard-yard*wide,  enwraps  thee,  O,  my  brother! 

Howl,  buff  and  blue !  of  that  dear  crew,  whose  brows  the  patriot  myrtle 

Shades,  for  Harmodius  Thistlewood !  Howl,  howl  for  Whig  Jack  Thurtdl  I 

The  doTes  and  rooks  who  meet  at  Brooks',  sob  loudly,  fast,  and  faster. 

And  shake  in  skin  as  rattltngly  as  they  ere  shook  the  castor. 

O,  by  the  box  of  Charlev  Fox,  and  by  his  unpaid  wagers. 

Shame  'tis,  they  swear,  for  hangman  cocks  tohangour  truest  stagers ; 

What  if  he  cut  the  fellow's  throat  in  fashion  debonnaire,  sir. 

Til  onlr  like  o«ir  own  Whig  case,  a  bit  the  worse  for  wear,  sir ; ' 

What  if,  after  swallowing  Inains  and  blood,  he  ate  pork  diops  hke  turtle. 

Sore,  don't  we  swalbw  anything  ?  Alas  1  for  Whig  Jack  Thurtell ! 

Lord  Byron,  gentleman  is  he,  who  writes  for  good  Don  Juan, 
Husxaed  when  my  Lord  CasUereagh  achieved  his  life's  undoing. 
No  Tory  bard,  that  we  have  heard,  so  savage  was  or  silly. 
As  to  crow  o'er  cut-throat  Whitbr^  Sam,  or  cut-throat  Sam  Romilly. 
We  laugh  at  them — thev  sigh  with  us — ^we  hate  them  sow  and  farrow—* 
Yel  DOW  their  groans  will  fly  fVom  them  as  thick  as  flights  of  arrow, 
Whidi  Mr  Gray,  in  ode  would  say,  through  the  dark  air  do  hurtle,—* 
Moaning  in  concert  with  ourselves— Alas!  for  Whig  Jack  Thurtell ! 

He  was  a  Whig — a  true,  true  Whig-*all  property  he  hated 

In  funds  or  land,  in  purse  or  hand, — tithed,  salaried,  or  estated. 

When  he  saw  a  fob,  he  itch'd  to  rob,  the  genuine  whiggish  feeling ; 

No  matter  what  kind  was  the  job,  fraud,  larceny,  cheating,  stealing. 

Were  be  a  peer  our  proud  career  he'd  rule  in  mansion  upper. 

In  the  Lower  House,  behind  him  Brougham  would  amUe  on  the  crupper. 

Lake  Bennet  Grey,  or  Scarlet  J.  he'd  wield  the  poleaxe  curtal 

(Mj  rhymes  are  out)  'gainst  Ministers !  Alas !  for  Whig  Jack  Thurtell ! 


«^  What  aikth  thee,  Xarifis  what  makes  thine  eyes  look  ddwn  ? 
Why  stay  ye  item  the  window  far,  nor  gase  with  all  the  town  ? 
I've  heard  yoa  say  on  many  a  day,  and  sure  you  said  the  trudi, 
Andalla  rides  without  a  peer,  among  all  Orenada^s  youth. 
Without  a  peer  he  rideth,  and  yon  milk-white  horse  doth  go 
Beneath  his  stately  master,  with  a  stately  step  and  slow ; 
Then  rise,  oh  rise,  Xarifa,  lay  the  golden  cushion  down  ; 
Unaeen  here,  through  the  lattice,  you  may  gaze  with  all  the  town.**.— 

The  Zcgri  lady  rose  not,  nor  laid  her  coshion  down, 

Nor  came  she  to  the  window  to  gaze  with  all  the  town  ; — 

But  though  her  eyes  dwelt  on  her  knee,  in  vain  her  fingers  strove. 

And  though  her  needle  pcess^d  the  silk,  no  flower  Xarws  wove ; 

One  bonny  rose-bud  she  had  traced,  before  the  noise  drew  nighl. 

That  bonny  bud  a  tear  efl&ced,  slow  dropping  from  her  eye. 

*'*'  No-~no,**  she  sighs — ^^  bid  me  not  rise,  nor  lay  my  cu^on  down, 

To  gaze  upon  An£lla  with  all  the  gazing  town.** — 

*^  Why  rise  ye  not,  Xarifa,  nor  lay  your  coshion  down  ? 
Why  gaze  ye  not,  Xarifis,  with  all  the  gazing  town  ? 
Hear,  hear  the  trumpet  bow  it  swells,  and  how  the  people  cry..* 
He  stops  at  Zara's  palaee-gate— why  ait  ye  stiU — oh  why  ?'* 

'**  At  Zara*s  gate  steps  Zara*8  mate ;  in  him  shall  I  discover 
The  dark-eyed  youth  pledged  me  hia  truth  with  tears,  and  was  my  lover  ? 
I  wiU  not  rise,  with  weary  eyes,  nor  lay  my  cushion  down, 
^aze  on  false  Andalla  with  all  the  gazing  town.**  *- 


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&BGIVALD  DALTOK. 


CJan. 


This  book  was  ortglnallj  announ- 
ced to  the  pnUiCy  if  we  mistake  not, 
under  the  Utle  of ''  The  Youth  of  Re- 
^nald  Dalton;"  and  we  wish  that 
title  had  been  presenred^  fbr  it  proper- 
ly expresses  the  real  aim  and  ocrjectof 
the  work.  The  author,  whoerer  he 
may  be,  is  a  man  of  a  singularly 
powerftd  and  original  mind,  widely 
Tersed  in  literature  and  book-know- 
ledge, and  keenly  observant  of  human 
nature,  as  displayed  on  the  stage  of 
the  world.  There  is  a  fbrce  and  vi- 
^our  in  his  stvle  of  thinking  and  wri- 
ting, not  excelled  by  any  man  of  thia 
age;  and  often,  too,  an  elegance,  a 
gracefhlness,  and  a  beauty,  that  come 
charmingly  in  among  his  more  force- 
ful delineatious,  ana  shew  that  he 
could,  if  he  would,  be  equally  effect- 
ive in  the  touching  and  pathetic  He 
pours  out  all  his  thoughts,  feelings, 
observations,  remarks,  fancies,  whims, 
caprices,  foUies,  sarcasms,  and  jocu- 
larities, with  the  same  easy,  we  had 
almost  said  careless,  spirit  of  lavish 
profusion.  He  seldom  remains  long 
on  one  key,  but  he  strikes  it  strongly, 
till  the  corresponding  chord  in  the 
heart  vibrates  to  its  centre.  He  rarely 
■eems  anxious  to  work  up  any  effi«t, 
but  seizes  the  main  interest  of  the  fed- 
ing  or  incident  which  he  is  dealing 
with  I  and  having  brought  it  out  bold- 
ly, he  proceeds  forthwith  on  his  ca- 
reer, and  hurries  forwards  with  a  free, 
and  sometimes  impatient  conscious- 
ness of  strength,  among  new  scenes, 
new  emotions,  and  new  obaraeters.  Ac- 
cordingly, he  is  never  wearisome  nor 
languia;  never  exhausts  a  passion 
either  in  himself,  the  agents  in  his  his- 
tory, or  his  readers,  but,  by  a  constant 
succeision  of  various  fisdings  spring- 
ing out  of  each  other,  keeps  the  scene 
busy,  and  the  imagination  on  the  alert, 
infusing  life,  spirit,  bustk,  and  viva- 
city throughout  the  work  during  ita 
whole  progress,  and  almost  always  be- 
coming, when  he  ceases  to  be  impres- 
sive and  impassioned,  excessively  amu- 
sing and  entertaining,— and  when  he 
leaves  the  deeper  feelings  of  our  na- 
ture, almost  afwa^fs  glancing  over  ^e 
surface  of  life  with  a  truly  engamug 
qpirit  of  youthful  elasticity,  2^  a 
beaming  freshness  of  youthtUl  enjoy- 
ment that  inspires  cheerfUl  sympathy, 
and  makes  one  in  love  with  tne  every- 


day world.  It  is  evident  that  the  vo- 
lumes are  written  by  one  who,  in  the 
strength  and  prime  of  manhood,  haa 
not  yet  lost  the  animation  and  lig^t- 
heartedness  of  youth.  There  is  no- 
thing; young  in  the  opinions,  the  re- 
flections, the  views  of  human  lif^ 
when  the  writer  addresses  himself  se- 
riously and  solemnly  to  the  stronger 
and  permanent  principles  of  action  in 
our  nature,  but  there  is  mudi  that  is 
delightfully  juvenile— puerile,  if  you 
wil]<--in  the  by-play,  the  under-plot, 
the  inferior  inddents,  and  the  depict- 
ing of  the  various  auxiliary  charac- 
ters,— and  the  gravest  and  most  for- 
mal personage  that  ever  wore  gown  or 
wig,  at  bar,  in  pulpit,  or  in  bench, 
must  surdy  relax  the  sternness  of  his 
physiognomy  at  many  of  the  ludicrous 
details  of  occurrences  in  stage-coaches, 
ooll^;e-rows,  gaudeamuses,  and  snug 
parties  of  wdl-educated  wine-bibben, 
and  erudite  devourers  of  the  fat  of  the 
land,  that  permeate  the  book  dmost 
from  beginning  to  end,  and  alternate 
most  eff&tively  with  matters  of  very  se« 
rious  import,  namdy,with  the  sorrows 
of  fatherly  afibction,  the  desolation  of 
blasted  hope,  the  agonies  of  repentant 
dissipation  and  prodigality,  the  clea-* 
ving  curse  of  folly,  the  agonies  and 
transports  of  baffled  or  requited  love, 
and  all  the  host  of  undistmguishable 
'  pasdons  that  often  storm  the  soul  of 
youth,  and  crowd  into  a  few  years  a% 
much  delight  and  as  much  despair  aa 
is  afterwards  enjoyed  or  suffered  be- 
tween twenty  and  the  tomb. 

Now,  it  is  pretty  obvious,  that  in  a 
book  written  on  such  prindples,  and 
by  such  an  author,  various  faults  of 
condderable  magnitude,  and  of  no  un- 
frequent  recurrence,  wUl  be  found. 
For,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  not  always 
posdble  to  escape  in  sood  time  from 
the  extreme  levity,  and  the  joyful  ab- 
surdities of  reckless  boyhood  oryouth ; 
and  in  indulging,  con  amorey  in  such 
strains  of  description,  a  writer,  with  a 
keen  sense  of  the  frolicsome,  the  ludi- 
crous, and  the  piquant,  must  be  in 
perpetual  danger  of  offending,  dther 
by  the  untimely  introduction  of  such 
mirthful  topics,  or  by  their  undue  pro- 
longation, or  by  '^  a  certain  spice '  of 
them  remdning  behind,  even  after  a 
serious,  solemn,  or  affecting  apped  has 
been  made  to  the  better  and  higher 


*  Regfaidd  Ddton.  By  the  Author  of  Valerius  and  Adam  Blak.  3  volt.  W.  Black- 
wood,  Edinburgh,  and  T.  Cadell,  London.  1824. 


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19^.-2 


ftelingB.  lilts,  we  thiiilc,  ftequentljr 
happens  throughout  these  volumes. 
The  current  of  deeper  emotion  is  too 
often  chedced  or  diverted;  and  al^ 
though  the  book  may  not,  on  that  ao« 
count,  be  a  less  true  picture  of  human 
Hfe,  nevertheless  we  expect  human 
life,  in  all  its  varieties,  to  be  some- 
thing difi^ent,  in  a  work  of  imagina^ 
tion,  from  what  it  is  in  realitv.  This 
author  occasionaQy  destroys  his  most 
complete  and  powerful  illusions,  as  if 
he  did  so,  either  on  purpose  to  startle 
and  perplex,  or  because  he  himself 
really  fdt  less  at  the  time,  than  the 
readers,  over  whom  his  genius  prevail- 
ed, and  were  more  indifiorent  than  they 
everomild  be  to  the  beings  of  his  own 
CKation. 

But  fiirther— the  humour— the  wit 
— the  Am  and  frolic — the  grotesque 
and  the  ludicrous — are  sometimes  not 
aidy  oat  of  place,  but  not  very  good 
in  themselves,  or  if  very  good,  yet 
not  of  a  kind  precisely  which  one 
is  hi  the  habit  of  meeting  with  in 
handsomely  printed  works  in  three 
thidt  volumes.  Ever  and  anon  our 
auUior  waxeth  facetious  on  other  au- 
thors alive  sad  merry  like  himself^ 
deals  out  little  biting  and  pinching 
quips  modest,  right  and  left,  apparent- 
ly without  malice  or  meditation,  but  in 
mere  gaiet'educiBur.  When  he  is  in  such 
moods,  whatever  comes  uppermost^  ^ 
out  it  goes,  so  that  more  than  once  we 
thought  we  were  reading  this  Maga- 
zine, and  that  Reginald  Dalton  was 
no  other  than  Christopher  North,  in 
the  gown  of  an  under-graduate.  Per- 
haps the  names  of  about  twenty  living  * 
persons  of  eminence  occur  in  a  worx 
which  is  one  of  mere  fiction,  and  it  is 
impossible  to  tell  how  strange  is  the 
effect  of  these  flesh-and^-blood  gentle- 
men dining  or  drinking,  or  sitting  on 
ooadi-boxes,  or  being  introduc^  to 
Rgginald  Dalton  and  his  fdlow-phan- 
toms.  Instead  of  throwing  an  air  of 
f eslity,  and  truth,  and  good  faith  over 
the  narrative,  it  breaks  the  spell  most 
tcAxingly,  and  more  than  once  we  have 
had  down  our  volume  with  a  "  says  a 
ftown  to  a  smile,"  ratherangry  at  being 
bammed  and  trotted  bv  this  capricious, 
wayward,  and  incurable  quizzer. 

To  be  done,  for  the  present,  with 
our  enumeration  of  faults,  we  must 
take  the  liberty  of  hinting  to  this  au- 
thor, that,  in  the  midst  of  his  power- 
ful, eloquent,  and  idiomatic  English, 
he,  too  often,  lets  slip  words,  phrases. 


epithet^  and  modes  of  ezpressfen,  that 
border  upon  the  coarse  and  vulgar-* 
grate  upon  the  ear  at  least,  if  not  upon 
the  mind,  and  occasionally  impair,  in 
some  measure,  the  beauty  of  his  most 
overwhelming  or  exquisite  descrip- 
tions. Perhaps  something  of  this  is 
unavoidable  in  a  style  so  natural,  bold, 
and  flowing ;  but  the  tendencv  to  it 
may  at  least  be  controlled ;  and  if  we 
are  ofibnded  by  such  macule  in  his 
next  work,  we  shall  present  him  wi^ 
a  list  of  those  in  the  present,  some  of 
which  he  will  be  surprised  at  and 
correct,  while  probably  he  will  suffer 
others  to  remain,  that  they  may  fur«> 
nish  matter  for  philological  criticism 
to  the  ''influential"  writers  in  the  New 
Monthly,  and  other  periodical  lights 
of  our  southern  hemisphere. 

The  purpose  of  tms  original  and 
powerfm  writer,  is  to  jp«int  a  bold 
portrait  of  the  youth  of  a  well-bom, 
well-educated  ^glishman.  He  is  not 
to  place  him  in  an^  very  conspicuous 
or  commanding  situation,  to  bring 
over,  and  around  him,  the  pride, 
pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious 
war,  to  envelope  hun  in  the  light  of 
genius,  or  to  endow  him  with  the 
power  and  privilege  of  exalted  rank, 
but  to  shew  nim,  as  a  youth  of  good 
birth,  fair  prospects,  excellent  talents, 
strong  feelings, — and  then  to  let  him 
take  his  choice  for  good  or  for  evil 
among  the  causes  for  ever  at  work  to 
shape  out  our  destiny.  Perhaps  there 
rardy  ever  existed  one  individual,  of 
any  strong  powers  of  thinking  and 
feeling,  the  nistory  of  whose  youth 
would  not,  in  many  respects,  he  ex- 
tremely interesting.  Independent  of 
the  workhigs  of  heart  and  spirit,  and 
the  formation  and  fluctuation  of  cha« 
xacter,  it  would  probably  exhibit  not 
a  few  impressive  and  interesting,  per- 
haps striking  and  remarkable  inci- 
dents, either  in  itself,  or  intimatelT 
connected  with  it,  or  with  the  fistes  and 
fortunes  of  other  families.  Accord- 
in^y,  R^;inald  Dalton  is  represented 
as  tne  son  of  a  country  rector,  and 
we  are  first  made  acquainted  with  him, 
while  vet  living  unoer  the  loving  tui- 
tion of  his  father,  a  widower,  whose 
heart  was  whoUy  bound  up  in  Regi- 
nald, his  only  son.  During  half  of 
the  first  volume,  we  become  so  hr 
acquainted  with  this  retired  eccle- 
siastic, and  his  concerns,  as  to  feel  no 
ordinary  interest  both  in  him  and  Re- 
ginald  We  learn  that  an  ample  and 


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104  .  MegkuMDalidn. 

old  hereditanr  estate,'  Oiypherwasu 
tiall^wiUprobablvy  (if  there  is  no  foul 
^Y,  of  tne  likeUnood  of  which,  how- 
ever, there  are  some  hints  thrown 
out,)  become  the  rightful  possession 
of  our  young  hero.  And  we  must 
ssy,  that  although  of  late  years,  pnn 
perty  in  lands  or  gold  lias  become 
somewhat  too  frequently  the  founda- 
tion bf  the  interest  and  incidents  of 
fictitious  compositions,  yet,  in  this 
instance,  many  extremely  interesting 
feelings  are  collected  round  it,  and 
we  are  made  very  early  in  the  story 
to  hope,  desire,  and  piay,  that  our 
friends,  the  Daltons,  may  one  day  get 
possession  of  Grypherwast,  and  its 
s|»acious  and  well-cultivated  farms  of 
rich  wheat  land.  Reginald  is  un- 
doubtedly a  fine  youth,  from  the  little 
we  see  of  him  ;  and  Mr  Dalton's  ap- 
pearance, manner,  conversation,  pur- 
suits, and  character,  are  reveakd  to 
us  by  the  touches  of  a  master's  hand. 
There  is  something  earnestly,  calmly, 
and  yet  deeply  afiecting  in  the  elegant 
and  still  seduuon  of  the  life  of  the  me- 
lancholy scholar  and  gentiraian,  over 
whom  hangs  the  shadow  of  solicitude 
and  fear  for  an  only  son  just  about 
to  leave  him  for  die  first  time,  and 
over  whose  future  prospecti  »  ^dark- 
ness  seems  to  hang,  whicn  yet  may  pos- 
sibly be  dispelled.  An  air  of  pensive 
de^oe  breathes  over  the  beautiful 
vicarasp  of  Llanwell,  and,  without  ef- 
fort of  any  kind,  the  author  has  suc- 
ceeded in  making  most  pathetic  and 
afl^ting  the  yearning  affection  of  the 
pious  and  widowed  father,  and  the 
reverential  love  of  his  yet  unstained 
and  innocent  son. 

We  cannot  but  give  one  extract 
from  this  part  of  the  history.  Ra- 
nald had,  by  clandestinely  reading  a 
forbidden  book,  come  to  the  know- 
ledge of  his  being  in  the  line  of  heir- 
dom to  Grypherwast, — and  his  plea- 
sure in  knowing  this  is  dashed  by  the 
conviction  that  ne  had  disobliged  his 
Ikther's  commands. 

**  Reginakl  had  read  this  last  para- 
graph, I  take  it,  a  dozen  times  over- 
then  ruminated  on  its  contents— and  then 
returned  to  it  again  with  yet  undiminished 
interest;  and  the  book  was,  in  short,  still 
lying  open  before  biro,  when  he  beard 
the  sound  of  his  father's  approach.  The 
Vicar  seemed  to  be  trotting  at  a  pretty 
brisk  pace ;  and,  without  taking  time  to 
reflect,  the  boy  obeyed  his  first  impulse, 
which  was  to  tie  up  the  parcel  again,  so 


CJoi. 


as  to  conceal  Oiat  be  had  looked  into  the 
book. 

"<  It  was  not  that  Reginald  felt  any 
conseiousness  of  having  done  wrong  in 
opening  this  packet— that  he  laboured 
under  any  guUty  shame— that  he  was 
anxious  to  escape  from  the  detection  of 
meanness.  Had  twenty  letters,  addressed 
to  his  father,  been  lying  before  him  with 
their  seals  broken,  he  was  entirely  inca- 
pable of  looking  into  one  of  them.  He 
had  had,  st  the  moment  when  he  opened 
the  packet,  no  more  notion,  intention,  or 
suspicion  of  violating  confidence,  or  in- 
truding upon  secrecy,  than  he  should 
have  hsd  in  taking  down  any  given  vo- 
lume from  the  shelves  of  his  father's  li- 
brary. His  feeling  simply  was,  that  he 
hastily  mdeed,  and  almost  involuntarily, 
but  still  by  his  own  act,  put  himself  in 
possession  of  a  certain  piece  of  know- 
ledge, which,  for  whatever  reason,  his  p»« 
rent  had  deemed  it  proper  to  withhohl 
firom  him.  To  erase  the  impression  thai 
had  been  made  on  his  mind,  on  his  m^- 
mory,  was  impossible;  but  to  save  his 
father  the  pain  of  knowing  that  any  such 
impression  had  been  made  there,  appear- 
ed to  be  quite  possible ;  and  so,  without 
taking  time  to  balance  remoter  conse- 
quences or  contingencies,  Reginald  fol- 
lowed, as  I  have  said,  the  first  motion  of 
a  mind,  the  powers  of  which  had  hither- 
to acknowledged  the  almost  undivided 
sway  of  paternal  influence,  and  from  no 
motive  but  one  of  filial  tenderness  for 
*his  father's  feelings,  he  endeavoured,  as 
well  as  he  could,  to  restore  to  the  packet 
its  original  appearance. 

<*  Having  done  so,  he  awaited  his  en- 
trance quietly,  with  a  book  in  his  hand. 
Dinner  was  served  up  shortly  afterwards, 
and  they  quitted  the  library  together, 
without  Mr  Dalton's  having  taken  any 
notice  of  the  packet 

**  Soon  after  the  repast  was  conoloded, 
he  rose  from  the  table,  and  Reginald 
heard  him  re-enter  the  library  by  himself 
Perhaps  half  an  boor  might  have  elapsed, 
when  he  rung  his  bell,  and  the  boy  heard 
him  say  to  the  sertant  who  obeyed  ther 
summons,  *  Go  to  Master  ReginaM,  and 
tell  him  I  want  to  speak  with  him.'-* 
There  was  something  in  the  manner  of 
his  saying  these  words  that  struck  Regi- 
nald at  the  moment  as  unusual ;  but  the 
man  delivered  his  message  with  a  smiling 
face,  and  he  persuaded  himself,  ere  he 
rose  to  attend  his  lather,  that  this  must 
have  been  merely  the  work  of  his  own 
imagination. 

"  When  he  entered  the  library,  how- 
ever, he  perceived,  at  one  glance,  that 
there  was  heaviness  on  his  Other's  brow. 
8 


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*  ReghMld,*  lie  Mid,  In  a  low  tone  of  voice, 

*  I  fetr  jon  hsTe  lieen  guiltjr  of  deceit-^ 
fOd  IwTe  been  tiying  to  deceive  your  h^ 
tier,  mj  boy— Is  it  not  so  ?' 

*  Ranald  coold  not  l>eer  the  serioos- 
ness  of  liis  looks,  and  tlirew  liis  eyes  np* 
on  the  table  before  him;  he  saw  the 
picket  lying  open  there*  and  then  again 
meeting  Bfr  Dalton's  eye»  felt  himself  to 
be  blushing  intensely. 

<*<  Yoa  need  not  speak,  Reginald,*  he 
proceeded,  '  I  see  how  it  is.  Look,  sir, 
there  was  a  letter  in  this  packet  when 
yoa  opened  it,  and  yon  dropt  it  on  the 
floor  as  you  were  fastening  it  again.  It 
is  not  your  opening  the  packet  that  I  com* 
pUm  o^  bat  when  yon  tied  these  cords 
again,  yoa  were  telling  a  lie  to  your  fih- 
ther— Tes,  Reginald,  yoa  have  told  a  lie 
this  day.  I  would  fiun  hope  it  is  the  first 
yoa  ever  told— I  pray  God  it  may  be  the 
last !    "What  was  your  motive  ?' 

-  Poor  Reginald  stood  tremblfaig  be- 
fore him— ates !  for  the  misery  of  deceit ! 
Consdons  though  he  was  that  he  had 
meant  no  wrong— conscious  though  he 
was  that  bad  he  loved  his  fiither  less  ten* 
deriy,  had  he  revered  him  less  awfoUy, 
he  should  have  escaped  diis  rebuke  at 
least  Ins  tongue  was  tied,  and  he  could 
not  muster  courage  enough  even  to  at> 
tempt  vindicating  himself  by  the  truth. 

<*  Involuntarily  he  fell  upon  his  knee, 
but  Mr  Dalton  instantly  bade  him  rise 


«*  •  Nay,  nay,  Reginald,  kneel  not  to 
me.  Tou  humble  yourself  here,  not  for 
the  sin,  but  the  detection.  Retire  to 
your  chamber,  my  boy,  and  kneel  there 
to  Hnc  who  witnessed  your  offence  at  the 
moment  it  was  committed.'  He  waved 
hii  hand  as  be  said  so,  and  Reginald 
Dalton  fbr  the  first  time  qmtted  his  fih- 
ther*8  presence  with  a  bleeding  heart 

"  By  this  time  the  evening  was  some- 
whatadvanced ;  but  there  was  still  enough 
of  day-light  remaining  to  make  him  feel 
his  bed-chamber  an  unnatural  place  for 
being  in.  He  sat  down  and  wept  like  a 
child  by  the  open  window,  gazing  inertly 
now  and  then  through  his  tears  upon  the 
beanUful  scenery,  which  had  heretofore 
ever  appeared  in  unison  with  a  serene 
and  happy  spirit.  With  how  different 
eyes  did  he  now  contemplate  every  welU 
known  featmre  of  the  smiling  landscape ! 
How  dull,  dead,  oppressive,  was  the  calm 
of  sonset—liow  melancholy  the  slow  and 
iBBii£ble  waving  of  the  big  green  boughs 
—how  intolerable  the  wide  steady  splen- 
dour of  ^e  lake  snd  western  sky! 

'<  I  hope  there  is  no  one^  who,  from 
the  strength  and  sturdiness  of  his  man- 
hood, can  east  bads  an  unmoved  eye  up- 

Vol.  XV. 


RegiHoid  DaU<m.  105 

on  the  softnee^  the  deMoaey ,  (he  open 
senaitiveness  of  a  young  and  virgin  heart 
—who  can  think  without  regret  of  Uiose 
happy  days^  when  the  moral  heaven  was 
so  uniformly  dear,  that  the  least  passing 
vapour  was  suffident  to  invest  it  with  tiie 
terrors  of  gkxMn— of  the  pure  open  bo- 
som that  could  be  shaken  to  the  centre 
by  one  grave  glasoe  firom  the  eye  of  affec- 
tion—of  the  blessed  tears  that  sprung  un- 
bidden, thatflowed  nnscalding,more  sweet 
than  bitter-.-the  kindly  pang  that  thrilled 
and  left  no  scar— the  humble  gentle  sor- 
row, that  was  not  Penitence— only  be- 
cause it  needed  not  Sin  to  go  before  it. 

**  Reginald  did  not  creep  into  his  bed 
until  the  long  weary  twilight  had  given 
place  to  a  beautiful  star-li^t  night.  By 
that  time  his  spirits  had  been  dfectually 
exhausted,  so  that  slumber  soon  took  pos- 
session <tf  him. 

**  But  he  had  not  slept  long  ere  he  was 
awakened,  suddenly,  but  gently,  by  a  soft 
trembling  kiss  on  his  forehead ;  he  open- 
ed his  eyes,  and  saw  Mr  Dalton  stand- 
ing near  his  bed-side  in  his  dressing-gown. 
Hie  star-light,  that  ahewed  the  outline 
of  the  figure,  came  from  behind,  so  that 
the  boy  could  not  see  his  fether's  hee, 
and  he  hiy  quite  quiet  on  his  pillow. 

'^  In  a  little  while  Mr  Dalton  turned 
sway— but  ere  he  did  so,  the  boy  heard 
distinctly,  amidst  the  midnight  silence,  a 
whiper  of  God  Ueu  my  chiid  /—Reginald 
felt  that  his  fether  had  not  been  able  to 
deep  widiout  blessing  him— he  felt  the 
reconciling  influence  fall  upon  his  spirit 
like  a  dew  from  heaven,  and  he  sunk 
again  lightly  and  softly  into  his  repose.'] 

There  are  a  few  other  such  touch- 
ing passages  as  this  in  the  first  two 
hunored  pages  of  the  first  volume,  but 
sprightliness  is  thdrprevaHing  charac- 
ter. We  are  introduced  to  several  of 
the  personages,  male  and  female,  who 
are  afterwaMs  to  fifi;ure  in  the  history. 
But  we  never  coula  write  an  abstract 
of  anything,  nor,  if  we  could,  would  it 
now  benefit  our  readers,  for  the  merit 
of  this  book  is  not  in  the  story,  but 
in  the  sentiments,  the  dtuations,  the 
descriptions,  and  Uie  characters. 

At  pa^  187,  Reginald  Dalton  leaves 
Lancasmre  for  Oxford,  in  the  Admiral 
Nelson  coach,  which  is  for  a  few  stages 
driven  by  his  friend  Frederick  Cms- 
ney,  a  dadiing  Christchurcii-man,  who 
afterwards  puys  a  conspicuous  part  in 
this  short  eventful  history.  The  lour- 
ney  to  Oxford,  including  a  good  up- 
set, is  civen  somewhat  at  too  great 
length,  but  with  infinite  spirit ;  and 
we  are  made  acquainted  with  anocfaer 
O 


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Ui9  fUginald 

of  the  tthief  dfamatia  penonc  in  Mr 
Maodauald>  W.S.  Edinburgh,  a  pawky 
carle, — weought  rather  toaa^Tja  Jcnow- 
ing  kiiave,-*-«rho  in  g<M>d  tune  deve* 
Igpes  out  into  a  character  moat  forbid- 
ding and  formkUble.  The  inndea  talk 
away  in  a  very  anraaing  manner,  and 
we  were  just  going  to  quote  a  bit  of 
■bam  and  baMaadadi  fiom  Uieir  Yuioua 
aigoraentaftionB,  and  wrangtings,  and 

rring,  -when  we  came  suddenly  on 
Ibllowii^  description  xf  an  En^- 
ii^  landacaoe.  We  quote  it  as  a  stn- 
ktng  example  of  the  sudden  splendour 
of  imagination  inth  which  ^s  writer 
often  lights  up  what  he  beholds,  whe- 
ther it  be  a  mental  or  material  vision, 
and  the  capricious  wilfulness  with 
which  he  as  suddenly  flings  himself 
away  from  it,  and  turns  off  to  other 
images  of  a  lower^  and  even  ludicrous 
kind,  but  which,  notwithstanding^  are 
made,  by  the  power  of  genius,  to  blen4, 
without  oSenoe,  in  the  richness  or 
magnificence  of  the  picture. 

*'  Never  had  Regiuald  opened  his  eyes 
on  that  richest^— and  perhaps  grandeatt 
1^0^-of  all  eartlUpr  ju-ospects,  a  migb^ 
'English  plaioy  until  he  saw  it  in  all  ite 
perfection  from  the  Hill  of  Haynam,  that 
spot  where  Charles  Edward,  according  tp 
the  local  tradition,  stood  rooted  below  a 
aycamore,  and  gaii^iiig  with  a  fervour  of 
Mmiration,  which  even  rising  despair 
could  not  check,  uttered  the  pathetic  ex- 
daniation,— <  Alas  1  this  is  England** 
Hie  boundless  spread  of  beauty  aiul  of 
grandeur — ^for  even  hedges  and  hedge- 
rows are  woven  by  distance  into  the 
scmbUiBae  of  one  vast  wood-^the  appa^ 
rest  ease— the  wealth — the  splendour*^ 
the  limitless  msgnificence — the  aninute 
elaborate  comfort— the  picturesque  villa- 
ges-othe  busy  towns— the  emoosomed 
spires— the  stately  halls— the  ancestral 
g^ves— >everything,  the  assemblage  of 
which  stamps  '  England  herself  alone* 
—they  all  lay  before  him,  and  there  need- 
ed no  '  Alas  T  to  pre&ce  his  confession. 
•—But  as  to  the  particulars,  are  they  not 
written  in  John  Britton,  F.  A.6.  ?— And 
who  it  St  tluit  has  not  seen  all  ^aC  Re- 
ginald  «w,  just  m  well  as  be  ?  Who  is 
not  aoquainted  with  tbe  snag  unpretend- 
iBf  little  bins,  with  their  neatly  papered 
parioufi,  and  prints  of  Haatdiletonlan  and 
liord  Oraaby,  and  handy  waiters,  and 
neat-ftngered  watting-maids,  and  smiling 
lasdladies,  and  bovinglandkmis,  and  good 
dinnert  smokiag  in  sight  of  the  stopping 
coach  ?  and  the  laige  noisy  buatling  imi% 
with  travellera*  rooms  full  of  saddle-bags 
and  drpad-nftaght%  and  tobacco-smoke 


DaiioA.  C;j«i. 

and  Welsh-rabbits,  enorouNia  bams  and 
jugs  of  porter,  and  stainad  newspapers^ 
and  dog-eared  Directories,  and  ehatteiv 
ing,  joking,  waiter-awmg  bagmen,  and 
civil  contenphUive  Quakers, 

'  Some  flpulog  ponch,  wont  lipping  tBS, 
AU  tOent,  and  all *  I 

and  the  charming  airy  country  towns 
'  near  a  shady  grove  and  a  murmuring 
brook,*  with  cleanly  young  girls  seen 
over  the  Venetian  blinds,  in  the  act  of 
rubbing  comfortable  old  fellows*  bald  pates 
and  other  comforlnble  old  fellows  just 
mounting  their  easy  pad*nags  to  ride  out 
a  mile— and  other  cleanly  young  girls 
lining  the  tablecloth  for  <  roast  mutton, 
rather  than  ven'son  or  teal  P'^^Huid  the 
filthy  laige  town%  with  manu£M:tories 
and  steam-engines,  and  crowded  sloppy 
streets,  aad  doctors*  bottles,  ^  green  and 
Uue,*  in  the  windows  ?  and  the  stately 
little  cities,  with  the  stately  Uttle  parsons 
walking  about  diem,  two  or  three  abreast, 
in  well-polished  shoe^  and  bhuneless  ailk 
aprons  some  of  thenar  and  grand  old 
chujcbeS)  and  spacious  wall-built  cUats, 
and  trim  gardens^  and  literaiy  spinsters? 
—-We  have  all  of  us  seen  these  thiogs— - 
and  theyase  all  of  them  good  in  their  9^ 
veral  ways.  We  have  all  been  at  suSi 
places  as  Preston*  and  Manchester^  and 
Birmingham,  and  Litchfield.  We  have  all 
aeen  Ht^fnmtm,  Brougham's  paddock,  and 
listeaed  to 

«  Long-Preiton  Peggy  to  Proud-Proloii  went. 
For  to  Me  the  bouldrcbeb  it  wa«  her  inteiit.* 

We  have  all  heard  of  Wfaitaker*s  History, 
and  tlie  late  Dr  Ferrier,  and  the  Literary 
and  Philosophical  Society  of  the  '  Blan- 
4Hinian  Mart.*  We  have  all  admired  Sohcv 
nod  pin««akln&  and  Chantry*s  bust  of 
flames  Watt.  We  have  all  heard  of  Anna 
Seward,  and  sighed  over  her  lines  on  the 
death  of  Major  Andre ;  and  sympathized 
with  the  indigoatjon  of  Bichard  Lovell 
Edgeworth,  Esq.  at  the  '  damned  good- 
natured  friend,*  who  asked  across  the 
table  for  Mrs  Edgeworth  and  the  babies, 
just  when  he  and  Anna  were  opening  tlie 
trenches  of  their  flirtation*  And  we  have 
all  seen  the  house  where  Samuel  John- 
aon*s  father  sold  books ;  and  many  of  us 
have  (like  Reginald)  walked  half-a-mile 
forther,  on  purpose  to  see  the  willow 
which  '  Surly  Sam*  himself  planted  in 
Tetsy's  daughter's  garden.  And  we  have 
all  been  at  Stratford.upon-Avon,  and 
written  our  names  in  black  lead  upon  the 
wall,  and  heard  that  old  body  that  says 
she  is  Shakespeare's  great-great-great- 
great -great -great -grand  -  niece*  in  -  law, 
spoat  tlie  opening  scene  of  her  '  Watsr- 
X^oo^a  TRAQEnv.* 


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ncTVf 
And  yon  look  nd- 


No«,  aaiTy*  My  Botto  t 
But  the  reclnient  has  at  last  received  its  oiden, 
ABd  I  OMMllake  my  seat Ibr the  late  tf  Wight. 


"  If  joa  hare  erer  happened  to  ttrnvel 
tiial  roftd  about  the  end  of  October,  you 
bave  probably  teen  a  great  deal  eteo  of 
the  more  tnository  and  ooeasienal  eort 
of  tbiogt  tbat  fell  under  the  inepectioii  of 
Bflginakl  and  hie  compaaiona.  Yoa  have 
probably  obeerved  abundance  of  ro^ 
cheeked  old  Stafindahirepareoni^ui  grey- 
worsted  etooidngB,  seeing  their  sons  into 
the  OxfonUMNind  coael^  just  below  the 
rectory  ha-ha.  You  have  been  annoyed 
Mrith  te  troope  of  erapty»  talkinf^^oonse** 
<|BentiaU  beardless  *  men,*  chattering  to 
each  other  about  <  First  Oass*  and  *  Se^ 
coQd  Class*— Sr  Roger  Newdigate*s 
priie-poem— the  Dean  of  Christchurch 

Cople  stone's  pamphlets— <and  the  Br^ 
ien><ioee  Eight-oar.  You  have  been  amu- 
sed with  the  smug  tutors,  in  tight  stock- 
ing pantaloons  and  gaiters,  endsavouring 
to  shew  how  compl^y  they  can  be  easyy, 
well-bred,  well  •  informed  men  of  tha 
world,  when  they  have  not  their  masters' 
gowns  upon  their  bsrks  hswding  a  jo- 
coiar  reinark,  perfaap%  even  to  an  ander- 
gpnsdoate  the  one  moment,  and  biting 
their  lip^  and  dmwing  themselves  op,  the 
moment  after.  You*  have  beea  distrest 
with  their  involuntary  quotations  from 
Joe  Miller  and  the  Quarterly  Review ; 
aad  if  yoo have  taken asecond  *  cbeerer' 
with  them  after  sapper,  you  may  have 
been  regaled  with  some  classical  song 
out  of  the  Saussge— *  the  swapping, 
swapping  Mallard*— «i^ 

*  Your  voieai,  braTe  bojt,  one  and  all  I  bespeak 


Megjiiiaid  JDaUmi.  let 

hasbem  hflbeld—IkwM.  We  vemcmbcv  think* 
ing  1^  their  deacriptknia  very  fine  at 
tibe  time,  and  we  oiuraelvcs  have  in  our 
oort&^o  our  descriptton  of  e«r  own 
£0eMilgB  on  the  same  memondde  oOea* 
akm  ;  not  a  littie  aupeiior,  unlesa  we 
gready  err,  to  dien  all ;  but  not  sit»« 
peiier— not  equal  to  the  foUowingdiort 
and  unaaibitiottB  bnnt  about  beauti- 
ful, august,  and  Tenerable^-Oxflord. 

"  Tax  Bot  (he  prtnet  or  pear  with  Tain  esMMft, 
With  iU-match^  aims  the  archittct-who  plaaaVl 
(Albeit  labouring  fu  a  scanty  buid 
or  whit0>rDbed  sdbolan  only)  some  inm*i»^tf> 
And  glorious  wotk  of  fine  inlelllgsuiiiii 


s  of  WUlian  of  Wlddnm ; 
Let  our  chorus  maintain*  whethersolier  or  mellow. 
That  old  Billy  Wickham  was  a  very  fine  fcU 
km,'  aa. 

*  Tou  have  not,  indeed,  it  is  most 
probable,  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  hear- 
ing and  seeing  all  these  fine  things  in 
company  with  a  sturdy  Presbyterian 
Whig,  grinning  one  grim  and  ghastly 
smile  all  the  time,  reviling  all  things, 
despbing  all  tilings,  and  puffing  himself 
up  with  all  things ;  but,  nevertheless,  you 
would  in  all  likelihood  think  a  fuller  de- 
scription no  better  than  a  bore." 

At  last  the  Admiral  Nelson  stops 
before  the  Angel  Inn,  and  Reginald 
Dalton  is  in  Oxford.  Madam  de  Stael, 
and  die  reverend  Mr  Eustace,  and 
Forsyth  the  school-master,  and  many 
dozen  and  scores  of  other  blue-lagged 
people,  have  informed  the  world  in 
pnnt,  bow  they  fitltwhoa  fint  they 


<*  So saye  (0 /  ajh;  oAMia  /)  agteat  li- 
ving poet;  and,  in  truth,  a  very  pionie 
animal  must  be  be,  who  for  the  trU  tinw 
traversee  that  noble  and  ancient  City  of 
the  Musea^  without  aeknowledgiog  the 
induencea  of  the  Genius  Loa ;  aad  no* 
ver  was  man  or  youth  leaa  ambitious  of 
resitting  such  influences  than  Reginald 
Balton.  Bom  and  reared  in  a  wikl  se- 
questered province,  he  bad  never  seen  any' 
f;reat  town  of  any  sort,  until  be  began  tba.' 
journey  now  just  about  to  be  oonchided^ 
Almost  at  tlie  same  hour  of  the  preceding 
evening,  be  had  entered  Birmingbam; 
and  what  a  contrast  was  here  i  No  darii 
narrow  brick  lanes^  crowded  with  wag- 
gons—410  flaring  abop^windows^  passed 
and  repassed  by  josdfaig  raultitiides— «o 
discordant  cries,  no  sights  of  Uumrit^  no- 
ring  of  anvils— everything  weifing  the' 
impress  of  a  graven  peaceful  stateliness— • 
hoary  towers,  antique  battlements^  mf 
porticos,  nujestic  colonnades,.  foBowing 
each  other  in  endless  suooession  eneitfier 
skle— lofty  poplars  and  elms  ever  and 
a&on  lifting  their  heads  agamsC  the  d^ 
as  if  ftom  the  heart  of  those  magaifldsno 
8ediision»— wid%  spadoiUjsalMifi  itrrtts 
'  everywhere  a  monaatie  siUneos  and  v 
Oochk  grandeur.— »£zeepting  now  and" 
then  some  solitary  gowned  man  pedng 
slowly  in  the  moon^ht,  there  was  not  a- 
soul  in  the  Higb*street;  tmtf  anrciPtiwg 
here  and  there  a  lamp  twinkling  in  *somr 
High  lonely  tower,'  where  some  one  augfaty 
or  might  not,  be  <  unspbering  the  ^irit  erf 
Pkto,'  was  tiiere  anythhig  to  shew  thaft- 
the  venerable  buildings  which  lined  it* 
were  actually  inhabited." 

At  the  Angel  Inn,  Mr  Maodonald 
introduces  Reginald  to  Mr  Keith,  a 
Scotchman  and  a  Roman  Catholic 
priest  settled  in  Oxford,  who  after- 
wards proves  one  of  the  most  original 
and  most  delightful  old  men  in  the 
world.  These  cronies  uso  towards 
each  other  the  privilege  of  ancient 
friendship^  or  at  least ofold  acqnsant* 
anoeship,  and  aevend  nUifit  ocour  ia 


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JUgiMold  DaiUm. 


QJan. 


which  th«  mta^onifU  «r«  altematdf 
driven,  in  the  most  fpirited  m«iner, 
hut  to  the  manifest  advantige  of  the 
priest,  to  the  ropes.  Rcsindd  listens 
with  intense  interest  to  the  old  priest^s 
narrative  of  his  own  and  niece's  escape 
from  drowning ;  and  well  he  might,  ror 
a  mare  powei^  and  terrible  picture 
of  dan^,  and  fear,  and  death,  never 
was  painted. 

•«  *  Well,  sir,  we  did  get  on,*  he  pro- 
ceeded; '  and  we  got  on  bravely  and 
gaily  too,  for  a  time,  till  all  at  once,  sin, 
the  Bauer^knecht,  that  rode  before  us, 
halted.  The  mist,  you  will  observe,  had 
been  clearing  away  pretty  quickly  on  the 
right  hand,  but  it  was  dark  enough  to- 
wards the  front,  and  getting  darker  and 
darker ;  but  we  thought  nought  on't  till 
the  boy  palled  up.  <  Meinherr,  Mein- 
herr!*  cried  the  feUow,  '  I  am  afraid  I 
hear  the  water.'  He  stopt  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said,  '  Stay  you  for  a  moment 
whese  you  are,  and  I'll  soon  see  whether 
we  are  righL*  With  that,  off  he  went, 
as  if  the  deril  was  at  his  tail ;  and  we, 
what  could  we  do— we  stood  like  two 
stocks— and  poor  little  Ellen,  she  looked 
into  my  fiice  so  woefully,  that  I  wished  to 
God  we  were  both  safe  in  the  blackest 
hole  of  Bieche.  In  short,  I  suppose  he 
had  not  galloped  half  a  bow-shot,  ere  we 
quite  kMt  sight  of  the  fellow,  but  for  se- 
veral  minutes  more  we  could  hear  his 
horse's  hoofii  on  the  wet  sand.  We  lost 
that  too  ■  and  then,  sirs,  there  came  ano- 
ther sound,  but  what  it  was  we  could  not 
at  first  bring  ourselves  to  understand. 
EUen  stared  me  in  the  face  sgain,  with  a 
blank  kwk,  you  may  swesr ;  and,  <  Good 
God !'  said  she  at  kst, '  I  am  certain  it's 
the  sea,  uade?'— <  No»no!*  said  I,  Mis- 
ten,  listenl  Fm  sure  you  are  deceived.' 
Sbe  looked  and  listened,  and  so  did  I, 
sirs,  keenly  enough ;  and,  in  a  moment, 
there  came  a  strong  breath  of  wind,  and 
away  went  the  mist  driring,  and  we  heard 
the  regokr  heaving  and  rushing  of  the 
waters.  <  Ride,  ride,  my  dear  unde^* 
cried  Ellen,  <  or  we  are  lost  ;*  and  off  we 
both  went,  galloping  as  hard  as  we  could 
away  6om.  the  waves.  My  horse  was  ra- 
ther  the  stronger  one  of  the  pair,  but  at 
length  he  began  to  pant  below  me,  and 
just  then  the  mist  dropt  down  again 
thicker  and  thicker  right  and  left,  and  I 

SuDed  up  in  a  new  terror,  lest  we  should 
e  separated ;  but  EUen  was  alongside  in 
a  moment,  and,  fiuth,  however  it  was,  she 
had  more  calmness  with  her  than  I  could 
muster.  She  put  out  her  hand,  poor  girl, 
and  grasped  mine,  and  there  we  remained 
Ibr,  I  dare  sqr,  two  or  three  minutes,  our 
horsesb  both  of  them,  quite  blown,  and  we 


knowing  no  mora  than  the  man  in  the 
moon  where  we  were,  either  by  the  vil- 
lage or  our  headland.' 

**  The  old  gentleman  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  went  on  in  a  much  lower 
tone*— '  I  feel  it  all  as  if  it  were  now,  sirs; 
I  was  Uke  a  man  bewildered  in  a  dream. 
I  have  some  dim  sort  of  remembrance  of 
my  beast  pawing  and  phwhing  with  his 
fore  feet,  and  looking  down  and  seeing 
some  great  slimy  eels— never  were  such 
loathsome  wretdies^twisting  and  twirl- 
ing on  the  sand,  which,  by  the  way,  was* 
more  water  than  sand  ere  that  time.  I 
also  recollect  a  screaming  in  the  air,  and 
then  a  flapping  of  wings  close  to  my  ear 
almost,  and  then  a  g^reat  cloud  of  the  sea- 
mews  driving  over  us  away  into  the  heart 
of  the  mist  Neither  of  us  said  anything, 
but  we  just  began  to  ride  on  again,  though, 
God  knows,  we  knew  nothing  of  whither 
we  were  going;  but  we  still  kept  hand  in ' 
hand.  We  rode  a  good  space,  till  that 
way  also  we  found  ourselves  getting  upon 
the  sea ;  and  so  round  and  round,  till  we 
were  at  Uat  conrinced  the  water  had 
completely  hemmed  us  all  about.  There 
were  the  waves  trampling,  trampling  to- 
wards us,  whichever  way  we  turned  our 
horses'  heads,  and  the  mist  was  all  this  * 
while  thickening  more  and  more ;  and  if 
a  great  cloud  of  it  was  dashed  away  now 
and  then  with  the  wuid,  why,  sirs,  the 
prospect  was  but  the  more  rueful,  for  the 
sea  was  round  us  every  way.  Wide  and 
for  we  could  see  nothing  but  the  black 
water,  and  the  waves  leaping  up  here  and 
there  upon  the  sand-banks. 

** '  Well,  sir,  the  poor  dumb  horses, 
they  backed  of  themselves  as  the  watere 
came  gushing  towards  us.  Looking 
round,  snorting,  snuffing,  and  pricking 
their  ears,  the  poor  things  seemed  to  be 
as  sensible  as  ourselves  to[the  sort  of  con- 
dition we  were  all  in ;  and  while  EUen'a 
hand  wrung  mine  more  and  more  closely, 
they  also,  one  would  have  thought,  were 
always  shrinking  nearer  and  nearer  to 
each  other,  just  as  they  had  had  the  same 
kind  of  feelings.  Ellen,  I  cannot  tell  yoa 
what  her  behariour  was.  I  don't  believe 
there's  a  bold  man  in  Europe  would  have 
behaved  so  well,  sirs.  Her  cheek  was 
white  enough,  and  her  lips  were  as  white 
as  if  they  had  never  had  a  drop  of  blood 
in  them ;  but  her  eye,  God  bless  me ! 
after  the  first  two  or  three  minutes  were 
over,  it  was  as  clear  as  the  bonniest  blue 
sky  ye  ever  looked  upon.  I,  for  my^art, 
I  cannot  help  sajring  it,  was,  after  a  little 
while,  more  grieved,  far  more,  about  her 
than  myself.  I  am  an  old  man,  sirs,  and 
what  did  it  signify?  but  to  see  her  at 
blithe    seventeen— Butt  however,  why 


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i 


1«H.31  lUgimJd 

■iKNild  I  BMkB  mttiy  wwdtateutaU  that  ? 
I  towned,  and  screamed,  and  better 
■ereamed,  bat  ahe  onljr  fqueesed  wfhmid^ 
and  ihookher  head,a8if  it  wasallof  no 
afaO.  I  had  shouted  till  I  was  as  hoarse 
as  a  raven,  and  was  just  going  to  give  up 
all  &rther  thoughts  of  making  any  exer- 
tion ;  for,  in  truth,  I  began  to  feel  be- 
numbed and  listless  all  over,  mj  friends 
—when  we  heard  a  gun  fired.  Wo  heard 
it  quite  distinctly,  though  the  mist  was  so 
thick  diat  we  could  see  nothing.  I  cried 
then;  you  may  suppose  how  I  cried ;  and 
Ellen  too,  thoogh  she  had  never  opened 
her  lips  before,  cried  as  lustily  as  she 
coukL  Again  the  gun  was  fired,  and 
again  we  answered  at  the  top  of  our 
voices ;  and  then,  Ood  bless  me  !^-was 
there  ever  sudi  a  moment?  We  heard 
the  dashing  of  the  oars,  and  a  strong 
breexe  lilted  the  mist  like  a  curtain  from 
before  OS,  and  there  was  a  boat— a  jolly 
teiMwr  boat,  sheering  right  through  the 
waters  towards  us,  perhaps  about  a  couple 
of  hundred  yards  off.  A  sailor  on  the 
bow  hailed  uid  cheered  us ;  but  you  may 
imsgine  how  fitir  gone  we  were,  when  X 
tell  you  that  I  scarcely  took  notice  it  was 
in  English  the  man  cried  to  us. 

**  *  In  five  minutes  we  were  safe  on 
board.  They  were  kind,  as  kind  as  could 
be—good  jolly  English  boys,  every  soul 
of  them.  Our  boor  lad  was  sitting  in  the 
midst  of  them  with  a  brandy  bottle  at  his 
head ;  and,  poor  soul,  he  bad  need  enough 
of  comfort,  to  be  sure,  for  to  Heligoland 
be  most  go— and  three  horses  lost,  of 
course — besides  the  anxiety  of  his  friends. 

"  '  It  was  a  good  while  ere  I  got  my 
thoughts  anyways  collected  about  me. 
Ellen,  poor  thing,  sat  close  nestled  be- 
side me,  shaking  all  over  like  a  leaf.  But 
yet  it  was  she  that  first  spoke  to  me,  and 
upon  my  soul,  I  think  her  fiu:e  was  more 
woeful  than  it  had  ever  been  when  we 
were  in  our  utmost  peril ;  it  was  a  sore 
sight  truly,  that  had  made  it  so,  and  the 
poor  lassie's  heart  was  visibly  at  the  burst- 
u^  There  were  our  two  horses— the 
poor  dumb  beasts— what  think  ye  of  it  ? 
—there  they  were,  both  of  them,  swim- 
ming just  by  the  stem  of  the  boat.  And 
our  honest  Bauer,  God  bless  me!  the 
tears  were  running  over  his  fwct  while  he 
looked  at  them ;  and  by  and  by  one  of 
the  poor  creatures  made  an  exertion  and 
came  off  the  side  of  the  boat  where  the 
lad  sat,  quite  close  to  ourselves,  with  an 
imploring  look  and  a  whining  cry  that  cut 
me  to  the  very  hesrt  Ellen  sat  and  sob- 
bed by  me,  but  every  now  and  then  she 
bolted  up»  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to 
h^  her  in  her  place.  At  last  the  poor 
beast  made  two  or  three  most  violent 
phmgee^  and  mred  himself  half-way  Out 


Datum. 


109 


of  the  water,  oon^'  so  near  tfie  boaty 
that  one  of  the  men's  oars  struek  him  on 
the  head  $  and  with  that  he  groaned  most 
pitifully,  snorted,  neighed,  and  plunged 
again  for  a  mom^it,  and  then  there  was 
one  loud,  shrill  cry,  I  never  heard  such  a 
terrible  sound  since  I  was  bom,  and  away 
he  drifted  astem  of  us.— We  saw  him  af> 
ter  a  very  little  while  had  passed,  going 
quite  passively  the  way  the  current  Mras 
runnings  the  other  had  done  so  just  be- 
fore ;  but  IVe  been  telling  you  a  very  long 
story,  and  perhaps  you'll  think  about  very 
little  matters  too.  As  for  ourselves,  we 
soon  reached  one  of  the  transports  that 
Sir  George  Stuart  had  sent  to  fetch  off 
the  brave  Branswidcers;  and  though^  the 
rascally  Danes  kept  firing  at  us  in  a  most 
oowardly  manner,  whenever  we  were 
obliged  to  come  near  their  side  on  the 
tack,  they  were  such  miserable  hands  at 
their  guns,  that  not  one  shot  ever  came 
within  fifty  yards  of  one  vessel  that  was 
there.  It  would  have  been  an  easy  mat- 
ter to  have  bnmt  Bremerlee  about  their 
ears,  but  the  Duke  was  anxious  to  have 
his  poor  follows  in  their  quarters— God 
knows,  they  had  had  a  sore  campaign  one 
way  and  another^-and  so  we  only  gave 
them  a  few  shots,  just  to  see  them  skip- 
ping about  upon  die  sand,  and  so  passed 
them  all,  and  got  safe  out  of  the  Weser. 
We  reached  Heligoland  next  day,  and 
then,  you  know,  we  were  at  home  among 
plenty  of  English,  and  Ellen  nursed  my 
rheumatics :  and  as  soon  as  I  was  able  to* 
move,  we  came  oyer  hi  one  of  the  King's 
packets,  and  here  we  are,  alive  and  kick- 
ing.—I  will  say  it  once  more— in  meny 


Shortly  after,  an  infernal  row  takes 
place  in  the  High  Street,  and  Ri^^inald 
accompanies  the  good  old  priest  to  his 
house,  to  guard  him  from  any  menai* 
dng  danger.  Lo !  the  vision  rises  be- 
fore him  at  the  door  of  that  huinble 
dwelling,  which  never  afterwards  is  to 
&de  from  Mi  brain— and  certainly  a 
lovelier  vision  never  thrilled  the  heart- 
strings,  nor  stirred  the  blood  in  the 
veins  of  youth. 

**  A  soft  female  vouse  said  from  with- 
in,« Who's  there?' 

**  *  It's  me,  my  darlings'  answered  the 
old  man,  and  the  door  was  opened.  A 
young  ^ri,  with  a  candle  in  her  hand« 
appeared  in  the  entrance,  and  uttered 
something  anxtously  and  quickly  in  a  lan- 
guage which  Reginald  did  not  understand. 
«  Mein  susses  land,'  he  answered—*  my 
bonny  lassie,  it's  a  mere  scart,  just  a  flea- 
bit»— I'm  idl  safe  and  sound,  thanks  to 
thi*  young  gentleman.— Mr  Daltoui  al- 
low me  tohaye  the  honour  of  pi«NBtiDg 


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110  R^inald  Dalitrn* 

jottto  iifiiMC^  Mia»  Hetkfltfi.  Mim 
Hedtetli,  Mr  Diatoii.  Bot  we  ihtll  aU 
be  bettemequaiiitedbereefter,  I  trust.* 

**  The  old  own  ibook  Reginald  moet 
lifectionarely  by  the  hendy  and  repealing 
Ilia  request  that  he  should  go  ittstantlf 
home,  he  entered  the  house  ■  the  door 
was  closed— and  Reginald  stood  alone 
upon  the  way.  The  thing  had  past  in  a* 
single  instant,  yet  when  the  fision  with* 
drew,  the  boy  felt  as  if  that  angeUfiMe 
could  never  quit  his  imagination.  Softur^ 
so  pensive— >yet  so  sweet  and  light  • 
smile— such  an  air  of  hovering^  timid 
grace— such  a  clear,  soft  eye-*-«ucfa  raven 
kilken  tresses  beneath  that  floMping  veil- 
never  had  his  eye  bchdd  such  a  ereature 
—it  was  as  if  he  had  had  one  momentaiy 
gHmpse  into  soose  purer,  happier,  love> 
Uer  world  than  thisi 

"  He  stood  for  seme  moments  rivettsd 
to  the  spot  where  this  beaatkiil  visioa 
had  gleamed  upon  him^  He  looked  up 
and  saw,  as  he  thought,  something  white 
at  one  of  the  wiadews  but  that  too  was 
gone  %  and»  after  a  little  whiles  he  began 
to  walk  back  slowly  into  the  d^.  He 
could  not»  however^  bot  pause  again  fbr 
a  moment  wkesi  be  reached  the  bridge  i 
the  tall  fiur  tower  of  Magdalene  appeared 
so  exquisitely  beautiful  above  its  drcling 
grove%  and  there  was  something  so 
•oothing  to  his  imagination,  (pensive  as 
it  was  at  the  moment,}  in  the  dark  flow 
of  the  Charwell  gurgling  below  him  witlw 
•in  its  fringe  of  mllow^  He  stood  lean* 
kig  over  tibe  parapet,  eiyoying  the  solemn 
loveliness  of  the  scene,  when  of  a  sud- 
den»  the  universal  stillness  was  disturbed 
once  more  by  a  clamour  of  rushing  feet 
and  impetuous  voices*' 

Reginald  is  sinking  down  through 
dream'  and  yision,  and  love  has  in  a 
moment  posseesed  him  with  its  ima* 
gteative  joy.  The  bashful  inexperi- 
enced boy  from  his  father's  study> 
where  he  Dad  lived  till  eighteen  years 
among  books  and  tnmqnil  mnsingB^  is 
struck  below  the  shadows  of  the  mag^ 
niicent  towers  of  Oxfoid  by  the  and** 
den  and  passionate  pereeption  of  over^ 
powenng  bean^*  Was  this  fair  crea- 
ture^ seen  but  for  a  moment,  and  then 
shnt  np  from  kirn  in  tiie  silence  and 
solitude  of  that  old  man's  eell^  ^ 
fburless  one  who  had  so  behaved  in 
that  dreadfiil  night  of  the  sea-storm  ? 
These  and  other  thoughts  were  ren«> 
dering  Rteginald  unaware  of  the  beauty 
of  Magdalen  Tower  and  the  moonlight 
and  starry  heavens^  when  his  love- 
dream  was  broken  in  upon—by  the 
revival  of  a  row. 


CJw 


«<  Ho  was  hailed  by  tka  old  cfy^ 
'  Town  or  Gown  ?*  when  he  came  neatf 
them ;  bnt  before  be  oould  midce  any  an- 
swer, i^ederick  Chisney  reeled  from  the 
nudst  of  the  group,  and  exclaimed,  aei- 
sing  him  by  the  eoUar,  '  Oh  you  dog, 
wime  hove  you  been  hiding  yourself?  I 
oaUed  at  both  the  Scar  and  the  King's 
ArsAs  for  yoi^-Herei  my  heartie%  here's 
my  gay  young  ftvshman  —  here's  my 
Westmorshmd  Johmiy  Raw*— he  went 
on»  hickuping  between  every  woid— 
^here's  my  friend,  Reginald  Daltoi^  boys, 
we'll  initiate  him  in  style.* 

**  Reginald  was  instantly  surrounded 
by  a  set  of  young  fellows,  all  evidently 
very  much  flustered  with  wine>  who  sa- 
kited  him  with  snch  violent  shaking  of 
hands,  as  is  only  to  be  vxpteteA  from  the 
'  Baccho  plcni,*  or  acquaintances  of  ten 
jFears'  standing." 

Gentle  resder !  pardon  us  while  we 
lay  down  the  pen^  and  indulge  in  some 
tender  recollections.  We  have  done 
so— we  wipe  away  the  tears  from  our 
eyes — and  present  von  with  the  affect- 
ing passage  which  nas  so  overwhefaned 
us  with  a  crowd  of  dehghtfol  remem- 
brances. 

**  In  short,  by  this  time  the  High- 
street  of  Oxford  exhibited  a  scene  as  dif- 
ferent from  its  customary  solemnity  and 
silence,  as  it  is  possible  to  imagine.  Con- 
ceive  several  hundreds  of  young  men  in 
caps,  or  gowns,  or  both,  but  all  of  them, 
without  exception,  wearing  some  part  of 
their  academical  insignia,  retreating  be- 
fore a  band  rather  more  numerous,  made 
up  oC  apprentices,  journeymen,  labourer!^ 
bargemen— a  motley  mixture  of  every 
thing  that,  in  the  phrase  of  that  classical 
region,  passes  under  the  generic  name  of 
Baffi  Several  casual  duturbances  had 
occurred  in  different  quarters  of  the  town, 
a  thing  quite  fkmiliar  to  the  last  and  all 
preceding  ages,  and  by  no  means  uncom- 
mon even  in  those  recent  days,  whatever 
may  be  the  case  now.  Of  the  host  of 
vouthAil  academics,  just  arrived  for  the 
beginnhng  of  the  term,  a  consideFsblO 
number  had,  as  usiial,  been  quartered  for 
this  night  in  the  different  inns  of  the  city. 
Some  of  these,  all  fiill  of  wine  and  mis- 
chief had  flrst  rushed  out  and  swelled  a 
mere  passing  scuffle  into  something  like 
a  substantial  row.  Herds  of  the  town- 
boys,  on  the  other  hand,  bad  been  r^idly 
assembled  by  the  magic  influence  of  thev 
accustomed  war-oy.  TTie  row  once  form- 
ed Into  regular  shape  in  The  Corn-mar- 
ket, the  clamour  had  penetrated  walls, 
and  overleapt  battlements ;  from  College 
to  GoU^  the  madness  had  spread  and 
flowtti    Itortsts  had  been  knocked  down 


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in  one  qiaiter,  iron-boonil  fates  fMroed 
in  another,  mnd  tke  rope-ladAer,  and  the 
■lu»eC-lad«ler,  an(l  tbe  headlong  leap,  had 
all  been  put  into  requisition,  with  as  modi 
eager,  firantic,  desperate  zeal,  as  iC  everf 
old  monastic  tower  had  beea  the  scene 
of  an  unqnenchsMe  ftre,  eweiry  dim  clois- 
tered qwudnmgleof  a  yawning  earthquake. 
In  former  days,  as  1  have  asserted,  sneh 
things  were  of  fiuntfiaroceurveaoa.  Theoi 
is  sn  old  ihjrme  which  sajs, 

'  Chranics  li  pcnMS*  cum  pii|^neiit  Oxoiil6Bm* 
Port  ali9Kit  nMfMca,  voUt  in  per  AogUgiiMiiMi.' 

Had  such  disturbances  been  interpreted 
as  pugrut,  England  could  never  have  en- 
joyed five  years  of  peace  since  she  waa 
the  kingdom  of  kingdoms.  But  it  was 
aot  so ;  they  were  regarded  as  but  the 
casual  effervescences  of  juvenile  efirkf 
and  no  serious  consequences  ever  attadiF- 
ed  or  attittmted  to  their  occurrenccf 

"  Bat  to  our  story.  Ohisney  and  his 
eompsnions,  tbe  wine  of  the  Bhu:k  Bear 
ef  Woodstock  still  fuming  in  their  brains, 
were  soon  la  the  midst  of  the  retreating 
togati ;  and  our  friend  Reginald,  drest  in 
the  sp1ea£d  attire  of  a  Doctor  of  Ph]^, 
eeidd  seaieely,  under  all  the  oircuastan- 
ces,  be  blsaied  for  following  their  gui- 
dsam  ima  Brank  stack  ctose  to  tbe 
party,  wiekUng  in  his  fist  the  fine  gold- 
headed  eane  of  Mr  Alderman  Phimridge. 
At  the  sane  iostaat,  a  docen  or  two  of 
rto«t  yoang  fellows  rushed  out  from 
Qpsaeii's  and  University,  and  the  front 
liegaa  to  stand  firm  once  more;  while 
the  animating  shouts  of  these  new  alUea 
were  heaed  with  fear  and  diamaj  by  their 
nsaiiilsnts,  who  never  doubted  that  the 
whole  of  New  College  had  turned  out, 
aad  who  had  on  many  former  occasions 
been  tai^ht  abundantly,  that  tbe  el&ves 
ef  WiUiam  ofWickham  ean  handle  the 
siogle-etark  with  as  much  grace  as  ever 
their  gfceat  founder  did  the  wreathed  era- 

'^  It  was  now  that  A  tariUe  eoniict  en* 
aaed  a  eoafiact,  the  fory  of  whkh  might . 
hare  inepiied  Ughtaess,  vi^eiiiv  and  elas- 
taeky,  eten  into  the  paragraphs  of  a  Ben- 
tham,  or  the  hexaa»eters  of  a  Southey— 
had  either  or  both  of  these  eminent  per* 
SOBS  been  there  to  witness  better  still 
had  tb^  been  there  to  partake  in,  tbe 
geaial  phrenzy.  It  was  now  that '  Tbe 
Science*  (to  use  the  buiguage  of  TbaU- 
ba)  *  made  Itself  to  he  Aft.'  It  was  now 
that  (in  the  words  of  Wordsworth)  <  the 
poffer  of  cudgels  was  a  visible  thing;* 
It  was  now  that  many  a  gown  covert, 
as  erst  tliat  of  the  Lady  Christabelle, 


Daliou.  lU 

« tUdf  sbMomanrlsfUe 
A  light  to  dream  of,  not  to  let.* 

It  was  now  that  there  was  no  need  for 
that  pathetic  apostrophe  of  another  living 
8onoetteer-i-> 

•  Awsy  all  speekmi,  jiUmfff  of  rafaul 
fa  man  of  low  dtgMS !' 

For  it  was  now  that  the  strong  Bargeman 
of  Isis,  and  tbe  strong  Batcfaelor  of  Bra- 
«ea-aosc^  rushed  together  '  like  two 
clouds  with  thunder  kiden,'  and  that  the 
old  reproaoh  of  *  Beoulo  potins,'  &&, 
was  for  ever  done  away  with.  It  was  now 
that  tbe  Proctor,  even  the  portly  Proe* 
toi^  shewed  that  he  had  eat  at  the  feetof 
other  Jacksons  besulee  Cyril ; — 
<  For  ha  that  ouna  to  pnach,  iwmrinid  toplay.* 

'^  In  a  word,  there  was  an,  eltgaat 
tussle,  which  kMted  for  §ve  minutss,  op« 
posite  to  the  side-porch  of  All-SenliL 
There  the  townsmen  gave  way ;  bet  being 
pursued  with  horrible  oaths  and  btows  ae 
for  as  Carfin,  they  lallied  again  under  tlw 
shadow  of  that  aacred  edifice ;  and  reeeki 
ved  there  a  welcome  reiaforeemeaft  from 
the  purlieus  of  the  Slatfbrdahire  Caaal, 
and  the  iagenuotts  youth  of  Penay.fiw.« 
tbiBg  Street.  Oaoe  OMwe  the  tkle  of  war 
was  tomedj  the  gowrwi  phalanx  gave 
badc-^eurly  and  alow^  indeed,  hot  still 
tiiegr  dkl  give  back.  On  roUcd  the  ad- 
verse and  swelling  tide  with  their  'fow 
plain  instinets  and  their  fow  plain  niles.* 
At  every  College  gate  sounded,  as  the 
retreating  band  passed  its  venerable  pre- 
dacts,  the  loud,  the  shrilly  somnons  of 
•»<  Gown !  Gown  T— while  down  each 
muifcy  plebeiaa  alley,  the  snoring  meeha- 
aic  dofliad  his  al^itZoap  to  the  alarum  of 
— ^  Town !  Town  !*  Long  and  laud  Che 
tomuH  continued  in  its  irarfal  rage>  and 
mndi  excellent  work  waa  accomplished. 
Long  and  lasting  shall  be  the  tcdcens  of 
its  wrath— long  shall  be  the  fooes  of 
Pogge,  Wall,  Kidd,  (and  light  shall  be 
their  hearts,}  as  they  walk  their  rounds 
to-morrow  morning— long  shall  be  the 
stately  stride  of  Ireland,  and  long  the 
clysterpipe  of  West— long  and  deep  shall 
be  the  probing  of  thy  skilfol  lancet,  O 
Tuekwell ;  and  long  shall  all  your  bills  be, 
and  long,  very  long,  shall  it  be  ere  some 
of  them  are  paid.  Tet,  such  the  gracious 
accident,  homidde  was  not 

*i  A  third  forioua  battle  took  place  on 
duit  foir  and  speefous  area  which  inter- 
venes between  Magdalene's  referend 
front  and  the  Botanic  Garden.  But  the 
eonstaUes  of  the  dty,  and  the  bull-dogs 
of  the  University,  here  at  last  uniting  their 
forces^  plunged  tiieir  sturdywedge  into  the 


I  "  Thoo^  Haxtfbtd  CoJIen  hat  ben  erued  from  tfia  Hit,  1  ihould  hope  the  wtndofr,  ttom  which 
'  m  Vox  mada  that  UUataDiM  tsep  epoo  one  of  thaw  oecntoM,  baa  osas  apsfed  by  the  fketf  of 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Reginald  DaUtm. 


lis 

thickest  mnm  oC  the  oonfdfikm.  Many, 
on  both  sides,  were  right  glad  of  a  de- 
cent excuse,  and  dispersion  followed.  Bnt 
up  towards  Holywell,  and  down  towards 
Love  Lane,  and  away  over  tiie  waters  of 
Cbarwell  toward  St  Clement's  parish,  the 
war  still  lingered  in  fragments,  and  was 
renewed  at  intervals. 

«  Reginald,  although  a  nimble  and 
active  young  fellow,  broad  in  the  chest, 
narrow  in  the  pelvis,  thick  in  the  neck, 
and  lightsome  in  the  region  of  the  bread- 
basket, a  good  leaper,  and  a  runner  among 
ten  thoutnnd,  was  not,  as  has  been  for- 
merly mentioned,  a  fencer;  neither  was 
he  a  wrestler,  nor  a  boxer,  nor  an  expert 
hand  at  the  baton.  These  were  accom- 
plishments, of  which,  his  education  ha- 
ving, according  to  Mr  Macdonald's  Uunt, 
been  *  negleckit,'  he  had  yet  received 
scarcely  the  slightest  tincture.  The  con- 
sequence was,  that  upon  the  whole, 
though  his  exertions  were  neither  few  nor 
far  between,  he  was,  if  mauling  were  sin, 
fiiUy  more  sinned  against  than  sinning. 
The  last  thing  he  could  charge  his  me- 
mory withal,  when  he  afterwards  endea- 
voured to  arrange  its  <  disjecta  fragmenta,' 
was  the  vision  of  a  brawny  arm  uplifted 
over  against  him,  and  the  moon  shedding 
her  light  very  distinctiy  upon  the  red 
spoke  of  a  coach-wheel,  with  which  that 
arm  i^peared  to  be  intimately  connect- 
ed." 

R^;iiiald  is  not  killed — but,  fortu- 
nately, knocked  down  insensible — and 
next  morning  awakes  in  the  house  of 
—Mr  Keith.  What  young  man,  with 
blood  in  his  veins,  or  fibres  in  his 
heart,  would  not  have  thanked  the 
stars  that  shone  over  the  row  that 
eventually  seated  him  at  the  break- 
fiist-table  with  such  a  creature  as  He- 
len Hesketh  ?  Last  night  he  had  but 
a  transient  glimpse  of  her  moonlight 
hc»uty ;  but  now  she  smiles  upon  mm 
steady  and  serene  as  the  morning. 

*<  She  spoke  to  him  easily,  kindly, 
gaily— praised  him  for  his  interference  in 
Mr  Keith's  favour— half-roguishly  ques- 
tioned him  about  the  after  events  of  the 
evening — gave  him  playful  little  hints 
about  the  propriety  of  keeping  out  of 
such  scrapes  for  the  future ;  and  all  this 
she  did  in  pure  English,  but  with  an  ac- 
cent about  which  there  was  something 
not  less  distinctly  foreign  than  there  was 
in  the  whole  of  her  own  appearance 
dress,  and  demeanour.  A  beautiful  girl 
indeed  she  was— a  smile  of  gentle  fear- 
less innocence  sat  enthroned  in  her  soft 
dark  eyes;  and  if  now  and  then  a  shade 
of  pensiveness  hovered  over  their  droop- 


CJam 


Ing  lids,  H  was  chawd  in  a  moment  by 
the  returning  radiance  of  that  young  and 
virgin  glee.  Her  rich,  raven  tresses 
were  gathered  beneath  a  silken  net  upon 
the  back  part  of  her  head,  leaving  the 
fiiir  open  front  entirely  unshaded ;  and 
this,  together  with  the  style  of  her  dress, 
which  was  plainer,  fuller,  and  infinitely 
more  modest  than  was  at  that  time  &• 
shionable  among  English  ladies,  and  the 
little  golden  cross,  hung  firom  a  rosary 
of  black  beads  about  her  neck,  gave  to 
the  taute  ememUe  a  certain  grave  and 
nun-like  character— not  perhaps  the  less 
piquant  on  account  of  the  contrast  which 
that  presented  to  the  cheerful  and  airy 
grace  of  her  manners.  There  was  such 
a  total  artlessness  about  everything  Miss 
Hesketh  said  and  did,  that  Reginald,  al- 
though  but  little  accustomed  to  the  so- 
ciety of  young  unmarried  ladies,  and  full 
enough  of  those  indescribable  feelings 
which  generally  render  unsophisticated 
young  people  shy  and  rwerved  in  their 
first  intercourse  with  others  of  a  different 
sex,  could  not  withstand  the  charming 
fascination,  but  spoke  and  smiled  ui  his 
turn  as  if  they  had  been  old  acquaintance. 

«  How  much  of  this  ease  on  both 
sides  might  be  the  effect  of  the  gay  and 
kind  old  gentleman's  presence,  1  cannot 
pretend  to  say.  In  aU  such  cases,  the 
influence  of  a  tertium  qwd  is,  without 
question,  powerful;  and  the  ftct  is  cer- 
tain, that  when,  on  a  knpck  of  rather 
alarming  loudness  coming  to  the  door  of 
the  house,  Mr  Keith  went  out  of  the 
apartment  in  which  they  were  sitting, 
the  young  couple,  left  to  themselves,  be- 
came suddenly  as  reserved  as  they  had 
the  minute  before  been  the  reverse. 
They  were  both  sitting  in  silence^ — 
trifling,  the  one  with  his  tea-spoon,  and 
the  other  with  her  rosary,  when,  after 
the  interval  of  a  minute  or  two,  Mr 
Keith  re-entered  the  parlour  in  company 
with  Frederick  Chisney." 

This  alternation  between  scenes  of 
all  the  headlong  and  senseless  violence 
of  youth,  rioting  in  the  uncontrollable 
revelry  of  excited  animal  spirits,  and 
others  of  beautiful  repose,  and  of  the 
first  awakenings  of  the  purest  and 
most  deHghtfm  of  passions  that  can 

Senetrate  die  inmost  soul,  will  no 
oubt  startle,  has  no  doubt  startled, 
many  grave,  old,  and  young  persons 
of  both  sexes ;  hut  we  hope  and  be- 
lieve, that  with  real  "  boys  and  vir- 
gins" it  will  stir  and  arouse  the  ima- 
gination and  the  heart.  Through- 
out dl  these  extraordinary  movements, 
too,  one  cannot  help  thinking  of  the 
wonder  and  astonishment  of  Reginald 
7 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1 W*-!]  ReghuiUi  DaUon.  \  13 

pdton  hiinaelf,  and  ftmcying  what  he     Review  and  el«»whei«,  wfll  be  utterly 


£elt  and  thought  of  her  who  was  about 
to  become  his  Alma  Mater.  What 
a  oootraat  to  the  stiUneat  mdiechiaion 
of  his  gpoodfuher*!  rectory  1  Whatare 
they  ddngin  Lanca8hire---o]dMr8£li- 
nbeth— that  dderly  and  amiable  Gri- 
maHdn  Barbara-^the  gouty^  brandy- 
nosed  Squire — my  butler — and  the 
pari^ioners  at  large  ?  A  couple  <rf 
days  have  wrought  strange  and  deep 
alteration  on  his  spirit — ^his  knowledge 
is  already  extendi— his  eye  sees  what 
before  had  no  visible  existence — ^his 
ear  has  had  notices  of  heavenly  sounds 
— «nd  R^;inald,  last  week  a  mere 
boy,  who  wept  to  leave  his  fath^s 
house,  and  the  shadow  of  the  ehns 
under  which  he  had  play^  and  walk- 
cd,  and  read  Virgil  and  Tacitus,  and 
Homer  and  Demosthenes — ^for  he  was 
the  son  of  a  scholar — ^is  now  a  man— 
iat  he  has  fought  and  bled  in  the  wars 
of  the  Togati  and  Non-Togati,  and 
seen  her  whom  he  is  to  renpember 
ni^t  and  day  and  for  ev^. 

Eoginald  is  in  love,  and  his  pure 
admiration  of  Helen  Hesketh  is  in- 
creased by  the  common-place  and  dull 
ribaldry  of  his  acquaintance  Chisney, 
who  sfjorts  his  gibes  on  die  old  priest 
and  thb  his  pretty  ntsos.  Chisney  is 
one  of  those  knowing  and  profound 
persons,  who  see  evil,  or  cause  of  sus- 
picion of  evil,  in  every  show  of  Hfe, 
and  aU  its  most  endearing  and  inno- 
eent  relations,  when  the  condition  of 
that  life  is  in  some  degree  below  tiheir 
own.  With  such  persons  the  vilest  and 
most  self-evident  falsehoods  are  care- 
lessly or  insolently  taken  for  imdenia- 
ble  trudis ;  and  in  the  simple,  unsus- 
pecting, and  naturally  gay  and  refined 
manners  and  demeanour  of  this  de- 
lightful girl,  he  can  see  nothing  irre- 
oondlahle  with  the  belief  of  her  liv- 
u^L  in  degradation  and  guilt.  Regi- 
naM's  mind  naturally  averts  itself  A-om 
one  who  could  thus  think  and  speak ; 
and  in  the  anger  he  feels  and  half-ex- 
neaaes  at  sudn  unmanly  insinuations, 
the  generous  boy  shews  how  dear  He- 
len Hesketh  has  already  become  to 
him,  since,  stranger  as  she  is  to  him, 
and  die  vision  but  of  a  day,  he  feels  a 
word  against  her  reputation  hke  a 
wound  to  his  own  heu*t. 

R^iinald  enters  himself  at  •  •  •  • 
CoU^,  and  we  cannot  refrain  from 
quotingthe  picture  of  his  college  tu- 
tor. Those  ignorant  persons,  who 
prate  about  Oxford  in  the  Edinburgh 
Vol.  XV. 


incapable  of  comprehendinff  the  dia- 
meter of  such  a  man,  (v  of  rarming  to 
themselves,  even  fhmi  such  a  Uving 
picture,  the  image  of  the  jile  and  ro- 
duse  scholar  in  his  pensive  dtadd. 

««  Mr  Daniel  Barton,  of College, 

was  a  man,  the  like  of  whom  it  would 
be  in  vain  to  seek  for  in  England  beyond 
the  walls  of  Oxford  or  Cambridge. 
Though  a  keen  and  indefatigable  student 
in  his  very  early  years,  he  had,  during  the 
latter  part  of  his  residence  at  the  Univer- 
sity as  an  Under-graduate,  partaken  more 
In  the  pleasures  than  in  the  labours  of 
the  place.  His  behaviour  in  this  respect 
had  considerably  irritated  his  fother,  who 
had  formed  extravagant  expectations  from 
the  precocious  diligence  of  his  boyhood. 
He  left  England  for  a  season,  and  by 
forming  an  imprudent  matrimonial  con- 
nection in  a  foreign  country,  aggravated 
so  deeply  his  iather*s  displeasure,  that 
on  the  death  of  the  old  gentleman,  which 
occurred  very  soon  afterwards,  be  found 
himsdf  cut  off  from  the  succession  to  a 
respectable  family  estate,  and  left  in  the 
world  with  no  better  provision  than  a 
very  trifting  annuity.  His  pretty  little 
Swiss  did  not  live  long  enough  to  be 
much  of  a  burden  to  his  slender  resour- 
ces. She  died  abroad,  and  he,  immedi-  . 
ately  on  bis  return  to  England,  came  back 
to  Oxford  a  mehmcholyaiid  disappointed 
man. 

^  He  was  fortunate  enough  to  obtain 
a  fellowship  in  -  -  .  College  very  soon 
after  this,  and  took  possession  of  the 
chambers  in  which  Reginald  Dalton  was 
now  about  to  be  introduced  to  him. 
Here  his  irritated  temper  did  not  prevent 
him  from  seeking  and  finding  occupation 
and  consolation  in  his  books.  The  few 
old  friends  he  then  possessed  in  the  Uhi. 
versity,  being,  ere  long^  taken  away  from 
bis  neighbourhood,  and  scattered  over 
the  world  in  various  professions,  his  ha- 
Mts  of  reading  became  more  and  more 
his  resource ; — and  at  length  they  con- 
stituted  his  only  one.  Tlie  head  of  his 
own  College  was  a  man  he  did  not  like, 
and  gradually  the  soci^of  the  common 
room,  formed  of  course  of  this  man's  fii- 
vourites,  came  to  be  quite  irksome  to 
him.  In  short,  ^:e  had  now  for  many 
years  lived  the  life  of  a  hermit— tempe- 
rate to  abstenance,  studious  to  shivery, 
in  utter  solitude,  without  a  friend  or  a 
companion.  Tears  and  years  had  glided 
over  a  head  scarcely  conscious  of  their 
lapse.  Day  after  day  the  same  little 
walk  had  been  taken  exactly  at  the  same 
hour ;  the  same  silent  servant  had  car< 
ried  in  his  commons ;  the  arrival  of  it 
P 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


iU 


Reginald  Daitom, 


[[Jan. 


new  box  of  old  books  had  been  his  only 
novelty;  his  only  visits  had  been  paid  to 
the  Bodleian  and  the  Clarendon. 

"  His  income,  however,  was  so  very 
limited*  that  necessity— particularly  at 
the  outsets— would  have  made  him  willing 
enough  to  take  a  share  in  superintending 
the  education  of  the  young  gentlemen  at 
his  college ;  but  the  Provost  and  he  had 
never,  as  we  have  seen,  been  friends,  and 
amidst  abundance  of  more  active  compe- 
titors, it  was  nothing  wonderful  tlmt  he 
had  remained,  for  fitf  the  greater  part  of 
his  time,  destitute  of  pupils.  Now  and 
then  some  accident  threw  a  young  roan 
in  his  way— some  old  ftunily  or  county 
connection,  or  the  like.  When  he  had 
such  a  duty  imposed  on  him,  he  had  ever 
discharged  it  honestly  and  zealously; 
but  very  young  men  like  to  be  together 
even  in  their  hours  of  labour,  and,  great 
as,  in  process  of  time,  Mr  Barton*s  lite- 
rary reputation  had  grown  to  be,  seldom 
was  any  one  so  ambitious  of  profiting  by 
his  solitary  instructions.  His  last  pupU 
had  left  college  more  than  a  year  ago^ 
and  the  arrival  of  another  was  not  only  a 
thing  altogether  une3q;>ected,  but— occu- 
pied as  he  was  in  preparing  an  extensive 
and  very  laborious  work  for  the  press, 
and  every  day  more  and  more  wedded  to 
his  toil— it  was  a  thing  of  which,  if  he 
thought  of  it  at  all,  he  certainly  bad  ne- 
ver brought  himself  to  be  desirous. 

**'  Although  the  prime  of  his  manhood 
was  scarcely  gone  by,  the  habits  of  this 
learned  Recluse  had  already  stamped  his 
person  with  something  near  a-kiu  to  the 
semblance  of  age.  His  cheek  was  pale 
—his  eye  gleamed,  for  it  was  still  bright, 
beneath  grey  and  contracted  brows ;  his 
front  was  seamed  with  wrinkles,  and 
a  meagre  extenuated  hand  turned  the 
huge  folio  page,  or  guided  the  indefistiga- 
ble  pen.  Such  was  the  appearance  of 
one  who  had  long  forgotten  the  living, 
and  conversed  only  with  the  dead,  whose 
lamp  had  been  to  him  more  than  the  sun* 
wluMe  world  had  been  his  chamber. 

**  The  studies  to  which  he  had  chiefly 
defoted  his  time  were  mathematical; 
yet  he  had,  long  ere  now,  made  himself 
a  dassical  schoUur  bf  very  high  rank.  Of 
modern  literature  he  was  almost  entirely 
ignorant.  It  would  have  been  difficult 
to  find  one  English  volume  among  every 
fifty  in  his  possession,  and  certainly  there 
ivas  not  one  there  that  had  been  publish- 
ed for  the  last  twenty  ^ears.  Of  all  the 
lighter  and  more  transitory  productions 
which  were  at  the  moment  interesting 
common  readers,  he  knew  no  more  than 
if  they  had  been  written  in  an  antedilu- 
vian tongue.   If  anybody  had  asked  him 


what  was  the  kist  book  of  celebrity  that 
had  issued  from  the  English  press,  be 
would  probably  have  named  Barke*a  re- 
flections, or  Johnson's  Lives  of  the  FOets ; 
and  it  is  not  improbable  that  he  would 
have  named  them  with  a  sneer,  and 
pointed  ill  triumph  to  his  Demosthenes 
or  his  Atbenseus.  Soch  a  character  may 
be  taken  for  a  mere  piece  of  fonoy-work ; 
yet  how  many  are  there  among  the  in- 
mates of  those  venerable  cloisters,  that, 
without  having  either  deserted  their 
Common  Rooms*  or  earned  premature 
greyness  among  the  folios  of  ancient 
times,  are  contented  to  know  just  as  lit- 
tle about  all  such  matters  as  satisfied  Mr 
Barton! 

*<  Of  recent  events,  he  knew  almost  as 
little  as  of  recent  books,  Excepting 
from  the  HaXs  and  thanksgivings  of  the 
church^-or,  perhaps  from  some  old  news- 
paper  brought  to  him  accidentally  along 
with  his  supply  of  snuff  or  stationery-^ 
he  heard  rarely  either  of  our  triumphs  or 
of  our  defeats.  The  oM  college  servant 
who  attended  him  daily  in  his  chambers, 
had,  long  ere  now,  acquhred  the  habit  of 
performing  his  easy  ftinctions  without 
disturbing  him  by  many  words ;  and  even 
the  talkative  vein  of  Jem  Brank,  who 
dressed  Mr  Barton's  hair  evefy  Sunday 
morning,  had  learned,  by  degrees,  the  un- 
congenial lesson  of  restraint.  In  truth, 
the  extraordinary  secluston  in  wluch  he 
lived,  the  general  opinion  as  to  the  great- 
ness of  his  acquirements,  the  vague  be- 
lief that  some  unfortunate  event  had  sad- 
dened his  mind  and  changed  his  pursuits, 
and  the  knowledge  that  there  was  some 
misunderstanding,  or  at  least  a  very  con- 
siderable coldness,  between  him  and  the 
more  active  members  of  the  society  to 
which  he  belonged— these  circumstan- 
ces, taken  altogether,  had  invested  the 
ordinary  idea  of  Mr  Barton's  character 
with  a  certain  gloom  of  mystery— «nd  the 
merriest  menials  of  the  place,  even  where 
the  buttery  hatch  was  double-barred,  and 
the  ale  double  stout,  lowered  their  voi- 
ces into  whispers^  if  his  luune  was  men- 
tioned.*' 

We  have  thus  quoted  largely  from 
the  first  volume  of  this  remarkable 
production^  because  we  wished  to  give 
those  who  have  not  yet  read  it«  an  op- 
portuni^  of  judging  for  themselves  of 
Its  peculiar  power.  From  the  othar 
two  volumes  our  ei|tract8  must  be  very 
oonfined. 

And  now  Reginald  Dalton  bein^  a 
member  of  the  University,  and  having 
undergone  the  various  ordeals  to  which 
Freshmen  are  doomed^  perhaps  many 


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lati.]]  JUgmald 

sober  readen  expect  him^  (eq^edally 
•tnce  be  is  provided  witb  so  exoeUent 
a  tutor,)  to  turn  to  bis  studies,  to  lay 
by  a  snail  sum  each  term  for  Uie  gra- 
dual formation  of  a  library ;  to  attend 
chapel  morning  and  eyening,  without 
onoe  shamming  Abraham,  even  in 
snowy  vreather ;  to  sport  oak  against  aU 
idlersy  to  feast  on  folios,  and  to  prove, 

5  continued  practice,  his  admiration 
the  mystical  doctrine  contained  in 
the  first  line  of  the  first  ode  of  Pindar* 
Undoubtedly  he  ou^t  to  have  done 
all  this  and  much  more ;  he  oug^t  to 
have  laboured  in  the  cause  of  lecture 
— to  have  written  analyses  of  Aristo- 
tle's Ethics,  Rhetoric,  Poetics,  &c.,and 
to  have  shone  at  Terminal8---to  have 
writtenfor  theLatin  verses  andSir  Rcffer 
—to  have  been  seen  taking  a  regukr, 
constitutional  walk  to  Joe  Pullen,  ann 
in  arm  with  a  graduate — to  have  stood 
for  honours,  or  been  a  first-class  man-* 
to  have  gained  both  bachelor's  prises, 
and  have  beat  Plofessor  Sandford,  in 
competition  for  a  Fellowship  at  Oriel; 
then  to  have  become  college  tutor — em- 
bued  the  riainff  generation  for  six  years 
with  classical  literature  and  philosophy 
—married  a  wife  verging  on  her  tal^ 
byhood,  and  retired,  without  any  rea- 
sonable prospect  of  a  family,  to  read 
Jeremy  Taylor  in  a  snug  livinff  of 
£1000  a-year.  All  this  would  nave 
been  equally  natural  and  enlivening ; 
but  our  author  starts  ofi^  quite  on  otter 
snrand  ;  and  before  Reginald  haa  kept 
hia  first  term,  we  see  that  he  is  such  an 
incomgil^  idler,  that  the  odds  rise  to 
5  to  S  that  he  will  be  plucked,  if  not 
previously  expelled. 

fiutaU  this  evil  must  be  laid  at  the 
door  of  Helen  Healceth.  That  beau- 
tifbl  Roman  saint  haunts  him  from 
night  to  mom — ^from  mom  to  dewy 
eve.  A  passion  new,  asitating,  burn- 
ing, ana  inextiiiguiduu)le,  consumes 
him  like  a  fever :  his  whole  life  falls 
under  its  influence.  It  is  this  passion, 
unreflecting  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand 
thoughts,  hopeful  in  the  midst  of  a 
thousand  va^e  misgivings—despair- 
inc  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand  celes- 
tial dreams — ^feeding  alike  on  joy  and 
grief,  exultation  and  despondency^ 
smiles  and  tears — impelling  one  day 
to  soUtude  and  studv,  and  noble  plans 
fior  the  future,  and  curiving  on  tbe  very 
next,  to  lolly,  dissipatipn,  and  reckless 
sbandonment  of  his  reasonable  soul. 
It  is  this  passion  that  is  all  in  all  to 
Rcfpnald  Daltoii.  Life  itself,  with  all 


DaUtm. 


\U 


iU  blessed  cahna  and  balefbl  turmoils 
—visions  bright  as  the  dcv,  or  dark  as 
the  grave — a  life  of  which  his  young 
spirit  is  sick,  even  unto  loathing,  or  in 
which  it  rgoioes  like  an  eaglet  first 
winginff  his  flight  towards  the  sun,  and 
from  which  to  part,  when  that  one  face 
is  upon  him,  seems  to  be  the  same 
thing  as  to  sink  into  utter  annihila- 
tion. 

Now,  all  this  is  described— painted 
by  a  master's  hand.  Scared  from  hia 
propriety  on  his  first  entrance  into 
*****  Colltte,  Reginald  gets  gradu* 
ally  entangled  among  a  set  of  dashing 
Ch,  Ch.  men ;  drinks — games  —hunts 
— tandemises  on  roads  not  yet  Macad- 
amised—makes Dry  sufier— disturbs 
the  night-rest  of  canons  and  doctors— 
narrowly  escapes  sporting  homicide  on 
the  body  of  a  Proctor's  bull-dog— is 
underperpetual  imposition  of  the  Iliad 
or  Mr  Synge's  Gentleman's  Religion  ; 
and  to  his  stair  are  referred,  by  dis* 
tnrbed  reading  men  in  distant  quads, 
the  preternatural  and  supernatural 
yellii^,  that  stsrtle  the  dull  ear  of 
night,  or  unearthly  music,  as  if  "  over- 
head were  sweeping  Gabriel's  hounds," 
and  the  pack  were  on  full  cry  beneath 
a  flock  of  turkeys,  gobbling  in  the 
moonlight  air.  No  freak — ^no  frolic — 
no  fight — ^no  row — no  escalade — with- 
out Reginald  Dalton.  The  finger  of 
admiration  is  turned  towards  him, 
from  Magdalen  Tower  to  the  gate  of 
Worcester. 

But  from  all  thia  stupid  stir  and 
strife,  and  worse  than  stupid  the  dis« 
tracted  youth  feels  it  be,  Reginald  ever 
and  anon  escapes,  and  sits  with  that 
^od  (dd  priest  in  his  parlour  library. 
There  too  is  Helen  Heaketh,  once  a 
nun,  still  a  nun  in  her  medmess,  her 
innocence,  and  her  aedusion  from  the 
noi^world  bv  which  she  is  summnd- 
ed.  Then  the  oaaer  part  cf  his  nature  is 
thrown  aside— his  midnight  orgies  are 
all  forgotten— one  voice  akme  seems 
to  exist  on  all  the  earth  worthy  of 
being  listened  to,  and  Reginald  even 
hushes  the  u^braidings  of  conscienoe, 
as  he  feels  within  himself  that  pro- 
found and  religious  worship  t^  such 
stainless  and  unsuUied  innocence  as 
that  serenely  smiling  before  him,  and 
would  fain  persuade  him,  Uiat  there 
can  be  little  evi^n  pursuits  that  have 
left  his  capacity  unimpaired  of  genuine 
admiration,  of'^deep,  disinterested,  im- 
passioned, and  admiring  love. 

Few  situations  coulu  be  imagined 


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116  Reginald  DaiUm. 

better  fitted  to  otll  out  ▼arioui  and 
conflicting  passions,  than  tliis  one  in 
which  we  find  poor  Reginald.  Of  these/ 
bitter,  and  catting,  and  gnawing  re- 
morse, is  one  of  the  chief;  and  the  nn- 
ham)y  boy  casts  bade  many  an  agita- 
ted mought  to  his  beloved  father's 
study.  The  calm  expression  of  that 
Mand  countenance  smites  him  worse 
than  that  of  a  Gorgon ;  and  he  curses 
bis  Tery  existence,  when  he  thinks  how 
weakly  and  how  basely  he  has  been 
betraying  the  sacred  trust  reposed  in 
him  of  a  parent's  peace.  Independent- 
ly of  the  utttf  forget^ness  or  all  pro- 
p^  academical  pursuits,  and  his  par- 
ticipation, now  felt  to  be  more  shame- 
ful than  it  really  could  be,  in  follies 
for  ever  bordering  on  vice,  he  is  day 
after  day  getting  deeper,  'and  deeper, 
and  deeper  into  debt,  and  the  strength 
uid  virtue  of  his  soul  seem  dying  with- 
in him,  as  he  gradually  knows  himself 
to  be  more  and  more  dependent  on 
those  tradesmen,  whom,  at  the  same 
time,  he  must  confess  to  himself  he 
hasii^ured.  This  feeling,  so  agonizing 
and  unendurable  in  its  paltry  pain  to 
the  honourable  mind, — ^and  his  is  an 
honourable  mind, — ^makes  him  more 
and  more  helpless,  hopeless,  reckless, 
disturbed,  distracted,  and  diseased  in 
spirit.  He  is  enveloped  in  a  net,  that 
has  been  slowly  creeping  up  fhim  feet 
to  forehead,  and  whose  meshes  he  can- 
not break.  A  condition  like  this  in 
ordinary  hands  would  have  become  re- 
volting in  description ;  but  this  author 
has  saved  his  hero  from  degradation, 
and  preserved  our  sympathies,  by  the 
clear  l^ht  which  he  nas  thrown  on  the 
circumstances  thathaveinsensibly  thus 
reduced  him,  so  that  he  appears  as  if 
under  a  fate,  while  his  fervid  and  ge- 
nerous spirit  still  exhibits  itself  in  va- 
rious fine  traits  that  redeem  its  great- 
est errors.  His  principles  are  sSll  all 
sound  at  the  core ;  and  we  feel  that 
Reginald  may  be  ruined,  but  will  not 
be  dishonoured,  and  that,  happen  what 
may,  he  vnll  ultimately,  bj  some  ex- 
ertion of  his  own,  liberate  himself  from 
such  jeopardy,  and  leave  no  poor  man 
his  creditor,  to  the  value  of  the  tuft  on 
his  cap. 

Thus  agitated,  tempted,  and  tried, 
Reginald  Dalton  loves,  with  a  more 
desperate  passion,  thelieautiful  Helen 
Hesketh.  In  her  presence,  all  mean  or 
mighty  miseries  are  laid  at  rest-— com- 
fort and  hope  breathe  from  the  face  of 
that  dutiful  and  happy  girl-^and  to 


CJan. 

posseM  her,  however  distant  the  day, 
IS  a  thought  that  brings  the  brightness 
of  a  blessed  felicity  over  the  blade 
realities  of  his  most  dismal  hours. 
"Who  she  is  he  knows  not.  Over  her 
birth  there  is  a  mystery  which  his  de- 
licate mind  seeks  not  to  penetrate; 
and  that  mystery,  which  seems  always 
to  involve  something  sad,  sorrowful, 
and  disastrous,  bestows  on  the  resign- 
ed and  cheerful  creature  a  more  touch- 
ing beauty,  and  renders  her  image  the 
emblem  of  everything  most  pure,  most 
submissive,  most  innocent,  and  it  may 
perhaps  soon  be  also  most  deserted  and 
lonely  on  the  earth.  That  such  a  pas- 
sion, of  which  a  youth,  in  such  a  ntua- 
tion,  should  be^  unrequited,  is  not  in 
the  order  of  novels  or  of  nature ;  and, 
fair  reader,  learn  from  what  follows 
how  true  is  their  mutual  love.  The  ^ 
scene  of  those  impassioned  vows  is 
Godstowe  Abbey. 

«  He  found  one  of  the  gates  unlocked 
and  stood  within  the  wide  circuit  of 
those  grey  and  mouldering  walls,  that 
still  marks  the  limits  of  the  old  nunnery. 
The  low  moss- covered  frait-trees  of  the 
monastic  orchard,  flung  soft  and  deep  sha- 
dows upon  the  unshorn  turf  below :  the 
ivy  hung  in  dark  slumbering  masses  from 
every  ruinous  fragment ;  the  little  rivu- 
let, which  winds  through  the  guarded 
precincts,  shrunk  far  within  its  nsual 
bound,  trickled  audibly  from  pebble  to 
pebble.  Reginald  followed  Its  course  to 
the  arch^way,  beneath  which  it  gushes 
into  the  Isia— but  there  his  steps  wero 
arrested — He  heard  it  distinctly— it  was 
but  a  single  verse,  and^t  wus  sung  very 
lowly — ^but  no  voice,  save  that  of  ElleA 
Hesketh,  could  have  poured  out  those 
soft  and  trembling  t^nes.  , 

**  He  listened  for  a  few  moments,  bat 
the  voice  was  silent  He  then  advanced 
again  between  the  thick  umbrageous 
trees,  until  he  had  come  within  sight  of 
the  chapel  itself,  from  which,  it  seemed 
to  him,  the  sounds  had  proceeded.  Again 
they  were  heard— again  the  same  sweet 
and  melancholy  str^n  echoed  from  with- 
in the  damp  arches,  and  shook  the  still- 
ness of  the  desolate  garden.  Here,  then, 
she  was,  and  it  was  to  find  her  he  had 
come  thither ;  yet  now  a  certain  strange 
mysterious  fearfiilness  crept  over  all  hia 
mind,  and  he  durst  not,  could  not,  pro- 
ceed. 

«  He  lay  down  prostrate  among  the 
long  grass,  which,  so  deep  was  the  shade 
above,  yet  retained  the  moistore  of  the 
htft  night's  dew,  and  thence,  gaaing 
wistfidly  upon  the  low  door  of  the  dis» 


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1884.3  Reginald 

■Mailed  ctepd,  he  dhmk  tbe  MRowftil 
neMy  timklly,  brenthleulT,  in  {Nan,  and 
yet  in  luxury. 

^  Again  it  was  lilent— «  thouiand 
peiplexiDg  agonizing  thoughts  hovered 
around  and  ahove  him— 4ie  could  not  toss 
them  sway  from  them— >he  could  not 
forget  thenu  They  were  there,  and  they 
were  stronger  than  he,  and  be  felt  him- 
self to  be  their  slave  and  their  prisoner. 
But  their  fetters,  though  within  view, 
bad  not  yet  chained  up  all  his  spirit ;  the 
gloom  overhung,  but  had  not  overwhelm, 
ed  him ;  the  pressure  had  not  squeezed 
him  with  all  its  iron  strength.  No— the 
sense  of  misery,  the  keenest  of  all,  had 
communicated  its  feverish  and  morbid 
quickness  to  that  which  it  could  not  ex- 
pel—Love, timorous,  hopeless  love,  luul 
caught  a  sort  of  infectious  energy,  and 
Che  long  suppressed  flame  glowed  with 
a  stem  and  desperate  stedfastness,  amidst 
the  darknes!^  which  had  deepened  around 
its  altars.  Next  moment,  however,  that 
energy  was  half  extinguished  in  dejec- 
tion ;— the  flame  still  burnt  intensely^ 
bat  kmly  as  of  old. 

**  *  Alas  !*  he  said  to  himself  '  I  shall 
never  hear  her  again— -I  am  ruined,  un- 
done, utterly  undone— blasted  in  the 
very  opening— withered  on  the  threshold! 
Humiliation,  pain,  misery,  lie  before  me, 
as  surely  as  folly,  madness,  phrenzy, 
wickedness,  are  behind— as  surely  as 
shame,  burning,  intolerable  shauie,  is 
with  me  mm.  Yet  one  feeling  at  least 
is  pure  fery  I  have  worshipped  iimo- 
eence  in  innocence.  Alas !  it  is  here-^ 
here,  above  all — that  1  am  to  suffer! 
Miserable  creature  that  I  am !  She  is 
feeUe,  yet  I  have  no  arm  to  protect  her; 
she  is  friendless,  yet  the  heart  that  is 
hers,  and  hers  only,  dare  not  even  pour 
itself  at  her  feet.  She  is  alone  in  her 
parity;  I  alone  in  sinfUl,  self-created 
helplessness!  Love,  phrenzy  of  phren- 
lies,  dream  of  dreams !  what  have  I  to 
do  with  Love?  Why  do  1  haunt  her 
fiwtsteps?  why  do  I  pollute  the  air  she 
breathes?— how  dare  I  to  mingle  the 
groans  of  guilty  despair  with  those  ten- 
der sighs  ? — Beautiful,  spotless  angel ! — 
what  have  I  to  do  in  bringing  my  re- 
morseful gloom  into  the  home  of  your 
virtuous  tears,  your  gentle  sorrows!— 
How  shall  I  dare  to  watch  with  you— 
with  you — beside  the  pillow  of  a  good 
man's  sickness ?— Shame !  shame!— let 
me  flee  from  him,  from  you — from  all 
but  myself  and  my  misery.* 

*<  He  had  started  from  his  wet  lair — 
he  stood  with  a  cheek  of  scarlet,  an  eye 
darkly  flashing,  and  a  lip  of  stedfast 
whitencwi  gazing  on  the  ivied  ruin,  like 


DaUon. 


117 


one  who  gazes  his  k»t  At  that  moment 
Ellen's  sweet  voice  once  more  thrill- 
ed upon  his  ear.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
melody  was  coming  nearer— another 
moment,  and  she  had  stepped  be- 
yond the  threshold.  She  advanced  to- 
wards a  part  of  the  wall  which  was  much 
decayed,  and  stood  quite  near  the  speech- 
less and  motionless  youth,  looking  down 
upon  the  calm  waters  of  Isis  gliding  just 
below  her,  and  singing  all  the  while  the 
same  air  he  had  first  heard  from  her  lips. 
—Alas!  if  it  sounded  sorrowfully  thetif 
how  deep  was  now  the  sorrow  breathed 
ftt>m  that  subdued  and  broken  warbling 
of 
«Tbs  RhiMi  the  Rhinsl  be  bknlDgt  on  the 

Rhine  I' 
She  leaned  herself  over  the  low  green 
wall,  and  Reginald  heard  a  sob  struggle 
against  the  melody.  <  She  grieves,*  he 
said  to  himself—'  she  gne\*es,  she  weeps!' 
and  with  that,  losing  all  mastery  of  him* 
self,  he  rushed  through  the  thicket. 

**  Ellen,  hearing  the  rustling  of  leaves^ 
and  the  tramp  of  a  busty  foot,  turned  to- 
wards the  boy,  who  stopped  sliort  upon 
readiiiig  the  open  turf.  Her  first  alarm 
was  gone,  when  she  recognized  him ;  and 
she  said,  a  fiiint  smile  hovering  on  her 
lips,  *  Mr  Dalton,  I  confess  I  was  half 
frightened- How  and  whence  have  yoa 
come?*  Ere  she  had  finished  the  sen- 
tence, however,  her  soft  eye  had  instinct- 
ively retreated  from  the  wild  and  distract* 
ed  gaze  of  Reginald— she  shrunk  a  step 
backward,  and  re-echoed  her  own  ques- 
tion in  a  totally  different  tone—*  Mr  Dal- 
ton, how  are  you  here?— whence  have 
you  come  ?— You  ahirm  me,  Mr  Dalton 
— ^your  looks  alarm  me.  Speak,  why  do 
you  look  so  T 

« «  Miss  Hesketh,*  he  answered,  stri- 
ving  to  compose  himself,  <  there  is  no- 
thing to  aUrm  you— I  have  just  come 
from  Witbam— Mr  Keith  told  me  yoa 
were  here.* 

*<  <  You  are  ill,  Mr  Dalton— you^kwk 
exceedingly  ill,  indeed,  sir.  You  should 
not  have  left  Oxford  to-day.' 

*<  *  I  am  to  leave  Oxford  to-morrow— 
I  could  not  go  without  saying  larewelL* 

"  *  To-morrow !— But  why  do  yoii  look 
so  solemn,  Mr  Dalton  ?— You  are  quitting 
college  for  your  vacation  ?* 

***  Perhaps  for  ever.  Miss  Hesketh— 
and—* 

*<  <  O  Mr  Dalton,  you  have  seen  my 
uncle— you  think  he  is  very  badly,  I  see 
you  do— you  think  you  shall  never  see 
him  again,  I  know  you  think  so  !* 

<* '  No,  'tis  not  so ;  he  has  invited  m« 
to  come  back  with  you  noui/  and  besides^ 
Mr  Keith  will  get  better— I  liope,  I  truat» 
I  am  sure  he  will.* 


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118  R§ginaid  DaUon* 

«<<  Ton  would  fdR  deeflCre  m«i*  said 
£Uen,  <  and  'tis  kindly  meant* 

'"Kay,  indeed,  ma'am,  I  hope  Mr 
Keith  has  seen  the  worst  of  his  illness. 
You  did  well  to  hring  him  to  this  fine  air, 
this  beautiful  place.* 

« <  A  beautiful  place  it  is,  Mr  Dalton.' 

« <  It  is  Paradise,  but  I  shall  never  see 
it  again.  I  look  for  the  last  time  upon  it 
^4Uid  almost  almost  for  the  last  time— 
upon^DM.' 

"  Ilie  young  man  shook  from  head  to 
foot  as  these  words  were  trembling  upon 
his  lips.  She,  too,  threw  her  eyes  on  the 
ground,  and  a  deep  glow  rushed  over  her 
nee ;  but  that  was  chased  instantly  by  a 
fixed  and  solemn  paleness,  and  her  gate 
once  more  met  his. 

**  He  advanced  close  to  her,  {for  hither- 
to he  had  not  changed  his  position,)  and 
leaned  for  a  moment  over  the  broken 
iivalL  His  hasty  hand  had  discomposed 
some  loose  stones,  and  a  fragment  of 
considerable  size  plunged  into  the  dark 
stream  below.  Ellen,  thinking  the  whole 
was  giving  way,  pulled  him  quickly  back- 
wards  from  the  brink.  He  lost  his  ba- 
lance, and  involuntarily,  and  less  by  his 
own  act  than  hers,  he  was  on  his  knees 
before  her. 

"  •  lUse  up,  Bfr  Dalton.*!  pray  you 
rise.* 

<* '  I  asked  for  nothing.  Miss  Hesketh, 
I  hope  for  nothing  I  expect  nothing. 
But  since  I  do  kneel,  I  will,  not  rise  till 
I  have  said  it-»I  love  you,  Ellen — I  have 
loved  you  long— I  have  loved  you  frt>m 
the  first  hour  I  saw  you.  I  never  loved 
before,  and  I  shall  never  love  another.' 

^  '  Mr  Dalton,  you  are  ill— you  are 
8ick<— you  are  mad.  This  is  no  language 
for  me  to  hear,  nor  for  you  to  sp^ak. 
Kise,  rise,  I  beseech  you.* 

**  *  Ellen,. you  are  pale,  deadly  pale— 
you  tremble— I  have  hurt  you,  wretch 
that  I  am— I  have  wounded,  pained,  of- 
fended you.* 

<<  <  »aned  indeed,*  said  Ellen,  <  but 
not  offended,  Tou  have  filled  me  with 
sorrow,  Mr'  Dalton — I  g^ve  you  that  and 
my  gratitude.  More  you  do  wrong  in 
asking  for;  and  if  it  had  been  otherwise, 
more  I  could  not  have  given  you.' 

•*  The  calmness  of  her  voice  and  words 
restored  Reginald,  in  some  measure,  to 
his  self-possession.  He  obeyed  the  last 
motion  of  her  hand,  and  sprung  at  once  to 
his  feet.  '  You  called  me  mad.  Miss 
Hesketh — ^*twas  but  for  a  moment.* 

**  Ere  he  had  time  to  say  more.  Miss 
Hesketh  moved  from  the  spot; — and 
RegiiuUd,  after  pausing  for  a  single  in- 
stant,  followeii,  and  walked  across  the 
monastic  garden,  close  by  her  side— both 


CJtn. 


ofthem^rtatnrlDgtAliatiltiice.  Adeep 
flush  mantled  the  young  man's  coun- 
tenance all  over— 4>ut  ere  they  had  reach- 
ed the  gate,  that  had  concentrated  itself 
into  one  small  burning  spot  of  scarlet 
upon  either  cheek.    She^  with  downcast 
eyes,  and  pale  as  monumental  nBarble» 
walked  steadily  and  rapidly;  while  he^ 
with  long  and  reguUff  strides,  seemed  to 
trample,  rather  than  to  tread  the  dry  and 
echoing   turC    He  halted  withm  th« 
threshoU  of  the  ruined  archway,  and  said, 
in  a  whisper  of  convulsive  energy,  <  Halt, 
madam,  one  word  more  ere  we  part.    I 
cannot  go  with  you  to  Witham-— you 
must  say  what  you  will  to  Mr  Keith.   I 
have  acted  this  day  like  a  scoundrel— a 
villain— you  called  it  madness,  but  I  can- 
not plead  that  excuse.  No,  madam,  there 
was  the  suddenness,  the  abruptness  ot 
phrenzy  in  the  avowal— but  the  feeling 
had  been  nurtured  and  cherished  in  calm- 
ness deliberately  fostered,  presumptn- 
ously  and  sinfully  indulged.     I  had  no 
right  to  fove  you ;  you  behold  a  misersbly 
weak  and  unworthy  creature^  who  should 
not  have  dared  to  look  on  you.— But  *tia 
done,  the  wound  uhere,  and  it  never  can 
be  healed.  I  had  made  myself  unhappy, 
but  you  have  driven  me  to  the  despera- 
tion of  agony.— Farewell,  madam,  I  had 
nothing  to  offer  you  but  my  love,  and  you 
did  well  to  reject  the  unworthy  gift— n^ 
love!  You  may  well  regard  it  as  an  in- 
sult    Foiget  the  moment  that  I  never 
can  forget— Blot,  blot  from  memory  the 
hour  wbeu  your  pure  ear  drank  those 
poisonous  sighs !  Do  not  pity  me— I  have 
no  right  to  ^otw— and  p4fy  /—no,  no- 
forget  me,  I  pray  you — foiget  me  and  my 
misery.— And  now,  farewell  once  more 
— I  am  alone  in  the  world.— May  God 
bless  you— jrou  deserve  to  be  happy.' 

"  He  uttered  these  words  in  Uie  same 
deep  whisper  by  which  he  had  arrested 
her  steps.  She  gazed  on  him  while  he 
spake,  with  an  anxious  eye  and  a  glowing 
cheek— when  he  stopped,  the  crimson 
fleeted  away  all  in  an  instant.  Pale  as 
death,  she  opened  her  white  and  trem- 
bling lips,  but  not  a  word  could  come* 
The  blood  rushed  again  over  cheek,  brow, 
and  bosom,  and  tears,  an  agony  of  tears, 
streamed  from  her  fixed  and  motionless 

"  Reginald,  clasping  his  forehead,  sob- 
bed out, '  Thrice  miserable !  wretch  I  mi- 
serable  wretch !  I  have  tortured  an  an- 
gel !*~-He  seizedlier  hand,  and  she  sunk 
upon  the  grass— he  knelt  over  her,  and 
her  tears  rained  upon  his  hands.  '  O 
God  !*  he  cried,  *  why  have  I  lived  for 
this  hour?  Speak,  Ellen— speak,  and 
speak  foi^giveness.' 


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"  *  Forgiveness  !*  ^e  iaid— ><  O  mock 
me  not,  Mr  Dalton !  what  have  I  to  for- 
giver 

"  *  Foigive  the  words  that  were  wrung 
from  one  in  bitterness  of  eotil— Forgive 
me— forgive  the  passionate,  invoiimtaiy 
cries  of  my  mad  anguish.' 

"  <0h,  sir,  joa  grieve,  yon  wound  me  1 
—you  know  not  how  you  wound  me.  I 
am  a  poor  helpless  orphan,  and  I  shall 
•ooo  have  no  friend  to  lean  to.— How 
can  I  listen  to  such  words  as  you  have 
spoken  ? — I  am  grateftil ;  believe  my 
tears,  I  am  grateiul  indeed.' 

**  *  Grateful !  for  the  love  of  mercy,  do 
not  speak  so-— be  calm,  let  me  se^  you 


^  *  How  can  I  be  calm?  what  can  I 
say  ?  Oh,  Mr  Dalton,  it  is  your  wild  looks 
that  have  tortured  me,  for  I  thought  I 
had  been  calm !— ^h,  sir,  I  pray  you,  be 
yourself— do  not  go  from  me  thus— I  am 
young  and  friendless,  and  I  know  not 
what  I  should  do  or  speak. — You,  too, 
are  youn&  and  life  is  before  you— «nd  I 
hope  happiness— indeed  I  hope  so.' 

**  *  Nay,'  said  Reginald,  solemnly,  <  not 
happiness  but  1  trust  oUmness  to  en- 
dure my  misery.  You  may,  but  I  cannot 
forget;'  and  with  this  his  tearsalso  flow- 
ed, for  hitherto  not  one  drop  had  eased 
bis  burning  eye-lids. 

*<  Neither  for  a  few  moments  said  any- 
thing—at last,  Ellen  rubbed  aside  her 
tears  with  a  hot  and  rapid  hand— and 
<  Hear  me,' she  said,  <  hear  me,  Mr  Dal- 
ton. We  are  both  too  young— we  are 
both  inexperienced— -and  we  have  both 
our  sorrows^  and  we  should  both  think  of 
other  things.  Go,  sir,  and  do  your  duty 
in  the  workl;  and  if  it  wiU  lighten  your 
heart  to  know,  that  you  carry  with  you 
my  warmest  wishes  for  your  welfare,  do 
take  them  with  you.  Hereafter  there 
may  come  better  days  for  us  both,  and 
thc»  perhaps  -but  no,  no»  sir,  I  know 
•tis  folly • 

*  She  bowed  her  head  upon  her  knees 
-^e  drew  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  kissed 
it,  and  wept  upon  it,  and  whispered  as 
none  ever  whispered  twice,  and  was  an- 
swered with  a  silence  more  eloquent 
even  than  all  the  whispers  in  the  uni- 
verse. 

**  They  sat  together,  their  eyes  never 
meeting,  blushing,  weeping,  one  in  sor- 
row and  one  in  joy.  Thoughts  too  beau- 
tifol  for  words,  Uioughts  of  gentlest  sad- 
ness, more  precious  than  bliss,  filled  them 
both,  and  gushed  over  and  mingled  in 
their  slow  calm  tears. 

^  An  hour  passed  away,  and  there  they 
were  sdll  wgitAXtm  the  tears  indeed 
had  ceased  to  flow,  and  their  cheeks  had 


Reginald  Dalton.  119 

become  as  pale  as  their  love  was  pure— 
but  the  fulness  of  their  young  hearts 
vras  too  rich  for  utterance— and  all  seem- 
ed so  like  a  dream,  that  neither  had  dared, 
even  by  a  whisper,  to  Itazard  tite  dissol- 
ving of  the  dear  melancholy  charm." 

Reginald  is  now  secured  in  that  pos« 
session,  which,  to  him,  uiduded  all 
worth  having  in  this  life.  He  returns 
to  his  father's  house,  and  there  makes 
a  confession,  not  of  his  loite,  but  of 
his  misdemeanours,  and  all  his  expen- 
sive follies.  Nothing  can  be  more 
beautiful  and  pathetic  than  the  de* 
scription  of  his  father's  entire  forgive- 
ness,  and  of  the  yearnings  of  his  un- 
diminished, his  increased  aff^tion  to- 
wards his  beloved  Reginald.  The  feel- 
ings of  Reginald,  too,  are  all  painted 
as  well  as  may  be ;  and  the  vicarage  is 
a  ha(>pier  dwelHng  than  it  ever  was 
before,  in  the  light  of  forgiveness,  con- 
trition, and  reassured  confidence  and 
hope.  The  father  and  son  read. toge- 
ther their  favourite  classics  once  more ; 
in  which  Reginald  now  sees  meanings 
and  gleamings  of  passion  that  former- 
Ij  were  hidden ;  for  even  during  these 
few  restless  months  his  intellect  had 
expanded  and  ripened,  and  from  dis^ 
tress  and  delight,  from  perturbation 
and  blessedness,  he  had  learnt  to  know 
something  of  himself,  and  of  that  na- 
ture to  which  he  bdonged.  Mean- 
while the  Vicar  had  contrived,  limited 
as  were  his  means,  to  raise  a  sum  suf- 
ficient for  the  payment  of  his  son's 
debts;  and  Reginald  returns  in  due 
time  to  Oxford,  with  the  certaintir  of 
freedom  fh>m  his  former  degraaing 
and  intolerable  bondage. 

But,  alas !  it  is  not  so  easy  to  carry 
into  execution  the  best  formed  and  se- 
verest resolutions  of  virtue,  in  spite 
of  all  the  nameless  and  inconceivable 
obstades  and  difficulties  that  former 
follies  had  created,  and  which  remain 
still  as  stumbling-blocks,  or  pit-falls, 
or  barriers,  to  the  sorely  beset  indivi- 
dual who  would  fain  turn  from  the 
errors  of  the  way  that  has  too  long 
been  trodden.  So  we  have  the  history 
of  new  trials,  new  failures,  and  new 
fiills ;  and  Reginald  Dalton—after  many 
noble  effiyrts  to  save  himself  from  ruin, 
and  among  others  a  voluntary  surren- 
der of  his  status  in  the  university,  and 
descent  from  the  rank  of  a  commoner 
to  that  of  a  servitor,  in  order  that  he 
midit  retrieve  his  ruined  fortunes — ^he 
unluckily  engages  in  a  duel  with  his 
old  acquaintance  Chisney,  whom  he 


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120 


Reginald  DaUon^ 


CJau. 


discovers  attempting  a  brutal  assault 
on  Helen  Hesketh^  wounds  his  anta- 
gonist, is  imprisoned,  and  finally  ex- 
pelled the  university.  All  these  in<- 
ddents,  with  all  their  accompanying 
causes  and  effects,  are  narrated  with 
liveliness  and  vigour,  and  bring  us  to 
the  end  of  the  second  volume. 

Now,  whoever  wishes  to  know  what 
the  third  volume  contains,  will  have 
the  goodness  to  read  it  All  we  shall 
^y  is  this,  that  all  Ranald's  proniects 
in  life  are  utterly  ruined,  and  his 
love  for  Helen  now  seems  hopeless. — 
He  determines  to  go  to  India;  and 
they  first  swear  eternal  fidelity  in  each 
6ther's  arms.  But,  after  many  chap- 
ters of  accidents,  the  tragic  scene  shifts, 
and  hope  rises  on  the  horizon.  Hidden 
things  are  brought  to  light — histories 
of  om  times  revived — secrets  revealed 
— andaffiursin  general  undei^  many 
remarkable  and  important  revolutions. 
There  is  throughout  the  greater  part 
of  the  last  volume  an  uncommon  bus- 
tle, and  running  to  and  fro  of  all  par- 
ties concerned.  The  wily  are  detect- 
ed; the  crafty  confuted;  the  guilty 
punished ;  the  good  rise  up  from  po- 
verty, or  obscurity,  or  danger;  and, 
when  the  curtain  faUs,  the  h^  of  He- 
len Hesketh  is  on  the  boscnn  of  Regi- 
nald Dalton ; — and  they  are  spendmg 
their  honey-^ioon  at  Grypherwast- 
Hali.,  of  wmch  Helen  Hesketh  turn- 
ed out  to  be  heiress ;  and  may  Mrs 
Dalton  lone  fiourish,  and  give  birth 
to  at  least  three  dai^hters,  as  fair  and 
as  good  as  their  delightful  mother. 

A  long  analysis  of  a  popular  novd 
In  a  Magazine  or  Review,  is  indeed  a 
dull  absurdity ;  and  we  have  therefore 
done  no  more  now,  than  merely  state 
a  few  things  that  it  was  necessary  to 
state,  to  bring  out  before  our  readers 
sometbing  of  the  character  of  this 
verv  original  production.  The  extracts 
will  speak  for  themselves ;  and  it  will 
be  seen,  from  the  glimpses  of  the  story 
which  we  have  given,  that  it  is  fiill  of 
bustle,  variety,  interest,  and  passion. 
We  b^  therefore  to  conclude  with  a 
few  sentences,  summing  up  its  general 
merits  and  demerits. 

In  the  first  pkce,  although  neither 
this  novel,  nor  any  other  novel  we 
ever  read,  stands  by  itself,  that  is  to 
say,  belongs  to  no  class,  which  we  pre- 
sume is  wnat  blockheads  desire  when 
they  demand  something  wholly  new, 
Reginald  Dalton  will  be  universally  ac- 
knowledged to  be  au^ork  afgenins.  The 


conception  of  it  h  both  noetical  and 
philosophical.  It  is,  on  tne  whole,  a 
fine  and  a  bold  illustration  of  a  seg- 
ment of  life's  circle.  It  is  a  living 
moving  picture— a  sort  of  peristrephic 
panorama. 

'  In  the  second  place,  the  main  ob- 
ject of  the  work,  namely,  a  delineation 
of  the  youth  of  a  given  individual,  is 
attained,  and  well  attained,  and  Re- 
ginald, with  all  his  faults  and  trans- 
gressions, is  a  lad  of  such  metal,  that 
Uie  more  England  contains  of  them 
the  better — ^for  the  bar,  the  church,  the 
army,  and  the  navy. 

In  the  third  place,  a  great  deal  of 
talent  is  shewn  in  the  sketches  of  cha- 
racter throughout  the  three  volumes, 
and  for  the  most  part  they  are  true  to 
nature.  Of  the  priest  Mr  Keith,  we 
may  well  say  with  Wordsworth. "  That 
poor  old  man  is  richer  than  he  seems;" 
and  we  have  not  been  half  so  much 
in  love  with  anybodv  since  the  short 
peace  of  1801,  as  witb  Helen  Hesketh. 

And,  lastly,  there  is  throughout, 
such  a  DOwer  of  writing,  beautifully, 
gracefully,  vigorously,  sarcastically, 
and  witmy,  at  will,  as  will  puzzle 
most  of  our  acquaintances  to  equal, 
from  the  great  Unknown  down  to 
Dominie  Small-Text  in  Tom  Camp- 
bell. Should  any  of  them  not  think 
so,  let  them  ttj.       j 

Now  for  the  dcmmts. 

In  the  first  place,  the  deep  and  vi- 
tal interest  of  tne  history  ceases  with 
the  conclusion  of  the  second  volume. 
The  third,  although  we  are  involved 
in  the  curious  and  exciting  progress  of 
an  uncommon  and  ingenious  denoue- 
ment, is  to  us  frequently  tearing  and 
bothering.  Let  us,  if  possible,  have 
no  more  wills  and  title-deeds,  and 
cursed  parchments  of  all  sorts  flutter- 
ing and  creaking  in  novels.  They  are 
becoming  a  perfect  nuisance. 

In  the  second  place,  there  is  not  a 
due  proportion  preserved  between  the 
sad,  serious,  solemn,  pathetic,  and 
impassioned,  and  the  light,  airy,  firo- 
licsome,  and  absurd.  There  is  rather 
too  much  of  the  latter.  Thej  some- 
times seem  to  be  the  principal  and 
prevailing  character  of  the  work.  This 
b  a  pitv,  and  obviously  happened  be- 
cause tne  author  wrote  away  without 
any  very  regular  plan ;  and  when 
sheets  are  printed  off,  pray,  Mr  Wise- 
acre, what  is  to  be  done  ? 

In  the  third  place,  not  a  few  of  the 
incidents  are  in  themselves  badilish. 


11 


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iwi.;] 


Reginald  Daiion,  S;c, 


The  duel  between  lU^uald  and  Chis« 
ney«  is  no  grea(  shakes^  and  duels  are 
doll  affiiirs  in  modern  novels.  No 
duel  should  be  fought,  except  with 
bnce  and  sword,  on  norseback.  The 
scenes  in  the  prison — the  Castle  of 
Oxford — are  yery  so  so.  Nobody 
could  suppose  for  a  moment,  that  Re- 
ginald was  to  be  hanged; — the  pas^ 
sion  is  out  of  place  and  exaggerated, 
and  the  whole  tning  a  failure.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  of  that — ^it  is  what 
our  ingenious  Hogg  would  call  an 
"  Ipse  dixit" 

In  the  fourth  place,  the  author  feels 
apparently  the  highest  pleasure,  and  of- 
ten puts  out  his  highest  powers,  in  dc^ 
scribing  characters,  which  to  us  are 
by  no  means  agreeable  to  look  upon 
or  converse  with — their  absence  would 
be  good  company.  Such  is  that  in- 
terminable and  everlasting  bore,  pest, 
and  plague,  Ralpho  Macdonald,  W.  S. 
Confound  that  old  scoundrel !  Sir 
Charles  Catline,  too,  is  a  painful  per- 
sonage— and  even  Chisney  is  too  often 
broi^t  on  the  stage — for  he  is  a 
disagreeable  chap,  and  although  gen- 
tlemanlv  enough  in  some  Uiings,  on 
the  whole  a  heartless  and  wicked  scamp, 
and  a  little  of  such  people  goes  a  long 
way  either  in  real  or  imaginary  life. 


121 

Finally,  aldiough  this  author  gene- 
rally writes  with  most  extraorduiary 
power,  and  also  with  extreme  ele« 
gance,  he  not  seldom  falls  into  ugly 
and  vulgar  expressions,  in  a  way  to 
us  unaccountable.  We  have  been  told 
the  book  is  full  of  Scotticisms,  but  we 
know  nothing  about  Scotticisms,  and 
have  no  doubt  that  they  are  most  ex- 
cellent things.  We  allude  to  lowish— or 
slang-whauging  phrases— or  hard-&- 
voured  or  mean-gaited  words  intruding 
themselves ;  or,  what  is  worse,  seem-* 
ingly  being  introduced  on  purpose  in- 
to the  company  of  all  that  is  graceful 
and  accomplished. 

But  there  is  no  end  of  this — we 
have  just  filled  our  tumbler,  and  could 
begin  to  praise  and  abuse  this  book, 
just  as  if  we  had  not  written  a  single 
syllable  about  it.  So,  instead  of  doing 
either  the  one  or  the  other,  we  lay 
down  our  pen,  and  shall  now  read  it 
over  again, — at  least  till  old  Christopher 
arrives.  Come — here  is  the  Godstow- 
scene  between  Reginald  and  Helen 
Hesketh ! — what  need  the  author  of 
that  care  for  criticism  ?  That  is  indeed 
a  strain  that  might  *'  create  a  soul  be 
neath  the  ribs  of  death." 


NOTE. 

Let  us  finish  off  this  article  with  a  spirited  note.  The  book 
which  has  been  now  so  ably  reviewed  is  one  of  tliose  which  the  edi- 
tor of  the  Edinburgh,  in  the  plenitude  of  his  perspicacity,  slumps 
together  in  a  heap  about  three  feet  high  from  the  ground,  as  imi- 
tations of  the  novels  of  the  author  of  Waverley.  Really  that  wor- 
thy old  gentleman  has  been  indulging  himself  somewhat  too  freely  of 
late  years  in  the  privileges  of  dotage.  There  cannot  be  a  stronger 
proof  of  the  dulling  and  deadening  influence  of  time  upon  his  discri- 
minating faculties,  than  the  unsuspecting  assurance  with  which  he 
looks  upon  objects  as  similar,  which  are  essentially  distinguished  to 
all  other  eyes  by  the  most  prominent  characteristics.  The  author  of 
Waverley,  &c.  has  written  a  number  of  the  most  admirable  of  all  pos- 
sible works  on  the  character  of  Scotchmen,  and  the  scenery  of  Scotland ; 
therefore,  all  other  men  who  write  about  Scotchmen  and  Scotland, 
are  imitators  of  the  author  of  Waverley.  This  is  his  logic  Now, 
it  so  happens,  that  the  various  writers  whose  various  works  he  thus  dri- 
velled about  with  so  vacant  a  countenance,  are  all  distinguished,  both 
in  matter  and  in  manner,  from  one  another,  and  all  most  unlike,  in  al- 
most every  respect,  from  their  alleged  prototype.  We  believe  that  it 
would  not  be  possible,  in  the  whole  ranse  of  British  literature,  to  point 
out  any  fictitious  narratives  so  separate  n*oni  the  Waverley  novels,  as  the 
very  ones  which  "  this  moping  Owl  does  to  the  moon  complain"  of  on 
the  score  of  their  similitude.  If  he  would  only  take  tlie  troubJe  to  scratch 
hi«  head  for  a  few  moments,  and  thinl*,  the  Small  Known  himsielf  would 

Vol  XV.  Q 


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1^  Reginald  Dalton.  [Van. 

see  tills  and  acknowledge  his  stupidity.  There  hare  been  sereral  very 
clever  imitations  of  the  incompardble  works  alluded  to ;  and  because  they 
were  clever  imitations^  few  persons  cared  about  them  a  fortnight  after 
their  publication.  But  Valerius^  Adam  Blair,  and  Reginald  Didton,  are 
creations^  purely  and  entirely,  of  the  mind  of  their  author,--whoever  he 
may  be,-*origiual  in  their  conception,  as  powerful  in  their  execution. 
Inaeed,  our  bttle  bat-eyed  critic  knocks  himself  against  the  truth,  before 
he  has  flitted  down  hdf  a  page.  For  Valerius  he  altogether  excepts 
from  this  imputed  imitation,  and  Toucheth,  that,  '^  such  as  it  is,  it  is  un- 
doubtedly original."  Reginald  Dalton  he  nods  to  in  his  usual  pert  and 
Inmiliar  manner ;  but,  beginning  to  suspect  that  he  does  not  comprehend 
the  Oxonian,  he  rery  prudently  avoids  any  conversation  with  him,  and 
hops  into  Mi  Constable's  shop.  Adam  Blair  then,  after  all,  is  the  only 
shadow  of  some  worthy  or  other  in  the  Waverley  Novels ;  and  do  now, 
good  Mr  Jeffrey,  just  inform  the  public  who  it  is  you  mean*  Is  it  Dandie 
Dinmont,  or  Dominie  Sampson,  or  Quentin  Durward,  or  Balfour  of  Bur- 
ley,  or  King  Jamie,  or  ueorge  Heriot,  or  Meg  Merrilies,  or  Mary 
Stuart  Queen  of  Scots,  or  John  Knox,  or  Flibbertigib\)et,  or  Me^ 
Dods  ?  \Vhy,  my  good  fellow,  you  have  just  been  letting  little  driblets 
of  ink  detach  themselves  from  the  point  of  your  pen,  without  at  all  con- 
sidering what  you  were  about,  ana  we  only  wonder  that  you  have  not 
lon^  ere  now  set  your  house  on  fire ;  for  what  can  be  more  dangerous  than 
to  fall  asleep  in  this  manner  by  candle-light  ? 

Valerius,  "  such  as  it  is,"  you  are  pleach  to  say,  is  undoubtedly  origi- 
nal ;  and  in  proof  of  this,  you  immediately  add,  tnat  the  author  has  bor- 
rowed from  the  Travels  of  Anacharsis,  the  ancient  romance  of  Heliodo- 
rus  and  Chariclea,  and  the  later  efi^ions  of  M.  Chateaubriand.  This  is 
really  distressing.  You  write,  "  it  would  he  more  plausible  to  say  so,"  that 
is,  you  hint  tliat  if  yourself,  or  any  other  critic,  were  anxious  to  utter  a 
detracting  falsehood  of  Vderius,  some  such  insinuation  as  this  would 
be  "plausible."  How  manly  !  But  do  you  absolutely  opine,  that  the  Tra- 
vels of  Anacharsis  are  like  the  effusions  of  ChateauJiiriand  ?  or  either  the 
one  or  the  other  like  the  Greek  romance  ?  Some  wizard  has  thrown  the 
glamour  owre  you— your  optics  are  disordered— and  if  you  go  on  at  this 
rate,  you  will  be  incapable  of  distinguishing  colours^  ana  go  to  a  funeral 
in  a  pea-green  surtout. 

Valerius,  *|  such  as  it  is  /"  ay — ay — Mr  Francis  Jeffrey,  Valerius, 
such  as  it  is,  is  a  work  as  far  above  your  powers,  as  your  article  Beauty, 
in  the  Supplement,  is  above  Macvey's  article  Bacon  in  the  Transactions, 
and  that  i»  about  a  mile  of  perpendicular  altitude.  Valerius  is  the  work 
of  a  consummate  scholar,  as  familiar  with  the  language  of  ancient  Rome, 
as  you  are  with  the  jargon  of  the  Outer-House ;  as  much  master  of  the 
Roman  spirit  as  ever  you  were  master  of  any  synod  case  before  the  Ge- 
neral Assembly.  Were  you  to  be  shut  up  in  a  tower,  commanding  a 
good  view  of  the  Frith  and  the  coast  of  rife,  for  six  calendar  months, 
and  fed  on  the  most  exhilarating  diet,  on  condition  of  producing,  at  the 
dose  of  your  confinement,  a  written  composition  on  any  subject  equal  to 
the  worst  chapter  in  the  "  Roman  Story,"  or  of  being  turned  oflT  over  the 
battlements>  li  la  Thurtell,  then  would  the  vertebra  of  your  neck  be  to  be 
pitied,  for  dislocation  would  be  inevitable.  Now  do  you,  can  you  in  your 
heart,  think  this  pert  prating  of  yours  to  be  clever  ?  Are  such  sneaking 
insults  to  men  so  immeasurably  your  superiors,  sincere  or  affected  ?  Do 
you  think  that  you  add  two  or  three  inches  to  your  stature,  by  thus 
raising  yourself  up  on  your  toes,  in  order  that  you  may  be  able  to  look 
pertly  into  the  ^Eices  of  gentlemen  of  more  commanding  stature  ? 

As  to  «  Lights  and  Shadows  of  Scottish  Life,"  and  the  "  Trials  of 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1884.;]  Reginald  DaUon.  IBS 

Margaret  LvBdaay^**  Jefrey  speaks  of  them  like  a  boarding-sdiool  Miss, 
rather  than  like  an  experienced  person  approaching  threescore.  The  first 
of  diese  volumes  has  become  uniirersally  popular^  on  account  of  the  beau- 
tiful  union  which  it  everywhere  exhibits  of  a  rich  and  fine  poetical  spi« 
ritj  with  a  spirit  of  the  nomeliest  and  most  human  truth.  The  whole 
structure  of  the  langua^^  the  whole  character  of  the  thought  and  feel- 
iugy  the  whole  composition  of  incident  and  story^  the  whok  conception 
of  character  and  situation^  are  all  essentially  different  from  everything 
written  by  the  Great  Unknown,  whatever  tne  Small  Known  may  mut- 
ter ;  nor  is  there  an  expression,  or  an  image,  or  a  description,  that  could 
lead  any  reader  to  suppose  that  the  author  of  "  Lights  and  Shadows," 
had  even  so  much  as  seen  a  page  of  any  one  of  the  works  of  that  Immor-* 
taL  As  to  the  Trials  of 'Margaret  Lyndsay — that  is  a  humble  tale  of 
humble  £uth,  and  fortitude,  and  piety,  written  in  a  more  subdued,  and, 
as  it  appears  to  us,  better  style  than  the  Lights  and  Shadows,  but  re« 
note  indeed  from  any  resemblance  to  the  said  Novels ;  and  we  will  add, 
a  tale  unsurpassed  in  our  moral  literature,  possessing  manifold  and  ex- 
quisite beauties*  and,  without  a  moment's  pause  of  ennui  or  lassitude, 
carrying  the  whole  spirit  alonff  with  the  fortunes  of  one  single  innocent 
ffirl,  in  a  way  decisive  o^a  genius  possessing  prodigious  mastery  over  the 
human  heart.  Indeed,  almost  all  tnis  is  admitted  by  Mr  Jefirey,  of  a  tale 
which,  nevertheless,  he  diaracterizes  in  the  same  breath  as  an  imita^ 
tioo  oif  other  writing,  of  a  higher  order  certainlv*  but  of  an  order 
wholly  separate  and  distinct 

But  Mr  JeiKrey  has  a  theory  of  his  own  on  this  subject.  He  seriously 
believes,  and  dedares  his  belief,  after  he  has  reached  hb  grand  climac- 
teric, that  a  certain  number  of  gentleraen-r— in  this  case  it  would  appear 
throe  meet  toother  within  the  four  comers  of  a  room,  and*'  in 
the  arduous  task  of  imitating  the  great  Novelist,  they  have  apparently 
found  it  necessary  to  resort  to  the  great  principle  of  aivision  of  labour." 
What  a  Stot-like  idea !  It  is  fixed  among  them  that  one  takes  that  ara- 
ble field — another  takes  that  meadow-ground ;  and  a  third  that  hill-side  ; 
and  each  is  to  raise  his  crop,  and  bnng  it  to  the  best  market  he  can. 
This  is  very  fanciful,  indeed,  in  our  critical  friend— quite  ingenious ; 
and  he  talks  as  if  he  had  been  present  with  these  eentlemen,  and  had 
seen  them  fidling  to  composition,  each  on  his  allotted  sheet  and  sul^ect. 
We  cannot  help  getting  somewhat  melancholy  when  we  think  on  such  dri- 
velling nonsense  as  this ;  and  not  having  seen  this  political  economist 
lately,  we  fear  that  all  is  not  as  it  should  be.  If  so,  we  beg  leave  to  un- 
say all  we  have  now  written,  as  nothing  could  be  &rther  from  our  inten- 
tion now,  or  at  any  time,  than  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  any  creeping  thing; 
and  as  we  have  always  thought  and  said  that  he  is  a  worthy  little  fellow, 
occasionally  not  without  the  appearance  of  considerable  talent,  and  now 
and  then,  which,  after  such  exhibitions  df  himself  as  these,  puzzles  us  till 
we  are  provoked,  by  no  means  small  beer  in  satire,  and  no  contemptible 
expounder  of  the  meanings  of  wiser  men. 

Of  the  Annab  of  the  Parish,  Ayrshire  Legatees,  and  all  the  other 
works  of  the  same  distinguished  and  excellent  writer,  we  need  say  little. 
F<H'  our  opinion  of  them,  see  the  review  of  the  Entail,  and  our  answer 
to  Philomag.  That  he  is  no  imitator  of  the  Great  Unknown,  one  fiict 
wiU  prove — that  the  Annals  of  the  Parish  was  written  before  Waverley. 
That  he  may  have  tried  to  break  a  lance  with  the  visored  knight,  is  very 
probaUy  true ;  and  that  there  may  be,  latterly,  also  unconscious  and  un- 
mtendonal  fallings-in  of  the  train  of  his  thoughts  with  those  of  the  Great 
Unknown,  is  most  probable.  Why  not  ?  But  be  that  as  it  may,  no  cri- 
tic of  any  true  discernment  or  liberality,  could  ever  have  thought  to  de« 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


l«i  Reginald  Dalion.  -  CJan. 

prive  this  gentleman  of  his  undoubted  claims  to  perfect  ori^nidity  in 
nis  own  walk,  or  have  overlooked  or  under-valued  that  originality,  as 
displayed  in  those  works  most  characteristic  of  his  peculiar  genius,  that 
he  might  insidiously  describe  him  generally  as  an  imitator.  Indeed,  here 
too,  as  before,  the  critic  seems  to  be  accompanied  with  an  under  belief  of 
the  utter  silliness  of  all  he  is  saying,  and  really  characterizes  some  of  the 

Sroductions  of,  this  gentleman  very  fidrly  indeed,  very  liberally  indeed ; 
ut,  unluckily,  every  word  he  jots  down  refutes  his  own  sage  theory;  and 
it  is  at  once  melancnoly  and  ludicrous,  to  see  him  cutting  his  own  throat 
with  the  neb  of  his  pen,  and  jagging  his  tongue  for  uttering  opinions 
opposite  to  his  paper.  Finally,  what  more  absurd  abstract  idea  can  the 
most  fisuxtious  mind  figure  to  itself,  than  that  of  a  forty-page  artide  in 
a  Quarterly  Review  upon  a  number  of  works,  on  whose  merits  all  the 
world  has  made  up  its  mind  for  days,  weeks,  months,  or  years  ?  Some- 
times, in  private  life,  one  hears  a  dull  dog,  at  the  close  of  a  clever  even- 
ing, begin  prosing  out  piece-meal  all  the  good  things  that  have  been  said 
since  the  turkey.  But  here  an  attempt  is  made  to  throw  light  on  subjects 
that  are  already  glaring ;  and,  af^r  fourteen  millions  of  people  have  given 
their  opinions  on  these  books,  what  can  be  more  baimly,  than  to  pop  up 
your  nose  as  if  from  the  bottom  of  a  coal-pit,  where  you  had  been  settled 
since  the  revival  of  letters,  to  chatter  away  for  an  hour  and  three-quar- 
ters, with  much  vehemence  and  pertinacity,  fon  questions  long  since  set 
at  rest,  and  to  give  certificates  of  character  to  men  of  genius,  who  had 
all  long  enjoyed  the  benefit  of  good  air  and  reputation,  while  you,  in- 
sensibS  to  the  sounds  of  the  upper  world,  were  snoring  at  the  bottom  of 
the  shaft  C.  N. 


Co  tjbf  Cmt  f&tn  o(  tie  Saiitr 

1. 

flark  !  hark !  the  sharp  voice  of  Old  Christopher  North 
Rings  out  from  Edina,  the  gem  of  the  Forth : 
The  year  twenty^hree  like  a  vapour  has  past. 
And  he's  nearer  by  one  twelvemonth  more  to  his  laat. 
He  dreads  not  that  day — for  he  trusts  he  has  stood. 
Though  too  freakish  at  times,  yet  in  all  by  the  good  ; 
So  he  watches  the  march  of  Old  Time  without  &ar. 
And  wishes  you,  darlings,  a  Happy  New- Year. 

He  greets  ^ou,  because  the  dear  bond  of  our  love 
Is  flourishmg  proudly  all  others  above ; 
Her  SODS  still  as  mamy,  her  daughters  as  true— 
[[He  speaks  of  the  many,  and  mourns  for  the  few — *2 
That  she  sti]!  is  the  realm  of  the  wise  and  the  free. 
Of  the  Victors  of  Europe,  the  Lords  of  the  Sea — 
And  gratitude  dims  his  old  eyes  with  a  tear, 
While  he  wishes  you,  darlings,  a  Happy  New- Year. 


Digitized  by 


Google 


188i. J  A  Happy  NeW'Year  from  Christopher  North.  19^ 

3. 
,    His  heart  sings  with  joy,  while  all  round  him  he  sees 
Her  citizens  prosper^  her  cities  increase, — 
Her  taxes  diminish^ — her  revenues  rise, — 
Her  credit  spring  up,  as  her  oaks,  to  the  skies, — 
Her  coasts  full  of  commerce, — ^her  purses  of  gold,— 
Her  granary  with  com,  and  with  cattle  her  fold. 
He  prays  that  for  ay  such  may  he  her  career. 
And  wishes  you,  dailings,  a  Happy  New- Year. 

4. 

He  is  proud  to  see  Monarchs  hend  low,  cap  in  hand. 

To  ask  aid  from  her  merchants,  plain  men  of  our  land. 

To  see  them  their  millions  so  readily  fling. 

And  hook  down  as  debtor  an  Emperor  or  King ; 

That  a  nod  from  her  head,  or  a  wcaed  from  her  mouth. 

Shakes  the  World,  Old  and  New,  from  the  North  to  the  South  ; 

That  her  purse  rules  in  peace,  as  in  war  did  her  spear. 

And  be  wishes  you,  darlmgs,  a  Happy  New- Year. 

5. 

Laugh,  fiddle,  and  songN  ring  out  gay  in  the  town. 

And  the  glad  tally-ho  dbieers  the  dale  and  the  down ; 

The  rich  man  his  claret  can  lolHly  quaff. 

And  the  happier  poor  man  o  er  brown  stout  may  laugh ; 

And  the  demagogue  ruffian  no  longer  can  gull 

With  Jacobin  slang,  for  John's  befiy  is  fuU ; 

And  'tis  only  when  hun^y  that  alang  he  will  hear — 

So,  Kit  wishes  you,  darlings,  a  Happy  New- Year. 

6. 
He  rejoices  to  see  every  engine  at  work. 
From  the  steamer  immense,  to  the  sweet  knife  and  fork ; 
The  weaver  at  loom,  and  the  smith  at  his  forge ; 
And  all  loyal  and  steady,  and  true  to  King  George. 
Whigs,  therefore,  avaunt  I  there's  no  chance  now  for  ye — 
We  mrget  they  exist  in  the  general  dee ; 
He  b^  you  won't  let  them  diminish  your  cheer. 
So  he  wishes  you,  darlings,  a  Happy  New- Year. 

T. 
There's  the  King,  bless  his  heart,  long  is  likely  to  live. 
And  the  Duke  at  the  head  of  the  army  to  thrive ; 
There's  Wellington  extant,  who  badger'd  the  Gaul, 
And  Eldon  still  sitting  in  Westminster- Hall. 
There's  Scott  writing  prose — and  there's — ^who  writing  verse  ? 
Why,  no  one ;  but,  nang  it,  think  never  the  worse. 
Sure,  there's  Christopher  North  writes  your  Magazine  here. 
And  wishes  you,  darlings,  a  Happy  New- Year. 

8. 
In  the  midst  of  this  wealth,  of  this  national  pride —   • 
Of  our  honour,  our  glories,  roread  far,  far,  and  wide, 
While  proudly  we  traverse  the  sea  and  the  sod. 
Let  us  never  forget  for  a  moment  our  Goo  ! 
It  was  he  raised  us  up,  and,  remember,  his  frown. 
If  we  swerve  from  his  cause,  would  as  soon  cast  us  down  ; 
But  that  so  we  shall  swerve  shall  Old  Kit  never  fear. 
And  he  wishes  you,  dniiDgB,  a  Happy  New-X^*''* 


^Digitized  by 


Google 


136; 


M<nUhiif  Register. 

MONTHLY  EEGISTEK. 


njtn. 


EDINBUROU.— Jan.  14. 


Wheat. 
1st,..  39s.  Od. 
2d,  ...30s.  6d. 
3d,  ...238.  Od. 


Barley. 
lst,...268.  6d.* 
2d,  ...2dt.  Od. 
3d,  ...238.  Od. 


Beef(174oz.  pern».)08.  3d.   toOs. 
Mutton    .    •    •    •    Ps.  4d.   toOs. 

Veal Os.  6d. 

Pork Os.  6d. 

Lamb,  per  quarter  .    Os.  Od. 
Tallow,  per  stone  •    6s.  Od. 


Oats. 

Ist, 23s.  6d. 

2d,. 20s.  Od. 

3d, ]68.0d. 

Average  £\\  IQt.  Id,  9.12ths. 
Tuesday^  Jan,  13. 


Pease  &BeaBi* 

Ist, 218.  Od. 

2d, 208.  Od. 

3d,  .....lOs.  Od. 


Quartern  Loaf  .  .  Os. 
New  Potatoes  (28  lb.)  Os. 
Fresh  Butter,  per  lb.  Is. 
Salt  ditto,  per  stone  17s. 
Ditto,  per  lb.      .    .     Is. 


Wheat. 
1st,  ....368."0d. 
2d,  ....34s.  Od. 
3d,  ....348.  Od. 


Bailej. 

Ist, 8.  Od. 

2d, 8.  Od. 

3d, s.  Od. 


Wheat.  I 

1st,  ...  318.  Od. 
2d,  ...  288.  Od.  ' 
3d,  ...  258.  Od. 


6d. 

6d. 
toOs.  lOd. 
toOs.  6d. 
toOs.  Od. 
toOs.  6d. 
HADDINGTON — Jan.  9. 

OLD. 

Oats.  1 

lst(  ...248.  Od.  Ist, . 

2d 22s.  Od.  2d,  . 

3d,  ....20s.  Od.  3d,  . 

VEW. 

Oats. 
..  238.0d. 
..  2l8.  Od. 
..   19s.  Od 


9d.  toOs.  lOd. 

Od.  toOs.    8d. 

Sd.  toOs. 

Od.  toOs. 

2d.  toOs. 


BggSf  P^  doxen      •    Os.  lOd.  to  Os. 


Od 
Od" 
Od- 


..218.  Od. 
..19s.  Od. 
..178.  Od. 


lit, 
2d, 
3d, 


Beans. 

....218.  Od. 
....19s.  Od. 
...178.  Od. 


1       Barley. 
1st,  ...  26s.  Od. 
2d.  ...  24s.  Od. 
I  3d,  ...  228.  Od. 
Average  Price*  of  Com  in  Englani  and  Waletyfrom  the  Retutnt  received  in  the  Week 

ended  Jan.  3. 
Wheat,  55s.  Sd.~Bsrtey,  S9i.  4d.—08ts,  SOi.  lOd.— Rye,  39i.  5d.— Bmus,  S5s.  4d.-Pe8se,  35t.  8d. 


Ist,. 

2d, 

3d, 


ls^ 

2a, 

Sd, 


Pease. 
...  168.  Od. 
...  168.  Od. 
...  148.  Od. 


Beans. 
Ist, ...  188.  Od. 
2d.  ...  16s.  Od. 
3d,  ...  14s.  Od. 


London^  Com  Exchange^  Jan.  6. 
Whest,  red,  old  5S  to  65 


50  to  54 
56  to  60 
4tto  48 
58  to  74 
5Sto  60 
6f  to  66 
46to  5C 
40to4J 
17  to  SS 

80  to  34 
85  to  88 
50  to  54 
55  to  60 

81  to  82 
81to  3€ 

Seedt^  ic. 
9.      i.  d.  i.      t.  d, 

lIurt.Wliite,.10tol0  6HanpMed    •    —  to- ( 

—  Brown,  new  9  to  14  0  Llnieed,cnuh.  —to  —  C 
Tine.perlah.5  6to»  6  — Fine  .  .  — to— C 
Sanfun^perqr.80  to  86  0  Rye  Oraw,    .  16  to  S4  C 

-  .  »«T-;«    ...^..<i«»A 38 to 84  C 


Fine  ditto 
Superfine  ditto 
Ditto,  new . 
Whiter  old 
Fine  ditto  . 
Superfine  ditto 
Ditto,  new  . 
Rye  .    . 
Barley*  new 
Fine  ditto  . 
Superiine  ditto 
Malt  .    . 
Fine  . 
HogT 
Maple 


—  to  — 

87  to  40 
4Sto  44 

88  to  41 
89to  4J 
35  to  8S 
84to  3S 
fOto  « 
fi8to  t4 
f  1  to  U 
S6to  21 
fttoii 
setoff 

S9to8( 
54  to  6( 
48  to  52 


Tundpi,  bsh.  10tol5  0 

—  Red  ^  green  10  to  14  0 

—  Yellow,  9toU0 
Caraway,  cwt  48  to  54  0  Coriander 
Canary,  per  qr.  45  to  50  0  '"—''-*• 


Rye  Oraw, 
Ribgraaa, 


Clorer,  red  cwt.64  to  84  4 
White  ...  66  to  80  C 


10  to  13  C 
TrefoU  ....  f0tflr80  C 
Rape  Seed,  per  laat,  £26  to  £10. 

Weekly  Price  ofStocktyfromirt  to  22d  December  \H2S. 
1st.        i       8th.  15th. 


d,    9,    d.\ 

roiiK 

6fio  9  9 
6to  5  « 
6  to  7  10 
6  to  8  0 
2  to  7  9 
6  to  10  9 
6  to    9    8 

6  to  4  9 
Olbs.  I 
i  9to5  4 
-  Oto    —  0 

6to  5  q 
lb.  " 

7  to    8   9 

8  to  8  9 
8  to   8  10 

«  0to40 
6  Oto 90 
8  Oto 79 

Oto  45 
Oto  42 

I.  £23  to  25  I 
Oto  40 

oto5o  q 

I   OtoSt    0 
oto 52    0 


Liverpool,  Jan.  6. 


611k 

28  Oto 82 

-  Oto  — 
H  0  to  36 
r  240  lb. 
18  Oto 82 
14  Oto  28 
14  Oto  28 
.1  3  to  1 


0 
0 
0 

0 
0 
0 

4 


Bank  stock,....^ 

3  per  cent,  redubcu 
S  per  cent,  oonsob, — 
34  per  cent,  consols,^ 

4  per  cent,  consols........... 

New  4  per  cent  consols,^ 
Imper.  3  per  cent.  ,^»,^^ 
In&M,  stock,... 

hondsv- 


Beef,  4-c. 

\.».d.  s.d, 
91  0  to  92  0 
86  Oto  87  0 
82  0  to  84  0 
,78  Oto  —.0 
74  0  to  75  0 
Be* 

76  0  to  82  0 
48  0  to   56  0 

70  0  to  74  0 

B8  Oto  70  0 
tU 

—  Oto  —  0 

—  0  to  —  0 

—  0  to  —  0 

—  0  to  —  0 
52  0  to  —  0 

22d. 


Long  Annuities,.. 
Exchequer  bills,.. 
Exchequer  bills,  sm... 
Consols  for  ace ........ 

French  5  per  cents. 


224} 
83}  I 

m   1 

974 
1004 
104* 

82f 
269 

78  p. 

2U 

48  50p. 

48  50p. 

84} 


2254 
844   J 

08 
1004 

m' 

80  p. 
21J 

49  60p. 
40  50p. 
864  1  i 


227i 
84}   6 

991 
100} 

82  p. 
21} 

68  54p. 
57  S3 


2284 

99 
100} 


80  p. 
21} 

68  62p. 
63  51  p. 


p.  63  6 


i82i.;] 


Mouihlif  Register. 


127 


McTE  OROLOOICAL  TABLES,  txirucUd  from  the  Register  heft  at  Edinburgft^  in  the 
Observatory^  CaltonMU. 

H.B.— The  Obwrratloiui  sra  made  twiee  eirery  <Uy»  at  nine  o^dock,  forenoon,  and  four  o*dook,  aftar  - 
BOoa.^The  Moond  ObMrvation  in  the  afternoon,  in  the  flxtt  oolumn,  ii  taken  by  the  R^gliter 


Avenge  ok  Naui«  d.oez  i 


APPOINTMENTS,  PROMOTIONS,  &c. 


TDr.Odi.  .Mj^. 


4  Dr. 


Capt.  Lutyens,  fO  F.  Mi^.  in  the 
iGmy  5  July,  ISSi. 

ox.  from  15  Dr.  Lt  CoL 
l>y  p.  vice  CoL  Dunne,  ret. 

18  Dec.  18f3. 

Dr.MaJ.  hyp. 

tbary,  ret  do. 

17  Dr.  Cape 

ret.       19do. 

[>r.  Capt  vice 

90  do. 

:aptbyp.TiGe 

dOb 

pb  rice  Daly, 

18  do. 

___   ZDr.  Ltbyp. 

do. 

Capt.  Booth,  Mi^  by  p.  Tioe  HancoK, 

f  Dr.  Oda.  do. 

Lt  Buckley,  Capt  by  p.  do. 

Cot  RamMlen,  Lt  by  p.  do. 

J.  H.  Dundas,  Cor.  by  porch.       do. 

Lt  Coney,  from  4  Dr.  Cant  by  puich. 

vice  RobtaMon,  7  Dr.  Odi.     SO  da 

Cor.  Nicholcon,  Lt  by  pureh.  vice 

Sale,  4  Dr.  d* 

R.  J.  Elton,  Cor.  by  purdi.  do. 

Grm.  Gde.  Lt  CoL  Woodford,  MaL  with  nmk  of 

Col.  by  purch.  vice  Weit,  ret 

10  Nov. 

Capt  Lfaid«y,  Capt  and  Lt  CoL  by 

purch.  do. 

Lt  Loftue,  Lt  and  Capt.  by  purch. 

do. 

Fred.  CUnton,  Bni.  and  Lt  by  p.  vice 

Lyater,  prom.  19  do. 

R.  W.  Aatell,  do.  by  p.  viee  Loftui, 

SO  do. 

John  Hura|4iTiei,  SoUeitor,  vice  WiU 

klawQ,  deMl  11  Dec. 


IS 


17 


ColibtGdi.Ena   Hon.  H.  S.  Fane,  finom  03  F. 

Ena.  and  Lt  by  purch.  vice  Hall, 

«  F.  J7  Nov. 

3  F.  Gdt.    Batt  Surg.  Sahnon,  Surg.  Mi^.  vieer 

Hay.  ret  1  Dec- 

As.  Surg.  Waid,  Batt  Suig.         do. 

T.  Richardaon,  Aa.  Sun.  do. 

IF.  Lt  Byre,  Capt  by  pnrefi.  viceMoaeer 

ret  IS  Nov. 

Ena..  SteTte,  Lt  by  parch.  do. 

E.  Macphenon,  Ena.  by  purdu    dor 

Capt  Teniaon.  from  h.  p.  7SF.  Capt 

vice  Mitchell.  99  F.  1  Dee* 

Ena.  CoweU,  Lt  vice  Mahiwaring, 

dead  11  Feb. 

14  E.  C.  Lynch,  Ena.  by  purch.  vloe 

Donald,  ret  11  Dec^ 

16  Em.  Cokpihottn»  Lt  by  puroh.  viee 

Skinner,  prom.  4  do. 

t5  Sd  Lt  and  Af^.  Beunhier,  rank  at 

1st  Lt  so  Nov. 

fS  F.  Phelpa,  Ena.  vice  Slacke,  3S  F. 

IS  do. 

30  Ena.  Rumley,  Lt  vice  Kennedy,  dead 

S5  Nov.  Ibft. 

Gent  Cadet.  R.  Wlllaon,  ftom  Mil. 

^CoLEns.  11  Decisis. 

3S  Ena.  Mackay,  Lt  viee  Stuart  dead 

IS  Nov. 

Ens.  Slacke,  fkom  28  F.  Ew.        do. 

SS  Surg.  Thomaa.  fhim  h.  p.  S7  F.  Surg. 

vice  Flu  Gerald,  cane.  SO  do. 

Lt  Grote.  Capt  by  purch.  vice  Bt 

MaJ.  M*Gregor.  ret  4  Der. 

Ena.  Patemon,  Lt  by  purch.        do. 

J.  Forbea,  Ena.  by  purch.  do. 

34  Bt  Ma).  Broderick.  MiO*  hy  purch. 

viceBariow.  61  F.  do. 

Lt  Hovcnden,  Capt  by  purch.    do. 

Ena.  Airey.  Lt  by  purch.  te. 


VDigitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


19B 


AfjfjohUmenis,  Promotions,  ^e. 


Dl:m. 


s$ 

flJ 

54 

57 

ea 

61 
€5 

6f 


«7 

ftS 

t« 

•7 

B8 

SI 
95 
91 


A.  Houtton,  Enf.  by  nurch.         do. 
Lt.  Lax,  fhm  h.  p.  S4  F.  Adj.  and 

Lt.  rice  Straith,  95  F.  18  do. 

,     Lt.  HaU,  from  Coldit.  Gdi,  Capt  by 

purch.  vice  Rutherford,  ret. 

13  Not. 
Capt.  Byrne,  ftom  h.  p.  2t  F.  do.  vice 

Hav.  91  F.  1  Dec 

Lt.  Blennerhaaeet,  from  h.  p.  73  F. 

Lt.  vice  Trant,  95  F.  do. 

Lt  Padey,  Capt.  by  purch.  rke  Keaya, 

case.  3  July. 

Ena.   Leeke,    LL   by   purch.   vice 

Seoones,  prom.  tO  Nov. 

H.  A.  Morahead,  Ens.  by  purch.  do. 
Lt.  Coote,  from  S  On.  Bn.  Lt  vice 

Gascoyne,  94  F.  1  Dec. 

Ena.  Shadforth,  Lt  by  purdu  vice 

Mangles,  ret  4  do. 

A.  Robertson,  Ens.  by  purdu      do. 
D.  Freer,  Ens.  vice  Michell,  64  F. 

90  Nov. 
11^.  Barlow,  from  31  F.  Lt  CoL  by 

purch.  vice  Royal,  ret         4  Dec 
Qua.  Mas.  Dukes,  from  b.  p.  late 

Bahama  Gn.  Comp.  Qiu.  Mas.  vice 

Fox.  h.  p.  90  Nov. 

Eos.  Browne,  Lt  vice  Bowra,  dead 
do. 

Michel,  from  60  F.  Ens.        do. 

Draper,  Ens.  vice  Speake,  dead 

18  Dec 

Ens.  Byrne,  Lt  vice  Muirson,  dead 

5  March. 

J.  B.  Heroing,  Ens.  do. 

Lt  Drummond,  Capt  by  purch.  vice 

Hutchison,  ret  i  Dec 

Ens.  Harford,  Lt  by  purch.         do. 
Lt  Auber,  frcnn  Ceylon  R.  Lt  vioe 

Riehardcon,  dead  11  do. 

H.  Caulfidd,  Ens.  vice  Young,  dead 

do. 

Lt  Vaugltan,  Cs^  by  purdi.  vice 

Cruise,  prom.  13  Nov. 

Ens.  Sealy,  Lt  by  purch.  do. 

R.  J.  Bulroer,  Ens.  by  purch.       do. 
Lt  (^Flaherty,  trooih.  p.  39  F.  Lt 

vice  Clements,  9  W.  L  R. 

90  Nov.  1893. 
Capt  BuUock,  from  9  W.  I.  R.  Capt 

vice  Le  Mesurier,  h.  p.  Newf.  Frn. 

18  Dec 

Capt   Hay.  from  35  F.  Capt  vice 

Gibbons,  95  F.  do. 

J.  Gordon,  Ena.  vice  Fane,  Coklst 

Gds.  97  Nov. 

MiU*  Gen.  Sir  T.  Bradford,  K.C.B. 

CoL  1  Dec 

Lt  CoL  White,  from  h.  p.  48  F.  Lt 

CoL  do. 

Bt  Lt  CoL  Allan,  from  h.  p.  56  P. 

Maj.  do. 

Mi^or  Thome,  from  b.  p.  60  F.  MaJ. 

do. 

Bt  M^.  Bogle,  from  h.  p.  late  94  F. 

Capt  do. 

— — —  Gray, Arom  3  Vet  Bn.  do.  do. 
Capt  Crosier,  from  h.  p.  44  F.  do.  do. 

Kirkman,  from  9  Vet  B.  N.  do. 

do. 
— —  Munro,  fh>m  h.  p.  94  F.  do.  do. 
Craig,  from  I  Vet.  B.  N.  do.  do. 

—  Lint^say.  flrom  h.  p.  99  F.  do.  do. 

Bacon,  from  h.  p.  18  Dr.  do.  do. 

Lt  Orr,  from  h.  p.  89  F.     Lt     do. 

Stewart,  from  9  Vet  B.;n.  do.  do. 

——  Sadleir,  from  3  do.      do.      do. 
— •  Workman,  from  h.  p.  65  F.  do. 

do. 
Innes,  from  h.  p.  49  F.  do.  do. 

—  Arwit,  tram  h.  p.  40  F.  do.  do. 

Hartley,  from  9  Vet  Bn.  do.  do. 

NlchoUs,  ftt)m  1  do.    do.     do, 

Timbrell.  from  b.  p.  Rifle  Brig. 

do.  do. 

Gascoyne,  from  54  F.   do.   do. 

Ens.  Beiford,  from  h.  p.  31  F.  Ens. 
do. 

—  Bickerton,  from  1  Vet  Bn.  do. 

do. 

—  Cowtrd,  from  do.      do.       do. 


AiexaiKler,  from  do.    do.     do. 

-—  Kingdom,  from  h.  p.  94  F.  do. 

do. 

— ^  WetheraU,  from  h.  p.  85  F.  do. 

do. 

Lt  White,  tram  h.  p.  48  F.  A4).  and 

Lt  do. 

95  Maj.  Gen.  Sir  C  Halkett,  K,CB,  ^    . 

G.CM.  CoL  do. 

Lt  CoL  Brown.from  h.  p.  Port  Serv. 

Lt.  Col.  do. 

Bt  Lt  CoL  Sir  D.  St  L.  Hill,  from 

h.  p.  Port  Serv.  Mi^.  do. 
Mi^.  Fits  Gerald,  from  h.  p.  GO  F.  do. 
Bt  MiO*  Mitchell,  from  1  F.  Quvt  do. 
Capt  Gore,  trom  h.  p.  30  F.  dOb  do. 
Gibbons,  from  91  F.     do.     do. 

—  Carter,  fh>m  h.  p.  58  F.  do.  do. 
De  Barrallier,  from  1  Vet  Bn. 

do.  do. 

— -  Robison.  ftrom  1 W.  I.  R.  do.  do. 
— -  Yorke,  from  h.  p.  17  F.  do.  do. 
— —  Brownsoo,  from  h.  p.  5  Gar.  Bn. 

do.  repaying  dift  he  rec  on  exch. 

to  h.  p.  do. 

Lt  Dickens,  from  9  Vet  Bn.  Lt  do. 

Cusine,  fh>m  h.  p.  95  F.  do.  do. 

— -  Mayes,  from  1  Vet  Bn.  do.  do. 
Saunders,  ttom  3  do.    do.    do. 

—  Gordon,  fhwo  b.  p.  48  F.  do.  do. 
Newhouae,  from  It  p.  65  F.  do. 

do. 

—  Sperling,  from  h.  p.  9  F.  do.  do. 
CuTuthers,  from  h.  p.  17  F.  da 

da 
— -  Dickson,  firom  9  Vet  Biu  do.  do. 

Trant,  tnm  38  F.      da      da 

Ens.  Mayne.  from  9  Vet  Bn.  Ena.  do. 

Bunbury,  from  da      da      da 

Harrison,  trom  5  da    da    do. 

Young,  from  h.  p.  59  F.  da  do 

9d  Lt  Parker,  from  h.  p.  Rifle  Brig. 

da  da 

Ens.  Alcock,  from  h.  p.  36  F.  da  da 

Lt  and  A4J.  Straith,  from  34  F.  Adj. 

and  Lt  da 

F.  Feneran,  Qua.  Mast  do. 

1  W.  L  R.  Capt  Abbott  from  h.  p.  68  F.  Capt. 

vice  Robiaon,  95  F.  da 

9.  Lt  ClemenU,  trom  87  F.  Lt  vice 

StODford,  h.  p.  39  F.  90  Nov. 

Cant.  Winter,  trom  h.  p.  Newf.  Fenc. 

Capt  vice  Bullock,  fe  F.   18  Dec 

Lt  Stopford.  from  h.  p.  39  F.  Paym. 

vice  Fox.  dead  da 

Cape  Corps  (Cav.)  A.  Macdonald,  Cor.  by  purch. 

vice  Jervb,  ret  )3  Nov. 

1  Vet  Bn.  Lt  Johnston,  from  h.  p.  93  Dr.  Lt 

95  Oct. 
Cor.  Maxwell,  from  h.  p.  Staff  Corps 
Cav.  Ens.  vice  Makay,  ret  list 

90  Nov. 

Lt  DowUng,  fifom  h.  p.  19  F.  Lt  vice 

Worlledgc,  rat  lUt  37  da 

—  Hill,  from  h.  p.  59  F.  do.  vice 
Johnston,  canu  4  Dec 

*  Hemsworth,  from  h.  p.  101  F. 

LttSOct 
Dickson,  from  h.  p.  25  F.  da 

vice  Bell,  cane.  da 

Capt.  Hall,  from  h.  p.  Indep.  Comp. 

Capt  repaying  dilt  he  recdved  on 

exch.  to  h.  p.  13  Nov. 

Lt  Saunders,  from  b.  p.  Rifle  Brig. 

Lt  '^       950et 

— -  Bell,  from  h.  p.  9  Gar.  Bn.  da 

vice  Dickscm,  cane  do. 
Sadleir.  from  h.  p.  Gren.  Gda. 

repaying  dift  be  received  on  exch. 

to  h.  p.  13  Nov. 

Ens.  Ross,  from  h.  p.  Sidlian  R^ 

Unattached. 

Lt  Scnoncs,  ftwn  59  F.  Capt  by 
purch.  vice  Skdton,  ret 

90  Nov.  1893. 

GarrisoTis, 

Maj.  Gen.  Sir  J.  Camcraa,  K.C*B» 

Lt  Gov.  of  Plymouth,  vice  Sir  D. 

Pack,  dead  95  Sept  ISfS. 

13 


Digitized  by 


Google 


iwiO 


Appohtmenii,  Promotions,  <Sfc.  1^ 

Hospiitd  Staff.  Appointmmt  CanalUd. 

Dep.  Inspw  Henoen,  Rank  of  Imp.     Capt  Resyt.  47  F. 

11  Dec  18M.     UeuL  Johntloo,  1  V«t.  Bn. 


Staff  Sun.  Selwtky,  Dep.  Insp.  vice 

NicoIUdead  7  Aug. 

Dep.  Itma.  Baxter,  flrom  h.  p.  Dep. 

Imp.  Vice  Strachaif,  h.  p.  11  Dee. 

Phyddan  Skey,  Dep.  liifp.l>y  Brevet 

jio, 

Suig.  Panting,  do.  do. 

As.  ^oxf.  Macabe,  ftom  h.  p.  Rifle 

Brig.  A*.   Surg.  Tice  Hutchiwm, 

oaS.  •  fO  Not. 
Muir.  from  69  F.  do.  vice 

RoMiter,  dead  f5  do. 
If 'Kinlay,  from  h.  p.  101 

F.  do.  vice  Magrath,  cane.  t7do. 
Hoq>.  As.  Chrisoe,  firom  h.  p.  Hoqp. 

As.  vice  Gallagher,  cane.      4  Dec. 

Exchanges. 


SuFurist-SwrgT Mapath, from  h.  p.  fOS^', 
-Hutoiisoo,  ftom  h.  p.  3  W.  I. 


S6  Juhr.  lot 

8Feb.l% 

fOJan. 

8  Jan. 

14  June 


Hospital  AMist.  Magrath,  firom  h.  p. 

Deaths. 
BIa}.-Gen.  Faweett  E.  I.  Comp.  Serr.  Dec.  18tS 

Cooke,  do.  Bnaland,  »  R-^ 

. Atkins,  do.  E.ludles,  • 

LaxiM,  do.  do. 

CoL  Buckland,  h.  p.  53  F. 

Andenon,  late  of  R.  Mar. 

Lieut.-CoL  Ross.  h.  p.  8  F. 

. Lynn,  late  of  R.  Mar. 

.— .—  CUrk,  do. 

. , Grant,  E.  1.  Comp.  Serr,  East  Indies, 

10  Nov.  18« 

Wilfinrd,  do.  do.  3Sept. 

Bt  Lt-CoL  Younghnsband,  ftom  7  Dr.  G.  r«^  *^**^'  do.  on  passage  to  "j^^/jgj^ 

die  betw.  fttll  pay  Gav.  and  Inf.  and  Cav.  with     Elliott,  do.  East  Indies,  4  May 

Opt.  C^ttertonji.  o.  \JOr,0.  ^g^  Guthrie^  44  F.  Fort  William,  Bengal, 

M4pr  Ddancev,  ftrom  75  F.  rec.  dlC  with  M^Jo*     ^^^  ^  4  June 

M'Gibbon,  h.  p.  6i  F.        ^       ^  ^?iY^y 

R.  M'PherKMi,  E.  I.  Comp.  Serv.  East  Indies, 

6  Jan. 

Agnew,  do.  on  passage  to  England, 

lo  Feo* 

Dymock*  do.  E.  Indies,  18  AprO 

Capt.  O'RdUy,  44  F.  Fort  Willi«m,BengU  ^^ 

Cameron,  h.  p^  95  F.  16  Nov. 

Stewart,  late  of  35  F.        _     ^    ^ 

Hitchcock,  late  8  R.  Vet  Bn.  Exeter 

13  Oct. 


fite,  Barnard,  h.  p.  S  Ceylon  R. 
Bt  MiO*  Smith,  from  S3  Inf.  with  Capt  Falkner, 

h.  p.  61  F. 
Cap.  Van  Cortlandt  firom  8  Dr.  rec  difll  with  &  ^ 
nrutihlie.  h,p.35F. 
Beikdey,  flrom  7  F.  rec  difll  with  Captahi 

MadMsn,  h.p. 
Horasley,  from  10  F.  with  Capt  Bolton,  h. 

|kl4F. 
Goldftap,  from  SO  F.  with  Capt  Burrowcs, 

53  F. 
^-^  Draw,  fram3  Vet  Bat  with  Lieut  Lyster, 

h.  p.  105  F. 
lieut  Armstrong,  ftom?  Dr.O.fccdiiKwith  Lt 

Hodges,  h,  p.  8  Dr. 
^TBalntirigge,  from  S4  F.  rec  difll  with  Lieut 

Balni.  h,  p.  48  F. 
Mididl,  from  47  F.  witti  Lt  Kerr,  h.  p. 

60  F. 
Hutdiinson,  from  33  F.  rec.  difll  with  Lt 

Butler,  h.  p.  Colda.  Gds. 

—  Skene,  ttcm  68  F.  rec  difll  wtth  Lt  Hun- 
ter, h.  p.  4  Dr.  Gds. 

—  Champdn,  from  77  F.  with  Lt  Corileld,h. 
PbSSF. 

Price,  from  78  F.  rec.  difll  with  Lieut  M*- 

rsoo,  h.  p. 

Newton,  from  87  F.  Mtfi  Ueut  Saijenn, 
h.p.34F. 

— -.  FoDet  from  88  F.  rec  difll  with  Lt  El- 
Bott,  h.  p.  71  P. 


-  Phillips,  R.  Mar. 

-  Judsoo,  do. 

-  Robertson,  h.  p.  R.  Mar. 
-Lawson.  do. 

-  Sandys,  h.  p.  R.  Mar. 

Velcnman,^ 


Sept 

11  Nov. 

lOct 

81  July 

15  May,  1825 

13  Feb. 


Bott,  h. p.  71  P.  ^.      ,  ^     Gtnn.h.  p. 40 F.  13  Jan. 

Cor.  and  Sub  LtMaoqueMi,  from  S  Life  Gds.  with     BiiSv,  h.  p.  S3  F.  Wandsworth, 

Ueot  T.  Brett,  8  Dr.  ^  17 


Coraet  Ross,  from  14  Dr.  rec  difll  with  Ensign 

Rooke,  h.  p.  59  F. 
EiMign  Lee,  from  87  F.  rec.  difll  with  Sd  Lieut 

Prascr.  h.  p.  S  Ceylon  R.  _ 
OUUess,  from  84  F.  rec  diff.  with  Ens.  Skyn- 

•er,  h.  p.  10  F. 
Cxmi^  from  93  F.  with  Ensign  Hon,  H.  S. 

Faaen.  p.  S3  P. 
Pmu  Tovey,  from  20  F.  with  Paym.  Campbell, 

Borg.  Rohan,  from  65  P.  with  Surg.  O^ReUly,  h. 

pf  S»  P. 
-^  Stewart,  from  71  F.  with  Surg.  Bartow,  h.  p. 

6tP. 


.  Welchman,  do. 
Lieut  Knatchbull,  1  Dr.  France 

Sargent,  44  F.  Fort  William,  Bengal, 

**  5  June 

Richardson,  83  P. 

Henderson,  late  R.  Vet  Bn.    4July,18S0 
Richie,  b.  p.  14  Dr.  Dumfries 
Dickens,  h.  p.  SF.  j?.9**- J!H 

Femande«.h.p.4F.  »***[•  }!S 

Stanford,  h.  p.  5  F.  1»  Ap^l*  JS 

Monis,  h.  p.  7  P.  29  Jan.  18S3 

Biddulph.tp.9F.  ,oJ®^ 

Fairiie.  h.  p.  ft  F.  18  May  1^ 

—        '       --  -  13  Jan.  18SS 


Dm;. 

14  July 

46  do. 

SO  June 

S8  Mar. 


•  HaU,  h.  p.  GO  P. 
■  Bridges,  h.  p.  94  F. 

-  Burges.  h.  p.  83  P. 
-Fowkes,h.p.l01F. 

-  Thomas,  h.  p.4  Irish  Brig. 

-  Coiens.  Inv.  Bn.  R.  Art 


IS  Aug. 

_  S5J^ 

EhrhimU,  hi  p.  R.  For.  Art  6  June,  1« 
f  ^^..AA^  1.  «  D  T««f-  '      8  Feb. 


'  Loveridge,  h.  p.  R.  Mar. 
•  Beevin,  do. 


CoL 


Retignationt  and  Retirements, 

umie,  7  Dr.  Gds. 
^est  Grcn.  Gds. 
•Col.  Bunbury,  7  Dr.  Gds. 
Royal,  61  F. 


Mi^  Power,  7  Dr.  Gds. 
~~^  M'Gregor,  33  P. 
Capt  Smyth.  7  Dr.  Gds. 
-I!rMosee,  1  P. 

Rutherford,  55  P. 

HotehiKm.  84  F. 

Skcttoa.  R.  Art 

hktnfU  Ma^ea,57F. 
Comet  Jcrrto.  Cape  Corps. 
BaaignDoittld.riF. 
Hospb  Aastet  J.  Coeking. 

'  buHct.  h.  p. 
Vol.  XV. 


S4  April 
ltJan.im 

-Smlth.'do.  ^Sl^ 

Jeflheys.do  ^Vmt. 

Mackay,  do.  l^^do. 

Justice,  do.  ^        ^„    ,        Aug. 

Canuts,  Sd  UtuiauiiUt,  and  Ensigns, 
Speke,  64  P.  Isleof  Wight,  8  Dec  18S3 

Brooke  Young.  83  P. 
Sirath,  late TR.  Vet  Bn. 
Comnge.  h.  p.  18  Dr.  5  AprU,  18SS 

BarkS,h.p.SODr.Hamie.  ^    SSNov. 

Dlcnnerhasseft,  Royal  Marines,  Ascensfcoo, 

15  June,  IStS 
Wood.  do. 

MartindaW,h.  p.  R.  Mar. 
Mensies.do. 
Cote,  do. 
IVEsterra.  do. 
Couper,  h.  p.  37  F. 
Berrager,  b.  p.  41  F. 
Pitaherbort  h.  p.  96  P. 
Lyster,  h.  p.  Cape  R. 
Sabloe,  h.  ^  Waller's  Corps 
R 


S9  April,  ISSt 

15  Nov. 

30  Dec 

S6  Jan.  18S3 

SSdo. 

5  June.  18tS 

SI  Jan.l8SS 

15  Jung 

11  Aug.  18Se 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ISO 


mSii 


AppoifUmtnUi  PromoiumM,  S(e. 

M«Nicolto,lup.4r.  Surg.  Carter,  h.  p.  A3  r. 

>r  J.  WilkiMoiw  Qua.  aad  OoUM.  F.  Gds.  OUver,  W.  Norfolk  UiL 

,^       ^      .  8t»irAi.Surg.  Johnrton,  HflO< 

Medkal  DfpgHmtni,  Jd  A».  Surg.  O'Doud, 

iBip.  MoivU  h.  p.  S3  Mtr.  18S3  HcMp.  Mate  Carter,  h.  p.  1  S. 

Siui.  DuiiB*  ku  p.  5  Dec  laSS  Chaplain  Jooei,  h.  p.  9S  F. 


M  May.  18S3 

6  Auf!. 
10  Dec.  18!» 

SI  Dec.  18tS. 


NAVAL  PROMOTIONS. 


CcmmioDon  Chariat  Ballen.  C.  &,  to  the  command  of  hkM^Jctty'fiqaad^ 
Hoe  Sir  Robert  Mcndi,  Knight,  deceased. 


APPOINTMENTS. 


Caplttimt. 

Henrylb.dka.il 

Adolphua  Fitadarence 
William  H.  Bruce 
Jamet  C.  Gooding 
Edward  H.  Scott 
Wtllkm  J.  H.  Johnatooe 
Thomas  Dourcfaler 
Went.  P.  Croke 
Jamet  LiUierap 
JohnCAplin 


TeueST 


Arachne 
Brisk 
Britannia 
-        t(brig) 


Captainu 


George  GesUng 
George  FrMeRck  Rich 
Charles  Bullen,  C.B. 
HousttMn  Steward 
Luc  Hardyman 
Fxiward  Jennings 
Hugh  Patton 
John  Alfred  Moon 
Sir  Thomas  Staines,  K.C. 
Frederick  Uanna 


Veueli, 

Carrier 

Hyperion 

Maidstone 

Menal 

Ocean 

PlaTer  (hrig^ 

Rattlcuiake 

Rinaldo  (brig) 

Superb 

Tweed 


a?2*"" 


Doris 


Enukms  (brig) 
Gloucester 


BIRTHS)  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


BIRTHS. 

Nov.  SS.  At  Kilkenny,  Ireland,  the  Lady  of 
Jdhu  Macrobart,  Esq.  M.  D.  surgeon,  10th  Hus- 
sars, of  a  son  and  daughter. 

30.  Mrs  Hood,  of  Stoneridge,  ofason.   . 

—  At  Dun,  the  Right  Hon.  Lady  Kennedy,  of 

•  ton. 

—  In  Hart  Street,  Mrs  Couner,  of  a  dau|ffater. 
Dec.  S.  In  Union  Street,  Mrs  Robert  Dunlop, 

of  aspn. 

4.  In  BeUevue  Crescent,  the  Lady  of  James 
Wilson,  Esq.  advooate,  of  a  daughter. 

6.  AtBanif,  Mrs  Walter  Biggar,  of  a  daughter. 

7.  At  Bishop's  Court,  Isle  of  Man,  Lady  Sarah 
Murray,  of  a  daughter. 

9.  At  Sundrum,  Mrs  Hamtttoo  of  Sundram,  of 
adangbtar. 
la  At  Dunninald,  Mrs  ArUey,  of  a  son. 

12.  In  North  Hanover  Street.  Mrs  Robert  Na- 
■nyth,  of  a  daughter. 

—  At  Jordan-hiU,  Mrs  Smyth,  of  a  daughter. 

13.  At  8,  Shandwick  Place,  the  Hon.  Mrs  Peter 
Ramsay,  of  a  daughter. 

—  MrsC. Terrott, Northumberland  Street  of 

*  -^^AtOistlemUk,  the  Lady  of  William  StirUng, 
Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

15.  At  Woodbum,  Momtogside,  the  Lady  of 
George  Ross,  Esq.  advocate,  of  a  daughter. 


16.  At  No.  4,  George  Street,  Mrs  Dr  NiooO,  St 
Andrews,  of  a  son. 

—  In  Frederick  Street,  the  Lady  of  Henry  Har- 
rington,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

»),  At  BaUancrieffHouse,  Lady  Elibank.  of  a 
daughter. 

sT.  At  Whittoo,  the  Lady  of  Charles  Calvert, 
Esq.  M.P.  of  a  son  and  heir. 

—  Mrs  John  Wardrop,  103,  George  Street,  of  a 
son. 

S3.- At  Deanbank  House,  Mrs  William  Brace, 

—  In  Great  King  Street,  the  Lady  of  Captain 
A.  R.  Kerr,  C.B.  Royal  Navy,  of  a  daughter. 

—  At  Preshaw  House,  county  of  Hants,  the 
Right  Hon.  Lady  Mary  Long,  of  a  son. 

24.  At  Rassay  Houf e,  Mrs  Macleod  of  Rassay, 
of  a  son. 

—  In  Picardy  Place,  the  Lady  of  Mj^  James  * 
Harvey  of  Castle  Senmie,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  the  Lady  of  George  Govan, 
Esq.  M.D.  Bengal  Establishment,  of  a  son. 

2&  At  Eaglescaime,  the  Lady  of  Mi^or-Genenl 
the  Hon.  Patrick  Stuart,  of  a  disughter. 

27.  At  35,  York  Place,  Mrs  Rdd,  of  a  son. 

28.  In  Upper  Bedford  Place,  Ruieell  Square, 
London,  the  Lady  of  John  Loch,  .Esq.  of  a  oaugh- 
ler. 

S9.   In  Mortimer  Street,  Cavendish  Square 
6 


Digitized  by 


Google 


At  Aberdeen,  Mn  Henry  Lumiden,  of  e  ton. 
Mjy.  At  Loehtaiy  Houm,  Mn  M«Laine,  of  a 


ieSi.3  Beffieier.'—BirtftSy  Marriages,  aitd  Deaths.  131 

Loodofi,  the  L^y  of  Cohmel  Hugh  BeUUe,  of  a  ehant.  Lanark,  to  Jane,  youngeil  dAUghter  of  If  r 

dMichter.  Iterid  Kitoour,  Edinburgh. 

Ml  At  Aberdeen,  Mn  Henry  Lumiden,  of  aion.  3a  At  Glasgow,  Charles  Berry  Blyth,  Cfq.  late 

of  Buenot  Aym,  to  RoMna  Hannahr  youngest 
daughter  of  the  late  Gilbert  Auchinvole,  Em. 

IjtUeiw,  At Portiroouth,  Captahi  ThomatMonck 

MARRIAGES.  Maion,  Royal  Navy,  to  Mary,  eldest  daughter  of 

Jmfy  11.  At  Madras,  Josmh  Cox,  Esq.  surgeofi  the  Hon.  Sir  George  Grey,  Bart.  K.C.B.  and  niece 

ID  the  Hon.  the  Govemor's  Body  Guard,  to  Cathe-  to  Earl  Grey, 

rine  Grace,  eldest  daughter  of  M^or  Waugh,  of  — 

the  Madras  army.  DEATHS. 

Kom,  S4.  At  Ooltealmnh,  WUliam  Bonthnne, 
■sq.  enrieoD.  Crail.  to  Margaret,  daughter  of  the 
lirte  John  Seott,  Esq.  CraiL 
—  At  Laoder,  OcoijrB  Simson,  Esq.  to  Apies, 


quhar.'Esq.  W.  S. 
Av^.  5.  At  Cak 

the  ship  Ogle  Castle. 


Avg',  5.  At  Caknitta,  Ca|itahi  John  Pearson,  of 

e  ship  Ogle  Castle. 

8€pt.S,  At  Kingston,  Jamaica,  the  Hon.  Geocge 


Kinghom. 

11.  At  Mount  Irrtee,  Tohago,  ArchtbaM,  el- 
dest  son  of  Mr  Alexander  Sindair,  Xilchamaif^ 
Argyllshire. 

17.  At  Antigua,  Richard  wmock  Motson,  s^ 
eond  SOD  of  ^e  late  Walter  Skenrett  Monon,  of 
the  Island  of  Montserrat 

SO.  In  tlie  Island  of  Barbadoes,  the  Hon.  John 
Fonter  Alleyne,  late  Pictldant  of  his  Mi^Jesty^ 
Council  of  that  Island. 

ti.  At  Cam  Town,  on  her  penege  to  India, 
Catherine  Richardson,  wilk  of  Lieutenant  David 
Sheiriff,  of  the  S4th  Bengal  Native  Infantry. 

Oct,  3.  At  Moone,  near  New  Orleans,  Amerioa, 
Mr  James  M*Nair,  second  son  of  the  late  Rer. 
James  M'Nair  of  Slamannan. 

4.  At  Natches,  MiaslssiTOl  State,  North  Ameri- 
ca,  Dr  Matthew  Provan,  formerly  of  Gfaugow. 

9.  At  sea,  off  the  coast  of  Newfoundland,  on 
his  passage  from  Jamaica,  Lieut  Peter  Reddie^ 
R.  N.  commander  of  the  khipThisbe,  West  India- 
man. 

Nov.  1.  At  Fisherrow,  Mn  Hannah  Archer, 
and  on  the  10th,  her  husband,  Mr  Thomas  Han- 
dasyde,  seedsman  and  florist  there. 

J  6.  At  Aberdeen,  the  Rer.  Hugh  Dvnean,  tat 
■sany  yean  Episcopal  clergyman  at  Dunkdd. 

9i.  At  Crieff,  Mn  BarUu,  relict  of  the  Rer. 
James  Barlas. 

-     S5.  At  Baunodcbum,  Mr  Andrew  Thomson, 
accountant  in  the  Bank  of  Scotland's  Ofllee,  Stir* 


'%. 


is.  At  Poyen  House,  Inuiuew  sMre,  Mn  Ft»- 
ser,  of  Foyers. 

—  At  the  Manse  of  Skene,  the  Rev.  James 
Hogg,  D.  D.  in  the  72d  year  of  his  age,  and  47th 
of  his  ministry. 

»  At  his  seat,  Plcton  CasUe,  Pembrokeshire, 
after^a  tong  and  severe  ilhiess,  the  Right  Hon.  Ri« 
chard  PhiUps.  Lord  Milford. 

—  David  Miller,  Esq.  of  Pow,  Fifeshire. 

—  At  Lauriston,  Mn  Halkenton  of  Cankerdo. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  John  Low,  writer. 

Dec.  1.  At  the  Water  of  Leith,  in  the  81st  year 
of  her  age.  Mn  Janet  Cattanach,  reUct  of  Mr  John 
Stewart,  merchant.  Water  of  Leith. 

—  At  the  Manse  of  Pettioain,  Mn  Mary  Lock- 

^^^^^  .,  .  hart,  wife  of  the  Rev.  Oeorg^Dickson. 

CiWmess^ire.  5.  At  Airdrie,  Bethea  Black,  eldest  daughter  of 

—  At  St  George's,  Hanover  Square,  Landoa,     the  Rev.  Robert  Torrance. 
Wqiiun  Dunoombe,  Esq.  M.P.  to  the  Right  Hon.         —  At  Alloa.  John  Jameson,  Esq.  sheriff-clerk  of 
Ladv  Louisa  Stewart,  youngest  daughter  of  the     CUwkmannanshire. 
Bnt  of  Galloway.  —  At  Glendaruel  House,  Miss  Campbell,  of 

19.  At  Sciennes,  Mr  George  BeU  Brown,  brew-     Olendarua 
«,  to  Nancy,  daughter  of  the  Ute  John  Gibaon,        —  Robert  Vyner,  Esq.  of  Easthorpe.  Warwick- 
^3:    .    ...  «^  ■***»*•    This  gentleman  was  out  shooting  on  the 

».  Ifl  Young  Stifft,  Mr  Jam  Murray,  mer-    preosding  day,  and  while  getting  through  a  hadgt 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


RegUter^^'Deathi, 


1312 

the  triggtr  of  bit  gun  Mught  against «  bnuoch  of 
it.  when  the  piece  unfortunatriy  went  off,  and 
lodged  iti  contenu  in  his  body. 

SI  Mr  Ardiibald  Roxburgh,  merchant,  OIas> 
gow. 

—  At  L'Orient,  France,  Mr  Peter  Jdhn  Blair, 
who  for  many  years  resided  in  Ayr  and  its  ricini> 

—  At  her  house,  York  Place.  Mrs  Hay  Mudie. 

—  At  Lathaiian,  M^Jor  John  Ltunsden,  of  Lath- 
allan  and  Blaneme. 

5.  At  Cargen,  the  Lady  of  WUliam  Stothert, 
Esq.  of  Caraen. 

—  At  his  house  in  Gayfleld  Square.  Mr  Andrew 
Henderson,  of  the  house  of  Sir  William  Forbes 
and  Co. 

7.  At  Irvine,  John  Peebles,  Eso.  late  Captain 
4td  Regiment,  in  the  Mth  year  of  his  age. 

—  At  his  house,  Leith.  Mr  John  Madeod, 
brewer.  Leith. 

~~  At  Edinburgh,  Thomas  Ireland,  Esq.  of  Up- 
per Urquhart,  Fifeshire. 

8.  Mrs  Janet  Amot,  wife  of  Mr  John  Edgar, 
builder. 

—  At  East  Kilspindle,  Captain  David  Lauder, 
Perthshire  Militia. 

—  In  Keir  Street,  Lauriestoo,  Mrs  Mary  Young, 
wife  of  Mr  George  Lorimer,  builder,  Edinburgh. 

—  At  Abesdeen,  in  the  63d  year  of  his  age,  Uie 
Rev.  John  Gordon,  Roman  Catholic  clergyman. 

—  The  Right  Hon.  Thomas  Steele,  formetly 
one  of  the  representatives  in  Parliament  for  Chi- 
chester. 

10.  At  Edinburgh,  Alwander  Dick,  Esq.  ac- 
countant 

—  In  Brook  Street,  London,  in  his  63d  year. 
Sir  Eyre  Coote,  of  West  Park,  Hants. 

11.  Near  London,  Lumsdaine  Alves,  Esq.  Navy 
Pay  Office. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Georm  Peel  Lys,  only 
surviving  son  of  Thomas  Lys,  Esq.  of  London. 

—  At  her  fkther's  house,  in  her  19th  year,  Eli- 
nbeth,  eldest  daughter  of  Mr  James  Moir,  sur- 
gecm,  Teviot  Row. 

It.  At  her  bouse,  in  Gayfiekl  Place,  Miss  Jean 
Clark,  daughter  of  the  late  Gilbert  Clark,  Esq. 

13.  At  Leith,  in  the  58th  year  of  hU  age,  the 
Rev.  Robert  Culbertson,  minister  of  the  Gospel, 
and  pastor  of  the  Associate  Congregation,  St  An- 
drew's Street. 

14.  At  Mortonmains,  DumfHes-shire.  very  sud- 
denly. George  Welsh,  Esq.  aged  74. 

^  At  Clifton.  Miss  Harriet  Buchan.  eldest 
daughter  of  the  late  Geo^  Buchan.  Esq.  of  Kel- 
loe^  Berwidi^ire. 

15.  At  Nice,  the  Hon.  and  Rev.  Thomas  AU^ed 
Harris,  son  of  the  late,  and  brother  to  the  present, 
Eari  of  Malmesbury. 

—  At  the  Mansion  House,  Greenock,  Mrs  Tho- 
mas Crawford,  in  the  78th  year  of  her  age. 

—  In  London,  Joseph  Bambridge,  sen.  Esq.  of 
Newcastle,  solicitor,  aged  33.  He  went  to  the  me- 
tropolis to  undergo  an  operation  for  an  aneurism 
of  the  arm,  brou^  <m  by  phlebotomy  unskilfully 
performed  several  years  ago.  The  excision  was 
dexterously  eflbcted  by  an  eminent  surgeon,  and 
for  several  days  flattering  hopes  were  entertained 
of  a  perfect  reoovoy ;  but  on  Monday  the  blood 
niabed  to  the  head,  and  death  quickly  seised  his 
victim,  to  the  incalculable  loss  Ot  his  numerous 
and  disconsolate  fiunily. 

16.  At  Hamburgh,  George  Thomson,  Esq.  aged 
74. 


[[Jan. 


—  At  her  father^  house,  aged  t3.  Christian,  el- 
dest daughter  of  Mr  Orr,  S.S.C.  York  PbK«,  Edin- 
burgh. 

17«  At  Camis  Eskan,  John  Dennisfeoun,  aged  A 
months,  son  of  James  Dennistoun,  Esq.  of^Col* 
grain. 

—  At  5,  Hart  Street.  Bdinbuigh,  Mrs  Mary 
Richardson,  wife  of  Peter  Couper,  Ksq.  W.  S. 

—  At  Midmar  Castle,  James  Mansfield.  Esq.  of 
Mldmar. 

18.  At  Paris,  in  the  54th  year  of  his  age,  the 
Right  Hon.  Henry,  Earl  of  Barrvmore,  Viscount 
Buttevant,  Baron  Barry  of  Olethan  and  Ibaune* 
Baron  Barry  of  Barry's  Court,  originally,  by  te- 
nure and  writ  of  summona,  premier  Viscount  in 
Ireland. 

—  At  Corstorphine  HUl,  Mrs  Mackie,  wife  of 
Mr  James  Mackie.  CorstorpMne  Hill. 

Sa  In  Chark>tte  Street,  Edinburgh,  Mrs  WU- 
liam Tennant,  Junior. 

~  At  Whitburn,  Mr  Hugh  Christie,  for  many 
years  manager  of  the  Borrowstoumicas  coal  and 
saltworks. 

—  In  Antigua  Street,  Helen  Brunton,  only 
daughter  of  Mr  Melville  Balfour. 

—  At  Ardeer,  Catherine,  only  daughter  of  Pa- 
trick Warner.  Esq.  of  Ardeer. 

—  Suddenly,  at  Fa1kirk,|Mr  Charles  Alexander, 
in  the  84th  year  of  his  agew 

«1.  At  Dumcrieff,  Dr  John  Rogerson  of  Wam- 
phray.  first  physician  to  the  Emperor  of  Russia. 
~  In  the  Canongate,  Abram  Heyman,  a  Jew. ' 

—  In  Charles  Street,  Peter,  third  son  of  the 
Rev.  Peter  Primrose,  minister,  Prestonpans. 

—  At  Langley  Park,  Mrs  Cruikshank,  of  Laqg- 
ley. 

—  At  Kirkcudbright,  Mrs  Helen  Miller,  reilet 
of  John  MiUer  in  Kirkcudbright,  in  the  lOlit 
year  of  her  age.  and  69th  of  her  widowhood. 

—  At  Banff,  Alexander  Wilson,  Esq.  Uteof  Cil- 
culta. 

SS.  At  Kirkcudbright,  Miss  Thomson,  daugh- 
ter of  the  bue  David  Thomson.  Esq.  of  Ingttston. 

—  At  Kiloonqiihar.  Fife,  the  Rev.  James  Dick, 
minister  of  the  United  Assodate  Congregation  in 
that  place. 

—  In  James's  PUoe,  Mrs  WaddeL  wife  of  WU-  * 
liam  Wadddl,  Em).  merchant,  Leith. 

25.  At  her  house,  Na  74,  Oueen  Street,  Ml« 
Agnes  Hunter,  daughter  of  the  late  James  Hunter, 
Esq.  banker  in  Ayr. 

—  At  Glawow,  Robert  Starret,  Esq.  late  mer- 
chant in  the  Island  of  Carriacou.  Grenada. 

96.  In  St  John's  Street,  Maigaret,  youngest 
child  of  Mr  L.  A.  Wallace. 

27.  At  StGerman-en-Laye.  near  Paris,  the  Duke 
of  Pits^lames.  Ueutenant<xcneral  in  the  army  of 
France,  and  a  descendant  of  King  James  IL  of 
England,  from  an  illegitimate  branch. 

—  At  Scalpa,  aged  81.  Normand  Maodonald, 
Esq.  of  Barrisdale,  a  valuable  member  of  society. 

30.  At  Edinburgh.  Mr  George  Neilson,  of  the 
Commercial  Banking  Company  of  Scotland. 

LdiUly.  At  KinsaJe.  Ireland,  aged  100  years, 
Margaret  Cottar,  mother  of  the  once  celebiated 
Irish  giant.  P.  Cottar  O'Brien.     , 

—  At  Kowal.  in  the  province  of  Mosoovioa,  in 
Poland,  an  ecdesiasiic  of  the  name  of  Bujalski,  at 
the  very  advanced  age  of  114  years. 

— >  In  Ludgate  Street,  London.  Eliia.  widow  of 
General  KeiA  Maoalister.  late  of  Wimpole  Street, 
Cavendtoh  Square,  and  TorresdaleOaraeb  Argyle- 
shire. 


Froni  vani  of  room,  the  Lists  of  Works  Preparing  fbr  Press  and  Published,  ^c.  are 
omitted,     Thry  wUl  appear  in  our  next. 


PrlnteH  hy  Jamts  Batlantyne  and  Co,  KtHnhur/^h. 

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Now  LXXXV. 


FEBRUARY,  1824. 


Vol.  XV. 


aOUTR  AMBEICA. 


If  those  stales  which  were  formerly 
known  by  the  naroe^Spaniah  Ame- 
rica, ha^  remained  without  influence 
00  die  general  politics  of  Europe,  they 
would  still  have  presented  a  most  im- 
portant theme  for  political  discussion ; 
Mit  when  they  have,  unaccountably 
eooo^,  carriea  division  into  the  grand 
Bniopean  AjQianoe,  and  eren  given  rise 
to  mmoars'of  o^ensive  Ist^es  and 
genenl  war^  th^y  supply  a  qnestion, 
which,  for  oompleidty  and  gravity, 
takes  preeedenoe  of  all  others  that  at 
present  interest  the  politician. 

Speaking  of  them,  in  the  first  place, 
with  reference  to  their  own  interests 
alone,  their  revolution  has  rendered 
them  in  effect  indqiendent,  and  this 
is  perhsps  all  that  Can  be  ssid  in  its 
praise.  It  was  capable  of  yielding  the 
most  magnificent  benefits,  but  these 
have  been  sacrificed,  less  bj  the  igno- 
rance, than  the  cupidity  and  false 
principles,  of  its  parents,  and  its  firuits 
could  only  have  been  wcffse  than  they 
have  been,  had  it  foiled  of  success  al- 
together. 

New  Spain  would  have  fimned  one 
or  two  natkms,  resectable*  tolerably 
powerftil,  and  fiiU  of  well«ibunded 
00^  for  the  fhture.  The  manner  in 
wmch  the  world  is  divided— the  ex- 
tent, power,  and  ambition  of  its  neigh- 
bonr,  the  United  States— the  past  his* 
torr  of  nations— everything  to  whifJi 
it  iiad  been  accustomedr--and,  in  a» 
word,  every  interest  and  hope,  fivrbade 
ka  disniemberment.  The  unit  wss 
aeverthdess  mlit  into  a  multiplicity 
of  finactiona.  South  America  was  par- 
edkdoot  into  an  infinity  of  contempti- 
ble states,  and,  by  this,  iu  brilliant 
piospects  were  destroyed,  and  the  sue* 
Vol.  XV. 


cess  of  its  oonfiict  with  the  mother 
country  was  rendered  almost  as  much 
a  matter  of  regret,  as  of  rejoicing.  If 
any  reliance  can  be  placed  on  history, 
these  states  must,  mm  their  proximi- 
ty and  various  other  causes,  be  gene- 
rally embroiled  in  disputes,  and  ever 
kept  fimn  cordial  friendship  by  jea-i 
lonsy.  They  must  be  for  ever  com- 
paratively powerless  even  for  defence, 
and  it  will  scarcely  ever  be  possible  on 
any  emeraency  to  make  them  power- 
ful by  alliance.  They  mui^  there- 
fore, be  without  weight  and  influence 
in  the  administration  of  the  law  of 
nations,  and  the  maintenance  of  the 
proper  distribution  of  dominion — in- 
debted for  the  preservation  of  their 
rights  and  existence  to  the  jealousies 
entertained  by  the  leading  powen  of 
the  world  towards  each  other— the 
cringing,  pliant  dependants  of  these 
|K>wers— and  capable  of  being  at  any 
time  involved  in  strife  with  earn  other, 
and  swallowed  up  in  detail,  by  ihat 
Buonapartean  system  of  aggrandise- 
ment, to  which  the  republic  of  North 
America  has  had  recourse  so  often. 
This  must  be  the  case  if  we  look  at 
them  in  the  most  fiivourable  light  pos- 
sible—if we  assume  that,  contrary  to 
the  conduct  which  all  other  nations 
have  hitherto  pursued,  ihej  will  never 
appeal  to  the  sword  in  their  quarrels, 
and  will  never  tbint  for  increase  of 
territory  at  each  other's  expense.  But 
if  we  wlieve  that  human  nature  will 
jnemain  undianged,  and  that  they  will 
xlo  what  other  countries  have  constant- 
ly done ;  then  we  must  believe,  that 
they  will  be  incessantly  at  open*  war 
with  each  other,  until,  perbm,  that 
which  has  been  so  unnaturally  torn 
S 


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13^ 

into  ftagments  may  again  be  cement- 
ed together  by  a  century  of  blood- 
shed. 

But  this  was  not  all ;  the  form  of 
government  established  in  these  states 
was  precisely  that  which  was  the  most 
discordant  with  the  knowledge,  habits^ 
and  characteristics  of  the  people. 

The  British  Constitution  was  hap- 
pily formed  before  the  making  of  Con- 
stitutions had  become  a  regular  trade, 
even  when  the  name  of  Constitution 
was  scarcely  known,  and  it  was  form- 
ed by  those  who  merely  sought  to  re- 
move perceptible  evils^^  and  to  supply 
what  was  clearly  necessary.  It  was  no 
imported  exotic.  But  it  grew  sponta- 
neously out  of  the  British  heart,  and 
it  grew  according  to  the  laws  of  na- 
ture. It  was  a  seed  before  it  became 
a  beautiful  and  productive  tree.  The 
proud,  independent,  jealous,  queru- 
lous, stubborn,  and  dictatorial  spirit 
of  the  Briton,  could  only  be  governed 
by  such  a  Constitution,  therefore  it 
sprung  into  birth ; — the  incorruptible, 
generous,  moral,  honourable,  reflec- 
tive, and  intelligent  spirit  of  the  Bri- 
ton could  only  support  it,  therefore  it 
flourishes  and  endures.  He  who  wishes 
to  know  how  arbitrary  forms  of  go- 
vernment may  be  changed  into  £ee 
ones — ^how  popular  institutions  may 
be  rendered  benefits,  and  not  evils — 
in  what  the  food  .'of  liberty  consists, 
and  bow  the  maximum  of  liberty  may 
be  reached,  must  unlearn  all  that  he 
has  learned  of  the  present  generation 
of  "  Constitutionalists,"  and  devote 
his  days  and  his  nights  to  the  hbtory 
of  this  Constitution. 

The  Crown,  no  matter  from  what 
motive,  fortunately  placed  the  first  li- 
mit on  its  authority,  and  this  aflbrded 
precedent  and  analogy  for  gradually 
ext^n^ng  the  limit  afterwards,  accor- 
ding to  circumstances,  in  peace  and 
good  wilL  The  real  rearers  of  our 
Constitution  were  the  wealth  and  in- 
telligence of  the  country,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  the  multitude ;  and  they  were 
guided,  not  by  speculative  theories,  or 
the  wish  to  usurp  the  supreme  autho- 
rity, but  by  plain  common  sense,  and 
the  visible  needs  of  the  nation.  They 
were  careftil  to  make  that  which  was 
meant  to  be  a  monarchy,  essentially 
monarchical,  and  to  endow  the  Sove- 
reign with  abundant  power  for  dischar- 
ging the  duties  which  devolved  upon 
him ;  and  they  were  anxious  to  pre- 
serve at  all  times,  a  government  suf- 


South  America,  [!F^1>* 

ficiently  strong  for  all  legitimate  pur- 
poses. It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  that, 
although  they  occasionally  wrenched 
the  crown  from  the  monarch  in  open 
fight,  and  either  returned  it,  or  gave  it 
to  anoUier,  on  their  own  terms,  when 
they  were  smarting  from  its  abuse  of 
power,  they  still  pkoed  no  other  oer- 
manent  limitations  on  this  power,  tmui 
are  found  to  be,  in  the  present  day,  in- 
di£|>ensably  necessary  for  public  good. 
When  the  Sovereign  did  not  volunta- 
rily barter  away  a  portion  of  his  au- 
thority for  the  supply  of  his  needs,  re- 
straint was  only  cautiously  forced  up- 
on him  when  it  was  felt  to  be  imperi- 
ously necessarv,  not  by  a  faction,  but 
by  the  body  of  the  nation ;  and  popu- 
Lur  institutions  and  privileges  were  on- 
ly slowly  conceded,  one  by  one,  as  the 
want  of  them  became  pressing,  and  as 
the  people  acquired  the  qualifications 
for  duly  enjoying  them.  Whenever 
a  difllerent  system  was  adopted — ^when- 
ever creeds  of  faith  were  followed  in- 
stead of  public  wants,  and  the  multi- 
tude were  called  upon  to  decide  on 
changes  in  the  government— the  pow- 
er of  the  crown,  was  weakened  until  it 
'^as  iftiable  to  discharge  its  duties,  and 
faction  took  the  helm  of  public  aflaira 
^-attempts  were  made  to  impose  re- 
straints upon  the  Sovereign  not  dearly 
called  for  by  national  necessities— and 
popular  institutions  and  privileges  were 
given  when  the  people  were  not  sof* 
ficiently  enlightened,  upright,  and  un- 
animous, to  use  them  properly — tiien 
the  consequences  were,  fanaticism, 
phrenzy,  civil  war,  and  the  loss  of  all 
that  freedom  had  previously  gained. 
The  reasons  are  too  obvious  to  need 
pointing  out.  When  a  question  is  left 
to  the  decision  of  those  who  under- 
stand it,  the  probability  is,  that  it  will 
be  decided  properly ;  but  if  it  be  car- 
ried to  those  who  do  not  understand 
it,  and  who  generallv  forsake  truth 
when  falsehood  will  lead  them,  it  is 
pretty  certain  that  the  decision  will  be 
precisely  what  it  ought  not  to  be.  The 
people  will  be  reasonably  unanimous  in 
en^vouring  to  obtain  what  they  feel, 
as  well  as  think,  to  be  necessary  for  their 
own  good ;  but  if  the  necessitv  and  the 
benefit  be  only  matter  of  speculation  and 
uncertainty,  they  are  sure  to  be  fierce- 
ly divided  in  opmion ;  and  it  is  only 
when  unanimity  prevails  toa  very  great 
extent,  that  vital  changes  can  be  made 
in  a  government  without  producing 
the  utmost  measuiie  of  calamity.    The 


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185 


iDonardi  wfll^  at  all  times,  be  able  to 
rally  round  him^  at  leas^  naif  the  na- 
tion^ if  attempts  be  made  to  diminish 
his  power  in  any  other  than  the  pre- 
cise moment  when  he  is  abusing  it.  If 
he  be  not  invested  with  sufficient  pow- 
er to  control  factions,  he  will  exist 
only  to  produce  public  injury ;  his  ad- 
herents will  continually  use  his  name 
to  excite  hatred  against  the  govern- 
ment of  which  he  nominally  tbrms  a 
put ;  and  his  incessant  efTorts  to  ob- 
tain his  natural  right,  will  render  it  a 
matter  of  self-preservation  in  the  fac- 
tion that  rules  him,  to  make  itself  des- 
potic, and  to  look  at  its  own  interest 
only,  without  regard  to  those  of  the  na- 
tion. The  strugde  between  them  must 
yield,  in  the  nrst  moment,  all  the 
worst  ftnits  of  mal-govemment ;  and, 
in  the  second,  it  must  end  either  in  his 
triumph  or  extinction.    If  popular  in- 
itituCions  be  fbrmed  unsmted  to  the 
habits  and  genius,  and  uncalled  for  by 
the  actual  needs,  of  the  people,  they 
must  either  fall  into  disuse,  or  be  used 
only  for  purposes  of  public  evil :  no 
matter  what  the  institutions  and  pri- 
vities may  be,  they  will  be  nullities, 
blessings,  or  curses,  according  to  the 
character  of  those  who  possess  them. 
The  power  of  the  ruler  must  be  ex- 
actly pro|[K)rtioned  in  extent  to  the  ig-* 
noranoe,  mcapadty,  and  vices  of  the 
suliject,  and  it  must  only  be  diminish- 
ed as  these  are  diminished :  men  can 
only  be  kept  in  order  either  by  the  rod 
of  authoritv,  or  their  own  good  quali- 
ties ;  and  they  can  only  be  fVee  by  be- 
ing enlightened,  conscientious,   and 
peaceable.     If,  unhappily,  a  nation  be 
mvolved  in  civil  war  by  doctrinal  dis- 
putes respecting  its  form  of  govern- 
ment, the  consequences  must  be,  a 
government  despotic  to  the  utmost  ex- 
tent of  practice,  or  none  at  all. 

Our  present  ^higs,  who  di^;race 
the  name  of  statesmen  as  it  was  never 
diigraced  before,  have  the  hardihood 
to  assert,  that  the  freedom,  which 
France  now  possesses,  sprung  from 
the  Revolution.  They  might  with 
equal  truth  maintain,  that  our  first 
revolution  gave  us  our  present  liberty. 
France  possessed  in  Louis  the  Six- 
teenth, a  sovereign  whose  chief  failing 
was,  hii  wish  outran  his  wisdom  in 
giving  freedom  to  his  people.  Had  he 
only  oonoedcd  it  as  tl^  became  qua- 
liiled  for  making  a  right  use  of  it, 
France  bad  obtained  durable  liberty 
vitlioiit  a  iwolation,  bat  he  cooceded 


it  more  proftueW,   and  the  conse- 

Suences  were,  civu  war,  anarchy,  and 
espotism.    The  iron  sceptre  which 
this  revolution  created,  was  fitted,  even 
to  perfection,  not  merely  for  cutting 
ofl^  liberty  for  the  present,  but  for  ren- 
dering the  hearts  of  the  French  people 
incapable  of  receiving  its  seeds.    It 
was  not  onlv  the  most  galling  one  that 
the  world  knew  with  r^ard  to  the 
persons  and  possessions  of  its  slaves, 
out  it  incessantly  and  most  effectually 
laboured,  both  by  example  and  other- 
wise, to  banish  Icnowlalge,  religion, 
morality,  honour,  integrity,  in  a  word, 
everything  that  can  give  root  to,  and 
sustain  freedom.   Yet  with  this  scep- 
tre the  French  people,  notwithstand- 
ing what  the  revolution  had  tauriit 
them,  were  perfectly  contented  ;  if  it 
had  not  broke  itself  to  pieces  by  its 
mad  attacks  on  other  nations,  it  would, 
in  all  probability,  have  ruled  them  for 
oentunes,  without  any  curtailment  of 
its  power.     At  the  moment  when  • 
Buonaparte  was  crushed,  and  when 
France  was  even  called  upon  to  choose 
herself  a  new  form  of  government,  no 
cry  was  raised  by  the  people  for  popu- 
lar institutions  and  liberty.  The  char- 
ter emanated,  rather  from  a  few  of 
Buonaprte's  cast-ofi^  minions,  than 
from  tne  nation ;  and,  judging  fVom 
their  previous  history,  their  object 
was  to  secure  for  themselves  power  as 
a  £iction,  rather  than  to  give  freedom 
to  their  country.    This  charter  ren- 
dered France  comparatively  free,  yet, 
on  the  return  of  the  tyrant — althou^ 
he  would  not  even  deign  to  cry  ^'  Li- 
berty !"— nota  sword  was  drawn  to  de- 
fend it.    He  was  again  dethroned  by 
foreu;n  prowess,  and  the  present  mo- 
narch was  restored,  but  si.ill  liberty 
vras  only  called  for  by  a  few  indivi- 
duals, whose  conduct  since  has  abun- 
dantly proved,  that  they  were  dema- 
gogues sceldng  only  their  own  inte- 
rest.   France  does  not  owe  her  pre- 
sent liberty  to  her  revolution.    She 
made  no  efibrt  to  throw  off  the  yoke 
of  the  tyrant  which  the  Revolution 
gave  her ;  she  made  no  general  move- 
ment to  obtain  liberty  when  he  was 
dethroned ;  and  she  made  no  endea- 
vour to  preserve  liberty  after  it  had 
been  even  forced  upon  her.    The  Re- 
volution had  made  frightful  inroads 
on  public  morals,  and  it  had  thereby 
disqualified  her  in  a  great  d^ree  fVoni 
becoming   free  ;    it   had,    nowevcr, 
taught  her  popidation  to  regard  poli- 


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deal  disputes  with  horror,  and  to  he 
perfectly  indifferent  as  to  what  was 
their  form  of  government,  provided 
th^  could  ei\joy  internal  ^eace ;  and 
pernapa  it  was  owin^  to  this,  that  the 
liberty— -the  unsohdted,  unearned, 
and  undeserved  liberty — ^was  enabled 
to  take  root,  which  was  planted  in 
her  by  strangers.  It  is  a  remarkable 
isLCt,  that,  while  almost  all  that  liber- 
ty has  lost  in  latter  times,  has  been 
destroyed  by  those  who  call  themselves 
its  exclusive  champions,  the  most 
nilendid  triumph  that  it  has  achieved 
ror  ages,  has  been  gained  for  it  by  the 
twords  of  the  very  men  whom  we  are 
tpld  to  regard  as  despots,  anxious  to 
banish  liberty  from  the  universe. 

Our  own  Constitution  is  unques- 
tionably the  most  stupendous  and 
magnificent  monument  of  human  wis- 
dom and  ingenuity  that  the  world  can 
boast  of.  That  it  is  as  perfect  in  its 
essentials  as  it  can  be  made,  seems  to 
be  proved  by  the  fact,  that,  although 
half  the  heads  in  the  country  are  con- 
stantly occupied  in  endeavours  to  carry 
it  a  step  farther,  not  one  of  them  can ' 
hit  upon  a  scheme  that  wears  the  fea- 
tures of  plausibility.  Yet  it  is  impos- 
sible to  contemplate  it  without  per- 
ceiving, that  it  is  calculated  for  our^ 
selves  alone,  and  that  to  the  mercu- 
rial Frenchman,  the  ignorantand  slug- 
gish Spaniard,  the  profligate  Italian, 
and,  perhaps,  the  enthusiastic  and  ima- 
gination-led German,  it  would  be  but 
an  instrument  of  mischief  in  the  first 
moment,  and  of  ruin  in  the  second. 
We  must  see,  that  we  are  only  enabled 
to  work  it  properly  by  being  trained 
to  the  art  from  our  in&ncy,  and  that 
if  it  were  now  civen  us  entire,  in 
exchange  for  a  despotism  to  which 
we  had  been  alone  accustomed,  we 
should  scarcely  draw  anything  from  it 
at  the  outset  but  calamity,  or  acquire 
sufficient  skill  to  manage  it  as  we 
ou^t,  before  we  destroyed  it  by  our 
ignorance.  What  would  this  boasted 
Constitution  be  if  the  King  were  in  dis- 
position a  t3rntht,  and  the  people  were 
Ignorant  and  reyrdless  of  matters  of 
ffovemment  ? — if  the  people  were  in- 
furiated with  fidse  i)ohtical  doctrines, 
and  the  House  of  Commons  used  its 
in^hty  power  for  purposes  of  usurpa- 
tion ana  oppression  ?  What  keeps  the 
*'  Three  Estates,"  distinct  and  endow- 
ed with  distinct  and  often  adverse  in- 
terests, as  they  are,  in  general  har- 
mony r  Assuredly,  in  a  very  greatde- 


flree,  thefar  own  wilL  What  would  our 
ftee  press  be.  if  it  were  chiefly  in  the 
handi  of  ignorant,  ONrrupt,  immoral, 
and  seditious  writers?  What  would 
our  trial  by  jury  be,  if  the  jurors  were 
not  intelligent  and  conscientious  f 
What  would  our  House  of  Commons 
be,  if  its  members  were  not  diosen  by 
the  votes,  or  influence,  of  knowing, 
public-spirited,  and  honest  men  ?  And 
what  would  the  Minivers,  and  even 
the  Monarch,  be,  if  this  House  were 
chosen  by  persons  of  opnosite  charac- 
ter? Notwithstanding;  the  perfection 
of  our  Constitution,  it  is  in  itself  an 
inert  instrument,  as  pow^ul  for  evil 
as  for  good,  and  it  cannot  compel  those 
who  possess  it  to  use  it  properly.  Our 
freedom,  and  the  blessings  wnich  it 
yields,  must,  after  all,  be  fbund,  not 
in  our  Constitution,  but  in  our  know- 
ledge, wisdom,  activity,  concord,  ho- 
nour, disinterestedness,  morality,  and 
religion.  When  these  depart,  fireedcmi 
must  depart  with  them,  and  our  firee 
institutiong,  instead  of  retardii^  will 
only  hasten  its  exit. 

Our  Liberals,  indeed,  stoutly  main- 
tain, that  the  establishment  of  liberty 
will  immediately  produce  in  the  peo- 
ple everything  necessary  fbr  its  proper 
use,  but  they  only  support  the  stupid 
•  doctrine  bv  those  hackneyed  declama- 
tions whicn  have  become  loathsome  to 
the  ear  from  dieir  absurdity  and  hor- 
rible consequences.  Did  our  Consti- 
tution ^ve  us  those  natural  qualities, 
which  It  makes  its  foundation  ?  Could 
it  .make  the  Frenchman  and  the  Spa> 
niard,  the  Negro  and  the  Russian,  the 
New  Zealander  and  the  Esquimaux, 
to  resemble  each  other  in  intellect  and 
temperament?  Can  it  even  melt  the 
Irishman,  the  Scotsman,  and  the  En- 
glishman into  one  race  ?  Freedom  will 
expand  the  intdlect  of  all,  but  it  will 
not  remove  the  inequalities  which  na- 
ture has  made;  it  will  strengthen, 
and  not  change,  the  temperament 
which  nature  has  given,  and,  if  we  be 
by  nature  "  ^rone  to  evil,"  its  natural 
tendency  is,  to  pollute  rather  than  to 
purify  the  heart  It  removes  re- 
straints, places  temptations  before  us, 
and  mvdtinlies  our  means  of  indulging 
in  vice  ana  guilt  From  the  fiicoona 
whidi  it  creates,  the  competition  which 
it  causes  for  puUic  trusts,  the  com- 
parative poverty  of  those  who  dispose 
of  many  of  those  trusts,  the  inability 
of  the  government  to  e<mmand  sup- 
port, and  virious  other  causes,  it  is 


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im^2 

eonstintly  mtkliig  the  motl  fiBarfid 
attadbon  public  moralsy  instead  of  be- 
ing their  parent  and  protector.  In  all 
the  fVee  atatea  that  have  ^ne  before 
OS,  freedom,  instead  of  sinng  birth  t^ 
dcstrojedy  public  manu,  and  by  this 
it  desteoyed  itself.  If  we  glance  at 
the  historr  of  our  constitution,  we 
find,  that  for  agea  it  was  frequently 
either  inoperative,  or  at  work  <mly  for 
public  imury.  Now  the  King  was  vir- 
tually a  despot, — then  he  was  the  tool 
andsUveofafoction.  Now,  contend- 
ing rivals  desdated  the  country  with 
civil  war,  for  the  crown,  as  though  no 
coustitation  had  ever  existed ;  then,  a 
band  of  noblea  trampled  upon  the 
throne  with  one  foot,  and  upon  the 
peasantry  with  the  other,  as  though 
their  wiu  was  the  only  oonstitutionk 
Now,  the  House  of  Commons  was  in 
a  state  of  suspended  animation,  then 
it  was  the  cringing  laoouey  of  the 
crown,  and  then  it  seised  upon  the 
aoveragntv,  butchered  the  sovereign, 
demyjiahca  the  constitution,  and  ri- 
▼etted  upon  the  nation  the  fetters  of 
military  despotism.  The  most  revolt- 
ing atrocities  that  stain  our  annals 
were  perpetrated  by  the  instrument- 
ality of  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  the' 
Peers  in  their  judicial  capacity,  and 
Juriea — by  the  institutions  which  we 
reverence,  and  justly  too,  as  the  most 
precious  of  our  national  possessions. 
It  was  only  when  that  immense  class, 
which  exists  between  the  lower  orders 
and  the  nobility,  attained  maturity, 
that  the  Constitution  was  put  into  pro- 
per qieration  in  all  its  parts,  and  was 
made  thediraenser  of  liberty  and  hies- 
sings.  If  it  DC  possible  to  prove  any- 
thing whatever,  this  must  prove  that 
popular  institutions  will  not  of  them- 
sdves  create  freedom, — that  freedom 
rather  militates  sgainst,  than  origi- 
nates and  sustains,  that  from  which  it 
draws  its  vitslity, — and  that  it  is  de- 
pendent upon  the  higher  mental  en^ 
dowments,  and  the  highest  virtues,  for 
birth  and  loQgevi^. 

Our  American  Colonies  went  to  war 
with  the  mother  country  frmn  no  doc- 
trinal fonatidsm ;  *'  liberal  opimons" 
were  then  unknown,  or,  at  least,  had 
not  been  condensed  into  a  system  to 
wage  war  with  genuine  lib^y,  and 
curse  mankind.  At  the  commence- 
ment, thcnr  fou^t  for  what  they  be- 
lieved to  be  a  n^t,  without  thinking 
of  ind^iendence,  and  when  at  last  they 
detonuiiai  on  having  a  government  of 


their  own.  they  wkhed  to  have  one 
that  woula  be  the  most  suitable  for 
their  character  and  circumstances. 
Thev  were  Englishmen  in  character 
andnabit;  the^  had  been  trained  to 
the  use  and  enjoyment  of  liberty,  and 
they  knew  nothing  else;  they  were 
without  materiab  for  forming  a  mo- 
narchy, and  therefore  there  was  only 
a  republic  for  them.  Those  who  for- 
med the  scheme  of  government  were 
practical  men,  anxious  to  benefit  their 
country,  and  the  structure  which  they 
ndsed  contained  nothing  of  moment 
that  was  new  to  the  people  in  practice^ 
while  it  contained  almost  everything 
to  which  they  had  been  accustomed. 
The  people,  moreover,  were  unani- 
mous m  tavour  of  this  form  of  ^vern- 
jnent,  and  when  they  had  obtained  it, 
they  believed  that  they  possessed  the 
best  in  the  world.  It  does  not  fall 
within  the  scope  of  this  Article  to 
speak  of  its  defects,  to  examine  its 
operation,  and  to  inquire  what  it  will 
be  when  factions  shall  become  so  un- 
principled and  violent  in  America,  as 
they  have  so  long  been  in  this  coun- 
try. 

What  has  been  said  will  clearly  in- 
dicate the  path  which  ought  to  nave 
been  followed  in  South  America,  but 
the  directly  opposite  one  was  followed. 
The  authors  of  .the  South  Aroericsn 
revolution  were  Liberals,  and  they 
commenced  it  almost  wholly,  not  from  . 
pressing  national  needs,  or  just  quar- 
rel with  the  parent  state,  but  to  prac- 
tise their  political  doctrines.  This 
would  have  been  most  perilous,  even 
if  their  creed  had  been  true,  rational, 
and  practical;  if  it  had  been  hi^ 
Toryism.  It  was  of  necessity  to  dis- 
tract those  with  disputes  on  abstract 
principles  of  government  who  were 
destitute  of  political  knowledge— it  waa 
to  make  political  fanaticism  the  grand 
spring  of  action,  and  to  attempt  to  ob- 
tain freedom  by  the  agency  of  that 
which  can  estabUsh  no  other  govern- 
ment than  a  tyranny.  But  the  creed 
of  these  persons  consisted  of  *'  liberal 
opinions  — the  old  fiirrago  respecting 
the  equalitv  of  man,  and  not  the  good 
of  man, — ue  possession  of  liberty,  and 
the  destruction  of  all  that  can  nurture 
liberty.  Of  course,  those  principles 
only  were  inculcated  that  were  the  most 
false  and  dangi^ous,  and  tliose  insti- 
tutions only  were  thought  of,  that  were 
the  most  unfit,  and  the  most  likely  to 
be  perishable. 


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goHth  Anurka. 


CFcb. 


The  cobdhioii  of  8ottth  America  was 
exactly  the  reverse  of  that  of  North 
AnQerica,  m  the  contest  of  the  latter 
for  its  uidependeoce.  The  most  mark- 
ed inequalities  existed  in  the  circum- 
atances  of  its  inhabitants.  One  class 
was  rich,  luxuriant,  fond  of  splendour 
and  magnificence,  and,  in  the  highest 
d^ree,  aristocratic  from  birth  and  the 
degradation  of  those  amongst  whom  it 
roored.  The  remainder  of  the  popu- 
lation, comprehending  a  very  large  pro- 
portion of  the  whole,  existed  in  the 
lowest  stages  of  poverty,  servitude,  vice, 
and  ignorance — of  mental  and  bodily 
degradation.  The  former  displayed  the 
inertnesR  of  the  Spaniard,  doubled  by 
the  enervating  influence  of  a  tropical 
dimate;  thelatter  possessed  the  spright- 
ly, unreflective,  unstable,  foppish,  sen- 
sual, selfish,  insincere,  dishonest, wUd, 
and  passionate  temperament  of  the  In- 
dian, N^o,  and  Creole,  it  was  not 
possible  to  amalgamate  both  into  one 
adhesive  body.  They  had  been  accus- 
tomed only  to  the  rule  of  an  absolute 
monarch,  they  knew  nothing  whatever 
of  practical  liberty,  and,  in  addition 
to  this,  the  higher  class,  the  wealth 
and  intelligence  of  the  country,  were 
of  rovalist  principles,  and  opposed  to  the 
revolution.  Common  sense  loudly  pro- 
claimed that  monarchy  was  alone  cal- 
culated for  such  a  population,  ancTthat 
while  this  population  was  disabled  by 
mental  defects,  habit,  and  condition,  for 
rendering  republican  institutions  ope- 
rative for  public  good,  it  was  endowed 
with  almost  everything  that  could  con- 
vert republican  liberty  into  a  plague. 
The  erection  of  a  rational  monarchy 
with  a  member  of  the  royal  family  of 
Spain  at  its  head,  would,  in  all  proba- 
bility, have  converted  the  higher  class 
of  the  people  into  supporters  of  the  re- 
volution, while  it  would,  no  doubt, 
have  been  as  palatable  to  the  lower 
class  as  a  republic.  Unanimity,  so  es- 
sential for  the  stability  of  new  govern- 
ments, would  thus  have  been  secured. 
The  power  of  the  Crown  might  have 
been  limited  to  the  utmost  extent  The 
King  must  have  accepted  it  on  tlie 
terms  of  the  givers,  and  he  would  have 
possessed  no  party,  and  no  means  of 
any  kind,  to  enable  him  to  violate  the 
compact.  Such  a  government  would 
have  stood  on  the  natural  foundation 
(^governments ;  it  could  scarcely  have 
faiietl  of  being  permanent,  and  of  real- 
izing the  best  hopes  of  its  subjects. 
The  Liberals,  however,  must  always 


follow  the  same  conduct  In  all  coun- 
tries, and  they  must,  above  all  things, 
appropriate  '  Uie  sovereign  power  to 
themselves.  A  population  like  this  was 
formed  into  a  variety  of  petty  repub- 
lics, each,  of  course,  having  at  its  head, 
a  party  of  the  leaders  of  the  revolu- 
tion. 

South  America  therefore  presents 
.  the  following  monstrous  incongruities. 
A  population  consisting  of  three  or 
four  distinct,  hostile,  and  unmixable 
races  of  men,  of  which,  one  is  com- 
posed of  decided  aristocrats,  who  re- 
gard the  others,  not  merely  as  inferi- 
ors in  station,  but  as  beings  ranking 
only  just  above  the  brute, — and  erf 
which  a  very  large  portion  are  slaves, 
or  nothing  better,  is  governed  by  re- 
public.   A  population  ignorant  in  all 
things,  and  profoundly  ignorant  of  the 
principles  and  practice  m  liberty,  ha- 
ving no  literature  and  no  public  opi- 
nion, composed  chiefiyof  therich'and 
of  the  extreme  poor,  and  licentious  in 
the  highest  degree,  is  governed  by  re- 
publican institutions.    The  degraded, 
slave,  the  outcast  Indian,  and  ue  de- 
spised Creole,  have  governments  which^ 
continually  ring  in  their  ears  the  doc- 
trine of  equality,  the  rights  of  man, 
&c  &c  Ultra  Liberals  are  formed  in- 
to governments  which  profess  to  be  li- 
berty personified,  and  still  render  one 
part  of  the  people  the  tyrants  of  the 
other ; — ^which  affect  to  secure  a  corn- 
muni^  of  political  rights,  and  still 
give  to  a  great  part  of  their  subjects 
no  poHticsl  rights  whatever.  Govern- 
ments are  established  which  are  hated 
by  one  part  of  their  subjects,  as  being 
founded  on  false  principles,  which  are 
despised  by  another  part,  as  conceding 
notning  that  they  ought  to  concede, 
and  wmch  are  scarcely  cordially  reve- 
renced by  any,  except  those  who  draw 
emoluments  from  them. 

Some  of  the  fruits  have  already  ap- 
peared, and  others  will  speedily  fol- 
low. These  republics  are  already  ap-' 
tated  by  factions  of  the  worst  descrip- 
tion—factions struggling  onl/  for  the 
reins  of  power.  Even  before  the  contest 
with  the  mother  country  is  ended,  we 
see  in  someof  them,  onesetof  men  after 
another,  sdzdng  upon  the  government 
by  main  force,  as  though  no  constitu- 
tion existed.  If  human  nature  remain 
unclianged,  and  chance  interrupt  not 
the  operation  of  natural  causes,  this 
will  continue  until  it  end  in  the  de- 
struction of  South  American  r^«W- 


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1894.3  JSMh  Amerka. 

canim.^  FacCkms  must  edst  as  long 
as  the  republics  exist,  and  there  is  no- 
thing in  thepeople,  or  the  government, 
to  oontzol  them.  The  natural  and 
aeqnired  qualities,  the  form  and  con- 
dition of  society,  and  the  national  in- 
stitutions, whidi  in  this  country  keep 
£Ktions  within  due  bounds,  are  in  a 
great  measure  unknown  in  South  Ame- 
rica ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  the  people 
are  in  a  state  peculiarly  adcnlated  for 
enabling  factions  to  oecome  lawless 
and  to  work  their  ruin.  But  what  the 

Xldics  hare  chiefly  to  dread  is,  the 
t  which  the  doctrines  on  which 
they  stand  must  have,  when  they  are 
rmdered  fiuniliar  to  the  lower  orders. 
This  must  take  place ;  the  principles 
of  Liberalism  must  become  the  creed  of 
the  slaves,  the  Indians,  and  the  subor- 
dinate portion  of  the  Creoles,  and  the 
paasioos  of  these  must  be  continually 
worked  upon  by  faction.  The  consfr- 
quenoes,  all  may  anticipate. 

It  is  time  now  to  speak  of  the  ques- 
tions whidi  agitate  Europe  respecting 
these  States. 

That  Spain  should  be  exceedingly 
anxious  to  regain  the  sovereignty  o£ 
them,  is  perfectly  rational ;  and  tnat, 
if  she  can  reconquer  than  without  as- 
sistance, she  has  a  right  to  do  so,  is 
admitted  by  evary  one.  But  that  she 
has  a  ri^t  to  hire,  or  to  receive  with- 
out hire,  such  assistance  from  other 
powers,  even  U^ough  it  be  only  meant 
l6  recover  for  her  what  she  has  lost,  is 
strenuously  denied.  It  would  be  idle 
to  enter  into  the  labyrinth,  into  which, 
the  discussion  of  the  principle  of  this 
denial  would  lead.  England  and  Am^ 
fici  have  protested  against  such  assis- 
tance being  furnished,  and  the  idea  of 
furnishing  it  seems  to  be  entirely 
abandoned  ;  there  is  therefore  an  end 
of  the  matter.  America  could  do  this 
tafdy,  for  she  has  neither  colonies  nor 
alhes,  and  she  seldom  pussies  herself 
with  maxims  of  honesty  and  consis- 
tency in  the  prosecution  of  her  policy. 
Witn  us  it  was  a  different  matter.  We 
have  both  colonies  and  allies ;  we  have 
something  to  lose  in  other  purts  of  the 
world,  as  well  as  something  to  gain  in 
South  America.  We  have  bv  our 
<*  dear  principle**  effbctuallv  bound 
ovrsdves  from  ever  using  a  snip,  or  a 
soldier  of  an  ally,  let  us  be  losing  what 
we  may  in  the  East  Indies  and  else- 
where. It  would,  however,  no  doubt, 
be  against  our  pecuniary  interests  of 
the  moment,  for  South  America  to 


1S# 

be  again  controlled  by  the  mother 
country.  ^> 

The  opinion  whichhas been  so  wide- 
ly inculcated,  that  the  leading  powers 
of  the  continent  wish  to  reunite  Soutib 
America  to  Spain  in  order  to  stay  Uie 
contagion  of  revolu  tionary  (nrinciples,  is 
unwcnrthy  of  belief.  These  powers  had, 
at  least,  a  very  strong  interest  in  put- 
ting down  the  Crown-veiled  repub- 
lic that  was  reared  in  Spain.    Danger 
commanded,  if  public  law  forbade, 
them.    However  despotic  as  govern- 
ments they  may  be,^ey  must  still  be 
as  solicitous  for  theur  own  existence, 
as  though  they  were  free  ones ;  and 
it  was  loudly  proclaimed  by  all  the 
Liberals  in  the  world,  as  well  as  belie- 
ved by  themselves,  that  the  existence 
of  the  new  Spanish  government  waa 
incompatible  with  their  own.    Not 
merely  the  principles  on  whidi  this 
government  was  raised,  but  dl  the  in^ 
flamed  personal  feelings  of  the  ruling 
party  were  fiercely  opposed,  not  to  the 
policy,  but  to  tne  existence  of  the 
other  European  governments;  they 
regarded  the  subversion  of  these  ffo- 
vemments,  as  a  matter  alike  probable 
and  desirable.    They  proclaimed  the 
governments  of  Englimd  and  France 
to  be  tyrannies,  as  well  as  those  of  Au- 
stria and  Prussia ;  and  no  nation  and 
monarch  were  more  abused  by  their 
public  prints,  than  England  and  her 
King.  It  was  impossible  for  a  govern- 
ment like  this,  ruling  a  nation  of  the 
second  class,  and  forming  a  member 
of  the  great  family  of  European  go- 
vernments, while  almost  every  state 
was  agitated  by  powerful  factions  pro« 
fessing  its  principles  and  labouring  to 
accomplish  its  wishes,  to  exist,  with- 
out endangering  the  existence  of  other 
governments.   It  could  not  harmonise 
with  them,  or  avoid  provoking  their 
dislike,  except  by  apbstacy;  it  was 
compelled  by  self-preservation,  as  wdl 
as  principle,  to  foment  their  internal 
disturbances ;  its  professions  of  non- 
interference were  neutralised  by  the 
doctrines  whidi  it  publidy  inctdea- 
ted,  and  its  personal  connection  with 
the  revolutioniBts  of  every  state ;  and 
its  pbjTsical  weakness,  as  an  enemT» 
was  counterpoised  by  the  strengm 
.  of  the  revolutionary  factions  that  al- 
most everywhere  existed.    But  with 
regard  to  the  States  of  South  America 
matters  are  wholly  diflerent.    Their 
feebleness,  distance  from,  and  want  of 
connection  uid  influtoce  in  Europe, 


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]dftoe  thenif  even  wUh  EBgiBd  to  do»> 
trinefl^  fiur  below  its  fears.  If  the  al- 
lied Bovereigiis  idsh  reDublicaiiism  to 
receive  its  (kath-blow»  let  than  leave 
the  repubUcs  of  these  states  to  yield 
their  natural  fruits^  and  to  destroy 
themselves. 

It  has  been  said^  that  the  allied  so- 
vareigns  merely  wkh  for  the  establish- 
ment  €i  some  rationid<,  practical,  ind^ 
pendent  government  in  South  Ame- 
rica, for  the  benefit  of  itself  akme. 
There  wonld  be  but  little  to  condemn 
in  such  a  wish,  eyen  tho^h  it  savour- 
ed of  the  impossible.  The  warmest 
firiend  of  South  America  would  wi^ 
to  see  it  converted  into  one,  or  twoj 
constitutional  monarchies,  framed  up^ 
on  the  model  of  the  Britiidi  one,  as  rar 
M  the  genius,  habits,  and  circum* 
stances  of  the  population  would  per- 
mit, and  having,  for  functionaries, 
practical,  exnerienoed  men  of  British 
constitutional  principles.  He  would 
wish  this,  not  merely  as  a  friend  to  its 
liiture  prosperity,  happiness,  and  great- 
ness ;  but  m  order  tnat  it  mi^t  be 
saved  f^m  impotency,  strifb,  misrule^ 
anarchy,  bloodshed,  and  ruin.  Ifman- 
Idnd  would  act  from  right  motivoi 
alone,  tiiis  mi^^t  be  easily  acoom^ 
plished,  for  its  expediency  would  be 
admitted  by  all  paities.  But  were  the 
allied  sovereigns  to  propose  that  the 

nle  should  themselves  trace  the 
idaries  of  these  monarchies,  that 
ihey  should  have  all  the  roval  houses 
of  Europe,  and^  in  truth,  all  mankind 
•to  choose  their  sovereiffns  from,  that 
they  should  draw  up  their  own  oon- 
Btitutions  under  no  other  restriction, 
than  that  they  should  contain  nothmff 
•manifestly  hostile  to  social  order,  anS 
that  the  sovereigns  should  guarantee 
the  permanence  of  these  monarchies, 
and  the  preservation  of  intonal  tran- 
quillity—such a  scheme,  however  sa- 
lutary it  mig^t  be  for  the  country, 
however  palatable  it  might  be  to  the 
people  at  large,  could  still  only  be 
carried  into  eflfect  by  force,  and  of 
oourse  in  direct  opposition  to  public 
law.  Not  only  the  Liberds  of  Europe 
and  the  government  of  die  United 
States,  but  the  powers  that  be  in  South 
America  would  resist  it  widi  all  thdr 
-might,  and  tiiis  would  be  a  sufficient 
reason  for  not  undertaking  it. 

It  may  be  proper  here  to  remark, 
whoi  so  much  praise  has  been  lavish- 
ed by  our  Whigs  imon  the  protest  of 
ihe  Presideiit  of  the  United  States 
1 


Sotith  Amiriau  [[Feb. 

against  the  intaSenaiot  oi  tie  AUiad 
Powers  with  the  affidrs  of  South  Ame. 
rica,  that  this  protest  may  safely  be 
referred  to  the  lowest  of*^  interested 
motives.    It  is  the  manifest  interest 
of  the  United  States,  that  South^m^ 
rica  should  be  divided  and  governed 
as  it  is.    If  the  latter  formed  but  one 
state,  it  mu^t  easily  possess  itself  of 
a  formidable  fleet,  a  nnmeroiis  army, 
and  powerful  alUes,  and  might  be- 
come a  sturdy  equal  and  a  galling 
curb,  as  well  as  a  valuable  neig^boni; 
But  the  feeble,  jarring  rraublics  muat 
be  oontmt  to  remain  without  fleets, 
armies,  and  allies ;— they  must  be  ooi»- 
tent  to  act  the  slave  when  North  Ame- 
rica places  to  act  the  bully,  and  to 
look  on  in  submissive  trembhng,  idien 
she  pleases  to  aggrandise  hmlf,  ei- 
ther to  their  danger,  or  at  their  e»» 
pense.    She  will  be  in  the  westsm 
world,   with  r^;ard  to  power,  the 
France,  as  it  was  in  the  davs  of  Bu^ 
naparte  on  land,  and  the  Eng^d  on 
the  ocean.    In  exactly  the  same  pro- 
portion in  which  it  is  ^  interest 
of  the  United  States  for  South  Ame- 
rica to  remain  what  it  is,  it  is  the  in- 
terest of  England  that  it  should  not 
so  remain— that  it  should  be  consoli- 
dated into  one,  or  two,  powerful  states. 
Next  to  South  America  itself,  nb  coun- 
try in  the  world  has  so  great  an  inte- 
rest in  promoting  sudi  consolidation 
as  Great  Britain.    This  violent  dasl^ 
ing  of  interests  ous^t  at  any  rate  to 
make  us  exceedingfv  cautioua  in  a»- 
eondhu^  the  views  of  North  America. 
With  regard  to  die  future  influence 
of  the  States  of  South  America  on  our 
g^ieral  interests,  they  will,  no  doubt, 
nimish  an  extremely  beneficial  mar- 
ket for  our  trade,   mth  this  we  must 
be  satisfied.    They  will  add  vigour  lo 
the  rivalry  which  exists  between  us 
and  the  United  States,   rerive   our 
fronting  jealousies  and  animosities,  and 
make  us  almost  natural  enemies.  They 
win  frequently  embroil  us  in  di^utes^ 
and  not  seldom  in  war,  with  that 
power ;  for  the  preservation  of  their 
rights  from  its  mvsaion,  and  of  their 
territory  from  its  grasp,  will,  in  a  great 
decree,  devolve  upon  us.   While  they 
will  thus  render  tne  duty  of  gnardii^ 
our  interests  more  difficult,  make  the 
task  ofmaintaining'thebaknce  of  power 
-more  extensive  and  laborious,  andmul- 
tiply  the  diances  of  war  and  its  evil 
consequences,  they  will  be  compara- 
tively worthless  as  alUea  and  auxUia- 


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flei.  We  IntbM  l&il^  1)6  affiance  wlfli 
tfienH^we  must  dnw  noiie  of  the  be« 
iieilts  fixmi  theita  that  sprihg  fhmt  i^ 
Banee,  and  still  we  must  eet  fdr  (hem 
towards  the  TTAfted  Btates,  as  though 
#e  wete  cemeiHed  hf  alfianee  into 
one ;  and  we  mnsi  fight  fot  theito,  when 
ilghtitig  is  the  order  of  the  day,  a4 
l^ncipshl,  atld  aunoit  single^handra* 
We  intisi,  ttiot'eover,  not  expect  th^ 
il^dte  adnoitage  of  qnarreUing  fbf, 
and  of  heing  assisted  oy,  the  whole 
when  we  do  qttarrel  for  them ;  hut  it 
ttmst  he  for  one  at  a  time^  with,  not 
addoin^  idome  of  the  others  opposins 
US  in  the  htlsmess.  This  must,  m 
eotnrse,  add  to  the  chances  in  fkrOnr 
of  ^  freqnehcy  of  strife,  and  increase 
the  odds  against  ils  when  we  are  en^ 
gaged  lit  it.  Looking  at  British  in-< 
terests  alone,  it  is  peinAil  in  the  ex« 
trrmt  to  think  of  what  South  America 
mig^t  have  been  rendered,  and  to  see 
wittt  it  has  been  made.  As  one  State, 
it  would  haTe  yielded  as  many  pre* 
ient  benefits  to  our  trade  as  it  yields 
in  its  dirided  condition.  With  oUe 
ntional,  stable,  efficient  government, 
probability  would  hare  been  entirely 
m  farour  of  an  increase  of  thhf  trade  t 
but  with  the  existing  hundred  cock- 
ney, shadowy  governments,  j)rolmbi-* 
lity  is  wholly  in  fkvour  of  its  inters 
ruption  and  decrease  from  internal 
eontentlonsand  chai^;es.  As  one  State^ 
South  America  would  hate  formed  a 
bMtwnl  and  most  valuaUe  ally  to 
Great  Britain :  it  would  have  enaUed 
us  to  preserve  important  nationid  pos« 
sessions,  which  we  can  scarcely  pre- 
nrve  widumt  an  ally,  and  for  the  pre- 
serration  of  which,  we  must  now  sedc 
one  in  vain.  Both  would  have  had 
territory  bordering  on  that  of  die 
United  States^both  wouH  have  had 
ft  dear  interest  in  guaranteeing  the 
InviobbtHty  of  eadi  other's  t»ritory, 
cud  in  retftrainm^  that  power  from 
Atrdier  aggrandizmg  itself,  and  their 
c0i6  Rned  meaUff  would  have  been  am<^ 
jdy  soilicieiit  for  Ae  purpose.  As  it 
It,  in  our  next  contest  with  the  Uni-' 
ted  States  for  our  possessions  that  He 
near  them,  we  must  fight  alone,  and 
national  vanity  itself  can  seah^y  hope 
for  a  farourable  issue. 

The  tnahi  oliject  d  these  remarks 
is,  to  draw  the  attention  of  our  states- 
meu  to  the  real  merits  of  die  great 
ttuestion  respecting^  South  America. 
It  i#  in  general  regarded  as  a  mere  af- 
fidr  between  liberty  and  slavery,  be- 

VoL.  XV. 


141 

tt^eetttnfedeandUothi^.  iheWhigi 
and  Radicals  huaza,beeaa*edMt  poSt^ 
don  of  th^  world  ift  Ihro^iilg  olT  fl 
monarchical  gbvemmenf  ;  the  bett^ 
pdnion  of  Us  wave  our  haa,  b^eaustf 
n  is  sWdHttgf  tlie  Uift  of  free  Stated, 
and  the  tide  of  Ottf  dommeroe  and 
ihanttfictures  *  and  all  seem  to  diink 
that,  MOtided  it  become  itidependenl^ 
and  abow  us  to  trade  with  it,  thefekl 
nothing  more  to  be  anxious  aboilt^ 
either  for  its  oirti  sake,  oT  ours.  We 
seem  to  bdieve,  that  the  best  institu^ 
dohs  ivill  naturally  be  formed';  thai 
dtings  iHll  Uaturally  tdbe  die  hm 
^hAnnel  fbr the  fhture;  and  thatili# 
impossible  fbr  error  to  be  comfuitieA 
now,  and  calamity  to  be  reaped  here-^ 
after.  Is  thia  delusion,  so  glaring  slid 
disgraceful,  to  last  for  ever  ?  and  arv 
we,  while  we  are  boasdng  of  h^hg 
wise  above  all  who  have  gone  befbM 
Us,  still  to  pursue  conduct  that  wouldf 
be  scarody  worthy  of  children  f 

To  what  is  an  diis  owing?  VHM 
has  nlaced  the  extensive  regions  Of 
Soutn  America  in  the  worst  posaibM 
ititiuition  that  the  acquisidon  of  their 
independence  could  nave  pl{kced  thent 
in,  with  regaid  to  themselves  and  to 
Europe  P  What  causes  this^  consmn^ 
'  madon  to  yield  the  kaat  possible  be' 
nefit  to  Great  Britain,  both  with  re^ 
spect  to  the  present  and  the  fixture?' 
AUd  what  causes  our  o^tn  blindness 
to  truths  so  apparent  ?  The  new  prinM 
erples.of  social  union  and  govemmenf 
^^Liberal  opinions  and  Liberalii.  A 
new  race  of  usurpers  and  tyrants,  coU^ 
eisdng  of  discarded  and  wovdd-bc^ 
statesmen,  and  needy  and  ambitions 
soldiers,  has  sprung  into  being,  andie 
is  to  that  we  are  indebted  for  mamtM 
of  present  loss  and  fearful  anticipst^ 
tion.  Things  cannot  be  done  now  as* 
formeriy.  The  individual  usurper 
cannot  now  find  accomplices  to  place 
the  crown  on  his  head,  therefore  the 
prize  19  shared ;  an  ariny  cannot  now 
be  raised  among  dependants  and  oon^ 
necdons  to  figot  avowedly  for  the  so^ 
Tereignty,  therefore  one  is  provided 
by  d»organiz8tion,  and  Liberty  is  the 
n^ying  cry  for  the  estabHslmient  of 
an  mi^urchical  tyranny.  Butmodves 
and  omects  are  substantiidly  unchan- 
ged. If  we  dispassionately  compare  the 
creed  and  pracdce  of  these  usurpera, 
with  those  of  absohite  monarchs,  the 
latter  are  dettionstrably  the  best,  not 
tnerely  with  regard  to  nadonaf  weri 
ind  happiness,  but  even  wfdi  respect 
T 


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to  genuine  lijberty  itself^  Bat  never- 
tfaeless  we  still  seem  to  think  that, 
provided  the  crown  be  destroyed,  or 
sufficiently  stripped  of  power,  no  go- 
vernment can  be  formed  that  will  ty« 
rannize ;  and  that,  as  freemen,  we  are 
bound,  not  to  oppose,  if  we  cannot 
support,  those  who  have  liberty  in 
their  mouths,  whatever  may  be  their 
character,  motives,  schemes,  and  ac-^ 
tions. 

Instruction  is  prof  usely  spread  around 
U8»  if  we  would  but  de^  to  gather 
it.  What  effects  have  the  Liberals  al- 
ready produced  in  the  world?  They 
snatched  liberty  from  France  when  it 
was  already  in  ner  grasp,  and  gave  her 
a  tyranny  of  the  most  oppressive  de« 
scription — a  tyranny  which  lasted 
thiity  years,  and  which,  as  far  as  hu- 
man wisdom  can  determine,  would 
have  lasted  to  the  end  of  time,  if  it  had 
not  been  destroyed  by  one  of  those 
miraculous  interpositions,  which  prove, 
^t  the  affiiirs  of  men  are  still  con- 
trolled by  the  will  of  Heaven.  They 
have  filled  Spain  with  political  fana- 
ticism, and  inflamed  tne  people  with 
a  horrible  thirst  for  each  other  s  blood. 
All  hopes  of  lib8rty  are  at  {Hresent 
Uasted  in  that  unlumpy  country,  and, 
whatever  may  be  the  wish  of  her 
rulers,  they  must  of  necessity  be  des- 
pots'—whether these  rulers  be  royalist, 
or  republican,  she  must  now  be  go- 
verned by  a  searching,  sleepless  tyran- 
ny, or  not  at  alL  Tncy  have  brought 
Portugal  to  nearly  the  same  situation. 
In  the  Italian  States  and  Germany, 
they  have  awakened  the  slumbering 
energies  of  the  government,  rendered 
the  unremitting  exercise  of  these  en- 
ergies a  matter  of  necessity,  and  re- 
plunged  those,  who  were  making  con- 
siderable advances  towards  practical 
liberty,  into  positive  slavery.  The  si- 
tuation in  which  they  have  placed 
South  America  has  been  already  spo- 
ken of.  While  their  influence  nas 
thus  been  felt  in  so  large  a  nortion  of 
the  world,  in  no  one  State  where  they 
have  been  able  to  accomplish  any- 
thing, have  they  produced  anything 
but  calamity.  Setting  aside  the  blood 
they  have  caused  to  be  shed,  the  dead- 
ly feuds  they  have  kindled,  and  the 
tremendous  wounds  they  have  given 
to  the  morals  of  mankind,  wherever 
they  have  found  a  spark  of  liberty, 
they  have  invariably  quenched  it. 
The  Continental  Sovereigns  at  the 
peace  were  unquestionably  friendly  to 


South  America*  C^^' 

the  gradual  exteatkm  of  genuine  li- 
berty. Thejr  gave  freedom  to  t^rance, 
they  gave  freedom  to  Holland;  the 
Kii^  of  Prussia  promised  his  su^ects 
a  Constitution,  the  Emperor  of  Rus- 
sia made  important  ameliorations  in 
the  condition  of  his  people,  and  their 
words  and  actions  were  favourable  to 
the  cause  of  freedom  throughout.  The 
Liberals  started  from  their  hiding- 

^es,  echoed  the  old  dogmas  of  the 
ich  Revolution,  and  tne  splendid 
prospects  of  mankkid  vanished*  The 
concession  of  a  single  point  would 
have  been  madnessin  these  Soverdgns, 
when  nothing  less  was  demanded, 
than  that,  which  would  have  involved 
themselves  and  their  dominions  in  ruin. 
Liberty,  not  merely  practical,  but  char- 
tered hbertv,  has  therefore  been  with- 
in the  reacn  of  a  very  large  portion 
of  the  present  generation,  and  it  ha» 
been  banished — to  be  seen  again  only 
by  posterity — by  the  Liberals  alone* 
Those  who  are  at  present  the  most  in- 
veterate enemies  of  liberty,  those  who 
in  the  present  age  have  literally  work- 
ed its  ruin,  are  the  "  Constitutional- 
ists." And,  saying  nothing  of  the  in- 
satiable ambition  and  cupidity  of  these 
wretched  persons,  what  national  ob- 
jects do  they  profess  to  have  in  view  ? 
Are  we  now  strangers  to  what  their 
principles  and  schemes  produced  in 
France  ?  Is  there  any  man — even  a 
Whig — who  knows  his  right  hand 
from  his  left,  who  will  say,  that  the 
constitutions  of  Spain,  Portugal^^  and 
Naples,  could  have  governed,  could 
have  existed  in,  any  nation  whatever, 
without  resolving  themselves  into  ty- 
rannies of  die  worst  kind  ?  Is  it  a 
matter  of  doubt  with  any  one,  that 
the  practice  of  their  creed,  civil  and 
religious,  would  debase  still  more,  al-p 
readv  debased  humanity,  and  would 
quaoruple  the  misery  under  which 
mankind  now  labours  ?  Were  we  to 
allow  the  '^  Constitutionalists"  to  do 
what  they  wish,  we  have  it  in  proofs, 
that  they  would  root  up  what  at  pre- 
^nt  exists,  only^  to  rqdace  it  with  what 
would  be  infimtely  more  pernicious^- 
that  they  would  destroy  the  govern- 
ments tliat  are,  only  to  build  up  others 
that  would  immediately  fall  to  pieces 
— ^nd  that  they  would  break  up  so- 
ciety, only  to  cblange  order  into  anar- 
chy for  a  moment,  and  then  to  esta- 
bhsh  tyrannies,  a  thousand  times  more 
galling,  than  any  that  can  now  bt 
found  in  Europe. 


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1094.3  South  America. 

Lei  xm,  hcmewet,  hope  that  Liberty, 
however  banished  at  present^  wiU^  in 
the  next  generation,  be  the  possession 
of  all.  Liberty  will  be  casUy  attain- 
ed for  the  worlds  when  it  shall  be 
flought  at  the  proper  season,  and  in 
&e  proper  manner^  by  those  who 
ought  to  seek  it.  Bnt  it  will  never 
be  obtained  for  the  world  by  disap- 
pointed party  leaders,  political  quacla, 
trading  constitution-mongers,  merce- 
nary dnScers,  and  ininriated  mobs. — It 
will  never  be  obtained  for  the  world 
by  abuses  of  Kings  and  Ministers^  by 
exciting  hatred  against  religion  and  its 
teachers^  by  demoraliesing  mankind^ 
and  by  arraying  every  man  against  his 
neighbour^  and  rendering  the  Demo- 
cracy, the  implacable  enemy  of  the 
Monarch,  and  the  Aristocracy.  And 
it  win  never  be  obtained  for  tne  world 

S'  seditious,  immoral  newspapers,  and 
e  Ainatic  scurrilities  and  imprecations 
of  fliach  men  as  Brougham.  When 
die  "Constitutionalists  return  to  their 
native  dust,  when  their  raving  is  no 
longer  heard,  and  when  the  lower  or- 
ders foUow  their  natural  leaders  in 
matters  above  their  knowledge,  then 
will  be  tile  era  of  liberty.  It  will  be 
sought  by  die  wealth,  intelligence, 
wisdom,  and  honesty  of  mankind — ^by 
men  whose  characters  will  be  a  pledge 
that  they  are  disinterested,  that  they 
seek  general  good  alone,  and  that  they 
are  incapable  of  asking,  what  ought 
not  to  be  granted.  They  will  be  gui- 
ded bj  public  wants,  and  not  abstract 
doctnnes — they  will  seek  only  what 
their  respective  countries  may  need— 
tiiey  will  conciliate,  instead  of  exaspe- 
rating their  governments — tiiey  will 
seek,  nota change  of  rulers,butof  insti- 
tntions— they  will  endeavour  to  recover 
to  Kings,  Blinisters,  and  Nobles,  as  well 
«8  to  peasants,  their  just  rights — and 
they  will  convert  the  lower  orders  into 
efficient  allies,  by  making  them  more 
knowing,  orderly,  Wal,  moral,  and  re- 
lifpoii8---4hey  will  thus  seek  and  they 
will  obtain.  They  will  not  obtain  a 
complete  set  of  new  fillers,  and  a  huge 
mass  of  strange  institutions  at  once, 
but  they  vrill  slowly  add  one  thii^ 
«fter  another  to  what  already  exists, 
nntil  the  fruits  of  their  labours  will 
be,  national  prosperity  and  happiness 
—the  greatest  expedient  measure  of 
diartered,  and  the  greatest  possible 
measure  of  practical,  liberty. 

In  the  meantime,  let  us  be  care^l 
to  avoid  identifying  oursehes  wii^  the 


1*3 

pretended  ftiends  of  liberty— let  us, 
instead  of  listening  to  their  words,  look 
at  their  conduct.  It  is  the  common 
cry,  that,  because  we  are  Constitution- 
alists ourselves,  we  are  bound  to  re- 
gard tile  Constitutionalists  of  Europe 
with  brotherly  affection  ;  and  that 
whenever  they  seize  upon  a  throne,  it 
is  our  especial  constitutional  duty  to 
r^oice  on  the  occasion.  Lord  Holland^ 
in  the  fulness  of  his  vrisdom,  even 
seems  to  think,  that  we  ought  to  put 
ourselves  at  the  head  of  these  persona 
forthwith.  Now,  in  the  name  of  com- 
mon sense,  what  relationship  have  we 
with  them  ?  What  principle  do  we,  as 
worshippers  of  the  British  Constitu- 
tion, hold  in  common  with  the  Consti-< 
tutionalists  of  the  continent?  Does  our 
constitution  teach  us  to  wage  war 
'  against  royalty  and  aristocracy,  against 
rehgion  and  public  morals  ?  Or,  does  it 
instruct  us  to  reduce  Kings  and  Nobiea 
to  ciphers,  to  fashion  an  unbridled 
faction  into  the  virtual  Executive,  and 
to  make  the  democracy  the  one  and  all 
of  the  people  ?  Away  with  such  stupid 
and'vile  delusions !  Our  constitutional 
creed  is  more  abhorrent  to  that  of  these 
persons,  than  to  the  creed  of  absolute 
governments.  We  stand  between  the 
two  extremes,  but  we  are  much  nearer 
to  the  one,  than  the  other ;  we  esteem 
a  monarchy  to  be  inflnitely  preferable 
to  a  republic,  and  we  think  a  despotic 
government  to  be  far  better  than  none 
at  all.  With  the  governing  Constitu- 
tionalists of  France,  and  the  Federal- 
ists of  America,  we  agree  in  many  es- 
sential points  of  faitn,  but  with  the 
Constitutionalists  in  question,  we  are 
fiercely  at  issue  on  foundation  princi- 
ples ;  and,  in  truth,  they  hate  us  quite 
as  cordially,  as  they  hate  any  of  their 
opponents  whatever.  The  Whigs  have 
joined  them— have  in  reality  placed 
themselves  at  their  head,  but,  m  do- 
ing this,  tiiey;  have  renounced  British 
Constitutional  principles,  and  have  be- 
come the  enemies  of  what  at  present 
constitutes  British  liberty.  Let  us, 
therefore,  carefnlly  stand  aloof  from 

the  continental  Constitutionalists. ^ 

Let  us,  whenever  a  nation  is  render- 
ing itself  free,  or  colonies  are'declat- 
ring  themselves  independent — instead 
of  merely  bawling  liberty,  and  chuck- 
ling over  every&ng  they  do— bestir 
ourselves  to  teach  them  right  princi- 
ples, to  put  them  into  {he  proper  path, 
and  to  assist  them  to  convert  their 
triumph  into  sdid  gain — into  real  li- 


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t^/.  Whenever  iiley  wbh  to  t^o 
<' the  Liberals"  for  kftdcn,  »Bd  to  build 
^pon  *'  Liberal  opinioQa,'^  let  ua  oppoM 
it  by  all  Intimate  meaQs  to  die  utmost. 
We  (ball  then  discharge  our  dutv  as 
Bntiah  Cimstitutionaliats^and  we  skall 
I^OTe  pursdves  to  be,  not  the  pretend* 
ed«  \mt  the  true  friends  ckT  the  rights 
of  BUtfikind,  not  the  ncaninal,  but  the 
real  and  efficient  cham^ons  of  liberty. 
If  we  act  different!  V— if  we  aflfect  to 
Inspect  the  princroles  of  the  foreign 
revolutionists,  and  connive  at  their  df** 
fints ;  and  if  we  think  that  liberty  and 
our  constitution  command  us  to  r^ 
miun  neutral,  whenever  they  are  en^ 
^iged  in  war,  and  obtaining  a  eQn<r 
quest,  we  9h»U  find>  that  human  na? 
lure  wilt  at  every  step  dash  to  pieoet 


»mih  Ananas  ^/^ 

the  dandiiig  theorka  aflb^  fUloio- 
phy-^-4hat  toe  prools  of  eatperiiiiLoe  aitf 
vet  nK»re  valuable  than  the  dreaws  of 
unaginaUoQ,  and  that,  what  was  Orutli 
and  wiadom  i^es  ago.  is  truth  an4 
wisdomstiU.  We  shall  4«d  that  every 
victory  th^  obtain  will  be  a  wonnd  to 
Uboty-^that  every  aequiaition  they 
make  will  be  a  suotractio^  i&om  w 
rights  ^nd  well-being  of  mankind;  an4 
we  shiul  find,  besides^  that  we  hare, 
by  our  error  and  inaction,  placed  oiff  i 
sdves  and  our  best  possessions  in  jeor 
psrdy,  and  largely  eontribuled  lo  4B 
the  world  with  plagues  and  miserr, 
when  Uie  means  were  in  our  hanos 
iot  leading  it  to  Uesaings  and  heppin 


y .  y .  y . 


iij  ||«  p jjH^  mmm*i*''  n  ■ 


LBTT$KS  pP  TiypT^Y  nP^Jt?^^  ^9^  ^9  EMINENT  UT^aAaV  ClIA&ACTl^RS. 

No,  XJV- 

Off  Ttt«  WPPTWN8TI5JI  R?V|?W,  &Pi 


Dj|Aa  ^lEj 

I  COMPASSIONATE  the  fe^g  m»k 
which  you  mij^t  have  perusod  tSe  $n|| 
Number  of  thi«  long  prom^^  An4 
loudly-trumpeted  p^K>dical«  In  i^ 
publication  you  cannot  have  failed  to 
perceive  the  last  and  inMlibJe  ^ymp** 
tom.  The  Quarterly  came  mtrr% 
violent  wound— <extemal,  and  dealt 
from  a  distance;  then  csme  Black* 
wood,  a  close  home-thrust— you  might 
bandage  it  up«  and  smUe,  flod  smue  ; 
but  you  felt  what  was  within  .and  trem* 
bled  inly — ^last  of  all  comes  this  fearful^ 
this  faUd,  this  consummating  West- 
minster Review— here  is  neither  the 
gunshot  wound  nor  th^  df^er-thrust 
—here  is  c^t jcoje— here  is  $e  plague- 
spot— here  is  the  nntrefiu!tion  from 
within  —  herf  is  thp  rottenness  for 
which  there  cfm  be  neither  cure  nor 
hope.  This  is  ^e  laat  of  youf  '*  three 
sufficient  warniiMn.'' 

See,  now,  to  woat  all  your  fine  the- 
ories have  come  I  Behold,  fiow,  the 
upshot  of  ^our  ^IfBg^nt  quibblingsy 
your  sarcastic  whifpe^ng^  ypur  giaoe- 
ful  cunning  innuei^doesy  your  skilful 
balancings,  your  meat  exqui^^  ^VUf 
mings:  See  wh»^  i/^  oonie  ^  jonf 
befutili|l  hesitations,  your  9n#  senj^ 


perifhri^ses,  your  play,  your  by-play> 
your  double  play«  Admir^le  rope- 
dancer  !  are  yon  dean  thrown  at  laat  ? 
Noble  jockey  I  will  the  stubborn  steed 
^nd  his  neck  never  again  to  be  pat- 
fed  bv  your  condescending,  ooncUi#- 
ting  hand^  Splendid  aeronaut!  is 
there  never  a  pio^chute  in  reserve  ?  li 
the  wax  dean  mdted ;  O  Icarus,  and 
does  thy  last  quill  quiver  P 

So  much  for  exordium  and  euphq- 
pia !  now  to  business  in  the  (^d  plam 
style* 

your  cause,  my  man, — the  ca^^  o( 
die  literary  partiaana  c^  Whi^;ery,  if 
utterly  gone  at  last.  For  twenty  yean 
your  game  haa  beei^  to  oondliate  the 
rabble  of  Jacobinism,  Radicalism,  Li<» 
beralism^  (no  matter  about  a  little 
chopping  end  changing  of  namea,)  in 
order  that,  backed  by  the  vulgar  outr 
cr^,  if  not  the  vulgar  force,  your  party 
mi^t  be  enabled  to  supplant  the 
Tory  mimstrjr,  and  to  distribute  fmoi^ 
YOU  and  their  other  dependants,  iif§ 
loaves  and  fishes  of  Qreat  Britain. 
Thia  haf  hew  your  pmejIiMiJl  olisieo^; 
your  care^  naa  had  no  meanina  hut 
this.  In  the  prosecution  of  thj^a^iea^ 
your  difficuItM^  |^ive  b^f^^  ooniidffr 
fbk,  fndyou  have  nol  ejwf^f  goi  out 


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LmentfTl0»oa0Tkkkr,E9q.    No.  XIV. 


kife  1m0»  vWMdf  Y«u  bftvo  beea 
indaoea  to  say  things  which  required 
IQ  h$  unsaid^-to  iBsiiiiuite  what  you 
were  obliged  to  di8avow-*Yoa  have 
abam^Ailly  paltered  in  a  double  eenae, 
«ad  not  sekiom  you  have  been  dov 
tected. 

But  not  until  now  could  you  hate 
fompbtejty  brought  home  to  your  own 
boeoay  tb  uUer,  and  entire^  and  ine^ 
medidblefailureof  AU.  y  oua  8CH£ME8» 
to  spit^  of  oewaional  an8pioion»  viaii* 
U#  and  aodiUe-— in  spile  of  many  lit» 
^  ebedii  9xA  atumbunga— inspiteof 
CerlUe^wjn  ppite  of  Honon-in  spite  of 
Cobbftt  liimielf— Tou  might  stul  pre« 
ev^e  ewne  ftint  nope  t£it  your  ob« 
jecta  mighty  some  day  or  other,  come 
|e  be  fbrwArded  by  the  alliance  of 
tliose  whom  your  understanding  aln 
waya  4eeptsed,  whom  jrour  lotds  and 
masters  found  it  oonyenient  you  should 
Slitter,  mA.  whom  you  and  your  su* 
jwriors  must  now  be  contented  to  unite 
in  fearing.  Your  tridcs  hare  all  been 
exposed^  Mr  Jeffiney :  Not  by  your  old 
fnemies  the  Toriea-r-^Gad  knows,  they 
CKMsod  tham  often  enough,  but  th^ 
did  pot,  oQuldnot,  expose  them  amoiig 
the  locals ;  they  could  not  ^oop  to 
fha^  work  ;-^hut  by  the  radicals  them-i 
selves.  They  have  taken  up  the  tone 
which  waa  that  ol*  your  most  bitter 
enemies— and  which  is  so  still — thou^ 
the  enemies  have  been  changed ;  for 
as  to  us,  the  Tories^  being  your  ene^ 
VMS  nfiWj  yo^  may  depend  on  it,  that 
is  entirely  out  of  the  question.  W^ 
M^mld  as  soon  think  of  warring  with 
women,  or  hating  the  dead. 

The  enKis^  is  comptetc-wYeu  and 
your  coa4iutor8  have  for  a  score  of 
years  sne^ped  at  what  you  dunt  not 
openly  revile—you  have  fbr  a  sceve  of 
years  hinted  what  you  durst  not  pui 
la  plain  words— and  all  this  to  please 
9  aet^  of  people  who  now  take  the  affiur 
^te  into  tbeir  own  hands,  and  mot 
fioat^nted  with  Aat,  sneer  at  you,  yei^ 
at  yea  imd  aU  your  clan,  more  bitteri]» 
than  evicf  you  dared  to  sneer  at  9Xkft 
Ihing;  aevilo  your  whole  aanoeavMs 
BOM  soomi^y  than  ever  jckl  dared 
t9revilo^ythti^;andqpeakin^8mack 
WK  without  penphvana  or  eqmvoqae, 
fverylftung  diat  ever  you  darea  to 
lltl^  the  smalkst  hint  of,  tcU  you  as 
plainly  as  words  cui  do,  that  thev  saw 
through  you  all  the  while,  and  «bow» 
•d  you  to.  1^  on,  not  ftam  the  SMat 
dialanl  QotionthAlyou  ever  willed  to 
do  the  least  good  to  thcm^  but  in  the 


145 

mfMt  sineere  oonvletion,  belief,  kxiow« 
ledge,  that  your  own  doinga  would  in 
the  upshot  emasculate,  deatroy,  and 
nullify  yourself  and  your  whole  set,Mid 
thereby  serve  them  and  their  cause,  £ut 
more  effaetuaUv  than  anything  that 
could  posaibl]r  be  done  or  devised  to 
^our  destruction  by  others.  ThisllieQ 
u  the  finals  of  your  cowardly  oondli* 
atory  oonoerta  You  gave  tnem  in^ 
after  inch,  and  now  they  at  laat  tell 
vou  that  nothing  but  the  ell  vrill  do 
for  them*— that  they  will  have  ihe  ell 
••^-and  that  when  they  have  it,  you,  of 
all  people  in  the  world,  are  the  very 
last  to  whom  they  in  their  turn  would 
give  so  mueh  as  a  hairsbreadth.  Your 
refleetiona  must  be  sweet 
The  plain  tale  of  these  gentry  has 

Eut  you  down  with  a  vengeance.  You 
ave  been  going  on  snufling  tfid  whis^ 
pmng  i^Gut  ''liberal  opinioDS^"  the 
'*  increased  light  of  the  time,"  "  dia* 
cussion,"  ''  march  of  ideas,"  and  God 
only  knows  what  stuff  besidea  of  the 
same  sort.  In  another  d^MurCment,  (if 
indeed  it  can  be  called  another  one,) 
you  have  been  cracking  your  little  cun^ 
ning  jokes  againal''chttrch,~  '<tithes»" 
*'  bishops/'  even  d^wn  to  Dot  Birr'a  wig, 
and  the  '^  hu^  amorphous  hata"  of 
Joctora  of  divieityTF^to  say  ne^Uug 
about  some  still  slyer  touches  of  atruly 
detestable  nalnre«*Hdy  and  cunninji 
and  ingeniously  wrapt  up,  but  stiU 
smelt,  Mr  Jeirey,  and  sometimea  ^frt 
noaed  toe,  aa  ye  may  perhaps  resaem^ 
ber*  You  have  alio  bfca  fnnx  tmi4 
to  time  trumpeting  up  American  ooih 
atitutiens,  foraoom,  American  lawt^ 
American  presidents,  and  what  noli 
and  you  have  also  indulged  in  occa* 
aional  wipes  at  your  own  king ;  both 
at  him  that  was,  and  at  him  Uiat  jiow 
is.  i  mean  peraonal  wines  at  the  king^ 
not  at  his  ministers  and  their  proceecU 
ings.  All  along  this  sort  of  cant  haa 
been  muttered  oy  you  and  your  gen» 
tlemen  between  your  tceth-^youbayte 
been  saying  these  things  in  a  sort  of 
petpetual  (an(&)^while  the  sen* 
tmces  you  were  delivering  aperto  en^ 
and  in  facie  tkeairi,  were  gamiahifd 
with  beautiful  high«aoundiBg  words  of 
"l^aky,"  *'  constitutional  monarchy 
of  England,"  <'our  holy  reMgion,"  ''our 
venemUe  ealabliahmaits  in  chureh 
and  atale/'  the  "pratUcal  bltm9^  €i 
our  polity,  a^  it  is>"  the  '' sMperiQfity 
ofEngkmd''  over  aU  other  eountne^ 
and  tnbea,  and  kindreds,  and  tongues 
&c.  &c.  &c    At  one  time  you  went 


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Clf«b. 


80  far  86  io  attack  the  Methodists  dis* 
tinctly  and  expressly  on  the  ground  of 
their  being  like  enough  to  play  over 
again  the  part  of  the  old  Puritans,  and 
•*  overturn,"  these  are  your  own  words, 
**  the  constitution  in  church  and 
state ;"  or,  as  you  word  it  in  another 
paragraph,  "  the  tluione  and  the  altar." 
Often  and  often  have  you  in  your  up- 
per key  abused  the  "  madness/'  the 
*'  folly,"  the  *'  visionary  trash"  of  the 
radical  reformers — a  hundred  and  a 
hundred  times  over  have  you  thus 
played  hot  and  cold. — We  saw  through 
50U  all  the  while,  and  we  told  you  so  ; 
but  you  chose  not  to  be  warned  by 
that,  for  you  thought  that  you  were 
still  gulling  your  own  bruium  vulgus. 
You  can  now  no  longer  lay  that  flat- 
tering unction  to  your  soul. 

The  radical  party,  sir,  have  long  had 
in  Cobbett,  a  man  a  thousand  miles 
above  you  in  native  vigour  of  mind, 
ftnd  no  more  to  be  compared  with  vou 
as  a  writer  of  the  English  tongue,  than 
the  war-horse  of  Napoleon  was  to  be 
compared  to  old  Cniaramonti's  pet 
arobfang  mule.  You,  in  jealousy,  or 
rather  in  fear,  tried  to  destroy  Cobbett 
'^but  Cobbett  laughed,  as  he  well 
might,  at  anything  you  could  do,  rat- 
tling widi  your  little  auctioneer's  pen- 
ny-hammer, (which  you  mistook  for 
a  warrior's  mace,)  upon  his  steel  coat 
and  coisses.  You  did  nothing ;  and 
he  did  all  himself— he  destroyed  him- 
adf— it  is  no  time  to  tell  how  here— 
Imt  he  destroyed  himself.  And  it  was 
«nly  his  having  done  this  that  prevent- 
ed HIM  from  destroying  you  also.  The 
radiod  party  have  also  had  for  a  long 
time  Jeremy  Bentham,  a  man  immea- 
•urably  superior  in  his  single  intellect 
certainly,  to  you  and  all  your  divan 
put  together.  But  Jeremy's  absurd  pe- 
euliaritiesof  thinking,  still  more  of  wri- 
ting, rendered  him  almost  as  harmless 
as  errors  and  defects  of  quite  another  or- 
der had  rendered  Cobbett.  The  one 
had  sdnk  himself  below  the  respect — 
tiie  other  could  never  bring  himself 
down  to  the  intellect  of  the  radicals. 
In  spite,  therefore,  of  these  two  great 
men ;  for  they  are  both  of  them  enti- 
tled, in  some  sort,  to  be  so  called — in 
spite  of  the  admirable  ingenuity  of  the 
one  intellect,  and  the  admirable  pith 
of  the  other,  you  and  your  coadjutors 
still  found  nothing  to  prevent  your 
continuing  to  play  on  the  same  old 
double  game.  You  played  on  sprucely 


and  ahily,  but  at  htt  your  hour  was 
come! 

In  this  new  Review,  the  party  wiA 
which  ye  had  been  so  long  paltering, 
has  at  last  found  an  organ  and  a  ral-  ^ 
lying  point  of  intellect  for  themselves. 
Hencdbrth  they  tell  you  distinctly 
and  scornfully  they  have  no  need  df 
you.  They  have  told  you  their  old  and 
rooted  contempt  at  once.  They  have 
declared  their  resolution  to  stand  by 
themselves,  and  for  themselves.  *'  No 
more (uides ;  no  more  whispers;  no 
more  hints ;  no  more  insinuations  ; 
no  more  Whig-radiods ;  no  more 
Jeffreys  ;  no  more  Edinburgh  Re^ 
view  ;  no  more  milk  and  water  for 
us."  Such  is  the  language  this  party 
now  speaks ;  and  the  thing  is  spoken 
in  a  tone  which  verily  you,  sir,  and  all 
your  associates,  may  well  tremble  to 
hear. 

This  is  a  work,  Mr  Jeffrey,  of  no 
common  talent.  Had  the  same  talent 
come  forth  on  any  side,  it  must  have 
done  something ;  but  coming  forward 
in  this  shape,  and  on  this  side,  it  must 
inde^  do  much.  You  cannot  have 
glanced  the  book  over  without  being 
satisfied  of  this  in  a  general,  or  per- 
haps I  should  sa^,  in  a  vague  way. 
But  I  propose  to  illuminate  your  ideas 
a  little  farther.  You  are  shocked,  puz- 
zled, discomfitted,  downcast,  perplex- 
ed, bamboozled — I  am  cool  as  a  cu- 
cumber. You  fear  and  tremble — I  do 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  Do, 
therefore,  permit  me  to  lend  you  my 
spectacles,  if  it  be  but  for  a  glimpse  or 
two. 

You  have  no  longer  to  maintain 
yourself  against  the  shufflings  and 
twistings  of  the  self-confuted  and  self- 
tortured  Cobbett,  or  the  page-and-a- 
half  pdysyllabics  of  *'  The  Old  Man 
of  the  Mountain,"  (as  my  nephew  calls 
Jeremy ;)  you  have  to  do  witn  a  clever, 
determined,  resolute,  thorough-going 
knot  of  radical  writers — a  set  of  men, 
educated,  some  of  them  at  least,  as 
well  as  the  Edinburgh  Reviewers, 
— and  quite  as  well  skilled  as  the 
best  of  tnera  could  ever  pretend  to  be 
in  the  arts  of  communicating  with  the 
intellect  of  the  world  as  it  is — and 
(here  lies  their  immense  advantage,) 
these  men  have  a  single  object  in  view, 
and  have  adopted  boldly  and  decidedly 
a  single  set  of  measures  for  the  attain- 
ment of  this  object.  They  have  none 
of  the  demi-tintB  to  study.  They  have 


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only  one  string  to  tlieir  bow,  bat  it  b 
a  strong  one,  and  far  better  than  yoor 
doable  skeins  of  pack-thread.  They 
have  not  to  serve  two  masters.  Thev 
have  dioeen  their  part,  and  they  stick 
to  it. 

This  lifts  them  prodigiously  above 
your  elevation,  Mr  Jeffrey.  They 
write  in  a  straight-forward,  swinging 
style,  which  sorely  discountenances 
your  ingenious  (iot{^eefi/M(/m.  They 
do  not  scrape  with  a  chisel  behind 
their  backs,  as  you  did,  but  they  hold 
the*  axe  above  their  shoulders,  and 
they  tell  all  the  world,  that  they  will 
drive  it  in  thunders  on  the  tree,  tf  they 
can.  Your  set  appear  in  a  puny  light 
beside  these  people.  ^'  Faint  heart 
never  won  fair  lady,"  is  the  tune  the 
standers-bv  treat  you  with.  You 
would  ana  vou  would  not — your  if 
was  your  only  peace-maker,  and  there 
is  no  virtue  in  it — You  were  the  Pro- 
bert — the  Westminster  is  the  Thur- 
tel,  and  we  prefer  him. 

These  people  waited,  too,  just  tiU 
proper  time  for  their  most  effectual 
appearance.  They  waited  until  you 
had  edged  on,  bit  by  bit,  as  near  to 
their  own  view  of  things  as  (they  well 
knew)  you  ever  by  possibility  durst 
come.  They  waited  until  the  Whigs 
had  completely  committed  themselves 
— they  waited  until  you,  among  others, 
had  even  toasted  Reform  at  a  public 
meeting— nay,  they  waited  until  you 
had,  at  another  public  meeting,  toast- 
cd  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
in  a  speech  which  all  but  said,  that  a 
Rpublican  government  was,  in  your 
ofNnion,  the  best  government. 

They  got  you  into  this  cloven  stick 
only  for  the  purpose  of  leaving  you 
there.  If  these  are  your  real  senti- 
moits,  say  they,  why,  then,  have  you 
and  all  your  party  been  hoaxing  us,  in 
and  out  of  parliament,  for  these  twenty 
years?  If  these  be  your  real  senti- 
ments,  why  did  you  always  shrink 
from  the  rope,  when  we  called  for  a 
long  null,  a  strong  pull,  and  a  pull  all 
togetner?  If  you  be  Radicals,  why 
have  you  called  yourselves,  why  do 
you  still  call  yourselves,  Whigs  ?-» 
Henceforth,  such  is  their  language, 
we  shaU  put  up  with  no  more  of  these 
half  measures.  He  that  is  not  with  us, 
to  the  backbone,  henceforth  shall  be 
against  us — or,  at  least,  we  shall  be 
against  him.  I  applaud  their  logic. 
It  is  in  itself  sound,  good,  sincere,  and 
It  ruins  you.    The  Radicals  will  no 


147 

loi^r  stand  behind  you,  and  swell 

SYQx  ranks,  or,  at  least,  have  the  sem- 
ance  of  swelling  them.  Without 
this  aid,  you  well  know  that  you  have 
for  many  years  been  weak  as  bohrushes. 
Your  pitiful  remnant  must  now  be 
exposed  in  all  its  feebleness  and  na- 
kedness. To  us  you  cannot  ccmie— 
to  them  you  may  not  go— you  must 
stand,  such  as  you  are,  alone,  and  so 
stancting,  you  Aa£  auiNin. 

There  are  but  three  ways  you  can 
try.  First  of  all,  you  may  say, — WeU, 
there  is  no  help  for  us — we  must  do 
something.  We  have  gone  too  fkr  to 
retreat— we  must  e'en  make  common 
cause— we  most  e'engo  thoroughstitch 
— ^let  us  be  Radicals !  Jada  est  alta  t 
If  the  Edinburgh  Reviewers  choose  this 
line  of  proceeding,  or  if  the  violent 
Whig  Radical  leaders  in  the  Hoose  of 
Commons  choose  a  similar  Une  of  pro- 
ceeding, they,  the  Jeffireys,  the  Brough- 
ams, whoever  they  may  be,  are  cut  by 
the  great  aristocratical  Whigs.  For,— 
mark  vou  well,— the  Westminster  Re- 
view nas  spoken  no  half  words — ^itt 
words  are  not  like  yours,  that  they  might 
be  eaten  again  upon  occasion.  The 
lordly  Whigs,  the  gentlemanly  Whigs, 
the  Lansdownes,  the  Hollands,  all 
alike,  must  hate  the  language  of  this 
Westminster  Review,  or  be  fools, 
drivellers,  mere  idiots.  Thev  must, 
and  they  do  hate  it,  and  unless  you 
swear  that  you  hate  it  also,  they  turn 
their  backs  on  you  for  ever.  WeU— 
but  you  make  up  your  minds  and  you 
join  the  Radicals,  and  you  play  the  se- 
cond fiddle  to  the  Westminster.  And 
what  do  ^011  call  this? 

The  second  plan  you  may  essay  ia 
that  of  drawing  up  your  chin,  as  if 
your  breast-pin  were  suddenly  be- 
witched into  some  petrified  essence  of 
assafoetida,  and  saying — through  a  six- 
penny speaking  trumpet,  if  convenient 
— ^We  have  been  deceived — wc  have 
been  rash — we  have  been  blame-wor- 
thy— we  spoke  some  dvil  things  te 
these  fellows,  under  the  notion  that 
the  better  sort  of  them  would  be  flat- 
tered into  Whiggery,  in  which  case 
we  need  care  nothUig  about  their 
mere  rabble.  But  behold !  ohe  ver- 
min do  reallv  stick  together.  Ye  gods! 
the  Radical  gentry  despise  us— Ye 
gods !  they  have  set  up  a  Reriew  of 
their  own — they  are  to  criticise  hooka 
and  write  dissertations  and  libels,  all 
upon  their  own  bottom !  The  impu- 
dent knayes!  fieh'^ld,  they  even  re- 


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140 

view  te  Bdlnlnixtsh  Rcviewm !  Thig 
unlMftrd^  insoleiioe  is  a  little  too 
modi— Don't  yOa  think  ao.  Lord 
Arehy  ?  don't  yon  think  to^  Lord  Rots^ 
Lynn  r  don't  yoa  think  so,  indeed,  dear 
Lord  Holland?— Well,  there  is  no* 
thing  for  it  but  to  make  the  best  of  a 
bad  cause.  Let  us  be  done  with  this 
ragamuffin  regiment  for  once  and  for 
efer  I  Here  goes,  once  more,  the  glo*« 
rious  aristocradcal  old  Whiggery  at 
Engkndl  The  Edinburgh  Review  for 
cferl— 

*^  Down  widi  the  whitybrown^ 
Up  with  the  blue  !** 

If  this  plan  be  adopted^-^if,  declsr-* 
ingwaragainst  theRadicals>  the  Whi^ 
do,  nerertheless,  reaolTe  to  maintain 
tiiemaelvea  aa  a  party  againat  the  To* 
liea— they  will,  as  a  party,  and  yon 
Irill,  more  especially  aa  reviewers,  la- 
bour under  great,  wd^ty,  and  hither^ 
to  unexperienced  dimcmtiea  and  em-' 
bamasments.  Your  line  of  prophecy, 
&c,  toudiing  the  late  war,  haa  petty 
well  aettled  you  aa  fcoeign  politiciana* 
You  will  now,  at  your  very  outset, 
have  at  leaat  aa  magnificent  an  array 
of  Uundera,  touching  our  internal  af- 
ftiri,  to  acknowledge.  Having  done 
ao,  you  will  come  into  Parliament,  and 
maice  Whig  sp^ches ;  and  yoii  will 
write  Whig  reviews  alio,  wiui  much 
gracefulness  and  imposing  dignity  of 
air.  In  a  word,  you  will,  aa  a  party^ 
or  as  a  review,  be  altogether  unworthy 
of  the  trouUe  (rf  a  single  kick.  Con- 
ceive of  George  Canning  anawering  yoa 
in  Parliament,  or  Timothy  Tickler  an- 
aweting  you  out  of  Porhament,  after 
these  gulps ! — ^Well,  I  have  been  tM 
I  am  a  aingular  old  boy,  and  it  may  be 
ao ;  but  were  I  in  your  place,  my  braw 
man,  I  ahould  call  this  also  ruin. 

The  third  and  laat,  and  only  ftad-* 
Ue  {dan,  ia  for  you  to  come  over  at 
once  to  the  mini^ry.  Do  not  be  ut- 
terly anaied  by  the  notion  of  the  mag« 
nitude  of  this  change :  you  have  done 
the  like  already.  Henry  Brougham 
eonduded  an  article  in  tlie  Edinburgh 
Review  with  theae  words,  "  /,  decus, 
ty  noitrum :"  and  these  words  were  part 
of  an  addreas  to  Mr  Pitt;  and  this  k 
the  same.  Mr  Henry  Brougham,  who^ 
on  a  late  occasion,  said  he  wished  hia 
tombstone  to  be  inscribed,  "  Here  lies 
^  enemy  of  Pitt«"  Yoa  yourself  do 
not  require  to  be  reminded  about  Toar 
own  dumges  of  tone,  touching  Maoamo 
de  Stael,  &c.  &c  &e.  &e.  1^  &C.  &e. 
*-Why,  yonr  late  toasting  of  Rbpomi 


CFib. 


ii  of  kielfouiteenoQghibirntyafga'- 
nient.  Ana  then  eonsider  the  advan« 
jtageofthe^ng.  We  are  the  only  truo 
Chriatians,  ive  Tories ;  we  are  the  only 
people  that  really  love  our  enemieej 
and  kiss  those  that  despitefiilly  entreat 
us.  Compared  with  you,  our  own 
frienda  are  hateful  to  us.  We  are  ne^ 
▼er  weary,  as  things  stand  now^  of  do* 
ing  you  all  the  good  that  itia  posalblo 
for  us  to  do  to  yoa*  We  are  never 
weary  of  flattering  and  fatming  UpOti 
you.  We  think  no  sacrifice  too  grettt 
for  you.  If  there  is  any  honouf  to  bi 
given  by  us,  we  are  in  a  hurry,  lest 
you  should  run  the  least  risk  or  nii«M 
ing  it.  And  whenever  we  can,  wo 
thrust  some  lucrative  honour  also  up* 
on  some  of  this  incomparable,  invaloA 
able,  adorable,  divine  body  of  enemie«« 
Now  only  think— *if  we  do  aU  thin  fiyr 
you  white  you  are  against  ua— what 
would  we  not  do  for  you  if  you  were  for 
us?  Why,  you  are  all  mad  if  you  do 
not  jump  at  this^  You«  in  partioular> 
have  you  efer  sufficiently  considered 
what  a  nice-looking  liule  fellow  yoa 
would  be  in  a  silk  gown  and  kce  band 
—a  smooth  glossy  pair  of  black  silk 
stockings — shoes  bright  as  the  mortt« 
ing  star,  and  buckles  of  a  neat  pattern  t 
Or  what  do  you  think  of  purple  da^ 
mask,  and  gold  frogs  rustling  up  the 
steps  that  1^  to  the  landing  place  that 
leads  to  the  anti>chamber  that  leads 
to  the  presence-chamber  of  Carlton-^ 
House  ?  Or  if  you  think  quiet  things 
more  suitable  to  a  literary  character  of 
the  first  class,  what  say  you  toa  Com^ 
mia8ary8hip--a  snug  tning,  and  capt' 
tal  fun  too?--or  a  aeat  on  the  Exde^ 
quer  Bench  ?  Don't  you  think  yoa 
would  look  well  between  a  Davkl 
Hume  and  a  Sir  Samuel  Shepherd  ? 
The  brightest  bench  SootUnd  has  eveff 
seen  would  then  indeed  be  a  galaxy ! 

Your  eye  laughs — ^you  darlfiig— you 
are  won — ^you  are  ours — here,  rush  into 
my  arms,  that  I  may  embrace  thee  ere 
I  die !  What !  you  draw  bade  f  you 
will  not?  you  are  resolved  to  hate 
nothing  to  do  with  us  ?  In  the  name 
of  common  prudence,  in  the  name  of 
Scotbnd,  in  the  name  of  Aberdeen,  re- 
lent I  Can  you  see  me  thus  stooping 
in  the  dust  before  you  unmoved  ?  Is 
thy  heart  a  piece  of  Caucasus's  hardM 
stratum?  Was  the  tigress's  milk  that 
you  were  nursed  upon,  tour  tniOc  f 

A  sudden  gleam  of  light  strikes  up« 
on  my  dd  eye-balls.    You  are  in  the 
right  yet,  an^alL  We  wouU  give  up 
14 


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Ldier$  of  Tknathy  Tickler,  Eeq.    No.  XIV- 


petUing  you  altogether^  if  you  were 
one  of  oundves.  Certainly  it  is  most 
probable  we  should.  Tou  remain^ 
therefore,  where  you  are,  from  the 
most  prudential,  as  well  as  the  most 
patriotic  of  motives.  I  cannot  o&r  any 
fufficient  objection  to  the  argument 
whidi  I  see  dancing  in  your  cunning 
^yes.  For  once  you  are  right,  Frank, 
and  I  was  wrong. 

As  yet  I  have  been  speaking  of  the 
efl^cts  which  will  be  produced  upon 
you,  your  work,  and  your  fellow- 
workers,  by  the  general  tone  of  prin- 
ciple avowed  in  this  new  book ;  but 
these  are  far  from  being  the  only  ef- 
Ueta  you  must  look  for.  Not  content- 
ed with  destroying  and  nullifying  the 
tal^t  which  you  may  still  have  it  in 
your  power  to  retain,  by  the  exhibi- 
tion of  equal  talent,  eiLerted  in  a  more 
straight-forward  and  uncompromising 
Btrle,  and  for  a  more  distinct,  and  in- 
telligible, and  broader  set  of  purposes 
*^DOt  contented  with  this,  the  West- 
minster work  is  likely  to  rob  you  of  a 
great  many  of  your  own  best  hands. 
Your  fri^ds,  disciples,  and  coac^Up- 
tors,  are  the  very  people  with  whom 
you  are  now  to  contend.  Two  of  your 
own  cleverest  hands  are  visible  in  this 
first  Number,  and  it  is  obvious  that 
many  more  will  leave  you  when  they 
find  that  there  is  a  review  in  which  it 
is  not  necessary  to  preach  radical  doo- 
trines  under  the  diayiise  of  whiggery. 
This  you  &el;  and  it  is  indeed  So  ob- 
vious, that  I  need  not  say  more  about 
it.  If  these  gentry  cond^cend  to  give 
you  any  further  assiitance,  they  will 
never  doit  in  any  other  view  than  that 
of  nutting  a  little  mcmey  into  their 
podcets.  They  will  write  for  you; 
but  they  will  keen  theur  best  wits  for 
the  woTK  where  toey  can  speak  their 
liesrt  right  out  Your  work  will  in 
this  way  degenerate  wofully.  It  will 
sink  into  a  sort  of  thing  like  the  New 
Misses' Magaaine  of  Cdbuniy  Camn- 
bdl,  and  Co — a  book  where  nobooy 
says  anything  at  all,  which  might  not 
jttst  as  well  be  said  in  any  other  book 
under  heaven.  Distinctive  character — 
intellectual  vtj — the  impress  of  indi- 
vidual earnestness,  wiU  be  aU  of  them 
found  wanting.  You  will  dwindle 
rapidly  into  a  sofk-book-Hi  book  to  lie 
bolde  the  young  ladies'  guitar — a 
bode  toread  one's^gentlyadeepover 
— ^  sweet,  harmlflw,  insignificant  olio 
of  puns,  prosings,  and  prettineaaes. 

Vol.  XV. 


149 

This  is  your  fate,  so  far  as  these  old 
allies  can  influence  it,  and  you  see  it. 

So  much  for  you— what  will  be  the 
effect  of  this  work  upon  the  country  at 
large  ?  Most  salutary— most  benefi- 
daT— most  blessed,  is  my  unhesitating 
answer.  Your  work  waa  a  dangorous 
one,  sir,  simply  because  it  waa  a  ^s- 
hcmest  one.  This  is  an  honest  one,  and 
I  can  see  no  peril  that  is  like  to  flow 
out  of  it.  You  mixed  up  your  pcison 
in  smdl  doses,  and  administered  it  in 
gravy,  porridge,  plumcake.  These 
lads  set  it  forth  in  its  native  shape,  and 
in  a  labelled  vid,  and  those  that  taste 
it  will  know  whom  to  thank  for  their 
treat 

This  a  broad-bottomed  Review  with 
a  vengeance.  It  reduces  everydung 
at  once  to  an  intdlioble  standar£ 
Universd  suffhige  is  we  inborn  and 
inalienable  right  of  man.  England  has 
at  present  ndther  laws  that  are  worthy 
of  the  name,  nor  any  representaticm 
whatever,  nor  any  justice  whatever, 
nor  any  government  but  what  is  di-^ 
rectly,  and  in  every  the  least  and  the 
.greatest  of  its  ddngs,  an  usurpation,  a 
tyranny,  a  plague,  and  a  curse.  All 
priestliood  is  priestcraft ;  allnobilihr, 
dl  gentry,  is  crud,  insulting,  bloody 
quack^ ;  the  very  name  of  monarchy 
is  a  thing  to  make  a  man  sick,  but  to 
hear  of.  Tumble  all  this  fiibric  down ; 
blot  out  the  whole  of  your  history; 
and  BEGIN  to  be  a  free,  a  happv,  a  rs* 
tiond  nation!  This  is  the  burdeui  the 
chorus  of  the  strain— this  is  the  whole 
pith  and  essence  of  the  Westminster 
Review. 

These  people  do  not  take  the  trouble 
to  argue  us  into  abdief  of  our  universd 
misery  .and  .degradation— they  aasume 
it  as  a  primary  and  incontrovertible 
truth — something,  to  which  nobody, 
but  an  idiot,  can  for  one  single  mo- 
ment hesitate  about  giving  his  full, 
hearty,  and  irrevocabfe  assent  The 
House  of  Commons  exists  sddy  by  and 
for  two  hundred  famiUes ;  all  the  rest 
of  the  twenty  millions  are  slaves,  and 
have  nothina;  to  do  at  present,  but  to 
dank  their  ebains,  and  sweat  fi>r  thdr 
Icrds'  behoof. 

The  matter  being  put  upon  this  de- 
cided footffikoe  can  he  no  peat  dif- 
ficulty in  grappling,  with  it  surdy. 
.Every  man  that  has  had  hia  eye  about 
him  in  the  world  is  of  course  perfect- 
ly qualified  to  judge,  whether  thia 
broad  statement  be  or  be  not  true  and 
U 


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150 

just ;  and  that  is  the  only  thing  he 
has  to  do ;  hecause  if  he  once  makes 
up  his  mind  that  it  is  not,  there  is  not 
one  word  in  this  book  which  is  not  as 
felse  as  Euclid  would  be,  if  a  triangle 
were  the  same  thin^  with  a  circle— 
and  if  he  makes  up  his  mind  that  it  is^ 
why  then  the  path  of  his  duty  lies 
very  clear  before  him.  If  he  bdieves 
this  book  to  be  foimded  in  truth,  and 
is  not  ready  to  enter  heart  and  hand 
into  the  work  of  an  English  revolu* 
tion,  a  total  and  radical  revolution — 
a  war  of  total  demolition,  extermina- 
ting ftiry,  revenge,  blood,  fire  and  fu- 
ry, TO-MOEttow — there  cannot  by  pos- 
sibility be  any  reason  for  this  shrink- 
ing, but  a  hempen  one. 

The  ground  which  they  take  is  no 
doubt  high,  and  the  attitude  impottng. 
Perhaps,  notwithstanding,  a  little  more 
condescension  to  the  babes  and  suck- 
lings of  the  world  might  have  been 
consistent  with  wisdom.  Perhaps,  for 
example,  it  might  have  bem  well  to 
give  a  few  specimens  of  actual  injus- 
tice done  to  us  Englishmen  by  our 
English  judges  and  juries,  before  call- 
ing upon  us  to  ^ve  the  whole  of  the 
E resent  system  its  coup^dc'grace,  and 
oldly  instal  old  Jeremy  £&ntham  as 
our  Solon.  Perhaps  it  might  have  been 
not  amiss  to  point  out  one  law,  the 
olgect  of  which  is,  evidently  to  please 
5200  families,  and  to  injure  aU  the  rest 
of  this  nation.  The  residence  of  a 
dergyman  in  a  parish  is,  they  tell  us, 
of  necessity  an  evil ;  perhaps,  in  the 
present  imperfect  state  of  the  human 
mind,  it  might  have  been  adviseable 
to  give,  instead  of  only  promising,  a  d^- 
monstraiion  of  this  fact.  I  might,  if 
it  were  worth  while,  run  up  a  tolera- 
bly lengthy  catalogue  of  trivial  little 
objections  of  this  cut — ^but  I  shall  be 
contented  with  only  one  more  proof  of 
m  V  esprit  bomi.  It  is  this ;  I  and  the 
otner  simple  ones  would  have  liked  to 
see  it  explained,  why  it  is  laid  down 
as  a  thing  not  disputable,  that  Eng. 
land  ought  to  be  revolutionlKed  imme- 
diately, because  the  immense  majority 
of  the  nation  want  a  revolution — while 
it  is  also  laid  down  as  a  self-evident 
truth,  that  the  late  Spanish  Constitu- 
tion ou^ht  to  have  been  flsaintained, 
because  it  was  hated  by  the  immense 
majority  of  the  Spaniaids.  But  I  con- 
fess, I  am  almost  ashamed  of  myself. 

If  it  be  true,  as  these  gentlemen 
^nevolently  inform  us,  that "  no  rosT 

1  rbason" — in  other  words,  that 


CFeb. 


those  fiicultles  which  are  not  absolute- 
ly necessary  for  enabling  us  to  see  that 
two  and  two  make  four,  are  an  un- 
happy impertinence  and  dog  upon  us, 
and  that  Joseph  Hume  is  a  greater 
man  than  Milton,  Shakespeare,  and 
Plato  put  together :— 4f  it  be  true,  thai 
he  who  inv^its  a  new  spinning-jenny 
is,  of  necessity,  a  wiser  and  a  better  man ' 
than  he  who  makes  a  new  Iliad : — if 
it  be  true  that  Mr  Carlile  is  a  noble 
martyr,  at  this  hour  suffering  in  Uie 
cause  of  English  intellect  : — if  aU 
these  things  oe  true,  it  certainly  must 
be  true  also,  that  we  ought  to  lay  aside 
many  things  with  whicn  we  at  present 
absurdly  and  childishly  amuse  our- 
selves. York  Minster  should  un- 
doubtedly be  made  into  a  ootton-miU, 
absque  mord :  Instead  of  taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  passions  and  aspirations 
of  humanity,  by  an  imposing  and  ve- 
nerable array  of  andent,  dignified,  and 
awful  institutions,  we  should,  no 
doubt  at  all  of  the  thin^,  build  a  neat 
congress  room,  and  see  if  nobody  will 
do  now,  what  Tom  Paine  used  to  be 
so  generous  as  to  say  he  would  do, 
that  is,  discharge  the  whole  duties  of 
king  and  executive  among  us  for  a 
matter  of  L.SOO  per  annum.  In  other 
words,  if  whatever  is  now,  or  ever  baa 
been,  in  England — ^be  wrong,  what- 
ever is  written  in  the  Westminster 
Review  is  right  The  system  wants 
only  one  thing  to  be  complete,  and, 
perhaps,  it  may  soon  acquire-even  that 
too, — I  mean  Tumipology. 

I  consider  this  Book,t&n,as  not  on- 
ly likdy  to  be  the  ruin  of  literary  Whip;- 
gery,  and  the  Edinburgh  Review  in 
particular,  but  as  likely  to  operate  as  a 
reductio  ad  absurdum  upon  the  whole 
doctrine  and  disdpline  of  the  Radicals 
themselves.  The  more  talent  the  af- 
fair is  conducted  with  the  better,  since 
tbev  have  fhirly  set  out  in  this  honest 
ana  open  tone ;  and  most  heartUy  do 
I  heme  that  the  good  men  of  the  land 
will  be  too  wise  to  throw  any  stum- 
bling-block in  the  path  of  thor  most 
promising  career.  On  let  them  go— 
and  the  fkster  the  better,  since  they 
not  only  feel,  but  confess,  that  it  is 
the  devu  who  drives  them* 

The  politics  of  this  Book  are,  as  yet, 
the  only  thing  noticeable  about  it  In 
general,  it  is  written  well,  with  dis- 
tinctness and  vigour  almost  through- 
out, and  occasionally  with  very  consi- 
derable power  and  eloquence.  The 
threshold  is  Cockney,  but  that  stain  is 


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I.fiUeti  <if  Timoiky  Tickler,  Eiq.    No.  XIV. 


not  fkible  Uurouc^  fkr  the  greater 
ptrt  of  the  affiur.  There  is  something 
pleusntly  waggish  in  having  a  print 
of  Westminster  JIall  and  Westmin- 
ster Abhey  in  the  title  page  of  such  a 
book.  I  giY^  them  credit  for  that 
archness.  Thie  article  on  Vocal  Mu* 
aiCy  Dr  Kitchener,  &c.  contains  a  great 
deal  of  excellent  sense,  and  that  on 
Moore's  Fables  for  the  Holy  Alliance 
is  quite  equal  to  any  piece  of  sarcasm 
that  either  ^rou  or  Brougham  ever  ma- 
na^Mtured  m  the  days  of  your  glory. 
As  for  the  small  print  at  the  end,  that 
department  has  either  been  given  up 
bodily  to  some  inferior  hand,  or  beep 
done  for  the  present  with  a  shameful 
carelessness  uid  slovenliness.  I  was 
pleased,  however,  on  the  whole,  with 
the  notice  of  "  The  Stranger's  Grave," 
though,  no  doubt,  the  author  of  that 
work  must  have  been  taught  long  ere 
now,  that  talents  such  as  ms  were  not 
meant  for  such  themes. 

The  character  of  this  work,  as  a  re- 
view of  literature,  properly  so  called, 
lemains  as  vet  to  be  made — ^perhaps  it 
never  will  have  any  existence.  Your 
woric  has  long  ceased  to  have  any  ex- 
istence of  that  kind,  that  is  worth 
speaking  o£  The  Quarterly  is  almost 
in  the  same  predicament,  in  so  fiur  aa 
the  literature  of  our  age  is  concerned. 
Long  ago  you  were  a  pretty  hand  at 
that  aort  of  thing  yourself. — Perhaps, 


151 

now  that  you  see  your  political  career 
quite  done  u^,  you  may  take  back  to 
it  again.  I  vnsh  you  would — Idbould 
hate  to  hear  of  you  being  a  mere  non- 
entity. 

Meantime,  be  not  overmuch  cast 
down.  I  am  five-and-twenty  years 
your  senior,  and  vet  see  how  cheerily 
I  carry  thinga  still.  This  is  but  a  poor 
world  after  idl,  to  fret  one's  self  much 
about.  My  wa^  is  to  take  matters 
easy.  Nothing  like  dividing  our  time 
properly.  I  devote  two  hours  before 
Dreakfast  to  my  oriental  books.  I  eat 
two  eggs  every  momiog.  I  still  have 
mv  cup  of  chocolate  at  two.  I  never 
riae  less  than  eight  miles,  dine  on 
more  than  one  di^,  drink  less  than  a 
bottle,  touch  apotatoe,  or  read  a  news- 
paper bv  candle-light  I  play  a  tune 
on  my  fiddle  everv  night  ere  I  ^o  to 
my  bed— five  good  Tories  rsometmies 
fewer, nevermore,)  dine  witn  me  every 
Saturday.  We  often  remember  you 
kindly,  overlook  all  your  foibles,  and 
drink  your  health  in  a  bumper.  Your 
speech  about  America  t'other  day  was 
really  a  clever  thing ;  it  does  you  cre- 
dit Don't  be  down  in  the  mouth 
over  much,  my  dear : — If  any  of  these 
Radicals  treat  vou  uncivilly,  come  to 
me  at  once,  ana  I  will  do  for  them. 
Yours  always, 
Timothy  Tickler. 

SouTHSiDE,  Feb.  10. 


LBTTBR  FROM  A  FBIEND  OF  THB  AITTHOR  OF  ''  ANA8TA8IU8, 


Sir, 


TO  C.  north,  B8Q. 


How  you,  or  the  reviewer  of  Hajji  Baba  in  your  last  Number,  who- 
ever he  may  be,  who  has  bestowed  such  just  commendations  upon  Anas- 
taaiua,  could  for  a  moment  suppose  the  author  of  that  work  to  be  the 
same  with  the  author  of  Hajji  Balm,  I  do  not  understand.  AH  I  know, 
and  which  I  beg  to  assure  you  oXt  a$  a  potitive  fact,  is  tbis^  that  Mr 
Hope  never  wrote  a  iingU  line  of  Hajji  Baba,  and  thai  I  n>as  present 
when  the  hookjirit  came  into  his  hands.  I  beg,  moreover,  to  inform  you, 
that  the  author  of  that  work  is  generall?  supposed  to  be  Mr  James  Mo- 
rier,  who  has  written  "  Travels  througn  Persia,"  or  a  work  bearing  a 
title  somewhat  similar. 

I  am.  Sir, 
Your  obedient  humble  servant, 

A  FRIRND  TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF  ANASTASIUS. 

London,  Feb.  7, 1824. 


AN8WBR. 

Did  you  not  sec  that  wc  were  <[uixzing  you  both  ? 


C.  N. 


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HULmkdIadg. 


CF«b- 


HIS  LANDLADY. 


Fnm  an  unpubHshed  Navel,  by  the  late  WdUer  Torrene,  Esq, 


When  at  college  him- 
self he  had  been  a  little  gay,  and  re- 
membering the  eonseqnences  of  his 
own  fbllies,  was  anxious  that  I  should 
pay  some  attention  to  Edmund. 

"  I  know  your  habits/'  said  he ; 
'*  but  what  I  mean  by  attention  is  not 
that  sort  of  hospitable  kindness,  which 
is  apt  to  bring  on  the  very  evil  I  wish 
to  guard  against ;  in  a  w(nd>  I  entreat 
for  him  the  attention  of  an  observant 
eve — the  eye  of  a  censor — as  well  as 
tne  occasional  advice  of  a  friend." 

Heaven  knows  how  ill  qualified  I 
am  b^  nature  for  any  office  of  severity, 
especially  towards  the  aberrations  of 
young  men.  Among  the  pleasantest 
recollections  of  my  youth,  are  many 
things  that  old  sge  now  teUs  me  were 
▼ery  naughty,  while  it  makes  me  sigh 
that  I  flhall  never  perform  them  agauu 

But  how  could  I  reftise  such  a  re- 
quest ? — ^I  had  not  heard  of  Lumley 
for  more  than  forty  years,  and  to  he 
80  afiectionately  reminded  of  the  fol- 
lies we  had  committed  together— Fol- 
lies ! — ^what  vile  translations  are  made 
by  old  age— and  these  same  follies,  the 
very  things  which,  by  the  alchymy  of 
old  companionship,  had  enridied  me 
with  virtues,  that  made  him  anxious 
I  should  superintend  the  education — 
rather  let  me  say,  the  foUies !  of  his 
only  son. 

Accordingly  next  morning,  imme- 
diately after  breakfast,  I  went  to  Mrs 
Lesley's  lodgings.  She  lived  in  a 
fourth  flat  in  Geom's  Street,  but  I 
was  so  buoyant  with  the  hope  of  see- 
ing a  renewed,  and,  as  I  was  led  to  be- 
lieve, an  improved  version  of  Lumley, 
that  I  felt  neither  ^ut  nor  age  in  as- 
cending. On  reachmg  the  door,  how- 
ever, I  was  rather  startled  to  observe 
not  that  it  was  newly  painted,  one  of 
the  common  lures  ot  the  season,  but 
that  the  brass-plate  with  the  name 
was  new,  and  seemingly  fresh  fhnn 
the  engraver. 

I  halted  on  the  stairhead,  and  look- 
ing at  the  plate  before  ringing  the 
bell,  said  to  myself^  <'  I  do  not  like 
this— «  new  comer-^inescperienoed— 
short  commons,  garnished  with  tales 
of  better  days,  won't  do—"  and  with  a 
sli^t  degree  of  fervency,  the  natural 
excitement  of  the  ideas  which  the 
brass  had  conjured  up,  I  somewhat 
testily  touchecl  the  bell. 


It  was  too  long  I  thought  of  beings 
answered ;  and  I  caught  mysdf  say- 
ing '*  slatternly  wench,"  as  I  agam 
laid  my  finger  on  the  spring. 

While  the  bell  was  sounding  the  se- 
cond summons,  the  door  was  opened, 
not  as  I  expected,  by  a  sooty  besmeared 
drab,  vrith  dishevelled  lodu,  and  a 
hearth  brush  in  her  hand,  looking  from 
behind  the  door,  as  if  she  expected  a 
thief,  but  by  a  little  girl  of  some  six  or 
seven  years  old — ^the  loveliest  creature 
I  have  ever  seen,  dressed  with  the 
most  perfect  simplicity,  and  her  rin^* 
lets  austering  all  over  her  head,  m 
curls  as  small,  pretty,  and  natural,  as 
the  wool  buds  of  the  fieeee  of  the 
lamb. 

"  Is  Mr  Edmund  Lumley  at  home, 
m^  dear  ?"  said  I,  patting  her  id- 
stmctively  on  the  head  with,  I  know 
not  wherefore,  a  sentiment  of  pity,  as 
my  eye  accidentally  fell  again  on  the 
u^y  new  brass-plate  with  her  mother^a 
name. 

"  I  don't  know,  but  ^ease  to  walk 
into  the  parlour,  and  I  will  inquire,** 
was  the  answer,  delivered  with  an  en- 
gi^ng,  modest  self-possesnon,  and 
with  an  English  accent,  that  seemed, 
if  I  may  say  so,  appropriately  in  uni- 
son with  the  beauty  and  gentleness  of 
the  bvely  fairy's  air  and  appearance. 

I  accordingly  followed  her  into  the 
parlour,  which  I  aaw  was  newly  fiir- 
nished.  The  carpet  was  new — ^the 
chairs  were  new,  but  the  tables  were 
evidently  second-hand,  so  was  the 
grate  and  its  appurtenances,  even  to  the 
hearth-rug.  Everything  wss  perfectly 
suitable  to  the  style  of  the  room,  ex- 
cept a  few  ornaments  on  the  mantle- 
piece,  consisting  of  neat  toys;  made  of 
paper,  ingenioiuly  painted.  They  had 
more  the  character  of  ornaments  fbr 
the  mosaic  tables  of  a  boudoir,  than 
for  the  chimney-shelf  of  a  boarding- 
house  parlour ;  an  old  squat  spoutless 
china  tea-pot,  with  a  cup  or  two,  odi- 
ousl]^  remmding  one  of  senna,  would 
have  been  more  appropriate;  but  I 
thought  of  the  pretty  creature  that 
had  gone  to  inquire  fbr  youn|;  Lumley, 
and  I  said  to  myself,  thmking  no 
more  of  his  comforts,  but  only  m  the 
family,  "  They  are  beginners,  and 
wiU  learn  before  the  winter  is  over  to 
dispense  with  diese  gewgaws."  At 
that  moment  a  cold  fit  came  upon  me ; 


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I  tbongfat  of  the  blooming  child/  and 
I  lodk^  again  al  tluwe  tasteftd  orna^ 
menta. 

'*  I  hope  in  God/'  said  I,  ''  that 
abe  baa  no  sister  capable  of  making 
and  painting  such  thmga— lliis  bouse 
will  nererdo.  if  Edmund  has  mudi 
of  his  father  in  him." 

While  I  was  thus  relapsbg  into  the 
peeriah  humour  in  which  I  had  first 
touched  the  belly  the  parlour  door  was 
opened  by  a  tall-and  degant  gentlewo- 
man, in  the  weedsof  a  widow.  ItwaaMrs 
LealeT ;  die  was  about  fiTe<«nd-thirty, 
probably  not  so  old  j  but  no  one,  see- 
mg  htf  ,  for  the  first  time,  would  erer 
have  thought  of  her  age,  there  was  so 
raudi  of  an  ever-ffreen  spirit  in  the 
fiveliness  of  her  look,  and  toe  beautiful 
inteDigenee  of  her  eye — ^what  she  said 
about  Edmund  I  do  not  reooDect,  nor 
do  I  beliere  that  I  heard  it,  so  mudi 
was  I  entranced  by  the  appearance  of 
mek  a  lady  in  a  condition  so  humble. 

I  imagine  that  she  saw  my  embar- 
nasment,  for  she  requested  me  to  be 
seated,  and  again  said  something  about 
her  boufder,  adding,  with  an  appa- 
rent equanimity  that  waa  exceedingly 
toudiing,  **  He  haa  gone  to  bring  a 
ftiend  here,  who  arrived  from  West- 
moreland bttt  night;  for  as  yet  I  have 
got  but  hhnself . 

''  Is U  possible?"  said  I,  not  well 
knowing  what  I  said. 

''  I  am  sorry  it  is  true,"  replied  she 
with  a  smile ;  but  there  was  a  despon- 
dency in  the  tone  that  ill  accorded  with 
the  gaiety  of  the  look,  and  she  adtled 
aorioualy,  *'  I  must,  howeyor,  try  a 
h^  longer.  IfMrLumley  brings  his 
fi^ipd,  perhaps  his  firiend  may  nring 
anodier.  It  is  in  that  way  I  expect  to 
succeed,  for  I  have  no  friends  to  re- 
commend me." 

''  Good  Heavens !  madam,"  exclaim* 
ed  I,  no  longer  able  to  suppress  the 
emotion  with  which  I  was  affected, 
*'  how  is  it  that  you  are  in  this  condi- 
tion ? — how  have  you  come  here,  and 
without  fiiends? — ^Who  are  you? — 
what  are  you?" 

The  latter  questions  were  imperti- 
nent certainly,  but  the  feding  which 
dictated  them,  lent,  I  presume,  so  fit- 
ting an  aecoit  to  their  earnestness,  that 
th^  ndther  gave  ofl&nce,  nor  implied 
anything  derogatory  to  the  deoantand 
unfortunate  widow  to  whom  mey  were 
addressed. 

''  I  am  not  surprised  at  your  won- 
der," said  she,  '^  for  I  do  sometimes 
think  myself  Uiat  I  am  not  very  pro- 


Hi$  Idmdhdjf.  153 

perly  at  home  here.  But  what  ean  a 
friendless  woman  do?  without  fortune, 
and  with  children  that " 

She  could  say  no  more— 4he  tears 
rushed  into  her  eyes — and  emotion 
stifled  what  die  would  have  added. 

After  a  biief  pause,  I  mustered  oon« 
fidence  enough  to  address  her  again. 
**  I  entreat  your  pardon,  madam,  and 
I  hopeyou  will  not  tbioJc  me  imperti- 
nent for  saying,  that  your  appearance, 
and  the  budneas  Jn  whkh  3wu  have 
embarked,  are  so  sadly  at  variance,  that 
I  should  account  myadf  wanting  in 
the  performance  of  a  grave  duty,  if  I 
did  not  ask  for  some  explanation." 

*^  It  is  natural  you  ahould,"  said 
die,  wiping  the  tear  from  her  cheek ; 
*'  and  two  worda  will  satisfy  you-* 
'pride  and  poverty.'  Pride  has  broug^ 
me  to  Edmbmqdi,  because  I  am  here 
unknown,  ana  poverty  has  induced 
me  to  try  this  mode  of— her  vdoe 
struggled,  but  she  soon  subdued  the 
emotion,  and  added,  *'  fat  mv  diil- 
dren.  I  have  four — ^twoboya  doer,  and 
one  girl  younger,  than  my  little  houae* 


**  House-maid !"  said  I,  almost  with 
the  alarm  of  consternation. 

She  smiled  again,  but  it  waa  such 
a  smile  that  tears  were  inadequate  to 
expresa  the  sadness  of  heart  which  it 
betokened.  *'  It  is  even  so,"  said  she^ 
"  for,  until  I  obtain  another  boarder,  I 
cannot  venture  to  engage  a  regular  ser- 
vant. The  little  money  whida  I  raised 
by  the  sde  of  my  trinketsis  all  I  have, 
and  the  purchase  of  these  few  neces- 
saries, (giandng  her  eye  round  the 
room,)  naa  made,  I  assure  you,  no 
small  inroad  on  it." 

'*  Heavens !  madam, — and  if  you  do 
not  get  boarders,  and  it  run  out,  what 
is  to  become  of  you  ?"  waa  my  silly 
exclamation,  bdng  by  thia  time  quite 
beside  mysdf. 

She  loooked  at  me  for  some  time. 
She  evidently  struggled  with  a  terrible 
feeling;  but  ahe  conquered  it,  and 
said,  with  a  common,  easy,  conversa- 
tional tone,  which  her  eye,  however, 
made  sublimdy  awfril,  "  You  should 
not  ask  such  a  queation  at  one  in  my 
circumstances." 

Tlie  bdl,  at  this  juncture,  was  rung, 
and  in  a  minute  or  so  afterwards  young 
Luml^  entered,  with  disappointmoit 
and  gnef  so  vidble  in  his  countenance, 
that  I  fdt  as  if  my  own  heart  was  ab- 
solutdy  perishing  away. 


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Letters  of  Charles  Edwards,  Esq.     No.  I. 


Cl^b. 


LlTTJSaB  (fOSTHUMOUS)  op  CUAHLES  £DWAJU>8>  EBQ. 

No.  I. 


*  Lisbon,  1800. 
I  LANDBD  on  Wednesday.  After  a 
passage— hurricane  all  the  way — of 
only  tour  days  from  the  Land's  End. 
Blowing  weather  does  not  trouUe  me, 
bat  I  shall  nerer  make  a  sailor.  I  have 
two  senses  in  dreadful  perfection^— 
smejl  and  taste^— which  every  man 
ahould  leave  behind  him  when  he  pass- 
es the  gate  even  of  a  sea-pcHrt  town. 
The  coM[^tx>m  of  a  ship,  Kobert  !-* 
the  very  reodlection  of  it  I  The  com* 
bination  of  coal  smoke,— dose  packed. 


( perfume 

will  not  sweeten  my  mind  from  the 
remembrance.  And  mine  was  a  mere 
«'  Troop  ship,"  too— «  very  "  pouncet 
box"  of  aTiesseL— The  "  Horse  ships!" 
-«-You  can  scarcdy  imagine  anything 
oflfenslve  in  the  smell  of  cattle— par- 
ticularly of  horses?— but  the  &ct  !— 
The  atmosphere — ^in  spite  of  all  venti- 
lation, or  antiseptic  pecaution,— nof 
the  hold  of  a  Horse  ship !— I  know  of 
but  one  thing  at  all  equal  to  it;  and 
that  is  a  thing  which  (now)  yoic  can 
never  make  tnal  of— the  lee-side  a£  a 
slave  vessel,  arrivingfwith  a  full  cargo) 
in  the  West  Indies. 

But  come  out,  the  very  instant  you 
can  ;^and  I  am  out  of  my  wits  that 
you  are  not  here  now.  There  are 
some  pleasures  which  one  cannot  en* 
joy>  unless  in  the  company  of  a  orea* 
ture  who  enjoys  them  too! — Come 
out !  and  see  what  it  i»-^to  see,  on 
every  side  of  you — ^that  which  you 
have  never  seen  before ! — "  There's 
a  touch  of  sublime  Mflton,"  as  Far« 
quhar  has  it, — I  think, — di? — But; 
positively,  I  could  give  the  world, 
that  you  were  now  here  by  my  dde. 
Here— in  Lisbon ! — (in  the  Largo  do 
St  Paulo!  ) — looking  out  of  a  two  pair 
of  stairs'  window—^"  second  floats,** 
in  Lisbon,  are  patrician !)  at  No. — (I 
don't  exactly  know  what  the  nun^ier 
is !)  But  with  **  laughter  for  a  week,'' 
**  entertainment  for  a  month,"  and 
recollections  for  the  rest  of  your  life, 
within  every  ten  yards  y  u  cast  your 
eye  upon ! 

Yon  can  hardly  conceive  the  strange 
sensation  which  a  man  feels,  when 
he  first  comes  ashore  here,  at  hearing 


everybody  about  him  living  in  a  lan- 
guage wmch  he  does  not  undmtand ! 
And  almost  as  difficult  is  it  to  oonvinoe 
yourself— at  least,  I  protest  it  is  so 
with  me — ^when  you  talk  Encliidi  abid 
in  a  lartte  aasembly,  that  nobody  oom- 
prehends  you. 

To  me — I  hear  it  abused — but,  to 
me,  this  place  seems  a  paradise!— 
Will  you  call  it  aflEbctation^  if  I  speak 
about  climate  ?  I  don't  care  if  you 
do. — In  defilmce  of  aU  the  nonsense 
that  ever  was  written  about  **  Italum 
skies,"  there  is  a  diffiarenoe,  and  an 
essential  one— ask  your  own  feelings, 
on  the  first  spring  dav  you  get  in  £iw« 
land? — There  is  a  oifibrenee  in  & 
level  of  a  man's  spirits— of  his  courage 
—of  his  heart,— when  he  has  a  warm 
sunny  sky -over  his  head,  without  a 
doud  to  be  seen  in  it  for  a  month  to- 
gether ;  and  when  he  imbibes  nothing, 
week  after  week,  but  a  base  as  white 
as  good  milk  and  water  ;  and  fimcies 
every  morning,  whfen  he  gets  out  of 
bed,  that  it  must  be  general  **  wadi- 
ing- day"  all  over  the  world ! 

Do  you  only,  my  dear  friend,  come 
(as  I  have  done)  out  of  a  vile,  damp, 
smoky  brig !  Away  fi!om  the  sea««ick- 
ness,  and  nrom  what  is  still  worse,  the 
ship  sickness  \  Out  of  the  si^t.  and 
thought  of  canvass,  and  pitch,  and 
paint,  and  coal-tar,  and  cordage !  And 
away  fipom  the  fumes  of  to^cco  and 
brandy,  or  the  still  more  sufibcating 
exhalations  of  the  ^'  provision  roo^"*— 
(always  carefully  placed  so  as  to  lie 
just  under  the  cabin)— Savagely  pe- 
netrating particles  ! — ^the  compoimd 
deadly  effluvia,  arising  firom  soap,  su-* 
gar,  cheese,  cofiee,  candles,  raisins, 
train  oil,  and  green  tea,  not  to  spesk 
of  the  brown  paper  and  string  widi 
which  the  sevmi  poisons  are  tied  up ! 
The  whole  (united)  being  more  mortal 
to  the  sense  than  the  propinquity  of 
an  **  eating-house,"  or  a  sequence  of 
aix-and-twenty  chandlers'  8h(^ !  Put- 
ting your  nose  in  mind  every  instant 
(though  vott  do  all  you  can  net  to 
smeU)  of  tne  worst  streets  in  Wapping, 
or  of  the  best  streete  in  Bristol !— Oh ! 
come  away  from  such  a  place  as  Ports- 
mouth— of  all  garrisons  and  sea-pOrts 
the  most  insufierable !  From'^ccmfu- 
sion's  masterpiece"  at  '^  the  Point," 


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LeUers  of  Charkt  Edwards,  Eiq.    No.  I. 


and  mud's  mtttexpiace  in  ^  Porehester 
Lake !"  From  streets  that  reek  with 
dnrtj  drabsy  and  inns  that  choke  with 
noisy  ssikra !  From  chattering  brats 
in  qianlettesy  who  tell  you  lies  about 
'^  how  many  bottles  oi  wine"  they 
have  drank,  and  thick-sknlled  riiip* 
owners  (nee  senior  uUa  pssiis)  who 
can  never  tell  you  anything — but 
''which  way  the  wind  isr  Oh !  from 
sll  these  ills^  and  vile  diseases,  which 
all  men  know  that ''  flesh  is  heir  to/' 
bat  which  all  men,  in  their  senses^ 
kero  as  fax  firom  their  own  personal 
"  flesh"  as  possible— corne^  suddenly* 
into  a  region  where  uproar  doss  not 
sscm  togo  on  by ''  act  of  Fsrliament  V 
Where  ue  huraries  of  life  are  beflnre 
you,  and  at  a  cost  within  your  reach ! 
— Come  here,  to  my  window,  and  over* 
look  the  public  market ! — ^Look  at  the 
grapes"-and  at  the  water«melons— and 
at  the  "  frails"  of  figs-nrnd  at  the 
oranges!  See  the  olive  f-you  have  it  in 
groves.  See  the  aloe ! — ^it  blows  in  the 
vny  hedges !  Look  at  the  shrimp»-4n 
this  country  they  are  all  prawns ;  taste 
the  BuoellaB  wine — itissold  at  a  drinks 
able  price !  Then,  there  is  your  cofife^ 
your  liqueur,  your  lemonaae,  and  your 
sweetmeat !  And  what  are  all  these-^ 
even  all  thoso  set  against  your  view ! 
In  finont,  a  dear  river,  fUll  three  miles 
acnM»— with  hiUs,  and  woods,  and 
valleys,  and  white  villa^,  beyond. 
Bdund,  a  city  hanging  in  the  aur  I— 
a  dtj  of  enchantment,  which  you  see 
five-six^  of  at  a  glance  !•— covering  a 
tract  of  ground,  as  compared  with  ita 
population,  three  times  greater  than 
IS  occupied  by  London ;  besides  sub- 
urbs, prolonged  almost  fiurther  than 
iht  eye  can  follow,  of  villas,  gardens, 
palaces,  ordiards,  aqueducts,  and  otive 
plantations  I  And  all  this — the  river, 
4ie  dty«  and  the  suburbs!  the  hx  shore 
of  the  Alentdo,  and  the  white  harbour 
of  Casildeas !  the  Moorish  fort  of  St 
JuUao's,  the  distant  village  of  Bdem, 
the  port,  with  two  hun£ed  ships  at 
anchor  in  it,  and  room  for  twice  two 
hundred  more!  See  it  all— all  at  one 
view— in  the  rich  red  glow  of  a  purple 
summer's  evening !  Come  to  the  proa- 
pect,  as  I  came  to  it,  away  flrom  nois^ 
and  fog,  and  nuisance — and  vnth  no 
great  disinclination  to  disUke  every- 
thing yon  have  left  behind  you !  and 


then  tell  me  whedier  sudi  mere  dunge 
of  scene  is  not,  to  mind  and  body,  a 
marvellous  physician ;  snd  whether  all 
the  vapours,  and  cares,  and  ill  condi- 
tions of  the  soul,  do  not  vanish  before 
the  bri^t  inflnenoe  of  such  a  climate 
and  sack  a  aky !— even  as  quidcly  as 
oar  reaolutions  to  be  pefemploxy  with 
a. teasing  mistress  (m  her  absence,) 
give  way  before  the  half  smile  that 
she  meets  them  vrith  on  her  return—* 
or  as  the  doubts  about  catting  one's 
tfaiost,  which  an  English  December 
day  engenders  when  we  are  without 
doors,  yield  to  hermitage,  wax  candles, 
and  warm  drawing-rooms,  when  one 
gets  within. 

But  it  strikes  me,  I  scarcely  know 
why,  ^t  the  flrst  impression  whidi 
this  country  makes  upon  sn  Engtish* 
manr-^when  I  say  "  this  country,"  I 
speak  of  Spain  generally,  to  it  m  all 
one  country  exo^t  in  name)-*-that  the 
impression  which  this  country  makes 
at  first  si|^t  upon  an  Eng^hman,  is 
more  decided  tnan  that  which  would 
be  produced  upon  him  by  the  flrst 
view  of  any  other.  I  have  not  seen 
Paris,  certainly;  nor  Italy.  But  I 
have  seen  Flanders,  and  part  of  France, 
and  a  good  deal  of  Germany ;  and  I 
think  tnat  there  is  more  of  pleasurable 
recollection,  and  romantic  assodation, 
stirred  up  here.  I  percdved  the  beau- 
ty of  the  towns  in  the  "  Pays  Bas,'-' 
snd  could  even  do  justice  to  the  power 
vriiich  had  raised  them.  It  did  oc- 
cur to  me  that  "  commerce"— (for 
every  detail  of  which  I  have  such  an 
aversion) — that "  commerce"  had  pro* 
duced  these  exquisite  dties;  and  that 
**  royal  merchants"  had  inhabited 
them.  I  went  back  to  Beaumont  and 
Fletdier,  and  to  thdr  gallant,  down* 
right "  Goswin" — ^for  whose  sske  (had 
there  been  one  more  such  trader)  I 
had  kept  a  ledber  myself!  And  tnen 
I  thou^t  of  Marlborough !  altho^i 
his  battles  were  over.*  And  of  Uie  Fie- 
miih  painters !  although  their  works 
were  gone.*  Of  Rubens,  and  his  taste 


in  wives ;  and  of  Breughd,  and  his 
dunce  in  small-dothes !  and  of  Rem- 
brandt, putting  his ownmonkey  into 
other  people's  mmily  pictures;  and  of 
Quenttn  Mats^p — ^wno  did  not  psint 
the  bee  upon  his  father-in-law's  piece* 
as  is  reported  of  him !  And,  again,  I 


•  This  was  at  the  time  when  the  pictures  of  the  Low  Countries  were  on4heir  viiit 
at  the  liOUTTC — Kn. 


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Letters  of  Ckar4es  Edwardi,  Esq*    No.  I. 


156 

went  baek  to  the  Low  Coantry  wan ! 
and  I  dveameil  of  Le  Fevre,  and  of 
Corporal  Trim— «nd  of  the  Siege  of 
Dendermond — and  of  my  unde  Toby ! 
But  though  ail  the  arrangementa  of 
Flandera  and  Germany^  were  (aa  fiur 
M  from  four  days'  experience  I  may 
judgCji)  immeasurably  superior  in  taste 
and  elegance  to  anything  you  meet 
with  here ;  vet  there  was  not  so  mudi 
of  marked  characteristic,  ^as  it  strikes 
me,)  to  arrest  the  attention ;  less  of 
that  national  circumstance,  which  I 
had  prepared  myself  to  look  for;  and, 
from  report,  or  mm  &ncy,  was  alrea- 
dy half  acquainted  with. 

Spain  is  the  country  which  an  £ng« 
liihman  studies,  as  soon  as  ever  he  be- 
gins to  read  for  amusement.  It  is  the 
scene  of  our  favourite  novds— of  our 
most  popular  plavs.  Directly  after 
Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  we  get  to  Cer- 
vantes and  to  Le  Sage.  Spanish  lo- 
vers and  Spanish  ladies ;  Spanish  bar^ 
ber  and  Spanish  duennas ;  convents 
and  cloaks;  rope  ladders  and  dark 
lanterns — these  are  all  details  which, 
from  childhood,  excite  our  surprise 
and  admiration.  Here  have  I,  at  this 
moment,  the  whole  **  fighting  field" 
of  Mrs  Centlivre's  "  Wonder^  under 
my  window.  Here  is  (or  rather,  here 
was,  befcnre  the  earthquake)  the  iden- 
tical Terreiro  do  i\ico— now  the  iVa- 
ca  do  Commereio — a  large,  sandy,  un- 
paved  area,  about  twice  as  extensive 
as  our  "  Covent-Garden,"  »ndpiasaa*d 
(as  the  phrase  improperly  is)  on  two 
ttdes,  m  a  similar  manner.  Here  the 
ground  is !  and  I  have  walked  upon 
it  this  morning  1— walked  upon  it  this 
very  morning— before  half  the  town 
was  awake  1 

Here,  Robert,  are  the  very  phantar- 
sies,  living  and  being,  which  you  and 
I  have  so  often  talked  about,  rather  as 
if  they  had  been  matters  of  romance. 
The  antique  coftente/among  the  men, 
(that  is  in  the  higher  orders,)  has  dia- 
appeared ;  and  their  adopted  modem 
gub  seems  to  us  ill*fasfaioned  and  un- 
tasteftd.  We  laugh  at  people  who  put 
<m  a  cooked  hat  with  jockey  booto, 
because  we  ourselves  think  fit  to  wear 
(me  only  with  silk  stockings.  But  the 
women  maintain  all  their  ancient  at- 
tributes, in  dress,  feature,  and  de- 
portment The  veil,  and  the  dark 
eyes ;  and  the  rosaries,  and  the  pro- 
fuse ringlets,  and  the  loose  doak,  and 
.  the  fionde  domestic  foUowiiu;  theip  in 
the  street.  Then  there  are  the  fisber- 
4 


CFeb. 


men  from  the  Casildeas  coast,  with 
their  Salvator  beards,  and  swarthy 
visages.  And  the  swine-herds,  from 
Aides  Galm^  in  their  straw  cloaks 
and  russet  shoes.  And  the  muleteers 
from  Behra— -who  carry  you,  soul  and 
bodv,  back  to  Don  Quixote  I  with 
scarlet  sashes,  short  knee-breeehcs, 
iomhrero  hats,  and  gaudy  waistcoats, 
leading  long  strings  of  staring  mules, 
with  bells  at  th&  necks  and  padc- 
saddles,  as  vigorous  as  Ukraine  horses  ; 
and  as  wicked  as  wild  asses ;  and  d^ 
corated  grotesquely  (besides  a  saint  or 
two  sheared  out  upon  each  of  their 
haunches)  with  a  profVision  of  worsted 
fringe  and  tassels  about  thdr  bridles, 
and  other  head-gear,  much  like  the  £i- 
shion  that  was  rife  among  the  brew- 
ers of  London  some  few  years  since. 

And  the  monks !  the  real  monks ! 
are,  of  themsdves,  speculation  for  a 
twdvemonth !  See  the  men,  here  be- 
fore you ;  and  how  they  ever  anywhere 
lost  their  influence,  appears  inconod- 
vable.  Their  wh(4e  system,  as  reeaids 
exterior,  is  so  perfoctly  calmlsted  for 
effect !  The  tie  of  brotherhood;  the 
distinctive  dress ;  the  separation,  as  a 
caste,  from  the  body  of  the  peonle ; 
and,  espedally,  the  seclusion  of  ttieir 
domestic  arrangements— all  are  contri- 
vances sovereign  to  impose  upon  the 
vulgar.  For  man,  or  necessity,  is 
most  deferred  to,  in  dtuations  where 
he  is  least  known !  Nothing  ii  so  re- 
spectable as  that  of  which  we  cannot 
take  the  measure.  A  secular  clergy- 
man, who  ii  a  member  of  the  society 
in  which  he  lives,  can  never  hope  to 
maintain  anything  like  a  superstitious 
saoredness  of  dimeter.  He  may  be 
a  weak  man.  He  may  be  a  imtvoM 
man.  He  may  trsde,  hunt,  drink,  or 
gamble.  But  say  only  that  he  haa  a 
bad  wife— unworthy  children.  Saj 
only  {m  a  rich  country)  that  he  is 
poor!  £very  trifling  trespass— every  ri- 
diculous trait — nav,  almost  ev^  mis- 
fortune, in  the  life  of  an  ecdeaastic^ 
lessens  his  **  divinity"  (if  I  may  so 
express  mysdf)  among  those  about 
him.  We  find  that  he  ii,  after  all,  but 
a  mortd  like  ourselves ;  sultject  to  the 
same  weaknesses ;  liable  to  be  laughed 
at  under  thesameacddentk  Ofcourae^ 
we  know  all  this  of  every  man  (what- 
ever his  mystery)  upon  consideratioii. 
But  the  mob  are  not  people  of  consi- 
deration. They  know  nothing,  tske 
the  bulk  of  them,  of  whidi  they  are 
not  iVom  day  to'day  reminded.  Now  at 


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1884.^  Letters  of  CharltsBdwarA,  Esq.    No.  L  157 

fhefiibles  of  raonk,  (snd  itisaman'i    retlly  the  most  aidlfhl  miin  in  the  mu* 


JaiSles,  nine  tbnet  in  ten,  that  weak- 
en our  respect  fbr  him)  at  the  fi^les 
of  a  monk,  it  is  diffioilt  to  get.  So 
bog  as  his  rices  do  not  obtrade  them- 
sdyes  upon  the  eye,  the  wisest  of  ns 
wHl  sometimes  be  apt  to  fbrget  that 
they  exist  Then  he  has  the  adran* 
tage  that  he  clashes  with  no  man's 
prospects.  He  is  affected  by  no  nan's 
ill  conduct.  His  worldly  interests  will 
scarcely  embroil  him,  for  (at  farthest) 
they  can  be  bat  personal ;  and,  ttcm 
all  woridly  casualties,  except  death  or 
sickness,  he  is  entirely  exempt  Abore 
all,  his  domestic  pritiacy  is  effectually 
{notected.  He  is  seen  abroad  only  as 
an  actor,  and  lives,  at  home,  behind 
tile  scenes.  Who  ean  convict  him  of 
Ignorance,  when  humility  fbrbids  him 
to  refute  the  charge?  What  diance 
have  you  ever  to  prove  oflbnce  against 
him,  when,  even  to  suipect  it,  is  a 
crime  ?  In  short,  with  what  hope  (as 
regards  convincing  the  public  mind) 
do  you  attack  the  immaculacy  of  a 
man,  who,  when  the  evidence  against 
him  is  unanswerable,  may  deny  the 
moral  jurisdiction  of  the  tribunal  be- 
fore which  you  cite  him,  and  proudly 
commit  his  vindication  **  to  the  hands, 
alone,  of  Heaven !" 

Inadculable  is  the  advantage  of  being 
able  to  refuse  to  plead !    At  law,  un- 
der such  circumstances,  you  adjudge 
a  man  "  guilty ;"  but  you  cannot  al- 
ways get  the  benefit  of  that  verdict  in 
practice.    **  Outward  sign,"  even  up- 
on the  freest  minded,  will  have  its 
certain  degree  of  weight  Assert  any- 
thing  onlv  often  enough,  and  you  will 
find  ^ple  who  will  take  it  rar  fkct 
Nothing  is  more  common  than  for  a 
roan  to  repeat  a  lie,  until  at  last  he 
himself  bdieves  it.    Turpin's  ride  to 
Tork  (which  was  in  print  fifty  years 
before  Turpin  was  born) — the  church 
under  St  Paul's,  in  which  a  sermon  is 
preached  once  a-year  (I  know  a  dozen 
people  who  have  been  present  and 
neard  it) — ^who  doubts  tne  accuracy 
of  these  fkets,  or  of  a  hundred  others 
such  ?    Or  why  dp  Quacks  pay  for  ad- 
vertisements ?    or  Counsellors  make 
long  speeches  ?    I  declare  that  I  used 
to  see  one  man's  affiche — I  forget  his 
name  now — but  it  was  drawn  up  in 
tolerable  anmmax,  and  had  letters 
fVom  people  that  he  had  cured — I  de- 
dare  I  used  to  see  it  month  after 
montii  in  the  newspapers,  until  at  last 
I  b^an  to  doubt  whether  he  was  tun 
Vol.  XV. 


verse.  There  the  fact  was!  I  could 
answer  fbr  thafe^he  never  lodud  at 
a  person  that  had  not  been  *'  dischar- 
ged flrom  all  the  faos^tals  as  incur- 
able r)^-iUid  remaimng,  year  after 
year,  uncontradieted. 

There  is  fiicultv,  too,  about  the 
rogues  here,  enougn  of  them,  to  turn 
all  advantages  to  tiie  beat  account  I 
heard  one  preach  yesterday, — this  was 
in  the  church  of  the  New  Con  vent-— the 
heart  of  Jesus.  ^  He  was  a  young  tout, 
acarcdy  thirty-^a  Frandsean,  as  I  un- 
derstood—of middk  stature,  saUow 
comfdexion,  dressed  in  tiie  fdain  ras* 
Bet  habit  of  his  order,  the  neck  bar^ 
the  black  hair  cut  short,  and  the  cofd 
of  discipline  girt  round  his  waist 
•—not  handsome  at  aH  as  to  ^feature, 
but  with  an  eye  like  that  of  an  eagla. 
The  man's  aspect,  as  well  as  his  de- 

E»rtment,  was  simple  and  command- 
g.  He  stood,  without  an^  support 
of  reading  desk  or  cudiion,  m  a  nttie 
railed-offDalcony,  about  two  feet  (the 
floor  of  it)ove^  the  heads  of  his  aup 
dience.  There  was  na  particular  so- 
lemnity of  manners—nothing  likesnufr 
fle,  or  determined  sanctity  of  tone. 
But,  though  I  could  not  catdi  even 
the  meaning  of  his  discourse,  I  could 
feel  that  he  had  been  bom  an  orator. 
The  whole  was  pure,  vigorous,  unaf- 
fected declamation.  Admirable  acthig^ 
at  least— if  it  was  acting ;  upon  whi<£, 
perhaps,  you  and  I  should  not  agrM. 
1  am  speudng,  however,  now  otuy  of 
the  rehffious  cnrders,  (or  mean  so  tb 
speak  of  them,)  as  forming  one  of  the 
marks  and  symoois  in  an  En^hman'a 
anticipations  of  "  the  Penmsula,"-^ 
art  and  part  with  the  muleteers,  and 
the  goats,  and  the  wine-skins,  and  the 
creaking  ox- waggons,  and  the  dapple 
asses,  and  tiie  pewter  barbers'  l)asina, 
and  the  rest  of^  those  domestic  details 
which  always  interest  most  with  re- 
elect to  every  country,  and  make  its 
comic  poets,  nine  times  in  ten,  its  most 
long-lived  historians.  For  the  rest, 
I  interfere,  thank 'hnaenl  with  no 
man's  prcjucHces;  and  am,  at  least, 
good  Protestant  enough  to  be  satisfied 
with  things  as  thev  are. 

But  I  wandered  out  here  alone,  on 
the  first  night  of  my  arrival ;  fundsh^ 
ing  myself  with  the  name  of  my  iodg^ 
ing,  to  find  my  way  back  again  ;  aai 
hitfdly  caring,  so  I  might  findamni^ 
ment,  whether  I  ever  Ibiiiid  my  wajr 
backorno.  ForIheardbeaatifmi»i 
X 


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US 

ries,  as  soon  is  I  landed,  about  the 
dangers  to  whidi  an  incaotioas  stran* 
ger  was  exposed,— of  the  neceasitv  (I 
was  the  very  man,  you  know,)  of 
*'  asking  no  directiong'  from  '^  people 
in  the  street,"— of  the  advantage  of 
"  avoiding  all  intimacy"  with  *'  per- 
sons whom  I  did  not  know,"— of  being 
enticed  on  no  account  into  any  ^'  hou- 
ses in  lone  comers"  after  dusk,— «nd, 
especially,  of  **  ogling  no  women,"  lest 
I  should  *'  awaken  the  jealousy  of  the 
natives." 

Of  course,  I  had  no  rest  until  I  had 
broken  every  one  of  these  proliibitions ; 
and,  of  course,  the  result  fdl  very  short 
of  die  promises  of  my  friends.  But 
there  are  customs  and  circumstances 
In  the  arrangement  of  this  dty  which 
would  seem  to  fkvour  the  perpetration 
of  irregularities  by  night. 

In  tne  first  place,  the  streets  are 
{the  whole  of  them)  totally  dark; 
or,  at  least,  have  no  light  but  from 
casual  candles  burning  before  the 
images  of  saints.  You,  who  are  ac- 
customed to  see  the  lamps  in  Lon- 
don, and  our  chief  English  towns,  a'- 
Ught,  can  hardly  imagine  what  a  dif- 
ment  aspect  the  places  would  have  if 
they  were  put  out.  But  the  town  of 
Fortsea,  wnich  (renovare  dolorem!) 
I  have  just  left,  is  not  lighted  pa- 
rodiialiy;  and  you  might  find,  here 
and  there,  some  nests  of  vrretched 
new  buildhigs,  between  the  Circus  in 
St  George's  Fields  and  the  Kins's 
Bench— ^art  of  them  lie  within  **  The 
Rules,"  and  every  garret  might  form 
a  study  for  a  philoaopher— which 
would  give  you  (marry,  you  have  it 
not  now)  a  sort  of  notion  of  what 
streets  unHghted  are;  these  of  Lis- 
bon, however,  being  more  gloomy 
than  any  whidi  can  be  found  in  Eng- 
land, because  the  shops  are  so  con- 
structed as  to  have  no  lights  burning 
in  the  windows. 

A  second  circumstance  which  leads 
in  Lisbon  to  thoughts  of  robbery  and 
assassination  after  sunset,  is  the  total 
desertion  even  of  the  public  thorough- 
Ares,  before  nine  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing. A  third  fact,  is  the  insufficient 
fbrce  of  the  nightly  police, — ^iris  good 
^[military)  as  far  as  it  goes,  but  there 
is  not  enough  of  it  A  fourth,  and 
a  considerable  one,  is  the  number  of 
houses  which  are  let  out  in  '^  flats ;" 
and  so  have  stair-cases,  like  the  houseg 
in  our  inns  of  Court,  standing  op^ 
teing  the  wfade  night.     Conceive 


CFeb. 


what  would  be  the  aspirations  of  a 
London  pickpocket  in  such  a  place ! 

Then,  in  some  parts  of  the  town,* 
long  streets  run  parallel — ^back  to  back. 
And  the  houses,  which  are  very  lofty, 
are  divided  (behind)  by  a  narrow 
lane,  which  is  never  used  as  a  tho- 
roughfare, nor  knows  light  beyond  that 
of  tne  sun  and  moon ;  but  lias  an  ab- 
solute warren  of  ricketty  doors  on  each 
side  of  it,  leading  to  empty  cellars,  pig- 
styes,  dust-holes,  and  such  like  feamd 
privacies.  Sometimes  a  defile  of  this 
kind  is  left  unpaved ;  and  then  it  be- 
comes a  natural  swamp,  and  would  go 
near  to  swallow  up  any  incautious  pe- 
destrian who  should  venture  into  it. 
In  other  cases,  where  the  foundation 
is  on  a  hill,  it  is  used,  de  bene  esse,  as 
a  comraon-sewer.  Boccacio,  in  his 
fifth  story,  (Decameron,  2d  day,)  al- 
ludes to  such  a  basse  fosse  ;  into  which 
the  courtesan  Fiordalisa  throws  the 
horse-dealer  from  a  window.  Upon 
the  whole,  I  believe,  there  are  situa- 
tions about  the  town,  where  a  "  tall" 
foreigner  might  find  himself  puzzled 
to  pursue  a  rogue  of  the  locality ;  but 
with  my  sword,  and  no  check  upon 
the  use  of  it — ^for  there  is  no  puolic 
prosecution  here — ^it  is  hard,  Robert, 
if  I  am  not  a  match  for  anybody 
that  will  dare  to  attack  me? — And, 
Grod  wot!  as  at  present  advised,  I 
see  anything  rather  than  ground  for 
ap^^hension ;  for  the  first  circum- 
stance that  would  strike  the  mind  of  a 
reasonable  Englishman  (if  one  were  to 
come)  in  this  country,  would  be  the 
peculiarly  urbane  and  peaceable  dispo- 
sition of  Its  inhabitants. 

Whatever  may  be  the  morals  of  the 
Fortuguese,  a  man  must  be  very  diffi- 
cult who  is  not  satisfied  with  their 
manners.  For  one  street-quarrel  in 
Lisbon,  in  London  you  have  a  hun- 
dred. Ladies  walk  in  the  streets  free- 
ly, attended  only  by  their  female  sei^ 
vants;  and  anything  like  an  insidt, 
or  even  a  coarse  comment,  is  unheard 
of.  Not  a  man,  of  whatever  dass  or 
condition,  but  gives  the  pavS  to  a  fe- 
male as  she  passes ;  and  every  gentle- 
man, even  in  the  busiest  situations,  sa- 
lutes her,  by  taking  off  his  hat.  These 
litUe  formalities,  if  they  mean  no- 
thing, efl^t  a  great  deal.  A  man,  in 
fitct,  who  offeiisd  a  rudeness  to  a  wo- 
man, would  here  be  kicked  out  of  so- 
ciety. And  in  ibe  ordinary  intercourse 
between  men,  especially  betweeh  the 
rich  and  the  poor — ^in  the  relations  say. 


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LetierM  of  ChmrkmBdwardi,  Esq.    No.  I. 


IS9 


Icr  example,  of  matter  and  aenranta— 
tbeie  is  no  (apparent)  aticklinff  on 
eitho*  aide  for  rigota;  neither  harannesa 
on  the  one  part,  nor  disrespect  on  the 
other. 

I  do  honour.  Heaven  knows  I  the 
unyielding  courage,  and  even  the  quar- 
relaome  spirit  of  our  countrymen ;  and 
I  understand  why  a  poodle  naturaUy 
geta  more  hits  of  toaat  than  a  mastiff; 
hut  yet  it  is  pleasant  to  he,  just  now 
and  then,  ibr  a  little  while,  in  a  place 
where  it  ia  not  a  diacredit  to  be  civil. 
It  seeroa  so  new  to  find  one's  self  not 
among  people  who,  to  he  happy,  must 
be  drank ;  and  who,  aa  aoon  aa  they 
are  perfectly  hilarious,  wish  to  beat 
everybody  who  comes  near  them.  Did 
you  never  see  an  attorney's  derk,  ela* 
ted  with  punch,  swagger  in  London — 
and  disturb  a  theatre — and  break  a 
lamp— and  offer  to  "  box" — "  anybo- 
dy ?  '  You  don't  aee  those  things  here. 
Aperaon  of  that  aort  is  killed,  and  so 
ofiunda  no  more ;  or  else  he  gets  taken 
to  prison ;  and  I  hear  that  people  who 
get  into  prison  here,  never  get  oat 

r'  I, — an    excellent    arrangement, 
h  mig^t  be  adopted  daewhere 
with  advantage. 

Here  you  would  go  about  to  cir- 
cumvent me,  I  know,  with  anathemas 
^pKinat  the '' CO  wardl^practioe"  of 'Hhe 
knife,"  and  with  praiaea  longer  than  I 
could  listen  (o  of  the '<  fair  pky"  of  our 
English  system  of  boxing.  Althou^I 
potest  against  all  the  "  fair  play"  be- 
tween a  man  of  ten  atone  and  a  man 
of  fourteen ;  unleaa  ao  far  aa  it  may  be  a 
comfort  to  the  lighter  party  to  be  made 
a  jell^  of,  auligect  to  the  aanction  of 
a  critteal  aaaemhly ;  or  a  convenience 
to  the  heavier  to  be  able  to  maltreat  his 
antagonist,  with  the  perfect  certainty 
of  doing  ao,  not  merely  with  impunitjr, 
hut  wiUi  ap^uae.    And  as  for  '^  the 
Ipiife,"  where  it  is  used  as  a  weapon  of 
combat,  and  not  of  asaassination,  I 
don't  perfectly  see  mhj  it  should  not 
be  aa  equitable  an  engine  of  ofienoe  as 
''  the  fist"— (if  you  weighed  thirty 
pounds  less  than  you  do,  I  would  con- 
vince you  in  ten  minutes  that  it  is  a 
more  equitable  one) — ^besides  having 
this  fkrmer  advantage,  (no  alight  one,) 
that  it  settles  a  quarrel  in  about  a  twen- 
tieth part  of  the  time.    De  guHibus, 
however,  (as  I  said  in  the  matter  of  the 
monks,)  I  wiU  dispute  with  no  one. 
Yon  lu^e  a  sweep,  who  runs  against 
you,  because  he  seesyou  have  got  white 
pantaloons  oo ;  and  perhaps  I  myself, 
alter  all  is  over,  halt*  ei^oy  the  ras- 


oal'a  impudence.  I  aaw  a  drunk  'ser- 
leant  of  fuaileers  dear  a  whole  wine- 
house  this  morning  with  his  an^ 
hand !  And  he  afterwarda  chalkn^ 
a  picquet  (six)  of  the  police  military 
guara,  that  went  to  put  nim  under  ar- 
reat ;  and  kept  them  at  bay.  too ;  hold- 
ing up  his  trowsers  (which  were  un- 
mced)  as  well  aa  he  could,  witfi  one 
hand,  and  flouriahing  the  enemy  on, 
with  his  sword,  with  the  other ! — One 
should  be  an  Engliahman,  and  live  on 
the  Continent,  Robert ;  thatia  it,  I  be- 
lieve,  after  alL 

But  I  tell  you  again,  that  I  wiah  you 
were  here,  to  take  part  in  my  noctur- 
nal excursions;  for  it  is  so  provoking 
to  have  none  but  stupid  people  near 
one,  when  one  is  in  a  humour  to  be 
enthusiastic  I  I  hate  wandering  about, 
in  any  place,  by  myself;  and  as  for  the 
miUtary— here,  ah,  pity  me!  my  dear 
friend,  pity  me ! — they  come  out  from 
England  quite  informed  upon  Penin- 
aulur  atatistics.    They  know  that  the 
men  are  all  treacherous ;  and  that  the 
priests  are  all  impostors ;  and  that  the 
women  all  have  lice  in  their  heada. 
And  theae  three  fiieta,  which  must  be 
true,  because  they  are  stated  by  all 
authors — Heaven  help  the  poor  rarla 
(upon  the  last  point !)  they  do  notaing 
but  comb  each  other'a  hair  from  min- 
ing till  night ;  and  that  ia  the  way,  I 
hdieve,  in  which  they  firat  became 
subject  to  thia  imputed  neceasitv  for 
doing  so ! — Theae  three  facta  embody 
(as  it  seems  to  our  brethren)  all  that 
ought  to  be  known  of  the  Porta- 
gueae  diaracter ;  and  it  is  quite  cer- 
tain, that  not  one  in  twenty  of  them, 
ahould  we  make  aix  campiugna  here, 
will  ever  extend  his  knowledge  any  far- 
ther I  Then,  for  their  own  mode  of  life, 
you  may  guess  pretty  well  what  that 
IS.    There  is  n^eas  dinner,  you  know« 
upon  table  at  aix ;  and  aegara  and  gin 
punch  are  ready  at  seven.    Practical 
jokea  set  in  about  ten,  and  the  bottles 
(aa  well  as  the  wine)  begin  to  drculate 
towards  midnight.  From  one  to  two  in 
the  morning,  about  half  the  company 
are  carried,  in  the  best  plight  Uiey  can 
command,  to  their  respective  inns  or 

E'ers ;  and  the  remainder  (aocor- 
as  the  moon  serves)  either  fight 
on  the  spo^  or  let  their  quarims 
atand  over,  to  begin  the  amuaementa 
with  next  dav. 

Evening,  nowever,  (ill  company 
apart,)  is  the  preferable  season  here 
for  walking.  Annoyance  sometimea  ac- 
crues out  of  a  slovenly  custom  the  peo- 


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LaUri  of  Charki  Sdwdnb,  Btq.    No.  J. 


CFflb- 


p]e  htTO  of  throwing -tiiefar  dopi  and 
rubbish  (eTen  in  retyectabte  houses) 
from  the  windows ;  but  this  eeremonj 
does  not  eommence— (you  will  hear 
enough  of  it  from  our  friends— alouff 
with  execrations  about  bad  soap,  and 
muslin  towels,  with  wide  fHUs  to  them) 
-^  sddom  becomes  very  oeneral  until 
ten,  or,  perhaps,  eleven  o  dodc,  when 
sesrody  any  Portuguese  (unless  in  car- 
riages)  are  abroad.  A  stranger  should 
go  fbrth>  as  the  first  bat  gets  on  the 
wibg !  Just  after  the  bell  has  done  ring« 
ing  for  yespers— as  the  stars  begin  to 
peep  gently  through  the  clear  r^  of  die 
Aonxon,  and  the  ladies'  eyes  to  glance 
curiously  from  the  cross  lattices  of 
their  windows  I  Then  plant  yourself  in 
one  of  die  sereral  squares  which  run 
along  the  ef^;e  of  theTagus,  (as  our 
temme  gardens  lie  upon  the  bank  of 
the  Thames,)  and  you  have  the  fresh, 
cool,  seabreeae  (no  suggestion  even  of 
mud,)  fismning  you  on  one  side,  while, 
oa  the  other,  terrace  above  terrace,  aa 
diUdren  build  their  pdaces  of  cards, 
the  whole  city,  like  one  vast  edifice, 
naes  on  vour  view. 

I  stood  at  a  point  like  this,  on  the 
night  before  last,  when  the  town  was 
generally  illuminated,  fix*  the  birthday, 
I  bdiieve,  of  the  Prince  of  the  Brasils^ 
You  never  saw  anything  at  all  like 
the  scene,  unless>  perhaps,  it  was  a 
scene  in  a  fairy  pantomime  at  a  diea* 
tre !  The  illumination  consisted,  not 
of  coloured  lamps,  or  of  lamps  bid  in* 
to  devices^  as  the  fashion  is  in  Eng- 
land ;  but  prindptdly  of  candles,  de- 
posed in  great  abundance  (through 
nouses  five  or  six  stories  high)  in  every 
window,  firom  top  to  bottom.  This 
arransement,  if  fi^wed  universally, 
would  be  lively  even  in  level  streets; 
but  imagine  a  pile  of  Uazing  lan« 
tenis  mee  miles  wide,  and  three 
times  as  hig^  as  St  Paul's  Church-— 
yoursdf  standing  at  the  foot  of  it — 
taken  in  as  part  only  of  a  prospect  I — 
Suppose  the  sock  of  Clinon,  seen  at 
nignt  fh>m  the  shore  opposite  the  Hot 
WeUs,  an4  stuck  over  (the  fkce  of  it) 
witib  lamps  and  torches  down  to  the 
verv  waters  edge!  And  even  see  this  at 
Clitton,  andyouseenodting;  for  the 
river  at  Clinon  is  nothing  I  If  you 
oould  have  watched  the  progress  of  the 
view  here— <its  ^adnal  developement 
from  the  beginning !  The  flashing  up, 
one  after  another,  of  the  lights  on  the 
difi^rent  quarterrof  the  town,  as  the 
dusk  of  the  evening  deepened  into 


daritness!   the  br^i  |^  of  tlR 
lamps  and  tapers  upcm  the  white  of 
ydlow  houses;  relieved,  but  not  sad* 
dened,  by  the  free  mixture  of  green, 
(the  fkvourite  colour  here  for  shutters 
and  window-blinds,)  or  varying  into 
a  thousand  different  dnts,  with  every 
successive  gust  of  wind,  upon  the 
trees  in  the  courts  and  gardens  of  the 
dtv,  which  aie  seen  as  frdly  herefrom 
below,  (lying  on  the  belly  of  the  hiU,) 
as  those  of  Ixmdon  would  be  (in  bird's 
eye  view)  from  an  eminence  I    And 
then,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  array 
of  tapers,  and  lamps,  and  torches,  to 
see  the  moon  sudaenlv  bumting  out, 
and  throwing  her  cold  white  light 
across  the  flickering,  yellow  blase  of 
the  candles— dasslra^  widi  a  reflec- 
don  fhmi  glass  windows  in  one  place 
—breaking  the  rocks,  and  convents, 
and  churches,  into  strange  irregular 
shadow  in  another !  And  ul  this  deli- 
cious scene  of  fairy  splendour  and  con- 
fusion— these  lighted  palaces,  and  tlune 
gardens,   and   statues,  and  running 
fountains — the  whole  of  this  gay  tis- 
sue of  bistarrtrie  and  brilliancy,  nm- 
ning,  frtmi  such  a  height,  tnat  the 
liffhts  of  the  topmost  buildings  seem- 
ed to  mix  with  the  very  stars,  right 
down  to  the  river^s  edge,  and  reflect- 
ed in  the  waters  of  the  Tagus  !  All 
this,  Robert— conceive  it! — ^But  no, 
you  cannot  conceive  it  I  without  any 
of  the  English  accompaniment  (by 
patent)  to  a  f^r.    With  very  little 
riot;  very  little  accident;  still  less  of 
quaml ;  and  no  intoxicadon  at  all ! 
Ah,  think  how  ebullient  the  shoe- 
makers of  London  would  have  been 
on  such  a  night !  And  what  computa- 
tions of  damage,  and  Inddings  to  bnl, 
and  bindings  over  to  prosecute — what 
settling  of  broken  windows,  and  com- 
poundii^  for  bloody  noses,  would  have 
occupied  the  police  magistrates  fo^ 
three  days  after?    Ah!  nous  auires 
An§rloisI  Never  tell  me,  sir,  of  the 
Irishman  who  flung  himself  out  of  the 
tree  for  joy ;  if  he  had  been  an  English- 
man, he  would  have  shewn  his  satis- 
facdon  by  throwing  out  his  next-door 
neighbour ! 

But  to  my  tale.—- As  you  move  along 
the  banks  of  the  river,  not  upon  a  con- 
dnued  quay,  but  through  a  succession 
of  souares,  or  open  areas,  having  stcira 
(each)  down  to  the  water ;  the  guitar, 
touched  well  or  ill,  is  twangling  on 
every  aide.  Tlie  boatmen  and  water- 
bearers  sing  (here)  instead  of  moleft-* 


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l»HmofatgrkiBdwMrdi»Biq.    No.  I*  HI 

Their  muaie  k    girl«  of  ttiseteen  or  ttrenty  j9$n  oi 


lag  tho08  wbo  MM. 
not  eminent;  but  it  is  better  than 
their  ftbose  would  be ;  betides  that, 
one  doei»  now  and  then^  hear  a  reft- 
fonable  bass,  chaunting  those  intennt- 
nable  Rando$ — the  melodies  aioiple 
and  sweet,  but  everlastingly  repeated 
—which  live  all  along  the  Spanish 
eoast,  and  up  the  shores  of  the  Medi- 
terranean. These  squares  too«  or  lar^ 
go$,  for  their  own  roeritSi  are  worlh 
looking  at  in  an  evening;  for  they 
thai  exhibit  specimens  from  every  class 
of  the  Lisbon  population;  and»  »- 
mongst  other  curiosities,  vast  swarms 
of  b^gars— who  have  their  peculiari« 
ties  as  well  as  richer  peojde. 

Mendicancy  is  an  interesting  ez^ 
cresceace  on  the  face  of  every  d^izcd 
society;  but  the  systematic  conduct  of 
it  in  Lisbon^  renders  it  there  more 
than  usually  amusing.  We  have  two 
sets  of  beggars  r^;ularjiy  in  action— the 
day  collectors,  and  those  of  evening ; 
who  have  their  exclusive  hours  ror 
opcfation ;  their  exclusive  modes  of 
obtatnins  diarity ;  and  who  never,  I  be« 
Ueve^  infringe  upon  the  rights  or  copy- 
holds of  eaen  other.  The  beggars  of 
Che  day  are  the  did  monsters— like 
those  <tt  England  or  IreUnd.  Men  or 
women,  iodi8criiiiinately»  working  up^ 
on  the  ruder  principles  of  the  scienoe 
—that  is^  taking  care  to  be  clamorous 
cooiuh  in  their  outcry,  and  suffieiettt»> 
Ijr  flithy  in  their  aspect ;  by  which 
means  they  insure  a  livelihood  if  they 
are  moderately  offensive,  with  the 
dianee  of  a  fortune  where  they  are  so 
hM^y  as  to  be  onbearable.  Butthead« 
venturers  of  evening  consist  eiitirely 
of  femdes.  Blind  women,  genemlly 
young,  but  always  perfectly  neat  and 
dean,  (loss  of  sight  being  an  infimii«> 
ty,  from  whatever  cause,  verv  oodh 
mon  in  this  country,^  and  cnildren 
from  about  four  to  cognt  years  of  Bfp, 
picked  out  for  this  calling  according 
to  the  degree  of  their  personal  beautv, 
and  dressed  to  the  greatest  possible  acU 
vantagOi  without  any  show  of  poverty 
atalL  These  night  practitioners  start 
altogether  upon  later  lights  than  those 
of  &j, — to  interest  (a  laudable  im« 
provement,)  instead  of  dirapisting  you 
out  of  your  money«  The  bund  women 
are  eommonlv  leu  about  by  some  fe* 


age,  with  all  drcumstanctsof  beauiy 
tid  desixieablaiess  about  her,oom|>letOM 
ly  destroyed  by  such  a  TisitatiOB  as 
blindne'ss,  without  feeling  disposed  to 
do  something  in  her  favour.  AsforUio 
little  girls  of  five  years  dd,  (with  their 
red  shoes  and  broad  sa^es,)  they  are 
not  the  children,  I  understand,  ot  per* 
sons  immediately  in  distress ;  but  tho 
lower  orders,  very  constantly,  where 
they  have  an  interesting  child,  are  con<» 
tent  to  make  a  living  by  this  diraracelul 
exhibition  of  her.  This  is  very  oisgust- 
ingt  but  it  succeeds  wonderfully ;  aml> 
critically  speaking,  it  ought  to  do  so» 
Grirls,  upon  every  principle  of  mendi* 
dty,  should  make  inconiparably  better 
beggars  (for  instance^  than  old  mat* 
I  have  been  conquerea  myself,  in  Lon* 
don,  a  hundred  times,  by  the  sight  of 
half-starved  twins,  though  I  knew 
perfectlv  they  were  none  of  the  wo<» 
man's  that  carried  them ;  and  have  ^ 
Ten  a  shilling  to  a  match-girl  of  fom> 
teen,*— cant,  asd  rags,  and  dirt,  and 
all,— when  I  should  certainly  hav« 
cried  upon  the  beadle,  if  I  had  been 
waylaid  by  her  great-grandmother. 
.  About  this  hour,  too,  of  the  ev»^ 
ning,  fthat  is  from  seven  to  nine 
o'clock,")  the  eofiediouses  of  the  city 
are  all  tull,  and  flourishing  with  cus- 
tom. The  Ca^uu  de  Cqfii,  or  CoU 
feehouses,  distinguished  tirom  the  Cs-i 
sot  de  Pasto,  or  Taverns-^in  £ng« 
land  there  is  no  such  distinction;  but 
here,  the  ^  eoffediousD"  gives  only 
breakfkst,  tea,  and  wine,  the  affiut 
of  dianel*  belonging  to  die  *^  isaU 
ing-house"  exdusimyi  Vt-^e  Coxai 
dc  Cage  are  uphehi  at  eonsiderable 
cost.  In  some  establishments^  they 
have  rooms  fitted  up  <aUa  Campesirek 
The  walls  painted  in  kndscape  ;  the 
ceiling  in  doud;  and  the  window* 
frames  and  supporters,  wreadied  with 
artificial  leaves  and  flowers.  In  others^ 
the  attraction  is  to  serve  entirely  oh 
plate,— one  house  does  this  with  very 
great  splendour  indeed,— giving  oofiee 
(every  appurtenance  of  ailver)  to  a 
hundred  and  fifty  people  in  the  same 
apartment.  AH  the  houses  of  this  de» 
scription  are  appointed  with  smarts 
ness,  and  even  taste — marble  tables— 
abundant  li^ts— showy  diiiua,  glass, 
male  of  crecQtable  appesrance;  one  and  such  oonoomitanu ;— and  the 
sister  very  frequently,  in  this  way,  ac-  restauration  which  you  get  is  good 
companying  another.  Many  of  them  in  its  kind ;  and  herein  certaiidy  they 
am  handsome,  and  th^,  I  suspect,  differ  widely  enough  from  the  Ctauu 
dowelL    A  man  can  hardly  see  a  fine    de  JPoi/o,  or  dining-houset^  whidi  ve 


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Leiiers  of  Charles  Edwardt,  Esq*    No.  I. 


168 

bad^  becanae  the  dty  baa  furDished 
no  trade  for  sncb  institutions.  The 
people  here  are  not  diners^out.  They 
eat  at  all.  times  but  sparingly ;  seldom 
in  company^  and  almost  never  at  any 
house  of  public  entertainment  So 
Httle^  indeed,  is  the  business  of  hotel- 
keeping  understood  or  appreciated  by 
the  Portuguese,  that  three-fourths  of 
the  table  d^hote,  which  sunplies  the 
demand  now  produced  by  tne  war,  is 
furnished  by  resident  Frenchmen,  or 
English  speculators. 

But  the  appearance  of  the  well  fre- 
quented coroehouses  is  lively  here  at 
night.  When  they  are  liberally  light- 
ed, and  their  tables  all  well  covered, 
and  crowded  with  soldiers  of  twenty 
difl^rent  nations,  dad  in  a  hundred 
different  variety  of  uniform.  In  one 
party,  for  instance,  you  have  the  Eng* 
lish  Guards,  with  their  flaming  scarlet 
coats  and  ^Id !  and  the  English  light 
dragoons,  in  their  rich  deep  blue  and 
silver!  and  the  riflemen  in  their 
Mombre  green !  and  the  heavy  horse, 
with  their  long  swords,  huge  boots, 
and  strange  cocked  hats !  In  another 
drde  are  the  Peninsular  troops,  in 
their  gaudy  uniforms  of  blue  and  yd- 
low ;  and  the  Sjpaniards,  in  dresses 
still  more  glittering  and  fantastical ; 
and  the  L^bon  Police  Guards,  the 
''crack*'  regiments  of  all  Portugal ;  and 
the  Lisbon  volunteers!  looking  almost 
as  soldierlike  as  the  ''  City  Light 
Horse"  do  when  thev  are  in  Gray's 
Inn  Lane.  And,  besides  lliese,  there 
are  the  Scots— the  "  Forty-twa"  men ! 
in  their  kilts  and  tartans!  and  the  Grer- 
man  Hussars— Hessians,  Saxons,  and 
Hanoverians — ^with  their  long  pipes, 
and  fbrred  pelisses !  and  the  Duke  of 
Brunswidc's'' Black  Cavalry,"  in  thdr 
graceful  half-mourning  jackets !  The 
general  melange  varied  still  ftrther  by 
a  pretty  free  adoption  of  the  long  blue 
frock — ^whidi  is  ftudiionable  because 
the  General  wears  it,  and  convenient 
because  it  makes  a  comet  and  a  colonel 
look  alike.  The  whole  constituting  an 
array  suffidendy  brilliant  of  lace,  and 
silk,  and  fur,  and  feather,  cold  sted,  and 
embroidery ;  and  involving  a  twist  of 
languages  still  moreintricate  even  than 
the  jumble  of  costume ;  for,  besides 
the  divisions  of  our  mother  British  in- 
to English,  Scotch,  and  Irish  accents, 
the  Portuguese  and  Spaniards  speak- 
ing their  own  languages ;  and  half  the 
general  company  talking  French, 
some  of  the  foreign  corps  m  our  ser- 


CPab. 


vice,  as  the  '*  Chasseurs  Britanniquea" 
—the  "  Guides" — and  some  regiments 
of  *'  the  Legion" — contain  officers,  I 
believe,  as  well  as  privates,  fVom  every 
dvilized  country  in  the  world. 

But,  leaving  the  Coffisdiouses  and 
the  river,  you  cross  the  Caiz  do  SoudrS, 
and  make  your  way,  in  a  straight  line, 
towards  the  centre  of  the  dty.  To 
your  right  lies  the  New  Town,  or 
streets  iNiilt  dnce  the  great  earthquake 
in  1756;  the  ^eat  ol^ect  with  the 
projector  of  which  seems  to  have  been, 
to  make  them  as  unlike  the  pre-exist- 
ing ones  as  possible. 

In  the  Old  City,  though  a  mile's 
distance,  yoa  scarcely  find  six  inches 
of  level  ground ;  in  the  New,  thelevd 
is  uniibnn,  and  so  perfect,  that  even 
Quicksilver  might  be  still  upon  it.  In 
tne  Old  City  you  seldom  or  never  find 
two  houses  (together)  alike;  in  the 
New,  there  is  a  mathematical  ssme- 
ness  quite  fatiguing  to  the  eye.  In  se- 
veral streets  (of  the  New  Town,)  per- 
haps three  quarters  of  a  mile  long, 
and  consisting  of  buildings  six  stories 
high,  there  is  not  a  house  that,  if 
if  you  happen  to  forget  its  number, 
you  could  pick  out  again  by  any  dis- 
tinctive mark.  And,  to  confuse  one^s 
senses  too  the  more,  eadi  of  these 
streets  is  filled  widi  shops  bdonging 
to  some  dngle  trade.  All  die  gold- 
smiths live  in  one.  In  another,  all  the 
inhabitants  are  mercers:  So  that  if  you 
do  happen  (as  a  stranger)  to  hit  your 
own  residence  instead  of  going  to  next 
door,  you  may  really  esteem  yoursdf  a 
person  e^tecially  by  Providence  pit>« 
tected. 

This  **New  Town"  oertamlv  seems, 
throughout,  to  have  been  built  in  the 
verv  yUrtt  fUry  of  architectural  refonn^ 
Berore,  diere  had  been  no  foot-pave- 
ments in  Lisbon ;  here,  they  raised 
them  three  feet  above  the  horse- way. 
Before,  there  were  no  posts  In  the 
streets ;  here  they  seem  to  have  left 
posts  in  the  way  by  mistake.  But, 
paasing  leftwards  towards  the  more 
lofty  and  picturesque  sqjoums  of  the 
dd  dty--the  quarter  of  St  /^Vym- 
CMco  de  ddade,  first  rising  from  the 
flat— above  that,  the  streets  of  Boa* 
vista,  and  BeUavista — still  higher,  the 
Calcada  and  Convent  do  EsfreUa, — 
and,  a-top  of  dl,  the  Bairro,  or  paridi 
of  Buenos  Ayresy  you  trace  die  course 
of  the  earthquake  in  1756,  indicated) 
nevertheless,  (a curious  consideration ) 
by  red  improvements  of  the  plaoe. 


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Letters  of  Charles  Edwards,  Esq.    No.  L 


Wherever  you  see  a  street,  or  a  row  of 
houses  more  convenienUv  distributed 
than  those  aboat  them,  tnere^  you  are 
«ure  to  hear  that  half  a  parish  sunk, 
on  such  a  porticuhu*  day,  into  the 
earth,  or  that  eight  hunm«d  peoi>le, 
on  some  other  a&moon,  were  ouried 
aHTeinamoment.  The  heaviest  mis- 
chieft  of  diis  calamity  were  fotmd  to 
occur  upon  the  low  ground;  conse- 
quently, heights  are  preferred  to  huild 
upon  by  those  who  can  affi>rd  a  choice ; 
and  the  irregularities  (of  site)  in  this 
division  of  ue  town  are  indescribable. 
In  one  street,  not  exceeding  fifteen, 
or,  at  the  utmost,  twenty  houses,  the 
roof  of  the  first  and  the  toundatiou  of 
the  last  win  be  upon  a  leveL  Another 
building  stands  with  so  abrupt  a  rise 
bdiind  it,  that  you  have  two  stories 
more  (downwanjs)  in  front  than  at  the 
back.  You  walk  up  two  pair  of  stairs 
firequently  to  get  into  the  garden,  and 
hid  from  thence  immediately  down 
your  next-door  neighbour's  chimney- 
pot. A  dozen  volumes  might  be  writ- 
ten, out  of  recollections  and  strange 
tales— (most  of  them,  I  dare  say,  au- 
thentic^ connected  with  the  "  Great 
Earthquake," — its  omens  and  its  con- 
sequences, and  the  prodigies  that  at- 
tended u^n  it.  It  has  b^me  an  era 
from  which  people  reckon,  in  refer- 
ring to  dates  ana  circumstances.  But 
writing  books,  (ot  even  reading  them,) 
does  not  seem  to  be  the  vice,  I  thinks 
of  the  Portuguese.  The  men  smoke  a 
good  deal,  and  the  women  say  their 
Ave-Marias ;  but  I  don't  think  I  have 
seen  a  book  (printed,)  unless,  perhaps, 
a  prayer-book,  in  anybody  s  hand, 
since  I  have  been  in  the  country. 

The  heights,  however,  of  the  Old 
Town  had  their  gaieties  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  FestivaL  There  were  the 
religious  pooessions  passing  along  in 
all  directions.  Not  widi  the  splen- 
dour which  they  exhibited  before  the 
Frendi  stripped  the  churches;  but 
■till  in  magnificence  enough  to  asto- 
nish a  good  Protestant,  who  had  not 
been  used  to  see  the  thing  done  bet- 
ter. And,  besides,  there  is  an  ear- 
nestness about  the  populace  here,  in 
all  matters  connected  with  their  wor- 
ship, which  is  one  of  the  fiirst  things 
that  strikes  the  native  *of  any  more 
enlightened  region.  You  see  at  every 
hour,  and  in  every  nook  and  cor- 
ner, in  this  country,  an  "  outward 
and  visible  mgn"  of  religious  be- 
liffj  quite  diftrent  from  anything 


163 

which  we  are  accustomed  to  among 
oursdves.  Over  and  above  the  pre< 
scribed  morning  and  evening  devo- 
tions, which  the  ladies,  (in  pardcu- 
lar,^  very  r^ularly  attend,  a  man 
can  twalk,  even  at  mid-day,  along  the 
streets  of  Lisbon,  without  being  twen- 
ty times  in  half  a  mile  reminded  of 
his  duty.  Either  he  passes  a  church, 
or  a  cross,  or  a  begging  procession,  or 
the  image  of  a  saint ;  and  at  all  of  these, 
(bating  his  being  a  heretic)  he  at  least 
bends — ^and  perhaps  utters  a  patemos^ 
ier.  If  a  funeral  goes  by,  ev^  man 
takes  ofi^  his  hat.  If  it  be  the  host, 
persons  of  every  rank  frll  upon  their 
knees — the  nicest  gentleman  never 
considers  his  pantaloons  for  a  mo- 
ment. All  these  little  observances  and 
points  of  etiquette  are  prodigious  safe- 
guards to  the  main  body  of  the  Ca- 
tholic system. 

Something  of  the  same  supersti- 
tious charm  extends  over  the  diur- 
ches  and  conventical  edifices.    I  don't 
know  much  of  architecture  critically ; 
and,  from  what  I  do  Imow,  I  do  not 
like  the  public  buildings  of  Lisbon. 
There  is  nothing  certainly  (as  far 
as  the  capital  is  concerned)  at  all 
comparable  to  what  we  have  in  Eng- 
land. Nothing  to  be  named  in  the  same 
day  with  Westminster  Abbey,  or  with 
Canterbury  Cathedral,  or  York  Min- 
ster, or  the  Cathedral  at  Wells,  or  an 
hundred  other  specimens  that  I  might 
mention.    But  still  there  is,  upon  the 
whole,  in  spite  of  gaudiness  and  bad 
taste,  an  imposing  moss  enou^  for 
the  senses,  of  turret  and  tower  and 
buttress,  and  fretwork  and  spire  and 
pinnacle ;  and  the  whole  is  seen  under 
drcumstanoespeculiarly  &vourable  to 
impression.    These  buildings  deserve 
less  attention  than  ours ;  but  they  re- 
ceive a  ^reat  deal  more.  Your  butcher's 
boy  whistles,  or  sets  his  dog  on  to  fight, 
with  just  as  much  nonchalance  undo*  on 
entrance  of  Westminster  Abbey,  as  he 
would  under  one  of  the  sheds  m  New* 
gate  market.    We  talk  sometimes,  in 
town,  of  a  place,  as  being  "  as  high  as 
St  Paul's,"  and  now  and  then  peniapa 
a  dty  observation  gets  as  fiff  as ''  The 
Tower"  or  *'  The  Monument."  But, 
for  anything  beyond  casual  remark, 
the  people  of  London  take  no  more 
heed  of  thdr  diurches,  and  not  so 
much,  as  they  do  of  tlMdr  pastry-cook 
shops.    Now  here,  the  haoit  is  quite 
the  contrary.  Wherever  you  see  a  re* 
ligioas  edifice>  you  find  it,  among  all 


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IM 


LetUrstf  Charier  Edwardr,  Eiq.    No.  7. 


tPeb. 


IHn  olject  of  deep 
>nd  admiratian.  Thote  wbo  know  imh 
thing,  and  wish  to  know  notldng  of 
its  merits,  from  tile  bottom  of  their 
souls,  nevertheless  worship  every  stone 
of  it    We  want  something,  for  pic« 
tonal  effect, — of  the  old  costome — 
though  matters,  in  that  remect,  stand 
better  than  thej  do  in  Engutnd.    We 
have  not  yetgoti  here,  to  booted  clerks, 
in  stiffs  cravats,  publishing  their  Sun-* 
day  freedom  and  their  Cockney  igno« 
ranee  within  walls  built  seven  centu- 
ries beftire  thev  were  imagined ;  nor 
to  footmen  ana  idle  boys  squabbling 
round  the  church  doors  in  service  time, 
with  half-drunken  beadles,  in  moun« 
tehank  gowns  and  gingerbread  koed 
bats.    And  then,  if  we  are  imperfect 
in  the  antique  dressing,  the  da  feel- 
ing  we  have  entire  1   The  dark  grey 
turrets  that  frown  upon  yon  here,  do 
seem  to  be  the  real  turrets  of  history 
and  of  romance.  When  you  see  them, 
you  see  them  surrouncfed  by  beings 
whose  existence  you  can  suppose  co- 
eval with  such  olirjects.  They  do  carry 
the  mind  back  to  those  days,  unhap. 
nily  gone  b^,  when  the  world  was 
nbld  to  be  ror  the  £tw,  and  not  for 
the  many ;  when  there  was  something 
Hke  career  open  to  the  aspiring  and 
tiie  fearless ;  when  ike  man  who  had 
a  hand  could  nasp  a  lance ;  the  man 
who  had  a  head  put  on  a  cowl ; — when 
there  always  was  prospect,  where  there 
existed  power;  and  where  the  very 
struggle  of  ambition  was,  of  itself,  a 
eourse  of  pleasure !  There  is  nothing 
in  the  tone  of  the  circumstances  about 
you  to  break  in  upon  this  iUudon. 
The  people,  in  their  opinions  as  in 
their  nabits,  are  full  a  c^tury  behind 
our  oo^trymen.  They  are  rude,  sub- 
missive, ignorant— and  have  no  desire 
to  became  wiser.  Explain  to  tiiem  that 
these  heavy  piles,  the  very  deformities 
of  what  they  bow  before,  were  raised 
out  of  the  olood  and  the  misery  of 
millions,  they  would  answer — that  the 
''  millions'' 'are  gone;  and  that  it 
would  have  been  so  had  the  thing  been 
otherwise.    And  sooth  is,  the  imme^ 
diate  eftcta  of  this  acouiesoent  feel- 
ing, are  favourable  to  Uie  comfort  of 
the  lower  classes,  ratha:  than  opposed 
to  it    While  they  have  no  poutical 
freedom,  and,  by  consequence,  no  se« 
entity,  they  enjoy  advantages,  in  prac« 
tice,  whidi  voum  fril  than  unaer  a 
bolder  system.  Heaven  knows,  it  is  a 
blessing  wher^  convinced  ofhappineBa 


in  the  next  world,  people  can  afibid  to 
overlook  little  inconvemences  in  Mtl 
The  peasant  who  defers  here,  as  a  mat- 
ter  of  course,  to  his  lord,  with  the  bo* 
nonr  which  might  belong  to  a  rivalry, 
loses  some  of  the  molestaticm ;  and  we 
footman,  who  kneds  without  rdmke, 
by  the  side  (kT  the  noble  now  at  chmrch, 
would  have  to  take  a  lower  post,  if  it 
were  to  occur  to  him  that  be  was  as 
good  a  man  as  his  master. 

But  the  gaiety  of  the  town,  in  all 
quarters  here,  on  the  night  of  Uie  Din- 
mination,  formed  a  striking  contrast  to 
its  appearance  at  a  late  hour  on  ord£- 
nary  occasions.    There  were  eauestri* 
ans,  parading  away  at  their  hign  cm- 
cole  pace!  Thehonesinfhllaedon,Mid 
^et  not  getting  over  a  mile  of  ground 
m  an  hour !    Just  touched  constant- 
ly with  the  spur,  and  held  up  with  a 
mt  that  admits  of  no  disputing ;  and 
movingbetween  a  caper,  and  a  sort  of  ri- 
ding horse  ambfe,  all  the  way— raising 
the  foot  to  a  particular  height  and  tlien 
setting  it  down  a^n  exactly  in  the 
place  from  which  it  was  taken  op.    A 
pleasant  style  of  riding,  however ;  and 
performed  in  a  saddle  padded  like  an 
easy-chair — ^not  on  p,  machine  like  omr 
English    miracle,    which    seems    to 
have  been  originally  built  with  every 
view  (expressjfy)  to  people's  slipping 
ofi^from  it— that  object  being  subse- 
quently facilitated  by  the  high  polish 
to  which  our  servants  rub  its  simace, 
and  by  the  stirrups  artftilly  contrived 
to  give  a  man  as  tittle  support  as  pos- 
sible ;  unless,  indeed,  he  snould  hap- 
pen to  be  thrown,  when  they  usually 
Bold  him  fast  enough. — I  think,  about 
two  hundred  different  schemes  have 
been  tried,  within  my  recollection,  to 
prevent  the  possibility  of  a  man's  be- 
ing dragged  in  his  stirrup — ^the  obvi- 
ous one--4hat  of  making  the  stirrup  a 
shoe,  (so  that  the  foot  cannot  by  any 

eynod  possibility  entangle  in  it,) 
ving,  of  coi^rse,  been  disregarded. 
Indeed,  when  I  spoke  to  Sir  Thomsa 
B once  about  the  harness  gene- 
rally, and  suggested  the  bettor  pur- 
chase of  the  uioe  st'rrup,  with  the  ge^ 
neral  inexpediency  of  putting  a  ^iMy 
substance,  like  a  regulation  saddle,  in 
contact  with  smooth  leather  panta* 
loons,  where  the  object  was  to  secure 
adhesion ;  his  objection  to  my  idea  of 
a  rough  covering,  altogetlieT.  lasa 
that,  with  such  an  equipment,  ^'  aoy^ 
body'' would  be  able  to  ridel  Butiee 
the  magical  effects  of  rq^tationl  Hit 
3 


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Letlers  of  Charles  Edwards,  Esq,    yb.  L 


people  here  who  are  cowed  by  our  high 
mihtary  duuracter^  and  their  own  want 
of  it,  into  considering  an  Englishman 
as  the  first  of  created  beings^  nave  Idt 
their  own  style  of  saddle  and  stirrup^ 
which  onl^  wants  modification^  to  he 
▼ery  sufficient,  to  fidl  into  a  bad  imi- 
tation of  our  system^  which,  upon 
principle,  is  defective. — ^But,  as  I  tell 
YOU,  there  were  these  high-pacing 
norsemen,  in  good  show,  on  the  Illu- 
mination night,  about  the  streets ;  and 
crowds  of  pedestrians,  ([that  is  what 
ihe^  call  crowds  in  this  country, — 
which  we  should  call,  in  London,  ha- 
ving the  streets  quite  empty,^  parties 
promenading,  or  passing,  in  visits,  from 
one  house  to  another — ^with  the  win- 
dows of  the  rooms  all  thrown  up,  luod 
the  blinds  all  thrown  open,  and  clus- 
ters of  beautifbl  women,  and  elegantly 
dressed,  {auinegaierien,)  looking  out  of 
them.  A  broad  contrast  to  the  snow  of 
the  town,  on  common  nights,  at  the 
same  hour.    Dark— silent— deserted. 

For  of  one  particular  nuisance,  which 
oflfends  you  after  dusk  in  London,  here 
(in  the  streets)  you  have  noUiing. 
You  might  wander  without  a  "  how 
d'ye,"  fix)m  one  end  of  the  dty  to  ano- 
ther, unless,  perham,  it  came  from 
some  old  woman  of  sixty,  whose  view 
you  would  not  understand ;  or  firom 
a  ladjr  begsar,  (only  a  beggar,)  per- 
haps, in  a  lace  doak ;  or  from  some 
one,  perehance,  of  the  ''  free"  dogs, 
who  infest  this  famous  city,  in  almost 
as  great  force  as  they  are  said  to  do  at 
Constantinople.  Tne  French  killed 
0eat  numbm  of  these  animals,  while 
tn^  were  in  possession  of  Lisbon — 
rather  a  gratuitous  act  of  ill  nature,  or 
police  arrangement,  fbr  the  creatures 
are  harmless,  and,  indeed,  in  the  way 
of  public  scavengers,  meritorious.  Vast 
armies  of  them  are  still  left,  who  bring 
forth  and  rear  their  young,  in  the 
ruined  houses,  low  cellars,  and  odd 
waste  corners, — accommodations  to  be 
met  with  here  in  tolerable  abundance ; 
and  feeding,  during  the  m'ght,  (a 
strange  association,)  in  company  with 
en<mnous  black  rats,  the  Titans  of 
their  species,  upon  the  offU  of  various 
diaracter,  which  is  cast  forth  from  the 
houses ;  or  occasionaliy  (in  the  way  of 
bonne  bouche)  upon  the  fieshly  taber- 
nacle of  some  late  horse  or  mule,  who, 
being  thrown  into  the  highways  at 
midnight,  becomes  a  skeleton  before 
the  first  cock  I  a  Tom-cat,  perhaps, 
^w  and  th^n  dxa^gfing  in^  nom  his 

Vol.  XV. 


165 

promenade  d^amour,  to  take  a  snack; 
whose  appearance  no  way  ruffles  the 
general  amity  of  the  table ;  but  all  go 
on  eating,  in  a  kind  of  primitive  cha- 
rity with  each  other ;  and  scarcely  ta- 
king the  trouble,  so  little  are  they  used 
to  molestation,  to  turn  out  of  the  way 
at  the  anproach  of  a  passenger. 

The  aomestic  economy  of  the  peo- 
ple, is  more  reserved  than  that  of 
the  rats;  but  a  man  hardly  can  ac- 
quire very  sound  views  upon  such  a 
Bul^ect,  by  five  days  living  in  a  coun« 
try,  the  language  of  which  he  does 
not  understand.    An  order  ftom  the 
C(»nmandant.  is  suffident  to  get  you 
into  a  mans  house;    but  it  takes 
something  more  than  an  order,  to 
g^t  you  mto  his  confidence.     And 
tne  estate  of  the  people,  just  now,  is 
not  of  a  kind  to  incline  them  much  to 
free  association.  Setting  their  poUtical 
danger  apart,  (for  which  the  mass 
cares,  probabW,  very  little,)  they  have 
all  enough  of  personal  affliction,  ari- 
sing out  of  the  present  contest    The 
land  pays  no  rent,  and  almost  all  the 
^try  are  dependent  upon  the  land. 
The  stirring  levy  for  soldiers,  and  the 
various  imposts  and  seizures  for  the 
service  of  the  war,  are  making  r«>id 
dilapidation  in  any  little  hoards  that 
they  may  have  by  them.    Then  the 
system  of  "  quarter,"  which  is  indis- 
pensable— that  alone,  must  be  a  most 
neavy  grievance !  I  am  going  to-mor- 
row to  become  the  inmate  of  an  ap- 
parenUy  very  respectable  fiimily,  in 
which  Uiereare  three  daughters,  Ctwo 
under  seventeen,)  and  no  means  or  re- 
moving them.  The  father,  as  soon  as  I 
called  upon  him,  assigned  me  a  specific 
portion  of  his  house,  which  amounts,  of 
course,  to  a  dvil  prohibition  from  en  ter- 
inganyotherpartofit;andthisisacom- 
mon  precaution ; — ^but  it  does  not  an- 
swer the  end.  The&ctis — and  a  most 
perplexing  fitct  it  is  for  the  parties  con- 
cerned— ^tne  men  here  h&ve  grown, 
during  the  war,  into  great  dinavour 
with  wdr  women,    l^eir  reputation 
as  soldiersdoes  not  stand  high ;  and  the 
very  devil  is  in  the  sex  everywhere, 
for  being  caught  by  the  name  of  a 
hufibap !  The  French,  while  they  hdd 
Lisbon,  exercised  their  power,  as  you 
may  suppose,  pretty  vexatiously.  They 
plundered   the    inhabitants  —  which' 
was  much;  then  they  reasoned  against 
their  prejudices — ^which  was  more. 
They  robbed  the  people  in  Lisbon,  and 
carried  the  booty  over  the  water  to  sd} 
Y 


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LeUers  o^  Charks  Edwird$»  Esq. 


at  Canl^eas;  aod  then  they  robbed 
the  people  at  CasOdeas^  and  brought 
the  booty,  over  the  water  to  sell  in 
"Lisbon.  Beyond  this,  they  quizzed 
the  ignorance  of  the  natives,  and  in-» 
sisted  upon  reforming  their  bad  habits. 
*rhey  swept  their  streets — shot  their 
dogs — cancatured  their  coats— and 
made  faces  at  their  cookery.  And  jet, 
with  all  thisj  it  is  notorious  that  tney 
were  highly  popular  among  the  ladies. 
And  the  English,  take  them  asabody, 
are  not  a  whit  worse  received.  In  fact, 
how  should  anything  stand  against  a 

Gentleman,  who  can  anbrd  to  be  shot  at 
or  five  and  sixpence  a^av  ?  It  is  so 
soothing^-rso  never,  faillngly  flattering, 
even  to  the  most  delicate-minded  wo- 
man, to  find  herself  adored  by  the  veir 
same  roan  who  makes  no  secret  of  hjs 
contempt  for  all  her  acquaintance. 
t)epend  on  it,  Bobert,  it  is  a  course 
which  I  have  approved— wherever  you 
go,  take  care  to  be  (generally)  dissr 
greeable.  Be  civil  to  all;  and — ^who 
cares  to  have  your  notice?  but  un- 
bending only  to  one,  is  a  compliment 
not  to  be  resisted^ 

But  you  may  imagine  (un^er  suc^ 
circumstances)  the  condition  of  the 
people  here,  when  every  fiunily  must 
entertain  an  Englishman,  of  some  cha^ 
racter  or  other.  One  man,  perhaps,  ^et9 
A  kd — an  ensifrn,  fresh  from  boardmg- 
ing-school.  Mischievous,  fearless,  im- 
pudent, and  unfeeling.  Arrogant,  ip 
proportion  to  his  ignorance — so,  pro* 
aably>  very  arrogan^  indeed.  Consci- 
ous that  he  has  not  yet  the  figure  of  ^ 
man  ;  and  anxious,  therefore,  to  shew 
that  he  has  the  vices  of  one.  Conceive 
^e  annoyance  (to  a  reasonable  being) 
of  a  guest  such  as  this  in  his  honse  ; 
who  will  insult  himself,  alarm  his  fa- 
mily, break  windows  and  china,  and 
be  brought  homeregularly  drunk  about 
three  o'clock  ^very  morning !  Well !  in- 
stead of  this,  suppose  a  host  more  for- 
tunate, and  give  him  a  conciliating 
creature;  sober,  civil,  about  two  or 
three  and  twenty,  and  perhaps  tolera- 
bly handsome  into  the  barpin  ?  Wh^ 
then,  if  he  has  a  wife  or  sisters,  he  is 
driven  out  of  his  mind  quite ! 

And  the  women  here,  I  am  told, 
(and  I  don't  doubt  it)  are  in  raptures 
with  all  this  uUemma  and  coofUsion  I 
Anything !  though  it  were  a  plague, 
that  does  but  lead  to  novelty  and  bus- 
tle I  VerUre  Si  Grist  how  delighted 
^v  must  have  been  with  the  'earths- 
quake!  J  recollect  a  baboon  once, 
while  I  was  on  board  the  Kill  Devil — 


No.  I. 


^Feb, 


be  belong^  to  the  puriQr»  andused  to 
he  tied  up  in  the  cockpit.  This  beast 
got  loose  during  a  smart  engagement 
we  had  with  a  French  frigate ;  and 
while  the  shots  were  flying  quicker  a 
great  deal  than  a  sober  man  could  have 
desired,  and  afterwards  actually  as  we 
were  laying  the  enemy  on  board,  the 
brute  was  jumping  about  all  over  the 
deck,  quite  rampant  at  the  uprOar ! 
That  poor  man  now  that  I  am  going 
to  live  with  to-morrow,  is  torturing 
his  soul  out  at  this  moment  how  to  get 
rid  of  me !  and  his  daughters  are  ex- 
piring to  know  what  *'  kind  of  looking 
man'*^I  am  !  Delighted  that  "  some- 
body," at  all  events,  is  coming !  I'd 
jMiwn  my  life  of  it.  Their  father  will 
watch  me,  night  and  day,  all  the  while 
I  am  at  home— and  they  will  go  and 
try  on  all  my  pantaloons  the  moment 
I  go  out ! 

But,  to  the  public  amusements— of 
which  you  would  fain  hear,  and  of 
▼hich  I  have  yet  seen  nothing;  for  I 
fi|)end  ^  my  time  in  dressing,  and  rid- 
ing up  one  street  and  down  another, 
and  trying  to  make  acquainti^ioes, 
Thete  IS  an  Italian  Opera— a  fine  the* 
atre,  (I  have  peeped  into  it  in  the  day* 
time,)  but  it  is  not  well  supported, 
for  none  but  the  English  have  any 
meauQ.  Two  inferior  theatres,  one  for 
the  performance  of  comedies,  and  the 
other  a  kind  pf  circus,  do  better, — as  I 
am  informed,  i   ,  - 

At  the  Opera,  you  hire  a  whole  box, 
(you  can  hire  no  less,)  by  the  night  ; 
into  which  you  admit  as  many  persons 
as  you  please,  and  may  take  your  wine, 
if  you  think  fit,  during  the  evening. 
This  arrangement  is  rational.  I  hate 
a  public  box,  in  which  any  wretch 
who  chooses  may  sit  by  the  side  of 
you ;  and  where,  not  having  even  the 
conveniences  for  going  comfortably  to 
sleep,  you  are  compellfed  absolutely  to 
see,  and  even  to  near,  whether  you 
will  or  no.  Think  what  an  appi/i  would 
a  glass  of  Constantia  be  to  a  man,  when 
the  minor  performers  make  their  ap- 
pearance upon  the  scene ! 

This  is  not  a  season  for  amuse- 
ments to  flourish  in  Lisbon,  There 
are  no  bull-fights  now— in  token  of  the 
national  sorrow ;  nor  any  burning  of 
heretics.  Missing  the  first  sight  (ex- 
cept for  once)  does  not  vehemently 
distress  n^e.  I  hate  animal  combats; 
and,  still  more,  sports  in  whjch  ani- 
mals are  tormented  by  men.  Bumey, 
in  his  "  Musical  Tour,"'  (Germany, 
17T9,)give8awhiR\sical account,  Ire- 


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Letters  ofChatki  EUtmfdM,  Esq, 


188k:] 

ooHect  (from  the  "  biU")  of  jm  exhibi- 
tion of  this  kindfttVlenna.  After  euume« 
radog  friiumheir  of  oofnbats  hetween- 
different  lerockmi  animals — first,  a 
wild  hoar  to  be  haited — next,  a  great 
bear  to  he  torn  hv  dogs — then,  another 
boar  to  he  haiteahy  very  hungry  dm 
defended  hjriron  armoor — ^he  condudes 
with — "  lastly,  a  ferocious  and  hun- 
gry hear,  which  has  had  no  food  fuir 
ei^ht  days,  (br  words  to  that  eSect,\ 
will  attack  a  wild  bull,  and  eat  him 
aUite  upon  the  spot ;  and  if  he  should 
be  unable  to  complete  the  busiuess,  a 
wolfwill1>e ready /oAe/p Aim/"  This 
is  not  80  offensive  to  me,  aa  our 

gits  between   domestic   animals-^ 
ing  the  dog  from  under  our  c)iair>  • 
and  compelling  him  to  be  worried  tiU 
he  dies ; — ^but  I  will  no  more  endura 
such  an  exhibition  even  as  this,oriJ]ow 
it  to  be  justified  (the  stale  apology), by 
a  tH  auoque  rderenoe  to  the  spom  of 
the  cliaie»  than  I  will  allow  the  tabling 
an  onemy  in  a  charge,  or.  in  the  heat 
of  fresh  purauit,  to  justify  the  cutting 
priaoners'  thsoais,  or  torturing  theca 
to  death  after  the  heat  of  the  battle  is 
irtex.  Indeed,  among  a  tolerable  variety 
of  bralalentertlunmciits,  which,  thank 
God,  flve  flomething  upoii  the  wsne  in 
England ;  and  tirhldi  (what  is  worse) 
are  all  made  the  subjects  of  wager  too, 
and  ao  carried  to  the  extreme  sf  cruel- 
ty  by  the  snirit  of  gain,  the  otily  ex^ 
cuse  1  coula  ever  find  for  our  fiimoui 
sport  of  prise-fighting  was— not  the 
courage  which  It  demands — for  the 
bull-fighter   displays  as  much—but 
that  the  combatants  certainly  act  ad- 
tiaedly,  (if  not  under  durance,)  for  the 
teke  of  a  pecuniary  recompense ;  add 
to  which*  m  whatever  way  the  contest 
maj  event\ially  terminate^  theproba- 
bihty  is,  that  two  rascals  get  each  of 
them  a  sound  beating. 

Diversions  of  an  expensive  cast, 
however,  (I  speak  with  re&rencff  to 
the  Italian  Opera,)  can  never  be  very 
SttcceMful  hece»  fat  Uie  multitude  have 
not  means  to  support  thpsa.  If  Uw 
peqple  are  not  poor,  looking  at  the  ex- 
tent of  their  owimithes,  they  are  very 
poor,  accordiiigtatheestfanate,  and  par- 
ceptioBs^Qf  an  EngUshmaa.  The  were 
cbmate  of  Portugal  makes  a  man's 
wantsone-halfless  than  they  are  in  Hol- 
land or  fai  Germany;  and  the  orrange- 
menta  of  sode^  make  his  artiflcial  ne- 
cessities very  few,  as  conroared  wlA 
what  they  are  with  us.  Your  Eng- 
lish travd-writer  cries  *'  out"  on  these 
poor   knaves   for  pride   and   indo- 


No.L 


107 


lence>  because  they  will  not  labour  for 
those  luxuries  which  he  f  the  greedy 
rogue  \)  finds  indi^nsabie ;  but,  in 
truth,  a  man  here  may  be  rich  with  % 
very  Uttlc.  It  is  not  necessary  that  he 
should  have  five  hundred  a-year  to  bb. 
received  into  society,  and  treated  as  a 
centleman.  The  wiiole  course  of  his 
nabits  and  pleasures — politically,  i( 
would  be  better  if  the  thing  were 
otherwise,  but  certainly  not  better  m 
regards  the  present  comfort  of  iR4ivi-> 
duals^ — the  whole  scale  of  his  hajittt^ 
and  pleasures  is  less  costly  than  amuii^. 
us.  A  man  considers,  here,  not  how 
much  he  can  eern,  but  how  liitk  he 
can  live  upon.  And  what  is  the  feel- 
ing that  actuates  o«r  Saint-Monday** 
keeping  artisan?— only  thstt  he  do«i 
not  choose  (the  En^uhman)  to  Eve 
upon  so  little. 

Take  it  as  you  will,  it  amounts  oo^' 
ly  to  a  different  extent  of  desire? 
Your  loiterer  of  Lisbon  U>ve8  to  sit 
in  the  sunshine;  your  Endish  loi- 
terer loves  to  flit  in  the  nubnohouse. 
The  pleasure  of  the  first  is  to  be 
idle ;  the  pleasure  of  the  last  is  to  be 
drunk.    This  very  propensity  to  exi 
pensive  enjoyments  (by  the  exertion 
which  becomes  requisite  to  gratify  it)l 
tends  mainly,  I  believe,  to  keep  up 
that  energy,  which  is  the  distinguish- 
ing characteristic  of  the  lower  Eng- 
lish, as  the  absence^  generally,  of  <&- 
sires,  which  cost  much  labour  or  neril 
to  content  them,  sinks  the  people  nera 
into  habits  of  imbecility,  apathy,  and 
indifference.   Senragi^  however,  not^ 
withstanding,  that  their  prodigality 
vrill  point  no  way  but  to  the  gin  shopu 
That  tireddings  or  funeral0--bolidays 
or  fasts — all  occasions  of  joy  or  sor- 
row— of  triumph  or  lamentp-^-can  servei 
as  no  other  than  so  mapy  pretenoee 
for  the  discussion  of  ^Ven  ^uaatitiea 
of  strong  liouor.  A  writer,  I  recollect, 
of  the  dayi^  Charles  II.  treating  of  the 
Enslish  (he  was  himself  a  Germany 
as  tne  ''  soakers"  of  Europe,  declares,^ 
thai  they  h«ve  even  a  song  which  ae-' 
counts  A  drunkard  to  be  as  great  as  a 
kiiig.    And,  afterwards,  to  prove  the 
satisfactioii  which  prevailed  in  Eng- 
land on  aceount  of  Charies's  return, 
he  notices  that,  in  the  first  five  years 
after  the  Restoration,  thirty-one  new, 
tavern  and  ale-house  licences  were 
granted !  and  that  six  hundred  thou- 
sand barrels  of  ale  were  brewed  in 
that  five  years,  and  consumed,  more 
than  hsd  neen  disposed  of  in  Uie  five 
years  preceding. 


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THB  GOOD  OMBN.      A  LTEICAL  BALLAD. 


I WA8  coiop«ll*d  to  letve  the  land. 

Or  brook  a  prison-life,  trepann'd 

By  a  fitls^hearted  friend ; 

A  mien  like  honour*8  mask'd  his  hce. 

Till  I,  poor  dupe,  suspicionless,  , 

Was  wrought  to  senre  his  end. 

My  purse,  my  word,  my  pen  was  his ; 

One  heart  in  all  occurrences 

Had  seem'd  to  sway  us  two ; 

Each  to  the  other  for  advice, 

For  comfort  look'd ;  nor  did  these  ties 

Sladcen  as  up  we  grew. 

But  he  declined  from  virtue,  stray*d 

Erom  Truth's  one  beaten  path,  and  made 

Rank  Vice  his  arbitress : 

To  me  his  lesser  faults  akme 

Were^  with  mock  candour,  sometimes 

shewn; 
I  grieved,  but  loved  not  less. 

His  utter  lapse  was  scarcely  known. 
Ere  evil  days  came  thickly  on ; 
M^  fortune's  guardian  died— 
Died  bankrupt;— 4md  for  me  remain*d 
Nought,  save  a  scanty  patch  of  land, 
And  one  small  house  beside. 

The  cradle  there,  which  at  my  birth 
Received  me,  kept  its  place,— •the  hearth 
Round  which  I  play'd,  while  love 
Breathed  on  me  in  a  mother's  kiss— > 
Yet  this  so  precious  dwelling,— this 
My  friend  bereaved  me  of ! 

The  little  patrimony  went, 
CUum'd  on  a  bond,  to  which  I  lent 
My  name  in  hts  distress : 
So  having  round  me  laid  a  woof 
Of  snares,  he  meanly  fled  aloof, 
And  left  me  pennyless. 

His  creditors  were  much  enraged. 
To  whom  my  person  still  was  gaged 
By  that  bond's  cruel  claim. 
They  saw  he  wrought  to  fraudful  ends, 
That  I  was  of  his  bosom  friends, 
And  deem'd  our  views  the  same. 

I  pleaded  hard ;  my  plea  was  spum'd, 
A  deaf  and  pitiless  ear  was  tum'd 
By  one  whose  brow  was  stem  ^ 
It  nought  avail'd  with  him  that  I 
Promised  in  plain  sincerity 
All  that  my  skill  could  earn : 

I  shew'd  him  that  I  had  resign'd 
My  ^1 ;  nought  save  a  willing  mind 
The  injurious  debt  could  free ; 
Kor  wauted  I  the  means  or  skill 
To  get  my  bread,  nor  right  goodwill 
To  toil  industriously.' 


No— >instant  payment  or  a  jail !— > 
Beseeching  was  of  no  avail,— 
Pity  in  vain  I  sought ; 
Yet  'twas  not  fiiir  I  should  be  sent, 
A  felon-like  imprisonment 
To  undergo  for  nought 

So  when  my  overture  was  spum'd^ 

The  hard  oppressive  man  I  wam'd 

He  should  not  reach  his  end. 

For  I  would  flee,— «nd  while  he  went 

My  liberty  to  circumvent. 

The  Hampshire  coast  I  gun*d. 

It  was  that  part,  where  opposite 

Look  forth  the  swelling  Downs  of  Wigfatv 

A  channel  broad  o'erpast, 

A  roadstead  from  the  mi^ty  sea, 

Gay  with  the  glancing  bravery 

Of  flag,  and  sail,  and  mast. 

That  lonesome  strand  I  pitch'd  upon, 
Which  lies  'twist  pleasant  Lymington 
And  Beaulieu's  river-glade  i 
A  safe  and  unfrequented  tract, 
By  that  romantic  Forest  back'd^ 
The  Royal  Norman  made. 

Far-stretching  plains  of  dark  sea  cose, 
(Now  bare,  now  wash'd,  as  ebbs  or  flow» 
The  ever-travelling  tide) 
Cut  off  communion  ¥dth  the  deep, 
Save  by  the  fishers'  boats,  which  creep 
Through  creeks  that  wind  unspied. 

Thither  I  fled,  to  seek  a  friend, 
One  on  whose  love  I  could  depend 
My  prompt  escape  to  aid ; 
For  here  a  matron  dwelt,  who  erst 
My  years  of  infoncy  had  nurst, 
Ere  she  herself  was  wed. 

Her  spouse,  a  fine  old  seaman  wight. 
As  rough  as  oak-bark,  and  like  it 
Coverhiga  flawless  heart ; 
As  resolute  as  the  northern  wind. 
And  yet  no  summer  breeze  more  kind, 
Or  rock-bird  more  alert 

In  storm  and  calm,  by  night  or  day. 
Through  deeps  and  shallows,  eoaslancK 

bay, 
And  hr  out  in  the  tide,— 
With  line,  or  net,  or  wicker.^eaf, 
Or  oyster-drag,  or  huge  eel-spear, 
The  flshei's  trade  he  plied. 

To  him,  then,  and  his  trusty  boat. 
Ban  strong  the  current  of  my  thought 
For  my  deliverance ; 
By  them  I  hoped  to  cross  the  sea, 
And  disembark,  though  poor  yet  free. 
Upon  the  coast  of  France. 


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169 


Sudi  welooine  la  I  hoped  I  bad,— 
Old  Eleanor  was  grieved, — was  glad,— 
My  preaence  was  delight^ 
But  then  tears  and  sighs  in  throngs, 
At  hearing  of  my  grievous  iiironga 
And  need  of  stealthy  flight. 

In  manly  guise  old  Mark  stood  by, 
And  thcHigh  he  lack*d  not  sympathy. 
Yet  native  resolution 
Made  him,  with  brow  and  eye  austere, 
Reftise  each  feeling  vent,  and  hear 
Hie  tale  to  its  conclusion. 

Hien  burst  he  forth,  '*  Now  pardon,  sir. 
Hie  tbon^hts  of  an  old  mariner, 
Who  has  weather*d  storms  for  years; 
Honour's  atiU  yours ;  as  to  the  rest, 
Tou*re  young  and  wise,  and  for  the  best 
Most  act  till  fdrtune  veers. 

*  Conrsge,  good  master— why  cast  down  ? 
Lode  does  not  always  wear  a  frown. 
I'll  p«t  yon  'cross  the  main ; 
And  ere  a  year  or  two  have  past, 
I  trow  that  I  shall  rear  the  mast, 
To  fetch  yoQ  back  i^ain."-* 

Hiia  homely  coiqile  did  their  best 
To  coraliDrt  me  with  food  and  rest. 
And  I  waa  somewhat  cbeer'd ; 
For  Mark  was  sanguine,  all  astir 
With  buoyant  hope,  while  JEUeanor 
Pitied,  and  mused^  and  fear'd. 

No  long  while  cumber'd  I  their  hut, 
A  low-pitch'd  pile,  not  destitute 
Of  snugness,  warmth,  and  cheer } 
*Twas  waird  with  stones  of  various  hue. 
Cemented  by  the  sea-slime  blue^ 
And  thatdi*d  with  wrack-grass  sere : 

Nor  wanted  it  a  garden-plot, 

A  narrow  strip,  but  neatly  wrought, 

Throvgh  Eleanor's  endeavour; 

BIch  with  its  pods,  and  bulbs,  and  sproutsi 

And  boshes  bung  with  berried  fruits. 

And  herbs  of  dainty  savour. 

Need  was  that  plants  Of  lowlier  growth 
Were  cultured,  such,  as  nothing  loth, 
A  nestling  covert  find 
Beneath  the  lichen'd  sloe-thorn  hedge, 
Which,  slanting  inward,  duU*d  the  edge 
Of  the  ieree  aouth-west  wind. 

Ere  I  three  diqrs  bad  tarried  there, 

Mark,  by  inquiry,  was  aware 

A  sk)op  would  soon  set  forth 

For  Ftance«'-its  owner  was  his  friend. 

And  the  first  word  for  me  obtain'd 

The  offer  of  a  birth. 

*Twas  counsell*d  I  should  not  embark 
Till  she  had  dear'd  the  port;  so  Mark 


PuU'd  his  stout  boat  off  shore, 
And  Eleanor,  right  motherly. 
Laid  in  sea  stores  and  dothes  for  me. 
And  bless'd  me  o'er  and  o'er. 

'E'en  in  my  grief  I  almost  smiled 
To  see  she  thought  me  still  a  child, 
I'  th'  fulness  of  her  heart, 
The  nursling  of  her  former  years, 
For  whom  she  cherish'd  tender  fears— 
But  now  'tis  time  to  part 

Hands^  hearts  are  wrung— the  old  man's 

bark 
Lay  distant  scarce  ten  minutes'  walk 
Along  a  graveUy  Hard, 
Whence  lay  our  course  to  get  without 
Hie  rocks  of  Wight,  and  ply  about 
Till  the  good  sloop  appear'd. 

Not  without  sense  of  misery. 

Utter  forlomness,  quitted  I 

The  hospitable  hut ; 

And  when  'neath  stress  of  oar  and  sail. 

Known  coast  and  headland  'gan  to  fiul. 

No  vrondcr  tears  burst  out. 

To  leave  my  fiither-land,  to  roam 
Fkr  from  accustom'd  haunts,  from  home^ 
Known  faces,  language  known  ;— 
To  live  an  outlaw's  life,  in  doubt 
E'en  of  subsistence ;— tears  burst  out. 
When  all  was  tliought  upon ! 

Mark  &in  would  be  my  comforter. 
But  since  1  tum'd  a  heedless  ear 
To  his  condoling  tone. 
His  tact  instinctive  check'd  my  pUint, 
For  he  rehearsed  a  pertinent 
Deliverance  of  his  own. 

He  said,  'twas  his,  in  winter  nights. 
To  keep  his  watch  where  wedge-like 

flights 
Of  wild-fowl  hmdward  dropt ; 
As  long  as  ice  and  snow  were  rife, 
He  led  a  prowling  fowler's  life— 
The  fishers  trade  was  stopt 

He  told  how  once  beneath  a  moon, 
Fkr  in  her  wane,  he  paddled  down 
A  creek — then  moor*d  his  boat, 
Fasten'd  his  square  mud-pattens  oi^ 
And,  shouMering  his  good  duck  gun. 
Warily  ventured  ouL 

His  way,  gain'd  slowly  and  with  toi^ 
Was  on  that  soft  and  slippery  soil. 
Which  twice  within  the  day 
Is  buried  deep  beneath  the  tide.; 
And  where  he  strode,  then  far  and  wide 
Rolls  on  a  suigy  sea. 

A  mist  steam'd  up,  the  moon  was  dim— 
The  nick  of  &vouring  chance  for  him— 


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The  Gvod  Omem 


trtb. 


He  will  not  icare  blB  prey. 
Hark !  the  known  dung  upon  his  right 
Breaks  the  dull  silence  of  the  night, 
And  guides  his  blinded  way. 

Slow  he  advanced,  incumber*d  sore 
By  the  foot-trapping  which  he  wore-ii. 
Safeguards  from  sinking  down 
Within  the  treacherous  ground— But  list! 
A  rush  of  wings— his  chance  is  mist. 
His  web-foot  prey  is  gone  I 

Hearkening  he  stops— his  practised  ear 
Detects,  through  the  still  atmosphere, 
Some  fkr  off  notes,  whicli  teuch, 
The  flock  has  settled  down  again ; 
And  he  on  a  fresh  course  must  strain 
To  get  within  guu.reach. 

He  plods— >once  more  is  baffled^-nought 
Avails  to  gain  the  point  he  sought, 
In  vain  he  creeping  canie,-^ 
Though  oft  endeavour*d,  never  once 
Did  he  within  sure  range  advance, 
To  point  the  slaughterous  aim. 

Wet,  hungry,  tired,— his  labour  lost, 
His  brain  bewilder'd,  projects  crost. 
He  looks  out  for  his  Imml 
He  is  all  astray— he  had  not  discern*d 
That  to  a  fog  the  haxe  liad  tum*d. 
While  his  pursuit  was  hot. 

But  worse— in  many  a  weedy  run 
He  saw  the  tide  had  long  begun 
To  speed  its  slioreward  race. 
Now  all  was  hurry,  doubt,  and  fear. 
And  he  knee-deep  was  flound*ring,  ere 
He  reach'd  the  mooring  place. 

With  mut:h  ado  he  fotmd  at  last 
The  boom,  to  which  he  had  made  fost 
His  boat— Oh,  fruitless  quest! 
No  boat  was  there— ahe  bad  gone  adrift  i 
Her  rope  was  broke,  and  he  was  left 
A  ridng  sea  to  breast ! 

Dry  land  was  two  miles  off,  and  he 
Knew  that  ere  be  could  thither  flee, 
The  tide  would  fully  flow ; 
And  for  a  man  to  swim  or  wade. 
Closed  in  the  night-fog*s  stifling  shade. 
Were  but  astray  to  go. 

Quick  fears  to  his  remembrance  bring 
A  bank,  the  ejected  balhistiiig 
Of  some  o'erburdened  bark*— 
Could  he  discover  now  the  heap, 
He  might  perchance  hU  breathing  keep 
Above  higii-water  mark. 

Sphisbing  he  hastes,  plies  here  and  there. 
He  finds  it,  mounts,  and  now  can  rear 
Himself  some  two  feet  more. 
Ah !  still  is  be,  the  waves  within. 
Waist  high^-and  fkst  the  stream  sets  in, 
And  will  so,  hour  by  hour. 


His  rifle,  Ibtizzle  downwahls,  d^p 

He  planted,  to  resist  the  sweep 

Of  that  in-driving  flood ; 

And  there,  with  hands  that  elenched  iu 

stock. 
That  he  might  stem  each  billowy  thoCk» 
Still  stout  of  heart  he  stood. 

The  twilight  broke,  the  fog  updrew^ 
No  saving  vessel  hove  in  vieW— 
Far  Arom  the  shoal  they  keep. 
Besides,  if  seen  on  sueh  a  waste. 
His  head,  one  speck,  had  sure  beeh 

guess'd 
A  seft-fowl  rock*d  iu  sleep^^-^ 

At  this  point  of  his  narrative. 
The  veteran  seem*d  again  to  Uvti 
In  that  so  fearful  case ; 
He  doffed  his  hat,  his  countenance 
Was  lightenM  by  an  upward  gUnce, 
A  momentaiy  space. 

He  graiped  my  band,  and  cried,  **  Ob,  sir^ 
Believe  me,  in  those  hours  of  fear. 
My  greatest  comfort  was. 
That  I  Ood*s  Holy  Book  had  heard. 
And  loved— I  meekly  trust— his  word, 
Who  died  upon  the  cross; 

<<  I  said  my  prayers,  was  fbrtifted 
By  feeling  that  in  ocean  wide 
Not  all  unseen  I  lay ; 
For  He,  whb  holds  both  tea  and  land 
Within  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 
Looks  down  on  them  who  pray. 

«  Yet  was  \i  bitter  thus  to  die« 

Drop  after  drop^  so  lingeringiy 

Of  sudden  death  to  taste. 

My  thoughts  flew  home-*poor  Eleanor  i 

Little  I  thought,  embracing  her 

At  partings  'twas  our  last. 

**  One  hour  wouhl  widow  her— for  m^ 
No  help,  no  hope,— oh  agony ! 
Groaning  I  gave  a  shout. 
I  list*ned— all  was  silent,  save 
Tlie  regular  beating  of  the  wave 
Which  gurgled  round  my  throat. 

"  My  hour  was  now  at  band^-eadi  limb^ 
Half  uumb'd,  denied  me  power  to  swim— ^ 
I  sigh'd,  *  Thy  will  be  done !' 
The  brine  was  at  my  lips^— was  need 
Each  minute  now  of  wary  heed, 
The  choking  draught  to  shnn. 

"  Perils  of  waters !  all  your  woei 
I  felt,  except  that  drowning  dose. 
When  sense  and  mind  depart  ;— 
But  deep  involuntary  sobs 
And  dimness  came,  and  hard  alow  throbs 
At  the  temples  and  the  heart 

*<  I  waited,  waited  on— how  slow 
Did  time  get  forward— yet  (although 

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1894.^  The  Good  Omm. 

I  dared  not  hope,)  I  thoogbt 
Mf  brMth  cmroe  freelier— looking  4own, 
Above  the  watery  surfiuse  shone 
Ont  button  of  my  coat. 

«*Qh,  sight  of  joy!  vain  would  it  be 
To  say  what  transport  pladd'ned  roe, 
That  trivial  sign  perceived  ! 
•Twas  proof  the  rav'nous  tide  had  past 
JtB  flood-point,  and  was  ebbing  &st,— > 
My  sentence  was  reprieved  ! 

**  Hiat  God  on  whom  I  leanM  my  trustv 
Firom  whom  I  had  tl^is  frame  robust. 
And  vital  heat,  which  braved 
The  deadly  chill,  while  stcep'd  I  stood, 
—Yea,  God  it  %vas,  who  bade  the  flood 
Retire,  and  I  was  saved. 

•*  My  easy  task  was  now  to  wait 

Another  hour,  until  the  state 

Of  the  decreasing  flea. 

And  Che  inroad  di(y-light,  warrant  made 

Th^  I  raifbt  then  begiq  to  wade 

With  litUe  jeopardy. 

^  Dripping  I  ci^e  adiore ;  my  wife 
Had  waoder'd  thither  in  the  strife 
Of  dreamy,  vague  alarms--- 
We  knelt,  we  gray*d,  in  thankful  strain^ 
To  Him  who  gave  us  once  again 
Into  each  other's  arms. 

'*  Such  my  adventure--wou1d  you  could 
Welcome  It  as  an  omen  good 
Of  better  days  to  come ! 
Its  recollection  oft  hath  been 
My  firm  support  in  many  a  scene 
Of  turbulence  or  gloom. 

"  My  good  young  master,  you  are  now 

Deep  sunk,  I  grant,  amid  the  flow 

Of  black  misfortune's  tide ; 

But  play  the  roan,  dismiss  despafa', 

Doubt  not  the  gr^t  Deliverer 

A  rescue  can  provide."-^ 

The  old  man's  soul  was  in  his  &ce. 
While  thus  he  tried  with  earnestness, 
0*er  my  untoward  f^te 
To  cast  a  gleam  of  hope : — I  took 
The  influence  from  his  cheerful  lool^ 
And  felt— not  desolate. 

His  hand  I  press*d  in  mine ;  said  I. 
••  Your  fortitude,  your  piety, 
My  drooping  faith  shall  freshen ; 
The  Omen,  too,  my  hope  shall  buoy, 
Though  it  be  but  fancy's  fond  employ, 
A  blameless  superstition."*— 

A  breeze  sprung  up,  the  sloop  drew  nigh^ 
We  partfd.     1  did  not  belie 


171 

The  promise  which  I  made. 
That  I  in  memory  would  keep 
His  great  deliverance  from  the  deep, 
As  pledge  of  speedy  aid. 

The  veteran  was  prophetic— ere 
I  had  borne  roy  Ininishment  a  year, 
The  oppressive  ocean-heap, 
With  which  roisfortune  oompass'd  me^ 
Roll'd  off,  like  ^is  retiring  sea, 
And  left  me  to  eseapCt 

Within  a  foreign  town  was  one 
Who  had  my  dearest  fisther  known, 
Had  loved  him,  and  was  glad 
To  help  his  son ;— he  oflTer'd  me 
Credit  and  scope  for  industry. 
And  thus  a  path  was  laid. 

9aU>  probity,  and  diligence 

Rapidly  won  me  opulence— * 

But  not  its  slave  become. 

One  passion  still  possess'd  my  soul. 

Which  would  no  long  time  hear  oontrol— i 

A  yearning  for  my  home, 

1  woul^  not,  when  again  I  sought 
My  native  soil,  be  coldly  brought. 
By  hirelings  unooncem'd ; 
l^y  craving  heart  iastni^cted  me, 
That  it  required  the  ministry 
Of  love  when  1  retum'd. 

Therefore  I  sumroon'd  that  poor  boat* 

Which  charitably  bore  me  out 

An  exile  lone  of  old* 

Its  master's  debtor,  hopeless,  poor*-. 

But  noweni^bled  to  restore 

His  mite  a  thousand-fold. 

Before  we  fetdi'd  the  rooks  of  Wightj^ 
Mark'r  little  shallop  work'd  in  sight ; 
A  lusty  shout  he  raised ! 
And  when  on  English  earth  I  set 
My  foot,  the  sire  dM  not  fbrget 
HIs  omen  realised. 

To  him  and  EleMor  I  shew'd. 
Beyond  their  wise,  ray  gratitude- 
No  fear  for  them  of  want ! 
l^OT  doubt  that  I  should  soon  become 
Of  my  old  land  and  early  home 
Owner  and  habitant. 

Sweet  after  abstinence  the  meal 
Heap'd  on  the  board,  and  sweet  to  feel 
The  pillow  after  toil,—  ♦ 

But  sweeter  far,  to  him  who  long 
Hath  pined  amidst  a  foreign  throng, 
Is  a  welcome  in  his  native  tongue, 
Vpon  hit  native  «oil  1 


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172 


Curiitma. 


CF^. 


CUaLIANA^ 


Sir, 


A  FRIEND  of  mine  has  one,  and  only 
one  good  story,  respecting  a  gun,  whicn 
he  contrives  to  introduce  upon  all  oc- 
casions, by  the  following  simple,  but 
ingenious  device.    Whether  the  com- 
pany in  which  he  is  placed  be  nume- 
rous or  select,  addicted  to  strong  po- 
tations, or  to  long  and  surprising  nar- 
ratives ;  whatever  may  happen  to  be 
the  complexion  of  their  character  or 
conversation,    let  but  a   convenient 
pause  ensue,  and  my  friend  immedi- 
ately hears,  or  pretends  to  hear,  the 
report  of  a  ^n.    Everybody  listens, 
and  recalls  his  late  impres^ns,  upoa 
which  ''  the  story  of  a  gun,"  is  natu- 
rally, and  as  if  by  a  cas^  association, 
introduced  thus — ''By  the  by,"  speak- 
ing of  guns,  "  that  puts  me  in  mind 
of  a  story  about  a  gun ;"  and  so  the 
gun  is  fixed  in  regiuar  style,  and  the 
company  condeipned  to  smell  powder 
for  twenty  minutes  to  come !  To  the 
telling  of  this  gun  story,  it  is  not,  you 
see,  at  all  necessary  that  there  should 
be  an  actual  explosion  and  report ;  it 
is  sufficient  that  there  might  have  been 
something  of  the  kind.    And  by  a  si- 
milar device  has  it  now  fallen  to  my 
lot,  upon  Uiis  third  day  of  February^ 
when  we  might,  if  we  had  been  visit- 
ed as  we  were  last  season,  have  had 
frost  and  snow,  and  curling  in  abun- 
dance, to  regret  that  the  winter  is 
lil^ely  to  slip  away  in  a  style  quite  un- 
suitable to  the  great  end  and  object  of 
all  northern  winters,  "  the  Curler's 
sport."     Why,  these  open  winters,  as 
tney  are  termed,  what  do  thev  open  ? 
many  a  green  grave.  The  typhus,  the 
scarletina,  and  the  quincy,  riot  amidst 
these  fresh  clouds  and  miiy  roads; 
and  if  the  farmer's  plough  is  seen  to 
occupy  the  fields  fbr  a  few  weeks  long- 
er than  usual,  it  is  only  that  the 
ploughman  may  enjoy  himself  in  an 
additional  lounge  or  two  by  the  ''kirk 
slaps"  and  "  head-riggs ;"  for,  by  the 
month  of  May,  you  shaU  not  be  able 
to  discover  from  his  labours,  whether 
there  was  only  one  day,  or  three  long 
months  of  frost.    And  what  a  feast  is 
the  pure  ethereal  soul  of  a  genuine 
curler  deprived  of,  by  such  blustering, 
blubbering  weather  as  this !  See  him 
of  a  cold,  blue-skyed  morning,  such  as 
we  experienced  in  the  winter  13,  14. 
(lis  coat  buttoned,  bat  not  up  to  the 


diin,  80  as  to  impede  the  play  of  hit 
lungSj  or  the  motion  of  his  limbs; 
his  one  hand  armed  with  a  broom,  and 
his  other  charged  with  the  ice-shoes, 
or  tramps ;  his  very  breath  forms  a 
"  glory'  of  white  and  fleecy  transpa- 
rency around  him,  and  he  walks  li- 
terally in  an  atmosphere  of  his  own 
forming.  As  he  trots  it  along  towards 
the  scene  of  action,  the  loch,  the  pond, 
or  the  river,  hu  very  sense  seems  to  be 
enlarged,  and  his  ears  and  his  eyes 
take  in  sounds  and  objects  the  roost 
distant  and  indistinct.    He  walks  on 
his  tiptoes,  unless  that  at  times  the 
intervening  dide,  and  hardened  snow, 
compel  him  to  resume  his  more  juve- 
nile practices.    When  he  has  put  a 
firm  neel  upon  the  ice,  and  notwi^ 
standing  all  efibrts  to  produce  a  rent, 
has  found  that  it  is  firm  and  unbend- 
ing as  a  rock,  then  his  happiness  is 
completed.    He  has  now  found  his 
proper  element,  and  is  quite  at  home 
amongst  his  friends,     if  you  stand 
aloof  from  the  scene  of  action,  you 
may  indeed  occasionally  hear  his  voice 
br^kin^  distinctly  through  the  rush 
of  inarticulate  exultation  and  direc- 
tion ;  but  if  yoa  place  yourself  in  his 
immediate  neighbourhood,  and  hang 
like  a  da^-spectre  over  the  rink  at 
which  he  is  enga^,  you  will  be  lost 
in  one  whirl  of  mcident  and  excite* 
ment,  and  he  will  mind  you  no  more 
as  a  spectator,  than  if  you  were  a  snow* 
ball,  which  Uie  school-boys  had  roll- 
ed together,  or  a  lump  of  moss-tree 
lately  dug  up.    In  vain  you  will  en- 
deavour agam  and  M;ain,  as  the  hours 
rush  past,  to  arrest  him  by  the  shoul- 
der, or  put  yourself  in  possession  of  an 
arm.  Ere  you  have  uttered  one  word, 
he  will  cast  an  inquiring  look  adown 
the  rink,  press  forward  towards  the 
tee,  and  bv  dint  of  shouldering  and 
elbowing,  tairly  upset  you. 

Nor  is  the  happiness  incidental  to 
"  curling  weather,"  lunited  to  Curl- 
ers exclusively.  The  same  blue  sky, 
and  bracing  atmosphere,  which  trans- 
ports the  true  Curler  at  least  half-way 
to  paradise,  exercises  a  most  exhilara- 
ting power  upon  all  varieties  of  huma- 
nity. The  carter  cracks  his  whip  with 
a  smarter  report.  The  bursess  takes 
his  walk  and  his  dinner  with  an  ad- 
ditional relish.  The  old  maiden  lady 
thinks  her  complexion  improved  1^ 
9 


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iMi.;] 


CnHkma* 


ira 


Um  infliMBoe  of  the  fWitt ;  whiltt 
young  MiM  ii  as  playful  and  friakiah 
as  a  midge  in  swishine.  Coal  fires, 
everybody  knows,  bum  dearer  in 
froit — and  *'  a  wee  drap  warm  toddy" 
never  smokes  so  invitingly,  nor  tastes 
so  divmely,  aa  when  the  window  glaas 
is  all  covored  over  with  Nature's  own 
flmtastic  embroidery — the  fern  and 
brandi«w<»rk  of  her  own  inimitaUe 
device.  I  vorily  believe  that  there  ia 
more  genuine  and  dastic,  truly  inex* 
picssible  enjoyment,  to  be  extracted 
out  of  one  shmt  day  of  hard  and  ring* 
lag  frost,  with  its  slant  sun  and  ui^ 
thawing  atmosphere,  than  out  of  the 
longest  day  of  June,  when  the  eigh- 
teen hours  sre  all  gilt  with  sunshine^ 
and  the  season  comes  upon  us  in  a 
profusion  o£  favours.  Spring  has  its 
bards  innumerable— and  they  do  not 
£ul  to  deck  her  out  in  all  the  embroi- 
dery of  buds  and  roses.  Summer  has 
not  been  fi)rgotten  in  the  poet's  calen- 
dar, nor  has  harvest  escaoed  his  no- 
tice ;  but  winter,  under  tne  only  as- 
pect under  which  it  is  at  all  tolerable, 
under  that  very  aspect,  too,  in  whidi 
it  is  quite  delightful,  "  the  Curler's 
winter"  renudns  yet  unsung. 
-  It  is  quite  eviident  that  Thomson 
never  curled — Graham  was  of  too 
aombre  and  withdrawing  a  character 
for  the  sport ;  and  anH>Qgst  the  nume- 
iDQs  list  of  "  seasonal  burds,"  not  one 
has  hitherto  been  found,  proh  pudor  ! 
to  sing  the  Curler's  joy — to  cdebrate 
the  Curler's  triumphs — and  to  de- 
scribe the  "  Curkrs  ./are."  — Beef 
and  greens  are  an  admirable  dish; 
in  &ct  I  do  not  loiow  a  better — pro- 
vided that  the  beef  has  had  enough^ 
and  just  enough,  of  the  salt — and  that 
it  be  properly  flanked,  and  embossed 
amidst  smduDg,  and  almost  melting, 
greens  -yon  may  set  all  your  sslma- 
gundies,  bubble  and  squeaks,  with  a 
whole  youe  comitaiut  A  cru^ed  pies 
and firicassees,  at  defiance !— Noperson, 
whose  mind  rates  above  the  calibre  <^ 
a  ^pe-atapple,  will  ever  hesitate  be- 
twixt such  ^'  unreal  mockeries"  and 
the  prince  of  all  good  dishes,  "  beef 
end  greens."  But  beef  and  greens,  in 
the  tmeimrling  «tyle,  is  what  we  are 
speaking  of— and  what,  unless  you 
have  actually  enjoyed  the  luxury,  no 
words  «an  apprise  you  of.  The  old 
nursery  maxim, "  Tnat  hunger  is  good 
kitdieo,"  does  well  enou(|h ;  and  eve- 
rybody knows,  that  this  has,  some 
tmie  or  other,  applied  to  himself:  but 
Vol.  XV. 


the  hunger^the  keen  aj^tite — the 
Airious  inclination  to  eat — the  '*  /ia- 
iratu  itomackus"  (if  one  language  foil 
me,  I  have  another  at  hand)  of  a  Curl- 
er!—oh  1  who  ahall  attempt  to  con-» 
Ytj  in  words,  the  most  disUnt  notion 
of  it ! — You  set  out  to  the  ice,  it  may 
be  at  eight  a.  m. — Very  wdl : — you 
had  a  gkss  of  whisky  and  a  bite  of 
bread.  About  IS,  all  well,  and  your 
last  game— the  conquering  game — thai 
upon  which  the  spid  depended,  waa 
not  played  down  to  its  last  lAo/— and 
^unU,  till — let  me  see— (for  there  may 
aa  well  be  moon-light  as  not,^  till  six 
or  seven.  Now,  lul  this  wliile,  you 
never  thought  of  hunger — ^yonr  heart 
was  toostony— your  stomach  too  much 
o'er-maatered  by  your  eyes — to  think 
of  anything  but  the  contested  shot ; — 
and  when,  at  last,  the  niiel  was  pro- 
nounced lost,  and  win,  andy  ou  had  time 
and  inclination  to  look  about  you,  and 
to  peep  inwarda,  and  to  ruminate — 
you  found  the  truth  of  the  adage,  '*  No* 
turam  licet  expelioi."  The  Red  Sea  did 
not  recoil  m<Hre  suddenly  and  over- 
poweringly,  i^r  its  unnatural  accu- 
mulation, than  your  eating  appetite 
returned  after  this  unwonted  aostrac* 
tion.  You  came  down  upon  the  "  beef 
and  greens,"  like  an  eagle  upon  his 
ouarry — screaminff  and  flappingyour 
feathers  with  perfect  delight.  Why, 
sir,  it  is  a  memorable  fact,  that  no 
Curler  was  ever  known  to  cut  his  own 
throat,  or  that  of  any  one  near  him — 
the  whole  tide  of  his  blood  is  so  sweet- 
ened and  rectified  by  audi  delicate  ai^ 
devating  eigoyments  as  I  have  been 
attempting  to  set  forth,  that  not  the 
far-boast^  "  angler"  is  more  pladd 
and  good-natured  than  he. 

And  what,  after  all  the  fuss,  is 
anghng,  when  compared  with  "  Curl- 
ing ?"  Why,  the  one  is  a  sport  fbr 
mere  children  and  craay-dotarda,  for 
school-boy  truanta,  or  lame  half-pay 
officers.  It  is  merely  a  method,  and 
a  very  dumsy  one  it  is,  not  of  lolling 
trouts^  for  in  general  they  look  pretty 
well  after  themsdves,  but  of  killing 
time.  I  never  knew  any  man — I  mean, 
of  course,  %^y  full-grown  man,  with 
the  ordinary  complement  of  senses  and 
talents— fisn,  who  had  any  other  thing 
on  earth  to  do  which  could  interest 
him.  And  accordingly,  wheneyer  I 
think  upon  a  full-grown  fisher,  as  I 
sometimes  do,  I  always  keep  a  doae 
eye  upon  him  long  after  I  have  passed 
him,  ra  caae  he  mould  make  a  smidl 
Z 


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miitake^  and  initead  of  tinrowing  bit 
fine  into  the  itream,  take  m  phinge 
bimtelf!  I  know,  indeed^  one  dergy- 
matt  who  ia  said  to  be  fooA  of  tbia 
aport :  but  I  bare  oboenFcd  bia  babita 
nanowtyy  and  bate  alwaya  seen,  that 
80  lone  aa  garden  pease  remained  un- 
ahelled,  or  planting  potatoes  uncut,  or 
the  poultry  in  the  back  court  continu- 
ed to  enjoy,  under  bia  auuerintend- 
ance,  their  moraing'a  ftre— ne  waa  ne- 
▼er  seen  without  view  of  bia  own  kit- 
chen door.  An  old  sailor,  too,  I  knew 
—but  then  be  waa  wounded  a-«tem, 
and  was  grierously  aifteted  with  the 
palsy— in  fact  he  could  not  eouTeni- 
ently  ait  atill/  and  bad  no  meana  of 
amusing  himself  when  he  did-^ao  he 
got  a  creel  and  a  rod,  and  rendered 
bimaelf  completely  miserable,  by  en- 
deavouring to  diaengage  books  from 
all  manner  of  riTer-shrubs  and  brush- 
wood. A  West  Indian  and  an  Bast 
Indian  of  my  acquaintance,  havebodi 
povided  themselves  with  rods  from 
^'  Phm,"  in  Edinburgh.  But  they 
are  still  hoYering  betwixt  purpose  and 
execution,  like  some  unlucky  urdiin 
over  a  dose  of  physic.  There  are  in- 
deed, I  know  weU,  a  great  many  pre- 
tenders to  enjoyment  from  this  falsely* 
named  *•  sport,"  Just  aa  there  are  not 
a  few  who  wish  to  have  it  believed, 
that  they  have  a  genuine  reliah  for 
artichokes  and  asparagua  eaten  at  the 
tough  enda !  It  has  become  fashion- 
able amongst  a  certain  description  of 
amateurs,  to  carry  baskets,  and  handle 
fiahing  rods  during  spring  and  harvest, 
and  there  is  something  romantic  and 
tellable  on  being  upon  a  bum-side,  in 
tite  midst  of  a  hill  country,  with  sheep 
upon  one  hand,  and  an  <^d  stunted 
thorn  upon  the  other ;  and  a  par  u  a 
rar,  and  an  eel  it  an  eel ;  and  three 
bites,  with  half  a  doien  rlees,  makea  a 
decent  da/s  work ;  asd  at  night,  after 
one  has  been  up  Gala  and  down  Tweed, 
why,  at  night,  one  ia  entitled  to  Be  at 
ease— to  occupy  the  full  length  of  a 
aofa,  and  to  look  ouita  Ibtiffued  and 
interesting.  Why,  fishing  of  kte  yean 
absolutely  confers  a  kind  of  a  sort  of 
a  literary  aspect  upon  irfMknan.  The 
aport  baa  bad  ita  advocates ;  and  these 
have  had  access  through  the  periodical 
press  to  the  public ;  and  the  public, 
poor  guU,  has  been  made  to  Mieve, 
that  a  man  miebt  abaolutely  enjoy  a 
whole  day'a  flabing.    Why,  air,  what 


would  YOU  thmk  of  bdng  eoodeniitd 
Sot  a  whole  day,  to  put  a  piece  of  beef 
regularly  into  your  monl^  and  otti 
again^— or  solve  the  sphinx  riddle,— 
or  to  weave  PenelofMrs  web— or  any 
one  out  of  two  bnadred  similar  tbinn 
which  might  eaaily  be  flj^ured.  All 
Mb,  aasi^edly,  is  nothing  to  die 
horror  which  I  enterlain  at  m  whole 
long  spring;  or  summer-da3r'8  fishing  1 
Why  do  they  baniah  convicts  to  uo 
eelonieB,  or  set  tbem  upon  the  treads 
wheel?  Why  not  put  rods  at  once kt* 
to  their  banda,  and  act  them  »-6ahing 
fer  one,  two,  of  aeven  years,  aa  roi^ 
be  judged  proper ;  any  longer  period 
would  be  needless,  aa  none  could  poe- 
aibly  survive  the  longer  period  men- 
tioned. The  poeta  tell  ua  of  unhappy 
spirits  wandering  a  thonaand  Tears  1^^ 
on  the  banks  of  the  Styx ;  but  they 
do  not  expUuB,  at  leaat  sufficiently^ 
how  these  accuraed  wighta  are  all  the 
while  employed.  Why,  sir,  there  can 
be  little  doubt  that  they  are  condemn-' 
ed  to  Bab !  Tartarus  itaelf  baa  not  a 
more  horrible  puniahment,  nor  baa  the 
imagination  of  the  poet-laureate  evqr 
pourtrayed  anything  comparable*— 
Only  think  of  it  for  a  moment,  fbr 
conceive  you  cannot,— a  whole  ihou^ 
tandiftars  ofJUking!  A  millenium 
of  water-sidiing— an  eternal  pull  out 
and  throw  in-Hiae  here,  and  nibble 
there— fasten  here,  and  anap  your  line 
there  ;^— trouta  running  awavin  dear, 
and  disregarding  your  addreaa  in 
muddy  water!  The  puniabment  of, 
Theseus, ''  qui  sedet  eteranmque  ae* 
debit,**  is  nothing  to  this.  Ti^bebusy, 
and  vet  to  do  noSiing— to  have  the  at- 
titttdeand  outward  bearing  of  a  sports- 
man, vrith  the  **  worm"  inaide,  even 
the  '^  worm"  of  impatience  and  ennui 
—What,  I  say,  bcHdly,  of  all  which 
man'sfettcy  has  pourtrayed,  can  match 
this !— Let's  hear  no  more,  therefete, 
of  new  editiona  of  Isaac  Walton,  ^cc 
The  puUic  baa  been  too  long  hum- 
bugged by  such  drivelling,  and  the 
true  national  and  exhilaratiaig  game 
of  Curling  vrill  ultimately  come  into 
general  favour.  I  hope  to  see  the 
time,  when  there  shall  not  be  a  decent, 
honest,  good-hearted,  clever  fellow, 
.  betwixt  John  O'Groat's  and  Maiden- 
Kirk— betwixt  the  Briggs  o'  Ayr  and 
St  Abb's  Head— who  ehall  not  be  poe- 
sessed  of  his  pair  of  curling-stonee— 
his  ioe-eboes,— and  his  auff-bandled 


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And  at  an  ijiitiod«ctioii  and 
pvepantton  towards  this  Tery  deiirabls 
jMnnwisrinn,  permit  me  to  give  yoa 
a  ft«r  aotiees^  historioal  andaneodoti- 
^  reapeoting  tke  noble  and  truly 
Soottiah  game  of  Curling* 

Curling  has  long  been  practised  in 
4lie  soothcm  and  western  districts  of 
Scotland,  in  particttlar.  Our  fiwefa* 
^faers  uasd  ta  thrash  their  com  before 
day-lighty  and  then  master  and  aer« 
vant  aiSijounied  cheek  for  jowl  to  the 
iee.  It  iMif  then,  and,  indeed,  still  is, 
a  Idndaf ""  Saturnalia;"  for  i&eedom  of 
oonversation  and  remark  baa  erer  been 
omaidered  as  one  of  the  Curler's  most 
indisputable  priTileges. 

Of  all  the  contests,  howe^er^in  which 
Curlers  have  been  known  toongage,  the 
most  agitating  and  keenly  contested  by 
€u  have  been  *'  Pariah  Spiels."  In 
many  inatances,  the  inhi^itanu  of  one 
county  or  dale  have  migrated,  as  it 
were,  and  sojourned  into  smother, — 
hag  and  faaggsff e,— with  the  view  of 
csnteatiB^  and  determining  their  curl- 
ing supcnority.  And  I  verily  bdieve 
that  no  cidamity  oould  have  been  more 
aeverdy  felt,  and  lamented,  than  the 
loasofattcfaaootttest.  Ihavebiown 
awine's  bristles  placed  in  the  hats  of 
those  who  had  beoi  sotored,  as  it  is 
termed*  on  anch  oocasiona,  and  onoe 
aaw  both  fife  and  drum  upon  the  ice, 
for  the  purpoae  of  odebraUng,  in  due 
form,  the  victory.  There  wu  one 
other  purpose  to  which  this  bewitch- 
ing amusement  waa  occasionally  ren- 
dered subservient.  In  sesaona  of 
dearth,  or  of  particular  aeverity,  coals 
and  meal  were  occaaionally  pUyed  for 
at  theae  parish  contests ;  and  whilat 
the  curler's  hearta  were  made  happy 
over  beef  and  greena,  with  a  bnm- 
miog  bowl  of  whisky-punch, — the 
chnrdb-ofBoers  and  elders  were  often 
employed  in  diatributing  food  and  eld^ 
•V  amongit  the  poorer  classes.  This 
was,  indeed,  mixmg  the  "  utile"  with 
the  "  duld ;"  and,  pity  it  is,  that  even 
in  sgasans  which  are  favourable  for  the 
aport,  so  humane  and  well-timed  a 
lUMvalit^  shoold  be  discontinued. 

Nothmg  could  exceed  the  anxiety 
and  expectation  with  which  the  day 
aet  apsrt  for  such  pariah  fotea  waa  an- 
ticipated. I  have  often  been  sent  out 
by  mv  own  lather,  who  wss  remark- 
aUv  fond  of  the  sport,  with  a  wet 
podut  handkercluef,  which  I  hung 
upon  the  gardens-hedge,  returning  it 
every  now  and  then  to  his  grasp, 
that  he  might  know  by  the  alifiening, 


whether  the  night  waa  ik«eahig  or  not. 
A  doud  in  the  west— the  wind  blow- 
ing southodv— the  shooting  and  tre- 
mukua  motion  of  the  stam— with  a 
certain  suspicioua  mgh  of  the  wind 
throng^  door-ways  and  crevices— 
were  all  unfavourable  symptmns,— 
whilst  a  rinfljing  earth  and  a  rinf^ 
air,— -a  whote  host  of  stars,  with  "  no 
a  dud  in  a'  the  sky,"  were  as  decided- 
ly fovourable  appearances.  Nor  waa 
Curling  confined,  in  former  and  more 
remote  times^  to  the  human  race  ex- 
dusivdy ;  it  was  even  adopted,  not  by 
the  water-kdpy,  as  might  reasonably 
have  been  anUdpated,  but  by  the  mora 
airy  inhabitants  of  the  knowe  and 
the  glen,  u  not  unworthv  of  thdr 
ethereal  naturea.  Fairies  have  been 
known,  even  within  my  own  remem- 
bnmoe,  to  occupy  particular  lochs,  and 
to  indulge  themsdves  occasionally  of 
a  SabbaSi  afternoon,  in  a  fair  set-to. 
I  remember,  whilst  yet  a  boy,  my 
uMsing,  upon  a  Sabbath,  Loch  Etter^ 
lek,  in  Dumfnes-shire.  The  day  wu 
mi^,  but  it  still  continued  to  freeie, 
^-«idl  heard,  or  thought  Iheard,  most 
distuMtly,  the  sound  of  curling-stones 
on  the  ice.  Although  I  now  know 
that  in  all  probability  the  sound  waa 
oocaaioned  by  the  sinking,  and,  con- 
aequent  renduLnjo;  of  the  ice,  yet  such 
is  the  power  of  previous  association, 
in  consequence  of  previous  belief,  that 
at  this  moment  I  am  half  persuaded 
that  I  heard  the  stones  strike  against 
each  o^or,and  the  curlers  employing 
thdr  besoms. 

A  pedlar,  wdl  known  in  Dumfries- 
diire,  whose  love  of  gain  was  generally 
conddered  as  an  overmatch  tor  his  con- 
science, but  who  waswithd  very  fond 
of  the  amusement  of  Curling,  cnanced 
to  pass  lA>ch  Etterick  with  his  pack 
on  his  back,  upon  a  Sabbath  morning. 
The  ice  wss  evidently  in  fine  order, 
and  there  were  a  few  curling-stones 
lying  on  the  banks  of  the  locn,  with 
which  the  diepherds  of  those  moun- 
tainous districts  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  occadonally  amudng  themsdves. 
Watty  hedtated  a  little,  and  propping 
up  hia  padc,  according  to  use  and  wont, 
with  bos  staff  from  behind,  took  out 
his  snuff-mill,  snd  began  a  process  of 
what  is  commonly  called  ratiocinalitm9 
but  which  Watty  termed  "  thinking 
wi'  himsel."  On  the  one  hand,  their 
was  the  ''  Lord's  day,"  and  the  ain» 
uid  so  forth ;  but  then,  on  the  odier 
side,  appeared  the  atones,  lying  quila 
ready ;  ttia  ine  board  of  ioe,  made  and 


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176 

constructed  bj  God  himteif,  together 
with  the  absence^  for  the  present,  of 
all  human  eyes.  In  a  word,  the  re- 
sult of  this  deliberation  was  an  ad- 
vance made  by  Watty  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  loch,  where  he  quietly  de- 
posited his  pack,  and  had  recourse  to 
a  pair  or  two  of  the  best  stones  he 
could  select.  Everybody  who  under- 
stands the  game  knows  quite  well  how 
Watty  woi3d  proceed.  He  would  just 
set  a  stone  upon  each  tee,  and  then  try 
to  hit  it  off.  The  sport,  no  doub^ 
was  imperfect  without  a  companion, 
and  so  Watty  felt  it  to  be.  He  gave 
a  dance  or  two  to  the  surrounding 
hills,  as  if  half  desirous  that  ''  Will 
Crosby/'  a  rattling,  reckless  bodv, 
might  heave  in  sight,  and  bear  a  hand; 
but  there  was  no  human  creature 
within  view ;  so  Watty  behoved  to 
give  up  his  favourite  sport  altogether, 
or  otherwise  to  continue  the  marking 
and  striking  system,  as  he  had  begun» 
At  last,  however,  the  play  became  tire- 
some, and  Watty,  in  order  to  rest  and 
resolve  upon  fViture  measures,  seated 
himself  quite  at  his  ease  upon  his  pack* 
No  sooner  had  he  done  this,  however, 
than  with  a  boom  and  a  roar,  that 
made  all  the  ice  shake  and  sink  be- 
neath him,  an  invisible,  and  conse- 
quently a  fairy  curling-stone,  came 
nill  drive  apparently  against  Watty's 
shins.  "  Ri^son's  progressive,"  says 
the  poet,  "  instinct  is  complete."  The 
nile  of  instinct,  or  care  of  self-preser- 
vation, restored  Watty  immediately  to 
his  legs,  and  in  the  course  of  a  certain 
numl^r  of  rather  hasty  strides,  to  the 
adjoining  bank.  This  was  doubtless  a 
visitation  upon  him  fbr  his  pro&na* 
tion  of  the  Sabbath,  and  for  his  re- 
gretting, at  the  same  time,  the  want  of 
company;  so  what  was  to  be  done? 
The  pack  was  in  the  power,  at  least 
within  the  dominion,  of  the  "  Fairy 
queen,"  and  to  contest  the  possesion 
upon  her  own  element,  seemed  little 
short  of  madness.  At  ^lis  instant  an- 
other fairy  stone  made  its  presence 
audible,  and  Watty,  unable  any  longer 
to  resist  his  terrors,  fled.  He  fled  to  a 
shieling  about  four  miles  off,  and  with 
the  assistance  of  **  Will  Crosby," 
whose  faith  was  not  much  stronger 
than  Watty's,  possessed  himself  nexi 
morn  ing  of  his  lost  goods.  The  story 
I  have  often  heard  him  tell  with  a  se- 
rious countenance;  nor  have  I  the 
smallest  doubt  that  he  believed  every 
word  which  he  said.  The  story,  A 
course,  became  current,  and  is  still  rt* 


Curliann.  [[Feb. 

membered  by  many  old  peonle  of  that 
district.  Be  this  as  it  may.  tne  amuse- 
ment of  Curling  is  evidently  flFom  thu^ 
as  well  as  from  similar  anecdotes,  of 
great  antiquity.  Fairies  are  not  of  yes- 
terday ;  and  I  verily  believe  that  nad 
it  not  been  for  their  taste  for  Sabbath 
Curling  in  particular,  these  green-coat- 
ed tenants  of  the  knowes  and  glens  had 
disappeared  at  least  half  a  century  ear- 
lier than  they  actually  did. 

I  am  a  great  advocate  for  every 
q>ecies  of  amusement,  the  tendency  A 
which  is  to  promote  health ;  and  §^x)d 
humour,  and  jesting  apart,  I  do  not 
know  any  one  which  is  oetter  calcula- 
ted to  accomplish  both  these  desiraUe 
purposes  than  Curting.  I  have  often 
amused  myself  with  contriving  a  kind 
of  metallic  rink,  or  lead,  whi(£  mig^t 
stand  in  all  weathers,  and  be  resorted 
to  at  all  seasons.  And,  provided  the 
thing  were  practicable,  I  can  see  no 
other  objection  to  its  genera)  adoption. 
There  the  bookseller,  after  being  cb- 
seted  the  one  half  of  the  day  wkh  some 
testy  and  disappointed  author,  and 
after  having  spent  the  other  half  un- 
der the  dust  of  his  Selves,  ot  behind 
the  rubbish  of  his  counter,  might  con- 
trive to  resume  his  temper,  and  repair 
his  spirits.  There  the  author  by  pro- 
fession might  lay  aside  his  soectacles^ 
dear  his  brow,  and  forget  the  unpo- 
pularity of  his  last  great  work*  Hiere 
the  advocate,  instead  of  bestriding  a 
hack  at  the  risk  of  his  neck,  after  Par- 
liament-house hours,  might  combat  in 
peace  with  his*fee'd  opponent.  There 
those  numoouc  ai^  vamd  classes,  who 
now  consume  their  time,  thdr  health, 
and  their  means,  at  cards,  and  bil- 
liards, and  other  dangerous  and  de- 
moralizing amusements,  might  exhi- 
bit dexterity,  and  acquire  monds  aa 
well  as  vigour.  And  there,  too,  the 
sons  of  the  church,  the  learned  and 
elegant  Sabbath-thunderers,  and  sool- 
dirasheis,  might  forget  fbr  a  season 
St  Paul  and  St  Augustine,  and  even 
die  ever-rattling  backgammon-boud, 
in  a  warmly-contested,  spiel,  during 
the  blooming  and  brightening  month 
of  June. 

But  lest  some  more  pushing,  and 
enterprising  individual  m  this  age  of 
improvonents,  discoveries,  and  patents 
ro]^,  should  take  the  hint  flrom  these 
imperfect,  but  certainly  leading  no- 
tices, and  reap  the  harvest  whidi  I 
have  in  fact  been  sowing,  I  shall  say 
no  more  upon  the  sulgect  than  that 
I  am  yoors,  &c*  X* 


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177 


TBI  BHBPHBRI)  S  CALENDAE. 

Class  IV. 


Dogs. 


There  being  no  adage  more  gene- 
nHj  establishea^  or  better  founded, 
than  that  the  principal  conTersation  of 
diepherda  meeting  on  the  hills  is  ei- 
ther about  Doos  or  Lasses,  I  shall 
make  eadi  of  these  important  topics  a 
head,  or  rather  a  itof*,  in  my  Pastoral 
Calendar,  whereon  to  nang  a  few  amu- 
dng  anecdotes ;  the  one  m  these  form- 
ing the  chief  support,  and  ^e  other 
the  drief  temporal  delight,  of  the  shep- 
herd's solitary  and  harmless  life. 

Though  it  may  appear  a  singular 
perversion  of  the  order  of  nature  to 
put  the  dogs  before  the  lasses,  I  shaU 
nevertheless  begin  with  the  former.  I 
think  I  see  how  North  will  chuckle  at 
this,  and  think  to  himself  how  this  is 
all  of  the  Sfhepherd  being  fallen  into 
the  bade  ground  of  lifb,  ^by  which  epi- 
thet he  is  pleased  to  distinguish  the 
married  state,)  for  that  he  bad  seen 
the  day  he  would  hardly  have  given 
angels  the  preference  to  lasses,  not  to 
speak  of  a  parcel  of  tatted  towsy 
tykes! 

I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  utility 
diould  always  take  precedency  of  plea^ 
sure.  A  shepherd  may  be  a  very  able, 
trusty,  and  good  shepherd,  without  a 
sweethear^-4)etter,  perhaps,  than  with 
one.  But  what  is  he  without  his  dog  ? 
A  mere  post,  sir — a  nonentity  as  a 
shepherd — no  better  than  one  of  the 
gre^  stones  upon  the  side  of  his  hilL 
A  hterary  pedlar,  such  as  yourself  Sir 
Christy,  and  all  the  thousands  beside 
who  deal  in  your  small  wares,  will  not 
believe,  that  a  single  shepherd  and  his 
dog  will  accomplun  more  in  gathering 
a  stock  of  sheep  from  a  Highhnd  &rm, 
than  twenty  shepherds  could  do  with- 
out dogs.  So  that  you  see,  and  it  is  a 
fact,  that,  vnthout  this  docile  little 
animal,  the  pastoral  life  would  be  a 
mere  blank.  Without  the  shepherd's 
dog,  the  whole  of  the  open  mountain- 
ous land  in  Scotland  would  not  be 
worth  a  sixpence.  It  would  require 
more  hands  to  manage  a  stock  of  sheep, 
{lather  them  from  the  hills,  force  them 
into  houses  and  folds^  and  drive  them 


to  markets,  than  the  profits  of  the 
whole  stock  were  capable  of  maintain- 
ing. Well  may  the  shepherd  feel  an 
interest  in  his  oog ;  he  is  indeed  the 
fdlow  that  earns  the  family's  bread, 
of  which  he  is  himself  content  with 
the  smallest  morsel ;  always  grateflily 
and  alwajs  ready  to  exert  his  utmost 
abilities  in  his  master's  interest.  Nd- 
ther  hunger,  fatigue,  nor  the  worst  of 
treatment,  will  drive  him  fVom  his  side; 
he  will  follow  him  through  fire  and 
water,  as  the  saying]  is,  and  through 
every  hardship,  without  murmur  or 
repining,  till  he  literally  fidl  down 
d^  at  his  foot.  If  one  of  them  is 
obliged  to  change  masters,  it  is  some- 
times long  before  he  wiU  acknowledge 
the  new  one,  or  condescend  to  work 
for  him  with  the  same  avidity  as  he 
did  for  his  former  lord ;  but  if  he  once 
acknowledge  him,  he  continues  at- 
tached to  mm  till  death ;  and  though 
naturally  proud  and  high-spirited,  in 
as  far  as  relates  to  his  master,  these 
qualities  {or  rather  failings^  are  kept 
so  much  in  subordination,  that  he  has 
not  a  will  of  his  own.  Of  such  a  grate- 
ful, useM,  and  disinterested  anmial,  I 
could  write  volumes ;  and  now  that  I 
have  sot  on  my  hobby,  I  greatly  sus- 
pect that  all  my  friends  at  Ambrose's 
will  hardly  get  me  off  again. 

I  once  sent  you  an  account  of  a  no- 
table dog  of  my  own,  named  Sirrah^ 
which  amused  a  number  of  your  read- 
ers a  great  deal,  and  put  their  fUth  in 
my  veradty  somewhat  to  the  test ;  but 
in  this  district,  where  the  singular 
qualities  of  the  animal  were  known, 
so  ikr  fh>m  any  of  the  anecdotes  bdng 
dirouted,  every  shepherd  values  him- 
selx  to  this  day  on  the  possession  of 
facts  flur  outstripping  any  of  those  re- 
corded by  you  formerly.  With  a  few 
of  these  I  shall  oondude  this  paper. 

But,  in  the  first  place,  I  must  give 
you  some  account  of  my  own  renown- 
ed Hector,*  which  I  promised  long 
ago.  He  was  the  son  and  immediate 
successor  of  the  faithful  old  Sirrsh  ; 
and  though  not  nearly  so  valuable  a 


*  See  the  Mountain  Bard. 


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The  Shepherd's  Calendar.    Class  IF.    Dogs. 


178 

dog  as  his  father^  be  was  a  for  more 
interesting  one.  He  had  three  times 
more  humour  and  whim  about  him ; 
and  though  exceedingly  docile^  his 
bravest  acts  were  mostly  tinctured 
with  a  grain  of  stupidity^  which  shew- 
ed his  reasoning  faculty  to  be  iaug^ 
abW  obtuse. 

I  shall  mention  a  striking  instance 
of  it.  I  was  once  at  the  farm  of  Short- 
hope,  on  Ettrick  head,  receiving  some 
lambs  that  I  had  bought,  and  was  g<^ 
ing  to  take  to  market,  with  some  more, 
the  next  day.  Owing  to  some  acciden- 
tal delav,  I  did  not  get  final  delivery 
cf  the  lambs  till  it  was  growing  late ; 
and  being  obliged  to  be  at  my  own 
bouse  that  night,  I  was  not  a  little  dis- 
mayed lest  I  should  scatter  and  lose 
my  lambs,  if  darkness  overtook  me. 
I^kness  did  overtake  me  by  the  time 
I  got  half  way,  and  no  ordmary  dark- 
ness for  an  August  evening.  The  lambs 
having  been  weaned  that  day,  and  of 
the  wud  black-&ced  breed,  became  ex- 
ceedingly unruly,  and  for  a  good  while 
I  lost  Hopes  of  mastering  them.  Hec- 
tor managed  the  point,  and  we  sot 
them  safe  oome;  but  both  he  and  nis 
master  were  alike  sore  forefbugbten. 
It  had  become  so  dark,  that  we  were 
obliged  to  fold  them  with  candles; 
and  after  closing  them  safely  up,  I 
went  home  with  my  father  and  the 
rest  to  supper.  When  Hector's  supper 
was  set  down,  behold  he  was  wanting  I 
and  as  I  knew  we  had  him  at  the  fold, 
which  was  within  call  of  the  house, 
I  went  out,  and  called  and  whistled  on 
him  for  a  good  while,  but  he  did  not 
make  his  appearance.  I  was  distressed 
about  this ;  for,  having  to  take  away 
the  lambs  next  morning,  I  knew  I 
could  not  drive  them  a  mile  without 
my  dog,  if  it  had  been  to  save  me  the 
whole  drove. 

The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  it  was 
day,  I  arose  and  inquired  if  Hector  had 
come  home.  No;  he  had  not  been 
seen.  I  knew  not  what  to  do:  but 
my  father  proposed  that  he  would  take 
out  the  lambs  and  herd  them,  and  let 
them  get  some  meat  to  fit  them  for  the 
road  :  and  that  I  should  ride  with  all 
speed  to  Shorthope,  to  see  if  my  dog 
had  gone  back  there.  Accordingly,  we 
went  together  to  the  fold  to  turn  out 
the  lambs,  and  there  was  poor  Hector 
sitting  trembling  in  the  very  middle  of 
the  fold  door,  on  the  inside  of  the  fiake 
that  closed  i^  with  his  eyes  still  sted- 
lastly  fixed  on  the  lambs.  He  had  been 


CFeb.. 


so  hardly  set  with  them  after  it  grew 
dark,  that  he  durst  not  for  his  life 
leave  them,  although  hungry,  fatigued, 
and  cold;  for  the  ni^t  had  turned 
out  a  delu^  of  rain.  He  had  never  so 
much  as  lain  down,  for  only  the  small 
q^t  that  he  sat  on  was  dry,  and  there 
had  he  kept  watch  the  whde  night. 
Almost  any  other  ooUey  would  have 
discerned  that  the  lambs  were  safe 
enough  in  the  fold,  but  honest  Hector 
had  not  been  able  to  see  through  this. 
He  even  refused  to  take  my  word  for 
ity  for  he  durst  not  quit  his  watch 
though  he  heard  me  calling  both  at 
night  and  morning. 

Another  pecuUadty  of  his  was,  that 
he  had  a  mortal,  antipathy  at  the  fan 
mily  mouser,  which  was  ingrained  in 
his  nature  firom  his  very  puppy  hood; 
jet  so  perfectly  absurd  was  he,  that  no 
impertmence  on  her  side,  and  no  bait- 
ing on,  could  ever  induce  him  to  lay 
hiA  mouth  on  her,  or  iigure  her  in  Wb 
slightest  degree. .  There  was  not  a  day, 
and  scarcely  an  hour  passed  over,  that 
the  family  did  not  get  some  amuao- 
ment  with  these  two  animals.  When- 
ever he  was  within  doors,  his  whole 
occupation  was  watohing  and  pointing 
the  cat  from  morning  to  night.  When 
she  flitted  from  one  place  to  another, 
so  did  he  in  a  moment;  and  then 
squatting  down,  he  kept  his  point  se- 
dulously, till  he  was  either  called  off 
or  fell  a^eep. 

He  was  an  exceedingly  pocn*  taker 
of  meat,  was  always  to  press  to  it,  and 
always  lean ;  and  often  he  would  not 
taste  it  till  we  were  obliged  to  bring 
in  the  eat.  The  maUcious  looks  that 
he  cast  at  her  from  under  his  ^ebrows 
on  such  occasions,  were  exceedingly 
ludicrous,  considering  his  utter  inca- 
nability  of  wronging  ner.  Whenever 
ne  saw  her,  he  drew  near  his  bicker, 
and  looked  angry,  but  still  he  would 
not  taste  till  she  was  brought  to  it ; 
and  then  he  cocked  his  tsll,  set  up  his 
birses,  and  began  a  lapping  furiously, 
in  utter  desperation.  His  good  nature 
was  so  immoveable,  that  he  would 
jiever  refuse  her  a  share  of  ndiat  he 
got;  he  even  lapped  close  to  the  one 
side  of  the  dish,  and  left  her  room — 
but  mercy  as  he  ^d  ply  1 

It  will  appear  strange  to  you  to  hear 
a  dogs  reasomtifr  faadtif  mentioned, 
as  I  have  done ;  nut,  I  declare,  I  have 
hardly  ever  seen  a  shepherd's  dog  do 
anytmng  without  perceiving  his  rea- 
sons for  it.   I  have  oflen  amused  my- 


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self  in  ealcnlsting  wbat  his  motives 
were  for  siich  and  such  things^  and  I 
generally  found  them  very  cogent  ones. 
Bnt  Hector  had  a  droll  stupidity  about 
fanUy  and  took  up  forms  and  rules  of 
hia  own^  for  which  I  could  never  per* 
oetve  any  motive  that  was  not  even 
ftrther  out  of  the  way  than  the  action 
itself.  He  had  one  uniform  practice^ 
and  a  very  bad  one  it  was^  during  the 
time  of  flunOy  worship^  and  juat  three 
or  four  seconds  before  the  conclusion 
of  the  prayer,  he  started  to  his  feet, 
and  ran  barking  round  the  apartment 
like  a  craied  bmt  My  father  was  so 
much  amused  with  this,  that  he  would 
never  sufi^  me  to  correct  htm  for  it, 
and  I  scarcely  ever  saw  the  old  man 
viae  from  theprayer  without  his  endea- 
voving  to  suroress  a  smile  at  the  ex- 
travagance of  Hector.  None  of  us  ever 
could  find  out  bow  he  knew  that  the 
pfayer  was  near  done,  for  my  father 
vras  not  formal  in  his  prayers;  but 
eertes  he  did  know,— or  that  we  had 
nightly  evidence.  There  never  was 
anythtng  for  which  I  was  so  puzzled 
to  discover  a  motive  as  this ;  but,  from 
accident,  I  did  discovtr  it,  and,  how- 
ever ludicrous  it  may  appear,  I  am 
certain  I  was  correct.  It  was  mudi 
in  character  with  many  of  Hectm^s 
fSeati,  and  rather,  I  thrak,  the  most 
ovtricf  any  principle  he  ever  acted  on. 
As  I  said,  his  great  daily  occupation 
was  pointing  the  cat.  Now,  when  he 
saw  us  kned  all  down  in  a  circle,  with 
our  faces  couched  on  our  paws,  in  the 
same  posture  with  himself,  it  struck 
his  absuxd  head,  that  we  were  all  en- 
gagM  in  Dointing  the  cat.  He  lay  on 
tenten  all  the  time,  but  the  aeuteness 
of  his  ear  enabling  him,  through  time, 
to  ascertain  the  very  moment  when  we 
would  all  spring  to  our  feet,  he  thought 
to  himself, ''  I  shall  be  fint  after  her 
for  you  an.** 

He  inherited  his  dad's  unfortunate 
ear  for  music,  not  perhaps  in  so  extra- 
vagant a  degree,  but  he  ever  took  care 
to  exhibit  it  on  the  most  untimdy 
and  ill-judged  occasions.  Owing  to 
some  misunderstanding  between  the 
minister  of  the  parish  and  the  session 
clerk,  the  precenting  in  church  devol- 
ved on  my  father,  who  was  the  senior 
elder.  Now,  my  father  could  have 
sung  several  of  the  old  church  tunes 
middling  well,  in  his  own  fkmily  cbcle  ; 
but  it  so  happened,  that,  when  mount- 
ed in  ^e  desk,  he  never  could  com- 
mand the  starting  notes  ci  any  but 


170 

one  (St  Paul's),  which  were  alwavs  in 
undue  readiness  at  the  root  of  hia 
tongue,  to  the  exdusion  of  every  other 
semibreve  in  the  whole  range  of  sacred 
melody.  The  minister,  giving  out 
psalms  four  times  in  the  course  of  every 
day's  service,  consequently,  the  ceiw 
gregation  were  treated  witn  St  Pa^s> 
in  the  morning,  at  great  length,  twice 
in  the  course  of  the  service,  and  then 
once  again  at  the  dose.  Nothing  but 
St  FauTs.  And,  it  bdng  of  itself  a 
monotonous  tune,  nothing  could  ex- 
ceed the  monotony  that  prevailed  in 
the  primitive  church  of  Ettrick.  Out 
of  pure  sympathy  for  my  fother  alone, 
I  was  compelled  to  take  the  precentor- 
ship  in  hand ;  and,  having  plenty  of 
tunes,  fbr  a  good  while  1  came  on  a# 
weU  as  could  be  expected,  as  men  say  of 
their  wives.  But,  unfortunately  for 
me.  Hector  found  out  that  I  attended 
church  every  Sunday,  and  though  I 
had  him  always  closed  up  carefoUy  at 
home,  he  rarely  fiiilei  in  making  his 
appesranoe  in  church  at  some  time  of 
the  day.  Whenever  I  saw  him  a  tre- 
mor came  over  my  spirits,  for  I  well 
knew  what  the  issue  would  be.  The 
moment  that  he  heard  my  voice  strike 
up  the  psalm,  '*  with  might  and  ma- 
jesty," then  did  he  Ml  in  with  such 
overoowering  vehemence,  that  he  and 
I  seldom  got  any  to  join  in  the  music 
but  our  two  selves.  The  shepherds 
hid  their  heads,  and  laid  them  down 
on  the  backs  of  the  seats  rowed  in 
their  plaids,  and  the  lasses  looked  down 
to  the  ground  and  laughed  till  their 
faces  grew  red.  1  demised  to  stick 
the  tune,  and  therefore  was  obliged  to 
carry  on  in  spite  of  the  obstreperous 
accompaniment;  but  I  was,  time  after 
time,  so  completely  put  out  of  all 
countenance  with  the  brute,  that  I  was 
obliged  to  dve  n^  my  office  in  disgust, 
and  leave  the  parish  once  more  to  their 
old  friend,  St  Paul. 

Hector  was  quite  incapable  of  per- 
forming the  same  feats  among  sheep 
hat  his  fkther  did:  but,  as  far  as  his 
judgment  served  him,  he  was  a  dodle 
and  obliging  creature.  He  had  one 
ringular  quality,  of  keeping  true  to 
the  charge  to  wnich  be  was  set.  If  we 
had  been  shearing,  or  sorting  sheep  in 
any  way,  when  a  division  was  turned 
out,  and  Hector  got  the  word  to  at- 
tend to  them,  he  would  have  done  it 
pleasantly,  for  a  whole  da^,  without 
the  least  symptom  of  weanness.  No 
noise  or  hurry  about  the  fold,  which 


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ISO 

Mogs  evenr  other  dog  fVom  bis  buii- 
nesB^  had  tbe  least  ^ktX,  on  Hector, 
save  that  it  made  him  a  little  tnmble- 
some  on  his  own  chaive^  and  set  him 
a  nmning  round  and  round  them, 
tumi|ig  them  in  at  comers^  out  of  a 
sort  of  impatienoe  to  be  employed  as 
well  as  ms  baying  neighbours  at  the 
fold.  Whenever  old  Sirrah  found  him- 
self hard  set,  in  commanding  wild 
sheep  on  steep  ground^  where  they  are 
worst  to  manage,  he  never  failed,  with- 
out any  hint  to  the  purpose,  to  throw 
himself  wide  in  bdow  them,  and  lay 
their  faces  to  the  hill,  by  which  means 
he  got  the  command  of  them  in  a  mi- 
nute. I  never  could  make  Hector 
comprehend  this  advanti^e,  with  all 
my  art,  although  his  father  found  it  out 
entirely  of  himself.  The  former  would 
turn  or  wear  sheep  no  other  wav,  but 
on  the  hill  above  them ;  and  tnough 
venr  good  at  it,  he  gave  both  them 
ana  himself  double  the  trouble  and  &- 
tigue. 

It  cannot  be  supposed  that  he  could 
understand  all  that  was  passing  in  the 
little  familv  circle,  but  he  certainly 
comprehended  a  good  part  of  it.  In 
particular,  it  was  very  easy  to  discover 
that  he  rarely  missed  aught  that  was 
said  about  himself,  the  sheep,  the  cat, 
or  of  a  hunt  When  aughtof  that  na- 
ture came  to  be  discussed.  Hector's 
attention  and  impatience  soon  became 
manifest.  There  was  one  winter  even- 
ing, I  said  to  my  mother  that  I  was 
gomg  to  Bowerhope  for  a  fortnight, 
for  that  I  had  more  conveniency  for 
writing  with  Alexander  Laidlaw,  than 
at  home ;  and  I  added,  ''  But  I  will 
not  take  Hector  with  me,  for  he  is  con- 
stantly quarrelling  with  the  rest  of 
the  dogs,  singing  music,  or  breeding 
some  uproar.'*7-"  Na,  na,"  quoth  she, 
*'  leave  Hector  with  me;  I  like  aye  best 
to  have  him  at  hame,  poor  fallow." 

These  were  all  tbe  words  that  pass- 
ed. The  next  morning  the  waters 
were  in  a  great  flood,  and  I  did  not  go 
away  till  after  breakfast ;  but  when 
the  time  came  for  tying  up  Hector,  he 

was  wanting.—"  The  d 's  in  that 

beast,"  said  I,  "  I  will  wager  that  he 
heard  what  we  were  saying  yesternight, 
and  has  gone  off  for  Bowerhope  as 
soon  as  tbe  door  was  opened  this  morn- 
ing." 

''  If  Oiat  that  should  reaUy  be  the 
case,  I'll  think  the  beast  no  canny," 
said  ray  mother. 
The  Yarrow  was  so  large  as  to  bequite 


[:;Feb. 


impassable,  so  that  I  had  to  go  up  by 
St  Mary's  Loch,  and  go  across  by  th# 
boat;  and,  on  drawing  near  to  Bower- 
hope, I  soon  ptfceived  that  matters 
had  gone  precisely  as  I  sumected. 
Large  as  the  Yarrow  was,  and  it  ap- 
peared impassable  by  any  living  crea- 
ture. Hector  had  made  his  escape 
early  in  the  morning,  had  swum  the 
river,  and  was  sitting,  "  like  a  dnxddt 
hen,"  on  a  knoll  at  the  east  end  of  the 
house,  awaiting  my  arrival  with  great 
impatience.  I  nad  a  great  attachment 
to  this  animal,  who,  with  a  good  deal 
of  absurditv,  joined  all  the  amiable 
qualities  of  ms  species.  He  was  rather 
of  a  small  sise,  very  rough  and  shagged, 
and  not  hx  from  the  colour  of  a  fox. 

His  son.  Lion,  was  the  very  picture 
of  his  dad,  had  a  good  deal  more  saga- 
city, but  also  nuure  selfishness.  A 
history  of  the  one,  howevor,  would 
only  be  an  ^tome  of  that  of  the  other. 
Mr  William  Nicholson  took  a  fine 
likeness  of  this  lattor  one,  which  that 
gentleman  still  possesses.  He  could 
not  get  him  to  sit  for  his  picture  in 
such  a  position  as  he  wanted,  till  he 
exhibited  a  singularly  fine  picture  of 
his,  of  a  small  dog,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room.  Lion  took  it  for  a 
real  animal,  and,  disliking  its  fierce 
and  important  look  exceedingly,  he 
immediately  set  up  his  ears  and  his 
shaggy  birses,  and  fixing  a  stem  eve 
on  Uie  picture,  in  manifest  wrath,  he 
would  then  sit  for  a  whole  day,  and 
point  his  eye  at  it,  without  budging 
or  altering  nis  position. 

It  is  a  curious  fact,  in  the  history  of 
these  animals,  that  the  most  useless  of 
tbe  breed  have  often  the  greatest  de- 
gree of  sagacity  in  trifiing  and  useless 
matters.  An  exceedin^v  good  sheep 
dog  attends  to  nothing  else,  but  that 
particular  branch  .of  business  to  which 
ne  is  bred.  His  whde  capacity  is  ex-  - 
erted  and  exhausted  on  it,  and  he  is  of 
little  avail  in  miscellaneous  matters; 
whereasr  a  very  indifferent  cur,  bred 
about  the  house,  and  accustomed  to 
assist  with  everything,  will  often  put 
the  more  noble  breed  to  disgrace,  in 
these  paltry  services.  If  one  calls  out, 
for  instance,  that  the  cows  are  in  the 
com,  or  the  hens  in  the  garden,  the 
house-colley  needs  no  otiier  bint,  but 
runs  and  turns  them  out.  The  shep- 
herd's dog  knows  not  what  is  astir ; 
and,  if  he  Lb  called  out  in  a  hurry  for 
such  work,  all  that  he  will  do  is  to 
break  to  the  hill,  and  rear  himself  up 
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on  «i^  to  AM  if  89  tlM^f  «•  ] 
W9ntf.  A  hnA  ■lucipdag^  if  oomiiig 
w?wiag  ftott  tlie  lulls,  sad  gBttiag 
lirtDftiiiflk.*li0ili^woidd  ln68t  liWy 
thmlt  1^  myiiBg  else  dun  fittag  hir 
Mlywiditheeretm.  NotivluttunBiii 
dirted  brodier.  He  is  bved  ei  hotte^ 
tolirli%berpriiMfol0f  ofboiMiir.  I 
hsve  known  lodi  lie  aight  and  imf, 
ftma  ten  to  twentjr  pdlelbtt 
k,  nd  aevor  <mee  keek  tibe 
I  of  one  of  tbem  witli  tlie  lip  of 
liik  tengae,  nor  wMd  he  soflferctft, 
m,  orny other  etestitfty  to tondi  it» 
nit  latter  Mrt,  tooi  a<e  £Br  Bum  M«to 
at  tekiag  nt»  ^Hwt  it  Mdd  ia  •  ihmaf* 
Hicte  liata  fiuam  of  thit  ownttiy,  a 
Mr  Alttandnr  diaiag^Mnae,  who  lutd 
abitohthtliiMrtetpteeof  thme  or 
ftnr  year^  ia  Hw  latter  pert  af  bar 
fife,  met  Urn  dwayt  al  ihe  foot  of  hia 
ftrm^ahoatamileaad  a  hdf  from  hit 
Hanoe,  an  hit  wi^  hOBm  Ifhewat 
half  a  day  awafy  a  waei^  or  a'foriniriil> 
kwat  all  the  tame ;  the  met  hiatal  ttiat 
tpal^  arid  there  nerer  was  aa  inttanee 
aten  of  her  goiiig  to  wab  hit  arrival 
iheie-on  a  wiaag  dmr.  If  thit  wat  a 
"  '   ■  "   re  heatd  a 


H% 


ftoly  which  I  hare  heatd  a?emd  hy 
pttfkiiHia  lived  hi  the  haute  at  that 
tfane^  the  aoold  oaly  know  of  hit  oo* 
ndoff  homa  byheariag  it  mentioned  in 
thefinfly.  The  ttma  anhaai  wooU 
nara  gone  and  hronghttlie  eowt  from 
die  hifl  iHitn  it  oiewdariK,  withooC 
any  biddings  vat  tne  wat  a  very  mdif^ 

Ilia  aneedofea  of  theae  aainuda  are 
dk  m  aonch  alike,  tet  were  I  hot  to 


>  the  thoaaaudth  aart  of  thote  I 
have  heard,  they  woald  often  bdi  veiy 


teaanl 


Uka 
of^tha 


aepeni 
ittuti 


Ithattthtie^ 
rin  diit  paper  mentkn one  or 
Ml  aingakr,  wMek  I 
r  to  be  well  anthentieated. 
Theia  waa  a  thepherd  kd  neat 
tnamewatSeott^wha 
a  biteh,  inned  oiar  all  tfw 
Watt  Border  ftr  her  tfaigolar  tiaotabi* 
^«  Ho  eoaU  have  tent  her  htma 
am  one  ahaep,  two  die^  or  any 
nivea  nmnbnr,  ikom  aay  of  the  neigh-i 
MQffhig  iarma;  and  to  the  kmbtag 
aeaaon  it  waa  his  oniiMEm  practioe  to 
aend  her  home  with  the  k&bed  ewaa 
Jntt  at  ha  got  them«-^  matt  let  the 
to#n  nader  nadetatand  this.  Akeb^ 
hadaweitonawhotalamb  diea.  Am 
aaanaa  aath  it  ionad>  the  it  inana^ 
diately  brooi^t  home  by  the  thep» 
-hard^and  another  lamb  pat  to  her; 
anAtUihid^ongoiaghit 
Vol.  XV.      ^^ 


thah^adieneftrhoAMHidal  . 
owe^  he  immediately  gave  her  in  dbaigB 
to  Ua  bitoh  to  takehome^  whidi  mved 
him  from  eoBung  back  that  wav  again, 
andgcdagover  the  oame  groaim  be  hiul 
lMmdbefria<  She  always  took  them 
caiaiUly  hfomtf  and  put  them  into  a 
Md  wkadi  waa  okne  by  the  hoaoo^ 
haeping  Imldi  over  them  till  die  waa 
aetn  bv  tome  one  of  the  family ;  and 
then  tD#t  moment  the  deoamped,  and 
hatted  bade  to  her  master,  who  aome* 
tiaMa  atnt  her  three  timet  homo  in  one 
mmidug,  with  diifemnt  chaigea.  It 
wat  tiie  eottom  of  the  fiurmer  to  watch 
her,  and  take  the  dieea  ia  oharap  from 
her;  bnt  ttritrtqairtaanooddeal  of 
oaotian ;  for  at  soon  u  too  oeroeived 
thit  the  wat  tem,  whether  toe  theqp 
It  into  the  fold  or  noty  the  oon» 
her  charge  at  an  end,  and  no 
flattery  coald  mdaoe  her  tottMj  and 
assist m fcldiag  them.  Therewasa 
dispkv  of  aecuisoy  and  atteatkm  in 
thn,  that  I  tanaiot  say  I  have  aver  seen 


The  kto  Mr  Sted,  flesher  in  Fee* 
hies,  had  a  bitch  that  waa  frdly  eood 
to  the  one  mentioned  above^  and  thai 
in  the  very  same  qualification  too.  Her 
flata  in  takmg  heme  dieep  from  the 
neidibottiing  fanno  into  the  flesh% 
BMrtet  at  Peebles  l^  horself,  form  in* 
aamcmUe  aaecdotea  in  that  vicinity^ 
aU  aimilar  to  one  another*  But  iham 
is  one  instance  rdated  of  her,  that  com* 
binea  so  much  ssgMity  with  nataral 
aftotion,  that  I  do  not  think  the  hit- 
tofv  of  die  animd  ereation  fhraiahea 
saoi  another. 

Mr  Sted  had  such  an  inu^t  do* 
pendsnee  on  the  attention  of  this  an}^ 
nad  to  hb  orders,  that  whenever  ha 
pat  a  h>t  of  sheep  before  her>  he  todi 
a  pride  «f  leaving  it  to  hertdf,  and 
eillier  remained  to.  take  a  gbtt  with 
the  ibrmst  of  whom  he  had  made  tho 
prndbaae^  or  took  another  load,  to  look 
after  barmnat  or  other  bndanta  Bgt 
one  time  be  danced  to  commit  a  diova 
to  her  charge ata  pUoe  called  Willena^ 
lee,  wifhottt  attenoing  to  hv  omditioni 
aaheooghttohafadone*  Thiafarm 
ia  five  milea  from  Peeb&to,  over  wiM 
halli!,  and  thera  ia  no  r^gakd/definad 
path  to  it.  Whether  Mr  Steel  noaain* 
ad  behhid,  or  took  another  road,  I 
know  not ;  bnt  on  eomiag  home  Ute 
in  the  ev^dac*  he  waa  aatonlihed  at 
hearing  that  faia  frathfrd  animd  ha4 
never  made  her  appearance  with  the 
dnm.  Heandhiaaoa,ortervant,ini« 
liA 


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Tki  Skepkerd^s  Cokndar.    Cksiir.    Dogs. 


CV^ 


stanflf  prepared  to  set  oat  by  dHiMit 
paths  in  seardi  of  her;  baton  tbdr 
going  oat  to  the  street,  Uiere  mm  she 
ooming  wifli  the  drove,  na  one  buhm. 
ihg ;  and,  marvdloas  tordftte^  shcrwas 
ourryinff  a  yoang  pop  in  her  month ! 
She  had  been  taken  in  trenail  on  theas 
hills ;  and  how  the  poor  beast  had  ooo* 
trited  to  manage  her  drove  In  her  state 
of  saffering,  is  beyond  hnman  cslcohH 
tkm ;  for  her  road  lay  throagh  sheep 
the  whole  way.  Her  master's  heart 
smote  him  when  he  saw  ^let  she  had 
flofibed  and  effected ;  bnt  she  was  no- 
thing daonted ;  and  having  depositsd 
her  yoang  one  in  a  place  of  safety,  die 
i^n  set  ont  fall  speed  to  the  hills, 
and  bronght  another,  and  another,  till 
she  bron^t  her  whole  litter,  one  by 
one;  bat  the  last  one  was  dead.  I  give 
this  as  I  have  heard  it  rdated  bvdie 
ooantry  people;  fhr  thoagh  I  anew 
Mr  Walter  Sted  wdl  enongh,  1  can- 
not aay  I  ever  heard  it  from  his  own 
month.  I  never  enterCalBed  any  doubt, 
however,  of  the  trath  of  the  rektieo, 
and  certainly  it  is  worth v  of  being  pre- 
served, for  the  credit  of  that  most  df»- 
^e  and  afifectionate  of  all  animala— 
the  shepherd's  dog. 

The  stories  related  of  the  den  of 
dieep-stealefs  are  ftdrly  beyond  all  ane« 
dfbiHty.'  I  cannot  attacn  credit  to 
those  withont  believing  Uie  animals  to 
have  been  devOs  incarnate,  come  to  the 
earth  fbr  the  destruction  of  both  ^e 
sonls  aqad  bodies  of  men.  I  cannot 
mention  names,  for  the  sake  of  fnnU 
Hes  that  still  remain  in  the  country ; 
bat  there  have  been  sundrr  men  ex»- 
cuted,  who  belonged  to  this  depart- 
ment of  the  reahn,  for  that  heinona 
ttixae,  in  my  own  time;  and  ethers 
have  absconaed,  just  in  time  to  save 
their  necks.  Taexe  was  not  one  of 
these  to  whom  I  allude  who  did  not 
acknowledge  his  dog  to  be  the  greatest 
aggressor.  One  young  man,  in  paitiow 
lar,  who  was,  I  bdieve,  overtaken  by 
Justice  for  his  first  eflfenee^  stated,  that 
after  he  had  folded  the  A&ep  by  moon- 
light, and  selected  his  number  firom 
the  flock  of  a  former  master,  he  took 
them  out,  and  set  away  with  them  to- 
wards fidinbai^g^.  Butbetoehehad 
got  them  quite  off  the  farm,  his  con* 
sdenee  smote  him,  as  he  said,  (bat 
more  likely  a  dread  of  that  which  aoon 
ibllowed.)  and  he  quitted  the  sheep, 
letting  them  go  again  to  the  hill.   He 


called  his  dsg  off  mm ;  and  mounting 
his  poney,  he  rode  away.    At  that 


tinie  ho  said  faiidag-wM  ( 
pkying  around  him,  as  if  ^ad  of  ] 
ving  got  free  of  a  trouhlwome  bos^ 
ness;  and  he  regarded  him  no  moie, 
till,  after  having  rode  aboat  three 
mites,  he  thou^t  agun  and  again  that 
he  heard  someuiing  ooming  op  bcbiBd 
him.    Halting,  at  length,  to  aseertain 
what  it  was,  in  a  fbw  minutes  tfaape. 
oomes  his  dog  with  the  sfeotett  draiiv, 
driving  them  at  a  frmous  rate  to  keep 
up  witn  his  master.    The  sheep  were* 
all  smoking,  and  hangmg  out  their 
tongues,  and  their  driver  was  fuUy  aa 
warm  aa  they.    The  yonng  man  waa 
now  exocedmg^y  tronbled;  for  the. 
sheep  baring  been  bnm^  so  fiv  from ' 
home,  he  dreaded  there  waald  be  a. 
porsuit,  and  he  could  not  get  Aem. 
nome  again  befm  day.  Re8Qaving,at 
aU  events,  te  keep  1^  bandar  dear  of 
diem,  he  corrected  hia  dog  m  great* 
wrath,  left  the  ^eep  onee  mere,  and 
taking  hia  (dog  with  mm,  rode  off  a  se- 
cond ttflse.    He  had  not  ridden  dieve. 
a  mile,  till  he  pereelfed  that  his  dag* 
had  again  given  him  the  alip;  and  soa- 
pectiuff  for  what  purpose,  ne  was  ter« 
riblydarmedaswell  as  chagrined;  for 
die  day-light  approached,  and  he  durst 
not  muce  a  nmae  calling  on  Ins  dog^ 
for  foar  of  darmang  die  nei|^ibonr-i 
hood,  in  a  plaoe  iriine  bothheand  hia 
dog  were  known.    He  resdved  there- 
fore to  abandon  the  animd  to  himself, 
and  take  a  road  aoroas  the  country 
which  he  was  sure  his  dog  did  not 
loww,  and  coold  not  £dlow.   He  took 
that  road ;  but  being  on  heraefaaok,  he 
oonldnot  get  across  tneendesadfidda. 
He  at  length  eame  to  a  gale,  iriiidi  he 
dosed  b^ind  hkn,  and  went  about 
half  a  mile  forther,  by  a  signs  ooorse,. 
to  a  form-house  where  bom  hisaister 
and  sweetheart  lived ;  and  at  that  plaoa 
he  reniahiedundlafter  brsakfaat  time. 
The  people  of  thta.honse  were  all  ex« 
amined OB  thetad,  and  no  one  had 
either  aeen  dieep,  or  heard  them  men^ 
tioiied,  aave  one  man,  whocasae  up  to 
die  aggresaor  as  he  waa  standing  at  tha 
stable^oor,  and  told  him  that  nis  dog 
had  the  sheep  safoenou^  down  at  tha 
Crooked  Yett,and  hendeded  not  kuiry 
himsd^  He  answered,  tlttt  the  sheep 
were  not  his— they  were  young  Mr 
Thmnson's,  who  had  left  tnem  to.hia 
charg^ ;  and  he  was  in  seardi  of  a  man 
to  drive  them,  which  made  him  eoaae 
off  his  road. 

.  After  thia  discovery,  it  waaimposd- 
ble  for  die  poor  follow  to  get  qail  of 


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I ;  ao  ke  neat  dowBMid  took  fo§- 
•earion  of  the  etolea  dro?e  onoe  mov^ 
conied  them  on,  and  disposed  of  them ; 
eady  fiBi^>  the  tnmflaetkm  cost  hm 
hisliie.  The  doff,  fiir  the  h»t  four  or 
fife  miies  that  &  had  hioiig^t  the 
.iheepy  ooold  hare  no  other  ^ude  to 
the  road  his  master  had  gone,  but  tiie 
.sB^ofhssponey'sfeet.  I  ^gfpsal  to 
.etery  uoprgudiced  person  if  this  was 
.not  aa  like  one  of  the  deil's  tricks  as  an 
'heneat  «^j's. 

It  is  also  well  known  diat  there  was 

a  ootorioiiadieep-stBaler  in  the  county 

of  Mid-Lothian,  who,  had  it  ;iot  been 

to  the  skins  and  sheep's-heads,  would 

never  have  been  condemned,  as  he 

could,  with  the  greatest  ease,  have 

proved  an  €libi  every  time  on  which 

.  thera  were  suspicions  dierished  against 

him.    He  always  went  by  one  road, 

eaUingon  his  acquaintancea,  and  taking 

care  to  appear  to  everybodv  by  whom 

'  he  was  laiown ;  while  his  oog  went  by 

-  ssether  with  the  stolen  sheep ;  and 

then  on  the  two  fdons  meeting  again. 


MS 

they  had  notldBg  more  adbliMm  tam 
die  sheep  into  an  associate's  endoBBitSy 
in  wheae  houae  the  dog  was  well  fed 
and  entertained,  and  would  have  aoon 
taken  all  the  £ftt  sheep  on  the  Lothian 
ed^  to  that  house*  This  was  lil^- 
wise  a  &male,  a  jet-black  one,  with  a 
deep  eoat  of  aoft  hair,  but  smooth 
headed,  and  very  strong  and  handsom 
in  her  make.  On  thecOsappaaranoe  pf 
her  maatefi  sheky  about  the  hiUs  and 
the  places  where  ne  had  ficequented* 
but  ahe  never  attempted  to  steal  a 
drove  by  herself,  nor  yet  anything  fo 
her  own  hand.  She  waa  kept  a  whUe 
by  a  relation  of  her  master's ;  but  ne- 
ver acting  heartily  in  his  service,  soon 
csme  to  an  untimely  end  privately. 
Of  this  there  is  little  doubt>  although 
some  spread  the  report  that  one  eveiH 
ing,  after  uttering  two  or  three  loud 
howls,  ^e  had  vanished ! — ^Fromsuch 
dogs  as  these,  good  Lord  deliver  usl 

H 
Altsivs,  Feb.  %d,  18S4. 


OK  "  OONCILIATIOK* 
TO  C.  NOaTU,  XSQ. 


-  Dkar  Sib, 

CoNauATiowisthe  cant  of  theday. 
We  find  it  in  a  thousand  instances, 
-and  in  as  nnoiy  diapes—4n  every  rank 
>  and  department  of  the  kingdom.  It  is 
die  noteof  tibe  Whigs— it  isechoedby 
the  Pkiddess ;  and  is  greedily  swal- 
lowed by  every  prater  aJbout  privilege 
and  decorum.  The  time  hasoonepast 
when  popular  damour  was  caJUedfortfa 
by  designing  demagogues,  to  force  the 
imrodttction  of  blesungs,  which  the 
eircumstances  of  the  country  would 
not  permit  ;^uid  now  that  thia  cla- 
mour is  aUayed,  &e  great  object  ia  to 
conciliate  and  to  fiatter  those  who  w^e 
formerly  so  violent  and  unreasonable 
in  their  demands. 

-  It  is  quite  true,  that  in  so  far  as  po- 
litical discnssion  is  concerned,  there 
cannot  be  too  much  moderation  adopt- 
ed at  the  preaent  day.  Evtfy  topic 
which  fomeily  roused  the  feelings  uid 
called  forth  tlie  angry  pasaons  of  the 
people,  haa  been  put  to  rest ;  and  there 
18  absolutely  no  sul^ect  upon  whidi  the 
voice  of  complaint  is  to  be  heard.  The 
eomitry  haa  been  raiaed  to  a  state  of 
prosperity  not  exceeded  at  any  foimer 
poiod  of  our  history ;— agriculture  is 
now  flouMshiDg  ,•— tradeandeommeroe 


are  increasing ;  while  our  labeurars 
are  earning  an  abundant  providon  lor 
themselves  and  fismilies.  Money  is  so 
plenteous,  that  channels  for  its  a^- 
cation  can  hardly  be  furnished,  even 
by  the  improvements  which  have  been 
introduced  into  our  land.  The  voioe 
of  discontent  and  of  complaint  a  now 
heard  no  more ;  and  it  would  require 
an  ingenuity  which  we  can  hardly 
sive  UU9  Wnigs  the  credit  oi  possew* 
mg,  to  find  out  even  a  pretended 
ground  for  venting  their  spleen.  Id 
so  far  as  this  goes,  we  can  see  no  cause 
fat  poUtscal  violence ;  and  as  Minis- 
ters are  so  fully  established  in  public 
opinion,  we  heartU]^  agree  that  mode- 
ration in  all  things  is  the  soundest  po« 
liqr. 

But  admitting  all  this,  we  can  aoe 
no  good  ground  for  adopting  that 
huim>le  and  submissive  tone  towards 
men,  idioseprinciples  remsin  unchan- 
ged, which  IS  so  common  at  the  jpre- 
sentday.  If  the  Whigs  had  confess* 
ed  all  tneir  foUy  and  crimes ;— deals* 
red  that  they  were  sensible  of  the 
wildness  of  their  peculations^  and  the 
radmesa  of  their  schemes  ;— professed 
their  repentance  fcMT  the  pasty  and  their 
wish  to  adopt  a  difiexent  course  of  ao- 


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1«4 

tiMt  feteAitim;— tf  they  hftd  turn- 
ed from  (iieir  ranks  witk  abhortenee 
and  oofntempt  thorn  members  who 
diigraoed  them  by  dieir  ftetiow  de- 
signs^ and  by  their  association  with 
Ae  radical  principles  of  ^  day  ;— if 
tiiey  had  come  forward  and  dedared, 
tkat  instead  of  a  systematie  oppoeitioii 
cavried  on  hi  a  Sj^t  of  most  daring 
incoiuristeDey  with  all  their  mrmer 
measures,  they  were  now  to  be  regti- 
lated  by  something  like  a  i^nrit  of 
knowledge,  and  discrimination,  and  ho- 
nesty ;— then  would  it  hare  been  most 
proper  to  hate  ftn^ven,  and,  if  poesi«* 
me,  forgotten,  what  was  past,  and  to 
hare  trotted  them  with  all  the  fovour 
and  complacency  which  are  due  to 
men  who  are  sensible  that  they  can  do 
harm  no  loncer. 

But  has  ttus,  indeed,  been  done? 
HaTe  the  Wh^  renented  ihem  of 
that  mad  opposition  iiniieb,  if  success* 
All,  would  iMTe  bent  the  spirit  of  this 
free  and  happy  country  under  the 
yoke  of  die  bloodiest  tyrant  that  the 
world  erer  |MrodUced  ?  Have  they  de- 
clared their  regret,  that  when  a  season 
of  distress  visited  our  land,  they  join- 
ed, in  theb  drunken  fbOy,  with  the  ig- 
norant sooffiars  at  our  national  laws 
and  institutiotia ;  and  tried  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  that  hour  of  danger  to  raise 
thefrrabMe  party  into  power?  HaTe 
ther  humbled  themsdves  at  the  recd- 
k«atm  of  their  eAnts  to  stamp  with 
the  name  of  Tirtne  and  suffering  in- 
nocence, the  rankest  scenes  of  indeli- 
cacy ^at  ever  werebroug^t  befbreaBri- 
tish  pnbHc— and  to  erect  a  standard  of 
open  and  avowedpnrflincy  fbr  the  imi- 
tation of  the  women  of  JBnffland?  Have 
they  indeed  conflMBcd  wi£  contrition, 
that  ^  only  consistent  pttrt  of  their 
conduct  has  been  thebr  continued  op- 
position to  the  measures  of  Minbters ; 
— ^nd  Aat  it  was  only  in  iOustration 
of  this  prind^  that  tney  latdy  called 
upon  this  country  to  engage  in  a  war, 
not  half  80  justifiable  as  one  against 
vHiidi  they  cried  for  the  last  twenty 
years?  Have  they  made  their  confes- 
sions, and  their  recantations  upcm 
tiiese  points,  that  their  opponents  are 
now  so  ready  to  receive  tiiem  with 
iaveur  and  r^rd  ? 

One  would  really  believe,  horn  the 
tCTdemess  ineVerv  quarter  as  to  giving 
oflfenoe  to  the  feelings  of  these  persons, 
thatthere  was somesuchdiange in  their 
conduct,  aa  we  have  mentioned  above. 
We  see,  in  every  case,  the  tnqst  lively 
concern  as  to  their  interests  and  views. 


A  public  measarrmtat  not  now  be 
earned,  if  they  are  set  violently  against 
it ;— a  firm  and  manly  tone  must  not 
now  be  adopted,  if  they  have  broufl^t 
forwud  any  of  their  vague  and  idle 
diarges  ^— €nd  even  ptesons  attadied 
to  government,  and  who  have  defend- 
ed it  through  good  and  bad  report, 
must  be  |;iven  up  to  their  rage,  bo- 
eause  then-  prMe  and  nretendoiis  de» 
mand  sudi  a  victim.  6ne  would  he* 
lieve,  that,  instead  of  being  men  who 
imee  hdd  bad  and  base  prindples,  and 
who  had  suddoilv  abuidon«l  them, 
they  were  even  viewed  as  a  party  of 
perseieuted  patriots,  who  after  hkng 
unjustly  hitmbled  for  many  vears  were 
now  to  be  raised,  and  to  nave  their 
hard  treatment  atoned  for  by  every 
fiatterins  mark  of  kindness,  of  conces- 
sion, and  of  conciliation. 

And  what,  after  all,  is  the  fket? 
The  truth  is,  that  the  Whigs  are 
in  all  things,  except  in  power,  the 
same  now,  as  they  were  at  any  former 
period  of  thdr  nistorv.    There  haa 
oeen  no  confession  ot  any  of  their 
crimes — no    recantation — no    atone* 
ment.    They  hold  and  avow  at  thn 
day,  the  self-iame  prindples,  which, 
during  the  last  war,  at  the  time  of 
Radiod  commotion,  when  the  Queen 
hdd  her  rabble  court,  and  while*  the 
Spanish  war  was  last  discussed  in  Bifr- 
liament,  led  them  successively  to  wor* 
ship  tpanny  abroad,  to  preach  in- 
subormnation  at  home,  to  f <^ow  and 
acdaim  the  stepsof  profligacy*— and  to 
dedare  that  consistency  formed  no  part 
of  their  creed,  whetiever  the  peace  and 
happiness  of  die  country  mi^t  be 
destroyed.    Tliey  are  the  same  in  in- 
tention now,  though  tfadr  power  and 
infiuenceare  utterly  gone.  Disajypidnt- 
ed  in  their  hopes,  frustrated  m  dieir 
intentions,  seeing  their  prophedes  dis- 
proved, and  themselves  ana  thcjbrniea- 
sures  covered  with  ccmtempt,  they  still 
cling  to  their  heritap^e  of  ^ame,  and . 
glory  in  shewing  their  hatred  to  eyery- 
uing  honest  in  principle  and  noble  lii 
conduct  Their  vdce  nas  indeed  been 
lost  amidst  the  general  shout  of  ex- 
ultation which  pervades  a  happy  and 
pospenms  country,  but  their  silence 
is  one  of  necessity,  not  of  contentment. 
There  is  no  change  in  didr  prindples, 
for  these  are  s^  directed  to  the  hope- 
less taskofraisinff  themselves  to  power  ; 
—there  is  no  aueration  in  their  mea- 
sures, for  these  are  stID  aimed  against 
the  supporters  of  Govennnent  ;-^-lhey 
are  the  same  discontented,  invidious, 


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ii»4,:i 


were  in  tlie  dirkeet  put  of  their  hia-* , 

Korcin  It  eren  be  laidy  that  they 
iMTe  manifested  the  ali^ditest  wiah  to 
adopt  those  measufes  of  condliatioo^ 
which  they  are  so  ready  to  demand 
from  others.  They  hare  not  abated 
one  jot  of  their  virakncey  nor  shewn 
die  most  distant  desi^  of  acting  with 
eandoDTj  fiur  less  with  courtesy  and 
fbrbearanee.  They  have  not  fln^iotten 
that  there  is  a  difibrenoe  in  j^ rindple 
>  between  theraselTes  and  then:  oppo* 
nenta^  though  with  a  most  kughaiJe 
graiity^they  would  now  wish  the  Tories 
to  do  so.  Follow  them  to  their  places 
•f  oonrocation,  and  of  party  master — 
hear  them,  when  their  spirits  wax  big  as 
numben  seem  to  giTe  a  temporarr  un- 
portanee  lo  their  harangues,  ana  you 
will  find  the  sdf^same  mad,  raUd,  and 
didionest  ^irit  of  discossion  which 
tiged  daring  the  blackest  part  of  their 
csfl^er.  I  need  not  go  far  to  bring  you 
an  example  to  prove  ibis.  Look  back 
to  the  report  (corrected  by  themsdves) 
of  their  vamped^ap  speeches  at  the 
last  dinner  in  honour  of  their  patron 
taint,  and  yoa  will  see  enough  to  oon« 
Hnee  you  that,  with  them,  ooncilia- 
tkm  is  still  a  name.  I  will  not  pollute 
your  pigca,  nor  will  I  give  the  native 
and  aoooired  insignifloanoe  of  the  per« 
Kms  who  flgored  were  any  importance 
by  attacking  them  here,  but  I  would 
Just  alhide  to  a  few  of  the  Umics  then 
Intieduoed  to  shew  the  q^rit  by  whidi 
these  persons  are  still  guided.  We 
have  JefiVevpraising  Yankee  indq^en^ 
denee  at  tne  expense  of  English  ho- 
nour ;  and  babbnng  in  hisuraal  style 
about  republics,  free-Wade,  and  liberty. 
WehAve  Moncrieff  associating  the  me- 
mory of  Erskine  widi  trials  for  treason; 
and  delivering  the  usual  harangue 
about ''  trial  by  jury,"  one  of  the  great- 
est benefits  of  which  has  been  the 
riddmff  this  country  of  the  libellers 
and  buudbemers  who  belong  to  his 
own  set.  Then  we  have  Cockbum  con- 
juring up  that  arch-blunderer  Hume 
—the  most  dogmatical,  stumd,  tire- 
some pest,  that  ever  hauntea  St  Ste- 
phens. Could  not  this  economist  tdl 
Mr  Cockbum  how  to  blot  out  from 
the  list  some  of  our  Scottiah  pension- 
en  ?-*-lhis  would  be  a  practical  good — 
and  perhaps  the  advocate  might  point 
out  examples  where  to  b^in.  I  men- 
tion not  any  of  their  dvif  and  religi- 
ous liberty  toasts— 4heir  *'  freedom  of 
eonsdenoe,"  and  **  liberty  of  the  press," 


1«^ 

ilhe  destm^tfeD  o£  nCa* 
Uishments,  and  all  abuse  to  be  on  one 
side;  because  what  I  have  already  mid 
is  enough  to  Aew  that,  with  these  meiv 
the  same  bitter,  rankling  diso«itent» 
ed  spirit  remains,  which  nas  all  aJoi^ 
distinguished  them.  "What  daim* 
theremre,  have  these  pec^  to  conciv 
liation,  and  upon  what  nght  do  they 
recdve  it  ? 

The  truth  is,  that  look  into  whatever 
department  of  Whigpohcy  we  may,  we 
can  see  no  earthly  difference  between 
what  they  now  are,  and  what  they 
were  in  £ormer  timea,  except  that  their 
power  is  gone.  There  is  stiU  the  same 
outcry  ag^iinst  ministers,  and  **^f  f^mt 
sullen  discontent  at  all  outrmeasurea 
of  national  policy.  True,  soom  df 
them  are  at  tones  found,  talking  of  the 
popularity  of  Canning,  and  of  the  li- 
beiality  of  giving  places  to  some  of 
their  friends,  but  in  the  next  breath 
we  hear  it  followed  with  the  .refle» 
tion,  that  the  time  haa  arrived  at 
last  when  merit  is  to  be  rewarded. 
The  party  have  gaped  so  long  with 
hungry  mouths  at  the  good  thiligs 
whidi  were  onl^  to  be  enjoyed  by 
them  in  antidpation,  that  tne  sli£^ 
est  mark  of  nvour  ia  reodved  aa  a 
neat  and  unexpected  boon.  In  all 
nut  this,  however,  their  hatred  to  tho 
measures  of  administration  remain 
unchanged.  It  ia  true,  that  .with  the 
great  bmy  of  die  people  thcM  mea- 
sures are  now  viewed  as  the  only  ones 
whidi  could  be  adopted  for  the  proa- 
perity  and  the  honour  of  the  ooontry; 
but  It  is  not  thegreat  body  of  thepetH 
^thatwe€all  Whigs.  llieraiaaotB- 
culatingmass  of  our  populatiMi,  whidi 
caniu>t  he  said  to  bdong  to  any  pardr 
whatever.  They  are  led  miv  srara 
by  external  circumstances,  anamaprbe 
found  suooesdvdy  the  foUowers  of  de- 
magogues; the  ^plauden  of  praten 
about  constitutional  meaaorea,  and  the 
ferocious  ahouters  at  the  bloody  tri- 
umphs of  a  tyrant  During  timea  of 
dis£ess,this  part  of  thepopulation  were 
led  by  desigmng  demagPKuea  to  adopt 
the  levelling  prmdples  of  the  day,  but 
once  the  return  en  en^iloyment  and 
of  plenty,  they  have  with  one  aoeoad 
been  restored  to  industry  and  to  alio- 
giance.  The  Whigs,  however,  axe  not 
the  body  of  the  people,  but,  in  thia 
country  at  least,  with  a  few  exeeptiona, 
diey  are  confined  to  some  amatteiera  in 
law  and  oUier  sdencesinour  metropo- 
lis; to  a  smaller  number  of  discontent- 
ed traders  in  our  other  towns  ;  and  a 


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166 


ComeitiQii<m> 


CFtb^ 


rukied  ooantrygeDtlemeQ.  Wedefy  the 
ingenuity  of  .Jefifrey  himself  to  pick  out 
m  shi^  Whigy  except  in  one  or  other 
of  these  deffrees.  It  is  yain^  therefore, 
to  talkof  pumicfeelingand  popular  sen- 
timent, and  to  say^  that  thoeare  Whig 
opinions  coming  round  in  favour  of 
Tory  measures ;  and  that  conciliation 
ougnt^  therefore,  to  be  extended  to  men 
who  are  thus  changing  their  views. 
The  mass  of  the  people  are  not,  and 
never  were  Whigs ;  thev  may  be  mis* 
kd  for  a  time,  but  tney  generally 
Qome  ri^ht  at  last;  and  the  fact  m 
thair  bemg  attached  to  government  at 
the  pesent  day,  proves  nothing  as  to 
Whig  feeling  at  alL  That  party  stands 
by  itself —with  all  its  former  rancour 
and  malignity — a  prating,  discontent- 
ed, disingenuous,  illiberal "  few,"  who 
teem  to  be  sworn  to  inconsistency, 
endless  opposition,  and  enduring  con- 
tempt 

'  It  is  altogeiher  a  mistaken  idea, 
dierefore,  to  suppose,  that  those  conci- 
liating or  flattering  measures  adopted 
towaras  the  Whig  party  are  to  have  a 
happy  efiect  upon  public  feeling  in 
die  country.  It  is  a  mere  assertum, 
unsupported  by  argument,  and  false 
in  £ust,  to  say,  that  the  body  of  the 
people  rgoioe  in  every  act  of  kindness 
Mstowed  upon  the  members  ci  Op- 
position. Whatever  it  once  was, 
the  case  is  now  quite  the  reverse. 
Ample  opportunities  have  been  afford- 
ed, of  late,  to  weigh  the  character  and 
.pretensions  of  those  men  who  come 
forward  as  leaden  in  political  discus- 
sions, and  the  public  are  neither  so 
obtuse,  nor  so  bigotted,  as  not  to  draw 
the  proper  conclusion.  We  say,  that 
there  is  a  change  in  popular  feeling 
(not  in  Whig  feeling  be  it  observed,) 
towards  the  supporters  of  Administra- 
tiim,  which  a  tew  years  ago  could  not 
even  have  been  conceived  of.  We  do 
not  state  this  upon  any  process  of  rea- 
soning which  might  be  disputed,  but 
we  a{^peal  to  £scts,  and  dare  any  one 
~  to  disprove  or  overturn  them.  In  all 
the  d^rtments  of  die  state  we  find 
a  wonaerful  change  in  the  sentiments 
with  which  every  person  is  regarded 
who  can  be  said  to  form  a  part  of  Ad- 
ministration. Our  judges  are  reve- 
red, our  magistrates  respected,  and 
every  person  in  authority  under  the 
King  IS  viewed  with  reverence  and 
honour.  Instead  of  being  considered 
as  hdding  power  which  may  be  used 
for  oppression,  and  situations  which 


are  designed  ibr  penonal  mnmdize- 
ment^  a  fair  and  candid  adSaission  is 
now  made  of  their  importance  to 
government  and  to  society.  In  the 
same  way,  visit  any,  the  most  remote 
part  of  the  country^  and  ^ou  find 
the  same  sentiments  prevaiL  The 
rulers  in  our  burghs  are  viewed  as 
men  of  the  greatest  integrity  in  the 
community,  and  the  landed  proprietors^ 
who  are  attached  to  government,  are 
considered  to  possess  the  greatest  re- 
spectability and  honour.  We  state  this 
as  the  opinion  of  die  mass  ci  the  peo- 
I^  at  the  present  day-^we  do  so  irom 
our  observadon  of  them  in  all  ranks 
— and  we  decidedly  hold,  that  with 
them  the  Whigs  are  viewed  with  a 
feeling  somewhat  worse  than  that  of 
mere  mdiffisrence.  They  have  found 
in  every  case>,  that  not  only  are  the 
measures  brou^t  forward  by  these 
persons  mere  chimerical  schemes— 
too  often  of  a  selfish  kind,  which  can 
never  lead  to  practical  good;  bi;t  that, 
in  reality,  whenever  the  Whigs  ha,ve 
obtained  powor,  they  have  exhibited  in 
their  own  persons  an  illu^tratum  of 
every  evil  of  which  they  have  com- 
plained ;  and  have  proved  themselves 
to  be  the  most  oppressive  and  tyran- 
nical of  all  masters  wherever  their 
power  was  felt  and  acknowledged. 

We  have  stated  this  much  to  shew 
that  the  Whigs,  in  their  cry  for  conci- 
liation^ have  shewn  no  wish  on  their 
part  to  adopt  any  accommodating 
measures ;  and  that  the  sreat  body  of 
the  people  being  attached  to  ^vem- 
ment,  and  of  course  to  the  Tones  who 
support  it,  the  concessions  made  to  the 
Wnigs  can  be  of  no  public  benefit. 
The  policy  therefore  is  unsound,  as 
we  hold  it  to  be  mean,  which  endear 
vours  to  sooth  and  to  fiatter  men  who 
are  as  rancorous  in  dieir  hostility  as 
ever,  and  who  are  viewed  with  disgust 
by  the  great  body  of  the  people. 

Vrhile  I  thus  state  my  sentiments 
frankly  and  freely  upon  this  sulject,  I 
rejoice  that  you  at  least  have  given  this 
principle  or  conciliation  no  counte- 
nance, either  by  your  precept  or  exam- 
ple. On  your  part,  tnere  has,  as  yet, 
oeen  no  sacrifice  of  those  principles*— 
for  principles  they  must  be,  by  which 
your  pubuc  course  has  been  directed. 
Raised  up  to  check  die  infidel,  licen- 
tious, ana  fitctiouB  designs  of  the  Whis 
press,  your  conduct  has  been  markea 
by  an  undeviating  and  steady  devotion 
to  this  purpose.  And  yet  there  are  some 
who  abo  call  upon  you  for  concilia^ 


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tkm*  And  vhat  are  the 
waaa  which  diey  found  their  demmd  ? 
Have  the  retainen  of  the  Whis^preBS 
ceased  to  pour  out  their  ribaldry  and 
abuae?  Has  the  Morning  Chronicle 
become  tender  of  female  character  ? 
Have  Moore  and  Bvion  ceased  to  be  li- 
centious and  blaspnemouB  ?  Has  the 
Edinburgh  Review  become  a  loyal  and 
patriotic  work  ?  We  bring  the  matter 
lust  to  this  pointy  and  we  affirm,  that 
If  tiiere  has  been  the  smallest  change 
in  these  respects  in  Whig  publications, 
it  is  only  because  the  public  feeling 
wiU  not  admit  of  their  lormer  imper- 
tinence and  crime.  Their  weapons  may 
have  been  shivered  in  the  conflict,  but 
their  spirit  of  hostility  is  not  gone ;  and 
every  week,  every  day,  bean  witness 
to  some  g^Uring  act  ag^unst  the  insti- 
tutions or  the  religion  of  the  land. 
Amidst  an  this  demand,  therefore,  for 
moderation  in  r^ard  to  the  Tory  press, 
diere  has  not  been  one  instance  either 
of  forbearance,  or  of  candour,  or  of  libe- 
rali^,  in  those  with  whom  the  demand 
origmated.  Byron  writes  his  blasphe- 
my, and  Hunt  vends  it  with  the  same 
haraihood,  as  if  conciliation  was  never 
dreamt  of ;  and  Jeffiey  pens  his  jokes, 
and  vents  his  politics,  with  the  same 
pertness,  as  though  his  partv  were  in 
theplenitudeof  theirpower^  Andareall 
thii^,  honest  and  dishonest,  to  be  law- 
ful to  Uiese  men,  while  you  and  others 
are  to  be  smoothed  down  to  suit  the 
altered  policy  of  the  day  ?  Is  that  to 
be  a  crime  in  one  whicn  is  not  only 
tolerated  but  aoplauded  in  another? 
And  are  you  to  nesitate  about  speak- 
ing the  truth  boldly,  openly,  and  M- 
ly,  while  your  opponents  are  gating 
tnemselves  with  every  spedes  of  ftlse- 

P.  S.  As  I  conclude  this  short  letter,  I  am  unfortunatelv  furnished  with 
another  example  of  the  nature  of  Wld^  conciliation.    Paruament  has  met : 
met  in  circumstances  of  nadonal  prosperity  unexampled  in  the  annals  of  this 
or  any  other  country.    Our  internal  policy  lessening  our  burdens,  and  im- 
proving our  trade,  commerce,  and  amcultiBre ;  our  foreign  pcdiejr  preserving 
the  peace,  at  the  same  time  with  the  honour  of  the  kingdom,  and  making 
Britain  more  feared,  rejected,  and  courted,  than  at  any  former  period  of  her 
history.    These  are  blemngs  which  one  would  have  expected  to  have  called 
forth  an  unanimous  expressioa  of  exultation  and  gratitude,  and  yet  a  mart  of 
discontent  is  heard.    Broug^ham — ^Henry  Brougham — the  Whig^the  would- 
be  leader  of  the  brbken-down  party  ^t  is  now  to  be  ctmciliated— he  could 
not  repress  his  growL    But  for  tms  tnan,  Britain  would  have  presented  to 
foreigners  the  noble  spectacle  of  a  country  in  which  the  senators  were  unani- 
mous with  the  people  in  their  approbatian  of  those  measures  by  which  its 
rank  and  prpaperity  were  procured,  and  are  preserved*    But,  no— Whig  pa- 
triotism could  not  go  so  far.  Thei:e  must  be  a  speech — an  attack— something 
affiscting,  directly  or  indirectly,  the  meanires  of  ministers.    And  yet  it  may 
be  useM.    It  goes  far  to  establish  the  point  for  which  we  have  contended— 
It  is  Wlug  Conciliation. 


Ctmiiliaiim.  it7 

hood,  Masphemy,  and  plniae?  Doea 
eondliation  demand  this?  Has  the 
time  arrived  when  Whig  folly  and 
Whig  crime  are  to  be  bimed  in  obli- 
vion;  and  vrhen  the  party  are  to  com- 
mit all  manner  of  oflfences  without 
either  notice  or  rebuke  ?  No.  From 
you,  they  cannot  expeet,  nor  is  it  pro- 
per that  they  should  receive,  anything 
which  is  to  compromise  the  prind- 
ples  by  which  you  have  all  along  been 
animated;  princi^es,  with  the  exercise 
of  which  must  not  only  be  connected 
the  proepmty,  but  the  very  existence 
of  our  country. 

I  trust,  therefore,  that  we  are  soon  to 
hear  less,  on  all  sid^^of  that  conciliation 
which  is  the  prevailing  cry  of  the  day. 
The  Whigs  can  now  do  no  evfl,  let  us 
therefore  pass  thefln  over  with  con- 
tempt;  Uiey  never  eando^ood,  let  us  ^ 
thenfore  despise  to  court  tnem.  From 
being  the  most  bitter  and  rancorous 
enemies  of  the  time-hallowed  institu- 
tions of  the  country,  they  have  now  be- 
come empty  prattlers,  shipped  of  pow- 
er, and  cov^^  with  conadous  imbe- 
dhty.  Disappointed  in  all  their  plans 
for  the  ruin  <tt  thecoun^,  and  thwart- 
ed in  all  their  attempts  to  raise  them- 
selves to  power ;  they  would  now  stand 
in  the  same  rank  widi  those,  who, 
against  their  machinations,  have  de- 
fended the  bulwark  of  the  constitution. 
But  the  memory  of  what  they  were  can- 
not be  blotted  out,  nor  the  Knowledge 
of  what  they  are  be  forgotten,  and 
their  present  meanness  only  aggravates 
thdr  past  crimes,  and  secures  to  them 
that  soom  which  is  their  rightful  he- 
ritage.     Yours  truly, 

TiMOK. 


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[FromaMS.Poek.\      * 

METRiyxs  1 8M  upoti'wmh  deMtt  cowt> 
To  Mere/s  miooi»uriiig  artn  fbr  eVer  tost^ 
Thedtipwi^ckediaaniier:  with  AintiwtB  mind 
He  retf 0  bis  kmelj  tSgntl  to  th«  wind 
In  Tiin ;  eaeh  diriumt  dond  ilppetfs  •  tdl. 
And  DoobtsuMe^  to  Hope^  lind  Fein  pretail. 
Thongh  comes  no  vessel  from  tbe  ocesn  roor^ 
With  snowy  wings^  snd  wave-diiriding  pme ; 
Tboogh  diffb  impend  around  hj  fbot  untrod^ 
Excepit  bis  own,  the  ses-bird's  wild  abode ; 
Still  will  be  trust  some  Mendly  arm  k  near^ 
That  fate  is  jet  impartial,  thoi^|;h  severe ! 

The  lowering  shades  of  Darinen  are  at  bond, 
Sweep  from  tbe  ocean,  and  pervade  the  land, 
YHiile  he,  frvm  miRan  Kilt's  rmrdleas  shock. 
Seeks  for  repose  some  crevice  of  me  rock ; 
Slowly  pass  ifer  the  stem  and  starry  hoim, 
"^tb  dirgefrd  winds,  and  melancholy  shoii^ers. 
Till  daylk;ht1i  beacon  sUnes,  and  mom  again 
Ottt^reaos  her  erimson  mantle  o'er  the  main. 
In  twilight  shades  he  hastens  to  the  shote, 
^  rolls  ^e  snn,  but  Hope  returns  no  more, 
with  donds  of  doom  his  sky  is  overcast. 
And  all  that  earth  conld  offer  him  is  past! 

Silent  and  motionless  be  views  the  son 
Shik  in  ihe  west,— another  day  is  done. 
Where  mingle  aea  snd  sky,  a  spot  appears 
To  kindle  hope,  and  mitigate  his  fearsi 
Alas !  'tis  but  the  doud,  which,  melting  there. 
Dispels  the  glow  it  raised,  and  deepens  care  ; 
Nor  sound  nor  sign  of  behig  is  around. 
Save  cormorant,  Uiat  breasu  the  Uue  profound^ 
Or  albatross,  that,  frtnn  tbe  diff  on  high. 
Expands  bis  giant  wings  to  sail  ^  sky. 
Long,  sad  and  long,  the  littlest  moments  roll ; 
Despair  usurps  the  empire  of  the  soul. 
Ana,  as  be  gazes  o'er  that  dreary  space, 
Tbe  spectre  Famine  stares  him  in  the  £ue. 
The  mghtftin  glooms,  his  fltfrd  visions  roam 
To  cherished  scenes,  and  cirote  nmnd  his  home  ; 
While  starta  the  raptunms  tear  be  cannot  chodc. 
While  sobs  his  wife,  and  dings  about  his  nedc. 
While  press  his  little  ones  to  share  his  loss, 
And  Fnendship  deals  around  ecstatic  Idiss.-^ 
He  wakes,  but  ah  I  how  diftrentis  the  scene. 
These  may  return,  but  deadi  must  intervene ! 
His  glassy  eye  divines  his  coming  end, 
Approadiing  Ikte  his  sunken  Isms  portend. 
Then,  with  convulsive  shake,  he  lifts  his  Iwad, 
Drops  his  cold  hand,  and  dnks  among  the  dead. 

In  care^sequestered  haunts,  to  Joy  unlmown, 
Whete  if  weeds  spring  not,  flowers  are  never  strewn, 
Lo  I  buried  in  tbe  sohtary  ceU; 
Where  dgbs  and  team  with  Superstition  dwell, 
io 


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The  londy  Vend  pondcn  OD  her  d^ede. 
Breathes  o'er  her  oriKMU,  aid  t^s  hor  beade^ 
Forces  Yoath's  rose  of  beemy  to  decaj, 
Andy  pensiTe^  weeps  a  tedious  life  away  ; 
She,  who  wiUi  soft  seraphic  hand  midit  hind 
The  wounds  of  Fate,  and  ornament  her  Idod, 
Might  widi  the  tender  heart,  the  useful  life. 
Cheer  in  the  friend,  enamour  in  the  wife, 
Sooth,  with  condolings  sweet,  the  pan^  of  woe. 
And  raise  the  torch  of  Mercy  here  below ! 

Yes !  did  eonnubial  though  that  boscmi  wann, 
Tbatl)reast  of  tenderness  a  partner  charm. 
Her  halcyon  smile  mi^t  rescue  from  alloy. 
Calm  every  grief,  and  neig^teii  every  joy,  ' 

Or,  when  the  in£uit  darling  of  her  care. 
Pledge  of  her  love,  sat  smiling  by  her  chair. 
Her  throbbing  br«ut  a  moth^s  joy  might  find. 
To  scan  the  opening  beauties  of  the  mind, 
— ^A  mind  which  truth,  whidi  tenderness  inspires, 
Mild  like  her  own,  and  generous  like  its  sire's, 
To  lead  the  little  dierub  s  thoughts  on  high. 
And  train  them  in  the  paths  of  pietv  !*« 
How  dismal  is  her  view,  how  diurk  ner  span. 
How  false  to  Nature,  and  how  lost  to  Man ! 

Oh  Wisdom,  weep !  lament  the  scene  of  woe— 
And  let  the  tear  of  mild  oon^iassion  flow 
For  talents  lost,  for  judgment  thrown  away, 
Far  beauty  buried  from  the  eye  of  day ! 

Hark !  whence  awoke,  'mid  walls  of  roooldering  stone, 
'  The  fakrbinger  of  woe,  that  moumfU  groan  ? 
Deep  from  yon  grated  arch  the  sound  arose. 
And  oft  it  inues  throoe,  at  evening  dose. 
When,  sick  with  hope  deferred,  or  worn  with  pain. 
The  prisoner  courts  nis  lowfy  coudi  again  ; 
FuU  of  his  grief,  it  sooths  him  to  believe 
He  has  on  earth  a  day  the  leas  to  grieve. 
The  vault  slow-fading  from  his  vision  cUes, 
The  soother  Sleep  returns,  and  dreams  arise. 

Now  on  the  mountain  side,  while  sides  are  bhie. 
Plains,  woods,  and  lakes  expanding  on  the  view, 
He  seems  to  stand ;  the  scene  around  is  fair. 
Brilliant  the  son,  and  soft  the  summer  air. 
Far  o'er  the  regions  of  the  bOlowy  green. 
Receding  coasts  and  aiure  hills  are  seen ; 
Within  the  Vale,  beneath  the  beeehen  shade. 
He  scans  his  home,  and  sweet  pa|teraal  glade ; 
The  wall-flower  decks  the  roof^  around  the  eawa 
The  jasmine  twines^  the  had  sings  in  its  leaves ; 
On  daisied  sward  his  children  are  reclined. 
Their  auburn  tresses  waving  in  the  wind. 
No  melandboly  thoughts  their  minds  employ, 
Unconscious  of  thdr  loss,  and  wed  to  joy,* 
Whfle,  pensive  by  the  door,  his  eye  surveys 
His  pale,  but  lovely  wife— ^  blest  of  other  days ! 

For  years  that  prisoner's  foot  hath  ncrver  trod. 
Except  in  thon^^t,  blue  summer's  veidant  sod  ; 
Tliough  still  on  earth,  an  alien  to  his  land, 
Feeble  in  fhme,  and  desolaie  of  Mtod, 
Vol.  XV.  9  B 


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190  So&hi»  and  SoUiude.  ^Feb. 

His  yean  lag  on^  unyarylng  a&d  unbfeat, 
Dark^  void^  without  the  consdousness  of  reat ; 
Yet  when  the  aunheaina^  in  their  criniaon^  fall. 
At  morn's  first  starless  hour^  upon  his  waJl^ 
Gilding  the  tricklii^  dew-damp  of  his  eell. 
Brightening  a  scene  where  sig^  for  erer  dwells 
Oh^  then  his  tardy  steps  can  ne'er  refirain^ 
Although  solicitude  may  pine  in  vain. 
To  seek  yon  lattice,  where  the  rust-red  grate. 
Frowning  in  strength,  reminds  him  of  his  fiUe ; 
Then  on  the  long-Known  fields  he  casts  his  eye. 
The  dark-hrown  woods,  and  doud-emhattled  sky. 
And  on  the  sloping  distant  hills,  whose  green 
In  happier  times  his  resting  place  had  been^ 
He  hears,  with  mellow  music,  from  the  thorn 
The  freckled  lark  salute  the  blaae  of  mom : 
Now  on  the  ear  the  torrent's  dash  is  hurl'd 
Fitful,  like  echoings  from  another  world ; 
And  now,  with  hollower  gust,  the  morning  breeze 
Sweeps  through  the  clou&,  and  sings  amid  the  trees. 
Then,  then  the  dream  of  youth  and  yore  returns; 
Wrapt  in  the  mournful  thoughts,  his  bosom  bums ; 
And  scenes,  in  hopeless  absence,  doubly  dear. 
Are  traced  in  thought,  and  udier'd  with  a  tear ! 

Ask  of  the  maid,  who  in  the  cloister's  gloom 
Repines,  the  living  inmate  of  a  tomb  ; 
By  force  or  phrenzy  serered  for  her  kind. 
Yet  panting  for  the  jovs  she  left  behind — 
Ask  of  the  mariner,  wnom  storms  have  toss'd 
On  solitary  rock,  or  desert  coast, — 
Ask  of  the  prisoner,  who,  in  dungeon  dank. 
Hears  but  his  groans  resound,  his  fetters  clank,  * 
Without  one  generous  heart,  or  pitying  eye. 
To  share  his  griefe,  or  sooth  his  agony — 
Ask  it  of  these— 'tis  they  who  best  can  know 
If  Friendship  be  not  sweet,  if  Solitude  be  so^! 

Yet,  spuming  at  its  woes,  the  immortal  Mind,. 
With  quenchless  ardour,  burning  for  its  load. 
Even  in  the  lonescnne,  solitary  oell> 
Where  Hope,  the  seraph,  hesitates  to  dweU, 
Pregnant  with  xeal,  hath  labour'd  to  allay 
The  wrongs  of  man,  and  banish  care  a.way. 
Scared,  upward  soar'd»  like  Ammon'»bird,  elate, 
Dispell'd  the  darkness  that  inyolves  our  fiOe, 
Burst  through  the  giant  bonds,  the  envious  dmde. 
That  ignorance  had  framed,  or  error  made. 
And  thence  disclosed,  when  earth-bom  toils  are  o'er,. 
A  renovated  life,  that  &des  no  more. 
An  arm  outstretch'd  the  sinking  good  to  save. 
And  Victory's  halo  beaming  o'er  the  grave ! 

Yes,  Socrates,  this  wondrous  lot  was  thine. 
Thy  life  was  matehlesa,  and  thy  death  divine  ; 
"Twas  dark  around  thee,  but  taou  wert  the  light 
That  banish'd  pr^udice,  and  scatter'd  night; 
By  friends  forsaken,  and  begirt  with  foes, 
TikY  spirit  these  fi^rgave,  and  pitied  those. 
Left  eayUi  in  peace,  and,  ere  it  soar'd  to  Heaven, 
Pny'd  that  in  mercy  both  might  be  forgiven.  • 

Nor,  Raleiffh,  should  thj  name,  to  silence  wed^ 
Oblivious  lank  among  the  ignoble  dead. 


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iMi-D  Soeiei^  and  S^Mude. 

Who^  when  CoIuiiiUmi  regions  were  explored^ 

And  shrank  Iberia  trembled  at  thy  sword, 

Shut  from  a  worid^  served  bnt^  alas !  too  well« 

To  pine  away  th  v  manhood  in  the  cell, 

Toil'd  through  tne  sunless  day,  and  wakeAil  night. 

By  the  dim  taper's  melancholy  light. 

To  add  a  lustre  to  the  thankl^  age. 

Which  gains  redouUed  splendour  from  thy  page : 

'Twas  thine,  O  potent  spirit,  to  unfold 

The  mines  of  thought,  more  precious  far  Uian  gold ; 

Unchill'd  by  apathy,  thou  did'st  explore 

The  loneliest  regions  of  historic  lore ; 

Pierced  through  the  gloom  that  shades  ^e  urn  of  time ; 

Amass'd  the  treasur^  deeds  of  erery  dime ; 

And  to  a  work],  ungenerous  and  imkind. 

Left  an  immortal  legacy  behind ! 

Thus  do  the  sandal  boughs  that,  spreading,  yield 
A  shade  for  bees  to  hum,  and  birds  to  build. 
In  vain  resist;  in  bloom  ordain'd  to  feel  . 
The  sj^less  fury  of  the  woodman's  steel ; 
But  still,  as  if  forgivingly,  they  shed 
A  (Vagrant  perfume  round  the  spdler's  head ! 


191 


LONDON  ODDITIES  AND  OUTLINES. 

No.  V. 


Thb  winter  theatrra  are  now  run- 
ning the  rival  race  with  great  spirit, 
and  with  what  is  more  interestins;  to 
managers,  a  great  influx  of  the  pSiv- 
loving  population.  This  has  been  tne 
result  of  the  coming  of  that  sullen  sea- 
son which  is  to  be  made  gay  by  con- 
fectioners' shops  flaming  with  tenfold 
cas :  the  richer  display  of  beeves,  gar- 
landed with  holly  and  ivy  in  the  mar- 
kets, and  the  fuU  glory  of  the  panto- 
mime. 

Covewt'Oarden  commenced  its  season 
vrith  a  grand  spectacle,  founded  on  the 
conquest  of  Mexico ;— dramatised  in 
Psns,  it  had  won  the  heart  of  the  ca- 
pitd  of  capitals,  by  the  fidelity  of  its 
narrative,  and  the  truth  of  its  man- 
ners, not  less  than  by  the  novelty  of  its 
sutject.  It  was  re-produced  in  Lon- 
don, in  a  splendour  that  would  have 
dasakd  an  Inca.  Horses,  chieiUins, 
and  heroines,  shone  in  all  the  pomp  of 
tin  and  tinsd,  featbera  and  flounces ; 
and  the  melodrame  was  triumphant. 
But  all  glory  is  comparative ;  and  this 
triumph  was  formidably  diminished 
by  the  more  triumphant  triumph  of 
Drury-Lane.  There  a  single  scene 
carried  all  before  it.  Two  hours  of  the 
melodrame  of  Uie  ''Cataract"  were 
noise  and  nonsense  indescribable,  and 
the  piece  seemed  in  every  scene  more 
rapidly  auproaching  to  the  edge  of  that 
d — mnea  mil,  from  which  pieces  never 
return.    But  five  minutes  at  the  dose 


of  ihose  two  hours  restoredits  honours, 
and  floated  the  whole  into  splendid 
safety.  Those  ti^^  minutes  displayed 
a  torrent  of  unquestbnable  water  rush- 
ing down  a  tin  stair-case,  and  sousing 
a  whole  r^ment  of  fiffhting  and  fly- 
ing cavalry.  The  display  was  irresis- 
tible with  an  aquatic  people ;  and  the 
melodrame  ran  till  the  water.compa- 
nies  declared  that  they  could  supply 
the  popular  thirst  no  longer.  The/Hm- 
sters  were  as  busily  at  work  the  first 
night,  as  if  the  water  had  irrigated 
their  faculties  into  sudden  vegetation. 
It  was  said  by  a  high  authority  in  those 
matters,  that  the  Cataract  had  end«l 
in  a  torrent  of  applause.  The  contri- 
butions of  others  were,  ^at  the  piece 
was  sure  of  an  overflow ;  that  it  stoepl 
down  all  opposition  ;  that  ti^ough  the 
manager  had  thrown  cold  water  upon 
his  work,  it  was  received  with  the 
warmest  admiration — ^fiiat  it  sailed  on 
the  stream  of  pofmlarity — that  the 
**  Cataract"  rose  as  its  waters  fell ;  and 
an  inundation  of  other  equally  inimi- 
table and  reckercJU  sportiveness  on  the 
^uid  of  popularity.  The  result,  how- 
ever, was,  that  while  "  Cortex,"  after 
the  brief  life  of  a  hero,  perished,  the 
"  Cataract"  ran,  and  Drury-Lane,  for 
the  first  time  since  the  days  of  Mich, 
boasted  of  a  successiiil  spectacle.  This 
melodrame,  however,  had  the  pleasant 
advantage  of  havinff  three  fathers. 
Moneritf,  the  original  inventor  of  Use 


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meoe>  for  one  of  the  miiior  theatres : 
Reynolds  for  the  dramatic  efl^t ;  and 
Colman  for  the  pleasantry  that  was  to 
master  popularity.  But  this  venera- 
ble alliance  was  cariousl^  abortive. 
There  was  neither  invention^  effect^ 
nor  pleasantry^  in  the  whole  perform- 
ance. The  punsters  were  busy  again 
on  this  tripartite  failure^  and  compa- 
red the  inventor  to  "  Susannah  perse- 
cuted between  the  elders  ;"  the  arran- 
ffer  to ''  a  barrister  who  had  not  effects, 
from  having  no  oauses :"  and  Colman 
to  ''the  royal  jester,  who  is  grave 
every  where,  but  at  court."  But  the 
best  jest  of  all,  and  worth  a  whole 
Switserland  of  "  Cataracts,"  was,  that 
one  of  the  pleasantest  of  aU  the  jokers 
about  town,  having  had  occasion  to 
write  the  epilocue  fbr  die  tragedy 
of  Gracchus,  shortly  after,  lazily 
stooped  to  interweave  those  past  and 
volatile  good  things  into  his  verse. 
Nothing  could  be  more  luckless;  every 
third  wit  in  the  house  recognised  his 
own  especial  witticism,  and  was  indig- 
nant acoordinglv.  The  feathers  were 
ra^dly  plucked,  and  the  ejnlogue 
stood  as  naked  as  the  daw,  in  theoourae 
of  the  first  dosen  lines.  The  result 
must  be  veiled  in  a  learned  language, 
"  Papulus  me  sUnlai ;"  and  tl^  epi- 
logue was  dilacerated  upon  the  spot, 
notwithstanding  Miss  Booth's  legs. 
Miss  Kell/s  plumes,  and  the  tout  m- 
semble  of  the  pretty  Mrs  Oroer. 

In  both  these  spectacles  Uie  horses 
performed  the  most  distinguished  part, 
and  certainly  flung  the  minority  of  the 
bipeds  to  an  immeasurable  distance ; 
they  were  as  brilliant  in  their  move- 
ments as  in  their  trappings ;  and  had 
Swift  been  alive,  he  must  have  exulted 
in  the  unquestionable  superiority  of 
his  hoofed  heroes  and  piulosophers. 
But  show  stirs  but  one  sense,  and  none 
is  more  easUy  £itigued  than  the  eye ; 
and  though,  as  the  wits  said,  the  pub- 
lic eye  was  thus  provided  with  a  pair 
of  spectacles,  it  soon  grew  tired,  and 
got  rid  of  them  both  accordingly. 

Sinclair's  return  from  Italy  was  an 
event.  All  the  professors,  a  numerous 
and  noisy  multitude,  and  all  the  ama- 
teurs, aliost  beyond  all  calculation, 
gathered  to  his  debut.  He  succeeded 
to  a  degree  by  no  means  anticipated, 
from  the  hints  of  travellers.  His  style 
is  of  the  bluest  finish,  various,  deli- 
cate, and,  to  our  ears,  original.  His 
command  of  the  scale  is  admirable, 
and  he  is  at  once  the  most  rapid,  and 
the  most  distinct  exhibitor  of  l^fiori 


ds  mtdtoa  that  has  appeared  amoi^ 
EiM^ish  singers.  His  voice  is  inferior 
to  ms  skilL  But  it  is  powerfril,  sweet, 
and  ductile.  It  wants  the  volume  of 
Braham's  tones,  but  it  has  the  modem 
elegance  which  has  been  the  diarm  of 
Rottini;  and  perhaps  in  grace  and 
spirit,  accuracy  and  force,  ne  is  not 
surpassed  by  any  singer  on  any  stage. 
But  his  fine  resources  have  not  hithor- 
to  been  employed  to  as  ''  fine  issues." 
The  Cabinet,  an  exhausted  opera, 
by  Braham,  and  adapted  exclusively 
to  the  style  of  a  smger,  certainly 
most  powerfrd  and  popular  in  his  day, 
was  the  only  one  supfdied  to  Sinclair  ; 
and  upon  its  re-exhaustion,  the  hero 
and  lover  was  disrobed  of  his  plumes 
and  silk  vestureh,  and  immersed  into 
die  costume  of  the  English  week-day- 
world  of  opera.  Romance  in  coat  and 
breeches  is  impossible ;  and  Sinclair's 
spirit  waits,  doubtless,  with  strong 
avidity  for  the  forthcoming  of  an  onera 
now  announced,  in  which  he  shall  fi- 
gure as  becomes  a  man  and  a  singer, 
m  feathers,  velvet  bonnets,  and  em- 
broidered pantaloons.  This  opera  is 
said  to  be  by  Horace  Twiss ;  but  that 
author  has  lately  abounded  so  much 
in  disclaimers  of  all  kinds,  fromA^W 
down  to  John  Bull,  that  the  dtsdo- 
sure  must  be  left  to  his  own  good  time. 
Yet  Uke  the  old  commentator  on  the 
poet — "  Horathtm  in  guihusdam  no- 
iim  interpretari." 

Maturin  has  at  length  broughtouthis 
novel  of  the  Albigenses,  four  volumes 
of  vigour,  extravagance,  absurdity,  md 
splendour.  The  heroes  are  norainaHy 
two  knights,  but  the  true  heroes  arc  a 
fitting  Popish  Bishop,  who  loves, 
harangu^,  days,  and  says  mass  with 
any  brilUant  hypocrite  and  horse^ri- 
der  of  his  century,  and  some  of  the 
pastors  and  leaders  of  the  French  Pro- 
testants. The  volumes  abound  in  pic- 
tures of  every  kind,  from  the  hone- 
boy  up  to  the  king,  and  fnm  the  ho- 
vel up  to  the  castle  and  the  palace; 
The  great  sufferers  in  all  great  nation- 
al commotion ;  the  opulent ;  die  high- 
born, and  the  high-placed,  are  abun- 
dantly  flung  to  and  fro  upon  the  wa- 
ters ;  princes  are  fugitive  ;  queens  are 
imprisoned;  and  beauties  that  rouse 
knighthood  fbr  leagues  and  provinces 
around,  are  alternately  in  pomp  and 
in  peril ;  in  the  hands  of  banditti,  and 
in  the  arms  of  lovdrs.  A  great  lord, 
who  is  a  prodigious  rogue  ;  such  was 
human  nature  in  other  times ;  and  an 


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old  womaii,  who  is  a  soroereny  a  ocm* 
sgmior,  apieaenrer»  and  a  perpetaal 
meddler ;  such  are  the  sins  tor  which 
the  maker  df  Meg  MerriHes  has  to  an* 
swer.  In  her  Dumerous  posterity  con- 
stitute the  princinal  personages  of  the 
black  art;  the  dan^ter  of  the  old 
Protestant  nastor,  is  the  diief  sufibrer, 
and  altogether  the  most  attractire  and 
romai^tic  diaracter  of  the  mnldtode. 
But  with  a  vast  quantity  of  the  ouird 
toiaaiiog,  and  monstrous  character, 
which  is,  I  fear,  ins^arahle  from  Ma- 
torin's  pen,  there  is  a  vast  Quantity  of 
richness,  varietv,  and  fbrdme  delinea* 
tion.  The  reader  may  often  wish  that 
this  author  had  known  the  rare  art 
''how  to  blot;"  but  he  will  seldom 
yawn,  and  he  will  never  fidl  asleep. 
It  is  ^tifying  to  say  that  this  last 
work  IS  also  the  best,  and  that  he  has 
now  given  evidence,  that  whatever 
course  his  talent  may  pursue  it  wiU 
scarcely  retrt^grade. 

Rouini,  H  Eroe,  .the  wonderful 
wonder  of  wonders,  the  Maximus 
Apolloof  Italy,  the  horror  of  Germany, 
tlMt  trembiea  for  the  fame  (^  Mozart : 
the  envy  of  France,  that  envies  every 
other  nation,  everything  unproducb> 
hie  in  Paris,  and  tfaiepurdiase  of  Eng^ 
lish  gold  that  purchases  everything, 
has  at  length  appeared  in  that  part  of 
the  world,  to  which  all  that  is  worth 
hearing,  seeing,  orjjossessinff,  is  borne 
as  naturally  as  grams  of  gdd  down  a 
Mexican  torrent 

The  first  nights  of  the  Opera,  of 
course,  hurried  every  one  who  was  not 
ahaolutely  bed-rid,  to  the  Haymarket. 
A  conflict  fatal  to  feathers  and  satin, 
was  maintained  outside  the  theatre, 
among  a  congeries  of  the  Mr  and  the 
musio-loving,  until  the  tardy  doors 
were  opened.  The  whole  tide  of  po- 
pulation then  poured  on,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment every  square  inch  of  the  nit 
''maintained  its  man"  or  woman.  Tne 
chief  anxiety  was  to  see  Rossini, — to 
delight  the  eye  with  the  physiognomy 
of  a  man  of  genius,  sung  tnrougn  every 
capital  and  viDage  of  Europe.  A  se- 
lect band  of  phrenologists  are  said  to 
have  occupied,  at  a  price  to  be  autho- 
rized only  by  scientific  zeal,  a  box  at 
the  back  of  his  head,  while  a  thousand 
pairs  of  the  brightest  eyes  in  Britain, 
wfire  levelled  point  blank  upon  ^e 
spot  where  the  supersubtle  face  of  this 
celebrated  Italian  was  to  flash  intoler- 
able mind.  After  all  this  takmg  up  of 
position;  while  the  rows  of  giasaes. 


directed  upon  the  orchestra,  resembled 
tiers  of  nunute  artillery,  a  grave-look- 
ing, obese,  andbkck-headed  man,  was 
seen  sitting  at  the  piano.  Whether  he 
dropped  from  the  air,  or  rose  from  the 
earth,  was  eoually  dubious,  and  the 
science  of  physiognomy  received  a 
blow  fh>m  wmch  it  cannot  possibly 
recover.  As  fyr  phrenology,  it  is  not 
to  be  overthrown  by  an  appeal  to  its 
understanding ;  and  the  pmessors  of 
that  m  vstery,  whose  own  skulls  would 
probably  be  among  the  most  curious 
studies  of  the  art,  "  Felices,  sua  si 
bona  narini,"  will  naturally  ffo  on  with 
theur  usual  profundity — "  oeeper  and 
deeper  still.'  Rossini's  countenance 
is  as  honest,  good-humoured,  and 
homespun  a  frontispiece,  as  ever  deco- 
rated an  English  farmer ;  his  hue  is 
SoHthron  enough,  his  fi«nire  substan- 
tial and  aldermanic,  and  bis  manner 
per&ctlv  in  proportion,  as  the  sctenti- 
nc  would  say. 

When  he  was  at  length  recognize^ 
plaudits,  many  and  strong,  were  pour- 
ed upon  him ;  but  the  orchestra  sud- 
denly gave  a  grand  discharge,  the  air 
was  torn  with  trumpet  and  trombone, 
and  all  the  panegyric  of  the  hands  was 
extinguished  in  a  moment. 

Zehnira,  the  opera  on  whose  wings 
the  composer  was  to  have  been  lift- 
ed to  ten-fold  fame,  wss  only  one 
among  the  myriad  instances  of  the 
folly  of  taking  advice  in  too  large  a 
dose.  For  the  mediocrity  of  the  in- 
finite multitude,  advice  is  as  neces- 
sary as  crutdies  are  to  a  cripple.  Bul^ 
to  the  man  of  genius  it  is  as  cum- 
brous as  the  same  crutdies  to  a  cAo- 
mois  hunter,  Rossini,  unouestionably 
a  roan  of  genius,  originsl,  as  genius 
always  is,  vivid  and  decided,  had  idly 
listened  to  the  critical  nonsense,  that 
told  him  he  ought  to  be  Rossini  no 
more ;  that  he  ought  to  divest  himself 
of  die  delicste,  bnlliant,  and  spiritual 
style,  which  had  made  him  tne  first 
fiivourite,  the  very  vizier  of  the  very 
seraglio  of  music.  In  Zelmira  he  ac- 
complished this  luckless  desertion  of 
himself,  and  this  opera  is,  and  shall  be, 
among  the  dreariest  toils  of  the  most 
ponderous  school  of  the  eountrymen 
of  Arminius.  If  the  //  Barbimre,  the 
//  Turco,  and  half  a  hundred  others, 
almost  give  the  idea  of  so  many  rivu- 
lets of  sweet  and  sparkling  harmony, 
perpetually  fresh,  bright,  salient,  and 
pure ;  the  Zelmhra  is  as  flat  and  stag- 
nant as  any  eel-feeding  waste  of  marsh 
water  and  dude  weed,  in  the  whole 


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CFttb. 


heredStarj  dominions  of  the  Emperor 
ofBeethoTen. 

Cdlmm^  the  pendant  to  Rossini^  and 
once  the  admired  of  all  Naples^  inclu- 
ding M.  Barhaglia,  made  her  debttt  id- 
most  at  the  same  moment  with  her  ce- 
lebrated husband.  This  singer^  a  few 
years  since  the  moat  distinp;ui8hed  in 
the  south  of  Europe,  and  mferior  to 
nothing,  south  or  north,  but  Catalani, 
tiiat  comet  which  has  been  blazing 
throi^h  all  countries  in  succession,  and 
in  them  all  throwing  a  disastrous  hue 
on  all  thehr  theatrical  luminaries,  is 
among  the  most  curious  instances  of  a 
sudden  decay  of  power.    Of  all  the  or- 

Sns,  the  voice,  delicate  as  it  is,  is  often 
e  most  reluctant  to  give  up  its  fine 
faculty.  Eye  and  ear  often  lose  their 
acuteness,  befbre  the  keenest  cc^o«- 
cetiH  can  detect  age  in  the  warUings 
of  a  prima  donna.  But  Colbran,  stul 
in  the  prime  of  life,  in  the  possession 
of  all  the  figure,  beauty,  and  expres- 
dve  feature  of  her  days  of  feme,  is  al- 
most voiceless.  She  can  still  sing ;  but 
she  sinffs  tremulously,  and  wiih  a  pal- 
pable dread  of  failure:  her  taste  re- 
mains ;  and  what  she  can  execute,  ^e 
executes  with  el^;anoe;  but  the  ease, 
the  grace,  and  the  sparkline  beauty  ci 
aong,  have  all  vanished,  ana  she  must, 
hencefortli,  be  listened  to  only  as  ^e 
wife  of  Rossini. 

The  theatrehasfallen  into  new  hands, 
and  the  interest  of  its  noble  committee 
will  probably  sxistain  it,  till  they  grow 
weary  after  the  manner  of  men  of  ten 
thousand  a-year,  and  upwards.  It  has 
been  cleaned ;  and  though  thestyle  of  its 
new  decoration  is  trivial,  and  destitute 
of  the  grandeur,  even  of  the  richness 
that  should  characterize  the  "  House  of 
Pleasure"  of  the  most  opulent  nobility 
of  Europe,  yet  cleanliness  is  a  charm 
so  long  denied  to  this  theatre,  that,  in 
its  presence,  all  deficiences  may  be  for- 
gotten for  the  time.  The  ballet  is  pret- 
ty, and  spiritedly  sustained  bv  a  troop 
of  the  most  romantic  names  that  even 
Paris  could  supply.  Idalises,  Sophro- 
nies,  Stephanies,  and  Sophonisbas,  do 
our  Celtic  and  Saxon  eyes  the  honour 
to  display  all  their  skill  before  them  ; 
and  we  are  enraptured,  as  becomes  the 
votaries  of  a  climate  remote  from  re- 
finement and  the  capital  of  all  the 
graces. 

Matthews,  the  pleasantest  of  all 
laughers  at  the  laughable  parts  and 
persons  of  society,  tluvatens  a  prodigi- 
ous influx  of  merriment  for  his  fortn- 


eoming  season^  His  American  tour 
must  have  shewn  human  nature,  to  his 
curious' eye,  in  colours  suffidenUy  new 
for  *'  excellent  mirth."  But  his  pic- 
tures will  be  far  from  assisting  those 
ungenerous  prgudices  which  have  bred 
ill  blood  between  the  mother  country 
and  the  daughter  country.  The  pecu- 
liarities of  me  fanatics,  that  burlesque 
religion  in  America ;  the  habits  of  Ufe 
in  tne  interior ;  the  style  of  narrative 
and  dialogue  among  the  haranguera 
in  steam-boats,  stages,  and  inns,  irill 
probably  make  up  the  laigest  portion 
of  his  humorous  gleanings  in  a  coun« 
try  in  which  he  almost  uniformly  met 
kindness  and  consideration. 

Everything  in  London  depends  up- 
on the  choice  of  season.  Irving,  flung 
up  into  vogue  by  the  extreme  idleness 
or  the  time  at  which  he  was  recooni- 
zed  among  the  cobwebs  and  grim  ]^y« 
siognomies  of  the  Caledonian  Chapd, 
would  have  been  unheard  of  but  for 
the  closing  of  Parliament,  the  theatres^ 
the  Law  Courts,  and  all  other  places de« 


trimental  to  preaching  and  puirii 
The  '^  intellectual  and  imaginative" 
world  would  never  have  hasurded  the 
abrasion  of  a  shinbone,  or  the  loss  of 
a  shoe,  in  the  crudii  of  cross  streets, 
but  for  the  fatal  abundance  of  time 
that  afiUcts  it  from  July  to  Novembor. 
The  return  of  "  something  to  do,"  has, 
therefore,  extinguished  the  orator ;  and 
the  humblest  record  of  the  wonders 
and  absurdities  of  this  mighty  metro- 
polis that  tempts  the  passers  by,  at  two- 
pence a  number,  would  now  aisdain  to 
allude  to  the  performances  of  the  Rev. 
E.  Irving.  Thurtell's  a£&ir  was  not 
less  prosperous  in  its  tempos.  From 
the  latter  end  of  February,  through 
the  merry  months  of  spring,  and  toe 
merrier  months  of  summer,  Thurtell 
would  have  been  tried  without  a  whis- 
per outside  the  walls  of  the  Court,  and 
hung  with  no  other  consideration  than 
that  which  the  Ordinary  and  the  Hang- 
man give  to  the  family  of  Cut-throats. 
It  is  to  be  told,  in  vindication  of  the 
monstrous  and  disgusting  interest  that 
gathered  round  this  villain  and  his  as- 
sociates, that  the  populace  had  nothing 
else  to  talk  of;  and  in  addition,  that 
the  newspapers  had  nothing  else  to 
publish.  All  was  tranquil  everywhere 
through  the  land.  Every  man,  from  In- 
verness to  Scilly,  was  eating  and  drink- 
ing, walking  and  sleeping,  more  majo* 
rum  ;  the  old /irift  of  tumult  was  bro- 
ken up ;  Cobbett  was  splitting  straw 


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1884.] 

for  bonnets :  Hunt  was  roasting  com 
fbr  coffee;  Manchester  cried  not  forth ; 
and  Sheffield  and  Birmingham  were 
hammering  away  with  eqt^  patience 
and  pleasantness;  in  shorty  the  news- 
papers, deprived  of  their  natural  nu- 
triment, were  like  mice  in  an  exhaust- 
ed reoeirer,  they  gasped,  and  must 
have,  in  nine  instances  out  of  ten, 
|;a8ped  their  last,  but  for  the  sudden 
intelligence  from  Hertfordshire. 

The  histories  a  thousandfold  of  the 
fii^tfbl  atrocity  itself,  the  added  his- 
tones  of  ev^ytbing  human,  bestial, 
inanimate,  tbiat  could  be  connected 
with  it ;  the  crowding  down  to  the 
trial;  the  visages  of  the  criminals  li- 
thographed in  all  directions  ;  the  shil- 
ling a-piece  for  a  peep  into  Gills-hill 
Cottage ;  the  sale  of  the  horse  and  gig ; 
the  sofa  and  the  supper*table  that  be- 
came sacred  to  this  insane  curiosity ; 
and  lastly,  the  exhibition  of  those 
moveables  at  the  suburb  theatres,  which 
exulted  in  dividing  those  reliques  of 
the  transaction ;  were  all  accountable 
in  the  same  way :  the  nevailing  famine 
of  public  sul^jects.  Vet  some  of  this 
interest  was  pushed  within  the  confines 
of  idiotism.  What  are  we  to  say  to 
the  foolery  that  bought  locks  of'^the 
murderer's  hair  for  fond  remembrance, 
to  the  tender  solicitations  for  his  snuff- 
box and  shoe-strings,  or,  last  and  great- 
est, to  the  purchase,  at  ten-times  its 
worth,  of  the  pistd,  rusted  with  blood? 
This  is  the  rabidness  of  a  curiosity  that 
deserves  the  cat-o'-nine-tails.  If  ever 
tiiere  was  a  murder,  merciless,  cold- 
blooded, and  brutal,  it  was  this  mur- 
der—if ever  there  was  a  villain  who 
deserved  to  be  expunged  from  the  earth 
as  a  disfi;raoe  and  horror  to  his  species, 
it  was  this  murderer ;  and  yet  it  was 
roond  this  savage  and  sanguinary  vil- 
lain that  those  foolish  affectations  of 
aenability  were  displayed.  No  Ian- 
gnage  can  be  too  strong  for  the  horror 
tt  tms  crime,  and  no  contempt  toobitter 
ibr  the  miserable  sympathy  tnat  attemp- 
ted to  turn  him  into  a  victim  or  a  hero. 

OUier,  the  author  of  '^  AUham  and 

his  Wjft,"  has  just  published  a  little 

vofame, ''  Inesilla  ;  a  tale  of  a  fiunQT 

haunted  by  a  spirit  that  revisits  eartn 
•M«»^  I'm,  <€  «...^«.  *!«««  :»  -^..^  " 


195 


in  "  sorrow  than  in  anger."— 
With  some  errors  and  some  singulari- 
ties, it  has  much  that  must  strOce  the 
public  eye;— charming  descriptions, 
eiqiresBive  pictnrings,  and  romantic 
paasioii.    But  g^iosts  and  their  ddngs, 


as  they  are  beyond  our  sphere,  are  al- 
most beyond  our  feelings.  Why  does 
he  not  write  of  human  motives  sod 
human  beings  ? 

The  theatres  teem  with  announce* 
ments.  A  new  farce,  a  new  opera,  and 
a  pair  of  tragedies,  are  among  the  rich- 
es of  Covent  Garden.    Mrs  Hemans' 
play  is,  besides,  to  be  refitted,  and  to 
nave  the  advantage  of  a  new  heroine. 
Miss  KeUy  ruined  her  part,  and  her 
own  theatrical  hope,  by  a  childish  imi« 
tation  of  the  worst  tones  of  Maaready. 
Without  his  spirit,  she  ad<^ited  ms 
manner,  audunfortunatel^  turned  what 
might  have  been  nature  m  his  perfor* 
mance,  into  what  vras  caricature  in 
hers.    She  has  talents ;  and  by  cast- 
ing off  this  dangerous  predilection,  she 
may  be  enabled  to  return  to  the  Lon« 
don  stage ; — ^but  she  must  exert  much 
diligence,  and  be  satisfied  to  devote 
much  time.    Yet  Mrs  Hemans'  tra-* 
gedy  failed,  from  its  intrinsic  unfit- 
ness for  the  stage.    With  many  passa* 
ges  of  poetical  beauty,  and  some  cha- 
racters of  considerable  force,  theacoom- 
plished  writer  forgot,  that,  in  a  play, 
double  interest  is  weaker  than  a  sin^ 
one ;  that  the  plot  is  more  wisely  con- 
tinued to  the  eDd  of  the  fifth  act,  than 
exhausted  and  extinguished  in  the 
third;  and  that,  after  seeing  the  fall  of 
a  tyranny,  and  die  restoration  of  a  peo- 
ple, noeye  or  ear  could  linger  with  com- 
placency over  two  whole  fingering  acta 
of  lovers'  sorrows,  recondliatbns,  vitu- 
perations, and  ''  last  dying"  speeehea. 
Vet  its  failure  should  not  be  lodced  on 
as  derogatOTv  to  her  poetic  name.   It  is 
only  one  of  tne  oountlefls  instances,  that 
tragedy  is  an  exdnaive  field.    In  the 
whole  range  of  the  drama,  we  have  no 
instance  of^permaneni  tragedy  written 
by  a  female.    A  woman's  mind  has  its 
province;  grace,  deUcate  expression, 
refined  taste,  and  romantic  elegance, 
are  its  legitimate  dominion.    But  it 
palpi^lv  wants  the  creative  pow^,  the 
strnigtn  of  grai^,  and  the  bold  and  vi- 
gorous insight  into  character,  that  are  to 
be  found  in  the  labours  of  man's  mind. 
Thii  Mrs  Hemans,  with  her  facul- 
ty of  poetic  language,  and  her  striking 
conceptions  of  life,  may  yet  write  a 
tragedy  that  shall  succeed  to  a  certain 
extent,  I  have  no  doubt  But  reasons, 
drawn  alike  fi-om  all  experience  and 
firom  nature,  make  it  improbable,  that 
a  great,  endsaring  tngedy,  will  ever  be 
the  woric  of  woman. 


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CFeb. 


Miss  Lee,  wboee  Cantirbury  me 
Lord  Byron  degraded  into  Werner, 
has  made  a  tragedy  upon  it  for  her  own 
behoof  and  honour.  It  will  probably 
defeat  her  purpoaes  in  both.  Lord 
Byron  is  obrioasly  barren  of  all  dra- 
matic power,  and  has  probably  at 
length  discovered  that  he  must  write 
tragedy  nomore.  But  to  take  up  the  very 
su^ect  of  which  he  had  wearied  tlie 
world— to  suppose  that  any  audience 
will, bear  die  twice-told  tale  of  German 
extravagance,  is  to  expect  what  no  Bri- 
tish audience  vdil  realize.  Nothing 
less  than  the  total  remodelUng  of  the 
story,  splendid  versification,  and  the 
whole  ingenuity  of  dramatic  adapta* 
tion,  could  make  it  tolerable.  Whe- 
ther Miss  Lee  possesses  those  powers 
and  opportiinities,  must  be  left  to  time 

The  new  British  Mttseum  is  already 
rising  from  the  ground.  It  will  be  a  su- 
perb bnflding.  Four  ddes  enclosing  a 
eouTt-^tbe  style  Gredan,  and  die  ar- 
diitect  Sroir»,  a  man  of  talent  and 
knovdedge.  Thrfixa^  oliject  is  to  find 
a  place  for  the  King's  donation  of  th<$ 
Boyal  Library/— a  donation  which 
awoke  the  high  displeasure  of  that 
rinf(leU'brow€d  and  loug-winded  pa- 
triot, Lord  EUenbovough.  By  such 
exploits,  do  small  men  work  their  way 
into  popular  talk.  The  other  sides  ore 
^  be  occupied  with  the  new  National 
Picture  OaUcryy  a  grand  deMeratwn 
to  the  arts  and  honours  of  England. 
Here,  too,  the  King  is  to  be  the  first 
oontributor,  and  the  liberality  and  pub- 
lic spirit  of  ous  c^ulent  cognoecenti  win 
not  be  riow  to  second  his  patronage. 
A  single  pictore  firom  each  distingni«i- 
ed  oouection  in  Endand,  would  mdce 
a  gallery  unrivalled  by  all  but  the  To- 
iican*  If  a  national  gallery  hod  been 
eatoUished  by  the  first  Charles,  the 
Royal  Collection  would  not  have  been 
seized  and  scattered  to  make  the  wealth 
of  every  collection  in  Europe.  Rebel- 
lion would  have  spared  what  had  be- 
come national  property ;  and  England 
would  have  had  tnree-fourths  of  the 
chefs  ^eeuvre  of  the  world,  to  stir  up 
the  emulation  of  our  artists,  during 
the  last  two  centuries. 

The  Library  of  the  British  Mu- 
seum is  stOl  unworthy  of  the  literary 
rank  of  the  country.  WiUi  even  ihe 
oddidon  of  the  King's,  it  will  scarcely 
amount  to  800,000  printed  books,  but 
one  half  the  number  of  the  Ridilien 


Library.  But  the  sulject  is  at  length 
before  the  nadonol  eye.  The  value  of ' 
the  first  place  in  literature  is  felt.  The 
literary  spirit  is  spreading  hourly 
through  the  people;  and  with  the 
manliness,  the  common  sense,  and  the 
natural  ability  of  the  English  mind, 
nothing  more  is  necessary  than  to 
point  out  where  defect  exists,  to  see  it 
suddenly  compensated  by  a  vigorous 
efibrt  towards  perfection. 

Sir  William  Hillary's  pamplilet  on 
the  means  ^  preserving  lives  fi'om 
Mpwreck,  has  met  with  some  atten- 
don  here.  But  the  pamphlet  will  pe- 
rish like  its  objects,  if  the  benevolent 
writer  shall  limit  himself  to  pam- 
phleteering. In  the  first  place,  not  one 
in  ten  thousand  of  the  proper  readers 
vdll  ever  see  his  book ;  and,  in  the 
next,  not  the  tenth  part  of  those  but 
will  find  their  minds  so  crowded  with 
ingots  and  invoices,  parliamentary 
quarrels,  and  the  last  news  fVom  Ja- 
maica, as  to  be  incapable  of  finding 
room  for  a  recoUecdon  of  Sir  William 
in  ten  minutes  after  having  laid  down 
his  pages.  Let  this  well-meaning  and 
humane  man  add  a  little  city  exertion 
to  his  remote  and  sea-shore  philan- 
diropy,— let  him  come  up  to  town, 
put  advertisements  in  the  pipers,  call- 
mg  a  meeting  at  some  dty  tavern,  un- 
lera,  f^  the  sake  of  sympathy^  he 
should  prefer  a  tavern  in  the  Strand — 
ofi^  a  set  <^  intelligible  resdudons, 
and  boldly  demand  a  committee  and  a 
subscription.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
of  his  success,  sooner  or  later,  and  the 
psere  attempt  would  go  farther  to  im- 
press the  subject  on  the  public  mind, 
than  as  many  pamphlets  as  would  pla- 
card the  Breiakwater  to  its  utmost 
profundity.  When  Owen,  that  most 
portentoiis  of  all  broachers  of  absurd- 
ities, succeecfed  to  cather  not  merely 
an  audience,'  but  the  money  of  that 
audience,  a  man  of  sense,  labouring  for 
an  incontesdMy  useful  and  pubfic  pur- 
pose, cannot  fail. 


Phiianderin^,  the  new  opera  at 
Drury  Lane,  is  rapidly  going  to  tftrat 
bourne  from  which  no  operas  return. 
This  compilation  of  die  architecfural 
irnpfover  of  the  Theatre,  was  cx^ 
pected  to  have  done  as  mactt  for  Ihe 
mtdlectual  honour  of  die  establisii* 
ment,  as  the  brushes  and  hammers  of 
the  ingenious  ardiitect  hfd  done  for 


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tmri  LtmdtmOddUkgMd 

ili  lyifcimioe.  Bot  the  dnumtic 
anit^^  thdog^  not  the  katt  naked  d£ 
tbe  nine,  is  infinitely  the  motC  w, 
and,  in  the  present  instance^  she  fiirty 
repobed  her  sultor^-^leTer,  Tery  clever 
man  though  he  be.  The  opera,  found- 
ed as  it  was  on  the  douole  prop  of 
Les  deux  FhUiberts  and  Joconde — the 
former  a  pdpidar  firrourite,  and  the 
latter  the  very  idol  of  the  Freaeh 
world  of  tast^  Ugh  living^  and  the 
pri?atebGaLea*-alti^ether  fitiled  in  the 
easiest  attribntes  of  oomic  opera.  Poor 
paifB  of  hnre^  oonld  not  mdce  it  be 
loved.  Liston^  em  betm^  faia  favourite 
fghthitionj  was  allowed  to  lau^  by 
hisfts^^  and  asfbr  Vestns,  Dowtoo, 
and  id  gemu  bmne,  thchr  were,  I  pre* 
aume,  very  well  paid  for  what  they 
did  ;  and  tether  the  deponents  said 
not.  £ven  Miss  Stephens,  the  Ste- 
phens, Magged  so  diaaitroasly,  Uiat  she 
Im,  ftom  ithe  first  nigh^  altered  her 
«)efcikdB  itsohstioB  of  single  bksaed* 
JMaa^  and  taken  to  thertebts  of  mttri* 
ittony»    ^le  la  a  charalung  1^1 1 

The  C&oemi  Oardeii  panteraime  has 
skyed  Drurr  I^ne,  with  all  its  mon^ 
kery,  out  of  the  field.  It  is  the^ 
fljsi  ai^rs  oC  traps  and  transfbrmations. 
Th^  living  exhiUtoray  who  undergo 
ikdr  anmiai  bnusoigs  and  disloeii* 
tlona  Cor  ^  pleasure  aad  benefit  of 
John  Bull,  &te  sltogether  cxtingoiBh- 
cd  in  the  pessMCP  and  oonounion  of 
those  maaaes  of  madikiery  fhat  make 
dsies,  pavilions,  pabice%  riversilsbnda, 
aad  oceans,  at  the  magie  of  Harle- 
quin's wand.  But  the  glory  of  tbe 
pantomime  rests,  Hke  that  of  the  opm 
just  oommemomted,  upon  two  main 
proiiB,  a  Skating SeenetLi^ihePaewafi 
to  Paris  by  Gat,  St  James's  Park, 
dothed  in  sll  the  hosrineas  of  winter, 
■preada  before  theisisnishfid  galleries. 
Vhe  atage^  as  fo  as  telescope  can 
piaroe,  is  a  sheet  of  ioa,  and  a  popular 
tamefakatera.  I^uekily  te  the  firtea 
«f  diis  scene,  the^otoi^  skate  had  been 
invenledinthecBaraerof  theyear.  It 
ls>  a  irinple,  but  certaiixly  a  Tory 
aompiele  and  iigenioua  mvention; 
hiilisiWih  eMmate  ia  set  at  nought, 
and  all  the  ehanm  of  diding  on 
te  ice  ia  to  be  enjoyed  without 
the  frosting  of  a  wiii^v.  Wo  ahall, 
hdbre  anouar  nwttth,  hear  ai  skating 
matflhea  under  the  tropios,  and  of  ^- 
^Mre«  of  eight  cut  by  tne  Autecrst  of 
tha-AiteBlees.  33^  jmieni  ekaie  aW 
Iowa  af  an  the  flMMMfeuvsea  whidi  iMwe 
given  celebrity  to  tbe  most  illustrious 
among  skatcn :  and  that  consummate 

Vou  XV. 


OHT&ier.    JITo.^. 


tfh 


oraof  impr^vemeBtlb  ^AAAi  ^  f ridi 
Nimrod  eifecidd  to  go  biMing  tfpto 
hli  own  tea-bet Ae^  is  worthily  co»n« 
menced  by  the  exptok  of  8kati%  by 
one's  own  fire-elde« 

The  Voyage  a  fait  to  PsHs  is  an 
ascetit  in  a  batkkm  from  Tauithidl. 
As  it  amounts  to  the  same  U^n^^h^ 
ther  we  rise  firom  the  earth,  0^  the 
earth  alnks  Irom  us,  themschiidsthaft 
chosen,  fos  reasons  best  known  tohim« 
self,  the  latter  mode^  Tbis^'lfrd^ 
teensuf  then  proceeds  with  matcMesfei 
gravUif.  Trees,  houses^  dinrcheS)  ye^ 
the  great  city  itself,  "  like  an  unsul^ 
stantial  pageant,  dtaaolve,"  and  the 
srooauta,  lutcr  soanng  through  twi- 
ligfhts,  moonhgfats,  and  ckmd,  deaoend 
to  the  dumtsaf  all  FanB>  and  l&e  ivon* 
derofthewotld^ 

The  West  India  interests  are  pre* 
paringfor  a  fierce  eampaign  in  Parlia^ 
ment.  Willerfinree,  bowed  down  with 
years,  and  pvobd^  weai^  by  the  pe- 
rils whldi  hiaowA  rashneas  and  thb 
worldly  ambttliMl  e^  bto  pan^  have  ga« 
theved  round  hia  oause,  fias  long  con^ 
temi^ated  ihete^l^tSitltMt  of  die  thronO 
af  Sain^thvp;.  Tbe  Butterworths,  Bxatm 
tons,  and  ttie  rest  of  tbos^  opulent  and 
bustling  cotMAnmers  of  the  AoA  things 
of  this  world  with  those  dr  the  next, 
y$iil  baveiomo  tit>€d>le  about  settlmg 
the  succssdon.  Yet  one  thine  is  de- 
eded ;  old  Wilberforee^  Ifte  oM  Crib, 
is  to  retire  ftam  the' ring;,  but  tbe  party 
are  atill  to  awear  1^  hin^,— no  olber 
bead  is  nominally  to  supfdy  th^  ftece 
of  thia  dexterous  and  ancient  saint; 
he  is  still  to  be  permitted  to  give  bid- 
lowed  bi^eakfksts^  and  to  wecj>  at  a  pub-* 
lie  dinner.  But  Buxton,  whose  brew-* 
cr^ij^unfbrtunately  unfits  him  fbr  fhe 
avowed  lead  among  the  cbuncil  of  the 
Saints,  as  it  did  Wfaitbread  for  a  seat 
in  the  cabinet  of  the  Whigs — pretty 
nearly  as  much  Saints  as  the  proud 
noeaessors  of  the  title — ^will,  in  au  lik^ 
Hhood,  harai^e  himself  m  to  the  pub-i 
Me  belief  of  his  bdng  the  depository 
of  the  sceptre.  I  am  rick  of  these 
tilings,  and  men.  To  see  intrigue, 
worldlinesB,  heartlessness,  and  the 
spMt  of  money-getting,  in  all  its  ob- 
scure and  cr<x>ked  ways,  mingling 
with  a  cause  that  inscribt^  upon  its 
bannen,  philanthropy,  honour,  and 
Khglon,  IS  to  me  amon^  the  most 
edieiis  of  all  the  repumve  sights 
of  society.  Nothing  can  be  clearer 
than  ihat  the  Weet  Indies  is  a  subiect 
above  their  handling, — that  their 
crude,  insolent,  and  ignorant  msa« 

Digfze^byLjOOgle 


1^ 


I^at^dm  OsUmeiand  OuOkM.    No.  T. 


CFi*. 


4UEe9  can  have  no  other  resitlt  than 
niin  bodi  to  the  white  and  the  hlack 
population ;  vet  will  these  men  rush 
on^  and  for  the  sake  of  some 


ambition  hazard  the  massacre  of  their 
countrymen.  If  they  do  not  foresee 
these  oonse^uences,  they  are  hlind^  and 
io  be  treated  with  the  contraapt  due  to 
impudent  imbecility  >  if  they  do,  the 
fioonac  they  are  unmasked  of  their 
jnintship  the  better.  All  men  desire 
to  see  a  fVee  and  civilized  population 
in  the  colonies,  but  freedom  to  barba- 
rians is  only  a  privilege  to  ravage  and 
murder. 

The  Westmuuter  Review  is  hence* 
forth  to  be  called  the  AntediUiman  Re" 
Sfiem  Its  former  titles  (^  the  Benthos 
mite  and  the  Radical,  have  sunk  away 
into  this  matchlessly  appropriate  coff'' 
nomen.  Its  readers  were,  it  must  be 
awned,  at  first  rather  surprised  at  the 
obsoleteness  of  the  several  topics.  But 
the  secret  has  at  length  be^  sufiered 
io  transpire.  As  the  purpose  of  the 
work  is  reform  in  all  its  bnmches^ 
church  and  stat^  books  and  mankind ; 
and  as  no  ref(Mrm  ia  worth  a  straw 
which  does  not  begin  at  the  roo^  the 
Antediluvian  Review  has  determined 
to  begin  at  the  beginning ;  hot  cau- 
tiously, and  so  as  not  to  set  the  laugh- 
ers apinst  it  all  at  once.  Aeoordingly 
the  first  Number  hss  treated  of  no 
sulject  much  beyond  fifty  years  of 
age ;  and  has  lucubrated  on  the  Ad* 
Uon  Qjuestumy  PubUc  Education,  Mai" 
thus,  and  the  **Jirst  Numbers  of  ike 
Edinburgh  and  Quarterlt^  Reviews" 
This  is  ^  as  it  should  be..  The  pre- 
sent century  is.  fairly  excluded,  and 
that  is  enough  for  a  first  Number. 
But  the  second  is  to  be  more  antique, 
and  fearless ;  and  to  contain  articles 
on  the  character  of  Marlborontgh  /  on 
the  Revolution  of  1688 ;  and>  as  a  lit- 
tle additional-developementy  a  detail  of 
the  War  of  the  Roses*  The  work  is 
then  to  be  considered  as  having  fairly 
declared  itself,  and  it  is  thenceforth  to 
wanton  in  the  wilderness  of  the  dark 
ages,  to  give  a  train  of  disserUtlons  on 
the  discovery  of«the  pandects;  the 
Bulls  of  Innocent  III. ;  the  controvert 
ay  of  Duns  Scohis  ;  the  private  oorre- 
spondence  and  familiar  i^oso^iy  of 
St  Dominic  ;  the  fall  of  the  Gnostics; 
the  rise  o£  uke  AriHotelianey  &o.  How 
much  farther  this  radical  retrogression 


may  go,  or  whether,  Hke  Nq^une's 
horses  in  the  Iliad,  the  third  bound 
may  not  exhaust  the. universe,  must 
still  be  kft  in  that  curious  repository 
of  the  undiscovered  and  the  unintelli- 
gible, the  breast  of  Joemy  Bentham. 

Among  the  curious  theatrical  revi- 
vals of  the  day  is  that  of  Colman's  last 
comedy,  John  Bull.  It  was  first  per- 
formed twenty  years  ago,  and  was  sig- 
nally popular.  It  is  remarkable  now, 
as  almost  the  only  suceessfiil  reviral 
of  those  comedies  which  once  carried 
die  critics  with  them  resistlessly.  The 
present  revival  is  in  some  degree  an 
evidence  ai  the  return  of  public  feel- 
ings to  the  healthy  tone  of  better 
times.  The  comedy  was  no  doubt 
bom  amid  times  troubled  enough,  but 
its  novelty  was  then  the  charm.  The 
novelty  has  now  given  way  to  its 
powerful  delineation  of  the  English 
diaracter,  in  its  original  and  best  as- 
pects, its  manly  femi^,  its  ui^reau- 
ming.  independence,  and  its  untaught 
generosity. 

Faw^ett's  Job  7%>mherry  is  as  fine 
a  perfnmanoe,  and  almost  as  tragic  a 
one,  as  any  picture  of  passion  on  the 
stas^  The  contrast  to  this,  in  the 
fiuhionable  fop,  Skuffleton,  heartless, 
gay,  akrt,  and  read^  to  cironmv^t 
every  being  mthin  his  readi,  is  vivid- 
ly conceived ;  and  it  is  but  justice  to 
its  actor  to  say,  that  it  was  as  vividly 
performed.  The  lightness,  dexterity, 
and  perpetual  animation  of  Jones,  are  ^ 
incomparable.  Always  pushing  the 
humour  of  his  character  to  its  highest 
point ;  he  is  remarkable  fin*  the  chaste- 
ness  of  his  delineation ;  the  diaracter 
never  toudies  upon  the  grotesaue; 
the  modesty  of  nature  is  always  kept 
in  view;  and  the  highest  comic  de- 
light is  unalloyed  by  false  taste,  fee- 
bleness, or  afieetation.  The  neculiar 
distinctness  of  his  delivery  would  make 
him,  I  think,  one  of  the  moat  effso- 
tive  and  successful  teadiers  of  enmn- 
datioo,  bmphins,  &e*,  to  our  public 
spei^evs,  pulittt  or  parliamentary^* 
This  assistance  has  been  often  giv«n 
by  adors,  Garrick,  ^  late  ceMHratod 
Kemble,  and  a  crowd  of  others.  Some* 
thing  of  the  kind,  generally  adimtad 
by  our  public  men,  in^uld  relieve  teem 
of  an  infinity  of  that  airicwanlmeB 
which  disfig^ires  the  best  effixta  of 
English  oratory. 


*  We  beUeve  that  tbis  acoomphshed  performer  does  aetually  giva  priwrte  lectaiesia 
elocution  and  dedainaUon.    No  one  could  be  more  adequate  to  the  duty*     C*  N. 


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1894.J  VukMtoikeHaram,  199 

VISITS  TO  THE  UABAM^  BY  MEERZA  AHMED  TUBKEB. 

«  TVatulated from  ike  Persian. 

My  dbab  Ebony, 

In  sending  the  ftocoiiipan3ring  translation,  I  think  it  may  be  as  weH 
to  give  you  some  aceoant  of  the  Author  from  whose  works  it  is  taken. 

Meeria  Ahmed  Tubeeb  was  for  many  years  physician  to  Aga  Ma- 
hommcd  Khan,  the  late  King  of  Persia ;  and  in  all  the  struggles  for  the 
throne  in  which  that  adventurous  prince  was  engaged,  the  faithful 
Meerza  followed  the  fortunes  of  his  master,  and,  if  report  speaks  truly, 
wielded  the  sword  as  dexterously  as  he  does  tlie  lancet. 

When  Aga  Mahonuned  Khaa  was  murdered  at  Kara  Baugh,  by  a 
meaial,  whom  he  had  threatened  to  nut  to  death,  the  Meerza  aUached 
liimself  to  the  heir-apparent,  Baba  Knan,  now  Futty  Allee  Shah,  King 
ofPersia. 

The  Meerza  has  long  been  accounted  the  most  skilful  physician  of 
his  time ;  but  being  now  weakened  by  age  and  infirmities,  which  even 
his  consummate  skill  could  not  avert — ^he  amuses  himself  b^  writing 
anecdotes  of  the  days  of  his  youth,  and  has  furnished  matenals  for  a 
history  &i  his  own  time,  which  may  prove  valuable  to  future  historians. 
fiot  he  takes  even  graiter  pleasure  in  reoountine  the  wonderftil  cures 
he  has  eflfeeted,  especiailv  in  the  Royal  Haram,  where,  (or  many  years, 
he  has  practised  with  indisputed  authority. 

Some  ill-natured  people  nave  said  that  ne  chooses  the  Haram  for  the 
scene  of  all  his  miraculous  exertions  of  professional  talent,  because  no 
one  having  access  to  it  but  himself,  or  at  least,  no  one  learned  in  physic, 
his  statements  must  on  that  account  be  incontrovertible.  But  as  this 
is  said  chiefly  amongst  his  rival  brethren,  we  may,  I  think,  (from  what 
we  know  d  the  profession,)  without  judging  too  harshly  of  them,  set 
dowB  some  of  thw  doubts  to  the  score  of  ignoranoe,  and  all  their  insi- 
nuations to  raalioe. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  Meerza  has  given  us  some  curious  enough  acs 
counts  of  what  he  has  seen  and  felt  in  the  forbidden  place.  I  take  a  spe- 
cimen  from  the  commencement  of  his  book,  from  which  you  will  be  able 
to  form  some  idea  of  its  cliaracter,  and  also,  perhaps,  acquire  some  infor- 
mation regarding  the  state  of  domestic  aflfairs  in  Persia. 

Yours  ever, 

Z. 

VISIT  FIRST. 

Ik  ftge  ninA,  I  ted  the  fdlowing  pations,  and  had  ever  preserved  a  doe 

aecmtnt  of  the  Meena's  fint  visit  to  contempt  fbr  women.  I  may  here  ob* 

the  Undsroon,  (inner  apartments.)  serve,  that  even  in  my  youth,  no  wo- 

-  My  late  master  having  had  no  Ha-  man  ever  shared  my  councils,  or  gota 

lam,  which  indeed  ooola  have  been  of  secret  from  me,  excepting  one.  I  was 

mo  use  to  him,  as  well  firom  the  mis-  then  very  young,  and  I  paid  dearly 

tetone  which  befrl  him  in  his  youth,  for  my  indiscretion,  for  I  did  not  get 

as  ftom  his  being  continBally  engaged  what  i  wanted,  after  all,  and  more- 

in  wars,  which  left  him  no  time  to  over,  I  got  the  bastinadoe  from  my 

devote  to  fkmnn,  I  fdt  rather  un-  late  master ;  may  God  receive  him 

happy  at  the  piospeet  of  having  to  at-  into  paradise! 
tend  so  many  women,  as  my  lord,  dto        I  confess,  however,  that  I  had  mncb 

King  of  Kiim,  and  Shadow  of  God,  cariosity  to  see  how  a  king  managed 

had  collected  in  his  Serai — and  this  his  women,  from  which  I  hoped  Co 

gnre  me  the  more  concern,  as  I  had  mt  tome  xueM,  bints,  and  was  alqo 

ahm^beeneaiyhyfedittHMinlyoocu-  denrous  to  judge  fbr  mysdf,  whether 


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FsMki^tkiamrttm^ 


UFA 


tliey  vrere  reiaiy  «o  beantiftil  as  they 
were  reported  to  he. 

Having  xnade  up  my  mind  as  to  the 
necessity  of  obeying  me  order  of  hia 
tnajwij,  that  I  should  attend  his  wo- 
men, (and  God  forbid  that  I  should 
fail  to  obey  his  order>  even  if  it  ex- 
tended to  my  life,)  I  waited  with 
some  iropatienee,  at  the  same  time 
not  without  some  fear^  until  I  should 
.be  called  to  the  Haram. 

I  had  not  long  to  wait,  fbr  early  one 
morning,  just  as  I  had  finished  my 
morning  prayer,  and  was  anointing  my 
beard,  and  lamenting  orer  its  increa- 
sing greyneis,  I  beard  a  strange  shrill 
voice  screecMog  to  my  servants  that  I 
was  wanted.  6n  looking  from  the  win- 
dow of  my  apartment^  which  opened  in- 
to the  inner  court  of  my  house,  where 
no  man  had  any  right  to  be ;  and  while 
I  was  preparing  myself  to  be  in  a  great 
nge  at  tne  intruder,  I  saw  a  large 
negro,  whom,  from  his  voioe  and  ap« 
petrance,  I  instantly  knew  to  be  one 
of  the  BuBuchsr  I  spot  up  and  itceived 
him  courteously,  wr  the  Eunuchs  of 
the  royal  household  are  not  to  be 
lighted  with  impunity ;  and  my  late 
master  had  taught  the  world,  that  an 
FiUBueh  was  not  to  be  despised* 

The  negro  perceiving  wnere  I  was, 
came  close  up  to  the  wmdow,  and  told 
me  to  make  all  haste,  as  one  of  the 
women  was  ilL  I  thought  it  best  to 
begin  well  with  them,  and  I  accord- 
io^y  continued  to  anoint  my  beard, 
tening  the  u^q  with  an  air  of  digni- 
fied indifference  and  composure,  that 
I  should  follow  him  presently ;  for  I 
had  by  this  time  discovered  that  he 
was  not  a  person  of  any  rank  or  im- 
portance. He  was  just  turning  to  go, 
when  another  voice,  still  more  lender, 
was  heard  asking  what  had  come  of 
the  doctor.  The  person  who  made 
this  noise  soon  presented  himself.  He 
was  a  tail  slender  Geoi;gian  Eunuch, 
much  younger  than  the  other,  and 
ipuch  more  nimble  in  his  movements 
He  came  rapidly  up  to  where  I  was 
seated,  conversing  with  the  n^o,  and 
having  delivered  his  message  to  me, 
demanded  of  the  other  what  he  h»d 
been  about  so  long  a  time  as  he  had 
been  absent.  This  attack  was  repelled 
manfully,  and  they  set  up  such  a 
squeaking  jabber,  as  two  old  women 
could  scarcely  have  equalled.  From 
this  I  perceived  that  they  were  of  the 
same  rank,  and  I  knew  how  ta  address 
the  Georgian.    But  all  my  efforts  to 


stop  their  toognes  were  unaTaiHnff.  I 
at  last  got  up  and  tdd  them  to  lead 
the  way,  that  I  should  follow.  Ther 
then  moved  off,  squslling  and  scal^ 
ing  till  they  got  into  the  street. 

Having  pajned  the  goard-rooms  and 
oome  to  Uie  inner  gate  of  the  Serai, 
my  guides  ran  into  the  court  before 
me,  making  a  horrible  noise  with  their 
slaill  voices,  desiring  the  women  to 
retreat  into  their  apartments.  I  re- 
mained outside  for  a  minute  or  two, 
and  when  I  thought  sufficient  time 
had  been  allowed,  I  entered.  My  fbot 
was  scarcely  inside  tiie  curtain  which 
covered  the  wicket  of  the  gate,  when 
I  was  surrounded  by  a  host  of  Eu- 
nuchs, who  endeavoured  to  force  me 
out  again.  They  all  spoke  at  once,  and 
mi  spoke  so  loud,  that  I  could  not 
comprehend  what  they  wanted,  till 
looking  into  the  squ^ffe^  I  saw  about 
a  hundred  women  scampering  in  dif* 
ferent  directions ;  same  without  their 
veils,  some  even  none  unsovered,  a& 
of  them  making  a  great  n(4m,  and  all 
peeping  at  me  from  behind  their  veiif, 
or  from  behind  one  another,  or  be- 
tween their  fingers.  Many  Eunuchs 
and  old  women  were  at  the  same  time 
empbyed  in  pushing  or  dragging  them 
along  to  their  respective  apartments, 
and  in  shutting  the  doors  and  windows 
to  prevent  their  being  seen.  When 
they  were  all  boused,  I  wasledbyone 
side  of  the  square  to  the  habitation  of 
the  invalid  who  was  to  become  my 
patient. 

As  I  moved  along,  everv  door  was 
opened  the  moment  I  had  passed  it, 
and  three  or  four  heads,  old  and  young 
together,  were  thrust  out  to  see  the 
Hakeem,  (doctor,)  for  my  fame  was 
even  there  great,  and  they  had  heard 
of  me,  though  few  of  them  had  seen 
me  till  now.  When  I  had  passed  se- 
veral doors  in  this  way,  some  of  the 
most  distant  ventured  to  sund  beyond 
the  threshold,  (so  great  was  theird^siro 
to  look  upon  me,)  but  they  were  im- 
mediately pushed  and  driven  in  agun 
by  the  Eunuchs.  All  this  sur|insed 
me,  fbr  I  had  never  seen  woman  m 
oondttct  theMsdves  in  private  fiuni- 
lies,  nor  even  in  tiie  Harams  of  nobles  ; 
but  I  reflected  that  these  ware  tiie 
Kinflfs  women,  and  weie-Uier^eve  en- 
titbd  to  do  as  they  pleased.  Walking 
slowly,  and  with  bcK^ming  dignity,  I 
reached  the  dwelling  of  the  sick  lady. 
She  was  a  person  of  rank  by  birth,  and 
hid  many  vonen  skvoi  to  attend  1^ 


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cm  bar;  but  th«y  hacl  bcton  m%  tht 
•dior  end  of  the  oo«rt  when  I  enter* 
edy  and  in  the  oonfbsion  had  been 
thrust  into  the  apartmenta  nearest  to 
where  they  stood. 

I  enticed  the  boBie,  and  was  reeel- 
yed  br  an  £anndi,  who  was  in  special 
atten<Iance  on  this  lady,  and  had  in*> 
deed  been  presented  to  her  a  short 
time  befone  by  the  King.  He  was 
used  to  see  doctors,  particularly  my- 
self, who  had  attend»l  in  the  tamily 
in  which  he  was  brought  up.  He  ac^ 
eerdingly  arose  when  I  entered,  and 
requested  me  to  sit  down,  and  take  a 
cupof  coflfeeaiid  a  kaleoon.  I  did  as 
he  bid  me,  and  when  I  had  taken  one 
bdeooa  only,  I  got  up,  and  excusing 
myself  on  acooont  of  the  nature  of  my 
bnsinets,  which  admitted  of  no  delay, 
veqttested  pennisslon  to  see  my  pa* 
tient  The  Eenuph,  not  knowing  that 
the  women  riayes  were  all  out,  told 
me  that  the  lady  was  in  her  room,  and 
left  me  to  find  my  way  thither. 

I  wept  to  her  room  ak>ne-— she  was 
Iving  upon  a  bed  asleep — her  bed- 
ao^es  were  as  white  aa  snow.  The 
large  pillow,  whidi  supported  her 
head  and  shoulders,  was  of  scarlet 
brocade,  the  beautiful  cokmr  ci  which 
was  mellowed  by  the  coTcring  of  thin 
wlute  nimsUn,  which  ky  over  it  She 
had  that  morning  been  at  the  bath, 
sod  her  long,  bJaok,  silky  hair,  yet 
scarcely  dry,  rolled  down  in  rich  clus- 
tering toldB  upon  the  bed-dothes.  The 
morning  was  warm,  and  therefore, 
perhaps,  it  was  that  die  sheet  had  been 
pushra  down  so  as  to  uncover  her  bo- 
som. Har  left  hand  still  holding  her 
thin  crape  chemise,  which  she  had 
been  too  drowsy  to  put  on,  lay  under 
h/a  bead.  Her  right  arm,  fair^  round, 
and  fully  was  stretched  ovor  the  dark 
carpet  bevood  the  bed.  Her  fingers 
were  newly  dyed  with  hennah,  and  a 
fan  of  brilliant  Indian  feathers,  which 
had  fiiUen  from  her  hand  aa  she  fell 
asleep,  was  lying  on  the  floor. 

Perceiving  that  her  fiuse  was  turned 
fiom  the  door,  I  approached  her  more 
nearly.  Her  cfaecic  was  a  little  flush-* 
ed,  or  it  KMght  have  been  a  refleetion 
firom  the  piUow.  Its  youths  downy 
softness  the  uncovered  temple^m 
long,  white,  veinlesa  neck.*  without 
one  Hne  to  break  its  smootuness — ^the 
awelHng  shoulder  beaming  fhmi  be- 


FidU  io  ikf  Hmum* 


801 


tween  the  dark  thick  locks  of  her  bait 
— her  virgin  bosom,  half  girl  half  wo# 
man — her  fine  form,  scarcdy  conceal- 
ed by  the  thin  sheet  which  covered  it^ 
and  which  seemed  to  take  a  pleasure 
in  dinging  dosely  to  every  turn  of  her 
Umbs — all  this,  and  ten  thousand 
other  beauties,  rivetted  me  to  the  ^>ot 
I  gazed  and  gazed,  and  scarcely  dared 
to  draw  my  breath-'and  strained  my 
sight  till  my  eyes  grew  dim.  I  might 
have  remained  I  know  not  how  long, 
had  not  one  of  the  slave  girls  return- 
ed, and  fearing  that  she  might  come 
to  her  lady's  apartment,  I  went  back 
to  the  outer  hall,  told  them  that  the 
sick  person  was  asleep,  and  cautioned 
them  not  to  go  into  her  room,  nor  dt»« 
turb  her  till  she  called. 

While  I  was  standing  in  the  outer-* 
chamber,  my  eye  chanced  to  fall  on  a 
mirror,  in  whidi  my  own  visage  was 
reflected.  When  I  saw  my  grey  beard 
and  deep  wrinkles,  I  coula  not  help 
being  astonished  to  find  myself  so 
much  agitated ;  but  after  fully  oonsi-« 
dering  the  matter,  I  pame  to  the  con-« 
dusion,  that  in  spite  of  these  I  must 
on  the  whole  be  an  eaeeeding  young 
man  of  my  years. 

Aga  Jewah,  since  so  well  known  for 
the  beauty  of  his  horses,  nurchased  at 
large  prices,  and  brought  from  all 
parts  of  Aralna  and  Toorkistan ;  also 
for  the  fleetness  of  his  falcons,  from 
which  not  even  the  teagle  is  safe ;  but 
still  better  known  for  the  condescen- 
sion which  his  m^esty  the  King  of 
Kings  has  the  benignity  to  show  to- 
wards him,  was  tlie  Eunuch  who  was 
in  Attendance  on  my  patient.  Having, 
ats  I  mentioned,  been  formerly  ac- 
qu(4nted  with  one  another,  (though 
he  was  then  in  an  inferior  situation,) 
he  again  requested  me  to  sit  down  and 
take  another  kaleoon,  saying,  that  per- 
haps his  mistress  might  wake  before 
we  had  finished,  and  that  I  should  be 
eaved  another  walk.  I  accordingly  sat 
down,  and  Aga  Jewah  being  an  intd- 
ligent  and  conversable  man,  well  read 
in  poetry  and  religion,  we  had  a  good 
deal  of  discussion,  in  which  he  shewed 
his  modesty  as  well  as  his  judgment/ 
by  paying  a  becoming  deference  to  my 
superior  learning.  We  agreed  that  he 
should  commence  the  study  of  physic 
under  my  tuition.  **  I  promise  you, 
Aga,"  said  I,  "that  if  you  become 


Litecally,  wtthput  one  sinev  in  it. 


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909 


Visili  to  the  Haram. 


CFeb. 


my  piipil>  I  sh^  make  yoa  in  six 
months  a  better  physician  than  any 
now  in  Teheran,  or  m  all  Persm,  ex- 
cept myself.   You  ore  a  sensible  man, 
Aga ;  you  know  what  fools  they  are ; 
they  are  mere  quacks ;  which  of  them 
has  read,  as  I  have  done>  the  20,000 
maxims  of  Aboo  Allee,*  without  which 
no  man  can  be  a  physician  ?  Aboo  Al- 
lee  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  genius. 
Have  you  heard,  Aga,  how  he  silen- 
ced those  who  wished  him  to  set  him- 
self up  for  a  prophet?"—*' No,"  said 
the  Aga,  "  but  I  wish  you  would  tell 
mc  about  it" — *'  You  must  know, 
then,  that  Aboo  Allee  was  one  morn- 
ing, before  day-light,  lying  in  bed, 
conversing  with  a  fHend  and  pupil 
who  was  Hving  in  his  house ;  and  his 
Aiend  said  to  him,  Aboo  Allee,  why 
do  you  not  set  yourself  as  a  prophet? 
all  the  people  will  follow  you,  and  your 
name  will  endure  for  ever.     Aboo 
Allee  said.  What  is  this  you  advise  me 
to  do  ?  you  know  no  one  will  follow 
me  if  I  do  call  myself  a  prophet ;  and 
for  my  name,  I  have  already  done 
enougn  to  hand  it  down  to  the  latest 
posterity ;  and  his  friend  said.  You  do 
not  kno^y  how  much  you  are  venera- 
ted, or  you  would  not  doubt  of  your 
having  plenty  of  followers.    Aboo  Al- 
ice made  no  reply,  but  desired  his 
friend  to  rise  and  give  him  a  cup  of 
water;  and  his  friend  said.  Why  would 
you  set  me  out  of  bed  this  cola  morn- 
ing to  fetch  you  water,  when  in  a  few 
mmutes  you  must  rise  at  any  rate,  and 
then  you  can  have  water.  His  friend  had 
scarcely  said  this,  when  the  Mouszint 
called  the  Asau,^  and  they  both  start- 
ed up,  and  got  water,  and  washed,  and 
were  going  to  prayer.     Then  Aboo 
Allee  said.  Why  would  you  persuade 
me  to  set  up  for  a  prophet  ?  £ven  you 
refused  to  get  up  when  I  asked  you. 
He  only  is  to  be  considered  a  prophet, 
whose  name,  at  the  distance  of  cen- 
turies after  his  time,  called  from  the 
house-tops,  can  make  us  all  leave  our 
beds  without  hesitation.  Was  not  this  a 
noble  reply,  Aga?  Did  it  not  shew  how 
great  a  man  he  was  ?  No  man  should 
pretend  to  be  a  physician,  who  has 
not  read  the  works  of  Aboo  Allee." 
**  Certainly,  you  are  right,"  replied  the 
Aga ;  for  the  Aga  was  a  sensible  man. 


and  attended  to  sill  I  said,  and  never 
differed  in  opinion  from  me,  as  he 
knew  how  much  I  had  seen,  and  how 
much  I  bad  read. 

I  was  going  to  recount  to  the  Aga 
how  Aboo  Allee  tdd  his  mother  where 
to  find  the  golden  necklace  that  had 
been  taken  otf'  his  neck  by  a  crow 
when  he  was  six  weeks  old ;  for  he 
perfectly  recollected  the  circumstance, 
though  he  was  a  man  before  he  told 
it  to  any  one.  But,  just  as  I  was  be« 
ginning,  a  slave  girl  came  to  tell  me 
that  the  lady  was  now  awake— that 
she  found  herself  quite  well,  and  diat 
she  did  not  now  want  the  doctor. 

Meena,  said  Aga  Jewah,  what  a 
lucky  foot  yours  must  be,  that  eveo 
your  coming  into  the  house  cures  your 
patients !  And  it  was  yery  true  that 
the  Aga  said,  for  I  have  been  much 
troubled  by  people  sending  for  me 
merely  because  my  foot  was  lucky, 
without  any  intention  of  taking  medi- 
cine. And  I  one  day  cured  the  Sudder 
(prime  minister)  cf  a  severe  pain  in 
his  stomach,  whidi  had  attacked  him 
in  consequence  of  his  eating  too  many 
melons,  merely  by  happemng  to  cau 
upon  him  that  morning. 

Aga  Jewah  and  die  dave  both  ex- 
pressed ^eir  astonishment  at  the  won- 
derfril  manner  in  which  I  had  cured 
their  mistress,  and  they  showered 
blessings  upon  me  when  I  took  my 
leave. 

All  the  way  home  I  oovld  think  of 
nothing  but  Uie  beautiful  lady  I  had 
seen,  and  her  image  was  perfect  in  my 
mind  when  I  got  to  ray  own  house;  so 
diat  I  forgot  where  I  was  going,  uid, 
instead  of  walking  into  ny  own  room, 
I  went  into  my  great  wifo's  room,  (she 
was  then  alive,)  and  I  saw  her  dttiiiff 
a^inst  a  dark-coloured  gr^easy  old 
pillow,  and  she  was  muffled  up  in 
flannel,  and  she  had  not  been  to  the 
bath  for  a  long  time ;  and  I  looked  at 
her,  and  thought  of  tfie  beautifHil  lady 
in  ihe  Haram. 

I  went  immediately  to  my  fHend, 
Hagee  Hussein,  in  tne  Bazar,  and  I 
ordered  a  piUow  of  scarlet  brocade,  and 
a  muslin  cover  for  it,  and  white  bed- 
clothes, and  a  fan  of  Indian  feathers  ; 
and  when  they  came  to  my  house,  I 
said  to  my  wife,  I  have  ordered  these 


*  Ahoo  Allee  Sennaee,  called  in  Europe  Avicenna. 

-f  Mouzzin,  the  man  who  calls  people  to  prayer,  from  the  top  of  the  mosque. 

t  Aau,  the  coll  to  prayer. 


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i9sur\ 


VuUs  to  ike  ffaranu 


809 


fine  tliitigs  for  you,  and  now  vou  wiU 
go  to  the  bath,  and  you  will  aye  your 
£ngei8  with  bennah^  and  when  you 
come  from  the  bath,  you  will  lie  down 
on  the  white  bed  ana  the  brocade  pil- 
low, and  you  will  take  off  your  crape 
chemise,  and  put  your  left  hand  under 
your  head,  and  stretch  out  your  right 
hand  with  the  Indian  fan  upon  the 
carpet,  and  push  down  the  sheet,  and 
X  will  come  into  the  room,  and  you 
will  turn  your  head  from  the  door^  and 
pretend  to  be  adeep.  Then  my  wife 
said,  Meerza  Ahmed,  you  are  surely 
mad,  to  desire  me  to  do  these  things— 
now  that  you  are  an  old  grey-beanied 
man— which  you  never  desired  me  to 
do  in  your  yoiUh.  But  I  said  to  her, 
I  am  not  so  old  as  you  take  me  to  be  ; 
at  this  she  smiled,  bul  she  did  as  I 
bid  her. 


And  when  I  camehito  thetwia  she 
was  lying  just  as  the  beautiful  lady  in 
the  Haram  had  been  lying ;  but  my 
wife  was  dark-skinned  and  shrivcdlea, 
and,  moreover,  she  was  very  old ;  so  I 
Went  out  of  the  room  again,  and  the 
got  up,  and  was  somewhat  angry  with 
me ;  tmt  I  soothed  her,  and  told  her 
how  well  she  looked  on  the  new  bed  ; 
and  then  I  said  to  her,  I  wish,  my 
life,  that  you  would  send  Sheereen, 
the  young  slave  girl,  to  the  bath^  and 
make  her  lie  down  as  you  did.  But 
I  had  no  sooner  said  this,  than  she 
seized  me  by  the  beard,  and  pulled  it 
till  I  was  forced  to  call  out,  and  the 
tears  ran  fh>m  my  eyes ;  and  she  abu« 
sed  me  bitterly,  calling  me  HI  names^ 
so  that  I  was  glad  to  escape  to  my  own 
room. 


VISIT  SECOND. 


Taa  day  after  these  things  occur- 
red, I  was.  sitting  in  my  &ulvut,* 
reflecting  on  the  events  of  the  day  b^ 
fore,  and  conttdering  how  I  was  to 
make  up  matten  wim  my  vrife,  when 
it  was  announced  to  me  by  one  of  my 
people,  that  A^  Jewah  was  wishing 
to  see  me,  and  if  I  was  disengaged 
would  be  with  me  presently. 

I  had  just  then  nearly  arranged  in 
my  own  mind  a  very  good  plim  for 
settling  my  difierences  with  my  wife, 
without  any  undue  concession  on  my 
part,  and  Had  summoned  all  my  cou- 
rage to  carry  it  into  e£fect — so  that  I 
was  already  ei^oying  the  sweets  of  our 
anticipated  triumph  when  AgaJewah'a 
intended  visit  was  announced — It  is 
natural  to  imagine  that  I  was  dis- 
concerted at  being  interrupted  at  such 
a  time — ^but  I  don't  know  how  it  was 
•^whether  I  was  somewhat  wanting 
in  nerve  that  morning  to  carry  my 

glan  into  effi^t— or  wluit  else  it  might 
ave  been — ^Uiis,  however,  I  well  re- 
collect, that  J  was  not  at  all  so  sorry 
as  one  might  suppose,  to  hear  of  the 
Aga's  intended  visit. 

Determined  to  act  a  very  dignified 
part,  I  sent  for  bredcfast  to  my  own 
room,  and  did  not  that  morning  enter 
my  vrife's  apartments. 


I  had  not  got  finished  my  repast 
when  AgaJe wan  made  his  appearance. 
Irosewhenheentered,  and  made  many 

Slite  inquiries  after  his  health,  to 
ew  my  r^ard  for  him,  for  the  Aga 
was  a  sensible  man. 

After  we  had  exchanged  the  poHtett 
compliments,  in  which  the  Aga  shew- 
ed taste,  learning,  and  good  manners, 
and  after  we  had  eaten  our  excellent 
Ispahan  mellau,  whidi  HageeMahom- 
med  Hoossein  Khan  had  sent  to  me, 
from  the  Dar  il  Sultanut,t  and  after 
we  had  smoked  a  kaleoon  of  tho 
finest  Shiraz  tobacco,  (with  which  my 
friend  Meerza  Ahady  always  supplied 
me  plentifrilly  from  nis  own  lands  of 
Darab) — ''  You  see,"  said  I  to  the  Aga, 
"  how  weU  I  manage  my  women — I 
keep  them  at  a  proper  distance.  Here 
I  have  a  breakfast  of  the  ilAest  fruits 
and  best  viands  of  the  season ;  but  I 
never  permit  my  females  to  intrude 
upon  my  morning  hours,  which  I  al- 
ways devote  to  religion  and  to  study." 

"  Pray,"  said  the  Aga, "  may  I  begto 
know  what  book  has  occupied  the  at- 
tention of  Meerza  Ahmed  this  morn- 
ing ?  There  must  be  instruction  even 
in  the  knowledge  of  what  may  be  the 
nuMning's  study  of  a  person  so  learned 
as  Meerza  Ahmed." 


•  Khalvat — a  private  room,  not  in  the  f(Bmale*i  ^lartqients,  generally  occupying  a 
space  between  the  public  part  of  the  house  and  the  inner  or  women*!  part. 

^  Dar  il  Sultanut—The  place  of  the  Saltans -.sn  epithet  of  Isphaham,  as  Dar  il 
Elm,  the  place  of  karning,  is  of  Shiraz. 


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CJfdk 


^^  Agm**  Mdd  I,  Mmewfatl  diMon- 
certod  by  the  qiMstkyn^  **  y^n  nnut 
know  thotstudy  doesnotalwayt  ooniist 
in  reading,  more  than  reading  always 
eomtitutes  study — two  very  common 
mistakes,  against  which  I  warn  yoa^ 
Aga.  I  have  been  reflecting — morali- 
sing, Aga — I  have  been  considering 
the  difilitence  between  man  and  wo* 
man,  and  I  find  it  to  be  very  great." 
*'  Assmiedly,''  said  the  Aga^ ''  we  can 
easily  peitdvethat  it  is  very  great^it 
dbes  not  require  much  considmtion  to 
disoorer  that." 

At  die  sitttpBcity  of  this  remark  of 
iSke  Aga>  I  laughed  heartOy,  so  that  I 
•mM  not  restrain  myself,  but  percei- 
ving that  he  was  displeased,  I  thus  ad-' 
dwssedhhb — ''  Aga  Jewah,you  won* 
der  at  my  laughing;  but  you  must 
know  that  I  mean  the  moral  difference 
between  man  and  woman — the  differ- 
ence between  the  mind  of  man  and  the 
ikiiid  of  wdman,  (which  I  shall  ex- 
fdain  So  you,)  not  the  more  apparent 
difference  that  you  mean^  Aga. 

"Ah  r  inteituptedhe,  "  I  perceive, 
Meersa,  that  your  mind  is  never  oc- 
cupied with  frivolous  things^  or  with 
taonties^  but  that  you  are  ever  engaged 
In  philsBophical  inqtiirles.  How^vast 
ttrast  the  mtelhsence  of  that  man  be/ 
iAio  fbr  several  noors  each  day,  serf-' 
ettsly  thinks  on  vd!iat  he  has  seen  and 
lead-^Bui  I  had  nearly  forgotten  ther 
object  of  my  coming— your  conversa- 
tion, Meena,  is  sod^htfnl,  ^Mt  one 
can  think  of  nothing  else  than  that  of 
which  you  arespeaking.*'  "Andthepe- 
0enceof  Aga  Jewah,"  replied  I, "  brings 
t*  one's  mind  so  many  agreeable  sub- 
jects, that  one  cannot  choose  to  be  si- 
laat" 

Upon  Mb  the  Aga  drew  from  his 
podreta  very  large  and  beautiful  ap-^ 
pie,  and  presenting  it  to  me  in  a 
gnioefnl  manner,  said,  ^  My  mistress 
sends  yon  ihis  Apple,  with  many  com- 
|»liments^  and  begs  vou  will  come  to 
tier  in  an  hour.  Sne  does  not  fln^ 
het9d£  ver^  well,  and  she  has  so  much 
CKMifidence  in  you,  that  she  would  not 
tike  any  mcAdne  until  she  should 
hvre  se^  you.  Moreover,  she  has 
given  orders  that  no  one  be  admitted 
to  her  room,  that  she  may  have  ^e 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  alone." 

''  Ag8,"8aidl,  ^'  your  mistress  does 


me  wnch  faoMor.  Ood  give  her  kof; 
life,  sheisa  sweet  lady.  How  fortunate 
are  you,  Aga,  to  have  so  good  a  mis- 
tress 1"  The  Aga  rose  to  take  his  leave, 
but  I  would  not  suffer  hmi  to  go  un-t 
til  he  had  smoked  another  kaleoon, 
after  which,  he  departed.  As  soon  as 
he  was  gone,  I  be^n  to  reflect  upon 
the  message  he  had  brought  to  me, 
aad  I  oould  not  help  thinking  that 
there  was  something  very  strange  in 
the  nmnner  of  it.  Her  sending  me 
the  apple,  and  her  widiing  to  see  me 
akme,  appeared  to  me  suspidoas  dr* 
cumstances.  One  of  the  ladies  of  the 
Royal  Haram  too!  I  was  not  atall  satis- 
fled  that  all  was  right,  and  detennined, 
if  I  peroctved  anything  amiss,  to  aB-» 
qvudnt  my  Royal  Master.  However,! 
put  myself  into^  the  hands  of  God,  or- 
dered my  horse,  and  set  out  towarde 
the  Haram  Khoua.* 

I  alighted  at  the  outer-gate,  and  as 
the  Eunuchs  knew  me  again,  I  was 
admitted  without  difficulty,  llieword 
was  passed  from  one  to  another,  that 
it  was  oidy  the  Hakeem,f  Skid  I  walk- 
ed ktto  the  great  square  amongst  all 
the  women,  without  their  now  taking 
the  trouble  to  veil  themselvies  at  my 
amnrosich.  Some  indeed  turned  away 
their  heads,  which  gave^me  an  oppoi^i 
sanity  to  observe  the  beauty  of  their 
dieeks  or  necks,  and  some  (whose 
shrivelled  hands  betrayed  the  secret 
of  their  advance  in  years)  hurriedly 

SuUed  down  their  roobooids  j:  when 
[ley  saw  me  enter. 
There  were  there  many  beautifyil 
women,  collected  from  afl  parts  of  the 
emnire--OeorgianB,  Armenians,  aqif 
Mabommedans ;  but  I  saw  not  one  so 
lovely  as  my  patient. 

I  moved  slowly  along  to  her  tpsit^ 
ment,  and  found  Aga  Jewah  ready  ta 
receive  me.  He  conducted  me  at  <m6e 
to  his  mistress's  room,  and  left  me 
diere  alone  with  her.  ' 

A  strange  tremor  same  ov^  me  at 
I  t6ok  my  seat  close  to  her.  I  begai« 
to  fear  that  her  beauty  was  too  strong 
tor  my  sense  of  duty,  and  I  sat  for 
some  ome  desirous  to  meak,  and  (for 
1^  first  time  in  my  life)  not  knowing 
what  to  sav. 

At  lengu  she  broke  the  sQence,  and 
said—''  Meerza  Ahmed,  I  have  heard 
much  of  your  learning  and  talents,  as 


*  Hamn^forbidden; — Khoua— house. 


t  RoobuiuL.The  part  of  the  veil  which  covert  the  face. 

IG 


t  Haksem— Doctor. 


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itm.2 


FimU  i9  tk9  Maram. 


905 


y^  MM  of  your  kiodnmi  of  hoMf^ 
anid  of  tbe  tendemess  of  your  ntture. 
(Here  the  pftoied  a  lUtle^  ^t  before 
I  could  collect  myself  to  make  a  suit- 
able  anawer^  abe  nroceeded)—!  bave 
beard  too  of  tbe  mgtingnisbed  £uFour 
witb  wbicb  you  are  bonoured  by  l\ia 
midetty  tbe  King  of  KingB.  laman 
unfortunate  female,  and  it  is  in  your 
power  to  render  me  tbe  most  import- 
ant service.  May  I  trust  to  you, 
Meerza  Abmed  ?  or  will  you  leave  me 
to  my  misfortunes — to  tne  misery  in 
wbicn  you  bave  found  me  ?" 

Her  voice  faultered  as  sbe  uttered 
tbe  last  words.  Sbe  stopped,  and 
turned  ber  fine  eves  full  upon  me  witb 
a  look  of  painful  doubt,  and  anxious 
inquiry.  A  tear,  wbicb  bad  been  vi« 
iibly  gatberiug,  rolled  over  b«r  eye- 
lid, and  bung  upon  ber  cbeek.  Sbe 
bad  not  seemed  to  me  so  lovely  in  all 
tiie  voluptuous  beauty  of  tbe  oay  be* 
fore.  Sbe  seemed  to  look  to  me  for 
consolation — ^Wbat  could  I  do  ?  I  vow- 
ed tbat  tbete  was  no  service,  bowever 
haiardous,  wbicb  I  would  not  under- 
take— no  duty,  bowever  kborioui, 
wbicb  I  waa  not  ready  to  perform* 

**  Tou  seem,"  said  sbe,  "  to  be  sin- 
oece,  and  I  will  trust  you.  fiuttbatyon 
may  fully  understand  tbe  nature  of 
my  misfortunes,  I  must  tell  you  tbe 
story  of  my  life — ^for  young  as  I  am, 
I  bave  bad  mucb  to  suffer. 

THE  STOaV  OP  MBIEAM. 

''IwasbomaCbristian.  Myfotber 
was  priest  of  a  small  Armenian  villsffe 
in^urabaug^  My  motber  died  wbue 
I  was  yet  so  young  tbat  I  believe  I 
cannot  well  remember  to  bave  seen 
ber;  but  I  bave  beard  my  fiitber  sneak 
of  ber  so  often,  tbat  I  sometimes  tnink 
I  do  remember  ber.  I  was  ber  first 
and  only  cbild,  tberefore  my  fatber 
loved  me  fondly ;  but  even  more,  be- 
eauae  be  tbougbt  my  face  resembled 
beis  wbom  God  bad  taken  from  bim. 
He  was  already  an  old  man,  and  bis 
only  pleasure  was  in  loving  me,  and 
csvefuUy  performinff  tbe  duties  of  a 
pastor.  He  taugbt  tne  village  boys  to 
read  and  write,  and  be  was  loved  by 
all  bis  little  flock ;  for  be  bad  mot 
many  years  among  tbem,  and  be  Dad 
naturally  a  kind  oeart,  wbicb  made 
bim  tbe  friend  of  every  one.  Tbe 
people  of  tbe  village  gave  us  com 
enough  for  bread,  and  many  made  us 
presents.    Our  dwelling  was  a  small 

Vol.  XV. 


bouse  beside  tbe  diurcii,  wbidi  tke 
villaper^  at  tbeir  own  coat,  kc^  in 
repair  to  us,  and  webadall  we  want- 

**  I  may  bave  been  about  twelve 
yearsold,  wben,  one Sabbatb evenings 
my.  fatber  desired  our  only  servant, 
Meenus,  to  liffbt  tbe  tapm  in  tbe 
cburcb,  as  tbe  bonr  of  evening  prayer 
was  near.  Meenus  in  a  few  momenta 
returned  all  breatbless,  and  tdd  my 
fatber  tbat  a  body  of  borsemen  weM 
coming  down  tbe  road  straigbt  to  tbe 
villsge.  He  bad  scarcely  said  so  era  I 
beard  a  sbot,  and  tben  anotber,  and 
tben  tbey  came  so  fost  I  could  not 
oount  tbon.  We  all  ran  to  tbe  win- 
dow, and  saw  tbe  people  of  tbe  vil^ 
lage  running  in  crowds  past  tbe  bouse, 
motbers  wiu  infonts  m  tbdr  arms, 
screaming  and  wailing,  and  diildrai 
running  cryins  after  tbem^  and  old 
men  tearing  tbeir  do&es  and  bair, 
and  women  beating  tbeir  breasta,  and 
weeping  aloud,  sll  mingled  in  one 
oonrosed  mass.  After  tbese  came  tbe 
young  men  of  tbe  village,  some  arm- 
ed, and  still  appearing  to  resist;  some 
wounded  and  bleeding;  some  I  saw 
fidl  dead  upon  tbe  street  After  a 
time  tbe  firing  ceased,  and  tben  tbere 
arose  a  dreamul  sbout,  and  I  beard 
tbe  cUttering  of  many  boraes'  foet  ap* 
proacbing,  and  presently  a  troop  of 
armed  borsemen  came  riding  forious- 
ly  down  tbe  street,  still  sbouting  Ul- 
lab,Ullab.  I  knew  not  wbo  tbey  were, 
but  wben  my  fatber  saw  tbem  be  said. 
Now  God  bave  mercy  upon  us,  for 
tbese  are  tbe  Persians.  Tbe  foeble 
resistance  wbicb  bad  been  made  waa 
now  no  longer  making.  All  wbo  could 
flv  bad  fied,  and  some  bad  died.  Tbe 

Elunderers    dismounted  from   tbeir 
orses,  forced  tbe  doora  of  tbe  bonaes, 
seised  all  tbe  cbildren  tbey  could  find, 
^ootbesi 


and  stripped  tbosewbosec 

•d  wortn  tbe  baving,  tben  bound  tbem 
naked.  Obi  it  waa  a  terrible  siffbt 
to  see  Uieir  young  limbs  bound  vntfa 
cords ;  even  now  it  makea  my  Uood 
run  cold  to  tbink  of  it.  But  from 
looking  on  tbe  distress  of  otbers,  we 
soon  were  called  to  fed  our  own.  Tbe 
ru£Bans  forced  our  little  dwelling ;  I 
ran  screaming  to  my  foUier;  bis  hoe 
was  pale— tbe  tear  waa  in  bis  eye,  and 
as  be  dasped  me  in  bia  trembling 
arms,  be  only  said.  My  cbild.  my 
cbild  I  I  saw  tbem  enter,  ana  bid 
my  face  in  mv  fatbcr's  bosom,  for  I 
dtfed  not  Iook  on  men  so  daric  and 
9D 


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806 


Fmts  io  the  Haram. 


terrible«-*and  there  I  had  all  my  life 
thought  mysdf  safe.  But  now  that 
eanctuary  ai^ed  me  little,  they  8ei« 
zed  me,  and  tore  roe  from  him ;  bat 
still  he  clung  to  roe,  and  wept  aloud, 
and  called  on  God  for  help,  but  all 
in  Tain,  for  they  were  young  and 
strong,  and  he  was  old  and  feeble; 
but  when  he  found  that  he  had  lost 
his  last  hold  of  roe,  his  frenzy  gave 
him  8treiv;th,  he  grappled  with  the 
man  who  held  me,  ana  once  more  got 
me  in  his  arms.  I  saw  the  naked  dag- 
ger raised  over  us,  it  descended  like  a 
flash  of.  lightning,  and  my  father  fell 
beneath  it.  He  lay  a  moment,  and  I 
bent  over  him,  scarce  knowing  what 
had  happened ;  he  caught  me  in  his 
arms,  and  tried  to  speak,  but  the 
brealh,  which  perhaps  was  meant  to 

S've  me  his  last  blessing,  spouted  with 
s  life-blood  from  the  wound.  The 
very  murderer  stood  mute,  and  struck 
with  awe.  I  jgazed  awhile  on  the  pale 
lifeless  face  ofthe  &ther  whom  I  loved ; 
my  eyes  grew  dim,  my  senses  fuled, 
I  fell,  and  saw  no  more. 

"  How  long  I  may  have  lain  without 
perception  I  cannot  tell ;  but  when  I 
woke,  I  found  that  all  my  clothes  had 
been  stripped  off,  and  inste^l  of  them 
I  had  been  wrapt  up  in  my  dead  fa- 
ther's priest's  robe.  For  a  time  I  knew 
not  where  I  was,  and  the  remembrance 
of  what  had  passed  was  like  the  im- 
pression of  a  horrible  dream  between 
sleeping  and  waking ;  but  by  degrees 
the  dread  reality  came  ftdl  before  me. 
As  I  moved  me  round  to  find  out 
where  I  was,  something  clammy,  moist, 
and  cold  touched  me — I  look^  to  see 
what  it  might  be — I  saw  the  rent,  I 
saw  the  clotted  gore — It  was  my  fa- 
ther's blood  that  chilled  my  bosom  I — 
I  knew  it — A  cold  horror  crept  through 
all  my  frame,  and  I  uttered  a  loud 
shriek  in  agony  of  souL — ^They  came 
to  comfort  me— but  who  came  ?  my 
father's  murderers.  1  tore  off  the 
gown,  without  perceiving  that  it  was 
my  only  covering,  and  stood,  without  a 
knowledge  of  my  shame,  naked  before 
them.  Their  noisy,  brutal  laughter, 
brought  back  my  senses — ^I  sunk  for 
verv  shame  upon  the  earth,  and  wept 
and  sobbed  aloud.  One  of  more  ten- 
der nature  than  the  rest  took  from  his 
horse  a  covering  clotli,  and  gave  it  to 
me.  I  thanked  him  fervently,  for  it 
was  a  precious  gift  to  me ;  and  as  he 


CFeb. 

turned  away  there  seemed  to  be  some 
pity  in  his  eye.  I  would  have  given 
the  world  to  have  him  near  me,  but 
he  passed  away.  For  a  time  I  sat 
there  weeping,  and  saw  no  one  that  I 
knew;  but  by  and  by  others  of  the 
villagers,  captives  like  myself,  were 
brought  to  wnere  I  was.  We  exchan- 
ged timid  looks,  but  feared  to  speak, 
until,  at  last,  they  brought  in  one 
whom  I  had  hoped  tney  had  not  caught. 
He  was  pale,  faint,  and  weary.  His 
eye  cau^t  mine.  I  started  from  my 
seat  to  throw  myself  into  his  arms, 
but  as  he  opened  them  to  receive  me 
I  saw  a  hideous  gash  upon  his  breast— ' 
the  sword  d  some  Persian  ruffian  had 
been  there.  At  any  other  time  I  dared 
not  have  approached  him  as  he  was  ; 
but  the  events  oi  a  few  short  hours 
had  changed  my  nature,  and  I  would 
have  rushed  into  his  bosom. — ^A  vil- 
lain saw  us,  and  wi^  a  coward  hand 
struck  him  a  blow,  which  laid  him  on 
the^und.  They  seized  me  then,  and 
earned  roe  away,  ^and  still  it  was  my 
fiither's  murderer  that  bore  me  witn 
him. 

"  All  night  they  remained  in  the  vil- 
lage, ransacking  the  houses,  diggiujg 
for  hidden  money,  and  torturing  tneir 
captives  to  make  them  shew  the  places 
wnere  money  had  been  hid.  Many 
little  sums  they  found,  the  hard  won 
savings  of  poor  labourers ;  and  they 
had  much  quarrelling  and  high- words, 
and  sometimes  daggers  were  drawn  in 
their  disputes  about  dividing  it.  And 
some  found  wine,  and  drank  to  drunk- 
enne8S,andrioted,andfought,and  made 
a  fearf^il  noise. — So  passed  the  night. 
In  the  morning,  before  day,  they  b^n 
to  move,  and  all  the  cattle  of  the  vil- 
lage they  collected,  horses,  cows,  and 
buffidoes.  Some  they  drove  away,  and 
some  they  kept  to  mount  their  weaker 
captives  on.  The  poor  animals  made 
a  mournful  lowing  for  their  calves, 
which  were  left  behind.  When  they 
tried  to  drive  the  people  from  the  vil- 
lage, they  set  up  such  a  deq>  and 
wailing  cry  that  I  doubted  not  the 
slaughter  was  begun,  and  that  we  must 
all  be  massacred;  but  by  degrees  it 
died  away.  They  mounted  me  upon 
a  bufialoe,  and  drove  the  poor  animal 
before  them,  goading  it  on  with  their 
spears.  That  day  we  went  I  know  not 
how  many  •  iorsungs,  but  I  was  al- 
most deaa  with  fatigue  and  pain.  The 


Fursung,  formerly  Parasang — a  Persian  measure  of  diitance— about  four  milet. 


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Fi$iii  io  tki  ffaram. 


buAlo's  rough  Ude  had  dmost  worn 
the  skin  from  off  my  knees  and  legs, 
and  unaocnstomed  as  I  was  to  rids^ 
my  bones  all  ached,  my  eyes  wwe 
nearly  Wnd  with  crying,  and  my  head 
was  like  to  burst  asunder.  Intnissad 
pliffht  I  laj  shivering  and  cold  all 
night,  and  m  the  morning  was  to  have 
bqgun  another  journey  like  the  firsts 
but  ^e  same  kind  man  who  pitied  me 
before,  said  something  to  him  11^  had 
me  in  his  charge,  and  gave  him  money  ; 
and  then  the  good  man  took  me  up 
behind  him  on  his  horse,  and  put  a 
soft  felt  under  me,  and  tied  a  oand 
round  my  body  and  his  own  that  I 
mig^t  not  fall  off;  and  when  I  cried 
beorase  the  horse  went  fast  and  pained 
my  sailed  limbs,  he  made  it  go  more 
slowly.  It  seemed  strange  to  me  that 
a  man  so  kind  at  heart  should  have 
banded  with  such  ruffians  as  the  rest 
We  travelled  several  days  with  the 
other  captives,  and  then  we  took  ano- 
ther road,  and  went  in  one  day  more  to 
the  kind  man's  house. 

"  At  first  his  wives  scowled  on  me, 
but  he  said  something  to  them,  and 
then  they  were  very  kind,  and  told  me 
1  was  gomg  to  the  King,  and  flattered 
me  with  tales  of  grandeur,  sa  that 
their  kindness  and  their  tales  had  al- 
most soothed  my  sorrow.  And  they 
gave  me  fine  domes  and  ornaments  to 
wear,  and  said,  when  I  was  a  great 
person  that  I  must  remember  them 
and  their  Idndness.  Here  I  remained 
many  days,  I  know  not  how  many, 
when  one  morning  a  strangeroan  cam^ 
and  then  they  uJd  me  I  must  go  to 
the  King;  but  I  had  never  seen  a  King, 
and  I  was  mudi  afraid,  and  begged  to 
be  allowed  to  stay,  and  cried,  but  they 
persuaded  me  to  go.  We  journeyed 
many  days,  and  at  last  arrived  here, 
where  his  majesty,  the  King  of  Kings, 
was  pleased  to  ampt  me,  and  here  I 
haveremained  not  unhappy  until  three 
days  ago. — ^Now,  alas!  my  sorrows 
have  b^fun  afresh.  Where  shall  they 
end?  GM  only  knows — ^forlamtruly 
wretched." 

Here  she  stopped,  and  wept  moat 
bitterly.  I  had  not  wept  sinoe  I 
had  bera  a  boy,  but  now  my  tears 
began  to  flow,  I  know  not  wny,  for 
it  a^ieared  to  me,  that  she  had  much 
cause  to  be  happy,  after  so  much  mis* 
fortune,  to  find  herself  in  the  Haram 
of  the  King  of  Kings.  1  tried  to 
sooth  her,  told  her  she  was  fair,  most 
hit  and  beautifrd,  and  that  she  would 


«0t 


not  &0  to  find  favour  with  th^  Ring, 
and  that  she  might  be  mother  to  a 
prince,  periiaps  mat  prince  be  King 
hereafter ;  andonthewnole  die  daugh- 
ter of  a  poor  Armenian  tnriest,  she 
oug^t  to  be  most  thankful  for  God's 
bounty,  which  had  made  her  what 
she  was.  But  she  still  w^t  the  more. 
At  last  she  bade  me  go  and  come  to- 
morrow, and  she  should  tell  me  all 
the  rest,  for  she  had  seen  my  sorrow 
for  her,  and  she  knew  me  to  be  kind. 

I  took  ray  leave  with  a  heavy  heart 
partly  because  her  story  shewed  hea- 
vy misfortunes  for  so  young  a  fanale 
to  have  endured ;  paruy  b^use  I  li- 
ked to  be  hi  her  company,  and  was 
sorry  to  part  from  her ;  and  partly  be- 
cause I  mought  I  had  been  somewhat 
rash  in  my  promises  of  service,  and 
felt  much  concern  for  the  nature  of 
the  business  she  might  wish  to  put 
me  to.  At  the  same  time,  I  felt  mat 
whatever  it  might  be,  I  should  be 
obliged  to  do  it;  so  completely  had 
she  got  possession  of  my  mind.  I 
conjectured  a  thousand  things  that  she 
might  have  to  disclose,  and  rejected 
them  all.  At  last,  having  tired  myself 
with  guessing  and  imagining,  I  bmn 
to  have  an  intuitive  perception  that 
the  hour  of  dinner  was  not  very  dis* 
tant,  and  accordingly  made  some  in- 
quiries on  the  8ul]rject.  As  I  had  not 
yet  summoned  r^K>lution  enough  to 
face  mj  wife,  who  was  a  terrible  vira* 
go  at  times,  Grod  rest  her  soul,  I  sent 
for  my  dinner,  and  was  informed  that 
it  waited  me  in  the  inner  apartments* 
I  told  my  servant  to  get  it,  and  bring 
it  to  me,  but  when  he  went  for  it  he 
got  nothing  but  abuse,  and  a  bbw  on 
the  mouth  with  a  slippy.  He  was  at 
the  same  time  desired  to  tell  me,  that 
if  I  did  not  choose  to  come  for  my  din- 
ner, I  should  want  it  This  was  a  se- 
rious Qonsideradon,  and  I  sat  down  to 
deliberate  on  what  waa  best  to  be  done. 
At  last  I  resolved  to  go  to  the  house  of 
my  fnend  Futtah  Alee  Khan,  and 
thereby  gain  a  triumph  over  my  wifo^ 
I  aocoiding^y  set  out,  out  had  not  gone 
for,  ere  I  met  the  poet  himself,  walk- 
ing quicker  than  he  was  used  to  do. 

"  Where  are  you  goins  ?"  said  I  to 
him.  ^'  I  am  going,"  said  ne,  "  to  dine 
with  yon,formy  wifehastomedmeoat 
without  my  dimier,  because  I  told  her 
she  was  too  old  now  to  paint  her  eye- 
brows." 

''I  wonder,"  said  I,  ''du^amanof 
your  sense  should  say  each  a  thing  to  a 


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womanLhoirevaroldihemtybe.  You 
know  that  n<me  of  them  can  endure 
such  remarks.  By  the  head  of  the* 
King,  your  wife  is  righto  he  oflfended. 
"Who  made  yoa  judge  when  a  woman 
ia  too  old  to  paint  her  eye-hrowa? 
Let  us  so  hack  to  your  house,  and  I 
will  make  up  the  matter." 

"  I  hate  no  ofagection/'  aud  the 
Khan,  ^  hut  first  tell  me  where  yon 
were  going,  at  this  your  usual  diimer 
hour?" 

''  To  tell  the  troth,"  said  I,  "  my 
wife  refused  to  send  my  dinner  to  my 
Khtdvut,*  and  as  we  have  had  a  difier- 
ence,  I  refused  to  go  into  the  Undo* 

TOOSWt 

'*  This  is  most  ahsurd  conduct  in 
you,  Meersa  Ahmed/'  said  the  Khan« 
"  What  does  it  si^;nify  where  you  eat 
your  dinner?  and  if  you  do  not  go  into 
the  Underoon,  how  can  you  make  up 


ViiUs  io  tKe  Aimm. 


CFeb 


nutters  with  yoilr  wife?  Gome,  come, 
Meeraa,  let  us  go  to  your  house,  and 
I  win  engage  to  settle  your  differ* 
ences." 

The  Khan  carried  the  dav.  Iretura* 
ed  reluctantly  to  my  own  nouse.  Wa 
discussed  the  whole  matter  in  dispute^ 
and  the  Khan  dedded,  that  we  were 
hoth  rifdit.  He  said  that  I  was  n^t, 
having  had  no  evil  intention  towards 
Sheereen,  ihe  young  alave  girl,  and 
that  my  wife,  oelieTing  me  to  have 
heen  wickedly  inclined,  waa  ri^t  ia 
what  she  had  done.  The  deeisionsa- 
tisfied  us  hoth,  for  we  were  hy  this 
time  tired  of  the  quarrel.  We  ate  an 
excdlent  dinn^,  and  I  had  a  very 
leuned  discussion  vHth  the  Khan,  on 
the  merits  of  a  passage  in  Anweree,t 
in  which  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had 
die  advantage- 


*  Private  roooL  f  WoineD*8  apartment. 

i  Anweree,  a  certain  Poet  whom  it  has  been  modi  the  fiuhkm  to  pnise  naore  than 
he  detenres. 


sovthby's  life  of  wsslet.* 


Thb  worthy  Laureate  is  one  of  those 
men  of  distinguished  talents  and  in« 
dustry,  who  luive  not  attained  to  the 
praise  or  the  influence  of  intellectual 
greatness,  only  because  they  have  been 
so  unfortunate  aa  to  come  too  late  into 
theworld.  Had  Southey  flourished  for- 
ty or  flf^  years  a^,  and  written  half  aa 
well  aa  he  has  vrritten  in  our  time,  he 
roi^t  have  ranked  fism.  eon.  wiUi 
the  first  of  modem  critics,  of  modem 
historians,  perhaps  even  of  modem 
poets.  The  warmth  of  his  feelings  and 
4he  flow  of  his  style  would  have  ena« 
Ued  him  to  throw  all  the  prosers  of 
that  ^y  into  the  shade— fius  exten- 
sive  eradition  would  have  won  him 
the  veneration  of  an  age  in  which  era* 
dition  was  venerable — His  iroa^ative 
power  vrould  have  lifted  him  like  an 
eag^e  over  the  veiiifiers  who  then 
amused  the  public  with  their  feeble 
echoes  of  the  wit,  the  sense,  and  the 
numbers  of  Pope.  He  could  not  have 
been  the  Man  of  the  Age;  but,  taking 
all  hia  manifold  excellencies  and  qua- 


lifications into  aoooont,  he  miMt  have 
been  most  assuredly  Sontebotig,  and 
a  great  deal  more  than  somebody. 

How  diflifrent  is  his  actual  case !  As 
a  poet,  as  an  auth<nr  of  hnaginaflve 
worin  in  general,  how  small  is  ^be 
space  he  covers,  how  little  is  he  talked 
orthoughtof !  TheBstabhshedClhurdi 
of  Poet^  will  hear  of  nobody  but  Scott^ 
Byron,  Campbell :  and  the  Lake  Me^ 
thodiststhemsdvesvdttsearo^peradt 
him  to  be  called  a  burning  and  a  iiii« 
ning  light  in  the  same  day  with  tMr 
Wordsworth— eten  their  Colerid^ 
In  point  of  Am^  hehiroself is  nowlro 
only  man  who  ever  alludes  to  Sottthef'ii 
pocsns.  We  can  sumose  youngm 
readers  startii^  when  tney  come  upon 
some  note  of  ms  m  &e  Quarterly,  or 
in  these  newbooks  of  history,  referring 
to  ''  the  Madoc,"  or  "the  Joan,"  aa  to 
aomething  universally  known  and  fi^ 
miliar.  As  to  criticism  and  poUtioa  of 
the  day,  he  is  but  one  of  the  Quarterly 
reviewers,  and  scarcely  one  of  the 
most  influential  of  them.    He  puts 


*  The  IMt  of  Wesley,  and  the  Rise  and  Prnp^ess  of  Methodism,  by  Robert  SouAcy, 
JSeq.    2  vols.    liondon,  Longnmn  and  Co.    1929. 


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SotiikejfsLifbtfWiiley. 


forth  esaqri  hftlf  to6miaiianiim,  hfttf 
proeiiigy  with  now  and  then  a  dash  of 
a  sweet  enough  sort  of  literary  mysti* 
dam  in  them—and  more  frequently  a 
di^laj  of  pompous  sdf-complacent 
iimphdty ^  enoun^  to  call  a  smile  into 
the  most  iron  physiognomy  that  ever 
grinned*  But  these  lueuhrationspro* 
duoe  no  effi^  upon  the  qnrit  of  the 
time.  A  man  would  as  soon  take  his 
opinions  from  his  grandmother  as  from 
the  Doctor.  The  ndiob  thing  lodn  as 
if  it  were  made  on  purpose  to  be  read 
to  some  antediluyian  village  cluh^ 
The  fat  parson-^the  solemn  leech-« 
the  gaping  sohodmaster,  and  three  or 
four  smipexing  Tabbies.  There  is 
BoUiing  u  common  to  him  and  the 
people  of  this  world.  We  loye  him— i 
we  respect  him — we  admire  his  dili« 
gence,  nis  acquisitions,  his  excellent 
manner  of  keraing  his  note-books**If 
he  were  in  orders,  and  one  had  an  ad« 
▼owson  to  dimose  of,  one  could  not 
but  diink  of  hnn.  But  good,  honest, 
wordiy  man,  only  to  hear  him  telling 
us  his  opinion  of  Napcdeon  Buona> 
parte  f— and  then  the  quotations  fh>m 
Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  Lamb,  Lan* 
dor,  Withers,  old  Fuller,  and  all  the 
rest  of  his  fiivourites-HUid  ^e  little 
,  wise-looking  maxims,  ererv  one  of 
them  asddas^badkof  Sldddaew^— 
and  thedehcate  little  gleams  of  padios 
— and  the  little  famii^-stories  and  al« 
hisionft— and  all  the  little  parentheses 
of  ezultation-^well,  we  really  wonder 
after  all,  that  &e  Laureate  is  not  more 
popular. 

The  first  time  Mr  Southey  attempted 
regular  historical  conmosition  he  suc- 
ceeded admirably.  His  Life  of  NeU 
son  is  truly  a  masterpiece  ;-^^«brief-^ 
animated— ^wing-*sfaaig^tforwaid 
— 4naBH  English  work,  in  two  to* 
Inmes  duodeomo.  That  book  will  be 
read  ^ivee  hundred  years  faenofe  bir 
erery  boy  Ihat  is  nnned  tm  Eaf^mi 
ground.— Allhisbulkyhistoricid  works 
are,  oomparatiydy  spesking^  failures. 
His  History  of  Braall  is  the  most  un* 
readable  production  of  oar  time.  Two 
or  tiuree  elephant  ouartos  about  a 
unf^  Portngueie  ooisny  I  Sroy  lit* 
de  cofamel,  captain,  bMbop,  fkisr,  di«» 
cussed  at  as  nmdi  lenstn  asif  th^ 
were  so  many  OromweUs  or  Loydas 
— and  why  ?— just  for  diis  onesim]^ 
reason,  that  Dr  Southey  is  an  excel- 
lent Portuguese  schokr,  and  hn  aa 
excellent  Portuguese  hbtary.  Hie 
whde  affilr  br«racsof  oneseatime&t. 


909 

and  but  one— Beh<^  O  British  Pub- 
lic !  what  a  fine  thinff  it  is  to  under* 
stand  this  tongue— ml  down  and 
worship  me !  I  am  a  member  of  the 
Lisbon  Academy,  and  yet  I  waa  bom 
in  Bristol,  and  am  now  living  at  Kes- 
wick. 

This  inordinate  vanity  is  an  admi* 
rable  condiment  in  a  small  woric,  and 
when  the  subject  is  really  possessed  of 
a  strong  interest.  It  makes  one  read 
with  moro  earnestness  of  attention  and 
sympathv.  But  carried  to  this  hsiflfat^ 
and  exhibited  in  such  a  book  as  tnisy 
it  is  utter  nonsense.  It  is  carrying  the 
jd»  a  great  deal  too  far^ — Peo^  do 
at  last,  however  good-natured,  get 
weary  isi  seeing  a  respectable  man 
waik%ng  his  hobby-horse. 

Melancholy  to  wxy,  the  Historv  ef 
the  Peninsular  War  is,  in  spite  of  an 
intensdy  interesting  theme,  and  copi- 
ous materials  of  real  value,  little  bet- 
ter than  another  Caucasus  of  lumber, 
lifter  aU.  If  the  campaigns  of  Buona- 
parte were  written  in  the  same  style, 
they  would  make  a  bode  in  thirty  or 
for^qusrto  volumes,  ofroopageseaeh. 
He  IS  overlayin£[  the  thing  completely 
—he  is  smothermg  the  Dukeof  WeU 
lington.  Theundmroodhasincreased, 
is  increasing,  and  oug^t  without  ddaj 
to  be  smashed.  Do  we  want  to  hear 
the  legendary  history  of  every  Catholic 
saint,  who  happens  to  have  been  bu* 
ried  or  worshiped  near  the  scene  of 
some  of  Genoral  Hill's  skirmishes? 
What,  in  the  devil's  name,  have  we  to 
do  with  all  these  old  twelfth  century 
BMTsdesand  viatons,  in  the  midst  of  a 
history  of  Ardrar  Duke  of  WeDiitf* 
ton,  snd  his  Britldi  army  ?  Does  the 
Doctoriaean  to  write  his  Oraoe's  In* 
dian  campaigns  in  tiiesame  st^le,  and 
to  make  tnem  the  pn  whereon  to  hang 
all  the  wredc  and  ivlMah  of  hia  cOm« 
monplaee  book  for  Kehama,  as  hehaa 
here  done  with  die  odds  and  ends  that 
he  oocdd  not  get  stidlbd  into  the  notsi 
OD  Roderick  and  My  Cid?  Soudiej 
should  have  lived  m  ^  days  of  5M)0O 
pace  folios,  triple  columns,  and  double 
mdexes— He  would  &en  havojbsea 
■etto  a  corpus  ci  something  at  once^ 
and  been  happy  for  lifo*  Never  surely 
was  such  a  nustake  as  for  him  to  make 
his  appearance  in  an  aoe  of  restlesdj 
vnorous  though  disdsinfid  or^;iik« 
amy  of  opinion,  intoknnoe  for  koighi 
windednesB,  and  scorn  of  mountaioi 
in  labour  ■■Olaiamara  and  Faunan* 
maatr  onong  die  mt. 


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In  an  these  greater  historiefl,  the 
Laureate  has  been  much  the  worse  for 
■ome  unhappy  notion  he  has  got  into 
his  head,  of  writing  d  la  Churendon. 
Ckrendon  is  one  of  the  first  English 
dassics,  and  one  of  the  first  historical 
authors  the  world  can  boast ;  but  no- 
body can  deny  that  he  is,  neverthe- 
less, a  most  prolix  penman.  The 
things  that  carry  him  through,  in 
^ite  of  all  his  prolixity,  are,  fint,  the 
amazing  abstract  interest  of  his  sub- 
ject matter ;  secondly,  his  own  prodi- 
gious knowledge  of  human  nature; 
and,  thirdly,  the  admirable  opportu- 
nities he  had  for  appljring  this  Know- 
ledge to  the  indiyidual  obaracters  he 
has  to  treat  of,  in  the  course  of  a  bug 
life  spent  in  the  most  important  offices 
of  the  state,  and  during  the  most  im- 
portant series  of  changes  that  the  state 
nas  eyer  witnessed.  Now,  the  Doc- 
tor, to  balance  a  caricature  of  the 
Chancellor's  tediousness,  brings  really 
but  a  slender  image  of  the  Cnanoel- 
lor's  qualifications.  He  writes  not 
about  things  and  persons  that  he  has 
seen,  and  if  he  dia,  he  has  extremely 
little  insight  into  human  character, 
and  a  turn  of  mind  altogether  difibr- 
ent  from  that  which  is  necessary  for 
either  transacting  or  comprehending 
the  affidrs  of  active  life.  Henas  the  pro- 
lixity— ^without  the  graphic  touoies^ 
the  mtense  knowle£e,  the  profound 
individual  feeling,  of  a  writer  of  me- 
moirs. He  reads  five  or  six  piles  of  old 
books,  and  picks  up  a  hazy  enough 
view  of  some  odd  diaracter  there,  and 
then  he  thinks  he  is  entitled  to  favour 
us  with  this  view  of  his,  at  the  same 
length  which  we  could  only  have  par- 
dtmed  from  some  chosen  mend,  and 
life-long  ftmiliar  aasociate  of  the  hero 


Swtheifi  lAft  of  Wtdtfi. 


CFeb. 


Perhaps  Southe/s  Life  of  Wesley 
ia  the  most  remarkable  instance  ex- 
tant, of  the  ridiculons  extremitieB  to 
whidi  vanity  of  this  kind  can  carry  a 
man  of  great  tidents  and  acquirements. 
Who  but  Sonthey  would  ever  have 
dreamt  that  it  was  possible  for  a  man 
that  was  not  a  Methodist,  and  that 
had  never  seen  John  Wesle/s  frice, 
nor  even  conversed  with  any  one  of 
his  disciples,  to  write  two  thumping 
vdumes  under  the  name  of  a  \Jait  m 
Wesley,  without  turning  the  stomach 
<if  the  Public?  For  whom  did  he 
leaUy  simpose  he  was  writing  this 
book?  Men  of  calm  sense  and  ration- 
al religion,  were  certainly  not  at  all 


likely  to  take  ihdr  notion  of  the 
Founder  of  the  Methodists,  fWnn  any 
man  who  oould  really  suppose  that 
Founder's  life  to  be  worth  v  of  occupy- 
ing one  thousand  nages  of  dose  prmt. 
The  Methodkts  tnemsdves  would,  of 
course,  be  hOTrified  with  the  very 
name  of  such  a  book,  on  such  a  sutl- 
ject,  by  one  of  the  uninitiated.  Pro- 
bably, few  of  them  have  lodced  in- 
to it  at  all ;  an4,  most  oertamly, ' 
those  that  have  done  so,  must  have 
done  so  with  continual  pain,  loathing, 
and  disgust.  But  our  fHend,  from 
the  moment  he  takes  up  any  subject, 
no  matter  what  it  is,  seems  to  be  quite 
certain,  first,  that  that  suliject  is  the 
only  one  in  the  world  woith  writing 
about ;  and,  secondly,  that  he  is  the 
onlv^man  who  has  any  right  to  meddle 
with  it.  On  he  drives — ream  siter  ream 
is  covered  with  his  beautify,  distinct, 
and  print-like  autograph.  We  have 
sometimes  thought  it  possible  that  the 
very  beauty  of  this  hand- writing  of  his, 
may  have  been  one  of  his  duefcurses. 
One  would  think,  now,  that  writing 
out,  in  any  hand,  dull  and  long-winded 
quotations  fixnn  Wedey's  Sermons, 
Whitefield's  Sermons,  their  Journals, 
their  Magazines,  &c  &c  &c,  would 
be  but  poor  amusement  in  the  eyes  of 
such  a  man  as  Southey — more  esped- 
ally  as  it  must  be  quite  obvious,  that 
they  who  really  tnink  these  people 
worthy  oi  being  studied  like  so  many 
Julius  Caesars,  will,  of  course,  study 
&em  in  their  own  works,  and  in  the 
works  of  their  own  ardent  admirers  ; 
and  that,  as  to  mankind  in  seneral, 
they  will  still  say,  after  reaoing  all 
that  the  Laureate  nas  heued  togeUier, 
<<  Did  this  man  never  read  Hume's  one 
chimter  on  the  Puritan  Sects?" 

The  truth  is,  that  a  real  historian, 
dther  a  Hume,  or  a  Clarendon,  or  a  * 
Du  Bets,  or  a  Tadtus,  would  have 
found  no  difficulty  in  concentrating 
all  that  really  can  be  sdd,  to  any 
purpose,  about  Wedey,  Zinsendor^ 
Whitefidd,  and  all  the  rest  of  these 

nle,  in,  at  the  most,  fifty  pages, 
then  the  world  would  have  read 
the  thing  and  been  the  better  for  it. 
At  present,  the  Methodists  stick  to 
their  own  absurd Livesof  Wedey, and 
there  exists  no  Life  of  him  adapted  for 
the  purposes  of  the  generd  reader,  or 
composed  with  any  refeteace  to  the 
ideas  of  any  extenave  body  of  educa- 
ted men  wnatever. 
Neverthdess,  whojviU  deny,  that 


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in  these  two  tlilde  Toilunies  a  greftt  deal 
both  of  instniction  and  amusement  is 
to  be  found  ?  The  hero  being  what 
he  was^  it  was  indeed  quite  impossible 
that  this  should  be  otherwise.  And 
the  complaint  is  not  of  the  materials, 
nor  of  the  manner  in  which  the  most 
interesting  part  of  them  is  made  use  of, 
but  of  the  wearisome  mass  of  super-* 
fluous  stuff  with  which  the  Laureate 
has  contrived  to  overlay  his  admirable 
materials,  and  to'  make  his  fine  pas* 
sages  the  mere  oases  in  a  desart ;  and 
of  that  portentous  garrulitv,  for  the 
sake  of  indulging  in  which,  ne  has  not 
drawn  the  extraordinary  man  s  cha- 
racter. 

Wesley,  was,  no  doubt,  a  man  of 
ardent  piety  ;  and,  no  doubt,  with 
much  evil,  he  has  also  done  much 
good  in  tke  world.  He  was  mad  from 
Bia  youth  up^  and  vanity,  and  aelfiah- 
,nes8  of  ^e  most  extravagant  sort, 
were  at  least  aa  discernible  in  every 
important  step  he  took  in  life,  as  any 
of  those  better  motives,  the  existence 
of  which  it  is  impossiUe  to  deny. 
-His  fkther  was  a  most  reverend,  holy, 
devout,  and  affectionate  old  der^- 
man,  who  educated  a  large  fiimuy 
upon  a  very  slender  income,  and  spent 
his  whole  strength  in  the  spiritusi  la- 
bours of  a  noor  parish,  fml  of  igno- 
rant and  rune  people.  When  he  found 
'himself  near  aeath,  he  saw  his  wife 
and  a  number  of  daughters  likely  to 
be  led  destitute.  He  had  influence, 
as  he  thought,  to  get  his  living  for  his 
son  John ;  and  he  called  upon  him 
to  sav  that  he  would  take  it  when  he 
should  be  no  more,  and  give  his  mo- 
ther and  sisters  a  right  to  keep  their 
home.  John  Wesley,  then  in  holy 
orders,  and  residing  at  Oxford,  saia, 
his  spiritual  interests  were  incompa- 
.  dble  with  his  acceptance  of  his  fa- 
ther's benefice,  and  he  allowed  the  old 
man  to  die  without  comfort,  and  left 
his  other  parent  and  sisters  to  face  the 
world  as  they  might 

John  Wesley,  in  America,  flirted 
with  a  fine  lass,  a  Miss  Causton,  and 
offered  her  marriage ;  suspecting,  how- 
ever, that  she  was  not  suffidenUy  reH- 
gious  for  him,  he  consulted  a  commit- 
tee of  six  Moravian  elders,  whether  he 
should,  or  should  not,  marry  her,  as 
he  had  told  her  he  would  do.  They 
deciding  in  the  negative,  by  the  truly 
Christian  method  of  casting  lots,  he 
drew  back.  Miss  Causton  married  an- 
other roan.    Mr  Wedey  upon   this 


commenced  B  long  series  of  priesdy 
admonitions  and  inquisitions,  and  at 
length,  when  she  vras  some  months 

Sne  with  child,  the  jealous,  envious 
onk  refused  her  admission  to  the 
sacramental  table  ^  the  consequence  (^ 
which  was  a  miscarriage,  and  the 
great  danger  of  her  life. 

This  was  the  behaviour  of  Wesley 
to  his  father  and  his  mistress.  What 
wonder  that  such  a  man  saw  no  evil 
in  creating  a  schism  in  the  church  ? 
He  always  determined  what  he  was 
to  do  when  in  any  difficulty,  by  open- 
ing the  Bible,  and  obeying  what  he 
conceived  to  be  the  meaning  of  the 
first  text  his  eye  fell  on.  But  we  have 
no  intention  to  go  into  the  details  of 
his  life  and  character  here.  We  shall 
rather  quote,  from  Mr  South^,  a  few 
passages  about  his  most  eminent  rival 
and  disciple,  the  far  more  interesting 
GmrgeWh^efield. 

**  George  Wbiteiield  was  bom  at  the 
Bell  Inn,  in  the  city  of  Gloucester,  at 
the  close  of  the  year  1714k  He  de^ 
scribes  himself  as  froward  from  his  mo- 
ther's womb ;  so  brutish  as  to  hate  in- 
struction; stealing  from  his  mother's 
pocket,  and  frequently  appropriating,  to 
his  own  use  the  money  that  he  took  in 
the  house.  '  If  I  trace  myself'  he  says, 
*  from  my  cradle  to  my  manhood,  I  can 
see  nothing  in  me  but  a  fitness  to  be 
tlamned ;  and  if  the  Almighty  had  not 
prevented  me  by  his  grace,  I  had  now 
either  been  sitting  in  darkness  and  in  the 
shadow  of  death,  or  condemned,  as  the 
due  reward  of  my  crimes,  to  be  forever 
lifting  up  my  eyes  in  torments.'  Yet 
Whitefield  could  recollect  early  movings 
of  the  heart,  which  satisfied  him  in  after- 
life, that '  God  loved  him  with  an  ever- 
lasting love,  and  had  separated  him  even 
from  his  mother's  womb,  for  the  work  to 
which  he  afterwards  was  pleased  to  call 
him.'  He  had  a  devout  disposition,  and  a 
tender  heart.  When  he  was  about  ten 
years  old,  his  mother  made  a  second 
marriage;  it  proved  an  unhappy  one. 
During  the  affliction  to  which  this  led, 
his  brother  used  to  read  aloud  Bishop 
Ken's  Manual  for  Wmchester  Sdiolars. 
This  book  affected  George  Whiteiiekl 
greatly;  and  when  the  corporation,  at 
ihe\T  annual  visitation  of  St  Mary  de 
Crypt's  school,  where  he  was  educated, 
gave  him,  according  to  custom,  money  for 
ihe  speeches  which  he  was  chosen  to  de^ 
liver,  be  purchased  the  book,  andfouid 
it,  he  says^  of  great  benefit  to  bis  sooL 

<<  Whitefidd's  talents  €or  ekiciitkm, 
which  made  him  afterwards  so  greats 


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S<mAei^sL^f^W00i^ 


m2 

p^rfbnitt  intbe  polpili  wereattliMtioie 
in  aooae  danger  of  receinng  a  theatrioil 
direction,  llie  boys  tX  the  granuMi^ 
school  were  fond  of  acting  pl^rs:  the 
mastery '  seeing  how  their  vein  ran,'  en- 
ooiiraged  it»  and  oomposed  a  dramatic 
piece  himseify  which  they  represented 
before  the  corporation,  and  in  which 
Whitelleld  enacted  a  woman's  part,  and 
appeared  in  girl's  clothes.  The  remem- 
brance of  this,  he  says,  had  often  eover- 
fld  him  with  confusion  of  face,  and  he 
hoped  it  would  do  so  even  to  the  end  of 
his  life !  Before  he  was  fifteen,  he  per- 
suaded his  mother  to  take  him  from 
sdiool,  saying,  that  she  could  not  place 
him  at  the  university,  and  more  learning 
would  onlf  spoil  him  for  a  tradesman. 
Her  own  dreumstanoes,  indeed,  were  by 
this  time  so  much  on  the  decline,  that 
his  menial  services  were  required:  he 
begm  occasionally  to  assist  her  fas  the 
pnbUo-hoose,  tUl  at  length  he  *  put  on 
his  blue  apron  and  his  snuifors,*  washed 
mops,  cleaned  rooms,  and  became  a  pro- 
fessed and  common  drawer.'  In  the 
little  leisure  iHiich  such  employments 
allowed,  this  strange  Ix^  composed  two 
or  three  sermons;  and  the  romances, 
which  had  been  his  heart's  delight^  gave 
place  for  awhile  to  Thomas  i  Kempis. 

**  When  he  had  been  about  a  year  in 
this  servile  occupation,  the  inn  was  made 
over  to  a  married  brother,  and  George 
being  accustomed  to  the  house,  continu- 
ed there  as  an  assistant ;  but  he  could 
not  agree  with  his  sister-in-law,  and  af- 
ter much  uneasiness  gave  up  the  situa- 
tion. His  mother,  though  her  means 
were  scanty,  permitted  him  to  have  a 
bed  upon  the  ground  in  her  house,  and 
live  with  her,  till  Providence  should 
point  out  a  place  for  him.  The  way  was 
soon  indicated.  A  servitor  at  Pembroke 
College  called  upon  his  mother,  and  in 
the  course  of  conversation  told  her,  that 
after  all  his  college  expenses  for  that 
quarter  were  dischuged,  he  had  received 
a  penny.  She  immediately  cried  out, 
this  will  do  for  my  son  $  and  turning  to 
him  said.  Will  you  go  to  Oxford,  George  ? 
Happening  to  have  the  same  friends  as 
this  young  man,  she  waited  on  them 
without  delay ;  tliey  promised  their  in- 
terest to  obtain  a  servitor's  place  in  the 
same  college,  and  in  reliance  upon  this 
Geoige  returned  to  the  grammar-schooL 
Here  he  applied  closely  to  his  books, 
and  shaking  off^  by  the  strong  effort  of  a 
religious  mmd,  all  evil  and  idle  courses, 


CFeb. 


produce^  1^  the  infltteliee  of  his  taleats 
and  example^  some  reformation  annrng 
his  schooUfollows.  He  attended  puUk 
service  constantly,  received  the  sacra- 
ment monthly,  fHuBA  often,  and  pmyed 
often,  more  than  twice  a  day  in  private. 
At  the  age  of  eighteen  he  was  removed 
to  Oxford ;  the  recommendation  of  his 
friends  was  successful ;  another  friend 
borrowed  for  him  ten  pounds,  to  defray 
the  expense  of  entering  i  and  with  a 
'good  fortune  beyond  his  hopes,  he  was 
admitted  servitor  immediately. 

**  Servitorships  are  more  in  die  spirit 
of  a  Roman  Ca^olic  than  of  an  Englidi 
establishment.  Among  the  Catholics, 
religious  poverty  is  made  req^ectable,  be- 
cause it  is  accounted  a  virtue ;  and  hu- 
miliation is  an  essential  part  of  monastic 
diseiplin&  But  in  ourstate  of  things  it 
eannot  be  wise  to  brand  m<|i  with  the 
mark  of  inferiority;  the  line- Is  already 
broad  enough.  Oxford  would  do  well  i^ 
in  tikis  respeet,  it  imitated  Cambridge, 
abolished  an  in  vidious  distinction  of  dressy 
and  dispensed  with  services  which,  even 
when  they  are  not  roorti^fiag  to  those 
who  perform  tiiem,  are  painful  to  those 
to  whom  they  are  performed.  White- 
field  found  the  advantage  of  having  been 
used  to  a  public-house;  manywhocould 
dioose  their  servitor  preferred  him,  be- 
cause of  his  diligent  and  alert  attendance; 
and  thus,  liy  help  of  tiie  profiu  of  the 
place,  and  some  little  presents  made 
him  by  a  kind-hearted  tutor,  he  was  en^ 
abled  to  live  without  being  beholden  to 
his  relations  for  more  than  four-and-twen- 
ty  pounds,  in  the  course  of  three  years. 
Little  as  Uiis  is,  it  shews,  when  compa- 
red with  the  ways  and  means  of  the 
elder  Wesley  at  College^  that  half  a  cen- 
tury had  greatly  enhanced  the  expenses 
of  Oxford.  At  first  he  was  rendered  un- 
comfortable by  the  soctety  into  which  he 
was  thrown;  he  had  several  chamber- 
fiBllows,  who  would  fikin  have  made  him 
join  them  in  their  riotous  mode  of  life ; 
and  as  he  could  only  escape  from  their 
persecutions  by  sitting  alone  in  his  study, 
he  was  sometimes  benumbed  with  cold ; 
but  when  they  perceived  the  strength  as 
well  as  the  singularity  of  his  character, 
they  suffered  lum  to  take  his  own  way 
in  peace. 

^  Before  Whitefield  went  to  Oxford,  he 
had  heard  of  the  young  men  there  who 
*  lived  by  rule  and  method,'  and  were 
therefore  called  Methodists.  They  were 
now  much  talked  of,  and  generally  de- 


*  So  die  word  is  printed  in  his  own  aooount  of  his  life ;  it  seems  to  mean  the  slee? cs 
which  are  worn  by  deanly  men  in  dirty  employments,  and  may  possibly  be  a  miq>rint 
fbr  icoggeri^  as  such  sleeves  are  called  in  some  parts  of  England. 

7 


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wtni  thfini  by  kindred  fedfaigs^dtfeiided 
them  ■treaoonsly  when  he  bsard  them 
reviled,  and  when  he  sew  them  go  through 
a  ridiciUing  crowd  to  receiTo  the  s&cnu 
ment  at  St  Bfar/s,  was  strongly  inclined 


913 


lo¥fl^  partakmg  the  virtue  of  that  iMt 
firom  which  it  flowed,  inasmuch  as  it 
sisemed  to  enter  the  heart  which  it  pier^ 
oed,  and  to  heal  it  as  with  balm.'* 
Of  his  nmtuTer  powers,  he  iixoM  ool- 


to  follow  their  example.   For  more  than    lects  the  testimony  of  the  most  iinquM- 
a  year  he  yearned  to  be  acquainted  with    tionable  witncASM. 


i  year  be  yearned  to  be  acquainted 
them ;  and  it  seems  that  the  sense  of 
his  inferior  condition  kept  him  back.. 
At  length  the  great  object  of  his  desires 
was  eflfected.  A  pauper  bad  attempted 
suicide,  and  Whitefield  sent  a  poor  wo- 
man to  inform  Charles  Wesley  that  he 
■night  visit  the  person*  and  minister  spi^ 
ritual  medicine ;  the  messenger  waa 
diaiged  not  to  say  who  sent  her;  ood. 
tnry  to  these  orders,  she  told  his  name^ 
and  Charles  Wesley,  who  had  seen  him 
frequently  walking  by  himself,  and  heard 
something  of  his  character,  invited  him 
to  breakfast  the  next  morning.  An  in- 
troduction to  this  little  fellowship  soon 
followed ;  and  be  also,  like  them,  <  be- 
gan to  live  by  rale,  and  to  pick  up  the 
Very  frsgasenu  of  his  time,  that  not  a 
moment  of  it  might  be  lost.*  '* 


tionable  witnesees. 

'^  Dr  Franklin  has  justly  observed,  thnt 
it  would  have  been  fortunate  for  his  re> 
putation  if  he  had  left  no  written  works ; 
his  talents  would  then  have  been  estima- 
ted by  the  eflect  which  they  are  known 
to  have  produced ;  for,  on  this  point,  them 
is  the  evidence  of  witnesses  whose  credi- 
bility cannot  be  dii^nted.  Whitefleld'a 
writings,  of  every  kind,  are  certainly  be- 
low medioerity.  They  afford  the  mea- 
sure of  his  knowledge  and  of  his  inteU 
tect,  but  not  of  his  genius  as  a  preadier. 
His  printed  sermons,  instead  of  behig^  at 
is  usual,  tiie  roost  elaborate  and  finished 
discourses  of  their  author,  have  indeed 
the  disadvantage  of  being  precisely  those 
upon  which  the  least  care  had  been  be- 
stowed.   This  may  be  easily  ezpbuned. 

** '  By  hearing  him  often,'  says  Frank- 


The  following  is  Soatbey's  account   Hn, '  1  came  to  distinguish  easily  between 


of  Whitefield's  qaalificatioDB  as  an  ora- 
tor when  he  first  began  preaching : — 

**  The  man  who  produced  this  extraor- 
dinary effect,  had  many  natural  advan- 
tages. He  was  something  above  the 
middle  stature,  well-proportioned,  though 
at  that  time  slender,  and  remarlad)ie  for 
a  native  gracefulness  of  manner.  His 
complexion  was  very  fair,  his  features  re- 
gular, his  eyes  small  and  lively,  of  a  dark 
Wue  colour  :  in  recovering  from  the 
measles,  he  had  contracted  a  squint  with 
one  of  them  ;  but  this  peculiarity  rather 
rendered  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance more  rememberable,  than  any  de- 
gree lessened  the  effect  of  its  uncommon 
sweetness.  His  voice  excelled  both  in 
melody  and  compass,  and  its  fine  modu- 
lations were  happily  accompanied  by  that 
grace  of  action  which  he  possessed  in  an 
eminent  degree,  and  which  has  been  said 
to  be  the  chief  requisite  of  an  orator.  An 
Ignorart  man  described  his  eloquence 
oddly  but  strikingly,  when  he  said,  that 
Mr  Whitefield  preached  like  a  lion.  So 
strange  a  comparison  conveyed  no  unapt 
a  notion  of  the  force,  and  vehemence,  aiid 
passion  of  that  oratory  whidi  awed  the 
nearera,  and  made  them  tf  euible  hke'  tf^ 
lix  before  the  apostle.  For  believing  him- 
self to  be  the  messenger  of  God,  commis- 
•ioned  to  call  sinners  to  repentance,  he 
tpokt  as  one  conscious  of  bis  high  cre- 
dentialsk  with  authority  and  power ;  yet 
in  aU  his  diseounaa  there  waa  a  fervent 
and  melting  charity  ■■an  eameatneea  of 

Vol.  XV. 


sermons  newly  composed^  and  those  which 
he  had  often  preadied  in  the  course  of  his 
trevels.  His  delivery  of  the  latter  was  so 
Improved  by  frequent  repetition,  that 
every  accent,  every  emphasis,  every  mo- 
duhition  of  voice,  was  so  perfectly  well 
turned,  and  well  placed,  that,  without  be- 
ing interested  in  the  subject,, one  could 
not  help  being  pleased  with  the  discourse 
—a  pleasure  of  much  the  same  kind  with 
that  received  from  an  excellent  piece  of 
music  This  is  an  advantage  itinerant 
preachen  have  over  those  who  are  sta- 
tionary, as  the  latter  cannot  well  improve 
their  delivery  of  a  sermon  by  so  many  re- 
hearsals.' It  was  a  great  advantage,  but 
it  was  not  the  only  one,  nor  the  greatest, 
which  he  derived  from  repeating  his  dis- 
courses, and  reciting  instead  of  reading 
them.  Had  they  been  delivered  from  a 
written  copy,  one  delivery  would  have 
been  like  the  last ;  tlie  paper  would  have 
operated  like  a  spell,  from  which  he  could 
notdepart-^invention  sleeping,  while  the 
utterance  followed  the  eye.  But  when 
he  had  nothing  before  him  except  the  au- 
dience whom  he  was  ad^essnig,  the 
judgment  and  the  imagination,  as  well  aa 
the  memory^  were  cslled  forth.  Those 
parts  were  omitted  which  had  been  felt 
to  come  feebly  fh>m  the  tongue,  and  fall 
heavily  upon  Uie  ear,  and  their  place  wm 
supplied  by  matter  newly  laid  in  in  the 
course  of  his  studies,  or  fresh  from  the 
feeling  of  the  moment  They  who  lived 
with  him  could  trace  him  in  his  sermona 
2E 


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«4 

ing^  ot  the  subjoct  whicH  bund  recejsNUjr 
takw  bis  atteatlMi.  But  the  ialient 
poiiits  of  htt  ofMtory  were  not  prepared 
passages,— they  were  bursts  of  paasioii« 
li&e  jets  from  a  G«^gr«er,  when  the  spring 
is  in  fuU  play. 

^  The  theatrical  talent  which  be  dis- 
p^yed  in  boyhood,  ipanifested  itself 
strongly  in  bis  oratoiy.  When  he  wan 
wlbovtt  to  preachy  whether  it  was  from  a 
pulpit,  or  a  table  in  the  streets,  or  a  ri- 
sing ground,  he  appeared  with  a  solem- 
nity oif  manner,  and  an  anxious  expression 
of  countenance,  that  seemed  to  shew  how 
deeply  he  wss  possessed  with  a  sense  of 
the  importance  of  what  he  was  about  to 
say.  Htf  elocution  was  perfect.  They 
who  besAd  jbim  most  frequently  could  not 
r^q^ember  that  be  ever  stumbled  at  a 
^Qvd,  or  hesitated  for  want  of  one.  He 
never  fiiuUered,  unless  when  the  feeling 
ip  which  he  bad  wrought  himself  over« 
«^me  him,  and  then  his  speech  was  inteis- 
cupted  by  a  flow  of  teara  Sometimes  he 
would  appear  to  lose  all  self*command, 
and  weep  exceeding^,  and  stamp  loudly 
^od  passionately  i  and  sometimes  the 
emotion  of  bis  mind  exhausted  him,  and 
Uie  beholders  felt  a  momentary  apprehen- 
sion even  for  his  life.  And,  indeed,  it  is 
said,  that  the  effect  of  this  vehemence 
upon  his  bodily  frame  was  treqiendous ; 
that  he  usually  vomited  after  he  bad 
preached,  and  sometimes  discharged  in 
this  manner,  a  considerable  quantity  of 
blood*  But  this  was  when  the  effort  was 
over,  and  nature  was  left  at  leisure  to  re- 
Ueve  herselA  While  he  was  on  duty,  kp 
eontroUed  all  sense  of  infirmity  or  pain, 
and  made  his  advantage  of  the  passion  to 
which  he  had  given  wfty.  *  You  blame  me 
U>r  weeping,'  he  would  say,  *  but  how  can 
I  help  it,  when  you  will  not  weep  for 
yourselves,  though  your  immortal  souls 
are  upon  the  verge  of  destruction,  and, 
for  aught  I  know,  you  are  hearing  your 
last  sermon,  and  may  never  more  have  an 
opportunity  to  have  Christ  offered  to 
you!* 

"  Sometimes  he  would  set  before  his 
congr^iation  the  sgony  of  our  Saviour,  as 
UK>ugh  the  scene  was  actually  before 
them.  <Look  yonder  1*  he  would  say, 
stretching  out  his  hand,  and  pointing 
while  he  spake,  *  what  is  it  that  I  see  ? 


Miti^V  L^qf  Wkfklf. 


nwh. 


U  U  Bif  igoiyiiflgLifdJ  HMk,  hUki 
do  you  not  hear  P'^-O  my  Father,  If  k  be 
poMible,  let  this  eup  pass  from  me !  m^ 
vertheless,  not  my  will,  but  thine  be 
done !"  This  he  introduced  freqnentljr 
in  his  sermons;  and  one  who  lived  with 
him  w^  the  effect  was  not  destroyed  by 
repetition ;  even  to  those  who  kaew  what 
was  eoming,  it  came  as  forcibly  as  if  they 
had  never  heard  it  belDre.  In  this  le. 
spect  it  was  like  fine  stage  aeting ;  and, 
indeed,  Whitefiekl  indulged  in  an  histao* 
nic  mann^  of  preaching,  which  would 
have  been  offensive  if  it  had  not  been  raa* 
dered  admirable  by  his  natural  gmcefitU 
Bess  and  inimitable  power.  Sometimes, 
at  the  dose  of  a  sermon,  he  wookl  per- 
senate  a  judge  about  to  perform  the  last 
awful  part  of  his  ofiioe.  With  his  cf  ea 
fbll  at  tears,  and  an  emotioa  that  mada 
his  speech  faulter,  after  a  pause  whieh 
kept  the  whole  aadieaoe  in  breathlees  e»* 
psctation  of  what  was  to  eome,  he  would 
mft  *  I  am  now  going  to  put  on  myoe»« 
damning  cap.  Sinaer,  I  m«st  do  it :  I 
must  pionounoe  seatenoe  upon  yeal* 
and  then,  hi  a  tremendous  strain  of  elo* 
quence,describi<ig  the  eternal  punishment 
of  the  wicked,  he  recited  the  words  of 
Christ, '  Depart  from  me,  ye  cursed,  into 
everlasting  fire,  prepared  for  the  devU  and 
his  angels.'  When  he  spoke  of  St  Peterp 
how,  after  the  cock  crew,  he  went  out  and 
wept  bitterly,  he  had  a  fold  of  his  gown 
ready,  in  which  he  hid  his  face. 

'*  Perfect  as  it  was^  histrionism  like  this 
would  have  produced  no  lasting  effect 
upon  the  mind,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
unaffected  earnestness  and  the  indubita- 
ble sincerity  of  the  preacher,  which  equal- 
ly characterised  his  manner,  whether  he 
rose  to  the  lie^ht  of  passion  in  his  dis- 
course, or  won  the  attention  of  the  mot- 
ley crowd  by  the  introduction  of  familiar 
stories,  and  illustrations  adapted  to  the 
meanest  capacity.*  To  such  digressions 
his  disposition  led  him,  which  was  natu- 
rally inclined  to  a  comic  pUyfuIness. 
Minds  of  a  certain  power  will  sometimes 
egress  their  strongest  feelings  with  a  le- 
vity at  which  formalists  are  shocked,  and 
which  dull  men  are  wholly  unable  to  un- 
derstand. But  language  which,  when 
coldly  repeated,  might  seem  to  border 
upon  irreverence  and  burlesque,  has  its 
effect  in  popular  preaching,  when  the  in- 


*  Wesley  says  of  him,  in  his  Joumal,  **•  How  wise  is  God  in  siving  different  talents 
to  different  preachers  !  Even  the  little  improprieties  both  of  his  Unguage  and  manner, 
were  a  means  of  profiting  many  who  would  not  have  been  touched  by  a  more  eoireet 
discourse,  or  a  more  calm  and  regular  manner  of  speaking.**  St  Angusdne  sumcwheje 
says,  that  is  the  best  key  which  opens  the  door  t  quid  fwkmptodeH  eknU  thtrem  #i  opt^ 
rlrc  qttod  volumn*  iton  potrst  9  ant  qftod  obcH  Hgnett^  H  hocf0t90t,  feewds  tUMi  qtmri* 
thus  nifi  patere  quod  chntum  at  9 

5 


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1M4.:] 


atmlM§'h  U^i>f  W9$ie9. 


m4 


Cncton  ofttejMke^  t»|nrilotlr«iid^ 
iiood:  itisankedlo  tbtgMtmaM  df 
tbe  |>«i]»<|iti8lM«bftli«nWlMnbH- 
ter  tfahigB  w^uid  have  piodncW  116  im- 
pnukm  i  and  Hii  bonw  tway  when  wtirfr 
diguiMfiti  wovld  iNnre  bMO  fSDrgotUffi* 
There  was  anCitlie?  tnd  ttiore  -aiMottitndli 
fmj  in  >^eh  Wbftieiild*!  poevllar  tAlent 
feometuBes  wt»  indtdged  $  be  couM  diredt 
kit  dieeoime  towtid  m  indivfdval  M> 
akilftdlj,  that  the  coagregition  had  m 
edspieiiNi  at  any  paftiealar  purport  la  thit 
part  of  the  sennon ;  while  the  penon  at 
whom  It  wai  ahned  felt  {t,  aa  ft  was  dt- 
reefed,  hi  He  fMl  force.  There  waa  aoms- 
thiies  a  degree  of  sportivenesef  almoet 
akia  to  laieehief  in  hit  buinotir. 

**  Bemaikahle  instaneea  are  telated  Of 
tha  Btaimer  in  whksh  he  impreeied  Ms 
iiearere.  A  man  at  Exeter  ttood  with 
Blonea  m  hie  poclcet,  and  one  in  hit  hand, 
veadf  to  throw  at  him ;  hut  he  dropped  It 
Mbra  the  eermoa  Was  Ikr  adfanced*  aad 
going  ap  to  him  after  the  preadiing  w«b 
fftr,  be  8md>  *  Sir,  I  came  to  liear  you 
with  an  iaeentioli  to  hraak  yoar  bead ; 
Imt  Ood»  throagfa  yuur  udnltCryi  haeglineii 
me  a  hndcen  heart'  A  ship-boflder  was 
odee  «aked  what  he  tbooght  of  hiniL 
<ThhikPberepHed,<ItallyoQ»Bir,eTefy 
Balidi^  that  I  go  to  my  parish  churchy  I 
IHI  build  a  ship  from  stem  to  stem  under 
Ae  essnan ;  buty  were  it  to  sate  my  wotA, 

'   '  Mr  Whiteflald,  I  could  «ot  teym 


tittle  plaitB.'*  HttBHef  ptMNUBoedlilm 
the  maadngmiidas  preacher  be  had  ator 
bted;  aad  eaU;  It  waa  wetth  while  to  go 
iwtiitymllaa  to  hear  bha.  But,  peahapa^ 
tbd  grsaiest  proef  of  fats  pdrfcuaslfa  po#w 
an  was»  When  he  dr^.  fnnb  FAakttB't 
ppdcet  the  moliegr  whiob  £bat  eledr»  cool 
leasonef  bid  deCermioed  not  to'gire  t  it 
waS'for  tb^  orphan-house  at  fiavanaal^ 
'  I  did  not»'  says  tbe  American  phUosok 
pber, '  disapprove  of  the  design ;  but  aa 
Geoigia  was  then  destitute  of  materiala 
and  workmen,  and  it  was  proposed  to  send 
them  from  Philadelphia  at  a  great  ex- 
pense, I  thought  it  would  have  been  bet- 
ter to  bare  boUt  the  house  at  Ffa&adel- 
phia,  and  broaght  the  ohBdreB  to  it.  This 
I  advised ;  but  be  was  resolute  in  his  first 
frojeet,  rejected  my  counsel,  and  I  there> 
fore  refused  to  contribute.  I  happened, 
aoou  sftei^  to  attend  on^  of  hit  sermona, 
in  the  course  of  whidi  I  perceived  be  in- 
Ceoded  to  ftitisb  with  d  coUeeCion,  and  I 
aUently  resolved  be  sboold  get  ndthing 
Aom  U&  1  bad  in  my  podcet  a  handfiil 
of  copper  meney«  three  or  four  silver  dal- 
kas^  and  five  pistolea  in  gold.  As  be 
proceeded  I  began  to  toften»  and  eondd- 
ded  to  gf^  the  copper;  another  Stroke  of 
bis  oratory  nmde  me  ashamed  of  that,  aad 
determined  me  to  give  the  silver;  and  he 
finished  so  admiraUy,  that  I  emptied  my 
^oaket  wholly  into  the  Ootteetdr's  dish, 
goM$  and  aU.*  *» 


-f  Mr  tflnter  relates  a  curious  anecdote  of  bis  preaching  at  a  maid-serVEnt  who  had 
displeased  him  bv  some  negSgcnce  in  the  moftdns.  **  In  the  evening,**  says  the  writer, 
•*  beftire  the  fiumly  retnrd  to  rest,  I  found  her  under  great  dejection,  the  reason  of  whidi 
I  ^  not  apprehend ;  fbr  it  did  not  strike  me  (hat,  in  exetnpliQring  a  conduct  inconsistent 
with  die  Christhui*s  professed  fidelity  to  his  Redeemer,  he  was  drawhig  it  fWmi  remiss- 
ness of  duty  in  a  fivfaia  diarscCer  ^  but  sI«b  felt  H  so  sensibly,  as  to  be  greatly  distressed 
by  it,  un^  he  rdleved  her  nrind  by  his  usodUy  amiable  deportment.  Tbe  next  day, 
bnug  aboot  10  leave  town,  be  otHedToot  to  her  *  FareweK  t*  she  did  not  make  her  sp- 


.  wM^  be  remarked  to  a  fbmale  fHend  at  dinner,  who  replied,  ^  6i^,  yotf  have 
diceedingly  aeuadsd  poor  BAbr*'  This  excksdt  m  him  a  hearty  laugh ;  and  when  I 
tbattecDadideorMMm  bba,  he  said,  ^  Be  «ure  to  remember  me  to  Belty)  tdlhartke 
aeeouttt  a  setUed,  and  that  1  have  nothing  move  against  her."* 

t  One  of  bis  ttgbtt  of  saalory«  not  in  the  best  taste,  is  rektedon  flume's  authority. 
**  After  a  sokwm  pause,  Mr  Whitefiddthus  addresses  his  audience  ^^'  The  attendant 
angel  is  just  about  to  leave  tbe  tbrssbold,  and  ascend  to  Heaven;  and  shall  he  ascend 
and  not  bear  with  him  tbe  news  of  one  sinner,  anwng  all  the  multitude,  reclaimed  firom 
^e  cnor  of  his  ways  1*  To  give  the  greater  effect  to  this  exclamation,  he  stamped  with 
his  foot,  bf^  up  his  hands  and  eyes  to  Heaven,  and  cried  aloud^  *•  Stop,  Gabriel !  stop, 
Gabriel !  stop,  ere  you  enter  the  sacred  jportals,  and  yet  carry  with  you  the  news  of  one 
ainner  converted  to  God  t'  "  Hume  said  this  address  was  accompanied  with  such  anl- 
mated,  yet  natural  acdoo,  that  it  surpassed  anything  he  ever  saw  or  heard  in  any  other 
preacher. 

J  ♦*  At  (his  sermon,**  continues  Franklin,  **  there  was  also  one  of  our  dub,  who,  be- 
Ififf  of  my  sentiments  respecting  the  building  in  Oeorsia,  and  suspecthig  a  collectioh 
tcSght  be  Intended,  had,  by  precaution,  emptied  his  pockets  before  he  came  from  home : 
towards  tbe  condusioD  of  the  discourse,  however,  he  feh  a  strong  inclination  to  give,  and 
applied  to  a  ae^bonr  who  stood  near  him,  to  lend  him  some  money  fbr  the  porpoee 
Tberequest  was  fiMunatdy  made  to  pertiaps  the  only  man  In  tbe  company  who  bad  the 
•tmoesaaottobaaihuadbydiepteaehsr.  ttlaanswarwat,*  At  any  odiertkne,  friend 
Hopkbuoa,  1  would  Imd  10  that  freely,  but  sot  now  I  for  tkaa  teema  to  me  10  be  out  of 
tkrilri«  •«»''> 


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"mwM  worth  Irring  and  Chakners  put 
logetber  in  the  pulpit ;  and  oertainly 
the  doien  or  two  pagei  Soathey  hn 
devoted  to  him^  are  no  more  than  his 
doe.  Wesl^  miffht  have  heen  con- 
tented with  a  shnuar  allowance. 

The  history  of  another  of  the  asso- 
ciatea— one  of  the  lay  preachers^  may 
be  taken  as  a  favourame  specimen  of 
the  way  in  which  Southey  discusses 
the  subordinate  parts  of  his  subject. 
It  is  the  life  of  one  Haimes^  a  soldier 
and  a  saint. 

^  Being  sent  to  London  with  thecamp- 
eqaipage,  he  went  to  hear  one  of  White- 
field's  preachers,  and  ymtitred,  as  he  was 
coming  back  from  the  meeting,  to  tell 
him  the  distress  of  his  souL  The  preach- 
er, whose  charity  seems  to  have  been 
upon  a  par  with  his  wiKdom,  made  an- 
swer, '  The  work  of  the  deril  is  upon 
you,*  and  rode  away.  '  It  was  of  the 
tender  merciesof  Ood,*  says  poor  Hatme, 
*  that  I  did  not  pat  an  end  to  my  life.* 

*<  <  Yet,*he  says,  <  I  thought  if  I  most 
be  damned  myself,  I  will  do  what  I  can 
that  others  may  be  s&ved ;  sol  began  to 
reprove  open  sin  wherever  I  saw  or  heard 
it,  and  to  warn  the  ungodly  that,  if  they 
did  not  repent,  they  would  surely  perish ; 
but,  if  I  found  any  that  were  weary  and 
heavy  laden,  I  told  them  to  wait  upon 
the  Lord,  and  he  would  renew  their 
strength ;  yet  I  found  no  strength  my- 
selt*  He  was,  however,  lucky  enough 
to  hear  Charles  Wesley,  at  Colchester, 
and  to  consult  him  when  die  service  was 
over.  Wiser  than  the  Calvinisttc  preach- 
er, Charles  Wesley  encouraged  him,  and 
bade  him  go  on  without  fear,  and  not  be 
dismayed  at  any  temptation.  These 
words  sank  deep,  and  were  felt  as  a  bless- 
ing to  him  for  many  years.  His  regi- 
ment vhA  now  ordered  to  Flanders;  and 
writing  from  thence  to  Wesley  for  c6m- 
fort  and  counsel,  he  was  exhorted  to  per- 
severe in  his  calling.  '  It  is  but  a  little 
thing,'  said  Wesley, '  that  man  should  be 
against  you,  while  you  know  God  is  on 
your  side.  If  he  give  you  any  compa- 
nion in  the  narrow  way,  it  b  well ;  and 
it  is  well  if  he  does  not;  but  by  all 
means  miss  no  opportunity— speak  and 
spare  not ;  declare  what  God  has  done 
for  your  soul ;  regard  not  woridly  pru- 
dence. Be  not  ashamed  of  Christ,  or  of 
his  word,  or  of  his  work,  or  of  his  ser- 
vants. Speak  the  truth  in  love,  even 
in  the  midst  of  a  crooked  generation.*— 
'  I  did  ^eak,*  he  says,  <  and  not  spare.* 
He  was  in  the  battle  of  Dettingen,  and 
being  then  in  a  state  of  hope,  be  describes 
himself  as  in  the  most  enlted  and  envi. 


SvM^ifi  Uf4  of  Wmky.  [[Pebu 

iJU  this  man  aUe  state  of  miild,  whOe,  during  seven 
hoars,  he  stood  the  fire  of  the  eoeoay. 
He  was  in  a  new  world,  «id  his  heart 
was  filled  with  love,  peaee^  and  jo|V  more 
than  tongue  could  ejq>ress.  Htsfirith^ 
aswell  ashiscourage^waapat  to  thetrial» 
and  both  were  found  prOoC 

«  Retnmuig  into  Fhmders  to  tdce  up 
their  winter  quartets,  as  they  marched 
bende  the  Maine,  they  <  saw  the  dead 
men  lie  in  the  river,  and  on  the  banks^ 
as  dung  for  the  earth ;  for  many  of  the 
flench,  attempting  to  pass  the  river  af- 
ter the  bridge  liad  been  broken,  had  been 
drowned,  and  cast  ashore  where  there 
was  none  to  bury  them.'  During  the 
winter,  he  found  two  soldiers  who  agreed 
to  take  a  room  with  him,  and  meetevery 
night  to  pray  and  read  the  Scriptures ; 
others  soon  joined  them ;  a  society  was 
formed ;  and  Methodism  was  oiguitaed 
iu  the  army  with  great  success.  There 
were  three  hundred  in  the  society,  and 
six  preachers  beside  Hatme.  As  soon 
as  they  were  settled  in  a  camp,  .they 
built  a  tabemade.  He  had  generally  a 
thousand  hearers,  officers  as  well  as  eon- 
mon  soMiers;  and  he  found  means  of 
hiring  others  to  do  his  di|ty,  that  be 
might  have  more  leisure  for  canying  on 
the  spiritual  war.  He  frequently  walked 
between  tMrenty  and  thir^  miles  a-di^^ 
and  preached  five  tines  a^di^for  a  wedc 
.  together.  *  I  had ,  three  amies  agsiast 
me,*  he  says:  'the  French  army»  the 
wicked  English  army,  and  an  army,  of 
devils ;  but  I  feared  them  not.'  It  was 
not,  indeed,  likely  that  he  should  go  on 
vrithout  some  difficulties,  his  notions  of 
duty  not  being  always  perfectly  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  established  rules  of 
military  discipline.  An  officer  one  day 
asked  him  what  he  preached;  and  as 
Haime  mentioned  certun  sins  which  he 
more  partieulariy  denounced,  and  which 
perhaps  touched  the  inquirer  a  little  too 
closely,  the  officer  swore  at  him,  and 
said,  that,  if  it  were  in  his  power,  he 
would  have  him  flogged  to  death.  *  Sir,* 
replied  Haime, '  vou  have  a  commission 
over  men ;  but  I  have  a  commission  from 
God  to  tell  you,  you  must  either  repent 
of  your  sins,  or  perish  everiastingly.' 
His  commanding  officer  asked  him  how 
he  came  to  preach ;  and  being  answered, 
that  the  Spirit  of  God  constrained  him 
to  call  his  fellow-ainners  to  repentance, 
told  him  that  then  he  must  restrain  that 
spirit.  Haime  replied,  he  would  die 
first.  It  is  to  the  honour  of  his  officers 
that  they  manifested  no  serious  displea- 
sure at  language  like  this«  His  conduct 
toward  one  of  his  eomiades,  mi^  hum 
drawn  upon  him  much  more  unpleasant 
consequences.     This  was  a  i 


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iBur\ 


99m$^9Ltf0^mmkg. 


feUoify  lvli6  iiiiliig  ft  phce  of  mon^gfi 
tAa  tome  tetrdi,  wMch  he  thought  hft 
had  lost,  threw  H  on  the  t»ble^  and  ex- 
chdmedy  <  There  b  my  ducat !  but  no 
tliuiks  to  God,  any  more  than  to  the 
Devil.*  Haime  wrote  down  the  worda^ 
and  hronght  Mm  to  aooort-marthl.  Be- 
ing then  asked  what  he  had  to  say  against 
htm,  he  produced  the  q>eech  in  writing ; 
nnd  the  officer  having  read  it,  demanded 
if  he  was  not  ashamed  to  take  account  of 
BHCb  matters.  *  No,  sir,*  replied  the  en- 
thusiast; '  if  I  had  heard  such  words 
spoken  against  his  Majesty  King  George, 
would  not  you  have  counted  roe  a  villain 
if  I  bad  concealed  them  ?*  The  only  cor- 
|>oral  pain  to  which  officers  were  suh- 
jeoted  by  our  martial  law,  was  for  this 
offence.  Till  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne^ 
they  were  liable  to  have  their  tongues 
bored  witha  hot  iron ;  and,  mitigated  as 
the  law  now  was^  it  might  still  have  ex- 
posed the  culprit  to  serious  punishment^ 
if  the  officer  had  not  sought  to  end  the 
matter  as  easily  as  he  could ;  and  there- 
fore, after  telling  the  soldier  that  he  was 
worthy  of  death,  by  the  laws  of  God  and 
man,  asked  the  prosecutor  what  he  wkh- 
ed  to  have  done ;  giving  hhn  thus  an  op- 
portunity of  atonfaig,  by  a  little  dSsere- 
tSon,  for  the  excess  of  his  aeal.  Haime 
answered,  that  he  only  desired  to  be 
parted  from  him  ;•  and  thus  it  termiimted. 
It  was  weU  for  liim  that  this  man  was 
not  of  •  midfekMur  temper,  or  he  mi|^ 
easily  have  made  the  cealot  be  regarded 
by  an  his  feUows  in  the  odious  h'ght  of  a 
persecutor  and  an  informer. 

^  While  he  was  qnrtered  at  Bruges, 
General  Ponsonby  granted  him  the  use 
of  the  English  church,  and  by  help  of 
some  good  singing,  they  brought  together 
a  large  congregation.  In  tiie  ensuing 
epring  the  battie  of  Fontenoy  was  fought 
The  Methodist  soldiers  were  at  this  time 
irrought  up  to  a  high  pitch  of  fonaticism. 
One  of  Ihem  being  fully  prepossessed 
with  a  belief  that  be  should  foU  in  the 
action,  danced  for  joy  b^re  he  went 
Into  it ;  exclaiming,  that  he  was  going 
to  rest  in  the  bosom  of  Jeius.  Others, 
when  mortally  wounded,  bfoke  out  into 
rapturous  expressions  of  hope  and  as- 
sured triumpii,  at  the  near  prospect  of 
dissolution.  Hahne  himself  was  under 
the  not  lesa  eomfortable  persnasion  that 
tfaetFrench  had  no  baU  made  whteh 
would  kill  fedm  that  dqr.  His  horse  was 
killed  under  him.  <  When  is  your  God 
now,  Haime?*  said  an  officer,  seeing  him 
foU.  •  Sir,  he  is  here  with  me^'  replied 
the  soldier,  <  and  he  will  bring  me  out 
oftfaebame.*  Bsforo  Ha'une  eooM  ex. 
triratn  himitif  from  the  btme,  which  was 
lying apon  iiiBi,acHUND  ball  to^k  off 


81T 

the  oAcer*k  head.  Tbee  of  Ms  ttHow- 
preadiers  were  killed  fn  this  battle^  « 
fourth  went  to  the  hospital,  having  bodi 
arms  broken ;  the  other  two  b^^  to 
preach  the  pleasant  doctrine  of  Antino- 
mianism,  and  professed  that  they  were 
always  happy ;  in  wliich  one  of  them  at 
least  was  sincere,  being  frequmtly  drunk 
twice  fr.day.  Many  months  had  not 
passed  before  Haime  hhnself  relapsed 
mto  his  old  miserabel  state.  '  I  was  off 
my  watch,'  he  says,  '  and  fell  by  a  grie- 
vous temptation.  It  came  as  quick  as 
lightning.  I  knew  not  if  I  was  in  my 
senses;  but  I  fell,  and  the  Spirit  of  God 
dqNUted  from  me.  Satan  was  let  loose, 
and  followed  me  by  day  and  by  night. 
The  agony  of  my  mind  weighed  down 
my  body,  and  threw  me  into  a  bloody 
flux.  I  was  carried  to  an  hospital,  just 
dropping  into  heU :  but  the  Lord  upheld 
me,  with  an  unseen  hand,  quivering  over 
the  great  gait  Before  my  fidl,  my  sight 
was  so  strong,  that  I  could  look  sted- 
festly  on  the  sun  at  noon-day ;  but,  after 
it,  I  could  not  look  a  man  in  the  foce, 
nor  bear  to  be  in  any  company.  The 
roads,  the  hedges,  the  isrees,  everything 
seemed  cursed  of  God.  Nature  appear- 
ed yM  of  God,  and  m  the  possession  of 
the  devil.  The  fowls  of  the  air,  and  the 
beasts  of  tlM  ieid,  aH  appeared  in  a  league 
against  me.  I  was  one  day  drawn  out 
into  the  woods,  lamenting  my  forlorn 
state,  and  on  a  sudden  I  b^pin  to  weep 
bitterly :  from  weeping  I  fell  to  howling^ 
like  a  wild  beast,  so  that  the  woods  re- 
sounded ;  yetcottkl  I  say,  notwithstand-* 
ing  my  bitter  cry,  my  stroke  is  heavier 
than  my  groaning ;  nevertheless,  I  couM 
not  say, '  Lord  have  mercy  upon  me  !*  if 
I  might  have  purchased  heaven  thereby. 
Very  frequently  Judas  was  represented 
to  me  as  hanging  just  before  me.  So 
great  was  the  displeasinre  of  God  against 
me,  that  he,  in  great  measure,  took  away 
the  sight  of  my  eyes:  I  could  not  see  the 
sun  for  more  than  eight  months ;  even 
In  the  clearest  summer  day,  it  ahvays 
appeared  to  me  l&e  a  mass  of  blood. 
At  the  same  time  I  tost  the  me  of  my 
knees*  I  could  truly  say,  *  Thou  hast 
sent  lire  into  my  bones.*  I  was  often  as 
hot  as  If  I  was  burning  to  death :  many 
times  I  looked  to  see  if  my  ctothes  were 
not  on  fire*  I  have  gone  into  a  river  to 
cool  myself;  but  it  was  all  the  same; 
for  what  could  quench  the  wrath  of  his 
indignation  that  was  let  loose  upon  me? 
At  other  times,  in  the  midst  of  summer, 
I  have  been  so  cold  thatlknewnot  how 
to  bear  it:  all  the  clothes  I  could  put  on 
had  no  effbct;  but  my  flesh  shivered, 
and  tuf  very  bones  quaked.' 
**  A»%  mere  physical  case,  this  would 


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fit 

Iwffiycarioiiff  h^u^pttrM^^ed 
•De>  it  is  of  Um  highest  interast.  For 
■even  years  he  continued  in  this  misereble 
•tfite,  without  one  oomfoitable  hope^ 
'angry  at  God,  angiy  at  himself,  iu^gx:y  at 
the  deyil/  and  fancying  himself  possessed 
with  mors  devils  than  Mary  Magdalenen 
Only  while  he  was  preaching  to  others 
(Iwr  he  still  continued  to  preach,)  his  dis« 
tress  was  a  little  abated.  ''Some  may  in- 
quire,* says  he,  'what  could  move  me  to 
preach  while  I  was  in  such  a  forlorn  con- 
dition? They  must  ask  of  God,  for  I 
oannot  tell.  After  some  years  I  attempt- 
ed again  %o  pray.  With  this  Satan  was 
not  well  pleased ;  for  one  day,  as  I  was 
walking  aJone,  and  Cuntly  crying  for  mer- 
oy,  suddenly  such  a  hot  Uast  of  brim? 
stone  iashed  in  my  face,  as  almost  took 
away  my  breath  j  and  presently  efter  an 
invisible  power  struck  up  my  heeli^  and 
threw  me  violently  upon  my  face.  Oua 
Sunday  I  went  to  diurch  in  Holland 
when  the  Lord*a  Supper  was  to  be  ad- 
ministered. I  bad  a  great  desire  to  par- 
take of  it ;  but  the  Enemy  came  in  Uke  a 
Aood  to  hinder  me,  pouring  in  tempta^ 
tions  of  every  kind.  I  resisted  him  with 
my  mighty  till,  through  the  i^ony  of 
my  mind,  the  blood  gushed  out  at  my 
mouth  and  nose*  However,  I  was  em^ 
bled  to  conquer,  and  to  partake  of  the 
blessed  elements.  I  was  much  distress- 
ed with  dreams  and  vision  of  the  nighU 
I  dreamt  one  night  that  I  was  in  heU } 
another,  that  I  was  on  Mount  Etna ;  that^. 
on  a  sudden,  it  shook  and  trembled  ex* 
ceedingly ;  and  that,  at  last,  it  split  »- 
sunder  in  several  places,  and  sunk  into 
the  burning  lake,  all  but  that  little  spot 
on  whkih  I  stood.  Ob,  how  thankfiil 
was  I  for  my  preservation !— 1  thought 
that  I  was  worse  than  Cain.  In  rough 
weather  it  was  often  suggested  to  me» 
'  this  is  on  j^wr  account !  Sttt  the  earth 
is  eursedfor  jfOMT  sake ;  and  it  will  be  no 
better  till  you  are  in  hell  I* 

*<  Often  did  1  wish  that  I  bad  never 
been  converted :  often,  that  I  had  never 
been  bom.  Yet  1  preached  every  day^ 
and  endeavoured  to  appear  open  and  free 
to  my  brethren.  I  enoturaged  them  that 
were  tempted.  I  thundered  out  the  ter- 
rofs  of  the  law  against  the  ungodly.  I 
was  often  violently  tempted  to  cut se  and 
swear  before  and  after,  and  even  virile  I 
was  preaching.  Sometimes,  when  I  was 
in  the  midst  of  the  congregation,  1  could 
hardly  refrain  from  laughing  aloud ;  yea,, 
from  uttering  all  kind  of  ribaklry  and 
filthy  conversation.  Flrequentlji^  as  X  wa« 
going  to  preach,  the  devil  has  set  upoa 
me  es  a  lion,  |eUi%  me  he  would  havoi 
me  just  then,  so  that  it  has  thrown  me 
itto  a  cold  sweat    In  this  egony  I  have 


MHH^'^X^k^llMy; 


t£A 


cani^tholdolthe  B|H%  and  ffead»  <  If 
any  man  sin,  we  have  an  advocate  wkli 
the  Father,  Jesus  Christ  Uie  righteous  1' 
I  i^e.  said  to  the  Enemy,  *  This  ia  the 
word  qif  God,  and  thou  canst  notdeny  it  il 
Thereat  he  would  be  Uke  a  man  that 
shrunk  back  from  the  thmst  of  a  swords 
But  he  would  be  at  me  again.  1  agam 
met  him  in  the  same  way  i  till  at  last* 
blessed  be  God !  be  fled  from  moi  And 
even  in  the  midat  of  his  sfaarpeet  aosault^ 
God  gave  me  just  strength  enough  to  beat 
them.  When  he  has  strongly- suggestedi 
just  as  I  was  going  to  preach,  *  I  will  have 
thee  at  last,*  1  have  answered,  (sometiBMe 
with  too  much  anger,) '  I  will  have  an^ 
other  out  of  thy  hand  first  1'  And  many« 
ndiile  I  was  myself  in  the  deep,  were 
truly  convinced  and  converted  to  God-' 

**  Having  returned  to  Englsndi  and  ob-» 
tanned  his  discharge  from  the  army,  be  was 
admitted  by  Mr  Wesley  as  a  travelling 
preacher.  This,  however,  did  not  deliver 
him  from  his  miserable  disease  of  mind ) 
he  could  neither  be  satisfied  with  preocht 
ii^  nor  without  it :  wherever  he  went« 
he  was  not  able  to  reeaain,  bat  was  csa^ 
tinuaUy  wanderii^  to  and  fto,  seeking 
rest,  but  finding  noste^  *  1  lhwigbt»*  he 
8ay%  '  if  David  or  Peter  had  been  Umigf 
they  would  have  pitied  ae^  Wesley,  afr 
ter  a  while>  took  him  m  a  eonipamaa  in 
one  of  his  round%  kaowki^  his  state  of 
mind,  and  lm>w«iig  h<aw  ^  bear  with  i^ 
and  to  manage  iL  '  It  was  good  te 
hifls»*  he  said, '  to  bein  the  AeipAimaoaf 
he.  should  be  purified  thereia^  but  naC 
consumed.*  Year  after  year  he  .continued 
in  this  extraordinary  states  till,  in  the  year 
1766»  he  was  persuade^  by  Mr  Wesley  ta 
go  and  dwell  with  a  person  at  St  Ivei^  ia 
Cornwall,  who  wanted  a  worn^iut  preach- 
er to  live  with  him,  take  care  of  bis  fismi- 
ly,  and  pray  with  him  ssoming  and  even* 
iof^  Here  he  was,  if  possible^  tea  times 
worse  than  before ;  and  it  seemed  to  hin^ 
that,  unless  he  got  some  relief  he  must 
die  in  despair.  '  One  dsy,*  he  ii^s,  *  1 
retired  into  th«  hal^  feU  on  my  foce,  and 
eried  for  mercy;  but  got  no  answer*  I 
got  upi  and  walked  up  and  ddwn  the 
room}  wringing  my  hand%  and  crying  like 
to  break  my  heartt  begging  of  God,  for 
Christ*s  sake,  if  there  was  any  mer^  for 
m^  to  help  moi  and,  Uesscd  be  his  name^ 
all  on  a  sudden,  I  found  each  a  change 
through  my  soul  and  bod^w  as  is  part  da* 
scriptioBb  I  was  afraid  I  slnald  dlatm 
tbe  whole  house  with  the  expressions  of 
my  joy.  I  had  a  full  witness  from  the 
Spirit  of  God  that  I  should  noifind  that 
bondage  any  mor»  GI017  be  lo  Godfor 
allhismefoyi'  Twentf  years tha disease 
hadooatiBoed  ufKm  him ;  and  it  aasv  kft 
lam,,  by  his  owk 


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«ta 


ll#oiMl7  M  H  «|nii ;  And  hit  vcooivit  if 
aaediUb ;  for  heMknowledgM  tbM  he  hii4 
not  tl^  fame  fiutb  ^  in  hU  former  staM 
;— the  8g9  of  ni^re  was  OTcr,  and  tha 
(jfltcanfiM  of  his  dtsposition  was  spent^ 
though  its  restlessness  was  imabated. 
Though  his  chaplainship  with  Mr  Hosx 
kins  had  everything  which  could  render 
such  a  situation  comfortable,  he  oould  not 
^  at  ease  till  he  was  again  in  motion, 
and  had  resumed  h|s  itinerant  labours. 
He  lived  till  the  great  age  of  seventy^ 
eight,  and  died  of  a  fever,  which  was  more 
than  twelve  months  consuming  him,  and 
which  wore  him  to  the  bone  before  he 
went  to  rest.  But  though  his  ktter  days 
were  pain,  they  were  not  sorrow.  *  He 
preached  as  long  as  he  was  able  to  speak, 
and  fonger  than  he  could  stand  without 
Mpport*  Some  of  his  last  words  were^ 
*  O  Lord,  in  thee  have  I  trusted,  and  have 
not  been  confounded  ;*  and  he  expired  in 
AiU  confidence  lliat  a  eooToy  of  angela 
were  ready  to  ooodact  his  soul  to  the  pa» 
ndise  of  God." 

We  bad  intended  to  review  The 
Book  of  the  Chnrdi  aW  when  we  be* 
gan  this  article ;  bat  thia  is  now  eWf 
dently  impoaahle.  IW  wcnk  is,  in 
flpite  of  its  moat  anoguit  and  absurd 
title,  one  of  g;Beatiy  superior  merit  to  the 
life  of  Woiley ;  but  anything  Hke  a 
Histmy  of  the  Church  of  EM^knd, 
iBcludea  such  a  'vaat  ^mety  of  moat 
interesting  and  ako  uKMt  difficult  BuW 
jeota,  that  altogether  we  should  not  be 
Mrpffiaed  if  inatead  of  demanding  one 
•itiae  to  itaelf,  it  should  reiuie  to  be 
■ntiafied  with  less  than  balf-ardoien. 

In  the  meantime  we  may  say  g^oe- 
nlly,  that  the  Book  of  the  Church  is 
«  conipendioua  wmk,  what  oompaied 


with  ibtm  of  whSeb  wo  Iwve  bocii 
iqwakiiig  I  and  that  with  much  of  bie 
usual  quaintnesi,  and  not  little  of 
that  navrour-mindedBOBa,  which  in  i^ 
lation  to  ralgecta  of  this  kind  has  too 
often  r«iidei!ed  the  Quarterly  Review 
ridiewlous,  the  yolumea  exmbit  eer* 
tmly  all  the  merits  of  a  flowing  nar« 
raliye,  intenoeraed  with  not  a  few  ^aa- 
sagea  of  resiuy  dignified  disquisition. 
We  shall  return  to  this  sulgeet  then 
immediately. 

By  the  way,— Mr  Jeffrey,  the  editor 
of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  has  a  eon- 
atant  pleaaure  in  renroaching  Mr 
jSouthey  with  having  changed  ma  wk» 
litical  prinoples  siooe  he  b^an  bis 
literary  life.  Now,  it  is  not  improbsr 
ble,  he  will  quote  with  ainular  dei- 
light  a  certain  juTenile  poem,  whieh 
b^ins, 

^<  Qo  thou  unto  the  house  of  prayer— 
I  to  the  woodfamds  win  repair  I'* 

Mr  Jeffiney  himself,  however,  has 
dianged  his  own  views  aa  to  araoe  sof* 
ficiently  important  mattera,  more  than 
once ;  and  not  long  i^,  in  proiMteing 
fiar  a  toast,  Jiadioal  Rrform,hfi,  in  al- 
luaioQ  to  hia  former  violent  writingi 
against  any  reform  whatever  in  Paiu 
liament,  waa  pleased  to  say,  **  Time 
haa  made  me  wiaer."  The  old  proverb 
said,  that  "  Time  and  tide  wait  for  no 
man ;''  but  it  would  appear  that  this 
too  waa  quite  a  mistake,  and  that  even 
the  common  influenoea  of  leisure,  ob- 
servation, and  reflection,  are  to  be 
avowed  without  shamefooedness  then 
only  when  he  that  has  felt  them  ia  a 
Whig! 


%tt^xti^  m  tit  4f  (ne  9rti^ 

LKCTUEE    SECOND. 
ON  HENEY  ALKEN  ANP  0T^ERS.* 


Lahiks  avd  Gbntlbmbk, 

It  gives  me  the  highest  and  ainoesest 
satitfartion  to  meet  you  once  again  in 
thia  place,  at  die  commeneement  of 
mnother  seaaon.    Far  be  ftom  me  the 


sin,  and  from  my  fidr  and  leaned  pi»- 
piki  the  8Ui|rioiou,  of  flattery.  But, 
upon  honour,  I  never  saw  a  better 
looking  company  in  my  U^B.   Dressis 


improving  lUiidly  among  us.  I  high- 
ly approve  of  theae  new  FtMej  ahawls 
--they  do  humour  to  the  Sneddon^  I 
bi^hlv  approve  of  theBunehattan  dblh 
•—It  does  honour  to  Mr  Maokintoah  ; 
and  if  the  blood  of  the  Gael  be  pine 
in  that  line,  let  us  hear  no  more  sneers 
about  the  tnteUectnal  inflniority  of 
the  aboriginal  race  of  these  ishmdf  , 


*  A  Toodi  at  the  Fine  Arts,  by  H.  Alkso.    London,  M^^Lean,  1884. 

N.  B.  Mr  M^Lsaa  is  also  the  pabUsher  of  ^  The  Symptoms ;"  sad,  indeed,  so  fkr 
as  we  fcaow»  #f  all  Mr  A^'s  voiksk  Mr  Smith,  4iaiiaTfr  Street,  Echnbu^h,  is  one  of 
OK  ctef  miMing  hi^liefoUs  in  ScothuUl  Many  raiito  of  ths  kind  are  also  to  heseen, 
(amosig  ptka  h|iin  thtfpi)  ip  the  agrerahle  inpp  of  our  agrewhU  IHend)  M?  John 
Aiidfas«»  Notth  Pndge. 


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990  Leehtfeion 

the  BisoaVan  PfOTinees  and  Brittany. 
I  consider  tliu  invention  as  a  much 
stronger  thing  than  Ossian ;  and  have 
abeady,  upon  the  strength  of  it,  en- 
rolled niys^  in  the  Celtic  Society  of 
tMs  place,  having  had  the  honour  to 
be  proposed  at  the  last  general  meet* 
ingy  by  a  distinguished  person  whom 
I  have  now  the  honour  to  have  in  my 
eye— (Captain  M'Turk.J 
'  Invested  in  garments  of  this  unri- 
valled material,  man  re-asserts  once 
more  his  long-lost  supremacy  upon 
"ti^ballof  ear&,  and  is  master  of  seve- 
tal  of  the  elements.  Rain  cannot  touch 
him;  snow,  hail,  and  stormy  va- 
pour assaQ  in  vain  the  impregnable  pa- 
-noply !  Pontoons  are,  or  wm  soon  be^ 
-of  the  things  that  are  forgotten.  I  can 
wade  through  the  Danube  in  this  garb^ 
and  defy  its  waves  to  wet  one  inch  <^ 
my  person.  Had  this  existed,  great 
part  of  the  miracle  of  the  Red  Sea  had 
been  superfluous.  It  would  have  been 
enough  to  reduce  that  arm  of  ocean  to 
■the  level  of  the  chins  of  the  children 
o£  Israd^  and  Pharaoh  had  been  baffled 
to  the  water-crjr  "  on  Dunchattan." 

r  approve  hishly  also.  Ladies  and 
Gentlemen,  of  tnese  new  dress*waist- 
-ooats.  Last  winter  they  were  rare;  now 
they  are  universal  as  toey  ought  to  be. 
Never,  oh !  never  again  let  us  return 
to  that  sBly  system  of  dimity,  or  Man- 
chestor  tweel,  or  by  whatever  more 
proper  denomination  that  horror  a 
vdkUe  waistcoat  may  be  characterized. 
Poor  in  effect—making  a  cold  spot  in 
every  picture  where  it  appeared ;  it  is 
not  too  much  to  assert,  that  this  pieoe 
of  dress  rendered  the  British  gentle- 
man of  after  dinner  time^  untranslat- 
able to  canvass.  A  strong  effort  was 
once  made  to  bring  in  bun  waistcoats  ; 
but  that  failed ,  for  the  measuro^was  a 
Whi^  one !  We  transferred  to  their 
taste  m  millinery,  the  scorn  which  was 
due  only  to  the  profligacy  of  their 
TOindples — ^the  idiotism  of  tneir  po- 
liUcs,  and  their  contemptible  charac- 
ter as  bottle  companions.  These  things 
are  of  familiar  occurrence  in  the  pre- 
sent imnerfectly  constituted  state  of 
the  faculties  of  our  species.  Posterity 
may  be  more  wise^  more  candid,  more 
jusL 

I  prefer,  upon  the  whole,  those  vel- 
vet waistcoats,  of  which  the  principal 
superficies  is  crimson.  It  has  many 
advantages.  Like  rouge  on  the  cheek, 
it  gives  additional  lustre  to  the  eye  of 
the  wearer :  it  standi  candleli^t  bet- 
ter than  blue  or  yellow;  it  is  proof 


ike  tine  AHs.  \y^ 

against  the  staining  propensities  of 
port ;  anditalwaysformsapleashigfea- 
ture  in  an^  pictorial  deUndation.  The 
next  best  is  Tdvet,  entirely  blade  :— 
yes,  vehret^-of  which  the  image  on  the 
retina  is  varied  by  the  exhibition,  not 
of  contending  colours,  but  of  intermin** 
gled  stripes,  flowers,  or  check-work. 
Never,  however,  does  this  article  ap- 
pear to  so  much  advantage,  as  when 
an  under-waistcoat  of  geranium  sUk 
lends  softness,  warmth,  and  relief  to 
the  sable  outline  of  the  sable  mass. 

The  white  neckdoth  will,  ere  long, 
follow  the  white  waistcoat :  they  were 
only  tolerated  as  parts  of  the  same  sys- 
tem ;  and  now  that  we  have  swallowed 
the  ox,  wh  v  should  we  boggle  about  the 
tail  ?  A  black  vdvet  stock  would  lend 
renose  to  the  chin,  and  contrast  to  the 
collar.  If  we  cannot  throw  aside  iieck« 
doths  altCN^ther,  in  the  name  of  con- 
sistency ofeffect,  in  Ae  name  of  the 
insult^  eye  of  Uie  artist,  and  in  the 
name  of  the  needksdy  exaggerated 
bills  of  the  washerwoman,  let  us  at 
least  have  done  with  white  ones  1 

This  exordium  was  necessary  to  sa* 
tisfy  my  own  feelings — it  is  appropn- 
ate  to  the  subject  of  oar  lecture ! — 
George  Cruikshank  is  an  exquisite 
humourist.  In  low  London  life/ above 
all,  he  is  admirable.  He  seems  to  have 
given  his  days  and  his  ni^ts  to  the 
study  of  that  portion  of  human  nature 
which  is  to  De  contemplated  in  die 
glorious  atmosphere  of  round-houses. 
Every  variety  of  the  r^  is  fftmtliar  to 
his  fancy,  and  to  his  pencil.  Who, 
like  him,  for  a  Charlie— a  lady  of  the 
saloon — ^a  gentleman  of  the  press- 
or a  pick-pocket?  Who,  like  him, 
for  a  cock  and  hen  dub— a  scene 
at  the  Old  Bailey — or  even  for  a  scene 
at  the  cyder  cellar?  Take  him  off 
the  streets  of  the  east  end,  however 
— ^bar  him  from  night-cellars,  boxiani, 
and  flash— and  Georg^  sinks  to  the  or- 
dinary kvdof  humanity.  There  is  on- 
ly one  other  sort  of  thmg  he  does  like 
bifw^lf — and  this  is  die  pure  imagin- 
ative ovtrc.  Of  that  talent,  his  best 
specimen  is  the  frontispiece  to  Peter 
Sdiehnihl— «  f^ood  story  by  the  vraj, 
and  very  tolerably  tnmslated ;  but  stiU 
a  thing  that  wiU  owe  its  chief  sale  to 
the  ilhistrationB  of  our  friend  Cruik- 
shank. 

This  artist's  poverty  is  visible  when- 
ever he  attempts '^  the  Gentlemen  of 
England'^ — there  he  is  out  of  bis  own 
^here.  He  cannot  hit  the  quiet  ar* 
roganceof  theonly  true  aristocnoy  m 


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9i2i 


the  worlds-he  eanaot  dm w  their  easy^ 
bandsome  faces,  knowing,  but  not 
bkckgnavd,  proud,  kind,  leorafal,  to* 
InptuouB,  redolent  in  everf  Uneflmeot 
of  bi^h  feeling,  fifteen  dmt,  and  tlio 
nrincipiea  of  Mr  FitL  He  can  do  • 
dandj,  bat  be  oannot  do  tbe  tbingi 

Una  AYulflo  mm  deficit  dter 
AareuB— 
— Wbere  Cnnksbsnk  fiub,  thete^ 
bappily  fyr  England  and  fbr  arfl;  HeN-< 
XT  Alkck  8hine8,and  sbinea  Kke  a  star 
of  tbe  firat  magnitude.  He  bas  filled 
mn  tbe  great  blank  that  was  left  by  tbe 
disappearance  of  Banbary. — He  is  a 
gentieman'-4ie  bas  lived  witb  gentle^ 
men — be  understands  tbeir  nature, 
both  in  its  strengtb  and  its  weakness, 
and  be  can  delineate  anytbing  that  be 
understands.  It  isbe  that  can  escort  yott 
to  Melton,  and  shew  you  tbe  feats  in  tbe 
field  of  those  who  are  destined  hereafter 
to  shake  tbe  arsenal,  and  fulraine  o^er 
Greece  to  Macedon  and  ArtaxerxesT 
tiirone.  It  is  be  who  can  shew  you 
with  what  unsuspected  fire  the  cold, 
haughty,  lazy  eye  of  tbe  polite,  loun* 
ging  guurdsman  flamed  at  Waterloo 
— bow  he  that  bad  shone  at  ^e  tally-- 
ho, abone  also  at  Talavera.  He  feek 
the  line  that  separates  the  true  old 
^*  domini  terramm"  from  youy  nov*- 
fftoM  riehe,  your  spawn  of  tbe  stock* 
jobbers,  your  Mack  blood  of  the  Jew*. 

He  feete  iSife^-and  be  ^laints  as  he 
feefe.  He  is  to  Oniikshank  what 
Soott  is  to  Hogg--rather  let  me  say, 
what  Flddbig  is  to  Defoe.  He  not 
only  can  do  what  Cmiksbank  cannot 
-'but  be  can  also  do  almost  anything 
that  Cmiksbank  can.  Just  tbe  same 
way  with  liie  distinguished  writers 
We  have  been  alludi^  to.  He  who 
stands  above,  sees  not  only  What  is 
^bove,  but  what  is  below.  Hd  who 
•lands  below  is  in  a  less  fkrom^ble 
aituation— -and  so  fkres  il  with  the  ad- 
fttirable  Illustrator  of  Life  in  London 
— ^e  Apdles  of  Tom  emd  Jerry — 
Ibe  immortal  yoke-^fidlow  of  tbe  deatb- 
kas  Pierce  Bgan. 

I>raw  ^our  chain  nearer  to  the  ta- 
ble. Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  and  letme 
•hew  yon  some  of  the  prints.  A  good- 
ly bunch  of  them,  you  will  observe^ 
the  work  of  three  good  yean— three 
Merry  ones,  I  wiH  be  swom.  Atken 
first  published  anonymously,  and  peo- 
ple wondered  very  mudi  who  '^  Ben 
TkByho"  could  be.  Some  of  ^e  Mel- 
tonearn  suspected  a  celebrated  sur- 

Voi..  XV.     ' 


geon,  fbr  they  Imew  of  no  other  great 
London  star  tnat  was  a  bold  andknow* 
ing  rider  among  them  occasionally,- 
and  a  perfect  master  in  horso^esciy 
and  Goiud,  at  the  same  time,  be  evW' 
aoBpected  of  haying  anytiiu^  to  dar 
wita  books  or  bookselWrs.  But  this 
kurel  belonged  not  to  bis  aniplo 
wreath.  TlS/tr  own  familiar  fntoA, 
Ibe  mattwMi  whom  they  had  for  yenra 
taken  sweet  coonsd,-^  amhadf  asha- 
med of  his  rasbnes»-4ie  bba>beditoai 
one  night  to  Sir  PfMeis  Bardett^wb^y 
when  at  Melton,  is  as  good  a  Tory  as 
ever  was  spilt— and  b^  a  dozen  mora 
of  the  set.  This  print  here,  (in  the 
<*  Touch  at  the  Fine  Arts,"^  repre« 
sents  the  party  an  hour  after  tne  mur^ 
der  was  out.  That  is  the  baronet  bsk 
lancing  the  empty  punchi>bowl  on  t^ 
back  of  bis  left  band.  This  one,  on 
the  floor,  is  the  culprit  in  his  red  jack- 
et He  bas  not  bad  time,  you  see,  to 
dress  Ibr  dinner.  That  is  the  ^'  mm 
barson"  witb  bis  foot  in  tbo  otbea 
IxiwL  A  spiritod  efftct  indeed,  but 
Httle  order  kept  m  the  grouping  of  this 
figures  ! 

What  a  cM>itel  one  the  brilliant  efr 
foct  (Plats' x&)ia--4)b8enfetiiewidtii 
of  tbisgemman  s  breeches  -  ■  observetiia 
eKoellent  cut  of  bis  top-boots— ^ebaerva 
liM  nonchalant  kid-gtoye-puUing-OH 
air  with  wbidi  he  su^rs  the  belle  to 
find  her  own  way  into  her  side-sad- 
dle. What  a  handsome,  knowing  f<4^ 
low  that  groom  is !  Don't  you  see  how 
he  would  like  to  oome  off  and  assist 
her?  She  is  really  a  fine  girl,  and  what 
^e  see  of  the  leg  is  fiinldess— the  action 
^  tbe  toe  roost  spbited.  She  is  a  strap* 
per!  What  an  enormous  head  that 
butler  carries — ^he  must  be  the  very 
Lord  Bacon  of  down-staire*  Pre^Msor 
Combe  should  be  at  him.  He  is  pos- 
sibly the  author  of  the  Footman's  IM- 
-reotory.  I  don'^  think  he  aHoge^er 
approves  of  the  damsd  in  the  cnmsott 
riding-babit,  but  'tis  a  good  place,  and 
^by  i^uit  for  a  trifle  f  Tbd  lad  has 
been  in  the  army,  too,  or,  perhaps,  be 
-is  a  deputy-lieutenant,  or  a  captain  in 
the  yeomanry,  for  the  servants  all 
sport  the  cockade.  Tbe  whole  scene 
is  good.  What  a  thumper  of  a  horse 
she  is  going  to  mount  I  It  must  cer- 
tainly be  the  yeomanry  charger — Let 
us  hope  90,  for  if  used  to  the  scabbard 
and  sabretache,  he  will  be  the  leas 
Hkely  to  take  the  petticoat  in  snuff. 

Turn  to  this  bed-room  on  fire  at 
page  9.  You  see  what  comes  of  chints 
9F 

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S$2 


Lectures  en  tke  Fine  Arts, 


caxtmriB ;  anil  what  had  that  worthy 
man  to  do  wilb  reading  Colbum  in 
his  bed?  I  hope^  howerer,  it  could 
not  have  been  any  article  of  Campbell's 
own  that  he  doaed  orer.  If  so,  Tom 
will  nerer  be  able  to  excuse  himself 
for  giving  so  much  disturbance  to  that 
young  woman.  Had  it  been 
^eire  or  Rogert,*  this  could 
nerer  have,  been  the  catastrophe ! 
What  a  terror  she  is  in!  you  see 
her  bed-gown  has  been  toni  quite 
open ;  her  eyes  etaacarody  be  likened 
to  any  I  ever  ssw ;  such  a  dead,  dull 
sleep  so  flaminglv  broken !  And  then 
look  at  the  old  tlotard  trembling  and 
shivenng,  and  trying  to  open  the  door. 
Has  he  no  foot  to  lack  with?  If  it 
were  not  for  the  Msgazine  and  his  in- 
jnred  wife,  I  should  almost  wish  him 
totum  the  key  the  wrong  wi^,  (which 
he  has  evidently  done  once  already,) 
till  doomsday.  Why  did  he  lock  the 
door  at  all  ?  who  ever  locks  a  room 
door  at  night  !-^A  red  nightcap  too ! 
what  a  thing  to  bring  into  a  lad/s 
hed-room !  Cupid  in  a  Kilmarnock 
cowl  1  A  man  to  think  of  the  tooth- 
adi  under  such  drcumstanoes  I  He 
wears  a  pig«tail  too ;  and  she  can't  be 
more  than  two  or  three-and- twenty. 
She  ought  to  jei^  the  window<— sure- 
ly somebody  would  catch  her,— «nd 
leave  the  cap  and  the  queue  to  partake 
Ae  merited  fiite  of  this  most  contemp* 
tible  subscriber. 

I  was  looking  for  "  the.  housebreak- 
ing"— av,  here  it  is.  These  are  gentle- 
men robbers,  you  see;  swells, every  one 
«f  them.  This  one  tying  up  the  sid^ 
dishes,  with  a  smart  foraging  cap  on 
his,  head,  and  a  blunderbuss  at  his 
loot,  is  quite  a  gentleman.  He  seems 
to  have  served  in  the  Peninsular  war; 
he  is  reaUy  a  fine  man.  I  should  not 
wonder  if  it  were  Jack  ThurtelL  That 
hero  who  funks  so  with  the  strong-box 
in  his  grasp,  and  the  three  pair  of 
candlesticks,  he  has  also  a  very  distin- 
guished pair  of  whiskers,  and  his  pan- 
taloons* are  dashingly  out.  Can  it  be 
Hunt  ?  The  people  outside  are  pro- 
bably connected  with  the  opposition 
papers.  Ay,  we  shall  have  puffs  and 
elegies  enough,  when  the  more  active 
lads  are  nabbed.  And  wh^  not? 
Should  a  man's  patriotic  principles. 
Whig  eloquence,  distinguished  appear- 
anoeat  public  dinners— should  all  these 
things  be  overlooked,  merely  because 
Jie  happens  to  commit  some  lark  of  a 
robbery,  or  a  murder  ?    This  is  really 


CFeb. 

one  of  Aiken's  finest  thingk  ;  it  reveals 
a  touch  of  the  soul  of  Salvator  Rosa 
lurking  somewhere  in  the  bosom  of 
this  exquisite  wag.  What  admiraUe 
drawing,  too !  Allan  himself  does  not 
understond  the  figure  better,  nor 
throw  it  off  more  airily.  Here  you 
have  true  genius.  Ladies  and  Gentle- 
men. (Captain  M'Turk,wilIyondo 
me  the  favour  to  touch  the  gas  r) 

O  Cruikshank  1  this  row  is  better 
than  any  you  ev^  delineated.  Lmdc 
at  that  fine  parliamentary  figure  in  the 
nankeens— the  bald  head — the  ^ve;, 
dignified,  sdemn  grace,  with  which  he 
is  plougMng  up  that  snulMiosed  Char^ 
ley's  gridders  f  The  man  will  choak, 
if  he  swallows  two  teeth  more.  And 
why  not  ?  Base  plebeian !  interrupting 
a  gentleman — an  M.P.— an  Irish  PJKr» 
maybe,  in  his  amusements  i  That 
younger  spark,  who  is  mad  enough  to 
whirr  the  racket  he  haa  just  sdsed, 
has  evidently  not  yet  ddivered  his 
maiden  speech.  O  fooll  O  boyl  O 
brute  1  Don't  you  see  that  you  have 
called  a  whole  battalion  of  them  ioee- 
ther  ?  This  betUe  deservedly  dishes  this 
enfa$U  serc/u^-but  to  think  of  the  re- 
spectable married  man  of  forty,  sense, 
Imowledge  of  the  world,  and  L.10,000 
a-year, — to  think  of  his  being  invol- 
ved in  the  troubles  of  durance  vile, 
merely  becanse  he  haa  got  tipay  with 
a  spoon  1  Observe  what  a  good  eflfect 
the  red  shawl  neckcloth  has  there — a 
senator  should  never  go  the  loonda  lA 
a  white  one.  Yet  <M  Sheridan  once 
profited  much  by  having  been  pidi- 
ed  up  firom agtttter  when arrayea in  a 
hanosome  and  venerable  suit  of  black 
dothes.  He  told  the  watch  he  was  Mr 
Wilbcrfbroe ;  and  they  pot  him  intoa 
hadniey-coach,.  as  if  he  bad  been  their 
lather. 

This  next  print  is  one  of  some  hun- 
dreds of  excellent  coach-overturns 
^lat  Alkeu  has  given  us— «nd  it  w  by 
no  mesns  the  best  of  them ;  but  here^ 
-this  jail  scene  is  indeed  a  redeemer. 
What  a  capital  jailor — what  a  strongs 
well-buOt,  black-faced  man!  He,  too^ 
hai  a  dash  of  the  tocy  about  him. 
He  could  lick  the  whole  set  of  raoa- 
muffins,  if  they  rebelled.  ThurtdU's 
hairisinliisbresat-pin.  What  a  well- 
made  surtout  he  sports !  and  the  ker- 
seymere filters,  and  the  belcher,  and 
the  hand  in  the  coat-pocket — ^they  are 
all  in  keeping.  It  is  a  painful  pleMure 
to  oontemphue  his  prisoners.  That  old 
bandy-legged  rough  one  with  the  three 


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lAchOf  SM&mL    On  Afiry  Aikm  and  OAers. 


wedD  hend,  htm  been  a  forecutle 
nra ;  he  teemt  indifl^renl  to  hia  fiite. 
That  ndierable  in  the  bandage  has 
been  trying  to  eat  faif  diroat,  wd  d^ 
tected.  It  eeemt  as  if  he  were  the  man 
for  eight o'dook  to-morrow;  I  beUere 
Ike  siulor  soffers  with  him.  The  two 
at  eribbage  are  ordered  fbr  UMnorrow 
week ;  they  may  take  ont  their  game^ 
ere  they  torn  roond  to  hear  ihe  news. 
This  is  eqnal  to  Hogarth's  Correction- 
boose^  so  far  as  it  goes.  Thatddpil- 
fearer  in  the  eomer  appears  to  be  ytij 
haay  ibr  the  time  o^day— ^  man  is 
actoally  Blaring  as  if  he  had  never 
seen  a  warrant  m  his  life  before ! 

Soho  1  Spmoe  one>  you  are  cleaned 
ont  at  last,  are  yon?  (page  1)— not  one 
npf  Yon  may  dig  in  your  pockets  if 
yon  {dease,  bnt  we  understand  the  case. 
Tour  mouth  is  distressingly  screwed. 
What  a  knowing  cock  there  is  in  the 

ae  of  that  gambler  whose  demi-rpro- 
e  is  seen — His  Im  are  firmly  set 
down  beUw  the  table^  and  good  Ic^ 
they  sre.  This  is  a  more  genteel  way 
than  staring  tight  on>  like  that  somo- 
what  snlky  spark  in  the  Anglewas. 
But  die  waiter!  We  know  that  foce. 
I  have  seen  these  cnnnioffly  vacant^ 
light,  gUmmering,  good-for-nothhig 
eyes  many  a  time  beJore  now.  What 
dEoes  he  osre— what  need  Tom  care  } 
He  has  decanted  the  chwet,  and  he  has 
the  pops  ready  in  the  ilsntry  if  they 
be  called  for.  Engbnd  expects  ^t 
OTOT  man  shall  do  his  duty. 

Tne  frontispieoe  to  this  Tolume^ 
this  beautiful  Tdume,  ii  a  gross  per- 
sonal attack  upon  some  portrait-paint- 
er in  Wapping.  I  wonder  Aiken  put 
it  in,  for  it  is  quite  inferior  to  the  rest 
of  the  book.  Fifty  better  caricatures 
ha?e  there  been  of  similar  subjects^ 
and  there  might  be  a  better  than  the 
bei«  of  them— but  I  won't   name 


In  this  work,  as  in  all  Aiken's, 
there  is  a  freedom  of  handling  dut  is 
mdly  deli^iitfbl— and  better  chosen 
upon  the  wnde  his  subjects  could  not 
have  been.  Yet  I  am  not  sure  but  I 
still  give  the  preference^take  die 
things  orefhead — to  my  older  fovour- 
tte ''  The  Symptoms." 

The  shooting  parties— -die  driving 
parties — the  overturning  parties — the 
orinking  parties— the  flirting  parties, 
the  fighting  parties,  in  that  series,  are 
all  and  eadi  of  them  nearly  divine. 
Here,  Ladies,  take  them  amongyou — I 
amwwyofspeaking,and8npperon^t 
to  be  ready.    It  is  a  mere  mistake  to 


condemn  ■ufperB*  AH  the  iitfieiior 
animals  stuff  unmediatdy  previous  to 
sle^nff,  and  whv  not  man,  whose 
stomacm  is  so  mudi  smaUer,  mere  de- 
licate, and  more  exquisite  a  piece  of 
machinery  ?  Besides,  it  is  a  well-known 
foct,  that  a  sound  human  stomach  acts 
upon  a  well-drest  dish,  with  neariy 
the  power  of  an  e^^t-horse  steam- 
engine  ;  aqd  tiiis  being  die  case,  oood* 
heavens  1  why  should  one  be  amid' 
of  a  few  trifling  turkey-legs,  a  bottfe 
of  Buxton's  brown-stout,  a  welsh  rah* 
bit,  a  brandy  and  water,  and  a  fow 
more  such  fooleries  ?  I  anpeal  to  the 
common  sense  of  my  audience  and  of 
the  world! 

But  stop— before  we  go  to  the  next 
room,  I  must  shew  you  tto  new  printof 
die  Kbig,  diat  Messrs  Hurst  &  Adbin- 
son  have  just  published.  See,  Ladies, 
here  is  the  true  thing  atlast.  Never  was 
a  more  correct,  rol^did,  graceful  like- 
ness of  any  of  the  seed  of  Adam.  Sir 
Thomas  Laurence  is  a  jewel.  And  the 
meaiotmto  engraver  of  this  is  worthy 
of  Laurence,  and  of  Lamrenoe's  ^n^ 
jecL  Can  prsise  go  higher  ? — ^At  last 
we  have  a  good  satisfying  portrait  of 
our  Prince— and  well  should  I  like  to 
see  the  face  of  anodier  king  or  em- 
poor  either,  that  would  stand  beii^ 
looked  at  beside  diis.  A  formal-look- 
ing man,  albeit  a  fine,  is  the  Autocrat 
of  all  the  Russias.  Prussia  smaeks  of 
the  seijeant  in  his  air-^-and  Lome  lo 
Bo^iomme  of  die  sturgeon.  Ferdi- 
nsnd  is  more  like  a  cat  than  a  king, 
and  yet  there  is  somediing  royal  too 
in  his  vrandering  unsearchable  eyes. 
He  smokes  far  too  mu^,  and  his  mus« 
tachios  are  but  poor  things  of  their 
kind— quite  sing^  with  psper  segars 
*-I  wonder  the  Qoeen,  poor  diingv 
can  Bufibr  it. 

Here  is  really  a  |irincdy  pOrtrsit.  I 
should  have  liked  it  better,  however, 
had  the  George  figured  in  place  of  the 
Fleece.  What  are  all  their  foreign  or- 
ders to  the  Gart^,  the  glorious  Gar- 
ter, of  Edward  Ill.-^e  Garter  which 
Harry  V.  wore  at  Agincourt — the  Otrw 
ter  which  bli^  Harry  VIII.  y^xe  at 
the  field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold— which 
Charles  I.  wore  at  Nasrtiy— prouder 
scene,  at  Carisbrooke — wmdi  Charles 
II.  wore  in  die  ^'  g^orkms  Gallery"— 
which  William  w<mld  have  been  lifll- 
ed  if  he  had  not  sported  at  die  Boyne 
— ^which  George  III.  wore  amidst  his 
children,  (his  peo^  were  his  chil- 
dren,^ on  the  terrace  of  Windsor  f 

I  wish  our  King  would  restore  theold 

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llFeb. 


way  of  wosdoic  the  bhii»  nbboB  rcmnd 
die  Deck,  instead  of  under  tbo  «n«u 
To  me  tl^s  w»v  (originally  Frenob) 
iq^»eafs  not  onlr  rnvwh  leas  convem*- 
iSDXf  ^ut  mufib  less  handsome* .  But 
irhy  should  we  speak  of  these  things? 
No  Commoner  has  had  the  Garter  sinoa 
Sir  Robert  Walpole— and  as  for  my- 
adf^  I  assure  yoij^  without  joking>  I 
am  aeuiiUe  that  I  have  no  calf,  and 
in  these  oasea,  the  l^s  glAr0  that  is 
about  one's  1^  the  better  for  all  oon^ 
otfbed* 
These  elastii:  Freneh  garters  that 

E'  dies  wear  now-a-days,  are  very 
things,  by  the  way.  Some  of  the 
s  of  them  are  really  ingenious-^ 
liiat  fiue  people  eames  taste  into  ev«ry 
aomea%  I  nave  recently  seen  landsoapea 
onbreakCut  plates— and  groups  or  fi- 


gures on  the  gartgrsof.difinentladiaa 
of  my  acquaintance,  which  I  heaitats 
net  to  s^j  would  no^  have  appeared  on 
canvas  or  <m  paper  some  w^  yesra 
ago,  without  attracting  to  the  ingeni- 
ous and  elegant  manu&cturers  of  the 
arUdes  a  portion  of  oenskleration  an4 
am^ause,  mfierior  oi^y  to  that  which 
we  now  b^atow  on  the  Muffin^  or  the 
MoUei.  We  are  a  singular^  a  capri- 
cious, a  fastidious,  an  unintelligiWf 
people.-^And  now  will  your  ladyship 
pennit  me  to  have  the  honour  off 
Grandisoaizingyomintothenextapart" 
maut  ?— Po8iiavcdy>  you  must  hwy  » 
set  of  Aiken's  works— they  ara  qileov 
did  things — ^no  drawing-room  is  oooi- 
pleto  witaout  them. 


UTTLS  OH  XOTHIHO. 


DsabSia, 
Safe  from  Cohlenta  ten  days  ag(v 
^but  no  timO'ia  wntetiU  noiv.  Yotn' 
Mff»fttfg<^  will  have  arciyed  B  Shipped 
an  the  Sdth.  iklknoual-^Ask  PDo^ 
]iier^else.  Ofavinta^  uilru  ante^ 
diiluvian.  Friend  of  min^  discovered 
em  in  the  comerof  a  aeglaoted  cellar< 
Say  lost  (by  tradition)  in  his  |^eat« 
lorandfatW  s  time.  Have  them  bo^ 
8eA  about  a  week  hence.  One  glass, 
(Juatto  taste,)  from  the  ton*  And 
about  Julv— well  iced  1 ,  Bvron  him- 
self ahould  confSess  that  soon  wine  was 
worth  living  for. 

.  Town  ratner  livelier  than  when  I 
left  itr— Can^  In  on  the  3d.  Kentish 
lOad  crowded  with  laU  members  of 
fkarliament.  Dover  quite  full — ^horri- 
ble i>laoe !  Shocking,  the  inns !  A^^. 
phibious  wretches,  the  populatiouj 
Ashore  (from  steam  packet)  at  four 
in  the  morning.  Fires  out  at  The 
^p,  No  beds!  Think  of  it !  Had 
to  If  ait  tpl  A  F^y  got  up— going  off 
at  sii^  Six  came, — changed  their 
minds  (lazy!)  wouldn't  ^o!  Woke  the 
whole  nouse  with  ringmg  the  belk, 
however— took  care  they  idiouldn't 
sleep.  Filthy  breakfast!  Bad  butter 
IP— vile  chops — ^Egsi  I  never  got  an 
0gg  properiv  boiled  in  my  life !  Royal 
Sode^  ought  to  give  anreralum.  Set 
ofl^  starved  and  shuddering — Roads 
heavy— -i^ur  horses.  Ruined  with  the 
expense*  Man  wanted  to  take  half. 
Fat— looked  greaav.  Thought  ruin 
best*    Go|  op  to  Psgliano's  a  Petrir 


faction  I  Worthy  creature^  the  cook  1 
Tossed  me  up  such  a  '*  Smumm, 
^Tariwrt'-^''  Fol auvevt"-^' Uwcoh 
roni" — all  light.  Coffi^e — Ugumr^^ 
no  wine  for  fear  of  feter — ^went  U>  ba4 
qui|e  thawed  in  body  and  mind  |  and 
walked  round  Xjcicest^  Square  next 
morning,  like  "  a  giant  refreshed  1" 

Got  Maga  as  soqp  aa  I  arrived.  All 
good.  Songs  magnifioentl  Those  two 
uneaalon^ 

*'  Tbe  great  Iioid  Msyol^ 
In  civic  cbair,"  Stc 
able  to  sell  a  quarto. 
.  Parliament  met  just  in  time.  Murw 
der  began  to  be  ''  out  of  tune."  They 
tried,  I  see,  to  make  a  move  with 
Hunt's  confession,  but  the  dog  had  no 
genius  in  his  lying.  Prose  article^  I 
see,  on  Thurtml  this  month — put  it 
home,  if  you  love  m&  How  the 
great  beast  does  love  to  bowl  ami  won^ 
der !  The  praises  of  his  defenca»  toob 
poor  creature !  Written  §ai  him  (of 
course,  vou  know)  every  line— and  tno 
worst  tnat  ever  waa  writlen*  mto  the 
bargain. 

But,  talking  of  the  worst  that  aver 
was  written,  jou  have  seen  the ''  WcaU 
nunster  Review !"  It  is  too  rich,  is  il 
not?  Such  a  deal  of  it  too.  TheBa* 
laam  cn^  must  have  hem  moreabun-> 
dant  than  usual;  why,  4he  Xibenl 
has  not  been  dead  two  months?  I 
give  'em  four  numbers.  The  general 
opinion  is  thr^e. 

Skimmed  Maturin'a  Albigenses.-^ 
^ther  stuffy.   The  contortions  with* 


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oat  the  inspirmtioD,  aa  Ctiiiiifigt<M 
Fdkstone.  MaturinbMdomiioadag 

Jin  the  waj  of  novel)  eraal  to  hie 
louie  oCMontorioandhiB  Wild  Irish 
Boy. 
Peqied  into  the  PUot-«( American) 
occmo  to  haye  point  here  and  there 
about  it.  Read  H^jji  Baba ;  which 
I  understand  turns  out  to  be  Morier's. 
Hope  wiU  chuckle  over  your  review  of 
it. 

Politics^  not  mudi  novelty  yet  Hou- 
ses met  on  the  3d-^warm  weather  to 
begin  with.  Opposition  ra^er  shy* 
Brougham  let  on  the  usual  speedi ; 
but  not  quite  with  the  usual  talent* 
Evefythins;  wrong,  of  course— they, 
pret^  souls !  you  know,  are  on  the 
**  wrong"  side.  But  the  best  grievan* 
ces  win  wear  out  in  time. 

Canning's  reply  as  to  our  interfe- 
rence with  the  internal  arrangement 
of  Austria^  was  as  spirited  as  it  was 
sound.  It  made  its  way.  Taxes  and 
burthens  not  a  great  oeal  about  yet. 
But  Hume  has  letters  firc»n  Ithaca  I 
What  may  this  portend  J  Tread*mill 
question  coming.  You  must  speak 
out.  North — the  women  (there  are 
ffeod  reasons^  ought  to  be  exempt ;— * 
let  the  men  oo  double.  Vagrant  act^ 
some  talk  upon  last  night ;  and  it 
wants  modification.  I  don't  like  ma- 
king a  victim  here  and  there.  Do  the 
thing,  or  let  it  alone.  Look  at  the 
state  of  Fleet  Street— through  which, 
after  ten  at  night,  a  man  cannot,  with 
common  decencv,  carrv  his  wife  or 
fdsters.  Mend  tliis,  and  then  we  will 
come  to  the  aUe^s  and  dark  comers. 
On  the  West  India  ouestion,  not  yet  a 
word !  These  late  facts  seem  to  stid^ 
in  the  th|3oat0  of  the  Emancipators ! 
Tou  should  rouse  their  slumbering 

ghilanthropy  in  your  next.    I'll  do  it 
ipelf,  if  I  can  find  time. 
Went  to  the  Opera  on  Saturday 
nig^t.    Are  you  mad  for  Bossinir 
fMmira  heavy,  to  the  degree  of  goina; 
10  flbep,  I  assure  you.    Not  a  tenth 


part  as  good  as  the  Moses  in  Effypt. 
AkMst  as  £itlguing  aa  the  Otilh,  or 
the  Donna  M  Lago^  Company  weak. ' 
Camporese  ffone.  Angriflani  gpne. 
Madame  Colbran  all  nonsense.  Bal- 
let stupid.  House  ''  done  up"  in  pal- 
try taste.  Don't  like  any  of  it.  Ail 
nonsense  to  make  a  fusa  about,  aofv. 
Catalani  may  do  something  ;^--but  we 
want  a  tenor  among  Uie  gentlemen* 

Theatres  I  think  we  havoMpreed  never 
totalk about.  Monatroudydulll  DuU 
as  the  last  Nuniber  of  the  London  Mi^ 
gaaine ;  Colbum's  I  haven't  had  time 
to  look  at. 

Phrenology  flourishes.  Went  to  a 
lecture  yesterday  on  the  sulgeot.  Fi^ 
oetious  artist  tne  Pr^^Sessor; — new 
•saw  a  man  misguide  himself  more  ings* 
niously.  Bit  of  a  rogue,  Ux^-^Dosan't 
trust  to  the  "  art,'  where  daia  aie 
to  be  had;  and  tells  (like  the  gyp- 
sies) a  pleuant  story  to  all  comers* 
Hoaxed  nim  amazingly  myself  Sue 
I  had  the  omn  of ''  oppositivenesa*'* 
Shewed  me  Hume^s  head  (in  plaater) 
and  found  all  qualities  beoconing  n 
man  most  prominent  in  iL  Near  ma- 
king a  horrible  mistake  towards  Ubib 
€ia£  Shewed  us  Dr  Dodd's  head,  and 
Mrs  M'Kinnon's— «uch  skuUa  oould 
only  gravitate  towarda  the  gallows. 
Felt  inspired  with  acience  myself ;  and 
was  just  going  to  point  out  the  same 
pecu&arity  in  a  boy's  head  that  stood 
near. — It  was  his  son's  !^«€ame  aw»y 
for  fear  of  tempting  Providence. 

Nothing  maro  I  believe  that  I  had 
to  say — only  take  care  of  the  Mo- 
selles.  The  very  nnell  of  those  empty 
casks  would  intoxicate  the  whole  jmds- 
sence  of  Cockaigne  1  Calledinonrar^ 
son  Irving  since  my  return.  He  draws 
still ;  but  the  matter  gets  weaker  and 
weaker,  London  horndly  dir^,  and 
M'Adaminng  getting  on  venr  fast. 
So  no  more  (at  present,)  hwk  Youn^ 

JjmdottfFeb.  10. 


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996 


Ann  Siaveri  and  Jmoi  Bradhy. 


CFcb. 


ANN  STATS  AT  AMD  AMOS  BAADUTI. 


Isaac  Coilins  was  the  nroprietor 
of  A  smaU  fum  in  Lsncasnire,  and 
haTing  been  from  his  jonth  of  penu- 
rious nabits^  he  was,  at  the  age  of 
sixty,  possened  of  oon^erable  wealth. 
He  had  never  been  married,  and  had 
no  near  blood-rdation  alive,  so  that  it 
was  often  talked  of  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, what  would  become  of  hu  riches 
on  the  misei^s  death.  It  was  general- 
ly agreed  that  they  would  fall  to  the 
King, — for  Isaac,  it  was  said,  hated 
the  very  sight  of  a  woman ;  and  be- 
sides, who  would  marry  a  being  so 
despicable  and  hateful?  *^  Ay,  for- 
sooth, many  a  young  and  pretty  maid-, 
en  too  would  marry  old  Isaac,  with  his 
money  bags,"  chuckled  the  hoary  mi- 
ser, when  spitefuUy  he  heard  the  bui- 
ters  of  his  neighbours,  and  leered  up- 
cm  them  with  the  glistening  eyes  of 
avarice  and  misanthropy.  ''Let  youth, 
health,  strength,  ana  comeliness,  go 
woo  in  vain;  but  I  can  charm  the 
ftirest  witch  in  Lancashire  into  my 
ehaff-bed  and  withered  arms.  What 
think  ye  of  Ann  Stavert  of  Fell-side  ?" 
and  the  dotard  laughed  in  the  mixed 
joy  of  Ins  pride,  his  lust  of  gold,  and 
the  dregs  of  desire  dulled  by  age^  in- 
flrmity,  and  a  stoney  heart 

Ann  Stavert  was  the  most  beautiM 
girl  in  aU  the  country  side.  She  was 
«n  only  child ;  and  her  mother,  who 
had  long  been  a  widow,  was  now  re- 
duced to  die  lowest  ebb  of  poverty. — 
When  first  Isaac  Collins  the  miser 
asked  Ann  in  marriage,  the  souls  of 
-both  mother  and  daughter  recoiled  in 
horror  and  disgust.  But  in  less  than 
a  week  afterwards,  Ann  had  promised 
to  mmy  him;  and  in  a  month  she 
washis  wifb. 

The  fondness  of  the  dotard  now  held 
a  constant  stru^le  with  the  avarice  (XT 
tiie  miser.  Bold  and  beautiful,  heart- 
less and  unprincipled,  Ann  Stavert 
drained  the  Dk)od  from  his  withered 
heart,  as  she  coaxed,  and  wheedled, 
and  kissed,  and  embraced  him  out  of 
his  long.gathered,  and  hidden  stores 
of  gold.  Thevervdiinks  of  the  walls 

fave  out  their  guineas ;  and  his  trem- 
ling  hand  dropped  diem  into  her  lap, 
wrapt  up  in  loathsome  rags,  dut  had 
long  mouldered  in  impenetrable  con- 
cealment His  old  rheumy  eyes  gloat- 
ed on  the  yellow  glare  of  tne  gold,  and 
then  (m  the  luxurious  shape  of  her  on 
whom  he  lavished  it  in  agony ;  and 
then  he  kissed  altenately  the  hard 


edces  of  the  coin,  and  the  warm  lips 
of  nis  wedded  paramour.  ''Dost  thou 
not  love  thine  old  kind  Isaac  }"  and 
she  pressed  him  with  her  bare  soft 
snow-white  arms,  dose  to  the  heaving 
ftilness  of  her  bosom.  The  doting 
miser  would  thus  fall  asleep,  graspinff 
in  his  lean  fingers  a  few  yet  unfilchea 
pieces  of  coin,  of  which  he  dreamt 
along  with  the  hot  kisses  that  had  ca- 
joled him  out  of  their  too  slippery  bre- 
thren. 

What  happiness  could  Ann  Stavert 
have  in  goldr—She  was  beautiful;  and 
she  was  proud  of  her  beauty.  Now 
she  could  adorn  her  tall,  command- 
ing, and  alluring  person  in  garments 
wmch  set  off  all  its  temptations, — could 
outshine  all  her  rivals — and  dazzle  the 
eves  of  a  hundred  lovers.  She  knew 
tnat  her  husband  was  an  object  of  pity, 
contempt,  and  scorn ;  and  she  dia  not 
conceal  that  he  was  so  to  herself,  more 
than  to  all  others,  as  the  glance  of  her 
bright  and  bold  eyes  met  the  faces  of 
men  at  church  or  market  But  she  en- 
joyed their  admiration  and  delight  in 
ner  rich  ripe  loveliness,  even  whue  she 
leant  it  against  the  palsied  side  of  old 
Isaac  the  miser.  "  And  will  he  not 
soon  die  ?"  was  a  thought  she  feared 
not  to  let  come  questioning  to  her 
heart,  for  she  loatned  and  ahhorred 
the  bodj  that  was  half  ready  for  the 
corruption  of  the  grave. 

But  Isaac,  though  palsy-stricken, 
was  tenacious  of  life.  Now  two  strong 
passions  kept  his  bloodless  body  above 
the  ffround.  He  drank  existence  from 
die  breath  of  his  young  wife,  and  from 
that  of  his  coffers.  The  vefy  struggles 
of  his  avarice — the  tear  and  wear  of 
his  soul  bartering  one  kind  of  joy  for 
another,  both  equally  aunless  and  un- 
natural, seemed  to  lend  a  sort  of  shri- 
velled strength  to  the  body  they  con- 
sumed ;— and  week  after  week,  month 
after  month,  year  after  year,  had  Ann 
Stavert  to  c»ole  and  to  curse,  till  at 
last  she  fell  down  on  her  knees,  and 
prayed  to  God  that  the  old  wretch 
might  die  ;  for  her  soul  was  sickened 
into  angi^  despair,  and  she  longed  to 
see  him  m  his  shroud, — ^his  coffin,-— 
his  grave. 

Ann  Stavert  had  sold  her  body  for 
gold, — and  the  soul  is  often  lost  in 
such  a  bargain.  She  had  strong  pas- 
sions— they  had  long  slept,  but  at  last 
they  were  kindled.  She  singled  out 
from  the   many  who   admired  her. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


Amos  Bfitflej,  a  ti^  ftripUng  of  18 ; 
and  the  twoie  an  oath  wiwin  bar 
sool^  that  she  wmild  delivw  heradfiqp 
to  ldm>  seal,  body,  and  estate.  Her 
eye  spoke— and  in  the  anns  of  Amos 
Bradley,  she  cursed  with  a  more  bitter 
soul  bar  oid  palsied  misor,  and  with 
move  psssionate  prayer  called  upon  her 
Maker  to  shorten  his  hated  life.  The 
passions  of  hatred  and  love  wholly 
flbricened  her  conscience;  ham  the 
bed  of  disgust  and  homr,  she  flew  to 
the  bosom  of  desire  and  enjoyment ; 
and  when  dasped  in  the  embraces  of 
guilt,  she  dared  to  think  tl^at  God 
would  forgive  even  the  murder  of  her 
wretched  and  misemble  husband. 

The  old  man  saw  into  her  heart, 
with  the  craftiness  of  his  half-extin- 
guished intellect,  and  he  hobbled  out 
on  his  crutdi  into  the  night-daricaess, 
a  (my  on  their  secret  assignations.  Blind 
ana  deaf  to  other  things,  here  he  both 
saw  and  hesrd,  and  Imew  in  the  de- 
erefntude  of  lus  soul  and  body,  diat 
his  wife  wu  an  adultress.— ^'  Shall  I 
drive  her  out  of  my  house  without  a 
penny,  except  what  she  has  stolen,  or 
shall  I  put  poison  into  her  drink,  and 
punish  ner  for  cheating  the  old  man  ?'^ 
Mmt  as  the  miser  was  sitting  in  these 
cruel  thoughts,  with  his  dim  red  eyes 
fii^mied  on  the  floor,  his  wife  entered 
^eroom  with  her  fluidied  vissge,  and 
sat  down  by  his  side.  She  looked  up, 
and  the  fascination  of  thai  hice  in  a 
moment  changed  him  into  willing 
uid  contented  abasement  **  Where 
wast  thou,  Ann?  I  thou^t  I  saw  thee 
with  thit  younker,  Amos  Bradlev — 
thou  dost  not  love  Amos  better  tnan 
old  Isaac  ?  my  luffeon,  give  me  a  Idsa.'' 
^She  Idssed  bis  loathsome  lips  with  a 
shudder — as  she  thought  of  lum  whom 
she  had  just  left,  sad  his  endearments 
that  had  scsrched  her  very  souL-* 
'' No,  no,  my  kind  Isaac— ^lou  art  not 
so  old  yet,---let  us  to  bed  /'—-while 
the  dotard  knowing,  and  yet  fomt- 
ting  his  wifSe's  infldditv,  with  a  Issr 
rose  up,  and  tsking  the  rush-light 
whidi  his  penuriotts  soul  repined 
should  be  wasted,  tottered  into  his 
bed-chsmber,  and  with  flashes  of  an- 
ger and  vengeance  dimly  breaking 

kst  again  in  the  fssrination  of  fond- 
ness and  fear,  he  hud  down  his  wi- 
thered body  on  the  bed  from  which  it 
was  never  again  to  be  lifted  up  in  life. 
She  had  left  Amos  Bradlev  in  hid- 
ing, and  now  she  returned  to  nisairoa. 
"  Oh  !  Amos,  the  M  villain  has  seen 


ua  in  our  Joy,  and  be  l^gttA  at  me 
widi  thefsceof  adeviL  PerhaphiB 
old  lean  fingers  wiU  strange  me  m  my 
sleep."—''  Oon't  sufler  bun,  Ann,  to 
touch  your  bosom  or  node  again.  You 
are  mine  now,  and  cursed  be  the  slaver 
of  his  drivelling  hps !"— "  No,  Amos^ 
never  shall  the  toad  pollute  my  bosom 
again;  but  dost  think  he  will  kill  me, 
Aidos  ?  He  is  crud  in  his  old  ag^ 
and  hates  even  when  he  hugs  me.  As 
ihe  Lord  liveth,  Amos,  for  thy  sake  I 
will  died  his  blood!  Thiskn^shaU 
go  to  his  heart!"—''  Ann,  wilt  thov 
marryme  if  we  murder  him."—  "  Yes, 
Amos,  and  thou  sh^t  lie  between  my 
breasts  for  ever."—"  Swesr  it  then  be- 
fine  God."—"  I  swesr  before  God,  as 
I  hope  for  mercy  at  the  day  of  Judg- 
ment. 

They  went  together  into  the  old 
man's  room,  and  he  saw  them  by  the 
dimmer  of  the  rush-light.  There  was 
death  in  their  eves ;  and  the  mieer  sat 
im,  shaking  witn  terror  and  palsy,  and 
cueped  his  shrivdled  hands  m  payer* 
"  Thou  wilt  not  murder  thine  old  land 
Isaac— wilt  thou,  Ann?  Tske  her, 
Amos,  love  and  cherish  her ;  I  wQI 
not  see  it— 4mt  wptin  my  life.  There 
is  a  bag  of  guineas  in  tlie  wall  yonder, 
nesr  tlttt  CMweb— digit  out,  but  save 
the  dd  miser^s  life ;  Amos— Ann,  I 
am  afraid  of  helL"  One  held  his 
throat,  and  the  other  stmek  him  wiib 
the  knife;  but  the  hand  that  hdd  the 
knife  had  trembled,  and  thefeeUe  blow 
fi^oedoff  the  ribs  of  the  wretched  old 
man.  "  I  cannot  strike  sgain,  Amos, 
but  we  must  finish  him,  or  we  are 
dead  people."  The  stripling  took  his 
graqiaway  from  the  throat,  and  the  old 
grey  head  fell  back  on  the  pillow.  The 
murderers  stood  still  for  a  minute,  and 
by  the  rudi-light  glimmering  in  the 
socket,  they  both  saw  that  he  was  dead. 
"  Don't  stare  upon  me  so  g^iastly, 
Amos,  thank  God  there  is  no  blood." 
— "  Thank  God !— did  you  say  thsnk 
God?"  A  bkat  of  rain  dashed  sgamst 
the  window,  and  the  murderers  start- 
ed. "  God  preserve  us,  Amos !— did 
vou  hesr  voices?  Hush,  it  is  nothing. 
Nobody  will  suspect,  and  I  will  mar- 
ry thee,  my  sweet  Amos,  and  we  shall 
be  rich  and  ha{^y."  They  lifted  the 
body,  and  laid  it  down  on  the  floor; 
and,  once  more  renewing  their  vows  of 
flddity  before  God,  they  lay  down  in 
eadi  other's  arms  till  past  midnight. 
Then  iUnos  arose,  and  returned  baora 
dawning  to  his  mother's  house. 
The  next  morning  it  was  known 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


AfmStmmtmdAnmBmil^ 


\y*4 


that  Isaac  ^e  miier  wis  dead ;  and 
inanj  a  carelfin  or  ooane  jest  waa 
made  od  him  and  his  widow.  But 
dnring  the  day>  the  jesting  was  at  an 
Old ;  and  dark  loolos  and  suppressed 
whi^ers  told  over  all  the  parish  that 
poor  Isaao>  of  whom  nobomr  knew  anj 
ul  but  that  he  was  too  fond  of  hia 
moneYji  had  had  foul  usage  at  last,  and 
that  nis  £ur  wife  best  knew  how  ha 
had  died.  The  blade  finger  gripes 
were  on  his  neck,  and  a  sHgbt  wound 
on  his  aide  near  the  heart.  Theprints 
af  a  man's  feet,  all  unlike  that  of  poor 
lame  Isaac,  were  seen  all  round  the 
hooseandbam ;  and  his  widow,  when 
a  knife  stained  at  the  point  with  blood, 
and  exactW  fitting  the  wound,  was 
produced,  fell  down  in  a  mortal  swoon. 
A  neighbour,  who  had  been  early  »< 
foot,  had  met  Amos  Bradlej  near  the 
boose  of  the  dead  man,  and  on  awa« 
kening  from  her  swoon,  the  wretched 
woman  hearing  his  name,  cried  oul^ 
In  desperation,  *'  Have  yon  got  Amoa 
among  you  ?-— Amos,  Amos,  they  say 
we  murdered  him."  An  hour  l)efore 
midnight  the  crime  had  been  pen>e« 
trated,  and  the  sun  had  not  reacmed 
his  height,  when  Ann  Stairert  aid 
Amoa  Bradler  stood  beside  the  eorpae, 
and,  borne  down  by  eoBsdous  guilt, 
and  fearful  efidence  of  drcumstanees, 
looked  £oT  a  short  mce  on  each  other, 
and  confessed  that  they  were  the  mar-* 
derers. 

Amos  Bradley  was  a  mere  boy,  aelf« 
willed,  and  deplorably  ignorant,  bst 
he  had  Be?er  dreamt  (n  committing  a 
cruel  crime,  tili  the  night  on  which 
he  grasped  the  old  maas  diroat  with 
a  desdly  purpose.  He  was  tempted, 
and  in  a  moment  felL  Now,  in  the 
ailence  and  darkness  of  his  cdl,  his 
mind  was  wholly  overpowered  by  a 
sense  of  guilt,  and  sunk  almost  mio 
idiotcy.  But  Ann  Stavert  had  long 
been  femiliar  with  horrid  thoughts, 
SMd  fer  a  while  her  soul  rebelled  in  a 
fit  of  unrrienting  obduracy.  Neither 
did  the  fear  of  death  extmg^h  her 
gniltr  and  buimngr  passion.  Nightly 
did  we  dream  <tf  nim  she  had  sedu- 
ced to  destruction,  and  awake  from 
tnraUed  and  delusive  raptures  into 
the  dreadful  conviction  of  chains  and 
anproaehing  doom.  Even  in  her  cell 
aae  would  have  bared  her  bosom  to 
him  in  passion  unextinguishable  till 
the  day  of  execution.  But  the  mm> 
derers  were  k^t  apart.  He  could  not 
hear  her  loud  and  angry  shrieks-^ 


she  could  not  he«r  hia  hm  and  ml* 
serable  moaitt.  Each  cell  hdd^  un- 
heard without,  its  own  groans,  and 
the  clanking  of  its  own  heavy  chains* 
They  stood  at  the  bar  together,  and 
together  Ihey  received  sentence  of 
d^th.  He  Mid  nothing-— but  looked 
around  him  with  a  vacant  atare.  Thane 
was  no  expression  in  hia  countenance 
of  any  cnidity,  or  of  any  stroQg  paa* 
sion.  His  soul  had  died  within  mm, 
and  to  the  opowded  court  he  was  aU 
moat  an  olgeot  of  compassion.  But 
Ann  Stavert  stood  at  the  bar  with  all 
her  soul  awake.  **  Then  let  me  die* 
•—Repent?  Why  should  I  ic^t? 
Because  I  murdered  that  loalasoroe 
wretch,  and  gave  me  to  the  youth  I 
madly  loved  ?  Had  it  never  been  dis^ 
covered,  we  diould  have  been  happy.^ 
Hear  i^  ye  Judgesof  the  land  i  I  waa 
h^py  in  Ames's  bosom  the  very  hour 
of  murder,  althou|^  I  saw  the  corMa 
lying  on  ^e  floor  by  the  moonliyifci 
Hang  ma— give  my  body  to  disaec** 
tion— but  as  it  lived  for  years  in  loath- 
ing and  abhorrence,  so  did  it  live  fer 
a  few  hours  in  joy  and  in  heaven,  and 
that  was  enough.  And  now  I  diall 
be  told  that  my  soul  must  sink  down 
to  helL    But  God  is  just,  and  I  ant 


were  remoiNad  from  the  fatt'— • 
he,  sil^t,  and  seemin^y  iasenatble  to 
his  doom  ;— she,  with^ands  clenched 
against  the  Judge  who  had  pronoun* 
ced  sentence  of  death,  and  uttering 
blasphemies. 

It  is  bat  a  short  time  from  Friday 
till  Mondav,  but  great  changes  have 
been  wrought  during  it,  short  as  it  is, 
iiV  the  minds  of  those  whose  bodiea 
have  been  in  chuna.  Amoa  Bradley 
was  visited  by  hia  mother ;  and  at  ther 
sight  of  her  his  uaderatanding,  which 
had  been  nearly  exttngnishea  by  ther 
weight  of  woe,  was  gradually  restored. 
He  was  reconciled  to  his  deserved^ 
doom:  and  being  made  partially  to 
understand  the  hlapm  md  promises  of 
the  go^d  by  one  who  was  indeed  a 
ChrMan,  the  wnetched  «id  guilty 
boy  seldom  left  his  knees,  and  waa  a 
true  penitent.  But  Aim  Stavert,  eft 
the  night  of  condemnation,  was  struck 
wi&  sadden  horror;  and  a  fenatic  be^ 
ing  introduced  into  her  cdl,  soon  oon«> 
verted  her  into  a  frantic  bdiever  in 
the  perfect  remission  of  all  her  aina. 
She  now  joined  in  horrid  union  with 
the  name  of  her  poor  dear  Amoa  that 
oi  the  Saviour  of  Mankinds-kept  oon- 


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l^bik^  Ann 

tlmuily  MMMiiig  dtai  the  WM 
pore  itt  Ui  hAj  bibod  mti  iMMd 
to  be  widi  falm  ^  nls^t  til  mmi^Um. 
The  scafiUd  was  erected  hmrt  her 
hvsbcnd'i  deor ;  and  as  she  and  ker 
ndaerable  viotfaA  teODnted  its  atepa^ 
tiiere  was  a  growl  of  thtuider  in  bet* 
▼eii.*-*>Amo8  Bradley  knelt  down  and 
pra jMI'^-then  kiasea  hk  motber^  wbo 
was  with  him  on  the  scaflbld^Huid 
tomiiMf  roond,  nid^  "  Ann^  how  dosC 
tiioa  fed  ?  It  is  possible  God  may 
Ibrgiye  ns ;  he  may  be  meitiAil  to  Ui, 


Mi^lMMtJNMiy.  Ml 

idthou^  wt  skewed  none  to  M 
Uunor  Thewtetdiedwoaummstod 
ftffwaid  toentbriee  Idn^  but  ber  aima 
Wire  tied  with  cords,  and  her  strength 
was  gone.  "  Hbs  nidit,  Amos,  we 
shall  be  in  Hsaven.^  ''  Of  hdl, 
womM,"  uttered  a  hoarse  Toioe.  It 
#as  the  EKoeotfoner,  who  boimd  heif 
shriddng  to  the  beam ;  and  in  a  f^ 
miniiteB  die  erowd  was  dispersed, 
in  tears,  trembling,  exeeration,  and 
ko^ter. 


I«BTTBB  ON  8T  DOMINGO. 

^ow  that  Parliament  is  met,  and  that  we  an$  stife  of  soon  having  a 
mass  of  documents  before  us  in  relation  to  the  West  Indies^  it  may,  per- 
haps, appear  needless  for  us  to  do  anything  more  about  the  subject  in  its 
jureeent  8tate« 

We  h4Te>  however,  no  doubt,  that  those  of  our  readers  who  attended 
to  what  was  said  about  St  Donrineo  in  the  last  of  our  papers  on  this 
oontroveniy,  will  be  pleased  with  the  opportunity  of  perusing  the  follow^ 
fng  Letter,  which  was  addressed  v^ry  feoentl v  to  a  friend  of  ours,  who 
haa  made  some  inquiries  elsewhere  without  being  able  to  obtain  much 
satisfaction.  The  reader  may  depend  on  it,  that  what  they  read  comes 
from  a  ^ntleman  of  the  highest  character  for  intelligence.  Hb  candour 
will  ma^  itself  quite  as  visible.     C  N.  j 

t  sit  down  to  give  you  the  best 
ld[eteh  which  I  sm  able  hastily  to  do 


of  the  rranbUc  of  Hayti.  It  is  with 
tfrestt  dmcnHy  that  anydling  can  be 
taumed  of  its  present  state.  AH 
that  we  can  know  of  it  must  come 
Arotigh  the  agents  of  the  mercantile 
houses  in  this  country  of  America, 
Whfob  trade  with  it,  or  throngh  the 
Aptains  of  the  British  tden-of-^wat 
whidi  are  occasionally  sent  there  from 
Jauulea  to  ascertain  what  this  black 
gOfemment  are  about,  or  for  other 
poUtical  objects.  I  bc^eve  it  would 
be  unsafe  for  any  traveller,  whose  par* 
pose  was  cariosity  and  not  commerce, 
to  attempt  to  travel  through  St  Do- 
trdngo ;  and  it  is  very  probable  that 
any  eonspicoous  curiositv  on  the  pan 
of  Englisn  or  American  Whites,  salRn> 
ed  Co  resids  in  that  country  as  eom^ 
merdil  agents,  would  draw  downap- 
on  them  tne  dispkasnre  of  thegotem^ 
tnent,  and  create  such  obstades  to 
tfieir  tride  as  wotdd  fnroe  them  to  quit 
^  idaad. 
one 

lAettt  there,  ti  an  agent  to  a  hOusS  in 
London,  attempted  to  get  an  official 
account  of  mefr  expotts*  It  was  pro* 
mised*  evsshfe  excoses  were  frequent- 
ly mide,  but  it  was  never  given.  Tbe 
i^ettts  ate  confined  to  the  towns,  and 
the  AMiuuanders  of  sMps  of  war  can 
Vol.  XV. 


«e  nothing  else  but  thesesndafswof 
their  inhabitants.  Their  opportuni- 
ties, therefore,  of  knowing  tne  state 
of  the  country,  are  very  imperfect,  and 
If  they  Were  better  Uian  they  are,  few 
gentlemen  of  ^e  naval  profession  are 
qoaRfled,  by  previous  studies  and  h«^ 
bits,  to  give  a  judicious  description  of 
a  singukr  people  in  S  new  sitiiation. 
They  have  never  published,  or  taken, 
as  far  as  we  know,  a  liettstis  of  thdr 
population,  and  this  dreumstanee  ex«» 
cites  suspidon  that  it  is  on  the  de* 
drease* 

An  officer  of  His  Mi^eMy's  ship  the 
T'-"— ,  which  was  sent  to  fh  Doitainb 
go,  by  the  Admital  oemmandihg  it 
Jamaica,  two  or  three  years  ago,  nas 
assured  me  that  their  nurabrn  WtofS 
^Bminishlng.  This  I  can  very  weft 
Imagine,  fbr  diey  are  witiiout  medical 
assistance  when  AA ;  and  when  wdl, 
without  prudent  fbradght  I  have  no 
doubt  but  that  <he  penohs  hk  ] 


,        skm  of  the  govetnmeAt  Slid  the  troops 

daad.    I  have  mysdf,  throt^    IcidAfif^ofgreafeein^biitl  Aii^ 
of  the  gentlemen  fbrtteily  resft*    if  probable,  Siat  the  peastAts  are  In  a 

#tftte  of  poverty  and  misei^  eqiudly 
oonspiodous.  The  mttroes  hitve  vety 
impmBCt  notions  of  justice  to  eMA 
other ;  and  if  I  am  to  Judge  of  the  Mb 
nenl  conduct  of  tfleir  magistnfes^^ 
sottie  stories  of  Ibem  wnleh  I  luNe 
heifd,  sudt  aa  the  feucNfing,  fbr  eis 

DigifecGyLjOOgle 


sao 


I^ier  on  St  Domingo. 


HFeb- 


asiplfkf  their  nofioM  of  equity-are  dif*- 
fenent  from  ourik  A  juge  de  mix, 
before  whom  the  rig^t  to  a  fowl  waa 
litigated  bv  two  peraons,  otid^«d  it  to 
be  dreaaea  for  hia  ownaupper,  aa  a 
ceartaiti  w^  of  putting  an  end  to  the 
dispute,  which  he  htmented  had  taken 
place  between  two  ciiiaens,  and  ought 
not  to  be  allowed  to  go  any  farther. 

There  are  two  partiee  in  St  Domin- 
go, viz.  those  of  the  Mulattoes  and  the 
Blacks^  between  whom  there  is  a  de- 
cided antipathy.    The  Mulattoes  are 
not  supposed  to  be  more  than  ten  or 
fifteen  tnousand.   The  rest  of  the  po- 
pulation are  negroea.    In  the  south, 
by  their  superior  address,  the  Mulat- 
toes made  themselvea  roasters  of  the 
govemroent,  and  still  retain  it.     But 
in  the  north,  Christophe,  who  was  a 
negro,  succeeded  in  placing  himself 
at  the  head  of  aflPairs,  and  after  pos- 
sessing himself  of  unlimited  power, 
put  all  the  Muiattoes  in  his  dominions 
to  death,  as  persons  who,  from  Uieir 
colour,  must  he  inimical  to  his  autho^ 
rity.    The  government  of  the  tyrant, 
however, was  so  severe,  that  the  Blacks 
of  the  north  were  glad  to  place  them- 
selves under  the  Mulattoes  of  the 
aouth*    As  there  are  now  very  few 
white  men  resident  in  Hayti,  the  Mu- 
lattoes   must   decrease  in  numbers. 
They  will  breed  back  again  towards 
the    original    negro,    and  whenever 
Xhey  are  much  lessened,   they  must 
reaign  their  power.    It  will  then  be 
seen  whether  the  n^ro  is   capable, 
with  the  intellect  apportioned  by  na- 
ture to  that  variety  of  the  human  race^ 
to  govern  a  country  in  anything  like  a 
civilized  manner.   Petion,  Boyer,  and 
the  other  Mulattoes  that  now  govern 
the  country,  or  have  formerly  done  so, 
have  been  educated  at  the  cost  of  THsia 
.WHITE  PARENTS  in  Frooce,  The  suc- 
ceeding Mulattoea  will  not  have  recei- 
ved the  advantaged  of  an  European 
education.    They  will  therefore  be 
more  unfit  for  power  than  their  pre- 
decessors, a  oiroumstanop  which  must 
contribute  to  throw  the  government 
jnto  the  hands  of  the  Blades. 
.    The  government  is  nominally  re* 
publican,  but  really  despotic.   Though 
Ihere  is  a  l^;islature,  tne  membera  of 
it  never  meet  to  do  buaineas.    Every 
act  of  power  ia  done  by  the  President 
Boyer^  or  hia  Secretary  Ingnac.  Boy- 
«r'a  character  I  believe  to  l^  extremciy 
jreapectable ;  and  that  of  hia  predeoear 
cor,  Petion,  was  remarkably  so.    This 
lafti  VIZ.  Petion .  is  aaid  to  have  atarved 
iiifnself  to  4eath,  after  havipg  grran- 
ged  everytliing  for  the  succession  of 


hia  aide-du-camp  Boyer,  onaecoiatof: 
diaappointment  ia  not  having  been 
able  to  Toeike  a  dvilized  and  prosperoua 
people  of  those  of  Hayti. 

The  militarv  force  is  considarable, 
and  is  generally  stated  at  from  90  to 
25,000  men,  under  arms.  Their  navy 
consists  of  a  few  schooners  ill-armed 
and  ill-manned.  At  sea  they  may  be 
aaid  to  be  powerless ;  but  on  land,  for- 
midable.— Whoever  is  Presid^it,  must 
keep  up  a  large  military  force,  or  his 
authonty  would  not  kst  six  months. 
With  such  means,  it  would  be  rerj 
difficult  for  the  Haytians  to  attack'  a 
neighbouring  island ;  but  it  would  be 
equally  dangerous  for  oth^^  to  mvade 
them.  The  nature  of  the  country,  and 
the  climate  of  Hayti,  would  operate  iu 
their  favour— evep  more  powerftdly 
than  their  muskets  and  bayonets.  Up- 
on being  attacked  by  an  European 
force  they  would  abandon  their  towns, 
retire  to  their  woods  and  mountaina^ 
where  white  troops  could  not  follow 
them,,  and  leave  famine,  the  climate, 
and  the  yellow  fever,  to  destroy  slowly, 
but  certainly,  the  battalions  of  their 
invaders. 

To  a  gentleman  who  waa  in  Lon- 
don last  year,  and  who  had  reaided 
some  years  in  Hayti,  as  an  agent  to 
some  British  merchanta,  the  following 
questions  were  put,  and  the  foUowing 
answers  to  them  were  received  from 
him; — 

1.  Whether  the  population  of  St. 
Domineo  have  any  religious  instruc- 
tors in  me  country?  Answer — Schools, 
private  and  public,  are  established — 
indifierently  well  managed.  Every  pa« 
rish  has  ita  church  (Catholic) ;  prieats, 
white  chiefly,  but  in  some  instances,  of 
colour,  are  not  wanting.  A  few  yeara 
ago,  Methodist  missionaries  were 
there ;  but  they  have  been  sent  away. 

2.  What  is  tlie  moral  condition  of 
the  people  ?  Answer — This  question 
1  b^;  to  decline  giving  a  written  aUf- 
swer  to,  but  verbally  I  will  state  it  to 
be  the  worit  upon  the  face  qfthe  earth. 
Every  moral  tie  or  feeling  is  quite  tin- 
known  in  St  Domingo, 

3.  Whether  marriagea  are  aolenmizea 
among  them  ?  Answer — Yea,  but  not 
very  generally.  In  thia  respect  they 
are  improving. 

4.  Whether  the  children  are  bapti- 
zed ?     Anawer — ^All 

5.  Whether  there  are  any  schoola  of 
instruction  in  the  country  r  Answer 
— ^In  all  small  borough^  I  believe. 
The  open  country  contains  only  de- 
tached cottagea  at  great  intervals. 

6.  How  arc  they  employed^^y^e- 


1«M.3  iMiir  on  Si 

ther  the  people  work,  or  not,  as  ther 
please;  or  whether  they  are  apprenti- 
ced fbr  a  certain  number  of  years  to 
the  possessor  of  the  soU,  and  obliged 
to  work  under  his  authority  ?  Answer 
— In  the  towns  there  is  some  industry  ; 
in  the  country  very  little.  There  is  no 
kind  of  exertion, 

7.  If  this  is  the  case,  has  the  roas- 
ter the  power  of  punishment  for  idle- 
ness, misconduct,  or  other  offence? 
Answer — None ;  and  even  the  consti- 
tuted authorities  enforce  little  discip- 
line, except  in  cases  of  great  crimes, 
as  murder,  &c. 

8.  Is  there  anv  degree  of  dvilization, 
or  are  the  people  savages  under  a  half- 
dvilized  government  ?  Answer — ^There 
is  a  great  degree  of  civilization.  There 
are  no  savages,  and  the  government 
counts  men  of  considerable  talents  and 
education  among  its  members.  They 
are  generally  a  polite  people. 

The  following  is  part  of  a  letter, 
which  I  have  been  given  to  under- 
stand will  be  laid  before  the  Colonial 
office:— 

*'  The  example  of  St  Domingo,  I 
consider  to  be  conclusive  also.  Fire- 
vious  to  the  Revolution,  that  fine  co- 
lony contained  800  sugar  estates,  2800 
oonee  plantations,  700  cotton  settle- 
ments, and  300  indigo  works,  produ- 
cing 70  millions  of  Frendi  pounds  of 
clayed  sugar,  93  millions  of  Muscova- 
do sugar,  G9  millions  of  pounds  of  cof- 
fee, 6  millions  of  cotton,  and  930,000 
lbs.  of  indigo.  See  Bryan  Edwards's 
History  of  the  West  Indies,  Vol,  III. 
p.  212.  I  send  you  the  book.  This 
colony  was  the  pride  of  France,  and 
the  envy  of  all  other  nations.  In  the 
black  hour  of  democratic  rule,  expe- 
riment was  to  be  extended  to  it  by  the 
government  of  France.  The  Rights 
oi  Man  were  to  place  the  mulattoes  on 
^  level  with  the  whites,  and  the  vacil- 
lating orders  of  men  in  the  mother 
country,  whose  power  was  fully  equall- 
ed by  their  presumption,  who  really 
knew  nothing  of  the  colonics,  but  un- 
dertook to  regulate  them,  so  managed, 
as  to  inflame  the  whites  and  mulattoes 
to  open  hostility.  It  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  the  slaves  who  were  as 
well  entitled  by  the  code  of  the  Rights 
of  Man,  to  be  free  as  the  other  di^ws 
of  that  island,  seized  the  opportunity 
to  procure,  by  revolt  and  massacre, 
their  own  liberation.  After  30  years 
of  freedom,  Hayti  shipped  to  the  Uni- 
t^  SUtes  in  1822,  (see  the  cffidd 
statement  of  the  exports  and  imports 


Dtmivgo.  9dl 

of  that  country,  which  I  send  you,) 
8,394,393  lbs.  of  coffee,  24,241  lbs.  of 
sugar ;  22,982  lbs.  of  cotton ;  and  333 
lbs.  of  indiEo.  About  1000  tons  of 
coff^,  I  understand,  are  brought  from 
Hayti  by  us  to  Europe.  We  have,  I 
am  told,  about  six  small  ships  in  Uie 
trade,  averaging,  perhaps,  aoout  150 
tons  each,  and  the  English  and  Ame- 
ricans now  engross  the  miserable  re- 
mains of  the  trade  of  that  once  flou- 
rishing country. 

**  The  two  quantities  of  ooffbe  which 
I  have  mentioned,  form  an  aggregate* 
of  less  than  11  millions  of  lbs.  The 
Hay tians  collect  it  by  picking  the  ber- 
ries from  the  old  trees  planted  by  the 
whites ;  and  it  is  of  so  inferior  a  oua- 
lity,  that  when  other  coffee  is  selling 
at  L.5  per  cwt,  that  of  Hayti  is  not 
worth  above  L.3,  10s.  I  should  tres-, 
pass  on  your  patience  by  a  comparison' 
of  the  cotton  and  indigo  now  and  for- 
merly produced.  But  it  will  perhaps 
be  useful  to  observe  as  of  peculiar  im^ 
portance  to  the  inquiry  now  taking 
place,  that  the  same  country  which 
exported,  when  cultivated  by  slaves, 
70  millions  of  lbs.  of  clayed  sugar,  and 
93  millions  of  Muscovado,  exports  hf 
the  industry  of  the  same  people,  in  a 
state  of  iVeedom,  no  more  than  24,241 
lbs.  of  Muscovado  sugar,  a  quantity 
equal  to  16  of  our  West  India  hogs- 
heads, in  place  of  130,000  which  she 
formerly  made.  No  sugar  is  now  sent 
to  Europe  from  Havti,  because  it  can- 
not be  used  in  England,  and  is  unflt 
for  the  continent.  Their  whole  ex- 
port, therefore,  must  have  gone  to  the 
United  States." 

At  the  colonial  office,  I  am  inform- 
ed, an  enquiry  is  taking  place  to  ascer- 
tain whether  free  Africans  or  their  de- 
scendants will  not  cultivate  sugar  in 
the  West  Indies  without  great  loss  to 
the  proprietors  of  lands.  If  this  should 
turn  out  to  be  impracticable,  all  mea- 
sures leading  to  the  emancipation  of 
the  slaves  would  become  at  least  of 
doubtful  policy,  and  would  probably 

Sroceed  no  farther.  A  committee  of 
le  House  of  Commons,  it  is  said,  will 
soon  be  engaged  on  this  and  other 
West  Indian  points.  If  government 
will  but  try  the  experiment  in  some  of 
the  colonies,  they  will  sood  convince 
themselves  and  the  nation,  that  the 
abolition  of  slavery  would  ruin  the 
proprietorsof  estates,  and  annihilate  all 
the  advantages  which  Great  Britain 
derives  from  these  rich  possessionsi 
I  am,  6rc.  &c. 


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CF*. 


WORKS  PEEFAWWG  FOR  PURtlCATION. 


LONDON. 


£ie(D^nta  of  Diaooune  and  Criterion 
fteasoningf  at  Prepa-i 
aquirief  and  Ground- 
peaking;  for  t|ie  us# 
adidafes  for  the  Pul- 
le  SenAta.    By  &  T. 

•n,  in  a  Series  of  Pni- 

Spiritual  Aphorisms, 

extracted  from  the  Works  of  Archbishop 

I«ighton,  with  Notes  and  interpolated 

Remarks.     By  S.  T.  Cpleridge,  Esq. 

The  Wanderings  of  Cain.  By  S,  T. 
Coleridge,  Esq. 

Tl^e  Posthumous  Works  of  the  late 
Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  Esq.  are  announ- 
oed  Ibr  publication  in  one  volume. 

The  Deformed  Tinnsformed.  A  Dramaa 
By  the  Right  Honourable  Lord  Byron. 

Scripture  Topography :  an  Alphabeti- 
cal Arrangement  of  all  the  Names  of 
Places  mentioned  in  the  Old  and  New 
Testament;  accompanied  with  Historical 
and  Descriptive  Information  derived  from 
Ancient  Writers  and  Modem  Travellers. 

Pm>I  L  el  Elements  of  the  History  of 
CShril  Qovemnaent:  being  a  View  of  the 
Rise  aiHl  Progress  of  the  various  Political 
Ifi^itutions  that  have  subsisted  through- 
out the  World,  and  an  Account  of  the 
present  State  and  distinguishing  Features 
gf  tiie  Governments  now  in  Existence  \ 
by  the  late  James  T^son,  ^Elsq.,  is  now  ii^ 
^presa^ 

No.  I.  of  Original  Views  of  the  most  in- 
teresting Collegiate  and  Parochial  Church- 
es in  Great  Britain.  From  drawings  by 
J.  P.  Neale.  The  Engravings  by  J.  Le 
Keux.  With  Historical  Notices  and  Ar- 
chitectural Descriptions.  Tlie  work  will 
be  published  in  Monthly  Parts,  each  con- 
tuning  four  highly  finished  Views,  48l 
royal  Svo.  A  few  copies  will  be  printed, 
with  proof  impressions  of  the  Phites,  on 
India  paper,  royal  4to^  8s.  Twelve  Ruts 
will  form  a  Volume,  and  the  whole  will 
be  completed  in  Six  Volumes. 

In  a  few  days  will  be  pubUshed,  Vol- 
taire's Philosophical  Dictionary,  Vol.  I.. 

A  Manual  for  the  Treatment  of  Stric- 
Cuses  In  the  Urethral  chiefly  addressed 
le  Students  and  Junior  Practioners.  B|y 
George  MacUwain. 


Memoirs  of  a  Lady  of  Quality;  con- 
taining Original  Anecdotes  of  all  the 
Courts  of  Europe,  and  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished Individuals  as  connected  with 
the  History  of  the  last  Forty  Years. 

Mr  Buckingham,  author  of  **  Thivela 
in  PhUestine,*'  has  a  volume  of  Travels 
among  the  Arab  Tribes  inhabiting  the 
Countries  East  of  Syria  and  Palestine,  in 
the  press. 

Narrative  of  a  Tour  through  Parts  of 
the  Netherlands,Holland,6ennany,Switz» 
erlapd.  Savoy,  and  FVance,  in  the  years 
1821-28,  including  a  Description  of  the 
Rhine  Voyage  in  the  middle  of  AutamUy 
and  the  Stupendous  Scenery  of  the  Alps 
in  the  depth  of  Winter.  By  Charles  Ten- 
nant,  Esq. 

Letters  to  an  Attorney's  Clerk,  con- 
taining Directions  for  his  Studies  and  ge- 
neral Conduct.  Designed  and  commenoBd 
by  the  late  A.  C.  Buckland,  author  of 
Letters  on  Early  Rising;  and  completed 
by  W.  H.  BuckUuid. 

Memoirs  of  the  Life  and  Writings  of 
Mrs  FVances  Sheridan»  Mother  of  the  late 
Right  Hon.  R.  B.  Sheridan,  and  Author 
of  •*  Sidney  Biddulph,*'  «  Nouijahad,*' 
and  "  The  Discovery  ;'*  with  Remarks 
upon  a  late  Life  of  the  Right  Hon.  R.  B. 
Sheridan ;  Criticism  and  Selections  from 
the  Works  of  Mrs  Sheridan,  and  Biogra- 
phical Anecdotes  of  her  Family  and  Con- 
temporaries. By  her  Grand-daughter, 
Alicia  Lefonu. 

The  History  of  the  Roman  Empire, 
from  the  accession  of  Augustus  to  the 
death  of  the  younger  Antoninus;  by  Wil- 
liam  Haygarth,  Esq.  A.M.  is  now  in  the 
press. 

In  the  press,  Tbt  Plenary  Inspiration 
of  the  Holy  Scriptures  Asserted,  and  In- 
fidel Objections  shewn  to  be  unfounded, 
by  New  and  Conclusive  Evidence.  In 
Six  Lectures,  by  the  Rev.  S.  Noble. 

One  Hundred  Original  Songs.  By  Al- 
lan Cunningham. 

The  Rev.  T.  Boys  is  about  to  publish 
Sacred  Tactics ;  an  Attempt  to  Develope 
and  to  Exhibit  to  the  Eye,  by  Tabular 
Arrangements^  a  Geneial  Rule  of  Oena- 
positiMi  prevailing  In  the  Holy  Sciip- 
tvres. 


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CtaMaalCf » iafwied  m  m  IntrDdiMlloii 
to  the  SjFtttBurtkMl  atttdy^Ctbe  PriMipd 
AotboM  wbo  hsvo  writton  on  the  flub- 

JOCt> 

A  work  entltloi  A  HIMoit  of  the 
OonqoetC  of  Ba^lAn^l  by  the  Nomuuii, 
its  Cmieee  end  Cofiiequenee8»  !•  now  in 
theprtM, 

Am  Introdoction  to  Anatoaiyeiid  Phyw 
alolonrs  fortheiiMorBfedicalSeiidentt 
and  M«o  of  Lettere*  Bf  Thtaiee  Saod- 
with,  Esq.,  Sui^eon.    With  Platea. 

Meaoift  of  Rossini ;  eontaining  Aneo* 
dotes  of  hit  Life  and  of  his  Musical  Ca» 
leer  to  the  present  Period.  Bj  the  An- 
thor  of  **  The  Liree  of  Haydn  and  Ikfo- 


Shortly  will  appear,  An  £slay  deserip- 
tlfe  of  a  New  ^em  of  Nariffatioa,  by 
newly  inrented  Charts  and  Instruments^ 
by  whioh  Uie  Longitude  is  ftmnd,  kept, 
and  alwqrs  known.  By  W.  a  flteren^ 
Author  of  Hoaogimphia,  &a 

A  Practkad  IVeatise  on  Diseases  of 
the  Liver,  and  on  some  of  the  Affeetkma 
uenally  deaomhiated  Bilious;  comprising 
an  impartial  Estimate  of  the  Merits  of 
the  Nitfo-Muriatic  Acid  Bath;  by  Geotgo 
Darting,  M.Di,  is  in  course  of  publiea- 


In  the  press.  Prose  Pictures :  a  Seriee 
of  Descriptive  Letters  and  Essays.  By 
Edwaid  Herbert,  £sq.  With  Etchings, 
by  Geoige  Cruikshaak. 

The  several  Treatises  of  the  kte  James 
Baverstock,  Esq.  on  the  Brewery,  col- 
leeted  into  one  volume,  Mnth  Notes ;  to- 
gether with  an  Introduction,  containing 
a  Biographical  Sketch  of  the  Author;  a 
I^iper  on  Speoiie  Gravities,  and  on  the 
various  Hydrostatical  Instruments  which 
have  been  used  in  the  Brewery.  By  fiis 
Son,  J.  H.  Baverstock,  F.&  A. 

Six  Etchings  from  Pen  Drawinga  of 
Interesting 'S»Bnes  in  Italy  and  Switaet- 
land.  Drawn  and  Etched  by  WilJiam 
Cowea. 

Christian  Sentiments,  selected  from 
the  Writings  of  Jeremy  TVqFlor. 

A  Novel  is  in  the  prees,  entitled,  Mar- 
ston  Moor,  or  the  Queen's  Psge. 

De  Cox  has  in  the  press,*  Remarks  on 
Acute  Rheumatism,  aad  the  Importance 
of  Blood-letting. 

«  Mr  Chatield  is  about  to  publish,  A 
C^ampendkMM  View  of  the  Hi^ory  of  the 
Darker  Agw» 

The  Twelfth  Pitft  of  Views  on  the 
floathem  Ooasi  of  Enghmd»  from  Draw. 
faigs  by  J.  M.  W.  Turner,  and  engiared 
by  W.  and  G.  Cook%  will  soon  appear. 

A  Romanee,  entitled.  The  Pirate  of 
thoAddatie,  baa  been 


Mr  Bhiqiicra  haa  failhi  pM%  A  Hie. 
lory  of  theOrigfai  and  Prograsa  of  th« 
Greek  Revolution. 

A  aeoond  volume  of  The  lady  of  the 
Manor,  by  Mrs  Sherwood. 

Mr  Brittmi  announoes  a  Gnmnar  of 
Antiquities. 

.  A  work  is  annommed  on  the  Antiquity 
of  the  Doctrine  of  the  Qnakera  respeeU 
ing  Inspirstiony  with  a  Brief  Review  of 
that  Society,  and  a  Comparison  between 
the  Life  and  Opinkms  of  the  Friends  esid 
those  of  Early  Christians. 

Speohnens  of  the  Early  French  Poeti^ 
with  Tlmnslatkms  and  Bfographical  and 
Critical  Notices^  are  anoounoedi 

A  Third  Coiffse  of  Practical  Sermons^ 
by  the  Rev.  Harvey  Marriott,  Rector  of 
Chlveiton,  and  Cbaifkhi  to  the  R^ 
Hon.  Lord  Kenyon,  is  now  in  the  presa^ 

Mrs  11  A.  Rundell  has  a  Sequel  to 
her  Grammar  of  Sacred  History  in  tho 
press. 

The  Odea  of  Anaereon  of  IVmm,  u 
HanshHed  Into  English  Verse  by  W. 
Richardson*  £sq>  are  now  in  the  prees. 

Aureus,  or  the  Adventures  of  a  Sove* 
reign.  Written  by  HimscIC  8  vols.  ISmo. 

In  the  press,  and  speedily  wilt  be  pub-  ' 
Mshed,  a  second  edition  of  a  Treatise  on  * 
Scrofida,  explanatory  of  a  Method  for  ita 
complete  Eradication ;  with  Remarks  on 
the  frequent  Failure  of  this  Mode  of 
TVsatment  in  the  hands  of  other  Practl- 
tiooers,  and  other  important  Additkma. 
By  William  Farr,  Surgeon,  Author  of  a 
Treatise  on  Cancer. 

We  feel  much  pleasure  in  stating,  that 
a  History  of  Waterford,  from  the  Earliest 
Period  to  the  Present  Time,  is  prepafing 
for  the  press,  and  may  be  expected  early 
in  the  spring.  We  are  the  more  anxk>oa 
to  see  a  work  of  this  kind,  as  no  history 
or  survey  of  Waterford  has  been  publish- 
ed since  the  time  of  Smith,  upwards  of 
seventy  yeara  since. 

Coemt  Peccbio  has  in  the  press  a  IMarf 
of  Political  Evenu  in  Spain  during  the 
last  year.  This  work,  like  his  Lettera 
on  the  Spanish  and  Portuguese  Revoln. 
tions,  is  interspersed  with  Anecdotes  of 
Public  Men,  and  on  the  Manners  and 
Customs  of  the  Peninsula. 

In  the  press,  and  shortly  will  be  pul^ 
Ksbed,  PJantarum  Scientia,  or  Botanist'a 
Companion.  A  Catalogue  of  hardy  Exo- 
tic and  Indigenous  Plants,  arranged  dil^ 
ferentfy  from  any  hitherto  published.  The 
work  comprises  an  alphabetiGal  arrange- 
ment, according  to  the  monthly  order  of 
dowerii^.  FoUowiag  the  generic  namee, 
are  the  classes  and  orders;  aMd  after  eocb 
specific  name  are  enumerated  the  native 
country,  the  height  of  growth,  and  dm^ 


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Work$  Preparkig,fin'  PiMeMm. 


CFeb. 


OQknirof  the  flower  ;—partioii]ars,  it  is 
pre«tiined»  not  unwt»rtby  the  notice  of 
tbe  Horticulturist. 

Mr  Wight,  Bow-Street  Reporter  to 
the  Morning  HenUd,  has  in  the  press,  a 
Selection  of  One  Hundred  of  the  most 
Humorous  and  Entertaining  of  theRepcfftt 
which  have  appeared  in  the  Morning 
Herald  in  the  last  three  years.  IUu8tra> 
ted  by  George  Cruikshank. 

On  the  Ist  of  February,  ISSi,  will  be 
published,  the  First  Fart  (to  be  continued 
Quarterly,  in  Btfts)  of  The  Animal  King- 
dom, as  arranged  conformably  with  its 
Organisation,  by  the  Baron  Cuvier ;  with 
additional  Descriptions  of  all  the  Species 
hitherto  named,  and  of  many  not  before 
noticed.  The  whole  of  the  *  RegneAni- 
wmC  of  the  above  celebrated  Otologist 
will  be  translated  in  this  undertaking; 
but  the  Additions  will  be  so  considerable, 
as  to  give  it  the  character  of  an  original 
work. 

Preparing  for  publication,  in  a  small 
volume  duodecimo,  Faptism  not  Bap- 
tism, and  Washing  not  Burial,  in  reply 
to  Mr  £wing*s  Essay  on  Baptism ;  con- 
taining also  an  Address  to  the  numerous 
Members  of  Poedobaptist  Churches,  who 
•  hold  Antipoedobaptist  Sentiments.  By 
Ft  A.  Cox,  A.M.  of  Hackney. 

A  Present  for  a  Sunday  School,  or  a 
Plain  Address  on  the  Fear  of  the  Lord, 
adi^ted  for  the  capacities  of  little  chil- 
dren. By  a  Minister  of  the  Established 
Church. 

A  second  edition  of  Sabbaths  at  Home, 
by  the  Rev.  Henry  March,  is  in  tbe  press. 

Sketches  of  Sermons,  furnished  by  their 
reroective  Authors,  vol.  iv.  12mo. 

Sermons  by  the  late  Rev.  T.  N.  Tol- 
ler; with  a  Memoir  of  tlie  Author,  by 
Robert  Hall.  8vo.  10s. 

In  the  press,  in  one  large  volume  Svo. 
an  improved  edition  of  Milbum*s  Orien. 
tal  Commerce,  or  the  East-India  Tra- 
der*s  Complete  Guide;  containing  a 
Geographical  and  Nautical  Description 
of  the  Maritime^.Parts  of  India,  China, 
and  Neighbouring  Countries,  including 
the  Eastern  Islands,  and  an  Account  of 
their  Trade,  Productions,  Coins,  Weights 
and  Me&sures ;  together  with  their  Port 
Reguktions,  Charges,  &c  Originally 
compiled  by  the  late  William  Milbuni, 
Esq.  of  the  Hon.  East-India  Company's 
Service.  Abridged,  improved,  and  brought 
down  to  the  present  time,  by  Thomas 
Thornton. 

The  East-India  Vade-Mecuro,  being  a 
Complete  Guide  to  Gentlemen  proceed- 
ing to  the  East-Indies,  in  either  the  Ci- 
vil, Military,  or  Naval  Service,  or  on 
other  Pursuits.     Much  improved  from 


die  work  of  the  late  Gaptain  WiUiamioa, 
being  a  condensed  oompilation  of  his  and 
various  other  publications,  and  the  result 
of  personal  observation.  By  Dr  J.  B. 
Gilchrist 

The  Economy  of  the  Eyes.  Prec^ts 
for  the  Improvement  and  Preservation 
of  the  Sig^t  Pkdn  Rules  which  will  en- 
able all  to  judge  exactly  when,  and  what 
Spectacles  are  best  calculated  for  their 
Eyes ;  and  an  Essay  on  Opera-Glaases, 
&C..     By  William  Kitdiiner,  MD.    . 

The  Economy  of  the  Eyes.  Pkut  II. 
Of  the  Illuminating  and  Magnifying 
Powers  of  Newtonian,  Gregorian,  and 
Cassegrainian  Reflectors,  and  Achroma- 
tic Telescopes,  from  three  inches  to  seven 
feet  focus.  By  William  Kitchiner,  MD. 

Original  Cotters,  chiefly  illustrative  of 
English  History;  including  numerous 
Royal  Letters.  Published  from  Auto- 
graphs in  the  British  Museum,  and  one  or 
two  otlier  Collections.  By  Henry  Ellis,. 
F.R.S.,Sec  S.A.,  are  in  the  press. 

A  complete  System  of  Phints.  By  Wil- 
liam Jackson  Hooker,  F.R.A.  and  L.S. 
Regius  Professor  of  Botany  in  the  Uni- 
versity  of  Glasgow,  Member  of  the  Wenu 
Soc.  of  Edinb.,  of  the  Imp.  Acad.  Na- 
turae Curiosorum,of  the  Royal  Botanical 
Soc.  of  Ratisbon,  of  the  Helvetic  Soc.  of 
Nat.  Hist,  &c 

This  Work  will  contain  descriptive 
characters  of  every  species  known  to  be 
cultivated  or  in  existence  throughout  the 
globe ;  together  with  some  General  Re- 
marks, Notices  of  their  Uses,  &c.  ar- 
ranged according  to  the  Natural  Orders, 
but  accompanied  with  a  Linnxan  Index 
of  references,  and  illustrated  with  nume- 
rous coloured  figures  from  drawings  made 
by  the  author. 

Miss  Benger  is  engaged  on  another 
Biographical  Work,  of  which  Elizabeth, 
Queen  of  Bohemia,  forms  the  Subject 

The  Account  of  Mr  Bullock's  Tra- 
vels and  Discoveries,  in  Mexico,  will  ap- 
pear in  a  few  months,  under  the  title  of 
"  Six  Months  in  Mexico.'* 

Observations  on  the  Religious  Pecu- 
liarities of  the  Society  of  Friends.  By 
Joseph  John  Guniey. 

A  Philosophical  Treatise  on  Malting 
and  Brewing.  By  George  Adolphus  Wig- 
ney. 

The  Perennial  Calendar,  and  Compa- 
nion to  the  Almanack ;  Illustrating  the 
Events  of  every  Day  in  the  Year,  as  con- 
nected with  History,  Chronology,  Bo^ 
tany.  Natural  History,  Astronomy,  Po- 
pular Customs,  and  Antiquities ;  witli 
Useful  Rules  of  Health,  Observations  on 
the  Weather,  an  Explanation  of  the  Fssts 
and  Festivals  of  the  Church,  and  other 


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Works  pnpariwg^fitr  PlMeaHon. 


Miscellaneotis  Useful  lolbnnatioii.  Bj 
Thomas  Foster,  F.L.a  M.B.  &c  &c 

The  Life  of  Thomas,  Lord  Erskine, 
with  Observations  od  the  Character  of 
his  Eloquence  at  the  Bar  and  in  Parlia- 
ment, and  Critical  Notices  of  his  Speeches 
and  Writings,  interspersed  with  private 
Anecdotes.  By  Henry  Cooper,  of  Lin- 
coln's Inn,  Esq.  Barrister-^it-Law.  2  vols. 
8va 

Eugenia;  a  Poem,  by  Mrs  Wolfer- 
Stan,  is  about  to  appear. 

Warreniana,  a  volume  of  the  class  of 
«  The  Rejected  Addresses,**  is  preparing 
for  the  press. 

Drs  Von  Spix  and  Von  Martin*s  Tra- 
vels in  Brazil,  during  the  years  1817-18- 
19^20^  are  now  being  translated  from  the 
German,  for  publication,  in  %o. 

Mr  Williams,  Editor  of  the  last  edition 
of  Blackstone's  Commentaries,  is  about 
to  publish  a  new  edition  of  Milton's  Poet- 
ical Works,  with  Notes,  itc  &c. 

No.  ].  of  the  Cambridge  Qnarterly 
Review  and  Academical  Roister. 

Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  Riego  and  his 
Family,  including  a  History  of  Spain  from 
the  Restoration  of  Ferdinand  to  the  pre- 
sent time.  Illustrated  by  several  por- 
traits. 

Mr  Felix  Bodin,  Author  of  the  "  Pre- 
Aun6  de  THistoire  de  France,**  is  about 
to  publish,  as  a  companion,  a  Resum6  de 
J*Histoire  d*  Angleterre. 

A  Dissertation  on  the  Gowrie  Conspi- 
racy, with  an  Examination  of  Login  of 
Bestahrig's  allied  participation ;  and  em- 
Ji»racing  BiographioU  Memoirs  of  the  an- 


SS5 

cient  Families  of  Ro^ren  and  Logan, 
by  James  Logan,  will  soon  appear. 

Duncombe*s  Trials  Pjer  Pais,  or  the 
Law  of  England  concerning  Juries,  with 
ft  Preface  on  the  Origin  of  lYial  by  Jury, 
the  original  Authorities  dted,  and  the  Pas- 
sages from  the  Anglo-Saxon  writers  trans- 
lated. By  Daniel  Alban  Durtnall,  Esq. 
Barrister  at  Law. 

A  Work  entitled,  **  Letters  to  Young 
Ladies  on  their  first  entrance  into  the 
World,**  by  Mrs  Lanfear,  b  announced. 

The  Hermit  in  Italy ;  or.  Observations 
on  the  Manners  and  Customa  of  the  Itft> 
lians  at  the  Commencement  of  the  Nineb 
teenth  Century.  Translated  from  the 
fVench  of  M.  Jouy. 

The  three  first  Lays  of  a  series  of  P^ 
triotic  Poems,  tending  to  illustrate  the 
Customs  and  Institutions  of  our  Ancestort 
and  their  Invaders,  during  the  reign  of 
ihe  (Roman)  Emperor  Claudius. 

The  Passover,  a  Sermon  on  the  Plas- 
chal  I^es,  and  on  the  Analogy  of  the 
Paschal  Feast  of  the  Lord*s  Supper,  with 
an  Appendix.  By  the  Rev.  J.  £.  N. 
Molesworth,  A.M. 

A  History  of  Waterford,  from  the  eai^ 
liest  period  to  the  present  time^  is  pre- 
paring for  the  press. 

The  Author  of  « Highways  and  Bye- 
ways**  has  another  work  nearly  ready  for 
publication. 

A  Practical  German  Grammar,  being 
a  new  and  easy  method  of  acquiring  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  German  lai^ 
gnage.    By  John  Howbotbam. 


EDINBURGH. 


The  Inheritance.  By  the  Author  of 
«  Marriage."    3  vols,  post  8vo. 

The  Devil*s  Elixir,  2  vols.  12mo. 

A  Sketch  of  the  System  of  Education 
at  New  Lanark,  by  Robert  Dale  Owen, 
is  in  the  press,  and  will  i4>pear  in  a  few 
days. 

Critical  Researches  in  Philology  and 
Geography,  in  one  volume  8vo.  Among 
other  articles  in  this  work,  there  will  be 
found  a  Review  of  Dr  Lee's  edition  of 


Jones*  Persian  Grammar,  and  an  exami- 
nation of  the  various  opinions  that  in 
modem  times  have  been  held  respecting 
the  source  of  the  Ganges,  and  the  cor- 
rectness of  Mr  Lana*s  map  of  Thibet. 

Preparing  for  publication,  a  Volume  of 
Sermons,  selected  from  the  Manuscript* 
of  the  kite  Robert  Boog,  D.D.  first  Mi- 
nister of  the  Abbey  Psrish  of  P^sley. 
Edited  by  Professor  Mybie. 


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MONTHLY  LIST  OP  NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


LONDON. 


AOUOULTUBS. 

.  The  New  Fanner's  Oileiidar,  or  Monlb^ 
ly  Remembrancer  of  all  kinds  of  Country 
Bosinesft  Fifth  Edition;  with  hrge  Ad- 
ditions.   By  John  Lawrence.  8vo.  19b. 

A  Guide  to  Practienl  Fteriery,  contain- 
ing hints  on  the  Diseases  of  Horses  and 
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Worlaneo,  &c  84  plates.  Imp.  folia 
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nOOEAFHY. 

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By  Adam  Chiricei  LL»  D.,  F.  A.  &  Svo, 

128. 

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Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  Sahator  Rosa. 
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Memoirs  of  Thurtell,  &c  interspersed 
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meanour after  Sentence  was  passed.  By 
fierce  Egan. 

The  Fruits  of  Experience,  or  Memoir 
of  Joseph  Brasbridge ;  written  hi  a 
eightieth  year. 

Scenes  in  the  Morea;  or,  a  Sketch  of 
the  Life  of  Demetrius  Ai<gyri.    7Sb 

CLiLSSCCS. 

L.  Annei  Senecse  Tragedia  recei»nit  et 
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68. 

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A  Poetical  Grammar  of  the  English 
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Part  XIV.  of  a  Series  of  Engimvings 
in  outime,'by  Henry  Moses,  of  the  works 
of  Canova. 

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Clinton,  Esq.  M.  A.  late  Stadcnt  of  Christ 
Church.  Oxford.  L.  1,  25, 
Vol.  XV. 


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A  Treatise  on  Life  Assurance,  in  which 
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The  Law  of  Landlord  snd  Tenant 
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Speech  of  Daniel  French,  Esq.  Barris- 
ter at  Law,  in  the  case  of  '*  The  Kiogu 
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the  Law  in  Scotland ;  to  which  is  added  a 
Table,  shewing  who  Is  entitled  to  the 
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tlie  manner  in  which  the  same  is  dispo- 
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Alexander  Dobie,  Attorney  at  Law,  and 
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An  Enquiry  into  some  of  the  Rules  of 
Evidence  reliuing  to  the  Incompetency 
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Five  Minutes*  Examination  of  an  Ar- 
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A  Letter  to  Lord  Grenville  en  the  late 
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An  Appeal  to  the  British  Natkm  to 
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The  Spirit  of  the  Public  Journals,  for 
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S38 

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An  Attempt  to  strip  Negro  Emancipa- 
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Peace  and  War:  an  Essay,  in  two 
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The  Graces,  or  Literary  Souvenir.  12s. 

No.  ]  Encyclopedia   Hcraldica;  or, 


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Complete  Dictionary  of  Heraldry,  ^y 
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No.  1  of  The  Westminster  Review. 
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The  Post  Office  Xx>ndon  Directory  for 
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Private  Correspondence  of  the  late 
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sion of  the  Editor,  the  Rev.  Dr  Johnson, 
Rector  of  Yaxham  with  Welbome,  in  Nor- 
fork.    2  vols.     L.  1,  8s. 

Sketches  in  India,  contdning  Observa- 
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tive Inhabitants.  By  William  Huggins, 
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The  Months  of  the  Year ;  or.  Conver- 
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explaining  the  Many  Remarkable  Events 
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Instructive  Enigmas,  set  to  Music ;  be- 
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the  best  Authors,  and  adapted  to  the  Mu- 
sic of  Popular  National  Melodies;  form- 
ing an  innocent  recreation  for  winter 
evenings,  and  an  Excellent  Collection  of 
Lessons  for  the  Harp  or  Piano-Forte.  By 
Augustus  Voight.     L.  I,  Is. 

The  English  Traveller's  Assistant  in 
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A  Letter  to  the  Justices  of  the  Peace 
for  the  County  of  Surrey,  on  the  Cases  in 
the  House  of  Correction  at  Guildford, 
presented  by  Mr  Briscoe  to  them  at  their 


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GenenU   Q»tfter  Session,  in  Januarj 
1821.     By  Henry  Drummond. 
•   A  Letter  to  the  Archbiabop  of  Canter- 
bury, on  the  Subject  of  Chnrch  Proper- 
ty.    By  a  Clergyman.    2s.  6d. 

Warreniana ;  with  Notes  Critical  and 
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terly  Review. 

•     Ftose  and  Verse.     By  Jane  Webb^  of 
KUwell.    4s. 

Chronicles  of  1823 ;  or  Chronological 
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A  Letter  on  the  Nature  and  Effects  of 
the  TVead. Wheel,  as  an  Instrument  of 
Prison  Labour  and  Punishment;  addres- 
sed to  the  Right  Hon.  Robert  Peel, 

A  Complete  List  of  the  Lectures  de- 
livered in  London,  on  Anatomy,  Physio^ 
logy.  Surgery,  Midwifiny,  Cbemistcy,  Bo- 
.tany,  &c.  with  the  Terms  and  Hours  of 
Attendance.  ^The  Terms  for  attending 
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Institution. — The  Qualifications  neces- 
sary for  Candidates  passing  their  Exami- 
nation at  the  College  of  Surgeons  and 
Apothecaries*  Hall ;  to  which  are  added, 
Tables  of  the  Pay  in  the  Medical  Departs 
ments. 

Civil  Disabilities  on  Account  of  Reli- 
gion,  as  they  exist  in  England,  Scotland, 
and  Ireland,  considered  with  reference  to 
the  Christian  Dispensation,  History^  and 
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A  Philosophical  Treatise  on  the  Art 
of  Malting  and  Brewing.  By  Geo.  Adcd- 
phus  Wigney,  of  Brighton. 

Thoughts  on  Prison  Labour ;  to  which 
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troverqr  collected  from  the  Public  Prints 
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MEDICINE  AND  SUROeRT. 

A  Tlreatise  on  the  Nature  and  Treat- 
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Ropd  College  of  Surgeons*)  describing 
its  connection  with  Diseases  of  tlie  Spine, 
Joints,  Eyes,  Glands,  &c.  To  which  is 
added,  an  account  of  the  Opthalmia,  so 
long  prevalent  in  Christ's  Hospital.  By 
Euseblus  Arthur  Lloyd,  M.R.C.S.&C. 
9s. 

A  Treatise  on  Acupunctuntioii,  illus- 
trated with  cases  of  its  immediate  success 


SS9 

in  Rheumatism,  Lumbago,  Sciatica,  ^c 
By  James  Morss  Churchhill,  Fellow  of 
the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons. 

Comaro  on  Health  and  Long  Life. 
Sure  Methods  of  attaining  a  Long  and 
Healthful  Life,  with  the  Means  of  Cor- 
rectiog  a  Bad  Constitution.  -By  Lewis 
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An  Essay  on  an  Improved  Method  of 
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terior Operation  of  Lithotomy.  By  W. 
W.  Sleigh. 

A  Disquisition  on  the  Sentient  Facul- 
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dem ;  with  Notes.  By  Francis  Corbaux. 
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A  History  of  the  High  Operation  for  the 
Stone,  by  Inciffion  above  the  Pubis,  with 
Observations  on  tlie  advantages  attending 
it     By  J.  C  Carpue,  F.R.&    8s.  6d. 

NOVELS  kVD  TALES, 

Adventures  of  Hi^jji  Baba.  3  vols.  8vo. 
U  Is. 

The  Ionian ;  or.  Woman  in  the  Nine- 
teenth Century.  By  Miss  Renou,  3  vols, 
XL  10s. 

Sayings  and  Doings,  3  vols.  8vo. 

Arthur  Seymour :  a  Novel. 
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Prose,  by  a  Poet    2  vols.  12mo.  12s. 

Italian  Tales  of  Humour,  GaUantry, 
and  Romance ;  with  16  Plates  by  Geoiige 
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189i.J  MoiMy  RegUUr. 

MONTHLY  REGISTER 


9iS 


Wheat. 
1st,..  448.  Od. 
2d,  ...358.  Od. 
Sd,  ...aOs.  Od. 


EDINBUROH_Fe».  U. 


Barley. 
l8t,...34s.  Od; 
2d,  ...328.  Od. 
3d,  ...288.  Od. 


Beef  (17i  oz.  per  lb.)  Os.  i^d.  toOa.    7d. 
Mutton    .    .    .    .    Oa.  6d.   toOs.    Od. 

Veal Oa.  Od.   to  18.    Od. 

Pork 08.  3id.to08.  O^d. 

Lamb,  per  quarter .  Ids.  Od.   to  lOs.  Od. 
Tallow,  per  stone  .    Os.  6d.   to  Os.    Od. 


Oats. 

1st, 288.  Od. 

2d, 23s.  Od. 

3d, 218.  Od. 

Average  £1,'  lb*.  8d.  4.12ths. 
Tuesday,  Feb,  10. 

Quartern  Loaf 


Pease  ft  Beans. 

Ist, 25s.  Od. 

2d, 248.  Od. 

3d,  208.  Od. 


Os.  lOd.  toOs.  lid. 
New  Potatoes  (28  lb.)  Os.  Od.  to  Os.  8d. 
Fresh  Butter,  per  lb.  Is.  Od.  to  Is.  8d. 
Salt  ditto,  per  stone  10s. 
Ditto,  per  lb.  .  .  Is. 
^88^  P^  dosen      .    Os. 


HADDINGTON.—/'^^  8. 
Wheat.  Barley.  Oats.  Pease. 

1st,  ....40s.  Od.     Ist,  ...  34s.  Od.     Ist^  ...278.  Od.     1st,  ....258.  Od. 

2d,  ....3Ss.  Od.     2d,  ...  288.  Od.    2d. 25s.  Od.     2d,  ....23s.  Od. 

3d,  ....20s.  Od.     3d,  ...  248.  Od.    3d,  ....238.  Od.     3d,  ....2l8.  Od. 

Average  L,  1,  12«.  3d.  4-12th8. 
Average  Pricet  of  Corn  in  England  and  Wales,  from  the  Returns  received  in  the  Week 

ended  Jan,  31. 
Wtteat,  GSs.  Id^—Barky,  3S^  6d.--0att,  SSt.  7<t— Rye,  4It.  ld.-.Be8iu,  588. 7d^-.Peaie,  37s.  lid. 


Od.  tolOs.  Od. 
Od.  to  Is.    3d. 
8d.  toOs.    Od. 

2d, 
3d, 

Beans. 
....25s.  Od. 
....238.  Od. 
.«.21s.0d. 

London,  Corn  Exchange^  Feb.  2. 


Wheat,  r«d,  old  68  to  It 


Fine  ditto 
Superfine  ditto 
Ditto,  new  .  . 
White,  old  . 
Fine  ditto  .  . 
Ouperibie  ditto 
Ditto,  new  • 
Rye  .... 
Bftrley,  new  . 
Vine  ditto  .  . 
Superflae  ditto 
Mair.  .  .  . 
Fine  .... 


Maple,  new 


58  to  6S  White  Peue  . 

64  to  68  Ditto,  boUen  . 
48  to  56  SmaU  Beani,ne« 
54  to  SS  Ditto,  old  .  . 
60  to  67  Tick  ditto,  new 
68  to  71  Ditto,  old  .  . 
56  to  58  Feed  oats  .  . 
4S  to  46  Pine  ditto  .  . 
34  to  36  Poland  ditto    . 

37  to  40Fineditto  .  . 
4S  to  44  Potato  ditto  . 
56  to  eOFincditto  .    . 

65  to  66  Scotch    .    .    . 

38  to  42  Flour,  per  ladt 
40  to  44  Ditto,  MOODda 


d.    i. 

—  to  —I  Wheat,  per  70  lb. 

42  to  44  Eng.  new  10    9  to    12  0 

46  to  48  Foreign  .  .  4    6  to    5  3 

4C  to  30  Waterford  9    3to    9  9 

52  to  54  Drosheda    0    0  to   0  0 

42  to  45  DuUin        9    0  to   9  6 

44  to  48  Scotch  old   10  9  to  11  9 

25  to  28  IriUi  Old  .  9    3  to  10  8 
nto  Sa  {Bonded    .  3    0  to   5 


Liverpool,  Feb.  3. 


26  to  29  Barley,  per  60  Ibe. 


30  to  32 
26  to  30 

31  to  34 

32  to  35 
60to  65 
58to  62 


Seeds,  ^c. 


Mnat.  White, , 
^-  Brown,  new 
Tares,  per  bih. 
8anfbin,perqr. 
Tumim,  tab. 

—  Red&greei 

—  Yellow, 
Caraway,  ewt 
Canary,  per  qr. 

Rape 


s.  s.  d, 
,  —to—  0 
h.  — to—  0 
—  to—  0 
.  26  to  38  0 
.  26  to  40  0 
irt.36  to  76  0 


n. 


£ng.  ...    5  6  to 

Scotch  .  .  5  Oto  5 

Iridi  .  .      4  9  to  5 
OaU,  per  45  lb. 

Eng.  new    4  Oto    4 

Iriih  do.  .  4  0  to   4 

Scotch pota.0  Oto  0 
Rye,p«rqr.40  0  to45 

Malt  per  b.  9  6  to  10 

-Middlings  6to  9 
Beana,perq. 

Engliih  .  M  0  to  56 

iTuk  .  .  48  0  to  52 

Rapeieed,  p.L  £27  to  28 


hM)  to  70  u  Pease.grey40    0  to  50    6 
63  to  85  0  —White  .51 


.    -    0to60 

8  to  11  0  Flour,  Bnglich, 
7  to  26  0  p.2401b.fine54   Oto  60    0 
Irish,  9df  52    0  to  59    0 


Weekly  Price  of  Stocks,  from  2d  to  23d  January  1824. 
2d.        I*     9th.  10th. 


4.  d.    s. 

61b. 

30  Oto  34  0 
—  Oto  —  0 
12  0  to  46  0 
r  240  lb 
36  0  to  40  • 
30  0  to  32  0 
fO  0  to  34  0 
1  3  to    14 

Beef,  4fc. 
:.«.  d. 

86  Oto  87  0 
80  0  to  81  0 
76  0  to  77  • 
78  Oto—  0 

74  0to75  • 
Be. 

75  0  to  78  0 
48  Oto  500 

70  Oto  7t  0 
B5  Oto  680 

rt. 

18  0  to  50  e 
H  0  to  46  0 
SO  0  to56  0 
42  Oto  41  • 
500  to  —  0 

23d. 


Bank  stock. 


— — —  — ^  ■   I       

3  per  ceot.  reduced,.. 


3  per  cent.  consoL, 

3^  per  cent,  consols,.. 


4  per  cent,  consols,.. 

New  4  per  cent,  contsols,^ 
Imper.  3  per  cent. . 
I  Quia  8todc,« 

bonds,....*.. 

Lonff  Annuities,. 


Exchequer  bills,^ 
Exchequer  bills,  a 
Consols  for  ace. . 


French  6  per  cents. 


232} 
86|    7 


101 


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55  53  pm 
804  90H 


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su 


Monthly  UegUier, 


CMk 


Coune  of  Exchangt^  F^b.  a.«-iAaii8t«rdam9  12  s  9.  C*  F*  Ditto  at  sight,  11  :  19. 
Rotterdam,  12  :  3.  Antwerp,  12  t  4.  Hambi^h,  37  i  5.  Altona,  37  :  6.  Paris,  3 
d.  sight,  25  :  60.  Ditto  25  :  80.  Bourdeaux,  23  :  80.  Frankfort  on  the  Maine,  165^. 
Petersburgh,  per  rble.  9 : 3.  U»,  Berlin,  7  :  10.  Vienna,  10 :  10  ^ff%flo.  Trieste,  10 :  10 
J^./o.  Madrid,  86^.  Cadiz,  35].  BUboa,  35|.  Barcelona,  354^  Seville,  354-  Oibral. 
tor,  30^.  Leghorn,  46}.  Genoa,  43^.  Venice,  27  :  0.  M  Jta,  45.  Naples,  38}, 
Palermo,  116.  Lisbon,  51^.  Oporto,  52.  Rio  Janeiro,  49.  Bahia,  51.  Dublin,  9} 
per  cenL    Cork,  9j[  per  cent. 

Pricci  of  Gold  and  Silver,  per  ox, — Foreign  (^Id,  in  bi^s,  £3  :  1?  :  Od. 
Dollars,  4s.  O^d.    Silver  in  bars,  stand.  4s.  1 1  d^ 


PRICES  CURRENT,  Fch,  7- 


6t  Doming,  ditto» 
TAR,  Amcncan, 
Archangel, 


brL 


PITCH,  Foreign,  ewt. 
TALLOW,  Rub.  YeL  Cand. 

Homemdted,  .  •  .  . 
llEMP,  PoHsh  Rhino,  too. 

Petenbuxgh,  Ctosn*  .  . 
fLAX, 

RigaThics.  &  Dn;^*  Rsk. 

Dutoh, 

llArl^  Archangel,  .  . 
BRISTLES, 

PetenbttTgfa  Firsts,  ewt 
ASHES,  Peters.  Pearl,  .    . 

Montreal,  ditto,     . 
Pot, 
OIL.  Whale,       .       tun. 

Cod,       .... 
TOBACCO,  Virgin.  Hne,  lb. 

Middling,       .       .      . 

Inferior,       .       .       . 
COTTONS,  Bowed  Georg. 

Sea  Island,  fine. 
Good.      . 
Middling,      .     , 
Demerara  and  Berbice, 
West  India,  .       . 

Pemambuoo, 
Moranham, 


LEITH. 

GLASGOW. 

LIVERPOOL,  r 

LONDON. 

58      to     60 

57 

60 

53 

55 

66 

67 

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64 

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63 

63 

65 

61 

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MoiMy  RegiiUr. 


S45 


Metkorolooicai.  TabLb,  extraeUdfrom  ih€  Hcffittcr  Itfpt  at  BtHnbttrgh,  Ui  the 
Observatory^  Calton-ftilL 

N.BL— TiM  ObnnratioiM  aro  mad«  twioa  erary  day.  at  alae  o^ctook,  foraiiooii,  and  four  (/Mock,  aller- 
-"-^  ^The  Moood  ObMrvatioo  in  the  afternooo,  in  Cha  fint  aolttBin,  U  taken  l»y  the  Register 


AireiageofRain,  .TlSlncbes. 


APPOINTMENTS,  PROMOTIONS,  &c 


4Di. 

11 
IS 

5F. 

10 


f7 


AS 


Ctt>t  HaD,  8R.  Vet.  Bn.  Mig.  tai  the 
AnDY  4  June  1814 

CocSt  Qnintuw  U.  by  iNU«fa.Tice 
Coney,  17  Dr.  8  Jan.  18S4 

H.  S.  FliiUpa,  Oor.  by  poith.       do, 

Oor.  Hare,  Lt.  by  puycb.  vice  Part- 
ridge, cane.  80  Oct.  18t3 

Lt.  Stonei,  Capt.  by  pnrdi.  vice  Craw- 
fiord,  ret.  SSDee. 

Cor.  Strange,  Lt.  by  much.  do. 

C.  Bigs,  Cor.  by  pimui.  do. 

Ena.  Dodd,  from  53  F.  Eni.  rice 
Brooke,  S7  F.  8  Jan.  18S4 

CoL  8lr  R.  Tiaven,  Inspec.  Field 
Officer  of  MiL  looian  Mead,  U. 
CoL  Tice  Stewart,  h.  p.  do. 

Ena.  Buckley,  from  h.  p.  Kna.  Tioe 
Frankland,  67  F.        S5  Dee.  18S8 

—  Brooke,  from  5  F.  Lt  vioe 
Drewa,  African  Cotonial  Cocpa 

8Jan.l8S4 

Bursa,  Lt.  TieeBafnew  AAtean 

CoUnrial  Corpa  do. 

W.  S.  Coke,  fioa.  do. 

Uaiot  Creagh,  from  86  F.  Uai.  vice 
StrattoQ/n.  p.  84  F.  do. 

Ena.  Millar,  Lt.  vice  Keayei,  dead, 
17  June,  1823 

Eos.  and  A<U.  McCarthy,  rank  of  Lt. 
18do. 

A.  IL  Roblnaon.  Em.      1  Jan.  18S4 

Qna.  Meat.  Seij.  J.  Morsan,  Qua. 
ICaat  vice  CampbaU*  ret.  frill  pay 

a  Knox,  Ena.  viee  Dodd,  5  F.  8do. 
Lt.  BeverhoudU  A4).  Tioa  MonlaaB, 

raa.A.t|.oAlf  l4k». 

-^Padt.fromOOF.U.TiwC&lan, 

h,  p.  S9  F.  8  do. 

Vol.  XV. 


ao 


07 


Ena.  Adidr,  Lt  da 

W.  H.  RoUnion,  Ena.  do. 

00  Maior  Chamberlain,  from  tup.  84  F. 

lii.  vice  Creagh.  40  F.  do. 

90  Ena.  wilaon,  Lt  Tloe  Dowion,  Afri< 

can  Colonial  Corpa  do. 

H.  llaoey.  Ens.  tiob  Sankey,  dead, 

7do. 

A.  Mackeniia,  do.  vice  WUaon  8  do. 

93  Gent  Cadet  A.  R.  Evans,  from  R. 

MiL  ColL  Ens.  vice  Gordon*  63  F. 
do. 

94  J.  Mackenaie,  <1ate  Colour  Seri.  in 

Rifle  Brig.)  Qua.  MaaL  1  da 

95  Surg.  Hodion*  fl»m  h.  p.  Bourbon 

R.Surg.  35  Dec  1823 

As.  Surg.  Leonard,  from  h.  p.  Wacg. 

Tr.  As.  Surg.  ao. 

Rifle  Brig.   BtM4.Eelca,  Mai.  by  porch,  vice 

Roas,  African  Colonial  Corps 

8  Jan.  1814 
lat  Lt  Cosset,  Capt  by  purch.  da 
9d  Lt  Logan.  latLt  by  purch.  do. 
Gant  Cadet  J.  StV.  Saumare^  from 
R.  MiL  CoU.  9d  Lt  by  puroh.  da 
1  W.L  R.  Lt  Remaworth,  Capt  S5  Deo.  1823 
Ena.  Bnsaan,  Lt  do. 


S  I 


Digitized  by 


Google 


846 


Appointmenti,  PromUums,  ^c. 


QFcb. 


LI.  Lewlt,  do. 

Weinyii,do. 

J  RuMel«  Ens. 
A.  Caddy,  do. 
E.  H.  Fmney,  da 


sedo. 

STdo. 
fSdo. 
t6  do. 
27  do. 


BtMig.  NicoOs,ftoin7SF.im.Tko 
Gnmt.  African  Coloniid  Corpt, 

8  Jan.  1824 
LC.  Macphenon,  Cape.  25  Dee.  1823 
Ens.  Walla,  Lt.  do. 

Sparks,  do.  26  do. 

Holt,  do.  27  da 

R.  M.  Sutherland,  Em.  25  da 

P.  Kettlewell,  da  26  da 

Ctykm  R.    2d  Lt.  Skinner,  1st  Lt  Tice  Auber, 

59  F.  28  Jan.  1824 

Gent  Cadet  T.  W.  Rogen,  from  R. 

MiL  CoO.  2d  Lt  7  da 

J.  R.  Heylandi,  from 

da  da  7da 

Cape  C        GoL  Roas,  from  Rifle  Brig.  Lt  CoL 

Fnaer,  dead  da 

UrMttached. 
Bt  Lt  CoL  G.  Fid  Clarence,  from 
6  Dr.  Gds.  LtlCol.  of  Inf.  by  poidu 
vice  Mi^.  Gen.  Alexander,  ret 

SJan.  1824 

Staff: 

CoL  Sir  C.  Sutton,  ICCfi.  ftora  h.  p. 

Port  Senr.  Insp.  Fiek!  Officer  of 

MU.  in  loniin  Islands,  rice  Sir  R. 

Traven,  10  F.  8  Jan.  1824 

HogpUal  Staff: 
Dr  Walters,  h.  aAs.  Insp.  of  Hosp. 

Inspector  by  Brevet    19  July,  1821 
Hotp.   As.  M*Christie,  from  h.  p. 

Wmp.  As.  vice  Christie,  res. 

25Dec.l8S3 
Dr  Murray,  da  vice  Wyllie,  cane,  da 

Exchangrs. 
Bt  Me).  EUard,  ftom  13  F.  with  Capt  Deboam 

65  F. 
Capt  Miklmay,  ftom  Coldst  Gds.  with  Capt. 

Richardsonf  from  63  F.  with  Capt  ICar- 

•ban,  91  F. 
Lieut  Cubitt,  fSrom  6  Dr.  with  Lieut  Snow,  h.  p. 

4  Dr. 
J.  C  CoweU,  firom  1  F.  with  Lieut  Ben- 

nett,  h.  p.  24  F. 

■  Morrison,  from  58  F.  ree.  diff.  with  Lieut 

Fenwiek,  h.  p.  7  F. 
Knight,  from  75  F.  rer.  dilt  with  Lieut 

Champain,  h.  p.  22  F. 
Marshall,  ttam  75  F.  rec  diff.  with  Lieut 

Young,  h.  p.  18  Dr. 
Lieut  and  A4J.  Dunwoody,  from  7  D.  G.  rec. 

diO:  with  Lieut  Doyne,  h.  p.  18  Dr. 
Comet  and  Sub  Lieut  Brett,  from  2  Life  Gds. 

with  Comet  WUliams,  16  Dr. 
Ensign  Reed,  from  34  F*  with  Ens.  Mibier,  h.  p. 


Reti^^natkmt  and  Betirements, 
M«S.-Gen.  Alexander,  late  of  1  Gar.  Bn. 
Capt  Crawfbrd,  13  Dr. 
Surgeon  Oliver,  W.  Norfolk  Militia. 
Honk  Assistante,  J.  Christie. 
C  Butler,  h.  p. 

ApfxAntmenti  CaneeUcd. 
Lieut  Partridge,  11  Dr. 
Hosp.  Assist  Wyllie. 

Deathu 

General  Dundas,  CoL  of  71 F.  Gov.  of  Dumbar- 
ton Castle,  16  Jan.  1824 
Lieut-Gen.  Sir  F.  J.  WiUer,  from  35  P. 

Bartow,  of  late  Cheshire  Fenc.  Inf. 

'  Chester,       15  Nov.  1823 

r  late  Banff  Fenc  Inf: 
»Corpa,         19  Oct  1823 

hi.Galway,  24  Deo.  1823 
la  Jersey  17  Nov. 

IT.  Alt  9  Dec.  1823 

.'lr.  Chelsea,     14  Dec 
Ifar.  26  Dec.  1822 

up.35F.  Oct  1823 

Uts  MiL  .  12  Dec 

of67F. 

^ourey,  of  late  Invalids, 

sod  and  Tilbury,  Kittsaks 

13  Jan.  1824 

Atkinson*  of  late  7  Vet  Bn.  Bristol, 

17  Dec  1823 
>— -  Leslie,  h.  p.  27  F.  23  da 

Heelis,  h.  p.  29  F.  ]2Nov. 

Robertson,  h.  p.  8  W.  I.  R.  Stzomneas. 

Orkney,  3  Dec 

Gregg,  R.  Mar.  23  Sept  1822 

—  Burrow,    da 

Thomas,  h.  n.  do  27  Nov. 

'——'  Wightman,  h.  p.  da  7  Dec 

Ens.  Sankey,  90  F.  Colgo,  Mediterranean, 

19  Sept  1823 
— -  Miles,  1  W.  L  R.  Demarara,  23  Oct 

Paymast  Dewet,  h.  p.  28  F.  Stubblngton,  Hants, 

6  Nov. 
Quar.-mast  M'Cann,  h.  p.  2  Dr.  Gds.  5  Nov. 
Commissariat  Dep.  Depb  Com.  Gen.  De  Bels.  h.  p. 
Medical  Dep.  StalTSuif.  Burmester,  Jamaica, 

Beaumont,  h.  p.  Exeter 
22  Jan. 1824 
As.  Surg.  England,  of  late  5  R.  Vet  Bn. 

Faulkner,  of  late  1  R.  Vet  Bn.  Potton, 

Bedfordshire,  2  Dec.  1823 

•^— —  Robertson,  h.  p.  58  F.  Jamaica  18  July 

— Bamett,  h.  p.  Ordnance  Med.  Dep.  at 

CalcutU  31  July 

Erratum  in  last  Montft*t  List. 
For  Surgeon  Oliver,  West  NorfbUc  Militia,  Dead, 
ReadSvag.  OUver  West  Norfolk  MUitia,fiM^irwri. 


Alphabetical  List  of  £xoli8h  Baxkruptcies,  announced  between  the  20th 
of  Nov.  1823  and  the  20th  of  Jan.  1824 ;  extracted  from  the  London  Gazette. 


Abrahams,  J.  CasUe^treet,  Houndsditoh,  jeweller. 
Acton,  P.  Congleton,  innkeeper. 
AUum,  T.  W.  Great  Marlow,  buiMer. 
Af^leton,  J.  Tottenham  Court-road,  copper. 
Appleyard,  J.Catherine-streetStrand.  bookseller. 
Anger,  E.  George^and-Blue-Boar  yard,  Holbom« 

coach-master. 
Avery,  J.  L.  Biscdesfldd,  hardwareman. 
Bates,  W.  Okiham,  Lancashire,  cotton-manufkc- 

turer. 
Bauch,  J.  and  M.  J.  Joseph  Fox,  Ordinary-court, 

Nieholaa4ane,  merchants. 
Bailey*  J.  Liverpool,  merchant. 
Baines,  B.  Canterbury,  bookwUer. 
Baylis,  E.Painswick,  Gkmcestonhire,  wool-dealer. 
Bishop,  J.  Warwick,  grocer. 
Blunt  w.  Comhill,  cMMioian. 
Basher,  J.  St  Stephen's,  HertforiUhire,  dealer  in 

caltia 


Brittain,  J.  Chatham,  grocer. 

Brookbridge,  T.  Knight's-court,  Green-walk, 
coach  and  bedstead  carver. 

Bruggengate,  G.  A.  T.  and  T.  H.  Payne,  Fen- 
church-buildings,  merchants. 

Bryant  W.  Bristol,  taik»r. 

Buchanan,  J.  and  W.  R.  Ewing,  Liverpool,  insu- 
rance-brokers. 

BuUer,  B.  Statford-upon-Avoo,  corn-dealer. 

Burry,  H.  Austin  Friars,  merchant 

Chambers,  T.  Liverpool,  grocer. 

Chambers,  J.  Gracechurch-«tieet»  tobacconist 

Champtaloup,  [J.  Counter-etreet,  Southwark,  o- 
range  merchant 

Coates,  J.  For&4treet,  Ctipplcgate,  deale.. 

Cooper,  C.  Marrton  Mgott,  Somersetshire,  edge- 
tool-maker. 

Cork,  J.  Rochdale,  ironmonger. 

Cordinf^,W.  RuasM-place,  Bermondsey, 


Digitized  by 


Google  j 


1894.3 

ORmihey,' B.  KbfSS 


Maittkfy  Hfighier.  947 


CioM,  'R.  ManehMter,  lcaUier<fiM!tor. 
Cutmore^  J.  Bln!hiii-laae,iew«U«r. 
Dammt,  Q.  Chaterfield,  dnpcr. 
Davenport,  J.  Stockport  EtcbeUi,  publioaB. 
Dttviiboa,  J.  ChorUoo-xcw,    lancMhiie,  itoo** 


DsTict,  J.  Hereford,  victualler. 
DftWMo.  T.  Uoundsditeh,  whiMion^cuttar« 
Di3uaif  G.  ChisweU-ctreet,  tonnmonyr. 
Dookin,  W.  Newcastle-upon-Tyn«»  liMB-drapar. 
Dorret*  R.  Rochceter*  VamoAimpu* 
Dowling,  W.  King-ftieet,  Tower-hill,  nocer. 
Driver.  A.  P.CoU^*4»h«i;LaiilMth,  flour-deater. 
Dunat,  J.  Montagu  Street,  SpitaUUldib  aiUMiia* 

nuflMturer* 
DyMm«  J.  Nethertoo,  Yorkahird,  ckithier. 
EUa,  J.  Lower  Thamaa-atreat,  wtmi  mrrchaat 
EUaby,  T.  Emberton,  Budu*  laoe-mercbant. 
Eyre,  W.  Cockapur-atieet,  Charing  Croia,  trunk- 


Farrier,  W.  Friday-atraet,  Chcapaide,  wine-oiar- 

chant. 
Faianar,  D.  Bath,  fincy  atationar. 
Fen,  W*  Cloak-luie,  nMscbanL 
Flewett,  J.  HiUhamptoD,  Woroeaterahire,  fkrmer. 
Ford,  J.Uttle  Dartmouth,  Devon,  hme-mavchant. 
FoTMith,  S.  Sboreditch,  haberdaaher. 
Fox,  T.  Mosbrough,  Derby-cythe,  manufkcCurai. 
(Sibba,  C.  Eccleahall,  Staflbrdahire,  iron-monger. 
Gibbona,  G.  H.  Finch-lane,  Comhill,  merchant 
Glover,  T.  Derby,  bruah-manufacturer. 
Gougb,  J.  Little  Tower-atzeet,  vintner. 
Oraoa,  R.  Feodiurch-atreet,  hatter. 
Gray,  T.  Cambridgadiire,  common  brewer. 
Grant,  BL  Clifton,  Glouccatarahire,  knlging-bouae 


Ouidine.  A.  Uerthyr  Tydvil,  Glamorganihire, 

ahop.«Aaper. 
Hamilton,  R.  Stoke-upon-Trent,  potter. 
Harris,  J.  Kennington.t^oai,  livery-atable  keeper. 
Harria,  W.  Sutton  Vaknoa,  Kent,  victualler. 
HaneU,  J.  Little  Guilford  Street,  Surrey,  timber 

dealer. 
Ueavey,  J.  Sboreditch,  cabinet-maKer. 
Hendenon,  J.  Blackfriars-road,  draper. 
Henry,  T.  P.  Howland^etreet,  Fitzroyaquate, 

flour-fMtor. 
HIU.  T.  West  Smhhfleld,  grocer. 
Hodge,  H.  Duvai't-lane,  lAington,  brick-maker. 
Hodgea,  J.  Aldgata,  blankeC-warebooMman. 
Uodgaon,  J.  Newsate-street,  Hnen-draper. 
Holhrook,  J.  Deroy,  grocer. 


Moon,  J.  Briatol,  currier. 

Morria,  C.  For»at>«et,  Cripptegate,  victualler. 

MortiaMr,  i.  H.  Loitwithiel,  Cornwall,  bnndy- 

roerdiant. 
Moaei^  S.  Portiea,  akm-«dler. 
Moia,  W.  G.  Diamond-row,  Camberwdl,  dealer. 
Murday,  R.  Rochester,  plumber. 
Niven,  C  Uolboro-bddge,  oil  broker. 
Olivant  A.  Sculooate* ,  \  orkshire,  miller. 
Oakea,  H.  Ghahntford,  Uacn  dnqwr. 
Ogdan,  J.  Aldxick,  Lanoaihire,  grocer. 
Pahaer,  C  RuMeU-atieat,  Bannoodaey,  brawar. 
Parker,  H.  Pilton,  Soroenetihire,  victualler. 
Paaeock,  J.  Watford,  paMMuakait. 
Fiiree,  T.  and  D.  WUtona,  MerthVr  TidvU, 


HoUand,  T.  Nottingham,  lace-manufiwturer. 

Hooper,  J.  Mitre,-court,  Flcet^treet,  statioDer. 

Holmea,  J.  Carliale,  grocer. 

Hood,  J.  Beetton,  NoCtingliaro,  hoaier. 

Hopkins,  T.  Woolwich,  carpenter. 

Hosking,  V.  Walton.  Bucks,  builder. 

Houdsan,  J.  Bulst,Toad-«treet,  eoal-merdiant. 

Hurat,  W.  Manchester,  pocer. 

Uutchinaon,  J.  Little  St  Thomaa  Apoatle,  buttcr- 
fiwtor. 

laaaca,  J.  Havcrfordwert,  draper. 

James,  J.  and  W.  Seddon,  Liverpool,ship-buiIder. 

Jones,  B.  A.  and  W.  H.  Hackneyfields,  brewers. 

Jones,  W.  Dog-row,  Mile-end,  wheel-wright. 

Joyc^  L.  Ceyford.  Somersetshire,  innkeeper. 

King,  T.Freiierick's-place,  Kensington-lane,  mer- 
raants. 

Langshaw,  J.  Latehford,  Cheahire,  timber-mer- 
chant. 

Larbaleatler,  J.  Angel-court,  Throgmorton-atreet. 

Leeming.  R.  Hatton-court,  Threadneedle-atreet, 
dlkroan. 

Lincoln,  J,  Norwich,  miller. 

Lowe,  J.  and  W.  Bridgford-milla,  Staflbrdfhire, 


Luton,  W.  Bristol,  sadler. 

Lyney,  J.  Umebouae,  sail-maker. 

Lvon,  D.  B44ton-l»>MoOTS,  timber-merchant. 

Narsden,  K.  Kii^-strcet,  Portman-aqnare,  hone- 


Mapley,  J.  Cheapslde,  glasa-cutter. 

Merrick,  W.  Bristol,  flax-drcascr. 

Miorhln,  T.  Verularo-buiklings.Gray'sinn,  dealer 

andehapnian. 
Mitchd,  T.  Oxfurd-ttreet,  Canoon-atiaet  road, 

grocer. 


Pinny.  J,  and  T.  ShepCon  Mallet,  groceia. 

Powell.  J.  G.  Egham,  dealer. 

Pink,  A.  tun.  Portaca,  common  brewer. 

Pratt,  J.  Hatton-waU,  pavkw. 

Preddey,  R.  Bristol,  baker. 

Price,  J*  Lower  stiaat,  Islii^ton,  c 

Ransom,  J.  Stoke,  Newington,  < 


Rankin,  F.  W.  Langboume,  Chambeia,  Fen- 
churdi  itieat,  merdfiant. 

Rawlings,  J.  Mitton,  Oxfordshire,  druggist. 

Raby,  R.  Radnor-atreet,  City-rond,  tailor. 

Redfem,  W.,  T.  Stevenson,  and  W.  Blatherwkk, 
Nottingham,  hosiers. 

Reeves,  R.  Stockports,  shopkemcr. 

Richardson,  J.  and  J.  Qriston,  Norwich,  fariek- 
layera. 

Roberts,  E.  Oxford-street,  linen-draper. 

Robertson,  J.  Whitstable,  Kent,  ooal-raerehaat 

Robinson,  J.  Burslem,  pober. 

Rogera,  J.  S.  and  J.  Portsmouth,  coach-makers. 

Rowe,  G.  Chdaea,  eurnon. 

Sargent,  J.  Wentwortb-atreet,  Whitcdiapel,  ma- 
nufacturing chemlat. 

Saxby,  J.  R.  Southwark,  hoMnerchant. 

Sealey,  B.  and  E.  Naah,  Red  Lkm-yaid,  Aldei»» 
gate-street,  horse-dealers. 

Sims,  B.  St  Ann's  lane,  shoemaker. 

Sims,  G.  F.  Aldcrmanbury.  chinaman. 

Smite,  G.  Newcastle-upou-Tyne«  draper. 

Shaw,  J.  HuU,  ckHhier. 

Shaw,  J.  W.  and  A.  W.  Emslie,  Fenchurch-buikl- 


Slmes,  W.  Canonbury-tower,  Islington,  dealer. 
Smith,  W.  St  Clement,  Worcestershire,  brewer. 
Spencer.  J.  Norwich,  bombasine-manufacturer. 
Springweller,  A.  Duke-Street,  Smithfield,  cabi- 
net-maker. 
Stewart,  J.  Manchester,  taik)r. 
Sutlilfe,  T.  Windk-houae,  Howarth,  Yorkshire, 

worked  stuff  nunufacturer. 
Symes,  G.  B.  New  Terrace,  Caroberwell-green, 

dealer  and  diapman. 
Thomas,  W.  Regentatraet,  Piccadilly,  statkmer. 
Thomas,  J.  Leicester,  linen-draper. 
Tomes,  C.  Unooln'a-inn-llclda,  scrivener. 
Threlikll,  J.  Liverpool,  banker. 
Upton,  J.  Tadeaster,  scrivener. 
Vincent,  C.  Tarrant,  Rushton,  Dorsetshire^  dealer 

and  chapman. 
Wade,  DP,  Hadleigh,  Suflblk,  tanner. 
Wadham,  B.  Poole,  cooper. 
Wagstair,  J.  Worcester,  saddler. 
Walker,  S.  Ashton-under-Lyne,  grocer. 
Walker,  J.  Halilkx,  Yorkshire,  dothlcr. 
Watkina,  W.  L.  Okl  Bailey,  eating-houae  keeper 
Weedon,  G.  Bath,  braaa-founder. 
Weeks,  T.  Southampton,  upholsterer. 
Weller,  T.  Croydon,  watchmaker. 
Wharton,  C.  A.  King's  Arms,  Maidenhead,  wlaa. 

merchant. 
Whalley,  T.  Chorley,  Lancaahhe,  manufiuiturer. 
Whalley,  C  Rlvington,  Lancaahire^  4hopkeeper. 
WQson,  R.  Birmingham,  tea  dealer. 
Wilcox,  W.  BriMol,  warehouaa-kaeDer. 
Wilson.  E.  Wcningtnn-streat,  Strand,  upholsleTer. 
Willey,  J.  Throgmorton  street,  coal-merchant. 
Wood,  W.  Sanderson,  and  J.  Sanderaon.  Nicbol- 

aa-Une,  Lombaid-atreet,  insuranoe-brokera 
Yeoman,  B.  Heyford  Fiome,  Somersetshire   bar 

ker. 


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•HS  Regkter.-^Birlhtt  Uatrriagn,  and  Ikatht.  [[Fib. 

AtPHABETiCAL  LisT  of  8coTCB  BAKKiiiuPTCiss,  aniKMinoed  betwefloi  the  Itt 
December  1823  and  3Ut  Jaxmnj  1824,  extracted  from  |he  Edinburgh  (Hsette. 


Braid,  Alexander,  fledier  in  Paidejr. 

C^amarao  and  BiMeC,  ageota  In  Dnndae^  A  diti* 

dend  after  2Sd  Felmiary. 
Crairford,  William  and  Andrew,  plaatarera  in 

Ola^gow. 
Fisher,  James,  merdunt,  Anebtennvoktf. 
Goeliie,  Alexander,  eattle^eider,  Coltward,  Floiw 

DtTshire. 
Hart,  Jolm,  manufiMturer  in  Palder. 
Henniker,  J.  and  L.  merchants  in  CHaieoir* 
Oraluun,  John,  mendunt  and  manu&ekaier  in 

Olaaaow. 
Oow,  James,  junior,  mereliant  taUor  in  Glamm* 
Jamleson,  Petar,  and  Company,  dodiien  in  Gtea* 

gow ;  a  first  dividend  on  tlst  Febroarr. 
Kerr,  Williynand  Son,  merehants  in  Leith  t  adi- 

▼Idend  after  11th  Febmary. 
Laidlaw,  William,  sldnner  in  Dunae. 
Maodonald,  Wm.  and  Alex.,  merchants  in  Ediiw 

burffh ;  a  diTidrad  after  14th  February. 
Madoian,  Mtodo,  meal-numger  in  ToDoah. 
M'Ndl,  Junes,  baker,  and  laliely  biewer  and  dia- 

tiller,  Dumfries. 
Munro,  Alexander,  grocer  and  fisb-enrer  In  St 

Andrews. 
Munro,  William,  of  Achany.  cattle-deakr  and 

partner  of  the  Tain  Brewery  Company. 
Neilaon,  George,  jmner  and  builder  in  Edin- 
burgh t  a  firn  dividend  on  29th  February. 
Oddy,  Georee,  grooer  an^  portioncr  in  Tradea- 

town  of  Glugow  ;  a  dividend  on  3d  FebruM'y. 
Purdon,  William,   grain-merchant  and   cattle- 
dealer  in  Hyndlands,  near  Glasgow. 
Sharp,  lAuehiln  and  James,  road  oontraeton  at 

Kinnaird. 
Smith  James  and  Sons,  some  time  bankers  and 

merchants  in  Brechin^  a  final  dividend  en  8th 

March. 


Stevenson  and  DniT,  merehaala  In  Diink«M{  a 
dividend  on  ith  March,  on  the  estate  of  John 
DuT.  No  dividend  on  the  estate  ofHieCaBk- 
pany,  or  of  Tames  Stevenson. 

Wyllies,  Messrs  R.and  M.  manufiMtnmain  Olaa- 
gow. 

The  Dundee  fHm  Sn^ar  Reflnlag  Company. 

Tweeddale,  John,  vtntaaer  and  mail-coadi  eon* 
tcaetor  In  MoBtrese^ 

Watson,  John,  dodMnafehant  In  Edlabnigb. 

_^^  DIVIDENDS. 

Bnber,  Henry,  Brewer,  and  wine  and  ^Hrlt«inei^ 
chant  in  Castle-Douglas  2  a  first  dividend  after 
5th  January. 

Brownlle,  William,  engineer  smith,  and  mIenC 
axle-tree  maker  in  Glasgow;  a  dividend  after 
90th  January. 

Eraser  Newlaiuis,  James  and  Luke,  JeweOen  and 
watdi-makers  in  Glaaeowt  a  second  dividend 
S9th  January. 

Gardner,  Thomas,  earpetHnerohaat,  Grecndde- 
street,  Edinbur^ ;  a  final  dii^idend  Sd  Fcbni- 
ary. 

HamUton,  Wmiam,  merdiantin  Gteifgowt  a  final 
dividend  15th  January. 

Hunt,  Robert,  late  merchant,  DunfbrmHnet  a  di- 
vidend S9th  January. 

Menxles,  Robert.  distUler  and  maltman,  Pldaley 
a  dividend  S7th  January. 

Peacock,  Robert  and  Sons,  merchants  in  Paisley 
a  dividend  on  19th  January. 

PoUock,  John,  cotton-spinner,  Greenhead,  Glaa- 
gow;  a  dividend  9d  January. 

Robertson,  William,  innkeeper,  late  of  the  Salu- 
tation Inn.  Perth:  a  first  dividend 5th  January. 

Wright,  Alexander,  fish-curer  and  dealer  in  her- 
rings in  Banff ;  a  dividend  13d  January. 


BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


BIRTHS* 
Dee,  SI,  1823.  Mrs  Fraser  of  Ford,  of  a  dan^ 
ter. 
30.  At  Springfield  Lodge,  SurTey,^he  lady  of 
'  John  Watson,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

Jan.  1, 18f  4.  In  Albany  Street,  Lady  Robert 
Kerr,  of  a  son. 

—  At  her  fiather's  bouse  at  Bedale,  Yorkshire, 
the  lady  of  Rear- Admiral  Sir  John  P.  Beresford. 
Bart,  of  a  daughter. 

3.  At  Fasnacloich,  the  lady  of  Stewart  Menxiet, 
Esq.  of  Culdares,  of  a  son  and  heir. 

4.  The  lady  of  Lieut.-Gen.  Sir  John  Oswald  of 
Dui^kdr,  of  a  son. 

—  At  71*  Great  King  Street,  Mrs  Kennedy,  of 
a  son. 

5.  At  S,  Mary's  Place,  Stockbridge,  Mrs  Par- 
ker, of  a  daughter. 

-~  Mrs  Buchanan,  Auchintortie,  of  a  daughters 

15.  At  WlUtehUl,  Mrs  Donald,  of  a  son. 

13.  At  Ardtorinish,  Mrs  Gregorson,  of  a  daugh- 
ter. 

—  At  Irvhie,  the  lady  of  Colonel  S.  M.  Fullar- 
ton  of  Fnllarton,  of  a  son. 

14.  At  the  Manor  House,  Wood,  Shropshire,  the 
lady  of  William  Hay,  Esq.  of  Drummelzier, 
(rf*  a  daughter. 

16.  At  Broudittm  Place,  the  lady  of  George 
Steed.  Esq.  of  ttie  Royal  Dragoons.  <^  a  daughter. 

17.  At  Eastbourne,  Sussex,  the  huly  of  Sir  C. 
Dalryraiile,  of  a  son. 

18.  The  lady  of  U.  G.  Leslie  of  Denlugas,  of  a 
son. 

—  Mrs  Morehead,  wife  of  the  Rev.  Mr  More- 
head,  of  a  son. 

19.  The  lady  of  John  Nicol,  Esq.  of  Few,  of  a 
son  and  heir. 

—  At  Laswade  Hill,  the  lady  of  Captain  R.  B, 
Edwant.i.  of  a  son  and  heir. 

—  At  Stair  House,  the  lady  of  Mi^or  Orr,  of  a 


SI.  At  George's  Place,  thelady  of  William  Mao- 
kensie,  Esq.  of  Strathgarve,  of  a  datuhter. 

55.  In  Dundas  Street,  Mrs  Ivory,  of  a  daughter. 

—  At  Nenagh,  Ireland,  the  lady  of  Jamea 
Dempster,  Esq.  M.D.  of  a  son. 

—  Mrs  Weir,  11,  Pitt  Street,  of  a  daughter. 
83.  In  Grosvenor  Place,  London,  the  lady  of 

Charles  Drummond,  Esq.  of  a  son. 

S4.  Mrs  Lockhart,  25,  Northumberland  Street^ 
of  a  daughter. 

56.  At  Ca&tlecrai^  the  Right  Hon.  Lady  Na- 
]^er,  of  a  daughter. 

57.  Mrs  Snuth.  13,  Hope  Street,  of  a  daughter. 
31.  At  Edinbur^,  Mrs  Alex.  Hunttf,  of  a  son. 

MARRIAGES. 

April  S6. 1823.  At  Syucapore.  Alexander  M(ur- 
gan.  Esq.  to  Maria  Frcderiea,  youngest  daughter 
of  Thomas  Wilson  F'mg.  Esq. 

Aug.  15.  At  Madras,  Lieutenant  Georae  Stoiy, 
of  the  19th  Native  infantry,  to  Hannah  Eliaabetn, 
eldest  daughter  of  the  late  William  Wothcrspoon. 
Esq.  Edinburgh. 

Nov.  25.  At  Trinidad,  Paymaster  James  Mac- 
kay,  1st  West  India  regiment,  to  Catherine  Jane 
Moore,  widow  of  Dr  John  Moore,  surgeon  of  the 
8th  (or  king's)  regiment,  and  daughter  of  Captain 
Maciauchhui,  of  the  royal  engineers. 

Dfc.  5.  J.  P.  Robinson,  Esq.  of  Camden  Street, 
London,  and  Meltonby,  Yorkshire,  to  Mary  Ann, 
only  daughter  of  John  Scott,  Esq.  late  at  Edin- 
burgh. 

30.  At  Knocknalling,  John  Alexander.  Eaq. 
youneer  of  Mackilston,  to  Dsibara,  third  daugn* 
ter  of  David  Kennedy,  Esq.  of  Knocknalline. 

—  At  Newburgh.  the  Rev.  John  Jamleson 
Johnston,  to  Jane,  second  daughter  of  the  late 
Rev.  David  Hepburn. 

Jan,  1.  At  Cdinbu^h.  John  Carfrae,  Esq.  to 
Miss  Isabella  Parle,  second  daughter,  and  on  the 
I6Ut  Jan.  Robert  Ky»tto,  Esq.  of  Galashiels,  to 


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Google 


WkiAl 

BdlBbargh,  to 


1H9 


fc  AtP«wtycSMi.  Mr  A.  TkoMKV 


.fOMMkOT, 

or  Mi  John 

Moirtjunwgy»  Eiq. 
yooacett  a«n(htor 


t&Ati 

n.  At< 


7.  At   , 

at  Anakk  Lodft,  to  So 

of  the  late  John  Andenon,  Em.  ] 

9.  At  Bdinbunh,  JanMTuilMr,  Eiq.  wiitMr, 
EdlnlMiglw  to  iSrY,  doubter  oT  tlielate  Rar. 
Thoouf  Gnjt  minwT  <n  Bronghton,  PtoblW' 

If.  At  Bumlde.  Mr  Robert  Orievo.  wrHv, 
Edinbiuf  b,  to  M«rkau  rMwtd—ghter  df  WUltam 
Roltand,  iM-orBamiide. 

—  At  Psiilinr»  Mr  Jadm  Kerr,  manufiMtnrer* 
toJ«no,onlTdnuffbterar  the  kte  WUHam  Pin- 
kertoBsEiq. 

11.  At  St  Mary's  Lambeth.  Adam  Wflnn,  of 
naabory  dreua,  Eaq.  to  Martlw  Ttran,  •eooad 
daughter  of  WUion  Laher,  Emj. 

—  At  London.  Alexander  Biiniiiiini^  Biq.  of 
Aberdeen,  to  Manaret,  aeeond  daughter  of  O.  J* 
Gnthiie,  S^.  of  BnlMley  Sireec 

17.  At  London,  Ueut^'otonel  Davk,  M.  P.  to 
Attfueto  Anne,  only  child  of  the  late  Thonun 
Champion  De  Creeplgny,  Eeo. 

SO.   At  Aberdeen,   William  IrrinOi 
Towie,  to  Harriet  Ann  Stuart,  rettet  of  the 
George  Grant,  late  miniater  of  Movtlach. 

t3.  At  Edinburgh,  Ueut.  WaMam  HOM  Smith, 
of  the  4th  Regiment  Madras  Native  InAmtry,  to 
Eha,  youngaitda««hterof  JohnWibon,  BM|.of 
Cumledge,  BertriduMiire. 

—  At  Eye,  Henfbrdrtiire,  Bdmnnd  PolUzftn 
Baetard,  bq.  of  Kitley,  Deroiahiin,  and  M.  P. 
Ibr  that  county,  to  the  Hon.  Anne  Jane  Rodney, 
daughter  of  the  late  Lord  Rodney. 

—  At  Perth,  Mr  Mitchel,  merchant,  John's 
Street,  to  Jane,  ddest  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Dr 
Prin^. 

—  Robert  Fulton,  Esq.  Dubbyslde,  FtlieshiTe, 
toHelen,onlTdaaghterorthelateMajorJ.  Fo- 
thertaghua  or  the  Eqgiaeeta  on  the  Madras  Es- 

S8.  At  Aberdeen,  M^)or  Henry  James  Phelns. 
of  the  80th  Regiment,  to  Mary,  youngest  datigh- 
terof  R.Grant,  BMk of  Drarammer. 

—  At  Hillside,  Leiih  Walk.  J.  S.  Combe,  Esq* 
M.D.  Fellow  of  the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons,  to 
Anne,  daughter  of  the  late  John  Thomson,  Esq. 
Leith. 

Sa  At  LeIth,  Mr  J.  M'Leod.  merchant,  fidln- 
bonh,  to  Christina,  fourth  dauirhler  of  the  kto 
Wlffiam  Loudon.  Esq.  Kene  Hall. 

91,  la  Christ  Churdi,  Cork,  WlUtam  Maglnn. 
Esq.  LL.D.  to  Ellen,  eldest  daughter  of  the  late 
Rot.  Robert  BuUen  of  Newmarket. 

DEATHS. 

Jmue  15,  lfl*t.  At  Ludanah,  Emign  John  M. 
M'Crae,  of  the  Hon.  East  India  Company's  17th 
regiment  native  infsntry,  Bengal  establishment, 
thi  rd  son  of  W.  G.  M  'Crae,  Esq. 

Auj^.  S.  On  board  the  ship  Ncarohus.  in  the 
itvar  Uuyaquil,  South  America,  Mr  William  Dun- 
can, second  officer  of  that  shiii. 

Jnme  13.  ISU.  At  FOrt  WlHiam.  Calcutte,  Ma- 

tv  John  delland  Guthrie,  i4th  foot,  son  of  the 
le  Colonel  John  Guthrie,  of  the  Hon.  East  India 
Companyli  senriee. 

L3.  Lost  atsca.  from  on  board  the  Hon.  Com- 
mny's  ship  Vansittart,  Mr  WlIHam  Montague 
Duddingstone,  only  son  of  the  late  Rear-Adnural 
William  Dtuldingstone. 

8epL  Si.  At  Demerara,  Francte  MaiAensle'Fnirw 
bafan,  son  of  the  late  Mr  Fairbnkn  of  Berbice. 
His  frther  and  two  brothers  had  fallen  victims  to 
the  same  eHmate  withhi  the  last  steteen  months. 

Orl.  IS.  At  May's  Den,  Island  of  Jamaica,  Do- 
naM  M'Lcan,  Esq. 

19.  At  Graham's  Town,  Cane  of  Good  Hope, 
Lleut«-Col.  George  Sackville  FraM;r,  of  the  Cape 
corns,  second  son  of  the  htte  Mr  Jolto  Fmser, 
Rhives,  Sutherlandahire. 

SH.  At  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  E.  S.  Montagu* 
late  Penian  seereUry  to  the  ffovonment  at  Cal- 


Kiikenan,A 

Crieff,  kr  James  Wilson,  I 
In  Chmlestown.  Sooth  CaroUna,  eMsit  son  of  tlw 
late  Mr  James  r~ 


JMnhMI 

WilMMate 


SS.  In  Staflbid  Street,  Mrs  Margaret  Bottb- 
wick,  widow  of  Lieut.<Qlonel  John  Borthwiek^of 


the  71st  regiment. 

—  At  Libberton  Cottagd 


Jane  Tod,  wICb  of 


Mosey,  Royal  Navy. 
501  AtLaith,Mr  AksBnderGoodJet.latooftbt 


Sarah,  Viaeoantest 
Mr  Allan  Grant, 


~  At  Torquay,  Devon, 
Kikoursie. 

Jan,  1. 1M4.  At  Edfaibnifh, 
Btossonger  at  arma. 

—  Afhis  house,  Canongat^  Mia  Janet  BfDdie» 
wife  of  Duncan  Cowan,  Esq. 

—  Miss  Emily  Shiiriff,  second  dangbter  of  tfw 
late  Lieut-colonel  Shirriff,  of  the  Mattes  cavalry* 

S.  At  Comiaton,  Daniel  CoUyer,  Bs^ 


S.  At  Kirkakly,  Mr  WilMam  MH 


Nov.  ?.  At  Demeran,  Dr  William  Wallsce,  of 
Three  Friends. 

Dtr,  11.  At  Siena,  Mrs  Janet  Brodie.  daughter 
olUte farte  WlUam Brodie,  Esq. AmisOold Malnt. 


—  At  Now  106,  Princess  Street,  Richard  Beek- 
with  Craik.  Esq.  yonnger  of  ArWgland. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Jamea  Hunter,  late  bn* 
ker. 

—  At  the  Vicarage,  Ashby-de-hi-Zouch.  Enpbe* 
mia,  wilie  of  the  Rev.  WUBam  M'DouaU. 

4.  At  Pisa,  Mr  Jamm  Brown,  of  St  VineoBt 
Street,  Glasgow. 

—  At  Gln^ow,  John  Macfaen,  Esq.  to  the  61st 
year  of  his  age. 

6.  At  Edtobor^  Mrs  Davie  of  Brotherton. 

—  At  Rotterdam,  John  Alexander,  the  infimt 
•on  of  James  H.  Turing,  Esil 

—  At  Bath,  Hugh  Campbell.  Esq.  of  Majfield, 
In  the  county  of  Ayr,  late  captate  to  the  85th  re- 
gimenL 

6.  At  his  houses  in  Upper  Bedford  PUmo,  Loo* 
don,  the  buly  of  John  Loch.  Eiq. 

—  At  Thavies  Inn,  London,  Horatius,  second 
•on  of  Alexander  Freser,  Esq. 

—  At  Avonbank,  Mr  Gavin  Hamilton,  senkir 
of  Avonbank,  in  the  county  of  Lanark. 

7.  At  Leith.  Mr  John  Puker,  agent,  lateof 
Newcastle-upon-Tyne. 

— At  Luddingten  House,  Snrry,  Walter  IrvtaM^ 
Esq.  to  the  76th  year  of  his  age. 

8.  At  Dumfries,  Robert  JaAson,  Eso.  Comp- 
troller of  Customs,  and  tor  many  yeiMa  editor  and 
proprietor  of  the  Dumfries  WcmW  Journal. 

--  At  her  Ikther's  house,  tO,  Oeone's  Street, 
Mary,  ekieet  daughter  of  Mr  Jones,  of  the  The^ 
tre-RoyaL 

9.  At  her  house,  St  Jamm's  Street,  Leith  WaDt, 
Mrs  Esther  Annetonies,  reUct  of  the  late  Mr  Wil^ 
liam  Ker.  goldsmlto,  Edinburgh. 

10.  At  the  house  of  the  Duchess  of  Marlbo- 
rough, Cumberland  Gate,  London,  the  Right 
Hon.  Lady  Caroline  Pennant. 

—  At  Rpthney,  William  Gordon,  Esq.  of  Roth- 
ney.  W.  S. 

—  At  Ayr,  Ckptain  WDIIam  Niven.  late  survey- 
or of  the  Customs  at  Greenock.  By  fiune  he  was 
reputed  the  son  of  that  flMettooa  and  well-known 
character  described  to  Roderick  Random  under 
the  title  of  Strap. 

At  Bumham  House,  county  of  Kerry,  Ireland, 
the  Right  Hon.  Loid  Ventry. 

—  At  Dabuzian,  Thomas  Rattray,  Esq*  aged 
8S. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Alexander  Charles,  youngest 


1  of  Robert  Kerr  of  Chatto,  Eso. 
.  Suddenly,  at  London,  at  hb  bankmg-nouse, 
ofanapopleeticflt,  Joseph  Manpt,  Esq.  M.  P. 


forSandwidi,  and  dteirman  to  the  oommittoo  at 
Uoyd's. 

—  At  Na  104,  Laurieston  Place,  WUBam,  se- 
cond son  of  Mr  James  Sanson. 

—  Mr  William  Auld.  goldsmith,  treasurer  to 
the  Trades'  Maiden  Hmpitftl. 

—  In  North  Hanover  Street,  Miss  Katherinc 
Fleming. 

—  At  Kittyfield,  Roxburshshbe,  to  the  iWth 
year  of  hb  age,  Mr  David  Mtoto,  for  about  half 
a  century  fisrmer  of  LinpUr.  near  Selkirk. 

13.  At  Urgs,  Cuuain  Patrick  Camogie,  R.  N. 
who  fought  under  Rodney  on  the  memorable  ISth 
of  April  178S. 

—  At  Kinsale,  the  Hon.  Governor  de  Coufeey, 
brother  to  the  late  Lord  Kinsale. 

11 


Digitized  by 


Google 


350  Jiegister.^Deaihs.  CFeb^ 

15.  AtKewlMlk.  HHH^Bdlnlmlw  Lady  Hone,        ffO.  At  CtolkM,  te  tht  OTunhr  of  LoMh,  the  tnc 

rdict  of  Ylee-Adnunl  Str  George  Home  of  Black-  of  the  Yenerable  Lord  Ortd,  vlieotmtcw  Fenwd, 

adder,  BarL  Barone«  Oriel,  the  lady  of  that  diadngaldied  ao- 

14.  At  Edinbnifh,  John,  Infimt  mm  of  John  bleman. 

Bruce,  EaqrHeriot  HUL  31.  At  Kdio,  Mr  Andrew  Telfer,  bookseller. 

~  Ui  Panton  Square,  London,  John  Ron,  Etq.         ~  At  Aberdeen,  Robert  Lamb,  Eiq,  late  parC- 

lieutenant^«cHonel,  late  of  the  98th  regtraent.  ncr  in  the  house  c€  Robert  AnderKUi  and  Co.' 

~  At  Pittenweem.  Major  John  Duddingitone,  Gibraltar, 
late  of  the  1st  battalian  Royal  Scots.  St.  In  Charlotte  Square,  Bdmbunh,  Henry  D 

13.  At  Colchester,  John  Thonuon,  Esq.  Depu-  Grant,  Esq.  second  son  of  the  late  Fnaeii  Grant, 

ty  Conuniisary-Gencral  to  the  forces,  and  late  pri-  of  Kilaraston,  Esq. 

▼ate  secretary  to  the  most  noUe  the  Oovemor-ge.         —At  Moreham,  very  suddenly,  Mr  Theinaa 

neral  of  India.  Henderson,  in  the  78th  year  of  his  age^  and  45 

—  At  Berrywell,  Mrs  Murray.  years  schoolmaster  of  that  parish. 

—  At  Leitti,  Mr  J<4m  Durie,  merehai^  —  In  St  Andrew's  Square,  Mrs  Aitken,  wife  of 

15.  At  his  :house,  Shandwick  Plaee,  General  Dr  John  Aitken,  sorgeon,  Edinbunh. 

Fruicfs  Dondas,  after  a  long  and  painful  illness.         13.  At  Boulogne,  Six  Brooke  Boothby,  Bait» 

General  Dundas  was  oolonMof  the  71st  rcfiroent  F.  L.S.  of  Ashboum  Hall,  in  the  county  <^  Derby, 

of  light  iniSmtry  and  governor  of  DumDarton  in  his  SOtti  year. 


25.  At  No.  SU,  North  Bridge,  Edinbuigh,  Miee 

17.   In  Stanhope  Street,   Mayfair,  London,  Foy. 

BamberGasooyne,  Esq.  agedeStmanyyeflvsare.  —  At  Lauriestkm  Place,  Mrs  Janet  Robertson, 

presentative  in  Parliament  for  LiverpcxM.  In  the  8Ath  year  of  her  age. 

IM.  At  RamMate,  Captain  Bowles  Mitdidl,  —  Mr  Thomas  Hodge,  merchant,  Newington. 

R.  N.  in  the  74th  year  of  his  aoe.    He  was  the  —  At  her  house,  in  Upper  Seymour  Street, 

last  surviving  officer  of  those  who  accompanied  London,  on  the  X5th  ult  Dame  Judith  Laurie^ 

Captain  Cook  on  his  second  voyage  round  the  a«ed  74,  widow  of  Geoersl  Sir  Robert  Laurie 

world.  of  Mazweltcm,  In  the  county  of  Dumfries,  Bart. 

—  At  Edinbur^,  Mr  William  TumbuU,  for-  S7.  At  25,  Northumberland  Street,  the  infsnt 

merly  clothier,  and  late  keeper  of  the  mortality  re-  daughter  of  J.  G.  Lodchart,  Esq.  advocate, 

cords  of  the  city  of  Edinburgh.  ~  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  William  Thomson,  dyer. 

20.  At  Richmond,  James,  Eari  ComwaUis,  Bi-  —  At  Castle  Howard,  Yorkshire,  the  Right 

shop  of  Litchfield  and  Coventry,  and  Dean  of  Hon.  Margaret  Caroline,  Countess  of  Carlisle,  in 

Durham,  in  the  81st  year  ot  his  age.    He  is  sue-  the  7l8t  year  of  her  age. 

ceeded  in  his  title  and  estates  by  his  only  son,  28.  At  Leith,  the  Rev.  Robert  Dickstm,  D.  D. 

James  Mann,  Viscount  Broome,  now  Earl  Com-  who  for  38  yean  disdiazged  the  ministerial  dutiea 

wallis.  In  the  parish  of  South  Leith,  respected  and  bek>- 

~  At  Edinburgh,  James  Bisett,  Esq.  Rear  Ad-  vcd  by  all  ranks. 
miralofth»Red. 

Jan.  5. — In  Cork,  of  an  organic  disease  of  the  heart,  Jeremiah  Da^ 
niel  Murphy,  Esq.  son  of  D.  Murphy,  Esq.,  merchant  in  that  city. 
This  gentleman  had  only  reached  tne  age  of  eighteen  years  and  a  few 
months,  but  his  acquirements  were  such  as  would  betoken  a  far  ampler 
period  of  existence.  He  spoke  or  wrote  the  Greek,  Latin,  French,  Spa- 
nish, Portuguese,  German,  and  Irish  languages,  with  the  utmost  fiuency 
and  precision ;  and  was  profoundly  versed  in  their  respective  literatures. 
His  acquirements  in  science  were  highly  req)ectable ;  and  he  was  graced 
by  the  possession  of  those  gentlemanlike  accomplishments,  which  form 
the  ornament  of  the  rank  in  which  he  was  destined,  if  Heaven  had  spa- 
red his  life,  to  have  moved ;  while,  unlike  most  lads  of  precocious  ac- 
quirements, his  manners  were  mild,  engaging,  retiring,  and  modest. 

He  had  contributed  occasionally  to  this  Magazine.  His  perfect  com- 
mand over  the  Latin  language  was  exemplified  in  the  "  AdverUus  Regis,** 
No.  56;  the  "  Rising  of  the  North,"  No.  67;  and  other  similar  pieces, 
which  we  may  now  venture  to  say  are  complete  models  in  their  peculiar 
style.  There  are  other  papers  also  from  his  pen,  which  we  have  not  now 
time  to  indicate,  but  aU  affording  earnest  of  powers  of  composition,  and 
depth  of  information,  which  we  are  sure  would  have  been  amply  redeem- 
ed,'if  it  had  pleased  Providence  to  have  granted  him  a  longer  sojourn  in 
this  world. 

O  flos  juvenum.  Ornate  bonis, 

Spes  Ifeta  patris,  Ostentatus, 

Non  certa  tus  Raptusque  simul. 

Data  res  patrie,  Solsdtiolis 

Non  mansuris  Velut  herba  solet. 

Flower  of  our  youth  !  in  thee  are  lost 
A  father's  hopes,  a  country's  boost. 
With  transient  goods  adom'd  I  just  shone. 
And  wither'd  near  as  soon  as  blown. 
Like  flowerets  of  solsticial  zone. 

Prlnied  by  James  BaOaniyne  and  Co.  Edinburgh, 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


No  LXXXVI. 


MARCH,  1824. 


Vol.  XV. 


LETTER  PROM  A  "  FIRST-FLOOR  LODGER. 


There  are  two  lodged  together. — Shakespeare. 
Nee  hoipes  ab  hospite  tutus. — Ovid. 

be  one  resurrection -man  alive  when  I 
die^  as  sure  as  quarter-day^  I  shall  be 
taken  up  again. 

The  first  trial  I  endured  when  I 
came  to  London,  was  making  the  tour 
of  all  the  boarding-houses — ^being  de- 


'^  Ak  Englishman's  house  is  his  cas- 
lle"— I  grant  it ;  but,  for  his  lodging, 
a  comparison  remains  to  be  found. 
An  Englisbman's  house  may  be  his 
csstle ;  but  that  can  only  be  where  he 
consents  to  keep  the  Srhole  of  it.    Of 


an  earthly  alliances  and  partnerships    luded,  I  believe,  seriatim,  by  everv 
into  whidi  mortal  man  is  capable  of    prescriptive  form  of  "advertisements. 


bein^  trepanned,  that  which  induces 
two  mterests  to  place  themselves  with- 
in fbur  walls,  is  decidedly  the  most 
unholy.  It  so  happens  that,  through- 
out my  life,  I  have  had  occasion  only  for 
half  a  house,  and,  from  motives  of  eco« 
nomy,  have  been  unwilling  to  pay  rent 
for  a  whde  one ;  but — there  can  be, 
on  earth,  I  find,  no  resting-place  for 
bim  who  is  so  unhappy  as  to  want 
only  "  half  a  bouse !"  In  the  course  of 
the  last  eight  years,  I  have  occupied 
one  hundred  and  forty-three  difierent 
lodginffs,  running  the  gauntlet  twice 
thnm^  all  London  and  Westminster, 


First,  I  was  tried  by  the  pretence  mo- 
dest— this  appeared  in  TV  Timgt  all 
tbe  year  round.  *'  Desirable  circle" — 
**  Airy  situation" — "  Limited  number 
of  guests" — ^Every  attention" — and 
'f  no  children." 

Next,  was  the  commanding — at  the 
very  "  head  and  flront"  of  The  Morn^ 
insr  Post.  "  Vicinity  of  the  fiishion- 
able  squares !" — "  Two  persons,  to 
increase  society" — "  Family  of  condi- 
tion"— and  "  Terms,  at  Mr  Sams's, 
tbe  bookseUer's." 

Then  came  the  irresistible.  *'  Wi- 
dow of  an  officer  of  rank" — "  Unpro- 


and,  (tttener  than  I  can  remember,  the    tected  earlv  in  life" — *'  Desirous  to 
*'  out-parishes"  through !  As  two  "  re-    extend  family  drde" — "  Flatters  her- 
8elf,"&c 


tfaat  I  have  gone  71  times  and  a  half 
througb  the  norrors  of  conflagration ! 
And,  m  every  place  where  I  have  lived, 
it  has  been  my  iate  to  be  domiciled 
with  a  monster !  But  my  voice  shall 
be  heard,  as  a  voice  upon  the  house- 
top, crying  out  until  I  find  relief.  I 
have  been  ten  dajrs  already  in  the 
abode  diat  I  now  write  from,  so  I  can't, 
in  reason,  look  to  stay  more  than  three 
or  finir  more.  I  hm  people  talk  of 
"  the  grave"  as  a  lodging  (at  worst) 
that  a  man  is  "  sore  of;"  W^  if  ^i^^^ 
Vol,  XV. 


Moonshine  all  together ! 

"  Desirable  drde' — A  bank  clerk, 
and  five  daughters  who  wanted  hus- 
bands. Brandy  and  water  after  sup- 
per, and  booby  from  Devonshire 
snapt  up  before  my  eyes.  Little  boy 
too  in  the  family,  that  bdonged  to  a 
sister  who  "  had  died."  I  hate  scan- 
dal ;  but  I  never  could  find  out  where 
thai  sister  had  been  buried. 

'^Fashionable  square" — The  fire,  to 
the  frying-pi|n  !  Tbe  worst  Uem^on 
coniiomitioDV— in  all  my  experience. 
2  K 


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Letter  from  a  FTrsV-Fhor  Lodger. 


S59 

Dishes  without  meat^  and  beds  with- 
out blankets.  "  Teiros,"  "  two  hun- 
dred guineas  a-year^"  and  surcharges 
for  night-candle.  And,  as  for  dinner ! 
as  I  am  a  Yorkshireroan,  I  never  knew 
what  it  meant  while  I  was  in  Man- 
chester Square ! 

I  have  bad  two  step-mothers,  M^ 
Editor,  and  I  was  six  months  at  Mrs 
Tickletoby's  preparatory  school,  and  I 
never  saw  a  woman  since  I  was  bom 
cut  meat  like  I<ady  Catharine  Skin- 
flint I  There  was  a  transparency  about ' 
her  slice  which  (after  a  good  luncheon) 
one  could  pause  to  look  at.  She  would 
cover  you  a  whole  plate  with  fillet  of 
veal  and  ham,  and  not  increase  the 
weight  of  it  half  an  ounce. 

And  then  the  Misses  Skinflints — for 
knowledge  of  anatomy — their  cutting 
up  a  fowl ! — In  the  puniest  half-star- 
ved chicken  that  ever  broke  the  heart 
of  a  brood  hen  to  look  at,  they  would 
find  you  side-bone,  pinion,  drum- 
stick, liver,  gizzard,  rump,  and  merry- 
thought !  and,  even  beyoxtd  this  cri- 
tical acquaintance  with  all  admitted — 
and  apocryphal— divisions  and  distinc- 
tions, I  have  caught  the  eldest  of  them 
actually  inventing  new  joints,  that, 
even  in  speculation,  never  before  ex- 
isted I 

I  understand  the  meaning  now  of 
the  Persian  salutation — "  May  your 
shadow  never  be  less !"  I  lost  mine 
entirely  in  about  a  fortnight  that  I 
staid  at  Lady  Skinflint's. 

Two  more  hosts  took  me  "  at  livery" 
(besides  the  "  widow"  of  the  "  officer 
of  rank") — an  apothecary,  who  made 
patients  of  his  boarders,  and  an  attor- 
ney, who  looked  for  clients  among 
them.  I  got  away  from  the  medie^ 
gentleman  rather  hastily,  for  I  found 
that  the  pastry-cook  wiio  served  the 
house  was  his  brother ;  and  the  law- 
yer was  so  pressing  about  *'  discounts," 
and  "  investments  of  property,"  that 
I  never  ventured  to  sign  my  name, 
even  to  a  washing-bill,  during  the  few 
days  I  was  in  his  house :  On  quitting 
the  which,  I  took  courage,  and  resolved 
to  become  my  own  prouder,  and  hired 
a  "  First  Floor,"  accordingly  f  **unfur- 
nished")  in  the  neighlxmrnood  of 
Bloomsbury  Square. 

*'  Mutatio  lociy  non  ingeniW** 
The  premier  coup  of  my  new  career 
amounted  to  an  escape.     I  ordered  a 
carle  blanche  outfit  ftom  an  upholsterct 
of  Piccadilly,  determined  to  have  my 


CMtrch, 


'^  apartments"  unexceptionable  before 
I  entered  them ;  and  oiscovered,  after 
a  hundred  pounds  laid  out  in  paint- 
ing, decorating,  and  curtain  fitting, 
that  the  "  ground  landlord"  had  cer- 
tain claims  which  would  be  liquidated 
when  my  property  '*  went  in. 

This  miscarriage  made  me  so  cau- 
tious/  that,  before  I  could  choose  again, 
I  was  the  sworn  horror  of  every  auc- 
tioneer and  house-agent  (so  called)  in 
London.  I  revised  twenty  ofi^n,  at 
least,  because  they  had  the  appearance 
of  being  *'  great  bargains."  Eschewed 
all  houses,  as  though  they  had  the 
plague,  in  which  I  found  that  "  sin- 
gle gentlemen  were  preferred."  Was 
Uireatened  with  three  actions  of  defii- 
mation  for  questioning  the  solvency  of 
persons  in  business.  And,  at  length, 
was  so  lucky  as  to  hit  upon  a  really 
desirable  mansion !  The  "  fiimily ' 
perfectly  respectable ;  but  had  ''  more 
room"  than  was  necessary  to  them. 
Demanded  the  "  strictest  references," 
and  accepted  no  inmate  for  "  less  than 
a  year."  Into  this  most  unexcqition- 
able  abode  I  conveyed  myself  and  my 
property.  Sure  I  should  stay  for  ever> 
and  doubted  whether  I  ought  not  to 
secure  it  at  once  for  ten  years  instead 
of  one.  And,  before  I  had  been  settled 
in  the  house  three  quarters^f  an  hour> 
I  found  that  the  chimneys— every  one 
of  them !  smoked  from  the  top  to  the 
bottom ! 

There  was  guilt,  Mr  North,  in  the 
landlord's  eye,  the  moment  the  first 
puflrdrove  me  out  of  my  drawing-room* 
He  made  an  efibrt  to  sav  somethiitfr 
like  "  damp  day ;"  but  the  "  amen 
stuck  in  his  throat.  He  could  not  say 
"  amen,"  Mr  Editor,  when  I  did  cry 
^^  God  bless  us !"  The  whole  build- 
ing, firom  the  kitchen  to  the  garret^ 
was  infected  with  the  malady.  I  had 
noticed  the  dark  complexions  of  the 
family,  and  had  concluded  they  were 
£h)m  the  West  Indies, — ^they  were 
smoke-dried ! — 

"  Blow  high,  blow  low !" 

I  suffered  six  weeks  under  excuses^ 
knowing  them  to  be  humbug  all  the 
while.  For  a  whole  month  it  was  "  the 
wind;"  but  I  saw  "  the  vrind"  twice 
all  round  the  compass,  and  found,  blow 
which  way  it  would,  it  still  blew  down 
my  chimney. 

Then  we  came  to  "  Cures."  First, 
there  were  alterations  at  the  top— new 
chimney-pots,  cowls,  hovels — and  all 


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IS«4.] 


Litter  fiwn  a  Fint^Fioor  Lodger. 


makiog  the  tiling  worse.  Then  we 
tried  at  the  bottom— grates  resets  and 
flues  contracted-— still  to  no  purpose. 
Then  we  came  to  burning  char^Md; 
and  in  fbur  days  I  was  in  a  decHne. 
Then  we  kept  the  doors  and  windows 
open ;  and  in  one  d^y  I  got  a  fit  of  the 
rheumatism.  And  in  spite  of  doors  or 
windows,  blowers,  registers,  or  Count 
Rumfoidi— precaution  in  putting  on 
Qoab,  or  mathematical  management  of 
pdcer — down  the  enemy  wmild  come 
to  our  very  faces,— -poof !  poof! — as  if 
in  derision !  till  I  prayed  Heaven  that 
moke  had  life  and  being,  that  t  might 
commit  murder  on  it  at  once,  and  so 
be  hanged ;  and,  at  length,  after  throw- 
ing  every  moveable  I  cotild  command 
at  the  grate  and  the  diimney  by  turns, 
and  paying  "  no  cure  no  pay"  doctors 
by  dozens,  who  did  nothing  but  make 
dirt  and  mischief,  I  sent  for  a  re^ct- 
able  surveyor,  paid  him  for  his  opmion 
beforehand,  and  heard  that  the  fault 
in  the  chimneys  was  '<  radical,"  and 
not  to  be  remedied  without  pulling  the 
house  down  I 

I  paid  my  twelvemonth's  rent,  and 
wished  only  that  my  landlord  might 
live  through  his  lease.  I  heard  after-i 
wards,  Uiat  he  had  himself  been  im- 
posed upon ;  and  that  the  house,  from 
the  first  fire  ever  lighted  in  it,  had  been 
8  scandal  to  the  neighbourhood.  But 
this  whole  Magazine  would  not  suffice 
to  enumerate  the  variety  of  wretch- 
ednesses—and smoky  chimneys  the 
very  least  of  them ! — which  drove  me 
a  second  time  to  change  my  plan  of 
lifb;  tile  numberless  lodgings  that  I 
lived  in;  and  the  inconveniences, 
greater  or  lesser,  attending  each.  In 
one  place,  my  servants  quarrelled  with 
the  servants  of  "  the  people  of  the 
house."  In  another,  "  the  people  of 
the  house's"  servants  quarrelled  with 
mine.  Here,  my  housekeeper  refused 
to  stay,  because  *'  the  kitchen  was 
damn. '  There,  my  footman  begged  I 
would  **  provide  myself,"  as  there  were 
**  rat?  in  his  cockloft."  Then  some- 
body fell  over  a  pail  of  water,  left  up- 
on *'  my  stairs ;  and  "  my  maid"  de- 
clared. It  was  '^  the  other  maid"  had 
put  it  there.  Then  the  cats  fought ; 
and  I  was  assured,  that  mine  had  given 
tiie  first  scratch.  On  the  whole,  the 
disputes  were  so  manifold,  and  always 
ending  to  my  discomfiture, — for  the 
lady  of  the  mansion  would  assail  me,— 
I  never  could  get  the  gentleman  to 


Id  gel 
1,  (ai 


be  dissatisfied,  (and  so  conclude  the 


953 

controversy  hj  kicking  him  down 
sturs,) — tnat  seeing  one  clear  advan- 
tage maintained  by  the  ground-posses- 
sor, viz.  that  I,  when  we  squabbled, 
was  obliged  to  vacate,  and  he  remain- 
ed where  he  was,  I  resolved,  once  for 
aU,  to  turn  the  tables  upon  mankind 
at  large,  and  become  a  **  landlord," 
and  a  ^'  housekeeper,"  in  my  own  im- 
mediate person. 

*'  Sir,  the  greif  goose  hath  laid  an 
egg. — Sir,  the  old  bam  doth  need  re- 
pair. — The  cook  sweareth,  the  meat 
doth  bum  at  thejire. — John  Thomas 
is  in  the  stocks  ;  and  everything  stays 
on  your  arrival'' 

I  would  not  advise  any  single  gcn- 
tieman  hastily  to  conclude  that  he  is 
in  distress.  Bachelors  are  discontent- 
ed, and  take  wives ;  footmen  are  am- 
bitious, and  take  eating-bouses.  What 
docs  either  party  gain  oy  the  change  ? 
*'  We  know,"  tne  wise  man  has  said, 
*'  what  we  are ;  but  we  know  not  what 
we  may  be." 

In  estimating  the  happiness  of  house- 
holders, I  had  imagined  all  tenants  to 
be  like  myself— mild,  forbearing,  punc- 
tual, and  contented;  but  I  "^^  kept 
house"  three  years,  and  was  never  out 
of  hot  water  the  whole  time !  I  did 
manage,  after  some  trouble,  to  get  fair- 
ly into  a  creditable  mansion— just  miss-^ 
ing  one,  by  a  stroke  of  fortune,  which 
had  a  brazier's  shop  at  the  back  of  it, 
and  was  always  shewn  at  hours  when 
tile  workmen  were  gone  to  dinner— 
and  sent  a  notice  to  tne  papers,  that  a 
bachelor  of  sober  habits,  having  **  a 
larger  residence  than  he  wanted," 
would  dispose  of  half  of  it  to  a  family 
of  respectability.  But  the  whole  world 
seem^  to  be,  and  I  think  is,  in  a  plot 
fo  drive  me  out  of  my  senses.  In  the 
first  ten  days  of  my  new  dignity,  I 
was  visited  oy  about  twenty  tax-ga- 
therers, half  of  them  with  claims  tnat 
I  had  never  heard  of,  and  the  other 
half  with  claims  exceeding  my  expec- 
tations. The  householder  seemed  to 
be  the  minister's  very  milch  cow — the 
positive  scape-goat  of  the  whole  com- 
munity !  I  was  called  on  for  house- 
tax,  window-tax,  land-tax,  and  ser- 
vants'-tax!  Poor's-rate,  sewers'-rate, 
pavement-rate,  and  scavengers'-rate ! 
I  had  to  pay  for  watering  streets  on 
which  other  people  walked — ^for  light- 
ing lamps  which  other  people  saw  by 
^for  maintaining  watchmen  who  slept 
all  night— and  for  building  churches 
that  f  never  went  into.  And— I  never 


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Letter  from  a  FirH^FIoor  Lodger. 


•254 

knew  that  the  country  was  taxed  till 
that  moment ! — these  were  hut  a  few 
of  the  ''  dues"  to  he  sheared  off  from 
me.  There  was  the  clergyman  of  the 
parish,  whom  I  never  saw,  sent  to  me 
at  Easter  for  "  an  offering."  There 
was  the  charity-school  of  the  parish, 
solicited  "  the  honour"  of  my  "  suh- 
scription  and  support."  One  scoundrel 
came  to  inform  me  that  I  was  '^  drawn 
for  the  militia ;"  and  offered  to  *'  get 
me  off,"  on  payment  of  a  sum  of  mo- 
ney. Another  rascal  insisted  that  I 
was  "  chosen  constable ;"  and  actually 
brought  the  insignia  of  office  to  my 
door.  Then  I  h&u  petitions  to  read  (in 
writing)  from  all  the  people  who  chose 
to  he  in  distress — ^personal  heg£;ars, 
who  penetrated  into  my  parlour,  to 
send  to  BrideweU,  or  otherwise  get  rid 
of.  Windows  were  broken,  and  '*  no- 
body" had  "  done  it,"  The  key  of  the 
street-door  was  lost,  and  "  nobody" 
had  *'  had  it."  Then  my  cook  stopped 
up  the  kitchen  "  sink ;"  and  the  brick- 
layers took  a  month  to  open  it.  Then 
my  ffutter  ran  over,  and  flooded  my 
neighbour's  garret;  and  I  was  served 
with  notice  of  an  action  for  dilapida- 
tion. 

And,  at  Christmas  I — Oh !  it  was  no 
longer  dealing  with  ones  and  twos! — 
The  whole  hundred,  on  the  day  after 
that  festival,  rose  up,  by  concert,  to 
devour  me ! 

Dustmen,  street-keepers,  lamplight- 
ers, turncocks — ^postmen,  beadles,  sa^ 
vengers,  chimney-sweeps^  the  whole 
peciut  of  parochial  servitorship  was  at 
my  gate  before  eleven  at  noon. 

Then  the  "  waits"  came— two  seU ! 
—and  fought  which  should  have  "  my 
bounty."  Rival  patroles  disputed  whe- 
ther I  did  or  did  not  lie  within  tiieir 
"  beat."  At  one  time  there  was  a 
doubt  as  to  which,  of  two  parishes,  I 
belonged  to ;  and  I  f\iUy  expected  that 
(to  make  sure)  I  should  have  been 
visited  by  the  collectors  firom  both ! 
Meantime  the  knocker  groaned,  until 
very  evening,  under  the  dull,  stun- 
ning, single  thumps — each  villain 
would  have  struck,  although  it  had 
been  upon  the  head  of  his  own  grand- 
father f— of  bakers,  butchers,  tallow- 
chandlers,  grocers,  fishmongers,  poul- 
terers, and  oilmen !  Every  ruffian  who 
made  his  livelihood  by  swindling  me 
through  the  whole  year,  thought  him- 


[[Mirdi 


self  entitled  to  a  peculiar  benefiustioii 
(for  his  robberies)  on  this  day.    And 
**  Host !  Now  by  my  life  I  scorn  the 
name!" 

All  this  was  child's  ^hLj^^^tagateUe, 
I  protest,  and  "  perfumed,"  to  what  I 
haii  to  go  througn  in  the  "  letting  off" 
of  my  dwelling!  The  swarm  of  cro« 
oodiles  that  assailed  me,  on  every  fine 
day — three-fourths  of  them,  to  avoid 
an  impending  shower,  or  to  pass  away 
astupid  morning-^n  the  shape  of  stale 
dowagers,  city  coxcombs, ''  profession- 
al gentlemen,"  and  ^'  single  ladies  1" 
And  all  (except  a  few  that  were  iwin« 
dlers)  finding  something  wrong  about 
my  arrangements  !  Gil  Bias  muk, 
which  was  nothing  but  faults,  never 
had  half  so  many  faulte  aa  my  house. 
Carlton  Palace,  if  it  were  to  be  "  let" 
to-morrow,  would  be  objected  toby  a 
tailor.  One  man  found  my  rooms  "  too 
small ;"  another  thmight  them  rather 
*•  too  large;"  a  third  vrished  that  they 
had  been  loftier ;  a  fourth,  that  there 
had  been  more  of  them.  One  lady 
hinted  a  sort  of  doubt,  "  whether  the 
neighbourhood  was  quite  respectable;" 
another  asked,'^if  I  had  any  children  ;" 
and,  then,  "  whether  I  would  biiid 
myself  not  to  have  any  during  her 
stay!"  Two  hundred,  after  detaming 
me  an  hour,  had  called  only  "  for 
friends."  Ten  thousand  went  through 
all  the  particulars,  and  would  "  am 
again  to-morrow,"  At  last  there  came 
a  lady  who  gave  the  cotm-^it-grace  to 
my  "  house-keeping ;"  soe  was  a  cler- 
gyman's widow,  ^e  said,  from  Somer- 
setshire— ^if  she  had  bc«n  an  ^<  offi- 
cer's," I  had  suspected  her ;  but,  in  an 
evil  hour,  I  let  her  in ;  and— she  had 
come  for  the  express  purpose  of  mar- 
rying me ! 

The  reader  who  has  bowds,  they 
will  yearn  for  my  situation. 
JSToto  amjugarif 
I  exclaimed  in  agony ;  but  what  oould 
serve  against  the  ingenuity  of  woman  ? 
She  seduced  me — escape  was  hopelesa 
— ^morning,  noon,  and  night !  She 
heard  a  mouse  behind  the  wainscot, 
and  I  was  called  in  to  scare  it.  Her 
canary  bird  got  loose— would  I  he  so 
good  as  to  catch  it  ?  I  fell  sick,  but 
was  soon  glad  to  get  well  again ;  for 
she  sent  five  times  a-day  to  ask  if  I 
was  better;  besides  pouring  in  platea 
o£i)lanc  moi^v,  jellies,  cordials,  rasp- 


•  Wan  this  Latin  or  Yorkshire  ?— C.  N. 


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1894.;] 


I^/eUerfrttm  a  FirH^Floor  Jjodger. 


berry  TinegarBy  frnitt  fresh  from  the 
oountrjr,  and  hasty-pudduigB  made  by 
her  own  hand.  And^  at  last,  after  I 
had  resisted  all  the  constant  borrowing 
of  books,  the  eternal  interchan^  of 
newspapers,  and  the  daily  repaur  of 
crow-quills,  the  opinions  upon  wine, 
the  corrections  of  nackney  coachmen, 
and  the  recommendation  of  a  barber  to 
the  poodle  dog;— at  kst— Oh!  the 
devil  take  all  wrinkled  stair  carpets, 
stray  pattens,  and  bits  of  orange-peel 

dropped  upon  the  ground!  MrsF 

grained  her  ankle,  and  fell  down  at 
my  Tery  drawing-room  door ! 

All  the  women  in  the  house  were 
bribed — there  was  not  one  of  them  in 
die  way !  My  footman,  my  only  wSt^ 
guard— was  sent  off  that  minute  for  a 
doctor  ! — I  was  not  married ;  for  so 
much,  let  Providence  be  praised  1 

Animut  mewiimiiH  horret, 
I  can't  ^  through  the  afflur !  But, 
about  SIX  months  after,  I  presented 
Mrs  F with  my  house,  and  every- 
thing in  it,  and  determined  never 
again — as  a  man's  only  protection 
against  female  cupiditT--to  possess 
even  a  pair  of  small-clothes  that  I 
could  legally  call  my  own. 
Ummum  SuppUeiunu 

This  resolution,  Mr  Editor,  compel- 
led me  to  shelter  myself  in '"  famish- 
ed lodgings,"  where  the  most  of  accom- 
modatum,  (sublunary!)  after  all,  I 
believe,  is  to  be  found.  I  had  sad 
work,  as  you  may  imagine,  to  find  my 
way  at  first  Once  I  ventured  to  in- 
habit (as  Uiere  was  no  board  in  the 
case)  with  a  surgeon.  But,  what  be- 
tween the  patienta  and  the  resurrec- 
tion-men, the  **  night  bell"  was  into- 
lerable ;  an4he  ordered  the  watchman 
too,  I  found,  to  pull  it  privately  six  or 
seven  times  a-week,  in  order  to  im- 
press the  neighbourhood  widi  an  opi- 
nion of  his  practice.  From  one  placet, 
I  was  driven  away  by  a  musie-master, 
who  gave  concerts  opposite  to  me; 
and,ata  second,after  two  days  abiding, 
I  found  that  a  madman  was  confined 
on  the  second  fioor !  Two  houses  I 
left,  because  my  hostesses  made  love 
to  me.  Three,  because  parrots  were 
kept  in  the  streets.  One,  because  a 
cock  (who  would  crow  all  night)  came 
'  to  live  in  a  yard  at  the  badTof  me ; 
and  another,  in  which  I  had  staid  two 
months  ^and  should  perhaps  have  re- 
mained till  now)  because  a  ooyof  eicbt 
years  old — there  is  to  me  no  earthly 


955 

creature  so  utterly  intolerable  as  a 
boy  of  eight  years  old  !^-came  home 
fhnn  sdiool  to  pass  "  the  holidays." 
I  had  thoughts — I  don't  care  who 
knows  it— of  taking  him  off  by  poi- 
son ;  and  bought  two  raspberry  tarts 
to  give  him  arsenic  in,  as  I  met  him 
on  the  stairs,  where  he  was,  up  and 
down,  all  day.  As  it  is,  I  have  sent 
an  order  to  Seven  Dials,  to  have  an 
*'  early  delivery"  of  all  the  "  Dying 
Speeches"  for  tne  next  ten  years.  I 
did  this,  in  order  that  I  ma^  know 
when  he  is  hanged — a  fact  I  wish  par- 
ticularly to  ascertain,  because  his  fa^ 
ther  and  I  had  an  altercation  about  it. 
Experience,  however,  gives  lights  ; 
and  a  "  furnished  lodging"  is  the  best 
arrangement  among  tne  bad.  I  had 
seven  transidons  last  month,  but  that 
was  owing  to  accidents ;  a  man  who 
chooses  well  may  commonly  stay  a 
fortnight  in  ft  place.  Indeed,  as  I  said 
in  the  beginning,  I  have  been  ten  dajrs 
where  I  am ;  and  I  don't,  up  to  this 
moment,  see  clearly  what  point  I  shall 

Laway  upon.  The  mistress  of  the 
ise  entertains  a  pet  monkev— fail- 
ing dl  issue  of  her  own ;  ana  I  have 
got  a  new  footman,  who,  I  understand, 
plays  upon  the  fiddle.  The  matter,  I 
suspect,  will  lie  between  diese  two. 

I  am  most  nervous  myself  about  the 
monkey.  He  broke  loose  the  other 
day.  I  saw  him  escape  over  die  next 
garden  wall,  and  drop  down  by  the 
side  of  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  who 
was  setting  polyanthuses !  The  re- 
spectable man,  as  was  prudent,  took 
refoge  in  a  summer-house ;  and  then 
he  pulled  up  all  die  polyanthuses  ; 
and  then  tried  to  get  in  at  the  sum- 
mer-house window  r  I  think  that 

Eh !— Why,  what  the  deuce  is  all 
this?— Why,  die  room  is  full  of 
smoke !— Wny,  what  the  devil— Tho- 
mas ! — r/  ring  the  bell  viotenify.^^^ 
Thomas ! — \J  caU  my  newfootmanr\ 
— Tho-o-o-mas ! — ^Why,  wfsmt  rascu 
haa  set  the  house  on  fire. 
Enter  Thomas. 

Indeed  no,  your  honour— indeed— 
no-4t— it's  only  the  chimney. 

Thechimney!  you  dog !— get  away 
this  moment  and  put  it  out. — Stay  {— 
Thomas ! — The  villain's  gone! — Come 
back,  I  say, — what  chimney  la  it  ? 

Thonuu.  Only  the  kitchen  chimney, 
air. 

Only  the  kitchen  chimney !  youraa* 
cal,  how  did  you  do  it  ? 


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Letter  Jrom  a  First^Floor  Lodger. 


S56 

ThiifnaB.  I  Was  only  tuning  my  fid« 
die,  your  honour ;  and  Mary,  house- 
maid,  flung  the  rosin  in  the  fire. 

His  fiddle !— Mr  North,  I  knew  it 
would  happen. — Where's  the  land* 
lord,  sirrah  r 

TViomas.    He's  not  at  home,  sir. 

Where's  his  wife  ? 

Thomcut.    She's  in  fits,  sir. 

You  scoundrel,  you'll  be  hanged,  to 
a  certainty ! — There's  a  statute  for  you, 
caitiff!  there  is. — Come,  sir — come — 
strip,  and  go  up  the  chimney  directly. 
— Strip !  or  I'll  kill  you  with  the  toast- 
ing fork,  and  bury  your  body  in  the 
dust-hole. 

l^Enier  the  cat,  ttnth  a  tail  as  thick 
(U  mff  arm,  gaUoping  round  the 

room.'2 

Zounds  and  death,  what's  to  be 
done? — My  life's  not  insured!— I 
must  get  out  of  the  house.  {^Rattling 
^wheels,  and  cries  of  '*-  Fire  /"  in  the 
street.'^  Oh,  the  devil !  here  comes 
the  parish  engine,  and  as  many  thievee 
with  it  as  might  serve  six  parishes ! — 
Shut  the  doors  below,  I  say.  \jCkUU 
tngdotm  siairsJl  Don't  let  'em  in. 
— ^Thomas ! — The  house  will  be  gut- 
ted from  top  to  bott6m ! — Thomas ! 
—Where  is  that  rascally  servant  of 
mine!  Thomas! — \^Callwg  in  aUdi^ 
tectums.^ — I — I  must  see,  myself. 

\^Scene  changes  to  the  kitchen,  like 
housemaid  in  hysterics  under  the 
dresser^ 

Phoob !  what  a  smell  of  sulphur ! 
—^Thomas ! — Do  your  chimneys  ever 
take  fire  in  Scotland,  Mr  Editor?— 
Thomas! — I  remember,  it  was  on  a 
Friday  I  hired  him  !— Thomas !— f/ 
Jind  him  in  the  jack^toweL^ — Take 
a  wet  blanket,  you  rascal,  and  get 
Uirough  tl)e  garret  window. — Crawl 
up  the  tiles,  you  wretch,  and  muffle 
the  chimney-pot ! 

Madam!  —  Z.'^he  landlady  clings 
round  my  neek,^ — Madam — for  Hea- 
ven's sake ! — ^There  is  no  danger,  I  as- 
sure you. — Z.She  clings  tighter J^ — Or, 
if  there  is,  we  had  letter  embrace  af- 
ter it's  over. — You'll  "  die  by  me  ?" 
^No,  no ;  not  for  the  world. — Throw 
some  pails  of  water  on  the  grate,  for 
Heaven's  sake ! — Damn  the  monkey ! 
how  he  gets  between  one's  legs !  Tho- 
mas ! — i^Tfie  tumtilt  fncrecwM.^— Tho- 
mas! 

TAomoj.— [[DotTTi  the  chimney.'2'^ 
Six! 

One  more  peep   [[/  run  vp  stairs^ 


CMtrcb, 


from  the  window. — ^Hark,  how  they 
knock  without !— Rat-Ut-tet-tat !  As 
I  live,  here  are  a  dozen  engines,  fifty 
firemen,  and  four  thousand  fools  !— 
I  must  be  off! — ^Thomas ! — [^He  en* 
ters^] — I  must  escape. — ^lliomas !  I'll 
sepulchre  you— but  not  yet. — Shew 
me  the  back-door. 

Thomas,  There  is  n<me,  sir. — I've 
been  trying  to  get  out  myself. 

No  back-door ! 

(^Enter  the  Cook,  with  the  monkey 
on  her  back.  The  knocking  con- 
tinues.^ 

Cook.  Oh  laws,  sir!  We  shall  all 
be  destructed,  sir !— Oh  laws !  where 
is  your  honour's  double-barrelled 
gun? 

My  ^n? — ^up  stairs^  What  d'ye 
want  with  the  gun  ? 

Cook,  Oh  laws,  sir  f  if  it  was  to 
be  shot  off  up  the  chimbley,  it  would 
surely  put  it  out. 

She's  right  Run,  Thomas!  At  the 
head  of  uie  bed.  Away  with  you.^ 
Mind— it's  loaded — take  care  what  you 
are  about. 

There  they  go ! — They  have  found 
it. — ^Now  tibey  aredownstairs. — ^Why, 
zounds !  the  woman  has  got  the  gun  ! 
— ^Take  it  from  her !— He  don't  hear 
me.— Thomas !— She's  going  to  fire  it, 
as  I  live! — ^Yes!  she's  sitting  down 
in  the  grate !— Thomas  ! — With  her 
body  halfway  up  the  chimney ! — Tho- 
mas ! — Death !  the  woman's  a  fiwl. — 
Bang !  bang !  [^Report  heard,^  Ah ! 
there  she  goes  backwards  !—4t's  all 
up!  Here  comes  the  soot,  in  cart-loads, 
all  over  her ! — Thomas !  you  rascal ! 
—She's  killed  !— No,  egad !  she's  up, 
and  running. — Don't  let  her  come 
near  me. — Margery!  Pshaw!  What's 
her  name? — She's  running  towards 
the  street  door !— Margery !— Why, 
she's  all  on  fire,  and  as  black  as  a  soot- 
bag  ! — ^Why,  stop  her,  I  say.— Ah  ! 
she  gets  into  the  street. — Thomas  ! — 
Margery !— Everybody !  The  woman 
will  be  burned  to  death !  {^houis 
-without,  and  noise  of  water,'^  Ha ! — 
\J[  run  to  tite  window,'^ — Huzza ! — 
The  engines  are  playing  upon  her  ! ! ! 

That  infernal  footman .'  he  is  my 
fate — and  I  thought  it  would  be  the 
monkey ! 

Enter  Thomas, 

Come  in,  you  sneaking  scoundrel. 
—Is  the  woman  burnt  ? 

Thomas.  No,  sir,— she's  only  sin- 
ged. 


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Letter  from  a  Fint^Flocr  Lodger. 


Sii^;ed !  you  fieelxebnb's  bastard  !— 
Carse  the  monkey — stop  him—^ie's 
gone  off  with  my  gold  spectacles ! 

Mr  North,  if  you  have  compassion, 
hear  a  man  of  five-and-forty's  prayer ! 
I  can't  stay  here ! — where  am  I  to  go 
to? — If  you  diould  think — Thomas! 
— I  must  giet  into  a  hackney  coach  !^- 
If  you  shcmld  think — Call  me  a  hack- 
ney coadi,  sirrah — ^and  ask  the  man 
what  he  charges  for  it  (d'ye  hear)  by 
the  week. — If  you  should  think,  Mr 
North,  that  there  is  any  chance  of  my 
doing  wdl  in  Edinburgn — I  shooldn  t 


9ft7 

like  to  be  abore  the  fifth  story,  (I  on- 
deratand  most  of  your  houses  run  ten.) 
— ^A  line,  by  return,  would  oblige  '*  a 
constant  reader."  As  I  have  no  home, 
at  present,  except  my  hackney  coach 
that  I've  sent  for,  I  can't  say  exactly 
in  what  place  of  suffering  your  letter 
will  find  me ;  but,  by  Caressing  to 
the  coffee-house  in  Rathbone  Place, 
it  will  somewhere  or  other  ocmie  to  the 
hands  of 

Your  very  humble  servant, 

WUNKLBTON  FiDGET. 


LA  MARTINe's  poetry.* 


Wb  verily  believe,  that  if  the  most 
spirited  of  periodicals  were  transplanted 
to  Paris,  our  own,  for  instance,  which, 
whatever  be  its  faults,  has,  at  kas^ 
more  vis  tfitee  than  any  other  we  have 
beard  or  read  of,  and  the  censorship 
were  repealed  in  its  favour,  it  would 
nevertheless  die  a  natural  death  befbre 
the  end  of  three  months.  No  matter 
what  kind  of  a  book  an  Englishman 
writes,  there  is  alwavs,  at  least,  food 
for  criticism  in  it ;  if  not  witty  itself, 
it  is  the  cause  of  wit  in  others ;  and 
even  if  it  be  nonsense,  it  is  idea^tir- 
ring  nonsense : — why,  our  very  Cock« 
neys  have  paradox,  originality,  oddity, 
in  the  midst  of  all  tneir  affectation 
and  absurdity,  that  could  have  well 
filled  our  pages  from  the  year  of  King 
Leigh's  accession  to  this  very  hour. 
But  we  had  more  respectable  fish  to 
fry,  than  such  sprats,  and  one  or  two 
turns  in  our  pan  dished  them  suffi- 
ciently. Now,  unfortunately  for  the 
desired  expansion  of  Ebonic  princi- 
ples, there  are  no  such  clever  asses  to 
be  met  widi  abroad.  To  Frenchmen,, 
in  particular,  nature  seems  to  have 
meted  her  gifts  in  a  goldmnith's  scales, 
and  to  have  dealt  out  talents  to  the 
nation  with  all  the  egdkte  which  it 
prayed  for  thirty  years  ago.  And  this 
not  only  in  degree,  but  kind :  for  the 
phjTsiognomies  of  French  mind  seem  to 
us  as  similar  and  undistinguishable  as 
their  faces--^ose,  whisker,  and  mous- 
tache, to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  Per« 
haps  this  dead  level,  into  which  all 
mind  subsides  in  that  country,  this 
^neral  fusion  of  all  that  is  ori^nal, 
into  all  that  is  common-place,  is  not 


to  be  altogether  attributed  to  nature* 
Nor  could  books  and  papers  produce 
it  independently  of  her,  for  no  more 
diverse  and  original  set  of  men  eves 
existed  than  ourselves,  among  whoni 
the  press  is  far  more  busy  and  effisc^ 
tive  than  in  any  other  nation  of  the 
wwrld.  Much  less  powerful  would 
conversation  be  to  produce  it,  than  the 
press,  the  former  exciting  argument, 
provoking  answers  and  difierence  of 
opinion,  whereas  the  press  is  a  deaf 
orator,  all  mouth  and  no  ears,  not 
admitting  of  instant  rejoinder.  What- 
ever be  the  cause,  the  fact  is,  that 
there  is  no  Frenchman  possessed  of 
opinions  singular  or  peculiarly  hia 
own ;  a  Frenchman  is,  morally  or  in- 
tellectually speiddng,  never  an  indi^ 
vidual,  but  one  of  a  dass — ^he  exists 
collectively  or  not  at  all.  Place  him 
in  solitude,  isolate  him ;  then  the  man 
breaks  out,  for  he  begins  to  think :  but 
when  once  he  begins  to  think,  he  ceases 
to  be  French,  his  nation  disowns  him 
— See  their  criticisms  on  Montesquieu, 
Rousseau,  De  Stael.  He  that  is  found 
guilty  of  a  new  idea,  is  a  ronumHc)  m 
fool,  a  foreigner ;  and  the  bdd  man, 
that  commits  a  single  induction,  has 
ipeo  facto  forftited  his  birthright,  and 
becomes  expatriated. 

When  we  lay  the  blame  of  such  de^ 
fecta  upon  nature,  we  do  it  metapbo* 
rirally — it  is  merely  a  mode  of  ex<* 
pressmg  that  such  and  such  thin^ 
are  80.  For  we  hold  it  rational,  in 
as  much  as  possible,  to  exonerate  no* 
tmre  from  responsibility  in  mundane 
a£&irs,  as  we  would  fate  from  the 
same   in     supramundane    concerns. 


•  Nouvelles  Meditations  Poetiques,  par  Alphonse  de  1a  Mftrtine.    Paris,  1024, 
La  Mort  de  8oarate,  par  Alphonse  de  la  Martine.     Paris,  1U24. 


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La  Martine'M  Poeity. 


916 

Whorefore,  touching  these  Frenchi 
men^  we  think  causes  vobj  be  found  in 
their  habits  and  institutions  sufficient 
to  account  for  that  respectable  medio- 
crity that  pervades  all  ranks  and  per- 
sons of  the  nation.  One  great  cause 
certainly  is  the  mode  of  education  they 
prefer,  which  is  that  of  being  tattaht 
e?ery  thing,  even  criticism,  rather 
than  learning  it  of  themselves.  What 
do  Uiey  do  in  their  coUeges  ? — read — 
No,  thev  bear  lectures.  Instead  of 
paying;  tneir  crown  for  a  volume,  and 
studying  and  examinin^its  arguments 
and  philosophy  in  their  closet,  they 
pay  twenty  times  the  sum  to  hear  the 
same  substance  delivered  in  a  course  of 
lectures,  which,  to  go  to  hear,  and 
oome  back  from,  cost  more  time  than 
would  be  sufficient  to  have  mastered 
the  original  questions  in  the  pages 
of  the  philosopher  who  first  started 
and  discussed  them.  But  study  is 
their  abhorrence ;  they  run  to  pidk  up 
the  ddmmings  of  philosophy,  mix- 
ed with  the  froth  of  modem  cant, 
fixnn  some  affected  professor,  such  as 
Villemain  or  Lacretelle,  who  talk  ex- 
tempore for  an  hour  to  them,  nomin- 
ally on  a  fixed  sulject,  but  really  de 
pmnibui  rebus  et  quibusdam  oHie, 
as  Uie  magazine  cant  of  the  day  hadi 
it  With  a  book  in  his  hand,  one  can 
Muse,  think,  contradict,  write  down 
nis  reasons  for  dissenting ;  but  in  list- 
ening to  a  man  spouting  for  an  hour 
widiout  intermission,  how  is  a  man  to 
examine,  to  reason,  to  be  convinced? 
Education  by  lecture,  then,  we  think, 
18  one  great  cause  of  French  mediocri- 
ty; it  gives  conversation,  among  a  so- 
cial people,  the  power  of  blending  and 
assimilating  all  talents— to  the  dull  it 
gives  words  and  pointed  expressions, 
while  it  anticipates  and  supersedes  the 
original  ideas  of  the  talented. 

A  great  many  other  qualities  might 
be  enumerated  as  causes  of  mediocri- 
ty with  this  nation ;  their  oontented- 
ness  and  facility  of  being  pleased ;  the 
number  and  prevalence  of  talentless 
but  respectable  works  on  criticism, 
such  as  La  Harpe  and  our  Blair ;  but 
these  are  effects  as  mudi  as  causes,  it 
being  a  very  just,  though  very  unsa- 
tiaftctory  way  of  accounting  for  these 
things,  to  say.  That  dulness  has 
been,  and  therefore  will  be.  The 
same  remark  may  extend  to  the  asser- 
tion also,  that  the  language  is  the 
great  and  most  active  cause  o£  the 
cleverness,  as  well  as  of  the  mediocri- 


[[Mardi, 


ty,  which  is  wpxetA  so  evenly  over  the 
surface  of  French  literature  and  so- 
detY, 

Without  having  even  read  Hartley, 
who  most  likely  has  anticipated  me 
assertion,  our  opinion  is,  that  words 
fettered  form  the  principal  association 
of  ideas,  not  perhaps  the  full  sounds 
themselves;  but  the  faint  echoes  which 
serve  as  olijects  of  thoi^t.  The 
great  axiom  of  association  is,  that  the 
mind  cannot  pass  from  an  intensibie 
idea  to  another  tfMeiMiMe,  but  through 
the  intervention  of  a  eensibie  one. 
Every  object  in  the  sphere  of  reflec- 
tion is  single,  isc^te,  and  unconnect- 
ed even  widi  its  opposite,  except 
through  the  sensible  matters  that  are 
substituted  for  it-— these  are  words, 
uttered  words.  This  strain  of  argu- 
ment we  shall  not  fellow  up,  inas- 
much as  it  might  fri^ten  one-eighth 
of  our  readers,  eroeoally  the  fouow- 
ers  of  that  dull  school  of  philosi^hy, 
which  flatters  itself  with  having  un- 
dermined materialism,  by  denying  the 
existence  of  ideas,  (these  folk  pun,  not 
philosophise,)  and  the  other  seven- 
eighths,  it  would  set  slumbering  in  no 
time.  Enough  be  it  for  us,  that  the 
proposition  is  experimentally  true,  at 
any  rate  with  r^^ard  to  Frenchmen, 
one  of  whom,  nay,  of  whose  mightiest 
philosophers,  never  went  deeper  in  an 
idea  than  the  little  occult  sound  of 
the  internal  ear.  Read  any  sentence 
of  a  French  author,  down  from  Mon- 
taigne exclusive,  no  matter  what  he 
be,  poet  or  philosopher,  epigramma- 
tist or  legislator,  and  you  will  see, 
that  sounds,  and  sounds  only,  have  or- 
dered it  The  whole  French  voca- 
bulary is,  in  fact,  nothing  mote  nor 
less  than  a  box  of  dominos,  blank 
must  follow  blank,  and  a  number  its 
correspondinff  one.  A  dictionary  of 
anti^eses,  afliterations,  and  other  qf" 
fectione  of  words,  one  toanother,  would 
make  any  Frenchman  that  bought 
and  read  it  an  audior ;  for  as  to  their 
reasoning,  it  is  but  the  show  of  such. 
Open  a  French  volume  of  reasoning, 
Montesquieu  himself,  and  pause  at  the 
first  pareeque,  which  would  lead  you 
to  ei^ect  a  rational  cause  for  what- 
ever is  previously  asserted;  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  we  venture  to  assert, 
.  the  only  mark  of  causation  evideniis 
in  the  commencing  letter,  or  fine  con- 
cluding cadence  of  the  words.  Why 
haven't  ^e  French  a  national  trage- 
dy ?  because  the  domino  rules  of  its 
9 


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1884.J  La  Mariw's  Foetry 

Tene  prohibit  radu  '*  Comment/' 
expkins  the  author  of  Racine  et 
Shake9peore,  "  comment  peindre  avec 
quelque  ydrit^  les  catastrophes  sang« 
lantes  narrto  par  Philippe  de  Co- 
mines^  la  chroni^ue  scandaleuse  de 
Jean  de  Troyes^  si  le  mot  piHold  ne 
pent  absolument  pas  entrer  dans  un 
vers  tragiaue?" 

But  if  the  wings  of  genins  are  dip* 
ped  by  the  restrictions  and  poverty  of 
the  French  tongue,  those  of  dulness 
are  impeded  by  its  fudUties  in  no 
small  degree*  No  one  amongst  us 
can  have  learned  to  speak  or  express 
himself  in  French,  witnout  percefving 
how  easy  it  is  to  shine  in  it,  how  na* 
turall]r>  and  of  itself>  it  runs  into  an- 


859 

Quisitions,  however  wretdied,  would 
draw  <m  diem  all  the  persecution  ne* 
oessarv  to  establish  and  keep  alive 
their  little  spark  of  fame.  Who  knows 
what  honour  might  ensue  to  the  n»» 
tion  from  the  exchange?  besides  the 
actual  gain  of  losing  bad  English  wri- 
ters, we  might  reap  the  honour  of 
having  given  birth  to  f;ood  French 
ones.  Perhaps  Hazlitt  might  turn  out 
a  Rousseau,  and  Lady  Morgan  a  De 
StaeL 

Snch  were  the  reflections  that  arose 
in  our  minds,  on  reverting  sgain  to 
existing  Frendi  literature.  Sinoe  our 
notice  of  their  living  poets  in  May  last^ 
M.  De  La  Martine  nas  published  two 
little  volumes ;  one  of  them  a  coUeetioa 
titheos,  and  pointed  apophthegm,  and  A  of  Meditations ;  the  other  on  the  Death 


how  very  important  and  discovery- 
like a  little  common  sense  looks  when 
so  clothed.  We  have  seen  very  dull 
Ensdishmen  say  very  brilliant  things 
in  the  Gallic  tongue,  and  pass  in  so- 
ciety for  the  first  time,  de  n'aiVQirpai 
fnanmU  d*eswriU  What  is  their  poetry 
or  philosophy  with  us? — below  con- 
tempt, scarce  worthy  the  translation 
of  Aaron  HilL  Look  in  our  litera- 
ture what  books  of  criticism  pass  cur- 
rent with  them ;  for  as  to  works  of 
imaginaihn,  their  great  property  is, 
like  Uie  sun,  to  reflect  the  splendour 
on  beholders,  and  to  shed  wherever 
the  rays  arise  a  nortion  of  their  en- 
livening quality.  So  taste  is  the  reflec- 
tion of  genius,  and  springs  up  before 
it,  created  by  the  object  it  is  to  ad- 
mire. The  works  of  Scott  and  Bvron 
have  created,  have  forced  a  relishing 
taste  among  these  French,  which  still 
strugg^  with  their  old,  indigenous 
ideas ;  the  eclat  o(  our  romantic  lite- 
rature, at  variance  widi  idl  their  ideas, 
has  literally  buDied  them  into  admi- 
ration. But  in  works  of  reason,  which 
have  not  Uie  power  of  those  of  imagi- 
nation, we  see  the  humble  rank  of  ta- 
lent they  are  contented  to  wordiip, 
and  our  humblest  writers  and  decent 
compilers  swell  into  importance  as 
they  pass  the  water.*  Indeed  so  con- 
vinced are  we,  how  much  the  intel- 
lectual exchange  between  fixe  two 
countries,  like .  that  of  money,  is  in 
6ur  favour,  that  we  would  stronj;- 
ly  advise  some  of  our  minor  wits 
to  transplant  themselves  to  France, 
where,  moreover,  their  political  dis- 


of  Socrates.  De  La  Vigne,  who,  we 
see,  has  been  appointed  librarian  to  the 
Dtike  of  OrlMns,  is  preparing  new 
Messeniennee  for  the  nress>  and  baa 
just  broujght  out  his  long-talked-of 
comedy  of  the  Ecok  dee  FieiUarde,  at 
the  theatre  Franfais.  It  unites  the 
powers  of  Talma  and  Mademoiselle 
Mars ;  and  has  been,  we  hear,  success- 
ful ;  but  as  it  is  not  yet  published, 
we  must  defer  an  account  of  it  till 
next  number.  As  to  Beranger,  he  has 
been  writing  a  chanson  or  two ;  but  as 
no  publisher  dare  print  them,  their 
circulation  is  confined  to  the  liberal 
circles  in  MS.  M.  Arnault,  to  be  sure, 
and  some  inferior  <a«ftsmen,  Uave, 
like  folks  of  a  similar  stamp  in  our 
own  country,  written  successful  trage- 
dies ;  that  18,  tragedies  that  linger  the 
season,  and  live  ten  representations. 
No  better  than  this  dass,  indeed,  are 
the  former  tragedies  of  De  La  Vigne  ; 
but  the  success  of  all  can  be  accounted 
for,  without  attributing  such  to  drama- 
tic genius : 

"  On  nous  objectera  le  suooesdes 
FSprea  SicUiennea,  du  Porta,  des  Ma* 
chabdee,  de  Reguiue,"  says  the  author 
of  '  Racine  et  Shakespeare,'  already 
quoted,  <^  oes  pieces  font  beauooup  de 
plaisir ;  mais  elles  ne  font  pas  un  pkA" 
eir  dramoMque.  Le  public,  qui  ne 
jouit  pas  d'ailleurs  d'une  extreme  li- 
berty, aime  k  entendre  reciter  des  sen- 
timens  g^^eux  exprimes  en  beaux 
vers.  Mais  c'est  \k  un  plaisir  ^^ique, 
et  non  pas  dramatique,  &c" 

We  have  ah-eady  noticed,  in  the  case 
of  De  La  Vigne's  Messeniennes,  that 


*  See  Cbatcanbriand's  Frefiice  to  «  Les  Martyrs.*' 
Vol.  XV.  «  L 


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S6a  La  MarHn^s  Poetry.  QMarch^ 

kind  of  poetry,  wbichfbiuid0tt6flpiiit  to  write  bod  French:  (whrnreean  there 

and  foeoesB  on  fanning  the  flame  of  po«  be  worse  than  in  Quentin  Dorward  ? 

Utical  sentiments,  as  a  proof  of  the  want  eyery  French  word  or  sentence  in  the 

of  poetical  spirit,  at  least  of  the  true,  preface  is  wrong,  qu'an  eppelleni,  as* 

ijaul  M.  De  La  Vigne  never  quits  the  siette  for  plat,  &c. )    They  may  an« 

region  of  politics,  that  his  poetry  does  swer  with  De  StaSl,  to  whom  some  one 

not  faU  straight  to  oommori-place.  La  said,  the  French  don't  own  your  lan- 

Martine  depends  on  no  such  hdps ; —  guage  for  theirs :  Tant  pU  pour  efw, 

he  is  the  lady's,  the  lover's,  the  senti*  was  the  reply, 
mentalist's  poet ;  religious  in  principle.        In  the  "  Nouyelles  Meditadons  Po- 

though  impartial  in  par^  matters.  Al->  etiques,"  the  adieu  to  the  sea  is  pret- 

though  considered  the  ultra  poet,  he  ty ;  and  "  Le  Poete  Mouranf  contains 

can  lulmire  Napoleon ;  and  M.  Cou-  many  beautiful  passages ;  but  the  piece 

dns,  and  his  independent  fortune,  en-  most  interesting  to  our  readers,  is  his 

abloi  him  to  follow  his  own  ideas  with  Ode  to  Buonaparte.    That  witty  ama* 

impunity  and  without  bias.      The  teur,  impious  writer,  and  wretched 

French  critics  declare,  that  the  new  critic,  M.  De  Hendhall,  in  his  Life  of 

Meditationsarenotsowell  written;  that  Rossini,   lately  published,  compares 

is,  not  so  good  Fren<&  as  the  first ;  that  this  ode  of  La  Martine's  with  Bjiron's 

they  are  growing  terribly  puerile  in  EngU^,  and  Manzohi's  Italian,  on  the 

style ;  andthey  have  scarce  a  writer  of  same  subject :  he  fMrefers  Mauioni's — 

any  talent  whom  they  do  not  accuse  of  about  the  most  wretched,  flat,  common- 

bemg  iffuoraut  of  their  native  tongue,  place  ode  that  even  Italy  ever  produ- 

Bavle  ^De  HendhalH  is  said  to  write  ced ;  unworthy,  indeed,  of  Manzoni, 

bad  French,  and  M.^mond  infamous:  the  author  of  **  CarmagnoUa."    We 

it  is  the  fashion  eyerjrwhere,  indeed,  give  the  better  part  of  Martine's: 

"  Sur  un  ^cueil  battu  par  la  vague  plaintive 
Le  nautonnier  de  loin  voit  blanchir  sur  la  rive, 
Un  tombeau  pr^  du  bord,  par  le  flots  d^os^ ; 
Le  temps  n'a  pas  encore  bnmi  I'etroite  pierre, 
£t  sous  le  vert  tissu  de  la  ronce  et  du  l&rre. 

On  distingue  . . .  un  sceptre  bris^ ! 

'^  Id  g^  . . .  point  de  nom !  . . .  .  demandei  k  la  tene 

Ce  nom  ?  il  est  inscrit  en  wangiant  caract^e, 

Des  herds  du  TanaVs  au  sommet  du  C^ar, 

Sur  le  bronze  et  le  marbre,  et  sur  le  sein  des  braves, 

*  Et  jusque  dans  le  coeur  de  ces  troupeaux  d'esdavea, 

Qu'il  fouloit  tremUants  sous  son  char. 

"  Depuis  ces  deux  grands  noms  qu'un  si^de  au  mMe  annonoe. 
Jamais  nom  qu'id  has  toute  langue  prononce 
Sur  Taile  de  ut  foudre  ausd  loin  ne  vola. 
Jamais  d'aucun  mortd  le  pied  qu'un  souffle  effltoe, 
N'  imprima  sur  la  terre  une  plus  forte  tnce, 
£t  ce  pied  s'est  arr#t^  la ! 

''^  n  est  la  f  ...  soils  trois  pas  un  enfimt  le  mesure  ! 
Son  ombre  ne  rend  pas  mime  un  l^er  murmure ! 
Le  pied  d'un  ennemi  fbule  en  paix  son  cercueil ! 
Sur  ce  ftoni  foudroyant  le  mouchenm  bourdonne, 
Et  son  ombre  n'entend  que  le  bruit  monotone, 

D'une  vague  contre  un  ^dl ! 

^^  Ke  crains  pas,  cependant,  ombre  encor  inquire. 
Que  je  vienne  outrager  ta  migest^  muette ! 
Non,  la  lyre  aux  tombeaux  n'a  jamais  insult^. 
La  mort  hi  de  tout  temps  la'asUe  de  k  gloire 

•  Rien  ne  doit  jusqu'  id  poursuivre  une  memoire. 

Rien !  .  . , .  excepts  la  verity  ! 


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^  Ti  tombe  et  ton  beroeaa  sont  oouverti  d'nn  iraage, 
Mais  pareil  k  Yidur  tu  sortis  d'un  onge, 
Ta  foodroyBS  le  monde  avant  d'aToir  on  Dom ! 
Tel  oe  Nil  dont  Memphis  Iwit  les  TSgves  ii^oondes, 
Annt  d'etre  nomm^  fait  bcmiUotmer  see  ondet 
Aux  solitudes  de  Mernnon. 

'^  Les  dieoz  ^toient  tomb^  les  tr6nes  ^toient  ndm^ 
La  victoire  te  prit  sur  ses  aOes  rapides, 
D'un  peuple  de  Brutus  la  gloire  te  flt  roi ! 
Ce  si^e  dont  reeuroe  entrainoit  dans  sa  ooitfse 
Lea  moran,  les  rob,  les  dienx  . « •  refool^  Ters  sa  sonrce, 
Recvla  d'un  pas  devant  tm ! 

Tu  eombatlb  I'erreur  sans  regarder  le  nombre : 
Pkreil  au  fler  Jacob  tu  luttas  contre  on  ombre  1 
Le  fantome  aoak  sous  le  poids  d'un  ttortel ! 
Et  de  tons  ces  grands  noms  prodbnatemr  sublime 
Tu  jouas  arec  eux,  comme  la  main  du  crime 
Ayee  lei  vases  de  I'aatd^ 


''  Gloire  f  honnenr !  liberty !  oes  mots  que  lliomme  adore 
Retendssoient  pour  toi  oomme  I'aindn  sonote 
Dont  un  stufMoe  ^o  rep^  au  k»n  le  sod  1 
De  cette  lan^ue,  en  vain  ton  oreille  frapp^, 
Ne  comprit  ici  bas  que  le  cri  de  Tepee, 

£t  le  mide  accord  du  daitdn  ! 

"  Superbe,  et  d^klaignant  oe  que  la  terre  admire 
Tu  ne  deroandois  rien  au  mcmde,  que  Tempire  I 
Tu  marchois ! . . . .  tout  d)stade  ^toit  ton  ennemi ! 
Ta  Tolont^  voloit  comme  ce  trait  raolde 
Qui  va  firapper  le  but  ou  le  regard  le  guide, 

Memo  ^  timversun  ooeur  ami ! 

"  Jamais,  pour  edairdr  ta  royale  tristesse 

La  coupe  oes  festins  ne  te  versa  I'ivresse ; 

Tes  yeux  d'une  autre  pourpre  almoient  k  s'enivrer ! 

Comme  uu  soldat  debout  qui  veille  sous  les  armcs, 

Tu  vis  de  la  beauts  le  sourire  ou  les  larmes. 

Sans  sourire  et  sans  soopiier  J 

"  Tu  n'aimois  one  le  bruit  du  fer,  le  qri  d'alarmes ! 
L'eclat  resplendissant  de  Taube  sur  les  armes  1 
£t  ta  main  ne  flattoit  que  ton  l^;er  ooursier, 
Quand  les  flots  ondoyants  de  sa  pftle  criniere 
SiUonnoient  oomme  un  vent,  la  sanglante  poussi^, 
£t  que  ses  pieds  brisoient  Tasier  1 

''  Tu  ffrandis  sans  plaisir,  tu  tombas  sans  mormwe ! 
Rien  d'humain  ne  battoit  sous  ton  ^paisse  armitfe; 
Sans  baine  et  sana  amour,*  tu  vivois  pour  penser ! 
Comme  Taigle  regnant  dans  un  del  solitaire!, 
Tu  n'avois  qu'un  regurd  nour  mesurer  la  terre 

£t  des  serres  pour  I'embrBBser  1  <  . 

The  other  poem  of  LaJdartine's,  on  the  Death  of  Socrates,  is  a  £dl  indeed, 
being  but  a  wretched  paraphrase  of  the  Phedo  of  Plato,  to  which  he  seems  to 
have  been  unfortunately  tempted  by  Coudne's  transbtion  of  the  Greek  piiiloso- 
pher,  just  publnhed. 


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909  DeUm^s  New  Comedy  and  Meuemennes, 

DBLAVIGNB^fl  NSW  COMEDY  AND  MESS£NIENN£S.* 


CMart^, 


lets  lodgings  to  the  new-married  cou- 
ple, giyes  some  cause  of  jealoosy  to 
the  husband,  which,  as  the  piece  is  a 
comedy,  is  of  course  cleared  up.  The 
three  first  acts  of  die  play,  and  in- 
deed the  fifth,  are  remaricably  stupid, 
but  the  fourth  contains  one  or  two 
scenes  of  passion,  superior  to  any- 
thii^  of  the  kind,  I  haye  witnessed^ 
eyen  in  Frendi  tragedy.  Ill  giye  you 
one  short  specimen ; — the  dv£d  is  hid- 
den in  a  closet,  and  the  husband,  aa 
soon  as  his  wife  disappears,  calls  him 
forth,  giyes  yent  to  his  pasaiona^  and 
challenges  him* 


I  SAW  Talma  and  Mademoiselle 
Mars,  last  night,  in  Casimir  Dela- 
yigne's  new  comedy,  at  which  my  fair 
friends  wept  abunoantly.  It  was  the 
work  of  a  month  to  engage  a  place, 
and  of  an  hour  to  get  in,  and  the  piece 
has  altc»ether  made  such  a  noise,  that 
it  is  weU  worth  yours  and  your  read- 
er's whiles  hearing  about  it.  The 
^'  Eeole  dee  VmUaide,"  or  the  school 
for  old  men,  as  it  is  entitled,  is  found- 
ed on  the  yery  trite  subject  of  an  old 
gentleman  with  a  young  wife,  who 
goes  through 'the  usual  routine  in 
such  cases  of  expense,  flirtation,  &c. 
A  certain  duke,  who^  ^  la  Fran^me^ 

Z>  Duo.      '^  Cette  lutte  entre  nous  ne  saurait  etre  ^gale, 

Danville*        Entre  nous  yotre  i<\jure  a  combl^  Tintcryalle  ; 
L'aggresseur,  q^el  qu'il  soit,  k  combattre  forc^^ 
Reoescend  par  roflfense  au  rang  de  Tofifense. 

Le  Duo.        De  quel  rang  paries  yous  ?  Si  mon  honneur  balance^ 
C'est  pour  yos  cheyeux  blancs  qu'il  se  fidt  yioleuce. 

Danville*       Vous  auries  du  les  yoir  ayant  de  m'outrager, 

Vous  ne  le  pouyez  plus  quand  je  yeux  les  yenger. 

Le  Due*        Je  serais  rioicule  et  yous  series  yictime. 

Danville*       Le  ridicule  cesse  oil  commence  le  crime, 

£t  yous  le  commetrez ;  c'est  yotre  ch&timent 

Ah  !  yous  croyez,  messieurs,  qu'on  pent  impun^ent, 

Masquant  ses  rils  desseins  d'un  air  de  badinage, 

Attenter  k  la  paix,  au  bonheur  d'un  manage. 

On  se  oroyait  l^;er,  on  derient  eriminel : 

La  mort  d'un  honn^  homme  est  un  pdds  ^temel. 

Ou  yainoueur,  ou  yaincu,  moi,  ce  combat  m'honore^ 

II  yous  fletrit  yaincu,  mais  yainoueur  plus  encore  ; 

Votre  honneur  y  mourra ;  Je  s^s  tnm  qu'a  Paris, 

Le  monde  est  sans  piti^  pour  le  sort  aes  maris; 

Mais  d^  que  leur  sang  coule,  on  ne  rit  plus,  on  Mime^ 

Vous  ridicme }  non,  non ;  yous  serea  inftoe  \ 


T^dma  is  greatly  admired  by  the 
Frendi  in  the  character  of  Danyule— 
I  cannot  agree  with  them.  Not 
but  that  he  acts  it  well,  and  repre- 
sents no  doubt  to  the  life,  a  modem 
French  gentleman,  through  the  diffe- 
rent emotions  of  rage,  loye,  &e*  which 
occur  in  the  oomedy.  But  thinking, 
as  an  Englishman  must,  ^e  yery  ori- 
ginal Frenchman  monstrousridioulous, 
whoi  under  the  influence  of  dieir 
passions,  the  actor  who  imitates  him 
must  appear  much  more  so.  There 
is  such  a  want  of  dignity  and  man- 
hood in  a  Frenchman  moved,  that 


to  sympathize  with  him  is  impossible^. 
The  wriggling  and  twisting,  for  it 
does  not  amount  to  agitation,  of  his 
head,  legs,  and  arms,  by  which  he  en- 
deayours  to  express  his  emotion,  re- 
sembles far  more  the  action  of  a  mon- 
key than  a  man.  He  is  on  wires—hia 
rage  is  expressed  by  trembling,  and  his 
feeling  by  the  fidgets.  The  awful 
calm  of  suppressed  passion,  or  its  mo- 
mentous and  jpassiDg  burst,  wh«i  it 
oyerpowers  all  check,  are  quite  un- 
known to  him.  Such  is  the  nation, 
and  an  actor  cannot  go  elsewhere  for 
a  model,  than  to  his  countrymen,  the 


♦  I/Bcole  det  Vieillard«,  Comedie  par  M.  Casimir  I>elaT%ne,  Pteii,  18«3. 
Trois  Messeniennes  Nouyelles  par  la  meme  Autenr,  Park,  1884 


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Dekwign^M  New  Comeitf  and  Meatnknn/Bi. 


living  typeH  of  nature^ 
their  acoeptation  and  taste.  And 
is  the  grieat  cause  why  the  French 
have  no  national  drama^  none  found- 
ed on  modem  manners  and  feelings  ; 
they  feel  and  are  convinced,  that  any 
representation  of  modem  life,  in  fact, 
of  Frenchmen  as  they  are,  could  never 
by  the  best  of  comedians  be  made 
heroic,  sublime,  or  anything  but  ridi« 
cnlous;  and  hence  it  is,  that  their 
dramatic  ideal  is  that  of  antiquity,  of 
Greece  and  Rome.  On  those  stilts  a 
tragedian  must  give  up  the  wrigglings, 
the  tremblings,  and  the  wiry  action, 
on  which  he,  being  a  Frenchman,  forms 
his  natural  action — as  Cssar,  or  Adiil- 
les,  he  cannot  condescend  to  thepet^ 
habits  even  of  a  French' hero.  This  is 
the  great  excellence  of  Tahna  in  tra- 
gedy—that  he  has  little  or  none  of  the 
monkeyishness  of  his  country.  True, 
he  has  some,  such  as  bringii^  his 
hand  to  the  level  of  his  face,  anf  sha- 
king  it  there  like  a  dredgin^-box ; 
his  other  great  peculiarity,  that  of 
flinging  his  two  united  hands  over  his 
left  shoulder,  which  seems  so  very 
odd  to  us,  is  not  little,  but  rather  a 
bold  and  free  action.  However,  the 
peat  merit  of  Talma  is,  that  of  all 
French  actors,  he  is  the  least  a  French- 
man on  die  stage.  The  same  merit 
had  Kemble  (and  Kean  has  not)  in 
Roman  character,  of  not  bdng  Eng- 
lish ;  the  actor  of  a  classic  character 
should  be  almimet  in  his  manner,  but 
nevertheless,  this  excellence  is  so  far 
from  being  a  beauty  to  us,  that,  as 
classic  characters  cannot bewell played 
without  it,  so  much  do  we  dlshke  it, 
that  we  had  rather  never  behold  one 
of  them  upon  the  stage. 

For  the  above  reasons,  both  the 
French  drama  and  comedians  are  abo- 
minable, when  off  thehr  stilts— their 
ideal  of  poetry  and  acting  is  reduced 
to  that  of  modem  France.  So  that  it 
is  difficult  to  decide  which  is  more 
stupid  and  ridiculous— a  serious  French 
comedy,  or  Talma  in  one.  There  is 
a  pleasure,  to  be  sure,  to  be  derived 
fixnn  hearing  tound  ethics  and  liberal 
principles  well  declaimed  from  the 
stase.  '<  Mais  c'est  Ik,"  observes  the 
author  of  Hacine  ei  Shakespeare, 
*'  un  plaisfar  ^que,  et  non  pas  dra- 
matique.  II  n'y  jamais  ce  d^^  d'il- 
losion  necessaire  k  une  ^notion  pro- 
fimde."  The  same  author  proceeds  to 
ttate  the  reasons,  whidi  we  have  quo- 


963 

ted  in  the  preceding  artide,  fp.  959,) 
why  the  French  dudUc  crowa  to  hear 
and  to  admhre  plays,  which,  in  any 
other  part  of  the  worlds  would  aet  an 
audience  asleep. 

So  much  for  this  new  comedy,  in 
which,  bv  the  by,  the  acting  of  Ma- 
demoiselle Mars  strack  me  much  more 
than  that  of  Talma.  Thev  never,  I 
believe,  acted  before  together.  The 
conclusion,  fWym  seeing  Uiem  so  in 
this,  is,  that  the  oomduan  possesses 
&r  greater  tragic  powers  than  the  tra- 
gedian does  comic 

Mr  Delavigne  has,  since  the  appear- 
ance of  his  comedy,  published  another 
volume  of  **  Mlesseniennes" — moret 
last  words.  And  these  last  are  the 
dullest  of  the  three. 

The  first  of  this  new  Number  is, 
very  poor,  and  is  an  address  £rom  Tyr- 
tens  to  the  Greeks.  The  second  is  the 
voyage  of  a  young  Greek,  who  traver- 
ses Europe  in  seourch  of  Liberty  :— 

^*  A  Naple,  il  tioava  ton  idole 
Qui  tremblatt  on  g)aive  a  la  main  ; 
n  vit  Rome,  et  pas  un  Romain 
Snr  les  debris  du  Capitole ! 

^  A  Vienne,  il  anprit  dam  les  rangt 
Des  oppresseors  at  TAusonie* 
Qae  le  suoc^  change  en  tyrans 
Les  vainqaeurt  de  la  tyxannie. 

((  H  trouva  les  An^ajs  tzop  fiers  i 

Albion  se  dit  magnanims ; 

Des  nobs  eOe  a  hnU  les  fers, 

£t  oe  8ont  les  blancs  qa*elle  oppiime.** 

The  third  is  to  Buonaparte.  Thia 
has  been  a  fair  suliject  for  emulation 
among  the  poets  of  Europe.  You 
have  before  given  an  account  of  Mr 
La  Martine's  ode.  Mr  De  Hendhall, 
in  the  rigmarol,  impious,  but  witty 
life,  whidn  he  has  lately  given  of  Ros- 
sini, compares  Byron's  Ode,  that  of 
La  Martine,  and  an  Italian  one  by 
Manzoni,  the  author  of  "  Carmagno- 
la,"  together,  and  gives  the  palm  to 
Manzoni.  M.  De  Hendhall  is  a  block- 
head in  criticism,  and  Manzoni's  ode 
about  the  dullest  that  ever  Italy,  that 
land  of  wretched  versifiers,  ever  pro- 
duced. Let  me  give  you  some  extracta 
from  Delavign^s.  After  an  intro- 
duction, spirited  enough,  Buonaparte 
is  repesoited,  like  Manfred,  visited 
by  tfcree  sister  spirits,  who  are,  it 
seems,  his  destinies  at  the  three  dif- 
ferent periods  of  his  life.  They  succeed 
one  another,  each  addressing  him ; 


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904  JMauign^i  Nno  Comedy  md  Miiseitienhe9,  QMtfdl, 

^'  Pwavre  et  tans  omemens^  belle  de  ses  haute  fidto. 
La  premiere  semblait  une  yierge  Romaine 

Dont  le  del  a  bruni  les  traita. 

Le  fh)nt  oeint  d'un  rameau  de  cbene, 
EUe  appn^ait  son  bras  aur  un  drapeau  Fran^aia. 
II  rappehit  tin  jour  d'^temelle  ni^moire ; 
Trois  couleura  rayonnaieat  sur  aes  lainbeaux  aaer^ 
Par  la  foudre  noircia,  poudreux  et  d^hir^, 

Maia  dechir^  par  la  vietoire. 

'^  Je  t'ai  connu  aoldat ;  aalut:  te  vmik  roi. 

De  Marengo  la  terrible  jonm^ 
Dana  tea  fastea,  dit-elle^  a  pris  place  apr^  moi ; 
Salut ;  je  auia  aa  aceor  ain^e. 

*'  Je  te  guidaia  au  premier  rang ; 
Je  prot^geai  ta  oourae  et  dictai  ta  parole 
Quiramena  dea  tiena  le  courage  expiranty 

Lorsqae  la  mart  te  vit  si  grand^ 
Qu'elle  te  reapecta  boob  lea  ^n^va  d'Anwle. 

"  Tu  cbangeaa  men  drapeau  contre  uu  aoeptre  d'airain : 
Tremble,  je  vois  p4]ir  ton  4toHt  ^ctips^. 
La  force  eat  aana  appni,  du  jour  qu'elle  eat  aana  frein. 
Adieu,  ton  r^e  expire  et  ta  gbire  eat  paaa^" 

The  aeoond  i^nrit, 

'  "  unissait  anx  palmea  dea  d^aerta 

Lea  ddpOiuilles  d'Alexandrie. ' 

*'  La  demi^re^o  pitie,  dea  fers  chargeaint  aea  bras  !"  &c. 

Loin  d'elle  lea  tr^ra  qui  parent  la  conquete, 
Et  Tappareil  dea  drapeaux  priaonniera ) 
Mais  dea  cypres,  beaux  comme  dea  lauriera. 

De  leur  sombre  couronne  environnaient  aa  tete.' 

Such  are  hia  visions  !  But  aaka  and  answers  ihe poet,  "  Ou  a'est-il  reveille?" 

**  Seul  et  sur  un  rocher  d'ou  sa  vie  importune 
Troublait  encore  lea  rois  d'une  terreur  commune^ 
Du  fond  de  son  exil  encor  pr^nt  partout. 
Grand  comme  son  malheur,  d^tron^,  maia  debout 
Sur  lea  d^ris  de  sa  fortune." 

This,  in  any  language,  is  fine  poetry,  nor  can  the  poem  of  Byron  hina^, 
on  the  same  aulgect,  excel  it. 


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John  HaU  and  Ms  Wife.    A  8kekk. 


265 


JOHN  HALL  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

A  Sketch. 


Had  I  not  been  brought  up  at  K , 

I  should  probably  hare  laugned,  when^ 
many  vears  afterwards,  I  saw  the  sign 
of  ^'  the  ^ood  woman/'— quasi,  "  the 
woman  without  a  head."  But  *'  out- 
stretched/' as  I  had  been,  '*  upon  the 
rack  of  this  tough  world,"  I  had  not 
forgotten  the  days  of  mv  childishness 
80  much  as  to  give  into  tne  ill-natured 
jeer  of  this  misogynist  of  a  tapster. 
I  knew  and  felt  it  to  be  an  outrageous 
libel  upon  the  sex ;  I  had  seen  with 
mine  own  eyes,  and  heard  with  mine 
own  ears ;  and  I  hereby  affirm,  all  as* 
aertions  whatsoever  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding,  that  there  is,  or  ra- 
ther was,  (for  '^rest  her  soul,  she  is 
dead,")  one  good  woman  in  the  world. 

Next  door  to  the  cottage  where  I 
was  nurtured,  and  of  which  he  was 
the  landlord,  lived  John  Hall  and  his 
wife.  I  shall  not  readily  forget  them, 
for  besides,  as  I  have  already  said,  be- 
ing our  landlord,  he  was  to  me,  the 
•onrce  of  many  a  childish  pleasure, 
and,  at  times,  the  awe-strinng  dis- 
penser of  many  a  childish  fear.  He 
was  at  once  a  sort  of  governor  and  be- 
nefkctor.  Although  our  houses  were 
separate,  the  little  garden  in  front  was 
one,  and  when  I  was  allowed  to  run 
or  to  pull  a  flower  on  the  nether  side  of 
the  row  of  *^  nasturtium,"  that  sepa- 
rated his  part  from  "  ours,"  my  feli- 
city was  complete.  It  was  he  who  al- 
lotted me  my  little  garden  behind, 
who  gave  me  bricks  for  my  rabbit- 
house,  and  a  cord  for  my  swing;  it 
was  he  whose  voice  struck  terror  into 
me  when  I  had  mis-aimed  a  stone, 
broken  a  rail,  or  left  open  a  gate — ^but 
where  am  I  wandering  ? 

He,  as  I  said,  Kved  next  door  to  us, 
with  his  wife,  who  was  his  second, 
(and  well  it  was  she  was  so,  for  who 
could  have  been  second  to  her?  )  and  an 
unmarried  daughter  by  a  former  mar- 
ria^;  for  P^^  Hall  had  no  children 
Kvm^  as  if  nite  and  nature  were  de- 
termined 

*'  to  leave  the  world  no  copy." 
To  her  daughter-in-law,  however,  she 
was  kind— reasonably  kind.  I  say 
•*  reasonably  kind,"  because  her  kindU 
neas,  here,  nowever  kind,  was  still  no- 
ting comjpared  to  that  she  bore  for  heir 
husband,  in  whom  she  was  wrapped, 
^  shut  up,  in  measureless  content" 

John  was  derk  of  the  pexish ;  and 


besides,  being  now  seventy  years  of 
age  and  no  despicable  stone-mason,  ho 
supplied  all  the  parish  with  gravestones^ 
epitaphs  and  all  (such  waa  his  scholar- 
snip),  and  had  amassed  together  by 
his  crafts,  money  enough  to  make  him 
architect  and  owner  of  a  good  manj 
cottages  in  the  village.  He  was  thus, 
being  a  man  of  consequence,  generally 
known  by  the  name  of '^  the  captain 
— as  how  ?  "  marry  tropically,"  being 
the  commander  of  others,  though  not 
in  a  military  sense.  There  was,  how- 
ever, an  air  o€  supericn'  respectability 
about  him — a  sort  of  reverend  autho- 
rity in  his  face.  He  had  been  success- 
ful in  life,  and  was  looked  up  to  bf 
his  neighbours,  notwithstanding  some 
certain  deviations  of  the  flesh  and  the 
devil,  from  which  neither  his  prudence 
nor  his  semi-clerical  capacity  exempt^ 
ed  him.  John  liked  a  "  chemiil  glass, 
albeit,  not  wisely,  but  too  well."  He 
was  no  hypocrite  either ;  and  the  aus- 
terity whicn,  in  his  countenance,  con- 
cealed for  the  most  part  a  vein  of  dry 
humour,  arose  more  from  that  keen- 
ness which  always  looks  steadily  at  the 
main  chance,  than  fhmi  any  feelings 
of  the  *^  rigidly  righteous"  sort.  John 
never  pretended  to  be  of  what  Bums 
calls  the  ^*  unco  guid." 

His  wife  was  some  years  younger 
than  he.  She  had  been  what,  in  the 
north,  is  called  ^  a  sonsie  lass,"  and 
was  of  respectable  parentage  and  edu- 
cation, as  such  things  go  in  the  coun- 
try. She  still  retained,  and  did  to  the 
last,  though  the  hue  was  broken  on 
her  cheek,  that  florid  freshness  whidi 
rustics  admire  so  much — probably  be- 
cause they  have  it — and  which  the 
genteel  tnink  vulgar — {nrobably  be- 
cause they  have  it  not.  Moreover,  sht 
was  tall,  and  had  ''  money  in  her 
purse."  John  had  met  witfi  her,  a 
gay  widower,  but "  whose  means  were 
still  in  supposition."  He  came,  saw, 
and  conquered.  Her  envious  friends 
opposed  every  bar  to  the  match.  Per- 
haps they  were  not  over  nice  in  the 
execution  of  this  species  of  preventive 
service.    Be  it  as  it  might, 

«^  Widi  love*t  light  wingi  he  did  o*eN 
perch  theio  walls,** 

and  one  flne  Sunday  morning  bore  her 
ofi^behind  him  on  a  pillion  in  triumph 
to  Kirk-W— n.    They  went  on  and 


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966 

prospered,  and  settled  at  last  in  the 
Tillage  of  K . 

She  was  the  para^n  of  wives— 
homeljy  unafieeted — invaliiable.  Me- 
thinks  I  see  her  now ;  her  unceasing 
care  of  the  household  aflSdrs;  her 
pride  in  the  huge  shelves  of  well- 
scoured  pewter  plates  and  dishes, 
whose  brightness  was  an  emblem  of 
her  virtues.  How  her  eye  followed 
her  husband  when  he  moved  1  how 
her  ear  drank  in  his  words  when  he 
spoke !  Even  when  busiest,  and  when 
not  addressed,  die  would  half  pause, 
without  absolutely  stopping,  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice.  I  knew  not  how 
ii  was — ^but  her  manner  of  listening 
and  attending  to  him  was  as  different 
from  the  attention  she  bestowed  upon 
•ther  interlocutors,  as  one  thing  can  be 
from  another,  and  yet  to  everv  speaker 
ahe  was  most  attentive.  Had  John 
uttered  oracles  ss  fast  as  he  sometimes 
uttered  oaths,  (but  this  was  oidv  some- 
times,) die  could  not  have  listened 
with  more  intense  and  enchained  in- 
terest He  was  the  god  of  her  idola- 
try— ^the  focus,  into  which  seemed  to 
be  condensed,  in  one  bright  ray,  all 
her  pleasures,  her  cares,  her  hopes, 
her  teaxs,  on  this  side  the  srave. 

It  was  {feasant  to  see  the  old  man 
on  a  Sabbath  morning, — for  then  he 
was  the  greatest, — ^preparing  to  set  out 
for  the  church  (which  was  at  some 
distance)  where  he  performed  hb  de- 
lieal  duties.  He  had,  latterly,  grown 
stiff  with  age  and  rheumatism,  and 
was  unable  to  walk  the  whole  distance 
there  and  back  again.  For  this,  in- 
deed, when  a  funeral  peculiarly  large, 
or  a  wedding  particularly  riotous  oc- 
curred, there  might  peradventure  be 
sometimes  more  reasons  than  on«. 
However,  for  his  perfect  ease,  in  anv 
contingency,  he  k^it  a  strong  as8,which 
was  tethered  through  the  summer  in 
a  comer  of  the  m^ow,  and  in  the 
winter  shared  the  byre  with  the  cow. 
I  used  sometimes  to  think  that  Peggy 
seemed  as  if  she  felt  that  Billy,  meri- 
torious animal  as  he  was,  did  not  move 
so  stately  as  he  might  or  ought  to  have 
done,  considering  what  a  freightage 
he  bore.  To  have  pleased  her  fond 
fancy,  he  should  have  curvetted  like 
"  Roan  Barbary," 
**  As  proadlv  at  he  did  ditdain  the  ground.'* 

His  equipments  were  ss  nice  as  his 
master^s,  and  as  strictly  attended  to. 
There  he  stood  at '^  the  mount,  with 
his  well-stuffed   saddle,  and  bridle 


JcknUaU  and  hiM  Wife.    A  Sketch.  CManfa, 

dean  and  neat,  waiting  for  the  old 
man,  with  his  bLick  Isppetted  waist- 
coat, his  dark-blue  coat,  with  large 
bbck  horn  buttons,  and  his  dark-grey 
worsted  l^;gins,  pulled  up  and  strap- 
ped, and  bucklea  comf(»tably  round 
his  thighs.  His  sour  on  one  heel,  his . 
switch  m  his  hana,  and  his  venerable 
white  hair  neatlv  combed  under  his 
carefttlly-brushea  low-crowned  hat; 
his  grandson  waiting  with  a  rose  in 
his  breast  and  another  in  his  hand, 
chosen  from  the  tall  white-rose  bush 
by  the  garden  gate.  His  daughter 
Bett^  and  his  wile  had  alternately  the 
felicitv  of  attending  him ;  but  whe« 
ther  sne  went  or  staad,  who  so  h^^ 
as  Peggy  on  a  Sunday  morning  I  if 
she  went,  there  was  John, 

'^  The  cynosare  of  neighbouring  cyet,*' 
in  his  place  of  honour;  if  she  staid« 
there  was  his  repast  to  be  provided 
when  he  returned.  The  pot  was  to  be 
boiled  and  replenished  with  the  ioint 
of  mutton  ana  the  dumplings,  and  the 
kale  thickened  with  bu'le3r,  cabba^, 
celery,  carrots,  and  leeks,  with  the  tiny 
leaves  of  the  marigold  and  ^yme 
floating  on  its  tempting  surface.  Tnere 
was  ever  a  porringer  ready  for  me, 
(when  shall  I  fare  so  again  ?)  when 
wearied,  perhaps,  with  pursumg  the 
butterflies  all  Uie  hot  summer  forenoon 
through  the  garden,  or  escaping  from 
an  occasional  dragon  fly,  whidi,  to  our 
childish  fandes,  (we  cafied  them  '^fly- 
ing adders,")  were  next  in  terror  to 
the  Lambton  worm,  or  that  of  Laidley. 
Her  grandson  wbb  my  first  friend,  and 
she  was  attached  to  me  as  his  compa- 
nion ;  nor  will  her  homelv  but  afiec- 
tionate  "  weel's  m'on  thee ! '  ever  away 
fit>m  my  memory.    Happy  days ! 

John  sometimes  got  nome  m  good 
time,  and  sometimes  not  If  the  firing 
of  multitudinous  guns  over  the  bride's 
head  announced  a  riotous  wedding,  the 
exdtement  was  often  continued  till 
night.  But  after  a  common  Sunday's 
duty  they  would  generaUy  go,  on  a 
fine  summer  afternoon,  to  sit  in  a  sort 
of  paddock  or  pleasure  garden,  which 
John  had  hedged  off  from  the  larger 
garden,  in  a  corner  of  the  fidd.  It  fiid 
a  willow  arbour,  with  a  seat,  and  was 
planted  with  such  flowers,  herbs,  and 
■'odoriibrous  shrubs,  as  our  rude  North- 
umbrian climate  can  be  brought  to  to- 
lerate. It  was  commonly  known  bv 
the  name  of  the  "  Captam's  Folly ; ' 
and  some  envious  tongues  would  not 
hesitate  to  hint,  that  it  was  indeed 
2 


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1994.^  John  HaU  and  his 

asmeihiilg  of  a  fboFs  paradise.  To 
Vtm  it  was  the  third,  nay,  the  s&- 
Tenth  heaven,  if  there  be  seven.  It 
was  something  beyond  a  paradise, 
inasmuch  as  we  thought  him  who 

Snted  it  more  perfect  than  Adam  was 
ore  he  fell ;  for  in  Peggy's  esteem 
John  could  not  fall.    She  %ould  give 
you  a  rose  or  a  bit  of  sweet-brier  out 
of  it,  as  if  it  were  the  blessed  amaranth 
that  adorns  the  eternal  bowers.  There 
they  would  sometimes  sit  with  their 
daughter,  their  grandson,  and  myself, 
and  John,  after  telling  who  was  and 
was  not  at  ^urdi,  worthy  or  unwor- 
thy of  note,  parishioners  or  strangers, 
would  hirply  repeat  the  text,  and  soUfa 
over  the  Psalms  he  had  selected  for  the 
dav — ^for  John  was  vain  of  his  know- 
ledge and  taste  in  Psalmody,  which 
he  thought  imequalled,  and  his  wife 
« miraculous.    He  had  been  a  musicant 
in  his  youth,  and  would  still  at  times 
condescend  to  favour  one  with  a  tune 
on  the  old  English  flute.    Peggy  used 
sometimes  to  venture  hesitatingly  to 
ask  him  to  play  **  Roslin  Castle,"  (as 
be  used  to  play  it  her,)  with  a  full 
persuasion  that  it  must  strike  every 
nearer,  as  it  did  her,  vnth  rapture,  un- 
surpassed since  the  days  of  CoreUi  or 
Master  Henry  Lawes — though  I  pro- 
test, before  heaven,  that,  with  an  in- 
differently fair  natural  ear,  I  never 
(through  the  many  stops  and  pauses 
the  old  man  was  obliged  to  make) 
could  piece  out  the  tune.    But  then  I 
was  not  his  wife. 

All  John's  evenings,  however,  were 
not  spent  in  this  way.  He  had  a  trick 
of  what  he  called  "  going  to  the  head 
of  the  town,"  a  movement  which^ 
when  it  was  effected,  his  wife,  too, 
designated  to  all  inquirers,  by  saying 
he  was  gpne  to  the  *^  haaa  of  the 
I."    This 


the  neighbours'  used 
to  say,  "  Poor  man,  was  his  worst 
fault  Perhaps  it  might.  I,  for  my 
part,  never  went  into  the  question, 
and  his  wife  never  would  admit  that 
he  had  any  fisiult — so  the  proof  was 
lost  upon  her.  There  was  nothing  to 
build  syllogisms  upon.  She,  however, 
did  not  altogether,  as  one  would  say, 
rflish  the  subject.  She  did  not  quar- 
rel with  it,  but  kept  out  of  its  way 
when  she  could.  I  well  recollect,  one 
day,  when  one  of  her  gossips  had  been 
nih  enough  to  snew  a  little  scepticiim 
as  to  the  infallibility  of  some  of  John's 
conclusions,  Peggy  looked  her  gravely 
in  the  face,  and  said,  with  an  air  <» 
Vol.  XV. 


Wife.    A  Sketch. 

more  inquiry  than  she  usually  I 
of  manifesting  on  this  head,  "  Isob 
Bolam,"  (a  short  pause,)  '*  dinna  y^ 
think  John  Hall's  a  (laying  a  long 
emphasis  on  the  epithet)  wise  man  ? 
— "  Ay,"  quoth  Isobel,  '*  when  he 
doesna  get  to  the  head  of  the  town,"-^ 
They  did  not  look  qiute  straight  at 
each  other  for  many  a  day  after.  The 

5 lace  was,  in  trutn,  a  sore  one;  for 
ohn,  like  many  more,  was  most  sub- 
ject to  tantrums  when  in  liquor,  and^ 
to  her,  upon  such  occasions,  was  not 
always  over  gentle.  It  was  in  vain, 
certainly.  Had  he  loved  a  quarrel 
better  than  Petruchio,  "  now  dinnot 
be  angered,  John  Hull,"  was  the  ne 
plus  ultra  of  what  she  reckoned  consti- 
tutional remonstrance. 

John  preserved  to  the  last  his  deci- 
sion, his  superiority,  and  his  literary 
vanity ;  for  of  this  last  he  had ''  enougn 
with  over  measure,"  and  his  wife  pam- 
pered it  as  she  did  his  musical  genius. 
He  had  a  library  ;  it  was  the  pride  of 
the  whole  house.  I  ought  to  remem- 
ber the  eontaits,  for  I  dare  say  I  read 
it  through  ten  times — ^as  a  boy  reads. 
There  were  sundry  volumes  of  the 
Gentleman's  Magazine,  the  Ladies' 
Magazine,  and  the  Town  and  Country 
Magazine,  (with,  O  temporal  tbie 
tete  a  tefes  between  Admiral  this  and 
Lady  that ;)  there  was  a  Gazetteer,  a 
Gardener's  Dictionary,  an  odd  volume 
of  Derham's  Physico-Theology,  an  old 
treatise  on  Mensuration,  the  Beauties 
of  England  and  Wales,  the  Spectator 
wanting  a  volume,  the  Guarcuan  en- 
tire, Joseph  Andrews,  a  M^.  collec- 
tion of  the  receipts  of  the  celebrated 
itinerant  physician.  Doctor  Burrough, 
(his  picture,  without  a  diirt,  for  the 
ooctor  never  wore  one,  and  what  was 
rather  more  remarkable,  seldom  took 
money  as  a  fee,  hung  on  the  window,) 
a  Guide  to  the  Altar,  the  Whole  Du^ 
of  Man,  the  Holy  Bible,  and  a  treatise 
on  Freemasonry,  (for  John  bragged  of 
being  a  freemason,  though  I  have  neard 
some  doubts  thrown  upon  his  title,)  I 
think  completed  the  catalogue.  Had 
it  been  the  Alexandrian,  it  could  not 
have  been  more  thought  of.  The  last 
time  I  saw  John  he  catechized  me,  at 
usual,  in  my  learning,  and  especially 
my  Latin.  His  knowledge  of  tne  dead 
languages  waain  part  derived  from  the 
sentences  he  used  to  put  on  grave- 
stones, and  I  think  "  dormit,  nan 
mortua  est,"  was  the  scrap  that  gene- 
rally came  roost  pat  to  his  memofr, 
«M 


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9Sd^  John  Hafl  andkis  Wife.    A  Sketch.  [[Marcb, 

though  far  he  it  from  me  to  say  that  hut  it  was  ohso^ed^  that  from  that 

this  was  the  extent  of  his  classical  time  forw^d  he  was  drawing  with  an 

learning.    As  I  had  ahout  as  much  accelerated  velocity  towards  the  place 

Latin  as  he,  the  examinations,  for  the  of  his  rest.    He  died  gently,  and  ra^ 

most  part,  passed  off  as  smoothly  and  ther  suddenly,  having  risen  from  hed, 

satisfactorily  as  such  things  are  wont  and  not  quite  finished  putting  on  his 

'  to  do,  and  equally  to  the  amusement  clothes.    "  Betty,"    said   he   to  hia 

of  the  bystanders.    The  old  man's  daughter,  *' I  think  I  cannot  be  long." 

Praxis,   however,  was  too  ominous.  She  was  supporting  him.    He  laid  his 

Shortly  after  this  his  wife  died,  and  head  on  her  shoulder,  and  the  old 

he  did  not  survive  her  long.    His  na-  man's  spirit  departed  softly  and  wilU 

tuml  strength  of  mind  prevented  his*  ingly,  without  a  struggle  or  a  pang, 

much  shewing  the  effect  of  the  shock ;  Requiescat !  T.  D. 


SONNETS. 

I. 
There  is  a  runnel  creeps  across  a  fell. 

Far,  noteless,  poor, — ^unheeded  as  the  tear 

That  steals  down  Misery's  cheek.^No  summits  near 
To  catch  the  eye ;  no  mountain-heights  to  tell. 
That  it  too,  on  a  time,  can  foam  and  swell : 

But  under  brechins  green  it  wanders  dear ; 

Now  mossy, — now  'mid  the  grey  stones  severe  ; 
All  unadom'd,  save  hv  the  heaUier-belL 
There  have  I  wander  d  many  a  musine  hour. 

Till  evening  deepen'd  on  the  quiet  sky ; 
And  when  the  breeze  blew,  mark'd  the  daisy  cower. 

And  dip  into  the  stream  that  rippled  by. 
Oh !  Nature,  thou  canst  never  lose  thy  power. 

Still  fiill  and  all-saffident  for  the  eye. 

II. 
Brinkbtjrk— if  Time  shall  spare  me — as  the  weed 

Cowering  to  earth  doth  cheat  the  mower's  blade — 

Shall  I  not  smile,  once  more  to  thread  this  glade. 
And  seek  thy  waters,  murmuring  in  their  speed  ? 
Here  have  I  drunk  of  happiness  mdeed  ; 

And  straying  here,  as  heretofore  I  stray 'd. 

Sure  I  shall  meet  with  Pleaflure,  or  her  shade. 
Haunting,  like  me,  the  long-loved  q>ot    'Twill  bree<l 
Perchance  remembrances  that  bear  a  sting  ; 

A  pensive  joy,  that  hath  some  kin  to  woe : 
Ye|,  if  the  unexpected  drops  that  spring 

At  sight  of  thee,  be  sweeter  in  their  flow 
Than  aught  of  bliss  that  other  scenes  can  bring, 

Why  should  I  pause^  or  wish  this  were  not  so  ? 

T.  D. 


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1884-3 


Ir^UuHi. 


Ikblakd. 


Ireland  ag«dn  receivesits  fuU  ahare 
of  the  attention  of  Parliament,  and  we 
are  exceedingly  glad  of  it  There  is 
perha^  little  to  please,  and  much  to 
offimd  us,  in  the  measures  and  mo- 
tions which  respect  the  sister  king* 
dom ;  hut  they,  nevertheless,  keep  the 
eyes  and  hearts  of  the  people  of  Eng- 
land directed  towards  her,  and  we  re« 
pard  this  as  an  advantage  of  very  great 
importance.  After  what  has  been  al-* 
ready  written  and  said,  any  detailed 
discussion  of  Irish  aflkirs  is  out  of  the 
question  ;  but  there  ore  several  portions 
e£  them,  which  may  be  very  profit- 
ably dwelt  upon  in  the  present  state 
of  public  feeling.  On  some  of  these, 
we  will  briefly  touch,  without  any  re- 
gard to  order  and  connection,  and 
without  being  at  all  ambitious  of  dis- 
playing originality*  If  we  think  fit  to 
repeat,  what  has  been  said  a  thousand 
times  already,  we  shall  not  scxuple  to 
do  it,  justified  as  we  diall  be,  by  the 
maxim  of  the  ancient, — "  That  can 
never  be  said  too  often,  which  can  ne- 
ver be  said  often  enough." 

It  is  the  curse  of  Ireland  that  its 
name  calls  into  operation  almost  every 
species  of  party  feding.  Great  sUte 
questioiffi,  m  general,  only  bring  into 
collision  the  Sections  and  antipathies 
of  the  Whig  and  the  Tory,  and  this 
IS  oden  enough  quite  ^ifficient  to 
render  what  is  true,  wise,  and  eiq^ 
dien^  perfectly  invisible ;  but  the  state 
of  this  unhappy  country  can  never  be 
discussed,  without  involving,  in  fierce 
conflict,  the  Protestants  and  the  Ca- 
tholics— the  enemies  of  the  Establish- 
ed Church,  and  its  friends — the  sup- 
gnrto^  of  what  is  called,  Cathouc 
mancipation,  and  its  opponents-* 
and  we  know  not  how  many  other 
hpsjdle  bodies,  as  well  as  the  two  Sg^t 
political  parties  of  the  empire.  The 
consequences,  alas !  are,  that  in  the 
discussion,  the^ir^^  ol^ect  is  to  gain 
a  triumph  for  certain  men,  to  esta- 
blish certain  abstract  doctrines,  or  to 
destroy,  or  defend,  certain  general 
laws  ukI  institutions,  and  the  tenni- 
nation  of  Ireland's  miseries  and  atro- 
cities is  the  kut.  Public  vrisdom  is  se- 
duced to  leave  the  real  evils  of  Ireland 
and  their  remedies  unthoughtof,  that 
it  may  occupy  itself  with  the  fictitious 
ones  which  passion,  prejudice,  and  in- 
terest lay  before  it. 

We  can  only  account  by  this,  for 


the  extracNrdinary  fact,  that  one  sys^  ^ 
tem  of  discussion  is  foUowed  with  re- 
gard to  England,  and  a  directly  oppo- 
site one  with  respect  to  the  sister 
country.  Here,  we  keep  the  leading 
intetasts  i|nd  classes  distinct — there, 
we  juqpble  them  all  into  a  whole.  If 
distress  and  disorder  prevail  in  Eng- 
land, we  ask  where  they  prevail ;  we 
ascertain  whether  it  is  the  agricultu- 
ral, the  manufacturing,  or  we  com- 
mercial class,  that  is  suflWiuff ;  we  go 
to  the  cause  at  once,  and  shape  our 
remedy  according  to  its  suggestions: 
but  if  a  single  class  in  Ireland  be  dis- 
tressed and  guilty,  we  instantljr  as-  . 
sume  that  the  nation  at  large  is  so, 
and,  instead  of  appl}ring  practical  r^ 
medies  to  partial  evils,  we  resort  to 
theory  in  aU  haste,  to  legislate  for  the 
whole  population.  Ireland  is  almost 
invariably  spoken  of  as  though  the 
whole  people  were  wretched  and  cri- 
minal; and  almost  every  measure  is 
declaimed  against  as  useless,  that  is 
not  calculated  to  bear  upon  every  class 
alike.  We  shall  in  this  article  act  dif- 
ferently. We  fight  not  for  office — we 
have  no  Catholic  bill  to  carry — ^we 
seek  not  to  ov^throw,  or  plunder,  the 
Established  Church~-and  we  have  no 
system  of  conciliation  to  uphold  and 
eulogise ;  we  are  therefOTe  at  liberty 
to  sp^hk  the  words  of  truth  and  com- 
mon sense,  and  to  look  at  IreUnd  as 
we  would  look  at  England. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  which  of 
the  various  classes  of  the  people  of 
Ireland  needs  relief  and  reformation  ? 
The  peasantry  idone.  The  manufacta* 
ring  and  trading  .dosses., — the  inha* 
bitants  of  cities  and  towns,  are  well- 
principled  and  peaceable;  and  they 
are  in  a  state  of  competence,  and  even 
prosperity.  The  small  land  occupiers 
and  the  nusbandry  labourers,  are  the 
only  iKNTtion  of  the  Irish  people  whose 
sunerings  and  crimes  call  for  the  in- 
terference of  Parliament. 

Havins;  thus  distinctly  placed  be- 
fore us  that /JOT/  of  the  population  of 
Ireland  whose  condition  and  conduct 
ahne  demand  ccmsideration,  we  must 
now  inquire  into  the  nature  of  this 
condition  and  conduct,  in  order  that 
we  may  be  enabled  to  suggest  the  pro- 
per remedies.  We  shall,  throughout 
only  reason  upon  those  facts  which 
are  notorious,  and  which  are  admitted 
by  all  parties;  and  one  of  those  Acts 


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970 

is,— 4he  peasantry  of  Ireland  are  in  a 
state  of  deplorable  penary — are#carce- 
^  ly  half  employed — are  barbarous,  de- 
praved^ di8a£(ected,  and  rebellious — 
and  are  composed  almost  exdnsiTely 
of  blind^  fanatical  Catholics. 

With  regard  to  the  penury  of  the 
Irish  peasantry,  it  is  not  accidental, — 
it  has  not  be^n  produced  by  fluctu- 
ations of  prices,  although  these  have 
no  doubt  greatly  aggravated  it  It  ex- 
isted before  high  prices  were  known, 
it  continued  when  they  were  obtained, 
and  it  reaittins  when  uiey  can  be  ob- 
tained no  longer — and,  amidst  all  its 
fluctuations^  it  never  can  rise  even  to 
poverty.  Now,  what  causes  this  penu- 
•  ry  vnth  regard  to  the  occupiers  of 
land?  Oppressive  taxes?  No!  There 
are  scarcely  any  taxes  demanded.  Bad 
soil  ?  No,  the  soil  is  very  fertile.  The 
expense  of  cultivation  ?  No,  this  is 
extremely  low.  The  want  of  a  mar- 
ket ?  No,  Ireland  possesses  a  fiur  bet- 
ter market  for  agricultural  produce, 
than  most  parts  or  the  continent.  Are 
the  people  of  expensive  habits  ?  No, 
they  are  remarkable  for  being  almost 
less  so  than  any  other  people.  Here, 
then,  is  an  agricultural  population, 
distressed  in  the  utmost  degree,  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  legitimate  sources  of 
agricultural  wealth  !  The  solution  of 
this  extraordinary  problem  is  not  dif- 
ficult. Does  not  the  occupier  raise  a 
large  surplus  beyond  his  necessary  ex- 
penditure ?  Yes.  What  becomes  of 
It  ?  The  whole,  save  a  small  fraction; 
goes  into  the  pockets  of  the  landlord. 
Would  not  the  retention  of  a  portion 
of  this  surplus  proportionably  increase 
the  income,  in  the  popular  sense  of  the 
word,  of  the  occupier ;  and  is  not  the 
want  of  adequate  income  the  cause  of 
penury  in  Ireland,  as  well  as  else- 
where? Undoubtedly.  When  nearly 
all  that  is  demanded  of  the  occupier  is 
demanded  by  the  landlord,  is  not  his 
penury  owing  to  the  landlord,  if  that 
be  demanded  which  leaves  him  only 
potatoes  for  food,  and  rags  for  clo- 
thing ?  Certainly,  if  cause  and  efiect 
continue  to  be  what  they  were  for- 
meriy. 

Nothing  has  appeared  more  won- 
derftil  to  the  dUinteregted,  than  the  si- 
lence which  has  been  observed  re- 
specting rents,  during  the  discussion 
of  the  affkirs  of  Ireland.  The  tithes 
have  been  declaimed  against  without 
ceasing,  not  merely  as  the  cause  of 
dtsafifoction,  but  as  the  cause  of  want: 


Ireland.  |*MaTch> 

the  pecuniary  inaUlity  of  the  Iriflh  to 
pay  them,  has  been  insisted  on,  until 
scarcely  anyone,  save  an  Irish  clergy- 
man, nas  dared  to  deny  it;  but  it 
seems  to  have  been  taken  for  granted 
that  rents  could  not  be  excmtant. 
The  tithes  are  not  a  tax — ^they  are  not 
an  addition  to,  but  in  efiect  a  small 
flractional  part  of,  the  rent— they  vary 
in  value  with  the  variations  in  the 

Erice  of  produce ;  and  they  cannot  in 
iw  exceed,  and  they  do  not  in  ftct 
reach,  what  the  land  can  easily  pay. 
Yet  it  was  the  tithes  that  chiefiy  ruin- 
ed the  Irish  occupier !  The  same  course 
was  pursued  with  r^;ard  to  the  taxes, 
during  the  late  agricultural  diltress  of 
this  country.  It  was  the  taxes— prin- 
cipally the  taxes — diat  ruineci  the 
English  farmer.  Our  landholders 
maintained  this,  might  and  main,  in 
Parliament;  but  what  did  they  do 
then  ?  In  Uiat  princely,  real  English 
spirit  which  distinguishes  them,  they 
instantly  set  to  work  to  ascertain  what 
their  tenants  could  pay,  and  they 
struck  ofi*  fifteen,  twenty,  thirty,  or 
forty  per  cent  ojf  rent  immediately. 
They  did  not  demand  what  the  law 
made  their  own,  and  they  did  not  even 
take  what  had  been  raised  for  them  by 
debt  and  privation.  They  remitted 
what  was  due,  and  they  returned  what 
was  given.  The  taxes  remained  to  the 
occupier  very  nearly  the  same,  and  the 
markets  did  not,  for  a  considerable 
time  afterwards,  advance,  yet  the 
complaints  of  the  iarmera  in  a  great 
measure  ceased.  In  Ireland,  matten 
were  different :  Many  of  the  landhold- 
en,  no  doubt,  did  r^iuce  their  rents, 
but  then  the  reduction  was  scarcely 
^t  by  those  whose  need  was  the  great- 
est. The  English  landholder  is  the 
sole  landlord  of  all  the  occupien  of 
his  land,  and  he  lowered  the  rents  of 
all,  according  to  their  necessities.  The 
Irish  landhmder  is  the  landlord  of 
only  a  portion  of  those  who  till  his 
estate,  and  whatever  he  might  teduce 
to  these,  the  sub-tenant  had  no  hope 
of  procuring  anything  beyond  hit  po- 
tatoe.  Rents  in  Ireland,  taking  the  dif- 
ference of  markets  and  other  circum- 
stances into  consideration,  are  very  far 
above  what  they  are  in  England ;  they 
are  such  as  an  English  farmer  could 
not  possibly  pay,  and  still  we  are  not 
to  think  diat  exorbitant  rents  have  the 
chief  hand,  <Nr  any  hand  at  all,  in  dis- 
tressing the  Irish  occupiers !  This  is 
the  case,  even  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 


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Id^;]  Irtknd. 

tnry !  Af  an  experiment,  let  the  rente 
of  a  nnf^e  perish  in  Ireknd  be  redn* 
eed  to  the  fair  levd  of  Enj^lish  rents, 
and  Parliament  will  speedily  discover 
what  would  bestow  on  the  Irish  pea- 
santry  comparative  competence. 

Until  rente  are  thus  lowered,  the 
Irish  peasantry  must,  witfaont  the  ope- 
ration of  any  other  caose,  be  in  a  stete 
of  penary ;  and  so  long  as  the  middle- 
men exist,  the  rente  will  remain  as  ex- 
ceasiveastheynoware.  Hewhotekes 
land  to  re-let  it  for  profit,  is  exactly 
like  him  who  buys  goods  to  re-aell  them 
far  profit ;  he  expecte  not  merely  a 
certain  per  centage,  bat  the  very  ut- 
most farthing  that  can  be  obtained. 
He  haa  the  sab*tenant  constantly  un- 
der his  eye>  he  sees  his  crops,  he  knows 
exactly  what  he  gete  for  nis  produce, 
and  he  tekes  care  to  keep  him  screw- 
ed up  to  the  last  penny  that  can  be 
extracted.  The  writer  of  this  article 
has  seen  much  of  the  rustic  popula- 
tion of  Eng^d,  and  in  every  in- 
stance that  has  come  within  his  know- 
ledge of  a  cottage  and  ground  being 
hieluded  in  the  take  of,  and  re-let  by 
a  farmer,  the  rent  was  invariably  ttom 
twenty  to  forty  per  cent  higher,  than 
that  of  similur  cottages  rented  from 
the  same  landholder,  but  let  directly 
by  himself.  While  iX  is  thus  the  con- 
stant and  only  aim  of  the  jobber  to 
extriet  the  very  utmost  fu*Uiing,  all 
tilings  eonspire  to  throw  it  into  his 
hanik.  The  land  is  divided  into  such 
aaaall  portions,  that  it  can  be  entered 
upon  afanost  without  capital;  and 
mm  this,  and  the  density  of  the  po- 
pulation, competitors  are  innumer- 
able. The  baleftil  influence  of  the 
jobbers  is  felt  by  the  whole  of  the 
oecumers.  They  make  letting  by  com- 
petttton,  that  is,  by  virtual  auction,  to 
be  the  common  mode  of  letting ;  and 
extravagantly  high  rente,  to  be  the 
only  onea  known.  They  esteblish  a 
system  whidi  the  smaller  proprietors 
are  g^  to  follow,  which  the  larger 
ones  are  almost  pushed  into,  and 
wUdi  Cherefore  extendsover  the  whole 
of  the  land.  Those  therefbre  who  do 
not  take  their  land  of  the  jobbers, 
have  their  rente  governed  in  effect  by 
those  whidi  the  jobbers  exact.  Du- 
ring the  war,  competition  rose  to  an 
amazing  height  among  our  English 
ftrmera ;  and  had  the  land  been  in 
the  haoda  of  jobbers,  they  would,  we 
firmly  believe,  even  then  have  been 
rtiittisaedi  We  knew  at  that  timo  not 


«71 

a  few  who  rented  good-sized  ftrms  of 
proprietors,  who,  jobber-like,  alwavs 
insisted  upon  the  highest  penny.  Tne 
tenante  naturally,  although  most  ftu- 
gjki  and  industrious  men,  and  althou^ 
produce  was  so  extravagantly  high, 
were,  to  use  the  farmers  expression, 
always  "overset;"  the  day  of  pay- 
ment constantly  arrived  before  the 
sum  was  provided,  and  at  the  very 
first  fall  of  prices,  they  sunk  into  ruin. 
We  believe  that  half  the  worth  of  the 
maas  of  Uie  £ndish  landholders,  and 
half  thenationalbenefite  thatflow  from 
them,  are  unknown  to  the  eountrv. 
Interest,  which  is  omnipotent  with  all 
otiier  classes,  was  powerless  with  them ; 
they  would  not  tolerate  competition, - 
althou^  it  oS^Bved  to  double  their  in- 
comes. We  could  name  some  of  them 
who  spumed  farmers  from  their  pre- 
sence, who  sought  them,  to  offisr  thir- 
ty or  forty  per  cent  of  rent  more  for 
tddr  land,  than  their  tenante  were 
paying,  and  who  did  not  raise  their 
rente  at  all  in  consequence  of  the  of- 
fer.   It  is  true,  they  advanced  their 
rente  as  produce  aavanced  in  price, 
but  never  in  proportion.  When  leases 
expired,  they  would  not  hear  of  com- 
petition ;  ana  a  moderate  advance  was 
made  upon  the  old  rent  to  the  old  te- 
nant, which  still  lef^  him  in  plentif\il 
drcumstences.    If  they  accidentally 
wanted  a  new  tenant,  surrounded  as 
they  were  bv  competitors,  the  farm 
was  almost  always  procured  through 
interest,  or  character,  and  at  a  much 
lower  rent  than  might  have  been  ob- 
tained for  it,  if  it  hisd  been  let  to  the 
highest  bidder.  We  speak  of  course  of 
the  great  body,  and  willingly  admit 
that  exceptions  were  numerous,  parti- 
culariy  among  the  smaller  proprietors. 
The  English  occupiers  would  then 
have  ruined  themselves  by  competi- 
tion, but  fbr  the  prohibition  of  their 
landlords,  and  they  would  even  do  it 
at  this  moment,  if  not  prevented  by 
.  the  same  cause.    But  Ireland ! — ^poor 
"  Ir^nd — has  not  such  landlords ;  the 
poor  Irish  occupier  must  have  no  land 
to  till,  and  notning  to  eat,  if  he  will 
not  agree  to  pay  the  utmost  penny  fbr 
the  soil,  that  human  effort  and  priva- 
tion can  extract  from  it. 

More  yet  remains ; — The  English 
landlord  prides  himself  on  having  a 
respecteble  tenantry,  and  on  having 
his  land  well  cultivated.  If  a  tenant 
be  idovenly,  or  idle,  he  is  reprimand* 
ed  and  riuuned  into  reformation ;  if  he 


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JrelumL 


CMafdb 


be  of  bad  cbaracter,  he  is  diidiaiged* 
This  18  not  confined  to  the  larger  oc- 
cupiers, bnt  it  extends  to  the  cottagers. 
The  character  and  conduct  of  a  man 
cannot  be  concealed  in  a  village,  as  in 
a  town ;  and  if  the  landlord  be  but  lit- 
tle on  his  estate  himself,  his  steward 
is  frequently  there,  and  it  is  an  im- 
portant part  of  the  steward's  duty,  to 
keep  himself  well  acquainted  with  the 
character  and  conduct  of  the  tenants. 
With  regard  to  the  system  of  culture, 
this  is  in  general  expressly  laid  down 
by  the  landlord  in  the  lease,  or  a^ree- 
menL  We  hold  it  to  be  aa  undeniable 
truth,  that  thb  landholders  of  al- 
most ANY  country  may  HAV£  WHAT 
KIND  OF  A  POPULATION  THEY  PLEASE 
—A  HAPPY,  Oa  A  DISTRESSED,  ONE  ; 
A  MORAL  AND.  ORDERLY,  OR  A  DE- 
PRAVED AND  TURBULENT,  ONE — UP- 
ON THEIR  ESTATES ;  Rud  the  English 
landholders,  by  their  princelv  and  wise 
conduct,  have  pronded  themselves 
with  one  of  the  best  kind.  Their  te- 
nants are  not  onlv  respectable  and 
even  wealthy,  but  they  are  intelligent, 
active,  and  industrious,  and  they  are 
the  most  moral  and  upright  class  in 
the  community.  No  class  in  the  state 
can  vie  with  tbem,  for  warmth  of 
heart  and  purity  of  life— ^for  hospita- 
lity and  benevolence— for  scorn  of 
petty  chicanery  and  fraud — ^for  confi- 
dence in,  and  brotherly  kindness  to 
each  other — in  a  word,  ror  all  the  sta- 
ling old  English  feelings  and  virtues. 
We  testify  to  what  we  have  seen.  We 
have  known  them^we  have  known 
the  inhabitants  of  towns  and  cities  too 
—we  have  seen  not  a  little  of  those 
who  rank  very  far  above  them  in  so- 
ciety, and  we  are  proud  to  ofier  our 
humble  tribute  to  their  superiority. 
These  farmers  stand  at  the  head  of 
villa|;e  society,  and  they  have  nearly 
all  the  rest  of  it  under  their  control; 
we  therefore  need  not  trace  the  cha- 
racter of  their  labourers.  Now,  what 
is  the  case,  in  this  respect,  in  Ireland  ? 
The  jobber  feels  no  interest  in  the  dia- 
racter  ot  his  tenant  and  his  mode  of 
cultivation,  beyond  what  is  inspired 
by  solicitude  for  the  rent.  Many  cases 
mav  be  supposed,  in  which  he  woukl 
pernaps  prompt,  or  at  an^  rate  con- 
nive  at,  and  conceal,  his  toiant's 
crimes.  If  we  mistake  not.  Sir  John 
Newport  stated  last  session  in  Parlia- 
ment, that,  in  some  parts  of  Ireland^ 
the  landlords  encourt^ged  illicit  distil- 
lation.   We  hope,  for  the  honour  of 


the  landhdders,  that  he  oo^  toham^ 
said  jobbers ;  but  be  this  as  it  may^ 
it  is  unquestionable,  that  those  who 
eould  be  blind  and  base  enough  to  do 
this,  would  equally  encourage  resist* 
ance  to  the  payment  of  tithes,  taxes, 
and  everything  else,  save  exorbitant 
rents.  The  jobber  must  naturally 
nurse  the  rage  against  tithes  and  aU 
other  payments,  save  that  due  to  him- 
self—he must  naturally  connive  at 
guilt,  which  enables  him  to  leonye, 
or  to  increase,  his  rent — and  his  in- 
fluence, the  only  influence,  save  that 
of  the  Catholic  priest,  which  is  felt  by 
the  occupier,  must  naturally  be  exer- 
cised to  distress,  degrade^  and  brutal- 
ize the  occupieiw  In  England,  know- 
ledge flows  from  the  upper  dasaea 
through  the  medium  of  the  fitrmer 
upon  the  plough-boy ;  in  Ireland,  the 
jobbers  form  a  chasm,  whidi  preventa 
the  peasantry  from  learning  anything 
fr<mi  their  betters  that  th^  o^ght  to 
learn.  The  efi'ects  harmonite  exactly 
with  the  laws  of  nature.  While  the 
estates  of  the  English  landholders  are 
peopled  with  such  inhabitants  as  we 
have  described,  those  of  the  Irish 
landholders  are  peopled  with  savagea, 
beggars,  rebels,  rogues,  and  murderers. 

We  are  well  aware  that  the  Ens- 
lishman  and  Irishman  are  extremelT 
different  in  personal  disposition,  and 
that  this  difference  is  altogether  in 
fiivour  of  the  Englishman ;  but,  al* 
lowing  for  this,  we  are  very  certain 
that  ue  Irish  sptem  would  produce 
the  same  fruits  m  England,  mi  that 
the  English  system  would  furodiioe,  in 
a  very  great  degree,  the  aame  firuits  in 
Ireland. 

We  ought  perhaps  to  mention  the 
Poor  Laws,  as  one  of  the  causes  of 
English  superiority,  so  far  as  respecta 
huabaudry  labourers.  These  laws,  by 
keeping  this  part  of  the  people  under 
Burveiflanoe  and  control,-  when  wUh- 
out  masters,  and  by  preserving  them 
from  incitement  to  theft,  the  degHuia-> 
tion  of  begging,  and  the  baleful  efibda 
whidi  duer  successful  or  unsuooe^* 
ful  begging  is  sure  to  produce,  are  in^ 
valuable.  We  know  what  has  been 
said  ag^unst  these  laws — ^we  defend 
not  their  abuses  and  defects— but  we 
will  say.  Woe  to  England  wh^  they 
shall  be  aboh^ed,  even  thou^  Eng- 
lish labourers  be  previously  taught  to 
exchange  beef  ana  bacon  for  the  pota« 
toe  only! 

One  effect  which  exorbitantly  h^h 


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lS%4r\  Ireland. 

rent!  ave  tore  to  produce  is^  to  lessen 
the  demand  for,  and  the  remuneration 
of,  labour.  The  occupier  must  paj 
the  precise  sum  for  the  land,  he  knows 
not  now  to  raise  it>  and  he  sets  to  work 
to  reduce  the  amount  of  his  other  pay- 
ments as  mudi  as  poesiUe.  He  ban- 
ters down  the  tithes  to  the  lowest  fi- 
gure—abandons consumption — dis- 
diargea  his  hired  servahts^  and,  wiUi 
his  children,  labours  in  their  stead— 
and,  if  he  cannot  do  without  labourers, 
he  erinds  them  down  to  the  lowest 
farthing,  without  any  leaard  to  thdr 
necessities.  The  price  of  ubour  is  on- 
ly partially  regulated  by  the  quantity 
at  market.  Sorants  are  not  hired  by 
auction.  If  the  master's  circumstances 
be  good,  he  gires  cheerfully  to  his  la- 
bourers what  he  thinks  they  need  for 
the  support  of  thdr  families,  although 
numbers  may  be  out  of  employment, 
and  would  perhaps  take  mudi  less 
than  he  gives  to  gain  it.  In  the  latter 
part  of  the  war,  husbuidrT  wages 
continued  to  be  exoeedin^y  high,  d« 
though  there  were  constantly  many 
labourers  out  of  employment.  If  ibe 
master's  circumstances  be  bad,  he 
keeps  labour  much  below  its  natural 
value.  Such  rents,  moreover,  operate 
very  powerftdly  against  good  cnltiTa- 
tiein,  by  binding  the  occupier  down  to 
the  least  possible  expense  in  labour, 
utmsils,  the  Iceep  of  norses,  manure, 
&c  &C. ;  they  are,  in  a  word,  a  curse 
to  the  whole  of  agricultural  society, 
£or  they  rob  and  starve  not  only  the 
occupier,  but  his  servants,  his  trades- 
men, and  every  one  within  the  sphere 
of  his  influence ;  including  even  the 
poor  brutes  which  drag  his  plough. 

We  have  dwelt  the  longer  on  this 
hackneyed  topic,  because  it  is  one 
which  Parliament  will  not  dwell  up- 
on, and  because  it  is  oUe  of  the  high- 
est importance.  In  our  poor  judgment, 
ntMng  hut  a  reduction  of  rente  to  a 
moderate  etandardy  can  reeeue  a  verp 
large  portion  qf  the  IrM  peammtrg 
from  the  etetreme  of  indigenee;  and 
nothing  but  the  annihilation  of  the  job' 
here  eon  oompaee  ew^  a  reduction.  If 
it  would  not  give  emplopnent  to  num- 
bers who  now  need  it,  it  would  great- 
ly benefit  the  occupiers,  and  these,  in 
Ireland,  comprdienda  very  large  por- 
tion of  the  rustic  population.  The 
surplus — those  who  have  not  land,  and 
cannot  be  employed— ought  undoubt- 
edly to  be  conveyed  by  government  to 


873 

sndi  parts  <^  the  empire  as  need  in- 
faabitanta. 

But  although  the  reduction  of  rents 
in  Irdand  to  the  level  of  those  in 
England,  would  bestow  on  the  occu- 
piers a  decent  competence,  compared 
with  what  they  now  enjoy,  it  would 
do  nothing  more,  so  long  as  land  is 
divided  as  at  present.  It  would  give 
them  the  necessaries,  but  not  the  com- 
forts, of  life.  This,  however,  would  be 
a  great,  a  very  great  point  accomplish- 
ed. The  man  who  in  England  oc- 
cupies ten,  twenty,  thirty,  or  less 
than  fifty  acres  of  land,  not  in  the  im- 
mediate vicinity  of  a  town,  may,  in  the 
fiurmer's  phrase,  contrive  to  live,  but 
he  can  do  nothing  more,  however  mo« 
derate  his  rent  mav  be.  Thesmallness 
of  the  quantity  of  land  which  the  Irish 
ocenpier  holdis,  must,  under  any  drw 
cnmstanoes,  prevent  him  firom  acco* 
mnlating  capital,  and  becoming  a  con- 
sumer in  anything  but  the  plainest 
food  and  clothing.  But  this  is  fur 
from  being  the  worst.  Its  direct  and 
natural  tendency  is  to  make  him  lasy 
and  vicious,  for  an  idle  population  can 
scuceljr  avoid  being  a  vicions  one.  It 
gives  him  no  consideration  in  his  own 
eyes,  or  in  those  of  others;  it  will  not 
employ  him  more  than  half  his  time^ 
it  roakea  him  too  much  a  master  to  be 
wilhng  to  become  a  serfant,  and  it 
thus  gives  him  a  very  large  portion  of 
leisure,  whidi  is  almost  sure  to  be  em- 
ployed in  the  contraction  of  depraved 
namts.  This  moreover  keeps  society 
in  the  worst  possible  form.  In  Eng- 
land, the  respecteble  intelligent  ftan- 
ers  keep  the  whole  agricultural  popu«- 
lation  bek>w  them  effectually  under 
-surveillance  and  oontroL  In  Ireland 
there  are  no  sudi  farmers;  all  are 
nearly  equal ;  nearly  all  are  independ- 
ent, are  in  the  lowest  stete  of  igno- 
rance end  penury,  and  are  only  kept 
in  order  by  laws,  whidi  know  not  how 
to  find  functionaries  to  execute  them, 
uid  which,  as  late  events  have  abund^ 
antly  shewn,  are  equally  at  a  loss  how 
to  prevent  crime,  and  punish  the  per- 
petrators of  it. 

Tumii^  our  badca  therefore  on  the 
whole  host  of  S9avants  and  specula^* 
tors,  of  newspaper  editors,  and  review 
writers,  of  projectors  and  partizans,  and 
sp^kking  only  to  plain  practical  men, 
who  have  lived  amidst,  and  are  well  ac- 
quainted with,  the  agricultural  poptda- 
tion  of  England,  we  will  ask  than  these 


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974 

plain  qnesdoDt.  When  taxes  are  low^ 
markets  are  tolerable^  soil  is  good,  the 
expense  of  cultiTation  is  small^  and  the 
occupiers  live  at  the  least  cost,  will 
not  land  pay  tithes,  a£R>rd  a  fair  rent 
to  the  landlord,  and  still  leave  a  soffi- 
ctency  of  necessaries  to  the  cultivator  ? 
If  this  be  the  case  with  regard  to  Ire- 
land, could  not  the  owner  of  an  estate 
in  that  country  place  those  who  live  on 
it  in  comfortable  circumstances  at  his 
pleasure,  and  still  draw  a  fair  revenue 
from  it?  Ought  he  not  to  do  this? 
Could  not  the  owner  of  a  parish  in 
Ireland  purge  it,  if  he  chose,  of  rogues 
and  murderers,  and,  by  converting  its 
inhabitants  into  a  due  admixture  of 
decent  farmers  and  husbandry  labour- 
ers, render  it  as  orderly,  ana  as  easy 
to  govern,  as  an  English  country  vil- 
lage ?  Ought  he  not  to  do  it,  when  the 
government  would  render  hun  all  the 
assistance  in  its  power,  by  providing 
for  any  surplus  population?  If,  ta« 
long  into  the  calculation  the  diffav 
ence  of  naarkets,  &c.  rents  were  as 
high  in  this  country  as  they  are  in 
Ireland;  and  if  estates  were  let  to 
jobbers  to  be  parcelled  out  in  snudl 
iiagments  to  the  highest  bidders, 
would  not  our  agricultural  population 
be  speedily  as  much  distressed  as  that 
of  Ireland ;  and  would  it  not  be  dri- 
ven to  fised  on  the  potatoe?  If  the  an- 
■wersbein  the  affirmative^  do  not  they, 
without  seekinji;  for  a  single  additional 
cause,  clearly  mdicate  what  produces 
the  distress  of  Ireland,  and  what  would 
remove  it?  For  let  it  ever  be  remem- 
bered, that  although  this  distress  is 
spoken  of,  as  if  it  covered  every  dass, 
it  is  the  state  of  the  agricultural  popu^ 
lation  OKLY  that  be^dov  and  occu- 
pies our  statesmen. 

Now,  when  Ministers,  Parliament, 
and  the  nation  at  large,  are  intently 
occupied  in  devising  means  for  better- 
ing the  condition  of  the  Irish  agricul- 
tural population,  what  are  the  great 
mass  of  the  Irish  landholders— the 
men  who  alone  can  relieve  the  ex- 
treme, penury  of  the  greater  part  of 
the  population — doing  ?  Common 
sense,  speaking  onl)r  fVom  conjecture, 
would  say — Labouring  day  and  night 
on  their  estates— prying  into  the  raa- 
racter  and  drcumstaqpes  of  their  te- 
nants, great  and  smaU — expelling 
those  of  notoriously  bad  name  and 
-habits — encouraging  the  growth  of 
good  feelings  and  conduct-Hvdudng 
their  rents  to  a  fair  standard— prepa- 


Irehnd.  QMarch, 

ring  the  means  ftr  ridding  ihemadves 
of  middle-men,  uid  enUurging  the  siae 
of  their  farms,  as  rapidly  as  may  be 
practicable— providing  themselves  with 
good  stewards  at  a  fixed  salary,  afUv 
the  English  fashion,  to  act  for  them 
in  their  occasional  absence— labouiing 
to  procure  from  the  proper  quarters  a 
sufficiency  of  reli^ous  teachers— form- 
ing themselves  mto  associations  for 
promoting  good  systems  of  cultiva- 
tion, household  management,  &c  &e» 
Alas !  alas !  if  the  Irish  landholders 
would  oiiiy  oocupv  themselves  in  this 
manner,  we  should  hear  but  little  of 
the  crimes  and  misery  of  Ireland. 
But  these  men — ^we  ^eak  of  the  great 
mass,  and  render  the  highest  nraise  to 
the  individuals  who  are  struggling  sin- 
^y-'^^are  either  doing  nothing,  or  what 
IS  much  worse.  Tbey  are  constantly 
ab»ent  from  their  estates,  and  this  <k 
itself  constitutes  a  charge  of  a  heinous 
nature:  they  are  either  silent  and  in- 
active, or  they  are  only  abusing  the 
government,  and  ringing  the  changes 
on  the  tithes,  the  Orangemen,  eman- 
cipation, and  Irish  per&tion  of  cha- 
racter. And  this  is  tke  ease  with  them, 
when  their  estates  are  in  the  hands  itf 
jobbers,  who  labour  to  iponge.  firom 
the  great  body  of  those  who  live  on 
them,  even  the  bresd  of  life— whose 
toiants  are  called  upon  for  rente  which 
will  not  leave  them  common  necessa- 
ries— «nd  whose  estates  are  peopled 
by  rebels,  robbers,  and  murdoers! 
When  we  contraat  what  these  men  do, 
with  what  they  might  do,  with  what 
can  only  be  done  b^  themselves  at  last, 
and  with  what  it  is  theur  sacred  duty 
to  God  and  man  to  do,  we  cannot  find 
words  to  express  our  sense  of  their 
conduct  We  turn  in  scorn  from  them 
to  our  English  landholders,  and  oar 
feelings  for  the  latter  become  ahnoat 
adoration. 

We  shall  no  doubt  be  told  of  debts 
and  mortgages,  but  what  then  ?  We 
regard  it  to  be  proved— indisputabhr 
proved— that  estates  in  Ireland  wiu 
yield  a  fair  rent,  without  robbing 
those  who  live  on  them  of  common 
necessaries;  and  if  this  rent  will 
not  satisfy  the  extravagance  of  the 
landlord,  is  this  extravagance  to  justi- 
fy him  in  taking  the  broad  whidi  his 
tenants  should  eat  ?  Who  will  answer 
us? 

Although  so  much  has  been  already 
said  respecting  the  tithes,  still,  as  the 
Irish  landlords  ascribe  so  much  of  the 


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%16 


misery  of  thor  tenantry  to  them^  as 
we  believe  that  they  really  do  add 
something  to  this^rnisery  ;  and  as  we 
hare  nerer  seen  them  discussed  ac- 
cording to  onr  widies,  in  the  most 
material  part  of  their  operation,  we 
will  advert  to  them  as  briefly  as  pos- 
sible, withont  apology. 

The  tiUe  of  the  Church  to  Tithes  is 
as  dear  as  a  title  can  posiiUy  be.  The 
land  was  by  kw  subject  to  them  be- 
ftre  it  came  into  the  poesessioii  of  the 
present  owners:  when  it  was  purcha- 
sed by  these  owners,  or  their  ancestors, 
the  vilue  of  the  tidies  was  accurately 
calculated,  and  the  amount  of  the  pur- 
dbue  money  reduced  accordingly :  the 
sum  they  gave  was  only  sufficient  to 
procure  a  rent  that  would  enable  the 
occupier  to  pay  tithes,  and  they  never 
exp^ted  to  receive  more  than  sudi  a 
rent.  Whenever  an  occupier  takes 
land  snliject  to  tithes,  he  calculates 
dieir  value  to  a  poiuy,  and  he  care- 
ikdly  proportions  nis  offer  to  the  land- 
lord to  this  value.  It  has  been  admit- 
ted on  all  hands,  that  ike  rent  and 
iiihes  Joiirtly,  of  land  sulgect  to  the 
latter,  seldom  equal  the  ren$  aUme  of 
land  that  is  tithe-free. 

Now,  it  must  be  glaringly  obvious 
to  every  man  of  common  sense,  that 
if  the  landlord  demand  a  rent  which 
wiU  not  permit  the  occupier  to  pay 
tithes,  he  demsnds  what  is  monstrous- 
ly unjust  The  Church,  as  a  third 
party,  had  nothing  to  do  with,  and  is 
m  no  shape  bound  by,  his  Contract ; 
those  from  whom  he  bought,  or  inhe- 
rited, had  no  more  right  to  touch  die 
interest  of  this  third  party,  than  him- 
adf,  and,  in  strict  equity  of  bargain, 
be  has  no  right  to  rent  at  all,  untu  the 
Church  has  received  its  due.  And  it 
must  be  equally  dear,  that  if  the  gross 
diarge  upon  titheable  land  be  bdow, 
radier  than  above  that  upon  tithe-free 
land,  the  tithes  cSnnpt  justly,  or  na- 
turally, be  a  burden*  upon  the  occu- 
pier; and  that  they  can  only  be  ren- 
dered so  by  the  misconduct  of  him- 
sdf  or  the  clergyman. 
^  With  regard  to  the  Cler|;y,  all  par- 
ties bear  testimony  to  their  modera- 
tion. We  have  it  in  evidence  from  Sir 
John  Newport  and  others,  that  they 
are  so  far  from  recdving  more  than 
their  right,  that  what  they  receive 
falls  greatly  below  it.  We  have  it  in 
evidence,  which  no  one  attempts  to 
contradict,  that  the  liti^tion  in  which 
they  are  invdved>  arisen  not  from  their 
Vol.  XV. 


rapodty  or  unaoooromodatiiig  disposi- 
dob;  hat  from  its  bdng  their  <mlv  al- 
ternative to  procure  a  portion  only  of 
what  they  are  entitled  to.  The  fre- 
quency of  tithe-suits,  thdr  ruinous 
expense,  and  the  rapadty  of  proctors, 
aroused  as  the  chief  argument  against, 
tithes.  But  what  constitutes  their 
somrce?  What  causes  the  law  to  be 
resorted. to,  and  affi>rds  the  proctor 
the  means  of  exercising  his  rapadty  ? 
If  the  inability  of  the  dergyman  to 
procure  his  just  right — what  uie  land, 
if  justiy  let,  can  pay — without  the  aid 
of  the  law,  be  an  argument  for  the 
abolition  of  tithes,  then  the  inability 
of  the  landlord  to  procure  his  rent,- 
and  of  the  money  lender  to  proe.ure 
his  interest,  without  the  aid  of  the* 
law,  ia  an  argument  for  the  abolition 
of  rents  and  tiie  interest  of  money.  If 
the  occupier  be  really  without  the 
meana  of  paying  the  tithes,  what  strips 
him  of  tnem,  but  his  own  extrava-^ 
ganoe,or  the  extortion  of  the  landlord? 
and  ought  dther  of  tiiese  to  render 
the  robbery  of  the  dersyman  just  and 
necessary?  If  he  be  able  to  pay  them> 
and  refuse  from  litigious  motives^ 
ftom  hatred  of  the  Protestant  church, 
or  from  the  most  false  and  criminal 
notions  req>ecti^  property,  is  this  a 
sufficient  reason  tbr  calling  the  tithes 
an  oppreasive  burden,  or  a  burden  of 
any  land,  upon  the  Irish  occupier  ? 

It  is  demonstrably  dear,  that  if  the 
landlord  and  dergyman  merely  seek 
their  right,  and  the  occupier  is  desirous 
of  rendering  to  each  his  due,  the  titbea 
cannot  be  a  cause  of  dissatisfkction 
and  injury,  and  the  occupiers  of  tithe- 
able,  cannot  be  in  a  worse  situation, 
than  tho^  of  tithe-free,  land.  And  it 
is  equally  dear,  that  the  mischiefa 
which  are  ascribed  to  the  tithes  in  Ire- 
land, flow  mainly  from  the  bad  feel- 
ings of  the  peasantry.  We  will  glance 
at  these  feelings,  to  ascertain  how  far 
they  are  susceptible  of  change. 

Although  the  buyer  of  land  subject 
to  tithes,  only,  in  strict  truth,  buys 
and  pays  for  nine-tenths  of  it,  he  ne- 
vertheless exercises  many  of  the  righta 
of  ownership  over  the  whole,  and  is 
universally  odled  the  sole  owner.  The 
tenant  treats  vrith  him  alone  Hot  the 
occupation,  and  regards  him  as  his 
only  landlord.  The  rent  is  agreed  up- 
on before  the  tenant  obtains  possosr 
sion,  and  if  it  be  not  paid,  or  if^he  re- 
fuse to  pay  such  an  advance  as  the 
landlord  may  afterwards  make,  he  is  * 
«  N 


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Irelami. 


CMftitfa, 


expelled /Vom  tile  Umdfbrthwkli.  Tlie 
only  right  of  ownenbip  tbtt  the  der* 
gytnan  can  exercise  is,  to  claim  a  oer« 
tarn  portion  of  the  lond's  produoe ;  he 
cannot  say  a  word  in  the  choice  of  the 
tenant — tne  precise  amount  of  his 
claim  has  to  be  fixed  after  this  tenant 
obtains  XN)6fles8ion,  and  however  dis- 
honest and  refractor^r  he  mav  prore, 
he  cannot  remore  him.  When  the 
clergyman  can  thus  intertf^  no  fiuv 
ther  with  the  occupier,  than  to  claim 
his  tithes,  and  when  the  landlord  is 
regarded  as  the  sole  owner,  the  tithes 
are  looked  upon  as  merely  a  direct 
tax,  and  with  all  the  disHke  with 
which  direct  taxes  are  ewr  regarded. 
It  matters  not  that  the  lull  value  of 
the  tithes  are  subtracted  from  the 
rent— the  tenant  still  regards  them  as 
an  impost ;  and  if  their  amovnt,  dUier 
in  money  or  produce,  have  to  be  set- 
tled annually,  be  thinks  neither  of 
honesty  nor  anything  else,  except 
beating  down  the  clergyman  to  the 
lowest  penny.  This  is  human  nature; 
and,  in  truth,  be  would  have  the  same 
struggle  with  his  landlord,  if  his  rent 
varied  yearly,  and  he  could  not  be 
discharged.  The  farmers  comlMBe,  and 
are  perhaps  countenanced  by  the  land- 
lord, and  the  clergyman  has  the  wh<^ 
parish  to  contend  with,  single-handed. 
If  he  once  briiig  them  into  court,  there- 
is  nothing  but  ill  blood  asd  strife  af^ 
terwards.  This  is  the  case  in  England, 
as  well  as  Ireland,  where  the  tithes 
are  not  compounded  for  by  an  arrange- 
ment which  needs  no  alteration  for 
years. 

In  Ireland,  however,  the  tithes  are 
retarded,  not  merely  with  the  dis^ce 
which  people  in  gcner^  entertain  to- 
wards airect  taxes,  but  with  abhor- 
rence, as  forming  a  burden  of  the 
most  uTijust  and  inimiitous  descrip- 
tion. The  Irish  Catholic  has  not  only 
to  pay  tithes,  but  he  has  to  pay  them 
to  4  Protestant  clergyman — to  a  man 
whom  be  regards  as  a  usurper,  recei- 
ving Uiem  to  the  directrobbery  of  the 
Catholic  pastor.  Here  is  the  grand 
source  of  that  inveterate  hostility  to 
tithes  which  pervades  the  Irish  pea- 
santry. The  English  dissenter  never 
nays  the  church-rates,  without  sul- 
lenly intimating  to  the  collector,  that 
it  is  exceedingly  unjust  to  compel  him 
to  assist  in  supporting  a  church  to 
which  he  docs  not  belong ;  and  it  may 
be  easily  Bupposc<l,  how  this  feeHng 
operates  on  tlte  Irishman,  when  he 


has  to  par  these  tithes  to  wM&na 
church,  wmch  he  honestly  believes  to 
be  the  iust  property  of  his  own.  Con- 
vince him  that,  m  real  truth,  die 
tithes  do  not  ceme  out  of  his  pocket 
—that  they  are  paid  bjc  the  land—' 
that  he  would  have  to  pay  the  amount 
of  them  to  the  landlord,  if  the  Churdi 
did  not  daim  it— and  that  the  land- 
lord virtually  puts  money  into  his 
hands  to  pay  them  with^-^rall  Ids  Iw- 
tred  of  the  tithes  must  continue.  It 
is  a  matter  of  conscience  with  him,  a& 
well  as  of  money ;  for  thev  aore  still 
paid  to  the  Protestant  Churcn,  instead 
of  his  own.  The  Catholic  dergy  re» 
mrd  the  tithes  as  a  right,  of  wbkit 
ttiey  have  been  unjustly  dispossessed  ; 
the  tithes  form  the  chief  instrument 
by  which  ^ey  can  keep  up  the  hatred 
of  their  flocks  towsrds  the  Protestant 
Church ;  snd  it  may  be  fiurly  assumed, 
lAiat  their  unlimited  influence  will  be 
unsparingly  exercised  to  nwiatain  that 
hostility  to  the  payment  of  tithes  which 
at  present  exists.' 

Forgetting  Ireland  for  the  mataent, 
and  looking  only  at  human  nature,  we 
do  not  thiiuc  that  anything  could  ope- 
rate more  pernioiousiy  in  any  comma-  ' 
nity,  than  the  esmpulsive  payment  of 
tithes  by  the  people,  to  a  Cnurch  hos- 
tile to,  and,  in  their  eyes,  the  usurper 
of  the  rights  and  emoluments  of,  tlieir 
own.  K  the  Catholics  were  by  any 
means  to  obtaan  the  ascendancy,  ana 
Ae  ehurcb  property  in  EngUud,  it 
would  be  ahnoet  impossible  to  compel 
the  Protestant  ocoupicra  to  pay  times 
to  thto  Ministers ;  and  if  kmd  were  as 
extensively  subject  to  tithes  bete,  as 
in  Ireland,  there  would  be  as  mudi 
difficulty  experienced  in  cc^e^ang, 
and  as  great  an  outcry  raised  againal 
them,  as  are  to  be  found  in  ^e  sistcs 
kingdom.  We  firmly  believe,  thai 
however  unpvovoked  and  criminal  the 
animosity  against  them  might  be,  no- 
thing could  remove  it,  so  bng  as  the 
people  remained  attached  to  their 
Church,  and  under  die  influence  of  its 
Ministers.  An  animosity  like  UtoM, 
flowing  from  religious  hatred,  and 
having  no  regard  for  law  or  justice- 
arising,  not  from  overcharge,  or  ina- 
bility to  pay,  but  from  the  belief  that 
the  whole  demand  is  iniquitous — can- 
not fail  of  having  tlie  most  deplorabls 
consequences  among  men  so  barbarous, 
inflammable,  and  vindictive,  as  the 
Irish  peaaantry.  It  must  produce  eter« 
nal  MtigatioD,  alike  injurious  to  the 


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dmrch  ind  tb«  lithe  f9jen  i  tnd  it 
must  extsperate  the  peopJe  agaanst  the 
Protestant  Church  and  its  merobers^ 
not  even  excepting  the  Protestant  ru- 
lers. 

We  therefore  arrive  at  this  conclu- 
sion : — The  tithes  are  the  dear  and  ne- 
cessary right  of  the  Church—in  their 
legal  and  just  operation,  thej  are  paid 
by  the  land,  without  injuring  in  the 
Inst  the  landlord  or  the  tenant — the 
conduct  of  the  Irish  cleigy>  in  colleci- 
ing  them,  is  distinguished  by  justice 
mi  moderation — the  opposition  to  the 
payment  of  them,  which  pervades  the 
Iiuh  peasttitry,  is  unprovoked  and  un- 
justifiable—and all  the  ii^ury  that  ac- 
crues to  the  tithe  payers>  from  the 
collection  of  the  tithes,  must  be  charged 
upon  their  own  bad  feelings  aiid  con- 
duet.  Nevertheles8»  the  aversion  of 
the  Irish  Catholics  to  pay  tithes  to 
the  Proleaunt  Church,  however  un- 
aanctioned  by  law  and  equity,  is  fbund- 
ed  upon  human  nature,  and  would 
previol  to  a  flreat  extent  in  any  nation 
tint  might  be  drcumstanced  as  Ire- 
land is ;  it  h  incapable  of  being  era- 
dicated, or  soften^  down  into  harm- 
lesraess — it  inflicts  very  great  ii\juries 
«li  the  Church,  as  well  as  on  the  tithe 
payers — ^it  exasperates  the  Irish  peo- 
ple against  the  Protestant  Church,  the 
memoers  of  this  church,  md  the  Pro- 
testairt  govamment,  and  tends  mate- 
rially to  keep  them  in  a  state  of  tur- 
bulence and  disaffection;  therefore, 
any  change  of  shape  or  commutation 
of  tithes,  that  would  remove  it,  with- 
out diminishing  in  the  smallest  de- 
gree the  Church  revenues,  would  be, 
011  national  grounds,  in  die  highest 
de^gne  desirable. 

An  attempt  is  now  making  to  give 
to  the  tithes  the  shape  of  rent,  rather 
than  that  of  a  tax  or  rate ;  but  we  fear 
its  success  will  be  neither  general  nor 
permanent.  The  difficulties  of  accom- 
plishing such  a  change  in  Ireland  seem 
to  be  unconquerable.  The  number  of 
the  occupiers,  their  poverty  and  igno- 
jranee,  their  bad  spirit,  subserviency 
to  their  religious  teachers,  and  the 
motives  fVom  which  their  hostility  to 
the  tithes  originates,  forbid  hope.  We 
have,  moreover,  a  very  great  dislike  to 
.  the  principle  on  which  this  attempt 
stands.  We  are  quite  sure,  that  if 
mutual  interest  will  not  lead  parties 
into  satisfiictory  arrangement,  nothing 
dse  can ;  and  it  is  only  an  arrangement 
sstia&ctory  to  both  t  oat  can  produce 


benefit.  Commutation  would  be  the 
only  efficacious  and  durable  remedy, 
and  we  cannot  join  in  the  opinion  that 
it  would  be  impracticable  or  inexpe- 
dient In  oondderin^  it,  it  is  necea- 
sarv  to  ascertain  distinctly  the  prin- 
ciples upon  which,  and^e  parties  by 
whom.  It  ought  to  be  accomplished. 

The  clamour  which  has  so  long 
raged  against  the  tithes,  has  constantly 
assum^,  that  the  abolition  or  con>- 
mutation  of  them  would  relieve  the 
tenant,  not  from  the  law  costs  into 
which  his  litigious  spirit  and  criminal 
opinions  plunge  him,  but  from  a  cei^ 
tain  sum  of  unavoidable  charge ;  that, 
if  the  tithes  were  no  longer  c^lected, 
his  annual  payments  would  be  dimi- 
nished by  their  amount.  This  is  not 
madness,  for  madness  never  utters 
anything  so  entirely  devoid  of  sense-r 
it  IS  downright  idiotcv.  The  Church 
and^the  Landlord,  so  tar  as  regards  our 
presentv  inquiry,  are  co-proprietors  of 
the  land,  and  they  divide  the  revenue 
that  arises  from  it.  If  the  tithes  were 
diminished,  the  rent  would  be  pro- 
portionablv  Increased;  and  if  they 
were  wholly  aboliahed,  the  tenant 
would  be  instantly  called  upon  for 
additional  rent  fully  equal  to  their 
amount. 

I^  thereA>re,  Government  were  to 
strip  the  Church  of  tithes,  what  would 
be  the  consequence?  The  tithes  are 
not  salaries  paid  by  the  state,  or  \xf 
the  ocouiners  of  the  soil — they  fbrm 
the  interest  of  an  immense  mass  of 
so^,  tangible  property — ^the  rent  of 
an  extensive  portion  oi*^  land.  If  Go» 
vemment,  therefore,  were  to  use  them 
as  a  fund,  it  must  dtfaer  collect  them 
as  usual,  or  sell  them  to  others  who 
would  do  it ;  and  in  eitlier  case,  un- 
less they  were  sold  to  the  landlord* 
the  occupier  would  lose  by  the  change. 
Were  it  to  abolish  the  tithes  idtoge- 
ther,  without  drawing  one  penny  fwm. 
it  into  the  exdiequer — were  an  act  of 
Parliament  to  be  immediately  passed, 
declaring  that  the  tithes  should  be  no 
more  collected,  neither  by  the  der^ 
nor  any  one  else,  it  could  not  annihi- 
late or  diminish  the  property ;  and  the 
interest  of  it — ^the  tithes  in  effect^ 
though  not  in  name — ^would  stiU  be 
demanded  and  received  of  the  occu- 
pier. If  the  capital  sum  and  interest 
whidi  compose  the  tithes  remained* 
they  would,  of  course,  be  e^jc^ed  by 
some  one.  Mid'  they  would  be  enjoyed 
ttscfaiftfrd^by  the  landlord:  the  tenant 


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878 

woolil  luYe  to  pay  quite  as  much  for 
his  land  as  at  present ;  and  no  possi- 
ble ingenuity  could  frame  the  nomi- 
nal abolition  In  a  manner  that  would 
operate  more  favourably  towards  him. 
The  landlord  would  receive,  for  every 
ten  thousand  pounds  worth  of  land 
that  he  might  possess,  one  thousand 
poimds  worth  more^  as  a  gift,  and  to 
which  he  would  have  no  more  right 
than  the  Caffre  of  Southern  Africa. 
IVe  repeat  our  denial  of  his  right.  He> 
or  his  ancestor,  bought  the  land  sub- 
ject to  tithes,  and  with  the  expecta- 
tion that  it  would  be  subject  to  than 
for  ever ;  the  sum  paid  was  less  than 
the  fUll  value,  by  the  worth  of  them, 
and  he  has  no  more  right  to  them  than 
he  has  to  the  crown  of  England. 

Wlien,  therefore,  the  times  are  to 
the  Church,  not  a  salary  paid  by  the 
state,  or  individuals,  but  tne  interest 
of  a  mass  of  real  convertible  property, 
would  the  Church  be  unwilling,  or  un- 
able, to  sell  this  property,  and  vest  the 
produce  in  the  purchase  of  land  ?  And 
would  it  be  unjust,  or  inexpedient,  to 
permit  it  to  do  this,  lookii^  at  its  own 
interests,  and  those  of  the  nation  ? 

If  the  Church  were  suffered  to  act 
for  itself  in  the  business  as  a  princi- 
pal, subject  only  to  such  regulatioDS 
as  might  be  essentially  necessary,  its 
willingness  cannot  be  doubted,  with- 
out supposing  it  to  be  enamoured  of 
loss,  injury,  contention,  and  hatred. 
With  regard  to  ability,  that  must  de- 
pend on  the  landlords^ — ^yes,  on  the 
landlords.  They,  and  they  alone,  must 
purchase,  or  the  tithes  must,  in  name 
and  reality,  be  collected  from  their  te- 
nants for  ever.  That  it  would  be  their 
pecuniarv  interest  to  do  this,  seems  in- 
disputable. From  the  losses  which  the 
Church  now  sustains,  in  liti^tion  and 
inability  to  recover  its  right,  a  sale 
might  be  made,  that  would  add  to  its 
revenue,  and  still  give  to  the  landhol- 
der a  most  profitable  bargain.  The 
very  lowest  estimated  value  might  be 
taken,  the  bnver  might  draw  six  or  se- 
ven per  cent  from  his  purchase  money, 
and  still  the  Church  be  a  gainer.  If  it 
be  pleaded  that  the  landholders  have 
not  money,  and  could  not  borrow  it, 
would  it  not  be  wise  and  safe,  in  the 
present  circurastafnoes  of  the  country, 
for  (he  Government  to  lend  them  mo- 
Jiey  at  a  lower  rate  of  interest  for  tha 
purpose,  when  the  object  in  view  would 
be,  not  the  profit  of  tne  Churdi  or  the 
Undlonl,  but  tluit  of  Uie  nation  ?  It  is 


Ireland.  QMawh, 

not  for  us  to  sketch  ^e  details  of  tnch 
a  plan.  Commissioners  might  be  ap- 
pointed by  the  Church,  in  its  collective 
capacity,  on  the  one  side,  and  by  the 
landlords  on  the  other,  with  instruc- 
tions that  would  almost  preclude  the 
chance  of  disagreement — their  deci- 
sions might  be  subjected  to  all  neces- 
sary revision— oomroutation  might  be 
limited  to  a  certain  number  Si  pa- 
rishes per  annum — the  money  lent 
might  be  placed  under  the  control  of  a 
certain  number  of  English  country 
gentlemen ,  as  trustees — it  might  be  lent 
for  a  fixed  number  of  years,  &c  &c 

We  are  aware  that  very  high  autho- 
rities on  both  sides  of  the  House  of 
Lords,  have  declared  themsdves  to  be 
repugnant  to  the  conversion  of  the 
Church  into  a  land  proprietor ;  they, 
however,  did  not  state  the  grounds  of 
their  repugnance,  and  we,  in  our  ig- 
norance, are  unable  to  discover  them. 
As  far  as  we  know,  all  the  enploiure 
acts  of  latter  times,  have  given  iht 
Church  land  in  exchange  for  tithes. 
To  give  it,  in  exchange  for  a  portion 
-  of  the  produce  of  a  number  of  acres, 
as  many  acres  as  will  yield  the  same 
quantity  of  produce,  seems  to  be  the 
surest  way  possible  of  preserving  its 
revenues  from  augmentation,  as  well 
as  diminution.  Her  possesnons  can- 
not be  indreased,  and  it  seems  to  be 
impossible,  for  her  ever  to  obtain  a 
weight  in  the  state,  capable  of  being 
perverted  into  the  means  of  injuring 
It.  To  give  the  clergyman  tithes  in- 
stead of  land,  in  order  to  make  him 
dependent  on,  and  bring  him  in  con- 
tact with,  his  flock,  is,  in  the  present 
day,  a  monstrous  contradiction  of  the' 
principles  of  nature.  It  is  giving  the 
school-boy  authority  over  his  teacher, 
that  he  may  the  more  willingly  profit 
by  his  instructions.  In  this  country, 
the  Church  is  a  great  land  proprietor 
— ^in  very  many  parishes,  its  sole  in- 
come is  derived  from  its  own  land,  and 
the  most  salutary  consequences  flow 
from  it.  The  clergy  discharge  their  du- 
ties with  exemplary  diligence,  and  the 
utmost  harmony  prevails  between  them 
and  their  parishioners ;  while  in  those 
places  where  tithes  are  paid,  the  pas- 
tor and  the  flock  are  genendlv  at  va- 
riance ;  he,  from  the  strife,  aischar- 
ges  his  duty  coldly  and  heartlessly; 
and  they,  in  malice,  forsake  him,  and 
follow  the  dissenter.  But  the  question 
must  be  determined  by  balancing  the 
evils  against  the  benefiu,  and  we  be- 


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imri  Irthnd. 

liero  no  pnbttt  iMtiaM  of  mignitade 
eonld  be  conoeived,  that  woulcT  be  bo 
perfectly  onolnectioiiEble  on  the  score 
of  evil,  and  so  highly  desirable  on  that 
of  benefit ;  and  that  would,  moreover, 
be  so  easily  practicable. 

The  case,  in  two  words,  is  this  :^ 
A  has  property  which  it  is  his  inte- 
rest to  sell — it  is  B's  interest  to  buy 
this  property,  and,  from  the  circum- 
stances in  which  it  is  placed,  a  sale 
may  be  made  on  terms  mutually  ad- 
vantageous to  both.  It  is  the  interest 
of  C  that  the  sale  should  take  place, 
and  he  possesses  abundant  means  for 
enabling  A  and  B  to  complete  it.  The 
tithe  payers  would  be  gr^tlv  benefit- 
ed bv  i^  and  no  daas  would  be  in- 
jursa  or  inconvenienced  by  it  what- 
ever. We  do  not  know  what  more 
could  be  said  in  its  favour. 

The  landholders  of  Ireland  have 
ever  been  the  loudest  in  dedaiming 

r'nst  the  tithes;  t)iey  have  called 
a  the  curse  of  their  country,  and 
called  again  and  again  for  commuta- 
tion. Let  them  now  stand  forward, 
for  they  must  take  the  lead  in  the  mat- 
ter, but  let  their  conduct  be  what  it 
ought  to  be.  Let  them  hold  public 
meetings,  form  themselves  into  a  well 
connected  body,  and  then  address 
Parliament  and  the  nation  as  follows : 
— We  believe  that  the  payment  of 
tithes,  by  our  Catholic  tenantry  to  the 
Protestant  Church,  is  productive  of 
great  evils ;  we  believe  that  it  subjects 
this  Church  to  great  vexations  and 
losses — that  it  engenders  feelings  in 
the  peasantry,  which  lead  them  into 
ruinous  conduct,  and,  which,  however 
criminal,  must  exist,  so  long  as  the 
tithes  are  collected — and  that  it  ope- 
rates powerfully  to  prevent  the  spread 
of  genuine  religion  and  good  senti- 
ments towards  the  government  We 
believe  that  nothing  can  be  a  remedy, 
except  a  just  commutation ;  and  that 
no  such  commutation  can  be  carried 
into  effect,  unless  we  become  the  pur- 
chasers of  the  tithes.  If  the  Church, 
whose  sacred  property  these  are,  be 
willing  to  sell  at  a  m<xierate  once,  we 
are  willing  to  buy,  provided  tne  coun- 
try will  lend  money  on  mortgage,  to 
such  of  us  as  need  it,  for  compassing 
the  purchase.  Let  t)iem  do  this,  and 
we  shall  be  grievously  mistaken  if  the 
Church  and  the  country  do  not  eager- 
ly accept  their  oflfer. 

We  will  here  say  one  word  on  ano- 
ther point  ooaneeted  with  the  Chmrdi. 


979 

It  baa  been  again  and  again  confUent- 
ly  asserted,  that  the  revenue  it  draws 
from  Ireland,  impoverishes  the  coun- 
try. This  is  evidently  founded  on  the 
monstrous  blunder  which  we  have  al- 
ready noticed,  of  supposing,  that  were 
it  annihilated,  its  possessions  would 
drop  gratuitously  into  the  pockets  of 
the  peasantry;  and  that  these  pos- 
sessions are  not  real  property,  but  a 
tax  which  is  levied  generally  on  the 
country.  We  repeat,  what  must  be 
obvious  to  every  one,  that  were  the 
derffv  exterminated,  their  revenues 
would  still  have  to  be  paid,  either  to 
the  government,  the  landlord,  or  any 
person  who  might  purchase  them 
These  revenues  are  just  as  much  a  tax, 
as  the  rent  of  land  is,  and  clergy,  or 
no  clergy,  they  must  stiU  be  collected, 
■o  long  as  the  land  possesses  proprie- 
tors and  occupiers.  As  a  class  of  so- 
ciety and  consumers,  the  clergy  need 
not  defenders. 

Having  pointed  out  what  we  believe 
to  be  the  only  remedy  for  the  extredoe 
indigence  of  the  Irish  occupiers,  we 
must  now  speak  of  those  meml)er8  of 
the  agricultural  class,  who  do  not  oo- 
cupy,  and  who  cannot  procure  employ- 
ment. That  there  is  a  great  redundan- 
cy of  population,  and  that  it  cannot  be 
effectually  acted  upon  by  the  capabi^- 
lities  of  Ireland,  seems  to  be  unques- 
tionable; but  we  cannot  agree  with 
those,  who  appear  to  think,  that  this 
redundancy  is  an  evil  not  to  be  ov^- 
oome.  We  have  immense  territories 
whidi  need  peopling,  and  we  think  no 
principle  can  be  more  dear  than  this, 
that,  if  the  population  be  redundant 
in  one  part  ot  the  empire,  it  is  the 
duty  of  Government,  if  it  possess  the 
means,  to  remove  the  excess  to  sudi 
other  parts  as  need  inhabitants.  That 
Grovemment  possesses  ample  means  for 
removing  the  surplus  population  <^ 
Ireland,  needs  no  proof.  If  even  wo 
much  as  one  million,  or  even  two  mil- 
lions, were,  for  a  term,  annually  ex- 
pended in  settling  the  sur^us  popula- 
tion of  Ireland  in  Canadia,  and  New 
South  Wales,  we  are  quite  sure  that, 
independently  of  the  mcalculable  be- 
nefits which  It  would  vidd  to  the  sis- 
ter IdngdoD},  it  would  be  most  profita- 
Ue  to  tne  empire  at  large,  as  a  moe 
money  speculation.  It  would,  by  ena- 
bling the  landloitb  to  increase  the  siae 
of  their  farms,  and  by  giving  to  labour 
its  due  value,  make  those  consumers, 
and,  of  course,  tax  payers,  who  now 


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S80 

toarcely  ileserre  the  name,  and  the  turn 
thus  advanced,  would  be  speedily  re- 
paid with  abundant  interest^  in  the 
shape  of  additional  Irish  revenue. 
Hub,  however^  if  done  at  aU,  should 
be  done  upon  principle  and  system. 
The  population  is  not  stationary^  but 
keeps  annually  increasing ;  and  there- 
fore,  to  effect  a  reduction^  a  number 
beyond  the  annual  increase  of  the  agri- 
cultural portion,  must  be  taken  ofiT  It 
flhould  be  done  in  oonoert  with  the 
landlords,  and  it  should  only  operate 
en  a  prescribed  district  at  once.  The 
<iwner8  of  a  certain  number  of  parish- 
es should  agree  with  so  many  of 
thdr  smaU  tenants,  to  give  up  their 
leases  and  emigrate,  as  would  enable 
diem  -duly  to  increase  the  size  of  their 
Arms,  and  rid  their  estates  of  all  but 
-necessary  labourers ;  and  diips  should 
be  in  readiness  to  convey  the  surplus 
inhabitants  away.  This,  assuming  that 
rents  would  be  moderate,  would  place 
these  parishes  in  a  state  of  permanent 
'Competence  and  good  order ;  for  their 
ftiture  increase  of  inhabitants  would 
|xnriAbly  be  absorbed  by  the  roanulao- 
•toriee,  sea-ports,  &c  &c.  as  in  £ng- 
Jaftd.  But  if  emigration  be  confinol 
to  a  comparatively  smaH  number, — if 
those  who  avail  themselves  of  it,  be 
4aken  indiscriraioately  fttmi  die  whole 

nilatioh  at  once,  and  if  the  land- 
s  do  notttse  it  as  an  instrument  for 
changing  the  fmn  whicli  society  at 
wesent  wears  on  dieir  estates^  then  we 
fear  diat  it  will  only  be  felt  as  a  pub- 
lic expense. 

One  word  widi  regard  to  Absentees. 
If  they  will  only  do  what  we  have'  re- 
commended, and  spend  a  single  month 
in  the  year  on  ^eir  estates,  we  will 
oot  quarrel  with  them  for  expending 
the  bulk  of  their  incomes  ont  of  Ire- 
land, provided  it  be  chiefly  expended 
in  England.  If  Irish  com,  cattle,  but- 
ter, linens,  poplins,  &c.  come  to  our 
•ouu^ets,  their  incomes  wall,  to  a  con- 
siderable extent,  return  to  the  country 
that  yielda  diem.  They  may  be  as 
much  absent  from  their  estates,  and 
expend  as  much  of  their  incomes  in 
London,  &c  as  the  English  landlords ; 
what  we  diiefly  wish  them  to  do,  is, 
ta  imitate  die  English  landlords  in  the 
letting  of  their  laM,  and  the  trtatmen  t 
^  their  tenantry. 

We  have  hitherto  confined  ourselves 
to  the  suggesting  of  the  necessary  mea- 
sures fbr  removing  the  penury  and 
distress  of  the  Irish  peaiantry,  and  for 


IrdtmtL  pdimb, 

giving  society  its  proper  ibcm  among 
them.  We  will  now  say  something 
on  the  means  of  giving  them  good 
feelings  and  habits— of  rendering  diem 
estimable  members  of  society,  and  good 
subjects. 

The  peasantry  of  Ireland  are  not 
only  grc»sly  ignorant  in  almost  every- 
thing that  they  or^ht  to  know,  but 
they  are  exceedingly  learned  in  ahnost 
everv  thing  that  they  ought  not  to  know. 
To  the  crimes  of  mere  barbarism,  they 
add  those  of  civilized  turpitude — they 
are  religious  £uiatic8,  and  political  r^ 
volutionists,  as  well  as  sava^jes.  We 
must,  therefore,  not  only  give  them 
good  instruction,  but  vre  must  cut  ofl^ 
«8  far  as  possible,  aU  their  sources  of 
evil  instruction.  The  Whin  protest 
that  their  bad  feelings  arise  frompast 
and  present  mal-govemment  Tnis, 
hkt  aumost  every  tmng  else  that  is  made 
the  sul^ect  of  Whig  asseveradon,  is 
mimifesdy  false.  What  say  Captain 
Bock's  manifestoes^  to  which,  in  spite 
of  all  the  Whig  oadis  in  the  world,  we 
shall  apply  for  knowledge  respectiitt 
the  feedings  of  the  Irish  peasantry? 
They  complain  not  of  laws  and  acts  of 
govemfcnent ;  they  clamour  not  fbr  re- 
form, or  die  removal  of  the  Catholic 
disabilities;  they  explicidy  declare, 
that — the  abolidcm  of  dthes  and  rents 
altogether,  both  of  which  belong  al- 
most  exclusively  to  the  Protestants-^ 
the  extermination  (^  the  Protestants, 
because  they  are  heretics— the  destme- 
don  of  the  government,  because  it  is 
an  English  and  a  Protestant  one,  and 
the  establishment  of  anodier,  inde- 
pendent, and  exclusively  Catholic— are 
the  sole  objects  of  the  accomplished 
commander,  fh»m  whom  they  ema- 
nate. It  has  beoi  said  by  the  eminent 
bead  of  the  Ministry,  that  the  conspi- 
racy of  the  Rodcites  is  one  against 
property;  but  aninst whose  property 
do  they  conspire  f  They  are  not  gene- 
ral robbers,  taking  any  land  of  pn>- 
perty  whatever,  and  plundering  all 
men  indiscriminately.  Theirs  is  a 
conspiracy,  with  ngtud  to  property, 
against  dthes  and  rents  alone,  and,  of 
course,  against  the  property  of  the 
Protestants  alone.  It  has  been  said, 
to  prove  thai  they  make  no  distinedon, 
that  they  have,  in  one  or  two  instsiH 
CC8,  robbed  and  bntdiered  Catholics; 
but  we  cakinot  he  convinced  by  it. 
Does  not  a  Whig,  when  he  supports 
the  Ministry,  render  himself  the  enie- 
dal  okjectof  the  vengesBoe  of  his  m- 


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liSi.3]  Ireland. 

flilteiibretlimi?  And,  wlMntbeie  Ca- 
tholics were  actlTe  mipporten  of  ^e 
laws,  were  they  not  tore  to  become  at 
obmnuoua  to  tae  Rockitce^  as  tiM  Pro- 
testants? Is  there  snj  man  Unag  who 
will  say,  that,  if  the  rents  and  tithes 
belonged  to  Catholics,  the  peasantry 
would  utter  a  single  murmur  against 
the  payment  of  Uiem  ?  It  is  romdly 
asserted,  that  the  Protestants  pravoko 
the  Catholic  peasantry  to  their  present 
conduct,  by  oppression  aad  insult,  but 
where  are  the  proofii  ?  The  Catkolica 
hold  the  chief  share  of  the  Irish  press 
— ^they  hsTe  a  number  of  Opposition 
members  in  the  House  of  Commons-^ 
and  they  baTe  Earl  Grey  in  the  one 
House,  and  Mr  BrouglMtm  in  the 
other,  as  official  organs,  ready  to  say 
anything  in  the  wav  of  complaint  that 
my  please,  and  still  no  proofs  of  Pro-^ 
Cestant  oppression  are  brought  fbrword. 
The  ProtesUnts,  no  doubt,  hold  tho 
power  in  Irdand,  and  so  do  the  Tories 
in  England.  The  Protestants  there, 
are  truly*  enough  full  of  party  spirit ; 
and  the  Tories  here  have  their  share 
of  it.  But  would  the  Whigs  be  justi- 
fied, by  the  Tory  prepondenmce  and 
party  spirit,  in  declaring  that  they 
were  oppressed  and  enslaved,  and  in 
becoming  incendiaries  and  assassins  ? 
If  not,  ymo  shall  excuse  the  Irish  Ca- 
Aolicit,  by  maligning  the  Irish  Protest 
tsnts  ?  AcoouRts  are  at  this  rery  time 
reaching  us  almost  weekly,  that  the 
Catholic  ministers,  by  the  lid  of  mob 
force,  riolate  the  laws  and  uanrp  the 
r^hts  of  Uie  Protestant  clergy*  Tbie 
h  indeel  insult  and  oporession ;-  but 
who  are  the  guilty  ?  and  who  are  the 
snflferers?  If  the  oalummated' Protes- 
tants were  what  ther  are  reprseentecl 
to  be,  our  ears  would  not  be  shocked 
by  intelligence  like  this.  Passing  by 
everything  else,  it  is  possible  t^t  one 
part  of  the  lower  orders  of  a  country 
may  insult  and  maltreat  the  other 
part;  but  this  cannot  be  the  esse 
among  the  Irish  peassntry,  when  they 
consist  almost  exdusively  of  Catholtcs. 
It  IS  established  by  convincing  proolii 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  absence  of  ^ 
proofs  on  the  other,  that  the  Protea* 
tants  do  not  tyrannise  ower  the  Catfao* 
Kcs— thst  if  they  be  inflamed  with 
party  spirit,  the  Catholics  are  equally 
so— ana  that,  while  this  spirit  only 
leads  the  former  into  such  excesses  as 
parties  in  this  country  ore  constantly 
gmlty  (k  towards  each  other,  it  lea^ 
the  latter  into  tfie  commiorion  of  the 


981 

nest  appslUttg  crimes.  It  is  proved 
by  everything  else,  as  well  as  by  the 
declarations  of  Captain  Rock,,  that  the 
peasantry  are  led  to  commit  their 
dreadftd  atrocities  bv  their  religion* 
Their  cry  is  not— reoress  for  wrongs^ 
or  revenge  for  past,  or  present^  in* 
juries !  but — exclusive  power  fbr  Ca^ 
tbolicism,  and  destruction  to  the  fto» 
teatants,  because  they  are  Protestants  I 
Whatever  they  may  have  suffered  firoBi 
the  Proteatants,  they  now  s«ii^  no« 
thing ;  the  generation  that  sufibed  in 
no  more ;  that  which  exists  haa  only 
existed  to  receive,  and  still,  like  the 
Puritans  of  old,  they  carry  on  a  re» 
ligioos  war  of  aggression,  usurpation^ 
and  extermination.  We  must  ex* 
amine  their  crimes  in  detail,  to  b» 
fblly  aware  of  their  frightful  enormi- 
ty. Their  horrible  butnings,  hougjk- 
ings,  and  assassinations,  have  not  been 
the  work  of  a  few  weeks  of  phrenay, 
but  of  years  of  cool-blooded  system,—* 
they  have  not  been  confined  to  a  fie«r 
particular  spots,  but  have  spread  over  a. 
very  large  extent  of  country — they* 
have  not  been  prompted  by  the  in<« 
flamed  passions  of  a  few  individuals^ 
but  th^  have  taken  place  in  ftiMl- 
mentof  the  deliberately-chosen  plaar 
oi  the  whole  body  of  the  disafl^tad, 
and,  thereibre,  they  have  been  in  e& 
ftct  the  deeds  of  a  very  gp-eat  portion 
of  the  whole  Irish  peasantry — and  the 
yi^ms  have  been,  noS  alien  enemiet, 
but  children  of  the  same  soil,  innocent 
men,  whose  only  offence  was,  the  cx« 
artise  of  a  dear  right,  snd  some  el 
dMB  great  beneftctars  to  this  pen« 
santrj.  These  terrible  and  sidcening 
atrocities  have  been  perpetrated  in  the 
name  of  leKgion  I  The  perpetratOM 
of  them  have  been  furious  fanatica, 
abundantly  svpplied  with  religiona 
teachers  or  their  own  ptrsuasion,  and. 
the  blind  and  devoted  slaves  of  these 
teachers! ! 

Now,  is  there  any  man  Kving,  wboj 
In  looking  at  the  brutal  ignorance  and 
hellish  crimcei  the  flerce  fanaticism 
and  the  slavery  to  their  church,  of  the 
Irish  peasantry,  can  ky  his  hand  upon 
his  heart  and  say,  tbiat  there  is  naS 
something  fsarfUlly  wrong  and  dan* 
gerous,  either  in  the  doctrines  of  this 
church,  or  in  its  discipline  and  coo* 
duct?  Granting  that  tne  last  genera* 
tion,  and  previous  ones^  of  CathoUcB 
were  oppressed  by  the  Proteatants, 
how  bi^ppens  it,  that,  when  the  op- 
pressed and  th^  oppreaurs  are  now 


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883 

moaldering  in  tlie  duBl — ^when  those 
who  now  Uve  of  both  religions^  oon- 
nst  only  of  the  benefactors  and  the 
benefited — ^how  happens  it,  that  the 
Irish  peasantry  thirst  as  ardently  now 
for  the  extermination  of  the  F^tes- 
tants^  as  they  ever  did  in  the  worst 
times  of  Protestant  oppression?  What 
keeps  alive  this  dreaoiul,  this  devilish, 
animosity,  when  they  now  sufier  no- 
thing from  the  Protestants,  scarcely 
ever  come  in  contact  with,  or  see  one, 
and  are  so  completely  under  the  con- 
trol of  their  priests?  Allowing  that, 
from'  the  infirmity  of  human  nature, 
difference  of  religious  opinion  may 
make  bodies  of  men  detest  each  other, 
what  makes,  speaking  alone  of  the 
lower  classes,  the  conduct  of  the  Ca^ 
tholtcs  to  be  so  much  more  criminal 
than  that  of  the  Protestante?  What 
makes  the  lower  classes  of  the  Catho- 
lics, so  much  more  ignorant  and  wick- 
ed than  those  of  the  Protestants? 
And  why,  when  the  Irish  peasantry 
are  plentifully  supplied  with  Catholic 
priests  who  have  unlimited  control 
over  them,  are  they  sunk  in  the  lowest 
depths  of  ignorance  and  depravity  ? 

These  are  seardiing  questions,  and 
toudi  the  very  vitals  of  Uie  Catholic 
Church  of  Ireland.  We  know  full 
well,  what  contempt  and  mockery  are 
cast  upon  those  who  speak  of  this 
diurch  anything  but  eulogy,  both  in 
Parliament  and  elsewhere;;  but  fiir 
liiis  we  care  not.  It  is  the  poor, 
blind,  guilty,  and  miserable  Irish  pea- 
sant, and  not  us  who  write,  who  must 
sufier  from  the  refusal  of  Parliament 
to  be  told  of  this  Church's  misconduct. 
We  may  be  called  bigots,  and  we  know 
not  what— told  that  our  words  ought 
to  have  been  spoken  some  hundred 
years  ago— and  informed  that  the 
Homish  Church  has  abjured  its  mon- 
strous doctrines  and  pretensbns,  and 
abandoned  its  spiritual  and  civil  des- 
potism. We  snail  only  deign  to  re- 
ply to  this,  by  pointing  to  the  rasssNT 
''Miracles,"  to  the  tkssent  proclaim- 
ed belief  of  the  Catholic  Church  and 
Catholic  Board  of  Ireluid  in  them, 
and  to  the  prbsent  state  of  the  Irish 
Catholic  peasantry.  To  those  who 
love  truth  and  reason,  we  will  speak ; 
and  we  will  say  nothing  that  we  do 
not  conscientiously  believe  to  be  truth 
and  reason. 

A  great  part  of  the  nation  is  at  this 
very  moment  declaiming  against  the 
Catnolic  Church  of  Spain  and  Fortu- 


Irehnd.  [[March, 

gal,  as  the  source  of  the  moat  tmihle 
evils  to  these  countries — ^very  many 
are  vituperating  the  Protestant  Mis- 
sionaries, as  men  who  are  producing 
great  mis<^hief  in  the  colonies — not 
many  years  since,  the  Edinburgh  Re- 
view made  a  tremendous  attack  on  the 
I^otestant  Dissenters  of  almost  all  de- 
nominations, on  the  ground  that  they 
were  inflicting  fearful  injuries  on  the 
country — and  the  Whigs  have  been 
for  some  time,  and  are  at  this  hour, 
making  war  upon  the  Established 
Church  and  its  dergy,  from  the  belief, 
as  they  say,  that  these  are  doing  harm 
to  the  State.  Now  all  this  proves, 
what,  in  good  truth,  needs  no  proof 
whatever,  that  it  is  believed  bv  all 
parties  to  be  possible  for  a  Church,  or 
a  body  of  religious  teachers,  to  {dnnge 
those  whom  they  lead,  into  great 
evils:  it  proves  likewise,  what  haa 
been  so  often  proved  bv  history  before, 
that. even  the  Romisn  Church  is  ca- 
pable of  being  the  patent  of  the  most 
grievous  ills  to  individuals  and  na^ 
tions;  and  it  proves,  moreover,  that 
thedoctrines  of  a  Church  may  be  harm* 
less  and  even  pure,  and  yet  its  dis- 
cipline and  the  conduct  of  its  func- 
tionaries may  be  highly  mischievooa 
and  dangerous. 

Upon  this  ground  we  take  our  stand. 
Speaking  here  as  politicians  alone,  vra 
will  put  out  of  sight  the  doctr^ies  of 
the  Catholic  Churdi,  and  speak  ouIy 
of  its  conduct,  and  the  effects  whicn 
it  produces  in  Ireland.  Now  the  pea- 
santry are  savagely  ignorant,  ana  as 
savagely  wick^ ;  although  their 
priests,  from  the  peculiarity  of  their 
duties  and  powers,  are  continually 
coming  in  contact  with,  and  have 
despotic  authority  over  diem,  in  re- 
gard to  religious  conduct.  This  is  of 
itself  fuite  sufficient  to  prove  their 
Church  utterly  worthies  as  a  teacher 
of  religion.  But  does  this  Churdi 
content  itself  with  being  merely  worth- 
less? The  peasantry  are  prohibited 
from  reading  the  Scriptures  without 
note  and  comment,  sound  expositions 
of  Christianity,  and  almost  all  works 
whatever,  calculated  to  dispel  their 
mental  darkness,  and  correct  their 
depravity.  They  are  prohibited  from 
entering  any  place  of  worship  save 
their  own,  from  becoming  familiar, 
and  intermarryii^,  with  Ftotestants^ 
and  they  are  restricted  from  inquiry 
and  discussion.  Now,  who  issue  the 
prohibition?  Who  are  those  who  thus 

IS 

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lui.;] 


Ireland. 


S83 


dnre  to  ufuip  40  laiige  a  share  of  the 
•orereigii  power — thus  exercise  author 
rity  wmch  the  Groyemment  itself  does 
not  possess,  for  the  purpose  of  depri- 
Ting  80  large  a  portion  of  our  fellow- 
■nlyects  of  their  legal  rights  and  pri- 
vilqges^  and  sinking  them  to  the  lowest 
stages  of  blindness^  guilt,  and  slavery  ? 
The  Catholic  Priesthood !  The  pro^ 
kifaition  is  not  merely  one  of  terms-* 
it  is  not  rendered  eirective  merely  by 
threats  of  future  perdidon^it  is  er- 
Heetually  enforced  oy  means  of  what 
ifly  in  rMlity,  a  grievous  penal  puni^- 
ment,  of  what  amounts  to  the  loss  of 
diaracter  and  bread,  if  not  of  life*  It 
is  in  Tain  that  Ireland  boasts  of  pos* 
sessing  the  liberty  of  the  press — this 
priesthood  exercises  a  censorship  over 
the  press  with  regard  to  the  lower 
orders,  which  completely  sitppresses 
ahnost  everything  that  ought  to  cir- 
culate. It  is  in  vain  tl^t  Ireland 
boasts  of  living  under  the  British  con- 
stitution— a  tyranny,  which  laughs 
alike  at  laws  and  rulers,  and  triumpi- 
antly  maintains  its  system  of  espionage 
and  terror,  keeps  tne  great  body  of 
the  people  in  the  most  al^ect  state  of 
mental  and  bodily  bondage.  It  is  in 
vain  that  the  ProtesUnt  Ckrgy  seek  to 
imnart  to  the  people  good  feelings 
and  conduct — toe  Catholic  Churdi 
declares,  they  shall  not  be  heard.  And 
it  is  in  vain  that  the  Government,  Par- 
liament, all  political  parties,  and  the 
whole  British  nation,  call  in  one  voice 
for  the  instruction  and  liberation  of 
the  Irish  peasantry — the  omnipotent 
Catholic  Cnurch  responds  in  triumph 
— They  shall  not  be  instructed,  they 
shall  not  be  set  free,  they  shall  remain 
what  they  are  I 

We  are  well  aware,  that  this  terri- 
Ue  power  ia  secured  to  this  Church  by 
law ;  but  we  may  be  permitted  to  say, 
that  it  ought  not  to  be  poasessed  by 
any  Churdi,  or  any  body  whatever, 
when  all  men  agree,  that  it  ought  not 
to  be  possessed  by  the  Government  it- 
aelf.  We  may  be  permitted  to  say, 
that  if  anything  but  a  Church — any 
combination  of  laymen,  even  the 
Church  of  England,  were  to  possess 
this  power,  it  would  be  imm^ately 
oonsumed  by  public  indignation,  al- 
tfaoi^  its  organisation,  functionaries, 
creed,  and  cmluct,  might  be  exactly 
the  same.  So  much  for  the  instru- 
mentality of  the  Catholic  Church  in 
podttcing  the  peasantry's  deplorable 
Knoranoe  and  consequent  depravity  : 

Vol.  XV. 


we  will  now  inquire,  how  &r  it  is  in- 
strumental in  producing  their  hatred 
ai  the  Protestants  and  disaffection. 

Looking  at  the  thousand  and  one 
religious  oodies  which  compose  the 
people  of  England,  he  must  be  blind 
indeed,  who  cannot  see  that  it  is  the 
constant  endeavour  of  the  leaders  of 
each,  to  prejudice  their  followers 
against  all  the  others — who  cannot 
see,  that  it  is  their  interest,  and  even 
duty  as  honest  men,  to  do  it,  on  the 
principle  on  which  conscientious  Whigs 
and  Tories  labour  to  bring  each  other 
into  disrepute — ^and  who  cannot  seei, 
that  this  must  be  the  case  so  long  as 
tliese  bodies  endure.  The  press  per- 
haps is  not  quite  so  much  jaded  with 
theok^cal  controversy  as  formerly, 
and  Ministers  of  difEerent  persuasions 
may  perhaps  exchange  ^cious  bows 
with  each  other ;  but  dissenting  pul- 

Sits — and  in  good  truth  what  else  con 
tiey  do?-* ore  still  engap^  in  on  in- 
terminable war.  Granting  that  the 
doctrine  alone  is  attacked — Can  you 
excite  prejudice  against  the  doctrme, 
without  exciting  prejudice  against 
those  who  profess  it  ?  Can  you  teach 
the  religious  man  to  abhor  atheism, 
without  diminishing  his  esteem  for  the 
atheist ;  and  can  you  fill  the  Catholic 
with  hatred  of  Protestantism,  and  yet 
prevail  on  him  to  be  the  Protestant's 
friend  I  If  you  can  accomplish  this 
with  bodies  of  men,  you  can  leap  over 
the  Moon,  and  do  anything  whatever, 
that  the  Eastern  endionters  were  in 
the  practice  of  doing.  Perhaps  the 
rich  and  intelligent,  who  form  the 
contemptible  minority  of  each  body^ 
are  not  worked  up  into  a  much  strong- 
er feeling  than  compassionate  dislike 
of  the  other  bodies ;  but  the  ignorant 
and  passionate,  who  form  the  over- 
whelming m^orities,  are  inflamed  with 
animosity  towards  all  who  differ  from 
them.  At  this  very  moment,  the 
members  of  the  religious  sects  among 
the  lower  and  middling  classes,  are 
railing  against  each  other  as  f\iriously 
as  ever.  Two  individuals,  and  it  is 
only  barely  possible,  may  argue  and 
dispute — may  be  nvals*-and  may  en- 
deavour to  make  proselytes  among 
each  other's  followers,  without  ceasing 
to  be  lukewarm  friends,  but,  with  bo- 
dies, it  is  utterly  impossible. 

The  Catholic  Ministers  are,  not  only 

acted  upon  by  the  same  natural  laws, 

which  act  upon  the  Ministers  of  other 

relidous  bodies,  to  compel  them  to 

«0 


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Ireland* 


CMmMs 


tenth  ibeir  flocks  to  despne  other 
creeds,  and  consequendv  the  fbllowers 
of  other  creeds,  but  tney  are  acted 
upon  to  do  it,  by  almost  every  other 
motive  that  can  influence  die  heart  of 
nan.  The  Protestant  bodies  found 
their  different  creeds  upon  ambiguous 
and  controverted  texts  of  scripture, 
which  divide  in  opinion,  not  merely 
the  ignorant,  but  men  of  s];^endia 
talent  and  learning :  they  have  nothinja; 
to  conceal,  they  teadi  nothing  that  is 
capable  of  being  refuted  by  physical 
poof,  and  their  members  may  see  and 
near  what  they  please,  without  being 
in  much  danger  of  being  induced  to 
change  their  religion.  But  the  Catho- 
lic Church  stands  upon  falsehood,  im- 
posture, ignorance,  and  credulity.  It 
nas  by  its  legends  and  superstitions, 
its  reucs  and  pretended  miracles,  its 
glaring  falsifications  of  scripture,  and 
Its  monstrous  assumption  of  the  attri- 
butes of  the  Deit^,  placed  itself  in 
such  fierce  hostihty  with  the  Bible 
and  common  sense,  that  nothing  but 
the  barbarous  ignorance  of  its  follow- 
ers can  save  it  from  ruin  ;  and  the 
thread  of  life  of  this  ignorance  consists 
in  hatred  of  the  Protestants.  Reconcile 
the  Irish  Catholics  with  the  Protest* 
ants— sufi^  the  former  to  converse 
freely  with  the  latter,  to  read  their 
books,  and  hear  their  clergy — and  they 
will  be  brouaht  into  a  bkze  of  know- 
ledge and  feelings,  of  facts  and  demon- 
stradons,  which  must  inevitably,  ei- 
ther reduce  their  church  into  an  im- 
potent sect,  or  destroy  it  altogether. 
If  the  Irish  Catholic  Church  have  any 
regard  whatever  for  its  own  existence, 
it  must  make  it  its  grand  object,  to 
keep  the  hatred  of  its  flock  towards 
the  Protestants  at  the  highest  point 
possible.  Ap;ain,  the  Protestant  sects 
never  sustamed  any  loss  from  the 
Established  Church  ;  in  their  war 
against  it,  they  have  constandy  dis- 
claimed aU  wish  for  its  temporal  pos- 
sessions, and  have  merely  insisted  that 
there  ought  to  be  no  national  church 
whatever.  But  the  Catholic  Church 
once  was,  what  the  Church  of  England 
now  is — ^it  regards  the  latter  as  a  sacri- 
legious usurper,  by  whom  it  has  been 
discrowned  and  stripped  of  its  posses- 
sions— ^it  holds  its  tide  to  these  pos- 
sessions to  be  still  sacred — and,  ani- 
mated by  its  interpretadon  of  the  pro- 
Shedes,  it  looks  forward  with  confl- 
ence  to  the  moment,  when  it  shall 
regain  them,  and  again  become  the 


estaUiahedehttrdiortheempCre.  The 
Church  of  England  and  the  Catfaotte 
one,  are,  in  the  religious  woiid,  what 
the  Tories  and  Whigs  are,  in  the  poli^ 
deal  one ;  they  war,  not  merely  on  ac- 
count of  opinions,  but  for  iplendid 
dignities  and  emoluments;  and  th6 
victory  must  be  decided  by  a  mi^}oi4tt 
in  followers.  So  loiu;  as  the  great 
body  of  the  Irish  peopk  remain  omd, 
disaflected  fitnatics,  so  long  will  tliet 
virtually  have  no  other  temporal  bHm. 
dian  their  Church,  and  it  must  be  tl^ 
head — ^it  must  be  an  impeHum  tn  tm- 
perio,  its  followers  must  be  a  distinct 
people,  hostile  to  all  others,  and  obey- 
ing nothing  but  itself,  save  fW>m  com- 
pulsion—or it  must  cease  to  be  mighty 
for  the  attainment  of  its  wishes,  and 
even  to  hope.  The  esteem  of  its  fol- 
lowers for  the  Protestant  ruler,  wouM 
be  fraught  with  the  extreme  of  danger, 
for  it  would  give  to  this  ruler  power- 
ful influence,  which  he  would  use  to 
enlighten  them,  and  consequently  to 
destroy  Catholidsm.  Our  Protestant 
sects  have  nothinff  whatever  to  gain  br 
disaffection.  They  neutralize  each 
other's  political  power  for  anything 
but  general  defence.  Every  one  <rf 
them  well  knows  that,  were  it  to  at- 
tempt to  procure  any  peculiar  aggran- 
dizement in  the  state,  all  the  otheito 
would  join  the  Established  Church  and 
the  Government  in  resisting  it ;  and 
every  one  of  them  wdl  knows,  that 
no  state  necessity,  and  no  wish  on  the 
part  of  Government  exist,  fbr  stripping 
them  of  followers.  But  the  Cathofic 
Church  of  Ireland  is  followed  by  near- 
ly the  whole  of  the  people ;  and  so  long 
as  it  keeps  them  disaffected,  or,  to  use 
a  softer  word,  in  a  state  of  dislike,  to 
the  Government,  it  is  the  most  power- 
ful pK>litical  body  in  the  country,  when 
political  power  is  essential  for  its  ex- 
istence. Imperious  state  necessity,  and 
the  Government  and  Parliament,  call 
for  the  proper  instruction  of  the  peo- 
ple, but  it  dare  not  instruct  them,  and 
it  dare  not  snffbr  them  to  be  instruct- 
ed. It  is  therefore  involved  in  a  con- 
flict with  public  good  and  the  ^neral 
government,  on  a  question  which  af^ 
lects  its  own  life ;  and  it  is  only  iht 
disloyalty  of  the  people  which  enables 
it  to  retain  paramount  authority  ov^ 
Ihera,  and  thereby  to  overawe  toe  go^ 
vemment,  bind  up  the  hands  of  the 
Protestant  clergy,  and  remain  in  secu- 
rity. Admitthn^  that,  as  many  intel- 
ligent men  continue  to  be  Catholics, 


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1894.3  Irekutd. 

the  people  of  Ireland  mlglii  be  proper- 
Ij  inetructed  and  yet  not  change  tbeir 
zdigionj — still  the  pohability  is^  that 
many  of  them  would  change  it ;  and 
the  certainty  ia,  that  if  they  did  not, 
Cathc^dsm  would  be  wholly  dianged, 
the  main  diains  which  then:  Church 
has  fixed  on  their  hearts  would  be 
broken>  the  clergy  would  be  reduced 
into  mere  spiritual  adyisers,  and  the 
Cburdi  Would  lose  the  greater  portion 
•f  its  power  and  hopes. 

We  say  then«  that  the  Catholic 
Clergy  of  Ireland  are  acted  upon  by 
the  most  powerful  tnoftves  that  can 
ififluence  the  human  hearty  to  keep 
|he  animosity  of  their  flocks  towards 
the  Protestants  at  the  highest  poin^ 
and  to  fan  their  dislike  to  the  govern* 
ment;  and  they  would  be  the  yeriest 
dolts  in  existence,  if  they  could  not  ao« 
eoaplish  this  by  the  tremendous  pow- 
ers which  they  possess  for  the  purpose, 
and  the  peculiar  drcumstancesm  whidi 
the  people  of  Ireland  are  placed.  Their 
Chioreh  subjects  its  members  to  the 
most  perfect  form  of  discipline  that 
eould  oe  devised,  for  obtainmg  despo- 
tic authority  over  them.  It  rivets  its 
iMtera  on  their  possioui ,  wrings  fit>m 
them  their  thoughts,  keeps  its  eyes  on 
every  footstep,  pies  incessantlv  into 
their  dwellings»  nddsover  their  heads 
the  terrors  of  excommunication,  and 
thus  obtains  power  over  them  that  the 
Einghimself  does  not  possess.  It  is 
impossible  for  an  is^norant,  supersti- 
tious^ credukva  CatuoliCjr— «nd  all  ig- 
nonmt  men  are  superstitious  and  cre- 
dulous,— to  be  other  than  the  alyect 
slafe  of  his  priest  While  the  prieaU 
pnissfs  this  power,  those  of  them,  who 
officiate  among  the  peasantry,  are,  as 
well  as  the  peasantry,  grossly  igno- 
rant ;  and,  in  propcution  as  a  religioua 
teacher  and  his  hearers  are  ignorant, 
in  the  same  proportion  will  his  ap- 
peals to  their  worst  passions  against 
olher  rdi^^uMM  bodies  be  outrageous 
and  soeoMfuL  The  peasantry  are 
tangbl  to  regard  the  Protestants,  not 
only  as  bdie^ers  in  afalse  religion,  who 
cannot  escape  p^dition,  but  as  the 
Mbbers  of  the  Catholic  prieathood  and 
tfaefbnnerCatholiclandholdecs.  While 
thcgr  are  tai^^ht  this,  they  are  called 
nfaa  by  the  Protestant  Clsrgv  for 
tithes,  and  by  Protestant  Undlords  for 
wtM9,  whidi  humsn  effixt  cannot  ex- 
tiaci  from  the  aoiL  On  the  other 
hand,  the  GovemmcAt  makes  it  a  mat- 
l«  4)f  policy  to  do  Mudiing,  and  to  die- 


ms 

courage  everytbinff»  that  may  be  ob- 
noxious to  the  Catnohcs  on  the  score 
of  religion ;  the  Protestant  cletgr  are 
therefore  rendered  powerless,  and  the 
Catholic  ones  meet  with  scaitaely  any- 
thing to  interfere  with  their  efforts 
and  triumph. 

The  proofs  of  all  this  are  to  be 
found  in  Ireland,  in  the  most  sstound- 
ing  and  monstrous  forms  and  combi- 
nations. The  peasantry  are  command- 
ed, exhorted,  supplicated,  tempted, 
and  bribed  by  the  Government,  to  be- 
come free,  and  receive  instruction,  and 
Still  they  hug  their  chains,  and  spurn 
from  them  knowledge.  Tbey  dwell 
under  a  form  of  government  which  is 
the  boast  of  human  wisdom,  and  in 
the  very  focus  of  mental  and  bodily 
exaltation,  and  still  thev  are  mon 
turbulent,  depraved,  barbarous,  and 
wretched,  than  any  other  people  in 
Europe.  They  have  formed  them- 
selves into  a  gigantic  confederacy  for 
committing  the  most  horrible  crimes 
against  their  neighbours  and  their 
country,  against  God  and  man— and 
still  they  are  farious  religious  fana- 
tics, and  profess  to  do  it  for  the  cause 
of  religion.  The  people  and  Parliament 
of  England  are  unceasingly  anxiona  to 
do  almost  anything,  to  make  idmost 
any  sacrifice,  to  conciliate  and  ben^t 
them.  With  regard  to  public  burdens, 
they  ei^oy  immunities  which  are  un- 
known m  England  and  Scotland.  The 
general  government  is  almost  con- 
stantly occupied  in  framing  schemes 
for  their  advantage— and  their  own  go* 
vemment,  in  a  fit  of  drunken  foUy, 
has  publicly  insulted  and  diigusted 
the  Protestants,  aa  a  body — to  please 
them,  has  kissed  their  gory  hands, 
knelt  at  their  feet,  and  offmd  them  ita 
honour,  duty,  and  reason,  as  a  sacri- 
fice to  propitiate  their  favour ; — and 
still  they  hate  England,  the  Englkh 
government,  the  Irish  government, 
and  the  Protestants. — They  are  still 
disafibcted  and  rebellious. 

We  msintain  it  to  be  proved — in- 
disputably  proved— by  what  we  have 
asia,  that  the  ignorant  portion  of  the 
Catholics^f  their  forefathers  had 
never  been  ii\jured  l^  the  Protestants, 
and  if  the  latter  now  folt  ne  party  anw 
moaity  towards  them  whatever— would 
atill  hate  the  Protestants  ss  cordially 
as  they  now  do ;  and  that,  so  lona  as 
they  remain  as  they  are,  and  their 
Church  remaina  what  it  is,  their  ha- 
tred will  not  ktc  flfie  ioti  oCits  joten- 


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966 

sity.  We  say  that  this  must  be  the 
case,  iff rishmcn  be  like  other  men. 
We  have  laboured  this  point  the  more, 
because  \t  is  one  of  the  very  highest 
importance.  To  discover  the  source  of 
the  peasantry's  hostility  to  the  Pro- 
testants, and  the  Protestant  govern- 
ment, and  the  means  of  removing  it, 
would  be,  in  our  poor  judgment,  to 
discover  a  cure  for  the  greatest  portion 
of  Ireland's  evils.  We  have  likewise 
laboured  it  the  more,  because  it  is  the 
point  on  which  almost  all  sides  seem 
determined  to  be  deluded. 

Let  us  not  be  mistaken.  We  do  not 
charge  the  Romish  Church  of  Ireland 
with  wanton  misconduct ;  we  do  not 
even  say  that  it  does  anything  what- 
ever that  we  should  not  ourselves  do, 
were  we  members  of  it,  and  directing 
its  affiiirs,  without  regard  to  anything 
else.  Its  power,  and  even  existence, 
are  unhappily  bound  up  in  the  blind- 
ness  and  disafibction  of  the  pweople,  and 
they  must  perish  together ;  it  is  there- 
fore compelled,  in  self-preservation,  to 
exert  its  gigantic  means  to  keep  the 
people  blind  and  disaffected. 

Now,  is  there  one  impartial  and  en- 
lightened man  in  the  empire,  who 
wiU  say  that  this  ought  to  continue — 
that  the  most  strenuous  efforts  ought 
not  to  be  made  to  remedy  it  ?  Is  there 
one  now,  among  those  who  so  loudly 
and  justly  insist  on  the  instruction  of 
the  Irish  in  sound,  social,  moral,  and 
religious  principles,  who  can  look  at 
the  past,  and  believe  that  these  will 
ever  be  taught  them  by  the  Catholic 
Church — who  is  not  aware  that  it  is  the 
dear  interest  of  this  Church  to  keep 
such  principles  from  them  ?  Does  the 
virtuous  and  eminent  head  of  the  Mi- 
nistry, who  so  lately  declared  in  Par- 
liament that  his  anxious  wish  was  to 
five  to  the  Irish,  English  feelings  and 
abits,  believe  that  he  can  give  them 
these,  without  previously  giving  them 
English  knowledge  and  religion  ?  And 
is  there  one  man,  of  any  party,  who 
wiU  deny  that  the  conversion  of 

THE  IRISH  TO   THE  PROTESTANT  RE- 

UoiON,  would  be  the  most  invaluable 
benefit  that  could  be  gained,  both  by 
themselves  and  the  empire  at  larger 
We  say  no !  And  yet  what  is  the  fact  ? 
The  attempts  of  the  Protestant  clerey 
to  make  converts,  are  systematicafly 
discouraged.  Theencouragingof*'pro- 
selytism  from  tfie  Catholic  religion, 
has  been  made  matter  of  grave  charge 
against  the  government,   in  Pariia- 


Irtland.  C^arcfa, 

ment,  and  government  has  anxiously 
laboured  to  prove  itself  guiltless  of  the 
crime  of  having  given  such  encourage- 
ment! A  proposition  was  actually 
made  to  Ministers  in  the  last  session, 
to  encourage  the  Irish  Protestants  to 
leave  their  country ! !  The  ojtowed 
system  is,  to  extend  not  merely  the 
same  protection,  but  the  same  encou* 
ragement,  to  the  Catholic  as  to  the 
Protestant  church ;  and  the  system  in 
practice  is,  to  give  the  confidence  and 
the  preference  to  the  latter.  Protest- 
antism is  never  mentioned  in  Parlia- 
ment with  reference  to  Ireland,  except 
to  be  vilified,  and  Catholicism  is  nevar 
mentioned  except  to  be  eulogised ! ! ! 
The  Irish  Protestant  government  has 
publicly  insulted  and  cast  off*  its  Pro- 
testant supporters,  on  account  of  tbdr 
religion,  and  has  thrown  itself,  no€ 
into  ^e  arms  of  the  Catholics,  for  they 
scorned  its  embrace,  but  at  their  foet ! ! ! 
We  are  inventing  nothing.  "  We  are 
not  mad,  most  noble  Festus,  but  speak 
forth  the  words  of  truth  and  sober- 
ness." We  are  not  relating  what  pass- 
ed some  thousands  of  years  since,  but 
the  history  of  the  present  hour. 

The  grand  prindple  of  all  this  is 
confessedly  Condliation.  The  Catholic 
Church  is  to  be  cajoled  by  sweet  words 
into  its  ruin — ^the  Catholic  priests  are 
to  be  softened  by  panegyric,  until  they 
make  their  flocks  religious  and  loyal, 
and  voluntarily  strip  themselves  of 
power ;  and  nothing  is  on  any  account 
to  be  done  that  this  Church  and  its 
clergy  disspprove  of.  If  a  mistaken, 
vidous,  and  ruinous  system  of  policy 
could  be  adopted  with  regard  to  Ire- 
land, this  is  that  system.  In  what 
chapter  of  the  book  of  human  nature 
do  vou  learn  that  this  can  be  accem- 
plisned  by  such  means — that  a  people, 
so  brutisbly  ignorant  as  the  peasantry, 
will  ever  be  taught  by  thdr  priests  to 
regard  the  Protestants  with  anything 
but  detestation,  when  these  priests  are 
jealous  in  the  last  d^;ree  of  even  one 
of  them  becoming  a  Protestant?  In 
your  enlightened  England,  party  spi- 
rit pervades  the  whole  oomroaaity, 
and  among  the  lower  classes,  party 
spirit  and  personal  enmity  are  the 
same.  What  then  can  you  expect  from 
the  Irish  peasantry,  when  you  fSoSSst 
their  party  leaders  to  be  thdr  sole 
teachers  }  Do  you  suppose  that  the 
peasantry  will  beeome  better  infonn-. 
ed,  and  less  violent  in  party  matters, 
without  your  exertioDs  f  Look  at  the 


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Ireland^ 


SS7 


niBt.  For  ages  hi«  your  free  preBB  li» 
bomod  to  reach  them — ^your  fireedom 
alrove  to  burst  the  barriers  that  sepa- 
rate them  from  H.  Vour  genius,  learn- 
ings and  wisdom^  blazed  around  them, 
and  the  example  of  England  endea- 
voured to  force  UDon  them  licfat  and 
happineflBy  and  tney  are  stUl  what 
mkf  were  when  these  ages  commen- 
ced. 

One  word  touching  the  remainina 
CatboKc  disabiHtiea.  It  is  admittea 
on  all  hands,  that  their  removal  could 
only  benefit  a  small  number  of  the 
tick  CadioUca ;  and  it  ia  dear,  that 
their  existence  has  the  smallest  idiare 
poasible,  if  any,  in  producing  thepre- 
aent  feelings  ii  the  poorer  ones.  Cap- 
tain Rock  never  mentions  them ;  and 
the  Catholic  Association,  however  it 
may  a£feet  to  call  for  their  removal, 
always  abuses  every  plan  that  is  fimn- 
ed  for  the  purpose;  and  it  has  had  for 
jrears,  a  number  of  other  inflamma- 
tory daims  ready  to  put  forth  in  lieu 
of  them,  in  order  that  it  may  be  en- 
abled to  pursue  its  present  conduct, 
and  that  the  feelings  and  conduct  of 
the  people  may  be  preaerved  from 
diange.  If  these  disabiUtiea  were  re- 
mov^  the  conduct  of  the  Church, 
from  what  we  have  suted,  would 
continue  the  aame ;  and  therefore  the 
conduct  and -lentiments  of  the  igno- 
rant part  of  the  people  would  undergo 
no  alteration.  We  say  that  the  re- 
moval of  these  disabilities  would  be  a 
curse  to  Ireland.  It  would,  b^  intro* 
dudng  a  number  of  Catholics  mto  the 
Ministry  and  Parliament,  effectually 
consolidate  the  power  of  the  Catholic 
Church  in  that  unhappy  country,  £,nd 
ahield  it  frcmi  aU  attacks  whatever; 
and  it  would  therefore  secure  to  the 
|ieople  an  eternity  of  their  present 
iffnoranoe,  depravity,  party  madnesa, 
slavery,  and  wretchedness. 

The  Govomment  ought  unquestion- 
ably, both  now  and  at  all  times,  to  act 
on  the  prindple  of  conciliation  to  the 
utmost  point  that  may  be  consistent 
with  its  duty  ;  and  it,  aa  unqueation- 
ably,  ou^ht  never  to  sacrifice  its  duty 
to  conciliation.  Now  it  is  the  duty, 
the  sacred,  even  the  highest,  du^  of 
the  Government,  with  regsrd  to  Ire- 
land, to  procure  for  the  Irish  people 
the  oiacticsl  ei^oyment  of  the  ub^ty 
of  tne  press,  to  remove  all  the  ol>- 
stmcttons  that  stand  between  them 
and  the  acquisition  of  sound  know- 
ledge^  and  to  release  them  fhnn  any 


tyrann^r  that  may  keep  them  firom  the 
possession  of  British  f^needom.  It  is 
the  highest  duty  of  the  Government 
to  make  them,  if  possible,  enlighten- 
ed, honest,  virtuous,  peaceable,  bet, 
and  loyal  men.  If  the  Catholic  Churdi 
will  permit  its  fi>]lowers  to  read  any 
works  whatever,  except  seditious  and 
immoral  ones— if  it  will  fredy  permit 
their  intermarriage,  and  association, 
with  Protestants— if  it  will  grant  ^em 
liberty  of  conscience,  and  the  right  of 
firee  inquiry  and  discussion— if  it  will 
expunge  from  its  books  of  education  aU 
that  is  in  eflfect  treason  towards  a  Pro- 
testant government— if  it  will  change 
its  grievous  penal  punishment  of  ex- 
communicauon,  into  simple  expulsion 
— and  if  it  will  confine  its  power  to  the 
incttkatiou  of  just  principles,  then  kt 
it  be  conciliated.  But  if  it  persist  in 
usurping  so  tremendous  a  portion  of 
the  sovodgn  authority,  and  using  it 
to  deprive  Uie  ^ple  of  their  rights, 
and  keep  them  in  the  lowest  stage  of 
iffnorance,  bondage,  and  debasement,  , 
wen,  if  the  Government  conciliate  i^ 
remain  neutral  between  it  and  the  Pro- 
testant one,  and  even  do  not  use  every 
effort  to  ^ange  its  followers  into  Pro- 
testants, the  Government  abandons  the 
most  sacred  of  its  duties.  Wequarrd 
not  with  the  Catholic  Church  on  the 
number  of  its  sacraments,  its  opinions 
on  transubstantiation,  or  even  its  mo- 
nopoly of  hesven  ;  the  question  is  not 
one  of  religious  speculation,  but  of 
national  freedom  and  happiness.  The 
chartered  rights,  weal,  and  happiness 
of  the  Iridi  people,  are  involved  in 
fierce  hostility  with  the  interests  of 
their  Church,  and  to  remain  neutral 
is  a  crime ;  to  take  the  part  of  the 
Churdi  is  a  greater  crime,  and  to  con- 
tend for  the  people  is  alone  duty. 

The  present  system  of  conciliating 
the  CatnoHc  Church,  has,  up  to  thi» 
hour,  yidded  its  natural  fruits,  that 
is,  the  very  reverse  of  what  it  was 
meant  to  yield.  The  products  of  Mar^ 
quia  WelWey's  msrvdlous  experi- 
ment are,  Uie  resurrection  of  the  Ca- 
tholic Board,  and  the  greatest  possibte 
portion  of  ptfty  madnesa  between  Ca» 
tholics  and  Protestanta.  And  what 
hope  does  the  future  offisruap  Govern* 
menta  and  corporate  bodiea  will  some* 
times,  like  individuals,  commit  sui- 
dde,  and  the  Catholic  Church  of  Ire- 
land may  be  gmky  of  sdf-destruction  ; 
but  if  it  be  not,  the  fruiu  of  thiftsvw 
tem  must  remain  unchanged.   Ifthia 


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Chimh  oo«ld  with  mktif  t6  itaelf  aU 
low  the  people  of  Ireland  the  free  use 
of  the  Soipturts^  and  other  works 
necessary  for  their  mstruction — ^re- 
mit its  system  of  esmonage  and  ty- 
ranny— and  permit  tnem  to  become 
friendly  to  tne  Protestants  and  the 
Protestant  goyernment^  we  will  give 
it  Uie  credit  of  believing  that  it  would, 
Imt  it  cannot  The  alternative  before 
it  is^the  continuance  of  the  Irish  in 
their  present  kdindness,  bonda^e^  and 
disfld^ction,  or  its  destruction,  as 
everything,  but  a  contemptible  sect* 
What  its  choice  will  be,  maybe  easily 
imagined,  more  emdally  when  the 

Svemment  can  offer  nothing  m  the 
ape  of  bribe,  or  otherwise,  to  bias  it. 
It  is  not  to  be  expected,  that  the  peo- 
ple either  will,  or  can,  enlighten, 
emancipate,  and  reform  themselves ; 
and  tho^ore  they  must  remain  what 
they  now  are,  or  be  changed  by  our 
instrumentality. 

We  vie  with  each  other  in  ascdbinff 
a  very  large  share  of  our  freedom  and 
greatness  to  the  Refonnation.  It  is 
eh$t  to  all  men  living/ that  a  Refor- 
mation would  be  equsdly  beneficial  to 
Iceland,  and  still  we  must  not  assist 
her  in  obtaining  one.  Were  a  Luther 
at  this  moment  to  arise  in  that  unhap- 
py  country,  we  fear  that  not  only  the 
Broughams  and  Humes,  but  much 
greater  men,  would  anxiously  discoun* 
leoance  him.  The  universal  cr^  and 
rule  in  England  is,  freedom  of  discus- 
aioa  and  proseivtifim*  Whig,  Tory, 
and  Radicaly — Cniirchman,  Methodist 
and  Calvinist,may  sav  what  they  please 
of  each  other's  creea,  and  make  what 
converts  they  please  from  eadi  other's 
followers.  It  is  ev^a  deemed  merito- 
rious in  an  adherent  of  the  govern- 
ment, to  bring  over  a  Whig,  or  to  re- 
claim a  Radical ;  and  the  Wh^  have 
made  gigantic  efforts  to  procure  per- 
nission  for  Carlile  to  carry  off  our 
Church  and  Chapel  congregations  to 
his  Temple  of  Ddsm :  but  the  Protests 
attt  Clergy  of  Ireland  must  sot  be 
permitted  to  attack  the  errors  of  the 
Bknniidi  Church,  or  attempt  to  lead 
the  blind  and  depraved  peasant  to 
Protestisatism.  We  pronounce  this, 
ttjpoQ  our  oonecience,  to  be  the  wnrst 
of  aU  systems.  The  one,  simple  rea- 
soB  for  it,  that  it  would  exasperate, 
and  make  the  state  of  Irdaad  still 
worse,  is  not  more  worthless,  than 
de^oable.  The  Catholics  are  as  much 
eKatpcrated  agidnat   the  Psotestants 


IrelanJ.  QMarchi 

under  the  oonelliatory  ayttem,  as  they 
over  were^  and  Ihejr  wul  oontinoe  lo 
be  so,  so  long  as  their  Church  is  nadt 
ous  to  retain  its  power  and  existence^ 
But  can  anything  be  achieved  witlt* 
out  risk  ?  Granting,  for  the  sake  of  ar- 
gument, the  possilulity  of  exaspcratioB 
and  turbulence,  is  there  no  other  po9-' 
sibility  connected  with  the  matter^ 
Are  tne  days  of  change  in  religious 
^unions  £dt  ever  past,  and  has  truth 
lost  its  influence  and  invincibility? 
When  men  flock  in  crowds  to  the 
creeds  of  Deism  and  Jacobinism,  is  it 
impossible  for  the  Irish  to  be  taught 
-'-^BOt  to  believe  in  a  new  God,  a  new 
Saviour,  and  a  new  Bible — but  tq 
purge  their  {^resent  religion  of  its  gla^ 
ting  eiTors  and  impurities  ?  Were  pro- 
per effi>rts  made,  the  probability  is, 
that  the  great  body  cf  the  people  mioht 
be  led  to  embraeeProteatantis^,  and  1o 
become  good  men  and  aood  mibjectB; 
if  no  su^  effiartsberaade,  the  certain^ 
ty  is,  that  they  will  continue  in  thek 
pcesent  state  of  blindness,  8iq>eKstition, 
depravitv,  and  disaffection.- 

We  snould  scarcelT  -exprass  oorw 
selves  so  warmly  oti  Itua  point,  if  wt 
were  not  quite  sure  that  the  pieaeiit 
svstem  flowed  mainly  fisom  causes  of 
tne  most  indefensible  nature.  Nearly 
the  whole  press  of  theconntry— Whig^ 
Tory,  Radical— has  been,  for  months, 
directing  its  blunders  agaiKt  die  Ca- 
tholic Church  of  Spain  and  Portugal, 
and  diepicting  in  Uie  moat  fnghCliDl 
colours  the  ignorance  and  slaivery  in 
which  it  keeps  its  followers;  but  thk 


Cath(^  Church' which  exiats  in  our 
own  bosom,  exercises  the  sane  tyran- 
ny, and  keeps  one*  third  of  our  popidm- 
tion  in  the  same  ignocanoe  and  sia«e>» 
ry,  and,  moreover,  in  a  state  <tf  hatto4 
to  their  fellow-suljeotB  and  roiecsk 
The  Whigs  have  been  for  years  heap- 
ing aU  the  abuBc  upon  the  Churdi  of 
Eng^d  and  ita  Ministers  that  lai»- 
suage  oould  supply,  and  thay  havo 
been  at  the  same  time  .the  f^ousdo* 
imden  of  the  Cathdic  X^huroh  and 
clergy  of  Ireland.  We.  ore  eternally 
boarang  of  our  liberty,  calling  tkit 
pe(^  of  other  oonntities  slaves,  uM* 
eatmg  lor  them  achemea  of  froodoni 
which  they  will  not  accept  and  be^ 
wailing  their  slaveiy,  as  thoQ|;h  we 
should  break  our  heuts  ovit  it,  and 
still  we  cannot  attempt  to  remove^  or 
even  see,  the  slavery  in  Ifftfto<ii  8ome 
of  the  catuKB  of  thrao  astounding  i&* 


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IBSi.;]  Ireiand. 

eondstmctei,  ire  tolBoieBtlf  mtveiit 
The  Whigs  and  Radicals^  half  th« 
Irish  government,  and  half  the  Minis- 
try tnd  its  supDorterSy  are  adtocates 
of  what  is  eallea  Cathie  Emandpa* 
tion.  They  mast,  to  carry  their  mea^^ 
sure,  eulogise  and  fight  for  the  Ca- 
tholicism of  Ireland.  To  open  the 
doors  of  office  to  a  small  numher  of  the 
rich  Cathdies,  Uiey  must  endeavour 
to  give  to  the  vast  mass  of  the  poor 
ones  a  pernetuity  of  blindness  and 
bondage,  wnich^  when  looked  at  in 
Spain  and  I'ortugal,  thrill  them  wid^ 
bonft>r.  And  those  who  oppose  the 
measure,  rendered  powerless  for  any- 
tiling  but  defence,  by  the  hostilitv  of 
ediMgues  and  connections,  and  fear^ 
M  of  rendering  die  state  of  Ireland 
ttffl  worse  by  inveighing  against  what 
ihey  cannot  remedy,  are  suent  on  one 
k^  &e  most  crymg  evils  in  which  that 
wretdied  country  is  inv^^ved. 
When  we  thus,  puttingreligioasfeeU 


tt0 


penal  panftduBOUy  or  ta  anyrdrtninc 
of  any  kind  i  We  would  root  up  re- 
l^ous  tyrannies,  and  more  especially 
civil  tvranme8,di8B;msed«aad  sti«ngth* 
ened  bv  the  sacred  name  of  reHgion* 

WMIe  it  is  the  highest  duty  of  the 
Govermnent  to  pronM>te  to  the  utmost 
ihe  thread  of  Protestantism  m  Irdand, 
the  most  efiectoal  means  that  could  be 
adobted,  are  happily  tbose,  whidi  law^ 
wisoom,  and  moderation,  would  pre* 
scribe.  As  the  preparatory  step,  let 
the  tithes,  if  possible,  be  commuted ; 
aad  let  that  assembhupe  <^  patricidal 
Ibdls,  who  call  themsdves  the  Catho- 
lic Association,  and  who  exist  only 
to  fill  the  people  with  hatred  of  thie 
Protestants  and  England,  be  silenced. 
Let  every  parish  be  provided,  not  ub^ 
minally,  but  really,  with  a  Protestant 
Minister  and  place  of  worship,  that  is 
now  without ;  and  let  the  most  ample 
means  be  provided  for  protecting  tM 
„  clergyman  and  his  flock  in  the  exer«^ 

ings  out  of  the  question,  beueve  that    dse  of  their  religion,  and  more  espe# 
the  Catholic  Church  of  Ireland  usurps    daily  for  protecting  the  preedy te  from 


a  very  large  portion  of  that  autliority 
over  the  people,  whidi  bdongs  only  to 
the  Government— 4hat  by  the  exercise 
of  this  audiority,  it  deprives  them  of 
some  of  their  most  valuable  constitu- 
tional rights  and  privileges,  and  keeps 
them  in  a  state  of  stri^^  barbarism^ 
and  actuid,  if  not  nominal,  slavery — 
and  that,  k  it  were  called  an  Orange 
Association,  a  Pitt  Club,  a  Catholic 
Board,  or  anything  else  but  a  Church, 
although  its  constitution,  functiona- 
ries, creed,  and  practice,  should  be  the 
same,  it  would  oe  at  once  put  down 
by  acclamation  as  an  intolerable  nui- 
sance— ^when  we  believe  this,  we  are 
competed  to  believe  likewise,  that  it 
Is  the  highest  du^  of  the  government 
to  promote  to  the  utmost  the  spread 
ofProtestantlsro  in  Ireland.  Wewould 
carry  the  prindple  of  toleration — the 
Mbertv  for  every  man  to  worship  God 
according  to  ^le  dictates  of  Ids  consd- 
aice,  to  the  utmost  point— mudi  far- 
ther duin  the  Whigs  and  Radicals,  the 
bvaggadodos  of  ''  dvil  and  reltoious 
Wiorty,"  carry  fhem :  We  wonla  car- 
rt  i^mn  to  (he  Iriih  peasant;  he 
nould  be  p^mitted  to  r^  the  Scrips 
tttres,  sound  expositions  of  Christ^ui 
ty,  and  ill  wonts  whatever,  not  pohi- 
mted  liy  kw ;  and  ho  sboidd  be  per- 
nilted  to  enter  any  dundi  or  dbipt^, 
and  to  hear  afhf  minister  whatever, 
without  bdnf  sheeted  to  interroga- 
tdries^  and  what  amounta  |o  a  heavy 


injury  on  account  of  hk  proselytism. 
As  me  rest  must  depend  almost  whol- 
ly on  the  dergy,  the  most  particular 
care  must  be  u^sd  in  their  selecdon* 
One  of  their  qualifications  we  diall  in- 
sist on  at  some  length,  because,  with- 
out it,  all  other  ones  would  be  com- 
parativdy  useless,  and  Wause  at  pre- 
sent scarcdy  any  attention  is  paid  to 
it  whatever. 

In  selecting  the  dergv,  interest 
must  be  entirely  disregarded.  They 
must  be,  not  imiy  men  of  great  sanc- 
tity of  life,  devout,  learned,  active, 
xealous,  discreet,  kind,  charitable  and 
generous,  but  they  must  be  cxc el- 
lent  ORATORS.  We  wouW'r^ecl 
any  one  for  badness  of  oratory  alone> 
let  his  other  qualifications  be  what 
they  might.  A  bad  orator  might  hf 
chance  retain  those  who  alreaay  be- 
longed to  fais  Church,  but  hfe  would 
never  make  converts.  If  this  quBHfi.i> 
cation  were  a  little  more  attended  to 
in  cur  Englisli  clergy,  we  arequii^ 
certain  that  our  churches  would  not  be 
so  often  forsaken  for  the  chapels  $k 
they  are;  and  the  inattention  that  ii 
■hewn  to  it,  is  to  us  perfeody  incom- 
prehensible. None  but  those  vAxo  aih 
duly  qualified  ought  to  possess  pubUfc 
mists,  and  no  man  can  be  said  to  hb 
duly  qualified  for  the  pulpit,  who  ib 
BOt  a  good  orator.  It  is  not  necessai^ 
fer  us  to  dilfite  oa  Ae  mighty  influ- 
ence which  eloquent  speakei^  possess 


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over  the  mass  of  mankind ;  and  we 
troBt  we  need  not  prove  that  this  in«> 
fluence  is  as  triumphant  in  the  churdi^ 
as  in  the  senate,  or  the  court  of  jus- 
tice. We  do  not  say  that  the  Irish 
clergy  should  be  first-rate  orators, 
for,  however  desirable  it  might  be,  a 
suffident  number  of  sudi  orators  could 
not  be  found;  what  we  should  chief- 
Ij  insist  on  would  be,  the  most  bril- 
liant diction  that  the  understandings 
of  the  hearers  would  bear,  and  im- 
pressive delivery.  Brougham  is  a  ci- 
pher to  Charles  Phillips,  in  regard  to 
mfluenoe  over  juries ;  and  yet  what  is 
Charles  Phillips  to  Brougluun,  in  re- 
gard to  learning  and  capacity  ?  The 
congregations  which  throng  after  Ir- 
ving, and  what  are  called  popular 
preachers,  although  the  sermons  dT 
these  preachers  are  generally  less  pa- 
latable to  the  passions,  less  in  harmo- 
ny with  the  Scriptures,  and  less  power- 
ful in  argument,  than  those  of  unpo- 
pular ones,  abundantly  prove  wnat 
mig^t  be  ace(nnplished  bv  flowery, 
impressive  preachers  in  Ireumd.  The 
lower  orders  have  quite  as  much  of 
this  "  itch  of  the  ears,"  as  their  bet- 
ters. We  conscientiously  believe  that 
a  Protestant  clergyman,  possessing  the 
oratorical  povrers,  not  of  Mr  Canning, 
nor  Mr  Brougham,  but  of  Mr  Phil- 
lips only,  would  speedily  fill  his  church 
with  Catholics  in  any  part  of  Ireland ; 
and  that  a  sufficient  number  of  such 
clergymen  would  in  no  long  period  of 
time  give  a  death-blow  to  Catholicism 
in  that  countrv.  From  the  natural 
eloquence  of  tne  Irishman  and  the 
wealth  of  the  Irish  Church,  it  could 
be  no  difficult  matter  to  find  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  young  Irishmen  to 
educate  for  the  purpose;  and  these 
mig^t  be  combined  with  a  judicious 
selection  fhnn  the  great  body  of  the 
En^ish  Clergy. 

But  while  eloquence  should  be  a 
sine  qua  non,  the  conduct  of  the  der- 
gy  should  be  exactly  calculated  to  give 
we  utmost  efibct  to  it  Their  religion, 
at  the  outset  at  least,  should  be  chief- 
ly delivered  from  the  pulpit,  and  out 
of  it  they  should  be  indefatigable  in 
endeavouring  to  endear  themselves  to 
their  Catholic  parishioners  by  £uniU- 
arity,  and  acts  of  assistance,  sympa- 
thy and  generosity.  There  would  be 
die  influence  of  a  Protestsnt  govern- 
ment and  Protestant  landlords  to  aid 
such  a  clergy,  and  if  they  faiM  of 
BoocesB,  it  would  be  at  U«st  against 


Ireian4*-  QMarch, 

all  Che  laws  of  fiweiigbt  and  calcula- 
tion. 

One  invaluable  benefit  such  a  der- 
g^  would  be  sure  to  produce,  if  they 
Old  not  make  a  single  convert.  They 
would  kindle  sudi  a  blaze  as  would 
at  any  rate  consume  the  worst  parts 
of  Catholidsm.  They  would  create 
such  a  competition  for  hearers,  such  a 
i^irit  of  examination  in  the  pe(^le, 
such  endeavours  on  the  part  of  the 
Catholic  Church  to  meet  them  with 
equal  talent,  and  such  willingness  in 
this  churdi  to  conciliate  its  flock  by 
concessions,  as  would  in'foHibly  effect 
a  very  complete  reform  in  the  Catho- 
licism of  the  Irish  peasantry.  If  they 
accomplished  this,  they  would  accom- 
plish a  very  large  share  of  all  that  w^ 
desire.  We  wrangle  not  for  names  and 
forms.  Let  the  Catholic  Church  eif- 
dure  as  long  as  Ireland  endures,  and 
let  its  foUoweis  be  as  numerous  as 
they  are  at  present ;  onlj  let  it  aban- 
don its  tyranny,  cease  to  interfere  with 
dvil  rights  and  duties,  and  be  merdy, 
what  it  ought  to  be, — ^a  teadio*  of  the 
Christian  rdigion. 

To  these,  as  the  most  important  to- 
pics, we  have  directed  our  wh<4e  space ; 
there  are  two,  or  three  others,  now- 
ever,  which  we  cannot  pass  entirdy  in 
silence. 

The  law  in  Ireland,  wbidi  indtea 
the  landlord  to  subdivide  his  land  aa 
much  as  possible,  and  to  make  the  la^ 
bourer  nearly  independent  ofboth  mas- 
ter and  himself,  in  order  to  multiply 
votes,  hasbeen  reprobated  by  both  sidai 
of  Parliament,  as  an  instrument  which 
contributes  v^  largdy  to  the  evils  of 
that  country.  Now,  when  this  is  the 
case,  and  the  nation  at  large  is  anxi- 
ous to  support  Parliament  in  anything 
that  has  the  benefit  of  Ireland  in  view, 
why  is  no  attempt  made  to  change  this 
law,  which  is  thus  left  without  d^end- 
ers  ?  The  Question  presses  itsdf.  the 
more  fordblv  upon  us,  because  the  law 
is,  in  prindpie,  highly  absurd,  unjust, 
and  dangerous ;  uid  oecause  it  might 
be  easQy  altered,  so  aa  to  become  an 
exdtement  to  the  landlord  to  increase 
the  sise  of  his  hxms.  With  regard  to 
oocujHers,  let  die  votes  be  taken  from 
the  petty  ones,  and  given  to  those  who 
occupy  not  less  than  fifty  acres.  The 
tenant  of  fifty  acres,  mignt  give  1  vote, 
—of  100  acres,  S,— of  150  acres^  5,— 
— of  «00  acres,  8 — &c. 

The  maledictions  which  are  heaped 
upon  the  poor  potatoeare  whoUy  un* 
9 


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1894.3  IrekmL 

jmdfiable.  Efect  is  here  plainly  at- 
tacked, iBStead  of  cause.  The  tmfor* 
tonate  Iridunan  has  the  alternatiTe 
hefotehim — a  potatoe,  or  nothing ;  he 
wisely  chooses  the  potatoe,  aid  for 
diis  he  is  abosed.  Give  him  an  in- 
oome  that  will  allow  him  to  place  beef, 
bacon,  and  l»ead  loaves  on  his  table, 
and  we  have  no  doubt  that  he  will 
wpeediiw  become  as  expert  in  consu* 
miag  toem  as  the  En^ishman. 

Tike  idleness  of  the  Irish  has  become 
almost  proverfaiaL  Now,  it  may  be 
troe  that  they  are  by  nature  more  idle 
tiban  the  inhabitants  of  other  conn* 
tries,  but  we  are  by  no  means  sure 
that  it  is  so ;  and  we  even  fear,  that 
the  inhabitants  of  any  other  country 
would  be  as  idle  as  they  are,  if  nlaced 
in  the  same  circumstances.  Industry 
is  an  acquired,  not  natural  qudUty; 
and  the  circumstances  of  the  Irish  ac- 
tually prohibit  them  from  becoming 
industrious.  A  rery  few  years  since, 
work  was  exceedingly  scarce  in  Eng- 
land— the  labourers  came  in  amass 
upon  their  nanshes — the  poor-rates 
became  intolerable — and  those  who 
had  to  pay  them  protested  that  the 
poor-laws  were  the  greatest  of  abomi- 
nations. It  was  then  roundly  assert- 
ed on  all  hands,  that  our  English  la- 
bourers bad  become  intoler^ly  idle» 
i— that  they  would  not  work  ;  in  fact, 
everything  was  said  of  them  that  is 
BOW  said  of  the  people  of  Ireland ;  al- 
though the  &ct  was  staring  evay  one 
in  the  face,  that  work  could  not  be 
had.  But  what  followed  ?  The  times 
improved,  work  became  reasonably 
ploitiful ;  and  behold !  the  labourers 
all  at  once  returned  to  their  industry. 
The  Irishman  is  callei  idle,  although 
it  is  hotorious  that  he  cannot  procure 
employment,  and  that  those  who  need 
labour  in  that  country,  can  always 
have  it  for  infinitely  less  than  its  just 
value.  The  man  will  not  be  indu^ 
trious,  unless  he  has  been  disdnlined 
to  constant  labour  from  childhood, 
and  unless  he  be  constantly  acted  up- 
on by  the  prospect  of  adequate  profit, 
or  the  authority  of  a  master,  as  a  sti- 
mulus. Give  the  Irishman  plenty  of 
work,  and  an  efficient  master  from  in- 
fancy, and  we  think  we  shall  not  then 
hear  much  of  his  laziness. 

We  must  of  course  applaud  the 
measures  that  have  been  taken  for 
improving  the  administration  of  the 
laws ;  but  it  must  never  be  forgotten, 
that  in  Ireland,  as  in  England,  the 

Vol..  XV, 


891 

people  must  be  intelligent,  vigilant, 
and  virtuous  themselves,  or  public 
functionaries  will  never  be  kept  to  the 
discharge  of  their  duty,  and  the  laws 
will  never  be  administered  with  puri- 
ty. We  must  speak  favourably  of  the 
projects  respecting  mines,  fmheries, 
&C.,  but  still  we  must  pronounce  them 
to  be  of  minor  importance.  It  is  im- 
possible for  them,  however  successful 
they  may  be,  to  have  any  material  ef- 
fect in  benefiting  the  condition  of  the 
great  mass  of  the  Irish  peasantry. 

To  sum  up,  therefore,  in  one  word. 
— ^The  landjobbers  of  Ireland  must  be 
annihilated,  and  land  must  be  no  long- 
er let  by  competition — rents  must  be 
reduced  to  the  level  of  English  ones^> 
the  farms  must  be  increased  in  size, 
until  the  agricultural  population  shall 
consist  chidEly  of  intelligent,  respect- 
able fanners  and  their  labourers — the 
surplus  population  must  be  drained 
off— the  titnes  must  be  commuted,  or 
so  far  changed  in  shape,  that  the  ig- 
norant Catholic  may  not  feel  that  he 
has  to  pay  them  to  the  Protestant 
Church — and  the  great  body  of  the 
people  must  be  reconciled  to  Protes- 
tantism ;  or,  at  the  very  least,  so  far 
enlightened,  touching  tne  errors  and 
abuses  of  tlieir  Church,  as  to  throw 
off  the  grinding  tyranny  which  it  now 
exercises  over  them,  in  mind,  body,  and 
pnmerty.  This  must  be  done,  or  Ir^ 
land  must  continue  to  be  a  poor, 
wretched,  distracted,  barbarous,  de- 
praved, and  disaffected  country.  The 
Catholic  disabilities  may  be  removed, 
and  an  hundred  O'Connells  may  de- 
claim in  the  House  of  Commons^- 
every  public  trust  in  the  country  may 
be  given  to  the  Catholics — Hume  and 
the  Edinburgh  Review  may  despoil  the 
church,  untU  the  landloros  divide  all 
its  possessions — and  Brougham  and 
Burdett  may  exterminate  the  Orange- 
men to  a  man;  and  the  fruits  will 
only  be — the  ctlIs  of  Ireland  will  be 
rendered  insupportable  and  irremedi* 
able.  We  detest  state  quackery,  and 
if  the  m  naturts  would  heal  these 
evils,  we  would  even  be  content  to 
leave  them  to  it ;  but  it  will  not.  If 
things  be  left  as  they  are,  population 
must  still  increase— the  land  must  be 
still  farther  subdivided — the  jobbery 
from  increased  competition,  will  push 
up  /ents  still  higher — employment 
must  become  still  more  scarce ;  and 
the  peasantry  must  sink  to  the  lowest 
point  of  penury,  ignorance,  idleness^ 
«P 


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Ireiand.  CMarch, 

ToGorernment,  P^liament^  and  the 
Nation  at  large^  we  need  not  say  mndi 
in  the  way  of  excitement ;  and  yet  the 
singular  characteristics  of  the  question 
respecting  Ireland,  and  the  yast  impor- 
tance of  Uiis  question^  do  not  seem  to 
he  very  generally  comprehended.  We 
are  eternally  burning  incense  to  liber- 
ty, and  throwing  sarcasms  on  what  we 
are  pleased  to  cidl  the  slavery  of  other 
nations.  We  call  foreign  govemmentSy 
despotisms,  execrate  them,  and  make 
the  bondage  of  their  subjects  a  mat- 
ter of  misery  to  ourselves.  With  what 
sleepless  scwdtude  have  we  watdied 
the  progress  of  events  in  the  Penin- 
sula, Greece,  and  South  America! 
How  laboriously  have  we  toiled  to 
render  to  the  inhabitants  of  these  parts 
counsd  and  assistance!  And  how 
ceaseless  and  bitter  are  our  groans 
over  the  present  condition  of  Spain 
and  Portugal !  Yet  the  great  mass  of 
Che  people  of  Ireland — one-third  of 
ourselves — are  actually  at  this  moment 
subject  to  a  slavery,  different,  perhaps^ 
in  name  and  form,  from  that  of  other 
countries,  but  as  hardi  in  its  opera- 
tion, and  as  destructive  in  its  conse- 
quences, as  that  of  any.  This  im- 
mense portion  of  us  is  demived  of  the 
i^eedom  of  the  press,  tne  liberty  of 


299 

and  depravity,  if  they  have  not  ahready 
reached  it.  We  m\xst  proceed  upon 
mathenfatical  principles,  and  propor- 
tion the  power  to  tiie  effect  that  it  is 
meant  to  accomplish.  The  evils  that 
we  hafve  pointed  out  are  demonWrable; 
their  existence  is  scarcely  denied  by 
anyone,  and  we  would,  without  deign- 
ing to  clap  a  sinde  bandage  on  the 
surface,  carry  our  knife  to  the  root  at 
once.  We  recommend,  no  doubt,  great 
measures;  but  they  are  hardy  pro- 
portioned, in  magnitude,  to  the  evils 
which,  in  our  poor  judgment,  will 
yield  to  nothing  else,  and  we  are  per- 
fectly convinced  that  they  are  practi- 
cable— that  all  parties  concern^  pos- 
sess ample  means  for  carrying  them  in- 
to efiect,  if  the  will  be  not  wanting. 
For  the  willingness  of  England  and 
the  Church,  so  far  as  they  are  interest- 
ed, we  win  venture  to  answer;  but 
who  shall  answer  for  the  landholders 
of  Ireland  ? 

To  these  landholders,  we  will  once 
more  address  ourselves.  We  will  teH 
them,  that  they  are,  in  a  very  great 
degree,  morally  accountable  to  God 
and  their  country^,  for  the  good  con- 
duct and  well-bemg  of  those  who  live 
on  their  estates — that  the  terrible  mis- 
chiefs which  the  jobbers  entail  on 
their  humbler  tenants,  flow  primarily   .  oonsdence,  and  die  right  of  free'in< 


from  themselves — and  that  a  very 
large  portion  of  the  distress,  ignorance, 
depravity,  turbulence,  and  gmlt  of  Ire- 
land, lies  at  their  door.  We  call  upon 
them  to  shew  themsdves  as  a  hodj, 
to  follow  the  splendid  example  which 
has  been  so  lately  set  them  by  the  Eng- 
lish landholders,  and  to  say.  We  and 

OUR  OCCUPIEaS  ARE  ONE,  AND  WE 
WILL8TAND0R  FALL  TOGETHER.   Let 

every  man  take  his  own  estate  in  hand^ 
and  let  them  at  once  begin  the  great, 
magniflcent,  and  glorious  work,  of 
giving  food  and  clothing,  peace  and 
purity,  and  freedom  and  happiness  to 
their  country.  Parliament  and  the 
British  nation  will  go  hand  in  hand 
with  them,  to  frimisn  assistance,  and 
sweep  away  difficulties,  and,  at  the 
last,  to  confer  those  honours  on  tliem 
which  the  completion  of  their  noble 
undertaking  will  deserve.  If  they 
will  still  do  as  they  have  done,  we  most 
devoutly  hope,  that,  at  any  rate,  the 
fearful  mass  of  infamy  which  the  pre- 
sent state  of  the  pea^try  of  Insland 
must  fix  in  some  quarter,  will  at  last 
fall  where  it  ought,  and  operate  in  the 
jiropcr  manner. 


quiry  and  discusmon,  not  by  mere  in- 
junction and  threat,  but  by  positive 
punishment,  whidi  amounts  to  the 
loss  of  character  and  bread,  if  not  of 
existence;  and  it  is  ground  to  powder 
by  tyrannical,  bloodsucking  sub-land- 
Imds,  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  rapadous^ 
despotic,  bhnding,  and  disafiected 
Catholic  priesthood,  on  the  other.  Ib 
our  rage  against  the  name  of  slavery, 
we  are,  like  madmen,  placing  the  whole 
of  our  West  Indian  possessions  in  im- 
minent present  danger,  and  renderii^ 
thdr  ultimate  loss  to  us  certain,  mere^ 
ly  that  we  may  promise  to  the  weU- 
fed,  well-used  n^ro— the  negro  whose 
situation,  with  regard  to  substantia 
wdl-bdng,  is  at  least  an  hundred  fold 
better  than  that  of  the  poor  Irishmaa 
— that  freedom,  which  we  declare  he 
is  now  utterly  unfit  to  possess,  and 
which,  till  his  whole  feelings  and  ha- 
bits are  changed  by  Christianity  and 
civilization,  it  is  certain  he  never  can 
possess,  without  perverting  it  into  the 
means  of  his  own  ruin.  And  yet  we 
are  so  enamoured  of  the  reality  of 
davery,  that  the  Irish  land-jobber,  in 
comparison  of  whom,  the  West  India 


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Inkmd. 


89S 


planter  is  homanity  itself,  it  not  to  be 
^oken  against;  and  the  appalling 
mental^  and  bodily  bondage,  which  the 
Romish  Church  spreads  and  perpetu- 
ates in  the  yerv  vitals  of  the  state,  is 
not  to  be  molested  on  any  account. 
We  boast  of  our  constitution  and  laws  ^ 
—of  our  security  in  person  and  pos- 
session—and yet  the  loyal  and  well- 
prindpled  country  inhabitants  of  Ire- 
land are  continually  exposed  to  rob- 
bery and  butchery.  We  can  shudder 
oyer  the  idols  of  the  Hindoo,  but  the 
darker  idolatry  of  the  Irishman  must 
be  religiously  respected;  we  must  de- 
luge the  whole  earth  with  Bibles  and 
Prayer-Books,  Ireland  only  excepted ; 
and,  whOe  we  regard  it  as  a  duty  to 
end^vour  to  make  proselytes  to  our 
religion  ever3rwhere — while  we  are 
even,  at  great  expense,  providing  reli- 

eous  instruction  for  the  negroes,  mere- 
^  to  make  a  Quixotic  attempt  to  pre- 
pare them  for  freedom— we  make  it  a 
matter  of  state  policy  to  discourage  at- 
tempts to  teach  the  genuine  tru&B  of 
Christianity  to  the  barbarous  Irish  pea- 
santry, although  they  have  actually  in- 
corporated pillage,  devastation,  and 
butchery,  with  their  system  of  religion. 
If  the  Attorney-General,  or  the  Society 
for  the  Suppression  of  Vice,  prosecute 
a  blasphemous  wor]c,  the  wrath  of  the 
whole  nation  is  to  be  directed  against 
them ;  but  not  a  finger  must  be  raised 
against  those  who  prohibit  the  great 
body  of  the  people  of  Ireland  from 
reacung  the  Scriptures,  and  almost  all 
other  useful  publica^tions.  And  while 
the  state  of  Ireland  is  discussed  with- 
out ceasing — ^wlule  almost  every  day 
teems  with  prqjecta  for  the  benefit  of 
that  wretched  country,  the  only  bold, 
comprehensive,  and  decisive  measure 
ihat  is  proposed,  viz.  Emancipation, — 
is  bottomed  upon  disnuted  abstract 
principles — ^is  confesseoly  incapable  of 
removing  the  evils  of  Ireland,  and  is 
demonstrably  calculated  to  render  the 
Romish  Church  still  more  powerful 
and  active,  and  to  aggravate  and  per- 
petuate the  terrible  mischiefs  wnich 
this  Church  showers  upon  the  great 
mass  of  the  Irish  people.*  Shame  alone. 


and  not  inability,  restrains  ua  from 
doubling  ^e  length  of  this  appalling 
catalogue  of  inconsistencies ;  and  yet> 
in  committing  them,  we  scorn  the 
commands  o£  interest,  as  well  as  those 
of  character  and  duty.  Here  is  a  po- 
pulation of  seven  millions,  which  we 
nave  under  a  monopoly;  it  at  pre- 
sent consumes  compaiaUvely  nothings 
and,  by  a  little  exertion,  we  might 
raise  it  to  the  rank  of  our  best  con- 
sumers ;— here  is  a  large  portion  of  the 
empire,  which  at  present  pays  compa- 
ratively nothing  into  the  Treftsuryy  we 
might,  by  a  little  exertion,  make  it 
pay  additional  millions  annually,— » 
and  we  seem  loth  to  make  this  exer- 
tion, although  we  are  constantly  sigh- 
ing for  increase  of  trade,  -and  lament- 
ing the  amount  of  our  debt,  and  the 
weight  of  our  taxes  i 

We — **  Fly  from  pettv  tyrants  to 
the  thronel"— we  turn  witn  scorn  from 
party  leaders — ^roen  who  can  only  think 
and  speak  of  the  crimes  and  sunerings 
of  Ireland,  to  make  them  subservient 
to  their  own  wretched  ambition,  and 
we  address  ourselves  to  the  sober,  dis- 
interested, practical,  sterling  good 
sense  of  our  county.  The  principal 
evils  under  which  Ireland  groans  are 
visible,  clearly  defined,  and  even,  with 
regard  to  their  existence,  free  from 
controversy.  We  say  that  they  are 
susceptible  of  remedv — that  they  may 
be  not  only  palliatea,  but  effectually 
removed.  We  say  that  the  jobbers 
can  be  destroyed — that  rents  con  be 
reduced — that  Anns  oon  be  increased 
in  size — that  the  surplus  popnlatioii 
eon  be  drained  off— that  titnes  can  be 
commuted — and  that  the  great  body 
of  the  Irish  people  eon  be  taught  the 
genuine  principles  and  practice  of 
Christianity;  and  we  say,  moreover, 
that  this  can  never  be  dime  by  the 
system  that  is  at  present  pursued. 
Can  no  Irish  landlords  be  found  among 
those  who  so  loudly  bewail  the  suffer- 
ings of  their  country,  to  stand  forward 
and  call  their  brethren  together,  to  en- 
list them  in  the  good  cause  ?  And  can 
no  honest,  independent  Member  of  ^ 
Parliament  be  met  with,  to  speak  the ' 


*  ".Ezcommunicatioo  had  been  one  means  whereby  the  Druids  maintained  tUeir 
hierocracy ;  and  it  has  been  thought  that,  among  nations  of  Keltic  origin,  the  clergy, 
as  succeeding  to  tbeir  influence,  established  more  easily  the  portentous  tyranny 
which  they  exercised,  not  over  the  muids  of  men  alone,  but  in  all  temporal  con- 
cerns. Every  commnnity  must  possess  the  right  of  expelling  those  members  who  will 
not  conform  to  its  regulations :  the  Church,  therefore,  must  have  power  to  excom- 
municate a  refirsctoiy  member,  as  the  State  has  to  outlaw  a  bad  sabject,  who  will 


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894  IrtUmd.  Ofneb, 

words  of  trnth  and  oommon  sense  she  cannot  with  her  nod  banish  the 

with  re^ud  to  Ireland,  and  to  propose  ills  of  her  criminal  and  distressed  sis^ 

plain,  simple,  natural,  practical  re^  ter.    Away  then  with  this  disgusting 

medics  for  those  evils,  wnich,  by  the  damouraffidnsttheEstablishedCharch 

admission  of  all,  really  do  exist  and  and  its  clergy,  Orangemen  and  Pro-> 

need  remedy  ?  If  such  men  there  be,  testandsm ;  and  this  vile  cant  con* 

let  them  shew  diemselves,  and  they  cemlng  Conciliation,   Cathdic   disa- 

will  neither  lack  support,  nor  fail  of  biHdes,  and  CathoUdsm !    Let  the 

triumph.  A  more  favourable  moment  Broughams,  and  Humes,  and  Bur* 

for  their  efforts  could  not  be  chosen  ;  detts,  and  O'Connells,  be  silenced  by 

England,  not  this  party,  or  that,  but  public  indignation ;  and  let  nothing 

Euffland  as  a  nation,  is  most  anxious  be  said  or  done  respecting  Ireland, 

to  do  almost  anything  for  Ireland  ;  that  is  not  meant  for  the  good  of  Ire- 

and  we  must  shut  our  eyes  to  her  past  land.    Let  things  be  called  by  their 

achievements — to  her  wealth,  wisaom,  right  names — the  wants  of  nature  be 

mi^t,  and  greatness— to  believe,  that  supplied  with  the  aliment  that  nature 

not  answer  to  the  laws.  But  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  no  heathen  priests  ever 
abused  this  power  so  prodigiously  as  the  Roman  clei^gy ;  nor  even  if  the  ceremonies 
were  borrowed,  as  is  not  improbable,  firom  heathen  superstition,  could  they  originally 
have  been  so  revolting,  so  horrible,  as  when  a  Christian  minister  called  upon  the 
Redeemer  of  mankind,  to  fulfil  execrations  which  the  Devil  himself  might  seem  to 
have  inspired.  In  the  forms  of  malediction  appointed  for  this  blasphemous  servicet 
a  curse  was  pronounced  against  the.  obnoxious  persons  in  soul  and  body,  and  in 
all  their  limbs  and  joints  and  members,  every  part  being  specified  with  a  Intterness 
which  seemed  to  delight  in  dwelling  on  the  sufferings  that  it  imprecated.  They  were 
curst  with  pleonastic  specification,  at  home  and  abroad,  in  their  goings  out  and  their 
comings  in,  in  towns  and  in  castles,  in  fields  and  in  meadows,  in  streets  and  in  public 
ways,  by  land  and  by  water,  sleeping  and  wakings  standing  and  sitting  and  lyings 
eating  and  drinking,  in  their  food  and  in  their  excrement,  speaking  or  holding  their 
peace,  by  day  and  by  night,  and  every  hour,  in  all  places  and  at  all  times,  everywhere 
and  always.  The  heavens  were  adjured  to  be  as  brass  to  them,  and  the  earth  as  iron ; 
the  one  to  reject  their  bodies,  and  the  other  their  souls.  Ood  was  invoked,  in  this 
accursed  service,  to  afflict  them  with  hunger  and  thirst,  with  poverty  and  want,  with 
cold  and  with  fever,  with  scabs  and  ulcers  and  itch,  with  blindness  and  madness  to 
eject  them  from  their  homes,  and  consume  their  substance-— to  make  their  wives 
widows,  and  their  children  orphans  and  beggars ;  all  things  belonging  to  them  were 
cursed,  the  dog  which  guarded  them,  and  the  cock  which  wdcened  them.  None  was 
to  compassionate  their  suflferings,  nor  to  relieve  or  visit  them  in  sickness.  Prayers 
and  benedictions,  insteid  of  availing  them,  were  to  operate  as  farther  curses.  Fi- 
nally, their  dead  bodies  were  to  be  cast  aside  for  dogs  and  wolves,  and  their  souls 
to  be  eternally  tormented  with  Korah,  Dathan  and  Abirsm,  Judas  and  Pilate,  Ana- 
nias and  Sapphira,  Nero  and  Decius,and  Herod,  and  Julian,  and  Simon  Magus,  in  fire 
everlasting. 

**  If  the  individual,  upon  whom  such  curses  were  imprecated,  felt  only  an  appre- 
hensu>n  that  it  was  possible  they  might  be  efficient,  the  mere  thought  of  such  a 
possibility  might  have  brought  about  one  of  the  maledictions,  by  driving  bim  mad* 
But  the  reasonable  doubt  which  the  subject  himself  must  have  entertain^*  and  en- 
deavoured to  strengthen,  was  opposed  by  the  general  belief,  and  by  the  conduct  of  all 
about  him ;  for  whosoever  associated  with  one  thus  marked  for  perdition,  and  deli^ 
vered  over  judicially  to  the  Devil  and  his  angels,  placed  himself  thereby  under  the 
same  tremendous  penalties.  The  condition  of  a  leper  was  more  tolerable  than  that 
of  an  excommunicated  person.  The  leper,  though  excluded  from  the  community, 
was  still  Mrithin  the  pale  of  the  Church  and  of  human  charity :  they  who  avoided  his 
dangerous  presence,  assisted  him  with  alms ;  and  he  had  companions  enough  in  afflic- 
tion to  form  a  society  of  their  own— a  miserable  one  indeed,  but  still  a  society,  in 
which  the  sense  of  suffering  was  alleviated  by  resignation,  the  comforts  of  religion, 
and  the  prospect  of  death  and  of  the  life  to  come.  But  the  excommunicated  man 
was  cut  off  from  consolation  nnd  hope ;  it  remained  for  him  only  to  despair  and 
die,  or  to  obtain  absolution  by  entire  submission  to  tlie  Church.'* 

SouTllEY's  Bwk  of  the  Church,  vol.  L  p.  189. 


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1894^3  Ir€kmd.  995 

prescribee— and  let  the  hideous  Uot  for  want,  will  achieve  a  more  splendid 

upon  our  fiune,  the  mighty  drawback  triumph,  than  has  vet  been  achieved 

upon  our  power,  and  the  rearful  uloer  in  this  age  of  splenoid  triumphs ;  and 

upon  our  vitals,  which  Ireland  now  will  take  precedence  of  all  tne  bene- 

forms,  exist  no  longer.    Those  who  factors,of  thepresent  times,  to  the  Bri- 

shall  liberate  and  christianiie  Ireland  tish  empire.  We  say  again,  that  this  is 

— who  shaD  gdve  her  freedom  for  sla-  practiccdtle-^yNe  say  again,  that  it  is 

very,  knowledge  for  ignorance,  indus-  jn'ooticabU-^oxkce  more  we  say  that  it 

try  for  idleness,  innocence  for  guilt,  is  raACTicABLE. 
loyalty  for  disafl^tion^  and  prosperity  Y.  Y.  Y. 


ON  MOONUOHT. 

From  the  Swedish  aflngelrain, 

I. 
Still  that  same  aspect— {>lacid,  cold,  and  bright! — 

Oh,  how  dost  thou  reproach  us  for  the  hours 
That  in  delusive  pleasures  took  their  flight. 

For  time  that  vain  anxiety  devours-— 
For  life  consumed  by  many  a  poisonous  blight. 

That  might  have  yielded  else  immortal  flowers !— > 
What  sad  reproof  thy  pallid  gleams  impart ! 
How  speaks  thy  sol^n  silence  to  the  heart! 

II. 
Though  changefU,  yet  unchanged— thou  art  the  same, 

Wmle  we  scarce  odl  to  mind  what  once  we  were ! 
Some  praise  the  mildness  of  thy  lambent  flame, 

Ana  fakiely  deem  thy  quietude  to  share ; 
Far  different  homage  rather  shouldst  thou  claim — 

Even  MOCKSET  lurks  amid  that  chilling  glare  ; 
And  thou  art  placid— calm-*fWxn  trouble  cree-^ 
The  stonn  clouds  ride  aloft— but  vex  not  theel 

III. 
Yes— theie  are  scorn  and  icockxrt  in  that  gaiei — 

Thou  tdl'st  of  hopes  that  will  revive  no  more<«- 
Of  sunny  hours  and  aye-departed  days — 

Of  beauteous  forms  that  smiled  and  bloom'd  of  yore ! 
Well— be  it  mine,  beneath  thy  silvery  rays. 

To  brood  on  recoUeetion's  moumAil  store; 
Let  visions  triumph  o'er  this  present  scene. 
And  that  shall  seem  to  be,  which  once  has  been !  * 

6« 


*  This  fngment  is  the  commencement  of  a  poem  in  100  staiixas,  oontsinmg 
temnces  from  the  author*!  own  life. 


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Thi  Sftepherfts  Calendar.     Class  F.    The  Lasses.  \^Mt/A, 


THE  SUtirHERDS  QALKNOAR. 

cioM  r. 

THE  LASSES. 


Gbeat  have  been  the  conquests, 
and  srievous  the  deray  wrought  in 
the  human  heart  by  some  of  these 
mountain  nymphs.  The  confusion 
tHat  particular  ones  have  sometimes 
occasioned  for  a  year  or  two  almost 
exceeds  credibility.  Every  young  man 
in  the  bounds  was  sure  either  to  be  in 
love  with  her,  or  believed  himself  to 
be  so ;  and  as  all  these  would  be  run- 
ning on  a  Friday's  evening  to  woo 
her,  of  course  the  pride  and  vanity 
of  the  fair  was  raised  to  such  a  height 
that  she  would  rarely  yield  a  prerer- 
ence  to  any,  but  was  sure  to  put  them 
all  off  wiUi  gibes  and  jeers.  This 
shyness,  instead  of  allaying,  never 
fyds  to  increase  the  fervour  of  the 
flame;  an  emulation,  if  not  a  rival* 
ship,  is  excited  amon^  the  younkers, 
until  the  pitting  a  single  w6rd  ex- 
changed with  the  reigning  beauty  be- 
comes a  matter  of  thnlling  interest  to 
many  a  tender-hearted  swain;  but, 
generally  speaking,  none  of  these  ad- 
mired beauties  are  married  till  they 
settle  into  the  more  quiet  vale  of  life, 
and  the  current  of  admiration  has 
turned  toward  others.  Then  do  they 
betalce  themselves  to  sober  reflection, 
listen  to  the  most  rational,  though 
not  the  most  youthful  of  their  lovers, 
and  sit  down,  contented  through  life 
to  share  the  toils,  sorrows,  and  joys 
'  of  the  married  life,  and  the  humble 
cot. 

I  am  not  now  writing  of  ladies, 
nor  of  "  farmers'  bonny  daughters ;" 
but  merely  of  country  maidens,  such 
as  ewe-milkers,  hav-workers,  har'st- 
shearers,  the  healthy  and  comely 
daughters  of  shepherds,  hinds,  coun- 
try tradesmen,  and  small  tenants ;  in 
i^ort,  all  the  roev,  romping,  and  light- 
hearted  dames  mat  handle  the  sidcle, 
the  hoe,  the  hay-raik,  and  the  fleece. 
And  of  these  I  can  say,  to  their  credit, 
that  there  is  rarely  an  instance  hap- 
pens of  a  celebrated  beauty  among 
them  turning  out  a  bad,  or  even  an 
indifib^nt  wife.  Whether  it  is  owing 
to  the  circumstance  of  their  never 
marrying  very  young,  (for  a  youthfUl 
marriage  of  a  pair  who  have  nou^t  but 
their  experience  and  a  good  name  to 
depend  on  for  the  support  of  a  family. 


is  far  from  being  a  prudent,  or  highly 
coinmendable  step,;  or  whether  it  be 
that  these  belles  having  had  too  much 
experience  in  the  follies  and  flippancies 
of  youthftd  love,  and  youthful  lovers,  . 
make  their  choice  at  last  on  principles 
of  reason,  suffice  it,  that  the  axiom 
is  a  true  one.  But  there  is  another 
reason  which  must  not  be  lost  sight 
of.  That  dass  of  voung  men  never 
flock  about,  or  make  love  to  a  girl 
who  is  not  noted  for  activity  as  well 
as  beauty.  Cleverness  is  always  the 
first  recommendation;  and  conse- 
quently, when  such  a  one  chooses  to 
marry,  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that 
her  ^oiod  qualities  will  then  be  exert- 
ed to  the  utmost,  which  before  were 
only  occasionally  called  into  exercise. 
Experience  is  indeed  the  great  teacher 
among  the  labouring  class,  and  her 
maxims  are  carried  aown  from  father 
to  son  in  all  their  pristine  strength. 
Seldom  are  they  violated  in  anything, 
and  never  in  this.  No  young  man 
will  court  a  beautiful  daw,  unless  he 
be  either  a  booby,  or  a  rake,  who  does 
it  for  some  selfish  puriiose,  not  to  be 
mentioned  nor  thought  of  in  the  an- 
nals of  virtuous  love. 

In  detailing  the  ravsu^  of  coun- 
try beauty,  I  will  be  obliged  to  take* 
fictitious  or  bynames  to  illustrate 
true  stories,  on  account  of  many  cir- 
cumstances that  have  occurred  at 
periods  subsequent  to  the  incidents 
related.  Not  the  least  of  these  is  the 
great  change  that  time  has  efiected  in 
every  one  of  those  pinks  of  rustic  ad- 
miration. How  would  it  look  if 
ODoherty  or  yourself,  at  your  an- 
nual visit  here,  were  to  desire  me  to 
introduce  you  to  one  of  these  by  her 
name  and  simame,  and  I  were  to  take 
you  to  see  a  reverend  grannie ;  or  at 
best,  a  russet  dame  far  advanced  in 
life,  with  wrinkles  instead  of  roses, 
and  looks  of  maternal  concern  instead 
of  the  dimpling  smile,  and  glance  of 
liquid  beauty  ?  Ah,  no,  dear  sir !  let 
us  not  watch  the  loveliest  of  all  earth- 
ly flowers  till  it  b€^x>mes  degraded  in 
our  eyes  by  a  decay  which  it  was  bora 
to  undergo.  Let  it  be  a  dream  in  our 
philosophy  that  it  still  remains  in  all 
its  prime,  and  that  so  it  will  remain 


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1894:;]  The  Shepherds  Cakndar. 

in  some  purer  clime  through  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  future  ages. 

As  I  have  not  heen  an  eye-witness 
to  many  of  the  scenes  I  mean  to  de- 
tail, I  judge  it  best  to  give  them  as 
the  relation  of  the  first  person,  in  the 
same  manner  as  they  have  been  re- 
hearsed to  roe,  whether  that  person 
chanced  to  be  the  principal  or  not 
Without  this  mode  I  mi^ht  make  a 
more  perfect  arrangement  in  my  little 
love  stories,  but  could  not  give  them 
any  degree  of  the  interest  they  ap- 
peared to  me  to  possess,  or  define  the 
characters  by  letting  them  speak  for 
themselves. 

'^  Wat,  what  was  the  matter  wi' 
you,  that  ye  never  keepit  your  face  to 
the  minister  the  last  Sabbath  day? 
Yon's  an  unco  unreverend  gate  in  a 
kirk,  man.  I  hae  seen  you  keep  a  good 
ee  on  the  preacher,  an'  take  good  tent 
o'  what  was  gaun  too ;  and  troth  I'm 
wae  to  see  ye  altered  to  the  waur." 

*'  I  kenna  how  I  might  chance  to 
be  lookin',  but  I  hope  I  was  listen- 
ing as  wed  as  you,  or  ony  that  was 
there.  Hdghow  I  It's  a  weary  warld 
this!" 

"  What  has  made  it  siccan  a  weary 
warld  to  poor  Wat?  I'm  sure  it  wasna 
about  the  ills  o'  life  that  the  minister 
was  preachin'  that  day,  that  has  gart 
ye  change  sae  sair  ?  Now,  Wat,  I  tentit 
ye  weel  a'  the  day,  an'  111  be  in  your 
debt  for  a  toop  lamb  at  Michaelsmass, 
gin  ye'll  just  tell  me  ae  distinct  sen- 
tence o'  the  sermon  on  Sabbath  last.*' 

"  Hout,  Jock,  man  !  ye  ken  I  dinna 
want  to  make  a  jest  about  ony  saucred 
or  religious  thing;  an'  as  for  your 
paulie  toop  lamb,  what  care  I  for  it  ?" 

"  Ye  needna  think  to  win  aff  that 
gate,  callant.  Just  confess  the  truth, 
that  ye  never  yet  heard  a  word  the 
good  man  said,  for  that  baith  your 
heart  an'  your  ee  was  fixed  on  some 
object  in  the  contrair  direction.  An' 
I  may  be  mistaen,  but  I  think  I  could 
guess  what  it  was." 

"  Whisht,  lad,  an'  let  us  alane  o' 
your  sinfu'  surmeeses.  I  might  turn 
my  back  on  the  minister  during  the 
time  o'  the  prayer,  but  that  was  for 
petting  a  lean  on  the  seat,  an'  what 
lUwasin  that?" 

"  Ay,  an'  ye  might  likewise  hirsel 
yoursel  up  to  the  comer  o'  the  seat  a' 
the  time  o'  baith  the  sermons,  an'  lean 
your  head  on  your  hand,  an'  look 
through  your  fingers  too.     Can  ye 


Clots  F.    The  Lasses. 


S97 


deny  this?  Or  that  your  een  were 
fixed  the  hale  day  on  ae  particular 
pkce?" 

"  Aweel,  I  winna  gie  a  friend  the 
lee  to  his  face.  But  an  ye  had  lookit 
as  weel  at  a'  the  rest  as  at  roe,  ye  wad 
hae  seen  that  a'  the  men  in  tb^  kirk 
were  lookin'  the  same  gate." 

''An'  a'  at  the  same  object  too? 
An'  a'  as  deeply  interested  in  it  as 
you?  Isna  that  what  ye're  thinkin? 
Ah,  Wat,  Wat !  love  winna  hide !  I 
saw  a  pair  o'  slae^black  een  thut  threw 
some  gayan  saucy  disdainAi'  looks  up 
the  kirk,  an'  I  soon  saw  the  havoc 
they  were  makin',  an'  had  made,  i' 
your  simple  honest  heart.  Wow,  man  I 
but  I  fear  me  you  are  in  a  bad  pre^* 
dickiment" 

"  Ay,  ay.  Between  twa  friends, 
Jock,  there  never  was  a  lad  in  sic  a 
predickiment  as  I  am.  I  needna  keep 
ought  frae  vou ;  but  for  the  life  that^ 
i'  your  bouk  dinna  let  a  pater  about  ii 
escapie  frae  atween  your  ups.  I  wadna 
that  it  were  kend  how  deeply  I  am  in 
love,  an'  how  httle  it  is  hke  to  be  re- 
nuited,  for  the  hale  warld.  But  I  am 
this  day  as  miserable  a  man  as  breathes 
the  breath  o'  life.  Fat  I  like  von  last 
as  man  never  hkit  another,  an  a'  that 
I  get  is  scorn,  an'  gibes,  an'  modcery 
in  return.  O  Jock,  I  wkh  I  was  dead 
in  an  honest  natural  way,  an'  that  my 
burial  day  were  the  mora  !" 

"  Weel,  after  a',  I  daresay  that  is 
the  best  way  o'  winding  up  a  hopdeas 
love  sciene.  But  only  it  ought  sturdy 
to  be  the  last  resource.  Now,  will  ye 
be  candid,  and  tell  me  gin  ye  hae  tried 
all  lawful  endeavours  to  preserve  your 
ain  life,  as  the  commandroent  reouires 
us  to  do,  ye  ken  ?  Hae  ye  oourtit  the 
lass  as  a  roan  ought  to  hae  courtit  her 
who  is  in  every  respect  her  equd  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  1  I  have  told  her 
a'  my  love,  an'  a'  my  sufierings ;  hot 
it  has  been  only  to  be  mockit,  an'  seat 
about  my  business." 

*'  An'  ye  wad  whine,  an'  make  wry 
£uxs,  as  you  are  doing  just  now  ?  Na, 
na,  Wat,  that's  no  the  gate  o't; — a 
maid  maun  just  be  wooed  in  the  same 
spirit  that  she  shews,  an'  when  she 
shews  saudness,  there's  naething  for 
it  but  taking  a  step  higher  than  her  in 
the  same  humour,  letting  her  always 
ken,  an'  dways  see,  that  vou  are  na- 
turally her  superior,  an'  that  you  are 
even  stooping  from  your  dignity  when 
you  condescend  to  ask  her  to  become 
your  equal.    If  she  refuse  to  be  your 


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898  The  J^^epherd^s  Calendar. 

joe  at  the  fair,  newet  dtiher  whine  or 
look  disappointed,  but  be  sure  to  wale 
the  bonniest  lass  in  the  market,  an' 
Ittid  her  to  the  same  party  where  your 
aaucy  dame  is.  Take  her  to  the  top 
o'  the  dance,  the  top  o'  the  table  at 
dinner,  an'  laugh,  an'  sing ;  an'  aye 
between  whisper  your  bonny  partner ; 
an'  if  your  ain  lass  disna  happen  to  be 
unco  weel  budded,  it  is  ten  to  ane  she 
will  find  an  opportunity  of  ofibring 
▼ou  her  company  afore  night  If  she 
look  angry  or  affronted  at  your  atten- 
tions to  others,  you  are  sure  o'  her. 
They  are  queer  creatures  the  lasses, 
Wat,  an'  I  rather  dread  ye  haena 
muckle  skill  or  experience  in  their 
bitii  o'  wily  gates.  For,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  there's  naething  pleases  me 
sae  weel  as  to  see  them  b^n  to  pout, 
an'  prim  their  bits  o'  gabs,  an'  look 
aulky  out  frae  the  wick  o'  the  ee,  an' 
gar  uka  feather  an'  flower-knot  quiver 
wi'  their  angry  capers.  O  the  dear, 
sweet  jewels!  When  I  see  ane  o' them 
in  nc  a  key,  I  could  just  take  ha  a'  in 
my  arms!' 

'^  If  you  had  ever  loved  as  I  do, 
Jock,  je  wad  hae  found  little  comfort 
in  theur  offence.  For  my  part,  every 
disdainfu'  word  that  yon  dear,  lovely 
lassie  aay^  tfoes  to  my  heart  like  a 
red-hot  spincQe.  My  life  is  bound  up 
in  her  favour.  It  is  only  in  it  that  I 
can  live,  move,  or  breathe ;  an'  when- 
ever she  says  a  severe  or  cutting  word 
to  me,  I  fda  as  if  ane  o'  my  members 
were  torn  away,  and  am  glad  to  escape 
aslangas  lam  onythingava;  for  I  find, 
if  I  war  to  remain,  a  few  mae  siccan 
•entenoes  wad  soon  annihilate  me." 

''  O  sic  balderdash !  In  three  months' 
time  I  shall  take  in  hand  to  bring  her 
to  yova  ain  terms,  if  you  will  take  my 
advice.  When  I  speak  o'  ifour  ain 
terms,  mind  I  take  it  for  granted  that 
you  will  never  pronose  ony  that  are 
not  strictly  honourable." 

'^  That^ou  may  rely  on.  I  would 
eooner  think  of  wranging  my  own 
flesh  an'  blood  than  suffer  a  thought 
to  waver  about  my  heart  to  her  pre- 
judice. But,^  O  man,  speak ;  for  ye 
are  garring  a'  the  blood  in  my  veins 
fin  up  to  my  head,  as  gin  it  war  a 
thousand  ants  running  races." 

"  Wed,  Wat,  in  the  first  place,  I 
DTopose  to  gang  down  yonder  a  night 
by  mysel',  an'  speak  baith  to  her  &- 
ther  an'  her,  to  find  how  the  land 
lies ;  an'  after  that  we  can  gang  down 
bai^  thegether,  an'gie  her  a  fair  broad* 


Oui  r.    The  Lanes.        [>IiTCh, 

side.  Thedetl'sitt't,ifwe8aniiabriDg 
her  to  reason." 

Wat  scratched  his  head,  and  pulled 
the  grass  (that  was  quite  blameless  in 
the  affdir)  furiously  up  by  the  roots, 
but  made  no  answer.  On  being  urged 
to  declare  his  sentiments,  he  said,  "  I 
dinna  ken  about  that  way  o'  ganging 
down  your  lane ;  I  wish  you  maunna 
stick  by  the  auld  fisher's  rule,  '  Every 
man  for  his  ain  hand.'  That  I  ken 
weel,  that  nae  man  alive  can  see  her, 
an'  speak  to  her,  and  no  be  in  love  wi' 
her.'^ 

'^  It  is  a  good  thing  in  love  affiirs, 
Wat,  that  there  are  hardly  two  in  the 
world  wha  think  the  same  way." 

"  Ay,  but  this  is  a  particular  case, 
for  a'  the  men  in  the  country  think 
the  same  gate  here,  an'  rin  the  same 
gate  to  the  wooing.  It  is  impossible 
to  win  near  the  nouse  on  a  Friday 
night  without  rinning  your  head 
against  that  of  some  rival,  like  twa 
toops  fightin'  about  a  ewe.  Na,  na, 
John,  this  plan  o'  gangin'  down  by 
yoursel'  winna  do.  An  now  when  I 
think  on't,  ye  had  better  no  gang 
down  ava,  for  if  we  gang  down  firioids, 
we'll  come  up  enemies,  an'  that  wadna 
be  a  very  agreeable  cataatroff " 

"  Now  shame  fa'  me  ^n  ever  I 
heard  sic  nonsense  I  To  think  that  a' 
the  warld  see  wi'  your  een !  Hear  ye, 
Wat-— I  wadna  gie  that  snap  o'  my 
fingers  for  her.  I  never  saw  her  tiu 
Sunday  last,  when  I  came  to  your 
kirk  ance  errand  for  that  purpose,  an* 
I  wadna  ken  her  again  gin  I  war  to 
meet  her  here  come  out  to  the  glen 
wi'  your  whey—- what  ails  you,  took, 
that  you're  dightiu'  your  een?" 

"  Come  out  to  the  glen  wi'  hmt 
whey!  Ah,  man  I  the  words  gaeu 
through  me  like  the  stang  of  a  bum- 
bee.  Come  out  to  the  gloi  wi'  mj 
whey !  Gude  forgie  my  sin,  what  is 
the  reason  I  canna  thole  that  thought  ? 
That  were  a  consummation  devout- 
ly to  be  wussed,  as  the  soloquy  in 
the  Collection  says.  I  fear  111  never 
see  that  blessed  an'  lovely  sight  I  But, 
Jock,  take  my  advice ;  stay  at  hame, 
an'  gangna  near  her,  gin  ye  wad  en- 
joy ony  peace  o'  conscience." 

"  Ye  ken  naethinR  about  the  wo- 
men, Wat,  an'  as  little  about  roe.  If 
I  gang  near  her,  itiwill  only  be  to  hum- 
ble her  a  wee,  by  mocking  at  her  in- 
fluence among  the  young  men,  an' 
bringing  her  to  reason,  for  your  sake. 
Jock  the  Jewel  wadna  say  ^  woe's  me  I* 
\S 


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1994.;]  The^iepher^tOOendar. 

fiirthe  best  lan'sfVownina'  UieHngw 
dom  o'  Britain.  Whatever  some  o' 
them  might  do  for  his^  that's  uo  his 
right  to  say." 

Jock  the  Jewel  went  down  in  all 
his  might  and  high  experience  to  pot 
everything  to  rights  between  his  friend 
Wat  and  die  bonny  Snaw-fleck,  as 
this  Spink  of  a  mountain  damsel  was 
oaUed,  for  every  ghrl  in  the  whdle  pa- 
rish was  named  after  one  of  the  birds 
of  the  air ;  and  every  man,  too,  young 
and  old,  had  his  by-name,  by  which 
we  diall  distinguish  them  all  for  the 
present  The  Snaw-fieck's  £aher  was 
called  Tod-Lowrie,  (the  fox;)  his 
ddest  daughter,  the  £ag]e;  the  se- 
cond, the  Sea^maw ;  and  his  only  son 
was  denominated  the  Foumart,  (pole- 
cat ;)  from  a  notable  hunt  he  once  had 
with  one  of  these  creatures  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  night,  in  a  strange  house ; 
and  it  was  the  worst  name  I  ever  heard 
for  a  young  man*  Our  disconsolate 
lover  was  cidled  Window  Wat,  on  ac« 
count  of  hia  bashful  nature,  and,  as 
they  all^;ed,  for  hanging  always  about 
die  windows  when  he  went  a-court- 
ing,  and  never  venturing  in.  It  was  a 
good  while  after  this  fint  rencounter 
before  the  two  shepherds  met  again 
with  that  convenience  so  as  to  resume 
their  bve  afikirs.  But  at  length  an  oc- 
casion offered,  and  then But  we 

must  suffinr  every  man  to  \eVL  his  own 
tale,  dse  the  sport  will  be  spoilt. 

*•  Wed,  Wat,  hae  ye  been  ony  mair 
down  at  Lowrie's  Lodge,  sin'  I  saw 
ypa?" 

**  An'  if  I  hae,  I  hae  been  little  the 
better  o'  you.  I  heard  that  you  were 
there  before  me,  an^  sinsyne  too." 
.  **  Now,  Wat,  that's  mere  jealousy 
WBL  suspicion,  for  ye  didna  see  the  lass 
to  ken  whether  I  was  there  or  not  I 
ken  ye  wad  be  hingin'  about  the  win- 
dow*soles  as  usual,  keekin'in,  feastin' 
your  een,  seein'  other  woosters  beikin' 
their  riiins  at  the  ingle,  but  for  a'  that 
dorstna  venture  ben.  Come,  I  dinna 
like  siccansackless  gates  as  thae.  I  wot 
down,  I'se  po  deny't,  but  I  gaed  to 
wark  in  a  different  manner.  Unco 
cauldrife  wark  thato'  standin'  peengin' 
about  windows,  man.  Come,  tell  me 
a'  your  expedition,  an'  111  tell  you 
mine,  like  nriends,  ye  ken." 

**  Mine's  no  ill  to  tdl.  I  gaed  down 
that  night  after  I  saw  you,  e  en  though 
Wednesday  be  the  widower's  night ; 
there  were  more  diere  than  I,  but  I 
was  fear'd  ye  had  got  there  afore  me. 

Vol.  XV. 


Ckn  F.    The  Ijosies.  Sd^ 

and  then,  wi'  your  great  skill  o'  the 
ways  o'  women,  ye  might  hae  left  me 
nae  chance  at  a'.  I  was  there,  but  I 
might  as  weel  hae  staid  at  hame,  for 
there  were  sae  mony  o'  the  out-wale 
wallietragle  kind  o'  wooers  there,  like 
mysel,  a'  them  that  canna  win  forret 
on  a  Friday  night,  that  I  got  the  back 
o'  the  hallau  to  keep ;  but  there's  ae 
good  thing  about  the  auld  Tod's  house, 
they  never  ditt  up  their  windows.  Ane 
sees  aye  what's  gaun  on  within  doors. 
Tlicrir  leave  a'  their  actions  open  to  the 
et  o  God  an'  man,  yon  family,  an*  I 
often  think  it  is  nae  ill  sign  o'  them. 
Auld  Tod-'LoWrie  himsel  sometimes 
looks  at  the  window  in  a  kind  o'  con- 
stderiifg  moodi  as  if  doubtful  that  at 
that  moment  he  is  both  overheurd  and 
overseen ;  but,  or  it  is  lang,  he  cocks 
up  his  bonnet  and  cracks  as  crouse  as 
ever,  as  if  he  thought  again,  '  There's 
aye  ae  ee  that  sees  me  at  a'  times,  an' 
a  ear  that  hears  me,  an'  when  that's 
the  case,  what  need  t  care  for  a'  the 
Ittrkies  o'  the  land  1'  I  like  that  open 
independent  way  that  the  family  has. 
But  O,  they  are  surely  sair  harassed 
wi'  wooers. 

"  The  wooers  are  the  very  joy  o' 
their  hearts,  excepting  the  Foumart's  ; 
hehates  them  a'  unless  they  can  tell  him 
bunders  o'  lies  about  battles,  Indies, 
an'  awfh'  murders,  an*  persecutions* 
An'  the  leaving  o'  the  windows  open 
too  b  not  without  an  aim.  The  Eagle's 
beginning  to  weary  for  a  husband; 
an  if  ye'U  notice  how  dink  she  dresses 
hersel  ilka  night,  an'  jinks  away  at  the 
muckle  wheel  as  she  war  spinning  for 
a  wager.  They  hae  found  out  that 
they  are  often  seen  at  night  yon  lass- 
es ;  and  though  they  hae  to  work  the 
foulest  work  o  the  bit  farm  a'  the  day 
when  naebody  sees  them,  at  night  they 
are  a'  dressea  up  like  pet-ewes  for  a 
market,  an'  ilka  ane  is  acting  a  part. 
The  Eagle  is  yerkin'  on  at  the  wheel, 
and  now  and  then  gi'en  a  smirk  wi' 
her  face  to  the  window.  The  Snaw- 
fleck  aits  busy  in  the  neuk,  as  sleek  as 
a  kinnen,  and  the  auld  docker  foment 
her,  admirin'  an'  misca'in'  her  a'  the 
time.  The  white  Seamaw  flees  up  an' 
down  the  house,  but  an'  ben,  ae  while 
i'  the  qiense,  ane  i'  the  awnnrie,  an' 
then  to  the  door  wi'  a  sosp-suds. 
Then  the  Foumart,  he  sits  knitting 
hsB  stocking,  an'  quarrelling  wi'  the 
hale  tot  o'  them.  The  feint  a  haed  he 
minds  but  aheer  iU  nature.  If  there  be 
a  gpood  body  i'  the  house,  the  auld 


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300 

TodixiheaDe.  He  is  a  garan  honest 
downright  carle^  the  Tod.' 

''  It  is  hardly  the  nature  o"  a  tod  to 
be  sae ;  an'  there's  no  ae  hit  o'  your 
description  that  I  gang  in  wi' !  It  is  a 
fine,  douse  family. 

«  But  O  the  Snaw-fleck ! 

The  bonny  bonny  Snaw-fleck! 

She  is  the  bin!  for  me,  O  !* " 

"  If  love  wad  make  you  a  poeter, 
Wat^  I  wad  say  it  had  wrought  mira- 
cles. Onymair  about  the  bonny  Snaw- 
fleck,  eh  ?  I  wonder  how  you  can 
make  glowin'  love-sangs  stan'in'  at  a 
.cauld  window — No  the  way  that, 
roan.  Tell  me  plainly,  did  ye  ever  get 
a  word  o'  the  bonny  lass  ava?" 

"  Hey  how  me ! — I  can  hardly  say 
that  I  did ;  an'  yet  I  hae  been  three 
times  there  sin'  I  saw  you." 

"  An'  gat  your  travel  for  your  pains 
a'  the  times  ?" 

*'  No  sae  bad  as  that,  neither.  I 
'  had  the  pleasure  o'  seeing  her/ bonny, 
bniw,  innocent,  an'  happy,  busy  work- 
ing her  mother's  wark.  I  saw  her  smile 
at  her  brother's  crablnt  words,  and  I 
saw  the  approving  glances  beam  frae 
the  twa  amd  focks  een.  When  her 
father  made  ftmilv-worship,  she  took 
her  Bible,  and  fbUowed  devoutly  wi' 
her  ee  the  words  o'  holy  writ,  as  the 
old  man  read  them ;  and  her  voice  in 
singing  the  psalm  was  as  mdlow  an' 
as  sweet  as  the  flute  playing  afiur  offl 
Ye  may  believe  me,  Jock,  when  I  saw 
her  lift  up  her  lovely  face  in  sweet  de- 
votion, I  stood  on  the  outside  o'  the 
window,  an'  grat  like  a  bairn.  It  was 
mair  than  my  heart  could  diole ;  an' 
gin  it  wama  for  shame,  I  wad  gang 
ever^  night  to  enjoy  the  same  heaven- 
ly vision." 

''  As  I'm  a  Christian  man,  Wat,  I 
believe  love  has  made  a  jioeter  of  you. 
Ye  winna  believe  me,  man,  that  very 
woman  is  acting  her  part.  Do  you 
think  she  didna  ken  that  ye  saw  her, 
an'  was  makin'  a'  thaefine  nrargeons  to 
throw  glamour  in  your  een,  an'  gar 
you  trow  she  was  an  angel  ?  I  ma- 
naged otherwise  ;  but  it  is  best  to  tell 
a'  plain  out,  like  friends,  ye  ken. 
Weel,  down  I  ^oes  to  Lowrie's  Lodge, 
an',  like  vou,  ke^s  in  at  the  window, 
and  the  first  thing  I  saw  was  die  auld 
Tod  tovhig  out  tobacco-reek  like  a 
moorburn.  The  hale  biggin  was  sae 
choke  fu'  •'  the  vapour,  it  was  hke  a 
dark  mist,  an'  I  could  see  neething 
through  it  but  his  ain  braid  bonnet 
moving  up  and  down  like  the  tap  o'  the 


sndth'a  be11owB,at  everypoogh  hegave. 
At  lengdi  he  bandit  by  the  pipe  to  the 
imUi  wife,  and  the  leek  soon  tuned 
mair  moderate.  I  could  then  see  thfr 
lasses  a  dressed  out  like  ddla,  and  se- 
veral young  boobies  o'  hinds,  thredK 
ers,  an'  thrum^cutters,  sittine  gashin' 
and  glowrin'amang  them*  Ishtllaooii 
set  your  backs  to  &e  wa',  thaika  I,  if 
I- could  get  ony  possible  means  o'  in« 
troduction.  It  wasna  lang  t^I  ane  of- 
fered ;  out  comes  a  lass  wi'  a  cog  o* 
warm  water,  an'  she  gars  it  a'  darii  on 
me.  *  Thanks  t'ye  for  your  kindness^ 
mv  woman,'  says  I.  *  Ye  canna  say 
I  nae  gi'en  ye  a  cauld  reception,'  saya 
she.  '  But  wha  the  widdy  are  ye 
standin'  like  a  thief  i'  the  mirk  fbr?' 
'  Maybe  kenn'd  fo'k,  gin  it  war  day* 
light,' quo' I.  'Ye  had  better  come  itt 
by,  an'  see  gin  candle-light  winna  heel 
die  mister,  says  she.  *  Thanks  t'ye,* 
aays  1*  *  but  1  wad  rather  hae  you  to 
come  out  by,  an'  try  gin  stem-Hght 
winna  do !'  '  Catch  me  doing  that,' 
cried  die,  and  bounced  into  the  house 
again.  ** 

'*  I  then  laid  my  lug  dose  to  the 
window,  an'  heard  ane  askin'  wha  that 
was  she  was  speakin'  to  ?  '  I  dinna  ken 
him,'  quo'  she ;  '  but  I  trow  I  hae 
ffi'en  him  a  mark  to  ken  him  by ;  I 
hae  gi'en  him  a  balsam  o'  boiling  wa«i 
ter.' 

'^ '  I  wish  ye  may  hae  peeled  a'  die 
hide  aff  his  shins,'  quo'  the  Foumart, 
an'  be  mudged  and  leugh ;  *  haste  ye, 
dame,  rin  awa  out  an'  lay  a  pkister  o' 
lime  and  linseed-oil  to  the  lad's  trams/ 
continued  he. 

'^ '  I  can  tell  ye  wha  it  is,'  said  ane 
o'  the  hamlet  wooers  ;  '  it  will  be  Jock 
the  Jewel  comed  down  frae  the  moors, 
for  I  saw  him  waiting  about  the  diop 
an'  the  smiddy  till  the  darkness  came 
on.  If  ye  hae  disabled  him,  lady  sea- 
bird,  the  wind  will  bkw  nae  mair  out 
o*  the  west.' 

'^  I  durstna  trust  them  wi'  my  cha- 
racter and  me  in  hearing ;  sae,  with- 
out mair  ado,  I  gangs  bauldly  ben.-— 
*  Gude  e'en  to  ye,  Idmmers  a'  in  a  ring,' 
says  I. 

"  '  Gude-e'en  t'ye,  honest  lad,'  quo' 
the  Bagle.  '  How  does  your  cauld 
constitution  an'  our  potatoe-broo sort  ?* 

"  *  Thanks  t'ye,  bonny  lass,'  says  I. 
'  I  hae  gotten  a  right  sair  dcdloch ; 
but  I  wish  I  wama  woundit  nae  deep- 
er somewhere  else  than  i'  the  sbtiv- 
banes,  I  might  shoot  a  flyin'  erne  for 
a'  that's  come  an'  gane  yeu' 


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nU  Skepker^i  Cakndar.    Chss  V.    Tkt  Lauts. 


<^  <  ntt^ff  weel  atnwere^  lid/ otio' 
the  Tod.  «  Keep  her  down,  fbrsbe^i 
UBeo  gfib  o'  the  gab^  especially  to 
etrangera.' 

" '  Yott  will  nefer  tondi  a  fbaflier  cT 
her  whig,  kd,'  qoo'  she.  '  But  if  ye 
ewdd-— -111  say  nae  mair.' 

<' '  Na,  na,  MiatresB  Eagle,  ve  soar 
o'er  hig^  for  ine,*  says  I.  *  I'll  bring 
down  nae  sky-cleaying  harpies  to  pi^ 
the  e'en  oat  o'  my  sheep,  an'  my  un 
into  the  bargain,  maybe.  I  see  a  bit 
bonny  norlan'  bird  in  the  nook  here, 
that  I  would  rather  woo  to  my  little 
hamely  nest.  The  Eagle  mann  to  her 
dry ;  or,  as  the  aold  ballant  say»— 
'  Gasp  and  speel  to  her  yermit  riren, 
Amid  the  mista  an*  the  rains  of  heaven.* 
It  is  the  innocent,  thrifty,  little  Snaw- 
Heck  that  will  suit  me,  wi'  the  white 
wings  an' the  Uoe  body.  She's  pleased 
wi'  the  hardest  and  hamdiest  fare ;  a 
piddn  o'  the  seeds  o'  the  pipe  bait  is 
a  feast  to  her.' " 

*'  Now,  by  the  ftith  o'  my  body. 
Jewel,  that  wasna  fair.  Was  that  pre- 
paring' the  way  for  your  friend's  sue- 

OMS? 

**  Naething  but  sheer  banter,  man; 
like  friends,  ye  ken.  But  ye  sail  hear. 
The  Snaw-fleck's  a  braw  beast,'  said  I, 
f  bat  the  Eagle's  a  waster  and  a  de- 
atroyer.' 

**  *  She's  true  to  her  mate,  though,' 
said  the  dame ;  '  but  the  dther  is  a 
bird  o'  passage,  and  mate  to  the  hale 
flodc.' 

^<  I  was  a  wee  startled  atthis  obserre, 
when  I  thought  of  the  number  of 
wooers  that  were  rinning  after  the  bon- 
ny Snaw-fleck.  However,  I  didna  like 
to  yield  to  the  jocular  and  haughty 
Eagle;  and  I  added,  that  I  wad  take 
my  chance  o'  the  wee  Snaw-bird,  for 
though  she  war  ane  of  a  flock,  that 
flock  was  an  honest  ane.  This  pleased 
them  a';  and  the  auld  slee  Tod,  he 
apak  up  an'  said,  he  hadna  the  plea* 
amre  o'  being  acquaint  wi'  me,  but  he 
hoped  he  shouldna  hae  it  in  his  power 
to  say  sae  again.  Only  there  was  ae 
thing  he  beggit  to  remind  me  o',  be* 
fbre  I  went  any  farther,  and  that  was, 
that  the  law  of  Padanaram  was  esta- 
blished in  his  family,  an'  he  could  by 
no  means  give  a  younger  daughter  in 
BsarriaflK  before  one  that  was  elder. 

**  *  I  think  vou  will  maybe  keep  them 
ibr  a  gay  while,  then,'  said  the  Fou- 
mart. -<  But  if  the  Sea-gull  wad  sUy 
at  hame,  I  careoa  if  the  rest  were  at 


801 

Bamph.    She's  the  only  useAi'  body 
I  see  about  the  house.' 

"  '  Hand  the  tonffue  o'  thee,  thou 
ilHa'red,  cat's-witted  serf,'  said  the 
auld  wife.  *  I'm  sure  ony  o'  them's 
worth  a  ftggald  o'  thee.  An'  that  lad, 
gin  I  dinna  forecast  aglee,  wad  do  cre- 
dit to  OUT  kin.' 

"  *  He  s  rather  ower  wed  giftit  o' 
gab,'  quo'  the  menseless  thing.  That 
remark  threw  a  damp  on  my  spirits  a' 
the  night  after,  an'  I  rather vMt  ground 
than  gained  ony  mair.  Theill-hued 
weazd-blawn  thing  of  a  brother,  ne- 
ver missed  an  opportunity  of  gieing 
me  a  yeric  wi'  his  ill-scrapit  tongue, 
an'  tl^e  Eagle  was  aye  gieiug  hints 
about  the  virtueso'  ]jotatoe-broo— how 
it  improved  the  voice  for  singin',  an' 
f^  ane  a  chance  o'  some  advancement 
in  the  domhnons  o'  the  Grand  Turk. 
I  didna  ken  what  she  meant,  but  some 
o'  the  rest  did,  for  diev  leugh  as  they 
had  been  kittled ;  and  the  mirth  aim 
humour  turned  outrageous,  aye  seem- 
ingly at  my  expense.  The  auld  Tod 
chewed  tobaixo  an'  threw  his  mouth, 
lookit  whiles  at  ane  and  whiles  at  an- 
other, an'  seemed  to  enjoy  the  joke  as 
muckle  as  ony  o'  them.  As  for  the 
bonny  Snaw-mrd,  she  never  leugh  a- 
boon  her  breath,  but  sat  as  mim  an'  as 
sleek  as  a  moudie.  There  were  some 
▼ery  pretty  smiles  an'  dimples  ghwn, 
but  nae  gaffiiwing.  She  is  really  a  fine 
lass." 

**  There  it  goes  now !  I  tauld  you 
how  it  wad  be !  I  tell  you.  Jewel,  the 
deil  a  bit  o'  this  is  fair  play." 

"  Ane  may  tell  what  he  thinks-^ 
like  a  friend,  ye  ken.  Weel — to  make 
a  lang  tale  abort — I  coaldna  help  see- 
ing a  the  forenight  that  she  had  an 
ee  to  me.  I  cmildna  help  that,  ye 
ken.  Gat  monyasweet  blink  an' smile 
thrown  o'er  the  fire  to  me — couldna 
help  that  either,  ye  ken — never  lost 
that  a  friend  eets.  At  length  a'  the 
douce  wooers  drew  off  ane  by  ane— 
saw  it  was  needless  to  dispute  the 
point  wi'  me  that  night  Ane  had  to 
gang  hame  to  supper  his  horses,  an- 
other to  fodder  the  kye,  and  another 
had  to  be  hame  afore  his  master  took 
the  book,  else  he  had  to  gang  supper- 
less  to  bed.  I  sat  still— needless  to 
lose  a  good  boon  for  lack  o'  asking. 
The  potatoes  were  poured  an'  cham- 
pit — naebodv  bade  me  bide  supper, 
but  1  sat  still ;  an'  the  auld  wifo  she 
slippit   away   to   the  awmrie,   ao' 


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303  Thf  Sktjixrd^t  Calpudar. 

brought  >  knoll  o'  better  like  ane's 
nieve^  an'slippit  that  into  the  potatoe 
pot  bidling  ways,  but  the  fine  flavour 
that  filled  the  boiiuse  soon  outed  the 
secret  I  drew  in  my  seat  wi'  t)^e  res^ 
resolved  to  hae  my  share  o'  the  ch^p, 
healthful  and  delightfu'  meal,  an'  I 
maun  say  that  I  never  enjoyed  ane  $,' 
my  life  wi'  mair  satisfaction.  I  saw 
that  I  had  a  hearty  welcome  frae  them 
a'  but  the  Foumart,  an'  I  loot  him  giro 
an'  snivel  as  muckle  as  he  liket.  Weel, 
J  saw  it  was  turning  lat^,  and  there 
was  a  necessity  for  proceeding  to  bu« 
^iness,  else  the  booics  an'  the  prayers 
wad  be  on.  Spe  I  draws  to  my  plaid 
ap'  stafl^  an'  I  looks .  round  to  the 
lasses ;  but  in  the  meantime  I  dropt 
half  a  wink  to  the  Snaw-fieck,  an  I 
says,  *  Weel,  wha  o'  you  bonny  lasses 
sets  me  the  length  o'  the  towQhead 
yett  the  night  ?' 

" '  The  feint  a  ane  o^  them/  quo* 
the  Foumart  wi'  a  girn. 

<'  ^  The  towuhead  yett  the  night, 
honest  lad  ?'  quo'  the  wife.  '  Be  my 
certy,  thou's  no  gaun  nae  siccan  a  gate. 
Pis  thou  think  thou  can  gang  to  the 
muirs  the  night?  Nay,  nay,  thou 
shalt  take  share  pf  a  bed  wi'  our  son 
till  it  be  day,  for  th^  night's  dark  an' 
tjie  road's  eury," 

"  '  He  needna  stay  unless  he  likes,' 
quo^  the  Foumart.  '  Let  the  chap  tak 
his  wuU,  an'  gang  his  gates.' 

'*  *  Hand  thy  ill-faur  d  tongue,'  said 
the  wife.  I  sat  down  again,  an*  we 
grew  a'  unco  silent.  At  length  the 
Eagle  rose  an'  flew  to  ^he  door.  It 
.wadpa  do— I  w^na  follow;  sat  aye 
&till,  and  threw  another  straight  wink 
to  the  bonny  Snaw-fiecki  but  the  shy 
shilling  sat  snug  in  her  comer,  an' 
wadpa  move.  At  length  the  Eagle 
pomes  gliding  in,  an'  in  a  moment,  or 
ever  I  kend  what  I  wfis  doing,  claps 
down  a  wee  table  at  my  left  hand,  an' 
the  big  Bible  an'  psalm-book  on't.  I 
never  gat  sip  a  stpund,  an'  really  thought 
J  wad  drap  down  through  the  fioor ; 
an'  when  I  saw  the  lasses  shading 
their  fapcs  wi'  their  hands,  I  grew 
waur, 

" '  What  ails  thee,  hpnest  l|d,  that 
thou  looks  sae  baugh  ?'  said  the  auld 
wife.  '  Sure  thou's  no  asham^  to 
praise  thy  Maker  ?  fpr  an  thou  be,  I 
shall  be  ashamed  o'  thee.  It  is  an  auld 
family  custom  we  hae,  aye  to  gie  a 
strani^er  tlie  honour  o'  being  our  leader 
i^  this  bit  e'ening  duty  ^  an'  gin  b^ 


Oasi  r.    The  Limes.        IIMnflh, 

nAise  tha^  iifw4iiuii(  ootf&teiitDoe  him 

ony  main' 

*'  That  w|is  9,  yerker !  I  now  fimd  I 
was  fairly  in  the  mire.  For  the  flsnl 
o'  me  I  durstna  take  the  book ;  for 
though  I  had  a  good  deal  o'  good 
words,  an'  blads  o'  scripturet  an'  reli* 
gious  rhames,  a'  by  heart,  I  didna  kea 
how  I  might  sar  them  compluthcir. 
An'  as  I  took  this  to  be  a  sort  o'  test 
to  try  a  wooer's  abilities,  I  could  ea- 
sily see  that  my  houg^  was  fairly  i' 
the  sheen  crook,  an'  that  what  wi' 
sMckiog  the  psaJxn,  bungling  the  pray- 
er, potatoe^broo  an'  a'  thegither,  I  wet 
like  to  come  badly  off.  Sae  I  says, 
'  Goodwife.  I'm  obliged  t'ye  for  the 
honour  ye  hae  offered  me ;  an'  sae  hoc 
frae  being  ashamed  o'  my  Maker's  ser* 
vice,  I  rejoice  in  it ;  but  I  hae  mony 
reasons  for  declining  the  honour.  In 
the  first  place,  war  I  to  take  the  task 
out  o'  the  goodman's  hand,  it  wad  be 
like  the  youngest  scholar  o'  the  school 
pretending  to  tead^  his  master;  an' 
war  I  to  stay  here  a'  night,  it  wad  be 
principally  for  the  purpose  of  e^jey- 
ing  his  family  worship  frae  his  am 
lips.  But  the  truth  is,  an'  that's  my 
great  reason,  I  can  not  stay  a'  night. 
I  want  just  ae  single  word  o'  thisben- 
ny  lass,  an'  then  I  mann  take  the  road, 
for  I'm  far  o'er  late  already.' 

" '  I  bide  by  my  text,  young  man,' 
says  the  'Tod ;  ^  the  law  of  Fftdan- 
aram  is  the  law  of  this  house.' 

"  '  An',  by  the  troth-o'  me,  dioult 
find  it  nae  bad  law  for  thee,  honest 
lad,'  said  the  wife ;  *  our  eldest  will 
mak  the  heit  wife  for  thee— tak  thou 
my  word  for  that.' 

" '  I  am  thinkin'  I  wad/  said  th» 
Eagle ;  ^  an'  I  dinna  ken  but  I  might 
hae  taen  him  too,  if  it  hadna  beecH- 
an  accident,'  Here  she  brak  aff,  an'  a' 
the  house  set  up  a  gi^le  of  a  laugh, 
ap'  the  goodman  tuyned  his  quid  an' 
joined  in  it.  I  forced  on  a  good  face, 
an'  added,  '  Ah !  the  Eagle  I  the  £»« 
gle's  a  deil's  bird — she's  no  for  me.  I 
want  just  a  single  word  wi'  this  dink 
chicken ;  but  it  isna  on  my  ain  ao* 
count — ^it  is  a  word  frae  a  friend,  an' 
I'm  bound  in  iionour  to  deliver  it.' 

^' '  That  is  spoken  sae  hke  an  honest 
man,  an'  a  disinterested  ane,'  quo'  the 
Tod,  *  that  I  winna  refuse  the  boon. 
Gae  your  ways  ben  to  our  little  ben- 
end,  un'  say  what  ye  hae  to  say,  for  I 
dinna  sufier  my  bairns  to  gang  out  i' 
^u  cjayk  wi'  stranger?.' 


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1884.;]  ,Tk0Shtfhtrdr,sCaie9idttr,    CktuV.    ThtLauu. 


"  <  CoDM  awaVj  then,  biimT/  Bajt 
I.  Sberosewi'dowan'iUwill,  lor  I 
saw  ihe  wad  ratlier  I  had  been  to 
aoeak  for  mysel' ;  on'  as  I  pevceiTed 
thiaf  as  soon  as  I  got  her  ben  the 
■  house,  an'  the  door  fairly  steekit,  I 
says  till  her,  says  I,  '  Now,  bonny 
lassie,  I  never  saw  your  face  dbre  bat 
ance,  an'  that  day  I  gaed  mony  fit  to 
see't.  I  came  here  the  night  ance  er- 
rand to  speaka  word  for  a  friend,  but 
really' — Here  she  interrupted  me  aa 
soon  as  she  heard  hut  really* 

"  *  Could  your  friend  no  speak  his 
word  himself?'  said  she. 

'' '  As  you  say,'  says  I ;  '  that  is 
good  sense — ^I  ca'  that  good,  sound 
common  sense ;  for  a  man  does  always 
his  own  turn  best;  an'  therefore  I 
maun  tell  you,  that  I  am  fairly  fii'en 
in  love  wi'  you  mysel',  an'  am  deter- 
mined to  hae  ye  for  my  ain,  cost  what 
itwilL'" 

At  this  part  of  the  story,  Wat 
sprung  to  his  feet — "  Did  you  say. 
aae,  sirrah  ?"  said  he.  '^  If  ve  did,  ve 
are  a  £nise  loun,  an'  a  villain,  an  I 
am  determined  to  hae  pennyworths  o' 
you,  cost  what  it  wilL' 

''  Hout,  fjTch  fie, Wat,  man !  dinna 
be  a  IboL  Sit  down,  an'  let  us  listen 
to  reason,  like  friends,  ye  ken.  Ye  sail 
hear,  man — -ve  sail  hesr." 

**  I  winna  hear  another  word.  Jewel. 
Up  to  your  feet;  either  single-stick  or 
dry.  nieves,  ony  o'  them  ye  like.  Ye 
gat  the  lass  ben  the  house  on  the  cre- 
dit o'  my  name,  an'  that  was  the  use 
ye  made  o't !  Ye  dinna  ken  how  near 
my  heart,  an'  how  near  my  life,  ye 
war  edging  then,  an'  I'll  break  every 
bane  in  your  bouk  for  it ;  only  ye  shau 
hae  fair  play,  to  smash  mine,  gin  ve 
.can.  Up,  I SQV ;  for  yon  was  a  deed  J 
winna  brook.' 

*'  Perhafps  I  was  wrang,  but  I'll  tell 
the  truth.  Sit  down  an  ye  shall  hear 
— an'  then,  gin  we  maun  fight,  there's 
time  enough  for  it  after.  If  I  had 
thought  I  acted  wrang,  I  wadna  hae 
tauld  it  sae  plain  out ;  but  when  twa 
folks  think  the  saam.gate,  it  isna  a 
good  sign.  '  I'm  in  love  wi'  you,  an' 
am  determined  to  hae  you,'  says  I. 

'' '  I  winna  hear  a  single  word  frae 
ans  that's  betraying  his  friend,'  said 
she;—'  not  one  word,  after  your 
avowal  to  my  father.  If  he  hae  ony 
private  word,  say  it— an'  if  no,  good 
night.' " 

*'  Did  she  say  that,  the  dear  soul  ? 
Heaven  bless  her  bonny  face  1" 


*' '  I  did  prombe  to  a  narticnlar  finend 
o*  mine  to  speak  a  kind  word  for  him/ 
said  I.  '  He  is  unco  blate  an'  modest, 
but  there's  no  a  better  lad ;  an'  I  never 
saw  one  as  deeply  an'  distractedly  in 
love ;  for  though  I  feel  I  (fb  love,  it  if 
with  reason  and  moderation.'" 

"  There  again !"  cried  Wat,  who 
had  begun  to  hold  out  his  hand— 
^'  There  again !  I'm  distracted^  but 
you  are  a  reasonable  being !" 

''  Not  a  word  of  yourself/  said 
she*  '  Who  is  this  friend  of  yours  i 
And  has  he  any  more  to  say  by  you  ? 
Not  one  word  more  of  yourself— at 
least  not  tcv-night.' 

''  At  least  not  to-night  I"  repeated 
Wat  again  and  again — '*  Did  she  say 
that  ?   I  dinna  like  the  addition  ava. 

'<  That  was  what  she  said  ;  an'  nae- 
thing  could  be  plainer  than  that  she 
was  inviting  me  back ;  but  as  I  was 
tied  down,  I  was  obliged  to  say  soroe* 
thing  about  you.  '  Ye  ken  Window 
Wat  ?'  says  I.  '  He  is  o'er  sight  and 
iudgment  in  love  wi'  you,  an'  he  comes 
here  ance  or  twice  every  week,  just  for 
the  pleasure  o'  seeing  you  through  the 
vrinoow.  He's  a  gay  queer  compost-^ 
for  though  he  is  a'  soul,  yet  he  wanta 
spirit.' " 

'^  Did  ye  ca'  me  a  compost  ?  That 
was  rather  a  queer  term  for  a  wooer^ 
b^^ging  your  pardon,"  says  Wat. 

<' '  I  hae  seen  the  kd  sometimes/ 
says  she.  *  If  he  came  here  to  see  m% 
he  certtdnly  need  not  be  sae  muckle 
ashamed  of  his  errand  as  not  to  sheW 
his  face.  J  think  him  a  main  saf^ 
ane.' 

"'  Ye're  quite  i'  the  wrang,  lass/ 
says  I.  '  Wat's  a  great  dab.  He's  aa 
arithmeticker,  a  stronomer,  a  histo- 
rian,  and  a  grand  poeter,  an'  has  made 
braw  sangs  about  yoursel'.  What  think 
ye  o'  being  made  a  wife  to  sic  a  hero 
as  him  ?  Od  help  ye,  it  will  raise  ye 
as  high  as  the  moon.' " 

*'  I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,  Jock  the 
Jewel  The  neist  time  ye  gang  to 
court,  court  for  yoursel',  for  a  that  ye 
hae  said  about  me  is  downright  mock* 
ery,  an'  it  strikes  me  that  you  are 
b«uth  a  sdfii^  knave  and  a  gommeril, 
Sae  good  e'en  t'ye  for  the  present  I 
owe  you  a  good  turn  for  your  kind 
offices  down  bve.  I'll  speak  for  mysel 
in  fViture,  and  do  ye  the  same— /iXfe 
friends,  ye  iten— that's  a'  I  say." 

"  If  I  speak  for  mysel',  I  ken  wha 
will  hae  but  a  poor  chance,"  cried 
Jock  after  him. 


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The  Shepherd^t  €&kndar%    Olass  V.    7%e  La$m.         p&Iare)i, 


8M 

The  next  tfane  our  two  idiepherds 
met,  where  was  it  hut  in  the  identical 
•mithy  acljoimng  to  Lowrie's  Lodge> 
and  that  at  six  o'clock  on  a  December 
evening.  The  smith  smeH  a  rat^  locked 
exceedingly  wise,  and  when  he  heard 
the  two  swains  begin  to  cut  and  sneer 
at  one  another,  it  was  delicate  food  for 
Vnlcan.  He  nuffed  and  blew  at  the 
bellows,  and  thumped  at  the  stithy, 
and  always  between  put  in  a  disjoints 
td  word  or  two. — '^-Mae  hunters! 
mae  hunters  for  the  Tod's  bairns-^ 
hem,  phoogh,  phoogh — will  be  wor- 
ried now !— phoogh" — thump,  thump 
— **  will  be  run  down  now— -hem !" 

"Are  ye  gaun  far  this  way  the 
night,  Jewel,  an  ane  may  spier  ?" 

•Tar  enough  for  you,  Wat,  I'm 
thinkin'.  How  has  the  praying  been 
coming  on  this  while  bygane  ?' 

"  What  d'ye  mean,  Mr  Jewd  ?  If 
jt  will  speak,  let  it  no  be  in  riddles. 
Kather  speak  nonsense,  as  ye  used  to 
do." 

*'  I'm  sneakin'  in  nae  riddles^  lad. 
I  wat  weel  a'  the  country  side  kens 
tiiat  ye  hae  been  ^n  leamin'  prayers 
aff  Hervey's  Meditations,  an'  crooning 
them  o'er  to  yoursd'  in  every  cleuch 
o'  the. glen,  a  to  tame  a  young  she<- 
fox  Wl . 

**  An'  that  ye  hae  been  lying  under 
the  hands  o'  the  moor  doctor  fbr  a 
month,  an'  submitting  to  an  opera- 
don,  frae  the  efi^ts  o'  somebody*^ 
potatoe-broo— isnathat  as  weelkent  ?" 

«  T^U't,  lads,  till't  r  cried  the  smith 
*— "  diat's  Ae  right  way  o'  ganging  to 
wark— phoogh !"— clink,  dink— "pep- 
per away  !"— clink,  clink — "  soon  be 
tmith  as  het  as  naiktringa — ^phoogh  !" 

The  potatoe-broo  rather  settled  Jock's 
sarcasm,  for  he  bad  suffered  some  in- 
^nvenience  fVom  the  ef^ts  of  it,  and 
the  drcumstance  had  turned  the  laugh 
against  him  among  his  companions  in 
a  very  particular  manner.  After  all, 
his  right  ankle  only  was  blistered  a 
Kttle  by  the  burning ;  but,  according 
to  the  country  gossips,  matters  were 
1>ad  enough,  and  it  proved  a  sore  thorn 


in  Jock'to  side.  It  was  nol  long  after 
thia  till  he  glided  from  the  smithy 
like  a  thing  that  had  vanished,  and 
after  that  Wat  sat  in  the  fidgets  fbr 
fear  his  rival  had  efibcted  a  previous 
engagement  with  the  Snow-fle<?k.  The 
smith  perceiving  it,  seised  him  in 
good  humour,  ami  turned  him  out  at 
the  door.  "  Nae  time  to  stay  now,  lad 
^— nae  time  to  wait  here  now.  The 
hunt  will  be  up,  and  the  voung  Tod 
hokd,  if  ye  dinna  make  a  the  better 
n>eed."  Then,  as  Wat  vanished  down 
uie  way,  the  smith  imitated  the  sound 
of  the  fox-hounds  and  the  cries  of  the 
huntsmen.  "  Will  be  run  down  now, 
thae  young  Tods-^eavy  metal  laid 
on  now — ^we'll  have  a  scalding  heat 
some  night,  an  the  track  keep  warm, " 
said  the  smith,  as  he  fell  to  the  big 
bellows  with  both  hands. 

When  Wat  arrived  at  Lowrie's 
Lodge,  he  first  came  in  contact  with 
one  wooer,  and  then  another,  hang- 
ing about  the  comers  of  the  house ; 
but  finding  that  none  of  them  was  his 
neighbour  and  avowed  rival,  he  hasted 
to  his  old  quiet  station  at  the  back 
window,  not  the  window  where  the 
Jewel  stood  when  he  met  with  his 
mischance,  but  one  right  opposite  to 
it  There  he  saw  the  three  Ixmniest 
birds  of  the  air  surrounded  with  aci^ 
mirers,  and  the  Jewel  sitting  cheek 
hj  cheek  with  the  lovdy  Snow-lnrd* 
llie  imbidden  tears  sprung  to  Wat's 
eyes,  but  it  was  not  fbr  jealouBy,  bat 
from  the  most  tender  affection,  as 
wdl  as  intense  admiration,  that  they 
had  their  source.  The  other  wooers 
that  were  lingering  without,  jokied 
him  at  the  window ;  and  Wat  fe^ng 
this  an  incumbrance,  and  eager  to  mar 
his  rival's  success,  actually  plucked  up 
courage,  and  strode  in  ampngst  them 
all.  This  was  a  great  e0>rt  indeed, 
and  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
dared  such  a  piece  of  desperate  tem^ 
rity.  But  the  eflforts  of  toat  eventful 
night,  and  the  consequences  that  fol- 
lowed, must  needs  be  reserved  for  an- 
other Number. 


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tHE  MAN-*0F-»WAR'8-MAN. — CRAFTEB  TlKTll.* 

An  hands  were  below,  and  snug  seated  around, 

And  the  senriee  was  read  with  decorum, 
When  the  low  hollow  wail  of  the  squall^s  strengthening  sound, 

Roused  the  ear  of  the  reading  Captain  Oram: 
He  listened  a  moment,  then  shut  the  Psayer^Bookt— 

''  We*ll  Uke  prayers  for  a  day  a<l  xMlorem^'* 
Cried  he,  with  hu  stem  and  determinate  look 
'^  So  jump  up,  my  hearts,  from  the  boy  to  the  cook  ; 
Make  her  snug,**  said  the  brave  Captain  Oram; 
*'*'  Reef  away  !**  cried  the  bawling  Jerry  Oram. 


aoa 


The  next  day  being  Sunday,  and 
the  day  of  muster,  moreover,  was 
ushered  in  with  all  the  pomp  that 
scrubbers,  sand,  and  holystones,  could 
give  it.  The  weather  was  very  un-^ 
settled  and  squally,  but  as  it  kept  fWse 
from  rain,  everything  proceeded  in 
the  usual  prompt  manner  to  further 
the  execution  of  the  Captain's  orders. 
It  was  not,  however,  wiUiout  the 
greatest  exertion  that  the  decks  could 
be  dried  up,  the  hammocks  stowed, 
and  the  breakfhst  piped  at  the  usual 
hour ;  for  the  second  Lieutenant,  who 
had  the  morning  watch,  and  who,  like 
most  young  officers,  was  very  fond  of 
earrtfing'  on  her,  having  rather  me* 
chanica&y  set  to  work,  as  soon  as  he 
came  on  deck,  in  making  cM  sail  as 
usual,  without  bestowing  a  single 
diought  on  the  very  doubtful  state  of 
the  weather,  had  met  with  so  many 
interrujptions  in  the  necessity  he  found 
himself  under  of  shortening  it  again, 
as  to  be  compelled  to  call  in  the  as- 
sistance first  of  the  idl^s,  and  then  of 
all  bands,  to  save  his  distance,  and 
come  within  time. 

At  length  the  towd  was  passed,  and 
the  ship's  company,  after  taking  a  bur- 
ned breakfast,  were  bustling,  clean- 
ing, and  rifling  for  divisions  and  mus- 
tering clothes,  wlien  a  passiug  squall, 
which  had^lown  hard  for  some  time 
before,  ac^ired  sudi  a  degree  of  vio- 
lence, as  to  compel  the  officer  on  dedL 
once  more  to  pipe  All  hand*  reef  tcpm 
smls!  when  eertainly  such  anomer 
assemblage  immediately  hurried  on 
deck  as  has  seldom  been  witnessed,  in 
any  exigence  of  the  service,  executing 
duty.  All  were  bare-headed;  some 
halr^shaved;  oUiers  stripped  to  the 
buff—and  there  were  not  a  few,  whose 
long,  bushy,  and  highly  prized  hair, 
wantonly  sporting  at  liberty'  in  the 
wimi,  put  them  in  jeopardy  of  be- 
coming unwilling  victims  to  the  pen- 
dulous fate  of  the  renowned  Nicol 
Jarvie.    Just  as  they  stood,  however. 


they  reefed  the  toptaHs ;  uid,  flurried 
and  breathless,  returned  as  fast  as  they 
could  to  the  deck,  to  sesame  the  nun 
execrated  task  of  deconng  their  per4 
sons  and  arranging  their  dothes  pre« 
vious  to  the  approaching  inspection. 

Notwithstanding  every  exertion  they 
could  midce,  however,  numbers  were 
only  half  dressed  when  the  Boat* 
swain's  pipe  trilled  for  divisions.  Cap< 
tain  Switchem,  who  had  been  waiting 
with  no  small  impatience,  appeared 
directly  at  the  top  of  the  companion ; 
and  the  petty  officers  having  at  length 
succeeded  in  scolding  and  frightening 
the  numerous  lag-behinds  on  deck, 
and  reporting  all  present,  he  immedii 
ately  commenced  a  scrutiny  into  the 
linens  and  inner  garments  of  his  oreWi 
both  on  them  and  off  them,  and  dis« 
played  an  ability  in  detecting  the  nu^* 
merous  petty  frauds  resorted  to  by  the 
slothful  in  eluding  his  order,  and  % 
dexterity  in  handling  and  reviewii^ 
the  various  articles,  which  Dennis 
Mahony  afterwards  swore  would  have 
done  honour  to  e'er  a  r^ular  drilled 
washerwoman  in  the  county  of  Kerry* 
Having  gone  throu^  this  neoeaeary 
but  very  unpopular  piece  of  discipline^ 
he  ordered  the  people  to  stow  theis 
bags  on  the  booms ;  then  turning  to 
his  fint  Lieutenant,  said,  m\h  some« 
thing  as  near  a  smile  as  he  could  make 
it,  <*  Pretty  fairish.  Fyke,  all  things 
considered;  for,  to  say  truth»  the 
INoor  devils  haven't  had  too  much  ju»* 
tice  done  them  ekfaer.  However,  they 
must  thank  you,  Doeboy,  for  that; 
who  apparently  are  formed  of  such 
high-flyiDg  materials,  as  never  to  be 
happy  but  when  you  are  tearing 
through  it  with  the  rapidity  of  a 
rocket.  By  mine  honour,  I  shan't 
pretend  even  to  hint  at  what  eonse* 
quences  may  not  ensue  when  oifr  re« 
turns  are  made,  for  the  immense  can« 
sumpt  of  both  canvass  and  cordage  ibr 
this  vessel.  'Tts  a  matter  which  has 
cost  me  much  vexation,  and  it  grieves 


•  Continued  from  Vol.  XIV.  p.  282. 


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dO$ 


The  Man^f-  War'^Man.    Ou^.  X. 


[IMareh, 


me  iK>t  the  less  tibat  I  have  had  already 
80  much  occasion  to  take  the  notice 
I've  now  done  of  this  ridiculous  whim 
of  yours." 

•'  I  don*t  exactly  comprehend  your 
meaning,  sir^"  rephed  his  second  Lieu- 
tenant, reddening;  ''hut  of  this  I  can 
assure  you,  that,  hy  my  honour,  the 
weather  was  excellent  for  this  season 
when  I  made  sail ;  and  as  it  was  so,  I 
redly  can't  see  how  I  should  he  so 
te^  ditegreeahlV  reflected  on." 

''Priiawl  Doet)oy,  nonsense!— -sheer 
commonplace,  my  good  sir,"  cried  Cap- 
tains witchem,  with  unusual  animation. 
<'  Is  not  my  meaning  pUun  as  a  pike- 
staff, when,  added  to  what  I  daily  see 
with  my  own  eyes,  my  Boatswain  in- 
foms  me  his  expenditure  is  e^ccessive, 
vcA  his  store-room  ahsolutely  getting 
empty ; — and  all  this,  too,  because  my 
third  in  command  must  ever  be  clap- 
ping on  more  canvass  than  my  vessel  is 
able  to  carry- — ^Pshaw !  again  I  repeat 
it,  'twould  chafe  the  very  soul  of  good 
humour  to  hear  such  reasonable  and 
«^ry  gentle  hints  misnomered  disagree- 
able reflections." 

*'  You  are  getting  warm,  sir,"  re- 
pKed  the  second  Lieutenant,  ''  on 
what  is  certainly  a  very  trifling  mat- 
ter. I  merely  wished  to  remark,  that 
I  considered  myself  as  acting  in  strict 
•bedienoe  to  your  orders  when  I  made 
sail  this  morning — I  hadn't  the  small- 
est intention  of  giving  offence." 
•  "  Lieutenant  Docboy,"  said  the 
Captain,  gravely,  "  I  cheerAiUy  acquit 
you  of  any  intention  to  ofl^d  me. 
You  are  as  yet  but  a  young  officer, 
but  you  have  ability ;  and,  with  the 
exception  of  this  untuippv  whim,  which 
you  are  for  ever  indulging,  but  of 
which  I  hope  you  will  soon  see  the 
fUly,  I  will  frankly  own  I  have  no 
cause  of  quarrel  with  you  whatever. 
In  thus  stating  m v  complaints,  I  mean 
DO  more  ofitoce  than  ]rou  have  done ; 
Aough,  I  confess,  I  think  it  my  duty, 
as  your  senior  officer,  to  caution  you 
im  a  matter  which  may  possibly  here- 
after prove  a  serious  bar  to  your  pro- 
fessional advancement  Regarding 
obeying  my  orders,  you  certainly  did 
so,  had  the  weather  b^  moderate— for 
I  wish  to  keep  my  people  on  the  alert 
in  alt  fair  seasons,  or  when  duty  calls 
forit^-but  this  you  well  know  was  not 
the  case  this  morning.  I  was  not  on 
deck  to  be  sure— but  I  was  as  vnde 
awake  then  as  I  am  now,  and  I  heard 
your  whc^  proceedings.  Come,  come; 


Lieutenant  Doeboy,  I  vnU  not  he 
interrupted ;  for  again  I  repeat  it,  I 
mean  no  more  by  this  but  friendly 
caution. — Can  you  stand  there,  and 
seriously  tell  me,  that  the  morning 
was  excelhnt,  or  even  tolerable,  when 
three  minutes  did  not  elapse  by  my 
chronometer  between  your  hauling 
aboard  your  fbre  and  main  tadcs,  and 
your  clewing  them  up  again  ? — ^Non- 
sense, Mr  E^boy ;  I  won't  believe  it." 

The  second  Lieutenant,  a  high- 
spirited  sprig  of  quality,  had  in  vain 
endeavoured,  during  this  petty  castiga- ' 
tion,  to  break  in  upon  his  Captain's 
volubility,  but  without  success.  As 
soon,  th^efore,  as  the  Captain  ceased 
speaking,  he  evidently  betrayed  such 
strong  emotions  of  being  only  restrain-' 
ed  by  those  invincible  barriers  which 
the  experience  of  ages  has  placed  be- 
twixt the  commander  and  commanded 
of  the  Navy,  from  pushing  matters  to 
a  greater  extremity,  that  Lieutenant 
Fyke  instantly  interfered,  by  inquir- 
ing of  his  Captain,  what  he  meant  to 
make  of  the  crew,  who,  having  stowed 
their  bags,  were  now  standing  forward 
on  the  deck,  huddled  together  in  a 
mass  of  GonfUsion  and  wonderment. 

Captain  Switehem  took  the  hint  in  an 
instant.  "(Thank  ye,  thank  ye,  my  good 
Fyke,"  said  he,  shaking  his  first  Lieu- 
tenant cordially  by  the  hand, — then 
extending  the  other  to  his  second,  he 
oontinuea,  "  A  truce  to  disagreeables, 
Doeboy.  Believe  me,  I  mean  all  for 
your  good. — Let  us  rather  recollect, 
gentlemen,  that  we  have  more  im- 
portant duty  on  our  hands  at  present. 
— Hark  ye,  young  Minikin,  jump  for- 
ward and  order  the  Gunner  and  Car- 
penter to  get  the  Church  ready  with 
all  speed.  I  think  we  shall  have 
prayers  to-day.  Fyke — 'tw^  keep  the 
people  alive; — ^for  I  can  assure  you 
both,  gents,  the  weather  appears  hoth 
surly  and  suspicious  to  my  eye ;  and  in 
that  case  'twill  be  best  to  use  some 
endeavour  to  keep  them  from  crawling 
and  slugging  below. — Fyke,  take  you 
the  look-out,  and  young  Pinafore  snail 
attend  you.  Be  so  good  as  hurry  the 
Carpenter,  and  let  me  know  when 
you  re  ready." 

Mr  Fyke,  an  old  experienced  aqua- 
tic, gave  a  silent  nod  of  assent  as  his 
Captain  and  second  Lieutenant  retired. 
Then  vralking  slowly  forward  to  the 
main  hatchway,  he  said,  *' Are  you  all 
ready  below  there  ?" 

*'  In  a  moment,  sir,"  replied  ihe 
9 


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itei.] 


The  Mur^-Wm^^^Man.    Chap.  X. 


SOT 


bmtfing  Ctrpentdr.— ^  Come,  oome, 
moi,  bear  a  l»nd— Place  the  match- 
tuba  at  equal  diatancea  as  I  tould  TOUi 
and  thwart  them  with  them  there 
pianki — wj,  ao  now^  so. — Now,  aignal- 
man,  do  you  place  your  bundle  of  flaga 
on  that  there  amaU  table,  and  chudc 
ihe  union  oyer  'em — 'twill  make  aa 
atyliah  a  dedc  aa  e'er  a  parson's  in  Eng- 
land— Steward,  d'ye  hear  there,  chairs 
for  the  gentlemen." 

''  Are  you  ready  yet  ?"  again  aaked 
the  Lieutenant^  impatiently. 

''  All  ready,  nr?''  replied  the  Car- 
penter,  redoubling  his  exertions,  in- 
termingled with  many  bear-a-hands 
and  execrations  on  the  awkwardness  dT 
bis  attendants^  which  it  is  needless  to 
repeat 

**  Forward^  there,"  bawled  the  first 
Lieutenant  to  all  hands,  <^  toll  the 
belL  Come,  my  Uds,  down,  all  of  yoU| 
to  prayers. — Boatswain's-mate^  see 
them  all  down  directly." 

"  Ay,  ay,  your  honour,"  cried  Bird, 
walking  forward.—"  D'ye  hear  there; 
all  of  you  ?"  continued  he,  raising  his 
hoarse  yoice  a  note  or  two  higher  than 
ita  usual  growl;  "down  you  go  to 
prayers,  man  and  mother's  son  on  you. 
Come,  moye  along,  moye  along,  my 
hearties !— Blast  my  toplights !  what 
mongrel  cur  is  that  there,  who  grins 
and  jeers  so  lustily — mayhap  he  thinks 
he  hasn't  need  of  prayers,  the  whore- 
son !— D'ye  here  there,  old  Shetland, 
will  you  clap  a  stopper  on  that  old 
mnxzle  of  yours,  and  make  less  noise, 
if  you  please  ?  Can't  you  recollect,  all 
of  you,  that  you  are  going  to  prayers  ? 
— Come,  heave  aheid,  forward  there 
— ^D — ^n  the  fellows,  they  ought  to 
*walk  one  after  other  as  mim  and  as 
sulky  as  old  Betty  Martin  at  a  fime- 
raL'        ^ 

"  Ay,  iy  my  soul.  Bird,  and  you're 
rig^t  there,  boy!"  cried  Dennis,  turn- 
ing round  to  him  with  a  smile, — "  for 
then  we'd  be  as  wise  as  the  dead  was, 
you  know,  when  be  sung  as  they  car- 
ried him  to  church : — 
*^  Farewell  to  the  Land  of  Parratoet,  my 

deu! 
Where  I  go  I  don't  know,  lore}.— but, 

troth,  never  fear 
That  yoor  Pat  shall  ladi  whiaky,  batter- 
milk,  or  good  cheer. 
With  a  Paraoo  in  front,  and  Quid  Nick  in 
hit  rear,'* 

and  so  forth — Och,  county  Kerry  for 
ever !  say  I.^ — But  come,  mateya,  after 
all,  let's  have  no  grinning  foward 
Vol.  XV. 


there,  seeing  it  gitet  audi  great  of- 
fence to  our  aweet-spoken  officer  here ; 
-*rather  hobt  your  half-masters>  and 
haul  out  your  beautiful  mugs  to  theft 
full  stretch,  like  the  good  folks  ashore 
you  know,  deara — ^who  walk  with  their 
daylighta  fixed  fast  on  their  toes,  for  all 
the  world  aa  thof  they  were  g<nng  for 
aartain  to  the  Old  Fellow,  neck  and! 
crop." 

''  Come,  come,  Mahcmy^  shut  up 
and  belay,  if  you  pleaae^"  growled  the 
croaking  Bird— *^  or  mayhap  worse 
may  bdrall  you.— Move  along,  men— > 
Heaye  ahead  there ! — Come  now,  take 
your  aeatSy  and  let's  have  no  grin- 
ning— ^for,  mind  me,  the  oflleers  will  be 
here  in  a  twinkling." 

The  entrance  orCaptain  Switchem, 
followed  by  his  officers,  put  an  end  to 
farther  discourse;  who,  having  had 
the  s[>lendid  Prayer-Book  placdl  be- 
fore him  in  the  humblest  and  hand- 
somest manner  Mr  Fudgeforit  goMl 
think  of,  immediately  commenced  read- 
ing the  Morning  Service,  In  a  voice  at 
once   dear,  grave,   and   impressive. 
Notwithstaoding  this  great  advantage^ 
however,  iu  addressing  a  people,  and  in 
prompting  them  to  the  noblest  service 
of  humanity — notwithstanding  an  oc- 
casional glance  from  his  keen  eyes,  aa 
though  endeavouring  to  penetrate  the 
phalanx  around  him,  and  keep  dl  on 
the  alert — ^troth  compels  us  to  state  our 
honest  belief,  that  a  great  portion  of  his 
praiac-worthy  labour  was  absolutdy 
thrown  away.    Whether  this  arose 
firom  the  fktigues  of  the  morning,  from 
the  uncommon  snug  and  comfortable 
manner  in  which  they  were  seated,  or 
from  the  unusual  drcumstanceof hear- 
ing onl^  the  vibrations  of  a  single 
voice  striking  their  dull  ears,  we  shall 
not  pretend  to  say ;  certain  it  is,  that  a 
very  short  timedapsed  indeed,  befbre 
the  well-meaning  reader  had  as  many 
deepers  as  listeners  seated  around  him. 
Of  this,  however,  he  remained  in  hap- 
py ignorance ;   and,  proceeding  on- 
ward, had  got  pretty  nearly  through 
the  confessional,  when  Master  Pina- 
fore suddenly  appeared  at  his  dbow^ 
hat  in  band. 

*'  Dearly  bdoyed  brother,"  whis- 
pered Dennis  to  Edward,  with  the  most 
laughable  solemnity,  **  do  pull  up 
your  trowsers,  and  stand  by  to  be  mo- 
ved to  divers  uid  sundry  places  to  save 
your  soul  alive. — ^By  the  powers,  Ned, 
now  I  listen,  but  there's  a  fteah 
hand  at  the  bellows,  boy ;— and,  soul 
9K 


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ThM  MuLH^f-Wmr't^M^H.    OM^X* 


CKaiak 


of  noe/'^eoking  tDund  and  poiotiiig 
to  the  ileejpeni>— '^  but  we'te  a  amait 
and  a  lively  ship's  oompatty^^-^iaTen't 
we  now>  dear  ?**-Oehi  and  the  devil, 
what  a  kickiiiff  of  onqpplis  we  shall  hare 
here  directly  V' 

The  varioua  squalls  which  had  hi* 
4herto  passed,  seonedy  from  Ule  result, 
as  wdl  as  fiom  the  shortness  and  fte^ 
quency  of  their  attack,  to  have  been 
wy  the  li^t  tmops  of  a  passing  ar- 
my, loose*  straggling,  and  unoonneot* 
ed;  hut  these  which  now  appioached^ 
like  the  wsAiA  oolumos  of  the  msin 
body,  raged  with  a  fury  and  a  Yii>- 
koaoe  absolutely  appalling.  Captain 
Switchem  stopped  reading ;  heard  the 
boy's  whisper;  hesitated;  listened  a 
lew  momenta,  then  shut  the  Pnayer- 
Book,  and  hurried  on  deck.  Imme- 
diately afterwards  the  shriU  whisUe 
blew,  and  the  Church  was  instantly 
trani^ormed  into  a  soebe  of  ^  uN 
meet  oonftisioa  and  disorder.  For  the 
petty  officers,  who  had  hitherto  sat 
with  the  utmost  oompotfure,  no  soonel: 
heard  the  wdl-known  pipe,  than  they 
8{nrung  to  their  feet  with  their  Wonted 
^sl,  and  opaiedAidl  cry  on  the  sleep- 
ing and  unsuqiecting  auditors,  who, 
tumbling  and  floundering  over  the 
temporary  benchea,  a£S>rded  infinite 
mirth  to  the  few  who  had  refifained 
from  the  indttlgenoew 

''  Ha,  ha,  ha !"  chudded  our  old 
friend  GUbert,  '^fa  tiie  deyvQ  e'er  saw 
the  like  o'  this  ?— A  Kirk  I  finrgie  us 
a',  it'sonythinf;  but  that,  I  wyte— It's 
ftr  liker  Luokie  Tavlor's  chan^hauae 
4n  Lerwick  key,  whan  a'  the  Greei^* 
landm^i  are  daft  wi' drinking.— Come, 
kds,  up  ye  gsug  there,  up  ye  gang^ 
it's  just  a  bftt  souall,  that  wml  soon 
bkw  by,—- Fa  wao  think  o'  cawing  yon 
ft  Kirk  yet,  afrer  a'  ?  Hech,  sirs,  how 
this  warld  changes!  thougji  wedi  I 
wot  it's  &r  frae  to  the  better." 

'^  Come,  come,  my  old  boy,  heai^e 
ahead,  if  you  please,  and  don't  stand 
prcadiing  there,"  cried  a  topman,  hur- 
rying ypoBt  Gilbtft ;  ^'  we've  had  j^enty 
of  that  there  gear  already,  'twould  i^ 
pear,  for  all  the  good  it  has  done.— 
My  eye  !'*  continued  he,  on  reaching 
the  dedc,  "  how  tearingly  it  blows  r 

''  Saul,  that  it  dees  wi  a  vengeaooer 
— ^d  Gilbert.  ''  Gude  faith,  lads, 
ye'U  hae  your  ain  job  o't,  I  doubt,  or 
a'  be  done. — ^Forgie  xm$  this  is  terri- 
ble ! — Wa'd  it  not  beai  as  wiae^like, 
now,  think  ye,  to  have  been  snoddin 
and  making  the  poor  thing  a'  snug,  in^ 


stead  o' sitting  and  ob(TeiincS,jai^  prafM 
ing,  and  sleeping  bek>w/tt  theur  jboa* 
sense,  whan  a'  thing  on  deck  is  £iirl|r 
gMm  gyte?-*Hechi  sinsl  butwilfu' 
fi)lk  are  UBCO  folk  after  a' J-*Thay  wiU 
to  Cupar,  and  they  maun  to  Cupar,  in 

£te  a'  a'  I  say.— But  Lord'a  aske^ 
nie  Sinclair  1  Hear  ye  me,  Jamie, 
my  man  I— Jamie  Sinclair  1"— 

''  Well,  well,  old  chap,  what's  gat 
to  say  ?"  said  the  Captain  i^  the  tofi 
fwok  the  rigging; ''  Come  out  with  it 
smartly,  short  and  awee(L" 

''  Gttdesake,  caliant,  dap  on  your 
spilling  lines  as  soon  as  jre  get  np^.ori 
saul  o'  me,  but  the  sail  will  iee  in  rib* 
bona  and  flinders  the  moment  it  Ja 
squared,  ye  may  tak  my  word  ibr't." 

*'  Oho,  my  old  ^,  is  that  all  ?"  re* 
plied  Sindi^.  "  Why,  my  aM  blade, 
these  to^ighu  of  yours  are  smalid 
sartain  not  worth  the  keeping,  iiul 
should  be  returned  Um  old  storai^  see* 
ing  that  both  the  splilUng  Uttea  and 
preventer  braces  havebeen  on  now-^-ay 
— «8  good  aa  four  hours  ago>'*'  "and 
away  ne  sprung  aloft. 

Ailer  a  severe  conflict  with  the  out* 
rageous  canvass,,  a  close  reef  was  at 
length  effected,  and  the  topgaUant* 
yards  sent  on  dedc.  When,  the  squalls 
still  continuing  with  unabated  fury, 
the  first  lieutenant  thundered  from 
the  dedc — '^  Fore  and  main  tap% 
tha«,— «trike  t^galknt  masts  I" 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,  bawled  the  diptaiii% 
cutting  away  the  seizmg  ia£  the  maal 
ropes, — "  Hoist  away !" 

*'  Look  out  abft,  then,"  eded  the 
officer  on  deck.  "  Come,  mj  lad% 
boufie  away ;  beuae,  there,  bouse  f 

'^  Cross-tress,  thare^"  cried  the  cap- 
tain of  the  top ;  "  you,  Mfdiony,  hik 
out  there  for  the  fid." 

"  For  sartain,  mv  darHng,  and  I 
willy"  cried  Dennis,  namnming  away 
on  it  with  a  huge  marlin-epike,  ^  as 
soon  as  it  is  moveable.*— By  the  powers^ 
Ned,  there  he  goes,  dear  1-^On  deck 
there,  avast  hoisting !— 4iigh  enough  ! 
— 4iigh  enough!— Tidce  that  fox,  Da<^ 
vis,  and  make  the  fid  fast  to  the  neck 
of  the  shroud,  there's  a  dear,  while  I 
pass  thispieee  of  sennet  round  the  bed 
of  the  mast." 

''Isthefidofat?"  again  resounded 
firom  the  deck. 

**  Is  your  grandmother  out  ?"  mut- 
tered Denms  impatiently. — ^  Have 
you  got  it  made  fast,  Ned?" 

'^  Fast  and  firm,"  said  t>ur  hero. 

^  nien  lower  away  rmig  oat  Den« 


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1094.;]  TA0  Man^Wa/i^Mcn.    Chap.  X.  S09 

nil  to  ^  detk,  desoeiidiiig  at  the    irould  have  a  g^oriom  opportuiiity  of 


Aim^  time  to  lash  the  heel  of  it  to  the 
toptnaat* 

The  masts  were  accordingly  lowerw 
eA,  the  rigging  hauled  haad  taffht,  and 
the  topmen  at  length  readied  the  dedc, 
tfftef  a  considerable  time  spent  in  the 
most  arduous  exertion;  tlie  striking 
contrast  of  which,  hi  a  comf<»table 
pefitit  of  TieWf  tended  speedOy  to  lecal 
^eir  exhausted  and  somewnat  sub- 
dued wirits. 

"  Well,  my  dearly  beloved  Father 
6lbbie,  what* s  the  liews,  dear  ?**  cried 
die  volatile  Dennis,  joyflilly  leaping 
on  deck : — "  Whether  is  it  to  be  pray- 
ers again  or  pasesoup  ? — fat  as  for  be- 
ing moved  about  in  oivers  and  sundry 
places  any  longer,  soul  of  me,  but  I've 
got  a  gutsfbl  of  that  there  alreadj, 

"  KT^WTB,  Denny  i— cried  a  topman^ 
— "  "Why  'tis  to  call  aft  Jack  m  the 
Dust  directly,  and  pipe  Splice  ike  main- 
hraee^  to  be  sure.  An't  that  it,  Gib* 
iHe?" 

'^  Gae  wa,  gae  wa,  ye  haverel— what 
far  suldit  be  splice  me  mainbrace ; — 
fat  a  wee  gliff  o'  a  Int  passing  squall 
Aat  wull  DC  ower  ye'vennow  ? — ^Na, 
na,  bonny  lad !  Gude  fiuth,  were  ye  to 
mainbrace  awa  in  that  daft-like  £ei- 
shion  in  thir  rumbling  and  thrawart 
aeas^  ye'd  no  brace  lang,  I  wy te." 

*'  S«M,  old  boy !"  inteijected  an- 
other topman>  *'  why  they're  the  de- 
vil's own  seas,  I  belwve — I  wish  ftom 
the  bottom  of  my  soul,  we  were  once 
more  fiiirly  out  of 'em." 

"AndfarwaJdyebepleased  tocruise 
nae,  braw  lad  ?"  cried  Gilbert,  some- 
what nettled  at  what  he  considered 


tearing  his  topsails  in  pi^es^  carrying 
away  a  topmast  or  so,  and  capsizing  in 
style  an  ould  craay  coal  sloop  or  two 
--and  then  in  the  comely,  danely 
wharfs  of  W«iping,  dear— think  of 
ti!iat,  my  ouH  Doy^-amid  coalheavera 
and  strong  scented  girls,  and  kmg 

Eipes,  and  fiddles>  and  grog  to  the  mast 
ead— Och,  soul  of  me !  who'd  be  iflce 
Soulsby,  sure  f" 

~  At  tnhi  moment  8U<^  a  heavy  sea 
broke  over  the  weather-bow,  as  not  on- 
ly put  a  period  to  Mahony's  wit,  but, 
afUf  eapsizinff  him  and  the  most  of  his 
merry  watermty,  roUed  them  aft  be- 
fbren,  insweetcoBteion^as&rasthe 
main-mast. 

'<  Fa  die  deyvil  is  that  at  the  wheel, 
Denny  ?"  cried  Gilbert,  recoveringhim- 
self,  and  rising  slowly.  *'Saulo'm^ 
but  he's  a  genus,  ana  should  be  sent 
forr 

"  Who  is  at  the  wheel,  sav  you,  Gib- 
bie?''  returned  Dennis,  looking  aft 
somewhat  sternly;  "why.  who  the 
devil  could  it  be  else,  think  you,  but 
that  huge  blubber-headed  sea^-ctdf  of 
a  countryman  of  yours,  hip  Lawten- 
son?  By  the  powers,  boy,  if  I  haven't 
half  a  mind,  now,  to  go  aft  directlv 
andkickhiraawayfromit— But  there  t 

a  time  coming *' 

"  Whisht,  Denny ;  whisht,  my  man," 
cried  Gilbert,  in  a  subdued  tone;— 
^  dinna  be  gaun  to  tak  an  31-will  at 
puir  Lawrle,  for  a  bit  accident  that 
witthapp^todiebesto'us.  Lo8h,man, 
ye've  nae  notion  at  a'  what  a  thrawn 
limmer  the  hooker  is,  when  die  likes. 
I've  seen  me  raony  a  time  just  at  my 
wit^s-end  with  her ;  bobbing  and  bowt- 


ttTcasm  on  his  native  seas ;— "  just  ing  her  nose  in  the  water,  ibr  a'  the 

takkin't  for  grandt,  ye  ken,  that  ye  world  like  a  demented— and  I've  heard 

bad  your  ain  wull,  Uke."  you  say  as  meikle  yourseT,   Sae  dinna 

"  By  my  troth,  now,  Father  Gibbie,  be  gaun  to  blame  puir  Lawrie,  honest 


hfttt  I'll  be  ofler  answering  that  for 
liim,  dear !"  cried  Dennis ;  '*  for  Souls- 
by, you  must  know,  is  quite  a  goose 
in  tlie  uptake,  and  twenty  to  one  if  he 
ImowiB  what  you  mane,  at  all,  at  aU-*- 
"Noir  I  can  tdl  you  all  about  it— fidth 
can  f ,— just  in  a  rap.  If  Soulsby  had 
Ids  wish,  dear,  he  would  cruise  m  the 
never  a  place  but  the  ndghbourhood 
TOf  Tynecastle,*— Ibr  there,  d'ye  see, 
the  girls  are  all  beautilhlly  powdered, 
%oth  above  and  below,  wHh  the  lovely 
flour  of  sea-coal.  FiofflTy!iecasde,lio- 
ney,  he  would  fike  a  run  now  and  then 
to  the  muddted  waters  of  the  (IKby 
Thames,  in  tho  eoune  of  whidf  lie 


lad,  who  I'm  sure  youll  confess  to  be 
an  excellent  dmoneer,  and  ane  wha'll 
play  tricks  on  nae  living. — ^But  maybe 
ye're  angry,  lad,  'cause  your  doup's 
wet.  It^  no  that  pleasant,  I  confess, 
Denny,  for  I  feel  it  mysel',  to  be  wet 
thereabouts;  but,  guide  us,  man,  ye  can 
gang  bdow  and  smft  yoursfd',  as  I  saB 
do,  and  all  is  right  ag»!n.  Deil  a-care- 
d"-me  cares  fbr  a  wetting  now-a-days ; 
—just  look  at  thste  Osnabittigs  I Ve  on, 
for  instance,— them  I  put  on  diis  day 
dean  and  clear,— sattl  f  but  they're  aa 
-ready  Ibr  the  scmb-brurii  as  ever." 

«<  IV-^  your  Osnaburgs,  and  scrub- 
ber too,  honey ,"  cried  Mahony,  peeiddi- 


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310  The  Mm-oJ-  Waf\- 

ly :  '^  it's  neither  the  wetting  nor  the 
soiling,nor  the  trowBers  either^  that  Den- 
nis  cares  for — ^no,  the  devil  an  inch  on 
them^at  all,  at  all.  It's  the  sin^  and  the 
shame^  and  the  ahomination  of  a  great 
bulky  fellow  like  Lawrenson  being  un- 
able to  keep  his  dav-lights  open  like 
other  pe(n>Ie  while  ne's  on  duty— but 
must  be  after  napping^  like  a  lubber^  at 
sudi  a  place  as  the  wheel ;  wetting,  and 
abusing,  and  murdering  what  it  costs 
a  poor  fellow  so  much  confounded  bo- 
theration and  trouble  to  kape  anything 
decentish — That's  the  matter,  Gibbie, 
if  you  must  have  it."  ' 

'^  I  canna  say  I  understand  ye  a'the- 
gither,  Denny,  lad,"  cried  Gilbert, 
wondering. 

"  How  the  blasses  should  you,  or  how 
the  devil  can  you,  Gibbie,  when  the 
never  ^a  morsel  of  you's  willing !"  re- 
torted Dennis,  impatiently.  "  By  the 
powers  of  Moll  Kelly,  but  I'm  after 
oelieving,  boy,  'twill  be  beat  into  your 
cannister  in  a  twinkling,  whether 
you  will  or  not,  when  once  yon  come 
to  overhaul  the  clothes-beg  you  scrub- 
bed but  yestermom  so  nicely — ^when 
yoi^once  come  to  Mft  yoursdf  as  you 
call  it — £Euth,  and  it  will  be  a  Shetland 
thifl,  I  suppose — ^Ay,  you  may  stare, 
my  old  blade  — it's  your  own  dearly- 
beloved  and  well-filled  clothes-bag  that 
I  mane ;  and  it  lies  up  there,  honey, 
£[  pointing  to  the  booms^  as  well  as  my 
own,  sure— that's  some  comfort,  how- 
ever— and  I  sincerely  hope,  darling, 
that  by  this  time  it  will  be  equally  wSl 
soaked  with  salt  water." 

"  Forgie  us,  Denny,  that's  a  mis- 
chanter  that  ne'er  entered  my  poor 
auld  scap,"  cried  Gilbert,  in  great  tre- 
pidation, as  for  the  first  time  he  be- 
held the  unsheltered  state  of  the  ship's 
wardrobe.  "  Gude  guide  us,  man, 
fat  shall  bedone!  \jcratchinghis  headl 
something  of  a  surety  we  maun  cfo 
directly — quite  aflP  hand,  in  a  manner 
— or  a'  our  claise  will  be  completely 
spoilt..---Uh,  Lord's  sake !  that's  terri- 
ble ;  a'  our  gude  things  gaun  heels- 
ower-head  to  the  wuddie,  and  ne'er  a 
ane  to  halt  them. — Just  hand  ye  there 
a  minute;"— 

So  saying,  he  immediately  ran  aft 
on  the  quarter-deck  to  the  first  Lieu- 
tenant, who,  all  things  made  snug,  now 
stood  carelessly  chatting  to  the  young 
gentlenien  abaft  the  wheel,  and  having 
made  his  usual  clumsy  obeisance,  sud^ 
denly  burst  out  with  a  "  Lord  s  sake, 
your  honour,  just  turn  round  and  loojc 


•Maiu    Chap*  X.  CMarch, 

at  our  daise-bags  on  the  booa^s  tlief&-~ 
Devil  tak  me,  Si  they're  no  waur  now 
o'  this  day's  pu»y,  than  e'er  they  were 
afore." 

<'  Well,  Gibbie,  I  see  all  the  bags  <ui 
the  booms,"  repHed  the  first  Lieate* 
nant,with  the  most  provokipgcalmness 
— '*  what  of  them,  my  old  lad  ?" 

''  Hech  mel"  cried  Gilbert,  in  a  tone 
of  amazement,— ''  does  your  honour 
really  no  see — ^you  that  bias  sic  a  {^eg 
e'e  at  a'  thing  else,  too ! — Forde  us, 
Maister  Fyke,  d'ye  no  see  that  uiey're 
a'  just  perfectly  drying;  and  that 
the  whole  tot  o'  our  jackets,  and  trow- 
sers,  and  clean  sarks,  and  a'  ither  mat- 
ters, forbye  our  sape  and  tobacco,  will 
just  be  a'  in  a  kirn  through-ither  by 
this  time,  and  as  wet  as  muck  ? — ^Eh, 
sir,  hae  some  pity,  and  let's  tak  them 
below ;  for,  Weel  I  wot,  muckle  and  nae 
little  trouble  we  had  before  we  got 
them  sae  clean  as  they  are. — ^At  onv 
event,  sir,  I  maun  be  sae  bauld  as  t^ 
ye,  that  gif  ye  dinna  pipe  them  down, 
on  a  suddenty,  the  deil  a  dry  steek  will 
ane  o'  us  hae  to  change  anither— *' 

*'  Which  certainly  would  be  a  great 
pity,  indeed,  my  good  old  fellow,  when 
it  can  be  so  easily  prevented,"  said  the 
fijTst  Lieutenant,  interrupting  him.—- 
^'  Gro  forward,  and  send  Bird  to  me 
directly." 

'*  Od,  sir,  gif  ye've  nae  objections 
to  an  audd  chiel  like  me,  I'll  save  Tam 
Bird  and  your  honour  ony  mair  &8h 
about  the  matter.  I'se  warrant  I'll 
rair  and  rout  as  loud  as  Tam,  for  as 
auld  as  I'm." 

'<  Be  smart,  then,  my  old  boy,"  cried 
Lieutenant  Fyke,  smiling,  ''  and  let 
me  hear  you  roar  it  out  lustily." 

Gilbert  replied  not,  but,  after  giving 
the  signal  to  Dennis  and  his  compa- 
nions, gained  the  booms  with  an  agi« 
lity  which  he  seldom  dis[dsyed,  as 
speedily  clutched  his  bag,  then  leapii^gf 
with  it  on  the  deck,  and  applying  his 
forefingers  to  his  mouth,  he  made  the 
decks  ring  again  with  a  cheering  whis- 
tle, singing  out  most  gallantly,  '^  iTcy, 
caUants  I  down  wi  a  your  bagt,  boys  /'* 
and  disappeared  in  a  twinkUng,  to  the 
infinite  amusement  (tf  the  officers  on 
deck. 

As  each  individual  vied  with  his  fel- 
lows in  the  eager  desire  of  ooiive3ring 
his  moveables  to  a  place  of  greater  se- 
curity from  the  weather  than  the  one 
thejr  then  occupied,  the  bags  quickly 
vamshed  from  the  booms.  Dinner  was 
then  piped ;  and  the  weather  still  con- 


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\BSU.2  The  Mai^J^War* 

tHMdiig  doobtfbl,  widi  occasioiml 
Moalls^  no  te^er  duly  wit  reouired 
thsl  afternoon  than  the  usual  relief  to 
the  mast-hradand  the  wheel.  This 
fiortuiMite  drcamitanoe  affording  all 
hands  an  ample  opportanHr  of  employ- 
ing the  pass^  time  according  to  their 
own  hearts,  a  ?ery  few,  in  imitation  of 
t^  thrifty  Gilbert,  were  to  be  seen 
boaying  themselves  in  orerhaoling 
and  eiiamining  the  exact  extent  of  the 
dama^  their  clothes  had  sustained 
firom  ^e  spraY>-— others,  dulled  and 
worn  out  firom  the  fatigues  of  the  mom« 
ii^,  gladly  huddled  together  fbr  repose 
^-wh^  in  the  more  active  and  buojr- 
ant  spirita  knotted  jovially  together  nnr 
mirta  and  conversation,  4n  the  course 
of  whkfa  many  bitter  sarcasms  and 


'9^Man.    Chap.  X.  3U 

coarse  anecdotes  were  narrated  of  sldp- 
per-parsons,  shtp-churdies,  and  their 
services,  the  which,  as  meigtng  on  a 
topic  fSur  too  serious  and  sublime  for  the 
rough  but  honest  grasp  of  our  nanr»- 
tive,  we  beg  leave  to  omit.  We  shall 
therefore  dose  thiff  chapter  with  the 
condudmg  sentence  of  a  speech  of  Ma* 
hony's,  which  we  think  quite  in  point, 
and  conclusive  on  the  subject:-— ''Oho, 
my  honeys,  and  that's  all  you  know, 
is  it  ?  Faith,  and  you  may  safdy  take 
Dennis's  word  for  it,  seated  as  voo  all 
ore  around  me  here  c(»nfortably  on 
Your  own  good  bottoms,  enjoyii^  a 
joUy  tev,  that  it's  never  Father  Church 
but  old  Father  Bad  weather,  who  makes 
your  real  comfortable  Sundav  at  sea- 
sure  sartain  and  it  i^  dears. ' 


Chafter  XI. 
There  is  one  thing,  my  mate,  that  I  mortally  hate. 

And  I  care  not  how  soon  for  it  Satan  may  send^ 
'Tis  the  horrible  sting  of  a  cat  in  full  swing 

0*eT  a  poor  wight — seized  fast  to  a  grating  on  end. 


Whin  Edward  went  on  deck  the 
folkming  morning,  he  was  agreeably 
surprised  to  find  not  only  the  weather 
highly  improved,  but  the.  vessel,  re- 
instated in  all  her  usual  gear,  gliding 
amoothly  andswiftly  through  a  rippling 
sea,  which  danced  and  sparkled  to  the 
brilliant  sunbeams  of  a  beautiful  morn- 
ing. 

Having  relieved  himself  of  his  ham* 
mock,  he  was  sauntering  slowly  for* 
ward,  no  doubt  somewhat  gratified  at 
the  labour  he  had  escaped,  by  the  in- 
dustry or  the  impatience  of  the  officer 
of  the  watch,  when,  in  passing  the  fore 
rteing,  he  observed  a  toproan,  with 
whom  he  was  familiar,  coming  run- 
niiig  downwards,  who,  leaping  on  deck, 
exhibited  a  face  of  considerable  exhaus- 
tkm. 

*'  Hilloah,  shipmate,"  exclaimed 
Bdward,  laying  hold  of  this  half- wind- 
ed marine  vdtigeur,  "  whither  away 
so  fast  ?— Zounds,  man,  halt  and  take 
breath,  can't  you?— You've  had  a  tight- 
laeed  spell  enough  of  it  this  morning 
already,  and  certainly  mav  now  take 
things  a  little  more  coolly. ' 

"  Coolly,  say'st  thou,  Ned?"  cried 
the  tm>man  in  a  tone  of  wonder, 
"  Lord,  Lord,  how  people  does  talk  I 
— ^Dosteee  who's  ffot  the  watch,  lad  ? 
dost  not  see  diat  d— 4  fiery-faced  fel- 
low, the  Spread  £ag^  yonder,  strut- 
ting ^e  quarter-d^  like  a  little  ad- 
miral, and  keeping  aD  the  aftergoazd 
at  their  pmnts  as  stiff  as  mustard, 


whilst  all  the  while  he  is  bothering 
and  worrying  the  very  soul  out  of  poor 
old  Rvans,  £eir  captain. — Coolly,  id- 
deed,  matey  1 — i'faith,  thee'rt  a  good 
'un." 

'^  Why,  Sedley,  you  needn't  be  so 
very  smart,  dther,  in  mistaking  what 
one  says  to  vou.— 1  see  no  one  on  the 
quarter-deck  but  Master  Swipey,  th^ 
master's  mate;  andsnrdv,  surely  they'd 
never  trust  him  with  tne  hooker  for  a 
watch,  I'd  think." 

"  WeU,  Ned,  I  must  e'en  tell  you 
vou  are  completdy  out,  for  all  your 
learning  and  writing  of  logs ;  and  you 
can  chalk  down  that  there  as  some- 
thing more  you've  learnt  since  yoa 
turned  out,  my  hearty  ;  for  you  must 
know  it's  just  yonder  self-same  Mr 
Swipey  who  ha*  got  the  watch,  and, 
sure  enough,  the  devil's  own  watch  he 
has  noade  on't.  Dang  it,  man,  I'm  just 
^e  boy  that  can  tdl  you,  that  we 
haven't  had  a  dog's  lifeon't  ever  since 
we  were  turned  up ;  iot  what  with  his 
getting  up  of  topgallant  masts — then 
the  yards  and  gear — then  unreefing 
the  topsails,  and  pulling,  and  hauling, 
and  bouse,  bouse,  boiuong,  and  nig- 
g^g  at  every  d— d  brace  in  the  hook- 
er, he  has  been  kicking  us  this  whole 
blessedmomingfirom  hdl  to  Hackney." 

•^^  That  I've  little  doubt  on,  Joe ; 
you've  done  too  much  in  such  a  short 
time  to  have  had  much  pleasure  in  it. 
But,  hang  me,  if  I  can  hd^  being  sur- 
prise<l  at  didr  giving  of  him  a  watch 


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The  Man^f'  Wars-Mum.     Ckap.  XL 


31S 

of  dl  the  offioors  in  the  ship— a  fellow 
who  is  hardly  ever  sober,  and  who  I 
an  certain^  were  he  a  oommon  jack, 
would  never  have  his  shank-painters 
dear  of  the  griromets." 

"  Phew,  phew  !  my  kd  of  wax! 
you're  away  before  the  wind  without 
either  warrant  or  compass ;  for  as  for 
ttmt  there  matter  of  sobriety,  and  all 
such  rigmarole  stuff,  there  may  be 
somedififerenee  of  opinion,  vou  knows. 
I  loves  a  drqp  myself  dearly,  and  ne« 
ver  shall  deny  it,  and  mayhi^p  that's 
<MM  cause  whv  I  may  also  love  those 
meiry-heartea  wags  as  does  the  same ; 
but  what  then  ?  Here  I  am,  will  boldlv 
say  it,  that  barring  the  time  when  one  s 
a  nttk  overhaxy,  or  in  a  d— d  tremble- 
ation  way,  (hardly  able  to  Mjuint  at  a 
rattlin,  you  knows,  far  less  to  foot  it,) 
I  shan't  walk  behind  e'er  a  lad  of  my 
sice  on  board  in  the  way  of  my  duty. 
No,  rUbcd— d  if  I  would,  my  soul,  and 
that  there  I'm  telling  you  is  God's  truth. 
But,  as  that  is  not  the  matter,  and  sho- 
ving all  that  there  bother  aside,  my 
heart,  even  going  for  to  suppose  this  here 
Master  Swipey  as  eternally  stupid  as  an 
oyster,  you  knows  as  well  as  I  do  as  how 
he's  the  real  trueless  son  of  some  of 
your  great  rich  gentleftdks  on  shore, 
and  that,  you  km)w,  makes  one  vast 
di£ference  ;  snd  I  hears  positive  say  as 
bow  he's  to  be  made  Liftenant  assoon 
as  we  go  in,  and  that  makes  another. 
But  bmlea  all  that,  my  heart,  and 
the  best  reason  of  all  vou'll  be  think- 
ing; you  must  know  ne  keeps  watch 
by  the  Skipper's  own  given  orders,  finr 
Doeboy  continues  as  sulky  as  ever^ 
and  Stowwell,  the  master,  is  in  the 
doctor's  list.  Now,  fiurly  speaking, 
my  mate,  how  many  more  reasons 
would'st  have  ? — ^You  can't  deny  that 
Swipey  knows  his  duty." 

"  His  duty  1"  cried  ^ward,  sneer- 
Ingly ;— <'  1 11  tell  you  what,  Joe,  if 
this  same  duty  lies  in  drinking  grog 
till  all  is  bhie,  and  he  can  neither  dis- 
tinguish 'tween  friend  or  foe,  but  will 
kick  and  cuff,  and  level  with  the  deck 
•very  unfortunate  man  or  boy  who 
comes  athwart  his  bows,  then  111 
grant  him  the  praise  of  saying  that 
Uiere's  not  such  another  officer  for 
ability  as  I  know  on  in  the  service." 

'*  Well,  well,*  Davis,  take  your  own 
way  on' t ;  for,  dimg  it,  you're  too  much 
of  a  lawyer  for  me  to  prate  with.  For 
my  own  part,  d'ye  see,  I'll  only  say 
this,  my  lad,  and  I've  hod  ten  years 
more  on  t  than  you,  that  I  thinks  there 


^Msrefa, 


ore  hnndreds  and  hnndredaof  fiff  wone 
f^ows  than  Master  Swtney  in  the  aeiw 
vice,  and  my  poor  shoulders  could  les« 
tifik  the  same,  oonld  they  but  give  it 
mouth.  That  he's  a  seaman  every  inch 
on  him  no  one  can  deny,  lor  he  is  both 
hrave,  generous,  and  hurtj  ;  and  ^en 
I  am  certain  he  is  no  nig|ud  of  his 
grog,  nor  one  who  will  wince  inxa 
lending  a  fellow  a  hand  on  ocoaabns. 
In  short,  barring  his  fbndnoss  for  larkp* 
ing  and  mischief  when  he  is  malty, 
and  this  ugly  morning's  cry^^mt  of 
Crockfort ' 

"  Crockfort !"  cried  Edward,  inters 
rupting  this  apologist, "  Crockfort,  the 
barber :  why,  what  of  him,  Sedkv  ?" 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  yon  know  ahonS 
it  ?"  cried  the  topman  in  surprise ; 
"  Dang  it,  han't  you  heard  that  there 
news  yet  since  you  turned  out  ?" 

"  No,  not  a  syllable ;  ftr  you're  the 
first  I've  spoke  to." 

"  Bah,  bah,  Ned ;  that  will  never 
go  down.  I  knows  well  enough  you're 
a  quietish  sort  of  a  chap,  hut  what 
th^  t  you've  your  ears  as  wdl  as  your 
neighbomrs,  and  I'll  be  bound  to  say 
can  make  as  gooda  use  on  'em.  Come, 
oome,  confess  and  be  hung  at  once* 
Tell  me  seriously  now,  han't  you  heard 
all  about  my  poor  towny,  Jackey  Crook* 

''  Not  a  syllable,  upon  my  soul/' 
eried  our  hero,  gravely*  "But  what  of 
him,  pray  ?" 

*'  Oh,  nothing  remarkaUv  migh^ 
*-4)e's  only  in  limbo,  that's  all,"  cried 
Sedley,  coolly,  '^  as  fast,  my  bov,  asif 
the  devil  had  him,  or  the  ship's  daihiea 
can  make  him;  and  I  han't  adonht 
but,  poor  devd,  he'll  eafech  it  from 
Tom  Bml's  best  oats  bc£srD  many 
hours  go  by," 

<'  The  blazes  he  will  LZounds,  what 
has  he  been  doing,  Joe  ?'* 

^'  That's  far  too  long  a  yam  for  me 
to  spin  at  present,  mate ;  for  yon  hear 
these  watchmates  of  mine  get  impa- 
tient alreadVi^-D — n  vonr  bawhng 
throats,  you  lubbeiB,  I'll  he  with  you 
in  a  moment — Your  in  luck,  however, 
I  see,  Ned ;  for  yonder  is  your  dd 
countryman,  Gibme,  getting  relieved 
from  his  iq>eU  at  the  wheel,  and  he 
can  tell  ^u  aUabcut  it  far  better  than 
I,  if  he  s  in  the  right  vein,  and  you 
-can  come  handsomdy  over  him."   . 

"  On  deck,  diere  1"  cried  a  voiee 
from  the  top.  ^'  You,  Sedley,  ne  yon 
gmng  to  bring  them  there  tkimblaB  tiM 


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18SM,3 


Tht  Mrni^f'WiO^t^Mim.    Chap.  XL 


*^  Ajy%y;'  eried  Scdley,  lookiiig 
aloft,  and  immwHatdy  aprang  from  our 
hero's  aide,  and  diiamwand  down  the 
batchway  in  aearoli  of  the  Jhxtawain'B 
yeoman* 

Bdwaid'a  cuiioaity  vaa  now  ao  ga£* 
fidently  r^tfed»  that  be  fiuled  not  to 
be  at  some  paina  in  endesvounng  to 
come  eomUryman  over  Gilbeit  the  mo* 
roent  they  came  in  contact ;  and  speed* 
ily  succeeded  in  cijoling  the  gamdons 
oldman  intoexcellaitmirooar. ''  Tuts^ 
Ud/'  he  begaD,  '^  is't  the  barber  bodr 
Wre  making  a'  thir  inquiries  anent  r 
I  can  tell  ye  a'  about  that  atory  fi^e, 
as  I  bae  nae  meilde  ado  at  preaent^*^ 
and  first,  I  maun  fiiirly  confess  to  ye, 
that  ne'er  a  thing  the  creature's  done,  in 
tiie  soaidi  way,but  jostgotten  itKl  fbu." 

''  Wbv,  Gibbie,  if  that's  aU  the  ill 
he  has  done,  I  am  glad  of  it/'  cried 
Edwird ;  *'  fbr  Joe  Sedley  made  me 
beBeve  it  was  something  more  serioaB. 
As  it  1%  poor  fellow,  I  am  sonrv  te 
him,  for  he  must  suffer  dreadftiily  DOth 
in  body  and  mind,*»pArticnlarl^,  you 
know,  when  he  thinks  of  behaving  ao 
▼ery  improperly  as  to  compel  Mr  Swi* 
pey  to  put  him  in  irons." 

"  Whisht,  whisht,  calknt,  ycTre 
speaking  downri^t  havers,  smd  hae 
a  wrang  set  o'  the  story  a'tbegfther.  I 
plainly  see  ye  neither  comprehend  nor 
ken  onything  at  a'  about  the  matter. 
— Loah  forgie  me !  wha  ever  heard  o' 
a  barber  suffering  in  body  and  mind  1 
— Aut  ye  ken  nae  better,  my  man,  and 
i  winna  jeer  at  you  enow.  Ye  may 
take  my  word  wtt,  however,  that  Jo- 
seph Sedley  tald  ye  sterling  truth  whan 
he  ca'd  it  a  perious  matter ;  and  I  tell 
you  the  like  whan  I  ca'd  not  only  a 
serious  but  a  ftU  stupid  yin.  Foigie 
us,  man,  just  bethink  ye  tea  moment, 
tiiat  were  ye  to  be  left  sae  graodessas 
to  be  tempted  to  try  your  hand  at  thie- 
ving, waa  ye  be  sic  a  gomeril  as  to  be 
the  first  to  tell  on  yoiursd?  Na,  £uth 
ye;  ye  oomeftae  the  wrang  ode  o'  the 
Tweed  fior  sic  foolery ;  andyet  this  waa 
what  Oockibrt  dkl,  the  doited  bodv ; 
— #or  it  first  gano,  ye  maun  ken,  the 
daring  rogue,  and  nibbles  a  gude  blow* 
oat  o^  Mr  S%ripey's  mess-grog,  and 
syne  gets  itsdf  so  stupid,  in  die  pour* 
ing  o^  down  its  ain  muiafe,  aa  to  be 
die  very  first  to  tell  die  lanll  shin's 
company  wha  was  die  thiefL— Un! 
tibae  ^nglishers,  thon^  they  think 
there's  naebody  like  them,  diey^  no 
half  «p— a  Suuaiafian  has  mair  wit  in 
hfa  Httk  pirley,  alto  a',  than  they've 


313 

in  their  haill  buke^  fbr  a'  thdrpufiing 
and  bla8ting.-*Aweel,  devil  take  me. 
Davis,  if  I  wasna  like  to  rive  my  auM 
aides  wi'  langhing  whan  the  poor  don^ 
nart  creature  was  brought  upon  the 
quarter-deck  this  morning  —  Lord^ 
man,  he  looked  6ae  wild,  and  spake 
sae  muckle,  da{^ng  his  bieaat  and 
his  brow,  and  cutting  as  mony  can« 
trips  as  ony  puggie  in  a'  BarUemy  fair. 
It  was  my  first  trick  at  the  whed, 
ye  maun  ken,  though  I've  ne'er  been 
rdieved  till  this  moment,  and  Master 
^wipey  waa  bustling,  and  running,  and 
roanng  himsel  hearse,  getting  a'  thing 
In  order,  whan,  a' in  a  moment,  up 
springs  a  thing  full  flancht  ower  the 
main  hatchway  moulding,  just  a'  in 
a  moment,  an'  it  doitered  and  it  flicht- 
flred,  and  it  stotted  and  stammered,  a' 
ower  the  quarter-dedc— -drave  Mr  Swi- 
pey  this  way,  and  auld  Thomas,  tlm 
quarter-'inaster,  that— «nd  before  we 
could  lay  salt  to  its  tail,  we  weie  sae 
surprised— it's  down  the  hatdi  agaito, 
and  aff  wi'  itacL— But  bide  ye  a  bit ; 
•—Ye  ken  wed  eneuch  what  Master 
Swipey  ia— my  oer ty,  no  a  ohield  thatH 
stand  nonsense  frae  ony  ytn,  be  he 
man,  or  be  he  deviL  Sae  what  does 
he  do,  think  ye,  but  leaves  a'  Mng  to 
gae  hither  and  yont,  and  away  he  rins 
after  this  prankster  Idmsel.  Gudefaith, 
he  waana  lango'  lugging  him  on  dedr, 
and  wha  should  he  turn  out  to  be  but 
die  daiice-in-4ny-lufe  shaviag  body 
Crockfbrt,  aa  drunk  as  Chloe.  Awed, 
ye  see,  mony  a  qmestion  Mater  Swi« 
ney  piit  dll  mm  anent  whar  begot  the 
Uqnor,  but  ne*er  an  answer  Crockfort 
returned,  but  banned,  and  kicked,  and 
raired,  jupt  like  a  perfect  heathen ;  ao 
when  he  saw  it  was  just  an  afibit  & 
time  to  be  bothering  wi'  him  ony  lang^ 
er,  he  ordered  him  to  be  laihed  tothe 
boom  wi'  the  signal  halliards,  untQ  he 
sobered  a  little,  and  syne  returned  to 
dM  wark  aa  if  naething  had  happened. 
Wed,  alter  a',  deil  a  bit  o'  ae  thinks 
diat  Master  Swipey,  helhcate  as  he  is, 
wad  hae  gane  ony  farther  in  the  mat* 
ter,  than  just  fiwteaing  him  aa  he  Wi 
to  prevent  him  frie  doing  h&Bsd  a  mla- 
chief,  had  he  not  diaeovered  shordy 
after  that  the  key  o' hk  lionor  case  was 
a-missing.  After  indins  a  his  peaches 
oweraadoweragaitt,  a  tooughtseemed 
so  atrike  him,  and  down  he  na  bdow. 
What  he  missed  ni  no  say;  but  the 
opshot  o' the  roatacr  waa,  that  he  came 
mi  again  in  a  minute  Just  Mke  a  n^ 
gmg  devil,  yoked  an  die  baiber^  and  I 


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The  Man-of-  Wart^Man.    Chap.  XL 


3U 

Terily  bdiere  wad  hae  gien  him  a  lump 
o'  his  death,  had  he  not  been  halted 
by  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  Skip- 
per himsel,  in  his  night  gown,  who,  see- 
ing poor  Crockfort,  and  hearing  o'  his 
thievery,  immediately  ordered  toe  Ser- 
jeant 0  marines  to  put  him  in  irons, 
and  retired  to  his  cabin.  That's  the 
story,  £dward,  and  there  the  poor  de^ 
Til  will  likely  remain  imtil  after  divi- 
sions, whan  ye'U  learn  a'  the  rest  o'  the 
history  youreel ;  for,  mv  certy,  had  the 
Skipper  fifty  other  faults,  he's  no  yin 
that  puts  afi^muckle  time  wi'  thae  mat- 
tew.' 

''  But  do  you  really  think  that  hell 
flag  the  poor  fellow,  Gibbie  ?" 

''  Do  I  think  it,  you  haverel !  troth, 
I  am  sure  o't ;  for,  not  to  speak  o'  the 
doited  creature  filling  itsel  fou,  which 
is  yin  o'  the  Skipper's  deadly  sins, — ^be 
is  guiltjr  o'  stealmg,  and  that's  anither 
— a^,  and  what  midcs  the  business  the 
aghor,  he  is  guilty  o'  a  fair  breach  o' 
trust ;  for,  ye  ken,  the  gashing  body 
was  the  servant,  and  steward,  and  bar- 
ber, and  baker  o'  the  young  gentle- 
men's  mess,  for  which  Mr  Svnpey  ca- 
tered, and  of  course  had  opportunities 
of  doing  mair  mischief  than  ony  yin's 
aware  of.  Flag  him,  say'st  thou !  my 
oerty,  he  mav  depend  upon  that,  sam 
o'  me,  baith  not  and  hearty.  I  wadna 
be  surprised  though  they  gae  him  the 
round  five  dozen.  But  remy,  poor  de- 
vil, I'm  sorry  for  him  after  a',  although 
the  bit  cocking  morsel  wadna  shave 
me  the  ither  day  ;  for  a'  the  ills  that's 
happened  ever  since  we  came  oat  will 
be  dapped  on  his  back — and  then,  gude 
guide  us !  there's  the  thiefs  cat  in 
Tam's  bulky  paws  plaving  buff  on  your 
shoulders. — Uh  !  I  deckre,  it  maks 
my  flesh  a'  creep  even  to  think  on't" 

"  Is  there  much  difference  between 
it  and  the  common  cat,  Gibbie  ?" 

*'  Difference,  callant,  say'st  thou  !-* 
There's  just  this  di£f^ence,  I  trow, 
that  though  the  common  yin  be  iU  and 
ill  enough,  yet,  saul  o'  me,  it's  a  mere 
flea-bite  to  the  thiefs  cat ;  for,  ye  sec, 
no  to  speak  o'  its  additional  length, 
which  maks  an  unskeellie  fallow  Some 
times  hit  ye  ower  baith  the  neck  and 
fkoe,  it  has  an  additional  tier  o'  knots, 
and  the  ends  o'  the  tails  are  wh^t 
Losh,  man,  I've  seen — ^£h — is't  that 
time  ahready— O  weel  behaved,  honest 
Tarn,  blaw  awa',  like  a  brave  lad  1" 

The  breakfast  pijte  brought  honest 
Gilbert's  conversation  to  an  abrupt 
close ;  for  no  sooner  did  he  see  £e 


CUirdJ^ 


silver  call  produced,  than  protesting, 
by  his  gude  ftith,  that  a  man  of  fals 
years  required  regular  provender,  and 
plentT  of  it,  and  Ubat  four  hours  of  the 
wheel  in  a  morning  might  well  make 
a  sound  stomach  ravenous,  he  disap- 
peared down  the  fore  hatchway. 

There  were  ever  two  ways  of  telling 
a  story,  and  Edward  had  ample  ooea- 
sbn  to  hear  this  verified  long  before 
breakfast  was  over.  For  while  one 
party,  with  Gilbert,  condemned  the 
unfortunate  scratcher  of  chins — ^not 
for  getting  drunk, — ^but  for  purloining 
the  key  m  his  master's  liquor  case ; — 
another,  more  numerous,  more  zealous^ 
and  more  noisy,  as  boldly  asserted  that 
the  story  was  all  a  bamm— that  the 
precious  Master  Swipey  loved  it  too 
well  himself  ever  to^  have  any  grog  in 
reserve  to  steal — and  that,  for  their 
parts,  they  firmly  believed  that  the 
whole  was  a  mean  rascally  scheme  to 
enable  him  to  get  a  fre^  supply  £rom 
the  Purser. 

But,  be  that  as  it  may,  k  was  inn 
possible  for  Edward  not  to  perceive 
that  busineas  was  going  forward  which 
made  Gilbert's  assertion  perfectly  cor-* 
rect ;  for  while  he  observed  Tom  Bird 
and  his  assistant  busied  in  examining 
the  state  of  their  cats,  he  could  also 
mark  the  quarter-masters  as  they  si- 
lently stole  one  by  one  into  the  Boat- 
swain's store  room  to  prepare  their  sei- 
zings. 

At  length  the  eventful  hour  was 
sounded  on  the  bell,  divisions  were 
piped,  and  all  hands  stood  shortly  in 
goodly  array.-^The  most  death-like 
silence' prevailed,  every  eye  being  fix- 
ed by  universal  consent  on  the  pro* 
oedure  of  the  quarter-deck,  when,  con- 
trary to  common  {nractice,  Mr  Fudge- 
forit  made  his  appearance  first,  placed 
a  vohmie  on  the  capstan,  and  immedi- 
ately retired,  giving  place  to  Captain 
Switchon  and  his  first  Lieutenant, 
who  now  appeared,  with  hangers  girt 
on  thigh,  in  proper  fighting  costume. 

After  making  nis  usual  scrutiny  into 
the  deanlineas  of  his  crew  and  their 
decks,  the  Captain  made  a  halt  at  the 
capstan ;  and,  with  what  he  meant  to 
be  his  sternest  voice,  commuided  all 
hands  aft,  the  carpenter  to  rigg  out  his 
grating,  and  the  seijeant  of  marines  to 
produce  his  priaoner. 

The  poor  barber,  stupified  and  crest- 
fallen with  ihib  effecU  of  the  liquor  and 
fear  together,  speedily  made  his  ap- 
pearance, with  a  marine  at  each  elbow« 
19 


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i8t4.;3 


The  Man-of-War's-Mem.    Chap*  XL 


armed  with  a  msty  cutlass,  aud  was 
placed  in  the  centre  of  a  circle  made 
bjr  the  crew,  right  in  front  of  the  Cap- 
tain and  other  officers. 

"  So,  you  poor  miserable-looking 
good-for-nothing  devil,"  exclaimed 
Captain  Switchem,  with  a  most  bril- 
liant display  of  teeth, ''  you  must  get 
drunk,  must  you — and  you  love  it  so 
well  that  you  will  even  steal  for  it. 
Very  gooa.  Mister  Crockfort,  very 

Sretty  work,  indeed,  and  mighty  weU 
eserving  its  rewanl.  There  is  drun- 
kenness for  one  thing — and  there  is 
theft— and  by  Gad,  sir,  both  of  the 
very  worst  description — ^hem — all  very 
go(Kl,  to  be  sure. — ^I  believe,  my  lads, 
I've  told  you  repeatedly  already,  that 
I  never  will  forgive  either  of  these 
crimes,  even  when  singly  committed  ; 
now,  here  is  a  rascal  wno  dares  me  to 
a  proof  of  my  words,  by  committing 
both  at  one  and  the  same  time,  aggra- 
vated most  heinously  by  an  open  and 
a  daring  breach  of  that  trust  his  mas- 
ter reposed  in  him—  I  am  glad,  however, 
I  have  caught  him — he  shall  feel,  and 
all  of  you  shall  see,  that  I  am  not  to 
be  trined  with,  but  can  as  readily  per- 
form as  make  a  promise. — Quarter- 
masters, seize  him  up--8trip,  you 
drunken  scoundrel ! — strip  in  an  in- 
stant !" 

Surrounded  by  so  numerous  an  at- 
tendance, the  unfortunate  shaver  was 
stripped  to  the  buff,  and  stood  ladied 
to  tne  grating,  in  a  few  moments.  He 
now  began  to  whimper,  and  "  Oh ! 
my  dear  good  sir,  pardon  me  f — God 
bless  yourhononrjust  this  one  time  !— 
Dear,  dear,  Mr  Fyke,  Heaven  bless  you, 
do  speak  a  good  word  for  me !"  were 
all  he  could  articulate  'mid  the  suffo- 
cating heavings  of  his  throbbing  heart. 
But  Captain  Switchem  was  inexorable, 
and  the  barber's  fearful  plaints  seemed 
to  serve  no  other  purpose  than  that  of 
adding  f\iel  to  his  rising  fury.  Dis* 
playing  his  well-formed  teetn  with  a 
prominence  that  could  only^be  exceed- 
ed by  an  angry  cur,  he  smiled,  or  ra- 
ther exultingly  grinned,  over  this  un- 
fortunate lover  of  alcohol,  with  what 
appeared  to  our  hero  to  be  the  ferocity 
of  a  fiend — **  Boatswain's-mate  I"  he 
exclaimed,  "  Where's  Bird  ? — ay — 
here.  Bird,  take  yom*  station,  sir,  and 
stand  by  to  bang  that  rascal  soundly. 
You've  the  thiefs  cat — ay,  just  so— 
Now  let  me  see  you  acquit  yourself 
like  a  man  :  and  let  the  scounorel  feel 
what  it  is  that  a  thief  and  a  drunkard 
Vol.  XV. 


3U 

deserves. — Hark  ye,  Fudgefbrit*  hand 
me  tile  Articles  of  War — D'ye  hear, 
Br-— come,  quick,  quidc  !*" 

''  Off  hauT'  bawled  the'first  Lieute- 
nant 

*'  Any  officer,  mariner,  or  soldier,** 
read  Captain  Switchem,  combining 
two  articles  in  one,  **  who  shall  be 
guilty  of  drunkenness  when  on  duty, 
or  shall  steal  and  purloin  any  stores 
committed  to  his  charge,  shall  suffer 

death ^D'ye  hear  that,  you  rascal  ? 

— shdl  suffer  death,  or  such  t)ther  pu- 
nishment as  they  or  he  shall  be  deemed 
worthy  to  deserve — D'ye  hear  that,  I 
say,  you  drunken  thieving  blackguard  f 
Don  t  you  hear,  that  were  you  worth 
my  labour,  or  the  value  of  a  halter,  I 
could  run  you  up  this  minute  to  the 
yard's  arm  ? — But  111  take  another 
way  with  you— BoatswainVmate,  go 
on. — D — n  your  puling — there  was 
none  of  that  in  your  head  when  }0U 
were  robbing  your  master. — Serjeant, 
attend  to  your  glass,  and  mind  me,  yon 
see  it  etimy  run  out ; — and  yon^  Bird, 
mind  what  I  say.  111  have  no  feints 
nor  shuffling— do  you  your  duty,  and 
do  it  well,  or  Grod  pi^  you." 

After  such  repeated  exhortations,  it 
need  hardly  be  doubted  that  Tom  Bird 
gave  his  first  lash  in  the  most  stylish 
mode  of  nautical  costume,  and  that 
with  such  hearty  good  will,  as  to  call 
forth  a  succession  of  shrieks  Irom  the 
hapless  sufferer. 

"  One !"  sung  the  seijeaut  of  ma- 
rines, and  turned  his  quarter  mimite 
glass. 

Bird,  after  threading  the  tails  of  hit 
cat  through  his  fingers,  now  watched 
the  glass  in  the  seijeant's  hand  with 
their  ends  in  his  leA,  then  making 
them  spin  round  his  bead,  while  he 
whirled  on  his  heel,  he  gave  his  second 
lash,  edioed  as  before  by  the  fearftil 
yells  of  the  barber,  now  completely 
alive  to  the  horrors  of  his  situation. 

*'  Two !"  cried  the  seijeant,  as  cool 
as  a  cucumber,  again  turning  his  glass. 

But  enough  of  this ; — ^for,  true  it  is, 
that  though  we  are  anxious  to  be  im- 
partial historians,  we  confess  we  shrink 
with  horror  from  this  Thurtell-Uke 
guzzling  in  blood.  Not  that  we  wish 
to  appear  sentimental,  or  make  the 
slightest  pretension  to  the  possession 
of  those  very  delicate  and  tremblingly 
alive  feelings  so  much  the  rage  in  the 
dandy  school  of  the  present  day.  Far 
from  it.  We  thank  God  we  are  made 
c^  commoner  and  firmer  metal — ge« 
S8 


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B16  Tht  ManM^f-Wari' 

nuine  home-spun  gear— that  can  both 
take  and  lose  a  trifle  of  what  is  called 
die  claret  on  occasions  without  wincing 
— and  that  never  had  nor  ever  will  have 
the  smallest  objection  to  see  it  flow, 
however  liberally,  when  it  flows  in  &ir 
and  honest  even-handed  fighting,  ei- 
ther in  the  cause  of  honour,  or  the 
more  glorious  one  of  King  and  Coun- 
try. We  would  rather  be  understood 
to  make  it  from  a  mingled  feeling  of 
the  utmost  hatred  and  detestation ;  oe- 
cause,  in  all  our  experience,  we  imow 
to  a  certainty  it  never  made  a  bad 
man  good,  but  vice  versa — because  it 
is  an  old  tottering  wreck  of  the  days  of 
barbarism,  now,  thank  God,  nearly  ex- 
ploded, whose  utter  ruin  we  would 
gladly  accelerate — and,  lastly,  because 
in  every  shape,  and  in  all  its  bearings, 
we  think  it  a  cool,  cowardlv,  contempt- 
ible waste  of  human  blood,  which 
might  be  spent  to  far  better  purpose 
in  other  and  equally  degrading  situa- 
tions. 

We  will,  therefore,  gladly  leave  it 
to  the  imagination  of  our  readers  to 
form  an  idea  of  the  unfortunate  bar- 
ber at  the  conclusion  of  his  third  do- 
zen— ^his  back,  as  it  were^  invested 
with  a  cross-belt  of  the  deepest  crim- 
son— bleeding,  breathless,  speechless, 
almost  giving  up  the  ghost — *^  But, 
courage,  my  lad  f — there  is  a  vast  deal 
sometimes  shouldered  in  betwixt  the 
cup  and  the  lip,"-*— so  sung  the 

^«  Sweet  little  chemb  that  sits  up  aloft," 

and  never  was  it  more  forcibly  exem- 
plified than  on  the  present  occasion,  to 
the  infinite  satisfaction  of  all  hands. 

Captain  Switchem,  naturally  a  se- 
vere disciplinarian,  seemed  seriously 
determined  to  have  his  five  dozen  out 
of  the  scoundrel,  as  he  termed  his  half- 
senseless  delinquent,  when,  just  as  he 
had  pronounced  the  words,  **  Another, 
boatswain's-mate !"  to  commence  his 
fourth  dozen,  the  man  at  the  mast  head 
sung  out,  ^'  On  deck  there  I" 

''  HiUoah !"  echoed  Captain  Switch- 
em. 


'Man.    Chap.  XL  [;Marcb^ 

''  A  sail  to  windward !"  replied  the 
lookout. 

*'  What  does  she  look  like?" rejoined 
the  detain. — "  Young  Pinafore,  jump 
for  my  glass." 

"  A  ^p,  or  a  brig  at  the  least — She 
is  square  rigged!" bawled  down  4he 
lookout. 

''  Point  to  her,  my  lad !"  cried  the, 
Captain,  letting  on  ue  forecastle,  glasa 
in  nand. 

The  man  stretched  out  his  arm  in 
the  desired  direction,  the  Captain's  op- 
tics caught  the  object,  and  that  instant 
the  feast  of  blood  was  at  an  end. 

"  Hark'ee,  Fyke,"  cried  the  Captain, 
hurrying  aft, ''  make  sail,  if  you  please, 
and  that  with  as  much  speed  as  you 
can. — ^Master  Fireball,  get  your  gear  in 
readiness.— Come,  come,  nurry  that 
scoundrel  below ;  and  do  you.  Doctor, 
go  look  after  him. — You  carpenters, 
away  with  your  trumpery. — Fudge- 
fbrit,  take  this  hanger  and  these  things 
below. — Quarter-master,  how  lies  her 
head? — ay — that's  a  good  boy — ^north- 
west and  by  north — steady,  steady,  my 
lad^^keep  her  full — steady,  there's  a 
good  fellow !"— Such  were  now  the 
exclamations  of  Captain  Switchem, 
whose  whole  thoughts  appeared  to  run 
in  a  fresh  channel  from  tnis  fortunate 
occurrence,  and  the  poor  barber  seemed 
completely  forgotten. 

By  the  able  directions  of  Lieutenant 
Fyke,  and  the  most  strenuous  exer« 
tions  of  her  lively  ship's  company,  the 
Tottumfog  was  speedily  put  to  bier  ut- 
most stretch,  under  every  inch  of  can- 
vass she  could  carry :  and  no  long  pe- 
riod of  time  elapsed  before  she  made 
it  evidently  appear,  that  she  gained 
ground  rapidly  on  her  chase,  which 
was  now  to  be  plainly  seen  from  the 
deck,  bearing  away  under  a  heavy  presa 
of  sail.  In  this  situation  we  will  leave 
them,  and  call  a  halt,  referring  such 
of  our  readers  as  please,  for  a  particu« 
lar  detail  of  their  meeting,  to  our 
Twelfth  Chapter. 

S. 


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The  Edifdmrgh  Review.    A^.  LXXTIIL 


SIT 


THK  EDINBURGH  REVIEW.     VO*  LSXTIII.      AKTICLES  I.  AND  IX. 


The  State  of  Europe,  and  the  Hots  Alliance. 


England  is  an  inexhanstible  tource 
of  wonders.  If  the  phOosoplier  ^sh 
to  know  what  stupendous  mirades 
human  nature  is  capable  of  accom- 
plishing, and  to  what  amazing  heights 
of  virtue  it  can  ascend,  he  must  look 
at  England  ^ — if  he  wish  to  know  the 
utmost  extent  of  folly  that  it  can  dis- 
play, and  the  lowest  deoth  of  profli- 
gacy that  it  can  sink  to,  ne  must  still 
look  at  England.  If  he  wish  to  know 
how  glorious  splendid  talents  can  be- 
come, and  how  guilty  and  inftmous 
they  can  make  wemselves— -how  de- 
voutly merit  can  be  worshipped,  and 
how  unrelentingly  it  can  be  immolated 
— how  wisely  earthly  blessings  can  be 
Used,  and  how  foolishly  they  can  be 
abused — how  nicely  trutii  and  honour 
can  be  scrutinized,  and  how  blindly 
fidsehood  and  infomy  can  be  followed 
—and  how  far  knowledge  and  igno- 
rance, sagacity  and  foolisnness,  worth 
and  worthlessness,  and  purity  and 
wickedness,  can  exist  together,  hemust 
find  the  knowledge  in  our  extraordi- 
nary country. 

llieEdinburghReviewostensiblyex- 
ists  as  one  of  the  supreme  censors  of  the 
BHtish  press.  Its  avowed  object  is  to 
sit  in  judgment  upon  the  literature 
of  the  country — ^to  take  cognizance  of 
every  work  tnat  is  published,  worthy 
of  notice,  not  merely  with  regard  to 
its  literary  execution,  but  also  with 
respect  to  the  opinions  which  it  incul- 
cates, moral  and  political.  It  thus 
plainly  tells  the  world,  whether  the 
world  win  believe  it  or  not,  that  the 
press  ought  not  to  be  free,  that  the 
people  are  not  capable  of  judging  for 
themselves,  and  that  the  country  ought 
to  be  guided  by  it,  in  determining 
what  works  ougnt  to  circulate,  what 
principles  ought  to  be  taught,  and 
what  creeds  ousht  to  be  believed  in. 
It  prodaims  itself  to  be  an  exclusive 
director  of  public  opinion,  which  in 
diis  country  directs  or  drives  before  it 
everything  else ;  and  it  Hkewise  pro- 
daims itself  to  be  the  inquisitor  general 
0f  die  literary  race,  anxious  and  able 
to  protect  ana  cover  with  glory  all  who 
diail  write  what  it  wishes  to  be  writ- 
ten ;  and  equally  anxious  and  able  to 
break  on  the  wheel  all  who  shall  dare  to 


pubhsh— not  what  is  contrary  to  truth 
and  wisdom — ^but  what  it  deddes 
oQffht  not  to  be  published.  The  fa- 
miliars and  other  ranctionaries  of  this 
inouisition  are  nameless  and  irrespon- 
sible ;  and  its  victims,  to  whatever  ex- 
tent they  may  be  robbed  and  tortu- 
red, are  left  altogether  without  means 
ofr^ress. 

That  sudi  a  tribunal  should  dis- 
pense justice,  or  anything  but  the 
grossest  injustice,  is  morally  impos- 
dble.  One  rival,  or  else  one  friend,  is 
to  dedde  upon  the  merits  of  another. 
Brougham  must  be  the  judge  of  Can- 
ning's oratory — Byron,  of  Southey's 
poetry— JeflfVey,  of  Brougham's  poli- 
tics. All  must  be  done  upon  this  prin- 
dple ;  and,  of  course,  personal  hosti- 
lity or  friendship  must  nave  the  chief 
hand  in  drawine  up  the  sentence, 
more  especially  when  the  name  is  con- 
cealed, and  the  sentence  goes  forth  to 
the  world  as  that  of  a  ,body.  That 
such  a  tribunal  should  produce  any- 
thing but  the  worst  consequences,  is 
impossible.  The  railings  of  jealousy, 
envy,  and  hatred ;  the  falsehoods  of 
mercenary  ambition,  and  the  ravings 
of  drunken  fimatidsm,  assume  the 
garb  (^  sober  truth  and  impartiality, 
and  go  forth  to  mankind  as  the  judg- 
ments of  a  court,  dianterested,  up- 
right, and  unerring.  The  doctrines  of 
this  tribunal  are  before  the  eyes  of  all, 
and  however  Mse  and  baleful  they 
may  be,  writers  know,  that  if  they 
dare  to  dispute,  and  do  not  conform 
to  them,  thdr  works  must  be  in  a 
•great  d^ee  suppressed,  and  their 
feelings  placed  under  the  harrow. 
Whatever,  therefore,  consdence  may 
say,  interest  and  terror  compel  a  large 
portion  of  the  writing  world  to  propa- 
gate the  doctrines  of  this  tribunal,  or 
to  remain  silent;  and  the  liberty  of 
the  press  becomes  only  a  name,  or  the 
means  of  establishing  a  literary  tyran- 
ny of  the  WOTst  kind.  Speak  of  a  go- 
vernment censorship! — Such  a  cen- 
sorship would  be  a  blesdng  to  authors, 
compared  with  that  which  is  exerci- 
eed  by  a  Review  like  this. 

We  rail  amnst  censor8!iips---pro- 
test  that  the  liberty  of  the  press  is  one 
of  our  greatest  blessings--lavish  the 


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318 

roost  fickening  pndtet  on  literary  ge- 
niut— cUrooar  for  the  pifre  admini- 
stration of  justice— execrate  aU  inva- 
ders of  individual  rights— and  still 
we  tolerate,  and  even  reverence,  these 
Reviews!  This  is  one  of  the  re- 
markable things  that  are  to  be  met 
with  in  this  country. 

The  Edinburgh  Review  was  esta- 
blished by,  and  is  wholly  in  the  hands 
of,  men  who  proclaim  themselves  to 
be  the  exclusive  champions  of  the  li- 
berty of  the  press,  and  who  declaim 
every  hour  of  tbeir  lives  against  the 
Attorney  General,  the  laws  against  li- 
bel, and  all  who  would  enforce  these 
laws ;  and  yet,  at  the  very  moment 
when  they  are  doing  this,  these  cant- 
ing, hypocritical  wretches  are  crushing 
some  struggling  son  of  genius — sup- 

Eressing  his  work — ^torturinp;  him— 
lasting  his  fair  fame — snatching  away 
the  bread  from  the  hps  of  his  starving 
family — and  destroying  his  hopes, 
merely  because  he  dares  to  difl&rfrem 
them  in  religious  and  political  opi- 
nions. This  is  not  done  in  a  corner, 
but  the  declamation  and  the  foul 
crime  are  displayed  to  the  world  by 
the  very  same  sheet  of  paper !  Yet 
the  Edinburgh  Review  is  still  endu- 
red, and  its  writers  are  still  thought 
by  some  to  be  the  friends  of  the  li- 
berty of  the  press,  and  even  to  be  ho- 
nest men.  This  is  another  of  the  won- 
derful things  that  are  to  be  found  in 
England. 

The  Edinburgh  Review,  during;  the 
late  terrible  war,  was  the  unprincipled 
apologist  and  champion  of^the  ene- 
mies of  England.  It  fought  not  mere- 
Iv  against  the  ministry,  but  sgainst 
tne  nation,  in  that  momentous  con- 
test for  national  existence.  It  avowed 
principles  and  feelings  wholly  alien  to 
every tning  English,  and  actually 
loathsome  to  the  English  heart.  Every 
assertion,  argument,  and  prediction, 
that  it  ventured  to  put  fortn,  was  de- 
cisively refuted  to  the  conviction  of 
all  men  Hving,  and  it  was  overwhelm- 
ed with  scorn  and  ignominy ;  yet  this 
Review  still  exists  1  This  is  another 
of  the  singular  things  that  may  be  ob- 
served in  this  country. 

The  Edinburgh  Review  calls  itself 
a  diampion  of  national  freedom,  a  phi- 
Ian  thrppist,  a  defender  of  the  rights  of 
mankind ;  and  yet,  since  the  peace,  it 
has  been  the  brazen-faced  euloffist  of 
Buonaparte.  It  has  extenuated,  and 
even  justified  his  deeds  of  blood  and  ra- 


CMardi, 


pine— his  robberies  and  iiiarpati< 
the  grinding  t^nny  which  he  est 
Uished,  andhis  relentless  war  against 
aU  that  can  elevate  and  bless  human 
nature.  It  has  allied  itself  with  the 
Rump  of  the  French  Jacobins— la- 
boured to  light  up  civil  war  in  every 
country  in  Europe — zealously  fanned 
the  discontent  and  disaffection  athome 
»-and  ceaselessly  attacked  some  of  our 
most  sacred  constitutional  principles, 
and  best  national  institutions ;  yet  it 
is  still  read,  and,  according  to  report, 
is  even  countenanced  by  certain  Bri- 
tish peers  and  senators.  This  is  an- 
other of  the  amazing  wonders  which 
England  exhibits. 

The  Edinburgh  Review  calls  itself 
a  cens(n'  of  the  British  press — a  pure 
and  impartial  judge — the  scourge  of 
every  man  who  may  dare  to  make  the 
press  subservient  to  his  personal  ani- 
mosity, his  party  interests,  or  any- 
thing but  the  cause  of  truth  and  jus- 
tices; yet  it  is  a  blushless,  lawless,  fu- 
rious, fanatical  party  publication,  and 
it  constantly  sacrifices  everything,  be- 
longing eiuier  to  itself  or  others,  to 
the  interests  of  its  party.  The  blood- 
hounds of  faction  have  lately  gathered 
round  the  Lord  Chancellor — a  man 
eminent,  almost  above  all  others,  for 
splendid  talents,  prodigious  learning, 
spotless  virtue,  length  and  import- 
ance of  public  services,  and  every- 
thing else  that  can  give  pre-eminence 
^-a  man  who,  almost  above  sU  others, 
ought  to  have  his  last  hours  g^ilded  by 
the  united  homsge  of  all  parties,  and 
the  affection  and  reverence  of  the  na- 
tion at  large.  This  attack  is  under- 
stood to  luive  originated  in  feelings 
which  men  of  honour  cannot  act  upon. 
The  Edinburgh  Review  has  opened  its 
columns  to  tne  personal  enemies  of 
this  spotless  and  venerable  nobleman  ; 
it  has  become  the  minister  of  cool- 
blooded  private  pique  and  revenge,  to 
deprive  the  country  of  his  services, 
to  deprive  him  of  his  country's  esteem, 
and  to  bind  him,  in  the  last  momenta 
of  his  existence,  on  the  blood-stained 
altar  of  party  malignity  and  madness  ; 
yet  this  Review  has  still,  not  merely 
one  reader,  but  some  hundreds !  This 
is  another,  cf  the  astonishing  things 
that  are  to  be  met  with  in  England. 

It  is  because  this  Review,  contrary 
to  every  feeling  which  ought  to  in- 
fluence English  bosoms,  is  still  read 
in  some  quarters,  that  we  notice  the 
two  articles  of  the  last  number,  which 


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1824.]]  State  of  Europe,  and 

are  tpedfled  at  the  head  of  this  paper. 
They  are,  in  effect,  both  on  one  sub- 
ject ;  they  rehte  to  matters  which  in- 
volve the  best  interests  both  of  this 
country  and  of  all  Europe,  and  they 
will  enable  us  to  give  such  farther  il- 
lustration of  the  character  and  tenden- 
cy of  the  work,  as  will,  we  would  fain 
hope,  induce  every  honest  and  public- 
spirited  man  to  cast  it  from  him  for 
ever. 

Our  readers,  we  are  sure,  will  well 
remember  the  soul-stirring  moments 
which  concluded  the  war.  For  the  ho- 
nour of  our  country,  we  fervently 
trust  that  there  is  scarcely  a  man  in 
it,  whose  breast  does  not  yet  throb 
with  transport  when  he  dwells  upon 
the  enthusiasm,  not  more  fervid  and 
universal,  than  holy — the  efforts  not 
more  gigantic  than  virtuous — the  tri- 
umphs alike  stupendous  and  spotless 
— ^and  the  rapture  equally  boundless 
and  pure,  of  that  glorious  and  hallow- 
ed pmod.  It  seemed  to  be  indeed  the 
Millennium.  The  tyranny  which  had 
so  Ions  filled  a  quarter  of  the  globe 
with  blood,  and  tears,  and  devastation, 
and  misery,  was  crushed;  and  the 
foul  principles  which  had  engendered 
it,  and  by  which  it  had  scourged  all 
nations,  were  trampled  in  the  dust.  Ex- 
tinguished countries — razed  altars*- 
destroyed  thrones — ^proscribed  creeds, 
and  banished  dynasties,  sprung,  as  by 
the  command  of  Omnipotence,  from 
the  blazing  fragments  of  this  tvranny, 
to  carry  peace  where  it  was  signed  for, 
and  to  fill  Europe  with  unmiugled 
happiness.  Sublime  were  the  triumphs 
of  the  arm,  but  €u  more  sublime  were 
the  triumphs  of  the  heart ;  the  arm- 
ies, battles,  and  victories,  though  sur- 
passing all  that  the  earth  had  ever 
seen,  still  exceeded  not  the  admitted 
capabilities  of  mankind ;  but  the  gi- 

Sntic  arrav  of  virtue  and  wisdom— 
e  magnincent  show  of  everything 
that  proves  the  heavenly  origin  of 
man  ^-surpassed*  all  that  mankind 
was  thought  capable  of  displaying. 
Religion  was  led  back  to  her  temple, 
not  by  priests,  but  by  laymen ;  not  by 
kings,  but  by  people;  not  by  one 
country,  but  by  all  Europe  ;  and  all 
nations  prostrated  themselves  before 
her,  to  solemnly  abjure  the  creed  of 
the  French  Revolution,  and  to  declare 
that  the  world  could  onlv  be  rendered 
happy  by  practising  ner  precepts. 
Public  ftiith  and  individual  probity 


Ae  Holy  Alliance.  ai9 

were  recalled,  and  re4nveited  with 
their  lost  repttation  and  authority — 
injuries  were  repaid  with  bounties—* 
vengeance  only  sought  to  enrich  and 
bless  its  object — ambition,  cupidity, 
and  the  kindred  passions,  seemed  to 
be  deprived  of  existence — and  Europe 
only  presented  a 'splendid  overflow  of 
glory,  virtue,  and  joy.  Even  the  Buo- 
napartean  Whigs,  with  the  Liberal 
Eoinburgh  Review  dangling  at  -their 
skirts,  home  down  and  swept  invo- 
luntarily away  by  the  tide,  were  a- 
mong  the  louoest,  in  lauding  all  that 
was  done,  and  in  chaunting  the  pniae 
of  the  British  Ministers  and  the  Conti- 
nental Monarchs — the  dethroners  of  ^ 
Buonaparte,  and  nroscribers  of  liberal 
opinions.  Never  before  did  the  world 
exhibit,  and  never  perhaps  will  it 

X'n  exhibit,  a  spectacle  so  grand  and 
:ting.  Two  hundred  millions  of 
men  were  seen  linked  together  in  the 
bonds  of  brotherly  affection,  rivalling 
each  other  in  the  display  of.godhke' 
actions,  and  partaking,  in  common,  of 
fehcity.  One  individual  only  of  the 
number  was,  at  Elba,  enslaved  and 
wretched — cursing  the  scene  before 
him — and  employing  every  moment 
that  he  could  snatch  from  agony  and 
frenzy,  in  framing  schemes  for  acain 
involving  Europe  in  blood  and  hor- 
rors. 

Our  readers,  we  are  sure,  well  re- 
member the  ground  on  which  the 
High  Allied  Powers  went,  from  first 
to  last,  at  that  memorable  epoch.  They 
never  for  a  moment  separated  the 
tyranny  and  crimes  of  Buonaparte, 
from  the  principles  which  had  pro- 
duced them  :^  their  war  was  through- 
out directed^  as  much  against  the 
one,  as  the  other.  In  their  prockina- 
tions,  they  again  and  again  traced  the 
deeds  of  the  tyrant  to  their  source ; 
and  proved,  both  by  deduction,  and 
by  pointing  to  the  experience  of  thirty 
years,  that  a  government  founded  on 
the  revolutionary  principles  on  which 
that  of  Buonaparte  stood,  could  only 
exist  to  be  a  curse  to  the  world.  They 
inscribed  the  most  opposite  ones  on 
their  banners ;  their  rallying  cry  was 
— Old  feelings,  opinions,  and  institu- 
tions [ — the  very  objects  that  Liberal- 
ism had  been  so  long  labouring  to  de- 
stroy— and  this  alone  marshalled  mil- 
lions around  them.  In  the  decisive 
hour  of  victory,  they  called  on  Eurone 
to  renounce  revolutionary  opinions  for 


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The  Edinburgh  Review.    No.  LXXFIIL 


390 

eyer,  and  it  solemnly  bound  itself  to 
obey  them;  they  pledged  themselyes 
never  to  tolerate  such  opinions,  and 
the  pledg*^  was  hailetl  by  universal  ac- 
clamations, as  the  only  thing  wanting 
to  make  the  triumph  complete  and 
the  fruits  enduring.  The  greater  part 
of  the  enthusiasm  was  in  truth  level- 
led against  these  opinions;  nothing 
elicit^  so  much  general  transport  as 
the  restoration  of  something  that  they 
had  overthrown,  or  the  destruction  of 
something  that  thev  had  raised ;  and 
be  it  remembered,  that  this  was 
prompted,  not  by  speculation,  but  by 
the  fulness  of  terrible  experiment. 
The  English  people,  almost  to  a  man, 
shared  in  this  feeling.  At  that  mo- 
ment, there  was  scarcely  an  indivi- 
dual in  the  nation  who  durst  say  a  syl- 
lable in  favour  of  "  liberal  opinions," 
or  who  did  not  load  them  witn  execra- 
tions. The  revolutionists  crept  trem- 
bling into  holes  and  corners  to  avoid 
public  tfcqrn,  until  there  did  not  seem 
to  be  one  left  in  existence  in  Europe. 
Our  readers  will  bear  this  in  mind, 
because  the  steps  which  the  Allied 
Powers  have  lately  taken  against  re- 
volutionary doctrines,  have  been  re- 
presented to  be  a  foul  violation  of  the 
pledges  which  they  gave  at  the  peace. 
In  taking  these  steps,  they  have  only 
redeemed  these  pledges.  Their  con- 
duct has  been  pertectljr  consistent 
wi^  the  declarations  which  they  then 
made,  and  which  were  then  ^erly 
acouiesced  in  by  all  men — ^with  the 
feelings  which  tnen  animated  Europe, 
when  it  was  perhaps  better  able  to  feel 
justly  on  such  matters  than  at  pre- 
sent. If  these  doctrines  have  now  ob- 
tained a  certain  degree  of  favour,  and 
if  England  have  been  induced  to  re- 
gard them  with  benignity,  the  Conti- 
nental Powers  cannot  at  any  rate  be 
cbarged  with  breach  of  faitn  on  this 

Soint;  and  it  is  even  a  matter  of 
oubt,  whether  the  praise  for  wisdom 
belongs  to  them,  or  to  those  who  have 
changed  their  opinions. 

The  Continental  Monarchs  then 
spontaneously,  solemnly,  and  distinct- 
ly admitted  their  power  to  be  a  trust 
—they  spontaneously  admitted  that 
popular  institutions,  adapted  to  the 
character  and  needs  of  their  subjects, 
were  necessary;  and  all  their  words 
and  deeds  evinced  a  sincere  wish  to 
give  rational  and  practical  liberty  to 


pMlardi, 


all  Europe.  They  gave  freedom  to 
France  and  Holland;  the  King  of 
Prussia  promised  a  constitution  to  his 
people,  and  the  Emperor  of  Russia 
very  greatly  ameliorated  the  condition 
of  a  large  portion  of  his  subjects.  The 
glorious  work  was  actually  begun,  and 
went  forward  with  a  rapidity  that 
could  scarcely  have  been  expected 
from  its  peril  and  magnitude.  That 
the  Spvereigns  religiously  intended  to 
finidi,  cannot  be  doubted,  unless  we 
believe  that  they  were  absolutely  in- 
sane when  they  promised  and  made  a 
beginning.  Never  since  *'  the  founda- 
tions of  the  world  were  laid,"  was  the 
world  illuminated  with  such  dazzling 
hopes,  and  overhung  with  such  trans- 
cendent blessings  as  at  that  moment ! 
Never  had  there  been,  from  the  be- 
ginning of  time,  and  never  will  there 
a^n  be,  before  its  end,  an  hour  so 
nchly  fhiught  with  all  that  the  needs 
of  mankind  call  for,  and  so  auspicious 
for  its  beneficial  dispensations.  Kings 
and  subjects  were  brothers ;  ministers 
were  reverenced  as  honest  men,  and 
all  was  love  and  unanimity.  Liberty 
was  not  to  be  won,  but  given ;  it  was 
not  to  receive  its  form  from  fools  and 
madmen,  but  from  those  who  were 
skilled  in  its  nature  and  operation ;  it 
was  not  to  syreep  away  all  existing 
government,  that  itmignt  stand  upon 
tne  ruins ;  but  it  was  to  take  the  ex- 
isting government  as  its  foundation 
and  bulwark ;  and  those  who  were  to 

five,  and  those  who  were  to  receive, 
ad  alike,  from  an  age  of  flame  and  tor- 
ture, derived  every  variety  of  instruc- 
tion necessary  for  enabling  them  to  fa- 
bricate and  use  properly.  The  trebly 
accursed  French  Revolution,  smote, 
crushed,  and  trampled  upon  until 
scarcely  a  vestige  seemed  to  remain, 
still  retained  sufficient  power  to  snatch 
away  the  treasures  from  the  hands  of 
the  recipients,  and  to  fill  the  splendid 
prospect  with  the  clouds  of^  strife, 
madiiess,  and  disappointment.  It  was 
not  when  this  revolution  burst  forth 
and  shook  every  kingdom  to  its  cen- 
tre ;  neither  was  it  when  it  became  a 
despotism  of  bayonets,  and  laid  the 
whole  continent  in  chains,  that  its 
most  withering  curse  fell  upon  the 
world.  It  was  at  this  hour,  when  its 
expiring  energies  blasted  the  liberty 
that  was  falling  upon  every  continen- 
tal nation,  and  goaded  the  slumbering 


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chain  and  rod  into  perpetual  exercise^ 
that  its  haleful  innuence  spread  the 
most  widely^  penetrated  the  most  deep- 
ly, destroy^  the  most  extensively, 
and  ^ve  the  most  deadly  hbw  to  the 
best  mterests  of  mankind. 

A  few  months,  a  very  few  months, 
sufficed  to  shew  that  men,  professing 
the  fundamental  principles  of  this  re- 
volution, were  yet  tolerably  numer« 
ous  in  France,  and  some  other  parts 
of  Europe.  France  had  obtained  a  re- 
presentative form  of  government ;  her 
Opposition  was  composed  chiefly  of 
these  men,  and  among  them  were  to 
be  found  some  of  the  old  hackneyed 
revolutionary  leaders.  The  principles 
of  the  revolution,  therefore,  after  all 
the  destruction  and  miserv  they  had 

Eroduced — the  defeats  and  hatrea  they 
ad  met  with — ^the  gigantic  and  cost- 
ly efforts  that  had  hsen  made  to  put 
tnem  dowj^ — were  thus  strangely  ele- 
vated into  a  kind  of  constitutional 
creed,  and  became  even  the  legal  sys- 
tem of  &ith  of  one  of  the  two  great 
parties  into  which  France  was  un- 
avoidably split  by  her  freedom.  They 
of  course  wore  a  new  name,  and  this 
was  quite  sufficient  to  make  them  pass 
for  new  Uiinga  with  the  ignorant  of  the 
continent,  ay,  and  with  certain  of  the 
knowing  of  England.  They  were  in- 
dustriouidy  taught  in  France,  they 
spread  rapidly  in  the  adjoining  coun- 
tries, they,  and  those  who  taught 
them,  were  incessantly  eulogized  b^ 
the  Whigs  and  Whig  press  of  this 
country,  and  they  therefore  once  more 
divided  the  pe<^le  of  Europe.  Buona- 
parte regained  the  French  throne, was 
again  expelled,  and  this  worked  up 
party  feeungs  everywhere  to  the  high- 
est point  of  madness.  This  took  puice 
at  the  moment  when  the^Continental 
Sovereigns  had  promised  to  remodel 
their  &brics  of  government  on  the 
basis  of  popular  fre^edom,  and  had 
even  b^un  the  work. 

The  precise  circumstances  in  which 
these  Sovereigns  were  consequently 
placed  were  tSese^  France  was  so  lit- 
tle to  be  depended  upon,  that  they 
were  compelled  to  quarter  large  armies 
upon  her  to  keep  her  from  revolution ; 
and  Germany,  Italy,  Spain,  &c  were 
very  deeply  infected  with  die  pesti- 
lential prineiDles,  from  the  hcurible 
fruits  of  whica,  Europe  had  only  just 
l>een  delivered.  A  powerful  portion 
of  every  people,  and  almost  the  only 
portion  that  fdt  strongly  on  political 


matters,  were  clamouring  for  radical, 
political,  and  social  changes, — ^not  for 
those  which  the  Sovereigns  contem- 
plated, but  for  others  wholly  differ- 
ent, and  they  spared  no  effort  to  ob- 
tain them  by  force.    If  the  Liberal^ 
the  Constitutionalists,   or  whatever 
may  be  their  proper  name,  had  been 
actuated  by  tne  creed  of  the  English 
Tories,  the  French  Royalists,  (xr  oar 
genuine  Whigs;  and  had  been  men 
of  wealth,  intelligence,  and  fair  per- 
sonal character,  the  Sovereigns  might 
have  gone  on  successfully  with  the 
work  of  liberty,  though  they  must 
have  encountered  great  and  manifold 
dangers :  but  the  creed  of  these  per- 
sons was  substantially  that  of  the  old 
Jacobins.    It  consisted  of  quenchless 
animosity  against  Royalty,  Aristocra- 
cy, and  Christianity,  in  the  abstract— of 
eternal  invectives  against  Kings,  Mi- 
nist«-s.  Nobles,  and  Priests,  merely 
because  they  were  these.  It  called  for 
the  destruction  of  all  old  feelings  and 
institutions,  merely  because  they  were 
old ;  and  it  declared  all  existing  dy- 
nasties and  statesmen  to  be  incapable 
of  governing,  for  no  other  reason,  than 
beoiuse  they  had  already  governed. 
Everything  was  to  be  changed  and 
reversed ;  not  merely  forms  of  govern- 
ment, but  forms  of  society — ^not  mere- 
ly dvH,  but  ecclesiastical  institutions, 
— religious,  as  well  as  political,  feel- 
ings,— and  habits  and  opinions  of  pri- 
vate, as  well  as  of  public,  life.  Scorn- 
ing the  principle  of  qualificatian,  it 
adopted  one  of  exclusion  which  no* 
thing  could  evade;   it  declared  all 
reigning  Sovereigns  and  their  Mini- 
sters, all  Nobles  and  teachers  of  reli- 
gion, all  existing  public  functionaries, 
to  be  incapable  of  embrjudng  it,  and 
of  being  intrusted  with  power  under 
it ;  and  it  placed  them  in  a  state  of 
hopeless  proscription.     It  addressed 
itself  exclusively  to  the  poor,  the  ig- 
norant, the  credulous,  the  ally,  and 
the  depraved:  these  alone  were  de- 
cUured  to  be  capable  of  receiving  it, 
and  of  being  blessed  by  it ;  they  were 
to  be  rendered  deists  and  democrats, 
and  fired  with  an  inextinguishable 
hatred  against  their  rulers,  their  reli- 
gious  instructors,  and  all  idx>ve  them. 
Its  hostility  was  not  confined  to  abso- 
lute governments.    The  governments 
of  England  and  France  were  as  much 
abused  by  it,  as  those  of  Austria  atid 
Russia;  and  it  made  no  distinction 
whatever  between  the  siqpporters  of 


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3S8 

arbitrary  power^  and  the  English  To- 
ries and  the  French  Royalists. 

That  this  creed  was  this  in  spirit 
and  tendency,  will  be  denied  by  no 
man  living  who  has  attentively  studied 
it,  as  it  has  been  put  forth  from  time 
to  time  in  the  last  seven  vears.  It 
was  the  creed  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, in  some  parts  slishtly  modified, 
in  others  differently  coloured,  to -con- 
ciliate and  allure,  but  still  sul^tantial- 
ly  the  same  for  operation  and  pro- 
ducts. 

The  personal  character  of  those  who 
conduct  the  afiairs  of  a  nation  is  a 
matter  of  very  high  importance,  even 
if  the  form  of  government  be  settled. 
An  ignorant,  imbecile,  and  unprin- 
cipled ministry  might  involve  this 
country  in  ruin,  witnout  once  offend- 
ing against  the  laws  and  constitution. 
The  servant  of  the  state,  as  well  as  the 
menial  of  the  family,  most  be  honest, 
industrious,  and  duly  qualified  for 
discharging  his  duties  in  the  best 
manner.  But  personal  character  is  of 
the  very  last  iniportaooe  in  those  who 
undertake  to  fVame  and  establish  new 
forms  of  government.  All  government 
is  for  a  moment  destroyed— the  whole 
community  is  convulsed,  and  one  por- 
tion of  it  is  arrayed  against  the  other 
-"-the  character  of  omnipotence  which 
time  has  given  to  rulers  is  destroyed 
in  the  eyes  of  all,  and  speculative 
politics  become  the  rage  even  with 
ploughmen — the  new  institutions  re- 
quire a  considerable  time  to  produce 
practical  good,  and  in  the  mterval 
they  jar  with  national  habits  and  pre- 
judices, 4nd  seem  to  the  ignorant  to 
be  only  evils — those  who  lead  in  the 
change  have  necessarily,  for  a  consi- 
derable period,  the  nation  at  their  mer- 
cy — they  are  without  check,  or  re- 
straint; the  power  cannot  be  taken 
from  them,  whatever  may  be  their 
condnct ;  neither  perhaps,  if  practica- . 
ble,  could  it  be  done,  without  invol- 
ving the  country  in  complete  ruin. 
None  but  men  possessing  tne  very  ut- 
most share  of  knowledge,  experience, 
wisdom,  integrity,  energy,  patriotism, 
and  ability,  that  men  can  possess, 
ought  to  be  suffered  to  attempt  to  es- 
tablish in  a  country  a  new  form  of 
government,  whatever  may  be  the  de- 
fects of  the  old  one.  But  the  conti- 
nental constitutionalists  were  desti- 
tute, not  of  one,  but  of  every  qualifi- 
cation. They  were  not  men  of  rank, 
wtalth,  and  influence,  looking  with 


[[Mardif 


ecom  upon  politics  as  a  trade;  but 
they  were  needy,  political,  and  mili- 
tary adventurers,  notoriously  disap- 
pointed men,  and  this  threw  a  cloud 
of  suspicion  over  their  motives  whidi 
nothing  could  dispel.  They  were  per- 
sons of  the  most  slender  capacity — 
profoundly  ignorant — the  slaves  of 
passion — and,  so  far  as  their  public 
and  private  lives  were  known,  of  great 
profligacy.  They  were  avo;wedly  de- 
ists and  democrats  — practisers  of  the 
*'  liberal  opinions,"  which  have  of  late 
been  so  fully  explained  to  us  by  vari- 
ous publications,  sent  into  the  world 
by  themselves.  Such  were  the  lead- 
ers— men,  whom  the  most  charitable 
could  not  suspect  of  honesty,  and  who 
could  not  have  managed  the  affidrs  of  *^ 
a  country  village,  without  plunging 
them  in  ruin. 

The  followers  were  the  poor,  profli- 
gate, ambitious,  turbulent,,  romandc, 
portion  —  the  scum — of  the  upper 
classes;  blind  and  perjured  armies, 
and  an  ignorant,  deluded,  senseless 
populace. 

We  shall  not  be  charged  with  ex- 
aggeration. The  revolutionary  lead- 
ers of  France,  Spain,  Naples,  Portu- 
gal, &c.  have  been  fully  placed  before 
the  eyes  of  all  men,  and  keeping  them 
perfectly  distinct  from  those  who  af- 
ter their  success  were  unavoi<lably^ 
drawn  into  their  train,  there  never 
was  such  a  tremendous  mass  of  po- 
verty, ignorance,  inexperience,  ro- 
mance, profligacy,  imbecility,  and  folly 
exhibited  to  the  wonder  of  the  world. 
They  consisted  of  precisely  that  por- 
tion of  mankind  which  ought  never  on 
any  account  to  be  suffered  to  make 
changes  in  forms  of  government,  or 
the  constitution  of  society.  The"  Con- 
stitutionalists" of  France  were  the 
dolts  and  knaves  of  her  revolution,  and 
the  minions  of  Buonaparte ;  the  wea- 
thercocks who,  though  veering  about 
every  day  of  their  lives,  could  never 
once  look  at  public  freedom,  or  the 
good  of  mankind.  They  were  not  to 
amend  the  Charter  and  remove  the 
Ministers ;  they  were  not  even  to  be 
content  with  dianging  the  constitu- 
tion altogether :  oh  no  !  they  were  to 
banish  the  reigning  branch  of  the 
Royal  Family,  take  th^  sovereignty 
entirely  into  their  hands,  and  make  . , 
any  man  whatever  king,  who  might 
suumit  to  be  their  slave.  Those  of 
Spain  established  a  constitntion  which 
nothing  whatever  but  the  powtt  of 
15 


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State  tfEw9pi,ami  tie  Holy  AINtmee. 


Heft?en  could  have  put,  and  kept,  in 
motion.  It  had  not  been  set  up  an 
bour,  before  it  ▼irtoaUy  tumbled  into 
tuins.  The  King  became  a  prisoner 
and  a  tool  —  the  revolutionifits .  be* 
oame  despots — apolitical  clubs  became 
judges  and  Junes — and  the  reign  of 
pure  tyranny  began.  This  constitu- 
tion was  demonstrated  to  be  incapable 
of  working,  it  was  in  effect  set  aside 
by  its  authors,  and  yet  when  France, 
asked  for  such  slterations  in  it  only  as 
all  men  saw  were  necessary,  such  as 
England  recommended,  sucn  as  nearly 
the  whole  Spanish  people  called  for, 
and  such  as  the  Constitutionalists  them- 
•elres  indirectly  admitted  ought  to  be 
made,  these  persons  obstinately  refu- 
sed to  make  the  least  alteration,  al- 
though they  knew  that  the  refusal 
would  draw  upon  them  the  whole 
power  of  France,  when  they  were  ut- 
terly destitute  of  means  for  withstand- 
ing it.  The  alterations  which  France 
a^ed,  and  findand  recommended, 
and  the  Spanish  people  called  for, 
would  have  saved  Spain  from  civil 
war,  from  a  war  with  France,  from 
the  re-establishment  of  an  absolute 
monarchy,  andfrom  utter  ruin ;— they 
would  have  ^ven  to  Spain  a  really 
free  constitution,  and  genuine  liberty. 
But  then  they  would  have  removed 
the  revolutionists  from  power;  and 
Spain,  and  ever^rthiog  else,  was  to  be 
sacrificed  to  their  ambition  and  cupi- 
di^.  The  war  commenced,  and  they 
exhibited  throughout,  such  a  destitu- 
tion of  energy,  wisdom,  ability,  and 
principle,  as  was  never  exhibited  by 
any  set  of  men  before.  In  Naploi 
the  Constitutionalists  destroyed  the 
form  of  ffovemment,  and  then  they 
discovered  that  they  had  not  prepared 
another  to  replace  it  with  f  In  the 
midst  of  this  awkward  discovery,  they 
remembered  the  Spanish  constitution 
— the  immrscticable  Spanish  constitu- 
tion—and thev  immeoiately  proclaim- 
ed it,  although  not  a  copy  of  it  could* 
be  found,  and  not  one  of  them  was 
even  tolerably  acquainted  with  its  pro- 
visions and  nature.  Of  the  Portuguese 
Constitutionalists,  it  is  enough  to  say, 
that  the^  took  Jeremy  Bentham  for 
their  guide,  and  maintained  a  dose 
ccmrespondenoe  with  him — that  Uiey 
commenced  with  taking  themost  effec- 
tual steps  for  leparattnff  the  Braxils 
from  Portogd,  with  insmting  Austria, 
disgusting  England,  &c  These  were 
the  persons  who  were  toestablidb  new 
Voa.  XV. 


S8S 

forma  of  govemmcntt  and  re-model 
society  throughout  Europe— who  were 
to  talce  upon  themselves  thedominion 
over  two  nundred  millions  of  people— 
who  were,  in  eflfect,  to  become  the 
guides  and  sovereigns  of  nesrly  the 
whole  universe  I ! !  Yet  in  this  en- 
lightened sge,  these  persons  could  find 
some  men  to  be  their  friends,  and 
honest  men  to  be  their  apologists ! 

The  creed,  plans,  and  conduct,  of  the 
ConstitutionaUsts  necessarily  arrayed 
the  Nobility,  the  Cl^^,  the  rich,  the 
religious,  the  experienced,  and  the 
wise  of  every  country  against  them. 
Compronuse  between  them  and  the  con- 
tinental  ffovemments  was  utterly  im- 
practicable. Their  demands  would 
admit  of  no  abatement ;  and  these  de» 
mands  were  clearly  seen  to  involve  tha 
virtual  dethronement  of  the  monarch, 
the  dismissal  of  his  minlBters,  and  tha 
ruin  of  his  dominions.  Looking  merely 
at  national  will,  the  whole  of  the 
wealth  and  intelligence,  and  the  nu- 
merical migorit^,  were  flatly  opposed 
to  the  Constitutionalists.  The  Goveni- 
ments  therefore,  whether  they  looked 
at  their  own  existence,  the  good  of 
those  whom  they  governed,  legitimata 
national  will,  or  the  interests  of  the 
world  at  lar^,  had  no  alternative,  but 
vigorous  resistance.  It  was  impossibla 
for  them  to  proceed  with  the  work  of 
cradual  and  rational  freedom,  for  their 
hands  were  fully  occupied  in  keepina 
down  the  revolutionists  ;  and  it  would 
have  been  ruin  to  have  proceeded  with 
it,  if  they  had  possessed  the  meana. 
It  would  have  doubled  the  excitement 
and  fanaticism  which  everywhere  ex* 
iBted ;  it  would  have  given  the  colour 
of  truth  and  justice  to  the  clamour  of 
the  revolutionists,  and  would  have 
thrown  so  much  additional  power  into 
the  hands  of  these  persons,  as  would 
have  rendered  them  irresistible.  Ge- 
nuine liberty  was  thus  lost  to  the  pre- 
sent generation  when  it  was  just  with- 
in its  reach,  and  tins  was  not  the  worst 
Sodetv  waa  in  many  parts  so  violently 
convulsed,  and  its  component  parts 
were  so  unnaturally  disunited  ana  in- 
flamed against  each  other,  that  nothing 
but  the  chain  could  hold  it  together. 
The  sut:ject  was  refractory,  therefore 
the  forgotten  scourge  resiuned  its  ae- 
tivitv,  and  what  had  bngbeen  pra^U 
cal  hberty,  became  harsh  slavery.  AD 
this  must  be  char^  exclusively  upon 
the  Constitntionshiti. 
«  Such  has  been  the  state  of  things 
«T 


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Cltat«h> 


Msntal  GoreniDieiiti  and  the  ConstS* 
Uitiomlists  hai^  heett  wttrting  i^;ainM 
"eadi  dther  fbr  iKArly  the  wbole  of  the 
fntervetaiog  periods  If  the  Utter  had 
oondsted  of  the  ireftlth^  ii^telligcDce^ 
talent,  and  integrity  bf  the  respective 
Mates^of  men,  religions,  enliditened, 
ftnd  honourable ;  having  no  widi  for  of- 
fice and  emdttment ;  anxions  to  protect 
tBther  Uian  injure  religion  and  public 
tnorals ;  and  metely  during  to  mbrm 
IftbVious  abuses,  and  to  obtain  institu-* 
tiotas  clearly  necessary  for  general  good. 
We  should  have  been  among,  their 
iramiest  supporters ;  and  we  are  much 
mistaken  if  th^  wouM  have  been,  ot 
could  have  been,  Ifesisted.  But  when 
they  were  what  w«  have  stated — When 
the  lust  of  powe^  and  profit  was  ob* 
Piously  their  chief  motive— when  they 
Wished  not  only  to  efi^t  a  radiod 
change  in  civil  institutions,  but  to  re^ 
>rer8e  the  r^ation  in  which  tiie  differ^* 
Bnt  classes  of  society  stand  towards 
each  other,  to  ttutnple  upon  religion, 

Snd  to  alter  all^^her  the  feelings  and 
abits  of  tnankind;  and  when  the 
ibrms  of  government  which  they 
tMmght  to  eMabli^  were  demonstrably 
Incapable  of  enduring,  and  of  produ-* 
cine  anything  but  evils  and  ruin — we 
tiad  no  choice  left,  but  to  become  ^leir 
lyitter  enemiea,  ol:  to  turn  out  of  doors 
our  reason  and  principles.  The  ques- 
tion was  not,  ought  the  absolute  go- 
vernments of  the  continent  to  remain 
Vmdianged? — ^But  it  vras,  ought  they 
to  be  changed  to  sndi  as  the  Liberals 
ivould  raise  in  thdr  stead?  and  we 
could  not  hedtate.  To  remain  neu- 
tral was  imnossiMe^  The  Liberals 
wade  ^he  eime  t>f  their  hostility  so  ex- 
cessivdy  wide,  that  it  induded  idl  the 
fyest  interests  of  manldnd,  and  it  com- 
^tely  embraced  England.  They 
ibUjght  as  much  against  our  constitu- 
tional, rdigious,  and  other  prindples, 
as  against  anything  that  ^y  sought 
to  destroy;  they  c«led  our  King,  Mi- 
bisters,  affid  Tories,  tyrants;  and  he 
fm^  be  b^d  indeed  who  cannot  see, 
that  If  they  had  obtained  possession  of 
the  oonfinenlid  thrones,  oura  wouM 
have  been  placed  in  ^e  most  imminent 
danger. 

With  fjhat  blundering  stupidity 
which  they  displayed  throughout,  in- 
stead of  making,  as  they  easily  might 
'have  done,  the  cause  of  the  AlBed  Mo- 
narchs,  the  cause  ik  deil)^otisra  d«me, 
«id  thm  leaving  it  ahnost  witbout^e- 


fttadisti^  theynhMbM  il  ttpwidiiA 
that  is  deftr  to  humanity,  aiid  made  it 
the  cauft  of  Gdd  and  man.  11iecon« 
tequences  they  aic  now  bitteriy  deplo-r 
ring.  It  fills  us  with  shame  and  8or« 
now  to  have  to  record  the  ftcts,  that 
there  are  persons  in  this  land  of  liberw 
ty,  BO  miseraUy  ignorant  of  the  nature 
cf  liberty,  as  to  In^lieve  that  these  Li- 
berals were  capable  of  establishing  it, 
and  that  their  wretched  constitutions 
wekre  capable  of  yidding  it ;  that  there 
are  ]^ersons  in  this  gh^ous  nation  so 
hosule  to  all  that  is  true  in  feding  and 
prindple,  and  to  all  the  highest  into* 
rests  c«  mankind,  as  to  be  the  eulogists 
and  champions  of  these  Liberals.  The 
Whigs  are  these  persons ;  and  of  course 
the  Edinburgh  Review  has  nut  ft>rdi 
its  whole  enei^es  against  the  AlHed 
Sovereigns.  Against  these  Sovereigns, 
the  two  Artides  whidi  we  are  about  to 
notice  are  directed ;  and  we  have  there* 
fote  thought  it  proper  to  pxeface  o4dr 
remarics  widi  this  plain  statement. 

The  first  is  declamatory,  somewhat 
frothy,  and  not  a  little  proftise  in  as^ 
sumption  and  mis-statement.  It  ex- 
hibits occasional  gleams  cS  candour, 
a  grf»t  deal  of  diil£iAi  prejudice,  much 
visionary  the<^,  and  no  logic  at  all : 
in  its  flights  aftet  hypothesis,  philoso- 
phy, and  eloquence,  it  makes  admis- 
sions which  ere  far  more  than  suffident 
to  strangle  it  wholly  as  a  piece  of  rea- 
soning. It  is,  however,  when  we  re* 
mem&r  what  the  Review  has  in  lat« 
years  been,  respectable  as  a  literary  ef* 
rort,  and  even  gentlemanly  as  a  morsel 
of  party  vituperation.  Tlie  second  is 
a  disgrace  even  to  the  Edinburgh  Re^ 
View.  It  is  the  veriest  piece  of  com- 
mon-place that  ever  dunce  scrawled 
upon  paper.  It  contains  nothing  that 
has  not  been  given  to  the  world  ten 
thousand  times  before,  by  the  Morn- 
ing Chronicles  and  Black  Dwarfs,  in 
ten  thousand  times  better  language.  \t 
is  80  deplorably  wretched  in  spirit  and 
literary  execution,  that  we  cannot  di- 
vest ourselves  of  the  belief,  that  ft  has 
been  vn-itten  by  some  newspaner  edi- 
tor, whom  the  decline  ofRadicalism  has 
thrown  out  of  bread :  and  that  charity 
has  Mindly  admitted 'it,  without  being 
iiware  of  the  blot  that  it  would  cast 
upon  the  remnant  of  the  Review's  im- 
putation. In  spite  of  the  Alf/or»cu^air 
#faidi  is  bborioudy  thrown  over  it, 
and  tiie  «endemesa  with  wbic^  the 
•<  great  man"  ''  Napoleon,"  is  spoken 
df,  wfe  will  noi-^we  cwmot— bdieve 


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i«ai^3 


.«W«  2r*-«n»e>  ^  *^^^%  *«»•!«» 


that  U  hMlMfii  wiiUca  bj«  tfmtar 
^  the  Uovm  of  Commoni,  and  a  p«r«r 
foo  ooQo^nied  with  the  location  of 
^ur  Yoiith.  The  feelinn  are  go  tho«i 
rotumj  un-Engluhj  and  the  diction  U 
suoh  miierable  English^  that  we  can 
gcaroely  helieve  it  to  have  been  writ# 
ten  by  an  Englishman  of  anv  oUm. 

The  foUowing  are  some  ot  the  foots 
of  these  articles.  The  first,  raeaking 
of  the  conduct  which  the  Allied  Sove^ 
reigns  pursued  after  the  peace,  states 

1.  "  Their  charters  were  revoked— ' 
their  promises  broken— their  amnes- 
ties  violated— the  most  offensive  pre« 
tensions  were  openly  put  forward — the 
most  revolting  pnyudiees  countenan- 
ced—the  smauer  states  were  relent-i 
lessly  sacrificed— and  the  greater  ones, 
made  more  formidable  by  their  uniouj 
assumed  a  tone  of  dictation  unknown 
in  the  history  of  the  world— and  used 
it  to  proclaim  the  most  slavish  doc* 
trines,  and  to  announce  their  purpose 
to  maintain  them  at  the  point  of  the 
eword." 

%  "  Upon  this  system  they  have 
since  acted— ^and,  so  far  as  thev  have 

E»ne,  they  have  been  sucoessfVu.  Ar« 
trsry  government  is  now  maintained 
all  over  the  continent  of  Europe  morf 
efenly  in  theory,  and  more  rigorously 
in  practice^,  than  it  was  before  tlie 
French  Revolution  was  heard  of ;  and 
political  freedom  is  more  jealously  pro- 
scribed, and  liberal  (minions  more  vin* 
dictively  renrmed,  Uian  in  any  period 
of  modem  nistory.  After  the  specu* 
lations  and  experience  of  thirty-five 
years,  we  seam  at  least  as  far  from  po- 
litiosl  improvementj  as  we  were  at  the 
bsginningi" 

8. ''  It  is  a  But,  no  less  oertsin  than 
lamentable,  that  the  governments  of 
continentsl  Europe  are  at  this  mqment 
jnaore  truly  arbitrary  in  principle  and 
praetioe,  than  they  ^er  were  before." 

4.  <<  France  headingacrusadeagauist 
^ationsl  independence,  and  announ- 
dxuf  t^  creed  of  unqualified  despotism." 

jiom  the  seoond  article— 

$,  *^  The  conspiracy  of  the  sov»- 
jreigns  against  t$e  improvement  of 
jvankind.  That  we  have  a  right  thus 
0  describe  the  kague,  is  amply  de# 
monstrated  by  its  whole  proceeoingiu 
To  prevent  the  establishment  of  free 
jpyvemraents,  end  not  only  of  demo* 
ijcades,  but  of  limited  monarchies^ 
Jua  been  its  avowed  okject  ever  sino^ 
its  active  c^erations  commenoed." 
.   6.  <'  Wmi  ipdnd  tbo  liortane  tf 


and,  throu^  tba  ezertioM  of  theis 
Ittlgects,  the  AlHes  regained  their  in^ 
dependence,  nothing  in  the  histoify  % 
human  rapacity  and  ^pasanpeas,  erw 
surpassed  their  nnprincipled  adoptioi 
of  the  very  worst  parts  of  his  owdufi^ 
to  foreign  and  independent  nations. ' , 
7.  "While  the  people  (of  Italy)  ii» 
general  are  oppresMd  by  severe  fosu^ 
tiona*  insulted  by  a  barbarous  aolr 
diery,  and  deprival  evai^  of  the  bene^ 
fits  of  a  good  police  -•««••.  thi| 
Tnore  refined  dasaes,  the  nobles,  th<| 
lawyers,  the  men  of  letters,  are  expo^ 
sed  to  a  persecution  that  knows  n^ 
bounds  for  supposed  poUticsl  ofv 
fences." 

.  $. ''The detestable nrcfiect of mili^ 
tary  persecution  for  political  opinionsj 
of  preventing  by  main  force  all  inw 
nrovement  in  the  condition  of  man^ 
bud,  and  perpetuating  slavery  and 
ignorance,  and  every  form  of  pernici- 
ous and  antiquated  abuse ;  of  estar 
blishing  arbitrary  power  at  the  point 
of  the  bayonet,  and  violently  hewing 
down  all  firee  institutions,  in  order  t^ 
secure  the  tranquillity  of  armed  ty^ 
rantf,  under  the  hoUow  pretext  of 
mainuining  the  peaoe  of  the  world,— r 
has  for  the  present  succeededt" 

9.  "  The  hatred  of  her  yoke  (th^ 
yoke  of  France  in  Spain)  can  only  be 
equalled  by  the  determination  to  de* 
stroy  the  government  she  has  esta* 
bUsned  against  the  wishes  qf  the  peom 
pie.  If  her  armies  are  withdrawn, 
there  is  an  end  of  the  despotism  of 
Ferdinand ;  and  if  the^  remain,  Uiey 
half  occupy,  and  half*^  govern,  some 
small  distncts  of  a  large  country,  all 
the  rest  of  which  is  divided  between 
rebeUbn  and  anarchy." 

10.  "  That  on  the  continent  of 
Europe  they  (the  Allies)  are  determir 
ped  to  leave  nothing  like  a  populaif 
constitution,  is  manifest" 

^ow,  tk  there  any  West  man  in 
the  country.  Whig  or  Tory,  who  wili« 
say^  that  these  can  be  called  exagge^ 
rations,  ormisrepresentatiops:  or  wat 
they  can  be  called  anything  wbatever| 
but  grosSf/oulf  rank,  bast^  and  wicks^ 
UNTauTHS?  Wesay  no!  What  thenar^ 
we  to  think  of  those  who  have  writteii 
them  ?  If  they  be  not  garretteers,  U« 
ving  out  of  tlie  world,  and  never  see* 
ing  a  newspaper,  not  even  a  weekly 
sheet  of  sedition  and  blasphemy  ;-rif 
they  csU  themselves  geyi^emen,  ana 
move  in  the  intelligent  qrdes,«f*fai| 


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Th§  Edinburgh  Sepiew.    Nth  LXTFUL 


[[Mtnsif 


we  ragnd  tlion  with  anjUiing  bat 
toorn  and  di^giut,  witfaoat  admiUiDg 
ftls^ood  to  be  blamdew^  and  the  liart 
of  society  to  be  estimablepeople?  The 
Edinbnj^  Reriew  is  a  censor  of  the 
British  Press;— it  aflfects  to  nredde 
^iver  our  literature^  to  chastise  uteranr 
delinquency,  and  to  hunt  down  wn- 
ters  who  endeavour  to  impose  upon, 
and  delude  the  world.  Itself,  and  the 
'party  to  which  it  belongs,  declare 
themselves  to  be  the  exclusive  friends 
of  truth  and  knowledge — the  exdu' 
sive  Mends  to  the  instruction  of  the  ig- 
norant When  their  professions  are 
compared  with  the  extracts  from  the 
Work  that  we  hare  given,  could  shame- 
less profligacy  be  carried  farther? 
Does  not  the  publication  of  such  vil- 
lainous stuff  constitute  as  base  an  at* 
tempt  to  impose  upon  and  delude  the 
ignorant,  as  could  be  made  ? — ^Lift  up 
your  voices,  ye  Broughams,  and  cry 
aloud  for  sdiools  and  schoolmasters  I 
teach  every  ploughman  and  mechanic 
in  the  nation  to  read; — ^write  and 
put  into  their  hands  such  articles  as 
these,  and  we  shall  speedily  have  a 
population,  knowing  in  everything  but 
Knowledge,  and  admirably  fitted  for 
doing  everything  that  the  profligate, 
the  demagogue,  and  the  traitor  may 
wish  it  to  do. 

France  was  two  several  times  in  the 
hands  of  the  Allied  Monarchs.  At  the 
last  time  she  was  completely  at  their 
mercy;  and  she  had  been  guilty  of 
conduct,  which  even  called  for  severe 
treatment,  and  which  made  it  a  matter 
of  doubt,  whether  any  other  than  a 
government  practically  absolute  could 
govern  her.  The  present  Monarch  was 
placed  upon  the  throne — ^her  army  was 
.disbanded,  and  she  was  left  wholly 
without  one — the  Allies  occupied  her 
with  a  mighty  army — the  great  mass 
of  her  population  were  perfectly  indif- 
ferent to  liberty — ^a  large  portion  of 
the  people  were  actually  inclined  to 
make  the  King  absolute,  and  the  com- 
paratively few  who  called  for  liberty, 
were  notoriously  the  old  Revolution- 
ists and  the  Buonapartists,  men  dis- 
afi^cted  to  the  reigning  Monarch — a 
dynasty  had  just  been  expelled,  and 
diose  who  wished  for  its  re-establish- 
ment were  numerous,  wealthy,  and 
formidable.  In  addition  to  all  this, 
France  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  con- 
tinent:  she  was  the  most  active  an4 
Tpomeml  df  the  continental  nations, 
and  it  waa  to  be  confidently  expected^ 


that  if  she  obtained  a  free  form  of  go* 
vemment,  it  would  beget  a  wfoh  in 
the  neighbouring  countries  for  an 
equal  measure  of  freedom.  Now,  if 
the  AlHed  Monarchs  had  been  anxioua 
to  put  down,  *^  not  only  democracies, 
but  limited  monarchies  /' — if  they  had 
wished  to  ''  estabhah  arbitrary  power 
at  the  point  of  the  bayonet,"  they 
would  assuredly  have  placed  France 
under  an  absolute  government  There 
was  nothing  to  prevent  it,  there  was 
everything  to  tempt  diem  to  do  it, 
and  there  were  very  many  things 
which  seemed  to  call  for  it  as  a  matter 
of  necessity..  But  what  did  they  do? 
They  gave  to  France  a  limited  monar- 
chy, which  seemed  to  her  the  utmost 
measure  of  liberty  that  she  could  be 
safely  entrusted  with ;  and  they  even 
gave  her,  as  a  matter  of  choice.  Liberals 
for  Ministers.  France  is  now  nomi- 
nally and  practically  free,  and  her 
freedom  she  owes  wholly  to  the  gene- 
rosity of  *'  the  Holy  Alliance."  Here  are 
between  thirty  and  forty  millions  of 
people  whose  chains  were  struck  off 
Dy  tne  "  Deapots" — where  are  the  mil- 
lions, the  thousands,  the  hundreds, 
the  tens,  who  have  been  set  free  by 
the  *'  ConstitutionaUsts?" 

But  Spain  is  the  grand  theme  with 
the  Liberals; — ^well  then,  what  are  the 
real  facts  of  the  case  with  r^ard  to 
Spain  ?  He  who  will  say  that  the  re- 
volution of  that  country  was  the  deed 
of  the  nation,  will  say  anything  what- 
ever that  falsehood  may  dictate.  It 
was  the  work  of  a  few  demaiiogues 
and  fanatics,  and  the  army ;  the  na- 
tion at  large  had  scarcely  anv  hand 
in  accomplishing  it;  the  wealth  and 
inteUigence  were  opposed  to  it,  and  the 
populace  cheered  i t  mr  i ts  novelty , with- 
out understanding  anything  of'^its  na- 
ture. The  Continental  Governments 
viewed  it  with  alarm  and  dislike; 
alarm,  on  account  of  the  frightful  ex- 
ample which  it  was  estabhshing  for 
ignorant  armies  to  take  upon  them- 
selves the  exercise  of  the  sovereign 
X>ower ;  and  dislike,  on  account  of  the 
principles  and  character  of  its  authors. 
Yet  they,  although  with  very  great  re- 
luctance, recognized  the  government 
which  it  formed ;  and,  if  the  Consti- 
tutionalists had  been  in  the  least  de- 
gree qualified  by  honesty  and  ability, 
to  discharge  the  duties  they  had  ta- 
ken upon  themselves,  they  would  ne- 
ver have  been  disturbed.  But  they 
were  cradd>rained  thecristaand  vision- 


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18d4.3  Siai€  ofEun)pe, 

'•riet^  who  knew  nothing  of  common 
seme  and  human  nature^  and  who  were 
Jnst  as  well  fitted  fot  roling  the  dog« 
atarasaldngdom.  Their cre^^too^  was 
«  false  one^  deetmctiTe  in  the  last  de- 
gree to  the  honds  of  union  of  a  com- 
munity^ and  more  discordant  with  the 
character  of  the  Spaniards,  than  with 
that  of  any  other  people.  Eyerything 
was  in  their  fkTour  at  the  commence- 
ment. The  army  was  devoted  to  them, 
the  people  everywhere  cheerfully  suh- 
mitted,  they  filled,  without  difficulty, 
every  petty  office  in  the  kingdbm  with 
their  creatures,  and  the  influential 
classes  fell  into  their  train  and  asso- 
ciated themselves  with  them.    Cir- 
cumstances seemed  to  render  it  im- 
possible for  them  to  avoid  consolidating 
their  triumph,  and  vet  they- strange- 
ly contrived  to  avoia  doing  anything, 
save  what  was  calculated  to  undo  it. 
Instead  of  removing  the  cloud  of  sus- 
picion which  enveloped  their  principles 
and  character  in  the  eyes  of  Spain  and 
Europe,  they  did  everything  in  their 
power  to  convert  it  to  certainty.  They 
pnblidy  identified  themselves  witn 
old  Bentham  and  the  European  Re- 
volutionists in  creed;  and  the  asto- 
nished world  saw,  for  the  first  time,  a 
monarchical  government  eternally  pro- 
pagating republican  principles,  and 
proclaiming  its  determination  to  be 
guided  by  nothing  else.  Instead  of  con- 
ciliating other  governments,  they  ex- 
asperated them.      They  would  not 
listen  to  their  suggestions,  remedy 
what  was  justly  obnoxious,  follow  the 
conduct  of  those  of  England  and 
France,  and  conform  to  the   rules 
which  were  necessary  for  the  good  of 
all ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  they  open- 
ly expressed  Uidr  dislike  of  them,  and, 
while  it  was  notorious  that  no  real 
freedom  of  the  press  existed,  their 
public  prints  teemed  with  abuse  of 
other  governments,  not  excepting  that 
of  England,  and  with  the  most  anar- 
chical doctrines.  Instead  of  giving  to 
the  Aristocracy  its  due  dignity  and 
power,  they  kept  it  in  its  state  of  pro- 
scription ;  ana  while  the  Spaniards 
were  not  merely  religious  men,  but 
bigots,  slavishly  devot^  to  their  priests, 
they  were  at  no  pains  to  conc^  that 
they  were  Deists,  their  papers  made 
eternal  war  on  the  churcn,  and  Uiey 
made  it  manifest  to  all,  by  their  mea- 
sures, that  they  had  Uie  overthrow  of 
the  church  in  contemplation.    They 
thuB  drew  upon  themsc^es  the  hatxed. 


mdiheHofyAUimei. 


salt 

not  only  of  the  Infiaentiil  dasaes,  but 
of  the  great  body  of  the  people,  and 
the  measure  of  mis  hatred  waa  filled 
up  by  their  wild,  senseless,  partial, 
and  wicked  svstem  of.  governing. 
They  were  openly  dictated  to  by  dobs 
of  blind,  brainless  fimatics.  Their 
newspapers,  written  by  themselves, 
daily .  circulated  doctrines  levdled 
against  the  foundationsof sodety.  They 
placed  themsdvesin  a  state  of  hostih- 
ty  with  the  great  mass  of  die  nation, 
sidministered  the  functions  of  govern- 
ment accordingly,  and  it  was  dearly 
seen,  that  the  gp-eat  ol^ject  of  almost 
all  their  measures  was,  their  own  be* 
nefit  as  a  faction,  widiout  any  refe- 
rence to  public  weaL  Thrir  minions 
oppressed  all  who  didiked  Uiem,  with 
impunity-^diey  committed  manyatro* 
dous  acts  of  tyranny,  which  were  de* 
monstrably  a  sacrifice  of  public  good 
to  Uieir  own  dirty  personal  interests— 
and  while  they  were  everlastingly 
crying—The  Constitution !— the  desr 
Constitution!  it  was  known  to  the 
whole  world  that  they  had  themsdvea 
abrogated  this  constitution,  that  it  no 
longer  existed  except  in  name;  that 
ihey  had  in  efibct  deposed  the  King^ 
and  made  him  a  dose  prisoner,  and  a 
tool,  and  that  thc^  rule  was  flu*  more 
despotic  than  that  of  the  old  govern- 
ment. All  Europe  was  astounded  by 
their  prodigious  ignorance  and  inca- 
paci^ ;  their  appalling  madness  and 
criminality  ;  and  they  became  the 
laughing-stock  of  sensible  men  of  aH 
parties  mr  the  former,  and  the  objects 
of  ^neral  abhorrence  for  the  latter. 
Spam  detested  them — ^they  had  blown 
up  the  flame  of  faction  to  a  height 
wnich  had  consumed  the  power  of  die 
laws  and  the  bonds  of  sodety— dvil 
war  commenced — diey  already  spoke 
of  a  republic— the  depontion  of  the 
King,  and  the  butchery  of  whole 
elasses — ^the  country  was  in  the  first 
stages  of  ruin,  and  everything  they 
did  was  calculated  to  make  this  ruin 
complete. 

Our  readers  will  find  all  this  con- 
firmed, if  they  will  turn  to  our  public 
prints  for  the  period  which  preceded 
the  announcement,  that  the  Allied 
Powers  meant  to  interfere  with  the 
affluTs  of  Spain.  They  will  find  that 
it  was  then  the  opinion  of  all  pardes, 
that  the  existing  Spsnish  govem^i 
ment  could  not  stand,— that  all  men 
-believed  the  ruling  party  to  be  copy- 
ing the  Fl«ndi  BevQlation,aiid  tl|it« 


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The  EdM^gk  JU»km.    No.  LXXFIII. 


S98 

ML  npelititeof  llie  FvteA  Revidiin 
tkm  in  Spain  was  inevilabla.  Witln 
oat  Jwtitying  at  all  the  inteifareiioa 
qf  Fraiice,  we  will  say,  as  a  &ctr-^aa  a 
ftct  which  no  eartibly  power  can  im« 
pcadi— *that  if  Spain  had  been  kfl  to 
brsdf,  ihe  had  no  other  prospect  be« 
finre  her^  so  f^  as  hnman  foresight 
eonld  extend^  than  a  train  of  the  most 
hitter  horrors  that  can  visit  a  nation. 
'  Fornearlv  three  years  the  Constitu* 
tionaHsts  hdd  the  power  in  Snain  with* 
out  being  attacked  by  the  AiHes ;  and 
we  repeat^  that  if  they  had  possessed 
the  most  modcarate  share  of  honesty 
snd  alnlity,  they  never  would  and  the^ 
sever  could  have  been  attacked.  If  it 
had  been  one  of  the  possibilities  of 
nature^  for  unprindj^ed  men  to  go* 
¥sm  honestly — ^for  imbecile  men  to 

givem  wisely  •^for  a  form  of  govern-? 
cnt  to  be  a  monarchy  and  a  pure  de« 
mocracy  at  the  same  moment*— for  a 
captive  King  to  love  captivity^  and  to 
be  vrithout  adherents  in  the  midst  of 
a  loyal  people<^for  the  Aristocracy  of 
m  kingdom  to  reconcile  itself  to  pro« 
acripaon*— and  for  a  band  of  low-bom, 
namdess,  poverty-stricken  ddsts  and 
democrats  to  be  obeyed  by  a  popular 
ftion  of  bigots  in  religion,  and  a^ots 
for  royalty,  the  Consatutionalistshad 
been  at  this  moment  the  rulers  of 
6pain.  But  it  was  not.  They  brought 
their  country  into  ruin,  they  ranged 
Spain  herself  with  the  Allies  against 
them,  and  they  supplied  the  Allies 
with  the  most  plausible  pretexts  for 
attacking  them.  The  Sovereigns  cslU 
«d  for  me  liberation  of  their  ally  the 
King,  and  all  the  world  knew  that  his 
Ministers  had  no  right  to  make  him  a 
prisoner ;— 4hey  caUed  for  such  alter- 
atUms  in  the  form  and  practice  of  the 
Constitution,  as  would  reconcile  it  with 
the  principles  of  sodal  order  and  good 
fiovemment,  and  the  intelligent  of 
Bvery  party  admitted  that  these  alter<^ 
^ons  were  necessary.  But  the  Con^ 
stitntioiialists  treated  averv  call  with , 
disdain.  It  has  been  said,  even  by 
4faose  who  Justifled  Ae  attack  of  Aus- 
iria  upon  Nnples,  that  the  attack  of 
France  upon  Spain  was  a  violation  of 
the  law  otnations,— but  what  were  the 
naked  features  of  this  violation  ?  It 
was  ardendy  desired,  and  even  soli- 
cited by  the  Kii^,  and  not  merely  by 
the  King,  but  hj  neariy  the  whdb 

Pie  ofSpain— Ht  was  welcomed  by 
I  as  an  act  of  the  kindest  friencU 
Hip  attack  was  moanl  to  etrft 


CMardb 


Spm^  br  dsiittfting  her  tm.  tl^a  tii- 
ranny  of  those  who  had  plaoed  her  i» 
hoa&m  a«d  ruin ;— it  waa  madeLMt 
upon  the  nation,  but  iqpon  the  govent^ 
ment ;  and  not  upon  an  old  govemr 
m^t,  ruling  by  a  good  title ;  out  up* 
on  a  new  one,  which  aoauired  ita 
power  by  usurpation,  ana  h^  it 
against  the  national  wUl.  In  its  ger 
neral  character,  it  waa  an  attack  upon 
the  creed  of  the  French  Revolution, 
and  upon  the  men  who  sought  to 
practise  it  From  the  conduct  of  the 
republican  government  of  France,  and 
of  the  government  of  Buonaparte,  the 
Allied  Monardis  laid  it  down  as  an 
indisputable  principle,  that  no^vem<» 
ment  which  stood  upon  Jaoobinism-i* 
which  was  composea  of  mea  who  act^ 
ed  upon  that  compound  of  imdigion, 
selflsnness,  turbulenoe,  andprofligscy, 
which  *'  Liboal  opinions'  form — 
could  be  bound  by  treaties,  could  be 
taup;ht  to  respect  the  rights  of  other 
nations,  could  be  rcatrained  from  conr 
tinually  attempting  to  stir  up  rebel- 
lion in  other  States,  and  could  exist 
as  anything  but  a  curse  to  Uiose  whom 
it  governed; — and  therefore  that  no 
auen  government  could  with  safety  be 
tolerated  in  Europe.  Upon  this  min^- 
dple  they  acted,  when  wey  put  down 
the  Spanidi  Liberals ;  after  first  gi^ 
ving  wese  persons  ample  <^q[>ortunity 
for  diewing  to  the  wcnrld  what  they 
really  were,  and  for  eonvindiu;  the 
most  incredulous  that  they  could  only 
use  thdr  power  for  involvmg  Spain  in 
calamities.  France  distinctly  oiar^ 
the  Spanish  ^vemmentwith  aiding 
and  encoursgmg  the  disaflSbcted  part 
of  her  population,  when  plot  after  plot 
was  exploding  among  them>  intended 
to  compass  a  revoluSon,  and  if  this 
were  true,  it  formed  a  just  ground  of 
war ;  the  Spanish  government  denied 
it,  but,  judging  fr<mi  character  in  the 
absence  of  pro^,  we  «re  compelled  to 
decide  in  fovour  of  the  assertions  of 
France. 

But  it  is  not  the  alle^  violation  of 
national  law  consid^ed  in  the  abstract^ 
it  is  the  object  which  it  was  meant  «p 
accomplish,  that  fills  the  £dinbur|^ 
Review  with  fury  against  the  Allies* 
Now  what  was  tlus  olgect  ?  '^  To  an- 
nounce a  creed  of  unqualified  despo- 
tian."— '^  To  prevent  the  establi^ 
ment  of  fVee  governments,  and  not 
mdy  of  dmocrades,  but  of  limited 
monarchies."— ^^  To  prevent  by  main 
foneaUimpr^yfiBSBttD  the  ooxiditian 


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1«4.3- 


SS^  of  Europe,  <md  thi  Hobf  AOumce^ 


Of  numldna,  M^petoate  darcry  and 
^gnomioe^  and  every  fonn  of  pernicU 
•w  and  antiquated  abuse ;  to  establiali 
arintrarj  poww  at  the  point  of  the 
kiyonet,  and  Tiolendy  hew  down  all 
me  institutions."  So  says  the  blush- 
lesB  and  profligate  Edinburgh  Review ! 
Tiiat  diere  is  a  single  individual  in 
our  high-minded  country,  who  calls 
himself  an  Englishman  and  a  gentle- 
nan,  and  still  proves  himself  to  be  so 
thoroughlv  destitute  of  the  feelings 
which  ou^t  to  actuate  both,  as  to  send 
into  the  world  assertions  like  these,  is 
to  us  a  matter  of  amazement  and  sor- 
row. Is  diere  one  man  in  Great  Bri- 
tain, who  has  read  the  newspapers  for 
tfae  last  two  years,  who  does  not  know, 
that  France— on  this  occasion  the  or- 
san  of  the  Alfies—^trictly  confined 
fiersdf  to  asking  for  such  alterationa 
OKLT  in  the  Constitutioii,  as  would 
have  brought  it  to  a  dose  resemblance 
to  those  of  France  and  England ; — ^to 
muk  alterations  oklt  as  would  have 
made  that  Constitution,  which  was 
^!«cticaHv  laid  aside,  the  source  of 
genuine  freedom  to  i^n,  if  Spain, 
wished  for  freedom,  witnout  chaining 
its  character  in  the  least,  as  a  clMcly 
limited  monarchy?  Is  there  any  one 
ao  grosdy  ignorant  as  not  to  know, 
that  the  alterations  wMch  the  Allies 
through  France  caUed  for,  were  such 
as  the  English  Ministers  strongly  re- 
oommended  the  Spanish  government 
to  nudce,  not  merely  as  concessions  to 
the  AUies,  but  as  things  essential  for 
the  good  of  Spain  herself?  And  is 
tiiere  any  one  so  ignorant  as  not  to 
kncFw,  tliat  these  alterations  were  im- 
periously necessary  for  the  establirii- 
ment  of  Spanish  liberty  ?  If  the  calk 
of  the  Allies  and  the  recommendation 
of  England  had  been  listened  to,  Spain 
«t  this  moment  would  have  had  a  K- 
mited  monarchy ;  and,  so  far  as  insti- 
tutions give  freedom,  she  would  have 
been  nearly  as  ftee  as  this  country. 
From  the  demands  which  France  at 
the  first  made,  die  never  swerved,  ei- 
iher  in  the  hour  of  danger,  or  in  that 
-ofcompllete  and  final  victory.  She  con- 
stantly throu^ut  expressed  hers^ 
to  be  as  mimicaA  to  the  re-establish- 
ment of  the  old  despotism,  as  to  the 
•oobtinuanoe  of  the  new  one ;  and  to  be 
anxious  for  ^e  establishment  of  po- 
pular institutions,  and  for  the  limiting 
hi  the  power  of  ^  Sovereign  to  ^ 
tediest  point  oonaistem  with  pru« 
4Mice  and  safoty. 


It  11  univsrsdly  notorious  thutiOM 
waa  sinoece ;— 4t  la  univcrstUy  notsri-* 
ous  thatfrom  the  hour  of  the  feng's  li<t 
beratkm,  her  infiuence  and  that  of  the 
Allies  have  been  strenuouriy  exerted 
to  obtain  a  limited  monarchy,  a  pops* 
lar  form  of  govenimen^  for  Spain  ;— 
and  it  is  universally  notorious,  Aat  it 
is  not  France,  it  is  not  the  AUies,  it  ia 
not  even  Ferdinand  himself,  that  pte* 
vents  Spain  from  obtaining  popular 
institutions  and  freedom ;  but  itu  tk^ 
overwhelming  mass  of  die  Spanishpoo^ 
^,  who  ate  worked  up  to  frenay ,  and 
who  will  hear  of  nothtngbutan  abso* 
lute  King.  So  much  for  tiiefoul  falie« 
hood,  that  the  Allies  **  announced  « 
creed  of  unqualified  despotism,"  and 
laboured  to  prevent  tfaeestahlislniienti 
**  not  only  of  democracies,  but  of  li- 
mited monarchiss."  And  what  did 
France  remove  in  Spain  ?  A  constitu- 
tion which  the  whole  world  condemned 
asbein^  £Edse  inprindtde  andincspalite 
of  motion,  whicn  hadbeen  diamdess^ 

Sset  aside  by  its  authors,  which  waa 
!te8ted  bv  l^ain,  and  which  had  pM- 
duced,  and  was  capable  of  produdng, 
nothing  but  evils  ;^-«  set  of  mon  wito 
had m^ea  prisoner  of  tiie  King,  who 
had  wantonlyset  atnoug^t  the  laws  and 
constitution,  whose  tyranny  was  men 
oppressive  than  that  of  theold  despot- 
iraa,  whose  principles  were  hostfie  ao 
all  good  goverMnent  and  to  die  eotist- 
ence  of  society,  and  who  hod  InvolveA 
theur  country  in  civil  wsr  and  n4». 
These  constituted  the  fraedMU  ^it 
France  '*  hewed  down"  in  Spain,  and 
the  Spanifih  pec^le  revemced  her  m 
«  saviour  for  the  deed{  Well  wiU  it 
be  for  the  peace,  prosperity,  happiness, 
and  liberty  of  me  world,  if  such  iiiBO. 
dom  be  mrays  "  hewed  down." 

We  have  stwvm  to  the  oonviotioncf 
aU  men  whom  plain  facts  can  convince, 
that  the  Allies  have  nut  down  a  ty- 
ranny in  France,  and  nave  established 
in  that  country  a  hraited  monarchy 
and  freedom :— 4hat  they  have  expel- 
led a  set  of  rulers  from  Spain,  who 
trammed  upon  tiie  constitution  and 
•laws,  and  wno  had  enslaved  and  min- 
ed their  country ;  and  that  they  have 
been  prevented  against  their  wiriies 
from  giving  a  limited  moniurehy  and 
fieedom  to  Spain,  bv  the  Spanish  peon 
pie  alone.  We  will  now  turn  our 
eyes  to  (heh- oondsct  in  theh*  own  ter- 
ritories. 

''  The  peo^e  (of  Italy)  m  general 
are  oppressed  by  severe  exacftions,  in* 


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The  EdMmrgh  Bevitw^    No.  LXXFIIL 


380 

suited  by  ft  bariMioas  aoldiery,  and 

dttMrived  even  of  the  benefits  of  a  good 

police." 

'*  The  detestable  pfcject  of  military 
peraecation  for  political  opinions^  of 
preventing  by  main  force  tUl  inwove' 
menl  in  &e  condition  of  mankind,  and 
perpetuating    slavery    and    igno- 

JLANCE  AND  ETBRY  FORM  OF  PERNICI* 

ous  AND  ANTIQUATED  ABUSE ;  of  es- 
tablishing arbitrary  power  at  the  point 
cf  the  bayonet;  and  violently  hewing 
down  all  free  institutions,  in  order  to 
securethe  tranquillity  of^armed  tyrants, 
under  the  hollow  pretext  of  maintain- 
ing the  peace  of  the  world^— has  for 
the  present  succeeded." 

"  The  conepiracy  of  the  sovereigns 
againit  the  improvement  of  mankind," 
*'  Those  who  have  declared  war  upon 
the  constitutional  system — ^have  by  an 
inevitable  consequence  proscribed  all 
improvement y  and  decreed  the  perpetU' 
al  reign  of  popular  ignorance  arid  de- 
haeement*' 

So  speaks  the  Edinburffh  Review  ; 
we  will  not  ourselves  supplv  the  refu- 
tation ;  it  shall  be  fumisned  by  an 
authority,  to  which  the  Review  itself 
will  reverentially  bow. 

''  They  (the  Allied  Sovereigns)  will 
endeavour  to  rectify  those  gross  errors 
in  their  interior  administration,  which 
are  a  source  at  6nce  of  weakness  and 
disoontent.**They  will  not  only  seek 
to  improve  the  economical  part  of  their 
government,  and  to  amend  the  lairs 
and  usages  by  which  the  wealth  and 
industry  of  the  people  are  affected,  but 
they  will  seek  to  conciliate  their  good 
will,  by  mitigating  all  those  grievan- 
ces from  which  they  themselves  derive 
no  advantage.  Tney  will  construct 
roads  and  canals — and  encourage  agri- 
culture and  manufactures,  and  reform 
the  laws  of  trade — and  abolish  local 
and  subordinate  oppressions-— and  en- 
dow seminaries  of  education,  and  in- 
colcate  a  reverence  for  religion,  and 
patronize  academies  of  art.' 

*•'  Economical  improvements— more 
protection  to  private  rights — melion^ 
tion  in  municipal  laws — ^less  discon- 
tent among  the  lower  people — more 
luxury — are  what  we  must  exnect  to 
see  more  and  more  conspicuously." 

*^  No  man  can  look  indeed  to  their 
(the  Allied  Sovereigns)  recent  proceed- 
ingSf  without  seeing  thai  such  is  tfieir 
plan  of  policy.  .France  is  full  of  schools, 
and  engineers,  and  financiers — and 
^vea  up  the  proudest  of  her  palace 


[yiUctct^ 


to  diffnify  the  dkpkf  of  her  moat 
homdy  manu^tctnres.  In  Germany, 
new  towns  and  villages^  and  cotton- 
binning  establishment^  rise  every* 
where^  and  other  trades  are  encou- 
raged. In  Russia,  Alexander  is  esta- 
blishing schools  for  his  peasantry,  and 
mitigaung  the  severity  of  their  feu- 
dal servitude;  and  making  factories 
for  his  merchants.  Even  Austria  is 
making  eAbrts  to  conciliate  and  multi- 
ply the  lower  classes,  by  regulationa 
for  the  improvement  of  agriculture 
and  manufactures,  and  large  and  ju- 
dicious expenditure  even  in  Italy,  up- 
on works  of  public  utility,  roads,  ca- 
nals, and  all  the  enginery  of  irrigation. 
The  policy,  in  short,  is  manifest,  and 
is  beginning  to  take  effect." 

Our  readers  will  naturally  feel  much 
curiosity  to  know  what  authority  this 
is,  which  thus  lauds  so  extravagantly, 
the  "  Despote"  and  "  Conspirators,"— 
which  thus  boldly  declares,  that  they 
have  digested,  and  are  vigorously  act- 
ing upon,  a  comprehensive  plan  for 
improving  the  condition  of  their  sub- 
jects— ^for  removing  pemictif>ttiafi(/af»- 
tiquated  abuse,  and  banishing  i^ao- 
rance — ^for  protecting  private  rights— 
and  for  diffusing  knowledge,  wealth, 
and  even  luxury.  From  compassion 
for  the  Edinburgh  Review,  we  cannot 
name  this  new  authority.  Tlie  New 
Times?  say  our  readers.  No.  The 
Quarterly  Review  ?  No.  Some  of  the 
sons  of  corruption  in  the  House  d 
Commons  ?  No.  We  can  hold  out  no 
longer.  This  authority  is — is — the 
Edinburgh  Review  itself! !  Not  a 
number  ten  years  old,  five  years  old, 
one  year  old,  three  months  old,  but 
the  very  identical  number,  and  the 
very  identical  articles,  from  which  we 
have  extracted  the  foul  and  false  abuse 
of  the  Continental  Monarchs  1 1 1  Was 
there  ever  before  seen  such  a  combi- 
nation of  profligacy  and  drivelling — 
such  an  astounding  example  of  sdf- 
refutation  and  self-degradation  ?  AU 
ter  this,  who  "mXi  read  the  political 
articles  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  ex- 
cept for  the  purpose  of  enlivening  him- 
self with  a  volley  of  laughter,  or  fur- 
nishing himself  with  a  jest  for  the 
amusement  of  his  friends? 

Somethiiu;  very  nearly  as  ^pod  yet 
remains  to  be  told.  Tne  Edmburgh 
Review  has  discovered,  that  certain  of 
the  fundamental  doctrines  which  it- 
self and  the  friends  of  liberty  have 
been  so  long  inculcating  as  the  very 
s 


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i«94.:] 


State  of  Europe,  and  the  Hoitf  Alliance. 


essence  of  truths  tro  ftlie  I  They  haTe 
been  all  along  protesting  that  tyran- 
ny and  knowledge  could  not  exist  to- 
gether— that  Ignorance  was  the  cor- 
ner-stone of  despotism— ^and  that  to 
educate  a  people^  was  in  effect  to  give 
diem  freedom.  What  gigantic  efibrts 
have  not  Brougham  and  the  Edin- 
burgh Review  nrade  for  pro0^;ig  edu- 
cation for  the  lower -lordeolpof  this 
country,  in  order  that  they  might  be 
preserved  from  becoming  the  tools 
and  daves  of  the  "  corrupt"  and  "  ty- 
rannical faction"  which  manages  pub- 
lic affairs !  Well,  tlie  Edinburgh  Re- 
view has  discovered  that  all  this  has 
been  wrong — quite  wrong.  It  states^ 
^  Tlie  great  strength  and  hope  of  free- 
dom  was  formerly  the  progressive  in- 
formation and  improvement  of  the 
body  of  the  people— -but  the  new  po- 
licy of  despotism  has  taught  it  toper- 
vert  what  nas  hitherto  b^  regarded 
as  the  best  aliment  and  protection  of 
liberty,  into  the  main  ins^ument  of 
her  destruction/'  "  Religion  and  eimj- 
CATioK,  in  the  paternal  htnds  of 
such  governments,  (despotic  ones,)  are 
known  to  be  the  l}est  of  aU  engines Jbr 

ike   DISSICMI^ATION     op    UMIVBRSAL 

SBRViLiTY  !  r  Education,  one  of  the 
best  of  all  engines  for  the  diseemina- 
tion  of  universal  servility ! !  This  is 
capital — nothing  upon  earth  but  the 
Edinburgh  Review  could  have  pro- 
duced anything  so  highly  finished^ 
and  so  truly  unique*  We  shall  now, 
we  are  pretty  sure,  see  Mr  Bt%ugham 
before  the  end  of  the  session,  introdu« 
dng  a  bill  into  Parliament  for  destroy- 
ing the  liberty  of  the  press,  and  for 
shutting  up  all  schools  throughout  the 
country. 

Something  remains  yet  that  is  ex- 
qesdvdy  excellent.  Having  shewn  that 
vy  means  of  '^  civilization  and  intdli- 
genoe,"  the  Continental  Governments 
nave  become  more  arbitrary  than  ever : 
—that  by  the  instrumentslity  of  *'  the 
*  progressive  information  and  improve- 
ment of  the  body  of  the  people,  they 
are  destroying  liberty, — and  thik 
*'  education  is,  in  the  hands  of  such 
governments,  one  of  the  best  of  aU 
engines  for  the  dissemination  of  uni- 
versal servility :"— having  shewn  like- 
wise that  the  Allied  Sovereigns  are  the 
worst  of  tyrants ;  and  are  leagued  to- 
gether to  prevent  all  in>provement  it 
the  condition  of  mankind,  **  to  de- 
atroy  liberty  now  and  for  ever,  and  to 
€atabliah  and  maintaiQ  arbitrary  power 

Vol.  XIV.      ^ 


831 

al  the  point  of  th^  bayonet  t"—«ha< 
ving  shewn  all  this,  the  Review  pro** 
caeds  to  shew,  that  "  the  civilization 
and  intelligence,"  and  '^  the  progres* 
sive  information  and  improvemenyt»' 
and  the ''  education,"  which  now  blow, 
from  the  East,  will  speedily  blow  itoxs\ 
the  West— which  now  so  strangely' 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  destroy  li- 
berty, and  to  ally  themselves  with  des- 
"potism,  will  before  long  give  the  Mo« 
narchs  the  '^  go  by,"  quali^  the  peiH 
pie  for  the,  possession  of  political 
rights,  and  render  them  anxious  and 
omnipotent  for  obtainingHhem.  And 
it  shews,  moreover,  that,  although 
these  Monarchs  are  such  tyrants,  and 
are  so  resolutely  determined  to  main- 
tain arbitrary  power  at  the  point  of 
the  bayonet, ''  it  is  not  absolatehr  ro» 
mantic  to  hope,  that  the  habit  or  do- 
ing justice  in  part,  may  reconcile  them 
to  doing  it  entirely,— that  they  may 
eome  by  degrees  to  yield  to  the  spirit 
and  intelligence  of  the  times  alto-* 
gether !"  In  a  word,  the  Edinburgh 
Review  actually  professes  to  believe, 
that  the  present  system  of  the  "  Holy 
Alliance,^'  the  *'  Despots,"  the  ''  Con- 
spirators," is  making  *^  improvei- 
mcnts,"  which  are  ^'  a  great  good  in 
themselves,"  and  whidi  *'  add  mani- 
festly to  the  mass  of  human  comfort 
and  happiness ;"  and,  moreover,  that 
this  system  is  exceedingly  likdy  to 
establish  constitutions  a^  liberty 
throughout  the  continent,  where  they 
do  not  already  exist,  by  the  mutufd 
consent  of  monarchs  ana  subjects !  1 1 
The  Review  gallops  aloi^t  a  pro- 
digious rate  on  this  subject,  and  very 
dearly  and  triumphantly  proves,  that 
•odi  will  be  the  nuita  of  this  system 
of  the  Allies.  It  then  aoddenly  diaoH 
vers  thenredicament  into  which  it  haa 
nyt  itselt,  pulls  up  with  aU  haste,  and 
ndrly  owns,  Uiat  ntmi  what  it  has  said 

r>ple  may  weU  ask,—''  If  despotism 
growing  so  wise,  how  ia  it  really 
worse  than  constitutional  ja^vdhunent? 
If  nations  are  secured  m  their  ciVil 
rights,  of  what  subatantial  value  are 
pditieal  ones?  and  why  predict  and 
raovoKE  revohtiions,  with  all  their 
RISKS  and  Hoaaoas,  for  the  sake  of 
a  NAMB  ami  a  chimera  }"  Admira- 
ble! The  Review  admits,  that  its  de- 
scription of  the  system  of  government 
which  the  Allies  have  adopted,  may 
i«asonably  make  people  doubt,  whe- 
ther it  be  not  equal  to  the  ''  coostitu^ 
^ooal  system,''  wheth^  a  ooBitf tutio* 

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The  Edinburgh  Review.    ffo^LXXVIIh 


339' 

be  anythii^  more  than  ^' a  name  and  a 
ohiroera^"  and  whether  revolutions  be 
aft  all  necessary  and  desirable!  Oh« 
wonderinl  Allies !  who  could  haye 
dreamed  of  hearing  this  of  ye  from  the 
Edinburgh  Review  \ 

Now^  afler  this^  hew  stands  the 
question' generally  wi&  respect  to  the 
Continental  Monarchs  ?  At  the  peace, 
they  spontaneously  admitted  that  po- 
pular mstitutions^  and  a  just  degree  of 
political  freedom^  were  needed  by  their 
subjects^  they  pi^omised  to  f^rant  these, 
they  lost  not^  a  moment  m  entering 
upon  the  fuMknent  of  their  promises, 
but,  at  the  same  time,  they  solemnly 
declared  that,  from  the  experience  of 
the  past,  they  never  would  tolerate 
the  revolutionary  principles  which  had 
BO  long  desolated  Europe.  '  They  had 
no  sooner  commenced  the  work  of 
fieedom,  than  they  were  compelled  to 
abandon  it,  by  being  attacked  on  all 
ades  by  revolutionists  professing  these 
prineipies ;  who  did  not  wish  to  co- 
operate with  them,  or  to  receive  free- 
dom at  Uieir  hands,  but  who  wish^ 
to  obtain  virtually,  if  not  nominally, 
jiossession  of  their  thrones,  and  to  rule 
HI  their  stead.  Upon  these  revolution- 
ists  the}r  made  war,  agreeably  to  their 
declaration,  but  they  revoked  not  their 
jmmises  in  favour  of  rational  liberty. 
They  gave  a  limited  monarchy,  and 
the  ftillest  practicable  share  of  free- 
dom to  France;  and  they  were  pre- 
vented from  giving  the  same  to  Spain, 
by  the  Spanish  people  alone.  These 
are  matters,  not  of  assertion,  but  of 
history  ;-tnd  the  proofs  are  before  the 
world.  With  re^rd  to  their  conduct 
to  their  own  subjects,  the  splendid 
eulogy  which  the  Edinburgh  Beview 
has  passed  upon  it,  renders  eulogy 
frmn  us  unnecessary.  The  Review  adk 
uits  that  they  are  doing  everything 
in  their  power  to  promote  the  instruc- 
lion,  benefit,  ana  ham>ine8s  of  their 
subiectB,  with  the  single  exception,  of 
virithholding  from  them  politiad  rights 
Ko^  privileges.  We  fully  agree  with 
the  Review  in  the  conviction,  that  the 
system  which  these  Monarchs  are  now 
pursuing  in  their  dominions/must  in- 
evitably end  in  the  establishment  of 
constitutions  and  constitutional  liber- 
ty. We  conscientiously  believe  that  the 
Ministers  of  these  Monarchs — ^roen 
who  in  point  of  knowledge  and  talent 
will  bear  comparison  with  any  states- 
<men  qf  any  age — cannot  possibly  ex- 
{>ect,  and  do  not  even  wish,  that  thia 


CMardi,- 


system  should  have  any  other  termi- 
nation. We  even  think  it  possible, 
that,  if  the  Liberals  remain  speechless 
and  motbnless,  the  middle-aged  Re- 
viewer himself  may  live  to  see  Prussia 
and  Austria,  if  not  Russia  itself,  go* 
veraed  by  constitutions. 

Afkr  this,  what  must  be  thought 
of  the  xgfear  and  vn^tched  abuse 
which  Iflfbeeft  so  profusely  hei^ied 
upon  these  Monarehs,  not  only  out  of 
Parliament,  but  by  one  individual  at 
least  in  it?  We  defend  not  their  ab- 
solute authority,  although  we  know 
that  it  has  undergone  no  other  change 
since  it  came  into  their  hands,,  except 
that  of  being  rendered  infinitely  more 
mild  and  beneficent ;  and  we  wisn  frrom 
our  souls  that  they  were  all  constitu-s 
tional  Sovereigns  like  o\a  own.  But 
were  we  to  shrink  from  defending^ 
thc»n  fr!om  the  fiendish  aspeiaioBS 
which  are  cast  upon  them,  we  should 
be  traitors  to  the  cause  of  our  oountij 
and  mankind — to  that  cause,  which  it 
is  the  highest  pride  of  our  lives  to 
fight  for,  and  our  best  gratification  to 
seefiomlsh. 

We  are  the  enthusiastic  friends  of 
national  liberty ;  but  are  we  from  this 
to  believe  that  every  band  of  stupid 
demagogues  who  bawl  ''Liberty !"  are 
eapable  of  establishing  it  in  a  nation 
which  has  never  known  it — that  every 
form  of  government  wiU  yield  liberty 
which  binds  behind  him  Uie  hands  oif 
the  Sovereign  ?  Are  we  to  believe  that 
liberty  «m  be  raised  upon  the  ruins  of 
religion  and  public  morals— of  civil 
obedience,  and  all  the  principles  that 
hold  society  together  ?  Are  we  to  be- 
lieve that  institutions  alone  will  give 
liberty,  without  reference  to  the  cha- 
racter of  the  rulers,  or  the  people  ?  We 
are  not,  thank  Heaven !  such  qgregioua 
idiots.  We  may  be  told  until  doom*- 
day  that  the  ignorant,  brainlesa, 
profiigate,  fanati^  deists  and  demo* 
crats  of  France,  Spain,  Portugal,  and 
Italy,  were  qualified  for  establishing 
new  forms  of  government  in  their  re- 
speetive  countries  —  that  they  were 
qualified  for  being  the  rulers  of  these 
countries — that  the  constitutions  which 
they  fabricated  were  capable  of  yield- 
ing liberty  and  of  endunng — that  their 
creed  was  calculated  for  generating 
and  nurturing  liberty — ^and  that  the 
|»eople  of  Spam,  Portugal,  Italy,  ^cc* 
are— putting  out  of  view  dieir  present 
state  of  excitement — in  a  proper  state 
fox  receiving  popular  institutions  and 


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Siatt  ofBarope,  and  the  Holy  AUiance. 


freedom^— >we  may  be  told  all  thk  un- 
til doomsday^  and  we  will  never  believe 
it.. '  In  spite  of  the  delusion  which 
seems  to  nave  s|n«ad  even  beyond  the 
MHii^y  we  still  think,  that  ConstitUi* 
tiona^sts  and  constitutbns  must  be 
Jud^  of  by  the  very  same  ruks^  by 
whieh  other  men  and  other  things  are 
judged  of^ 
Trhe  universal  cry  is,  '^  Consti  tutiont 
and  popular  freedom  for  aU  Europe !" 
But  not  one  ouesdon  is  asked  touch* 
ing  the  oonoition  of  the  people  of 
Europe.    This  is  the  conduct^  not 
even  of  lunatics,  of  pot-house  news- 
mongers, but  actually  of  persons  who 
call  themselves  statesmen !    English-* 
men,  ay,  and  intelligent  EngUshmen 
too,  seem  to  think,  that  we  owe  our 
liberty  wholly  to  our  institutions.    If 
this  lie  the  case,  why  do  you  speak  of 
preparing  your  Slaves  for  Hbertv  ?— > 
Why  is  preptrstion  necessary  for  tnem, 
if  be  unnecessary  for  the  ignorant  na* 
tions  of  the  continent  ?  And  why  do 
you  make  instructum  in  rdigion  the 
idiief  pert  of  this  preparation,  when 
you  countenance  men  who  profess  to 
give  liberty  to  the  ignorsnt  people  of 
the  continent,  by  destroying  religion  I 
'  If  institutions  luone  are  n^ed,  why 
are  not  the  people  of  Ireland  free  and 
happy  ?—- Why  don  not  the  republic 
of  Hayti  spread  freedom  and  happi- 
ness?   The  bubble  has  been  pretty 
severely  dealt  with  by  the  people  of 
Spain,  Portugal,  and  Italy ;  and  it  will, 
ere  long,  be  finally  kicked  out  of  the 
w^nrld,  by  those  of  South  America. 

If  the  people  of  the  continent  are 
ever  to  become  free,  they  must  be  pre- 
nously  prepared  for  it.  Liberty  can- 
not be  nven  them,  and  they  cannot  re- 
tain it  fw  a  moment,  unless  they  first 
undergo  such  preparation.  The  sense- 
less, mercenary,  and  anarchical  doc* 
trines  of  the  Liberals  must  be  careful- 
ly kept  from  them ;  and  they  must  be 
well  instructed  in  sound  principles  ; 
they  must  be  rendered  highly  moral 
and  religious.  A  wealthy,  mtelligent, 
honouranle,  virtuous,  active,  and  spi- 
rited middle  class  must  be  created  in 
every  country.  All  this  must  first  be 
done,  or  it  will  not  be  possible  for  hu- 
man power  to  establish  liberty  among 
them  that  will  endure.  The  Allied 
MonarcbB  are  taking  the  proper  steps 


sss 

— ^they  are  doing  exactly  what  ought 
to  be  done  in  preparing  their  subjects 
for  liberty — and  their  present  system, 
if  Libersiism  can  only  be  kept  on  its 
back,  must  inevitably  end  in  the  esta- 
blishment of  constitutions  throughout 
Europe.  To  these  Monarchs,  mankind 
alresay  owes  an  immense  debt ;  and 
we  trust  this  debt  will  be  doubled,  be- 
fore they  leave  the  world  for  ever.  We 
believe  that  they  have  done  as  much 
for  mankind  since  the  peace,  as  they 
did  previously  to,  and  at,  the  peace. 
We  believe  that  if  it  had  not  been  for 
their  firmness  and  exertions,  the  con^ 
tinent  of  Europe  would  at  this  moment 
have  been  overspread  with  infidelity 
and  snarchy — with  crime,  blood,  and 
sufierin^.    Thev  will  one  day  receive 
that  praise  for  this  which  is  now  with- 
held, and  we  think  they  will  receive 
more  magnificent  praise   stilL    We 
think  that  to  them  will  at  last  belong 
the  praise  of  establishing  constitutiona 
in  their  dominions,  adapted  to  the  ge- 
nius, habits,  sod  circumstances  of  their 
•uljects,  and  capable  of  vieldtng  the 
greatest  measure  attainable  of  genuine 
liberty.  They  are  exactly  the  men  for 
doing  this.    It  is,  after  all,  almost 
hopeless  to  attempt  to  establish  a  new 
constitution — a  set  of  new  institutions, 
ttrange  to  the  people  at  large— if  the 
Monarch  be  not  qualified  by  heart  and 
acquirements  to  take  a  leading  part  in 
giving  them  operation.  They  are  thus 
qualified.  They  are  kind,  benevolent, 
honourable,  experienced,  and  intelli- 
gent ; — in  private  life,  they  are  gentle- 
men and  philanthropists ;— >in  public 
life,  they  are  men  of  business  and 
statesmen.  From  what  human  nature 
is,  Europe  is  not  likely  to  be  a^ain,  for 
centuries,  governed  by  Sovereigns,  so 
admirably  Qualified  for  giving  her  con- 
stitutional liberty.;  and  thepEfore,  for 
the  sake  of  Europe,  we  most  anxious- 
ly hope  that  she  will  receive  it  at  their 
hands.  The  world  calls  upon  them  to 
do  this  at  the  proper  season,  as  a  mat- 
ter necessary,  alike  for  its  happinte, 
and  the  completion  of  their  own  glory  ; 
and  if  they  obey  the  call,  the  world 
will  number  them  to  the  aid  of  time, 
among  the  best  and  the  greatest  of  its 
benefactors. 

Y.  Y.  Y. 


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PHlfftlU 


fAYINOS  AND  OOINOS/ 


Tni8 18  a  book  alxmndiiig  in  pleasant 
0cenes>  good  Bakings,  and  witty  dla« 
kgnes,  evidently  written  by  ^*  a  gen- 
tleman aboot  town."  There  is  an  air 
of  savoir  vivre  abont  itj  which  marks 
it  as  the  composition  of  a  man  who  has 
moved  in  all  the  varied  drdes  which 
he  describes— an  air  which  cannot  be 
picked  up  by  the  uninitiated^  no  mat- 
ter with  what  assurance  they  may  af- 
fect it.  As  the  author  says  in  one  of 
his  tales,  when  discussing  a  rather  dif- 
ferent and  an  infinitely  more  import- 
ant matter  than  book-making,  viz.— 
dinner-giving — when  the  affiiir  falls 
into  the  hands  of  plebeians,  the  prac- 
tised eye  detects  the  imposition  with 
half  a  twinkle. 

"  At  such  dinners,"  quoth  be,  "  there 
Is  always  some  mistake,  some  Nttle  hluiU 
der,  which  neither  the  master  nor  mis* 
tress  of  the  house  can  hope  to  rectify  <m 
any  ftitare  occasion,  not  being  consctOas 
of  anything  wrong :  for  instance,  the  bat- 
lers  stand  looking  at  each  other,  in  attl* 
tudes,  with  dlriies  in  their  hands,  waiting 
for  signals,  and  hesitatmg  where  to  put 
them  down ;  then  there  is  always  a  dread- 
ful uncertainty  about  the  wine  $  I/unel  is 
detected  in  a  long-necked  bottle  up  to  bia 
chin  in  an  iee-pail,  presuming  to  do  duty 
for  St  Peray,  absetU  without  leave  ;  tbe  cla- 
ret is  frozen  bard,  tbe  boek  left  luke- 
warm, and  common  red  port  put  dowoi 
upon  the  table,  as  if  people  were  to  drink 
it;  the  fish  is  generally  doubtful;  tbe^ii- 
irSes  cold,  and  the  Sin^jpels  flat  and  hevLvy ; 
while  the  w^nt  of  regularity  in  the  din- 
ner, pervades  even  tbe  guests,  and  one 
has,  perhaps,  to  sit  opposite  to  two  or 
three  odd-Iooking  persons,  (connections 
of  the  fiirolly  who  must  be  asked,)  with 
coarse  neckcloths,  and  great  red  hands— 
with  gold  rings  upon  the  Angers, — peo- 
ple who  go  the  horrid  lengths  of  eating 
with  their  knives,  and  ealling  for  porter. 
In  short,  there  is  always  some  drawback, 
some  terrible  qualifier  in  the  aUkir,  wliich 
it  would  be  difficult  distinctly  to  define, 
but  which  invariably  give  the  air  hour^ 
g^cite  to  alt  the  attempts  of  upstart  wealth, 
to  imitate,  the  tone  and  manner  of  tht 
aristocmcy  of  oor  country." 


80  in  roost  novels  yon  see  tbe  wafox^ 
Innate  sonnetteer  bmvtingfbrth  in  the 
middle  of  drawing-rooms,  and  patting 
phrases  of  the  pot-house  into  the 
qiouths  of  lords  and  ladies,  and  kmghti 
of  tbe  Garter.  Instead  of  the  Attic  wit 
of  the  west,  we  are  regaled  with  the  wit 
of  the  attics  in  the  east  Our  dear 
friend  Ho^,  admirable  in  delineating 
a  shephera  rsTenous  after  fat  £esh, 
does  not  shine  vrhen  chaperoning 
princesses  through  the  mazes  of  a 
eourt ;  nor  does  the  excellent  Pierce 
£gan,  in  his  Life  in  I/)ndon,  though 
perfectly  at  home  in  Tom  Cribb's  par-* 
lour,  the  Otdgers  in  the  Back  Slums^ 
the  Condemned  Hold  in  Newgate,  or 
the  gin  shops  in  the  various  regions  of 
die  metropolis,  in  all  of  which  he  du- 
plays  the  finished  hand  of  a  practised 
connoisseur,  show  ofi^  to  eqiud  ad- 
vantage, when  he  thinks  proper  to  iiw 
troduce  us  to  the  quadrilles  of  AU 
mack's, — to  say  nothing  of  the  splen* 
doum  of  Carlton-house ;  and  to  oon^ 
chide  the  "  triumrirate,"t  as  the  dear 
lady  herself  would  say — Lady  Morgan^ 
unimpeachable  in  her  pictures  of  Irteh 
fiunkics,  waiting-maids,  govenmntes^ 
faded  blue-stockings,  and  all  that  and 
those,  betrays  a  most  fidgety  uneasi- 
nees,  when  she  wants  to  figure  forth 
as  the  companion  of  her  Grace  the 

Duchess  of ,  Madame  La  Cora'* 

tesse   de  ,  or   his   Highness 

Prince  Rustyfhsty.  You  are  always 
inclined  to  say  **  yon  are  not  waiting; 
my  dear  ;  bless  my  heart,  what  could 
have  put  it  into  the  chambermaid's 
head  to  answer  the  drawing-rooitf 
beUr 

We  ourselves,  who  do  not  put  up 
for  high  life,  being  plain,  easy-goings 
honest  people,  and  no  way  belonging 
to  a  nation  of  gentlemen,  nave  never* 
theless  tact  enough  to  Icnow  a  hawk 
from  a  hand-saw.  In  otnr  own  line> 
we  arc  infallible,  and  we  should  be 
rum  customers  to  any  impostor.  It 
vrould  be  hard  for  any  one  to  pass  him- 
self ofi^  on  us  ss  a  ptiet  either  of  the 
Lakes,  or  the  punch  bowls,  he  not 


*  Sayings  and  Doings;  a  Series  of  Sketches  from  Life.  Three  vols.  Henry  Col- 
bum,  London.     1824w 

t  Lady  M.,  in  an  interesting  work  of  hers,  name  unknown,  describes  an  inter- 
view which  she  had  with  a  jjentleinan  driving  bis  pig  to  market.  They  had  a  high- 
ly interesting  conversation,  in  the  course  of  which,  she  informs  us  the  accomplished 
**  triumvirate,"  vis.  pig,  pig-boy,  and  poetess,  "  entered  Bdfiut." 


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SiijfingM  and  Doings, 


being  dolj  qualiflad  iu  the  capacity  as- 
irameil.  No  ihabby-^nteel  could  per- 
jHude  uabe  was  the  Duke  of  Northum* 
teland^  or  the  Earl  of  Fife.  A  gen-* 
tleroan  of  the  press  mlffht  try  to  ddude 
tm  iito  the  belief  that  he  was  guard  to  a 
feBttl«»ooadi,  bat  we  should  unkennel 
him  imsianier.  It  is  not  more  than  a 
few  since,  that  a  fellow  whom  we  met 
on  the  Edinburgh  waggon^  Arora  the 
White  Horse,  Cripplegate,  as  we  were 
returning,  trout-lauen,  from  a  fishing 
excursion,  to  Walton-Hall,  introdu- 
ced himself  to  us,  on  the  strength 
of  a  poodle  upper  benjamin,  as  Mr 
John  Thurtell,  son  of  Mr  Alderman 
Thurtell,  (old  Mr  Coke's  chief  fViend 
in  Norwicn,)  and  a  sporting  charac- 
ter ;  but  before  three  minutes*  conver- 
sation h&d  taken  place,  we  nosed  him 
as  the  prime  contributor  to  the  New 
Monthly,  coming  down  to  write  sket- 
ches of  society  and  manners  of  £din- 
buiKh  for  that  agreeable  miscellany. 
He  nad  assumed  Jack  Thurtell's  name^ 
in  hopes  of  getting  into  good  compan v, 
and  snewed  uslettersio a  Mrs  M'EouU^ 
or  M'Kolloch,  or  M'Milligan,  or  some 
such  nam^  somewhere  in  the  Cowgate. 
It  would  not  do— we  cut  the  connec- 
tions—and gave  the  trouts  to  be  dressed 
on  our  arrival,  without  asking  him  to 
pick  a  bone,  though  we  saw  Uie  poor 
devirs  mouth  watering  afler  them, 
evidently  considering  &em  to  be  the 
most  desirable  article  that  he  could 
pMc  up  on  his  tour. 

But,  as  we  said  in  the  beginning  of 
this  critique.  Savings  and  Doings  are 
fVom  the  hand  of  one  who  has  seen  the 
li(e  he  is  describing.  The  plan  of  the 
stories  is  good ;  though  he  announces 
ft  rather  too  pompousl^r,  and  does 
not  stick  very  closely  to  it,  after  all. 
He  professes  to  take  a  proverb,  as  the 
French  farce-mongers  are  wont  to  do, 
and  to  work  upon  its  illustration. 
Thus  his  first  tale  takes  its  cue  from 
♦'  Too  much  of  one  thing  is  good  for 
nothing" — ^bis  second  from,  ''All  is  not 
gpld  that  glitters" — and  the  third  and 
fourth  from  two  other  aphorisms 
equally  pithy  and  venerable.  To  be 
sure,  he  is  anvthing  but  a  textual 
preacher,  but  tnis  is  a  matter  of  infi- 
nitely little  consequence.  As  novels 
and  JdOttvellettes  go  at  present,  the 
Btorv  is  not  particularly  valuable,  and 
60  tne  author  of  these  sketches  seems 
inde^  to  think,  by  not  giving  us  any- 
thing in  thst  way  worth  analysis. 

Th«  first  story,  for  instance,  may 


SS6 

betoldinhalfadoMnHnea.  MrBur-^ 
ton  marries  Miss  Gatcombe,  a  (dainy 
good  girl— lives  happy  with  her— «eu 
•  huge  property  by  toe  death  of  her 
nnde,  Mr  Danvera— wastes  it  in  elec- 
tioneering, and  ddnff  the  magnifico^ 
has  the  grace  to  keep  his  own  compara- 
tively small  original  income,  to  which* 
he  goes  back  ouite  contented^-kisses 
his  wife  and  children— talks  twaddle— 
and  if  he  does  not  live  happy,  why, 
quoth  Mr  Newberry,  that  you  and  I 
may.  It  is  in  detached  characters  and 
scenes  that  the  author  shines.  The  old 
uncle,  and  some  electioneering  manoeu- 
vres, are  the  most  amusing  bits  about 
this  story.  Read,  for  example,  the  fol- 
lowing, and  say  whether  this  world  ever 
grinned  over  more  exquisite  farce.  We 
wish  we  could  copy  ten  pages  more ; 
but  the  whole  thin^  will  undoubtedly 
be  TVrf^-fied.    So  let  this  suffice  :— 

**  Tbt  old  gentleman  was  a  mannerist 
and  an  egotist— pself-opiniated,  obstinate^ 
positive,  and  etomaUy  differing  witli  every 
body  round  bim— his  temper  was  soured 
by  ill  health ;  while,  unfortunately  for  bis 
associates,  his  immense  fortune  gave  him, 
at  least  he  thought  it  did,  the  power  and 
authority  to  display  all  its  little  varieties 
in  their  full  natural  vigour. 

"  He  was  the  meanest  and  most  libe- 
ral man  alive,  the  gentlest  and  the  most 
passionate,  alternately  wise  and  weak, 
harsh  and  kind,  bountiful  and  avaricious^ 
just  as  his  constitution  felt  the  effects  of 
the  weather,  or  of  society— he  was,  in 
short,  an  oddity,  and  had  proved  binnself 
through  life  coustant  but  to  one  object 
alone— bis  own  aggrandiaement :  in  thia 
he  had  sueceeded  to  his  heart's  content  $ 
and  bad  at  seventy-four, amassed  sufficient 
wealth  to  make  him  always  extremely  un- 
easy, and  at  tiroes  perfectly  wretched. 

**  When  it  is  recollected  chat  Mrs  Bur- 
ton  was  his  only  existing  relative,  that  he 
was  (ar  advanced  in  years,  infirm,  and  al- 
most alone  in  the  world,  and  that  he  had 
sought  her  out,  and  addressed  a  kind  and 
affectionate  letter  to  her,  it  may  be  easily 
supposed  chat  she  was  not  a  little  flatter- 
ed and  pleased  by  the  event.  She  com- 
munieated  to  the  dear  partner  of  all  her 
joys  tbt  unexpected  incident  He  enter- 
ed immediately  into  her  feelings,  saw  with 
her  the  prospects  which  th«  affections  of 
this  old  gentleman  opened  to  their  view, 
and,  without  a  moment's  delay,  resolved, 
as  she  had  indeed  suggested,  that  an  in- 
vitation should  be  dispatched  to  Mr  Dan- 
vert,  to  visit  Sandowu  Cottage. 

**  The  days  which  passed  aher  this  re- 
quest was,  with  all  due  formality,  sealed 


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Sa^iftgi  and  Doings. 


036 

with  the  Burton  annsy  atfdretaed  and 
conveyed  to  the  post,  were  consumed  in 
A  sort  of  feverish  anxiety.  Mary  liad  ne- 
ver known  her  uncle^  never,  of  course^ 
seen  him,  and  the  only  thing  intended  to 
bear  a  resemblance  to  his  person  with 
which  her  eyes  had  been  gratified,  was  a 
full-sized  miniature,  painted  when  he  waa 
twenty-one  years  of  age,  by  a  second-rate 
ILrtist,  representing  him  with  his  hair  ex- 
tremely well  powdered,  rolled  in  Uirge 
eurls  over  bis  cars,  and  tied  behind  with 
pink  ribbands,— his  cheeks  blooming  like 
the  rose, — his  solitaire  gracefully  twining 
round  his  neck,  and  Calling  over  his  shouU 
dersy  well  contrasted  with  a  French  grey 
coat,  edged  with  silver,  and  adorned  with 
tolmon-coloured  frogs  ;  a  sprig  of  jessa- 
^  mine  sprang  from  his  button-hole,  and  a 
diagonal  patch  of  court-plaster  rested  up- 
on liis  off-cheek :  by  this  record  of  his  ap* 
pearance,  Mrs  Burton  had  regulated  her 
notions  of  his  attractions :  and  whenever 
jBhe  heard  her  rich  uode  Danvers  spoken 
of,  and  his  wealth  descanted  upon,  she 
sighed  with  the  Countess's  page,  *  he  is 
60  handsome,  Susan !' 

"  In  four  days,  however,  the  anxious 
couple  received  the  followuig  letter  in  re- 
ply to  their  invitation,  which,  as  it  is  per- 
baps  characteristic,  I  have  transcribed 
verbatim  (t  literatim  from  the  original. 

<"  IbbotMM't  Hotel,  Yere  Street.  \ 
Cavendish  Square,  April  — , .  / 

" '  My  Dear  Niece, 

"  *  I  duly  received  yours,  dated  the  5th 
Nist.  and  have  to  acknowledge  same. 
You  might  have  spared  your  compliments, 
because,  as  the  proverb  says, '  Old  birda 
are  not  caught  with  cha£*— -It  will  please 
me  yery  much  to  go  and  see  ]rou  and  your 
husband :  hope  you  have  made  a  suitable 
match ;  at  the  same  time,  cannot  help  ob- 
serving that  I  never  heard  the  name  oC 
Burton,  except  as  relating  to  strong  ale, 
which  I  do  not  drink,  because  it  makes 
me  bilious.  1  cannot  get  to  you  yet,  h^ 
cause  I  have  promised  my  old  friend  Ge- 
neral M'Cartridge  to  accompany  him  to 
Cheltenham,  to  drink  the  waters,  which 
are  recommended  to  nn^  I  will  perhapt 
go  to  you  from  Cheltenham  the  end  of 
May,  but  I  never  promise,  because  I  hate 
breaking  a  promise  once  made ;  and  if  I 
should  find  Cheltenham  very  pleasant* 
perhaps  1  shall  not  go  to  see  you  at  all. 

"  *  I  thank  you  for  your  attention  cer- 
tainly, but  •!  hate  to  be  under  obligation  < 
I  have  therefore  directed  my  agent  to 
send  you  down,  with  great  care,  my  two 
adjutants,  which  I  have  brought  home 
with  vast  trouble,  together  with  the  lar- 
gest rattle-snalfe  ever  imported  alive  into- 


HMeftf; 


England.  I  meant  them  as  preaents  to 
the  Royal  Society,  but  they  have  no  place 
to  keep  them  in,  and  therefore  I  want 
you  to  take  care  of  them,  as  yoo  tdl  Die 
jou  havie  space  about  your  house. 

"  *  My  kitmagar  and  a  couple  of  cooU 
ies,  or  rather  beasties,  who  have  attended 
me  to  Enghmd,  will  look  after  them  and 
keep  them  clean.  The  foct,  that  one  of 
the  adjutants  is  a  cock,  is  satis&ctoiy, 
and  I  am  not  without  hopes  of  securing 
a  breed  of  them  to  this  country.  I  con- 
sider  them  a  treasure,  and  I  know  by 
confiding  them  to  you,  I  shall  secure  good 
treatment  for  them.  You  will  allow  the 
men  to  remain  with  them  till  farther  ad- 
vice from  your  affectionate  uncle, 

Frumpton  Danvers. 

"  *  P.  S.  I  am  in  hopes  of  being  able  to 
add  two  or  three  bucks  from  Cashmire 
to  the  collection.* 

***  Bucks  and  adjutants,  my  dear?*  ex- 
claimed Mrs  Burton,  looking  at  her  hus- 
band, and  laying  down  the  letter. 

**  *  Goats  and  rattlesnakes,  my  love,* 
replied  Burton,  taking  it  up,  and  begin- 
ning mechanically  to  re-read  it—*  Why, 
my  angel,  has  yotn  uncle  got  a  menage- 
rie?' 

*<<  I  am  sure' I  do  not  know,  Mr  Bur- 
ton,' said  his  wife,  quite  alanned  at  the 
approaching  in>'asion  of  their  quiet  re- 
treat by  a  selection  from  the  plagues  of 
tlie  universe.-— <  What  an  extraordinary 
fancy!* 

'*  <  Yes,  Mary,*  said  Burton,  *  it  is  cer- 
tainly eccentric;  but  he  is  your  uncle»  my 
angel,  and  if  he  proposed  to  turn  my  pad-* 
dock  into  play-grounds  for  a  brace  of  ele- 
phants, I  should  consider  it  quite  my 
duty  to  endeavour  to  accommodate  my- 
self to  his  wishes;  the  adjutants  shall 
have  tlie  coach-house  to  tliemselves,  and 
we  will  send  the  carriages  down  to  the 
inn ;— as  for  the  rattle-snake—' 

** '  Hideous  monster  ''exclaimed  Maiy, 

*  Curious  pet,*  said  Burton,  *  we  must 
take  care  of  him  at  all  events,  or  he  will 
fascinate  little  £mroa*s  canary  birds,  and 
eat  up  Fanny*8  lap-dog.' 

** '  Do  you  know  I  dread  that  animal 
more  than  all  ?'  said  Mrs  Burton. 

'* '  And  in  your  situation,  Mary,*  s^ 
Burton,— by  which  we  are  to  infer,  that 
the  said  Mary  was  shortly  expected  to 
afford  him  a  third  pledge  of  affirctioo— 

*  What  is  to  be  done,  dearest  ?^ 

« «  But  really,  now,  Tom,  what  are  ad- 
jutants; and  why  put  them  mto  the 
coach-house  ?*  asked  Mary. 

•• '  They  are  birds,*  said  Barton. 

« <  Birds  !*  exclaimed  the  astonished 
lady,  who  had  made  np  her  mind  to  a 
couple  of  well-dressed  officers  with  an 


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1894.3 


Savings  and  Dwngjt* ' 


epaulette  aad  strap  a-'pieoe ;  *  If  they  are 
onlj  birds,  why  not  have  their  cage  put 
either  into  our  bed-chamber,  or  into  the 
dmtiiig.rooin  ?' 

'*  *  Dreteing-room !  cage  !*  excUumed 
Burton ;  *  why,  my  dear  girl,  they  are 
ftmrteen  feet  high,  if  they  are  an  inch, 
as  ravenous  as  tig^  and  lack  like  don- 
kies.* 

**'  Dear,  dear!*  murmured  the  affee- 
tionate  Mary,  *  and  the  poor  childrei^ 
what  will  become  of  them  ?' 

** '  Never  mind,  my  little  woman,*  said 
the  kind  husband ;  *  we  shall  soon  get 
used  to  them,  and  at  all  events,  if  we  are 
doing  our  duty  to  an  old  and  respected 
selation  of  yours,  I  shall  be  satisfied.* 
.  **  All,  however,  that  had  been  antici- 
pated,  <Ud  by  no  means  equal  the  reality 
of  the  arrival  of  these  hideous  anlouds  t 
in  less  than  five  days  appeared  in  a  cara* 
van,  the  enormous  brace  of  birds,  the 
soiling  snake,  seven  Cashmire  goats,  a 
Cape  jackass,  imagined  by  Mr  Danvers 
to  be  a  aebra,  because  so  called  by  Mr 
VOette,  fbur  monkies  *  of  sorts,*  and  a 
couple  of  grey  parrots,  with  shrill  voices 
toki  excellent  luigt. 

**  Such  a  scene  was  never  represented 
at  Saadown  cottage  as  was  enacted  on 
this  extraordinary  day;  for  strange  as 
were  the  adjutants,  horrible  as  was  the 
anake,  odious  as  were  the  monkies,  un- 
eottth  as  were  the  goats,  and  noisy  as 
were  the  parrots,— the  kitmagars,  and 
coolies,  superintended  by  Mr  Rice,  the 
nabob's  own  man,  were,  to  the  quiet  £u- 
fopeaa  establishment  assembled,  more 
liorrible,  more  strange,  more  odious, 
■sore  uncouth,  and  more  noisy. 

**  First  the  birds  were  to  be  fed— a 
rabbit  or  two  were  to  be  caught  for  the 
rattle^snake  ■  failing  of  which,  a  fine  fowl 
veady  prepared  for  an  excellent  enlr4t  at 
dinner  was  hastily  applied  to  the  purpose. 
A  diarming  portion  of  bread  and  milk 
]«st  ready  for  Miss  Fanny's  supper  was 
•whipped  up  for  the  parrots;  the  sebra 
took  firigfat  at  the  goats,  and  broke  loose 
into  the  kitchen-garden,  while  one  of  the 
monkies  in  search  of  provender,  skipped 
over  the  head  of  a  maid-servant,  who  was 
atandiog  at  the  hall-door  with  the  younger 
daughter  of  the  fimiily  in  her  arms,  and 
having  nearly  knocked  down  both  nurse 
and  child,  whisked  up  stairs,  and  hid  it- 
aelf  under  one  of  the  beds  in  the  nursery. 

"  Such  screamings,  such  pokiogs  and 
acratchings  with  brooms  and  brushes, 
such  squallings  of  children,  such  roarings 
of  gardeners  and  keepers,  such  agonies  of 
.  the  terrified  mother,  such  horrors  of  the 
agitated  husband,  such  squallings  of  babes, 
^such  chattering  of  lervantc^  in  Malab(^» 


Hlndostanee,  Oigaleee,  and  every  other 
jumbled  language  of  the  east,  never  were 
seen  or  heard ;  and  it  was  near  nine  0*-^ 
clock  before  Jsckoo  vna  secured,  on  the 
pinnacle  of  the  best  bed-room  chimney* 
pot,  and  carried  down  to  his  proper  lod* 
ging,  amongst  the  other  beauties  of  na- 
ture, or  that  peace  was  restored  in  the 
house,  or  dinner  readv  for  the  family.** 

The  opponent  of  the  hero  at  an  elec- 
tion is  quite  as  well  drawn — ruLj,  &r 
better,  for  A^  is  from  the  life.  He  is  just 
the  Knight  of  the  Shire  who  represents 
the  whole  crew  of  bawling  Whig  pa« 
triots.  The  author,  oat  ot  kindness, 
has  suppressed  some  particulars,  which 
would  complete  the  picture,  and  which 
we  would  have  inserted,  were  we  wri- 
ting the  story,  viz.  lying,  meanness, 
skulking,  cowardice,  bullying,  shuf- 
fling, expression,  and  stupidity,— all 
the  roam  features  of  the  Don  Whig. 
What  is  It  that  a  poet  of  our  own  says 
of  that  vagabond  party  ? — 

Sure  I  know  in  my  heart 
That  Whigs  ever  have  been 

Tyrannie  or  turnspit. 
Malignant  or  mean ; 

Thet  wehe  avo  arc  scoukdeels 
iv  every  sense, 

Avn  SCOUNDRELS  THET  WILL  BE 
A  HUNDRED  TEARS  HENCE. 

And  of  this  party  is  Sir  Oliver  Free- 


**  Danvers  was  proposed,  and,  as  was 
expected,  an  opposition  candidate  started 
in  the  person  of  Sir  Oliver  Freeman, 
whose  barouche  was  left  far^  behind  him- 
self, and  who  was  literally  carried  into 
the  town-hall  upon  the  shoulders  of  the 
people. 

**  Sir  Oliver  was  a  patriot ;  and  after 
Mr  Danvers  bad  been  nominated  and  se- 
conded amidst  the  roost  violent  hootings 
and  hissings,  the  worthy  baronet's  name 
was  received  with  cheers,  only  equalled 
by  those  which  had  followed  Danvers's 
health  the  night  before,  under  his  own 
roof. 

"  Sir  Oliver  Freeman  was,  as  I  have 
just  said,  a  patriot — an  emancipator  (^ 
Roman  Catholics,  and  a  slave-trade  abo- 
litionist.  He  had  disinherited  his  eldest 
son  for  marrying  a  Papist,  and  separated 
from  his  wife  on  account  of  the  overbear- 
ing violence  of  his  temper. 

**  He  deprecated  the  return  to  cash- 
payments,  and,  while  gold  was  scarce, 
refused  to  receive  anything  but  guineas 
in  payment  of  his  rents.  He  advocated 
the  cause  of  the  Christian  Greeks,  and 
subscribed  to  Hone ;  he  wept  at  agricnl- 
tunU  distress,  and  never  lowered  his  rents. 
He  cried  for  the  repeal  of  the  Six  Acti» 


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Saifinffi  amf  JMngs, 


838 

and  proseented  poftdien  with  the  utmost 
rigour  of  tiie  law  j  he  was  a  saint,  and 
had  carried  an  address  to  Brandenburgh. 
He  heard  family  pra)rers  twice  every  day, 
and  had  a  daughter  l^  the  wife  of  a  nobfe 
Earl,  his  neighbour ;  which  daughter  the 
said  noble  Earl  recognized  and  acknow- 
ledged, though  by  no  means  doubtful  of 
her  origin. 

•'  He  rooreoTcr  spent  much  of  his  tinrt 
in  endeavouring  to  improve  the  condition 
of  poor  prisoners,  and  introdooed  the 
Iread-mill  into  the  county  gaol ;  he  sub* 
scribed  for  the  Irish  rebels,  and  convicted 
poor  women  at  quarter-sessions  of  the 
horrible  crime  of  mendicity ;  was  prssi« 
deat  of  a  branch  Bible  society,  and  so* 
dueed  his  wife's  housemaids;  was  a 
Stanofih  advocate  for  parliamentary  rei> 
fi>rm,  and  sat  ten  years  for  a  rotten  bo* 
rou^;  made  speeches  againsi  tithes» 
belog  one  of  the  greatest  toy-impropna> 
tors  in  the  kingdom ;  talked  of  the  glo- 
rious sovereignty  of  the  people,  and  never 
missed  a  levee  or  a  drawing-room  in  his 
life. 

**  Thus  qualified,  Sir  Oliver  Freeman 
stood  forward  a  son  of  freedom,  who,  on 
this  special  occasion,  had  declared  he 
would  ^ndjyiy  t/tomandjxnmdi  to  main- 
tain the  indepmdmu  of  his  native  coun- 
ty." 

'  It  so  ha3)peQ8>  that  this  first  tfl^  is 
our  principal  favourite  ;  and  as  it  con- 
tidns  specimens  of  all  the  a«thoi^s  best 
powers,  we  shall  venture  to  make  oar 
ijnotations  almost  entirely  from  it* 
Nothing,  we  thinks  can  be  better  than 
the  contrasts  under  which  he  exhibits 
bis  couple.  Hogarth's  two  nameless 
prints  are  not  better  fancied  than  these 
two  dinners  given  to  Mr  and  Mrs  Bur- 
ton Danvers— K)ne  before,  and  the  other 
after  their  elevation.  Here  is  the  Bc' 
Jbre  :— 

"  Pirevious  to  their  departure  for  Lon- 
don, the  Duchess  invited  the  Burtons  to 
dinner ;  the  invitation  was  accepted  and 
the  party  made.  Not  a  soul  except  the 
apothecary  of  the  neighbouring  town  was 
there ;  the  dinner  was  served  up  magni- 
ficently at  seven  o'clock;  it  lasted  till 
twenty  minutes  after  dght;  the  cham- 
pagne needed  nothing  colder  to  chill  it 
than  the  company ;  &e  daughters  spoke 
only  to  their  brotliers,  the  brothers  only 
to  their  parents;  Burton  was  placed  on 
the  right  of  the  Duchess,  KUroan  the 
apothecary  on  her  left:  the  whole  of  her 
Grace's  conversation  was  directed  to  the 
latter,  and  turned  upon  the  nature  of  in- 
fection, in  a  dissertation  on  the  relative 
dangers  of  typhus  and  scarlet  fever,  which 
'was  concluded  by  an  aissuranco  on  the 


QMarch, 


part  of  her  Oraee,  thai  she  would  endea- 
vour to  prerail  upon  Doctor  Somebody 
from  London  to  come  down  and  settle  in 
the  neighbourhood — a  piece  of  informa- 
tion which  was  received  by  her  medical 
hearer  with  as  mudi  composure  as  a  man 
eottld  muster  while  listening  to  intelli- 
gence likely  to  overturn  his  pracUce  and 
ruin  his  family. 

*<The  Duke  drank  whie  with  Mrs 
Burton,  and  oondeseended  to  inquire  af* 
ter  her  little  one ;  his  Grace  then  entered 
into  a  lengthened  dissertation  with  his 
second  son  upon  the  mode  of  proceeding 
he  intended  to  adopt  in  visiting  Oxford 
the  next  morning;  and  concluded  the 
dialogue  by  an  elaborate  panegyric  upon 
his  own  character,  that  of  his  children, 
his  horses,  his  wines,  and  his  servants. 

«  After  a  brief  sitting,  the  hidiea  re- 
tiredf  and  coffee  being  shortly  brought  to 
the  dianer-tabley  the  gentlemen  proceed- 
ed to  the  drawing-room,  which  they  found 
occupied  only  by  her  €rrace  and  Mrs  Bur- 
ton I  the  Lady  Elisabeth  having  retired 
with  a  head-aeh,  and  the  Lady  Jane  ha- 
iring accompanied  her  as  nurse. 

"  About  this  period  a  small  Freneh 
dock  on  the  ebimney-piece  struek  ten  : 
never  were  sounds  so  silvery  sweet  or 
iportal  ear  as  those  to  Mrs  Burton.  Her 
misery  had  been  complete ;  for,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  simple  horror  of  a  tM^^^-Mr 
with  the  Duchess— a  thing  in  itself  suifi- 
eient  to  have  frosen  a  salamander— her 
Grace  had  selected  as  a  subject  for  con- 
versation the  science  of  cianiology,  the 
name  of  which,  thanks  to  her  nnsophis- 
tication,  had  never  reached  Mary's  ears  ; 
and  the  poazle  she  was  in  to  make  oat 
what  it  was,  to  what  body  it  referred,  to 
what  part  of  a  body,  or  what  the  oi^gaae 
were,  to  which  her  Grace  kept  perpetu- 
ally alluding,  may  better  be  eoneeivcd 
than  imagined.  The  Duehess  voted  Mary 
a  sknpleton ;  Mary  set  her  Gmoe  down 
for  a  bore  $  and  Maxy,  with  all  her  sim- 
plieity,  was  the  nearer  the  mark  oC  the 
two. 

-  Who,  after  retiring  ftem  a  party  Ma- 
zing in  all  the  splendour  of  foyers, 
finery,  dress,  diamonds^  gewgaws,  and 
gaiety,  has  not  felt  the  exquisite  charm 
of  the  quiet  repose  of  home?  Who  lias 
not  experienced  the  joy  of  easting  off  re- 
stramt,  and  throwing  one's  self  into  one*s 
o>vn  comfortal^  chair  by  one's  oi»-n  fire- 
side, and  thanking  one's  stars  that  the 
trouble  of  pleasure  is  over?  If  we  ri) 
have  felt  that,  we  may  easily  imagine  tiie 
sensations  of  our  domesticated  couple, 
when  they  found  themselves  relieved 
from  the  horrid  restraint  of  Milfbrd  fuk 
—the  bolt  uprightnesi  wi^  which  Marj 
10 


Digitized  byA^OOQlC 


IB24.:] 


^Sfin^^  atui  Domgs. 


ml  ii|MMi  the  hard  ahiiuiig  sky^Uue  silk 
.aofii  wtth  tiM  Dndim,  was  abuidoiied 
for  tile  djaembenmised  loimge  <m  her  own 
ottoman ;  and  the  cold,  fonnal,  half-whi». 
pared  coBvemtion,  of  which  little  waa 
to  he  heard  aoonding  throng  the  wp%>^ 
eiona  aaloooy  save  the  tlbiUtiont  of  the 
aVa  wfaidi  occurred  in  the  course  of  it, 
netamorphoaed  into  comfortable  chat* 
replete  with  piquami  remarks  upon  their 
d€«r  friends,  and  interlarded  here  and 
there  with  sundry  little  coaxings  and 
kissings,  to  which,  although  married 
nearly  a  year  and  half,  Mr  Burton  con- 
mdered  himself  still  entitled. 

**  This  domestic  lato-^i-lste  concluded 
with  the  comfortable  resolution,  that  they 
were  much  happier  than  the  I>uke  and 
Doeheas;  thatnothingcould  induce  them, 
with  all  oontingendea  to  boot,  to  change 
lots;  and  they  retired  to  rest,  congratu* 
iating  themselves  that  the  day  was  over, 
and  the  eveDta  of  it  not  likely  soon  to  re* 


Here  aoain  is  the  After^^ot  rather 
we  should  say  part  of  it^  for  the  whole 
evening  is  Quite  as  delightful.  We  are 
no  longer  Mr  and  Mrs  Burton^  but 
Kr  and  Mrs  Burton  Danvers,  so  please 
yoa ;  with  somewhere  about  ten  mil- 
bona  in  the  bank,  and  elsewhere,  just 
oome  to  us. 

**  The  Dnke*s  dinner  was  splendid  in 
the  extreme ;  but  the  company,  mstead 
of  being  confined  to  a  family  party,  aided 
by  a  country  apothecary,  as  it  was  on  the 
last  virit  of  our  hero  and  heroine,  consist- 
ed of  two  cabinet  ministers  and  their  la- 
dies,  a  leash  of  earls,  a  countess  and  two 
daughters,  one  English  baron,  two  Irish 
ditto,  a  judge  and  daughter,  a  full  gene- 
ral; together  with  a  small  selection  of 
younger  scionrof  noble  stock,  in  and  out 
of  Parliament,  and  a  couple  of  establiih- 
ed  wits  to  entertain  the  company. 

**  The  poor,  dear,  mikl,  innocent  Bfory, 
fdt  oppressed,  as  If  she  were  all-flatten- 
cd  down  upoo  her  chair,  and  had  no 
right  to  be  in  the  room ;  and  when  the 
Earl  of  Harrogate,  who  sat  next  her  at 
dinner,  asked  her  by  way  of  starting  a 
oonWsation,  whether  she  preferred  Bon- 
ai  di  Bengis  to  Oamporese,  her  a|^re- 
hension  grew  into  pe^eet  alarm,  for  never 
having  heard  of  either  of  these  person- 
ages or  things,  whkdisver  they  nSght  be, 
which  his  Lordship  named,  it  appeared 
to  her  fomewhatdiffieuH  to  decide.  This, 
If  she  had  been  nsed  to  good  society, 
would  have  been  nothings  As  it  was,  her 
answer  was  less  happy  than  might  be 
imagined;  for  the  qnestion  having  been 
p«t  to  her  in  tiM  midst  of  a  prevailing 

Vol.  XV. 


330 

discussion  between  the  Duke  and  afljgfaty 
Countess,  upon  the  comparative  merits 
of  Silleri  and  St  Peray,  the  unsophistica- 
ted woman  concluded  that  her  neighbour 
wished  to  asceitain  her  opinion  of  some 
other  wines,  with  the  names  of  which  she 
happoied  to  be  unacquainted,  and  in  or- 
der to  do  what  she  thought  r^t,  she  re- 
plied to  Ms  inquiry  on  the  comparative 
excellence  of  the  two  opera-singers,  by 
saying,  <  Whichever  you  choose,  my 
Lord!' 

«  His  Lordship  set  Mrs  Danvers  down 
either  for  a  wag,  or  one  of  the  most  com- 
plying  persons  upon  earth.  However,  he 
determined  to  renew  the  attack,  and  aa. 
certain  more  of  the  character  of  his  foir 
friend,  and  therefore,  turning  again  to  her, 
inquired  if  she  <  liked  the  Opera?' 

"  This  question,  which  passed  with  her 
for  changing  the  sul^ect,  was  a  great  re- 
lief. She  answered  in  the  affinmative ; 
and  it  was  truth  that  she  diti  like  it,  for 
its  novelty,  having  visited  the  King's  the- 
atre but  twice  in  her  life. 

*<'  So  do  V  said  the  Earl;  <  but  I  am 
seldom  able  to  make  U  ou^.' 

'**  Nor  V  said  poor  Mrs  Danvers; 
*  and  it  is  certainly  a  great  drawback  to 
one's  pleasure.' 

<* '  What,  Ma'am,  not  goii^  ?*  said  the 
Earl,  still  fimcying  his  fair  friend  a  wag. 

*<*  No,  my  Lord;  not  understanding 
what  they  say ;  not  being  able  io  make  it 
out* 

« <  Oh,'  sud  his  Lordsliip,  with  an  af- 
fected gravity,  which  shewal  that  he  had 
made  her  out,  and  which  would  have  been 
instant  death  to  a  person  more  skilled  in 
the  ways  of  the  workl. 

*^  From  this  embarrassment,  she  was 
agreeaUy  relieved  by  her  lelthand  neigh- 
bour, who  began  a  dissertation  upon  the 
relative  wit  of  the  Prench  and  EngMsb, 
and  contended  with  much  force  and  gai- 
ety for  the  superiority  of  the  former. 

**  *  For  instance,^  said  his  Lordship^  *  1 
remember  a  French  loyalist  shewing  me 
the  statue  of  Buonaparte  resting  on  a 
triumphal  car,  In  the  Place  de  Carousel : 
but  hating  the  man,  he  pointed  to  the 
figure,  and  said,  with  incomparable  arch- 
ness, ,'  Voil4  Bonaparte ;  le  Ckar^Cat- 
tend  /"  The  same  man,  on  my  remarking 
the  letter  N  used  as  a  deoo^ition  for  the 
public  buildings  in  Paris,  said,  "  Ouh 
Monsieur,  nous  avons  ji  present  les  N'tnu 
partmtL"  These,*  added  the  gay  narrator, 
'  I  establish  in  opposition  to  any  English 
puns  I  ever  heard ;  and  I  vp^iai  to  my 
neighbour,  Mrs  Danvers,  to  decide  b^ 
tween  the  jokes  of  my  admirable  friends 
(the  wits)  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  and 
those  which  my  French  acquaintance 
SX 


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340 

qxNrted  to  me  vpcfoftBOUimaif^  vad  vrHh- 

out  effort  «p  oonslderatloii.* 

•*  TbiB  was  the  climax  of  poor  Marfn 
niBery ;  for,  in  addition  to  the  diffidence 
die  natunUly  foit  at  her  int  entrance  ki- 
to  real  society^  she  laboured  under  the 
disadrantage  of  not  knowing  the  lYench 
language,  or,  if  knowing  anythtag  of  it, 
assuredly  not  enongfa  to  decide  upon,  or 
eren  entirely  to  comprehend,  the  double 
meaning  of  the  jests. 
''She  coloured,  and  fidgeted,  and  thought 
herself  lahiting.  Burton,  who  sat  oppo- 
site to  her,  heard  what  was  gofaig  on,  and 
saw  her  agitation,— he  was  quite  as  mi* 
ser^e  as  herselC  Any  attempt  to  extri- 
cate her  would  have  risked  an  exposure ; 
but,  as  good  fortune  would  have  it,  just  as 
Mr  Trash  was  puzzling  his  brains  either 
to  make  an  extempore  joke,  or  exert  his 
available  memory,  by  quoting  one  from 
the  well-known  authority  of  Mr  Joseph 
Miller,  the  Duchess,  who  had  no  taste  for 
the  bnibonery  of  her  husband's  retainers, 
gave  the  welcome  signal  of  retreat  to  the 
drawing-room.'* 

One  little  spedmen  of  our  author's 
style  of  sketdiing  the  locale  of  a  story. 
In  a  very  different  style  to  be  sure 
from  the  opening  of  St  Ronan's  Well^ 
(the  best  opening  by  the  way,  since 
that  of  the  Antiaoary,)  but  still  in  its 
own  style  complete^  perfect,  unsur- 
passable is  this  opening  of  "  The 
Friend  of  the  Family." 

«*  My  country-town  it  situated  in  a 
valley ;  it  is  watered  by  a  river,  the  river 
is  crossed  by  a  bridge,  over  which  passes 
the  high  London  road.  In  the  centre  of 
the  main  street  stands  an  old  *  Town 
Hall,'  supported  by  rustic  columns  with- 
out cai^tals,  wfaidi  columns  are  ordinari- 
ly covered  widi  notices  of  sales,  adver« 
tisements  of  linen-drapery,  promises  of 
wealth  and  glory  to  aspiring  young  he* 
roes  wUlii^  to  enlist  for  the  East  Indies, 
and  notices  of  Quarter  Sessions,  and  of 
Acts  of  Affliament  intended  to  be  applied 
for. 

<*  This  Town-Hall  is  ornamented  with 
a  cleck,  which  does  not  go,  surmounted 
by  a  susty  weathercock ;  opposite  to  the 
dock,  and  moreover  on  the  shady  side  of 
the  building,  is  placed  a  swi-dial,  whose 
gnomon  is  distorted,. and  whose  (ace  is 
adorned  with  a  quaint  apothegm. 

**  On  one  side  of  the  street,  somewhat 
retired  from  it,  stands  the  diurch :  a 
neatly  trimmed  walk  leads  from  the  street 
diagonally  to  its  door,  across  a  cemeteiy 
undulating  with  rustic  graves,  where  sleep 
the  '  pride  of  former  days,*  remembered 
only  by  the  brief  and  pithy  poems  which 


S^fimgi  and  Doingi. 


Oindi, 


adorn  thdr  gnvo-^Cones,  or  In  the  hearts 
of  those  who  loved,  and  who  are  dastinedy 
after  a  little  more  of  tnmble^  to  follow 
them. 

^  Beyond  the  church-yard,  and  aoeea- 
siUe  by  another  road,  you  just  see  the 
parsonage,  a  white  and  andent  house, 
having  three  pointed  gaiUes,  with  towers 
of  chimneys  in  the  intervenhig  valleyeof 
rooC  The  gardens  are  prettily  laid  ont^ 
and  the  river,  which  you  cross  on  enters 
ing  the  town,  (not  navigable)  runs  throo^ 
them,  and  looks  black  in  its  deamess  as 
it  ripples  under  the  thfck  and  tangled 
foliage  of  the  intermingling  trees. 

**  Nearly  opposite  to  the  ^urch,  some- 
what conspicuously  placed,  stands  bolt 
upright,  in  all  its  London  pertness,  a 
house,  which,'  at  the  time  I  commence 
my  narrative,'  belonged  to  Mr  Amos 
Ford,  attom^-at-kw,  and  (consequently) 
gentleman.  The  door,  ttiustrated  by  * 
brass  knocks  of  condderable  size^  con- 
fined towards  its  knob  by  a  staple,  was 
so  contrived  as  effectuallv  to  secure  it 
from  the  depredations  of  itinerant  wags, 
who  occasionally  carry  their  suburban 
jests  for  out  of  the  bills  of  mortality. 

"  At  the  coRier  of  the  market>place  is 
THB  shop,  where  even/bodyhoys  eoajUdHg, 
— 4hll  of  flannels,  and  lace^  and  tf^eSyand 
bonnets,  and  toys,  and  trinkets,  looking 
dark,  and  smdling  (iistily.  On  the  first 
floor  over  it,  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak, 
lodged  Captain  Hogmore,  an  officer  on 
the  recruiting  service,  who  might  be  seen 
every  day,  Sundayi  excepted,  from  ten 
till  twOk  seated  at  a  table  covered  with 
dusty  green  baize,  whereon  stood  a  furred 
decanter  and  a  squat  tumbler,  wherein  to 
pour,  and  vrhereout  of  to  drink,  some 
milky-looking  water  contained  in  the  bot- 
tle, by  way  of  refreshmeiit  from  his  else 
intermitting  laboitfs  upon  the  Gennan 
flute. 

**  Towards  the  extremity  of  the  town 
there  stood  an  *  Academy  for  young  gen- 
tlemen, by  tile  Rev.  R.  Birch  and  Assist- 
anU;*  nort  door  to  which  was  «  Mrs 
Tlckle*sEstabIishmentfor  young  Ladies.' 
This,  however,  does  not  say  much  for  the 
iocaUtyt  for  it  rarely  occurs  («%,  I  leave 
to  the  saints  and  sages  of  tiiis  en  of  «R- 
Itghtenment  to  decide)  that  one  seas  a 
school  for  boys  witfMWt  a  contiguous  s»« 
minary  for  girls. 

*•  After  you  pass  the  turnpike^  yonasci 
on  your  left,  Burrowdale  Pack,  the  asat 
of  the  Right  Hon.  Ixnd  Bdmon^  a  qift> 
dous  mansion  in  the  foU  uniform  of  bad 
taster  red  brick  with  white  fodnga— a 
pimfde  on  the  beautifol  foce  of  Nature : 
in  the  days  of  which  I  treat,  noSa  daisy 
presumed  to  lift  its  head  above  the  smooth 


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1W4.3  Sayings  and  Doings. 

antiiwe  of  tilt  wdUmowo  kmm  before  it : 
eferything  was  nteeneae*  order,  fuid  pre- 
dsioo;  gmniumiy  tortured  over  fims  in 
pots  of  the  lirightett  scarlet,  lined  the 
steps  which  led  up  to  the  hsll-door,  like 
gmtlemen  pensioneis  in  the  presence- 
chmmber— ever]rthing  shone  in  spotless 
ncttness :  the  steps  themselves  were  as 
white  as  snow,  and  the  well-oiled  wea^ 
thercockon  the  stables,  as  it  silently  veer- 
ed with  the  wind,  glittered  in  the  sun 
with  a  bird-dazzling  brightness. 

«*  The  noble  owner  of  Burrowdale  was, 
at  the  time  we  begin  oar  history,  absent ; 
he  had  been  our  minister  at  a  foreign 
court  for  seven  years ;  and  had  been  ho- 
noured, in  approbation  of  his  conduct, 
with  the  Gvil  Grand  Cross  of  the  Bath. 
During  his  Lordship's  absence.  Burrow- 
dale  Hall  was  let  furnished  to  Mr  and 
La^  Honorta  Humbug,  who,  with  the 
three  lovely  Misses  Humbug,  usually 
passed  their  summer  months  of  Septem- 
ber, October,  and  November,  hi  that  dig- 
nified retirement.** 

Tlie  tale  which  opens  so  exavisitely 
ia,  we  regret  to  eay,  by  far  the  most 
atrodout  spedmen  of  the  improbable 
in  this  species  of  fiction^  that  we  have 
for  some  time  happened  to  meet  with. 
There  is  an  Attcnn^  blacker  than  all 
tke  Ferrets,  who  acU  the  part,  notonly 
of  a  knavci  which  is  right,  but  of  an 
arrant  fool,  throudioat,  which  is 
wrong ;  and  a  Methodist  girl^  who 
runa  off  after  half  an  hour's  courtship, 
not  with  the  Methodist  Parson,  but 
with  a  resuscitation  of  our  worthy 
friend  Sylvester  DaggerwDod.  Final- 
ly, there  is  an  ambassador,  who,  aftef 
being  quixied  through  fifty  pogesi  as  a 
solemn  ass,  turns  out,  evidently  with 
an  ^e  to  relieving  the  story  of  some  of 
its  embannssmento,  one  of  the  finest 
and  most  manly  feUows  in  the  world. 

Of  the  third  tale,  which  bears  the 
title  of ''  Mertoun,"  we  need  not  say 
much  more* 

It  ia  a  pnuled  tale  of  a  fellow  who  is 
always  half  an  hour,  or  thereabouts, 
late^  and  gets  thvoui^  all  sort  of  mia- 
fortunes  in  manjing  a  wife,  or  losing 
one,  or  in  being  amteneed  to  be  hang- 
ed, which,  by  the  way,  is  but  a  second 
edition  of  the  History  of  Ambrose 
Gwynneth— whitewashed  in  an  insd- 
vent  court,  croned  in  love,  &c.  &c 
There  is  in  it,  however,  a  great  deal 
of  well  drawn  character,'and  some  most 
amusing  scenes.  ''Martha  the  Gipsy" 
IS  the  concluding  story ;  but  what  do 
we  in  this  landof  mist  and  mountain. 


S41 

where  wndiha  and  bogfes  Uoom  inrnQ 
varieties,  care  aboot  a  Gipsy  of  Coa- 
kaigne,  whose  powers  are  confined  to 
upsettinff  a  shandrydan  in  the  hands 
of  a  Coocney  driver^— killing  a  girl  ki 
the  green^sickness-'-and  sending  .  a 
pursy  citizen  out  of  the  world,  after 
eating  a  hundred  weight  of  plum- 
cake  on  Twelfth  Night!  Not  a  hkck- 
berry. 

The  merit  of  this  book  lies  not,  as 
we  have  already  hinted,  in  ^he  forma- 
tion of  fiibles — the  chief  beauty  in 
that  department  may  be  expressed  in 
one  word,  simpUeity.  One  under- 
stands perfectly  what  the  author's 
drift  is;  and,  in  this  view,  these 
things  remind  us  of  some  of  Miss 
Edgeworth's  charming  minor  tales ; 
but  beyond  this,  the  admiratioB  one 
fedi  is  not  excited  by  anything  wai- 
nected  with  the  plot,  but  merely  the 
extraordinary  brilliancy  and  lightnoss 
of  the  writer's  touch  in  hittmg  off  tlie 
scenes  and  the  charactera  of  actual 
life,  hi§^  and  middl»-*lbr,  as  to  low 
lift^  he  Ms  just  as  much  as  Lady 
Morgan  does  in  higlu  The  eye  of  a 
keen  playful  wit  and  satirist  has  beien 
upon  the  world  in  a  vast  variety  of  its 
spheres  of  action  and  affiecution,  and 
here  we  have  "  the  harvest  of  that 

aniet  eye*"  Old  fVowsy  diamond^ 
led  dowager»-*<old  stately  dueb^ 
esies—pompous  G.  C.  B.'a-^to  a  U 
Sidney  Smith,  or  Boger»--eraek  men 
ftom  thi  house— knowing  young 
guardsmen  and  lancei»-dn  niort,  the 
lecture  of  St  James's  narlsh  is  unrol- 
led, «id  if  it  be  not  aU  finished  vp  witil 
6)ual  labour,  one  sees  at  leasl  that  it 
hsfi  been  all  sketched  and  rubbed  In 
by  the  saaie  free,  flowing,  and  unfesr- 
inghand.* 

We  hope  the  anther  wUl  soon  an* 
pear  again ;  and  we  hope  also  that  he 
will  then  do  Aat  whidi  he  at  present 
only  says  he  has  done-^tbat  is,  Hhtt* 
t^rate  pnmerbs.  The  Maxima  ^fhlch 
he  haa  aevendlv  misted  at  die  end  of 
hiatales,in  dmttai  letters,  are  no  doubt 
dd,  good,  ana  true ;  but  they  are,  one 
and  all  of  them,  very  fkr  from  being 
the  proverbs  that  an  English  Sanchd 
Pansa  would  have  quoted  as  most  ap- 
plicable to  the  matters  in  hand.  To 
illustrate  the  jirovcrb,  "Too  much  of 
a  good  thing  is  good  for  nothing/'  we 
have  the  history  of  a  familv  who  are 
made  too  rich.  Well;  and  why  not 
the  history  of  a  man  who  is  too  bold 
of  a  woman  who  is  too  gentle — 


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348,  Soffingi  and  Doings.  £JU.nA, 

or  of  any  ezoen  ?  We  hate  proverbs  tpriolitly  qiedmen  of  true  man-of-tiie^ 

-  enough  appropriate  to  ridies,  and  to  world  oMerration^  and  true  man-of- 

richea  only— as,  **  'Tis  a  bad  ear  that  the-world  writing,  too ;  and,  aa  we 

ia  too  heavy  for  the  stalk" — "  If  you  have  spoiled  our  copy  with  the  ex- 

£31  the  poke  too  weU,  you  will  burst  tracts,  we  trust  the  culprit,  vrhoever 

it,"  &c  &c  &c. — and  so  of  all  the  he  be,  will  send  us  a  large-paper  one 

oUiers.    Our  author  has  never  dipt  immediately,  autograph  and  all,  to 

even  into  the  miserable  collection  of  stand  many  shelves  nearer  to  the  IK- 

old  Ray.  able  BoUeux  Uian  anything  that  has 

We  perceive  that  this  book  is  pla-  appeared  for  some  time, 

carded  m  the  windowa  of  some  of  our  Let  him  remember  also  that  the 

northern    bibliopoles    aa    Theodore  Diable  Boiteux  preceded  the  Gil  Bias. 

Hook's.  Hook,  however,  is  like  Chris«  We  observe  that  a  note  from  Mr 

tian  in  ^everil  of  the  Peak :   He  ia  ODoherty,  now  on  our  table,  refers  to 

Uamed  for  everything.    Be  it  his  or  this  work.    So  let  it  go  forth  in  puris. 
not,  the  book  is  a   most  airy  and 

NOTE  PBOM  MB  ODOHERTY. 

Db  AE  North, 

Nothing  like  humbug.  What  think  you  of  the  following  prime  specimen^ 
firom  an  arch  enemy,  too,  {soi-disant  at  all  events)  ?  Just  turn  up  that  moot 
commendable  anti-^Whig  and  anti-pluckless  work,  entitled,  *^  Sayings  and 
Doings."  Cut  him  up  at  volume  II.  p.  192,  and  you  vrill  find  it  written  in 
these  words: — 

*'  It  is  really  astonishing  I  and  great  credit  is  due  to  the  refinement  of  the 
present  age ! !  which  has  banished  the  vice  of  drunkenness  ftom  all  dviliaed  and 
weU-regiuated  society ! !   It  has  accompanied,"  &c.  Sec  Sec    Ohe  Hdm  satis  ! 

And  you  are  the  lad  that  shew  up  the  Humbug  fimiily,  name  and  surname, 
ao  noUy  in  this  very  volume  ? 

Seriously,  North,  let  me  recommend  the  above  as  moat  supereminent  hum- 
bug. The  refinement  of  the  a^,  ^uoth  he.  Drinking  is  gone  by  in  the  sdf- 
Btvledui>per  ranks,  because  fiishion  msists  on  champagne  and  other  such  stufi^ 
which  being  dear  and  weak,  doea  not  suit  the  pauper  pockets  of  the  ton  leaders ; 
and  lor  no  other  reason  in  the  world.  My  poor  Lord  ^— ,  who  can  just  af- 
ford enough  to  keep  a  carriage,  and  a  group  of  locust-Hke  servants,  of  no  com- 
fort or  use  to  him,  and  is  condenmed  to  wear  an  unending  succession  of  hats, 
and  coata,  and  breechea,  and  shoes  abominably  made,  vile  in  taste  and  paltir 
in  execution,  at  fifbeen  times  their  price,  who,  in  a  word,  must  consult 
Sox  the  otttdde,  to  the  manifeat  detrimei^t  of  the  interior  of  his  corporal 
jnan,  dedarea  that  drinking  ia  low,  because  he  cannot  afibrd  what  is  lordl;^,  and 
is  too  sadlv  afraid  of  hisblactoiard  servanta,  to  induk;e  in  plebeian  tipple; 
and  my  laay,  who  haa  to  pull  ue  devil  by  the  tail,  to  So  the  amiable  at  her 
humdrum  rows,  votes  gentlemen  dinners  a  bore,  and  staying  over  ^  itiae 
beastlv;  but  God  he^  your  head;  the  nobility  of  Endand  still  uncork 
their  ootiks ;  so  do  the  fbx-huntera ;  so  do  the  army  and  navy ;  so  do  the 
literati ;  ao  does,  I  venture  to  aar,  the  very  writer  of  the  above  ^eoe  of 
atufi^,  which  I  should  refute  at  lengtn  were  I  ao  minded ;  but  having  an  idea 
of  writing  a  series  of  lectures  on  the  suliject,  I  shall  here  refrain.  I  only 
b^  leave  to  put  in  my  protest  against  gentiUtif  being  adduced  aa  a  sufficient 
reason  for  shortening  toe  compotations  c/f  our  fcnreilithera.  Adduce  whatever 
you  please  against  it,  but  believe  me,  thai  is  only  held  up  as  a  oover-ahit  for 
poverty,  and  innate  diabbiness,  wherever  it  occurs.    Bxperio  crede. 

Writer  of  Sayings  and  Doings,  had  not  you  a  bucket  of  i^enlivet  under 
your  belt  just  about  the  time  you  vm>te  the  above  ?  I  lay  you  a  dinner 
for  the  present  company  (li)  you  had.  M.  OD. 

Ambrose*!,  Mhenst  \ 

Manh  17,  3  a.m.  S 


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343 


caolt's  comedy.* 


A  Comedy  by  the  author  of  CatU 
Uney  and  Paris  in  1815^  la  worth  no- 
ticing eren  by  lis  who  have  Ions  since 
given  up  criticizing  the  Acted  Drama 
of  London.  We  could  not  bear  to 
wade  throuffh  the  stuff  of  Con- 
sciences, Bedamiras,  Mirandolas,  &c 
written  by  ingenious  gentlemoi — 
acted  with  much  applause — affording 
fine  oppcwtunities  for  developing  the 
genius  of  the  Keans,  the  Macr^ys, 
and  the  other  great  and  mighty  per- 
sons who  perform  parts  in  plays— 
pufied  by  the  lUustrissimi  wno  cri- 
tique for  the  newspapers — sprinted  to 
the  detriment  of  the  bibliopolic  tribe 
^brsotten  at  the  end  of  the  season, 
-^-and  already  employed  usefiilly  in 
lininff  trunks,  covering  pattmna,  or 
affiyrcung  succedanca  to  gentlemen — 
ahaving,  or  occupied  in  any  other  si- 
milar operation.  We  were  sick  of 
heaiiog  people  talking  pro  and  ecn 
on  sum  tiiiiu;B.  Feeli^  for  the  best' 
of  them,  onfy  the  steady  intensity  of 
contempt,  we  never  opened  our  lips 
on  the  sulrject,  and  forgot  the  theatre 
as  much  as  decent  pec^le  in  general 
appear  to  have  done. 

But  we  could  not  treat  Croly  in  this 
dlo-^a«^.ef|.6at  sort  of  &shion.  His 
comedy  was  performed  with  vast  and 
unanimous  approbation — a  drcum- 
•tance  which,  to  be  sure,  we,  who 
know  what  kind  of  a  poor  tlung  a 
London  audience  is,  do  not  value  over- 
much— and  here  it  is  published  in  a 
day  or  two  afterwards,  whioh  brii^ 
it  fairly  under  our  critical  eye.  We 
have  just  a  few  pages  to  spare,  and 
we  may  as  well  fill  them  up  with  a 
hearty  analysis,  and  specimens  of  the 
play,  as  do  anything  else.  The  plot 
IS  aunple,  aflK>raing  but  £ew  inddenta, 
and  turning,  of  course,  on  a  crosdng 
in  love,  wiu,  as  comedy  is  bound  to 
doy  a  h^ipy  explanation  and  amend- 
ment of  all  untoward  events.  The 
scene  is  in  Palermo ;  it  opens  with  a 
serenade  under  the  winoows  of  old 
Count  Ventoso,  a  grocer,  ennobled  by 
the  death  of  a  distant  relative,  whose 
son  had  long  been  absent,  and  was 
supposed  to  be  lost.  The  serenading 
part  is  brought  in  honour  of  his  second 
daughter  Leonora,  by  a  scape-grace 


adventurer,  named  Torrento,  who  is 
persuading  her  to  dope  with  him.  She 
IS  on  the  point  of  complying  when  the 
serenaders,  discontentea  with  scanty 
payment,  raise  a  tumult  which  wakes 
the  household,  and  she  retreats  firom 
the  window.  Torrento  on  expostula- 
ting angrily  with  his  band,  finds  that 
two  of  them  are  constables  employed 
to  arrest  him  for  a  dud  transaction ; 
and  they  accordingly,  after  an  ineffec- 
tual struggle,  carry  mm  off  to  jail.  In 
the  next  scene  we  are  introduced  to 
Count  Ventoso,  who  testily  bewails 
the  troubles  occasioned  by  nis  newly 
acquired  ^ndeur,  but  his  lamtma- 
tions  are  interrupted  by  his  wife,  (a 
lady  of  rather  domineering  habits,) 
who  informs  him  that  Lorenzo,  the 
accepted  suitor  of  their  dder  drags- 
ter, Victoria,  had  arrived,  and  would 
certainly  expect  his  promised  bride. 
Lorenzo  is  a  captain  of  hussars — ^fair 
and  handsome,  as  becomesa  hero  ^ a 
pky^but  of  humble  birth,  on  which 
account  the  Countess  ur^s  his  r^ec- 
tion  in  their  altered  circumstances, 
and  extorts  a  reluctant  consent  f^m 
her  husband.  The  next  scene  we  shall 
let  speak  for  itself. — 

Vbntobo  and  the  Commm  krniy  in. 
Couiu  'Tis  he !  he's  in  the  porch. 
Oo,  turn  hisa  beek^ 
Tell  him,  J'tt  not  receive  htm. 

Yen.  l4gilate(L)         Igo?-»tiini?— 
Not  for  a  cargo  !— 

Fie.  Whom? 

Fetu  Lorenzo!  girl. 

Fie    Lorenzo  I^Heavens  !— >I  dare 

not  meet  him  now. 
Omul  Where's  the  child  flyteg  to  ? 

[Holdutgher. 

Vic  Let  me  b^ne, 

Or  see  me  die  before  you.  [Shi  ntahe$  ami. 

Fen,  Let  wte  begone,  and  deal  with 

himyourselt 
Cbim.  Here  you  must  stay. 
Yen.  (LiHemng,)  Let  me  but  get  my 


There's  battery  and  bloodshed  in  his 

heels. 
Lo&ENZO  enters  m  high  ttnimatwn.     He 
taiet  their  hands. 
Lor,  My  noble  fiither !  Countess  mo- 
ther too! 
I  heard  of  your  good  fortune  at  the  port, 


*  FHde  shall  have  a  Pall :  A  Comedy,  in  Five  Acts— with  Songs.  Dedicated, 
by  permission,  to  the  Right  Honourable  G.  Canning.  First  performed  at  the  Theatre 
R<^  Covent-Garden,  March  1 1,  1821  London,  printed  for  Hurst,  Robinson,  & 
Co.  00,  Cheapside  ;  and  8»  Fall-MtUl.     1824w 


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344 


Crofy's  Comedy. 


[iMttch, 


And  give  you  joy !  I  came  on  wings  to 

JOtt. 

Where  is  Victoria?  [Tkey  Hand  tvOenfy. 
(Anxiotufy.h^U  she  ill  ? 
Cowu  Ko!  well. 

Lor.  Then,  all  is  welL 
Ven.  What  shall  I  say  to  him?  [jMide. 
(.^m^omuKxi.)— How   go    the    wars? 
You've  had  hard  fightings  sir? 
Lor.  Blows,  as  was  natural;  beds^  as 
it  pleased  Fate, 
Under  the  forest-trees,  or  on  the  sands,^- 
Or  on  the  billows.    Where's  T^ctoria, 
mother? 
Cbwi.  Mother,  forsooth ! 

[She  walks  away  haughtify, 
Ven.  You  had  rare  plundering  in  Mo- 
rocco;—Slks, 
The  genume  Fersian^-Cichmere  shawla- 
Lor,  None,  none. 

Veh.  Bottles  of  Attar— jewels ! 
Let,  Not  a  stone ! 

Where  is  my  love  ?  {He  catts.)  Victoria ! 
Fen.  (Grovefyk)  Hear  me,  sir; 

Onr  house  has  had  new  honours,— laige 

estates 
Have  found  their  heirs  in  us. 
Xon  I've  heard  all  this. 

Caun.  How  he  flames  out ! 
Ven,  It  is  the  custom  here 

That  like  shall  wed  with  like 

Lor.  Custom  of  fools ! 

No!  wise  and  worldly,  but  not  made 

foriM. 
I  am  pUin  spoken;— love  her— know 

no  art, 
But  such  as  is  the  teaching  of  true  love ; 
And  as  I  won,  will  wear  her.    Coun^ 

your  hand ! 
This  is  to  try  me.— Yet,  what's  in  your 

speedi. 
That  thus  it  hangs  so  freezing  on  your 

lip? 
Out  with  tlie  worst  at  once.    Your  an- 
swer.  Lord. 
Fen.  Our  name's  ennobled. 
Coun.  Are  you  atuwered  now ! 

Ify  child,  unless  she  find  a  noble  spouse, 
Sludl  die  unmarried. 
Lor.  (In  sudden  d^ecHon.)  Is  it  come 
to  this?  [7Vritii^at0«^. 

'Tis  true^  I  should  have  learnt  humility : 
Thie,  I  am  nothing ;  nothing  have— but 

hope! 
I  have  no  ancient  birth,.— no  heraldry  ;— 

(Oontempiuousljf.) 
No  motley  coat  is  daub'd  upon  my  shield ; 
I  cheat  no  rabble^  like  your  Charlatans, 
By  flinging  dead  men's  dust  in  idiots' 

eyes; 
I  work  no  miracles  with  buried  bones ; 
I  belt  no  broken  and  distemper'd  shape 
With  shrivell'd  parchments  pluck'd  from 

mouldy  shelves ; 
Yet,  if  I  stoop'd  to  talk  of  ancestry, 


I  had  an  ancestor,  as  old  and  noble 
As  all  their  quarterings  reckon— mine 
was  Adam! 
Coun.  'Twere  best  stop  there.    You 
knew  the  fisherman. 
By  the  Falazza !  [TaunUngi^, 

Ven.  ( To  MtfCotiiUev.)  Will  you  have 
swords  out  ?  \Mde. 

Lor.  {IfUh  dignify.)  The  man  who 
gave  me  being,  though — ^no  Lord^ 
Was    Nature's   nobleman,— >«n  honest 

man! 
And  prouder  am  I,  at  this  hour  to  stand, 
Unpedestall'd,  but  on  his  lowly  grave, 
Than  if  I  tower'd  iqx>n  a  monmnent 
High  as  the  clouds  with  rotten  infiuny. 
(Cb/Zi.)— Come  forth,  sweet  fove;  and 

tell  them  how  they've  wrong'd 
Your  constant  fiiith. 
Ven.    {To  the  Countess^  aside.)    He^U 

have  the  house  down  else* 
Cbtifi#  Yon  shall  be  satisfied*    Now^ 
mark  my  words !      [She  goes  osa. 
Lor.    {I^uming  on  FmUeso.)    What 
treachery's  Uiis  ? 
Your  answer,  sir.    I'll  not  be  scom'd  a 
vain! 
Ven.  {Jfftated,)  Saint  Anthony,  save 
us !  I  foresaw  it  all— 
Left  here  alone  with  this— rhinoceros ! 

[Mde. 
{To  Zormao.)— Nay,  C^tain,  hear  but 

reason ;  let's  be  friends. 
My  wife— all  womankind  must  have 

their  will— 
Please  her,  and  buy  a  title. 
Lor.  Title,  fool! 
Ven.  {Following  him,  sooUangfy.) 
Then  half  the  world  are  fools.    The 

thmg  *s  dog-cheap, 
Down  in  the  maricet,  fifty  below  par ; 
They  have  them  at  all  prices— etars  and 

strings; 
Ay,  flnom  a  ducat  upward*— you'll  have 

choice, 
Blue  boars,  red  lions^  hogs  in  armour, 

goaU, 
Swans  with  two  necks,  gridirons  and 

geese!  By  Jove, 
My  doctor,  nay,  my  bail»er»  is  a  knight. 
And  weara  an  order  at  his  button-hole^ 
Like  a  field-marshaL 
Victoria  enters,  urged  by  the  CouNms. 
Lorenzo  rushes  oner  to  her* 
Lor.  {Gating  on  hen)  Victoria,  knre ! 
I  knew  thou  wert  unchanged. 
As  is  thy  beauty.  Ay,  this  £uthful  lip 
Keeps  its  true  crimson,  and  this  azure 

eye. 
As  blue  as  heaven,  is,  fiir  as  heaven, 

above 
Our  fickleness  of  nature. 

Vic   {AgjJUUed,)  Sir!  this  is  painful. 
Stand  beside  me  now. 

[To  the  Countess,  aside. 


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1984.3  Crofy'* 

We  know  jou— «  mostluMioiit^d  gentle- 

A  OifaHcr  aooompliihed. 

YottwiUflsd 
OtlMrt  Biore  worthy  of  your  love.— 

Furewell^ 
I  do  beteedi  you,  sir,  forgel  this  diQr> 
And  with  iu-me. 

[ake  riHh  into  ike  Oomtems  mmuk 
Coun.  (7b  Lor,)  Are  you  convinced 

at  hut? 
Fen.  You  see  the  ^e's  against  you. 

[To  Lor. 
Lor.  (InmigyiA.)  All's  undone! 
(HeretwrruntdienfytMndiaktiherhand 
as  they  are  kaimg  her  away.) 
Victoria,  look  upon  me  !— 

See  the  face 
Of  one  to  whom  you  were  heart,  wealth, 

and  worid, 
When  tiie  bub  scorch'd  us,— when  tiie 

forest  shade, 
Worse  than  the  taaoea  of  the  ieiy  Moor, 
Steep'd  us  in  poisonous  dews^— I  thought 

ofym, 
I  kbsM  this  picture  {Takmg  mdherwd^ 

matmrt)  and  was  well  again. 
When  others  slept,  IfoOow'd  every  star. 
That  stoop'd  upon  BUemo,  wi&^my 

prayers ! 
In  battle  with  the  Moor,  I  tiiought  of 

Worshipp'd  your  Image  with  a  thousand 


And  would  have  fiMsed  ten  thousand  of 

their  spears 
Tb  bring  hack  honoiurs,  whidi  before  your 

¥^here  lay  my  heart  already^  should  be 

laid. 
In  heidtb  and  sickness,  peril,  victory, 
I  had  no  thought  untwined  with  your  true 

love. 
Coun.  {trnpatknOy  harmmgto  VeiOoto.) 
Why  don*t  yon  talk  to  him  ?— 

No  blood  of  mine 
Shall  link  with  aay  trooper  of  them  alL 
I'll  liave  jio  knapsacks  in  w^  ftunily ;  ( To 


) 
I'll  have  no  barrackfl^  and  no  Hectors 

here; 
No  captains^  with  their  twenty  wives 


Scuffling  about  my  house;  no  scarlet 

rogues. 
Who  thhik  their  tags  and  feaUier  titles 

good 
To  noble  heiresses. 

Ven.  (4gita<fd.)— Wife,  lead  her  in— 
(Those  women — Oh,  those  women  I— 
plague  on  plague  i)  \Aade. 

{To  Lorenmh)  Come  here  sgam  ^<o 
monov— when  you  will— 
But  leaya  ua  now. 
(To  the  CewnUm.)  The  gid  will  die. 


Comedy.  345 

2\»  Loremo.  Good  day. 

Lor.  {To  Fictona.)— One  word, 
Vic.  My  parents  have  commanded,  sir. 
And  I— I  oust— obey  them. 

[She  it  ooerpowered. 

Lor.   (/ft  on^ioi^)— Faith's  gone  to 

heaven.  I  should  have  sworn  the  gold 

Of  India  could  not  thus  have  slain  (me 

love! 
Victoria,  hear  me. 
{To  VenioK,) 

Where's  your  honour,  sir  ? 
{Turning  aux^  contemptuously,) 
No;  m  not  stop  my  free^  recovered 

heart, 
To  play  the  mendicant  Farewell  to  love; 
Henceifbrth,  let  venerable  oaths  of  men, 
And  women's  vowa^  though  all  the  stars 

of  heaven 
Were  listening,— be  forgotten,— 4ight  as 

dust!— 
Oo,  woman !  {She  woTit.)— Tears !— 4qr, 

all  the  sex  can  weep ! 
Be  high  and  heartless !  I  have  done  with 
thee! 

[UtttAei  ou/a 
Fie  Lorenzo !— -Lost  for  ever  I — 
Own.  Would  the  fool  follow  him  ? 

[She  holds  her, 
Ven.  Speak  kinder,  wife. 

Her  hand's  like  ice.— Those  women ! 
[SustaJMmg  her 
Vic  {Figebfy.)  Lead  me  in. 

Where's  Leonora? 

Omn,  Run  away,  no  doubt 

Call  her,  to  help  my  lady  to  her  coach. 
Ven.  (lfia^.)«-LoreDzo'8  wrath  is 
roused.   He'll  find  revenge. 
Hell  loose  his  comrades  at  us,  .hunt  us 

down. 
We'll  be  Uie  scoff  o*  the  city.   All's  nn* 
done. 
CouTt.  The  girl  shall  have  a  noble- 
she's  a  match 
For  a  Magnifioo. 

Ven,  For  any  roan ! 
(Had  she  her  mother's  tongue.)  [Aside. 
The  second  act  brings  Lorenao's 
brother  officers  on  the  stage.  They 
are  in  a  billiaid^^room,  plaYing,iokiiig, 
and  quarrelling,  as  befalls^  when  He 
arrives  dejected  finnn  hia  interview. 
They  get  from  him  the  secret  of  hia 
aorrowB.  When  they  hear  that  he  it 
rejected  on  the  score  of  inferiority  of 
rank^  and  that  the  service  has  heen 
afiVonted  in  his  person,  their  eeprit  dB 
corpe  rises,  and  they  suggest  that  the 
pride  of  the  family  ^ould  be  hnmbied 
Dy  intruding  an  impostor  into  it^  aa  a 
fit  match  for  the  daughter.  One  of 
them  is  acquainted  with  the  jailor  of 
Pdermo,  and  proposes  to  go  to  the 
prison^  th^ e  to  pick  up  a  suitahle 


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346  (^''^y'- 

character.  It  is  agreed  on.  llie  jailor 
musters  hk  prisoners— and  after  some 
bustle  and  humour,  Torrento  (who 
joyfally  consents,  when  he  finds  he 
can  thereby  procure  an  introduction 
to  Ventoso  8  house)  is  selected.  Pri- 
son discipline,  we  must  say,  must  be 
more  ha.  in  SicQy  than  in  England, 
for  we  find  the  jailor  consenting,  withr. 
out  di£Sculty,  to  let  out  the  prisoner 
for  a  week,  on  the  verbal  responsibili- 
ty of  O'Shannon — a  Hibernian,  m^)or 
of  the  corps.  Torrento  is  to  pass  as 
the  Prince  de  PindemOnte,  the  Vice- 
roy of  Sidly,  who  has  not  yet  arrived 
at  nis  government ;  and  money,  dress^ 
introductions,  &c.  to  support  the  cha- 
racter, are  supplied  by  the  officers. 

In  the  third  act  we  have  Victoria 
alone.    She  smgs— 

Victoria  akme. 
Farewell !  IVe  broke  my  chain  at  last ! 
1  stand  upon  hfe*8  fifUal  shore ! 
The  bitterness  of  death  is  past, 
^or  love  noT  scorn  can  wnnff  me  more. 
I  lov'd,  how  deeply  lov'd !  Oh,  Heaven ! 
To  thee,  to  thee  the  pang  is  known ; 
Yet,  traitor,  be  thy  crime  forgiven. 
Mine  be  the  shame,  the  grief  alone ! 

The  maddening  hour  when  first  we  met. 
The  glance,  the  smile,  the  vow  you  gave ; 
The  last  wUd  mom^ent  haunt  me  yet ; 
I  feel  they'll  haunt  me  to  my  grave  !— 
Down,  wayward  heart,  no  longer  heave  ; 
Thou  idle  tear,  no  longer  flow ; 
And  may  that  Heav'n  he  dar'd  deceive, 
Forgive,  as  I  forgive  him  now. 

Too  lovdy,  oh,  too  lov'd,  farewdl  I 
Though  parting  rends  my  bosoip  strings. 
This  hour  we  part !— The  grave  shall  tell 
The  thought  that  to  my  spirit  dings. 
Thou  pain,  above  all  other  pain ! 
Thou  joy,  all  other  joys  above ! 
Again,  again  I  feel  thy  chain. 
And  die  thy  weeping  martyr— Lovk. 

{She  wallet  in  agUatum,) 
Vic.  Oh !  what  decaying,  feeble,  fickle 
things 
Are  lovers'  oaths !  There's  not  a  light  in 

heaven 
But  he  has  sworn  by;  not  a  wandering 

^^ 
•  But  he  has  loaded  with  his  burning  vows, 

To  lote  me,  serve  me,  through  all  sor- 

rows,  scorns; 

Ay,  though  1  trampled  hun :  and  yet  one 


Spoke,  too,  in  maiden  duty,  casts  him  off, 

Like  a  loosed  felcou !  No !  he  never  loved. 

Leonora  enUn  with  phacitif.  She  callh  enr 

tering* 

Leon.  Victoria!  sister!  there's  a  sight 

abroad*- 
{She  looks    in  her  face  with  surprise.) 


Cumedy.  QMarch, 

What !  weeping? 
Vic.    (««Aami««l.)— Girl,    'tis   no- 

tbmg— Chance— 'tis  done. 

Leon.  {Looldngatheranmwihf,)^ 

Nothing,  sweet  sister!  here  are  heavy 

signs 
Ofapam'dspirit;  sighs  upon  your  lips. 
Blushes,  that  die  away  like  summer  hues 
On  the  crept  rose ;  and  here's  a  heaving 

heart, 
The  very  beat  of  woe !    (fl»c  preuee  her 
handtqHm  Victoria's  side.) 
[A  distani  Jlourish  of  horns  is  heard. 
Vic   (^Ustenmg  in  surprise-)  ^Wlml 

sounds  are  those  ? 
Leon.  I  flew  to  tell  you  there's  a  sight 
i'  th'  square. 
Worth  all  the  faithless  lovers  in  the 
world! 
Vic.  Let's  rail  at  love.  [Musing. 

Leon.  {LaugM^.)^Ay,tLWhoUi  sum- 
mer's day. 
Vk!.  (JBtini«^y.)— LoveistheKghtest 
folly  of  the  earth; 
An  mfimt's  toy,  that  reason  throws  away ; 
A  dream,  that  quits  our  eyelids  with  a 

touch; 
A  musk^  dying  as  it  leaves  the  lip  ; 
A  morning  doad,  dissolved  before  the 

sun; 
Love  is  the  ve^y  echo  of  weak  hearU; 
The  louder  for  their  emptiness ;  a  shade, 
A  colour  of  the  rainbow ;— vanity! 
Leon.  (Laughing,halfaside.)''Aewn 
forswear  the  worid. 

[A  Jhwishf  distant  muaa 
Ven.  (Outside,  coOng.)  — MarceDo— 

Pedro- 
Vic  (Sortfat)— My  fcther's  voio»— 

*^  angry— 
Leon.  Here's  a  shade, 

Wecanesc^ie. 

[They  go  behind  the  screen. 

This  tumult  is  caused  by  the  ani- 
val  of  the  mock  prince's  letter,  olBfering 
his  hand.  The  fraud  imposes  on  the 
old  couple,  and  Victoria  consents, 
through  spleen,  rather  too  easily  in 
our  opinion.  Meanwhile  Lorenao  is 
torn  with  anxiety.  He  misses  Vic- 
toria's picture,  which  he  Avgets  he 
had  given  the  Irish  mijor. 
Lor.  Victoria's  picture  lost !— Yet  how 
'twas  lost. 
Baffles  all  thought ;— 'twas  lodged  upon 

my  heart. 
Where  it  lay  ever,  my  companion  sweet. 
Feeding  my  melancholy  with  the  took% 
Whereon  once  lived  my  love. 
(To  trie  Attendant.)  Oo,  boy ;  take 

horse. 
And  hurry  back  that  loiterer. 

[Afusing,  and  looking  at  the  easement. 
How  lovely  thro'  those  vapovirs  soars 
the  moon ! 

4 


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1894.;]  Crd^i 

like  a  He  apyt^  cuHiiff  09  file  tlmmd 
At  it  aaeends  to  Hetven ! 

{Be  nmf  mud  goe$  l»  ikg  eaaimmiL) 
WooMB**  aU  iOte. 
VictorUI  at  this l^mr  whet  solemn  vowi, 
Wliet  deathiete  coiptgacti,  lordf  hope^ 

ndi  dreanit^ 
Wer^  littered  in  t|ie  presence  of  ib$ 

Whjf  there  was  not  a  hill-top  round  the 

Bot  in  our  thoughts  was  made  a  monu- 

m^t^ 
Inscribed  with  gentle  memories  of  Love ! 
Upon  yon  mount  our  cottage  should  he 

buUt, 
l^Bmplched  since  Paradise ;— upon  the 

next, 
A'^eecon  ahould  be  raised,  to  light  pie 

home 
Flrom  the  Morocco  wars;  the  third  should 

hear 
The  marble  beauty  of  t^e  patron  saint, 
,  'pmt  watch*d  me  in  the  field— 

Enter  Spado. 
Betuni'datlast? 
I^ave  you  brought  back  the  picture? 

Where  was't  found? 
Or  give  it  without  words. 

^.  I*re  ranged  the  dty, 

Ransacked  the  jewel  mart,  proclaimed 

the  loss. 
With  offer  of  reward,  tfurooghoot  the 

streets, 
Tet  still  it  is  unfoond. 

Lor.  (Agitated)— .I*U  not  believe  iL 
Tou  have  played  truant  I  'tis  not  three 

di^siaee 
I  saved  yott  from  the  chain. 

%Mh  I  know  it  well, 

flignior  Torrento,  with  whom  I  had^^ 

starved, 
JLeftme  to  rob,  or  perish  in  the  streets. 
Loi%   ril  asMke  the  sesrch  myself; 

bring  me  my  doafe 
%a.((M«g,fiiriir?ti.)--Tliere  ace  grand 
doings  in  the  square  to-night ; 
The  Villa  is  lit  np. 
Lor.  {In  MvTTruA)— The  Count  Ven- 

toso*s! 
S^  Fnm  ground  to  too^  the  wbUb 
afeiaaflame. 
With  lamps,  and  burning  torches ;  U§- 

eeaed  shields 
Fill  all  the  easements,  from  which  chay- 

lets  hang. 
And  bridal  banners  ; 

[Xorgnjgfn  ^g^etJofi. 
llien,  the  companiee 
Of  city  mask:,  in  their  gay  chaloupee, 
Ptiqr  on  the  waters;  all  the  square  U 

thick 
"^th  gasingcidtens. 
Lor.  ( J^M«g.>««Vestaso's  house  ? 
Vol.  XV. 


4Nk  IwishH«effebon(;tl^»eaever 
eameani^ 
This  Utter  week^  but  found  me  at  its 

gate, 
fhiv*jiag,  and  singing  with  my  gay  8ig« 


i>.  Torrento  I  [Tn  surprin. 

Spa*  Nay,  I  saw  tiie  lady  come, 
Beady  to  make  a  Ut^t  march. 
Lor.  Falsehood  f 

flps.  (Boumg,)  IVutbl 

X4fi  «e  Qfnld  not  shik  so  dees. 

[Addg. 

(To^)ad0.)     When  was  tliie seen? 

Sjpa.  Twdve  hours  before  yoii  hired 

me. 
Lor.  (49ifa««tf.)        *Tvvas  the  day,— 
The  very  day  I  Unded. 

Woman,  woman! 
This  was  your  fainting ;  this  the  secret 

diame^ 
That  choked  your  voice,  filled  your  sunk 

eyes  with  tears. 
Made  your  cheek  burn,  then  take  death's 

sudden  hue ; 
This  was  the  guilty  memory,  that  shook 
Your  frame  at  sight  of  me. 
( To  Spado. )  What  did  you  hear? 

^M.  Nothing!  but  that  some  |uckleeS| 
loving  dog, 
Some  begjgfr  suitor,  some  old  hanger^of^ 
Was  just  kick*d  but  amid  the  general 
laugh. 
Lor,  Insult  and  infamy ! 

For  what  ?  for  whom  ?  [ffa^adde, 
^^  For  a  Magnifico-*-a  Don  of  don^ 
A  Prince— eups  there  to-night 

Lor.  (Muting,)  And  for  that  knave, 
That  prison-prince,  was  all  their  jubilee  ? 
So  much  the  better !  When  the  mask  'e 

torn  off; 
'Twill  make  surprise  the  sharper;  ^ham^ 

more  shame ; 
Hie  rabble's  laugh  strike  with  a  louder 

roar 
Into  their  startled  ears— 
(7o  SIpado.)  Some  paper,  sir. 

iMuting. )      That  skve  shall  marry  her  1 
They  run  to  the  net 
Faster  than  scorn  could  drive  them. 
Let  them  run. 

[Me  wriig$^  readingat  hdervak. 
•*  I  have  absndoned,**— •<  Marry  her,*'-«- 
'*  Five  hundred  crowns  more.** 

[Herite^, 
This— .Siguier  Desperado  shall  revenge 

me; 
1*U  make  them  all  a  sport,  ^  common 

tale! 
(^gJUtU  the  letter,  addrestet  it,  and  fwub.) 
«  To  his  Highness,  the  Prince  de  Pin- 

demonte." 
A  sounding  title,  vade  to  win  the  sex ; 
Fit  bdt  for  vanity. 


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a«  Crd^i  Comedy. 

(To  tjpada.)        Tike  this  with  speed 
To  his  palazza ;  if  the  Plrinoe  be  gone, 
JPoUow  to  Count  Ventoso's.      (He  dnps 
kit  head  an  the  toM%)— Ob,  Victoria ! 

S^iodo.  (Taket  the  letter,  jieqm  mto  it.)—. 
**  Five  hundred  crowns.** — A  draft  on 
his  Highness,  no  doubt  1*11  draw  a 
draught  on  him  too— a  draught  on  his 
cellar.  When  the  high  contracting  par- 
ties deal  in  loans,  the  ambassadors  have 
a  right  to  their  per  centage.  [Exit. 

(Mwic  heard  ouiade,~-'-<qjprtfackmg,) 
Septett.— (French.) 
Joy  to  Vent080*s  halls ! 
Eve  on  the  waters  falls. 
Crimson  and  calnu 
Stars  are  awake  on  high. 
Winds  in  sweet  sluml^rs  lie, 
Bew^pt,  the  blossoms  sigh. 

All  breathing  balm. 
Come,  gallant  masquers  !  all, 
Come  to  our  festival, 

Deck*d  in  your  pride. 
Beauty  and  birth  are  there, 
Joy  to  the  lovely  Pair ! 
May  time  and  sorrow  spare 
Bridegroom  and  Bride ! 
Lor.  What  words  are  those?  "  Joy  to 
Ventoso*s  halls  ;** 
And  I,  who  should  have  been  the  fore  • 

roost  there, 
Must  be  an  exile  !  (Disturbed.)  Married ! 

^-and  to-night ! 
— 'Tis  but  the  song  of  the  streets ! 
(IfuUgnantfy.) — Have  they  not  scorned 

me,— broken  bond  and  oath ; 
Taunted  my  birth !— TIs  jusrice. — Let 
them  feel ! 
(iftoing.)— I  may  be  noble!  Paulo's 
dying  words 
Had  mystery  in  tliem— 

(ji  distant  sound  of  the  Chorus  is  heard') 
(He  starts.)  How  will  Victoria  bear 

The  sudden  shames,  the  scorns,  the  mi- 

series. 
Of  this  wild  wedlock ;  the  companion- 
ship 
Of  the  rude  brawlers,  gamblers,  and  loose 

knaves. 
That  then  must  make  her  world  ? 
(Dgectedly.)  Her  heart  v^Il  break. 

And  she  will  perish ;  and  mi/  black  re- 
venge 
Will  thus  have  laid  her  beauty  in  the 

grave. 
(Rising  suddenli/.)^-'He  shall  not  marry 

her. 
(Calls.) — Is  Spado  there  ?  [TJu:  Chorus  is 
^  lieard  more  distantly, 

A  Servant  enters. 
Serv.  Signior,  he*s  gone !    He  left  the 

house  on  the  spur. 
Lor.  My  letter !  *twill  ruin  all ! 
(Calls.)  Bring  me  my  horse. 

I  will  unmask  the  plot  of  my  revenge ;  ' 


QMarchy 


And  baimg  mmA  hetp  ttnar  the  lift 

Jmk 
Ihat  binds  me  to  the  world. 

\_He  rushes  out,  the  Chorus  passing  awasf* 

Everything  goeff  on  gaily  at  Vento- 
8o's.  Vast  preparations  are  made  to 
the  arrival  of  the  Prince.  The  follow- 
ing sweet  lines  on  music  heard  at  « 
distance,  are  put  into  the  mouth  of 
Leonora. 
Oh,  silver  sounds  !    whence    are  ye  ? 

From  the  thrones. 
That  spirits  make  of  the    empurpled 

clouds. 
Or  from  the  sparkling  waters,  or  the 

hills. 
Upon  whose  leafy  brows  the  evenitfg 

star 
Lies  like  a  diadem  !  O,  silver  sounds !  * 
Breathe  round  me  till  love's  mother, 

slow-paced  Night, 
Hears  your  deep  summons  in  her  sha- 
dowy cell. 

Torrento  arrives — ^behaves  with  con- 
siderable insolence  and  address,  and 
wins  the  heart  particularly  of  the  old 
Countess.  He  is  dis^pointed  at  not 
seeing  Leonora,  who  d^  not  make  her 
appearance;  but  succeeds  in  making 
Victoria  displeased  with  Lorenzo,  by 
giving  her  the  picture.  A  new  charac- 
ter, Stefano,  is  rather  abruptly  Intro- 
duced  here,  as  an  acquaintance  of  Ven- 
toso's.  He  is  aware  of  the  imposture 
when  he  sees  Torrento,  whom  ne  has 
formerly  met,  but  delays  discovering 
him.  Lorenzo  shortly  after  appears, 
having  outstripped  his  messenger,  and 
denounces  the  traud.  An  angry  scene 
ensues,  and  the  impottor  is  on  the 
point  of  ruin,  when 

(As  Torrento  retires,  Spado  totters  ht 
behindf  drunk,  holding  up  a  tetter.) 

Spa.  A  letter,  my  Lord  Count.  (The 
Attendants  attempt  to  hold  Mm.)  Dog, 
would  you  stop  royal  correspondence? 
would  you  rob  the  mail  ?  Is  the  Prince 
de  Pindemont^  here?  (Totters  about.) 
Keeps  mighty  good  wine  in  his  Palazza. 
1*11  drink  his  health  any  time  in  the 
twenty-four  hours.  A  letter— for  the— 
Prince  de  Pindemont^ 

Lor.  (Exclaims,)'^Spttdo\  (Rushes/or^ 
KNinf.)— -That's  my  letter.  Sirrah. 

Tor.  Spado!  (Seizes the letter.)'^'nuLV 8 
my  letter. 

Omn.  Horribly  inebriated.  We  shall 
come  at  the  truth  at  last. 

Fen.  I  wish  they  were  all  three  look- 
ing for  it  at  the  bottom  d  the  deepest 
well  in  Sicily.  [Aside,- 

Tor.  (Exultmgfy.)  Here^  Count  and 
Countess,  is  convinciiig  proof!  his  own 


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letter,«Nlbr  the  Mlow  oaf»  mite,*  ad. 
dre«ed  to  me  1  ( A0ac2t.)— *<  To  hit  High* 
nets  the  Prince  de  findemoDt^.'* 

Spa.  (roMmr^.)— l^ou  the  Prince— 
ha,  ha !  a  prince  of  good  fellows ;  always 
liked  him.     Worth  a  hundred  dozen  of 
that  guitar-scraper,  that  sighing  Cava- 
liero»  that  pays  me  my  wages  now,  and 
be  hanged  to  him.     Oh !  my  master ! 
[See$  Lorenzo,  and  runs  out* 
(Torrento  glances  over  the  letter.) 
TV.  '•Fire  hundred  crowns  more." 
— (^jicfe.)— Psha  !  contemptible  ! 

Lor,  What  devil  owed  me  a  K^idge 
when  I  wrote  that  letter  !  [Jside, 

Ven.  I  should  like  to  see  the  inside  of 
that  paper,  sir. 

Tor.  Bad  policy  that  (Torrento  sh^ 
U  awatf,)  No,  spare  him.  (In  fas  ear.) 
Merely  a  begging  letter ;— **  Pressure  of 
the  times— tax  upon  pipeclay— deficien- 
cy of  Shoes,"  Beginning,  as  usual,  with 
'sycophancy,  and  ending  with  supplica- 
^n. 

Ven.  {Peeping  over  ?iit  shoulder,  reads.) 
— •**  Scoundrel  !**  A  very  original  com- 
pliment. I  must  see  that  letter.  (He 
seizes  it  and  reads. )— *'  Scoundrel  !**  No- 
rthing yery  sycophantic  yet. 

Lor.  (jltten^)ting  to  obtain  the  letter.)^ 
County  I  must  insist.  That  letter  is 
mine ;  written  for  the  purpose  of  relie- 
ving you  from  all  future  trouble  on  this 
painful  subject. 

Tor,  Count,  it  is  impossible.    Pri\*ate 

correspondence— seal  of  secrecy— tale  of 

distre8»—  [Meaching  at  the  letter. 

Ven.  (iJeodfc)—"  Scoundrel!"— 

Tor,  Confound  it !  You  have  read  that 

three  times. 

-  Ven.  (Beads.)^**  I  am  determined  to 
take  no  fiuther  interest  in  Cou^t  Ven- 
t080*8  family."— Very  proper :  just  what 
Count  Ventoso  wishes. 

Lor,  There— there^  read  no  more, 
niat  was  my  entire  object  (InierjHmng.) 
Tear  that  letter. 

Ven.  (Beads.) — **  I  have  abandoned 
all  personal  respect  for  that  pedigree  of 
fools."     Pho — 

Onm.  Fools!  A  libel  on  the  whole 

nobility.  [Angrify, 

Tor,  The  Captain's  in  a  hopeful  way. 

[Aside. 

Ven.  (Reads.) — **  No  contempt  can  be 

too  severe  for  the  bloated  vanity  of  the 

vulgar  mother ;"—       [He  lau^  aside, 

Coun.  Excellent !  I  like  it  extremely. 

Bloated  1    So,  sir,  this  is  your  doing. 

(Going vp  to  Lorenzok)— Bloated  vanity  ! 

He  deserves  to  be  racked— bastinadoed. 

Husband,  throw  that  letter  into  the  fire ! 

Lor,  Count,  hear  me;  hear  reason. 

Will  you  be  plundered  and  disgraced? 

Will  you  have  your  fiunlly  degraded,  and 


Crdfy's  Comidif.  349 

yoor  daug^btar  duped  ?  Bead  no  more  of 
that  unfortunate  letter. 

Ven.  I  must  have  a  line  or  two  yet* 
(i2<»uis.)— *<  Or  the  inanity  of  that  mea- 
gre compound  of  title  and  trade,  the-» 
ridiculous  Father."  (In  violent  anger,  go^ 
ingt^to  Lorenzo.) — Death  and  daggers, 
sir !  Is  this  all  you  have  to  say  ?  What 
excuse  ?  What  reason  ?  Out  of  my  house  I 
Inanity— meagre  !  Out,  out !  Go !  (He 
tears  the  letter.)  1*11  bring  an  action  !  Ti- 
tle and  trade!  There  is  the  impostor. 
(Pom/ty^toLorenza)  Out  of  the  house ! 
I  say. 

Coun,  Out  of  the  house !  Prince,  let 
us  leave  him  to  himselC 

[She  gives  her  hand  to  Torrenta 

Tor,  His  whole  story  is  palpably  a  fa- 
ble. '  (I  think  I  have  peppered  the  Hus- 
sar pretty  handsomely.  Beat  him  by  the 
oM  trick  at  hist;  trumped  the  Captain'* 
knave.)  [Jtide. 

[Leading  off^ie  Countess  towards  the 
door. 

Coun*  Come,  if  the  Captain  want 
amusement,  let  him  laugh  at  himself  I 
can  assure  him  the  subject  is  inexhausU 
ible.  [Sxit  with  Torrento.. 

Ven.  (Looking  at  Lorenza)— A  fine 
figure  for  the  picket  or  pillory.  Meagre 
inanity — Title  and  trade !     [Exit  Count. 

Lor.  (Looking  after  them  gloomily.) 
Now  il  my  light  extinguished !  Now  the 

world 
To  me  is  but  a  melancholy  grave. 
Wherein  my  love  lies  buried.  Life,  fiire* 
well!  .      . 

Preparations  for  the  weddinff  go  on^ 
and  it  is  to  be  held  at  an  old  castle 
never  before  visited  by  the  family. 
Lorenzo  takes  advantage  of  this  cir-' 
cnmstance  to  again  calf  in  the  aid  of 
the  complaisant  jailor,  and  the  nuptial 
cavalcade  is  directed  to  the  prison* 
The^  do  not  at  first  discover  their  si- 
tuation ;  but  Torrento  here,  for  the  first 
time  since  the  assumption  of  his  title^ 
meets  Leonora.  Vows  are  exchanged, 
and  an  explanation  made,  when  Lo- 
renzo and  nis  brother  officers  come  in 
— expose  the  cheat — insult  the  pride 
of  the  father  and  mother,  and  con- 
clude by  again  conveying  Torrento  to 
his  dungeon.  So  far  pride  has  had  its 
fall ;  but  in  the  meantime  the  real 
Prince  Pindemont^  has  arrived.  The 
Count  and  Countess  are  sent  for ;  and 
after  aome^  difilculties  the  Pnnce> 
who,  under  the  disguise  of  Stefano, 
has  been  witness  to  the  late  transac- 
tions, avows  Lorepzo  as  his  long-lost 
son.  He  sharply  reprimands  the  up- 
start pride  of  the  ola  people — and  in- 
forms them  that  Uieir  tluei  and  pro* 


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980  Oii>i^t 

pent9ehkiHxiii^teltl(b&.  The 
leal  heir  heannoihioeli  tobelWi^td, 
Ansebnb's  j^n.  Hh  behaveA  hoUoor- 
ably  and  kindly  to  the  Couiit  and 
CotintefiS;,  and  the  t»lay  ends  with  a 
dduble  wedding. 

The  denouement  is  too  much  has- 
tened, and  the  dialogue  too  Aickly  set 
idth  puns  and  dencnes  of  yarious  de- 
scriptions. The  title  is  evidently  a 
misnomer^  for  the  pride  of  Ventoso 
and  his  wife  can  scarcely  be  said  to  be 
hiunbled  by  the  roaniage  of  their 
daughters^  one  with  the  son  of  a  prince, 
and  the  other  with  a  man  of  immense 
wealth,  while  th^  are  suftied  to  re- 
tain their  honours  and  property*  But 
it  is  a  play  which  acta  weU,  and  readtf 
well,  and  we  are  sore  oilr  readera  will 
agree  wkh  ns,  from  the  extracts  #6 
have  given,  one  that  afibrds  earnest  of 
higher  dramatic  excellence.  We  wish 
Croly  would  try  his  hand  on  a  blank 
terse  cortiedV  of  the  Beaukottt  iknd 
Fletcher  School,  where  hid  poetry 
Would  have  ftill  play,  and  he  would  be 
above  l^e  temptation  of  consulting  the 
Mttle  whims  and  clap-iraps  of  actbrs. 
As  he  has  now  made  nis  appearance  otk 
Ae  stage,  we  may  ask,  does  he  intend 
to  confine  Catiline  to  closet  readers  ? 
Is  there  no  chance  that  we  shall  see 
that  brilliant  tragedy  represented  by 
adequitte  performers?  We  h<me  that 
there  is. 

This  comedy  is  dedicated  to  Can- 
mng.  This  is  right,  and  as  it  should 
be.  It  is  pleasant  to  see  a  high  mini- 
ktei*  of  the  state,  and  such  a  minister, 
loo,  as  Canning,  fostering  by  his  coun- 
tenance the  productions  of  national  ge- 
tUus-nand  no  less  pleasant  to  pero^ve 
that  the  time  has  come  when  authora 
c^  boldhr  dedicate  to  people  in  autho- 
ttty,  without  running  the  risk  of  in- 
teurring  the  suspicion  of  sycophancy, 
tor  of  fmeaking  the  language  of  compfi. 
ment  for  any  other  reason  than  toat 
it  is  the  language  of  truth. 

Some  of  the  songs  are  worthy  of  this 
author. 

They  *ti^.-"Trio.— (i^HinwiL) 

T«tL  us,  thon  slorioiis  Star  of  eve! 
^Wliit  feet  thioe  eye  P 
Wherever  hanuui  hoirts  ctn  httye, 
Man'smtseiyl 


Ut^  btti  SleflgCheg^  duAl'i 
Youth,  mkKtj,  w9d^  and  VaOl  | 
AgeonabMorpsiii^ 
lidagmg  to  dii ! 

Tettbere^arett! 
ttTicrc  eartiilv  agonies 
Awake  no  mffH 
In  the  cold  breast. 

Tdl  ni,  thou  glorioas  Star  of  eve  t 

Sees  not  thine  ^e 
Some  .spot,  where  hearts  no  Imger  heare^ 

In  thine  own  sky  ? 
Where  all  Iife*8  wionga  are  o'er^ 

Where  Anguish  weeps  no  more, 
Where  injurM  Spirits  soar, 
Never  to  die ! 

j<<r.-^Spanish.) 

bh  i  sweet  *tis  to  wander  beside  the  hu8h*d 

wave,. 
When  the  breeses  in  twilight  their  j>aie  pi- 
nions lave, 
And  Echo  repeats,  from  the  depths  of  her 
cavfe, 
The  son^  of  the  Aepherd*s  retnmfaig  t 
And  sweet  'tis  ia  sit,  where  the  vintage 

festoon,  my  ioVe, 
Lets  m,  like  snow-flakes^  the  V^  a£  tin 
Bioon,  my  Uve  \ 
And  to  the  Castanet 
Twinkle  the  merry  fret. 
And  beauty's  dark  eyes  are  burning,  itiy 
love. 

But  sweeter  the  houi',  when  the  star  hides 

its  gibam, 
And  the  moon  ih  ^e  waters  ha^  bS^M 

her  white  beam, 
And  the  World  and  its  woe*  kfe  as  «tlll  as 
adream; 
For  then,  joy  the  iHtdiiiiJItt  k  wtogllig : 
Then,  fom^  «o  my  «hidow  the  sound  df 

thy  lute,  my  love. 
Come  tender  tales,  when  its  thriUings  an 
mute,  my  fove  t 
Oh,  never  momiag  siiiil*d 
On  visions  bri^t  ana  wild. 
Such  as  that  dark  hoar  is  bringing,  my 
love  I 

LBOvomJL..Mlcaiatt.) 

Whkk  £ve*s  blue  star  is  gleaming. 
When  wakee  the  dewy  breeze. 

When  watch-tower  lights  are  streaming, 
Along  the  misty  seas  ;— 

Oh,  then,  my  love !  ngh  to  me, 

Thy  roundelay ! 
The  ni^bt,  when  thou'rt  nigh  tO  me^ 

Outshines  the  ^. 


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1M4.]]  7%e  UeMi  Siah  Paper$  tmttenUrtg  ^uth  Ammau  3dl 


TttB  AAOlfit^T  STATA  PAPfittA  OONOERNtNG  SOUTH  AHSRICA. 

SovE  of  our  readers  may  perchance  think  we  have  aLready  giren 
them  enough  of  political  matters  for  this  month ;  but  this  is  the  politi- 
cal time  of  the  year^  and  discussions  about  Ireland^  Jamaica,  and  South 
America,  haVe  tne  same  propriety,  whUe  March  winds  blow,  that  fishing 
tours  boast  in  glorious  June,  and  rejoicings  on  lordly  Bnemar  in  more 
glorious  September.  We  confess,  to  say  truth,  that  we  hare  a  rery  sin- 
gular pleasure  in  inserting  here,  at  full  len^h,  the  communications  rela- 
tive to  Spain  and  Spanish  America,  i^hich  Mr  Canning  recently  laid  be- 
fore Parliament,  by  his  Majesty's  command.  We  approve  of  the  substance 
<tf  these  psq)er8 — it  delights  our  inmost  soul  to  see  the  constematioa 
Hrhich  their  tenor  has  stamped  upon  the  sour  and  sulky  filoes  of  thos6 
'who  were  prating  at  public  dinners  last  summer,  about  tne  fallen  attitude 
of  England,  forsooth^  and  many  other  equally  fine  and  finely  said  things. 
•These  ^ntry  talk :  ours  in  the  meantime  do  the  work  that  ou^t  to  be 
done,  either  long  before  they  und^vtand  the  (question  at  all,  or,  if  they  do 
understand  it  enough  to  take  up  the  wrong  side,  in  spite  of  their  teeth. 
But  it  delights  us  also  to  see  the  statesmanship  of  England  clothing  it- 
self in  the  genuine  language  of  England.  The  yiews  of  such  a  eoyen^ 
ment  ought  to  be  expressed  in  the  classicsd  tongue  of  the  land.  Here  we 
have  them  so  written :  iand  pray  compare  them  for  a  moment  with  Cha^ 
teaubriand's  chimes  about  Fraufaise  and  EuropSenne,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing ;  or  what  think  ye  of  the  Don  most  magniloquent,  with  his 
eternal  *'  nuestros  muy  caros  y  poderoeos  aliados  ?"  The  terse  perspicu- 
0US,  polished  ease  and  elegance,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  true  dignity 
of  Mr  Canning's  state-papers  cannot  be  surpassed.  We  have  no  hesita- 
tion in  saying,  that  whatever  may  be  the  case  as  to  other  points,  there 
never  was  the  day  when  our  diplomacy  wore  so  ^aceful  a  garb.  The 
baffling  delicacy  of  his  insinuating,  contrasted  with  the  dear  energetic 
brevity  <^  his  outspeaking  mood,  is  altogether  exquisite.  There  is  this 
touch  of  a  Greek,  an  old  Greek  peh,  in  every  sentence  of  this  writer's 
ilnfflish.    What  a  master  of  the  intellectual  foil ! 

We  could  spend  a  page  or  two  very  pleasantly  upon  this  theme ;  but^ 
for  a  mere  pre&ce,  enough  already.  Mr  Canning  is  at  present  one  of  the 
most  popular  ministers  England  ever  had ;  but  Rttle  do  the  Whigs  kno# 
or  remember,  when  the^  flatter  themselves,  as  they  at  present  seem  to  be 
doing,  that  it  is  in  their  power  to  flatter  him.  Egregious  bats,  do  they 
think  the  eagle  wants  ^lectades  ?  They,  forsooth,  to  praise  Canning  ! 
Well  does  he  know  the  rankling  ineradicable  venom  of  their  breasts. 

Indeed  every  one  seems  to  understand  them  pretty  well  now.  And, 
by  the  way,  evf  ry  one  seems  to  understand  so  thoroughly  the  whole  of 
tnis  great  row  between  Lord  Eldon  on  the  one  side,  and  the  Whig  bar- 
risters and  their  darling  PRiyiLBGS  on  the  other,  that,  although  we  had 
meant  to  do  otherwise,  we  shall  for  the  present  pass  it  sub  sileniid.  Long 
may  Lord  Eldon  be  on  the  woolsack  the  same  appalling  Gor^n  of  Whig 
eyes,  that  Canning  is  elsewhere,  wielding  tongue  or  pen  as  it  may  hap- 
pen I  Long  may  Eldon  watch  over  the  andent  law,  and  Canning  over 
the  ancient  honour  of  England ;  and  firmly,  and  wdl,  and  km^  may  Liver- 
'  pool  and  Pcd  stand  by  that  church,  whose  precepts  and  institutions  form 


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d5t  Tke  Heceni  StaU  Papers  conctmmg^  Sovtk  AmerUa.         C^arehj 

the  best  bulwarks  of  both ;  and  which  thbreforb,  and  therbforb 
only,  is  the  chiefest  mark  of  the  rabid  rage  of  the  Whigs— from  the  lazy 
leaden  lord  of  a  hundred  originally  eccksiastical  manors,  down  to  the 
meanest  ragamuffin  that  ever  scribbled  a  five  pound  article  in  the  Edin- 
burgh Review,  or  a  five  shilling  one  in  the  Morning  Chronidey  or  a  five- 
penny  one  in  the  Black  Dwarf! 


COMMUNICATIONS  WITH  FRANCE  AND  SPAIN,   BELATINO  TO  THE  STANISH 

AMERICAN  PROVINCES. 


No.  I. 
Mxtract  of  a  Memorandum,  of  a  Confer^ 

€nce  between   Vie  Priitce  de   Polignac 

and  Mr  Cannings  held   October  9//#, 

1823. 

The  Prince  de  Polignac  having  an* 
ooonced  to  Mr  Canning,  that  his  excellen- 
cy was  now  prepared  to  enter  with  Mr 
Canning  into  a  frank  explanation  of  the 
views  of  his  government  respecting  the 
question  of  Spanish  America,  in  return  for 
a  similar  communication  which  Mr  Can- 
ning had  previously  offered  to  make  to  the 
Prince  de  Polignac  on  the  part  of  the  Bri« 
tish  cabinet,  Mr  Canning  stated : — 

That  the  British  cabinet  had  no  disguise 
or  reservation  on  that  subject:  that  their 
opinions  and  intentions  were  substantially 
the  same  as  were  announced  to  the  Frent^ 
government,  by  the  dispatch  of  Mr  Can- 
ning  to  Sir  Charles  Stuart  of  the  31st  of 
March;  which  dispatch  that  ambassador 
commimicated  to  M.  de  Chateaubriand, 
and  which  had  since  been  published  to  the 
world. 

That  the  near  approach  of  a  crisis,  in 
which  the  affairs  of  Spanish  America  must 
naturally  occupy  a  great  share  of  the  atten- 
tion of  both  powers,  made  it  desirable  that 
there  should  be  xm  misunderstanding  be- 
tween them  on  any  part  of  a  subject  so  im- 
portanu 

That  the  British  government  were  of 
opinion,  tliat  any  attempt  to  bring  Spanish 
America  again  under  its  ancient  submis- 
sion to  Spain,  must  be  utterly  hopeless : 
that  all  negotiation  for  that  purpose  would 
be  unsuccessful ;  and  that  the  prolonga* 
rion  or  renewal  of  war  for  the  same  object 
would  be  ouly  a  waste  of  human  life,  and 
an  infliction  of  calamity  on  both  parties,  to 
no  end. 

That  the  British  government  would,  how- 
ever, not  only  abstain  from  interposing  any 
obstacle,  on  their  part,  to  any  attempt  at 
negotiation,  which  Spain  might  think  pro- 
per to  make,  but  would  aid  and  counte- 
nance such  n^tiation,  provided  it  were 
founded  upon  a  basis  which  appeared  to 
them  to  be  practicable;  and  that  they 
would,  in  any  case,  remain  strictly  neutral 
in  a  war  between  Spain  and  the  Colaniet» 
if  war  should  be  unhappily  prolonged. 

But  that  the  juncaon  of  any  foreign 


power,  in  an  enterprize  ot  Spain  against 
the  Colonies,  would  be  viewed  by  them  as 
constituting  an  entirely  new  question  ;  and 
one  upon  which  they  must  tike  such  de- 
cision as  the  interests  of  Great  Britun 
might  require. 

That  the  British  government  absolutdy 
disclaimed,  not  only  any  desire  of  appro- 
priating to  itself  any  portion  of  the  Spa* 
nLsh  Colonies,  but  a)iy  intention  of  form- 
ing any  political  connection  with  them,  be- 
yond that  of  amity  and  commercial  inter- 
course. 

That  in  those  respects,  so  far  from  seek- 
ing an  exclusive  preference  for  British  sub- 
jects over  those  of  foreign  states,  England 
was  prepared,  and  would  be  contented,  to 
see  the  mother  country  (by  virtue  of  an 
amicable  arrangement)  in  possession  of  that 
preference;  and  to  be  ranked,  after  her, 
equally  witb  others,  on  the  footing  of  the 
most  favoured  nation. 

That,  completely  convinced  that  the  an- 
cient system  of  the  Colonies  could  not  be 
restored,  the  British  government  could  not 
enter  into  any  stipulation  binding  itself 
either  to  refuse  or  to  delay  its  recognition 
of  their  independence. 

That  the  British  government  had  node- 
sire  to  precipitate  that  recognition,  so  long 
as  there  was  any  reasonable  chance  of  an 
accommodation  with  the  mother  country, 
by  which  such  a  recognition  might  come 
first  ^m  Spain. 

But  that  it  could  not  wait  indefinitely 
for  that  result ;  that  it  could  not  consent  to 
make  its  recognition  of  the  new  states,  i^- 
pendent  upon  that  of  Spain ;  and  that  it 
would  consider  any  foreign  interference,  by 
force  or  by  menace,  in  the  dispute  between 
Spain  and  the  Colonies,  as  a  motive  for  re« 
cognizing  the  latter  without  delay. 

That  the  mission  of  consuls  to  the  seve- 
ral provinces  of  Spanish  America,  was  no 
new  measure  on  the  part  of  diis  country : — 
that  it  was  one  whidi  had,  on  the  contrary, 
been  delayed,  perhaps  too  long^  in  consi- 
deration of  the  StaU  of  Spain,  after  having 
been  announced  to  the  Spanish  govern- 
ment in  the  month  of  December  last,  as 
settled ;  and  even  after  a  list  had  been  flir- 
nished  to  that  government  of  the  pfatoes  to 
which  such  appoimmeota  were  intended  to 
be  made. 


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ldsur\         lU  BJMOt  StaU  Pa^f$n  e^omyif^  8(mtk  AmeHdtL. 

.  That  fUdi  «ppointmeDto  wen  tbsdatd. 
\y  Deoosaiy  for  the  protecUon  of  British 
trade  in  those  countries. 

That  the  old  pretension  of  Spain  to  in- 
terdict all  trade  with  those  countries,  was, 
in  the  opinion  of  the  British  goremment, 
altogether  obsolete ;— but  that,  eren  if  at- 
tempted to  be  enforced  against  others,  it 
was,  with  regard  to  Oreat  Britain,  clearly 
inmlicable. 

That  permission  to  trade  with  the  Spa- 
Jiish  Colonies  had  been  conceded  to  Great 
Britain  in  the  year  1810,  when  the  media- 
tion of  Oreat  Britain  between  Spain  and 
her  Colonies  was  asked  by  SfNun,  and 

nted  by  Great  Britain  r^-that  this  me- 
Ml,  indeed,  was  not  afterwards  emplmr« 
ed,  because  Spain  changed  her  counsd: 
hut  that  it  was  not,  therefore,  practicable 
for  Great  Britain  to  withdraw  commercial 
capital  once  embarked  in  Spanish  America, 
and  to  desist  from  commercial  intercourse 
once  established. 

That  it  had  been  ever  since  distinctly 
understood  that  the  trade  was  open  to  Bri- 
tish subjects,  and  that  the  ancient  coast 
laws  of  Spain  were,  so'for  as  regarded 
them  at  least,  tacitly  repealed. 

That  in  virtue  of  this  understanding, 
redress  had  be^n  demanded  of  Spain  in 
1822,  for  (among  other  grievances)  seiz- 
ures of  vessels  for  alleged  infringements 
of  those  laws ;  which  r^ress  the  Spanish 
government  bound  itself  by  a  convention, 
(now  in  course  of  execution,)  to  afford. 

That  Great  Britain,  however,  had  no 
desire  to  set  up  any  separate  right  to  the 
f^  enjoyment  of  this  trade :  that  she  con- 
aidered  the  force  of  circumstances,  and  the 
irreversible  progress  of  events,  to  have  al- 
ready determine  the  question  of  the  ex- 
istence of  that  freedom  for  all  the  world ; 
but  that,  for  herself,  she  claimed,  and 
would  continue  to  use  it ;  snd  should  any 
attempt  be  made  to  dispute  that  daim,  and 
to  renew  the  obsolete  interdiction,  sudi 
attempt  might  be  best  cut  short  by^  speedy 
and  unqualified  recognition  of  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  Spanish  American  states. 

That,  with  these  general  opinions,  and 
with  these  peculiar  claims,  England  could 
not  go  into  a  joint  deliberation  upon  the 
subject  of  Spanish  America,  upon  an  equal 
fbodng  with  other  powers,  whose  opinions 
were  less  formed  upon  that  question,  and 
whose  interests  were  leu  implicated  in  the 
decision  of  it. 

That  she  thought  it  fair,  therefore,  to  ex- 
plain beforehano,  to  what  d^ree  her  mind 
'  I  up,  and  her  determination  ta- 


The  Prince  de  Polignac  declared. 
That  his  government  believed  it  to  be 
utterly  hopeless  to  reduce  Spanish  Ameri- 
ca to  the  state  of  iu  former  relation  to 
Spain? 


That  France  disdahned,  on  her  part« 
any  intention  or  desbre  to  avail  heareelf  of 
Uie  present  state  of  the  colonies,  or  of  the 
present  situation  of  France  towards  Spain^ 
to  appropriate  to  herself  any  part  of  the 
Spanish  possessions  in  America,  or  to  oh*  - 
tain  for  herself  any  exclusive  advantages  : 

And  that,  like  England,  she  would  will- 
ingly  see  the  mother  country  in  possession 
of  superior  commercial  advantages,  by 
amicable  arrangements ;  and  would  be  con- 
tented, like  her,  to  rank,  after  the  mother 
country,  among  the  most  favoured  na. 
tions. 

Lasdy,  that  she  abjured,  in  any  case, 
any  design  of  acting  against  the  Co\sm\m 
by  force  of  arms. 

The  Prince  de  Polignac  proceeded  to 
say. 

That,  as  to  what  might  be  the  best  at- 
rangement  between  Spain  and  her  Colonies, 
the  French  government  could  not  give,  nor 
venture  to  form,  an  opinion,  until  the  King 
of  Spain  should  be  at  liberty ; 

That  they  would  then  be  ready  to  entitr 
upon  it,  in  concert  with  their  allies,  and 
with  Great  Britain  among  the  number. 

In  observing  upon  what  Mr  Canning 
had  said,  with  respect  to  the  peculiar  situa- 
tion of  Great  Briuin,  in  reference  to  such 
a  conference,  the  Prince  de  Polignac  de- 
clared. 

That  he  saw  no  difficulty  which  should 
prevent  England  from  taking  part  in  the 
conference,  however  she  might  now  an- 
nounce the  difference,*  in  the  view  which 
she  took  of  the  question,  firom  that  taken 
by  the  allies.  The  refosal  of  England  to 
co-operate  in  the  work  of  reconciliation 
might  a^rd  reason  to  think,  ^ther  that 
she  did  not  really  wish  for  that  reconcilia- 
tion, or  that  she  had^Sme  ulterior  object 
in  contemplation  ;  two  suppositions  equally 
injurious  to  the  honour  and  good  foith  of 
the  British  cabinet 

The  Prince  de  Polignac  forther  deda- 
red. 

That  he  could  not  conceive  what  could 
be  meant,  under  the  present  drcumstan- 
ces,  by  a  pure  and  simple  acknowledgment 
of  the  independence  of  the  Spanbh  Colo- 
nies ;  since,  those  counuies  being  actually 
distracted  by  dvil  wars,  there  existed  no 
government  in  them  which  could  offer  any 
appearance  of  solidity ; — and  that  the  ac- 
knowledgment of  American  independence, 
80  long  as  such  a  sute  of  things  continued, 
appeared  to  him  to  be  nothing  less  than  a 
real  sanction  of  anarchy. 

The  Prince  de  Polignac  added. 

That,  in  the  interest  of  humanity,  and 
especially  in  that  of  the  Spanish  Colonies, 
it  would  be  worthy  of  the  European  govern- 
ments to  concert  together  the  means  of 
calming,  in  those  distant  and  scarcdy  d- 
yilized  regions,  passions  blinded  by  party 


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354  7%eMB0^iU&ia(eFap9r4 

tfbki  UDdto  totommiriP  bring buclL to 
m  priaiBiple  of  unioQ  ia  gofcromffiti  wh«r 
tbfr  monafobicil  or  mMooatioi},  p«opl# 
wumg  whom  absurd  and  dwgsroQs  iboo* 
lim  were  now  ksq^  up  agitotioB  and 
ditunion* 

Mr  Conning,  widiout  entering  into  dls- 
coaaioo  lifxm  Uieso  sbttrMt  ptinoplflB,  oon- 
^floted  bimtdl  witfi  aoyiog$ 

Tbot,.-4iow«rer  dMimWe  tbe  ettalOiib- 
-me&l  of  o  niflonrcfaMol  foroi  of  govfcnncnt, 
in  any  of  those  provinces,  migni  be.  on  the 
one  hand,  or  whatever  might  be  the  difl»- 
jBoltiei  in  die  Way  bf  it,  on  the  other  hand 
rn^lui  goTemment  could  not  take  iqion  tt<- 
■elf  to  put  it  forward  as  a  condition  « their 
lecognitioQ* 

P.  a.  c. 

No.  II. 
Sir  WUUam  A*Court  to  Mr  Secretary 
C«»ning.^RecHved  January  H.) 
(Extract) 
Madrid^  December  30,  1829. 
The  inclosed  Note,  though  dated  the 
S6th,  did  not  readi  rae  till  yesterday.  By 
my  answer,  a  copy  of  which  I  have  the  hi^ 
nour  to  inclose,  you  will  see  that  I  merely 
admowledge  its  receipt,  promising  to  trans* 
mit  it  to  my  gotemment. 

(Signed)      William  a  Cou»t. 
The  Right  If  oh.  George  Cannings 
jt?.  4[c.  4c. 

first  Inclomre  in  No.  II. 

Count  OfaUa  to  Sir  WiUiam  A'CourU 
PaiaciOy  26  e  Deciembre  ie  1823. 
Mirr^Ssyoii  Mio, 

Tekoo  la  hoora  de  partteipar  4  V.  9. 
qneSu  Mijestad  d  Rey,  mi  Ajigosto  Amo, 
ha  resnelto  dedicar  su  particular  atencaon 
k  d  arreglo  de  los  neg<Kao8  de  los  paisss 
desidentes  de  la  America  Espanola ;  dose- 
oso  de  lograr  la  dieha  de  ver  pacifioos  sus 
estados,  en  los  que  prendio  la  semilla  de 
la  anarquia,  con  peijuido  de  la  segurida4 
de  los  otros  Gobiemos :  razon  porque  S.  M. 
ha  crddo  oportuno  contar  con  dauxlUo  de 
ills  caros  aliados,  para  obteoer  resultados 
one  deben  ser  ventajosos  para  la  tranquiU- 
oad  y  prosperidad  de  toda  la  Europe. 

La  copia  acljunta  instruiri  &  V.S.  de  las 
ordenes  dadas  i  los  representantes  de  Su 
Magestad  CatoUca  eo  las  Cortes  de  Austria, 
Franda,  y  Rusia,  y  como  aun  no  residan 
los  Ministros  de  Espana  en  Londres  ni  Ber- 
lin, d  Rey  me  ha  prevenido  que  dirija  a 
V.  S.  y  al  SenoT  Ministro  de  PrusU  eo  es^ 
Corte,  d  traslado  de  dicha  comunicadon, 
que  8u  Magestad  espera  se  serviri  V.)8. 
transmitlr  i  su  (^bienio,  en  cuya  amistad 
y  fina  politica  conBa  d  Rey  Mi  Amo,  que 
sabri  apredar  la  franqueaa  de  esta  comu- 
nicadon, y  la  equtdad  que  ha  dictado  las 
bases  en  que  $e  funda. 

Aprevedio  esta  ocasioo,  &c. 
(Fiimado)    El  Comdi:  x«  Ofalla. 
Sr.  Minietro  de  Inglaterra, 


TnmtWm  cf  FirH  ImOomrt  In  No.  II. 
Palm$,  Ddocmiw  S6,  ifiSS. 

HOKOURED  811, 

I  HAVS  the  honour  to  Inlbrm  yon  that 
the  King,  my  angost  master,  baa  deteemi. 
ned  to  devote  hu  pactkolar  attentioii  to 
the  regnlatioo  of  die  aflUfa  oooceniing  dio 
disturbed  countries  of  Spanish  Amenc% 
bein^  splidtDns  to  sueoeed  in  padfying  hli 
dommions,  in  which  the  seeds  of  anncfay 
ho?e  taken  root  to  the  pTCJBdioe  of  dMMfe. 
^  of  other  goversments.  His  Msjesty  1ms 
therefore  tlmught  that  he  rai^ht  Justly  caL 
cnlate  on  the  assistance  of  hia  dear  allic^ 
towards  obtaining  results  which  eannotbiu 
wove  beneficial  to  the  tranquillity  and 
bmpiness  of  all  Europe. 

The  indosed  copv  will  put  yoo,  ttr,  la 
poesession  of  the  opaers  issued  to  hh  €athc^ 
lie  Mi^esty*s  representatures  at  the  Courts 
of  Austria,  France,  and  Russia  t  lind  as 
the  ministers  of  Spain  have  not  vet  noro- 
ceeded  to  London  and  Berlin,  the  Kinst 
has  directed  me  to  addresi  to  you,  Sir,  ana 
to  the  minister  of  Fmasia  at  Qih  Ckmrt,  a 
transcript  of  the  said  oommuiricatioD; 
which  his  Majesty  ho^  you  wUl  have 
the  goodness  to  transmit  to  your  govern* 
meat,  whose  fidendship  and  uptright  policy, 
the  King,  my  master,  trusts, will  know  hiMr 
to  appredate  the  iranhness  of  this  commu- 
nication, and  the  equity  which  has  dictated 
the  bases  on  whidi  it  i$  founded. 
I  avail  myself  of  this  opportani^«  &«. 

(Signed)  The  Covde  mt  Or  alia* 
To  the  MitMer  ofEngfand. 

{Second  Inchture  in  No.  II.) 
Count  Qfiilia  to  hit  CaihoUc  Me^OyU 

Ankbaisador  at  Parity  and  MinitUrt 

PkuipctcuHary  at  St  Petirebur^  ami 

Vienna 

Restituido  £1  Rey,  Nuestro  Senoc, 
al  trono  de  sus  mayores  en  d  goce  de  sue 
beredados  deredios,  ha  tenido  bhiv  pi»> 
fsnte  la  suerte  de  sue  ckMnimos  de  Ameci- 
ca,  despedaaados  por  la  guena  civil,  j 
puestos  al  horde  dd  mas  ruinoso  predpb- 
do.  Inutitodos  en  los  ttes  anos  ultimos 
por  la  rebelion  sostenida  en  Espana  loa 


oonstantes  eafoeriM  heehos  para  1 
k  CkMta  Firme  eo  trariquiliaad*  pam  liber- 
tar  las  riberaa  de  la.Plata,  y  pam  oonsei- 
var  d  Per6  y  la  Nueva  E^aoa  ;  ha  visto 
Su  Magestiad  con  ddor  los  progresos  dd 
fnego  de  la  insurseccion;  pero  taeahien 
nrve  Al  Rev  de  oonsudo  la  repetiden  de 
pruebas  irreingables  de  que  una  immend- 
dad  de  Espaooles  son  fides  i  sus  juramen- 
tos  de  lealtad  al  trono  \  y  la  sona  mayon^ 
Americana  reconoce  que  ho  puede  se^fdla 
aqud  hcmisferio,  sin  vivir  hermanado  con 
\m  que  dvili2aroD  aqudloB  pei^es. 

Etitas  reflexlones  animan  podcrosamente 
i  Su  Magestad  i  esperar  que  la  jusliqa  de 
su  caus^  hallara  firme  apoyo  en  la  influent- 
da  de  las  potencias  de  Europe.  Por  jio^oo 
ha  resttdto  £1  Rey  que  se  invite  i  los  ga- 
S 


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Mi4«e7  tDhoMthaitheJnilloB^f  kit  cwM 
wiU  meet  wito  a  firm  support  in  the  influ- 
eooe  of  the  powen  of  Europe.  Aooordiiw* 
ly,  the  King  hes  retolved  upon  inviting£e 
cftbinets  of  hie  dear  and  intimate  allies  to 
establish  a  conference  at  Paris,  to  the  end 
that  their  plenipotentiariest  assemUgxl  there 
along  with  those  of  his  Catholic  Majestr* 
may  aid  Spain  in  adjusting  the  affiuis  of  the 
revolted  countries  of  Amenra.  In  ezami. 
nmg  this  in^ortant  question,  hit  Majes^ 
wiU,  in  conjunction  with  his  powerful  al- 
lies, consider  of  the  alterations  whidi  ermts 
haTe  produced  in  his  American  provinces, 
and  of  the  relatioDs  which,  during  the  die- 
otden,  have  been  formed  with  commercial 
natums;  in  order  thereby  to  adopt,  wiih 
good  fidth,  the  measures  most  proper  for 
conciliating  the  rights  and  just  interests  of 
the  crown  of  Spaio,  and  of  its  sovereignty, 
with  thoee  which  dreumstances  may  have 
occssioned  with  respect  to  other  nations. 
His  Bfajesty  confiding  in  the  sentiments  of 
his  allies,  bopcs  that  they  will  assist  him  in 
accomplishing  the  worthv  object  of  uj>hold« 
ing  the  prinaples  of  order  and  legitmia^. 
the  subvenion  of  which,  once  commenced 
in  America,  would  presently  communicate 
to  Europe ;  and  that  they  will  aid  him,  at 
the  seme  time,  in  re-establishing  peace  be- 
tween this  division  of  the  globe  and  its  co. 


binetes  de-Mi  enot  6  fntfrnae  aliadsi,  4 
wtsblecei  nna  confaenda  en  Paris,  doode 
rennidos  sus  plen^Mtendaiioeoon  los  deSu 
Magcstad  CafeoMca,  ansUien  4  la  Eqpana 
al  aircglo  de  los  negockw  de  America  te 
ks  paiaes  disidantes.  En  el  eiftmoi  de  es. 
Ca  importante  question,  8u  Mamtad  ten* 
dri  en  considendon,  de  aeueido  con  sus 
poderosos  aliados.  Us  alteradones  que  las 
aeeatedmieBtoehanocisinnadoenenspro- 
viadas  Ameiicuiea  i  y  las  reiackmee  que 
durante  las  torlmleDdas  se  han  foimado 
ooo  las  nadones  eomeraantes;  4  fin  de 
combinar  por  este  medio  de  buena  f^,  las 
noedidas  mas  ademadas  para  oondliar  loe 
dflvechos  y  jnstos  intereses  de  la  Corona  de 
Espana,  y  su  soberania,  coo  los  que  las 
drcunstandas  puedan  haberocadoaado  con 
renecto  4  las  otras  Nadones.  Su  Mages* 
tad  confiando  en  ks  sentimientos  de  sus 
Aliadoa,  eipera  que  le  ayudarin  al  diono 
ob|elo  de  sostener  las  prindpios  dd  oiden 
y  de  la  l^gitinudad,  cnya  subversion  ata- 
cada  en  America,  pronto  se  comnnicaria 
4  la  Euopa,  y  le  anziliaran  al  mismo 
tfempo  a  leetablecer  la  pas  entro  eflay  sua 
Colonias. 

En  consecuenda,  Su  Mageslad  ^riere 
que  peneinido  V.  de  estas  raaeoes,  y  em. 
pleando  los  recursos  de  su  conoddo  talento, 
trate  de  eonseguir  que  ese  Oobietno  se  de* 
dda  i  la  descM  cocperadon  que  los  aeon* 
tedmientos  de  laPenmenla  han  preparado ; 
autorizando  4  V.  para  dijar  ccmia  de  este 
ofido  4  cse  M  inistro  de  Negoaos  Estran* 
geros. 

Dioe  guards  4  V.  muchos  anos. 
(Firmado)    El  Coade  De  Or  alia. 
AiSr.  Bmbajador  de  8.  M.  C.  en 

Parii^  y  a  Sus  MinUirot  Plenre. 

en  Am  Peierthurgo  y  Viemt, 

TrmdmH&n  tf  Second  Indoemre  in  No,  If. 

The  Khig,  our  Sovereign,  bdnff  restored 
to  the  tlirone  of  his  ancestors,  in  ae  enjoy- 
ment of  his  hereditary  rights,  has  seriously 
turned  his  thou^ts  to  the  fate  of  his  Ame- 
rican dominions,  distracted  by  dvil  war, 
and  brougi^  to  the  brink  of  the  most  dan- 
gerous precqiiee.  As  during  the  last  three 
years,  the  rebellion  which  prevailed  in 
Spain,  defoated  the  constant  efibrU  which 
wen  made  for  maintalninff  tranquillity  in 
the  Costa  Firma,  for  rticomg  the  banks  of 
the  River  Plata,  and  for  preserving  Peru 
and  New  Spain;  his  Majesty  bdidd  with 
Ipief  the  progress  of  the  fisme  of  insurrec- 
tion; butitafibrds,attheeametinie,co&. 
•olatioi^te  the  Kmg,  that  repeated  and  ir- 
reftmgeUe  proofo  exist  of  an  immense  num- 
ber of  Spaniards  remaining  true  to  their 
oaths  of  allsgianre  to  the  thieoe;  aodthat 
the  sound  nujcrity  of  Amerioms  admow- 
ledge  Aat  that  hemisphere  cannot  be  hap- 
py unless  it  live  hi  brotherly  connectkin 
with  those  who  civilized  those  countries. 

These  refleetk»s  powetfoUy  animaU  his 
Vol.  XV. 


It  is,  therefore,  his  Majesty^s  pleasuro 
that,  penetrated  with  these  reasons,  and 
availing  jroursdf  of  the  resources  of  jrour 
well-known  taloita,  you  should  endeavour 
to  dispose  the  government  with  which  joa 
reside,  to  agree  to  the  desired  co-i^ieration, 
for  which  the  events  of  the  Peninsula  have 
paved  the  way;  authorising  you  to  com- 
municate a  copy  of  this  note  to  the  minis- 
ter for  foreign  affiurs. 

God  preserve  yon  many  years. 
(Signed)  The  Conde  de  Of  alia. 
To  the  Ambtundor  qfhis  Catholic 

Majesty  at  Paris,  and  to  his 

Ministers  PtenipoUnUiary  at  St 

Petertbwrgh  and  Vienna* 

iThird  Jncksmre  in  No.  IL) 
Sir  fVUiiam  A'Comrt  to  Count  Q/hUa. 
Madrid,  Dee.  SO,  1823. 
The  undeidgned,  &c  &c.  has  the  ho- 
nour to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  the 
Count  Ofolia's  note,  dated  the  26th  of  this 
month.    He  will  hasten  to  submit  it  to  his 
government* 
He  begs  his  Excellency  to  doeept,  &c 
(Signed)    WiLliam  A'Coubt. 
His  EaceUeney  the  Count  OfalU, 
^c  ^c.  jr. 

NcUL 
Mr  Secretary  Canning  to  Sir  W.  A' Court. 
Poreign^Office^  Jan.  30, 1823. 
Sift,— -The  ]pessenger  Latchford  ddi- 
veted  to  me,  on  the  14th  instant,  your  di- 


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Tk0li$e0U3kii$Paf$ne9»c0rnii$g89MihJmerida.     QManb* 


mtdi,  inacMliig  a  oopf  of  the  CooBt  de 
Ofl^*t  offidia  note  to  yOm  of  the  S6th  of 
I>ecember  laet;  with  die  aoeoniMBjiiig 
oi^y  of  an  instnctioii,  which  hat  been  ad» 
drfflsed,  by  order  of  hit  Cadiolie  MajeiCy, 
10  hie  ambassador  at  Pane,  aod  to  hit  mi- 
nisters plenipotentiary  at  the  oovtt  of  Vi- 
enna and  St  PdlersboTgh. 

Haring  laid  these  papen  befbee  the 
King,  I  have  reeciyed  hie  Majesty's  oon- 
mandfl  to  direct  yon  to  letmB  to  them  the 
Mlowing  answer : — 

The  purpose  of  the  Spanish  instnxctioa 
it  to  inrite  the  tereral  powert,  the  alBes  of 
hit  Oadiohe  Majesty,  to  ^  ettabhth  a  ooo- 
ftrence  at  Paris,  in  order  diat  their  pleni- 
potentiaries, together  with  those  of  his  Ga. 
tholie  Majesty,  may  aid  Spain  in  adjusting 
the  aflUrs  of  the  retohed  ooontiics  of  Ame- 
rica." 

The  maintcntiiee  of  the  *•  soreragnty*' 
of  Spain  over  her  late  colonics  it  pointed 
out  m  this  instmctioo  as  one  specdic  ob- 
ject of  the  proposed  oooliBKnee;  andthou^ 
an  expectation  of  the  employment  of  ftme 
for  this  object,  by  the  powers  invited  to  the 
conference,  is  not  pUunly  indicated,  it  it  not 
distinctly  dischnmed. 

The  invitation  contained  in  thit  inttmc- 
tlon  not  being  addfctsed  directly  to  the  go- 
Tcmment  of  Great  Britain,  it  may  not  be 
necessary  to  observe  upon  'that  part  of  it, 
which  refers  to  the  late  **  events  in  the  pe- 
mnsula,**  as  havmg  **•  paved  the  way**  fixr 
the ''  desired  co-operatMrn." 

The  Britisli  government  eoald  not  ae- 
knowledge  an  appeal  founded  upon  tiana- 
actions  to  which  it  was  no  party.  Bat  no 
sudi  appeal  was  necessary.  No  variation 
in  the  mtemal  afiUn  of  Spain  has,  at  any 
time,-  varied  the  King^s  desire  to  see  a  terw 
roination  to  the  evils  arising  from  thejpro- 
tracted  struggle  between  Spain  and  Spa- 
nish America;  or  his  Majesty*s  disposi- 
tion to  concur  in  bringing  abcmt  that  ter- 
mination. 

From  the  ymr  1810,  when  his  Majctty*s 
ringle  mediation  was  asked  and  granted  to 
Spain,  to  effect  a  reconciliation  with  her 
ooloniea— the  dittmbanoet  in  which  colo- 
niet  had  then  but  newly  broken  out— to 
the  year  1818,  when  the  tame  tatk,  in- 
created  in  difficulty  by  the  course  and  com- 
pfiooien  of  events  in  America,  was  pro- 
posed to  be  undertaken  by  the  alliedpowers 
assembled  in  conference  at  AixJa-Chiq^dle 
«-and  from  the  year  1818  to  the  preic&t 
time— the  good  officet  of  hit  Migesty  for 
this  purpose  have  always  been  at  the  ter- 
vioeof  I^Min,  within  limitationt,  and  upon 
conditkxns,  which  have  been  in  each  in- 
stance exnlicitly  described. 

Those  limitadoos  have  uniformly  exclu- 
ded the  employment  of  foioe  oe  of  menace 
against  the  eokwiea,  on  the  part  of  any  me- 
mting  power;  and  those  oonditiona  have 
nnifoimly  leqnired  the  previous  ttatement 
by  Spain,  of  tome  definite  and  mtclligible 


pgopotitioii>  andtheditcontinnanceonber 
part  of  a  tyitem  utteriy  inapplicable  la  the 
new  teialiont  which  had  grownup betweea 
the  American  provincet  and  other  eoum* 


The  iraitlett  istue  of  the  oonferencct  at 
Aiz.la-Ch^>elle  would  have  deterred  the 
Britith  government  from  acceding  to  a  pio- 
potal  for  again  entcttaining,  in  conference, 
the  quettion  of  a  mediation  between  Spain 
and  the  American  piovlnoct ;  even  if  other 
circumatancet  had  rcmrined  nearly  the 
tame.  But  the  eventt  which  have  followed 
eadi  other  with  tudi  rapidity  during  the 
latt  five  year^  have  creeled  to  essential  a 
difference,  as  wdl  in  the  relative  situatiflo 
in  which  Spain  and  the  American  provincet 
stood,  and  now  stand  to  eadi  other,  as  in 
the  external  rdations  and  the  internal  tu* 
cumatances  of  the  provinces  themselvet, 
that  it  wooUl  be  vain  to  hope  that  any  me- 
diation, not  founded  on  the  basis  of  inde- 
pendence, could  now  be  mcoettfrd. 

The  bett  proof  which  the  British  govern- 
ment can  give  of  the  interest  which  it  coup 
tinaes  to  feel  for  Spain,  is,  to  state  frankly 
their  opinion  as  to  the  course  most  advisa- 
ble to  be  punned  fay  hit  Catholic  Majestv  ; 
and  to  answer,  with  the  like  franknett,  Uie 
queetion  implied  in  M.  Ofelia*t  inttructioii, 
at  to  the  nature  and  extent  of  their  own 
rehukNia  with  Sp«iiiA  America. 

There  it  no  hesitatkin  in  answering  this 
onestkm.  The  subjects  of  hit  Mijes^  have 
tor  many  yeart  earned  on  trade,  and  formed 
commeraal  connectiont,  in  all  the  Ameri- 
can provincet,  whidi  have  declared  their 
tepantion  tnn  Spain. 

Thit  trade  wat  originally  opened  with 
the  content  of  the  SpsAish  government.  It 
hat  grown  g^ually  to  tuoi  an  extent,  at 
to  re(|uire  some  direct  protection,  by  the 
establishment,  at  several  ports  and  placet 
in  those  provinces,  of  consuls  on  the  part 
of  this  country — a  measure  long  deferred 
out  of  ddicacy  to  Spain,  and  not  reeortcd 
to  at  last  without  distinct  and  timely  noti- 
fication to  the  Spanish  govemmeiit. 

As  to  any  ferther  ttsp  to  be  taken  by 
hb  Mi^y  towards  the  acknowledgment 
of  the  de  facto  govcmmentt  of  Amenra,— 
dedrion  mutt  (at  hat  already  been  ttated 
more  than  once  to  Spain  and  to  other 
Powert)  dqpend  upon  variout  circumstan- 
cet ;  and,  among  othcn,  upon  the  reportt 
which  the  Britith  Goveniment  may  receive 
of  the  actual  ttate  of  affiurt  in  the  teveril 
AmezicBii  Provinoee. 

Bat  it  appears  mtniftMt  to  iht  Britith 
OovemmcDt,  that  if  to  hwge  a  portion  of 
iheglabt  should  remain  mndi  longer  with- 
out any  recognized  political  exittence,  or 
any  definite  political  connection  with  the 
etiahlithed  govenunentt  of  Europe,  the  ooo- 
eeqneucet  of  inch  a  ttate  of  thingt  must  be 
at  once  mott  embamtting  to  thote  govern- 
meota,  and  mottinjoriona  to  the  interestt 
of  all  European  nationt. 


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For  these  reuons,  and  not  from  men 
views  of  selfish  polsnr,  the  British  govern- 
ment is  decidedly  of  opimon,  dut  llis  i^ 
oognhioo  of  sudi  of  the  new  states  as  haTe 
established  deficto  their  separate  nolitical 
existence,  cannot  be  madi  longer  delayed. 

The  British  government  hare  no  desire 
to  anticqiate  SpuQ  in  that  reoognition.  On 
the  contrary,  it  is  on  every  account  their 
wish,  that  lus  Catholic  Majesty  should  have 
the  grace  and  the  advantage  of  leading  the 
way,  in  that  reoognition,  among  the  Powers 
of  Europe.  But  the  court  of  Madrid  must 
be  aware,  that  the  discretion  of  his  majesty 
in  thb  respect  cannot  be  indefinitely  bound 
up  by  that  of  his  Catholic  Majesty ;  and 
that  even  before  many  months  dapse,  the 
dedre,  now  sincerely  felt  by  the  British  ^ 
▼emmeot,  to  leave  this  precedency  to  Spam, 
may  be  overborne  by  considerations  of  a 
more  comprehensive  natnra ;— considenu 
tions  reganling  not  only  the  essential  inte- 
lests  of  his  majesty*s  subjects,  but  the  re- 
lations of  the  Old  World  witli  the  New. 

Should  Spain  resolve  to  avail  horself  of 
die  opportunity  yet  within  her  power,  the 
British  mvemment  would,  if  the  Court  of 
Madriddesired  it,  wOhn^yaibrd  its  coun- 
tenance and  aid  to  a  negotiarion,  com- 
menced on  that  only  basis  whieh  iq^ears 
to  them  to  be  now  practicable ;  and  would 
see,  without  reluctance,  the  conclusion 
through  a  negotiation  on  that  basis,  of  an 
airaneement,  by  which  the  mother  country 
should  be  secured  in  the  enjoyment  of  com- 
mercial advantages  superior  to  those  con- 
ceded to  other  nations. 

For  hersdf;  Great  Britaia  aslcB  no  ex- 
dosire  privileges  of  trade  t  no  invidious 
preference,  but  equal  freedom  of  oommeree 
teaU. 

If  Spain  shall  detomine  to  persevcn  in 
other  oounsds,  it  cannot  Iwt  be  expected 
that  Oreat  Britain  must  take  her  own  course 
upon  this  matter,  when  the  time  for  taking 
it  shall  arrive ;  of  which  Spain  shall  have 
ftdl  and  early  indmation. 

Nothing  that  is  here  stated  tan 
to  the  Sptmish  government  any  surprise. 

In  my  dispatdi  t9  Sir  Charles  Stuart  of 
A*  Slst  March,  1888,  which  was  commu- 
nicated to  die  SpaaiA  govcnmcnt,  the  opi- 
nion was  distinctly  expressed,  that,  ^'  time 
and  the  course  of  events  had  substantially 
decided  the  sqtaration  of  the  colonies  from 
the  mother  country ;  slthough  the  formal 
reeognition  of  those  provinces,  as  indepen- 
dent states,  by  lus  Majesty,  might  be  Has- 
tened or  retarded  by  varinns  ncteroal  circum- 
stances, as  wd  as  by  the  more  or  less  sa- 
tis&ctory  progress,  in  each  state,  towards 
a  regular  and  settled  form  of  goveiument.** 

At  a  subsequent  period,  in  a  eommaai- 


qpwoyiiiw^  acmA  America.  S57 

cation*  made,  in  the  fiitt'initaDoe  in  Francey 
and  afterwards  to  other  powers,*!-  as  well  as 
to  Spain,  the  wmeopinions  were  rqpeated  ; 
with  this  specific  addition,— that  in  either 
of  two  cases  (now  happily  not  likely  to  oc- 
cur,)—in  that  of  any  attempt  on  the  part  of 
Bfin^  to  revive  the  obeolflte  inteidiction  of 
intercourse  with  the  countries  over  which 
she  has  no  longer  any  actual  dominion ;— . 
or  in  that  of  the  employment  of  foreign  as- 
sistaace  to  re-estabUsh  her  dominion  in 
those  countries,  by  force  of  arms;-^the  re- 
cognition  of  such  new  states  b^  hu  M^esty 
would  be  decided  and  immeduUe. 

After  thus  declaring  to  you,  for  the  in- 
fbrmation  of  the  court  of  Madrid,  the  deli- 
berate opinion  of  the  British  government 
on  the  points  on  which  Spain  requires  the 
advice  of  her  allies,  it  does  not  uppear  to 
the  British  cabinet  at  all  necessary  to  go 
into  *  eonforence,  to  declare  that  opinion 
anew ;  even  if  it  were  perfectly  dear,  from 
the  tenor  of  M.  Ofalia*s  instruction,  that 
Ckeat  Britain  ii  in  lact  included  in  th^  in- 
vitation to  the  conference  at  Paris. 

Bvwy  one  of  the  Powers  so  invited  has 
been  oonstastly  and  unreservedly  a^qprized^ 
not  only  of  eadi  step  which  the  British  ^ 
yenunent  has  taken,  but  of  every  opinion 
vriiich  it  has  formed  on  this  subject : — 
and  this  dii^trh  will  be  oonmiuniosted  to 
them  aU. 

If  those  powers  should  severally  come  to 
the  tame  ccmdunon  with  Oreat  Britain,  the 
concurrent  expression  of  their  several  opi« 
nions  cannot  have  kss  weight  in  the  iad^ 
onent  of  Spain, — and  must  naturally  be 
more  acceptable  to  her  feelings,— than  if 
such  eoncnrtenee,  being  the  result  of  a  conr 
l«renee  of  fLwt  powers,  should  carry  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  oonocrted  dictation. 

If  (unhiq>pily»  as  we  think)  the  sUies,  or 
any  of  them  should  come  to  a  different  con- 
clusion, we  shall  at  least  have  avoided  the 
inoonvenienoe  of  adiscusaion,  by  whidi  our 
own  opinion  could  not  have  been  changed^ 
—we  shall  have  avoided  an  iqipearance  of 
by  which  the  jeakmsy  of  other 
:  have  been  excited ;— we  shaQ 
led  a  deUy,  which  the  state  of  the 
question  may  hardly  allow. 

Meanwhile,  this  explicit  recapitulation 
of  the  whole  course  of  our  sentiments  and 
of  our  proceedings  on  this  momentous  sub- 
ject, must  at  once  acquit  us  of  any  indis- 
position to  answer  the  call  of  Spain  fbr 
friodly  coonsd,  and  protect  us  against  the 
suspicion  of  havfaig  aay  purpose  to  conceal 
from  Spain  or  from  the  wood. 
I  am,  Ac 
(Signed)  Georoe  Caxxijio* 
The  Bight  Bon.  Sir  W.  A'Court, 

G.C.B.  4[C  4;c.  tc. 


•  The  ItanonDdiim  oC  Coufoispfle— J^  L  .  .    ^ 

t  Aa«ria>  BiMl^  Pnuria»  IH)rtiigs],  the  NeifaeilaDdi^  and  tbt  Uaited  States  of  Amerta 


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8M  Noeiet  AmbrotioMS.    No.  XIII.  ("Marcb, 

Vfactn  ^mfitoBiamt^ 

No.  XIII. 
XPH  A'£N  ZYMnO£ia  KTAIKON  n£PINIS£OM£NAaK 
HA£A  KOTIAAONTA  KAGHMENON  OINOHOTAZEIN. 

PHOC.  ap.  Ath. 

[[7%u  iff  a  distich  by  wise  old  Phocylides, 

An  ancient  who  wrote  crabbed  Greek  in  no  silfy  days  ; 

Meaning  J  "  'Tis  right  for  good  winebibbing  people^ 

''  Not  to  let  the  jug  pace  round  the  board  like  a  cripple; 

''But  gaily  to  chat  while  discussing  their  tipple." 

An  excellent  rule  of  the  hearty  old  cock  '/ti— 

And  a  very  Jit  motto  to  put  to  our  'Noctes.^ 

C.  N.  ap.  Ambr. 

Dram.  Fer#.— north  and  tickler. 

tickler. 
Proper  humbug !— bat  don't  rail.  Norths  for  I  remember  his  father^— 

north. 
I  rail  ? — I  like  him  better  than  most  of  them,  ibr  he  Aa«  pluck — ^he  has  the 
old  lad's  blood  in  him.    I  was  only  wondering  that  he  should  again  commit 
himself  in  such  a  way  ;  but  there  really  is  no  accounting  for  Whig  conduct. 

tickler. 
Pooh !  pooh !  I  was  jokinff,  man ;  he  is  in  private  a  pleasant  fdlow  enough, 
but  in  public,  he  is  one  ofthe  hacks  of  the  party,  and  of  course  obliged  to 
set  throng^  sudi  things.  Yet  it  would  be  no  harm,  I  think,  if  he  remem- 
Dered  to  what  set  of  men,  and  what  system,  his  people  owed  their  honours; 
and,  perhaps,  although  he  u  in  the  service  of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  such 
a  recollection  might  make  him  less  rabid  on  the  followers  of  Pitt. 

NORTH. 

Hang  it  f  such  a  cheese-paring  is  not  worth  wasting  a  sentence  about.  Keep 
moving  with  the  Review.   The  price  of  tea— I  think  we're  that  length— 

TICKLER. 

I  leave  to  the  wallowers  of  Souchong,  Campoi,  Hyson,  Hymskin,  Bohea, 
Congou,  Twankay,  and  Gunpowder.  This  will  be  a  favourite  article  vrith  the 
Cockneys— with  the  leafy— that  is,  tea-leafy  bards,  who 
Te  redeuDte  die^  te  decedente  canebant. 
It  18  nothing  to  us. 

NORTH. 

Nothing  whatever— I  leave  it,  and  the  discussion  on  the  Holy  Alliance,  to 
be  swaUowed  by  those  whom  it  is  meant  for. 

TICKLER. 

The  Jeremiade  over  the  Italian  traitors  is  vastlv  interesting ;  then  it  appears, 
that,  after  all,  only  one  of  the  rufSans  expiated  nis  crimes  on  the  gallows. 

NORTH. 

God  bless  the  Jacobins,  and  their  child  and  champion.  They  would  have 
made  cleaver  work  of  it  It  is,  however,  ^uite  comfortable  to  hear  (Md  Bailey 
lawyers,  like  Denman  and  Brougham,  talkmg  ofthe  savageness  of  the  Austrian 
government,  when  they  must  know,  that  in  a  population  double  our  own,  the 
executions  are  as  one  to  five,  if  not  in  a  sdU  smaller  proportion.  A  Vienna 
Beview,  if  there  be  such  a  thing,  could  finely  retort  that  m  our  faces.  With 
lespect- 

ODOHERTT  (onlfffrfr.) 

The  CInb-room— only  Mr  Nwth  and  Mr  Tickler. 

waiter  (outside.) 
That's  all,  sir.— There's  a  trifle  of  a  balance,  sir,  against  you  since 

ODOHERTY  {spcoks  OS  entcTs^ 
Pdiaiw— don't  bother  nic,  man,  with  your  balances*  Do  you  think,  when  the 


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1884.;]  Nodes  AmhfosiaiM.    No.  XIII.  340 

interests  of  the  world  are  going  to  be  debated— -Gentlemen^  a  pair,  am  right 
glad  to  seeyoa. 

NOETH. 

Sit  down. 

TICKLBB. 

And  here's  a  dean  glass. 

KORTH. 

What  will  ye  drink  ? 

TICELEB. 

Champaigne,  Chateao-Margout^  Glenlivet,  or  Jamaica  ? 

NOBTU. 

We  have  got  to  the  hot  staff  this  Aotir.  Will  70a  trj  our  jug,  or  make  fbr 
yoorsdf? 

TICELEB. 

I  recommend  the  jog. 

ODOHEBTT. 

I  am  Quite  agreeable  wherever  I  go.  Here's  a  bumper  to  your  health,  and 
that  of  all  good  men  and  true. 

TICELEB. 

How  long  are  you  arrived  ? 

OnOHBBTY. 

Half  an  hour.    Knew  I'd  meet  somebody  here.    Where  are  the  rest? 

NOBTH. 

Hogg  is  at  work  with  his  Epic  poem. 

OnOHERTT. 

Hb  He-pig  poem  you  mean.  Queen  Hynde,  if  I  mistake  not  A  great  af- 
fiur^  I  suppose. 

TICELEB* 

Quite  grand.  The  Shepherd  hss  been  reading  it  all  over  the  hills  and  far 
away.  Tnere  are  fine  bits  in  it,  I  assure  you.  I  heard  the  exordium ;  it  is 
spmdid. 

OnOHEBTY. 

00  you  remember  any  of  it? 

TICELEB. 

No— not  enough  at  least  to  spont 

ODOHE&TT. 

1  met  Jemmy  Ballan^ne  at  York— we  supped  together— and  he  told  me  he 
had  heard  it  was  to  open  like  the  ^neid  or  Madoc. 

KOBTH.  ^ 

The  JBxkoA  or  Madoe^  Just  aa  you  would  say  BladnMNKfi  Magaane  and 
the  London !  How  do  you  mean  ?    . 

onoHEmrr. 
Why,  with  a  recaj^tolation  of  all  his  work»-HM  thna— I  foote  from  me* 

TICELEB  (oiide.) 
Or  imagination. 

ODOHEBTT. 

Come  listen  to  my  lav,  for  I  am  he 

Who  wrote  Ellmen/s  wild  and  wondrous  song, 

Likewise  the  fieuoaous  Essay  upon  Sheep, 

And  Mador  of  the  Moor ;  and  then,  imlike 

Those  men  who  fling  their  pearls  before  the  Hog, 

\,  Hpgg,  did  fling  my  Perils  before  men. 

NOBTH. 

A  pun  barbarous. 

ODOHEBTT. 

But  Still  more  famous  for  the  glorious  work, 
Whidi  I,  'neath  mask  of  oriental  sage. 
Wrote  and  ooroocted  in  auspicious  hour — 
The  Chaldee  Mahoscbipt — ^whieh,  wi^  a  voice 
Of  thundering  sound,  fulmined  o'er  Edinbuig, 
l^iook  the  old  Calton  from  its  granite  base. 


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S(K)  Noetu  AmbrosimuB.    No.  XIIL  [[Mtrcby 

Made  Aitbur'B  Seat  toss  up  its  lion  head. 
And  snuff  the  wind  in  wonder ;  while  around. 
Eastward  and  westward,  nor&ward,  southward,  all 
The  ungodly,  struck  with  awe  and  ominous  dread 
Of  the  great  ruin  thenoe  impending  o'er  them. 
Fled  flighted,  leaving  house  and  home  hehind. 
In  shameful  rout— or,  grovelling  prostrate,  shew'd 
Their  nether  parts  uncomely— 

TICKLSm« 

I  think  you  may  sti^  then* 

NORTH. 

In  all  consdenoe :  I  shall  not  permit  Hogg  to  be  quisfeed.  He  is  too  good  a 
fellow,  and  I  am  sure  his  poem  will  do  him  credit.  Sing  a  song,  Snsign,  for 
you  seem  to  be  in  fine  voice. 

ODOHERTY  (stflgsJ) 

Would  you  woo  a  young  virgin  of  fifteen  years. 
You  must  tickle  her  fancy  with  Sweets  and  Dears, 
Ever  toying  and  playing,  and  sweetly,  sweetly. 
Sing  a  love-sonnet  and  charm  her  ean^— 
Wittily,  prettily,  talk  her  down — 
Phrase  her  and  praise  her,  fiur  or  browns- 
Sooth  her  and  smooth  her. 
And  teaze  her  and  please  her. 
Ah !  touch  but  her  fimcy,  and  all's  your  own. 

I  must  have  a  glass  ere  I  take  the  next  stanza. 

Would  you  woo  a  stout  widow  of  forty  yean 

TICKLER. 

Come,  stop,  stop,  ODoherty,  none  of  your  stn£&  Any  literary  news  in  Lon* 
don  town? 

ODOHERTY. 

Not  much.    Lord  Byron,  you  are  aware,  has  tamed  Turk. 

NORTH. 

Greek,  you  mean. 

ODOHERTT. 

Ay,  ay — Greek,  I  meant  I  always  confound  these  scoundrels  together.  But 
the  Greeks  fai  London  have  met  with  a  sad  defeat  Thai  affidri:drThurtell's 
was  a  bore. 

TICKLER. 

Curse  the  miBan— the  name  ous^t  not  to  be  mentioned  in  decent  sodety. 
But  Weare  was  just  as  great  a  bladkguard. 

ODOHERTY. 

Yes ;  and  Sam  Sogers  aaya  that  that  is  the  only  eimise  fcnr  TlinrtdL  He 
did  right,  said  Sam,  to  cut  such  an  acquaintance. 

NORTH. 

Why,  Sam  is  turning  quite  a  Joe  Miller.  Have  you  seen  the  old  gentlcnan 
lately? 

ODOHERTT. 

About  a  fortnight  ago— Tom  Moore  was  with  him. 

'  NORTH. 

I  thought  Tom  was  rusticating.' 

ODOHERTT. 

Yes,  in  general ;  but  he  is  now  in  town,  bringing  oat  a  new  Number  of  his 
Melodies. 

NORTH. 

Is  it  good? 

ODOHXRTY. 

Nobody  except  Power  and  his  coterie  hss  seen  it  vet ;  but  I  understand  it 
is  very  excellent.  It  wiUbeout  in  a  coupleof  montna.  There  is  one  song  in 
it  to  the  tune  of  the  Boyne  Water;  die  great  OnngemeB  tiine,  you  know, 
which  is  making  tbem  nervous. 

KCNITB« 

Why? 


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1884.3  Nociei  Ambro$ia»tB,    No.  XIIL  381 

OSOHEBTT* 

Bectoie  eoDcQiatkm— carte  the  five  syllablei,  at  Sir  Abraham  Kmg  says- 
it  carried  to  sneh  a  happy  pitch  in  Ireland,  tbU  lone,  toast,  status  pictore, 
displeasing  to  the  migority,  are  denounced  as  abominable. 

NORTH. 

A  pretty  one-sided  kind  of  conciliation  with  a  vengeance  1  bvt  I  am  aorry 
Moore  is  so  squeamish.    Are  the  words  Orange  ? 

ODOHEXTT. 

Not  at  all ;  some  staff  about  an  angel  or  nymph  rising  oat  of  the  Boyne, 
and  singing  a  song  to  pacify  the  natives. 

TICKLEE. 

And  even  this  must  not  be  published,  for  fear  of  offending  the  delicate  ears 
of  Sheilinagig  and  Co. !  Is  not  Moore  doing  a  jev  ^egprU  abmit  yoor  Iri^  Ru- 
gantino.  Captain  Rock  ? 

ODOHSaTT. 

Yes — but  he  b  nervous  there  too.  Lonsnnan  &  Co*  are  caotioua  folk,  and 
it  is  submitted  to  Denman,  or  some  other  doer,  who  will  bedevil  it,  as  he  did 
the  Fables  for  the  Holy  AlHance. 

TICKLEE. 

Well,  Longman  has  published,  however,  one  little  book  this  year,  that  bears 
no  marks  of  the  knife--have  yoo  seen  that  dever  dmig— the  ^^  Stmngei^s 
Grave,"  J  mean  ? 

OnOBEETT. 

I  have  to  be  sure,  ao  has  all  the  wcn'ld— hut  stUl,  upon  the  whole  it  is  not 
to  be  denied,  that  the  divan  have  not  half  the  ^unk  of  their  rival  who  rules 
in  the  west  of  the  Empire  of  Cockaigne. 

NORTH. 

Joannes  de  Moravia  ?  Have  you  seen  him,  ODoherty,  in  your  travels  ? 

ODOUEETY. 

Of  course— of  course — a  most  excellent  fellow  that  said  bibliopole  is. 

NORTH. 

That  I  know.    How  does  he  carry  on  the  war  ? 

'     ODOHERtY. 

In  die  old  t^le.  Morier  and  bis  people  are  mad  with  you  f<»r  your  black- 
guard review  or  Higji  Baba. 

NORTH. 

My  bladcguard  review,  Mr  Adjutant— it  waa  50«  who  wrote  it 

ODOHERTY. 

/— WeU,  that  beats  Banagher. 

TICKLER. 

No  matter  who  wrote  it^t  was  a  very  fair  quiz— better  than  anything  in 
the  novel — though  really  I  must  say  that  I  consider  Hiyji  rather  an  amusing 
book  after  ^. 

NORTH. 

N'importe.    Has  Murray  much  on  hand  ? 

ODOHERTY. 

A  good  deaL    Croker  is  going  to  publish  with  him  the  Suffiilk  papers. 

NORTH. 

Heavy,  I  suppose. 

ODOHERTY. 

No— the  contrary— at  least  so  I  am  told.  Croker  could  not  do  anything 
heavy. 

NORTH. 

He  is  fond  of  editing  old  papers— Lord  Hertford  has  pbced  the  Con  way  wi- 
pers in  his  hrads ;  and  I  perceive,  bv  a  note  in  the  new  edition  of  D'lsraeli's 
Curiosities  of  Literature,  tnat  the  old  gentleman 

TICKLER. 

An  excellent  judge. 

NORTH. 

Few  better-declares  that  they  will  throw  much  light  on  our,  that  is,  Eng- 
lish history. 


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369  Nodes  AmbroiiamB.    No  XIIL  [[Mardi> 

ODOOIETT. 

Apropos  of  Croker'-«  namanake  of  his,  and  a  oountryinaii  of  mine,  a  fine  lad, 
one  of  my  chiefeBt  churns^  indeed,  has  brought  out  with  Murray  a  quarto  on 
the  South  of  Irdand. 

XOBTH. 

I  have  not  read  it— just  looked  orer  the  prints— very  famous  lithography, 
by  my  honour. 

ODOHEKTY. 

O  the  Nidudaons  aro  prime  fists  at  that  kind  of  work.  The  book  has  sold 
in  great  style,  whidi  is  no  bad  thing  for  a  lump  of  a  quarto.  How  does  Maga 
get  on? 

NORTH. 

As  usuaL    Aro  our  brother  periodicals  tii  ttaiu  quo  f 

ODOHERTY. 

Yes,  heavy  and  harmless.  Whittaker  is  goinff  to  start  a  new  bang-up,  to  be 
called  the  Univenal— a  most  comprehensiTe  titi^ 

NORTH. 

It  is,  I  understand,  a  second  Avatar  of  the  New  Edinburgh,  with  some  ftesh 
hands.    God  send  it  a  good  deliverance! 

TICKLEE. 

Was  the  Universal  the  name  originally  proposed? 

ODOHSRTT. 

No— the  Bimensial— as  it  is  to  come  out  every  two  months.  Rogers  knock- 
ed up  that  name  by  a  pun.  "  Ay,"  said  he, ''  you  majr  cry  Bi-men-sial^  but 
the  question  is,  whether  Men-^uul-buy  ?"  A  bad  pun  m  my  opinion. 

NORTH. 

0  hideous— [[a«t<2e]}  it  is  his  own. 

TICELER« 

Abominable— [[oxuje]]  evidently  his.  Well  ^il  his  fishing  for  compliments. 

ODOHERTY. 

Whv,  lookye,  gentlemen,  I  do  not  think  it  quite  so  bad  as  that— I  can  tell 
you  I  nave  heard  worse  at  this  table. 

NORTH. 

Ha !  ha !  ha !  Caught,  Ensign  ?— empty  your  glass,  man,  and  don't  l3iink  to 
impose  on  us, 

ODOHERTY* 

Well,  so  be  it— Anything  for  a  quiet  life.  Hero  I  have  brought  you  Mr 
Gleig's  pamphlet  about  the  Missionaries.  I  assure  you  few  things  have  made 
more  noise  about  town^  'Tis  reaUy  a  pithy  perfbrmance—deviUsh  well  written 
too— a  rising  sprig  of  the  Mitro  this,  sirs. 

TICKLER. 

Just  the  thing  I  was  wanting  to  see — ^I  saw  it  (quoted  in  the  John  Bull. — 
Such  authors  aro  much  wanted  now-a-days — any  thmg  else.  Ensign  ? 

ODOHERTY. 

Why,  hero's  the  new  comedy  too— spick  and  span. 

NORTH. 

'' Pride  shall  have  a  falL"   Whose  is  it? 

ODOHERTY. 

Moore's— Luttroll's—Croly's— Jones's— Rogers's— Soane's.  All  of  which 
names  I  saw  in  print. 

TICKLER. 

But  which  is  right  ? 

ODOHERTY. 

Never  dispute  with  the  newspapers— all  must  be  right  I  only  think  it  pro- 
per to  mention  that  Soane  is  given  on  the  authority  of  the  Old  Times. 

TICKLER. 

A  lie,  of  course.  Nothing  moro  is  needed  to  prove  that  it  is  not  Soane.  How  ^ 
did  it  run  ? 

ODOHERTY. 

Like  Lord  Powerscourt's  waterfiEdl- full  and  fiut.  It  is  the  most  successfiil 
comedy  since  John  Bull. 

NORTH. 

1  shall  read  it  in  the  morning.    It  seems  to  be  elegantly  written. 


digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


18S4.3  Ncetes  AmhraHma.    Ifo.XIIL  3G3 

ODOHkkTY. 

Very  d^ganUy  indeed— And  tlfe  mune  Is  bMtitifUI.  Altogether  it  acta  right 
weD.    Yoa  hate  heard  of  Shee'sAkMO? 

KOBTR. 

How  Geoige  Cohnan  suppkreaMd  it  ? 

OBOHBRTt. 

Ye»— «iid  on  what  grounds? 

KOBTH. 

SometfaiDgpolitieal^  I  undentand;  hut  I  do  not  know  exactly  what 

OnORBBTY. 

Nor  I  Tery  exactly;— hut  it  Is  understood  that]  the  hero^  (to  he  enacted 
hy  Charles  KemUe)  was  a  lihetaL 

TTCXIjBB* 

That  is^  a  nifBati  **  titlMs  «lffttfe  redemphii/' 

02>ORBBTT. 

Exactly,  and  Shee  with  no  other  meaning  than  to  write  dramatically— for 
Shee  is  a  wwthy  and  right-minded  fellow— gate  this  lad  all  the  roaring, 
rumfustian,  upper-gallery,  *clap-trap,  hu^halloows  ahout  liberty,  emancipa- 
tion, the  cause  of  fieedottt  ill  over  the  wotld,  and  the  other  fine  things,  on 
which  the  Breeches-maket^s  retiew-^ 

irOBTR. 

What  reriew,  do  you  say  ? 

obOtfBttTr. 

The  Westniteier^^bm  ai  tlaocj  the  sidp  of  Charing'^CrMI,  Is  the  great  au- 
thority in  it,  Hk  never  ealkdanWhuiff  in  London,  but  the  Breeches-maker's 
Beview.  IIe%ev«r,  as  I  was  saymg,  tne  eflEbctive  part  acted  by  the  eflfective 
actor,  was  this  sort  of  gunpowder  stuff,  while  the  antagonixii^  principle,  as 
his  holiness  Bishop  ColmdtffrWdttldMty,  was  a  fellow  as  humdrum  as  one  of 
the  pluddess  Prosen  of  me  Modem  Athens,  and  to  be  nerformed  by  one 
Cooper  or  Carpenter.  So  the  Benthamism  had  it  all  to  Itself— and  in  English 
too,  a  language  whidi  Jerry,  you  know,  does  not  understand ;  and  therefore 
cannot  oonrupt  the  nation  by  scribbling  in  It 

TICKtBB. 

If  such  be  the  ease,  Colman  was  quite  right ;  though,  after  aU,  the  country 
Is  so  well  disposed,  that  it  mi^^t  have  been  left  to  the  decision  of  the  House. 

KOB'Ttt. 

Which  woidd,  I  think,  in  ibe'pMsent  temper  of  the  people,  have  damnofi  any- 
thing jacolnnioal  or  terging  thereto. 

ozK>ir«Rtt. 

Ay,  ay,  countryman  O'Connell,  with  grief,  is  obliged  to  confess,  that  ''Tory- 
isMi  Is  tfiumphabt.'*  Fill  your  gUsses— Here's,  kng  may  it  so  eoiithiue ! 

NOBTH  AND  TICELBB. 

Amen,  amen. 

OlK»iBBTY. 

Any  Aeirs  in  Edinbui^  f 

NOBTR  {itn^.) 
Older  up  tuppftr  imroedialdy.    News  to  Bdinbitfgh !  Bless  your  heart, 
when  had  we  news  here  ? 

TICtLfitl. 

The  old  afflur— Listen  and  you  shddl  hear  how  it  has  gone,  go^,  send  shall 
go  at  Ambrose's.— (ftfi^.) 

I. 
Ye  sons  of  the  platter  give  ear, 
Fenierhabfi  aures.  they  say, 
Tbtmise  of  good  eating  to  hear, 
yWU  neveir  bo  oat  of  the  way ; 
Ikkt  wiih  ktiives  Aarp  asrasoni,  and  stomachs  ad  keen, 
Stand  ready  taeut  through  the  M  and  thelein^ 

Through  the  ^t  and  the  lean,— 
Sh  ready  to  ttit  liiMi^  the  h%  and  the  kan. 

Vol.  XV.  3  A 

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364  N<Mim  AmkrasutmB.    No^  XIII.  HM^^j 

II, 
The  science  of  etdng  is  old. 
Its  antiquity  no  man  can  doubt. 
Though  Acuun  was  squeamish,  we're  told. 

Eve  soon  found  a  dainty  bit  out ; 
Then  with  knives  sharp  as  raxors  and  stomachs  as  keen. 
Our  passage  let's  cut  through  the  fiu  and  the  lean — 

&c.  &c 

m. 

Through  the  world  from  the  West  to  the  Eaat, 

Wh^her  City,  or  Country,  or  Court, 
There's  no  honest  man.  Laic  or  Priest, 

But  with  pleasure  partakes  in  the  sport. 
And  with  kmfe  shaip  aa  raior,  and  stomach  as  keen. 

His  passage  doth  cut  through  the  &t  and  the  lean— 

IV. 

Thev  may  talk  of  their  roast  and  their  boiled. 

They  may  talk  of  their  stew  and  their  fry, 
I  am  sentle  simplidty's  child. 

And  I  dote  on  a  West-Rid^  pye. 
While  with  knife  sharp  aa  raior  and  stomach  aa  keen, 

I  qplash  through  the  cmst  to  the  £st  and  the  lean— 
To  the  fa  and  the  k«n,<- 

V. 

Let  the  Whiga  have  aour  bannocka  to  chew. 

And  their  dish-water  namesake  to  swiU  ; 
But,  dear  boys,  let  the  wet  ruby  flow 

For  the  comfort  of  Torydom  still. 
Be  our  dishes  like  mountaina,  our  bumpers  like  aeas, 

Be  the  Mness  with  us,  and  the  leannesi  with  thase— 

N0RTH« 

I  like  to  hear  you  talk  of  leanness ! — ^Well,  well,  after  all,  what  anioftmal 
bump  of  gluttony  vou  mustsporty^Timotbeua  1 — and  you  too,  Odoberty.— >You 
are  not  aware,  pernaps,  that  the  infernal  idiots  have  got  you  into  their  hands. 

ODOHBBTT. 

The  infernal  idiota-*who  are  they  ? — O,  the  PhrenolQgista  1  How  have  the 
asees  got  me  ? 

NORTH. 

It  appears  that  you  were  lying  on  your  old  bench  in  the  watch-house,  after  an 
evening's  carouse  here,  when  a  party  of  Craniolo||iina  were  committed  lor  ex- 
erasing  the  Organ  of  Destructiveness  on  the  wmdows  of  somebody,  whom 
they  wanted  to  oonvinee  of  the  truth  of  the  Uieory  and  one  of  than  look  a 
cast  of  your  head. 

ODOHBETT. 

The  Devil  be  did!— What  did  he  find  there? 

KOETR.  * 

Imprimis,  one  huge  bump  on  the  top  of  the  fbr^ead,  denoting  extraordi- 
nary piety. 

ODOHBaxy. 

What,  this  bump  heve  ?— Pietv  witha  vengeanee  1— To  be  sure  I  went  on  my  , 
knees  immediately  after  getting  it— ^or  it  is  the  mark  of  a  lap  of  a  shilleu 
which  I  got  in  the  davs  of  my  vouth  from  Comeliua  O'CaUag^,  in  a  row  at 
BaUyhody.    What  else  am  I,  nesides  being  ^ona? 

KORTH. 

O,  I  fiirget  the  ciiture-*bnt  it  la  to  appear  in  the  nau  Tetame  of  thdr 
tranaactJonii 


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1094-3  NceU9  AnUiT09ittna.    No.  XIII.  s$& 

TKKLBB. 

They  fcmnd  the  organ  of  punch-drinkiiig  very  lam,  whidi  tends^  more  than 
anyoUier  fact  I  have  erer  neard,  to  prove  the  truth  of  their  wise  adenoe. 

ODOHIKTT. 

Where  did  they  find  it»  pray  ? 

TICKLBa. 

Somewhere  ahove  your  eyehrow. 

ODOHEBTY. 

Oh !  the  anea— if  they  found  it  somewhere  under  my  gullet,  they  would  be 
nearer  the  mark.^— But  come,  here  they  go  lutings,) 

I. 

Of  all  the  asses  in  the  town, 

None'a  Uke  the  Phreno-ldgers, — 
They  sport  a  braver  len^  ^eara 

Than  all  the  other  codsers. 
There's  not  a  Jaokass  in  the  land 

Can  bray  ao  true  and  sweetly, 
Nor  prove  a  turmp  ia  a  head 

As  wise  as  theirs  completely. 

II. 
'  Tis  they  who  write  in  learned  words. 

By  no  means  long  or  brsjggart; 
'Tis  they  who  prov^  no  saint  e'er  lived. 

If  none  was  Davie  Haggart. 
For  Davie  is  a  &vourite  name 

Among  our  northern  witdiea ; — 
Twas  David  Welsh  who  made  the  dub^ 
Along  with  David  Breeches^— 

I  meant  to  aay  Bridges,  but  I  could  not  think  of  a  rhyme,  Davie^  who  is 
an^cellent  fellow  in  all  other  respects,  is  turned  phrenologtr,  and  has  an  in- 
teresting p^er  on  a  young  thief  of  nis  acquaintance,  in  the  Idiot  Transactions, 
which  ia  qmte  edifying  to  read*— 

III. 
They  prove  that  Chalmers'  pate  acrosa  * 

Is  half  a  foot  and  over  ; 
Whereas  in  Joseph  Hume,  M.  P., 

An  inch  less  they  discover : 
And  therefore  they  dedare  tli^  one 

A  most  poetic  prancer. 
While  Joaeph  they  pronounce  to  be 

No  mij^ty  necromancer. 

IV. 
But  Hume,  you  needna  fash  your  thumb. 

Nor  stint  your  t  smunled  bottle ; — 
Stm  prove  in  style  that  three  and  three 

Make  up  fifteen  in  tottle. 
For  ev'n  it  what  these  wooden  patea 

Have  tried  to  prove,  were  swallow'd. 
Yet  if  it  be  a  narrow  akull. 

Your  head's  a  perfect  solid. 

Thev  proved  firom  Whig  Jack  Thurtell's  head. 
That  he  was  kind  sm  gentle  ; 


*  See  Combe's  letter  to  Dr  Barday. 
t  P«<foHiimt'sspeedioftb€l2thiiitt. 


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366  NocUi  AmbrasiOMt.    No.  XIII.  CHaltii« 

And  though  too  fond  of  tutting  th^ts, 

*Tet  fttill  he  n^er  meant  ill. 
And  now  the  ieven-and-^eighty  witt/ 

To  all  our  satiB&ctiona, 
Haye  shewn  it  takes  no  brains  to  print 

A  Tolume  of  transacttons. 

Shall  I  go  on  ?— 

MoaTH. 
Xo— no— let  the  tomip  tops  tot  in  quiet.    [[Sings.]] 

The  Doncaster  Mayor^  he  siis  in  his  chair — 
His  mills  they  merrily  gO'^ 
His  nose  it  doth  shine  with  Oporto  wltte^ 
And  the  gout  it  Si  in  his  great  toe. 

And  so  it  is  in  mine  too.  Oh !  oh !  O  ddur  I  what  a  cou^  I  have !  hdfjti, 
heigh,  heigh !— Come  now,  Tleklef,  one  stave  firom  Vdor  old  moose-trap,  to 
conclude  toe  ante-coenal  part  of  our  sympOfliiUtt,  for  I  hear  ihe  dishes  rattling 
bdow. 

TiCKLsa  sings,  {a-!a  Matthews.) 
Young  RojEP  came  taping  at  IJolly's  window— 

Tbumpa^r,  thumpaty,  thump ; 
He  begg'd  finr  admit«i^od>^die  answered  liiA  tio^ 

Glumpaty,  ^mnpaty,  g^ump. 
No,  no,  Roger,  no— as  you  came  ye  my  go^ 

Stumpaty,  stumpaty,  stump. 
O  what  is  the  reason,  dear  Dolly,  he  cried— 

Humpaty,  htunpabr,  hump- 
That  thus  I  am  cast  off,  and  unkindly  denied?^ 

Trumpaty,  trumpaty,  trump— 
8om6  rival  mace  dear,  I  guess,  has  been  here-^ 

Crumpaty,  cmmpaty,  crump— 
Suppoie  there's  b^  two,  sir,  pray  what^s  that  to  you,  sir  ? 

Numpaty,  num^ty,  nump— « 
VTtl  a  disconsolate  look,  his  sad  farewell  he  took — 

Fnmipaty,  frumijaty,  fhimp — 
And  all  in  desjMlr  Jump'd  into  a  brook— 

Jumpaty,  jumpatt,  jump-^ 
His  courage  did  com  in  a  filthy  fstt&i  pdol — 

Slumpaty,  slumoaty,  smmp-^ 
So  he  swam  to  the  thore,  but  saw  Dolly  no  more— 

Dumpaty,  dumpaty,  dump- 
He  did  speedily  find  otae  more  fitf  and  moke  kind— 

Plumpaty,  plumpaty,  plump — 
But  poor  DoUy  s  afraid  she  must  die  an  old  maid— 

Mumpaty,  roumpaty,  mump. 

Enter  Ambrose  with  his  tail  on :  (Left  eating.) 

*  The  number  of  phrenokguts  id  the  dub  in  £dinbargh. 


Primed  by  James  BaUantpie  and  Companjf,  Edinburgh. 


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BLACKWOOD'S 

EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


No.  LXXXVII.  APRIL,  18*4  Vol.  XV. 


No.  XIV. 

XPH  A'£N  ZrMnOZia  KTAUCaN  flENMIXXOMJ^NAAN 
HAEA  KariAAONTA  KAeUMBKOM  <MMOnOTAZ£IN. 

PHoc.  Op.  Aih. 

ZTku  U  a  distich  bjf  wise  old  PhoeffUdes, 

An  tmeisni  who  wrUs  erahbed  Ore  A  in  no  silfy  dojfs  / 

Meaning,  "*Tjb  uoht  fob  ^ood  wkmbbibbino  pboplb, 

«  Not  to  xbt  thx  juo  pace  mouiro  tbb  »oabi>  lixb  ▲  cbipplb  ; 

'<  But  oaijlt  to  chat  whilb  m$cvBsiVQ  tuia  tip rui." 

MenceUtntnJeqf^hearfyoldoofi^'Hs^ 

And  a  veryJU  motto  to  put  to  owr  .Nodei .]] 

C.  N.  op.  Ambr. 

Scbhb  I.— iSSiQhMM  Fmhut. 

MB  NOBTBf  tbb  BTTBICK  9lHmtaMVa,  Ain»  MB  AMBBOfB. 
jrOftTH. 

JoBt  to— juBt  io^  Mr  AmbroBe.  No  nuii  letB  a  caduoo  with  mora  gentb 
dexterity.  As  my  heel  sfaiks  into  the  f^Tet,  my  toe  foigett  to  twinge.  Now, 
my  dear  St  Ambroiio,  for  Vsau  msdieinal  /  (Mr  Awtbtrose  oommMmeatef  a  mU^ 
shdiqroienUvei,ande9ii.)  Now»  my  dear  Shephvd,  let  bb  hate  a '<  iWB- 
handed  crack." 

TBB  BBBPBBBP. 

What's  the  goat  like,  Mr  North,  sir?  Is't  like  the  sCbbr  o'  a  ikep-bee?  or 
atoothackyjtonn?  or  a  gnmboO,  when  yoa  tondi't  wi'  bet  parritch?  or  a 
whitlow  <m  ane's  noee,  tmib  thndjbing  a'  die  night  thnmgb  ?  or  Is't  liker,  in 
its  ain  way,  iaXi  whatane  dveee  af)ter  ihretty  miles  o^  a  hanUtsottiag,  bardiacked 
beast,  wi'  thin  breeks  on  aqe's  hwdies? 

KOBTK. 

GenUe  Shepherd, ''  Wheio  ignoMBce  as  bliss,  tia  felly  to  he  wise." 

TBI  «aB«BBBl>. 

I'se  wanant  now,  sir»  ^Mt  your  bi>tae'i«Sjfed  asBBoaa  jn^nne. 
Vot.XV.  $B 


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308  I>iocUi  Ambrosiana.    No.  XIV.  C^piilj 

NOBTH. 

There  spoke  the  poet — ^the  author  of  the  Queen's  Wake.  Mr  Hogg»  I  am 
happy  to  know  that  you  are  about  to  gi?e  us  a  new  poem^  Queen  Hynde.  Is 
it  Tery  fine  ? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Faith^  I'm  thinking  it's  no  muckle  amiss.  I've  had  great  pleasure  aye  in  t2ie 
writing  o't  The  words  came  out^  helter  skelter,  ane  after  the  other,  head  to 
doup,  like  bees  frae  a  hive  on  the  first  glimpse  o'  a  sunny  summer  mom. 

KOBTH. 

Again !  Why^  that  is  poetry^  Mr  Hogg. 

THE  SHEFHEBD. 

Fie  shame !  That's  just  what  Mr  Jafl&av  said  to  t]!oleridgc,  when  walking  in 
the  wud  wi'  him  at  Keswick — And  yet  wnat  does  he  do  a  towmont  or  twa  af- 
ter, but  abuse  him  and  his  ffenius  baith,  like  ony  tinkler,  in  the  Enbro'  Re- 
view. I  eanna  say>  Mr  Nortn,  that  I  hate  flattery^  but^  oh  man !  I  fear^t,  and 
'  at  the  very  time  I  swallow' t,  I  keep  an  e'e  on  the  tyke  that  administers  the 
cordial. 

NORTH. 

Queen  Hynde  will  do,  James.  Tales,  tales,  tales,  eternal  prose  tales— <mt 
with  a  poem^  James.— Your  brose  tales  are  but 

THE  SHEFHEBD. 

What  kind  o'  a  pronoundation  is  that,  man  ? 

NORTH. 

I  seldom  write  verses  myself,  nov-a-days,  James,  but  as  I  have  not  bothered 
you  much  lately  bv  spouting  MSS.^  as  I  us^  to  do  long  ago,  pray,  be  so  kind 
as  to  listen  to  me  nir  a  few  stanzas. 

1. 
Hail,  glorious  dawning !  hail,  auspicious  mom  ! 

Afbil  THE  7IBST  !  grand  festival,  all  haU ! 
My  soaring  Muse  on  goose-quill  pinion  bora^ 

From  that  wideiimbo,  sung  in  Milton's  tile, 
Hastens  to  pay  thee  love  and  reverence  due. 

For  thou  to  me  a  dav  most  sacred  art ; 
And  I  shall  call  around  a  jovial  crew. 

Who  love  and  worship  thee  with  single  heart. 
Come,  crown'd  in  foolscap,  rolling  forth  this  lay. 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail  J — ^hail,  glorious  all  tools'  day ! 

2. 
Whidi  of  you  first  shall  press  to  shew  your  love — 

To  vaLl  your  bonnet  to  your  patron  saint  ? 
I  see  YOU  hasten  firom  the  eartli  above. 

And  sea  below  to  pay  your  service  quaint. 
While  black  and  ^rey  m  every  livery  deck'd 

The  stay-laced  dandy,  and  the  Belcher'd  blood. 
The  grave  divine  of  many  a  jangling  sect — 

Lawyers  and  doctors,  and  the  critic  brood. 
All  singins  out  in  concert,  grave  or  gay, 
HaU,  mighty  mother,  hail  !«-hail,  glorious  all  fools'  day ! 

S. 
March  in  the  fiiremost  rank — ^'tis  yours  by  right — 

Mardi;  nenadiers  ci  folly— march,  my  Whigps— 
Hoist  the  old  tattered  standard  to  the  light. 

Grunting  in  chorus  like  Will  Cobbett's  pigs. 
George  Tiony  holds  it  with  unsteady  paw. 

Looking  right  hungry  on  the  golden  hill 
Of  Place  and  Power,  nom  which  his  ravening  maw 

Hopes  vainly  for  vittal  its  chinks  to  fill. 
Dune  to  bimidif  he  growls,  but  loud  must  say, 
HaO,  mif^ty  mother,  hail !— hail,  glorious  all  fools'  day ! 


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J884.I]  Noetei  Ambrotitmm.    No.  XIW.  309 

4. 

Brougham^  in  a  hated  gowi)  of  stuffy  attends. 

His  nose  up-twitching  like  the  deviUs  taU. 
There  Aberdeen  her  lemit  Ractor  sends, 

Joseph,  at  whom  great  Cocker's  self  tumt  pale. 
There's  Scarlett  Rediyivas,  whom  the  band 

Of  bloody  gemmen  of  the  Press  had  slain. 
And  Wilson  (once  Sir  Robert)  hand  in  hand. 

With  Nugent  lading  of  the  Falmoath  Wain, 
Joining  right  loudly  in  the  grand  hnsza, 
Haili  mq^ty  mother,  hail ! — ^haU,  glorious  all  fools'  day ! 

5. 
H^^se  Hutchinson,  and  wiser  Peter  Moore, 

Great  H<Aand,  redolent  of  female  fist ; 
Sir  James,  the  faithful  treasurer  of  the  poor, 

Mick  Taylor,  lord  of  cutlets  and  gin  twist ; 
Frothy  Grey  Bennet,  natron  of  the  press. 

Whose  fireedoifn  is  tneir  toast  in  bumpers  fViU, 
And  which  they  shew,  by  crowding  to  caress 

Fudge  Tommy  Moore,  and  actioning  John  Bull. 
Shout,  my  old  Coke ! — shout,  Albemarle ! — shout^  Grey ! 
Hul,  mignty  mother,  hail  !<^hail,  glorious  all  fools  day ! 

6. 
Apt  are  the  emblems  which  the  party  shews — 

Here's  *'  Great  Napoleon,  victor  over  Spain," 
And  "  Wellington  of  war  no  science  knows," 

And  ''  Ang^eme  has  touched  his  hilt  in  vain," 
And  "  We  must  perish  if  the  gold's  withdrawn," 

And  "  We  must  perish  if  the  gold  is  paid," 
And  **  Chaste  art  thou^  OQueen !  as  snow  ere  dawn," 

And  ''  Princess  OHve  is  an  injured  maid ;" 
But  shining  oyer  all,  in  alt  still  say. 
Hail,  mighty  mother,  hail  !*hail,  glorious  all  fools'  day  ! 

7. 
Close  by  thiehr  tails  see  JeflTs  reyiewers  sneak 

In  buff  and  blue,  an  antiquated  gang ; 
Jeffrey  himself  with  penny  trumpet  squeak. 

Chimes  with  Jackpudding  Sydney's  jews-harp  twang ; 
HaDam  is  there  with  blood  of  Pindar  wet. 

And  there  MaccuUoch  bellows,  gallant  stot. 
And  Christian  Leslie,  too,  to  whom  is  set 

A  bust  of  stone,  in  Stockbridge  shady  grot. 
In  puppj  chorus  velps  the  fhll  array. 
Had,  m^hty  motner,  hail ! — hail,  glorious  all  fools'  day  ! 

8. 
Still  impudent  their  gestures—still  their  mien 

Swingers  beneath  the  load  of  self-oonodt ; 
Yet  allm  spite  of  vanity  is  seen 

Graven  on  each  brow  disorder  and  defeat. 
Still  BvaoN's  canister  too  deftly  tied. 
Rings  "  kling-ling-ling,"  be-dra^^in^  at  their  tafl  ; 
»wmde  to<     '  " 


Still  Nobth's  stout  cowmde  to  each  back  applied. 

Makes  even  the  stoutest  ^  the  crew  to  quaQ, 
Yet  boldly  still  they  cry  with  brave  buna — 
HaO,  mi^ty  mother,  ludl  !^*hail,  glorious  all  fools'  day ! 


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370  N^cks  Ambrukmm.    No.XiW.  HApril^ 

f. 

Whom  haye  we  nest— *I  note  the  gesture  trim. 

The  tfaxoat  unkerchiefed,  and  the  jsontr  air. 
The  yellow  ailk  that  wxape  the  nethtf  limoj 

And  all  the  singing  roiies  that  poeta  wear- 
Hail,  Bohea-hibfaing  menardi  of  Cockaigne ! 

Who  is  more  fit  Sian  th^a  to  join  the  song 
Qfjdory  to  Tom-foolery,  the  strain. 

Thou  and  thy  sul^eet  tribes  have  troU'd  so  long  } 
Shout  o'er  thy  bumper'd  dish,  hip !  hip!  huita! 
Hail^  mi^ty  mother,  hail  1 — hail,  g^onons  mxl  yooLs'  dagr  f 

10. 
For  the  remainder  of  his  rabble  rou^ 

Their  names  I  know  not,  nor  desire  to  know. 
For  aught  I  care,  each  long-eaied  lubbsi  bml 

May  march  to  Orcus  on  fantastic  toe, 
Save  Banj  Cornwall,  milk-and-water  bard. 

Lord  of  ihe  flunky  dad  in  lifery  green  1 
To  send  so  sweet  a  poet  'twere  too  h«d. 

To  the  chaise-perate  of  old  Pkito^  ^ueetti 
No,  here  as  Cockney-Laurcat  let  lum  stay. 
Singing,  hail^  mother,  hail  I    h%\\,  glenoua  Ai^h  pools'  diy ! 

U. 
Make  way,  make  way,  in  pknimde  of  paunsii. 

See  London's  learned  li?ery  waddKng  on* 
Lord  Waithman  heads  the  mm^ed  avalanche 

Tailed  by  Teutamen's  beio-^  WhittingtOB  1 
Oh,  Hucfadiack  the  Great,  alike  sublime. 

In  measuring  speedi  or  gingham  by  the  dl. 
Worthy  alike  dT  poet's  kfty  rayme. 

The  stuflPyou  uttCTi  and  the  stuff  vfQ  mU  I 
Sing  with  that  yoiee  which  cmi  e'en  Idngs  dismay^ 
HaO,  mighty  mother,  haO  l^^bail,  April  amjl  worms'  dayi 

THE  SHVPHSmn. 

ThatH  do— (Me  tjam  saiit,  I  ken  Maying  abo«t  tae  bilf  of  tlke'ohiels,  and 
the  little  I  do  ken  about  the  lave  is  na  worth  kenning.  But  the  rerses  sound 
weel,  and  seem  fu'  o'  satire.    They'll  no  be  popidsr,  though,  abOM^Ettrick. 

NORTH. 

I  must  occasionally  consult  the  taste  of  the  people  in  Lendoni  and  the 
neighbouring  villages.  They  are  fond  of  their  httle  loeal  jesia^  and  attach 
mighty  importance  to  men  and  things,  that  in  the  Ferest,  James,  are  consi- 
dered m  the  light  of  their  own  native  inaignifleanoe. 

THE  f  BEPHEED. 

That's  God's  truth  I  In  Londmi  you'll  hear  a  soun',  b'ke  lai^  thunder,  ftae 
a  milUon  voices,  growl-growling  on  ae  subject,  for  aiblins  a  week  thegith^ ; 
a'  else  is  clean  fingotten,  and  the  fkto  o'  the  world  seems  to  hang  on  the  mat- 
ter in  ban' ; — ^but  just  wait  you  till  the  tips  o'  the  horns  &  the  new  moon  hae 
sprouted,  and  the  puir  silly  craturs  reeoUe<^  naitbing  ata',  either  o'  their  ain 
fear,  or  their  ain  folly,  and  are  aff  on  anither  scent,  as  idle  and  th#ditles8  as 
before.  In  the  Idntra,  we  are  o'  a  wiser,  and  doucer,  and  dourer  nature;  we 
ftsten  our  fedings  rather  on  the  dmable  hills,  than  on  the  fleeting  duds ;  to- 
morrow kens  somethiiw  about  yesterday,  and  the  fifty-twa  weeks  in  the  year 
dinna  march  by  like  isolated  individuals  j  but  like  a  company  Btttmfjtj  mus- 
tered, and  on  an  expedition  or  anteqpiSEe  o' pith  and  moment 

KOBTH. 

Sowithbooks*  Inadty  they  areiead— iungadde  and  forgotten  like  the 
dead" 


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189i.1  NoeUs  Jmlrmmm     No.  XIV.  Ul 

TBS  SMB^vntD, 

In  the  pore  air  o'  the  kintrty  heakB  hae  an  imaMrtil  Kile:  I  hae  sae  great 
kebrary— fiwk  o't  conaiats  o'  twoi^  Tolnmea  o'  my  ain  writLng ;  bat,  oh !  mm, 
it  is  sweet  to  dt  down,  on  a  eahn  ammer  enwtisL  on  a  bit  knowe>  by  the  loch- 
•ide,  and  let  ane's  mind  gang  daundering  awa  oowb  4he  pegea  o'  aome  vdiUDe 
o'  genint ,  creating  thocLu  aliuMr  with  t&e  author,  till,  at  lut,  you  dinna  wed 
ken  whilk  o'  yon  hae  made  the  beak.  That's  ftuii  the  way  I  aftcn  read 
yonr  Magaxine,  till  I  could  behere  that  I  hae  written  erery  artiele-«»Noote8 
anda'.' 

NOaTH. 

How  did  the  Border  games  go  off  tlua  Spring  Meeting,  Shepherd? 

tBM  aaaf  HEED. 
The  loupin'  was  gnde,  and  the  rinnin'  was  better,  and  the  ba'  was  bent.  Oh, 
man  I  that  ye  had  &en  but  theie  1 

NOBTM* 

What  were  the  prixes? 

TUB  suPHian. 
Bonnets.    Blue  bunneta-^I  hae  ane  o'  them  in  my  pooch,  that  wasna  giett 
awa'.  There— try  it  on. 

{TheSheplurdfmU  the  bhe  bomtei  on  Mr  North's  hetuU) 

VOBTH. 

I  have  seen  the  day,  James,  when  I  coold  ba¥e  lesped  any  man  in  Ettridc 

THB  SHSPHBBIK 

A'  bnt  ane.  The  Flying  Tailor  wad  hae  been  yonr  matdi  ony  day.  But 
there's  nae  denying  yon  used  to  take  awfu'  spangk  Gnde  safe  ns,  on  springy 
meadow  gran,  rather  on  the  decline,  you  were  a  Terra  grasshopper.  Bnt,  waea 
me    thae  cratchea  f  Skiu  Ifugaui,  Fotthmiu,  PotOmme,  kdmnimr  aimi  I 

MOBTB. 

Why,  even  yet,  James,  if  it  wave  not  for  thia  infernal  gont  here,  I  coold 
lei^any  man  hving,  at  hop,  step,  and  jump— - 

THB  SHBPHXBD. 

Hech,  sirs!— hech,  sirs  1  but  the  human  mind's  a  strange  thing,  after  a*  I 
Here's  yon,  Mr  North,  the  cleverest  man.  111  sa/t  toyonr  laoe,  noo  extant,  a 
acholsr  «id  a  fedoeopher,  ▼aontin'  o'  your  kmpin' !  lliat's  a  g^eat  wakeoeaa. 
You  should  be  thinkin'  o'  ithcr  thinn  Mr  North.  But  a'  you  grit  men  are 
perftt  fUsa  «i4^  in  ae  thiog  or  anitfiir. 

XOBTB. 

Come,  James,  my  dear  Horn  dnw  your  afaahr  a  little  deser.  We  are  a  set 
of  strange  devila,  I  acknowled^,  we  human  beings. 

THB  SBBPHBBn. 

Only  Ittk  at  tha  maiat  eekbrated  o'  us. — ^There^s  Byron,  bragginT  o'  his 
soomin',  just  like  yourself  o'  your  loupin'.  He  informs  us  that  he  sworn 
through  the  streets  of  Venice,  toat  are  a'  canals,  you  ken«-nae  very  decent 
moceeding — and  keepit  pkmteiiag  on  the  drumly  waves  for  four  hours  and  a 
naif,  like  a  wild  guse,  diving,  too,  la'e  warrant,  wi'  his  tail,  and  treading  water, 
and  lying  mi  the  oack  o'  him— *wha'  the  deevil  osres? 

tVOBTH. 

His  lordship  was,  after  all,  but  a  wonj  Leander  ? 

THB  SHBPHBan. 

You  may  say  that  To  have  been  like  Lander,  he  should  hae  sworn  the 
Strechto  in  a  storm,  and  in  black  midnight,  and  a'  by  himself,  without  boata 
and  gondolas  to  pidc  him  up  gin  he  tuk  the  cramp,  and  had  a  bonnie  lass  to 
dicht  him  diy,<--and  been  £»wn'd  at  bat— bnt  that  hell  never  be. 

IVOBTH. 

You  are  too  aatirical,  Hogg. 

TBB  SHBPHBBD. 

And  there'a  Tammaa  Mure  l»agg^n'  after  sniAer  fkshkm  o'  his  exploiu 
amang  the  lasses.  O  man,  dinifryou  think  itcathet  contemptilde,  to  sit  in  a 
eotch  wi'  a  bonnie  thoohtleH  ksiie,  fortwa  three  lang  stages,  and  then  publish 
a  sing  about  it?  I  anoe  heard  a  gran'  Icddie  fiae  London  lauching  till  I 
thocht  she  woold  hae  split  her  sides,  at  Thomas  Little,  u  she  ca'd  hini.    t 


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373  lioctes  Ambrotkmm.    No.  XIV.  '  HApnl, 

could  sctroelT  ftdom  her^-but  ye  ken't  by  her  face  what  ihe  was  thinldDg^ — 
and  it  waa  a  quite  right— -a  aevere  reproof. 

NOaTH. 

Mr  Coleridge  P  Ii  he  in  the  habit,  Hogg,  of  making  the  Public  the  confi- 
denta  cf  his  personal  aocomplisliments  ? 

THE  aHBPHlRI>. 

I  cacna  wed  tell,  for  dee? il  the  like  o'  sic  books  as  his  did  I  ever  see  wi'  my 
een  beneath  the  blessed  licht.  I'm  no  speakin'  o'  his  Poemsd — 111  aye  rooae 
them— 4>ut  the  Freen  and  the  Lay  Sermons  are  aneuch  to  driye  ane  to  destrao- 
tion.    What's  logic? 

KOftTH. 

Upon  my  honour  as  a  gentleman,  I  do  not  know ;  if  I  did,  I  would  tell  yoa 
with  the  greatest  pleasnre. 

THE  SHEPHEaD. 

Weel,  weel,  Coleridge  is  aye  accuain^  folk  o'  haeing  nae  logic  The  want  o' 
a'  things  is  owing  to  the  want  o'  logic,  it  seems.  Noo,  Mr  North,  gin  logic  be 
soun  reasoning,  and  I  jalouse  as  much,  he  has  less  o't  himsel  than  onybody  I 
ken,  for  he  nerer  sticks  to  the  point  twa  pages ;  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
aye  feel  as  I  were  fuddled  after  perusing  Coleridge.  Then  he's  aye  speaking 
o  himsel-*but  what  he  says  I  never  can  mak  out  Let  him  stick  to  his  poetry, 
for,  oh  !  man,  he^s  an  nnyerthly  writer,  and  gies  Superstition  sae  beautifu'  a 
countenance,  that  she  wiles  folk  on  wi'  her,  like  so  many  bakns,  into  the  flow- 
ery but  fearfii'  wildernesses,  where  sleeping  and  wauking  seem  a'  ae  thing, 
and  the  yery  soul  within  us  wonders  what  has  become  o'  the  every-day  warld, 
and  asks  hersel  what  creation  is  this  that  waters  and  glimmers,  and  kee|>8  up 
a  bonnie  wild  murical  soug^,  Hke  Aat  o'  awarmingbees,  spring-startled  birds, 
and  the  ydce  of  a  hundred  streams,  some  wimphng  awa'  ower  tiie  Elysian 
meadows,  and  ithers  roaring  at  a  distance  firae  the  cle&  o'  mount  Abora.  But 
is't  true  that  they  hae  made  him  the  Bishqi  of  Barbadoes  ? 

NOBTH. 

No,  he  is  only  Dean  of  Highgate.  I  long  for  his  "  Wanderings  of  Cain," 
about  to  be  published  by  Taylor  and  Hessey.  That  house  has  given  us  some 
excellent  things  of  late.  They  are  spirited  publishers.  But  why  did  not  Cdie- 
ri^  speak  to  Blackwood  ?  I  suppose  he  could  not  tell,  if  he  were  questioned. 

THE  SHBrHEIlB. 

In  my  opinion,  sir,  the  bishops  o'  the  Wast  Indies' should  be  Uaoks. 

iro&TH. 
Prudence^  Jamea,  prudence,— ^we  are  alone  to  be  sure,  but  the  aflkifB  of  the 
West  Indies 

THE  aRETHBan. 

The  bishops  o'  die  Waat  Indies  should  be  blacka.  Naebody  11  ever  mak  me 
think  itherwise.  Mr  Wllberforce,  and  Mr  M'Auley,  and  Mr  Brougham, 
and  a'  the  ither  Saints,  have  tdl't  ua  that  blacka  are  equal  to  whites  ;  and  gin 
that  be  true,  make  budiops  o'  them-*— What  for  no  ? 

NOETH. 

James,  you  are  a  consistent  poet,  phiiosoplier,  and  philanthropist.  Pray, 
how  woidd  you  like  to  marry  a  olack  woman  ?  How  would  Mr  Wilberforce 
like  it? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

I  canna  answer  for  Mr  Wilberforce;  but  as  for  myself,  I  scunner  at  the  bare 
idea. 

KOETH. 

Why,  a  blade  skin,  thick  lips,  grissly  hair,  long  heels,  and  conyex  shins — 
What  can  be  more  delightful  ? — But,  to  be  serious,  James,  do  you  think  there 
is  no  difference  between  black  and  white  ? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

You're  drawing  me  into  an  aigument  abont  the  Wast  Indies,  and  the  neegars. 
I  ken  naething  about  it.  I  hate  slavery  as  an  abatract  idear-but  it's  a  neces- 
sary evil,  and  1  canna  believe  a'  thae  stories  about  cruelty.  There's  nae  fun  or 
amusement  in  whipping  women  to  death — and  as  for  a  akalp  or  twa,  what's 
the  harm  ?->Hand  me  ower  the  mm  and  the  sug^,  sir, 


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1834.]]  NoeUi  Ambromama.    No.  XIT,  373 

MOETH. 

What  would  Buxton  the  brewer  mj,  if  he  heard  nich  aentimeiitt  Arom  the 
author  of  Kihneny  ?  But  what  were  we  talking  about  a  little  ago  ? 

TUB  SHarHEsn* 

Never  aak  me  siccan  a  likequeation.  Ye  ken  weel  aneuch  that  I  never  re- 
member a  single  thin^  that  passes  in  conversation.  But  may  I  ask  gin  you're 
oomin'out  to  the  fishmg  this  season? 

VOETH. 

Apropos.  Look  here,  James.  What  think  you  of  these  flies  ?  Phin's,  of 
course.  Keep  them  a  little  further  off  your  nose,  James,  for  they  are  a  doaen 
of  derilsy  theK  black  heckles.  You  observe,  dark  yeUow  body— black  half 
heckle,  and  wings  of  the  mallard,  a  beautiful. brown^ — gut  like  gossamer,  and 
the  killing  Kirby. 

THS  SHEPHSan. 

Ill  just  put  them  into  my  pouch.  But,  first,  let  me  see  how  they  look 
aooming. 

{^Draws  out  afiy^  and  trails  it  slowly  akng  the  punch  in 
his  tumbler,  which  he  holds  up  to  the  argatid  lamp'^ 
a  present  to  Mr  Ambrose  from  Barry  ComwalC) 
O,  man !  that's  the  naturallest  thing  ever  I  saw  in  a'  my  bom  days.  I  ken  wwe 
theres  a  muckle  trout  Ijring  at  this  very  moment,  bek>w  Che  root  o'  an  «uld 
birk,  wi'  his  great  snout  up  the  stream,  drawing  iaslug»  and  ither  animalcu- 
la^  into  his  vortex,  and  no  caring  a  whisk  o'  his  tail  for  flees  ;  but  you'se  hae 
this  in  the  ton^;ue  o'  you,  my  bntw  fallow,  before  Maj-day.  Hell  sook't  in 
aafUy,  saftly,  without  shewing  mair  ^an  the  lip  o'  bun,  uid  then  I'll  streck 
him,  and  down  the  pool  hell  gaung,  snoring  uke  a  whale,  as  gin  he  were 
descending  in  a'  his  power  to  the  bottomless  pit,  and  then  up  wi'  a  loup  o' 
lightning  to  the  verra liflt,  and  in  again  into  the  water  wi'  a  s^uasn  and  a  plunge, 
like  a  man  gaun  in  to  the  douking,  and  then  out  o'  ae  pool  into  anither,  like  a 
kelpie  gaun  a-coorting,  through  alnig  the  furds  and  sLallows,  and  ettling  wi* 
a'  his  might  at  the  waterfa'  opposite  Fahope's  house.  Luk  at  him  1  luk  at 
him !  there  he  glides  like  a  sunbeam  strong  and  steadv,  as  I  give  him  the  butt, 
and  thirty  vards  o'  the  pirn — nae  stane  to  stumble,  ana  nae  tree  to  fimkle — ^bon- 
nie  green  bills  shelving  down  to  my  sin  Yarrow — the  sun  lukin'  out  upon 
James  Hogg,  frae  behint  a  doud,  and  a  breeze  frae  St  Mary's  Loch,  chaunt- 
ing  a  song  o'  triumph  down  the  vale,  just  as  I  laud  him  on  Uie  gowany  edge  of 
that  grassy-bedded  bay. 

Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 

Is  ahining  in  the  sky. 

NOETH. 

Shade  of  Isaac  Walton  ! 

THE  SREFHEED. 

I'm  desperate  thirsty— here's  your  health.  Oh,  Lord  I  What's  this  ?  what'a 
this?  Tve  swallowed  the  flee ! 

NOETH.  {starting  up  in  cansiemaium.) 

Oh,  Lord !  What's  this  ?  what's  this  ?  I've  trodden  on  a  spike,  and  it  has 
gone  up  to  my  knee-pan ! — O  my  toe !  my  toe  I  But,  James— Jamea— shut 
not  your  mouth— ewallow  not  your  awallow— or  you  are  a  dead  man.  There 
— steady— steady^I  have  bold  of  the  gut,  and  I  devoutly  trust  that  the  hook 
18  sticking  in  your  tongiw  or  palate.  It  cannot,  must  not  be  in  your  stomach, 
James.    Oh !— — 

THE  SHEPREED. 

Oh !  for  Liston,  wi'  hia  initruments ! 

MOKTH. 

'  Hush— hash— I  see  the  brown  wings. 

Enter  AMBmofE. 

AMBEOSE. 

Here,  here  is  a  silver  npoon— I  am  all  in  a  floater.  O  dear,  Mr  North,  wiU 
this  do  to  keep  dear  Mr  Hogg's  mouth  open,  whUe  you  i 


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374  Ko^ei  AmbfOiiiMm.    No.  XIV.  C^prCT^ 

KOBTR. 

It  is  the •oiin4Adle^  dr.  ^  Btrt  a  middeil  thought  etrikeB  me.  Her^fittiy 
gold  ring.— I  BnaO  let  it  down  the  line^  and  it  wiU  disentaiM^e  die  hook. 
Don't  swallow  my  creatji  my  dear  She^erd. '  There— all's  rig^t— the  hlack 
hedde  is  free^  ani  my  dear  peet  none  the  worse. 

THB  iHBPtiSRD^  {comghin^mU  Mr  NoTih'0  gold  ring.) 

That  verra  flee  shall  grip  ue  macUe  trout.  Mr  Amhrose,  qJAdk,  nonw* 
termand  Liston.  {Mr  Ambrose  vanishes.)  I'm  a'  in  a  poor  o'  sweat— Do  you 
hear  my  heart  heatii^  ? 

KOaTH. 

Mfs  Phin*o  tackle  is  so  exodknt  that  I  felt  eonfident  in  the  residt  Bad 
gat»  and  you  weve  a  dead  man.    Bttt  let  us  remune  the  thread  of  our  d»m 


THa«HBPfl£SB. 

I  hate  a  aoie  throat,  and  H  will  not  be  weel  tOl  we  soop.  Tdc  my  arm, 
and  we'se  sang  into  the  banqoettmg-room.  Hush— there's  a  dampering  in  ^e 
tranecw  Irs  the  nisho'eritiesfi^  the  pko' the  Theatre.  They're  coming  for 
porter— and  let's  widt  tUl  diey're  a'  in  the  tap-room,  or  ither  holes.  In  fire 
miawtes  yoa'U  hear  nae  ither  word  than  <'  Vandenhofi;"  **  Vandenhoff." 

NORTH. 

TheahowerisoTer^  let  nago;  andnerer,  James,  would  old  Christopher 
North  desire  to  lean  for  sapport  on  the  arm  of  a  better  man. 

THB  SREmsan. 

•  I  bdiere  yon  noo— for  I  ken  when  you're  seridus  ttid  when  you're  jokin', 
and  that's  mair  than  every  ane  can  say. 

NORTH. 

'  Fetgite,  James,  the  testy  humours  of  a  gouty  old  man.    I  am  yoor  friend. 

TR£  SHEFHBRD. 

I  ken  that  M  brawly.  Do  you  hear  the  sound  o'  that  flsMng  in  the  pan  f 
Lef  s  to  our  wark.  But,  North,  say  naething  about  the  stoiy  of  the  flee  in 
that  willed  Magaahie. 

NORTH. 

•  Mum's  the  wora.    ABons. 

Scene  II.*-7%#  Banguetting^Room. 

fSnUr  Mx  Nortb^  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  SnErBEED,  and  Mr  Ambrose. 

Mr  Tickler  in  the  shade. 

NORTH. 

By  the  pakte  of  Apidusf  What  a  board  of  oysters  f— Ha,  Tickler!  Friend 
of  my  sou^  this  goblet  sip,  how  art  thou  ? 

tickler. 
Stewed— foul  from  the  theatre.  Ahf  ha  J  Hogg— your  paw,  James. 

THB  SHErHBRD. 

Hows  a'  wi'  ye?— How's  a'  wi'  ye,  Maister  Tickler?  Oh>  man  I  I  wish  I 
had  been  wi'  yon.  I'm  deiferate  fond  o'  theatrjcsh,  and  Vandenhoff's  a 
1^' chid— a  capital  aotor. 

TICKlBB. 

Solhear.  Bat  the  Vespers  of  Palermo  won't  do  al  all  at  all ;  so  I  ahivi't 
oatidaeanT  actor  or  actress  that  stmlted  and  spottted  to-night  MrsHemans, 
Iamtold,]aheautiM— andshehasaflne&dwgahoiitmMiy^wigs.  I  lava 
Mrs  Hemans;  but  if  Mrs  Hemansloyesme,  she  inll  write  nomore^ragedies»-*- 
My  dear  Christoi^er,  fidr  pky'a  a  jewd— a  §om  oysters,  if  you  please 

NORTH. 

These  "  whiskered  Fandours,"  as  Csmpbdl  calls  them  in  his  Pleasurea  of 
Hope,  are  inimitable. 

THE  aHBrHEBI). 

God  safe  us  a',  I  never  saw  a  aoan  afore  boo  putting  sax  muckle  oysters  in 
the  mouth  o'  him  a'  at  aince,  but  yoursd,  Mr  North. 

TICKLER. 

Pray,  North,  what  wearisome  and  persevering  idiot  kept  numbMng  month- 
ly and  crying  quarterly  about  Mrs^ikmans,  in  the  ''  Bailie's  Guae,^'  fi»  fp«r 
years  on  end  ? 


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19^2  Noeies  JmAromtmm.    Ah.  XIF.  S7$ 

THE  aHBPBSBD. 

'Iht  Bailie's GttM.i-^lu'i he  that?  Ii'tanto'  the  periodioak  you'ie  mis* 
cm'ing? 

Yea-^Wangh'i  Oid  New  Edinlmrgh  Reriew.  It  was  called  so,  for  (he  first 
time^  by  the  Shcnherd  himself— «iid  most  aptly— «s  it  waddled,  flapped,  aud 
gabbWcC  oat  of  toe  worthy  Bailie'a  shop,  throqgh  Muong  the  stand  or  ooachea 
m  Hvnterk^oara 

NOKTU. 

It  waa  indeed  a  bright  idea  to  fight  a  gander  againat  •  game«eock— Fool  MrMf 
Jeffrey! 

THB  aHBPUEa^ 

Weel,  do  you  ken,  I  thoofdit  it  a  gay  gude  reriew— but  it  was  unco  kte  in 
noticing  warlu.  The  contnbutors,  I  jabuae,  werena  Tory  orinnal^minded 
lads,  and  lay  bade  till  ther  heard  the  general  aug^  But  when  they  did  pro- 
nonnoe,  I  thought  them,  tor  the  maiat  part,  gude  grammariana. 

TICKLia. 

The  ninny  I  allude  to,  who  must  be  a  phrenologist,  could  utter  not  a  e^  1- 
lable  but  "  Hemans,  Hemans,  Hendans  I"  The  lady  must  have  been  dis- 
gVBted« 

THB  SHSPHEEP. 

No  abe  indeed.  What  leddy  was  ever  disgusted,  even  by  the  flattery  ebm 
Me} 

Ticsuia* 

They  were  a  baae  aa  well  aa  a  atupid  pack.  Low  mean  animeaitiea  peeped 
out  in  every  page,  and  with  the  exception  of  our  moat  ezcellent  friend  K.^  aad 
two  or  three  owm,  the  contributors  were  soareely  fit  to  compile  an  obituary. 
The  editor  himself  is  a  wei^  well*meaning  creature,  and  when  the  Bailie's 
Ouse  breathed  her  last,  he  mturaUy  be^anie Tagger  to  thePhrenol<^gicalJoiirnaL 

NOaTH. 

I  should  be  extremely  sorry  to  think  that  my  friend  Waugh,  who  is  a  well- 
informed  gentlemanly  man,  has  lost  money  in  this  ill-judged  business  ?  The 
Guse,  as  you  call  it,  occasionslly  quacked,  as  if  half  amid,  half  an{;ry>  at  poor 
innocent  Maga,  but  I  nerer  gave  the  animal  a  aingle  kick.  Was  its  ke^  ex« 
pensive  U^  the  Bailie  ? 

TICKLXa. 

Too  much  so,  I  fear.  Theae  tentb*Faters  are  greedy  dog^  Do  you  not 
remember  Tims  ? 

MOXTH. 

Alaal  poor  Time !  I  had  forgot  hia  importunitiea.  But  I  thought  I  aaw  hia 
Sillmess  m  Taylor  and  Heasey,  a  month  or  two  ago—*'  a  pen-and*ink  akotch 
of  theiate  trial  at  Hertford." 

TICKLia. 

Yes— yes— yes— Tims  on  Thurtell ! !  By  the  way,  what  a  most  ludicrous 
thing  it  would  have  been,  had  Thurtdl  assaasinaled  Tims !  Think  of  Tima' 
face  when  he  found  Jack  was  serious.  Whatamall,  mean,  paltnr,  contemptible 
Cockner  ahrieks  would  he  have  emitted  f  'Poo  my  honour,  had  Jack  baidjide 
ThurtelHaed  Tims,  it  would  have  been  productive  of  the  worst  consequence  to 
the  human  race;  it  would  have  thrown  such  an  air  of  abaardity  over  murder. 

THE  aHEPHBan. 

What!  haa  that  bit  Cockney  cretur,  Tims,  that  I  fritted  sae  in  the  Tent  at 
Bnsmar,  when  he  offered  to  sing  *'  Scots  wha  hae  wi''  Wallace  bled,"  been 
writing  about  ae  man  murdering  anither  ?   He  wasna  blale. 

TICKLBE. 

Yes,  he  haa— and  hia  account  ia  a  curiositv.  T^ma  thiaka,  that  the  most  a»> 
palling  ctrcnmatance  attending  the  aaid  murder,  was,  that  everything  waa  "m 
dusters."— <'  It  is  strange,"  quoth  he,  <<  that,  solitary  aa  the  place  waa^  and  dea» 
perate  as  was  the  murder^tbe  actors— the  witnoisee>  all  but  the  poOThelpiew 
solitary  thing  that  perished, ''  were  in  clusters  f 

THB  SHBrHBBJl. 

Hottt,  lout,  Tims ! 
Vol.  XV.  S  C 


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376  N<ioU€  Ambro9kuuB.    No.  XIP.  CAfHil, 

''  The  murdereni  weie  in  clnsCen/"  he  oonrtinues — ^*  the  fimner  that  heard  the 
pistol,  had  his  wife^  and  child>  and  nurse  with  him ;  there  were  two  labourers 
at  work  in  the  lane,  on  the  morning  after  the  butcher  work ;  there  was  a  menr 
party  at  the  cottage  on  the  very  nig^t,  singing  and  supiiing,  while  Weare  a 
mangled  carcase  was  lying  darkening  in  its  gore  in  the  ndgnbouring  field ;  thcve 
were  hosts  of  pubMcana  and  ostlers  witnesses  of  the  gang's  progress  on  their 
blood-journey ;  and  die  gigs,  the  pistols,  even  the  very  knives  iran  in  pairs." 
Quod  Tims,  in  Taylor  and  Hessey  tor  Feb.  1,  1894 — for  here  is  the  page,  with 
which  I  now  light  my  pipe.  By  aU  that  ia  miraculous,  these  candlea  axe  in 
dusters. 

THE  SHEPHBmD. 

That's  ae  v^y,  indeed,  o'  making  murder  ridiculous.  But  it's  a  lee.  The 
gigs  did  not  ran  in  cluseers— only  tnink  o'  ca'ing  ae  gig  passing  anither  on  the 
road,  a  duster  o'  gigs.  Neither  cud  the  actors  run  in  dusters,  for  Thurtell  was 
by  himself  when  he  did  the  job.  And  then  the  pistols !  Did  he  never  hear 
before  o'  a  pair  o'  pistols  ? — ^Tims,  if  you  were  here,  I  wad  thraw  your  noae  for 
you,  ye  ccmodted  prig. 

TicKLEKj  (reading,) 

*'  It  seems  as  though  it  were  fated,  that  Wi&iam  Weare  should  be  the  only 
solitary  object  on  that  desperate  night,  when  he  clung  to  life  in  agony  and 
>lilsod,  and  was  at  last  struck  out  of  enstenee,  asa  (king,  iingk,  valudess,  and 
vile."  He  was,  it  seems,  a  bachdor. 

THE  SHBVHERD. 

The  only  solitary  olject  on  that  desperate  night.  Was  nae  shepherd  walking 
by  himsd  on  the  mountaina?  But  what  kind  o'  a  Magaziaecan  thato'  Taylor 
^d  Hess^  be,  to  take  sic  writers  as  Tims  ?  I  hope  tl^  don't  run  in  dusters. 

woaTH. 

Give  me  a  bit  of  the  sheet-^for  my  segar,  (Heaven  defend  me,  the  s^nrs 
run  in  clusters,)  is  extinct.    Let  me  see.    Hear  Tims  on  Thurtell's  speech. 

^  The  solid,  slow,  and  appalling  tone  in  which  he  wruna  out  these  last  words, 
can  never  be  imagined  by  those  who  were  not  auditors  of  it ;  he  had  worked 
himself  up  into  a  great  actei^— and  his  eye,  for  the  first  time,  during  the 
-trial,  beenne  alive  and  eloquent,  his  attitude  was  expressive  in  the  ex- 
treme. He  clung  to  every  separate  word  with  an  earnestness,  which  we  can- 
not describe,  as  though  every  svUable  had  the  power  to  buoy  up  his  sinking 
tife^ — and  that  ^hese  were  the  last  sounds  that  were  ever  to  be  sent  unto  the 
ear  of  those  who  were  to  decree  his  doom  ! 

'^  The  final  word  God  I  was  thrown  up  with  an  almost  ^antic  energy, — 
and  he  stood  after  its  utterance,  with  his  arm  extended,  hia  face  protrudsd, 
'and  his  chest  dilated,  as  if  the  spell  of  die  pound  were  yet  upon  faiim,  and  as 
though  he  dared  not  move,  lest  he  should  disturb  the  stilUechoing  apped ! 
He  then  drew  his  hands  slowlv  back,— pressed  them  firmly  to  his  breast,  and 
sat  down,  half  exhausted,  in  the  dock." 

Omnes.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha  I  ha  ! 
NORTH,  (gravely,) 

'*  When  he  first  commenced  his  defence,  he  spoke  in  a  steady,  artificial  man- 
ner, after  the  style  of  Forum  orators,-«-but  as  he  wanned  in  the  aubjeet,  and 
Idt  his  ground  with  the  jury,  he  became  more  imaffiMtedly  earnest,  aind  natu- 
rdly  solemn — and  his  mention  of  his  modier's  love,  and  his  father's  piety, 
'drew  the  tear  up  to  his  eye  almost  to  falling.  He  paused — and,  though  pressed 
by  the  Judge  to  rest,  to  sit  down,  to  desist,  he  stood  up,  resolute  against  hit 
ieelings,  and  finally,  with  one  fast  gulp,  swallowed  down  his  tears !  He  wreM" 
Ikd  with  grief  and  threw  it !  When  spealdng  of  Barber  Beaumont,  the  tiger 
indeed  came  over  him,  and  his  very  voice  seemed  to  escape  out  of  his  keepmg. 
•Theresas  such  a  savage  vehemence  in  his  whole  look  and  manner,  as  qmte  to 
awe  his  hearers.  With  an  unfortunate  quotatbn  from  a  play,  in  whidi  he  long 
had^aeled  tcp  bitterly,— the  Revenge!  he  soothed  his  maddened  heart  to  quiet- 
ness, and  again  resuxned  his  defence,  and  for  a  few  minutes  in  a  doubly  artifif 
cial  serenity.  The  tone  in  whidi  he  wished  that  he  had  died  in  battle,  reminded 
ine  of  Keans  farewell  to  the  pomp  of  war  in  Oihelh^and  the  idlowhig  Qon* 


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16BM.:]  NatUM  AmbroiUmm*   No  XIV.  317 

■equeDot  of  ilich  a  death,  waaas  grandly  daliTered  by  Thurtdl^aa  it  was  po6« 
nble  lo  be!  ^Tben  my  £ither  and  my  family,  diougb  tbey  wouM  have  mourn- 
ed my  Ion,  would  have  blessed  my  mime ;  vxmSl  shame  would  not  have  rolled 


ita  bumiiig  firea  over  my  memory !' ' 
OmiMc  Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha  1 


ilhafha!  ha!ha!ba! 

THE  8HBPHSRD. 

Weel,  I  dinna  ken  the  time  I  hae  lauohc  so  mockle.  I'm  sair  exhausted. 
Gie's  a  drink« — ^The  English  fdk  gKd  clean  mad  a'the^ther  about  that  fal- 
low. I  never  could  see  onything  very  remarkable  about  his  cutting  Weare's 
craig.  It  was  a  pair  murder  yon.  There  was  that  deevil-incsmate  Gordon, 
that  murdered  tne  bit  silly  callant  o'  a  pedlar  on  Eskdale  muir,  the  ither  year, 
and  nae  sic  sngh  about  it  m  a'  the  papers. 

TICKLBa. 

I  forget  it    The  particulars  ? 

THE  SUSPHEan. 

Oh  1  man,  it  was  a  cruel  deed.  He  fbrgsthered  wi'  the  laddie  and  his  bit 
pack,  trudging  by  hirosdl  among  the  huls,  fhie  housie  to  housie;  and  he 
keepit  company  wi'  him  for  twa  naill  days,  ane  o'  them  the  Sabbath.  Nae 
dooDt  he  talked,  and  lauched,  and  joked  wi'  the  puir  creature,  wha  was  a  bon- 
nie  boy  they  say,  bnt  little  better  in  his  intellecta  than  an  innocent,  only  haf- 
llins  wise  ;  and  when  the  ane  stepped,  the  ither  stapped,  and  they  eat  bread 
tllegither  by  diflferent  ingles,  and  sleepit  twa  nichts  in  ae  bed.  In  a  lanesome, 
place  he  tuk  the  callant  and  murdered  him  wi'  the  iron-heel  o'  ane  of  his  great 
wooden  clogs.  The  savagc-tramper  smashed  in  the  skull  wi'  its  yellow  hair, 
didna  wait  to  shut  the  b^nnie  blue  een,  put  the  pack  over  his  aan  braid 
shouthers,  and  then,  demented  as  he  was,  gaed  into  the  verra  next  town  as  a 
packman,  and  sdt  to  the  lassies  the  bits  o'  ribbons,  and  pencils,  and  thurobles, 
and  sic  like,  o'  the  mmndered  laddie.  I  saw  him  hanged.  I  gaed  into  Dum- 
fries on  purpose.  I  wanted  them  no  to  put  ony  night-cap  over  the  ugly  face  o' 
him,  that  we  might  a'  see  his  last  gims,  and  am  only  sorry  that  1  didna  see  him 
dissedced. 

TICKLBB. 

A  set  of  amusing  articles  mig^t,  I  think,  be  occasionally  compiled  from 
the  recorded  triala  of  our  best  BriUsh  murderers.  We  are  certainly  a  blood- 
thirsty people;  and  the  scaffold  has  been  mounted,  in  this  country,  by 
many  firat-rate  criminala. 

KOETH. 

One  meets  with  the  most  puzihng  malefactors,  who  perpetrate  atrocious 
deeds  upon  such  recondite  prindpl^  that  they  elude  tne  scrutiny  of  the 
moat  per^cackras  philosophers.  Butlers,  on  good  wagea  and  easy,  work,  nso 
out  of  comfortable  warm  beds,  and  cut  the  throats  of  thdr  masters  ^uite  unac«> 
oonntably ;  well-educated  gentlemen  of  a  thousand  a-year,  magistrates  for 
the  county,  and  prsses  of  public  meetings  for  the  redress  of  grievances,  throw 
their  wives  over  bridgea  and  into  coal-pits ;  pretty  Uue^ed  young  maidens 
potsim  whole  fionilies  with  a  mess  of  pottage ;  matrons  of  threescore  strangle 
their  sleeping  partners  with  a  worsted  garter ;  a  decent  well-dressed  person 
meets  you  on  your  evening  stroU,  and  after  knocking  out  your  brains  with  a 
bludgeon,  pursues  his  journey ;  if  you  are  an  old  bachelor,  or  a  single  lady 
advanced  in  years,  you  may  depend  upon  being  found  some  morning  stretch-' 
ed  along  your  lobl^  with  your  eyes  starting  out  of  their  soekets,  thel>]ue. 
marks  of  finger«n«ds  indented  into  your  wixen,  and  your  o»  frontis  driven 
in  upon  your  brain  apparently  by  the  blow  of  a  sledge-hammer, 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Hand  your  tongues,  baud  your,  tongues,  you  twa ;  you're  maldng  me  a' 
grew. 

TICELEB. 

A  beantiful  variety  of  disposition  and  genius  serves  to  divest  of  iameness 
the  simi^  act  of  slaughter ;  and  the  benevolent  reader  never  tirea  of  details,  in 
wbidi  knives,  daggers,  pistols,  dubs,  mallets,  hatchets,  and  raothecaries' 
phiala, ''  dauoe  through  aU  the  maaes  d  rhetorical  confusion."  Kothins  can 
be  '*  more  refirtdiing"  than  a  £nr  houra  sleq^  aflet  the  perpsal.  of  a  bloody 


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SfB  Nociei  Ambrammm.   No^  XIT.  CAt^ 

iniirder.  Your  ditems  are  Mich  as  Coleridce  arigfal  envy.  Cfhibs  batter  <mu 
yxmr  brains ; — yom  thioat  is  filled  with  rovd,  as  three  strong  Irishmen  (tiieir 
accent  betrays  them)  tread  you  down  aeren  ftitkoms  into  a  quagmire.  '*  You 
had  better  lie  quiet,  sir/'  quoth  Levi  Hyams,  a  Jew,  while  he  appUea  a  pig*» 
butcher's  knife  to  the  jugular  vein ;  you  start  up  like  Priam  at  the  dead  of 
nighty  and  an  old  hag  of  a  housekeeper  ehofia  vour  nose  off  with,  a  cleaver. 
'^  Oh !  what  a  pain  methinks  it  is  to  die/'  as  ajouy  young  waterman  fliaga  you 
out  of  his  wherry  into  the  Thamea,  immediately  below  WeDingten  Bridge. 
**  Spare— 4pare  my  life,  and  take  all  I  haTe!"  haa  no  eflfect  upon  two  men  in 
crape,  who  bury  you,  half  dead,  in  a  ditch.  *'  He  still  bteafebas,*'  growka 
square  thickset  ruffian  in  a  fustian  jadset,  as  he  gives  you  the  eoufmde^gpue 
with  a  hedge-stake. 

THE  SHKVRBan. 

Hand  y(mt  tongues,  I  say.  You'll  turn  my  stomach  at  this  didi  o'  tripe. 
The  moniplies  and  the  lady's  hood  are  just  excellent.  Change  the  omiTeraation. 

TICVLEV. 

You  arehuddledout  of  a  garret-window  by  agang  of  tiiieTe8,and£Ml  yeuiw 
self  impaled  on  the  avea-spikes ;  or  the  scoundrels  nave  set  the  house  on  fire^ 
that  none  may  know  they  nave  murdered  you ;  you  axe  gag^  with  a  llooiw 
brush  till  your  mouth  yawns  like  a  barn-door,  yet  told,  if  you  open  your 
lips,  you  are  a  dead  man ;  outlandish  derik  put  you  into  a  hot  oven  ;  yon 
try  to  escape  from  the  murderer  of  the  Marts,,  and  other  households,  dirong^ 
a  common-sew^,  and  all  egren  is  denied  by  a  catacomb  of  eats,  and  the  offid  of 
twenty  dissecting-tables.  ''  Hoiae  him  into  the  bmler,  and  .be  d  d  to 
him  /  and  no  sooner  said  than  done.  ''  Leave  off  hag^^ing  at  his  wind-p^ 
Jack,  and  scoop  out  his  bloody  eyes." 

NOETH. 

How  do  you  like  being  buried  in  quick-lime  in  vour  back-court,  heaving 
all  the  while  like  a  mole-nill,  above  your  gashes,  and  puddled  with  your  slow- 
oosing  heart-blood  ?  Is  it  a  luxury  to  be  pressed  down,  neck  and  crop,  sca- 
rified like  bacon,  into  a  barrel  tlelow  a  water-spout,  among  dirty  towds, 
sheets,  and  other  na^ery,  to  be  discovered,  six  weeks  hence,  in  a  state  of  jpu* 
trefaction  ?  What  think  you  of  being  fairly  cut  up  like  a  swine,  and  pidued, 
nlted,  barrelled,  and  shipped  off  at  fburfjenoe  a-imind,  for  the  use  of  a  Uocfe- 
ading  squadron  }  Or  would  you  rather,  in  the  shape  of  hnns,  dreumnavigalie 
the  ^obe  with  Cook  or  Vancouver  ?  Dreams  —dreams-  dreams.  '^  I  wake  in 
horror,  and  dare  sleep  no  more  I" 

TICILSR. 

Could  it  have  been  believed,  that  in  a  country  where  murder  has  thus  been  . 
carried  to  so  high  a  pitch  of  cultivation,  ita  14  imllion  inhabitants  would  have 
been  set  agape  and  aghaat  by  such  a  pitiftil  knave  aa  Jack  lliuriell  killing  and 
bagging  one  single  miserable  sburper  r  Monstrous  I 

VOETH. 

There  was  Sarah  Malcolm,  a  aprigfctly  voung  charwweman  of  ^  Temple, 
thaft^-murdered,  with  her  own  hand,  a  wnok  household.  Few  spinstos,  we 
think,  have  been  known  to  murder  three  of  their  own  sex ;  and  Saiah  MaU 
eolm  must  ever  stand  in  the  first  dass  of  aaaaadns.  She  had  no  aceompliee ; 
her  own  hand  hdd  down  the  grey  heads  of  the  poor  old  women,  and  stnmried 
diem  with  unflinching  fingers.  As  for  the  young  girl  of  seventeen,  she  cut  ner 
throat  from  ear  to  ear,  whue  die  was  perhaps  drotming  of  her  sweetheart  She 
sileneed  all  the  breath  in  the  house^  and  shut  by  the  dead  bodies ;  went  about 
her  ordinary  budness,  as  sprightly  as  ever,  ana  lighted  a  young  Irishgentle- 
man's  fire  at  the  usual  hour. 

TIOKLXa. 

What  an  admirable  wife  would  Sarah  have  made  for  Williams,  who,  some 
dozen  ycfrs  Mgo,  began  work,  aa  if  he  purposed  to  murder  the  metropolis !  Sa- 
rah waa  sprightly  and  diligent,  good-looking,  and  fbnd  of  admiration.  Williams 
waa  called  *'  Gentleman  Williama,"  so  gented  and  amiable  a  creature  did  he 
seem  to  be;  m  pleasant  with  hia  ddt-diat,  and  vein  -of  trifling,  peouliar  to 
himsdf,  and  not  to  be  imitated.  He  was  very  ibnd  of  diildren, usauto  dandle 
them  with  a  tnilj  parental  air,  and  pat  their  curled  heads,  with  the  hand  that 


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19U.;]  Nodet  Ambroakmm.   N0.XIK  STt 

ciilMiiBaflit^tdirottfaiUMonidle.  l/nilitBMwnstnlMVttiin^tiidiiohrswler; 
he  preforred  qid«t  ecmvenatUm  with  die  kndhdy  and  her  fkmilT  within  the 
bir^  to  the  bnital  mirth  of  the  taTem-boxee ;  and  young  and  old  were  alike 
delifl^ted  with  the  snaTity  of  hie  amiie.  But  in  his  white  great  eoat— with  hia 
niaiU— or  his  ripping-chisel— or  his  small  ivory-handled  pen-knife,  at  dead  of 
nig^t,  stealing  upon  a  doomed  family,  with  long  silent  strides,  while,  at  the 
first  glare  of  his  eyes,  the  Tietims  skmkad  aloud,  '*  We  are  all  murdeied  \" 
Williams  was  then  adiffhent  behig indeed,  and  in  aH his  olory.  His  ripping- 
chisel  struck  to  the  heart  the  person  whose  cheek  he  had  petted  two  hours 
beftsra  ChurlesMaitdl  himself,  or  the  Founder,  smashed  not  a  skull  like  Wll- 
hmm,  iIm  Mldniriit  Malletteer-*-and  tidfly  and  tenderly  did  he  eorer  up  tiie 
baby  with  its  cradle-clothes,  when  he  knew  that  he  had  pforeed  its  gullet  like 
a  quin.  He  never  allowed  such  trifles  long  to  ruffle  his  temper.  In  the  even- 
ing, he  was  seen  smilinff  as  befbre ;  even  more  gentle  and  insinuating  than 
.  uauid ;  more  tenderly  did  he  kiss  Httle  Tommy,  as  he  prepared  to  toddle  to 
bis  erib ;  and,  as  he  touched  the  bosom  of  the  bar-maid  in  pleasing  rkdence, 
he  Uiooghl  how  at  one  blow  the  blood  would  spout  from  her  heart. 

KOBTH. 

Sarah  Malcolm  was  just  the  person  to  have  been  his  bride.  What  a  honey- 
moon !  How  soft  would  have  been  their  pillow,  as  they  recited  a  past,  or 
planned  a  ftiture  murder !  How  would  they  have  fUlen  asleep  in  each  other's 
blood-stained  arms !  with  the  ripping-chisel  below  their  pillow,  and  the  maul 
upon  the  hearth ! 

THs  SRarsran. 

I  wadna  walk  by  myself  through  a  dark  wood  the  night,  gin  onybody  were 
to  rie  me  a  thousand  pounds.  I  never  beard  you  in  rie  a  key  befbre.  It's  no 
i^t— it's  no  right  I 

KOBTH. 

What  do  the  phrenologers  say  about  Thurtell  ?  I  have  not  seen  any  of  their 
lyansaetions  lately. 

TICILEa. 

That  he  had  the  oigan  of  Conscientiousness  full,  a  large  Benevolence,  and 
also  a  finely  developed  organ  of  Veneration,  just  as  roig^t  have  been  expected, 
tiiey  say,  from  his  dunracter*  For  the  phrenoloeer  thinks  that  Jack  would 
not  have  cheated  an  honest  roan,  that  he  was  anotaer  Howard  in  benevolence, 
and  had  a  deep  sense  of  religion. 

THE  SHEPREHn. 

I  canna  believe  they  would  speak  sle  desperate  havers  as  that. 

TICKLE  a,  (rktging'  the  belt,  entert  AmBrtm.) 
Bring  No.  II.  of  the  Phrenologi^  Journal,  Mr  Ambrose.  Yon  know  wher^ 
to  find  it.    Perhaps  the  ariide  I  allude  to  may  not  yet  be  destroyed. 

MORTR. 

What  can  the  Courier  mean  by  talking  such  infernal  nonsense.  Tickler,  about 
that  murderous  desperado.  Surgeon  Conolly  ? 

TICKLEE. 

A  pussle.  The  Courier  is  an  excdlent  paper— and  I  never  before  knew  it 
in  a  question  of  common  sense  and  common  morality,  obstimitely,  singularly, 
and  idiodeally  in  the  wrong. 

NORTR. 

Why,  the  cruel  villain  wotdd  have  shot  others  besides  poor  Grainger— and 
after  ms  blood  was  cooled,  he  exulted  in  the  murder  erf  that  unlbrtunate  man. 
The  gallows  were  cheated  of  Conolly,  by  a  quirk  of  the  law. 

TTCKLEE. 

Judge  Best  saw  the  thing  in  its  true  light ;  and  the  country  is  indebted  to 
him  for  his  stubborn  Justice.  Wbv,  the  Courier  says,  that  not  one  man  in  a 
hundred,  but  would  have  done  as  ConoUy  did.— Oh  monstrous !  is  murder  so 
very  ordinary  a  transaction  ? 

Roara. 

No  mere,  no  mate.  But  to  be  dona  with  it,  listen  to  this:---''  We  are  in- 
ibrmsd  that  this  unfbrtunate  gsodeman  has  directed  his  fKends  to  supply  him 
with  a  complete  aet  of  aurgleal  ineMODentSy  with  all  tiie  new  inventkms,  and 


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380  ybetei  Ambrosianas.    No.  XIV,  [[April, 

a  complete  ebamber  medicine-cliesl.    Thereii  nocUmbtthalbe  wlllbeoftlie 

Seatest  utility  to  the  colony,  from  the  great  want  of  medical  men  thore ;  but 
ere  is  less  doubt  that  he  will  be  one  of  the  first  in  the  country,  as  he  is  oo- 
vexed  with  misfortunes,  and  ttnpoUuied  by  crime,*' 

TICKLER. 

That  cannot  be  from  the  Courier. 

NOATB. 

Alas  f  it  is— -although  quoted  from  the  Medical  Adfiser. 

TICKLBR. 

I  shall  row  Mudford  for  this,  first  time  I  dine  with  him  in  town.  Here  is 
another  foUy,  although  of  a  difibrent  character,  fimn  the  same  excellent  paper 
of  our  excellent  friend,  an  account  of  the  Stot's  Introductory  Lectmre  on  what 
is  called  Political  Economy.  The  Ricardo-Lecturo ! !  <' Mr  M'CuUoch  b^an 
his  lecture  by  pointing  out  the  importance  of  the  study  of  Political  Economy^ 
and  observed,  that  the  accumulation  of  wealth  could  akme  raise  men  from 
that  miserable  state  of  society,  in  which  all  were  occupied  in  inovidmg  f<tf 
their  immediate  physical  wants,  by  affbrdii^  them  the  means  of  subsifiteiice 
when  employed  in  the  ^tivation  of  mental  powers,  or  in  those  pursuits  which 
embellish  life." 

NORTH. 

Most  sUtistical  of  Stoto !  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  stupid  saTage--but, 
look  here,  Tickler-^here  is  a  flaming  account  of  his  second  di^lay,  in  the 
idoming  Chronicle,  "  He  shewed  that  objects  derive  their  value  from  labouv 
done,  and  that  thev  are  more  or  less  valuable  in  proportion  as  labour  is  ex- 
pended on  them ;  tnat  the  air^  and  the  ravs  of  the  sun,  however  necessary  and 
useful,  possess  no  value  ;  that  water,  wnich  at  a  river's  side  is  of  no  value, 
acquires  a  value  when  required  by  persons  who  are  at  some  distance,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  labour  employed  in  its  conveyance." 

THE  SHEPHEaBr 

t  aye  thocht  M'CuUoch  a  dull  dour  fellow,  but  the  like  o'  that  beats  d. 
It's  an  awfu'  truism.  The  London  folk  'ill  never  thole  sic  havm  frae  sic  a 
hallanshiJcer. 

VOKTU. 

On  Mr  Canning's  appointment  to  the  Secretaryship,  the  Courier  honoured 
us  by  gracing  its  chief  column  with  a  character  of  that  distinguished  person 
from  our  pages,  but  without  acknowledgment.  He  never  quotes  us,  thareforo 
why  did  he  st^  ? 

TICKLBA. 

Poo !  poo  1  be  not  so  sensitive.  Nothing  uncommon  in  that.  It's  the  way 
of  the  world ;  and  I  am  sure  if  ODoherty  were  here,  he  would  laud  Mudibrd 
for  knowing  a  good  thing*  Here's  Uiat  gentleman's  health — I  respect  and 
esteem  him  nighly. — James,  you  are  a  most  admirable  carver.  That  leg  will  do. 

THE  SHEPHBEB. 

No  offence,  sir,  but  this  leg's  no  for  you,  but  for  mvsel.  I  thought  I  wad 
never  hae  gotten't  aff.  Naething  better  than  the  roasted  leg  o'  a  hen.  Safe  us  I 
she's  fU'  o  eggs.  What  for  £d  they  thraw  the  neck  o'  an  eerock  when  her 
karae  was  rei,  and  her  just  gaen  to  fa'  a-laying  ?  Howsomever,  there's  no 
great  barm  done.  Oh  !  man,  this  is  a  grand  sooping  house.  Rax  ower  the  por- 
ter^ Here's  to  vou,  lads,  baith  o'  you.  What's  a'  this  bisziness  that  I  heard 
them  speaking  about  in  Selkirk  as  I  came  through,  in  tepsid  to-the  tenth  com- 
pany o  Hoosawrs? 

TICKLER* 

Why,  I  cannot  think  Battier  a  well-used  man.  They  sent  him  to  Coventry, 

THE  SHEPHERD* 

I  would  just  as  soon  gang  to  Coventry  aa  taDubhn  dty.  But  what  was  the 
cause  o'  the  rippet  ? 

NORTH. 

Why,  the  Tenth  is  a  cradc  regiment,  arid,  not  thinking  Mr  Battier  any  or- 
nament to  the  corps,  they  rather  forgot  their  good  manners  a  Uttle  or  so,  and 
made  the  mess  mighty  disagreeable  to  him  ;  so,  afrer  several  triflii^  occurren* 
ces  too  tedious  to  bore  you  with,  Hogg,  why,  Mr  Battier  made  hiiMelf  scarce. 


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199^2  Nodet  Amhroiianm.    No.  XIV.  381 

got  himqdf  rowed  a  good  deal  by  the  people  at  the  Horae-goards^  aold  hla  bor- 
•ea,  I  preaume,  and  now  sporta  half*pay  in  the  pedeetrian  aenrioe. 

THE  BHEPHSHD. 

But  what  for  waa  he  nae  ornament  to  the  corpse  ?  Waana  he  a  gentlenum  ? 

MOETH. 

Perfectly  a  gentleman ;  bat  lomdiow  or  another  not  to  the  taate  of  the 
Tenth ;  and  then^  auch  a  rider ! 

THE  SHEPBERD. 

What !  waraa  he  a  gude  rider  upon  horsdMck? 

NOETH. 

The  wont  since  John  Gilpin.  In  a  charge,  he  ''  graaped  fast  the  flowins 
mane/'  gave  tongue, — and  involuntarily  deserted.  ^  says  his  colonel ;  and 
Mr  Battier,  although  he  has  published  a  denial  of  being  the  son  of  a  mer- 
diant,  has  not,  so  far  aa  I  have  observed,  avowed  himself  a  Castor. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Na,  if  that  be  the  case,  the  ither  lada  had  some  excuse.  But  what  garr'd 
Mr  Battier  gang  into  the  Hoozawrs,  gin  he  couMna  ride  ?  I  hope  now  that 
he  has  gaen  into  the  Foot,  that-he  may  be  able  to  walk.  If  not,  he  had  better 
laave  the  service,  and  fin'  out  some  genteel  sedentary  trade.  He  wadna  like 
to  bea  tailor? 

TICKLER. 

Why,  Battier,  I  am  told,  is  a  worthy  fellow,  and  aa  I  said  before,  he  waa 
ill  used.  But  he  ought  not  to  have  gone  into  the  Tenth,  and  he  ought  not 
to  have  made  use  of  threatening  innuendoes  after  leaving  the  regiment,  and 
crossmg  the  ChanneL 

NORTH. 

Certainly  not.  No  gentleman  should  challenge  a  whole  regiment,  especi- 
ally through  the  medium  of  the  public  press. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

If  Mr  Battier  were  to  challenge  me,  if  I  were  ane  o'  the  offishers  o'  the 
Tenth,  I  wad  fecht  him  on  horseback — either  wi'  sword  or  pistol,  or  baith  ; 
and  what  wad  my  man  do,  then,  wi'  his  arms  round  the  neck  o'  his  horse, 
and  me  hewing  awa'  at  him,  head  and  hurdles  ? 

NORTH. 

It  was  a  silly  business  altogether,  and  is  gone  by — ^but,  alas !  poor  Collier ! 
That  waa  a  tragedy  indeed. 

TICKLER. 

Confound  that  lubber.  Jamas.  If  he  has  any  feding  at  all,  he  must  be 
miserable. 

NORTH. 

His  account  of  the  affair  at  first  was  miserably  iU  written — indeed,  incom- 
prehensible— and  grossly  contradictory— -extremely  insolent,  and  in  many  es- 
sential points  false.  All  were  to  blame,  it  seems,  commodore,  captains,  crews, 
and  Admiralty.  A  pretty  presumptuous  prig ! 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Puir  duel!  puir  chiel!  I  saw't  in  a  paper— and  couldna  help  amaist 
greeting ;  a'  riddled  wi  wouns  in  the  service  a  his  country,  and  to  come  to 
that  end  at  last !  Has  that  fallow  James  lamented  bitterly  the  death  o'  the 
brave  sea-captain,  and  deplored  having  caused  sic  a  woful  disaster  ? 

MR  NORTH. 

Not  as  he  oug^t  to  have  done.  But  the  whole  country  must  henceforth 
despise  him  and  his  book.  I  could  pardon  his  first  offence,  for  no  man  could 
have  foreseen  what  has  happened ;  but  his  subaequent  conduct  has  been  un- 
pardonable. He  owed  to  Uie  country  the  expression  of  deep  and  bitter  grief, 
for  having  been  the  unintentional,  but  not  altogether  the  innocent  cause  of 
the  death  of  one  of  her  nobleat  heioes. 

TICKLER. 

I  see  PhiUimore  has  been  bastinadoing  James— imprudently,  I  opine.  You 
have  no  right  to  walk  into  a  man's  house,  with  your  hat  on,  like  a  Quaker,  sup- 
ported by  a  comrade,  and  ibaa  in  the  moat  un-Friendly  manner,  strike  your 
nost  over  the  pate  with  a  scion  from  an  oak-stump. 


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a8S  Nifetm  JmbroMtana.    No.  XIK  Z.^V^ 

NOETH. 

Certainly  you  hare  not.  I  am  aorry  that  my  friend  FbOlimare,  aa  toiva  • 
fellow  aa  ever  walk^  a  quarter-deck,  did  not  consult  his  brother  the  doctor. 
JQut  I  beiioYe  ^e  oaptain  had  no  Intention  of  aaiaulting  the  natal  hislorian 
when  he  entered  the  premises ;  and  that  some  gross  impertinence  on  the  part 
of  the  scribe,  brought  the  switch  into  active  service. 

MR  TICKLER. 

The  public  will  pardon  Phillimore.  A  Naval  History  is  a  very  good  thing, 
if  written  by  a  competent  person,  which  James  is  not,  although  the  man  haa 
some  merit  as  a  chronicler.  But  the  very  idea  oi  criticising  in  detail  evetr 
action,  just  as  you  would  criticise  a  volume  of  poems,  ia  not  a  Utile  abiOra. 
Southey'a  Life  of  Kelson  is  good. 

NORTH. 

ExoellenL  Look  at  James's  History  after  reading  that  admlraUe  Manual^ 
and  you  will  get  sick.  > 

THK  SaEPHSRB. 

He's  just  a  wonderfti'  man  Soothey ;  the  best  o'  a'  the  Lakera. 

TICKLSR. 

Bam  the  Lakers.  Here's  some  of  the  best  Hollands  that  ever  croaaed  the 
Zuydor  Zee. — ^Make  a  jug,  James. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Only  look,  what  haa  become  of  the  aupper  ?  Mr  Hekler,  you've  a  fearaotne 
an^tite. — Hear— hear — ^there's  the  alarm-bell — and  the  fire-drum !  ^w  na 
ye  that  flash  o'  licht.  I  hope  it  may  turn  out  a  gude  conflagration.  Hear  till 
the  innnes.  I'm  thinking  the  fire's  on  the  North  Bridge.  I  hope  it's  no  in  my 
freen' Mr  John  Anderson's  shop. 

NORTH. 

I  hope  not.  "Mx  Anderson  is  a  prosperous  bibliopole,  and  these  little  dieap 
editions  of  the  Scottish  Poets,  Ramsay,  and  Bums,  and  Grahame,  are  adroira-  ^ 
ble.  The  prefaces  are  elegantly  and  judiciously  writteit^— -the  text  ooiVeet--type 
beaatifid,  and  embelliahments  appropriate. 

TICKLER* 

The  "  Fire-Eater,"  lately  published  by  Mr  Anderson,  is  a  most  qiirited  and 
interesting  tale— full  of  bustle  and  romantic  incidents.-*!  intend  to  review  it. 

THE  SHEPHERB. 

The  **  Fire-Eater"  is  a  fearsome  name  for  ony  Christian ;  but  how  ean  yoa 
twa  sit  ower  your  toddy  in  that  gait,  disimsaing  the  merits  o'  beuka,  what  I 
(ell  you  the  haill  range  o'  buildings  yonder's  in  a  bleese? 

ifinter  Mr  Ahrrose,  wUh  the  Phrenological  Journal.)  . 

AMBROSE. 

Crentlemen,..01d  Levy  the  Jew's  fur-shop  ia  blazing  away  like  a  toy,  and 
threatening  to  bum  down  the  Herculea  Insurance  Office. 

TICKLSa. 

Out  with  the  candles.  I  call  this  a  very  passable  fire.  Why,  look  here,  the 
small  type  is  quite  distinct.  I  fear  the  blockheads  will  be  throwing  water  upon 
the  fire,  and  destroying  the  effect.  Mr  Ambrose,  step  over  the  way,  and  report 
progress. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Can  ye  see  to  read  thae  havera,  by  the  fire-flaughts,  Mr  Tickler? 

TICELEa. 

What  think  ve,  James,  of  the  following  touch  ?  **  Yet  the  or^  of  bene- 
volence ia  very  laige ;  and  this  is  no  contradiction,  but  a  confirmation  of  phie** 
wHoqy.  Thurtell,  with  all  hia  violence  and  disi^patioa,  waa  a  kind-hearted 
man T' 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

You're  making  that  Nae  man  can  be  ate  a  fiile  aa  write  that  down,  fat  kia 
edit  it.    Do  they  give  any  proofs  of  \m  benevolence  ? 

TICKLER. 

Ye»— yes.  He  once  gave  half-a-soveveign  to  an  old  broken  bladc-lcg  and 
''  upon  witnesaingaquaml,  whichhad  nearly  ended  in  afig^t, between  Harry 

19 


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1884.;]  N^ctM  Ambnmana.    No.  XIV.  SSJ 

Hanner,  and  Ned  PdDtcr,  at  the  home  of  the  former  pogilStt— the  Plou;;h 
in  Smithfleld — end  which  onnnatcd  through  ThorteU,  he  u\i  lo  much  hurt 
that  he  ihed  tean  in  reconciling  tbera  to  each  other  !" 

THE  SHEPHEan. 

The  hlackgnard's  been  greetin'  in'. 

TICKLE  a,  (reading.') 

"  Hia  behaTioor  in  priaon  was  of  so  afi^ting  and  ende^ng  a  nature,  that 
the  account  of  the  parting  scene  between  him  and  the  gaoler^  and  others  who 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  great  intercourse  with  him,  during  his  confinement, 
is  affi^^ting  enough  to  draw  tears  ftom  every  one  whoae  h^rt  is  not  made  of 
stone  r 

THE  SHEFHSan. 

Weel,  then^  mine  is  made  o'  stane.  For  it  was  to  me  just  perfectly  dlagust- 
fnl  and  loathsome.  Sir  James  Mackintosh  broached  preceeiely  my  sentiments  in 
the  House  of  Commons.  A  man  lAay  wed  greet,  in  a  parting  scene  wi'  a  jailor, 
when  he  is  gaun  out  to  the  open  air  to  be  banged,  without  ony  great  benevo- 
knee. 

TICKLSa. 

'^  His  uniform  kindness  to  Hunt,  after  Probert  had  escaped  punishment  as 
king's  evidence,  up  to  the  moment  of  his  execution,  was  of  the  wannest  nature. 
Althouffh  Hunt  was  probably  drawn  into  a  share  of  the  bloody  transaction  by 
Thurtcfi,  the  aflRM^tionate  conduct  of  Thurtell  towarda  him  so  completely  over- 
Dowered  him#  that  had  Thurtell  been  the  moH  virtuous  person  upon  oaAh,  and 
he  and  Hunt  of  opposite  sexes,  Thurtell  could  not  have  rendered  hiinsalf 
more  beloved  than  every  action  of  Hunt  proved  he  was." 

THE  SHEPHEED. 

A  fool  and  a  phrenologist  is  a'  ae  thing,  Mr  Tickler — I  admit  that  noo. 
Hunt  did  all  he  could  to  ^ng  Thurtdl — ^Thurtell  abused  Joe  constantly  in  pri- 
son—and  in  his  speech  frahtened  htm  out  of  his  wits,  bv  his  horrid  fkces, 
as  Hunt  tells  in  his  concision  to  Mr  Harmer. — ^Ten  minutes  after  Jack  is 
hanged  Hunt  declares  that  he  richly  deserved  it — ^his  whole  confession  is  ftill 
of  hatred  (real  or  a£fected]f  towards  Thurtell.*-During  his  imprisonment  in 
the  hulks,  nis  whole  behaviour  is  reckless,  and  destitute  of  all  reeling  for  any 
human  creature,  and  at  last  he  sails  off  with  curses  in  his  throat,  and  sulky 
anger  in  his  miserable  heart.  It's  a  shame  for  Dr  Fool  to  edit  sic  vile  non- 
sense, and  I'll  speak  to  him  about  it  mysel'. 

ticklee. 

Hear  the  Doctor  himself.  ''  That  Thurtell,  with  a  large  benevolence,  should 
commit  such  a  deed,  was  reckoned  by  many  completely  subversive  of  the 
sdenoe.  Do  such  persons  recollect  the  character  of  one  Othello,  drawn  by  a 
person  named  William  Shakespeare?  Is  there  no  adhesiveness/ no  generosity, 
no  benevolence  in  that  mind  so  pourtraved  by  the  poet?  and  was  a  more  «x>l 
%  and  deliberate  murder  ever  committed  ? ' 

the  SHBFHBan. 

That  beats  Tims.    Othello  compared  to  Thurtell ;  and  what's  waur,  wee 
~  Weare  in  the  sack  likened,  by  implication,  to  Desdemona?  That's  phrenolo- 
gy, is't  ?  I  canna  doubt  noo  toe  story  o'  the  Turnip. 

tickler. 
This  Phrenologist  admita  Thurtell  as  the  bravest  of  men.    "  No  murder,' 
says  he,  *'  was  ever  committed  with  more  daring."    Do  ye  think  so,  James  ? 

THE  SHBFHKan. 

Oh  !  the  wretched  coward !  What  braverj  was  there  in  a  big  strong  man 
inveigling  a  shilly-shally  fecklcM  swindler  into  a  gig,  a'  swaddled  up  in  a 
heavy  great-coat,  and  a  at  aince,  unawares,  in  a  diurk  loan,  shooting  him  in 
the  hesd  wi'  a  pistol  ?  And  then,  when  the  puir  devil  was  frighted,  uid  stun- 
ned, and  half  dead,  cutting  his  throat  wi'  a  pen^knife.    Dastardly  ru£BaQ ! 

TICKLEE. 

**  The  last  oigan  stated  as  very  large  is  Cautiousness.  This  part  of  his  dia- 
recter  was  displayed  in  the  pains  he  took  to  oonceal  the  waudm,  to  hide  the 
Body,  &c." 

THE  SHSPHERD. 

What  the  deevil !    wsd   ony  man  that  had  murdered  anither    no 
Vol.  XV.  3  D 


Digitized  by 


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38f  NocUi  AmhrosUma.    No.  XIV.  [[April, 

either  to  ooneeal  the  bodY,  or  to  avoid  suspicion  ?  Was  it  ony  marie  of  caa-i 
tioD  to  confide  in  twa  such  reprobates  as  Hunt  and  Probert,  both  of  whom  be- 
trayed the  murderer?  Was  it  ony  mark  o'  caution  to  tell  the  Bow  Street  offi. 
cer,  when  he  was  apprehended,  that  he  had  thrown  Weare's  watch  oyer  a 
hedge  ?  Was  it  ony  mark  o'  caution  to  lose  his  pistol  and  pen-knife  in  the 
dark  ?  Was  it  ony  mark  o'  caution  to  keep  bluidy  things  on  and  about  him, 
afterwards  for  days,  in  a  public-house  ?  Fule  and  Phren(dogist  are  a'  ane,  ^ir, 
truly  enough. 

TICKLER. 

**  A  martyr  could  not  have  perished  more  heroically." 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

That's  no  to  be  endured.  ThurteU  behayed  wi'  nae  mair  firmness  than  ony 
itber  strong-neryed  ruffian  on  the  scafibld.  Was  his  anxiety  about  the  lengtn 
o'  rope  like  a  martyr  ?  Naebody  behayed  sae  weel  at  the  last  as  the  honest 
hangman. 

TICKLER. 

The  ass  thus  concludes.  '^  I  will  not  detain  the  reader  any  longer ;  but  trust 
enough  has  been  said  to  shew,  that  if  ever  head  confirmed  Phrenology,  it  is  the 
headof  ThurtelL" 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Fling  that  trash  frae  you,  and  let  us  out  by  to  the  fire.  The  roof  o'  the 
house  must  be  falling  in  bdyye.  Save  us,  what  a  hum  o'  voices  and  trampling 
o'  feet,  and  hisdng  o'  indues,  and  growling  o'  the  fire!  Let's  out  to  the  Brig, 
and  see  the  rampaging  element. 

TICKLER. 

You  remind  me,  Hogg,  of  Nero  surveying  Rome  on  fire,  and  playing  on  the 
harp. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Do  ye  want  a  spring  on  the  fiddle  ?  See  till  him.  North's  sleeping !  Let's 
out  amang  the  crowd  for  an  hour.  Hell  never  miss  us  till  we  come  iMick,  and 
crutches  are  no  for  a  crowd. 

Scene  IIL— 7%*  North  Bridge—Mr  Tickler  and  the  SHEPRERn  incog-,  m 

(he  Crowd. 
tickler. 
Two  to  one  on  the  fire. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

That's  a  powerfu'  ingine. — I  wad  back  the  water,  but  there's  ower  little  o't 
(^Addressing  himself  generally  to  what  Pierce  Egan  calls  the  audience,) — 
*'  Lads,  up  wi'  the'  causeway,  and  get  to  the  water-pipes." 

{The  hint  is  taken,  and  the  engines  distinguish  themselves  greatly.) 
tickler. 
Hogg,  ^ou  Brownie,  I  never  thought  you  were  the  man  to  throw  cold  water 
on  any  night's  good  amusement. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Ill  back  the  water,  noo,  for  a  gallon  o'  whisky. 

tickler. 
Young  woman,  it's  no  doubt  a  very  pretty  song  of  old  Hector  Macneil*s, — 

*'  Come  under  my  olaidie,  the  night's  gaun  to  fa'. 
There's  room  in*t,  dear  lassie,  believe  me,  for  twa." 

Btit  still,  if  you  please,  you  need  not  put  your  arm  under  mine,  till  I  whisper 
into  your  pnvate  ear. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

What's  the  limmer  wanting  ? 

PEMALE. 

What ! — Is  that  you,  Mr  Hogg  ?  Ken  ye  ocht  o'  your  friend.  Captain  ODo- 
herty? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 


There — there's  half-a-crovm  for  you — gang  about  your  business,  you  slut— - 
r  I'll  brain  ye.    I  ken  nae  Captain  ODoherties. 

eibout  a  few  ye 

/Google 


or 

TICKLER. 

I  remember,  James,  that  a  subscription-paper  was  carried  about  a  few  years 


Digitized  by  ^ 


1884.;]  Nijct€9  Ambro9iana:.    Xq.  XIV.  883 

ago^  to  ndae  moDey  for  pulling  down  this  Tery  range  of  buildingij  whi<di  had 
just  been  carried  up  at  a  considerable  expense.  ' 

THE  SHEPHIRD. 

And  you  subscribed  ten  pounds  ? 

,  T1CVLER* 

I  should  as  soon  hare  thought  of  subscribing  ten  pounds  for  Christianising 
Tartsry. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

There's  an  awfu' wark  in  Embro  just  now^  about  raising  Monuments  to  evory 
hody^  great  and  small.  Did  you  hear,  sir,  o'  ane  about  to  be  raised  to  Dubis- 
son  the  dentist? 

TICKLER. 

I  did.  It  is  to  be  a  double  statue.  Dubisson  is  to  be  represented  in  mar- 
ble, with  one  hand  gran^in^  a  refractory  patient  bv  the  jaw-bone,  and  with 
the  other  fordbljr  introducing  his  instrument  into  the  numth. — I  have  seen  a 
sketch  of  the  deugn,  and  it  is  equal  to  the  Hercules  and  Anteus. 

THE  SHSFHERD. 

Whaur  is't  to  be  erecked  ? 

TICKLER. 

In  the  Pantheon,  to  be  sure. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Houts— it  maun  be  a  joke.  But,  Mr  Tickler,  have  you  seen  a  plan  o'  the 
Monument  built  at  Alloa  to  Robert  Burns  ? 

TICKLER. 

Ay,  James,  there  is  some  sense  in  that.  My  friend  Mr  Thomas  HamU- 
tou's  design  is  most  beautiful,  simple,  and  impressive.  It  stands  where  it 
ought  to  stand,  and  the  gentlemen  m  Coila  deserve  every  praise.  I  have  heard 
that  a  little  money  may  be  still  needed  in  that  quarter— very  litde,  if  any  at 
alL   And  I  vrill  myself  subscribe  five  pounds. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

So  will  I.  But  the  Monument  no  beinp  in  Embro',  vou  see,  nor  Mr  Tho- 
mas Hamilton  a  man  fond  o'  putting  himself  forward,  ane  hears  naething 
about  it.    I  only  wish  he  would  design  ane  half  as  gude  for  mysel. 

TICKLER. 

Ah !  my  beloved  Shepherd,  not  for  these  thirty  years  at  least.  Your  wor- 
thy father  lived  to  ninety  odd— why  not  his  son?  Some  half  century  hence, 
your  effigy  will  be  seen  on  some  bonny  green  knowe  in  the  Forest,  with  its 
honest  brazen  &ce  looldng  across  St  Mary's  Loch,  and  up  towards  the  Grey- 
mare's  tail,  while  by  moonlight  all  your  own  fairies  will  weave  a  dance  round 
ito  pedestal. 

THE  SHEPHERD,  (ill  amozetnerU.) 

My  stars !  yonder's  ODoherty. 

TICKLER* 

Who?  The  Adjutant? 

THE  SHEPHERD.      . 

ODoherty ! — ^look  at  him — ^look  at  him — see  how  he  is  handing  out  the  ftir- 
niture  through  the  window,  on  the  third  flat  of  an  adjoining  tenement.  How 
the  deevil  got  he  there  ?  Weel,  siccan  a  deevil  as  that  ODoherty ! — and  him,  a 
the  time,  out  o'  Embro',  as  I  hae't  under  his  ain  hand ! 

TICKLER. 

There  is  certainly  something  very  exhilarating  in  a  scene  of  this  sort.  I  am 
a  Guebir,  or  Fire^worshipper.  Observe,  the  crowd  are  all  in  most  prodigious 
spirits.  Now,  had  it  been  a  range  of  houses  tenanted  by  poor  men,  there  would 
have  been  no  merriment.  But  Mr  Levy  is  a  Jew — ^rich  probably — and  no 
doubt  insured. — Therefore,  all  is  mirth  and  jollity. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Insurance  offices,  too,  are  a'  perfect  banks,  and  ane  canna  help  enjoying  a 
bit  screed  aff  their  profits.  My  gallon  o'  whisky's  gane ;  the  fire  has  got  it  a' 
its  ain  way  noo,— and  as  the  best  o'  the  bleeze  is  ower,  we  may  return  to  Am- 
brose's. 

TICKLER. 

Steady — there  was  a  prettv  tongue  of  fire  flickering  out  of  the  fourth  story. 
The  best  is  to  come  yet.   Wliat  a  contemptible  afiair  is  an  illumination ! 


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380  Noctei  Ambroiiana.   No.  XIF.  CApril^ 

TBI  IHSFBBRD. 

Ye  may  Bay  that— wi'  an  auld  hiuie  at  every  window,  left  at  hame  to  watch 
the  candk-doups. 

BTaANOER^-^TaMtf  SBirHIED.) 

Sir,  I  heg  your  pardon,  hut  you  seem  to  he  an  amateur  ?  « 

SHKrBBU). 

No,  sir, — I  am  a  married  man,  with  two  children. 

BTRANOBa. 

Tifl  a  very  io  io  fire.    I  regret  having  left  hed  for  it 

TBE  BBBrHBRD. 

What !  were  you  siccan  a  fole  as  leave  your  warm  hedfbr  afire  ?  I'm  think- 
ing you'll  he  nae  mair  an  amateur  than  rnysd,  hut  a  married  man. 

BTaANOSa. 

I  have  seen,  sir,  Bome  of  the  first  fires  in  Europe.  Drury-Lane,  and  Covent- 
Garden  Theatres,  each  humed  down  twice— Opera-house  twio&— property  to 
the  amount  of  a  million  at  the  West  India  Docks— several  sncoessive  cottoi- 
mill  incremationB  of  merit  at  Manchester— two  explosions  (one  vrith  respect- 
ahle  loss  of  life)  of  powder-mill»— and  a  very  fine  conflagratian  of  shippuig  at 
Bristol 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Mr  Tickler— heard  ye  ever  the  like  ? 

TICILBR. 

Never^Hogg. 

SHEPHXRJ). 

I'm  the  Ettrick  Shepherd— and  this  is  Mr  Tickler,  sir. 

STRANGER. 

What!  can  I  trust  my  eara— am  lin  presence  of  two  of  the  men,  who  have 
set  the  whole  world  on  fire  ? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Yes— you  are,  sir,  sure  enong^,  and  yonder's  the  Adiutant  ODoherty,  wi' 
his  iBce  a  covered  wi'  ooom,  getting  sport  up  yonder,  and  doing  far  mair  harm 
than  good,  that's  certain.  But  will  you  come  wi^  us  to  Amhrose's  ?— ¥^hare 
is  he.  Tickler  ? — ^whare  is  he  ?  Wlure's  the  gentleman  gone  ? 

TICXLER. 

I  don't  know.    Lode  at  your  watch,  James, — ^What  is  the  hour  ? 

THE  SHEPHERD,  (jimbltng  about  hi*  fib,) 
'ilLj  watch  is  gone  I — my  watch  is  gone ! — he  has  picket  my  podcet  o'  bar  I— 
Deevil  hum  him  !— I  ni£^ed  wi'  Baldy  Bradcen,  in  the  Grass-market,  the  day 
hefore  yesterday,  and  she  didna  lose  a  minute  in  the  twenty-four.    This  is  a 
bad  job— let  us  back  to  Ambrose's.    I'll  never  see  her  face  again. 

Scene  IV.— 7%^  Banqudtmg  Room, 
NpRTH,  {solus,  and  asleep,) 

Enter  on  tiptoe  Mr  Ambrose. 
This  fire  has  made  me  anxious  about  my  premises.  All  right.  He  is  fittt  as 
a  nail ;  and  snores  (first  time  I  ever  heard  bun)  like  the  rest  of  his  spedes. 
Bless  my  soul ! — the  window  is  open  at  his  very  ear. 

{Pulls  doun  the  sash.) 
NORTH,  {auHilcemng.) 
Ambrose !  I  have  had  a  congellating  dream. — Ice  a  foot  thick  in  my  wash- 
hand  basin,  and  an  idde  six  inches  long  at  my  nose ! 

AMBROSE. 

I  am  gbd  to  have  awakened  yon^  sir.  Shall  I  bring  you  a  little  mulled 
port? 

NORTH. 

No— no— Ambrose.  Whed  me  towards  the  embers*  I  hear  it  reported,  Am- 
brose, that  you  are  going  to  gut  the  tenement. — Is  it  so  ? 

AMBROSE. 

It  is  an  ancient  buildin«N  Mr  North,  and  somewhat  incommodious.  During 
the  summer  months  it  will  undergo  a  great  change  and  Uiorou|^  repair. 


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lasi.]]  Noctm  Ambroiiana.    No.  XJV.  867 

hOETH. 

Well,  welly  Ambrote,  I  njoice  to  know  that  a  change  is  demanded  by  dit 
increase  of  reeort :  but  vet,  methinkt,  I  shall  contemplate  any  alteration  with 
a  pensive  and  melancholy  spirit.  This  very  room,  Mr  Ambrose,  within  whose 
four  walls  I  have  been  so  often  lately,  must  its  dimensions  be  changed  ?  WIU 
this  carpet  be  lided  ?  That  chimney-piece  be  removed  ?  I  confess  that  the 
thought  a£&cU  me,  Mr  Ambrose.  Forgive  the  pensive  tear. 

{Take*  out  his  square  of  India,  and  blows  his  nose  in  a  hurried 
and  agitated  manner,) 

AMBaOSE. 

Mr  North,  I  have  frequently  thought  of  all  this,  and  rather  than  hmrt  your 
feelings,  dr,  I  will  let  the  house  remain  as  it  is.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  be  com- 
posed. 

KOETH. 

No ! '' Ambrose  thou  reasonest  well,"  it  must  be  so.  The  whole  city  under* 
goeth  change  deep  and  wide,  and  wherefore  should  Gabriel's  Road,  and  the 
Land  of  Ambrose,  be  alone  immutable  ?  Down  with  the  partitions !  The  mind 
soon  reconciles  itself  to  the  loss  of  what  it  most  desrly  loved.  But  the  Chaldea 
Chamber,  Ambrose !  the  Chaldee  Chamber,  Ambrose !  must  it  go— must  it  go, 
indeed,  and  be  swallowed  up  in  some  great  big  wide  unmeaning  room,  destitute 
alike  of  character  and  comfort,  without  one  high  association  hanging  on  its 
blue  or  yellow  walls  ? 

AMBEOSS. 

No,  Mr  North,  rather  than  alter  the  Chaldee  Chamber,  would  I  see  the 
whole  oi  Edinburgh  involved  in  one  general  conflagration. 

NOETH. 

Enough— enough — now  my  mind  is  at  rest  With  hammers,  and  with  axes 
both,  let  the  workmen  forthwith  fidl  to.  You  must  keep  pace,  Mr  Ambrose, 
with  the  progress,  the  advancement  of  the  age. 

AMBEOSB. 

Bir,  I  have  been  perfectly  contented,  hitherto,  with  the  accommodation  thb 
house  affords,  and  so,  I  humbly  hope,  have  been  my  friends ;  but  I  owe  it  to 
those  friends  to  do  all  I  can  to  lucrease  their  comforts,  and  I  have  got  a  plan 
that  I  think  wiU  plesse  you,  sic 

NOETH. 

Better,  Ambrose,  than  that  of  the  British  itself.  But  no  more.— Think  you 
the  lads  will  return  ?  If  not,  I  must  hobble  homewards. 

AMBEOSS. 

Hearken,  sir — ^Mr  Tickler's  tread  in  the  trance.    {Esit  suiurrans.) 
{Enter  Ticklbb  and  the  SHBrHsaj).) 

TICKLEE. 

Have  you  supped.  North  ? 

NOETH. 

Not  I  indeed. — Ambrose,  bring  supper.    {Ejnt  Ambrose.) 

THE  SHEFHEED. 

I  think  I  wull  rather  take  some  breakfast. — ^Mr  North,  I'm  thinking  you're 
sleepy ;  for  you're  lookin'  unoo  gash.    Do  you  want  an  account  o'  the  fire  ? 

NOETH. 

Certainly  not  Mr  Ambrose  and  I  were  cngaj;ed  in  a  very  interesting  con- 
versation when  you  entered.  We  were  discussing  the  merits  of  the  ^uiibi- 
tion. 

THE  SHEFHEED. 

O*  the  pictures  ?  I  was  there  the  day.  Oh  I  msn,  yon  things  o'  WuUde's 
are  chief  endeavours.  That  ane  frae  the  Gentle  Shepherd,  is  just  nature  her- 
sel.  I  wmdi  he  would  illustrate  in  that  gait,  some  o'  the  bonniest  scenes  in 
the  Queen's  Woke. 

TICKLER. 

Worth  all  the  dull  dirt]^  daubs  of  all  the  Dutchmen  that  ever  vomited  in- 
to^a  canaL  Nauseous  ninnies !  a  coarse  joke  may  pass  in  idle  talk — a  word  and 
a^ay — ^but  think,  James,  of  a  human  being  painting  filth  and  folly,  dirt  and 
debauchery,  vulgarity  and  vileness,  day  after  day,  month  after  month,  till  he 


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Google 


386  Noctei  Amlnmana,    No.  XIV.  C^pril, 

finallY  covered  the  canvass  with  all  the  accumulated  beastlineta  of  hit  most 
druuken  and  sensual  imagination  ? 

NOBTH. 

Stop,  Tickler — remember  Teniers,  and—* 

THE  8HEFHERD. 

Remember  nae  sic  fallow,  Mr  Tickler;  Wulkie's  wee  finger's  worth  the  hale 
o'  them.  ''  Duncan  Gray  cam  here  to  woo,"  is  sae  gude,  that  it's  maist  un- 
endurable. Yon's  the  bonniest  lass  ever  I  saw  in  a'  my  bom  days.  What  a 
sonsy  hawse  !  But  indeed,  she's  a'  alike  parfite. 

TICKLEB. 

Stop,  Shepherd,  remember.  I  saw  a  Cockney  to-day  looking  at  that  picture, 
and  oh !  what  a  contrast  between  the  strapping  figure  of  Duncan  Gray,  his 
truly  pastoral  physiognomy,  well-filled  top-boots  (not  unlike  your  own,  James,) 
and  sinewy  hands  that  seem  alike  ready  for  the  tug  of  either  love  or  war — and 
the  tout-ensemble  of  that  most  helpless  of  all  possible  creatures ! 

NOaTH. 

John  Watson  is  great  this  year.  Happy  man,  to  whom  that  beautiful  crea- 
ture, (picture  of  a  Lady,)  mav  be  inditing  a  soft  epistle  !  What  innocence, 
simplicity,  grace,  and  gaiete  au  oour  !  Why,  if  that  sweet  damosel  would 
think  of  an  old  man  like  the— — 

THB  SHEPHERD. 

Hand  your  tongu6.  Why  should  she  think  o  an  auld  man  ?  '^  Te  m^t 
be  her  gutcher,  you  re  threescore  and  twa." 

TICELEB. 

Mr  Thomson  of  Duddingston  is  the  best  landscape-painter  Scotland  ever 
produced — ^better  than  either  Nasmyth,  or  Andrew  Wilson,  or  Qreck  Wil* 
liams. 

NORTH. 

N  ot  so  fast.  Tickler.    Let  us  discuss  the  comparative  merito 

THE  SHEFHBRD. 

Then  I'm  afi;  For  o'  a'  the  talk  in  this  warld,  that  about  pictures  is  the 
warst«    I  wud  say  that  to  the  face  o'  the  Director-Greneral  himsel. 

NORTH. 

A  hint  from  my  Theocritus  Is  sufficient.  What  think  you,  Bion,  of  this 
parliamentary  grant  of  L.300,000  for  repairing  old  Windsor  ? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

I  never  saw  the  Great  House  o'  Windsor  Palace,  but  it  has  been  for  ages  die 
howf  o'  kings,  and  it  mauna  be  allowed  to  gang  back.  If  L.300,000  winna  do.  gie 
a  million.  Man,  if  I  was  but  in  Parliament,  I  would  gie  the  niggarta  their 
fairings.    Grudge  a  king  a  palace ! 

NORTH. 

WTiat  say  you,  my  good  Shepherd,  to  a  half  million  more  for  churches  ? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Mr  North,  you  and  Mr  Tickler  is  aiblins  laughing  at  me,  and  speering 
questions  at  me,  that  you  may  think  are  out  o'  my  way  to  answer ;  but,  for 
a'  that,  I  perhaps  ken  as  wcei's  either  o'  you,  what's  due  to  the  religious  es- 
tablishments of  a  gnat  and  increasing  kintra,  wi'  a  population  o'  twal  millions, 
mair  or  less,  in  or  owre.    Isn't  it  sae  ? 

NORTH. 

Well  said,  James.  This  is  not  the  place,  perhaps,  to  talk  much  of  th^  se- 
rious matters ;  but  no  ministry  will  ever  stand  the  lower  in  the  estimation  of 
their  country,  for  having  enabled  some  hundred  thousands  more  of  the  people 
to  worship  tneir  Maker  publicly  once  a-week. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

I'm  thinking  no.  Nane  o'  the  Opposition  wad  oppose  a  grant  o'  half  a  million 
for  bigging  schools,  the  mair's  their  merit  \  and  if  sae,  what  for  no  kirks 
Edication  and  religion  should  gang  hand  in  hand.  That's  aye  been  my  thocht 
(  Enter  Ambrose,  with  supper.)  Howsomever,  here's  sooper  ;  and  instead  o'  talk- 
ing o'  kirks,  let  us  a'  gang  of  tener  till  them. — Put  down  the  sassages  afore  me, 
Ambrois.  Ye're  looken  unco  weel  the  noo,  man ;  I  hardly  ever  saw  ye  sac  fit. 
How  is  the  mistress  and  the  bairns  ? 


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1924.3  NoettM  AmbroHamt.    Ao.  XIV.  38f 

AMBROSE. 

All  well^  Bir^  I  thank  you;  Mr  Hogg. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Od^  man^  I  wush  you  ivoold  come  out  at  the  preachinga,  ivhen  the  town's 
thin^  and  see  us  at  Altrive. 

AMBROSE. 

I  fear  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  leave  town,  Mr  Hogg ;  but  I  shall  al- 
waya  be  most  happy  to  see  you  here,  sir. 

THE  SHSFHERD. 

I've  been  in  your  house  a  hunder  and  a  bunder  times,  and^you  ken  I  lodged 
ance  in  Uie  flat  aboon  ;  and  never  did  I  hear  ony  noise,  or  row,  or  rippet,  be- 
low your  rigging.  I  cUnna  repent  a  single  hour  I  ever  sat  here ;  I  never  saw 
or  heard  naething  said  or  done  here,  that  michtna  been  said  or  done  in  a  mi- 
nister's manse.  But  it's  waxing  early,  and  I  ken  you  dinna  keep  untimeous 
hours ;  so  let  us  devoor  supper,  and  be  aff.    That  nre  taigled  us. 

NORTH. 

I  had  been  aaleep  for  an  hour,  before  mine  host  awakened  me,  and  had  a 
dream  of  the  Nortn  Pole. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

North  Pole !  How  often  do  you  think  Captain  Parry  intendis  howking  his 
way  through  these  icebergs,  wi'  the  snout  o'  nis  discovery  ships  ?  May  he  ne- 
ver be  frozen  up  at  last,  he  and  a'  his  crew,  in  thae  dismal  regions ! 

NORTH. 

Have  you  read  Franklin  and  Richardson  ? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Yes,  I  hae.  Yon  was  terrible.  Day  after  day  naething  to  eat  but  tripe  aff* 
therocks,  dry  banes,  auld  shoon,  and  a  godsend  o'  a  pair  of  leathern  breeches  ! 
What  would  they  no  hae  given  for  sic  a  sooper  as  this  here ! 

TICKLER. 

Have  you  no  intention,  James,  of  going  on  the  next  land-expedition  ? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Na,  na ;  I  canna  do  without  vittals.  I  was  ance  for  twenty  hours  without 
tasting  a  single  thing  but  a  bit  cheese  and  half  a  bannock,  and  I  was  doae  upon 
the  hunting.  Yet  I  would  like  to  see  the  >^orth  Pole. 

TICKLI^a. 

Where's  your  chronometer,  James  ? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Whisht,  whisht ;  I  ken  that  lang-nebbit  word.— Whisht,  whisht-^Safe  us  ! 
is  that  cauld  lamb  ? — Well  no  hae  lamb  in  Yarrow  for  a  month  yet 

TICKLER. 

Come,  North,  bestir  yonradf,  you're  staring  like  an  owl  in  a  consumption. 
Tip  us  A,  my  old  boy. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Mr  Tickler,  Mr  Tickler,  what  langish  is  that  to  use  till  Mr  North  ?  Think 
shame  o'  yoursel'. 

NORTH. 

No  editor,  James,  is  a  hero  to  his  contributors. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Wecl,  weel,  I  for  ane  will  never  forget  my  respect  for  Mr  Christopher 
North.  He  has  lang  been  the  support  o'  the  literature,  the  pheelosophy,  the 
religion,  and  what's  o'  as  great  importance  as  ony  thing  else,  the  gude  manners 
o'  tne  kintra. 

TICKLER. 

Forgive  me.  North,  forgive  me,— James.    Come,  I  volunteer  a  song. 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

A  sang  !  Oh  man,  yon're  a  bitter  bad  singer — timmer-tuned,  though  a  de- 
cent ear.    Let's  hear  the  lilt. 


Digitized  by 


Google 


390  NocteM  Atnbrosiarut.    No.  XIV.  CApril, 


Come  draw  me  six  magnums  of  cla  -  ret.  Don't  spare  it.  But 
share  it  in  bumpers  a--round;  And  take  caie  that  in  each  diining 
brimmer  No  glimmer  Of  skimmering  day-light  be    fimnd*  Fill  a- 

tfiv^j  j'j'jj  jTJH-y  JiL  cr.  ^  r  g 

way!   Fill  a- way!  Fill   a««way!    Fill  bumpers  to  those  that  you 
lore.  For  we   will   be    hap  •  py    to  -  -  day.    As  the  gods  are  when 


A/C'f,i:ir'^C'f;lr^rt:irrll 


drinking  a- hove.  Drink  a-wayl  Drink  a  ••way! 

Gife  way  to  each  thou^t  of  your  fimcies, 

Thatoances, 
Or  glances,  or  looks  of  the  &ir : 
And  beware  that  from  fears  of  to-morrow 

You  borrow 
No  s  irrow,  nor  foretaste  of  care. 
Drink  awav,  drink  away,  drink  away  f 
For  the  honour  of  those  you  adore : 
Come,  charge !  and  drink  fairly  to-dar. 
Though  you  swear  you  will  nefcr  drink  more. 
ixx* 
I  last  night,  es/,  and  quite  melandioly. 

Cried  feUy! 
WhalTs  Polly  to  reel  for  her  fisme  ? 
Yet  111  banlah  such  hint  till  the  morning, 

And  scorning 
Such  warning  to-nig^t,  do  the  same. 
Drink  away,  drink  away,  drink  away ! 
'Twill  banish  blue  devils  and  pain  ; 
And  to-night  for  my  joys  if  I  pa^f, 
\yhy,  to-morrow  I'll  go  it  again. 

MR  AMBsosB,  (eiUerin^tpiMaibfm.)   . 
As  I  live,  sir,  here's  Mr  ODoherty.    Shall  I  say  you  are  here,  for  he  is  in  a 
wild  humour  ? 

{EnkJ^  ODoHiaTY,  Hnging.) 
Yve  kiss'd  and  I've  prattl^  with  fifty  &ir  maids. 
And  changed  them  as  oft,  do  ye  see,  &e. 

{Nitrth  and  Tieider  rii$  to  go.) 

ODOHERTT. 

What,  bolting? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Ay,  ay,  late  hours  disna  agree  wi'  snawy  pows.    But  I'se  sit  an  hour  wi' 
vott.  {The  Adjutant  and  the  Sfuipherd  embrace — North  and  Tiekkr  disappear.) 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1824.]]         LeUtrg  (potfAumous)  of  Charles  Edumrds,Esg.    No.  J  I. 


SOI 


L£TT£E8  (posthumous)  OF  CHARLES  EOWARSSj  ESU* 

No.  11. 


Usk,  1R19. 

Your  letter  came  to  me^  covered  all 
over  with  post-marks  and  directions ; 
but  a  letter  gives  a  fillip  to  one's  spi- 
rits, even  thcragh  the  news  in  it  be  six 
weeks  old.  I  don't  know  when  I  shdl 
be  in  London  again — ^perhans  never. 
I  always  hated  leaving  any  place  with 
a  consciousness  that  I  must,  at  a  given 
time,  come  back  agsin.  Thank  Heaven, 
there  is  nowno  living  creature  to  whom 
my  moments  are  of  much  consequence ! 
East,  west,  north,  or  south — to  death, 
or  to  present  enjoyment — I  am  free  to 
take  my  course.  I  may  push  right  on 
without  injuring  any  one  to  the  very 
extremity  of  this  world ;  and  there  are 
almost  as  few  whom  it  would  concern 
materially,  if  I  were  to  drop  over  into 
the  next. 

I  am  here — ^will  you  understand 
why  ?— hiding  my  lignt  under  a  bushel. 
A  simple,  unpretenmng,  well-dressed, 
captain  of  cavalry,  with  half-pay,  and 
two  horses,  and  one  servant  for  all. 
I  have  my  gun,  and  my  flute^  and  my 
ilshing-rod ;  and  (to  play  with)  my 
German  pipe ;  and  poor  Venus,  who 
makes  love  to  all  the  women,  and  so 
introduces  her  roaster.^ — Poor  Venus  I 
A  dog  is  a  being  that  diere  is  no  safe 
providing  for. — I  hope  shell  die  beftrre 
me — for  I  can't  make  her  a  ward  of 
Chancery;  and,  though  there  is  no 
cruelty  in  extinguishing  life,  I  should 
not  like  the  kindness  of  having  her 
kiUed. 

Straying,  for  the  last  month,  through 
Oxforoshire,  and  Herefordshire,  and 
Somersetshire— revisiting  localities  in 
leisure  and  independence,  which  I  had 
beheld  under  circumstances  of  danger 
or  privation.  In  some  places  I  sought 
for  objects  that  had  ceiused  to  exist.  I 
walked  (as  I  thought)  towards  a  par- 
ticular house  in  Oxford ;  and  the  very 
street  had  disappeared.  Where  thie 
vievirs  stiU  remained,  my  new  medium 
did  not  help  the  prospect.  Eight  years 
has  made  a  change  m  the  remams  of 
Ludlow  Castle,  or  in  the  remains  of 
Charles  Edwards.  I  rode  past  tbe  gate 
of  Leamington  barracks.-^Do  you  re- 
cdkct  anwiing,  Fletcher,  here?— I 
saw  the  M  staUes,  in  whieb  I  had 
fagged  over  a  splashed  troop  hxune  for 
many  a  w^iry  boor.  And  the  <' poet," 

Vol.  XVI. 


at  the  commandant's  door,  where  I  had 
often  stood  sentry,  and  been  as  hungry 
as  a  wolf.  And  the  school,  in  which 
I  had  drawn  tears  and  curses  from 
many  a  raw  Irish  recruit,  when  I  was 
a  *'  rough-rider."  I  felt  ahnost  as  if  I 
had  a  sort  of  affisction  fbr  the  place ; 
and  yet.  Heaven  knows,  I  had  little 
cause  to  have  any  I — But  thoe  was 
one  house  which  I  did  not  care  to  see, 
(when  ifcame  to  Uie  point,)  although 
I  thou^t  I  had  come  to  Leamington 
for  Iftde  other  purpose ! — Is  it  not 
strange,  when  a  man  feds  that  he  can« 
not  Hve  either  with  a  partibnlar  wo- 
man or  without  her  ?  And  yet  such  an 
infernal  sensation  did  come  over  me 
as  I  Approached  the  cottage  that  was 
Levine  s,  that  I  wheeled  snort  up  the 
back  lane  that  leads  to  die  river— how 
many  times  I  had  rode  up  it,  to  w»- 
ter,  with  the  troop !  and  almost  stum- 
bled over  a  little  creature,  (a  soldier's 
wife,)  who  had  been  kind  to  me  when 
kinchiess  was  an  object! — I  threw 
some  money  down,  and  galloped  off, 
for  I  thought,  by  her  eye,  tnat  she 
knew  me.— If  she  did— what  a  tale 
there  was,  within  ten  minutes,  through 
every  washerwoman's  in  Leamington  ! 
—Do  you  remember  when  I  "  drew," 
in  the  open  markeUi^ace,  and  res- 
cued oar  roast  meat  from  Uie  militia- 
men! 

Hdghho ! — ^Your  letter  came  in  ex- 
cellent season.  It  is  a  rainy  afternoon. 
No  trout-fishing — which  serves  tokeep 
me  walking,  at  least;  and  the  views 
about  the  deep  valley  of  the  Usk,  here, 
are  delidous. 

Why,  it  is  not  so  fine  a  stream,  to 
be  sure,  aa  the  Suir  between  Carrick 
and  Clonmel ;  but  you  ought  to  relish 
liberty  anywhere.  And  I  should  be 
the  better  of  a  companion,  if  he  were 
such  a  one  as  I  could  converse  with. 
I  am  as  free  as  the  veriest  American 
savape!  and  have  the  advuitage  of 
civiliBation  aU  round  me  at  the  same 
time.  I  live  in  inns,  and  avoid  laige 
towns;  and  find  a  wdoome  ■  and  » 
real  one— wherever  I  come.  And  I 
have  just  got  the  right  caiibre  too,  as 
regards  station  and  eqttfpage^  about 
me.  Sufficient  to  make  me  the  equal 
of  a  Duke ;  and  yet  not  enough  to 
raise  me  out  of  the  leadi  of  a  i 
3E 


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392  LeUers(j3o*thumous)ofCfiarles  Edwards,  Esq.    No.  IL       CApnl^ 


ftble  being.    I  have  been  here  three 
^days.  I  rode  away  in  a  vile  fit  of  spleen 
from  Abergavenny.    The  place  was 
getting  what  people  call  "  full"— at- 
tomeys  of  fashion  coming  in  to  bathe ; 
and  dtiaens  over  from  Bristol  to  drink 
butter  milJc.  It  was  nine  at  night  when 
labandoned— amoonlightworthall  the 
day !  So  bright  that  tbeeye  travelled  for 
miles — aoroBs— to  the  very  horizon-— 
over  river^  mountain^  and  n^eadow^  all 
clear,  and  eoldj  and  in  deep  stillness ! 
One  cannot  see  in  the  sunshine,  for 
the  noise  and  business  that  the  world 
seems  in«    This  was  like  looking  at 
objects  in  a  picture.    Like*  looking 
throu^  a  lens,  or  into  a  bed  of  deep, 
dear,  glassy  water.    It  reminded  me 
of  the  bright  nights  in  which  I  had 
sailed  upon  an  AUantie  sea«  When  the 
calm  was  perfect — neither  breath  nor 
swell  upon  the  water.    The  sails  flap- 
ping gi^tly,  to  and  fto,  against  the 
mast.  And  the  dolphins,  in  such  das« 
sUng  blue,  as  puts  even  the  king-fisher 
to  seame,  playing,  and  plunging,  and 
chamng  each  other  round  the  vessel  I 
Each  new  comer  to  the  sports  detected, 
while  still  at  half-mile  distance — not 
by  the  fiery  train  which  marks  his 
pvogress  in  a  gale,  when  your  ship 
dashes,  head  on,  ten  knots  an  hour 
through  the  fiwm,  and  he  curvets,  and 
bounds,  and   repasses)   before   your 
prow,  like  a  Danish  harlequin  dog  be- 
fore the  state  carriage  of  a  duchess — 
but  by  his  own  bold  graceful  figure, 
seen  to  fifty  fathoms  de|»th,  and  snin- 
ing  like  a  huge  image  of  silver,  strange- 
ly chased  and  painted !  It  Feroinded 
me  of  my  West  India  service,  and«of 
ny  night  guards  in  that  beautiful  St 
Lucie ;  when  I  used  to  leave  the  se- 
gars,  and  the  mosquitoes,  and  the  yel- 
low ladies,  and  the  Sangaree,  to  run 
along  in  a  canoe  over  reefs  as  green  as 
a  May  field,  all  living  with  shells  and 
weeds,  and  ''  parrot"  fishes  and  "  sea- 
tree,"  and  through  water  so  bright,  as, 
in  the  moonshine,  to  be  invisible ! — 
Dravring  six  inches,  where  there  was 
tea  feet,  yon  seemed  to  rake  the  bot- 
tom every  moment !— I  rode  along — 
living  upon  the  view  and  the  sensation 
— 4»  abw  as  Ibofe  could  fialL    Qetting, 
by  degrees,  into  a  deliciaus  calmness, 
ricollecting,  and  thinking,  acutely,  and 
jrei  not  pamfuUy.    Halfwilling  to  be 
m  kindness  wiu  myself,  and  almost 
dveaining  about  it  with  the  world.^I 
thoi^t  of  the  tunes,  and  almost  cams 
~  xk  to  dM  *'g^  spirits,"  in  which 


you  and  I  had  ridden,  (when  we  had 
only  them  to  **  feed  and  clothe"  us,)  so 
manv  ni^t  mardies  through  the  Pen- 
insula— ^m  front — ^in  the  rear— aside — 
any  way  to  escape  the  turmoil  and  up- 
roar of  the  division.    And  my  Spanish 
servant,  enjoying  the  scene  almost  as 
much  as  I  did  myself.    Humming 
"TheFightofRonscevalles,"andpuflE. 
ing  white  paper  for  a  s^gar  I — ^A  man 
is  entitled  to  be  luxurious  in  the  minor 
arrangements  of  life ;  and  really,  a  fo- 
reign servant  is  one  of  the  luxuries  of 
domestic  detail.    I  can  talk  to  Jos^, 
and  let  him  talk  to  me,  without  the 
danger  of  a  mistake.  The  rogue  has  a 
tact — an  intuitive  perception — a  mode 
of  his  own,  of  arriving  at  one's  mean- 
ing. A  foreigner  manages  to  be  per- 
fectly familiar*  and  yet,  at  the  same 
time,  perfectly  respectftil^a  point  at 
which  you  Englishmen  (though  with 
mote  brains,  perhaps)  never,  by  any 
chance,  arrive.    Many  a  hen  has  this 
very  Jos^  stolen  for  me— «nd  cooked 
when  he  had  done !  And  with  a  man- 
ner, too— an  absence  of  grossiereU^^^ 
view  of  the  correct  mode  in  which  the 
thing  should  be  done !— Not  like  my 
great  two-handed  Thomas — shall  you 
ever  forget  him  ? — that  went  out  to 
steal  turkeys;  and  that  we  met,  in 
broad  day,  with  a  live  one  under  each 
arm,  pursued  by  a  whole  village! — 
But  we  rode  along,  I  tell  you,  as  gently 
as  horse's  foot  could  step— past  farm- 
houses, and  cotU^,  and  apple  or- 
chards, Teven  die  dogs  all  asleep  i)  not 
having  the  most  distant  determination 
when,  or  where,  we  should  stob ;  and 
so  came  into  Usk  about  one  o'dock  in 
the  morning.  Pavement  being  no  part 
of  the  parish  arrangements,  our  arri- 
val disturbed  nobody.   It  was  as  light 
OS  it  could  have  been  at  noon,  and  yet 
not  even  a  stray  cat  was  in  motion. 
The  white  mushn  curtains  were  dratf  u 
at  the  low  bed-diamber  n^ndows; 
shutters  did  not  seem  to  be  thought 
necessary  anywhere  ;— things  loosed 
as  though  you  might  carry  off*  the 
whole  village,  if  you  were   strong 
enough  to  take  it  up,  and  walk  away 
with  it.    I  should  have  ridden  on  to 
Chepstow ;  but — *'  Great  events,"  you 
knowl—the  door  of  the  inn  stood 
lyar ;  and  yet  not  a  creature  was  mo- 
ving near  it.    I  dismounted ;  entered 
on  tiptoe ;  v^alked  through  three  apart^ 
ments  without  seeing  a  soul ;  ami  at 
last  found  a  party  of  a  doien — all 
women  but  three    seated,  the  snug- 


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1894.3        LeHer9(po§tkkmous)tfCharletEdwatdi,Esq-     No.  IT,         Sl9i 


gest  in  the  world,  in  a  parlonr  behind 
the  "  bar"  at  supper. 

And  here  I  have  been  ever  since,  in 
peace,  and  half  forgetfUness — ^idling, 
and  dozing,  and  letting  myself  drop 
into  love  with  the  landlord  s  niece^- 
the  most  celestial— (talk  of  "  angels!" 
there  never  was  anything  but  woman 
half  so  handsome  !>-"the  most  exqui- 
dte  girl  of  fifteen  that  you  ever  be* 
held  in  your  existence !  An  expression, 
somethmgin  the  Charles-the^ad  taste; 
but  more  delicious  a  thousand  times 
than  the  handsomest  of  all  his  school ! 
Hair,  dark  brown ;  but  not  black — I 
am  dred  of  the  ieint  defeiu  Large, 
long,  blue,  mild,  half-melancholy 
eves,  and  eyelashes  as  soft  as  silk.  A 
skin-— Oh  !  such  a  hand ! — like  the 
flesh  of  the  fair  Flemings  in  Mieris 
the  elder's  pictures !  And  such  lips, 
and  teeth !  not  the  dead  ivory  white 
— but  almost  transparent — ^the  lips, 
living ! — And  the  figure — the  shape- 
even  finer  than  the  face !  So  full,  and 
perfbct !  the  bust !— carve  it  yourself, 
and  there  isn't  a  Une  that  you  would 
alter!  The  dress  too!— all  in  the 
fkshion — (new  here) — of  ten  years 
ago.  The  bodice  fitting  square,  like 
the  Roman  corslet,  upon  the  neck  and 
shoulder — the  hair,  in  ringlets  upon 
the  throat — the  waist,  a  little  long — 
the  frock— r  that  is,  the  "  best,"  you 
know) — ^rather  short  upon  the  ankle 
— the  whole,  almost  maxing  vou  laugh 
about  **  Fashions  for  Wales '  and  the 
**  print  in  the  Lady's  Magazine,  for 
1796 ;"  and  yet  convincing  you  that 
any  fashion — the  ugliest— is  pretty 
upon  a  pretty  woman ;  and  that  the 
style  before  you  is  incomparably  the 
most  becoming  that  ever  was  invent- 
ed ! — And  then,  over  Uie  whole  of  this 
girl's  attractions,  Fletcher,  there  is  a 
charm— Do  you  conceive  ?^-of  soft- 
ness— a  sootning  pladdness — a  vo- 
luptuous repose— that,  to  me,  is  ruin 
iMffit  resistance !  a  voice,  that  you  know 
belongs  to  beauty,  even  before  you 
see  the  owner  of  it !  and  not  a  point 
of  angularity,  or  even  what  people 
call  "  smartness,"  in  feature,  tone,  or 
manner.  No  boldness,  yet  no  retenue 
— and  even  the  bashfulness,  nothing 
harsh,  or  stiff,  or  repelling !  I  left  my 
fbra^e-cap  (at  breakfhst)  in  her  mo- 
ther s  room  this  morning,  and  came 
back,  for  an  excuse,  to  fetch  it,  about 
a  minute  after. — And,  if  you  could 
have  seen  the  smile^-^he  was  just 
putting  it  on— when  she  looked  at 


herself  in  the  glass !  And  the  neck 
turned  half  round,  to  judge  of  it  in 
anodier  direction !  And  the  smooth, 
round,  w^te  arms,  naked  almost  to 
the  shoulder — ^how  any  woman  em 
ever  wear  long  sleeves,  unless  she  is 
hideous,  I  cannot  conceive  1 — ^Imagine 
the  arms  making  a  hundred  drdes  in 
order  to  adiust  it— and  then  the  curls 
to  be  a  little  parted  on  the  forehead^- 
and  then  the  glance  down  at  the  f^t — 
and  then  the  lookitig  round,  andr- ! 
kisses  Venus  all  day ;  and  breaks  the 
tea-cups  instead  of  washing  them  ! 

Oh  f  I  can't  come  to  town  at  all ; 
and  I  am  very  well  where  I  am  at 
present.  For  I  am  just  Hdling  off 
mto  a  most  sweet  and  "  gentleman- 
Hke",*d^ection.  I  have  not  seen  a 
coxcomlf  these  three  days,  except  m  v* 
self— (fbr  diere  is  not  a  lawyer  in  the 
place,  and  the  apothecary  keeps  no 
*'  assistant ;")  and  my  long^tailed 
horses,  and  Jos^s  mustachoes,  are  the 
delight  of  all  the  viUage.  And  it  is 
so  agreeable  to  find  one^  self  a  person 
of  importance !  A  gueSt  at  "  The 
White  Horse,"  Usk,  who  stays  a  week, 
and  to  whom  ten  pounds  are  not  a 
consideration  !  who  has  half  a  dozen 
dishes  fbr  dinner,  and  dines  upon  the 
plainest — orders  wine  for  his  servants, 
and  drinks  cofiee  for  himself— is  good- 
tempered,  sober,  satisfied,  and  leaves 
everything  to  the  decision  of  the  land- 
lady !  why,  I  am  being  the  most  ex- 
travagant man  in  all  the  world ;  and 
saving  three-fourths  of  my  income  all 
the  while !  Come  down,  my  friend, 
come  down  !  I  am  in  exceeding  good 
humour,  and  will  let  you  come.  It 
will  be  Sunday  in  a  day  or  two;  and 
then  I  shall  go  to  church,  and  adc  the 
parson  home  to  dinner.  Meantime  I 
nave  my  half-dozen  shots  on  the  hill 
in  a  morning — (I  hate  shooting  in  a 
preserve — ^killing  "  ninety-five  phea- 
sants" with  my  own  hand  in  the  day ! 
—I  would  as  soon  walk  into  a  Arm- 
yard,  and  fire  among  the  ducks  and 
chickens)^two  hours  trout-fishing  to- 
wards sun-set^(  they  are  not  large,  but 
they  amuse  me)— and,  in  the  evening, 
my  fiute — and  my  window — and  this 
beautiful  girl  to  look  at  I 

And  what  is  it— you  talk  of  "  town," 
—that  you  even  fancv  you  have  to  set 
against  a  life  like  this?  Don't  speak 
of  societv,  pray !— of  all  spots  on  the 
&ce  of  tne  earth,  St  James  s  street,  to 
me,  is  the  dullest.  As  for  books,  I 
get  them  here;  besides,  f  am  sure 


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39i        Letters  {poHhutiwus)  of  Charles 

none  of  your  fHends  ever  read.  Bil- 
liards you  plav  but  seldom ;  and  chess 
you  have  not  brains  for.  The  dinners, 
and  the  wine  ? — why,  there  you  have 
the  advantage,  certamly, — though  not 
even  there,  be  it  understood,  when 
you  dine  (absolute)  in  Bond  Street. 

Messrs  L and  S may  do  for 

those  to  whom  it  is  "  Life !"  to  be  at 

Messrs  h or  S        's;  but  they 

certainly  won't  do  for  anybody  who 
has  pretensions  even  to  a  palate. — 
And,  after  all  (give  me  only  a  little  of 
the  French  wine)  and  I  never  was  so 
well  for  these  seven  years  past,  as  I 
am  now  upon  boiled  fowl  and  In^iled 
Severn  salmon — and,  in  your  whole 
circle — take  it  all  round — Park,  and 
Opera,  and  Almack's  included^— can 
you  find  anything— do  you  think  you 
can  ? — to  compare  with  this  beautiful 
Eliza  here  ? — who,  with  nothing  ever, 
111  lay  my  existence,  beyond  a  coun- 
try boarding-school  education — swing- 
ing, or  "  making  cheeses,"  in  the  gar- 
den, all  day,  and  arguing  about  the 
prettiest  colour  for  garters,  with  some 
other  incipient  plague  of  one's  life,  all 
night — ^has  a  thousand  times  more  de- 
licacy of  perception — ten  thousand 
times  more  captivatingness  and  natu- 
ral taste — than  half  your  women  (of 
one  class)  who  think  only  about  how 
they  shall  manage  to  marry  one,  or 
all  your  women  (of  another  class) 
whom  /  have  no  nerves  to  think  of  at 
all! 

For  your  friend's  prattle  of  their 
"  fortune,"— ^ with  whom,  and  where, 
tell  me,  is  the  "  fortune"  found  ?  Not 
much  among  the  girls,  you  knqyr, — 
even  as  regards  notice ;  for  they  fall 
in  love  witn  the  dancing-master— or 
the  popular  preacher.  Then  the  ladies 
of  a  certain  age^-take  them,  vice  and 
folly  and  all— are  caught  (&nd  again 
you  know  it)  by  a  very  different  kind 
of  people.  Is  not  the  "  fortune,"  in 
truth,  found,  where,  in  the  end,  most 
of  the  fortune  is  lost  ?  Among  ladles 
with  thin  legs,  who  are  divine  because 
they  dance  at  the  Academie  de  Mu^ 
sigve  ;  or  others  who  have  risen  into 
estimation  by  successively  disgusting 
some  dozen  different  people?  I  do 
protest,  I  give  thanks  every  morning 
when  I  get  up,  that  I  succeeded  to  an 
estate  offive  thousand  a-year,  instead 
of  being  born  to  one — so  have  I  escaped 
aome 01  the asinwUies  of  those  '^strange 
flies"  who  swarm  past  your  door  every 
day  about  three  o'clock!  The  gamblers 


Edwards,  Esq.    No,  IL  QApril, 

are  perhape  the  most  reasonable  of 
them;  and  yet  what  shocking  dogsthey 
are !  Then  the  drinking  men— who  get 
up  about  dusk !  And  the  "  Fancy"  gen- 
tlemen— ^who  are  worse  to  me  than  all! 
I  saw  a  *'  lord"  of  your  particular  ac- 
quaintance, juat  bemre  I  left  town,  ait- 
tmg  in  a  "  coffi^e-shop,"  by  Covent-Gar- 
den,  "  talking  do^,"  as  the  French 
idiom  would  be,  with  the  keeper  of  it 
There  was  the  '*  Turn  out,"  standing 
at  the  do(M>-«ervants  in  red  coats  ana 
white  hats« — Peer  buying  foundered 
curs,  as  dogs  "  of  highest  market." — 
"  Flash,"  and  fiimiliar.— The  vulgari- 
ty of  the  ''  coaching  stables,"  but  not 
tne  wit. — Fancied  he  vras  astonishing, 
and  condescending  at  the  same  time ; 
and,  reaUy,  viewed  with  almost  un- 
disguised  contempt,  even  by  the  rascal 
who  was  cheating  him  !-— Oh  I  that 
exquisite  Sir  Giles  Overreach ! — Had 
not  the  dog  feeder,  now,  here  the  best 
of  it  ? — And  this  same  man  shall  get 
you  up  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and-— 
"  oppose"  (if  he  be  bit  that  way) 
"  the  views  of  the  minister !" 

And  I  detest  this  regardlesenesa  to 
decencies  and  received  opinions,  for 
thelsickenine  trick  of  heartlessness  that 
it  generally  brings  along  with  it.  It 
is  dangerous  sometimes  to  get  over 
one's  prejudices;  they  often  prevent 
an  ill  begimiing.  The  drover  who 
strikes  at  a  sheep  very  heavily  to-day, 
would  scarcely  strike  very  lightly  at 
his  own  child,  on  occasion,  to-morrow. 
The  truth  is,  that  our  ''  ingenuous 
youth"^I  am  turning  pedagogue,  you 
will  think  —  are  ill  educat^.  We 
ilog  a  boy  through  the  classics ;  and 
then  turn  him  out  to  inhabit  among 
men.  From  seventeen  to  twenty-five 
we  allow  him  for  folly  and  extrava- 

Sance ;  and  the  odds  are  great,  but  he 
oes  some  act  within  that  time,  which 
he  repents  to  the  last  hour  of  his  life. 
Since  the  day  of  Chesterfield,  I  know 
of  no  writer  on  the  education  of  men, 
who  is  worth  a  farthing.  If  he  was  a 
*'  courtly  scoundrel," — and  I  don't 
think  he  was, — ^why,  if  he  was,  he  was 
only  so  much  better  than  an  uncourt- 
ly  one.  The  feeling  of  a  gentleman, 
next  to  a  pure  moral  feeling,  is  the  best 
check  upon  that  excess  which  forms 
the  atrocity  of  vice.  Habits  have 
changed  since  Chesterfield's  time ;  and 
the  detail  of  his  precepts,  had  he  lived, 
would  have  altered  with  them :  But 
the  principle  upon  which  he  set  out 
was  a  correct  one.     He  legislated  for 


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1824.]]         IxUcrs  (j)Oithumous)  of  Charles  Edwards,  Esq,     Ho.  IT.         395 


mam;  and  looked  to  what  he  could 
get,  rather  than  to  what  he  could  wbh 
for.  Fine  a  man  five  pounds^  and  per- 
haps he  may  pay  it ;  fine  the  same 
man  fifty,  and  you  oidy  perhaps  send 
him  to  prison.  Are  there  not  steps  in 
the  scale  of  moral,  as  well  as  of  politi- 
cal offence  ?  A  larceny  is  less  mischie- 
T0U8  to  society  than  a  burglary;  a 
burglary  without  personal  outrage,  bet- 
ter than  a  burglary  with  personal  out* 
rage ;  a  robbery  on  the  highway  bad, 
but  better  than  a  **  cutting  and  maim- 
ing," or  a  murder.  And  why  should 
we  look  nowhere  but  in  the  Old  fiai- 
le^j  at  redeeming  the  circumstances 
of  crime?  Mark,  when  you  hear  any 
act  of  very  outrageous  b^ness  or  fol- 
ly— when  a  man  is  a  town  jest  for  his 
mummeries;  a  published  dupe  to  cour- 
tesans and  blaclc-legs ;  a  rioter  in  the 
stxeeta  par  excellence  ;  a  brute,  or,  in 
other  words,  a  '^  choice  spirit"— Mark 
if  he  be  not  some  parvenu,  or  half- 
trained  lad  broke  loose  from  school. 
Why !  up  to  the  last  moment  before  a 
man  starts  in  life,  is  not  the  world  so 
described  to  him,  that  he  must  find 
it  rather  anything  than  the  thing  it 
has  been  represented?  The  ^and 
fault  of  our  moral  instruction,  is  the 
high  tone  in  which  it  is  conveved. 
Sin,  we  are  told,  is  death :  and  toere 
the  teacher  leaves  us.  The  restraint 
is  peremptorily  insisted  upon,  and  even 
the  advantages  of  it  are  not  half  ex- 
-  plained.  We  are  not  only  command- 
ed to  be  angels,  and,  if  we  cannot 
be  angds,  left  to  be  anything  we 
please;  but  really  little  or  no  pains 
are  taken  to  shew  us  why  we  should 
be  angels  if  we  could. 

Say  tlat  a  thoughtless  lad^  just 
launched  from  college  into  a  society 
like  your  present  circle,  seduces  a  girl 
of  decent  familv,  and  abandons  her, 
Uke  a  scoundrel,  to  her  fate. — ^You 
and  I  must  not  talk  about  such  cases 
^'  not  occurring;"  we  know  that  they 
do  occur,  and  diat  men  are  damned 
for  them,  if  men  are  damned  at  all. — 
This  booby  has  been  told  that  seduc- 
tion is  a  '^  high  crime ;"  and  he  sees 
many  "  high  crimes,"  hourly,  in  very 
respectable  commission.  He  has  heard 
that  punishment  for  such  offences 
will  follow*  in  '^  another  world," — 
and  he  believes  that ''  other  world"  to 
be  a  very  long  way  off.  What  would 
be  the  effect  upon  thieves  of  twen- 
ty, if  a  law  were  to  enact,  that  pre- 
sent highwaymen  (bating  repentance) 


should  be  hanged  at  the  age  of  eigh- 
ty years  ?  Has  any  creature,  friend, 
or  relative,  pointed  out  to  this  sil- 
ly boy  the  immediate  consequences 
(whicn  pass  repentance)  of  the  crime 
which  he  has  committed?  Has  any 
one  asked— will  he  sell  his  favourite 
horse  to  be  whipped  to  death  in  a  sand 
cart?— or  his  spaniel  to  be  worried  and 
fi)ught  by  butchers?— or  on  what  prin- 
ciple is  it  that  he  is  dooming  a  crea« 
ture,  for  whom  he  has  once  felt  afibc* 
tion — to  ruin,  insult,  want,  and 
public  infamy  ?  He  hears  nothing  at 
all  of  this  from  his  associates^suid 
yours.  They  congratulate  him  upon 
nis  triumph.  He  is  a  ''  fine  fellow- 
he  has  "  bonne  fortunt^' — the  world  will 
"  hear  of  him — the  women  find  him 
'*  irresistible  !"  Is  it  not  so? — Has  any 
one  said  to  awretchedonthinkingblock- 
head  like  this— who— what — are  these 
people  to  whose  commendation  you 
are  listening? — They  are  "friends.  '— 
Ay — as  you  have  been — "  friends," 
to  their  own  gratification. — Friends! 
Why — you  are  boon  companions- 
sworn  brothers— every  one  of  you  !— 
.When  the  last  of  the  club  was  carried 
to  prison,  who  came  forward  to  giye 
baa  for  him  ? — When  the  bankrupt, 
last  week,  destroyed  himself— one  leas 
— Was  it  not  so  ? — sat  down  to  table. 
Is  there  a  man  among  these,  your 
"  friends,"  in  whom  you  even  tnink 
you  can  confide?  Is  there  one  who 
(if  you  were  in  want)  you  believe 
would  help  you  with  a  shilling?— 
Their  talents,  or  their  worth — Come ! 
— which  is  it  you  would  first  bear 
witness  to  ?  Is  it  die  gentleman  who 
packed  the  "  fight"  at  Moulse]^>  that 
you  love  best;  or  he  who  poisoned 
the  "  fiivourite"  at  Newmarket; — he 
who  fied  yesterday  f  this  was  your 
"  dear  friend")  firom  his  bail ;  or  he 
who,  the  day  tfefore,  "  gave"  the  In- 
solvent act  to  his  creditors  ?  Nay,  an- 
swer^— for  these  "  friends"  are  all  com- 
plimenting you  upon  your  "  suooen" 
— except  the  one  who  whispers  (and 
lies)  that  he  was  acquainted  with  the 
lady  before  you — are  you  most  proud  of 
the  gentleman's  applause  who  appears 
in  the  long  skirted  coat,  or  of  his  who 
has  pinned  his  character  in  life,  to 
the  short  jacket  ?  Is  it  he  who  was 
thrashed  (last)  by  the  "boxer,  that 
immortalizes  you ;  or  he  who  backed 
"  the  bull  dog"  to  eat  "  the  monkey" 
in  "  four  minutes  ?" — Come !  look  at 
your  triumph — ^'tis  as  noble  at  least 


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396        Leiteri  (poithumous)  of  Charles  Edwards,  Esq.    No.  IL         dApril, 


as  to  be  boasting  about  it.  It  is  a  tri- 
umph !  A  notable  one,  God  wot ! 
You  have  found  a  woman  who  could 
loye  you !  I  grant  the  thing  is  a  little 
Burorising ! — ^But  she  will  ^^  do  weU" 
— r^n  ?  Marry  some  '*  fellow ;"— or 
*'  make  her  fortune/'  as  ''others  have 
done  before  her  ?" — You  saw  her  only 
yesterday — ^look  at  her  again  to-day. 
She  has  oegun  to  "  do  well." — Come, 
and  witness  her  career.  Did  you  take 
her  from  home  before  you  abandoned 
her,  or  have  her  parents  yet  to  turn 
her  out  of  doors  ? — that  approved  wise 
policy,  and  humane,  to  a  child  when 
most  she  needs  protection ! — ^Well, 
then  ! — she  is  srone.  She  stands  for 
herself.  Housdess,  pennyless,  hope- 
less, and  with  the  nand  of  society 
against  her !  She  has  written  her  ''last 
farewell"  to  the  fklse  address  that  you 
left  with  her.  She  has  written  again 
to  you,  and  again — b^ging  not  to  be 
allowed  to  starve— and  she  has  waited 
in  suspense — (the  pet  torment,  be 
sure,  of  eternity)-— fine  has  waited  in 
suspense,  and  in  agony — at  last  to  re- 
ceive no  answer.  Come !  What  shall 
her  "fortune"  be? — ^for  I  care  not- 
which  way  you  put  it.  She  has  tried 
every  "  friend,"  and  been  refused  by 
all.  She  is  without  food  now — with- 
out money— without  lodging — with- 
out protection.  Strange  words,  by 
some  accident,  ar^  beginning  to  ML 
upon  her  ear.  The  demons  wno  pros- 
per on  human  annihilation,  are  beco- 
ming clamorous  for  their  prey*  Hark ! 
to  the  consolations  of  the  old  lady— 
who  would  "think  scorn"  to  "mourn 
for  a  fellow  that  abandoned  her  !"— 
There  is  her  Jew  husband  too— he 
"  must  have  his  rent,"  and  thinks 
"one  man  as  good  as  another." — 
Come,  speak  ! — ^now,for  life  or  death, 
—for  your  "  triumph"  is  on  the  down- 
fall— ^will  you  have  one  rival  in  her 
embraces, — shall  it  be  one,  or  shall  it 
be  a  thousand  ?  Will  you  find  her 
straw  hat  floating  in  the  stream,  when 
you  take  your  early  walk  to-morrow 
morning — (it  is  the  same  which  you 
once  bought  for  her,  and  she  has  kept 
it,  you  see,  to  the  last,)— or  shall  she 
live  on  for  a  short  space — for  your  far- 
mer punishment — and  her  own — ^mal- 
treated— ^laughed  at — desperate— de- 
graded ?  See  her — this  is  your  "  suc- 
cess"— the  sport  and  football  of  every 
midnight  ruffian!  See  her— this  is 
the  woman  that  forsook  her  home  for 


you  f— courting  injury — ^why,  bow  is 
this  ?— and  outrage  for  her  bread  ! — 

Nay— look,  I  say— look  on— yo« 
were  used  to  caress  her— to  be  proud 
of  her?  It  is  she  who  sat  by  your  bed 
when  you  were  sick ;  who  knelt  at  your 
feet  wnen  you  were  wayward.  Come  I 
Do  you  not  recollect  ?— think  again ! — 
how  finely  moulded  was  her  form! 
Her  eyes,  how  dark  and  expresriye— 
how  joyous  and  how  land  her  mile  I 
You  do  remember  how  many  ni^ts 
you  have  slept  upon  her  boeom— now 
many  tranquil  days  of  pleasive  yoa 
have  owed  to  her  society  I—Comc^ 
rouse !  look  up  and  see  her ! — ^Is  this 
the  woman  that  you  knew  ?  It  is  she 
that  was  the  woman  whom  you  knew 
and  loved ;  but— Kay— never  tear  your 
flesh — she  can  never  be  that  woman 
again. 

Cut  your  heart  into  more  atoms, 
than,  were  it  human,  it  would  bo 
bursting  into; — spill  your  blood — to 
the  last  dregs— the  blood  of  half  man- 
kind— the  change  is  wrought,  and,  in 
this  world,  there  can  be  na  change 
back  again ! — Where  is  your  beauty  ? 
— Spe^ !— Here  is  but  a  loathsome 
mass  of  hideousness  and  corruption. 

The  ringlets  have  fallen  off.  The 
teeth  are  discoloured.  The  eves  are 
lustreless  and  sunken.  The  cheeks,  hol- 
low and  haggard.  The  lips— so  ashy ! 
The  arm — ^^tis  somethmg  wasted! 
This  is  your  "  triumph !" — ^No— «o — 
I  fbrget — there  was  a  mind  too  to  be 
destroyed.  Delicacy,  if  not  resolute 
virtue — ^manner,  if  not  itrofig  moral  • 
feeling.  But  it  is  gone— not  even  a 
wreck  remains  behind  I  One  degrada- 
tion came  from  necessity  ;  that  endu- 
red, the  rest  were  unfelt— unnoticed. 
The  first  blow— it  was  friendly- 
brought  apathy  to  all  others  that  could 
follow.  The  whole  mind  is  unstrung. 
There  is  moral  lunacy-^e  depravity 
of  disease.  Oath»— curses— womshor* 
rible  to  nature  as  to  decency— filth — 
theft— habitual  intoxication— the  vi- 
riety  of  vice  attendant  upon  semi* 
mental  alienation ! — Is  this  the  "  Tri- 
umph ?"— Not  quite— but  its  comple- 
tion approaches.  It  is  mendicancy—* 
prison^Hi  workhouse— 4md  a  parish 
grave ;— and  the  moment,  perhaps  ten 
years  after,  when  some  wretched,  larce- 
nous, half-starved  child,  bred  in  the 
poor-house  where  its  mc^er  perished, 
and  sentenced  by  the  law  to  whipping 
or  transportation  for  crimes  which  food 


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1824.]]      Letter$  (posthumous)  of  Cliarhs  Edwards,  Esq.    No.  II. 


might  have  prevented,  discovers,  and 
— tius  is  the  ultra  "  l*riuniph  !" — sa- 
lutes jroa  with  the  name  of' <  Father  I" 

The  human  mind  wants  that  its  at- 
tention should  be  called — sometimes 
draped — to  the  contemplation  of  plain 
truw.  It  is  not  enough  to  say  to  men 
merely — *'  Be  virtuous  I"  If  you  would 
do  good— one  case  is  worth  a  hundred 
aiguments — shew  them  the  misery  that 
arises  out  of  eviL  Men  are  ill  enough, 
Heav^  knows;  but,  in  the  mass,  I 
doubt  if  they  are  cruel.  Shew  the 
miserable,  thoughtless  boy  whom  I 
have  described,  we  effect  of  his  imper- 
tinence ;  shew  him  merely  the  havoc 
that  it  is  making ;  and  a  hundred  to 
one  but  he  will  shrink  from  it.  The 
mere  animal  instinct  that  teaches  him 
to  quail  fiom  pain,  will  go  fiu:  to  make 
him  honest.  What  is  he — where  is  he 
-—when  consciottsness  overtakes  him  ? 
When  he  finds  that  there  is  a  hell-- 
the  hell  of  vain  regret  and  recollection 
—earlier  to  be  encountered  than  that 
with  which  he  haa  been  threatened ; 
that  there  are  tcurtures,  which  make 
sure  of  him  on  this  ^de  the  grave, 
however  (until  it  comes  to  the  point) 
he  may  fancy  he  discredits  those  be- 
yond it. 

But  these,  you  will  say,  are  the  re* 
veries,  and  Uie  acerbities  of  af^nroach- 
ing  age ;  or,  if  you  do  not  say  so,  it  is  not 
because  I  am  <mly  four-and-thhrty,  but 
because  you  are  two  years  my  senior. 
StiU,  even  if  you  could  convict  me  of 
being— shall  I  say  thirty-six  ?  Heaven 
knows !  my  own  condition  I  give  up. 
Of  all  men  living,  he  is  the  most  to  be 
pitied,  who  is  competent  to  pity  other 
people.  To  know  is,  of  necessity,  to 
nave  suffered  moral  impalement — to 
have  been  mentally  broken  upon  the 
wheel !  It  is  to  have  sujOPered  ingrati- 
tude from  men,  and  (still  worse)  de- 
ceit from  women ;  to  have  seen  cou- 
rage and  honour  starve  in  rags,  where 
vice  and  cowardice  stood  successful; 
to  have  waited,  and  so  to  have  learn- 
ed patience ;  to  have  been  baffled,  and 
BO  to  have  acquired  porseveranee ;  to 
have  been  taught  caution  by  being 
cheated,  and  coolness  by  the  use  of  in« 
jury. — ^To  be  wise,  is  to  know  only 
that  nothing  can  be  known  vrith  cer- 
tain^ !  It  is  to  know  thai  honesty  to 
day  is  no  pledge  for  honesty  to-mor- 
row ;  conduct  in  one  state,  no  securi- 
ty for  conduct  in  another.  It  is  to 
have  seen  strict  principle  coupled  with 
the  coldest  selfishness,  and  the  seeds 


397 

of  destruction  quickening  in  warm- 
heartedness and  kind  fiselmg :  to  have 
learned  to  doubt  where  aU  find  certain- 
ty, and  to  deny  confidence  evesa  where 
we  repose  trust;  to  have  discovered 
that  there  is  little  in  life  worth  reallv 
caring  for,  and  nothing^-not  even  one's 
ovm  opinion— that  can  safely  be  relied 
upon. 

Will  youanswer  that  thesediscoveries 
are  not  always  the  concomitants  of  age ; 
that  there  are  men  who,  even  to  dea^, 
retain  their  wonted  spirits  and  their 
wonted  foUies  ?  The  spirits  are  often- 
er  of  the  constitutbn,  than  of  the 
mind.  We  laugh,  and  it  is  with  gai- 
ety and  good  humour,  at  twenty-five  ; 
and  we  stiU  laugh  at  fifty — but  it  is 
with  satire  and  misanthropy.  The 
calculating  point,  according  to  circum- 
stances, comes  earlier  in  hk,  or  later. 
The  enthusiastic  find  it  first;  the 
wealthy  bom  (whom  all  the  world  is 
interested  in  blinding)  are  commonly 
last  in  the  discovery.  Fools  antic  even 
to  the  grave,  unconscious  either  of  the 
scoff,  or  the  jestings  of  mankind.  The 
dull  soul  has  never  dreamed  of  happi- 
ness ;  he  cannot  fidl,  for  he  has  been 
always  upon  the  ground.  But,  for  the 
man  of  r^  mind  and  enei^y,  who  fi?els 
his  strength  upon  the  wane ;  who  has 
soared  like  the  rash  youth  of  Crete, 
and  who  finds  that  his  vrings  are  failing 
under  him ;  whose  mental  perceptions 
are  yet  acute,  though  hu  physical 
forces  desert  him ;  who  is  alive  to  the 
sense  of  his  own  futility— of  his  weak- 
ness, and  fallen  condition !  For  such  a 
man,  what  resource? — ^Alas !  resource 
there  is  none.  ' 

For,  first  among  those  bright  illu- 
sions which  have  beguiled  him  up  to 
this  dark  hom>-4rst,  and  hardest  !— 
he  loses  his  sensibility  to— his  capacity 
for  being  cheated  by  the  charms  of 
woman !  Take  man  as  you  find  him 
b^bre  his  fellow  man,  and  he  is  dark, 
mysterious,  inexplicable.  Envy  and 
fear  disturb  him;  anda  touch  perhaps 
of  that  instinctive  dislike  wmch  pre- 
vents males,  even  among  animals, 
from  ever  meeting  with  much  friend- 
liness of  feeling.  But  with  woman  he 
is  haroy ;  for,  with  her,  nature  teadies 
him  tliat  he  is  safe.  By  turns,  her  des- 
potic sovereign,  and  her  implicit  slave. 
I  know  not  in  which  condition  his 
fortune  is  the  highest.  If  it  is  his  pride 
to  command,  it  is  his  pleasure  to  obey. 

Her  triumphs,  her  h^ipiness,  her 
injuries— bU  are  his.  Her  jealousy  will 


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398 

but  flatter  him — her  waywardnesB 
amuse.  Faults  may  compel  him  to  up- 
braid her-Hoaisoonduct  mav  drive  him 
to  abandon  ;  but  she  has  tnia  security 
-^let  it  guide  her  choice  in  all  inter- 
course with  a  man  of  heart  and  feelings 
that  his  dearest  wish  is  incomplete^ 
whfle  the  laut  of  hers  remains  un- 
gratified. 

But  there  is  one  fault,  which  no 
tears,  no  penitence,  can  atone  for; 
one  act  which  murders  at  once,  man's 
lore — his  confidence— and  his  pride ; 
<me  crime  which  may  be  pardoned,  but, 
while  life  holds,  cannot  be  forgotten ; 
—beyond  which  there  is  no  hope,  and 
from  which— sooner  from  the  grave, 
there  is  return!  The  mask  which  man 
wears  abroad,  to  bide  his  follies,  and 
his  interetta-^the  armour  in  which  he 
cloches  himself  against  man — against 
MAN,  whether  friend  or  foe — all  this 
is  stripped  (^before  the  woman  that 
he  kves ;  and  nature  springs  rejoicing 
in  her  proper,  though  unwonted  free- 
dom. But,  thus  naked,  let  him  once 
be  wounded,  and  he  never  stands  se- 
cure again !  He  does  not  take  fright 
hastily.  The  last  thing — it  is  so  or- 
dered by  a  merciful  Providence ! — the 
last  thing  that  a  man  doubts,  is  a  wo- 
man's fidelity.  Tell  him  that  she  is 
proud— and  prodigal — and  n^ligent 
— 4nd  vindictive — that  her  foUy  has 
blasted  his  proo^ects — ^her  extrava- 
ffance  dissipated  nis  fortune — all  this 
he  will  listen  to,  for  it  does  not  quite 
shut  out  all  hope ;  but  tell  him  that 
she  is  unfaithful,  and  his  very  heart 
and  soul  reject  the  charge,  for  shm- 
der!  Hint  only  that  there  has  been 
thoughtlessness— indiscretion— a  mo- 
mentary indulgence  of  vanity — ^that  a 
smile  has,  even  accidentally,  called 
forth  a  corresponding  simper  from  the 
world — say  that  his  ruin  has  been  ima- 
gined—dreamed of— resolved  agtdnst 
— 4hat  the  thing  has  occurred  as  pos- 
sible— the  hunmred  thousandth  por- 
tion of  an  atom — ^the  amount  for  which 
alffebrahaa  noname — ^the  line's  breadth, 
which  is  nuuhematically  nothins— of 
approach  to  a  thought  of  it— and  the 
very  vital  principle  throws  back  the 
diairge,  for  life  cannot  go  forward  in 
connection  with  it !  He  will  not  light- 
ly credit  that  as  true,  which  he  feels 
he  is  lost  if  he  does  but  pause  to  think 
of  I  He  will  not  confess  that  wound — 
even  to  himself— for  which  all  nature 
aflSirds  no  remedy : — that  stain  which 
blood  may  change  the  hue  of,  but 


which  ev&i  blood  cannot  wash  oat! 
but  let  the  tmth— spite  of  disgust! — 
once  be  finked  wpon  nim ;  and  it  lives 
with  him — ^body  and  soul — ^through 
his  existence — ne  is  lost  to  the  wo- 
man who  betrays  him-^to  the  whole 
sex — and  to  happiness  for  ever — assu- 
rances of  truth,  ne  shall  smile  at ;  its 
ajppearances  shdlhave  no  weight  wiUi 
mm ;  he  has  learned  the  hard  lesson, 
that  he  is  not  (as  he  thought  he  was) 
infallible ; — and  though  the  reality  <^ 
security  may  be  restored  to  him,  the 
belief  of  it  can  never  be ! 

It  is  a  hard  lesson  this  to  learn, 
Fletcher,  and  one  which  it  disturbs  a 
man  even  to  think  of.  Is  it  written,  I 
wonder,  that  I  am  to  go  through  the 
horrible  ordeal  of  acquiring  it ;  or  am 
I  to  glide  drowsily  on,  and  easily,  into 
nonentily  and  forty !  Shall  I  arrive  at 
the  mildest,  or  the  most  painful,  con- 
dition of  a  man  whose  youth  is  past  ? 
Endure  an  agony  of  recollection ;  or 
go  off  in  apathy  of  feeling  ? — ^knowing 
that  the  mass  of  men  are  knaves,  ana 
myself  little  better  than  the  rest ;  lodc- 
ing  to  probabilities  rather  than  to  state- 
ments, in  every  transaction ;  ceasing 
to  have  any  virtue  very  active,  but 
knowing  vice  too  well  to  be  misled  by 
it ;  desuinff  wealth  as  children  covet 
counters ;  minldng  of  my  own  funeral 
as  a  matter  of  possibility ;  and  gradu- 
ally—this  is  the'' mereoblivion'  — rfor- 
getting  that  such  a  thing  as  gratification 
ever  existed  ? 

Ah!  Fletcher,  this  is  no  new,  no 
questionable  shape  of  feeling !  What 
led  the  knight  of  old  to  the  hermitage, 
the  sovereign  to  the  cloister — vrmt 
but  a  sense  that  virtual  death  required 
a  virtual  tomb  ?  The  warrior  lived  but 
upon  the  tears  of  his  enemies,  the 
smiles  of  his  mistress :  His  music  was 
the  neighing  of  his  battle-steed,  or  the 
song  of  the  minstrel  on  the  feast-night 
in  his  haU !  Aks !  if  the  trumpet 
sounds  now,  it  does  but  call  'abler 
diampons  to  the  combat ;  the  min- 
strel's song  is  of  his  deeds,  but  it  is  of 
deeds  which  he  can  do  no  more !  Oh ! 
those  words  which  no  man,  perhaps  in 
any  state,  was  pleased  to  hear— the  flat 
thatbarspossibility—the^Never  again! 
— ^never!"  Rdease  me  from  torture 
with  those  words,  and  their  chilling 
import  arrests  my  gratitude  for  the 
moment  Take  a  man  from  misery — 
*'  for  ever" — and  he  doubts  for  an  in- 
stant— '*  was  it  misery  ?" 

Be  sure  I  will  never  be  content  to 


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1884.;3         lMttri(jntikiimaus)qfCharks  Edwards,  Esq,  No.  21.  399 


do  that  ill,  whidi  I  onoe  could  do  to 
admintioii  I  Five  years  will  tOon  be 
ptssed,  and  then ! 

And  there  are  clouds  in  the  eren- 
ing  sky  that  is  closing  round  upon  me 
— not  constant,  but— dark  masses  of 
shallow— ISftUing  gloomily  now  and 
then,  i  write  long  letters,  you  see, 
which  is  an  ill  sign.  And  I  sneer  at 
your  trifling,  and  at  that  of  others, 
when  it  would  be  better  if  I  could 
trifle  myself.  The  future,  the  future  1 
—and  yet  it  is  impossible  not  to  think 
of  it.  This  beautiful  girl  1— I  could  be 
happy  with  her  now  I  But,  if  I  lived, 
where  should  I  be — what  would  be- 
come of  me  ten  years  hence  ? 

I  will  write  no  more,  nor  think  any 
more,  upon  this  subject,  or  upon  any 
other  subject.  I  ^  out  of  fovour  witn 
myself  by  brooding  OTer  the  absurdi« 
ties  of  tlie  world.  I  can  pass,  I  think, 
(with  my  certificate  of  serrice,)  for 
thirty?  And  so  be  younger  than  half 
your  acquaintance,  who  are  slaves  to 
tight  boots  and  phdtad  pantaloons. — 
Mercy  on  me,  what  must  the  man  be. 


when  the  shirt-coUar  is  a  oontidert- 
t  on  1 

I  will  have  some  soda  water,  and 
some  more  coffee.  You  have  the  ad- 
vantage of  me  in  ioe,  and  now  I  feel  it. 

Farewell !  Write  when  you  can  do 
nothing  else,  when  you  are  vapour- 
ed,  ^d  then  I  shall  be  sure  to  hear 
the  truth.  Acknowledgments,  for  the 
proposition  with  respect  to  the  New 
Club ;  but  the  most  straight^laced 
member  belonging  to  it  will  never  win 
a  shilling  from  me.  What !  am  I  not 
like  the  Roman  who  received  ambaa- 
sadors  as  he  was  boiling  cauliflowers 
in  his  kitchen  ?  Can  you  hope  to  tempt 
a  man  who  lives  in  Usk,  and  doesn't 
care  twopence  for  all  the  opera-dancers 
in  England  t 

Farewell !  for  Eliza  and  her  aunt 
are  eoing  to  take  their  evening  walk. 
My  head  aches  a  little — ^I  may  as  well 
go  out  too.  You  may  write;  for  I 
dare  say  I  shall  stay  here  a  return  of 
post.  But  believe  me,  at  all  times, 
and  in  all  places,  ever  your  friend, 
C*  £» 


PUNISHMENTS  IK  THE  AEMT. 


We  were  just  sitting  down  to  put  a 
few  observations  together  upon  this 
question,  which,  after  being  abandon- 
ed by  the  honourable  member  for 
Westminster,  has  been  taken  up  by 
the  honoumblc  member  for  Aberdeen, 
when  we  received  a  newspaper  con- 
taining the  speech  of  Sir  Hussey  Vi- 
vian, on  the  third  reading  of  the  Mu- 
siuy  Bill,  which  pretty  nearly  relieves 
us  from  all  trouble  on  the  subject.  The 
question,  as  far  as  it  was  necessary  to 
consider  it  at  all,  did  quite  as  well 
probably  in  the  hands  of  Mr  Hume, 
as  it  could  have  done  in  the  hands  of 
Sir  Francis  Burdett ;  Sir  Francis  ne- 
ver troubled  himself  at  all  about  the 
principle  of  the  thing ;  and  as  to  the 
practice,  (from  his  service  with  the 
armv,)  Mr  Hume  would  probably  be 
the  better  informed  of  the  two.  With 
respect  to  the  "  Facts,"  that  is  to  say, 
the  "  floggings  to  death,"  &c,  (upon 
which  all  the  opponents  of  corporal 
punishments  rdy,)-— even  supponng 
them  made  out,  with  the  fitness  or 
unfitness  of  that  punishment  they 
have  nothing  to  do  whatever ;  but  tlie 
expcsition  of  Sir  H.  Vivian,  thous^ 
given  very  simply,  and  in  few  wonto, 
contained  exactly  the  detail  which 
Vol.  XV. 


was  wanted,  to  set  reasonable  minda 
at  rest  upon  the  matter. 

The  real  points  in  the  question  (fer 
argument,)  lie,  as  it  seems  to  us,  in  a 
very  narrow  compass.  MrMonck,^the 
member  for  Readmg,)  on  the  first  night 
of  the  discussion,  says  something  about 
a  scale  of  reward,  (to  supoly  the  place 
of  punishment,)  establlsned  for  the 
soloier;  and  hints  at  a  scheme  for 

Oaway  annually,  a  certain  num- 
oommissions  (as  of  right)  among 
the  privates  of  regiments ;  which,  ac- 
cording to  his  view,  would  be  an  assi- 
milation to  the  course  pursued  in  the 
armies  of  France.  But,  setting  aside 
that  the  punishments  in  the  Conti- 
nental armies  are,  in  truth,  more  se- 
vere, though  not  so  effective,  as  our 
own;  that  the  French  troops  have 
been  raised  out  of  a  diflerent  class  d 
men,  and  disciplined  upon  a  different 
principle;  and,  moreover,  that  the 
mere  dissimilarity  of  esprit  between 
the  two  nations  must  necessarily  call 
for  a  material  difference  of  re^tme  and 
regulaticm,  a  moment's  thougnt  shews 
VLi  that  the  adoption  of  Mr  Monck's  ar- 
rangement would  entirely  change  the 
political  constitution  of  our  anny; 
and  that  there  needs  no  thought  to 
2F 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Punishments  in  the  Army. 


400 

shew  the  neeewity  of  let^g  that  con- 
Btitutioii  remain  as  it  is. 

The  memher  for  Reading  saw  part  of 
the  question  clearly  enough ;  but  he 
could  not  see  the  whole  of  it.  He  saw^ 
ibr  instance^  that  it  is  not  easy  to  make 
a  man  serre  diligently,  who  does  not 
wish  to  senre  at  all.  Our  dom^tic- 
servants — artisans  of  all  descriptions — 
these  people  will  conduct  themselvea 
with  propriety^  from  the  fear  of  losing* 
their  employments.  But,  if  we  are  to 
talk  about  "  abolishing"  the  power  of 
inflicting  corporal  punishments  in  the 
army,  we  must  not  take  the  country  as 
it  is  now — ^we  must  look  toa  state  of  war 
as  well  as  to  a  state  of  peace — we  must 
go  back  to  the  state  of  affiurs  between 
1809  and  1812,  when  Sir  Francis  Bur- 
dett  was  exerting  himself  to  accom- 
plish this  same  object ;  and  when  it  is 
notorious,  that  so  far  from  apprehend- 
tii^disclurge  from  their  employment 
as  a  loss,  soldiers  were  content  to  risk 
the  several  punishments,  and  even  to 
inflict  mutiktion  upon  themselves,  to 
get  away  from  it.  Upon  common  ana- 
h)gy,  it  was  impossible  that  the  case 
shoidd  be  otherwise.  The  same  roan 
who  was  getting  thirteeapence  a-day, 
as  a  soldier,  subject  to  a  grievous  re- 
straint upon  his  personal  liberty  and 
conduct,  could  go  and  earn,  as  a  wea- 
ver, from  five  to  six  shillinp  a-day, 
subject  to  no  restraint  at  ail.  Why 
then,  unless  we  could  give  this  man, 
fbr  being  a  soldier,  something  like  the 
same  pay  that  he  would  receive  far  be- 
ing an  artisan,  (which  would  have  add- 
ed to  our  war  expenditure  about  eight 
or  nine  millions  per  atmum,)  we  stood 
little  chance  of  making  him  "  afraid," 
to  say  the  least  of  it,  of  being  discbar- 
ged---allowing  for  no  possible  distaste 
(beyond  mere  pecuniary  consideration) 
to  the  service ;  and,  for  the  suggestion 
of  imitating  the  French  system,  or  gi- 
ving away  commissions  as  a  matter  of 
''  right,"  BO  as  to  make  the  soldier  a 

rcdator,  fond  of  his  profession  as 
road  to  fortune  I — say,  still,  that 
instances  of  distaste,  or  want  of  con- 
duct, would  not  appeaiv-say  that  our 
men  would  certainly  reject  porter  in 
the  present,  for  promotion  in  the  fu- 
ture—then, what  would  become,  with 
an  army  so  constituted — ^what  would 
become  of  the  constitution,  and  of  the 
liberties  of  England  ?  We  are  not  apt 
to  cry  «'  Wolf !"  very  hastily,  but  this 
would  be  *'  dragooning"  the  country 
with  a  vengeance!  Would  all  thespeech- 


CApra, 


es  for  **  retrenchment,"  (with  a  mi- 
litary force  so  composed,)  have  enabled 
government  to  get  rid  (safely)  (^  fifty 
thousand  men  within  the  last  seven 
years? 

But  we  will  take  it  for  granted,  that, 
as  regards  its  political  constitution,  our 
army  must  remain  what  it  is, — unless 
those  gentlemen,  who  so  much  com- 
mend the  military  system  of  France, 
would  like  to  accept  the  system  of 
France  in  this  country?  And  the 
next  question, — ^whether,  as  our  army 
stands,  we  shall  maintain  its  discipline, 
is  disposed  of  in  a  moment. 

Upon  the  excellence  of  our  disci- 
pline, and  the  advantages  fiowing  from 
It,  we  believe  there  can  be  but  one 
opinion.  Take  it  for  good  and  ill,  and 
it  is  superior — ^we  say  superior,  to  any 
in  Europe.  We  were  told,  in  18|S,  of 
the  ^'  Portuguese  troops,"  whom  we 
were  making  soldiers,  '*  without  fioff* 
ging !"  Ask  oflicers  who  served  witn 
diem,  what  their  discipline  really  was ; 
and,  farther,  whether  they  were  not 
Jlftgged  with  the  sword,  in  regiments 
commanded  by  Englishmen  ?  We 
are  told,  that  in  Prussia,  there  is  now 
no  corporal  punishment !  Ask  if  it 
ever  happens  in  Prussia,  that  an  of- 
ficer beats  a  soldier  with  his  bare  Jists 
upon  parade  ?  The  mere  military  dis- 
cipline of  the  French  may  be  equal  to 
ours — their  field  discipline — (tnough 
that,  as  a  general  proposition,  well  in- 
formed people  are  not  quite  ready  to 
admit,)  but  what  is  the  comparison  as 
to  their  moral  discipline — their  disci- 
pline in  quarters  and  in  the  camp? 
Why,  there  is  not  a  man  who  ever 
servefl  against  the  French  half  a  cam- 
paign, that  can  hesitate  in  answerinff 
the  Question.  Sir  H.  Vivian  stated 
broaoly  in  the  House  of  CommonSy 
and  there  is  not  a  military  man  to 
whom  the  fact  is  not  notorious,  that, 
in  the  south  of  France,  during  the  last 
war,  the  superiordisciplineof  our  troops 
was  worth  a  force  of  ten  thousand 
men  to  us.  We  have  made  our  soldiers 
fight,  and  beat  all  before  them,  with- 
out either  the  spur  of  brandy,  or  the 
prospect  of  plunder — ^we  have  made 
them  invincible,  so  long  as  we  tell 
them  to  go  on,  and  perfectly  amenable 
the  moment  they  resume  their  ranks ; 
and  shall  we  talk  lightly — ^not  of  cor- 
recting abuses,  for  let  abuse,  we  say, 
be  punished  without  mercy — as  the 
power  vested  is  necessarily  great,  let 
the  consequences  of  trifling  with  it  be 


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PwmhnumU  in  the  Army, 


proportumably  hetTj ;  bat,  after  fen- 
oenng  oar  troop8--«od  can  any  crea- 
ture deny  it  ? — ^indisputably  the  very 
best  soldim  in  aU  Europe,  shall  we  talk 
(lightly)  of  giWng  up  the  discipline 
under  which  such  rmlts  have  been 
arriTed  at  ? 

We  then  come  to  the  only  reoi  ones* 
tion — (for  the  others  were  scarcely  fit 
to  Pfose  upon)-»can  the  existing  dis- 
cipline of  our  army,  be  mtfuitained 
without  the  power  of  inflicting  corpo- 
ral punishment  ?  The  practicia  eyil  of 
the  right,  (as  it  stands,)  is  confened  to 
be  almost  nothing.  The  «  Men  flogged 
to  death,"  (even  when  they  are  to  be 
got,)  do  irery  little,  with  us,  towards 
an  alteration  of  the  system.     The 
**  Cases"  commonly  come  from.persons 
who  have  an  interest  in  misrepMsenta- 
tioQ ;  they  are  put  into  the  hands  of 
gentlemen  unacquainted,  practically^ 
with  military  r^^ulation;  and,  nine 
times  in  ten,  when  thoroughly  sifted, 
they  turn  out  to  have  no  foundation 
whatever.  But,  although  we  have,  even 
ia  soppositioa,  very  few  men  '^  flog- 
oed  to  death"  now-a-days,  and,  in- 
deed, very  few  men,  as  the  truth  is, 
flciggcd  at  aU,  yet  we  will  admit  the 
poattbility  of  abases,  and,  what  is  te 
worse.  Of  accidents ;   and   what  is 
proved  then,  bat  that  the  one  must  be 
paniahed,and  theother  guarded  against 
as  raoeh  as  powble  ?  A  man — now  we 
will  take  lust  the  most  dreadful  case 
tiiat  could  hqipen — a  man  of  peculiar 
eoostitution,  (the  thing  is  phyiicaUy 
possible,)  dies  m  consequence  ctf  recei- 
ving a  hundred  stripes,  while  a  stur- 
dier ofl^der  would  havesuffered  thrice 
that  number  without  serious  iiuury. 
This  is  a  poonbilitv  which  one  shuo- 
ders  almost  to  think  of— but  is  it  not 
just  as  possible  that  one  man  may 
catch  a  cold,  and  a  fever,  and  die, 
by  being  put  into  a  common  stone- 
lloored  cdl  in  a  county  gad,  which 
a  hundred  other  rogues  had  inhabited 
without  sustaining  any  inconvenience 
whatever?    In  eitner  case^and  Hea^ 
ven  forbid  that  either  should  happen 
once  in  fifty  years — ^but,  in  either  case, 
what  haa  happened,  except  an  accident 
which,  as  fsr  as  we  can,  we  eodeavoar 
to  govd against?  And, for  the  fear  of 
abuse,  that  seems  to  us  to  be  a  matter 
ofinooniparably  less  importance.  The 
power  of  flogging  is  opai  to  abuse ! — 
and  what  power  is  there  that  is  not  ? 
What  beeomes  of  the  authority  of  the 
ocroiity  magiatnte;  what  becomaa  of 


401 


the  authority  of  the  common  conata^ 
ble;  what  becomes  of  the  very  name 
of  authoritv  altogether ;  if  we  are  to 
have  no  autnority  that  may  be  abused  ? 
The  question  is  not,  is  our  military 
system  perfect?  but,  is  it  as  perfect  as 
we  are  ukely  to  make  it  ?  What  rea- 
sonable man  ever  completed  any  ar- 
rangement, without  looking  to  provide 
(of  course)  against  the  faults  of  it  ? 
Corrupt  conduct  must  be  punished  in 
the  army,  as  it  is  punished  everywhere 
elK.  Make  the  penalty  as  severo  aa 
you  will,  and  inflict  it  without  lenity 
or  favour.  But  do  not  say  **  give  up 
police,"  because  pdice  officers  some- 
times misconduct  themselves,  or  for- 
bid the  lighting  of  fire,  because  pec^le 
now  and  then  are  hanged  for  arson. 

But  it  is  agreed,  that  cases  of 
abuse,  at  the  present  moment  at  all 
events,  are  very  rare ;  and  alM>,  (thia 
is  an  important  point  in  our  discus- 
sicm,)  that  the  abolition  of  corporal 
punidiment  must  be  confined  to  home 
service, — Sir  Ronald  Fergutson,  who 
votes  in  fiivour  of  restraining  it  iq>  to 
that  point,  avowing  his  conviction  of 
the  utter  impossibality  of  dispensing 
with  it  abroao.  Now,  we  will  not  pat 
the  possibility  of  actual  service  in 
Great  Britain,  because  we  have  (inde- 
pendent of  possibilities)  more  than 
enough  immediately  in  hand ;  but  we 
will  cone  at  once  to  the  punishments 
(and  they«  of  coarse,  most  be  milder 
ones)  that  are  to'be  substituted  for  the 
punishment  of  flogging;  or  to  the 
means  generally^  be  they  what  they 
may,  that  are  to  influence  our  sddieity 
independent  of  that  infliction. 

And,  first,  a  few  words  as  to  the  ma- 
terial of  which  a  British  army  is  made 
up ;  because,  wherever  men  are  to  be 
*'  induced^"  their  condition  in  life,  mo- 
ral and  physical,  becomes  an  important 
consideration. — During  the  war,  our 
army  consisted — and  it  ia  in  time  of 
WW  that  we  must  look  at  it— daring 
the  war  our  army  consisted  of  the 
leMt  manageable  members  of  the  com* 
munity.  Idle  lads^  who  bad  tried 
twenty  callings,  tried  the  trade  of  a 
soldier  among  their  other  experiments. 
Labourers  came,  whose  ill  habits  had 
left  them  without  employ.  Some  men 
enlisted,  becanse  they  wished,  law- 
ft^7>  ^  get  i^  ^^  wives  and  chil- 
dren ;  others,  under  a  oonomutation  of 
some  minor  penalties  of  the  law ;  and 
a  great  number  of  blodrheads  joined, 
bmose  their  easpmess  for  vul^  dia- 


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PunUfnnerUs  in  the  Arm^. 


CApril, 


-sipttion  made  them  unable  to  resist 
tbe  desire  to  lavish  a  **  bounty"  of 
twenty  guineas.     The  exceptions  to 
characters  like  these  were  few;  and 
the  exceptions  did  not  make  the  best 
field  soldiers.   It  will  be  obvious,  that 
a  mass  of  such  persons,  in  any  em- 
ploy, would  be  difficult  to  control; 
we  brought  them  into  a  new  life, 
which  they  had  fancied  was  an  easy 
one ;  made  them  learn  rather  a  trou« 
blesome  trade,  which  they  had  fancied 
required  no  learning  at  all;  worked 
them  smartly,  paid  them  poorly,  and 
■nlgected  them  to  every  kind  of  perso- 
nal restriction  I    This  last  grievance 
was  not  the  lightest     Englishmen 
have  no  sympathy  with  restraint    A 
labourer  works  out  his  stated  time ; 
and  is  free,  when  the  bell  strikes,  to 
do  as  he  lists.   He  may  be  a  drunken, 
quarrelsome,  idle,  dirty,  profligate  va« 

Sbond ;  and  yet,  if  he  comes  at  six  in 
e  morning,  and  works  until  six  in  the 
evening,  it  is  enough.  But  we  regu- 
late the  whole  domestic  arrangements 
of  a  sddier.  On  duty,  or  in  quarters, 
be  is  still  under  mrvetZ/ance.  Wedis- 
poie  of  his  pay,  settle  his  clothing,  li- 
mit his  amusements,  curb  his  tongue, 
and  insist,  besides,  upon  his  conform- 
ing to  habits  of  peaceablenes,  sobriety, 
and  punctuality,  to  which  (the  proba- 
bility is  at  least)  he  has  been  entirely 
unaccustomed.  All  this  is  to  be  ao- 
eompHshed  by  the  dread  of  two  pe- 
nalties, "Fine"  and  •*- Imprisonment" 
"  It's  ill,"  as  the  proverb  says,  "  ta- 
kin'  ^e  breeks  off  a  Highlandman"— 
and  yet  a  Highlandman,  though  he  has 
DO  **  bredcs, '  makes  a  good  soldier  for 
aU  that  Let  us  see  howfar  these pe- 
naltiesof  Fine"  and  '<  Imprisonment" 
can  be  made  applicable. 

A  soldier  (m  England)  has  very 
little,  either  of  pnmerty  or  leisure, 
which  the  benefit  ot  the  service  wiU 
allow  to  be  taken  from  him.  The 
fimlts  for  whidi  he  woSen  at  home, 
are  commonly  these-— insdence  to  of- 
ficers, or  non-commissioned  officers; 
absence  i^m  hours  of  exercise  or  pa- 
rade ;  neglect  of  imposed  duty ;  quar- 
rel ;  theft,  (this  is  generaUy  <^  trifles;) 
•dlinff  his  clothes  or  accoutrements; 
wilfully  damanng  the  r^;imental  pro- 
perty ;  alovenUness  in  his  appearance  ; 
disoDedience  of  orders;  and  drunken- 
ness. The  last  of  these  ofllences  is  the 
parent  <^  all  the  rest  The  propensity 
to  drink,  (fWmi  which  the  French  and 
Crermans  are  pretty  yearly  free.)  cau^ 


ses  nineteen  in  twen^  of  the  crimes 
that  an  English  sokher  commits;  at 
the  same  time,  it  is  only  fbr  overt  acts 
of  ofltoce,  and  for  those  very  f^equcnu 
ly  repeated — never  for  fiiults  of  nc^- 
gence,  that  corporal  punishment  is 
resorted  to.    From  **  Fining/'»^om« 
to  the  detail, — ^very  little  gcml  can  be 
expected.    If  a  soldier  be  a  married 
man  you  can't  fine  him.     Thirteen- 
pence  a-day  (sul^ject  to  certain  de- 
ductions) is  little  enough  already  to 
support  a  man  and  his  wife.    A  see- 
dier who  is  not  married,  lives  (as  the 
technical  term  is)  **  in  mess;"  and 
then  his  pay  is  distributed  pretty  near- 
ly as  follows. — So  mudi  for  nis  '*  mesa" 
«-that  is,  fbr  bread  and  meat,  &c 
whidi  is  daily  issued  to  him ;  so  much 
kept  back  for  "  arrears," — that  is  re- 
tained to  the  end  of  each  month,  to  pro- 
vide such  articles  of  clothing  and  regi- 
mental necessaries  as  he  fVnmishes  him- 
self, the  overplus  (more  or  less,  accord- 
ing to  what  properties  he  may  have 
wanted)  being  paid  to  him  in  money  at 
the  regular  day  of  settlement ;  and  so 
much  (this  is  firom  eightpenoe  to  ten- 
pence)  issued  weekly,  under  the  denomi- 
nation,  we  believe,  of  "  Beer-money," 
which  forms  the  whole  of  the  soldien' 
spending  money,  between  tbe  Sith  of 
one  month,  and  the  94th  of  another. 
Now,  the  short  ob^jection  to  fining,  is 
that  the  soldier  has  it  in  his  power  to 
defeat  the  penal^.     The  ''  arrear" 
pays,  as  we  have  observed,  for  inciden- 
tal expenses — ^It  finds  a  man  linn, 
stockings,  trowsers,  shoes,  blacking, 
brushes,  and  other  articles  of  personal 
necessity ;  and  pays  also  fi>r  any  acci- 
dental damage,  or  loss,  which  may 
happen  to  the  appointmenta  supfdied 
to  nim  by  government    The  destina- 
tion of  tins  fund,  therefore,  depends  in 
a^at  measure,  it  will  be  seen,  upon  the  • 
will  of  the  soldier  himself ;  and  it  ocmi* 
monlv  happens,  indeed,  diat  a  steady 
man  nas  six  or  seven  shillings  balance 
at  the  end  of  each  month  to  receive, 
while  the  drunkard  has  eaten  up  all,  and 
is  perhaps  '<  in  debt,"  (that  is  to  say, 
has  received  issues  to  a  ^ater  amount 
Uian  his  whde  **  arrear'*  will  cover, 
into  the  bargain.)     Now,  if  once  a 
system  of  fimng  was  regularly  carried 
into  action,  the  men  would  deal  ao  as 
to  waste  their  whole  ''  arrear,'*  (in  the 
month,)    without   leaving   anythinir 
which  could  be  deducted  for  "  Finea, 
and  so  the  power  in  the  quarters 
where  it  was  most  needed,   vroold 


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become  a  detd  letter;  idd^ 


too,  wliiA  military  men  will  lee  *at 
oDoe,  that  such  an  arrangement  would^ 
in  all  probability,  lead  to  habits  of 
^;eneial  eardesaness,  and  to  the  fre* 
quent  tale  of  necessariei ;  the  first  of 
which  would  be  prodoctiye  of  infinite 
mischief  to  the  sendee,  as  the  last  is 
already  a  high  military  offence. 

We  come  next,  to  the  penalty  of 
**  Imprisonment,"  which,  where  the 
troops  are  in  '*  quarters,"  lies  open, 
directly,  to  objection.  In  barracks,  it 
wovld  be  possible,  certainly,  to  build 
a  specific  prison  for  the  refractory; 
we  shall  shew  before  we  have  done, 
that  a  tolerably  spadoos  one  would 
probably  be  requn^ ;  but,  in  quar- 
ters, there  would  be  no  resource  bat 
to  hand  men  over  to  the  civil  power; 
and  we  will  put  it  to  those  who 
resist  corporal  punishment,  as  de- 
grading to  the  '^  character"  of  the 
army,  whether  it  would  greatly  in- 
crease its  resnectability  to  see  soldiers 
marched  in  naif  doiens,  day  by  day^ 
like  common  felons,  in  and  out  of  a 
bridewell  or  county  prison  ?  We  say 
**  day  by  day,"  beoiuse  the  number  of 
punishments  under  the  new  regime 
would  as  certainly  increase,  as  the 
number  of  burglaries  would  increase 
in  larae  towns,  if  bursary  ceased 
henoe^rth  to  be  a  capital  offimce. 
Whatevo'  objections  may  arise  to  at- 
taching severe  punishments  to  particu- 
lar crimes,  diere  can  be  little  doubt  that 
(where  the  penalty  h  firmly  inflict- 
ed) tl^  frequency  of  the  oflfence  will 
abate.  For  one  housebreaker,  we  have 
twenty  pickpodcets ;  this  can  hardly 
be  beomse  toe  abstracter  of  handker- 
ehi^s  has  a  nicer  sense  of  moral  pro- 
priety, than  ^e  burster  of  street  doors ; 
It  is  because  he  knows  he  is  only  doing 
an  act  which  subjects  him  to  less  se- 
rious conseqfiences. 

There  is  another  principle,  whidi 
we  shall  immediately  notice,  upon 
which  the  frequency  of  punishments 
in  the  army  (subject  to  die  abolition 
of  the  power  of  flogging,)  would  neces- 
sarily merease ;  but,  for  the  present, 
we  go  on  with  the  efficacy  of  Impri- 
sonment, and  ita  power  oi  application. 
And,  waiving  the  unreasonableness  of 
confining  a  man  in  a  gaol  with  felons, 
for  that  act,  which,  though  a  military 
offence,  would,  out  of  the  army,  be  no 
offimce  at  all ;  and  waiving  the  little 
slur  whidi  it  would  cast  upon  the  cha- 
racter of  the  service,  to  see  our  men 


in  ihe,Army,  40S 

marching,  in  broad  day,  in  and  ontof 
a  common  prison ;  and  wairing  the  fiu>t 
farther,  that  imprisonment  mis  never 
been  considered,  hy  our  criminsl  law, 
as  a  penalty  sufficiently  imposing  to 
prevent  men  from  doing  that  whidi 
they  have  a  mind  to  do;  there  are 
operating  causes  (as  every  military  man 
is  aware}  which  tend  to  make  impri- 
sonment less  terrible  to  a  soldier,  toan 
it  iff  to  individuals  in  common  life.  The 
man  lives  upon  the  qm  vive.  He  fiigs 
hard,  (the  dragoon  particulariy)  aleeps 
little ;  and,  habHtialfy,  enjoys  ?erv  little 
personal  liberty.  Where  a  soldier  hss 
two  or  three  guards  (t.e.  is  twoor  ^ree 
times  up  all  night)  m  a  week ;  Uve^-^ 
eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping, — under 
the  eye  of  some  one  who  commands 
him  :  for,  by  a  clause  in  the  mutiny 
act,  (which  might  now  be  repealed,)  he 
is  a  oeserter  if  he  be  found  at  a  greater 
distance  than  a  mile  from  his  quarters  ; 
to  such  a  man,  if  he  be  at  all  an  idle 
or  irregular  fellow,  a  fbw  davs  of  shut- 
ting up  becomes  a  rest  rather  than  a 
punishment.  The  adjutant  diould  not 
be  sole  judge  in  a  question  of  this  de- 
scription, Imt  he  is  an  authority  ex- 
tremely necessary  to  be  consulted  upon 
it.  Everv  officer  knows  that  there  are 
men  in  all  regiments,  and  men  whose 
example  woum  speedily  do  mischief,  if 
it  were  not  corrected,  who  would  fre- 
quentlv  rather  take  a  day's  confine- 
ment, (or  two, )  than  mount  their  guard. 
This  ftct  alone,  ia  sufficient  to  make 
imprisonment  entirely  inefficacious,  aa 
the  highest  order  of  punishment;  with- 
out adverting  to  a  praedcal  inconven^ 
ence  very  material,  which  would  aiue 
out  of  it— to  wit,  that,  as  soon  as  vou 
put  a  man  into  confinement,  you  lose 
ids  services  as  a  soldier;  andinacav^ 
rv  rmment  this  amounts  to  a  consider- 
able difficulty,  because  some  one  must 
be  found  to  take  (diarge  of  his  horse. 

The  same  objection  applies — their 
complete  inefficacy  in  pnictiGe-.-to  a 
variety  of  punishments,  unknown  pro- 
bably to  tne  parliamentary  abditMn*- 
ists,  which  have  been  tried  at  difibcnt 
times,  by  commanding-officers  of  re* 
giments  and  depots,  who  have  been 
very  anxious  to  supersede  the  necessi* 
ty  of  resortmg  to  the  lash.  In  some 
cases,  bad  soldiers  were  put  to  fiiigm$ 
— diat  is,  to  sweeping,  cleaning,  cmb* 
ing,  &c  instead  of  military  duty. 
This  was  soon  found  so  extremely 
agreeable  to  the  parties,  that  it  is  • 
rule  in  thebestn^i^iktedregimenti,!!* 


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tber  to  keep  luch  men  fhmi  their  "  re- 
gular turns"  at  such  anploy.  Extra 
drill  is  inapplictble  to  any  extent ;  for 
men  will  be  obstinately  careless  in 
going  through  their  exercise,  &c. 
Against  this  (for  yoa  cannot  prove 
contumacy)  there  is  no  remedy ;  and 
it  is  most  danserous  in  the  army,  to 
strike  a  blow  that  does  not  tell.  Ex^ 
tra  guards  cannot  go  far.  Where  the 
•oldier  has  already  sufficient  duty,  you 
compel  him  to  be  dirty  and  slovenly, 
if  you  add  materially  to  his  labour ; 
this  is  correcting  a  man  for  one  faulty 
and  forcing  him  to  be  guilty  of  another. 
The  confining  men  as  prisoners,  and 
making  them  work  by  day  bX  fatigue  f 
This  never  did  much  good  at  any  time ; 
for  the  men  were  apt  to  be  insolent 
and  unmanageable  to  the  non-com- 
missioned  officers  who  superintended 
them;  but  take  away  the  power  of 
corporal  punishment,  and — what  if 
they  should  refuse  to  work?  This 
would  be  the  law  of  the  constable  in 
Much  ado  about  Nothing, 

•*  Dogberry,  You  are  to  bid  any 
man  stand,  in  the  Prince's  name. 

*'  Watchman,  MOiat  if  he  .will  not 
stand? 

*' Dogberry.  Why,  then,  let  him  go." 

One  further  punishment  only— the 
Long  Drill^^we  shall  stay  to  advert 
to.  We  don't  know  wdl  what  has 
become  of  it  now,  but  it  got  into  use 
a  good  deal  after  ihe  Parlisimentary  de- 
bates on  **  flogging"  in  1811  and  1819. 
The  infliction  consisted  in  loading  a 
man  with  his  whde  weight  of  arms 
and  accoutrements ;  buckling  hisknap- 
sack  on  his  back,  in  what  is  termed 
"  marching  order ;"  and  in  that  state 
walking  him  up  and  down  (say)  a  gra- 
velled barrack-yard — ^in  the  rain,  or 
under  a  burning  sun,  for  six  or  eight 
hours  together.  This  punishment,  as 
regarded  cruelty,  and  danger  to  the 
health  of  the  oronder,  was  incompara- 
bly more  olnectionable  than  a  slight 
punirimient  by  the  lash,  and  did  not 
produce,  in  the  event,  one  flfth  part 
10  much  efilfct. 

But,  apart  even  fWnn  these  consi- 
derations, there  are  yet  abundant  rea- 
sons why  it  would  be  mere  madness 
to  giyeup  the  powerof  flogging  in  the 
amy. 

Certainty,  which  we  can  waive,  up 
to  a  certain  pcint,  in  civil  affidrs,  is 
the. very  principle  of  life  to  military 
openitioiit.  Ponyimait,  in  the  army. 


in  the  Army,  [[AprS, 

must  be  summary,  or  half  its  value  im 
lost ;  and  it  must  be  of  a  kind  too  that 
can  neither  be  reuated  nor  evaded. 
Four-sixths  of  the  criminal  oflfances 
which  are  committed  in  civil  socieiy^ 
are  done  in  the  hope  to  escape,  (by 
some  means  or  other,)  the  penalty  at- 
tached to  them ;  diis  hope  in  the  army 
must  not  be  allowed  to  exist.  The 
minor  punishments  used  have  some 
weight  now,  because  soldiers  know 
that,  for  repeated  fiauUs,  there  is  the 
last  resort;  but  take  that  last  resort 
away,  the  minor  punishments  will 
be  slighted,  and,  probably,  rebelled 
against. 

And  a  mistake  seems  to  exist,  in 
some  quarters,  as  to  what  it  is  that 
we  aim  at  first  in  punishment.  A 
highly  respectable  member  observes, 
the  other  night,  in  the  House  of 
Commons.—*'  Men's  minds  are  not 
mended  by  infiicting  torture  on  their 
bodies."  Why,  who,  in  his  senses, 
ever  supposed  that  they  were  ?  Wh» 
ever  thought  that  men  were  made  bet- 
ter by  being  hanged?— Or  even  by 
being  transported  ? — Or  even  by  being 
put  into  the  Tread-mill  ?  Pnniaoment, 
taken  in  a  practical  sense,  is  meant  less 
to  reform  men  who  have  oomnitted 
crimes,  than  to  prevent  others  from 
imitating  them.  We  warn  the  irre- 
mediable culprit  from  offimding  again, 
by  a  dread  of  having  the  inflimm  re- 
peated ;  and  we  give  notioe  to  a  thon^ 
sand  othen,  that  his  efflmoe  cannot  be 
committed  with  impunitj. 

We  ofeject  nothing  to  the  persona 
who  put  their  trust  in  counsel  and 
prison  discipline;  their  effinrts  may 
save  the  units ;  but  the  millions  must 
be  saved  upon  a  broader  principle.  It 
is  absurd  to  say  of  severe  punish- 
ments,  that  they  excite  horror  rather 
than  deter  by  example.  We  cannot 
(absolutely)  cure  propensities  to  crime 
by  example ;  nor  tendency  to  fever  al- 
waya  b^  calomel ;  but  we  do  good  by 
exhibiting  both  the  one  and  the  other. 

Men  are  no  doubt,  for  highway  rob- 
beries, hanged,  and  highway  robberiea 
are  still  committed ;  but  oease  to  hang- 
men for  highway  robberies,  and  see 
how  the  matter  will  stand  then ! 

References  to  the  practice  **  in 
France,"  we  bave  already  said,  weigh 
with  us  nodiing.  A  laxity  of  mml 
discipline  prevails  in  the  French  atr- 
vice,  whkh  no  man  will  talk  of  per- 
mitdng  to  exist  in  ours.  Mere  ne- 
^ects  of  military  precision,— as  the 


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l«9i.3  Ptmishmenis 

Fmidi  iddier  does  not  drink^  he  it 
fitf  ksn  liaUe  than  <mra  to  offend  in. 
Thesystem  of  conscription  too,  brought 
a  kind  of  men,  as  priTstes,  into  the 
French  ranks,  mart  easily  operated 
on  by  a  feeUng  of  pride,  than  ex« 
plou^nien,  and  shoe-makers.  And, 
moreover,  it  is  not  difficolt  to  give  np 
the  power  of  flogging  soldiers,  where 
we  brand  them,  shave  their  heads, 
and  condemn  them  to  labour  as  con- 
victs— by  what  kind  of  torture  the  la- 
bour is  compelled  after  this  sentence, 
whether  wmpping  or  otherwise— does 
not  appear. 

But  the  question  is  not  what  is  done 
in  France ;  but  what  will  do  in  this 
country.  ThequestioniB  not,  if  our  sys- 
tem is  perfect ;  but  if  our  system  is  the 
best.  It  proves  nothing  to  shew,  that 
corporal  punishment  has  been  got  rid 
of  entirdy  in  one  or  two  particiuar  re- 
giments. There  is,  or  lately  was,  a 
power  in  the  army  ci  "  exchanging" 
men— not  sending  them  to  West  In- 
dian corps— but  '' exchanniu;"  them 
(on  their  own  application^  mm  one 
regiment  to  another.  By  a  judicious 
application  of  this  power,  one  sees  well 
enough  how  a  €ew  regiments  might 
contrive  (just  now)  not  to  keep  a  single 
bad  man  in  their  ranks;  but  sudi 
a  gain  advances  nothing  towards  the 
convenience  <^  the  general  service. 
We  think  that  much  may  be  done, 
(under  the  present  circumstances  of 
the  country,)  towards  getting  rid  of 
corporal  punishment;  but  we  object 
to  any  abolition  of  that  punishment 
by  law.  An  intimation  of  objec- 
tion, by  ttmthofHif,  to  the  practice, 
where  it  can  be  avoided,  will  give  all 
the  benefit  that  could  result  from  le- 
gtslation ;  and,  as  regards  the  comfort 
of  the  soldier,  it  willgive  a  great  deal 
more.  For  it  is  an  incontestable  fact — 
and  the  troops  know  it — that  they 
would  be  su^rers  by  the  total  aboli- 
tion of  corporal  punishment.  Ask 
whether  those  commanding-officers — 
for  there  are  some — ^who  have  aimed 
obstinately  at  dispensing  vrith  the  lash, 
are  more  popular,  or  as  popular,  as  those 
who  adhere  to  the  old  practice  ?  The 
reliance  entirely  upon  miprisonment, 
&C.  always  (numerically)  multiplies 
punishments.  We  can  pardon  sUght 
offences,  while  we  have  the  strong 
measure  at  hand  to  repress  excess; 
but  where  the  heaviest  pnnidiment  is 
but  li^t,  it  is  quite  sure  to  be  fre- 
quently in  operation.    Then,  to  im- 


YH  Vm  Army,  405 

prison  soldiers  who  o£fend,  is  to  throw 
the  duty  of  those  men  (additional) 
upon  their  steadier  comrades.  Where 
confinements  are  firequent  and  of  du- 
ration, this  seriously  lessens  the  ad- 
vantage of  correct  conduct.  The  men, 
en  tmute,  had  much  rather  that  the 
rogues  should  be  whipped,  and  come 
to  their  duty.  And,  st^  farther,  it 
is  quite  certain  that  all  the  schemes 
hitherto  tried  to  supersede  flogging, 
have  introduced  a  tiresome  amount  of 
ve^o— an  eniUess  preventive  arrange- 
ment  which  touches  upon  the  freedom 
of  the  good  soldier,  ror  the  possible 
fkults  of  the  bad  one,  and  which  is  pre- 
cisely that  sort  of  rc^;ulation  which,  as 
regards  the  law,  applicable  to  the  li- 
berty of  the  subject  generally,  we  ha- 
zard every  inconvenience  and  danger, 
rather  than  submit  to. 

As  we  object  to  the  abolition  of  cor- 
poral punishment,  as  dangerous,  so  we 
ofcgect  to  any  limitation  of  it,  as  use- 
len ;  because  every  practical  man  knows 
that  the  severity  of  a  sentence  does  not 
necessarily  depend  upon  the  number  of 
strokes  to  be  inflicted.  As  the  countnr 
stands  now,  the  condition  of  a  soldier  is 
more  eligible  by  far  than  it  haa  been  fbr 
very  many  years  past  Desertion  is 
alr^j  almost  unknown ;  for  there  is 
very  little  temptation  to  it.  The  men 
retained  are  most  of  them  old  soldiers, 
Who  have  desired  rather  to  remain  in 
the  service  than  to  obtain  their  liber- 
ation. Above  all,  we  have  leuBure; 
and,  vrith  care,  may  introduce  such  ha« 
bits  and  feelings,  as  shaU  tend  to  get 
rill  of  corporal  punishment,  (as  a  ge- 
neral practice,)  in  time  of  peace ;  and 
perhaps  to  lessen  its  necessity  in  future 
perioos  of  war.  But  this  must  not  be 
done  by  legislating,  directly,  upon  the 
subject.  An  understanding  distinctly 
conveyed  to  commanding-officers  <k 
regimenu.  that  they  will  advance  their 
own  claims  to  consideration  by  using 
the  power  of  flogging  as  seldom  as  pos- 
sible ;  and  a  litue  alteration  ([for  some 
will  be  necessary,)  to  see,  in  detul, 
how  the  penalty  of  Imprisonment  can 
be  made  most  operative,  and  least  pro- 
ductive of  inconvenience ; — the  Crown 
vrill  always  have  a  ready  means  of 
marking  its  disapprobation  of  anything 
approaching  to  neglect  of  sudi  a  re- 
commendation;  and  instancesof  abuse, 
or  excess,  if  any  ^ould  be  found  to  oc- 
cur, must  be  punished  in  the  authori- 
ties of  the  army  as  they  would  be  pre- 
scribed in  any  other  authorities  of  the 


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Punishmeni* 


state.  Let  thoie  who  hold  the  power  of 
visiting  offence^  be  themselves  visited 
ten  fold,  if  it  be  found  that  thej  com- 
mit it ;  but  knives  must  have  edges^ 
although  throats  now  and  then  are  cut 
with  them.  Nothing  is  more  honour- 
able  than  even  speculative  humanly  ; 
but  it  is  only  upon  something  like 


in  ike  Army.  QApril, 

proofs  that  existing  ayttema  can  be 
broken  up.  It  is  easy  for  A  to  tug- 
gest,  where  fi  is  to  be  responsible. 
But,  with  every  desire  to  relieve  pres- 
sure where  thev  may  detect  it,  practi- 
cal men  will  firsif  inquire— Will  the 
change  create  more  evil  than  it  gets 
rid  of? 


BALLANTYNE  S  NOVELIST  8  LIBRARY. 


It  would  be  absurd  to  enumerate 
the  many  powerful  reasons  which  men 
who  have  openly,  avowedly,  and  un- 
deniably attained  to  the  first  rank  at 
makers  of  books,  may  have  for  being 
unwilling  to  put  themselves  forward 
as  critics  of  the  books  written  by  their 
contemporaries.  Good  feeling  must, 
in  almost  all  cases,  strongly  sway  the 
mind  of  undisputed  greatness  against 
this.  These  men  cannot  but  feelwhat 
a  very  serious  thing  their  censure  would 
be  upon  the  fortunes  of  others — and 
they  never  give  it  But  for  this  very 
reason,  the  praise  which  thej  have  less 
seruple  sometimes  in  bestowmg,  comes 
really  to  be,  in  the  eyes  of  the  pubHc, 
of  no  sort  of  importance.  He  who 
speaks  well  of  everybody,  cannot  ex- 
pect his  good  word  to  be  very  precious ; 
md  it  is  pretty  much  the  same  of  him 
-mho  speaks  ill  of  nobody. 

Accordingly,  with  the  single  excep- 
tion of  Christopher  North,  who  is  a 
standing  exception  to  all  rules,  none 
of  our  established  first-rates  in  these 
days  have  been,  to  any  considerable 
extent,  reviewers.  Wordsworth's  ex- 
travagant pride  would  have  kept  him 
gujte  aloof  fVom  such  things,  even  if 
e  had  not  also  been  one  of  the  most 
truly  benevolent  spirits  in  the  world. 
Mr  Southey's  vanity  has  probably 
come  to  the  aid  of  his  good  nature  in 
the  same  way.  He  who  writes  (on  dit) 
nearly  a  fourth  part  of  the  whole  Quar- 
terly Review,  has  never,  that  we  know 
of,  written  one  article  on  a  work  of 
living  ^ius.  Lord  Byron  has  acted 
othervnae,  to  be  sure;  but  then  his 
muEBes  (and  by  the  way  we. cannot 
tiiink  them  ill-natured  ones)  are  seen 
at  once  to  be  mere  Quizzes.  Nobody 
puU  a  moment's  faith  in  what  he 
aays  in  that  sort.  Nobody  believes 
that  Lord  Byron  really  despisesWords- 
worth's  poetry.  We  perceive  that  he 
is  merdy  amusing  himself ;  and  when 
anybody  talks  seriously  of  his  jokes, 
either  in  prose  or  in  verse,  about  his 


contemporaries,  the  public  may  depend 
upon  it,  'tis  nothing  but  cant. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  is  another  example 
of  the  same  forbearance.  When  the 
Edinburgh  Review  was  a  very  young 
book,  he  vrrote  playful  things  in  it 
about  Colonel  Thornton's  Tour,  Cook- 
ery books,  and  so  fordi ;  and  when  the 
Quarterly  Review  was  new,  he  confer- 
red on  it  also  some  fevours  of  that 
kind.  The  only  articles  of  any  import- 
ance in  the  Quarterly  that  are  suppo- 
sed to  be  his,  are  aU  mtiquarian  and 
historical.  The  review  of  the  fourth 
canto  of  Childe  Harold,  we  cannot 
look  upon  as  anything  but  an  efiusion 
of  personal  kindness,  suggested  by  the 
popular  outcry  that  prevailed  against 
Lord  Byron  about  the  time  when  this 
article  was  published.  It  is  no  criti- 
ciam  on  the  genius  of  Byron.  Nor  do 
we  know  of  any  other  things  of  his 
that  could  even  be  suspected  for  ex- 
ceptions. He  is  said  to  be  the  author 
of  several  articles  on  Maturin's  works, 
that  have  appeared  in  diflferent  perio- 
dicals ;  but  whether  this  be  so  or  not, 
it  is  sufficiently  evident  that  the  said 
articles  have  been  composed  entirely 
in  the  spirit  of  personal  benevolence. 

Mr  Campbell,  editor  though  he  be, 
appears  to  keep  out  of  this  wuk  almost 
as  much  as  any  of  the  greater  people 
we  have  been  naming.  Indeed,  he  is 
too  much  afraid  of  himself  to  do  other^ 
wise.  The  critiques  on  .new  works 
that  occasionally  creep  into  his  pi^;es, 
are  pieces  of  doltish,  mawkish,  solemn 
Cockneyism,  and  would  be  considered 
as  out  of  all  si^t  of  contempt,  but  for 
their  near  neighbourhood  to  the  in- 
effiible  lucubrations  of  Mr  Dominie 
Small-text. 

But  to  come  back  from  the  smallest 
of  God's  creatures  to  the  other  ex- 
treme of  creation. — The  pubHo,  no 
doubt,  makes  a  great  gain  <^  peace, 
and  quiet,  and  decorum,  by  reason  of 
the  non-critical  propensities  of  die 
stars:  ami  yet  it  is  equally  certain. 


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BaHant^e'i  Noveiists  Library. 


tliit  we  lose  a  great  ded  of  instnictbn, 
which^  if  men  oi  that  class  did  write 
reriewB  of  their  contemporaries,  we 
eould  run  no  risk  of  missing.  Their 
own  works,  to  be  sure,  roust  be  consi- 
dered as  specimens  of  what  they  oon- 
ceiTe  to  be  good;  but  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  have  some  positive  hints 
also  of  what  such  men  look  upon  as 
positively  bad.  Who  would  not  like 
to  hear  the  author  of  Waverley's,  or 
Miss  Edgeworth's,  real  and  candid 
opinion  of  a  new  novel  ?  Who  would 
not  like  to  hear  Mr  Wordsworth,  or 
Lord  Byron,  tell  us  sincerely  and  calm- 
ly across  the  fire,  what  he  thinks  of  a 
new  poem?  Would  not  these  criti- 
cisms, if  we  could  really  get  at  them, 
be  listened  to  by  the  public,  and  above 
all,  by  the  authors  of  the  works  criti- 
eiied,  somewhat  difierently  fVom  the 
cleverest  diatribes  of  the  cleverest  men, 
that  could  not  themselves  write  one 
page  either  of  a  good  novel  or  a  good 
poem  ?  Grfnt  that  people  of  this  last 
dasa  may  be  able  to  arrange  their  no- 
tions in  a  better  form  of  criticism — to 
eigpoand  things  with  an  air  of  superior 
wisdom  —  to  enunciate  both  mtve 
loudly  and  more  lengthily— still  we 
know,  that  whatever  may  or  may  not 
be  the  case  with  *'  Mr  Editor  this,"  or 
'^  Mr  Editor  thai,"  the  true  theory  of 
composition  rmut  be  somewhere  or 
other  within  the  breasts  of  those  who 
have  composed  masterpieces — and  one 

Simpse  of  the  fire  of  Heaven  from 
em,  would  be,  and  would  be  reckon- 
ed, worth  all  the  flambeaux  that  ever 
fflared  in  the  pawa  of  the  muses' 
lackeys. 

But,  as  the  Bailie  hath  it,  "  there 
is  balm  in  Gilead :"  If  we  cannot  hear 
their  free  sentiments  of  their  contem- 
poraries, we  may  sometimes  hear  their 
nee  sentiments  about  their  predeces- 
sors; and  from  these--even  these— 
their  contemporaries,  if  they  are  worth 
the  teaching,  will  undoubtedly  be 
Uught  not  a  little.  Campbell's  islssays 
on  the  English  Poets  were,  in  this  view, 
deli^tfiil  and  moat  instructive  things. 
Mr  Coleridge's  Lectures  on  Shake- 
^eare  were  still  better ;  would  to  Hea^ 
▼en  he  would  print  them !  Southey 
ahould  edit  Spenser,  and  Wordsworth 
Milton ;  and  Theodore  Hooke  should 
resume,  without  delay,  his  old  project 
about  Foote. 

In  the  meantime,  the  world  doea  not 
seem  to  be  aware  of  the  fact,  that  Sir 

Vou  XV. 


407 

Walter  Scott  has  actually  beeu'wri- 
tfn£^  a  series  of  Essays  on  the  Lives  and 
Writings  of  the  British  NoveUsts. 

Has  the  reader  seen  or  even  heard 
of  such  a  book  as  "  Ballantyne's  No- 
velist's Library  ?" — ^We  venture  to  say 
that  he  has  not. 

And  vet  here  are  these  eight  or  nine 
splendia  volumes,  the  accumulation 
of  four  or  five  years'  labour.  Surely 
we  cannot  do  a  better  thing  than  call 
general  attention  to  them. 

The  general  character  of  the  work 
may  be  sketched  in  one  sentence.  It 
jn^sents  us  with  the  classical  novels 
of  the  English  tongue  printed  exqui- 
sitely and  beautifrdljr  on  a  small  out 
readable  type ;  and  in  volumes  large, 
but  not  unwieldy, — and  astonishingly 
cheap ;  and  to  each  set  of  works,  we 
have  prefixed  a  copious  Essay,  by  the 
first  author  of  our  time,  written  in  a 
manner  altogether  worthy  of  his  ge- 
nius, taste,  and  knowledge; — ^is  not 
this  a  pretty  tolerable  bill  of  fare  ? — 
and  is  it  not  odd  enoueh  that  it  should 
have  been  so  long  left  unnoticed  by 
our  professional  critics?  We  rather 
think  so;  and  we  rather  think  we 
could  guess  the  reason  too:  but  no 
matter. 

In  regard  to  the  selection  of  some 
of  the  novels  for  this  work,  we  may 
venture  to  say  a  word  or  two;  the 
more  freely  because  we  have  not  been 
led  to  believe,  that  the  distinguished 
author  of  the  Preliminary  Essays  to 
the  several  volumes  is  at  all  responsi- 
ble for  this  part  of  the  concern.  We 
confess  that  we  suspect  the  publishers 
are  extending  their  books  beyond  the 
just  limits ;  and  we  are  quite  sure  that 
they  have  neglected  even  the  sem- 
blance of  arrangement.  We  should 
have  recommended  the  placingof  Field- 
ing, Smollet,  Sterne,  in  a  class  by 
themselves ;  then  Richardson — for  in 
spite  of  his  bulk,  he  must  be  taken 
into  any  such  collection;  then  such 
authors  as  Clara  Reeve,  Horace  Wal- 

C>le,  8ic. ;  and  finally,  the  best  trans- 
tions  we  have  of  the  best  foreign  ro- 
mances in  a  series  of  volumes  by  them- 
selves. This,  we  apprehend,  would 
have  rendered  the  work  more  valua- 
ble as  a  standard  library  book;  and 
we  also  think  the  author  of  the  Intro- 
ductory Essays  would  have  written  to 
more  purpose  sometimes,  had  he  been 
guided  by  something  of  a  critical  ar- 
ranganent.  As  it  is,  we  cannot  deny 
36 


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408 

that  in  ^eiieral  the  novek*  inserted 
ou^ht  to  nave  been  inserted.  The  de- 
fiaendes  now  observable  mi^  yet,  and 
in  an  probability  will,  be  supplied  in 
suoceeding  volumes ;  and  the  Disser- 
tations; if  not  arrai^ged  in  a  very  lo- 
gical sequence,  have  certainly  all  the 
merits  compatible  with  the  existence 
of  this  indisputable  blemish. 

We  have  heesa  rather  surprised  to 
find,  that  more  labour  has  been  be- 
stowed on  Chrysal  than  on  any  other 
novel  in  the  series  as  it  at  present 
stands.  Sir  Walter  Scott  has,  no  doub^ 
illustrated  the  obscure  historical  illu- 
sions in  this  work  with  great  felicity ; 
but  really  we  cannot  help  thinking, 
that  such  a  work  was  undeserving  of 
giving  so  much  trouble  to  such  hs^ds. 
It  is  one  of  the  books,  the  merits  of 
which  we  freely  confess  ourselves  un- 
able to  observe.  It  appears  to  us  to  be 
a  most  coarse  and  vulgar  satire,  slike 
destitute  of  delicacy  and  unredeemed 
by  imagination.  Ana  this,  too,  is  print- 
ed forsooth  immediately  after  the  De- 
vil on  Two  Sticks,  the  most  brilliant 
'  and  graceful  satire  certainly  that  ex- 
ists in  this  world — the  most  abound- 
ing in  all  those  qualities,  of  the  total 
want  of  which  the  clumsy  copy  of  Mr 
Charles  Johnson  seems  to  us  to  be  a 
most  sucoessfy  specimen.  We  confess 
we  think  the  classical  novelists  of  Eng- 
land have  no  great  reason  to  approve 
of  this  compamonship.  He  is  nothing 
but  a  coarse  caricature  of  Dr  Moore, 
who^  again — under  favour  be  it  spo- 
ken— ^is  nothing  but  a  very  coarse  ca- 
ricature of  Smollet 

Sir  Walter's  Essay  on  Richardson  is 
an  exceedingly  pleasant  specimen  of 
his  way  of  writing  bio^aphy.  The 
criticism  contained  in  it  is,  as  it  seems 
to  us,  just ;  though,  like  most  of  Sir 
Walter's,  leaning  too  much  to  the  side 
of  leniency.  Who  reads  Richardson  ? 
— That  is  a  question  which,  we  appre- 
hend, it  is  more  easy  to  ask  than  to 
answer. — ^The  merit — the  perfection, 
we  may  say,  of  a  few  particular  con- 
ceptions, and  of  some  scenes  in  these 
immense  volumes,  is  undeniable ;  but 
how  few,  now-a-days,  will  wade,  or 
ought  to  wade,  through  such  a  heap  of 
lumber  as  Clarissa  Harlowe,  merdy 


CApril; 


that  they  may  be  aUe  to  understand 
the  sublime  catastrophe ;  or  to  endure 
the  interminable  prosinfl;  of  the  Cedar 
Parlour  in  Grandison,  mr  the  sake  of 
Clementina's  Shakespearian  madneii. 
As  to  Pamela,  we  confess  it  appears  to 
us  to  be  not  only  the  most  unnatural 
of  all  EngUsh  romances  of  our  a&» 
quaintance,  but  also  to  be  a  very  sin- 
gular production  indeed,  to  have  oome 
from  the  pen  of  the  saintlv  Samuel^ 
and  to  have  found  favour  with  the  la* 
dies  of  England  within  the  time  of  our 
own  grandmothers.  Sir  W^ter  Soott, 
we  suspect,  thinks  much  as  we  do 
about  all  these  matters ;  although  thoae 
who  turn  to  his  pi^ges  will  find  he  has 
not  ventured  on  much  more  than  a 
hint  of  his  real  opinion. 

Sir  Walter's  critical  remarks  on  Ri- 
chardson, as  compared  with  his  great 
rival  and  o^mtemporary,  Fieldinc% 
(whom,  by  tne  way,  he  hated  and 
abused  on  all  occasions  with  an  .unholj 
rancour,)  and  those  on  the  flfostolary 
form  of  novel-writing  in  general,  are 
so  excellent  that  we  must  quote  them* 

«« lUchardflon  was  wdl  qosKfied  tobe  the 
discoverer  of  a  nevr  style  of  writhig,  fbr  he 
was  a  caotkma,  deep«  and  minute  exami* 
nator  of  the  hmnaQ  heart,  and^  Bke  Oooks 
or  Pany,  left  udther  head,  bay,  nor  inkt 
behind  him,  until  he  had  traced  its  i 


ings,  and  bid  it  down  in  his  chart,  with  aU 
its  minute  sinuosities,  its  depths,  and  its 
shallows.  Hence  the  high,  and,  compa- 
ratively considered,  perhaps  the  undue  su- 
periority assinied  by  Johnson  to  Richard- 
son over  Fielding,  against  whom  he  seems 
to  have  entertained  some  prejudice.  In 
one  passage  he  asserts,  that  'there  is  mors 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart  in  one  IcU 
ier  of  Richardson's  than  in  aU7ofn«/oiiet.*f 
•^And  in  another,  he  thus  explains  the  pio- 
position :  '  There  is  all  the  d£Serenoe  in  tha 
world  between  characters  of  nature  and 
characters  of  manners,  and  there  is  this  di^ 
ference  between  the  characters  of  Fielding 
and  those  of  Richardson.  Characters  of 
manners  are  very  entertaining;  hut  they 
are  to  be  understood  hy  a  more  superficial 
observer  than  cliaracters  of  nature,  where 
a  man  must  dive  into  the  recesses  of  the 
human  heart.*):  Again,  in  comparing 
these  two  distingnlriied  aathon,  the  cri^ 
uses  this  illustration,—^  that  there  waa  as 
groat »  difference  between  them,  as  bctwcfln 
a  man  who  knew  how  a  watch  was  made, 


*  Smollett's  bad  version  of  Don  Quixote  is  an  exception.  Motteux's  u  the  translation 
of  Quixote  $  and,  by  the  way,  why  have  we  not  Rabelais  ?  We  trust  that  maaterpiece 
of  idl  translations  is  yet  to  appear. 

t  BofwcU'i  Life  of  Johnioa,  edition  1793.  Vol  II.  p.  3a 
%  Ibid.  Vol  I.  p.  80S. 


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4#9 


and  a  mcB  wbo  could  tdl  the  hour  by  loolu 
ing  at  the  diaUfdate.'*  Diweiiting  aa  we 
do  from  AecondwaJonatobededwced  ffoni 
Dr  Johoaon'i  eknfle,  we  wouM  ladier  so 
modify  it  as  Co  describe  both  authors  aa  ex- 
cdleat  medianics ;  the  tfane-nieces  of  Rich* 
deal  of  the  11 


aidsoD  sbewinff  a  great 
nal  work  by  whidi  the  ittdex  is  regalated  i 
while  those  of  Fielding  merebr  p&ited  to 
the  hour  of  the  day,  beiiig  all  that  most 
men  desire  to  knowk  Or  to  take  a  mote 
manageable  comparison,  Ae  analogy  be- 
twixt the  writings  of  Flddins  and  Ridiard- 
son  resembles  that  whkh  free,  bold,  and 
tme  sketdies  bear  to  Mhitings  which  hare 
been  Tery  minutely  laboar^.  and,  aaud 
dMir  excellence,  still  exhibit  some  of  the 
heariness  whidi  almost  always  attends  the 
highest  derne  of  finishing*  This,  indeed, 
is  admitted  by  Johnson  hhnself,  in  hb  re- 
plr  to  the  observatioBS  of  the  Uonooiable 
Thomas  Brskine,  that  Richardson  waa  tedi- 
ous.— ^  Why,  sir.  If  yoo  were  to  read  Rich- 
ardson for  ttiesto^,  your  impatieBce  would 
be  so  mu^  fretted,  that  you  would  hang 
yoursdf. .  But  you  must  read  hhn  for  the 
sentiment,  and  consider  the  story  only  aa 
giringoeeaaion  to  the  sentiment.'  Were  we 
t»  translate  the  controversy  into  plain  lan- 
guage, it  midht  be  summed  up  in  pronooii- 
dng  the  works  of  Richardson  the  more  in- 
structite,  those  of  Fielding  the  more  amu- 
sing, and  that  a  reader  might  select  the 
one  or  die  other  for  his  stu&s,  according 
to  Tony  Lumpkin's  phrase,  as  he  foh  him- 
self *  in  a  concatenation  aocordin|dT.' 

*''  It  is  impossible  to  tell  whotfaer  Ri- 
tAiardson*speailiar  and  drcumstantialmode 
of  narrative  aroae  entirely  oat  of  the  mode 
In  which  be  evolves  his  story  by  the  let- 
ters of  the  actors,  or  whether  his  early  pavw 
tblity  for  letter-writkig  waa  not  rather 
founded  upon  his  innate  love  of  detaiL 
But  these  talents  and  propcnsitiea  most 
have  borne  upon  and  fortified  each  odier. 
To  the  letter-writer  every  event  b  recent, 
and  is  painted  immediately  while  under  die 
eye,  with  reforence  to  its  rdadve  import- 
ance  to  what  hu  past  and  what  has  to  comOi 
An  is,  so  to  speak,  painted  in  the  foro- 
ground,  and  nothing  »  the  distance.  A 
game  at  whist,  if  the  subject  of  a  letter, 
must  be  detailed  as  mudi  at  length  as  a  do- 
bate  in  the  House  of  Commons,  upon  a 
subject  of  great  national  interest;  and 
hence,  peihaps,  that  tendency  to  prolinly, 
of  which  the  readers  of  Ridiardson  fte- 
quenUv  complain. 

^  lliere  is  this  additional  disadvantage, 
tendhw  to  the  same  disagreeable  impres- 
sion, that  incidents  are,  in  many  instances, 
det^ed  amnn  and  again,  by  the  various 
actors,  to  Uieir  difbrent  correspondents.  If 
this  has  the  advantage  of  phidng  the  duu 


iactcra,each  hi  thefar  own  peenliar  li|^ 
and  contrastiBg  thehr  thoughts,  plaas,  and 
aenthnents,  it  is  at  least  pardy  babnced, 
by  arresting  die  promss  of  die  story,  whidi 
stands  still  while  the  diaracters  shew  all 
their  mices,  Ukehotees  in  the  manege,  widi- 
Mt  advandng  a  yard.    But  then  it  gives 
die  reader,  as  MrsBaxbauld  wdl  remarks, 
the  advantage  ef  being  thoroughly  ae- 
quafaissd  with  those  hi  iriiooefola  he  is  to 
be  interested.  *  In  couequenoeef  this,'  adAi 
that  accomplished  hidy,  '  our  foettngs  an 
not  tranrient,  elidted  here  and  diere  by  a 
pathede  stroke,  but  we  regard  his  diarac- 
ters as  real  personages,  whom  we  know  and 
converse  widi,  and  whose  fote  remains  to 
be  decided  hi  the  course  of  evettts.*t    The 
mroute  style  of  Richardson  is  aoeoirdinffly 
attended  with  this  pecuUar  advantage,  ^at 
as  strong  a  light  as  can  be  necessary  Is 
thrown  en  every  personage  who  advances 
on  the  scene,  and  that  we  have  as  distinct 
an  idea  of  the  individuol  and  peculiar  cha- 
racter of  every  female  in  Mis  Siudair*ls 
family  whom  it  is  necessanr  to  name ;  of 
the  gieedy  and  hypocritical  Joseph  Leman ; 
of  the  plausible  Captain  Singleton,  and  of 
Lovelace*s  other  agents,  as  we  have  of 
Lovelace  himsdf.    The  character  of  Colo- 
nd  Morden,  for  example,  although  we  see 
aoUtdeofhim,  isquitein^viduaL    He  is 
hi^i-apfaitsd,  bold,  and  skilfol  at  his  wea- 
poo;  a  man  (tf  the  world  ends  man  of  ho- 
nour s  nddier  viokttt  enough  to  predpitatB 
his  revenge,  nor  forbearing  enough  to  avoid 
grafting  it  when  the  fitting  opportunity 
offers.    The  awe  in  which  ne  is  hdd  by 
the  Harlowrs  even  before  his  appearance, 
the  respect  which  Clarissa^ entertains  for 
him  as  a  natu^  protector,  prepares  us  for 
his  approach  as  he  enters  on  the  scene,  like 
die  Avenger  of  Bkwd ;  too  hue,  mdecd,  to 
8af«  Cfartea,  but  s  wordiy  vindicator  of 
her  wrongs,  and  s  no  less  worthy  coaquer- 
or  of  Lovdace.    Whatever  pie^  and  lor- 
bearanoe  there  ia  in  his  cousm's  lastdiaige 
to  sudi  a  man  as  Coload  Morden,  we  can- 
not for  a  moment  be  either  surprised  or 
serty  diat  it  ia  disobeyed. 

««  It  must  not  be  overlooked,  that,  Inr 
the  drcumatandal  detail  of  mhmte,  tiiviai, 
and  even  uidnteresthig  drcumstaaoes,  the 
audwr  gives  to  his  ficdon  an  ah- of  rea^ 
thai  can  scareely  otherwise  be  obtained.  In 
every  real  nsnadve,  ha  who  tsUs  it,  dwdh 
upon  sMght  and  ineensidemhle  aroam- 
stances,  no  otherwise  intnesting  thsn. be- 
cause they  are  associated  in  his  mind  with 
the  mere  hnporunt  events  which  he  de- 
aires  to  communicate.  De  Foe,  who  un. 
derstood,  and  availed  himsdf  on  all  oeca- 
shms  of  this  mode  of  garnishing  an  ima- 
ginary  hktorv  with  all  the  minute  acoom- 
panfanents  which  distinguish  a  true  one. 


•  Botw«irB  Life  cir  Jolnuon.  edhioa  1793.  vd.  IL  p.  90. 
t  Life  of  RkhvdMB,  ToL  L  p.  buoU. 


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410 

was  feCMTOt  8  gmtCT  master  of  this  peculiar 
art,  than  was  our  aathor  Ridiardson. 

•^  Still,  with  all  these  advantagesi  which 
so  peculiarly  adapted  the  mode  of  carr3riiig 
on  Ae  story  by  epistolary  correspondence 
4o  Richardson's  peculiar  genius,  it  has  its 
conespottding  defects.  In  order  that  all 
may  be  written,  whidi  must  be  known  Hor 
the  purpose  <^  the  narrative,  the  characters 
must  frequently  write,  when  it  would  be 
woKue  mrtutalfor  than  to  be  acting — must 
frequently  write  what  it  is  not  natural  to 
write  at  all— and  must  at  all  times  write  a 
great  deal  oftener,  and  a  gfeat  deal  more, 
Uian  one  would  now  think  human  life  has 
time  for.  But  these  uguments  did  not 
probably  weigh  much  with  Richardson,  aa 
inveterate  letter-writer  from  his  you^  up* 
wards,  and  certainly  as  indefatigable  (we 
had  almost  laid  formidable)  a  oorrespon* 
dent  as  any  of  the  characters  he  hM 
diftwn.** 

The  stories  of  these  men's  lives  have 
been  told  so  often,  (though  never  cer- 
tainly so  nervously,  or  with  the  in- 
terfusion of  so  many  sagacious  and 
profound  oAi7er  Jic/a,illustrative  of  hu- 
man nature  in  general,)  that  we  shall 
not  quote  from  Sir  Walter's  narratives, 
but  rather  collect  here  as  much  of  bis 
general  critkUm  on  the  composition  of 
romance,  as  we  can  convenioitly  make 
room  for.  Take,  then,  for  another  ape* 
dmen,  the  following  remarks  on  Field- 
ing's failure  as  a  dramatist ;  a  failure 
which  he  shared  (as  Sir  Walter  men- 
tions) with  Le  Sage ;  but  which  he  idso 
shared, — strange  enough  coincidence, 
— with  Cervantes  himself  and  with 
Smollett. 

«( Fiddidg,  the  first  of  British  novelists, 
for  such  he  may  surely  be  termed,  has  dna 
added  his  name  to  that  of  he  Sage  and 
others,  who,  eminent  for  fictitious  narration, 
have  either  altogether  foiled  in  their  dra. 
matic  attempts,  or  at  least  have  fallen  far 
short  of  that  degree  of  excellence,  which 
might  liave  be^  previously  augured  of 
them.  It  is  hard  to  fix  upon  any  plausible 
reason  for  a  foilure,  whidi  has  occurred  in 
too  many  instances  to  be  the  operatfon  of 
mere  chance,  especially  since  d  priori  one 
would  thmk  the  same  talents  necessary  ftv 
both  walks  of  litcsBtare.  Force  of  charac- 
ter, strength  of  expresnon,  fidisity  of  con- 
trast and  situation,  a  weU-coMtructed  plot, 
in  which  the  developement  is  at  oncejiatu- 
ral  and  unexpected,  and  where  the  intescst 
is  kept  uniformly  alive,  till  summoned  up 
by  the  catastrophe — all  these  are  requisites 
as  essential  to  tJie  labour  of  the  novelist,  as 
to  that  of  the  dramatist,  and,  indeed,  ap- 
pear to  comprehend  the  sum  of  the  quau- 
ties  necessary  to  success  in  both  depart, 
ments.  Fielding*s  biographers  have,  in  this 


BaliatUjfne's  Novelist*!  Ubrcay* 


CApril, 


particular  iastancB,  explained  bis  lack  of 
theatrical  success,  as  arising  entirely  from 
the  cardess  haste  with  wh^  be  huddled 
up  his  draii|»atic  compositions;  it  being  no 
uncommon  thing  with  him  to  finish  an  act 
or  two  in  a  morning,  and  to  write  out  whole 
scenes  upon  the  papor  in  which  his  favourite 
tobacco  had  been  wrapped  up.  Negligence 
Of  this  kind  wUl  no  doubt  give  rise  to  great 
inequalities  in  the  productions  of  an  author, 
so  careless  of  his  reputotion ;  but  will 
scarcdy  account  for  an  attribute  something 
like  duhiess,  which  pervades  Fielding*a 
plays,  and  which  is  rarely  found  in  those 
wodn,  which  a  man  of  genius  throws  off 
*  at  a  heat,'  to  use  Dryden's  expression,  in 
prodigal  self*rcliance  on  his  internal  re- 
sources. Neither  are  we  at  aUdi^wsed  to 
beUeve,  that  an  author,  so  careless  as  Field- 
ing,  took  much  more  pains  in  labouring  his 
novds,  than  in  composing  his  plays ;  and 
we  are,  therefore,  compelled  to  seek  some 
other  and  more  general  reason  for  the  in- 
feriority of  the  Utter.  ThU  may  perhaps 
be  found  in  the  nature  of  these  two  studies, 
whidi,  intimatdy  connected  as  they  setm 
to  be,  are  yet  naturally  distinct  in  seme 
very  essential  particulars;  so  much  so  aa 
to  vindicate  the  genml  opinion,  that  he, 
who  wp^^KH  himself  with  eminent  sii^cccss 
to  the  one,  becomes,  in  some  degree,  un- 
qualified for  the  other,  like  the  artisan, 
who,  by  a  particular  turn  for  excellence  m 
one  mechanical  department,  loses  the  habit 
of  dexterity  necessary  fbr  acquitting  him- 
self  with  equal  reputation  in  another,  or  as 
the  vtist,  who  has  dedicated  hfanself  to  the 
use  of  water<^(dours,  is  usually  less  distin- 
guished by  his  skill  in  oil-painting. 

"  It  is  the  object  of  the  novd-writer,  to 
place  before  the  reader  as  full  and  accurate 
a  representation  of  the  events  which  he  re- 
htes,  as  can  be  done  by  the  mere  force  of 
an  exdted  imagination,  without  the  assist- 
ance of  material  objects.  His  sole  appeal 
is  made  to  the  world  of  fancy  and  of  ideas, 
and  in  this  consists  his  strength  and  his 
weakness,  hii  poverty  and  his  wealth.  He 
cannot,  like  the  painter,  present  a  visible 
and  tangible  r^resentation  of  his  towns  and 
his  woods,  his  palaces  and  bis  castles;  but, 
by  awakening  the  imagination  of  a  conge- 
nial reader,  he  places  before  his  mind*s  eye, 
Undscapes  fairer  than  those  of  Claude,  and 
wilder  than  those  of  Salvator.  He  cannot, 
like  the  dramatist,  present  before  our  tiring 
eyes  the  heroes  of  former  days,  or  the  beau- 
tiful  creations  of  his  own  fancy,  embodied 
in  the  grace  and  majesty  of  Kemble  or  of 
Siddons;  but  he  can  teach  his  reader  to 
conjure  up  forms  even  more  dignified  and 
beautiful  than  theirs.  The  same  difference 
foOows  him  through  eveiy  brondi  of  his 
art.  The  author  of  a  novd,  in  short,  has 
ndther  stage  nor  scene-painter,  nor  com- 
pany of  comedians,  nor  dresser,  nor  ward- 
robe—words  applied  with  the  best  of  hb 


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1W4.:] 


BMudyiu's  NupeUs^s  Ubmry, 


iU 


•upply  all  Uuu  these  bring  to     proYinee,  if  an  error  oniaToatable  to  the 

BCOftll 


theaitiatanceoft&edfamatiftt.  Action,  and 
tonet  and  gesture,  the  emile  of  the  lover, 
the  frown  of  the  tyrant,  the  grimace  of  the 
buffix>n, — all  miut  be  told,  for  nothing  can 
be  shewn.  Thus,  the  very  dialogue  becomes 
mixed  with  the  narration  ;  for  ne  roust  not 
only  tell  what  the  characters  actually  said, 
in  which  his  task  is  the  same  as  that  of  the 
dramatic  author,  but  must  also  describe  the 
tone,  the  look,  the  gesture,  with  which 
their  speech  was  acoompanied,t-teUing,  in 
short,  all  which,  in  the  drama,  it  becomes 
Che  province  of  the  actor  to  express.  It 
must,  therefore,  frequently  happen,  that 
the  author  best  qualified  for  a  province,  in 
which  all  depenoa  on  the  communication  of 
his  own  ideas  and  feelings  to  the  reader^ 
without  any  intervening  medium,  may  fall 
short  of  the  skill  necessary  to  adapt  hia 
oompoaitiona  to  the  medium  of  the  stage, 
where  the  very  qualities  most  excellent  in 
a  novelist  are  out  of  pUce,  and  an  impedi- 
ment to  success.  Description  and  narra- 
tion, which  form  the  very  essence  of  the 
novel,  must  be  very  sparingly  introduced 
into  cbamatic  oompoaition,  and  scarce  ever 
have  a  good  effect  upon  tlie  stage.  Jllr 
Pu^  in  Th9  Criiic^  has  the  good  sense  to 
leave  out  '  all  about  gilding  tlie  eastem 
hemisphere;*  and  the  very  first  thing 
which  the  players  struck  out  of  this  me- 
morable tragedy  was,  the  description  of 
Queen  Eliiabeth,  her  palfrey,  and  her  side- 
saddle. The  drama  speaks  to  the  eye  and 
ear ;  and  when  it  ceases  to  address  these 
bodily  organs,  and  would  exact  from  a  thc- 
ateieal  audience  that  excrciae  of  the  ima- 
gination  whidi  is  necessary  po  follow  forth 
and  embody  circumstances  neither  spoken 
nor  exhilttted,  there  is  an  immediate  failure, 
though  it  may  be  the  failure  of  a  man  of 
genius.  Hence  it  follows,  that  though  a 
good  acting  plav  may  be  made  by  sdect- 
mg  a  plot  and  characters  from  a  novel,  yet 
scarce  any  tSRnt  of  genius  could  rend^  a 
play  into  a  narrative  romance.  In  the  for- 
mer case,  the  author  has  only  to  contract 
the  events  within  the  space  necessary  tor 
iqwresentation,  to  choose  the  most  striking 
characters,  and  exhibit  them  in  the  most 
fordble  contrast,  discardfrom  thediakmie 
whatever  is  redundant  or  tedious,  and  so 
dramatixe  the  whole.  But  we  know  not 
any  efibrt  of  genius,  whidi  could  succesa- 
fimy  insert  into  a  good  olay,  those  acces- 
saries of  description  and  delineation,  which 
axe  necessary  to  dilate  it  into  a  readable 
DoveL  It  mav  thus  easily  be  conceived, 
that  he  whose  diief  talent  lies  in  addressing 
the  imagination  only,  and  whose  style, 
therefore,  must  be  expanded  and  circum- 
stantial, may  fail  in  a  Jund  of  composition 
where  so  much  must  be  left  to  the  efforts 
of  the  actor,  with  his  allies  and  assistants, 
the  scene-painter  and  property-man,  and 
where  every  attempt  to  mtcrfere  with  their 


success  of  the  piece.  Besides,  it  most  far- 
ther be  remembered,  that  in  fictitious  nar- 
rative an  author  carries  on  his  manu&cture 
alone,  and  upon  his  own  account ;  where- 
as, in  dramatic  writing,  he  enters  into  part- 
nership with  the  performers,  and  it  is  by 
their  joint  efforts  that  the  piece  is  to  suc- 
ceed. Copartnery  is  called,  by  Civilians* 
the  mother  of  discord ;  and  how  likely  it  ia 
to  prove  so  in  the  present  instance,  may  be 
illustrated  by  reference  to  the  admirable 
dialogue  between  the  Player  and  Poet  in 
Joseph  Andrewi^  Book  III.  chap.  10.  The 
poet  must  either  be  contented  to  fail,  or  to 
make  great  condescensions  to  the  experi- 
ence, and  pay  much  attention  to  the  pecu- 
liar quolincatioDs,  of  those  by  whom  his 
piece  is  to  be  represented.  And  he  who  in 
a  novel  had  only  to  fit  sentiments,  action, 
and  character,  to  ideal  beings,  is  now  com- 
pelled to  assume  the  much  mora  difficult 
task  of  adapting  all  these  to  real  existing 
persons,  who,  unless  their  parts  are  exactlv 
suited  to  their  own  taste,  and  their  pecuh- 
ar  capacities,  have,  each  in  his  line,  the 
means,  and  not  infrequently  the  inclination, 
to  ruin  the  success  of  the  play.  Such  are» 
amon£st  many  others,  the  peculiar  difilcul- 
ties  of  the  dragiatic  art,  and  they  seem  im- 
p^^iiments  which  lie  peculiarly  in  the  way  of 
the  novelist  who  aspires  to  extend  his  sway 
over  the  stage." 

Our  third  exunple  of  the  ri^non 
of  the  materwls  orikcted  in  this  mo- 
dest form  ahftll  be  ^e  author's  paral- 
lel between  Fielding  and  his  own  coun- 
tryman Smollett 

'*  In  leaving  Smollett*s  personal  for  hia 
literary  character,  it  ia  impossible  not  to 
oonaider  the  Utter  as  contrasted  with  that 
of  his  eminent  contemporary,  Fiddino.  It ' 
b  true,  that  such  oomparisooa,  thou^  re- 
commended by  the  example  of  Plutarch, 
are  not  in  general  the  best  mode  of  estima- 
ting individual  merit.  But  in  the  present 
case,  the  history,  accomplishments,  talents, 
puxmiits,  and,  unfbrtunately,  the  fates  of 
these  two  great  authora,  are  so  ckMely  al- 
lied, that  it  ia  scarce  possible  to  name  the 
one  without  exdtinff  recollections  of  the 
other.  Fielding  and  Smollett  were  both 
bom  in  the  highest  rank  of  society,  both 
educated  to  learned  professions,  yet  both 
obliged  to  follow  nusceUaneoos  literature 
as  the  meana  of  subsistence.  Both  were 
confined,  during  their  lives,  by  the  nar- 
rowness of  their  circumstances, — ^both  uni- 
ted a  humorous  cynicism  with  generosity 
and  good  nature. — both  died  of  the  diseaaea 
incident  to  a  sedentary  life,  and  to  Uteranr 
labour, — and  both  drew  their  last  breath 
in  a  foreign  land,  to  which  they  retreated 
under  the  adverse  circumstances  of  a  de- 
cayed constitution,  and  an  rvhansted  for- 
tune. 


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418 

«*  Their  studies  were  no  less  shnllar  than 
thdr  lives.  They  both  wrote  for  the  stage, 
and  neither  of  them  suoeessftilly.  They 
both  meddled  in  politics ;  they  both  wrote 
travds,  in  which  they  shewed  that  their 
good  humour  was  waited  under  the  suff)»- 
mgs  of  their  disease;  and^  to  condude, 
they  were  both  so  endnently  suooessfbl  as 
novelists,  that  no  other  English  author  of 
tiiat  dass  has  a  right  to  be  mentioned  in 
the  same  breath  with  Fading  and  Smol- 
lett   •■    • 

^^Thus  the  art  and  fdidty  with  whidi  die 
ttoiy  of  Tom  Jones  evolves  itsdf,  is  no- 
whoe  found  in  Smollett*s  novds,  where 
the  heroes  pass  from  one  situation  in  life, 
and  from  one  stage  of  sodety,  to  another 
totally  unconnected,  except  that,  as  in  or- 
dinary life,'the  adventures  recorded,  though 
not  bearing  upon  each  other,  or  on  the  ca- 
tastrophe, bend  the  same  personage.  Cha- 
racters are  introduced  and  dropped  without 
scruple,  and,  at  the  end  of  die  work,  the 
hero  is  found  surrounded  by  a  very  di^ 
ferent  set  of  associates  from  those  with 
whom  his  fortune  seemed  at  first  indissolu- 
bly  connected.    Ndther  are  the  characters 
-which  Smdlett  designed  should  be  interest- 
ing, half  so  amiable  as  his  readers  could 
dfliire.    The  low-minded  Roderick  Ran- 
dom) who  borrows  Strap*s  mcm'ey,  wears 
his  clothes,  and,  rescued  from  starving  by 
the  attachment  of  that  simple  and  kmd- 
heaHed  adhereot,  rewards  him  by  squan- 
dcfing  hit  subttaaoe,  rscsning  his  attend- 
ance as  a  servant,  aad  beating  him  when 
the  dice  ran  against  him,  is  not  to  be  named 
in  one  day  with  the  open-hearted,  good- 
humoured,  and  noble-minded  Tom  Jones, 
whose  libertinism  (one  particular  omitted) 
is  perhi^  rendered  but  too  amiable  by  his 
good  qualities.    We  bdieve  thero  are  fow 
readers  who  are  not  disgusted  with  the  mi- 
sers^ reward  assigned  to  Strap  in  the 
closing  chapter  of  the  noveL  Five  hundred 
poun£,  (scarce  the  value  of  the  goods  he 
bad  presented  to  his  roaster,)  and  the  hand 
of  a  redaimed  street-walker,  even  when 
added  to  a  Highland  form,  seem  but  a  poor 
recompense  for  his  foithfol  and  disinterest- 
ed attachment  We  should  do  Jones  equal 
injuBtioe  by  wdglnng  him  in  die  balance 
with  the  savage  and  forodous  Pickle,  who, 
•—besides  his  gross  and  base  brutality  to- 
wards Emilia,  besides  his  ingratitude  to  his 
nnde,  and  the  savage  propensity  whidi  he 
■hews,  in  the  pleasure  he  takes  to  torment 
others  by  practical  jokes  reseml^ng  those 
of  a  fiend  in  glee,— exlnbits  a  low^wd  iin- 
gendeman-like  tone  of  thinking,  only  one 
degree  higher  than  diat  of  Roderick  Ran- 
dom. The  blackguard  frolic  of  introducing 
a  prostitute,  in  a  folse  character,  to  his  sis- 
ter, is  a  suffident  evidence  of  that  want  of 
taste  and  foding  which  SmoHett*s  admirers 
are  compelled  to  acknowledge,  may  be  de- 
tected in  bis  writings.    It  is  yet  more  im- 


C^pifl. 


possible  to  compare  Sophia  or  Amelia  to 
the  females  of  Smollett,  who  (excepting 
Aurdia  Damd)  are  drawn  as  the  objects 
rather  of  appedte  than  of  affoction,  and  ex- 
dte  no  higher  or  more  noble  interest  than 
might  be  created  by  the  houris  of  the  Ma- 
homedan  paradise. 

*^  It  follows  from  this  superiority  on  the 
side  of  Fidding,  that  his  noveb  exhibit, 
more  frequentfy  than  diose  of  Smollett, 
scenes  of  distress,  whidi  exdte  the  sympa« 
thy  and  pity  of  the  reader.  No  one  can  re- 
fose  his  compassion  to  Jones,  when,  by  a 
train  of  pracdces  upon  his  eenerous  and 
open  character,  he  is  expdled  from  his  be- 
nefoctor*s  house  under  the  foulest  and  most 
heart-rending  aocusadons ;  but  we  certain- 
ly sympathize  very  little  in  the  distress  of 
Pickle,  brought  on  by  his  own  profligate 
profosioD,  and  enhanced  by  his  insolent 
misandiropy.  We  are  only  surprised  that 
his  predominating  atrc«ance  does  not  weary 
out  the  benevolence  of  Hatchway  and  Pipes, 
and  scarce  think  the  mined  roendthrift  d^ 
serves  thdr  persevering  and  foitfaftil  attadi- 
ment 

^^But  the  deep  and  fertile  genius  of  Smol- 
lett aflbrded  resources  suffident  to  bahnoe 
these  deficiencies ;  and  when  the  foil  wei^t 
hu  been  allowed  to  Fielding's  superiority 
^  taste  and  expression,  his  northern  con- 
temporary will  still  be  found  fit  to  balance 
die  scale  widi  his  great  rivaL  If  Fidding 
had  superior  taste,  the  pahn  of  more  bril- 
liancy of  genius,  more  inexhaustible  rich- 
ness of  invention,  must  in  jusdce  be  award- 
ed to  Smollett  In  comparison  with  his 
sphere,  that  in  which  Fielding  walked  was 
limited ;  and,  compared  with  die  wealdiy 
pToftision  of  varied  character  and  incident 
which  Smollett  has  scattered  through  his 
works,  there  is  a  poverty  of  compeunon 
about  his  rivaL  ^dding's  fome  rests  on  a 
single  chef  d'auvre  ;  anid  the  art  and  in- 
dustrv  which  produced  Tom  Jonet^  was 
unable  to  rise  to  equal  exceUenee  in  Ami-- 
Ha.  Though,  therdbre,  we  may  jusdy  pre- 
fer Tom  Jones  as  the  most  masterly  exam- 
ple of  an  artfol  and  wdl-told  novel,  to  any 
mdividual  work  of  Smollett,  yet  Roderick 
Random^  Peregrine  Pickk,  and  J7«fM- 
phrey  Clinker^  do  each  of  them  for  excd 
Joseph  Andrews  or  AmeHa ;  and,  to  de- 
scend still  lower,  Jonathan  WUd,  or  the 
Journey  to  the  next  Worlds  cannot  be  put 
faito  momentary  comparison  widi  SirLance^ 
lot  Greaves  ^  ot  Ferdinand  Cowtt  Fathom. 
"  Every  successfril  nov^tmust  be  more 
or  less  a  poet,  even  ahfaough  he  may  never 
have  written  a  line  of  verse.  The  quality 
of  imagination  is  absolutdy  indispoidble 
to  him  :  his  accurate  power  of  examining 
and  embodying  hnman  diaracter  and  hu- 
man passion,  as  wdl  as  the  external  foee 
of  nature,  is  not  less  essentia];  and  die  ta- 
lent of  describing  wdl  what  he  foels  with 
acuteoess,  added  to  the  above  requidtes. 


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BoikuU^i  IC^»$H$es  Ubr^r^ 


I  fiff  to  fiomplde  Um  pottic  cbanctw. 
oUett  was,  even  in  the  cnrdmary  lenw^ 
whidi  limitt  the  name  to  those  who  write 
venct,  »  poet  d  distinctioii ;  aodt  in  thie 
particuUr,  luperior  to  Fielding,  who  lel. 
dom  aimi  at  more  than  m  slight  translation 
from  the  ebseics.*  Acooidinglj,  if  he  is 
surpassed  by  Fielding  in  movmg  pitr,  the 
noiihem  nordist  soars  far  abore  hhn  ia 
his  pewsrs  of  ezdtiog  tenor.  Fielding  hat 
BO  passages  which  approadi  in  sahfinity 
to  the  robber-scene  in  CcmU  Fathom^  ot  to 
the  terrible  description  of  a  sea-engag|e- 
ment,  in  which  Boderick  Random  sits 
chained  and  exposed  upon  th^  poc^  with- 
out the  power  of  motion  or  exertion,  du- 
ring the  camsge  of  a  tremendous  engage- 
ment Upon  many  other  occasions,  Smol- 
lett's descriptions  ascend  to  the  sublime^ 
and,  in  general,  there  is  an  air  of  romance 
in  his  writings,  which  raise  his  narratites 
aboTB  the  le^  and  easy  conise  of  ordinary 
Kfe.  He  was*  like  a  pre-cBDiMBt  poet  of 
our  own  day,  a  searchsr  of  daric  bosoms* 
and  loved  to  paint  characters  under  the 
strong  sffitatioo  of  fierce  and  stormy  pas- 
sions.  Hence,  misanthropss,  nuxiblers, 
and  duellists,  are  as  common  in  his  works 
as  robbers  in  those  of  Salrator  Rosa,  and 
are  drawn,  in  most  cases,  with  the  same 
terrible  truth  and  cfiect  To  compare  F^- 
BinanA  Comni  FMom  to  the  Jonathan 
WUd  of  Fieldinff,  would  be  perhras  unfair 
to  the  latter  auttor  ;  yet,  the  wests  being 
ONnposed  on  the  same  plan,  (a  veiy  bad 
one,  as  we  think,)  we  cannot  help  pladi^ 
them  by  the  side  of  each  ether,  when  it 
becomes  at  once  obnous  that  the  detestable 
Fathom  is  a  living  and  exitting  miscreant, 
at  whom  we  shrink  as  from  the  preasace 
ef  an  incarnate  fiend ;  while  the  villain  of 
Fielding  seemsrather  a  cold  personification 
of  the  abstract  principle  of  evil,  so  hx  from 
being  terrible,  that,  notwithstanding  the 
knowledge  of  the  world  argued  in  many 

•ages  of  his  adventures,  we  are  compel- 
to  acknowledge  him  abeolntdy  tire. 


^^  It  is,  however,  dilefly  in  his  proftisioo, 
which  amounts  almost  to  prodigally,  that 
we  recognize  the  superior  richness  <n  SmoU 
lca*8  fancy.  He  never  shews  the  least  desire 
to  make  the  most  either  of  a  character,  or 
a  situation,  or  an  adventure,  but  throws 
them  together  with  a  cardsssncss  which 
argues  unlimited  confidence  in  his  own 
powers.  Fielding  pauses  to  explain  tht 
vnndnles  of  his  art,  and  to  congratulate 
himself  and  his  readers  on  the  fdidty  with 
which  he  constructs  his  narratives,  or  makes 


413 

his  dianelert  eralfe  thinnsNea  hi  the 
nragfess.  Theee  menls  to  the  rsader*« 
jodgmcDtt  admirahie  as  they  are,  hnvo 
sometimes  the  &nkof  being  diflbse,  and 
alweys  the  great  disadvantage,  that  they 
xsnind  us  we  are  pending  a  work  oi  fie* 
tion ;  and  that  the  beings  with  whom  we 
have  been  conversant  duiina  the  perusal* 
are  but  a  set  ef  evanescent  poantooia,  con- 
jured up  by  a  magician  finr  our  amusemenl. 
SmoHftt  seldom  holds  oommunication  with 
his  readers  in  his  own  person.  He  manages 
his  delightfttl  puppet-show  without  thrusU 


ing  his  head  beyoiid  the  cartam,  like  Oinee 
de  Passamonte,  to  explain  what  he  is  do- 
ing {  and  hence,  besides  that  our  aMsnlkn 
to  the  story  remains  nnbroken,  we  are  sure 
that  the  author,  fully  confident  m  the 
abundance  of  his  materials,  hss  no  occaiioB 
to  eke  them  out  with  extrhieic  matter. 

^  Smollett's  sea  charaeters  have  been  de- 
servedly considered  as  inimitable ;  and  the 
power  with  which  he  has  diversified  them« 
in  so  many  instances,  distinguishing  the 
individual  features  of  each  honest  tar,  while 
each  possesses  a  fhll  proportioD  of  nrofes- 
sk>nal  mannen  and  habits  of  thinUng,  it 
a  most  absolute  proof  of  the^richncss  of 
£u)cy  with  which  the  author  was  pifred, 
and  whidi  we  have  noticed  as  his  chief  ad- 
vantage over  Fielding.  Bowling,  Trun- 
nion, Hatchway,  Pipes,  and  Clowe,  are  aH 
men  of  the  same  daes,  habits,  and  teoe  ef 
thinking,  yet  so  completelir  difltaenced  by 
their  sq>arate  and  individual  eharactera, 
that  we  at  once  aclnowledge  them  as  dis- 
tinct persons,  i^iile  we  eee  and  allow  that 
every  one  of  them  belongs  to  the  old  Bng^ 
lish  navy.  These  strik&g  portraiis  have 
now  the  merit  whidi  is  chenshed  by  aatk 
quaries— they  preserve  the  memory  of  the 
school  of  Benbow  and  Boscawcn,  whose 
manners  are  now  banished  from  the  quar- 
ter-deck to  the  fbr»«astle.  The  naval  offi- 
cers of  the  present  day,  the  qilendoor  e£ 
whose  actions  has  thrown  into  shadow  tht 
exploits  of  a  thousand  veers,  do  not  now 
affect  the  manners  of  a  fore-mastman,  and 
have  shewn  how  admirably  well  their  duty 
can  be  disdiarged  without  any  particular 
attachment  to  tobacco  or  flip,  or  the  ded- 
ded  pieflBNnee  of  a  check  shirt  over  a  hneo 
too. 

M  In  die  oonue  part  of  their  writings,  wt 
have  akeady  said.  Fielding  is  pre-eminent 
in  grave  iionv,  a  Cervantic  wpeda  of  plea- 
santry, in  which  SmoUelt  is  not  equally 
suocosftil.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Scotdi- 
man  (notwithstanding  the  general  opinion 
denies  that  quality  to  his  countrymen)  ex^ 


apocdooof' 


in  the 


e  hkhot  deme, 
be  found  in  his  1 


hsf  thus  characteriaed  Smollett's  poetry.  "TKeyhave 

in  the 


a  poction  of  delieacy.  not  to  be  found  in  his  novels ;  but  thev  have  not,  like  those  prose  llctiooB,  the 

^ength  of  a  master's  band.   Were  he  to  live  i^ain,  we  might  wish  him  to  write  more  poecry*  in  the 

■Mer  that  his  poetical  talent  would  improve  by  exercise;  but  we  should  be  glad  that  we  had  more  of 

just  as  they  are.'*>«/weiNintf  qf  tht  BrUitk  Poets,  ly  Thomas  Campbetl,  vol.  VI.    The 

at  in  these  very  novels  are  earpenitod  many  of  the  ingiiiliwH  both  of  grave  and  bumoeous 


bis  novels 
truth  is,  that 


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414  BaUaniyne'i  Nof)€U$i*$  Uhrwry.  HAprfl, 

cek  in  brosd  and  ladieioQt  humoor.    Hii  hu  done  which  he  hag  not  equalled, 

fiuicy  seems  to  ran  riot  in  accumnUdng  Is  not  Bailie  Jarvie  equal  to  Parson 

ridiculous  circtimstanccs  one  upon  another,  Adams  ?— Is  not  Dalgetty  equal  to 

to  the  utter  destruction  of  all  power  of  Bowling  ?— Is  not  the  Bride  of  Lam- 

grarity  5  and  perhaps  no  books  ^^^^  inennoor,or  the  Heart  of  JMid-Lotbian, 


ten  have  excited  such  peals  of  inextinguish. 
able  laughter  as  those  of  Smollect  The 
descriptions  whidi  aflRwt  us  thus  powerful- 
ly, b<nder  sometimes  upon  what  is  called 
farce  or  caricature ;  but  if  it  be  the  highest 
praise  of  pathetic  composition  that  it  draws 
forth  tears,  why  should  it  not  be  esteemed 
the  greatest  excellence  of  the  ludicrous  that 
H  compels  laughter  ?  The  one  tribute  is  at 
least  as  genuine  an  expression  of  natural 
foehng  as  the  other ;  and  he  who  can  read 
the  calamities  of  Trunnion  and  Hatchway, 
when  run  away  with  by  their  mettled  steeds, 
or  the  inimitable  absurdities  of  the  feast  of 
the  andtnts,  without  a  good  hearty  burst 
of  honest  laughter,  must  be  well  qualified 
to  look  sad  and  gentleman  •like  with  Lord 
Chesterfield  or  Master  Stephen. 

*«  Upon  the  whole,  the  genius  of  Smollett 
may  be  said  to  resemble  that  of  Rubens. 
fiis  pictures  are  often  deficient  in  grace ; 
sometimes  coarse,  and  even  vulgar  in  con- 
ception ;  deficient  too  in  keeping,  and  in 
the  due  subordination  of  parts  to  each 
other  I  and  intimatingtoo  much  carelessness 
on  the  part  of  the  artist.  But  these  fetults 
are  redeemed  by  such  richness  and  brillian- 
cy of  colours ;  sudi  a  profusion  of  imagina- 
tion—^now  bodying  fbrth  the  grand  and  ter- 
rible—now the  natural,  the  easy,  and  the 
ludicrous ;  Uiere  is  so  much  of  life,  action, 
and  bustle,  in  every  group  he  has  painted ; 
io  much  force  and  individuality  of  charac- 
ter, that  we  readily  grant  to  Smollett  an 
equal  rank  with  his  great  rival  Fielding, 
while  we  place  both  far  above  any  of  their 
successors  in  the  same  line  of  fictitious 
composition." 

**  Far  above  any  other  successor !" 
—No,  not  quite  so  neither.  But  in- 
deed we  apprehend  it  will  strike  every 
reader  as  a  little  remarkable,  that 
throughout  the  whole  of  this  series  of 
critical  Essays  on  the  older  classes 
of  the  English  romance,  no  aliusioH 
whatever  is  made  to  the  author  of  Wa- 
yerley;  that  author  who  alone,  and 
within  the  space  of  ten  short  years, 
has  produced  a  set  of  novels  almost  as 
bulky  as  the  whole  of  this  Novelist's 
Library  contains,and  exhibiting  beau- 
ties singly  equal  to  the  best  of  what 
this  record  does  exhibit,  in  the  blaze  of 
their  connection  sufficient  to  dim  even 
the  brightest  name  in  that  bright  roll. 
Grant  that  this  nameless  author  has 
not  produced  any  one  novel  so  perfect 
in  its  shape,  plot,  and  arrangement,  as 
Tom  Jones :  grant  this,  and  say  what 
is  it  that  any  one  of  his  predecessors 


equal  to  the  pathos  of  the  tragedy  of 
Clementina  ?— Is  not  the  Antiquary 
equal  to  Uude  Toby  ? — Is  not  Meg 
li)ds,  in  her  single  self,  equal  to  all 
the  innkeepers,  from  Don  Quixote 
down  to  Fieldingindusive?— And  then 
what  a  world  of  beauties  of  another 
dass  altogether ! — the  high  romantic 
chivalries— the  dark  superstition — ^the 
witchcraft  by  which  the  dead  are  re- 
animated— the  grace,  the  grandeur, 
the  magnificence  of  the  prose — that  is 
all  that  poetry  ever  was,  or  ever  can 
be.  We  leave  to  Mr  Adolphus  the  fit 
consideration  of  this  extraordinary  «t- 
fcfice  on  the  part  of  the  author  of  theac 
admirable  Essays. 

One  more  specimen  of  these  compo- 
sitions, and  we  have  done.  It  shall  be 
from  the  preface  to  Le  Sagb,— the  No- 
velist whom,  if  i^e  were  ailed  upon 
to  classify  diese  immortals,  we  should 
not  hesitate  certainly  to  place  far  above 
both  Fielding  and  Smollett— by  the 
side  of  two,  and  two  only— the  author 
of  Don  Quixote  and  the  author  of  Wa- 
▼eriey.  It  is  suffident  for  us  to  ba^ 
furnished  one  to  such  a  trio. 

Speaking  of  the  Diahk  BoUeus,  Sir 
Walter  Scott  says— 

"  The  ritle  and  pUn  of  the  work  wai  de. 
rived  from  the  Spanish  of  Luez  Vdez  de 
Guevera,  called  El  Diahle  Cojvelo^  and 
such  satires  00  manners  as  had  been  long 
before  written  in  Spain  by  Cervantes  and 
others.  But  the  fancy,  the  lightoess,  the 
spirit,  the  wit,  and  the  vivacity  of  the  Dte- 
hle  Boiteux,  were  entirely  communicated 
by  the  enchanting  pen  of  thelivdy  Frcndi- 
man.  The  plan  of  the  work  was  in  the 
highest  degree  interesting,  and  having,  in 
its  origind  concoction,  at  once  a  cast  of  the 
romantic  and  of  the  mysticd,  is  cdculated 
to  interest  and  to  attract,  by  its  own  merit, 
as  wdl  as  by  the  pleasing  anecdotes  and 
shrewd  remarks  upon  human  life,  of  whidi 
it  forms,  as  it  were,  the  frame-work  and 
enchasing.  The  Mysteries  of  the  Cabd- 
ists  afibrded  a  foundation  for  the  story, 
whidi,  grotesque  as  it  is,  was  not  hi  those 
times  hdd  to  exceed  the  bounds  of  probable 
fiction  ;  and  the  interlocutors  of  the  scene 
are  so  happily  adapted  to  the  subjects  of 
their  conversation,  that  all  they  say  and  do 
has  its  own  portion  of  naturd  appn^ria- 
tion. 

^'  It  is  impossible  to  ooncdve  a  being 
more  fitted  to  comment  upon  the  vices,  and 
to  ridicule  the  follies  of  humanity,  than  an 
4 


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BaUtmtjffUi  NovtlUts  Library. 


ft  dtidndl  nwirinn  cfceniui,  in  hia  inqr*  m 
Arkl  or  Calibaiw  WitlKmt  poMttiing  t^ 
darkor  Miren  ao4  proptBsitiei  of  m  FaIImi 
Aa^fll,  he  presides  over  the  vices  and  the  foU 
lies,  rather  than  the  Crimea  of  mantindi  ■■ 
ia  laaUcioiia,  rather  than  malignant;  and 
hia  delight  ia  to  gibe,  and  to  sood8^  and  to 
tcaxet  rather  than  to  torture  {—one  of  Si^ 
tan*i  li^t  in&ntrj,  in  short,  whoae  buai^ 
aesa  it  lato  goad«  perplex,  and  disturh  the 
Oidinary  train  of  society,  rather  than  to 
hieak  in  upon  and  overthrow  it.  This  cha- 
racter is  maintained  in  all  Asmodeus  sa]rs 
and  does,  with  so  much  spirit,  wit,  acute- 
ness,  and  playful  malice,  that  we  never  for- 
get ^e  fiend,  even  in  those  moments  when 
he  is  very  near  becoming  amiable  as  weH 
as  entertaining. 

^  Dob  Cleoiks,  to  whom  he  makes  all 
Ms  diverting  oomramications,  is  a  fiery 
yaMOg  Spaniard,  proud,  high-spirited,  and 
revengeml,  and  just  somnch  of  a  libessiBe 
■a  to  fit  him  for  the  company  of  Asoso- 
dcua.  He  interests  us  persooaUy  by  his 
gaUantry  and  generous  sentiments;  and 
we  are  pleased  with  the  mode  in  which  die 
grateiiil  fiend  j>rovides  for  the  future  hap- 
piness of  his  liberator.  Of  these  two  cha- 
racters neither  is  absolutely  original.  But 
the  Devil  of  Guevara  is,  as  the  title  of  the 
book  expresses,  a  mere  bottle  conjuror, 
who  amuses  the  student  by  tricks  of  leger- 
demain, intermixed  with  stiokes  of  satire, 
some  of  thein  rery  acute*  but  devoid  of  the 
poignancy  of  Le  Sage.  Don  Cleofas  is  a 
mere  literal  copy  from  the  Spanish  author. 
There  is  no  book  in  existence  in  which  so 
much  of  the  human  character,  under  all  its 
various  shades  and  phases,  is  described  in 
so  fow  words,  as  in  the  Diable  Boiteux. 
Every  page,  every  line,  bears  marks  of 
that  sure  tact  and  accurate  devdopment  of 
human  weakness  and  folly,  which  tempt  us 
to  think  we  are  actually  listening  to  a  Su- 
perior Intelligence,  who  sees  into  our 
minds  and  motives,  and,  in  malicious  sport, 
tears  away  the  veil  which  we  endeavour  to 
interpose  betwixt  tltese  and  our  actions. 
The  satire  of  Le  Sage  is  as  quick  and  sud- 
den as  it  is  poignant ;  his  jest  never  is 
blunted  by  anticipation ;  ere  we  are  aware 
that  the  biow  is  drawn,  the  shaft  is  quiver- 
ing in  the  very  centre  of  the  mark.  To 
quote  examples,  would  be  to  quote  the 
work  through  almost  every  page ;  and,  ac- 
cordingly, no  author  has  afforded  a  greater 
stock  of  passages,  which  have  been  gene- 
rally employed  as  apothegms,  or  illustra- 
tions of  human  nature  and  actions ;  and 
no  wonder,  since  the  force  of  whole  pages 
.  is  often  compressed  in  fewer  words  than 
another  author  would  have  employed  sen- 
tences. To  take  the  first  example  that 
comes:  The  fiends  of  Profligacy  and  of 
Chicane  contend  for  possession  and  direc- 
tion of  a  young  Parisian.  Pillardoc  would 
have  made  him  a  commi$j  Asmodrai  a 
Vol.  XV. 


415 

To  unlta  both  dieir  viewi, 
tho  infeaai  eanckve  made  the  yonth  a 
«odk,and  effiseted  areeooeiliatkm  between 
their  oonteiiding  brethren.  ^  We  em- 
bcaoed,'  said  Asmodetit, '  and  have  been 
mortal  enemies  ever  since.'  It  is  well  ob- 
served by  the  late  editmr  of  Le  Sage's 
works,  that  the  traits  of  this  kind,  whk 
which  the  Diabte  BoUemx  aboondb,  en- 
title it,  much  more  than  the  Italian  scenes 
of  Gherardi,  to  the  title  of  the  Grenier  a 
Sd,  conferred  on  the  latter  woric  by  the 
sanction  of  Boilean.  That  great  poet,  ne- 
vertheless, is  said  to  have  been  of  a  diffe- 
rent opinion.  He  threatened  to  dismiss  a 
valet  whom  he  foond  in  the  act  of  reading 
^  Diabk  Boiteux,  Whether  this  pro. 
ceeded  from  the  peevishness  of  indispoei* 
tion,  under  which  Boileau  laboured  hi 
1707;  whether  he  supposed  the  know- 
ledge of  human  life,  aaid  idl  its  chicanery, 
to  be  learned  from  Le  Sage*s  satire,  wis 
no  safe  accomplishment  for  a  domestic  $  or 
whether,  finally,  he  had  private  or  persQpal 
causes  for  condemning  tne  work  and  the 
author,  is  not  now  known.  But  Ae  anec- 
dote forms  one  example,  amongst  the 
many,  of  the  uiyust  estimation  in  which 
men  of  genius  are  too  apt  to  hM  their  con- 
temporaries. 

'^  Besides  the  power  of  wit  and  satire 
displayed  in  the  Diable  Boiteux^  with  so 
mudi  brilliancy,  there  are  passages  in 
which  the  author  assumes  a  more  serious 
and  moral  tone ;  he  sometimes  touches  up- 
on the  pathetic,  and  sometimes  even  ap- 
proaches the  sublime.  The  personification 
of  Death  is  of  the  latter  character,  untH 
we  come  to  the  point  where  the  author's 
humour  breaks  mrth,  and  where,  having 
described  one  of  the  terrific  phantom's 
wings  as  painted  with  war,  pestilence,  fa- 
mine, and  shipwreck,  he  adorns  the  other 
with  the  representation  of  young  physicians 
taking  their  degree.     •    •     •     •    • 

"  Few  have  ever  read  this  charming 
book  without  remembering,  as  one  of  the 
most  delightfol  occupations  o(  their  life, 
the  time  which  Uiey  first  employed  In  the 
perusal;  and  there  are  few  also  who  do 
not  occasionally  turn  back  to  its  pages  with 
all  the  vivacity  which  attends  the  recollec- 
tion of  eariy  love.  It  signifies  nothmg  at 
what  time  we  have  first  encountered  the 
fasdnation  ;  whether  in  boyhood,  when  we 
were  chiefly  captivated  by  the  cavern  of  the 
robbers,  and  other  scenes  of  romance ;  whe- 
ther in  more  advanced  vouth,  but  while  our 
ignorance  of  the  worid  yet  concealed  from 
us  the  subtle  and  poignant  satire  which 
lurks  in  so  many  passages  of  the  work ; 
whether  we  were  loamed  enough  to  appre- 
hend the  various  allusions  to  history  and 
public  matters  with  which  it  abounds,  or 
Ignorant  enough  to  rest  contented  with  the 
more  direct  course  of  the  narration.  The 
power  of  the  enchanter  over  us  is  alike  ab- 
sointe.  under  idl  these  ckeamstaaces.  If 
9  H 


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416 

there  is  anjrthing  like  trnth  in  Gny*9  opU 
nion,  that  to  lie  upon  a  couch  and  read 
new  novels  was  no  bad  idea  of  Paradise, 
how  would  that  beatitude  be  enhanced, 
could  human  genius  afford  us  another  Gil 
Blasi 

'*  Le  Sage*s  daini  to  ori^nality,  in  this 
delightful  work,  has  been  idly,  I  had  al- 
most said  ungratefully,  contested  by  those 
critics,  who  conceive  they  detect  a  plagiar- 
ist wherever  they  see  a  resemblance  in  the 
general  subject  of  a  work,  to  one  which  has 
been  before  treated  by  an  inferior  artist. 
It  is  a  favourite  theme  of  laborious  dul- 
ness,  to  trace  out  such  coincidences  ;  be- 
cause they  appear  to  reduce  genius  of  the 
higher  oider  to  the  usual  standard  of  hu- 
manity, and  of  course  to  bring  the  author 
nearer  a  level  with  his  critics.  It  is  not 
die  mere  outline  of  a  story — not  even 'the 
adopting  some  details  of  a  former  author, 
which  constitutes  the  literary  crime  of  pla- 
giarism. The  proprietor  of  the  pit  from 
which  Chantry  takes  his  day,  might  as 
weO  pretend  to  a  right  in  the  figure  into 
which  it  is  moulded  under  his  plastic  fin- 
gers ;  and  the  question  is  in  both  cases  the 
same — not  so  much  from  whom  the  origi- 
nal rude  substance  came,  as  to  whom  it 
owes  that  which  constitutes  its  real  merit 
and  excellence. 

**  It  is  therefore  no  disparagement  to 
Le  Sage,  that  long  before  his  time  there 
existed  in  other  countries,  and  particularly 
in  Spain,  that  species  of  fiction  to  whicn 
Gil  Bku  may  be  in  some  respects  said  to 
belong.  There  arises  in  every  country  a 
species  of  low  or  comic  romance,  bearing 
somewhat  the  same  proportion  to  the  grave 
or  heroic  romance,  which  farce  bears  to 
tragedy.  Readers  of  all  countries  are  not 
more,  if  indeed  they  are  equally  deUghted, 
with  the  perusal  of  high  deeds  of  war  and 
chivalry,  achieved  by  some  hero  of  popu- 
lar name,  than  with  the  exploits  of  some 
determined  freebooter,  who  follows  his  il- 
licit trade  by  violence,  or  of  some  notorious 
sliarper,  who  preys  upon  society  by  address 
and  stratagem.  The  lowness  of  such 
men*s  character,  and  the  baseness  of  their 
pursuits,  does  not  prevent  their  hazards, 
their  successes,  their  failures,  their  escapes, 
and  their  subsequent  fate,  from  being  deep- 
ly Interesting,  not  merely  to  the  common 
people  onlv,  but  to  all  who  desire  to  read 
a  chapter  m  the  great  book  of  human  na- 
ture. We  may  use,  though  not  in  a  mo- 
ral sense,  the  oft-quoted  phrase  of  Te- 
rence, and  acknowledge  ourselves  interest- 
ed in  the  tale,  because  we  are  men  and  the 
events  are  human.** 


On  Gil  Bias  he  descants  in  a  strain 
equally  delightful. 

"  The  pfincipal  character,  in  whose 
name  and  with  whose  commentaries  the 
story  is  told,  is  a  conception  which  has 
never  been  equalled  in  fictitious  compo- 


BallcaUynt*i  Noifeliifi  Library.  C^pril, 

sitiony  yet  which  seems  so  very  real,  that 
we  cannot  divest  ourselves  of  the  opinkm 
that  we  listen  to  the  narrative  of  one  who 
has  really  gone  through  the  scenes  of 
which  he  speaks  to  us.     Gil  Bias'  dia- 
racter  has  all  the  weaknesses  and  inequa- 
lities proper  to  human  nature,  and  which 
we  daily  recognize  in  ourselves  and  in 
our  acquaintances.     He  is  not  by  nature 
such  a  witty  sharper  as  the  Spaniards 
painted  in  the  characters  of  Paolo  or 
Guzman,  and  such  as  Le  Sage  himself 
has  embodied  in  the  subordinate  sketdi 
of  Scipio,  but  is  naturally  disposed  to- 
wards honesty,  though  with  a  mind  un- 
fortunately too  ductile  to  resist  the  temp- 
tations of  opportunity  or  example.     He 
is  constitutionally  timid,  and  yet  occa- 
sionally capable  of  doing  brave  actions; 
shrewd  and  intelligent,  but  apt  to  be  de- 
ceived by  his  own  vanity;    with  wit 
enough  to  make  us  laugh  with  him  at 
others,  and  follies  enough  to  turn  tiie 
jest  frequently  against  himself.     Gene- 
rous, good  natured,  and  humane,  he  has 
virtues  sufficient  to  make  us  love  hun, 
and  as  to  respect,  it  is  the  hist  thing 
which  he  asks  at  his  reader*s  hands.    Gil 
Bias,  in  short,  is  the  principal  character 
in  a  moving  scene,  where,  though  he  fre- 
quently plays  a  subordinate  part  in  the 
action,  all  that  he  lays  before  us  is  co- 
loured with  his  own  opinions,  remarks, 
and  sensations.     We  feel  the  individual- 
ity of  Gil  Bias  alike  in  the  cavern  of  the 
robbers,  in  the  episcopal  palace  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Grenada,  in  the  bureau  of 
the  minister,  and  in  ail  the  vsrious  scenes 
through  which  he  conducts  us  so  deli^t- 
fully,  and  which  are,  generally  speaking, 
very  slightly  connected  together,  or  ra- 
ther no  otherwise  related  to  each  other, 
than  as  they  are  represented  to  have  hap- 
pened to  the  same  man.     In  this  point 
of  view,  the  romance  is  one  which  rests 
on  character  rather  than  incident ;  but  al- 
though there  is  no  main  action  whatso- 
ever, yet  there  is  so  much  incident  in 
the  episodical  narratives,  that  the  work 
can  never  be  said  to  linger  or  hang  heavy. 
«  The  son  of  the  squire  of  Asturias  is 
entrusted  also  with  the  magic  wand  of 
the  Diable  Boiteux,   and   can  strip  the 
gilding  from  human  actions  with  the 
causticity  of  Asmodeus  himself.     Yet, 
with  all  this  power  of  satire,  the  moralist 
has  so  much  of  gentleness  and  good  hu- 
mour, that  it  may  be  said  of  Le  Sage,  as 
of  Horace,  Circum  prtecordia  ludiL    All  is 
easy  and  good-humoured,  gay,  light,  and 
liv^y ;  even  the  cavern  of  the  robbers  is 
illuminated  with  a  ray  of  that  wit  with 
which  Le  Sage  enlightens  his  whole  nar- 
rative.    It  is  a  work  which  renders  the 
reader  pleased  with  himself  and  with 


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18S4.3 


Ballanfyne^i  Novelui^s  Lihwy. 


iiMiikiiMly  where  iiuihfl  tre  placed  before 
hioi  in  the  light  of  follies  rather  than 
Ticei^  and  where  misfortunes  are  so  in- 
terwoven with  the  Indlcronsb  that  we 
laugh  in  the  very  act  of  sympathizing 
with  them.  All  is  rendered  diverting— 
both  the  crimes  and  the  retribution 
whidi  follows  them.  Thus,  for  example, 
Gil  Bias,  during  his  prosperity,  commits 
a  gross  act  of  filial  undutifulness  and  in- 
gratitude ;  yet  we  feel,  that  the  interme- 
diation of  Master  Museada  the  grocer^ 
irritating  the  pride  of  ^parverm,  was  so 
exactly  calculated  to  produce  the  effect 
which  it  operated,  that  we  continue  to 
laugh  with  and  at  Gil  Bias,  even  in  the 
sole  instance  in  which  he  shews  depravity 
of  heart  And  then,  the  li^idation  which 
he  undergoes  at  Oriedo,  with  the  disap- 
pointment in  all  his  ambitious  hopes  of  _ 
exciting  the  admiration  of  the  inhabitants  .  quaintance  used  to  read  certain  favourite 


417 

ding  chapters,  in  whkh  the  hero  is  dis- 
mimed,  after  his  labours  and  dangers,  to 
repose  and  happiness— these  very  chap- 
ters, whidi  in  other  novels  are  glanced 
over  as  a  matter  of  course,  are  perhaps 
the  most  interesting  in  the  Adveniwret  of 
Gil  Blot,  Not  a  doubt  remains  on  the 
mind  of  the  reader  concerning  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  hero's  rural  felicity,  un- 
less he  should  happen  (like  ourselves)  to 
feel  some  private  difficulty  in  believing 
that  the  new  cook  from  Valencia  could 
ever  rival  Master  Joachim*s  excellence* 
particularly  in  the  matter  of  the  ollapo- 
drida,  and  the  pig's  ears  marinated.  In- 
deed, to  'the  honour  of  that  author  be  it 
spoken,  Le  Sage,  excellent  in  describing 
scenes  of  all  kinds,  gives  such  vivitdty 
to  those  which  interest  the  gjaatrvname 
in  particular,  that  an  epicure  of  our  ac- 


of  his  birth-place,  is  received  as  an  ex- 
piation completely  appropriate,  and  suit- 
ed to  the  offence.  In  short,  so  strictly 
are  the  pages  of  GU  Bias  confined  to  that 
which  is  amusing,  that  they  might  per- 
haps ^lave  been  improved  by  some  touches 
of  a  more  masculine,  stronger,  and  firmer 
line  of  morality. 

"  It  ought  not  to  escape  notice,  that  Le 
Sage,  though,  like  Cervantes,  he  consi- 
ders the  human  figures  which  he  paints  as 
his  principal  ot^ect,  fiiils  not  to  relieve 
them  by  exquisite  morsels  of  ktndscape, 
slightly  touched  indeed,  but  with  the 
highest  keepings  and  the  most  marked 
eHReet  The  description  of  the  old  her- 
mit's place  of  retreat  may  be  given  as  an 
example  of  what  we  mean.    . 

"  In  the  HutoTy  qf  GU  Bias  is  also  ex- 
hibited that  art  of  fixing  the  attention  of 
the  reader,  and  creat'mg,  as  it  were,  a 
reality  even  in  fiction  itself,  not  only  by 
a  strict  attention  to  custom  and  locality, 
hot  by  a  minutenesi^  and  at  the  same 
time  a  vivacity  of  detail,  comprehending 
many  trifling  circumstances  which  might 
be  thought  to  have  escaped  every  one's 
memory,  excepting  that  of  an  actual  eye- 
witness. By  such  a  circumstantial  de- 
tail the  author  has  rendered  us  as  well 
acquainted  with  the  four  pavilions  and 
ccrjn  de  Iqgis  of  Lirias,  as  if  we  had  our- 
selves dined  there  with  Gil  Bias  and  his 
fiiithful  follower  Scipio.  The  well-pre- 
served Upestry^  as  old  as  the  Moorish 
kingdom  of  Valencia,  the  old-fiishioned 
daniask  chairs — that  furniture  of  so  little 
intrinsic  value,  which  yet  made,  in  its 
proper  place,  such  a  respectable  appear, 
ance— the  dinner,  the  siesta — all  give  that 
closing  scene  in  the  third  volume  such  a 
degree  of  reality,  and  assure  us  so  com- 
pletely of  the  comfort  and  happiness  of 
OUT  pleasant  companioni  that  the  concla- 


passages  regularly  before  dinner,  with  the 
purpose  of  getting  an  appetite  like  that 
of  the  Licentiate  Sedillo,  and,  so  fiir  as 
his  friends  could  observe,  the  recipe  was 
always  successful.'* 

And  now^  when,  in  addition  to  these 
gpecimens,  we  mention,  that  each  of 
tlie  Essays  extends  to  fh)m  forty  an4 
fifty  very  large  and  closely  printed 
pages,  and  that  of  ten  or  twelve  au« 
thors  already  embodied  in  this  work, 
we  have  alluded  as  yet  to  no  more  than 
three  or  four,  we  apprehend  we  have 
done  enough  to  call  the  attention  of  al) 
those  who  are  capable  of  judging,  what 
books  are^  and  what  books  ought  to 
be,  to  "  Ballantyne's  Novelist's  Li-  ' 
brary." 

May  it  be  conducted  with  equal 
skill  to  its  conclusion.  The  life  of 
Voltaure  bv  Sir  Walter  Scott  is  yet  to 
come,  and  that,  certainly,  will  be  a 
present  of  no  ordinary  interest.  Goethe 
also  yet  is  before  us,  and  Schiller,  and 
Rousseau, — and  Marmontel  and  Pre- 
vost  among  the  foreigners, — and  Rad- 
diffe  (at  least)  among  ourselves. 

In  case  Sir  Walter  Scott  does  not 
interfere  in  these  details,  we  beg  to 
caution  the  publishers,  that  they  roust 
be  particularly  on  their  guard  about 
the  selection  of  a  translation  of  Wcr-^ 
ter :  indeed,  we  are  not  aware  that  any 
version  worthy  of  a  pUce  here  does  as 
yet  exist  in  our  language.  The  same 
observation  must  be  made  as  to"  The 
Ghost  Seer  ;"  and  we  suspect  our  old 
favourite,  Manon  Lescaut,  may  be  in 
the  same  situation.  The  English  do^ 
ings  of  these  and  many  other  foreign 
romances  with  which  our  boyhood  was 
acquainted,  were  all  quite  execrable  ; 
btit  these  may  be  better.  At  all  c\cnUi, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


BaUantiffur§  NoveHsts  LUawy. 


418 

it  ii  wOTth  Mr  Bfllkntyne'i  while  not 
to  go  to  work  rashly. 

There  are  a  good  many  more  hinti 
we  would  fain  give  the  puUiaher,  if 
he  would  favour  us  with  his  private 
ear — ^but^in  the  meantime^  and  for  die 
public,  enough. 

We  have,  we  must  own,  a  sort  of 
affection  for  this  work,  independently 
of  all  its  intrinsic  merits.  The  proo^- 
sheets  of  its  first  volume  were  lying 


CApril, 


scattered  about  our  late  dear  Jolm 
Ballantyne'a  bed  when  we  called  on 
him^  the  day  preceding  his  untimdy 
and  lamented  death.  The  work  is 
still  carried  on,  as  we  understand,  for 
the  behoof  of  Ida  family.  A  very  great 
man  once  pronounced  his  eulogy  in 
our  hearing,  in  a  very  few  words. — 
*'  Alas  !  poor  Yorick  ! — It  seems  as  if 
there  would  never  be  so  much  sun- 
light again." 


THE  SECOND  VOLUME  OF  ROBE's  A&IOStO** 


We  have  just  risen  from  the  second 
and  more  deliberate  perusal  of  this  vo- 
lume, and  hasten  to  say,  that  in  addi- 
tion to  all  the  merits  which  claimed 
our  notice  in  the  version  of  the  first 
six  cantos,  we  have  discovered  new 
merits  here.  The  translator  could  not 
go  beyond  himself  in' fidelity  and  ac- 
curacy, nor  would  it  have  been  easy 
for  any  other  person  to  exhibit  supe- 
rior freedom,  and  elegance  of  language 
and  versification^  combined  with  these 
primary  virtues.  But  Mr  Rose  has 
nimself  solved  the  problem.  He  has 
learned  to  move  in  his  fetters  with  stil} 
more  admirable  grace.  There  is  great- 
er fiow  here — greater  march  and  mas- 
tery. We  could  not  help  thinking 
every  now  and  then->-Heavens !  if  this 
were  not  a  translation  at  all,  but  a  new 
original  English  poem,  what  would  the 
world  say?  Throughout^  we  see  the 
vigour  and  the  chann  of  a  native  clas- 
sic ;  and  we  are  seriously  disposed  to 
call  the  attention  of  readers  to  the 
great  work  thus  before  us  in  its  pro- 
gress, not  merely  because  it  is  by  far 
the  best  translation  of  Ariosto,  nor 
even  because,  when  fini^ed,  we  be- 
lieve it  will  be  considered  as,  on  the 
whole,  the  best  poetical  translation  in 
our  language,  but  more  than  all  the 
rest  for  this  reason — that,  in  the  pre- 
sent state  of  our  literature,  when  great 
original  power  is  in  so  many  quarters 
united  with  a  very  culpable  measure 
of  laxity  as  to  the  niceties,  and  even 
the  purities,  of  English  expression ; 
in  this  age,  when  so  many  clever  peo- 
ple are  imitating  errors,  which  to  coun- 
terbalance demands  not  merely  dever- 
n^,  but  the  very  highest  genius — in 
this  age  we  do  thmk  it  ia  no  trifle  that 
such  a  work  as  this  has  appeared— « 
specimen  of  the  eflfect  whicn  may  be 


produced  in  the  midst  of  adherence  to 
all  the  rules  that  we  have  been  so 
much  habituated  to  see  despised— a 
specimen  of  the  before  unsuspected  va** 
riety  and  flexibility  of  our  poetical  Ian** 
guage,  independently  of  all  those  mon- 
strous and  barbarous  innovations,  in 
which  too  many  of  our  most  popular 
poets  have  ventured  to  indulge.  We 
shall  not  be  accused  of  extravagance 
by  those  who  have  really  considered 
this  work  with  the  attention  it  de- 
serves, when  we  say,  that  in  so  far  as 
the  poetical  diction  of  our  country  is 
concerned,  a  benefit  has  been  confer* 
red  upon  English  literature  by  Mr 
Rose,  second  certainly,  but  still  seoond 
only,  to  that  which  would  have  been 
produced  by  the  appearance  of  a  new 
Ariosto  of  our  own  ;— «iother  'great 
English  poet,  that  is  to  say,  not  a  whit 
less  remarkable  for  the  exquisite  grace 
and  delicacy  of  his  minnteit  exprei* 
sions,  than  for  the  broader  merits  of 
his  ^cy  and  invention  : — in  other 
words,  a  benefactor  equally  to  the  lai»« 
guage  of  the  country  and  to  its  mind* 
Tma  improvement  is  of  course  the 
natund  effect  of  the  contimMd  exertioA 
of  those  many  admirable  talents  which 
the  work  before  us  demanded.  Instead 
of  the  wild,  though  sometimes  not  un- 
graceful (after  its  sort)  fidelity,  of 
Harrington's  version, — which,  by  the 
way,  Ben  Jonson  told  Dmmmond  of 
Hawthomden,  was  the  worst  tranak'* 
don  of  any  he  knew,— instead  of  the 
quaint,  dry,  prosaic  abomination  of 
Mr  Huggins,  who  translated  Ariosto 
stanza  for  stanza,  and  line  for  line, 
without,  in  any  difficult  passage  what- 
ever, having  even  a  glimpse  of  the 
poet's  true  meaning, — to  say  nothing 
of  his  profound  incapacity  ror  giving 
anything  Gke  the  image  of  this  spright- 


"  The  Orlando  Furioso,  translated  into  English  verse,  from  the  Italian  of  iiudovica 
Vriosto,  with  Notes,  by  William  Stewart  Rose.    London,  John  Murray,  1824. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


189i.3 


TT^e  Second  FobiiM  of  Boat's  Arioito. 


ItesK^all  oi^iiialB  in  his  leaden  move^ 
ments;  and  instead  of  what  was^  per- 
haps,  worse  than  Huggins  himself, 
with  all  his  harharous  ancouthnessy 
the  solemn  quackery  of  that  most  ex- 
quisite of  all  India-house  clerks,  Mr 
Hoole — a  man  who  translated  Ariosto 
and  Tasso  in  precisely  the  same  style, 
just  as  he  would  have  drawn  out  in 
die  same  handwriting  an  order  on  the 
bank  and  the  Despatch  of  Seringapa- 
tam.  Instead  of  all  these  different  ab- 
surdities, we  are  now  really  in  the  fair 
way  to  be  able  to  put  into  our  shelres 
a  just,  a  glowinff,  and  withal  an  ex- 
quisitely graceful^  ay,  and  an  exqui- 
ntely  English  image,  of  the  great  bard 
of  Italian  romance.  The  quiet  sarcasm 
—the  easy,  playful,  gentlemanlike  wit 
—the  dose,  concise,  nervous  diction 
(in  the  midst  of  all  ito  sportiveness, 
and  apparent  redundance)  of  Ariosto 
^-these  were  things  of  which  Uie  for- 
mer doers  into  Englkh  had  no  more 
peroepiion,and  of  course  gave  no  better 
reflection,  than  their  cold  and  barren 
imaginations  enabled  them  to  have, 
and  to  give,  of  the  still  greater  quali- 
ties of  this  princely  poet.  Who  ever 
expected  wit  from  Hoole,  lightness 
from  Harrington,  or  harmony  from 
Ha^;ins?  No  one.  Let  those  who 
have  been  accustomed  to  contemplate 
the  Furioao  through  any  of  such  dim 
or  dirty  mediums,  look  here ;  and  if 
he  have  eyes  at  all,  he  will  see  how 
Biiieh  better  it  is  to  have  an  engraving 
bv  a  Le  Keux^  than  a  copy,  however 
glowing,  by  a  Davie  Tinto. 

These  cantos  are  in  themselves,  per-i 
hape,  more  full  of  beauties  than  the 
first  six.  They  contain  many  of  the 
very  chefs-d'ceuvre  of  Ariosto — Ro- 
fffBso  ia  Alalia's  enchanted  palace— his 
escape  from  thenoe-h-the  fisroous  scene 
between  Angelica  and  the  widced  old 
hermit — the  exposure  on  the  rock — 
die  whole  of  the  grand  and  wild  legend 
of  Proteus  and  the  Ore— the  beautiful 
first  appearance  of  the  charming  Zer- 
bino--Uie  array  of  the  British  host, — 
to  English  readers  certainly  not  the 
least  interesting  matter  in  the  Orlando 
Furioio,— «nd  the  exooisite  story  of 
01ympia,p«rhif>s  the  fiiieat  episode  in 
the  whole  poem.  All  these  stand  fnrth 
in  this  version  with  a  Hfe^  asd  vigour^ 
and  elMiance,  everyway  worthy  of  the 
oriflinaL 

Ow  first  sfieciinen  is  the  fkr-fkned 
porteit  of  the  enchantresa  Alcina,  ihe 
Itdiaa  impenooatien  of  Cine. 


419 

**  Her  ihi^  u  of  socfa  p«r(bet  symmctiy. 
As  best  to  nign  the  indnsttioaa  painfir 

knows. 
With  k»g  and  knotted  tressts ;  to  die 

eye 
Not  yeUow  gold  with  brighter  lustre 

glows. 
Upon  her  tender  cheek  the  mingled  dye 
Is  scattered,  of  the  lily  and  the  rose. 
Like  ivory  smooth,  the  forehead  gay  and 

round 
Fills  up  the  space,  and  fbrms  a  fitting 

bound. 

Two  black  and  slender  arches  rise  above 
Two  dear  black  eyes,  say  suns  of  radiant 

light; 
Which  ever  softly  beam   and  slowly 

move; 
Round  these  iqppears  to  sport  ia  fMic 

fligh^ 
Hence  scattering  all  his  shaf^  the  little 

liove. 
And  seems  to  plunder  hearts  in  open 

sight. 
Thence,  through  mid  visage,  does  the 

nose  descend. 
Where  Envy  finds  not  blemish  to  amend. 

As  if  between  two  vales,  which  softly  curl. 
The  mouth  with  vermeil  tint  is  seen  to 

glow: 
Within  are  stryng  two  rows  of  orient 

Which  her  delicious  fipa  shut  up  or  show. 
Of  force  to  melt  the  heart  of  any  churl. 
However  rude,  hence  courteous  accents 

flow; 
And  here  that  gentle  smile  receives  its 

birdi. 
Which  opes  at  will  a  paradise  on  earth. 

like  milk  the  bosom,  and  the  neck  of  snow; 
Round  is  the  neck,  and  full  and  large 

the  breast; 
Where,  fresh  and  firm,  two  ivory  apples 

Which  rise  and  fall,  as,  to  the  margin 

press*d 
By  pleasant  breeze,  the  billows  come  and 

go. 
Not  prying  Argus  could  discern  the  rest. 
Yet  might  the  observing  eye  of  things 

conceal*d 
Conjecture  safely,  firom  the  charms  re* 

veal'd. 

To  aU  her  arms  a  just  proportion  bear. 
And  a  white  hand  is  oftentimes  descried. 
Which  narrow  is,  and  some  deal  long; 

and  where 
No  knot  appears,  nor  vein  is  sSgntf  ed. 
Yoi  finish  of  that  statelv  sbi^  and  rare, 
A  fbot,'ne8t«  short,  and  round,  beneath 

is  spied. 
Angelic  visions,  creatures  of  the  sky, 
CoroesTd  beneath  no  oovering  veil  cam 


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490  The  Secomd  Volume 

The  knight  Rimmto's  escape  ftom 
the  peril  of  his  reddenoe  in  the  Fairy's 
bower,  is  given  with  equal  success. 
There  is  not  perhaps  a  more  charac- 
teristic thing  in  all  Ariosto— «  more 
happy  specimen  of  his  peculiar  gift  for 
the  picturesque,  than  the  passage  in 
which  the  attack  made  on  tne  retreat- 
ing cavalier  by  the  huntsiAan  of  Al- 
dna  is  described.  How  gloriously  the 
picture  is  transferred  here ! 

*'  He  on  hit  fist  a  ravening  falcon  bore. 
Which  he  made  fly  for  pastime  every 

day; 
Now  on  the  champaign,  now  upon  the 

shore 
Of  neighbouring   pool,  which  teem*d 

with  certain  prey ;  . 
And  rode  a  hack  which  simple  housings 

wore, 
His  faithful  dog,  companion  of  his  way. 
He,  marking  wdl  the  haste  with  which 

he  hies. 
Conjectures  truly  that  Rogero  flies. 

Towards  him  came  the  knave,  with  sem- 

bUuice  haught. 
Demanding  whither  in  such  haste  he 

sped: 
To  him  the  good  Rogero  answers  naught. 
He,  hence  assured  more  deariy  that  he 

fled, 
Within  himself  to  stop    the   warrior 

thought, 
And  thus,  with  Ids  left  arm  extended, 

said: 
•  What,  if  I  suddenly  thy  purpose  balk, 
'  And  thou  find  no  defence  against  this 

hawk?' 

Then  flies  his  bird,  who  works  so  well 
his  wing, 
Rabican  cannot  distance  him  in  flight  r 
The  falconer  from  his  hack  to  ground 

did  spring, 
And  freed  him  from  the  bit  which  held 

him  tight; 
Who  seem*d  an  arrow  parted  from  the 

string, 
And  terrible  to  foe,  with  kick  and  bite ; 
While  with  such  baste  behind  the  ser- 

▼ant  came, 
He  sped  as  moved  by  wind,  or  rather 

flame. 

Nor  wUl  the  falconer's  dog  appear  more 
'  slow; 

But  hunts  Rogero's  courser,  as  in  chase 

Of  timid  hare  the  pard  is  wont  to  go. 

Not  to  stand  fast  the  warrior  deems  dis- 
grace. 

And  turns  towards  the  swiftly-footed  foe. 

Whom  he  sees  wield  a  riding-wand,  in 
place 

Of  other  arms,  to  make  his  dog  obey. 

Rogeio  scorns  his  faokhion  to  display. 


qfRo$e'i  Ariosto.  [[April, 

The  servant  made  at  hfan,  and  smote  him 
sore; 

The  dog  his  left  foot  worried;  whila  un- 
tied 

From  rein,  the  li^ten'd  horse  three 
times  and  more 

Lash'd  from  the  croup,  nor  miss'd  his 
better  side. 

The  hawk,  oft  wheeling,  widi  her  talons 
tore 

The  stripling,  and  Ids  horse  so  terrified. 

The  courser,  by  the  whizsing  sound  dia- 
may*d. 

Little  the  guiding  hand  or  spur  obey'd. 

Constrained  at  length,  his  sword  Rogezo 
drew 

To  dear  the  rabble,  who  his  course  de- 
Uy; 

And  in  the  animals'  or  villain's  view 

Did  now  its  point,  and  now  its  edge  dis- 
play. 

But  with  more  hindersnoe  die  vexatious 


Swarm  here  and  there,  and  wholly  block 

the  way ; 
And  that  dishonour  will  ensue  and  loss 
Rogero  sees,  if  him  they  longer  cross. 

He  knew  each  little  that  he  longer  stay'd. 
Would  bring  the  fay  and  followers  on 

the  trail; 
Already  drums  were  beat,  and  trumpets 

bray'd. 
And  lamm-bells  rang  loud  in  every  vale. 
An  act  too  foul  it  seem'dto  use  his  Made 
On  dog,  and  knave  unfimoed  with  arms 

or  mail: 
A  better  and  a  shorter  way  it  were 
The  buckler,  old  Atlantes'^  work  to  bare. 

He  raised  the  crimson  doth  in  which  he 

wore 
The  wondrous  shidd,  endosed  for  maoy 

a  day; 
Its  beams,  as  proved  a  thousand  times 

before. 
Work  as  they  wont,  when  on  the  sight 

they  play: 
Sensdess  die  falconer  tumbles  on  the 

moor; 
Drop  dog  and  hackney;  drop  the  pi. 

nionssay. 
Which  poised  in  air  the  bird  no  longer 

keep: 
Them  glad  Rogero  leaves  a  prey   to 

Mr  Rose  himself  remarks  in  a  note, 
that  one  must  have  travdled  a  long 
day's  ride  in  a  hot  climate,  in  order  to 
be  able  to  relish  completely  the  de- 
scription of  Rogero's  progress  in  these 
two  stanzas.  He  refers  in  particular 
to  a  ride  of  his  own  in  Asia  Minor, 
where  he  says,  the  eternal  cry  of  the 
Cicala  wis  fdt,  just  as  the  poet  puts 


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1994.;] 

it^  ts  an  inUtoable  aggrayadon  of  the 
heat,  glare,  and  fatigue.  Mr  R.'8  own 
vewes  seem,  indeed,  as  if  they  were 
fio<  translation. 

"  Meantime,  throagfa  nigged  rocks,  and 
shagged  with  thorn, 
Rogero  w^ds,  to  seek  the  sober  fky ; 
From  diff  to  ctifl^  finom  path  to  path  for. 

lorn, 
A  rugged,  lone,  inhospitable  way ; 
Till  he,  with  labour  huge  oppress*d  and 

worn. 
Issued  at  noon  upon  a  beach,  that  lay, 
'Twixt  sea  and  mountain,  open  to  the 

south. 
Deserted,  barren,  bare,  and  parch*d  with 
drouth. 

The  sunbeams  on  theneig|iboutingm<mn. 
tain  beat, 
And  glare,  reHected  from  the  glowing 


So  fiercely,  sand  and  air  both  bofl  with 

heat. 
In  mode  that  mi^t  have  more  than 

melted  glass. 
The  birds  are  silent  in  their  dim  retreat. 
Nor  any  note  is  heard  in  wood  or  grass. 
Save  the  bough-perch'd  Cicala's  weary. 

ingcry. 
Which  deafens  hill  and  dale,  and  sea  and 

sky." 

The  Italian  oommqptators  have  often 
called  our  notice  to  the  truth  with 
which  Ariosto,  describing  the  barque- 
buss  of  the  coward  King  of  Freexeland, 
puts  biniBelf  into  the  situation  of  one 
^o  had  for  the  first  time  seen  fire- 
arms—the simplicity,  accuracy,  and 
unaffected  terror  of  the  poor  Princess 
who  tells  her  woful  tale. 
**  *  Besides,  that  both  his  puissance  and 
hismi^t 
Are  such,  as  m  our  age  are  matched  of 

few, 
Sudi  in  his   evO  deeds   his  cunnfaig 

sleight. 
He  laughs  to  scorn  what  wit  and  fbrce 

can  do. 
Strange  arms  he  bears,  unknown  to  any 

wight. 
Save  him,  of  the  andent  nations  or  die 

new; 
A  hoDow  iron,  two  yards  long,  whose 

small 
Channel  he  loads  widi  powder  and  a 
balL 

*  He,  where  't»  closed  behind,  in  the  iron 

round. 
Touches  with  fire  a  vent,  discerned  with 

pain. 
In  guise  that  skUfiil  surgeon  tries  his 

ground, 
Whcie  need  requires  that  bt  should 

breathe  a  rein. 


The  Second  Volume  qfRon'i  AHotio.  491 

Whence  flies  the  bullet  with  such  deaf- 
ening sound. 

That  bolt  and  lightning  from  the  hollow 
cane 

Appear  to  dart,  and  like  the  passing 
thunder, 

Bum  ^^lat  they  smite,  beat^own,  or 
rendasimder. 

^  Twice  broken,  he  our  armies  oirerthrew 
Widi  this  device,  my  gentle  brethren 

slain; 
The  first  Uie  shot  in  our  first  battle  slew. 
Reaching  his  heart,  through   broken 

plate  and  chain ; 
The  other  in  the  other  onset,  who 
Was  flying  from  the  fatal  field  in  vain. 
The  ball  his  shoulder  from  a  distance 

tore 
Bdiind,  and  issued  from  his  breast  be- 

fore. 

«  My  father  next,  defending  on  a  day 
The  only  fortress  whic£  he  still  pos- 

sess'd,  *^ 

The  others  taJnea  which  about  it  lay. 
Was  sent  alike  to  his  eternal  rest : 
Who  going  and  returning,  to  purvey 
What  lacked,  as  this  or  that  occasion 

pressed, 
Was  aimed  at  from  aftf,  in  privy  wise. 
And  by  the  traytour  struck  between  the 

eyes.V» 

How  fine  is  the  magnanimous  Or- 
kndo's  scorn  of  this  weapon,  which 
he,  and  he  only,  could  baffle,  and,  ha- 
ving baffled,  could  throw  away ! 

**  Bat  he  to  nothing  else  his  hand  ex- 
tends 

Of  an  the  many,  many  prizes  made. 

Save  to  that  engine,  found  amid  the 
plunder. 

Which,  in  all  points,  I  said  resembled 
thunder. 

Not  with  intent  in  his  defence  to  bear 
What  he  had  taken,  of  the  prize  pos- 

sest; 
For  he.stiU  hdd  it  an  ungenerous  care 
To  go  with  vantage  on  whatever  quest : 
But  with  design  to  cast  the  weapon 

where 
It  never  more  should  living  fright  mo- 
lest: 
And,  what  was  appertaining  to  it,  all 
Bore  off  as  well,  the  powder  aad  the 
balL 

And  thus,  when  of  the  tideswsy  he  was 
clear. 
And  in  the  deepest  sea  his  bark  descried. 
So  that  no  longer  distant  signs  appear 
Of  either  shore  on  this  or  the  other  side. 
He  seized  the  tube,  and  said,  '  That 

cavalier 
Blay  never  vail  through  thee  his  knight* 
,  ly  pride, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


Tkg  a$emU  rOmrm  qfJtam'4  Ariotk. 


CAp* 


Nir  teM  IM  oUfld  wHh  a  bettflr  fbe, 
Down  with  thee  to  tbe  lUikoi  deep  be- 
low! 

<0  iMthed,  O cuned  piece  of  engiaay. 
Cast  in  Tartarean  bottom,  bj  the  hand 
Of  Beelsc^b,  whose  Ibnl  mafignity 
The  ruin  of  thii  wadd  tkuMigh  thee  hai 

phuinM! 
To  hell,  froa  whence  thoa  came,  I  rea- 
der thee.* 
So  said,  he  cast  away  the  wei^NNi,  fannM 
Heanwhile,  with  flowing  sheet,  his  fri- 
sategpoes. 
By  wind,  which  for  the  cruel  udand  blows.*  *' 

Here  is  a  pretty  specimen  of  Arios- 
to>i  way  of  moralizing;  'tis  a  way 
quite  his  own. 

'*  If  her  Bureno  loved,  as  she  htd  lored 
Bireno,  if  her  lore  he  did  repay 
With  &ith  like  hers,  and  still  with  truth 

unmoved, 
VeerM  not  his  shifting  sail  another  way ; 
Or  ingrate  for  such  service— cruel  proved 
For  such  fair  love  and  faith,  I  now  will 

say; 
And  you  with  lips  oomprest  and  eye- 

brows  bentf 
ShaU  listen  to  the  tale  for  wonderment ; 

And  when  you  shaH  have  heard  the  im- 
piety. 

Which  of  such  psssing  goodness  was 
the  meed. 

Woman,  take  warning  from  this  perfidy. 

And  let  none  make  a  lover*s  word  her 
creed. 

Mindless  that  Gk>d  does  all  things  hear 
and  see. 

The  lover,  eager  his  desires  to  speed, 

Heaps  promises  and  vows,  aye  prompt 
to  swear. 

Which  afterwards  all  winds  disperse  in 


The  promises  and  empty  vows  dispersed 
In  air,  by  winds  all  dissipated  go, 
After  these  lovers  have  the  greedy  thirst 
Appeased,  with  which  their  fevered  pa- 
lates glow. 
In  this  example  which  I  ofl^,  versed. 
Their  prayers  and  tears  to  credit  be 

more  slow. 
Cheaply,  dear  ladies  mine,  is  wisdom 

bought 
By  those  who  wit  at  other*8  cost  are 
Uught. 

Of  those  in  the  first  flower  of  youth  be- 
ware, 

WhoM  visage  is  so  soft  and  smooth  to 
sight; 

For  past,  as  soon  as  bred,  their  fancies 
are; 

likt  a  straw-fin  their  every  appetite. 


So  the  keen  httiit«  fiiDovi  «f  the  hasa 
In  heal  and  cold,  on  shore,  at  moww 

tain-height ; 
Nor,  when  *tis  taken,  more  csteams  the 

Jtrire; 
y  hurries  after  that  wUdi  ffies* 

Such  is  the  practice  of  these  strmlings  who* 
What  time  you  treat  them  with  austerity. 
Love  and  revere  you,  and  such  homsge 

do. 
As  those  who  pay  their  service  fahhfbDy ; 
But  vaunt  no  sooner  victory,  than  yon 
From  mistresses  shall  servants  grieve  to 

be; 
And  mourn  to  see  the  flc^e  love  diey 

owed. 
From  you  diverted,  and  dsewhere  be- 

stow*d. 

I  not  for  this  (for  that  were  wrong)  opfaie 
That  you  should  cease  to  love ;  tn  jua^ 

without 
A  lover,  like  uncultivated  vine 
Would  be,  that  has  no  prop  to  wind 

about. 
But  the  first  down  I  pray  yon  to  dediae. 
To  fiy  the  volatile,  inconstant  r<kit ; 
To  make  your  choice  the  riper  fruits 

among. 
Nor  yet  to  gather  what  too  long  has 

hung.** 
We  must  conclude  with  a  little  of 
the  scene  of  Angaika  on  tha  rock,  de- 
voted to  be  devoured  by  the  Ore,  and 
her  delivery  fhim  diis  tcnible  sitiia- 
tion  by  Rogero'a  hand.  Every  oaa 
that  has  read  Arioato  at  all  must  have 
the  original  fresh  in  mind,  otherwise 
we  should  quote  them. 

*'  The  cruel  and  inhospitable  crew 

To  the  voracious  beast  tlie  dame  expose 
Upon  the  sea-beat  shore,  as  bare  to  view 
As  nature  did  at  first  her  work  compose. 
Not  even  a  veil  she  has,  to  shade  the  hue 
Of  the  white  lilv  and  venrillion  rose. 
Which  mingled  in  her  lovely  mtmhers 

meet. 
Proof  to  Xkcember-SDOw  and  July-heat. 

Her  would  RogflBO  have   soBoe   slatna 

deem*d 
Of  alabaster  made,  or  maible  tare, 
M^hich  to  the  ru^ed  rock  so  fastened 

.   seemed 
By  the  industrious  sculptor*a  cunning 

care. 
But  that  he  saw  distinct  a  tear  which 

8tream*d 
Amid  freshcopening  rose  and  yiy  fair. 
Stand  on  her  budmng  paps  beneath  m 

dew. 
And  that  her  golden  hair  dishevellM  flew. 

And  as  he  fastened  Mamhcrimr  eye»^ 
His  Bradamant  be  call*d  to  mind  again. 

8 


Digitized  by 


Google 


1894.^  71^  Second  Fohme  o/Rote'i  Arhito. 

Phy  and  lort  within  hk  botom  riae 

At  ODce,  and  ill  he  can  from  tears  re- 
frain: 

And  in  loft  tone  he  to  Ae  damsel  cries, 

(When  he  has  checkM  his  flying  cour- 
8er*s  rein,) 

*  O  lady,  worthy  but  that  chain  to  wear. 

With  which  Lovers  faiUiful  servants  feU 
tcr'd  are, 


4«S 

When  he  perarives  the  flrst  of  no  avail. 
The  knight  returns  to  deal  a  better  blow ; 
The  ore,  who  sees  the  shifUng  shadow  sail 
Of  those  huge  pinions  on  the  sea  below. 
In  furious  heat,  deserts  his  sure  regale 
On  shore,  to  follow  that  deceitful  snow ; 
And  rolls  and  reeb  behind  it,  as  it  fleets. 
Rogero  drops,  and  oft  tlie  stroke  repeats. 


*  And  moat  unworthy  this  or  other  01, 
What  wretch  has  had  the  cruelty  to 

wound 
And  gall  those  snowy  hands  with  Kvid 

staip. 
Thus    painfully   with    griding  fetters 

bound  ?* 
At  this  she  cannot  dMOse  but  shew  like 

grain 
Of  crimson    spreading   on    an    irory 

ground ; 
Knowing  those  secret  t>eauties  are  espied. 
Which,  Howsoever  lovely,  shame  would 

hide; 

And  gladly  with  her  hands  her  face  would 
hood. 
Were  they  not  fastened  to  the  rugged 


I 
Bat  with  her  teait  (fbr  this  at  least  she 

oou*d) 
BedewM  it,  and  essayM  to  hold  itdown. 
Sobbing  some  while  the  lovely  damsel 

ljU>od; 
Then  loosed  her  tongue,  and  spake  in 

feeble  tone ; 
But  ended  not ;  arrested  in  mid-word, 
By  a  loud  noise  which  in  the  sea  was 

heard. 

Lo !  and  behold  t  the  unmeasured  beait 
appears. 

Half  surging  and  half  hidden,  in  such 
sort 

As  ^Md  by  roaring  wind  long  carack 
steers 

From  north  or  south,  towards  her  desti- 
nedport. 

So  the  sea-monster  to  his  food  Repairs  : 

And  now  the  interval  between  is  short 

Half  dead  the  lady  b  through  fbv  en- 
dured, 

01  by  that  other*s  comfort  reassured. 

Rogero  overhand,  not  in  the  rmt 
Cairies  bis  lance,  and  beats,  with  down- 
right blow. 
The  monstrous  ore    What  this  resem- 
bled best. 
Bat  a  huge,  writhing  mass,  I  do  not 

know; 
Whidi  wore  no  fbrm  of  animal  exprest, 
Save  in  the  haul,  with  eyes  and  teeth  of 

sow. 
Hit  farehcad,  *twizt  the  eyes,  Kogfito 


Bat  as  OB  sted  or  rock  the  WMMA  Itahab 
Vol.  XV.  ^ 


As  eagle,  that  amid  her  downward  flight, 

Survm  amid  the  grass  a  snake  uniollM, 

Or  where  she  smoothes  upon  a  sunny 
heiffh^ 

Her  ruffled  phimage,  and  her  scales  of 
pld. 

Assails  It  not  where  prompt  with  poison- 
ous bite 

To  hiss  and  creep;  but  with  securer 
hold 

Oripes  it  behind,  and  either  pinion 
clangs. 

Lest  it  should  turn  and  wound  her  with 
its  fangs; 

So  the  fell  ore  Rogero  does  not  smite 

With  lance  or  faulchion  where  the  tushes 
grow. 

But  aims  that  'twizt  the  ears  his  blow 
may  light; 

Now  on  the  spine,  or  now  on  tail  below. 

And  still  in  tmie  descends  or  soan  up- 
right. 

And  shifts  his  course,  to  cheat  the  veer- 
ing foe; 

But  as  if  beating  on  a  jasper  block, 

Can  never  cleave  the  hard  and  rugged 
rock. 

With  suchlike  warfare  is  the  mastiff  vext. 
By  the  bold  fly  in  August's  time  of  dust. 
Or  in  the  month  befbre  or  in  the  next. 
This  full  of  yeUow  spikes  and  that  of 

.    must; 
For  ever  by  the  drdiog  plague  perplext. 
Whose  sting  into  |^  eyes  or  snout  is 

thrust: 
And  oft  the  dog's  dry  teeth  are  heard  to 

&11; 
But  reaching  once  the  fbe,  he  pays  fbr  alL 

With  his  huge  tail  the  troubled  vravea  to 

sore 
The  monster  beats,  that  they  ascend 

heaven-hiffh; 
And  the  knight  knows  not  if  he  swim*. 

or  soar 
Upon  his  featherM  courser  in  mid  sky ; 
And  oit  were  £un  to  find  himself  ashore  s 
For,  if  long  time  the  spray  so  thickly  fly. 
He  fears  it  so  wiU  bathe  his  hippogryph. 
That  he  shall  vainly  covet  gourd  or  skiC 

He  then  new  counsel  took,  and  'twas  the 

best. 

With  otlm  aiB9  te  mqyillv  to  poitae ; 


i 


Digitized  b 


iS4 

To  dude  with  the  light  hie  blaited 
view. 
•  •  •  • 

He  in  the  monster's  eyes  the  radiance 

throws, 
Mliich  works  as  it  was  wont  in  other 

time. 
As  trout  or  grayling  to  the  bottom  goes 
In  stream,  which  mountaineer  disturbs 

with  lime ; 
So  the  enchanted  buckler  overthrows 
The  ore,  reversed  among  the  foam  and 

slime.  / 

Rogero  here  and  there  the  beast  astound 
Still  beats,  but  cannot  find  the  way  to 

wound. 

This  while  the  lady  begs  him  not  to  brajr 
Longer  the  monster*s  rugged  scale  m 

vain. 
•  For  heaven's  sake  turn  and  loose  me,' 
(did  she  say, 


The  Sewnd  Volume  qfJRoee't  Arioeto. 


QApril, 


Stin  weeping,)*  en  the  oie  acwake  again. 

Bear  me  with  thee,  and  drown  me  in 
mid-way. 

Let  me  not  this  foul  noonster's  food  re- 
main.* 

By  her  just  plaint  Rogero  moved,  for- 
bore. 

Untied  the  maid,  and  raised  her  from 
the  shore. 

Upon  the  beach  the  courser  plants  his  feet, 
And  goaded  by  the  towel,  towers  in  air, 
And  gallops  with  Rogero  in  mid  seat. 
While  on  the  croup  behind  him  sate  the 

fair; 
Who  of  his  banquet  so  the  monster 

cheat; 
For  him  too  delicate  and  dain^  (are* 
Rogero  turns  and  with  thick  kisses  plies 
The  lady's  snowy  breast  and  sparkling 

eyes." 


MATTHEWS   IN    AMERICA. 


Dear  N. 
Matt  H  Bw 8  has  taken  his  place  at  die 
Lyoeom  for  the  summer,  and  is  shew- 
ing np  the  Yankees,  according  to  pro- 
mise :  I  went  to  hear  him  on  the  first 
night,  but  was  rather  disappointed. 
Not  but  that  his  entertainment  is 
pleasant  upon  the  whole.  Indeed,  he 
IS  such  a  real  superlative  fellow  in  his 
way — what  he  does  is  so  incomparably 
above  all  the  juggling  of  the  second- 
rate  mimics,  who,  in  imitating  others, 
are,  in  fact,  onl^  imitating  him — ^his 
fiiculty  is  so  decidedly  that  of  (out  of 
words  assigned)  creating  character,  in- 
stead of  merely  aping  the  tones,  or 
gestures,  or  countenances,  of  indivi- 
duals— ^his  changes  of  person  are  so 
complete,  his  transitions  so  rapid,  and 
yet  so  easy — ^he  is  so  good  at  all  this, 
that,  if  he  were  to  read  an  act  of  par- 
liament, he  hardly  could  fail  to  be 
amusing ;  but  his  "  Trip  to  America" 
is  not  so  smart  as  most  of  his  summer 
chit-chat  has  been ;  it  is  rather  indeed 
very  feeble,  cockney  kind  of  stuff*;  and, 
fbr  all  the  information  that  it  gives 
about  the  country  in  which  he  has 
been  travelling,  it  might  pretty  nearly 
have  been  written  witnout  stirring  out 
of  Kentish  Town.  Doubts  now  whe- 
ther Mend  Charles  is  not  playing  boo- 
ty with  us  a  little  in  |his  affidr,  and 
intending  a  second  visit  to  the  land  of 
liberty  and  Mosquitoes  ?  For  though 
a  freat  deal,  certainly,  had  been  cut 


up  by  tourists  who  strayed  before  him, 
yet  I  think  he  might  nave  got  a  few 
more  points ;  and  I  am  quite  sure  he 
might  have  made  a  better  account  of 
them.  There  is  little  or  nothing  in 
fact  at  all  strikingly  American  in  his 
Entertainment.  Your  Review  of  Faux's 
Confessions,  and  a  score  of  New- York 
papers,  woidd  have  fVimished  out  ma- 
terials for  ten  volumes  of  better  tales ; 
then  the  flavour  of  what  there  is,  is  all 
softened  down  with  caution  and  melt- 
ed butter.  Abundance  of  sentimental 
sighing  about  the  felonious  crudty  of 
quizzing  people.  "  Weeping  tears" 
about  the  pr^udices,  and  hasty  con- 
clusions of  book-making  travellers. 
Admonitions  to  historians  in  posse 
about  the  necessity  of  observing  regi- 
men, and  writing  always  in  an  easy- 
chair.  And  then,  again,  there  is  a 
most  sanguinary  proser  put  upon  us, 
one  *'  Pennington,"  a  wise  man  of 
Massachusetts ;  who  states  facts,  cor- 
rects blunders,  and  does  first  serious 
role  in  fact  through  the  general  dra- 
ma ;  bursting  out,  every  ten  seconds, 
with  an  "  address" — a  sort  of  savage, 
ffot-by-heart  set  speech — sillier  than 
the  "  Theatrical"  "  Articles"  in  the 
Conduit-street  Magazine,  and  more 
maudlin  than  the  patriotic  orations  of 
sucking  barristers  at  Debating  Societies 
—a  kind  of— '^  Oh,  Mr  Matthews !" 
(with  the  "  Oh !"  rather  sympathetic 
andsubdued)— ''  Golden  would  be  the 


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iwi.;] 


Maiikewt  in  Anurka. 


49$ 


pen  that  thovld  iikUter  ^  &o.  &c 
—and  then  on^  in  the  usoal  strain,  to 
the  ''evil  tongue  of  slander/'  and 
'' attuning  harmony  hetween  two 
countries  created  to  love  and  del^;fat 
each  other" — all  very  just,  (and  very 
laughable  too,  in  its  way,^  but  not  what 
we  expect  to  laugh  at  when  we  go  to 
the  Lyceum.  Because— /xirce  que-^ 
(aa  the  French  always  say  whenejer 
ihone  is  no  approach  to  a  *'  parce  que" 
in  the  affidr) — it  is  all  nonsense,  be- 
ing so  over  civil  with  people  when  we 
want  to  be  amused  with  them !  Apo- 
logising to  a  cod  before  we  crimp,  or 
to  an  author  in  the  middle  of  review- 
ing him ;  and  so  letting  the  one  die 
b^nre  we  can  proceed  to  **  incision,' 
and  leaving  remnants  of  skin,  here 
and  there,  upon  the  other!  A  mad 
buU,  in  his  merriment,  never  thinks 
of  makinff  distinction  of  persons ;  and, 
for  myself,  when  I  feel  a  litde  my,  I 
always  take  a  red-hot  poker,  and  run 
at— ^anybody — directly.  However- 
bull,  or  no  bull— all  that  is  worth  ha- 
ving about  Matthews  this  year  is  his 
acting.  Very  little  is  due  to  his  obser-y 
vation,  and  still  less  to  the  wit  of  Uie 
individual  who  has  put  his  **  adven- 
tures" into  shape. 

But*he  opens !  To  a  bouncing  ad- 
'  vertisement,  and  a  sufibcating  house. 
There  are  squeaHngs  in  the  pit,  and 
B^uallinps  in  the  ^ery,  and  entrea- 
ties, and ''  noplace !"  and  clapping  of 
doors,  in  the  box  lobby.  And  then — 
Enter  the  piano-forte; — and  then«— 
Enter  Mr  Knight  to  play  upon  it. 
And  then  comes  the  performer,  and 
the  twenty  rounds  of  applause  which  he 
deserves.  And  this  puts  the  house  into 
good  humour — ^it  is  always  so  pleasant 
to  bestow  commendation ;  and  then 
we  start,  at  a  kind  of  light,  lady's 
canter  of  a  gallop,— to  what  tune,  and 
(ftr  the  first  three  sentences)  to  what 
words,  you  shall  hear. — 

'*  Ladies  and  Gentlemen !"  {general 
cries  qfeilence  /)  *'  I  need  haraly  in- 
form yon  that,  since  I  was  at  Home 
last,  I  have  been  abroad/'  (^ckuekling 
in  ike  orchestra,)  ''  And  allow  me  to 
add,  that,  having  been  ahroad,  I  feel 
gr^t  pleuure  in  beingo/  Home  again ;" 
(Tittering  in  all  quarters,  and  cries  of 
"  very  good  !"^  "  and,  next,  touch  up- 
on *  Improvea  Travelling' — *  Steam 
packets'  and  '  Poet  roads —Mr  Mat- 
thews and  Christopher  Columbus  alike, 
and  why  ? — Both  go  to  America ;  both 
carried  there  by  the  *  yellow  fever.' 


— ^Ydkm  fever  ?"  {some  surprise) — 
**  That  is,  a  fever  for  YOlow  boys." 
(Great  applause,  of  course,  in  all  quar- 
ters, at  this  *'  palpable  hit,"  with  a 
comment  or  two  from  the  gentlemen 
in  gooseberry  wigs  about  the  *'  genu- 
ineness of  such  an  impulse ;")  "  and  so 
we  go  on  to  sail  fVom  England  in  the 
ship  '  WiUiam  Thompson — Master's 
name,  *  William  Thompson' — Own- 
er's name,  *  William  Thompson  ;' 
which  gnives  rise  (through  a  speaking 
trumpet)  to  the  fbUowing  oialogue 
with  another  ship. 

Othbr  Ship,  {in  the  key  of  low  D.) 
What's  the  name  of  your  ship  ? 

Ma  Matthsws'b  Ship,  (tip  at  F 
alt.)  The  William  Thompson ! 

Thb  other  Ship.  What's  your 
Captain's  name? 

Ma  Matthbws's  Ship.  William 
Thompson  ! 

Othbr  Ship.  What's  your  Own- 
er^s  name  ? 

Mr  Matthews.  William  Thomp- 
son! 

Thi  other  Ship,  {getHug^  rather 
hoaree.)  Have  you  any  u^y  on  board  ? 

Ma  Matthews,  {through  a  sudden 
gust.)  Yes^Mrs  Thompson  ! 

The  other  Ship,  {bearing  away.) 
Begar!  AllTonson!" 

Another  dialoffue  takes  place  be- 
tween  our  friend  s  ship  and  an  Ame- 
rican vessel  bound  for  Holland. 

^*  Eno.  What  news. 

Amer.  {this  is  managed  without  the 
speaking  trumpet.)  Fever  in  New- 
I  guess* 

Mr  Parker— (If r  Matthews* s 
NeW'York  Manager — in  freat  anxie^ 
ty.)    People  leaving  the  aty  ? 

Amer.  Fifty  thouaand  gone  away 
sliek,  I  reckon. 

MrMatthews,  {in  equal  anxiety.) 
Many  die? 

Amer.  Fifty  a  day,  and  more,  / 
calculate:' 

This  oondudes  the  conversation  on 
the  part  of  Mr  Matthews,  who  had 
meant  to  have  the  "  yellow  fevar"  all 
to  himself ;  but  it  carries  us  on  '^  slick' 
to  the  dty  of  New  Brunswick,  where 
some  farther  introdnctiona  into  the 
society  take  plaee. 

Manager  (of  New  Brunswidc,  I 
think,)  recommends  his  stage  to  Mr 
Matthews,  u  the  last  upon  which 
many  "  eminen  t  performers"  ever  act- 
ed. '*  Great  Mr  Cooke,  sir !  last  stage 
be  ever  appeared  on !"  (The  brandv- 
and-water  was  so  bad,  that  poor  Cooke 


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496 


MaUkewi  in  Amn-icat 


broke  his  heart)  ''  Mr  StickemstUta, 
from  your  '  Royalty  Theatre/  sir — 
▼ery  eminent  actor !— he's  buried  in 
the  churchyard  you  passed^  sir,  just 
as  you  came  into  the  town.-— Famous 
singer,  sir,  Mr  Smalley,^broke  his 
engagement  with  me--died  on  the 
third  niffht — Wish  you'd  play  for  xa, 
«r— Hadn't  you  better  ?"  This  ends, 
of  course,  with  a  sly  joke  fVom  Mr 
Matthews  about  all  these  performers 
being  in  the  grave  line ;  and  then  we 
meet  with  a  Mr  Jack  Topham,  who 
jpoes  to  a  cold  country,  because  England 
IS  too  Ao/  for  him.  This  gentleman's 
forte  is  punning ;  and  he  has  a  cousin 
(Jf r  Bray,^  an  o)d  gentleman  with 
two  fortes,  lisping,  and  laughing — so 
Mr  Topbam's  puns  make  Mr  Bray 
laugh,  and  then  Mr  Bray's  li^ins 
makes  the  house  laugh,  which  is  a  good 
ingenious  arrangement  of  strength, 
and  keeps  things  **  going"  and ''  com- 
panionable." 

Besides  Messrs  Tc^ham  and  Bray, 
one  or  two  other  odd  fellows  join  about 
this  time,  who  keep  moving  on  with 
us  from  place  to  place,  during  the  rest 
of  our  stajr  in  America.  Mr  Rawens' 
top  is  a  stickler  for  Yankee  wit  and 
humour,  and  puts  out  stale  Joe  Mil- 
lers (as  invented  by  his  countrymen) 
with  an  iron  feature,  and  a  bursten- 
bellows  tone.  This  is  the  same  put, 
and  no  other,  who  was  President  of 
the  Nightingale  Club  with  us,  and 
used  to  sing  comic  songs,  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  a  passing  bell.— Then 
there  is  a  military  gentleman,  (Ameri- 
can,) who  lives  upon  saying — "Oh, 
very  well — very  well — very  well,"  up- 
on every  ociiasion ;  and  yet  his  "  On, 
very  wdl"  is  not  quite  very  well  nei- 
ther.— And  then  we  have  the  casual 
encounters  (in  •  abundance)  at  inns, 
public  shows,  and  by  the  way-side ; 
but  still  nothing  strildngly  new  that 
is,  or  purports  to  be,  Amencan. 

Then— of  the  casualties — ^what  tells 
best  ? — ^why,  the  conversation  in  the 
waggon  (which  has  a  "  General"  for 
a  driver)  is  not  unpleasant — aided  by 
the  strange  trick  of  huddling  epithets 
one  upon  another,  which  our  Transat- 
lantic friends  use  in  conversation — as 
neakinff  of  "  a  jn^tv,  considerable, 
oamneu  long  way,"  that  one  has  yet 
to  go,  or  a  "  pretty,  particular,  oonsi- 
dcarable,  damned  heavy  shower  of 
rain,"  that  is  likely  to  come  on : — the 
fact  is,  the  Americans  adopted  our 
European  oaths  as  their  ordinary  par- 


CApril, 

lance,  and,  of  ooane,  have  been  com* 
pelled  (when  they  wanted  to  swear) 
to  make  additions  tathem.  Somediing 
is  done  by  the  bandjring  of  titlea,  as 
"  Colonel"—"  Judge"— or  "  Doctwr," 
among  individuals  whose^ifon  de par* 
/(fr  is  not  entirely  that  of  the  schools  ; 
but  the  story  about  Doctor  Franklin's 
private  histonr  of  the  booUjadc  is  too 
cruel  to  be  forced  upon  us  (unksait 
were  by  Mr  Ravenstop ;  and  the  kg- 
houses,  and  the  saucy  servants,  a^ 
the  inns,  where  they  doubt  whether  a 
man  can  have  a  supper — what  a  bless* 
ing  to  live  still  in  a  country  where  one 
can  be  robbed  and  treated  with  a  littk 
decency !)— all  this  is  in  Mr  Faux  ten 
times  better  than  in  Mr  Matthews ; 
and,  in  fact,  if  Matthews  had  given 
the  tavem-dinn»  sc^ie  from  Faux, 
(Charleston,  April  6th,)  where  "  Co-  ^ 
lonel"  M^Klnnon  is  refused  daret— 
with  the  presentment  of  the  *'  Colo- 
nel's" bill,  and  the  stoppa^  of  his  cr^- 
dit-^nd  then  his  wanting  to  shoot 
"  Captain  Homer,"  and  then  the  laod- 
hntl  of  the  tavern,  and  then  himself-— 
with  his  right  to  do  '^  what  Cato  did, 
and  Addison  approved" — and  his  being 
"  a  bhwted  lily,  and  a  blighted  heath,^ 
— and  then  his  beinff  *'  naturally 
witty  and  highly  gifted — and  his  ha- 
ving married  three  wives,  and  aban« 
doned  them  all, — and  his  not "  shoot- 
ing himself, '  at  last,  because  he  can 
get  no  firime  ! — Matthews  might  have 
made  a  really  fine  thing  out  of  this 
scene — as  great  a  hit  as  he  did  with 
Mqjor  Longbow — ^worth  all  the  three 
acts  that  he  has  done  put  together, 
and  twice  as  much  more  put  to  it. 

And  again — aoropos  to  Faux'abook 
^What,  in  folly  snarae,  was  Matthews 
about  with  the  courts  of  law?  His 
Dutch  Magistrate's  charge  to  the 
Grand  Jury  is  tolerable ;  but  why  give 
us  a  mere  magistrate — why  the  deuoe 
not  give  us  the  spirited  thing— a  real, 

SropcT,  right  down,  whisky-inking, 
uelling,  tobacco-chewing,  hpg-steaU 
ing,  American  Judge  ?  If  this  is  deli-  ' 
cacy — odd's  bows  and  oourtones !— it 
is  the  most  unreasonable  delicacy  in 
the  world.  Treating  an  agreeable  whim 
— a  pleasant  national  ecoentricity.-4tt 
though  it  were  a  thing  to  be  ashamed 
of  i  I  won't  say  anything  about  the 
correctness  of  pluncter  (as  a  praotiee) 
taken  generally — (though,  in  a  rising 
society,  happy  is  that  man  who  can 
"  turn  his  buid  to  anything^')— but, 
through  all  nations,  and  in  all  ages. 


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18S4.J 


MaUkews  m  Amerieeu 


Wt 


upon  the  stealing  of  catUe,  there  ■eems 
to  have  been  but  one  fiseling.  Judge 
Wigfloner.(8eeFaux)  wasahog-stealer 
— wdl  1  and  what  was  Jaeon,  but  die 
first aheep-Btealer  upon  record?  For, 
as  for  the  parable  of  *'  the  Golden 
Fleece,"  even  the  Cockneys  know  that 
tho'e  nerer  was  such  a  thing  as  a 
Goldra  Fleece.  ''  Golden"  is  used  me- 
taphorically for  "  admirable,"  or 
'*  surpassmg."  It  was  a  breed  of  wod 
of  superior  cdelmty — a  kind  of  ^'  Spa- 
nish Merino"  mutton  of  days  gone  by, 
—of  which  Jason  abduced  a  sneep  or 
^  two  by  making  lore  to  the  farmer's 
daughter.  His  taming  the  brazen^ 
footed  bulls — these  were  cantanckerous 
beasts,  which  Medea's  father  kept  in 
his  pastures  to  prevent  trespass.  The 
watchful  Dragon  who  went  to  sleep, 
was  no  other  than  the  chief  shepherds 
dog,  so  denominated—''  Dragon"  (as  a 
proof)  remaining  a  dog's  name  to  this 
day.  fiut,  Jason  apart,  what  was  Ca- 
cus,  with  whom  Hercules  did  not  take 
shame  to  fight,  but  a  cow^tealer  ? 
The  Spartan  theft  upon  record  is  the 
stealing  of  a  fox— and  mm  constat  that 
(though  not  eatable  now)  foxes  miffht 
not  have  been  held  a  delicacy  in  earaer 
times.  The  view  that  our  Scottish 
Border  heroes  took  of  such  transae- 
tioDs  is  too  notorious  even  to  need  re- 
ferring to ;  but  is  there  not  Yorkshire 
(in  £nghmd)  where  the  stealing  of 
horses  is  transparently  uph^  to  this 
hour  ?  And  Ireland,  where  the  same 
firee-taking  obtains  as  to  young  wo- 
men ?  Not  to  speak  of  the  instinctive 
horror  which  turkeys  (flesh  is  fowl) 
exhibit  at  the  sieht  of  a  soldier ;  the 
well-known  feud  whidi  has  existed 
for  centuries  between  geese  and  mail- 
coachroen;  and  the  disposition  dis- 
played even  by  the  schoolboy— (/»- 
genui  vulttis  puer  /)  to  extend  his  ten 
years  old  depredations  from  the  apple 
orchard  to  the  hen-roost !  Why,  un- 
der such  circumstances,  it  seems  no- 
thing less  than  absurd  to  consider 
the  marauding  of  swipe  (in  America, 
where  it  is  the  custom)  as  detractory 
from  the  judicial  character;  on  the 
contrary,  suppose  it  to  extend  even  to 
the  counsel  and  attorneys — as,  in  all 
probability,  it  does— why,  still,  being 
an  offenc^--(of  course,  it  is  an  offence 
where  not  committed  by  persons  in  trust 
or  office)—- an  ofience  Wmch  must  come 
frequently  under  the  cognizance  of 
the  criminal  courts,  I  cannot  conceive 


anything  moro  ddightfol  than  the 
idea  of  seeing  a  set  of  kwyera  thus 
engaged  upon  a  matter,  with  the  prao- 
tical  merits  of  whidi  everj  one  of 
them  must  be  so  well  acquainted !  By 
''  Jacob's  staff!"  I  would  have  thought 
it  no  affiront  to  have  dramatiaed  the 
trial  of  a  man  fbr  stealing  a  boar ; 
made  the  Attorney-General,  and  not 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  the  real  male- 
factor in  the  case;  and  introdttced  his 
"  lordship"  upon  the  bench,  with  a 
sucking  pig  hanging  out  of  each  poc- 
ket! 

But—"  it  is  Matthews  who  has  to 
act?"— Thankye!— I  hadn't fi>rgotten. 
Ehbien!  The  crowd  round  the  "  Post- 
office"  is  worth  looking  at,  for  the 
sake  of  the  poor  Frenchman  who  tears 
up  his  own  letter.  The  acting  of 
Monsieur  MaUSt  is  admirable  ;— lull 
of  pleasantry— and  pathos  at  Uie  same 
time.  The  other  Frenchman,  too,  is  a 
card,  who  sings  the  song  in  praise  of 
"  Generale  Jadcsone !"  and  again,  the 
Froich  tailor  {etmgrf)  in  the  last 
act,  with  his  long,  qiare,  rushlight 
figure,  and  his  readv  boutde  chanson. 

Forty-second  incident— the  ''Negro 
Theatre"— does  not  "  like  me"  ao 
welL  A  black  man— who  can't  speak 
intelligible  English— playing  Hamlet, 
and  b»ng  impofect  m  the  dialog, 
is  too  coarse  for  burlesque.  Tbethmg, 
as  we  see  it,  is  pitiable  rather  than 
laughable ;  and  there  is  not  sufficient 
resemblance  about  it  to  the  thing 
aimed  at  to  amuse  by  association. 
One  enjoys  the  "  first  appearance"  of 
a  pert  dak  at  Covent-Garden  as 
Romeo;  but  if  a  chimney-sweep  dioae 
to  act  HotsDur  in  his  own  celhu*,  we 
should  haroly  take  the  trouble  to  go 
to  see  him. 

Mr  Jonathan  to  Doubikin,  and  his 
uncle  "  Ben,"  are  Manchester  people 
both  of  them.  There  is  just  the  ego- 
tism— the  intrusivenese— the  unrea- 
sonableness— and  the  afl^tation,  about 
these  second-class  people  of  America, 
which  we  find  amons  the  most  ig- 
norant and  nastiest  of  our  manufiic- 
turing  population  in  England. 

The  "  Militia  Review"  is  well  act- 
ed, but  not  pointedly  written.  All 
the  songs  indeed  are  feeble  this  year^— 
the  Indian  "  opossum  up  the  gum- 
tree"  not  excepted;  they  savour  too 
much  of  the  style  of  "  the  innocent, 
pun-loving  Mr  Peake,"  as  a  delight- 
ful writer  of  T/te  London,  calls  a  gen- 


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Matthews  in  America. 


CApril, 


tleman  (in  a  defence  too !)  who  per- 
petrates  ftrces  at  the  English  Opera 
House. 

Among  the  remaining  featoresy  the 
amorous  Irishman^  and  the  corpulent 
Blacky  the  Natchitoches  Colonel,  (who 
is  also  a  cohhler, )  are  the  best  The  last 
act— the  "  Monoix>ly-lop;ue'' — ^is  the 
smartest  pazt  of  the  exhibition ;  but 
stilly  all  the  ''  peculiarities"  giren 
(American)  are  toe  superficial  oddi- 
ties of  Yulgur  life.  For  **  genteel  so- 
ciety/' there  is  no  notice  lit  all  of  it ; 
and  parties  are  divided  in  their  man- 
ner of  accounting  for  the  fiict— one 
side  violently  maintaining,  that  into 
the  good  society  Matthews  evidently 
did  not  pt ;  and  the  other  hazurding^ 
(for  theur  explanation) — that  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  good  society  in  the 
country. 

Now^  bagtdeUe  apart,  you  know  I 
never  said  a  word  against  the  Ameri- 
cansy  unless  when  somebody  swore — 
either  that  they  had  colonized  Europe 
— <nr  that  they  could  speak  intelligible 
English— or  that  the  English  Ministry 
privately  paid  tribute  to  the  Sea  Ser- 
pents— or  anything  else  that  vrould 
seem  demonstrable  to  Joseph  Hume, 
and  a  humbug  to  all  creation  beside. 
For  the  rest,  I  forgive  the  motto  on 
their  monument— at  Bunker's-hiU,  I 
beheve  i|  is— 

**  This  monument  was  built — of  brick, 
Because  we  beat  the  British  ilick  : 
This  monument  was  built — of  stone, 
Because  Lord  North  oould  never  let  Ame- 
rica  alone  ;** 

and  I  believe  them  to  be  a  right  hardy, 
enterprising,  impudent,  vulgar,  vi- 
gorous set  of  rogues, — often  hitting 
devilish  very  hard,  and  always  gas- 
conading a  great  deal  harder;  not 
very  particular  as  to  morals,  and  pa- 
gans altogether  as  to  manners,  but 


strong,  in  the  main  point,  at  home, 
and  fearless  enough  to  make  them- 
selves respected  abroad, — and  I  aay 
they  have  a  rig[ht  to  complain  of 
Matthews'  apologies,  instead  of  being 
thankful  for  them.  Some  "friend, 
in  trying  to  save  them  from  being 
laughed  at,  has  done  them  monstrous 
injustice.  It  is  the  peculiarly  dis- 
tinguishing characteristic  of  liberal 
and  enlightened  communities,  fthat 
their  vices  may  be  freely  castigated 
and  their  absurdides  openly  quizzed, 
without  offence  being  given  to  any 
creature,  whose  offence  is  worth  con- 
sideration. Look  how  we  treat  the 
*'  peculiarities"  of  the  French ;  and 
(still  more)  how  they  treat  our  Eng- 
lish fopperies  on  the  stage !  and  yet 
John  Bull  is  never  angry,  nor  Mon- 
sieur either.  If  a  farce  was  to  be 
brought  out  at  the  Paris  Vaudeville 
to-minrow,  vridi  the  principal  charac- 
ter a  bear,  from  France,  settling  in 
London  to  teach  dancing,  it  would  be 
translated  within  a  week,  and  acted, 
amid  roars  of  laughter,  all  over  Eng- 
land. 

"  Let  the  galled  jade  wince  V  I 
say ;  and,  in  spite  of  Friend  Penning^ 
/on  and  his  sugared  precepts,  I  wish 
Matthews  had  let  himself  out ;  and 
spared  "  Jonathan"  as  little  as  he 
would  need  spare  "  Alexandw" or  ''Pa- 
trick." Macklin's  Man  of  the  WoHd 
will  never  do  any  discredit  to  Scotland, 
until  we  hear  that  it  has  been  hissed, 
or  forbidden  to  be  acted  in  Edin- 
burgh; and  it  is  perhi^  the  most 
absdute  proof  which  can  be  adduced 
of  the  general  sterling  eharacter  of 
the  people  of  England,  that  they  are 
the  first  to  laugh  at  their  own  aberra- 
tions from  good  sense,  in  whatever 
quarter  those  aberrations  may  be  held 
up. 


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18S4.;]  Luther's  Bridal.  489 

LUTHBB's  dRIDAL 

There  wei  one  Juuned  Katharine  de  Boria,  whom  Lather,  who  still  wore  the 
habit  of  his  order,  thought  very  beautiful,  and  with  whom  he  afterwards  1^  in 
love. — Bayls. 

I. 
They  say  that  if  the  never  winluDg  lamps 
Which  stud  the  dim  roof  of  the  concave  night. 
Might  be  unhallow'd  to  our  nearer  sight. 
We  should  but  eye  some  dark  material  spheres 
Rolling  mid  humid  mists  and  vapourish  damps. 
The  cloudy  founts  of  earth-refreshing  tears. 
From  whence  is  strangely  breathed  that  living  light ; 
And  that  the  wayward  children  of  the  air. 
The  arrowy  meteors  and  those  wand'ring  stars 
Unfix'd,  which,  ere  we  know  that  they  are  there. 
Will  vanish  trackless  from  our  tardy  ken. 
And  plunge  into  th'  abysses  of  the  dark. 
Are  but  the  progeny  o/some  dank  fen.-—  ^ 

Thus  from  the  glimmering  worm  we  scarce  remark, 
Whose  sparklet  of  dim  radiance  scarce  debars 
The  blind  tread  of  the  poor  belated  wight. 
Devious,  who  wanders  wayless  and  alone, — 
The  Element  of  Light, 
Howe'er  celestial,  and  however  pure. 
Is  still  earth-bom,  and  springs  from  the  obscure. 
Derived  of  matter  baser  than  its  own. 

II. 
Bear  witness  then,  O  !  ye  primeval  Fires, 
Ev'n  as  your  courses  and  your  times  are  true, — 
Ev'n  as  ye  know  your  tides  and  seasons  due, —  * 

Bear  witness  thou,  O  I  Soul  of  my  desires. 
Thou  Load-star  of  my  fate — to  wnom  'tis  given 
To  wake  in  this  dead  bosom  life  anew,— - 
Unseen,  unknown,  unsuUied,  and  unblamed. 
Bear  witness  that  my  love  is  pure— as  thou. 
Nor,  therefore,  shall  I  shrink  nor  be  ashamed 
To  say,  that  with  my  love  my  faith  was  one ; 
(For  love  is  holy,  ev'n  as  faitn  is  love ;) 
Yea,  that  it  rose  like  incense  cast  upon 
The  sacred  flame, — which  fits  it  for  above, — 
Ev'n  to  sublimed  and  purified  for  Heaven. 

IIL 
Within  yond  cell  were  eyeless  blind  Devotion, 
And  Tears  and  Longings,  Vigils,  Fasts,  and  Sighs ; 
But  unpropitious  seemed  the  sacrifice 
To  him  receiving,  as  to  him  who  gave ; 
'Twas  awfiil  all,  but  chill  as  is  the  grave. 
No  blessed  sympathy,  no  warm  emotion. 

No  voice  that  whisper'd  ''  Ask  and  ye  shall  have" 

To  ask  ?  alack !  to  think  were  sinfulness ; 
And  when  at  length  th'  insinuating  sleep 
Would  woo  mme  eyelids  with  a  soft  caress. 
And  in  a  brief  repose  the  senses  steep. 
Though  the  repose  were  brief. 
Then  shadows  of  perplexing  shape  would  rise. 
So  dim,  so  wild,  so  mingled,  and  so  strange. 


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4S0  Luther  s  BridaL  L^F^» 

Such  pleasing  pan^  such  horrid  ecstasies. 

Such  doubt,  and  bliss,  and  terror  in  their  change, 

That  wretched  waking  were  a  blest  relief. 

And  the  betbssed  soul 

Would  ding  and  rest  on  rugged  certainty. 

Until  tired  nature,  with  a  strong  control. 

Again  would  numb  the  sense  ana  seal  the  eye. 

Creeping  o'er  passion,  with  a  sway  supreme. 

And  binding  it— -as  ice  doth  on  a  stream. 
IV. 

But  still  that  shape  would  haunt  me  in  my  slumbers. 

Still  with  a  guilty  pleasure  I  would  bum 

Through  feverish  trances,  and  intensely  yearn 

To  speak  I  know  not  what And  if  the  numbers. 

Redoubling,  of  the  midnight  choral  chaunt. 

Through  the  lone  aisles  should  haply  touch  mine  ear. 

And  sleep  retiring  my  hot  eyes  ungfue, 

Then  would  my  senses  sudden  tumult  find. 

And  my  scared  dream,  filtering  in  mid  cs^eer. 

Melt,  like  the  snow  before  the  winter  wind. 

In  tears  more  cold  than  is  the  marble  dew. 

V. 
Methought  we  sojoum'd  on  a  sunny  Isle-^ 
Some  stormless  realm— or  haven  of  the  blest, — 
Set  like  a  star  amid  the  azure  main. 

Where  never  mortal  keel  had  ventured. 
There  flowery  couches  woo'd  the  limbs  to  rest. 
And  bowers  that  welcomed  with  unfading  smile— 
Oh  !  jojr— oh !  bliss  unmatch'd— delicious  pain —        ' 
When  m  o'erwhelming  Love  the  senses  swim, 
N      And  the  heart  speaks,  and  the  moist  eye  grows  dim, 
And  Rapture  almost  breathes  on  Agony 

Lo  I  in  one  whiriing  moment  it  was  fled  ! 
A  flood  of  fire,  and  not  a  sapphire  sea. 
Now  roll'd  its  red  waves  to  our  shrinking  feet. 
And  all  the  laughing  blooms,  whose  tendrils  sweet. 
Intrusive,  hung  enamour'd  o'er  our  bed. 
Grew  snake-like,  and  writhed  round  us  in  their  slime- 
All  the  foul  produce  of  some  damned  dime 
Crawl'd  suddenly  into  portentous  life ; 
Blotch'd  toads,  lithe  scolopendiae  many-limb'd. 
Scorpions,  dry  newts,  and  blind  amphibious  eels  ; 
And  round  and  round  thy  quivering  frame  they  climb'd 
And  swarra'd  and  batten'd  on  thy  £)som's  snow — 
— —  The  sight  did  make  me  stone— nor  could  I  turn 
Mine  eyes  one  moment  from  't — ^"Twas  hell— oh  I  woe— 
'Twas  worse — E'en  now  mine  apprehension  reels. 
And  at  the  very  thought  I  chill  and  bum  :— 
And  there  methinks  my  very  soul  had  died. 
In  the  cold  horror  of  that  lethal  dream. 
But  shuddering  nature  tore  the  veil  aside. 
And  with  convulsive  effort  re-supplied 
The  failing  pulses  of  lifers  curdling  stream — 
And  ope'd  mine  eyes. 

From  siffhts  that  human  hearts  may  not  abide. 
To  griefs  past  eure^but  still  realities ! 


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1894.;]  LMers  Bridai.  4S& 

VL 
Thto  came  the  DumbBMS  of  f  mwg  Hop*  onctim'd 
Within  walls  bailt  of  oonsecralad  dtoa^ 
And  those  rais^alMipen  thoughts  that  Mmry  hr«sd«. 
Did  I  not  doubt  against  th'  eternal  throne ; 
Yea,  ask  if  his  own  work  the  Maker  heeds? 
And  in  my  sightless  madness  I  arrsign'd 
Th'  inscrutabto^  and  wildl?  would  review 
With  mortal  eye  the  formless  infinite — 
Alack!  a  jadgment-seat 
Where  the  film'd  blind  is  set  to  prove  the  True. 

VIL 
O !  moment,  blessed  twice*  now  and  far  ever-<- 
At  length  a  light  broke  in  upon  my  soul ; 
And  now  mv  gloom,  thou^  dark,  was  not  on#  viida. 
One  solid  nig£t,  no  ray  might  e'er  dissever; 
And  my  shrank  spirit  rush^l  as  doth  a  River 
When  suddenly  the  thunder  spout  hath  Men, 
My  youth  did  bud  again,  the  hope«,  the  fw»« 
The  fires,  the  wishes  of  its  H^riDg  racaUing, 
Yea,  there  came  warmth  into  my  human  tears. 
And  it  was  joy  unutf  raUe  to  me 
To  know  that  what  I  dared  not  call  ideal 
Might  now  take  form  and  leap  into  the  leal. 
That  bliss  was  possible— though  bliss  might  never  be. 

VIII. 
Then,  when  ihe  night  had  drawn  her  cartaia  over, 
Thy  form  did  tend  and  float  upon  mv  sleep ; 
And  as  the  moon  reigns  o'er  the  mionight  de^ 
When  no  consjmring  clouds  her  glory  cover. 
The  fears,  the  doubU,  the  M;ony,  the  danger* 
Retired  and  hover'd  as  a  halo  round  thee. 
And  hopes  to  which  my  heart  had  been  a  stranger. 
Came  with  their  music  to  my  shunbering  ear-^ 
•     ''  Now  cast  behind  thee  dread,  and  doubt,  and  fear. 
And  worship  Truth  alone,  since  Truth  hath  found  thet; 
And  though  the  cbuds  that  ding  around  her  ferm. 
In  many  an  umber'd  feld  would  min  affright. 
Yet  now  Mmemhm-,  since  that  thou  ha^  B^^ 
That  thera  must  still  be  Hopcu  although  there  nwqr  be  llorm  f 

IX. 
Even  so.    The  voice  was  heard.   Hftve  I  not  wen 
My  way  through  curses,  bans,  and  racks,  and  fires; 
Thou  gohlkm  shadow  of  Rome's  fermer  power. 
By  violence  upheld — in  fraud  beguur^ 
Have  I  not  made  ikf  iaA  enchantao^nts  oowfr. 
Shrunk  like  Avemitn  fegs  b^^  the  sun  ? 
—Thou  proud  e^er^pamier'd  nurse  of  swarma  obscene. 
Thy  peopled  cloisters,  aisles,  and  stalls  and  chcrirs. 
Have  pass'd  before  a  OiUWtfi  glass  !— 
And  I  have  seen  them  shrink  when  they  did  pass. 
And  Cardinals,  Abbots,  Ccofessors,  and  Friars* 
Monks,  Eremites,  Li^snde,  aed  Relics  aU, 
Were  chanced  befoK  that  pen€dtrant  seafdiing,  keen  ; 

They  shew^  the  colours  or  their  oaniival 
Even  as  the  bubbles  of  the  shore-cast  foaaa 
So  seeming  white,  until  the  aua  hath  come. 

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439  Luther's  Bridal  C^pril, 

Reflect  their  hues  before  the  struggKng  rnj. 
And  shrink  to  vnporous  and  impassive  form 
After  the  flying  pageant  of  the  storm. 
Leaving  the  scene  tmfill'd,  fades  trouUoosly  away. 

X. 
— ^They  said  the  blessed  blood  should  change  to  fire ; 
The  water  cast  its  nature  off  and  burn ; 
Flame  I  should  drink,  and  flame  again  espire  ; 
And  my  hot  sin  sear  to  the  very  bone ; 
My  voice  untuned  to  ond  eternal  groen  ; 
My  tears  all  dried  in  their  un-needed  urn— 
They  said  in  darkness  I  should  be  alone. 
Curst  of  the  curst-— beneath  that  lowest  crew. 
Who,  knowing  nought  of  good,  yet  had  not  known 
The  evil  that  I  knew— 
They  drove  me,  like  a  felon,  from  the  porch  ; 
They  doom'd  me,  like  a  voiceless  suicide  ; 
My  life  they  liken'd  to  a  dying  torch  ; 
My  frame  they  liken'd  to  a  shrivell'd  scroll. 
That  shrinks  before  the  flame  it  must  abide ; 
Yea,  they  did  liken,  in  their  impious  prid^ 
My  spirit  to  some  vapour  dark  and  vile. 
Some  meteor  which  corruption  doth  imchain 

From  the  rank  bosom  of  a  noisome  fea 

It  was  in  vain. 

A  spirit  and  a  power  were  on  me  then, 

A  spell  beycmd  their  spells,  which  they  might  not  contrd. 

XI. 
I  have  sought  Truth,  because  my  spirit  spake 
Her  like  to  thee  ;  and  as  I  have  loved  her. 
Even  so,  methought,  with  a  sweet  sympathy. 
Thou  mightst  love  me,  though  but  for  W  dear  sake. 
Oh !  more  than  ecstasy. 
To  know  mine  inmost  longing  did  not  err ; 
That  Truth  and  Love  are  wedded  in  one  mind  ; 
That  Love  is  holy  truth,  and  Truth  most  loving^— 
Two  raptures  in  one  essence  intertwined— 
One  ray  into  a  double  splendour  woven. 
I  could  have  borne  frowns,  curses,  racks,  and  fires> 
Hell's  pains,  man's  hate,  so  thou  but  smiled  the  while ; 
I  could  have  borne  frowns,  curses,  racks,  and  fires. 
Hell's  pains,  man's  h&te— so  thou  mightst  dare  to  smile  ; 
I  could  have  laugh'd  at  these,  as  now,  to  see 
That  thou  dost  smUe— 4ind  that  Truth  smiles  in  thee. 

XII. 
Oh  !  take  this  circlet,  before  which  shall  fade 
The  spell  of  those  unnatural  mysteries. 
Which,  with  a  rage  Mezentius  never  knew. 
Would  chBm  the  living  body  to  a  shade. 

And  stab  the  bleeding  heart  for  sacrifice 

Take  it— 'tis  freedom  s  the  dear  voice  that  calls  ; 
Take  it— thou  shalt  not  be  condemn'd  to  nine 
Thine  icy  hours  within  those  monkish  wall8> 
Death-like,  jus  fk>wei^  beneath  the  churchyard  yew ; 
God  shall  himself  the  nuptial  wreath  entinne^ 
And  dip  it  in  the  Amaranthine  dew — 
For  thou  art  his,  and  he  doth  make  thee  mine. 

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Bandana  on  Emigration.    Letter  Fini. 


433 


BANDANA  ON  EHIGBATION. 

Letter  First. 


Sir, 


Onk  of  the  meet  important  ques* 
fcbnt  in  the  Kienoe  of  politictl  econo- 
my has  never  yet  been  properly  dia^ 
rnaictl,— I  mean  km  ideation.  Lord 
Selkirk's  work,  aa  fiir  as  it  goes,  is  Tery 
well;  but  his  viewa  were  local,  and 
directed  rather  to  the  operation  of  cer- 
tain political  changes  on  the  habits  and 
manners  of  a  particular  people,  than 
to  the  general  question,  as  it  aofects  the 
disposal  of  the  surplus  population  of  a 
country.  Without  entenne  into  the 
sal^ect,  in  all  its  theoreticsl  bearings, 
ffiWe  me  leave  to  ofier  you  a  few  prac^ 
tical  thoughts  applicable  to  the  pre- 
aeiit  state  of  Great  Britain  and  her 
colonies. 

Whilst  so  much  of  the  earth  is  still 
wood  and  wilderness,  I  conceiTe  it  to 
be  worse  than  useless  to  gire  anr  seri- 
ous attention  to  the  hypothetical  doo* 
tiines  of  Malthus.  That  the  increase 
and  the  diminutioii  of  population  is 
regulated  bv  the  means  of  subsistence, 
io  man  in  nis  senses  evor  thought  (^ 
disputing ;  but  to  say  that  the  eternal 
phyncal  instincts  of  human  nature 
may  be  regulated  by  any  moral  or  po- 
litical consideration— suppressed  or 
ciMxraraged,  with  reference  to  the  ar- 
tifieial  inatitutiona  of  any  existing  sUte 
of  society — is,  in  one  word,  nonsense. 
Tbe&ct  is,  that  the  means  of  subsiBt- 
ence  and  population,  according  to  the 
practice  of  the  world,  reciprocally  pro- 
mote  the  increase  of  each  other.  It  is 
this  co-operation  that  produces  the 
growth  of  sUtes,  the  riseof  cities;  that 
awdcena  the  principles  of  fertility  in 
the  sml,  and  spreads  luxuriance  and 
life  orer  the  face  of  the  land. 
.  But,  sir,  although  the  means  of  sub- 
sistence and  population  oo  hand  in 
hand  in  the  progreaiion  of  human  af- 
fairs, there  is  yet  an  operatiTe  princi- 
ple in  society  erer  pressing  against  po- 
pulation, and  marring  the  constancy 
of  iu  connection  witn  the  means  oi 
aubsbtence. 

No  one  can  look  at  the  different 
ranks  and  rocatbna,  which  have  ne- 
oeasarily  ^wn  out  of  the  social  state 
of  mankmd,  without  being  sensible 
that  many  of  them  invoWe  circum- 
stances prejudicial  to  the  progress  of 
popuktion,  merely  by  restraining  tfie 


natural  circulation  of  the  means  of 
subsistence.  I  do  not  regard  this  as 
an  eWl,  but,  on  the  contrary,  as  the 
Just  price  which  the  world  pays  for 
the  pleasures  and  ei\joyments  of  civi- 
liiation ;  nevertheleBi,  it  is  the  cause 
of  that  latent  sentiment  in  which  po- 
litical discontents,  from  time  to  time, 
ori^nate — the  fountain-head  of  revo- 
lutions— and  the  source  of  political 
commotions. 

These  things,  which  haTe  grown  out 
of  the  social  communion  of  mankind, 
may  be  described  comprehensiTcly  as 
▲aT,  and  the  feeling  of  which  I  aa 
spealdngasNATuaK.  Nature  is  theever- 
lasting  adversary  of  art,  and  it  has  ever 
been  Uie  object  of  all  wisdom,  in  go- 
vernment and  legialation,  to  prevent 
the  currents  of  population,  so  to  speak, 
from  doing  mischief  to  what  may  be 
odled  the  embankments  of  society,  by 
providing  for  the  tides,  and  distribu- 
ting the  overflow.  So  long  as  this  can 
be  done  at  home,  the  rise  and  progresa 
of  a  community  will  continue — the 
moment  that  it  cannot  be  done,  and 
that  easily,  means  must  be  found  to 
direct  the  overflow  abroad,  or  the  safe- 
ty of  the  order  and  peace  of  the  com- 
munity will  be  put  to  hasard.  Unleas 
measures  be  adopted  to  regulate  the 
increasing  population  of  a  country,  the 
necessities  of  the  people  will  sooner  or 
later  instigate  them  to  break  down 
those  fences,  both  of  property  and  of 
privik^,  which  contribute  so  much 
to  the  ornament  of  life,  and  the  eleva- 
tion of  the  human  diaracter. 

There  are  but  two  iraya— tMFLOT- 
M£NT  andxMieaATioN--by  which  the 
increasing  population  of  any  countiy 
can  be  regulated.  Employhbnt,  as  a 
method  of  engaging  the  heads  and 
hands  of  an  increased  population,  can 
be  carried  no  farther  than  the  trade 
and  manufactures  of  the  country  re- 
quire laboQiers,  while  it  has  the  effect 
o£  encouruiog  a  stiU  greater  increase ; 
and,  thererare,  strictly  qpeaking,  there 
is  no  right  way  of  averting  the  evila 
of  an  overflow  of  population,  but  emi- 
gration. 

Haviog  said  so  much  with  respect 
to  the  truths  and  principles  of  the 
question,  let  us  now  attend,  sir,  to  the 
object  immediately  in  view. 


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BoMhka  m  Emigration.    Letitr  Fini. 


494 

FiRf  T^  then«  I  believe^  It  will  not 
be  questioned,  that  ponulation,  both  in 
Iiemnd  and  tbe  Highlatads  of  Scot- 
land, exceeds  the  means  of  emj^oy* 
ment. 

Skcokdlt>  That  the  esdstingpotni* 
iation  of  these  eomntries  has  so  far  ex« 
hauled  the  means  of  subsistence,  that 
it  cannot  be  materially  augmented 
without  Mine  change  in  the  state  and 
distribution  of  property^  which  dianoa 
then  exiata  but  little  da^oiition  m 
the  world  to  make,  nor  is  it  Terv  ob« 
¥iMB  that,  te  thUi0i  arei  any  such 
dMUge  would  do  much  good;  and, 
therefore,  Thiedly,  as  neither  th« 
meatM  of  employment  nor  the  means 
of  sttbdatcnce  can  be  so  quickly  muU 
tiplied^  in  Indand  and  the  High«- 
lands  0f  Scotknd,  as  to  mee^  the  d»- 
mands  of  the  population,  it  is  obvious* 
ly  the  doty  of  ^temment  to  provide, 
by  emigration,  for  the  surfdus  of  po* 
puktion  beyond  what  the  trade  and 
manufactures  of  those  countries  r^ 
quire.* 

This  obUgatf  on.haa  been  felt  to  ita 
Mlest  extent  by  government,  and  va- 
rious desultory  schemes  have  been, 
fhim  time  to  time,  tried,  but  as  yet  no 
proper  ''  8afHy-vdve"has  been  intnK 
duced  into  the  regular  system  of  the 
state,  notwithstanding  that  the  im«- 
provements  of  society  and  in  mechani* 
cai  inventions  have  occasioned  a  more 
rvg^A  increase  of  unemployed  p<mula* 
tion  throughout  the  British  islands 
than  ever  took  place  in  this  country 
bdbf^  and  notwithstanding  that  the 
■ame  causes  have  also  Rented  even 
a  greater  proportional  increase  of  ca^ 
pkal.  In  the  application  of  that  in- 
cKaaed  capital,  the  surplus  of  whidi, 
beyond  what  is  requiaito  fbr  the  bu- 
'sineas  of  die  country,  is  even  greater 
than  the  snrpluaof  population,  which 
ii  Kady  to  awarm  oiP-Mn  the  uiplica* 
tioo,  I  would  aay,  of  that  capital,  lie 
tlie  meanaaBdmalerids  for  conatruot* 
iag  te  ssfety-vahe  €i  dviliaed  so- 


CAf* 


dety — bmiokatioh;  and  now  to  die 
point. 

I  diink,  air,  it  must  be  obvious, 
that  if  the  waste  lands  of  the  eolo* 
nies  can  be  brought  into  profitable 
cultivation  by  poor  emigrants^  ttana- 
portad  thtther,  as  ft  were,  inehaiily, 
the  aame  thing  might  ba  dona  with 
far  ridier  results,  by  oapitalisto  being 
induced  to  tmbark  m  the  same  b«n- 
nesB. 

Leaving  out  of  view  theabova  ones* 
tion^  may  It  not  boBEdd,  that  the  West 
Indies  tiave  been  settled  and  cultiva. 
ted  by  emigranta  from  AfHca?  la 
there  anythmg  in  the  principle  of 
West  iDcUan  cultivatiOB  difRmnt  from 
the  cultivadon  of  any  other  region,  to 
render  it  at  all  doubtftd  that  oapi^ 
ists  carrying  emigrants  to  odier  waatt 
eountries,  misht  not  hope  to  receive 
lai^  returns  f  Is  there  any  inferiority 
in  the  physical  power  and  intdkct  of 
the  Scottish  and  Iriah  peasantry^  to 
thoae  of  the  African  negroes^  to  moke 
it  questionaUe,  that,  widi  die  aid  of 
eapital  sudi  aa  we  have  seen  invested 
in  West  India  cidtivation,  they  ahould 
not  in  congenial  dimatea  as  amply  ro- 
pay  their  employers  ? 

But  hitherto,  sir,  em%nition  has 
been  condueied  on  erroneous  prfocU 
pies.  Poor  ftmitiea  have  been  trana^ 
planted,  with  their  poverty,  into  wild 
regiona,  and  left  in  a  manner  there  to 
shift  for  themsdves.  What  would 
now  have  been  the  state,  I  dull  aav, 
for  example,  of  Upper  Canada,  if  tne 
different  swarms  of  emigrants  condweU 
ed  thither,  had  been  undor  tbe  aua« 
pices  of  some  opulent  commercial  eooi* 
pany, — ^habitaUons    and   snbsifiteooe 

Sovided  for  them, — their  labour  ju* 
ck)udy  directed,  and  aided  by  tbt 
help  of  machinery  ?  Does  not  the  sim* 
pie  fact,  of  the  cultivation  of  that  fine 
country  bdng  hampered  for  want  of 
capitd,  while  the  capital  of  the  mo- 
dier  country  is  overflowing  to  prodi- 
gality towards  other  regions  sorody 


*  In  your  last  Number  there  was  aa  exoeffent  pi^ter^  in  many  respeetSi  regud* 
Ing  Irdand,  one  of  the  very  best,  indeed,  tiiat  I  have  seen  on  the  sokjeet  The 
author  states,  what  is  a  notorious  ftust,  ''that  the  peMantry  of  Ireland  are  ia  a  stato 
of  deplordile  penury,  are  scaredy  half  employed,— are  barbarous,  depraved,  dis- 
•ABOted,  and  rebellions."  Ftfdier  on  he  also  states,  ^  If  things  be  left  as  they  are^ 
populadon  must  still  increase,  tbe  land  must  be  sdU  tether  subdivided,  the  job- 
bers, from  increased  competition,  will  push  up  into  still  hlgber^— emploTment  must 
beeome  still  nmre  scarce,  and  the  peasantry  mast  sink  to  the  lowest  point  of  pe- 
nury, ignorsoce,  klleness,  and  depmvity»  if  Uiey  have  not  already  readied  it ' ' 


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Bundana  tm  EmigrtUwn.    LeUer  Fini* 


1884.3 

kBowQ  «TeA  by  Dime,  their,  that  theie 
bas  been  lomrtMng  wrong  in  the  tys- 
tern  hilhcrto  IbUowed,  witn  ra^eot  to 
the  enigrmts  who  have  settled  there, 
or  «Nne  deficienoy  of  infomation  on 
the  sulgeet,  either  wiUi  the  gorern^ 
ment)  or  the  poblic,  or  with  both  ? 

Bat  while  I  etate  thia  to  broadly, 
I  beg  not  to  be  mieunderrtood.  I 
an  well  aware  of  what  was  done  by 
goremmenl  last  year,  and  although  I 
aive  my  mite  of  approbation  to  Mr 
Wihnot  Waters'  experiment  from  Ire- 
land, under  the  superintendence  of 
Mr  Robinion,  and  ttiough  I  am  well 
informed  that  it  has  succeeded  to  all 
the  beneTolent  anticipations  of  the 
patron  and  projector,  I  still  hold  the 
opinion,  that  it  is  not  natural  govern* 
ment  should  be  the  originator  of  any 
scheme  of  emigration,  but  only  the 
aider  of  indiridual  adventure.  Let  it 
asBst,  but  not  plan,  nrotect,  but  not 
project ;  give  all  fMautiea,  but  be  no 
fartoer  partner  in  the  apeculation  than 
the  qpeoal  duties  of  gDvemment  war- 


43^ 


1  make  this  remark  the  more  point- 
edly, as  there  is  some  reason  to  believe 
that  government  did,  if  it  does  not 
now,  at  one  time  intend  to  form  a  re- 
gular plan  fbr  conducting  the  annual 
swarms  of  emigrants  into  Upper  Ca- 
nada. Tbe  outlines  of  the  project 
have  been  nrivately  circulated,  and, 
perhaps,  betore  proceeding  fiurther,  I 
cannot  do  better  than  here  fhrnish  you 
with  a  copy  of  that  paper. 

•  **  Oictfrntf  g^a  Pbm  ofEmigraHon  to 
Upper  Oomada, 
PLAN. 

**  ScppofliMO  it  were  deemed  expedient 
for  government  to  advance  money  to  pa* 
Tidies  upon  tbe  security  of  tbe  poor-rates, 
for  the  express  and  sole  purpose  of  bud- 
litattog  emigration ;  the  government  ua- 
dertaldng  all  tbe  details  of  the  experi- 
ment ;  the  money  to  be  lent  at  four  per 
cent,  and  to  be  repaid  by  annual  instal- 
ments, or,  in  other  words,  by  a  termi- 
nable annuity,  calculated  at  four  per  oent; 
Would  it  be  worth  while  for  the  parishes 
to  accept  such  s  proposition,  snpposiiv 
that  a  saffident  period  were  allowed  for 
tbe  repayment  of  such  terminable  a»- 
tmity? 


"  For  example  i-«A  pariah  Is  desbxws 
of  sending  off  one  hundred  labowers^ 
those  labourera  finding  no  adequate  em- 
ployment,  are  anxious  to  emigmte,  feel- 
ing that  their  present  existence  is  s  bur- 
then to  the  parish,  and  a  discomfort  to 
themselves.  The  government  agrees  to 
convey  them  to  Upper  Ganada*  for 
3500C,  being  at  the  rate  of  Sfi^  per  man, 
underUking  the  whole  arrangement,  pro- 
vided that  the  parish  rates  be  charged 
with  an  annuity  of  226L  per  ammm  for 
twenty.five  years ;  sneh  aaaaky  for  soch 
a  period  being  equivalent  to  tbe  repay- 
ment, by  instalment^  of  the  capital  ao 
advanced,  with  annual  interest  opon  the 
same  at  four  per  cent.  As  the  pre- 
samed  present  cost  of  amintenaaee  of 
these  hundred  lahourecs,  by  the  parish^  is 
eslcnhitcd  at  JOOOt  per  annum,  or  IQL 
per  man,  it  will  at  onoe  be  pereehred, 
that  the  Baasurs  proposed  will  lead  to 
an  immediate  anmial  saving  of  T75L  per 
jmnnm,  or  of  very  neariy  four«fifthsof  the 
present  expense.  The  same  principle  la 
applicable  to  women  and  ebildreiH  at  a 
diminished  rate  of  annuity ;  it  being  eati^ 
mated»  that  while  the  charges  which 
must  be  incurred  on  account  of  eadi 
man  cannot  be  safely  stated  at  less  than 
SSL  the  cost  of  the  removal  and  main-  - 
tenance  of  each  woman  will  amount  to 
about  25L,  and  of  each  child  under  four- 
teen years  of  age,  to  14^  (vide  Appen- 
dix A.) 

**  The  details  of  the  expense  of  re- 
moving  the  families  of  paupers  from  an 
English  port  to  the  place  of  location  or 
settlement  in  Upper  Canada,  and  of  ke^ 
ing  them  until  they  should  be  in  s  con- 
dition completely  to  provide  for  them- 
selves, will  be  found  in  Appendbc  A. 

**  Tbe  expense  of  removing  them  from 
the  parish  to  the  poit  most,  of  necessity, 
be  without  the  range  of  an  eatimaCa. ' 

«*  This  plan  nrast  be  aeeompaaied  by 
an  act  of  pariiaraeait,  whkh  should  enact, 
that  all  persons  taking  advantage  of  this 
focility  of  emigration  should  give  19  for 
themstives  and  children,  present  and  fu- 
ture, all  ckims  upon  pargdilal  aoppoft. 

«*  Tbe  anccaas  of  these  proposed  set- 
tlers in  Upper  Canada  can  be  warranted 
upon  grounds  of  perfect  certainty,  as  the 
traet  (vide  Appendix  B,)  whkh  was  had 
before  the  AgricultnrsI  Committee  of  18S2, 
will  satisfectorily  deoMmstrate  to  any  per- 
aon  who  will  perase  it  with  attention. 


U»y. 


Ut  win  at  cmet  bt  psoilTed.  that  thb  miem  of  anifnti<m  nwT  be  cqu^ 
t[ppcr  CanadA  Em  been  ttlected,  at  Mne  Uie  one.  In  the  opbiioo  of  t^ 
wtre,  by  fr  r  Oie  mort  iUgftie,  whatfiff  wttb  ivlwtnco  to  the  ecofBooay  of  the  imMk  memm,  or  to  ^ 
piobibkMlTaiita«  to  theca^cnmt.  and  eoniiqueiitly  that  colony  In  which  the  csrpcrimcnt  nay  be  me 
«ort  advantafaoualy  tiisd.^*^ 


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Bandana  on  Emigration,    Letter  First. 


CApril, 


TlHit  tract  was  drawn  op  by  Colonel 
lUbot,  who  has  himself  resided  in  the 
proTince  of  Upper  Canada,  from  its  ori- 
gfaial  settlement  under  the  auspices  of 
Lieutenant  Governor  Stmcoe,  with  very 
little  interruption,  to  the  present  day ; 
and  whose  authority  cannot  be  question- 
ed, he  having  been  intrusted  by  the  Bri- 
tish government  with  the  settlement  of 
that  populous  and  highly  improving  ex- 
tent of  territory  along  the  banks  of  Lake 
Erie,  now  called  the  <  Talbot's  SetUe- 
ment  ;*  and  the  concluding  paragraph  of 
the  tract  sul^oined  in  Appendix  B,  will 
show  the  extent  and  character  of  the  sue* 
cess  which  has  attended  that  experi- 
ment* 

"  That  a  corresponding  degree  of  suc- 
cess will  attend  the  present  one,  if  an  op^ 
portunity  be  afforded  for  it,  there  can  be 
no  reasonable  doubts  entertained.  It  will 
only  require  judicious  measures  on  the 
part  of  the  government  for  the  general 
arrangement  of  the  transfer,  and  location 
of  the  emigrants ;  and  as  lar  as  the  prin- 
ciple of  estimate  can  be  applied  to  any 
public  undertaking  of  this  nature,  a  re- 
ference to  Appendix  A  will  demon- 
strate that  the  expense  of  the  necessary 
measures  will  be  covered  by  the  money 
proposed  to  be  advanced,  and  with  every 
consideration  for  the  comfort  and  in- 
terests  of  the  emigrants,  which  is  fiiirly 
compatible  with  his  situation  as  a  pauper 
in  his  own  country ;  and  which  country, 
by  the  terms  of  the  proposition,  he  him- 
self must  be  desirous  of  leaving;* 

«  The  financial  part  of  this  proposed 
measure  is  of  the  most  simple  nature ;  the 
issuing  of  terminable  annuities  to  be  pur- 
diased  at  the  market  price,  according  to 
their  respective  periods  and  the  rate  per 
cent. 

**  The  Commissioners  for  the  Reduc- 
tion  of  the  National  Debt  may  be  autho- 
rised, for  example,  (if  no  more  eligible 
mode  can  be  suggested  similar  in  efifiect, 
but  more  advantageous  in  principle,)  un- 
der an  act  of  parliament  to  be  passed  for 
this  specific  measure,  to  purchase^  these 
annuities  from  the  parishes.  The  parishes, 
therefore,  in  theory  at  least,  may  be  con- 
sidered as  receiving  the  money  so  advan- 
ced to  them  for  an  annuity,  and  then  pay- 
ing it  over  to  government^  in  considem- 
tton  of  the  removal  of  the  paupers,  on  the 
terms  and  subject  to  the  qualifications 
proposed.  Thus,  for  example,  the  parish 
of  A  agrees  to  pay  an  annuity  of  2^  5s. 


for  twenty-five  years,  in  consideration  of 
receiving  the  sum  of  351.,  which  sum  the 
parish  immediately  pays  into  the  hands 
of  the  government,  who  undertake  to 
remove  B,  a  pauper,  in  the  manner  pro- 
posed. 

*'  It  18  proposed,  for  the  simplification 
of  this  measure,  that  the  annuity  for  which 
each  parish  is  responsible  should  be  made 
payable  to  the  county  treasurer,  and  re- 
coverable in  the  same  manner  as  the 
county  rate:  consequently,  the  annuity 
due  from  all  the  parishes  in  each  county 
would  be  paid  in  one  collective  sum  by 
the  county  treasurer  into  the  Exchequer. 
This  plan,  of  course,  would  not  be  in  any 
degree  compulsory;  the  arrangement  must 
be  made  between  the  parochial  authori- 
ties and  the  paupers  before  the  parish 
could  be  in  a  situation  to  avail  itself  of 
this  assistance.  Tliat  impediment  once 
removed,  nothing  would  oppose  its  im- 
mediate execution.  The  removal  of  the 
paupers  to  the  port  appointed  for  em- 
barkation would  necessarily  be,  as  al- 
ready  observed,  without  the  range  of  an 
estimate,  and  must  be  governed  by  local 
circumstances,  occasioning  a  small  addi> 
tion  to  the  expense.  There  would  be 
this  advantage  in  the  measnre,  (if  the 
doctrine  of  those  be  right,  of  wliich  there 
can  be  do  doubt,  who  contend  that  the 
administration  of  relief  to  the  able-bodied 
poor  was  never  contemphUed  by  the  sta- 
tute of  Elizabeth,)  that  it  would  be  a  jus- 
tification  of  those  who  direct  the  applica- 
tion  of  the  parochial  rates,  for  withhold- 
ing from  individuals  rejecting  this  boon 
all  assistance  that  is  not  al»olutely  ne- 
cessary. It  has  long  been  universally  ad- 
mitted, that  this  presumed  claim  of  the 
able-bodied  pauper  upon  parish  relief 
has  been  and  is  the  principal  obstacle  to 
the  restoration  of  the  poor-laws  to  then: 
original  standard,  inasmuch  as  the  grant- 
ing such  relief  has  been  the  greatest  ab- 
berration  from  their  true  character  and 
spirit 

**  It  will  at  once  be  evident  that  the 
machinery  of  this  proposed  measure  would 
be  equally  applicable  to  Ireland  and  Scot- 
land ;  provided  any  funds,  local  or  other- 
wise,  could  be  satisfactorily  pledged  to 
government  for  the  payment  of  the  pro* 
posed  annuity.  And  if  it  should  be  con- 
sidered desirable,  with  reference  to  the 
application  of  tliis  measure  to  Ireland 
and  Scotland,  that  the  annuity  shall  be 
of  longer  duratipn,  thereby  diminishing 


'It  is  coDudered  unncccMary  to  incumber  the  prsMnt  ttatemcnt  with  remarki  upoo  the  raeem  of 
uppl^  any  deficiency,  or  the  manner  of  ditpodng  of  any  lurpUu  of  the  mooey  cakulated  to  ae-. 


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Bandana  on  Emigration*     Letter  Firtt* 


its  annual  amount,  such  alteretHm  couM 
at  once  be  effected.  Thus,  for  example, 
if  a  district  should  wish  to  export  one 
hundred  labourers,  the  cost  being  350tt., 
if  the  duration  of  the  annoitj  be  extend- 
ed  for  forty-two  years,  the  annuity  which 
•that  diatriot  would  be  called  upon  to  pay 
would  be  173£.  88.  On  this  calculation 
•for  the  dilforent  countries,  each  man 
woidd  be  permanently  provided  for  bgr  an 
annuity  of  8<.  68.  per  annum  for  the  term 
of  twenty-live  years  in  England,  and  \L 
14s.  8id.  for  the  term  of  forty-two  years 
in  Ireland  and  Scotland;  each  woman 
for  U  12&  in  Enghmd,  and  R  48.  dd.  in 
Ireland  and  Scotland ;  each  diUd  under 
fourteen  years  of  age,  for  ITs.  lid.  in 
England,  and  138.  lO^d.  per  annum  in 
Ireland  and  Scotland ;  the  two  hitter  being 
governed  by  the  same  relative  propor- 
tion.* 

<*  It  is  not  deemed  necessary  on  this 
occasion  to  enlarge  upon  the  permanent, 
as  well  as  present  advantages,  which 
would  be  afforded  to  the  agricultural  in- 
terests by  the  adoption  of  this  measure, 
which  cannot  be  characterized  as  a  tem- 
porary expedient,  framed  upon  imperfect 
data,  and  at  variance  with  the  soundest 
principles  of  political  economy. 

**  It  is  considered  as  unquestionable, 
although  this  measure  is  not  in  the  slight- 
est degree  compulsory,  that  the  poor  man 
who  offers  his  strength  and  energy  as  a 
labourer,  but  who,  finding  no  demand,  or 
at  least  no  adequate  demand,  for  his  ser- 
vices, is  compelled  to  receive  <  parish 
relief*  for  the  preservation  of  his  own 
existence  and  that  of  his  family,  will  ac- 
eeptthis  opportunity  of  bettering  his  con- 
dition, by  hiying  the  foundation  for  future 
,  independence  with  eagerness  and  grati- 
titude,  when  sufficient  time  has  elapsed,, 
and  proper  pains  been  taken  to  make 
him  understand  the  true  nature  and  char 
racter  of  tlie  change  that  is  proposed  for 
hida. 

*<  It  is  equally  considered  as  certain, 
that  parishes  wUl  anxiously  accept  this 
facility  (as  far  as  their  own  concurrence 
is  required)  of  relieving  themselves,  at  a 
slight  annual  expense,  of  any  present  and 
pressing  redundancy  of  population ;  and 
also  of  seciu'ing  for  the  future  the  effec- 
tual prevention,  supplied  by  this  mea- 
sure, for  any  accumulation  of  labourers 
whose  services  they  may  be  incapable  of 
remunerating. 

**  It  is  at  once  evident,  that  this  sys- 
tem of  emigration  could  be  made  imfoe- 
diately  applicable  to  Irehind  and  Scotland, 


437 

provided  that  money  was  raised  thefe  for 
the  purpose  by  local  assessment,  or  that 
a  specific  tax  was  pledged  for  money  lent 
for  that  purpose  by  the  government 

^  Although  the  periods  of  twenty-fif« 
and  forty-two  years  have  been  taken  for 
the  duration  of  the  annuities  in  England 
and  Scotland  respectively,  of  course  the 
only  efliect  of  curtailing  the  period  will 
be^  to  increase  the  quantum  of  the  an. 
nuity ;  but  as  the  olSjiect  was  to  relieve 
present  distress,  it  was  considered  that 
the  longer  periods  would  be  the  most  de- 
sirable. 

'<  It  has  not  been  considered  necessa^ 
in  the  *  outline'  to  enter  into  many  de^ 
tails,  which,  however^  have  been  duly 
considered,  and  are  all  prepared  for  ex- 
position. It  is  proposed  that  one  hun- 
dred acres  should  be  allotted  to  eadi  fo- 
ther  of  a  &mily,  and  perhaps  smaller  pro* 
portions  to  single  men ;  that  certain  re- 
strictions should  be  imposed  with  respect 
both  to  cultivation  and  alienation ;  that 
alter  the  terminatioB  of  a  definitive  pe- 
riod, perhaps  five  years,  the  proprietor 
should  pay  a  certain  annual  quit-rent  of 
very  small  amount,  out  of  which  should, 
in  the  first  instance,  be  defrayed  the  te» 
pense  of  the  patent,  which  would  not 
exceed  St.  upon  a  grant  of  one  hundred 
acres:  the  remaining  quit-rent  might.be 
iqipn^riated  to  the  purpose  of  local  im- 
provements, such  as  road%  &o. ;  and  a 
provision  be  added  for  an  optional  re- 
demption of  the  quit-rent  on  the  pay- 
ment of  a  moderate  sum. 

**  Although  the  agricultural  popufaUaon 
will  be  more  immediately  benefited  bgr 
this  measure,  yet  in  the  case  of  a  redun- 
dancy of  manuliicturing  population,  it  wiH 
be  found  perfectly  applicable ;  for  it  must 
be  remembered  that  the  casual  emigra- 
tion to  Upper  Canada,  which  as  fisr  as  it 
is  gone  has  succeeded  so  well,  has  been 
principally  supplied  by  the  mannfooturing 
population,  which  class,  upon  general 
reasoning,  must  be  deemed  the  least  suit- 
ed for  the  experiment 

'<  Although  it  may  be  argued,  that  there 
ean  be  no  actual  redundjmcy  of  popuhi- 
tion  as  long  as  the<  waste  hmds  in  the 
mother  country  remain  uncultivBted,  yet 
no  person  conversant  with  such  subjects 
can  contend  that  such  redundancy  does 
not  now,  virtually  at  least,  exist;  in  other 
words,  that  there  are  not  many  strong 
labouring  men,  for  whose  servises  there 
is  no  adequate  demand,  and  who  cannot 
be  employed  upon  any  productive  labour 
that  will  pay  the  expenses  of  production ; 


•  "  Thete  ftactimuri  divliions  might,  fbr  convenienct,  be  itduoed  to  even  moMy.** 

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Bandana  on  Emigration.    LeUer  First, 


CApdl, 


aad  M  te  iU  cifiUMd  tonmtnm,  popolft- 
tkm  matt  be  dtpenteit  upon  property, 
it  it  ibfoiid  to  theofiie  upon  efroneout 
•  dat%'  wliidi  do  not  admit  that  wiqiief* 
Ifomble  propotition.  And  if  toy  person 
iboold  feel  alamit  that  under  the  opem. 
tioBoC  eudi  a  meeeore  too  great  apto^ 
portion  oC  the  agricnltnral  population 
mii^  be  abatraeted,  they  majr  be  aMu. 
ted  that  at  tfaia  moment  many  eeonomi* 
eal  proceaaei  in  hnebandiy  which  would 
•a?e  human  labour,  and  much  agrieultn* 
lal  machinery  which  ii  kept  in  abeyanoeb 
would  be  immediately  applied,  to  the  mft» 
nifeat  improfiementof  the  condition  of  the 
agricttlturaliat  and  of  the  wealth  of  the 
country,  prorlded  that  a  danger  no  longer 
aiated  which  now  eziata  with  IhU  pre* 
vcntive  force,  via.  that  of  throwing  out  of 
employ  a  etill  greater  number  of  the  agri- 
cultural population. 

^  It  it  tcaioely  neceaiary  to  obeenre, 
that  thit  measure  can  be  tutpended  or 
limited  at  any  time :  but  in  point  of  feet 
It  hat  that  tutpentive  power  within  fit* 
self;  for  whenever  there  should  exitt  at 
home  an  adequate  demand  for  the  tei^ 
▼icet  of  able-bodied  men  out  of  employ, 
whetiier  from  the  increate  of  produeti?e 
Induttry,  or  from  the  denumdt  of  war,  or 
from  any  other  eaate,  there  would  be  no 
krnefer  a  temptation  to  emigiate. 

•*  It  ii  alto  obterved,  that  with  tiieh  a 
eyatcm  in  eegular  and  efftctife  operation, 
no  InconiRenitnoe  could  erer  agun  rctuk 
to  thit  country  from  a  temporary  ttimik- 
lut  being  given  at  any  time  to  the  popu- 
lation which  could  not  permanently  be 
tuttained*  To  uae  the  metaphor  to  com- 
monly employed,  It  would  be  a  aafe^- 
valve  by  which  tiie  inconvenient  cxcett 
of  population  could  alwayt  be  carried  off 
impceoeptibly;  and  it  must  not  be  for- 
gotten, in  a  comprehensive  view  of  tuch 
m  tystem,  that  the  paupcTf  for  whose  la- 
bour no  remunemtion  can  be  afforded  at 
home,  will  be  tmnsmnted  by  this  process 
Into  an  Independent  piopriete^  and  at  no 
distant  period  will  become  a  consumer 
of  the  manufectuffedartidfit  of  htonative 
'Country.  Nor,  on  the  ether  band,  can 
any  calcnUUle  period  be  nss^ned  for  the 
termination  ef  audi  a  system,  until  aU 
the  coloniea  ef  the  British  empire  are 
eaturated,  and  milttons  added  to  tbeee 
who  speak  the  English  language^  and 
cany  with  them  the  liberty  and  the  laws 
and  the  sympathies  of  their  native  ooun- 
tiy. 

**  fiudi  a  syttem  would  direct  the  tide 
of  emignition  towardt  parts  of  the  Bii- 
tish  empire,  which  must  be  considered  as 
integral,  though  separated  by  geographi- 
cal position.    Xbe  defence  of  these  colo* 


nkd  poeiotsfons  would  be  more  eas^y 
suppUed  within  themselves^  and  their  in- 
creasing  prosperity  would  not  only  relieve 
the  mother  country  from  pecuniary  de- 
mands that  are  now  iadi^enaabl%  but 
that  proqieri^  in  its  re-nction  would 
augment  the  wealth  and  the  letouiccaof 
the  mother  country  ittdi^ 

**  Ihete  obeervatioat  avs^  thtfefer^ 
lespectAiIly  protsed  i^kni  the  attnatien 
of  those  who  have  the  meant  to  give  ef- 
fect to  this  measure  which  is  not  one 
of  compulsion  In  any  part  of  Its  arrange- 
ment^ but  which  is  considered  to  be  found- 
ed upon  sound  and  incontrovertible  prin- 
ciples, and  to  comUne  the  advantages  of 
tome  alleviation  of  present  evUs  with  the 
permanent  benefit  of  the  empire  at  large." 

Now,  sir,  without  at  all  oucstiomiig 
the  merits  and  the  spirit  of  thit  plan 
of  emigration,  it  is  suiBdent  for  mv 
present  purpose  to  observe,  tiiat  it  tt 
not  applicable  to  the  drcnmstanoea 
other  of  Ireland  or  of  the  Highlands 
of  Scotland,  where  the  miseries  of  an 
overflowipgpopulation  are  deepest  felt 
There  are  no  local  funds  in  those  coon- 
tries  to  be  pledfl;ed  in  the  manner  pro> 
poaed.  It  migJQt,  I  dar^  fiay>  roa  ▲ 
TIME,  work  pretty  well  in  England, 
but  ttill  I  do  ndt  see  that  it  would  sup- 
ply that  detideratum  in  the  system  of 
government  to  requisite  to  preterve 
^'  the  goodly  ttmcture  of  our  andeat 
polity'^  ftom  tiie  oonaequencea  that 
mutt  enme  from  an  overflowing  po- 
maktion,  in  the  event  of  any  teriove 
ndlure  happening  to  the  harveet  In- 
deed, I  am  averae  toan^duoct  intsrfe- 
renoe  of  government  with  the  sul^rct, 
beyond  what  is  necessary  in  the  v»- 
rimis  aids  and  forms  of  protection ;  fer 
the  proper  source  of  the  means  of  eni- 

Sation  liea  in  the  tiir[du8  capital  of 
e  oountnr.  I  would  even  go  so  fhr 
as  to  say^  that  until  this  tnrplus  it  itsdf 
created^  the  necessity  of  encouraging 
emigration  does  not  exist,  because  the 
means  of  employment  are  not  exhaust- 
ed so  long  as  tnere  is  a  profitable  re- 
turn for  the  investment  of  capital ;  and 
until  the  meant  of  employment  arc 
exhausted/ it  cannot  be  said  that  thore 
ought  to  be  any  enoouragcment  given 
to  emigration. 

But  perhaps  the  moat  valid  objec- 
tion to  the  plan,  as  a  practical  measore 
of  p«li(7«  i^  thiit  it  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  formed,  at  least  as  fer  aa 
Canada  la  concerned,  vrith  a  tuffdcnt 
degree  of  consideration  for  oestain  pe* 
7 


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9a>tdana  on  EmigraHom.    L^Uer  First 


iS9 


cnlMritiflt  in  the  circmnntancet  of  that 
coontry. 

Both  in  Upper  and  Lower  Canada, 
bat  eq>ecially  in  the  former^  there  are 
oertain  portions  of  knd  reserved  in  all 
the  settled  parts  of  the  provinces^  at 
the  disposal  of  the  crown.  These  ee* 
ssaTBs  have  become  a  dead  weight  on 
the  improvement  of  the  country.  They 
oauae  a  dispersion  of  the  population 
ovor  a  larger  surface  than  would  natu* 
rally  talce  place ;  they  entail  a  greater 
ej^pense  for  roads  than  would  other- 
wise be  necessary ;  and  they  operate, 
in  consequence  of  making  wider  dia* 
tanoes  between  the  farms  and  the  mar- 
kets, as  a  direct  tax  on  agricultural 
industry.  In  a  word,  the  American 
fiumers  not  being  burdened  by  the 
effects  of  this  great  evil  in  the  system 
oi  Canadian  location,  possess  decided 
advantages  over  the  Canadian  farm- 
ers; and  their  country  is  in  conse- 
quence both  better  pec^led  and  better 
cultivated,  though  tne  soil  and  climate 
are  the  same. 

As  it  never  could  have  been  intend- 
ed that  these  reserved  lands  ^ould  be 
held  in  perpetuity  by  the  crown,  with 
a  view  to  derive  a  revenue  from  them 
in  the  shape  of  rental,  independent  of 
the  legislature,  I  would  ask,  why  it  is 
that  they  are  sufieied  to  remain  as  so 
many  olistacles  to  the  natural  improve- 
ment of  the  country  ?  Or  rather,  why  it 
is  that  they  are  not  broo^t  to  sale, 
and  afund  created  out  of  me  poceeds, 
to  assist  in  the  business  of  emigration  ? 
—not  directly,  but  by  making  such  fa- 
cilities of  intercourse  in  the  country  as 
would  induce  private  adventurera  to 
embark  their  capkal  in  clearing  and 
settling  these  lands.  For,  be  it  remark- 
ed, these  reserves  are  not  situated  in 
wild  and  unexplored  parts,  but  are  in 
and  among  the  best  peopled  farms  and 
townships ;  and  if  roads  were  opened 
through  them  to  many  districts  which 
may  still  be  described  as  inaccessible, 
a  stimulus  would  be  given  to  the  im- 
provement of  the  coijptry,  which  it  is 
not  easv  to  conceive  the  result  of. 

But  in  considering  any  plan  which 
would  have  for  its  purpose  the  direct- 
ing of  the  surplus  capital  of  the  mo- 
ther-country mto  Canada,  it  may  na- 
turally be  auced,  what  returns  can  that 
country  make  to  recompense  the  capi- 
talist ?  and  pertinently  enough  re- 
marked, that  in  the  cultivation  of  tro- 
pical dimates,— in  sugar  and  cofiee, 
and  the  other  produce  of  the  West  In<« 
Vol.  XV. 


dies — the  returns  are  maniibsdy  in 
articles  which  may  be  said  to  be  of 
universal  use,  and  which  can  only  be 
supplied  from  the  tribes;  whereas 
the  produce  of  the  CsiukUs  is  similar 
to  that  of  all  Europe,  and  being  chiefly 
agricultural,  is  restricted  in  the  im<« 
portation  bv  the  corn-bill, — that  mo- 
nument of  the  patriotism  of  theWrong- 
heads  of  England.  This,  however,  is 
but  a  narrow,  and  at  the  same  time, 
an  erroneous  view  of  the  sul^Ject — and 
my  answer  to  it  is  shortly  this :  "  The 
produce  of  the  Canadas  is  similar  to 
that  of  the  state  of  New  York— it  is 
not  more  restricted  in  its  export 
than  that  of  any  part  of  the  Umted 
States;  and  there  does  not  exist  at 
this  time,  on  the  whole  face  of  the 
earth,  any  district  more  flourishing, 
more  improving,  more  enterprising, 
than  the  state  of  New  York.    The 

treat  canal,  which  beggara  to  insigni- 
cance  all  similar  un^takings  in  the 
old  world,  and  in  point  of  extent  ia 
the  largest  line  of  continued  labour  in 
the  world,  after  the  wall  of  China,  is 
of  itself  a. sufficient  proof  and  illus- 
tration of  the  fact"— If  I  were,  there- 
fore, required  to  state  what  induce- 
ment could  be  oflfexipd  to  capitalists  to 
'embark  their  funds  in  any  such  plan, 
with  respect  to  the  Canadas,  as  that 
to  which  I  have  alluded,  I  would  re- 
ply— "  You  are  not  to  count  on  mat 
immediate  profits  to  be  obtained  from 
the  produce  of  the  soil,  but  on  the 
improved  value  which  the  land  will 
derive  from  the  oipital  expended  in 
clearing  and  bringins;  it  into  cultiva- 
tion.— ^The  profita,  therefore,  on  your 
capital,  will  consist  in  the  difference 
between  the  value  of  the  land,  in  a 
state  of  nature,  and  in  a  state  render- 
ed habitable  and  arable,  with  a  con- 
stant flowing  in  of  emigrants  from  Eu- 
rope, becoming  purchasers  of  lots,  or 
tenants  at  great  rents. — ^Every  step 
that  the  country  takes  in  improve- 
ment, will  increase  the  value  of  vour 
investment  in  the  soil — every  shilling 
Uiat  you  lay  out  on  one  acre  of  your 
own  property,  will  augment  the  value 
of  the  contiguous  acres— every  shilling 
that  your  neighbour  lays  out  in  the 
improvement  of  his  property,  will  raise 
the  value  of  yours,  and  every  emigrant 
that  arrives,  wheUier  in  quest  of  em- 
ployment or  of  settlement,  will  iiv 
crease,  by  increasing  the  deinand,  the 
value  of  the  produce  of  the  soil." — It 
is  too  late  now  to  talk  of  exports  and 
8  1. 


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440  Bandana  on  EfmgraHon*    Letter  Fir$ti  ^k^stH^ 

imports,  as  the  measoro  of  a  nation's  are  not  many  sonroes  of  return,  in  the 
prosperity. — The  internal  trade  of  all  produce  of  tne  soil,  in  the  timher  and 
countries  is  alone  the  surest  measure  in  the  pot-ashes,  perhaps  also  in  ores 
of  national  wealth. — It  is  not  the  cus-  and  minerals,  but  these  belong  to  the 
torn-house  returns,  but  those  of  the  range  of  commercial  views,  and  mer« 
excise,  which  shew  whether  the  state  canUle  speculation ;  they  form  no  part 
of  a  people  is  redly  prc^essive,  and  of  any  plan  which  capitdists,  who  are 
therefore  it  is  that  I  say,  capitalists  seeking  for  a  solid  and  permanent  in- 
embarldngin  undertakings  which  pro-  vestment  of  their  funds,  should  con- 
pose  to  facilitate  the  introduction  of  aider  as  primary, 
emigrants  into  the  colonies,  should  But  I  have  already  occupied  so  large 
not  look  for  their  returns  to  the  pro-  a  space  in  your  columns,  and  thesub- 
duce  whidi  the  emigrants  may  raise  ject  requiring  to  be  yet  discussed  in 
fix)m  the  soil,  but  to  the  genera!  result  detail,  I  shafl  therefore  conclude  for 
of  an  increasing  population,  with  in-  the  present,  with  the  intention  of  ta- 
creasing  comforts  and  increasing  wants,  king  an  early  opportunity  of  again  ad- 
This  is  the  true  and  proper  basis  for  dressing  you. 
considering  the  object  in  view,  with  Bandaxa. 
respect  to  Canada,  not  because  there  Glasgow,  9d  April,  182i. 

A  RUNNING  COMMENTARY  ON  THE  RITTEA  BAKN.      A  I'OEIC. 
BY  T.  CAMPBELL,  ESQ. 

There  is,  we  must  say,  a  dirty  spirit  of  rivalry  afloat  at  present  among  the 
various  periodicals,  from  which  ours  only,  and  Mr  Nichols',  the  two  Gentle- 
man's Magazines,  are  exempt.  You  never  see  the  Quarterly  praising  the 
lucubrations  of  the  Edinburgh — hr  less  the  Edinburgh  extolling  those  of  the 
Quarterly.  Old  Monthly  and  New  Monthly  are  in  cat-and-dog  opposition. 
Sir  Richard  exclaims  that  they  have  robbed  him  of  his  good  name — ^while 
Tom  Campbell  is  ready  to  go  before  his  Lordship  of  Waithman  lo  swear  that 
that  was  an  impossibility*  There  is,  besides,  a  pair  of  Europeans  boxing  it 
out  with  most  considerable  pluck ;  and  we  are  proud  to  perceive  our  good  friend 
Letts  of  Comhill  bearing  himself  boldly  in  the  fight.  The  .Fancy  Gazette 
disparages  the  labours  of  the  illustrious  Egan — and  Pierce  is  equally  savage 
on  the  elegancies  of  Jon  Bee.  A  swarm  of  twopennies  gallops  over  the  land 
tcadj  to  eat  one  another,  so  as,  like  the  Irishman's  rats  in  a  cage,  to  leave 
only  a  single  tail  behind.  We,  out  of  this  turmoil  and  scuffle,  as  if  from  a 
higner  region,  look  down,  calm  and  cool.  Unprejudiced  by  influence,  and 
uninfluenced  by  prejudice,  we  keep  along  the  even  tenor  of  our  way.  We 
dispute  not,  neither  do  we  quarrel.  If  the  golden  wheels  of  our  easy-going 
chariot,  in  its  course,  smooth  sliding  without  step,  crush  to  atoms  any  person 
who  is  unlucky  enough  to  come  under  their  precious  weight,  it  is  no  fault  of 
ours.     Let  him  blame  destiny,  and  bring  his  action  against  the  Parcse. 

So  far  are  we  fVom  feeling  anything  like  hostility,  spite,  envy,  hatred, 
malice,  or  uncharitableness,  that  we  rejoice  at  the  rare  exhibition  of  talent 
whenever  it  occurs  in  a  publication  similar  to  ours.  We  do  our  utmost  to 
support  the  cause  of  periodical  literature  in  general.  But  for  our  disinterest- 
ed exertions,  the  Edinburgh  Review  would  nave  been  long  since  unheard  of. 
For  many  years  we  perpetuated  the  existence  of  the  old  Scots  Magazine,  by 
mentioning  it  in  our  columns.  Finding  it,  however,  useless  to  persevere,  we 
held  our  peace  concerning  it ;  it  died,  and  a  word  from  us  again  restored  it  to 
life  and  spirit,  bo  that  Jeffiey  steals  from  it  all  his  Spanish  literature.  We  took 
notice  of  the  Examiner  long  after  every  other  decent  person  said  a  word  about 
it.  Our  exertions  on  behdf  of  the  Scotsman  were  so  great,  that  the  learned 
writers  of  that  paper  pray  for  us  on  their  bended  knees.  But  it  would  be 
quite  useless,  or  rather  impossible,  for  us  to  go  over  all  our  acts  of  kindness. 
We  have,  indeed,  reaped  the  benefit,  for  never  since  the  creation  of  the  world 
was  any  Magaaine  so  adored  by  everybody  as  ours  is.  It  is,  indeed,  carried 
at  times  to  an  absurd,  nay,  we  must  add,  a  blomeablc  length,  for  wc  must 
exchum  with  the  old  poet  :— 

"  If  to  adore  an  idol  is  idolatry. 
Sure  to  adore  a  book  is  bibliolatry." 
An  impiety  to  be  avoided. 


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1824.]}  A  Running  Ommentarif  on  the  Ritter  Bonn,  441 

^  Id  piimumce  of  our  generons  systeniy  wc  here  beg  leave  to  call  Ae  atten- 
tion of  our  readers  to  a  poem  in  the  kst  New  Monthly  Mapzine,  written  by 
the  eminent  editor  of  that  celebrated  periodical,  nnd  advertised,  before  its  ap- 
pearance, with  the  most  liberal  prodi^ty  of  puffing,  in  all  thb  papers.  Mr 
Campbell  is  advantageously  known  to  the  readers  of  poetry,  a  very  respectable 
body  of  young  gentlemen  ami  ladies,  as  Hie  author  of  the  Pleasures  of  Hope, 
Gertrude  of  Wyoming,  Lochicrs  Warning,  O'Connor's  Child,  and  other  plea- 
sant performances,  which  may  be  purchased  at  the  encouraging  price  of  three 
and  sixpence  sterling,  at  the  stalls  of  the  bibliopolists  of  High  Holborn.  But 
the  poem  which  he  has  lately  contributed  to  the  pages  of  the  New  Monthly, 
outshines  these  compositions  of  his  more  crude  and  juvenile  days, 

'*  Vdut  inter  ignes 

Luna  minores." 

U  is  entitled  the  Ritter  Bonn,  and  we  do  not  know  how  we  can  bestow  a 
more  acceptaUe  oorapliment  on  our  readers,  than  by  analysing  tliis  ele^nt 
efibsioD. 

What  the  words  Ritter  Bonn  mean,  is  not  at  once  open  to  every  opacity, 
and  they  have  unfortunately  given  rise  to  the  most  indefensible  puns  ana 
quizzes  in  the  world.  But  we,  who  despise  such  things,  by  a  due  consultation 
of  dictionaries,  lexicons,  onomasticons,  word-books,  vocabularies,  and  other 
similar  treatises,  discovered  that  Ritter,  in  the  Teutonic  tongue,  as  spoken  in 
High  Germany,  signifies  Rider,  or  Knight — Bann  is  merely  a  man  s  name, 

the  hero  being  son  of  old Bann,  E^.  of     ■         place,  Glamorganshire. 

Why  a  Welsh  knight  should  be  called  by  a  German  title,  we  cannot  immedi- 
ately conjecture ;  but  suppose  it  adopted  from  euphonious  principles  of  melt^ 
ing  melody.  Let  the  reader  say  the  words — Ritter  Bann — Ritter  Bann — 
Ritter  Bann — to  himself,  with  the  assistance  of  a  chime  of  good  bells,  such  as 
those  of  Saint  Pancras,  Saint  Mary  Overey,  Saint  Sepulchre  s,  opposite  ^cw« 
gate.  Saint  Botolph's,  Aldgate,  Saint  Clement  Dane's,  Saint  Dunstan's,  In  Fleet 
Street,  not  to  mention  various  provincial  utterers  of  Bob  Majors ;  and  be 
must  be  struck  with  the  fine  rumbling  clang,  and  sit  down  to  drink  his  Burton 
at  3d.  the  nip,  with  increased  satisfaction. 

So  far  for  the  title.    Listen  now  to  the  exordium. 

"  The  Ritter  Bann  from  Hungary 

Came  back,  renown'd  in  arms. 
But  scorning  jousts  of  chivalry, 
And  love  and  ladies'  charms. 
While  other  knights  held  revelry,  he 
Was  wTfl^t" — 
in  what?  Surtout?   Roquelaure?  Poodle  Benjamin?  bang-up?   doblado 
frock?  wrajHuscal?  No,  no!  What  then?  Sheet?  blanket?  quilt?  coverle 
counterpane  ?  No.    What  then  ?  Why 

—  "in  thoughts  of  gloom. 
And  in  Vienna's  hostelne 
Slow  paced  his  lonely  room.' 
This  is  a  very  novel  and  original  character  in  our  now-a-days  poetry, 
"  There  enter'd  one,  whose  &ce  he  knew. 

Whose  voice,  he  was  aware. 
He  oft  at  mass  had  listen'd  to. 
In  the  holy  house  of  prayer." 
Who  is  this  fine  fellow  ?  Wait  a  moment  and  you  will  be  told. 
"  Twas  the  Abbot  of  Saint  James's  monks^ 
Afresh  and  fair  old  man." 
Fresh  no  doubt,  for  you  will  soon  learn  he  comes  in  good  season. 
"  His  reverend  air  arrested  even 

The  gloomy  Ritter  Bann; 
But  seemg  with  him  an  ancient  dame. 

Come  cfid  in  Scotch  attire. 
The  Bitter's  colour  went  and  came. 

And  loud  he  spoke  in  ire : 
^  Ha !  Durse  of  ber  that  was  my  bane-^' " 


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443  A  Running  Commentarp  on  tk$  Ritter  Bonn.  CApril^ 

Here  Campbell's  Soottidsm  hu  got  the  better  of  him.    The  lady  of  whom 
the  Ritter  sp^s  is  his  wife^  who,  in  Caledonia's  dialect,  is  said  to  be  bane  of  a 
man's  bane  ;  but  in  England  we  dways  sa^ ,  bone  of  my  bone.  We  hope  Tho« 
mas  the  Rhymer  will  anglicise  the  phrase  m  the  next  edition. 
**  Name  not  her  name  to  me, 

I  wish  it  blott^  from  my  brain : 
Art  poor?  take  alms  and  flee T , 
A  Tery  neat  and  pretty  tarn-out  as  any  old  lady  would  wish  of  a  summer's 
morning ;  but  it  won't  do.    For 

*' '  Sir  Knight/  the  Abbot  interposed, 

^  This  case  your  ear  demands  1' 
And  the  crone  cried  with  a  cross  enclosed  ' 
In  both  her  trembling  hands — " 
Read  that  second  last  line  again.  "  The  Crone  Cried  with  a  Cross  enclosed  f* 
Oh  1  Pack :  send  the  Razor  Grinder.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  We  can  only 
match  it  by  one  passage  of  Pantagruel.    Lesquelles  |^the  frozen  words^  en- 
semblement  fondues,  ouvsmes  bin,  bin,  bin,  bin,  his,  ticque,  torche,  longue, 
bredelin,  bredelac,  frr,  frrr,  frrrr,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou, 
trace,  trr,  trr,  trr,  trrr,  trrrr,  trrrrr,  on,  on,  on,  on,  ouououoimon,  goth,  ma« 
godi*    '^  And  the  Crone  cried  with  a  cross  enclosed, 

*'  Remember  each  his  sentence  waits, 

And  he  who  would  rebut  1 1 
Sweet  Mercy's  suit,  on  him  the  gates 
>  Of  Mercy  shall  be  shut !" 

The  Abbot  proceeds  to  gi?e  our  friend  Ritter  some  novel  information. 
**  You  wedded,  imdispensed  by  church. 
Your  cousin  Jane  in  spring  ;" 
Pretty  colloquial  style ! 

''  In  autumn,  when  you  went  to  search 

For  churchmen's  pardoning, 
Her  house  denounced  your  marriage-band, 

Retrothed  her  to  De  Grey ; 
And  the  ring  you  put  upon  her—** 
Her  what?  Finger,  perhaps.  No— 

— -'*  her  hand 
Was  wrench'd  by  force  away." 
Here  commences  a  pleasant  familiar  prose  narration.    We  like  this  manner 
of  mixing  prose  with  yerse,  as  Mr  Stewart  Rose  has  done  in  his  translation  of 
BolardOb  Campbell,  in  imitation,  proceeds.  "  Then  wept  you,  Jane,  upon  my 
nedc,  crying, '  Help  me,  Nurse,  to  flee  to  my  Howel  Bann  s  Glamorgan  hills  :* 
But  word  arrived,  ah  me !  you  were  not  there ;  "I 

And  'twas  their  threat,  by  tbul  means  or  by  fair,  > 

To-morrow  morning  was  to  set  the  seal  on  ner  despair.  } 
I  had  a  son,"  says  Nurse,  after  this  little  triplet,  "  a  sea-boy,  in  a  ship  at 
Hartland  bay :  by  his  aid,  from  her  cruel  kin  I  bore  my  bird  away.  To  ^t- 
land,  from  the  Devon's  green  myrtle  shores,  we  fled :  and  the  hand  that  sent 
the  ravens  to  Elijah,  gave  us  br^.  She  wrote  you  by  my  son ;  but  he,  from 
England,  sent  us  word  you  had  gone  into  some  far  country ;  in  grief  and  gloom, 
he  heard.  For  they  that  wronged  you,  to  elude  your  wrath,  defamed  my  ould." 
—Whom  she  means  here  is  not  quite  evident  at  first  sight,  for  she  nas  beoi 
just  speaking  of  her  son,  for  whom  the  Ritter,  we  opine,  did  not  care  a  button, 
whether  he  was  famed  or  defamed ;  but  it  will  be  all  dear  by  and  by. — ''  And 
you— ay,  blush,  sir,  as  you  should, — ^believed,  and  were  beguiled."  In  which 
last  sentence  the  oldiady  is  waxing  a  little  termaganti^  on  our  hands.  She 
proceeds,  however,  in  a  minor  key. 

"  To  die  but  at  your  feet,  she  vowed  to  roam  the  world ;  and  we  would  both 
have  sped,  and  bemd  our  bread ;  but  so  it  might  not  be ;  for,  when  the  snow- 
storm beat  our  rtm,  she  bore  a  boy" — a  queer  effort  of  a  snow-storm,  entre 
fUHi^— '^  Sir  Bann,  who  grew  as  fair  your  likeness-proof  as  child  e'er  grew  like 
man."  A  likeness-proof.'  Some  engraver  must  have  been  talking  to  Tom  about 
proof-impressions  of  plates,  and  he,  in  the  simplicity  of  his  bachelorship,  must 


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1894.^  A  Running  Ccmmentaary  on  ^  HiUer  Bonn,  ^is 

haTe  hnagiiied  that  there  were  prod'-impreasions  too  of  children.  Let  xu,  how- 
ever, permit  Madame  la  Nourice  to  proceed.— '^  Twas  «milinff  on  that  bahe 
one  mom,  while  heath  bloomed  on  the  moor,  her  beauty  struck  young  Lord 
Kinghorn,  as  he  hunted  past  our  door.  She  shunned  him ;  but  he  raved  of 
Jane,  and  roused  his  mother's  pride ;  who  came  to  us  in  high  disdain,  and 
^  Where's  the  face,'  she  cried, '  nas  witched  my  boy  to  wish  for  one  so  wretched 
for  his  wife  ?  Dost  love  thy  husband  ?  Know  my  son  has  sworn  to  seek  his 
life.'" 
Poetry  breaks  out  here  again  in  the  following  melodious  lines : 
"  Her  anger  sore  dismayed  us, 

For  our  mite  was  wearing  scant ; 
And,  unless  that  dame  would  aid  us. 
There  was  none  to  aid  our  want  ^ 

''  So  I  tdd  her,  weeping  bitterly,  what  all  our  woes  had  been ;  and,  though 
she  was  a  stem  ladv,  the  tear  stood  in  her  een.  And  she  housed  us  both,  when 
cheerfully  my  child  |^that  is  not  her  son,  the  cabin-boy,  but  her  bird  Jane,^ 
to  her  had  sworn,  that,  even  if  made  a  widow,  she  wouM  never  wed  Kinghom. 
y  Here  paused  the  Nurse ;"  and,  indeed,  we  must  say,  a  more  pathetic,  or 
original  story,  or  one  more  pettily  or  pidiily  told,  does  not  exist  in  the  whole 
bocmds  of  our  language.  The  Nurse  mistook  her  talent  when  she  commenced 
the  trade  of  suckung^eans.  She  should  have  gone  to  the  bar,  where,  in  less 
than  no  time,  she  would  have  been  a  pleader  scarcely  inferior  to  Counsellor 
liiilUps  himself. 

After  the  oration  of  the  Nurse,  then  began  the  Abbot,  standing  by — *'  Three 
months  ago,  a  wounded  man  to  our  abbey  came  to  die." — ^A  mighty  absurd  pro- 
ceeding;, in  our  opinion.  Had  he  come  there  to  live,  it  would  have  been  much  more 
sensible. — "  He  heard'  me  long  with  ghastly  eyes,"  (rather  an  odd  mode  of 
hearing,)  "  and  hand  obdurate  clench^,  spodc  of  the  worm  that  never  dies, 
and  the  fire  that  is  not  quench'd. 

"  At  last,  by  what  this  scroll  attests^ 

He  left  atonement  Inief, 
For  ^ears  of  anguish,  to  the  breasts 

His  guilt  had  wrung  with  ^ef. 
*  There  lived,'  he  said, '  a  faur  young  dame 

Beneath  my  mothers  roof— 
I  loved  to^"— 
Not  his  mother,  we  hope.— 

— — **  *  but  against  my  flame 

Her  purity  was  proof. 
I  fj^gnu  repentance— -IHendship pure ; 

That  mood  she  did  not  check. 
But  let  her  husband's  miniature 
Be  copied  from  her  neck.' " 
Her  husband's  miniature  in  the  davs  of  jousts  and  chivalries  1  But  great 
poets  do  not  matter  such  trifles.   We  all  remember  how  Shakespeare  introdu* 
ces  cannon  into  Hamlet.  Pergit  Poeta. 

"  As  means  to  seardi  him,  my  deceit  took  care  to  him  was  borne  noo^t  but 
his  picture's  counterfeit,  and  Jane's  reported  scorn.  The  treachery  took :  she 
waited  wild  I  My  slave  came  back,  and  did  whate'er  I  wish'd :  She  daaped 
her  child,  and  swoon'd ;  and  all  but  died  " 

The  pathos  and  poetry  of  this  beautiftd  grammatieal,  and  intdhgible  pasage, 
is  too  much  for  us.  We  cannot  go  on  without  assistance.  We  dull,  there* 
fore,  make  a  glass  of  rum  grog,  for  we  are  writing  this  on  a  fine  sun«shiny 
morning.  As  we  are  on  die  sutject  of  grog,  we  tmj  as  well  give  it  as  our 
opinion,  that  the  young  midshipman's  method  of  making  it,  as  lecarded  by  the 
great  Joseph,  is  by  fkr  the  most  commodious.  Swallow  we,  therefore,  first  a 
riass  of  rum— K>ur  own  drinking  is  Antigua— and  then,  bapdaiog  it  speedOy 
by  the  afiVision  of  a  similar  quantity  of  water,  we  take  three  jumps  to  mis  the 
fluids  in  our  stomach,  and,  so  fortified,  proceed  with  the  conieBipUtm  d  tfaa 
Bitter  Bann.  We  get  on  to  a  new  jijg  taii»— 


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Hi  A  Jlunning  Cofam0ntary  on  the  HiUer  JBonn.  d^pn'j 

"  I  felt  her  tears 
For  years  and  years^ 
Quench  not  my  flame,  but  stir  !" 
Oh! 

*'  The  very  hate 
I  bore  her  mate. 
Increased  my  love  for  her. 
"  Fame  told  us  of  his  glory :  while  joy  flush'd  the  face  of  Jane ;  and  while 
die  bless'd  his  name,  her  smue  struck  l&re  into  my  brain,  no  fears  could  damp. 
I  reached  the  camp,  sought  out  its  champion ;  and,  if  my  broadsword  (An- 
drew Ferrara  would  be  a  much  more  poetical  word,  Mr  Thomas,)  failed  at 
last,  'twas  long  and  well  laid  on.   This  wound's  my  meed^-My  name  is  King- 
horn — ^My  foe  is  the  Hitter  Bann. 

"  The  wafer  to  his  lips  was  borne. 
And  we  shrived  the  dying  man. 
He  died  not  till  you  went  to  fight  the  Turks  at  Warradein ;  but  I  see  my 
tale  has  changed  you  pale. — ^The  Abbot  went  for  wine,  and  brought  a  little  page, 
who  poured  it  out  end  smiled." 

How  beautiful !  and  how  natural  at  the  same  time ! — ''  I  see,"  says  the  old 
Abbot,  who,  we  warrant,  was  a  sound  old  toper,  a  fellow  who  rgoiced  in  the 
delightful  music  of  the  cork,  '*  the  curst  stuff  I  have  been  talking  to  you  has 
made  you  sick  in  your  stomach,  and  you  must  take  a  glass  of  wine.  What  wine 
do  you  drink.  Hock,  Champagne,  Sauterne,  Dry  lisbon,  Madeira,  Black  Strap, 
Lacryma  Chritii  ? — ^my  own  tipple  is  Rhenish.  See  here,  I  have  some  Anno 
Zhmini,  God  knows  what.  Pleasure  of  drinking  your  good  health  in  the  mean- 
time." 

''  The  stuun'd  knight  saw  himself  restored  to  childhood  in  his  child,  and 
stooped  and  caught  him  to  bis  breast — ^laugh'd  loud,  and  wept  anon  ;  and, 
with  a  shower  of  kisses,  pressed  the  darling  Uttle  one." 

The  conversation  soon  becomes  sprighUy.  Nothiug  can  be  better  than  the 
colloquial  tone  of  the  dialogue. 

''  JliUer  Bann.  And  w^re  went  Jane  ? 

"  Old  Snoozer.  To  a  nunnery,  air, — ^lA>ok  not  again  so  pale :  — Kinghom's  old 
dame  grew  harsh  to  her. 

*'  Bitter  Bann.  And  has  she  ta'en  the  veil  ? 
"  Old  Snoozer,  Sit  down,  sir.  I  bar  rash  words. 

*'  They  sat  all  three,  and  the  boy  played  with  the  Knight's  broad  star,  as  he 
kept  him  on  his  kneo.  '  Think  ere  you  ask  her  dweUing-place,'  the  Abbot 
father  said ;  '  time  draws  a  veil  o'er  beauty's  face,  more  deep  than  doister'd 
shade :  Grief  may  have  made  bar  what  you  can  scaree  bve,  perhaps,  for  life.' 
— '  Hush,  Abbot,'  cried  the  Bitter  Bann,  (on  whom,'  by  this  time,  the  tipple 
had  taken  considerable  effect,)  or  tell  me  where's  my  wife." 
What  follows?  Why 

"  The  priest  undid  I — (OA,  Jupiter  f) 
Two  doors  that  hid 
The  inn's  adjacent  room  ; 

And  there  a  lovely  woman  stood. 
Tears  bathed  hex  beauty's  bloom. 
One  moment  may 
With  bliss  repay 
Unnumber'd  hours  of  pain ; 
Such  was  the  throb. 
And  mutual  sob. 
Of  the  Knight  embracing  Jane." 
And  sudi  is  Mr  Tom  Campbell's  poem  of  the  Bitter  Bann !  1  ! 

Need  we  add  a  word  ?  Did  anybody  ever  see  the  like  ?  What  Terse,  what 
ideas,  what  language,  what  a  story,  what  a  name !  Time  was,  that,  when  the 
brains  were  out,  the  man  would  die ;  but  on  a  ehangd  touteela.    Weeonsigii 
Can|>bell's  head  to  the  notioe  of  the  Phrenologioals. 
Let  us  sing  a  song.  Strike  up  4he  bagpipet  while  we  cfaaunt 


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A  Running  Commentarp  on  the  RUter  Bann. 


445 


The  Writer  Tam. 

T,  Dromedary. 

The  Writer  Tam,  from  Hangryland,* 

Comes,  famed  for  lays  of  armsyf 
And,  writing  chamits  of  chivalry. 

The  Cockney  ladies  charms. 
While  other  hands  write  Balaam,  he* 

In  editorial  g^m. 
In  Colbum's  roagazinary. 

Gives  each  his  destined  room. 


•  See  Jack  Wilket's  Prophecy  of  Famine.  A  poem,  as  Tom  himtdf  observes,  amu. 
sing  to  a  Scotcfamao  from  its  extrnvsgance.  To  oblige  him,  therefore,  the  name  b 
adopted  here. 

f  The  Mariners  of  £ngland — the  British  Gxenadieis — the  Battle  of  the  Baltic,  Sec, 


KIDDTWINKLE  HISTORY. 


No.  I. 


Whcik  is  the  roan  who  has  not 
beard  of  that  ancient  and  honourable 
town  Kiddywinkle — a  town  boastiAg 
of,  according  to  the  last  census,  no 
fewer  than  two  hundred  and  forty- 
seven  inhabitants,  and  rendered  im- 
mortal by  containing  the  adies  of  a 
Saxon  monarch  ?  I  shall  never  forget 
the  moment  in  which  I  first  visited 
the  market,  and  wandered  round  the 
streeta  of  this  venerable  place.  An 
urdiin  of  seven  years  old,  who  had 
never  pvevioualy  waddled  out  of  the 
village,  seven  miles  distant,  in  which 
I  had  been  reared,  every  step  was  en- 
.chantment,  and  awe,  and  amazement. 
The  crowd  in  the  market,  which 
seemed  to  comprehend  the  whole  world 
—the  newly  oiled  boots,  (some  were 
aetuallv  glossed  with  blacking,)  and 
the  well  brushed  Sunday  coats  of  the 
ftrmers — the  dashing  gowns  and  bon- 
nets of  the  farmera  daughters — ^the 
stalls  slmost  broke  down  with  oranges, 
gingerbread,  and  other  delicacies — the 
snop  windows  displaying  a  dazzling, 
though  £tt)tastic  admixture  of  sugars 
tandy,  ribbons,  soap,  muslins,  and 
woollen-drapery — the  gorgeous  signs 
of  the  alehouses — the  sloops  and  barges 
on  the  canal — the  mighty  piles  of  coals 
and  timber— the  houses  of  the  gentry, 
which,  from  their  siae,  brilliant  doors 
and  window.shutters,euriousknockers, 
and  a  thousandother  wondoful  things, 
seemed  to  be  palaces — absolutdy  over- 
powered me.  1  seemed  to  be  some  in* 


sect,  which  had  acdden  tally  crawled 
into  a  superior  world.  I  doubted  whe- 
th^  it  was  lawfVil  for  me  to  stare  at 
the  shop  windows,  or  to  mix  myself 
up  with  the  great  folks  in  the  market ; 
and  I  even  deemed  it  would  be  sacri- 
I^e  to  tread  upon  the  two  or  three 
flag-stones,  which  were  here  and  there 
laid  before  the  doors  of  people  of  fa- 
shion ;  therefore,  whenever  I  approach* 
ed  them,  in  my  perambulations,  I  re-< 
verently  strode  into  the  mire,  to  avoid 
them,  it  would  have  been  scarcely 
possible,  at  that  time,  to  have  convin-* 
ced  me,  that  any  other  place  on  earth 
equalled  Kiddywinkle. 

Although  my  head  is  not  yet  grey, 
many  years  have  passed  over  it  since 
that  happv  moment.  I  have,  in  these 
years,  with  something  of  the  eccentri- 
city and  velocity  of  the  comet,  shot 
across  every  circle  of  society,  except  the 
upper  ones,  without  appearing  to  he  des-* 
tined  to  move  in  any,  and  with  scarce- 
ly a  single  friendly  satellite  to  accom- 
pany me.  I  have  been  whirled  through 
lowliness,  and  ambition,  and  splemHd 
hopes, and  bitter  disappointments,  and 
iwosperity,  and  calamity,  and  every- 
thing else,  save  ease  and  happiness ; 
until,  at  last,  I  have  been  placed  as 
£ur  out  of  society,  as  a  man  well  can 
be,  to  live  in  it  at  all ;  and  left  with 
scarcely  any  other  employment  than 
that  of  ruminating  on  the  past,  and 
prqMuring  for  the  eternity  which  hangs 
over  me.  Alonglineof  yeoisof  rieep« 


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Kiddy wiMt  ffistorjf.    No.  L 


i:Ai*a, 


lesi  eSbtt  and  anxiety^-of  years  whidi, 
in  relation  to  myielf^  teemed  with 
great  events,  and  singular  vicissitudes 
—-stand  next  me  in  the  retrospect,  and 
still  thev  can  neither  obliterate,  nor 
shade  wnat  childhood  painted  on  my 
memory.  In  gazing  on  the  scenes  of 
manhood,  I  see  only  a  mighty  mass  of 
conftised,  though  striking,  l4;ht8  and 
shadows,  which  alternately  make  me 
mourn,  smile,  shudder,  blush,  and 
boast;  but,  in  looking  at  what  preceded 
them,  I  see  a  series  of  distinct  pictures, 
abounding,  no  doubt,  in  the  simple  and 
the  grotesque,  but  still  alike  lovely  in 
their  tints,  and  delightful  in  their  sub- 
jects.  I  love  to  look  at  myself,  as  I  strut- 
ted about  on  the  first  day  of  my  being 
deemed  worthy  of  wearing  jacket  and 
trowsers — as  I  fought  my  innumer- 
ble  battles  with  the  old  gander,  al- 
though they  not  seldom  ended  in  my 
discomfiture  and  flight — as  I  pufied 
away,  on  that  memorable  occasion, 
when  I  took  liberties  with  my  grand- 
mother's nipe  in  her  absence,  and  was 
found  by  her  rolling  about  the  floor  in 
a  state  of  complete  intoxication,  to  her 
infinite  consternation  and  anger— as  I 
drank  fi^m  her  lips  the  first  prayers  I 
could  utter,  and  put  my  endless  ques- 
tions to  her  respecting  tnat  Deity,  who 
has  sinpe  so  often  been  my  only  ^nd 
— as  I  pored  over  the  histories  of  Tom 
Hickatbrift  and  Jack  the  Giant  Killer^ 
until  m^  breast  throbbed  with  Uie 
wish  to  imitate  these  valorous  persons 
-»and,  above  all,  I  love  to  dwell  on 
my  first  visit  to  Kiddywinkle.  It  was 
one  of  the  grand  events  of  my  infancy ; 
it  introdu^  me  to  a  new  world,  and 
it  first  called  into  action  that  ambition, 
which,  although  it  has  often  enough 
led  me  through  disaster  and  torture, 
has  not  finally  forsook  me,  without 
leaving  me  something  to  be  proud  of. 
Would  that  I  could  remember  the 
many  sage  remarks  that  I  made  to  my 
companion,  in  viewing  the  wonders 
before  me  on  this  great  occasion !  They 
would,  no  doubt,  have  been  a  rica 
treat,  but,  alas !  Uiey  are  among  the 
things  that  have  left  me  for  ever. 

The  Nag's  Head  bos  been,  time  im- 
memorial, the  priDcipal  inn  of  Kiddy- 
winkle.  It  is  the  only  one  which  dis- 
plays, iu  letters  of  gold,  <'  Neat  Post 
Chaise,"  and  "  Wines,"  to  the  eyes  of 
the  public  To  it,  on  market  and  fair 
days,  ride  all  the  gentlemen  fanners 
and  their  sons— the  privil^ed  men, 
who  wear  white  neckcloths  and  super-* 


fine,  or,  at  least,  fine  Yorkshire,  coats; 
while  we  humbler  farmers  and  onher 
villafi;ers  reverentiallypass  it  to  quar- 
ter themselves  upon  The  Plough,  The 
Black  Bull,  and  The  Green  Dragon. 
To  it,  the  rank  and  fsshion  of  Ki£ly- 
winkle  scrupulously  confine  them- 
selves, when  tmsiness  or  pleasure  calls 
them  to  a  place  of  public  accommoda- 
tion ;  while  the  lower  orders  as  scru- 
pulously shun  it,  to  carry  themselves 
and  their  money  to  the  less  exalted 
taps  of  the  rival  houses.  It  monopo- 
lizies  all  the  gentlemen  travellers,  and 
the  traveller  gentlemen,  all  the  justice 
meetings,  and  is,  in  troth,  a  house  of 
extreme  gentility.  It  is  not,  however, 
the  whole  inn,  but  only  a  oertain  small 
parlour  which  forms  a  part  of  it,  to 
which  I  wish  to  give  celebritv. 

From  causes  which  it  will  not  be 
difficult  to  divine,  Kiddfwinkle  boasts 
of  no  theatre,  concert-room,  or  other 
place  of  evening  amusements.  The 
distinctions  between  the  various  clas- 
ses of  society  are  maintained  in  that 
ancient  place,  with  a  jigour  which  is 
unknown  in  the  metropolis.  Mn 
Sugamose,  the  grocer's  spouse,  would 
be  eternally  disgraced,  were  she  to 
drink  tea  with  Mn  Leatherlcs,  the 
wife  of  the  shoemaker ;  and  Mrs  Catch- 
fool,  the  attorney's  lady,  could  not,  on 
any  consideration,  become  intimate 
with  Mn  Sugamose.  The  very  highest 
dass  never,  perhaps,  comprehends 
more  than  Ave  or  six  £imilies;  and 
these  keep  themselves  as  eflfectually  se- 
cluded from  all  below  them,  with  re- 
gud  tosodal  intercourse,  as  they  would 
be,  if  an  Atlantic  rolled  between  them. 
They  are,  iu  general,  exceedingly 
friendly  with  each  other;  but  then 
there  are  weighty  reasons  which  render 
it  highly  inexp^ent  for  the  heads— 
the  masters — to  mingle  much  together 
at  each  other's  houses.  These  heads, 
though  excessively  aristocratic  and  re- 
fined, are  ever  slenderly  endowed  with 
income ;  for,  from  some  inexplicable 
cause,  {dentiful  fortunes  never  could  be 
amassed  at  Kiddywinkle,  or  be  attracU 
ed  hither  from  other  parts.  For  the 
ladies  and  children  to  visiteach  otbeiv 
is  no  great  matter ;  a  cup  of  tea  tastes 
only  of  sixpences ;  but  were  the  gen- 
tlemen to  dine  and  sup  with  eadio^MT 
it  would  be  ruinous.  The  eaUbles  are 
nothing,  even  though  the  table  boast 
of  something  beyond  family  fare ;  but 
the  liquids — the  wine  and  ^trit»— 
■death  1  golden  aovereigna  are  awal* 
9 


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XiddtfwiMe  Mistorjf.    No.  L 


lowed  ercrf  -  moment  A  compaoty 
'diflreftra,  constantly  exists  among  the 
gendemeny  in  Tirtae  of  which,  thej 
noTer  entertain  each  other,  except  at 
that  season  of  universal  entertainnient, 
Christmas.  Man,  however,  in  spite  of 
mide  and  poverty,  is  a  soda!  animal. 
That  which  is  inexorahly  withheld  by 
sbom  of  inicriors  and  limited  finances, 
is  abnndantlv  sopplied  to  the  aristo- 
cracy of  KidfdyfHnkle,  hy  the  snog, 
comfortable,  and  venerable  little  par- 
Isnr  of  the  Nag's  Head.  Thither  they 
repair  every  evening  of  their  lives,  to 
renle  themselves  with  a  cup  of  ale,  or 
a  glass  of  brandy  and  water,  as  inclina- 
tion and  funds  may  will ;  and  to  taste 
of  joys,  less  gaudy  and  exciting,  per- 
haps, tbiin  those  of  costly  entertain- 
ments, but  infinitely  more  pure  and 
rationaL 

The  Rev.  Andrew  SmaDglebe,  Doe- 
tor  Manydraught,  and  the  three  £s- 
euires,  Spencer  Slenderstave,  Leonard 
littlesigbt,  and  Anthony  Ailoften, 
constituted,  a  few  years  since,  the  tip- 
top circle  of  Kiddywinkle,  and,  of 
ctmrse,  they  were  the  sole  evening  oc- 
cupants of  the  little  parlour  at  the 
Nag's  Head.  Mr  Smallglebe  was  the 
vicar,  and  he  enjoyed  an  income  of 
two  hundred  and  forty-six  pounds  per 
annum.  He  had  passed  nis  sixty- 
seventh  year,  and  was,  in  person  and 
disposition,  the  very  reverse  of  those 
portraits,  whidi  mankind  are  taught 
to  regard  as  the  only  correct  likenesses 
of  hmfioed  clei|;ymen.  He  was  in 
suture  considerably  bdow  the  middle 
aiae,  and  he  was  exceedingly  slender, 
even  in  proportion  to  his  limited  alti- 
tude. His  head  was,  indeed,  some- 
what larger,  his  face  more  round  snd 
flcdiv,  and  his  shoulders  a  litUe  broad- 
er, than  exact  symmetry  warranted ; 
hut  then  his  legs  and  thighs — they 
could  scarcely  stand  comparison  with 
a  walkinff-stick.  His  gait  harmonized 
with  die  lightness  of  his  ibrm,  and  was 
•s  elastic  and  niraUe  as  that  of  the  boy 
«f  thirteen.  The  circular,  plump,  pale 
ftee  of  Mr  SnuOlglebe,  did  but  htUe 
justioe  to  his  soul.  His  forehead  was 
reasonably  capacious,  but  still  it  did 
not  lower  into  dignity  ; — ^his  eye  was 
knge,  but  not  prominent ;  steady,  but 
not  piercing ;  dark,  but  not  expressive ; 
perbapa  it  lost  much  in  eflfect  firom  dis- 
playing an  inordinate  portion  of  the 
whit^— his  mouth  was  wide,  and  hki 
diin  was  Httle,  and  greatly  drawn  in. 

You  XV. 


•U7 

1^  heaviness  and  vadmcy  of  hiacoun. 
tenanoe  were,  no  doubt,  a  little  heiglit- 
ened  by  his^long,  straight,  coarse  hair ; 
and  they  were  rendered  the  more  re- 
markable by  the  light  boyishness  of 
his  figure.  Mr  Smallglebe,  however, 
bad  many  good  qualities,  and  some 
great  ones.  His  heart  was  all  tender- 
ness and  benevolence,  but,  unfbrtn- 
nately,  ita  bounty  streamed  as  profuse- 
ly upon  the  unworthy,  as  the  worthy. 
He  had  never  mixea  with  mankind, 
and  he  had  never  been  the  world's 
suppliant,  or  dependent ;  the  few  mor- 
tals that  he  had  seen  had  been  friends 
seeking  his  society,  or  the  needy  im- 
I^Oring  his  asustence,  and  they,  of 
course,  had  exhibited  to  his  eyes  no- 
thing but  desert  and  virtue.  While  he 
had  thus  seen  nothing  of  mankind's 
depravity ;  his  spotless  consdetioe  and 
unextinguishable  cheerfulness,  magni* 
fied  into  the  superlative,  the  little  that 
he  had  seen  of  ita  anumed  merit,  and 
he  would  believe  nothing  that  could 
be  said  of  it,  except  praise.  In  his 
judgrooit,  the  rarest  thing  in  the  world 
was  a  bad  man,  or  a  bad  woman ;  ancl 
if  the  proofs  that  such  existed  happen- 
ed to  force  themselves  upon  him,  he 
could  always  find  as  many  provocativsa 
and  palliatives  for  Uie  guilt,  as  well 
nigh  sufficed  to  justify  it.  He  was  a 
man  of  considerable  genius  and  read- 
ing, and,  in  the  pulpit,  he  was  eloquent 
and  popular ;  but  while  his  pathos 
mdted  all  before  it,  and  his  appeals  to 
the  better  feelings  were  irresistible,  he 
never  remembeml  that  it  was  his  du- 
ty to  grapple  with  the  sinner,  and  to 
repeat  the  threatenings  to  the  impeni- 
tent. Out  of  the  pulpit,  Mr  Small- 
glebe waa  a  universufk^unte.  His  art* 
leas,  simple,  mild,  unchangeable,  and 
benevolent  cheerfulness  spread  an  at- 
mosphere sround  him,  from  which  all 
who  entered  it  drank  solace  and  hap- 

Einess.  His  conversation  charmed,  not 
y  ita  brillianev  or  force ;  but  by  ita 
broad,  easy  flow— ita  intelligence, 
warmth,  purity,  andbenevolence.  Base 
as  the  world  is,  it  was  not  possible  for 
the  man,  who  was  every  one's  friend, 
to  have  an  enemy.  "  He  is  the  best 
little  man  that  ever  breathed!"  waa 
the  character  which  every  tongue  as- 
signed to  Mr  Smalklebe.  Those  who 
roDbed  him  under  tne  pretence  of  so- 
liciting charity^— those  who  laughed  at 
his  good  nature,  and  credulity-'-those 
whodespised  bis  profession— and  those 
3M 


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448 

who  efea  Ibroed  him  into  opporition 
and  contention,  all  jcHned  in  ejacula- 
ting the  eulogy* 

Mr  SmaU^be,  neverthelesa,  had 
his  fiulings;  these  mil,  perhaps,  ap- 
pear in  the  course  of  this  history,  but 
I  haye  not  the  heart  to  nuke  them  the 
aulgects  of  intentional  enumeration.  I 
knew  the  man,  and  loved  him.  Of  the 
multitudes  with  whom  I  have  come  in 
contact  in  my  eventful  life,  he  was  one 
of  the  few,  whose  hearts  never  could 
stoop  to  what  men  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of.  The  recollection  of  his  virtues  has 
stifled  Uie  curse  on  my  lips,  as  in  my 
hours  of  agony  it  has  been  falling  on 
my  species.  When  I  look  back  on  the 
bueness  which  I  have  been  doomed 
to  witness  in  human  nature,  I  remem- 
ber him,  and  my  ipisanthropy  vanishes; 
for  I  then  know  that  the  world  still 
contains  some  who  are  good  and  ho- 
nourable. We  have  parted  to  meet  no 
more  on  earth,  but  I  shall  only  fcnrget 
him  when  I  leave  the  world  for  ever. 

Doctor  Manydraught  had  for  many 
years  practised  as  a  ph^dan  at  a 
neighbouring  sea-port,  with  consider- 
able success.  He  was  a  tall,  huse,  ec- 
centric, boisterous,  hot-headed  per- 
son, whose  faculties  were  of  the  most 
diminutive  description.  Why  the  out- 
rage was  offered  to  nature,  of  making 
a  medical  practitioner  of  such  a  man, 
instead  of  a  dragon,  is  a  matter  too  hard 
for  me  to  explain.  How  he  obtained 
patients,  is  not,  perhaps,  so  incompre- 
hensible, i^tinn  is  to  most  men  £ir 
more  serviceable  than  merit,  although 
manj  have  not  the  art,  or  the  nerve, 
to  give  it  at  all  times  the  air  of  credibi- 
lity. Doctor  Manydraught  was  a  pro- 
digious egotist;  and  he  thundered 
forth  his  own  praise  with  such  mar- 
vdlous  command  of  mien — wi^  sudi 
triumphant  assurance  and  ene^^ — 
that  you  found  it  almost  impossible  to 
doubt,  or  to  think  that  any  other  phy- 
sician could  safely  be  trusted.  He  was 
never  at  a  loss,  and  he  was  never  in 
despair.  The  patient,  sick  from  ex- 
cess of  health,  just  afi^ted  him  as 
mudi  as  the  dying  one ;  and  the  lat- 
ter could  scarcely  fail,  even  at  the  last 
hour,  of  gathering  hope  from  his  bold, 
bright  eye,  and  harsh,  daundess  fea- 
tures. The  sick,  and  their  friends, 
therefore,  shrunk  from  the  doubting 
man  of  skill,  tooling  to  the  courageous 
prescriber,  of  no  sloll  whatever ;  and 
while  the  former  mned  from  lack  of 
practice,  the  latter  lived  riotously  up- 


KiddjfvnnkU  ffiiiory.    No.  /. 


CAptil, 


on  a  profusion  of  fees.  Doctor  Maay- 
draught  long  led  a  lifb,  equ^y  bniiy 
and  meny.  He  killed  unmerafuihr, 
and  yet  never  wanted  victima;  he 
drank  and  wendied  immoderately,  and 
still  the  means  never  ran  abort.  At 
length,  when  he  reached  the  fiftieth 
year  of  his  age,  and  the  seveotietli  of 
his  constitution,  his  health  fidled.  Ins 
spirits  sank,  his  boasting  degenerated 
intobuUying,  patients  fled,  fees  vaniah^ 
ed,  and  starvation  frovmed  in  the  ho- 
riaoh.  He  acted  with  his  usual  deei- 
sion.  and  with  far  more  than  his  umal 
wisdom.  He  saw  that  his  loss  was  ir- 
recoverable, that  want  was  at  hand, 
and  he  immediately  announced  his  de- 
termination to  retire  from  business, 
converted  his  little  property  into  an 
annuity  of  one  hunorea  and  twen^ 
pounds  per  annum,  and  settled  him* 
self  at  Kiddy  winkle.  His  change  of 
residence  was  a  masterly  piece  <n  po- 
licy, for  it  saved  him  from  a  tremen- 
dous fall  in  society ;  nay,  at  his  new 
place  of  abode,  notwithstanding  his  xe- 
auction  of  income,  he  was  a  greater 
man  than  he  was  before.  All  Kiddy- 
winkle  eagerly  listened  to,  and  do- 
voutly  bdlieved  his  accounts  of  his 
wonderful  cures— 4iis  exalted  connec- 
tions— ^his  transcendent  merits  and 
Doctor  Manydraught  was  deemed  to 
be  something  more  than  man.  He  was 
constantly  picking  up  dinners,  half 
guineas,  and  even  guineas,  by  means 
of  advice ;  certain  of  his  old  friends 
were  continually  sending  him  harapcra 
of  wine,  and  casks  of  brandy,  and  he 
thus  lived  almost  as  sumptiiously  as 
ever. 

The  father  of  Spencer  Slenderstave, 
Esquire,  converted  himself  in  a  bril- 
liant manner,  from  a  washerwoman's 
bare-fboted  urchin,  into  the  chieftain 
lor  of  Kiddywinkle.  He  amassed 
wealth,  determined  that  hia  aon  shoold  * 
follow  some  exalted  calling,  and  there- 
fore apprenticed  him  to  the  greatest 
haberaashtf  in  the  county.  Spencer 
was  taU,  sickly,  and  emaciated  as  a 
boy,  and  he  was  the  same  as  9.  man. 
His  constitution  and  temper  weie  na- 
turally bad,  and  his  ignorant  parents 
rendered  them  incurable  by  indul- 
gence. When  a  diild,  his  frequent 
fits  of  illness  procured  him  excessive 
supplies  of  barley-sugar,  plum-cake^ 
and  everything  else  that  his  fimoy 
called  for ;  and  this  not  imlj  readeand 
the  fits  more  frequent,  but  bribed  him 
to  counterfeit  them,  the  more  eaped- 


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1884.1 


KiidywinkU  History.    ATo.  /. 


449 


■Hy  as  hii  word  was  never  doubted. 
He  was  therelbre  generally  ailing,  al- 
wajrs  complaining,  and  eternally  stuff- 
ed with  tne  ibod  of  aihnents.  He  was 
naturally  selfish^  cold-blooded^  and 
ooTetoos,  vain,  peevidi,  and  pettish ; 
and  he  was  rendered  doubly  so  by  the 
reverence  with  which  his  parents  met 
his  wishes  and  ill-humour.  The  boys 
hooted  him  fVom  their  society  for  his 
effinninacy  and  bad  temper,  and  he 
thus  grew  up  to  fourteen  with  his  mo- 
ther, whom  he  treated  as  his  slave, 
for  his  chief  associate,  and  with  the 
gratification  of  his  propensities  for  his 
chief  employment.  At  this  age,  he  was 
a  slim,  bent,  wofhl-looldng  boy,  dad 
in  a  grotesque  combination  of  foppish 
finery,  and  great-coats,  and  comtbrt- 
crs,  and  exhibiting  mndi  of  the  so- 
lemn, antiquated  air,  and  possessing 
almost  all  the  odious  habits  of  the  ba- 
chelor of  seventy.  During  his  appren- 
tieeship,  Mr   SlendersUve  secluded 
himself  as  raudi  as  possible  from  so- 
ciety, because  diose  with  whom  he 
came  in  contact  would  neither  treat 
l^m  with  reverence,  nor  administer  to 
his  caprice,  without  return.    He  be- 
took himsdf  to  novels  and  light  poetry 
for  amusement,  poetised  largely,  and 
even  pubHsbed  w  a  provincial  paper 
divers  ddorous  elegies  descriptive  of 
bis  own  miseries.    His  bondage  ex- 
aired,  and  he,  of  course,  went  to  spend 
his  Tear  in  London,  where  he  natural- 
hr  became  a  highlv  finished  dandy. 
His  father  died  and  left  him  two  thou- 
sand pounds,  whereupon  he  determi- 
ned to  commence  business  immediate- 
ly, although  he  was  grievously  per. 
plexed  where  his  shop  should  be  open- 
ed.   He  had  now  become,  in  his  own 
judgment,  a  man  of  ezeee^gly  fine 
taste,  and  he  read  and  rhjrm^  more 
than  ever.    His  reading  was  strictly 
confined  to  the  fine,  the  romantic,  and 
the  kckadaysical ;  and  it  effectuaUy 
convinced  him,  that  a  man  of  refined 
ibelings  could  be  happy  nowhere  ex- 
cept among  daisies,  cowslips,  and  prim- 
roses, Uadcbirds,  purling  streams,  and 
akady  bowers.    Kiddywmkle  was  the 
place;  it  was  both  town  and  country; 
and  accordinfl;ly  a  spadous  shop  was 
taken  at  Kiddywinkle.   Into  this  shop 
Mr  Slenderstave  thrust  a  roost  magni' 
flcent  and  costly  stock;  every  way  suit- 
ed to  his  own  brilhant  taste,  and  every 
way  unsuited  to  the  wants  and  Ainds 
of  the  only  people  who  were  likdy  to 
beeooit  purchasers.    The  ladies,  hi^ 


and  low,  of  Kiddywinkle,  thetemers' 
wives,  die  labomrers*  wives,  and  the 
servant  girls  of  the  whole  surround- 
ing country,  were  aH  thrown  into  rap- 
tures by  the  sight  of  Mr  Slender- 
stave's  fine  things,  but  then,  after  duly 
admiring  what  thev  could  not  afibrd 
to  buy,  they  went  elsewhere  to  expend 
their  money.    This  told  much  ap^inst 
his  success  as  a  tradesman,  and  his  own 
conduct  told  as  much  against  it.    Ho 
was  now  a  ver^  fine  gentleman.    He 
lounged  into  his  shop  every  morning 
at  eleven  in  an  elegant  undress,  just 
gazed  over  his  empty  shop  and  idle 
shopmen,  and  then  lounged  back  again 
to  adiver  himself  of  a  sonnet,  to  de- 
vour Uie  beauties  of  the  last  publica- 
tion of  the  Cockney  school,  or  to  pre- 
pare himself  for  ruraliadng  in  the  green 
fields  until  dinner  time.    He  kept  a 
delidous  table,  and  dressed  in  the  first 
fashion.    As  was  to  be  expected,  the 
stock  account  at  the  end  of  the  first 
year  wore  so  hideous  a  face,  that  Mr 
Slenderstave  cursed  trade  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  times,  and  vowed  that 
he  would  ahandon  it,  Aen  and  for 
ever.     He  did  abandon  it;  he  took 
lodgings,  and  fashioned  himself  into  a 
gentleman  in  calling,  as  in  everything 
else,  with  an  income  of  about  seventy 
fire  pounds  per  annum.    Mr  Slender- 
stave, of  course,  could  not  possibly 
mingle  widi  any  but  the  first  people 
of  Kiddywinkle,  and  these  were  for 
some  time  extremely  loath  to  admit 
him  into  didr  sodetv.    Independent- 
ly of  his  ignoble  birtn,  and  of  his  ha- 
ving just  straggled  out  of  a  shop,  his 
dandvism,  arrogance,  and  silliness  ren- 
dered him  insupportable  to  the  great 
ot  Kiddywinkle.    He,  however,  plied 
the  ladies  incessantly.    He  dilated  to 
diem  on  silks  and  laces-~copied  for 
them  the  fashions  from  the  news- 
papers— rented  to  them  the  beauties 
of  Barry  Cornwall — eulogised  their 
taste — made  verses  on  their  charms-— 
and  dressed  so  divinely,  that  at  length 
Mrs  Smallglebe  pronounced  Mr  Slen- 
derstave to  be  an  cxcessivdY  learned, 
accomplished,  gented,  and  fine  young 
man.    This  was  suffident,  and  he  at 
once  took  his  place  in  the  h'ttle  par- 
lour at*  the  Nag's  Head.    At  the  mo- 
ment when  the  other  frequenters  of 
this  parlour  were  sketchra,  he  waa 
about  forty-five.    A  tall,  slight,  joint- 
less,  nerveless,  spectre-looking  person, 
no  one  could  look  on  Mr  Slenderstave 
vrithont  aedng  that  he  was  kept  alive 


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KiddywinkU  Hishfy.    No  L 


450 

by  dnigi  and  eorditk.  His  sallow, 
fleshless  face  was  immoderately  long 
and  angular,  and  it  exhibited  a  rare 
combination  of  gfaastliness,  conceit, 
melancholy,  and  silliness.  His  dress 
was  perfectly  unique.  His  finances 
restricted  him  to  one  suit  per  antrum, 
and  his  taste  compelled  him  to  send 
this  suit  to  his  taUor  every  month  to 
be  fashion ized.  The  tailor  lucklesshr 
had  no  '^  town  connections/'  and, 
therefore,  while  he  was  compelled  to 
alter,  he  had  nothing  to  guide  him  but 
his  own  fancy.  Mr  Slenderstave  was 
in  consequence  sometimes  twenty  years 
before,  and  sometimes  twenty  years 
behind  the  fashion,  but  never  in  it, 
and  this  gave  him  the  appearance  of 
being  an  exquisite  morsel  of  thread- 
bare foppery,  to  which  no  one  could 
assign  a  country  or  an  era.  He  was 
now  altogether  a  literary  gentleman. 
He  enriched  the  provincial  paper  which 
circulated  in  Kiddywinkle,  with  ama- 
tory and  lachrymose  verses  almost 
weekly,  and  he  was  reported  to  be  far 
gone  with  a  pathetic  novel. 

Leonard  Littlesigbt,  Esquire,  be- 
gan the  world  as  a  respectable  farmer, 
and  by  skill,  industry,  and  the  benign 
influence  of  high  pnces,  he  was  ena- 
bled to  retire  at  sixtv,  possessed  of  land 
worth  five  hundred  per  annum.  He 
was  a  hale,  broad,  erect,  vigorous 
man,  with  a  plump,  oval  &oe,  which 
exhibited  a  smgular  mixture  of  nerve, 
sternness,  and  benevolence.  His  mind 
was  strong  and  shrewd,  and  stored 
with  much  practical  knowledge  of  hu- 
man nature,  but  it  poasessed  nothing 
beyond  what  it  hacl  picked  up  from 
experience.  Of  books,  Mr  Littlesigbt 
knew,  and  desired  to  know,  nothing. 
He  was  a  man  of  mighty  prejudices 
and  singular  obstinacy,  but  his  heart 
nevertheless  lay  in  the  right  place,  and 
his  life  would  have  done  honour  to 
any  one,  save  a  philanthropist  by  pro- 
fession. 

Anthony  Ailoften,  Esquire,  was  a 
little,  puny  man  of  sixty-four,  with  a 
long,  thin,  sallow  face,  sharp  nose  and 
chin,  and  little,  sore,  weak,  watery 
eyes,  which  neverthdess  occasionally 
astonished  those  on  whom  they  fell, 
with  their  brilliancy.  He  began  life 
as  a  merchant,  but  his  constitution 
could  not  be  reconciled  to  the  air  of  a 
town,  and  therefore,  after  a  few  years, 
rather  discouraging  ones  with  regard 
to  profit,  he  abandoned  business,  and 
settled  himself  at  Kiddywinkle  upon 


CApril 


his  patrimony  of  two  hnndittd  per  aa« 
num.  He  waa  exceasivdy  bflioos,  uid 
dierefore,  while  he  was  rardy  senoua* 
ly  indisposed,  he  was  always-just  suf« 
flciently  so  to  be  discontented  aad 
peevish.  Both  invalids,  there  was  this 
essential  difihrence  between  him  and 
Mr  Slenderstave, — the  one  eould  bare- 
ly keep  himself  out  of  the  grave,  and 
still  he  constantly  affected  exeellait 
health, — the  other  was  within  twode* 
grees  of  being  a  healthy  man,  and  scfli 
be  constantly  afibcted  grievous  sick-* 
ness.  It  was  an  afiVont  to  the  man  of 
bile  to  tell  him  that  he  looked  w^ 
it  was  an  affh>nt  to  the  poet,  to  tdi 
him  that  he  looked  poorly.  Mr  Ail* 
often  was  a  man  of  quick,  powerftd 
intellect,  and  of  much  desultory  read- 
ing, and  when  his  feelings  were  a  little 
excited,  a  matter  of  ii«quent  oecur« 
rence,  he  could  be  extremely  doquent. 
He  would,  however,  only  look  at 
specks,  flaws,  and  defects,  and,  conse- 
quently, his  eloquenee  abounded  in 
sarcasm,  invective,  gloom,  and  lamen- 
tation. His  tongue  was  a  terror  t* 
Mr  Slenderstave,  and,  in  truth,  all 
the  visitors  of  the  parlour  stood  in  ft 
certain  degree  of  awe  of  it,  save  aad 
except  Mr  Littlesigbt 

In  a  divided  land  like  this,  if  five 
people  be  assemUed  together,  they  are 
pretty  sure  Co  oonstitote  at  least  two, 
if  not  five,  politick  and  other  narlies. 
Perhap  when  the  government  has  ao- 
corophshed  the  praiseworthy  work  in 
Ireland,  of  concuiating,  by  soourging 
its  supporters,  and  of  eradicating  party 
spirit  by  means  of  proclamation,  sta- 
tute, fine,  and  imprisonment,  it  wtU 
deign  to  commence  the  same  noble 
work  in  England.  Oh  happy  Ire- 
land !  Oh  wonderfiil  Marouis  Wellea- 
ley  !  What  prodigious  foMs  viere  our 
forefathers,  to  think  that  the  support- 
ers of  government  deserved  anymng 
but  scorn  and  contumely ;  and  that 
party  spirit  could  be  vrasted  away  by 
anything  but  coercion — that  coercion 
was  the  best  thing  possible  for  kec^ 
ing  it  at  the  hifipiest  point  of  mai- 
nessl  Bestir  yourselves,  ye  condliatora, 
and  treble  the  speed  of  your  bounties ! 
Si  bene  quid  ftdsi,  fiidas  dto  $  nam  dto 

Oratum  erit ;  ingratum  gratia  tarda  fadt. 
Unhappily,  condliatioo  waa  un- 
known at  Kiddywinkle,  and  tiieretee 
die  gieat  men  of  that  andent  jpkoe 
were  more  or  less  under  the  influence 
of  party  spirit.    Mr  SmallgMa  waa  a 


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1834.3  Kiddy  wmklt  Histoty. 

T€ftj,  a  mild^  phicUets^  vieldiBg,  0(m« 
dUtttingoney  who  flinened  flrom  ar- 
gtonent,  and  ira^  teldom  made  a  hdf 
sHrrender  of  his  principles  for  the  sake 
of  peace.  Dr  Man ydraogfat  was  a  fu- 
rious Whig ;  Mr  Slenderstaye  Tibra- 
ted  between  Whiggism  and  Radical- 
ism; Mr  Littlesight  was  a  staunch 
fHend  of  the  KiDg>  a  sterling  member 
of  die  tme-blue  school,  who  regarded 
eterv  mtn  with  detestation  whose 
lotalty  was  questionable;  and  Mr 
Ailoften  was  a  decided,  unbending 
Tory.  They  were  as  much  divided  on 
nffigion  as  on  politics,  and  they  were 
aphi  split  into  parties  with  re^rd  to 
the  administration  of  the  pandi  af- 
Mn  of  Kiddywinkle. 

It  is  not  fbr  me  to  give  a  regular  re- 
cord of  the  proceedings  of  these  illustri- 
ous personages,  although  such  a  record 
woutdbe  in  valuaMe  to  the  world  at  large* 
The  labour  would  be  too  stupendous.  I 
merely  propose  to  give  some  of  the 
more  memoraUe  debates  in  the  little 
jrinrlour,  and  some  of  the  more  stri- 
king of  the  incidents  whkh  befell  them 
out  of  it.  In  doing  this,  I  shall  not 
Ibrget  the  d«ties  of  the  historian.  I 
thiol  adhere  not  only  to  the  truth, 
but  to  the  naked  truth.  Why  should 
I,  to  debase  or  exalt  my  heroes,  sacri- 
fiee  my  own  immortality  P 

On  a  certain  November  evening, 
these  eminent  individuals  were  all 
snugly  seated  round  the  Are  of  the 
litUe  parlour.  The  wind  blew  fierce- 
ly from  the  north-west;  the  atmo- 
sphaie  was  loaded  with  dense,  sombre, 
ttosely  connected  clouds,  and  chill, 
law,  apleen-inspirinff  vapour,  and  the 
bmgs  seemed  to  inhale  nothing  but 
melancholy  and  wretchedness.  The 
very  fire  of  the  parkmr,  instead  of  en- 
Hvening  its  visitors  by  genial  warmth 
md  bnlliant  flame,  could,  from  the 
want  of  draught,  scarcely  be  kept  in 
eidstenoe.  In  spite  of  the  hard  names 
and  the  violent,  interminable  poking 
of  Mr  Ailoften,  it  would  only  exhibit 
a  mass  of  sad,  brown,  heartless  cin- 
ders, the  very  type  of  moody  gloomi- 
ness. All  this  affected  the  guests  very 
sensibly,  and  after  the  mrst  forced 
compliments  passed,  they  sat  in  un- 
brofcen  silence.  Mr  Sroallglebe  kept 
Ua  soectaeles  levelled  at  the  County 
Herald,  evidently  for  no  other  pur- 
pose than  to  jusUfy  die  inaction  of  his 
tooffue.  Dr  Maoydnmg^t  toiled  at 
his  brandy  and  water  with  speechless 
isduitiy,    idiile  his    eyes,    thovgh 


No.  I. 


451 


douded,  displayed  unuaoal  ferodty: 
the  fitoe  of  Mr  ^nderstave  was  yellow 
and  ghastly  in  the  last  degree,  and  his 
eyes  were  dim  and  half  dosed ;  he  sat, 
or  rather  lay,  on  his  chair  with  his 
head  hung  over  its  back,  and  his  legs 
stretched  out,  to  the  infinite  annoy- 
ance of  Mr  Ailoften,  apparently  in 
deep    abstraction,    though    his    Are- 
quent   heavv   sighs    proclaimed   his 
tnoughts  to  be  of  the  most  dismal  na- 
ture ;  Mr  Littlesight  sucked  his  pipe 
as  vehemently  as  if  he  had  been  smo- 
king for  a  wager — ^lamented  to  himself 
the  tobacco  of  former  tiroes — swallow- 
ed huge  draughts  of  ale — cursed  in  si- 
lence the  villainy  of  modem  brewers, 
and  could  not  oonodve  what  made 
him  feel  so  unhappy;  and  Mr  Ail- 
often,  while  his  countenance  display- 
ed a  double  portion  of  gloom  and  ir- 
ritability, wriggled  about  upon  hia 
seat,  bit  his  naUs,  groaned  in  roirit, 
fenged  to  throw  the  fire  out  of  the 
window  for  resisting  his  importuni- 
ties, and  ^  legs  of  Mr  Slenderstave 
after  it,  fbr  crossing  his  own,  and  even 
almost  wished,  as  a  means  of  disgor- 
ging his  spleen,  for  a  quarrd  widl 
some  of  his  companions.    The  pros- 
pects of  the  evening  were  of  the  most 
undesirable  kind.  The  best  that  could 
be  hoped  for  was  a  condnuance  of  the 
tadtomity,  fbr  it  seemed  but  too  cer- 
tain that  nothing  else  could  exdude 
dispute  and  vituperation. 

It  is  highly  probable  that  this  tad- 
tumity  would  nave  continued,  or  that 
it  would  only  have  been  broken  by 
widely-separated,  harmless  sentences, 
had  it  not  been  fbr  the  lees  of  Mt- 
Slenderstave.  This  talented  person 
sat  next  the  wall ;  on  his  right  hand 
sat  Mr  Ailoften,  with  his  front  turned 
as  far  as  practicable  towards  the  fire, 
and  in  such  a  position  that  his  legs 
were  crossed  by  the  spread-out  ones 
of  the  man  of  verse,  and  were  thereby 
robbed  of  the  trifling  portion  of 
warmth  which  wss  their  due,  and 
which  they  grievously  needed.  Mr 
Slenderstave  was  a  person  of  too  much 
refinement  to  be  guiltv  of  such  rude- 
ness intentionally,  although  he  would 
have  felt  less  oompasdon  for  the  legs 
of  Mr  Ailoften  than  fbr  those  of 
any  oUier  man  in  the  world.  The 
truth  is,  he  had  been  ddving  the 
whole  day  at  his  noveL  He  had  got 
his  heroine  desperately  crazed  by  love, 
had  brought  bar  to  the  verge  of  sui- 
dde,  but  vras  unable  to  determine 


Digitized  by 


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452 

whether  she  sheiild  genti j  drown  her- 
self in  some  solitary  brook,  or  miges* 
tically  leap  from  some  cliff  into  the 
ocean.  On  his  aniyal  at  the  parlour, 
he  fdt  irresistihly  impelled  to  resume 
internally  the  discussion  of  this  knotty 
point,  and  in  doing  it,  he  unwittingly 
put  his  legs  in  their  oflbnsive  situa* 
tion.  Mr  Ailoften  regarded  Mr  Slen- 
derstave  with  no  affection  at  all ;  in 
sober. truth,  from  the  combined  influ- 
ence of  natural  antipathy,  and  innu- 
merable contradictions  and  bickerings, 
he  could  not  endure  him.  He  looked 
at  the  le^,  and  then  at  the  fire,  and 
then  agam  at  the  legs,  in  a  way  which 
shewed  that  he  wished  his  glance 
could  consume  them.  He  thou^t  he 
neyer  saw  such  legs — such  mis-shapen, 
stick-like,  abominable  ones.  He  glan- 
ced from  them  to  those  of  Mr  Small- 
S'ebe,  and  the  latter  even  seemed  to 
ew  a  &ir  portion  of  calf  in  the  com- 
parison. Fifty  times  was  Mr  Ailoften 
on  the  point  of  kicking  them  away 
without  ceremony — ^fifty  times  was  he 
on  the  point  of  blazing  out  upon  Mr 
Slenderstave  such  a  ^ollev  m  bitter 
words,  and  as  often  did  he  restrain 
himself.  He  only  resisted  the  last 
temptation  by  thinking,  that  he  could 
remove  the  obnoxious  Umbs  in  a  man- 
ner that  woold  be  more  creditable  to 
himself,  and  more  galling  to  their 
owner.  He  rose  to  stir  the  fire— car- 
ried one  fioot  over  the  offisnding  legs, 
and  planted  it  near  the  fender — stoop- 
ed for  the  poker — afiitcted  to  stagger — 
and,  in  recovering  himsdf,  brought 
the  side  of  his  oth^  foot,  the  edge  of 
his  well-aailed  shoe,  with  all  his  moe, 
against  the  unsuspecting  ankles  of  Mr 
Slenderstave.  The  man  of  verse  start- 
ed from  his  dream  in  agony,  and 
breathed  such  a  groan  as  pierced  the 
hearU  of  all  present,  save  Mr  Ailof- 
ten. 

'^  I  beg  your  pardon,"  muttoed  the 
author  cf  Mr  Slenderstave's  calamity. 
The  words  were  uttered  in  a  cool,  con- 
temptuous tone ;  and  the  eyes  of  the 
iq>eaker,  instead  of  beaming  remorse 
ttbd  compassion  upon  the  su&rer,  con- 
tinued to  dwell  complacently  upon  the 
fhre.  It  was  evident  to  all  that  there 
had  been  a  great  deal  of  intention  in 
the  business.  Mr  Slenderstave  limp- 
ed about  the  parlour  for  a  moment  m 
torture,  then  sunk  upon  a  chur,  ga- 
thered the  ankle  that  nad  suffered  the 
most  upon  his  knee,  rubbed  it,  groan- 
ed incessantly,   and  shewed   every 


JRddy  winkle  History.    No,  /. 


CApitt, 


rptom  of  an  approadiing  faintii^ 
Dr  Manydraught  flew  to  his  as- 
sistance with  the  brandy  and  water^ 
and  arrested  the  senses  at  the  moment 
of  their  departure.  The  pain  gra- 
dually subsided,  and  then  Mr  Slen- 
dorstave  b^;an  to  reflect  how  he  should 
deal  with  £e  offender.  He  knew  his 
man,  and  would  perhims  have  satisfied 
his  vengeance  with  tnxowing  a  few 
ireful  g^nces  upon  the  back  of  Mr 
Ailoften,  liad  it  not  been  for  the  in- 
considerate conduct  of  Dr  Many« 
draught.  ^*  My  God,"  said  the  Doo- 
tor,  '^  what  a  kick  1 — it  was  enou^  ta 
break  a  man's  leg !" — ^Mr  Slenderstave^ 
who  was  rapidly  recovering,  now  be- 
gan to  fear  that  hit  leg  was  broken : 
he  relapsed,  and  when  assured  that  his 
fears  were  groundless,  he  nevertheksa 
was  quite  certain  that  he  had  not  es- 
caped a  fractured  limb  throng  any 
forbearance  on  the  part  of  Mr  Aik^leo* 
His  courage  fired  by  the  words  of  the 
doctor  descended  fh>m  his  eyes  to  his 
ton^e ; — **  It  was,"  he  sighed, "  most 
uncivil;" — ^he  paused,  but  Mr. Ailoften 
was  silent : — *^  It  was  most  ungentle^ 
manly" — ^Mr  Ailoften  was  still  si- 
lent, *^  It  was,"  raising  his  voice,— 
*'  most  shameful,"  — Mr  Ailoften 
was  silent  no  longer.  ''  It  is  well," 
said  that  eminent  individual  with  won- 
derful composure,  **  when  the  injuries 
which  we  unintentionally  do  to  others 
are  nothing  more  than  thechasttsement 
of  rudeness :" — ^'  Me  rude !"  oidaim- 
ed  Mr  Slenderstave,  "  well,  I  protest, 
— now,  my  dear  doctor, — ^you  know 
something  of  my  manners;  am  I/'— - 
the  doctor's  ey^  seemed  to  attest  his 
gentility : — **  bar— it  was— yes  it  was 
the  deed  of  a^-a^— brute!"  He  trembled 
as  soon  as  the  word  fell  from  his  lips. 
Mr  Ailoften  threw  upon  him  a  glanoe 
of  flame,  and  extreme  oonaequcnees 
seemed  to  be  inevitable.  Mr  Small* 
glebe  started  firom  hia  seat,  insisted  on 
silence,  dilated  on  the  absence  of  evil 
intention  in  Mr  Ailcrften,  enlarged  on 
the  offensive  nature  of  the  term  brute, 
procured  an  exchange  of  apologies,  and^ 
restored  peace. 

Previously  to  the  ft«cas,  Mr  little* 
sight  had  asked  Mr  Smallglebea  doien 
times  if  the  Paper  contained  any  news, 
and  the  reverend  gentleman  had  as 
often  answered  that  it  contained  none 
whatever.  He  now,  however,  in  spite 
of  disinclination,  fowod  it  necessary  to 
make  some  attempt  at  conversation,  to 
remove  the  remains  of  the  ill  hnnovr. 


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iMi.;j 


KMfwMk  HiHar^.    ^h.  L 


wluch  thil^of  MrSfendentaveand 
the  kick  they  had  reodTed,  htd  joint- 
ly poduced.  He  stadied,  but  imtgi* 
nation  and  memory  tlnmbered^  and  no 
topic  would  present  itsdf.  He  aeiied 
the  Paper;  "  We  hate/'  said  lie, 
''  aome  newa  to-day,  wkdch  will  be 
highly  reliahed  by  the  firienda  of  hu- 
manity :"— 

Mr  Littletight  seemed  to  beamaied ; 
Mr  Ailoften  looked  up  in  expectation, 
though  the  expreaaion  of  his  counte- 
nance almost  terrified  the  paator'a 
tongue  from  farther  motion ;  Mr 
Slendersta?e  aat  like  a  statue  in  all 
the  mifjesty  of  contemptuous  disre- 
gard :  "  I  r^ice  to  hear  it,"  said  the 
doctor,  "  pray  give  us  the  particulars." 

''  The  news,"  said  the  reverend 

Sntleman,  ''is  not  perchance  fitted  for 
e  palate  of  those  who  delight  in  bat- 
tles and  yictoriea ;  and  it  may  scarcely 
please  thoae  whose  pleasure  flows  fVom 
the  details  of  party  rage  and  conten- 
tion, but  to  the  fnend  of  mankind — 
the  mourner  over  the  suffizrings  of 
otfaer»— the  ^hilanthropiat" — 

Mr  Littlenc^t  listened  so  intently, 
that  he  forgot  to  qect  the  smoke 
which  his  pipe  poured  into  his  mouth ; 
in  its  endearonrs  to  find  egress,  it  made 
him  eough  so  immoderately,  that  the 
reverend  speaker  waa  compiled  to 
make  a  short  pauae. 

*'  Mr  Weterea,"  he  proceeded, ''  baa 
carried  a  motion  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons for  an  inquiry  into  the  state  of 
oertain  prisona.  I  naye  actually  abed 
tears  oyer  his  speech.  His  descriptions 
of  the  sufibrings  which  the  wretched 
inhabitants  or  these  places  endure 
night  melt  a  heart  of  nmrble.  And 
then  his  sketches  of  those  who  haye 
authority  oyer  them— K>f  jailors  and 
magistratea  1  They  make  one  shudder. 
He  is  a  bold  man ;  he  conceals  nothing 
and  sparea  no  cme." 

''  He  is  a  fine  Mlow,  by  heayen  1" 
cried  Dr  Manydraugfat,  *'  a  Whig; 
yes,  no  que  but  a  Whig  would  haye 
taken  up  a  buainess  like  this." 

Mr  Littlesight  looked  inquisitiyely 
at  Mr  Ailoften.  On  all  matters  which 
aafoured  oi  politics,  he  careftilly  con- 
cealed his  sentiments  until  he  heard 
thoae  of  the  man  of  bile  whom  he  re- 
garded as  his  leader.  Mr  Ailoften's 
yisage  shewed  still  darker  clouds :  he 
cast  a  sarcastic  smile  in  return,  which 
seemed  toaay, "  Idiots,"  bit  his  lip,  tap- 
ped with  his  toe  upon  the  floor,  and 
remained  silent.    Mr  littlesight  per^ 


45S 

ftctly  understood  him,  and  put  on  ft 
*look  of  important  hedtation.  Mr 
Slenderstaye  took  his  cue  from  the 
fisaturea  of  the  man  who  had  bruised 
him,  and  prepared  himself  fbr  giyinc 
yigoroua  support  to  the  paator  and 
doctor. 

"  It  is  a  matter,"  said  Mr  Small- 
glebe,  ''  with  which  party  has  nothing 
to  do,  and  which  ought  never  to  be 
mentioned  in  coi\}un^ion  with  party 
titles.  To  restrain  the  abuae  of  autho- 
rity towards  the  helpless,  and  to  alio* 
yiate  the  sufierings  of  our  fiellow-crcft- 
tures,  is  the  common  duty  of  all,  and 
ought  to  give  ecjual  pleasure  to  all.  I 
perceive  .likewiae  tnat  petitions  are 
pouring  in  (torn  all  quarters  for  the 
abolition  of  slavery.  What  a  gUndonv 
age  we  live  in  1  A£>thinks  the  next  ge- 
neration of  philanthropists  will  have 
nothing  to  do,  save  to  raise  statues  to 
those  who  are  now  in  existence." 

''  It  is  all  true,"  said  Dr  Many- 
draught,  who  felt  that  he  ladied  mat- 
ter to  be  voluble  on  the  occasion. 

''  I  have  often  in  my  penaive  moods," 
sighed  Mr  Slenderstave,  putting  hira- 
auf  in  the  moat  sentimental  posture 
imaginable,  "  pUused  befcnv  me  the 
poor,  broken-hearted  prisoner.  I  have 
gaied  upon  his  fine  countenance— 
**  Hit  graeefol  nose  KghtMNndy  brooght 
Down  from  a  fbrebcad  of  ctear-ipuired 

The  cbillTdevouring  dew  of  hunga 
and  despair  sat  upon  his  wasted  feai- 
turea.  Inatead  of  the  sweet,  aleek- 
coming-on  breeae  of  Spring,  the  cold 
damp  ^  his  dungeon  visited  nis  dieek ; 
— instead  of  the  soft,  ^Ladaome  war- 
blinga  of  the  lark  and  the  thruab,  the 
dank  of  chains  and  bolts  filled  his  ear ; 
— ^instead  of  light  woods  and  dipsome 
hedges  and  frwky  meadows ;  somede- 
lidous  landscape  which,  composed  of 
*•  Sky,  offth,  and  tee, 
Bfcathet    like  a  bngbt^ytd   £Mt,  that 

langfat  out  openly  ;* 
his  faded  eye  could  only  fidl  upon  hor- 
rid bars  and  walla.  He  thought  of  hta 
friends — his  parenta — his  wife — his 
children.  His  eyea  fiUed, — I  could 
bear  it  no  longer.  I  turned  to  hie 
frienda,  they  were  disconsobte — to  hia 
parents,  they  were  sinking  into  the 

gave — to  his  wife,  young,  tender,  and 
vdy,  a  bright-eyed,  heart-pierdng 
counterpart  of  Venus;  she  was  wan 
and  wretched,  the  consumption  bad 
withered  the  roae  on  her  cneek,  and 
waa  preying  on  her  vitals; — and  I 


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Kiddyufinkle  HiHory,    No.  /. 


454 

turned  to  hit  chfldren;  the  sweet 
dear  roiy,  little  cherabs,  were  crowds 
ing  in  the  most  nio?ing  manner  round 
the  mother,  and  ceneleaily  askingwhen 
they  should  see  '  PafMu' — I  could  not 
—I  could  not — I  could  not — " 

Mr  Slenderstave  was  too  much  af^ 
footed  to  proceed  ;  his  dolorous  coun- 
tenance wrinkled  itself  into  the  most 
startling  expression  of  woe;  he  lei- 
surely drew  his  handkerchief  from  his 
pocket,  and  applied  it  to  his  eyes  with 
all  the  dignity  and  solemnity  of  tragic 
sorrow.  Dr  Manydraught  was  visibly 
moved;  the  eyes  of  Mr  Small^lebe 
sparkled  with  enthusiasm ;  Mr  Little- 
sight  gave  a  prodigious  hem,  and  look- 
ed mar  velburiy  incredulous ;  and  Mr 
Ailoften  pushed  the  poker  through  the 
fire  as  though  he  was  running  a  man 
through  the  body,  threw  it  down  again, 
but  said  nothing. 

Mr  Smallglebe's  feelings  were  too 
much  excited,  to  permit  him  to  notice 
the  silence-inspiring  looks  of  Mr  Ail- 
often.  "  It  is/'  said  he  with  rapture^ 
''  a  heavenly  work  to  soothe  the  mise- 
ries of  the  criminal,  and  to  break  the 
fetters  of  the  slave  ; — to  arrest  the  arm 
of  the  oppressor,  and  to  say  to  crueltv 
—Thy  power  is  ended.  Are  we  not  aU 
of  one  species  ?  Are  we  not  all  prone 
to  error  and  transgression  ?  And — " 

*'  Shall  not  villains  and  ruffians  be 
wept  over  and  assisted,  because  they 
ire  punished  fbr  their  crimes  against 
the  mnooent?"  fiercely  ejactdated  Mr 
Ailoften.  This  worthy  person,  on  the 
termination  of  his  affair  with  the  legs 
of  Mr  Slenderstave,  resolved  to  have 
no  farther  quarrel  with  anything  du« 
ring  the  evening.  He  was  sorely  tempt- 
ed by  the  first  speech  of  the  pastor; 
he  was  ready  to  break  out  a  thousand 
times  during  that  of  the  poet,  but  he 
nevertheleasdetermined,  that  he  would 
not  be  moved  by  anything,  no  matter 
how  absurd.  His  resolution,  however^ 
failed  him,  and  he  involuntarily  broke 
in  upon  the  eloquence  of  the  vicar,  who 
was  somewhat  disconcerted  by  the  un- 
ceremonious interruption. 

"  I,  sir,"  proceeded  Mr  Ailoften^ 
<*  can  feel  for  the  sufferings  of  others, 
— ^my  heart  can  bleed  over  the  wretch- 
ed, but  then,  I  cannot  lay  aside  the 
use  of  my  reason,  even  in  pitying.  I 
can  mourn  over  the  murderer's  victim, 
but  not  over  the  murderer.  I  can  as- 
sist the  sufferers  whom  the  robber  has 
ruined,  but  not  the  robber  who  mined 
them.  A  man  must  obtain  my  sym- 
2 


CAprtt. 


pathy  before  he  is  a  felon ;  bo  sbali 
never  g»in  it  by  beooming  one." 

"  Sound  sense — sound  sense !"  da- 
culated  Mr  Jittlesight.-— '<  Those  in- 
deed," continued  Mr  Aik>ften,  "  who 
utter  this  puling  cant  over  prostitutes 
and  ruffians,  are  bound  to  do  it  in  con- 
sistency. The  members  of  Parlia- 
ment who  blast  without  remorse,  the 
characters  and  prospects  of  absent 
individuals,  rail  against  laws,  magi- 
strates, and  the  government,  and  hold 
up  the  Scriptures  and  religion,  as 
things  not  to  be  defended  ; — the  edi- 
tors of  newspapers,  who  live  by  incul- 
cating sedition  and  immorality,  by 
teachmg  the  ignorant  to  scorn  their 
religious  instructors,  and  to  indulge 
their  vicious  appetites  as  they  please — 
these  persons  ought,  as  a  duty,  to  de- 
fend tnose  who  copy  their  example,  to 
clamour  for  prison-luxuries  for  those 
whom  they  have  converted  into  crimi- 
nals, and  to  weep  over  the  wretches 
whom  they  have  led  to  the  gallows. 
But  the  blackening  infamy  stains  not 
my  forehead,  therefore,  I  know  not 
the  duty." 

Mr  Smallglebeseemedsomewhatdis- 
concerted. — Dr  Manydraught  slightly 
fix)wned — ^Mr  Slenderstave  puU^  his 
handkerchief  just  below  his  eyes,  and 
looked  over  it  upon  the  speaker  as 
though  he  wished  to  annihikte  him. 

The  eloquence  of  Mr  Ailoften  lytd 
got  vent,  and  it  would  not  be  restrain- 
ed. "  These  persons,"  he  continued, 
"  are  not,  however,  consistent  iq,  all 
things.  On  the  Sabbath,  you  shall 
wander  through  the  metropolis,  and 
you  shall  see  the  printers  of  the  news- 
papers actively  employed  in  preparing 
the  next  dajr's  publication — the  editor 
toiling  at  his  sheet  of  party  fury — the 
servants  of  noblonen  labouring  more 
industriously  than  they  have  ever  done 
during  the  week,  in  making  ready  mag- 
nificent  entertainments;  and  on  the 
very  next  day  you  shall  find  these  pa- 
pers, and  noblemen  declaiming  with  all 
their  might  against  slaverv,  because 
the  negro  is  employed  on  the  Sunday 
morning !  The  assassin  of  public  mo- 
rals inveighs  againat  West  Indian  im- 
morality ! — The  man  on  whose  estate 
the  English  labourer  toils  in  the  sum- 
mer months,  sixteen  hours  per  day, 
execrates  the  ten  hours  per  day  labour 
of  the  slave ! — The  Irish  iandholdar 
who  grinds  down  his  unhappy  tenant, 
until  he  can  scarcely  get  a  potatoe  to 
eat,  and  a  rag  to  cover  himself,  dca- 


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cants  on  the  inhumaDiW  of  the  Ja- 
maica planter  !  The  philanthropist 
pours  his  lamentations  over  the  prison 
treatment  of  rogues  and  Tagabonds^ 
and  in  the  self-same  breathy  destroys 
the  reputation  and  peace  of  the  inno- 
cent and  worthy !  Out  upon  the  bung- 
ling mockery — the  impious  cheat !  It 
is  a  disgrace  to  the  English  charac- 

''  Bitter  words,  but  true  ones,"  ex- 
^med  Mr  Littlesight^  triumphant- 
ly- 

"  This  hypocritical  philanthropy," 
continued  Mr  Aibften,  with  increa- 
sed vehemence,  "  is  not  confined  to 
sect  and  party.  Look  at  your  Reviews 
— ^your  newspapers — your  poetry  and 
novels — your  Parliamentary  speeches 
—they  teem  with  it  in  sickening  pro- 
fusion. From  what  you  read  and  hear^ 
•you  would  believe  that  there  could  not 
]X)6sibly  be  a  suffering  roan  in  the  na- 
tion. Yet  why  are  the  Irish  peasant- 
ry starved  ?  Where  were  the  advocates 
of  the  English  labourers,  when  they 
could  not  find  employment  ?  Who 
Fill  assist  the  rmned  tradesman  ? 
Mliere  shall  the  destitute  man  of  ge- 
nius find  a  patron  ?  Alas !  alas  I  when 
the  test  is  applied,  we  only  discover 
that  the  benefactors  of  desert  perish- 
ed, when  the  philanthropists  sprung 
into  being." 

Mr  Slenderstave  put  his  handker- 
chief into  his  pod^et — ^reared  himself 
up  on  his  seat — ^looked  excessively 
fierce — and  made  divers  formidable 
contortions  of  mouth,  but  no  sound 
escaped  him.  i 

"  Your  condemnation,"  said  Dr 
Manydraught,  whose  visage  and  tone 
displayed  anything  but  good  humour, 
"  is  neither  liberal  nor  just.  It  is  le- 
velled a^nst  the  brightest  character- 
istic of  tne  age.  I  have  the  honour  to 
be  the  warm  friend  of  those  whom  you 
oensure." 

*'  You  perhaps  call  yourself  a  phi- 
lanthropist ?"  said  Mr  Ailoften,  drily. 

"  If  I  dq,  what  then  ?"  said  Dr  Ma- 
oydraught,  reddening. 

Mr  AUoflen  was  in  the  exact  tem- 
per for  scourging  and  torturing,  regard- 
less of  consequences.  He  heard  with 
a  sarcastic  smue  the  confession.  "  Yes," 
said  he,  "  you  sign  petitions  for  the 
amelioration  of  the  criminal  laws,  the 
abolition  of  slavery,  and  I  know  not 
what; — you  shudaer  over  West  In- 
dian cruelty,  and  bewail  the  miseries 
of  the  mhabitants  of  prisons.    The 

Vol.  XV. 


455 

Other  day  you  horse-whipped  your 
boy  for  a  trifling  piece  of  negligence^ 
a  month  since,  you  turned  a  noor  ]a«- 
bourer  into  the  streets,  because  tie  could 
not  pay  you  the  rent  of  his  cottage — 
six  months  ago  you  ruined  a  trades- 
man,  by  arresting  him  for  a  sum  of 
money  which  you  had  lent  him— -an 
\inf6rtunate  grocer  lately  implored  you 
in  vain,  to  assist  him  in  recommen- 
cing business — this  was  philanthropy, 
unadulterated  philanthropy !" 

Flesh  and  blood  could  not  endure 
this ;  the  doctor  started  up  in  a  tower- 
ing passion,  but  he  could  only  exclaim^ 
"  By  God !  sir,"  before  his  arm  was 
seized  by  Mr  Smallglebe.  ''  Hear 
me,"  cried  the  worthy  pastor,  "  thi« 
is  Uie  most  unfortunate,  of  all  unfor- 
tunate evenings,"—- the  parlour-door 
softly  opened,  and  Samuel  Suckdeep^ 
the  honest  landlord,  made  his  appear- 
ance. To  proceed  farther  with  the 
quarrel  in  such  ignoble  presence,  wag 
not  to  be  thought  of,  and  therefore 
the  gentlemen  composed  themselvep, 
and  directed  him  to  expound  his  busi- 
ness. 

"  I W  pardon,  gemmen,"  said  Sam- 
my, with  a  bow  of  devout  humility, 
widi  which  his  confident  eye  but  poor- 
ly harmonized,  '*  1  beg  pardon,  gem- 
men,  two  poor,  miserable  creatures 
have  just  entered  my  house,  a  fiither 
and  his  daughter,  who  are  all  rags, 
and  have  not  a  farthine  to  help  them- 
selves with.  The  ni^t  is  md,  and 
fast  spending.  I  will  gladly  give  them 
supper  and  lodging,  and  as  the  vicar 
there  is  so  kind  to  the  poor,  I  thought 
he  might  perhaps  give  them  a  small 
matter  for  the  morrow.  They  are  real 
objects — no  tramps — distressed  gentle-  % 
folks."  Sammy,  muttered  something 
more,  which  was  not  distinctly  audi- 
ble. 

Sammy  Suckdeep  was  inroany  points 
a  worthy  fellow,  but  he  was  by  no  ' 
means  (gifted  with  philanthropy.  He 
had  no  intention  of  giving  the  wan- 
derers anything — not  a  crust — but  he 
thought  if  he  could  beg  them  anything 
of  the  |;entlemeo,  it  cotdd  scarcely  fim 
of  coming  round  into  his  own  pocket. 
He  made  his  appeal  at  a  luckless  mo- 
ment, yet  Mr  Smallglebe's  heart  was 
always  open.  "  Let  us  see  them,"  said 
he,  "  let  us  inouire  into  their  situa- 
tion ;  if  we  find  them  deserving,  they 
shall  not  leave  Kiddywinkle  penny- 
less."  His  friends  gave  a  cold  assent 
to  the  proposal,  more  to  get  rid  et* 
3  N 


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Kiddyvnnkk  History.    No.  I. 


CApril, 


ihdr  emtiNk^km,  than  from  feelings  ^ 
benerolenoe. 

Sammy  vanished^  and  the  wander* 
era  speeaily  made  their  appearence^ 
The  man,  on  being  intorrogated,  told 
in  a  few  words  hia  histc^.  He  had 
been  weH  educated— had  possessed  a 
Mod  fortune— had  owned  a  flourish- 
mg  business— had  given  his  children, 
Ms  daughter  at  his  side,  a  boarding- 
school  education — had  been  ruined— 
was  forsaken  by  friends— could  not 
find  employment^-4iad  left  his  wife 
and  younger  children  behind  him, 
wi^out  bread  to  eat — and  was  wan- 
dering to  seek  work  he  knew  not  whi- 
ther. His  appearance  fully  confirmed 
his  storv.  His  air  and  addreas  were 
thoee  or  the  gentleman,  and  formed  a 
ine  specimen  of  modest  sdf-posses- 
siott.  His  cheek  was  hollow  ana  wast- 
ed, and  his  eye  sunk  and  faded.  His 
ooat,  threadbare  and  frdl  of  holes  and 
sHis  in  all  parts,  still  shewed  that  it 
had  been  cut  out  o£  superfine  by  fa- 
lAiionable  hands ;  and  his  hat,  bereft 
of  down,  crushed  and  broke,  had  evi- 
dently been  an  expensive  beaver.  The 
daughter  seemed  to  be  about  eighteen ; 
her  dress  was  ragged,  but  comnosed 
wholly  of  worn-out  finery ;  ana  her 
air  bespoke  ease  and  good  breeding. 
Her  eye  was  black  and  brilliant — her 
futures  were  fine,  and  graced  by  an 
expression  of  sweetness  which  seemed 
ready  to  melt  into  a  smile  from  the 
least  encouragement.  She  was  beau- 
tifully formed ;  and  all  could  see,  that 
if  she  were  not  lovely  in  her  rags,  her 
rags  alone  prevent^  her  being  so. 
She  seemed  to  be  more  confident — 
more  at  ease — than  her  parent,  but  it 
was  evidentlv  the  confidence  of  light 
q>irits  and  cneerfUl  innocence. 

Mr  Smallglebe  was  delighted  with 
the  worth  of  the  appellants  to  his  cha- 
rity ;  Dr  Manydraught  was  little  less 
BO ;  Mr  Slenderstave  was  in  heroics ; 
Mr  Littlesight  had  already  got  his 
hand  into  his  pocket,  and  even  the 
heart  of  Mr  Ailoften  was  touched. 

Mr  Smallglebe,  Dr  Manydraught, 
and  the  two  last-named  gentlemen, 
got  the  man  in  the  midst  of  them,  and 
asked  him  ten  thousand  questions. 
While  they  were  doing  this,  the  poet 
aat  behind,  and  cast  his  eyes  upon  ibe 
fkir  maiden.  She  returned  the  gave 
With  a  smile  that  thrilled  to  the  heart 
of  Mr  Slenderstave.  He  smiled  again, 
Md  she  smiled  in  return  still  more 
bewitchingly.  He  was  enchanted.  Step 


th< 


step,  she  approached  him  during 

le  interchange  of  smiles,  until  at  last 
she  stood  at  his  side.  He  gasped  out 
a  tender  inquiry — die  answered  in  a 
voice  of  music — ^nd  he  was  absolute- 
ly  in  a  delirium.  Her  hand  hung 
M;ainst  his  arm,  and  seemed  to  invite 
the  touch.  He  seised  it — ^pressed  it*- 
put  it  to  his  heart — remembered  hmn 
self,  and  released  it.  The  tendemev 
of  her  tone>  and  the  sweetness  of  her 
smiles,  were  now  overpowering.  "  I 
will  retouch  the  heroine  in  my  novel,**  . 
thought  Mr  Slenderstave.  He  again 
seised  her  hand,  pressed,  and  rmKsed 
it.  In  the  midst  of  their  whispers,  he 
felt  it  voluntarily  moving  up  and  down 
his  side.  "  She  seeksmy  heart,"  thought 
Mr  Slenderstave—*'  She  is  smit— die 
loves  me  already ;"  and  he  sighed  hea- 
vily. The  eyes  of  the  company  were 
now  turned  upon  them,  and  they  ae* 
parated.  *'  Happy  are  thev  who  know 
not  misfbrtune  and  want ! '  sighed  Mr 
Smallglebe,  as  he  secretly  put  his  hal& 
crown  in  the  hands  of  we  man.  Dr 
Manydraught  held  out  a  shilling,  Mr 
Slenderstave  another ;  Mr  Littlesight 
ofi*ered  two,  and  Mr  Ailoften  gave  five, 
with  an  air  which  shewed  that  he  was 
ashamed  of  his  past  harshness,  and 
wished  now  to  atone  for  it  by  liberal 
ty.  The  man  seemed  affected  to  tears, 
and  expressed  his  thanks  in  a  manner 
which  delighted  the  hearts  of  all.  The 
maiden  shewed  ber  gratitude  in  a  way 
not  less  moving,  and  they  departed. 

There  were  at  that  moment  twtfity 
worthy  famiHcs  in  Kiddywinkle,  in  a 
state  of  starvation,  to  any  one  of  whidi 
these  shillings  would  nave  been  of 
unspeakable  benefit ;  bat  then,  they 
were  not  composed  of  strangers,  of 
whom  nothing  was  known. 

This  exercise  of  benevolence  dispel- 
led all  remains  of  ill  humotur.  The 
load  which  had  sat  upon  the  spirits 
van  idled,  and  Mr  Ailoften  was  now 
the  very  pink  of  kindness  and  pleasant- 

2.  The  guests  sat  two  hours  later 
an  usual,  and  thought  they  had  ne- 
ver known  an  evening  of  more  exqui- 
site enjoyment 

Mr  Suckdeep  was  at  length  sum- 
moned to  give  an  account  of  the  costs. 
He  entered  with  a  face  of  unusual  so- 
kmnity.  "  Where  are  the  poor  suflfer- 
ers?"  said  Mr  Smallglebe.  ''Gone," 
answered  Sammy,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
vexation.  '*  Gone  at  this  unseasonable 
hour?"  exchdmed  the  worthy  vicar, 
"They  just,"  said  thelandlord,  "awal- 


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Kidd^nkk  History*    N<h  L 


lowed  a  gli»  of  mm  a-oieoe;  I  think 
the  nun  nad  two,  and  tlien  Uiey  haa« 
tiljr departed;  the  man  mattered  some- 
thing about  his  £unily.  Ingrates — I 
fear  they  are  no  better  than  they  should 
be." — Sammy  had  no. right  to  say  this, 
fi)r  he  knew  nothing  against  them, 
save  that  they  refused  to  expend  the 
money  in  his  nouse  which  he  nad  been 
instrumental  in  obtaining  them. 

'*  The  poor  fellow  wi^ed  to  carry 
his  unexpected  gain  to  his  family  with- 
out diminution:  it  raises  him  still 
higher  in  mv  opinion/'  said  the  Ticar. 
Mr  Smallglebe  was  now  prepared  to  li- 

n*  late  Sammy's  claim.  He  put  his 
d  into  one  breeches-nocket,  and 
then  into  the  other ;  then  he  searched 
his  waistcoat  pockets,  then  he  ransack- 
ed those  of  his  coat,  and  then  he  look- 
ed upon  his  friends  in  speechless  amaze- 
ment. All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him. 
'*  Are  you  ill?"  tenderly  inquired 
Dr  Manydraug^t-*'^  I  have  Uwt  my 
purse !"  faintly  sroaned  the  pastor. — 
ff  A  mckpocket  r  exclaimed  Mr  Lit- 
lleai^t. — "  What  egregious  fools  have 


45r 

we  been  1"  said  Mr  AilofUn, ''  and  I 
have  been  the  greatest." 

The  purse  could  not  be  found,  uaA 
it  seemra  clear  enough  that  it  had  dOf^ 
parted  with  the  stranger.  Mr  Slender- 
stave,  who  had  been  astounded  by  lh» 
loss  of  the  vicar,  now  suddenly  reool^ 
lected  himself.  He  put  his  hand  to 
his  waistcoat-pocket — ^to  the  pocket  on 
that  side  where  the  soft  hand  of  the 
lovely  girl  had  so  sweetly  strayed. 
This  pocket  had  been  the  depositary 
of  a  treasure  to  him  invaluable.  He 
felt — started— groaned — ^looked  like  a 
man  overwhelmed  with  agony— dap- 
ped his  hand  on  his  forehead,  and,  ex-* 
claiming,  "  The  witch  ! — the  traitor- 
ess  ! — I  am  undone !— she  has  ruined 
.  me !"  rushed  out  of  the  parlour.  His 
friends  gazed  on  eadi  other  for  some 
moments  in  silent  astonishment,  and 
then  followed  him. 

The  details  of  Mr  SlendersUye'e 
mighty  loss,  and  of  the  fearful  conse* 
^uenoes  to  which  it  led,  must  be  given 
m  another  chapter. 


IMAeiNAXY  CONVXaSATIOKS  OF  LITERABY  MXN  AND  6TATE8MBN. 


BY  WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR,  ESQ.^ 


These  are  the  compositions  of  a 
Bcholar  and  a  gentleman.    There  is 
Bomething  wild  and  eccentric  in  Mr 
Lander's  mind,  and  he  carries  himself 
aomewhat  haughtily  among  opinions 
and  events,  kicking  aside, without  cere- 
mony, old  saws  and  modem  instan- 
ces, and  laying  down  the  law  on  the 
moat  difficult  and  important  ouestions, 
vrith  an  air  of  fearless,  and  perhaps 
arrocant  self-satisfaction  but  ill  calcu- 
lated to  conciliate  even  the  most  •spe- 
culative intellects,  and  sure  to  star- 
tle, ofiend,  and  repel,  the  more  timid 
and  cautious  student  of  this  stirring 
world's  realities.  But  he  is  a  bold  and 
original  thinker,  possesses  great  powers 
of  eloquence,  and  his  acquirements  are 
various,  accurate,  and  extensive.  Few 
books  have  been  lately  published  full- 
er of  thoughts  and  feehngs,  or  better 
fitted  to  make  the  reader  think  and 
feel  for  himself,  than  these  Imaginary 
Diido^es.    Mr  Landor,  we  fear,  is 
sometimes  a  little  ''  extravagant  and 
erring,"  but  never  feeble  or  aimless ; 
he  holds  interoouirse  with  the  great. 


or  fortunate,  or  efficient  ones  of  the 
earth,  ^nd  brings  them  bodily  and  spi- 
ritually before  us ;  and  if  he  does  not 
at  aU  times  clothe  these  shadows  with 
the  peculiar  lineaments  and  forms  that 
belonged  to  the  living  substances,  ye^ 
we  adcnowledge  a  strong  similitude, 
at  once  recognize  the  phantoms,  admit 
that  such  were  the  names  they  bore  on 
earth,  and  feel  that  none  but  a  man  of 
genius  could  have  performed  such  a 
work. 

Mr  lAndor  has  not  attempted,  we 
should  think,  to  do  his  very  best,  in 
the  form,  style,  and  spirit,  of  that 
most  difficult  kind  of  composition,  the 
Dialogue.  No  man  can  know  better 
the  prodigious  and  numerous  difficul- 
ties of  the  Dialogue ;  and  he  seems 
in  a  great  measure  to  have  shunned 
them,  contenting  himself  with  giving 
a  general  impression  of  the  characters 
and  opinions  of  the  different  inter- 
locutors, without  striving  to  throw 
over  them  any  of  those  varied  .and 
changeful  lights,  which>  intermingling 
with  each  oUier,  and  fluctuating  oviiir 


•  Taylor  and  Hessey,  1824. 


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4M        Imaginary  Omvenations  o/IMerary  Men  and  SUUe$men.       C April, 


all  the  eomposidon,  would  have  given 
both  truth  and  beauty  to  each  separate 
pioture.  Accordingly,  the  colloquies 
of  these  literary  men  and  statesmen 
are  often  heavy  and  prolix.  One  speak- 
er harangues  untU  he  is  tired,  and  an* 
other  takes  up  the  discourse.  Not  a 
few  of  the  "Conversations"  are,  in  fact, 
soliloquies  or  monologues ;  and  little 
or  no  dramatic  power  is  anywhere  ex- 
hibited. But  It  is  obvious  that  Mr 
Landor  has  seldom  attempted  to  do 
otherwise ;  and  if  he  has  snewn  great 
powers  in  another  direction,  we,  who 
are  candid  critics,  and  willing  to  take 
one  good  thing  when  we  cannot  get 
another,  have  perused  both  volumes 
with  singular  delight,  and  warmly  re- 
oonunend  them  to  the  biographiad, 
or  critical,  or  historical,  or  philosophi- 
C9I  department,  of  any  gentleman^  li- 
brary. Their  miscellaneous  character 
is  such,  that  they  cannot  be  altogether 
misplaced  ;  not  even  among  the  divi- 
nity ;  although  we  fear  Mr  Walter  Sa- 
vage Landor,  admirer  as  he  is  of  Dr 
Southey,  is  not  quite  orthodox.  This 
most  certainly  is  not  the  Book  of  the 
Church. 

Tlie  first  vplume  is  inscribed  to 
Migor-General  Stopford,  Adjutant- 
General  in  the  Army  of  Columbia, 
and  the  second  to  General  Mina.  tn 
the  first  dedication,  Mr  Landor  tells 
us  that  there  never  was  a  period  when 
public  spirit  was  so  feeble  m  England, 
or  political  abilities  so  rare.  Sordid 
selnshness,  and  firivolous  amusement^ 
if  not  the  characteristics  of  our  coun- 
try, place  it  upon  a  dead  level  with 
others.    But  fortunately  for  the  Ad- 


jutant-General, "rising  fiir  above  and 
passing  far  away  from  them,"  he  has 
aided  in  establishing  "  one  of  those 
great  republics  which  sprang  into  ex- 
istence at  the  voice  or  Bolivar,  and 
enjoys  for  his  exertions  the  highest 
distinction  any  mortal  can  enjoy,  his 
esteem  and  confidence."  Mr  Landor 
then  tells  General  Stopford  that  he 
has  admitted  into  his  Imaginary  Con- 
versations, "  a  few  little  men,  such  as 
emperors  and  ministers  of  modem  cut, 
to  shew  better  the  proportions  of  the 
great ;  as  a  painter  would  place  a  beg- 
gar under  a  triumphal  arcn,  or  a  ca- 
mel against  a  pyramid."  The  dedi- 
cation to  the  Second  Volume,  to  Mi- 
na, is  in  (be  same  key,  but  powerfully 
and  elegantly  written.  That  an  absurd 
spirit  of  exaggeration  runs  throughout 
it,  may  be  understood  from  a  single 
sentence.  "  Of  all  the  generals  who 
have  appeared  in  our  age,  you  have 
displayed  the  greatest  genius!"  Mr 
Landor  afterwards  draws  the  character 
of  Napoleon,  who,  in  his  opinion,  was, 
on  the  whole,  a  very  moderate  sort  of 
a  person  indeed,  and  in  genius  by  no 
means  a  Mina !  In  a  prefiice  he  sneers 
at  Mr  Pitt ;  and  as  far  as  we  can  ^- 
ther,  is  a  decided  enemy  to  the  foreign 
and  domestic  policy  of  England,  since 
the  French  Revolution.  We  leave  Mr 
Landor,  therefore,  as  a  politician,  to 
Mr  Southey,  and  the  Quarterly  Re- 
view. It  is  with  his  literary  merits 
we  have  now  to  do ;  and  we  cannot 
better  inform  the  public  what  these 
are,  than  Ji)y  quoting  two  of  the  short- 
est of  the  dialc^es.  * 


*  Richard  I.  and  the  Abbot  of  Boxley— The  Lord  Brooke  and  Sir  Philip  Sidney- 
King  Henry  IV.  and  Sir  Arnold  Savage — Soutliey  and  Porson— Oliver  Cromwell 
and  Walter  Noble — ^schines  and  Phoc ion— Queen  Elizabeth  and  Cecil — King 
James  I.  and  Isaac  Casaubon— Marchese  Pallavicini  and  Walter  Landor — Gooeral 
Kleber  and  some  French  Officers- Bonaparte  and  the  President  of  the  Senate- 
Bishop  Burnet  and  Humphrey  Hardcastle — Peter  Leopold  and  the  President  Du 
Paty — Demosthenes  and  Eubulidcs — The  Abbe  Delille  and  Walter  Landor — The 
Emperor  Alexander  and  Capo  DUstria — Kosciusko  and  Poniatowski — Middleton 
and  Magliabechi.— Milton  and  Andrew  Marvel— Washington  and  Franklin — Roger 
Ascbam  and  the  lAdy  Jane  Grey — Lord  Bacon  and  Richard  Hooker — General  Las- 
cy  and  the  Curate  Merino— Pericles  and  Sophocles — Louis  XIV.  and  Fatlier  La 
Chai^e^Cavaliere  Puutomichino  and.Mr  Denis  Eusebius  Talcranagh^Samuel  John- 
son  and  Home  Tooke — Andrew  Hoffer,  Count  Mettemich,  and  the  Emperor  Fran. 
cis«»David  Home  and  John  Home — Prince  Mauroeordato  and  General  Coloco- 
troni— Alfleri  and  Salomon  the  Florentine  Jew — Lopez  Banos  and  Romero  Alpu- 
ente— Heniy  VIII.  and  Anne  Boleyn — Lord  Chettcrfield  and  Lord  Chatham— 
Aiistoteles  and  Callisthenet— -Marcus  TuUius  Cictfo  and  bis  brother  Qjuinctus. 


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laa*.^ 


Bit^  Burnet  and  Hmnphrey  HardeoiUe. 


459 


BISHOP  BURMKT  AND  HUMPHREY  HAEDCA8TLB. 


HAAOCA8TLE. 

I  AM  euriooty  mj  lord  bishop,  to  know 
aomewhat  about  the  flight  and  escape  of 
mj  namesake  and  great-nnele  Sir  Huro- 
plurej  Hardcastle,  who  was  »  free-spoken 
man,  witty,  choleric,  and  hospitable,  and 
who  cannot  hare  been  altogether  an  alien 
from  the  researches  of  your  lordship  into 
the  history  of  the  two  late  reigns. 

BUEKET. 

Why,  Mr  Hardcastle,  I  do  well  remem- 
ber the  story  of  that  knight,  albeit  his 
manners  and  morals  were  such  as  did  en- 
tertain  me  little  in  bis  bvour.  For  he 
hmited,  and  drank,  and  fornicated,  and 
(some  do  aver)  swore,  which,  however, 
mark  me,  I  do  not  deliver  from  my  own 
knowledge,  "toor  from  any  written  and 
grave  document  1  the  more  wonder  at 
him,  as  he  had  lived  among  the  Round- 
beads,  as  they  were  contemptuously  call- 
ed, and  the  minister  of  his  parish  was 
£iechiel  Stedman,  a  puritan  of  no  ill  re- 
pute. Howbeit  he  was  ensnared  by  his 
woridly-mindedness,  and  fell  into  evil 
courses.  The  Lord,  who  permitted  him 
a  long  while  to  wallow  in  this  mire,  caught' 
him  by  the  heel,  so  to  say,  as  he  was 
coming  out,  and  threw  bira  into  great 
peril  in  another  way.  For  although  he 
had  mended  his  life,  and  had  espoused 
your  great-aunt  Margaret  Pouncey,  whose 
mother  was  a  Touchet,  two  staid  women, 
yet  did  he  truly,  in  a  boozing-bout,  such 
as  some  country-gentlemen  1  could  men- 
tion do  hold  after  dinner,  say  of  the  Duke, 

Jame$t  a  murrain  on  iUm,  if  a  papist. 

Now,  among  the  others  of  his  servants 
was  one  Will  Taunton,  a  sallow  shining- 
laoed  knave,  sweaty  with  impudence.  I 
do  remember  to  have  seen  the  said  Taun- 
ton in^he  pillory,  for  some  prominent 
part  he  had  enacted  under  the  Doctor 
Titus  Oates;  and  a  country  wench,  as  I 
suppose  her  to  have  been  fh)m  her  appa- 
rel and  speech,  said  unto  me,  plucking  my 
•leeve.  Look,  parmm,  WiWn forehead  is  Hie 
m  rank  mushroom  in  a  rainy  morning  j  and 
yei,  I  warrant  you,  they  tkew  it  firiooih  as 
the  ckanest  and  honestest  pari  about  frnn. 

To  continue ;  Will  went  straightway, 
and  communicated  the  words  of  his  mas- 
ter to  NIcoks  Shottery,  the  Duke's  valet. 
Nick  gave  unto  him  a  shilling,  having  first 
apatten  thereon,  as  he>  according  to  his 
superstition,  said,  for  lock.  The  Duke 
ordered  to  be  counted  out  unto  him 
eight  diillings  more  together  with  a 
rosary,  the  which,  as  he  was  afraid  of 
wwring  it  (for  he  had  not  k>6t  all  grace,) 


he  sold  at  Rtcfamond  for  two  groats.  He 
was  missed  in  Uie  family,  and  his  rogtiery 
was  scented.  On  which,  nothing  was 
foolisher,  improperer,  or  unreasonabler, 
than  the  desperate  push  and  strain 
Charles  made,  put  upon  it  by  his  brother 
James,  to  catch  your  uncle  Hum  Hard- 
castle. Hum  had  his  eye  upon  him, 
slipped  the  noose,  and  was  over  into  the 
Low-Countries. 

Abraham  Cowley,  one  of  your  Pinda*> 
rique  Lyrists,  a  great  stickler  for  the 
measures  of  the  first  Charles,  was  post- 
ed after  him.  But  he  played  the  said 
Abraham  a  scurvy  trick,  seizing  him  by 
his  fine  flowering  curls,  on  which  be 
prided  himselfmightily,  like  another  Ab- 
salom; cuffing  lUm,  and,  some  do  say, 
kicking  him  in  such  dishonest  wise  as  I 
care  not  to  mention,  to  his,  the  said 
Abraham's,  great  incommodity  and  con- 
fusion. It  is  agreed  on  all  hands  that  he 
bandied  him  very  roughly,  sending  him 
back  to  his  master  with  a  flea  in  bis  ear, 
who  gave  him  but  little  comfort,  and  told 
him  it  would  be  an  ill  compliment  to  ask 
him  to  be  seated. 

•*  Phil  White,"  added  he,  "  may  serve 
you,  Cowley.  You  need  not  look  back, 
man,  nor  qpread  your  fingers  like  a  flg- 
leaf  on  the  place.  Phil  does  not  carry  a 
bottle  of  peppered  brine  in  his  pocket :  he 
is  a  clever,  apposite,  upright  little  prig: 
1  have  often  had  him  under  my  eye  dose 
enough,  and  I  promise  he  may  safely  be 
trusted  on  the  blind  side  of  you.'* 

Then,  after  these  aggravating  and  child- 
ish words,  turning  to  the  Duke,  as  Abra- 
ham was  leaving  the  presence,  he  is  re- 
ported to  have  said,  1  hope  untruly— 

'*  But,  damn  it,  brother!  the  jest  would 
have  been  heightened  if  we  could  have 
hanged  the  knave."  Meaning  not  indeed 
his  messenger,  but  the  above-cited  Hum 
Hardcastle.  And  on  James  shaking  his 
head,  sighing,  and  muttering  his  doubt  of 
the  King's  sincerity,  and  his  vexation  at 
so  bitter  a  disappointment*- 

«  Oddsfish  !  Jim,"  said  his  Majesty, 
**  the  motion  was  Hum's  own :  I  gave 
him  no  jog,  upon  my  credit  His  own 
choler  did  it,  a  rogue !  and  he  would  not 
have  waited  to  be  invested  with  the  order, 
if  1  had  pressed  him  ever  so  civilly.  I 
will  oblige  you  another  time  in  anything, 
but  we  can  bang  only  those  we  can  get 
at." 

It  would  appear  that  there  was  a  sore 
and  rankling  grudge  between  them,  of 
long  standing,  and  that  there  liad  been 
divers  flings  and  flouts  backwards  and 
forwardflb  on  this  side  the  wat%»  on  the 


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460       Imaginary  ConvernUiom  of  Literary  Men  tend  StaUemen.      [^April, 


score  of  their  mistrese  Poesy,  whose  fa* 
TOUTS  to  them  both,  if  a  man  may  judge 
from  the  upshot,  left  no  such  a  mighty 
matter  for  heart-boming  sand  ill  blood. 

This  reception  had  such  a  stress  and  stir 
upon  the  bile  and  spirits  of  Doctor  Spratt*s 
friend,  (for  such  he  was,  even  while  wri- 
ting about  his  mistresses,}  that  he  wooed 
his  Pegasus  another  way,  and  rid  gent- 
lier.  It  Curly  untuned  him  for  Chloes 
and  fsntr^tm^  things  of  all  sorta^  set  him 
upon  another  guess  scent,  gave  him  ever 
afterwards  a  soberer  and  staider  demean- 
our, and  turned  his  mind  to  content- 
raent 

HABDCASTLE. 

The  pleasure  1  have  taken  in  the  nar- 
ration  of  your  Lordship  is  for  the  greater 
part  independent  of  what  concerns  ray 
family.  I  never  knew  that  my  uncle  was 
a  poet,  and  could  hardly  have  imagined 
that  he  apjiroached  near  enough  to  Mr 
Cowley  for  jealousy  or  competition. 

BUENET. 

Indeed  they  who  discoursed  on  such 
matters  were  of  the  same  opinion,  e& 
c^ing  some  few»  who  see  nothing  b^ 
fore  them  and  everything  behind.  These 
declared  that  Hum  would  overtop  Abm- 
bam,  if  he  could  only  drink  rather  less, 
,   think  rather  more,  and  feel  rather  li^it- 
Uer:  that  he  had  great  spunk  and  spirit^ 
and  that  not  a  fan  was  left  upon  a  lap 
when  any  one  sang  his  airs.    Poets,  like 
ministers  of  state,  have  their  parties,  and 
it  is  difficult  to  get  at  truth,  upon  ques- 
tkms  not  capaUe  of  demonstration  nor 
founded  on  matter  of  fisot.    To  take  any 
trouble  about  them  is  an  unwise  thing : 
it  is  like  mounting  a  wall  covered  with 
bfoken  glass:  you  cut  your  fingers  be- 
fore you  reach  the  top,  and  you  only  dis- 
cover at  last  that  it  is,  within  a  span  or 
two,  of  equal  height  on  both  sides.  Who 
would  have  imagined  that  the  youth  who 
was  carried  to  his  long  home  the  other 
day,  I  mean  my  Ixird  Rochester's  repu- 
ted child,  Mr  George  Nelly,  was  for  se- 
Teral  seasons  a  great  poet?    Yet  I  re- 
member the  time  when  he  was  so  fiunous 
an  one,  that  he  ran  after  Mr  Milton  up 
Snow-hiU,  as  the  old  gentleman  was  lean- 
ii^  on  his  daughter's  arm  from  the  Poul- 
try, and,  treading  down  the  heel  of  his 
tioe,  called  him  a  rogue  and  a  liar,  while 
another  poet  sprang  out  from  a  grocer's 
abof^  clapping  bis  hands,  and  eryii^ 
**  Brmty  done!  ky  Beelzelmk  /  Uie  youmg 
cock  ipurt  the  bUnd  bweusrd  gaUantiy!*' 
On  some  neighbour  representing  to  Mr 
George  the  respectable  character  of  Mr 
Miltoob  «nd  the  probability  that  at  some 
future  time  he  might  be  considered  as 
amw^  our  geiuiisesi  and  such  as  woHAd 


reflect  a  certain  portion  of  credit  on  his 
ward,  and  taking  him  withal  why  he  ap- 
peared to  him  a  rogue  and  liar,  he  repli- 
ed :'<  I  have  proofr  known  to  few :  I 
possess  a  sort  of  drama  by  him,  entitled 
Comus,  which  waa  composed  for  the  en» 
tertainment  of  Lord  Pembroke,  who  bdd 
an  i4>pointment  under  the  lung,  and  this 
very  John  has  since  changed  sides,  and 
written  in  defence  of  the  Common- 
wealth.*' 

Mr  Geoige  began  with  satirizing  his 
fother's  friends,  and  confounding  the  bet- 
ter part  of  them  with  all  the  hirelings  and 
nuimnces  of  the  age,  with  all  the  seaveaw 
gers  of  lust  and  all  the  linkboys  of  litcn^ 
ture ;  with  Newgate  solidtors^  the  pa*> 
trons  of  adulterers  and  forgers^  who,  in 
the  long  vacation,  turn  a  penny  by  puff* 
ing  a  ballad,  and  are  prooiised  a  shilling 
in  silver,  for  their  own  bene&t,  on  cryii^ 
down  a  religious  tract.  He  soon  beone 
reconciled  to  the  latter,  and  they  raised 
him  upon  their  shouMers  above  the  heads 
of  the  wittiest  and  the  wisesL    This 
served   a   whole    winter.    Afterward^ 
whenever  he  wrrote  a  bad  poem,  he  supp- 
ported  his  sinking  flune  by  some  aigml 
act  of  profligacy,  an  elegy  by  a  seduction, 
an  heroic  by  an  adultery,  a  tngedy  by  a 
divorce.     On  the  remark  of  a  leained 
man,  that  irregularity  is  no  indication  of 
genius,  he  b^ui  to  lose  ground  rapidly, 
when  on  a  sudden  he  cried  out  at  the 
Haymarket,  there  is  m   God,     It  was 
then  surmised  more  generally  and  more 
gravely  that  there  was  something  in  him» 
and  he  stood  upon  his  legs  almost  to  the 
last     Sm/  what  you  will,  once  whispered 
a  friend  of  mine^  there  «rv  thmgf  m  Ami 
ttrong  tupoiionf  and  original  as  sin.  Doubts, 
however,  were  entertained  by  someb  on 
more  mature    reflection,    whether   he 
earned  all  his  reputation  by  this  witti- 
cism :  for  soon  afterwards  he  dedtfed  at 
the  Cockpit,  that  be  had  purchased  a 
large  assortment  of  cutlasses  and  pistols* 
and  that,  as  he  was  practising  the  use  of 
them  from  moniing  to  night,  it  would  be 
imprudent  in  persons  who  were  without 
them,  either  to  langh  or  to  boggle  at  the 
Dutch  vocabulary  with  which  he  had  e^ 
riched  our  language.    In  Cut,  be  had  in- 
vented new  thymes  in  profusion,  by  such 
words  as  traehchuyt,  Jr^g^•tf^Aa^  Shet- 
snonihoog,  Bergm-op^Zoonh  and  whatew 
is  appertainiag  to  the  msrkefptaces  of 
fish,  flesh,  fowl,  flowers,  and  legumeib  not 
to  omit  the  dockyards  and  barracksnnd 
ginshops,  with  various  kinds  of  essences 
and  diiigs. 

Now,  JIfr  Hardcastle,  I  would  not 
oeasuM  this  t  the  idea  is  novel»  and  dees 
no  barm :  but  why  shooki  a  man  pwh 


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Bithop  BwmH  tmd  Humphrey  HardoatUe. 


Ml  ne^  into  t  htlter  to  suttein  t  CAtdi 
or  glee? 

Hftvbig  had  tome  coRceni  in  bringing 
hit  reputed  fiither  to  a  tente  of  penitence 
for  liis  offencety  I  waited  on  Uie  youth 
llkewitt)  in  a  former  i)bies8»  not  w&hout 
hope  of  leadhig  him  nltiroately  to  a  l>et« 
ttrwajroftUnldng.  I  had  hetitated  too 
long :  I  fonnd  him  hx  adTaneed  in  hit 
eonraieseence.  My  argumentt  are  not 
Wfrtli  repeating.     He  replied  tlM»  :-— 

**I  <^ange  my  mitb^ttet  as  Tom 
tovthem  hi§  thirt,  from  economy.  I 
eanneC  afford  to  keep  few;  and  I  am 
determined  not  to  be  forgotten  tm  I 
am  vastly  richer.  But  I  ataore  yon, 
Doctor  Burnet,  for  your  comfort,  that 
if  you  imagine  I  am  led  astray  by  ]aa> 
driousness,  at  you  call  it,  and  lutt, 
you  are  qitfte  at  much  mitttAcen  at  if 
yon  ealtod  a  book  of  arithmetic  a 
bawdy  booic.  I  calcnhite  on  every  kist 
I  give,  modest  or  immodei^  on  lip 
or  paper.  I  ask  myself  one  quettton 
only;  what  will  it  bring  me  ?"  On  my 
marvelling  and  raising  np  my  bands, 
««  Too  churchmen,**  he  added,  with  « 
kngh,  *«  are  too  iMFt  m  an  your  quarten 
for  the  calm  and  steady  contemplation  of 
this  high  mystery.'* 

He  spake  thus  loosely,  Mr  Hardeattle, 
end  I  confess,  I  was  disconcerted  and 
took  my  leave  of  him.  If  I  gave  hhn 
any  oflbnce  at  all,  It  could  only  be  when 


461 

he  said, /sAoiilrf Atf  smy  It  <&  %^ /Aove 
wrdtoit  fiiy  i^,  and  I  replied.  Bather  my 
h^hn  you  hem  mended  iU 

"  But,  doctor,**  continued  he,  ^  die 
work  I  propose  nuiy  bring  me  a  hundred 
poonds.**  llHiereonto  I  njoined,  «<That 
whieh  I,  young  gentleman,  suggest  hi 
preference  will  be  worth  mudi  more  to 
you." 

At  latt  he  it  removed  from  among  l3ie 
living:  let  ut  hope  the  bett ;  toifrit,  that 
the  Bterciet  which  have  begun  with  man't 
fergetfolnett  will  be  crowned  with  Ood't 
forgiveness. 

HABDCASTLB. 

I  peioeiye,  my  lord  bishop,  that  wri- 
tert  of  perithable  feme  may  leave  behhid 
Ibem  something  worth  collecting.  Re^ 
presented  to  us  by  historians  Hke  your 
lordshqi,  we  surrey  a  light  character  at 
a  ilm  in  agate,  and  a  noxious  one  as  a 
toad  in  marble. 

BUKNET. 

How  near  together,  Mr  Hardcattie^ 
are  things  which  appear  to  us  the  most 
remote  and  opposite !  how  near  is  life  to 
death,  and  vanity  to  glory !  How  decei- 
ved are  vre,  if  our  expressions  are  any 
praofe  of  it,  in  what  we  might  deem  the 
very  matters  most  subject  to  our  senses ! 
the  hate  abore  our  heads  we  call  die 
bearens,  and  the  dihmest  of  the  air  the 
firmament. 


MIPDLETON  AND  MAGLIABECHI. 


MAOUABBCHL 

The  pleasure  I  have  enjoyed  in  your 
oonversation,  sir,  induces  me  to  render 
you  such  a  service,  as  never  yet  was  ren- 
dered by  an  Italian  to  a  ttranger. 

MZDDLBTON. 

Yon  have  already  rendered  me  sevend 
aoeh,  Bl  Magliidiechl,  nor  indeed  can 
any  man  of  lettert  converse  an  hour  with 
you  and  not  carry  home  with  him  some 
signal  benefit 

KAOUABSOHI. 

Your  life  is  in  danger,  M.  Middleton. 

How !  impossible  i  I  offend  no  one,  in 
pnbUe  or  in  private  t  I  converse  with  yon 
oidy :  I  avoid  all  others,  and  above  all, 
the  baqrbodles  of  literature  and  politlos. 
leoaftnofaidy:  I  never  go  to  the  palace: 
I  enjoy nofetvoort:  I  toHdt  no  distlno- 
tkms :  I  am  neither  poet  nor  pahiter. 
Sorely  then,  I,  if  any  one,  should  be 
exempt  from  malignity  and  revenge. 

MAOUABICHI. 

To  vemovo  tntpense^  I  must  inform 
yon  that  your  letters  are  opened  and 
your  writfaigs  read  by  the  Police.    The 


sorant  whom  you  dismissed  for  robbhig 
you,  has  denounced  yon. 

MIDDLETON. 

Was  it  not  enough  for  him  to  be  per- 
mitted to  plunder  roe  with  impunity? 
does  he  expect  a  reward  for  this  ril- 
feiay  ?  will  hit  word  or  hit  oath  be  taken  ? 

MAOUABECHL 

Gently,  M.  Bfiddleton.  He  expectt 
no  reward ;  he  received  it  when  he  wat 
allowed  to  rob  you.  He  came  recom- 
mended  to  you  as  an  honest  servant  fay 
several  noble  femilies.  He  robbed  them 
all,  and  a  portion  of  what  he  stole  wat 
restored  to  them  by  the  police,  on  con- 
dition that  they  should  render  to  the 
Government  a  mutual  servioe  when  call- 
ed upon. 

MIDDLETOK. 

Incredible  baseness!  can  you  smile 
upon  it,  M.  Msgliabedu !  can  you  have 
any  communication  with  these  wretches^ 
these  nobles,  as  yon  caO  them,  thb  ser- 
vant, this  police ! 

KAOUABECBt. 

My  opinion  was  demanded  by  my  to- 
periors,  npon  tome  remarkt  of  yonrt  oo 
the  religion  of  our  country. 


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Imaginary  CoMenatUms  of  Literary  Men  and  Statesmen. 


^e2 

IflDDLETON. 

I  protest,  sir,  I  copied  them  in  great 
measure  from  the  Latin  work  of  a  learn- 
ed  German. 

MAOUABECHI. 

True :  1  know  the  book :  it  is  entitled 
Facetue  Facetiarum.  There  is  some  wit 
and  some  truth  in  it ;  but  the  better  wit 
is,  the  more  dangerous  is  it ;  and  Truth, 
like  the  Sun,  coming  down  upon  us  too 
directly,  may  give  us  a  brain-fever. 

In  this  country,  M.  Middleton,  we 
have  jalouties  not  only  to  our  windowB, 
but  to  our  breasts :  we  admit  but  little 
.  light  to  either,  and  we  live  the  more  com- 
fortably for  so  doing.  If  we  changed  this 
custom,  we  must  change  almost  every 
other,  all  the  parts  of  our  polity  having 
been  gradually  drawn  closer  and  closer, 
until  at  last  they  form  an  inseparable 
mass,  of  religion,  laws,  and  usages.  We 
condemn  as  a  dangerous  error  the  doc- 
trine of  Galileo,  that  the  earth  moves 
about  the  sun ;  but  we  condemn  rather 
the  danger  than  the  enor  of  asserting 
it— 

MZDDLBTOK. 

Pardon  my  interruption.  When  I  see 
the  doctors  of  your  church  insisting  on  a 
demonstrable  fidsehood,  have  I  not  rea- 
son to  believe  that  they  would  maintain 
others  less  demonstrable^  and  more  pro- 
fitable? 

IfAGUABECHL 

Among  your  other  works  I  find  a 
manuscript  on  the  inefilaicy  of  prayer. 
I  defended  you  to  my  superiors  by  shew- 
ing that  Cicero  had  asserted  things  in- 
credible to  himself  merely  for  the  sake  of 
argument,  and  had  probably  written  them 
before  he  had  fixed  in  his  mind  the  per- 
sonages to  whom  they  should  be  attributed 
in  his  dialogues ;  that,  in  short,  they  were 
brought  foEU'ard  for  no  other  purpose 
than  discussion  and  explosion.  This  im- 
piety was  forgiven.  But  every  roan  in 
Italy  has  a  favourite  saint,  for  whose 
honour  he  deems  H  meritorious  to  draw 
(I  had  almost  said  the  sword)  the  sti- 
letto. 

MIDDLETON. 

It  would  be  safer  to  attempt  dragging 
God  from  his  throne,  than  to  split  a 
spangle  on  their  petticoats,  or  to  puff  a 
grain  of  powder  from  their  perukes. 
This  I  know.  Nothing  in  my  writings 
is  intended  to  wound  the  jealousy  of  the 
Italians.  Truth,  like  the  juice  of  the 
poppy,  in  small  quantities  calms  men,  in 
larger  heats  and  irritates  them,  and  is  at- 
tended by  fatal  consequences  in  its  ex- 
cess. For  which  reason,  with  ptein 
ground  before  me,  I  would  not  expatiate 
largely,  and  often  made  an  argument,  that 
6 


CApra. 


offered  ittd(  gife  way  atlogetiier  and 
leave  room  for  inferences.  My  Tireatise 
on  prayer  was  not  to  be  published  in  my 
life*time. 

MAGUABBCHL 

And  why  at  any  time  ?  Is  not  the  mind 
exalted  by  prayer,  the  heart  purified,  are 
not  our  affections  chastened,  our  desirea 
moderated,  our  enjoyments  enlarged,  by 
this  intercourse  with  the  Deity  ?  and  are 
not  men  the  better,  as  certainly  they  are 
the  happier,  for  a  belief  that  he  interferes 
in  their  concerns?  They  are  persuaded 
that  there  is  somethmg  conditM>nal  be- 
tween them,  and  that,  if  they  labour  un- 
der the  commission  of  crimes,  their  roioe 
will  be  inaudible  as  the  voice  of  one  un- 
der the  nightmare. 

MIDDLBTOM. 

I  wished  to  demonstrate  that  we  ettat 
treat  God  in  the  same  manner  as  we 
should  treat  some  doating  or  somepasalon- 
ate  old  man :  we  feign,  we  flatter,  we  sing^ 
we  cry,  we  gesticulate. 

MAGUABBCHL 

Worship  him  in  your  own  manner,  ac- 
cording to  the  sense  he  has  given  you, 
and  let  those  who  cannot  exerds^  that 
sense,  rely  upon  those  who  can.  Be  con- 
vinced, M.  Middleton,  that  you  never  will 
supplant  the  received  ideas  of  God :  be 
no  less  convinced  that  the  sum  of  all  your 
labours  in  this  field  will  be^  to  leave  the 
ground  loose  beneath  you,  and  tliat  he 
who  comes  after  you  will  sink.  In  sick- 
ness, in  our  last  particulariy,  we  all  are 
poor  wretches :  we  are  nearly  all  laid  on 
a  level  by  it :  the  dry  rot  of  the  mind  su- 
pervenes, and  loosens  whatever  was  fizt 
in  it  except  religion.  Would  you  be  so 
inhumane  as  to  tell  any  friend  in  this  con- 
dition, not  to  be  comforted?  so  inhumane 
as  to  prove  that  the  crucifix,  which  his 
wandering  eye  finds  at  last  its  resting- 
place,  is  of  the  very  same  material  as  hit 
bed-post? 

MIDDLETON. 

Far  be  it  from  my  wishes  and  horn  my 
thoughts,  to  unhinge  those  portals  through 
which  we  must  enter  to  the  performance 
of  our  social  duties :  but  I  am  sensible 
of  no  irreligion,— I  acknowledge  no  sor- 
row or  regret,  in  having  attempted  to 
demonstrate  that  God  is  totally  and  ftr 
removed  from  our  passions  and  infirmi- 
ties. I  would  inculcate  entire  rengn^ 
tion  to  the  divine  decrees,  acquiescenca 
in  the  divine  wisdom,  confidence  in  the 
divine  benevolence.  There  is  something 
of  frail  humanity,  someUiing  of  its  very 
decrepitude,  in  our  ideas  of  God :  we  are 
foolish  and  ignorant  in  the  same  manner, 
and  almost  to  the  same  degree,  as  those 
painters  are,  who  append  a  grey  beard  to 


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ltM.3 


lOdSkUm  amd  MaglMetki. 


MS 


Ms  diia»draw  wrioldei  aecoM  hb  hffov» 
•od  oowr  him  with  a  gusdy  and  flowing 
niMitlt.  I  Mliiilt  the  benefit  and  the  ne. 
•eaiiQref  tnaringthe  mind  to  repoee  up* 
on  the  contemplatian  of  the  divine  per* 
feetionii  and  to  purify  itself  by  looking 
Mpnturda  to  the  purity  of  heaven ;  but  I 
aee  neither  wisdom  nor  piety  in  the  pray* 
«ra  of  your  Capuchins  and  their  besotted 
liaaran  to  God  and  his  Saints  for  a  Far- 
Beno  cheese,  or  a  new  pair  of  breeches. 


Frayer,  at  all  times  serviceable,  may 
apparently  on  some  occasions  be  misap- 
pliied.  Father  Oaeahno  SoBri&nte,  on  his 
return  from  Enghmd,  presented  to  me  a 
singular  illuatiation  of  my  remark.  He 
Imd  resided  aaaaa  years  in  London,  as 
Chaplain  to  the  Sardinian  envoy;  in  the 
Ant  floor  of  his  kMlgiBg-hoase  dwelt  Mr 
Harbottle,  a  young  clei;nmmn,  kamad, 
of  elq^ant  manness,  yet  fond  of  fox*hun(» 
ing.  Ineonsisteaciea  like  these  are  found 
Mvwhere^but  in  your  country ;  in  others, 
those  who  have  enough  for  one  side  of 
the  ffharsffter,  have  not  enough  for  the 
opposite ;  you  in  general  are  sufficiently 
welUstored  to  squander  much  of  your  in- 
teUectual  property,  to  neglect  much,  and 
to  retain  nmdi. 

Mutual  civMities  had  always  passed  be- 
tween the  two  ecdesiastios,  and  Father 
Onesimo  had  received  many  invitations 
to  dinner  from  bis  neighbouc  After  the 
ibst,  be  had  decliaed  them,  deeming  the 
jMmgs  and  disputations  in  a  slight  degree 
^idecorous.  The  party  at  this  was  cleri- 
cal ;  and,  although  h«  represented  it  as 
more  turbulent  in  its  conclusion  than  ours 
are,  and  although  there  were  many  worm 
disputants,  chiefly  on  jockeys  or  leaders 
in  parliament,  1m  assured  me  be  was 
orach  edified  and  pleased,  when,  at  the 
removal  of  the  dishies,  all  dnmk  devoutly 
to  old  friendships.  *<  /  ibought  of  ycUf'* 
uid  he,  ^  my  dear  Magkabecki,  fir  every 
erne  hnd  then  b^hn  his  ^yes  the  eompUaceni 
guide  of  kii yinUh,  Ifytethedafgw  tears; 
atwhick  my  JriemU  glanced  one  ypon  an^ 
iher  and  imUed  i  for  from  an  En^kkman 
nai  Skaketpearet  no^  nor  even  the  cruc^f 


Onesimo  was  at  break&st  with  Mr 
Harbottle,  when  an  Italian  ran  breathless 
into  the  loom^  kiased  the  fother's  hand, 
and  begged  him  to  come  instantly  and  at- 
tend a  dying  man.  **  IfewlttgoiogBikerf** 
said  Mr  Harbottle.  Following  their 
informant,  they  paased  through  several 
kmes  and  alleys,  and  at  last  mounted  the 
atairs  of  a  ganet,  in  which  was  lying  a 
youth,  stabbed  the  night  before  by  a 
Livomese,  about  one  of  thoae  women 
wha  excite  the  moat  quaoeU  and  deaanre 

Vol.  XV. 


the  fewest  **  Leave  me  fir  a  mommu^** 
sakl  Father  Sozu&nte,  "Jmtm  hear  hie 
coirfesdom.**  Hardly  had  be  spoken,  when 
out  came  all  whom  kindness  or  piety  or 
curiosity  had  collected,  and  keuin  para^ 
dieeJ  was  the  exclamation.  Mr  Har* 
bottle  then  entered,  and  was  surprised  to 
bear  the  worthy  coofessor  ask  of  the  dead 
man  whether  he  forgave  his  enemy,  and 
aiisiver  in  another  tone,  **  Yet^father,fiom 
my  heart  I  pardon  him,**  On  returning^ 
he  remarked  that  it  appeared  strange  to 
htm.  **  Sir,**  answered  Onesimo,  '*  the 
catholic  church  enjoins  forgfveneu  of  in- 
JurieM.**-^**  AU  churcha  et^i  the  same,** 
replied  Mr  Harbottle.  <*  He  was  unable 
te  speak  for  himself,**  said  the  lather,  '*  and 
therrfore  1  answered  fer  hitn  like  a  ChriS" 
iian.*' 

Mr  Harbottle,  as  became  lum,  was 
silent.  On  their  return  homeward  they 
passed  by  a  pUce  which,  if  I  remember, 
is  called  New-gate,  a  gate,  above  which, 
it  appears,  crimimUs  are  hanged.  At  that 
very  hour  the  cord  was  around  the  neck 
of  a  wretch  who  was  repeating  the  Lord's 
prayer :  the  first  words  tliey  heard  were, 
**  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread.**  The 
fiUher  looked  at  his  companion  with  awe, 
spreading  his  fingers  on  his  sleeve,  and 
pressing  it  until  he  turned  his  face  to- 
wards him.  They  both  pusJied  on ;  bu^ 
such  was  the  crowd,  they  could  not  pass 
the  suppliant  before  he  had  uttered, 
'<  And  lead  us  not  into  temptaiian.**  The 
^ood  fiither  stepped  before  Mr  Harbottle, 
and,  lifting  his  band  above  his  ears,  would 
have  said  something ;  but  his  companion 
cried  smartly,  **  /  haw  seals  to  my  vni/cA, 
Signer  SoaafaiUe,  and  there  is  never  a  fellow 
hanged  but  he  makes  twenty  ft  for  it  t  pray 
walk  on.**  Fairly  out  oif  the  crowd, 
**  Foor  sinfol  soul  !'*  said  the  fisther^ 
"  ere  this  time  thou  art  in  puigatory !  thy 
daily  bread !  alas,  thou  hast  eaten  the  last 
mouthful !  thy  temptation !  thou  wilt  find 
but  few  there,  I  warrant  thee,  my  son ! 
Even  these  divine  words,  Mr  Harbottle^ 
may  come  a  little  out  of  season,  you  per- 
ceive.** 

Mr  Harbottle  went  home  dissatisfied : 
in  about  an  hour  a  friend  of  his  from  Oxford 
called  on  him :  as  the  weather  was  warm, 
the  door  standing  lyar,  SoEzifimte  heard 
him  repeat  the  history  of  their  adven- 
ture, and  add ;  **  I  will  be  damned  if  in 
my  firm  persuasion  the  fellow  is  not  a 
Jesuit:  I  never  should  have  thought  it: 
he  humbugged  me  about  the  dead  roan, 
and  perhaps  got  another  hanged  to  quix 
me*  Would  you  believe  it?  he  has  been 
three  good  years  in  getting  up  this  iarce, 
the  first  I  have  ever  caught  bun,  and  the 
the  last  he  ahall  ever  catch  me  at'* 
30 


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4Si       Imaginary  Convenaiim9 1^  IMtrary  M^n  and  Stainrnm.       CApril» 

Father  OnesifDO  related  to  roe  these 
oecurrenees,  withoat  a  word  of  reproach 
or  an  aceent  of  ill  humour.  *<  The  Eng^ 
Nsh  ii  a  strong  language,'*  said  be  pla- 
cidly, "  and  the  people,  the  least  decei- 
Ters  in  the  world,  are  naturally  the  most 
indignant  at  a  suspicion  of  deceit  Mr 
Harbottle,  who,  I  dare  say,  is  ripened  ere 
th  ftiroe  into  an  exemplary  and  holy 
man,  was  then  rather  fitter  for  society 
than  for  the  church.  Do  you  know,*' 
said  he  in  my  ear,  although  we  were 
alone,  "  I  have  seen  him  pay  his  hiund- 
ress  (and  there  was  nothing  between 
them)  five  shillings  for  one  week  only !  a 
aum  that  serves  any  cardinal  the  whole 
winter-quarter— in  April  and  May  in- 
deed, from  one  thing  or  other,  linen 
wants  washing  oftener.*' 

M.  Middleton,  I  have  proved  my  can- 
dour, I  trust,  and  my  freedom  from  su- 
perstition :  but  he  that  seeks  will  find  i 
and  perhaps  he  that  in  obstinacy  closeth 
his  eyes  long  together  will  open  them 
just  at  the  moment  when  he  shall  meet 
what  he  avoided. 

I  will  inform  you  of  some  facts  I  know, 
shewing  the  efficacy  of  prayer  to  saints. 

Giacomo  Pastrani  of  Genoa,  a  citizen 
not  abundant  in  the  gifts  of  fortune,  had, 
however,  in  his  possession  two  most  va^ 
Juable  and  extremely  rare  things,  a  vir- 
tuous wife  and  a  picture  of  his  patron, 
Saint  Giacomo,  by  Leonardo.  The  wife 
had  long  been  ill :  her  malady  was  ex- 
pensive:  their  substance  was  diminish*, 
ing  s  still  no  offers  had  tempted  him,  al. 
though  many  had  been  made,  to  sell  the 
picture.  At  last,  he  refused  to  alienate 
it  indeed,  but  in  favour  of  a  worthy  priest, 
imd  only  as  the  price  of  orations  to  the 
Virgin.  **  Who  knows  how  mamf  it  may 
reqwre  t"  said  the  holy  man ;  "  and  U  is 
dffficuli  to  make  an  oration  which  the  Virgin 
has  not  heard  before :  perhapsJ^wUl  hard- 
ly do,  Nbw^y  crowns  would  be  UtUefor 
such  jrrotection.*'  The  invalide,  who  hc»rd 
the  conversation,  wept  aloud.  "  Take  it^ 
take  tr,**  said  the  husband,  and  wept  too, 
lifting  it  from  the  nail,  and  kissing  for  the 
last  time  the  glass  that  covered  it.  .  The 
priest  made  a  genuflexion,  and  did  the 
came.  His  orations  prevailed ;  the  wife 
recovered.  The  priest,  hearing  that  the 
picture  waa  very  valuable,  although  the 
roaster  was  yet  uncertain,  and  that  in 
Genoa  there  was  no  artist  who  could 
clean  it,  waited  for  that  operation  until 
he  went  to  Milan.  Here  it  was  ascer- 
tained to  be  the  work  of  Leonardo,  and 
a  dealer  gave  him  four  thousand  crowns 
for  it.  He  returned  in  high  glee  at  what 
had  happened,  and  communicated  it  to 
jUl  hit  acquaintance.   The  recovared  wo- 


man, on  hearing  it,  fell  aiek  again  i 
diately,  and  died..  Wishmg  to  feiget  feha 
sacrifice  of  her  picture,  she  had  pe^vi 
no  more  to  Skint  Giacomo;  and  the  yip- 
gin,  we  may  presome,  on  that  powerfiil 
aaint's  intercession,  bad  abandoned  her. 

Awful  fact!  M.  MiddleCon.  Now  mark 
another  perliaps  more  aa 

Angiolina  Cecoi,  on  the  day  before  her 
nuptials,  took  the  sacrament  most  de- 
voutly, and  iroptorcd  of  our  Florentioa 
saint,  Maria  Bagnesi,  to  whose  femily 
she  was  related,  her  intenrantfon  for  three 
blessings :  that  she  might  have  one  child 
only;  that  the  cavakere  seroemtSf  agreed 
on  equally  by  her  fether  and  her  huabaod» 
might  be  feithful  to  her ;  and  hMtly  that, 
having  beaotifhl  hair,  it  naiver  might  turn 
grey.  Now  mark  me.  Aasored  of  mo^ 
cess  to  her  suit,  by  a  smile,  aa  she  belie- 
ved, on  the  coontenaooe  of  the  aatnt,  ahe 
i^eglected  her  prayers  and  dimini^ed  her 
alms  henceforward.  The  money-box^ 
which  is  shaken  during  the  celebratkm 
of  mass,  to  recompense  the  priest  for  the 
performance  of  that  holy  ceremony,  was 
abaken  aloud  before  her  day  after  dqr> 
and  never  drew  a  enuaa  from  her  pocket. 
She  tmmed  away  her  fece  firom  it^  even 
when  the  collection  was  made  ta  deimj 
tiie  arrears  for  the  beatification  oC  Bag- 
nesi. Nine  months  after  her  marriage 
she  was  delivered  of  a  female  infent  I 
am  afraid  she  expressed  some  diaoontent 
at  the  dispensations  of  Providence,  for 
within  an  hour  afterwards  ahe  brougfaft 
forth  another  of  the  same  sex.  She  be- 
came furious,  desperate,  aent  the  babes, 
without  seeing  them,  into  the  country, 
as  indeed  our  hidies  very  often  do ;  aziid 
spake  slightingly  and  maliciously  of  Saint 
Maria  Bagnesi.  The  consequence  was  a 
puerperal  fever,  which  continued  sevend 
weeks,  and  vras  removed  at  great  expense 
to  her  family,  in  masses,  wax-candles, 
and  processions.  Pictures  of  the  Viigia, 
wherever  they  were  found  by  experience 
to  be  of  more  peculiar  and  more  speedy 
efficacy,  were  hired  at  heavy  charges  from 
the  convents :  the  Cordeliers,  to  pnnisli 
her  pride  and  obstinacy,  would  not  carry 
theirs  to  the  house  for  less  than  forty 
scndL 

She  recovered;  admitted  her  firiends 
to  converse  with  her ;  raised  herself  upon 
her  pillow,  and  accepted  soma  feint  eon- 
soUtion.  At  httt  it  was  agreed  by  her 
physicians  that  she  might  dreas  herself 
and  eat  brains  and  liver.  Probably  she 
was  ungrateful  for  a  benefit  so  signal  and 
unexposed ;  since  no  sooner  did  her  ca- 
msriera  oomb  her  hair  than  off  it  came  by 
the  handfoL  She  then  perceived  her  er- 
ror,  but^  instead  of  repairing  it»  abandon- 


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ISM.3  Middlettmtmd 

«d  heiMlf  to  aqgniih  and  lamfmtatkm. 
H«r  emtaiitrt  tervmte,  finding  her  Udd, 
■mgre^  and  eyeaore,  renewed  hit  ad- 
drenet  to  the  mother.  The  husband* 
with  two  daughters  to  provide  for,  the 
only  two  efer  reared  out  of  the  many  en* 
Crusted  to  those  peasants,  counted  over 
again  and  again  the  dowery,  sliook  his 
bead,  sighed  piteously,  and,  hanging  on 
the  iouige  of  Bagnesi  a  silver  heart  of 
Are  cNinces,  which,  knowing  it  to  have 
been  stolen,  he  bought  at  a  cheap  rate  of 
a  Jew  upon  the  bridge,  calculated  that 
the  least  of  impending  evils  was,  to  pur- 
chase an  additional  bed  just  large  enough 
for  one. 

You  ponder,  M.  Middleton:  you  appear 
astonished  at  these  visitations :  you  know 
my  sincerity  I  you  folly  credit  me :  I  can* 
not  doubt  a  moment  of  your  conviction ; 
I  perceive  it  marked  strongly  on  your 
countenance. 

MIDDLETON. 

Indeed,  M.  Magliabechi,  1  now  disco- 
ver the  validity  of  prayer  to  saints^  and 
the  danger  of  neglecting  them.  Recom- 
mend  me  in  yours  to  Saint  Maria  Bag- 


All  this  is  certainly  very  admirable  ; 
aiul  we  have  selected  tbeae  two  dia^ 
logues,  (if  dialogues  they  may  be  call- 
ed,) because  in  tbem,  owing  to  the 
peculiar  chartcter  of  the  dbief  speak- 
er,  Bmrnet  and  Maglkbedii,  great  la- 
titude in  uninterrupted  prosing  might 
be  properiy  indulgped  in  without  pro- 
ducing ennui,  or  viokting  the  princi- 
Sles  of  this  kind  of  compositioii.  But 
f  r  Landor  shevrs  bis  chief  strength 
when  he  has  to  deal  widi  the  strong, 
and  we  especially  admired  and  de- 
lighted in  "  Milton  and  Andrew  Mar- 
vel," "  Lord  Bacon  and  Richard  Hook- 
er," "  The  Lord  Brooke  and  Sir  Phi- 
lip Svdney,"  ''  Kosciusko  and  Ponia- 
towsKu"  There  is  great  ingenuity,  ele- 
gance, and  acuteness,  in  "  David  Hume 
and  John  Home,"  and  a  deep  pathos,  (a 
quality  rarely  to  be  found  m  Mr  lan- 
dor s  writings,)  in  *'  General  Kleber 
and  some  French  Officers." 

Milton  advises  Marvel  how  to  com- 
pose comedy,  (he  was  then  supposed 
to  be  engag^  in  one,)  and  the  pure, 
big^,  and  loftv  spirit  of  the  great  bard 
is  well  entered  into,  end  sustained. 

After  telling  Marvel  not  to  add  to 
die  hnniorality  of  the  age,  by  repre- 
tenting  anything  of  the  present  mode 
of  the  theatre,  but  to  model  a  piece, 
in  all  parts,  on  the  Athenian  scheme, 
with  toe  names,  and  characters,  and 
mannen  of  times  past;  because  tbat^ 


abundant  as  his  oountrymen  are  in 
follies,  (which,  rather  than  vices  are 
thegroundworkof  comedy,)  weexperi- 
ence  less  disgust  in  touching  those  of 
other  times  than  our  own  ;  Milton 
burataoullnto  the  following  fine  diain 
of  eloquence:— 

•*  O  Andrew !  altbongfa  our  learning 
raisetb  up  against  us  many  enemies  among 
the  low,  and  more  among  the  powerful, 
yet  doth  it  invest  us  with  grand  and  glo- 
nous  privileges,  and  grant  to  us  a  hirge- 
ness  of  beatitude.  We  enter  onr  studies, 
and  enjoy  a  society  which  we  alone  can 
bring  together.  We  raise  no  jealousy  by 
conversing  with  one  in  preference  to 
another ;  we  give  no  offence  to  the  most 
illustrious,  by  questioning  him  as  long  as 
we  will,  and  leaving  hhn  as  abruptly. 
Diversity  of  opinion  raises  no  tumult  in 
our  presence;  each  interlocutor  stands 
before  us,  speaks,  or  is  silent,  and  we  ad- 
journ or  decide  the  business  at  onr  ]ei« 
sure.  Nothing  is  past  wliich  we  desire 
to  be  present;  and  we  enjoy  by  anticipa- 
tion somewhat  like  the  power  which  I 
imagine  we  shall  |M>S8ess  hereafter  of 
sailing  on  .a  wish  from  world  to  world. 
Surely  you  would  turn  away  as  &r  as  pos- 
sible  from  the  degraded  state  of  our  coun- 
try ;  you  would  select  any  vices  and  fol- 
lies for  description,  rather  than  those  tliat 
jostle  us  in  our  country-walks,  return 
with  us  to  our  house-doors,  and  smirk  on 
us  in  silks  and  satins  at  our  churches. 

**  Come,  my  old  friend ;  take  down  your 
hortus-siccus ;  the  live  plants  you  would 
gather  do  both  stink  and  sting ;  prythee 
leave  them  to  wither  or  to  ro^  or  be 
plucked  and  collated  by  more  rustic 
hands." 

A  little  fiirther  on  in  the  dialogue, 
3Iilton  delivers  his  opinion  of  Aristo- 
phanes, which,  begging  our  admirable 
friend  Mr  Mitchel's  pardon,  is  our 
own ;  and  we  thank  Mr  Landor  for 
giving  it  such  noble  expression. 

^  His  ridicule  on  the  poetry  'u  mis- 
placed, on  the  manners  is  inelegant. 
Euripides  was  not  less  wise  than  Socrates 
nor  less  tender  than  Sappho.  There  is  a 
tenderness  which  elevates  the  genius, 
there  is  also  a  tenderness  which  corrupts 
the  heart.  Tlie  latter,  like  every  impuri- 
ty, is  easy  to  communicate ;  the  former 
is  difficult  to  conceive.  Strong  mmds 
alone  possess  it ;  -virtuous  mmds  alone 
value  it.  I  hold  it  abominable  to  turn 
into  derision  what  is  excellent.  To  ren- 
der undesirable  what  ought  to  be  desired, 
is  the  most  mischievous  and  diabolical 
of  malice.  To  exhibit  him  as  contempt!. 
He,  who  ought,  according  to  the  con- 


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Imaginary  ConverioHoni  (^  Literary  Men  and  SUttefmen.       CAfifi^ 


*  fdence  of  the  exhibitor,  to  be  respected 
and  rerered,  is  a  crime  the  raore  odious, 
as  it  can  be  oommitted  only  by  great  vio- 
lence to  his  feeKngs,  against  the  loud  re- 
elamations  of  Justice,  and  amongst  the 
struggles  of  Virtue.  And  what  is  the 
tendency  of  this  brave  exploit  ?  to  cancel 
the  richest  legacy  that  ever  was  bequeath- 
ed to  him,  and^to  prove  his  own  bastardy 
in  relation  to  the  most  illustrious  of  his 
species.  If  it  is  disgraceful  to  demolish 
or  obliterate  a  tomb-stone,  over  the  body 
of  the  most  obscure  among  the  dead ;  if 
it  is  an  action  for  which  a  boy  would  be 
whipped,  as  guilty  of  the  worst  idleness 
and  mischief;  what  is  it  to  overturn  tlie 
monument  that  gratitude  has  erected  to 
genius^  and  to  break  the  lamp  that  is 
lighted  by  devotion  over-against  the  image 
of  love  ?  Hie  writmgs  of  the  wise  are  the 
only  riches  our  posterity  cannot  squan- 
der ;  why  depreciate  them^?  To  antiquity 
again— but  afar  from  Aristophanes.** 

Fain  would  we  make  some  long  quo- 
tatioM  from  '*  The  Lord  Brooke,  and 
Sir  Philip  Sydney  ;"  but  we  have  al- 
ready sumciently  enriobed  our  Nam- 
ber  with  Mr  Ijuidor's  genius.  The 
Bcene  of  this  beautifdl  dialogue  (one 
of  the  roost  perfect^  is  laid  in  we  woods 
and  wilds  cf  Pensourst.  What  can  be 
finer  than  the  following  pensive  phi- 
losophy of  Sir  Philip  ? 

"  We,  Greville,  are  happy  in  these 
parks  and  forests ;  we  were  happy  in  my 
close  winter-walk  of  box  and  laurustinus 
and  mezereon.  In  our  earlier  days  did 
we  not  emboss  our  bosoms  with  the  cro- 
cuses, and  shake  them  almost  unto  shed- 
ding with  our  transports !  Ab,  my  friend, 
there  is  a  greater  difference,  both  in  the 
atages  of  life  and  in  the  seasons  of  Ihe 
year,  than  in  the  conditions  of  men ; 
yet  the  healthy  pass  through  the  seasons, 
from  the  clement  to  the  inclement,  not 
only  unreluctantly,  but  rejoicingly,  know- 
ing that  the  worst  will  soon  finish  and 
the  best  begin  anew;  and  we  are  all  de- 
itrous  of  pushing  forward  into  every  stage 
of  life,  excepting  that  alone  whidi  ought 
reasonably  to  allure  us  most,  as  opening 
to  us  the  Via  Sacra,  along  which  we 
move  in  triumph  to  our  eternal  country. 
We  may  in  some  measure  frame  our 
minds  ibr  the  reception  of  happiness,  for 
more  or  for  less;  but  we  should  well 
consider  to  what  port  we  are  steering  in 
search  of  it,  and  that  even  in  the  richest 
we  shall  find  but  a  circumscribed,  and 
very  exhaustible  quantity.  There  is  a 
aicklmess  in  the  firmest  of  us,  which  in- 
duces  us  to  change  our  side,  though  re- 
posing ever  so  softly;  yet,  wittmglyor 


unwittingly,  we  torn  agrin  soon  into  our 
old  position.  Ood  hath  granted  unto 
both  of  US  hearts  easily  contented ;  liearto 
fitted  for  every  station,  because  ftted  for 
every  duty;  What  appears  the  dullest 
may  contribute  most  to  ourgenint;  what 
is  most  gloomy  may  soften  tiie  seeds  and 
relax  the  fibres  of  gaiety.  Sometimes 
we  are  insensible  to  its  kindlier  inffnence-, 
sometimes  not.  We  enjoy  the  solemni-. 
ty  of  t))e  spreading  oak  above  us :  per- 
haps we  owe  to  it  in  part  the  mood  of 
our  minds  at  this  instant:  perhaps  an 
inanimate  thing  supplies  me,  while  I  am 
speaking,  with  all  I  possess  of  animatioii. 
Do  you  imagine  that  any  contest  of  shep* 
herds  can  afford  t^ero  the  same  pleasure 
as  I  receive  from  the  description  of  it ; 
or  that  even  in  their  loves,  however  in- 
nocent and  fkithfol,  they  are  so  free  from 
anxiety  as  I  am  while  I  celebrate  them  ? 
The  exertion  of  intellectual  power,  of 
Isncy  and  imagination,  keeps  from  us 
greatly  more  than  their  wretchedness^ 
and  affords  us  greatly  more  than  their  en- 
joyment. We  are  motes  in  the  midst  of 
generarions :  we  have  oar  sunbeams  to 
circuit  and  climb.  Look  at  the  sum- 
mits  of  all  the  trees  around  us,  how  they 
move,  and  the  loftiest  the  most  so :  no- 
thing is  at  rest  within  cbe  compass  of  our 
view,  except  the  grey  moss  on  the  park- 
palesb  Let  it  eat  ^away  the  dead  oak, 
but  let  it  not  be  compared  with  the  li- 
ving one. 

'*  Poets  are  nearly  all  prone  to  me* 
lancbolyi  yet  the  moat  plaintive  ditty 
has  imparted  a  fuller  joy,  and  of  longer 
duration,  to  its  composer,  than  the  con- 
quest of  Persia  to  the  Macedonian.  A 
bottle  of  wine  bringeth  as  much  pleasure 
as  the  acquisition  of  a  kingdom,  and  not 
unlike  it  in  kind :  the  senses  iu  both  cases 
are  confused  and  perverted.'* 

Walter  Savage  Landor, — euge  et 
vale  I — Little  wilt  thou  care  for  us  or 
our  criticisms.  Wh^  livest  tkou  in 
Ital^,  being  an  Eughsh  gentleman  of 
gemus,  education,  rank,  and  estate  ? 
This,  perhaps,  is  no  business  of  ours : 
yet,  with  all  thy  wayward  fancies  ana 
sweeping  contempts,  and,  shall  we 
say  it,  moody  bigotries,  thou  hast,  we 
verily  believe,  an  English  heart ;  nor 
need  England  be  ashamed  of  thee  (ex- 
cept when  thou  dost  unwarrantably 
arraign  her,)  wherever  thy  home  he 
fixed,  or  in  whatever  tongue,  (few 
thou  hast  the  ^ift  of  tongues,)  now 
forth  the  continuous  stream  of  thy 
written  or  oral  ekquence.  Old  friend 
-—farewell  I 


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On  Ckun^ifaMk*    Chp>  L 


M7 


OK   CRUBCRTARDS. 


Chapter  I. 


M  A  KY  are  the  idle  touristo  who  have 
babbled  of  country  churchyards— 
iBSuy  are  the  able  pens  which  have 
beeo  employed  on  the  same  subjects. 
One  in  particular,  in  the  delightful 
olio  of  the  "  Sketch-book/'  has  traced 
s  picture  so  true  to  nature,  so  beauti-> 
fully  simple  and  pathetic,  that  suc- 
ceeding essayists  might  well  despair 
of  success  in  attempting  simikr  da- 
soriptions,  were  not  the  theme,  in 
fiictj  inexhaustible,  a  source  of  endless 
variety,  a  volume  of  instructive  re- 
cords, whereof  those  mariced  with  least 
incident  are  yet  replete  with  interest 
for  that  human  being  who  stands  alone 
amongst  the  quiet  graves,  musing  on 
the  mystery  of  his  own  existence,  and 
on  the  past  and  present  state  of  those 
'poor  relics  of  mortality  which  every- 
where surround  him  mouldering  be- 
neath his  feet — mingling  with  the 
ooromon  soil — feeding  the  rank  chmrch- 
vard  vegetation — onee  sentient  like 
nimself  with  vigorous  life,  sul]»iect  to 
all  the  tumultuous  passions  that  agi- 
tate his  own  heart,  pregnant  with  a 
thousand  busy  schemes,  elevated  and 
depressed  by  alternate  hopes  and  fears 
— 4iable,  in  a  word,  to  all  the  pains, 
tiie  pkaisures,  and ''  the  ills,  that  flesh 
is  heir  to." 

The  leisurely  traveller  arriving  at  a 
country  inn,  with  the  intention  S  tar- 
rying a  day,  an  hour,  or  a  vet  shorter 
period,  in  Uie  town  or  village,  gene- 
rally finds  time  to  saunter  towards  the 
ehurch,  and  even  to  loiter  about  its 
surrounding  graves,  as  if  his  nature 
(solitary  in  the  midst  of  the  living 
crowd)  claimed  affinity,  and  sought 
communion,  with  the  populous  dust 
beneath  his  feet 

Such,  at  least,  are  the  fediugs  with 
whidi  I  have  often  lingered  in  the 
ehurchvard  of  a  strange  place^  and 
about  the  church  itself— to  which,  in- 
deed, in  all  placet,  and  in  dl  countries, 
the  heart  of  the  Christian  pilgrim  feels 
itself  attracted  as  towards  his  very 
home,  for  there  at  least,  though  alone 
amongst  i  strange  people,  he  is  no 
stranger:  It  is  his  father's  house. 

I  am  not  sure  that  I  heartily  ap* 
wove  the  custom,  rare  in  thisoomitry* 
btttft^uenthii 
iogflowitai 


the  graves.  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  hate 
all  the  sentimental  mummery  with 
which  the  far-famed  burying-place  of 
the  Pere  Elys^  is  garnisned  out.  It 
is  fiaithfuUy  in  keeping  with  Parisian 
taste,  and  perfectly  in  unison  with 
French  feeling ;  but  I  should  wonder 
at  the  profound  sympathy  with  which 
numbers  of  my  own  countrymen  ex- 
patiate on  that  plcasure-jmund  of 
Death,  if  it  were  still  possUde  to  feel 
surprise  at  any  instance  of  degenerate 
taste  and  perverted  feeling  in  our  tra- 
velled islanders— if  it  were  not,  tooi, 
the  vidgarest  thing  in  the  world  to 
wonder  at  anything. 

The  custom,  so  general  in  Switier- 
land,  and  so  common  in  our  ovm  prin<* 
dpalitv  of  Wales,  of  strewing  flowers 
over  toe  graves  of  departed  friends, 
either  on  the  anniversaries  of  their 
deaths,  or  on  other  memorable  days,  i» 
touching  and  beautiful.  Those  frail 
blossoms  scattered  over  tiie  green  sod> 
in  their  morning  freshness,  out  for  « 
little  space  retain  their  balmy  odours, 
and  theur  glowing  tints,  till  the  sua 
goes  down,  and  the  breexe  of  evening 
siffhsover  them,  and  the  dews  of  night 
fill  on  their  pale  beauty,  and  the  wi- 
thered and  niding  wreath  becomes  a 
vet  more  appropriate  tribute  to  the  si- 
lent dust  beneath.  But  rose-trees  in 
full  bloom,  and  tall  staring  lilies,  and 
flaunting  lUacs,  and  pert  primsh  spi- 
rafrutexes,  are,  methinks,  m  in  har- 
mony with  that  holiness  of  perfect  re- 
pose, which  should  pervade  the  last 
resting-place  of  mortality.  Even  in  our 
own  unsentimental  England,  I  have 
seen  two  or  three  of  these  flower>plot 
graves.  One  in  particular,  I  remember, 
had  been  planned  and  planted  by  a 
young  disconsolate  widow,  to  the  vapm 
mory  of  her  deceased  partner.  The 
tomb  itself  was  a  common  square  erec« 
tion  of  freestone,  covered  over  with  a 
slab  of  black  marble,  on  which,  under 
the  name,  age,  &c.,  of  the  defunct, 
was  engraven  an  elaborate  epitaplu 
commemorating  his  many  rirtues,  and 
pathetically  intimating  tfant,  at  no  dis« 
taut  period  the  vacant  space  remain* 
ing  on  the  same  marble  would  receive 
the  name  of  "  his  inconsolable  £«»• 
nia."  The  tomb  was  hedged  abont  bjr 
wiQvk  of  honeyiucklea.  APo^ 


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468 

iian  Iflae  drooped  over  its  fbot^  and  at 
Hbe  hettd,  (subetituted  for  the  elegant 
cyprefli,  coy  denizen  of  our  ungenial 
cume,)  a  young  po^ar  perked  up  its 
pyramidtod  form.  Divers  other  shrubs 
and  flowering  plants  completed  the 
ring-fence,  plentifully  interspersed 
wiu  "  the  fragrant  weed,  the  French- 
man's darling,  whose  perftune,  when 
I  visited  the  spot,  was  wafted  over  the 
whole  churchyard.  It  was  then  the  full 
flush  of  summer.  The  garden  had  been 
planted  but  a  month ;  nut  the  lady  had 
tended,  and  propped,  and  watered 
those  fi;ay  strangers,  with  her  own  de- 
licate hands,  ever  more  in  the  dusk  of 
evening  returning  to  her  tender  task, 
so  that  they  had  taken  their  removal 
kindly,  and  grew  and  flourished  as 
carele^y  round  that  cold  marble,  and 
in  that  field  of  graves,  as  they  had  done 
heretofore  in  their  own  shdtered  nur- 
sery. 

A  year  afterwards — a  year  almost  to 
a  day — I  stood  once  more  on  that 
same  spot,  in  the  same  month — *'  the 
lea^  month  of  June."  But — ^it  was 
leafless  there.  The  young  poplar  still 
stood  sentinel  in  its  fonner  station, 
but  dry,  withered,  and  sticky,  like  an 
old  broom  at  die  mast-head  of  a  vessel 
on  sail.  The  parson's  cow,  and  his  half« 
aoore  fatting  wethers,  had  violated  the 
sacred  enclosure,  and  trodden  down  its 
flowery  basket-work  into  the  very  soil. 
The  plants  and  shrubs  were  nibbled 
down  to  miserable  stumps,  and  from 
the  sole  survivor,  the  p(K)r  strangling 
lilac,  a  fat  old  waddling  ewe  hadjust 
cropped  the  last  sickly  flower-branch, 
and  stood  staring  at  me  with  a  pathetic 
vacancy  of  countenance,  the  half« 
munched  consecrated  blossom  dang- 
ling fh>m  her  sacrilegious  jaws.  ''  And 
is  it  even  so  ?"  I  half-articulated,  with 
a  sudden  thrill  of  irrepressible  emo- 
tion. "  Poor  widowed  mourner !  lovely 
Eugenia !  Art  thou  already  re-united 
to  the  oliject  of  thy  fklthfol  affbction  ? 
And  so  lately  !  Not  yet  on  that  await- 
ing space  on  the  cola  mairble  have  they 
inscribed  thy  eentle  name.  And  those 
IVagile  memonals  I  were  there  none  to 
tend  them  for  thy  sake  ?"  Such  was 
my  sentimental  apostrophe;  and  the 
unwonted  impulse  so  far  incited  me, 
that  I  actually  pelted  away  the  sheep 
from  that  lost  resting-place  of  faithf lU 
love,  and  reared  against  its  side  the 
trailing  branches  of  the  n^lected  lilac. 
Wdl  satisfied  with  myseu  for  the  per- 
ibnnance  of  this  pious  act,  I  turned 


On  Churohyardi.    Chap.  I. 


CApril, 


fW>m  the  spot  In  a  mood  of  calm  plea, 
sing  melancholy,  that,  by  degrees, 
(while  I  yet  lingered  about  the  church* 
yard,)  resolved  itself  into  a  train  of 
poetic  reverie,  and  I  was  already  far 
advanced  in  a  sort  of  elegiac  tribute  to 
the  memory  of  that  fiilr  being,  whose 
tender  nature  had  sunk  under  the 
stroke  '*  that  reft  her  mutual  heart,** 
when  the  horrid  interruption  of  a  loud 
shrill  whistle  startled  me  fVom  my 
poetic  vision,  cruelly  disarranging  the 
beautiftil  combinatiotiofhigh- wrought, 
tender,  pathetic  feelings,  which  were 
flowii^  naturally  into  verse,  as  from 
the  very  fount  of  Helicon.  lifting  my 
eyes  towards  the  vulgar  cause  of  this 
vulgar  disturbance,  Uie  cow-boy  (for 
it  was  he  "  who  whistled  as  he  went, 
far  want  of  thought")  nodded  to  me 
his  rustic  apology  for  a  bow,  and  passed 
on  towards  the  very  tomb  I  had  just 
quitted,  near  which  his  milky  charge, 
the  old  brindled  cow,  still  munched 
on,  avaricious  of  the  last  mouthiiil.  If 
die  clown's  obstreperous  mirth  had 
before  broken  in  on  my  mood  of  inspi- 
ration, its  last  delicate  glow  was  utterly 
dispelled  by  the  uncouth  vociferadon, 
and  rude  expletives,  with  which  he 
proceetted  to  dislodge  the  persevering- 
animal  fh>m  her  rich  pasture-ground. 
Insensible  alike  to  his  remonstrances, 
his  threats,  or  his  tender  persuasion — 
to  his  "  Whoy  !  whoy !  old  giri  ! 
Whoy,  Blossom !  whoy,  my  lady  ! — I 
say,  come  up,  do  ;  come  up,  ye  nla- 
guey  baste!"  Blossom  continued  to 
munch  and  ruminate  with  the  most 
imperturbable  calmness — ^backing  ami 
sideling  away,  however,  as  her  pur« 
suer  made  nearer  advances,  and  ever 
and  anon  looking  up  at  him  with  most 
provoking  assurance,  as  if  to  calculate 
now  many  tufts  she  might  venture  to 
pull  before  he  got  fairly  within  reach 
of  her.  And  so,  retrograding  and  ma- 
noeuvring she  at  last  intrenched  her- 
self behind  the  identical  tombstone 
beside  which  I  had  stood  so  ktely  in 
solemn  contemplation .  Here — the  cow- 
boy's patience  being  completely  ex- 
hausted— with  the  intention  of  switch- 
ing old  Blossom  from  her  last  strong- 
hold, he  caught  up,  and  began  tearing 
from  the  earm,  thatone  long  straggling 
stem  of  Hlac  which  I  had  endeavoured 
to  replace  in  somewhat  of  its  former 
position.  <«  Hold  !  hold !"  I  cried, 
springing  forward  with  the  vehement 
gestureofimpasdoned  feeling — *'  Have 
you  no  respect  for  the  aahes  of  tlM 


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On  Ckwd^ifords.    Oup.  L 


dead?  Dare  yoa  thus  Tiokte  with n- 
crilmous  hands  the  last  sad  sanctuary 
of  f^thful  love  ?"  The  hoy  stood  like 
one  petrified,  stared  at  me'for  a  mo- 
ment, with  a  look  of  iudescrihable  per- 
plexity, then  screwing  one  comer  of 
hh  mouth  almost  into  contact  with 
the  corresponding  corner  of  one  crin- 
kled-upeye*-4it  the  same  time  shoving 
up  his  old  ragged  hat,  ond  scratching 
his  curly  pate :  and  having,  as  I  sup- 
pose, by  the  help  of  that  operation, 
construed  my  vetiement  address  into 
the  language  of  inquiry,  he  set  him- 
self very  methodically  about  satisfying 
my  curiosity  on  every  point  wherever 
he  conceived  it  posuble  I  might  have 
interrogated  him — taking  his  cue,  with 
some  ingenuity  from  the  one  w<^  of 
my  oration,  which  was  fkmiliar  to  his 

ear "  Dead!    Ees,  Squoire  been 

dead  twelve  months  last  Wnitsuntide  ; 
and  thick  be  his'n  moniment,  an'  ma- 
dam was  married  last  week  to  our 
measter,  an  thick  be  our  cow — " 

Oh,  Reader! 
Is  it  to  be  wondered  at,  that3  since 
that  adventure,  I  have  never  been  dis- 
posed to  look  with  an  im-glisten- 
ang,  and  even  cynical  eye,  on  those 
same  flower-plot  graves  ?  Nay,  that, 
at  sight  of  them,  I  feel  an  extraordi* 
nary  degree  of  hard-heartedness  steal- 
ing over  me  ?    I  cannot  quit  the  sub- 


A69 

ject  without  oflbiog  a  word  or  two  of 
well-meant  advice  to  all  disconsolate 
survivors — widows  more  especially— 
as  to  the  expediency  or  non-expedieucy 
of  indulging  this  flowery  grief.  Pos- 
sibly, were  I  to  obey  the  dictates  of 
my  own  tastes  and  feelings,  I  should 
say,  ^'  fie  content  with  a  simple  re« 
cord — ^perhaps  a  scriptural  sentence, 
on  a  plain  headstone.  Suffer  not  Uie 
inscription  to  become  defaced  and  ille* 
gible,  nor  rank  weeds  to  wave  over  it ; 
and  smooth  be  the  turf  of  the  green 
hillock!  fiut  if— to  use  a  French 
phrase — II  faui  (\fficher  sea  r^reU-^ 
if  there  must  be  effect,  sentimentalities, 
prettinesses.  urns,  flowers— not  only  a 
few  scattered  blossoms,  but  a  regular 
planted  bojder,  like  the  garnish  of  a 
plateau; — ^then,  let  me  beseech  you, 
fair  inconsolables !  be  cautious  in  your 
proceedings — Temper  with  discreet 
loresight  (if  that  be  possible,)  the  first 
agoniaing  burst  of  sensibility — ^Taka 
the  counsels  of  sage  experience-— Tem- 
porise with,  the  as  vet  unascertained 
nature  of  your  own  &eling»— Proclaim 
not  those  v^etable  vows  of  eternal 
fidelity — ^Refrain,  at  least,  firom  the 
trowel  and  the  spade— Dig  not— plant 
not — For  one  year  only — fi>r  the  first 
year,  at  least — For  one  year  omy,  I 
beseech  you — sow  annuals. 


Cliapler  //. 


In  parts  of  Warwickshire,  and  some 
of  the  adjacent  counties,  more  espe- 
cially in  the  churchyards  of  the  larger 
towns,  the  frightml  fashion  of  black 
tombstones  is  almost  universaL  filack 
tombstones,  tall  and  slim,  and  lettered 
in  gold,  looking,  for  all  the  world, 
like  bolt  upright  coffin  lids.  I  marvel 
the  worthy  natives  do  not  go  a  step 
farther  in  their  tastefhl  system,  and 
coat  their  churches  over  with  the 
same  lugubrious  hue,  exempting  only 
the  brass  w^theroocks,  and  the  gilded 
figures  on  the  dock  faces.  The  whole 
scene  would  unquestumably  be  far 
more  in  keeping,  and  even  sublime  in 
stupendous  ugliness.  Some  village 
bnnal  grounds  have,  however,  escapeid 
this  barbarous  adornment,  and  in 
Warwicksliire  particularly,  and  with- 
in the  etrcuit  of  a  few  miles  round 
Warwick'  itself,  are  very  many  small 
picturesoue  hamlet  churches,  each 
surrounoed  by  its  lowly  flock  of  green 
graves,  and  grey  head-stones;  the 
churchyards,  for  the  most  part,  se- 


parated only  by  a  sunk  fence  or  a 
alight  railing  from  the  little  sheltered 
grass-plot  of  a  small  neat  rectory,  the 
casements  of  which  generally  front 
the  long  east  window  of  the  church. 
I  like  mis  proximity  of  the  pastor's 
dwelling  to  nis  Master's  house ;  nay, 
of  the  abode  of  the  living  to  the 
sanctuary  of  the  dead.  It  seems  to 
me  to  remove  in  part  the  great  barrier 
of  separation  between  the  two  worlds. 
The  end  of  life,  it  is  true,  lies  before 
us.  The  end  of  ihU  life,  with  all  its 
host  of  vanities  and  perturbations  ; — 
but  immediately  from  thence,  we  step 
upon  the  threshold  of  the  holy  place, 
before  the  gates  of  which  no  com- 
missioned angel  stands  with  a  flaming 
sword,  buring  our  entrance  to  the 
tree  of  life.  It  would  seem  to  me 
that  thus  abiding,  as  it  were,  under 
the  very  shadow  of  the  sacrea  walls, 
and  within  sight  of  man's  last  earthly 
resting-place,  I  should  feel,  as  in  a 
chamm  drde,  more  secure  fixun  the 
power  of  evil  influences,  than  if  ex- 


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On  Ckurch-yaiHU.    Chap.  I  J. 


CAf^fl, 


fK/BcA  to  their  amnlts,  on  tfae  great 
«)pen  deaert  of  the  busy  world.  There- 
fott,  I  like  this  proxirnity  so  frequent- 
ly observable  in  the  little  hamlets  I 
have  described.  In  one  or  two  in- 
stances, indeed,  I  perceived  that  at- 
tempts had  been  made  to  exclude  the 
view  of  the  church  and  churchyard 
from  the  rectory  windows,  by  plant* 
ing  a  few  chimps  of  evergreens,  that 
looked  as  unmeaningly  stuck  there,  as 
heart  could  wi^.  Miserable  taste 
that !  **  but  let  it  pass,"  as  the  Couriec^ 
aaid  lately  of  one  of  your  finest  poeti« 
cal  artides,  Mr  North. 

I  nev»  saw  a  more  perfect  picture 
of  beautifld  repose,  tnan  presented 
itself  to  me  in  one  of  my  evening 
walks  last  sammer.  One  of  the  few 
evening  walks  it  was  possible  to  enioy 
during  the  nominal  reign  of  that 
freezing,  dripping  summer. 

I  came  abruptly  (in  my  evening 
walk,  you  know)  upon  a  small  church, 
and  burial  ground,  and  rectorv,  all 
combined  and  emboweiced  wimin  a 
space  diat  the  eye  could  tidce  in  at 
one  glance,  and  a  pleasant  glance  it 
was! 

The  east  window  of  the  church  was 
Hghted  up  with  red  and  Rowing  le- 
raigence*— not  with  the  gorgeous  nues 
of  artifidid  colouring,  but  with*  the 
bright  banners  of  the  setting  sun; 
and  strongly  defined  shadows,  and 
mouldings  of  golden  light,  marked 
out  the  rude  tracery  of  ute  low  ivied 
tower  and  the  heavy  stone-work  of 
tfae  deep  narrow  windows,  and  the 
projections  of  the  lowmassv  buttresses, 
irrq^alarly  applied  in  defiance  of  all 
architectural  proportion,  as  they  had 
become  necessary  to  the  support  of 
the  ancient  edifice.  And  here  and 
there  on  the  broken  slanting  of  the 
buttresses,  and  on  their  projecting 
ledges,  might  be  seen  patches  of  green 
and  yellow  moss,  so  exquisitely  bright, 
that  metbou^ht  the  jewellery  with 
which  Aladdin  enchased  the  windows 
of  his  enchanted  paUce,  was  dull 
and  colourless,  compared  with  the  ve-^ 
getable  emeralds  and  topazes,  where- 
with "  Nature's  own  sweet  and  cun- 
ning hand"  had  blazoned  that  iM 
chtirch.  And  the  low  head-stones 
also— some  half  sunk  into  the  diurch- 
yard  mould — ^mony  carved  out  into 
cherubims,  with  their  trumpeters' 
cheeks  and  expanded  wings,  or  with 
the  awful  emblems  of  death's-heads, 
cro«».bone8,  and  hoor-gUuNies !    The 


low  head-stonea,  witii  their  matac 
scrolls,  **  that  teadi  us  to  live  and 
die,"  those  also  were  edged  and  tint- 
ed with  the  goldeo  gleam,  and  it 
stretched  in  long  floods  of  amber  lisht 
athwart  tfae  son  green  turf,  kissing 
the  nameless  hillocks;  and,  on  one 
little  grave  in  particular,  (it  must 
have  been  that  of  an  infant,)  me- 
thonght  the  departing  glory  lingered 
with  peculiar  brightness.  Oh!  it 
was  a  beautifril  churchyard.  A  stream 
of  running  water  intersected  it  almoat 
olose  to  tiie  church  wall.  It  waa 
clear  as  crystal,  running  over  grey 
pebbles,  with  a  sound  that  chimed 
harmoniously  in  with  the  general 
character  Ot  the  scene,  low,  soothing, 
monotonous,  dying  away  into  a  liquid 
whisper,  as  the  rivulet  shrank  into  m 
shallow  and  still  shallower  channel, 
matted  with  moss  and  water  plants, 
and  dosdy  overhung  by  the  low  un- 
derwood of  an  adjmning  eoppioe, 
within  wfaose  leafy  labyrinth  it  stole 
at  last  silently  away.  It  was  an  un- 
usual and  a  lovely  thing  to  see  tiie 
grave-stones,  and  the  green  hOlocks, 
with  the  very  wiM  flowers  (daisica 
and  buttercups)  growing  on  them, 
refleeted  in  the  little  rill  as  it  wound 
among  them — the  reversed  objects, 
and  glancing  Cf^ours,  shifting,  blend- 
ing, and  trembling,  in  the  broken 
ripple.  That  and  the  voice  of  the 
water!  It  was  "  Life  in  Death."  One 
felt  that  the  sleepers  below  were  but 
gathered  for  a  while  into  their  quiet 
chambers.  Nay,  their  very  sleep  was 
not  voiodess.  On  the  e^^  of  the 
graves— on  the  moist  margin  of  the 
stream,  grew  many  tufls  of  tfae  beau- 
tiful "  Forget  me  not."  Never,  sure, 
was  such  appropriate  station  for  that 
meek  eloquent  flower ! 

Such  was  the  churchyard,  from 
which,  at  about  ten  vards  distance 
from  the  church,  a  slignt  low  railing, 
with  a  latch  wicket,  divided  off  a 
patch  of  the  loveliest  green  sward, 
(yet  but  a  continuation  of  the  church- 
yard turf,)  backed  with  tall  elm,  and  • 
luxuriant  evergreens,  amongst  which 
peeped  modestly  out  the  little  neat 
rectory.  It  was  constructed  of  the 
same  rough  grey  stone  with  the 
church. — ^Long,  low,  with  far  pro- 
jecting eaves,  and  casement  windows 
facing  that  large  east  window  of  the 
church>  still  flaming  with  the  reflect-^ 
ed  splendour  of  the  setting  sun.  Hia 
orb  was  sinking  to  rest  behind  tiie 
15 


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On  Chwrchyardi.    Chap.  II. 


iTl 


grove 
^ell 


▼e,  half  embowering  the  small 
veiling,  which,  therefore,  stood  in  the 
pofect  quietness  of  its  own  shadow, 
the  dark  green  masses  of  the  jasmine 
clustering  round  its  porch  and  win- 
dows, scarcely  revealing  (but  by  their 
exquisite  odour)  the  pure  white  blos« 
8oms  that  starred  "  its  lovely  gloom." 
But  their  fragrance  floated  on  the 
gentle  breath  of  evening,  mingled 
with  the  perfume  of  mignionette,  and 
the  long-nngered  marvels  of  Peru, (the 
pale  daughters  of  twilight,)  and  in« 
numerable  sweet  flowers  blooming  in 
their  beds  of  rich  black  mould,  dose 
under  the  lattice  windows.  These 
were  all  flung  wide,  (fcv  the  evening 
was  still  and  sultry,)  and  one  open- 
ing down  to  the  ground,  shewed  the 
interior  of  a  very  small  parlour,  plain- 
ly and  modestly  furnished,  but  panel- 
led dl  round  with  well-filled  book- 
cases. A  lady's  harp  stood  in  one 
comer,  and  in  another  two  fine  globes 
and  an  orrery.  Some  small  flower- 
baskets,  filled  with  roses,  were  dis- 
persed about  the  room ;  and  at  a  table 
near  the  window  sat  a  gentleman  wri- 
ting, (or  rather  leaning  over  a  writing 
deuc,  with  a  pen  in  his  hand,)  for  his 
eyes  were  directed  towards  the  gravel 
walk  before  the  window,  where  a 
lady,  (an  elegant- looking  woman, 
whose  plain  white  robe  and  dark  un- 
covered hair  well  became  the  sweet 
matronly  expression  of  her  hot  and 
figure,)  was  anxiously  stretching  out 
her  encouraging  arms  to  her  httle 
daughter,  who  came  laughing  and 
tottering  towanls  her  on  the  soft  green 
turf,  her  tiny  feet,  as  they  essayed 
their  first  independent  ste^,  in  the 
eventful  walk  of  life,  twisting  and 
turning  with  graceful  awkwardness, 
and  unsteady  pressure,  under  the  dis- 
proportionate weight  of  her  fair  fat 
person.  It  was  a  sweet,  heart-thril- 
ling sound,  the  joyous,  crowing  laugh 
of  ttiat  litde  creature,  when  with  one 
last,  bold,  mighty  effort,  she  reached 
the  maternal  arms,  and  was  caught 
up  to  the  maternal  bosom,  and  half 
devoured  with  kisses,  in  an  ecstacv  of 
unspeakable  love.  As  if  provoked  to 
emulous  loudness,  by  that  mirthful 
outcry,  and  impatient  to  mingle  its 
dear  notes  with  that  young  innocent 
voice,  a  blackbird,  emlx>wered  in  a  tall 
neighbouring  bav-tree,  poured  out 
fbrthwith  such  a  flood  of  full,  rich  me- 
lody, as  stilled  the  baby's  laugh,  and 
for  a  moment  arrested  its  obtervant 
Vol.  XV. 


ear. — ^But  frar  a  mom^n/.— The  kin- 
dred natures  burst  out  into  full  cho«i 
rus ; — the  baby  'dapped  her  hands, 
and  laughed  aloud,  and,  afler  her  fa- 
shion, mocked  the  unseen  songstress. 
The  bird  redoubled  her  tunc&l  ef- 
forts—and still  the  baby  laughed,  and 
still  the  bird  rejoined — and  both  toge* 
ther  raised  such  a  mdodious  din,  that 
the  echoes  of  the  old  diurch  rang 
again ;  and  never  since  the  contest  <n 
the  nightingale  w:ith  her  human  rival, 
was  heard  sudi  an  emulous  o(mflict  <^ 
musical  sldlL    I  could  have  laushed, 
for  company,  firom  my  unseen  lurk- 
ing-place, within  the  dark  shadow  of 
one  of  the  church-buttresses.    It  was 
altogether  such  a  scene  as  I  shall  ne- 
ver forget— one  f^om  which  I  could 
hardly  tear  myself  away. — ^Nay,  I  did 
not — I  stood  modonlm  as  a  statue 
in  my  dark,  gray  niche,  till  the  ob- 
jects before  me  became  indistinet  in 
twilight— till  the  last  slanting  sun- 
beams had  withdrawn  fromjthe  highest 
Snes  of  the  church-window — till  the 
Eu:kbird's  song  was  hushed,  and  the 
baby's  voice  was  still — and  the  mother 
and  her  nurding  had  retreated  into 
their  quiet  dwelling — and  the  evening 
taper  gleamed  through  the  fallen  white 
curtain,  and  still  open  vrindow.    fiut 
yet  before  that  curtain  fell,  another 
act  of  the  beautiful  pantomime  had 
passed  in  review  before  me.   The  mo- 
ther, with  her  infiint  in  her  arms,  had 
seated  herself  in  a  low  chair  within 
the  little  parlour.    She  untied  the 
frock- strings — drew  ofi*  that,  and  the 
second  upper  garments— dexterously, 
and  at  intervals,  as  the  restless  frolics 
of  the  still  unwearied  babe  affi>rded  op- 
portunity ;  and  then  it  was  in  its  little 
coat  and  stay,  the  fat  white  shoulders 
shrugged  up  in  antic  merriment,  far 
above  the  slackened  shoulder-straps. 
Thus,  the  mother's  hand  slipped  off 
one  soft  red  shoe,  and  having  done  so, 
her  lips  were  pressed,  almost,  as  it 
seemed,  involuntarily,  to  the  litUe  na- 
ked foot  she  still  held.    The  other,  as 
if  in  proud  love  of  libertv,  had  spum- 
ed ofi^to  a  distance  the  feUow  shoe,  and 
now  the  darling,  disarrayed  for  its  in- 
nocent dumbers,  was  husned  and  quiet- 
ed, but  not  yet  to  rest;  the  nisht  dress 
was  still  to  be  put  on— and  the  little 
crib  was  not  there — ^not  yet  to  rest- 
but  to  the  mighty  duty  already  requi- 
red of  young  Christians.  And  ma  mo- 
ment it  was  nushed — and  in  a  moment 
Uie  small  hands  were  pressed  together 
3  P 


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On  Ckurch^ardt,   Owp.  11. 


LAptU, 


between  the  mother's  handa,  and  the 
■weet  seriofos  eyes  were  raised  and  fix- 
ed upon  the  mother's  eyes,  (there 
beamed,  as  yet,  the  infimt's  heaven,) 
and  one  saw,  that  it  was  lisping  out 
its  unoonscious  prayerwuneonscious, 
not  sorely  unaccepted.  A  kiss  from 
the  mat^aal  lips  was  the  token,  o^ 
God's  approTal;  and  then  she  rose, 
and  gatoering  up  &e  scattered  gar* 
ments  in  the  same  clasp  with  the  md^ 
naked  babe,  she  held  it  smiling  to  its 
lather,  and  one  saw  in  the  expresnon 
of  his  fkoe,  as  he  upraised  it  after  ha* 
▼ing  imprinted  a  kiss  vu  that  ctf  his 
Aiid— one  saw  in  it  all  the  holy  fer* 
nmr  of  a  father's  blessing. 

Then  the  mother  withdrew  with  her 
little  one— «nd  then  the  curtain  fell, 
and,  still  I  lingered-^or  after  the  in- 
tennil  of  a  few  minutes,  sweet  sounds 
arrested  my  departing  footsteps^a  few 
notes  of  the  harp,  a  low  prdude  stole 
sweetly  out— 41  voice  still  sweeter,  min* 
^ng  its  tones  with  a  simple  quiet  ac- 
companiment, swelled  out  gradually 
into  a  strain  of  sacred  harmony,  and 
the  words  of  the  evening  hymn  came 
wafted  towards  the  house  of  prayer. 
Thai  all  was  still  in  the  cottage,  and 
around  it,  and  the  perfect  silence,  and 
the  deepening  shadows,  brought  to  my 
mind  more  fordbly  the  lateness  of  the 
hour,  and  warned  me  to  turn  my  face 
homewards.  So  I  moved  a  fevi[  steps, 
and  yet  again  I  lingered,  lingcaned 
still ;  for  the  moon  was  riang,  and  the 


stars  were  riiining  out  in  the  dear 
cloudless  Heaven,  and  the  hriffht  re* 
flection  of  one,  danced  'and  guttered 
like  a  liquid  flre^v,  on  the  npple  of 
the  stream,  just  when  it  glided  mto  a 
darker  deeper  pool,  beneath  a  little 
rustic  foot-bridge,  which  led  from  the 
churchyard  into  a  shady  green  lan^ 
eommunicating  with  the  neighbour* 
ing  hamlet. 

On  that  bridge  I  stopt  a  minute 
longer,  and  yet  another  and  another 
minute^  for  I  listened  to  the  voice  of 
the  running  water ;  and  nethoo^t  it 
was  yet  more  mellifluotts,  more  sooth- 
ing, more  eloouent,  at  that  still  sha- 
dowy hour,  wnen  only  that  little  star 
looked  down  upon  it,  with  its  tremu- 
lous beam,  than  when  it  danced  and 
glittered  in  the  warm  glow  of  sunshine. 
There  are  hearts  like  that  stream,  and 
they  will  understand  the  metaphor. 

The  unutterable  things  I  felt  and 
heard  in  that  mysterious  music  ! — 
every  sense  became  absorbed  in  that 
of  hearing ;  and  so  qiell-bound,!  might 
have  staid  on  that  very  spot  till  mid- 
night, nay,  till  the  stars  paled  before 
the  morning  beam,  if  the  deep,  solemn 
sound  of  the  old  church-dock  had 
not  broken  in  on  my  dream  of  pro- 
found abstraction,  sJid  startled  me 
away  with  half  incredulous  surprise, 
aa  its  iron  tongue  proclaimed,  stroke 
after  stroke,  Uie  tenth  hour  of  the* 
n%ht. 


POMPEII. 


Pan  0  BAM  A  s  are  among  the  happiest 
contrivances  for  savins  time  and  ex- 
pense in  this  age  of  contrivances, 
what  cost  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds 
and  half  a  year  half  a  century  ago, 
now  costs  a  shilling  and  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.  Throwing  out  of  the  old  ac- 
count the  innumerable  miseries  of  tra- 
vel, the  insolence  of  public  function- 
aries, the  roguery  of  innkeepers,  the 
visitations  of  banditti,  charged  to  the 
muzzle  with  sabre,  pistol,  and  scapu- 
lary,  and  the  rascality  of  the  custom- 
house office^  who  plunder,  passport 
in  hand,  the  indescribable  desagrcmens 
of  Italian  cookery,  and  the  insufferable 
.annoyances  of  that  epitome  of  abomi- 
^nation,  an  Italian  bed. 

Now  the  afiair  is  settled  in  a  sum- 
mary manner.  The  mountain  or  the 
the  sea,  the  classic  vale  or  the  andent 


city,  is  transported  to  us  on  tlte  wings 
of  the  wind.  And  their  location  here 
is  curious.  We  have  seen  Vesuvius  in 
full  roar  and  torrent,  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  a  hackney-coach  stand,  with 
all  its  cattle,  human  and  bestial,  un- 
moved by  the  phenomenon.  Constan- 
tinople, with  its  bearded  and  turbaned 
multitudes,  quietlv  pitched  beside  a 
Christian  thorougnfare,  and  offering 
ndther  persecution  nor  prosdytism. 
Switzerland,  with  its  lakes  covered 
with  sunset,  and  mountains  capped  and 
robed  in  storms;  the  adored  of  senti- 
mentalists, and  the  refuge  of  miry  me- 
taphysics ;  the  Demutolde  of  all  na- 
tions, and  German  geelcw;y — stuck  in 
a  comer  of  a  comer  of  I^ndon,  and 
forgotten  in  the  tempting  vicina^  of 
a  cof^-shop ; — and  now  Pompdi,  re- 
posing in  its  dumber  of  two  thousand 


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1884.;]  • 

Jtntf  in  the  ttry  bun  of  die  Strand. 
There  is  no  exaggeratton  in  talking  of 
thoae  things  as  reallj  existing.  B^rk» 
Inf  was  a  metaphysician ;  and  Uierefore 
hliB  word  goes  for  nothing  but  waste  of 
brains^  time,  and  printing-ink ;  but  if 
we  have  not  the  waters  of  the  Lake  of 
Geneva,  and  the  bricks  and  mortar 
of  the  little  Greek  town,  tangible  by 
our  hands,  we  have  them  tangible  by 
the  eve— the  fbllest  impression  that 
could  be  purdiased,  by  our  being  parcb* 
ed,pas8ported,  pummelled,  phmdered^ 
starved,  and  stenched,  for  1200  mfles 
east  and  by  south,  oould  not  be  fuller 
than  the  work  of  Messrs  Parker's  and 
Burford's  brushes.  The  scene  is  ab- 
solutdy  alive,  vivid,  and  true;  we  fed 
all  but  the  breese,  and  hear  all  but 
the  dashins  of  the  wave.  Travelers 
recognise  the  spot  where  they  plnid^ed 
grapes,  picked  up  fragments  of  tiles, 
and  fdl  sick  of  the  miasmata;  the 
(hraui^tsman  would  swear  to  the  very 
stone  on  which  he  stretched  himsdf 
into  an  ague ;  the  man  (^  half-pay,  Uie 
identical  cam  in  which  he  was  deeoed 
into  a  perfect  knowledge  that  rof;ttery' 
abroad  was  as  expensive  as  taxation  at 
home. 

All  the  world  knows  the  story  of 
Pompeii;  that  it  was  a  little  Greek 
town  of  tolerable  commerce  in  its  early 

I  diy ;  that  (he  sea,  which  once  wa^ed 
its  walls,  subsequently  left  it  in  the 
midst  of  one  of  these  delicious  plains 
made  by  nature  for  the  dissolution  of 
all  industry  in  the  Italian  dweller,  and 

,  for  the  commonplaces  of  poetry  in  all 
the  northern  abusers  of  the  pen ;  that 
it  was  ravaged  by  every  barbarian,  who 
in  turn  was  called  a  conqueror  on  the 
Italian  soil,  and  was  successively  the 
piUu^  isi  Carthaginian  and  of  Roman ; 
until  at  last  the  Augustan  age  saw  its 
little  circuit  ouieted  into  the  centre  of 
ft  cok)ny,  and  man,  finding  nothing 
more  to  rob,  attempted  to  t(J6  no  more. 
When  man  hau  ceased  his  molesta- 
tion, nature  commenced  here ;  and  this 
nnfbrtunate  little  dty  was,  by  a  curious 
fate,  to  be  at  once  extinguished  and 
preserved,  to  perish  from  the  face  of 
the  Roman  empire,  and  to  live  when 
Rome  was  a  nest  of  monks  and  mum- 
mers, and  her  empire  Unrn  into  frag- 
ments for  Turk,  Russian,  Austrian, 
Prussian,  and  the  whole  host  iji  bar- 
barian names  that  were  once  as  the 
dust  of  her  feet.  In  the  year  of  the 
Christian  era  63,  an  earthquake  shew- 
ed the  dty  on  wliat  tenure  her  lease 


Fmf9H.  473 

was  held.  Whole  streets  wen  thrown 
down,  and  the  evidences  of  hasty  re- 
pair are  still  to  be  detected. 

From  this  period,  occasional  warn* 
ings  were  given  in  ^ht  shocks ;  un- 
til, in  the  year  79,  Vesuvius  poured 
out  all  his  old  accumulation  of  terrora 
at<mce,  and  on  the  dearing  away  of 
the  doud  of  fire  and  ashes  which  co- 
vered CampMiia  for  four  days,  Pom* 
pdi,  widi  all  its  multitude,  was  gone. 
The  Romans  seem  to  have  be^  as 
fond  of  vOlas  as  if  evenr  soul  of  them 
had  made  fortunes  in  Cheapside,  and 
the  whole  southern  ooast  was  covered 
with  the  summer  palaces  of  thols 
lords  of  the  worid.  Vesuvius  is  now 
a  formidable  foundation  for  a  house 
whose  inhabitants  may  not  widi  to 
be  sucked  into  a  furnace  ten  thousand 
fiithoms  dee^;  or  roasted  9uh  atrt 
aperto;  but  it  was  then  asleep^  and 
hiid  never  flung  up  spark  or  stone  . 
from  time  immemonaL  To  those  who 
look  upon  it  now  in  its  torors,  grim, 
blasted,  and  lifting  up  its  sooty  fore*« 
head  among  the  piles  of  perpetual 
smoke  that  are  to  be  enlightenea  only 
bv  its  bursts  of  fire,  the  very  throne 
of  Pluto  and  Vulcan  UMrether,  no  force 
of  fancy  may  picture  what  it  was  when 
the  Roman  built  his  palaces  and  pa- 
vilions on  its  side.  A  pyramid  of 
three  thousand  feet  high,  ptunted  over 
with  garden,  forest,  vineyard,  and  or- 
chard, ripening  under  the  southtfn 
sun,  zon^  with  colonnades,  and  tur- 
rets, and  golden  roofs,  and  marble 
porticos,  wilh  the  eternal  azure  of  the 
Campanian  sky  for  its  canopy,  and 
the  Meditaranean  at  its  feet,  glitter- 
ing in  the  cdoure  of  sunrise,  noon, 
and  eveniuff,  like  an  infinite  Turkey 
carpet  let  down  from  the  steps  of  a 
throne, — all  this  was  turned  into  dn- 
dere,  lava,  and  hot^water,  on  (if  we 
can  trust  to  chronology)^  the  firat 
day  of  November,  anno  Domini  79, 
in  the  fint  year  o^  the  Emperor  Titna. 
The  whole  story  is  told  in  the  young^ 
Pliny's  lettere ;  or,  if  the  illustration 
of  one  who  thought  himsdf  bom  for 
a  describer,  IHo  Cassiut,  be  sought,  it 
will  be  found  that  this  eruption  waa 
worthy  of  the  work  it  bad  to  do,  and 
was  a  handsome  recompense  ~for  the 
long  slumber  of  the  volcana  The 
Continent,  throughout  its  whole  south- 
ern range,  prolMd>ly  fdt  this  vigorous 
awakening.  Rome  was  covered  with 
the  ashes,  of  which  Northern  Africa, 
Egypt,  and  Asia.  Minor,  had  their 


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474  Pompeii* 

share;  the  iuu  was  tamed  into  blood 
and  darkness,  and  the  people  thought 
that  the  destruction  of  the  world  was 
come. 

At  the  dose  of  the  eruption,  Vesu- 
vius stood  forth  the  naked  giant  that 
he  is  at  this  hour — the  pokces  and 
the  gardens  were  all  dust  and  air — 
the  sky  was  stained  with  that  doud 
which  still  sits  like  a  crown  of  wrath 
upon  his  brow — the  plain  at  his  foot^ 
wnere  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii 
apread  their  circuses  and  temples,  like 
cnildren's  toys>  was  covered  over  with 
^d,  charcoal,  and  smoke ;  and  the 
whole  was  left  for  a  mighty  moral 
against  the  danger  of  trusting  to  the 
skep  of  a  volcano. 

All  was  then  at  an  end  with  the 
cities  below  ;  the  population  were 
burnt,  and  had  no  more  need  of  houses. 
The  Roman  nobles  had  no  passion  for 
combustion,  and  kept  aloof;  the  winds 
and  rain,  robbers,  and  the  malaria, 
were  the  sole  tenants  of  the  land ;  and 
^in  this  way  rolled  fifteen  hundred 
years  over  the  bones  of  the  vintners, 
sailors,  and  snug  citizens  of  the  Ve- 
suvian  cities.  But  their  time  was  to 
come ;  and  their  beds  were  to  be  per- 
forated by  French  and  Neapolitan 
Sick-axes,  and  to  be  visited  by  Eng- 
sh  feet,  and  sketched  and  written 
about,  and  lithographed,  till  all  the 
worid  wished  that  they  had  never  been 
disturbed.  The  first  discoveries  were 
accidental,  for  no  Neapolitan  ever 
struck  a  spade  into  the  ground  that  he 
could  help,  nor  harboured  a  volun- 
tary idea  but  of  macaroni,  intrigue, 
monkery,  or  the  gaming-table.  The 
spade  struck  upon  a  key,  which,  of 
course,  belongea  to  a  door,  the  door 
had  an  inscription,  and  the  names  of 
the  buried  cities  were  brought  to  light, 
to  the  boundless  perplexity  of  the  learn- 
ed, the  merciless  curiosity  of  the  blue- 
stockings of  tJie  17th  century,  and  dl 
others  to  come,  and  the  thankless, 
reckless,  and  ridiculous  profit  of  that 
whole  race  of  rascality,  the  guides^ 
dcerones,  abb^,  and  antiquarians. 

But  Italian  vigour  is  of  all  things 
the  most  easily  exhausted,  where  it 
has  not  the  lash  or  the  bribe  to  feed 
its  waste,  and  the  dties  slumbered  fbr 
twenty  years  more,  tiU,  in  1711,  a 
duke,  wno  was  dig^ng  for  marbles  to 
urn  into  mortar,  ifoiuid  a  Hercules, 
and  a  whole  heap  of  fVactured  beau- 
ties, a  row  of  Greek  columns,  and  a 


CApffi' 


little  temple.  Again,  ^  dties  ihim« 
bered,  till,  in  1738,  a  King  of  Naplea, 
on  whom  light  may  the  earUi  rest, 
commenced  digging,  and  streets,  tem- 
ples, theatres  opened  out  to  the  iOD, 
to  be  at  rest  no  more. 

So  few  details  of  the  original  catas- 
trophe are  to  be  found  in  historians, 
that  we  can  scarcely  estimate  the  ac- 
tual human  sufierinff,  which  is,  aftar 
all,  almost  the  only  tilling  to  be  consi- 
dered as  a  misfortune.  It  is  probable 
that  the  population  of,  at  least,  Pom- 
peii had  time  to  make  their  escape. 
A  pedlar's  pack  would  contain  all  tne 
valuables  left  in  Pompeii;  and  the 
people  who  had  time  thus  to  dear 
their  premises,  must  have  been  siiwiif 
larl^  tbnd  of  hasard  if  th^  staid  fin* 
genng  within  the  reach  of  the  erup- 
tion. But  some  roelandidy  evidences 
remain  that  all  were  not  so  suooessfuL 
In  one  of  the  last  excavations  made 
by  the  French,  four  female  skdetona 
were  found  lying  together,  with  their 
ornaments,  bracelets,  and  rin^,  and 
with  their  little  hoard  of  coins  in  gdd 
and  silver.  They  had  probably  been 
suBfbcated  by  the  sulphureous  vapour. 
In  a  wine-cellar,  known  by  its  jars 
ranged  round  the  wall,  a  male  skdeton, 
supposed  to  be  that  of  the  master,  by 
his  seal-ring,  was  found  as  if  he  had 
perished  in  the  attempt  at  fordng  the « 
door.  In  another,  a  male  skdeton  was 
found  with  an  axe  in  his  hand,  bedde 
a  door  which  he  was  breaking  open. 
In  a  prison,  the  skeletons  of  men  chain- 
ed to  the  wall  were  found.  If  it  were 
not  like  affectation  to  regret  agony 
that  has  passed  away  so  long,  it  might 
be  conceived  as  a  palliation  of  that 
agony,  that  it  was  probably  the  work 
of  a  moment,  that  the  vapour  of  the 
eruption  extinguished  life  at  once,  and 
that  these  unfortunates  perished,  not 
because  they  were  left  behind  in  the 
general  flight,  but  were  left  behind 
because  they  had  peridied. 

A  large  portion  of  Pompeii  is  now 
uncovered.  This  was  an  easy  i^eratioD, 
for  its  covering  was  ashes,  themsdves 
covered  by  vegetable  soil,  and  that 
again  covered  oy  verdure  and  vine- 
yards. Herculaneum  reserves  its  de- 
velopement  for  another  generation ;  its 
cover  is  lava,  solid  as  rock ;  and  that 
again  covered  with  two  villsges  snd  a 
royal  palace ;  and  the  vrhole  under 
the  protection  of  a  still  surer  guard, 
Neapolitan  stupidity,  poverty,  imd  in- 


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1834.3 


ddence.  The  FRnonma  gives  a  stri- 
ke coop-d'ceil  ctf  one  of  tbe  two  great 
excavations  of  Foropeii.  The  Fomm^ 
the  narrow  streets,  the  little  Greek 
bouses,  with  their  remnants  of  orna- 
mental painting,  their  corridores  and 
their  tessdated  floors,  are  seen,  as  they 
might  have  been  seen  the  day  before 
die  eruption.    The  snrroundii^  land- 


i^ompeti.  475 

scape  has  the  grandeur  that  the  eye 
looks  fbr  in  a  volcanic  country.  Wild 
hills,  fragipents  of  old  lavas,  richly 
broken  shores,  and  in  the  centre  the 
most  picturesque  and  subUme  of  dl 
vcdcanoes,  Vesuvius,  throwing  up  its 
eternal  volumes  of  smoke  to  ue  hea- 
vens. 


LAMENT  FOR  INEZ. 


Oh  thou !  who  in  my  happier  days 

Wert  all  to  me  that  earth  could  hold, 
And  dearer  to  my  youthful  gaze 

Than  tongue  can  tell,  or  words  have 
told. 
Now,  fiur  firom  roe,  unmarkM  and  cold, 

Tblne  ashes  rest— thy  relics  lie ; 
And    mouldering  in    earth's   common 
mould 

The  frame  that  seem'd  too  fiiir  to  die ! 


The  stranger  treads  my  haunts  at  mom, 

And  stops  to  scan  upon  the  tree 
Letters  by  Time's  rude  finger  worn. 

That  bore  tbe  earthly  name  of  thee. 
To  him  *tiB  all  unknown ;  and  he 

Strays  pn  amid  the  woodland  scene  ; 
And  thou,  to  |ill  alive  but  me. 

Art  now  as  thou  badst  never  been. 


Ah !  little  didst  thou  think,  when  I 
With  thee  have  roam'd  at  eventide, 

Mark'd  setting  syn,  and  purpling  sky. 
And  saunter'd  by  tbe  river's  side. 

And  gazed  on  thee— my  destined  bride- 
How  soon  thou  should'st  from  hence 
depart. 

And  leave  me  here  without  a  guide,— 
With  ruin'd  hopes,  and  broken  heart 


Oh,  Inez !  Inez  1 1  have  seen, 

Above  this  spot  where  thou  art  laid, 
Wild  flowers  and  weeds  all  rankly  green. 

As  if  in  mockery  wild  dlsplay'd ! 
In  sombre  twilight's  purple  shade. 

My  steps  have  to  thy  gnve  sojoum'd ; 
And  as  I  mused  o'er  h<^pes  decay'd. 

Mine  eyes  have  stream'd,  my  heart 
hathbum'd. 


I  thought  of  days  for  ever  fled— 

When  thou  wert  being's  Morning-Star 
I  thought  of  feelings  nourished 

In  secret,  mid  the  world's  loud  jar ! 
I  thought,  how,  from  the  crowd  afiu>, 

I  loved  to  stray,  and  for  thee  sigh ; 
Nor  deem'd,  when  winds  and  waves  a 

bar 

Between  us  placed,  that  thou  should^st 
die. 

I  saw  thee  not  in  thy  distress, 

Nor  ever  knew  that  pale  disease 
Was  preying  on  that  loveliness. 

Whose  smiles  all  earthly  ills  could 
ease; 
But,  when  afar  upon  the  seas, 

I  call'd  thy  magic  form  to  mind, 
I  little  dreamt  that  charms  like  these 

Were  to  Death's  icy  arms  resign'd. 

Now  years  have  pass'd— and  years  may 


Earth  not  a  fear  nor  charm  can  have^ 
Ah !  no— I  could  not  view  the  grass, 

That  revels  rustling  o'er  thy  grave ! 
My  day  is  one  long  ruffled  wave ; 

The  night  is  not  a  lake  of  rest ; 
I  dream,  and  nought  is  with  roe,  save 

A  troubled  scene— Despair  my  guest; 

Or  if,  ma^p,  my  slumbering  hour 
Should  paint  thee  to  mine  arms  re- 
stored. 
Then,  then,  the  bliss-fraught  dream  has 
power 
A  moment's  rapture  to  aflbrd ; 
Biirth  cheen  tbe  heart,  and  crowns  the 


My  bosom's  burden  finds  relief; 

I  brcsitbe  thy  name    but  at  that  word 

1  wake  to  dariuiess,  and  to  grief! 


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476  Lamenifw  Inesn.  [[April, 

WeU— be  it  to— I  would  not  lot«  All  that  coiild  Uism  a  mortal  eye, 

The  tboiqsbtt  to  thee  that  madly  cleave,        AH  that  could  ebarm  Ih*  imraoital 
For  all  the  vacant  mirth  of  those,  mind ; 

Who^  hearties^  think   it  wrong  Co  And  wean  from  frail  variety, 

grieve ;  Were  in  thy  form  and  soul  combin'd. 

I^o— -nought  on  earth  can  now  retrieve 

The  l06S  my  soul  hath  felt  in  thee  s  Tliough  angel  now,  thou  yet  ma/tt  deign 
Such  hours  of  foolish  joy  would  leave  To  bend  thy  radiant  look  on  me. 

More  darkness  in  my  misery !  And  view  the  breast  where  thou  did*st 

reign, 
Inez,  to  me  the  light  of  life  Still  pining  in  its  love  for  thee ; 

Wert  thou,  when  youth's  fond  pulse  Then,  let  me  bend  to  Heaven's  decree, 
beat  high.  Support  this  drooping  soul  of  mine  ; 

And  free  from  care,  and  free  from  strife,  And,  since  to  thine  tt  may  not  flee. 

Day  foUow'd  day  without  a  sigh ;  Oh !  teach  me  humbly  to  resign  ! 


THE  LATE  XI88  SOFHIA  LEE. 

In  the  obituary,  onr  readers  will,  we  are  persuaded,  see  with  ^regret  the 
name  of  Sophia  Lee,  author  of  "  the  Chapter  of  Accidents,"  *'  Reoesa," 
&c.  Those  amongst  them  who  recollect  the  great  success  of  these  wmrks, 
as  well  as  their  striking  and  original  merit,  will  wonder  that  a  writer,  who,  at 
an  early  age,  could  thus  secure  the  admiration  of  the  public,  should  have 
had  sell^ommand  enough  not  to  devote  h^r  after-life  to  that  whidi  was 
evidently  both  her  taste  and  talent ;  but  the  correct  judgment  and  singular 
prudence  of  Miss  Lee  early  induced  her  to  prefer  a  permanent  situation  and 
active  duties  to  the  dazzling,  but  precarious,  reputation  of  a  popular  aathoc 
Together  with  her  sisters,  one  of  whom  had  also  a  Uterary  talent,  she  esta- 
blished a  seminary  at  Bath  for  the  education  of  young  ladies ;  and  her  name, 
like  that  of  Mrs  Hannah  More,  in  a  similar  situation  at  Bristol,  gave  a  dia-> 
tittction  to  it  which  it  is  to  be  wished  was  always  as  well  deserved  in  every  es- 
tablishment of  the  kind.  At  intervals,  however,  she  still  fbund  rdaxutkm  in 
the  indulgence  of  her  genius ;  and  among  her  later  productions,  die  tragedy  of 
*'  Almeyda,  Q^een  of  Grrenada»"  and  the  ''  Canterbury  Tales,"  in  whidi  she 
associated  herself  as  a  writer  with  her  sister,  are  most  admired ;  and  these, 
with  the  ''  Lifb  of  a  Lover,"  and  a  ballad  called  the  *'  Hermit's  Tak/'  were 
all  the  works  she  ever  published. 

On  the  13th  of  March,  she  closed  a  long  and  meritorious  life  with  pious  re- 
signation,  preserving  almost  to  the  last  those  strong  intellectual  powers,  and 
that  toidemesa  of  heart,  which  rendered  her  valuable  to  the  public,  and  deep- 
ly regretted^  not  only  by  her  reladves,  but  by  all  to  whom  she  was  pononany 
known. 


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1 824.^  IFork*  preparing  Jar  PubikaHon. 

WORKS  PREPARIKQ  FOR  PUBLICATION. 


477 


LONDON. 


>  Proposals  hare  been  issued  for  pub- 
lishing TVelve  Views  of  Calcutta  and  iu 
Savironsy  from  Drawings  executed  by 
James  B.  Fraser,  from  Sketches  made  on 
the  spot*  The  Plates  will  be  engraved 
in  the  very  best  style  of  Aquatinta,  by 
R.  Havell,  and  coloured  to  represent 
Drawings;  the  size  17  inches  by  11, 
mounted  in  the  best  manner,  at  the  rate 
of  2L  for  each  number. 

A  new  Translation  of  Josephus,  the 
Jewish  Historian,  is  preparing  for  publi- 
cation. 

Captain  Brook  is  preparing  for  the 
presf),  a  Narrative  of  a  Short  Residence 
m  Norwegian  Li^land,  with  an  Account 
of  a  Winter  Journey,  performed  with 
Rein-deer,  through  Norwegian  Russia 
and  Swedish  Lapland,  interspersed  with 
numerous  Plates,  and  various  Particulars 
respecting  the  Habits  of  the  Laplanders. 
The  First  Part  of  the  Irish  Ecclesias- 
tical  Register,  edited  under  the  sanction 
of  the  Board  of  First  Fruits.  By  John 
C  Brook,  A.  M.  To  be  concluded  in 
Four  Parts. 

Memoirs  of  the  Life,  Character,  and 
Works,  of  the  late  celebrated  Sculptor, 
Antonio  Canova ;  with  an  Historical 
Sketch  of  Modem  Sculpture ;  from  ori- 
ginal documents  and  observations,  col- 
lected during  a  recent  Tour  in  Italy ;  by 
J.  S.  Memes,  Esq.,  A.  M.»  are  now  in 
the  press. 

Shortly  will  be  published,  The  Laws 
of  the  British  West  India  Colonies,  syn- 
thetically arranged,  eontaining  the  Laws 
of  the  Legislatures  of  the  different  Islands^ 
with  the  Acts  of  the  English  Parliament, 
and  the  Judicial  Decisions  of  the  Eog- 
Ush  Courts  relative  to  the  West  Indies. 
By  George  Robinson,  Solicitor. 

In  the  press,  Schweighaeuser  Lexicon 
Herodoteum.  The  above  will  be  printed 
uniformly  with  all  the  late  editions  of 
Herodotus,  printed  in  England. 

Mrs  Henford  is  about  to  publish  a 
Compendious  Chart  of  Ancient  History 
and  Biography,  designed  principally  for 
the  use  of  young  persons. 

Hie  Prophecy,  an  Historical  Romaiice, 
will  shortly  appear. 

Mountain  Rambles,  and  other  Poems, 
by  G.  H.  Storie,  are  annomeed. 

Poems;  by  Thomas  Wilkinson,  are  in 
the  press. 

The  D«ry  of  Henry  Teonge,  a  Chap- 
lam  on  board  the  English  F^te  Auui^ 


tmce,  from  1675  to  1679;  contaming  a 
Narrative  of  the  Expedition  against  IVi- 
poll  in  1675»  Descriptions  of  the  Re- 
markable Places  at  which  the  FrigaU 
touched,  and  the  most  curious  Details  of 
the  Economy  and  Discipline  of  the  Navy 
in  the  time  of  Charles  II. 

A  work  entitled.  The  Family  Picture 
Gallery ;  or,  Every  Day  Scenes,  drawn 
by  many  close  observers,  is  in  the  press. 

Observations  on  a  Bill  now  before 
Parliament,  for  the  Consolidation  and 
Amendment  of  the  Laws  relating  to 
Bankrupts,  and  on  the  Law  of  Insol- 
vency.    By  J.  S.  M,  Fonblanque. 

The  complete  Works  of  the  Rev.  Phi- 
lip Skelton,  of  Trinity  CoUege,  Dublin, 
with  Memoirs  of  his  Life.  By  the  Rev. 
Samuel  Burdy,  A.B. 

Arom  Smith's  Narrative  of  the  Suffer- 
ings he  underwent  during  his  Captivity 
among  the  Pirates  in  the  Island  of  Cuba, 
is  now  in  the  press. 

Scenes  and  Impression)  in  Egypt  and 
in  Italy,  b^  the  Author  of  Recollections 
of  the  Penmsula,  will  soon  appear. 

The  Principles  of  Medical^  Science 
and  Practice,  deduced  from  the  Pheno- 
mena observed  in  Health  and  in  Disease. 

Narrative  of  an  Excursion  to  tlie 
Mountains  of  Piedmont,  in  the  year 
1883,  and  Researches  among  the  Vau- 
dois,  with  Illustrations  of  the  History  of 
these  Protestant  Inhabitants  of  the  Cot- 
tian  Alps;  with  an  Appendix,  contain- 
ing important  Documents  from  Ancient 
MSS.     By  the  Rev.  W.  S,  GUly. 

Letters  to  the  Right  Hon.  Sir  John 
Newport,  Bart.,  on  Fees  in  Courts  of 
Justice,  and  the  Scamp  Duties  on  Law 
Proceedings,  by  James  Glassford,  Esq., 
is  now  in  the  press. 

Captain  Wallace  is  about  to  publish 
Memoirs  of  India,  comprising  a  brief 
Geographical  Account  of  the  East  In- 
dies, and  a  succinct  History  of  Hindos- 
tan,  from  the  early  ages  lo  the  sad  of  the 
Msi^ids  of  Hastiags's  AdmiaistratioB  in 
1823;  designed  for  the  use  of  young 
men  going  oat  to  India. 

A  Fkmiliar  and  Explanatory  Address 
to  Yotm^  Uniafomed,  and  Scrupnlons 
Christians,  on  die  Nature  and  Design  of 
the  Lord's  Sapper. 

Lituigioil  Cousideiatiops,  or  an  Apo- 
logy for  the  Daily  Service  of  the  Gboicfa, 
contained  hi  the  Book  of  Common 
PTaysr. 


Digitized  by 


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478 

Mr  SolooMm  Bennett  has  issued  the. 
ProQ>ecttis  of  a  work  to  be  entitled.  The 
Temple  of  Kaekiel,  or  an  Illustration  of 
the  iOth,  4l8t,  and  42d  Chapters  of  Eze- 
kiel. 

Ellen  Ramsey,  a  TVde  of  Fashionable 
Lifie,  is  announced  for  speedy  publica- 
tion. 

The  Laws  of  the  British  West  India 
Colonies,  synthetically  arranged,  by  Geo. 
Robinson,  Esq.,  will  soon  appear. 

Poetic  Vigtls,  by  Bernard  Barton,  is 
in  the  press. 

The  Demon  Dwar(  by  the  Author  of 
the  Syren  of  Venice. 

The  Author  of  Caltborpe  has  a  Ro- 
mance in  the  press,  entitled  the  Witch 
Finder. 

Idwal,  a  Poem,  in  Three  Cantos,  is 
announced. 

Mr  Bewicke  has  in  the  press,  a  Trea- 
tise on  the  Principles  of  Indemnity  in 
Marine  Insurances,  Bottomry,  and  Re- 
spondensia;  containing  Practical  Rules 
for  effecting  Insurances,  and  for  the  ad- 
justment of  all  kinds  of  Losses  and  Ave- 
rages. 

The  Christian  Father's  Present  to  his 
Children.     By  the  Re^.  J.  A.  James. 

A  Work  is  in  preparation,  under  the 
title  of  the  Classical  Cyclopedia,  which 
seems  lil^ly  to  supply  a  desideratum  in 
our  literature.  It  is  to  contain,  in  a  neat 
foiln,  and  at  a  very  moderate  price,  the 
substance  not  only  of  what  has  been  writ- 
ten, but  of  what  has  been  drawn  and  en- 
graved, in  ilkistration  of  the  Customs, 
Manners,  and  History  of  the  Ancient 
Nations.  It  promises  to  be  of  general 
interest,  from  the  nature  of  the  subjects 
and  the  number  of  the  plates,  and  of  im- 
portancc  in  the  Schools,  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  notes  with  copious  classical  re- 
ferences. ' 

Mr  Prinze  of  Cape  Town  is  preparing 
for  publication  some  account  of  the  pre- 
sent State  of  the  English  Settlers  in  Al- 
bany, South  Africa. 


Works  prfparhig/or  PmhiieaHon. 


CAfril, 


In  the  press,  and  speedily  will  be  pub- 
lished, a  volume  of  Sermons.  By  the  late 
Rev.  James  Richard  Vernon,  assistant- 
preacher  at  St  Paul's,  Covent-Garden,  and 
evening  lecturer  of  St  Mary-le-bone, 
Cbeapside. 

J.  H.  Wiffen*8  completed  IVanahi- 
tion  of  Tasso  is  in  the  press,  and  in  a 
state  of  great  forwardness.  The  First 
Volume  will  be  issued  to  subscribers  the 
latter  end  of  April,  printed  from  types 
cast  expressly  for  the  work,  and  embel- 
lished with  Ten  fine  Engravings  on  wood, 
from  designs  by  Mr  Corbould,  and  a  Por- 
trait  of  Tasso,  from  an  original  painting 
presented  to  the  Author.  By  W.  Roscoe, 
Esq. 

In  the  press,  and  speedily  will  be  pub- 
lished, the  Cross  and  the  Crescent ;  an 
heroic  metrical  romance,  partially  found- 
ed on  MathildL  By  the  Rev.  James 
Beresford,  M.  D.  Rector  of  Kibworth, 
Leicestershire,  late  Fellow  of  Merton 
College. 

A  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Liverpool,  on 
the  proposed  Annexion  of  the  King's 
Library  to  tliat  of  the  British  Museum. 
By  one  of  the  People. 

In  One  Volume,  foolscap.  The  Loves 
of  the  Colours,  and  other  Poems. 

Mr  Jennings,  who  recently  published 
Doctor  Meyrick's  splendid  volumes  on 
Ancient  Armour,  has  in  the  press  a  new 
work  on  European  Scenery,  by  Captain 
Batty^  of  the  Grenadier  Guards.  It  will 
comprise  a  selection  of  Sixty  of  the  most 
Picturesque  Views  on  the  Rhine  and 
Maine,  in  Belgium,  and  in  Holland,  and 
will  be  pnblished  uniformly  with  his 
French  and  German  Scenery.  The  first 
Artist  of  the  Metropolis  having  been  en- 
gaged to  Engrave  the  Plates,  and  the 
most  literal  plan  having  been  adopted,  it 
is  confidently  trusted,  that,  in  point  of 
execution,  this  will  for  surpass  his  for- 
mer works.  The  First  Number  will  ap- 
pear on  the  first  of  May. 


EDINBURGH. 


The  Devil's  Elixir ;  extracts  from  the 
Posthumous  papers  of  Brother  Medar- 
4ua,  a  Capuchin.     In  two  vola*  19mo. 

An  Account  of  the  Life  and  Writings 
of  the  late  Thomas  Brown,  M.D.,  Pro- 
liessor  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  the  Uni- 
versity of  Edinburgh,  wiU  soon  be  pub- 
lished t^  the  Rev.  D.  Welsh. 

Traditions  of  Edinburgh^  or  Legends 
and  Anecdotes  respecting  the  City  in 
former  times,  are  preparing. 

A  Treatise  on  Mineralogy.  By  Fred. 
Mohs.  Translated  from  the  Gennas,  by 


William  Haidinger.  In  2  vols,  post  8vo, 
with  numerous  Figures. 

The  Life  and  Diary  of  LieuL-Colooel 
John  Blackadder.  By  Andrew  Crichton, 
&T.P.     In  ISma 

Speedily  will  be  published,  Renfrew- 
shire Characters  and  Scenery,  a  Poem, 
in  36^  Cantos.  By  Isaac  Brown,  late 
Manufacturer  in  the  Plunkin  of  Paisley ; 
with  Curious  Notes,  by  Cornelius  Mac- 
Dirdum,  Ludimagister  and  Session  Clerk. 
— *<  What  do  you  lack,  gentlemen,  what 
do  you  lack?  Any  fine  fimdej^  figures. 


Digitized  by 


Google 


1994.;] 


W^Ofki  Prtpark^fjbr  PMkMm. 


,  ldea%  deilnitioiit  of 
lorit  and  ladiat»  wftit^women,  pam. 
«itei^  kaightib  cipCiiii%  conrtien,  lanr- 
3ren?  What  do  70a  lack?**— JUbiam'* 
MmtHekLad^ 

BftMXy  will  be  publiriied,  Egmoot,  a 
Tngady,  in  Rve  Aet%  tmuJated  from 
the  German  of  OoStbe. 

The  Bev.  Robert  Bumib  Minister  of 
fit  Oeoige*8  Chnrcfa,  Fftiiley,  hat  a  work 
in  the  prem,  on  the  sufejeet  of  Ptofalitiet 
In  the  Chnrch  of  Scotland ;  ezhUtlting  a 
view  of  their  Hiitorj  in  general"  their 
inconiittenqr  with  the  doe  discharge  of 
Frntonl  Obligationa— the  light  in  which 
they  have  been  Tiewed  by  the  Reformed 
Chnrchei  at  large,  and  bj  the  Church  of 
Scotland  in  particidar  and  the  power  of 
the  Chnrch  to  pot  them  down— The 
work  will  alto  contain  a  particular  exa- 
mhiation  of  the  Act  of  Aeaemhly,  1817 ; 
and  a  review  of  the  iHiole  eontrorenj 


4r» 

regarding  the  a^iointBient  of  Principal 
M<Fkilane  to  the  Inner  High  Church  of 
GUugow.  The  work  is  expected  to  be 
ready  about  the  middle  of  March. 

Dr  Kennedy,  of  Glasgow,  has  in  the 
press,  a  work  to  be  entitled.  Instructions 
to  Mothers  and  Nurses  on  the  Manage- 
ment of  Children,  in  Health  and  Dis- 
ease ;  comprehending  Popular  Rules  for 
regulating  their  Diet,  DrCss,  Exerdssb 
and  Medicines ;  together  with  a  yariety 
of  Plrescriptiotts  adapted  to  the  use  of 
the  Nursoy.— This  work  will  form  a 
neat  volume  in  l£mo.  of  about  250  pa- 
ges. It  will  be  ready  for  publication  in 
the  early  part  of  next  month 

Mr  William  Knox  has  in  the  pres%  a 
volume  of  Sacred  Lyrics,  entitled.  Songs 
of  Israel,  which  will  be  published  in  a 
few  weeks  by  John  Anderson,  jun.,  55^ 
North  Bridge  Street,  Edinburgh. 


MONTHLY  LIST  OF  NEW  PUBLICATIONa 


LONDON. 


▲NTIQUTriES. 

Part  I.  of  an  Historical,  Antiquarian, 
and  Topographical  Account  of  the  An- 
cient and  Present  State  of  the  PSrish 
and  I^laoe  of  Lambeth,  Surrey,  accom- 
panied by  a  Plan.     2s.  6d.  eadi  part. 

Put  L  of  Monumental  Antiquities  of 
Great  Britain,  from  Drawings  by  £. 
Blore. 

BIOGRAPHY. 

Memoirs  of  Rossini,  by  the  Author  of 
the  Lives  of  Haydn  and  Mozart  8vo, 
10s.  6d. 

Nugse  Chirurgiea^  or  a  Biographical 
Bfiscellany,  illustrative  of  a  Collection  of 
Professional  Portraits.  By  WUliam  Wadd, 
Esq.,  F.L.S. 

Life  of  Joseph  Brasbridge,  Silversmith* 
of  Fleet-street.    8s. 

VoL  V.  of  Sir  John  Fenn*s  Original . 
Letters. 

EDUCATION. 

A  Concise  New  Gazetteerof  the  Worid» 
for  the  use  of  Schools,  describing  the  re- 
spective Situation,  Extent,  and  Bounda- 
ries, of  its  great  Natural  Features  and 
Political  Divisions.  ByC.  Eamshaw.68. 

Tk«duction  Francaise,  ou  Clef  du  Ma« 
nnel  Epistolaire,  a  I'usage  des  Jeunes 
Demoiselles  Anglaises.  Par  Mme.  De 
Froux,  Native  de  Paris.    38.  6d. 

FINB  ARTS. 

An  Easy  and  Familiar  Drawing-Book, 
Vol.  XV. 


systematically  arranged ;  chiefly  intended 
to  assist  Beginners ;  with  illustrative 
Remarks,  on  the  First  Rudiments  of 
Landscape  Drawing,  and  Practical  Per- 
spective.    By  John  Marten.     Is. 

A  Portrait  of  Sir  Astley  Cooper,  Bart, 
Surgeon  to  the  King,  &c  &c.  Engraved 
from  an  Original  Drawing  by  Mr  J.  W. 
Rubidge.     128. 

Part  L  of  Museum  Worsleyanum ;  or, 
a  Collection  of  Antique  Basso  Relievos, 
Bustos,  Statues,  and  Gems,  with  Views 
of  Places  in  the  Levant^This  work 
will  be  completed  in  Twelve  Pkrts,  of 
the  sise  of  imperial  4to.  at  R  1^  each 
PSrt,  of  which  225  only  will  be  printed, 
and 25 copies  on  India  paper,  2L  2s.  each. 

A  Portrait  of  Mrs  Hannali  More,  from 
a  Picture  in  the  possession  of  Sir  T.  D. 
Aclsnd,  Bart,  M.P.  Panted  by  H.  W. 
PickersgtII,  A.  R.  A. ;  and  Engraved,  in 
the  line  manner,  by  W.  H.  Wmthington. 
Proof  impressfons,  on  Indm  paper,  2L  2s. ; 
Prints,  U.  is. 

Thirty-five  Views  on  the  Thames,  at 
Richmond,  Eton,  Oxford,  and  Windsor ; 
drawn  by  W.  Westell,  Esq.,  A.  R.  A.— 
Any  Number  of  this  work  nmy  be  por- 
chMed  separately,  price  Os.  each,  or  on 
India  paper,  price  12b.  6d. 

LAW. 

A  Treatise  on  the  Law  of  Actions  on 
Statutes,  Remedial  as  well  as  Penal,  in 
3  Q 


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460 

general ;  tnd  on  tlie  Stnlates  respecting 
Copyright ;  for  ofliMices  against  the  Law 
eonoeming  the  Election  of  Members  to 
Parliament;  against  the  Huailredi  and 
against  Sheriffs  or  their  Officers.  By 
Isaac  'Espinasse. 

A  Few  Remarks  on  the  Question  of 
the  Bight  to  Pablish  the  Proceedings  on 
the  Ooroner's  Inquisition,  with  an  Ex- 
amination of  the  Case  of  the  King  v. 
Fleet 

MEDICIlfB  4ND  8U10KEY 

A  Short  Treatise  on  Operative  Sarge- 
ry,  describing  the  principal  Operations  as 
they  are  practised  in  England  and  FranoOi 
By  Charles  AveriU,  Surgeon,  Chelten- 
ham.     68. 

Observations  and  Cases,  illustrmtive  of 
the  Efficacy  of  Oxygen  or  Vital  Air  in 
the  Cure  of  Cancerous  and  other  Glan- 
dular  Enlargements.  By  Daniel  Hill, 
M.D.    28. 

The  New  London  Dispensatory ;  con- 
taining a  translation  of  the  Pharmacopoeia 
of  the  Royal  College  of  Physicians  of 
1824.  ^  By  Thomas  Cox,  M.  D. 

A  Treatise  on  the  Radical  Cure  of 
Rupture  By  Wm.  Dufour.     56. 

A  Translation  of  the  New  Pharma-^ 
copceia  of  the  London  College  of  Phjr- 
sicians  for  the  present  year.  By  a  Scotch 
Physician,  resident  in  London.    Ss.  6d.  ] 

Pharmacopoeia  Collegii  Regalis  Medi- 
corum  Londinensis.     MDCCCXXIV. 

M18CBLLANIE& 

The  Privileges  of  the  University  of 
Cambridge;  in  a  Chronological  Series, 
Irom  the  Earliest  Times ;  together  with 
additional  Observations  on  its  History, 
Antiquities,  Biography,  and  Literature, 
including  Accounts  of  some  Libraries  and 
curious  Books  and  Manuscripts  in  them. 
By  George  Dyer,  Author  of  the  History 
of  the  University  and  Colleges  of  Cam- 
bridge.   In  two  vols.   L.2,  2s. 

A  Plan  for  the  Establishment  of  a 
National  Bank.  By  the  late  David  Ri- 
cardo,  Esq.  M.  P.     2s.  6d. 

The  Annual  Army  List,  with  an  Index. 

Letter  to  the  Hon.  J.  Abercrombie, 
M.  P.  on  the  New  Irish  Tithe  Bill. 
By 

The  West  India  Colonies;  the  Ca- 
lumnies and  Misrepresentations  circu- 
lated against  them  by  the  Edinburgh  Re- 
view, Mr  Clarkson,  Mr  Cropper,  &c 
Examined  and  Refuted.  By  James 
M'Ctueen. 

On  Delights,  their  Origin,  Variety, 
Uses,  and  Ends,  togetlier  with  the  im- 
portant Duties  to  which  they  point  By 
the  Rev.  J.  Clowes,  M.  A.     3s. 

Cheap  Charity;  a  Dialogue  on  the 
present  condition  of  the  Negroes ;  being 


M&H^  LUt  of  New  PubHeaiumt. 


tAptO, 


an  endeavour  to  shew  theor  rea^stato  ni 
the  West  India  Colonies,  the  taeitioM 
nMde  by  their  owners  for  their  UnpfoiFa*. 
meat,  and  the  laistakgn  opituons  wUeh 
prevail  generally  on  the  subject. 

The  Correspondence  between  J<^n 
Gladstone,  M.^P.  and  James  Cropper^ 
Esq.,  on  the  Present  State  of  Slavery 
in  the-  British  West  Indies,  and  m  the 
United  States  of  America;  and  on  the 
Importation  of  Sugar  from  the  British 
SettleraenU  in  India.  With  an  Appen* 
iix^  containing  several  Pq>ers  on  the 
Subject  of  Slavery. 

Observations  on  the  Vagrant  Act,  Mid 
some  other  Statutes,  and  on  tiie  ofllee 
and  powers  of  Justioes  of  the  Peaee.  By 
John  Adolphus,  Esq. 

A  Complete  Collection  of  the  IVeaties 
and  Conventions  at  present  suhsktiag 
between  Great  Britain  and  F(«relgB 
Powers,  so  fiir  as  they  relate  to  Com« 
merce  and  Navigation ;  to  the  Repres- 
sion and  Abolition  of  the  SUre  Thide. 
&C.  Compiled  from  Authentic  Docu- 
ments. By  Lewis  Hertslet,  Esq.  2  njHa, 
L.1,48. 

llie  Belise  Merchants  Unmasked; 
or,  a  Review  of  the  late  Proceedings 
agaiqpt  Poyais;  from  information  and 
authentic  documents  gained  on  the  q>oC 
during  a  visit  to  those  parts,  in  the 
month»of  August  and  September  1823. 
By  Colonel  G.  A.  Lowe,  late  Com- 
mandant of  the  Cavalry  of  the  British 
Legion,  and  Chief  of  the  Staff  to  that 
Division  in  the  service  of  Colofnbla. 
Price  2s.  6d. 

Missionary  Incitement,  and  Hindoo 
Demoralization  ;  including  some  Obser- 
vations on  the  political  tendency  of  the 
means  taken  to  Evangelize  Hindoostan. 
By  John  Bowen.     Price  2s.  6d. 

Reflections  on  the  Lieutenancy  of  the 
Marquis  Wellesley. 

An  Essay  on  the  Inventions  and  Cus- 
toms of  Both  Ancients  and  Modems  in 
the  Use  of  Inebriating  Liquors;  inter- 
spersed with  interesting  Anecdotes,  il- 
lustrative of  the  Manners  and  Habits  of 
the  principal  Nations  in  the  Worid. 
By  Samuel  Morewood.     128. 

Observations  on  the  State  of  the  Wine 
Trade ;  occasioned  by  the  perusal  of  a 
Pamphlet  on  the  same  subject^  by  Mr 
Warre,  addressed  to  his  Majesty's  Mini- 
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MONTHLY  REGISTER 


483 


WheaU 
Ist,..  368.  Gd. 

ddj%M38li*  Ocu 


£DINBUROH.-^0H/ 14. 


Beef  (174  OS.  per  Bi.)  Of.  4d.  to  Of.  7^ 

MattOD    .    .    .    .    Of.  6d.  toOs.  7d. 

Veil Of.  6d.  toOf.  lOd. 

P»k   .    .    %    .    .    Of.  5d.  to  Of.  6d. 

Liiab,  per  quarter .    5f.  Od.  toOf.  Od. 

Taflow,  per  stone  .    Of.  Od.  to  Of.  6d. 


Oatf. 

Ift^ 26f.  Od. 

2d, 23s.  Od. 

3d, 18s.  Od. 

Average  £1,'  12«.  6i.  9.12th8. 
Tuetday^  April  13. 

Quartern  Loaf 


Barley. 
l8t,...336.  6d: 
2d,  ...30s.  Od. 
3d,  ...28s.  Od. 


Pease  &  Beans. 

l8^ 248.  Od. 

2d, 22s.  Od. 

3d,  20s.  Od. 


Wheat. 
1st,  ....37s.  4M. 
9d,  ....S8S.  Od. 
3d,  — 28s.  Od. 


Barley. 
1st, ...  34a.  Od. 
9d,  ...  30s.  Od. 
3d,  ...  20s.  Od. 


HADDINGTON.-.^prU  9. 


Os.  9d.  to  Os.  lOd. 
New  Potatoes  (28  lb.)  Os.  lOd.*  to  Os.  Od. 
Fresh  Butter,  per  lb.  Is.  6d.  to  Is.  9d. 
$alt  ditto,  per  stone  16s.  Od.  to  208.  Od. 
Ditto,  per  lb.  ..  Is.  Id.  to  Is.  2d. 
Eggs,  per  doxen      •    Os.    7d.  to  Os.    Od. 


1st,  ....228.  Od. 
2d,  ....20s.  Od. 
3d,  ....18b.  Od. 


lit, 
2d, 
3d, 


Beans. 
....23s.  Od. 
....21s.  Od. 
.«.19s.  Od. 


Oats. 
Isti  ...24s.  Od. 

2d 228.  Od. 

3d,  ....20s.  Od. 

Average  L.  I,  lit.  Id.  5-12ths. 

Average  Prices  o/Cam  in  England  and  WaUt^from  the  Returns  received  in  the  HTeek 

ended  April  & 
Whast»  648.  fkL-<8rlBy»  Mm.  M.p--08ti,  f  ik  td.--R7S,  471. 7dd--Bssu,  868.  M.-^^ 
London^  Cam  Exchange^  April  ft. 


WbaiLrai 
Fins  ditto 


zed«  old  64  to  TtjUnk,  new 


Si  to  56  White  peue  . 
56  to  64|Ditto,  boUoB  . 


WMlcold 


Hfl« 


44  to  50SmaU 
50  to  78  Ditto,  old 
5f  to  56  Tick  ditto,  n 

8n«flDeditto    58  to  64  Ditto,  old    . 

Ditto^MW.        50eo  54FMdaBts    . 

Rye  ....    88  to  42  Fine  ditto  . 

Bntey.  new    .    80  to  8S  Potand  ditto 

ftee&to  .    .    88  to  35  Fine  ditto  . 

SiMrftaeditto   38  to  40  Potato  ditto 

Matt.    .    .    .   68  to  56  Fine  ditto  . 

■^-  58  to  63  Scotch    .    .    . _ 

83  to  86  Flour,  per  sadc  55  to  60 
86  to  89p>mo,  teeoods     50  lo  58 

Seedsy  j;c. 
«.     «.  d.  «.     «.  A 

aw.  worn,.  7tolOOHenipMed    .    --to--0 

—  Iirown,newl0tol4  0  Unseed,  cnuh.  4S  to  50  0 
TarM,pertah.8     to  4  0  -  Ditto,  Feed  50  to  54 '^ 
8eafcin,perqr.43to  46  ORyeGieMf,    .f4to35 
Tunii|«.  lah.     9  to  12  0  RibgraM,    .  .Ml  to  38 

—  Redik  Been  —  to  —  0  Clover,  led  eirt88  to  78 

—  YcOow;  Oto  0  0  — White  ...  a0to91 
Cnaway,  ewt.  46  to  50  0  Coriendar  .  .  8  to  11 
Canarr,  per  qr.  53  to  58  0  TrefoU  ....    2  to  18 

BapeSted,perlMt,£28to£26,  lOb 


—  to  — 
87  to  89 

40  to  42 

41  to  4C 
45  to  49 
86  to  40 
41  to  48 
18  to  21 
22  to  24 

20  to  22 
28  to  27 

21  to  25 
26  to  28 
80  to  82 


If  ort.  While,. 


Weekly  Price  of  Stocks,  from  Isiiond  March  1824. 
Id.  8th.  15th. 


Bank  stock,. 


S  per  cent,  reduo 
S  per  cent,  consols,. 
94  per  cent,  consols 
4  per  cent,  consols,^. 
New  4  per  cent.  4 
Iraper.  3  per  cent. « 
iMua  stock,  ..^^,„.. 


>  bonds,^. 


Loop  Aonuitiesv 
KzcSequcr  bills,. 
Excfaeqaer  bills,  sm.. 
Consoblbr  ace.. 


FNOch  A  par  oenta. 


94, 


102|3  2f 
1071  8  71 

280  79 
097372  pr. 
231  { .3-16 
394037  pr. 
41  37  pr. 
93  )4  3| 


94  31 

iotH 

78  pm 

62  51  64  pr. 
62  61  64  pr. 
941  3|  41 


«4I 

loeill  7 

48  60  p. 

ml 


.d.    «. 

0to800 
Oto  —  O 
Oto  —  O 
40  lb 
Oto  360 
Oto  —  0 
Oto  860 
2  to    1  8 

Oto  92  0 
Oto  65  0 
Oto  —  0 
Oto  900 
Oto—  0 

Oto  78  0 
Oto  52  0 

Oto  78  0 
Oto  75  0 

Oto  54  0 
0  to  50  0 
Oto  560 
Oto  400 
Oto  47  0 


22d.  — 


^4 
107  6j 

81  pr. 

50  49  50  pr. 
52  49  pr. 

94114 


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Caurti  of  Exchange^  April  6.~^AmMteTdamf  12: 1.  C  F.  0itto  mt  tight,  11  i  18. 
Rotterdam,  12  :  2.  Antwerp,  12  :  6.  Hamlnurg^,  87:  7.  AHooa,  37  :  8.  Parii,  3 
d.  sight,  25  :  GO.  Ditto  25  :  85.  Bouideauz,  25  :  85.  Frankfort  oo  the  Maine,  158. 
Petersburgh,  per  rhle.  9  :  3.  Us,  Berlin,  7 :  10.  Vienna,  10 :  7.  Miffijlo.  Trieste,  10 :  7 
J^.jto.  Madrid,  38.  Cadiz,  '36{.  BUboa,  35^.  Barcelona,  35.  Seville,  354.  Oibral. 
tar,  30i.  Leghorn,  48^.  Genoa,  434.  Venice,  27  t  0.  Malta,  45.  Naples,  38i, 
Palermo,  11 44.!Li8bon,  50}.  Oporto,  51.  Rio  Janeiro,  48.  Bahia,  50.  Dublin,  9| 
per  cent.    Cork,  9}  per  cent. 

Price*  of  Gold  and  Silver^  per  ox. — Foreign  gold,  in  bars,  £3  :  17  :  8d. 
New  Dollars,  48.  94d.    Silver  in  bars,  stand.  4s.  U^d. 


PRICES  CURRENT,  AprU  9. 


HEMP,  Pvdiih  Rhint,  ton. 

PetaMNixgli,  dean,  .    . 
FLAX, 

Riga  Thies.  ^  DnO.  Rak. 

Dutch, 

Iriih,       .       . 
MATS,  Anhoigd,       .     . 
BRISTLES, 

Petenburgh  Pints,   ewt. 

•>et«».~     ■ 


tun. 


ASHES.  Pc 

Mootxeid,  ditto. 
Pot, 
OIL,  Whale, 

Cod 

TOBACCO,  Virgin,  fine.  Ok 

Middling.       .       ,, 

Inierior,       . 
COTTONS,  Bowed  Ocorg. 

Sea  Ishmd,  fine. 
Good,      . 
Middling,     .     , 
pmnnan  and  BcrUot, 
Wert  India,  .       . 

Penuunbuoo, 
Maianham, 


LEITH.        1 

GLASGOW. 

LIVERPOOL. 

LONDON. 

58     to     60    1 

55 

57 

55              56 

55              56 

62 

64 

59 

60 

68               65 

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74 

80 

71              74 

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104 

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Digitized  by 


Google 


1894.^  Mimihiy  Rsgi$ierf  485 

MKTEonOLOOiCAL  Table,  extracted  from  the  RegUter  kept  at  Edinhurgtu  in  the 
Observatory^  CaltonJiilL 

N.B.— The  ObMrvmtkxui  v  made  twiee  every  day,  at  nineiirdodi,  foBgaooo*  aad  four  c/doA.  aAm. 
noon— The  aeoond  ObMrvatioa  in  the  aaemoon,  in  the  flnt  ooluinn,  ii  takm  hy  tibTaaSstn 


Average  of  Rain,  1.554  inehet« 
March. 


Average  of  Rain,  1.061  Inches. 


Digitized  by 


Google 


466  Mcnihfy  lUgiHer.  HAptil, 

Alphabetical  List  offivoLisn  Bankruptcies,  annoaiieed  between  the  let 
of  Feb.  end  31«t  of  March,  1824  ;  extracted  from  the  London  Gazette, 
fttr- 


AbnhuBt,  J.  Harrow-alter,  PeCtlooatJane, 

ricr. 

Atexandcr,  J.  CUiwcD-Stieet,  staUa-lcMptr. 
'    ".T.  Hippalioliii0,Yoi1ulitae,itoa»aa>- 


Barrow,  J.  Anfmmow,  Henfordihirt,  £um«r. 
Bates,  8.  Tipton,  coro-merduuit. 
Bany,  T.  Bond-court,  Wallbrook,  wfaiMnafeliant 
Bird,  O.  Honjtmih-plMe,  Bethnal-green,  eaUe^ 

dyer. 
Bowen,  W.  Whwrington,  Salop,  thopkceper. 
BoswcO,  T.  Surrey-street,  Strand,  tailor. 
Brettall,  T.  Summer-liill^Staflbtdihlre^  ■crlTener. 
"  *  *     ,  J.  sod  J>  Dew,  Brietcd,  brewers* 
r.  Hudderrilekl,  wooUtapler. 
,  J.  Phoslde  Hamlet,  Derbyshlrek 
I  manuftrturer. 
T.    Duke-Street   OffDfvcDor-Sqaare» 


Bridges,  J 
BnMidben 


cannon,  W.  Molyneax-Street,  PortaaD-Square, 


Chadwick,  J.  HoIbom-hUl,  watehmaker. 
ChilUngworth,  B.  endT.  Cooper,  Haddttch,  ffaiw 

wiekshire,  needle-makank 
Claxke,  W.  Maodiester,  TictnaBer. 
Cottmt,  W.  R.  Maidrtone,  brewer. 
Conapton,  P.  A.  Beekenham,  Kent,  fkrmer. 
Cooper,  H.  Commercial-place,  City-road,  caipeiH 

tcr. 
Coe,  W.  Darkhouse-lane,  BiUingMBte,  TiotuaDer. 
Cooka^  J.  Frome,  Sorocraetsliire,  dothier. 
Cnuuaa,  Skiane-Street,  Chelaaa,  merchant 
Creswdf,  J.  Huddersfield,  wool-etapler.  ^ 
Cross,  R.  Harley  Tower,  Shropshire,  maltster. 
Croasland,  W.  Leeds,  drysalter. 
Crowtber,  J.  Wakefield,  oom-fiietor. 
Crowtber,  W.  Islington,  apothecary. 
Conle,  W.  C  WelUngborough,  dealer  fai  laosi 
'CrossfieM,  B.  M.  Liverpool,  timber-merchant 
Daffem,  W.  Reading,  ooa^maker. 
DaTcnport,  J.  Altrincliam,  Cheshire,  shoo-keeper. 
Davraport,  J.  and  A.  Dunlop,  Great  Portlands 

Street,  milliners* 
Davids,  T.  Kennington  Oral,  braas-ftrander. 
Daubney,  T.  Portsea,  grocer. 
Davies.  L.  and  J.  T.  Doriin,  Liverpool,  tfanbaw 

meroiants. 
Dew,  W.  Piaad^Straet,  Paddiactcai,  stenMnasoo. 
Dodd,  W.   LivanK>ol»  paper-Ban(png  manufao- 

tnrar* 
DoRingtoB,  W.  Oomhin,  broker. 
DooglaaJ  D.  and  M.  Judd^ticet,  Brunawtek- 

square^  linen-drapera* 
Dowae,  C  Cbancery-laD^  law-atationer. 
Drew^R.  T.  Orehards,  Bosbor 

timber*merchant 
Dryson,  O.  Lad-lane,  Manchasttr,  warehoiise- 


,  W.  Dorset  Mews  West,  Portman-sqnare^ 
horse-dealer. 
Bdle,  R.  Bread-Street,  merchant 
Ekicrshaw,  J.  Hampton,  Middleeex.  Unen^lraper. 
Slis,  W.  Liveipooi;  draper. 
ElTentaoe,_B.  E.  IIAml,  linen-draper. 


Evani,  O.  Hastings  jeweller. 
" — '- •        ,klddl 


!thy,  T.  Acton,  Middlesex,  carpenter. 
Fox,  F.  and  J.  D.  Brodrlbb,  Bristol,  taUow-chand- 

lerb 
Oateoby,  A.  M andiester,  wholeesle  grocer. 
Geone,  and  J.  M.  Hocslumi,  Sussex,  druggist 
Gimfirand,  W.  BoHon-le-Moors,  phimben^ 
Glover,  T.,  J.  Oakdcn,  R.  Loroas,  J.  Dethick,  and 

J.  Green,  Derby,  flax-dresscts* 
GomeraaU,  J.  and  B.  Leeda,  merdia&ts. 
Green,  W.  and  J.  H.  Sampaon,  and  R.  A.  Snttfa, 

Shsffleld,  manwfactnreie  of  metaWwarw* 
Green,  T.  Lockerby,  Hants,  miller. 
HaO,  J.  Stockport,  grocer. 
Hancock,  J.  Westbury,  Somersetshire,  sbop4aep- 

Hmeavea,  W.  White  Aah,  Lancashire,  oottoD- 

HaiseU,  Gb 
HawUw,  J.  and 

lexs. 

Hiiglns.  J.  Gloucester,  horse-dealer 
HUdcr,  S.  Brickplane,  Whitecfaapal,  tea-dealer.  * 
Hitchcock,  G.  Leicester,  ho^arT^ 


Chambers,  horte^ealer. 
Claypole,  Lincolnshire,  mil. 


Hofanes,  J.  Liverpool,  men 
HoodTw.  Hardlcy,  and  T. 
folk*  merdiants. 


HObley.  S.  Jamea-Street,  Covent^garden,  boot 

mx^  shoe  maker. 
HoMen,  jJ.   Brokei's-Row,    MooiMdh    besi- 

tferiiooL  Hiffiffftant 

Hoo4,  Loddon,  Nee^ 


Honeysett,  W.  Dalstoo,  f 

Houghton,  A.  HuddertAekl,  grocer. 

Howard,  J.  T.  and  N.  Hoi^htoa,  Laaoaddie, 
hat^namuactujeis. 

Hughes,  J.  WoodiiStnet,  Cheapaide,  tavern-keep- 
er. 

HuttoB,  W.  sen.  Boltoo,  mooey-ecrivener. 

Humplueys,  W.  Nunney,  Somereetahlre,  Innhold- 
er. 

Jaekaon,  A.  HUlgrove'etreet,  Gkmcesterrihira,  ba- 
kcr. 


Jeremy,  J.  Great  Surrey* 


bPiet,  pdnter. 
•StrartTUaol 


BlaokfHar^-road. 


Jenreys,  w.  Quadrant-stiaet, 
'eremy,  J.  Gre" "  '" 

llnen-draper> 
Johnson,  T.  Heanor.  Derbyahire,  victnaller. 
Jones,  C  Wdshpool,  dnmer. 
Jones,  E.  and  J.  Norris,  Budge^ow,  s 
Keele,  J.  Waterloo-road,  Surrey,  statkegr. 
Keisey,  H.  PaU-Mall,  milliner. 
Kersbke,  W.  Exeter,  bcaaier. 
Kinnear.  J.  Brighton,  banker. 
~      '  ,  J.  Newman^treet,  Oxftird-Street,  dock 


Fiaabnry-Squarr, 
victualler. 


b.S.< 
Leader,  E.  jun.  

upholsterer. 
Leak,  T.  Kelplngham,  Lincdnshtre,  victa 
Levy,  H.  (otherwise  Levett,)  and  L.  Levy,  I 

lane,  warehouse-men. 
LloTd,    D.   Bankside,  Southwaik*  timber-asar- 

raant 
LocUngton,  C  Commerdal-plaee,  Clty-road,  oO- 

M*Adam,  W.  Leicestar,  dealer. 
M'Kenxie,  P.  and  W.  SheffleU,  uphobtcrars. 
Mallyon,  J.  Goodhurst,  Kent,  victoaOcr. 
Mataon,  W.  and  C.  Water-lane,  wine  ineirhanta 
Matthews,  M.  and  J.  HopkiM,  Rochealer,  coal- 

mardunts. 
Mee,  J.  If  yton,  Hull,  merchant 
MrsssMcr,  C  Oxford,  cabinet-maker. 
Milne^  J.  Liverpool,  plumber. 
MiUer,  R.  Paternoster-row,  booksdter. 
Moon,  P.  Mirfieki,  Yorkshire,  wooDen^nefchaBt. 
Montgomery,  T.  John-Street,  SpitaUdda,  silk- 

manufacturer. 
Morgan,  J.  J.  York-street,  Commerelal^Qad*  c»- 

penter. 
Murray,  J.  Mandiester,  joiner. 
Nashf  T.  Garden-row,  Southwark,  merdumt 
Needham,  B.  Maedeslidd,  Ironmonger. 
Newman,  W.  Mindng-lane,  merchant 
Newhouse,  G.  W.  Uttk  Brook-Street,  Hanover- 

Square,  tailor. 
Nunn,  R.  and  T.  Fisher,  Grub^tiaet,  tfanberAV- 

Nkbok.  G.  Bristol,  vktnaller. 
Nteholson,  R.  North  Shickk,  s3 
Nokes,  E.  Norwich,  mcrdumt 
NuttaD,  J.  Wood-road  MiU,  near  Bury.  LaMa- 

shire,  rottnn  spliiiifi 
Oakley,  T.  Poole,  eoal-merehant 
Packer,  R.  Tokenhouse-yard.  packer. 
Pearson,  T.  Harrlngthofpe,  Yorkshire^  miller. 
Penney,  S.  Shepton  MaUctt,  grocer. 
Penney,  T.  G.  B  *  ' 
Peterkm,  T.Gin 
Parictau,  J.  Uppe 
Persent,  M.  W.  St  James'j  Walk,  Clerkeowen, 

table-doth  manufacturer. 
Pickworth,  H.<7urtitar-strcet,  cod-merdiaBt 
Pierc  ,  D.  B.  Tottenham  Cooxt-road,  grocer. 
Pirn,  T.  B.  Exwick,  Devonshire,  paper-maker. 
Pinck,  Chidicster,  linen-draper. 
Pod  W.  Honduras-wharf,  Southwark,  codmer 

chant 
Preen,  J.  Worcester,  silk-mercer. 
Price,  S.  Trowbridge,  grocer. 
Price.  T.  HadUetoo,  Northamplonshjra,  baker. 
PiHchard,  R.  Regent  drcoa,  OxIMetreet*  dress- 

'  amaaufaetuier 


Digitized  by 


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1884-3 


MonJlhfy  BegiHer> 


-,  aad  J.  Watt,  Pretton,  cot' 


Poidy*  F.  IIiik-taie»  brokir. 

Rktardi,  T.BixdMnlllf,  Staflbrdihlit,  mOte. 

Rift,  C.  Lombud-Stnet,  auctioneer. 

Riky,  W.  Birch-wood,  Dertmbire,  coal-merelUAt 

Roe,  J.  Torpoiot,  Cornwall,  morchank. 

Rookcr,  F.  Hanebectar,  a 

too-mamifacturen. 
Ronaldaon,  J.  J.  Bvoad-Straet-PIaoe,  merduat* 
Smra,  J.  Little^  Yarmooth,  Soflblk,  wine  and 

fnandy  mercluuit. 
ScattAigoodL  T.  Nottingham,  tictuallar. 
Shaw,  J.  Wakefleid,  land-surveyor. 
Smalley,  R*  Ponteftact,  mereer. 
SUdmoie,  J.  Sheffield,  tdMor^oanufiMturer. 
Saaith,  T.  Pickhurrt-green,  Kent,  cattle^lealer. 
Soloaian.  A.  CIar»«ourt,   Dniry4ui^   dothce- 


Southworth,  W.  Sharpies.  Laaeaihire,  whiiter. 
Sneadc,  W.  Whitohuivh,  Salop,  timber-merchant 
SMwait,  W.  Mit*»«ourt,  Cheauide,  merchant. 
Stokea,  T.  ten.  Wekhpool,   Montgomeryshire, 


TarHng,  T.  S.  Leyton,  Esses,  tailor. 


487 

TbnbcttU  W.  T.  Barmonrtiay-iqiMna,  wonied-iiiar- 
nuftetoier. 

Trevent,  W.  Pembroke,  draper. 

TioCman,  T.  Dursky,  Gknicestershlre,  meehnan. 

Torbevilla,  J.  Canon  Hon,  HerefiMrdsbIre,  tim- 
ber-dealer. 

Twitty,  W.  Manchester,  shopl^eeper. 

Underwood,  J.  Bloxwieh,  StafBndshire,  maltster. 

Vale,  T.  Lcff-alky,  Long  Acre,  coach-Joinw. 

Waistdl,  MTconduit-street,  Bond-street,  milliner. 

Wakeman,  T.  Fleet-market,  statiomr. 

Walker,  W.  Charles-street,  Middleses-hospAtal, 
haberdasher. 

Webb,  R.  F.  Wapping-street,  grocer. 

Weetman,  J.  Liverpool,  tDaebaXit, 

West,  H.  Worthing,  ^neivdraper.    .    .   ,.. 

Wilson,  J.  Borough-road,  Southwark,  boilder. 

Wharton,  T.  FinAury-plaoe,  tailor. 

Whincup,  W.  York,  spirit-merchant. 

Worsley,  H.  Plymouth,  dealer. 

Wolfl;  A.  M.  KingVArms-Yard,  merchant. 

Yeoman,  B.  and  T.  Cooke,  Frome,  Sdwood,  do* 
thiers. 


AI.PHABETTCAL   LisT  of  SCOTCH  Bakiruptcies,  ttiiMmnced  between  the  Ist 
Fcbnwuy,  and  3Ut  March,  1824,  extracted  from  the  Edinburgh  Gazette. 

Drysdale  Stodart,  late  mail-eoaeh^ootneftar  in 
Edinburgh ;  afisrtherdividendafterSlrtlltf^ 


Altken,  William,  grazier  and  cattle-dealer,  at  Har- 

dington,  county  of  Lanark. 
Baird,  Niool  Hugh,  nvrchant.  Port  Hopetoon, 

Edinbmgh. 
Clarke,  Ambrose,  vintner  and  Innkeeper,  Dum- 

Itiea. 
Darling.  James,  manufacturer  at  Cumledge-mill, 

near  Dunse. 
Fyfis,  Alexander,  ooppersmidi,  phimber,  andtin- 

nlate  worker,  Leith. 
Oftbb  and  Muir,  nierchants  and  wardwuiemcn  in 

Glaagow. 
Haig,  James,   common  brewer,   Grahamestoo, 

Guugow. 
Hogg»^ohn,  mason  and  builder  in  PaxtoD,  coun- 
ty of  Berwick. 
Hunt,  William  Alexander,  mardiaat,  Dunferm- 
line. 
Jamkeson,  Aleiiander,  baker  and  grain  dealer  in 

Wallace  town,  Ayr. 
Johnston,  Joseph,  cattle-dealer  and  bone-dealer, 

Muirhouse-head,  parish  of  Applagarth. 
Johnston,  William,  draper  in  Biggar. 
Law,  David,  imikeeper,  KlnrcMS-grecn. 
Macrae,  Daniel,  merchant  in  Nairn. 
M*Gill,  Quentin,  boot  and  shoemaker  in  Coo- 

t«nt-upoo-Ayr. 
Pearson,  Robert,  some  time  baker  andoom-dealer 

in  Cupar,  now  mill-master  and  corn-dealer  at 

Thomaston  MOL 
Reid,  Richard,  writer,  merchant,  and  ship-ownor 

in  Irvine. 
Robertson,  Geom,  horse-dealer  In  Edinburgh. 
The  Milngavie  Priotfidd  Company,  earrying  on 

business  at  Milngavie  and  at  Glaagow. 
White  and  Co.  brewers  in  Perth. 


James,  merdiant  in  Ldth. 
DIYIJ 


__nDENDS. 
Boyd,  Robert  and  Andrew,  manulkcturets  in  In- 

verleithan  t  a  dividend  31st  March. 
Brown,  William,  maltster  and  grain-dealer,  Broo- 

mag*  Mains*  near  Falkirk,  a  dividend  on  30th 

Mardu 


Gibson,  Jo&,  residing  at  Halbeath,  and  fonMrtv 
at  BiUouay,  county  of  Durham;  a  final  dividend 


,  David,  ana  km,  lace  general  agema  u 
nrgh;  a  dividend 3tdAprIL 
le.  James,  general  merchant  and  trader 
paeb,  near  fort  WiUiamj  a  dividend  S7th 


onf9thApnlatnoon.  _  ,^    ^. 

Kedslie,  Andrew,  corn-chandler,  Canonmilli.  Ed- 
inblught  a  dividend  20th  March. 

Kirkwood,  John,  Junior,  some  time  of  Bridgend, 
LoSiwtenoch:  a  first  and  final  dividend  Ifitfa 
March. 

Lamb,  Kerr,  and  Co.  and  Kerr,  Lamb,  and  Co. 
Olauow  \  a  final  dividend  on  11th  May. 

Lindsay,  David,  and  Co.  late  gcMral  agents  in 
Edinonrgh;      "* 

M 'Alpine,  Jai 
atCorpaeb, 
March. 

M'Leod,  John,  the  Reverend,  ndnistw  of  tho 
gospd  and  builder  in  Gbngowt  a  final  dividend 
Sotn  March. 

M'Nair,  Alexander,  merdiant  in  Dingwall  I  a  la- 
cond  and  final  dividend  24th  March. 

Md ville,  Robert,  the  deceased,  merchant  and  flsh- 
curer  in  Ulapool  i  a  dividend  leth  AorlL 

Milne  James,  latdy  merchant  in  Kdtni  a  divi- 
dend. 

Muir,  Ardiibald,  merdiant  and  general  agent  hi 
EdmlmTght  a  first  dividend  9e&i  March. 

Paterson,  David,  late  banker  and  iasnranee  bro- 
ker in  Edinburgh:  a  fourth  dividend  Slst 
Mardi.  ^       ,    . 

Sted,  Alexander,  hardwara^nerehant  in  Ayr;  a 
ilrst  dividend  5th  March. 

Stewart,  Chariea,  merchant  in  Pitnacree,  Perth- 
shire; a  third  dividend  1st  ApriL 

Stewart,  John,  Junior,  grocer  in  Invemeai ;  a  di- 
vidend after  9th  April. 

Wrteht,  James,  Junior,  merdumt  in  Glaagow ;  a 
dividend  28th  Mardi. 

Wybe,  Alexander,  late  manufbcturcr  In  Glasfowj 
a  final  dividend  after  lOth  March, 


APPOINTMENTS,  PROMOTIONS,  &c 
February. 


Brevet         M.  Gen.  Sir  F.  Adam,  K.C.&  Local 

Rank  of  LL  Gen.  in  Ionian  Islands 

10  Feb.  1824. 

2  LilbQds.Lt.  Greenwood,  Capt  by  porch,  vice 

Smith,  TtL  1  Jan. 

Cor.  and  Sub.  Lt  MUligan,  Lt  by 

purch.  do. 

Ens.  8if<W.  Scott,  Bf.  from  51  F. 

Cor.  and  Sub.  Lt  by  porch,     do. 

Vol.  XV. 


Cor.  and'Sttb.  Lt  Rooke,  Lt.  by 

purch.  vice  CoOins,  ret.       24  do. 

B.  O.  Howard,  Cor.  and  Sob.  Lt.  by 

purrh.  do. 

2Dr.G.      Cor.  Hepburn  firomh.  p.  19  Dr.  Cor. 

vice  Crauf^ird,  2  Dr.  f2dow 

6Dr.0«     Cnt  Stephenson.  Miy.  by  purch.  vice 

Fits-Clarenee,  prom.  29  do. 

Ueuu  Nooth,  Capt  by  parch,     do 

SR 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


488 


AjppohUnmU,  Pnmotkmt,  6fc, 
pwch.      do. 


f  Dr.         COr.  CuUM,  ft«mJ  K'a  d«. 

▼lee  Sdkman,  h.  p.  19  Dr.  fl  do. 

C.  KornMm,  OoT.  liy  ptnch.   vice 

11  W.  H.  WuTingtoo,  Cor.  vice  Ptr- 

,  -  bridge,  m,  ^  Jtt. 

13  Gor.  DidnO^LtbfpiifdLTioeHii. 

Jop,  ret  5  Pete, 

Eo9.  Hut,  flram  65  F.  Cor.by  porch. 

CoUatGdi.  W.  O.  Carter,  SoUdtor,  vice  WUMn. 
lOQ^daid  S9  Jaiu 


7F. 


10. 


ie 


28 


90 
91 


33 


35 


44 


51 


63 


71 


76 


Ctpt  Beauchamp.  fWnn  h.  p.  19  Dr. 

Capt  vice  Hufane,  96  F.  do. 

Lt  wfaHarhlan,  ftom  h.  p.  49  F.  Lt 

▼Ice  Spratt,  96  F.  5  Feb. 

M.  Oen.  Sir  J.  Lambert,  K.CB.  Co- 

kme^  Tice  Sir  T.  Maitla^d,  dead 
18  Jan. 


Gethin,  96  F.  ^  Jan. 

Em.  D«Roch,  LL  Tlee  Robteioa, 

d«ad  25  do. 

R.  T.  Furlong,  Bnc  do. 

liM^hutch.  Cromh.  p.  31  F.  Lt  Tioe 

^KHman,96F.  4  Feb. 

Em.  Wirfey.-frora  8S  F.  Lt  by  purch. 

vice  La,  Hay,  prom.  5  do. 

Lt  M'Leod,  from  b.  p.  S9  Dr.  Pajm. 

▼ice  Biddul^,  dead  15  Jan. 

O.  H.  Cakrah,  Em.  tar  purdu  vioe 

Phelpa.  51  F.  ^  "  do. 

Lt  Peten,  from  h.  p.  1  W.  I.  Re. 

Qua.  Mast  vice  Reynolds,  h.  p. 

If  refaw 

Lt  Fosky.  from  54  F.  A4}.  and  Lt 

▼ice  Weir,  rea.  Adj.  only    29  Jan. 

Lt  Ker,  from  b.  p.  23  P.  Lt  vice 

Ouseley,  ^6  F.  3  FeU 

Ri^.  M'Greffor,  from  b-  p-  78  P. 

Umj,  vice  NicboUs,  96  P.    29  Jan. 

Capt  Graham.  Amn  h.  p.  17  Dn 

Capt  vice  Waller,  96  F.       5  FMx 

Sur^.  Gowen,  from  h«  p.  6  W.  I.  R. 

Suig.  ▼ice  Tbomai,  canoeDed 

22  Jan. 

Lt  Walsh,  ftom  h.  p.  2  Gn.  Bn.  Lt 

▼ice  Davies,  91  F.  29  do. 

Capt  Craddock,  from  b.  p.  64  F. 

Capt  vice  Byrne.  20  F.        5  Fd». 

Bt  MiD.  Carter,  Mi^*  ▼toe  Guthrie, 

deMi  5  June,  183 

Lt  Caulfleld,  CM»t  vice  O'Reilly, 

dewl  26  May. 

Hemming,  ditto,  vice  Carter 

5  June.' 
Ens.  Browne,  Lt  vice  Caulfleld 

26  May. 
— Carr  ,ditto,^iee  Hemming  5  June. 

Shaw,  ditto,  vioe  Saraent,  dead 

6do. 
H.  Uiber.Bns.  ▼ice  Browne  26thIMay . 
O.  Browne,  dittos  ▼ice  Carr 

14  Jan.  1824. 

H.  Nixon,  ditto,  vice  Shaw     15  do. 

Ens.  Phelps,  from  28  F.  Ens.  vice 

Soott,  2  Life  Ods.  8  do. 

Lt  Warren,  from  h.  p.  84  F.Lt  vice 

Foskey,  29  F.  5  Feb. 

—  Mackwortti,  Ens.  by  purch.  vice 

Hart  13  Dr.  do. 

Ens.  Doyle,  Lt  by  purdu  vice  Con- 

roy,  16  F.  12  do. 

Hen.  G.  Spencer,  Ens.  by  purch.  do. 

Lt  Smith,  O^it  vice  Lane.  dsMl 

lllilay.  1823. 

Lt  Gen.  Sir  G.  Dmmmond,  G.CB. 

ftom  88  P.  CoL  vIoeGen.  DnndasL 

dead  28Jan.  1824. 

Lt  U^ttiodT,  A4|.  vtoe  ToRiaaOk 

xes.  A4).  only  13  da 

Lt  Feineombe^  Capt  by  parch,  vice 

HamUton,  rat  12  Feb. 

Ens.  Champion,  Lt  by  pat/^     do. 

P.  Carr,  Enfc  by  puveb.  do. 

LACJydlaile^.  &M.bypaidkvioe 

Uwfccdf  pvQOk  16  Jan. 


83 


85 


88 

91 


95 


E.  T. 

^.,iOF.  

Em.  Yoong,  Lt  YieeHta^rtoii,  Aft. 

CoL  Corps  29JMk 

H.P.AlnSe,BM.  4o. 

LtWatt^  Capt  ▼!•§  Ban.  dMd 
„  -  -.._.     -^  6Nov.  ue. 

H.E.  Taylor,  Em.       22  Jan.  IMC 
Me}.  BcowMk  Lt  CoL  ▼iee  MiBec^ 

dead  18  Mayrui£ 

Bat  Mel.  8lrMtMd,  M^  4tK 

Lt  Day,  Capt  4tK 

EiM.  HaMaad,  Lt  da 

S.  De.L*Bta4r>  Ena.  viee  Doyle,  4 

H.  M.  Doyle,  da  vice  Halstaei 

15  Jaa.Ut4 

Lt  Gen.  Sir  H.  P.  Campbdl.  JK.&& 

Col.  ▼iee  Dnrnimowl,  71  P.  2ida 

Lt  tkndei^  from  3i  P.  Lt  viM  OB^ 

IDecUtf. 


SK: 


Lt  Spratt,  from  8 
—  Kennedy,  froi 
da 


Suif .  Tilt,  finm  b.  pw  27  P.  Sob. 

25JanraiH. 
Ass.  Surg.  Lorimer,  from  h.  p.  91  P. 

Ass.  Surg.  25  Dec  182S. 

Lt  TweeiC  from  b.  p.  5  W.  L  R.U. 

▼ice  Speninga  cane    15  Jan.  1824. 
M.  Oen.  Puller,  CoL  28da 

Lt  CoL  Henries,  from  h.  p.  100  P. 

LtCoL  29da 

Bt  Lt  CoL  Patty,  from  h.  p.  Port 

"r.Mid.  da 

NiooUs,  from  31  P.  da        da 

Me).  Hutane,  from  7  P.  Capt  do: 

Mansd,  from  h.  p.  91  P. 

da  da 

Capt  Caimcioss,  from  2  Tet  Bn. 

do.  da 

~—~  Gethin,  from  90  P.  da  da 
-— —  Gailand,  from  h.  p.  73  P.do. 

■  Hyde,  tram  1  Vet  Bn.  da  da 
Waller,  from  31  P.  da     da 

—  Brough, from  h.  p.  56  F.dbu 
da 

F.Lt  da 

from  h.  p.  W.  L  Rin. 

dd^ 

-^-  Dowling,  from  1  Vet  Bn.  dada 

-^-  Jones,  from  2  P.  da  da 

—  Kidman,  fifom  20  F.  da  da 
Robertson,  from  CeykmR.da 

da 
-^-Nugent  from  h.  p.  17  P.  da  da 

Canr,  from  h.  p.  17  P.  da     doL 

-^-  M'Kensie,  fiiom  h.  p.  24  P.  da 

da 

—  Ouselev,  from  30  P.  da  da 
Ens.  Cross  from  h.  p.  II  P.  da  da 
-^-  Tellbrd,  from  h.  p.  9  F.  da  da 
~—  O&ley,  from  1  Vet  Bn.  da  ida 

CoiteUo,  ftom  h.  p.  31  P.  da  da 

-—  Story,  from  h.  p.  17  P.  da  do. 
— O'Biien,  from  h.  p.  65  P.  da  da 
Lt  Sutherland,  from  h.  p.  100  P.  A4|. 

andLt  da 

Seri.  Murehison,    frQm:3  P.  Oda. 

Qua.  Mast  5  Feb. 

Rifle  Brig.    Lt  Byrne,  Adj.  vice  Klncaid,  xes. 

A4J.  only  da 

2  W.  L  R.  Lt  Locke,  from  1  LlfeGds.(^»tby 

purch.  vice  Stepney,  ret    29  Jan. 

Bt  Lt  CoL  Betkelnr*  from  16  P. 

Mi^.  by  purch.  vice  Del  Hoossaye, 

ret  3  Pebb 

CeykmR.    2d  Lt  MyUut,  lU  Lt  15Jaa 

~—~  Stewart,  from  h.  d.  9d  Ceylon 

R.  9d  Lt  2/june,  1822. 

—  Madtay,  from  da  da  da 
R.  B.  M'Crea,  da  da  16lh  Jan.  1824. 
Lt  CamfbeXL,  from  h.  p.  5  W.  L  R. 

1st  Lt  vice  Robertson,  96  P.  5  FdK 

Cape  Corps  Ass.  Suxg.  Ckike,  Suxjfc        1^  Jan. 

Bi^.CoLc.Lt  Hingscon,  ftwiSfP.  C^it  4da 

J.Wblt«vEnB.  Ida 

M. O'HaUontti,  da  Sda 


G.  Po8s,da 
J,Unlacke,  da 
dUiar.da 
J.  Godwin,  da 
R«P.Rii«.do>. 


4da 
5db. 
6da 
7da 
8  do. 


Digitized  by 


Google 


18M.3  Appohtmmis  Pmt^titmg,  Sfe. 

lieutenant  Lord  iSd^.  Hay,  from  SO 

-,  CapC  by  pw*.  T5£*.^'*?ffl 
Z8  Jan*  itan. 


48» 


P. 


CaM.  Lonl  Baward  Hay,  tnm  h.  o. 
Su<K  Inn.  of  Mil.  fn  Ionian  Idaada 
iriee  Krtaun.  rat.  5  Feb. 

St.  ViU.  Moore,  Gm.  Gdi.  Dep^ 
Qte.  Mat.  Gen.  in  Windw.  and 
Leeww  Ijdaad#,  with  rank  of  Lt. 
Col.  in  the  Anny,  iriee  Popham, 

OarrU&ns. 
0«n.  Geo.  Lord  Harris.  6.C  Jl.  Gov. 

ot  Dtinibarton  Cattle^  vice  Ocn. 

Dundaa,  dead  5  Ftb, 

Lt.  CoL  Hawker,  R.  Art.  LL  Gov.  of 

GraVeiend  and  TiSmry  Fort  rioe 

Hon.  J.  de  Courcy,  dead,   SSJan. 

Ordnance  Department 

AoyalArt.  Ma).  Cen.  8ir  B.  BkxMnfleld,  Bt. 
G,C^  4  GXM.  CokxMl  Com- 
mandant, vice  Farrington,  dead 

4  Nov.  1883. 

Iloyal  Eng.  let  Lt.  Brudgcn,  Itom  h.  p.  1st  Lt. 
vice  Sperling,  li.  p.    24  Jan.  18S4. 


HospUal  Staf. 


Abs.  Stuv.  Rhys,  ftom  h.  p.|S  W. 
Reg.  Ass.  Suig. 


25th  Jan. 


Exchanges. 
Lt.  CeL  Banbury,  20  F.  with  Cotonel  Fits^Serakl, 

80  F. 

'  Pane*  ftom  Insp.  of  MIL  in  Ionian  IsL 

with  CoL  Hon.  F.  C.  Ponsonby,  lu  p.  12  Dr. 
Gilnioar,  ftom  Rifle  Brig,  with  Lt.  CoL 

Brown,  h.  p.  Port.  Setv. 
CMt.  Marten,  from  2  Life  Gds.  rec.  dlK  with 

Capt.  Ld.  Belhaven  and  Stcntoo,  h.  p.  11  F. 
Kiiby,  ftom  4  Dr.  da  with  Capt.  Moore, 

h.  p.  65  P. 


HMKy.  MMd  7  F.  ^.iAtil  (Sipt  Biine, 

b.p.89F. 
— --  EUlol,  AMI  It  F.  do.  With  Clpt  Marten, 

h.p.nF.  , 

1 1       BrtMtb  ftMh  94 F.  with  Cikpt.  Townshend, 

>. Wkbuqr.  ftom  5S  F.iHth  Glipt  James,  h. 

J^  Hohaes,  ft«>bi  ^  F.  with  Cept.  TrydeU.  h. 

p.  16  P. 
— ---  Robison,  ftom  85  P.  Wllh  Ol^.  CocUxun, 

h.  n.  17  Dr. 
Lt.  MacdougaH,  ftom  16  0n  with  U.  Vineent, 

59  F. 

Ware,  ftom  14  F.  with  lA.  LUtqo*  88  F. 

Stannners,  ftom  10  F.  Mr.  dUT.  with  Lt  Clay- 

field,  h.  p.  26  P. 

Normin,ftom4tF.wfttiLt;DUduan,e9F. 

Cameron,  ftom  55  P.  ree.  dUT.  with  Lt  Car* 

penter,  h.  p. 
— i-  EUiot,  76  F.  do.  wiOi  Lt  Gnibbe,  h.  p.  43  P. 
Home,  tton  86  F.  do.  with  Lt  Maodonakl, 

h.  p.  Yk.  Lt  Inf.  VoL 
Ensign  Shawe,  from  13  F.  with  Ensign  Pearson, 

92  P. 
Grant,  from  27  F.  with  Eaki^d  Spencer,  h. 

p.  24  P. 
Siuv.  crPiahlBrty,  ftom  14  Dr.  with  Stirg.  Fofster, 

Ass.  Surg.  M'Munn,  fto<nj«fe  P.  Witii  Ass.  Surg. 

Hewatt,  h.  p.  94  P. 
Ugertwood,  tmiti  SMf,  with  Ass.  Surg. 

Sweeny,  h.  p.  7  P. 
Cllftird,  ftbm  Stafl;  wifii  Ais.  Surg.  M«- 

Looghlin,  h.p. 
Vet  Sur.  Schioeder,  ftfim  8  Ih.  with  Vet.  Surg. 


RetignaHoki  tmd  Rjsilrements. 
M^).  De  La  Houssaye,  «  W.  L  R€i. 
Capt  SiMth,  2  Life  GdS. 

^ Stepney,  2  W.  I.  R%. 

Krumiii,  SublnsnfedTof  MIL  in  Ionian  IsL 

Lt  Col&is,  2Lif^oasi 

Hislop.l3Dr. 

Comet  Partridge,  11  Dr. 

Hosp.  Assist  W.  S.  Chartress,  h.  p. 

A.  Mmftittrlek 


March* 


Brevet 


cant  LyMcr,  3  R.  Vet  Bn.  Mijor  hi 
the  army  4  June,  1814. 

Kerr,  do.  do.      12  Aug.  1819. 

■  Forrest,  E.  L  C.  Ser.  (Insp.  of 
MIL  Storof)  MiO*  >"  ^«  ^  ^^^» 
coty  11  July,  1823. 

1  Life  Gds.  Cor.  and  Sub.  Lt.  Millard,  Lt  by 
pnreh.  vtet  Locko,  prom.    27  Feb. 
1824. 
Bnsk  Gaptf,  ftom  43  P.  Oor.  andSub. 
Ltbylpurch.  do. 

7Dr.Gdk  W.  Paynes  Cos.  by  pnrefa.  vice  Green- 
land, 8  Dr.  4  March. 
8  Dr.          Cor.  Greenland,  ftom  7  Dr.  G.Lt  by 
psuch.  vice  Westcnra,  ret  25  Feb. 
Lt  Glanville,  ftom  h.  p.  19  Dr.  A4). 
and  Lt  viee  Weatenra,  res.        da 
10  Dr.          LtCoLWyndham,ftomh.p.  19Dr. 
Lt  C6L  viee  Sir  G.  A.  Quentin, 
esch.  rac.  dUC  between  fuU  pay  of 
Cav.  and  Inf.  only     18  Mar.  1824. 
It                 BtMJrf.  Barton,  Ma^  by  purdi.  vice 
Erddne,ret  19  da 
Lt  Reed,  Capt  by  porch.  da 
Cor.  Morris,  Lt  by  puich.           da 
O.  Marryst,  Oor.  by  purcta.  da 

1  F.  Ens.  Graham,  Lt  by  pureh.  vice  M«- 

B6(0h.ret  4Mareh. 

J.  B.  Kerr,  Ens.bypurch.  da 

Lt  Rafter,  ftem  h.  p.  84  P.  Lt  vtee 

M'Coodiy.  48  P.  26  da 

2  Bns.  Utthiehn,  A^K  vice  Jones,  96 

Bttb  Oooper»  ftom  h.  p.  78  F.  Ens. 

25  March. 

4  Bna.LBaiitala^U.Tiee  Cotton,  dead 

4da 
Lt  LnWalt,  Ad^.  Vice  Gicgg,  res; 

lLJ*WMi«»AM.  do. 


10  F. 


11 
18 


14 


17 


18 


27  P*  18  do. 
Darroch,  txdtn  SO  P.  da  vice 

Stuart,  98  P.  25da 

— —  ^ary,ftom99F.  da  vioe  Scott, 

97  P.  da 

Ridge,  from  47  P.  da  vice 

Beaudeik,  99  P.  da 

Ent.  Doog^,  Lieut  by  porch,  vice 

Browne,  ret.         19  Feb. 

O.'  Browne,  Ens;  bypurdu  da 

Lt  Traddder,  ftobi  h.  pw  60  P.  Lt 

vice  R^nras,  98  F.  25  March; 

Caobt  Skfnner^frQin h.  jf,  16  P. Capt 

tieeSlttw,  97F.  da 

Lt  BetMiag,  ftook  b.  p.  79  P.  vioe 


Digitized  by 


Google 


400 

34 


S6 
40 

43 


44 

47 
48 


Appointmewit,  PhmoHomt,  Sfc* 


DApril, 


49 
53 

54 
57 
60 

63 
«5 

67 

74 

75 

77 

$3 


=Sfi/ 


Sm.  UoBtgowttU,  Lt  Tke  Shew, 

dMd  11  (Uk 

•»—  Hadwiiit  do.  pudkvloeCnw- 

ft>rd«  ret.  18  dow 

E.  Brodxkk,  Ens.  tIm  Montgomery 

11  da 

HotD.  Aiiiit  Soott,  AMiit.  Snxg.Tioe 

LuidMy  prom.  do* 

MaJ.  Kirkwood,  from  h.  p.  New 

Bruntw.  Fen.  VLaj,  vice  Cnamber- 

lain,  cane.  do. 

M.  Luahington,  Gna.  by  poxcfa.  vioe 

Oapal.  1  Life  Gda.  11  do. 

Lt  Cooke,  Capt  Tice  Rylance,  dead 

a(i  Dee.  1823. 

Enriga  Frcer,  from  60  F.  Enaign 

19Febri8l4. 

Bt  OoL  DmiUn,  from  h.  p.  34  F.  Lt 

OoL  Tloe  Hardinge^  99  F.   S5  If  ar. 

Lt  Kyfiin,  from  E.  p.  »  F.  Lt  Tice 

Ridge.  f7  F.  do. 

Lt  Campbdl,  from  h.  p.  Lt  26  Feb. 

Bt  Lieut  CoL  Cimitieie,  Lieut  CoL 

25  March. 

Bt  Mig.  Ben,  Mig.  dow 

Lt  Cnthbertiab,  Capt  do. 

——  Diike,  do.  dOb 

Cant  WiData,  from  b.  p^  R.  African 

Corps,  do.  Tioe  B«U  da 

Ena.Lewia,  da  da 

-Roberts,  da  da 

"*     , da  da 

[,  da  da 

Lt  WoodbooM,  from  b.  p.  83  F.  da 
26da 
— —  WDliameon,  from  89  F.  da  da 

MountKercQ,  from  b.  p.  49  F. 

da  da 

—  Innei,  from  b.  p.  14*F.  da    da 

Maq>bett,from87F.da       da 

Lillie,  frtimb.p.23F,da    da 

M'Conohy.  from  1  F.  da       da 

—Atkinson,  from  b.  a  73  F.  da  da 

—  Bottltbee,  from  ®  F.  da  vice 
Cutbbertaon  da 

Ens.  Andrews,  from  60  F.  da  Tioe 

Duke  27da 

^  Kellett.  from  77  F.  Ensim  da 

^  Ward,  from  h.  a  59  F.  da  da 
FoCbeniU,  from  b.  p.  12  F.  da 

viceLewiE  da 

Gent  Cadet  W.  A.  M'Clererty,  from 

R.  MIL  C6U.  Ensign  Tlce  Roterla 

26  da 
W.  BeD,  Ens.  vice  King  27  da 
J.J.  Grant,  da  Tioe  Codd  28  da 
Capt  BarOey.  Major  by  puich.  rice 

Lt  CoU  Hffl,  let  5  Febb 

Lt  Seweli,  Owt  by  purdu  da 

Bt  Mai.  M'Caskilr,  W.  by  purcb. 

vioelngleby,  ret  11  da 

Lt  Silver,  Capt  by  purcb.  da 

Enaign  Little,  Lt  by  purcb.  da 
P.  Full,  Ens.  by  purcb.  da 

Lt  Hawkins,  from  h.  a  3  W.  I.  R. 

Lt  Ylce  MitcheU,  97  f7  125  Marcb. 
Cant  Lewis,  from  h.  p.  58  F.  Capt 

vioe  Chambers,  99  F.  da 

Ens.  Binstead,  from  h.  a  26  F.  Ens. 

Tioe  CaUweU.  99  F.  da 

vioe  Andrews,  48 

27  da 


Nesbitt, 


Cant  Knight  from  b.  p.  Capt  vice 

Marshall,  exch.  ^^8  da 

Bt  CoL  VUe.  Forbes,  from  h.p.  Mue- 

xon's  R.  Capt  Tioe  Hbid,  excb. 

11  da 

(4  F.Lieut 

25  da 

F.  4a.  Tice 

da 

UF.Crat, 

60  F.  Lt. 
dift  18  da 
ir.  LR.da 

da 
n'kR.Ens. 

da 


84 


87 


95 
96 


97 


b.  a  100  F. 


Sept  1823. 


CaaC  Mabariy,  from 

Capt  LyncB,  excb.  ree.  c 

11  Mar.  1824. 
Lieut  Hakott,  from  67  F.  Lieut  Tier 

Reade.97F.  da 

—  Heard,  from  h.  a  71  F.  da  Tiee 
Morphett48F.  26da 

Lieut  Keitti,  from  b.  p.  23  F.  do  Tlec 
Cary,  25  F.  25  da 

Harding,  from  b.  a  18  F.do  viee 

Williamson,  48 F.  26da 

Lt  Freestnn,  from  b.  a  5  F.  da  vice 
Hamilton,  99  F.  da 

Surg.  CaUow,  from  b.  pw  20  Dr.  Sue. 

Asstot  Sues.  M'Andrews,  from  b.  pu 

62  F.  Assist  Surg.  da 

M.  Gen.  Sir  J.  Lyon,  £.  C.&  and 

G.  C.  H.  Colonel  25  March. 

Lt  CoLHamilton,  from  h.  p.  Lt  CoL 
Bt  Lt  CoL  Austin,  from  b.  p.  UaL  da 
Mi^.  BMnford,  from  b.  pw  7  W.  L  R. 

da  da 

Bt  Major  Morris,  from  b.  p.  New. 

foundUnd  Fen.  Capt  da 

Bt  MaJ.  Haddock,  from  b.  p.  NewH 

Fen.  da  da 

Capt  Darrah,  from  h._p.  79  F.  da  da 

Shaw,  ftxMn  31 F.  da  da 

Peddle,  from  h.  p.  38  F.  da  da 

^-^  Smith,  from  h.  p.  da  da 

Innes,  from  h.  p.  2  Dr.  da  da 

Pattiioo,from74.F.da      da 

Bt  Capt  Mitchell,  fhim  54  F.  Lt  da 
Lt  Reynolds,  fitMU  73  F.  da         da 

Cannon,  from  b.  p.  94  F.  da  da 

O'Neill,  from  h.  p.  84  F.  da  da 

Kekon,ftomh.pwl03F.da  da 

— *Austin,fh)mh.p.52F.da  da 
Scott,  from  25.  F.  da  da 

—  Camddiad,  from  tup.  1  UneG. 
Log.da  da 

CoaxtneT,fromh.p.79F.dada 

— *  Reade,  from  87  F.  da  da 
Prior,  from  b.  pw  95  F.  (t«np. 

rank)  Ens.  da 

Ens.  Leslie,  flnm  b.  p.  95  F.  da  da 

Harvest,  ftomh.  p.  98  F.  da  da 

— —  Vbicent,  from  b.  pw  82  F.da  da 
-«—  Burlton,  fkom  h.  pw  22  F.  da  da 
. —  Cheney,  from  h.  p.  19.  F.  da  da 
Mi^Oen.  Connd,  CtNonel  da 

Lt  CoL  M.  Fane,  from  b.  pw  Lt  CoL 
da 
Bt  Lt  CoL  Dunn,  from  h.  p^  88  F. 

Mai.  da 

M^Bayley,  from  b.  p.  1  Gwt.  Batt 

Bt  Mi^  Croaadaile,  from  b.  pw  97  F. 

Capt  da 

Capt  DaniaU,  from  h.  p.  73  F.  da  da 

Neame,  finm  h.  n.  8  F.  da  da 

*— —  Vau^ian,  from  n.  p^  R.  Afr. 

Ca  da  *        da 

-—  tk34F.dada 

—  97  F.  da  da 

—  i77F.  da   da 

—  p.  78F.  da  da 
Lt  Lt             da 

—  55F.  da  da 

—  Pb  73  F.  da  da 

—  p.89F.dada 

—  tt  b.  pw  82  F. 
da  da 

Fielding,  from  1  Vet.  Bn.  da  da 

—  Ramus,  fhmi  30  F.  da  da 
Maoquari^  from  b.  p^  48  F. 

da  da 

•— -  Lord  Wallaoouit,  from  18  F. 

da  da 

Phnnbe,  firam  21  F.  da        da 

Ens.  Dutton,  from  1  Vet  Bn.  do.  da 
—^  Roberts,  from  h.  pb  104  F.  da  da 

Whyte,  fromh.p.8F.da   da 

.-*- Granam,  from  1  Vet  Bn.  da  da 

NicoUs,  from  b.  p.  72  F.  da  da 

Gregory,  from  h.a  71 F.  da  da 

Serl.  MiO.   Camay,  fron  R.  Staff 

Cam,  Qua.  Mast  25  da 

Mi4.  Gm.  O.  J.  Han,  Colonel  da 
Lt  CoL  liaidiBgi^from44F.  U  CoL 

dOi 


Digitized  by 


Google 


1894.] 


Bt  Lt  GoL  BalVBlrd,  from  h.  p.  Rifle 

Bxitf.Mi4*  da- 

MaJ.  PatxiduoD,  ftom  b.  pw  67  F.  do. 

do. 

Bt  MiO*  Jdbattaoe,  from  h.  p.  CmL 

CmoL  Crooke,  firam  h.  p.  1  Garr.  Bn. 

^— -  JackiOD,  from  h.  p.  43d  F. 

do.  do. 
IfaqphOMO.  Ihnu  h.  p.  11  F. 

dOk  do. 

Cooper,  fttunlupw  3  CeyUMill* 

do.  do. 

— — —  Coltbunt,  from  b.  p.  do.  do. 
— Sbervingtoa.  from  n.  p.  do.  do 
■  ChamoCTB,  from  57  F.  do.  do. 

lieuL  Riduvdi,  from  9  Ve(.  Bn.  Lt> 
do. 
^— -  Hamilton,  from  93  F.  do.  do. 
OayuoTjfacwnh.pw  Yk.ChMi* 

do.  da 
— ^  MaiBeae,  from  67  F.  da  da 
A.  Campbell,  from  13  F.  da  da 

O'Leary,  from  b*  p.  91  F. 

da  do. 

— -  WartoD,  from  b.p.  Yk.  CbaM. 

da  da 
llackenaie,  from  3  Vet.  Bn. 

da  da 

Arautrong,  frtxnSO  F.  da  da 

—  Beauderic,  from  S7  F.  da  da 
Burke,  from  b.  p.  ii.  F.  A(U. 

andLt  do. 

Exuu  Laat,  from  1 VC.  Bn.  En*,  da  do* 

Patlfloa,  from  h.  p.  90  F.  da  da 

CaldweU,  from  60  F.  da        da 

^—  Smitb,  from  h.  p.67  F.  da    da 

Cor.  Pbibb*.  from  h.  p.  19  Dr.  da  da 

Ena.  Lor4  Elphimtooe,  from  b.  p.  69 

F.'Ent.  da 

A.  Forbes,  bite  Cotoor  SeiJ.  in  Itt  Bn. 

R.  Art.  Qua.  Matt.  da 

Rifle  Bilff.  Capt  Holden,  from  b.  p.  10  F.  Paym. 

^        ^oe  KUckaniie,  b.  p.         K  Feb. 

1  W.  LR.  Lt  CoL  Brown,  from b.  p.  6  W.I.R. 

Lieut.  Cokxiel  vice  Caitidy,  Cape 

Corps  do. 

F.  De  Daubrawa,  Ens.  vioe  MiQs, 

dead  S9Jen. 

S  CapC.  Wdman,  from  b.  p.  3  Qmrr. 

Bo.  Captain  Tioe  Wilson,  77  F. 

S3  March. 

Cane  Coras,  Lt  CoL  Caasidy,  from  1 W.  I.  R.  Lt. 

^       ^      CoL  vice  Ross,  b.p.  6  W.LR. 

S6Feb. 

Assist  Surf.  TumboB,  fiomb.p.  Afr. 

Corps,  Aaiist  Surg.  Tioe  Oarke, 

prom.  da 

Cape  Corps,  (Inf.)  Capt  Batty,  from  b.  p.  S7  i^*. 

^^^^      Capt^  Moiisktoti.  «4  F.  18  da 

R.Afr.OoLC.Liettt  Swansy,  (temp,  rank)  Ueut- 

witb  perm,  rank  16  Feb. 

—- Jackson,  da  da  17  da 

MoUan,dada  18da 

—  Mends,  da  da  19  da 


JppakUmenti,  Promotiani,  S^. 

Hotpital  Staff, 


491 


Surg.  HiU,  Surg,  vke  Burmo. 


T,  d< 


19  Feb. 

WOUamson,  Apotbeca- 

ry,  vice  Burrows,  dead  do. 

— -— —  Fogarty,  from  h.  p.  19 

Dr.  Assist.  Suig.  4  Mar. 

Palmer,  from  b.p.  30  F. 

da  vice  Macabe,  res.  10  do. 

Hosp.  Assist.  Warren,  Assist.  Surg. 

19  Feb. 

— —  Perkins,  do.  do. 

J.  M.  Dryadale,  Hosp.  Assist,      do. 

G.  Tower,  do.  da 

Hosp.  Assist  BrydoD,  Assist  Surg,  to  tbe  Forces, 

vice  Jobnsoo,  dead  18  Mar.  18S4. 

A.  Esson,  Hosp.  Assist  vice  Brydoo  do. 

J.  HfT*n^,  M.  D.  da  vice  James,  deed  do 

Tbe  undennentioned  OflEkwrs  of  the  Hosirftal  Staff 
of  IreUmd,  to  be  Commissioned  for  General  Ser- 
vice. 

Dep.  Insp.  Comins 

Staff  Surg.  Stringer 

— —  Purdon 

Onnsby 

Apothecary  0*Brien 
DhBp.  Purv.  Power 

Ordnance  Department 

R.  Art.        1st  Lieut.  Stokes,  from  h.  p.  1st  Lt. 

vice  DalaeU,  b.  p.      17  Jan.  18S4. 

R.  Eng.       Ist  Lieut.  Heath,  from  h .  p.  1st  Lieut. 

^  i  Mar.  1824. 

Exchanges. 
Bt  Lt  CoL  StrettoD,  from  40  F.  with  Uaior 
Bin,  b.p.  84 F. 
.  Berkdey.  from  S  W.  L  R.  with  Ma- 


iorJoly,b.p.6W.L 
Mator  Leake,  from 


Capt  Brett, 
8  Dr. 


63  F.  lecdllt  with  M4or  Ar- 
Unatt 
m  4  Dr.  with  Capt  Burrowes» 


Maitland,  from  Gren.  Gds.  rec.  difll  with 

Capt  Calvert,  b.  p.  53  F. 

J.  a  CoweD,  from  1 F.  with  Capt  Harvey. 

b.p.56F. 
Crawlbcd  from  41  F.  with  Capt  VanqwIU 

86  F. 
Barker,  fkom  5  F.  G.  rec  di£  with  Capt 

RoMnsoo,b.pw 
Reerdon,  from  49  F.  rec.  difll  with  Capt 

Rundle,  h.  p.  57  F.  ^^ ^^ 

Koinedy,  from  51  F.  reo.  diff  with  Capt' 

TimsoQ,  h.  p. 
L.  and  A4).  Taylor,  from  45  F.  with  Capt  Potts, 

b.  p.  17  Dr. 
Gofoet  Battier,  from  10  Di.  rec  dUL  with  Ensign 

MaodoneO.  b.  p^  35  F. 
Bucklmr,  from  24  F.  with  Eneign  Cun- 

yngbame,  82  F. 
Ensign  Daly,    from  3  Vet  Bn.  with   Ensign 

Raynes,  h.  p.  57  F 


BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


BIRTHS. 

Jan.  20.  At  Rome,  tbe  hidy  of  William  Har- 
ries Ker,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

28.  AtLiverpool.ti£bMlyof  ArdiibaldMax- 
wd],  Esq.  ofason.  ^     ^ 

31.  AtTenregles  House,  Mrs  Alexander  Gor- 
don.  of  a  daughter.  _,  ,      ^ 

Feb.  2.  AtLoodao,  the  lady  of  Ueut-eokwel 
Lindsay,  of  a  son.  .       ^ 

~~  20.    At  Combin,   the  Lady  of   David 
Young,  Esq.  of  a  daughter.  ^      , 

siTAt  Albury.  Surrey,  the  Lady  of  Coloiiel  Sir 
Jamei  Douglas,  &  C  B.  of  a  mb. 


21  At  Lochton,  tbe  lady  of  Robert  Ncsbit  Esq. 
of  MaabMtoo,ofastill4)omchikL   _     .  .     _^ 

—  AtRoyal  Barracks,  Dublin,  the  lady  of 
Cbadcs  Short,  Esq.  6th  Dngfxm  Guards,  of  a 

^&flfn'lTvine,  23»  Northumbertend  street,  of  a 

5.  At  Ttviolgrove,  Mrs  Alex.  Pott,  of  a  dangh- 

6.  In  Russd  Square,  London,  the  lady  of  R. 
Grant,  Esq.  of  Red  Castle,  of  a  dau«ht«. 

--It  Johtff  Place,  Lcitbt  BlnDunkVk  of  • 


Digitized  by 


Google 


498 
8.  Mn  W.  BuehaiuuB.  Drammond  Place,  of  a 


IUgUter^Birih9  and  MwrtiagtB. 


CApril, 


^TAtlS,  ItaUStrieC,  Mn  HaDbBmoBlUiinenk 
ofadMghter. 

9.  AtBdmMBgh,  Mn  Spaie^»  No.  1,  Bote 
OMurt,  Goorge  Street,  of  a  dinghter. 

11.  At  Kmon  Han,  Stamlbcd,  ttie  lady  of  Ste- 
phen Buton  Eaq.  of  a  ton* 

—  In  WeUinglxm  Square^  Ayr,  Mn  Hill,  DaO- 
ly,  of  a  son* 

19:  At  RothmalM,  Mrt  Forbee,  younger  of 
Bkekford,  of  a  mmu 

^  At  St,  Drammond  Piaee^  Mn  Balfoor,  of 
El«rfek,  of  a  daughter. 

14.  At  Edinlmrgh,  Mn  Tomer  of  Tumerhall, 
of  afoo. 

15.  At  No.  14,  Coatee  Creeeent,  the  lady  of 
Adam  Hay,  £sq.  of  a  ion. 

—  At  Uith,  the  lady  of  Alan  O.  Brown,  E«i. 
of  BeUkiLafaian. 

^  At  Whitehan,  the  lady  of  Jamci  Dinwiddle, 
Esq.  of  a  son  and  heir. 

16.  At  Fernie  HUl,  Mn  Archibald  M'Dowall, 
ofaeon. 

—  At  Barroek  Houae,  the  lady  of  John  Sinclair, 
EMi.of  aton. 

17.  At  the  houae  of  Mrt  Walker,  hi  George 
Street,  the  lady  of  John  Hall,  Eiq.  Junior,  of  Dun- 
^aas,  of  a  ■on. 

,  —  At  Whitehall  Pkoe»  London,  the  Right  Hon. 
Lady  James  Stuart,  of  a  ton. 

—  At  Dulwich,  Sumy,  the  lady  of  Darid  Mel- 
▼iHe,  Bmi.  of  twins. 

18.  At  Honeybrae.  Mn  Capt.  John  Boyd,  half- 
payof  the  8Sd  regiment,  of  a  son. 

ft.  At  Crammood,  Mrs  Hope  Johnstone,  of 
Annandale,ofasop. 
^  At  Kelly,  the  lady  of  the  Hon.  Colond 


RamaBy,ofasan. 
J4.  At 


Lathrisk,  Mn  Johnston,  ot  a  son. 
^  Mn  Peddle,  4,  Great  Kii«  Street,  of  twin 
ons. 

flS.  At  Knowiottth,  the  lady  of  WilHam  Oliver, 
• ^.  .  .         ^.^ ^ 


^At  i3.  Royal  ClMOi,  MnSibhald.  of 

—  At  DaladMMwae,  Mn  RamBtoA  of  DnhtU, 

f4.  At  Na  3,  Mary  Place,  Mn  John  limdi^, 
c#4  daughter. 

56.  At  Edinburgh,  Mn  George  Waudiope,  of 
aaon. 

57.  At  Daddingstaoo4uMue,  the  Right  Hoooor' 
able  Lady  Caroline  Ann  Macdooald,  of  a  daugh- 
ter. 

—  Mn  HaMane,  16,  Oodrge  Street^  of  a  aon. 

MARRIAGES. 
FA  9.  At  St  David's,  Mr  AndifeW  Meikl^foha. 
to  Mary,  dau^ter  of  Mr  Grlndlay.  Frikirk. 

—  At  Dummies,  Mr  John  Thomaon,  Maxwel« 
Ion,  late  merchant  in  Mancheiter,  to  EUaabeth, 
only  daughter  of  Francis  Bbatio,  Bkq.  Dumfrlee. 

—  At  Bumtafleld  Links,  Mr  James  Gardner, 
Sbockbridge,  to  Jane,  youngest  daughter  of  the 
Ute  Richai^  Dick,  E^.  ofSpyUw. 


A.  In  Great  Kii«  Street,  Lady  EUaabeth  Hope 
Vere,  of  a  son. 

—  At  Na  24,  Vorfc  Plaee,  Edinburgh,  the  Lady 
of  Dr  Macwhirter  of  a  daughter. 

8.  At  Springfield,  Leith  Walk,  Mn  Jamea 
Cheyne,  of  a  daughter. 

—  At  Edinbo^,  Mn  John  Cockbum,  of  a 
stiU-bom  son. 

8.  Mn  Dundas  of  Amiston,  of  a  daughter. 

9.  At  Na  S6,  Queen  Street,  the  Hon.  Mn 
Wardlaw,  of  a  son. 

10.  At  Perth,  the  Lady  of  Captahi  James  Stew- 
art, €i  Croesmount,  of  a  son. 

—  Mn  Hewat,  Dundas  Street,  of  a  daughter. 
11  At  Na  90,  Prince's  Street,  Mn  AnSBnon, 

ofadawditer. 

—  AtHermitage  Place,  Leith,  Mn  M*Kcaaie, 
of  a  daughter. 

18.  At  ArgyU  House,  the  Countess  of  Aber- 
deen, <tf  a  son. 

—  AtUfflngton  House,  Uncobuhire,  the  Coun- 
ttm  of  Undaay,  of  a  daughter. 

15.  At  Heriot  Row,  the  Lady  of  D.  Home^  Esq. 
of  a  son. 

—  At  Edhibat)^  Mn  Alexander  Steveason, 
Great  King  Street,  of  adaughter. 

18.  At  BJaroaMine,  flie  Lady  of  Dbmui  Canrn- 
b^  Esq.  of  Barcaldine,  of  a  son. 

fl.  Mn  Lieutenant  Mitchell,  royal  na^,  of 
Trinity  Cottage,  of  a  daughter. 

SI.  At  Bduwood,  FIMMie,  Mn  Onhpbell,  of 

^  At  »wmi^  CaaHrtitBy,  the  Mwehiaiies  of 

_i,  the  Lady  of  Sir  John  Scott 
Bart  of  Spring  wood  Pvk,  Rosburgh- 
adavghtw* 


noogla^ 


Scots  Fuaikers. 

S4.  At  St  Mary's  Church,  Dublin,  John  Lear- 
month,  Esq.  of  BdinbuTKh,  to  Margaret,  second 
daughter  of  James  Cleghcmi,  Esq.  M.  D.  stale 
physician. 

».  At  Duloe,  Lieut.-Colonel  James  Drummond 
Duller  Elphinstone,  3d  guards,  son  of  the  Hon. 
H.  Duller  Etohinstone,  to  Anna  Maria,  only  child 
of  Vice- Admiral  Sir  Edward  Buller,  Bart,  of  Tre- 
naot  Park,  in  the  county  of  CorawalL 

S6.  At  Moorieth,  Ho(pi  Uathom  of  Caatlewigg, 
Esq.  to  Catherine,  eldest  daughter  of  Sir  William   . 
Maxwell  of  Monrieth,  Bart. 

S6.  At  Wooden,  Captain  Robert  Walker^  the 
royal  navy,  to  Margaret,  only  daughter  of  Georae 
Walker,  late  of  TUrUtancb 

March  2.  At  Onniston,  Mr  James  Laing,  Tar- 
hat,  Rou-chire,  factor  to  the  Honourable  Mn 
Hay  Mackensie  of  Cromarty,  to  Miss  Isabella 
Thomson,  sooood  daughter  c9r  the  deceased  John 
Thomson,  Esq.  of  Prior-Letham. 

—  At  Tritonville,  Dublin,  Colonel  James  MaiU 
land,  of  the  84th  regiment,  to  Isabella  Anna,  eld- 
est daughter  of  Thomas  Manners,  Esq.  derk  to 
thesifoet. 

—  At  London,  the  Rev.  Lord  John  Thyune^  to 
Anne  Constantia,  third  daughter  of  the  Rev.  C.  C. 
Beresford. 

4.  At  Bamton  House,  Sir  Thomas  WooQaston 
White,  of  Wallingwells,  ih  the  county  of  Not- 
tingham, Bart,  to  Miss  Oeorgina  Ramsay,  young- 
est daui^hter  of  the  late  Geoige  Ramsay  of  Bam- 
ton, Esq. 

8.  At  Meadow  Place,  William  Wallace.  Esq. 
writer  to  the  signet,  to  Zelica  Cheshire,  relict  oC 
the  deoeaeed  Lieutaumt  Donald  Grant. 

11.  At  Drayton  Basset,  Stafibidshire,  the  Hon. 
Henley  Eden,  eldest  son  of  Lord  Henley,  to  Bax- 
riot,  youngest  daughter  of  Sir  Robert  PeeL  Bar^ 

-- In «  JeitfTOiapd,  William  HenrySkiee^ 
Esq.  of  St  John,  New  BrunswiekA  to  Mary,  daugl|- 
M»  of  Uwlile  Jmici  Bruee,  Ea^  n«val  oBfm, 
Leith. 

17.  At  the  house  of  the  Earl  of  CaadUb,  fai 
Whitehall,  London,  Cantain  Peel,  of  the  grena 
di«  guards,  son  of  Sir  Robert  Peel,  to  Lady  Alice 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


low-;] 


Regiiier.'^Marriages,  ami  Deaths. 


19.  At  PraifeonfldtMioiue.  If i^  DaaenlfM. 
mfor,  Slit  iwiDMit,  to  BliMbtih  DouglM  Trot. 

IS.  At  TiinitT  Cottan^  Fmicb  Siewri^il, 
^MthnffaDoit.  tolUxj,  4Migliter  or  Wik 

■MB  HflMyQOI^   gyw 

«6- At  EdtDbiagb,  CbaHtt  Cnici*  Halkttt, 
b«.o#IUIIhill.iiitlMooiiBtyofV1fcrto  SuMn, 
Wmgr  *«Tyiit«i  ofSir  John  MaijorilMiiks  of 
hem,  Bart.  lH  P.  Bcrwiduhira. 

pabrtolu  Esq.  adTocate,  to  Jane*  a&cat  dau^tv 
SrifflSa  DmyM  of  Booehi^ood.  B^ 

I^if«^.  At  Kcn)ck  Bank,  Mr  James  Wink- 
varCh,  of  lattriiton,  to  Marion  SaUudff,  YoonRcat 
daofhtcr  of  tfa*  lato  Mr  Wm.  O^wbemar. 


—  At  Banfor,  In  Walas,  Robirt  Hughes,  attho 
BUitar»H»ofl6,toJaoaDaTias,  ayo«li^/W  wl. 


DEATHS. 
.    JtU^  16,  18S3.  At  Dinanoce,  Bengal,  in  the 
ffXtk  year  of  hit  age,  James  M'Gregor.  M.  D.  as. 
aistant  suiseoQ  inlht  Hon.  East  India  Company's 

A9if.  At  Lacknow,  in  the  East  Indiesi  M^jor 
Alexander  Fortune,  of  the  27th  regiment  of  Ben- 
mX  Kative  Infentry,  and  Aid»4e-Camp  to  th6 
iDnrofOnda. 

19.  At;Liiduiow,  Bengal,  of  cholera  mor- 

&John  J.  Gibson.  Esq.  surgeon  in  the  Hon. 
India  Companyis  serrice,  and  physician  to 
his  Msiesty  the  Kiof  of  Oude,  only  sunriviAg  son 
of  the  late  James  GitNon,  Esq.  surgeon  in  Edin- 
Durgh,  and  a  few  boors  after,  Mrs  Anne  BaiUir, 
Wswlfc. 
—  Of  a  ferer,  at  Trincamalee,  Lieut.  Charles 
T  the  royal  engineers,  only  son  of  Charles 
iq.  of  BaUindodi. 
.  Mr  John  Stevenson,  a  natlre  of  the  parish 
of  Mebow,  Rosbarghshire,  and  one  of  t)ie  pro- 
prieton  of  the  Guiua  Chronidc,  George  Toirn* 
He  lost  his  Ufeby  an  accident  that  bdel  hhn  ^ 
the  rirer  Oriwieo^  Spanish  M«ioe*  South  Ameri* 

8af,  a  At  Bekaum,  in  the  East  Indies.  Colo- 
nel  Geosge  Mode,  of  the  46th  regiment,  com- 
aaaadtng  the  di  visloa  of  the  army  in  that  prorince. 

ft.  OffFatta,  oohis  way  toFort-WUliam,  Cap. 
tain  Japas  Rodger,  of  the  Hon.  East  India  Com- 
pany*s  9^  regiment,  Madras  native  infi&ntry,  eld* 
est  son  of  George  Rodger,  Esq.  of  BridgelaiMls. 

9$,  At  Miixapore,  1^  Indies,  Mr  Ilenry  Mezw 
ear,  second  son  of  James  Mercer,  Esq.  one  of  the 
depute<)erfcs  to  Uie  bills,  Edinburgh. 

No¥.  IS.  At  Black  River,  Poyais,  Mr  Thomas 
Stenhouse,  son  of  the  late  Alexander  Stenhouse, 
Edinbuiiriu 

S9.  At  Sympheiopole,  Alfred,  infimt  son'  of 
Saltan  Katti.Ghery.Kriin.Gbery. 

Jan.  7.  At  Aberdeen,  Jchn  Davidson,  Esq.  of 
Kebbaty. 

la  Mr  Bowditch,  the  cdefarated  African  tt». 
vaUar.  He  had  been  cm{doyed  in  surveying  ttie 
river  Gambia,  and  after  expoNng  himself  to  the 
beat  of  the  sun  during  the  oay,  he  became  exces- 
sively chilled  by  the  land  breeses  in  the  evening^ 
whilst  making  astronomical  observations,  and 
caught  the  fever  of  the  country.  Hisvouth,  and 
tempnate  habits  were  so  much  in  his  avour,  that 
be  revived  two  or  three  times  in  a  surprising  man« 
ner,  but  his  extreme  impatience  under  the  inter- 


a  discovery.  His  widow  and  three  children  afe 
entirely  unprovided  for ;  she  accompanied  him 
to  Africa,  and  entered  with  ttie  utmost  acal  and 
enthusiasm  into  aU  his  views  and  pursuits,  which 
rile  was  eminently  qnaUfled  to  promote,  by  her 
ine  taknts  aa  an  aitttt,  and  her  extensive  know- 
■dju  ofjeveval  brandies  of  natural  history. 
_  17.  AtBiodle  Hous^  Jamet  Brodle,  bq.  of 


493 
*5«AtWa  house,  Gateside,  Launn^  1 


■to.  of  Bamngry,  FUteMre. 

ban^  b£^  *"  "*  ^  ^^  *^' "^  ^^'"'^ 
--  At  Ktakbaan  Maase^  the  nevarend  SdwaM 

Nailson,  mintoCer  of  tiMt  parish. 
—  At  Dunblane,  John  Allan,  Esq.  eoDa 

tues  Ibr  the  south  district  of  PwShfae. 
— ^t  Stomraer,  James  Bowie,  Esq.  Deputy 


S8.  At  Ailoa.  Mr  Andrew  Heig. 

to.  At  Easttoch,  Mr  John  Puidie,  fiumer. 

"-  At  Florence,  the  widow  of  thelato  Pitteudei-, 
aged  Bt.  This  bdy  is  better  known  under  the 
name  of  the  Countess  of  Albany.  Inherdomes- 
tiedrele^  she  was  treated  with  the  distinction  ef 
a  Queen,  and  always  used  the  royal  arms. 

30.  Ar  Cupar  Angus,  the  Reverend  Alexandfr 


house,  S6,  BroughtoB  Place,  Miss 


AUan,i 

-At^ 
Janet  Scott. 

F«A.  f.  At  KUUgnay,  Hanris,  Mrs  Madeod  of 

Unish. 

--  Mr  John  Nlcolson,  a  youth  of  great  at. 
talnments  ami  high  promise. 

.-  At  her  house,  at  Woolwich,  the  once  I 
tttul  and  admired  actress.  Mrs  Htffley,  aged 
She  was  a  cotemporary  with  Gairidc,  and,  we 
Beve,  the  only  one  that  remained,  excepting  Mr 
Quick  and  Mrs  Mattocks,  who  are  still  aUve^ 

3.  At  her  residence,  in  the  King's  Palace^  8t 
Jameses,  London,  the  Right  Hon.  the  Oounleal  of 
Harrington. 

—  The  hifknt  son  of  Ueot-Genenl  Sir  John 
Oewald  of  Dunnikier. 

—  At  his  house,  Leopold  Flaee.  Mr  Aleaander 
Armstrong,  builder. 

4.  At  SMTT  Bank,  Anstruther,  youngest  son  of 
Robert  Palullo,  Esq. 

5.  At  Edinburgh,  Anne  Jane,  daughter  of  the 
hue  Mr  Alex.  DiAcie,  Edtobui^ 

.-  At  Leith  HaU,  Mrs  Hay  c^Rannsa. 

6.  At  Sunbury,  James  Halg,  Junior,  Esq. 

<—  At  Lander,  the  Rev.  Robert  ColviIe,^pwtor 
to  the  first  United  Associate  Congf  egatioo  amat 
idace. 

—  At  Largs,  Fife,  Mr  John  Smith,  shipHywncf. 

7.  In  James's  Squan,  Mrs  Agnes  WifliamsoQ. 
wife  of  Mr  WllUam  Scott,  of  the  Bm  Chamber. 

8.  The  Reverend  Peter  Macnee»  ndnisCer  of  the 
Soots  Church,  Bavingtoo,  Northumberland. 

.-  At  the  Manse  of  Rosskeen,  Ross.shiie,  thb 
Reverend  John  Ross. 

la  At  No.  28,  Dundas  Street.  Mrs  IsaMhi 
Mitchell,  wife  of  Mr  Robert  Purdie,  mnsic^sdler. 

—  At  his  house,  in  Staflbrd  Street,  Edinburgh, 
LieuU-cokmel  Robertson,  late  of  the  SIst  r^ 
ment,  or  Scots  Fusileers. 

—  At  his  house,  RankeiBor  Street,  Andrew 
Bennet,  Esq. 

—  At  hCThouscu  116,  Prince's  Street,  MnJiolm 
Forman,  senior. 

IL  At  Brae- Mar,  in  the  lllfli  year  of  his  age^ 
Patrick  Grant,  the  venerable  Highlander  to  whom 
his  M^)estv,  two  vears  ago,  graciously  granted  ^ 
pension  moat  guinea  per  wedc 

11.  James,  only  son  of  Mr  Alex.  M.  Anderson, 
writer.  North  Nelson  Street 

IS.  At  Edinburgh,  Duncan  Robertson,  Esq.  of 
Camm  Vale,  and  of  Friendship,  Safait  EUaabedT, 
Jamaica. 

13.  At  Senwkk  House,  Lady  Gordon,  spouse 
of  Sir  John  Gordon,  Bart,  of  Eiarlston. 

»  At  Edhiburgb,  Captahi  NcaUt  Glen,  royal 

ll*  At  Fredand,  ErsUna^  Mrs  Penekne  Lam. 
Ue  Johnston,  wife  of  M^  Walker,  tete  4td 
fbot. 

—  At  ArgyU  Park,  Ann,  eldast  daughter  of  the 
late  Mr  Alexander  Campbell  of  Inverary. 

15.  At  AuMbar,  Patrick  Chahnets,  Esq.  of 
AuMbar,  advocate.  ^ 

-.  At  tne  Manse  at  Kllwinninf,  the  Revmnd 
Jamea  Steven,  minister  of  Kilwiniilnff. 

-.  At  BonniiMtan,  David,  youngest  son  9t 
Captain  Alex.  M'Vlcar,  royal  navy. 
~8.  At  Craigferth  House,  CMoBd  Geo. 
der,ofCnugtorth. 


17 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Eegitier.'^DeaOu. 


404 

18.  At  BurntaBeld  Pkoe.  umt  fidlnlmiBh*  Im- 
beUa.  third  daughter  of  Mr  John  Andenoo. 

10.  At  LdthWalk.  Mr  David  Elder,  ag«d  75. 

—  At  Curon  Vale,  Robert,  aecond  Km  of  the 
late  Duncan  Robertsoo.  Csq.of  Carron  Vak. 

19.  At  Grove  Place.  Mrs  Catharine  Ediocton. 

—  At  his  father's  hou^.  in  the  parish  of  Beath, 
near  Dunfermline,  Mr  John  B«rj,  stndent  of 
divinity,  aged  S3. 

—  At  London,  in  the  73d  year  of  his  age.  Sir 
John  Orde,  Bart,  admiral  of  the  red. 

~  At  his  house,  Gayfldd  Plaoe,  Robert  Soott. 

fi.  In  Dublin  Street,  Mr  John  Ramsay,  solici- 
tor Supreme  Courts. 

SI.  At  her  house  at  Seallekl,  the  Hon.  Mrs 
Campbell  of  LOchneU,  daughter  of  the  late  George 


[[April. 


^  At  Edinburgh.  Cuitain  Edward  Hibbert, 
royal  navy,  third  son  or  Geo.  Hibbert,  Esq.  of 
Portland  Place,  London. 

S3.  At  Cathoart  Manse,  Mr  Robert  Dow,  only 
son  of  the  Reverend  David  Dow. 

--At  Stanhope,  Mr  Archibald  OUver  Davidson, 
surgeon,  aged  S& 

SS.  In  May's  Buildings,  St  Marthi's  Lcne,  Lon- 
don, Mr  John  Davy,  aged  59  years.  His  talents, 
as  a  musical  onnposer,  will  long  be  remembered 
tot  their  combination  of  sound  sdenee,  and  sim- 
ple Engliah  melody.  '  Just  Uke  Love,*  •  May  we 
ne'er  wanta  Friend.*  '  The  Death  of  the  Smug- 
gler,' and  *  The  Bay  of  Biscay,'  will  remain  la»* 
iig  testlmoDics  of  his  genius. 

i3.  Colin  Mackenaie,  Esq.  of  Mountgerald*  aged 
61  years. 

is.  The  tnteit  son  of  William  Johnston,  Esq. 
oTLathrisk. 

55.  At  Musaelbaxgh,  Mr  George  Stuart,  mer- 
cbanl  there. 

56.  At  her  ho^Me,  St  Patrick'^  Square,  aged 
7S,  Mrs  Margaret  Macahster,  relict  of  WiOiam 
Handyside,  bq.of  Kirklands. 

S9.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  Hutchiaan  Dunbar,  late 
merdiant,  Edinburgh. 

Aforc^  1.  In  Cllflbrd  Street,  London,  Lieut. 
0«n«  SirGeorge  Wood,  K.  C  B.  of  the  Hon.  East 
India  Company's  Bengal  army. 

5.  At  Avoclue,  Mrs  Gordon  of  Avoehie,  widow 
of  the  hue  Petk  Goidoo,  Esq.  of  Avoehie,  in  her 
84th  year. 

3.  At  Genodi,  Marion,  youngest  daui^ter  of 
John  Cadioait,  Esq.  of  Genoch. 

—  At  No.  16,  Charlotte  Street,  Mrs  ElimbeCfa 
Campbell,  widow  of  the  Rev.  William  Dun. 

4.  Charles  John,  infant  son  of  John  Hay  For- 
be^  Esq.  advocate. 

5*  AtEdinburgh,  Mr  James  Donaldson, mini- 
ster of  the  Bercan  ConnegaUon,  in  the  75d  year 
Hi  his  age,  and  i7th  of  nis  ministry. 

»  At  his  house,  Baxter's  Place,  Edhiburgh, 
John  Gleed,  Esq.  solicitor  of  excise  in  Scotland. 

—  At  his  house,  in  Dean  Street,  London,  Sir 
Thomas  Bell. 

—  At  Dundee,  Dr  Robert  Henderson,  aged  74. 

—  At  the  manse  of  Morven,  the  Rev.  Norman 
M'Leod,  minister  of  that  parish. 

6.  At  London,  the  Marquis  of  Titehfleld,  M. 
P.  for  King's  Lynn. 

7.  At  her  brother's  house.  South  Nelson  Street, 
Miss  Catherine  Kennedy,  younger  daughter  of  the 
Rev.  Thomas  Kennedy,  minister  of  St  Madoes, 
Perthshire. 

—  At  8,  Charlotte  Square^  William  Ramsay, 
Esq. 

—  At  the  Grove,  the  seat  of  his  lordship,  after 
a  long  indisposition,  Thomas  VilUers.  Earl  of 
ClareiMion,  Baron  Hyde,  and  a  Count  of  the  king- 
dom of  Prussia. 

9.  At  her  house,  Albany  Street,  the  Hon.  Bar- 
bara RoUo. 

—  At  Paris,  the  Duke  of  Cambeceres.  He 
made  a  considerable  figure  in  the  Revolutioii,  and 
was  aecond  consul  with  Buonaparte. 

—  At  his  seat  at  Easton  Lmlge,  in  Essex,  the 
Right  Hon.  Charles  Viscount  Maynard. 

II.  In  Picardy  Place,  in  the  UOth  year  of  her 
age,  Mrs  Isobel  Cranstoun,  relict  of  the  Rev.  James 
^!ott,  Cormerly  minister  of  the  gospel  at  Mussel- 
burgh. 


IS.  At  his  hottw,  DavM  Stnet,  m  theesdyw 
of  his  age,  Mr  Robert  Steven,  upwards  of  40 
yean  teaeher  in  this  city. 

—  At  Edinbuifh,  Jmnes  Forman,  Bm.  wxltar 
lothesignet. 

15.  At  Clifton,  Bristol,  Mn  Sophia  Lees,  dte- 
tinguished  In  the  literary  world  by  the  oomedy  of 
the  *'  Chapter  of  Accidents,"  Canlexbury  Tataa,' 

ttC.  dM. 

14.Atherhous^  hi  George  Street,  Miss  LouiM 
Hope,  a  daughter  of  the  lata  rommlssJooeKnMiTWs 
Hope,  of  his  Mi^esty's  navy. 

—  At  CramcMid-house,  John,  the  inflmt  sod  of 
John  J.  Hope  Johnston,  BM|.of  Annaadale. 

15.  Atthemanseof^:aiktt»,theRev.Wi]HasD 
Shiels,  aged  71  years.  He  was  45  years  a  ndmster 
of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  54  of  which  were  apent 
at  Westruther,  and  the  remaining  9  at  Eailalao. 
both  hi  Berwickshire. 

16.  Mary,  youngest  dai^fatcr  of  Mr  Wimam 
Patison,  mflrdiant,  Edinburgh. 

—  At  No.  IS,  Raebum  Hace,  Mte  CathcriM 
Afaulie,  youngest  daughter  of  the  lata  Mr  William 
AinsUe,  sailer,  EdlmbuKh. 

17.  At  Nellfleld,  near  Burntisland,  Misa  Aane 
Wemyss,  daughter  «f  William  Wemyss,  Esq.  of 
CuttlehilL^        ^ 

18.  At  Paisley,  after  a  long  and  painftil  iUness, 
Mr  James  Cross,  inventor  of  the  new  weaving- 
machine,  fbr  superseding  the  use  of  draw-boya. 

19.  At  Buccleu<dt  Plaoe,  Mr.  William  HowdsQ. 
jeweller  in  Edinbunriu 

—  Mrs  L.  Frankhn,  OaYfleld  Sqture,  sflsr  hn- 
▼ing  given  birth  to  a  daughter. 

SI.  At  View  Park,  Bumtsfleld  Links,  Archi- 
bald, yotti^Bst  son  of  Mr  Inglis,  banker,  Edin- 
burgh. 


—  At  Edinbmgh,  Mrs  Jeane  Pantoo,  rdict  of 
die  Rev.  George  nuntoD.  LL.D.inher87tfay 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Charles  FOtberingham,  J 

—  At  Paris,  W  alter,  only  son  of  Ae  Earl 
Airley. 

SS.  At  Lauxiston,  Andrew  Livingstonib  E^.  of 
Grobdale. 

55.  At  his  house,  HiQ  Square,  after  a  Ih^eriiy 
illness  of  several  months,  Lieut.  James  M'Donald, 
aged  48. 

—  At  Edinbnnh,  Mrs  Dlekaon,  widow  of  Ca». 
tain  Alexander  DidLBon,  tote  of  the  royal  aitO- 

S4.  Sir  Thomas  Plumer,  maslar  of  the  roUa. 
•He  had  long  been  in  a  declining  stale  of  health.  ' 

56.  At  Leith,  George  B.  Vanr,  Esq.  merdiant* 
«gedS9  years. 

—  Hon.  W.  F.  Elphinstonct,  an  East  India  dl- 
rector. 

Latelv,  at  Charleetown,  South  CanliBa,  IU>> 
bert  Piimeroae.  Esq.  only  son  of  Mr  Nicol  Prime- 
rose,  formerly  resident  there,  and  grandson  of  the 
late  Mr  Robert  Primerose,  surgeon,  Mussdbonh. 

—  At  her  son's  house.  No.  11,  Society,  Mrs 
James  Brewster,  aged  74. 

—  In  his  80th  year,  the  Rev.  Dr  Ford,  late  or- 
dinary in  Newgate. 

—  At  his  seat  at  Chissdhurst,  of  a  paralytic  at- 
tack. Sir  Thomas  Rdd.  Bart,  a  divector  of  the 
East  India  Company,  and  who  totely  filled  theof- 
floe  of  chairman  of  the  Court  of  Direetofs. 

—  At  Stokcton,  Cornwall,  the  Hon.  Michael 
De  Couroey,  admiral  of  the  blue. 

—  At  Downington  Priory,  Berks,  Admiral  Sir 
A.  Bertie,  K.C.B.  aged  70. 

—  At  Loodon,  Luke  White,  Esq.  M.  P.  Ibr  the 
county  of  Leitrim. 

.—  At  Paris,  the  Prince  de  Conde,  alter  a  long 


-~  Maria  Louisa,  Dudiess  of  Lucca,  fmnerly 
Qtieen  of  Etruria,  and  a  Princess  of  Spain. 

—  At  4,  Forth  Street,  Mr  William  RjunJiin,  late 
of  Calcutta. 

»  At  Stockhohn,  Fleld-Manhal  Wrede,  at  die 
age  of  63,  after  a  king  and  painful  illness. 

—  At  Cheltenham,  aged  78,  the  Reverend  Sir 
Henry  Bate  Dudley,  Bart.  Prebend  of  Ely,  and 
Rector  of  Willincham,  in  Cambridgnhire.  fofn»- 
erly  proprietor  of  several  London  newspiqiers.  In 
early  life,  he  ftnigfat  a  duel  with  A.  R.  Stoney, 
Esq.  who  afterwards  married  Lady  StaiOBuaon^ 
ana  took  the  name  ot  Bowes. 


PrimUd  Ay  JaaMt  BaUani^ne  and  Co,  EtUnbmtgh, 

^  Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


BLACKWOOD'S 


EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


No.  LXXXVIII. 


MAY,  1824. 


Vol.  XV. 


THE  INSTRUCTION  OF  THE  IEI8H  PEA8AKT&Y. 


The  fbniiation  of  the  Edaeation  Com* 
miUe#  for  Ireland,  is  a  matter  whidi 
we  cannot  pass  altogether  in  ailenoe. 
We  are  most  anxious  that  the  nation 
should  estimate  correctly  every  step 
that  is  taken  with  regard  to  Ireland; 
and  when  we  reflect  upon  the  prodi- 
^ous  delusion  which  the  term  Educa- 
tion neTer  fidls  to  oroduoe  when  it  is 
mentioned,  we  think  it  of  the  first  im- 
portance, that  the  benefits  which  this 
Committee  may  be  expected  to  pro- 
duce, should  be  dearly  stated. 

The  Education  of  the  Poor,  as  it  is 
called,  is  one  of  those  cant  phrases, 
which  are  always  received  witK  extra- 
vagant cheers  by  all  parties.  If  the 
plaudits  proceeded  fVom  men  who  had 
never  been  within  a  school,  and  who 
knew  not  their  letters,  there  would  be 
nothing  odd  in  them ;  but  when  they 
are  raised  by  persons  who  have  in  ge- 
neral received  a  tolerably  good  educa- 
tion, they  fill  us  with  wonder.  We 
love  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  things,  and 
to  speak  out  We  happen  to  know 
something  of  village  schools,  and  we 
will  ther^ore  state  what  they  are,  and 
what  the  '*  education"  is  which  the 
children  of  the  poor  receive  at  Uiem. 

The  whole  that  the  villoffe  schodmas- 
ter  professes  to  teach,  and  is  capable  of 
teocning,  is,  reading,  writing,  and  the 
more  vvJgar  branches  of  mathematics. 
He  may  near  his  pupils  read  portions 
of  the  Scriptures,  and  make  them  com- 
mit to  memory  the  Catediism ;  but  as 
to  his  explaimng  the  meaning  of  these, 
and  teacnin^  their  application  to  hu- 
man life,  it  IS  outof  the  Question.  He 
does  not  stipulate  to  do  it,  and  he  is 
not  capable  of  doing  it    His  card,  if 

Vol.  XV. 


he  be  sufficiently  dignified  to  have  one, 
specifies,  that  he  teaches  reading,  wri- 
ting, arithmetic,  and  perhaps  even  al- 
gebra, but  it  is  wholly  silent  touching 
theology.  He  has  in  six  or  seven  hours^ 
without  assistance,  to  give  manifold 
lessons  to  thirty,  forty,  or  fifty  smaU 
children,  the  greater  portion  of  whom 
are  unable  to  read,  and  he  finds  this 
employment  sufficiently  ample  to  pre- 
clude him  from  becomine  a  lecturer  on 
morals  and  religion.  The  parents  cf 
his  pupils  are  ffenerally  abundantly 
dissatisfied  with  his  exertions,  but  still 
they  do  not,  like  many  of  our  states- 
men, expect  him  to  teach  what  he  does 
not  undertake  to  teach. 

The  children  go  to  theschod  at  the 
age  of  four  or  five,  and  at  ten  or  twelve 
they  leave  it  altogether.  They  are  ne- 
ver under  the  master's  eye,  except  du- 
ring school-hours,  and  then  the  only 
thing  thought  of,  as  we  have  already 
said,  is,  to  give  them,  with  all  possibie 
rapidity,  a  smattering  of  reading,  wri- 
ting, and  arithmetic  When  the  boy, 
at  ten  or  twelve,  leaves  the  school,  be 
can  perhaps  stammer  through  a  chap- 
ter of  the  Bible-— he  has  read  to  hiis 
master  in  his  way  the  greater  portion 
of  the  sacred  book — ^he  can,  in  a  cer« 
tain  fashion,  repeat  the  Catediism— be 
can  write  a  \mb\e  hand,  and  even 
work  a  Rule  of  Three  question ;  but 
as  to  bis  having  kid  in  a  stock  of  sound 
principles  of  conduct,  it  is  absurd  to 
eiqiect  it  He  has  learned  what  may 
be  of  use  to  him  in  the  employments 
of  life— 4ie  has  learned  comparativdy 
nothing  that  will  bind  him  to  the  dis- 
chiurae  of  its  duties. 

The  children  of  the  ridi^  only,  find 
3S 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


4J>tf  The  Instructum  of 

in  books  a  language  to  which  they  have 
been  accnatomed^  and  which  is  con- ' 
atantly  spoken  around  them ;  but  the 
children  of  the  village  poor  find  in 
books  a  langnage  whicn  they  have  ne- 
ver heard  spoken.  The  bmgnage  of 
books  is  to  them  like  a  foreign  one. 
llie  significant  words  of  almost  every 
sentence  are  such  as  they  have  never 
heard>  and  to  the  sense  of  which  they 
are  utter  strangers  ;  and  therefore^ 
when  they  read  to  the  master,  they, 
like  the  mere  English  scholar  reading 
Latin,  onlv  repeat  a  number  of  words 
of  which  they  kpow  not  the  meaning. 
How  many  people  are  there  of  expen- 
sive education — ^how  many  respectable 
tradesmen,  merchants,  men  of  fortune, 
even  members  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, who  do  not  know  the  sense  of 
half  the  words  they  find  in  a  well- 
written  volume  ?  How  then  if  it  pos- 
sible for  these  poor  children  to  under- 
stand  the  Scriptures  and  the  Catechism, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  regulate  their  con- 
duct by  them  without  the  most  able 
aasistanoe? 

The  great  mass  of  the  village  child- 
ren are,  on  their  leaving  school,  em- 
ployed in  husbandry  lalxmr :  they  can- 
not procure  books,  they  have  no  lei- 
sure for  reading,  and  they  speedily  for- 
get what  the  schoolmaster  has  taught 
tnem.  If  about  one  in  fifty  of  them 
has  a  natural  taste  for  reading,  it  is 
almost  impossible  for  him  to  gratify  it. 
He  has  no  money,  he  can  reach  no  li- 
brary, the  whole  that  he  can  do  is  to 
borrow  a  scattered  volume  here  and 
there,  and  tben  he  has  the  meaning  of 
half  Uie  words  to  hammer  out  of  his 
dictionary,  as  though  he  wereleaming  a 
strange  tongue.  If  the  children,  when 
they  leave  school,  are  put  to  a  trade, 
they  are  frequently  exercised  in  wri- 
ting and  arithmetic,  and  they  thus  turn 
10  account  what  they  have  learned  from 
the  schodmaster ;  but  those  who  go 
lo  husbandry  labour,  have  compara- 
tively nouse for  what  they  have  learn- 
ed, they  have  no  means  of  exercising 
themselves  in  it,  and  therefore  it  is  al- 
BOtt  impossible  for  them  to  retain  it. 
It  seems  to  be  thought  by  the  advoeates 
ibr  country  schools,  that  every  one  has, 
in  a  certain  degree,  a  natural  taste  fin- 
reading.  In  reply  to  diis,  we  wj)l 
again  refer  to  the  middling  and  opu- 
lent classes.  The  vast  mass  of  these, 
with  abundant  means  in  their  hands, 
scarcely  ever  read  anything  save  a 
newspaper ;  what  then  is  to  beexpeet- 


the  Irish  PeataiUry.  [[May, 

ed  from  the  country  pkmghboy,  who» 
when  he  leaves  school,  cannot  read  a 
page  without  having  to  spell  half  die 
words  in  it,  and  who  knaws  not  die 
meaning  of  three-fourt2ia  of  them; 
who  is  destitute  of  money  and  books, 
and  who  has  to  devote  twelve,  four* 
teen,  and  sixteen  hours  of  the  day  to 
severe  labour  ? 

We  wish  from  our  souls  that  our 
legislators  would  ask  themselves  what 
moral  and  religious  principles — ^what 
good  habits  and  opinions,  they  received, 
even  at  large  and  well-appointed 
schools,  in  we  first  twelve  ysars  of 
their  lives;  if  they  will  do  this,  they 
will  be  able  to  form  some  idea,  thon^ 
a  very  inadequate  one,  of  what  village 
children  learn  of  these  in  that  portion 
of  life  from  the  illiterate  village  school- 
master. Parents  think  themsdves  ex- 
eeedingly  fortunate  if  their  duldren 
leave  great  schools  and  the  univenitiaa 
without  having  learned  at  them  de- 
praved habits.  The  aons  of  opulent 
people,  for  at  least  some  years  after 
they  finish  a  most  expensive  educatioo* 
fbrm  the  most  vicious  and  immoral 
portion  of  the  whole  community.  The 
school  system  has  been  many  yean  in 
operation  in  Ireland,  and  yet  it  isoon- 
fisssed  Uiat  its  moral  and  rdigious  firuits 
cannot  be  fiiund ;  the  same  system  hat 
been  still  longer  at  work  in  England, 
and  yet  who  wall  say,  except  Mr  Hob* 
house,  that  the  present  generation  of 
the  lower  orders  is  more  moral  and 
religious  than  preceding  ones  ?  The 
more  furious  of  the  Radicals  of  late 
years — the  most  blind  of  those  who 
signed  the  late  Queen's  addrems  and 
composed  her  processions — those  who 
so  lately  maintained  in  opulence  Coh- 
bett,  Carlisle,  Examiner  Hunt,  Orator 
Hunt,  and  the  thousand  other  sedition 
and  blasphemy  spewcrs  themoi  who, 
three  or  four  years  ago,  placed  our  gk>- 
rious  constitution  in  the  most  immi- 
nent danger,  were  principally  persons 
who  had  been  at  school,  and  wbM>  oould 
both  read  and  write. 

The  naked  truth  is,  that  country 
schools,  when  tke^  are  noi  made  the 
amtUutriejt  of  parents  and  the  der^, 
are  not  of  the  smallest  use  in  teadnng 
morality  and  religion.  T^ey  accustom 
children  to  control^-they  make  them 
acquainted,  though  impi^ectly,  with 
the  arts  of  reading,  writing,  and  arith- 
metic, which  may  be  of  service  to  them 
in  earning  their  bread ;  they  employ 
them  dnringa  portion  (tf  the  day,  wfal^ 


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i  iiiis^ief^  bat  they  are  beneficial 
no  further.  The  achoohnaater  ia  not« 
and  doea  not  PfQ^eaa  to  be^  a  teadier 
of  religion.  The  children  leave  the 
adiool  at  twelve  or  thirteen,  with  cha- 
ractera  whollj  nnforawd — with  no 
aohool-tanght  knowled^  beyond  a 
very  limitra  one  of  the  arts  we  have 
tyecified,  without  poaaeasing  themeana 
of  obtaining  books,  and  wiUioat  being 
able  to  understand  hooka  if  they  chance 
to  meet  with  anv.  Their  charactera 
are  almoat  altogether  formed  after  tkty 
Uave  school,  by  those  among  whom 
they  grow  up  to  maturity.  If  theae 
aehoou  are  made  the  auxiuariea  of  pa- 
renta  and  the  clergy,  they  are  then  of 
great  use  in  sowing  the  seeds  of  reli- 
gion. The  parenta  make  the  children 
read  the  Bible  to  them,  and  explain  it 
aa  far  as  they  are  able.  The  clergyman 
k  careful  that  the  achoohnaater  tMches 
the  children  the  Catechism,  and  canaea 
diem  to  read  the  Scriptorea— by  hia 
inatrumentality  they  are  brought  re- 
gularly to  the  church,  and  from  thia 
thejr  acquire  the  habit  of  attending 
divine  worahip— he  heara  them  rq>eat 
the  Catediism,  and  he  pointa  oat  to 
them  the  meaning  and  uae  of  that, 
which  they  have  previously  only  re- 
peated at  achool  as  a  task,  without  be* 
in«;  aware  that  it  poaseased  either — and 
when  he  ia  doing  this,  he  makes  the 
most  eflSsctual  appeals  to  their  parenta, 
on  whom  ao  much  depends,  to  perform 
their  part  in  giving  them  religioua 
prindplea.  The  seM  is  thus  sown, 
and  it  generally,  at  aome  period  of 
life,  thou^  too  often  at  the  latest  one, 
yidda  fruit.  But  afterall,  it  depoida 
IB  a  very  great  degree  on  the  character 
of  thoae  among  whom  the  children  are 
thrown  qfier  they  leave  school,  whether 
their  manhood  shall  be  spent  in  vice 
and  depravitv,  or  the  contrary. 

It  is  tJie  £i8liion,  when  the  educatbn 
ef  the  poor  is  spoken  of,  to  refer  to  the 
character  of  tne  ScotUsh  peasantrv, 
aa  a  proof  of  the  efficacy  of  sdioob  m 
teuhing  morality  and  good  conduct. 
A  greater  orror  could  scarcely  be  com- 
mitted. The  History  of  Scotland  will 
abew  what  firat  mside  the  peasantry 
religioua,  even  religioua  leatota ;  and 
it  will  shew  that  village  schools  had 
no  hand  in  thia  whatever.  The  cha- 
racter and  oonduct  of  the  Scottiah 
dergy  will  ahew  what  haa  kept,  and 
what  atill  keene,  the  peaaantrjr  dulv 
aoQaaintfid  wita  tfidr  mocal  and  reli« 


The  Instruction  of  the  Irish  Peasantry.  M7 

idlmesa    gious  dutiea.  The  boy  in  Scotland  haa 


parents  who  are  moral,  and,  to  a  cer- 
tain degree,  rdigious;  he  l^ves  them 
to  go  under  the  ccmtrol  of  a  maater 
who  is  so;  he  grows  to  maturity  in  so- 
ciety that  is  80 ;  he  is  under  the  mini- 
stry of  a  xealous,  able  dergymaa ;  and 
thmfore  he  can  scarcely  be  other  than 
a  moral,  and,  in  a  greater  or  smaller 
degree,  a  religioua  man.  But  give  him 
the  parents,  the  maaters,  the  lack  of 
control,  the  aociety,  and  the  Romish 
priests  of  Ireland ;  and  then  what  will 
he  be,  in  spite  of  all  that  the  schoola 
can  acoompHahp  The  religious  feuda 
of  Scotland  had  this  beneficial  effect, 
that  they  gave  a  powerful,  moral,  and 
religious  tone  to  the  minds  of  the  peo- 
fde,  and  this  tone  has  been  preserved 
to  the  present  hour  by  meana  of  a  true 
creed  and  an  admirable  clergv ;  but  it 
would  never  have  been  produced  bv 
schools,  neither  would  they,  unaided, 
have  kept  it  in  existence. 

We  must  now  speak  more  particti- 
larly  of  Ireland.  It  is  openlv  oonicM- 
ed  that  no  attempt  to  teach  reUgioo 
can  be  made  in  the  schools  of  that  un- 
happy country.  The  schoolmaater  is 
expressly  prohibited  from  opening  hia 
lips  to  bus  pupils  on  religion — ^he  must 
not  make  uem  commit  to  memory  the 
catechism,  w  any  religious  creed — ^he 
must  not  lead  them  to  a  place  of  wor- 
ship—and  the  clergy  must  not  inter*^ 
fere  with  them  at  all  with  regard  to 
religious  matters.  The  object  to  be 
looked  at  above  all  others  in  the  ma* 
nagement  of  the  schools  is,  not  to  give 
the  children  religious  knowledge,  bat 
to  keep  such  knowledge  from  them. 
It  must  be  remembered  that,  general- 
Iv  speaking,  aix,  out  of  every  aeven  of 
the  diildren,  are^  out  rfthe  school,  be- 
yond the  reach  of  the  Protestant  der- 
gy ;  and  the  preaent  state  of  the  pea- 
aantry  abundantly  provea  that  the  Ca- 
tholic dergy  are  worthless,  and  £ur 
worse  thaji  worthleas,  as  teachers  of 
Christianity.  As  to  the  children  read- 
ing the  Soripturea,  thia  can  only  be 
partidly  permitted ;  but  were  it  ge- 
nerally so,  we  should  attach  but  little 
importance  to  it.  Whatever  othera 
mav  think,  we  cannot  believe  that  a 
diild,  without  able  aasistaaoe,  nay, 
without  assistance  of  any  kind,  will  be 
aide  to  understand  the  Scripturea  aa 
a  aystem  of  relip;ion,  and  will  baled  to 
take  them  for  ita  guide  through  life. 
It  is  even  an  impossibility.  Soch  is 
the  caae  toodung  rdigiona  inatnic- 


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Tke  iMiruoUoH  of  the  Irkh  PeaMonirjf. 


4M 

tbn,  ta  fiur  at  the  acfaooliDaster  and 
the  deKgjmtak  are  ooncenied ;  and 
what  is  It  with  mard  to  the  porenU? 
These  parents  are  ignorant,  barbarous, 
depiwed,  oomi^eteiy  undar  the  influ- 
ence of  the  Romish  cleray»  and  inca^ 
pable  of  teaching  the  children  to  make 
any  use  whatever  of  what  thej  learn 
at  the  schools,  save  the  most  perni- 
cious use  possible.  The  great  mass  of 
the  children  when  they  leave  school 
go  to  husbandry  employment,  in  which 
what  they  have  been  taught  is  of 
scarcely  any  service  to  them — they 
euinot  procure  books — ^they  are  £r^ 
quently  without  masters  and  em[doy- 
ment--they  hear  no  other'  religious 
teachers  than  the  Catholic  priests— and 
they  mix  only  with  barbarous  and  de* 
praved  society. 

If,  therefore,  an  imperfect  know- 
lecU;e  of  the  arts  of  reeling,  writing, 
and  arithmetic,  will  civilise  and  re- 
form the  Irish  peasantry,  the  schools, 
of  course,  wUl  in  time  civilize  and  re- 
form them ;  if  other  knowledge  than 
this  be  necessary  for  the  puipose,  then 
the  schools  will  be  found  to  be  of  com- 
paratively little  service.  We  need  not 
prove  that  they  need  other  knowledge 
—that  reading,  writing,  and  arithme- 
tic, however  useful  they  may  be  to 
ttadesmen  and  mechanics,  are  of  very 
little  use  to  the  poorer  part  of  an  agri- 
cultural population— and  that  the  pea- 
santry must  have  other  instruction  be- 
side what  the  schools  will  supply,  or 
they  must  remain  in  a  very  great  de- 
gree, if  not  altogether,  what  &ey  now 
are.  They  must,  or  everything  else 
will  be  worthless,  have  religious  in- 
struction ;  precisely  that  instruc- 
tion which  the  schools  are  prohibited 
from  giving ;  and  they  must  be  taught 
the  arts,  habits,  tastes,  prejudices, 
feelings,  opinions,  and  rules  of  civi- 
lized and  social  life.  It  would  be  just 
as  absurd  to  say  that  they  will  learn 
these  in  the  first  twelve  veers  of  their 
existence  at  village  schools,  as  to  say 
that  a  chOd  between  four  and  twelve 
would  learn  at  such  schools  to  be  an 
expert  watchmaker. 

Thequestion  of  course  becomes  this— 
If  the  schools  unaided  will  not  give  to 
the  peasantry  that  instruction  which 
they  need,  what  must  they  be  com- 
bined with — ^what  additional  means 
must  be  employed — to  give  to  the  pea^ 
santry  this  instruction  ?  Without  cast- 
ing any  stigma  on  reading  and  writing, 
we  assume  it  to  be  indisputable  that 


LMay, 


Uie  grand  ol^Ject  of  the  legidatore  is, 
not  to  leach  the  peasantry  these  arts, 
but  to  teach  them  diedistiiictioiis  be- 
tween vice  and  virtue,  guilt  and  inoo- 
cence,  and  to  induce  them  to  abhor 
the  one  and  deave  to  ^e  other  ;  in  a 
word,  to  reform  and  dviliae  them.  We 
hold  it  to  be  equally  indnpatable  that 
this  can  only  be  acoom^idied  by  piQ^ 
viding.ample  rdiskms  instruction  far 
the  sidults,  as  wdU  as  schools  Hat  the 
children;  and  bv  providing  for  tiie 
peasantry  generally,  aa  far  as  possiUe^ 
a  sufficiency  of  respectable,  intd%ent, 
moral  masters. 

Were  the  task  of  instrueting  ibe 
Irish  peasantry  to  devolve  upon  us,— > 
and  heaven  foeserve  us  ftom  one  so 
mighty, — if  we  could  not  separate  ^ 
diudren  from  the  parents,  the  young 
from  those  of  mature  age,  we  shonld 
begin  with  the  parents  and  those  of 
mature  age ;  or,  at  any  rate,  we  dionld 
devote  to  them  our  chief  attention. 
One  reason  for  our  doing  this,  among 
others,  would  be  the  conviction,  Aat 
if  we  applied  ourselves  solely  to  the 
children,  the  parents  and  other  adults 
would  not  even  remain  nentral  be- 
tweenus  and  the  children  on  the  es-t 
sential  point  of  instruction,  but  would 
labour  against  us  to  the  utmost,  and 
render  our  success  hopeless.  The 
schoolboy — ^the  youth  on  the  verge  of 
manhood — those  who  are  in  the  first 
years  of  maturity,  will  seldom  listen 
to  moral  and  religious  instrucdon,  if 
they  can  avoid  it ;  and  they  will  scarce- 
ly ever  profit  from  it,  if,  the  moment 
after  hearing,  they  are  tempted  to  ^Us- 
r^^  it,  by  parents,  friends,  supe- 
riors, and  the  more  a^  and  influen- 
tial portion  of  the  community.  At 
forty,  or  fifty,  the  passions  lose  their 
power,  and  pleasures  become  taste- 
less; men  then  feel,  what  they  will 
not  feel  sooner,  that  life  will  have  an 
end,  axid  they  voluntarily  seek  religi- 
ous instruction  with  a  view  to  benefit 
from  it.  For  the  narenta,  the  more 
aged  portion  of  tne  peasantry— we 
would,  in  the  forst  place,  provide  rdi- 
gious  instruction.  We  would  give  to 
every  village  in  Ireland  aplaoe  <»  wor- 
ship, and  a  devout,  zeuous,  active, 
and  eloquent  dergyman ;  and  we  would 
enforce,  ivith  the  utmost  rigour  of  the 
law,  the  due  observance  of  the  Sab- 
bath. We  would  devote  our  especial 
attention  to  the  clergy,  and  we  would 
toil  day  and  night  in  destroying  plu- 
ralities, withstanding  the  operation  of 


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182*.;]                   7^  ImiruciiOH  of  the  Iritk  Pmtanirg.  499 

iatareil  in  their  ■dficdon^md  render-  The  necceiity  for  tigflantiy  w«toh* 
isff  them  what  they  ought  to  be.*  We  iDg  the  oondoct  of  the  Catholic  ckr- 
wul  yield  to  none  in  auction  for  the  gy,  ts  but  too  self-eTident.  Their  doo- 
diordi^  but  we  will  e?er  insist  on  the  trines  toudiin^  the  Protetttnv— the 
dogy  performing  their  duty  lealon^  spirit  whidi  annnates  them  towards  a 
ly  and  efficiently.  We  would  no  more  Protestant  goTcroment — their  abili^ 
tolerate  a  clergyman  in  neglecting  his  to  impose  inviolaUe  secresy  on  their 
duty,  or  delegating  it  to  incapable  followersatpleasuie— the  power  which 
handsy  than  we  woiUd  tolerate  a  secre-  they  arrogate  to  themsehres  with  ro- 
tary ik  state  in  such  conduct.  In  be-  gard  to  ^e  defining  and  fbrgiving  of 
atowing  this  attention  on  the  Protest-  sins— their  immumties,  and  indepen- 
ant  dcargy,  our  eve  should  nerer  once  denee  of  the  government — the  igno- 
be  turned  from  the  conduct  of  the  Cs^  ranoe  and  promgacy  of  many  of  those 
tholic  .priesthood.  The*  really  pious  who  officiate  among  the  neasantry — 
members  of  this  body,  who  should  la-  and  their  tremendous  influence  oyer 
hour  sssiduously  for  the  spiritual  good  the  lower  ordm,  all  point  them  out  as 
of  their  followers,  we  would  conciliate  the  d>jects  of  jealousy  that  should  ne- 
and  encourage  to  the  utmost  in  our  ver  slumber.  Not  many  months  since 
power ;  but  if  we  detected  one  in  coun-  an  individual,  who  holds  a  high  situ- 
tmncing  crime— *in  distributing  a-  ation  in  the  Irish  goTemment,  decla- 
mong  his  flock  seditious  and  inflam-  red  to  parliament,  that  Psstorini's  Pnv. 
natory  writings— and  in  using  his  sa-  phedes  had  largely  contributed  to  spi- 
cred  office  as  the  means  of  creating  rit  up  the  peasantry  to  crime  and  re- 
criminals  and  rebels,  we  would  make  hellion.  Now,  why  did  not  Mr  Goul- 
a  terrible  exami^  of  him,  if  human  bum,  as  a  matter  of  duty,  inform  the 
power  would  enable  us  to  do  it.  House  of  Commons,  who  distributed 


*  We  eopy  the  fbUowiDg  most  esodlent  sentiments  from  a  risitstion  charge,  delircr- 
ed  by  Dr  Mant^  the  Biabop  of  Killsloe,  we  beHere  in  1820.  We  wish  they  were  inde* 
libly  engravcD  oo  (he  heart  of  every  dergymaa  in  IreUnd. 

'*  Vou  wiU  not,  I  am  sure,  my  reverend  brethren,  regard  it  ^  an  idle  or  gratuitous 
assumption,  that  the  removal  of  tlie  errors  of  the  Romish  church  from  the  minds  of  our 
parishioners,  and  the  substitution  of  that  reformed  code  of  Chrii^tian  truth,  whidi  we  of 
the  united  Church  of  England  and  Ireland  profess,  is  a  task  which,  as  far  as  we  have 
power  and  opportunity,  it  is  our  duty  to  perform.  It  is  our  duty  indeed  abstractedly,  as 
ministers  of  the  gospd  of  Christ  •'  •  •  But  it  is  more  espcdaDy  our  duty,  by  vir- 
tue €f  that  solemn  pledge,  by  which  we  bind  ourselves  to  our  own  church,  on  our  ad. 
1  to  her  *  higher  ministries.* 


^*  I  am  sot  blind,  my  reverend  brethren,  to  ^e  difficulties  of  the  case.  I  am  not  in- 
seosible  of  the  numenms  and  ^reat  obstacles  to  be  expected  ftom  ignonmee,  from  super- 
stitioii,  from  inveterate  pr^udices,  from  early  nredilectiooB,  and  king-ecmfirmed  habits  ; 
above  aU,  perh^a,  from  the  subtlety  and  authority  of  those  who  are  engaged  in  the 
ministry  of  that  corrupt  churdi,  whose  errors  we  are  anzioos  to  correct.  I  am  aware, 
therefore,  that  opportunities  of  improvement  may  be  not  of  obvious  occurrence,  and  that, 
in  all  probability,  occasion  must  be  sought,  or  it  will  not  be  found.  Still,  I  am  not 
prepared  to  believe,  that  the  exercise  of  our  ^  faithful  diligence*  in  this  ren>ect  will  be 
altogether  ineffectuaL  The  minister  of  the  established  church  is,  in  many  mstances  at 
least,  possessed  of  means  which  qualify  him  to  improve  the  temporal  condition,  to  di- 
minisn  the  distresses,  and  to  augment  the  enjoyments  of  Itis  poorer  parishion^  and 
thus  to  acquire  their  confidence,  and  condfiate  their  aflectioo.  His  relative  situation  ren- 
den  him  an  object  of  respect  in  their  estisaation.  His  general  infbrmation,  the  result 
of  an  in^caions  and  enlarged  education,  b  calculated  to  impress  them  with  a  sense  of 
hk  snenor  intelligenoe.  And  hisrdij^oQS  proficiency,  consequent  upon  those  scnptu- 
ral  and  audUary  studies  which  he  has  promised  to  poisne,  cannot  but  enable  him  to 
shew  to  their  conviction  the  comparative  meriu  of  the  diffisrcnt  religious  systems  which 
are  professed  bv  himself  and  by  them.  Such  advantages  cannot,  as  fitf  as  I  am  capable 
of  judging,  be  brought  zealously  and  vigorously,  but  prudently  withal  and  temperatdy, 
into  action,  without  being  blessed  with  some  measure  of  success.  Surely  the  door  of 
the  cabin  would  not  be  obstinately  dosed  against  the  visits  of  such  a  minister ;  nor 
could  the  heart  of  the  inhabitant  resist  the  persuasions  of  disinterested  benerolence,  of 
meek  condescension,  and  cf  learning  honestly  put  forth  for  the  cause  of  pure  religion, 
capable  of  unravelling  the  wiles  of  an  inndkms  sophistry,  and  furnished  with  materials 
of  eonvietloD  from  Ihs  annory  of  Christian  truth.** 


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ThB  Imirueihnqfthe  Iriah  Ftaumty. 


MO 

the  Prophedet,  and  who  tanght  the 
peMantnr  to  believe  that  they  would 
be  fulfilled  ?  Why,  when  ioTectiTes 
were  daily  ahow^ed  upon  the  Pro- 
testanta,  were  not  those  held  up  to 
public  acorn  and  indignation,  who  led 
the  ignorant  peasantry  to  believe  that 
theeztennination  of  the  ProteatantB,the 
deatruetion  of  the  Protestant  church, 
and  the  realization  of  Captain  Rock's 
projects,  were  on  the  eve  of  taking 
place  ?  Mr  Goulbum  publidy  lament- 
ed that  the  people  of  this  country  and 
Fvliament  nad  the  most  imperfect 
idea  of  the  horrible  state  of  Ireland ; 
why  then  did  he  not,  as  a  aacred  duty, 
denounce  to  them  Uie  itutigtUar*  to 
die  atrocities,  as  wdl  as  the  tiu/ni- 
ments  by  whom  they  were  perpetra- 
ted ?  A  sad  and  nortentouB  svstem  of 
concealment  toucning  causes,  naa  hem 
for  some  time  adopted  by  men  in 
power,  with  regard  to  Ireland.  Not 
many  days  since  the  public  prints  in- 
ibrmed  us  that  some  persons  had  been 
executed  for  the  muraer  of  the  Franks 
family,  and  that  they  died  aolemnly 
protesting  their  innocence.  On  the 
very  day  on  which  we  trace  these  lines, 
the  same  prints  inform  us,  that,  from 
admissions  which  these  men  made  in 
a  memorial  to  a  nobleman,  and  from 
words  which  they  were  overheard  to 
address  to  each  other  during  their 
trial,  their  guilt  pould  not  be  doubted. 
The  reasons  why  these  wretched  men 
were  thus  sent  before  their  God  with 
a  lie  in  their  mouths,  are  abundantly 
obvious.  The  fact  is  sufficient  to 
fireese  us  with  horror,  and  alas  I  such 
hets  are  not  rare  in  the  history  c^ 
Irish  executions.  The  persons  who 
could  thus  send  them  mav  be  called 
priests — teachers  of  the  Cnristian  re- 
ligion— for  a  name  is  easily  given ;  but 
ifthej  be  not  wretches  vmo  ought  to 
be  driven  fixnn  society — if  they  do  not 
more  richly  deserve  the  halter  than 
their  dupes  deserved  it— then  com- 
mon sense  is  regulated  by  geography, 
and  it  becomes  stark  staling  madness 
in  Ireland.  So  long  as  the  men  who 
could  distribute  Pastorini's  Prophecies 
among  the  peasantry — ^who  can  seduce 
the  fmon  to  spend  his  last  breath  in 
horrible  guilt,  for  the  purpose  of  ex- 
citing hatred  against  ttie  Protestants 
and  the  Protestant  government — so 
long  as  these  men  hold  despotic  autho- 
rity over  the  peasantry,  in  Uie  diarac- 
ter  of  Catholic  priests,  it  will  be  every- 
thing but  impossible  to  instruct  and 


CM.y, 


reform  the  peasantry.  It  is  not,  per« 
haps,  to  be  expected,  that  the  govern- 
ment can  obtam  any  influence  in  the 
nomination  of  the  Cathotic  deivy,  but 
it  will  Uck  ome  of  the  princinafthiBa 
diat  it  ouf;ht  to  possess,  so  lon^  as  ft 
shall  be  without  the  power  to  sdenee 
ftr  ever,  as  spiritual  teadiers,  such  of 
them  as  become  the  firebrands  of  se» 
dition,  and  the  pandora  <rf  wickedness. 
It  is  one  of  the  most  striking  and  re- 
vndting  of  the  numberlesa  incongruU 
tiea  which  Irdand  exhi^ts,  that  while 
the  peasantrv  are  placed  under  the 
ojperation  of  the  Insurrection  Act, 
those  who  gave  them  motives  are  al« 
moat  wholly  fr!ee  tram  restrictiona  * 
the  Romish  clergy  teadi  and  act  as 
they  please,  and  tne  Catholic  Associ^ 
ation  spreads  its  sickening  shindera, 
fidaehoods,  and  incitements  to  rebel- 
lion, throughout  the  country,  witfaost 
molestation  or  rebuke.  This  system 
must  be  changed ;  fbr  while  it  conti- 
nues, the  execution  of  the  mostguil^ 
of  the  assaasins  and  incendiariea  wifl 
be  only  one  d^;ree  short  of  murder. 
If  the  operation  of  the  constitutiaB 
must  be  suspended  in  Ireland,  at  least 
let  the  effects  frdl  imparti^y.  Let 
the  leader  be  bound,  as  well  as  the  fd- 
lower.  If,  after  all,  there  must  be  one 
kind  of  justice  for  the  ignorant,  and 
anoUier  for  the  enlightened:  at  any 
rate,  when  the  dupe  is  hanged,  let  his 
deluder  be  disabled  for  making  any 
more  victims. 

By  rendering  the  Protestant  deig) 
as  efficient  as  possible  in  numbers, 
spirit,  and  abihty ;  and  by  purging 
tne  Catholic  priesthood  orbits  wont 
members,  (if  this  be  not  now  possiU^ 
it  ought  to  be  made  so,)  and  restrain- 
ing this  body  fhmi  intermeddling  ynA 
other  than  religious  matters,  we  think 
that  the  middle-aged  and  aged  portion 
of  the  peasantry  might  be  led  to  re- 
ceive willingly  religious  instruction. 
If  these  were  secured,  there  would  be 
hope  of  the  remainder.  Gain  parents 
and  masters,  and  children  and  servanta 
will  follow.  But  to  pretend  to  be  an- 
xious for  the  reliffions  instruction  of 
the  peasantry,  and  to  be  at  no  palna 
to  provide  such  instruction  for  pa- 
rents, heads  of  families— thoae  who 
are  Uie  teachers  and  guides  of  the 
young :— to  afibct  to  make  the  child 
of  twdve  religious,  by  making  him 
read  without  explanation  a  few  chu»- 
ters  of  the  Bible,  while  you  sufier 
thoae  who  are  to  instruct  ana  lead  him 


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1894.;] 


The  ImimeHan  of  the  Irieh  Peaeantry. 


after  that  age  to  remain  deprayed  baiw 
bariaiiB,  teemt  to  us  to  be  anything 
but  wisdom^  and  to  promise  anything 
but  benefit. 

In  what  we  sav  touching  the  dergy 
of  the  established  church,  we  have  an 
able  ally  in  Sir  John  Newport.  Not* 
withstanding  the  Whig  and  Catholic 
partialities  of  this  roost  respectable  in- 
diyidual,  he  is  continually  prompting 
the  government  to  render  the  derg^ 
as  efficient  as  possible.  He  does  tms 
indeed  in  the  way  of  question  and  re- 
mark, and  in  the  worst  manner  possi- 
hie  for  rendering  it  efiecdve ;  but  ne- 
vertheless his  opinion  on  this  p<Hnty 
when  his  character  and  creed  are  con- 
sidered, is  of  very  high  importance,  in 
whatever  manner  it  may  be  delivered. 
He  is — ^we  say  it  with  tne  deepest  re- 
gret— almost  the  only  indiviaual  in 
the  whole  legislature  who  does  thus 
prompt  the  government,  and  who  will 
say  a  syllable  on  the  matter.  The  proi 
position  to  teach  the  children  of  the 
peasantry  to  read  and  write,  is  recei- 
ved with  shouts  of  approbation ;  but 
no  one  can  cheer  the  proposition,  to 
teach  morality  and  genuine  Christian- 
ity to  the  parents. 

We  must  not  forget  to  say,  that  we 
regard  the  commutation  of  the  tithes, 
to  be  essential  for  procuring  a  hearing 
for  the  clergyman.  Whatever  may  be 
his  character,  if  he  have  to  eoUect 
these  from  his  Catholic  parishioners, 
there  will  always  be  sufficient  animo- 
sity between  them  to  render  his  mi- 
nistry useless. 

Our  next  grand  olgect  would  be,  to 
amend  the  torm  of  rustic  society  in 
Ireland,  and  to  fomk  a  channel,  l^ 
which  the  feelings  and  opinions  of 
the  upper  classes  might  flow  upon  the 
peasantry.  We  would  select  an  indi- 
vidual for  the  Lord-Lieutenant,  who 
should  enjoy,  what  the  Marquis  Wel- 
ksby  does  not,  and  never  will,  ei^oy, 
the  confidence  and  esteem  of  the  land- 
holders—of the  wealth  and  intelli- 
gence—of  Ireland.  He  should,  in  ad- 
oition  to  his  other  qudifications,  be 
attached  to  agriculture,  and  perfectly 
skilled  in  the  structure  of  English  vii- 
la^  society.  Instead  of  quarrelling 
with  the  landholders  on  party  and  per- 
sonal grounds,  he  should  endeavour 
to  win  their  favour  by  every  conceiva- 
ble method;— instead  of  shutting  him- 
self up  in  the  Castle  to  dream  of  his 
own  importance,  he  should  spend  a 
large  portion  of  his  time  in  visiting 


601 

different  parts  of  the  country,  to  make 
himself  acquainted  with  its  localities 
and  the  state  of  the  inhabitants— to 
scatter  the  seeds  of  dvilization-^to 
bring  into  Duhion  its  curiosities,  lakes, 
and  scenery — and  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  the  lords  of  the  soil,  and  lead 
them  to  make  their  country  the  scene 
of  summer  attraction  and  festivity. 
He  should  strain  every  nerve  to  allure 
back  the  Absentees,  and  to  prevail  on 
the  landholders  to  adopt  the  English 
mode  in  managing  their  estates.  Hia 
grand  oljects  would  be  the  abolition 
ci  the  jobbers,  and  the  multiplication 
of  good-sized  fiurms,  with  a  view  to 
the  creation  of  Ji  substantia],  intelli- 
gent, well-principled  yeomanry.  The 
absence  of  such  a  yeomanry  in  Ire- 
land is  a  national  grievance  of  the  first 
magnitude,  and  the  energies  of  the 
government  could  not  be  better  em- 
ployed than  in  endeavours  to  form  one. 
A  Lord-Lieutenant,  by  patronage,  of- 
ficial appointments  and  reoommendaf 
tums  to  honours — by  granting  go« 
vemment  aid  in  die  making  of  roads, 
canals,  drains,  &c  for  the  improve- 
ment of  estates,  and  by  various  other 
meana— midit  conatitute  himself  the 
leader  and  the  bond  of  union  of  the 
landlords,  in  re-modelling  society 
among  the  peasantry.  Every  one  wlio 
knows  any  tning  of  human  nature  may 
easily  conceive  what  effi^^  the  re- 
peated visits  of  the  Lord-Lieutenant 
would  have  even  in  the  most  barbae 
rous  districts  of  Irdand.  How  mat- 
ly  would  it  animate  the  good,  and  dia« 
courage  the  turbul^it  1— ^How  benefi- 
cially would  it  operate  on  local  anther 
rities,  and  on  all  who  have  power 
over  the  peasantry ! — How  many  petty 
abuses  and  evils  would  it  silently  de- 
stroy ! — How  much  would  it  ccmtri- 
bute  to  the  subduing  of  party  mad- 
ness!— ^What  money  would  it  cauae 
to  be  expended  among  the  country 
people,  and  how  powenully  would  it 
worlc  in  promoting  civilization  I — How 
mightily  would  it  tend  to  correct  vici- 
ous opinions,  and  to  circulate  the  prin- 
ciples of  loyalty  and  genuine  religion  I 
— And  how  irresistible  would  the  in- 
terest, favours,  and  appeals  of  the 
Lieutenant  be  over  the  landholders 
and  gentry,  with  regard  to  the  better- 
ing of  the  condition  of  the  peasantry ! 
— Ireland  wants  a  Lord-Lieutenant 
like  this— a  ridi  English  nobleman  of 
the  old  school ;  a  man  free  firom  party 
trammda  md  party  spirit ;  oooctlia- 


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50S 


7%e  InHrudumo/the  Irish  Peasantry, 


UMay, 


toTj,  hot^tMe,  and  generous ;  well 
Tened  in  the  management  of  a  large 
estate,  and  perfectly  competent  to  put 
a  oonntry  population  into  the  proper 
form  and  condition. — ^Ireland,  we  nj, 
wants  a  Lord-Lieutenant  like  this,  and 
not  a  hackneyed  pditidan.  A  large 
part  of  her  principal  evils  cannot  be 
reached  at  all  by  legislation,  and  the 
remainder  of  them  can  only  be  acted 
upon  by  it  when  the  landlords  shall  be 
combined  into  a  body  (we  say  body, 
because  we  fear  they  will  never  ac- 
complish much  so  long  as  they  act 
ringty)  to  give  it  direction  and  enfect. 
A  numerous,  respectable,  and  intel- 
ligent yeomanry,— or,  in  other  words, 
a  prop^  and  natural  number  of  large 
fimners,  would  do  more  towurds  in- 
structing the  peasantry,  than  all  the 
schools  that  can  be  established ;  and 
they  would  do  more  towards  keeping 
the  peasantry  in  ordeb,  than  the  In<^ 
surrection  Act,  or  any  law  that  can  be 
framed.  Such  farmers  frequent  fiurs 
and  markets  weekly,  read  the  public 
prints,  mix  with  the  respecuble  tra- 
ders and  other  residents  of  towns,  and 
thus  become  acquainted  with  the  ha- 
bits and  opinions  of  their  superiors, 
whom,  according  to  the  laws  of  na- 
ture, they  endeavour  to  imitate  as  far 
as  possible.  The  labourers  are  under 
their  control,  are  constantly  or  fre- 

rQtly  in  their  houses,  apply  to  them 
advice,  copy  them  as  nir  as  they 
are  able  in^ev^thing,  and  thus  learn 
from  them  what  they  learn  from  the 
higher  classes.  The  labourers  learn 
from  the  farmers  what  is  of  far  more 
importance  to  themselves  and  thecoun- 
try  at  large  than  a  knowledge  of  the 
arts  of  reading  and  writing — Uiey  learn 
^ood  conduct,  domestic  management, 
just  opinions  touching  sight  and  wrong, 
and  tne  rules  of  d^S^  and  social 
life.  The  farmer's  eyes  are  constantly 
upon  his  labourers,  their  In^ad  is  in 
his  hands;  he  thus  possesses  ample 
ability  for  compelling  them  to  prac- 
tise instruction,  as  wdl  as  to  hear  it — 
for  restraining  them  from  vice,  as  well 
as  crime — and  his  own  interest  prompts 
him  to  the  continual  exercise  of  tnis 
ability. 

The  present  state  of  the  Irish  pea- 
santry is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
things  that  the  world  exhibits  in  this 
age  of  civilization  and  refinement. 
The  trade,  occupation,  bread,  and  con- 
sequently conduct,  of  every  man  who 
lives  on  an  estate,  are  directly,  or  in* 


directly,  in  the  hands  of  the  owner  of 
that  estate.  None  but  those  who  have 
been  femiliarixed  with  English  feimera 
and  cottagers  can  conceive  the  degree 
of  awe  which  actuates  them  in  regard 
toiheirhmdl<»:ds.  What  will  his  land* 
lord  say?  is  the  common  exdamatiooy 
if  any  of  them  happen  to  be  enilty  of 
misconduct ;  and — ^I  dare  not  from  fear 
of  my  landlord, — ^is  the  general  reply, 
if  one  of  them  be  tempted  to  do  what 
he  thinks  will  excite  his  landlord's  dis- 

Sleasure.  The  English  landlord's  in- 
uence  does  not  slumber.  We  have 
ourselves  seen  farmers  deprived  of  their 
ferms  for  frequent  drunkenness— te 
leading  immoral  lives— for  being  bad 
cultivators ;— and  we  have  seen  a 
fermer  compelled  to  marry  a  giri  whom 
he  had  seduced,  by  his  landlord's  ]^ 
cing  the  marriage  before  him  as  the 
alternative  to  the  loss  of  his  ferm. 
This  opoatea  in  the  most  powofril 
manner,  in  preventing  vice  and  crime ; 
and  in  giving  the  best  tone  to  what 
may  be  called,  the  miinion  oi  the  rustic 
world.  The  Iri^  landholders  mi^t 
if  they  pleased  exercise  similar  influ- 
ence over  those  who  live  on  their  es- 
tates; they  might  if  they  pleased  only 
let  their  land  to  men  of  good  conduct 
and  character ;  and  they  might  eiyoy 
the  same  mighty  means  of  contrdhng 
their  tenants.  Instead  of  this,  a  large 
portion  of  those  who  occupy  thai 
land  know  nothing  of  them,  are  per- 
fectly independent  of  them,  and  care 
not  a  straw  for  them.  Putdng  oat  of 
sight  laws  which  can  scarcely  be  exe- 
cuted, these  occupiers  are  subject  to  no 
authority  and  influence  whatever,  save 
those  of  the  jobber  and  the  RmniA- 
priest.  Yet  these  landlords  are  not 
barbarians — men  ignoran  tof,  and  with- 
out the  means  of  ^coming  acquainted 
with,  their  interest  and  duty.  They 
are  persons  of  rank,  education,  and 
wealth,  who  see  the  world,  and  who 
mix  with  the  English  landholders. 
The  contrast  between  themsdves,  and 
a  large  portion  of  those  who  occupy 
their  land,  fills  us  wi^  refleotifflia 
whidi  we  shall  conceal ;  but  we  can- 
not refrain  saying,  that  it  would  be 
fiir  less  infamous4br  a  man  to  suffer 
bis  domestic  servants  to  be  prostitutes 
and  pickpockets,  than  for  him  to  saf- 
fer  his  land  to  be  occupied  by  rogues 
and  assassins.  The  whole  of  that  por- 
tion of  the  Irish  population  which  is 
demoralised  and  brutaliaed — which  ^- 
most  daily  commits  crimes  that  6aii- 
7 


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2V  Imiructkm  qfthe  JrUh  FeaiwUrff, 


$KA 


sot  be  ttOTwIflfd  In  any  other  comw 
try,  ana  whidi  the  utmost  exertions 
of  the  government  cannot  keep  in  or- 
^er — might  be  speedilj  placed  under 
the  most  effectual  surveillance  and 
control^  if  the  landlordi  would  only 
do  their  duty. 

With  regard  to  the  instruction  of 
the  peasantry^  the  influence  of  the 
landlords  might  be  almost  irresistible. 
Let  a  man  be  the  sole  landlord  of  those 
who  occupy  his  land>  and  let  him  only 
demand  moderate  rents^  and  his  wishes 
will  seldom  be  disobeyed  by  his  te- 
nantry. The  Irish  lanalords  are  prin- 
dpally  Protestants.  If  the  term  pro- 
selytism  be  out  of  fai^iom,  we  will 
wf  nothing  of  it,  whatever  we  may 
diink;  but  at  any  rate  we  may  be 
permitted  to  assume,  that  they  wish 
their  tenants  to  be  instructed  in  those 
points  of  Christianity  which  are  free 
from  controversy — that  they  wish  them 
to  know  correctly  what  the  Protestant 
religion,  the  Protestants,  and  the  Fto- 
testant  government  are— and  that  they 
wfeh  them  to  live  on  reasonably  ftiencl- 
ly  terms  with  the  Protestants.  They 
might  gratify  this  wish — they  mi^ht 
destroy  the  pernicious  influence  which 
the  Romish  priests  exerdse  in  matters 
not  religious — they  might  rend  Uie 
veil  which  these  priests  spread  over 
the  eyes  and  understandings  of  their 
tenants— and  thev  might  prevail  on 
dieir  tenants  to  near,  examine,  and 
judge,  and  to  become  acquainted  with 
the  truth  in  fict,  if  not  in  doctrine. 
We  are  very  sure  that  the  words  of  a 
good  landlord,  in  regard  to  what  is 
just  and  reasonable,  will  never  be  ad- 
Aes&d  in  vain  to  his  tenantry — to 
men  whose  bread  his  nod  can  take 
away. 

So  long  as  die  adutts  of  the  pea- 
santry shall  be  without  a  sufficiency  of 
able,  active,  zealous,  religious  teachers 
— as  the  aged  and  middle-aged,  the 
parents  ana  masters,  shdl  be  barbii- 
rous  and  depraved — as  moral  and  en- 
lightened masters  shall  be  wanted  to 
take  the  difldren  under  their  control 
flrom  the  time  that  these  leave  school 
tnitil  they  reach  years  of  discretion — 
so  long  win  die  schools  fbr  the  chil- 
dren uroduce  very  litUe  benefit.  We 
tsj  tnis  with  reluctance;  we  would 
willingly  sail  with  the  stream  if  we 
could^  but  we  cannot  do  it  without 
doshig  our  eyes  to  some  of  the  most 
dbviow  truths  that  society  exhibits. 

The  sefaools,  however,  will  be  of 

Vol.  XV. 


some  service;  perhaps  they  will  ite- 
rate the  most  beneficially,  in  peraonal- 
ly  interesting  the  nobility  and  gentijr 
of  Ireland  in  ameliorating  the  condi- 
tion of  the  peasantry.  Men  do  not 
love  defeat.  After  commencing  an  un- 
dertaking:, they  will  make  sacrifices 
for  iu  success,  which  nothing  oould 
have  wrung  from  them  previously. 
Perhaps  the  man  who  benns  by  in- 
teresting himself  in  a  sdiool,  may  end 
in  lowering  his  renU,  enlvging  the 
size  of  his  £urms,  and  employing  hia 
influence  in  aid  of  the  Protestant  cler- 
gy. We  will  place  one  or  two  hints 
touching  the  schools  at  the  service  of 
the  Committee. 

It  will,  we  apprehend,  be  readily 
conceded  to  us,  tnat,  as  we  have  al- 
ready said,  the  instruction  of  the  pea- 
santry in  die  arts  of  reading  and  wri- 
ting IS  but  a  secondary  object  in  the 
eyes  of  the  legislature  and  the  coun- 
try. The  grand  object  is,  to  teach 
them  the  distinction  between  right 
and  wrong ;  to  convince  them  that  se- 
dition, tumult,  and  rebellion;  per- 
jury, robbery,  and  assassination,  are 
matters  of  both  infamy  and  guilt.  It 
unfortunately  happens  that  religion 
cannot  be  taught  in  the  schools — ^that 
ministers  of  religion  must  not  enter 
them — that  the  Protestant  clergy  can- 
not catechise  the  vast  majority  of  the 
chfldren — and  that  authorities  have 
no  power  to  compel  the  Catiiolic  cler« 
gy  to  give  religious  instruction  to  this 
majority.  If  no  remedy  be  proTided 
fbr  this,  the  schools  must  miscuiy 
altogether  in  their  main  object.  We 
would  advise  that  a  book  should  be 
drawn  up  under  authority  for  the  use 
of  the  scnools,  wbidi  should  compre- 
hend the  rules  of  morpJity  and  good 
conduct,  and  those  prindples  of  Chris- 
tianity which  are  tree  from  dispute, 
tion.  This  book  should  not  be  con- 
fined to  generalities.  It  should  dwell 
expready  on  the  prevailing  crimes  and 
vices  of  Ireland ;  it  should  dibte  spe- 
cifically on  the  murder  of  the  Franks' 
family  and  the  other  murders— on  the 
perjuries,  houghings,  and  bumings, 
ana  point  out  their  enormity  in  the 
eyes  of  God  and  man.  It  should  speadc 
<k  illicit  distillation,  kwless  combina- 
tions, the  refusal  to  pay  renU  and 
tidies,  and,  in  a  word,  of  the  whole 
conduct  of  Captain  Rock  and  his  fbl- 
bwers.  We  say  again,  that  it  should 
treat  expressly  ana  specifically  on  the 
prevailing  crimes  and  vices  of  belaod. 
3T 


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The  JnMfTue^m  ^tbs  Irish  Petuantrg. 


UrtitMf^  wiU  OH  give  iH»plic«tm 
tQ  general  precepU.  It  tfiould  not 
ipetely  dwelloD  toe  crimvQal  nature  of 
the  atroddee,  but  it  should  appeal  to 
^e  spirit  and  pride  of  the  chudrenj 
vith  a  view  of  rendering  these  atroor 
tiea  the  objects  of  shame  and  scorn  ; 
It  should  speak  of  the  past  and  present 
grei^  men  whom  Ireland  has  produ,^ 
eed^  kindle  the  flame  of  emulation^ 
fody  as  £sr  as  possible,^  rally  round  ita 
otpject  all  the  b^t  parUalities  qnd  pre- 
jlldTcea  of  human  nature* 
.  The  book  should  of  necessity  be  sU 
IflHit  respecting  the  Ptotestanta,  but  it 
9^ght  not  to  be  silent  respecting  Eng-^ 
land  and  the  English  government,  It 
ehoold  enlarge  on  what  EnRland  baa 
yi  late  yean  done  for  Irelaod^n  thc^ 
Cepeal  of  obnoxious  laws — the  remia* 
«m  of  taxes — the  encouragement  of 
t^e-T-4he  late  lubscription ;  and  H 
should  shew  how  anxious  the  govem- 
meot,  Parliament,  and  the  whoXe  En^^-^ 
Hah  nation  are,  to  do  evervthing  m 
their  power  that  the  benefit  of  Ire. 
bnd  may  call  for.  It  should  shew 
that  England  and  Ireland  are  parta  of 
f  whole ;  and  that  not  only  duty  and 
^teresL  but  innocence  and  honour,, 
demand  that  the  inhabitants  of  the 
two-countries  should  regard  each  other 
fi.  brothers. 

The  book  might  state  the  rules  of 
integrity  and  general  propriety,  which 
the  lower  orders  of  England  and  other 
countries  observe  towards  each  other, 
and  towards  their  superiors.  It  might 
detail  the  laws  of  nonour,  and  me 
ftelings  and  customs  which  govern  the 
u^r  classes.  Its  more  important  por.< 
tions  might  be  illustrated  and  enforced 
by  extracts  from  the  Scriptures. 

We  merely  wish  to  cive  a  general 
idea  of  what  the  book  would  be,  and 
we  h^ve  said  sufficient  fot  the  pur« 
pose.  We  may  add,  that  it  should 
contain  nothing  of  a  party  nature^  eL* 
ther  religious  or  political.  Against  the 
use  of  such  a  book,  no  honest  man 
could  set  his  face,  whatever  might  be 
hia  creed;  and  we  fervently  trust, 
that  the  opinion  of  the  di^onest  wiU 
h&ve  no  weight  whatever  in  a  ques* 
tion  of  so  much  importance.  Eithec 
give  to  the  peasantry  that  instruction 
which  their  conduct  imperiously  calls 
for,  or  do  not  delude  the  nation  by 
iv^ending  to  instruct  them  at  aU. 

To  make  the  children  t)ioro^ghl]r 
aqipdn.tiKl  with  this  booL  both  in 
if^^  i|n4  ^pUoaty^o,  should  be  the 


0t^. 


l^adi^g  olfiectof  thtfotailf  Jt^UotWt 
things  should  be  regsrdvd  iS  sseonA^ 
ary  matters.  This  w<Mild  be  a  wotk  fC 
some  difficulty.  The  schoolmaster  Is 
loo  often  the  olject  of  dislike  and  4»* 
rision  to  his  pupils;  imd  hia  taajJEs i^A 
lectures  are  generallv  disregarded  ift 
those  things  m  whicp  he  cannot  tn* 
ibrce  attentiion  and  practice.  He  om 
compel  there  to  practise  bis  keso— 
touching  reading,  writing,  and  arith'* 
metic;  but  in  matters  of  mere  optnlnn 
snd  belief,  or  that  on)y  relate  to  tok^ 
ture  conduct,  his  power  m  exceediq^ 
small,  and  the  pr^udice  of  his  pupite 
ca^uses  his  exertions  to  be  of  yery  Uttli^ 
value.  We  fear  that  on  this  pemt  h» 
effi>rts  would  be  rather  oeuntcvacted 
than  aided  by  the  parents.  We  wodd 
therefore  advise,  that  the  gentry,  ae» 
companied  by  both  the  Protestant  and 
the  CathoHc  clergvmaa,  should  at  stir 
ted  periods  visit  tne  sdiods.  and  cava- 
fully  examine  the  chEdren,  foMching 
their  knowledge  and  unden^diagot 
the  book.  In  doing  this,  they  shcwJd 
dispense  as  much  instruotioi^  and  es^ 
dtement  aa  possible,  ia^  the  shape,  wA 
of  long  formal  harangues,  but  oi  fsns* 
Uar  ttod  kiad  conversation^  Prices 
should  be  given,  to  those  childrfm  who 
acquitted  tnemseJves  the  best,  and  the 
day  should  be  concluded  with  a  dieap 
schooKfeast.  If  the  risitors  gave  the 
parents  a  friendly  call  at  t&s  ssna 
time,  it  would  only  be  the  work  of  aa 
hour,  and  they  would  find  their  ac- 
count in  it  If  the  great  Only  knew 
how  powerfuUy  and  beneficially  theif 
kind  notice  acts  upon  the  lower  erden^ 
they  would  be  much  more  profuM  ot 
this  notiee  than  they  now  are,  ,evea 
for  the  sake  of  selfish  e^joymel^. 

We  would  recommend  the  Commit* 
tee  to  pay  particular  attentiim  to  the 
instructie^of  theginls.  TheheavtoC 
woman  ia  by  nature  fiff  better  thaa 
that  of  man.  Woman  ia  the  most  do- 
cile—her affisctions  are  the  moat  easily 
won— <he  ia  the  moat  readily  inspired 
with  horror  of  crim»— the  aina  to 
which  she  ia  prone  bv  nalnre  are  not 
those  which  desolate  Irelandr-«Bd  she 
is  in  that  wretched  country  fisr  less 
exposed  to.  temptatiou  than  the  man* 
Teach  the  mstio  belles  to  seoro  mea 
of  vice  and  crime>  and  the  rustie  besux 
will  soon  cease  tp  be  such  men;  give 
good  prittdj^  and  feelingfi  to  the 
wives,  and  they  wiU  sooa  Ww  tathr 
husbands.  Bnt  it  is  wcm  ^mUf^  to 
children  thst  the.  instsq^tjiff^  m  Ae 


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im.2 


1  k  of  the  mttest  importance. 

Tliemotlier  is  t!ie  best  of  a!l  tbe  teach- 
•n  Ihat  the  labomer's  ehildren  cam 
til^atii.  The  fktlier  k  mUdom  iti  hil 
^irelling  exceot  in  the  hours  set  apart 
^  Test,  and  toe  care  and  instruction 
«f  the  children  he  resigns  altogether 
to  tl|e  mother.  The  ehiMren  are  con- 
«tantly  with  her,  unless  they  spend  a 
ftw  houii  of  the  ihj  at  school;  they 
ntast  karn  iVom  hef,  as  soon  as  they 
mn  lisp,  to  offfer  prayers  to  the  Deity; 
fihe  Is  ahnoet  the  only  indiridual  who 
nati  enforce  their  regular  performance 
i»f  this  dttty ;  and  she  is  the  person  to 
Impiiiit  on  their  minds,  as  soon  as  they 
we  capable  of  receiving  impressions, 
tb«  distinctions  between  right  and 
WMfig-^the  leading  principles  of  relS- 
■fcMi— 4he  primary  rules  or  good  con- 
duct— ^and  to  compel  the  practice.  She 
la  the  model  which  is  constantly  be- 
Ibw  Aeir  eyes,  when  they  are  erery 
CMNtteAtfeami^  what  they  wilTscarce- 
Jy  ever  target,  l^e  clergyman  they  per- 
liapa  eaanot  anderatand— ^h'e  scnool- 
MMBtBf  they  in  all  probability  dislike 
and  disvegard ;  but  they  look  upon 
die  mother  as  a  being  who  cannot 
err,  and  they  religiously  beliere  every 
^OTd  that  she  utters.  Her  precepts 
bttime  so  itneparably  interwoven  with 
Iheir  afl^tion,  that  they  are  scarcely 
wr«t  fbrgMten,  bo  long  as  a  spuk  of 
this  iil^tSoQ  remluns.  IfthemoAer 
be  vicious  and  depraved,  it  is  scarcely 
MMiMe  Ibr  human  power  to  prevent 
•er  ohildteB  from  beittg  so. 

It  m«M  not  be  forgotten,  that,  ti* 
in  the  ehildten  leave  school,  the  prin* 
<ipil  pwrveyors  of  their  literary  food 
will  be  the  Catholic  clergy  and  die 
CAlholie  Asaodatiofi.  This  will  be  a 
Mighty  evil,  imd  the  government  will 
Bol  do  its  daty,  if  it  do  not  keep  the 
pttm  of  Iteknd  mider  the  most  dtco 
MUrieontn^  wiOitegard  both  to  newi- 
papers  and  to  tracts  and  pamphlets. 
If  UiO  Catholie  Association  is  to  he 
permifsed  to  malte  such  speeches  as  it 
is  now  in  the  h«bit  of  making,  and  to 
dmikte  them  among  the  peasantry, 
then,  for  Heirven's  sake!  keep  the 
peaaaiktry  unnequakited  with  the  al- 
phibet. 

W^  are  led,  by  eomething  whiA 
hit^y  Ml  iVom  Mt  Dawson  hi  the 
Hottft  of  C6mmons,  tocondttde  these 
bMN^r  «hacn«tioiis  with  some  others, 
•itiiMy  %Mitf,  Oft  i(hat  H  called  Con- 
fmmim4  MigtbelaiteMion,fhe 


The  fnwtfuctidn  pfiht  frith  IttuimfUry* 


9t^5 

and  abuse  that  our  language  cMH  fet- 
nish  to  the  Orangemen ;  and  not  mere- 
ly to  the  Orangemen,  but  to  the  wh^ 
body  of  the  Irish  Protestants.  Thli 
Was  called  Conciliation,  and  no  one 
could  be  found  to  reply  to  it  save  a 
disbelieved  Orangeman.  More  follow- 
ed. First  one  minister,  and  then  an- 
odier,  rose  to  declare  that  the  Orange 

Srocessionfc  were  things  not  to  be  en- 
ured :  this  was  done  without  a  svl- 
lable  beinc;  said  in  favour  of  the  prin- 
dnles  of  the  Orangemen,  and  ft  nata- 
rally  cast  a  deep  stigma  upon  them. 
This  was  also  called  Conciliation.  The 
Marquis  Wellesley  pubHdy  ouarrelled 
with  the  Protestahls — cheered,  accord- 
ing to  report,  the  playing  of  Catholic 
party  tunes  at  ^e  theatre — and  per- 
formed other  impartial  foats ;  and  Mr 
Plnnkett,  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
denounced  the  Protestants  as  a  Ac- 
tion. This  was  Hkewise  called  Conci- 
liation. The  ministers  then  implored 
Parliament  not  to  say  H  word,  in  dis- 
cussing Irish  aflldrs,  that  could  offend 
the  Catholics— and  of  course  nothing 
was  said  of  the  Catholics  and  their 
Associations  saveeulogv.  Colonel  Bar- 

S,  indeed,  read  the  character  of  the 
ithohc  Association,  but  Parliain^t 
could  not  on  any  account  pass  an  un- 
favourable opinion  of  this  bod^.  This 
was,  moreover,  called  Conciliation.  We 
honed  that,  before  this,  this  unjust 
ana  preposterous  system  had  cut  its 
own  Aroat— luid  we  only  speak  of  it, 
because  it  seems  to  be  still  in  exist- 
ence. 

As  to  the  Orange  procewions'^e 
processions  of  a  few  hundreds  of  peo- 
ple among  seven  milUons — who  de- 
tends  them,  even  among  the  respect- 
able Orangemen  ?  They  are  In  prin- 
ciples highly  meritorious,  atid  if  they 
be  mischievous  in  efi^ts.  Would  tM>t  a 
private  Wish  on  the  part  of  govern- 
ment, have  done  as  much  in  putting 
them  down,  aspubVc  and  official  re- 
prehension? m  Say  Yes.  If  the  mi- 
nisters, in  their  personal  ititereoUrse 
with  the  heads  of  the  Orange  Assod^* 
ation,  had  earnestly  requested  them  to 
disoontinoe  the  nitieessions,  and  had 
overlooked  the  ^ftkettm  of  the  ignorant 
members  of  the  body,  the  processions 
Would  have  been  discontinued,  to  the 
abatement  o^j>arty  nirit,  and  not  to 
its  increase.  The  conduct  of  the  Mar- 
4uii  Welieitey  and  Mr  PluhkeU  io^ 
wards  the  Protestantt,  itid  Che  repett- 
edr  stf^nftiie  tatt  txpoM  the  Ofrangi^  As- 


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The  Ip^mieikni  qftke  ItUk  Peaeantrf. 


^06 

■orifilion  by  minktars,  coupled  with 
their  Anxiety  to  extenuate,  pardon, 
and  conceal  all  the  offences  of  the  Ca* 
tholics,  have  confidtated  party-con- 
duct of  the  worst  description,  and 
have  produced  all  the  effects  that  such 
conduct  could  produce.  They  have 
virtually  constituted  an  offensive  alli- 
ance with  the  Catholics,  and  a  fierce 
attack  upon  the  Protestants,  and  they 
have  naturally  placed  the  parties  in  a 
state  of  bitter  warfare.  Never,  in  the 
memory  of  man,  did  party  spirit  rage 
more  furiously  in  Ireland  than  it  has 
lately  done,  and  the  case  could  not 
possibly  have  been  otherwise  from  the 
conduct  that  has  been  adopted  by  men 
in  power. 

We  blush  io  think,  that  the  idea, 
that  the  Orange  Associations  produce 
the  Catholic  ones,  has  to  be  comba^> 
ted.  The  Orangemen  combine  for 
defensive  purposes; — to  protect  them- 
selves, the  Protestant  religion,  the 
constitution,  the  laws,  and  the  govern- 
ment;— ergo,  the  CathoHcs  combine 
for  offensive  purposes, — to  put  an  end 
to  the  payment  of  rents  and  tithes ; 
take  the  land  from  its  owners,  exter- 
minate the  Protestants,  destroy  Uie 
dominion  of  England,  and  make  Ire- 
land an  independent  Catholic  state. 
This  may,  for  anything  that  we  know, 
be  very  choice  logic ;  out  we  are  men 
of  plain  understandings,  and  it  is  lost 
upon  us.  Those  who  advance  it» 
should  maintain,  ^at  loyal  associa- 
tions produce  radical  ones,  that  reli- 
gious societies  produce  infidels,  and 
that,  because  we  wish  to  defend  the 
constitution,  our  neighbours  must 
needs  wish  to  destroy  it.  We  may  be 
told,  as  we  often  are  told,  that  the 
Catholics  are  quiet,  meek  souls,  who 
are  free  from  party  spirit,  and  who 
could  do  nothing  wrong,  were  they 
not  goaded  to  it ;  but  the  conciliators, 
the  emancipation-men,  must  pardon 
US,  if  we  disbelieve  it.  When  we  look 
at  the  words  and  deeds  of  Captain 
Rock,  and  at  the  language  of  the  Ca- 
tholic Association,  and  the  heads  of 
£he  Catholic  Churchy  we  really  cannot 
fbr  our  lives  see  that  the  annihilation 
of  the  Orangemen  would  change  in 
one  Jot  their  sentiments  and  coi^uct. 
We  may  no  doubt  be  in  error,  for,  ac- 
cording to  the  authority  of  many  great 
men,  the  operation  of  causes  is  direct- 
ly the  reverse  in  Ireland,  of  what  it  is 
in  all  other  countries. 

If  a  government  ought  to  m^ke  ao 


CMiV 


distinction  between  itc  fHends  and  ill 
enemies— the  good  and  the  bad — ^tiue 
principles  and  £dse  ones,  let  this  be 
at  once  broadly  promul^ted  accord-  - 
ing  to  the  good  old  fingUsh  fashion^ 
and  let  us  no  longer  labour  under  the 
delusion  that  it  ought  to  encourage 
the  loyal  and  discoun^e  the  disloyal^- 
to  trust  and  reward  according  to  de- 
sert— and  to  promote  the  spread  of 
good  feelings  and  principles  as  mudft 
as  possible,  by  kindness  and  favour  on 
the  one  hand,  and  displeasure  and  co- 
ercion on  the  other.  Let  it  be  remem- 
bered, that  the  contest  in  Ireland  is 
not  between  Whigs  and  Tories,  bat 
between  the  loyal  and  the  disloysJ,  the 
friends  of  England  and  its  enetnies,  a 
religion  that  is  the  nurse  of  freedom, 
ana  one  that  is  hostile  to  freedom  ia 
the  highest  dm'ee. 

The  secret  of  all  this,  we  think,  nay 
be  easily  discovered.  Some  wiseacre 
or  other  has  seemingly  fancied  that  a 
quarrel  with  the  Protestants  would  be 
in  effect  a  reconciliation  with  the  Ca- 
tholics—that if  the  former  were  cast 
off'by  the  government,  the  latter  would 
crowd  round  it  in  all  the  ecstacies  of 
devotion.  It  seems  to  have  been  theu^t 
that  the  parties  were  both  loyal,  imid 
both  friendly  to  England ;  that  they 
merely  contended  as  the  Whigs  and 
Tories  contend,  and  that  the  smile  of 
the  Lord-Ueutenant  could  win  tlie 
one  as  easily  as  the  other.  The  tritl 
has  been  made ;  its  issue  has  been  a 
very  natural  one,  and  it  has  yielded  to 
its  parents  everything  but  suceess  and 
honour.  As  we  stated  in  our  Mafti^ 
line  for  April,  the  Catholic  Churdi  k 
compelled  to  follow  its  present  con* 
dua— to  keepits  followers  in  the  State 
in  which  they  are — ^by  r^ard  f<^  its 
own  power  and  existence ;  and  a  richer 
bribe  than  that  of  the  whole  body  of 
the  Protestants,  will  not  indues  it  to 
commit  suicide. 

There  is  genuine  conciliation,  and 
there  is  spurious  conciliations  we  have 
lately  had  admirable  ^edmens  of  both* 
The  King  went  to  Ireland  as  a  con- 
ciliators genuine  conciliator.  He 
did  not,  like  ^e  Marquis  WeUesleyi 
quarrel  with  either  paitv  on  personali 
or  other  pounds;  anj  he  did  not 
idendfy  himself  with  either  party  :-^ 
he  did  not,  like  Mr  Plunkett,  call  eith^ 
Protestants,  or  (Catholics,  a  hctiaat 
and  he  did  not  endeavour  to  siake  the 
one  a  sacrifice  to  the  other*  His  eoiw 
duet  was  distinguish^  by  the  moit 


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1894-3 


The  Initructkn  ^the  irM  Peommtirg. 


finn  and  fcrupnlotui  impartialUy :  ftndy 
what  was  of  even  more  oonaeqaeno^ 
it  consisted  wholly  of  condescension, 
kindness^  and  benoTolence.  This,  and 
this  alone,  rendered  it  irresistible  to 
party  spirit  Every  one  knows  what 
effects  bis  M^esty  produced,  how  long 
these  effects  endured,  and  how  they 
were  destroyed.  Let  the  King's  con* 
duct  be  contrasted  with  that  which 
has  been  followed  by  some  of  his  ser- 
vants^ and  it  will  oe  seen,  what  is 
really  conciliation,  and  what  is  party 
conduct  concealed  under  the  name. 

We  should  not,  after  all,  have 
touched  on  this  subject,  if  it  had  not 
been  very  closely  connected  with  the 
instruction — we  will  not  say  education 
^of  the  Irish  peasantry.  If  a  people 
be  put  under  a  regular  course  of  in« 
struction,  it  is  of  the  very  first  impor« 
tance  that  the  words  and  deeds  of  toeir 
rulers  should  mark  as  strongly  as  possi- 
ble the  distinction  between  good  and 
evil,  both  in  men  and  things.  Minis- 
ters are  constantly  implonng  Parlia- 
ment not  to  say  a  word  that  mav  give 
offence  to  the  Catholics ;   ana  thia 

S roves,  what  ooidd  not  otherwise  be 
oubted,  that  what  is  said  in  Parlia- 
ment finds  its  way  to  a  large  portion 
of  the  people  of  Ireland*  Now  what 
are  the  Irish  peasanuy  to  think,  when 
they  find  that  one  side  of  Parlisment 
declares  that  the  Protestants  are  a  vHe 
faction,  who  only  exist  to  iinure  and 
enslave  them,  while  the  otber  ndt 
says  not  a  woid  in  contradiction  of  it; 
when  they  find  the  ministers  repeat- 
edly reprobating  the  conduct  of  the 
Oraneeroen,  and  in  the  same  iHreath 
auppficatin^  Parliament  to  say  nothing 
af^nst  their  own;  when  they  find  the 
Protestants  vilified  in  every  possible 
way,  while  their  own  atrocities  are 
extenuated,  or  concealed;  and  they 
are  made  the  objects  of  incessant 
eulo^?  Is  this  the  way  to  put  them 
out  of  love  with  their  guilt— to  remove 
their  disaffection — to  destroy  their  con- 
fidence in  their  leader»*-and  to  teach 
them  to  esteem  the  Protestant,  and  to 
judge  charitably  of  his  religion?  la 
this  s  portion  of  the  svstem  of  concilia- 
tion— of  the  graua  Eady-nostrum 
which  is  to  tranquilHze  Ireland?  we 
compassionate  those  fit>m  our  souls^ 
whose  duty  it  is  to  answer  the  ques- 
tions. Ifthe  words  of  Parliament  find 
their  way  to  the  people  of  IreUndj  let 
them  be  such  as  the  peqpip  m^ght  tp 


M7 

Let  thefB  be  lAie  Words  of  truth 
and  justice.    Let  Parliament  deal  im- 
partiailv  between  the  parties,  let  It 
spare  toe  misdeeds  of  neither,  but  do 
not  let  it,  with  conciliation  in  its 
mouth,  teach  the  Catholics  to  hate  the 
Froteataats,  and  to  regard  their  own 
crimes  as  justifiable.  Let  it  not,  under 
the  mask  of  conciliation,  become  the 
greatest  agitator  and  party  leader  of 
Ireland.     Let   Pariiament   solemnly 
point  out  the  distinction  between  bad 
men  and  subjects,  and  fi;ood  ones — 
between  bad  feelhigs  and  principles, 
and  good  ones.    Let  it  solemnly,  but 
with  temper,  moderation,  and  benevo- 
lence, point  out  the  difoence  between 
the  two  religions,  in  truth  sad  merit— 
censure  the  dvil  despotism  of  the  Ca- 
tholic clergy— define  the  civil  and  re- 
ligious duties  of  the  layman,  and  feai%- 
Insly  denounce  guilt,  whether  it  be 
civil  or  religious — whether  it  be  com* 
mitted   bv  Protestant   or   Catholic 
This  migiit  perhara  not  be  concilia- 
tion, but  it  woula  be  something  of 
infinitdy  more  value.    It  would  be 
iNBTaucnoK,  and  instruction  that 
would  not  be  lost.    It  would  do  more 
to  tranquillize  Ireland,  than  all  that 
conciliation  has  done  to  inflame  it. 
We  ask  no  favour  for  the  Protestants. 
If  they  unjustiy  monopolize  power  sad 
trust  m  Ireland,  let  the  Irbn  govern- 
ment be  impeached  for  suffermg  them 
to  do  it — ^if  they  obstruct  the  adminia- 
tration  of  justice,  let  them  be  prosecu- 
ted—*if  tiiey  commit  guilt  which  dd 
laws  cannot  reach,  let  new  ones  be 
framed  to  punidi  them-— if  they  tae 
guilty  of  oppression,  let  them  be  neld 
up  fSn:  it  to  the  scorn  of  the  world  ; 
only,  instead  of  the  Billingsgate  of 
Brougham,  let  us  have  tiie  sober  and 
decisive  worda  of  1^^  evidence  to 
prove  it.    We  say  we  ask  no  fiivour 
tor  the  Protestants,  for  it  would  be  a 
degradation  to  which  we  could  not 
stoop,  to  ask  &vour  from  men  In 
authority  fbr  those  who  fight  the  bsi- 
ties  of  our  holy  rdigion,  our  constrto- 
tion,  and  our  country.    But  we  do 
ask  justice  for  the  Protestants.    If, 
when  there  are  atrodoua  and  danger- 
ous parties  in  the  state,  as  well  as 
praiseworthv  ones^— falae  and  demon- 
lixing  creecte,  as  wdl  as  just  ones; 
and  when  these  are  engaged  in  fleroe 
conflict,  our  rulers  nSitet  to  belong  to 
.BO  party  and  to  remain  neutarali  if  it 
have  come  to  thisy  at  lent  let  thcA  act 


Digitized  by 


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^fthe  iNm  American  PtmUknti. 


CM«r^ 


ItiqpArtially  betwMB  fkm  cMnUtiiiti. 
We  vdt  fbr  jnidce  ftr  die  ProieMan  tt, 
Imb  for  iStk&t  own  srite  tbftn  ^  that 
of  the  Cmtbolie  peatantry.  TKey  inty 
be  attacked  and  vilified  by  ParliATtiefi  te, 
Lord-Lieiitenanta,  Irish  AttoitM^ 
Generals,  and  Ministers^  vntil  toe 
peasantry  regard  them  m  tinpvittdpled 
tyrants,  whom  it  is  ttMritorioua  to  de*- 


atroT|  md  xUm  may  brini^  ttpoii  uiaB 
wi  the  injtiries  and  snflbrift^s  to  wiucn 
h«nman!^^  is  litible;  but  we  ^nk  that 
it  will  bhng  equally  great  injuries  and 
snflbrings  upon  the  Cathofic  peasantry, 
end  we  think,  moreoter,  that  it  wiU 
cause  a  Kns  to  bo^  Irelsnd  and  £ng« 
hind,  alike  terrible  and  irreparable. 


tKETCHBS  OF  THE  flTE  AMERICAN  PAEStDEKTB,  AND  OF  tBE  FIVE  FKESI- 
DSNTtAL  CANDIDATES,  FBOM  THE  MEMOaAKDA  OP  A  TfcAVELLEB. 


It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that 
the  polky  of  the  American  government 
will  n6t  be  materially  influenoed  by 
the  character  of  the  nent  President. 
All  nationa  are  more  or  leas  determined 
in  thcSr  course  of  dealings  at  home  and 
•broad,  by  the  moral  and  intellectual 
eharacter  of  thdr  chief  magistrstea, 
whatever  may  be  thar  title,  rank,  or 
Authority.  TheAmerieans  always  have 
been  ao,  and  alwaya  will  be  so,  what- 
•ever  they  may  imagine  to  the  oon« 
trary. 

A  bird's-eye  view  of  theancoeasivead- 
ministratioos  of  Washington,  Adams, 
Jefibrson,  Madison^  and  Munroe,  will 
estafaUah  this  proposition  in  part ;  and, 
aa  we  are  justified  in  expecting  lUceef- 
ftets  flmn  like  causes,  and  that  what 
baa  been  will  be  again,  if  the  first  part 
-•£  the  proposition  be  esublished,  the 
latter  would  seem  to  be  -a  legitimate 
uifiBrence* 

I  have  no  disposition  to  meddle  with 
the  domestic  economy  of  nations ;  nor 
fHth  what  is  considered  the  tea-table 
poUtica  of  any  o<»untry ;  but  it  k  plea- 
aant  to  observe  the  influences  of  Doth 
Upon  the  great  human  family,  and  to 
shew  ourselves  wiser  than  our  neigh- 
bours, in  tmdng  any  eflfect  to  a  cause 
that  haa  been  perpetually  overlooked 
by  o&er  men. 

Thiaisoneof  thaaecsiea.  Thedie- 
ncter  of  the  American  government, 
from  die  day  of  its  first  organiialfoa, 
>hei  been  little  else  than  the  ebaraoter 
-of  the  man  highest  in  office  for  the 
•  timev    And  yet  the  poUticiana  of  Eu- 
.it»pe  would  tell  us,  that  it  is  a  matter 
ef  no  momoDt  to  the  world,  whither 
Mr  A,  B,  C,  or  D,  is  to  become  the 
.next  President  of  the  United  SUtee; 
;  and  the  Americans,  tbeffnaelves,  have 
never  auspeeted,  and  will  never  admit, 
that  the  character  of  their  chief  exe- 
cutive officer  ia,  in  reality,  the  chfuao- 
ter  ef  the  geemaeat. 

For  my  own  part,  I  do  not  scruple 


to  say,  <hat  I  could  Idl  under  whoee 
administration  any  important  law  had 
passed,  or  any  important  treaty  had 
been  entered  into  by  the  American 
people,  on  hearing  it  read  fi»r  the  fint 
time,  although  the  date  were  not  meti- 
tioned,  solely  Aom  my1tnowle(%e  of 
the  five  individuals,  who  have  been 
five  successive  Presidents.  " 

.  WAaKiNOTON,  ^  first  President, 
made  the  government  like  himself, 
cautious,  uniform,  itople,  and  sub- 
stantial, without  show  or  ^^de. 
While  he  presided,  nodiing  was  done 
fbr  efifed— everything  fVom  principle, 
lliere  Was  no  vapouring,  and  no«ehi'» 
«a1ry  about  it.  whatever  was  done  or 
add,  was  done  or  said  vrith  great  de- 
liberation, and  profbund  seriousness. 

Mr  Adams  was  the  aecond  Pre- 
rident.  He  was  ^uite  another  sort  of 
man.  He  was  more  dictatorial,  more 
adventurous ;  and,  perhaps,  nnire  of  a 
atateeman.  But  look  to  the  record  of 
his  administration,  and  yon  find  the 
natural  temper  of  the  man  distinctly 
visible  in  all  the  operations  of  the  go- 
vernment, \ip  to  the  veiy  moment 
when  he  oiwrthrew  himseif  and  hit 
whole  party  by  his  hazardous  political 
movements. 

llie  cautious  neutrality  of  WMh- 
ington,  which  obtained  fi^r  him,  in  the 
cabinet,  what  had  already  been  award- 
ed to  him  in  the  fidd^the  title  of  the 
American  Fabius^^was  abandoned,  by 
Mr  Ademe,  for  a  more  bold  and  pre- 
ttumptttous  aspect,  bearing,  and  atti- 
tude. The  ouiet  dignity,  and  august 
^plahiuess  of  tne  former,  were  put  i^de 
4br  something  more  absolute  and  regal. 
The  eomhittance  of  die  American  go- 
vernment under  Washington,  throueh- 
out  all  its  foreign  negotiations,  and  do- 
mestic administratron,  waa  eretft  and 
natural,  very  strtHig,  simple  and  ffUft* 
But,  under  Mr  Adams,  althota^  it 
eppeerafi  loCttci  end  more  iinpdttR|^ 
and  attracted  more  attention,  it  had  a 


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nu.2 


SktMe9  qfthe  Five  American  PretidmUti, 


dMT 


«Qrt  of  thentricil  look^  aid  wai^  in 
rQR^tJ^  Biodllefla  formidable* 

Then  came  Mr  Jjetfebaon.  He  waa 
the  third  President.  He  wqb,  niidoubu 
adly,  a  man  of  more  genius  than  either 
of  his  predecessors.  His  talent  was 
fioer^  but  not  so  strong.  He  was  a 
scholar  and  a  philosopher*  full  <^  theory 
and  hypothesis.  And  what  was  the 
character  of  his  administration  ?  Was 
it  not  wholly  giren  up  to  theory  and 
hypothesis,  experiment  and  trial?  He 
turned  the  whole  of  the  United  States 
Uito  a  laboratory — a  work-shop — a  lec- 
ture-room ;  and  kent  the  whole  coun- 
try in  alarm  with  nis  demonstrationa 
in  political  economy,  l^islatioUa  me« 
ehanica,  and  government.  Hence  it  is, 
Uut,  to  this  day,  it  is  difficult  to  de- 
termine whethev  his  administration,  oa 
the  wholes  was  productive  of  great  be-* 
ne&t,  or  great  evil  to  the  American  pe^ 
pie.  The  most  extraordinary  changes, 
transmutations,  and  phenomena,  were 
oonUnuaUy  taking  place  before  their 
eyes ;  but  they  were,  generally,  uuin- 
telli^ble«  so  Uiat  he  left  the  country 
pretty  much  in  the  situation  that  his 
fame  at  Muclecello  is  at  this  moment 
— altogether  transformed  from  its  na^ 
tural  state — altogether  different  from 
what  it  was,  when  he  took  it  in  hand 
— ^a  puzzle  and  a  problem  to  the  world. 

1*0  him  succeeded  Mr  Madison — 
fhe  fourth  American  President  He 
was  altogether  of  a  difl&rent  constitu- 
tion-r-lomudous,  plsusible,  adroit, 
and  subwe.  Out  of  nis  administration 
grew  the  war  between  his  country  and 
this«  It  has  been  a  question  much 
agitated  among  many  sensible  men, 
and  respectable  politicians,  whom  I 
have  known  in  different  countriea-^ 
whether  Mr  Madison,,  whose  temper 
was  neither  quarrelsome  nor  warlike, 
really  wished  for,  and  uromoted,  and 
expeded  the  war,  or  not  r  I  have  beard 
the  same  question  warmly  debated 
amone  his  countrymen  and  friends. 
The V  had,  probably ^^  never  seen,  or  had 
overlooked  the  significance  of  a  paper 
in  the  "  Federalist^"  U  work  produced 
by  Mr  Hamilton,  Mr  Jay,  and  Mr 
Madison,  in  defence  of  the  constitu* 
tion  then  about  to  be  adopted  by  the 
American  people^  —written  by  Mr  M^ 
dison  himself  wnen  a  young  man,  in 
which  ha  shews,  plainly  and  convin- 
dngly«  how  vast  an  augmentation  of 
Mtrtfiage*  and».Qf  eouxfuu  pawer^  the 
maident  of  the  United  States  would 
derive  from  a  state  of  war..  No  man 


saw  it  ag  dearly  at  the  Hmi  uQwau 
remembered  i^  after  the  debale  in» 
over,  so  distinctly^  and  no  man  could  ^ 
have  profited  by  it  more  resolutely 
than  (ud  Mr  Madison,  when  he  came 
to  be  wha^  when  he  foi^told  the  evil^ 
he  had  no  more  idea  of  being,  than  he 
has  now  of  being  an  Emperor — the 
President  of  the  United  Sutes,  with 
ample  power  to  fulfil  the  prophecy. 

The  next,  and  last  of  the  American 
Presidents^  is  Mr  Munbok,  a  remark- 
aUv  plain,  sensible  man — ^very  honest, 
ana,  but  for  this  last  message  of  hia, 
which  is  wholly  unhke  anything  dial 
he  has  ever  written^  or  said»  or  done 
before,  I  shoidd  be  inclined  to  think 
of  a  very  prudent,  cokl,  and  ^egma* 
tic  temperament.  Yet,  what  is  his  ad« 
ministration,  but  a  history  of  the  man 
hiinaelf^-H)r  rather  a  biography  f 

If  all  this  be  true,  have  we  nq  in* 
terest  in  understanding  the  true  cha- 
racter of  Uie  five  men,  out  of  whom 
the  next  President  of  the  United  States 
will  be  chosen  ? 

My  opinion  is,  that  we  have»  and 
that  we  ought  to  have,  and  therefore 
1  shall  give  a  sketdi,.  first,  of  the  Pre>- 
sident  now  in  office,  and  then,  of  the 
five  eandidates,  out  of  whom  one  will 
be  chosen  to  succeed  him. 

Mr  Munroe,  the  actual  President  at 
this  time,  is  an  old-fosbioned-lookiag 
man,  whose  manner  Is  a  compound  o£ 
natural,  strong  simplidty,  and  artifi- 
cial courtesy.  He  is  very  awkward, 
and  verv  amible ;  with  a  countenance 
and  adwss  so  distinguished  for  sub- 
stantial good .  sense,  and  downright 
honesty — ^like  that  which  we  often* 
times  meet  with  in  hun^e  life  amon^ 
the  uneducated,  that  if  you  should  en- 
counter him,  accidentally,  in  the 


panvof  men  of  the  world,  withontknow- 
ing  nim,  you  would  take  him  for  a  sen- 
siUe  man,  quite  unaccustomed  to  such 
society,  and  alu^ether  above  the  folly 
and  a&ctation  of  imitating  them.  But» 
let  some  one  tell  you  that  mis  sensible, 
uneducated  man,  is  no  less  a  person^ 
age  than  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  and  you  would  be  likely  to  das- 
cover  something  almost  awfiu  in  hi* 
plainness  of  manner  ;  somethings  bei- 
fore  whose  quiet  rebuke  the  grandeus 
and  beauty  of  courtly  bearing  would 
fall  away,.]ike  affectation.  Yet  ia  it. 
not  so  ?— Jdr  Monroe  isreallTaa  aiwk-^ 
wardman;  and  so  are  most  m  the csa^ 
didates,  at  this  moment^  "  sU,  all 
awkward  men."  * 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


SlO 


SkeU^  qfthe  Ftw  American  PrtHdmts. 


CMay, 


And  vet  hk  acqtuned  courtesy,  and 
avoit  ctftame^hke,  <»*  i«pablican  cor- 
diality^ wfaic^,  being  tempered  with 
mud^  ^Tity  imd  reserre,  induces  you 
to  think  that  more  is  meant  than  said, 

rite  upon  those  who  see  him,  rery 
that  msincere,  graceful,  and  flat- 
tering* manner,  whidi  we  look  for  in 
the  Eurqiean  courtier ;  and  hare  made 
it  a  common  remark  throughout  the 
if nited  States,  and  particularly  in  the 
city  of  Washington,  that  an  unsuc- 
cessful applicant  will  come  away  bet- 
ter satisfied  with  Mr  Munroe,  than  a 
successful  one  will  from  Mr  Adams, 
the  present  Secretary  of  State. 

I  jpaid  this  gentleman  (Mr  Munroe) 
a  visit  once,  on  the  very  evening  be- 
fore he  was  to  send  a  message  to  Con- 
IpresB.  The  front  of  his  house,  which 
IS  reallv  quite  a  palace,  was  entirely 
dark :  there  were  no  lamps  lighted,  no 
serrants  in  waiting,  and  I  had  to  find 
mv  way  as  I  could  among  the  marble 
pillars,  and  over  the  broad  marble 
pavement  of  the  great  haU,  into  the 
private  study  of  the  President  I  was 
quite  struck  with  the  appearance  of 
everything  that  I  saw  there : — ^the  man 
himself— the  furniture — and  the  con- 
v^-sation,  were  all  of  a  piece,  and  ra- 
ther out  of  keeping,  I  thought,  with 
the  marble  chimney-piece,  and  mag- 
nificent ceiling  and  carpeting.  There 
were  a  couple  of  common  candles,— 
tallow,  I  dare  say,  lighted  upon  his 
table,  and  the  friniiture,  though  cost- 
W,  was  very  plain  and  substantial.  In 
fact,  there  was  an  air  of  rigorous  eco- 
nomy about  all  the  decorations  of  the 
room,  except  those  which  were  fur- 
nished by  tne  Congress :  and  the  eco- 
nomy too,  not  of  a  chief  magistrate,  so 
much  as  of  a  private  gentleman,  who 
had  neither  the  power  nor  the  dispo- 
sition to  be  more  prodigal. 

And  now  for  tne  candidates.  Mr 
Cu  LH  ou  N,  the  present  Secretary  of  War 
Cor  Minister  of  War),  is  one  of  the 
nve,  and  the  youngest  among  them. 
He  has  distin^di^  himself  m  Con- 
gress, by  his  intrepid  eloquence,  and, 
in  the  cabinet,  by  some  bold  and  able, 
but  hazardous  undertakings.  He  is 
nearly  six  feet  in  hdght,  walks  very 
erect,  so  that  his  stature  appears  even 
greater  than  that :  has  very  dark  ex- 
pressive eyes :  high  cheek-bones,  and 
aiMuare  ford&ead,  with  a  physiognomy 
rather  of  the  Scotch  character :  taJks 
with  singular  rapidity  and  vehemence. 


when  at  all  exdted,  and  dectioneen 
more  baiefiieedly,  and  vHth  less  ad- 
dress, than  any  other  of  the.flve  candi- 
dates. He  is  too  young  a  man  for  the 
office,  and  has  little  or  no  chance  of 
success:  he  is  very  ambitious,  and 
fblly  aware  of  the  consequences  if  he 
should  fidl.  His  adversmes  say  &a€ 
he  will  jump  befbre  he  comes  to  the 
stiU ;  and  mwt  clear  the  passage,  or  be 
thrown  out  fbr  ever.  They  are  proba- 
bly right.  But  if  he  should  be  elect- 
ed, and  it  is  quite  possible,  though  not 
probable  that  he  will  be,  he  will  seek 
to  distinguish  his  administration  by 
very  high-handed  measures.  Such  a 
course  would  be  natural  to  most  am- 
bitious young  men,  who  find  it  easier 
to  design  than  imitate ;  pleasanter  to 
open  a  new  path  for  themselves,  than 
to  follow  any  that  another  has  open- 
ed ;  and  a  much  finer  thing,  to  sug- 
gest a  great  improvement,  ^r  another 
to  carry  into  execution,  than  to  assist 
in  consummating  the  plans  of  another, 
particularly  in  a  government,  which, 
on  account  of  the  quick  rotation  in  of- 
fice, wiU  seldom  permit  any  one  man 
both  to  originate  and  consummate  any 
great  politiod  measure. 

Mr  Crawford,  the  Secretary  of 
die  Treasury,  (correCTwndin^  with  our 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  ,^s  the  se- 
cond candidate.  He  is  a  tail,  stately 
man,  more  than  six  feet  high,  and 
large  in  proportion.  He  was  a  school- 
master; and,  it  is  said,  has  killed  his 
man,  a  circumstance  not  at  all  against 
him  with  the  Southern  Americans,  but 
very  much  so  among  the  men  of  New 
England,  who  reprobate  duelling  as 
absolute  murder.  Mr  Crawford  is  fill- 
er of  political  resources  than  Mr  Cul- 
houn,  and  manages  his  cards  more 
adroitly ;  but  then  his  enemies,  and 
those  who  are  opposed  to  him,  are  men 
of  a  more  serious  temper,  and  a  more 
steady  determination,  than  those  of 
Mr  Culhoun.  Their  opposition  to  Mr 
Crawford  is  chiefly  that  of  principle : 
and  not  political,  so  much  as  moru 
principle ;  while  their  objection  to  Mr 
Culhoun  grows  chiefly  out  of  his 
youth,  temper,  and  indiscretion.  The 
mfluence  of  Mr  Crawford's  character, 
should  he  be  elected,  will  be  chiefly 
felt  in  the  domestic  administration  of 
the  government:  that  of  Mr  Culhoun, 
on  the  contrary,  would  be  most  operi^ 
tive  upon  the  fbre^  rdations  of  the 
American  people.  r  \ 

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SkH€ke9  o/tke  Fhe  Amenctm  PrMidmUt. 


1S9I.;] 

Mr  Jonv  Qunrcr  Adamu,  the  pre- 
feat  Secretary  of  State  (premier),  eon 
of  the  former  PKsident  Adams,  and 
tlM  third  candidate,  is  one  of  the  ablest 
statesmen,  and  roost  profoond  schdars 
of  the  age.  The  chief  objections  to 
him  are,  Aat  he  is  the  ion  of  a  dis« 
tingntdied  federalistj— that  he  is  an 
apostate  from  the  federal  party,— that 
his  father  was  a  President  heme  him, 
whidi,  in  a  eoantrr  so  very  rcpnUi* 
can  as  that  of  the  United  States,  in 
its  hoiTor  of  anything  hereditary,  is,  or 
might  to  be»  an  insnrmoontable  objec« 
don  to  die  son,  although  diree  oiher 
Presidents,  and  a  whMe  generation, 
have  already  intervened  between  the 
reign  of  the  fiither,  and  the  pretension 
of  die  son ;  and  that  he  is  toe  present 
Secretarv  of  State,  occupying  an  office 
fVom  wnich  the  President  has  been 
taken  so  frequendy,  diat  it  has  come 
to  be  oonsideved  as  a  certain  steppow- 
stone,  and  the  very  next  one  to  the 
Presidential  chair.  These  are  fbrnd* 
dable  ol]|jections  to  a  je^oos  people, 
whose  iieorp  of  government  is  about 
the  finest  that  the  world  ever  saw ; 
and  it  is  quite  possible  that  they  will 
outwei^  all  other  circumsUnoe^— 
practical  vnrtue— and  great  talent— in 
thedayoftriaL 

Mr  Adams  has  represented  his 
country  at  several  European  ooitrts ; 
and  it  is  known  that  his  influence  has 
been  felt  and  acknowledged  in  the 
most  unequivocal  manner  by  that  of 
Russia. 

He  is  a  fine  belles-lettres  scholar ; 
was  a  lecturer  on  judicial  and  popu* 
lar  doquence  in  Harvard  umvemtv, 
(New  JSn^and ;)  and  has  publish- 
ed  a  very  valuable  work,  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Rhetoric  and  Elocudon.  The 
most  unlucky  and  moat  unworthy 
thing  that  he  lias  ever  done,  to  my 
knowledge,  is  one  diat  he  can  never  be 
justified  for  having  done.  He  con- 
sented, some  years  ago»  to  deliver  the 
fourth  of  July  oration  at  the  Capitol 
in  Washington  ;  and  in  ddtvering  it, 
fiii^  that  he  was  no  longer  John 
Qumcy  Adams,  an  American  ctttsen, 
jusdy  exasperated  at  die  ludignity 
widi  which  the  genius,  and  literature, 
and  boi^tality  of  his  countrymen  had 
been  treated  here,  and  fully  justified 
in  expressing  his  indignatioi^— he  for- 
got that  he  was  no  kmger  a  private 
dt&en,  in  whom  such  a  thing  would 
be  justifiabU-Hmd  dkl  not  recollect 
diat  he  was  the  Sedretary  of  State  for 
Vol.  XV. 


an 


the  United  8tate»—tbe  chief  organ  of 
the  govermnent,  in  whose  language  on 
such  an  occasion,  all  phiH^c,  re- 
proach, and  recrimination,  would  be 
undignified  and  misdiievous :  a  per- 
petual precedent  fbr  other  and  hum- 
bler men.  I  could  ai^laud  the  spirit 
of  the  man— but  cannot  help  pi^ng 
that  of  the  poliddan  and  statesman, 
while  so  empbyed.  As  the  oradon  of 
Mr  John  Quincy  Adams,  the  polite 
scholar,  and  accomplished  gentl^nan, 
it  was  pleasant  to  read ;  but  as  the 
work  of  a  statesman, — the  deliberate 
manifestadon  of  sendment,  by  the  Se- 
cretary of  State  for  the  United  States 
of  America,  it  was  undignified  and 
indiscreet. 

In  a  time  of  peace,  Mr  Adams  would 
be  better  calculated  to  advance  the  re- 
putadon  of  his  country  abroad,  than 
any  other  of  the  five  candidates.  Li- 
terature, and  literary  men,  would  be 
more  respectable  under  his  adminis- 
tration, than  they  ever  have  been  ;  and 
die  political  negotiation  of  the  country 
would  continue  to  be,  what  it  has  been, 
during  his  occupation  of  the  office 
which  he  now  holds  in  the  cabinet, 
profound,  dear,  and  comprdiensive. 

Let  any  one  imagine  the  efibct  of 
his  presence  and  manner  upon  some 
foreign  ambassador,  (no  matter  from 
what  country  of  Europe  he  mar  come,) 
who  should  see  him  for  the  fiitt  time 
as  I  have  often  seen  him— The  gen- 
tleman from  abroad,  familiar  with  the 
pomp  and  drcumstanoe  of  royalty  at 
nome,  and  through  all  die  courts  of 
Europe,  it  may  b^  and  fiill  of  straitte 
misapprehension  of  republican  simpG- 
dtv— imagining  it  to  oe  what  it  gene- 
rally is,  either  rude  and  afibcted,— 
worn  for  the  flradOcadon  of  die  mob— 
or  the  natural  manner  of  uneducated 
people,  who  are  not  so  much  superior 
to,  as  they  are  ignorant  of,  courtly  pa- 
rade, yet  prone  to  imitation  nevertne« 
less,  has  prepared— we  will  soppoae^ 
for  an  introduction  to  die  President  of 
the  United  States :— a  single  attendant 
announces  him. — He  is  ushered  into 
the  presence-Kshamber,  without  any  ce- 
remony, into  A  very  plain  room,  fur- 
nished not  so  handsomely  as  it  is  oom- 
mcm  to  see  diat  of  a  respectable  trades- 
man in  England, 

He  sees  a  little  man  writing  at  a  ta- 
ble—nearly  bald,  with  a  face  ^uite 
formal  and  desdtute  of  expressKm; 
his  eyes  running  with  water ;  his  dip- 
pers down  at  the  had— fingers  stained 
3U 


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Sketches  ^ifte^five  American  Presidents* 


513 

with  ink ;  in  wartn  weather,  wearing 
a  stripped  seasucker  coat,  and  white 
trowscrs,  and  dirty  waistcoat,  spot- 
ted with  ink;  his  whole  dress,  altoge* 
ther^  not  worth  a  couple  of  poun& ; 
or,  in  a  colder  season,  hahiteil  in  a 
plain  hlue  coat,  much  the  worse  for 
wear,  and  other  garments  in  propor- 
tion ;  not  so  respeotahle  as  we  may 
find  in  the  old- clothes  hag  of  almost 
any  Jew  in  the  street. — This  man, 
whom  the  Ambassador  mistakes, for  a 
clerk  of  the  department,  and  only 
wonders,  in  looking  at  him,  that  the 
President  should  permit  a  man  to 
appear  hefore  him  in  such  dress, 
proves  to  be  Uie  President  of  the  Uni- 
ted States  himself.  The  stranger  is 
Twrplexed  and  confounded ;  he  hardly 
knows  how  to  behave  toward  such  a 
X)ersonage.  But  others  arrive,  one 
aftar  the  other-r-natives  of  different 
countries,  speaking  different  langua- 
f;es. — Conversation  begins.  The  lit- 
tle man  awakes.  His  countenance  ia 
gradually  illuminated — his  voice 
changes.  His  eyes  are  lighted  up 
with  an  expression  of  intense  sagacity, 
earnestness,  and  pleasantry.  Every 
subject  is  handled  in  succession— and 
every  one  in  the  language  of  the 
stranger  with  whom  he  happens  to  be 
conversing,  if  that  stranger  should  be- 
tray any  want  of  familiarity  with  the 
English  language — What  are  the  opi- 
nions of  this  Ambassador  here  ?  what 
does  he  know  of  the  address  and  ap- 
pearance of  Mr  Adams?  Nothing.  He 
nas  forgotten  the  first  impressions; 
and  when  he  has  returned  to  his  house, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  persuade  him 
that  the  President  of  the  United  Sutes 
is  either  dirty  in  his  dress,  little,  or 
jKwrly  dad. — 

Oenbrai.  Jackson  is  the  next  can- 
didate. He  is  a  man  of  a  very  resolute 
and  despotic  temper:  so  determined 
and  persevering,  that,  having  once  un- 
dertdcen  a  measure,  he  will  carry  it 
through,  right  or  wrong ;  so  absolute, 
l^iat  he  will  endure  neither  oppositioh 
nor  remonstrance.  He  has  a  power- 
ful party  in  his  favour ;  but  lus  ene- 
mies are  also  verv  powerful,  and  rea^- 
dy  to  go  all  lengtiis  in  preventing  his 
election.  He  has  gone  through  every 
stage  of  poUtical  and  active  service.— 
He  has  heen  successively  a  judge,  a 
general,  a  governor,  and  a  senator.  He 
is  a  man  of  singular  energy,  decision, 
and  promptitude— a  good  soldier,  and 
woukI  have  been  a  great  captain,  had 


CMay. 


he  been  educated  in  the  wan  of  Bo- 
r<^>e^  His  countrymen  hold  him  to  be 
the  greatest  general  in  the  world ;  but 
he  has  never  had  an  opportunity  to 
shew  his  generalship.  His  mvrhie 
with  the  Indians ;  and  his  victory  at 
New  Orleans,  though  carried  on  with 
sufficient  skill  for  the  occasion,  were  of 
a  nature  rather  to  develope  his  talent  as 
a  brave  man,  than  as  a  great  general. 

His  countrymen  give  a  bad  reason 
for  desiring  to  promote  him  to  the  Pre- 
sidency. They  admit  the  great  alnli- 
ty  of  Mr  Adams  and  Mr  Clay  in  the 
cabinet ;  but  then  they  contend  that 
Genend  Jackson  has  no  rival  in  the 
field. 

Granted,  if  they  please— but  what 
does  that  prove  ?  In  case  of  war.  Ge- 
neral Jackson's  services  woidd  be  ^tnU 
ed  in  the  field,  not  in  the  Presidential 
chair.  And  in  a  time  of  peace,  his  ta- 
lents as  a  general  wonla  be  useless. 
It  would  have  been  a  better  reason  to 
give  for  his  election  to  the  war  office ; 
and  yet  it  wotdd  have  been  a  bad  one 
there.  In  a  time  of  peace,  the  man- 
ner of  Gaieral  JadcBon,  who  is  a 
very  erect,  stiflT,  tall,  military  man, 
about  six  feet  high,  would  be  less 
likely  than  that  of  any  other  of  the  ^ve 
candidates,  to  make  a  favourable  im- 
pression upon  foreigners.  It  is  digni- 
fied to  be  sure,  and  conciliatory  ;  but 
then,  it  does  not  appear  natural,  and  is 
far  ^om  being  easy  or  graceful 

If  General  Jackson  should  be  elect- 
ed, there  would  be  a  thorough  revolu-  - 
tion  in  the  present  system  of  thing^  ^ 
He  would,  ]nt>bably,  do  agreat^ealof 
good — ^but  might  do  a  great  deal  of 
harm,  in  his  ^orough-going,  revolu- 
tionary? and  absolute  spirit.  His  of- 
ficers would  all  resemble  himself:  his 
influence  would  assemble  all  the  rash 
and  adventurous  material  of  the  nation 
about  him* — and  honest  as  he  imdoubl- 
edly  is,  lead  the  country  into  many  a 
situation  of  peril.  A  man  who,  after 
having  received  the  fire  of  his  adver- 
sary, where  the  parties  vrere  permit- 
ted to  fire  when  the^  pleased,  walked 
deliberately  up  to  him,  and  shot  him 
through  the  head  (a  story  that  is  ge- 
nerally told,  and  generally  believed 
in  America:) — a  man  who  ventured 
to  reform  the  judgment  of  a  court- 
martial,  and  order  two  men  to  exe- 
cution, because  bethought  them  wor- 
thy of  deadi ;  a  man  who  susjiended 
the  Habeas  Corpus  act>  of  his  own 
free  will,  at  New  Orieans,  and,  I  be- 


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SLeiefiet  oflh$Jive  American  Preiidents. 


lieve,  actually  imprisoned,  or  threaten- 
ed to  imprison,  tlie  judge  for  issuing  a 
writ ;  a  man  who  imprisoned,  or  ar- 
rested, the  governor  of  Florida — ^inva- 
ded a  neighbouring  territory,  of  his 
own  head,  with  an  army  at  his  back— 
aad  publicly  thrtatened  to  cut  off  the 
ears  of  sundry  senators  of  the  United 
States,  for  hanng  ventured  to  expos->' 
tulate  with  the  government,  on  ac- 
count of  his  high-handed  measures, 
however  he  may  be  fitted  for  a  time  of 
war,  is  not  vary  well  calculated,  I 
should  think,  to  advance  the  political 
reputation^  or  interests  of  his  country, 
in  time  of  peace. 

The  last  of  the  candidates,  Mr 
Clay,  one  of  the  American  Commis- 
sioners at  Ghent,  and  for  many  years 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives, a  situation  of  great  influence  and 
authority,  is  better  known  in  Europe, 
thaB  any  of  the  othere,  except  Mr 
Adams.  He  is  a  plain-looking  man, 
with  a  common  face ;  light  hair ;  about 
five  feet  ten ;  talks  with  great  anima- 
tion, and  declaims  with  surprising 
fluency  and  boldness.  He  exercises  a 
very  commanding  influence  over  a 
powerful  party  in  his  country  ;  and  if 
dected,  will  contribute  greatly  to  ex- 
tend the  reputation  of  the  government. 
He  is  neither  so  profound,  nor  so  com- 
prehensive, as  Mr  Adams  in  his  politi- 
cal views ;  but  he  is  an  able,  and  ho- 
nest politician ;  with  fHends  a  thou- 
sand times  more  enthusiasdc  than 
ate  those  of  Mr  Adams ;  but  they  are 
neither  so  numerous,  so  thoughtful, 
tu^  so  respectable. 

His  manner  is  very  unpretending. 
aad  verv  awkward :  he  has  a  goodded 
of  electioneering  expedient--but  it  is 
easily  seen  through.  I  remember  luu 
vingseen  him  enterthecityof  Wash- 
ingU»,  alena,  and  unatten^  by  a  ser- 
vant, on  honeback,  with  his  portman- 


ftlS 

teau,  or  valise,  stuffed  behind  the  sad- 
dle, two  or  three  days  before  the  elec- 
tion of  Speaker.  He  had  been  report- 
ed sick  and  dying  for  several  succes- 
sive weeks^ — and  was,  finally,  said  to 
be  actually  a  dead  man.  And  when 
he  appeared,  it  was  in  the  manner 
whicn  I  have  described,  although  the 
issue  of  his  election  as  Speaker,  was 
generally  believed  to  be,  in  one  alter- 
native, conclusive  upon  his  chance  for 
the  Presidency  ;  that  is, — if  he  were 
not  elected  Speaker,  it  was  believed 
that  he  had  no  chance  for  the  Presi- 
de ncv,  although,  if  he  were  elected 
Speaker,  his  ekction  to  the  Presiden- 
cy was  not,  by  any  means,  certain  to 
follow.  These  reports,  and  the  repub- 
lican entry,  were,  probably,  election- 
eering tricks :  the  first  Tfor  Mr  Clay 
had  never  been  sick  at  au)  was  got  up 
by  his  fHends  to  try  the  pulse  of  the 
people ;  and  the  latter  was  his  own. — 
I  have  now  described  the  five  Presi- 
dents and  ^\e  candidates ;  but  I  for- 
got to  mention,  that  nine  out  of  ^he 
whole  ten,  were  cither  educated  for  the 
bar,  or  actual  practitioners  of  the  law, 
at  some  period  or  other  of  their  lives. 
In  fact,  I  beUeve,  that  all  but  Wash- 
ington were  originally  destined  for  that 
profession,  although  1  am  not  certain 
about  Mr  Munro,  Mr  CuDioun,  and 
Mr  Crawford.  The  law  is  seldom  or 
never  studied  in  America,  as  an  ac- 
eom]dishment ;  and  until  lately,  has 
never  enteretl  into  their  plan  of  colle- 
giate education.  But,  for  nearly  half 
a  century,  it  has  been  the  favourite 
profession  of  ambitious  fathers,  and 
needy  young  men  of  talent,  as  the  on- 
ly highway  topohtical  distinction,  and 
as  the  most  respectable  and  cerUin 
means  of  obtaining  a  livelihood,  with- 
out capitid  or  mechanical  labour. 

A.  If. 


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Clfey, 


OFFICB  or  LOID  ADVOCATE  OF  8C0TI.AK1>. 


Edinburgh  Review. 


We  obeenre^  in  the  last  number  of 
the  Edinburgh  Review,  an  artide  on 
the  office  of  Lord  Advocate  of  Scot- 
land. This  paper  is  evidently  the  work 
of  a  very  coarse  hand ;  at  onoe  com- 
monplace in  statement,  and  feeble  and 
inconclusive  in  reasoning.  The  ob- 
ject of  the  writer  is,  to  prociure  the 
abolition  of  the  office ;  and  our  sole 
reason  for  even  noticing  so  paltry  an 
effi)rt  is,  that  we  look  upon  its  appear-* 
ance  in  the  old  Whig  Review  as  the 
signal,  usually  given  in  such  cases,  fbr 
a  general  rising  of  the  party  in  behalf 
of  the  proposed  change,  which,  in  this 
instance,  is  no  less  tnan  the  suppres- 
sion, (or  the  degradation,  worse  than 
suppression,}  of  one  of  the  most  an- 
cient, honourable,  and,  we  will  add 
also,  useful  offices'  which  can  be  held 
wi|hin  the  kingdom  of  Scotland. 

The  writer  begins  by  an  invidious 
eomparison  of  the  political  institutions 
of  Scotland  with  those  of  England,  be- 
fore and  since  the  period  of  the  Revo- 
lution ;  much  to  the  disparagement  of 
the  former  country,  of  course,  acoovd- 
ing  to  the  approved  fashion  of  ^e  mo- 
ment in  which  he  was  scribbling.  But 
his  ignorance  of  the  subject,  as  weU  as 
of  the  true  principles  of  fVecdom,  ia 
displayed  on  the  very  threshdd.  Eng- 
land was  not  free  in  any  practical  sense 
before  the  Revolution  of  1688. '  More 
vngovemable  t3rrants  nowhere  existed 
than  Henry  VIII.  and  both  his  daugh- 
ters,— and  the  whole  Stuart  dynasty  of 
England,  with  one  exception ;  and  al- 
thoi^  there  were  Parliaments  in 
those  .days,  they  were  poweriesB  to  ro- 
sist'  the  mandates  of  despotism ;  while 
juries  were  fain  to  second  them  with 
all  the  might  of  perjury  and  baseness. 
It  required  indeed  the  instinctive  stea- 
diness of  the  English  character  to  make 
the  people  ding  in  better  days  to 
their  parliaments  and  juries,  after  the 
shameful  experience  they  had  had  of 
what  both  were  capable  of  perpetra- 
ting and  enduring;  fbr  it  is  absurd 
to  tell  those  who  know  what  was  done 
in  England  in  the  reigns  of  Charles  and 
James  the  Second,  that  there  was  anv 
other  difibrence  in  the  tyranny  whicn 
•Mnressed  both  nations,  than  that 
which  sprung  out  of  the  greater  obsti- 
naey  and  enthusiasm  of  the  people  of 


Scodand.  The  spirit  of  freedom,  bor- 
dering perhaps  on  anardiy,  appean 
indeed  to  have  been  even  higher  in 
Scotland  at  the  era  of  &e  Revolution, 
^n  it  was  in  England ;  the  Scoteh 
Convention  of  Estates  having,  as  every 
one  knows,  boldly  voted  that  Kii^ 
James  had,  by  ms  mi^ovemment, 
Jbrfiited  the  crown ;  while  the  oo-or- 
dinate  assembly  in  England  was  pux- 
zling  itself  with  subtleties,  and  devi- 
sing iwms  of  expressioB  to  avoid  the 
Jacobinical  ooktdudon. 

But  if  the  writer  is  thus  ignorant  of 
the  real  history  of  the  period  on  which 
he  presumes  to  comment,  he  isi,  if  poa- 
sible,  still  more  ignorant  of  llie  true 
foundations  of  pi2>lic  freedom.  Par- 
Ihunent  is  not  an  adequate  safeguard 
of  liberty,  neither  is  trial  by  jury-* 
reason  might  have  indteated  as  much, 
and  history  has  demonstrated  it.  All 
positive  institutions  are  barren,  unless 
they  are  dierished  by  the  geoerositT 
of  the  soil  in  which  tne^  are  planted. 
The  security  of  freedom  is  in  the  mind 
and  urill  of  the  people  themselves— m 
their  intelligence^  energy,  and  virtue 
—not  in  the  mere  existence  of  Paili»* 
ments,  but  in  the  publidty  of  ^tuk 
prooeedings — ^not  in  trial  by  jurjr  at  an 
mstitution,  but  in  the  controlhng  vi* 
gour  of  public  opiifion — in  the  Hberty 
of  the  presM,  honestly  exercised,  to 
probe  and  to  punish,  but  not  to  inflaoie 
— ^in  privikefes,  in  ahort,  undefined, 
but  invaluable,  whidt  give  life  and  soul 
to  positive  institutions — privileges, 
however,  whidi,  be  it  remembered, 
En^d  did  not  in  any  shape  posMts 
at  the  period  which  this  writer  has 
adected  for  vaunting  her  freedom  over 
the  slavery  of  Scotland,  and  of  which 
Scotland  is  at  this  moment  in  as  full 
and  absolute  possession  as  the  sister 
kingdom.  It  is  this  system  of  tadt 
compromise,  betwixt  the  letter  of  the 
law  and  die  energy  of  opinion,  that 
governs  our  greatest  political  ooncerna 
— it  is  the  ^1  small  voice  of  policy 
that  addresses  the  actual  holder  of 
office  with  more  effect  than  Ae  thun- 
ders of  l^al  enactment,  and  renders  it 
practically  safe  to  commit  powers  to  him 
necessary  to  his  effidency,  althongh  ap- 
parently dangerous  to  liberty— powers; 
however,  which  seldom  axe  abused  m 


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Office  tfLor4AMcQM^S€Otkmi. 


fad,  and  never  cin  be  abused  with 
safety  beneath  the  frown  of  a  yigUanty 
^igDtenedy  and  high-minded  people. 
—By  this  standard  alone  can  the  offiee. 
of  the  Lord  Advocate,  or  of  any  other 
public  f  imctionary  in  our  land,  be  fiur- 
ly  tried. 

The  writer  complains  that  the  powers 
of  the  Lord  Adroeate  are  undefined 
and  unknown,— and  immediately  pro* 
ceeds  with  exemplary  oobsisteney  to 
edify  his  readers  by  an  enumeration  of 
them.  But  the  met  of  powers  vague* 
ly  claimed  beinj^  practiMlly  unknown, 
w>rds  oondusiTe  evidence  thai  they 
are  not  wron^ully  ezeitased,  nor  in« 
deed  exercised  at  all.  The  discussion 
which  even  their  occasional  use,  and 
&r  more,  their  abuse,  would  instantly* 
elicit,  could  not  fiul  to  draw  themout 
of  the  twiliffht  of  antiqoitv.  It  is  to 
contend  with  a  phantom,  tnerefore,  to 
wage  battle  with  the  unknown  powers 
of  the  Lord  Advocate ;  and  it  were  be^ 
neath  the  dignity  of  the  ledslature  to 
employ  i^ljr  in  enacting  laws  to  put 
them  down.  The  prsctical  questtoa 
which  can  alone  deserve  the  attention 
of  Parliament,  and  of  the  public,  i^ 
the  practical  power  wbi^  this  officer 
is  in  the  habit  of  exerciaing-^ts  adapt- 
ation to  the  ends,  political  and  le^i* 
for  whkh  the  office  was.first  instito* 
ted,  and  has  been  since  continued* 
Taking,  therefore,  the  writer's  enui* 
meration  of  these  powers — whidb,  bar 
ting  its.  clumsy  and  wilful  exag^erar 
tio^,  has  in  it  nothing  new — let  us  set 
whether  he  makes  out  his  position  that 
the  office  ealls  for  r^gulation- 

77u!  Lord  Advocate  u  the  PMk 
Fro$ecutor  in  ScoUtmd;  and  the  Re* 
viewer's  minute  subdivision  of  his 
powers,  however  formidable  it  mav 
appear  to  pmons  unacquainted  wita 
the  subject,  is  truly  comprised  in  the 
above  senXence.  The  Uw  of  Scotland 
discourages,  and  ever  has  discouraged, 
the  trade  of  the  private  informer,  and 
haa  wisely  taken  the  .great  iuitiatorj 
step  of  criminal  justiee  as  much  as  jioA* 
aible  oat  of  the  hands  of  private  ma^ 
Hoe,  and  confided  it  to  those  of  publio 
duty.  Private  panties  may  indeMpro« 
secate,but  not  without  tendering  t»  the 
sage  Jealousv  of  the  law  Ibe  gusraniee 
of  a  reasonable  interest  in  thepTocedU 
ings.  The  law  hm  constituted  the 
prosecution  of  crimes  a  puUic  tms^ 
and  committed  this  trust  to  the  hands 
of  an  eminent  public  officer.  Nor  k 
thoe  a  Scotsman,  whose  opinion  «ii 


616 

such  a  subiect  etn  ba  of  an^  weight, 
who  would  desyfo  to  havn  dus  system 
chained,  or  who  would  not  grieve  to 
see  his  country  demwaliaed  by  the 
Inrth  of  a  base  brood  of  informem-* 
Bat  the  puMic  Mrtr  to  whom  we  owe 
our  profceetion  against  such  a  pesti* 
lenoe,  must  have  power  to  perfosm  his 
duty  with  effi)ct ;  he  must,  in  short, 
have  aU  the  powers  whieh  the  Re- 
viewer has  asoibed  to  the  office,  so  flur 
as  they  ace  faithfully  recounted. 

The  Reviewer  oeraalains  that  the 
point  is  not  yet  desrly  oeoided  whether 
the  Lin^d  Advocate,  on  faihirs  of  hispco- 
seeution,  ia  bound  to  name  haa  inte- 
mer  ;  and  farther,  that  the  crown  is  notr 
haUe  in  x»sts  to  parties  aocnaed  but  ao-i 
quitted.  The  last  point  seems  too  xidi* 
enlous  even  far  passing  notice,  vrhea 
one  ooBsiders  the  numerous  acqnittab 
whidh  inevitably  ocour,  not  from  the 
innooence  of  the  accused,  but  Uoat 
defect  of  evidence,  or  errors  of  a  na** 
ture  merdy  formaL  The  liberal  r»« 
imburaement,  superadded  to  the  la- 
mented impunity  of  a  villain  whom 
ehanceu  not  merit,  has  saved  from  the 
halter,  would  be  an  odious  spectacle  in** 
deed. — The  other  branch  of  complaint, 
that  the  point  is  not  yet  dearly  settled, 
whether  the  Lord  Advocate  is  bound 
to  name  his  informer,  is  ooe  selcel^ad 
with  the  curious  infelicitv  that  dift* 
racterins  Htm  writer.    Ii  there  were 

gractical  Manny,  could  this  qucatsDB 
ave  remained  unsettled  ? — Can  there 
be  a  better  proof  than  ita  tgtj  uuccvm 
tainty  that  wanton  pmseaution  is  iui« 
known,  and  that  this  office,  whktever 
mav  be  its  absttact  power,  is  ptacti« 
caliY  attempered  to  the  spirit  of  the 
sge  r— Why  then  unBeoSsaarily  supes^ 
induce  theencnmbranoeof  a  caroner'a 
inquest,  or  dT  a  grand  jury,  on  ^ 
proved  integrity  of  a  hi^  office,  whiob 
lias  upon  tM  whole  beoi  so  exersisedx 
that  Uiequestieo  of  the  responsibilitjr 
of  the  holders  hsn  never  been  m9^ 
dently  agitated  even  to  h^ie  been  so*> 
lemnly  decided,— ^ellhoufl^  the  slu^ 
est  provocation  would  muiedly  avni 
generated  thelhlkst  diaoussioB  ? 

We  sikvp  not  at  present  toremark  flsi 
the  dmffgea  whidi  immeiiatdy  fdki^ 
farAer  Uian  to  atote^  that,  right  or 
wrong,  dwy  are  dhrested  not  against 
the  offieeofLotd  Advocate,  but  against 
the  criminal  lacw  of  Scotland ;  for  it 
ia  the  law  of  preseriptson  iu  enme^ 
net  the  'Public  Prosecutor,  that  sua* 
pcnds  m  charge  over  a  adprit  not  m 


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Office  <ifLord  AdifOiate  ofScotiaruL 


pHion  Ibr  twenty  y tan — ^it  Is  the  act 
1701  ako,  not  the  Pnblie  Prosecator^ 
which  provides,  that  a  cnlprit  in  pri* 
ton,  if  he  do  not  Moote,  or  if  Ar  ne« 
gleet  to  avail  himeelf  of  it>  shall  not 
take  Uie  benefit  of  tet  statute ;  and 
when  the   Reviewer  complains  that 
the.  presiding  judge  oonUnues  to  name 
the  jurors  who  are  to  act  upon  trials, 
our  answer  again  is,  that  the  nomina* 
ting  judge  is  not  the  Lord  Advocate, 
no  more  than  the  whole  Court  of  Jms* 
tictary,  (to  which  it  is  imputed  as 
hetnoNts  tyranny,  that  it  presumes  to 
dedtra  new  crimes,)  is  that  puUic  of- 
fioer.  Our  object  at  present  is  not  the 
vindication  of  the  oimina]  law  of 
Soodand,  or  of  the  supreme  criminal 
court  on  the  points  we  have  enumera* 
ted-*«lthougn  we  shall  undertake  thi« 
vindication  also  before  cloang  the  ar- 
ticled—but merely  to  dbew  the  reader 
that,   however   artfully   introduced, 
these  points  are  essentially  foreign  to 
the  immediate  subject  of  discussion. 
That  the  Lord  Advocate  aj^Kunts 
deputies  to  act  for  him,  but  for  whom 
he  is  lamself  responsible,  is  no  more 
than  is  done,  in  one  shape  or  other, 
bv  every  public  functionary  in  the 
kingdom,  who  has  duties  to  perform 
too  extensive  to  admit  of  the  personal 
superifiteadence  of  one   inmvidual. 
But  *'  the  Lord  Advocate  is  the  organ 
of  the  administration  under  which  he 
aets,  in  matters  purely  politiod ;  it  it 
fnm  thia  that  the  principal  dignity 
and  influoice  of  his  office  is  derived ; 
and  we  take  leave  to  add,  that  it  is  from 
this  al«>  that  the  rancour  against  it,  in 
the  present  instance,  has  mainly  flow- 
ed.— But  although  the  writer^s  opinion 
is^  that  the  Lcnrd  Advocate  ought  to 
be  leta  of  a  pditieal  character  than  he 
now  is,  so  Htue  is  his  mind  made  up  on 
this  subject,  that  he  adds,  **  to  what 
precise  extent  his  exclusion  from  poli- 
ties ought  to  be  carried,  it  may  not  be 
easy  to  define/'  ^  He  is  quite  bewil-* 
dend,  and  contradictory,  indeed,  on 
Uiis  point,  and  having  no  precision 
in  ids  views,  has,  instead  of  an  argu- 
ment, treated  hii  readers  with  the  jar- 
gon of  what  is  cdfed  libend  pohtics 
0B4heoeeasian.  ^I^th  the  same  breath 
with  which  he  involve  thedi^unctioa 
of  the  political  and  Iml  diancters  of 
the  Lord  Advocate,  be  admits,  that 
''  he  can  never  be  expected  to  be  in-* 
difibrent  about   the  suecesa  of  his 
party,  and  we  are  by  no  means  ro* 
mamic  ahoot  the  extinction  of  ^arty 


LMmj, 


feelings, — whuih  art  tahdw^  and  ne^ 
cessary  things"  This  writer,  there- 
fore, does  not  expect,  he  does  not 
even  desire,  that  the  great  hiw-ad- 
viser  of  government  should  be  with- 
out the  '^salutary  and  necessary"  sti- 
mulus of  party  feeling.  His  object  b 
not  to  eradicate,  but  to  degrade  the 
feeling;  he  wishes  to  see  the  office 
shorn  of  its  political  splendour,  and 
administered  by  subaltem,  and  there- 
fore, it  is  probable,  by  more  vulgar 
and  rancorous  agency. 

Never,  in  fact,  was  such  a  wretdied 
farrago  of  contradictions  put  together, 
as  by  the  Reviewer,  upon  this  part 
of  his  subject.  He  leels  inward- 
ly, although  he  would  fkin  warp  the 
truth,  that  the  sum  of  the  question  ia 
betwixt  our  ancient  system  A  criminal 
procedure,  and  the  popular  accusations 
of  other  countries, — and  that  if  our 
own  system  is  to  be  retained ;  and  he 
ventures  not  even  to  hint  at  any  es- 
sential change; — the  Lord  Advocate 
as  public  prosecutor,  must  sCiU  remain 
invested  with  nearly  the  same  powers 
as  at  present  Hence  it  is,  that  afte 
having  in  the  beginning  of  hi^  paper 
recounted  and  shuddered  at  the  pro- 
secutor's powers,  he  turns  round  and  re- 
bukes those  who  have  suggested  thdr 
abridgment,  in  tbese  terms :  ^'  It  is  not 
unusual,"  says  he,  '^  to  hear  it  pro- 
posed that  the  Lord  Advocate  should 
not  be  privileged  to  decline  disclosing 
his  informer ;  that  he  ought  net  to  be 
saved  ft-om  actions  of  damages;  that  he 
ought  to  have  no  right  to  delate 
his  authority  to  others ;  and  that  seme 
liberal  provision  should  be  made  for 
private  prosecuttons ;  now  it  is  plain, 
that  these  and  many  similar  remedies 
that  might  easily  be  named  are  ineon* 
sistent  with  the  eJnstence  of  the  fifftce*" 
-^Are  you  then,  altbougn  compelled 
to  retain  such  an  office,  to  strip  ft, 
not  of  party  feeing,  be  it  remembered, 
for  Uiat  is  confessedly  tr/Jdible,  but  of 
poliUcal  power?  Are  you  to  degrade 
the  inctfvidual,  to  whom  the  highest 
trust  connected  with  the  criminal  juris- 
prudoice  of  the  country  is  committed, 
rato  a  sordid  agent,  instead  of  bbing^  as 
he  is  at  present,  a  high  fhnotiodary  of 
roveranient?  Are  you  to  inflict  this 
o^pRBdation  for  the  miserable  reason 
assigned  by  this  writer:  vis.  that 
as  you  can  now  di^tch  a  letter  (torn 
the  capital  of  Scotland  to  ^at  of 
Enghmd  in  ferty-eight  hours,  all  lo- 
cal admimstration  of  the  aflbirs  of 


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Cfffict  of  Lord  AdwocuU  <ifS€otland. 


Scotknd  may  be  dispensed  with^- 
if  there,  were  not  a  tnoiml  distance^  a 
distinct  character,  belonging  to  each 
of  the  kingdoms,  more  insuperable 
than  the   Jodil  distance  which  haa 
shrunk  in  the  rapidity  of  modMn  tra* 
vdling?     la  Scotland  to  be  governed 
without  local  aid  from  any  of  her 
public  functionaries,  like  Yorkshire, 
Northumberland,    or    Wake,    while 
Ireland  hu  still  the  splendour  of  her 
vice-regal  establishment,  to  cons^ 
her  for  the  absorption  of  her  rank  and 
wealth  by  the  metropolis  of  £ngland? 
— The  fkct,  indeed,  that  the  Lord  Ad- 
vocate haa  been  able  to  retain  the  in-  . 
fluence  which  the  writer  affects  so 
much  to  dread,  in  spite  of  the  natural 
ambition  of  the  secretary  of  state,  to 
engross  it  for  his  own  Mce,  is  ded- 
aive  against  the  whole  argument,  since 
the  polidcal  power  could  have  been 
retained  only  on  the  tenure  of  public 
services  performed.    But  what  sh^ 
be  said  of  that  man's  consistency,  who, 
pointing  to  the  example  of  England 
for  our  instruction,  tells  us  that  the 
Lord  Advocate  ought  not  to   be  a 
statesman,  because  he  is  in  fact  but  a 
lawyer — of  England,  where  Uie  crown 
lawyers  are  always  in  parliament — of 
England,  where  a  mere. lawyer  is  al* 
wa^s  a  distinguished  member  of  the 
cabinet,  and  woere,  both  in  ancient  and 
modem  times,  men  elevated  ftom  the 
profession  of  the  law,  have  become  illus- 
trious among  the  most  eminent  states- 
men of  the  land  ?    But  what  is  quite 
right  in  England,  maybe  quite  wrong 
in  Scotland.  And  why  ?  ''  In  the  for. 
mer  country  there  are  grand  juries  and 
popular  elections,  and  many  other  in- 
stitutions which  stand  between  the 
people  and  the  official  accuser."     We 
call  upon  thb  writer  to  explain  in 
what   manner   popular  elections  can 
avail  men  upon  their  trial  for  crimes ; 
and  with  reference  to  the  alleged  undue 
influence   of   the    public  prosecutor 
sn  another  quarter,  we  take  leave  to 
remind  him,  that  as  in  ever)  coun- 
try, to  use.  his  own  words,  "  in  which 
tbore  is  no  parliament,  the  law  neces- 
aaarily  becomes   the  next    important 
political   element,  there  can  oe   no 
ground  for  his  alarm,  on  account  of 
Uie  seductive  powers  cf  the  Lord  Ad- 
vocate, (so  grossly  and  ludicrouslv  ex- 
aggerated,) over  tne  purity  of  the  Scot- 
tiw  bar.    For  since  parliament  itself, 
although  exposed  de&nccless  to  such 
arch-betrayen  as  the  cabinet  mini** 


517 

tera,  yd  maintatos  a  Uderably  fkir  re- 
putation with  all  but  the  radicals,  ita 
tiny  sucoedaneum  in  the  north  can- 
not be  supposed  less  secure,  nor  can 
ita  possible  fall  be  quite  so  important 
to  the  public,  ahould  it  even  yield  to 
the  dangerous  arts  of  his  M/gesty'a 
Advocate. 

And  here  we  cannot  but  remark, 
that  our  Scotch  Whigs  aeera  lately  to 
have  been  driven  into  some  hurafili- 
atiug  barsnin  with  thek  compeers  of 
the  sister  kingdom,  to  push  Scotland, 
first  for  experiment's  sake,  along  the 
rough  road  of  thdr  fkntasticol  reforms, 
reserving  England  untouched,  until 
the  issue  of  the  experiment  upon  her  ' 
neighbour  shall  be  known.  Hence  it 
is  their  nractice  not  only  to  deal  out 
a  tenfold  portion  of  abuse  agsinst 
every  Scottish  iAstitution,  but  even  to 
cover  their  scandalous  designs  upon 
Scotland,  by  some  hoUow  compliment 
to  the  institutions  of  England.  Inthia 
base  spirit,  the  writer  before  us  al- 
leges tnat  the  power  of  the  Lord  Ad- 
vocate is  not  only  enormous,  but  sur- 
passes the  authority  possessed  by  any 
one  individual  in  England,  or  under 
any  free  government  in  Europe,«^he 
sum  of  this  stupendous  power  consist- 
ing after  all,  as  is  indeed  adnuttal  in  the 
next  sentence,  in  the  right  to  imprison 
for  140  daya  at  the  utmost  befbro 
trial,  and  in  the  further  ri^t  of  de- 
clining to  prosecute  at  all,  where  no 
just  ground  of  accusation  exists — which 
this  honest  reviewer  candidly  inter- 
prets as  a  right  of  awarding  impunity 
to  those  whom  the  public. prosecutor 
may  feel  disposed  to  favour) 

Now  if  it  be  necessary  (as  we  pre- 
sume to  think  it  is)  to  secure  felons  by 
imprisonment,  till  preparations  can  be 
made  for  trying  and  punishing  them, 
it  is  not  clear  that  the  above  period  could 
be  sensibly  abridged,  even  if  the  pub- 
lic prosecutor's  office  were  abolished, 
and  die  private  informer  invited  to 
take  his  ^ace, — while  in  all  other  re- 
spects the  change  would  be  moat  per- 
nicious and  degrading. — ^As  to  the 
other  branch  of  this  stupendous  power 
— the  right  to  decline  prosecutii^ 
the  writer  has  scandalously,  and  we 
fear  wilfully,  mis-stated  the  matter,  for 
the  pnrpoae  of  gaining  over  ignorant 
partisans.  The  Lord  Advocate  may  re- 
fuse to  prosecute  when  he  sees  just 
grounds  for  audi  refusal,  but  he  cannot 
refuse  to  concur  with  the  private  party 
who  chooaea  to  take  up  the  accusation ; 


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6X9 

and  when  we  Itete  that  Che  private 
party  is  not  otherwise  restxtinedy  ex- 
cq»t  that  he  must  have  a  legal>  which 
is  here  generally  synonymous  with  a 
inoiBl  interest,  in  the  mstter  at  ksue 
— that  he  must  swear  he  helieves  the 
charge  to  be  true  which  he  takes  it 
upon  him  to  prefer — and  that,  if  he 
fflul,  he  shall,  as  is  usual  in  other 
cases,  be  condemned  in  costs — most  of 
them  safeguards  acainst  groundless 
prosecution,  generally  e^ablished,  we 
oelieve,  even  where  popular  aocusa- 
Uons  are  most  £ivoured — ^it  will  at 
once  be  perceived  thht  crimes  can  sd- 
dom  go  unpunished  in  Scotland  for 
want  of  an  accuser,  even  should  the 
Lord  Advocate  £ul  in  his  duty.  To 
talk  of  his  power  of  extrading  impu- 
nity to  favoured  delinquents,  there- 
fore, is  one  of  the  most  impudent  de- 
ceptions for  which  even  the  Edinburgli 
Review  has  hitherto  to  answer.  But 
the  fact,  that  the  powers  of  the  office 
have  not  been  abused,  is  the  best  proof 
thfit  thev  are  not  such  as  to  admit  of 
safe  and  profiti^le  abuse,  when  we 
consider  by  how  many  men  of  very 
different  tempers  and  talents  it  has 
been  filled.  This  dedaive  fact  be- 
comes apparent,  even  through  the 
veil  of  the  writer's  sophistry ;  it  turns 
up  at  almost  regular  intervals  in  the 
round  of  his  eternal  contradictions. 
'^  It  may  be  conceded,"  says  he, 
"  that,  in  general,  the  practice  of 
the  office  has,  in  ordinary  cases,  been 
judicious,  moderate,  and  impartial :" 
and  this  is  conceded  of  an  office  said 
to  present  temptations  to  abuse  be- 
yond, not  merely  the  average,  but 
the  utmost  resistance  of  human  na- 
ture. On  this  essential  point  of  abuse, 
indeed,  the  writer  shies  all  explana- 
tion. "  We  must  decline,"  he  says, 
'*  entering  into  any  details ;"  substi- 
tuting for  this  indispensable  commo- 
dity, a  string  of  truisms  to  prove,  on 
general  principlet,  that  the  office  muti 
have  been  abused,  and  ought  to  be 
reformed.  We  might  answer  hila, 
that  there  is  no  power,  however  salu- 
tary, however  necessary,  which  may 
not  be  abused — ^that  risk  of  abuse  is 
part  of  the  very  d^nition  of  die  word 

Sower— and  we  might  ftirther  remind 
im,  that  there  is  no  power  under  Hea- 
ven fraught  with  such  enormous  and 
frequent  abuse,  as  his  own'  very  con- 
temptible one  of  scribbling,  upon 
which,  however,  he  would  no  doubt 
denounce  it  as  the   hi^iest   crime 


CMay, 


to  trench,  hy  sbaroenhig  tiie  libel 
laws.— it  is,  at  all  events,  a  mere 
farce  to  talk  of  the  Lord  Advocate's 
powers  in  the  lofty  strain  of  this  wri- 
tat,  when  inriting  an  effinrt  for  their 
curtailment,  and  to  describe  them  as 
surpassing  the  powers  possessed  by 
any  man  in  En^nd,  or  in  any  me 
state  of  Europe.  l%ere  is  not  a  bead 
of  one  of  the  great  public  Boards  in 
England— of  the  Treasury,  for  exam- 
pk—who  has  not  effective  political 
power,  compared  with  ^^ich  that  of 
the  Lord  Advocate  is  not  even  to  be 
named ;  for,  while  his  Lordship  has, 
for  the  protection  of  the  oommuni^, 
to  deal,  for  the  greater  part,  widi  its 
very  dr^,  upon  whom  no  punish- 
ment which  he  could  either  inflict  or 
avert  would  weigh  as  a  feather  in  the 
scale  of  influence,  the  head  of  such  a 
Board  is  daily,  and  hourly,  disposing 
of  numerous  applications  where  the 
parties  are  not  without  political  wei^t 
nor  insensible  to  political  favour ;  and 
yet,  such  is  the  force  of  public  qnnion, 
or,  what  this  writer  will  less  believe, 
perhaps,  the  common  honesty  of  pub- 
lic men,  that  this  vast  business  is,  in 
the  ffeneral,  conducted  without  a 
breach  of  honour,  or  the  imputation 
even  of  corruption. 

The  writer  not  only  inasts  on  ^m- 
rifying  the  Public  Prosecutor,  as  he  is 
pleased  to  express  it,  by  withdrawing 
nim  from  the  contagion  of  politics, 
but  he  demands  a  thorough  revinon 
of  the  act  1701— -the  Magna  CharU 
of  Scotland,  and  therefore  the  sub- 
ject of  fitting  derision  for  this  great 
reformer — ^about  which  he  tdls  an  un- 
founded story  of  its  having  been  fra- 
med by  an  enemy  of  freedom  in  dis- 
guise, whose  resU  object  was  not  to 
shield  the  prisonar,  but  inextricably 
to  per{dex  the  law. 

He  contends,  in  the  first  place,  for 
an  abridgement  of  the  period  of  one 
Irandred  and  forty  days,  the  Hmit  al- 
lowed to  the  prosecutor  for  preparing 
and  dosing  the  prosecution ;  but  he 
does  not  say  what  the  abridged  period 
ought  to  be.  He  admits  that  even  more 
Uian  the  present  period  may,  in  some 
cases,  be  necessary,  as  more  than  five 
months  intervene  betwixt  the  drcuits ; 
and,  to  crown  the  whole,  and  strande 
his  puny  ar^meiit  in  ^  birUi,  Be 
further  admits,  that  the  granting  of 
the  Prosecutor's  application  to  the 
Court  for  further  time,  "  might,  per- 
luqps,  soon  become  a  matter  of  coutk  !" 


10 


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1894.;] 

.^^tti^  aiemaberiog  the  enminal  pro- 
ceedings with  tn  vnmeaniiig  mockery^ 
«od  kadingy  ia  the  issue,  to  a  more 
disMtroos  prolongation  a^  imprison* 
ment  than  is  ever  permitted  under  the 
law  as  it  now  stands* 

His  next  objection  to  the  act  is^ 
that  an  application  to  the  Court  is  re- 
quired to  receive  the  bene6t  of  it— an 
application  attended,  he  says,  with 
expense,  endangered  by  techniodities^ 
imd  often  foregone  from  the  reluctance 
4>f  prtson^s  U^ns  to  wage  war  wi^ 
the  prosecutor — ^for  which  reasons,  this 
writer  proposes  that  the  benefit  of  the 
statute  should  be  extended  to  a31  per- 
sons indifferently,  and  as  matter  of 
course.  Not  to  mention  the  deception 
which  this  statement  attempts  to  prac* 
tise  on  those  who  may  not  chance  to 
know  Uiat  the  cost  and  difficulty  of  the 
i^^cation  are  ima^nary — ^not  to  no- 
tice the  flat  contradiction  betwixt  this 
mendacious  hint,  that  the  Lord  Ad- 
vocate may  take  offence,  because  a 
wretched  prisoner  claims  the  proteo* 
don  of  the  law,  with  the  large  admis- 
sions of  the  writer,  as  to  the  honest 
and  humane  exercise  of  the  office, 
and,  indeed,  with  the  relative  condi- 
ttOB  of  the  parties  thus  supposed  to 
five  and  take  offi?nco— we  would  mere- 
ly observe,  that,  since  in  order  to  secure, 
uie  party  needs  only  to  vfiU  the  benefit 
of  the  law,  there  can  be  no  ground  for 
reasonable  con^laint.  Cases  not  un* 
frequently  occur,  where  a  short  im« 
prisonment  of  the  delinquent  may  an* 
swer  all  the  ends  of  justice,  but  not 
all  the  demands  of  law,  were  it  ren- 
dered imperative  to  bring  him  to  trial ; 
and  surely,  in  sud^  cases,  his  interests 
are  not  inadequately  consulted  when 
he  may,  if  he  decline  reposing  on  the 
indulgence  of  the  prosecutor,  take  the 
▼erdict  of  a  jury  and  the  judgment  of 
the  Court  upon  his  case— asit  is  at  all 
times  in  his  power  to  do. 

But  the  writer's  oompkint  in  behalf 
of  those  who  are  neither  imprisoned 
nor  indicted,  but  oiUy  chaigea  or  sus- 
pected of  crimes,  and  who  can  hays 
no  remedy  but  to  run  the  usual  course 
of  prescription,  appears  to  us,  upon 
the  whole,  the  most  groundless  of  all 
his  murmurings— since  we  can  discern 
no  other  diffiS«nce  betwixt  persons 
once  sui^ected  or  diarged,  but  neither 
impriaoned  nor  indicted,  and  anjjr  other 
known  or  suspected  criminals  in  the 
'land,  except  that  the  presumption  of 
guilt  in  the  esse  of  the  fanner  is  pro- 
Vol.  XV. 


Office  qf  Lord  MfoeaietfSeoU^. 


61$ 

bably  stronger  than  in  that  of  the  lat* 
ter;  so  that  the  Reviewer's  appeal,  if  it 
have  any  meaning  at  all,  pudnly  re- 
solves into  a  complaint  a^nst  the  vi- 
cennial prescription  of  crimes  in  Scot- 
land, a  complaint  which  will  hardly 
gain  a  favourable  hearing  with  those 
who  know  ^at  crimes  prescribe  in 
Scotland,  in  half  the  period  which 
must  elapse  to  extinguish,  in  this  man- 
ner, a  common  bor^  or  obligation  fyr 
debt. 

The  prisoner,  and  through  him  the 
community,  are,  however,  it  is  said, ex- 
posed to  fVirther  and  indefinite  risk,  bf 
"  the  three  drcumstanoes"  which  fill 
the  Reviewer  with  horror,  '*  of  the  Court 
naming  Uie  jury — having  the  power 
to  declare  new  crimes— and  all  its 
judgments  being  irrevocable."  These 
three  ^'circumstances,"  however,  hsv^ 
strictly  speaking,  nothing  to  do  with 
the  office  of  the  Lord  Advocate,  but 
ooncern  the  constitution  and  powers 
of  the  Supreme  Criminal  Court  alone. 

On  the  first  "  circumstance,"  about 
which  the  people  of  Scotland  neither 
know  nor  care,  except  as  it  is  the  sole 
circumstance  which  nas  intimated  to 
them  the  political  existence  of  so  dis* 
tinguished  a  legislator  as  Mr  Thomas 
Kennedy,  the  Reviewer  declines  to  say 
anything,  and  we  shall  therefore  ex- 
tend to  nim,  in  return,  the  mercy  of 
our  ailence. 

As  to  the  power  of  the  Court  to  de* 
dare  new  crimes^  it  is  right  that  the 
matter  should  be  thoroughly  under* 
stood  both  here  and  in  England.  The 
Court  cannot  declare  a  new  crime  to 
which  a  c^tal  punishment  is  to  be 
annexed.  In  ract  the  sum  of  its 
power  in  this  res^t  is  to  award  some 
inferior  but  not  inadequate  chastise- 
ment for  offences  that  may  emerge  new 
in  Uieir  type  and  circumstances,  but 
analogous  in  moral  depravity  to  some 
class  or  dssses  of  crimes,  as  to  which 
it  has  for  ages  exercised  unquestion^ 
able  jurisdiction.  And  here  again  we 
ask,  where  is  the  wrong  that  has  been 
done? — where  the  practical  evil  that 
demands  a  remedy  ? — Has  the  Courts 
in  any  instance,  authoritatively  deda^ 
redt/ki/,  which  the  moral  feelings  of  the 
people  had  not  already  pronounced,  to 
be  a  crime  ? — Is  it  no  advantage,  thai, 
while  in  other  countries  statutes,  al- 
though multiplied  on  statutes  in  end* 
lem  confusion,  are  ever  distanced  by 
the  npid  inventions  of  crime,  in  Scot^ 
land  there  is  confided  to  the  apj^t* 
3  X 


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CmUce  ^Lord  Adifoeaie  of  Scotland. 


5t0 

ed  interpreters  of  the  law»  a  power 
which  can  overtake  its  hai^s  ingenuity, 
and  measure  its  guilt  hy  the  scale  ci 
morals  rather  than  of  forms  ? 

It  is  safer,  we  are  told,  to  trust  to  a 
legislative  body  than  to  a  tribunal  for 
fixing  the  character  and  measuring  the 
punishment  of  crime— for  legislatures 
are  merciful,  tribunals  severe.  Is  it 
indeed  so,  and  does  history  support 
the  theory  ?  Have  there  been  the  same 
unanswerable  complaints,  the  same 
successfiil  appeals  to  the  fountain  of 
mercy,  against  the  judgments  of  the 
Scottish  Criminal  Court,  that  have  been 
made  in  England  against  the  capital 
punishments  denounced  by  act  of  par- 
liament? Have  any  of  the  new  cnmes 
declared  by  the  Court  of  Justiciary  led 
to  the  punishment  of  two  or  three  only 
of  an  hundred  convicts,  the  remainder 
being  necessarily  pardoned,  because  of 
the  extreme  severity  of  the  law,  and 
the  sufferers  having  been  abandoned 
to  their  fate,  not  on  account  of  any- 
thing proved  against  them  to  the  Jury, 
but  from  aggravations  known  to  and 
reported  upon  by  the  Court  alone? — 
The  examples  brought  by  this  writer 
to  illustrate  his  argument  on  this 
part  of  the  subject,  are,  the  cases  of 
the  English  combination  and  libel 
laws — as  to  the  first  of  which  it  can 
be  no  reproach  to  the  Court  of  Jus- 
ticiary that  it  wisely  declared  for  Scot- 
land what  the  legislature  enacted  for 
England — while  our  sedition  law, 
which  corresponds  with  the  law  of  po» 
litieal  libel  in  England,  being  no  part  of 
the  aiuui  legislation  of  the  Court,  but 
of  tne  ancient  law  of  the  land,  has 
been  most  absurdly  cited  by  this  re- 
fbrmer ;  the  more  especially  that  a  re- 
cent statute  has  shewn  the  desire  of 
parliament  to  approximate  in  this  re- 
spect the  law  of  England  to  that  of 
Scotland,  by  declarins^  the  reiterated 
ofienoe  of  pditical  libel  a  transportable 
felony. 

The  complaint  of  the  irreversilnlity 
of  the  judgments  of  the  Supreme  Cri- 
minal Court  is,  in  the  way  at  least  in 
whidi  this  writer  manages  it,  a  piece 
of  most  unmeaning  declamation ;  and 
it  is  very  difficult,  indeed,  to  discover 
what  is  the  precise  object  of  this  branch 
of  the  discussion.  So  far  as  we  can 
observe,  it  results  in  this,  to  use  the 
Reviewer's  words,  that  **  when  a  legal 
question  arises,  whidi  is  of  importance 
and  difficnltv,  and  on  which  the  Court 
itself  is  pernaps  divided,  we  certainly 


CMiT, 


would  giv0  ihe  Court,  or  ihejtrisonsr 
with  the  approbation  of  the  doartt  an 
opportunity  of  having  the  point  more 
fully  and  ddiberately  discussed,  thou^ 
not  to  the  exclusion  of  the  cn-iaMl 
Judges,  before  other  persons  on  wnose 
integrity  and  learning  the  state  baa 
equd  confidence." — Not  to  mention 
that  such  points  are  of  oomparativdy 
rare  occurrence  in  the  administraticm 
of  criminal  justice,  and  that  when  they 
do  occur,  tne  prisoner  has  in  practice 
the  fidl  benefit  of  the  doubt  in  the 
shape,  if  not  of  acquittal,  yet  of  par- 
don, we  would  beg  leave  to  ask  this 
person  in  what  precise  form  his  project 
IS  to  be  executcil— for  to  us  it  seems 
impracticable — whether  by  calling  in 
the  aid  of  Judges,  Scotch  or  Enghsh, 
necessarily  ignorant  of  our  criminal  law, 
to  correct  the  opinions  of  men  official- 
ly conversant  with  it?  We  see  no  other 
way  in  which  this  valuable  aid  is  to 
be  secured,  and  yet  the  mere  proposal 
is  firaught  with  revolting  absuraity. 
Nor  do  we  observe  how  the  empower- 
ing the  Court,  or  the  prisoner  with  the 
sanction  of  the  Court,  to  take  this  ex- 
traneous assistance,  would  curb  that 
spirit  of  tyranny,  in  '*  temper,  lan- 
guage, and  manners,"  which  this  wri- 
ter IS  pleased  to  ascribe  to  the  Court 
of  Justiciary ;  and  of  which  he  selects 
as  a  specimen  the  state  trials  about  the 
commencement  of  the  late  war  with 
France.  We  answer  him  in  this  re- 
spect boldly — that  heinsinuates  a  gross 
and  scandalous  libel  upon  his  country 
which  he  has  not  courage  to  express 
in  open  and  manly  language.  We  tell 
him,  that  the  men  whose  memory  he 
reviles,  were  some  of  them,  blunt  in 
manners,  perhaps,  but  high  and  ho- 
nest of  heart,  loyal  to  their  soverei^, 
and  devoted  to  their  country,  which 
their  manliness  probably  saved  from 
the  last  of  national  calamities.  We 
tell  him  further,  that  they  had  to  deal, 
generally  speaking,  on  the  occasion  re« 
rerred  to,  with  the  scum  of  the  people, 
emboldened  to  insolence  as  well  as 
crime,  by  the  prevailing  f^nzy  of  the 
day ;  and  that  we  know  of  no  reason 
why  the  ermine  should  calmly  brook 
insult  firom  the  audacity  of  guilt  plant- 
ed at  the  bar.  We  tell  him,  finally, 
that  such  of  ''  the  greatest  sUtesmen 
of  the  age"  as  traduced  these  honest 
men,  and  lived  not  to  recant  the  charge 
—who  died  **  and  made  no  sign,"  have 
long  since  departed  fVom  the  heart  wd 
memory  of  the  British  people. 


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l!c€  ojlfird  AdmmU  qfScoiknd. 


The  queskioD  as  to  the  introduction 
of  Grand  Juries  into  Sootlaod^  as  it  is 
argued  bj  this  writer,  may  be  disposed 
of  in  a  £ew  sentences.  He  is  not  quite 
sure,  after  all,  that  we  ought  to  nave 
Grand  Juries— he  only  leans  to  that 
opinion,  '^after  taking  as  deliberate  and 
large  a  view  of  the  subject  as  we  can ;" 
andhaying already libeiied  the  Judges, 
he  now  libels  the  people  of  Scotland, 
to  justify  his  hesitation.  *'  What 
protection/'  says  he,  '*  would  they 
TGrand  Juries)  afford  in  opposition  to 
the  Crown,  in  a  countrv,  not  ool;^  with- 
out popular  election,  but  of  wluch  the  . 
great  body  of  the  inhabitants  do  not 
feel  that  they  personally  have  the 
•lightest  connection  with  the  repre- 
sentative system?  Might  they  not 
merely  enable  the  accuser  to  diminish 
his  responsibility,  without  at  all  abridg- 
ing his  power  ?  '  Yet  he  is  for  risk- 
ing the  experiment  even  with  this  sla- 
yiah  people ;  and  proceeds  with  com- 
mouplace  refutations  of  imaginary  ob- 
jections to  the  measure,  sudi  as  that 
It  will  involve  a  change  in  the  formal 
part  of  our  criminal  law,  and  may  seem 
to  imply  a  reproach  on  its  actual  ad- 
ministration— ol]»jections  which  it  is 
&r  from  our  intention  to  urge.  But 
what  are  the  beneflta  to  be  secured  by 
the  change?  They  are  two  in  number, 
•ays  this  writer— first,  the  exercise  of 
•  civil  or  nolitical  right,— by  a  people 
whom  he  nas  just  describea  as  so  ut- 
terly servile,  that  to  vest  them  with 
•ucn  a  privilege  would  be  to  strength- 
en the  hands  of  despotism ; — 8eo(md, 
the  tendency  to  prevent ''  the  law  from 
being  unequally  administered,  by  its 
terrors  being  liberally  dealt  out  to  one 
set  of  people,  and  very  sparingly,  if  at 
all,  applied  to  another. — ^Mark  his 
■deetion  of  cases  to  prove  an  existing 
eviL  The  first  is  a  case  which  occurred 
in  1802,  when  the  Lord  Advocate  de- 
clined to  prosecute.  What  then  ?  The 
private  party  did  prosecute — the  pri- 
soner was  acquitted  by  a  jury  of  his 
countrymen — and  the  previous  ded- 
lion  of  the  Lord  Advocate,  so  far  fVom 
being  impeached,  wss  thus  solemnly 
confirmed !  The  other  occurred  in  the 
time  of  Duncan  Forbes,  upon  whom, 
by  the  way,  this  scribbler  delivars 
a  most  execrable  panegyric — and  was 
a  case  in  which  that  great  lawyer  dis- 
suaded the  government  from  bringing 
a  charge  of  treason,  which,  he  had  no 
doubt,  was  founded  in  law.  Why? 
because  he  was  aatiafied  that  the  Grand 


^1 

would  decline  to  do  its  duty,  and  ex- 
tend impunity  to  guilt !  And  such  is 
the  mode  in  which  this  able  reformer 
seeks  to  propitiate  the  country  in  fk- 
your  of  the  introduction  of  Grand  Ju- 
ries! 

Passing  over,  because  heartily  de- 
spising the  trash  that  follows  about 
tne  probable  return  of  bad  times,  and 
the  provision  to  be  made  for  fkdng 
them — which  this  most  consbtent  wri- 
ter couples,  of  course,  witii  the  usual 
boast  of  his  party  as  to  the  progress  of 
intelligence,  and  the  "  demandb  of  an 
age  not  hi  off,  and  that  will  not  de- 
mand in  vain,"  we  come  direcUv  and 
at  once  to  the  expediency  of  intro- 
ducing Grand  Juries  as  a  curb  on 
the  political  partialities  of  the  prosecu- 
tor— this  being  the  only  aim  which 
the  writer  proposes  to  himself — con- 
fessing, as  he  does,  fully  and  frequent- 
ly, that  in  cases  not  political,  the  dis- 
charge of  the  duties  of  the  public  pro- 
secutor is  far  above  suspicion.  Now  we 
Ix^  leave  to  apprize  our  English  readers 
more  especially,  to  whom  we  fact  may 
not  be  known,  and  whom  this  fawning 
scribbler  is  ambitious  to  mislead,  that 
as  to  charges  of  political  crimes,  the 
people  of  Scotland  are  equally  protect- 
ed with  themselves  by  the  law  as  it 
now  stands — ^that  in  chaiges  of  treason 
the  ordeal  of  a  Grand  Jury  must  be 
gone  throng  in  Scotland,  just  as  in 
England  ;  and  that  if  the  Lord  Advo- 
cate can,  without  a  Grand  Jury,  pro- 
secute for  sedition,  he  does  no  more 
than  the  Attorney  General  does  in 
England,  in  the  kindred  oflfence  of  po- 
litical libeL  And  this  statement,  which 
is  not  only  true,  but  altogether  unim- 
peachable may  go  hi,  we  hope,  to  re- 
lieve the  anxiety  of  our  English  neigh- 
bours, who  take  so  tender  an  interest 
in  our  affiurs,  and  whose  aid  this  most 
candid  writer  is  so  eager  to  invoke. 

We  have  thus  taken  the  trouble  to 
examine  this  foolish  article  on  the 
office  of  the  Lord  Advocate,  and  we 
are  not  aware  that  we  have  omitted 
anything  in  it  that  bears  even  the 
semblance  of  argument — as  little  are 
we  conscious,  on  a  calm  review  of  what 
we  have  written,  that  we  have  left  any 
part  of  the  fabric  undemolished.  No 
task,  indeed,  could  have  been  easior^ 
the  slij^test  shock  was  the  signal  for 
thejg^eral  ruin— and  our  only  feeling 
is  t£it  of  contempt  for  the  achieve- 
ment now  Uiat  it  is  accomplished.  We 


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l^^» 


iMre  indeed  had  a  most  (kithAil  alW 
in  the  Reviewer  htmaelf,  as  there  u 
hacdly  a  poaitioii  laid  down  by  him 
which  he  has  notsubstantfiallT  retract^ 
ed  or  ooRtradieted  in  pare  folly.  Still 
it  was  neoenary,  on  a  subject  so  im* 
portant  to  Scotland,  to  expose  these 
contradictions ;  and,  if  we  are  to  be 
regaled  with  some  fresh  measure  of 
remm  in  this  instance,  to  ihmidi  the 
materials  for  discussion  on  the  one 
side  of  the  question  as  well  as  the 
odier.    This  we  have  now  done,  and 


in  having  done  it,  we«e»tkfied  that 
we  have  disdiarged  a  duty  to  o«r 
country.  We  have  shewn  toe  puhlicv 
moreover,  that  if  in  Ma  inslMice  ikom 
who  are  diarged  with  the  guardian* 
^ip  of  the  institution  and  eatridkb* 
ments  of  Scotland  are  ulttmolely  to 
fall  beneath  ^eir  adversaries,  d^ 
will  have  the  consolation,  not  of  yieMU 
ing  to  talent,  to  power,  and  to  tnih, 
but  of  being  basely  overcome  by  su- 
preme ignorance  and  ooBtonptible  im* 
nedlity.     y 


THE  POLITICAL  ECONOMIST. 

Essay  Firti, 

The  same  temper  of  mind  wliich,  in  old  times,  spent  itself  upon  scholastic  questioos, 
and,  at  a  later  age,  in  commentaries  upon  the  Scriptures,  has,  m  these  days,  taken  the 
direction  of  metaphysical  or  statistic  philosophy.  Bear  wimess,  BuHum  and  Cotn 
Laws  !  Bear  witness,  the  new  science  of  Population  !  and  the  wb<^  host  of  prodac« 
tions  to  which  these  happ^  topics  have  given  birth,  from  the  humble  magasine  to  llie 
bold  octavo,  and  more  ambitbai  quarto^  The  type  of  tbediseaae  has  varied  at  diftreni 
times*  but  the  disease  remains  the  same  ;.^-a  oimiqaative  dianhcea  of  the  incdlkct,  aii* 
sing  from  its  strong  ^>petite,  and  weak  digesdoo. — 

Aut  Southey^  out  DiaMusy  apud  Quarterly  Reviewt  ATo.  XXIX* 

In  the  very  practical  sdenoe  of  Political  Economy,  periuuM  it  might  be  difficult  So 
mention  three  subjects  more  practical,  than  those  unfortunately  selected  for  a  eonspaxi- 
son  with  scholastic  questions. — MaWiu*, 

Political  Economy,  when  considered  in  all  its  bearings  is  one  of  the  most  impoctsfifc 
and  useful  branches  of  science.— ftfia&iir^g^  Heview. 

ObfeoU  qf  these  Essays — Outline  qf  their  plan  and  arrangemeni, 

will  convince  us  diat  they  epring  frara 
the  latter,  and  may  therl^NPe  be  con-» 
sidered  in  conjunction  with  them. 
That  Political  Economy  is  a  sdenee  ' 
attended  with  difficulties,  we  do  not 
mean  to  deny ;  but  that  its  chief  dtf« 
ftcultiee  arise  less  from  its  nature  than 
from  the  manner  in  which  it  is  general* 
ly  atudied,  we  trust  we  shall  prove,  not 
so  much  by  formal  consideraCion  si 
those  difficulties,  as  by  shewing  tlurt 
thev  disappear,  or  are  greatly  lessened 
and  weakened,  when  it  ia  studied  in  a 
different  manner  from  that  usually 
pursued.  Fortunately  the  prgudicei 
to  which  we  have  alluded  as  CRt* 
ting  or  noiHiabing  the  diffionltieflty 
though  strong  and  formidable,  are  ef 
such  an  opposite  nature  and  tmleiicy» 
that  they  may  be  set  in  array  against 
each  other ;  and  thus,  b^  thdur  mu- 
tual combat  and  distinctum,  may  be 
made  to  disappear  without  any  di- 
rect attack  from  us. 

There  are,  as  we  have  said,  two  sets 
of  prejudices ;  the  one  whidi  repre- 
sents Political  Economy  as  utterly  un- 


It  ia  our  intention,  in  the  course  of 
a  aeries  of  papera,  to  investigate,  es- 
tablish, and  expUiMk  the  primary  and 
fundamental  principilea  of  Political 
Economy ;  to  deduce  £nom  them  the 
less  obvious  and  more  complicated 
doctrines,  and  to  apply  these  princi- 
ples and  do<Mnes  to  the  elucidation 
and  solution  of  the  moat  interesting 
and  important  practical  questions  on 
this  subject.  We  sore  fiuiy  aeasible 
that  we  are  undertaking  an  arduoua 
and  difficult  task;  and  that  we  are 
exposing  ourselves  to  two  sets  of  pre- 
judices, equally  strong  and  formida- 
ble. It  may  be  proper  and  aervioeable, 
therefore,  m  the  ^at  {dace,  to  consi- 
der the  difficultiea  and  praudioes 
which  we  must  encounter  and  over- 
come, before  we  can  hope  to  proceed 
in  a  fair  and  regular  course,  or  to 
oommand  a  patient  and  candid  atten- 
tion to  our  labours. 

We  haveohiBsed  the  difficulties  and 
prejudices  which  beset  this  aul^ect 
Beparatdy";  but  a  closer  attentiou  to 
die  nature  and  origin  oi  the  former 


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im^2 


The  FMical  EeommUL    E$§ay  /. 


worthy  «f  tlie  nine  and  dignity  of  « 
■cieiiee;  m  not  only  not  luTing  %u 
tiined  a  rigkt  to  be  daasod  with  the 
•flienoee ,  but  as  eeaentiallyineapable 
of  attaining  that  right.  With  nome 
this  prcju we  astnmcs  rather  a  differ* 
ent  and  lets  contemptooai  and  hostile 
appearance.  They  do  not  deny  to  Po- 
litieai  Economy  the  appellation  of  a 
sdenoe,  but  they  maintain  that  it  is  a 
sdenoe  of  little  or  no  praetieal  utility ; 
that  its  prindplet  ana  maxims,  what- 
ever abstract  truth  they  may  possess, 
are  utterly  worthless,  when  applied  to 
the  solution  of  any  of  the  great  ques- 
tions that  regard  national  wealdi ;  and 
that,  consequently.  Political  Economy, 
however  it  may  amuse,  interest,  or 
shsrpen  the  intellects,  howerer  dear, 
wdl-fimnded,  and  perfect  it  may  be  in 
theory,  can  nerer  be  of  any  use  when 
ap^ied  to  the  solution  of  ^nracticud 
questions,  or  as  a  iguard  against  what 
IS  prt^fodictal,  or  a  guide  to  what  is 
advantageous  in  the  progress  of  na- 
tfonalwesltfa. 

The  other  set  of  prejudices  is  of  a 
directly  opposite  nature  and  tendency. 
Those  who  entertain  them  tnaintdn, 
that  in  all  its  essential  prindples  and 
doctrines  Political  Economy  is  pc^ect, 
or  nearly  so ;  that  these  essential  prin- 
dples and  doctrines,  so  far  from  bdng 
anstract  and  purdy  theoretical,  have 
been  directed  oy  a  careful  and  legiti- 
mate deduction  fVom  facts  and  expe- 
rience ;  and  oonsequentlv  are  not  only 
capable  of  bdns  applied  to  what  may 
happen,  and  what  ought  to  be  done 
or  avoided,  but,  from  wdr  very  nature 
and  origin,  are,  in  evenr  respect  and 
particular,  admirably  aoiptea  to  such 
api^oation,  and  may  thoefore  be  saf^ 
It  trusted  for  the  solution  of  every 
mfficulty,  and  as  enlightening  guides 
under  every  drcumstance. 

Aooofding  to  those,  therefore,  who 
ue  under  the  influence  of  the  first  set 
of  prejudices,  vre  are  about  to  under- 
take a  task  which  cannot  be  accom- 
plished, or  which,  if  it  could,  would 
be  ci  little  or  no  real  service ;  while, 
aeeording  to  those  who  entertain  the 
second  set  of  pnjodioes,  we  are  about 
to  undertake  a  task  slready  accom- 
plished, and  therefore  uncalled  for 
and  unaeosssaiy. 

It  is  Obvious  that  it  is  absohitely 
impossible  that  both  diese  opinions 
can  be  correct  and  weU-fomided ;  yet 
^My  are  maintainsd  wilh  nearly  equal 
conviction  of  thehr  truth  and  jusoce. 


and  i^t  is  singular,  fbtj  sesm  aU 
most  to  grow  in  strength,  and  to  in* 
cresse  in  the  number  of  their  respec- 
tive advocates,  at  the  same  time,  and 
under  the  same  drcumstanoes.  For 
while  the  writinffs  of  Malthus,  Riear* 
do.  Say,  Sismondi,  snd  othar  cekbra* 
ted  modem  political  economists,  are 
praised  by  one  party,  as  having  per« 
Mcted  the  sdence,  and  explained  every- 
thing that  has  taken  place,  and  point- 
ed out  everything  that  ought  to  be 
pursued  or  avoided,  and  thus  left  no« 
thing  to  be  done,  dther  in  the  theore- 
tical or  practical  department  of  this 
study;  tne  works  ot  the  very  same 
authors  are  confidently  and  triumph- 
antly appealed  to  by  the  opposite 
party,  as  proving  that  Political  Eco- 
nomy, if  really  capaUe  of  reaching 
the  dignity  of  a  adence,  has  not  yet 
attained  it ;  and  still  more  plainlv  and 
decidedly,  that  aa  a  practical  atudy,  it 
is  utterly  worthless. 

There  is  no  brandi  of  human  in- 
quiry or  science  whidi  we  apprehend 
is  so  angularly  situated ;  certainly  none 
which  draws,  as  Political  Economy  does, 
or  ought  to  do,  all  its  facts  or  prind- 
ples mim  circumstances  and  events 
constantly  occurring ;  and,  we  may 
add,  from  the  observation  and  expe- 
rience of  every  individuaL  For  though 
it  respects  moie  directly  and  compr^ 
hensively  whatever  relates  to  the  real 
nature  of  national  wealth,  to  the  means 
by  which  it  may  be  acquired,  secured, 
and  increased,  ai^d  to  the  avoidance 
of  those  national  acts,  and  the  over- 
coming of  those  natural  disadvantagea 
Swhidi  ita  limita  might  be  contract- 
,  or  its  course  impe^ ;  yet,  as  na- 
tions are  composed  of  individuals ;  as 
Ae  mode  in  which  an  individual  con- 
ducts his  business,  redouUes  in  its 
efi'ect  the  efi^M^s  of  the  Political  Eco- 
nomy of  the  government  under  which 
he  lives,  and  as  the  influence  of  his 
wise  or  injudicious  condnet  of  his  a£l> 
fidrs  extends  beyond  himself  into  the 
eomnranity  of  which  he  forms  a  part, 
•^'^rom  all  these  causes,  individual  as 
well  aa  national  experience  oflfers  am- 
ple and  various  illustration  of  the 
prindples  of  Politieal  Economy,  to 
those  who  will  attentivdy  examine 
and  study  it.  And  yet  so  it  is,  as 
we  have  atated,  notwithatanding  all 
that  haa  bden  written  widiin  die  ImI 
flfly  years,  not  only  on  the  general 
dMrtoes  of  this  sdence,  hot  al«> 
on  most  of  its  prindpal  topics ;  and 


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5t4 

DOtwitfaitanding  this  period  has  sup* 
plied  an  ahnost  superabundant  addi- 
tion of  facts  to  those  which  had  pre- 
vioudy  been  recorded^  it  is  still  dis- 
puted whether  it  has  either  attained^ 
or  can  possibly  attain,  to  the  nature 
'  and  rank  of  a  science  by  one  party ; 
while,  by  another  party,  not  only  its 
first  and  fundamental  fuinciples,  but 
nearly  all  the  most  important  and  dif- 
ficult applications  of  them,  or  deduc- 
tions from  them,  are  regarded  as  fixed 
on  the  firm  basis  of  demonstration. 
These  opposite  and  conflicting  senti- 
ments r4;arding  Political  Economy, 
have,  in  a  great  degree,  grown  up, 
since  the  time  of  Adam  Smith.  When 
he  fiirst  published  his  Wealth  of  Na- 
tions, and  for  some  time  afterwards, 
an  opinion  intermediate  between  these 
two  extreme  opinions  prevailed.  His 
work  was  regarded  as  in  a  great  mea- 
sure founded  on  tlie  experience  of 
mankind :  those  parts  of  it  which  were 
deemed  unsound  or  erroneous,  were 
thus  deemed  chiefly  because  that  ex- 
perience did  not  warrant  and  confirm 
tiiem;  and  those  parts  of  it  which 
were  considered  speculative,  and  not 
adapted  Tor  practice,  were  thus  regard- 
ed, not  so  much  because  they  were  not 
bujilt  on  sound  principles,  and  accord- 
ant with  facts,  but  because  they  re- 
quired an  unoccupied  and  untrammel- 
led stage,  on  which  their  natural  and 
full  operations  might  be  displayed. 
Few  or  none  were  so  hardy  in  their 
scepticism  as  to  maintain,  that  Political 
Econoror,  as  laid  down  and  illustrated 
in  the  W^th  of  Nations,  was  nothing 
but  an  unsubstantial  and  metaphysi- 
cal creature  of  the  imagination,  drawn 
£rom  no  experience,  applicable  to  no 
practice,  and  either  mere  speculative 
philos(^hy,  or  absolute!]^  unintelligi- 
tde.  Such  charges,  at  tlus  time,  were 
brought  out  against  the  doctrines  of 
the  French  economists,  who,  in  what 
they  taught  regarding  land  as  the  sole 
and  exclusive  origin  of  taxes,  were 
generally  thought  to  be  plainly  and  ut- 
terly contradicted  by  facts,  and  in  what 
they  taught,  respecting  the  distinction 
between  productive  and  unproductive 
labour,  to  have  bewildered  tbemsdves 
in  words,  without  any  dear  and  defi- 
nitive meaning.     ^ 

But  those  who  thus  diouA^t  re- 
specting the  Economists,  and^dr  pe- 
culiar doctrines,  did  not,  from  the  un- 
soundness or  absurdity  with  which 


The  Political  EcowmiiU    Eitay  /. 


CMay, 


charged  them,  infer  diat 
Political  Economy  was  either  a  nullity^ 
which,  as  a  science,  neither  had  |ior 
could  have,  a  real  existence,  or  that, 
though  a  proper  subject  for  qiecula- 
tion,  or  for  the  exercise  of  a  subtle 
and,  metaphysical  mind,  it  never  had 
been,  ana  never  could  be,  of  any  real 
and  practical  utility ;  while  those  who 
thought  most  highly  of  Smith's  Wealth 
of  Nations,  did  not  represent  it  at 
having  exhausted  the  subject,  or  as 
perfect  and  unolijectionable,  either  in 
all  its  prindples,  or  in  all  its  applica- 
tions of  those  prindples.  It  was  re- 
served for  the  supporters  and  contem- 
ners of  Political  Economy,  of  the  pre- 
sent day,  to  diverge  so  widdy  from 
the  middle  line ;  and  by  such  conduct, 
we  cannot  help  thinking,  the  real  in- 
terests of  PoUticol  Economy  have  been 
much  injured;  while  many,  who,  being 
of  no  party,  may  be  desirous  of  con- 
tributing their,  mite  towards  its  per- 
fection, are  deterred  from  the  appre- 
hension of  bdng  r^arded  by  one  party 
as  undertaking  a  work  of  supereroga- 
tion, and  by  we  other  party,  as  pur- 
suing an  object  which  is  unattainable. 

Previously,  therefore,  to  any  ap- 
proach, even  to  the  most  simple  and 
obvious  prindples  of  PoUtical  Econo- 
my, the  ground  must  be  deared  of 
bodi  those  parties :  for  though  they 
are  strongly  and  diametrically  opposed 
to  each  other,  they  have  a  common  in- 
terest in  uniting  their  forces  against 
all  who  bdieve  ndther  in  the  perfec- 
tion nor  the  absurdity  of  this  tmmch 
of  study. 

Our  first  oliject,  therefore,  will  be 
to  attack  the  P^fectionists.  MThatwe 
concdve  to  be  the  truth  on  the  various 
topics  whidi  they  have  discussed,  will 
be  stated  when  we  enter  fairly  and 
fully  into  the  science  itsdf :  the  main 
and  direct  object  of  our  attack  upon 
them,  will  be  to  prove,  that  they  are 
at  variance  with  each  other,  and  with 
tbemsdves  on  many  of  the  dementoiy 
prindples  of  Political  Economy,  as  wdl 
as  in  the  more  involved  and  recondite" 
doctrines,  and  even  in  the  practical 
application  of  those  prindples  and  doc- 
trines that  are  sound  and  substantial ; 
that  in  many  places  it  is  impossible  to 
affix  any  clear  and  definite  meaning 
to  thdr  words— that  thdr  reasoning 
is  often  incondudve,  and  that  thoo^ 
some  incidental  topics  may  have  be^ 
wdl  illustrated  by  them,  the  illttatn-> 


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1W4.;] 

tiovi  htf  not  pfOOMaod  nrom  s  pcii6» 
trating  and  comprehensiTe  view  of 
Frihieal  Economy  as  a  sdence. 

If  we  can  tabatandate  these  chargeSy 
we  shall  then  have  proved  that  the 
stage  is  not  fUlly  occupied — that  there 
is  room  and  opportunity,  as  well  as 
occasion,  for  the  task  we  have  under- 
taken. Whether  the  task  is  of  a  na- 
ture  that  can  be  accomplished ;  that 
will  repay  die  pains  bestowed  upon  it; 
—whether,  if  accomplished,  it  will 
end  in  anv  U8ef\il  and  practical  result, 
will  remain  for  a  subMouent  and  se- 
parate investigation.  We  should  de- 
spair of  succeeding  in  our  first  un- 
dertaking,—we  should  even  deem  it 
highly  presumptuous  to  enter  upon  it, 
if  the  materials  were  not  supplied  us 
by  those  we  mean  to  attack ;  and  if  we 
were  not  able,  as  we  have  already  sta- 
ted, topointoutsuchnumerousand  pal- 
pable contradictions  in  their  writings, 
Desides  positions  so  vapidly  or  obscure- 
ly laid  uown,  and  inferences  so  erro- 
neously drawn,  that  the  task  requires 
little  more  than  an  extensive  and  care- 
fhl  examination  of  their  works. 

We  are  well  aware  that  the  oppo- 
site party,  those  who  ridicule  the  no- 
tion that  Political  Economy  has  assu- 
med, or  can  possibly  assume,  the  rank 
of  a  science,  and  who  regard  the  wri- 
tinn  of  Malthus,  Ricardo,  &c  bb 
either  absurd  or  unintelligible,  or  as 
containing  doctrines  and  reasonings 
quite  remote  from,  and  unconnect^ 
with  practice,  will  cheerfully,  and 
without  much  deliberation,  award  us 
the  victory :  but  we  are  anxious  to  ob- 
tain mucn  less  prejudiced  judges  of 
o*ur  labours,  and  we  shall  aeem  our 
task  very  imperfectly  accomplished, 
if,  in  executing  it,  we  convince  only 
them,  that  they  have  bestowed  well- 
merited  ridicule  on  Political  Economy. 
In  ftct,  if  our  labours  had  no  other 
result  except  Uiis,  we  should  in  reality 
be  fiffhting  against  ourselves;  for 
though  we  shmdd  destroy  one  par- 
ty, vet  their  destruction  would  add 
to  tne  sti«ngth  and  the  boldness  of 
the  other.  And  yet  we  are  afraid  we 
cannot  altogether  avoid  this  oonae- 
quenoe ;  for  those  who  are  sceptics 
and  scoflfers  on  the  sulnectof  Political 
Economy,  will  natunOly  hail  any  at- 
tempt to  prove  that  its  most  celebra- 
ted advocates  and  illustratort  are  uniD- 
tdligible,  contradictory,  erroDeous,  or 
even  only  speculative,  aa  their  triumph, 
and  a  confirmation  of  the  juatice  of 


The  PMieal  Eamomisi.    Essay  I.  69S 

dieir  scepticism  and  scoffing.    Hence 


we  shall  strengthen  those  whom  we 
next  design  to  attack.  But  the  infer- 
ence which  they  will  draw,  though  a 
natural  one,  by  no  means  fiiUows:  . 
and  we  hope  to  prove  that  Political 
Economy  is  neither  so  perfect  as  one 
party  maintain,  nor  so  completely  out 
of  himian  intellect,  as  the  other  party 
inainuate  by  their  scepticism  aiid  ri- 
dieule. 

We  shall,  however,  deem  our  first  at- 
tempt very  badly  executed,  if  we  do 
not  prove — ^to  the  satisfaction  of  those 
who  are  neutral  and  impartial,  and,  we 
even  trust  and  hope,  also  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  those  who  are  not  very  strong  in 
their  belief,  that  modem  PoUtical  Eco- 
nomists have  exhausted  the  subject,aiid 
removed  all  the  difficulties,  and  clear- 
ed up  all  the  obscurities  under  which 
it  previously  laboured — that  Uttle,  in 
fact,  has  been  added  to  the  science  ;— 
diat  the  writings  of  these  PoliticalEco- 
nomists  will  in  vain  be  studied  by 
those  who  are  anxious  of  obtainiag  a 
perspicuous  and  comprehensive  view, 
or  of  ascertaining  in  what  manner  its 
doctrines  bear  on  any  great  practical 
question.  If  we  can  secure  the  appro- 
bation, the  faith,  and  the  advocacy  of 
those  two  classes  to  what  we  advance, 
we  shall  not  regard  either  as  a  triumph 
or  a  misfortune,  and  the  source  of  ni- 
ture  difficulty,  the  having  confirmed 
the  prejudices  of  the  ecoffen  and  ridi- 
culers  of  the  science ;  nor  shall  we  be 
cast  down,  or  think  our  labours  use- 
less, because  the  very  staunch  belie- 
vers in  the  perfection  of  modem  Poli- 
tical Economy,  still  adhere  to  their  be- 
lief with  undiminished  confidence  and 
pertinacity. 

It  may,  however,  be  said,  that  we 
shall  have  but  impofectly  cleared  the 
stage,  by  proving  that  it  is  not  fUly, 
and  ought  not  to  be  exclusiTely  occn- 
pkd  by  Malthus,  Ricardo,  &c.  that  if 
we  succeed  in  this  attempt,  we  merely 
place  Political  Economy  in  the  state  in 
which  it  was  before  they  commenced 
their  labours;  and  that  the  work  of 
Adam  Smith  will  then  resume  the  full 
and  undivided  sway  with  Political  Eco- 
nomists— ^if  justly,  our  farther  labour 
is  unnecessary — if  unjustly,  our  prior 
labour  will  biave  been  of  little  b^iefit 
towards  proving  that  Political  Econo- 
my needs  our  iUustrations. 

But  assuming  that  we  prove  the  in- 
suffideney  of  toe  writings  of  modem 
Political  'EooDomiste  only,  and  that 


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lliey  have  added  little  to  the  t&tnoeim 
it  wu  left  by  Adam  Smith«-we  think 
me  shall  have  accomplished  aHeedfiil 
and  useful  task.  The  eotitmst  between 
the  Wealth  of  Nations,  and  the  mo- 
dern writings  on  Political  Economy^  is 
obvious  ana  strong  in  many  respects. 
The  former  is  written  in  a  style,  which, 
though  prolix,  is  so  transparent,  that  the 
author's  meanings  and  reaaonings  can 
easily  be  traced,  whether  they  be  sound 
or  otherwise;  and  this  of  itadf  is  a 
.great  advatitage  and  merit,  on  all  sub- 
jects, especially  on  Political  Economy. 
In  perusing  the  Wealth  of  Nations, 
we  are  sometimes  a  little  puzaled  by 
£nding  words  used  in  a  loose  or  doo- 
.fale  sense,  but  we  soon  ascertain  in 
what  particular  sense  they  are  used: 
we  not  unfrequently  detect  weak  and 
anoonsequent  reasoning  arisitig  from 
this  ambiguity  of  languap^e,  or  from 
other  causes,  iad  we  certainly  feel  the 
want  of  simple  and  fundamental  prin- 
ciples, and  of  a  regular  and  systematic 
arrangement  of  matter,  and  deduction 
of  consequences.  But  all  is  plain  and 
perspicuous ;  these  is  no  subtlety— no 
metaphyncal  refinement ;  what  is  laid 
down  and  argued,  might  have  been 
aaid  in  fewer  words,  but  the  multipli- 
city of  words,  though  tiresome,  does  not 
obacure  the  meaning  of  the  author. 
How  different  from  these  are  the  wri- 
tings of  the  most  celebrated  modern  Po- 
litical Economists.  On  a  subject  which 
is  entirely  founded  on  fiicts,  which  are 
of  notoriousand  of  constant  occurrence, 
more  subtlety  of  thought  and  languagpe 
ia  displayed  Uian  on  the  most  f£- 
atruae  points  of  metaphysical  specu]»- 
tion.  We  can  always  perceive  what 
Adam  Smith  means,  ana  this  is  going 
a  great  way  to  ascertain  whether  his 
arguments  and  opinions  are  sound  or 
not;  whereas,  it  is  often  extremely 
difficult,  and  sometimes  impossible,  to 
determine  the  precise  meaning  of  mo- 
dem PoliticalEconomists,and  of  course 
to  determine  whether  their  doctrines 
be  true  or  erroneous.  If,  then,  we  re- 
tread our  ateps  to  the  Wealth  of  Na- 
tions, we  shall  have  done  much  to- 
wards destroying  both  sets  of  preju- 
dices, which  we  have  already  repre- 
sented as  lying  in  the  way  of  our  pro- 
■ent  design  ;  for,  looking  to  thui  work 
as  the  text-book  of  Political  Economy, 
we  believe  that  not  even  its  warmest 
admirers  will  contend  that  it  is  free 
from  errors,  w  that  it  has  carried  Po- 
litical Economy  so  frr  as  itjnay  be  ear- 


jfied ;  nor  will  thew  who  iadieide«^ 
aooff  at  Political  Rconomyi  aalaiddown 
in  modem  worin,  be  diq^oied  to  tmat 
,with  theaamedagreeof  aceptidaraaDd 
scorn  that  science  as  taught  in  the 
Wealth  of  Nations. 

If,  therefore,  we  succeed  in  proving 
.that  Ricardo,  Malthus,  &c  have  pe»- 
{»lexed  the  gulgect,  and  exposed  it  to 
unmerited  ptcgudice — that  their  lead- 
ing positions  and  doctrines  are  eithtr 
old  and  obvious  truths,  couched  in 
subtle  and  uncouth  terms,  or  utterly 
unfounded — that  they  hdd  diametri- 
cally opposite  doctrines,  sometimes 
among  themselves,  and  not  unfre- 
quently individually ;  and  that  Pdi- 
tical  Economy  has  been  little,  if  at  all, 
advanced  by  them,  beyond  the  con- 
fessedly imperfect  state  m  which  it  waa 
left  by  Adam  Smith  ;  we  may  then  be 
permitted  to  draw  the  inference,  that 
there  is  room  for  our  discussions ;  and 
to  turn  our  attention  to  the  examma-  ' 
tionof  theother  proposition  that  stands 
in  our  way,  viz.  that  Political  Eoonomv 
is  an  impracticable  8u):0ect  not  worta 
studying* 

In  examining  the  nature  and  bear- 
ings o£  this  (pinion,  as  well  as  the 
hold  whidi  it  possesses  on  the  minds 
of  those  who  entertain  it,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  proceed  with  caution,  and 
in  a  regular  and  methodical  manner  ; 
since,  if  we  do  not  meet  it  fairly,  and 
in  its  different  bearings,  we  shall  effect 
little  towards  the  proof  of  its  unsound- 
ness. The  opinion  that  Political  Eco- 
nomy deserves  not  our  study,  arises 
from  several  sources.  Some  entertain 
it,  because  they  are  convinced  that  in 
its  very  essence  it  is  of  such  an  abstract 
and  speculative  nature,  that  it  can  ne- 
ver be  applied  ^ther  to  explain  what 
happens  in  the  commercial  concerns  of 
nations,  or  to  point  out  what  ought  to 
be  pursued  or  avoided  by  them :  the 
ground  of  this  particular  opinion  rests 
on  the  conflicting  and  contradictory 
notions  entertain^,  and  counsel  given 
by  the  most  celebrated  Political  Eco- 
nomists, with  respect  to  .the  great 
questions  lately  agitated  on  the  Com 
Laws,  Poor  Xaws,  Bank  Restriction, 
&C.  Those  who  entertain  this  (^nion> 
do  not  refuse  to  Political  Economy  the 
appellation  and  the  dignity  of  a  science ; 
but  they  contend,  thM  though  ita  nxin- 
dples  are  clear  and  definite,  ana  the 
deductions  from  them  legitimate  and 
unimpaaahahle,  yet,  as  the^  do  not 
make  alloiramee  Aar  the  diaturbing 
7 


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fioiMi  YdMi  Ml«f%  «XMt  la  Mdilf , 

BMiliiiMerially  frontbe  molti  whiA 
Ik  iptgwktkm  and  theory  am  drmvm 
Ima  tbeacmee. 

Tlioae  opponcntB  of  Politieal  £eoiK>i« 
my,  it  ia  olMrkma»  mnat  be  treated  in 
a  difibeot  manner  from  thoae  wliaad« 
itance  much  farther  in  their  aoepticisai 
«id  ridicule :  the  lattep-^wjio  aeem  to 
have  gained  in  atren^  and  numben^ 
in  oonseqnence  of  thiMe  Terr  publica- 
tiona,  to  which  many  ap|ieal  and  look 
lip  ai  haying  placed  Political  Economy 
on  a  aolid  and  firm  baaia— broadly  and 
BOaiti?ely  aaaert,  that  even  aa  a  ajteci^ 
tatire  atudy,  Pclitical  Economy  la  in- 
Tolved  in  mes^liceble  myatery ;  that 
mneh  diat  ia  tanght  is  inoomprehoi- 
lible  or  oontradielory — thet  much  ia 
directed  in  the  teeth  of  the  comnKtt 
acaae  and  unifom  experience  of  man* 
kindf  and  that  the  remainder  oonaiata 
of  palpable  traiamay  coached  in  ob» 
anune  or  ambiguoua  langnage* 

Aa  we  have  already  remarked^  oar 
Buceeia  in  the  first  attempt  we 
make^  liz.  to  prove  that  modem 
writera  on  Political  Economy^  instead 
of  having  rendered  it  mote  dear  in  ita 
DtincipM,  and  more  extensively  and 
fiiUy  expknatory  of  what  is  taking 
niUee  around  m,  have  involved  the  snb* 
jcct  in  mysla7,  and  unsettled  its  very 
foundations — idll  put  weapons  into  the 
poasesaloB  of  all  thoae  who  are  soeptica 
and  wooffm,  on  the  utility  and  reality 
of  this  adenoe. 

We  musty  therefore,  be  careftil  and 
precise  in  our  meaning,  and  strict  and 
oeneluaive  in  our  logic,  when  we  come 
to  examine  and  re|^  the  atatementa 
and  aignmenta  of  these  opponenta: 
we  muat  aeparate  with  a  broad  end 
diatinci  line,  the  facU  whidi  diey  draw 
firom  the  writin^i  of  modem  Political 
Eoonomiats,  as  establishing  their  poai* 
tion,  that  Political  Eoonorav  ia  dtner  a 
merely  speenktive  and  uaeicaasciefioe. 
Of  n  mere  jtfgon  of  wotda  without 
meanina  and  valuer— fhwa  the  facta 
to  whioi  they  appeal,  in  aupport  of 
either  of  theae  accusations  agamat  i^-^ 
fisam  the  very  nalore  of  the  subjoet, 
and  the  excessive  and  inexplicable  in- 
tricacT  Id  which  it  is  neeesssrily  in- 
volved. The  M  adage  will  aaaiat  ua 
in  thia  respect,  that  the  abuse  of  a 
thing  is  no  good  aignment  againat  ita 
uae.  And  if  we  can  aucoeed  in  proving 
— ^hich  weflattar  ouradvoiireahaUbe 
able  to  do-rthat  Mitiaal  £cQMN«y-* 

Vol.  XV. 


'JSSpoaoaiMl*    Man  J* 


J  todevolopa  md  oxpMn  tba 
and  eanaea  of  aoeial  waHhf 
and  the  mcana  by  idnch  it  ia  diaCii- 
bated— nuat  have  ita  foundation  in 
iiMta  and  experience ;  and,  ihenfyre^ 
can  be  reduced  to  general  lawt^  which, 
aa  drawn  from  these  facta,  muat  be 
audi  as  will  explain  idl  other  fKtaand 
events  that  may  occur,  relative  to  ao- 
eial wealth;  we  shall  then  have,  in  a 
great  measure,  destroyed  one  of  the 
principal  stronghcdds  of  those  who 
deny  to  Polidcal  Economy  the  nana 
and  dignity  of  a  science. 

Whether  these  facts  are  suffidently 
numerous,  from  whidi  to  deduce  any 
simple  and  gjonerallaws — whether  the 
really  operative  part  of  drcuroatancea 
and  events,  bearing  on  Pditical  Eeo** 
nomy^  can  be  thoroughly  and  aatia- 
fikstorily  aeparated  from  thoae  whidb 
are  inert,  ao  aa  acUially  to  arrive  at 
such  laws,  as  will  bear  the  doaeat  es- 
amination  Mid  scrutiny.  Mid  will  not 
fiul  ua  when  we  came  to  apply  them 
to  the  most  involved  and  oiflieuH 
caaea  and  whether  the  very  flrsme 
and  texture  of  the  language  employed 
on  Pdiiical  Economy,  doea  not  create: 
a  larmr  portion  of  those  obscuritiea 
and  diffioiltiea,  which  have  brongha 
it  into  such  diacredit  and  eontempa->«« 
all  those  pointa  muat  be  separatdy  and 
careiully  diaousaed. 

It  certainly  will  be  a  moat  extraor- 
dinary, and,  we  will  add,  an  unpreoe* 
dented  and  unpsraUdcd  darpnmatance^ 
if  it  should  prove  that  it  is  inqiosaiUo 
ao  to  dasa  the  UcU  that  rdale  to  &e 
sources  and  distribution  of  aodal 
wealth,  aa  to  draw  from  them  an^ 
g^eral  lawa;  and  no  leas  extraofdi- 
nary ,  if  the  reault  ahould  be  that  kwa 
strictly  and  logically  deduced  htm 
theae  acta,  should  im  un,  or  lead  ua 
astray,  when  we  wiah  to  ipply  them 
dther  todireet  our  conduct  in  the  omh 
nagvmant  of  social  wealth,  or  to  ex* 
pldn  what  ia  eonataatly  taking  place 
reapeclinff  its  ioereaae^  dimmutiaD, 
ana  diatnhutkm.  Weaienoadvoeatca 
for  the  doctrine  formerly,  we  beUeve, 
much  more  common  and  popular  thai 
it  ia  at  present,  that  what  ia  true  in 
theory  may  be  fiUae  in  piactice:  on 
the  oontraj^,  we  bdieve  that  what  to 
realljr  true  in  theory,  muat  be  true  In 
practice ;  that  the  reverse  position  viiw 
tualljT  invdvea  a  contradictaon ;  ami 
that  in  proportion  aa  the  knowledge 
and  experienoB  of  manlriml  become 
mere  eorrect,  extcndve^  and  minate» 
3  Y 


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tbe  ftlt^ood  and  absm^tY  of  thb 
doctrine  has  become^  and  will  become, 
more  glaring.  We  are  perfectly  aware, 
that  in  all  sciences,  except  pare  mathe- 
matics, there  are  disturbing  forces,  and 
that  these  alter  the  result,  and  mdce 
it  difl^rent  fh)m  whal  mere  theory 
would  suggest  or  establish  ;  but  a  re- 
sult not  exactly  corresponding  widi 
Aat  which  theory  gives,  certainly  will 
not  warrant  the  doctrine,  that  what  is 
true  in  theory,  is  often  false  in  prac- 
tice ;  besides,  as  the  bearing  and 
amount  of  these  yariatimis  must  be- 
come the  subject  of  accimtte  foreknow- 
ledge and  calculation,  in  proportion  as 
mankind  advance  in  knowledge;  we 
riiall  at  last  be  able  to  make  that  al- 
lowance for  them  which  they  require 
— neither  more,  nor  less— and  then  to 
bring  about  a  perfect  coincidence  be- 
tween the  results  of  theory  and  prac- 
tice. 

As,  however,  the  almost  proverbial 
opinion  to  which  we  have  alluded,  is 
greatly  relied  on  by  those  who  ridicule 
and  scoff  at  Political  Economy,  and  as 
this  science,  being  conversant  with 
those  affidrs  and  events  which  are  ne- 
cessarily mudi  involved,  of  course  pre- 
sents many  combinations  of  circum- 
stances, which  cannot  always  be  fore- 
seen, nor  easily  unravellea  and  re- 
duced to  their  elements,  it  will  be  ne- 
cessary to  enter  into  a  strict  inquiry, 
whether  Political  Economy,  though 
tnie  and  wdl  founded  in  theory,  is  of 
no  use,  or  wOl  even  prove  an  unsafe 
and  dangerous  guide  m  practice. 

Even  after  we  shall  have  terminated 
both  these^reliminary  and  preparatory 
investigationB,  and,  we  anticipate  and 
trust,  in  such  a  manner,  and  with  such 
effix^,  as  to  convince  our  readers,  both 
that  Political  Economy  still  requires 
much  elucidation  before  it  is  rendered 
ft  simple,  easy,  intelli^ble,  consistent, 
systematic,  and  practical  science ;  and 
^at  it  not  only  requires  such  elucida- 
tion, but  admits  of  it ;  and  that  it 
amply  deserves  to  form  a  part  of  ge- 
neral education,  as  being  much  more 
intimately  and  extensively  connected 
with  socud  good  than  it  is  generally 
supposed  to  be — ^there  still  remain 
other  preparatory  inquuries,  before  we 
can  &u'Iy  enter  upon  the  consideration 
of  the  science  itself. 

As  there  is  confessedly  great  and  ge- 
neral doubt  and  uncertamtif  ra  pecting 
the  first  principles  of  P(^tieal  Eoono* 
my,  and  palpable  oontrarietief  of  opi- 


7%e  PoHHcai  Eeonomiit.    Essay  L 


CMtyi 


aion  amoB^  itamostablo  and  «eM>n- 
ted  antbontida— it  wiU  be  proper,  or 
rather  hiddyadvantageoiis,  to  investi- 
gato  and  esamilio  Uie  nature  and 
sources  of  the  difiicukiea  whidi  seem 
to  beset  this  sdence,  and  to  have  given 
rise  to  those  doubts,  uncertainties,  and 
contrarieties  of  opinion.  We  shall  thus 
be  able  to  prove,  that  they  do  not  ez- 
kt  in  the  subject  itself;  and,  m<»eover, 
by  pointing  out  that  they  originate  in 
the  manner  in  which  it^has  been  stu- 
died, guard  ourselves,  in  our  investif^ 
tions,  against  meeting  with,  ex  creating 
sfedilar  causes  of  error.  This  prepa- 
ratory investisation  will  be  serviceable 
to  us,  not  only  against  those  who  be- 
lieve our  task  is  unnecessary,  but  also 
against  those  who  believe  it  is  vain 
and  useless.  For  if,  in  addition  to 
our  proof,  that  modem  Political  Eco- 
nomists are  obscure  and  contradictory, 
we  pmnt  out  the  causes  whidi  have 
necessarily  kd  them  into  obscurity  and 
contradiction — ^we  strengthen  our  proof 
against  them ;  and  in  the  same  man- 
ner, if,  in  addition  to  our  proof,  that 
Pditical  Economy  may  ^  renderod  in- 
telligible, systematic  and  practical,  we 
point  out  the  causes  that  have  re- 
duced it  to  such  a  state  as  to  become 
the  snbiect  of  sceptidsra  and  ridicule^ 
we  shw  strengthen  our  proof  against 
those  who  deem  our  task  vain  and 
useless. 

In  this  part  of  our  investigation,  it 
will  be  necessary,  as  well  as  service- 
able, to  draw  a  plain  and  broad  line  of 
distinction  between  those  causes  which 
have  involved  Political  Economy  in  ob- 
scurity and  contradiction,  or  impeded 
its  progress  towards  its  perfection  as  a 
science,  and  its  ready  and  safe  appli- 
cation to  practice,  in  common  with 
other  similar  branches  of  knowledge, 
and  those  causes  of  error,  obscurity, 
and  imperfeetkm,  which  are  peculiar 
to  Political  Economy. 

We  shall  thus  be  enabled  to  pro- 
ceed in  a  more  regular  and  systematic 
manner,  as  weU  as  to  hold  up  to  more 
palpable  and  easy  avoidance  those  dif- 
ficulties, whedier  in  the  subject  itself, 
or  in  the  manner  in  which  it  has  been 
usually  studied,  that  have  rendered  it, 
wi^  many,  an  oliject  either  of  disdain 
or  despair.  But  we  have  another  end 
in  view  in  thus  purposing  most  care- 
fully to  separate  the  causes  and  sour- 
ces of  error  and  contradiction  common 
to  Political  Economy,  and  other  topics 
of  similar  research,  lh>m  those  whidi 


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TVif  Boliiicai  EemM9tuU    Btmij  /. 


are  paeolkr  to  it.  We  arc  oonvisoed, 
that,  in  all  branches  of  bumaD  know- 
led^,  grealer  adraiioet  would  have 
been  madeif  the  mode  we  propose  had 
been  adopted.  If  the  diffioulties  that 
naturally  and  neoessarilv  beset  any  in- 
wstigation,  either  into  the  kwv  of  the 
phyucal  world,  or  into  the  powers  of 
the  human  mind,  or  the  fedings  and 
passions  of  ^btt  human  heart,  or  int# 
die  oonduet  and  txsansactions  of  man 
in  society,  were  deepljjr,  fu%,  sod 
dosely  examined ;  and  if  the  exami« 
■nation  were,  moreover,  carried  into 
those  difficulties  that  have  been  heaped 
on  tiiose  that  are  natural  and  neces- 
ssry,  by  the  ignorance,  errors,  and 
fir^udtees  of  man,  or  by  the  imperfec- 
tion and  abuse  of  language,  many  sub* 
jects  which  still  resist  the  human  in« 
tdlect,  and  baflle  the  united  e/SfXU  of 
the  roost  penetrating  and  persevering 
minds— subjects  not  merely  meul^ 
tive,  butdosely  interwoven  witn  prac- 
tice, and  witii  the  highest  intecests  or 
themostsdemn  dutieaof  man— would, 
before  this,  have  been  moulded  into 
the  fcnn  of  a  simple  and  oemplete 
•oienoe. 

Political  Economy  is  eomparatively 
a  recent  studv,  and  the  human  int^ 
leet  was  not  brought  t6  bear  upon  it 
till  the  admirable  and  grand  advanta- 
ges that  might  be  derived  ftom  the 
Baconian  mode  of  investigation,  were 
clearly  and  Ailly  undeiBtood  and  ap- 
prectftted.  And^etweapprdiendthat, 
when  we  enter  mto  an  examination  of 
the  causes  that  have  retarded  its  pro- 
press,  we  shall  find  that  this  mode  of 
invertiffatiou  has  not  been  puraied; 
that  it  has  been,  on  the  cmitrary,  roost 
palfiably  n^eeted  in  the  study  of  a 
suljject,  the  very  nature  of  which  in- 
terweaves it  most  dosdy  and  inti- 
matdy  with  the  constant  experience  of 
every  civilised  nation.  In  proportion 
as  nations  advance  in  civilisation  and 
refinement,  the  sources  fioro  which 
the  facts  of  diis  sdenoe  must  flow,  aie 
multiplied,  as  wdl  as  the  interest  and 
importance  of  the  science  itsdf ;  and 
yet  the  science,  certainly,  has  not  ad- 
vanced in  anyUiing  like  the  same  pro- 
portion. Whence  cornea  this?  The 
answer  to  this  inquiry  must  be  sou^^t 
in  that  division  of  our  labours  that  will 
be  set  apart  for  examining  into  the 
causes  that  have  retarded  the  advance- 
ment of  Political  Economy. 

In  another  point  of  view,  this  in- 
quiry will  alio  be  inleiesttng  aad  us»- 


^89 

Ad,  independently  of  its  direct  bear- 
lag  en  oar  main  ol:^ect.  It  is  a  trite 
remark,  that  obscurities  and  diflferen^ 
oea  of -opinion  often  have  no  real  exist- 
ence, but  put  on  that  form  in  conse- 
quence of  the  vagueness  and  ambiguity 
of  the  langua^  employed.  This  re- 
mark is  peculiarly  imd  strongly  appli- 
cable to  Politicsl  Economy,  ana,  while 
we  are  examining  into  the  sources  of 
•nror  in  this  science,  we  shall  have  an 
opportunity  of  oBstrng  some  obeerva- 
tfcos  on  the  use  and  abuse  of  langnagu, 
not  merely  as  an  instrument  for  recei- 
ving and  communicating  ideas,  but 
alioas  a  medium  of  individual  thought 
The  use  of  language  is  so  very  obvious, 
and  so  constantly  felt  and  ei^rienced, 
that  its  abuse,  and  the  impediment  to 
■the  attainment  of  truth,  as  well  as  the 
dear  communication  of  it  when  attain- 
ed, springing  from  this  abuse,  are  sel- 
dom  adverted  to  or  duly  regarded. 
The  three  last  diaptersof  Locke's  third 
Book  on  the  Human  Understanding, 
on  the  imperfection  of  words,  on  the 
abuse  of  words,  and  on  the  remedies 
of  the  foregoing  imperfections  and 
abuses,  if  frequently  studied,  and  tlu>- 
noughly  comprehended,  and  strictly 
appHed,  womd  remove  from  many 
branches  of  knowledge  most  of  w 
clouds  in  which  they  are  involved-^ 
and,  perhaps,  from  none  more  com- 
pletely than  from  Political  Economy. 

In  the  course  of  this  part  of  our  in- 
vestigation, we  shall  perceive  that  manv 
of  the  difficulties  and  obscurities  which 
beset  Political  Economy,  arise  from  the 
want  of  a  perspicuous  and  precise 
marking  out  of  its  nature  and  bounda- 
ries. Tul  these  are  determined,  there- 
frire,  it  would  be  in  vain  to  attempt  or 
expect  that  our  future  disquisitions 
should  be  instructive  and  satisfacUny. 
In  this  point  of  view,  also.  Political 
Economy  resembles  otiier  branches  of 
human  knowledge,  that  have  hitherto 
eluded  the  firm  and  comprehensive 
grasp  of  the  intellect,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure because  their  nature  and  bounda- 
ries have  not  been  accurately  determi- 
ned. 

This  part  of  our  preliminary  inquiry 
will  naturally  divide  itself  into  two 
separate  and  distinct  heads:  What 
Pohtieal  Economy  does  not  compre- 
hend, and  what  it  does. comprehend. 
If  whst  it  does  not  comprehend  be  in- 
cluded in  it,  it  is  obvious  that  we  shall 
be  exposed  to  Uie  risk  of  searching  for 
facts  out  of  ^  pale  of  its  jurisdiction. 


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Tke  PoUtieal  EconomiMt    Kmay  /.  KM^f 

PhyBiolotfy  1MT  be  hrougjlil  Ibnrird  « 
ft  palpable  and  pregnant  Inttsnoe  ef 
the  truA  of  our  position.  AtonetioM^ 
mfttbematieal  pnnolplea^-iit  anodier 


S30 

which  facts  do  not  ht  reriitf  bear  iip« 

on  it;  and,  of  coarse,  general  prinei* 

l^les,  deduced  fVom  such  ikcts,  wifl 

only  lead  us  astray,  whether  we  apply 

them  to  account  for  what  is  talmfig    time,  chemical  principles,  n 

place  relative  to  the  creation  and  di#-    ed  aolelv  and  exchoBTely  caiwble  of 

tribution  of  social  wealth,  ixr  to  guide    ilhistrattng  and  espkining  all  the  ip»^ 


"US  in  our  practice.  We  are  much  mis- 
taken if  we  do  not  make  it  appear,  that 
a  large  portion  of  the  ambiguit|r,  un- 
certainty, and  inapplicabiKty  of  Poll^ 
tical  Economy,  has  arisen  from  resMg 
on  facts  that  do  not  Ue  within  its  legi« 
timate  sphere. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  Politic  Eco- 
nomy is  not  extended  so  as  to  embrace 
on  every  aide  all  it  ought  to  embrace, 
it  is  obyious  that  it  cannot  rest  on  sodi 
a  broad  and  firm  basis  of  experienee 
and  observation  as  actually  beiongs  to 
it. 

A  similar  remark  may  be  made  with 
respect  to  the  terms  eroploved  in  dis^ 
cussing  the  suligect  of  Political  Econo- 
my. It  will  appear  that  several  terma 
are  employed  in  the  discussions  10 
which  meanings  are  attached  that  carry 
us  to  facts  l^ond  the  pale  of  this 
Bcienoe :  Two  evil  consequences  arise 
fhmi  this  source — ambiguity  of  lan- 
guage where  the  terms  have  two  mean- 
ings, one  applicable  to  the  ikcts  that 
Intimately  belong  to  Political  Econo- 
my, and  the  other  to  fkcts  not  cof»- 
nected  with  it.  This  evil  will  more 
immediately  and  fully  fall  under  our 
loonsideration  when  we  are  examining 
Ae  sources  of  the  difficulties  that  en- 
compass this  study.  The  other  evil 
arises  where  thfe  terms  employed  have 
such  strong  and  f%uniliar  associations 
with  loose  and  popular  notions  on  Po- 
litical Economy,  as  to  lead  us  insensi^ 
bly  to  mingle  these  loose  and  popular 
notions  witn  those  sound  and  legiti- 
mate principles,  to  which  alone  the  le- 
gitimate fkcts  of  the  science,  and  phi- 
losophical deduction  fhnn  those  facts^ 
VTOuld  give  birth. 

No  part  of  the  preparatory  and  pre- 
liminary investigation  into  which  we 
shall  enter,  in  order  to  fit  ourselves 
and  our  read^  to  enter  on  the  study 
of  Political  Economy  with  fkdlity  and 
efibct,  will  require  or  admit  of  more 
thorough  and  watchf\il  attention  than 
this.  And  in  this  point  of  view,  also. 
Political  Economy  is  analogous  to 
many  other  branches  of  human  know- 
ledge, which  have  been  impeded  or 
obscured  bv  not  having  their  exiset 
nature  and  ifanits  distinctly  laid  down. 


rious  and  oomplicaied  phenoiaaoa  of 
Ihe  Imman  fVame.  And  H  is  only  very 
tecently  that  physidogists  are  ianpw 
sd  vrith  a  firm  and  gsim  uing  ^convie- 
tion,  that  the  laws  wMeh  govern  ifaa 
living  subject,  though  th^  may  la 
some  pdnls  cdncide  with  mathsniati» 
ealordiemical  principles,  are,  in  iSbA 
most  essential  chatacter,  quitepecnliv 
and  aliomakMM.  The  anplieatioB  of 
algebn,  or  the  flttctional  cslenlas,  to 
reasoning  in  Politleal  Eoonomf,  is  bb- 
tfther  instance  of  the  Improper  misiiy 
of  sciences,  as  well  as  a  proof  that  tiim 
science  wsemUes  ollvsn  wini  respeot 
to  tile  causes  which  have  impedea  its 
progress,  or  obseuted  its  real  nature 
andlftnits.  The  sppHcation  to  which 
we  have  just  alluded,  has  anodier  is* 
direct  evil  consequence,  for  we  are  so 
much  tile  creatures  of  habit,  and  xm^ 
der  tile  influence  of  associations  and 
first  tmpressions-^that  a  student  of 
Political  Economy,  on  perceiving  the 
principles  or  reasonincsof  this  bnook 
of  knowledge  thrown  mto  a  matfaem*- 
tlcal  fbrm,  with  what  bears  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  strict  analytical  proof,  is 
msensibly  led  into  the  bdief,  that 
they  are  not  only  true,  but  troe  to  a 
mathematical  certainty ;  whenaathsy 
mav  really  be  without  Ktrandstioo,  and 
undoubtedly  ottnot  rest  on  the  same 
basis  of  certainty  as  the  mathematicB. 
After  these  inve6tigations,  we  sMl  be 
prepared  to  spproadb  very  nearto  F»* 
ntical  Economy  itself.  Still,  however, 
before  we  really  enter  on  it  systeoi*- 
atically,  it  will  be  proper,  aa  well  aa 
advantageous,  to  attend,  fbr  a  shsvl 
time,  to  another  preliminary  and  pre- 
paratory inquiry,  llite  will  have  for 
Its  ol^t,  ute  means  and  sources  of  sU 
that  is  necessary  for  the  eotistenos  of 
man,  or  the  ol^ect  of  his  desire  snp- 
posing  that  each  individual  depends 
exclusively  on  himself  for  its  acqujsi- 
tion.  IVlthout  entering  at  pmsent 
on  a  M\,  precise,  and  formal  definU 
tion  of  Political  Economy,  it  may  he 
ceneraHy  and  loosdy  stated  to  have  ie» 
mrenoe,  primarily^  to  the  souices  and 
means  of  the  olijects  of  msnVdMiiws : 
^iihal  rekles  to  the  hiterchangs  and 
distnbvlion  of  these,  is  a  saoooduy 


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ns  FMfcid  EeonomLni.    Etsuy  I, 


and  dependent  inreet^tion.  But  • 
little  refleetion  will  conTince  va,  that 
the  mimary  inquiry  will  be  oonducted 
in  tne  moat  dmpie  and  perapicaevia 
manner^  if  we  mippoae  that  eadi  indi- 
Tidoal  dependa  exclusiTely  on  him- 
aelf  for  the  acqmaition  of  all  he  wanta 
or  deairea.  It  ia  tme^  that  Political 
Kconomf  can  hare  no  appUeation  or 
eyen  exiatenoe  in  audi  a  state^  beeanae 
H  QeceaiarBy  aappoiea  an  interchange 
of  articles  ;*— but  it  ia  equally  tme^  and 
paipaUy  obykma^  that  the  meana  and 
aouroea  of  what  is  to  be  interchanged 
mnat  be  inyestigated  and  determii^^ 
befbre  the  lawa  that  r^;nlate  inter- 
«liaBge,and  thar  ef^on  aocial  wealth, 
can  be  ascertained  and  ezphdned.  Aafai 
the  moat  complicated  maaiine>  theoom* 
bination  of  powers  which  renders  it  e^ 
fectiye^  aa  wdl  as  theinciden  tal  and  a»- 
VToidable  drcnmstanoea  which  tend  to 
distorb  or  impede  its  motions,  may  all 
be  traced  to  a  fewaimplefiicts,  wliidi, 
tm  aeeoont  of  their  mnpHcity  and  nni^ 
yersaHty,  are  denominated  Blementary 
Principles ;  and  as  the  ati  uetnre  of  the 
midline  will  be  best  understood,  and 
its  power  most  duly  and  accnratd^y 
calculated,  by  him  who  best  under- 
atsnda  thoe  principlea,  it  is  obyiooa 
liutt  the  inyestigation  of  these  ought 
to  precede  the  attempt  to  explain  every 
machine  oonstructra  in  conformity 
with  them.  The  most  simple  machine 
wffl  best  unfold  their  nature  and  prac- 
tical application ;  in  it  they  will  be 
aeen  most  c1)^arly  and  fuHy,  apart  from 
eyerytbing  that  renders  tnem  obscure 
and  complicated.  And  whoeyer  haa 
atudied  them  in  this  their  simplest 
atat^  will  be  quafified  to  proaeed  to 
the  tracing  and  study  of  them,  in  more 
complicated  machines,  where  theor 
operation  is  not  so  maidfeat,  or  where 
it  is  counteracted  or  diverted  from  ita 
natural  tendency  by  foreign  and  ex- 
trinsic causes. 

In  like  manner,  if  we  wish  to  make 
ourselves  aconainted  with  tbe  more 
complicated  aoctrines  of  Political  £co- 
ncmy,  or  to  trace  the  working  of  ita 
principles  in  the  more  complicated  re- 
lationa  of  social  wealth,  it  will  be  ad- 
vantageoua  to  consider  society  in  ita 
aimple  state ;  where,  indeed,  by  a  di- 
yiaion  of  labour,  tbe  acquisition  of 
property  and  the  interchange  of  oom- 
moaitiea,  PcKtinl  Economy  haa  room 
to  dis{^y  itad£(fbr,  till  tiieaedrcnm- 
atanoea  cxiat,  there  can  be  no  Political 
Eeononiy,  as  (hew  could  be  no  ancfa 


481 

thing  as  cities  without  ligh^)— but 
befbie  the  sources  and  interchange  of 
Bodal  wealth  have  assumed  then:  pve- 
sent  oomidicated  form.  As  all  the 
real  sources  of  what  man  deema  necea* 
sary  and  deairable,  may  be  traced  and 
atudied,  even  in  a  state  where  each  in*- 
dividual  is  sumoed  todo  all  for  him- 
self; and  in  tlua  point  of  view,  they 
will  appearmorediatinctand  clear  than 
when  a  division  of  labour  takea  place. 
So,  after  thia  division  is  supposed  to 
have  taken  place,  and  Politiosl  Eco- 
nomy, of  course,  has  come  into  exiat- 
ence  and  operation — ita  elementary 
lawa  may  be  ascertained  with  more 
ease  and  certainty,  in  a  rude  atate, 
where  the  interchange  of  commoditica 
ia  very  limited  and  very  direct,  tham 
in  a  more  advanced  atate,  where  the 
oommoditiea  become  extremely  nu- 
meroua,  and  tiieir  interchange  neoea* 
aaifily  very  complex. 

We  havethua  aketdied  the  plan  we 
mean  to  pursue,  as  preparatory  to  the 
peculiar  imd  immediate  olgect  of  theae 
Essays.  In  the  first  j^aoe,  we  shall  en- 
deivour  to  prove  that  Political  Econo- 
my cannot  ne  learnt  with  eflbct  or  an- 
tinaction  in  the  writinga  of  modem 
Political  Economists,  by  pointing  out 
their  manifold  obscuritiea  and  contra- 
dictions, and  the  inapplicability  of 
their  doctiinea  to  explain  undoubted 
lacta,  or  to  serve  as  guides  in  difficult 
cases.  In  the  second  ^ace,  we  ahall 
endeavour  to  prove  that  Political  Eco- 
nomy is  susceptible,  not  only  of  apeob- 
lative  and  theoretical  perfection,  but 
also  of  as  mudi  practical  perfection  aa 
any  other  science  that  haa  the  actiona 
of  man  for  ita  olgect.  In  the  third 
place,  we  shall  examine  into  the  causea 
and  sources  of  those  errors  and  diffi- 
culties which  beset  Political  Economy, 
in  order  that  we  may  not  only  account 
ibr  the  obscurities  and  contradictiona 
nf  modem  Pohticsl  Economists,  but 
also  guard  ourselves  againat  them  ia 
our  investigationa.  In  the  fourth  [dace, 
we  diaU  endeavour  to  fix  the  limitaof 
thia  sdence,  so  that  we  may  not  paaa 
beyond  them,  or  overlook  anything 
that  they  really  embrace.  And,laatiy, 
we  shall  lay  open  the  sources  of  all  that 
man  req  aires  or  desires,  befbre  we  pro- 
ceed to  the  peculiar  and  exduaive  bu- 
aineas  of  Political  Economy,  whidi 
relates  to  the  interchange  of  comnM>- 
dities.  And  this  interdMiige  we  shall 
firat  oonaider  in  ita  moat  simple  atate. 

N. 


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532 


Kiddnwinkk  Uistfiry,     No.  11. 


CM«y, 


KJDDYWINEI.K  niBTORY. 

No,  11. 


'<  We  roust  ascertain  what  has  he- 
oorae  of  oar  poor  friend^"  said  Mr 
Smallglebe  to  his  companions^  as  they 
passed  the  threshold  of  ^e  Nags 
Head.  The  proposal  was  cordially  as- 
sented to,  and  they  directed  their  steps 
towards  Mr  Slenderstave's  domicile. 
''  I  fear  his  loss  is  very  great,"  said 
Mr  Littlesight.  "  Perhaps  his  half- 
year's  interest/'  grumbled  Dr  Many- 
draught.  '^  His  money  is  in  the  funds," 
observed  Mr  Ailofteu,  *'  and  it  will 
,be  well  if  the  wench  have  not  got  his 
securities."  "  Hope  the  best,  h<^  the 
best,"  said  Mr  Sraallgkbe,  somewhat 
testily ;  the  allusion  to  the  theft  was 
almost  more  than  he  could  bear. 

After  solemnly  splashing  through 
tlie  mire  of  Catwallop  Lane,  the  party 
reached  the  door  of  Mrs  Judy  Mugg, 
dealer  in  straw  bonnets,  in  whose 
dwelling  the  poet  occupied  apart- 
ments. IVIr  Slenderstave  nad  gone  to 
bed  dreadfully  ill — in  agonies;  Mrs 
Mugg  said  this,  and  her  countenance 
amply  confirmed  it.  ^'  Perhaps  he 
needs  spiritual  consolation,"  said  Mr 
Smallglebe.  *^  He  undoubtedly  wants 
medical  assistance,"  said  Dr  Many- 
draught.  "  I  am  sure  he  must,"  re- 
plied Mrs  Mugg ;  **  I  will  ask  him." 
She  flew  upstairs,  and  then  flew  down 
Sffain  with  the  information,  that  Mr 
i>knder8tave  was  somewhat  more  com- 
posed, but  could  not  be  seen  or  spo- 
ken to  on  any  consideration.  The 
gentlemen  then  sq>arated  in  sadness, 
and  each  sought  his  own  pillow. 

The  particulars  of  Mr  Slenderstave's 
loss  must  now  be  detailed.  It  may  be 
easily  supposed  that  such  a  man,  a 
poet,  a  novelist,  and  a  person  of 
fashion,  was  a  worshipper  of  the  fair 
sex ;  that  he  could  not  exist  in  this 
miserable  world  without  having  a  god- 
dess to  adore,  and  a  .furious  passion 
to  struggle  with.  The  flrst  thing  that 
Mr  Slenderstave  thought  of,  after  get- 
ting his  shop  fairly  opened,  was  to 
find  out  some  delicious  creature  to 
make  love  to.  He  was  by  no  means 
irresistible  to  the  fair  of  Kiddy  winkle. 
He  ogled  here,  and  sighed  there,  and 
sent  a  tender  billet  to  this  place,  and 
ibade  an  oral  declaration  in  that  place, 
and  was  rejected  and  scorned  every- 
where. If  his  various  fallings  in  love 
had  been  matters  of  reality  instead  tk 
imagination ;    if  he  could'  possibly 


have  loved  anything  but  his  own  self, 
3ir  Slenderstave's  heart  would  have 
been  broken  at  least  a  doien  times  in 
the  single  year  in  which  he  carried  on 
business.  But  although  he  fancied 
his  love  to  be  boundless^  and  the  tor- 
tures which  its  want  of  success  inflict- 
ed to  be  such  as  no  mortal  had  endu- 
red before  him,  it  was  mere  selfish- 
ness throughout,  and  he  ate  heartily, 
slept  soundly,  and  enjoyed  his  usuu 
health,  amiast  his  manifold  r^ections. 
He  speedily  ran  round  the  narrow 
circle  of  the  beauties  of  Kiddy  winkle, 
and  then  he  was  in  despair ;  he  next 
formed  for  himself  an  idieal  Laura,  and 
contented  himself  with  worshipping 
her  in  the  newspapers  under  the  sig- 
nature of  Petrarch,  and  with  gallant- 
ing, and  making  indirect,  but,  alas  ! 
unsuccessful  advances,  to  the  obdu- 
late  fair  ones  who  had  already  refused 
him.  Report  stated  that  he  occasion- 
ally flirted,  and  with  much  success, 
with  Mrs  Mugg,  but  it  can  scarcely 
be  credited .  That  he  was  duly  quah- 
fied  for  making  an  easy  conoueat  of 
her  cannot  be  doubted ;  but  tn^i  she 
was  seven  years  older  Uian  himself— 
she  was  somewhat  lame,  and  marveU 
lously  ill  shapen — she  was  horribly 
pitted  with  the  smalUpox,  had  lost  an 
eye  from  the  same  disorder,  and  would 
have  been  exceedingly  uglv  if  the 
small-pox  had  never  touched  ner ;  and 
she  was  moreover  the  relict  of  a  shoe- 
maker. Mr  Slenderstave  had  taste 
and  gentility,  and  therefore  it  cannot 
be  believed  that  he  would  look  at  Mrs 
Mu^.  What  will  not  slander  say, 
particularly  in  small  societies ! 

Mr  Slenderstave  went  on  in  this 
way  for  five  years,  and  then  Mr  Lit- 
tlesight came  to  reside  in  Kiddy  win- 
kle. Of  the  latter  gentleman  s  %.^iz 
children,  all  were  setUed  in  the  world 
except  Miss  Margaret,  his  eldest 
daughter.  1 1  was  an  unfortunate  mat- 
ter for  this  fair  creature,  that  she  was 
the  first-born.  vMr  and  Mrs  Little- 
sight,  for  many  vears  after  they  were 
married,  in  truth,  until  they  got  the 
world  fairly  under  their  feet,  were  re- 
markably plain,  thrifty,  plod(ding  peo- 
ple. Thehusband  rose  with  hisservants, 
frequently  worked  as  laboriously  as 
any  of  them,  and  expended  nothing 
that  necessity  did  not  wriii^  from  him. 
The  wife  closely  copied  his  eauun^. 


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KMffwinkU  HUtmy.    No  IL 


MiM  FMT>  or  Vegt  as  ibe  wts  then 
ealledy  in  coniequence,  after  picking 
up  a  smattering  of  knitting,  sewing, 
reading,  and  writing,  was  pat  to  au 
the  drudgery  which  a  farm-house  pro* 
▼ides  in  such  provision.  She  washed 
tahles  and  floors,  stood  at  the  wash- 
fnb,  milked  the  cows,  foddered  them 
in  winter  when  the  hoys  were  at 
|>Uraffh,  made  ha^  in  hay-time,  a»> 
sbted  the  reapers  m  harvest,  and,  in 
fact,  .toiled  at  everything  that  falls  to 
the  lot  of  the  female  servants  of  far- 
mers. This  continued  until  she  was 
sixteen  years  of  age.  Her  parents 
then,  upon  esu^nining  their  affidrs, 
found  that,  independentlv  of  an  excel- 
lent stock  and  crop,  and  a  farm  that 
enabled  them  to  save  three  hundred 
per  annum,  they  had  three  thousand 
pounds  out  at  interest,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, they  determined  to  adopt  a 
new  system.  They  first  forsook  the 
kitdien-table  and  fire-side,  and  he- 
took  themselves  to  the  parlour ;  then 
Mrs  Littlesight  ventured  upon  a  straw 
bonnet  and  a  sarsenet  gown ;  then  she 
hired  two  maids  instead  of  one,  ceased 
to  labour  in  the  kitchen  without  her 
gown,  and,  in  fact,  to  labour  in  it  at 
all,  save  to  weigh  her  butter,  count 
her  eggs,  inspect  her  infant  poultry, 
^d  scold  the  girls  for  about  three 
hours  per  day;  then  Mr  Littlesi^bt 
found  that  work  did  not  agree  with 
him,  abandoned  it,  bought  a  super- 
fine coat,  exchanged  his  wool  hat  for 
a  beaver  one,  sported  a  white  neck- 
doth  on  Sundays,  and  mounted  a 
half-bred  ride-horse,  decorated  with 
a  new  saddle  and  bridle ;  and  then  it 
waa  determined  that  -Miss  Peggy 
should  go  for  twelve  months  to  a 
boarding-school.  Mi»  Peggy's  toil 
had  agreed  excessively  wdl  with  her 
health,  but  it  had  contributed  in 
no  degree  to  fit  her  for  the  place 
to  which  she  was  now  destined. 
She  waa  tall ;  her  mien  and  frame 
displayed  the  s^t  and  strength  of 
the  ainason,  and  she  waa  vulgar,  un- 
oouth,  awkward,  slow,  and  stupid,  aa 
any  female^old  or  youm^,  in  the  coun- 
ty. To  the  boarding-school  she  went, 
where  she  gave  to  the  governess  im- 
menie  tsooble,  excited  prodigious  mer- 
riment among  the  other  pupils,  whom 
abe  moved anudst  like  a  giantessamong 
pigmies,  and  learned  to  read  novels, 
sigh  for  sweethearts,  lisp  after  die 
ftthioo  of  Cockaigne,  shudder  at  the 
horrid  vulgarly  of  country  people. 


539 

and  fall  pasdooatdy  in  love  with  all 
kinds  of  extravagant  finery.  Beyond 
this,  she  profited  but  little.  After  lea- 
ving the  boarding-school  she  had  a 
few  ofi^,  but  they  were  from  homely, 
vulgar  farmers,  therefore  thev  would 
not  do.  Miss  Littlesight  could  think 
of  nothing  but  a  gentleman,  and  no 
gentleman  could  be  brought  to  think 
of  Miss  Littlesight  Her  gentility  sat 
upon  her,  exactly  as  a  West-end  bar- 
ber's costume  and  ''  head  of  hair" 
woukl  sit  upon  a  brawny  Irish  la- 
bourer, and  even  the  *^  pronme  vulgar" 
saw  that  it  was  a  misfit  altogether 
Her  two  sisters  were  luekily  only  mere 
diildren  when  the  parents  changed 
iheir  system  i  they  escaped  toQ,  were 
sent  to  the  boarding-school  at  an  early 
age,  continued  there  long  enough  to 
become,  in  some  measure,  fine  ladies 
in  reality,  captivated  two  drapers'  shop- 
men before  they  left  it,  and  married 
as  aoon  as  they  were  marriageable; 
but  poor  Miss  reggy  remained  a  spin- 
ster. 

When  Mr  Littlesight  removed  to' 
Kiddywinkle  his  daughter  was  about 
thirty-two.  The  change,  firom  severe 
labour  to  none  at  all,  had  blown  her 
out  wonderfully  in  thickness,  and  her 
girt,  in  certain  parts,  would  not  have 
been  very  much  less  than  her  altitude. 
Her  face  was,  however,  what  the 
ploughmen  called  ''  a  pratty  an ;"  it 
was  circular,  the  features  were  good, 
the  expression  waa  sweet,  the  oieeks 
were  immoderatdy  pu£^  up,  and 
their  colour  was  the  aeepest  that  ever 
ravished  on  the  diedcs  of  milkmaid. 
Then  her  dress— heavens !  what  silks 
and  laces — what  bonnets  and  pelisws 
—what  exquisite  shapes  and  dassling 
colours!  It  was  an  ecstatic  sight  to 
see  her  sailing,  as  mi^estically  as  her 
heavy  weltering  gait  would  permit,  to 
the  diuroh  on  the  Sabbath.  The  ar- 
rival of  a  new  young  lady  at  Kiddy- 
winkle  was  a  matter  of  intense  inte- 
rest to  Mr  Slenderstave.  He  ogled, 
and  she  ogled  again;  he  heard  that 
she  had  been  inquiring  who  the  **  fine 
young  gentleman"  was  who  sat  in  a 
certain  pew,  and  he  waa  in  raptures. 
He  got  introduced.  Miss  Littieaight 
was  all  kindness,  and  he  felt  assured 
that  he  had  made  a  conquest.  The 
moment  for  making  a  dedaratton  ar- 
rived, and  this,  post  experience  told 
htm,  was  an  awnil  affiiir.  Mr  Slen- 
derstave, however,  hit  upon  a  happy 
expedient;  he  took  an  opportunity. 


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d34 

when  ihinr  men  tkne,  to  drtw  the 
CouDty  Hmld  from  his  poehtt,  put 
it  into  MiM  Littlasig^t't  haiidi,  and 
direct  her  attention  to  certain  verees 
which  graced  the  first  colomn  of  the 
laat  page.  She  examined  them  with 
great  attention,  and  behold !  they  were 
addreawd  to  Mies  M— *—  L— —  of 

K .  TheytoldBlimM L— 

that  the  was  a  seraph  who  had  set  the 
world  on  fire,  and  that  the  writer  was 
smtty  wonndedycbainedy  heart-broken^ 
actually  dying  for  her ;  and  they  bore 
the  ugnatore  of  Petrarch.  Here  was 
a  discovery !  The  elegant  and  refined 
Mr  Slenderstarfr— thefiuhionable  and 
learned  Mr  Slenderstave— the  fine  an* 
thor— the  actnal  Petrarch  of  Kiddy- 
winkle  was  in  love,  and  with  h^^ 
Miss  Littlesight  I  It  was  almost  too 
much  for  nature.  Her  fSsoe  burned, 
her  heart  beat  and  rose  to  her  mouth  ; 
she  gasDed,  and  really  feared  she 
should  cnc^  At  length,  after  read^ 
ing  the  Terses  eight  times^  she  ven- 
tured to  g^oe  at  the  silctit  Mr  Slen* 
dcrstav^  and  lo !  he  was  supporting 
himself  against  the  wall,  shaking  like 
a  man  in  the  ague,  and  exbihidng  a 
&ce  that  was  almost  terrifying.  Sie 
smiled  tenderly ; — he  stroae  migesti- 
osUy  across  the  room,  dropped,  in  the 
most  dignified  manner,  on  his  knees 
at  her  feet,  seiied  her  hand,  and  then 
-—the  pen  of  an  angel  could  scarody 
describe  what  fbUowed!  The  attitudes 
-*-the  novel  apdsublimelanguage — the 
ihapsodies-^-the  ecatarios  ye  powers  1 
they  surpassed  all  attempt  at  descrip- 
tion. Suffice  it  to  say,  that  Miss  Lit- 
tlesight and  Mr  Sknderstave,  without 
loes  <ii  time,  swore^  by  everything 
above  and  belowj  to  ado^  each  other 
to  eternity. 

This  may  all  appear  verv  ridiculous. 
Of  the  few  everlaating  topics  of  laugh- 
ter whidi  thia  world  of  tears  contains, 
the  passion,  and  adventores,  and  suf* 
feringsy  and  joys  of  lovers,  fivrm  al- 
most Uie  most  prominent  one.  As 
soon  as  men  and  women  escape  from 
the  raptures  of  anccessfbl,  and  the 
agonies  of  despairing,  love,  their  first 
caie  is  to  make  a  jest  of  those  who  are 
entfanlled  by  either.  The  youth  whose 
peace  is  Masted  and  whose  reason  tot- 
tern— the  fair  one  whose  heart  iaddft, 
and  who  is  sinking  into  an  untimely 

Kve — from  attadiinent  Uiat  may  not 
«,  are  perhaps  regarded  with  com- 
pasnon  ;  but  still  the  compaMion  is 
-"tfoftuely  tempered  with  ridicule.  Thia 


Slddsfwinkk  Hi9i0rg.    N6.IL 


CBfaj, 


might  be  overioeked  hi  the  aBhaal  per* 
tioQ  of  mankind,  whidn  I  regret  to 
my,  aeema  to  be.  greatly  on  the  in- 
crease^ but,  when  it  extends  fiutber,il 
is  not  to  be  endured.  I  dumld  be  loth 
to  place  at  my  table  the  person  who 
cotud  turn  into  mockery  one  of  the 
moat  strikingdistinctions  between  man 
and  brute— 3ie  diief  source  of  human 
happiness — the  passion  which  shuna 
the  worst  hearts,  and  biases  the  most 
intensely  in  the  best— and  the  leading 
instrument  of  civilisation  and  bond  of 
union  of  society.  I  say  this  to  diield 
my  lovers  fh>m  derision.  If,  after  all, 
it  should  be  thought  that  Mr  Slender- 
stave  and  Miss  Lattlesig^  ought  to  be 
excepted— that  their  lovea  fbim  lur 
oikgecta  of  joke  and  merriment — I  can- 
not help  it :  the  blame  will  not  bur- 
den my  shoulders— I  have  entered  my 
protest— I  have  done  my  duty. 

The  love-matters  of  these  refined 
persons  took  the  usual  course.  The 
parents,  on  beins  consulted,  protested 
that  they  should  not  marry  or  love 
each  other  on  any  consideration  what- 
ever. Mr  Littlesight  in  a  mighty 
rage dedared,  that  if  his  daiu;hterhad 
fafien  in  love  with  a  jklou^-iad,  with- 
out even  a  copper  m  hts  pocket,  he 
might  have  yielded— there  woidd  have 
been  some  mgnity,  somethinff  English 
about  such  a  u>ver ; — but  such  an  out- 
landish jackananes  as  Mr  SlendersUv^ 
who  was  a  Jacobin  rascal  into  the  bar- 
gain—audi  a  man  should  never  have 
a  child  of  his,  while  he  had  breadi  to 
prevent  it.  Mrs  Littlesight,  who  waa 
a  masculine,  fiery  person, — a  woman 
of  Tulgar  ideas  and  language,  and  who 
had  had  immense  experience  in  vitu- 
peration—vowed  that  she  would  break 
die  s|nndle  dianks  of  Mr  ^enderstav^ 
if  she  ever  caught  him  with  her  dangb- 
ter.  This,  of  coutse,  rendered  thet  at- 
tachment unconquerable.  Miss  Peggy 
Ittibed  the  servant,  and,  by  her  instru- 
mentality, smuggled  the  poet  about 
three  times  a-week  into  the  Idtehea, 
where  she  had  transient  taatea  of  hia 
bewitching  aodety.  This  did  not  last 
lolD^,  On  a  certain  evening  Mrs  Lit- 
tlesidbt  suddenlv  remarked,  that  her 
dangnter  waa  absent;  she  made  the 
houae  ring  with  Uie  cry  of  *'  P^ffij/ 
but  nothing  answered ;  she  seasebed 
all  the  upper  stortea,  but  no  one  could 
be  found,  save  the  servant  in  the  ^n^- 
ret,  who  dedared,  that  she  could  give 
no  account  of  Miss  Littlesi^t,  and 
die  then  descended  into  the  leitchen. 


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18«^] 


Kiddjfwinkte  HiH^nf.    No.  IL 


6ZS 


No  one  could  be  eeen^  andalie  wm on 
the  point  of  ieUin»ii%E»  vfaen  the 
thought  she  heard  a  noiae  in  the  ooal- 
bole.  She  liatenedt  and  preaendy  a 
aupprested  coogh  waa  clearly  dlaon- 
guiahable.  Mercy  on  uai  thou^t 
Mrs  Littlesighty^hera  are  tbievea  in 
thehouie!  aodseixingthebeaoiii^ihe 
holdly  advanced  to  tbeplace  that  emit- 
ted tne  fatal  noise.  On  opening  the 
coal-hole  a  door^  and gazingroundwith 
all  due  caution,  what,  aiaal  d^ould 
ahe  diaoover,  but  Mr  Slendcnrataveand 
Miss  Littlesight  huddled  up  in  the 
farthest  comer?  If  I  had  not  jdedged 
mjrself  to  apeak  the  truth<»  no  consider- 
ation upon  earth  should  induce  me  to 
reveal  what  followed.  To  cry  "  Ye 
villain  ye !"  pUu»  the  candle  upon  the 
floor,  and  grasp  the  beeom  with  both 
hands,  was,  with  Mrs  Littlesight,  the 
work  of  a  moment.  Mr  Slendentave 
made  a  nimble  dart,  with  the  view  of 
flving  past  her,  he  received  a  fiirioua 
blow  on  the  ril»  and  darted  backagain. 
Five  tiroes  did  he  repeat  this  man- 
oeuvre, and  as  often  was  he  thumped 
back  by  the  merciless  blows  of  hia  en- 
raged enemy.  Had  he  been  assMilted 
in  the  midst  of  the  kitchen,  escape 
would  have  been  easy ;  but  to  be  pent 
up  in  a  confined  coal-hole,  whose  only 
point  of  ^esa  was  commanded  by  an 
irresistible  foe — it  was  horrible.  His 
rilM  be^m  to  suffer  dreadfully  from  the 
application  of  the  besom— the  ilUatav- 
rea  weapon  had  ones  come  chuck  in 
hia  &ce,  and,  besides  endangwring  hia 
eyes,  had  damaged  hia  dieeks,  and 
made  his  cravat  the  colour  of  the  eeal- 
heap<*he  saw  that  it  waa  impossible 
for  nim  to  cut  a  passage  through  the 
enemy,  therefore  he  contented  lumself 
with  taking  up  a  defensive  nositioa 

r'nst  the  fortheat  wall,  and  nghting 
besom  with  his  legs,  thou^  with 
poor  success — ^and  had  it  not  been  for 
the  impetuosity  of  Mrs  Littlesight, 
there  is  no  knowing  how  many  hours, 
or  even  days,  he  might  have  been  Imt 
in  this  perOoua  situation.  When  he 
would  no  longer  come  forward  to  re- 
ceive the  Uows,  his  foe  rushed  into 
the  coal-hole  to  reach  him.  This  waa 
the  critical  moment.    He  flew  like 

Shtninff  through  the  door,  then  flew 
e  li^tning  through  the  kitchen 
door,  and  th^  was  seen  no  more  by 
Mrs  Littlesight.  The  besom  waa  next 
Mplied  vKith  great  aaeocia  to  the  beck 
w  Miss  PMgy,  aa  ahe  aoampered  «p 

voi^xvr 


•taira  to  lock  herself  up  in  bar 
bar. 

Aaa  foithfnl  historian,  it  ia  mt  duty 
to  iay,  that  Mra  UtllBsightpositifdy 
deolmd  to  her  nei^boata,  that  hie 
cried  oat  murder  1  and  w^  like  a ' 
child  all  the  time  she  was  thrashiag 
him.  It  ia  inecadibley  and  must  be 
regarded  by  every  one  aa  a  maheioqs 
flJsehoed ;  the  nunree^ecially,  aa  Mr 
Slendemtave  darned  ii  ia  iota,  and 
moreover  protested,  that  if  die  had 
bat  hem  aman,  he  woild  have  knock- 
ed her  down  in  a  twi^dtng ;  and  in 
addition,  would  have  "  called  her 
out,"  to  the  ahneat  certain  outlet  «f 
herbraina. 

Thia  was  Mr  Slendemtave'a  last  ▼!- 
ait  to  the  kitchen,  and  of  oonrset^  the 
ooal-bole.  Miia  Pe^  and  the  ae»- 
vant  spread  be£m  him  imranerable 
temptntionatoattcacthim  thither  onoe 
more,  and  declared  it  to  be  impossible 
for  the  same  visitation  to  betall  him 
again,  but  it  waa  unavailing^  If  hia 
oath  waa  to  be  believed,  he  loved 
Miss  Littleaighty  but  he  loved  himself 
likewise,  and  therefore  he  eoold  not 
think  of  ruahing^  even  for  her,  into  the 
jawaofdeatmoticn.  Mr  Slenderatave 
waa  for  aome  time,  aa  well  he  mif^t 
be,  grievously  enraged.  Indenendent- 
Iv  ($  the  bruiseB  and  the  jeepardy, 
there  waa  the  disgrace ;  and  it  waa  no 
small  matter  to  be  grinned  at  by  every 
man,  woman*  and  child,  in  Kiddy- 
winkle,  until  he  acarody  dared  taput 
hia  head  out  of  doors,  ^tirsthede- 
tcrmined  to  bring  hia  actian  of  asaaolt 
and  battery,  to  tMoh:  ^  woman  that 
the  limbs  and  Uvea  of  the  King'a  auk-' 
jeeta  were  of  somewhat  more  vdte 
than  ahe  cfaeee  to  aate  them  at ;  bat 
this  determination  evaporated  in  a 
moat  wof^l  and  pathetic  elegjF^  He, 
however,  to  the  last  day  of  sis  exist- 
ence, marvdAed  how  he  eaoaped  being 
deatroyed  ,*  and  the  rememDaanea  of 
that  aidiil  hour  never  vinted  him 
without  throwing  him  intaa  eaid 
aweat,  and  causing  his  teeth  to  chat- 
ter. 

As  Mr  Slenderatave  would  not  be 
so  fool-hardy  aa  to  ventutea^n  with- 
in the  predncta  of  Mrs  Xattleaightos 
dweUing,  he  saw  Miss  Peggy  but  sd- 
dom.  They  were^  homttrer,  maal  he- 
rdosU]^  dyug  for  each  othei!*    She 

eve  mm  mt  miniature^  a  lock  of  her 
AT,  a  silken  purse,  worked  wdli  her 
own  foir  handa,  and  paarionatt  ^epia- 


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KiddpmnkU  HiMtory.    Ao.  II. 


530 

tics  wltiumt  nmnber.  lliete  he  had 
spread  hefore  hun  on  that  day  when 
tiie  robhery  was  oommitted  at  the 
Na^s  Head^  that  the  sight  of  them 
mignt  assist  him  in  the  composition  of 
his  noreL  He  hastily  crammed  the 
mmiatare  and  the  lock  of  hair  into 
the  parse,  and  then  crammed  the 
parse  and  its  contents  into  his  waist- 
coat pocket,  as  he  departed  for  the  lit 
tleparloar;  and  these  precious  fledges 
—more  predoos  to  their  owner  than 
anything  that  the  world  contained, 
save  and  except  the  lovely  person  of 
Miss  Littlesignt-^hidi  he  had  again 
and  again  sworn  never  to  part  with,  ex- 
cept with  life — these  predoos  pledges 
were  abstracted  by  the  soft  hand  of  uie 
bewitdiing  beggar  girl,  together  with 
three  shimngs  and  sixpence  in  ster- 
ling money !  It  was  a  loss  sufficient  to 
drive  any  lover  to  distraction,  but  more 
espedalfy  such  a  lover  as  Mr  Slender- 
stave. 

On  the  morning  after  the  robbery, 
all  Kiddywinkle  was  in  commotion. 
At  first,  it  was  merely  said  that  Mr 
Slenderstave  had  been  plundered  of 
^ycj  and  Mr  Smallglebe  of  fifteen, 
poands— then  the  Iom  of  the  former 
was  raised  to  forty,  and  that  of  the 
latter  to  one  hundred  and  fifty — ^then, 
no  doubt  from  some  misapprehension 
touching  the  misfortune  that  befdl 
the  poet's  legs,  it  was  asserted  that 
these  legs  had  been  broken  by  the  beg- 
gar man,  who  had  moreover  given  to 
Mr  Ailoften  a  brace  of  black  eyes- 
then  it  was  stated  that  the  puson, 
shame  to  him !  had  got  drunk,  lost 
his  money  at  cards,  attempted  in  re- 
venge to  take  liberties  with  the  rob- 
ber's wife,  and  had  three  ribs  broken 
by  the  husband  in  consequence — and 
then  it  was  bandied  about  as  the  naked 
truth,  that  Mr  Slenderstave,  having 
got  somewhat  mellow  and  frisky,  had 
tempted  the  woman  into  the  Inn's 
yard,  and  had  been  followed  by  the 
man,  who  from  jealousv  had  put  a 
knife  into  him  without  the  least  com- 
punction^ and  that  he  was  then  in  the 
ust  sgony,  Mr  Smallglebe  having  been 
-pra]|ring  with,  and  Dr  Manydraught 
naving  been  j^ydddng  him,  for  the 
whole  night. 

Let  me  not  be  so^ected  of  exagge- 
ration, if  I  make  no  asseveramm 
toudiing  the  truth  of  what  I  am  now 
relating.  I  diould,  in  sooth,  r^ard  it 
as  a  fatmooomlhiient,  to  be  tda,  that 
I  could  equal  slander  in  invention ; 


CMay, 


and  that  I  could  rivid  report  hi  ima- 
gining the  outrageous  and  the  incre- 
dible. 

Mr  Slenderstave,  of  coarse,  was  in- 
vidbk.  His  four  fHends  had  an  early 
meeting  to  dedde  on  the  steps  that 
were  to  be  taken,  and  the  heavy  kas 
of  the  vicsr — his  purse  contained 
twenty-five  pounds--rendered  it  ne- 
cessary tiiat  tiiese  steps  should  be  se- 
rious ones.  Dr  Manydraught  opened 
the  discosdon :  *'  We  must  lose  no 
time,"  sdd  he,  **  we  must  have  no 
half  measures — ^the  villain  must  be 
pursued— seised— hanged— gibbeted  ! 
—Curse  it !  sir,  if  we  let  things  like 
this  pass,  we  shall  not  be  able  to  sleep 
on  our  piUows  without  having  oar 
throats  cut !" 

*'  It  is  very  just,"  sdd  Mr  Little- 
sight ;  **  tilings  hsve  come  to  a  pretty 
pitch,  when  one  cannot  give  away  a 
shilling  in -charity,  but  one's  purse 
must  ht  taken  from  one  into  the  bar* 
gain!" 

Mr  Smalklebe  was  in  a  ouandary. 
He  was  mightily  afflicted  ana  irritated 
by  the  loss,  fer,  look  at  it  as  he  woald, 
he  could  discover  no  justificstion  fer 
the  beggars.  If  they  had  stood  before 
him,  I  firmly  believe,  in  the  heat  of 
the  moment,  he  could  have  felt  in  hb 
heart  to  give  the  man  a  gentie  horse- 
whipping, and  the  maiden  a  biting  re« 
primand ;  but  the  thought  of  prose- 
cuting — whip^ng — transporting ! — 
he  knew  not  now  to  bear  it  The 
words  of  the  Doctor  made  him  trem- 
ble. He  threw  a  look  at  Mr  Ailoften, 
which  seemed  to  say — your  opinion  ? 
but  Mr  Ailoften  was  silent,  and  he 
was  compelled  to  speak  himself.  He, 
however,  resolved  to  keep  at  a  distance 
from  the  mdn  point  as  long  as  posd- 
ble.  '*  It  is,"  sdd  he,  "  an  astonidi- 
ingaflSur — it  seems  like  a  dream — ^like 
magic— like  a  thing  out  of  the  course 
of  nature.  The  man  seemed  to  be  so 
mild,  and  dvil,  and  harmless,  and 
well-instructed :  then  the  maiden — ^I 
protest,  from  her  meekness  and  win- 
ning behaviour,  I  could  have  loved 
her  as  a  daughter.  It  appears  even 
yet  almost  iraposdble  that  sud^  people 
could  do  such  an  act.  We  diould  oe 
thankful,  ray  dear  friends,  that  we  are 
placed  above  temptation.  What  have 
thev  not  perhaps  sufib^  firom  want 
— theunkindness  (^friends— ^e " 

Dr  Manydraught  lost  all  patience. — 
«  My  good  sir,**  he  exdanned,  "  do 
not  be  reading  us  a  sermon,  when  you 


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Kidd^uMtk  HiUory.    No.  IL 


oogfal  to  be  p;tfliig  vp  Um  eHmiiiala  lo 
the  inttmetum  ot  Justioe.  There  it 
nothinff  at  all  remarkable  in  a  pick* 
pocketiB  haling  a  imooth  tongue,  and 
medc,  sanctified  manners.  You  must 
to  the  Joetice,  and  take  oat  a  warrant 
immediately.*' 

^'  FhMecutiop^''  aaidMr  Small^lebe, 
in  some  oonfunon,  ^'  is  a  hard  things* 
scarcely  a  post  thing  in  a  member  of 
my  prouBsaion.  We  would  foigive>  ra- 
tlier  than  punish."  Tliis  lucky  thought 
r^nerved  the  Vicar.^-^'  Yes,  we  should 
set  an  example  of  christian  forgive- 
ness.— ReaUy  one  could  not  have  ex- 
pected it  from  people  of  such  an  ex- 
ceedingly innocent  aspect— from  such 
a  young  and  pr^wssesdng  femsle  in 
pairticnlar. — I  never  witnessed,  and  I 
sosnect  the  world  never  witnessed, 
sucn  a  thing  before." — 

"  Upon  my  conscience,"  cried  the 
Doctor,  "  the  man  has  lost  his  senses 
withhkpurse!  Does  the  Church  teach 
you  to  disobey  the  direct  injunction  of 
the  law»— to  break  down  the  safe- 
guards of  society — and  to  give  impu- 
nity to  the  criminal,  that  he  may  per- 
severe in  crime,  and  be  placed  beyond 
the  reach  of  reformation  ?" 

^'  The  Vicar  certainly,"  observed 
Mr  Littlesight,  with  some  sternness, 
*^  speaks  more  like  an  old  wife  than  a 
scholar :  however,  books  will  not  teach 
people  evervthing." 

Mr Smallglebes  countenance  fell.— 
"  If  I  must  prosecute,"  he  stammered, 
"  I  must ;  but  what  says  Mr  Ail- 
often?" 

"  I  have  been  marvelling,"  said  Mr 
Ailoften,  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  ^*  how 
it  can  be  possible  for  philanthropists 
and  liberals  to  speak  of  mstituting  pro- 
secutions." 

Dr  Manydraught's  choler  rose  ten 
degrees  higher:  he,  however,  kept  it 
silent  bv  taking  a  hiige  pinch  of  snufi^ 
although  his  nose,  in  sucking  up  the 
dust,  made  the  room  echo. 
.  '*  I  think  I  had  better  not  prose- 
eute,  after  all,"  said  Mr  Smallgiebe. 

"  I,"  continued  Mr  Ailoften,  *'  could 
prosecute  in  consistency,  and  would 
prosecute  as  a  duty ;  but  the  case  is 
different  with  those  who  groan  over  the 
sorrows  of  prisoners,  and  rail  against 
magistrates,  jailoxs,  and  jails;  and  it 
is  more  especially  difierent  with  those 
who  defend  and  eulo^xe  what  are 
called  liberal  opinions.  Toteachaman 
to  scorn  the  commands  of  his  God,  snd 
to  despise  the  laws,  and  then  to  punish 


AST 

him  for  pnetUog  the  InstmctkA  |«- 
to  become  the  patzeos  of  thieves  and 
murderers,  to  etUl  them  wtforiunatei, 
to  fight  their  battles,  to  depkne  their 
privations,  to  admire  their  obdwaqr* 
to  trumpet  forth  their  comj^ainta  as 
the  marrow  of  truths  and  to  definne, 
and  Isbonr  to  excite  nublio  hatred 
against  those  whose  legu  duty  it  is  to 
keep  them  in  durance  and  punidi 
them ;-— to  do  this,  and*  by  dmng  i^ 
to  lead  the  ignorant  to  believe,  that,  if 
there  be  danger,  there  is  nothing  wrong 
in  imitating  them,  and  then  to  prose- 
cute men  for  felonv !  It  is  abominable  I 
Whatever  it  may  be  in  law  or  worldly 
Ofunion,  it  Ib,  in  unsophisticated  truth, 
as  heinous  a  crime  as  human  means 
could  compass.  No,  no ;  philanthro* 
pists  and  hberals  cannot  in  conscienee 
prosecute." 

Dr  Manydraught  could  aknost  wilU 
ingly  have  made  a  felcm  of  himself  by 
shooting  Mr  Ailoften;  he^  however, 
restrained  his  wrath  as  far  as  possible. 
— "  By  Heaven  I"  he  exclaimed,  "  it 
drives  one  mad  to  hear  you,  sir,— « 
man  of  the  world,  a  man  of  sense  and 
information — speak  in  this  manner." 

^^  Perhaps,"  replied  Mr  Ailoften, 
with  remarkable  ccwnposure,  "  my 
words  sting — I  wish  them  to  do  iLf — 
I  would,  if  I  could,  fill  the  speck  that 
I  occupy  in  my  country  with  pure 
English  feeling.  I  would  strike  not 
merelv  the  instrument,  but  the  hand 
that  iashions  it — ^not  only  the  actor, 
but  the  prompter.  I  have  lived  to  see 
a  most  deploraUe  change  take  nlaoe  in 
the  feelings  of  the  uninstructed  part  of 
my  countrymen.  I  have  lived  to  see 
th^  death  of  their  enthusiastic  loyaltv, 
tbeir  horror  of  guilt,  and  their  pride 
in  virtuous  and  nonourable  conduct ; 
and,  what  is  worse,  I  have  lived  to  see 
them  disaffected,  irreligious,  scoffing 
at  moral  restraints,  and  IxMsting  of 
their  profligscv.  I  am  not  fool  enough 
to  think  that  this  change  has  been  into- 
duced  by  chance,  and  I  am  not  blind 
enough  to  be  ignorant  of  what  has 
produced  it.  It  would  be  indeed  mi- 
ractdous  if  the  Press  should  preach 
vice  and  ^^t,  and  yet  make  no  pro- 
selyteo— if  members  of  Parliament 
should  attack  Christianity  and  loyalty, 
and  yet  not  be  fi>llowed  by  the  multi- 
tudes—if a  party,  comprehending  a 
large  portion  of  tne  nation,  should  im- 
iurl  the  banners  of  jacobinism,  and 
yet  have  no  success — if  the  philanthro- 
piits  should  whine  and  cant  over  cri- 


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Kiddymmkk  Hi$Sory.    JNc  II. 


CM-y; 


•■a  3Pet  iMit  lesd  tiie  igwMtH 
l»  baliefe  that  «ini6  if  little  kM  Uuui 
uniaeww^.  I  kmw  diaft  men  will 
kara  profligacy  very  n^idhrwithoutlB- 
ilraetion>  and,  theraliNe,  1  uMBstknow 
ihai  tbek  pvofieiency  will  be  wonder- 
M  uii4er  firaiHrateteaeben.'^ 

^«  It  ia  uaelesa  teplyiiig,  it  la  Mdes 
Mplying,''  md  the  Doctor,  biUDg  hia 
tinuiibs. 

'*  I  wiU  NOT  proaecote  I"  aud  Mr 
SnM^lglebe,  with  gieat  vehemence  { 
^' my  coBadeiiee  teUk  me  that  my  worda 
attd  aetiona  have  tiot  tended  to  lead 
.  men  to  em ;  but  still  it  tdls  me  to 
pardon  my  ignorant  Mow-ereatmreay 
who  are  rendmd  ainnen  by  the  snarea 
of  the  great  and  die  knowing.  Per- 
haps these  poor  bdngs  have  been  led 
to  rob  me  by  bein^  taught  to  despise 
the  in-eoepta  of  religion  and  virtue  bv 
writers  of  great  talent— NoUemen  ana 
legisUtora!" 

'Mt  is  hut  too  probabley"  relied 
Mr  Ailoitcn ;  ^  and  still  you  imui 
prosecute.  It  is  your  duty  as  a  man 
and  a  clergyman.  What  the  Bible  pre- 
scribes may  be  saf^y  performed.  If 
the  trebly  guiltv  teachera  cannot  be 
reaehedy  you  stiU  must  not  spare  the 
perils.  There  will  be  nothing  very 
pamfttl  in  the  matter;  there  will  be 
BO  blood  shed,  and  no  terturea  inflict- 
ed. If  d^y  be  aent  to  prison,  th^ 
will  obtain  sudi  exalted  and  powerM 
friends,  aa  no  degree  of  punty  could 
have  obtained  them  out  of  it :  and,  if 
they  do  not  £ure  better  than  they  have 
ever  previously  done,  they  will  at  least 
fiire  better  than  half  the  innocent  la- 
bourers in  the  country.  Then,  aa  to 
the  punishment— transportatioih—gni- 
tuitous  conveyance  to  join  a  tribe  of 
gentiemen  and  ladies  1  -— 

Mr  Sma]lglebe  groaned  demly.— 
"  Ton  must  then,  he  responded,  in 
a  tone  which  could  scarcely  be  heard, 
'' accompany  me  to  the  Justice."  He 
sat  a  few raomentsabsorbed  in  thou^t, 
then  saddenly  exdaimed,  ^'  But  our 
friend  Slenderstave  was  robbed  like- 
wise-^f  he  refuse  to  prosecute,  if  he 
will  forgive  the  wrong,  I  can  do  no 
less*  He  shall  not  outdo  me  in  christian 
chaiity ;  and,  therdbte,  I  will  not  stir 
a  step  until  I  know  his  determination.'' 
The  recollection  of  this  matter,  thia 
diaoovery  of  a  chance  for  escape,  quite 
delighted  the  worthy  Vicar. 

Dr  Manv^auf^t  departed  forth- 
with, to  make  himself  acquainted  with 
Mr  SlendersUva*s  intention.  Although 


^  pastor^a  heart  wu  Ul  kiadneaa  and 
benevolence,  it  is  by  no  means  eertsin 
that  he  did  not  aeoetly  wish  that  the 
BMm  of  verse  might  be  confined  to  Ua 
bed  by  illness  for  at  leaat  three  day% 
in  order  that  the  robbers  might  be  en* 
abled  to  dude  pursuit.  Mr  Slender- 
stave  waa  a  hbeni— a  peraon  who 
anaeied  prodigiottsly  at  religion,  and 
panooa,  and  laws,  and  restrainta— « 
gentleman  who  saw  merit,  rather  dnoi 
evil,  in  vice  and  licentiousness,  and 
who,  moreover,  grieved,  lustily  over 
the  miseries  of  prison  inmatea,  and  the 
barbarity  of  their  tyranU;  yet  Mr 
Slenderstave  actually  swore  to  Dr 
Manydraug^t,  that  ne  would  flay, 
rack,  and  hang,  if  possible,  the  wretches 
by  whom  he  had  been  robbed.  He 
sprung  out  of  bed,  and  dressed  hun- 
self  with  alacrity  trulv  wonderful  in  a 
person  labouring  under  ao  mudi  an- 
giush,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  stood 
at  the  side  of  Mr  Smellglebe  in  readi- 
ness to  proceed  to  a  magistrate,  to  the 
inflnite  consternation  and  sorrow  of 
^Vicar.  MrSmalldebewaanowlefk 
without  excuse,  and  the  party  pro- 
ceeded to  a  Justice  of  Peace,  obtsined  a 
warrant  and  nut  it  into  the  hands  of 
Tommy  Temple,  tailor  and  constdile 
of  the  pariah,  with  the  promiae  of  a 
reward  of  flve  guinesa,  if  he  succeeded 
in  capturing  the  offenders. 

NotwiUistanding  the  name  of  Tom- 
my Temple,  there  waa  nothing  veiv 
magnifioent  in  his  person.  Hewastsli, 
dewier,  and  ill4ooking ;  he  waa  never 
suspected  Being  over-courageous ;  and 
he  was  wholly  inexnerienced  in  thole 
conflicts  which  usually  attend  the  cap- 
tion of  desperate  reprobates.  Oc(»» 
sionally,  there  waa  a  frav  between 
drunken  men  at  some  alehouae  or 
other,  whidi  he  was  called  upon  to 
appease^-or  two  labourers'  wives  quar* 
relied,  fought,  and  then  got  wamnta 
against  eadi  other,  which  he  had  to 
execute;  but  these  constituted  the 
most  dangerous  of  his  dudes.  In  truth, 
he  was  so  seldom  employed  in  his  pub- 
lic capadty,  that  ma  post  was  well 
nigh  a  sinecure.  Tommy  perceived 
that  the  buainess  whidi  was  now  p«t 
into  his  hands  waa  perfectly  diffiuent 
from  anv  that  he  had  ever  previously 
been  caUed  upon  to  execute,  and  that 
it  involved  mudi  peril;  he  therefoce 
ealled  upon  the  deputy-constsUe,  Ned- 
dy Blossom,  wheelwright,  Joiner,  and 
cabinet-maker,  a  square-built,  down- 
right kind  of  person,  to  accompany 


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iajM.3 


KMtfufiMt  Hutory.   A  o.  /J. 


Urn.  TamBOj  wosid  wilMsdy  banw 
Uken  four  or  five  men  mote,  oat  the 
gentlemen  ridiculed  the  idea,  that  two 
men  woold  not  be  ao  overmatch  for  a 
man  and  a  woman  ;  and  he  bethoiq^t 
himaelf ,  that  if  the  Bye  guineas  were 
divided  among  more  than  two  persons, 
the  shares  imdd  scarcdf  b4  worth 
taking.  He  therefore  impidly  slipped 
OB  his  Sabbath  habiliments,— his  best 
gieat-ooat.  his  new  jock^-boote,  his 
white  nedcdoth,  with  a  cnocokte  one 
neatly  tied  over  it;  while  Neddy  nxre- 
ly  drew  on  a  pair  of  huge  jadc-boots  i 
and  th^  departed  in  the  stage-coach, 
in  the  erection  which  it  waa  snpposed 
the  robbers  had  taken.  Tommy  dis- 
nUying  the  symbol  of  ofice  m  his 
nand--a  staffabont  four  feet  in  lenffth, 
and  an  inch  and  half  in  diameter,  na^ 
ving  sundry  golden  letters  at  its  upper 
end,  indicative  of  its  exalted  uses,  and 
the  name  of  the  venerable  place  to 
which  it  belonged.  Neddy  was  only 
armed  with  a  huge  oaken  towel,  whicn 
bore  no  tokens  <?  official  disnity. 

Afler  the  coach  had  travdledf  sdMrot 
twelve  miles,  it  stopped  at  a  small  pub* 
lio-hottse  to  change  horses.  Tommy, 
bearing  the  stafi^  before  him,  and  duly 
followed  by  Neddy,  stalked  into  md 
parlour,  called  for  a  tankard  of  ale, 
and  interrogated  the  landlord  touch- 
ing the  people  who  had  called  at  his 
house  in  the  preoediiM;  twelve  honrs. 
"  Haa !— What  r^^ssid  mme  host, 
winking,  "  you're  efther  summat  !— 
.  Wed,  hang  all  rogues,SBy  I. — ^An  a»- 
disk  fellow  an'  a  young  lass  called  us 
up  at  twdve  yestemeet.  They  gat 
thersens  middlm  drunk,  an'  they  at 
it  agfarane  this  momin.  They've  nob* 
bat  just  left  us.  I  dianged  this  foave 
pund  bill  for  'em.** 

Tonuny  reodved  the  note  widi  due 
dignity,  examined  it,  and  behold  it 
displayed  certain  marks  which  profed 
it  to  be  one  of  those  that  had  been 
stolen  from  Mr  Smallglebe.  **  Gad 
rot  ye !"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  lanlauds 
am  t  a  haupenny  betther  than  thieves. 
Whv  didn't  ye  stop  'em  ?  A  jackass 
mud  ha'  knawn  'at  they  hadn't  gettcn 
the  money  honestly. — I've  a  right  goad 
maand  to  tak  ye  up." 

Tommy  flourished  his  stafi^  and 


53f 

seemed kugdy  vexed;  NaddvbiMed 
up  to  his  bade,  and  lookea  lavttge  | 
add  the  landloitl  stepped  badcwwd  m 
oolqde  of  paces,  and  was  quite  diop- 
follen. 

The  eonstableTcientod,  extended  the 
tankard  to  the  starina  host,  and,  in  a 
milder  tone,  deairad  aim  to  say  wiMt 
route  die  robbers  had  taken.  TbehiU 
ter,  after  taking  a  long  dmnglit,  no- 
plied,  "  They're  gheane  forward,  nvt 
nave  minneta  m.  Tlwy  were  faavf  ^ 
drunk :  an',  if  ye  run,  you're  ner  let 
owertak  "em." 

Tommy  whipped  off  the  tankaidy 
paid  the  value,  and  set  off  on  foot  at 
tbU  speed;  Neddy  running  after  him 
wiA  all  his  mifffat  at  the  distanoe  of 
five  yards,  whion,  ftom  the  weight  of 
the  jadc-boots,  was  speedily  increased 
to  fifty. 

After  passing  with  incredibte  awifU 
ness  over  seveml  hundred  yards  of  the 
road,  the  wind  of  theconstaUe  in  chi^ 
began  to  fail ;  and,  upon  dancing  over 
his  shoulder,  he  perceived  that  he  was 
in  imminent  dsngcr  of  losing  sight  of 
his  deputy.  He  moreover  thought 
himself,  that  if  they  came  up  widi  the 
pickpockets,  a  batue  wonkT  be  inevi- 
table, and  that  therefore  it  waa  neoea- 
aary  to  airsnge  a  scheme  of  operatkma. 
Moved  bjr  these  things  he  made  a  dead 
stop  until  Neddy  reached  him,  and 
thai  diey  proceeded  sit  a  mnn  reaaon- 
able  pace. 

''  Te're  heavy  heded  te<by,  Ned- 
dy^^aaid  the  oonstalde  with  much  im- 
portance, **  but  it^  npbbat  some  odd 
ans  'at  can  touch  me  at  rannin'  when 
I  lig  mysen  out^— We're  snmbody  te^ 
day, — ^we're  e  grsnd  saavice,— we're 
Ucenesses  of  his  Majesty." 

"  Laud  bfiss  me  I"  exeldmed  the 
astonidied  Neddy,  who  could  not  con- 
odve  how  this  could  be. 

"  Yis,  yis,"  responded  Tommy,  in 
die  ssme  pompons  tone,  *'  it's  true 
jeneauf.  That  is,  Ise  the  King's  rippy- 
hentive:  this  means,  Neddy,  'at  Ise 
in  a  way  King  George.  Noe,  you're 
maa  deppaty,-— maa  saavant  ;^Seah, 
you're  his  Majesty  saavant." 

''  It's  vana  clear,"  replied  Neddy, 
tossing  up  his  brad,  and  stalking 
through  the  mud  with  as  much  modi 


*  Mv  readers  wiU  here  recognize  the  Yorkshire  dialect.  I  fear  that  they  w31 1 
ly  get  the  true  ton^d  of  the  wordt^  notwithstanding  <he  pains  that  I  haw  taken  in  ifsll. 
iog  them ;  the  CodLney  pronandation  is  so  honiUe,  and  iu  ravages  hsTS  besn  ifsoad 
90  widdy. 


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Kidd^mnkU  Hidory,  .No,  II, 


CM^> 


dimiity  at  Uie  tragedr  king  dimlm 
in  nifl  march  acrosg  tna  stage  of  tne 
theatre. 

^*  Noo>  Neddy/'  continued  the  con- 
stable in  a  more  winning  tone,  "  we'd 
bether  cum  to  a  sattlin  about  this  &ave 
guineas.  Noo^  Ise  king--70u're  saa*- 
Tttnt  I  pay  all  dama^;  if  pariah  pay 
me  agheane,  wed— if  nut,  I  lose  it. 
It'll  nobbat  be  ikir,  an'  I  seer  sie  a  rea- 
sonable man  as  yoursoi^  Neddy^  'ill 
awn  it,  'at  I  snd  ha'  finrer  guineas,  an' 
you  yan." 

**  Then  Ise  back  adieane/'  said 
Neddy ;  and  he  wheeled  about  to  ve- 
nfy  his  andwer. 

**  Hang  ye,  jre  greedy  taistril !"  re- 
plied Tommy,  m  deep  vexation,  ^'  then 
I'll  gie  ye  thotty  shiUins." 

''  Oat;  oaf,"  answered  the  obstinate 
deputy.  ^'  111  be  dashed  if  I  gan  ano- 
ther step  for  less 'an  oaf  .  Ifonybeanes 
be  broken,  onjr  een  be  knocked  out,  I 
runs  seame  nsk  as  yoursen,  an'  111 
have  seame  pay." 

The  mortified  chief  was  compelled 
to  consent;  after  a  few  moments  of 
sullen  silence,  he  proceeded — "  Tawk- 
in  o'  brokken  b^es  an'  that,  we're 
efther  a  parlous  bizness.  I've  read  id 
papers  'at  those  pickpockits  are  terra- 
ble  dags ;  ihey  stab  cunstubbles — shut 
them — ^rip  em  open.  It'll  be  weel,  Ned- 
dy, if  we  get  yam  ony  mair  alaave." 

"  Dang  ye,  said  Neddy,  "  youde- 
saave  your  head  thuropin,  for  nut  tell- 
in  me  this  afore  we  staatit.  If  I'd 
knawn,  I  wadn't  ha'  storr'd  a  feate  fVea 
Kiddywinkle.  However,  Ise  ne  wase 
yit,  an'  111  yam  agheane." 

"  You  may  beashamm'd  o'  yoursen 
te  speake  it,'  answered  the  constable 
in  great  cboler.  • 

"  Why  noo,"  rgoined  the  deputy, 
"  suppoese  this  greate  fella  'at  we're 
seekin  sud  paal  hoot  a  pistil  an'  shut 
ye,  or  sud  ram  a  knife  inte  your  guts, 
or  sud  splet  your  skull  wiv  a  waaldn 
stick,  or  sud  toss  ye  intiv  a  dike  an' 
drownd  ye,  or" 

**  Hod  your  noise !"  cried  the  con- 
stable, who  was  shivering  from  head 
to  foot.  He  had  dilated  on  the  danger 
to  Neddy,  more  to  deliver  himself  of 
a  boBst,  than  from  thinking  seriously 
of  its  existence ;  or,  at  any  rate,  he  did 
not  then  dream  of  any  on^  sufiering 
but  his  deputy  ;  but  when  the  latter 
not  only  actually  assumed  it  to  be  pos- 
sible for  him  to  be  slain,  but  enume- 
rated the  various  modes  in  which  he 
might  be  put  to  death,  it  was  more 


than  the  couraga  of  man  could  besr. 
^'  I  think  as  you  say/'  h^  proceeded, 
after  an  inordinately  long  fit  of  silent 
trembling,  "  it's  best  te  ton  back— 
dierell  be  laatle  sense  e  been  sent  lid 
worms  afore  yan's  taame  for  fifty  shil«- 
lins." 

*^  You  tawk  like  a  waase  man,"  re- 
sponded Neddy.  The  constable  and 
ms  deputy  turned  fairly  round,  and 
directed  Uieir  steps  towards  Kiddy- 
winkle. 

After  uroceeding  about  fifty  jsr^B, 
Tommy  Temple  a^ain  broke  ailenoe. 
^'  We're  toesin,"  said  he,  with  a  groan, 
^'  £Bave  guineas  awa  as  if  it  was  muck." 
— '^  It's  varra  true,"  solemnly  respond- 
ed Neddy  Blossom.— ^^  An  mebbe," 
continued  Tommy,  *'  thas  pickpockits 
wad  ha'  gien  thersens  up  at  seet  of 
us." — "  It's  varra  possable,"  replied 
Neddy.—"  An'  if  nut,"  proceeded  the 
former,  ^*  what's  an  awd  fellow  an' 
a  young  haram-scaram  lass?  if  we 
couldn't  maister  'em,  we  owt  te  be 
skinn'd  wick." — "  It  wad  be  a  bonnin 
sham,"  answered  the  latter,  *'  if  yan 
on  us  wasn't  ower  monny  for  'em.  '— 
"  Then  let's  either  them  agheane," 
said  the  constable  triumphantly. — "  Ise 
willin,  as  you  seame  te  wish  it,"  re- 
joined the  deputy  with  much  anima- 
tion. 

The  two  peace-ofiicers  suddenly 
whisked  round,  and  once  more  swiftly 
travelled  in  pursuit  of  the  robbers. 
The  road  was  fhU  of  turns,  so  that 
they  could  seldom  command  a  view  of 
more  of  it  than  a  few  hundred  yards. 
They  paced  along  for  half  an  nour, 
and  stiU  the  pickp^ets  were  not  over- 
taken; this  seemed  to  increase  their 
courage  marvellously,  and  Neddy  even 
volunteered  a  song  respecting  the  cap- 
ture of  a  highwayman,  and  got  through 
it  very  cr^itably.  At  length,  upon 
turning  one  of  the  angles  of  the  road, 
they  discovered  a  man  and  a  woman 
not  a  hundred  vards  before  them.  Botli 
suddenly  ana  involuntarily  halted. 
Neddy's  legs  rebelliously  carried  him 
five  steps  backward  before  he  could 
a^mme  sufficient  self-command  to  ren- 
der himself  motionless.  Tommy  look- 
ed at  Neddy,  and  perceived  that  his 
face  was  white  as  a  sheet; — Neddy 
looked  at  Tommy,  and  saw  that  his 
visage  resembled  in  colour  the  inside 
of  an  old-milk  cheese. 

**  Well  keep  gangin,  however,"  said 
Tommy  Temple,  ''  if  we  deant  like 
their  looks,  we  wcant  meddle  wiv  'em 


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Kiid^winkh  Hisicry.     A'o.  //. 


341 


-— ther  cftn'l  tell  'at  we're  cunstabUet. 
if  we  keep  wer  awn  aeacrit"— "  Yit^'^ 
answered  Neddy  BloKom,  "  bud  tbey 
nradwanttoroDusforalltbat.''  Tbe 
constable  thought  this  hint  deserring 
of  some  deliberation ;  however^  it  was 
finally  determined  that  they  should 
proceed — ^that  Tommy  should  conceal 
nis  staffs  and  that  if  upon  coming  up 
with  the  couple,  there  ^oold  be  any 
thing  awful  in  dieir  appearance  or  de- 
meanour, they  should  not  be  molested 
on  any  consideration. 

The  travellers  were  soon  reached^ 
and  they  proved  to  be  a  decrepit  old 
village  labourer  and  his  wife.  Our 
officers  threw  the  salutation — "  A  nice 
motherate  day,  gude  foaks,"  passed 
them,  and  then  their  courage  not  only 
returned,  but  seemed  to  blase  more 
fiercely  tlian  ever.  After  walking  at  a 
great  rate  for  half  an  hour  longer,  they 
found  their  strength  begin  to  nag,  and 
the  calls  lof  hunger  to  be  somewhat 
pressing.  "  I've  some  k^  an'  bacon 
e  me  pocket,"  said  Tommy, ''  let's  gan 
aback  o'  that  haystack,  an'  hev  a  laatle 
rist"  The  haystack  stood  just  behind 
a  towering  thorn  hedge,  which  ran 
along  the  side  of  the  nwd,  and  a  laige 
gate  offered  an  easy  passage  to  it.  The 
gate  was  opened,  our  officers  approach- 
ed the  haystack,  and  lo  1  under  its  side, 
lay  a  man  fiist  asleep,  and,  under  its 
end,  lay  a  young  woman  fkst  asleep 
likewise.  The  oonstaUe  in  chief  si« 
kntly  dipped  on  his  spectadea— drew 
fiyrth  his  written  descripti<m— exami- 
ned the  sluraberers  most  attentively 
•—was  overwhelmed  with  prooft — and 
whispered  to  the  deputy  with  a  look 
ofhorror,"  It's  them  r 

The  officers  retreated  about  twenty 
yards  to  hold  a  council  of  war,  taking 
care,  however,  in  the  meantime,  to 
retain  the  command  of  the  gate.  On 
examining  the  landscape  to  see  if  help 
could  be  had,  should  it  be  needed,  five 
or  six  men  and  boys  were  perceived 
ploughing  in  a  field  almost  within 
calL  Tms  waa  a  most  inepiriting  cir- 
cumstanoe.  <'  If  we  could  get  weel 
astraade  on  'em  afore  they  wakken," 
said  Tommy,  "  we  could  knock  thehr 
brains  out  if  they  meade  owt  te  deah." 
— "  If  they  were  o' their  legs,"  replied 
Neddy,  *<  I  wadn't  meddle  wiv  'em  for 
a  thooaan  pund,  firae  fear  o'  pistils; 
but  as  it  ia,  we  can't  weel  be  oweraet." 
— "  Then  well  at  'em,"  said  Tommy 
fiercdy. — "  Varra  weel,"  answeied 
Neddy,  with  much  firmnMi.— >"  You 


tak  t'  man,  an'  I  tak  t'  womao,"  said 
the  iarmer,^"  111  be  shot  fost,"  re- 
joined the  latter,  *'  Ue  nobbat  t' saav- 
ant,  an  111  owercum  t'  woman." — <*  I 
auUier  ye,  ye  stuped  leatherheade !" 
said  the  constable,  nolding  the  staff  of 
office  across  his  eyes,— «"  d'ye  knaw 
whea's  maisther  ?''—''  Say  ne  roair,** 
answered  the  deputy,  ^*  if  it  mun  be 
seah,  it  mun."— They  placed  them- 
selves in  due  order,  and  marched  to 
Uie  attack ;  the  commander  taking  the 
direction  of  the  end  of  the  stadc,  and 
his  assistant  that  of  its  side. 

The  frequent  visits  of  carts  to  take 
away  portions  of  the  hay,  had  convert- 
ed the  turf  for  many  ^^irds  round  tbe 
stack,  into  mire  six  inches  deep.  Our 
officers  waded  through  this  mire  as  si- 
lently as  possible,  but  nevertheleiB 
they  made  sufficient  noise  to  awaken 
their  prey,  when  they  were  within  a 
few  paces  of  it  The  man  and  woman 
suddenly  sprung  upon  their  feet,  and 
were  amaied  to  bdiold  two  men  ap- 
proaching them  with  stavea  upraiaed 
aa  if  to  beat  out  their  brains.  Their 
rising  greatly  deranged  the  plan  of 
operations  of  their  foes,  who  halted 
and  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  defen- 
sive. "  I  auther  ye,"  cried  Tommy, 
fiourishing  his  staff,  and  using  the 
roost  terruying  tone  possible,  *'  1  au- 
ther ye,  id  king  neame,  te  souenther 
^to  gie  yonrsena  up  tiv  us,  twea  of 
his  mijesty's  cunstubbles,  fknr  thieviii, 
ye  be^ally  villans ! — If  ye  deant  ait 
doon  wis  minnit,  for  ua  to  tie  your 
bans  bebint  ye,  and  tak  ve  tiv  a  jus- 
tice''at  ye  may  be  Iwng'd,  we'll  brdc 
all  beanea  e  your  skin  !" — "  Go  to 
hell,"  replied  the  fellow  with  a  grin, 
'^  if  you  dare  to  touch  either  of  us.  111 
knodc  out  your  top  lights !"  He  threw 
his  arms  across  and  shewed  fight, 
while  the  girl  made  a  similar  spe^, 
and  imitated  his  motions. 

Notwithstanding  what  Neddy  Bloa- 
som  had  said,  he  was  not  at  heart  a 
coward.  He  thought  nothing  of  a  bat- 
tle with  a  oountry*man  like  hamadf ; 
but  he  had  never  seen  a  pickpocket  by 
profession,  and  from  ttie  talM  diat  he 
nad  heard,  he  believed  sudia  thing  tobe 
a  monater,  armed  with  all  kinds  of 
deadly  weimons,  and  invincible.  He 
saw  tnat  the  Hellow  waa  but  a  mas, 
hia  carefhl  ^ancca  could  diaoovcr  no* 
thing  like  a  piatol  or  any  other  wmn 
pon,  and  heidncked  up  liia  eannm, 
^Naythawfiba«okik^<<.tf9«keiii 


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H2 


Kukfywinkie  Hisiorsf.    No.  II. 


CMty, 


can't  be  ower  moony  fo'  tike  a  taler 
lewkin  b^gar  aa  you !"— Thia  apeeoh 
greatly  eomforted  the  heart  (tf  the  con- 
ftable,  who  thovffht  that,  if  idietcd 
fttnn  the  hoatilitiea  of  the  man,  he 
could  not  fail  of  an  eaay  Tictory  over 
the  girL  Neddy  reared  hia  towel  and 
boldly  advanced,  while  the  man  atood 
moticmleaa  in  an  attitude  of  defence  ; 
but  lo !  just  as  he  waa  going  to  strike, 
the  fellow  darted  upon  him  like  %ht- 
ning,  gave  him  audi  a  blow  between 
the  eyes,  aa  made  him  for  aoroe  mo« 
ments  uncertain  whether  they  were  in 
or  out,  and  disarmed  him.  Neddy, 
however,  was  not  yet  oonauered.  He 
rushed  at  his  foe,  who  in  hia  turn  waa 
giving  motion  to  the  towel,  dealt  him 
such  a  stroke  on  the  body  aa  made  hia 
whole  bowels  ay  out  for  mercy,  and 
then  broi^ht  him  to  the  ground  by  a 
bu£^  hit  on  the  right  eye.  Neddy  got 
asUide  of  his  prostrate  enemy,  shook 
his  fists  in  his  face,  and  waa  told  that 
the  fellow  would  have  "  no  more." 

During  this  terrible  conflict  the  con- 
stable and  the  girl  were  not  idle ;  diey 
^  in  fact  commenced  operations,  precise- 
ly when  the  deputy  and  the  pickpodcet 
commenced  them.  Tommy  Temple 
waa  a  person  of  some  sagacity— a  man 
fond  of  a  whole  and  an  unbruised  akin 
— and  he  at  first  had  recourse  to  str»« 
ta^m.  "  Cum— ^eum,  maa  bunny," 
aaid  he,  with  a  seductive  smile^  ^*  let's 
ha'  ne  nonsense — thou's  se  pratty  it 
wad  gan  te  my  heart  ie  deah  th'  a  mis- 
chief:— Be  a  good  ksa  an'  gan'  wie 
me  quietly,  an'  unod  wod  of  a  cun- 
atubble  thou  sail  be  ne  woase  fo'  't. 
— rU  be  bun  te  say  'at  Justice  'U  set 
th'  free,  an'  mebbe  tak  a  fancy  te  th' 
intid  bargain."—"  Hold  your  b— - 
gab,  ye  old  ugly  jackanapes !"  replied 
the  girl,  shaking  her  little  denched 
fiat  at  him, — "  touch  me  if  you  dare ! 
—If  ye  do — if  ye  do— 111  give  your 
old  bread-basket  what  will  serve  it  in- 
stead of  provisions  for  a  fortnight  !"— 
The  constable  was  foiled  in  his  tactics, 
called  nicknames,  and  braved,  all  in 
the  same  breath,  and  this  oomplctdy 
overpowered  both  his  temper  imd  hia 
fiears.  He  started  fiirward  in  a  grievous 
ftuy  to  knock  her  down.  There  waa 
aomething  so  irresistibly  ludicrous  in 
hia  thin  white  face  when  he  was  in 
a  ragey  that  the  girl  burst  into  loud 
km^ater  aa  he  approached  her ;  Tom- 
my oouhl  not  for  nia  life  conceive  what 
she  waa  laughing  al^  but  he  waa  never- 
"belesa  aaaiured  thai  it  waa  not  from 


fear,  and  it  xendeted  him  atiil  more 
fbrious.  Sheaetoffatfullapocd  round 
the  haystack,  and  be  aee  of  at  liril 
apeed  after  her.  After  cndrdftig  it 
four  time8,she  suddenly  atqyped  bo- 
hind  oneof  the  comers,  and  aaTomniy 
came  flying  round  with  all  sail  set,  ex- 
pecting th^  she  was  at  least  ten  yarda 
oefixre  niao  on  the  other  side,  ahe  gave 
him  auch  a  terrible  smadc  on  the  eye, 
aa  made  him  cry  "  Oh  I"  aa  loudly  aa 
if  he  had  been  ahot  The  female 
apmng  fbrward  again,  with  the  inten- 
tion of' making  a  Sew  more  dreuita 
xound  the  stack,  but  hearing  him  groan 
bitterly,  and  aeeing  htm  sttmd  with  his 
hands  diqiped  upon  his  eye,  die  flew 
at  him  again,  seiaed  the  end  of  his  staff 
with  one  hand,  and  now  pommelled 
him  on  the  ribs,  and  then  acratcbcd 
his  face  widi  the  other.  The  consta- 
ble finding  himself  thua  aavacdy  dealt 
with,  begrni  to  kick  her  with  all  hh 
might,  wnereupon  she  caught  one  of 
his  legs,  gave  it  &  lerk  up,  and  then ! 
—Gradons  powers!  there  was  then  seen 
Tommy  Temple  die  tailor,  habited  in 
hia  Sabbath  garmenta,  his  new  great- 
coat, beaver  fittle  the  worse  for  wear, 
and  white  neckdoth,  with  a  chocdate 
handkerchief  over  it,  laid  on  his  batk, 
and  half  buried  in  mud ! — ^There  wu 
then  seen  Tonnny  Ttmple,  the  valoouw 
oua  constable  in  diief  of  BlddTwinkle, 
laid  prostrate  under,  and  wholly  at  the 
merqr  of  a  female  pickpocket ! 

It  therefbre  happened  that  much  at 
the  same  moment,  Neddy  Bloeaom  waa 
triumphantly  bestriding  the  prostrate 
man,  and  the  female  was  trinmphant- 
ly  bestriding  the  prostrate  Tommy 
Temple.  This  was  a  most  awkward 
and  embarrassing  state  of  things.  It 
neutndiaed  the  success  of  both  partiea, 
and  seemed  to  say  that  they  should 
remain  in  their  present  position  fbr 
ever.  "  Neddy  bunny,  come  an'  aeava 
my  life  1"  groaned  Tommy ,-— ''  Gad 
bdn  your  soft  bead  rresponded  the  de- 
puty in  deep  vexation,  *^  I  cud  doot 
you  mysen  for  lettin  sike  a  crei^ture  aa 
that  ton  yom  up."  Neddy  looked  wist- 
fully to  see  if  he  could  serve  his  leader, 
this  threw  him  off  his  guard,  and  the 
robber  took  advantage  of  it.  The  lat- 
ter, instructed  perhaps  by  the  example 
of  the  girl,  seised  the  1^  of  his  con- 
queror, and  raiaed  himself  up  wldi 
such  force,  that  he  fiurly  threw  the  de- 
puty on  his  head  in  the  mud  ;  he  then 
ran  ofl^  and  the  girl  ran  after  hhn. 

"  Dabbiah  maa  buttana  r  qiacQiated 
4 


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1624.3 


Kiddywinkk  HUtory.    Nb.  If. 


Neddy,  at  hcgathered  himidf  up  again 
and  scraped  the  mud  off-faia^eyeay 
*'  bod  I'll  hei  my  pennatha  hoot  of 
'em  for  this."  He  then,  forgetting 
to  Dick  up  his  hat,  pursued  them  at 
ftm  speed,  and  the  constable  was  im- 
pellea  by  shame  to  rise  and  follow 
nim.  The  ploughmen  who  command- 
ed a  full  view  of  them,  had  stopped 
their  horses  to  eaze,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  fnj,  altboua;h  they  could  not 
tell  for  thor  lires  wnat  to  make  of  the 
matter.  When,  however,  they  saw, 
first  the  jnckpocket,  then  the  girl,  next 
Neddy  without  his  hat,  and  then  the 
constable,  all  flying  after  esch  other 
with  the  utmost  swiftness,  they  were 
assured  that  all  was  not  right,  and 
they  sallied  forth  in  a  body  to  inter- 
cept the  runners.  "  A  wager !"  cried 
the  man,  "  make  way !  a  wager !"  "It 
weant  deah,"  repliecf  the  tirst  plough- 
man, as  he  seized  him  by  the  collar ; 
the  girl  was  next  stopped,  then  the  of- 
ficers came  up,  and  finally  Tommy 
Temple's  official  character  was  made 
known — ^his  warrant  was  exhibited — 
his  tale  was  told — a  cart  was  procured 
from  a  neighbouring  village,  in  to  which 
the  pickpockets  were  put,  with  their 
hands  tied  behind  them— ^ve  shillings 
were  given  to  the  ploughmen  to  drink 
^and  the  constable  and  his  deputy 
drove  off  with  their  prisoners  in 
triumph  to  Kiddywinkle,  at  which 
ancient  place  they  arrived  in  perfect 
safety. 

Thus  ended  this  most  eventful,  pe- 
rilous, triumphant,  and  memoraole 
ocpedition  of  Tommy  Temple  and 
Neddy  Blossom.  Neither  of  £hem 
ever  saw  a  day  like  that,  either  before 
er  after  it.  Their  wives  ever  after- 
wanls  esteemed  them  to  be  <}uite  the 
equals  of  Wellington  in  mihtary  ge- 
nius and  bravery,  and  even  glory. 
The  wife  of  Tommy  Temple  was  of- 
ten  heard  to  say  that  "  ner  husban 
wad  ha'  been  meade  a  barronite  for 
what  he  then  did  id  king  sarvice,  if 
greate  foaks  had  had  ony  deaceiii^ 
aboot'em."  Never  did  the  heroes  aN- 
terwards  enter  company,  without  gi- 
ving an  exceedingly  long  and  lumin- 
ous history  of  the  ekplmt  They  did 
not  give  it  exactly  as  I  have  given  it, 
but  this  may  be  easily  accounted  for. 
They  were  interestea— I  am  disinte- 
rtsted— and  this  makes  a  mighty  dif- 
ference. Had  I  been  one  of  them, 
I  should  not  have  written  as  I  have 
written.  They  bolstered,  veiled,  add- 

VoL.  XV. 


ed,  suppressed,  cmbelilshed,  and  mag- 
nified, until  they  at  last  produced  a 
story  which  actually  made  one's  fiesh 
creep  on  one's  back,  it  was  so  ftiU  of 
daring,  and  horrors,  and  wonders. 

The  man  and  woman  were  taken 
before  ihe  ma£;i8trate — the  whole  of 
Mr  Smallglebe  s  money,  save  about  a 
guinea,  was  found  upon  them — the 
evidence  of  the  vicar,  the  poet,  and 
the  publican,  to  whom  they  paid  the 
note,  was  duly  taken,  and  they  were 
committed  for  trial.  I  ma^,  perha^, 
give  some  account  of  the  tnal  in  a  fu- 
ture page  of  this  history.  I  record 
with  unfeigned  sorrow,  that,  after  the 
,  most  minute  search,  no  trace  of  Mr 
Slenderstave's  lost  treasures  could  be 
discovered ;  and  the  girl,  upon  being 
interrogated,  actually  oonfesaed  that 
she  had  thrown  the  whole  of  these 
treasures — these  invaluable  treasures, 
save  the  three  and  sixpence,  into  a 
ditch,  as  things  of  no  worth !  This 
naturally  rendered  the  poet  inconsola- 
ble ;  and,  alas !  miseries  thickened  up- 
on him.  The  rumours  to  which  I 
have  alluded  in  another  place  were 
duly  conveyed  to  Miss  Peggy  Little- 
sight,  who  forthwith  privately  sent 
her  servant  to  Mr  Slenderstave's  lodg- 
ings  to  make  inquiries  touching  their 
truth.  The  ffirl  ascertained  that  the 
poet's  legs  bad  not  been  broken — that 
no  knife  nad  been  put  into  him--that 
no  personal  injury  nad  befallen  him— 
and  Mr  Slenderstave  swore  upon  his 
honour  that  he  was  neither  mellow 
nor  frisky,  and  that  he  did  not  tempt 
the  young  beggar  into  the  inn's  yard. 
He,  however,  thoughtlessly  dropped 
a  boast,  that  he  perha^  could  have 
done  it,  had  he  been  so  incUned ;  and 
he  was  constrained  to  admit,  that  the 
female  had  abstracted  all  Miss  Peggy's 
pledges  from  his  waistcoat-pocket. 
Miss  Littlesigjht  ruminated  deeply  up- 
on this.  She  could  not  conceive  how 
Mr  Slenderstave  could  know  that  he 
could  have  tempted  the  ^1  into  the 
yard,  except  fVom  experiment;  and 
she  could  not  conceive  how  it  could 
be  possible  for  the  girl  tq  empty  hia 
waistcoat-pocket,  if  ne  had  kept  at  a 
decorous  distance  from  her,  and  had 
not  violated  his  solemn  vows  of  eter- 
nal constancy.  The  servant,  upon  be- 
ing called  upon  for  her  opinion,  and 
upon  hearing  the  fears  of  her  young 
mistress,  declared  that  it  dearly 
amountrd  to  positive  proof,  that  Mr 
Slenderstaw  nad  been  acting  "most 

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KiddifwrnkU  HUtorp,    N9.  IL 


fMthle«iW8P4wick«)ly.  Mi«iP«^^ 
withoqt  losing  it  moment,  went  into 
hysterics ;  ana  as  «o(m  a«  sne  w«s  suf-* 
ficientiv  reooyered  to  guide  a  pen«  she 
forwaraed  a  not^  to  the  poet^  which 
iofonned  hiniij  thftt  he  was  a  brute — 
n  villain^'^-a  monster  ;«^tbat  he  might 
yerel  with  beggar  girls  as  he  pleased; 
—that  he  should  have  no  more  of  her 
predoufi  giftiu  wherewith  to  purchase 


CMay, 


their  smiles  ;'-^at  she  diacarded  bun. 
and  would  never  see  him  more ; — ana 
that  she  was  on  the  point  of  leaving 
the  world  for  ever  I  Mr  Slenderstave 
received  the  not(>-<re«4  it-*«nd  took 
to  his  bed  immediately- 

Thus  ends  the  second  part  of  IRd" 
dywinlde  History. 


WOaZS  OK  lilSLAVS.* 


Memoirs  of  Captain  Rock.'^i 

In  one  of  Disraeli's  entertaining 
vohimes,  an  account  is  given  of  a 
French  comedy,  the  scene  of  which 
is  laid  in  a  madhouse — all  the  persons 
of  the  drama-clovers  and  ladies— fa-* 
thers  and  children—physicians  and 
servants,  are  insane ;  and  the  interest 
of  the  piece  arises  from  the  leil  with 
which  each  pursues  his  reopeetive  in- 
leresta— regardlesa  of  the  effect  of  his 
oonduct  on  the  fortunes  or  opinions  of 
any  of  the  others,  because  of  their 
madness  he  ibnns  a  perfectly  just  es- 
timate, though  incapable  of  perceiving 
the  exhibition,  or  acknowledging  the 
existence  of  disease  in  his  own  mind* 
The  story  is  skilfully  told — some  in-* 
ddents  are  so  managed  as  to  exci^ 
roach  laughter;  and  the  play,  con-* 
sidered  as  a  work  of  art,  deserved  the 
success  with  which  it  was  rewarded. 
Yet  an  Englishman  ma^  be  allowed 
to  express  ms  joy,  that  m  onr  litera* 
tore,  fantastic  aa  it  occasionally  is, 
^ere  is  no  such  ww*k ;  and  in  honour 
to  human  nature,  it  should  perhaps 
be  also  a  sul^eot  of  congratulatioUj 
that  the  writer  who  could  thus  delL^ 
berately  sport  with  the  most  grievous 
calamitv  to  which  man  is  subject,  was 
himselt  a  lunatic. 

When  we  read  Captain  Rod^'s  Me- 
mohrs,  and  remembered  the  scenes 
of  blood  which  for  three  years  havede- 
solated  the  fairest  provinces  of  Ire- 
land—while, with  f^  aod  tremUingy 
we  at  this  hour  think  of  the  inseco- 
rity  of  our  friends  there,  the  first  feel- 
ing excited  by  the  book,  was  sorrow 
that  any  one  could  be  ^und  to  jest 
with  such  a  sulgect.  The  next  feel- 
ing of  natural  consolation  is,  if  this 


Croker^s  South  of  Inland. 

he  a  fit  suhject  for  jesting  thank  God 
the  insult  to  a  d^^raded  country  ia 
not  o£^red  bv  a  native  of  Scotland  oc 
England  —  that  the  author  of  this 
weak  and  very  wicked  book,  is  an 
Irishman.  Asain,  thank  God  that 
the  writer  who  has  given  such  of- 
fence and  pain,  who  ridicules  the 
distresses  of  the  peasantry,  while  he 
justifies  their  crimes,  and  does  what 
he  can  to  perpetuate  their  ignorance, 
is  a  Roman  Catholic. 

It  is  not  eas^  to  describe  this  mia- 
chievous  publication ;  though  pro- 
fessing to  oe  ^'  the  Memoirs  of  Cap- 
tain Rock,"  and  though  written  in  tne 
name  of  that  ^^  celebrated  Irish  chief** 
tain,"  little  ad  van  tage  is  Udsen  of  the  fic- 
tion— a  series  of  essays  connected  by  n^ 
one  inindple  of  association — suggest- 
ing no  plan  for  the  removal  oi  any  one 
evil  mentioned — exhibiting  no  gene- 
ral view  of  politics, — and  im  which  the 
least  interesting  p<M'tions  of  Irish  his^ 
tory,  drawn  from  the  most  obvious 
souroes  of  information,  repeated  and 
reprinted  even  to  satiety — ere  loosely, 
hastily,  and  unskilfully  put  together, 
—forms  the  body  of  the  work ;— the 
pertness  and  vivadty  of  a  superfidal 
thinker  ("  looks  wise,  the  pretty  soul* 
and  thinks  he  *8  thinking, ')  sporting 
with  his  subject,  and  such  a  w^jecU 
(^'  dallying  with  wrong  that  does  no 
harm"  forsooth,)  gives  occadonally, 
though  not  oflen,  some  relief  to  the 
wearied  reader.  Did  we  not  know  the 
habits  which  newspaper  readers  form, 
we  should  have  actually  thought  it  im- 
possible foT  ^y  one,  (not  compelled,) 
to  finish  the  perusal  of  this  volume- 
Often  did  we  think,  in  our  weary  study. 


*  1.  Mtmdrs  of  Captain  Rock,  the  celebrated  Irish  Chieftain*  with  some  Account  tC 
Kis  Ancestors.    Written  by  himself.    liOPdoD.  Iiongmao  and  Co.    1824. 

2.  ReMaxcbes  in  the  South  of  Ireland,  illuatrative  of  the  Scenery,  Arohitectaial  Re- 
mains)  and  ^e  Manners  ar^d  Supentitioat  o(  the  Petf«stry.  By  T.  CreAoa  GmIuc. 
410.  London.    Murray.    1824. 


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Mtmotrs  ofCapiam  Hoek. 


o^  Uut  ta^%  book  tM  of  in  tht  old 

*'  He  laid  the  book  he  gsve  to  me. 
Was  of    ■■  historiCv 

Which  historic  was  never  jet  reed  throo^, 
"Nor  nerer  will,  for  no  men  dare  it  do- 
Young  schoUrs  have  |>ick*d  out  some- 
thing 
fnm  the  oontents  that  dare  not  read  with- 
in: 
His  wiMnp  pen  did  seem  to  ni#  to  be 
Of  baideaU  nwtal  like  steel  or  aeeumie : 
The  vohime  of  the  book  did  seem  to  me, 
A*  the  Book  of  Martjrrs*  or  T«k*s  His- 
torie.** 

The  fiction  is  in  tome  respects  conve- 
nient.— ^When  the  conspiracy  formecl 
against  the  religion  and  governments 
or  Europe  was  in  active  operation^ 
among  the  mttam  most  efi^tive,  was 
the  publication  of  dramatic  poems, 
nov^y  and  pamphlets^  under  assumed 
characters :  the  nistory  of  Christiani* 
ly  was  ridiculed  in  what  seemed  to  be 
attacks  on  Judaism — ^its  philosophy  in 
discussing,  as  it  would  seem,  the  tight 
to  respect  which  Mohammedanism  and 
other  establishments  had  in  Pagan 
countries.  The  scene  was  placed  at  a 
distance,  and  in  fictions,  often  ingeni'- 
ous,  the  merits  of  the  existing  govern* 
mentt  were  insidiously  (and  unfair^ 
ly,  because  indirectly)  discussed,--^ 
in  the  entire  work,  a  delusion  to  which 
the  reader  willingly  subjected  himself 
was  created ;— he  was  odled  upon  to 
assume  the  character,  and  invest  him- 
self with  the  prejudices  of  the  native 
of  a  foreign  land,  while  he  beheld  the 
author  personating  some  fancied  cha^ 
racter,  and  in  that  disguise,  artfully 
attacking,  or  weakly  vindicating,  the 
instimtioiis  of  hia  country, — and  thus 
it  is,  that  of  the  thousand  questions 
whidi  Voltaire  discusses,  scarcely  one 
is  fairly  stated ;  for  the  primary  ob- 
jects of  thought,  deceptive  ciphers  are 
placed ;  the  reasoning  is  conancted  as 
an  intellectual  game  of  substitution 
and  analogy ;  and  if,  with  all  the  ad- 
vantages or  previous  arrangement  in 
his  favour,  the  infidel  seems  to  lose  the 
game,  he  may  state  the  value  of  the 
counters  as  he  pleases ;  and  afl&eting 
to  disr^ard  the  loss,  may  have  impu- 
dence enough  to  claim  praise  for  the 
eonatruction  of  the  automaton,  whose 
morements  he  was  directing,  or  for 
the  magnificence  of  the  costume,  un- 
der the  folds  of  which  he  hides  him- 
self. Who  could  be  angry  with  the 
wooden  chess-player.^  Who  fidl  out 


With  Oatidide?  Wbo  %HU  b^  fb^ 
enotigh  to  break  hla  boAd  against  thb 
Rock  ?^l1iough  thare  is  no  attempt 
whatever  to  give  an  •apparent  reality 
and  distinctness  to  the  conception  of 
a  lawless  fanatic-^tlloiigh  this  bM^, 
expressing,  we  hope  and  trust,  the 
fedings  and  opinhMis  of  but  one  indi- 
Tidual,  does  not  eten  tiStd  to  person!- 
fy  or  represent  any  dass  of  society  in 
our  sister  island — though  there  is  not 
a  sin^e  incident  or  description  of  lAiy 
one  scene  connected  with  the  disCttrb- 
ances,  which  the  name  is  intended  to 
recdl ;  yet  is  the  form  of  such  a  fic- 
tion very  convenient.  An  Irish  po^, 
of  some  distinction,  a  few  years  ago, 
in  an  Eastern  Tale,  fbund  the  oppor- 
tunity of  expressing  the  violent  party 
feeling  of  some  of  his  eountrvmen ; 
and  lest  the  resemUance  should  dude 
the  reader,  it  is  oirefully  pointed  out 
to  him  by  a  flattering  note.  In  Cap- 
tain Rock  the  same  sentiments  are  more 
easily  exhi1)ited  ,--^that  which  would 
in  the  mouth  of  a  real  Captain  Rock  be 
trea80n,-«-that  whidi,  uttered  itt  4  vil. 
lage  pot-houae»  wotdd  kad  to  crime, 
to  be  punished  probably  by  deaths  la 
now,  when  published  in  a  form  cal- 
Gulated  to  do  a  thousand-fi>ld  injury, 
allowable,  it  would  seem,  on  thesround 
of  its  dramatic  propriety.  Captahi 
Rode,  it  will  be  said,  must  speak  as  it 
would  become  him  to  do— as  if  the 
selection  of  a  subject  was  no  part  of 
the  author's  work — as  if  it  waa  no  en« 
couragement  to  thebanditsof  the  Sooth 
of  Irehind,  to  find  their  feelings  cai- 
ptessed,  atid  arguments,  such  aa  they 
are,  suggested  to  thcns-^aa  if  there  was 
no  sin  or  danger  in  ''  sowing  the  df«- 
gon's  teeth,  which  may  rise  up  armed 
men," 

^  With  tr«ie*vo«s  promises  the  tbe  b«- 

friending« 
And  words  and  wit  to  vulgar  ethns  knd- 

The  writer  would  not  probably  mak 
in  his  own  person,  as  Rock  is  made  to 
do,  of  the  same  obnoxiouilifNMviduals ; 
but  the  disguise  whidi  removes  the 
danger  of  expressiiig  eoar^  abuse,  abo 
in  part  neutraUses  its  effect,  and  givea 
(wnat  perhaps  was  the  author's  inten- 
tion) to  his  praise  the  appearance  of 
unmeaning,  gratuitotts,  and  unanswer- 
able insult 

It  is  scarody  possible  dut  any  read- 
er should  not,  from  the  title  of  tUs 
book,  be  led  to  antidpate  some  aooount 


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of  the  late  insuiteetioBft  in  Irdaml.  Of 
this,  however^  there  U  not  one  word. 
There  is  a  narrative  of  Irish  affiurs^ 
from  the  year  a.m.  I.  to  the  year  of 
the  Union.  The  reicns  of  OUam  Fod- 
kh,  DubhlachU^  FUbhertach,  Brian 
Boromhe,  Elizabeth^  Greorge  III.^  &c. 
&c  are  commemorated:  every  mea- 
sure whatever,  both  of  England  and  the 
load  government,  is  conaemned ;  and 
thoueh  the  writer  endeavours  to  sup- 
^rt  his  assertions  by  the  help  of  (]uota- 
lions  from  aut)iors,  whom,  while  he 
transcribes,  he  cannot  forbear  sneering 
at,  he  feels  it  necessary  to  admit  that 
he  has  written  rather  what  he  could 
tell,  than  what  he  has  proved.  In  a 
work  of  which  every  pace  seems  writ- 
ten in  blood,  "  the  celebrated  Irish 
Chieftain"  affects  to  have  suimressed 
matter  which  he  might  have  advanced 
in  support  of  his  argiunent,  from  the 
(car  of  prosecution.  This  fear  is  ex- 
pressed in  the  following  language  by 
Captain  Rock,  who,  in  i  few  pages, 
^iycs  us  a  particular  account  of  the 
plan  and  extent  of  his  education. 

^^  Matthew  Lanesbur^  the  Francis 
Moore  of  the  Continent,  in  apcdogizing  for 
tjie  dday  of  hii  Almanack  for  1824,  pretty 
plainly  intimates,  that  it  was  owing  to  the 
interference  of  the  Holy  AUiance,  who  had 
denounced  some  parts  of  his  works  as  dan- 
gerous to  the  peace  of  Europe.  *  I  have, 
therefore,'  he  says,  '  consented  to  sacrifice 
these  passages,  because,  je  tiens  infiniment 
1  ce  na*on  me  Use.' 

**  From  the  same  motive  I  have,  myself, 
in  the  oonrse  of  these  pages,  rejected  many 
historical  facts  and  documents,  though  of 
considerable  importance  to  the  illustration 
of  my  iubjeet ;  because  I  am  well  aware, 
that  in  the  present  times,  matter  of  fact  /tas 
got  much  into  disrepute^  and  ^at  state- 
ment!«  to  be  at  all  listened  to,  must  be  mea- 
sured by  a  minute-glass, — because  I  know, 
too,  that  of  all  the  bores  t>f  the  day,  poor 
Ireland  is  (what  some  of  her  antiquarians 
wish  to  prove  her)  hyperborean— and  be- 
cause, in  short,  like  die  worthy  almanack, 
maker  just  mentioned,  *•  je  tiens  infiniment 
a  ee  qu'ou  me  Use.' " 

The  account  of  the  chieftain's  edu- 
cation is  far  the  best  chapter  of  the 
work.    Mr  N(vth,  whose  description 


H'i^rkt  on  LtlaiuL  C^sy, 

in  parliament  xd  the  faedge-schoob, 
and  the  books  read  there,  provoked 
such  contradiction  firom  the  Irish 
clergy  and  convention,  could  scarcely 
have  calculated  on  being  able  to  i^^- 
duce  in  his  favour  a  witness  so  en- 
tirely unimpeachable  as  Captain  Rock 
is  on  such  a  subject — the  pasiage 
being  direct  and  simple  nairmttv^ 
exhibits  less  of  the  afiectetion  of  fine 
writing  than  the  same  number  of 
pages  m  any  other  pftrt  of  the  wotk. 

*^  That  particalar  hedge-school,  whkh 
had  the  honour  of  educating  me^  deserved 
rather,  perhaps,  to  be  called  a  univeisi^— 
as  the  little  students,  having  first  received 
their  rudiments  in  the  ditch,  were  from 
dience  promoted,  in  due  time,  to  graduate 
under  the  hedge. 

^^  It  is  a  mistake  to  say  that  the  Irish 
are  uneducated.  There  are  many,  it  is 
true,  among  us,  who  might  exdaim,  like 
Skirmish,  '  If  I  bad  handled  ay  pea  as 
weU  as  I  have  liaadled  my  bottle,  what  a 
charming  hand  I  should  have  written  by 
this  time  !'  But  there  is  no  doubt  that  the 
faculty  of  reading  and  writing  is  quite  as 
much  diffused  among  the  IriSi  as  among 
the  English  peasantry. 

*^  The  difference  is  not  in  the  quantity, 
but  the  gualitf/  of  our  education.  The 
charter-schools  having  done  their  utmost 
to  sicken  us  against  catechisms,  and  onr 
own  priests  not  suffenng  us  to  read  the 
Bible,*  we  are  driven  between  both,  to 
select  a  course  of  study  for  onrsdvea ;  and 
the  line  of  reading  most  usually  adopted  is 
as  f<^ows : — 

^'  In  History^Annals  of  Irish  Rogues 
and  Rapparees. 

*'  In  Biography — Memoirs  of  Jack'the 
Bachelor,  a  notorious  Smuggler,  and  of 
Freney,  a  celebrated  Highwayman. 

"  In  Theology— Pastorini's  Prophe* 
des,  and  the  Miracles  of  Prince  Hoocn- 
lohe. 

"  In  Poetry— Grid's  Art  of  Love,  sad 
Paddy's  Resource. 

*^  In  Romance-reading — Don  Beliants 
of  Greece,  MoU  Flanders,  &c  &c. 

*'  Such  being  the  leading  works  in  that 
choice  catalogue,  from  which,  according 
to  the  taste  of  the  parties,  is  sdected  the 
chief  reading  of  tlte  cottagers  of  Ireland. 

'*  So  educated  and  so  goyemed,  is  it 
wonderful  that  the  Rock  family  should 
flourish  ?"— P.  188. 


•  On  this  passage  is  the  foUowing  note,  which,  from  the  writer  we  review,  wiU  be 
felt  as  an  important  admission.  ••  The  argumaita  of  ihe  Roman  Catholic  Clergy, 
against  the  use  of  the  Bible,  as  a  clas'^-book,  are  well  foundi:d ;  but  the  length 
to  which  some  of  them  carry  their  objections  to  a  frrc  and  geuerid  perusal  of  the 
Saiptures,  is  inconsistent  with  the  spirit  as  well  of  civil  as  of  religious  libcrtr."— - 
p.  187. 


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Memoirs  of  Ooftain  Hack' 


Such  stiidks  qualify  C«plftui  Rock 
for  discussiiig  the  questioii  of  educa- 
tion ;  the  graduate  of  the  hedge  re^ 
gaids  with  indifierence,— -whi^  per^ 
hapBy  with  an  the  sneers,  the  learned 
editor  enries, — the  ''  bene  se  gessit 
quauiditt  apod  nos  commoratus  est" 
of  the  national  univeriity.  Charter- 
sdioob  and  firee-schoob  are  r^arded 
with  diatmat  and  derision;  diocesan 
and  parochial  acfaools  are  pronounced 
ibefiectire— and  it  is  but  too  true — 
yet  if  foolish  fears  prevent  Roman 
Catholics  fVom  attending  the  schools, 
are  they  entitled  to  transfer  the  blame 
of  their  ignorance  to  those  who  pro- 
vide the  means  of  education  for  them, 
and,  in  ererv  wav  they  can,  point  out 
i  ti  unspeakable  aavantages  ? — even  the 
Kildare  Street  Societv  is  not  spared, 
though  in  their  schools  every  sacrifice 
has  been  made,  in  the  hope  of  re- 
moving the  objections  of  the  Roman 
Catholics.  The  existence  of  a  Bible, 
even  of  the  Doway  translation,  in  the 
school,  of  which  a  charter  is  occasion- 
ally r«id  aloud  by  the  master,  is  held 
to  be  a  sufficient  compliance  with  the 
principle  of  scriptural  education,  in 
the  fiuth  of  whicn  the  society  exists  ; 
for  this  purpose  it  receives  its  public 
grants,  and  is  enabled  to  collect  pri- 
vate subftcriptipns,  and  is  the  legatee 
of  considerable  property.  And  this 
principle,  wc  hoix?  and  trust,  it  will 
never  attempt  to  alter  or  deny — with 
Mr  Xorth  in  the  House  of  Commons 
to  advocate  and  explaiu  its  reasons, 
wc  fear  very  little  the  effect  of  any 
niisrepresentati9U. 

Captain  Rock  says, 

»'  Otit  of  the\)ublic  funds,  granted  to 
tilts  institution  for  the  puiposes  of  educa- 
lion,  the  greatest  portion,  it  seems,  finds 
iti  way  to  the  Savoured  rcsion  of  Ulster,— 
that  being  (according  to  the  usual  rule  for 
appropriating  money  in  Ireland)  the  port 
01  the  countiy  where  such  assistance  is 
least  wanted.  By  their  own  report,  in- 
deed, it  appears  that  one  northern  county, 
Antrim,  has  shared  twice  as  much  of  their 
assbtance  as  the  whole  province  of  Con. 
naught ;  and,  in  conformity  with  this  sys- 
tem, we  find,  oat  of  a  list  of  one  hundred 
and  twenty-aeren  schoolmasters  appointed 
by  them,  no  more  than  forty-nine  Catho- 
lics/'—.p.  179. 

With  what  a  serious  air  is  this  state- 
ment made ! — The  illibcrality  of  the 
Kildare  Street  Society  proved  by  ha- 
ving nearly  half  its  masters  Uomaii 
Catholics  !  If  this  be  ind<=c<l  the  case. 


when  we  remember  the  disproportion 
in  number  of  Roman  CatboKca  (qua- 
lified to  conduct  a  sdKX^)  to  wdl^ 
educated  Protestants,  a  stronger  proof 
could  scarcdy  be  advancetf  of  the 
anxious  [Hreference  given  to  Roman 
Catholics. — ^Again,  The  parts  of Ireltmd 
which  least  want  eduooHon,  re'eeivemott 
assisUmcefrom  the  society.  To  be  ture 
they  do-^w  could  it  be  otherwiae  ? 
Is  not  this  what  a  moment's  consider- 
ation would  compel  us  to  anticiptte? 
The  poor  of  Antrim  feel  the  blwafngi 
of  education.  They  solicit,  and  obtain, 
and  deserve  the  aid  of  the  society— 
And  is  the  society  to  become  weary  of 
well-doing  ?  to  desert  the  fidd  which 
baa  amply  repaid  her  labours.  No; 
each  year,  we  trust  that  in  the  North 
new  schools  may  be  fbunded«  Similar 
assistance  is  by  the  same  society  anxi- 
ously ofiTered  to  the  South,  and  ooi»- 
temptuously  rejected ;  but  if  the  ao- 
ciety  had  never  established  or  aaaiated 
a  school,^  the  publication  of  its  most 
valuable  and  interesting  books,  which 
have  already  superseded  the  lifarary 
described  in  a  former  extract,  hM 
done  more  to  benefit  the  country  than 
any  words  can  adequately  .express. 
Grood  has  been  thus  clone,  which  has 
its  reward  on  earth,  and  after  earth. 
Other  men  and  other  societiea  have  in 
the  same  unhappy  country  been  alio 
in  their  way  busy, — **  sowing  the  wind, 
to  reap  the  whirlwind" 

It  would  occupy  more  time  than  we 
cau  at  present  command,  and  more 
space  tlian  could  be  reasonably  allow* 
ed  for  an  article  on  a  volume  *^  bom 
to  be  forgot,"  to  follow  Captain  Rock 
in  bis  miscellaneous  and  unconneeted 
observations.  All  who  disbdieve  the 
doctrines,  and  demise  the  forms  of  the 
Church  of  England,  meet  in  this  mill- 
tary  orator  a  warm  and  very  violent 
advocate.  In  vain  has  it  been  shewn 
that  the  right  to  tithe  is  as  the  right 
to  any  other  property — this  writer  is 
determined  to  regard  it  as  a  tax.  Is 
it  accidental,  that  in  quoting  an  ex- 
cellent pamphlet  on  the  subject,  the 
title  is  misprinted,  and  the  reference 
therefore  gives  no  information  wfau^ 
will  enable  the  reader  to  compare 
the  statements  of  Captain  Rock  with 
the  unanswerable  argument  of  S.  N., 
to  whom,  in  vanity,  which,  if  we 
pics^  I  i^iihtly^  bo  will  soon  repent  in 
.sliauie,  he  opposes  himself ?— from 
that  lumplilct,  and  one  more  lately 
inil'iisliul  by  the  wme  writer,  cxtracu 


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ought  to  be  printed  iti  the  Mandne^ 
dMT  have  dotie^  as  Detn  Burrows 
or  Lord  Norburf  has  said,  essetUial 
[;S.  N.l  Bcnrice. 

Captain  Rock  does  not  believe  the 
ttirades  of  Prince  Hohenlohe,  though 
the  work  under  that  name  was  to  have 
been  one  of  his  cott^;e  dassics— but 
as  his  '*  father  was  a  great  believer  in 
rairadee,  both  old  and  new/'  the  son 
has  the  opportunity  of  saying,  that  it 
is  in  vain  to  tell  us  that  Folly  confines 
herself  to  any  particular  creed.  She 
Is  no  such  bigot,  but,  like  Pope's 
Belinda,  "  shines  on  all  alike  in  their 
turn."  An  attempt  was  made  by  the 
bishops  of  the  Roman  Cathdics  to  re- 
present the  cure  of  some  nervous  dis- 
eases, in  which  the  suflferers  had  all 
the  assistance  of  medicine,  as  mira* 
talous  proofs  of  their  own  divine 
nrission.  These  cures  are  said  to  have 
been  performed  by  a  native  of  Ger- 
many residing  there,  on  patients  in 
Ireland  whom  he  had  never  seen, 
though  it  is  proved  by  Dr  Pfeufftp-'s 
Memoir,  that  ne  failed  m  every  case  in 
which  he  undertook  to  perform  cures 
by  sympathetic  prayer  on  the  sick  of 
a  German  hospital — the  bdief  of  these 
German  miracles,  which  no  man  now 
believes,  (theybeing  now  three  months 
old,)  but  which  are  yet  preached  in 
Ireland,  perhaps  to  keep  alive  a  faith 
in  Pastorini's  Prophecies  of  hatred  and 
blood,  is  represented  as  only  an  in- 
stance of  the  credulity  to  whidi  man's 
nature  is  subject,  and  is  compared 
with  a  narrative  found  in  the  deposi- 
tions collected  after  the  Rebellion  of 
1641.  "  Whieh,"  says  this  veracious 
oonimentator,  '<  proves  how  implicitly 
a  Protestant  Bishop  could  believe  in 
psalm^singing  ghosts,"  p.  «49.  In 
another  part  of  the  work,  the  same  de- 
positions are  thus  alluded 


<^  How  fax  those  dq>osition8  are  worthy 
of  belief,  on  which  the  heaviest  charges  of 
cruelty  against  the  Catholics  rest,  tnav  be 
judged  from  the  following  specimen  of  tnelr 
ratia«iality.  It  was  deposed,  that  the  ghosts 
of  the  Protestants,  drowned  by  the  rebels 
at  Portadown  Bridge,  were  seen  for  a  long 
tinae  moring  in  various  ihapes  upon  the 
river  {  and  Doctor  Maxwell,  Bishop  of 
Kilmore,  (one  of  the  moat  credible,  per- 
haps,  of  aJl  the  deponents,)  enters  mto 
grave  particulars  about  these  ghoata  in  his 
deposition,  and  describes  them  as  ^  some- 
times having  been  seen,  day  ajid  night, 
walking  upon  the  river,  sometimes  bnmd- 
nhing  their  naked  swords ;  sometimes  smg- 


Worki  oa  Ireland.  L^^i» 

hig  psafans,  and  at  odier  tifflii  shriniring 
in  a  most  hidsous  and  fearfol  OMansiw' 
We  see  by  this,  too,  that  Protestant  Bl# 
shops  occasionally  can  rival  even  Catholic 
ones  in  their  deglutition  of  the  miraculous.** 
P.  94. 

Before  we  make  any  i«mark  on  the 
logic  which  could  jvstify  die  fiilsdiood 
of  one  church  by  the  supposed  credu- 
lity of  an  individual  belonging  to  ano- 
dier-^before  we  expose  Captain  Roek^s 
misrepresentation  of  Doctor  Max wdl'a 
evidence,  by  a  reference  to  the  deMd- 
tlons  in  quesrion,  and  without  delay«* 
ing  to  remark  on  the  contrast  betwem 
the  eager  efforts  to  believe  die  *' lying 
wonders"  of  our  own  days,  and  the 
strife  of  Dr  Maxwell's  mind  to  disbe- 
lieve that  of  which  he  expresslv  saya 
he  had  no  other  evidence  than  the  as- 
sertions and  the  oaths  of  others,  and 
yet  allows  its  due  weight  to  human 
testimony,  we  must,  even  at  the  hatard 
of  appearing  tedious,  quote  the  foUow- 
in^  passage  f\rom  Sir  W.  Temple's  9d^ 
nurable  Preftoe  to  his  History  of  the 
Rebellion. 

*^  To  speak  truth  exactly,  is  hiffhly  com- 
mendable in  any  man,  espedalTy  in  one 
that  takes  upon  him  to  be  a  public  inform- 
er ;  to  raze,  to  corrupt  a  record,  is  a  crime 
of  a  very  high  nature,  and  bv  the  laws  of 
the  land  most  severely  punishable.  His- 
tories  are  caUed  Testes  tempomm^  lux  ve» 
ritatis,  vita  memoria  ;  and  certainly  hs 
doth  offend  in  a  high  degree,  who  shall 
either  negligently  suff^,  or  wilfully  pro- 
cure them  to  brinff  false  evidence;  that 
shall  make  their  dark  lanterns  to  give 
light  but  on  one  side,  or,  as  ignetfOuU  to 
cause  the  jeader  to  wander  firom  me  truth, 
and  vainly  to  follow  folae  shadows,  or  the 
factious  humours  of  the  wtiter*8  brain.  To 
be  false,  to  deceive,  to  lie,  even  in  ordinaiy 
discourse,  are  rices  commonly  branded  with 
much  infamy,  and  held  in  great  detesution 
by  all  good  men.  And  therefore  certainly 
those  that  arrive  at  such  a  height  of  impu- 
dence, as  magisterially  to  take  upon  them 
not  only  to  abuse  the  present,  but  future 
ages,  must  needs  renda  themselves  justly 
odious.  They  stand  responsible  for  other 
men's  errors ;  and  whereas,  in  all  other 
notorious  offenders,  their  sin  and  thrir  lifo 
determines  at  furthest  together ;  the  sin  of 
these  men  is  perpetrated  after  their  decease ; 
they  speak  when  they  are  dead,  makefolse 
infusions  into  every  age,  and  court  every 
new  person  that  shall  many  years  after  cast 
his  eyes  upon  their  story  to  give  belkf  to 
their  lies.** — The  depositiona,  though  takm 
after  the  most  mature  deliberation,  were, 
says  Sir  W.  Temple,  *♦  held  by  the  Irish 
to  bf  very  injurious  to  their  countrymen  : 


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Memoin  t*f  CajMn  Hock, 


hnt,**  be  addh  *^  It  If  not  mudi  tob«won« 
dered,  if  they  who  had  it  in  desisn  to  de- 
stroy an  the  public  records  and  ancient 
monuments  in  the  kingdom,  to  banish  both 
the  English  law  and  government,  do  so 
bitterly  dedaim  against  these  evidences  of 
their  eruehy,  and  Hvely  attestations  given 
in  to  ptrpatoal*  the  QMiDory  of  them  to  their 
eternal  infamy. 

'<  If  they  could  imagine  whidi  way  to 
tilfDce,  oc  by  what  means  to  blast  the  cre- 
dit of  these  examinations  thus  solemnly 
taken»  and  prevail,  according  to  their  most 
impetuous  desires,  upon  the  late  treaty  of 
peace,  to  have  all  the  indictments  legally 
put  in  against  the  principal  rebels  to  their 
adherents,  taken  on  the  file  and  cancelled, 
they  wonM  not  be  out  of  hope,  as  these 
times  now  are,  to  palliate  their  rebellion 
with  such  spedons  pretences  as  that  their 
barbarous  cruelties,  acted  beyond  aU  paral* 
lei,  being  lorgotien,  itshould  witkgreatap- 
planse  nasa  down  to  posterity,  under  the 
name  of  a  holy  and  just  law,  for  the  de- 
fence  of  the  Catholic  cause.*'— 5tr  FT. 
Temple* t  Prtface. 

Raving  thus  prefhced^  let  ns  glance 
over  these  exaroinationsy  which  prove 
to  Captain  Bock,  "  that  Protestant 
Bishopa  can  oecasionally  rival  Catholio 
onet  in  the  deglutition  q£  the  miracu- 
lomk"— i2oc^>p.94. 

**  Robeit  Maxwell,  clerk.  Archdeacon 
of  Down,  sworn  and  examined,  deposeth 
and  saith,  iwier  alia  ;— 

**  That,  by  command  from  Sir  Phelfan 
0*Ne{l,  the  rebels  dragged  the  deponent's 
brother.  Lieutenant  James  Maxwell,  out 
of  his  bed,  in  the  rage  and  height  of  a  burn- 
ing fbver ;  and,  lest  any  of  his  acquaintance 
or  friends  should  bury  him,  they  carried 
hhn  two  miles  from  any  diurch,  and  there 
crudly  butchered  him,  when  he  neither 
knew  what  he  did  or  said ;  and  thus  Sir 
FheUm  paid  him  two  hundred  and  sixty 
pounds  which  he  owed  him ;  and  his  wift| 
Orissd  Maxwdl,  being  in  cfaild-birth,  diey 
ittiptetigkpaaktd,  di^e  htr  abtet  aa  ar- 
i*ira  fli^  to  th0  Black  waft«i!|  and  diown- 
edhci." 

Then  foUowa  an  acoount  of  im« 
ipeakahle  horrora. 

<^  The  number  of  the  people  drowned  at 
the  bridge  of  Portadown  are  diversdy  re- 
ported, according  as  men  staid  among  the 
rebds.  Tbu  dqxment,  who  staid  as  long 
as  any,  and  had  better  intelligence  than 
most  <Mr  the  English  amongst  Ihosi,  and  had 
best  reason  to  know  the  truth,  saith*  '  there 
were  (by  tbdr  own  report)  one  hundred  and 
ninety  drowned  w^  Mr  FoUarton.  At 
another  time,  thev  threw  one  hundred  and 
forty  over  the  saw  bridge;  at  another  time, 
thirty-six,  or  thirty-sevsn ;  andsoeonttnuedt 


drowning  more  or  fewer,  ftir  lemar  ddrt 
weeks;  so  as  the  fewest  which  can  oa 
supposed  to  have  perished,  must  needa 
be  above  one  thousand;  beudes  as  many 
more  drowned  between  Uiat  bridge  and  the  • 
peat  lough  of  Montjoy ;  beddes  those  who 
perished  by  the  swcnd,  fire,  and  famine.  In 
ConbrassU,  and  the  English  ^antations 
adjacent ;  which,  m  rmrd  there  escaped 
not  three  bundled  oat  of  all  those  qnartara, 
most  needs  amount  to  many  thonnods* 

•  •  •  •  Thenaca 
above  one  hundred  and  fif^-four  »K^««n^ 
now  wanting  within  the  very  predact  of 
Ulster.' 

'*  And  this  deponent  farther  saith,  •  that 
It  was  common  Uilk  among  the  rebelt  that 
the  ghosts  of  Mr  William  Fullarton,  Tl- 
mothy  Jephes,  and  the  most  of  ^ose  who 
were  thrown  over  Portedown  Bri^e,  wero 
daily  and  ni^tly  seen  to  walk  upon  tha 
river—seroetwies  singins  of  psahns,  soma* 
ttmea  brandishing  of  naked  swords,  aons^ 
times  screedung  in  a  moot  hideoos  aai 
fearful  manner.  The  deponant  did  not  be- 
lieve the  same  at  first,  ntUher  doth  he  ye$ 
know  vhether  to  believe  it  or  no;  but  saith^ 
that  divers  of  the  rebels  assured  him  that 
they  themselves  did  dwell  near  to  the  same 
river,  and  being  daily  affrighted  with  those 
apparitions,  but  espedally  with  thdr  horri- 
ble screeching,  were,  in  oondusion,  enfbrced 
to  remove  farther  into  the  oountry  i  «heb 
own  priesu  and  frkra  eeuld  not  deny  ^bto 
truth  thetaoC  But,  m  it  waa  by  the  dep». 
ncnt  otagacted  aaio  them,  theysiaidttwaaa 
oonniog  dight  of  the  devil»  to  hinder  thia 

Seat  work  of  propagating  the  Catholic 
ith,  and  killing  of  ho-etics ;  or  that  it  waa 
wrought  by  witchcraft.  The  deponent  him- 
sdfhved  within  thirteen  miles  of  the  bridge, 
and  never  heard  anv  man  so  much  as  doubt 
of  the  truth  diereor.  Howsoever,  he  obli- 
ged no  man's  faith,  in  regaid  he  saw  It 
not  with  his  own  eyes  ;  otherwiee  ho  had 


'  aa  BOially  ooaM  be  rt- 
^|alfed  o£  mch  a  matter  " 

We  have  been  thus  particular  in  our 
eactradi,  not  only  becauae  Captain  Rock 
is  occadonidly  very  facetious  on  the 
subject  of  Dr  Maxwell's  credulity^ 
but  because  from  thia  selected  sped- 
men  he  argues  diat  the  deponttons  of 
1041  are  undeserving  of  credit  or  at* 
tention.  Dr  Maxwms  credulity  con« 
sists  in  his  repeating  both  strong  and 
gaarded  expresuons  of  doubt  of  ths 
commoo  veporta  of  the  ncighbovrhooi 
at  the  time,  which  were,  that  in  the 
paxoxysms  of  a  diseased  conscience, 
die  rebds  hnsgined  that  they  bdidd 
the  sfaosts  of  tMT  victims ;  does  it  not 
con&m,  rather  than  impeach  the  evi- 
dence of  the  moat  dioddng  cruelties 
recorded  in  the  history  or  mankind. 


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LMrv, 


that  iSie  reooUection  of  tbem  should 
have  thus  affected  the  imagination,  as 
die  guilt  of  the  solitary  murderer  is 
proved  by  his  unconquerable  convic- 
tion of  the  presence  of  the  dead? 
Suppose,  however,  that  Dr  Maxwell 
was  infected  with  the  credulity  of  his 
neighbourhood,  and  believed  the  tale 
as  it  was  told  to  him,  does  this  in« 
validate  his  testimony  when  he  speaks 
from  his  own  knowle^  ?  If  it  be  incre- 
dible that  ghosts  appeared,  is  it  there- 
fbre  fair  to  argue  as  Captain  Rock 
does,  that  the  Protestants  of  Ulster 
were  not  murdered  ? — Because  the 
rebels  of  Portadown  were  affected  with 
si^perstitious  fear,  and  Dr  Maxwell 
has  sworn  to  this  fact,  are  we  waxrant- 
ed  in  disregarding  the  Archdeacon's 
aecount  of  his  brother  and  his  wife  ? 
Because  murderers  go  mad,  are  we 
therefore  entitled  to  describe  their 
guilt  as  a  maniacal  delusion  ? 

It  would  be  wearisome  to  follow  the 
writer  of  this  inflammatory  volume 
through  all  his  falsifications  of  history, 
and  indeed  of  little  use; — those  to 
whom  his  book  is  addressed,  are  more 
likely  to  look  to  the  colouring,  than  to 
the  truth  of  the  narrative.  To  argue 
sophiatically  is  more  easy  than  to  ex- 
pose a  sophism,  and  in  our  remarks  on 
a  volume  of  sophisms,  we  are  anxious 
rather  to  shew  the  spirit  in  which  the 
book  is  written,  than  to  write  a  com- 
mentary upon  it  The  perpetual  at- 
tempts at  wit,  repeated  and  diaappoint- 
edy  and  proving  the  j^verty  of  the 
mind,  wmch,  in  defect  of  other  food, 
is  obliged  to  put  up  with  such  enter- 
tainment, remind  us  of  Captain  Rock's 
own  *'  evening  conversaziones  round 
bis  small  turf  fire,  and  his  frugal  re- 
past on  that  imaginative  dish,  poiaioe$ 
andpoint"* 

We  almost  regret  having  been  led 
into  exposing  the  misrepresentations 
cmT  Archdeacon  Maxwells   evidence. 


and  sharing  the  inconsequence  of  the 
conclusion  Captain  Rock  draws  from 
the  assumed  premise  of  the  Archdea- 
con's credulity.  We  will  not  discuss 
with  the  incendiary  writer,  the  many 
questions  of  Irish  history  which  he 
treats,  as  though,  we  think,  a  r^;ard  to 
self-preservation  should  make  us  study 
the  dreadful  record  of  a  nation  rising 
up  as  one  man,  to  murdo'  the  defence- 
less,  with  whom  they  had  been  living 
on  terms  of  brotherhood  and  peace, 
which  has  since  become  impossible, 
yet  these  are  "  things  to  think  of,  not 
to  tell;"  in  this  our  day,  it  ought, 
however,  to  be  holden  in  remembrance 
who  were  the  instigators  of  the  mas- 
sacre—how they  were  men  who  *'  had, 
in  regard  of  their  knowledge  of  the 
laws  of  the  land,  very  great  reputation 
and. trust,"  and  how  on  the  eve  of  the 
rebellion— 

-  ^^  They  began  to  stand  up  like  great 
patriots,  for  the  vindication  of  the  Ubaties 
of  the  subject,  and  redress  of  their  pretend- 
ed grievances,  and  having  by  their  bold 
appearing  therein,  made  a  great  party  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  some  of  them  did 
there  magisterially  obtrude,  as  undoubted 
maxims  of  the  law,  the  pemidous  8pec<ila- 
tions  of  their  own  bram,  whidi,  thoo^ 
plainly  discerned  to  be  fiill  of  virulcncy, 
and  tending  to  sedition,  yet  so  strangdy 
were  many  of  the  Protestants,  and  well- 
meaning  men  in  the  house,  blinded  with 
an  apprehension  of  ease  and  redress,  and 
so  stupified  with  their  bold  accusationa  of 
the  government,  as  most  thouglit  not  fit* 
others  durst  not  stand  up  to  contradict 
their  fond  assertions  ;  so  as  what  they 
spoke  was  received  with  great  acclamation, 
and  much  applause,  by  most  of  the  Protes- 
tant membos  of  the  house,  many  of  which, 
under  specious  pretences  of  public  zeal  to 
this  country,  they  had  inveigled  into  their 
party."t 

This  is  a  fact,  which  reqvurea  no 
comment  from  us;  these  are  tmtht 
which  should  be  ^^  ^«Mim  a-^trpt^t" 


*  ^'  When  there  is  but  a  small  portion  of  salt  left,  the  potatoe,  instead  of  bein^  dipt 
into  it  by  the  guests,  is  merely,  as  a  sort  of  indulgence  to  the  fkncy,  pointed  at  iL**— . 
Rock,  p.  243. 

We  suspect  that  this  is  a  Cumberland  treat,  and  not  known  in  Ireland,  but  Captata 
Rock  is  authority.  It  is  thus  alluded  to  in  Anderson's  ballads  : — 

**>  I  dsnnerlcss  ^^aog  ae  hawf  o*  the  week  ; 

If  we  get  a  bit  meat  on  a  Sunday, 
She  cuts  me  nae  mair  than  would  physic  a  sneypt. 

Then  we've  'tatey  and  point  every  Monday.'* 


t  Sir  W.  Teroplo,  Hist,  of  Rebellion. 


19 


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We  come  to  <lte  last  recorded  ad* 
venture  of  the  captain* — 

((  One  eveniDg  the  captain,  who  is  nu 
ther  of  a  romantic  disposition,  was,  it 
seems,  indulging  himself  with  a  walk  by 
moonlight,  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Suir, 
meditating,  no  doubt,  on  the  events  of  his 
loog  life,  and  sighing  after  that  peace  which 
ht  mighi  have  enjoyed,  had  the  measures 
of  the  government  not  forced  him  into  such 
notous  distinction.  From  this  reverie  he 
was  awakened  by  the  tramp  of  horses,  and 
saw  rapidly  advancing  toward  him  a  party 
of  that  gendarmerxe*  to  whom,  at  present, 
u  confided  the  task  of  civilizing  Ireland." 
He  *•*•  was  conducted  to  the  gaol  of  Tip- 
perary.  A  Sessions  under  we  insurrec* 
turn  act,  being  always  ready  in  that  town, 
he  was  tried  the  following  day,  and  the 
crimes  with  which  he  was  chiuged  were. 
Firstly,  being  out  in  the  opten  air  by  moon- 
light ;  and  secondly,  not  being  able  to  give 
an  account  of  himsellU— Being  found  guilty 
of  the  transportable  offence,  naraefy,  that 
of  being  out  by  moonUgfat,  the  captain  is 
at  this  moment  on  his  way  to  those  distant 
shores,  where  so  many  lads  »  who  love  the 
moon*  have  preceded  him.*'  Hocky  p.  371. 

Had  the  friends  of  Thortell^  ''  the 
henevolent,"  after  his  being  haiiged  on 
the  merits  of  his  case,  endeavoured  to 
excite  sympathy  in  his  favour,  because 
^njuied  man — ^he  was  convicted  on 
a  holiday,  we  should  then  jierhaps 
have  a  parallel  to  the  strange  inculpa- 
tion of  the  laws,  under  whioi  the  sup- 
posed author  of  such  a  book  is  re- 
moved from  the  society  which,  now 
that  hk  power  of  ii^uringit  more  ma- 
terially is  taken  away,  he  continues  to 
insult  or  disturb  by  his  writings. 
When  a  volume  of  satirical  verses  was 
a  few  years  ago  attributed  to  a  popular 
poet,  an  advertisement  was  inserted  in 
thie  papers,  saying  that  the  knowledge 
of  low  life  exhibited  in  the  work  might 
have  saved  a  gentleman  of  his  rank  in 
society  fronj  the  character  of  writing 
the  work  in  question.  Should  public 
rumour  attribute  Captain  Rock  s  Me- 
moirs to  an  individual,  whom  we  are 
disposed  even  yet  to  regard  with  bet- 
ter hopes  than  such  writings  warrant, 
to  none  more  than  to  ourselves  would 
pleasure  be  afibrded,  by  an  authorised 
contradiction  of  a  report  which  cannot 
but  be  injurious. 

To  Mr  Crofton  Croker,  we  per- 
ha^  owe  some  apology,  for  connecting 
with  our  review  of  CapUin  Rock's  Me- 
moirs, the ''  Researches  in  the  South  of 
Ireland."  He  will,  we  feel  sure,  excuse 
Vol.  XV. 


SSI 

this  seeming  want  of  courtesy,  when  our 
only  choice  is  between  adding  to  tliis 
article  some  account,  however  imper-t 
feet,  of  his  very  interesting  vfotk,  and 
the  delay  of  another  month.  Mr 
Croker's  book  consists  in  dissertations 
on  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  history ; 
the  scenery ;  the  architectural  antiqui- 
ties ;  the  romantic  superstitions ;  and 
the  literature  of  Ireland,  connected  by 
a  slender  thread  of  personal  adventure^ 
in  a  tour  through  the  southern  coun- 
ties, in  company  with  Miss  Nicholson 
and  Mr  Alfred  Nicholson,  whose  il- 
lustrations increase  the  beauty  and  the 
value  of  the  work. 

Mr  Croker's  style,  though  mani- 
festly that  of  an  unpractised  writer,  is 
simple,  manly,  straight-forward,  with- 
out pretence  and  without  di^uise; 
he  has  gone  ^rough  Ireland  in  the 
spirit  of  R  man  disposed  to  be  pleased, 
and  seems  wherever  he  travelled  to 
have  been  cheerful,  and  in  cheerful 
society.  His  own  style  exemplifies  the 
rich  and  characteristic  hunAOur  which 
distinguishes  his  oountrynftn,  which  he 
shares  abundantly,  and  of  course  is 
well  qualified  toeojoj  and  to  record.—* 
He  seems  to  have  iiiiBgled,  in  firee  and 
happy  intercourse,  vrith  persons  of 
every  difi^nt  rank,  and  to  have  en* 
tirely  escaped  the  yellow  fever  of  Irish 
politics.  In  his  work  *'  politics  are 
carefully  avoided ;"  whether  this  vrill 
be  considered  as  a  recommendation  or 
a  defect,  he  tells  us  that  he  has  yet  to 
learn ; "  but  on  asubject  which  has  call-* 
ed  forth  such  angry  discussion  (adds 
Mr  Groker^  I  feel  neither  qualified 
nor  inctinea  to  o£kr  an  ofnnion." 

Mr  broker  and  his  companions  had 
Uie  good  sense,  in  parts  of  the  country 
where  the  roads  were  bad,  to  take 
advantage  of  any  means  of  conveyance 
that  omred.  We  give  one  of  their 
adventures-^Would  that  we  had  the 
opportunity  of  illustrating  it  as  Mr  C. 
has  done,  with  a  wood-cut,  which  ab- 
solutely lau^s  the  reader  in  the  face. 

'^  Havinghired  a  car  at  Lismore  to  take 
us  to  Fermoy,  and  wishing  to  walk  part  of 
the  way  along  the  banks  of  the  Blackwa- 
ler,  we  desired  the  driver  to  meet  us  at  a  * 
given  point.  On  arriving  there,  the  man 
pretended  not  to  have  understood  we  were 
three  in  party,  and  dananded,  in  conse- 
qaenoe,  an  exorbitant  addition  to  the  sum 
agreed  on.  Altkoogh  we  were  without 
any  other  means  of  conveyance  for  eight 
Irish  mUes,  it  was  resolved  not  to  submit 
to  this  imposition,  and  we  accordinglv  with- 
drew oar  luggage,  and  dismissed  the  car, 
4B 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


M2  Worki  on  IrehmL 

ni«ndiiiff  to  weA  aaoUia  aaxngit  a  ftw 
cabins  that  appeared  at  a  little  djstance 
from  the  road  tide.  A  high  dispute  co- 
toed  with  the  driver*  who,  of  eourse,  was 
ineensed  at  this  proceeding,  and  eodea- 
Toured  to  enlist  in  his  cause  the  few  strag- 
gling peasants  that  had  collected  around 
us,  but  having  taken  refuge,  and  placed 
our  trunks  in  Uie  nearest  cabin,  ourselves 
and  property  became  sacred,  and  the  dis- 
position to  hostilityy  which  had  been  at  first 
nartiaUy  expressed,  gradually  died  away. 
When  we  began  to  make  inquiries  for  a 
horse  and  car  of  any  kind  to  take  us  into 
Fermoy,  our  endeavours  were  for  some 
time  fruitless.  One  person  had  a  car,  but 
no  hoise.  Another  a  car  building,  which, 
if  Dermot  Lcary  were  as  good  as  ms  word, 
would  be  finished  next  week  some  time, 

*  Ood  willii^.'  At  length  we  gained  in- 
tdUgence  of  a  horse  that  was  ^  only  two 
miles  off,  drawing  turf— Sure  he  could  be 
fetched  in  leu  than  no  time.*  But  then 
again,  ^  that  big  car  of  Thady  Conner's 
was  too  great  a  load  for  him  entirely— 
Surely  the  basic  would  never  draw  the  car 
into  Fermov,  let  alone  their  honours  and 
the  trunks.*  After  some  further  consult- 
ation, a  car  was  discovered  more  adapted 
to  the  capabi&ties  of  the  miserable  ammal 
thus  called  upon  to  ^  leave  work  and  carry 
wood,*  and  thou^  of  the  commonest 
kind,  we  were  glad  to  secure  it.  By  means 
of  our  trunks  and  some  straw,  we  formed 
p^Iodgment  on  the  car,  which  being  without 
springs,  and  on  the  worst  possible  o{  roads, 
was  tuft  exactly  a  bed  of  down.  The  se- 
Tere  contusions  we  received  on  precipitating 
into  numerous  cavities,  though  no  joke, 
caused  some  laughter,  on  which  the  driver 
turned  round  with  a  most  facetious  expres- 
sion  of  countenance,  suggesting  that,— 

*  Maybe  the  motion  did  not  just  agree 
with  the  lady ;  but  never  fear,  she  would 
soon  get  used  to  it,  and  be  asleep  before 
we  were  half  way  to  Fermoy.'  This  pre- 
diction, it  will  readily  be  supposed,  was 
not  fulfilled,  and  I  believe  it  was  three 
days  before  we  recovered  from  the  bruises 
of  that  journey.  It  is  difficult  t^^ay  whe- 
ther  our  situation  will  exdte  minh  or  sjrm- 
pathy  in  the  minds  of  our  readers,  but  a 
sketch  may  do  no  injury  to  the  descrip. 
tion.-— Pp.  31,  32. 

We  continue  our  extracts,  selecting 
not  the  p^tssftffes  of  greatest  interest, 
but  those  which  are  most  easily  de-> 
tached,  and  require  no  comment  to 
render  them  intelligible ;  we  will 
therefore  suppose  Mr  Croker  and  his 
companions  dismounted  from  the  ve* 
bicle,  which,  in  spite  of  the  assistance 
of  picture,  Mr  Croker  is  unable  ade- 
quatdy  to  describe. 

*'  From  Cappoquin  to  Lismore,  the 
banks  of  the  river  become  still  richer  and 


CM^, 


more  dose;  wignHlfant  lih  Irwi  dm  their 
waving  branches  in  the  stream,  and  have 
attaindl  a  surprising  growth  and  beauty. 
Within  about  two  muss  of  Limore,  the 
fkequent  stoppages  occasioned  br  locks  in- 
duced us  to  land,  and  pursue  the  remain- 
der of  the  way  on  foot  A  walk  of  increa- 
sing beauty  brought  us  within  view  of  its 
fine  castle,  rising  out  of  trees  above  an  ex- 
tensive bridge,  with  numerous  arches,  and 
one  of  striking  dimensions. 

^*  The  entrance  to  the  castle  is  under  an 
old  gateway  with  towers,  from  whence  a 
level  walled  avenue,  shaded  on  one  side 
by  a  row  of  aged  and  stately  pine-treea^ 
louls  to  a  second  gateway,  over  which  are 
sculptured  the  arms  of  the  Earl  of  Cork, 
with  the  often-quoted  motto,  «  Ood*s  pro- 
vidence is  my  mheritance.'  This  is  die 
entrance  into  an  extensive  court-yazd,  the 
north  and  east  sides  of  which,<4f  not  re- 
cently erected,  are  so  disguised  as  to  have 
a  modem  appearance. 

^^A  tame  eagle  was  pluming  his  fea- 
thers in  the  sun  beride  ^e  door  of  the 
Castle;  and  the  si^t  of  the  monardi  bird, 
in  its  present  situation,  chained  to  a  sl^t 
wooden  perch,  seemed  a  fine  emblem  of 
the  wild  and  lawless  spirit  of  feudal  days, 
controlled,  if  not  subdued,  by  the  power 
of  civilization,  beyond  the  reach  of  wbiA 
it  had  long  soared  in  proud  and  toded 
security.  There  was  no  difficulty  in  ob- 
taining permission  to  see  the  interims.  A 
book  lay  on  the  hall  uble,  where  strangers 
write  their  names,  and  a  servant  is  in  at- 
tendance to  conduct  them  from  room  to  room. 
The  guide,  though  particularly  dvil,  was 
totally  ignorant  of  any  anecdotes  connected 
with  the  place ;  in  vain  I  inquired  for  the 
apartment  consecrated  by  the  memory  of 
the  philosophic  Robert  Boyle,  who  was 
bom  here ; — for  that  where  the  feeble  mo- 
narch, James  II.,  is  said  to  have  started 
back  from  the  window,  appalled  at  bdiold- 
ing  its  height  above  the  nver ;. or  for  any 
of  those  pkces  identified  with  Kaleigh  or 
^TOghilL  Had  I  not  been  previously  aware 
of  the  association  of  these  names  with  Lis« 
more  Castle,  I  should  have  gone  through 
its  chambers  with  aslittle  interest  as  through 
those  of  any  other  well  furnished  house. 
In  fact,  it  is  no  more ;  and  the  local  asso- 
dation  of  such  sacred  titles  as  soldier  and 
statesman,  pbikMopher  and  poet^  is  never 
once  recalled  to  the  memory«-a  vituiaarv 
charm  that  should  be  religionsly  preserved. 
Little  will,  therefore,  be  found  attnwtive 
in  Lismore  Castle,  bedde  the  natural  beauty 
of  its  situation.'*-^p.  125, 12(1. 

Mr  Croker  travelled  in  Ireland  be- 
fore the  late  disturbances  exhibited  sll 
parties  in  a  state  of  maddening  exdte- 
ment;  be  bad,  therefore,  opportunities 
.  of  witnessing  many  of  the  national 
customs,  which  were  dying  away  gra- 


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Crokers  Re§4arche$  m  Me  South  of  Ireland. 


dvallyj  and  wkich,  InterniptedbTihe 
^Kioleiice  of  a  eerrile  war,  are  likelj  to 
be  soon  fbrgotten.  Among  the  most 
remarkable  of  these  are  the  keens  and 
FUNERAL  CEREMONIES ;  of  theelcgiac 
verses  chauntcd  on  these  occasions  we 
are  glad  to  see  a  few  specimens  print- 
edy  and  their  preservation,  while  it 
was  yet  possible,  thus  efiectually  sc- 
curecL 

<*  Having  a  curiosity  to  hear  the  Keen 
more  distinctly  sung  than  over  a  corpse, 
when  it  ia  accompanied  by  a  wild  and  iiy. 
articulate  uproar  as  a  chorus,  I  procured 
an  elderly  woman,  who  was  renowned  for 
her  skill  in  keening,  to  recite  for  me  some 
of  these  dirges.  This  woman,  whose  name 
was  Harrington,  led  a  wandering  kind  of 
life,  traTelling  from  cottage  to  cottage  about 
the  country,  and  though  in  fact  subsisting 
on  charity,  found  everywhere  not  merely  a 
welcome,  but  had  numerous  invitations,  on 
account  of  the  vast  store  of  Irish  verses  she 
had  collected,  and  could  repeat.  Her  me- 
mory was  indeed  extraordmary ;  and  the 
clearness,  quickness,  and  elegance,  with 
which  she  translated  from  the  Irish  into 
£nglish,  though  unable  to  read  or  write,  is 
almost  incredible.  Before  she  commenced 
repeating,  she  mumbled  for  a  short  time, 
probably  the  beginning  of  each  stanza,  to 
assure  herself  of  the  arrangement,  with  her 
eyes  closed,  rocking  her  body  backwards 
and  forwards,  as  if  keeping  time  to  the 
measure  of  the  verse.  She  then  began  in  a 
kind  of  whining  recitative;  but,  as  she 
proceeded,  and  as  the  composition  required 
It,  her  voice  assumed  a  variety  of  deep  and 
fine  tones ;  and  the  energy  with  which  many 
passages  were  delivered,  proved  her  peife^ 
comprehension,  and  strons  feeling,  of  the 
subject;  but  her  eyes  always  continued 
shut — ^perhaps  to  prevent  interruption  to 
her  thoughts,  or  her  attention  being  enga- 
ged  byany  surrounding  object  From  se- 
veral Keens  which  I  took  down  from  this 
woman's  dictation,  I  have  selected  four, 
and  to  each  attached  a  short  explanatory 
Introduction.*' 

Prom  the  Lamentation  of  Donaghue 
for  his  Children :— 

*'*'  Children,  dear  children,  do  you  pity 
me  ?  do  you  see  me  ?  Look  on  me,  your 
poor  fiuher,  crying  and  lamenting  for  the 
sunshine  of  bis  eyes  t  for  the  life  of  his  life, 
for  the  sonl  of  bis  soul!  Whatbhenow  ? 
a  poor  bfoken-hearted  old  man,  weeping 
alone  in  the  cold  comer  of  a  stmger's 
house! 

^  Great  is  my  grief  and  sorrow  1  Sad- 


5&3 

Bess  and  ttsra  weigh  heavy  on  my  Cfarist- 
mas.  To  have  my  four  yoong  and  stout 
men  thrown  on  the  will  of  the  waves !  If 
Uie  great  ocean,  or  the  dark  caves  of  the 
oeean,  would  restore  the  three  bodies  that 
BOW  lie  in  its  depths,  how  beautifully  they 
would  be  keened  and  lamented  over  in  Af- 
fadown! 

'^  Great  is  my  grief  and  sorrow  that  yon 
did  not  all  go  fnmi  your  father  on  board 
ship !  Or,  if  my  sons  had  left  me  for  a  sea* 
ion,  like  the  wild  geese,*  to  go  to  a  foreign 
land,  then  might  I  have  expected  from'my 
Maker,  the  hdp  of  my  four  mild  and  cle- 
ver young  men  at  some  future  time  !*' 

From  another  lamentation,  called 
the  **  Smith's  Keenan,"  chaunted  by 
his  sister  over  the  corpse  of  the  de- 
ceased.:— 

^^  Oh  !  brother,  dear  brother !  I  might 
have  known  that  you  were  laid  low,  when 
I  did  not  hear  the  sound  of  your  forge,  or 
of  your  sledges,  striking  strong  and  noisy  ! 

*•*'  Dear  brother,  and  my  darling  brother, 
you  have  the  marks  of  a  wife  that  did  not 
love  you :  she  left  my  brother  hungry  in 
the  winter,  and  dry  in  the  summer,  with- 
out a  Sunday  dress,  and  the  sufferer  from 
long  fasting. 

"  You,  woman,  his  wife  I  my  brother's 
wife !  You,  woman,  who  are  both  dumb 
and  deaf — go  home ;  go  anywhere— leave 
your  husband  to  me,  and  I  will  mourn  for 
my  brother. 

*'  You,  woman  above,  with  the  dry  eyes ! 
my  brother's  wife !  come  down,  and  I  will 
keen  you.  You  will  get  another  husband, 
if  you  are  young  enough ;  but  I  can  never 
get  another  brother  !*' 
(The  Priest  coma  forward  and  tpeaki.) 

**^  Hold  your  tongue,  stubborn  stranger, 
why  will  you  provoke  your  brother's  wife  ?** 
{She  answen.) 

*<  Hold  your  tongue,  stubborn  priest  !— 
read  your  Litany  and  Conflteor :— earn 
your  half-crown,  and  b^ne.  I  win  keen 
my  brother  r^P.  180. 

No  l^;al  provision  is  made  for  the 
poor  ia  Ireland ;  the  consequence  ls» 
a  nation  of  paupers — ^property  insecure 
—beggary  everywhere  existing — and 
indivmuals  in  such  strange  relations 
of  established  and  thankless  depend* 
ence  on  the  society  around^  as  justifies 
the  following  sketch  :-— 

^*  Buckaughs  are  a  description  of  bob- 
residents,  that  within  these  few  years  have 
considerably  diminished.'— The  name  im. 
plies  a  lame  or  mutilated  person ;  but  vi- 
gorous young  men  may  be  found,  who,  ha- 


*  The  wild  geese  was  a  peculiar  name  given  to  such  young  men  as  volontoared  into 
the  Irish  fingade. 


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4S^ 


yiog  afnimed  tbt  nggtd  gaih,  crave  Htm 

frivUeffet  of  the  impoteot  and  aoed  :^.Ia 
rdand  there  are  no  gipsiet,  but  their  place 
U  filled  by  Buckaugns,  who  have  the  tame 
wandcriDg  habits,  and  adopt  the  same  un« 
fettled  mode  of  life,  without,  howcTcr,  en- 
tering into  associations  or  troops.    ^ 

'•*'  A  Buckaugh  is  a  solitary  and  isolated 
being,  one  who  seems  to  stand  alone  in  the 
world,  without  apparent  occupation  or  pur- 
suit. He  ii  met  travelling  both  on  the  hi^ 
road  and  in  unfrequented  paths,  at  iX 
hours  and  in  all  seasons,  his  beard  unsha- 
Yen,  and  his  body  encised  in  a  garment 
composed  of  shreds  and  fwtches,  or,  to  use 
the  more  enressive  local  idiom,  *  a  coat  all 
stitches  and  pack-thread.*  Loaded  with 
innumerable  bags  and  wallets,  he  strides 
on,  assisted  by  a  long  walking«pole  shod 
with  iron,  and  terminated  by  a  formidale 
spike.  In  the  evening,  the  Buckaugh  ia 
seen  seated  beside  the  turf  fire  of  the  poor 
eottager*s  hearth,  partaking  of  his  humble 
fiire,  the  wallets  and  staff  deposited  in  a 
comer  of  the  cabin,  and  at  night  he  repo* 
see  beside  them  on  a  bundle  of  straw.  It 
is  not  uncommon  to  find  these  men  with 
considerable  literary  acquirements;  they 
are  generally  the  possessors  of  several  books 
and  Irish  manoscripts,  which  they  have 
coUected,  and  bear  about  from  place  to 
place  with  incredible  fondness,  nor  can  mo- 
ney  always  purchase  part  of  their  travel- 
ling library  ;  tlieir  knowledge  of  writing 
renders  them  acceptable  guests  to  many 
farmers,  whose  correspondence  is  ofr^ 
entirely  carried  on  by  such  asency.  By  the 
younger  members  of  the  famfly,  Buckaugha 
are  looked  upon  with  much  regard,  and 
made  the  mutual  confidant  of  their  rustic 
amours.  Deeply  conversant  with  charac- 
ter, this  singular  class  of  mendicants  are 
quick,  artful,  and  intelligent,  but  assume 
a  careless  and  easy  manner,  seldom  hesi- 
tating, when  it  is  mr  their  own  advantage, 
duning  those  who  have  confided  in  them, 
and  yet  I  have  heard  instances  of  the  al- 
most chivalrous  honour  of  a  poor  Buck- 
•ogh." 

Clotnx  is  visited  and  well  descri- 
bed by  our  traveller;  an  interesting 
aceount  is  given  of  the  fortunes  of  the 
See,  and  the  successive  spoliations  of 
church  property^  but  we  prefer  quo- 
tins  from  the  personal  narrative^  as 
"we  nave  not  left  ourselves  room  to  dis- 
cuss such  parts  of  the  work  as  require 
the  support  of  historical  references.-— 

<*  Of  the  caves  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Cloyne,"  says  our  author,  "  I  particular!]^ 
visited  that  called  Carrig.a-Crum^.  The 
descent  was  diflicult,  through  a  narrow 
and  steep  crevice  of  the  rock,  and  the  foot- 
ing extremely  slippery.  At  the  end  of  this 
passage  was  a  perpendicular  fall  of  about 


Works  on  IrtlamL  C^^^T' 

miftuhtL  My fwWt s|iwmg ■imWy down 
into  the  profundity  of  skMm,  that  expand- 
ed before  us,  and  I  foUowed,  by  throwing 
myself  into  his  arms.  Proceeding  a  abort 
distance,  the  cave  became  higher  and  more 
extensive,  and  we  advanced  some  way,  step- 
ping frtmi  one  laxge  mass  of  stone  to  ano- 
ther, the  bsses  of  which  were  completely 
concealed  by  deep  water.  As  oar  lights 
were,  io  many  places,  but  sufident  tooaake 
*>  darkness  visible,*  Larry,  (the  golde^ 
when  I  moved  before  him,  repeatedly  b»- 
ged  *  my  honour  not  to  be  too  bold.'  We 
soon  found  ourselves  in  a  chamber  of  con- 
siderable  size,  the  roof  of  which  seemed 
supported  by  a  ponderous  stalactical  pillar, 
on  a  base  prop<^onabIy  massive,  ornament- 
ed with  clustering  knobs  of  small  stalactites 
Uiat  hung  over  each  other  like  hands,  with 
the  figures  spread  out  Above,  appeared 
gloomy  galleries,  with  entrances  resembling 
rich  gothic  arch-ways ;  but  we  were  with- 
out the  means  of  ascent,  and  consequently 
unable  to  explore  any  of  them.  Wnikt  I 
was  gazing  upwards,  my  guide,  with  m 
true  knowledge  of  effiM:t,  placed  the  li^ts 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  central  pillar  to 
that  on  which  I  stood,  leaving  me  m  daric- 
ness,  and  iUuminating  half  the  chamber. 
Under  this  management,  a  projecting  point 
of  rock,  without  much  effort  of  fancy,  as- 
sumed the  appearance  of  a  colossal  figure 
in  repose,  leaning  on  a  dub,  that,  to  the 
vividimagmation,  might  seem  the  genius 
of  the  cave,  slumbering  in  his  favourite 
grotto  of  spar. 

*'*'  We  turned  away  into  another  part  of 
the  cave,  adorned  with  fewer  stalactites, 
and  somewhat  circular  in  shape ;  nearly  in 
the  centre,  a  single  stalactical  column  rose 
with  an  air  of  el^ant  lightness  out  of  the 
water,  the  cool  and  sparkling  appearance 
of  which  can  be  assimilated  only  to  li- 
quid crystaL  Having  succeeded  hi  cross- 
mg  it,  we  ascended  a  kind  of  terrace,  so 
smooth  and  level,  as  almost  to  appear  ar- 
tificial, where  lay  two  drcular  masses  of 
spar,  resembling  nagments  of  an  enormous 
broken  column ;  from  this  terrace  four  or 
five  passages  struck  off,  but  they  were  so 
fUll  of  deep  water,  and  so  narrow,  that  I 
did  not  venture  do«m  any  of  them.  Larry, 
however,  whilst  I  remained  on  the  terrace, 
had  penetrated  some  distance  into  ^e  lar- 
gest, and  commenced  whistling  an  old  Irish 
ditty,  the  effect  of  which  appeared  to  me 
where  I  stood,  as  if  many  flutes  were  play- 
ing in  unison.  My  guide  spoke  of  a  pas- 
sage into  a  large  chamber  wbidi  he  called 
*  the  white  hall  ;*  but  it  was  so  narrow, 
low,  and  muddy,  he  recommended  my  not 
exploring  it.  On  my  return,  I  passed  near 
the  entrance  by  which  the  cave  had  been 
formerly  visited.  It  was,  I  understood,  of 
such  dimensions,  that  a  man  on  horseback 
might  ride  in  some  distance ;  but  the  fall- 
ing of  a  quantity  of  earth  had  dosed  up 
thu  mouth,  and  it  was  not  without  repoiu 


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Croker'i  MemmAe^  m  ik$  Smth  of  Ireland. 


«4  cibftt  thtt  wf  emorg^d  ftom  dMxkiam 
into  day-light.**— Pp.  262,  253. 

The  plates  are  good  specimens  of 
the  progress  which  h'thography  is  ma^ 
Idng  in  this  country.  Some  of  the  views 
are  very  picturesque^  notwithstanding 
the  topographical  accuracy,  which  is 
caiefuily  preserved.  Many  wood-outs 
by  Mr  Brook  also  relieve  the  writer 
from  the  necessity  of  minute  descrip- 
tion— their  execation  is  spirited  and 
effective. 

A  few  sentences  more  and  we  have 
done.  The  superstitions  described  in 
this  volume  are  not  generally  different 
firom  those  of  the  English  p^santry  in 
the  days  of  Elizabeth,  or  of  the  Scotch 
in  a  considerably  later  period;  and 
therefore,  though  the  particular  hc^ 
-given  in  illustration  are  new,  yet  the 
efiect  is  not  of  novelty.  We  remember 
Ellis^and  Strutt,and  Leyden,and  Scott, 
and  forget  that  Mr  CnAer's  descrip- 
tions, though  perhaps  less  likely  than 
theirs,  are  &r  more  in8tructive,--their8 
Is  a  record  of  sunerstitions,  as  regarded 
by  the  poets  and  annalists  from  whom 
their  respective  works  were  compiled, 
t>r  as  they  were  witnessed  in  their  di- 
minished and  poetical  eflfects  on  minds 
prepared  to  resist  their  worst  influence 
by  rdigious  education,  by  die  opera- 
tion of  fixed  laws — ^by  moral  habits  and 
bv  the  unspeakable  and  incalculable 
blessing  of  free  and  daily  intercourse 
with  persons  of  higher  condition ;  the 
fkiries  of  "  sweet  Saint  Mar/ls  Lake," 
with  whom  if  we  cannot  sympathize, 
we  may  yet  watch  them  in  their  play- 
ful pastime,  r^arding  them  only  as  an 
exhibition  of  the  ciedulous  human 
heart,  sporting  with  the  creations  of 
its  own  fancy — and  among  the ''  lights 
and  shadows  of  life,"  arocting  to  give 
an  outward  reality, — and  substantive 
body  to  an  inward  dream—as  we  have 
known  a  great  poet  fall  in  love  with 
the  young  and  enchanting  heroine  of 
his  own  romance.  In  the  South  of  Ire- 
land, the  fairy  superstition  is  one  of 
the  forms  in  which  entire  ignorance 
disguises  itself— one  of  the  thousand 
creeds  in  which  "  the  mystwry  of  ini- 
quity" is  expressed,  and  exists  active- 
ly operating ; — though  separable  from 
Popery,  it  is  not,  and  will  not  be,  se- 
parated, except  in  argument,  intended 
to  deceive.  The  prevailing  supersti- 
tions of  each  country  have  been  sanc- 
tioned by  her  sophistry,  both  in  thecn'y 
and  in  practice,  and  their  cmblemB  in- 


extricably  interwoven  in  the  tawdrv 
robeof  ceremonies  that  wraps  the  shou£- 
iusn  of  the  immortal  old  lady  of  Ba* 
bylonl  If  religion  be  more  than  a 
name,  the  boasted  unity  of  that  churcb 
is  but  nominal.  Compare  the  daily  lifi^ 
of  the  Italian,  of  the  Frenchman,  of 
the  Spaniard,  of  the  Irishman,  each 
dilferin^  ^m  the  other  in  every  act, 
not  arising  from  the  inalterable  ne« 
cessities  or  nature ; — e$ch  adoring  hia 
own  saints,  or  rather  his  particular 
images,  sometimes  of  the  same  saint; 
eadi,  in  fact,  practising  idolatries,  ne« 
ver  essentially  different,  and  o(len  not 
even  varying  in  form  from  those  oi  his 
Pagan  anoeatora,  yet  all  supportiiig  the 
same  sdritual  tyranny—^  included 
under  the  same  talismanic  and  **  wob>- 
der-working^'  name. 

The  belief  of  witchcraft  has  prepa« 
red  the  mind  for  the  belief  of  miracle 
—has  perverted  the  moral  sense,  and 
deadened  the  ordinary  principles  of  ac- 
tion— ^the  delusions  of  Hohemohe  were 
but  incidents  more  impudently  and 
Joudl^  published,  similar  to  thousands 
of  daily  occurrence.  Hdy  wells  are 
not  merely  the  markets  where  bar^ 
gains  of  marriage  are  made,  and  die 
spots  where  party  disputes  are  decided 
by  dubs  and  cudgels,  but  also  the 
scenes  of  continued  miracle. 

Mr  Croker  thus  describes  a  scene 
which  he  witnessed  in  the  counnr  of 
Cork  :— 

^  After  a  walk  of  dNMit  seven  Irish  miles 
from  the  village  of  Inehegeda,  we  gain^ 
the  brow  of  a  mountain »  and  behdkl  the 
lake  of  Gougaun,  with  its  little  wood^ 
island,  beneam  us  ;  one  spot  on  its  shore, 
swarming  with  people,  appeared,  from  out 
elevated  situation,  to  be  a  dark  nuus,  sor- 
rounded  by  moring  spedo,  .which  conti- 
nually merged  into  it.  On  Our  descent,  we 
6tngfat  the  distant  and  indistant  murmur 
of  the  multiti^de ;  and  as  we  approached, 
and  forded  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  lake, 
where  its  waters  ditchar^  themsdres* 
through  a  narrow  and  preapitous  chaond, 
an  unseemly  uproar  bunt  upon  ustthonsfa 
at  a  distanceof  neady  half  a  mOe  from  me 
assembly.  It  was  not  wiAoot  difficulty 
that  we  forced  our  way  through  the  crowd 
on  the  shore  of  the  lake,  to  die  wall  ot  the 
chapels  on  the  island,  where  we  stood  amid 
an  immense  concourse  of  people  :  the  in- 
terior oi  the  cells  were  filled  with  men  and 
women  in  various  acts  of  devotion,  almost 
all  of  them  on  their  knees ;  some  with  hands 
uplifted,  prayed  m  loud  voices,  using  con- 
siderable gesticulation ;  and  others,  in  a 
less  noisy  manner,  rapidly  counted  the 
beads  of  their  rosary,  or,  as  it  is  called  by 


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Works  OM  Ireland, 


CMay, 


tfie  Iridi  peMin^  their  ptdienai,  with 
macfa  apparent  femmr ;  or»  at  a  rabetitate 
§tt  beads,  threw  from  one  hand  into  the 
other,  fmaU  pebbles,  to  mark  the  number  of 
prajers  they  had  repeated ;  whilst  such  of 
the  men  as  were  not  furnished  with  other 
means,  kept  their  reckoning  by  cutting  a 
notch  on  their  cudgel,  or  on  a  piece  of  stick 
provided  for  that  purpose. 
*^  To  a  piece  of  rusty  iron  shaped  ikuu 


\—L 


considerable  importance  seems  to  have 
been  attached  ;  it  passed  from  one  devotee 
to  another  with  much  ceremony.  The  form 
consisted  in  placing  it,  with  a  short  prayer, 
across  &e  head  of  the  nearest  person,  to 
iHiom  it  was  then  handed,  and  who  went 
throng  the  same  ceremony  with  the  next 
io  him ;  and  thus  it  circulated  from  one  to 
the  other. 

*^  The  crowd  in  the  chapels  every  moment 
increasing,  it  became  a  matter  of  labour  to 
force  our  way  towards  the  show  through  the 
throng  thatcoveredthecauseway.  Adjoining 
the  causeway,  part  of  the  water  of  the  lake 
was  inclosed,  and  covered  in  as  a  well,  by 
which  name  it  was  distinguished  On  gain- 
ing the  back  of  the  well,  we  observed  a  man^ 
Apparently  of  the  mendicant  order,  descri- 
Inng,  on  a  particular  stone  in  its  wall,  the 
fiffiue  of  a  cross  with  small  pieces  of  slate, 
which  he  afterwards  sold  to  such  devotees 
as  were  desirous  of  possessing  these  relics. 
The  number  of  slates  thus  trc;^ted  at  vari* 
ous  periods  had  worn  in  The  stone  to  which 
they  were  applied  a  cross  nearly  two  inches 
in  depth,  and  which  every  new  sign  served 
to  deepen.  The  door,  or  opening  to  the 
front  of  the  wdl,  was  so  narrow  as  scarcely 
to  admit  two  persons  at  the  same  time. 
Within,  the  well  was  crowded  to  excess, 
probably  seven  or  eight  persons,  some  with 
their  arms,  some  with  their  legs,  thrust 
down  into  the  water— exhibiting  the  most 
disgusting  sores,  and  shocking  mfirmitiea. 
When  t^  persons  within  came  out,  their 
places  were  as  instantly  filled  by  others. 
8ome  there  were  who  had  waited  two  or 
three  hours  before  they  could  obtain  access 
to  this  healing  fount  The  blind,  the  crip, 
pie,  and  the  infirm,  jostled  and  retarded 
each  other  in  their  efibrts  to  i^iptoach; 
whilst  boys  and  women  forced  their  way 
about,  ofiering  the  polluted  water  of  the 
well  for  sale  in  little  glass  bottles,  the  bot- 
tom of  broken  jugs,  and  scallop  shells,  to 
those  whose  strength  did  not  permit  them 
to  gain  this  sacredspot.  The  water  so  of- 
fered was  eagerly  purchased— in  some  in- 
stances appliMl  to  the  diseased  part,  and  in 
others  drank  with  the  eagerness  of  enihu- 
8ia»m.  In  the  crowd,  mothers  stood  with 
their  naked  children  in  their  arms,  anxious- 
ly waiting  the  moment  when  an  opening 
might  pamit  them  to  plunge  their  atrug- 


^ing  and  shrieking  inAmu  into  the  waters 
of  the  wdl. 

«'  Were  this  all,  I  could  have  bdidd  the 
assemUy  with  feeling  of  devotion,  mixed  - 
with  regret  at  their  mfatuation  and  delu- 
sion ;  but  drunken  men,  and  the  most  de- 
praved women,  mingled  with  those  whose 
mistaken  ideas  of  piety  brought  them  to 
this  spot,  and  a  confused  uproar  of  prayers 
and  oaths,  of  sanctity  and  blasphemy, 
sounded  in  the  same  instant  on  the  ear." 

These  works  will  have  the  eflfect  of 
directing  attention  to  the  state  of 
morak  and  of  education  in  Ireland. 
The  object  which  a  good  man  propo- 
ses to  himself  in  the  gratuitous  in- 
struction  of  the  poor  and  ignorant,  is 
the  f^ual  elevation  of  the  mind  of 
the  mdividual  in  a  state  of  sodetr^ 
which  is  itself  slowly  but  progressiv^ 
rising  into  something  better----the  con- 
dition of  the  cl)ild  whom  we  educate 
is  necessarily  altered — thoughts  and 
feelings  incompatible  with  indolence 
are  the  grovellmg  vices  of  the  poor«- 
the  vices  necessarily  attendant  on  do- 
mestic discorafort— on  penury  wasting 
away  unregarded,  while  it  contem- 
plates, in  sileut  helplessness,  its  me- 
lancholy privations  ;  or  more  frequent- 
ly watches,  in  murmuring  discontent, 
day  after  day,  that  hope  which  nature 
compels  man,  in  whatever  state,  to  en- 
tertain, expiring— or  when  it  bums 
for  a  moment  more  vividly  shining,  is 
only  to  lead  to  crime ; — for  on  what 
source  of  comfort  unconnected  with 
crime  can  th€iuneducated,unemploy- 
ed,  irreligious  poor,  fix  their  hope? 
The  one  only  virtue  in  the  case  suppo- 
sed, (and  what  candid  man  will  assert 
that  case  to  be  fictitious  ?)  is,  that  vir- 
tue, which,  in  a  being  formed  for  active 
duties,  is  most  akin  to  vice — sullen, 
hear  t-depressingsubmission— submis- 
sion unoonnect^  with  one  thought  of 
obedience  to  God  or  man — ignorant  of 
the  one,  and  beholding  in  the  other 
only  the  instrument  and  victim  of  aa 
overhanging  destiny,  which  accom- 
plishes unexplained  purposes  by  means 
in  which  the  efiTect  seems  to  have  no 
correspondence  with  the  cause  ; — and 
this  is  life  passed  among  the  poor — in 
its  advanang  stages — ^that  period  in 
which  educated  man  is  perhaps  most 
happy — ^in  an  endless  succession  of 
vague,  dreary,  dull,  and  disgusting 
thoughts,  wiUiout  any  relief  wnatever 
from  the  faculty  wliich  realizes  tliough  t 
into  enjoyment,  by  uniting  the  noti(»s 


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Crokir'i  Re§earchc»  in.  the  Stmih  of  Irtldnd. 


567 


leodved  fWmi  namberlon  souroes  of 
infbrmation  with  distinct  imagery  of 
the  pasty  with  defined  prospeets  of  th^ 
Aiture ;  but  instead  thereof^  employ- 
ed in  conjecturing  how  some  misun- 
derstood prophecy  of  evil  will  perhaps 
be  accomplished — reading  with  con- 
scious and  malignant  dumess  the  for- 
tunes^ good  or  evil,  of  those  around 
them ;  or,  with  stupid  expectation,  ex- 
aggerating familiar  facts  into  portent 
and  miracle — Glistening  to  those  who 
pretend  to  tell  them  the  dates  of  events, 
unrevealed  even  to  the  Son  by  Him 
who  has  reserved  the  times  and  seasons 
in  his  own  power — ^unhappy,  and,  it 
is  to  be  &ared,  deriving  a  gbomy  8a>* 
tisfisustion  ftom  the  very  number  of 
those  who  share  their  misery  and  their 


^e  have  spoken  not  of  crimes,  but 
of  the  condition  which  unavoidably 
gives  birth  to  crime.  We  write  calmly, 
and  wish  not  to  disturb  our  own  ima- 
gination, or  that  of  others,  by  distinct* 
Jy  picturing  scenes  of  disgust  and  guilt, 
—we  write  in  the  hope  (justified  by 
the  circulation  of  our  journal)  of  being 
read  by  many,  and  will  not  repeat 
what  they  alrc^y  know.  Specified  acts 
of  guilt  would  also  be  plausibly  refer- 
red to  particular  occasions  of  immedi- 
ate' excitement;  and  thus  the  true 
cause  be  removed  from  view.  We  men- 
tion only  evils  which  cannot  but  be ; 
which,  obvious  and  observable  as  they 
are,  yet  are  little  likely  to  be  mention- 
ed. In  this  dreary  vacuity,  which 
words  are  incapable  of  representing, 
do  the  old  always  exist  in  this  unhappy 
country ;  and,  in  the  present  disastrous 
time,  ue  general  want  of  employment 
has  degraded  prematurely  into  this 
state  the  young,  the  robust,  the  cheer- 
ful,— has  at  length  succeeded  in  rob- 
bing the  Irish  peasant  of  his  charac- 
teristic fhiimation,  and  has  given  him, 
in  its  stead,  the  suspicious  downcast 
look,  that  seems  shrinking  from  dav- 
light  and  from  notice.  We  trace  not  the 
effects  on  the  female  sex,  where  the 
abandonment  is  even  more  complete. 
.  In  this  society,  where  the  old  live 
on  with  no  better  possible  effect  on 
the  rising  generation,  than  that  of  de- 
pressing one  period  of  life  with  the 
gloom  of  another— having  no  dearer 
occupation  than  that  of  relating  to  the 
young  events  which  all  good  men  wish 
forgotten,  or  remembered  as  a  fearfrd 
warning-— where  the  men  of  middle 
age  are  either  during  the  day  separa* 


ted  from  thdr  ehildfen  by  em^ogr* 
ment,  or,  being  unemployed,  increase 
the  causes  of  discontent — In  this  so- 
ciety of  the  wretched,  the  half-naked, 
and  the  half-starved ;  and  existing  in 
strange  contrast  with  luxury,  and  opu- 
lence, and  learning — in  thu  utter  aes- 
titution  of  all  that  is  good,  are  each  day 
expanding  into  life  the  children  who 
will  be  the  men  and  women  of  a  few 
ytos  hence— whom,  therefore,  if  not 
now  instructed,  it  will  be  fbr  ever  im- 
possible to  save  from  this  fearful  ruin. 
On  the  soil  which  we  have  described 
are  each  day  inpringing  up  new  shooCa 
of  humaik  life,  extracting  from  tho 
same  unhealthy  ground  their  scanty 
nourishment,  and  exposed  for  ever  to 
the  droppings  of  the  parent  tree^ 
which,  in  their  turn,  they  taint  and 
impoverish.  And  these  are  scions  of  a 
plimt  removed  from  paradise.  Under 
these  circumstances  are  each  day  ex<« 
pending  into  growth  and  thought  the 
bodies  and  tiie  minds  of  thousands  and 
of  tens  of  thousands;  which  bodies 
may  yet  become  fitting  temples  of  the 
living  God, — which  nunds,  possessed  of 
capacities  which  roan  cannot  conjec- 
ture, far  less  estimate,  were  made  in 
the  image  of  God.  Will,  then,  their 
brothers  of  mankind,  childrmi  of  the 
same  fiimUy,  refiise  to  assist  in  removing 
these  crying  evils  ?  Have  we  no  share  in 
these  sins?  Do  we  disbelieve  our  re- 
sponsibility ?  Or,  believing  it,  can  we 
still  provoke  the  judgment  of  God^ 
idien  we  know  that  the  moral  charac- 
ter and  the  happiness  of  a  whole  dis- 
trict is  ofleh  perceptibly  altered  by 
the  conduct  of  an  individual  ?  it  is  a 
fearful  thing  when  our  own  vices^ 
when  what  we  ourselves  have  done  is 
reflected  to  our  eyes  in  such  an  altered 
form,  tbat  we  cease  to  recognize  our 
own  sins  mirrored  in  the  countenance 
and  condition  of  our  dependants— «o 
strange,  so  alien,  is  the  aspect  which 
they  now  assume ; — ^when  whi*  we 
have  left  undone,  (|;ood  omitted,  asi 
Bumes  a  sh^pe  positive  and  undeniable 
in  the  effects  ot  our  neglect  upon  the 
minds  we  might  have  improved — in 
murder,  per&ps  —  in  blood  shed, 
though  not  by  our  hand,  yet  through 
our  guilt ;  and  if,  in  that  most  solemn 
and  most  affecting  description  of  a 
scene  which  we  must  witness,  and  for 
the  approach  of  which  we  who  are 
called  ny  the  name  of  Christ  profess 
to  pray,  the  language  whidi  He  utters 
to  the  beloved  of  His  Father  is  thit-> 


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CMay, 


^  I  was  an  htrngeml^  and  ye  gave  me 
meat ;  I  was  thirsty^  and  ye  gave  nie 
drin^ ;  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  recei- 
ved me ;  naked,  and  ye  clothed  me ; 
I  was  sick,  and  ye  visited  me ;  I  was 
in  prison,  and  ye  came  nnto  me.  In- 
asmnch  as  ye  have  done  it  to  the  least 
of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it 
unto  me," — If  such  be  the  language  in 
\^hich  He  who  still  exists  in  mysteri- 
dus  union  with  that  nature  which  He 
oilte  assumed,  whom  we  still  dailv 
*'  mock,  and  wound,  and  crucify, 
d^ks  of  liie  lightest  acts  done  in  his 
name,  who  has  attached  a  blessing  and 
a  reward  to  a  cup  of  cold  water,  oh, 
let  us  thoughtfully  ask  ourselves,  whe- 
Iher,  in  strictness  of  reasoning,  we  are 
Hot  compelled  to  believe,  that  the  judg- 
^nt  against  us  must  be  in  the  same 
Way  estimated— whether  we  shall  not 
be  condemned,  not  simply  for  Uie  sins 
committed  in  our  own  person,  not 
solely  fbr  the  crimes  against  society, 
tod  the  sins  against  God,  in  which 
each  of  these  our  ne»;lected  brethren 
are  oompdled  by  our  fault  to  continue 
-^feuf  lu,  beyond  all  calculation  fear- 


fbl,  as  is  this  estimate,  yet  have  we 
reason  to  fear  that  the  account  is  still 
more  heavy — that  the  weight  in  our 
scale  of  condemnation  is  the  good  omit- 
ted by  each  of  these  in  addition  to  his 
sins,  multiplied  by  its  effects  on  the 
circle,  which  each  influences  more  or 
less,  for  good  or  for  evil ;  and,  to  ag- 
gravate the  guilt  yet  more,  in  every 
instance,  he  whom  we  disobey,  and 
yet  call  "  Lord !  Lord  !" — he  person- 
ally, he  individually  suftrs— His  blood 
it  is  which  cries  against  us  in  every 
wrong  that  through  us  is  inflicted  on 
them  that  arc  **  heavy  laden  and  in 
sorrow"— on  them  who,  yet  more  mi- 
serable, wise  in  their  own  esteem, 
know  not  the  weight  of  their  chains, 
know  not  their  sickness,  and  think 
not  of  a  physician.  Can  we,  whose 
support  is  derived  firom  their  labour, 
whose  luxuries  are  purchased  by  the 
sweat  of  their  brows,  make  (wiuiout 
hearinff  the  echo  of  an  accusing  con- 
science) even  the  answer  of  the  flrst 
murderer — *'  Am   I  my   aaoTUEa'a 

lEEPEE?" 


tETTEBS  or  TIMOTHT  TICKLER,  ESQ.  TO  EMINENT  LITEBAEY   CHAEACTERS. 

No.   XV. 

TO  FBANCIS  JEFFREY,  ESQ. 

On  the  lAUt  Weitminaier  and  Quarterly  Reviews. 

established  with  the  Somnia,  terr&res 
magicoSf  portenttume  Thesmla,  as  a 
thine  only  fit  for  tne  aneer  of  the  phi- 
losopher. 

Tnat  this  must  make  them  more  ef- 
fective antagonists,  at  least  antagonists 


My  DEAR  Sir, 
Ik  the  last  letter  I  wrote  you  on  the 
subject  of  the  Westminster  Review, 
you  know  I  could  not  help  expressing  a 
degree  of  regret  for  the  utter  prostra- 
tion you  and  your  almost  invisible 
partv  had  experienced  from  the  hands 
of  tne  radical  thorough- stitch  workr 
teen  of  the  new  concern.  Though  you 
expreraed  vourself  unkindly  on  the 
.occasion  of  my  condolence,  yet,  be- 
lieve me,  it  was  not  dictated  bv  any 
angr]^  motive.  Why  should  I  feel 
anpry?  Yen  can  now  do  no  harm^ 
bemg  quite  efiete  and  impotent ;  they 
are  msh  and  vigorous,  and  come  for- 
ward to  wage  war  against  us  with  all 
the  gaieU  du  cceurof  youth,  and  quite 
untrammelled  by  any  of  those  circum- 
stances which  used  to  make  your  blows 
hit  short.  Your  lads  pretended  to  re- 
spect ^e  constitution— ^A€y  are  not 
guilty  of  such  spoonery.  Yours  had 
some  show  of  caring  for  the  religion  of 
the  country — they  turn  up  their  noses 
at  auperstition,  and  class  the  church 


whom  we  will  be  caUed  upon  to  fight 
with  more  ardent  zeal,  and  a  more 
eager  girding  up  of  the  loins,  is  evident. 
Why,  then,  my  old  fHend,  should  1 
wish  to  mortify  you  bv  cheering  them  9 
Credit  me  when  I  teU  you,  that  your 
peevish  and  malapert  observationa  on 
my  letter  lowered  your  character  for 
good  sense  very  much  in  the  opinion 
of  all  who  heard  them. 

In  their  second  number,  Mill  con- 
tinues his  merciless  castigation  of  your 
sins,  negligences,  and  offences,  against 
the  cause  of  radicalism.  It  is  UMcni- 
able  that  every  strappado  firom  his 
knout  takes  away  its  yard  of  cuticle 
from  your  shoulders.  This  must  be 
the  more  galling  to  you,  when  you  re- 
flect that  It  is  inflicted  by  an  old  eo- 
acljutor.  It  is  really  too  bad  to  find  him 
9 


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1894.3 


LetUri  o/  Timotkp  IHckler,  Bsq.    No.  XF. 


nkxQg  up  pMMgiet  which  no  one  what- 
erer  remembmd,  from  musty  vo* 
lames,  in  which  his  own  articles  stood, 
probahly,  side  by  side  with  the  objects 
of  his  present  vituperation.  In  spite 
of  his  British  India — a  book  as  un- 
readable as  Southiey's  Brazil— you 
must  allow  Mill  to  be  a  clever  fellow. 
He  displays  the  thorough  shuffling  of 
your  Review ;  your  holding  with  the 
hare,  and  running  with  the  hound ; 
your  coq|uetting  with  the  good  and  the 
evil  genius  of  the  country,  most  un- 
answerably. You  cannot  get  out  d 
kit  clutches  by  any  manoeuvre  what- 
•oever.  This  is  the  misfortune  of  such 
writers  as.yoa  are,  or  rather  of  such 
a  miserable  party  as  that  to  which  your 
Review  has  sold  itself.  As  for  us,  we 
will  be  told  that  we  are  wrong,  illiberal, 
mulish,  obstinate,  prijudiced, — what 
you  will  in  that  way ;  but  it  is  utterly 
impossible  to  accuse  us  of  want  of  con- 
sistency. Nobody  can  mistake  our 
party ;  nobody  can  extract  from  our 
pages  sentences  flattering  any  side  of 
the  question,  directly  or  indirectly, 
save  that  which  we  openly  advocate. 

But  as  fbr  you — here  comes  Mill, 
proving^ — ^it  is  in  viin  to  conceal  it — 
proving  that  you  meant  only  to  cajole 
the  peocde  with  fine  words— QW.  R. 
p.  50«.  J  of  making  the  cry  of  liberty 
only  a  mere  hollow  phrase — (^p.  409.  j 
of  wishing  to  curb  the  pr?s8  by  the 
law  of  libel— (we  oould  say  more  about 
that  than  Mill  could,  and,  efe  long, 
•hall  do  so,)  QP.  510,  519.^— of  ut- 
tering sentences  on  constitutional  sub- 
jects, in  which  umnUUigible  jargon  is 
employed  to  cover  utter  false- 
hood.—QP.  SI 6.^2  Need  I  go  on? 
Scarcely,  indeed;  except  to  recom- 
mend you,  who  have  at  aU  times  shewn 
such  an  afiVction  for  the  liberty  of  the 
press,  to  g^ve  a  public  proof  of  it,  simi- 
tar to  that  dfaplayed  by  joar  friend 
Leslie,  and  bring  an  action  against 
Hill  ftr  calHngyou,  by  iinplication,  a 
trimmer,  a  AvMer,  a  biocknead-*and, 
by  direct  assertion,  a  something  still 
wdrse,  which  I  dedine  repeating. 

He  finds  out  one  very  assailablepoint 
ill  your  ilLbuckled  cuirass.  It  is  the 
old  raw,  which  we  have  so  often  hit.  It 
is  your  inconsistency  on  libel.  We  have 
long  ago  laid  down  the  true  Whigde- 
llnfion  of  that  oftnce.  A  libel,  accord- 
ing to  the  Whigi,  is  anything  which 
tends  to  expose  the  stupidity  or  ras- 
ealltyofWhig^and  Whiggery.  Fair 
and  candM  crilictm  on  Tories,  is  what- 

Voi.  XV. 


ever  can  hurt  their  fedings,  or  blagt 
their  reputation,  whether  true  or  false 
—whetiier  obtained  by  pimfnng,  break- 
ing open  drawers,  reading  private 
letters,  or  plain  invention — whether 
couched  in  false  criticism  on  the  pri* 
vate  life  and  supposed  actions  of  the 
obnoxious  individual— in  muttered  ca^ 
lumny  against  his  habits,  or  in  unspa- 
ring ridicule  against  his  bodily  imper- 
fections or  appearance.  Retain  tnese 
canons  in  the  memory,  and  the  whole 
course  of  your  Whig  persecution  of 
the  press  is  quite  clear.  With  us,  it 
was  a  libel  to  .•^ay,  that  Leslie  did  not 
know  a  letterof  Hebrew — although  his 
own  witnesses  swore  that  what  he 
^ke  of  as  **  the  Hebrew  alphabet," 
was,  in  fact,  the  old  Samaritan  one ; 
with  you  it  was  quite  laudable  to  tir- 
sinuaie  that  the  Earl  of  £lgin  was  a 
thief,  although  nothing  could  be  more 
ludicrously  absurd  and  abominable; 
with  us.  It  was  unbearable  to  call  a 
self-puffing  review,  a  parrot — with' 
you,  it  was  beautiful  ana  gentleman- 
like criticism  to  style  Copplestone  a 
retromingent  animal ; — it  was  odious 
in  the  Quarterly  to  expose  poor  Jack 
Keates'  nonsense — ^witn  you,  it  was 
quite  good-humoured  to  tear  open  the 
private  Ufe  of  Coleridge.  If  we  said 
that  poor  Johnny  was  an  apothecary, 
we  were  wrong";  if  you  toki  Thellwall 
that  he  was  a  tailor,  you  were  right. 
When  we,  in  our  own  defence,  were 
.  obliged  to  expose  the  irregular  life  of 
the  late  Queen,  we  were  neld  up  as 
monsters ;  but  in  your  delightful  Mr 
Tom  Moore,  it  was  amiable  to  black- 
guaid  women  of  the  highest  respecta- 
bility, without  the  slightest  jw^/ic  pro- 
vocation. 

If  Mill  had  duly  attended  to  this 
fa^  he  would  not  have  wondered  at 
your  former  blustering  against  eovem- 
ment  prosecutions,  and  your  late  in- 
dignation at  the  contempt  with  which 
the  ministry  treated  the  virulent  pub- 
lications which  swarmed  from  the  pol- 
luted press  of  London  during  the 
Queen's  tumult.  In  truth,  at  that  time 
ministers  did  very  right  in  passing 
over  these  squibs, -as  powerless  as  they 
were  wickedly  intended,  in  perfect 
silence,  as  the  result  has  proved :  but 
about  the  same  time  it  i^eased  ^ou 
Whigs  to  enter  upon  a  crusade  against 
the  Tory  press,  which  was  patting  you 
down  most  mercilessly,  and  you  would 
have  been  glad  to  have  had  some  coun* 
tenanoe  in  the  conduct  of  the  ministry. 
4C 


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.    LdUfi  of  Timoihsf  Ticlder,  Esq.    No.  2CK 


Henoe,  you  declared  that  Hone  and  Co. 
should  be  prosecuted  for  their  writingSj 
adducing  tor  it  the  most  abnurd  reason 
that  was  ever  generated  in  the  head  of 
a  donkey^ — ^because,  as  you  said,  erery- 
body  else  was  sickened  at  the  activity 
and  audacity  of  their  authors.  Mill  s 
answer  to  this  is  really  a  dean  cut : — 
"  This  is,"  says  the  unrelenting  radi- 
cal, "  an  assertion  which,  if  true,  proves 
•conclusively  that  the  publicatiorts  in 

Question  cannot  have  done  any  mis- 
bief;  and  consequently,  that  it  would 
have  been  altogether  unjustifiable, 
upon  all  principles,  to  punish  the  au- 
.thors."  What  can  you  say  to  that  on 
your  own  principles,  my  dear  Mr  Edi- 
tor? You  know  I  have  always  cla- 
moured against  prosecuting  anybody 
opposed  to  the  right  views,  being  per- 
fectly convinced  that  we  can  put  down 
the  people  engaged  in  abusing  our  in- 
stitutions by  tne  honest  agency  of  su- 
perior talents,  and  being  just  as  con- 
tented to  leave  all  the  oirty  work  of 
the  Jury  Court  or  King's  Bench  to  the 
Whigs. 

So  far  for  your  concern  in  this  West- 
minster. As  for  Mill  himself,  his  own 
doctrines  are  exactly  as  pestilential  as 
can  be  well  expected.  In  the  articles 
of  his  creed,  tne  rich  are  engaged  in 
an  interminable  persecution  against 
the  poor ;  the  upper  orders  are  vitious 
and  depraved;  all  governments  so 
called,  are  in  reality  misgovernments, 
for  submitting  to  which  Uie  people  are. 

Seat  fools ;  every  code  of  law,  exopt* 
e  unwritten  code  extiat  tn  Jeremy 
Bentham's  bretaC,  or  the  unread  one 
conoealai  in  his  works,  is  abominable. 
Our  judges  are  convenient  instruments 
of  tyranny;  our  iuries  just  as  bad ; 
in  a  word,  everything  is  out  of  joint, 
flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable.  The  worid 
wants  a  re-organiaation  to  be  given  it 
by  the  conclave  of  philosophers,  con- 
gregated about  Cobbett's  antediluvian 
lawyer  in  Queen's  Square  Place. 

It  is  a  pity  that  we  are  not  fiivoured  . 
with  a  few  facts  to  support  the  assump- 
tion of  this  universal  perversity  which 
pervades  the  management  of  the  things 
of  this  earth.  Let  us,  however,  take 
them  on  the  word  of  James  Mill, 
Esq.  author  of  British  India,  employ^ 
of  the  East  India  Company,  by  the 
grace  of  conciltation^and  squabasner  of 
you,  Francis  JeffVey,  Esq.  of  George's 
Street,  Edinburgh,  by  the  grace  of 
superior  rotr.  Under  the  new  regime 
.we  shall  net  only  have  him  and  his 
10 


CMty, 


fHends  aa  kgisUtort  in  nttters  politi- 
cal, but  literary.  Plato,  you  may  per- 
haps have  heard,  turned  Homer  out  of 
his  imaginanr  republic  Mill  banishes 
Shakspeare  from  his.  We  shall  bav« 
to  acknowledge  the  morality  of  ToU 
taire,  and  the  immorality  of  Scott.  We 
shall  be  entrapped  for  saying,  that 
the  poetry  of  Anacreon,  whieh  recom- 
mends and  panegyrizes  unnameaUe 
crimes,  is  not  quite  free  fhim  reproba- 
tion ;  and  shall  be  compelled  to  puffoC 
the  promiscuous  concubinage  ninted 
aLthyJ?Uto^FivelajMlosophieI  Vol- 
taire, no  doubt,  used  always  to  mj, 
that  squeamishness  on  audi  sutjects 
was  mere  matter  of  laughter,  and  Vol- 
taire is  Mr  Mill's  meat  &vourite  mo- 
ralist. 

In  the  New  Arcadia,  all  I  should  wuAi 
to  know  is,  how  the  women  will  fed. 
Some  of  them,  no  doubt,  pleasandj 
enough ;  for  we  have  marriage  denoan- 
oed  as  the  invention  of  priests,  *'  who 
have  laid  down,"  says  MiD^  p.  SSf* 
'*  not  that  system  of  rules  wnich  ia 
most  conducive  to  the  wdl-being  of 
the  two  sexes,  or  of  sode^  at  large; 
Imt  that  whkh  is  best  calcmkted  to 
promote  their  ascendancy."  Charity  k 
merely  the  virtue  of  priestcraft,  asd 
the  bugbear  erected  by  the  aristomcj ; 
of  course,  to  perish  when  the  aristt^ 
cracy  fklls  beneath  the  guillotine  of  the 
mild  and  tolerant  pMlosopkers,  who  are 
to  rule  in  the  renovated  world,  '*  when 
Murder  bares  her  gory  arm,"  and  the 
GeddesB  of  Beeson  rides  forth  Hke  a 
new  TuUia  over  the  body  of  all  that  is 
venerable,  noble,  and  kingly. — Bot  I 
ahall  not  bother  you  or  myself  anj 
longer  with  Mr  Mill.  I  shall  only  add, 
my  dear  %ir,  that  much  of  his  pMuhar 
horror  of  you  and  your  evil  dwm 
arises  from  your  having  neglected  t& 
eminent  treatise  on  Special  Juries,  and 
wickedly  reviewed  the  Treatise  deX^e- 
gislation,  both  written  and  eomposed 
by  the  old  man  of  the  mountain,  Je- 
remy Bentham  himself,  lliis  was  ma- 
paidonable  in  you.  I  own  it  ia  rather 
spoony  in  Mill  to  let  the  reason  of  hia 
wrath  appear  so  manifestly. 

I  have  commenced  my  remarks  on 
the  Westminster  Review,  vrith  its  last 
article,  purely  out  of  compliment  to 
you,  my  dear  sir,  because  you  happen 
to  be  torn  to  pieces  past  all  mxrgaj 
in  it.  I  now  shall  go  over  the  other 
articles  currente  calamo.  The  first  is 
on  Spain,-^a  better  paper,  I  mean  aa  to 
composition,  than  any  that  ever  shone 


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1894.3 


Lciiers  of  Timoil^  Tkkler,  Esq.    No.  XV. 


in  your  pagpef.  At  to  matter,  it  itjutt 
BewqMper  ttii£fl  We  are  told  that  a 
adf-acting  nation  is  invincible,  and 
iMre  we  aee  nine  or  ten  millions  oyer- 
mn  by  a  hundred  thousand  soldiers, 
commanded  by  a  jprinceiy  fellow  in* 
deed,  but  a  man  of  no  military  name. 
Hie  reviewer  does  not  know  how  to 
•ooount  for  it  He  imputes  it  to 
twadicry,  as  if  any  set  or  men  could 
commit  treason  sufficient  to  destroy  a 
nation,  unless  the  great  buUc  of  the 
nation  went  with  them.  It  is  impu« 
ted  to  bribery,  without  deigning  to 
reflect  on  the  state  of  the  French  ex- 
chequer. It  isimputed,  in  short,  toany« 
thing  but  the  true  thing— vis.  that  ine 
constitution  was  forced  on  the  Spanish 
nation  by  a  body  of  mutinous  soldiers, 
bribed  by  some  noisy  demagogues, 
and  the  mobs  of  two  or  three  Xuve 
towns.  The  moment  the  Spaniards 
could  speak  out,  they  did  so,  and  aban« 
doned  the  poor  quacks  in  power.  We 
said  so  this  time  twelvemonths,  when 
fellows  came  over  here  begging  for 
iron  and  gold — You  and  your  people 
bddly  hdd  the  contrary :  vou  wrote, 
sung,  danced,  masked,  fiddled,  spout- 
ed, all  for  the  Spaniards.  We  told 
you  Spain  would  not  strike  a  blow. 
We,  as  usual,  were  right— You,  as 
usual,  wrong.  Yet,  of  course,  you 
vrin  go  OR  with  as  much  Inrass  as  ever, 
nratinff  eternal  absurdities,  and  stro- 
king aown  your  beard,  mistaking  the 
9«rym  of  a  Buck-goat  for  ^at  of  a  So- 
lon. The  poltroonery  of  the  Cortes' 
people,  was,  however,  still  more  ama- 
zing to  the  radicals  than  to  you,  and  ac- 
cording! v  we  have  Uiis  reviewer  foam- 
ing at  tne  mouth.  He  is  rabid,  be- 
cause Ferdinand  was  not  murdered— 
he  is  outrageous,  because  a  messenger 
of  the  poor  captive  monarch  was  not 
destroyed — ^he  nowls,  because  the  Fac- 
tion, as  he  calls  the  Royalists,  were 
not  exterminated — and  shouts  with 
j(^  when  he  has  to  tell  how  his 
mends,  on  one  occasion,  succeeded  in 
a  massacre  over  defenceless  men.  If 
there  be  one  feature  more  characteris- 
tic of  this  dass  of  writers  than  an- 
other, it  is  this  intense  and  insatiable 
craving  for  blood.  But  I  am  happy 
to  say,  that  in  spite  of  all  your  exer- 
tions to  further  their  object,  there  is 
no  chance  whatever  of  their  famine 
being  ouenched  and  their  maw  filled ! 
Need  I,  my  dear  sir,  say  anything 
of  the  man  who  writes  in  b^alf  m 
the  spdiation  of  the  West  India  pro- 
piielmy  a  job  which  goes  by  the  name 


Ml 

of  the  Abolition  of  Slavery?  No, 
no ;  not,  I  am  sure,  to  vou.  You  have 
written  too  much  on  tne  same  «ide  of 
the  question  not  to  be  nerfectiy  alive  to 
all  its  humbuff.  My  oear  Jeffrey,  you 
knew  what  the  saints  are  driving  at 
too  welL  Tlus  radical  is  certainly  no 
saint,  but  the  great  bond  of  .being  en- 
gaged in  a  robbing  timnsaction,  binds 
them  in  union  not  to  be  broken.  The 
views  of  all  the  three  parties  engaged 
in  this  concern — ^Whig,  Saint,  and 
Radical — are  equally  respectable,  and, 
I  rejoice  to  find,  now  fully  appreciated 
by  everybody  worth  reading. 

For  Gothe's  Memours  of  nimsdf, 
Jones's  Greek  Lexicon,  or  Hibbert's 
Apparitions,  I  suppose,  neither  you  nor 
I  care  a  fartiiing.  You  formerly  had  a 
most  blackguard  review  of  old  Gothe 
in  your  own  work,  and  you  know  no- 
thing of  Greek  or  metaimvsics ;  so  let 
thattrioof  artideapaas.  (Tne  quackery, 
dishonesty,  and  base  ignorance,  of  Col- 
bum's  translator  of  Gothe,  are,  how- 
ever, effectually  and  thoroughly  expo- 
sed in  the  first  of  them.) — Nor  shall 
i  detain  you  with  remarks  on  the 
tithes  and  Captain  Rock ;  for,  with 
the  blessing  of  Heaven,  I  shall,  ere 
long,  lay  utterly  bare  tlus  new  ground 
taken  up  by  tne  economists  againat 
tithes,  and  prove,  on  their  own  mock 
scientific  principle,  that,  whatever  ar- 
gument is  applicaUe  to  the  doctrine  of 
rent,  they  are  profoundly  ignorant  of 
ikhes,  and  defy  them  to  answer  me. 
I  have  not  time  this  month ;  but,  if 
North  opens  his  pages  to  me,  as  I 
hope  he  will,  thev  shall  hear  argu- 
ments as  cool  as  their  own,  and  con- 
siderations  quite  divested  of  daroour, 
or  appeals  to  anything  but  mere  mat- 
ter of  fact.  As  lor  Ci^tain  Rock,  ha- 
ving already  written  an  article  on  that 
subject,  I  am  too  sick  of  it  to  say  a 
word  about  it  here,  except  to  express 
my  agreement  with  the  radical  re- 
viewer, that  your  oldantagonist,  whose 
poetrylyou  oncededared  fit  only  for  tiic 
meridian  of  a  brothel,  is  merely  a  little 
pedant,  straining  after  effect,  and  dis- 
cussing sutjects  of  statesmanlike  inte- 
rest in  epigram,  antithesis,  and  paltry 
quibble.  Indeed,  there  are  few  men 
whose  opinion  on  any  serious  subject 
would  be  so  little  likely  to  catch  the 
ear  of  any  party  as  Moore's. 

Landor's  Imaginary  Conversations, 
a  friend  of  mine  has  praised  in  the 
only.periodicalf  the  praise  of  which  is 
in  the  fligKf^^  degrae  valuable — it  is 
needless  to  say,  ttackwood's  Magaiine 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


lAiUr$  of  TimMs  Tickler,  Biq.    No.  XK 


3$9 

— 4iiid^  of  coQne,  I  ificHne  toftd  fanroar<« 
ably  towards  it.  I  Dever  have  seen  the 
wonc,  and,  with  the  Uesamg  of  God, 
Bever  shall  see  it ;  bat,  by  the  extracts 
here  given^  it  appean  to  me  to  be  a  maas 
of  ignorance^  bad  principley  ill  writinfi^ 
and  aelf-conceiL  I  wish^  my  dear  Jd*- 
fvey^you  would  review  Savage  Landor 
in  your  own  snappish  way— for  you  are 
pretty  much  on  a  par  with  the  author. 
Just  think  of  a  man,  whose  name  is 
scarcely  heard  of,  *'  cherishing  the 
persuasion  that  posterity  will  not  con^ 
nmnd  Aim  with  the  Cozes  and  Foxss 
of  the  age  !*'  Yes,  Jeffirey,  your  own 
Charles  James  Fnx !  In  us,  who  al- 
ways fought  to  the  hilt  against  him 
and  his  rump,  such  language  mi^t  be 
pardonable,  though  it  would  not  be  in 
very  good  taste ;  but  in  Landc»r! !  Again, 
he  teus  us  that  a  pen  between  his  (Lan- 
der's) two  fingers  has  more  power  than 
the  two  Houses  of  Parliament !  Poor  fia« 
laamite !  Then  read  his  etymdogieal 
disquisitions  on  the  Italian  language— 
in  fvffry  one  of  which  he  is  wrong— 
and  his  great  discovery,  that  a  tumme- 
head-over«heel8  is  named  after  the 
ducal  house  of  Somerset  !*  Byron  ia 
qttite  right  in  calling  this  fellowa  deep- 
mouthed  Boeotian.  Therefore,  as  I  said 
before,  I  give  you  leave  to  l^w  your 
penny  trumpet  after  him  as  lustily  as 
any  man  of  your  inches  can  be  expected 
to  do.  Remember  that  he  classed-— 
▼ery  justly,  I  must  own,  it  being  the 
roost  sensible  thing  I  ever  have  seen 
fVom  his  pen — the  "  JefiHsii  and  Bro- 
gamii,"  with  the  other  "  librariorum 
vemse."  So  have  at  him.  Get  an  Iu« 
lian  moonshee  for  about  a  fortnight, 
and  he  will  teach  you  as  much  Tuscan 
as  will  defbat  the  Boeotian,  and  shew 
you  off  as  a  kind  of  small  scholar— a 
thing  you  want. 

Whom  have  we  behind  ?  O !  Bow- 
ring — Babylonian  Bowring — ^late  from 
jaiL  '*  Here  am  I,  an  please  your  ho- 
nour, as  just  out  of  French  prison, 
iDiere  1  was  dapt  by  the  d— d  moun- 
seers  under  Bilboas,"  is  the  addr^a 
'With  which  this  patriot  comes  on  the 
stage.  He  has  lately  been  roaldngmoney 
by  tranalating  horrid  trash  from  all  the 
barbarous  dialects  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  and  scribing  for  the  magaxines. 
He  is  the  author  ako,  of  a  hymn-book. 


CM^. 


for  that  eiDorilent  aet  of  men  the 
Unitarians.  The  French  wanted  to 
hang  him  on  a  charge  of  treason,  but 
he  escaped  that  fate  by  whining  moat 
luatily,  and  declaring  upon  hia  ho* 
nour  he  only  intended  to  dieat  the 
poat-offioo— on  which  the  royalist  go-^ 
vemment  relented,  and  let  him  gou 
Had  it  been  one  of  his  own  &shioB, 
it  needs  no  ghost  to  tell  na  what 
would  have  be^  his  £Ue.  Bui  hera 
wehave  him  settling  the  world.  Here, 
he  aays,  Austria,  take  half  Moldavia 
and  Bessarabia,  and  the  peninsula 
formed  by  the  Danube  and  the  Black 
Sea,  aa  far  as  Kistei]gi,  with  the  double 
lake  of  Babada  Rioala,  converted  by  a 
stroke  of  Mr  Bowring's  pen  into  a  moat 
excellent  harbour.  Alexander  of  Ruop 
aia,  look  east  f  what  will  Mill's  em*- 
plojrers  sav  to  tais  hint  of  his  brother 
reviews?  )  and  take  the  kingdom  of  Ar- 
menia. Ionian  islands,  left  about,  and 
join  the  new  Achsean  League,  after 
the  m vmer  of  Neufchatd.  Mahnyud 
of  Istamboul,  issue  a  Hatti  Scherif 
declaring  lalaminn  in  danger,  andbriqg 
intothefield  ZaporesohaBs^Belibasehfii, 
Zaims,  and  Timariots.  Gentlemen  of 
Greece,  read  Mr  Blaquiere  a  pamphlet, 
and  re-establish  Greece  as  a  united 
power,  what  you  have  never  made  it 
since  the  days  of  A^;amemnon.  AU 
this  fine  fanfaronade  is  mixed  up  with 
the  hardest  words  Bowring  couJd  find 
out,  by  hunting  through  the  gazetteer. 
Henegouinians,  Faponians,  iVlontene- 
grins,  and  other  big  names  of  raspally 
populations,  dance  through  bis  pages 
m  all  the  glory  of  polysyllableism. 
Not  a  tangible  proposition  is  made  in 
the  whole  paper ;  except,  I  muat  own, 
where  he  is  most  knoxmngl$  indignant 
against  Oxford  for  not  patronizing  by 
subscription  the  ChrisUam  of  Graeoe^ 
The  men  of  Rhedycina  knew  too  well 
the  fate  of  subscriptions  when  entrust- 
ed to  whig  hands,  sudi  as  those  of  some 
oiyour  friends,  Mr  Jeflfirey,  to  do  any- 
thing 80  absurd.  But  I  pardon  Bow- 
ring a  great  deal,  for  his  shewing  the 
utter  nonsense  of  the  olarm  against 
the  Russian  power,  exdted  some  years 
ago  by  Wilson,  late  Sir  Robert.  He 
does  not  leave  that. poor  scribbler  a  leg 
to  stand  on.  The  reason  is  plain. 
Bowring  is  acquainted  with  the  lan- 


*  The  word  b,  m  every  one  koowi,  toukretauU^  corrupted  9omenU  ;  and  yet  the  West- 
miiuter  fellows,  who  talk  so  boldly  of  fiuniahiog  us  with  a  new  body  of  f^aaunars  and 
kxieonii,  and  dtotionarieK,  and  what  not,  qaott,  without  correcting,  Savi^e  Landoi'a 
aavagf  and  aaiaiae  Uander. 


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ie^2 


LeUentfTimMy  Tickler,  Esq.    No.  XV. 


\  Mid  ^  vtowi  of  Rnttift— WiU 
owf  no  laogoige  under  the  vom, 
aod  It  in  oolitioi  totally  uninformed 
ea  that  ana  erery  other  miljeet. 

Aa  I  am  sure  yon  are  tired  of  the 
Wettminiter^  I  thai!  now  re^gak  you 
with  the  last  Quarterly.  You  are  of 
course  aware  that  I  amuae  the  publie 
vretty  regularly  with  commenta  on  the 
leidiag  reviews,  generally  shewing 
their  utter  absurdity  and  want  of  in- 
femation.  The  public  ha?e  hitherto 
agreed  most  eorduUy  with  me,  and 
tkou^  it  will  gratify  you,  yet  I  am 
■on7  to  have  it  to  say,  my  old  friend, 
that  on  the  present  oceasion  Giffbrd, 
like  some  of  ourselvesy  begins  to  exhi- 
bit manifest  symptoms  of  the  near  ap« 
proadh  of  second  infancy.  The  last 
number  of  your  old  rival  the  Quarter- 
ly is,  abtqut  omni  dubio,  by  fur  the 
went  that  ever  yet  floundered  across 
the  lordly  threshold  of  </bMii«»  <^  Afo- 
roeto.  Ferlups  it  appears  the  less 
eicusable  for  this  reason,  that  its 
immediate  predecessor  was,  as  num- 
bers now-a-days  go^  a  eoneem  by  no 
means  to  be  sneeied  at,  really.  On  the 
contrary,  there  oceurred  in  that  par- 
ticular number,  several  glimpses  of 
something  like  a  knowldlge  of  the 
work!  of  real  men,  as  also  of  the  world 
of  real  letters ;  two  matters,  the  very 
existence  of  which  is  not  necessarily 
implied  in  the  manufacture  of  the 
lumberer  now  in  my  eye.  Here  we 
have  got  back  again  to  the  very  heart 
of  all  that  old  hierarchical  humbug, 
ow  which,  in  former  days,  when  I 
was  more  in  the  habit  of  meeting  you 
than  1  have  latdy  been,  you  and  I 
have  cracked  so  many  excellent  bot- 
tles and  tolerable  jokes.  Southey,  who 
rm  this  number  with  a  prosy  arti- 
on  Dwight,  Qat  whose  bsptismal 
.  name  of  Timothy  you  formerly  sneered 
so  mueh,  to  the  dissatisfactbn  of  all 
America,]]  ought  without  doubt  to  take 
orders.  What  haa  kept  him  a  lay- 
man so  long? — answer  me  that,  and 
€rU  tnihi  parvus  ApoUo,  by  my  lumour. 
An  ordinary  man  hates  the  idea  of 
heing  a  clergyman,  on  account  of  the 
disagreeable  necessity  of  clerical  deco- 
rum imposed  by  that  situation  in  lifb : 
and  for  the  same  reasons,  many  good 
fdUms  of  my  acquaintance  (even 
whigi)  have  recalcitrated  against  every 
propottl  of  the  Bench.  But  what 
shoiiU  hinder  the  doctor?  Could  blade 
nlk  apiOB,  breedies  and  stockings  to 
mateh^  increase,  in  any  degree  worth 
neatioiiing,  the  already  fl^  and  Tene« 


rated  gravity  of  this  pillar  of  our 
church  and  state  ?  Would  his  articles 
in  the  Quarterly,  or  hb  Books  ui  die 
Church,  Sec  come  forth  in  their  pre* 
sent  shap^  with  a  bit  the  leas  grac^ 
or  one  whit  less  to  our  edification,  be- 
cause the  doctor  had  preached  them 
ore  rotunda  in  Keswick  church  ? 
Would  not  the  vision  of  Jud^^nent 
have  made  a  prime  funeral  sermon— 
the  Poet's  Pilgrimage  a  prime  tlianka- 
giving  one,  and  so  on  with  the  rest? 
And  I  for  one,  must  say,  that  it  would 
give  me  the  sincerest  pleasure  to  hear 
of  the  worthy  doctor's  being  in  the  re- 
ceipt of  a  round  i^SOOO  per  annum, 
like  another  Philpotts  or  Davison,  in- 
stead  of  drawing  his  tithes  exdusive- 
ly  from  that  barren  field  on  which 
Gifford,  like  Proteus  of  old,  bebdds 
his  obese  black  cattle  pasturing  and 
anoring. 

To  return  fitum  this  digression*  Dr 
Southey  has  never  onoe  thought  cf 
recollecting  that  Horace  hai  wrapt 
up  a  pretty  considerable  d—- d  deal  of 
sense  (as  tne  Yankees  would  express 
it\  in  his  precept  nil  admirari*  I 
aoroit  that  in  the  private  circle,  over 
a  tumbler  or  a  cup  of  cofl^,  or  a  pot 
of  home-brewed  Cumberland  bev, 
than  which  few  better  things  are  to 
be  met  with  in  this  sublunary  state 
of  existence, — I  admit  that  chatting 
in  a  ^uiet  overly  wav,  by  the  firo-side, 
or  with  one's  pipe  m  mouth,  in  fine 
summer  weatner,  under  the  porch, 
after  Uie  true  patriarchal  fashion — I 
admit,  I  say,  that  in  these  drcum- 
atances  there  is  something  not  merelv 
pardonable,  but  even  amiable — 1  speak 
from  my  own  feelings — and  taking,  in 
die  bonne  foi  and  simplicity  with 
which  such  a  man  as  Doctor  Southey 
lifU  up  his  eyes  and  hands,  to  testify 
the  genuine  surprise  produced  upon  an 
unsophisticated  understanding,  by  the 
sudden  promulgation  of  a  piece,  either 
of  moral  or  physical  novelty.  But  it 
is  against  slU  rules  to  can7  into  a 
crowded  company  a  pair  of  roving, 
rolling,  wonder-shining  optics.  No- 
thing can  be  more  aiMurd.  How 
mucn  more  ridiculous,  then,  this  hs^ 
bit  of  staring  in  print,  wherein  this 
worthy  LL.D.  so  daiinglv  upon  every 
occasion  indulges  himself  J  I  really 
am  surprised  when  I  see  a  man  come 
to  hia  years,  lifting  up  such  a  trum- 
pet about  little  buds  and  leaves,  and 
msecta  that  eat  com,  and  all  that  sort 
of  stuff,  in  the  rery  front  and  fore- 
head of  a  respectable  middk-a0ed  re- 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Letters  of  Tmotky  Tickler,  Esq.    No.  XV. 


M4 

Tiew  Ska  the  Quarterly.  Eyen  when 
a  writer  in  the  Quarterly  Review  ia 
totally  ignorant  of  his  sulnect^  (as  the 
Doctor  always  is  when  ne  meddles 
jwith  his  favourite  sciences  of  phvsio- 
logv  and  political  economy,)  it  is 
highly  reprehensible  for  a  writer  in 
such  a  review,  to  take  unnecessary 
pains  to  exhibit  his  ignorance  in  the 
eves  of  all  the  men,  women,  and 
cnildien,  whom  The  Emperor  of  the 
West  has  the  satisfaction  of  enrolling 
aroone  his  tributaries. — But  I  go  fhr- 
ther  than  this.  In  a  word,  I  venture 
to  suggest,  for  his  mjgesty,  Joannes 
•The  First,  that itis  quite  reprehensible, 
in  the  present  state  of  things,  to  sufier 
such  topics  as  these  to  be  meddled 
vrith  at  all  in  such  a  work,  by  people 
•who  are  absolutdy  and  totally  in  a 
•tate  of  Cimmaianism  as  concerns 
them.  I  stick  to  this  position.  Po-> 
Utical  economy  is  a  drug :  so  is  natu- 
ral history:  so  is  every  branch  of  what 
4he  new  people  are  so  fond  of  callng 
•(however  absurdly)  by  the  name  <^ 
j^ilosonhy.  I  do  not  say  that  one 
can  picK  up  a  Sir  Humphry  Davy  at 
every  comer  of  the  street,  nor  a  Brews- 
ter, nor  a  Thomson,  nor  a  Jameson,  no, 
•nor  even  a  Leslie — but  I  do  say,  that 
aecond  and  third-rate  natural  philoio- 
phers  and  historians,  are  by  no  meana 
80  scarce  as  blackberries ;  and  I  also 
do  say,  that  these  people  would  har- 
monise better  than  even  first-rate 
•ones  (were  such  discoverable)  would 
do  with  the  general  tone  of  the  Quar- 
terly Review :  and  I  do  say,  between 
ourselves,  that  it  has  long  appeared  to 
me  highly  absurd,  in  John  Murray, 
Willumi  Gifford,  and  Company,  to 
make  no  efibrt  towards  rividling  the 
very  moderate  performances  which 
your  honour  has  had  the  glory  of 
ushering  into  the  world,  anent  all  that 
class  of  toiuca— but  I  say  still  more 
fitrongly  and  earnestly,  that  of  all  ab- 
fiurdities  whereof  any  review  of  any- 
thing like  decent  character  has  in  our 
lime  been  guilty,  there'never  has  been 
anjr  one  at  all  comparable  to  that  into 
which  the  Quarterly  Review  was  be- 
trayed, in  the  evil  day,  and  the 
T^ffMi TfTfMir  unhappy  hour,  when 
first  the  notion  of  su^ring  Dr  So«- 
they  to  meddle  with  political  economy, 
natural  history,  or  indeed  with  any 
subject  demimding  accurate  human 
knowledge,  was  hatched  by  the  steam 
of  toddy  within  the  brain  of  Gifibrd. 
To  Timothy  Tickler,  who  is  no 
I.L.D.,  but  an  honest  man,  the  re- 


CMay, 


viewof  Tfanothy  Dwight,  who  k  botli 
an  LL.D.  and  a  huge  proeer,  by  Ro- 
bert Southey,  ditto,  ditto,  appears  to 
be  a pieceof  most  in&ntine  stuff— and 
I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying,  that 
I  sympathize  wiUi  my  defunct  name- 
sake, "  Timotheus  sum;  nihil  Timo^ 
theani  a  me  aUetimm  fmio." 

The  second  article,  on  WilHam  Rose's 
Orlando  Furioso,  is  evidently  a  pio- 
bald  aflbir,  half  Fosoolo,  half  John 
Murray,  or  rather  one  of  hia  derica^— 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  cMistdeK 
Ariosto  himself  as  an  unreadable  con- 
cern, so  that  of  course  a  translation 
of  him  does  not  particularly  iateiest 
my  feelings.  Imieed  I  may  aa  wdi 
observe,  once  for  all,  that  au  poetics! 
translations  are  and  muster  rerum  ne- 
cessitate  be  mere  fudge.  Understand 
my  meaning,  however,  my  friend — I 
know  that  in  the  days  of  your  youth 
joa.  were  very  fond  of  doing  into  Eng- 
lish bits  of  ApoUonius  Rhodius,  and 
other  dassica,  meUoris  eevi  et  notm  ;  and 
if  you  have  forgotten  the  chuckle  with 
which  you  in  those  simple  and  enga- 
ging days  heard  me  commend  occa- 
sionally the  display  of  your  juvenile 
taleit  in  some  of  these  pieces,  you 
have  a  very  bad  memory :  that  is  all 
the  remark  I  think  fit  to  make  on  the 
matter.  But  I  commended  these  things 
because  they  shewed  talent  in  spite  of 
an  absurd  plan  and  subject — and  in 
this  way  the  consistency  of  my  opi- 
nions is  seen  to  remain  unimpeachdile. 
As  for  FoBcolo,  it  is  well  known  that 
Murray  or  his  deric  translates  his  arti- 
des  into  Englidi  from  the  original  Ita- 
han,  and  I  cannot  but  say  that  I  consider 
the  ffldstenee  of  this  manufacture  asa 
grand  feature  in  the  literary  history  of 
our  time.  Wegotoltalylcaranltayan 
Reviewer  of  our  own  Grothicpoetry,'and 
theyputusoffwkhaZantiote.  I  won- 
der we  do  not  also  hear  of  some  Turk 
or  Tartar  being  imported  into  Albe- 
marle-street,  in  order  to  f\imidi  us 
with  respectable  criticisms  on  our  new 
romances.  Seriously,  Giffi>rd  is  wrimg 
as  to  this  matter,  and  ycm  were  righu 
Ugo  Foscolo's  vUime  kitere,  and  some 
■  of  his  minor  verses,  are  beautiful  pro- 
ductions undoubtedly,  but  to  set  im 
any  outlandish  heathen  of  this  kind, 
and  give  him  permission  to  xypen  his 
humbugging  jaws,  in  the  periodical  li- 
terature of  this  great  and  dviliaed  em- 
pire, this,  I  maintain,  is  indefensible 
and  atrodous  quackery.  It  is  as  bad 
aa  our  friend  Tsaflfe  and  his  ''  Com^ 
ment  on  Dante,"  a  work  of  which  one 


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iMiertofTimoths  Tickler,  Esq.^  No.  XV^ 


volome  hu  ameared,  and  nine  others 
are  on  the  stoon ;  but  never,  me  teste , 
destined  to  be  launched  in  the  dock-* 
yard  of  hib  Western  Majesty.  There 
are  some  sensiblidi  remarks  in  this  ar- 
ticle on  the  origin  of  the  Arabian  Tales, 
Amadis  de  Gaul^  Mother  Bluebeard, 
tiie  Emperor  Charlemagne,  and  simi- 
lar new  and  unhackneyed  topics ;  and 
a  Tsriety  of  ingenious  nttle  devices  are 
falleir  upon-  for  the  purpose  of  intro- 
ducing, in  a  modest  and  drawingroom- 
like  £Mhion,  the  puff  of  Mr  W.  S.  Rose, 
which  the  scribe  had  been  hired  to 
produce.  How  much  more  straight-for- 
ward and  manly  is  the  style  in  which 
v>e  do  such  things !  When  you  want 
.  to  puff  Brougham,  you  don't  go  beat- 
ing about  the  bush  and  whispering  hk 
praises  under  your  breath,  as  if  you 
were  afraid  that  anybody  would  at  once 
say,  here  is  Mr  Brougham  lauding 
himself— No,  no,  out  at  once  comes 
your  parallel  between  him  and  De- 
mosthenes, or  something  of  that  cut. 
In  like  manner  I,  after  I  have  supped, 
undertake  to  play  a  spring  upon  the 
fiddle  of  public  opinion  in  honour  of 
Jemmy  Hogg,  Johnny  Leslie,  or  any 
other  of  my  chums ;  and  if  vou  hear 
anybody  complaining  of  me  for  beitu; 
a  timid  or  a  stingy  master  of  the  puf- 
fery, depend  on  it,  'tis  the  voice  of 
the  said  Jemmy  or  Johnny  himself, 
and  no  other  mother's  son.  Bat  here, 
just  because  Rose  is  a  writer  in  the 
Quarterly,  see  what  a  f\iss  and  diffi- 
culty there  is  about  giving  him  a  little 
bitof  anuffthere.  If  he  had  written 
for  Nortn  or  you,  in  how  much  more 
manly  a  stvle  had  he  not  been  dealt 
with  1  Aa  &r  the  verses  quoted  iti  the 
Qnarta'ly  from  his  translation,  I  con- 
fess they  appear  to  me  to  be  prais^- 
wvNTthv,  and  I  only  wonder  how  either 
Fosoolo  or  his  Englifier  had  the  wit  to 
pick  them  out 

'<  On  the  RecolleetioDa  of  the  Pe- 
ninsula," &C.  is  Article  Third — a  very 
pleasant  little  book,  and  a  twaddling 
little  review,  by  a  very  near  connection 
(as  I  opine)  of  one  of  the  scribes  re- 
viewed. One  is  pleased  with  the  dis- 
play of  natural  afiection  wherever  it 
occurs.  AAer  all,  Jeffrey,  you  never 
said  a  truer  thing  than  when  you  re- 
marked some  time  ago,  apropos  to  Bipy 
Cornwall's  appearance  m  tne  poetical 
horizon,  that  "  all  is  vanity  and  vexa- 
tion of  spirit,  except  the  diarming  flow 
of  the  benevolent  affections — the  de- 
lists of  friendship—the  luxuries  of 
BOMi."  -'  I  rememoer  and  quote  these 


M5 

bonny  long-nebbed  words  of  yours 
with  great  satisfaction.  I  approve  suth 
sentiments,  old  bachelor  though  I  be. 
The  fourth  article  is  a  thundering 
affiiir  of  and  concerning  some  old  ba- 
boon of  the  name  of  Belsharo— some- 
how I  always  confound  Belsham  and 
Bentham — an  Unitarian.  These  scamps 
were  alwavs  horrible  perverters  of 
Scripture,  but  I  confess  I  was  not  pre- 
pared fbr  the  de  haut'tn-bas  tone  in 
which  this  particular  heathen  dares  to 
prate  of  St  Paul.  The  reviewer  is 
some  tremendous  fire-shovel — ^nobody 
out  of  black  breeches  could  possibly 
have  imagined  that  any  rational  crea- 
ture would  bother  himself  with  listen- 
ing to  a  shallow,  ignorant,  blasphemona 
numskull,  such  as  this  Belsham.  And 
by  the  by,  since  I  am  talking  of  them, 
what  excuse  has  a  certain  northern 
University  to  make  for  itself,  for  ha- 
ving created  at  least  one  D.  D.  of  this 
sect  ?  Doctors  of  Divinity,  that  dis- 
^  believe  the  divinity  of  our  Saviour ! 
'  Pretty  divinity,  I  say. — Compare  thia 
twaddling  specimen  of  mere  dotardUke 
odium  theolofieum,  with  the  masterly 
crucifixion  mflicted  by  Archbishop 
Magee.  After  him  'tis  mere  slaying 
of  the  slain,  even  to  allude  to  the  ex- 
istence of  the  crew.  And  here  we 
hi^e  a  light  and  mercurial  allusion  in 
the  shape  of  thirty  closely-printed 
pages  octavo.    The  man  is  no  War- 

DUrtOB. 

The  Travels  of  A.  de  Capell  Brooke, 
Esq.  A.M.  are  reviewed  m  a  manner 
more  like  vour  own  flimsy  style  of  do- 
ing such  tnings,  than  the  Quarterly'a. 
The  Tractatus  on  Malaria  seems  con- 
foundedly dull  work  to  me— -even 
though  you  are  cut  up  in  it.  I  bate 
to  see  h^vy  fellows  battering  at  yoik 
Hang  it,  ikty  have  no  rig^t  ta  meddle 
with  my  amusements. 

"  M«xw>"  is  the  attractive  title  of 
one  of  Southey's  most  plodding  per- 
formanaes.  I  suppose  it  is  an  excursus 
detadiedfrom  the  forthcoming  quarts 
Poem  of  Paraguay.  I  wish  the  Doc- 
tor would  join  some  of  the  Patriots  at 
once. 

The  new  correspondence  of  the  poet 
Cowper,  gives  occasion  to  the  next  ar* 
tide— ana  candour  confesses,  that  not 
having  seen  the  book,  I  was  pleased 
much  with  the  extracts  herein  gives 
of  it.  As  for  the  observations  of  the 
Quarterlv,  they  are  mere  imbecility. 
The  condudlng  paragraph  about  **  re- 
ligious reading,  is  excessively  dis- 
gusting—quite aa  mudi  so,  though  ia 


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666  Letten  of  TitMihy  Tickler,  Esq. 

a  somewhat  different  tone,  as  the  al« 
kisions  to  such  suhjects  in  your  own 
magnum  omts,  Ihatebothexd'enies;— 
heresy  ana  humbug  are  equaUy  alien 
to  my  notions  of  things. 

The  Review  of  Hajji  Baha  is  a  very 
laboured  performance.  One  sees  how 
seriously  the  necessity  of  puffing  the 
thing  has  been  felt  in  certain  quarters. 
Downright,  drudging,  determined 
laudation,  does  the  business.  To  deny 
that  this  little  work  has  merit,  would 
be  ridiculous.  It  does,  I  well  be- 
Here,  embody  the  whole  of  Mr  Mo- 
rier's  diligent  observations  of  Orien- 
tal afifairs.  But  when  the  Quartcr- 
aat  once,  and  distinctly,  says,  that 
is  book  is  totally  devoid  of  merit  as 
to  the  portraiture  of  human  passions 
and  fbelings,  why  does  it  quote  as  a 
specimen,  almost  the  only  passionate 
scene  that  occurs  between  its  boards  ? 
Avoid  this  sort  of  nonsense,  if  you 
meddle  with  Mr  MGntr'^chefdtaniffre, 
—but,  the  book  not  being  Constable's, 
you  will  not  probably  think  of  this. 

What  have  we  next  ?—0!  the  Dry 
Rot,— Rot  "  the  Dry  Rot ! !  T 

Poor  Parry !  I  confess  I  give  up  him 
and  the  whole  concern  now.  May  afl 
this,  however,  be  otherwise  than  we 
expect! 

I  observe,  that  the  Captain  has,  Ai- 
ring his  last  two  voyages,  favoured  us 
with  Melville  Island,  Cockbum  Cove, 
Point  Croker,  Barrow  Bay,  Clerk's 
Clump,  Hope's  Heights,  &c.  &c.— all 
this  is  as  it  should  be ;  but  if  he  comes 
back  another  time  without  having  im- 


mortalized  some  equally  eftcient  pa- 
trons of  his,  by  such  christenings  as 
Gifford's  Headland,  Southey's  Sound, 
Blurray's  Moorings,  Daridson's  Drift, 
&c.  &c.  &c.  I  shall  unquestloBabljr 
set  him  down  as  one  of  the  ungratcftiL 
If  he  had  been  blessed  with  a  real 
sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  he 
would  certainly  have  called  souse  ot 
these  new  insects  he  has  discovered 
after  you,  my  dear  fellow ;  and  I'm 
sure,  I  for  one,  shall  take  no  offfenoe, 
if  he  does  call  the  biggest  of  all  hi» 
hyperborean  Bears  after 

Yours,  in  the  bond  of 
Periodiealisro, 
Timothy  Tickleb* 
Sauthsidf, 
May  16,  1824. 

P.  S.  The  only  good  article  in  th» 
Quarterly,  is  the  last — that  on  the 
Chancellor.  But  as  you  have  read  the 
same  thing  so  often  in  Blackwood, 
you  win  not  perhaps  be  much  amused 
vrith  it  It  is,  however,  you  may  de- 
pend on  it,  a  real  good,  smashiii|  ar- 
ticle—and if  there  vras  any  Kw  i« 
Brougham,Denman,&c.before,itmiist 
have  acted  as  the  completest  of  extin- 
guishers. Long  live  tne  old  Lad,  s«T 
I.  He  loves  Porter  and  Port,  and 
Church  and  King^like  myself.  Whrt 
would  not  your  partjr  give  to  have  a 
toe  of  him  on  yomr  side — Your  law- 
yers!— Lawyers  indeed! — Bombaaecn 
IS  good  enough  for  the  best  of  yoa, 
says 

T.  T. 


FINS  ARTS. 


The  exhibitions  of  this  spring  are, 
wi^ottt  exception,  the  worst  we  re- 
member. In  London  a  sort  of  rival 
to  the  Royal  Academy's  concern  has 
been  got  up,  near  Charing<icreBs,  by  a 
■et  of  artists  who  have  chosen  to  take 
•omethin^  in  snuff— in  other  words, 
who  consider  themselves  to  have  been 
ill  used  in  this  worid  by  the  pictorial 
ii  w  Tixw.  We  are  sorry  to  observe 
two  painters  of  real  eminence  joining 
this  new  squad — ^the  eflRnts  of  which 
will  most  manifestly  come  to  nothing. 
We  allude  to  Martin  and  Haydon.  The 
former  produceth  one  of  the  Egyptian 
plagues,  done  quite  in  his  old  style — in- 
deed, a  vast  deal  too  like  his  Bekha»- 
sar's  Feast,  his  Joshua,  &c  &c.  But 
with  all  this,  Martin  is  so  decidedly  a 
man  of  oris^nality  and  gemus,  Aat 
we  regret  hk  feud  with  the  Academy. 


Let  him  make  his  bow,  and  ^  back  fo 
the  only  fountain  of  professional  ho- 
nour, worthy  of  his  looking  after,  eie 
it  be  too  kte. 

Do  you  the  same  thing,  Mr  Bei^ 
min  Robert  Haydon,  if  you  be  a  wise 
man.  Your  present  perfbrroanee  ot 
Silenus  and  Baechns  is  indeed  so 
very  cockneyish  a  concern,  that  we 
doubt  whether  it  would  have  got  be- 
yond the  antediambcTs  at  Somerael- 
nouse — but  doing  a  bad  ^ling  doei 
not  undo  a  good  thing.  You,  sir,  are 
still  the  man  that  pdnted  that  head 
of  Laaarus— «nd  he  who  denies  that 
that  is  the  finest  thing  our  age  has 
witnessed,  in  the  highest  and  poreat 
branch  of  the  art,  is  no  judge  of  paini- 
ins— on  that  you  may  rely.  Do  let 
US  near  no  more  of  yonr  Greek  niyth<^ 
logy— «iid  do  let  ot  hear,  that  yov 


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1894.;]  Fine  Aris. 

next  good  Dicture  flgnrea  at  8omeraet« 
homej  in  toe  midst  of  that  good  com- 
pany, from  which  nothing  but  some 
atbankd  caprice  of  your  own  could  hare 
even  fbr  a  moment  excluded  you. 

The  worst  picture  in  this  new  ex- 
hibition^ is  one  of  a  widow  throwing 
off  her  weeds,  and  rigging  herself  in 
gay  eakmn  once  agal]^— painted  by 
one  Richter.  This  gentleman  has  the 
deHeate  imagination  and  airy  touch  of 
a  dray  horse. 

The  Somerset-house  show  is  also 
exoesdTely  bad,  upon  the  whole,  this 
year.  What  in  the  name  of  wonder 
possesses  the  committee  to  admit  all 
these  things  }  Artists  indeed  !  Sign- 
posts, tea-trays,  stoneware  plates,  and 
saucers,  are  works  of  the  snblimest 
arty  compared  with  ten-twelfths  of 
the  affairs  that  blaEC  along  these  in- 
terminable walls. 

But,  bad  as  the  '^  tottle  of  Xht 
i^^fT  is,  here  are  good  things — here 
are  the  good  things.  Here  are  three 
or  four  portraits  by  Sir  Ihomas 
liSurence,  painted  in  the  venr  finest 
a^le  of  art — graceful  beyond  all  ri- 
fMry,  masterlT  beyond  dl  reach  of 
detnicUou.  The  Duchess  of  Okmoee^ 
ter  is  sudi  a  thing  as  no  other  pain* 
ter,  since  Sir  Joshua,  could  come 
wltMn  a  hundred  miles  of— Mrs  Hal- 
fbrd  is  another  sem  of  the  first  water-* 
what  gentle  ladylike  loveliness  I'— But 
perhaps  the  greatest  triumph  of  all  is, 
the  Sir  William  Curtis— like— yet  oh ! 
how  unlike ! — the  very  ideal  of  flat- 
tery, and  yet  the  truth,  the  very  truth 
too!  This  is  true  genius. 

There  is  a  porlarait  of  a  sweet  young 
faidy  in  an  andent  Florentine  dress,  by 
Ml  artist — whose  name  we  at  this  mo- 
liient  fofrget — which  deserves  to  be 
Uraded  in  the  same  breath  with  Sir 
Thomas's  chef-d'oeuvre.  The  only 
t/tket  thing  in  this  department  that 
much  struck  us,  is  a  snudl  fyuiength 
<Bla  ybung  lady  in  a  Cheese  hat,  hung 
tn  a  ^^ery  bad  light,  and  a  great  deal 

She  r  up  than  it  should  hate  been, 
is  diso  is  a  dcAcious  picture-— the 
urtist's  name  is  Foster. 

Leslie,  the  American  artist,  stands 
dSeaily  and  decidedly  at  the  head  of 
those  who  exhibit  cabinet  pictures 
th&  year.  His  '*  Sancho  Pimia  in 
the  apartment  of  the  Dudiess/'  is 
^[Utte  as  good  as  any  picture  Wflkie 
ever  painted — lull  of  excellence  as  to 
drawing,  and  to  colouring— and  above 
an,  as  to  conception.  Thb  artist  now 
stands  fiiirly  wnere  his  genius  entitles 
him  to  be.  We  congratulate  America. 
Vol  XV. 


M7 

Wilkie  has  two  very  small  and  very 
pood  jpictures-^one  of  a  smuggler  seUU 
mg  gm,  and  the  other,  of  the  two  girls 
dressing  themselves  in  Allan  Rama/s 
Gentle  Shepherd.  This  last,  how- 
ever,  is  by  no  means  such  a  fiivomto 
with  us  as  that  most  pathetio  bijou 
(fixm  the  same  poem)  whidi  is  in 
Shr  Robert  Liston's  collection.  Mr 
Wilkie  has  not  any  first-rate  wcn^ks 
ready  this  year— but  it  is  said  he  is  to 
make  up  for  this  gloriously  next  sea- 
son, by  his  **  John  Knox  at  St  An- 
drews. 

After  these,  the  next  best  thing  is, 
"  M.  Porceaugnac  between  the  two 
physicians."  This  delightfVil,  airy^ 
and  trulv  classical  little  picture,  is 
also,  we  believe,  the  work  of  an  Ame* 
rican— his  name  is  Newton.  He  also 
seems  to  have  found  a  beautiful  and  a 
novel  field  for  hxmwM^Pergat ! 

Muheady's  "  wooing  the  widow,** 
is  wel>  painted ;  but  there  is  consider- 
able coarseness  in  the  conception.  It 
ia^  however^  fifty  leagues  above  Mr 
INditer's  jdly  Widowof  Sufiblk  street. 

'  WilHam  Allan  has  a  picture  of 
^  Queen  Mary  resigning  the  orown  at 
Lochleven" — and  this  [^cture  con« 
tains  some  exquisite  painting,  and  one 
magnificent  figure— that  of  Lyndesay 
''with  the  ir<m  eve."  We  catmot 
flatter  her  migesty  wis  morning.  TI10 
subject,  however,  is  popular,  and  soli 
thejpicture. 

The  exhibition  at  Edinburgh— to 
descend  from  great  things  to  small-*— 
is  miserably  off  for  the  want  of  Sit 
Henry  Raebum,  who  Is  dead,  and 
Allan,  and  the  Nasmyths,  who  do  not 
choose  to  take  a  part  in  it — fbr  wfai^ 
reason,  good,  bad,  or  Indiflbent,  we 
do  not  know.  Some  noble  landscape^ 
of  Thomson  of  Duddingston^s,  are 
the  chief  embellishmeni— acfter  tw# 
Utile  pieces  of  Wilkie>  one  of  which, 
the  Gentle  Shepherd  Piping,  has  al<b 
ready  been  alluded  to.  The  other  is 
quite  as  clever,  but  not  so  toaching-*-*- 
the  suMeot,  <<  Duncan  Gray  came  tot 
to  woo.^' 

The  best  portraits,  on  the  whole, 
are  undoubtedly  tfaoie  of  young  John 
Watson-^we  cannot,  however,  be 
pleased  with  Ms  Barl  of  Heipe«e«m. 
The  dress  in  that  picture  is,  to  be 
sure,  so  barbarous  a  spedmen  ef  mo- 
dem Athenian  gusto,  that  no  wonder 
if  a  painter  of  any  judgment  was  too 
mucn  disgusted  tone  abletodolmnsdf 
justioe. 

D.B. 

*  digitized  by  LjOOgle 


568 


licmarks  on  the  Novel  f>f  Matthew  Wafd. 


LMay, 


REMARKS  ON  THE  XOVEL  OP  MATTHEW  WALD.' 


Altuodoh  a  great  variety  of  long- 
winded  discussions  have  been  written 
about  tbe  comparative  advantages  and 
disadvantages  of  composing  works  of 
tbis  class,  in  the  first  person,  and  in 
the  third  person,  we  venture  to  say, 
that  the  truth  of  the  matter  lies  not 
far  from  the  surface,  and  may  be  ex- 
pressed in  three  syllables.  Whenever, 
the  novel  writer  places  his  reliance 
chiefly  on  the  incidents  themselves 
which  he  is  to  narrate,  the  historical 
third  person  is  by  far  the  better  plan 
for  him  to  adopt :  whenever,  on  the 
other  hand,  his  chief  object  is  the  de- 
velopement  at  character^  the  use  of  the 
first  person  furnishes  him  with  infi- 
nitely superior  facilities  for  the  easy 
and  mil  attainment  of  the  purpose  he 
has  in  view.  Accordingly  we  find, 
that  the  Wilful  romance-writer,  who 
does  mflJie  use  of  the  third  person,  never 
fails  to  throw  himself  out  of  that  by 
the  introduction  of  dialogue  whenever 
the  developement  of  character  happens 
to  become  for  the  moment  his  pniid-i 
pal  concern ;  and  perhaps,  in  a  long 
romance,  where  many  different  cha- 
racters are  to  be  eqiially,  or  nearly 
so,  the  db^ecis  of  we  reader's  sym- 
pathy, this  partial  use  of  the  advan- 
tages of  the  first  person  may  have 
many  things  to  recommend  it.;  as,  for 
example,  the  greater  variety,  not  only 
in  the  substance,  but  in  the  tone  of 
the  narrative-— an  advantage  of  high 
importance  in  a  work  of  considerable 
bulk— «nd  many  other  things  of  the 
same  kind. 

In  works  of  more  limited  extent^ 
and  where  the  writer's  purpose  ia  to 
bind  the  reader's  attention  and  sym- 
pa^y  on  the  progress  of  thought  aod 
fiieUn^  in  <mf  human  mind,  we  con- 
ceive It  to  be  quite  dear,  that  the  use 
of  the  first  nerson  is  the  best  expedi- 
.ent.  Piovided  we  are  called  upon  to 
sympathize  solely  or  chiefly  with  one 
human  bdng,  perhaps  this  is  the  best 
expedient,  even  when  the  operation  of 
external  events,  uncontrollable  by  him, 
upon  Uiat  human  being,  fonns  the 
prindpal  fund  on  which  the  writer's 
imagination  is  to  draw.  But  where 
the  particular  nature  of  the  incidents 
in  which  the  being  is  involved,  is  de- 


cidedly a  point  of  small  importance 
when  compared  with  the  nature  and 
peculiarity  of  the  mind  on  which  these 
inddents  are  to  exert  their  influenoes,. 
then  above  all,  it  seems  to  us  dear  and 
manifest,  that  the  uniform  adoption 
of  the  autobiographic  tone  is  not  only 
the  best  expedient,  but  the  only  good 
one. — How  frigid  would  the  di^^y 
of  the  Pasdon  of  Julie  D'Etange  nave 
been  in  any  form  but  that  of  eonfea- 
don — how  vain  the  attempt  to  pour- 
tray  Werther  by  any  hand  but  his  own! 
Tbb  story  of  Gil  Bias  indeed  might 
have  been  told  as  well  or  nearly  so  in  the 
third  person,  because,  exquidte  as  the 
character  of  the  hero  is,  there  is  no- 
thing profound,  or  dark)  or  even  du- 
bious, in  it— nothing  but  what  a  third 
party  might  have  eadly  enough  been 
supposed  capable  of  c<unpletdy  under- 
standing, and  completely  laying  be- 
fore us.  But  whenever  thedq)thsar  the 
heart  and  the  soul  are  to  be  kid  bare, 
let  us  have  the  knife  of  the  self-ana^ 
tomist— nay,  without  saying  anything 
abouidepths,  since  many  human  minda 
may  be  v^  shallow  mings,  and  yet 
highly  amusing  as  well  as  instructive 
in  thdr  display,  whenever  the  nerti 
peculiarities  of  one  man  are  the  prin- 
dpal object,  let  that  man  tell  his  own 
story — ^ye^,  even  if  that  man  be  a  Re- 
verend Mr  Balquhidder,  or  a  Provost 
Pawkie. 

Mr  Matthew  Wald  does  tell  his  own 
story,  in  the  remarkable  volume  befoie 
us,  and  every  ptrsen  wha  reads  it  must 
admit  that  it  is  a. story  eminently  un- 
fit for  bdng  told  by  any  one  but  its 
hero.  It  is  indeed  a  story,  not  only 
abounding  in,  but  overflowing  with, 
variety,  of  highly  interesting  incident 
and  adventure ;  but  throughout  t)ie 
whole  of  its  jtonor,  everything  is  ded- 
dedly  and  entiidy  sulx^dinate  to  the 
minute  and  anxious,  although  eai^ 
and  unajff^cted,  anatomy  of  one  man  s 
mind;  and  that  mind  is  bo  distinct 
and  per  se  in  every  particular  of  its 
stru^ure,  that  we  feel  throughout,  and 
are  scarcely  ever  nnoonscious  of  the 
feding,  that  on  whatever  particular 
stream  in  the  ocean  of  life  its  lot  had 
been  cast,  amidst  whatever  theatre  cf 
action  this  man's  fate  had  placed  him. 


•  The  History  of  Matthew  Wald.    By  the  aiitfanr  of  Valemit»  Adam  Blair,  and 
Reginitfd  Dalton.    BUckwood.    Edinhurgh.     1824. 


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•^6P 


however  nmcfa  lie  might  have  heen 
elevated  above^  or  depressed  below^  the 
condition  in  which  we  find  him,  by 
the  accidents  of  birth  and  fortune^ 
and  even  of  education,  the  issue  in 
the  main  must  still  have  been  the 
same.  It  is  impossible  to  suppose  for 
a  moment,  that  if  Matthew  Wold  had 
been  bom  a  duke  or  a  peasant,  he 
could  have  been  either  a  mean  or  a 
hapfnr  man.  The  chief  ayropathies 
wmA  he  exciti»8  are  placed  far  be- 
yond the  reach  of  any  external  acci- 
dents whatever.  A  haughty,  scorn- 
ful, sarcastic,  shrewd,  bitter  spirit, 
blended  with  some  tempestuous  pas- 
sions, and  softened  by  a  few  feelings 
of  the  purest  and  most  tender  denth— 
these  are  the  main  elements  of  this 
mind.  They  would  have  been  the 
same  had  he  revelled  under  a  canopy, 
or  sweated  on  a  high-road;  and  u 
either  caae  the  roan  would  have  been 
unhappy,  and  his  feelings  would  have 
commanded  our  svmpatnies,  because 
his  feelings  would  always  have  been 
the  feelings  of  a  strong-minded,  inde- 
pendent, and  self-relying  human  be- 
mg ;  and  because  no  human  being  can 
be  happy  who  carries  through  li£  the 
habit,  or  we  might  rather  say  the  pas- 
sion, of  psychological  contemplation, 
without  being  dtner  debased  by  the 
personal  indifference  of  a  mere  cynic, 
OT  ennobled  with  the  personal  calm- 
ness of  a  true  philosopher ;  or,  which 
is  a  better,  and  happily  a  more  attain- 
able thing,  blessed  with  the  personal 
humility  and  submission  of  a  true 
christian. — ^We  conceive  that  the  story 
is  not  less  instructive  than  interest- 
ing. 

Under  any  modification  of  form  and 
circumstance,  such  a  tale  must  haye 
been  both  interesting  and  instructive ; 
but  it  is  much  the  more  interesting, 
vdthout  question,  because,  fVom  its  be- 
ing written  in  the  first  perscm,  we  are 
reminded  at  every  step,  or  rather,  to 
speak  more  accurately,  we  are  kept 
continually  impressed  with  the  sense, 
that  he,  of  whose  fortunes  we  are 
reading,  possessed  not  only  a  powerful 
intellect,  but  a  high  and  imaginative 
genius ;  and  most  assuredly,  the  story 
gains  from  the  same  circumstance  no 
trivial  access  of  instructiveness,  since 
the  natural  oride  of  man  can  never  be 
too  frequently  admonished,  how  inca- 
pable are  even  the  highest  powers  and 
accomplishments  of  intellect  of  ato- 
.  ning  tm  the  want  of  that  moral  equi- 


lilurium  in  wMoh'  the  true  happiness  of 
man  consists, — in  the  absence  of  which 
the  noblest  gifts  of  our  CreaUnr  serve 
not  more  surely  to  embellish  the  nar- 
rative, than  to  deepen  the  substance  of 
human  misery. 

The  main  outline  of  the  story  may 
be  sketdied  very  briefly :  Matthew 
Wald  is  the  only  son  of  Captain  John 
Wald,  an  officer  in  the  army  of  George 
II.,  who,  upon  the  death  and  forfeiture 
of  his  elder  brother,  (the  Laird  of 
Blackford,  )in  1 7  45,  is  fortunate  enough 
to  obtain  a  grant  of  the  famUv  estater. 
The  forfeited  gentleman  has  left  a  wi- 
dow and  only  daughter,  whom  Cap- 
tain Wald  adopts  and  protects.  At  his 
death  he  is  found  to  have  restored  by 
his  will  the  estate  to  his  brothers 
child — and  young  Matthew,  having 
nothing  but  a  very  small  patrimony, 
is  brought  up  to  the  verge  of  manhood 
under  his  aunt's  roof.  It  had  been 
tacitly  understood,  as  was  under  all 
the  circumstances  natural  and  right, 
that  he  and  his  cousin  should  marry 
in  due  time;  and  from  the  earliest 
dawn  of  his  mind,  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
a  passionate  love  for  the  fair  Katharine 
Wald  had  been  growing  with  the 
growth  and  strengthening  with  the 
strength  of  Matthew. 

The  happy  days  in  which  this  ju- 
venile passion  filled  his,  and  at  least 
seemcG  to  fill  her  mind,  are  painted 
with  a  few  exquisite  touches  of  natural 
pathos — the  remembrance  of  those 
oays  shews  like  the  image  of  some  old 
and  treasured  dream. 

The  mother  of  Katharine,  however, 
marries  the  parson  of  the  parish,  one 
Mr  Mather,  and  from  this  moment 
Matthew's  fair  dawn  of  existence  is 
overcast  Mather  has  owed  his  living, 
and  indeed  all  his  advancement  in  life, 
to  the  noble  family  of  Lascelyne ;  and 
while  Matthew  is  absent  at  College, 
he  contrives,  by  a  train  of  cunning  de- 
vices, to  have  his  former  pupil,  the 
Honourable  George  Lascelyne,  domes- 
ticated beneath  the  roof  of  Blackford, 
where  Katharine,  in  the  buoyancy  of 
youthful  vanity,  suffers  herself  to  be 
torn  from  the  old  tacit  faith  that 
bound  her  to  her  cousin,  and  at  least 
believes  herself  to  be  in  love  with  this 
handsome  young  nobleman,  (whom  in 
the  sequel  she  marries.)  Mr  Wald, 
our  hero,  it  must  be  observed,  is  a  hero 
of  rather  an  unheroic  stamp,  in  so  far 
as  personal  advantages  are  ccmcemed ; 
anu  we  think  some  &ir  romance  read- 


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CMar, 


en  will  stare  not  a  Ktde  when  thev 
peroeiTe  how  completely^  in  amte  of  all 
this,  their  sympftthiet  are  made  to  grow 
upon  ^e  unlovely  Matthew.  The 
passages  in  which  ne>  returning  hasti- 
Iv  from  St  Andrews,  after  a  three  years' 
anenoe,  heholdshis  cousin  sprung  from 
diildhood  to  womanhood,  gazes  upon 
her  hloom  of  nnimagined  loveliness, 
and  almost  in  the  same  breath  is  heart- 
sickened  by  the  discovery  of  what  has 
been  done  while  he  was  awav,  are 
among  the  most  striking  and  diarac- 
tadstic  parts  of  the  work.  As  such, 
we  shall  extract  a  smaU  specugAen  of 
them,  though  we  are  well  aware  that 
thee^et  of  sndi  things  is  sorely  mar- 
red by  mutilation. 

**>  Kathaiint  happened  to  go  out  of  the 
room  iooo  after  bredcfast,  and  I  slunk  np 
itairi  to  my  own  old  garret  in  a  mood  of 
oonaidefable  fuUdnets.  I  flung  myself  down 
in  a  chab,  and  my  eyes  rested  upon  an  old- 
fiuhioned  hangins  mirror,  which,  by  a 
great  crack  through  the  middle,  recalled  to 
my  recollection  an  unfortunate  game  at 
Blindman*s  Buff  that  took  pbure  sereral 
years  before,  when  my  beautifm  cousin  was 
a  match  fbr  myself  in  every  species  of 
lompmg.  From  the  old  days  my  attention 
wandered  back  to  the  present,  and  I  began 
to  study,  widi  some  feelings  not  of  the  most 
delightful  dcseriptioDa  the  appearance  of  the 
image  now  before  me.  The  triumphs  of 
the  Fife  friseur  had  been  quite  obliterated 
during  my  journey,  and  a  huge  mass  of 
raven  black  hair  was  hanging  about  my  ears 
in  all  the  native  shagginess  of  the  pictu* 
resque.  I  perceived  at  one  glance,  that  my 
whole  dress  was  in  the  extreme  of  barba- 
rous bad  taste,— that  my  coat  was  clumsily 
cut,  and  would  have  taken  in  two  of  me, 
that  my  waistcoat  was  an  atrocity,— and 
that  my  hnen  was  not  only  coarse  but  soil- 
ed.  I  had  it  in  my  power  to  remedy  this 
last  defect ;  so  I  stripped  off  my  dothes, 
and  began  to  scrub  myself  by  way  of  pre- 
paration. But,  clean  shirt  and  all,  the 
thing  would  not  do.  ^  Fool  !*  said  I  to  my- 
self,  '  do  you  not  see  how  it  is  ?  What 
nonsense  for  you  to  dream  of  figging  your- 
self out,  as  if  anything  could  make  that 
look  well !  Do  you  not  see  that  your  com- 
plezion  is  as  black  as  a  gipsy's— jfour 
ffiowth  stunted,  evecything  about  you  as 
destitute  of  grace  as  u  you  were  hewn  out 
of  a  whinstone  ?  What  a  pair  of  shoulders 
that  bull's  neck  is  buried  m  I  The  stutdi- 
nett  of  these  legs  is  mere  deformity !  Shs^- 
kss,  uncouth,  awkward,  savage-looking  ra- 
gamuffin that  you  are,  seeing  your  own 
reflection  as  you  do,  how  could  you  dream 
that  anything  in  the  form  of  a  woman  could 
ever  fancy  thiese  grotesque  proportions  ?' 

^  I  hoffd  voices  under  my  window  at 


this  mooMot,  and,  pes|teg  otti,  saw  Me 
Lascelyne  and  my  ooosin  standing  togsdMr 
in  conveisatioD  beside  the  dial-stone.  He 
had  laid  aside  his  robe-de-chambre,  and 
was  dressed  for  riding.  A  short  green  frock, 
and  tight  buckskin  breeches,  descending, 
witliout  a  crease,  to  the  middle  of  the  le;^ 
exhibited  die  perfect  symmetry  of  his  tS& 
and  graceful  person.  His  profile  was  pure- 
ly Greek,  notning  eould  surpass  the  bright 
bk>om  of  his  complexion.  But  it  was  the 
easy,  degagee  air  of  the  eoxeomb— the 
faultless  gract  of  every  attttndt  and  aedoo» 
that  out  me  deepest.  I  saw  it  all— Fain 
would  I  have  not  sen  it  ;.~I  tried  to  da* 
cdve  myself ;— but  I  could  not  be  blind. 
I  saw  Katharine's  eye  beaming  upon  him 
as  he  chattered  to  her.  I  watched  his  airy 
cUmces— I  devoured  their  smiles.  He  took 
her  gaily  by  the  hand,  and  they  disappear- 
ed round  the  comer  of  the  home. 

^  I  sat  down  again,  half  naked  as  I  was* 
in  my  diair,  and  spumed  the  slipper  froB 
my  foot  against  the  minor.  It  hit  liie  liae 
of  the  old  crack ;  and  the  spot  whoe  it 
lighted  becapie  the  centre  of  a  thovsaad 
straggling  radii,  that  made  it  impossible  I 
should  be  hcneeforth  offended  otherwise 
than  with  sorely  broken  fractions  of  my 
sweet  form.*' 

As  yet,  however,  it  is  only  suspicion* 
Conviction  follows  a  few  days  after- 
wards, in  the  course  of  an  excursion 
to  some  fine  scenery  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  paternal  mansion*  The 
party  has  been  scattered  iq  ridiiu; 
through  the  forest,  and  Matthew  finds 
himself  for  some  time  alone.  He  is 
endeavouring  to  recover  the  trace  of 
Jiia  companions-*- 

«(I  had  got  a  little  off  the  river,  to  avoid 
some  u>par«itly  impassable  thickets,  and 
was  walking  my  little  Highlander  quietly 
along  the  top  of  the  knol^  when  I  heard 
what  seemed  to  be  a  woman's  voice  down 
below.  I  halted  for  a  moment,  heard  that 
sound  again,  and,  advancing  a  few  paces, 
saw  distinctly  Katharine  Wald  and  Mr 
Lascelyne  seated  together  at  the  root  of  a 
tree,  fast  by  the  brink  of  the  water.  Tall 
trees  were  growing  all  down  the  bank,  but 
the  underwood  consisted  of  bushes  and 
thorns,  and  I  had  a  perfect  view  of  the 
pair,  though  they  were  perhaps  fifty  paces 
under  the  spot  where  I  stood.  A  thou* 
sand  tumultuous  feelings  throbbed  upon 
my  brain ;  and  yet  a  mortal  coldness  shook 
me  as  I  gazed.  Her  right  hand  covered 
her  eyes  as  she  wept,  not  aloud,  but  audi- 
bly, beside  him.  He  held  the  lef^  gasped 
in  his  fingers  on  her  knee.  I  saw  hiro  kiss- 
ing the  drops  off  it  as  they  fell.  8he  with- 
drew that  hand  also,  diisped  them  both 
fervently  upon  her  fkoe,  and  groaned  and 
sobbed  agam,  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 


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Ettnafki  OH  the  J^^pH  ^  MaMmw  WoU. 


IhflttdbiBi^eilAigloherall  thewfaik) 
but  not  one  word  of  whit  he  nid,.  loeuohl* 
howerer,  a  ^impee  of  hie  cheek,  eod  it 
wee  burning  red.  Ketherine  roee  eudden- 
ly  ftom  besUle  him»  end  walked  some  pacee 
alone  by  the  margin  of  the  stream.  He 
paused — and  followed.  I  saw  him  seize 
ner  hand  and  press  it  to  his  lips — I  saw  her 
struggle  for  an  instant  to  release  it,  and 
thai  redine  her  head  upon  his  shoulder— 
I  saw  lum,  yee  !  I  saw  him  with  my  eyes 
..I  saw  him  encircle  her  waist  with  his  arm 
—I  warn  then  glide  away  together  under 
the  trees*  lingering  upon  every  feotetep, 
hie  arm  all  the  while  bearing  her  p^.  Hea- 
▼ene  and  earth  I  I  saw  all  this  as  distinctly 
aa  I  now  see  this  paper  before  me — and 
vet,  af^er  they  had  been  a  few  momenta 
beyond  my  view,  I  was  calm — calm  did  I 
say  ? — I  was  even  cheerful*-I  felt  some- 
thhig  buoyant  within  me.  I  whistled 
aloud,  and  spurred  into  a  canter,  bending 
gaily  on  my  saddle,  that  I  might  pass  be- 
neath the  spreading  branches. 

^^  I  soon  saw  the  old  ivied  walk  of  the 
castle,  bounded  airily  over  the  sward,  until 
I  had  reached  the  bridge,  gave  my  pony 
to  the  servants,  who  were  Immging  about 
the  ruin,  and  joined  Mr  and  Mrs  Mather, 
who  were  already  seated  in  one  of  the  win- 
dows of  what  hs4  been  the  great  hall — the 
luncheon  set  forth  near  them  in  great  order 
npon  the  grass-grown  floor^ — 

^  ^  So  you  have  found  us  out  at  last, 
Matthew,*  said  the  Minister— « I  was  aftaid 
you  would  eome  after  pudding-time.' 

•«  *•  Ay,  catch  me  at  that  trick  if  yoa 
QUI,*  cried  I,  as  gay  as  a  lark. 

«» •  Well,*  savs  he,  •  I  wish  these  young 
people  would  please  to  come  back  again ; 
tney  have  been  seeking  for  you  this  half 
hour.* 

••  *  Indeed,* saidi ; « I  am  heartily  sorry 
they  should  be  wasting  their  time  in  such  a 
floose-^ase — one  might  wander  a  week 
here  without  being  diMOvered — I  was  never 
in  sudi  a  wilderness*  But  I  believe  I 
must  gp  and  see  if  I  can*t  And  them  in  my 
turn.' 

^*  I  stepped  toward  the  gateway  in  this 
vein,  and  was  fortunate  enough  to  perceive 
that  they  had  already  reached  the  place 
where  the  servants  and  horses  were.  Ka- 
tharine had  pulled  her  bonnet  low  down 
over  her  eyes  ;  but  slie  smiled  very  sweet- 
ly, (though  I  could  not  but  think  a  little 
oonfUsedfy,)  as  I  told  her  we  were  waiting 
for  her,  and  apologized  for  the  trouble  I 
had  been  ^ving.  To  Mr  Lascelyne,  also, 
I  spoke  with  a  freedom,  a  mirth,  a  gaiety, 
that  were  quite  ddiglitfuL  In  a  word,  I 
was  the  som  of  the  luncheon  party :  It  was 
I  who  drew  the  corks  and  carved  the  pie  i 
It  was  I  who  pluosed  down  the  precipice 
to  fill  the  bottles  with  water :  It  was  I  who 
brimmed  the  glasses  for  every  one,  and  who 
drained,  in  my  own  proper  person,  twice 
as  many  bumpers  as  All  to  the  share  of  any 
two  besides.    I  rattled  away  with  a  glee 


5V1 

and  a  liveUness  that  Dothliig  cdokl  chadt  or 
resist.  At  first,  they  seemed  to  be  « little 
surprised  with  the  change  in  my  manqeis, 
especially  Lascelyne;  but  I  soon  made 
them  all  laugh  as  heartily  as  mvself.  Even 
Katharine,  the  foir  weeper  of  the  wood, 
even  she  laughed ;  but  I  watched  her  eyes, 
and  met  them  once  or  twice,  and  saw  that 
there  was  gloom  behind  the  vapour  of  ra- 
diance. 

^  I  supported  this  happy  humour  with 
much  suocees  during  great  part  v^  the  ride 
homewatds,  but  purposely  fell  behind  again 
for  a  mile  or  two  ere  we  reached  Black- 
feed.'* 

Matthew  takes  his  letre  very  abrupt* 
ly  after  this^  and  becomes  involved  in  a 
great  variety  of  adventures — we  say  a 
great  variety,  because  the  incidents  are 
not  merely  diickly  set,  but  really  ex- 
tremely diverse  in  character,  and  open* 
ing  upgliropses  into  a  nreat  many  wide- 
ly dinerent  fields  of  numan  life  and 
action.  He  goes  to  Edinburgh,  where 
a  crafty  attorney  seduces  him,  taking 
advantage  of  his  inflamed  and  vindic- 
tive state  of  mind,  into  a  rash  and  un- 
worthy attempt  towards  recovering 
his  Other's  estate,  upon  some  legal 
quibble — ^which  attempt  heing,  as  ii 
ought  to  be,  Ihiitless,  Mr  Matthew  is 
left  all  but  a  beggar  in  finrtune,  and 
burdened  with  a  sense  of  shame  and 
remorse,  which  ever  aftet  broods  and 
rankles  in  his  naturally  upright  mind. 
He  then  becomes  tutor  in  a  gentle- 
man's fiunily,  and  forms  a  sort  of 
gentle  attachment  (for  he  never  dares 
to  say  the  word  love)  for  a  beautiful 
natural  daughter  of  Sir  C.  Barr,  with 
whom  a  highly  pathetic  episode  con- 
nects itself.  The  Baronet  dies,  and 
being  thus  thrown  upon  the  world 
a^ain,  Matthew  resolves  to  study  me- 
dicine. He  does  so  with  sreat  success, 
struggling  with  the  world  as  so  many 
Scottish  students  do,  and  at  lengtn 
reaps  the  fVuits  of  his  labours  in  a  r^ 
spectable  establishment  as  a  counti^ 
doctor,  and  in  the  hand  of  the  fair 
Joanna  Barr,  who,  after  her  father^s 
death,  has  been  left  in  a  situation  of 
dependence  and  penury.  While  he  U 
exerting  himselr  in  his  professional 
career,  an  accident  which  we  shall  not 
stop  to  detail,  brings  to  light  the  fact 
that  Joanna's  mother  had  in  fact  been 
married  to  the  deceased  Baronet.  Mr 
Wald  is  put  into  possession  of  a  plen- 
tiful estate — moves  in  the  highest 
wdks  of  society — is  invited  to  stand 
for  t^e  borough,  and  repairs  to  Lon- 
don as  M.  P. 
In  so  far  the  external  appearance  of 


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IUmark$  oh  the  Xotttl  of  Matthew  WM. 


thifigB  if  not  only  fair^  but  eminently 
fortunate :  But  lul  this  while  the  ori- 
ginal passion  has  been  smouldered^  not 
extinguished.  The  love  of  his  cousin 
had  been  doomed  to  be  the  passion  and 
the  fate  of  his  life.  Of  this,  by  unob- 
trusive and  highly  skilful  touches,  the 
reader  has  been  all  along  kept  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  aware,  and  surprue  is  not 
the  feeling  with  which  we  at  last  find 
this  apparently  bappy  and  successful 
man  plunged  mto  the  abyss  of  misery 
—not  by  any  stain  of  sinful  indulgence 
—for  of  this  the  total  impossibility  is 
felt  from  the  beginning  of  Katharine 
Wald's  story  to  the  end — but  by  the 
natural  conseouences  of  one  single  in- 
terview, in  wnich  Matthew's  wife  is 
made,  for  the  first  time,  to  suspect 
that  she  has  never  possesed  the  true 
love  of  her  fiusbaad.  The  effect  of  this 
upon  a  feeble  constitution,  and  ahighly 
sensitive,  and  not  strong  mind,  is  fa- 
tal ;  and  the  calamity  recoils  in  fear- 
ful force  upon  Wald  himself,  and  all 
that  are  dear  to  him.  Katharine  ha- 
ving been  deserted  and  betrayed  by  her 
husband.  Lord  Lascelyne,  is  by  mere 
accident  discovered  to  her  cousin. 
That  discovery  plunges  her  cousin 
into  the  misery  of  b^eavement  and 
remorse.  Lascelyne,  meantime,  sus- 
pecting that  his  wife  is  Wald's  para- 
mour, forces  himself  upon  the  agonies 
of  this  stem  and  comfortless  mourner. 
He  dies  by  the  hand  of  Mr  Wald ; 
and  everytJiing  is  gloom,  total  gloom. 
Matthew  becomes,  for  a  time,  altoge- 
ther insane;  and  his  own  narrative 
closes  with  some  terrible  reminiscences 
of  the  worst  of  all  human  miseries. 

How,  left  altogether  alone  in  the 
world,  his  mind  gradually  inures  itself 
to  his  fate,  in  so  far,  at  least,  as  to  ad- 
mit of  his  wearing,  to  common  eyes, 
the  appearance  of  a  serene,  occasion- 
ally even  a  joyous  old  man ;  and  how, 
when  nature  was  at  last  sensible  of 
approaching  dissolution,  he  was  drawn 
back,  after  an  absence  of  thirty  or  forty 
yeax%,  to  die  among  the  scenes  which  had 
witnessed  the  only  perfectly  happy  por- 
tion of  his  career— of  all  this  we  are 
informed  in  a  postscript,  written  as 
by  another  hand. 

With  the  final  catastrophe  of  Mat- 
thew's own  tale,  or  rather  with  the 
drcurastances  by  which  that  catas- 
trophe 18  hurried  on,  (for  as  to  ex- 
pecting any  but  a  woful  issue  to  sudi 
a  man  s  story,  this  was  quite  out  of 
*  the  question,)  we  are  by  nO  means 


CMay, 


pleased.  The  inddenl  ai  the  garden 
wall,  at  p.  336,  is  to  our  taste  al- 
together extravagant  and  absurd— and 
we  think  the  same  thing  might  easily 
have  been  brought  about  by  means 
quite  simple  and  natural.  Laying 
this  defect  out  of  view,  we  venture  to 
say,  that  this  narrative  will  be  univer- 
sally a  favourite  with  all  who  are 
capable  of  appreciating  strength  and 
originality  of  conception — as  to  inci- 
dent, ana  still  more  as  to  character — 
and  a  very  extraordinary  command  of 
language.  This  volume  is  writtoi 
throughout  with  a  commanding  vigour 
and  enei^,  and  whenever  the  su^ect 
demands  it,  the  author  rises  into  the 
most  genuine  eloquence  of  passion — 
and  yet,  with  but  a  few  trifling  ex- 
ceptions, nothing,  it  appears  to  us,  can 
be  more  simple,  easy,  and  graoeful, 
than  the  whole  tone  of  expression. 
The  work  is,  moreover,  rich  in  direwd, 
sagacious,  home-thiustingremarks  up* 
on  human  life  and  manners ;  and  al* 
together  Matthew  Wald  affords  in- 
dubitable evidence  of  the  rapid  pro- 
gress which  its  author  has  made  in 
the  knowledge  of  mankind,  since  he 
first  appeared  in  the  field  of  romance^ 
and  also  in  the  art  of  composition. 
No  one  who  ever  read  any  one  of  his 
books,  could  deny  to  him  the  posses- 
sion of  intense  energy,  both  of  thought 
and  expression.  The  style  of  Matthew 
Wald  exhibits  prodigious  improve- 
ment as  to  harmony  of  tone:  it  is 
quite  free  fVom  the  faults  of  prolixity 
and  turgidity,  and  bears  the  impress 
not  merely  of  great  but  of  unifbrm 
power. 

We  must  extract  one  or  two  passa- 
ges— the  first  shall  be  from  that  part 
of  the  history  in  whidi  Mr  Wald  dis- 
covers, from  the  inspection  of  an  old 
casket  of  letters,  that  his  wife's  mother 
had  really  been  married  to  Sir  Claud 
Barr.  The  sketch  of  the  old  Scotch 
Judgeis  eminently  graphic,  and  we  be- 
lieve there  is  little  doubt  who  sat  for 
the  portrait. 

»*  The  larffcr  casket,  when  I  forced  iu 
lid,  presented  to  my  ricw  a  packet  sealed 
with  three  seals  in  black  wax,  but  nothing 
written  on  its  envelope.  I  broke  the  seals, 
and  found  that  the  contenU  were  lettera ; 
the  letters,  in  short,  which  had  passed  be- 
tween Sir  Claud  Barr  and  his  lovely  Fle- 
ming prerious  to  their  elopement  My  first 
thought  was  to  destroy  them  immediately ; 
but,  glancing  my  eye  over  one,  I  was  so 
much  struck  with  the  natural  and  toudung 


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182*.3 


Remarks  on  the  Novel  0/ Matthew  Wa!d. 


dcgance  of  the  langiiAge,  that  I  could  not 
rcnst  the  indmstioa  which  rote  within  me, 
wdA  fiurly  sst  down  to  peruse  the  whole  «t 
mj  leisure. 

**  They  were  all  in  Frcndi ;  and  naost 
interesting  as  well  as  curious  productions 
eotainlj  they  were.  I  have  never  read 
many  genuine  loTC-letters,  and  I  doubt 
very  much  whether  most  of  them  would  re- 
ward a  third  person  for  the  trouble  of  read- 
ing them.  Biit  hero— I  speak  of  the  poor 
girrs  qwstles  there  was  sndi  an  openness 
of  heart,  such  a  free,  infantine  simplicity  of 
expression,  such  pride  of  paisioD,  that  I 
knew  not  whether  my  admiration  and  pity, 
or  my  scorn  and  indignation,  were  upper.^ 
most.  One  letter,  written  just  before  the 
dopement,  was  a  thing  the  like  of  which 
I  have  never  seen,— I  had  never  even  ima- 
gined. Such  lamentation,  soch  reproaches, 
mingled  with  such  floods  of  tenderness, 
such  intense  yet  remorseless  lingering  over 
an  intoxication  of  terror,  joy,  pride,  and 
tears  !  Men«  after  all,  probably  know  but 
little  of  what  passes  in  the  secret  heart  of 
woman ;  and  now  little  does  woman  dare 
to  say,  for  less  to  write,  that  might  illumi- 
nate them  I  But  here  was  the  heart  of  a 
woman,  beating,  and  burning,  and  trem- 
bling, beneath  the  bosom  oS  an  artless 
child.  No  conoeahnent — none  whatever ; 
^4hfi  victim  glorying  in  the  sacrifice  in 
the  same  bream  with  which  she  deplored 
hetself ! — How  much  the  meanest  and  the 
basest  of  all  selfishness  is  man*s ! 
.  "  The  deceiver*s  letters  were  written  in 
bad  French,  comparatively  speaking,  and 
altogether  bore  tM  impress  of  a  totwy  in- 
ferior mind ;  yet  some  of  them  were  not 
without  their  bursts  of  eloquence  too.  Atthe 
beginning,  said  I  to  myself,  this  man  meant 
not  to  betray  her.  I  read  a  long  letter 
through ;  and  found,  after  a  world  of  ver- 
biage, one  line  that  startled  me, — *•  Qui, 
mon  ange,  oui,  je  vous  le  jure ;  vous  se- 

REZ,  VOS  ETE9,  MON  EP0U8E.* 

^^  I  knew  enough  of  the  law  of  my  ooun- 
tiy,  to  be  aware  of  the  extreme  dsJDger  to 
which  the  use  of  expressions  of  this  sort 
had  often  led ;  and  I  could  not  help  pass- 
ing a  sleepless  ni^,  reviving  a  thousand 
fancies,  the  roost  remote  shadow  of  which 
bad  never  before  suggested  itself  to  me. 
Joanne  observed  how  restless  I  was,  but 
I  resolved  not  to  give  her  the  annoyance  of 
partaking  in  an  agitation  which  might,  I 
was  sufficiently  aware,  terminate  in  abso- 
fandy  nothing.  80  I  kept  my  thoughu  to 
myself  for  the  present,  but  spent  a  great 
pwt  of  next  day  m  eaDE^  over  the  sectttm 
Marriage^  in  half  a  dozen  different  law- 
books, whkh  I  ODBtiived  to  borrow  among 
my  neighbours.  Still  I  found  myself  en- 
tirdy  in  the  dark.  I  oould  make  no  dear 
soise  oat  o€aU  the  conflietiBg  authorities  I 
saw  quoted  and  re^uaied,  coneeniing  con- 
tentut  de  Juturo,  consentui  de  prmttiUiy 
eopulte  mbH^teimtf  tfonMH  rHm9  ipHs  et 


573 

factisj  promises  In  tettu  iakt^  and  I  know 
not  how  much  more  similar  jargon. 

^*I  recollected  that  one  of  the  Judffes  of 
the  Court  of  Session,  with  whom  I  had  met 
sometimes  at  the  county  dub,  had  just 
come  home  to  his  seat  in  our  neighbour- 
hood, and  resolved  to  oonmiunicate  my 
scruples  to  him,  rather  than  to  any  of  the 
pettifoggers  in  the  country.  AcooTdingly, 
I  mounted  my  horse,  and  arrived  a£mt 
noon,  with  all  my  papers  in  my  pocket,  at 
that  beautiftil  villa  irom  which  the  Lord 
Thirleton  took  his  title  of  courtesy. 

^  I  found  his  lordship  sitting  on  the  tur- 
fen  fonce  of  one  of  his  bdts  of  fir,  in  his 
usual  rural  costume  of  a  scratch-wig,  a 
green  jacket,  Shetland  hose,  and  short  Mack 
gaiters.  A  small  instrument,  ingenioudy 
devised  for  serving  at  once  as  a  walkmc 
cane,  a  hoe,  and  a  weed-grubber,  rested 
wainst  his  Imee ;  and  while  reposing  a  lit- 
tle to  recruit  his  wind,  he  was  inoulging 
himself  with  a  quiet  pousal  of  a '  conde- 
scendence and  answers,*  which  he  had 
brou^t  with  him  in  his  pocket. 

*'*'  I  waited  till,  having  finished  a  para- 
graph, he  lifted  his  eyes  from  his  paper ; 
and  then,  with  as  little  periphrasis  as  I 
could,  introduced  to  him  mysdf  and  my 
orand. 

^^  ^  Love-letters,  hid  ?'  said  he,  rubbing 
his  hands  ;  ^  let*s  see  them,  let*s  see  them. 
I  like  a  love-letter  ftom  my  heart,  man-» 
what  signifies  speaking    trmel  intomivinms 

**  I  picked  out  the  two  letters  whidi,  I 
thought,  contained  the  cream  of  the  mat- 
ter, and  watched  his  foce  very  diligently 
while  he  read  them. 

*^  •  Od,  man,*  says  he,  *but  that  htfsie 
writes  wed.  Icannotsaythat  I  make  every 
word  of  the  lingo  out,  but  I  see  the  drift. 
— Puir  thing !  she*s  been  a  bit  awmoroua 
young  body.* 

**  ^  The  point,  my  kwd,*  said  I,  ^  is  to 
know  what  the  Court  would  think  of  that 
passage  ?*— (I  pointed  out  (he  line  of  Sii 
Clauds  penmanship,  which  I  have  already 
quoted)—^  You  are  aware  how  th^  lived 
togetlier  afterwards.  What,  if  I  may  ask, 
is  the  law  of  Scotland  as  to  such  matters  ?* 

'**  Uooly,  hooly,*  quoth  the  Judge; 
*  let  me  gang  ower  this  again.— Troth, 
they're  queer  words  these* 

*«  ^  Jay  dear  lord,*  said  I,  ^  I  want  to 
know  what  the  Court  would  be  likdy  to  say 
to  them.* 

*^  His  Lordship  took  off  his  spectadcB» 
and  restoring  them  to  thsir  case,  rose,  hoe 
in  hand,  ftom  his  seat — *  My  dear  Doctor,* 
quoth  he,  laying  his  hand  on  my  shoulder, 
^  it  really  surprises  me  to  see  how  little  the 
people  of  this  country  ken  about  the  affairs 
that  maist  neariy  concern  them.* 

"  *  True,  my  lord,*  said  I ;'  I  am  very 
nUe  thatlam  no  lawyer.  But  it  b  our 
i  bappbess  that  we  have  among  us 
poTMNM  who  are  able^to  iaatrpct  us 


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"Remarks  on  (he  Ncwi  qf  Matthew  WM. 


CMay, 


in  these  ndAfteit  %beii  we  IwTe  occAskm.— 
Your  lordthip  can  efttily  infiMnn  rae  what 
Ihe  Hir  6f  Sootknd * 

«^ «  TheUw  of  SooUand  !*  ctkA  he,  io^ 
mTupdngmet  (thelawofS6ockiid,I>oo« 
tor  Waldie !  Chide  flath,  my  worthy  iHend, 
k*t  eneogh  to  gar  a  herM  laogh  to  heat 
ydiu^Thelaw  of  Scotland  I  Iwonderye*re 
no  tpcaking  jiboot  the  crown  o*  Scotland 
too ;  for  I^  tnre  ye  might  as  wed  ^leir 
alter  the  ane  frae  the  Bullen  o*  Budian, 
as  the  other  firae  their  Woolsacks.  Tfac^ 
might  hae  gaen  on  lang  enough  for  me,  if 
they  had  heen  content  wi*  their  auld  im- 
phiTements  o*  casing  a  flae  a  flea,  and  a 
puindme  a  poinding^-but  now,  timpani- 
teeners  ue  word— bat  wheesht,  wheesht,— 
we  maon  e*en  keep  a  cafan  sough,  my 
lad.' 

*« '  I  am  afraid,*  said  I,  '  your  lordship 
oonceiTes  the  law  to  be  very  nnsetcled,  then^ 
«s  to  these  matters  ?' 

'*  ^  The  law  wa$  settled  enoo^,  Doo* 
tor  Waldie,*  he  teplied  ; '  but  what  signi* 
fies  speakinff  ?  I  suppose,  ere  long,  weshall 
be  Englified,  shoulder  and  croupe.  Isna 
that  a  grand  law,  my  man,  that  lets  folk 
blaw  for  forty  yean  about  the  matter  of 
Ibrty  merks,  if  they  will,  and  yet  tries  a 
puir  de^il  for  his  life,  and  hangs  him  with- 
m  the  three  days,  ay,  and  Oiat  without 
giving  him  leaye  to  hare  onybody  to  spesk 
«  word  for  hhn,  either  to  Judge  or  Juty  ? 
teJIly  word,  they  mig^leani  to  look  near- 
erhame.* 

^  His  lofdship  was  thumping  away  at 
the  turf  with  his  hoe  all  this  while,  and 
seemed  to  be  taking  ^ngs  in  general  so 
hotly,  that  I  despaired  of  getting  him  to 
fix  ms  attention  on  mypartkular  concern ; 
and  said,  the  moment  he  paused,  ^  Well, 
ny  knd,  I  suppose  the  short  and  the  long 
of  it  is,  that  you  think  there  would  be  no 
use  in  my  trying  this  question.* 
'  **  *  I&Mly,  hooij,  there  again,'  quoth 
ke,  quite  in  his  usiul  tone-^«  It*s  not  ai 
stroke  that  fbDs  the  oak,  and  while  there's 
life  there's  hope,  young  man.  Do  you 
really  think  that  I'm  sic  a  rarastam  gowk, 
as  to  bid  you  or  ony  man  fting  the  doak 
sway  ere  3rou  have  tried  how  it  will  dout  t 
Na,  na,  hiioly  and  fairlr,  my  dear  Doctor.' 

*^  '  Then  your  lordship  inclines  to  think 
iavoarablv * 

«*  •  M  e  indlne  to  think  favourably, 
ymmg  man  I — tak  tent  what  you're  sav- 
ing. Do  you  think  that  I*m  gaun  to  in» 
dtoe  to  think  either  favourably  or  unfa- 
vouTmbly  here,  on  my  ain  dykeside,  of  a 
case  that  I  may  be  called  npon,  in  the 
course  of  nature,  to  decide  on,  saul  and 
eonsdenoe,  hi  the  ParlismcntJionsc  mony 
days  hence  P  Ye  should  teafiy  tak  better 
care  what  ye  say— ymmg  cdvesare  ayeiir 
lyeing  at  the  end  of  their  tether.' 

«•  *'  O,  my  lord ;  I'm  sura  yota  locd- 
^hlp  oaa't  fanagiae  that  I  0D«irt  haw  bad 
<be  leMl  intewipn  of  ibfiniBg  v^' 


derogatory  to  your  lardsUp'i  IrcB-teown 
imputia]  dnuacter.  Realhr,  really,  yon 
have  quite  mistaken  tut,  I  only  meant  la 
ask  you  as  a  friend,  if  I  may  ptesume  ta 
oae  sdcfa  a  word  #ith  year  hstdship,  whe. 
ther  yon  thought  I  should,  or  shoiud  not, 
CDoounter  the  risk  of  a  lawmlt  as  to  dris 


«<  ^  That's  no  a  thing  for  me  to  speak 
about,  my  good  friend ;  It's  my  business  to 
dedde  law*pleas  when  they're  at  their  ldn> 
derend,  not  when  they're  at  the  off-settiii^ 
Ye  must  advise  wi'  counseL* 

^^  A  sadden  light  flashed  upon  me  at  tUs 
moment ;  I  bowed  respectfoUy  to  his  tord- 
ship,  and,  withoat  intormtng  him  of  my 
intention,  went  round  by  the  other  side  ef 
the  firs  to  his  mansLon-house.  Here  I  ia« 
quired  whether  the  young  laiid  was  at 
home,  and  was  told  that  he  was  out  shoot* 
ing  partiidgea,  lA  a  tumip-fidd  not  ftr  off. 
I  doired  t^  he  nd^t  be  sent  for,  and  the 
young  gentleman  ol^yed  forthwith. 

*^  By  the  time  he  joined  me^  I  had  seal- 
ed up  five  guineas,  under  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and  supenoibed  it  ^  For  MichadThirier, 
younger  of  Thidetm,  Esq.  advocate.'    I 

C'  '3ed  this  in  his  hand,  and  foimd  that  I 
at  least  seemed  a  roost  patient  and  at* 
tentive,  if  not  a  very  intdfigent  listener. 
In  a  woid,  i  saw  nhnnly  enaogh,  that  the 
young  advocate,  tnus  suddenly  taken,  was 
no  more  able  to  gire  me  an  opinion  ttfudi* 
ing  the  law  of  marriage,  than  to  out  a  man 
for  the  stoaft-^ut  this  did  not  disoovfage 
the.  I  left  my  papeto  with  hitn,  sayii^, 
that  the  diief  fiivour  he  could  conm  on 
me,  would  be  to  wdgb  dM  matter  with  the 
utmost  deliberation  ere  he  said  one  woid 
about  it ;  and  adding,  that  I  should  have 
the  honour  of  caHing  on  him  next  day 
about  the  Same  hour,  if  ha  had  no  abjee- 
tions.  I  saw  how  much  this  arrange&aaM 
ddightedhim,  and  departed  in  friH  ooni* 
dence  that  I  should  aoan  get  valne  for  my 
gold. 

^  Acoordingly,  when  I  retaniad  next 
day,  I  reorived  from  the  hands  <ii  ny 
young  couosdlor,  a  Ions,  formal,  and  maa- 
terly  opinion,  in  whi(£  every  dilutable 
point  of  the  case  was  gone  into  ftuly,  and 
wUoh  eonduded.with  a  dear  and  distinct 
reeommendation  of  my  pnijedcd  action. 

**  The  old  lord  came  into  the  room,  while 
I  waa  oonmng^it  oaer,  and  stepping  up  to 
myear,whi8]^(red,  ^  Ay,  ay,  ye  ken  Aien^ 
an  anld  ssyingt  Youm  lawyers  atid  aald 
doctors— and  maybe  hdf  of  it  may  be  tfnc* 
I  nodded  in  ansHrer  to  hiafrlendff  gsatOfV, 
and  received  a>c»(diaiinvitatioBtoslay  and 
try  *■  whedier  a  puIr  pa|Psr.hirdiiiigfat  hat 
hae  a  drap  af  tolerable  Bouf6dMX  in  Ms 
aught.'  lids  temptation,  however,  yen 
may  suppose  I  for  once  resisted.  It  w«b 
now  1n^  time  that  my  wifo  sheald  be  ht. 
fonned  of  an  affiur  liiiir  so  nsstly  intoicai* 
adher. 

(«  Poarsoidl  ahahMAmetoanaid 
9 


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Rmarks  on  (he  Novel  of  Matthew  WaUl. 


^U 


without  fpcftloBg ;  took  the  lawyer's  o^n- 
nion  into  her  own  hand  and  read  it  ones 
more  over ;  and  then  threw  hcnelf,  weep- 
inff  aloud,  upon  my  bosom.— ^  I  am  not 
a  oase-born  girl,*  she  cried ;  '  jou  will, 
after  all,  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of 
your  wife !' — '  Tears,*  says  the  proverb, 
^  may  be  sweeter  than  manna.*---Sarely 
diese  wtre  such.'* 


The  narratiTe  of  Mr  Wald  is  bo 
condensed^  that  we  have  little  doubt 
the  materials  for  a  three  volame  book 
have  been  melted  down  into  one — an 
example^  by  the  way,  which  we  would 
dadly  see  folbwed  in  more  quarters 
wan  one — ^but  all  diis  riders  the  bu- 
siness of  selection  much  more  difficult 
^n  we  are  used  to  find  it  in  the  re- 
viewing  of  modem  novels.  The  pas- 
sage which  we  are  now  about  to  quote, 
wSl  lose,  we  are  well  aware,  a  great  deal 
fh)m  being  presented  in  an  isolated 
rfiape,  yet  we  think  few  readers  can  be 
entirely  blind  to  the  dreamlike  beauty 
of  this  dream  of  madness.  Bear  in 
mind  that  Wald's  wife  has  died  in 
childbed,  and,  as  he  thinks,  however 
erroneouslv,  in  consequence  of  a  fault 
of  his,  and  then  listen  to  his  dim  re- 
miniscence in  long  after  ^ears  of  one 
of  the  many  torturing  visions  of  his 
shattered  mind. 

**  A  softer,  in  so  far, — at  all  events,  a 
more  connected  dream,  floats  at  this  mo- 
ment over  my  memory.  I^et  me  arrest  the 
vision.  Remain  for  an  instant,  thou  little 
mountain-lake,  and  let  no  wind  disturb  the 
image  of  that  old  castle  upon  thy  calm 
cold  bosom  t 

^^  How  dead  is  the  stOlness  of  this  wa- 
ter— how  deep,  and  yet  how  dear — not  ooe 
weed,  one  ripple,  to  intercept  the  view— . 
every  pebble  at  the  bottom  might  be  count- 
ed ;  *tis  sheer  rock  here  in  the  mid41«— How 
deep  may  it  be,  old  man  ?-*did  yQu  nnvei 
sound  it — you  that  have  ferried  it  so  many 
hundreds  of  times  ?  Vou  shake  your  head, 
my  friend — 'tis  no  matter— What  is  this 
pavement  here  upon  the  brink  ?  how  deep. 
ly  ^e  stones  are  worn  i^t-Many  strange 
tales,  I  dare  say,  have  been  told  about  tins 
old  castle  of  yours — Your  mill,  I  see,  is 
partly  built  agamst  the  old  wall — ^The 
great  wheel  stands  idle  to-day— will  you 
climb  the  fower  with  me  ? 

**  Ah  I  this  has  been  a  grand  place  in 
Us  day,  too:  What  wmdows— what  gal- 
leriei^^what  immense  fire-places — whM  m 
roar  the  fiame  must  have  gone  np  whn— 
what  odd  staixvases-^what  dark  strange 
passages — heavens !  how  gigantic  a  plant 
Is  the  ivy^^what  'broad  leaves,  when  they 
are  not  troubled  with  the  wall-^An  ap- 
ple-tree,  loo  I— Here,  4tt  the  very  heart 

Vol.  XV. 


of  the  haU— just  where  the  table  stood^. 
What  a  dungeon  this  must  have  beeiw— 
the  lid  rested  on  that  ledge,  no  doubt — Ha! 
I  see  the  rings  in  the  waU  yet— what  a  dark 
hole  for  a  poor  creature— that  little  slit  is 
a  mere  mockery — Is  there  any  way  of  get- 
ting down  ?*.!  think  one  might  venture  to 
leap  ;— but  you  smile— bow  to  get  op 
again?— ay,  that*s  th^  difficulty— well, 
we41  stay  wbere  we  are — How  bladt  the 
wan  is  on  that  side — the  raftcct,  also,  have 
left  rotten  ends  here  and  there — ^they,  also, 
are  black  enough — Fire?— I  understand 
you— quite  burnt  out  ? — How  kmg  ago  was 
all  this  ruin  ? — you  can*t  say— well,  welL 

*^  What  a  beautifiil  view  from  this  gap 
— here,  stand  beside  me,  there  is  room 
enough  for  us  both — ^What  a  fine  descend- 
ing  sweep  to  the  sea,  the  silver  sea — How 
dearly  one  sees  all  those  hills  beyond- 
How  richly  the  coast  is  wooded !  but  here 
vou  are  rather  bare,  I  think-rYour  turf 
nas  never  an  oak  to  shade  it — How  green 
and  luxuriant  is  the  old  nasture  grass ! 
And  more  rums  too,  1  think.  Why,  yon 
wte  'rich  in  rains  here.  Is  this  another 
castle ;  if  so,  methinks  they  must  have 
been  good  neighbours.  A  church,  say  you  ? 
—Ay,  the  diapel,  I  understand.  Will 
yon  walk  so  fSsr  down  the  hill  with  me,  old 
man  ?  I  should  like  to  see  their  chapel 
also,  since  I  have  seen  their  halL  Why, 
you  are  a  very  eomfortablclooking  old  lad 
—who  knows  but  if  you  had  fived  in  thole 
days  they  roiglit  have  made  a  monk  of 
you  ;  you  would  have  looked  nobly  in  the 
CQwl— better,  I  assure  you,  than  the  white 
hat ;  and  better  dinners  too,  I  will  be 
sworn ;  but  you  are  ooatented— -you  thrive 
as  it  is.  You  have  a  cheerfiil  cottage  here 
under  the  tower.  How  prettily  yotir  smoke 
curls  up  along  that  bartizan !  I  wish  you 
had  a^few  old  trees  about  yoti,  *tis  the  only 
thmg  yoa  want.— Cut  down  ?  What !  all 
of  them  at  once  ?— Well,  this  was  not  very 
like  a  lord ;  but  they  canH  take  the  water 
away,  and  that  is  beauty  enough.  As  for 
shelter,  why,  after  all,  the  tower  is  between 
you  and  the  northern  blast  Yon  hear  it 
whistling  loud  enoueh,  no  doubt,  but  what 
signifies  that  when  the  door  is  barred,  and 
the  fixe  bright,  and  the  pot  siogmg  ?  You 
may  e*en  laugh  at  the  wmd. 
.  '«  The  old  man  descended  from  the 
towier  with  me,  end  walked  by  my  side 
down  the  hill  towavds  the  chapeL  There 
was  a  light  airy  wind  now,  and  we  could 
see  the  sea  beyond,  quite  tlirough  the  arch- 
way. '  How  entire  is  this!'  said  I ;  *  how 
clean  and  neat  everything  about  it  is !  How 
dieerilv  the  breeze  sweeps  through  this 
vaulted  passage  !•— how  white  the  stones 
are  beneath  our  feet!' 

"  '  That,*  said  he,  opening  a  door  on 
the  one  side,  •  that,  sir,  is  the  chjmel  it- 
self. You  may  walk  in,  if  you  have  « 
mind.' 

*<  t  How  perfect  i»  this  too  I'  said  I,  pn- 
4E 


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Remarks  on  the  Notftl  of  Maiiheuf  WM. 


576 

covering  mjrsclf  as  I  ttepped  •croas  the 
threshom^ — ^  No  decay  at  all  here,  mj 
friend ;  if  the  glass  were  put  into  the  win- 
dows again,  they  mi^t  sing  mass  here  to- 
morrow  as  well  as  ever.  The  brasses  on 
the  pavement  are  a  little  dimmed  for  want 
of  feet  to  polish  them.  These  old  knights 
have  few  to  trouble  them  now  with  pacing 
over  their  graves.' 

^'  I  walked  about,  examining  monument 
after  monument^  and  spelling  out  as  I  best 
could  the  inscriptions  and  the  blazons. 
What  these  last  were  I  cannot  remember, 
but  they  were  all  the  same  arms. 

*'  '  And  here,'  said  I,  '  my  friend,  here 
is  one  of  a  kind  rather  singular ;  quiteup- 
on  the  floor  by  itself.  And  stop,  is  not  this 
wood  that  they  have  laid  by  wav  of  lid  over 
the  marble  ?.— *tis  so  white  with  age  that  I 
took  it  for  stone  too  at  the  fin^  You 
should  push  this  off,  I  think.  It  only 
hides  the  top  of  the  carved  work.* 

^^  I  was  approaching  closer  to  it,  when 
the  old  miller  said,  with  a  veiT  grave  and 
solenm  sort  of  smile  upon  his  face,  ^  Nay, 
sir,  you  must  not  touch  that  part  of  it^ 
'tis  not  the  custom.  You  had  better  leave 
it  as  it  is.' 

"  *  Why,  what  folly  is  this  ?  You  may 
be  sure  such  a  fair  tomb  must  have  some- 
thing prtttj  on  its  own  cover. — I  must  see 
it,  my  fnend.' 

*•  *  Nay,  sir,  you  may  do  what  you 
please;  but  I  warn  you,  that  you  will  wish 
it  undone  afterwards.  You  will  only  fright- 
en  jTOurself.* 

"  '  Fright !  old  boy,»  said  I ;  «  nay, 
then,  here  for  the  adventure.' 

*^  I  touched  the  edge  of  the  timber,  and 
found  it  rise  easily  ;~but  at  that  instant 
— at  that  very  moment  when  I  raised  it^ 
1  heard  a  liule  feeble  cry  come  out  from 
below  it.  I  leaped  back  and  cast  my  eyes 
upon  the  old  man.  He  met  my  look  with- 
out changing  his. — And  then,  from  the 
same  tomb,  came  three  distinct  sobs — the 
same  tomb,  but  not  the  same  voice— and 
all  was  again  silent. 

'^  '  Old  man,'  said  I,  <  what  is  this  ? 
Can  the  dead  people  utter  sounds  like  these 
ftrom  their  coffins  ? — Surely,  I  thought 
there  had  been  rest  in  the  grave,  old 
man * 

^'  *  Ah,  sb,'  said  he,  moving  now  at 
length  f^om  the  door- way,  in  which  he  had 
all  this  while  been  standing, — ^  we  can- 
not tell  what  strange  thinn  are  in  this 
world ;  the  quick  ai^  thelbad  have  their 
marvels — But  you  have  broken  the  spell, 
Mr_you  may  lift  the  lid  now — there  will 
be  nothing  more  to  alarm  you.  They  ne- 
ver do  so  but  at  the  first  touch.' 

^*  His  coming  so  near  me  gave  me  cou- 
rage, and  I  touched  the  wood  again.  No 
sound  followed ; — and  I  moved  it  gently... 
quite  off  its  place. 

•»  •  A  pari,*  said  I,  *  old  man  !— a  vel- 
vet pall !— They  have  left  this  tomb  strange. 


one,    per. 


ly  unfinished,   mm.— Might 
chance,  remove  this  too  ?* 

^^  ^  Sir,*  says  my  grave-eyed,  yet  cheer- 
ful-looking senior,  *  you  may  do  to  if  joo 
like ;  but  I  will  teU  you  what  b  the  truth 
of  it  first — The  last  lord  of  the  old  fismi- 
ly — he  that  lived  in  our  castle,  and  owned 
idl  the  country  round  this  plaoe — had  Imt 
one  daughter.  A  bad,  cnid  man  came, 
and  he  married  the  lady,  and  became  lord 
of  the  land  too.  She  had  a  diild,  mi; 
and  he,  they  say,  could  not  bear  the  light 
of  it,  nor  of  her,  then : — and  he  drowned 
them  yonder  in  our  lake.  That  cry  that 
you  heard  was  from  the  baby;  and  the 
three  sobs,  th^  were  from  the  mother. 
They  always  do  so— just  as  when  diej 
were  murdered,  it  is  thought— whenever 
any  one  touches  their  tomb— -But  we  haTe 
been  used  to  this  all  our  days,  sir,  and 
wc  make  little  of  it  now.— If  you  wnh  to 
see  them  vou  may  lift  the  doth.' 

*'^  I  did  so,  and  beheld  a  glass  cover,  din 
and  dusty.  The  old  man  took  the  comer 
of  the  pall,  and,  rubbing  it  a  little,  said, 
^  Now,  sir,  here  you  may  see  them  both, 
quite  entire ;  they  have  been  so  beantifhlly 
embalmed. — Look  * 

^^  '  Oh,  Joanne  I  that  white  &ce  onoe 
again  I — *  I  screamed  in  my  agony,  and 
twoke " 

Several  exquisitely  beftutifol  epiaodei 
diversify  the  main  tenor  of  this  story, 
asy  for  example,  the  vtaneo  of  Peggy 
Brown — Pearling  Joan — andMammv 
Baird.  All  these,  however,  are,  thouff n 
episodes,  so  skilfully  dovetailed  into  toe 
principal  fable,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
quote  without  injuring  them.  One, 
and  but  one  episode  mere  is,  whidi 
may  be  convenienUy  extracted,  and  we 
shsll  ffive  it  as  it  stands — a  strange,  a 
terrible,  and  withal  a  truly  Scottish 
picture,  it  is. — 

Matthew  Wald  is  narrating  his 
course  of  life  while  studying  medicine 
at  the  University  of  Glasgow : 

"  I  lodged  in  the  house  of  a  poor  shoe- 
maker, by  name  John  M^Ewan.  He  had 
no  fiunily  but  his  wife,  who,  like  himself, 
was  considerably  beyond  the  meridian  of 
life.  The  couple  were  very  poor,  as  theli 
liouse,  and  everything  about  their  style  of 
living,  shewed ;  but  a  worthier  couple,  I 
shouM  have  had  no  difficulty  in  saying* 
were  not  to  be  found  in  the  whole  dty. 
When  I  was  sitting  in  my  own  little  c^ 
busy  with  my  books,  late  at  night,  I  used 
to  hsten  with  reverence  and  deught  to  the 
psidm  which  the  two  old  bodies  sung,  or 
rather,  I  should  say,  croon'd  together,  be- 
fore they  went  to  bed.  Tune  there  was  al- 
most none ;  but  the  low,  articulate,  quiet 
chaunt,  had  something  so  impressive  and 
solemaising  about  it,  that  I  nusscd  not  me- 


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Rmarki  en  tht  Novel  of  Maiihew  Waid. 


577 


My.  John  hiiiitdf  wm  t  bard-workiog 
nun,  Mid,  like  mott  of  hit  trade,  had  ac. 
anired  m  stooping  attitude,  and  a  dark,  saf. 
ROD  hue  of  complexion.  His  close-cut 
greasy  Mack  hair  suited  admiiablv  a  set  of 
ifeitmg,  maasive,  iron  features,  ilis  brow 
was  seamed  with  firm,  broad-drawn  wrin- 
kles, and  his  large  grej  eyes  seemed  to 
^eam,  when  he  deigned  to  uplift  them, 
with  the  odd,  han^ty  independence  of 
Tfartooos  poverty.  John  wss  a  rigid  Came- 
ronian,  indeed ;  and  ererythiog  about  his 
manners,  spoke  the  worid-despising  pride 
of  his  sect.  His  wife  was  a  quiet,  good 
body,  and  seemed  to  live  in  perpetual  ado- 
rmtioo  of  her  stem  cobbler.  I  had  the  strict- 
est confidence  hi  their  probitjr,  and  would 
no  more  hate  thought  (n  lockmg  my  chest 
ere  I  went  out,  thim  if  I  had  been  under 
the  roof  of  an  apostle. 

**  One  erening  I  came  home,  as  usual, 
from  my  tutorial  trudge,  and  entered  the 
kitdien,  where  they  commonly  sat,  to  warm 
my  hands  at  the  fire,  and  get  my  candle 
lijBited.  Jean  was  by  herself  at  ^e  fire- 
SMo,  and  I  sat  down  beside  her  for  a  mi- 
nute or  two.  I  heard  Toioes  in  the  inner 
room,  and  easily  recognised  the  hoarse 
grunt  whidi  John  M'Ewan  oondesceoded, 
on  rare  occasions,  to  set  forth  as  the  repre- 
sentatiTe  of  laughter.  The  old  woman 
told  me  that  the  goodman  had  a  friend 
from  the  country  with  him — a  farmer,  who 
had  come  fhmi  a  distance  to  sell  ewes  at 
the  market  Jean,  indeed,  seemed  to  take 
some  piidc  in  the  acquaintance,  enlarging 
upon  the  great  substance  and  respectability 
Of  the  stranger.  I  was  chatting  away  with 
her,  when  we  heard  some  noise  from  the 
speooe,  as  if  a  table  or  chair  had  fkllen— 
but  we  thought  nothins  of  this,  and  talked 
on.  A  minute  afler,  John  came  fW>m  the 
room,  and  shutting  the  door  behind  him, 
said,  *  I*m  going  out  for  a  moment,  Jean  ; 
Andrew's  had  ower  mnckle  of  the  fleshers* 
whisky  the  day,  and  I  maun  stap  up  the 
dose  to  see  alter  his  beast  for  him.— Ye 
needna  gang  near  him  till  I  come  back.* 

•*  The  cobbler  said  this,  ibr  anything 
that  I  could  obscrre,  in  his  usual  manner ; 
sod,  walking  across  the  kitchen,  went 
down  stairs  as  he  had  said.  But  imagine, 
my  friend,  for  I  cannot  describe  the  feel- 
ings with  which,  some  five  mmutes,  per- 
h^w,  after  he  had  disappeared,  I,  chancing 
to  tluow  my  eyes  downwards,  perceived  a 
daric  flood  creeping,  firmly  and  broadly, 
inch  by  inch,  across  the  sanded  floor,  to- 
wards the  place  where  I  sat.  The  old  wo- 
man had  her  stocking  in  her  hand — I  call- 
ed to  her  without  moving,  for  I  was  nailed 
to  my  diair— ^  See  there  !  what  is  that  ?' 

^*  *'  Andrew  Bell  has  coupit  our  water- 
stoup,*  said  she,  risins. 

**  I  sprang  forwards,  and  dipt  my  fin- 
ger  in  tlie  stream-^*  Blood,  Jean,  blood  !* 

**  The  old  woman  stooped  over  it,  and 
tJoehad  Halso ;  she  Instantly  screamed  out. 


^  Blood,  ay,  blood  !'  while  I  rushed  on  to 
the  door  from  bdow  which  it  was  oozing.  I 
tried  the  handle,  and  found  it  wm  locked — 
and  spumed  it  oft*  its  hinges  with  one  kiok 
of  my  foot.  The  instant  the  timber  gave 
way,  the  black  tide  roHed  out  as  if  a  dam 
had  been  breaking  up,  and  I  heard  my  feet 
p^ash  in  the  abomination  as  I  advanced. 
What  a  sig^t  within  !  The  man  was  lying 
aU  his  length  on  the  floor;  his  throat  abso- 
lutely severed  to  the  spine.  The  whole 
Mood  of  tlie  body  had  run  out.  The  table, 
with  a  pewter  pot  or  two,  and  a  bottle  upon 
it,  stood  close  beside  him,  and  two  chairs, 
one  half-tumbled  down,  and  supported 
against  the  other.  I  rushed  instantly  out 
of  the  house,  and  cried  out,  in  a  tone  that 
brought  the  wholeneighbourhood about  me. 
They  entered  the  house— Jean  had  disap- 
peared—there  was  nothins  in  it  but  the  corpse 
and  the  blood,  which  hsdjdready  found  its 
way  to  the  outer  staircase,  making  the  whole 
floor  one  puddle.  There  was  such  a  clamour 
ot  surprise  and  horror  for  a  little  while,  that 
I  scarcely  heard  one  word  that  was  said. 
A  bell  in  the  neighbourhood  had  been  set 
in  motion — dozens,  stores,  hundreds  of 
people  were  heard  rushing  from  every  di- 
rection towards  the  spot  A  fury  of  exe- 
cration and  alarm  pervaded  the  very  breeze. 
In  a  word,  I  had  absolutely  lost  all  pos- 
session of  m3rself,  until  I  fbund  myself 
grappled  from  behind,  and  saw  a  Town's- 
officer  pointing  the  bloody  knifo  towards 
me.  A  dozen  voices  were  soreaming,  ^  *Ti8 
a  doctor's  knife— this  is  the  young  doctor 
that  bides  in  the  house— diis  is  the  man.* 

'*  Of  course  this  restored  me  at  once  to 
my  ^sclf'ysscssion.  I  demanded  a  mo- 
ment's sflence,  and  said,  ^  It  is  my  knife, 
and  I  lodge  in  the  house;  but  John 
M^Ewan  is  the  man  that  has  murdered  his 
friend.* 

*'*'  *'  John  M'Ewan  !*  roared  some  one  m 
a  voice  of  tenfold  horror ;  *  our  dder  John 
M^Ewan  a  murderer !  Wrctdi !  wretch  I 
how  dare  ye  blaspheme  ?* 

** '  Carry  me  to  jail  inunediately,'  said 
I,  as  soon  as  the  storm  subsided  a  little — 
*'  load  me  with  all  the  chains  in  Glasgow, 
but  don't  neglect  to  pursue  John  M^Ew- 
an.* 

**  I  was  instantly  locked  up  in  the  room 
with  the  dead  man,  while  the  greater  part 
of  the  crowd  followed  one  of  the  officers. 
Another  of  them  kept  watdi  over  me  until 
one  of  the  magistrates  of  the  dty  arrived. 
This  gentleman,  finding  dut  I  had  been 
the  person  who  first  gate  the  alarm,  and 
that  M^Ewan  and  his  wifo  were  both  gone, 
had  little  diflkuky,  I  eould  perceive,  in 
doing  me  justice  in  his  own  mmd.  How- 
ever,  after  he  had  given  new  orders  fbr  the 
pursuit,  I  told  him  that,  as  the  people 
about  were  evidently  unsatisfied  of  my  m- 
nooence,  the  best  and  the  kindest  thing  he 
could  do  tome  would  be  to  place  me  finth- 
with  within  the  walls  of  his  prison  ;  there 


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Hcmarkt  on  thi  Novel  oj  MuUkeu>  Wald. 


67S 

I  should  be  safe  at  all  events,  and  I  had 
no  doubt,  if  proper  exertions  were  made, 
the  guilty  man  would  not  only  be  found, 
bi|t  round  immediatdy.  My  person  being 
searched,  nothing  suspicious,  of  course, 
was  found  upon  it ;  and  the  good  bailie 
soon  had  me  conveyed,  under  a  proper 
guard,  to  the  place  of  security— where,  you 
may  suppose,  I  did  not,  after  all,  spend  a 
very  pleasant  night.  The  jail  is  situated 
in  the  heart  of  the  town,  where  the  four 
principal  streets  meet ;  and  the  glare  of 
hurrying  lights,  the  roar  of  anxious  voices, 
and  the  eternal  tolling  of  the  alarum-bell 
—these  all  reached  me  through  the  bars 
of  the  cell,  and,  together  with  the  horrors 
that  I  had  really  witnessed,  were  more  than 
enough  to  J|ce^  me  in  no  enviable  condition. 

"  Jean  was  discovered,  in  the  grey  of 
the  morning,  crouching  under  one  of  the 
ti^ees  in  the  Green  ;  and  being  led  imme« 
diatcly  before  the  magistrates,  the  poor 
trembling  creature  confirmed,  by  what  die 
said,  and  by  what  she  did  not  say,  the  ter- 
rible story  whidi  I  had  told.  Some  other 
witnesses  having  also  appeared,  who  spoke 
to  the  facta  of  Andrew  Bell  having  recdved 
a  large  sum  of  money  in  M*£wan*s  sight 
at  the  market,  and  being  seen  walking  to 
the  Vennd  afterwards,  arm  in  arm  with 
him — ti^  authorities  of  the  place  were  per- 
fectly satisfied,  and  I  was  set  free,  with 
many  apologies  for  what  I  had  suffered  : 
But  still  no  word  of  John  M^Ewan. 
•  **  It  was  late  in  the  day  ere  the  first 
traces  of  him  were  found — and  such  a 
trace !  An  old  woman  had  died  that  night 
in  a  bottage  many  miles  from  Glasgow — 
when  she  was  almost  in  articulo  mortU,  a 
stranger  entered  the  house,  to  ask  a  drink 
of  water — an  oldish  dark  man,  evidently 
mudi  fatigued  with  walking.  This  niAD. 
finding  in  what  great  affliction  tlie  family 
Was— this  man,  after  drinking  a  cup  of 
water,  kndt  down  by  the  bedside,  and 
•rayed — a  long,  an  awful,  a  terrible  prayer. 
The  people  thought  he  must  be  some  tra- 
velling fidd.preacher.  He  took  the  Bible 
into  his  hands — opened  it  as  if  he  meant 
to  read  aloud ;  but  shut  the  book  abruptly, 
and  took  his  leave.  This  man  had  been 
seen  by  those  poor  people  to  walk  in  the 
direction  of  the  sea. 

'^'  They  traced  the  same  dark  man  to 
Irvine^  uid  found  that  lie  had  embarked 
on  board  of  a  vessd  which  was  just  getting 
under  sail  for  Ireland.  The  officers  imme- 
diately hired  a  small  brig,  and  sailed  also. 
A  violent  gale  arose,  and  drove  them  for 
shdter  to  the  Isle  of  Arran.  They  landed, 
the  second  night  after  they  had  left  Irvine, 
on  that  bare  and  desolate  shore — they  land- 
ed^ and  behold  the  ship  they  were  in  pur- 
suit of  at  the  quay ! 

^^  The  captain  acknowledged  at  once  that 
a  man  corresponding  to  their  description 
had  been  one  of  his  passengers  from  Irvine 
^^i  had  gone  ashore  but  an  hour  ago. 


CM^y, 


5-1 


'«  They  searched— diey  fbond  M'Ewao 
striding  by  himself  dose  to  the  sea-beach, 
amidst  the  dashing  spray— Jiis  Bible  in  his 
hand.  The  instant  he  saw  them  he  said 
*  You  need  not  tdl  me  your  errand — ^I  am 
he  you  seek — I  am  John  M*>£wan,  that 
murdered  Andrew  Bell.  I  surrender  my- 
sdf  your  prisoner.  God  told  me  but  thU 
moment  that  ye  vrould  come  and  find  me; 
for  I  opened  his  word,  and  the  first  lest 
that  my  eye  fell  upon  was  UiU,*  He  seiwd 
the  officer  by  the  hand,  and  laid  his  finger 
upon  the  page — ^  See  you  here  ?*  said  m  j 
*'  Do  you  see  the  Lord*s  own  blessed  de» 
cree  ?  fV/taso  iheddeth  tnau't  bloody  by  mtm 
ihaU  hit  blood  be  ihed» — And  there,*  he 
added,  plucking  a  pockeubook  from  his 
bosom,  ^  there,  friends,  is  Andrew  BeU*s 
siller — ye*U  find  thehaill  o't  there,  an  be 
not  three  half-crowns  and  a  sii^penoe.  Se* 
ven-and-thirty  pounds  was  the  sum  for 
which  I  yidded  up  my  soul  to  the  tempta- 
tion of  the  Prince  of  the  Power  of  the  Air — 
Seven-and-thirty  pounds !  Ah !  my  bre- 
thren I  call  me  not  an  olive,  until  thou  see 
me  gathered.  I  thought  that  I  stood  £ut, 
and  behold  ye  all  how  I  am  fallen  !* 

**  I'saw  this  singular  fanatic  tried.  He 
would  have  pleaded  guilty ;  but,  for  exod- 
lent  reasons,  the  Crown  Advocate  wished 
the  whole  evidence  to  be  led.  John  had 
dressed  himsdf  with  scrupulous  acouraq^ 
in  the  very  dothes  he  wore  when  he  did 
the  deed.  The  blood  of  the  murdered  man 
was  still  visible  upon  the  deeve  of  his  blue 
coat.  When  any  circumstance  of  peculiar 
atrodty  was  mentioned  by  a  witness,  he 
signified,  by  a  solemn  shake  of  his  head^ 
his  sense  of  its  darkness  and  its  condusive> 
ness  ;  and  when  the  Judge,  in  addressing 
him,  enlarged  upon  the  horror  of  his  guilt, 
he,  standing  right  before  the  bench,  kept 
his  eye  fixed  with  calm  earnestness  on  ms 
liordship^s  face,  assenting  now  and  then  to 
the  propriety  of  what  he  said,  by  exactly 
that  sort  of  see-saw  gesture  which  you  may 
have  seen  escape  now  and  then  from  the 
devout  listener  to  a  patl^c  sermon  or  sa- 
cramentd  service.  John,  in  a  short  speech 
of  his  own,  expressed  his  aeoat  of  his  guilt ; 
but  even  then  he  borrowed  the  language  of 
Scripture,  styling  himself  ^  a  sinner,  and 
the  chief  of  sinners.*  Never  was  such  a 
spedmen  of  that  insane  pride.  The  very 
agony  of  this  man*s  humiliation  had  a 
spice  of  holy  exultation  in  it ;  there  was  in 
the  most  penitent  of  his  lugubrious  glances 
still  something  that  said,  or  seemed  to  say 
— '  Abuse  mo— spurn  me  as  you  will— I 
loathe  myself  also ;  but  this  deed  is  Sa- 
tan's.* Indeed  he  always  continued  to 
speak  quite  gravely  of  his  ^  trespass,'  his 
«  backsliding,'  his  ^  sore  temptation  1' 

''  I  was  present  also  with  him  during 
the  final  scene.  His  irons  had  been  knock, 
ed  off*  ere  I  entered  the  cell ;  and  dotbed 
as  he  was  in  a  most  respectable  suit  of 
black,  and  with  that  fixed  and  impertorba- 


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IdSi.;]  Remarks  oh  Me  Novel  of  Matthew  Wald.  Sn 

ble  lolemiii^  of  air  ud  anteet,  upon  aij  that  myriad  of  faoea.    B^%  hare,  air,  the 

eoDseience,  I  think  it  would  have  been  a  moment  M'Ewan  appeared,  he  wai  laluted 

difficult  matttf  for  any  ttiangcr  to  pick  out  with  one  univesial  shout  of  horror — a  husza 

the  murderer  among  the  group  of  clergy-  of  mingled  joy  and  triumph,  and  execration 


men  that  surrounded  him.     In  vain  md  and  laughter : — cats,  rats,  every  filth  of  the 

these  flood  men  labour  to  knock  awav  the  piUory,  showered  about  the  gibbet    I  was 

abourd  and  impious  props  upon  which  the  dose  by  his  elbow  at  that  tenific  moment, 

happy  fanatic  leaned  himself.     He  heard  an4i  laid  my  finger  on  his  wrist.    As  I 

what  they  said,  and  instantly  said  some-  live,  there  was  never  a  calmer  pulse  in  this 

thing  still  stronger  himself— but  only  to  world — slow,  full,  strong ; — I  feel  the  iron 

shrink  back  again  to  bis  own  fiMtnoM  with  beat  of  it  at  this  moment, 
redoubled  conSdence.   ^  He  bad  once  been         ^  There  happened  to  be  a  slight  drizzle 

ri^t,  and  he  could  not  be  wrong;  he  had  of  rain  al  the  moment :  obeervmg  whrch, 

b^  permitted  to  make  a  tore  stumble  /'  he  turned  round  and  said  to  the  Magis- 

This  was  his  utmost  concession.  trates,-^*  Dinna  come  out, — dinna  come  ^ 

**  What  a  noble  set  of  nerves  had  been  out,  your  honours,  to  weet  yourselves.   It*s 

thrown  away  here ! — He  was  led,  sir,  out  beginning  to  rain,  and  the  lads  are  uncivil 

of  the  dark,  damp  cellar,  in  which  he  had  at  ony  rate,  poor  thoughtless  creatures  !* 
been  chained  for  weeks,  and  brought  at         *^  He  took  his  leave  of  this  angry  mob  in 

once  into  the  open  air.     His  first  step  into  a  speech  which  would  not  have- disgraced  a 

liglit  was  upon  his  scaffold  t — and  what  a  maitjrr,  embracing  the  stake  of  glory,— and 

moment ! — In  general,  at  least  in  Scotland,  the  noose  was  tied.  I  observed  the  brazen 

the  crowd,  assembled  upon  such  occasions,  firmness  of  his  limbs  after  his  face  was  co- 

reedye  the  victim  of  the  law  with  all  the  vered*   He  flung  the  handkerchief  with  an 

solemnity  of  profoundett  silence; — notun-  air  of  semi-benediction,  and  died  without 

frequenUy  there  is  even  something  of  the  one  apparent  sttugg^** 
respectful,  blended  with  compasidop,  on 


THB  LOVE  OF  COUNT&Y. 

Though  Plenty  from  her  bom,  with  liberal  hand. 
Enrich  the  dime,  and  Beauty  rules  the  land, 
Though  all  that  charms  the  eye,  and  soothes  the  oar. 
Blended  in  glorious  unison  appear, 
Yet  will  the  Traveller  pause,  and  heave  a  sigh. 
As  vanished  scenes  return  to  MenK)ry'8  eye. 
And,  as  he  scans  streams,  woods,  and  pastures  green, 
Full  manv  an  aojiious  thought  will  intervene ; 
For  well  he  feels,  though  Nature,  or  though  Art, 
Do  not  to  native  wilds  suchxharms  impart. 
Still  there  is  something  fondly  that  unites 
His  present  comforts  with  his  past  delights ; 
And  as,  when  cares  around  his  passage  lie. 
He  turns  to  vouth  his  retrospective  eye. 
With  miser  lore  he  gleans  the  hopes  that  brought 
Elysian  gladness  to  untutored  thought. 
And  sees  no  realm,  within  the  bounds  of  Earth, 
So  b^utifid  as  that  which  gave  hiin  birth  ! 

Land  of  our  Fathers !  when  from  thee  remote. 
Fair  are  thy  shores,  and  doubly  dear  to  thought. 
The  oottacje  on  the  plain,  o'erhung  with  trees. 
Their  dark  boughs  murmuring  in  the  evening  breeze ; 
The  sun  o'er  well-known  hills  descending  low ; 
The  lattice  burning  with  a  crimson  glow  ; 
The  blackbird's  twilight  son^ ;  the  river's  rush ; 
And  ah  I  how  dear  to  love,  the  briary  bush. 
At  which,  as  bright  in  southern  skies  afar. 
Resplendent  shone  the  dewy  Evening  Star, 
She,  fair  in  vain,  did  wait,  witli  panting  breast. 
For  him  she  loved— fi>r  him  who  loved  her  best ! 

The  war  is  up, — 'mid  Heaven's  blue  arch  serene. 
The  unclouded  moon  smUes  down  upon  the  scene, — 


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580  Tke  Lov  of  Omniry.  C  ^^T' 

UpheftTC  a  thomand  tenu ;  the  beacont  red. 
Here— there— ^around  on  ev^  mountain  haul. 
With  dimmed  luBtre  glow,  as  o'er  the  Night 
She  spreuis  her  manUe,  edged  with  diver  light. 

There,  'mid  Sierras  wild,  and  rent,  and  lone. 
Where  Nature  governs  on  her  mountain  throne. 
Wrapt  in  his  war-cloak,  o'er  appointed  ground. 
With  measured  step,  the  warder  paces  round ; 
As  far  on  hostile  hills  the  watch-nres  bum. 
And  doubt  and  danger  frown  at  every  turn. 
And  low  wild  murmurs,  borne  upon  the  gale. 
Preluding  sigh  to  Battle's  threatening  tale. 
He  thinks  of  home — ihe  country  of  nis  sires-— 
Unquench'd  by  time,  even  yet  their  memory  fires ; 
He  thinks  of  home — of  scenes  beloved  of  yore,- 
His  distant  fHendships,  and  his  native  shore ; 
He  hears— 'tis  but  in  thought — the  sounding  rills. 
Through  larch-tree  dells  descending  from  the  hills. 
Where,  curtain'd  round  with  clouds,  and  ooucb'd  on  snows. 
In  midwajr  heavens  the  ptarmigans  repose ; — 
He  sees  his  shieling  on  the  mount — ^he  sees 
His  garden  flowers,  alive  with  humming  bees ; 
His  wife,  his  mother,  loved  and  far  remote. 
His  orphan  babes — Oh !  can  they  be  fbrgot ! — 
The  time-worn  tower — ^the  cairn  upon  the  wild. 
Of  mossy  stones,  in  distant  ages  piled ; 
The  red  deer  on  the  rocks ; — ^with  deep  halloo. 
The  hounds  and  huntsmen  opening  on  the  view ; 
The  eagle,  wheeling  through  the  lurid  sky. 
With  less'ning  wing  and  solitary  cry ; 
All  these  are  with  him ;  and,  combining,  cast 
Before  his  soul  the  relics  of  the  past ; 
Bow  for  a  while  his  spirit  to  the  dust, 
Dcmress  his  heart,  and  shake  his  settled  trust 
Ashamed,  vnth  quickening  step,  he  shakes  away 
The  fettering  thoughts  of  life's  serener  day  ; 
Seeks  in  forgetfulness  a  sad  relief 
From  all  his  toils,  and  sings  to  banish  grief. 

But  aa  he  listens,  lo !  a  plaintive  sound 
Wakes  'mid  the  silence  of  the  tented  ground  ; 
For  well  he  knows  the  accents  wont  to  thrill 
His  youth's  rebounding  heart  on  Albyn's  hill ; 
In  tranced  thought,  with  pilgrim  step  he  strays 
By  Katrine's  tit£,  or  lone  Balquhidder  braes, 
Beholds  the  Grampians,  through  the  wint'ry  sky 
Ascending,  scowl  in  desert  migesty ; 
Or  listens  to  the  torrent's  giant  leap. 
Amid  Glen  Ample's  forest  thundering  deep ; 
Paged  on  his  mmd,  in  hues  more  warm  than  truth, 
He  scans,  with  patriot  glow,  the  haunts  of  youth  ; 
And,  though  a  soldier  now,  and  train'd  to  wield 
His  country's  arms  in  battle's  camaged  field, 
Ah  !  deem  not  thou  less  valiant  is  his  heart. 
If  then  a  sigh  should  heave,  a  tear  should  start ! 

And  lo !  a  wanderer  from  domestic  scenes. 
For  many  a  mountain  summit  intervenes. 
Far  from  his  cabin'd  difi^,  and  straggling  flock. 
Amid  the  bloomy  vales  of  Langueuoc, 
With  heart  that  broods  on  far  departed  days, 
In  pensive  guise  the  bne  Savoyard  strays ; 


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lt«4.;]  The  Love  of  CoMHtry.  581 

Not  with  penorkmi  heart  he  prays  the  while 

For  hoarded  gains,  or  fortune  t  summer  smile ; 

But  oh !  if  fate  would  grant,  ere  being  dose. 

Ere  life  depart,  and  dust  with  dust  repose, 

A  passing  span  of  ease,  and  chasten'd  joy. 

Amid  the  scenes  that  charm'd  him  when  a  boy, 

That,  when  the  sunset  of  existence  came, 

And  health  and  strength  departed  from  his  fhune, 

B^  time-surviving  friends  his  eves  be  dosed. 

His  last  hours  solaced,  and  his  limbs  composed ; 

Beside  ancestral  bones  his  own  be  laid. 

Where  glooms  the  yew-tree  in  the  diurdi's  shade ; 

And  breezes,  fr«th  from  Alpine  summits,  wave 

The  fern  and  wild-flowers  springing  from  his  grave. 

Hark !  to  the  mockine  trump  and  thundering  drum. 
To  Parga's  gate  as  All's  legions  come. 
To  reign,  with  souls  inured  to  blood  and  broU, 
Lords  of  the  realm,  and  t3rrants  of  the  soil : 
Though  compass'd  round  with  sorrow's  darkest  gloom. 
With  stedfast  minds,  unshrinking  from  their  doom. 
Brave,  yet  to  fate  resign'd,  the  Pargiots  saw 
The  cruel  edict  of  a  foreign  law. 
And  gazed  with  wistful  eyes  on  landscapes  dear, 
Sofren'd  in  heart,  yet  shedding  not  a  tear : 
Slow  bum'd  the  relics  of  their  sires  away; 
The  blue  smoke  mingling  with  the  sides  of  day. 
The  pile  consumed ;  they  linger'd  not  to  see. 
Replete  with  slaves,  the  dwelBngs  of  the  free, 
A  stranger  lording  o'er  their  native  town, 
The  crescent  hoisted,  and  the  cross  puU'd  down  ; 
With  sullen  steps  thev  joumey'd  to  th^^hore. 
Bade  Parga's  homes  adieu  for  evermore ; 
Left  to  their  wondering  foes  the  voiceless  piles. 
Took  to  the  sea,  and  sought  the  Ionian  isles. 

The  Moslem  entered ;  streets  untenanted. 
Re-echoed  only  to  the  horses'  tread ; 
Who  of  the  free,  the  Christian  host  remains. 
Forgets  his  ancestry,  and  stoops  to  chains ; 
And,  'mid  the  dwdlinffs  of  the  vanish'd  brave. 
Submits  his  servile  neoL,  and  lives  a  slave  ?— 
None — like  the  wintry  snows  at  summer's  tread- 
All  disappear'd,  the  living  and  the  dead ! 

Not  to  enlightened  regiona  are  confined 
The  dow  of  heart,  the  sjndapatlHes  of  mind. 
The  friendly  bosom,  Uie  condoling  eye, 
Afl^ion's  cheering  words,  and  pity's  sigh : 
Behold,  the  white  man  to  the  negro  came. 
With  travel-heavied  step,  and  sinking  frame. 
O'er  torrid  sands,  beneath  a  biasing  sky. 
Toil,  thirst,  and  ftunine,  in  his  troubles  eye  : 
Did  stranger  bosoms  feel  his  woes  with  scorn. 
Shun  his  lone  path,  or  mock  him,  though  foilom  } 
Ah !  no— more  true  to  Nature's  genial  ^ow, 
Thdr  words  began  to  soothe,  thehr  tears  to  flow ; 
While  in  the  Odl  banana's  shade  he  lay, 
Dishearten'd,  sunk,  and  sad  at  Death's  delay. 
They  placed,  with  kindlv  hands,  the  banquet  near  ; 
Witti  chml  songs  they  luU'd  his  pensive  ear ; 
In  eentle  accents  bade  his  sufifarinfls  cease ; 
And  pour'd  on  every  wound  the  ou  of  peace ' — 


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582  Th€  Lwe  qf  Qmntry.  tM^» 

Intrepid  Pirk  the  glooin^  past  fcfffpt, 
Pursoed  bis  ^^ath,  and  triumph'd  o'er  hit  lot ! 

Breathes  thtfe  the  wretch  so  abject,  lost,  and  bir. 
Within  whose  soul  no  patriot  feelings  glow, 
A  heart  of  stone,  a  creature  of  the  dust. 
To  Nature's  glorious  sympathies  unjust ; 
Who,  as  he  wand^e  'mid  the  shrubby  dells, 
Where  rise  the  banks,  and  broad  the  toiient  swdls  ; 
Or  climbs  the  bill,  revealing  to  his  sight 
The  fields,  whereon  his  fathers  strove  in  fight, 
Bums  not  with  hdier  fire,  nor  inlV  shares 
The  joy,  that  links  his  destiny  witn  theirs  ? 
Breathes  there,  di !  breathes  there  'neath  the  curding  sun. 
That  icy-hearted,  that  r^ardless  one, 
Who,  when  the  sails  expand,  the  breeses  blow. 
And  furrow'd  waves  flash  off  befbre  the  (nrow  ; 
When  all,  that  could  be  loved,  or  can  be  dear. 
Melt  o'er  the  waste  of  seas,  and  disappear. 
Can  look  to  foreign  shores  with  reckless  eye. 
And  leave  his  native  home  without  a  sigh  ? 
If  such — ^for  him  no  heart  shall  swelling  prove 
Parental  tenderness,  or  filial  love ; 
If  such — ^without  respect  shall  wane  his  life, 
A  loveless  desert,  and  a  ceaseless  strife ; 
If  such — above  his  dust  shall  hemlocks  wave, 
And  pilgrims  pass  his  unregarded  grave  ! 
Say,  IS  Uiere  nothing  liiat  can  binmng  prove. 
Or  charm  the  bosom  in  a  mother^s  love. 
She  who  above  his  cradle  sleepless  hung. 
Tended  his  steps,  and  train'd  to  speech  his  tongue  ? 
Starts  not  the  anxious  father  up  to  mind, 
Watchful  in  duty,  and  in  chastening  kind. 
Slow  to  complain,  and  eager  to  commend. 
The  gentlest  tutor,  and  the  warmest  friend  ? 
Has  not  the  brother,  sharer  of  his  joys. 
His  games>  and  griefs,  when  both  were  haippy  boys, 
A  daim  to  deep  remembrance  in  his  heart ; 
Or  can  he  from  a^sister's  arms  depart. 
And,  scoffing,  plunge  'mid  earth's  polluting  strife. 
Estranged  to  all  the  ties  that  sweeten  life  ? 
No !  wild  and  rude  the  untutor'd  heart  may  be. 
Rough  as  the  waves,  and  as  the  breezes  free. 
But  Nature's  touch  is  there,  and  stooping  all 
Admit  the  flowery  chains,  the  welcome  thrall : — 
By  deep- toned  Susquhanna  strays  theOacJ, 
To  muse  on  Scotland's  hiUs  and  broomy  vale, 
And  'neath  the  star  oi  purple  evening  cast 
A  lingering  look  upon  the  happy  past ; 
Nor  less  the  Negro,  by  the  spoiler  bonie. 
Far  from  his  native  wilds  to  pine  forkqm. 
The  melting  impulse  owns,  and,  in  his  dreams,' 
Wanders  with  those  he  loves  by  N%er's  streams  ; 
Beholds  bis  oottaige  in  the  palm  v  shade. 
And  those  he  left  to  weep  why  he  deln^d ; 
His  ripening  rice,  and  liieely  Carved  canoe. 
His  antlet'd  trophies,  and  unerring  bow. 
All  come,  deck'd  out  in  rainbow  j^sattn,  to  shed 
Illusive  joy  around  his  lowly  bed. 
Yes !  bought  has  sicken'd  at  the  humbli^  strife. 
And  shuddering  Nature  is  at  war  wit^  hfe ; 
The  tyrant  and  his  U»h  horve  bow'd him  down.; 
Deflfwir  hath  seared  his  heart,  and  Fortune's  frown  ; 
6 


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Nougbiln  the  world  renuoM  ftr  faim  to  orafc. 
Save  dark  oblinon  and  the  eilent  grave; 
But,  o'er  the  golph  of  death,  he  hopes  to  meet 
The  smilea  again  that  made  euatence  sweet. 
And  cbsp  in  ioy  upon  another  shotc^ 
The  chenah'd  or  his  heart,  to  part  no  more ! 

Sad  was  the  time  ftr  thee^  my  natife  knd. 
When  Conquest  reared  her  devastating  hand, 
Pour'd  her  unnnmher^d  aqnadrons  o'er  the  pUin, 
And  mock'd  derisiTely  the  patriot  sUin ; 
The  task,  devoted  reum,  was  thine  to  view 
Thv  foes  determined,  and  thy  aons  untrue. 
Bribed  bv  the  tyrant,  sharers  of  his  gold. 
And  in  tny  caus^  though  glorious,  tamely  cold : 
But  Freeciom  woke  the  spirit  from  its  urn. 
And  bade  her  altara  smoke,  her  incense  bum. 
Pointed  the  wavering,  whc«e  the  temple  lay 
Of  Fame  unuiotted,  and  without  decay ; 
Told  that  a  sbidd,  omninotent  to  save. 
Preserves  the  patriot*  and  o'eriian^  the  brave ; 
And,  while  it  nervea  his  boaom,  bids  him  know 
The  peace  that  only  Virtue  tastes  in  woel 
Had  Scotland,  slumbering  in  luxurious  peace, 
Behdd  her  fidds  in  bloom,  her  power  increase, 
llien  never  had  we  heard,  or  thrill'd  to  hear, 
Of  him,  to  whom  her  liberty  was  dear; 
Who,  brave  in  vain,  hung  ever  on  the  foe. 
Scorn  in  his  glance,  and  vengeance  in  hia  bbw ; 
A  star  to  future  soes  had  not  shone. 
And  Wallace  lived  unmark'd,  and  died  unknown  ! 
Yes!  glorious  diief,  till  ends  the  march  of  Time, 
In*every  country,  under  every  cUme, 
Where  Wisdom  reigns,  where  Virtue  is  revered. 
Where  Man  is  free,  and  degradation  fear'd. 
In  every  heart,  where  Nature's  ardour  g^ows. 
Fame  snail  endear  thee,  and  record  thv  woes ; 
Shall  paint  thee,  struggling  lor  a  thankless  throne. 
Calm,  though  beset,  undaunted,  though  akme ; 
Patient  of  hardship  ;  ^tle  to  commimd ; 
Bold  to  attack ;  and  vigorous  to  withstand ; 
Scoming^all  aid,  that  Honour  scorns  to  crave, 
Spurning  to  live  in  bonds,  or  die  a  slave  I 
While  deathless  wreathe  in  Honour'a  garden  grow 
For  generous  worth,  or  persevering  woe ; 
And  while  on  earth  a  boaom,  dear  to  fiime. 
Warms  at  the  mention  of  a  {Mtriot's  name ; 
So  lon^  for  thee  her  crown  will  Glory  twine. 
And  bid  thee  wear  the  meed  ao  justly  thine. 
Who  dauntkai  strove  sg^dnst  the  whelming  tidtf , 
Dash'd  through  the  roaring  billows,  and  d^Bed ; 
For  what  ?  that  listless  Apathy  might  break 
His  Morphean  bands  asunder,  and  awake ; 
That  Tyxannv  roig^t  shrink,  and  Scotland  be 
Still  hia  own  homo— the  country  of  the  free ! 

Consuming  fires  may  glow,  and  o'er  the  land, 
Unsandal'd  Camm  stalk  with  dagner'd  hand. 
While  yelling  Fun,  wild  Ruin,  piik  Dismay, 
Traverse  from  noon  to  rn^t  the  public  way; 
In  vain— lor  home,,  the  country  of  his  sires. 
The  patriot  stands  to  mock  oonsuining  fires ; 
Vol.  XV.  4  F 


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au4  1  he  Love  </  CounU'g*  V^J* 

And,  'mid  the  tlveatas  of  blood,  the  clouds  of  war. 
Cries  ''  To  the  charae !"  and  waves  his  scymitar : 
Witness  beka^uer'd  Carthi^  how  she  stroye 
'Gainst  whelming  Rome,  wiui  unavailiiig  love ; 
Beat  back  the  scatter'd  l^;ions  fiom  her  walls. 
And  nerved  anew  for  fight,  at  Duty's  caUs; 
Bound  up  her  streaming  wounds,  and  to  her  towers 
Repair'd  mid  cirding  foes,  and  arrowy  showers ; 
While  timid  Beauty  gave,  with  fiivouring  brow. 
Her  msses  diom  to  string  the  wanicv's  bow ! 

Witness  Hungarian  Zrinii,  how  he  hdd 
At  bay  the  Turlosh  myriads,  or  repdi'd : 
Years  came  and  went — invincible  he  stood, 
Coop'd  within  walls,  and  drench'd  the  fidds  wiUi  blood  : 
As  comes  the  bursting  billow  to  the  rode. 
Such  came  the  foe,  and  so  he  braved  the  shock ; 
As  falls  the  wolf  beneath  the  hunter's  spear. 
Rushing  in  blindfold  rage,  and  prone  care^, 
So  ever  sank  the  foremost,  as  toey  strove 
To  storm  the  ramparts,  mann'd  with  patriot  love ; 
Till  baffled,  bleeding,  wearied,  and  dismav'd. 
By  night  his  host  their  Leader's  call  obey'd. 
Raised  the  vain  sie^  and  left  the  rising  sun, 
To  herald  Hope  and  Victory  to  the  Hun ! 

And  witness,  high^renown'd  in  latter  times. 
When  Spain  degraded  by  her  King  and  crimes, 
Relax'd,  forgetful  of  her  andent  fame. 
Her  deathless  sons,  and  proud  chivalrio  name. 
In  a^MUliy  and  sloth  regardless  lay. 
To  friends  a  diame,  to  foes  an  easy  prey. 
The  dauntless  Polafox ;  how  like  the  star. 
That  rises  o'er  die  twilight  hills  afar. 
He  rose,  when  Conquest,  'mid  his  oouutrjf's  sleep, 
Came  with  her  iron  ploughshare,  fiurrowmg  deep. 
In  vain  around  are  wreck  and  ruin  strewn ; 
In  vain  are  Saragoza's  walls  o'erthrown ; 
From  lane  to  lane,  firom  street  to  street  they  flf. 
Gore  dripping  from  each  blade,  and  war  their  cry  : 
The  baffled  Gauls,  like  bloodhounds  held  at  bay, 
Eye  every  shade  with  trembling  and  dismay ; 
Wtiile  woman,  heedless  of  her  sex  and  life, 
Stands  on  her  doorway  stone  and  whets  the  knife ; 
Cheers  on  the  sally,  and,  with  kindling  eye, 
Insults  the  cowara  who  would  turn  to  fiy ! 

Nor  Moscow,  empress' of  the  North,  shouldst  thou 
Rise  o'er  thy  ruins  with  unhiurell'd  brow  !— 
Hark !  o'er  the  world  the  din  of  war  is  spread ;       * 
Red  signal  fires  illume  each  mountain  head ; 
From  land  to  land,  with  wildly  mutter'd  cries, 
Clasp'd  palms,  and  haggard  features.  Terror  flies ; 
Kings  totter  on  their  thvones,  and  holds  of  trust, 
Dismantled,  sink,  and  crumble  with  the  dust; 
And  all  that  ages,  power,  and  pride  could  rear. 
Struck  by  the  mi^c  speU-wand,  dissppear*— 
Thine,  Afoscow,  thine  it  was,  a  desperate  ehoioe. 
To  prey  on  thine  own  vitals,  and  r^oioe ! 
From  roof  to  roof  the  fiery  ruin  spread. 
Tinged  the  dork  ui^ht,  and  wrqit  the  Kremlin's  head  ; 
Where  merchants  in  thy  marts  were  wont  to  dirong. 
And  crowds — a  sable  ocean — ^moved  along ; 


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1884^31  ^^  ^^  ^  Omntry.  585 

Where  splendour,  robed  in  oriental  state, 
Flamed  in  the  halls,  or  beckon'd  from  the  gate  ; 
And  Asia  poured  her  treasures  rich  and  rare. 
Silks,  ermines,  odours,  wines,  and  jewels  fair. 
Gaunt  Ruin  reign'd ;  and,  with  demoniac  smiles. 
Gazed  o'er  the  endless  mass  of  blackened  piles ! 

But  lo !  the  Avenger  came — the  Winter  came, — 
And  earth  presented  nought  but  snows  and  flame ; 
Loud  howled  the  winds,  mid  walls  in  ashes  bare  ; 
Pile  Famine  roamed  for  food,  and  met  Desnair ; 
Armies,  whose  strength  had  bound  the  world  in  chains. 
Fled  from  the  storm,  ond  sought  the  mantled  plains  ; 
On — on  they  haste ;  the  temiiest  in  its  force 
Cerwhelms  at  once  the  horseman  and  his  horse ; 
Bdiind  them  riots  Battle's  red  alarm. 
The  wild  pursuer,  and  the  vengeful  arm  ; 
Before  them  spreads,  as  down  they  sink  to  die, 
The  icy  desert,  and  the  frowning  sky ! 

Tell,  ako.  Freedom,  ere  our  song  be  mute, 
How  peasants  to  thy  line  advanced  the  foot, 
Disdained  the  edict  of  a  throne,  that  gave 
Their  chartered  rights  away  ;  and,  sternly  brave, 
Winded  'mid  echoing  rocks  the  gathering  horn, 
And  in  his  teeth  threw  back  the  invader  s  scorn  ! 

A  voice  is  on  the  Alps — where  forests  wave, 
And  predpicea  darken,  meet  the  bravc,-^ 
A  kindred  host,  determined  to  withstand 
Aggression's  flood,  and  shield  their  native  land. 
Their  home  it  on  the  hills ;  their  manly  forms 
Defy  the  cold,  and  march  amid  the  storms ; 
Spedibaeher  there  unsheathes  his  patriot  sword  ; 
And  Hoffer,  only  by  his  foes  abhorred. 
With  calm  determined  eve,  snd  steady  breath. 
Proclaims  his  war  cry,  *^  Liberty  or  Death  V 

While  hallowed  is  the  spot  where  Brutus  fell  j 
While  hardy  Switzerland  exults  in  Tell ; 
While  sorrowing  England  bends  at  Hampden's  urn ; 
While  Scotland  proiKily  points  to  Bannockbum  ; 
While  mournful  Polana,  wrecked  in  rain  wild, 
Remembers  Kosciusko  fbr  her  child ; 
So  long,  illnstrioos  Hofl^,  shall  thy  name, 
From  sire  to  son,  amid  the  rolls  of  Fame, 
Resplendent  float  above  Oblivion's  wave, 
In  hues  of  light,  a  watchword  of  the  brave ! 

Nor  shalt  thou,  honest  compeer  of  his  lot, 
Unhonoured  live,  or  dying  be  forgot ; 
'Twas  thine,  Speckbader,  thine  the  glorious  doom, 
'Mid  bursting  tempest,  and  disheartening  gloom, 
A  quenchless  star  to  shine ;  nor  cbud,  nor  storm 
Could  from  admiring  realms  obsaire  thy  form  ; 
The  myrtle  wreath  is  won  :  'tis  thine  to  see 
Oppression  humbled,  and  the  Tyrol  free  ? 


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586* 


Ten  Vuirstigo. 


CM.?, 


T£K  TE4RS  AGO. 

TlMt  time  U  pMf; 
And  all  iti  Mhing  joTfl  ai«  now  BO  OMKc, 
And  all  iU dJoy  nptttiet  t  NoCforthit 
Faint  I,  nor  mooni,  nor  murmur.    Other  gHU 
Have  fbUowed  Ibr  saah  kw,  I  wonld  believe^ 
Abundant  reoanpenie. 


WORDBWOSTK. 


Ten  ytut  a^  ten  jeats  a^ 

Life  WM  to  Of  A  niry  toent  t 
And  the  keen  liIattB  of  worldly  woe 

Had  lered  not  then  tti  pathway  green* 
Youth  and  its  thouaand  dreamt  were  onia. 

Feelings  we  ne*er  can  know  again ; 
Unwitherd  hopea*  unwasted  powers. 

And  frames  unworn  by  mortal  pain. 
Sadi  was  the  br%ht  and  genial  flow 
Of  fife  with  na— ten  years  ago ! 


II. 
Time  has  not  blandi*d  a  sing^  hair 

That  dusters  round  thy  fwehead  now ; 
Nor  hath  the  cankering  touch  of  care 

Left  eren  one  furrow  on  Uiy  brow. 
Thine  eyes  are  blue  as  when  we  met. 

In  lore's  deqp  truUi,  in  earlier  years ; 
Thy  dieek  of  rose  is  Uoonung  yet. 

Though   sometimea  stain'd   by  secret 
tears; 
But  where,  oh  whereas  the  9pirU*i  g^, 
That  shone  throng^  aU-:-ten  years  ago  ? 


ni. 

I,  too,  am  changed^l  scarce  know  why— 

Can  fed  each  flag^ng  pulse  decay ; 
And  yotith  and  hedUi,  and  visions  h^^ 

Mdt  like  a  wreath  of  snow  away ; 
Time  cannot  sure  have  wrousht  the  ill ; 

Though  worn  in  this  world's  sidL*ning 
strife, 
In  soul  and  form,  I  finger  still 

In  the  first  sunmier  month  of  fife  ; 
Yet  journey  on  my  path  bdow. 
Oh !  how  unlike— ten  yeaia  i^ ! 


IV. 

But  look  not  thu*— I  would  not  give 

The  wvedc  ofbopes  tfaat^thou  must  shsie, 
To  bid  those  joyom  hoora  reme 

When  all  around  me  aeem'd  so  fkir. 
We've  wander'd  on  in  sunny  wcadier. 

When  winds  were  low,  and  flowen  in 
bloom, 
And  hand  in  hand  have  kept  together. 

And  still  win  keep,  'mid  atoim  and 
g^oom; 
BndearM  by  ties  we  could  not  know 
When  life  was  young— t«i  years  ago ! 

V. 

Has  Ftetuna  firawn'd  ?  Her  frowna  wcse 
rain. 

For  hearts  Hke  o«rs  she  could  not  diiU ; 
Have  friends  proved  fiJse  ?  Thdr  knre 
might  wane. 

But  ours  grew  fender  firmer  stiD. 
Twin  barks  on  this  world's  changing  wave, 

Stedfest  in  calms,  in  tempests  tned ; 
In  concert  still  our  fiUe  we'll  brave, 

Together  cleave  life's  fitfril  tide ; 
Nor  mourn,  whatever  winds  may  blow. 
Youth's  first  wild  diesms— tan  years  ago ! 

VL 
Have  we  not  kndt  beside  his  bed. 

And  watdi'd  our  first-born  bkissom  die? 
Hoped,  till  theshade  of  hope  had  fled. 

Then  wept  till  feeling^s  fount  was  dry  ? 
Was  it  not  sweet,  in  that  dark  hour. 

To  think,  "knid  mutual  tears  and  s^bs. 
Our  bud  had  Idt  its  esrthly  bower. 

And  burst  to  bloom  in  Paradise  ? 
What  to  the  thought  that  aooth'd  thait  woe 
Were  heartless  joys— ten  yeaza  ago! 


Ffbruary  3»  1824. 


VII. 
Yes,  it  l#  sweet,  when  heaven  is  bright. 

To  share  its  sunny  beams  witli  thee ; 
But  sweeter  fer,  'mid  clouds  and  blight, 

To  have  thee  near  to  weep  with  me. 
Then  dry  those  tears,— tboi^  aometfa 

From  what  we  were  in  earficr  voutfa. 
Time,  that  hath  hqies  and  friends  estranged. 

Hath  left  us  love  in  all  its  truUi  i 
Sweet  feelings  we  would  not  forego 
For  life's  best  joys— ten  years  ago. 


A.A.W. 


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Itti-l 


Thf  Mmiital  Temperament. 


597 


t)N  THE  MBTAFHYBICS  OF  MUSIC. 

No.  !!.• 

THS  MUSICAL  TEMFBRAMKNT. 


Ma  NoMTBj 

An  ingenioai  friend  of  mine,  albeit 
a  Hule  too  much  addicted,  perhapa,  to 
tlie  paradozicBl,  waa  obaerring  the 
other  day  how  much  he  wondered 
that  anybody  should  think  of  talking 
aena^  when,  £or  mere  coPYeraatiott, 
talking  nonaeoae  waa  so  much  plea- 
aanter.  I  could  not  hdp  thinking  tfiat 
the  musicians  of  modem  daya  fitted 
him  to  a  hair;  that  ia  to  aay,  when 
they  pretend  to  talk  in  their  own  le- 
gitimate tongue—^'  to  diacourae  you 
moat  eloquent  music :"  for,  in  common 
parlance,  God  wot,  they  are  sometimes 
l^ausible  enough,  if  not  rerr  deep. 
But  to  be  serious — there  is  a  little  of 
thia  ultra  bigotry  in  most  matters  of 
taate.  In  poetry,  for  instance,  whilst 
one  faction  shall  set  Wordsworth  at 
the  head  of  liying  bards,  another  shall 
laugh  in  your  nee,  and  proceed  to 
prove  him  little  better  tlum  a  ninny. 
In  painting,  who  does  not  remember 
the  **  Gallery  of  Ancient  Maaters/' 
the  Academioana,  and  the  ''Catalogue 
RaisMmte  ?"  In  sculpture,  who  has 
not  heard  of  Mr  Payne  Knight's  de- 
cision on  the  Elgin  marbleaf  In  mu^ 
sic,  the  matter  ia,  if  poaaible,  ten  times 
worse  ;  and  for  a  Terr  sufficient  res* 
aon — ^because  it  is  the  least  tangible  of 
the  four.  One  half  of  the  lovers  of 
music  laugh  at  the  other  half,  andare 
laughed  at  in  turn  by  them.  They  are 
aa  inveterate,  and  alxmtaa  reasonable, 
aa  the  Capidets  and  Montagues.  What 
one  cslls  divine,  is  to  the  other  a  fiv- 
rago  of  crotchets — 

**    ■         FuHofgound  tnd  fory, 
Bigniiying  norhing     ■  .** 

That  there  is  a  key  to  this  discrepan- 
cy, however— a  ruoUUion,  of  the  dis- 
cord, it  ii  the  olti^ct  of  this  paper  to 
prove,  and  at  the  same  time  to  shew, 
that  it  ia  not  to  be  found  absolutely  in 
the  science  itself;  but  in  the  difl^rence 
of  constitution  in  those  who  cultivate 
it ;  for  this  is  what  I  mean  by  musical 
Umperameni* 

There  are  few  persons  destitute  of 
a  ''musical  ear."  By  thia  ia  not  meant 
"a  musical  ear,"  aa  commonly  so 
called,for  on  this  suhiect  there  is  mudh 
misapprehension  and  want  of  diatinc- 
tion ;  but  an  ear  sufficiently  musical 


to  enable  them  to  rdish  the  real  bean- 
tiee  of  the  art.  It  is  a  mistaken  ap- 
^icadon  of  the  term  to  limit  it  to  diooe 
only  who  have  the  focultr  of  repeat* 
ing  correctly  certain  combinations  of 
musicsl  tones,  or  even  simple  unoom- 
bined  tones,  or  of  pocceiviiig  the  niee 
and  exact  accordance  of  two  or  more 
given  lonea ;  for  both  of  theae  faoni* 
tiea  are  included  in  the  cipicssion 
The  first  seems  in  some  measure  to  be 
connected  with  memory.  Be  this  aa  it 
will,  however,  ^lere  are  many  persons 
who,  entirely  destitute  of  it,  and  poa- 
aeasing  the  latter  in  an  imperfect  de- 
gree only,  nevertheless  have  an  ear  for 
music  when  pU^ed,  and  that,  in  the 
extended  sense  of  the  term,  of  the  best 
sort.  That  this  deacr^tion  of  persona 
are,  in  foot,  those  to  wnom  nature  haa 
in  seneral  allotted  the  finest  sense  of 
reel  musical  beauty,  it  is  one  of  the 
purposes  of  this  essay  to  ahew.  But 
this  in  its  {nroper  place.  I  would  here 
merely  ccmtenil  for  the  concession  of 
a  musical  ear  to  thoae,  who,  when  diey 
hear  music,  have  a  sufficiently  nice 
idea  of  the  musical  scale  to  perceive 
when  9nj  note  is  grossly  mia-played, 
however  incapable  they  may  be  of  re- 
membering and  correctly  repeating 
comlHnatkma  of  tonea  wUdi  they  hate 
heard.  Singing  or  playing  in  tune,  it 
is  obvious,  is  an  act  of  memory  as  wdl 
aa  of  perception.  We  must  not  only 
correctly  perceive  the  notes  when  au« 
rlcularly  communicated  to  us*  but  we 
must  correctly  retain  the  impression 
in  order  to  communicate  tnem  to 
others.  This  is  a  double  act,  or  m- 
thor  two  acta.  The  act  of  perceiving 
is  one ;  the  act  of  retaining  another. 
Theae  two  are  in  nature  not  only  di- 
visible, but  divided,  and  this  proba^ 
bly  much  more  frequently  than  is  ami- 
monlysuppoaed.  Thia  again, however, 
in  its  proper  place. 

A  celebrated  writer,  Rousseau,  and 
indeed  the  common  observation  of 
mankind,  have  divided  the  lovers  of 
music  into  three  rlstses  Those  who 
delight  in  expressive  melodies,  but 
who  are  deficient  in  relish  for  harmo- 
nies. Thoae  who  are  ddUghted  by  har» 
monies,  but  who  are  defideot  in  reUsh 
for  melodiea;  and  those  who  unite 
theae  two  requiaitea.    In  this  dassifi- 


•  See  No.  I.  Vol.  XT.  p^2W. 


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cfttkm»  it  is  neoeesarily  lmi>lied  that 
.melody  includes  an  expression  of  its 
own — that  it  affbcts  us  through  other 
channds  than  those  through  which 
harmony  aflSscts  us.  If  mdody  excites 
at  all,  it  can  only  be  in  one  of  these 
two  ways ;  either  directly  through  the 
nerves,  as  a  dram,  or  drcuitously 
though  the  intellect^  as  poetry  does. 
Harmooy  however  affects,  confessed^ 
ly,  through  the  aerrous  system  direct- 
ly ;  and  as  the  efibcts  of  melody  are 
custiiictly  difl^rent  from  those  of  har^ 
mony^  it  £»Uows  that  it  must  excite  as 
poetry  does,  through  the  intellect. 
There  is  no  third  way  conceivable; 
and  that  it  does  in  fact  act  through  the 
mtdlect  has  hardly  been  disputed, 
however  the  question  may  have  been 
blinked  or  confused.  The  imitatien  of 
the  tones  of  natural  passion  in  expres- 
sive melody,  has,  in  the  midst  of  much 
oontradiction  and  mistake,  been  more 
or  less  directly  admitted  by  all  writers 
on  music,  practical  and  theoretical. 

Mdody,  then,  is  to  poetry  what  hie- 
roglyphics are  to  alphabetical  writing. 
We  express  in  music  by  giving  pic- 
tures or  resemblances,  and  leaving  the 
meaning  to  be  deduced  from  them* 
We  tdl  our  story  of  joy  or  sorrow  by 
a  painting  of  the  thing  itself,  and  leave 
it  to  be  spelt  out  by  the  ^ectators.—- 
It  is  picture-writing  in  sound. 

The  sense  of  melody  being  thus 
widely  distinct  firom  that  of  harmony, 
it  is  easy  to  anticipate  that  different 
descriptions  of  mind  must  be  diffe- 
rently fitted  for  die  perception  of  one 
or  the  other.  There  are  few  persons 
so  destitute  of  observation  as  not  to 
have  remarked  and  distinguished  with 
more  or  less  nicety,  the  difference  be- 
tween one  tone  and  another.  Musical 
sound  is  a  thing  that  addresses  itself 
in  some  shape  or  other  so  perpetually 
to  our  observation,  that  the  instances 
must  be  few  of  those  whose  percep- 
tions with  r^^ard  to  it,  have  either 
been  so  naturally  obtuse,  or  else  so  lit- 
tle cultivated,  as  to  place  them  in  that 
class  which  may  be  described  as  bdng 
wiifumi  a  musical  ear.  It  is  rarely,  in- 
deed, that  we  find  a  person  to  whom 
rounds  both  in  their  tonic  relations  and 
sequence  are  absolutely  nothing — ab- 
suutely  unremembered  or  unobserved. 
Feapiid  who  are  commonly  said  to  pos- 
sess a  bad  ear,  no  doubt,  do  observe 
and  retain  the  sensations  of  sound  im- 
perfeolly,  but  few  indeed  are  actually 
destitute  of  ear.     An  car  sufficiently 


On  the  Metaphyski  of  Music.     Ko»  IL 


e:m«7. 


correct  for  all  rational  purpoees  is  a 
vulgar  gift.  The  nicest  perceptions 
must  necessarily  be  rare,  as  all  ex- 
tremes are. 

Those  nersons  who  have  observed 
sounds — tncir  relations  and  roodifica- 
tions-^merely  as  sounds,  and  witii  lit- 
de  or  no  lefrrenoe  to  atiything  beyond 
them,  may,  generally  speaking,  be 
considered  as  arriving  at  the  greatest 
peffection  in  distinguishing  them. 
They  secure  this  superiority  by  having 
kept  themselves  undifttracted  oy  those 
deeper  considerations,  which,  with 
another  class  of  observers,  continually 
withdraw  the  attention  frtmi  the  mere 
notes  to  something  beyond  them.  We 
may,  with  tolerable  safety,  attribute  a 
good  musical  ear  to  any  person  of 
whose  character  we  know  enough  to  be 
aware,  that  he  is  not  Hkely  to  advance 
be3rond  this  species  o(  restricted  ob- 
servation. Such  persons  are  natundly 
to  be  sought  in  that  class  of  intel- 
lect, which,  with  more  observation 
than  reflection,  ddights  in  observing 
and  recording  facts,  merely  as  facts, 
and  unafmended  to  any  consequences 
of  refined  excitement  or  deep  reflec- 
tion. Of  this  division  of  int^ect  are 
those  who  busy  themselves  in  the  ob- 
servation and  arrangement  of  truths  in 
natural  history,  in  botany,  in  mine- 
ralogy, and  in  arithmetical  calculation. 
Jodan  Colbum,  or,  best  of  all,  Jede- 
diah  Buxton,  who  counted  all  the 
words,  syllables,  and  letters,  which 
Garrick  pronounced  in  one  of  Shake- 
speare's charactera,  unmoved  all  the 
while  by  die  thronging  passions  whidi 
those  words  conveyed,  was  a  perffect 
specimen  of  this  species  of  observers. 
As  observation  merely,  is  a  quahfica-* 
don  more  common  tnan  deep  reflec- 
tion or  strong  imagination,  dns  class  is 
probably  the  most  numerous.  The  re- 
sults from  minds  of  this  formation  arc 
as  may  be  expected.  In  their  judg- 
menta  of  matters  which  appeal  to  the 
more  complicated  processes  of  reflec- 
tion, which  remiire  a  knowledge  of 
the  passions,  ana  of  the  shades  of  hu- 
man character,  and  of  die  relations  of 
corporeal  and  mental  phenomena,  they 
are  for  the  most  part  thrown  out.  They 
cannot  go  beyond  what  they  see  and 
hear.  They  fail  from  the  want  of  that 
learning  which  is  derived  from  reflec- 
tion. They  are  not  reminded  by  what 
is  present  of  something  which  is  ab- 
sent ;  and  thus  their  conchisionB  as  to 
those  matters  of  taste  which  appeal 


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Th€  Musieai  Temptrawiemi* 


most  to  Uw  reflective  ftculty  are  Qe« 
oeaMrily  imperfect.  In  their  eBtimato 
of  actors,  for  instance,  persoDi  of  this 
dan  of  thinking  fiiil  egregiously.  They 
want  that  refined  knowledge  ot  feeling 
and  passion  which  is  raqjoisitey  because 
they  have  never  been  in  the  habit  of 
oorrectinf^  the  outward  manifestations 
with  the  mwardstruogles*  When  pas- 
sion, therefore,  is  truly  exhibited,  they 
are  not  adequately  afifocted.  They  are 
caught  by  an  exaggerated  display. 
What  they  require  is  the  fbndble  and 
striking.  The  truth  is  lost  upon  them. 
In  the  theatre,  we  find  the  n^Jority 
will  dap,  and  really  admire,  a  ranting 
actor  bevond  the  chastest  performer. 
Those  wno  sre  a  degree  beyond  this 
are  yet  attentive  to  the  mere  personal 
qualifications  of  the  player,  ratner  than 
to  the  mental  business  of  the  dran^ 
They  discover  that  Kean,  in  Othdlo, 
is  a  little  man,  with  not  very  excellent 
lep.  The  odds  are,  that  Snakespesre 
himself  would  not  have  been  ndrLy 
able  to  ssy  whether  Kean  had  legs  or 
not  In  poetry,  they  mistake  bombast 
for  pathos,  nonsense  ibr  snblimit^^ 
mawkishneas  for  dmplidty;  snd,  in 
their  hearts,  admire  Alexander  the 
Great  more  than  Hamlet.  They  are 
alive  to  the  adjuncts,  and  dead  to  the 
essence.  They  cannot  imagine  how 
Ossian  should  be  a  poet  with  ndther 
rhythm  nor  rhyme.  In  short,  whether 
in  music,  acting,  or  poetry,  they  make 
good  use  of  their  opera^f^ass,  and 
''  look  at  the  stop-watch,  my  lord." 

That  pious  and  well-lunged  worthy 
George  Whitfield,  amongst  the  other 
devices  of  his  stn^egy  against  the  evil 
one,  determined,  aa  he  said,  ''  that 
Salan  should  not  have  all  the  opera 
tones."  This  musical  Messiah-ship  of 
George's  wss,  {>erhaps,  a  little  super- 
fluous. He  might  nave  left  them  ta 
their  fiite,  without  the  world  being 
much  of  aloser.  He  mi^  have  wished 
the  devil  **  luck  o'  his  prize,  man." 
George,  however,  persevered,  and  me- 
thodiatical  hymns  were  accordingly 
wadded  in  tne  chapel  ''  near  Moor- 
fields,"  even  as  the  '*  gemman  V  bears 
dance  in  Goldsmith's  play  "  only  to 
gented  tunes,  such  as  Water  parted, 
or  the  minuet  in  Ariadne."  No  gra- 
vity but  that  of  fisnatidsm  could  hav« 
withstood  this.  It  is  the  extremest  of 
those  extremes  of  absurdity  to  which 
a  mind  totaUy  ignorant  of  musiod  ex- 
pression can  go.  If,  however,  wo  sup- 
pose minds  c«  a  similar  description  to 


be  acted  upon  al  all  by  wonmo,  wa  shall 
find  their  musical  judgments  to  par- 
take more  or  less  of  the  samemisteke. 
But  between  the  absolute  inoapadty 
o£  nereeivin^  and  understanding  mu^ 
deal  expression,  and  the  intense  and 
itfiued  sense  of  it,  there  is  an  inflni^ 
tode  of  shades,  llieeoarieaeft  of  per- 
ception, aa  it  grows  and  deepens^  i» 
first  shewn  in  a  tendency  to  prefd* 
bold  and  dedded  mdodies ;  then  flo« 
rid  ones ;  then  those  in  which  the  ex« 
pression  is  extravagant  enough  to  bor- 
der on  caricature ;  then  those  whidi 
exhibit  only  wretched  and  mawkish 
attempts  at  expression;  then  in  the 
sacrifice  of  melody  to  execution ;  and> 
lastly,  in  a  total  ignorance  of  ex^^es« 
sion,  and  the  uncombined  perception 
of  harmony  merdj,  and  of  eombina- 
tiona  of  notes  destitute  of  meaning.  If 
we  watch  a  man  of  common  observa- 
tion, whatever  be  his  nomind  mudosl 
propendties,  we  shall  discover  that 
the  same  want  of  intdlectuality  which 
vitiatsa  his  Judgment  in  other  matters 
of  taste,  shews  itself,  in  a  vray  preeiso- 
Iv  similar,  in  his  conclusions  as  to  mu- 
do.  The  same  lack  of  tiie  poetical  feel- 
ing which  makes  himapplaud  a  ranting 
actor,  or  admire  bomWticd  verses,  is 
the  cause  of  his  prefbrring  airs  desti- 
tute of  refined  expression.  The  mqfo*^ 
rUy  will  erer  be  c^  this  taste;  and  die 
mi^onty  of  musicians  will  probably 
aver  be  of  them,  or  subservient  to 
diem.  The  truth  of  this  prindple  is 
perpetually  a^iarent.  In  its  first  and 
nest  shape,  it  is  evident  in  the  admi« 
ration  of  overcharged  expresnon.  Why 
is  Italian  mude  popalar  with  a  certdn 
daas  in  Sngland  ?  not  becauae  it  is  a 
fiidiion,  thmigh  doubtless  this  has  it* 
eflbct ;  but  because  die  music  of  Itdy 
innat,  finam  the  drcumstanoes  of  the 
two  countries,  necessarily  appear,  to  a 
pure  English  taste,  extravagant  and 
exaggerated,  and,  therefisre,  be  agree- 
able to  that  peculiar  gradation  of  tem- 
perament, which  can  only  feel  that 
'  which  iff  extravagant  and  overcharsed. 
It  may  be  asked,  why  muti  Itdian 
mudc  be  overdiarged  to  an  £n£^sh<« 
man  ?  why,  because  the  Italian  natu-r 
rally  intonates  his  language  with 
greater  violence,  and  change  of  tone, 
and  emphasis,  than  an  EngUshraan 
doea.  The  mudc  of  his  country  is 
founded  upon  these  intonations,  and, 
of  course,  copies  Uwir  intcndty.  A 
Briton  feels  Italian  mudc  to  be  extras 
vagpnt  for  the  same  reason  that  he 


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AM  On  the  Metoftkyna 

feds  ItaUan  oonYemtkmai  emphasis 
tobeextrsTagynt.  Next  to  Italiui  aira 
may  be  pUoed  the  Gennan^  and  then 
oar  own  theatrical  ain^  as  attractive  of 
admiration  from  certain  daaaea.  In 
mofit  €i  these  the  ezpreiBion  is  mnch 
coaxaer  than  in  the  Italian  airs.  The 
expressive  efifect  is  firequaitly  attempt^ 
ed  to  be  produced  by  the  grossest  and 
most  unrefined  imiUtive  exjiedienta. 
By  disagreeable  discords,  for  uistance, 
as  in  *'  the  Death  of  Ndaon :"  by  coarse 
mimiekry  of  sounds,  as  the  cannonM 
and  galloping,  for  instance^  in  '^  the 
Battle  of  Prague  ;"  or  the  marble Joot" 
steps,  and  knocking  at  the  door,  in  Gio* 
vanni ;  or  the  vip-^popping  of  the  drops 
of  rain  in  Stdbelts'  storm. 

In  the  next  department  of  musical 
temperament  mav  be  placed  those 
minds,  which,  almost  regardless  of 
meaning,  are  delighted  onljf  by  mere 
harmony  and  tricks  of  execution.  Thdr 
only  ideft  of  musical  expression  is,  the 
di£ference  of  fast  and  slow.  They 
think  an  air  played  quickly  must  be 
lively,  and  melancholy  if  played  slow- 
ly. This  notion  is  no  doubt  founded 
in  nature.  A  tune,  however^  is  not 
lively  or  sad  because  it  is  quidc  or 
slow.  It  is  played  quickly  or  slowly, 
because  it  is  lively  or  sad.  This  dis- 
tioction  they  cannot  understand.  Nor 
can  it  be  understood  excepting  by 
those,  whose  notions  of  the  expressicm 
of  Music  are  founded  on  other  and 
more  important  natural  resemblanoes 
than  those  of  mere  time.  Admitting 
thus  much  of  natural  imitation  to  be 
the  foundation  of  all  that  they  recog* 
nize  as  expression,  it  seems  singular, 
that  these  persons  should  not  push 
their  reasoning  farther,  and  detect 
other  relations  between  musical  sounds 
and  those  of  nature.  Here,  however, 
tliey  stop.  Their  observation  cannot 
get  beyond  mere  &cts  ending  in  thon- 
selves,  and  devoid  of  much  intellectual 
relation  to  other  fiicts.  They  observe 
whether  or  not  a  performer  lias  execo- 
tion.  They  criticise  his  tone  and  his 
fingering.  Of  a  song  they  perceive 
wnat  compass  of  voice  is  required  to 
sing  it.  They  mark  when  it  gets  in- 
to the  minor,  and  when  it  gets  out 
again.  Of  a  concerted  piece  they  study 
the  harmony.  They  take  due  note 
whether  the  chords  be  old  or  new,  ac- 
cording to  rule,  or  deviating  firom  it. 
They  say  there  is  too  little  bass  or  too 
much,  and  find  fault  with  the  m*- 
nagem«nt  of  the  difierent  instruments. 


of  Music.    No.  II.  QJiay, 

With  these  Udngs  Uieir  oitliiisiasm 
b^ms  and  ends.  They  prefisr  C8t»- 
1am,  DidniDs,  and  Braham,  to  all 
singers  that  ever  song:  and  wl^? 
Beonsethe  medianlsmof  dieir  diroals 
has  enabled  these  worthies  to  play  vo« 
cal  tricks  beyond  the  readi  of  a  com- 
mon windpipe.  It  is  in  vain  to  talk  of 
Miss  Stq>hens[,  or  of  any  other  natu- 
ral and  expressive  sinser.  They  heed 
you  not.  You  are  tmd  that  Catalsni 
runs  up— ^^  the  Lord  knows  wher^" 
and  down  again  in  quarter  tones.  It 
is  in  vain  to  talk  of  meaning.  Yon  are 
told  of  a  shake  or  of  a  hold  ten  minutes 
long.  It  is  in  vain  to  urge,  that  the 
soul  of  Music  is  pathos,  and  that  the 
rest  only  proves  a  jpretonatoral  con- 
formation of  the  Trachia.  You  are 
overwhelmed  with  cadences,  falsettos, 
trills,  and  turns,  and  take  xefugie  in— 
ailence.  It  Is  of  course  useless  to  ex- 
pect firom  minds  so  constituted,  other 
a  true  sense  of  the  meaning  of  an  air, 
or  of  the  agreement  of  woru  with  that 
meaning.  To  them  an  air  mig^t  as 
well  be  the  product  of  a  machine  hke 
that  in  the  Lapntan  Academy  for  ma- 
king books.  If  the  notes  fall  tripping- 
ly on  the  ear,  it  is  pronounced  *'  % 
pretty  tune."  As  to  its  agreeing  with 
words,  or  words  with  it — they  cannot 
believe  that  Bums  or  Moore  had  any^ 
thing  in  view  beyond  maldng  thor 
lines  corresDond  in  length  with  the  di- 
visions of  tne  air.  If  we  l€K>k  at  the 
airs  most  popular  in  theatres  and  other 
places  of  public  resort,  we  shall  find 
accordingly; — first,  That  the  words 
sung  are  a  matter  unheeded :  secoud- 

S,  That  the  most  extravsgant  airs  are 
e  greatest  favourites;  md,  thirdly. 
That  of  the  old  expressive  airs,  the 
coarsest,  the  commonest,  Uie  most 
doubtfiil— in  shc^,  the  worst,  are  al- 
most invariably  preferred. 

It  has  never  been  denied  that  one 
of  the  essential  points  of  the  poetical 
character  is  the  aptitude  for  discover- 
ing relations  between  things  appsrent- 
ly  distant  and  dissimilar.  In  ludicrous 
subjects,  this  is  wit.  In  imaginative 
sulgects,  it  is  poetry.  Metaphor  and 
simile  are  built  upon  it,  and  upon  me- 
taphor and  simile  rest  the  greatest  part 
of  what  is  valuable  in  poetical  expres- 
sion. In  poets  themselves,  this  £iculty 
of  percdving  distant  and  beautiful  re- 
lations, is  ot  course  strongly  maniftst- 
ed.  But  in  all  those  who  really  rdiah 
poetry,  it  must  in  a  greater  or  less  de- 
gree exist*  No  man  can  appreciate  to 
1 


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ISSi.^ 


n$  Muiieai  Temperapteni. 


S9i 


the  Aill  AQ  original  and  beautiAil  poe- 
tk»l  expression,  who  has  not  himadf 
essayed  to  construct  one.  This  is  the 
4:ase  with  all  the  arts  which  emhody 
any  portion  of  the  poetical.  It  is  thus 
in  painting,  in  acting,  in  oratory,  and 
in  sculpture.  To  judge  of  these,  a 
man  must  be  capable  dr  some  portion 
4>f  that  feding  wnich  excited  the  ima- 
gination, and  impelled  the  hand  or 
voice  of  the  artist.  But,  above  all,  in 
music,  this  is  requisite ;  and  being  so, 
it  is  no  longer  a  matter  of  wonder  that 
musical  compositions  should  be  appre- 
ciated so  difierentlv  by  different  minds, 
and  so  seldom  truly  by  any. 

In  judging  of  the/'oe^rs^o/XaN^'Kd^tf, 
the  relations  of  the  things  brought  to- 
gether in  the  mind  by  the  art  of  the 
poet,  howev^  distant  and  unexpected 
they  may  be^  are  yet  felt  to  be  single 
and  direct  rdatioBs.  The  images  com- 
pared are  generally  distinct  images. 
When    ShsJcespeare   savs   *'  yta^M 
waves"  the  expression,  nowever bouT, 
is  pleasing  to  every  one.   We  all  have 
a  full  ana  complete  idea  of  the  things 
compared.    Tne  comparison  is  unex^ 
pected,  but  it  is  strong,  striking,  and 
perfect    When  Moore  compares  our 
view  of  past  glories  through  the  dim- 
ness of  time,  to  glimpses  of  ancient 
towers  buried  beneath  the  waves  of 
Loch  Neagh,  the  similitude,  though 
distant  and  imaginative,  is  yet  so  c%f 
alted  and  so  true,  that  there  are  few 
minds,  probably,  however  narrow,  to 
whidi  It  would  not  afford  pleasure. 
In  these  cases,  there  is  only  one  rela- 
tion to  be  conudered.    So  also,  when 
Garrick  by  his  looks  alone  expressed 
the  **  gamut  of  the  passions,"  the  re- 
lation between  the  position  of  the  fea^ 
tures  and  the  natural  feeling,  however 
fine  and  difficult  to  be  g^ven  and  un- 
derstood, was  still  only  one  relation. 
But  in  musicd  expression  there  are 
^o  relations,  or  rather  there  Ss  a  dou- 
ble relation  to  be  apmrehended.  There 
is  fbst  the  relation  wnich  combinationa 
oi  tones,  divested  of  words,  have  to 
certain  mental  feelings — ^there  is  first 
this  to  be  understood,  and  without  the 
guide  and  help  of  language  appended 
to  them ;  and  secondly,  there  is  the 
relation  to  be  understood  which  these 
tones  have  to  the  poetical  and  mea- 
sured imitation  of  tnem  which  consti- 
tutes an  expressive  tune.  That  a  mat- 
ter of  sudi  difficult  appreciation  should 
be  atuined  bv  those  only  whose  minds 
being  poetically  constituted,  are,  con- 
Vol.  XV. 


•equentiy.  In  the  habit  of  seating  and 
identifying  the  finer  and  more  remote 
relations  in  nature,  is  not  surprising. 
The  contrary  would  be  so. 

Men  of  poetical  minds  are  few  in 
number;  and  in   the  proportion  in 
which  a  man's  mind  is  poetically  con- 
stituted, he  will  be  found  to  under- 
stand and  relish    expressive   music. 
This  is  an  appeal  to  experience ;  and 
if  it  holds  gcxxl  as  a  fact,  as  experience 
will  prove,  it  is  a  strong  corroboration 
of  the  real  nature  and  foundation  of 
musical  expression,  that  is  to  say,  in 
poetical  imitation.  In  examining,  how- 
ever, by  experiment,  into  the  truth  of 
this  nice  and  difficult  matter,  there  are 
some  distinctions  to  be  made,  and  some 
{MTobable  misapprehensions  to  be  guard- 
ed against    We  must  be  careful,  in 
the  first  pkce,  to  keep  distinct  that 
love  of  harmony t  which  passes  under 
the  general  title  of  "  love  of  numc," 
and  which  writers  on  music  univer- 
sally confound  with  the  appreciation 
of  ejejtressive  melody .  There  ts  another 
fer  nicer  ooiisiderat]on,however,  whidi 
is  absolutely  necessary  to  the  due  coo- 
duct  and  undersunding  of  such  an  in- 
quiry.   This  is  the  peculiar  mode  in 
whidi,  and  extent  to  which,  musical 
expression  is  comprehended  by  difierv- 
ent  persons.    Few  men  even  of  that 
tei|^?erament  which  is  the  most  capa- 
Ide  of  relishing;  expressive  airs,  csn  say 
at  once,  ard  mfaUibly,  how  and  why 
they  doso.  Hiey  cannot  detail, "  at  first 
sight"  as  one  may  say,  all  the  niceties 
and  roinutiffi  of  thatpeculiar expression 
which  pleases  them.    It  is  net,  how- 
ever, to  be  supposed,  that  they  do  not 
feel  it,  because  they  cannot  at  once 
analyse  it    In  many  operations  of  the 
mind,  and  especially  in  those  which  re- 
kte  to  suljects  of  a  refined  and  inSan- 
giUe  nature,  it  requires  the  habit  of 
mental  analysis  to  enaUe  us  to  trace 
out  and  detail  the  process  b  v  which  wie 
have  arrived  at  a  conclusion,  to  de- 
Bcribe  graphically,  aa  ii  were,  the  pra- 
dse  fedia^  whieh  have  excited  ua. 
For  the  mind  to  travel  over  a  certain 
field  of  exiMtement,  is  one  thing ;  and 
to  map  and  lay  down  the  country  over 
which  we  have  travelled,  is  another. 
Mental  investigation  is  an  art  to  be 
learned.     Nature  teaches  us  to  feel, 
and  science  to  separate  end  dass  those 
feeHngs.    There  are  many  impressions 
which  all  experience,  but  which  few 
indeed  can  d^cribe.    Most  minds  are 
affected  with  mixed  sensations  of  awe 
iG 


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On  th§  Metapk^ci  ^  Mutic.    No.  11. 


«ad  wonder  «t  Ike  ftrtt  tight  of  $ke 
«Hi ;  but  who  oan  dceeribe  •ocuiatelv 
tke  vpedm  Uaim  of  idflu  which  mm 
a signt creates?  Thiidesenption ii  the 
proriBoe  of  metaphyiics^  and  luckily 
few  men  are  metaphysicians  Shake- 
apeaie  himseif  would  |irobd^  have  re- 
quired ^  aKtaphysical  aid  had  he 
been  under  the  neceanty  of  deBcribiag 
that  wonderful  nentd  process,  which 
nmat  have  led  him  to  some  of  his  tru- 
est oonefauioiis^  as  to  the  display  of 
chsHMTtirr  and  mixture  of  the  pa*- 
sioos.  Tet  it  is  impossSile  to  deny, 
that  through  audi  piocesses  his  miiM 
mnet  hare  passed,  howsoever  instino* 
ttTe  his  oonduswns  m%^  'PP^^  ^ 
an  kiauirer,  ftom  their  not  ocnng  re* 
fiewed  after  diey  were  used,  but  peiw 
haps  fin^otten  until  called  linr  by  some 
similar  ooossion.  In  mumcal  cxpre»- 
■on  this  is  peeuHsrly  the  case.  Men 
of  m  certain  eonformatioBi  of  mind  will 
ahnost  of  necessity^/ the  eKpression  ; 
but  widiout  the  art  of  mental  analysis, 
it  is  impossible  that  they  should  dis- 
tinctly deseribe,  even  to  thcraselfe%  tiie 
fffedsB  nodifioatkms  of  their  own  fect- 
uigB.  nie&cnltyof  knowing,  and  aoeu^ 
tateiy  describing  the  meaning  of  an  air, 
and  of  judginff  of  the  fitness  of  the 
nenlxments  to  be  appended  in  wovda 
Id  that  musical  language,  is  only  to  be 
attainBd  by  cultivation.  In  thuspio 
portion  in  whidi  it  is  cultivated  it  will 
be  apoarent,  and  this  is  the  best  proof 
that  tne  method  is  founded  on  princi- 
ples true  in  nature.  It  is  posnbie  to 
aery  it  so  far  as  to  be  aUe  to  say, 
without  hesitBtion,  what  turn  of  sen- 
timent wfll  be  embodied  in  words  to 
l>e  adapted  to  a  given  expressive  air, 
if  thsy  are  to  be  written  by  one  eoo* 
fiersant  in  musical  expression.  What 
is  mom  extrsordinary  is,  that  the  con- 
wefse  of  diis  process  has  sometimes 
tdeen  place,  and  that  a  prior  concef^ 
tion,  Wond^rfhlly  accurate,  of  the  turn 
of  an  air,  baa  b(«o  gadiered  f^m  ^ 
words  to  which  it  was  appended.  I 
atate  this,  because  I  know  it  to  have 
happened  to  one  whose  knowledge  of 
idd  airs,  prineipaUy  those  of  Scotland, 
and  wiiose  celebrity  as  a  writer  in  that 


Cllay, 


deportment  of  poetry  which  is  con- 
nected with  them,  render  fakn  ^  most 
i%ely  perhaps  of  att  men  to  have  ex- 
perienced it.  It  is  another  proof  of 
the  expression  of  airs  being  of  a  na- 
ture eminoitly  intdkctual,  that  it  af^ 
f ecto  most  that  class  of  minds  whicfa, 
from  their  orgMiisstien,  we  should 
mostoxpecttobeaflfectedbyit.  That 
it  is  totally  different  from  the  excite- 
ment of  harmony,  is  also  evident  in 
the  fiMst  of  cbfldren  being  unmoved  by 
it,  ^(Hiile  their  nerves  ore  vMently 
shidcen  by  harmonic  combinatkms. 

Experfence  nmst  ultimately  deddfe 
howfiir  theforegoingobservatiotts  have 
their  foundation  in  tratii.  In  the 
mean  time,  there  is  one  argument  fx 
the  probability  of  thdr  being  true. 
They  explain,  if  admitted,  those  ap- 
parent anomalies  and  diserepaneies  in 
the  opinions  and  ftelings  of  manldod 
Vffm  this  deHcato  sulject,  which  ceiw 
tiiaiy  have  not  been  explained  upon 
any  other  hypothesis.  Granting  once^ 
that  men  are  divided  into  classes,  and 
that  the  mind  of  one  is  abaolut^  in- 
oapaUe  of  pereeivlng  what  another  as 
intensely  feels,  and  that  the  nnn^ier 
of  those  oampiehending  the  €xpres» 
sion  of  meftody  is  small,  whilst  diose 
delighting  in  narmony  are  many,  we 
have  at  once  a  key  to  the  whole. 

We  see  whv  thie  invention  of  coon* 
terpoint,  whidi  has  made  rousie  a  thri- 
vh4;  trade,  has  been  the  bane  of  mf^ 
lody;  and  we  see  why  some  of  the 
greatest  namesi  both  of  the  present 
and  past  time,  have  been  known  as 
lovers  of  simple  melody,  whilst  the 
greatest  harmonists  have  been  abeo- 
hitely  dull  men.  We  see  the  grada- 
tions of  mind,  Arora  ^e  unpoeticsl, 
through  the  meretricious  and  the 
coarse,  to  that  refined  sensitivenes 
which,  with  a  more  than  Indian  fn- 
stlnot,  oan  tmck  the  foot-prints  of  Pds- 
sion,  wherever  it  has  been,  whfiat 
common  obseDrvera  vainly  attempt  to 
fi>Uow,  or  give  up  as  hopeless,  a  chase 
which  to  tneM  appears  so  inencpHca- 
ble. 

T.  D. 


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iiM3 


P$kM  FfUfi  ami  Fo$Swp. 


69^ 


TIKE  FKO0K.  AKD  POKTftT. 


Iteigh  I  am  f«r]p  Wagr  At  this  B«^ 
•Ml  ui  my  imuiig  MoeeniK  y^t  I 
have loond tine t»Beid over  Aelurg^ 


of  documemts  whkk  you  h»v«i 
ImeiQ  tbebiuuMwofAlwca  X 
Bflfcr  kaev  arach  of  Ibo  thetiroy  nol 
iMmngbad  vmay  ovportmiiiieadariag 
^  ooune  of  ny  lucv  of  mixiiig  ia  it* 
flodooma  einm  at  a  ipectalor»  Bat  1 
tknk  I  have  nade  rnyadf  vnmux  of 
theddaila  of  ^ihia  caae^  Miffickntly  tQ 
wabit  Bie  to  ilialuta  iVaawdlatkaat 
aa  I  ahoukl  diacoaa  a«  afiOv  of  tho 
AthoMan  theataeiv  tbedm  of  Folm, 
or  the  Roman  m  thoae  of  Boadiis.-*- 
I  pticnd  to  DO  Bioro  ia  a  theafmi^ 
paml  of  view.  In  another  poiak  of 
view^  however,  I  thaak  I  can  lee  aa 
far  aa  my  neighbowiu  Jks  dearly  aa 
ever  the  most  omck-agfatei  can  dia-i 
tingutah  a  hawk  iroaa  a  huidsaw,  so 
clearly  can  I  perceive  the  fin^  sttmrn 
of  Whinpery  wherever  itojoies^  no  ro0W 
tcr  nnte  what  weeds  or  mbbtah  if 
m^  fimcy  it  conceals  itselt 

I  need  not,  I  suppose,  g^ve  you  asy* 
thiQc  Hke  a  histery  of  the  concern. 
We  hove  heard  it  md  nauseam  i*mmw 
M  comes  to  ^is  in  three  finea.  Sktet 
wvole  a  play^-yresentcd  ii  to  the  m»- 
nagers— 4lMy  accepted  it,  and  referred 
it  to  the  heoiaer.  Bit  Grace's  denuly 
pniposed  the  omission  of  ahoiitahwi* 
dred  hnea  or  half  lines,  £Dr  reasona 
which  I  sh^  mention  by  and  hf-^ 
the  indignant  anthor  scooted  sncfe  a 
propodtio%and  the  nsual  consequeaee 
tiiUowed.  The  licenser  leiMad  the 
privi]^;e— «nd  then  of  omrae 


FSvciii  that  the  hmt  rcgeci 

I*U  print  it, 
Au^  ihame  the  ibols^ 


Printnd  aocacdingly  ii  is,  and  falls 
dtad  boinftom  the  preis;  a  proof  that 
even  the  paqnancy  imparted  by  an  ev* 
a^irj^^nppiessioa,  comiot  oonqner  m^ 
peremineDt  dulness.  I  am  pretty  sure^ 
Aat  had  it  been  rsnreacnted  on  the 
stage,  it  wooU  have  oeen  damned  be^. 
fere  the  condndon  of  the  second  aet^ 
nnlesB  the  andiencea  of  London  are 
asata  be^jfwnd  belief  inconigiUe. 

In  pomi  of  compaaitian- nothing  can 
be  more  vrretdied.  A  let  of  psosy 
Mnes  dumber  along  snodn^y,  cut  up 
iM>  jomta  of  ten  s^bks,  by  aa  hack* 
ingajactekgaftyaQever^  ' 


opemtion  at  •  •  •  •  •  •.    The  dot  is 

nothing — abiolutdy  nothing.  I  defy 
yott  to  andyse  it  at  any  length  beyond 
five  line&  The  sentiments  are  com- 
mon-place^ and  the  dtuations  sleepy. 
All  this  is  done  after  &  long  preface 
on  the  stupidity  of  other  modem  tr»- 
gcdiansy  and  their  utter  &flure»  He 
bores  poor  Charles  Kemble  with  a  londc 
dissertation  on  the  great  superiority  ^ 
his  managemeutof  Uie  chamcters,  and 
avidendy  considers  himself  a  ttag^Iiau 
not  to  be  sneezed  at  But  8h^  will 
at  once  put  in  bis  word  here.  "  I  own^ 
siTj  I  am  not  a  Shakcsi^e.  I  admit 
the  justice  of  your  diticism  ;  I  waa 
fully  aware  that  your  pens  would  bo 
sharpened  agdnst  my  literary  errors^ 
and  deprecate  fiu'ther  criticism  ; — ^but 
to  the  point*  Whv  was  tmf  jjiiay  sup-r 
pressed?  Is  not  Snid  or  Proctor  just 
as  stupid  a&  I  am^  and  yet  you  see 
how  the^  succeeded  in  putting  their 
absurdities  on  the  stager' 

I  agree  with  Shee.  His  brother  tra* 
ipediana  have  written  stuff  altog|Bther 
aa  wretched  as  anydiiiitg  that  has  evet 
cmwlcd  over  any  stage;  and  1  may  per* 
hi^  concede,  ttiat  dieir  intentions  w^ere 
just  as  mischievous— so  that  the  red 
question  ii,  why  he  waa  made  the 
acape-goat  ?  In  the  first  place,  I  may 
be  permitted  to  remark,  tual  the  coe^ 
tinnance  of  a  wrong,  does  not  cosrst^ 
tute  a  right.  Because  the  manners  of 
the  age  tolerated  Shakespeare  in  ma- 
king  use  of  blasphemous  expresdons, 
or  at  least  expressions  dbsely  there- 
unto approadiing,  our  nunoers*  which 
have  banidied  swearing'  from  res^* 
table  society,  tolerate  no  such  thmg, 
I  mention  this  as  an  illustration,  not 
with  the  slightest  intention  of  aflbfng 
any  such  stigma  on  Mr  Shee.  In  the 
same  way,  the  escape  ot'  reprehenidble 
plays  from  censure,  doe»  not,  ijfsojacto, 
constitute  a  right  that  ua  oensurcisever 
to  be^minated.  Away  then  with  the 
argument  so  often  adduced  in  the  pre- 
fab and  notes  of  this  tragedy,  that  it 
is  cruel  to  visit  its  author  with  ani- 
madversioB,  while  others  have  eao^ed 
Let  us  come  to  the  point. 

It  is  well  known  to  you^  North# 
what  vaat  endeavours  the  Roman  Ca- 
diolic  party  of  Ireland  is  making  to 
get  tfaaa  country  dtogether  into  itaown 
hnmlsi  and  how  eagerly  ft  enlEBta  every 
auxiliary  in  that  caiuse.  Such  i&  the 
abuse  of  wocda,  that  doming  in  with 


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594 

the  most  illiberal  priesthood  in  the 
worlds  is  styled  liberality ;  and  any  en- 
deavour to  mitigate  their  oppression, 
comes  under  the  designation  of  ty- 
ranny. For  this  the  demagogue  spouts 
— the  newspaper  froths — the  liberal  in 
Parliament  proses— the  sensitive  poet 
mourns — or  the  libellous  poet  calum- 
niates. In  Ireland,  then,  people  have 
got  up  a  lacquerie,  which  hati  made 

Earts  of  the  country  absolutely  unin- 
^  abitable,  and  are  actively  employed 
in  endeavouring  to  extend  the  bless- 
ings of  insurrection  over  those  districts 
where  it  has  not  yet  appeared.  Every 
epithet  of  abuse  or  insult  is  heaped 
npon  those  who  write  to  defend  the 
constitution  of  the  country;  every- 
thing is  done  which  can  tend  to  ex- 
asperate the  feelings  of  the  demi- 
savage  lower  orders  gainst  the  esta- 
blished church  ; — ^vritness,  for  in- 
stance, the  scandalous  crusade  against 
the  Archbishop  of  Dublin  ; — every  to- 
pic of  irritation^  no  matter  from  what 
time  deduced,  or  with  what  fearless- 
ness of  fdsehood  invented,  is  sedu- 
lously set  forth  by  a  self*constituted 
body  of  regularly  bred  agitators,  beard- 
ing the  cowardlv  government  in  the 
very  city  of  Dublin.  This  noise  so  got 
up— this  insurrection  so  got  up — these 
barbarous  millions  so  set  in  motion-* 
form  the  staple  arguments  for  conce- 
ding political  power  to  their  leaders. 
At  nome,  the  priesthood  keep  their 
flocks  subject  to  their  nod  by  the  dis- 
graceful agency  of  mock  miracles,  and 
stimulate  them  to  the  field  by  bloody 
prophecy ;  in  this  country  such  wea- 
pons would  not  do ;  and  their  battle 
IS  accordingly  fought  here  bv painting 
the  Irishman  as  a  creature  of  nne  feel- 
ings, warm  heart,  intense  good  nature, 
— Hul  repressed  by  cruel  and  impolitic 
laws.  They  who  make  these  speeches 
well  know  that  their  laws,  the  policy 
or  impolicy  of  which  I  shall  not  im- 
mediately discuss,  have  as  much  to  do 
with  the  hrutal  atrocities  of  the  priest- 
ridden  mob,  or  with  the  degradation 
of  the  Irish  character — which,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  appears  to  be  rapidly  bar- 
barizing— as  they  have  with  the  inha- 
bitants of  the  Dog-Star. 
*  The  most  active  person  in  turning 
away  the  eves  of  tne  English  public 
from  the  real  state  of  aflliirs  in  Ireland, 
has  been,  unquestionably,  Mr  Thomas 
Mocre.  Young  ladies  and  old  women 
sucked  in  from  his  pretty  songs,  not 
merely  matter  for  prurient  imaginings^ 


Pike  Proie,  ami  Poetry. 


CM«T> 


but  a  delicate  sensitiveness  aboat  the 
wrongs  of  Erin.  In  his  poetry,  whidi 
we  know  was  the  most  fashioDable  of 
our  time,  you  saw  nothing  of  the  Bi- 
ble-hating priest ;  the  shouting  crowd 
exulting  with  demoniac  fury  over  a 
houseful  of  women  and  children  roast- 
ing alive ;  the  prophecy  devoting  their 
Protestant  countrymen  to  destruction  ; 
the  impostor  plaving  his  fantastic 
tricks  before  high  neaven  in  the  walk 
of  nunneries — you  saw  nothii^  of  the 
grovelluig,  servile,  sickening  prostra- 
tion of  intellect,  which,  to  a  strainer, 
is  the  most  marked  and  most  revolting 
characteristic  of  the  people,  with  hearts 
exclusively  Irish.  No  1  all  was  eolden 
and  green  everywhere  in  Ireland,  ex- 
cept among  the  Protestants — that  is, 
predsdy  among  those  who,  with  the 
exception  of  abont  three  in  five  hun- 
dred, form  the  educated,  the  enlight- 
ened, the  brilliant,  the  eloquent,  and 
the  learned  of  his  native  country. 

This  frestige  is  fast  passing  away.  I 
said  long  sgo  that  this  session  of  Par- 
liament would  not  witness  any  efltnt 
to  bring  the  Roman  Cathdics  into 
power,  and  you  see  I  was  right.  Peo- 
ple are  ashamed  of  having  been  so 
ep^regiously  humbugged,  as  to  have  fan- 
cied that  all  the  fine  things  they  hsd 
been  hearing  about  Erin  ma  voumeen 
could  have  l^n  true.  Time  was,  how- 
ever, when  it  was  otherwise.  The 
finest  poem  of  Mr  Moore's  Lalla 
Rookh — the  Fire- worshippers,  was 
exclusively  devoted  to  shevring  up  the 
Orangemen  as  oppressors,  and  the  Ro- 
man Cathohcs  as  chivalrous  and  va- 
liant, and  oppressed.  Tom  Campbell,  in 
his  preface  to  the  f^pecimens  he  gives  of 
Brookes's  poetry,  m  his  British  Poets, 
truly  remarks,  that  a  poHtical  tragedy 
is  a  contemptible  thing,  for  he  who 
writes  with  a  double  meaning,  cannot 
be  inspired  with  the  true  spirit  ci 
poetry.  Such  haa  been  the  oaae  with 
the  Fire-worshippers.  Moore  has  sa* 
crificed  one  of  the  finest  things  he  ever 
worked  upon,  to  the  paltry  and  perish- 
able purposes  of  party. 

If  such  has  been  the  cose  with 
Moore,  what  are  we  to  think  of  Alas- 
CO,  which  is  brought  forward  with  the 
self-same  design  ?  Why,  that  the  ta- 
lentless author  must  have  made  a  stu- 
pid thing  of  it,  as  he  has  done,  when 
considered  as  a  poetic  oompositioo,  and 
a  most  reprehensible  thin^  when  view- 
ed in  any  other  light,  l&t  such  waa 
Shee's  design,  there  can  be  no  doubt* 


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1684.3 


ISk$  Prom,  amd  Poetry, 


U  it  too  bodly  eooetftled  not  to  pop 
out  its  Qgly  heftd  in  a  moment.  Even 
the  penon  with  the  inoomprefaentibk 
name  of  Tunno,  to  whom  Shee  dedi- 
cates his  play,  most  have  seen  it.  He 
gives  note  of  preparation  in  the  outset. 

ScBNE  I.  ''  Datfbreak — The  en- 
tranoe  of  a  cavern— a  peasani  armed 
with  a  PiKi/'  the  instrument  used 
hy  the  rebels  in  Ireknd.  Had  the 
scene  been  meant  for  Poland,  in  which 
it  is  hud,  the  author  would  haveffiveu 
his  Whiteboy  a  lance.  A  diskgue 
ensues  between  two  noted  leaders  of 
the  insurrection,  such  as  we  may  con- 
ceive would  be  the  style  of  conversa- 
tion between  Captain  Rock  and  his 
lieutenant,  were  those  eminent  cha- 
ficters  as  wdl  educated  as  Moore  as- 
sures us  they  are. 

*^  Conrad.  Though  your  wrongs  are  throb- 
bing St  your  hnrti, 
BeprsM  tb«  unpadcot  sptritf  and  await 
Thb  houk  ow  ysxaSAMCB  now  so 

MSAa  AT  HAND.** 

This  was  written  to  be  played  in 
1894.  Psstorini,  whose  propnecies  are 
more  devoutly  believed  by  tne  Roman 
Catholic  insurgents  of  Ireland  than  the 
Bible,  assures  his  believers  that  heresy 
is  to  be  rooted  out  of  these  kingdoms 
with  fire  and  sword,  with  dreadM 
punishment  and  intolerable  sgony,  in 
1885.  Shee,  himsdf  Irish  and  Catho- 
lic, well  knew  this.  Conrad  proceeds — 

«•  Whst  litde  ikin  the  patriot  sword  r». 
quires. 

Our  zesl  may  boast  in  midnight  vigils 
schoolMi 

Those  despcr  tactics,  wdl  contrived  to 
work 

The  mere  maoune  of  meicenary  war. 

We  shall  not  want,  idiose  hearts  are  in  the 
fray. 

Who  for  ourselves,  our  homes,  our  coun- 
try fight— 

AVD  FEEL  IV  BVKKT  BLOW  WB  STRIKE 
FOB  FBEBDOOM.** 

Lest  any  one  should  mistake  bis 
meaning,  hie  has  almost  quoted  the  line 
prefixedss  a  motto  to  Mr  O'Connell's 
annual  tirades  against  the  Protestanta 
of  Irehmd. 

^*  Hereditary  bondsmen  !  know  you  not 
That  they  who  would  be  free,  must 
strike  the  blow.** 

Another  Whiteboy  leader  sopn  puts 
in  his  word.    He  speaks  of  one — 

^^  — Waliingham, 
That  haughty  Briton,  who  would  forge  for 
.      us. 


49i 

The  ihaekks  his  brsvs  csttotrymsn  have 
icom'd.'* 

Precisely  the  language  one  hears 
from  the  Irish  spouters,  whenever  they 
think  proper  to  be  complimentary  to 
England. 

Alasco  himself  is  soon  brought  on 
the  stage  to  twaddle  in  the  same  strain. 
He  is  reproached  by  his  father-in-law 
with  being  connected  with  the  White- 
boys,  and  talks  Autian  to  this  tune. 

**  With  most  unxKtrthy  patience  have  I 

borne 
My  country*!  ruin — seen  sn  ancient  state 
Struck  down  by  sceptres— trampled  on  by 

kings,**  &c 

This  ancient  state  is  the  Ogygia  of 
O'Halloran — the  country  peoj^ed  ori- 
ginally by  Cesara,  grand-daughter  of 
Noah,  seventy  years  before  the  floods 
and  now-a-days  the  theatre  of  opera- 
tions of  sudi  patriots  as  the  above,  and 
the  magna  mater  of  eudi  tragedians 
as  their  poet 

Alasco,  like  the  Catholic  priests  in 
Ireland,  takes  great  credit  to  himself 
for  only  permitting  a  certain  Quantum 
of  murder,  on  which  Hohenoaiil,  the 
German  governor  of  Poland,  that  is 
Uic  English  Lord-lieutenant  of  Ire- 
land, for  Shee  well  knows  that  his 
countrymen  call  the  English  Saxons — 
thanks  her  ironically,  and  gets  the  fol- 
lowing reply : — 

^^  Tjrrants,  proud  lord,  are  never  safe,  nor 

■hould  be-» 
The  ground  ii  mined  beneath  them  ss  they 

tread; 
Hkunted  by  plots,  cabals,  conspiracies. 
Their  lives  are  long  oonvulsioni,  and  they 

ihake, 
Surrounded  by  dieir  guards  snd  garrisons.** 

Tom  Moore,  the  Pike  Proaer,  in  his 
Ci^rtain  Rock,  tells  us  that  the  country 
gentlemen  of  Ireland  are  just  in  this  si- 
tuation, and  Shee  of  course  calls  them 
tyrants.  I  perceive  the  Roman  Catholic 
priests  of  Ireland  designate  them  by 
this  name  in  the  letters  which  they  are 
daily  sending  to  the  mock-parliament 
of  Dublin,  tolerated  by  the  miserable 
government  of  that  country.  What 
the  Whiteboy  in  the  pby  says,  is  no 
joke,  I  assure  you. 

We  have  some  gentlemanlike  allu- 
sions to  the  poor  old  Marquis  of  WeU 
lesley,  who  ia  called  "  a  slanderous 
tool  of  state,  a  taunting,  dull>  unman- 
nered  deputy— a  district  despot,  who 
**  Makes  the  power  the  pander  to  has  lust.** 
Very  dvil,  and  very  amiable  this  of 


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Pik^  Ptam,  amd  P^eiff. 


CMir. 


Mr  Shee,  B«l  Alaseo  acxm  gtts  wU 
A  strain  of  hig^  mood. 

«^  WlMn  oppTiMioA  ttakift  tke  robe  0^  itate. 
And  power*!  a  whip  of  loorpioBi  in  tb* 

handi 
Of  beutless  koaves,  to  lash  the  o*eibur- 

thened  back,'*  &c. 

Compare  this  with  tks  oonrespoudinc 
puaege  in  Tom  Moore.  Captain  Ro(£ 
j^eaka  >-"  Confine  not  the  exerdae  of 
tyranny  ta  the  govemmeBt»  but  dele« 
g^te  it  throughout  the  whole  priviA^ 
ged  daas  ;  and  multiply  the  scorpions 
on  your  whip^  &c"  and  he  must  b& 
blind  indeed  who  does  not  see  the 
identity  of  design  between  the  two 
authors  of  Pike  Politics,  in  prose  and 

SRXI. 

■  11     ■    ^^  Our  State  qaaoks 
Have  pfied  them  with  a  oour jt  qftHmuiaiaH 
And  80  diey  throb  again ;  their  didciplne 
Haa  lathed  ua  into  life,  and  sow  our  awonla 

Give  ugn  of  animation 

Their  own  wrongs  have  raised  a  fame 

that  needs 

No  spark  from  me 

Before  wliat  bar 
Shdl  bapleds  wretches  dte  the  power  tbair 

grinds 
And  crashcB  than  to  earth  ?  Oh  £  bo,  noi, 

no! 
When  tpanti  tnmple  on  att  righu  and 


The  law  becomes  the  accomplica  of  oppres* 

8i<m, 
There  is  but  one  appeal—** 

Need  I  go  on  with  any  more  paral- 
lel passages  ^  The  Pikism  is  erident  in 

Shee  takes  care  to  tell  B9  that  it  ia 
not  rebellion  to  resist  oppression— just 
what  Sheares,  who  was  han^  ia 
1798  for  high  treason,  said  in  his  pro- 
damation,  when  he  pceadieA  the  mur- 
der o£  all  the  Royalists  of  IrdsML 
Tai^n.  and  Brutus,  of  cduraev  figure 
as  unial,  with  the  fine  taste  «€a  scmsl- 
boiy,  and  the  kftid  feeling  of  an  Iiisla 
orator.  The  neoessily  of  leTiving  tm 
sttcient  empire  is  preache<^  as  we  ge« 
Btratty  kcar  it  discussed  in  those  praU 
ty  Mtde  melodies  #hich  siap  of  the 
'*  glories  of  Erin  of  old ;  eveKher  ftith- 
less  sons  betrayed  her,"  and  the  ne* 
cessity  of  all  uniting  to  be  free>  ia  given 
in  a  style  worthy  of  a  Untied  Irishman. 
Those  thinga  cannot  be  acctdentak 
There  is  ua  necessity  o£  mding  my- 
self akep^  orer  the  scat  of  the  plur. 
Ila  scope  and:  tendeney,  aa  our  ad 
firiend  tnc  Macveian  would  say,  is  evi- 
dent to  the  meanest  capacity— even 
that  <*f  » I^ifffiolDger. 


rlqnDe.  Let  « 
Qoa  of  the  qsmiI  toipica  of  nJyir  per- 
litBieRlary  abms,  ududi  tim  fiigs  of 
oppoiitioi^  used  to  handle  agunst  Load 
LtHidondenry^waathiapartienlar  chaise 
of  being  so  Ucody-mmded  aa  to  eo»-> 
demn  amiable  patriots  to  the  cat-o'- 
nbe-tai^  True  il  is^  that  the  diaspe, 
as  they  bvoii(§^  it,  wasamerelis^tet 
thai  is  any  «^  better  thaft  a  £ul  to  a 
Whig. 

In  the  seooud  act»  we  bare  aaiai  a» 
agreeabfa  similarity  betwecu  Jtava 
Mooie  and  Shee.  Tha  Whikbeys  im 
bath  works  are  eonversingaa  the  i 
oi  their  lebettioa,  and,  «f  c 
ming  ^svf  mmeni  for  it. 

Mooas. 

'^  hotd  FitawilUam  too,  in  hia  i 
appears  to  have  fully  understood  the  i 
iating  tystcm  that  was  aboat  to  be  pur. 
sued,  as  he  refined  to  be  the  person  to 
raise  a  Jlatnc^  whidi  nothing  but  the  Ibroe 
of  arms  could  keep  down. 

^'  The  soldier  was  sent  to  make,  not  t» 
meet  enemies,  and  the  inh  and  pieket  went 
before  lo  cater  foe  the  bayaael. 

'*  The  coDsequenct  is,  thai  the  pf§iU| 
af^inst  whom,  tne  law  is  airayed,  cannot 
discovez,  in  looking  through  its  offidai 
ranks,  one  single  individual  of  their  own 
faith,  upon  whom  they  can  count  for  a 
otimmumty  of  feeling,  or  for  a  chance  of 
impartiality  between  them  and  their  aoea- 


Here,  however,  comes  another  qu 
tion.  ^liat harm  could  it  have  done? 
Tile  poor  devils  who  ore  now  riotiiu^ 
murdering,  burning,  ravishiog,  hough- 
ing, fiisting^  prayings  confessing,  wmd 
receiving  absolution  in  Tipper8fy,.have 
no  chance  of  reading  Mr  8hee'a  Co* 
vent-GrardenWhftebovisra.  Nolinueb, 
I  own ;  but  yet  even  that  danger  is  not 
entirely  nonsensical.  Those  who  have 
paid  attention  to  the  subject  must 
know  the  vast  exertions  made  to  put 
the  Irish  peasantry  in  possession  of 
everything  wfakh.  aan  tend  to^adftace 
the  csnse  of  inauirection*  Fob  i&»- 
stance^  Walmesloy's  bulky  and  •»* 
nadable  sli^  on  the  Apacdgrpas  ift 
sold  among  them  in  thousands  te^ur 
or  five  ienpennies,  though  it  never 
could  be  published  at  that  price — and 
Tom  Moore's  Melodies,  umntdligible 
as  one  would  think  their  pedantry  and 
afl&etotion  must  make  them  t»  die 
lowest  orders,  are  dunmted  out  of  poe* 
houses  impervious  to  the  sunbeam.  In 
the  same  manner  these  fine  thiflgi  of 
Mr  Shoe's  would  find  their  wajr  even 

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Jrftt$  Mr09€%  IbM  xlMPy* 


to  CipliBB  RMk.  K«3r,  Midi  it  the 
perrerae  industry  of  those  whose  inle- 
jrest  it  is  thst  IreUnd  should  he  dis- 
turhed,  that  you  vomj  depend  open 
the  mere  £ict  of  a  Whitehof  play^  act- 
ed hy  pky-actonhefore  the  King  and 
Lords  of  London^  would  afibrd  a  fine 
opportunity  fbr  cheering  the  patriots 
on  tlleir  work.  Things  as  ridiculoas 
ane  told  theai>  as  iadocatieBs  of  the 
King's  patronage  of  their  eause. 

But  efien  fpraaiing  that  there  was 
noaucii  danger,  is  not  the  Lord  Cham- 
beriain's  deputy  justifiable,  as  long  as 
it  is  thought  necessary  to  give  him  any 
power  at  bH,  in  keeping  off  the  stage^ 
the  discussion  of  so  angry  a  subject^ 
as  IIm  right  of  iBBnrrection  in  con* 
•equeaos  of  oparesiion,  when  actual- 
If  an  aBsnvRctaon  on  that  aBeged  ac- 
eamU  is  mging  in  one  of  the  pro- 
raoes  ?  I  think  he  is,  if  the  office 
is  to  be  at  all  retained.  Ueayen  knows, 
boweyer,  that  I  am  so  funyconscious 
of  our  superiority  oyer  the  Whig  Radi- 
cal, or  Whitc^y  prosers  or  poets,  that 
f  shoidd  not  care  to  meet  and  beat 
<wm  in  the  drana,  as  we  haye  met 
smd  hasten  them  in  oficry  other  do- 
psrtnentflf  literature,  witnout  theas- 
Sii^snnr  of  anything  but  oar  own  pe^ 
ricraniiu 

The  thing  is  pretty  well  forgotten 
now.  Shee  has  no  dramatic  tact 
whateyer.  Just  think  of  a  man's  wri- 


4j(W 

ling  a  liiowsand  linas  too  ladi,  not 
because  his  matter  warraaftod  such  a 
flux  of  soo^  but  because  Shee  was  de- 
termined, if  not  to  be  as  good,  yet  to 
be  as  long  as  Shakespeare]  Nor  can 
I  compliment  him  on  his  gentteroan- 
like  conduct,  in  printing  uie  privaie 
letter  of  the  Dukeof  Montrose-— «  note^ 
the  yery  carelesioess  of  which  shews 
that  it  was  not  intended  fisr  the  fokh 
lie  eye,  though  k  has  called  on  hta 
Grace  a  shower  of  abuse  from  under- 
bred critics.  But  when  I  remember 
that  Mr  Shee  is  a  Whi^  and  recollect 
Mr  Abercrombie  and  Mr  Arbnthnot's 
priyate  letter— Mr  Broug^iam  and  Mr 
Saurin's  priyate  letter— ^nd  some  lit- 
tle matters  nearer  home,  I  can  only 
say,  that  in  printing  lor  the  purpose 
of  derision  and  insult,  a  letter  intend- 
ed to  shew  kindness  and  dyility,  be 
haa  only  acted  in  consonance  wito  the 
usual  conduct  of  his  party. 

Colman  has  been  liberally  abused, 
and  of  course  Creorge  laughs  at  it 
The  dullest  of  creatures  haye  csUed 
the  author  of  John  Bull  and  the  Heir 
atLaw,adidlman.  F<ellowswidi  their 
lips  reeldiig  with  porter,  have  orayely 
reaaonstrBted  wunst  the  jociUaritias 
of  his  life— and  George  can  afioid  to 
laugh  down  critic  and  moralist.  I  need 
not,  I  beUeye,  add  any  more,  but  that 
I  am,  yours,  &c. 

T.  Tickler. 


INTRODUCTION. 

I  HATE  often  tfaon^t  that  the  worid  loses  much  yahiable  information 
from  the  laziness  or  aiffidcnce  of  people,  who  hare  it  in  their  power  to 
communicate  facts  and  obseryattons  resulting  from  their  own  experience, 
and  yet  neglect  doing  so.  The  idlest  or  most  unobeeryant  has  seen,  heard, 
or  thoueht  something,  which  might  conduce  to  the  general  stock  of  Imow^ 
ledge.  A  single  remark  may  throw  light  on  a  doubtml  or  a  laiotty  point— 
a  solitary  fact,  obseryed  by  a  careless  indiyidualf  and  which  may  hnye 
escaped  the  notice  of  other  obseryers,  however  acute,  may  suffice  to  upset, 
or  to  establish,  a  theory. 

For  BQj  part,  my  life  has  been  abundantly  diequered.  I  haye  mixed  in 
society  of  all  kinds,  high  and  low.  I  haye  read  mnch,  wrote  much,  and 
thought  a  little.  Very  little,  it  h  true,  but  still,  more  than  nine^tentlis 
ofpeoplewho  write  books.  I  am  stiH  tn  the  pribe  of  my  lift,  and,  I  be^ 
lieye,  m  the  yigour  of  my  intellect.  I  intend,  therefore,  to  write  down  as 
they  occur  to  me,  without  Imiding  myself  to  any  order,  whether  expressed 
or  understood,  any  general  reflections  that  may  occur  on  men  and  man*- 
ners,  on  the  moaes  of  thought  and  action,  on  the  hopes,  fears,  wishes, 
doubts,  loyes,  and  hatreds,  of  mankind.  It  is  probable  that  what  I  shall 
write  wfU  not  be  worth  reading.   I  cminot  help  that.   All  my  birgmn  is, 


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596  ^  Mwnmi  of  Mr  ODokeriy.  C^T* 

that  I  flhall  give  g^miiiie  reflectkm,  and  narrate  noHlhig  but  irhut  I  haf« 
seen  and  h^rd. 

I  was  one  day  in  the  Salopian  Coffee-bouae,  near  Cliaringj-Cross,  taking 
a  bowl  of  ox-tail  soup^  when  a  venerable  and  imposing-looking  gentleman 
came  in.  The  coffee-room  of  that  house  is  small>  and  it  so  happened  that 
every  box  was  occupied — that  is,  had  a  gentleman  or  two  in  it.  The  elderly 
gentlemaa  looked  about  a  little  confiis^^  and  everybody  in  the  room  gaaed 
at  him,  without  offering  him  a  share  of  any  table.  Such  is  the  politeness 
and  afiabilitY  of  the  English.  I  instantly  rose,  and  requested  him  to  be 
seated  opposite  me.  He  complied,  with  a  bow ;  and,  after  he  had  ordered 
what  he  wanted,  we  fell  into  conversation.  He  was  a  thoughtful  man,  who 
delivered  his  sentences  in  a  weighty  and  well  considered  style.  He  did 
not  say  much,  but  what  lie  did  say  was  marked  with  the  impress  of  thought 
I  found,  indeed,  that  he  was  a  man  of  only  one  reflection ;  but  that  was 
a  great  one.  He  cast  his  eye  solemnly  over  the  morning  paper,  which 
happened  to  contain  the  announcement  of  many  bankruptcies.  This  struck 
the  key-note  of  his  one  reflection.  *'  Sir,"  said  he  to  me,  laying  down  the 
paper,  and  taking  his  spoon  cautiously  between  his  Angers,  withoat  ma^ 
king  any  attempt  to  lift  it  to  his  mouth — "  sir,  I  have  now  lived  in  this 
wond  sixty-three  years,  through  at  least  forty  of  which  I  have  not  been 
a  careless  or  inattentive  spectator  of  what  has  been  passing  around  me; 
and  I  have  uniformly  found,  when  a  man  lives  annually  on  a  sum  Un  than 
his  year's  income — say,  five  hundred,  or  ^^e  thousand,  or  five  hundred 
thousand  pounds— for  the  sum  makes  no  difference — ^that  that  man's  ac- 
counts are  dear  at  the  end  of  the  twelvemonth,  and  that  he  does  not  nm 
into  debt.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  uniformly  found,  when  a  man  lives 
annually  on  a  sum  more  than  his  yearns  income — say,  five  hundred,  or  ^r^ 
thousand,  or  %.Ye  hundred  thousand  pounds — for  the  sum  makes  no  dif« 
ference — ^that  thai  man's  accounts  are  liable  at  the  end  of  the  twelvemonth 
to  get  into  confusion,  and  that  it  must  end  by  his'^running  into  debt. 
Believe  me,  sir,  that  such  is  the  result  of  my  forty  and  odd  years'  expe- 
rience in  the  world." 

The  oracular  gravity  in  which  this  sentence  was  delivered — for  he  paused 
between  every  word,  I  might  say  between  every  syllable,  and  kept  the 
uplifted  spoon  all  the  time  in  suspense  between  the  plate  of  mulligatawny 
^d  his  lip,  which  did  not  receive  the  savoury  contents  until  the  last 
syllable  died  away— struck  me  with  peculiar  emphasis,  and  I  puzzled  my 
bi*ain  to  draw  out,  if  possible,  something  equally  profound  to  give  in  re- 
turn. Accordingly,  after  looking  straight  across  at  him  for  a  minute, 
with  my  head  firmly  imbedded  on  m\  hands,  while  my  elbows  rested  on 
the  table,  I  addressed  him  thus: — "  Sir,"  said  I,  "  I  have  only  lived  thirty- 
three  years  in  the  world,  and  cannot,  of  course^  boast  of  the  vast  experi- 
ence wnich  you  have  had ;  neither  have  my  reasoning  faculties  been  exp 
erted  so  laboriously  as  yours  appear  to  have  been;  but  from  twenty 
years'  consideration,  I  can  assure  you  that  I  have  observed  it  as  a  gene- 
ral rule,  admitting  of  no  exception,  and  thereby  in  itself  forming  an  ex- 
ception to  a  general  rule,  that  if  a  man  walks  through  Piccadilly,  or  the 
Strand,  or  Oxford  Street — ^for  the  street  makes  no  difference,  provided 
it  be  of  sufficient  length^ — ^without  an  umbrella  or  other  defence  against  a 
shower,  during  a  heavy  fall  of  rain,  he  is  inevitably  wet ;  while,  on  the 
contrary,  if  a  man  walks  through  Piccadilly,  or  the  Strand,  or  Osdbrd 
Streetf — for  the  street  makes  no  difference— during  fine  dry  weather,  he 
runs  no  chance  whatever  of  being  wet  to  the  skin.  Believe  me,  sir,  that 
such  is  the  result  of  ray  twenty  and  odd  years'  experience  in  the  wcM-ld." 
The  elderly  gentleman  had  by  this  time  finished  his  soup.  "  Sir,"  said 

% 


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he, "  I  $ffm  whh  jmi.  I  UJm  to  hearratkMua  amrtrmOmi.  Be  m  godd 
M  to  giro  me  year  card*  Here  it  mke.  N«iiie  lui  early  day  to  ttae 
intk  me^^Waiter,  what's  to  t^y  ?*^Will  you,  sii^,  try  lay  ttmffip  I  take 
thlKy-Bereti.  I  wish  you,  sir,  b  good  morning."  So  daVidg,  he  quitt^ 
the  box,  leaving  me  to  ruminate  upod  the  disoorery  made  by  a  man  who 
bad  li?ed  sixty-three  years  in  the  wor|d,  and  had  observed  its  ways  for 
fiorty  and  odd  years  of  that  period.  I  thought  wiUi  myself,  that  I  too!» 
if  I  set  about  it  smously  to  reflect,  miffht  perhaps  come  to  something 
as  striking  and  original ;  and  have  aoooiaingly  aet  about  this  little  work, 
which  I  dedicate  to  your  kindness^  gentle  taMhr.  If  hdm  it  you  om 
extract  even  one  observation  oondueiVe  towirdi  dmUd^  yoil  a  better  Or 
a  happier  maQ««lhe  end  has  been  lOBwered  whidi  Wtts  pMMNd  le  hial. 
self,  by    '  ^  *^^^ 

Gentle  Reader, 

Your  most  obedient,  and  very  humble 

Servant, 

MoRaAH  Ot>0RBBTY. 

SaidpUm,  Ma^  1,  XfiU.    P.  T.T. 

^byfnl  jffrM. 

It  you  intend  to  drink  mudi  o^^  dinner,  never  drink  mudi  ai  dinner, 
and  particularly  avoid  mixing  wilies*  If  yio  begin  with  Sauteme  for  ex- 
ample, stick  to  Sauteme,  though,  on  the  whole,  red  wines  are  best  Avoid 
malt  liqtior  most  cautioualy,  for  nothing  is  so  4^  to  get  imo  the  head  -un- 
awans,  or,  what  is  almost  as  bad,  to  AU  the  stomach  with  wind.  Ch^impagm, 
on  the  latter  account,  it  bad.  Port,  three  glasses  at  dinner-— claret,  Wfe 
bottles  after— behold  the  fair  proportion,  and  the  most  excdlent  wines. 

iM«yi«  JNconlr* 

It  is  kkl  down  in  tehionaUe  life,  that  yon  must  drink  champagne  after 
while  cheeses  wslw  after  red.  This  is  mere  aonsense.  The  best  thing  to 
be  drunk  sfter  dieese  is  strong  ale,  for  the  taste  is  mote  coherent.  W/e 
should  always  take  our  ideas  of  these  things  from  the  most  constant  prsoti- 
tmers.  Now,  you  never  bear  of  a  drayman,  who  lives  almost  entirely  on  brepd 
and  cheese,  tmnldng  of  washing  it  down  with  water,  far  less  with  cham« 
papne.  He  knows  what  is  better*  As  for  champagne,  there  is  a  reason  against 
drmking  it  after  cheese,  which  I  eould  gite  if  it  were  deanly.  It  is  not  so, 
and  therefore  I  am  silent  conceminff  it,  but  it  is  true. 

N.  B.  According  to  anophthegm  ttie  first,  ale  is  to  be  avoided  in  case  a  wet 
night  is  expected— as  should  cheese  also.  I  recommend  ale  only  whm  there 
iano  dianoe  of  a  man's  gettkig  a  sldnfuk 

A  punster,  during  dinner,  is  a  most  inconvenient  animaL  He  should,  there- 
foce,  be  immediately  discomfited.  The  art  of  discomfiting  a  punster  is  this : 
Pretend  to  be  deaf,  and  after  he  has  committed  his  pun,  and  Just  before  he 
expects  people  to  laa|dk  at  it,  hep  his  psrdon,  anil  request  biro  to  repeat  it  a^ain. 
After  you  have  made  nim  do  this  three  times,  say,  O !  that  is  a  pun,  I  bdieva. 
I  never  knew  a  punster  venture  a  third  exhibition  under  similar  treatment.  It 
requires  a  little  nicety,  so  as  to  make  him  repeat  it  iu  proper  time*  If  wdl 
done,  the  company  laug^  at  the  punster,  and  then  he  is  ruined  for  ever. 

ifHsytni  ^oitttj^ 

A  fine  sincer,  after  diimer,  is  a  still  j_ 
This  we  psrdou  in  a  skng  or  drinkhw  r 
Vol.  XV. 


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'000  Maxims  of  Mr  ODoherty,  CMtf , 

'  horns  to  draw  on  more  bbttks  by  JoUil^ring  your  liott>  ib  thai  though  the 
supply  may  be  b1ow>  it  ia  more  copioua  in  the  end ;  Init  a  fine-aons-ainfler 
only  sertea  to  put  peoi4e  in  mind  of  tea.  You,  therefore,  not  only  loae  ue 
circulation  of  the  bottle  while  he  ia  getting  through  hit  crotcheta  and  qua« 
▼era,  but  he  actually  tends  to  cut  off  the  final  supply.  He,  then,  ia  by  all 
means  to  be  discouraged.  These  fellows  are  alwaya  most  insufferably  con* 
cdted,  so  that  it  is  not  very  easy  to  keep  them  down — ^but  it  ia  poesibk, 
nevertheless.  One  of  the  best  rules  is,  as  soon  as  he  has  sung  the  first  verae, 
and  while  he  is  taking  breath  for  the  aecond,  applaud  him  moat  vodferoualy^ 
aa  if  dl  was  over ;  and  aay  to  the  gentleman  fartheat  fixnn  you  at  taUe,  thst 
you  admire  the  conduaion  of  thia  aong  very  much.  It  ia  ten  to  one,  but  hia 
muaical  pride  will  take  afiront,  and  he  will  refiiae  to  aing  any  more,  ^px^  or 
muttering  aomething  aavage  about  your  want  of  taate  or  poutenesa ;  ior  that, 
of  course,  you  will  not  care  three  straws,  having  extinguished  him.  If  the 
company  press  him  to  go  on,  you  are  safe,  for  be  will  then  decidedly  grow 
restive  to  shew  hia  importance,  and  you  will  escape  his  aonga  for  the  rest  of  die 
evening. 

Or-^ter  he  baa  really  done,  and  ia  sucking  in  the  bravo  of  the  peof^  at 
table,  stretch  across  to  him,  and  say — You  suns  that  very  well,  Mr  -a-a-a,  very 
well  indeed — ^but  did  you  no/,  (laying  a  roost  decided  emphasis  on  the  fwt)  did 
you  not  hear  Mr  Indcdon,  or  Mr  Branam  (or  anybody  else  whom  you  think 
most  annoying  to  him)  sing  in  some  plav,  or  pantomime,  or  something  ?  When 
he  answers.  No,  in  a  pert,  snappish  style,  for  all  these  people  are  asses,  resume 
your  most  erect  posture,  and  say  quite  audibly  to  your  next  neighbour — So  I 
thought.    This  twice  repeated  is  a  dose. 

Brougham  the  politician  ia  to  be  hated,  but  not  so  every  Brougham.  In 
thia  apophth^im,  I  particularly  have  an  eye  to  John  Waugh  Brou^am,  Eaq. 
wine-mcTchant,  or  oimrwxor,  in  the  court  of  the  Pnyx,  Athens,  and  partner  of 
Samuel  Anderson,  Esq. — a  man  for  whom  I  have  a  particular  regard.  Thia 
Mr  Brougham  baa  had  the  merit  of  re-introdudng  among  the  ii/nxfim  of 
Attica  the  custom  of  drinkingTtii  de  Bourdeatix  from  the  tap — a  custom  which, 
more  especially  in  hot  weather,  is  deserving  of  much  commendation  and  dili- 
gent observance.  One  gets  the  tipple  much  cheaper  in- thia  way,  and  I  have 
found  by  personal  experience,  that  the  headache,  of  which  copioua  potation 
of  this  potable  is  productive,  yields  at  once  to  a  dose  of  the  SeidHtx,  whereas 
that  arising  from  old-bottled  claret  not  unfrequently  requires  a  touch  of  die 
Glauber — an  offensive  salt,  acting  harshly  and  ungenteelly  upon  the  inner 
Adam. 

A  Whig  is  an  ass. 

fRsiyim  Jtebmtjb. 

Tap-claret  tastes  best  out  of  a  pewter  pot.  There  is  something  solemn 
and  affecting  in  these  renewals  of  the  antique  observances  of  the  symposium. 
I  never  was  so  pleasantly  situated  as  the  first  time  I  saw  on  the  board  c^  my 
friend  Francis  Jeffirey,  Esq.,  editor  of  a  periotlical  work  published  in  Athens, 
a  man  for  whom  I  have  a  particular  rej^ard,  an  array  of  these  venerable  con- 
cerns, inscribed  '<  More  M^jorura."  Mr  Hallam  furnished  the  classic  motto 
to  Mr  JefiVey,  who  is  himself  as  ignorant  of  Latin  as  Mr  Cobbett :  for  he  un- 
derstood the  meaning  to  be  **  more  in  th^  jcrum,"  until  Mr  PiUana  eatpovmded 
to  him  the  real  meaning  of  Mr  Hallam. 

iHa;tm  (f  tglitjb* 

A  slory-lcUer  is  so  orteii  a  mighty  pleasant  fellow,  that  it  may  be  deemed 
a  difficult  matter  to  decide  whether  he  ou^ht  to  be  Rtopi»ed  or  not.     In  cmsc, 


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XaSi.]]  Marim4qf'Mr  ODoheriy.  (M)i 

however,  thai  it  be  reauired,  far  the  best  way  of  doing  it  Is  this :  After  he  h*s 
discharged  hisfirit  tste,  say  across  to  some  confederate,  (for  this  method  in- 
quires oonftideratesy  like  some  juggler's  tri<^,)  Number  one.  As  soon  ss  he 
ass  told  a  second,  in  like  manner  say.  Number  two;  perhaps  he  may  peroeiTe 
it;  and  if  so,  heirtops:  if  not,  the  very  moment  his  tnird  story  is  told,  laugh 
out  quite  kmd,  and  cry  to  your  friend — ^I  trouble  you  fbr  the  sovereign.  You 
see  I  was  right  when  I  betted  that  he  would  tell  these  three  stories  exactly  in 
that  order  m  the  first  twenty  minutes  afWr  his  arrival  in  the  room !  Depend 
on  it  he  is  mum  after  that. 

If  your  host  is  curious  in  wines,  he  deserves  much  encouragement,  for  the 
mere  operation  of  tasting  seven  or  eight  kinds  of  wine,  goes  far  towards  pouch- 
ing fbr  you  an  additional  bottle.  However,  it  may  happen,  that  he  is  be- 
oomiuff  a  bore  by  bamming  you  with  stuff  of  wine,  which  he  says  is  sherry 
of  God  knows  how  long,  or  hock  of  the  days  of  Xoah,  and  it  all  the  while 
dio  rinsing  of  wine-tubs.  That  must  be  put  down  with  the  utmost  seve- 
rity. Good  manners  will  not  permit  you  to  tell  him  the  truth,  and  rebel 
at  once  under  such  unworthy  treatment ;  but  if  you  wear  a  stiff  collar, 
d  Zd  Qeorge  Quatre,  much  may  be  done  by  turning  your  head  round  on  the 
top  of  the  vertebrae,  and  addng  him  in  the  most  cognoscefiti  style,  *'  Pray, 
sir,  have  you  ever  tasted  sheeraz,  the  favourite  wine  of  Hafix,  you  Imow  ?"— 
Perhaps  he  may  have  tasted  it,  and  thereby  defeat  you  by  saying  so;  in 
which  case  you  must  immediately  make  a  double  reserve  by  adding — '^  For 
it  always  puts  me  in  mind  of  that  fitmous  Chinese  wine  that  they  make  at 
Yang-pioo*tchoo-foo-nim-pang,  whidi  strikes  me  to  be  most  delicious  drink- 
ing.'^ If  you  beat  him  this  way  two  or  three  times,  by  mentioning  wines  he 
never  heara  of,  Qand  in  order  to  make  quite  sure  of  that,  it  will  be  best  to 
mention  those  which  never  were  in  existence,]]  you  will  oat-crow  him  in  the 
opinion  of  the  company,  and  he,  finding  his  popiularity  declining,  will  not  go 
on  with  any  farther  display. 

On  the  sul^ect  of  the  last  apophthegm,  it  must  be  remsrked,  Uiat  you 
should  know  that  the  most  fiimous  Rhenish  is  made  at  Johannisberg,  a  very 
small  fiinn,  so  smaU,  that  every  drop  made  on  it  is  consumed  by  the  pro- 
prietor. Prince  Mettemich,  or  given  awa^  to  crowned  heads.  You  can  al- 
ways dnmbfomid  any  panegyrist  of  his  Rhm^wine,  by  mentioning  this  cir- 
cumstance. *^  Ay,  ay,"  you  may  say,  **  it  is  pretty  passable  stuff,  but  it  is 
not  J(rfiannisberg.  I  lived  three  yesrs  ui  that  psrt  of  the  country,  and  I 
flatter  myself  I  am  a  judge." 

fitiyim  tf  Ubmtjb* 

The  reverend  £dward  Irving,  a  man  for  whom  I  have  a  particular  regarti, 
is  nevertheless  a  quack.  I  never  saw  so  horrible  a  squint — gestures  so  uu- 
eottth,  a  **  tottle  of  the  whole,"  so  abominable.  He  is  a  dandy  about  his 
hair  and  his  shirt  collar.  He  is  no  more  an  orator  than  his  countrymsn 
Joseph  is  a  philosopher.  Set  down  as  maxim  the  eleventh,  that  every  popu- 
lar preadier  is  a  goose. 

The  work  '*  De  Tribus  Iropostoribns"  never  had  any  existenee.— Well,  be  it 
so — I  intend  to  supply  this  deficiency  soon,  and  my  trio  shall  consist  of  Ned- 
dy Inring,  Joe  Hume,  snd  The  Writer  Tam.  Three  men  for  whom  I  have; 
a  partict&ir  regard. 

Poetry  does  not  sell  again  in  Enghmd  for  thirty  years  to  come.  Mark  my  words. 


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iOt  Mamms  of  Mr  OlkheHy.  QMty, 

No  MetryieU8tl|»reMB|,  except  Scott's  «idBpm'«5  tad  tlMit^^  Nooe 

0i  09ea  their  later  poenis  bave  sold.  Halido&HiU,  DanJvatn,  &^  &e.  are 
csamplet  of  what  I  mean.  Wordsworth'apoelry  ne?er  aold :  ditto  Soatbey's : 
Atto  wen  Coteridge's,  which  ia  worth  then  botk  pat  toaethor:  ditto  Joha 
Wilaon'a:  ditto  Lamb'a:  ditto  Lloyd's:  ditto  lii«  Bail&'a:  ditto  Boicra' : 
ditto  Cottle's,  of  whom  Canniog  singeth :— - 

^^  Oraat  CotUe,  noum  whom  th«  Edda  made  ikmoui, 
But  JottEFH,  of  Bristol— the  Bkotuer  of  Amot.** 

There  waa  a  pause  in  poetry-re^hig  fg<m  t^M  time  of  Pope  tiU  the  time  of 
Goldamith.  Again,  there  was  a  dead  stop  between  Goldy  and  the  appear- 
«iloei)f  the  Soots  Minstrelsy.  We  haye^ow  got  enough  to  Iseep  our  fimcyftom 
starvation  for  thirty  or  fcnrty  years  to  coipe.    {  hate  rq^tion. 

fiiLfiM  ^oiitlesit^ 

Poetry  is  Ilka  cburet,  one  ei\]oya  it  mily  «dien  it  ia  very  mw*  or  whan  it 
ii  Tcry  old. 

If  yott  want  good  porter  in  London,  you  mnst  alwmys  incpiire  where  tb^te 
it  a  stand  of  eoal-lwaTera.  The  gentlemen  tf  Iho  press  Have  voted  porter 
nnoenteel  of  kte>  after  the  manner  of  the  Tenth.  They  deal  cbieiy  in  gin 
and  wiaSei^  at  threepence  sterling  Uie  tnrabler ;  and  their  diief  resorts  are 
the  Wrekuiy  and  Offley's  Burton  alei.hou8e,  near  Ooftnt-Ganlen,  where  U9 
of  the  Trombone  and  I  have  oocosionaUy  amused  onraelvea  contenplatiaff 
their  orgies.  The  Fittish  is  a  pkoe  where  they  may  Also  be  seen  now  and 
thoHr-i  mean  the  mper  tanks.  The  Cyder  Cellar  I  do  not  admire— nor  the 
BeooiSrie  netther^-^t  okactrn,  i  jo»  govt. 

Hie  Londoners  have  got  a  great  start  of  the  provincials,  Irish,  Scotch, 
Yorkshite,  &c.  in  the  matter  of  dinner  bonra.  I  consider  five  or  evm  six 
o'ebck,  as  too  tuAy  for  a  man  deeply  engaged  in  bnsineiSf  By  dlbing  at- 
aofon  or  eight,  one  gains  a  whole  hour  or  two  oi  sobriety,  for  the  pnrfMs  of 
tranaaeting  the.more  serious  afikirs  of  life.  In  other  words,  no  mat  can  do 
aaythlBffbnt  drink  after  dinner;  and  thus  it  follows  that  ^  hiter  ono  di^ai^ 
the  lest  Ooes  one's  drinking  bresk  in  upon  that  vahiaUe  concern,  time^of  whkk 
whatever  may  he  the  case  with  others,  I,  for  one,  have  always  bad  mut  than 
of  money.  A  man,  however  busy,  who  sits  down  to  dumer  aa  «ight  stfih«t» 
may  ssy  to  himself  with  a  placid  conscienoe — Come,  mir  play  is  a  jewel— 
the  day  ia  over^— nothing  but  VttSlAg  unti)  btd*^e. 

IKsjrim  AebmtenKI^ 

John  Mnnay  ia  a  fieH-rato  fidlow  in  lus  way,  but  he  should  not  p^bKsh 
St  many  haddish  bodks,  written  by  gentlemen  and  bdles,  who  have  no^motit 
eiofps  Ihat  of  flgoriagin  the  elegant  ceterira  of  Mayi&ir.  There  aeeriit  to 
me  to  be  no  greater  impertinence,  than  that  of  a  man  of  finhion  pretending 
to  understand  the  resl  feelings  of  man.  A  Byron,  or  so,  appears  once  in  a 
hundred  years  or  so,  perhsps— but.  th^  ftW  ffyon  wss  alwsys  a  rxmf,  and 
had  seen  the  froth  foam  over  the  side  of  many  a  pewter  pot,  ere  he  attempted 
loaifigofChildeHoroljd'smeUncholiousmoodB.  A  inan  has  no  cototption  of - 
thotfue  sentimental  sadaeaft  of  the  poetic  mind,  unless  he  has  beeo  Mimd<unk 
onoo  vid  aoun,  mwing  teats  with  toddy,  and  tho  heigbo  wHh  dio  hicknp. 
MTbat  can  theae  dandiea  know  who  have  never  even  spent  a  eool  mosn^  m 
TheShadea?  Nogoodpoetry  waa  ever  written  by  a  character  in  silk  stodnngB. 
Hosg  writes  in  coiduroy  breodw  snd  Up  ft^^ts:  Colerii^  in  black  breedies 
and  grey  worsteds :  Sir  Walter  in  rig-ahd-Airrows  2  Tom  Moore  in  Connems- 


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TM^  dl  hii  imnd  lonp  IiiHa  ttttirtij  i  trrihrj  ^  Tr^fmT  Tflfrft*  tloiiiC«np« 
bcfi  wrote  Ids  old  tOln  bntheaded,  aod  widiout  Meehe9-*IUftler  Bann, 
on  the  contrary,  tOMUa  of  mtty  stocking  ptatalooDs,  and  a  scratdi  wig: 
Lord  Byron  weara  uiiMafiin  in  mte  of  Alinacka :  Allan  Cunningham  tppru 
a  leathern  apron :  WilliuB  WoRbwmh  rcjoioea  in  Telyeteena ;  and  Williion 
Glass  the  same.  It  is  long  since  I  have  seen  Dr  Soutbey,  hut  I  understand 
he  has  adopted  the  ptesent  fashion  of  green  silk  stockings  with  gold  dodn : 
Barry  Cornwall  wears  a  lawny  waiatooat  of  bmff's  yelv^  with  silver  frogs, 
and  a  sham  platina  chain  twiated  tbi«i^l|  two  button  holes,  Leigh  Hunt's 
yellow  breeches  are  well  known  :— Soavemy  own  WeUingtoni,  for  that  mat- 
ter. 

Lord  Bvron  recommends  bock  and  soda-water  in  the  crop-sickness.  My 
own  opinion  Ib  in  favour  of  five  drops  of  laudanum,  and  a  tea-^Mxmftd  of 
▼in^gsr,  in  a  tumbler  of  fair  ^ng  water.  Trv  this ;  although  much  may 
also  he  said  in  praise  of  that  maxim  which  Fielding  has  inserted  in  one  of 
his  plavB— the  Covent-Garden  Trafiedy^  I  think,— -videlicet,  that  "  the  most 
grateftu  of  all  drinks 

**  In  cool  tinall-beer  unto  the  waking  drunkard.*' 

Nothing  can  be  more  proper  than  the  late  parliamentary  grant  of  half  a  mil- 
lion for  the  building  of  new  churches. 

Whal  I  said  in  Maxim  Third»  of  atoppfaig  punsters,  must  be  uaderatood 
with  reservatioik  Puns  are  Drequently  protoeative.  One  day,  after  dinner 
Yith  a  Nsbab^  h#  im  giving  us  Madciia-^ 

London— East  Indis  ■  pkhed    psKicaht, 

then  a  second  thou^t  stmch  Idn^  and  hereOMmbered  that  he  had  a  fbw 
flasks  of  Constantia  in  the  house,  and  he  produced  one.  He  gave  us  just  a 
ff|aaa»<pi0ce«  W^  became  damoroua  ibr  another,  but  the  old  qni-hi  vraa  firm 
Ui  wdmL  '<  Well,  w^"  aaid  Svdner  Smith,  a  man  for  whom  I  hav«  a 
patjgnlar  reosrd,  ^*  mace  wo  can't  double  the  Cape,  we  must  e'en  go  bade  to 
Madcm."  We  aUku«M-^ovr  host  moit  of  iA--aiid  he  too,  luckily,  had 
hisjoke.  '' Be  oC  good  hope,  you  shall  dosble  it,"  a  wfaloli  we  all  kughed  still 
more  immoderately,  and  drank  the  second  flask. 

Whait  stuff  in  Mn  Hemanj^  Mias  B«daM,  fa.  &c  to  be  writing  plays 
aadifMal  There  It  no  sash  thiog  aa  fcm4t  genius.  The  only  good  thbigs 
thai  women  havo  wrUtm,  ato  S^pha^s  Ode  open  Phaon,  and  Madame  de 
Slael'a  Cetinne  I  and  of  ihaae  Owo  good  Aingsthe  inspiration  is  simply  and 
ctttii^.  Aai  ooejriDriOna  teling,  in  whieh,  and  in  which  alone,  woman  is  the 
Ofualofmaii.    Theyawandgnfatedly  mJHuas  pieees. 


Tbrnkajciadofniytlwlogical  Jaeabitism  going  j«Bt  now  which  I  cannot 


^ T)m  see  BhrrrCoanwidi,  and  otiMrgieatpoeta  of  his  calibre,  run- 
ning down  Jn|nt^  aad  ttie  existing  ikaasti  very  much,  and  bringing  up  old 


rthokgical  Jaeabitisin  going 

rr  Cosnwall,  and  other  great 

_  .  ttie  existing  dynaact  very  m „       ^ 

SaMumaMi  the  Titans.  Thia  they  do  in  order  to  shew  off  kaming  and  depths 
b«tlh^  know  nolhiig  after  all  of  the  sky  foda.    I  have  long  had  an  Idea  of 

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«0  i  Mojpifiu  <{f'  Mr  ODohcri^.  [IMaj. 

writing  a  ditfaynimbic  in  onler  to  ahew  thaie  fS^WB  how  to  UAioh  off  inyilio- 
Ipgy.    Here  is  a  earople — 

Come  to  the  meeting,  there's  drinkiog  and  eating 
Plenty  and  fiunoiu,  yomr  bcUics  to  cram ;  . 

Jupiter  Ammon,  with  gills  red  as  salmon. 
Twists  round  his  eyebrows  the  horns  of  a  ram. 

Juno  the  she.cock  has  harnessed  her  peaeock. 

Warming  the  way  with  a  drop  of  a  dram  ; 
Phohus  Apollo  in  order  will  follow, 

liig^ting  the  road  with  his  old  patent  flam. 

Cackdldy  Vulcan,  di^atdiing  a  full  can. 

Limns  to  the  banquet  on  tottering  l^am ; 
Venus  her  sparrows,  and  Cu^id  his  arrows. 

Sport  on  tti*  occasion,  fine  mfant  and  dam. 

Mars,  in  full  annour,  to  follow  his  charmer. 

Looks  as  ferodotts  as  Highlander  Sam ; 
Jocus  and  Comus  ride  tandem  with  Momus, 

Cheering  the  road  with  gibe,  banter,  and  bam. 

Madam  Latona,  the  old  Roba  Bona, 

Simpering  as  mild  as  a  fawn  or  a  lamb. 
Drives  with  Aurora  the  red*nosed  Signora, 

With  fingers  as  rosy  as  raspberry  jam. 

There  is  real  mythology  for  you  ! 

Hie  Engliah  really  are>  after  all)  a  mighty  'cute  people*  I  nerer  went  any« 
where  whoi  I  was  first  imported,  that  they  did  not  find  roe  out  to  be  an 
Irishman,  the  moment  I  opened  my  mouth.  And  how  think  ye  ?  Because  I 
used  at  first  to  call  always  for  a  pot  of  porter ;  whereas,  in  England,  they 
nerer  drink  more  than  a  pint  at  a  draught. 

I  do  not  agree  with  Doctor  Adam  Clarke's  translation  o£  ''I' HI  J,  in  Genesa. 
I  think  it  must  mean  a  ser^ot,  not  an  ourang-outang.  Bellamy's  Ophion  is, 
however,  a  weak  work,  which  does  not  answer  Clarke,  for  whom  he  ia  evident- 
ly no  match  on  the  score  of  learning.  There  is,  after  all,  no  antipathy  between 
serpents  and  men  naturally,  aa  is  proved  by  the  late  escperiments  of  Monsieur 
Neille  in  Amerioa. 

ifUMfiva  Cluftrty^tEftlb* 

A  man  saving  his  wine  must  be  cut  up  savagelv.  Those  .who  wish  to  Iceep 
their  expensive  wines  pretend  they  do  not  like  them.  You  meet  people  oc- 
casionally who  tell  you  it  ia  bad  taste  to  give  champagne  at4inner — at  least  in 
their  opinion — Port  and  Teneriflfe  heing  such  superior  drinking.  Some,  again, 
patronise  Cape  Madeira,  and  tell  you  that  the  smack  is  verr  agreeahle,  add- 
mg,  sometimes,  in  a  candid  and  patriotic  tone,  tlMt  even  if  it  weie  not,  it 
would  become  «#  to  try  to  bring  it  into  fiuhion,  it  being  the  only  wine  grown 
in  his  Migesty's  dominions. 

In  Ireland  and  Scotland  they  alwaya  smuggle  in  the  tumblers  or  the  bowl. 
Now,  I  hold  that  if  punch  was  raiaed  by  taxation  or  otherwise,  (but  Jupiter 
Ammon  avert  the  day  !)  to  a  guinea  a-bottle,  everybody  would  think  it  the 
balmiest,  sweetest,  dearest^  ami  moat  splendid  of  fluids— a  flnid  to  which 
King  Burffundy  or  Emptor  Tokay  themselves  should  hide  their  diminished 
heada,  and  it  is,  conseaueatly,  a  liquor  which  I  quaff  moat  joyously— ^ut  never 
when  I  think  it  brought  in  from  any  other  motive  than  mere  afibction  to  itsdf. 

11 


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18840  Mojiimt  of  Mr  OdoheHy.  0O5 

I  remember  dimng  one  day  widi  Lord  •»— ,  (I  mre  his  n«me^)  in  die  loiith 
of  Ireland,  and  my  firiena  Cbarky  Crofta  waa  alao  of  the  party.  The  daret 
went  lazily  roond  the  table>  and  nia  lordship'a  toad-eaters  hinted  ^t  they 
]neferred  punch,  and  called  fbr  hot  water.  My  lord  gave  in,  after  a  humbug 
diow  of  resistance,  and  whisky  punch  waa  in  a  few  minutes  the  order  of  the 
nig^t    Charley,  however,  to  the  annoyance  of  the  host,  kept  s?n]ling  awav  at 

the  claret,  on  which  Lord lost  all  patience,  and  said  to  him,  '^  Charley, 

you  are  missing  quite  a  treat— this  punch  is  so  exceUent" — ''  Thank  ye, 
my  lord,"  said  Charley ;  *'  I  am  a  plam  man,  who  does  not  want  tratea  I 
am  no  epicure,  ao  I  atid^  to  the  daret." 

When  a  man  ia  drunk,  it  is  no  matter  upon  what  he  has  got  drunk. 

He  sucks  with  equal  throat,  as  up  to  all, 

Tokay  from  Hungary,  or  beer  the  smaU.  Pops. 

The  great  superiority  of  Bladcwood's  Magazine  over  all  other  worita  of  our 
time  is,  that  one  can  be  allowed  to  speak  one'a  mind  there.  There  never  yet 
waa  one  word  of  genuine  unsophisticated  trudi  in  the  Edinburgh,  the  Quar- 
terly, or  indeed  in  any  other  of  the  Periodiads — ^in  rdation,  I  mean,  to  any^ing 
that  can  be  called  opinion  or  sentiment.  All  is  conventional  mystification, 
except  in  Ebony,  the  jewel,  alone.  Here  idone  can  a  roan  tell  smack  out 
that  he  is  a  Tory,  an  Orangeman,  a  Radical,  a  Catholic,  anything  he  pleases 
to  be,  to  the  back  bone.  No  necessity  for  conciliatory  mindng  and  paring  away 
of  one's  own  intellect.  1  love  whisky  punch ;  I  say  so.  I  admire  Worda- 
woith  and  Don  Juan ;  I  say  so.  Southey  is  a  humbug ;  well,  let  it  be 
said  distinctly.  Tom  Campbdl  is  in  his  dotage;,  why  conceal  9kfui  like 
this?  I  scorn  all  paltering  with  the  public — I  nate  aU  shuflling,  equivoea- 
ting,  trick,  stuff,  nonsense.  I  write  in  Blackwood,  because  there  Morgan 
.  ODoherty  can  be  Morgan  ODoherty.  If  I  wrote  in  the  Quarterly,  I  should 
be  bothered  partly  with,  and  partly  without,  being  conadous  of  it,  with  a 
hampering,  binding,  fettering,  nuUi^ng  sort  of  notion,  that  I  must  make 
myaelf,  pro  tempore,  a  bit  of  a  Gifford— and  so  of  everything  else. 

Much  is  to  be  said  in  favour  of  toasted  cheese  for  supper.  It  is  the  cant  to 
say,  that  a  Welsh  rabbit  is  heavy  eating.  I  know  tbia;  but  have  I,  really, 
found  it  to  be  so  in  my  own  case  ?^<^ertaiiily  not.  I  like  it  best  in  the  cenuine 
Welsh  way,  however — that  is,  the  toasted  bread  buttered  on  both  sides  pro- 
iiisdy,  then  a  layer  of  cold  roast-beef,  with  mustard  and  horse-raddiah,  and 
then,  on  the  top  of  all,  the  superstratum  of  Cheshire  thoroughly  saturated, 
while  in  the  process  of  toasting,  with  cwrw,  or,  in  its  absence,  porter,  genuine 
porter,  black  pepper,  and  shalJbt  vinegar.  I  niefil  myself  upon  the  assertion, 
that  this  is  not  a  neavy  supper  fox  a  man  who  Las  been  busy  all  day  till  dinner, 
in  reading,  writing,  walking,  or  riding— who  has  occupied  himself  between  din- 
ner and  supper  in  the  discussion  of  a  bottle  or  two  of  sound  wine,  or  any  equi- 
valent—and who  proposes  to  swallow  at  least  three  tumblers  of  something  not, 
ere  he  resigns  himself  to  the  embrace  of  Somnus.  With  these  proviaoa,  I  re- 
commend toasted  cheese  for  supper.  And  I  bet  half-a-crown  that  Kitchiner 
coincides  with  me  as  to  this. 


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606  Workg  Prepari$tgjbr  PMkdHon. 

WORKS  PREPAllllfG  FOR  PUBUCATIOK. 
LOimoK. 


HMty. 


Origlhal  Letters  of  Algenon  Sy^ey  to 
his  Father,  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  written 
daring  the  years  1659, 1660, 1661.  Edited, 
with  Notes,  and  a  short  Biographical  Me- 
tnoEr,  by  Rdbert  Willis  Blencowe,  M.A. 

A  Sketch  of  the  Siege  and  DestructioD 
of  Jenisalem  by  the  R(mians  under  Titus, 
A.D.  70 ;  with  a  finished  outBftt  QtOdad 
Plan  and  Key  of  Reference,  in  illustration 
of  Whichelo*s  large  picture,  U  fett  by  14, 
vepresenting  that  grand  but  devoted  City ; 
the  advance  and  assault  on  die  Tower  of 
Antonio,  which   protected  the  Temple, 

Srt  of  the  Temple  in  flames.  Mount  Zion, 
ount  of  Olives,  Oethsemeoe,  Mottlil  Ohl» 
▼ary,&c&c. 

Leiteni  on  jdis  JitdicMofiei  of  totiaod; 
md  on  the  Laws  of  Entail,  an4  those  re- 
gatding  the  Saimon  Fineries,  jtc.  |  with 
Uic  Act  of  Pacliame&t  lO  Geo.  3,  cap.  61 ; 
and  the  Act  of  the  Earl  of  Aberdeen,  re- 
garding Scotch  Entails. 

A  Reply  to  the  Article  in  Na  59  of  ^e 
/  Q<>*i'^^7  Reyiew,  on  Mr  Bdsham*s  Ex. 
/  position  o(  St  Paul's  EpisUes.  By  the  Au. 
thof  of  the  Expostlion. 
.  TheEmigraBt*sNotfr.BoOk»ndOuide; 
«rflh  .RoooUeniions  of  Upper  and  Lower 
CMada  dbring  ^  late  War*  By  Lieote- 
lUMM  Morgan^  H.  P.  2d  Batt.  Royal  M». 
rines. 

The  Commercial  Power  of  Great  Britian ; 
ezhibitinff  a  complete  view  of  the  Public 
Works  of  this  Country,  under  the  several 
heads  of  Strtets,  Roads,  Canals,  Aque* 
ducts.  Bridges,  Coasts,  and  Maritime  Ports. 
By  Charles  Dupio,  Member  of  the  tnstu 
tute  of  France,  &c  &c.  &c  Translated 
from  the  French,  with  Origfaial  Notes,  il. 
lustimtiTe  of  the  various  details. 

The  Life  of  j^iakespeare,  with  Essays 
on  the  Originality  of  lus  Dranoatic  Plots 
and  Characters,  and  on  the  Ancient  The^ 
tres  and  Theatrical  Usages.  By  Augustine 
Skittowe. 

Dr  G.  Smith  has  a  Work  in  the  Press  on 
Poisons,  forming  a  comprehensive  Manuel 
of  Toxicology. 

Sir  G.  T.  Hampson  is  preparing  a  short 
I'reatise,  endeavouring  to  pdnt  out  the 
Conduct  by  which  Trustees  will  be  exposed 
to  Liability. 

The  Second  Part  of  Pathological  Re. 
searches  in  Medicine,  by  J.  R.  Farre,  M.D. 
is  now  in  the  Press. 

A  Reply  to  the  authorised  Defence  of 
the  St  Katherine*s  Dock  Project ;  dedica. 
ted  to  the  Ri^t  Hon.  the  ChanceUor  of  the 
Exchequer. 

Mr  Bowdler  is  preparing  Gibbon's  His- 
tory of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  adapted  for  Families  and  Young 
Persons,  by  omission  of  Objectionable  Pas. 
isgcs. 


A  Gredk  GzanmMV,  translated  iN>^  tfie 
German  of  Dr  PhiHp  Blittmann,  is  in  tiie 
Press. 

The  Old  Arm-Chait ;  or,  JteeoUectioQa 
df  ft  Badielor ;  a  Tale.    By  Sexagenariua. 

A  ne^  Work  on  European  Scenery,  by 
Captain  Batty,  is  in  the  Press,  comprising 
il  sdebtiDii  ^  Sixty  of  the  most  picturesque 
ViewB  on  the  Rhine  and  Maine,  in  Bdgi. 
am  and  HolUM  tad  wiU  bePubMhed 
uniformly  with  his  French  and  Oermao 

«'  Our  Vniage,**  Sketches  of  Rural  Chn- 
tacters  and  Scenery,  by  Mary  Ruasel  Mit- 
iotd,  win  SDOtl  appear. 

Sir  Arthur  Clarke  has  In  the  Pnm  a 
PrMtkal  Manuel  ftnr  the  Pwaeiiftgiii  d 
Health,  and  lb*  Pvevcntion  if  DissMiil, 
incidental  to  the  Middle  and  Adwaed  ft. 
riods  of  Life. 

A  History  of  the  County  of  Dewn  is 
pr^aring  for  the  Press. 

Mrs  F.  Parkes  is  about  to  publish  a  Vo- 
lume, entitled.  Domestic  Duties,  oontamii^ 
Ihstruotions  to  Young  Married  Ladies  on 
the  Management  of  thor  Household,  and 
the  Regulation  of  their  Conduct  in  the  va. 
rions  RelatkNis  and  Duties  of  Married 
Life. 

Gesta  Romanomm;  or,  £attrtaliiilig 
Moral  Stories :  invented  b^  the  Monkk  is 
a  fire-side  recreation,  and  Commonly  ap- 
plied in  their  Discourses  from  the  Pu^: 
from  whence  the  most  celebratei  of  onr 
own  Poets  and  others,'  from  the  earhcst 
times,  have  extracted  their  Plots.  Trans- 
lated fhNn  ihe  Latin ;  with  Pidimhiary 
Observations  and  copious  Notes.  By  the 
Rev.  Charies  Swan. 

In  a  lew  days  wiU  be  Published,  TKe 
Difficulties  of  Infiddity.  Byd>eRev.  0. 
S.  Faber,  Rector  of  L<mg  Newtnk 

An  Apology  for  Don  Juan*  Cantos  I. 
and  II.,  IS  in  the  Press. 

Sir  Ridiard  Philips  is  preparii^  for  pub- 
lication Memoirs  of  his  own  lofe  and 
Times. 

Critical  and  descriptive  Accounts  of  the 
most  celebrated  Picture  GkUeries  in  Eng- 
land, with  an  Essay  on  the  Elgin  Mar- 
Ues. 

A  new  and  improved  edition  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Chamber's  Works  on  the  Decorative 
part  of  CivU  Architecture,  with  the  origU 
nal  Plates  in  imperial  folio,  and  the  text 
entire  in  quarto. 

The  Bride  of  Florence;  a  Play,  in  ^vt 
acts,  illustrative  of  the  Manners  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  with  Historical  Notes  and 
Minor  Poems. 

The  Human  Heart,  in  one  vohme,  will 
soon  appear. 

IdinJ,  a  Narrative  Poem,  is  now  in  the 
Press. 


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Works  pnparififf, fir  PuUkaHotu 


A  Sjftan  of  Oenenl  AnatoDj.  Bj 
W.  WaUue,  M.R.LA. 

A  Second  Edition  of  Toiler's  Sennons« 
with  a  Memoir  of  the  Author.  By  Ro- 
bert Han,  AM. 

Annaline ;  or.  Motive  Hunting,  a  No- 
Tel,  is  announced. 

In  the  press,  A  Prize  Essay,  upon  the 
following  question :  ^*  Wliat  are  the  best 
Means  of  rendering  the  Sources  of  Na- 
tional Wealth  possessed  by  Ireland  effec 
tual  for  the  Emuloyincnt  of  the  Popula- 
don  ?*'  Proposed  by  the  Royal  Irish  Aca- 
demy.  By  the  Rev.  R.  Ryan,  Vicar  of 
Radiconnd. 

A  New  Life  of  the  Rev.  John  Wesley, 
including  that  of  his  brother  Charles,  by 
Henry  Moore,  is  in  the  press. 

A  Parallel  of  the  Orders  of  Architec- 
ture, Grecian  and  Roman,  as  practised  by 
the  Ancients  and  Modems.  Illustrated 
with  66  plates,  drawn  and  engraved  in  out- 
line.   By  M.  Normand,  Architect. 

Mr  Pringle  of  Cape  Town  has  in  .the 
press.  Some  Account  of  the  Present  State 
of  the  Bnglith  Settlers  in  Albany,  South 
Africa. 

Shortly  wiU  be  published.  Ingenious 
Scruples,  chiefly  relating  to  the  observa- 
tion of  the  Sabbaih,  answered  in  Eight 
Letters,  forming  a  supposed  series,  from 
a  Father  to  his  Daughter.  By  Alida  Ca- 
therine Mant. 

In  the  press,  and  to  be  published  early 
next  month,  The  Wandenngs  of  Lucan 


#07 

and  Dinah,  an  Efuc  Romancet  in  Ten 
Cantos.  In  the  stanza  of  Spenser.  By 
M.  P.  Kavanagh.  ^ 

In  the  press,  and  shortly  will  be  pub* 
lished,  a'  Second  Edition,  and  greatly  im- 
proved, of  the  Young  Naturalist.  A  Tale  ; 
cakulaied  for  the  Amusement  and  Instrue* 
tion  of  Young  People.  By  Alida  Cathe- 
rine Mant.  In  one  volume  duodedmOt 
price  4s.  6d.  neatly  tialf-bound,  with  a 
beautifully  engraved  Frondspiece. 

In  the  press,  The  Three  Brothers,  or 
the  Travels  and  Adventures  of  the  Throe 
Shirleys,  in  Persia,  Russia,  Turkey,  Spain, 
&C. — Printed  from  original  MSS.  witn  ad- 
ditions and  illustrations  fhnn  very  rant 
contemporaneous  works ;  and  Portraits  of 
Sir  Anthony,  Sir  Robert,  and  Lady  Shir- 
ley, in  one  voL  8vo. 

Directions  for  Studying  the  Laws  of 
England,  by  Roger  North,  youngest  bro. 
ther  to  Lord  Keeper  Ouilfbrd.  Now  first 
printed  from  the  original  MS.  in  the  Har- 
grave  Collection ;  with  Notca  and  lUosba. 
tions,  bv  a  Lawyer,  in  a  small  8vo.  vol. 

Mr  Ventottillac,  the  editor  of  the  French 
Classics,  now  publisluDg  in  London,  hat  in 
the  press  a  Selection  of  Papers  from  Mr 
Youns*s  *^  Hermites,**  to  be  publish^  in 
Frenc£,  with  Notes,  and  a  Portrait,  and 
Life,  of  Mr  Young,  under  the  title  of  ^^  Le 
Pedt  Hermite." 

Also  a  Translation  into  French  of  Bi- 
shop Watson*s  Apology  for  the  Bible. 


EDINBURGH. 


The  Edinbmgh  EncydopiBdia,  or  Dic- 
tionary of  Arts,  Sciences,  and  Misce11»- 
tieous  Literature.  Conducted  by  David 
Brewster,  L.L.D.  F.R.S.  &c.  &c  Vol. 
XVII.  Part  L  wiU  be  published  in 
June. 

On  the  I  St  of  July  will  be  published, 
price  7s.  6d.  No.  I.  (to  be  continued 
quarteriy)  of  the  Edinburgh  Journal  of 
Science,  exhibiting  a  View  of  the  Pro- 
gress of  Discovery  in  Natural  Philoso- 
phy, Chemistry,  Mineralogy,  Geology, 
Botany,  Zoology,  Comparative  Anatomy, 
Practical  Mechanics,  Geography,  Navi- 
gation, Statistics,  Anth^uides,  and  the 
Fine  and  Useful  Arts.  Conducted  by 
David  Brewster,  LL.D.  F.R.a  Lond. 
Sec.  R.S.  Edin.  F.S.aA. 

A  Catalogue  of  the  Lords  of  Session, 
from  the  Institution  of  the  College  of 
Jusdce  to  the  present  dme;  the  Deans  and 
Faculty  of  Advocates  for  the  same  pe- 
riod ;  and  of  the  Keepers,  Deputy- Keep- 
eri^  Commissioners,  and  Society  of  Wri- 
ters to  his  Majes^*s  Signet,  from  the 
commencement  of  their  records  to  the 
12th  May  1824.  With  Historical  Notes. 
Vol.  2^V. 


Redgaontlet ;  a  Tale  of  the  Eighteenth 
Century.  By  the  Author  of  Waveriey, 
&c.     3  vols,  small  octava 

A  Tour  in  Germany,  and  in  some  of  the 
Provinces  of  the  Austrian  Empire,  in  the 
years  1821  and  1822.  2  vols,  small 
octavo. 

An  Account  of  the  Bell  Rock  Light- 
House ;  with  a  Circumstantial  Detail  of 
the  Operations  carried  on  during  the 
Progress  of  its  Erection,  &c.  By  Ro- 
bert Stevenson,  F.R.S.E.,  Civil  Engi- 
neer. In  royal  quarto.  Embellished 
with  Numerous  Engravings,  and  a  FVon- 
tispiece  from  a  drawing  by  Turner. 

*»*  This  Work  will  be  found  of  much 
practical  utility,  not  only  in  operattona 
of  a  similar  kind,  but  in  Marine  Archi- 
tecture in  general ;  afTordmg,  at  the  same 
time,  a  view  of  the  difficulties  to  be  en- 
countered and  overcome  in  condoding  a 
great  Natkmal  undertaking. 

As  only  240  Copies  of  this  interesting 
work  are  printed  for  Sale,  early  applica^ 
tion  for  Copies  will  be  necessary. 

The  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for 
1823,  1  vol.  ocUvo. 
41 


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The  Workfi  of  Jonathan  Swift,  D.  D. 
Dean  of  SC  Fbtrick*8,  Dublin ;  with  Notes, 
and  a  Life  of  the  Author.  By  Sir  Wal- 
ter  Soott,  Bart.  Second  Edition,  with 
considerable  additions.     19  vols.  Svo. 

History' of  Suli  and  of  Pai^  contain- 
ing their  Chronology  and  their  Wars, 
particularly  those  with  All  Pasha,  Prince 
of  Greece.  Written  originally  in  modem 
Greek,  and  translated  into  English  from 
the  Italian  of  C  Gherardini  of  Milan. 
Post  8vo.  Second  Edition. 

Memoirs  of  the  Lives  and  Characters 
of  the  Right  Honourable  George  Baillie 
of  Jenriswood,  and  of  Lady  Grisell  Baillie. 


By  their  Dangfater,  Lady  Morray  of  Stan- 
hope. Second  Edition.  1  voL  post  8vo.  7a. 

The  strong  and  general  interest  exci- 
ted by  the  First  Edition  of  these  Me- 
moirs, has  led  to  their  republication,  in  a 
somewhat  less  expensive  form. 

A  Poet*s  Lay  from  South  America  I 
vol  Foolscap.   Svo. 

A  Translation  from  the  German  of 
Goethe's  celebrated  Novel,  WUhelm 
Meister.  3  vols,  post  Svo. 

A  Second  Edition  is  nearly  ready  of  the 
History  of  Roman  Literature,  from  its  ear- 
liest Period  to  the  Augustan  Age,  by  J. 
Dunlop,  Esq. 


MONTHLY  LIST  OP  NEW  PUBLICATIONS 
LPNDON. 


BtniOOftAFHY. 

Longman  and  Co.'s  Catala(nie  of  Old 
Books,  Part  I.  comprising  a  Collection  of 
Works,  in  various  Classes  of  Literature, 
in  the  Greek,  Latin,  Italian,  French,  Spa- 
nish, and  other  Foreign  Languages.  F^ 
II.  comprising  English  Literature,  will 
be  published  shortly. 

Richard  Baynes's  General  Catalogue 
of  Books,  English  and  Foreign,  consist- 
ing of  an  interesting  Collection,  in  His- 
tory, Antiquities,  Mathematics,  Arts  and 
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6to  6 

94  Oto  95  0 

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48  0  to  50  0 

(h. 

59  0  to  56  0 

{    0to5S 

38  0to490 

Oto5C 

45 Oto  46  0 

nreekly  Price  ofStocke^from  let  to  2ld  AprU  1824. 
Id.  Sth.  15th. 


22d.  — 


Bank  stock,.. 
3  x>er  cent,  reduo 
3  per  cent,  consols,. 


3^  per  cenu  consols,.. 


4  per  cent  consols,. 
New  34  per  cent.., 
New  4  per  cent  consols,.. 
Imper.  3  per  cent. . 
India  stock, «.. 
bonds,.. 


Exdieqaer  bills,^ 


Exchequer  bills,  sm... 
Consols  for  aoc  .,..„.. 
Long  Annuities,*. 


944    I 


1071 

84  85  pr. 
56  67  pr. 
56  57  pr. 


Frcndi  5  per  centi. 


2444 

95^4 

96  i 

101} 

101J~ 

101} 

1071 

86  pr. 
59  55  pr. 
59  55  pr. 
WkH 
23  J 

101f:2dc 


245} 

96i  I 

102} 

lOOf 

102| 

102i 

108| 

300| 
78  pr. 

48  45  pr. 

48  45  pr. 
961^ 
23      I 

102f.35c. 


245^ 
95  4  ♦ 

1001 
JOl} 
10l| 
108} 
300^ 

84  pr. 
54  57  pr. 
54  57pc 
96U 


Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


619  Monthfy  Register.  QMsx, 

Coune  of  Exchange^  May  ll—Amstetdam,  12:  a.  C.  F,  Ditto  at  tight,  11  :  19. 
Rotterdam,  12  t  3.  Antwerp,  12  :  6.  Hamburg,  37 :  6.  Altona,  37  :  7.  Paris,  3 
d.  sight,  25  :  40.  Ditto  25  :  70.  Booideaux,  25  z  70.  Frankfort  on  the  Maine,  \bb\. 
Petersburgh,  per  rble.  9  :  3.  Ut,  Berlin,  7  :  10.  Vienna,  10 :  6.  ^ff.Jlo.  Trieste,  10 :  6, 
Eff.flo,  Madrid,  364*  Cadiz,  35$.  BQboa,  35}.  Barcelona,  35.  Seville,  354.  Gibral. 
tar,  30i.  Leghorn,  46}.  Genoa,  43}.  Venice,  27  :  0.  Malta,  45.  Naples,  38|. 
Palermo,  1144.  Lisbon,  50}.  Oporto,  51.  Rio  Janeiro,  49.  Bahia,  51.  Dublin,  9 1 
per  cent.    Cork,  9}  per  cent. 

Price*  of  Gold  and  Silvery  per  ox, — Foreign  gold,  in  bars,  £3  :  17  :  6d. 
New  Dollars,  48.  O^d.     Silver  in  bars,  stand.  4s.  1  l^d. 


PRICES  CURRENT,  May  a 


BWt 

Hid. 


swt. 

BWt. 

ovd. 

Did. 

ord. 
ora. 
mid. 


Jam.  Rum,  16  O.  P.  galL 
Brandy,  ...... 

Gaaera, 

Grain  Whiil^y,       .      . 
WINES, 
Clam,  UtOn>wtlif,hhd. 
Portugal  Red,         pipe. 
Spanidi  Wliite,        butt. 
TieneriA 


Madeira,  ...... 

LOGWOOD,  Jam.        too. 

Hooduraa,      .... 

Campaaehy,      .    .    . 
FUSTfC,  Jamska,  .       . 

Cuba,  ...... 

INDIGO,  Caraoeuflnc,  lb. 
TIMBER,  Amer.  Pine,  fooC 

Ditto  Oak, 

OulitianMuid  (duLpdd.) 

Honduraa  Mabogany,     . 

St  Domiiuo,  ditto,    .    . 
TAR,  Ameriean,  brL 

Archangel 

PITCH,  Foreign,         cwt. 
TALLOW.  Rus.  YeL  Cand. 

Home  malted,  .... 
HEMP,  Polish  Rhineb  ton. 

Petenburgh,  Clean,  .    . 
FLAX 

Riga  Thiea.  4t  Dth).  Rak. 

Dutdi, 

Iriih,       .       . 
MATS,  Archangel,       .     . 
BRISTLES, 

PetersbuTgh  Finta,   cwt. 
ASHES,  Peten.  Pearl,  .    . 

Montreal,  ditto,     . 
Pot, 
OIL,  WhaloL       .       tun. 

Cod,       ...      . 
TOBACCO,  Virgin,  fine,  lb. 

Middling,       .       .      . 

Inferior,       .       .       . 
COTTONS.  Bowed  Georg. 

Sea  Island,  fine. 
Good,      . 
Middling,      .     , 
Dcraenura  and  Berbioo, 
Wcat  India,  ,       . 

Pomambnco, 


LEITH. 

GLASGOW. 

LIVERPOOL. 

LONDON. 

57      to      60 

54 

57 

53 

54 

66 

57 

61 

64 

60 

62 

59 

60 

58 

67 

74 

80 

— 

•» 

70 

72 

68 

TO 

lot 

115 

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• 

1«7 
80 

112 

90 

90 

104 

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100 

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90 

98 

82 

84 

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90 

78 

80 

... 

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87 

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24    6 

25 

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16 

26 

27 

60 

70 

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40 

60 

52 

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88 

98 

59 

76 

ei 

72 

57 

97 

108 

120 

80 

95 

73 

96 

77 

105 

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50 

66 

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76 

67 

78 

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.. 

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— 

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100 

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71 

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55 
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^^ 

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£10 

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8    0 

8  10 

£%  10 

8  15 

£8  15 

9  "5 

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8  10 

9 

9    0 

9  10 

8 

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mm. 

9    5 

9  10 

10  — 

11    0 

7 

8 

mm 

mm 

8  10 

8  15 

6    0 

8    0 

9 

11 

^ 

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10  0 

10  10 

9 

10    0 

lOi 
t    4 
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2  6 

3  3 

— 

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11  6 

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1    3 

1     4 

0  11 

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1     1 

1    6 

3    6 

1    6 

3    0 

1    7 

2  10 

1    8 

1  11 

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16  0 

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14    0 

17   0 

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42 

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Digitized  by 


Google 


1984.0 


MmUhiff  RegMer. 


613 


MetsorOLOOICAL  Table,  extratUdfrom  the  RegUUr  kepi  at  Edlmburgh^  in  the 
Obtenmioryj  CaUamJiUi. 

H.^^The  ObMTTBtkjM  •»•  nwde  twiee  erwy  d«y,  •!  ntoe  oTclock.  f««^ 
BflOQ.— Th«  Moond  ObMrvalkm  in  the  Blkemooa,  in  U10  flnt  <x>li»nn,  it  Uken  by  the  lUgistex 


Froct  mora, 
day  variable. 
Frost  morn, 
day.  sunah. 

Ditto. 


Fair, 
and  mild. 

Ditto. 

Froct  mora, 
day  warm. 
Morn.  tun. 
day  dulL 
Fair,  with 
lunshine. 
Foren.  sun. 
aftern.  dulL 

DittOu 

Fair,  but 
dulL 

Dullfbren. 
rain  aftern. 
Dull  altera, 
show.  rain. 
Sttnsh.wllh 
show.  rain. 
Fair,  with 


Alphabetical  List  of  £koli8h  Baxkruptcies,  anDounoad  between  the  20th 
of  Much,  and  20th  of  April,  1824  s  eztncted  from  the  London  Gazette. 

Hole.  H.  Norwich,  draper. 

Hohnce,  J.  Dridmoad,  Lambeth,  broker. 

Hiiges,  J.  TTlligb^tmt,  Shoiediteb,  haber- 

Kent,  H.'Lawrenoe-l8ne,  oommisrioiKagent. 
Lewis,  C  T.  EMcy,  Okmesilenhire,  grocer. 
Lingarri,  J.  Maochcster,  merdiant. 
Luekei,  O.  YcovU,  bride-maker. 
Meeeoek,  E.  Utcipodl,  Uquor-merehant. 
Metcalfe,  J.  Thirsk,  Yorkshire,  linen-draper. 
Middleton,  M.  WolTcrhamptoo,  taltor. 
Mills,  W.  Bath,  oihnan. 
Murrell,  J.  Peckham,  coromiaskm-acent. 


Anethi,  W*  H.  Old  Broad-street,  merchant. 
Austin,  J.  Derooport,  linen-draper. 
Bannister,  B.  Southend,' drugalst. 
Barsar,  J.  Poole,  timber-roercnant. 
Beeston,  W.  Kilbum,  scitTcner. 


Binns.  T.  W.  Stockport,  coCton-eplnner. 
Birehley,  W.  Cheltenham,  grocer. 
Botttell,  R.  Wood-etreet,  Cbeapdde. 


Bowden,  T.  Stockport,  shopkeeper. 

Briee,  E.  Keward-mill,  Somersetshire,  mlllei; 

Bnmyet*  J.  Owiton,  Lincolnshire,  mUler. 

Borreil,  W.  Wakefleki,  merchant. 

Borgeis*  J.  Trowbridge,  ckKhier. 

Caloolt,  J.  Shorediteh,  diaper. 

Clark.  M.  Newmarket,  taUor. 

Claughton,  T.  Haydock  Lodge,  t^mmmmAimm^  gilt. 

manufacturer. 
Coulson,  S.  FalegraTe,  Yoikshire,  hone-dealer. 
Crosby,  W.  Myton,  Yorkshire,  merchant. 
Cross,  W.  Utrerpool,  currier. 
Desanges,  C.  S.  Golden«quare,.inerefaant 
DowelT,  T.  and  W.  C.  Brown,  Ironmonger-lane, 

wooUen-doCh  merchants. 
Down,  W.  T.  Malmesbury,  corn-flwtor. 
Ebbs.  J.  E.  Minories,  jeweller. 
Brans,  D.  Cannon-street  roed,  coal-merchant 
Flynn,  J.  Lirerpool,  earthenwanMleaier. 
Fax,  H.  Rotherfaithe-foad,  cwpcnter. 
Gardner,  J.  Poulton-by-the-Sands,  Laneuhire. 

Gilbert,  J.  George-lane,  BoCoMi-lane,  merchant 


Newport,  N.  Bathwtek, 

Norns.  T.  Bartholomew-dose,  ooach-maker. 
Parkes,  M.  HoUy-hall,  Woioealarshlro,  ffint^laia 

manufbrturer. 
Parsons,  W.  Reading,  plasterer. 
Penkett,  W.  and  L.  M'Kinnon,  Urerpool.  mer- 


PettiMall,  W.  D.  Yarmouth,  flsh-mnrhant 

PhiOips,  W.  Bristol,  linen-draper. 

ff,  J.  and  W.  MirHeld,  Yorkshin,  eon- 


FMitiag.  T. 

dresser. 
Price,  J.  Stepney,  undertaker. 


iTcr- 


Gllptai,  J.  J.  Wcstbury,  Wiltsfiire,  surgeon. 
-"     -     n,0.  Little  ^1 


Oillingham,  O.  Little  Pancraa-street,  near  Totten- 
ham Court-road,  stoneHooason. 

Gnnther,  E.  Beaumontetreet,  Mary-le-bone,  ho- 
sier. 

Hagger,  J.  St  Mur-le-bone,  carpenter. 

Hamilton,  G.  F.  Thames  street  merdiant 

Hammond,  E.  Great  Bentley*  Essex,  innholdcr. 

Harrison,  W.  and  C.  New  Skaford,  Lincohishira. 

Hattoo,  R.  and  J.  Jaekaon,  PouUon-with-Feai- 
head,  Lancashire,  soap-makers. 

Henderson,  G.  Maiden-lane,  warehouseman. 

Hassall,  R.  Binningham,  bUKkamith. 


Digitized  by 


Google 


614 


MonthUf  Regiiier. 


CMay, 


Alphabxtical   List  ot  Scotch  Bankjivptciss,  annoaneed  between  tbe  lac 
and  30th  of  April,  1824,  eztiacted  from  the  Edinburgh  OaJEette. 

Falkirk  Unkm  Bank,  the;  a  diTidcad  after  SOfh 
Aprfl.    . 

Oreenhfll,  Jamee,  merdMia  and  oam-deakrte 
Newbunli  \  a  diTidend  10th  Mev. 

HiU.  Peter.and  OvbookMlkn,  | 


Anan,  Oeone,  baker  and  innkeeper  fai  FVndiie, 

Fifeahire. 
Andenon  and  Murphy,  manttlketaren,  Palrief . 
Coudn,  Jamei,  silk  and  cotton-yam  merdiant, 

Falaley. 
Key,  Jamei,  print-teller  and  carrer  and  gilder, 

Edinburgh. 
Mackay,  Alexander,  merchant  in  Helmadale,  in 

Sutheriandshlre. 
NeiUon,   Andrew  and   Midiael«  whoteaale  tea- 

dealen  in  Olaagow. 

1)IVIDENDS. 

Fergoioa,  Alexander,  junior,  sheep  and  cattle* 
dealer  at  Corridoa ;  a  diTidend  18th  May. 


Kirkwood  and  NeUson,  i 
goir ;  a  dividend  27th  M^. 

M'Ewan,  James,  rope-rndtar  In Rertfai  a  diri- 
dend  S7th  ApriL 

Thomson,  Andrew,  sfaip^vinicr  in  Weaaym;  a 
diTidend  4th  Mey.  ' 


8  Dr.O. 


14  Dr. 


IF.CMI. 


Coklst.G. 


IF. 


IS 


23 

2i 


«7 
34 


38 


APPOINTMENTS,  PROMOTIONS,  &c 


Sitnr.Pefloocke,ftom79F.Sunr.Tiee     49  F. 

liIaxBden,  h.  p.  S5  llar.l8S4* 

Capt  Hon,  G.  Anson,  from  14  Dr        44 

Mai.  tnr  purch.  Tiee  Lt.  Col.  Head, 

ret.  1  Apr. 

Lt.  J.  W.  Gage,  Capt.  by  porch,  rice 

Anson,  7  I>r.  Gds.  do.       46 

Cor.  Baker,  Lt.  do. 

WillUm  MaxwcU,  Cor.  da 

Lt.  Hudson,  Lt  and  Capt  by  purch. 

vice  Ellison,  prom.  15  do. 

8ir  R.  A.  Anstruther,  Bt,  Ens.  and 

Lt.  do.      48 

Capt.  Hon.  R.  Moore,  Capt  and  Lt 

by  purch.  Tiee  Col.  Acheson,  ret.      49 
Ido. 
Lt  Hon.  H.  Dundas,  Lt.  sod  Cant 

Hoe.  J.  Hope,  Ens.  and  Lt        8  do. 
Ens.  Mullen,  AiU.  vice  RusseU,  les.      &S 

Adj.  only  do. 

Capt  Lawson,  from  2  F.  Capt  vioe 

KeU,  h.  p.  16  F.  rec.  difl:        1  do. 
Lt  Lonsdale,  A^).  vice  Gregg,  res. 

A<U.only  fffMar.      54 

Quar.  Mast  Seri.  Siropeon,  Quar. 

Mast  vice  Lambert,  deed    15  Apr.       59 
Capt  Taylor.  Mi^*  ^J  purch.  vice  Lt 

Coi.  Lumbert,  ret  1  do. 

Lt  Watkins,  Capt  do. 

Ens.  Lowth,  Lt  do* 

A.  Ogle,  Ens.  do. 

Ens.  Adams,  Lt  by  purch.  vice  Lane, 

ret  11  Mar.      « 

G.  J.  Crosbie,  Ens.  do. 

Mai.  Fits  Clarence,  Lt  CoL  by  purch.       6t  F. 

vice  Hunt  ret  1  Apr. 

Bt  Ma).  O' Kelly.  Mai.  do.       67 

Lt  Bloomfield,  Capt  do. 

Ens.  and  Ac^.  Doyle,  Lt   •  da      71 

C.  La  Touch,  Ens.  da 

Capt  Bygrave,  from  h.  p.  16  F.  Capt 

(paying  dilT.)  vice  Lawson,  S  F.  da 
Lt.  Clinton,  from  h.  p.  IS  F.   Lt       73 

viceWigley.  73F.  8  da 

Surg.  Wefd,  from  h.  p.  67  F.  Surg. 

vice  Dunn,  h.  p.  is  Mar. 

Capt  lion,  C  T.  Monckton,  from 

Cape  Corps,  Capt.  vice  Gill,  h.  p. 

27  F.  '  da      ^ 

Ens.  Grier,  from  h.  p.  R.  W.  I.  Rang.      78 

Ens.  vice  Spencer,  73  F.     15  Apr. 

—  Montgomerie,  Lt  vice  Shaw, 
dead  11  Blar.      79 

Hadwin,   Lt   by  purch.  vice 

Crawford,  ret  18  da       83 

E.  Brodrick,  Ens.  U  da 

W.  T.  P.  Shortt,  Ens.  by  purch.      89 

18da 
Hosp.  Ass.   Scott,  Ass.  Surg,  vioe      92 

Lindsay,  prom.  da 

Lt  Mathews,  Capt  vice  Willshire,  46 

F.  15  Apr.      94 

Mai>   Kirkwood,   from.  h.  p.  New 

Bruns.  Fen.  Maj.  vice  ChamWUin, 
eanc.  18  Mar. 


M.  Lnshiurton,  Ens.  by  ponh.  vice 

CapriTlLilie  Gda.  11  da 

Lt  Paton,:frPOm  67  F.  Lt  vice  Nixon, 

dead  12  Get  182S. 

H.  L.  Layard,  Bna.  vice  Gilbert,  dead 

13  Apr.  1824. 

Mat  Ogilvie,  Lt  CoL  viee  MoUe, 

dead  lOScpt.1823. 

Bt  Lt  Col.  'WiUshixe,  fkom  38  F. 

MaJ.  da 

Ens.  Vario,  from  59  F.   Em^  vk» 

Drew,  67  F.  12  Oct 

Lt  M<PhenQn,  from  h.  p.  42  F.  Lt 

vice  Boultbee^  eanc.  26  Mar.  1824. 
Ens.  de  Lisle,  Lt  by  pureh.  vice  Se- 

well,  prom.  11  Feb 
S.  Nuttal,  Ens.  da 
Rice,  Ens.  by  purdi.  vice  Mur- 

ray.  ret  16  Apr. 

Bt  Ma).  M<CaskiU.  Mai-  by  purch. 

vice  Lt  CoU  Ingleby,  ret  11  Mar. 
Lt  Silver,  Capt  da 

Ens.  Uttle.  Lt  da 

P>  Hill,  Ens.  da 

Ens.    KeUy,    Lt  vice   Holt,   deed 

10  Aug.  ins. 

Pitman,  Lt  vice  Campbell,  dead 

25  Mar.  1824. 

W.  FuUer,  Ens.  da 

J.  Peaoocke,  Ens,  vice  Varlo,  46  F. 

13  Oct  182S. 

Lt.  Douglas,  from  h.  p.  93  F.  Lt  vice 

Wolfe,  98  F.  8  Apr.  1824. 

— — >  Singleton,  Capt  by  purai.  vioe 

Bt  MaJ.  Sweeny,  ret  15  da 

Ens.  Brooktf,  Lt.  15  Apr.  1824. 

F.  K.  Bouverie,  Ens.  do. 

Ens.  Drew,  from  46  F.  Lt  vice  Paton, 

44  F.  12  Oct  1823w 

—  Woodward,  Lt  by  purch.  vice 

Torriano,  ret  4  Apr.  1824. 
Lard  ElphtaMloae,  from  99  F. 

Ens.  da 

Lt  Wigley,  from  SO  F.  Lt  vice  Rey. 
*'i,h.p.l2F.  8  da 

lonnor,  Capt  by  porch,  viee 

"*£ 

n  27  F.  Ena.  14  da 

<  15  da 

]  by  porch,  viee  Bt 

et  da 

1  U  da 

i  in  h.  p.  Surg,  viee 

Qds.  24Mar. 

t.  Qua.  Mast  viee 

SSeptlSIlL 

.  vice  Nayior,  rse. 

S6inBe 

vice  Clarke,  dead 

25  Mar.  182S. 

J.  Moflkt,  Ent.  da 

Ens.  coward,  A^L  vice  WKIta.  rss. 

Adj.  only  8  Apr* 

Dep.  Ass.  Con.  Geo.  Lokhi,  fton  h. 

p.  Paym.  da 

17 


nolds,) 
—  con 


Digitized  by 


Google 


97F. 


j4jB}Mfiifm<^7t,  PromoUmBf  ^r. 


Cipt  CoKliiint,  ftomh.  |k  WeK«lK> 
It.  Caf^  vice  Innet,  cwc  S5  Mar. 

Lt.  M'lnUNh,  from  h.  p.  88  F.  At^* 
•ndLt  4II0. 

Staff  Seij.  Dodd,  Qua.  Mait         do. 

At.  Sarg.  Auftiiit  from  h.  p.  01 F.  Aa. 
Surg.  1  Apr. 

98  Lt.  WoMSifttiai  59  F.  Lt  vke  Brum- 

mond,  cane.  S5  Mar. 

— -  SteTCns,  from  h.  p^  60  F.  A<^J. 
and  LC  (repaying  the  dUt  be  re- 
ceived oo«cn.toh2p.)^      do. 

deri.  M^)>  GuKey»  from  Staff  Coipe* 
Qoar.  Mait.^  do. 

Aa>  Sttig.  Amutroog,  from  K.  p.  Afr. 
Corp*.  As.  Sun.  1  Apr. 

99  LC  Borke,  from  b.  p.  i4  F.  Ad),  and 

Lt.  «?Mar. 

S.  W.  Mayne,  Ens.  by  pordu  vice 

Lard  Blpbiiistone,  71  P.       1  Apr. 

A.  Forbes,  late  Colour  Serg.  in  R. 

Aft.  Qua.  Mast  %  Mar. 

As.  Surg.  Williams,  from  b.  p.  95  F. 

As.  Snig.  1  Apr. 

1  W.  t  R.  Capt  Hall,  from  h._p.  SI  F.  Capt 

▼ice  Abbot,  1  Vet  £.  do. 

t  Ens.  M*Pherson,fromb.p.En8.vice 

Hanna,  1  Vet  Dn.  8  do. 

—  Didbnsoa,  from  b.  p.  5  Gar.  Bn. 

Ens.  15  do. 

CapeC.  (IfifJ  Capt  Batty,  from  b.  n.  97  F.  Capt 

vice  Monckton,  S4  F.  18  Mar. 

1  Vet  Bn.  Capt  Macdougall,  from  b.  p.  61  F. 

Capt  vice  RanMay,  cane.      1  Apr. 

Abbot,  from  1  W.  I.  R.  Capt 

vice  CanqibeU,  b.  p.  91  F.         da 
it  Sbedden,  from  b.  p.68  F.  Lt  v1c« 
M'Oregor,  ret  list  8  do. 

Ens.  PIHcmgton,  from  b.  pb  York  Lt 
Int  VoL  Ens.  vioe  Rennidc,  ret 
list  do. 

Harna,  from  S  W.  L  R.  Ens. 

vice  Orabam,  99  F.  do. 

9  Lt  Agnew,  from  b. j».  MaeMao^  Rec. 

Co.  Lt  vice  Mime,  cane.        do. 

Wdb,  from  S  W.  I.  R.  Lt  vice 

Small,  b.p.  do. 

3  ■       Drumniond,  from  b.  p.  98  F>  Lt 

vice  Janns,  ret  list  1  da 

Unattached. 
BtMi^.  Elllsoa,fromOraa.Gds.Lt. 
CoLoflnf:  by  purdu  vice  Ma|.  Gen. 
lyArcy,  R.  Kn^bym,  ret  15  Apr. 

Lt  NicoUs,  from  7  Dr.  Gds.  Capt  of 
a  Corap.  by  pureb.  vice  Bt  M^). 
Claika,  R.  Mar.  xet  94da 

GarrU&n. 
Msj.  Geo.  VInoent  Lt  Gov.  of  Don- 
barton  Castle  Tioe  Mid.  Gen.  Fc0- 
rier,  dead  15  Apr.  1824. 

Ordnance  Department. 
Bt  M«|.  lUld,  from  b.  nw  9d  CnC 
Is  Mar.  18x4. 
1st  Lt  Brisooe,  from  b.  p.  1st  Ltda 
9A  Lt  Stotherd,  1st  Lt  da 

Gmt  Cadet  O.  Boeeaweo,  Sd  Lt  96 
dOb 

Hosniial  Staff: 

Looal  Imp.  TtfiuUJmpKltai  15  Mcr. 

18S4. 

Staff  Suzf.  KtedeU,  from  h.  p.  Sm^ 

vice  Brown,  b.  n.  do^ 

Ais.  Sufg.  Kennedy,  from  b.  p^  W.  I. 

'     " —  da 


R.  Eng. 


Rang.  As.  Sun. 

Hosoi.  Aa.  Brydon, 

MhMon,daHl 


16  d 


A.  Esson,  Hosp.  As.  vice  Brydon  da 
J.  Henncn,  da  vioe  James,  dead  do. 


Exchanfrei, 
Bt  Col.  Qnenite,  from  10  Dr.  rae.  diff.  between 
fMI  fay  Cav.  and  Inf.  o^  witb  Lt  CoL  Wybd- 
bam,  b.  p.  19  Dr. 
■ft  Lt  Col.  Smytb,  from  Vi  F.  da  wiA  Major 
Cafttkbael,b.p.HF. 
Vol.  XV. 


61< 

Maior  JoboilODe,  from  M  F.  vrfib  mafbrOmdM. 

«r.  h.  p.  60  F. 
Bt  M^  HInde,  from  65  F.  wifQi  Bi«v.  Oo).  Flsr. 

Forbes,  b.  p.  Meuron's  R. 
Capt  Reed,  fram  19  Dr.  with  Capt  GMlaaa,  9i 

*  -  Comoy,  from  16  F.  with  Capt  Williams, 

Marshall,  from  63  F.  wtth  Oipt  Knight^ 


«9F. 

L 

h.  p. 


Richardson,*  from  75  F.  with  Capt  Bruoe, 

89  F. 
Lynch,  from  «4F.ree.diCwlthOspt  Mb- 

berly,b.p.lOOF. 
«—%e  Barr^mer,  from  BS  F.  with  Cftpt  Muf. 

rltx,  h.  p.  89  F. 
Lieut  RuMdl,  from  1  F.  with  Lieut  Crisp,  h.  p. 

87  F. 
Schiel,  from  15  F.  with  Lieut  Thomas^ 

Voung,  from  17  F.  witti  Lktat  BiownK 

44  F. 
Sargent  from  41 F.  with  Lieut  BonltbM^ 

69  F 
Taylor,  firom  75  F.  rec  dilL  with  Lieut 

M*Queen,  b.  p.  60  F. 
-.^^  Armit  from  94  F.  with  Lieut.  Keogh,  h.  p. 

57F, 
^  Ramm,  from  96  F.  with  Lieut  Wall,  h.p. 

94  F. 
Comet  Stepney,  from  7  Df .  G.  rec.  diff.  with  fd 

Lieut  Dankd,  b.  p.  Rifle  Brig.       ^  ^  _ 
DiUon,  from  1  Dr.  rec.  diC  with  Comet 

Hibbert  b.  p.  8  Dc  G. 
Paym.  CameroS,  from  79  F.  with  Opt  BHi^m, 

II.P.5F. 
Surg.  Bamfield.  flrom  81  F.  with  Soig.  Shoeland^ 

h.aMeuron^Regt  \  ^        __ 

As.  Suig.  Foote,  fh>m  17  F.  with  As.  Soig.  Mai». 

tinddte,  b.  p.  67  F. 
Vet  Surg.  Price,  from  17  Dr.  with  VW.  8«i«. 

Sndlh,  li.  pw  R.  Art.  DIriv. 

RetignatUmamid  RctUrcmcntt. 
Mai.  Gen»  D'Arcv,  R.  Eng. 
OoC  Acbcson,  CoMst  Gds. 
Lieut  Cot  Head,  7  Dr.  G. 

Ingkby,  53  F. 

Lambert,  9  F. 

.  Hunt  11  F. 

MiO*  Sweeney,  69  F. 

M8ite)d,78F. 

darkcR.M. 

Capt  Pike,  78  F. 
Lieut  Lane,10F. 
■  Crawford,  84  F. 

Torriano,  71  F. 

Ens.  Murray,  51  F. 

Appdntnmttt  Caneelkd. 
M^.  Chamberlain.  40  F. 
C^it  Innei97F. 

Rarosay»  1  Vet  Bn. 

Lieut  Boultbee,  48  F. 
'  Drammond,98  F, 

Mitoe,9YetBn. 

Deaths. 

Ueut  Gen.  Mooto,  Emt  India  Cbmp.  Serr.  Bv- 

bampore,  _^         4  Sept  98* 

BtrD.  MafshdL  kLCJH  da  Cawn. 

pore  ^^      ^       20  July. 

M^.  Gen.  Fttiler,  Lt  GOV.  of  Domtartata  Castle, 

Dumbarton  6  Apr.  94. 

-^ Q,  Xk/fmaa,  East  Indte  Oomp.  Scrv. 

9da 
>  nands  Stew«rt9ate  of  1  Ceylon  Regt 

'  w  *^  *>• 

Ool.  Harwood,  b.  p.  19  Dr.  Apr.  94. 

Madden,  late  of  15  F.  da 

Bingham,  Dorset  Militia  da 

Dixon.  1  W.  York  da  da 

Lieut  CoL  Nixon,  44  F.  Dtespore,  Bengal.  6  Nov. 

28. 
■  BelHs,  Ettt  India  Comp.  Serv.  Oxted. 


*— CoilebR>oke,daonboardihtp  19  Oct 

Cumberlcge,  da 

HiU,  late  or  R.  Mar.  Bath. 

Capt  Read,  88  F.  Berbampore,  Bengal,  98  Oct  f8. 

— —  Bpaorfcs,  R.  Afr.  CKAcnm  Cm,  C»pe  of 

Good  Hope  ^  Jan.  94. 

4K 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


616 

CapC.  J.  OgAen  Buckley,  h.  fu  IS  D  . 

---—  MoRiaon,  of  late  1  Vet.  Bo.  13  Apr. 

HierUhy,  h.  p.  Newfoundlaad  Fcne.  Aati- 

gooidi,  Nora  Scotia  18  Nov.  S2. 

Lieut  RoChe,  13  F.  on  River  Ganges. 

Lawe,  46  F.  Belgaum,  Bfadrni  SO  Oct.  23. 

CampbeU.  S9  F.  Turaalt,  AigylediiKe. 

OaAe,  92  F.  Jamaica  25  Jafi.  24. 

Sanden,  R.  Bog.  Cheltaiiliani        12  Mar. 

Goodwin,  late  9  Vet  Bn.  BaUina,  Iielaad 

17  do. 
^—  Madceniie,  do.  Afir. 

M*lnto«h,  li.  p.  25  Dr. 

— ^  Tavkur,  do. 

— — ^  Robinaan,  h'  ]^31  P*  Cowet  22  Feb. 

— >  Elinore,  h.  p.  72  F.  Seeuiidenbad«  Madras 

15  Dec.  23. 
-: Stewart,  h.  p.  82  F.  Sudbury,  Middlewx 

28  Feb.  24. 
-^—  Steven,  h.  p.  83  F.  Edinbur^,  13  Mar. 
^— Maclean,  or  late  Vet  Bn.  Cock  1  Apr. 
Cor.  Trade,  ;.h.  p.  R.|Wagg.  Train,  BruxeUea 

21  Mar.  24. 

2d  Lieut  Church,  h.  p.  Rifle  Br.  wrecked  near 

Holyhead  5  Feb.  24. 

Kb*.  Campbdl*  91  F.  Fort  Augusta,  'Jamaica 

10  Feb.  24. 


AppoitUmeiUs,  PromoHomif  ^r. 


LMay, 


Ens.  Wright,  late  IS  Vet  Bikieiaeye.    7  Felk  24. 

Simmoods,  b.  p.  31  F.  Kitenllcn,  KiMare^ 

Ireland  2  Jan. 

Paym.  Neyland.  16  Dr.  Cawnpoce,  Bengal  29  Oet 

23. 
Quae  Mast  Lambert,  7  F.  Chatham    II  Apr.  24. 

HaU,  83  F.  Ceykm  18Se|>t2S. 

Gillespie,  tete  of  29  F.  Wmdsor 

17  Feb.  24. 

^-— «—— ^  Robertson,  h.  p.  Argykshire  Fea. 

Cav.  edoL 

Medical  DepartmenU 

Batt.  Surg.  Curtis,  Gien.  Gds.  London  25  Apr.  21. 
Staff  Surg.  Morse,  h.  p.  Bath 

• Doughty,  h.  p.  London  12  Apr. 

Suig.  Price,  \t  F.  Gibralter  12  Mar. 

Morrison.  90  F.  Malta  1  Fek. 

^—  Fearon^  h.  p.  40  F. 

Balfour,  h.  p.  2  Vet  Bn.  Durham  22  Mar. 

Staff  Aa.  Surg.  Ligertwood,  h.  p.  Aberdeen  4  Apr. 
As.  Surg.  Johnston,  h.  p.  60  F. 


Curtis,    late  21   Vet 


Hosp.  As.  M'Nelce. 


Bn.    Haekney 
S0Dea2& 


BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


BIRTHS. 

Aug.  19, 1823.— At  BkooJ,  the  Lady  of  Lieut* 
Cokmd  Maconodiie,  Hon.  East  India  Company's 
lerviee,  of  a  son. 

8ept,  26.  At  Padang,  East  Indies,  Mrs  William 
Purvis,  of  a  son. 

Nov.  26.  At  Cakmtta,  the  Lady  of  the  Rev.  Dr 


Bryee,  of  a  daughter. 
28.  At  Mauritius,  th4 


,  the  Lady  ofDr  John  Watson, 
medkad  staff,  of  a  still-bom  son. 

Mar,  80, 1824.  At  hU  house,  Devonriiire  Place, 
Edgeware  Road,  London,  tiie  Lady  of  William 
J.  L.  Campbell,  Esi|.  of  GlenCsUooh,  of  a  son  and 
hiAx* 

rU  1.  At  Heriot  HiU,  no 
.  of  John  Bruce,  Es^  of  a  daugti 
2.  At  the  Manse  of  OrnustoD,  Mrs  Ramsay,  of 
son. 

—  AtSunnyside  Lodge,  Lanaric*  Mrs  A.  GU- 
leepie,  of  a  daughter. 

'     9,  Abercroi 


AprU  1.  At  Heriot  HiU,  near  Edinburgh,  the 
Lady  of  John  Bruce,  Es^  of  a  daughter. 


—  At  No.  9,  Abercrorabie  Plae^  the  Lady  of 
James  Greig,  Esq.  of  Ecdes.  of  a  son. 
..«.  ••  the  Lady  of 


—  At  St  Andrews,  the  I 


of  the  Boigal  Army,  of  a  son' 
aSt 


'  M^orPlayfair. 


At  50,  Queen  Street  Mrs  Soott.  of  a  daughter. 

—  In  St  James's  Square,  Mrs  Renton,  of  a  ion. 

3.  At  No.  1,  Howe  Sixeet,  Bfrs  R.  Paul,  of  a 
too. 

—  Mrs  Thomas  Ewing,  59,  South  Bridge,  of 
m  daughter. 

4.  At  the  Government  House,  the  Lady  of  his 
Excellency,  Mi^or-Genecal'  Sir  Colin  Halkett, 
K.C.B.  and  G.C.H.  of  ^daughter. 

—  In  New  Norfolk  Street,  London,  Lady  Elisa- 
beth Drummond,  of  a  daufliter. 

5.  At  New  Hail,  the  Lady  of  John  Buckle,  Esq. 
of  ason. 

6.  At  Geotge's  Plaoe,  Leith*  Mrs  Whytt,  of  a 
son. 

8.  At  Brussels,  her  Royal  Highness  the  Princess 
of  Orange,  of  a  daughter. 
^  10.  At  Cazriden  Manse,  Mra  Fleming,  of  a 
daughter. 

—  Mrs  Andrew,  55,  Hanover  Street,  of  her  fifth 
son. 

12.  At  the  Admiralty,  the  Lady  of  William  R. 
K.  Douglas,  Esq.  M.P.  of  a  son. 

16.  The  Lady  of  Colonel  Sir  CoHn  Campbell,  of 
a  daughter. 

17.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Bum  Murdoch,  of  Gar^ 
tincaber,  ofason. 

18.  At  her  house,St  Andrew's  Square,  Mrs  J.  K. 
Campbell,  of  a  daughter.  / 

19.  Mrs  Patisoo,  20,  Abercromby  Place,  at  a 
son. 

—  At  Wandsworth  Conunon,  the  Lady  of 
Aloaikdcr  Gordon,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

20.  Atjtrathairly  Cottage,  the  Lady  of  U»i(a 
BnggSy  01  a  son. 


ini- 


20.  The  Lady  of  James  ElliQt.  Esq.  of  WooUic, 
<^a  son. 

.«-  At  61,  York  Place,  Mrs  Andrew  Tawse,  of  a 
son. 

—  Mrs  ChanceUor  of  Shieldhill,  of  a  son. 

21.  At  BaUyshear,  Mrs  Macdonald,  of  a  son. 
27.  At  GreenUw  Manse,  Berwickshire,  Mrs 

Home,  of  a  son. 

MARRIAGES. 
AprU  2.  At  Edinbursh.  Henry  Wisht  Em.  i 
voeate,  to  Janet,  dden  daughter  of  the  late  Ni 
an  HiU,  Esq.  writer  to  the  signet 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  John  Andenon,  jun.  book^ 
seller,  to  Agnes,  only  daughter  of  the  late  John 
Grindlay,  Esq.  Edinburgh. 

—  At  Balgarvie,  Fife,  James  Russd,  Bso.  mer- 
chant Cupar,  to  Barbara,  daughter  of  the  late 
John  Scott  Esq. 

6.  At  EdUibui^h,  Mr  William  Dow,  merchant 
to  Agnes,  flfth  daughter  of  the  late  Mr  Peter  Huft- 
ton,  WhitehiU,  Ff2^ 

9.  At  Tranent,  Mr  David  James,  junior,  baker. 
London  Street,  to  Catherine,  eldesC  dan^iter  of 
Mr  James  Dickson,  Tranent 

10.  At  St  George^,  Hanover  Square,  London, 
William  Turner,  Esq.  his  Majesty's  Secretary  of 
Embassy  to  the  Ottoman  Porte,  to  Mary  Anne, 
eldett  daughter  of  John  Mansflefd,  Esq.  M.P.  for 


IL  At  her  father's  house,  Belvidere  Hill.  Jane, 
only  daughter  of  John  Gordon,  Esq.  to  WilKam 
Henry  CUrk  Bluett  Esq.  of  the  Honourable  East 
India  Company's  service,  and  second  son  of  Mis 
£.  M.  Bhi^  of  Halton,  Corowall. 

12.  At  the  Ambassador's  Chapel,  Paris,  George 
Murray,  Esq.  son  of  the  hUe  V  ice-Admiral  Sr 
George  Murray,  K.C.B.  to  Alicia,  eldest  daughter 
of  Thomas  Strickland,  Esq. 

—  At  Gatehouse  of  Fleet  Lieut  William  Can- 
non, of  the  97th  Regiment  to  Margaret,  daughter 
of  John  Smith,  Esq.  of  Gatehouse. 

13.  At  Rothesay,  John  Stewart  Esq.  Rothesay, 
to  Agnes,  eldest  daughter  of  the  late  Robert  Ofi- 
phant  Esq.  Glasgow. 

12k  AtCaraberwell,  London,  Alexander  Nairne, 
Esq.  Commander  of  the  Hon.  East  India  Com- 
pany's sUp,  General  Kyd,  to  Ann  Spoicer.  ddcst 
daughter  of  Nathaniel  Domet  Esq.  of  Camber- 
weuGrovCb 

15.  At  Kerrisdale,  Roas-shire,  John  Macfceniie, 
Esq.  writer.  Tain,  to  Miss  Christian  HciMlemn 
Mackensie,  third  daughter  of  Kenneth  Markemie, 
Esq.  of  Kerrisdale^ 

16.  At  Balmniupe,  John  Small,  Esq.  tie  Maey 
Anne,  yom^est  dau^iter  ot  William  TiniJasay, 
Esq.  of  Balmungie,  nfeshire. 

—  At  No.  20^  GeoncTs  Street  Edhibergh, 
James  GibsoD,  Esq.  or  HiUhesd, 

10 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Ktti.;] 


RtgiMter. — Deatikt. 


Jm^  OMiy  dM^hlw  ot  Iteiate  John  Wiboo, 
LiMMMBt  •niX4Hitaat  in  tkftXaMdku  Rcfi- 


19.  At  NontettoB,  'Limit.  Dondd  Robertaon. 
SSd  Foot.  10  Agne*.  dauglUrr  of  tbe  late  John 


—  At  Sdinburgh,  Mr  WUliam  N.  Grant,  &S.C. 
w  Amw.  Moood  dMghlitr  of  Gmige  Miller,  Eaq. 
Hope  Pnrk,  Edinbun^  ^     ^ 

SOi  At  Hamilton.  tImmdm  Andcnon.  JCMi-RoM- 
ahara.  to  Janet,  «14«it  dMifhtOTof  the  late  Sheiiff 
Burm. 

Si.  At  Bdinbonh.  the  Rer.  Mtm  Und,  Minis- 
ter of  the  GoqwH  Whitehin,  to  Manaret.  eldert 
dMif  iterof  Mr  JauMs  Whillaa,  ordafiied  sunrey- 

is,  U  Gicnt  KingStreet,  Mnnnp  Nutter  Camp- 
beO,  Em.  to  Anne  Amelia,  aecnnd  daughter  of  the 
late  Donald  Maetoehlan  of  Maciaphlan.  Ea«. 

16.  At  S3.  Royal  Terraoe,  John  Lang.  Ea^.  aur- 
geon.  LinUthMv,  to  EUen.  third  dau^tar  of  the 
bte  Riehaid  Younger.  Em.  Jiondon. 

ST.  At  EdinbHrgli.  Mr  John  Johnston,  tanner, 
Perth,  to  MiM  Cnthrine,  third  daughter  of  the  late 
Mr  Parian  M'Farlane. 

^  MCdinbuxch,  Mr  William  .HaU,  roerchant, 
to  Mnrtha,  only  daughter  <>f  the  deceased  Mr  An- 
drew Rob.  Menstiie. 

S9.  At  Dewar  Place,  Ueutenant  John  Edding- 
ton,  Rogpl  Soots,  to  Mnry,  youngest  daughter  of 
the  bite  Captain  SmoUett  Camubell,  Royal  Invn. 
Uds. 

30.  At  Edinburgh.  John  Tait,  Esq.  advocate,  to 
Mary  Amelia  SitweU,  eldest  daughter  of  the  brfe 
Francis  SitweU  of  Barmoor,  in  thecounty  of  Nor- 
thunhedand,  Eaq. 


DEATHS. 

Nov,  15,  18S3w»At  Kingolee,  Robert  Grcig, 
M.D.  staff-surgeon  at  ElUchpoor,  Madras  Estn* 


617 


13.  At  CourthiH,  Thomas  Usher,  Eaq. 

ML  At  Auchlochan,  Lanarkshire,  Geo.  Brown, 

^W,  At  Auchry,  Mm  Cumhie,  wife  of  AichibaU 
Cumine  of  Au^ry,  Esq. 

—  John  Aitkcn,  Esq.  of  UiUof  Beath,  Fife- 
shire. 

S7.  At  Edinburgh.  MIm  EHabeth  Caropbell. 

—  At  St  Leonard's  Hill,  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Isa- 
belU  Ciirrie.  wife  of  Mr  Wm.  Fletcher. 

3a  At  Rome,  Elisabeth,  Duchesb  of  Devonshire, 
widow  of  Ihe  late  Duke,  and  sister  to  the  present 
Earl  of  BtistoL 

31.  At  London,  the  Right  Hon.  Lord  George 
Colralne,  in  his  73dyear.  His  Lordship  was  bet- 
ter known  as  the  eccentric  Colonel  Hanger. 

—  At  London,  LieuL  John  WaUaoe,  hU  of  the 
13th  Light  Dragoons. 

April  1.  At  Pvebles,  Mr  James  Williamaon,  sur- 
geon, aged  30. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Mm  HamiHoo.  wife  of  BIr 
Alex.  Hamilton,  surgeon.  Royal  Navy. 

S.  At  Edinbuigh,  Miss  EUaabeth  Dickson, 
daughter  of  the  Ufce  David  Dickson  of  Kilbudio, 
Esq. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Andrew  Fyfe,  Esq.  Fellow  of 
the  Royal  CoUcge  of  Suueons,  assistant  lo  the 
late  Dr  Monro ;  and  autbor  of  the  System  and 

eoonddaugh* 

Douglas  Bos- 
taxesforthe 
•isaga 
Isonof  Wil* 

iff,  LieuL-Co- 

st,  James  Pa- 


».  At  Vellora,  Bast  Indies,  Lieutcnant^olooel 
Alexander  MneUntosh  of  Hilton.  InTeroess^hirek 
in  the  sonriee  of  the  Honounble  Bast  India  Gem- 
pan/. 

SS.  At  Calcutta,  In  oonseqoence  of  a  fkU  from 
his  horse,  which  he  survived  only  a  few  hours, 
Catheait  Methven.  Captahi  in  the  Hon.  East  India 
Comnany*s  Si)th  Regiment,  Native  Inliuitry,  Ben- 
gal flstabiishment. 

Bee,  3.  At  Goto,  of  the  dysentery,  on  the  Benin 
AiTcr,  the  intrepid  traveller,  G.  Befanni.  He 
DCTished  while  attempting  to  reach  Houasa  and 
Timbttctoo,  by  way  of  Benin,  and  at  a  mcMnent 
when  there  ww  much  reason  to  expect  that  his 
mrilous  enterprise  would  hare  succeeded.  Mr 
BelaonI  was  not  more  distinguished  by  his  ardour 
and  perseverance  in  the  laborious  pursuits  to 
which  he  had  devoted  the  grcnter  part  of  his  lifts, 
than  by  his  personal  intrepidity 
strength  and  stature.  He  possessed, 
quality  which  pitimised  snooess  to  his  laboun, 
Md  at  ki^th  only  yielded  to  that  fell  Foe,  befom 
whom  all  mortal  potency  Is  consumed,  like  flax  In 
the  Urn. 

Dec.  le.  In  Upper  Canada.  Ueut  Alex.  Wish- 
art,  half-pay  of  the  42d  Regiment. 

Jan.  4,  1834.— At  St  Vincent,  West  Indies, 
Charles  Nid  Kennedy,  Esq.  surgeon,  late  in  Pit- 
lorchy,  Perthshire. 

S4.  At  Spring  Vale.  Jamaica,  LieuL  John  Clerk, 
of  the  9Sd  Regiment. 

31.  At  Stellenbosch,  Cane  of  Good  Hope,  Mary 
Anne  Urquhart,  wife  of  John  Murray.  Esq.  sur- 
gaon  to  the  forces. 

Feb,  S9.  At  Adra,  in  Spain,  Harriet,  daughter 
of  the  late  WUliam  Kirkpatrick,  Esq.  of  Con- 


Mar.  5.  On  board  the  ship  Alexander,  on  his 
paamge  home  tnm  Jamaica.  Mr  Andrew  Maijori- 
banks,  second  son  of  Alex.  Maijoribanks,  Esq.  of 
Maijoribanks. 

7.  At  Aberdeen,  James  Moir,  aged  101.  He 
was  brother-in-law  to  the  veteran  M*Dougal,  who 
supported  General  Wolfe  after  ^he  received  hit 
mortal  wound  at  Quebec. 

SI.  At  Southampton,  the  Right  Hon.  Lord  Ed- 
ward O'Brien,  brother  to  the  most  nobkt  the  Mnr- 
quis  of  Thoroond. 

II.  At  Newabbey,  George  Nicholson,  Esq. 


Esq.  of  Carpow. 
IMu 


5.  At  Muirkirk,  Mr  Thomas  Cunningham, 
aged  81. 

6.  At  DumtMtfton  Castle.  Magor-General  Ilay 
Ferrier,  lieutenantgovemor  of  that  garriaoo.  in 
the  7Hth  year  of  his  agCb 

—  At  his  apartmmU  in  the  Britisk  Museum, 
London,  the  Rev.  Thomas  Mauriee. 

7.  Michael  Udslon.  third  son  of  the  Rev.  WU- 
liam  Kidston.  Glasgow. 

8.  At  Edinburgh,  Thomas,  youngest  son  of  the 
Rev.  Wm.  Menaies,  minister  of  Lanark. 

9.  At  Drumore.  in  the  parish  of  Kirkmaiden, 
In  the  105ch  year  of  Ms  age.  John  King,  officer  of 
his  Majesty's  customs. 

—  At  Winchester,  Andrew  Crawford,  senior, 
M.  D. 

10.  At  Edinburgh,  Mrs  Cofbett  of  Kenmuir, 
Lanarkshire. 

~  At  Dudifingstone  House',  the  Right  Hon. 
Lady  Carolhie  Anne  Maedonald  of  Ctonraaald, 
In  consequence  of  a  cold,  caught  some  days  after 
the  birlh  of  her  sixth  child. 

]  I.  At  Edinburgh,  Mary  Anne  Leslie  Undesay, 
daughter  of  the  Uie  Patrick  Lindesay,  Esq.  of 
Wormistone. 

—  At  Stoekfaridge.  Mm  Ann  BaUbor.  reUct  of 
William  Thomas  Wishart.  Esq.  of  FoxhalL 

19.  At  Rothesay,  the  Rev.  Dr  Aichibald  M'Lca. 
minister  of  that  parish,  in  the  87th  year  of  his  age, 
and  G8d  of  his  ministry. 

13.  At  Netherby,  Cumberland,  Sic  James  Gtm- 
ham,  Bart,  aged  fit. 

—  At  Dalkeith,  Mrs  Cnmming,  wilb  of  Dr 
Cumming. 

14.  At  Edinburgh,  DaTfcl  Davfdaon.  eMest  son 
of  the  hite  Sir  David  Davidson  of  Cantry. 

—  At  Linlithgow,  Mrs  Helen  Margaret  Ferrier, 
wife  of  Thomas  Uston,  Esq.  SherifTclerk  of  Lin- 
lithgowshire,  seoond  daughter  of  the  late  Mi^- 
General  Ferrier. 

—  At  Edinburgh.  Mrs  Fenusson  Blair,  wife  of 
Adam  Fecgusson  of  Woodhill.  Esq. 

-*  At  Hampstead,  Mary,  eldeetsurvlving  daugb- 
ter  of  the  UteSir  Alexander  Maodonald  Lookhcrt 
of  Lee  and  Camwath,  Bart 

15.  Sutherland  Meek.  M.  D.  late  Member  of  the 
Medical  Board  at  the  Presidency  of  Bombay. 

16.  At  Aberdeen,  Charles  Donaldson,  Ebq.  ad- 
vocate. 

—  At  Garth,  parinh  of  Fortincall.  Margaret 
MaedougaU.  relict  of  Alexander  Macdotigall.  far- 
nicr  at  Garth,  in  the  103d  year  of  her  sje.  When 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


618 

above  100,  the  thought  little  of  walkfiur  fIroKi  her 
ovrn  hoase  to  Wcem  or  AlierfeldY,  a  dlitance  of 
7  miles,  and  returning  before  breakfast.  Iji^tTear* 
Khc  travelled  to  Dramroond  Castle,  which  is  30 
miles  distant,  and  returned  next  night. 

17.  At  York  Place,  Lieat.-OoIociel  Gerrard,  of 
Rochsoles,  formerly  Adjutant  General  of  the  army 
inBennL 

13w  Mr  William  TumbuIV  merchant,  and  one  of 
the  sub-collectors  of  taxes  In  this  city. 

—  At  her  aunt* s  house,  Shandwick  Place.  Miss 
Mary  ^Vnne  Elphinston,  youngest  daughter  or  John 
Elphinston,  Esq.  of  the  Hon.  East  India 'Com» 
pany*B  service.  

18.  At  No.  ?,  Hart  Street,  Edinburgh,  William, 
the  infant  son  of  George  Forbes,  Esq.  of  Spring- 
hlH,  Aberdeen^ire,  aged  8  months. 

—  After  a  ^ort  illncs«,  Edward  Jones,  Bard  to 
tiie  Prince  of  Walet.— Mr  Jones  was  a  native  of 
Merionethshire  in  North  Wales. 

19.  At  Edhiburgh,  WiUiam  Carlyle,  Esq.  advo- 
cate. 


HegiHer. — Deaths. 


CMty. 


oTRaveiscon. 

S4.  At  Esher,  Surrey,  of  a  deep  decline,  after 
fingering  five  months.  Henry  Swan,  Esq.  many 
years  M.  P.  for  Penryn. 


fS.  At  tiie  Mew  HoiATmuM  HoM,  Corent-Ov- 
den,  Major-General  Prancte  Stewaitof  Liamudir, 
in  tlie  county  of  Banff,  in  his  60th  year. 

S6.  At  Greenhiw,  near  Peirayettik,  R.  1leBtDn« 
Esq.  surgeon,  aged  BO, 

ri.  At  Leith,  Mrs  MaigaMt  Gny,  wfl^  of  Vr 
fiairy  Sanfleld. 

?&.  At  his  home,  in  Soho-Square,  Ridwri  Vmnt 
Knight,  Esq.,  who  was  kmg  distinguished  hi  llie 
Jltcrart  chreles  of  Binopei.  He-hadTthe  repuiattow 
ofbelngooeof  the  mast  anlDent  Oteek  eetataM 
ofhU^y. 

—  At  Comely  Uttk,  Ifn  Jane  Onnpteil,  in  her 
8ith  year. 

?9.  At  EAtbvr^,  Mn  Hemriettar  Aflteck,  ve* 
Hct  of  Dr  Alexander  Murray,  Proftssor  of  Orien- 
tal Languages  in  the  Uiriwniicy  of  BdiiriNVgh. 

50.  At  his  house,  S9«  Oihnoor  Place,  the  Rer. 
James  Simpson,  of  the  AMociate  CoogrsfatSiMh 
Potter-row,  after  a  long  and  severe  iUneso^  ^ffi^P^ 
lamented  by  hb  brettuen  and  flock. 

Lately,  At  hb  house.  Clerk  Street,  Mr  John 
Ross,  kite  painter,  Edinburgh,  In  the  «M  year  of 
his  age. 

—  In  London,  Mr  Benjamin  HoMlleii»  fbr- 
merty  of  Thomey  Abbey,  a  gentleman  of  oonii- 
d»rame  literary  attalnmenH.  He  was  the  anttior 
of  the  *'  History  of  Rowland  Abbey,"  digerted 
from  Goagh*s  materials.  At  the  timeof  hto  de- 
cease, and  for  several  years  previously,  he  eviitod 
the  Farmer's  Jovmal. 

—  At  Rome,  Miss  Bathurst,  niece  of  Loid 
Bathnivt  She  had  been  riding  on  the  banks  of 
the  Tiber,  at  Rome,  in  company  with  some  oChe«% 
when  her  liorse  (Uling  intowe  river,  ^he  ww,  not- 
withstanding great  exertions  tasate  her,  UBfiaata- 
natdy  drowned.  Her  body  was  found  some  days 
after,  near  Ostia,  a  ttw  muet  from  the  tea. 


HAKBVIS  or  LOTRIAlf. 


A/>rU  27.  At  Richmond,  Surrey,  the  Most  NoUe 
^Ullam  Ker,  Marquis  of  Lothian,  Eari  of  An- 
crum,  Lord  Newbottle,  and  Lord  Jedburgh,  also 
<Baron  Ker  of  Kersheugh,  1821,)  Knight  of  the 
Thistfek  one  of  the  Sixteen  Peers  of  Scotland, 
Lont  Lieutenant  of  Mid-Lothian  and  Roxburgh- 
shire, Colooei  of  the  Edinbunrii  Militia,  Ace.  &e, 
llifl  Lordship  was  oldestson  ofWilliam  John,  kte 
Marquifc  of  Lothian,  and  succeeded  his  father  in 
181.5.  He  was  bom  on  the  1th  of  October  1763, 
and  married.  Arst,  on  the  11th  of  April  1795,  Lady 
Henrictia  Hobart.  eldest  daughter  of  John  second 
Eari  of  jftucklnghamshire,  and  by  her,  who  died 
in  Ib05,  he  had  John  WiUiam  Robert,  (now  Mar- 
quis of  Lothian.)  bom  1st  Febrtuuy  nsi.  Lords 
.Schomberg  Robert,  Henry  Francis  Charles,  and 
f4uly  IsabelU  Emily  Caroline.  He  married,  se- 
condly, on  the  1st  December  1806,  Lady  Harriet 
Montagu,  youngest  daughter  of  Henry  Duke  of 
Bucdeudi,  by  whom  he  had  Lords  Charles,  Mark, 
and  Frederick,  and  I.adies  ENnbeth  Oeoisiua, 
Harriet  Louisa  Anne,  Frances,  ,  and  Gear- 

gina. 

The  late  Marquis  was  bred  In  thearmy,  and  had 
the  conunand  of  the  Mid-Lothian  Fendble  Caval- 
ry, whidi  volunteered  their  services,  first,  for  Ire- 
land, and  afterwards  for  any  nartof  Europe :  and 
ihey  were  actively  employed  In  the  suppression  of 
the  IriRh  rebellion  in  the  year  1798.  When  his 
Mi^csty  landeil  at  Leith  on  the  15th  of  August, 
lU-ii,  on  his  visit  to  his  aaeknt  kingdom  of  Scot- 


House  of  Femyhirst. 

This  excellent  and  patriotic  nobleman  will  be 
long  and  aflbctkmately  remembered  by  all  within 
the  sphere  of  his  influenoe.  as  a  kind  and  eoaas- 
deraie  landlord,  a  aaakiua  and  upright  magistrate, 
and  an  omamMt  to  the  cxitedftadon  ha  iwU  te 
society. 


Print fd  tifi  Jame$  Baliantync  and  Co.  Kdinlmr^h. 


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BLACKWOOD'S 


EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


No.  LXXXIX. 


JUNE,  1824. 


Vot.  XV. 


WILHCLM    M£ISTER.* — MEMOIRS   OF  GOETHE.f 


Tub  name  of  Goethe  has  never 
heea  mentimied  in  these  pages  with* 
out  respect*-we  might  say  without 
rev^enoe — And  withmit  question  this 
Is  no  more  than  what  was  due  to  an 
author,  to  whom  all  who  have  really 
studied  his  works,  must  confess  them- 
selves indebted  formany  of  the  most  de- 
lightful emotions  that  ever  penetrated 
their  minds.  The  heartless  mockery  of 
contented  ^norance,  in  which  the  writ- 
ers of  the  Edinburgh  Review  had  in- 
dulged themselves  in  treating  of  the 
first  volume  of  his  Life  of  Himself,  ex- 
cited our  j  ust indignation,  and  provoked 
a  rebuke,  whichlus  ever  since  sealed 
the  lips  of  those  *'  scofl^  at  all  things 
great,"  in  relation  not  to  Goethe  alone, 
but  to  the  other  masters  of  modem 
German  literature— who  had  almost 
all  of  them  received,  in  one  way  or 
Other,  the  compliment  of  these  gentle- 
men's sneer.  They  thought  that,  as 
V^taire  derided  Shakespeare,  so  they 
mi^ht  deal  with  some  of  the  most  ge> 
nmne  of  his  descendants.  But  they 
forgot,  in  the  first  place,  that  they 
were  no  Voltaires — and,  secondly,  that 
the  world,  if  it  has  not  grown  wiser, 
has  at  least  grown  a  great  desl  more 
suspicious  ;  and  that  the  time  is  gone 
by  when  even  a  Voltaire  could  be  suf- 
fered to  scoff  with  impunity  at  ^ngs 
which  he  did  not,  or  could  not,  under- 


stand. It  is  Tcry  possible,  however, 
that,  in  the  excess  of  our  indignation 
against  his  ignorant  or  incapable  de- 
tractors, we  may  have  been  betrayed 
into  laudation  rather  extravagant  of 
Goethe  himself— or,  at  least,  into  lan- 
guage not  unlikely  to  receive  this  sort 
^  interpretation  among  calm  and  un- 
controversial  critics.  And  we,  there- 
fi>re,  make  no  apology  for  stating,  on 
thisoccasion, our  opinion  of  him  (MtV  if. 
To  our  view,  then,  few  things  can 
be  more  ridiculous  than  the  attempt 
which  certain  German  writers  have 
made,  to  set  up  Goethe  as  entitled  to 
be  classed,  among  men  of  poetical  ge- 
nius, wi^  nob^y  but  I|omee  or 
Shaeespeare.  Taking  Homer  to 
mean  the  Homeric  works  as  they  ex- 
ist, and  under  the  drcumstancesof  their 
known  history — and  taking  Shaee- 
speare in  a  similar  sense — ^we  are  al- 
together unable  to  perceive,  by  what 
stretch  of  imagination  any  man,  pos- 
sessed of  sound  mind,  can  for  a  mo- 
ment bring  himself  to  dream  of  placing 
either  Goethe,  or  any  other  poet,  whe- 
ther of  ancient  or  modem  times,  by 
the  side  of  Homer  and  Shakespeare. 
There  are  not  a  few  names,  however, 
—both  ancient  and  modem — which 
might  aroire  to  such  an  honour  with 
considerably  less  of  absurdity  than  that 
of  Groethe,  or  of  any  other  German 


*  Wilhda  Meitter,  a  Novel,  from  the  German  of  Goetbe.  Edinburgh.  Oliver  and 
Boyd.  3  vols,  pott  Ore. 

t  Memoin  of  Qoetbe,  traoiUted  from  the  Germao.  London.  Colbum.  2  vols. 
8vo. 

Vot.  XV.  4  L 


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690 


GoMe'i  WUhekn  Meiifer. 


author^  with  whoie  works  we^happen 
to  have  any  acqtiaintanoe.  But  to 
keep  to  Goethe  for  the  present— Whe- 
ther we  rq^rd  originality  of  inven- 
tion^— exceHence  of  execution — or  in- 
fluenoe  upon  n^n  and  upon  literature 
—the  three  great  points,  we  apwe* 
bend — we  think  it  would  not  he  diffi- 
cult to  diew,  that  others  have  climhed 
many  steps  of  the  great  ladder  higher 
than  Goethe,  without,  after  all,  mak- 
ing any  very  alarming  approximation 
to  the  throned  summit  of  the  Moeo- 
nian,  and  the  Bard  of  Aron.  Milton 
and  Dante  appear  to  us  to  he  poets  of 
an  altitude  hy  miles  and  miles  ultras 
Goethean,  and — as  yet — ^ultra-Ger- 
man, ^sehylus  is  another  awful 
name. — Goethe's  greatest  work,  the 
Fatut,  is,  after  all,  hut  a  reflection 
and  modernization  of  the  Prometheus, 
in  so  far  as  the  primary  idea  is  con- 
cerned; and  if  the  German  be  the 
more  pathetic  work  of  the  two,  surely, 
as  to  all  that  is  magnificent,  sublime, 
terrible,  its  inferiority  is  boneless^ 
and  there  are  troops  of  heroes  oesides. 
But  we  need  scarcely  continue  the 
fight  against  a  shadow,  which  never, 
most  assuredly,  could  have  ventured 
to  rear  itself  in  any  circle,  bat  die 
Circle  of  Westphalia. 

Throwing  all  such  extravagant  exag- 
geration aside,  the  real  question  is, 
what  place  does  Goethe  occupy  among 
his  own  contemporaries?  Lord  Byron 
has  boldly  assigned  to  him  ihejirst^^ 
but  as  his  lor£hip  does  not  appear  to 
have  read  Groethe  in  anything  but 
translations,  we  question  bis  right  to 
speak  quite  so  authoritatively  as  he 
has  done.  That  the  place  ne  does 
occupy  is,  however,  a  high,  a  very 
high  one— is  most  indisputable — and 
in  one  point  of  view,  at  least,  we  are 
not  indisposed  to  go  the  same  length 
with  Lord  Byron. 

Goethe  has  indisputably  exerted 
more  infiuence  upon  the  literature  of 
his  age,  than  any  other  author  of  our 


For,  in  the  first  place,  he  may  al- 
most be  said  to  have  created  the  ex- 
isting literature  of  his  own  country — 
Germanv.^  Schiller  turned  out,  it  is 
true,  a  far  greater  practioEd  dramatic 
genius  than  Goethe :  but  he  was  ori« 
ginalljr  inspired  by  Goethe's  works,  pro- 
fited  m  every  walk  of  his  art  bv  the 
ideas  whidi  Goethe  had  originate  and' 
developed  as  to  its  theory,  and  la)r  un- 
der immeasurable  obligations  to  him,as 


C;jtiney 

to  everything  that  eoneerna  bngn^^e 
and  versification— in  a  word,  he  was 
Goethe's  pupil  in  all  things— and,  if 
he  rivallea  his  master  in  semal  points, 
and  surpassed  him  in  one,  thm  can^ 
still,  looking  at  the  whole  compass  of 
theur  minds,  be  no  sort  of  comparisofi 
between  the  master  and  the  pupO.  It 
is  the  fashion  to  sneer  at  Kotsebae— 
and  it  is  certainly  paying  him  a  prodi«' 
mous  compliment  to  mention  him  in 
Uie  same  breath  with  Schiller :  jet 
the  author  of  the  Stranger  was  no  eom- 
mon  man,  and  few  recent  authors,  cer- 
tainly, have  been  more  imitated  than 
he.  He  also  was  the  pupil  of  Goetlie. 
He  drew  the  whole  of  ms  inspiration 
from  Goethe — Whatever  he  had  c€ 
good,hc  owed  to  Goethe — and  this  good 
was,  comparatively  speaking,  little — 
only  because  Ko  tzebue  altogethervrant- 
ed  taste,  and  followed  his  master  rather 
as  a  caricaturist  than  as  an  imitator. 
Hevidgarizedwhat  he  cotdd  not,how« 
ever,  render  altogether  weak%  He^ 
turned  Goethe's  tra^;edyinto  melo-dra- 
ma — caught  and  occupied  for  a  time 
the  broad  eye  of  the  multitude — al- 
most to  the  exclusion  of  his  master — 
and  was  in  due  time  flung  down  to 
his  proper  level— -if  indeal  he  does 
not,  at  this  moment,  stand  rather 
Tower  in  general  estimation,  than,  with 
aU  his  inherent  defects  sod  abomi- 
nable afl^tations,  he  really  ought  to 
do.  It  is  needless  to  speak  of  the  other 
modem  German  poets,  since  it  is  ob- 
vious that  they  are  all,  more  or  less 
directly,  the  children  of  Goethe. 

In  German  criticism  his  influence 
has  been,  if  posslt^,  still  more  over- 
whelming. Herder  was,  like  himself, 
in  so  far  die  pupil  of  Leaing ;  and 
perhaps  no  man,  since  Aristotle,  has 
composed  critical  works  equal  on  the 
whole  to  those  of  Herder.  But  Her- 
der was  the  early  fViend  and  associate 
of  Goethe — they  both  adopted  the 
same  great  general  ideas  as  to  art,  and 
above  aU,  as  to  poetic  art— and  it  ap- 

gars  excessively  doubtfbl,  whether 
erder*s  criticism  could  have  exert- 
ed anything  at  all  like  the  influence 
it  reafty  has  had,  had  there  been  no 
Goethe  to  co-operate  with  him  in  a 
style  of  more  exquisite  fascination, 
and,  above  all,  to  embody  in  living 
masterpieces  what  the  other  could  only 
shew  anr  off,  in  maxima^  essays,  and 
comments.  The  Schlegels,  however 
scoffed  at  among  certain  dasses  of 
their  own  oountiTmen,  have  unqoet* 


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ticmably  fbUowed  Herder  and  Goethe 
at  eriticf^  pa$iUm»  kaud  iiud^uU  ;— 
Thej  are  the  first  iEstbetic  writers  of 
our  age:  and  they  are  in  that  oom« 
prehensile  passionate  sympathy  with 
tverytking  that  is  noble  in  antiquity, 
and  everything  that  is  beautiful  m 
art — in  all  that  marks  them  out  as  the 
ffenuine^  universal^  and  unbigotted 
lorers  of  excdlence — in  the  whole 
breadth  and  beauty  of  their  theory— 
the  intellectual  children  of  that  extra- 
ordinary man^  who,  scholar  enough  to 
write  the  Iphigenia,  and  Grennan 
enough  to  write  the  Goetz  Ton  Berli- 
chingen,  was^  at  the  same  time,  Man 
enough^  to  be  the  first  that  (out  of 
En^nd)  prodaimed  Shakespeare  the 
unrivalled  king  of  poets,  and  himself 
poet  enough  to  give  the  world  a  Faust. 

But,  secondly,  besides  thus  giving 
an  absDlutely  new  direction  to  tne  ge- 
nius and  taste  of  Germany,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  doing  more  for  the 
Gennan  knguage  than  any  author 
since  Luther— Goethe  has  directly  and 
indirectly  exerted  a  prodigious  in- 
fiuence  orer  the  literature  of  other 
European  countriea— an  influence,  in- 
deed, the  EXTENT  of  which  has  pro- 
bably been  appreciated  by  few,  since 
it  has  {as  yei)  been  expressed  by  none. 

If  any  one  arics,  who  are  the  three 
writers  that  have  directly  made  the 
greatest  impression  on  the  literature 
of  our  time— <mt  of  Germany — we 
apprehend  there  can  be  but  one  an- 
swer to  the  question:  Madame  de 
Stad  among  foreigners— Sir  Walter 
Scott  and  Liord  Byron  among  our- 
sdves.  Now,  we  hold  it  as  not  a  whit 
less  certain,  that  the  genius  of  Goethe 
had  a  most  remarkable  influence  in 
the  formation— or,  if  that  be  too  bold 
a  word,  in  the  direction,  at  least,  of 
aH  and  each  of  these  great — these  pre- 
excelUng  minds.  Madame  de  Stael 
produced  none  of  the  works  in  which 
ner  name  will  live,  until  she  had  satu- 
rated her  intellect  with  the  liberal  cri- 
ticism, and  the  profound  passion  of 
the  school  of  Goethe,  by  means  of 
enthusiastic  study  of  Goethe's  own 
works,  and  those  of  his  immediate 
German  disdples-^in  particular  the 
Schlesels.  It  was  from  that  quarter 
that  she  derived  her  feeling  for  Italian 
art— her  feeling  for  the  poetry  of 
Shakespeare— her  scorn  of  the  anti- 
enthuaiastie  smrit  of  modem  France 
—in  a  word,  the  whole  of  her  percep- 
tions of  the  great,  and  her  aspirations 


^heiUe  WUMn  Mekter.  '  9H 

after  the  infinite.  Had  Goethe  never 
visited  Rome,  Corinne,  most  assured- 
ly, could  never  have  been  written.^- 
Had  there  been  no  such  things  as 
Werther  and  Wilfiam  Meister,  there 
could  have  been  no  sudi  being  as  we 
think  of  when  we  at  this  day  name 
De  Stael.  And  how  far  the  influence 
of  that  being  has  extended,  we  have 
ndAer  time,  nor,  we  think,  occasion 
to  say. 

L^  Byron  has  been  ec|uaUy,  al- 
though we  apprehend  less  directlv,  his 
debtor.  Perhaps  the  most  remarkable 
distinctive  feature  in  all  the  great 
masterpieces  of  Goethe,  is  the  co- 
existent display  of  intense  sympathy 
with  the  lovely  in  external  nature,  in 
human  nature,  and  in  human  art,  and 
of  intense  socMm  for  the  acquirements, 
the  fortunes,  and  the  ftte  of  man. 
The  beauty  and  nothingness  of  the 
world  are  alike  before  him — the  one 
swells  our  heart  into  the  heaven  of 
devotion,  and  next  moment  the  other 
withers  it,  as  with  the  toubh  of  a  sear- 
ing-iron. Such  is  the  contrast  of  hia 
Meiiter  and  his  Jsmo— Such,  in  more 
awful  colours,  is  that  of  his  Faust  and 
his  Mephistopheles.  Lord  Byron  seised 
the  two  co-existing  principles  of  Go- 
ethe's profoundest  poetry,  and  blended 
them  into  one  aetualexistenoe.  He  mix- 
ed up 'together,  in  one  fearful  being, 
the  melancholy  musings  of  the  lover  of 
Margaret,  and  the  sardonic  bitterness 
of  hts  Tempter— and  behold  Harold 
— 4)ehold  Conrad — behold  Sardanapa- 
lus— yes,  behold  Don  Juan  himseli— 
for  they  are  all  one  and  the  same. 
Lord  Byron  produced  by  this  means  a 
kind  of  poetry  entirely  new  to  the 
world.  That  poetry  took  for  its  time 
a  hold  of  the  public  mind,  proportion- 
ate to  the  audacity  of  its  conception, 
and  the  general  vigour  of  its  execution. 
But  there  was  nothing  new,  except  the 
absolute  interfuaion  cf  what  Goethe— 
ay,and  Shakespeare  before  him,  though 
less  systematically  and  elaborately- 
had  exhibited  in  immediate  contrast 
and  juxta-position.  This  waa  a  bold 
and  a  striking,  but  it  was  a  false  idea; 
it  was  an  idea  fidse  to  human  nature, 
degrading  to  man.  It  implied  one  de* 
liberate  and  continuous  libel  upon  the 
dignity  of  that  creature  who  was  ori- 
ginally fuhioned  after  the  image  of 
God.  It  lowered  all  that  is  noblest 
and  best,  by  representing  it  as  capable 
of  inhabiting,  m  the  most  intense  co- 
union,  wi^  all  that  is  most  worthies^ 
1$ 


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CJ 


and  mott  wickeiL  U«  wu  ft  mairvl 
LuciiETiuSj  who  created  hit  own  poe- 
try by  fobbing  the  poetry  of  Goethe 
of  its  philoBopny  and  of  its  truth,  and 
sacrificed  at  once  the  cause  ol'  virtue^ 
and  the  nugesty  of  genius,  for  the  sake 
of  gaining,  by  means  of  a  brilliant  and 
audacious  system  of  sophistry,  that 
which  he  might  have  acquired  as  sure- 
ly, and  a  thousand  times  more  perma- 
nently, by  exerting  his  splendid  facul- 
ties under  the  influences — not  less  ex- 
alting than  chastening— of  reverence 
for  God  and  Virtue,and  charity  for  im- 
perfect, and  sinful,  but  not  yet  diabo-- 
lizedMan. 

The  third  name  remains — the  pu- 
rest, and  by  far  the  most  illustrious.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  commenced  his  literorv 
career  with  a  translation  of  Goethe  s 
Go£Tz  VON  Beruchingen.  That 
powerful  drama  has  given  birth  in  Ger- 
many to  a  prodigious  mass  of  literary 
works,  all  designed  for  bringing  home 
to  the  imagination  of  modem  men  the 
bold,  rude  life,  of  feudal  chivalry — 
the  spirit  of  the  middle  age— the  ex- 
istence of  our  Gothic  ancestors.  These 
works- are,  even  the  best  of  them,  in- 
cfl^bly  inferior  to  those  which  our  own 
great  poet  has  composed  for  the  same 
happy  purpose.  This  is  admitted  no<* 
wnere  more  fully  than  in  Germany 
itself,  where  Sir  Walter  ScottV  works 
have  long  been  just  as  pre-eminent  and 
unrivalled  in  popularity  as  they  have 
ever  been  at  home.  It  seems,  however, 
to  admit  of  little  doubt,  that  he  first 
caught  from  Goethe  the  idea  unoB 
which  he  has  worked  so  gloriously ; 
in  the  developement  and  elab^^tion  of 
which  he  has  long  since  left  Goethe 
himself  immeasurably  behind  him. 
And  why? — 

The  answer  of  this  question  will 
bring  us  at  once  to  our  main  issue. 
Goethe  has  all  alon^  been  more  great 
in  conception  than  in  execution.  He 
began  with  opening  not  one  new  vein, 
but  many;  each  of  them  separately 
more  than  sufficient  to  occupy  and  to 
reward  the  life  of  one  man.  To  recal 
the  spurit  and  being  of  Gothic  antiqui- 
ty, was  but  one  of  his  ideas.  He  left 
it  for  that  of  creating  in  Germany  the 
feeling  of  the  loveliness  of  Greex  art 
in  composition.  He  again  left  it  for 
that  of  creating  in  Germany  the  feel- 
ing of  the  loveliness  of  the  fine  arts  of 
Italy.  He  left  it  again  and  again  for 
the  purposs  of  embodying  in  poetry,, 
and  above  all,  in  dramatic  poetry,  hi»* 
own  philosophical  ideas  concerning  the 


general  dntiM  and  dcttinief  of  moial 
and  intellectttal  man.  Thus  has  be 
been  injured  in  many  respects  by  the 
very  magnificence  and  limitless  ambi- 
tion of  his  originating  genius.  Thus, 
among  other  matters,  has  he  been  an  ex. 
hibitor  of  unrivalled  power,ratber  than 
a  creator  of  unrivalled  works.  Thus 
has  he  been  passed,  once  and  again,  m 
the  race  of  which  he  first  pmnted  ottt 
both  the  course  and  Uie  goat  Thua,  in 
the  German  drama  which  he  creftted. 
has  he  been  outstript  by  hia  pupil 
Schiller ;  thus,  in  the  poetical  revival 
of  Gothic  antiouity,  has  he  atchieved 
so  little,  that  nis  chief  honour  as  to 
this  point  may  now  be  summed  up  in 
the  proposition  with  which  we  started 
— namelv,  that  his  example  inspired 
the  youthful  genius  of  ^e  great  poet 
of  Scotland.  Thus  has  it  happened, 
that,  born  with  faculties  at  lent  equal 
to  any  that  have  graced  the  laat  cen- 
tury, blessed  with  length  of  life,  sur- 
rounded with  every  appliance  <^  ho- 
nour, and  diligent  almost  beyond  ex- 
ample, Goethe  nos,  after  all,  produeed 
but  one  work  entirely  worthy  of  the 
majesty  of  his  genius,  and  thie  parity 
of  his  taste — the  inimitaUe,  .and  in* 
deed  indescribable,  Faust. 

We  should,  however,  be  sadly  un- 
worthy of  criticising  the  most  liberal 
of  all  critics,  if  we  were  incapable  of 
seeing,  that  there  is  quite  another  point 
of  view  in  whidi  his  works  must  ba 
contemplated  ere  a  fair  judgment  can 
be  formed  of  them.  Taking  them  in 
their  mass— the  greatest  and  the  least 
-^he  most  fiuisli^  and  the  most  im^- 
perfect— dramas,  romances,  elegies, 
epigrams,  essays — taking  the  whole  di 
Goethe's  works  together,  let  us  ask  of 
ourselves,  by  what  man's  writings  (mo* 
wr  B^Toi  a(n>)  have  so  tnanv  nobfe, 
80  many  lovely,  so  many  pathetic,  w 
maiiy  terrible,  so  many  magnifioent 
trains  of  thought,  been  waCened  in 
our  minds  ?  In  which  of  these  books 
is  It  that  thoughts  of  the  most  awftil 
power,  and  of  the  most  ethereid  beauty 
— expressions  Of  the  most  exquisite 
grace,  and  of  tlie  most  gigantic  rigour, 
have  not  been  profuselv  scattered  fbrth 
from  the  riches  of  tms  astonishing 
mind  ?  There  is  no  barren,  dry,  un- 
instructive  work  of  Goethe.  He  baa 
no  pompous  artifice  about  him.  He 
cannot  write  five  pages  tipon  any  ob- 
ject without  saving  something  which 
ire  pause  to  OH^itate  upon,  and  which, 
conscioualy  or  unconsdoualv,  ani^ 
ever  after  remain  in^  and  make  a  part 


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CMke'9  WUhdm  MeiHer. 


lMi.3 

•f,  our  own  Mittd.  Thk^tnnfy^isiiot 
the  wont  test  of  •  truly  oomroandiDg 
geniof.  By  it  let  the  man,  at  least,  if 
not  his  works,  he  tried.  In  any  one  of 
his  romances,  for  example,  there  are 
new  thoughts,  and  feelings,  and  images, 
enough  to  furnish  out,  we  do  not  say 
any  ordinary  poet  merely,  hut  a  very 
extraordinary  one.  There  are  many 
scores  of  mmor  poems  of  his— mere 
sports  of  his  genius — any  three  or  fottr 
of  which  w<mld  be  quite  sufficient  to 
make  a  Campbell ;  any  doien  of  whidi 
would  go  werj  near  to  make — ^not  what 
Coleridge  might  be— hut  what  Cole* 
ridge — the  Coleridge  of  the  public — 
(alas  !  that  we  should  say  the  word) 
18.  We  lament  the  use  which  a  great 
monarch  has  made  of  some  of  his 
jewels ;  we  wonder  at  the  idle  and  un- 
productive shapes  in  which  he  suffers 
others  to  lie ;  but  we  do  not  the  less  see, 
that  the  most  neglected  comer  of  his  tret- 
sury  contains  enough  to  make  any  of 
^wuselfea  wealthy  beyond  our  dreams. 

The  noYel  of  Wilhelm  Mbistek 
is  one  of  those  lumber-rooms  whidi 
eould  be  found  nowhere  but  in  the  pa- 
lace of  a  Crcesus.  The  book  is  now  for 
for  the  first  time  before  us  in  an  Eng- 
lish shape,  and  we  must  begin  with 
saying,  that  Goethe  has,  for  once,  no 
reason  to  complain  of  his  translator, 
llie  version  is  executed,  so  &r  as  we 
have  examined  it,  with  parfect  fidelity ; 
and,  on  the  whole,  in  an  easy,  and  even 
graceful  style,  Tery  fiur  simerior,  we 
must  say,  to  what  we  have  been  much 
accustomed  to  in  Englirii  translations 
from  the  German.  The  translator  is, 
we  understand,  a  young  gentleauin  of 
this  city,  who  now  for  the  first  time 
appears  before  the  public  We  con- 
gratulate him  on  his  very  promising 
ielmt ;  and  would  ^n  hope  to  receive 
a  series  of  really  good  translations  from 
his  hand.  He  Ims  evidently  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  German;  he  already 
writes  English  mneh  better  than  is  at 
all  common  even  at  ^lis  time ;  and  we 
know  no  exercise  more  likely  to  pro- 
duce effects  of  permanent  advantage 
upon  a  young  mind  of  intellectual  am- 
bition— to  say  nothing  of  the  very  fiu 
vourable  reception  which  we  are  sure 
translations  of  such  books  so  executed 
cannot  fail  to  receive  in  the  present 
state  of  the  public  feeling. 

Madame  de  Stael  has  said,  in  her 
Dd  L'AUemagne,  that  the  diief  value 
or  Wilhelm  Mtister  consists  in  tb«  in^ 
genuity  of  the  philosophical  and  criti- 
cal disquisitions  it  contains.  The  hero. 


nys  she,  ia  a  third  penoo,  whom  we 
feel  to  be  dr  tn)p  between  us  and  Go- 
ethe ;  whose  own  sentiments  we  widi 
to  hear  upon  the  subjects  started,  with- 
out being  troubled  with  Mr  Wilhelm. 
Now,  all  this  might  have  been  very 
well  when  Meister  first  appeared ;  but 
since  that  time  five-ana-thirty  years 
have  passed ;  and  the  theories  in  ques- 
tion have  been  expounded  more  fully 
and  more  satisfactcmly  in  other  shapes^ 
partly  by  Goethe  himself,  and  psrav 
by  hia  critical  disciples.  In  England, 
moreover,  the  Philosophical  Romance 
has  never  been  a  favourite;  and  we 
venture  to  sav,  that  in  spite  of  dl  Ma^ 
dame  de  Stad's  fine  eulogy  of  the  dis- 
quidtiona  embodied  in  Meister,  the 
translator  would  have  done  well  to  re- 
trench a  itrf  great  proportion  ef  them. 
Those  who  are  interested  in  die  hia- 
tory  of  the  German  theatre,  will  un- 
doubtedly take  the  trouble  to  undeiw 
stand  the  Grerman  tongue ;  and  other 
readers  will  infidilibly  skip  the  eritical 
dialogues  of  Meister,  however  admira- 
bly conceived,  or  however  fkitfafUly 
translated,  reparding  them  as  ao  many 
impertinent  interruptioni  of  the  ex- 
quisitely interesting  story  of  Migno%  ; 
a  story  which,  thouffh  meant  fbr  a 
mere  episode,  chains  down  the  devest 
feelings,  and  asserts  itself  the  true  ea^ 
sence  of  the  romance  of  Meister. 

This  yoong  Italian  girl  is  the  child  of 
a  guilty  love ;  her  father  is  a  priest,  and 
he  diaoovera,  after  hia  gailt  has  been 
completed,  that  he  ia  3ie  brother  of 
the  unhappy  mother  of  his  child.  This 
discovery  makes  the  priest  a  wanderer 
and  a  madman.  The  giri,  meanwhile, 
is  brought  up  in  Italy,  by  the  side  of 
the  sea,  until  die  is  ten  years  old,  and 
she  is  dien  kidnapped  by  some  stroll- 
ing rope-danoersy  who  teach  the  nnf or- 
tnnate  their  miserable -art,  and  carry 
hti  with  them  into  Germany,  where 
she  is  introduced  to  US  aa  figuring  with 
the  reat  of  the  company  at  a  village 
fetivaL  The  emrity  with  which  her 
degraded  tyrants  treat  the  charming 
in£ttit,  attracts  the  notice,  and  rooaea 
the  indignation,  of  Wilhelm  Meister^ 
the  hero  of  the  book.  He  is  an  en- 
thusiastic youth  of  genius,  amiable, 
modest,  but  altogether  fanciful  in  his 
habits  of  mind,  and  absurd  and  irre- 
solute in  his  conduct  and  demeanour ; 
who,  in  pursuit  of  a  vague  passion  for 
the  stage,  haa  wandered  firom  his  re- 
spectable family,  and  is  in  everything 
but  poverty  (for  he  is  liot  poor)  a  mere 
adventurer,  when  he  first  sees  the  beau-^ 


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6t4 


QUM$  mihekn  MmUr. 


tJttiie# 


tifttl  Iltde  If /pioA.  He  takes  the  1 
of  the  iiyured  and  pertecuted  child — 
he  buys  her  from  the  rope-dancers, 
«nd  adopts  her. 

It  is  now  that  the  character  of  this 
girl  begins  to  deyelope  itself,  in  a  nuin- 
ner  the  conception  of  which  attests 
the  full  mastery  of  the  genius  of 
Goethe.  The  innocent  ignorance  and 
gaiety  of  childhood  begins  to  be  blend- 
ed with  a  more  than  womanly  depth 
of  sentiment  and  passion.  The  blood 
of  Italy  beats  in  her  unconsdous  veins 
•—sadness,  weariness,  uncontrollable 
melancholy  yearnings  are  the  fruit  of 
mtitude  and  of  nature.  She  serves 
her  preserver  and  protector  like  a  slave 
—she  loves  him  like  a  woman — ^in  ti- 
midity, in  mystery,  in  profound  igno- 
rance of  herself.  She  springs  at  once 
•from  the  threshold  of  life,  to  the  in- 
most recess  of  its  passions  and  its  sor- 
rows. The  bud  expands  at  once  into 
the  full  flower^— and  that  very  moment 
«11  its  leaves  are  for  ever  scattered. 
Jealousy,  in  short,  grows  up  fhnn  the 
«ame  roots  with  this  untold,  even  un- 
Boqpected  love--and  the  moment  Mig- 
non  hears  that  Wilhelm  has  woo^ 
and  won  another  bride,  the  fragile 
heart  snaps  asunder. 

Madame  de  Stael  well  observes,  that 
it  in  almost  impossible  to  give  any 
idea  of  this  most  pathetic  story,  by 
either  analysis  or  ^tract,  and  accord- 
ingly she  attempts  neither.  It  is  told 
by  touches  so  slight— -by  traits  indivi- 
dually so  trivial^— the  intervals  in  the 
tale  are  so  great— the  whde  tragedy 
is  so  like  a  broken,  half-told,  half-re- 
membered  wild  dream^-that  the  book 
unquestionably  must  be  read  ere  any 
one  can  form  even  the  remotest  con- 
cation  of  what  the  story  of  Mignon 
is.  In  many  respects,  the  silent,  mys- 
terious, in&ntine  thing,  with  her  dan- 
cing tricks,  her  passions  so  much  be- 
yond her  years  and  her  stature,  her 
fairy-like  beauty,  and  her  heart-bro- 
ken bve,  will  remind  the  Englidi 
reader  of  Fsnslla.*  But  although 
that  character  may  probably  have  been 
suggested  by  this  of  Mignon,  the 
workmanship  is  entirely  diffisrent.— 
We  shall  endeavour  to  select  a  few, 
and  but  a  few,  specimens  of  GoeUie's 
manner.  The  reader  must  be  con- 
tented to  piece  the  fragments  together 
as  he  best  may. 

*•*• '  They  have  made  their  purpose  good. 


I  imagloe,*  said  WiUidm  to  PhHioii. 
who  was  leaning  over  the  window  bend« 
him.  *  I  admire  the  ingenuity  with  whicfa 
they  have  turned  to  Mtvantage  eroi  the 
meanest  part  of  their  performance :  out  of 
the  unskmulness  of  their  children,  and  ex- 
quisiteness  of  their  chief  act<»s,  they  have 
made  up  a  whole  which  at  first  excited  oor 
attention,  and  then  gave  us  very  fine  en- 
tainment.* 

**  The  people  by  degrees  dispersed,  and 
the  square  was  again  become  empty,  whfle 
Philina  and  Laertes  were  dispntii^  about 
the  forms  and  the  skUl  of  Naross  and 
Landrinette,  and  rallying  eadi  other  on  ^ 
subject  at  great  length.  Wilhelm  noticed 
the  wonderful  child  standing  on  the  street 
near  some  other  children  at  play  ^  he  shew- 
ed her  to  Philina,  who,  in  her  lively  way, 
immediately  called  and  beckoned  to  the 
little  one,  and,  this  not  succee^ng,  tripped 
Singing  down  stairs,  and  led  her  up  by  tin 
hand. 

*'  ^  Here  is  the  emgma,*  said  she,  as 
she  brought  her  to  the  door.  The  dnid 
stood  upon  the  threshold,  as  if  she  mesot 
again  to  run  off ;  laid  the  zi^t  hand  on  her 
breast,  the  left  on  her  brow,  and  bowed 
deraly.  «  Fear  nothing,  my  little  dear/ 
said  Wilhdm,  rising  and  going  towards 
her.  She  viewed  mm  with  a  doubting 
look,  and  came  a  few  steps  nearer. 

''  •  What  is  thy  name  V  he  asked.— 
*•  They  call  me  Mignon.*  *  flow  many 
years  old  art  thou  ?*  ^  No  one  has  count- 
ed them.' '  Who  was  thy  ftuherW  *  The 
Great  Devil  is  dead.* 

'' '  Well !  thisissingBlar^MMigh,*  said 
Philina.  They  arited  her  a  few  more  ques- 
tions ;  she  gave  her  answen  in  a  kind  of 
broken  Oeiman,  and  with  a  strangdy  so- 
lemn manner,  every  time  laying  ha  hands 
on   her  breast  and  brow,   sod   bowing 

•^^WilheUn  could  not  satisfy  himself 
with  looking  at  her.  His  eyes  and  his 
heart  were  irresistibly  attracted  by  the  my- 
sterious condition  of  this  bdng.  He  reck- 
oned her  about  twelve  or  thiitiBen  years  of 
age ;  her  body  was  well  fbsmed,  only  her 
Imibs  gave  promise  of  a  stronger  gf0wtfa« 
or  else  announced  a  stunted  on&  Her 
countenance  was  not  regular,  but  striking  ; 
her  brow  full  of  mystery ;  her  nose  ex- 
tremely beautiful  ;  hier  mouth,  although  it 
seemed  too  closely  shut  for  one  of  her  age, 
and  though  she  often  threw  it  to  a  ride» 
had  yet  an  air  of  frankness  and  was  very 
lovefy.  Her  brownish  complexion  could 
scarcely  be  discerned  through  the  paint. 
This  form  stamped  itself  deeply  in  Wil- 
hehn*s  soul ;  he  kmt  lookfaig  at  her  ear- 
nestly, and  forgot  the  present  scene  in  tho 
multitude  of  his  reflections.  Philina  wa- 
ked him  from  his  half-dream)  by  holding 


•  By  the  wajTi  it  would  seem  as  if  Lord  Byron  had  meant  to  give  us  a  closer  shadow 
of  Mignon  in  hb  Don  Juan. 


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1884.3  ChM9'$  WiihtUn  MmtUr, 

oat  th*  wiaatndt  of  htttwMCmtfttt  to  the 
child,  Aod  gifing  her  a  tigii  to  go  away. 
She  made  her  little  bow  at  fcnnerly,  and 
dartrd  Uke  lightning  through  the  door.** 


MS 


^^  The  rope^dancen  had  oommeneed 
their  operations.  A  multitude  of  people 
had  again  aeeembled  in  the  iquare ;  and 
•ur  friends,  on  alighting,  were  struck  br 
the  appearance  of  a  tumult  in  the  crowo, 
oeeMKHied  by  a  throng  of  men  rushing  to- 
wards the  door  of  the  inn  which  Wilnefan 
had  now  turned  his  face  to.  He  sprang 
ferward  to  see  what  it  was ;  and  pressins 
tiiroagh  the  people,  be  was  struck  with 
horror  to  obeorre  the  master  o(  the  rope* 
dancing  company  dragging  poor  Mignon 
by  the  nair  out  of  the  house,  and  unmer« 
ctfuUr  beating  her  little  body  with  the 
handiB  of  a  wMp. 

«*  Wilhebn  darted  on  the  man  liltt 
lightning,  and  seised  him  by  the  ^llar. 
*  Quit  tne  diHd  !*  he  cried  in  a  furious 
tone,  ^  or  one  of  us  shall  nerer  leare  this 
spot  ;*  and  so  speakins,  he  grasped  the  fd- 
low  by  the  throat  with  a  force  which  only 
rage  could  haTe  lent  him.  The  showman, 
00  the  point  of  choking,  let  go  the  child, 
and  endeavoured  to  dcnnd  himsdf  against 
his  new  assailant.  But  seme  people,  who 
had  felt  compassion  for  Mignon,  yet  had 
not  dared  to  begin  a  ouarrd  for  ha^  now 
laid  hold  of  the  rope  oancer,  wrenched  his 
whip  away,  and  threatened  him  with  great 
teoNieBS  and  abuse.  Being  now  reduced 
to  the  weiqioos  of  his  mouth,  he  began 
bullying  and  cursing  horriblTS  the  laxy 
wormless  urchin,  he  said,  would  not  do  h« 
duty ;  refosed  to  perform  the  egg-danoe, 
iHiich  he  had  promised  to  the  public;  he 
would  beat  her  to  death,  and  no  one  should 
hinder  him.  He  tried  to  get  loose,  and 
seek  the  child,  who  had  crept  away  among 
the  crowd.  Wilhelm  held  him  back,  and 
said  sternly:  «  You  shall  neither  see  nor 
touch  her,  tHl  you  haye  ex^ained  before  a 
magistrate  where  you  stole  her.  I  will 
pursue  you  to  erery  extremity,  yon  shaU 
not  escape  me.*  These  words,  which  WiU 
hdm  uttered  in  beat,  without  thought  or 
pur]pose,  out  of  some  Tsgue  feeling,  or,  if 
you  will,  out  of  inspiration,  soo&  brouffht 
the  raging  showman  to  composur*.  ^What 
haye  1  to  do  with  the  useless  brat  ?*  cried 
he.  *  Pay  me  what  her  clothes  cost,  and 
make  of  her  what  you  pleese ;  we  shall 
settle  it  to-night.*  And,  being  Uberated, 
he  made  haste  to  resume  hit  interrupted 
operstions,  and  to  calm  the  irritation  of 
the  public  by  some  striking  displays  of  Ida 
cra/L 

**  Sosoooaiall  wasstiUaaaint  Wilhefan 
cenmeoced  a  search  for  Mignoo,  whom, 
however,  he  could  nowhere  find.  Some 
said  they  had  seen  her  on  the  street,  others 
on  the  rooft  of  the  adjoining  houses;  but. 


to  see  if  she  would  not  again  eait  up  of 
hersdf* 

«^  In  the  mean  time,  Narcisa  had  come 
Into  the  house,  and  Wilhelm  set  to  ques- 
tioo  him  about  the  birtluplace  and  history 
of  the  child.  Monsieur  Nardis  knew  no- 
thing about  these  things ;  for  he  had  not 
long  been  in  the  company :  but  in  return 
he  recited,  with  much  volubility  and  levi- 
ty, various  particulars  of  his  own  fortune.' 
Upon  Wilhelm*s  wnhine  him  joy  of  the 
great  approbation  he  had  gained,  Narcisa 
cjiprcasiBd  himself  as  if  exceedingly  indif- 
ferent on  that  point.  ^  Peoplelaughat  us,' 
he  said,  *  and  admire  our  feats  of  sldll ; 
but  thdr  admiration  doea  nothing  for  us. 
The  master  has  to  pay  us,  and  may  raise 
the  funds  where  he  pleases.*  He  then 
took  his  leave,  and  was  setting  off  in  great 
haste. 

^  At  the  question :  Whither  he  was 
bent  so  fast  ?  the  dog  gave  a  smile,  and 
admitted  that  his  figure  and  talents  had  ac- 
quired for  him  a  more  solid  species  of  fa- 
vour than  the  huzaaing  of  the  multitude. 
He  had  been  invited  by  some  young  ladies, 
who  desired  much  to  become  ftrq^mnted 
with  him,  and  be  was  afraid  it  would  be 
midnight  ere  he  could  get  throuah  with  all 
his  viuts.  He  ^»rooeeded  with  the  greatest 
candour  to  detail  his  adventures ;  he  would 
have  given  the  names  of  his  patronesses, 
their  streets  and  houses,  had  not  Wilhelm 
waived  such  indiscretion,  and  poUtdy  given 
him  leave. 

*'  Laertes  had  meanwhile  been  enter- 
taining Landtienette :  he  dedwed  that  the 
was  fully  worthy  to  be  and  to  remain  a 
woman. 

*^  Our  friend  next  proceeded  to  his  bar- 
gain with  the  showman  for  Mignoo.  Thir- 
ty crowns  was  the  price  set  upon.lier ;  and 
for  this  sum  the  black-bearded  hot  Italian 
entirely  surrendered  all  his  claims  i  but  of 
her  history,  or  parentage,  he  would  disco- 
ver nothing  \  onlv  that  she  had  foUen  into 
his  hands  at  the  death  of  his  brother,  who, 
by  reason  of  his  admirable  skill,  had  usu- 
ally been  named  the  Great  DevU, 

^*'  Next  morning  was  chiefly  spent  in 
seardiing  for  the  child.  It  was  in  vain 
that  they  rummaged  every  hole  and  comer 
of  the  house  and  ne^hbourhood:  the  child 
had  vanished,  and  Wilhebn  was  afraid  she 
might  have  leapt  into  some  pool  of  water, 
or  destroyed  herself  in  some  other  war. 

**•  Philina*s  charms  could  not  disdpate 
his  inquietude;  hepaased  a  dreary  thoughu 
ful  day.** 

*  •  •  • 

"  Next  monung,  the  rope  danceri,  not 
without  much  parade  and  bustle,  bavii^ 
gone  away,  Mignon  immedialdy  appeared 
and  came  Into  the  parlour  as  Wilbdm  and 
Laertes  were  busy  fencing.  *  Where  hast 
thou  been  hid  ?*  said  WUhelm  inafrieod. 


after  seeking  unsuccessfully  m  all  quarters,    ly  tone.  *  Thou  hast  given  us  a  great  deal 
he  was  forced  to  eonteot  himielfy  and  WMt    of  niie^.*  The  chuS  looked  at  hia,  and 


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<9$ 


mMwered  noUung. 

cried  Laertes :  ^  we  ha?e  bou^t  thee.' 
*  For  bow  nracfa  ?*  inquired  the  child  quite 
eoollf .  *"  For  a  hundred  docftti,'  nid  the 
other ;  '  pay  them  again  andthon  art  free.* 
^  Is  that  Tery  much  V  she  asked.  •  O  yes ! 
tfaoa  must  now  be  a  good  child.*  ^  I  will 
try,*  she  said. 

^'  From  that  moment  she  obsenred  strict- 
ly^  what  serrices  the  waiter  had  to  do  fm 
both  her  friends ;  and  after  next  day,  she 
would  not  any  more  let  him  enter  the  room- 
She  persisted  in  doing  everything  herself; 
and  aecordin^y  went  through  her  duties, 
dowly  indeed,  and  sometimes  awkwardly, 
yet  completely  and  with  die  greatestcare. 

^'  She  was  frequently  observed  going  to 
a  basin  of  water,  and  washing  her  nice  with 
such  diligence  and  violence,  that  she  al- 
most wore  the  skin  from  her  cheeks ;  till 
Laertes,  by  dint  of  questions  and  reproofs, 
learned  that  she  was  striving  by  all  means 
to  get  the  paint  from  her  skin ;  and  that, 
in  her  zealous  endeavours  towards  this  ob- 
ject, she  had  mistaken  the  redness  pro- 
duced by  nibbing  for  the  most  obdurate 
dye.  They  set  her  right  on  this  point, 
and  she  ceased  her  efforts ;  after  which, 
having  come  again  to  her  natural  state, 
she  eidiibited  a  fine  brown  complexion, 
beautiftil,  though  sparingly  intermingled 
widired. 

^  The  siren  duurms  of  Philina,  the  my- 
sterious presence  of  the  child,  produced 
more  impression  on  our  friend  than  he  li- 
ked to  confess ;  he  passed  several  days  in 
that  strange  society,  endeavouring  to  dude 
self-rqiroaches  by  a  diligent  practice  of 
fencing  and  dancing — accomplishments 
which  he  bdieved  might  not  again  be  put 
within  his  reach  so  conveniently.'* 
#  •  •  • 

*'  Tn  the  meantime,  Mignon*s  form  and 
manner  of  existence  was  growing  more  at- 
tractive to  him  every  day.  In  her  whole 
system  of  proceedings,  there  was  some- 
thing very  singular.  She  never  walked  up 
and  downrthe  stairs,  but  jumped.  She  would 
spring  along  by  the  railing,  and  before  you 
were  aware,  would  be  sittmg  quietly  above 
upon  the  landing.  Wilhelm  had  observed, 
also,  that  she  h^  a  diflferent  sort  of  saluta- 
tion for  each  individuaL  For  himself,  it 
had  of  late  been  with  her  arms  crossed  up- 
on her  breast.  Often  for  the  whde  day 
she  was  mute.  At  times  she  answered  va- 
rious  questions  more  freely,  yet  always 
strangely ;  so  that  you  could  not  determine 
whether  it  was  caused  by  shrewd  sense,  or 
ignorance  of  the  language ;  for  shespoke 


G0Hke'$  WtMm  MM^^  C^ttK^ 

Thou  art  oius  now,*    heneUl    Her  dothcs,  too,  were  kept  aera- 


noloosly  clean,  though  neaily  aU  about 
her  was  quilted  two  or  three  pliea  thick. 
Wilhdm  was  moreover  U^  that  shn  went 
every  morning  early  to  hear  mass.  He 
fi^wed  her  on  one  occasion,  and  saw  her 
kneding  down,  with  a  rosary  in  a  comer 
of  the  d^urdi,  and  praying  devoutly.  Sho 
did  not  observe  him;  and  he  returned 
home,  forming  many  a  ^conjecture  about 
this  ^ypearance,  yet  unable  to  arrive  at  any 
probable  conclusion.*' 

m  m  m  m 

**•  Mignoo  had  been  waiting  for  him  ; 
she  lig&ed  him  up. stairs.  On  aettinw 
down  the  light,  she  begged  that  he  would 
allow  her  thai  evening  to  compliment  him 
with  a  piece  of  her  art.  He  would  rather 
have  dedined  this,partienlsrly  as  he  knew 
not  what  it  was ;  but  he  had  not  the  heart 
to  refuse  anything  this  kind  creature  wish- 
ed.  After  a  little  while  she  igain  came  iiu 
.She  carried  a  little  CKj^tt  bc£>w  her  ann, 
which  she  then  spread  upon  the  flooe. 
Wilhelm  said  she  might  proceed.  She 
thereupon  brought  four  candles,  and  plaeed 
one  upon  each  comer  of  die  carpet.  A  little 
basket  of  eggs,  whidi  she  next  carried  in, 
made  her  purpose  deaser.  CarefiiEy  mea- 
suring her  steps,  she  then  walked  to  and 
fro  upon  the  carpet,  spreading  out  the  eggs 
in  certain  figurea  and  poaitions;  which 
done,  she  called  in  a  man  that  was  waiting 
in  the  house,  and  could  play  on  the  vkdtn. 
He  retired  with  hit  instrument  into  »  oot^ 
ner ;  she  tied  a  band  about  her  eyes,  gave 
a  signal,  and,  Uke  a  piece  of  wheeUwodc 
set  a-going,  she  besan  moving  the  same 
instant  as  the  music,  accompanyiiw  her 
beats  and  the  notes  of  the  tune  wim  |he 
strokes  of  a  pair  of  castanets. 

^^  Ligfatlv,  nimbly,  ouickly,  and  witfc 
hairsbr^th  accuracy,  uie  csrried  on  the 
dance.  She  skipped  so  sharply  and  surdy 
along  between  Uie  eggs,  and  trodese  dose- 
Iv  down  beside  them,  that  you  would  have 
thought  every  instant  she  must  trample  one 
of  them  in  pieces,  or  kick  the  sest  away  in 
her  rapid  turns.  By  no  means  !  Shetouoh- 
ed  no  one  of  them,  though  winding  herself 
diron^  their  mases  with  aU  kinds  of  stqia, 
wide  and  narrow,  nay  even  with  leaps,  and 
at  last  half  kneding. 

^«  (Constant  as  the  movement  of  a  dodt, 
she  ran  her  course ;  and  the  strange  musk  at 
each  repetition  of  the  tune,  gave  a  new  im- 
pulse to  the  dance,  reeommendng  and 
again  rushing  off  as  at  first.  \I^Uidm  was 

Suite  led  away  by  this  singular  spectade ; 
e  forgot  his  cares  $   he  followed  every 
movement  of  the  dear  litde  creature,  and 


in  broken  German,  inteilaced  widi  French 

and  Italian.    In  WOhdm's  service,  she  fdt  surprised  to  see  how  findy  her  charac 

was  indefatigable,  and  up  before  the  sun.  tar  unfolded  itself  as  she  proooeded  in  the 

On  the  other  hand,  she  vanished  early  in  dance.                                    '      • 

the  evening,  went  to  sleep  in  a  litde  room  ^  Rigid,  sharp,  cold,  vdiemeBt,  and  in 

upon  the  hm  floor,  and  could  not  by  any  •  soft  postures,  stately  radicr'than  attxacdvc ; 

means  be  induced  to  take  a  bed  or  even  a  audi  was  the  U(/^  in  which  it  shewed  ner. 

straw  sack.    He  often  found  her  waihing  At  diis  mevisnt,  he  experienced  at  oace  aD 


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1894.;] 

tbe  cHMCloM  ht  had  erw  fell  for  HigooB. 
Ht  knaed  to  iaeorpoiftte  thii  fiMiakflo  bo- 
iag  wi^hitownbearti  to  takt  hor  in  fait 
•niM,  and  with  •  fiubcr*a  love  to  awako  la 
bor  the  jof  of  adstenoe. 

**  Tlie  dance  being  ended,  the  rolled  the 
Mgi  tofpcher  iofUy  with  her  foot  into  ■  lit* 
tCiieBp,  left  none  behind,  harmed  none; 
then  placed  hendf  beeide  it,  taking  the 
bandage  ieom  her  qrea,  andoonoladingher 
perlbrmaooe  with  a  little  bow. 
•  ^^  Wilhebn  thankedher  for  haying  ezo* 
cotedf  10  prettily  and  unexpectedly,  a  dance 
he  had  long  wiihed  to  eee.  He  patted  her; 
waa  eorry  she  had  tired  henelf  ao  mudu 
He  promised  her  a  new  suit  of  clothes;  to 
which  she  ▼ehemently  replied :  ^  Thy  co* 
lour  V  This,  too,  he  promised  her,  thonch 
not  well  knowing  what  she  meant  by  it  $he 
then  lifted  up  the  ws,  took  the  carpet 
below  her  arm,  asked  ifhe  wanted  anything 
farther,  and  skipped  out  at  the  door. 
•  •  •  • 

^  It  wSl  not  suri^rifeus,  therefore,  that, 
hi  oomidevin^  hir  situation,  and  labouring 
to  extricate  himself,  he  foU  hito  the  mateet 
Mfplexi^.  It  was  not  enough,  £at,  by 
Us  frientthip  for  Laertes,  his  attachment 
|o  PhUina,  his  concern  fw  Mignon,  he  had 
been  detained  longer  than  was  proper  in  a 
plaot  and  a  sody  wherehecouldchgnsh  hia 
darling  inclination,  content  his  wishes  as  it 
were  by  stealth,  and  without  proposing  any 
object,  agsin  puune  his  early  dreisms. 
These  ties  he  belieyed  himself  possessed  of 
force  enough  to  break  asunder:  had  d^ere 
bee«  nothbg  more  to  hold  him,  he  could 
have  gone  at  once.  But,  only  a  few  moments 
ago,  he  had  entered  into  money-transactions 
mth  Hdina ;  he  had  seen  diat  mysterious 
old  man,  the  enigma  of  whose  histanr  he 
longed  with  nnspeakaUe  desire  to  clear. 
Yet  of  this  too,  after  much  balancing  of 
reasons,  he  at  length  determined,  or  tbou^ 
he  had  determm^  that  it  should  not  keep 
him  back.  *•  I  mat  go,'  he  exckimed ; 
*•  I  willgo.*  He  threw  himself  into  a  chair, 
and  felt  greatly  moved.  Mignon  came  in 
and  asked.  Whether  she  might  he^  to  un- 
dress  b^?  Her  manner  was  still  and  shy; 
it  had  grieved  her  deeply  to  be  so  abruptly 
dismiseJDd  by  him  before. 

**  Nothing  is  more  toudiingthan  the  fiiBt 
disdoeureofalove^HuchhM  been  nursed  in 
ailMce,  of  a  foith  grown  strong  in  secret, 
and  which  at  last  comes  forth  In  the  hour 
o£  need,  and  revealsitaelf  to  him  who  form^ 
ttly  has  reckoned  it  of  small  account.  The 
bod,  whidi  h«d  been  doeed  so  Umg  and 
firmhr,  was  nowiipe  to  burst  it8swft£ln0^ 
and  wilhcbn*s  heart  could  never  have  been 
readier  lo  wdeome  the  imprtasioni  of  afflie- 
tion. 

^  She  stood  before  him,  and  noticed  \m 
disquietude.  ^MmaV  she  ericd,  'if 
thou  irt  unhappf ,  what  will  beeome  of 
Micnon  ?*  •  Dear  little  creotuie,*  said  he, 
tiddbg  her  haAd%  'thou  too  art  part  of 

Vol.  XV. 


Ooe4k/0  WUMfn  Meisier. 


687 


S  anxieties.  I  musi  p.*  She  looked  at 
eyes,  glistmlng  whn  restrained  tears ; 
and  knelt  down  witti  vehemence  before  him. 
He  kept  her  hands ;  she  laid  her  head  wp- 
on  his  knees,  and  remained  quite  stiU.  He 
played  with  her  hair,  patted  her,  and  spohe 
kindly  to  her.  She  continued  motionless 
for  a  considerable  time.  At  last  he  fdt  a 
sort  of  palpitating  movement  in  her,  which 
began  very  softly,  and  then  by  degrees  with 
increasing  violence  diffused  itself  over  all  her 
frame.  *  What  ails  thee,  Mignon  ?*  cried 
he ;  '  what  ails  thee  ?*  She  raised  up  her 
little  head,  looked  at  him,  and  all  at  once 
laid  her  hand  upon  her  hearty  with  the  coun- 
tenance of  one  repressing  the  utterance  of 
pain.  He  raised  her  up,  and  she  fdl  up- 
on  his  breast ;  he  pressed  her  towards  him, 
and  kissed  her.  She  replied  not  by  any 
pressure  of  the  hand,  by  an^  noodon  what- 
ever. She  held  firinly  agamst  her  heart ; 
and  all  at  once  gave  a  ay,  which  was  ac* 
oompanicd  by  spasmodic  movements  of  the 
body.  She  started  up,  and  immediatdy 
fell  down  before  him,  as  if  broken  in  every 
joint.  It  was  an  excruciating  moment ! 
'  My  diild  !*  cried  he,  raisine  her  up,  an4 
dasping  her  fast ;  '  My  diud,  what  ails 
thee  ?*  The  pdpitatuNis  continued,  spread- 
ing from  the  heart  over  all  the  lax  and 
powerless  limbs ;  she  was  merely  hanging 
m  his  arms.  All  at  once  she  again  became 
quite  sti£^  like  one  enduring  the  sharpest 
corporeal  aoony ;  and  soon  with  a  new  ve- 
hemence all  her  frame  once  more  became 
alive ;  and  she  threw  herself  about  his  neck, 
like  a  bent  spring  that  is  dosing ;  while  in 
her  soul,  as  it  were,  a  strong  rent  todc  plaoe, 
and  at  the  same  moment  a  stream  of  tears 
flowed  firom  her  shut  cyesinto  his  bosom.  He 
hdd  her  fast.  She  wept,  and  no  tongue 
can  express  the  force  of  these  tears.  Her 
long  hair  had  loosened,  and  was  ' 
down  before  her;  it  seemed  as  if  her  wl 
being  was  mdting  incessantly  into  a  brook 
of  tears.  Her  rigid  limbs  were  again  be- 
come relaxed ;  her  inmost  soul  was  pouring 
itsdf  forth  ;  in  the  wild  confusion  of  the 
moment.  Wilhdm  was  aftaid  she  would 
dissolve  in  his  arms,  and  cleave  nothing 
there  for  him  to  grasp.  He  hdd  her  fast . 
er  and  faster*  '  My  child  1*  cried  he, '  my 
child !  Thou  art  indeed  mine,  if  that  word 
can  comfort  thee.  Thou  art  mme !  I  will 
keep  thee,  I  will  never  forsake  thee  !*  Her 
(ears  continued  flowing.  At  last  she  rai- 
sed herself;  a  faint  gUdness  shone  upon 
her  face.  *  My  father  !*  cried  she,  *  Thou 
wilt  not  forsake  me  ?  WiU  be  my  father  ? 
I  am  thy  child  !' 

''  Softly,  at  this  moment,  the  harp  b^gan 
to  aound  before  the  door;  the  old  man 
brought  his  most  affet^ting  songs  as  an  evso- 
ing  raerina  to  our  friend,  who,  holdina  his 
chud  ever  fiialer  in  his  arms,  enjoyed  the 
most  pure  and  undeseribable  felicity.** 
•  •  •  • 

*'  Amid  the  pleasures  of  the  entertaio- 
4M 


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62S 


Qoethei  WUhekn  Meister. 


nJttoCf 


ment,  il  had  not  been  noticed  that  the 
children  and  the  Harper  were  awfty.  £re 
lone  they  made  their  entrance,  and  were 
blithely  welcomed  by  the  company.  They 
came  in  together,  very  strangely  decked : 
Felix  was  beating  a  triangle,  Mignon  a 
tambourine;  the  old  man  haid  his  large 
harp  hung  round  his  neck,  and  was  play- 
ing on  it  whilst  he  carried  it  before  him. 
They  marched  round  and  round  the  table, 
and  sang  a  multitude  of  songs.  Eatables 
were  handed  to  them  ;  and  the  guests  be- 
lieved they  could  not  do  a  greater  kindness 
to  the  children,  than  by  giving  them  as 
much  sweet  wine  as  they  chose  to  drink. 
For  the  company  themselves  had  not  by 
ady  means  neglected  a  stock  of  savoury 
flasks,  presented  by  the  two  amateurs, 
which  had  arrived  this  evening  in  baskets. 
The  chOdren  tripped  about  and  sang ; 
Mignon  in  particular  was  frolicsome  be- 
yond what  any  one  had  ever  seen  her.  She 
beat  the  tambourine  with  the  greatest  live- 
liness and  grace:  now,  with  her  flnger 
pressed  against  the  parchment,  she  hummed 
across  it  quickly  to  and  fro ;  now  rattled 
on  it  with  her  knuckles,  now  with  the  back 
of  her  hand ;  nay,  sometimes,  with  altema- 
'  ting  rhythm,  she  struck  it  first  against  her 
knee  and  then  against  her  head ;  and  anon 
*  twirling  it  in  her  hand,  she  made  the  sheila 
jingle  by  themselves;  and  thus,  from  the 
simplest  instrument,  elicited  a  great  varie- 
ty of  tones.  After  she  and  Felix  had  long 
rioted  about,  they  sat  down  upon  an  el- 
bow-chair which  was  standing  empty  at  the 
table,  exactly  opposite  to  Wilhelra. 

«'  The  children,  seated  in  the  great  chair, 
scarcely  reached  above  the  table  more,  or 
had  a  larger  look,  than  puppets  in  their 
box  :  they  actually  at  length  commenced 
a  little  drama  in  the  style  of  Punch.  The 
croaking  screeching  tone  of  these  people 
Mignon  imitated  very  well ;  and  Felix  and 
she  began  to  knock  their  heads  together, 
and  against  the  edges  of  the  table,  in  a  way 
that  nothing  else  but  wooden  puppets  could 
endure.  Mignon,  in  particular,  grew  fran- 
tic with  gaiety;  the  company,  much  as 
they  had  laughed  at  her  at  first,  were  in 
fine  obliged  to  curb  her.  But  persuasion 
was  of  small  avail ;  for  she  now  sprang  up, 
and  raved  and  shook  her  tambourine,  and 
capered  round  the  table.  With  her  hair 
flpng  out  bdiind  her,  with  her  head  thrown 
back,  and  her  limbs  as  it  were  cast  into 
the  air,  she  seemed  like  one  of  those  an- 
tique Msnades,  whose  wild  and  all  but 
impossible  positions  still  strike  us  with  as- 
tonishment when  seen  on  classic  monu- 
ments. 

**'  Incited  by  the  talents  and  the  uproar 
of  the  children,  each  endeavoured  to  con- 
tribute something  to  the  entertainment  of 
the  nighL  The  girls  sung  several  canons ; 
Laertes  whistled  in  the  manner  of  a  night- 
ingale ;  and  the  Pedant  gave  a  sj^phony, 
pianUHfno  upon  the  Jew*8-harp.  Mean- 
while  the  youths  and  damsels,  who  sat  near 


^ach  other,  had  began  a  great  varfe^  of 
games ;  in  which,  as  the  hands  often  cross- 
ed and  met,  some  pahrs  were  fiivoured  with 
a  transient  squeese,  the  emblem  of  a  hope- 
ful kindness.  Madam  Melina  in  partico- 
lar  seemed  scarcely  to  conceal  a  decided 
tenderness  fbr  Wilhdm.  It  was  late;  and 
Anreh'a,  perhaps  the  only  one  retaining 
self-possession  in  the  party,  now  stood  np, 
and  signified  that  it  was  time  to  go. 

^^  By  way  of  tennination,  Serio  gave  a 
firework,  or  what  resembled  one ;  fbr  he 
could  imitate  the  sound  of  crackers,  rockets, 
and  firewheels,  with  his  month,  in  a  style 
of  nearly  inconceivable  correctness.  Yon 
had  only  to  shut  your  eyes,  and  the  decep- 
tion was  complete.  In  the  meantime,  they 
had  all  arisen  ;  the  men  gave  their  arms 
to  the  fem^es  to  escort  ^em  home.  Wil- 
helm  was  walking  last  with  Autdia.  The 
itage-roanager  met  him  on  ^  stair,  and 
said  to  him, — *>  Here  is  the  veil  whidi  the 
Ghost  vanialied  in ;  it  was  hanging  fixed 
to  the  place  where  he  sank ;  we  iSand  it 
this  moment.* — *-  A  curious  rdic  !*  saM 
our  friend,  and  took  it  wiA  him. 

*'  At  this  instant  his  lefl  arm  was  laid 
hold  of,  and  he  felt  a  smart  twioge  of  pain 
in  it.  Mignon  had  hid  herself  in  the  place  ; 
she  had  seized  him  and  bit  his  arm.  She 
rushed  past  him,  down  the  stair,  and  dis- 
appeared. 

^^  On  reaching  the  open  air,  almost  all 
of  them  observed  that  they  had  drank  too 
liberally.  They  glided  asunder  without 
taking  leave. 

*^  The  instant  Wilhelm  gained  his  room, 
he  stripped,  and  extinguishing  his  candle, 
hastened  into  bed.  Sleep  was  overpower- 
ing him  without  delay,  when  a  noise,  that 
seemed  to  issue  from  behind  the  stove, 
aroused  him.  in  the  eye  of  his  heated  fimcy, 
the  image  of  the  harnessed  King  was  ho- 
vering near  him  ;  he  sat  up  that  he  might 
address  the  Spectre;  but  he  felt  himself 
encircled  with  soft  arms,  and  his  month  was 
shut  with  kisses,  which  he  had*  not  fiyrce  to 
push  away. 

♦  •  •  • 

(^  Next  morning,  Wilhdm  started  np 
with  an  unpleasant  feeling,  and  found  him- 
self alone.  His  head  was  still  dim  with 
the  tumult,  which  he  had  not  yet  entirely 
slept  off;  and  the  recollection  of  his  night- 
ly visitant  disquieted  his  mind.  His  first 
suspicion  lifted  on  Philina ;  but,  on  se- 
cond thoughts,  he  conceived  that  it  could 
not  have  been  she*  He  sprang  out  of  bed, 
and,  while  putting  on  his  clothes,  he  no- 
ticed tliat  the  door,  which  commonly  he 
used  to  bolt,  was  now  ajar ;  though  whe- 
ther  he  had  shut  it  on  the  previous  night 
or  not,  he  could  not  recollect. 

*•*  But  wh«t  surprised  him  most,  was  the 
Spirit's  veil,  which  he  found  lyine  on  his 
bed.  Having  brouffht  it  np  with  aim,  he 
had  most  probably  thrown  it  there  himssifl. 
It  was  a  gray  gatise ;  on  the  hem  of  it  lie 
noticed  an  intcriptioQ  broidcred  in  dark 


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letters*  He  unfolded  it,  and  read  the 
words :  *-  For  the  fibst  akd  tue  last 
TIME  !  Fly,  Youth  !  Fly  V  He  was 
struck  with  i^  aqd  knew  not  what  to  think 
or  say. 

*^  At  this  moment  Mignon  entered  with 
bb  breakfast.  The  aspect  of  the  chUd  as* 
tonished  Wilhehn,  we  may  almost  say  af- 
frighted him.  She  appeared  to  haye  grown 
taller  over  night ;  she  entered  with  a  state- 
ly  noble  air ;  and  looked  him  in  the  face 
so  earnestly,  that  he  could  not  endure  her 
glances.  She  did  not  touch  him,  as  at  other 
timet,  when,  for  morning  salutation,  she 
would  press  his  hand,  or  kiss  his  cheek, 
his  lips,  his  arm,  or  shoulder ;  but  having 
put  ms  things  in  order,  she  retired  in  id- 

The  TCsder  musl  understand  that 
Migwm  fhlls  into  sickness  fVom  the 
excess  of  ber  feelings— Wilhelm^  who 
has  been  separated  from  her  for  sorae 
time^  is  conversing  with  her  physician. 
The  child  Felix  is  the  son  of  Wil- 
helm — the  fruit  of  a  long-past  and 
unhappy  love.  Mignon  has  prodigi- 
ously attached  hendf  all  along  to  £e 
boy.  The  whole  scene  is  thoroughly 
aGennanone. 

*»  The  Doctor,  now  alone  with  Wil- 
hdm,  thus  uroceeded :  '  I  have  wondrous 
things  to  tell  you ;  such  as  you  are  not  an- 
tidpating.  Natalia  has  retired,  that  we 
mi^t  speak  with  greater  liberty  of  certain 
mauers,  which,  although  1  learned  them  by 
her  means  at  first,  her  presence  would  pre- 
vent us  from  discussing  freely.  The  strange 
temper  of  the  child  seems  to  consist  almost 
exclusively  of  deep  longing ;  the  desire  of 
revisiting  her  native  land,  and  the  desire 
for  you,  my  friend,  are,  I  might  almost 
say,  the  only  earthly  things  about  her. 
Both  these  feelings  do  but  grasp  towards 
an  immeasurable  distance,  both  objects  lie 
before  her  unattainable.  The  neighbour- 
hood of  Milan  seems  to  be  her  home ;  in 
very  early  childhood,  she  was  kidnapped 
from  her  parents  by  a  company  of  rope- 
dancers.  A  more  distinct  account  we  can- 
not get  firom  her,  partly  because  she  was 
then  too  young  to  recollect  the  names  of 
men  and  places ;  but  especially  because  she 
has  made  an  oath  to  teJl  no  living  mortal 
her  abode  and  parentage.  For  the  stroll- 
ing party,  who  came  up  with  her  when  she 
had  lost  her  way,  and  to  whom  she  so  ac- 
curately described  her  dwelling,  with  such 
piercing  entreaties  to  conduct  her  home, 
but  carried  her  along  with  them  so  much 
the  faster ;  and  at  mght  in  their  quarters, 
when  they  thought  the  child  was  sleeping, 
joked  about  their  precious  capture,  dedA- 
ring  she  would  never  find  the  way  home 
again.  On  this  a  horrid  desperatkm  fell 
upon  the  miserable  creature ;  but  at  l^St 
the  Holy  Virgin  rose  befbre  her  eyes,  and 


Godfui't  Wilhehn  MmUt, 


ei30< 


promised  that  die  would  assist  her.  The 
child  tlien  swore  within  herself  a  sacred 
oath,  that  she  would  henceforth  trust  no 
human  creature,  would  disclose  her  history 
to  no  one,  but  l^ve  and  die  in  hope  of  im- 
mediate aid  from  Heaven.  Even  this, 
which  I  am  telling  you,  Natalia  did  not 
learn  expressly  from  her  ;  but  gather, 
ed  from  detached  expressions,  songs,  and 
childish  inadvertencies,  betraying  what  they 
meant  to  hide.* 

'^  Wilhehn  called  to  memory  many  a 
song  and  word  of  this  dear  chUd,  wliich 
he  could  now  explain.  He  earnestly  re- 
quested the  Physician  to  keep  from  him 
none  of  the  confessions  or  mysterious  poetry 
of  this  peculiar  being. 

"  '  Prepare  younelf,'  said  the  Physician^ 
*  for  a  strange  confession ;  for  a  story  with 
which  you,  without  remembering  it,  have 
much  to  do ;  and  which,  as  I  greatly  fear» 
has  been  decisive  for  the  death  and  life  of 
this  good  creature.* 

•*  *  Let  me  hear,*  stud  Wilhelm,  '  my 
impatience  is  unbounded.* 

^( «  Do  you  recollect  a  secret  ni^tly  vi- 
sit from  a  female,*  said  the  Doctor,  ^  after 
your  appearance  in  the  character  of  Ham- 
let?* 

"  *  Yes,  I  recollect  it  well,*  cried  WU- 
helm,  bluiihing,  *  but  I  did  not  look  to  be 
reminded  of  it  at  the  present  moment.* 
*' '  Do  you  know  who  it  was  ?' 
"  '  1  do  not !  You  frighten  me  !  In  the 
name  of  Heaven,  not  Mignon,  sure  ?  Who 
was  it  ?  tell  me  pray.* 
"  '  I  know  it  not  myself.* 
"  '  Not  Mignon,  then  ?* 
'^ '  No,  certMnly  not  Mignon :  but  Mig- 
non was  intending  at  the  time  to  glide  m 
to  you ;  and  saw,  with  horror,  from  a  cor- 
oner where  she  lay  concealed,  a  rival  get  be- 
fore her.' 

*'  *  A  rival  !*  cried  our  friend :  •  Speak 
on,  you  are  confounding  me  entirely.* 

^« «  Be  thankful,*  said  the  Doctor,  <  that 
you  can  arrive  at  the  result  so  soon  through 
means  of  me.  Natalia  and  I,  with  but  a 
distant  interest  in  the  matter,  had  distress 
enough  to  undergo,  before  we  could  thus 
far  discover  the  perplexed  condition  of  the 
poor-  dear  creature,  whom  we  wished  to 
help.  By  some  wanton  speeches  of  Philina 
Olid  the  other  girla,  by  a  certain  song  which 
she  had  heard  the  former  sing,  the  diild's 
attention  had  been  roused ;  she  longed  to 
pass  the  night  beside  the  man  she  loved, 
without  conceiving  anything  to  be  implied 
in  ih\A  beyond  a  £ippy  and  confiding  rest. 
A  love  for  you,  my  friend,  was  already 
keen  and  powerful  in  her  little  heart ;  in 
your  arms,  the  child  had  fotmd  repose  from 
many  a  sorrow ;  she  now  desired  this  hap- 
piness  in  all  its  fulness.  At  one  lime  bhe 
proposed  to  ask  you  for  it  in  a  friendly 
manner ;  but  a  secret  horror  always  held 
her  back.  At  last  that  merry  night  and 
the  excitement  of  abundant  wine  in&j)ircd 


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090 


Q0eM$  WUhekn  MHHer. 


CJu 


hfit  wich  th«  courage  to  attempt  the  ven- 
tare,  and  gfide  in  to  you  on  that  occasion. 
AcoordSn^jr  the  ran  before,  to  hide  herself 
in  your  apartment,  which  was  standing 
open  ;  but  just  when  she  had  reached  the 
top  of  die  stair,  having  heard  a  rustling, 
she  concealed  herself,  Mid  saw  a  female  m 
a  white  dress  dip  into  your  chamber.  You 
yourself  arrived  soon  after,  and  she  heard 
you  push  the  large  bolt. 

^^  ^  Mignon*s  agony  was  now  unutterable ; 
all  the  violent  feelings  of  a  passionate  jea- 
lousy mingled  with  the  unacknowledged 
longing  o(  obscure  desire,  and  seized  her 
half-developed  nature  with  tremendous 
force.  Her  heart,  that  hitherto  had  beaten 
violently  with  eagerness  and  expectation, 
now  at  once  began  to  fiilter  and  stop ;  it 
pressed  her  bosom  like  a  heap  of  lead ;  she 
could  not  draw  her  breath,  she  knew  not 
what  ta  do ;  she  heard  the  sound  of  the  old 
man*s  harp,  hastened  to  the  garret  where 
he  was,  and  passed  the  night  at  his  feet  in 
horrible  convulsions.* 

^^  The  Physician  paused  a  moment; 
then,  as  Wilhelm  still  kept  silence,  he  pro- 
ceeded :  '  Natalia  told  me  nothing  in  her 
life  hod  so  alarmed  and  touched  her  as  the 
state  of  Mignon  while  relating  this ;  in- 
deed, our  noble  friend  accus^  hersdf  of 
cruelty  in  having  by  her  questions  and  her 
management  drawn  this  confession  from 
her,  and  renewed  by  recollection  the  vio- 
lent sorrows  of  the  poor  little  girL 

''  '  The  dear  creature,'  said  Natalia, 

*  had  scarcely  come  so  far  with  her  recital, 
or  rather  with  her  answers  to  my  questions, 
when  she  sank  at  once  before  me  on  the 
grdund,  and  with  her  hand  upon  her  bo- 
som piteously  con^lained  of  the  returning 
pain  of  that  excruciating  night  She  twist- 
ed herself  like  a  worm  upon  the  floor,  and 
I  was  forced  to  summon  my  composure  that 
I  might  remember  and  apply  such  means 
of  remedy  for  mind  and  body  as  were  known 
tome.' 

^'^  *  It  is  a  punful  predicament  you  put 
me  in,'  cried  Wilhelm,  ^  by  impressing  me 
so  keenly  with  the  feeling  of  my  manifold 
injustice  towards  tliis  unmippy  and  beloved 
bong,  at  the  very  moment  when  I  am 
again  to  meet  with  her.  If  she  is  to  seo 
me,  why  do  you  deprive  me  of  the  courage 
to  appear  with  freedom  ?  ,And  shall  I  con- 
fess it  to  you  ?  Since  hermipd  is  so  affect- 
ed,  I  perceive  not  how  my  presence  can  be 
advantageous  to  ber.  If  you,  as  a  Physi- 
cian, are  persuaded  that  this  double  long- 
ing has  so  undermined  her  being  as  to 
threaten  death,  why  should  I  renew  her 
sorrows  by  mv  presence,  and  perhaps  acce- 
lerate her  end  ?' 

"  *  My   friend,'  repfied  the   Doctor, 

*  where  we  cannot  cure,  it  is  our  duty  to  al- 
leviate ;  and  how  much  the  presence  of  a 
loved  object  tends  to  take  from  the  imagi- 
nation its  destructive  power,  how  it  changes 
an  impetuous  longing  to  a  peaceful  look- 


ing, I  could  demonstrate  by  the  most  ooo- 
vindng  instances.  Everything  In  modcn- 
tion  and  with  judgment!  For,  in  odier 
eases,  this  same  presence  may  rekindle  an 
affection  nigh  extinguished.  But  do  jtn 
ffo  and  see  the  child ;  behave  to  her  wtdi 
kindness,  and  let  us  wait  the  consequence.* 

'^  Natalia,  at  this  moment  coming  back, 
bade  Wilhehn  follow  ber  to  Mignon.  <8he 
appeanr  to  fed  quite  happy  with  the  boy,' 
observed  Natalia,  *  and  I  hope  she  will 
receive  our  friend  with  mildness.*  Wil* 
hdm  followed  not  without  reluctance ;  he 
was  deeplv  moved  by  what  he  had  been 
hearing ;  be  feared  a  stormy  scene  of  pas- 
sion. It  was  altogether  the  reverie  that 
happened  on  his  entrance. 

*'^  Mignon,  dressed  in  long  white  wo- 

men's  dothes,  with  her  brown  copioiis  hair 

partly  knotted,  partly  dostcring  outin  locks, 

was  sitting;  with  tlie  boy  Felix  on  her  hui, 

and  pressing  him  against  her  heart.    She 

looked  like  a  depa^ed  spirit,  he  like  life 

itself;  it  seemed  as  if  Heaven  and  Earth 

were  clasping  one  another.    She  hdd  out 

her  hand  to  Wilhelm  with  a  smile,  and 

said :  <  I  thank  thee  for  bringing  badt  the 

cbUd  to  me :  they  had  taken  him  away,  I 

know  not  how,  and  aftnoe  then  I  oould  Ml 

live.    So  long  as  my  heart  needs  anything 

on  earth,  thy  Fdix  shall  fill  up  the  void.' 
•  ♦  •     *     • 

<*  The  Abb^  called  them  in  the  evening 
to  attend  the  exequies  of  Mignon.  The 
company  proceeded  to  the  Hall  of  the  Past ; 
they  found  it  magnificently  ornamented 
and  illuminated.  The  waQs  were  hung 
with  azure  tapestry  almost  from  the  ceil- 
uig  to  the  floor,  so  that  nothing  but  the 
cornices  and  friezes  above  and  bdow  were 
visible.  On  the  four  candeUbras  in  the 
comers,  large  wax-lights  were  burning; 
smaller  lights  were  in  the  four  smaller  can- 
delabras  placed  hj  the  sarcophagus  in  the 
middle.  Near  this  stood  four  boys,  dress- 
ed in  azure  with  silver ;  they  had  broad 
fons  of  ostrich  foathers,  which  they  waved 
above  a  figure  that  was  resting  upon  the 
saroopha^s.  The  company  sat  down: 
two  invisible  Choruses  b^;an  in  a  soft  mu- 
sical redtative  to  ask :  '  Whom  bring  ye 
us  to  the  stin  dwelling?'  The  four  boys 
replied  with  lovdy  voices  i  *  Tis  a  tired 
plajrmate  whom  we  bring  you ;  let  her  rest 
in  your  still  dwelling,  tlB  the  songs  of  her 
heavenly  sisters  once  more  a?raken  her.* 
Chorus. 

"  Firstling  of  youth  in  our  drde,  we 
wdcome  thee  !  With  sadness  wdcome 
thee !  May  no  boy,  no  maiden  follow ! 
Let  age  only,  willing  and  composed,  ap- 
proach the  silent  Hall,  and  in  the  solemn 
company,  repose  this  one  dear  child ! 

BOTS. 

*<  Ah  !  rductantlv  we  brought  her  hi- 
ther!  Ah !  and  she  is  to  reroam  htre !  Let 
us  too  remain ;  let  us  weep,  let  ua  weep 
upon  her  bier ! 


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10M.3 


OoMe'i  mihehn  Melittr. 


asi 


CttOMVS. 

**'  Yd  Mk  Bt  die  ttnmg  wingi ;  look  at 
tiMligiitdctf  tobe!  How  dittert  tbo  gd. 
dm  band  npoa  her  hcadl  Look  at  tht 
boMitffbl,  Ike  mM0  lepoto  t 

BOTS. 

*^  Ah  !  the  wings  do  not  raise  her ;  in 
the  frolic  game,  her  robe  flutters  to  and  ho 
no  more ;  whoi  we  bound  her  head  with 
BoseSy  her  kdnon  as  were  kind  and  IHcnd- 

^• 

Croeus. 

^  Gail  Ibrward  the  efes  of  your  spbiti  f 
Awake  in  yov  soak  the  imaginati?e  pow- 
er, which  carries  life,  the  fasrest,  the  high- 
est  of  earthly  endowmam»  away  beyond 
the  stars. 

BOTS. 

**  Bat,  ah  !  we  find  her  not  here ;  in  the/ 
garden  she  wanders  not ;  the  flowers  of  the 
meadow  she  plucks  no  longer.     list  us 
weep,  we  are  leaving  her  here !  Let  us 
weep  and  aemain  with  her ! 
t  (      Cflomus. 

^  Chil^apl,  tarn  back  into  life  t  Your 
tears  let  the  fresh  air  dry  which  plays  up- 
on the  rushing  water.  Fly  from  Night ! 
Day  and  Pleasure  and  Continuance  are  the 
lotofthelhing. 

Boys. 

'«  Up  !  Turn  bade  int6  Hfef  Let  the 
iMy  gife  us  labour  and  pleasure,  lUl  the 
avcniog  brings  ua  refet,  and  the  nightly 
sleqp  refreahes  oa. 

Chokvb. 

««  Children !  Hasten  into  life !  In  the 
pure  gaiments  of  beauty,  may  Love  meet 
you  with  heavenly  lodn,  aad  with  the 
wrealli  of  immortality. 

**  By  the  pressure  of  a  spring,  the  Abb^ 
aaak  the  body  into  the  cavity  o(  the  mar- 
ble. Four  youths,  dressed  as  the  boys 
had  been,  came  out  from  bdiind  the  upes- 
try ;  and  lifting  the  heavy,  beautifully  or- 
namented lid  upon  the  coffin,  thus  began 
their  song. 

Tbe  Youths. 

**  Well  is  the  treasure  now  laid  up ;  the 
frdr  image  of  the  Past  I  Here  sleeps  it  In 
the  marble,  ondecaytng ;  in  your  hearts  too 
JtHvcs,  it  works.  Travd,  tiafel  bade  into 
Kfe  1  Take  along  with  you  this  holy  Ear- 
nestness ;  for  Emestness  alone  makes  life 
eternity." 

We  have  perhape  quoted  too  macli 
-HAd  yet  fain  would  we  quote  more. 
Independent  altogether  or  this  atory 
of  Mignon,  there  is  another  not  len 
aflbeting,  although  not  quite  so  ima- 
ftinativa — thatof  Jfartana.  Thisytoo^ 
Is  a  golden  thread,  that  runs  here  and 
there  through  the  whole  web  of  this 
comd^  and  singular  porfonnanoe. 

Whatever  orainarr  novel-readers 
may  think,  it  is  no  trifle  that  we  now 
do  poMesa  in  the  English  langui|s«  a 


fidthfbl  and  oompleld  Terskm  ^  on§ 
of  tiiose  works  bj  which  Goethe  hat 
established  his  lame  as  a  novdist. 
The  English  tranalation  of  The  Sor- 
rows of  Werther  is  abominable,  and  no 
one  can  have  anyproper  noticm  of  that 
work  from  it.  We  trust  thii  young 
gentleman  may  be  prevafled  upon  to 
do  for  Werther  the  same  service  whidi 
Meister  has  received  at  his  hand& 
The  task  will  be  a  frur  lighter  <me,  and 
the  juvenile  work,  whatever  Goethe 
himself  may  think  or  say,  is,  after  all, 
a  superior  one  even  to  his  Meister.  It 
iS|  «t  all  events,  «  wock  much  more 
certain  to  find  frivour  with  English 
readers,  if  it  were  but  presents  to 
them  In  a  decent  EngliA  dress. 

In  his  future  versions,  we  hope  this 
gefitleiMn  will  please  to  dispense  with 
his  Frau'^Herr — Fraulein — SUUl" 
meUter'^AnU-^StadHhauM,  and  the 
other  purely  German  words  with  which 
in  this  instance  he  has  here  and  there 
most  absurdly  and  offensively  inter- 
larded his  excellent  Engtidi.  Mr, 
Mrs,  MJBs,  Master-of-the-horse^  Ma- 
gistrate, Town^hottse,  and  the  Uks^ 
are  ^uite  as  good  woids  in  sound,  and 
considerably  more  intdligible.  This 
hint  will,  we  hope,  be  taken  in  good 
part.  And  the  publishers  also  will 
forgive  us  for  observing,  that  it  is  too 
nracfa  to  make  us  pay  for  a  trandation 
of  a  German  novel,  at  tbe  sane  rate  as 
for  a  new  work  of  the  Audior  of  W»- 
verley. 

We  have  named,  at  the  head  of  this 
article,  a  version  (so  called)  of  Goethe's 
Life  of  Himself,  which  has  lately  is- 
sued from  the  London  press.  We 
have  done  so,  merely  that  we  might 
have  the  opportonity  of  warning  oar 
reados  against  one  of  the  moat  auda^ 
doua  and  impudent  pieces  of  ouack^ 
ery,  by  whidi  the  pubUc  conndenoe 
has  of  late  years  been  insulted.  The 
scribe  pretends  to  translate  frrom  the 
German ;  but,  in  fiict,  his  translation 
is  a  miserably  mutilated  one  of  a  very 
bad  Frendi  version.  The  sense  haa 
been  missed  in  inmmicvable  instanoea 
in  the  course  of  this  double  process  of 
refinement.  And  altogether  the  catdi- 
penny  is  below  contempt.  Ita  defecta 
of  execution  have  b^en  abundantly  ex- 
posed in  the  Westminster  Review; 
but  these  critics  themselves  do  not  ap- 
pear to  be  aware  of  the  fact,  that  since 
the  three  volumes,  inscribed  "  Didi- 
tung  uttd  Wahrheit^  ymt  pmbli^ied, 
another  Tohttie  «f  ikii  w«iit  has  ap^ 


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ess                                  OoeMM  mihekn  Meitier.  QJu^ 

peared.  Of  diis  entire  fourth  volume,  miserable  octavos  with  a  bald  and  bar- 
which  has  been  for  not  less  than  eigM  mn  '^  origmal!  I  /"  continaaiiani  of 
yeatM^  before  the  public,  and  familiar  Goethe's  Life,  and  some  notices  of  Iim 
to  almost  every  person  who  knows  literary  contemporaries,  which  have 
anything  of  German  letters — of  this  every  appearance  of  being  copied  ftvoi 
charming  volume,  which  contains  the  small  print  of  some  French  Ma- 
Goethe's  Narrative  of  his  Travels  in  giizine,  or  *'  Dictionary  of  Living  Au- 
Italy,  one  of  the  most  interesting  pe-  thors,"  made  to  selL 
nods  of  his  life — of  this  entire  volume  We  should  like  extremely  to  see  a 
our  noble  translator  has  not  translated  translation  of  Goethe's  Life,  executed 
one  syllable.  And  vet  he  has  the  face  by  the  translator  of  his  Wilhelm  Meis- 
to  make  a  grand  apology  for  the  abrupt-  ter,  or  some  similar  hand;  but  this 
ness  with  which  Goethe's  narrative  specimen  of  hack-work  and  quack- 
terminates,  and  ekes  out  his  own  two  work  must  be  scouted  by  the  publid 


Oar  copy  ia  printed  at  Tubingen  in  1816. 
V % 


introduction.  ♦  «* 

Gbntlk  Rbasbb, 
Few  pieces  of  cant  are  more  common  than  that  which  consists  in  re- 
echoing the  old  and  ridiculous  cry  of '^  variety  is  charming;"  "  t(mf  ours  per-' 
drix,"  &c  &c.  &c.  I  deny  the  fact.  I  want  no  variety.  Let  things  ber^dly 
good,  and  I,  for  one,  am  in  no  danger  of  wearying  of  them.  For  examp)^ 
to  rise  every  day  about  half  after  nine— eat  a  couple  of  eggs  and  muffins^ 
and  drink  some  cups  of  genuine,  sound,  dear  coffee — then  to  smoke  a  cigar 
or  80— read  the  Chronicle — skim  a  few  volumes  of  some  first-rate  new 
novel,  or  perhaps  pen  a  libel  or  two  in  a  light  sketchy  vein — then  to 
take  a  bowl  of  strong,  rich,  invigorating  soup — then  to  get  on  horse^back, 
and  ride  seven  or  eight  miles,  paying  a  visit  to  some  amiable,  well-bred, 
accomplished  young  lady,  in  the  course  of  it,  and  chatting  away  an  hour 
with  her, 

^*  Sporting  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade, 

Or  with  the  tangles  of  Neiere*8  hair," 

as  Milton  expresses  it — then  to  take  a  hot-bath,  and  dress — then  to  sit 
^wn  to  a  plain  substantial  dinner,  in  company  with  a  select  party  of 
real  good,  honest,  jolly  Tories— and  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  evening  with 
them  over  a  pitcher  of  coof  chateau-margout,  singing,  laughing,  speechi- 
fying, blending  wit  and  wisdom,  and  winding  up  the  whole  with  a  dei-il 
and  a  tumbler  or  two  of  hot  rum-punch — This,  repeated  day  after  day,  week 
after  week,  month  after  month,  and  year  after  year,  may  perhaps  appear 
to  some  people,  a  picture  pregnant  with  ideas  of  the  most  sickening  and 
disgusting  monotony.  Not  so  with  me,  however*  I  am  a  plain  man. 
I  could  lead  this  dull  course  of  uniform  unvaried  existence  for  the  whole 
period  of  the  Millennium.     Indeed  I  mean  to  do  so. 

Hoping  that  you,  benevolent  reader,  after  weighing  matters  with  ycwir- 
self  in  calm  contemplation  for  a  few  minutes,  may  be  satisfied  that  the 
vietr  I  have  taken  is  the  right  one — I  now  venture  to  submit  to  your 
friendly  notice  a  small  additional  slice  of  the  same  genuine  honest  cut- 
and-come-again  dish,  to  which  I  recently  had  the  honour  of  introducing 
you.  Do  not,  therefore,  turn  up  your  nose  in  fashionable  fastidiousness^; 
but  mix  your  grog,  light  your  pipe,  and  laying  out  your  dexter  kg  he- 


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1824.;3  Maxitm  of  Mr  aihheriy.  63S 

fore  you  in  a  comfortable  manner  upon  a  well-paddod  chatr^  or  •o£E^  or 
foot-stool,  (for  the  stuffing  of  the  cushion,  not  the  form  of  the  furniture, 
is  the  point  of  real  importance,)— and,  above  all,  take  particular  care 
that  your  cravat,  braces,  waistband,  &c.  &c  &c.  be  duly  relaxed  pro- 
ceed, I  say,  with  an  easy  body,  and  a  well-disposed,  humble,  and  medL- 
iative  mind,  to  cast  your  eye  over  a  few  more  of  these  "  pebbles,"  (to 
use  a  fine  expression  of  the  immortal  Burke,^  which  have  been  rounded 
and  polished  by  long  tossing  about  in  the  mighty  ocean  of  the  intellect 
cf.  Gentle  reaider. 

Your  most  devoted  servant, 

Morgan  ODohbrty. 
Blue  Poit9,  June  19,  1894. 

fRsiyivi  Ctonitsniftitjft* 

Whenever  there  is  any  sort  of  shadow  of  doubt,  as  to  the  politics  of  an 
individual — that  individual  has  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  his  politics — in  other 
words,  he  is  a  Whig.  A  Tory  always  deals  above  board.  Your  Whig,  on 
the  other  hand,  particularly  Vour  Whigling,  or  young  Whig,  may  have,  and, 
in  point  of  fact,  very  often  has,  his  private  reasons  for  wishing  to  keep  the 
stain  of  which  he  is  conscious  as  much  iu  the  shade  as  may  be.  It  is  wonder- 
Ail  how  soon  such  characters  make  up  their  minds  when  they  are  once  fairly 
settled  in  a  good  thing. 

fAsLyita  C]ft(rt{et]^* 

Hock  cannot  be  too  much,  claret  cannot  be  too  little,  iced.  Indeed,  I  have 
my  doubts  whether  any  red  wine  should  ever  see  the  ice-pail  at  all.  Burgun- 
dy, unquestionably,  never  should  \  and  I  am  inclined  to  think,  that  with  re- 
gard to  hermitage,  daret,  &c.,  it  is  always  quite  sufficient  to  wrap  a  wet 
towel  (or  perhaps  a  wisp  of  wet  straw  is  better  still)  about  the  bot^e,  and 

?ut  it  in  the  draught  of  a  shady  window  for  a  couple  of  hours  before  etyoyment. 
do  not  mention  port,  because  that  is  a  winter  wine. 

fBLsiyim  C|^s^6n^« 

In  whatever  country  one  is,  one  should  choose  the  dishes  of  the  country. 
Every  really  national  dish  is  good — ^at  least,  I  never  yet  met  with  one  that  did 
not  gratify  my  appetite.  The  Turkish  pilaws  are  most  excellent — but  the  so 
called  French  cookery  of  Pera  is  execrable.  In  like  manner,  roast  beef  with 
Yorkshire  pudding  is  always  a  prime  feast  in  England,  while  John  Bull's 
Fricandeaux  soufflSs,  &c,  are  deadedly  anaUiema.  What  a  horror,  again,  is  a 
Bifsiick  of  the  Palais  Royal !  On  the  same  principle— (for  all  the  Fine  Arts 
follow  exactlv  the  same  principles)— on  the  same  principle  it  is,  that  while 
Principal  RoWtson,  Dugald  Stewart,  Dr  Thomas  Brown,  and  all  the  other 
would-be-English  writers  of  Scotland,  have  long  since  been  voted  tame,  in- 
sipid, and  tasteless  diet,  the  real  haggis-bag  of  a  Robert  Bums  keeps,  and  most 
always  keep,  its  place. 

Never  take  lobster  sauce  to  salmon ;  it  is  mere  painting  of  the  lily,  or,  I 
should  rather  say,  of  the  rose.  The  only  true  sauce  for  salmon  is  vinegar, 
mustard,  Cayenne  pepper,  and  parsley.  IVy  this  once,  my  dear  Dr  Kitchener, 
and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  betting  three  ten-pennies  that  you  will  never 
depart  fh>m  it  again  wWe  the  bream  of  gastronomy  is  in  your  nostrib.  As 
for  the  lobster,  either  make  soap  of  him,  or  eat  him  cold  (with  cucumber) 
at  supper. 


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634  Ma^nm  tfMr  ODokeHy.  ^Jiuie^ 

I  talked  Id  die  last  maadm  of  cold  lobster  for  sap|>er ;  but  this  reonlrei  ex- 
pUnatioii.  If  by  accident  you  hare  dined  in  a  quiet  way^  and  deferred  for 
once  tbe  main  business  of  existence  until  the  night,  then  eat  oold  lobsters,  oold 
beef,  or  eold  anything  jou  like  for  supper ;  but  in  the  ordinary  ease,  when  a 
man  has  already  got  his  two  bottles,  or  nerhans  three  uader  his  bdt,  depend 
on  is,  tbe  supper  of  that  man  ahould  be  hotpot— hot — 

**  Nunquam  aliud  Natura,  alind  Sapientia  docet.*' 

Such  is  my  simile  view  of  the  matter ;  but  a  friend  at  mv  elbow,  who  is  al- 
ways for  refining  on  things,  says,  that  the  philosophical  rule  is  this,  "  When 
you  have  been  drinking  cold  wine  or  cold  punch,  your  supper  ought  to  be  a 
devil,  or  at  least  something  partaking  of  the  devil  character ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  when  you  have  been  swallowing  mulled  wine,  or  hot  punch,  or  hot 
toddy,  something  cold,  with  vinegar,  sallad,  &e.,  should  form  the  supper/* — I 
have  given  you  my  friend's  theory  in  his  own  words. — If  men  of  sense  would 
but  communicate  the  results  of  their  different  experiments  to  the  public,  we 
should  soon  have  abundant  data  for  the  settlement  of  all  these  disputes. 

0UyUn  Cjbirts^Court^. 

It  is  a  common  thing  to  hear  big  wigs  prosing  against  drinking,  as  ''  aprin- 
eipal  source  of  die  evil  that  we  see  in  tnis  world." — I  heard  a  very  big  wig  say 
so  myself  the  other  day  fVom  the  bench,  and  we  have  all  heard  the  same  can^ 
ad  nauseam  usque,  from  the  pulpit  There  cannpt,  however,  be  a  more  ene- 
ffious  mistake.  Had  Voltaire,  Robespierre,  Buonaparte,  Talleyrand,  &c., 
been  all  a  set  of  joUv  boozing  lads,  wnat  a  mass  of  sin  and  horror,  of  bks- 
phem^,  uproar,  blood-thirsty  revolution,  wars,  battles,  sieges,  butchering 
ravismngs,  &c.  &c.  &c.,  in  France,  Germany,  Egypt,  Spain,  Sicily,  Syria, 
North  America,  Portugal,  &c.,  had  been  spared  within  the  last  twenty  or  thir- 
ty years !  Had  Mahomet  been  a  comfortable,  social  good  fellow,  devotedly 
fond  of  his  pine  and  pot,  would  not  the  world  have  avoided  the  whole  of  that 
humbug  of  Islamism  ? — a  superstition,  reader,  that  has  chained  up  and  de^r»- 
ded  the  intellect  of  man  in  so  many  of  the  finest  districts  of  the  globe,  durinff 
the  space  of  so  many  long  centuries.  Is  it  not  manifest,  that  if  Southey  had 
been  a  greater  dealer  in  quarts,  his  trade  would  have  been  more  limited  as  to 
quartos  ? — It  is  clear,  then,  that  loyalty,  religion,  and  literature,  have  had  oc- 
casion, one  and  all  of  them,  to  bemoan  not  the  wine-sop,  but  the  milk-s<^ 
propensities  of  their  most  deadly  foes. 

In  making  our  estimate  of  a  man's  character,  we  should  always  lay  entirety 
out  of  view  whatever  has  any  connexion  with  *'  the  womankind."  In  hicX, 
we  all  are,  or  have  been,  or  shall  be,— or,  if  this  be  too  much,  we  all  at  least 
might,  oould,  would,  or  should,  be — Foo|s  qxioad  hoc.  I  wi^  this  were  tbe 
worst  of  it— but  enough. 

The  next  best  thing  (6  a  really  good  woman,  is  a  really  good-natured 

Tbe  next  worst  thing  to  a  really  bad  man,  (in  o^^.  words  a  Amavf,)  is  a 
nally  good-natured  man,  (in  otjber  words  a /Soo/>) 

6 


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1994.^  Afajtimso/Mr  QDoheriff^  635 

A  fool  admires  likeness  to  himself;  but,  except  in  the  case  of  fools,  people 
fidl  in  love  with  something  unlike  themselves — a  tall  man  with  a  short  wo« 
man-— a  little  man  with  a  strapper— fair  people  with  dork— and  so  on. 

A  married  woman  commonly  Ms  in  lo?e  with  a  man  as  unlike  her  husband 
as  is  possible— but  a  widow  verjr  often  marries  a  man  extremely  resembling 
the  defiinct.    The  reason  is  obvious. 

You  may  alwa^  ascertain  whether  you  are  in  a  city  or  a  village,  by  finding 
out  whether  the  mhabitants  do  or  do  not  care  for  or  speak  about  anything 
thiee  days  after  it  has  happened. 

There  are  four  kinds  of  men, — ^tlie  Whig  who  has  always  been  a  Whig— 
the  Tory  who  has  once  b^n  a  Whig — the  Whig  who  has  once  been  a  Tory, 
and  the  Tory  who  has  always  been  a  Tory.  Of  these  I  drink  willingly  only 
with  the  lost,— considering  ihe  first  as  a  fool,  the  second  as  a  knave,  and  the 
third  as  both  a  fool  and  a  knave ;  but  if  I  must  choose  among  the  others, 
give  me  the  meire  fooL 

Never  boozify  a  second  time  with  the  man  whom  you  have  seen  misbehave 
himself  in  his  cups.  I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Ufe,  and  I  stake  myself  upon 
the  assertion,  that  no  roan  ever  says  or  dues  that  brutal  thing  when  drunk, 
,  which  ha  would  not  also  say*  or  do  when  sober,  if  he  durst. 

In  literature  and  in  love  we  generally  begin  in  bad  taste.  I  myself  wrote 
.  very  pompous  verses  at  twenty,  and  my  first  flame  was  a  flaunting,  airy,  arti- 
ficial attitudinizer,  several  years  older  tnan  myself.  By  means  of  experience, 
we  educate  our  imagination,  and  b^me  sensible  to  the  charm  of  the  simple 
and  the  unaffected,  both  in  belles  and  belles-letters.— Your  septuagenarian  of 
accomplished  taste  discards  epithets  with  religious  scrupulosity,  and  prefers 
an  innocent  blushing  maiden  of  sixteen,  to  adl  the  biasing  duchesses  of  St 
James's. 

ifltsjrCm  d^orts^toitt4» 

Nothing  is  more  disgusting  than  the  coram  publico  endearments  in  whidi 
new-married  peoj^le  so  frequently  indulge  themselves.  The  thing  is  obriously 
indecent ;  but  this  I  could  overlook,  were  it  not  also  the  perfection  of  folly 
and  imbedlitv.  No  wise  man  counts  his  coin  in  the  presence  of  those  who, 
£vr  aught  he  xnows,  may  be  thieves — and  no  good  sportsman  permits  the  pup 
to  do  taat  for  which  the  dog  must  be  corrected. 

A  husband  shoold  be  very  attentive  to  his  wife  until  the  first  child  is  bom. 
After  that  she  can  amuse  herself  at  home,  while  he  resumes  his  jolly  habits. 
Vol.  XV.  4  N 


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686  Jfaximt  of  Mr  ODohir^  IIJu|ir« 

Never  befieTe  in  the  intellect  of  a  Wbig*  merely  became  yoo  l^ear  all  the 
Whigs  trumpet  him — ^na^^  hold  fast  your  faith  that  he  is  a  dunderhead^  even 
although  the  Pluckless  pipe  symphonious.  This  is^  you  will  please  IQ.  obserye^ 
merely  a  plain  English  yersion  of  that  good  old  adagium  i 

^*  Mille  lioet  cjrphris  csrphnmim  millia  jiuigas» 
Nfl  prster  magnum  conficies  nihilum." 

There  are  two  methods  of  mail-coach  traTclHngr— the  generous  and  the  spt*^ 
ring.  I  have  tried  both^  and  give  my  voice  decidedly  for  the  former.  It  is  all 
stuflT  that  you  hear  2:V>nt  eating  and  drinking  plentifully  inducing  fever^  &c. 
&c.  during  a  long  journey.  Eating  and  drinking  copiously  produce  nothing, 
mind  and  body  being  well  regulated,  but  sleepiness — and  I  know  no  place 
where  that  inclination  may  be  indulged  less  reprehensibly  than  in  a  mittl-- 
coach,  for  at  least  sixteen  hours  out  of  the  four-and-tweuty.  In  travelling,  I 
make  a  point  to  eat  whenever  I  can  sit  down,  and  to  drink  (ale)  whenever  the 
coach  stops.  As  for  the  interim,  when  I  can  neither  eat  nor  drink,  I  smoke 
if  upon  deck,  and  snuff  if  inside. 

N.B.  Of  course,  \  mean  when  there  is  no  opportunity  of  flirtation. 

If  you  meet  with  a  pleasant  fellow  in  a  stage-coach,  dine  and  get  drunk  with 
him,  and,  still  holding  him  to  be  a  pleasant  fellow,  hear  from  his  own  lips 
just  at  pi^ng  that  he  is -a  Wlkig^^o  not  change  your  opinion  of  the  man. 
Depend  on  it  he  is  quizzing  you. 

Shew  me  the  jronng  lady  that  runs  after  preachers— and  I^  will  diew  yon  one 
who  Mas  no  particular  aversion  to  men. 

There  are  only  three  liquors  that  harmonize  with  smoking— beov-coflfee — 
and  hock.  Cigars  altogether  destroy  the  flavour  of  claret,  and  indeed  of  all 
red  wines,  except  Auchmanshanser  ;  which,  in  case  you  are  not  knowing  in  such- 
matters,  is  the  produce  of  the  Burgundy  grape  transplanted  to  the  banks  of 
the  Rhine — a  wine  for  which  I  have  a  particular  regu^ 

He  whose  ftiend^p  is  worth  havrng,  mnsi  hate  and  be  bated. 

Your  highly  popular  young  lady  seldom— I  believe  I  might  say  nevefAxt^ 
spires  a  true,  deep,  soul-filling  passion.  I  cannot  suppose  JuHe  d'Etange  to 
have  been  a  ftvourite  partner  in  a  ball-room.  She  oould  not  take  the  trouble 
to  smile  upon  so  many  fops. 

The  intensely  amorous  temperament  in  a  young  girl,  never  feils  to  stamp 
melancholy  on  ner  eyelid.  The  lively,  ratding,  giggling  romp,  may  be  capable 
of  a  love  of  her  own  kind<-<4mt  neyer  the  true  luxury  of  the  pasnon. 


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1«H»3  MajBims  of  Mr  ODoheHy.  ^zr 

fSkyim  JF((t}^(ourtfl« 

No  fool  ctn  be  in  love.— N.  B.  It  has  already  been  laid  down  that  all  good- 
matured  men  are  fools. 

Nothing  is  more  overrated,  in  common  parlance  at  least,  than  the  influence 
of  personal  handsomeneis  in  men.  For  my  part,  I  can  easily  imagine  a  woman 

il  mean  one  really  worth  being  loved  by)  falling  in  love  with  a  Balfour  of 
Inrleigh — ^but  I  cannot  say  ^  same  thing  as  to  a  young  Miinwood.  A  real 
Hebecca  would,  I  also  think,  have  been  more  likely  to  fall  in  love  with  the 
Ttrraplar  than  vrfth  Ivanhoe  ;  but  these,  I  bdieve,  were  both  handsome  fel- 
lows in  their  several  styles.  The  converse  of  all  this  applies  to  the  case  of 
women.  RousKau  did  not  dare  to  let  the  small-pox  permanently  injure  the 
beauty  of  his  Hekrfse.  One  would  have  closed  the  book  had  he  destroyed  the 
tine  tpUL  non  of  aU  romance. 

flUifim  SiftS'^ipi* 

Whenever  you  see  a  book  Areqoentl^  advertised,  you  may  be  priDtty  sure  it 
is  a  bad  one.  If  you  see  a  /w^quoted  m  the  advertisements,  you  may  be  quite 
sure. 

Employ  but  one  tradesman  of  the  same  trade,  and  let  him  be  the  fint  man 
In  his  line.  He  has  the  best  materials,  and  can  give  the  best  tick ;  and  one 
long  bin  is,  at  all  tioaes,  a  mere  trifle  on  a  man's  mind,  compared  with  three 
;Bhort  ones. 

I  cannot  very  well  teU  the  reason,  but  such  is  the  fact  :-»the  best  boots  and 
fihoea  are  made  at  York— I  mean  as  to  the  quality  of  the  leather. 

Be  on  your  ffuard  when  you  hear  a  young  lady  speak  slightingly  of  a  voung 

gentleman  with  whom  the  has  any  wrt  of  acquaintance.  She  is  probably  in 
ve  with  him,  iand  will  be  sure  to  remember  what  you  say  after  she  is  mar- 
ried. But  if  you  have  been  heedless  enough  to  follow  her  lead,  and  abuse 
hun,  you  must  make  die  best  of  it  If  you  have  great  face,  go  boldly  at  once, 
and  drawing  her  into  a  comer,  say,  "  Ana  !  do  you  rerocrabcr  a  certain  con- 
versation we  had  ? — Did  you  thins  I  was  not  up  to  your  tricks  all  the  time  ?" 
— Or,  better  still,  take  the  bull  bv  the  horns,  and  say, — "  So  ho !  you  lucky 
dog.  I  could  have  prophesied  tnis  long  ago.  She  and  I  were  always  at  you 
when  we  met — she  thought  I  did  not  see  through  the  affair— Poor  rfrl !  she 
waq  desperatelv  in  for  it,  to  be  sure.  Bv  Jupiter,  what  a  fortunate  fellow  you 
have  been  T'  &c  &c.  &c.— Or— b«t  of  all — ^follow  my  own  plan — t.  e,  don't 
call  till  the  honey-moon  is  over. 

It  IS  the  prevailing  humbug  for  authors  to  abstain  from  |)utting  their  names 
on  their  title-pages— and  well  may  I  odl  this  a  humbug,  since  of  every  book 
that  ever  attracts  the  smallest  attention,  the  author  is  instantly  just  as  well 
known  as  if  he  had  dapt  his  portrait  to  the  beginning  of  it.  This  nonsense 
sometimes  annoys  me,  and  I  have  a  never-failing  mctliod.  My  way  is  tliis ; 
I  do  not^  as  other  people  do,  utter  modesty  mincing,  little  compliments,  in 
hqies  <tt  seeing  the  culprit  blush,  and  thereby  betray  himself.    This  h  much 

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038  Maxims  of  Mr  ODoher^.  CJow^ 

too  pretty  treatment  for  jt  man  guilty  of  playing  upon  the  pahlie— ttid^  be« 
sides,  few  of  them  can  hlush*  I  pretend  the  most  perfect  ignorance  of  the 
preyailing,  and,  of  course,  just  suspicion ;  and  the  moment  the  work  is  men- 
tioned, I  b^n  abusing  it  up  hill  and  down  dale.  The  company  tip  me  the  wink, 
nod,  frown  in  abundance — no  matter.  On  I  go,  mordicus,  and  one  of  two 
^ood  things  is  the  result,  viz.  either  the  anonymous  hero  waxeth  wroth^  and 
in  that  case  the  cat  is  out  of  the  poke  for  ever  and  a  day ;  or  he  takes  it  lu 
good  part,  keeping  his  countenance  with  perfect  composure,  and  then  it  is 
proved  that  he  is  really  a  sensible  fellow,  and  by  consequence  really  has  a  ri^^t 
to  follow  his  own  fancies,  however  ridiculous. 

Lord  Byron*  observes,  that  the  dailv  necessity  of  shaving  imposed  upon  tlie 
European  male,  places  him  on  a  level,  as  to  misery,  with  the  sex  to  whose 
share  the  occasional  botheration  of  parturition  has  fallen.  I  quite  agree  with 
his  lordship— and  in  order  to  diminish,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  the  pains  of  mj 
species,  I  hereby  lay  down  the  result  of  my  experiences  in  abrasion.  If  I  had 
ever  lain  in,  I  would  have  done  my  best  for  the  ladies  too— but  to  proceed.-— 
First,  then,  buy  your  razors  at  Paget's — a  queer,  dark-looking,  little  shop  in 
Piccadillv,  a  few  doors  eastward  from  the  head  of  St  James's  Street  He  is  a 
decent,  snrewd,  intelligent  old  man,  makes  the  best  blades  in  Europe,  tempers 
every  one  of  them  with  his  own  hand,  and  would  sooner  cut  his  throat  than 
give  you  a  second-rate  article.  Secondly,  in  stropping  your  razor,  (and  apiece 
of  jplain  buff  leather  is  by  far  the  best  strop,)  play,/fym  you,  not  towards  you. 
Thirdly,  anoint  your  beard  ove^might,  if  the  sldn  be  in  any  degree  hard  or  dry, 
or  out  of  repair,  with  cold  cream,  or,  better  stm,  with  bear's  grease.  Fourtn« 
ly,  whether  you  have  anointed  or  not,  wash  your  fiM»  ^reful^  and  copiously 
before  shaving,  for  the  chief  difficulty  almost  always  arises  fropi  dust,  perspi- 
ration, ^c.  clogging  the  roots  of  the  beard.  Fifthly,  let  your  soap  be  Uie  Pasta 
di  Castagna.  Sixthly,  let  your  brush  be  ^full  one  ofcamets  hair.  Seventhly, 
in  spite  of  Sir  John  Sinclair,  always  use  hot  water — ^boiling  water.  These  are 
the  seven  golden  rules. 

N.  B.  Use  the  strop  again  after  you  have  done  shaving,  and  get  old  Paget, 
if  possible,  to  give  you  a  lesson  in  setting  your  razors.  If  you  cannot  manage 
this,  send  them  to  him  to  be  set — ay,  even  if  you  live  60Q  miles  from  Lon* 
don.  People  send  to  town  about  their  coats,  boots,  &c,  but  what  are  all  these 
things  to  the  real  comfort  of  a  man,  compared  with  a  good  razor? 

Ass  milk^  they  say,  tastes  exceedingly  like  woman  s.    No  wonder^ 

A  Mvacket  should  take  as  much  care  about  his  cigars,  as  a  wine-bibber  does 
of  his  cellar,  yet  most  of  them  are  exceedingly  remiss  and  negligent.  The 
rules  are  as  follows :  First,  keep  a  large  stock,  for  good  tobacco  improves  very 
punch  by  time — say  enough  for  two  years'  consumption.  Secondly,  keep  them  in 
the  coolest  place  you  have,  provided  it  be  perfectly  dry — ^for  a  cigar  that  is  once 
wet,  is  useless  and  irreclaimable.  Thirdly,  keep  them  always  in  air-tight  ca- 
nisters— ^for  the  common  wooden  boxes  play  the  devil. 

N.  B.  The  tobacco  laws  are  the  greatest  opprobrium  of  the  British  code. 
We  laid  those  most  extravagant  duties  on  tobacco  at  the  time  when  North 
America  was  a  part  of  our  own  empire,  and  we  still  retain  them  in  spite  of 
rhyipe  and  reason*  Qne  consequence  is,  that  every  gentleman  who  smokes 
imugsles;  for  the  duty  on  manufactured  tobacco  amotmts  to  a  prohibition—it 
is,  I  uiink,  no  less  than  eighteen  shillings  per  pound — and  what  is  a  pound  of 
cigars  ?  Why  does  not  the  Duke  of  Sussex  speak  up  in  the  House  of  Lords? 
"  I  like  King  George,  but  I  can't  afford  to  pay  duties,"  quoth  Nanty  Ewart ; 
and  I  quite  agree  with  the  inimitable  Nanty. 

■  ' 

•  Rftbelais  said  so,  Ensign,  some  time  before  Don  Juan  appeared.— G  N. 

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1B8A.3  Hfiutmt  of  Mr  Odokeri^  «3» 

No  cigar<4mdcer  erer  oommitted  soicide. 

In  making  bot  toddy^  or  hot  punch,  you  must  put  in  the  spirits  before  the 
water :  In  cold  punchy  grog,  &c  the  other  way.  Let  Dr  Hope  explain  the 
xeason.    I  state  nets. 

The  safety  of  women  consists  in  one  circumstance :  Men  do  not  possess  at 
Ihe  same  time  the  knowledge  of  thirty-five  and  the  blood  of  seventeen. 

The  extreme  instance  of  the  baiho$  is  this:  Any  modem  sernKxi  after  the 
Litany  of  the  Church  of  England. 

The  finest  of  all  times  for  flirting  is  a  wedding.  They  are  all  agog,  po(^ 
things. 

To  me  there  is  nothing  very  stare-worthy  in  the  licentionsness  of  afew  em* 
presses,  queens,  &c.  of  whom  we  hare  all  heard  so  much.  After  all,  tiiese  de^ 
irated  females  only  thought  themselves  the  equals  of  common  men. 

If  nmdes  were  as  pure  as  they  would  have  us  bdieve,  they  would  not  rail  ao 
bitterlv  as  they  do.    We  do  not  thoroughly  hate  that  whicn  we  do  not  tho- 
'  ily  understand. 

^Compated  after  $%x  months'  reMenoe  m  Athens.') 

John  Brougham  for  bourdeaux, 

Robert  Cockbum  for  champagne^ 
John  Ferguson  for  hocks, 

Cay  fiv  Shenia  sack  of  Spain. 

miin  for  rod,  pirn,  and  hooks, 

Dunn  for  oong^  and  salaam. 
Bailie  Blackwood  iot  books, 

Macvey  Napier  for  balaam. 

Sir  Walter  for  fables, 

Peter  Robertson  fin:  speeches, 
Mr  Trotter  for  tables, 

Mr  Bridges  for  breeches. 

Gall  for  coaches  and  gigs, 

Steele  for  ioes  and  jam, 
Mr  Uiquhart  for  wigs, 

Mr  jefflrey  for  bam* 

Lord  Morton  for  the  zebra, 

Billy  Allan  for  the  brush, 
Johnny  Leslie  for  the  Hebrew, 

And  mysdf  Ibr  a  Unah. 


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People  may  talk  as  they  like^  but^  after  ^,  London  is  London.  Now^  some- 
body will  say,  here  is  a  foolifiJi  tautology— ndoes  not  everybodv  know  that? 
Hooly  and  fairly,  my  friend— it  is  ten  to  one  if  jf<m  know  it  If  you  were  ask- 
ed wnat  are  the  fine  things  of  L>ondon  ? — ^what  is  it  that  gires  it  its  metro- 
politan and  decidedly  superior  character?  You  would  say  Parliament-^t 
James's — Carlton  House— the  Parks— ^Alraack's — White's— Brookes'tf-^ 
Crockford's— Boodle's— Regent  Street— the  Theatres— the  Dioramas— the  N«- 
turoramas — the  fiddle-dendevils.  Not  one  of  these  is  in  London,  exc^t  per- 
haps the  last,  for  I  do  not  w^  know  what  that  is— but  London  itseu—the 
city  inside  Temple-bar,  is  the  place  for  a  philosopher. 

Houses  of  lath  mty  flouriah  or  may  fade, 

Bob  Nash  may  make  them  as  Bob  Nash  has  made. 

But  can  Bob  Nash  {(ptem  honoris  cattsd  nom(ho)  create  the  glories  of  Cockney* 
land  ?  Can  he  build  a  Watling  Street— narrow,  dirty,  irregular,  it  is  true,  but 
Still  a  Roman  way,  trod  by  proud  Praetors,  and  still  to  be  walked  orer  by^ou 
or  me,  in  the  same  form  as  it  was  trampled  by  the  "  hobnail"  of  the  Imon* 
ary  soldier,  who  did  service  at  Pbarsalia  ?  what  is  London  stone,  a  black 
lump  in  a  hole  of  the  wall  of  a  paltry  chnrdi,  (the  London  Stone  Coffbe- 
house  opposite,  is  a  very  fair  concern,)  but  a  Roman  milliarium,  laid  down 
ihtte,  for  anything  you  know  to  the  contrary,  by  Julius  AgHoobt^  Irho  dis- 
covered Scotland,  and  was  the  firiend  of  Cornelius  Tacitus,  according  to  the 
rules  enacted  by  the  road-metem  of  old  Appius^ Claudius?  But  I  must  not 
go  on  vdth  the  recollection  of  London.  Curse'  on  the  Cockney  school  of 
wobblers — ^they,  who  know  nothing,  have,  b^  writing  in  praise  Of  Augusta 
Trinobantum,  (I  use  this  wold  on  purpose,  in  order  to  conceal  from  them 
what  I  mean,)  made  us  sick  of  the  subject  I,  therefore,  have  barely  advert- 
ed to  the  Roman  times,  for  luckily  tbev  have  not  had  the  audacity  to  pretend 
to  any  acquaintance  with  such  a  perioa. 

The  Court — ^Why,  to  be  sure,  it  contains  the  King,  whom,  as  a  Tory,  I  re- 
Tetenoe  as  an  integral  portk>n  of  the  State — 1  hate  to  hear  him  called  the  Chief 
Blagistrate,  as  if  he  was  but  an  upper  sort  of  Lord  Waitbman — and  whom  as 
a  man  I  regard — ^but  my  attachment  is  constitutional,  and  in  the  present  case 
personal,  and  not  local.  The  same  may  be  said  of  Parliament.  As  for  the 
dubs,  why  they  are  but  knots  of  humdrum  people  after  all,  out  of  all  which  you 
could  not  shake  five  wits.  The  Almackites  arc  asses — the  theatres  stu^— the 
fashionables  nothing.  In  money — in  comfort — ^in  cookery— in  antiquity — ^in 
undying  subjects  for  quizzificatien — ^in  pretty  Jewesses — as  Spenser  says,  F.  Q. 
B.  I.  C.  V.  St.  xxi. 

— —  Jcwessa,  sunny  bright, 
Adom*d  with  gold  and  Jeirela  shiniiing  deaf  » 

London  proper  I  back  against  Southwark  and  Westminster,  induding  all  the 
adjacent  Aam#,  and  steads,  and  ions,  and  wetts.  Where  can  we  find  the  match 
for  Uie  Albion,  in  Alderssate  Street^  as  thou  goest  from  St  Martin  Le  Grand 
to  ihe  territory  of  Goswell  Street,  in  the  whole  world,  take  the  world  cither 
ways,  from  Melville  Island  to  Van  Diemen's  Land,  or  from  Yeddo  in  the  Island 
of  Japan,  to  Iveragh  in  the  kingdom  of  Kery,  and  back  again  ?  Nowhere ! 
But  I  am  straying  from  my  cups. 

RetoumoDs,  dist  Oiand  Oousiet,  a  nostre  propous. 
Qud  ?  dist  Oargantua. 

Why,  punch  making. 

In  making  'rack  punch,  you  ongbt  to  put  two  glioses  of  rum  to  three  of 
arrack.  A  good  deal  of  sugar  is  required ;  but  sweetening,  after  all,  must  be 
left  to  taste.    Kitchener  is  frequently  abranl,  when  he  prescribes  by  weight 


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1094:3  Maxim  (^  Mr  ODoker^.  6it 

and  measure  for  such  things.  Lemons  and  limes  are  also  matter  of  palate, 
but  two  lemons  is  enoogh  m  die  abore  qnanli^r :  Y>ut  then  an  equal  quanti- 
ty of  water — t.  e.  not  fire,  but  six  glasses,  to  allow  for  the  letnon  juice,  and 
jToa  have  a  very  pretty  three  tumblers  of  pundi.  Mix  in  a  jug.  If  you  are 
afhdd  of  head-aclie»— for,  as  Xeno^n  says  of  aenother  kmd  of  eastern  tipple,. 
'ruk  punch  is  nft^axyn-^-fiat  twice  as  much  water  as  spirits.  I,  howe^er^ 
never  used  it  that  way  for  my  own  private  drinlnng. 

The  controversy  respecting  the  fit  liquor  for  punch,  is  far  from  being  set  at 
rest  As  some  folk  mention  Dr  Kitchener,  I  inay  as  well  at  once  dispose  of  him. 
In  his  477th  nostrum,  he  professes  to  give  you  a  reeeipt  for  making  lemonade 
hi  a  minute,  and  he  commences  by  bidding  vou  nux  essence  of  lenion  peel  by 
4egret$  with  ospillaire.  How  that  is  to  be  done  in  a  minute  passes  my  oaok^  ' 
prehension.  But  waving  this,  he  proceeds  to  describe  the  process  of  aod  ma-r 
king,  and  then,  in  the  coolest  and  most  audaciouB  way  in  tne  world,  bids  yoti 
put  a  spoonful  of  it  into  a  pint  of  water,  which  will  produce  a  very  agreeaUo 
riierbe^  ^  the  addition  of  rum  or  brandy  (quoth  our  hero^  will  convert  thii 
into  ruNCH  niaxcTLY."  What  a  pretty  way  of  doing  busmess  this  is  1  Ft  is 
just  as  much  as  if  I  were  to  say,  get  a  flmt-4he  addition  of  a  stock,  lock,  and 
barrel  to  which,  will  convert  it  into  a  oun  dikxctlv.  Why,  the  spirits  tiele 
first  to  be  conadered. 

Brandy  I  do  not  think  good  punch.  The  lemon  docs  not  blandly  amalg»» 
mate,  and  sugar  hurts  the  vinous  flavour.  Nor  is  it  over  good  as  grog.  I  re- 
commend brandy  to  be  used  as  a  dram  solely.  In  drinldng  claret,  when  that 
cold  wine  begins,  as  it  will  do,  to  chill  the  stomadi,  a  glass  of  brandy  after 
evenr  four  glasses  of  claret  corrects  the  frigidity. 

N.B.  Brandy,  and  indeed  all  other  drams,  should  be  taken  at  one  sup,  no 
matter  how  huge  the  glass  may  be.  The  old  rule  of ''  never  to  make  two  mte» 
of  a  cherry,"  applies  with  peculiar  emi^iasis  to  cherry  bnmdy. 

Rum  is  the  Uquor  consecrate  to  grog.  Half  and  half  is  thefkir  proportion. 
Chrog  should  never  be  stirred  with  a  spoon,  but  immediately  drunk  as  soon  as 
the  rum  has  been  poured  in.  Rum  punch  is  apt  to  be  heavy  on  the  stomadi 
^^md  unless  very  old,  it  has  not  peculiar  ment  as  a  dram.  The  American 
pine-apple  rum  is  fine  drinking,  and  I  wonder  it  is  not  introduced  into  this 
countiy.  In  my  last  Maxims,  I  omitted  to  panegyrise  the  peach  brandy  of 
our  Traoi-Atlantie  brethren,  an  omission  iduch  I  b^  loave  here  to  correct. 

The  pursers  on  board  ships  water  the  rum  too  mud).  You  hear  fools  in 
Parliament  and  elsewhere,  prating  about  the  evils  of  impressment  |  but  the 
real  grievances  of  the  navy  are  len  untouched.  Croker  should  take  this  up, 
fSnr  it  would  make  him  extaniilvely  po^ulai. 

Shrub  is  decidedly  a  pleasant  drink,  particularly  in  the  morning.    It  is, 

however,  expensive.    Sheridvi  used  to  say  it  was  better  to  drink  champagne 

^  mit  of  economy ;  fbr,  said  he^  .your  hrauis  get  addled  with  a  single  flask  of 

champagne,  whereas  you  drink  rum  shrub  aU  nig^t  before  you  are  properly 

drunkt    Sheridan  vm  a  great  man. 


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GM3  MtucimB  of  Mr  OIMer^,  C|JimfA 

As  fbr  arrack— I  can't  sajr  I  like  it.  Yoa  would  bam  the  first  Moll  or 
Qui-^hi  of  Uiem  all,  by  infusmg  a  couple  of  scruples  of  flowers  of  beDjamin  in 
a  bottle  of  runu  You  would  see  him  snuffing  it  up  his  nose,  and  swearing 
that  he  would  know  its  fragrance  at  the  distance  of  a  pazasang.  The  flowoa 
of  benjamin  cost  about  twopence.  The  best  place  for  rack  is  Vauxhall ;  but 
I  suspect  they  run  this  hum  on  you.  At  Tom'8>  in  Comhill,  you  get  it  go* 
nuine. 

Of  Tom's,  thus  casually  presented  to  my  mind,  let  me  irididge  in  tibe  re^ 
ec^ection.  Coffee-house,  redolent  of  cash,  what  magnificent  associatioDs  of 
ideas  do  you  not  create  1  By  you  for  generations  has  rolled  the  nerer-ceasiog 
flow  of  l^ealth— the  chink  of  money,  since  the  memory  of  man,  has  not  beea 
diecked  witl|in  your  hearing.  Tet,  with  the  ifuouciance  of  a  suUime  phi- 
losophy,  your  cooks  and  waiters  haye  never  turned  away  from  their  worn  of 
gastrbsopay,  to  think  of  the  neighbouring  milHons.  How  superb  is  your  real 
turtle  soup^how  peppery  your  muUagatawny — ^how  particular  your  Madeira ! 
Depend  upon  it,  the  pla(^  for  dining  in,  are  the  dty  tayems  or  cofiee-houses. 
Tou  haye  not,  to  be  sure,  a  skip-jack  monkey  hopping  behind  your  diair— ^ 
you  haye  no  flaring  mirror  glowring  out  on  you  in  all  the  majesty  of  a  deep 
gilt  frame — you  haye  no  marble  (£imney-pieoe8,  pleasant  to  look  at,  but  aU 
telling  accursedly  against  you  in  the  bill — Instead  of  them,  you  haye  steady- 
going  waiters,  all  duly  impressed  with  the  dead  certainty  of  their  working  up 
gradually  to  be  tayem-keepers  themselves — ^thence  men  of  potency  in  th« 
ward — in  time  merchants  of  some  degree — aldermen  in  due  course,  perhaps— 
and  perhaps  the  vista  presented  to  their  mental  optics  is  gilded  at  tne  end  by 
the  august  chain  of  Lord  Mayor.  Tb^  bow  to  you  for  a  penny,  while  a  iack- 
anapes  at  the  west  end  would  toss  up  his  nose  at  a  half-crown.  The  prudence 
of  tneir  visitors  makes  them  prudent  ^emselves.  The  eastern  pence  are 
hoarded,  while  the  western  two«and-sixpennies  are  flung  to  the  winds,  after 
tbe  thousands  of  the  dandies  who  have  bestowed  them.  Then  their  boxes  are 
dark  and  dingy — but  warm  and  cozy.  A  clock  ticks  audibly  to  remind  you  of 
the  necessity  of  keeping  good  hours  even  in  the  midst  of  revelry.  Even  if  a 
man  gets  muzsy  in  one  of  them,  it  is  a  sober  intoxication — you  are-  thinking 
of  profit  and  loss  in  tbe  meanderings  of  your  intellect— and  you  retire  to  xeat 
to  oream  of  the  necessity  of  industry  and  attention. 

When  yoa  write  any  outlandiBh  lingo>  always  wtteci  the  press  yourself,  isx 
my  24th  Maxim,  a  most  erudite  and  important  one,  the  word  nacha&h  is  print* 
ed  nechadadi.  After  this,  let  no  conjectural  emendation  be  deemed  too  wild, 
when  we  see  sh  Qtgf]  converted  by  a  printer  into  dhdl^  DTT]]*  wbich  blun« 
den  must  not  have  been  made  in  the  days  of  MSS. !  Ancl  yet  you  bear  Ibols 
prating  about  the  impropriety  of  meddling  witb  the  text. 

Maxims  are  hard  reading,  demanding  a  constant  stretch  of  the  intellectual 
faculties.  Every  word  must  be  diligenuy  pondered,  every  assertion  examined 
in  all  its  bearings,  pursued  with  a  keen  eye  to  its  remotest  consequence^  re- 
jected with  a  philosophic  calmness,  or  treasured  up  with  the  same  feeling  as 
ft  «'«Tv»«  u  W—B  "  possession  to  eternity."  Ten  pages  of  Maxima  there- 
fiw^  are  enough  at  a  time. 


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18S4. 


T%€  PolUicai  Economist* 


043 


THE  FOLITICAL  ECONOMIST. 

Eiiay  IL^Part  L 

Are  the  moH  important  temu,  the  fundamental  doetHnee,  and  the  general 
and  thwretical  principles  of  Political  Economy,  explained  and  eetabliehed  in  a 
dear,  coneietent,  and  eatirfactory  manner,  in  the  most  celebrated  writers  in  that 
science,  and  will  they  bear  a  close  and  severe  ejeamination  f 

■  Qu*  lis  contiderent  auisi  d*uii  otre  c6t^,  si  la  fitussete  et  la  confusion  ne  regnent  pu 
daai  la  pfailoiophie  ordinaire  a  cause  que  les  philosopbes  se  contentent  d*  une  vrai-tem- 
blance  fort  hale  a  trouTer,  et  si  commode  pour  leur  vanit^  et  pour  leurt  intereU.  "S^j 
troave>t-on  pas  presque  par  tout,  une  infioie  diTendde  de  aendmens  snr  les  mcmes  tu- 
jfits,  et  par  consequence  une  infinite  d*erTeurs  ?  Cependant  ua  tres  grand  nombre  dedis- 
c^des  se  laissent  seduire  et  se  soumettent  aveu^^ement  a  TautoriU  de  ces  philosopbes, 
sans  comprendre  mesme  leurs  sentimens. 


Our  nresent  purpose  is  to  ptore,  tbat 
Politieai  Economy  cannot  be  studied 
with  KlTgntage  and  satisfaction  in  the 
modern  writers  on  that  subject,  by  any 
person  who  wishes  to  be  convinced  of 
Che  soundness  of  its  first  principles ; — 
who  expects  perspicuity,  consistency, 
and  accurate  reasoning  in  the  deduc« 
tions  fieom  these  principles,  or  to  find 
them  applicable  to,  and  explanatory  of 
what  is  occurring,  or  sure  ^ides  in  the 
adfancement  and  acquisition  of  social 
wealth. 

We  shall  endeavour  to  prove  this, 
principally,  because  we  shall  then 
prove,  that  there  is  a  field,  almost  en* 
turelT  unoccupied,  for  our  labours.  But 
we  nave  anoiEher  object  in  view :  By 
positing  out,  as  we  trust  we  shall  be 
enabledto  do,  obscurity,  contradiction, 
and  ambiguity  in  the  use  of  words, 
and  illogicalneas  in  reasoning,  we  shall 
in  some  measure  render  it  unneces- 
sary to  employ  much  time  in  the  re- 
futation of  doctrin^  we  conceive  to 
be  erroneous,  when  we  enter  directly 
on  our  subject,  and  we  shall  also  be 
enabled  to  unfold  and  detect  the  prin- 
cipal and  most  powerful  and  general 
causes  of  the  obacuril^  and  contradic- 
tion in  which  Political  Economy  is  in- 
vdved. 

•  All  writers  on  thb  subject  are  agreed 
that  the  object  of  Political  Economy 
is  the  natural  means  of  wealth — that 
is,  those  means  which  naturecupplies, 
without  any  other  interference  of  man, 
than  simply  employing  them ; — those 
means  rendered  more  productive  by 
the  labour  and  skill  of  man ;— the  in- 
terchange and  distribution  of  wealth ; 
and  the  various  methods  by  whidx 
weslth  can  be  increased  in  its  produc- 
tion, or  facilitated  in  its  interchange 
and  distribution.  Whether  P<^itical 
Beonomista  aie  agreed  and  conaiBteiit 
Vol.  XV. 


Makbrancht,  Recherche  de  la  Veriie. 

on  those  points,— especially  on  the 
sources  of  wealth,  will  be  an  after  in- 
quiry. Let  us  first  examine  what  they 
mean  by  the  term  Wealth ;  for  it  is 
evident,  unless  to  this  term  is  affixed 
a  definite  and  clear  meaning,  vague- 
ness and  incondusiveuess  must  attend 
all  the  inquiries  respecting  its  sources 
and  distribution. 

It  is  maintained  bj  some,  that  a  oer« 
tain  degree  of  scarcity  is  necessary  to 
constitute  wealth ;  and,  on  this  ground, 
water  is  said  not  to  form  a  part  ofwealth. 
But  in  the  first  place,  the  term  scard** 
ty  is  indefinite  and  ambiguous.  Cora 
may  be  produced  in  a  country  quite 
equal  to  the  demand ;  then  there  can 
be  no  scarcity :  it  may  even  be  produ- 
ced in  such  quantity  as  to  exceed  the 
demand,  when,  of  course,  a  superflui^^ 
exists;  and  yet,  surely  no  one  wiU 
maintain,  tliat  corn  m  these  cases 
ceases  to  be  an  article  ofwealth,  or  that 
the  claim  of  any  article,  to  be  indu- 
ded  among  the  ingredients  of  indhri- 
dual  or  social  weuth,  can  depeM  on 
its  abundance  or  scarcity. 

With  respect  to  the  instance  of  vra- 
ter,  there  is  also  a  mistftke.  Water, 
even  where  it  is  in  the  greatest  abun- 
dance, requires  labour  to  procure  it, 
which  must  dther  be  performed,  or 
paid  for,  by  the  person  requiring  it : 
and  in  either  case,  water  must  be  con- 
sidered as  an  article  of  wealth,  as  much 
as  any  other  object  which  is  acqidred 
either  directly  or  indirectly  by  labour. 
Some  state  the  wealth  of  a  nation 
to  consist  in  the  totality  of  the  private 
property  of  ita  individuals ;  others  in 
the  abundance  of  its  commodities.  The 
Economists  distinguish  public  from 
private  wealth,  considermg  the  fi>r-i 
mer  aa  possessing  a  value  in  use,  but 
no  value  in  exchange ;  and  the  latter, 
at  having  an  exehtfigeable  value,  but 
40 


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I%i  FoUHoai  BeonimUt. 


ISnata, 


no  fahie  In  me.  Lord  Lauderdak 
agrees  with  ihe  Eoonomists  in  diitin- 
ffoiBhing  indiTidaal  riches  from  pab« 
Be  wealthy  hut  he  defines  the  latter  as 
eonsisting  hi  all  that  man  desires  as 
nseftd  or  deligfatfUl  to  him ;  and  the 
fiirmer^  as  consistinff  in  all  that  man 
desires  as  useful  or  delightful  to  him^ 
uhkh  exisli  in  a  degree  of  scarcity. 

Say  maintains  tlut  wealth  can  only 
exist  where  there  are  things  possessed 
of  real  and  intrinsic  value^  and  that  it  is 
proportionate  to  the  quantum  of  that 
value ;  greats  when  tne  aggregate  of 
component  value  is  great — small,  when 
that  aggregate  is  small.  Mr  Prinsep^ 
his  ingenious  and  ahle  translator,  ob- 
lects  to  this  definition. ''  It  is  strange/' 
he  says,  ^^  that  a  writer  of  so  much 
research  should  begin  with  such  a  loose 
definition.  The  term  weslth,  or  riches^ 
in  its  most  enlarged  sense,  means 
abundance,  in  some  degree  or  other,  of 
those  things  which  satisfy  the  wants 
and  desires  of  mankind.  In  estima* 
ting,  however,  wealth,  account  is  taken 
of  such  things  only  as  are  otjects  of 
desire,  and  therefore  of  value.  Neither 
does  wealth  consist  in  the  possession 
of  value,  which  is  a  mere  quality^  bat 
in  the  possession  of  thinn  idierein  tho 
quality,  value,  is  vested. ' 

It  is  unnecessary  to  multiidy  instan- 
ces of  the  vague  use  made  of  the  term 
wealth  by  Political  Economists,  and 
of  the  various  meanings  they  attach  to 
it  It  will  appear,  that  in  explaining 
it,  another  term  is  introduced,  value, 
the  exact  definition  of  which,  we  shall 
find  equally  loose  and  unsatisfactory. 
Most  writers  draw  a  distinction  be« 
tween  value  in  use,  and  value  in  ex-> 
chanm ;  and  no  little  of  the  confusion 
in  whicJi  thb  branch  of  Political  £eo- 
nomy  is  involved,  has  arisen  from  this 
douUe  meaning  of  the  term  value. 

If  Political  Economists  differ  in  oin« 
nion  so  much  respecting  the  nature 
and  definition  of  wealth  and  value, 
they  differ  not  less  when  they  treat  of 
the  sources  of  wealth  and  the  measure 
of  value.  The  very  early  writers  on 
this  subject,  Raleigh,  Misselden,  Ro-. 
berts,  Mun,  Davenant,  King,  &c  con- 
sidered the  precious  metals,  obtained 
in  return  for  the  raw  and  manufisctu- 
ved  produce  exported^  as  the  cauae  of 
the  wealth  of  nations.  Others,  espe- 
cially the  earlier  Italian  and  French 
writers,  ascribed  the  origin  of  wealth 
to  the  lowering  of  the  rate  of  kand  in- 
lenst.  TheEoonomistiregaxdcdagri* 


culture  as  the  only  sure  and  abundant 
source  of  wealth.  Hume's  doctrine  is, 
diat  everjrthing  in  the  world  is  pur- 
chased by  labour.  This,  it  is  obser- 
ved by  Ganilh,  probably  suggested  to 
Adam  Smith  his  theory,  that  wealA 
is  ''  Labour  improved  by  subdivisioa, 
which  fixes  and  realises  itsdf  in  some 
narticular  ol:ject,  or  vendiMe  oommo- 
oity,  which  iMts,  fbr  some  time  atleast, 
after  that  labour  is  past" 

Say,  in  his  treatise  on  Pditieal 
Economy,  already  i|:e&rred  to,  main- 
tains, that  there  is  no  actual  produc- 
tion of  wealth,  without  a  creation,  or 
augmentation,  of  utility.  To  this  ex- 
plaiiati<m  of  Uie  sooree  of  wealth,  his 
translator,  Mr  Prinsep,  adds,  in  a  note, 
'^  and  without  the  surmounting  of  b»» 
tural  difficulty  of  attainment"  la 
another  part  ii  his  work,  Sav  state% 
that  wealth  ooasists  in  the  vsJue  iSbak 
human  industry,  in  aid  and  further* 
ance  of  natural  agenta,  commnnicatea 
to  things :  here  a  term  of  very  koae 
and  ambiguous  meaning  is  introduced ; 
it  would  seem,  bv  comparing  the  two 
passages,  that  value  in  the  latter  has 
the  same  meaning  as  utility  in  die 
former. 

Sismondi  refers  wealth  to  three 
sources :  land,  labour, and  humanly 
or  existence.  It  is  not  easy  to  peredve 
how  the  last  can  be  ssid  to  be  one  of 
the  sources  of  wealth ;  if  it  is  not  sy^ 
nonymous  with  labour,  it  can  hardly 
have  any  meaning  in  this  plaee. 

If  we  consult  Ricardo,  Malthus,  &cw 
we  shall  find  the  same  looseness  <rf  ex- 
pression with  respect  to  waalA,  tiioog^ 
It  is  obvious  that  an  accwate  definition 
of  it  u  indispensable  towards  the  fkll 
and  dear  development  of  the  very 
elementary  principles  of  Pditical  Eco- 
nomy. 

AU,  however,  areagreed  that  labovr 
isthechief  source  of  wealth:  but  hen 
again,  we  are  stopped  and  peDpkxed 
with  a  ftesh  dimoultv.  Hie  Sconce 
mists  first  brosdied  tne  opinioo,  that 
labour  was  o/i  two  dif&rentsoid  cmpo* 
ate  kinds,  produetive  and  unproduiN 
tive.  That  labour  which  is  bestowed 
en  land,  they  represented  as  exchuive^ 
ly  productive ;  and  all  other  kinda  of 
lidx>ur,— -the  labour  of  the  manufto-* 
turer,-*the  merchant,— the  lawyar,— ♦ 
Bddier,—-physioian,-— ^painter,-  ai» 
thor,  dec.  as  entirely  nainnducttvek 
And  even  Smith  admits  the  disttnction 
between  prsduetlf  e  snd  unproductivo 
kboor;  but  traniftn  Buny  of  the  <' 


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istiO 


T%$  PMnooi  Bodfnown^im 


^ 


et  faofled  by  tbe  Economist  amongn 
oaprooiiotive  Uboors,  to  the  cloat  of 

Ewiftttive  labours.  Later  writers 
ve  in  general  admitted  the  dlistinc-> 
tiooj  though  Uiey  have  still  fivther 
redueed  the  nmnbier  of  what  they  con- 
sider unprodoctive  labovrs.  This  is 
a  pregnant  and  instructive  instance^ 
not  only  of  the  yague  and  unsatisfkc« 
tory  reraha  to  his  inquiries,  to  which 
a  student  of  PoHtical  Economy  is  ex* 
posedy  but  of  one  of  the  most  fertile 
soorces  of  ambiguity  and  contrariety 
of  opinion.  Theo^MMingqpinionsare 
maintained  partly  in  consequence  of 
no  precise,  cUBar,  and  definite  meaning 
bcng  altached.to  the  term  mroduetive 
by  we  disputants,  and  partly  from  a 
very  kwse  mode  of  ressonin^  m  which, 
either  the  point  in  dispute  is  taken  for 
granted,  or  the  oonausion  does  not 
flow  from  the  premises.  Perhaps  in 
«o  sdeoce  are  all  those  sources  of  error 
aoeommon  and  so  prolific,  as  in  Poli- 
tical Economy. 

Let  us  turn  to  Talue ;  "we  have  al- 
ready remarked  that  a  ^pand  distinc- 
tion IS  made  in  die  writmgs  of  nearly 
all  the  Poliliesl  Economists  with 
which  we  are  acquainted,  ancient  and 
modem,  native  and  foreign,  between 
vahM  in  use,  and  vshie  in  exchange. 
Hence  it  is  manifest  much  error  and 
obscurity  must  srise^-granting  for  the 
metneat  that  the  distinction  is  a  pro- 
per one— that  it  exists  in  nature— that 
it  is  a  distinction  which  ought  to  be 
introduced,  when  treating  of  Political 
Scoocmy-Huid  tiiat  the  marks  of  dif- 
fevence  between  value  in  use,  and 
value  in  exdiange,  are  clearly  and  ac- 
cuiatdy ,  as  well  as  fiiUy ,  Isid  down  by 
those  who  adopt  it;— it  ia  very  difll- 
cttlt  for  writers  always  to  remember, 
and  adhere  to  the  distinction  in  the 
uae  of  the  term  value,  and  it  is  still 
more  diflkult  finr  the  reader  always  to 
vemember  and  apply  it.  Hence  must 
arise  error  and  obscurity,  and  they 
have  srisen  from  this  source  in  no 
small  degree,  and  contributed  to  per- 
plex and  darken  the  subject  of  Politt- 
csl  Economy. 

Supposing  that  value  in  exchange 
alone  n  meant,  when  it  occurs  in  the 
writings  of  Potidcal  Economists ;  still 
we  cannot  proceed  a  sing^  stepfarther, 
without  meeting  vrith  a  finesh  difficulty 
and  impediment.  We  are  called  on  to 
undersMd  what  ia  meant  by  the  terms 
measure  of  value,  and  what  consti- 
tutea  this  qeasji ei.   There  is  scsrcely 


any  potnt  in  this  adenct  whkib  has 
been  so  much  discussed ;  and  ihe  dia- 
cusaon,  though  it  has  proceeded  for  a 
lonff  period,  has  given  rise  to  tedious, 
prolix,  and  labound  disquisitions,  and 
lias  been  conducted  by  men,  not  only 
of  undoubted  talent,  but  who  have 
brought  the  halMtusl  use  of  those  ta^ 
lents  to  bear  directly  and  powerfhlly 
on  Pditical  Economy — has  not  con- 
ducted us  to  any  satisfactorr  condn- 
sion.  Even  the  first  part  of  the  dis- 
pute, which  is  merely  verbal,  is  not 
terminated,  nor  do  we  yet  know  what 
precise  meaning  we  sfaiould  attach  to 
the  term  measure,  when  applied  to 
value*  By  some  it  vroi^  seem  to  be 
used  as  simply  equivalent  to  the  ex- 
pression of  value;  ss,  when  we  say 
that  a  quarter  of  wheat  is  worth  SL, 
we  mean  nothing  more  than  to  express 
the  value  of  wheat,  as  it  is  usually  ex- 
pressed in  the  current  coin  of  the  king- 
dom. This  is  a  very  harmless,  but  a 
very  unnecesssry  use  of  the  term  mea« 
sure  of  value ;  and,  therefore,  because 
unnecessary,  it  ought  to  be  avoided  ; 
for  unnecessary  terms,  or  terms  em- 
ployed in  an  unusual  and  unnecessary 
meaning,  must  do  mischief,  in  produ- 
cing error  and  obscurity. 

Bat  the  dispute  respecting  the  mea- 
sure of  value— affixing  to  the  word, 
when  used  in  this  connexion,  the  same 
meaning  as  is  affixed  to  it,  when  we 
neakMthe  measure  of  length,  breadth, 
tnickness,  &c., — is  not  a  mere  verbal 
dispute.  It  might,  therefore,  perhaps, 
have  been  expected— as  verbal  dis- 
putes are  often  the  most  difficult  to 
settle,  that  as  this  related  to  a  fact,  or 
what  is  supposed  to  be  one,  and  not 
to  a  mere  term— that  there  was  a  dear 
and  certain  mode  of  settling  it.  But 
it  is  not  so.  As  we  have  already  re- 
marked, it  has  been  for  a  long  period, 
and  still  is,  a  most  fertile  subject  of 
dispute ;  so  that  he  who  wishes  to  stu- 
dy Political  Economy  will  be  under 
the  necessity, — ^if  he  wishes  to  under- 
standit — ^in  tbefirst  place  to  readmuch, 
and  with  great  attention,  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  then  to  rise  fhmi  the  perusaL 
certainly  not  quite  clear  and  satisfied 
in  his  own  mind,  if  he  exactly  com- 
prehends what  the  different  writers 
mean  in  their  diicusrions ;  or  whether 
he  himself  has  adopted  any  precise  and 
ckar  view  of  it,  which  he  can  really 
explain  and  defend. 

He  will  find  two  points  to  be  settled, 
even  after  he  has  got  over  the  verbal 


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4isput»y  and  oonfinet  htmaeif  to  the 
consideratioii  of  what  is  tho  measure 
of  value^  in  the  same  manner  as  he 
might  be  called  on  to  investigate  what 
is  the  measure  of  length.  The  first 
point  to  be  settled  is^  whether  there 
can  be  a  measure  of  value ;  the  second 

E;>int  is,  the  existence  and  applicabi- 1 
ty  of  such  a  measure  being  proved, 
to  ascertain  in  what  it  consists — what 
are  its  distinguishing  marks — ^what 
gives  it  a  claim  to  be  a  measure  of 
value— whether  it  alone  can  be  a  mea- 
sure of  value — and  whether  it  is  an 
universal  measure  of  value,  which  b^ 
ing  essentially  and  exclusively  so,  must 
have  been  so  in  all  ages,  and  is  so  in 
all  countries. 

The  first  inquiry— can  there  be  any 
such  thing  as  a  measure  of  value? — 
which,  it  is  obvious,  must  be  settled 
before  we  can  advance  to.  the  investi- 
gation  of  what  that  measure  is — is 
still  undetermined.  Some  writers  con-> 
tend  that  there  cannot  possibly  be  any 
such  thing ;  and  the  figurative  nature 
of  the  language  employed, — which,  in 
other  investigations,  as  well  as  in  those 
relating  to  Political  Economy,  draws 
us  away  from  the  real  question,  and 
involves  us  in  misapprehension  and 
error, — blends  its  assistance  towards  the 
support  of  their  opinion.  There  can- 
not be,  they  contend,  any  measure  of 
yalue,  or  of  anything  else,  unless  it 
possess  essentially  and  unalterably  two 
qualities : — ^in  the  first  place,  it  must 
be  of  the  same  nature  as  the  thing 
measured — what  determines  length 
(nust  have  length — \idiat  determines 
weight  must  have  weight— what  de- 
termines number  must  have4iumber ; 
whatever,  therefojj,  detenBines  or 
measures  value,  must  possess  value. 
But  in  this  case,  how,  or  on  what  prin- 
ciple, is  the  measure  of  value  in  that 
wnidi  is  used  to  declare  and  deter- 
mine value  in  other  things,  ascertained 
and  fixed  ?  for  if  this  principle  can  be 
detected  and  ascertained,  it,  as  a  pre- 
vious and  originating  principle,  must 
take  the  precedence. 

We  do  not  mean  to  involve  our- 
selves in  this  discussion,  which,  we  ap- 
prehend, though  seemingly  subtle  and 
metaphysical,  is,  after  aB,  at  bottom, 
merelj  a  verbal  dispute,  and  if  closely 
exammed  would  restore  itself  into 
that  verbal  dispute  respecting  the  mea- 
sure of  value,  meaning  thereby  the 
terms  in  which  the  value  of  a  commo- 
dity is  expressed,  as  when  we  say  a 


quarter  of  wheat  is  worth  SL,  to  iHiidi 
we  have  already  adverted  ;-'Mrar  aim  is 
answered  if  we  have  suf^ed  an  ad-> 
ditional  illustration  and  proof  of  the 
obscurity  and  per^dexity  in  which  the 
most  important  and  elementary  ques- 
tions in  Political  Economy  are  invid- 
veil* 

We  shall  encounter  the  same  dif- 
ficulties, when  we  turn  our  connder- 
ation  towards  the  other  quality, which, 
it  is  contended  by  those  who  main- 
tain there  can  be  no  measure  of  value, 
must  inhere  in  such  measure,  if  such 
there  could  be.  A  yard  is  a  measure 
of  length ;  a  pound  is  a  measmne  of 
weight ;  but  a  yard  could  not  measure 
length,  nor  a  pound  weight,  if  it  vrere 
possible  that  a  yard  shoidd  vary  in 
length,  and  be  sometimes  extended  to 
four  feet,  and  sometimes  curtailed  to 
two ;  nor  could  a  pound  measure 
weight,  if  the  pound  sometimes  vras 
equivalent  to  eighteen  ounoes,  and 
sometimes  only  to  ten. 

In  like  manner,  it  is  contended  that 
there  can  be  no  measure  of  value,  be- 
cause there  can  be  no  commodity  which 
does  not  itself  vary  in  value,  and  which, 
therefore,  is  not  destitute  of  the  essen- 
tial attribute  of  a  measure.  Labour  and 
com  are  usually  regarded  as  measures 
of  yalue :  to  both  of  these  olgectionB 
are  made  by  those  who  are  of  opinion 
there  can  he  no  measure  of  value,  be* 
cause  they  both  fluctuate.  Theymaiii- 
tain  that  com,  when  at  S/.  a-quarter, 
and  com,  when  at  4i.  a-quarter,  can* 
not  possibly  determine  or  measure  any 
other  commodity;  nor  can  labour, 
when  its  wages  are  2#.  aF>day,  and  iHieii 
they  are  4«.  a-day,  any  more  than  the 
length  of  a  road  could  be  ascertained  by 
applying  to  it  a  yard-measure,  which 
sometimes  expanded  to  four  feet,  and 
sometimes  contracted  to  two,  and  which 
measure  wss  constantly  fluctuating  be- 
tween these  two,  or  any  other  given  ex- 
tremes. 

Here  we  are  again  involved  in  diffi- 
culty and  doubt.  Let  us,  however, 
pass  on  to  the  next  point  of  inquiry— 
What  is  it  that  fixes  and  regulates  the 
price  of  articles  ?  This,  a  little  reflec- 
tion will  convince  us,  is  a  modification 
of  the  point  respecting  the  measure  of 
value.  Two  articles  are  brou^t  into 
the  market ;— on  what  prind^  is  an 
interchange  to  be  eff^sted  between 
them  ?  or,  in  other  words,  what  wUl 
fix  tlie  price  of  one,  expressed  in  terms 
of  the  other?  For  example,  let  tha 


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two  artl<4eB  be  corn  and  beef ;— on  what 
principle  is  it  to  be  detennined  bow 
much  beef  is  to  be  giren  for  a  quarter 
of  com  ?  or,  in  other  words,  what  is  to 
be  the  price  of  beef,  estimated  in  com, 
or  of  com,  estimated  in  beef? 

This,  perhaps,  is  the  most  frnitful 
soorce  of  difference  of  opinion  in  all 
the  wide  range  of  Politiol  Economy, 
remarkable  as  this  science  is  for  the 
scope  it  gives  to  oontroTcrsy. 

We  must  again  impress  on  the  me- 
mory and  condderation  of  our  readers, 
^at  our  object  at  present  is,  not  to  give 
our  own  sentiments  on  these  questions, 
nor  eren  to  enter  on  a  refutation  of 
those  of  others  which  we  conceive  to 
be  erroneous ;  but  simply  and  exdu- 
sivdy,  by  concentrating  and  exposing 
the  vagueness,  obscurity,  and  contra- 
riety of  opinions  held  by  writers  on 
Pditioal  £oon<miy,  to  make  good  our 
assertion,  that  this  science  is  stiU  very 
fiir  removed  from  perfection,  and  little 
capable  of  satisfying  the  inquintive 
and  impartial  searcher  after  troth,  who 
will  ndthrr  be  content  with  words, 
nor  nermit  himself  to  be  hoodwinked, 
and  led  by  mere  authority. 

Mr  Ricardo's  doctrine  is,  that  the 
price  of  all  commodities  depends  entire- 
tj  and  exdusively  upon  the  kbour 
bestowed  on  their  production;  that 
where  the  ssme  quantity  of  labour  is 
necessary  to  produce  two  articles, — a 
quarter  of  corn  and  a  stone  of  beef,  for 
exam^, — there  exists  something  in 
common  between  diem, — that  is,  an 
equal  quantity  of  labour :  that  labour, 
therefore,  bemg  common  to  both,  in 
the  same  degree  is  the  measure  of  their 
mutual  value ;  or,  in  other  words,  that 
the  price  of  a  quarter  of  com,  estima- 
ted in  beef,  is  a  stone  of  that  meat, 
and  the  price  of  a  stone  of  beef,  esti- 
mated in  com,  is  a  quarter  of  that 
oommoditT,  because  the  same  quantity 
of  labour  u  uecenary  to  produce  each. 
Mr  Ricardo  is  carefbl  to  distinguish 
between  the  quantity  and  the  wages  of 
labour,  and,  in  that  respect,  diflfers 
from  Adam  Smith,  or,  more  strictly 
speaking,  is  more  careftd  and  consist- 
ent in  Uie  use  of  his  terms,  and  hii 
mode  of  reasoning,  than  the  author  of 
the  ''  Wealth  of  Nations."  By  thus 
keeping  the  quantity  of  labour  sepa- 
rate and  distinct  fVom  the  wsges  of  la^ 
hour,  in  considering  kbour  as  the  mea- 
sure of  value,  he  also  avoids  tl)e  ob- 
jection we  hyave  already  stated— diat 
labour,  varying  in  wages  or  valUe,  can- 
not be  a  measure  of  value. 


647 


'  Mr  Maltbus  is  at  variance  with  Mr 
Ricardo  on  this  point;  his  opinions, 
however,  seem  to  fluctuate :  nor  is  it 
easy  to  determine  whether  he  is  a 
staunch  and  firm  supporter  of  the  doo^ 
trine  that  supply  and  demand  alon^ 
regulate  prices,  or  whether  he  does  ' 
not  rather  maintain,  that  the  equiva-  * 
lency  of  value  of  two  articles  dq>ends 
on  tneir  each  commanding  the  same 
portion  of  labour.    Mr  Tooke,  in  one 
of  his  most  recent  publications,  seems 
to    maintain  Mr  Ricardo's  opinion, 
though,  in  other  parts  of  the  same 
work,  he  forsakes  it,  at  least  virtually, 
and  embraces  the  doctrine,  that  price 
is  regulated  by  the  proportion  between 
the  supply  and  demand.  It  is  needless 
to  refer  to  the  opinions  of  Sismondl, 
Say,  &c ;  the  latter,  in  the  4th  edi- 
tion of  his  Treatise  on  Political  Econo- 
my, has  essentially  changed  his  opinion 
on  this  subject.    In  former  editions, 
utility  was  laid  down  as  the  baris  of 
relative  value,  and  so  it  is  in  the  4Ui 
edition,  with  reeard  to  what  he  calls 
positive  vahie;  whereas,  in  this  edition. 
Say  considers  difficulty  of  attainment, 
or  labour,  to  be  a  constituent  part,  if 
not  the  sole  regulator,  of  relative  value. 
The  doctrine  of  Ricardo— though 
dear  uid  predse,  not  ooudied  in  figu- 
rative or  ambi^ous  language,  and  ap- 
pealing to  a  circumstance  which  ap- 
pears easy  to  be  detected  and  ascertain- 
ed— when  dosely  examined,  still  leaves 
the  question  undecided :  it  attracts  by 
its  simplicity,  and  this  very  quality  en- 
ables us,  after  the  prepoesession  m  its 
favour,  arising  from  this  source,  is  set 
aside,  to  perceive  that  it  is  not  satisfac- 
tory, and  will  not  bear  close  scrotiny. 
That  the  proportion  between  any  two 
fiyren  quantities  of  labour— even  where 
It  is  the  most  rude  labour — wheUier  it 
be  the  proportion  of  equality,  or  in 


be  obvious,  when  we  reflect,  that 
the  quantity  of  labour  expended  bj 
any  two  men  in  the  same  time  depends 
upon  their  relative  strength  and  Indus* 
try ;  and  when  we  regard  labour  uni- 
ted with  skill,  talent,  and  experience, 
it  is  still  more  obvious  that  we  cannot 
determine  when  two  quantities  of  h^ 
hour  are  exactiy  the  same,  or  what 
proportion  they  bear  to  each  other; 
and,  consequenUy,  cannot  fix  on  la- 
bour as  universally  the  regulator  of 
price,  or  the  measure  of  value. 

Say  remarks  on  the  doctrine  of  Ri- 
cardo am)  his  followers,  *'  According 
to  their  notions,  the  want  or  demand 


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nowise  Influenoei  the  pHoe;-^  potU 
$ion  in  direct  eontndictiOD  to  dAily  and 
{ndispatable  experience,  which  leadfl 
us  inevitably  to  the  conclusion,  that 
value  is  increased  by  increase  of  d»» 
mand.  Supposing  that,  by  the  disco- 
very of  new  mines,  silver  were  to  be- 
come as  common  as  copper,  it  would 
be  6ul||ect  to  all  the  disqualifications 
of  copner  for  the  purposes  of  money, 
and  gold  would  be  more  generally  em- 
ployed. The  consequent  increase  of 
the  demand  for  gold  would  increase 
the  intensity  of  its  value,  and  mines 
would  be  worked  that  now  are  aban« 
doned,  because  they  do  not  defray  the 
expense.  It  is  true  that  the  ore  would 
then  be  obtained  at  a  heavier  rate ;  but 
would  any  one  deny  that  the  increased 
value  of  the  metal  would  be  owing  to 
the  increased  demand  for  it  ?  It  is  the 
increased  intensitjr  of  that  demand  that 
determines  the  miner  to  incur  the  in- 
creased charge  of  production." 
.  We  shall  soon  nave  occasion  to  exa« 
mine  whether  the  doctrine,  thatvahie 
depends  on  the  proportion  between 
supply  and  demand,  which  Say  puts  in 
opposition  to  the  doctrine  of  Rioardo*- 
that  value  depends  on  labour-^^will 
bring  ns  out  of  the  difficultv  and  in- 
tricacy in  which  this  part  of  PQliti<»l 
Economy  is  involved;  or  mether 
Say's  doctrine  also  does  not  cheat  the 
understanding  with  a  mere  show  of 
soundness  and  truth,  when,  in  fact,  it 
bean  additional  testimoBy  in  support 
of  our  position,  that  the  science  of 
Politicaf  Economy  does  not  rest  on 
a  sure  basts.  We  must  peviously, 
however,  advert  to  a  modification  <^ 
Bicardo's  doctrine,  or,  perhaps,  move 
strictly  speaking,  to  an  illustration 
of  the  ultimate  fact  ou  which  it  may 
be  grounded.  Mr  Mill,  one  of  its 
ablest  supporters,  has  supplied  this 
illustration.  Ricardo,  as  we  have  seen, 
maintains  that  two  artides,  which  have 
required  the  same  amount  of  labour 
for  their  production,  are  equal  in  va- 
lue, and  tnat  the  onljr  reason  why  they 
are  interchangeable  is,  that  they  have 
been  produced  by  the  same  quantity  of  of  demand,  and  a  diminution  of  de- 


for  himself,  asbeeoiplsyedtopradiieo 
the  beef  required  in  exchange  for  it* 
Let  us  simpose  that  the  quarter  of 
oom  and  the  stone  of  beef  eadi  re^ti- 
red  the  laboiv  of  a  week ;  thai  the 
possessor  of  the  beef,  by  giving  a  stono 
of  it  for  a  quarter  of  wheat,  gives,  in 
fact,  for  it,  only  that  labour  which  U 
would  cost  him  to  raise  it  hinudE 

This  certainly  does  away  the  ob- 
jection to  Mr.  Ricardo's  docmne,  that 
quantities  of  even  the  rudest  labour 
cannot  be  accurately  measured  and 
compared,  but  it  leaves  it  open  to 
the  other  olgections  we  have  atatod 
above;  and,  in  fact,  tl^  doctrine  of 
Mr  Mill  applies  only  to  those  eases  in 
which  each  party  can,  by  hia  labour, 
produce  what  the  o^ber  baa  to  intcr«- 
change ;— cases  wbidi  are  very  luniled 
in  number,  and  of  extreme  rare  oonff* 
rence  in  any  state  of  society,  except 
the  very  rudest  and  simplest.  Bwiilf, 
the  remark  of  Mr  Say  apidies  to  tfals 
doctrine,  as  vrell  as  to  Mr  IUcardo'»— 
that,  according  to  it,  the  want  or  de- 
mand nowise  inflnenoes  the  price. 

To  this  notion  of  price  we  shall  next 
advert. — ^The  doctnne  is,  that  prioft 
dqwnds  entirdy  on  the  proportio&  be- 
tween the  supply  and  demuid ;  and, 
that  the  value  of  every  commodity  may 
be  altered— Ist,  By  a  diminution  of  iti 
quantity :  9d,  By  an  increase  in  its 
quantity:  Sd,  By  an  increase  of  d^ 
mand ;  and,  lastly.  By  a  diminution  of 
demand. 

The  phrase,  ''prcmortion  between 
the  supply  and  the  demand,"  aeema, 
at  first  sight,  most  desr  and  precise  ; 
and  to  approach,  as  the  vrords  employ- 
ed indicate,  even  to  a  mathematical 
certainty  of  meanii^:  and  there  can- 
not be  the  slightest  difficulty  in  under- 
standing the  two  first  droumstsaces^ 
which  are  alleged  to  alter  the  value  of 
every  commodity, — a  diminution  in  ita 
quantity,  and  an  increase  in  its  quan- 
tity. But,  ifwe  attempt  to  affix  as  dear 
and  precise  ideas  to  the  oth^  two  dr- 
cumstanoes  diat  are  alleged  to  alter  the 
value  of  every  commodity- 


labour.  To  the  inquiry.  Why  should 
a  quarter  of  com  and  a  stone  of  beef, 
fi>r  example,  which  have  required  the 
same  quantity  of  labour  to  produce 
them,  be  therefore  interchangeable? 
Mr  Mill  replies,  because  the  person 
who  wants  the  oom  for  his  beef  must 
dther  give  his  beef,  or  employ  as  great 
a  quantity  of  labour  to  pro^ce  oom 


iiumd,-*we  diall  find  ouradves  disap- 
pointed :  and  it  is  obvious,  that  unWos 
we  have  ideas  attached  to  the  term 
demand,  as  dear  and  predse  as  woiM- 
tach  to  the  term  iupply,  we  cannot  ifti- 
derstand  what  is  meant  by  the  pfaraao 
*'  proportion  between  su^ly  and  dm-* 
mand,"  on  which  value  is  said  to  de- 
pend.   Those  who  hdd  this  doctrine 


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explain  demand  at  meaning  efitetive 
demand :  indeed,  it  isobtions  that  an 
increase  of  mere  demand,  or  of  the  de- 
rire  or  want  of  anything— the  supply 
of  that  thing  remaining  the  same,  ean- 
not  enhance  its  price,  and  the  demand 
must  Uierefbre  be  cfiectiire.  For  ex- 
ample, if  the  demand  for  wheat  ia 
douDled,  as  fbr  SOOO  quarters,  instead 
of  1000,  the  demand,  to  be  efiective, 
must  be  accompanied  with  the  ability 
<^  purdia^ng  9000  quarters  of  wheat, 
instead  of  1000  quarters;  and,  of 
course,  at  2L  a*auarter,  4000t  must 
be  brought  into  tne  corn-market  to  be 
bid  out  in  wheat,  instead  of  only  9000A 
as  before. 

Let  us  now  see  what  the  doctrine 
amounts  to— «imply  to  this,  that  when 
4000/.  is  giyen  for  1000  quarters  of 
wheat,  instead  of  2000/.— or  when 
the  eBktdre  demand  is  doubled,  the 
price  will  be  doubled:— an  identical 
proposition. 

.  But  this  doctrine,  if  still  more 
doselT  and  accurately  examined,  and 
tried  by  what  actually  occurs,  will  be 
fbund  not  even  to  possess  tlie  negative 
inerit  of  bemg  an  identical  proposition. 
Price,  it  is  said,  depends  upon  the 
proportion  between  the  sanply  and  de- 
mand: tile  supply  and  demand  are 
equal,  and  the  price  of  wheat,  for  in- 
stance, is  a  certain  sum  per  quarter. 
Let  us  suppose,  in  the  first  place,  that 
there  is  the  ratio  of  equality  between 
the  supply  of  wheat  and  thie  demand 
ibr  it,  in  two  different  and  remote 
parts  of  the  world— that,  in  any  part 
of  North  America,  for  instance,  the 
effisctual  demand  is  for  9000  quarters, 
and  the  supply'amounts  to  9000  qnar-i 
ters — and  that  in  any  part  of  Eng- 
land there  is  a  demand  for  the  same 
quantity,  and  a  supply  to  the  same 
amount :  assuredly,  it  we  doctrine  we 
are  examining  were  correct,  that  price 
b  fixed  by,  and  dependent  upon,  the 
proportion  between  the  sup|dy  and 
demand— the  price  of  wheat  ought  to 
be  the  same  m  these  two  places;  a 
conclusion  at  complete  Tariance  with 
an  experience.  Again,  let  us  suppose 
tbit  the  supplr  becomes  double  what 
it  was,  the  demand  remaining  the 
same:  on  tliis  plan  the  supply  is  to 
the  demand  in  die  ratio  of  two  to  one. 
Acoordlnff  to  the  doctrine  we  are  exa- 
mining, we  price  ong^t  to  fall  50  per 
cent.  Or  let  us  take  the  rererse  of 
this,  and  suppose  diat  the  supply  ftUs 
off  one  hair ;  it  ia  then  in  the  ratio  of 


Tk$  PMHoai  E^Miomkt. 


M» 


one  to  two,  the  demand 'centfaiuing 
die  same;  if  the  price  rose  in  the  same 
proportion,  the  purchaser  would  have 
to  pay  the  same  sum  for  500  quarters 
of  wneat,  which  he  bd*<»e  gave  for 
1000 ;  or,  in  other  w<»ds,  the  price  of 
wheat  would  be  doubled. 

But  what  is  the  fact  ?  When  the 
supply  of  wheat  falls  off  one  half,  the 
price  is  much  more  thsn  doubled. 
^  We  are  told,"  observes  Lord  Lau- 
derdale, *^  by  great  authority,  that  of 
Gregory  King,  that  a  defect  in  the 
harvest  will  raise  the  price  of  corn  in 
the  following  proportions : 


DeficU    /  ^\  Above  the  common  rati, 
I  Tenth,  I'g,         3  Tenths, 
9  Tenths,/ S  I        8  Tenths, 

3  Tenths,  \g   ^      16  Tenths, 

4  Tenths,  /|        28  Tenths, 

5  Tenths,  {JIJ     45  Tenths." 


3  Tenths, 

8  Tenths, 

16  Tenths, 

28  Tenths, 

45  Tenths." 

Here  we  observe,  that  the  variation 
in  the  prices  by  no  means  follows,  or  is 
regulated  by,  the  variation  in  the  sup- 

Cy,  but  that  the  ratio  of  the  increase 
price  advances  much*  more  rapidly, 
ana  b^  much  longer  strides,  thtti  ^ 
ratio  m  the  deficiency  of  supply.  It 
may  also  be  remarked,  that,  in  the 
most  defective  harvest,  no  more  corn 
is  really  needed,  in  fact,  generally  less^ 
dian  in  an  abundant  harvest — ^yet  a 
deficiency  of  merelv  one  tenth  raises 
the  price  tiiree  tmtns  above  the  com- 
mon ratiOb 

^*  On  the  other  hand,"  continues 
Lord  Lauderdale,  '*  it  is  oonjectmed, 
by  authority  equally  respectable  (^peo* 
toler.  No.  900),  that  the  production  of 
one-tenth  more  arain  than  u  usually 
consumed,  would  diminish  the  value 
of  the  grain  one  half."  The  foil  in 
the  price  may  not  be  exactly  as  here 
considered:  but  it  is  an  undoubted 
foot,  that  the  lowering  of  price  is  in  a 
much  higher  proportion  tnan  the  in- 
crease of  produce. 

Hence  we  may  fairly  infinr,  that  the 
proposition,  that  price^is  regulated  by 
the  proportion  between  supply  and 
demand,  is  either  not  borne  out  by 
fkct,  or  is  merely  an  identiad  propo- 
sition, amountii^  only  to  this,  tnat 
the  increase  of  price  is  indicated,  and 
measured  by  the  increase  of  the  qnan^ 
tity  of  money  given  for  any  commo- 
dity :  thus  supplying  us  with  another 
instance  and  proof  of  the  unsatisfac- 
tory nature  m  the  doctrines  and  rea- 
somngs  of  the  Political  Economistii 
and  exposing  to  view  one  of  the  most 
1 


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€60 

proliik  and  deodtAil  tonroat  of  the 
emn  into  which  Uiejr  aw  so  liable  to 

We  htfe  dwelt  at  ooniiderable 
length  on  the  two  leading  doctrinea 
re^^ing  Price ;  becaote  it  ia  a  snb- 
ject  which  certainly  holdi  a  high  and 
moat  important  nnk  and  influence  in 
the  science,  and,  as  such,  has  engaged 
the  attention  and  profound  study  of 
the  most  distinguished  Political  Eco- 
nomists; and  yet  we  perceive  that  the 
two  leading  doctrines  regarding  it  will 
not  bear  a  dose  and  strict  examina- 
tion, nor  satisfy  the  understanding  of 
any  one  who  looks  through  the  mere 
words  in  which  they  are  clothed,  to 
the  precise  meaning,  or,  having  ascer- 
tained the  meaning,  brings  it  to  the 
test  of  experience  and  fact. 

The  terms  which  first  and  most  fre- 
quently meet  the  eye  of  a  student  of 
Fditioil  Economy,  m  perusing  works 
on  this  subject,  are  wealth,  riches^ 
value,  price,  wages,  capital,  credit, 
&c  Even  if  these  terms  were  clearly 
and  accurately  defined^  when  they 
first  occurred,  if  the  definition,  then 
ffiven,  were  uniform  and  strictly  ad- 
hered to,  throughout  the  treatises,  he 
niifl;ht  yet  be  exposed  to  difficulties, 
anS  not  unfrequently  perplexed,  from 
the  circiimstance  of  their  being  popu- 
lar terms  with  which  he  had  associated 
loose  and  popular  ideas,  that  it  was 
necessary  to  forget,  and  replace  by 
others. 

But  his  difficulties  and  perplexities 
are  much  increased  and  strengthened, 
and  his  progress,  consequently,  much 
impeded,  when,  after  naving,  hj  a 
strong  and  continued  efibrt,  freed  him- 
self from  his  early  associations,  he  per- 
ceives that,  instead  of  them,  he  is  pre- 
sented with  no  clear  and  precise  mean- 
ing ;  or  that  the  meaning,  if  clear  and 
precise,  when  first  laid  down,  is  not 
adhered  to ;  or  that  each  new  writer 
whom  he  consults,  affixes  to  the  same 
terms  a  very  diffisrent  meaning  from 
that  ofi*ered  to  him  by  the  writer  he 
previously  studied. 

But  his  difficulties  and  perplexities 
are  not  confined  even  within  tnis  wide 
circle,  nor  do  they  arise  only  from  these 
sources,  fertile  as  they  are.  The  po- 
sitions and  principles  themselves,  even 
supposing  the  meaning  of  the  terms  to 
he  clear,  precise,  and  uniformly  ad- 
hered to,  are  loosely  stated,  unsup- 
ported by  fiusts,  or  inapplicable  to  them, 
or  at  variance  with  one  another. 

The  truth  and  justice  of  these  re- 


marks,  we  trmt  we  have  flolMtaatiated 
in  the  preceding  part  of  thia  Sasay, 
on  what  rdates  to  wealth,  value;,  ukd 
price,  as  explained  by  the  most  ee- 
lebrated  writers  on  Pditical  Econo- 
my. It  may  be  proper,  however,  to 
vsry  and  amplify  our  proofs,  and  to 
proceed  to  examine  wnat  tbej  teadi 
respecting  wages,  caintal,  &c. 

The  first  question  is,  whst  regu- 
lates Wages  ?  According  to  the  Eooeo. 
mists,  and  they  are  followed  by  many 
modem  writers,  the  wages  of  labour 
are  regulated  Inr,  and  proportioDed 
to,  the  price  of  provisions.  Home 
maintains,  that  men  being  averse  to 
labour,  necessity  alone  can  indnee 
them  to  labour ;  and  that  they  cease  to 
labour  whenever  the  gain  of  a  £ew 
days  enables  them  to  supidy  theoa- 
selves  with  necessaries.  Adam  Smith 
is  of  opinion,  that  the  dieapness  or 
dearaess  of  provisions  has  but  little 
influence  on  the  rate  of  the  wages  of 
labour,  but  that  this  rate  is  ^iefly 
fixed,  like  the  price  of  oommoditieB, 
by  the  proportion  between  the  supply 
and  demand.  According  to  Say,  ne- 
cessary subsistence  may  £s  taken  to  be 
the  standard  of  the  wages  of  common 
rough  labour,  and  the  wages  of  the 
labourer  are  a  matter  of  a^ustment, 
or  compact,  between  the  conflicting  in- 
terests of  master  and  workman  ;  the 
latter  endeavouring  to  get  as  much, 
the  former  to  give  as  litUe,  as  he  pos- 
sibly can. 

With  respect  to  the  doctrine  of  the 
Economists,  it  is  contradicted  by  facts  ; 
if  it  were  true,  wages  would  always 
rise  in  proportion  to  the  rise  in  the 
price  of  provisions,  and  fall  whenever, 
and  as  tney  fall.  This  is  not  the  case : 
so  far  from  it,  that,  genendly  speak- 
ing, the  reverse  is  not  only  the  case, 
but  might  be  anticipated  to  be  the 
case.  Smith's  doctrine  is  liable  to 
all  the  objections  we  have  already 
stated  to  the  general  doctrine  of  price 
being  regulated  by  the  proportion  be- 
tween supply  and  demand.  Say  him- 
self admits  the  vagueness  of  his  stand- 
ard of  necessary  subsistence ;  for  he  ex- 
pressly says,  "  This  standard  is  itself 
extremely  fluctuating."  But  how  can 
that  be  a  standard  or  measure  of  either 
price  or  value,  which  fluctuates?  What 
18  meant  by  necessary  subsistence  ?  Fix 
the  meaning  accurately,  and  the  pro- 
position is  identical;  leave  it  vague, 
the  proposition,  of  course,  amounts  to 
nothings 

Flow  wilkjlicardo's  doctrine,  that 


Digitized  by  LnOOOlC 


1884.;] 

price  depends  dn  the  quantity  of  la- 
Donr,  and  that  two  commoditiea  re« 
qmring  for  their  prodnction  the  same 
quantity  of  kbour,  are  equal  in  Talue 
and  interdiangeahle — apply  to  the  wa« 
fta  of  labour  f  evidently  not  at  alL 

On  wages  and  profit,  howerer,  this 
writer  has  a  singular  doctrine  :  ac- 
cording to  him,  "  such  a  relation  sub- 
sists between  the  funds  which  supply 
the  wages  of  labour,  and  those  wtiich 
contribute  to  the  profits  of  stock — that 
any  increase  in  the  one  necessarily  oc- 
casions, and  is  accompanied  by,  a  di- 
minution of  the  other;  or,  in  other 
words,  that  whencTer  wages  rise,  the 
rate  (k  profit  must  fall ;  and,  conse- 
quently, that  when  wages  faU,  profits 
rise."  The  unsoundness  of  this  doc- 
trine is  well  pointed  out  in  this  Maga- 
aiue  for  the  month  of  May,  1819,  p. 
171.  But  we  cannot  agree  with  the 
writer  of  that  article  in  his  opinion, 
diat  this  doctrine  of  Mr  Ricardo  has 
probably  arisen  from  too  hastily  gene- 
ralising the  result  of  a  particular  in- 
quiry, and  extendii^  a  proposition 
partudl)[  true,  beyond  the  proper  li- 
mits of  its  application. 

We  would  trace  this  erroneous  and 
unfounded  doctrine  to  a  different 
■ource,  and  cannot  help  regarding  it 
as  a  pregnant  and  strucing  instance 
of  the  origin  of  Mr  Ricardo's  pe- 
culiar errors  in  his  works  on  Politi- 
cal Economy.  Did  he,  in  support 
of  this  doctrine,  or  of  others,  in 
which  he  runs  counter  to  the  gene- 
rally received  opinions,  appeal  to  nets, 
we  mif^t  be  disposed  to  agree  with 
this  writer,  that  ne  had  too  hastily 
{(eneralized  the  result  of  a  particular 
inquiry;  but  when,  through  all  his 
works,— -even  the  most  dementary 
and  practical, — there  is  an  abstrac- 
tion— a  meta^ysical  refinement  and 
suhtlety—almost  as  careful,  and  ap« 
parently  as  premeditated  an  avoidance 
of  resting  on  facts,  as  the  most  rigid 
and  pure  mathematician  could  wish  to 
see  ^ibited,  in  a  treatise  on  the  most 
abstract  jiart  of  his  favourite  study — ^it 
is  impossible  not  to  trace,  and  ascribe 
his  errors,  as  well  as  his  excessive  re* 
finement  and  obscurity,  to  a  morbid 
desire  to  be  pfrofouna  and  original^ 


The  MMeal  JSamcmUt. 


Ml 


advantageous,  or  the  eontrary,  to  a 
nation  ?  Hume  maintains  thkt  it  is  ; 
Adam  Smith,  on  the  other  hand,  main- 
tains  that  the  hizh  price  of  the  rates 
of  labour  is  equally  profitable  to  the 
state  and  to  general  wealth.  Sismondi 
is  ofopinion,  that  the  low  rate  of  wages 
exclusively  benefits  the  master  who 
employs,  and  pays  the  labourers.  Say 
denies  this  position,  and  maintains, 
that  their  reduction  is  sure  to  bring 
about  a  fall  in  the  price  of  products, 
so  that  it  is  the  class  of  consumers,  or, 
in  other  words,  the  whole  community, 
that  derives  the  profit. 

What  is  capital  ? — ^whence  does  it 
^ring  ? — ^how  is  it  increased  ? — and 
what  efi^ts  does  it  prodiioe  ?  Will  a 
person,  who  applies  himsdf  to  the 
study  of  Political  Economy,  and  who, 
in  the  ordinary  language  and  concerns 
of  life^  has  heard  this  word  used,  with 
only  a  loose  and  general  idea  of  its  im- 
port, be  enabled,  after  he  has  perused 
the  best  works  on  this  science,  to  afiix 
a  dear  and  precise  meaning  to  it,  or  to 
understand  its  nature,  source,  opera* 
tions,  and  efil^ts? 

According  to  Ganihl,  the  theory  of 
capital  is  new,  and  owes  its  origin  to 
Adam  Smith.  Before  his  time,  the  no« 
tions  on  this  subject  were  conftised, 
partial,  and  limited — and  yet  eapital 
existed — and  in  Holland  and  die  com- 
mercial states  of  Italy,  it  had  poduced 
wonderful  effects.  But  so  little  did  the 
earliest  writers  on  Political  Economy 
attend  to  facts — so  prone  were  they, 
either  to  generalise  too  rapidly  and 
rashly,  or  to  spin  out  theories  mm  their 
own  brsins,  apart  from  the  observation 
and  consideration  of  all  that  was  pass- 
ing around  them,  that,  to  use  the 
words  of  Ganihl,  the  nature,  forma- 
tion, employment,  and  general  and 
particular  influence  of  capital,  were 
so  many  unsolved  problems,  or  gave 
rise  to  numberless  errors  and  miscon- 
ceptions. The  earliest  writers  on  Poli- 
tiod  Economy  considered  money  as 
alone  forming  capital,  and  that  the 
sole  origin  of  it  was  foreign  commerce  f 
this  is  the  old  mercantile  system,  the 
leaven  of  which  still  mixes  up  with, 
and  actuates,  some  of  our  notions  and 
practices.  This  system  was  first  at- 
by  a  thorough  and*  tad^ed  by  the  Economists ;  but  they 


dear  apprehension  of  the  doctrine  he 
endeavours  and  wishes  to  inculcate, 
rstfaeir  than  to  an  over-hasty  and  un- 
warranted generalization. 
\  Is  the  lownesB  of  ihp  rate  of  wages 
Vol.  XV. 


in  this,  as  in  everything  else,  went 
into  an  extreme,  and  seemed  to  have 
thought,  that  they  must  have  found 
truth,  because  they  removed  as  far  as 
possible  from  error.  They  formed  the 
4P 


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Tke  Poiitieal  Ecanamitt. 


CJi 


agricultural  tjntem,  and  inaintained^ 
that  there  were  no  capitals,  but  those 
derived  from  the  cultivation  of  the 
ground. 

According  to  Smith,  capital  consists 
in  the  advances,  and  prime  materials 
of  all  labour,  in  the  improvements  of 
the  soil — in  the  impleiLents  and  ma- 
chines of  agriculture,  manufactures, 
and  trade,  Mrhich  comprise  both  me- 
tallic ami  paper  currencies,  and  in  com- 
modi  ties  reserved  for  general  consump- 
tion. 

It  is  not  our  object  in  this  place,  as 
we  have  more  than*  once  observed,  to 
enter  into  a  regular  and  full  examina- 
tion of  any  of  the  opinions  we  exhibit, 
but  principally  by  exposing  their  con- 
trariety, obscurity,  and  contradiction, 
in  some  cases,  to  others  maintained  by 
the  Mime  author,  to  prove  the  infancy 
of  Political  Economy.  On  this  doctrine 
of  capitals,  as  laid  down  by  Adam 
Smith,  it  is  well  observed  by  Ganihl, 
'*  It  is  certainly  matter  of  surprise, 
that  commodities  reserved  for  con- 
sumption, and  incapable  of  being  ac- 
cumulated, should  be  ranked  among 
capitals,  which,  according  to  Smith 
himself,  are  the  produce  of  accumula- 
tion." 

Lord  Lauderdale  limits  capital  to 
the  instruments  and  machines  proper 
to  shorten  and  facilitate  labour,  and  is 
of  opinion  that  it  derives  its  profits 
either  from  supplanting  a  portion  of 
labour,  which  woultl  otherwise  be  per- 
formed by  the  hand  of  man,  or  from 
its  performing  a  portion  of  labour, 
which  it  is  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
personal  exertion  of  man  to  accom- 
plish. Machinery  and  money,  there- 
fore, arc,  according  to  this  noble  au- 
thor, both  capital. 

Say  and  Canard  assign  the  rank  of 
capital  to  lands,  mines,  and  fisheries, 
which  they  regard  as  instruments  ot* 
production,  and  little  different  fh)ra 
any  other  machine  or  implement  des- 
tined to  produce  commodities.  But 
Say  is  not  very  consistent,  for,  in  the 
very  same  chapter  in  which  he  gives 
this  definition  of  capital,  he  maintains, 
that,  without  capital,  industry  could 
produce  nothing.  Capital,  he  adds, 
must  work,  as  it  were,  in  concert  with 
industry.  On  this  doctrine  his  trans- 
lator well  observes,  that  industry  may 
produce  considerably  without  the  pre- 
existenceof  any  but  natural  products. 

Similar  varieties  and  contradictions 
of  opinion  exist  with  respect  to  the 


formation  of  CK>it^,  the  anploymeiit 
of  capital,  and  me  influence  of  capital 
on  the  prc^ess  of  public  weaitfa.  With 
respect  to  the  first  topic,  some  ie  of 
opinion  that  capitals  are  formed  solely 
by  economy  in  the  cost  of  agricultmal 
labour,  and  by  the  increased  price  of 
commodities  through  foreign  trade — 
some  by  the  proportion  between  what 
is  called  productive  and  unproducttre 
labour— and  others  by  economy  in 
consumption.  Lord  Lauderdale  di- 
rectly and  strongly  opposes  this  last 
notion.  He  goes  into  tiie  oppo«dte  opi- 
nion, and  maintains,  that  capital  can 
be  increased  exclusively  by  the  means, 
and  from  the  sources,  that  originally 
gave  birth  to  it,  and  that  economy  or 
parsimony  in  a  nation  cannot  possibly 
tend  to  increase  its  capital.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  exhibit  the  various  and 
conflicting  opinions  entertained  on  the 
other  topics  connected  with  capital. 

Let  us  examine  what  is  meant  and 
taugh  t  respecting  credi  t— a  term  which^ 
like  most  others  employed  in  writings 
on  Political  Economy,  occurs  so  fre- 
quently in  common  discourse,  that  it 
particularly  behoved  writers  on  this 
subject  to  define  it  accurately,  and  to 
adhere  to  their  definition,  and  not  mix 
up  the  popular  and  loose  meaninf^ 
with  their  own.  The  following  remark 
by  Say  will  pnvent  the  necessity  of 
our  dwelling  long  on  this  point : — 
"  It  has  sometimes  been  supposed, 
that  capital  is  multiplied  by  the  ope- 
ration of  credit.  This  error,  though 
frequently  recurring  in  works  profeai- 
ing  to  treat  of  Political  Economy,  caw* 
only  rise  from  a  total  ignorance  of  the 
nature  and  functions  of  capital.  Capi- 
tal consists  of  positive  value  vested  in 
material  substance,  and  not  of  immate- 
rial products,  which  arc  utterly  inca- 
pable of  being  accumulated. — And  a 
material  product  evidently  cannot  be 
in  more  places  than  one,  or  be  em- 
ployed by  more  persons  than  one^  at 
the  same  identical  moment." 

Here  we  observe  a  specimen  of  the 
loose  statements  and  reasoning,  so 
common  in  writers  on  Poiitieal  Eco- 
nomy. The  position  which  Say  means 
to  controvert,  and  which  he  says  is  an 
error  frequently  recurring  in  works 
treating  of  Political  Economy,  is,  that 
capital  is  multiplied  by  the  (operation 
of  credit ;  and  yet  his  whole  argument 
merely  ^oes  to  prove,  that  capital  can- 
not be  m  action  in  more  puuses  than 
one !  But  if  capital  is  put  in  a^ion  by 


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18«4.;]  7%«  PolUical 

credit,  will  it  not  be  multiplied  or  in- 
creased as  much  as  if  it  were  put  in 
action  by  its  owner ;  and  will  not  cre- 
dit thus  multiply  capital?  And  are 
there  not  daily  instances  of  capital, 
which  would  otherwise  be  unemploy- 
ed, and  consequently  barren  and  indf- 
iicient,  being  put  in  motion,  and  ren- 
.  dered  nroductive,  simply  by  means  of 
•  credit  r 

Of  errors  arising  from  mingling 
loose  and  popular  ideas  annexed  to 
terms,  with  those  strict  and  definite 
ideas  which  science  and  investigation 
require,  we  have  given  several  in- 
stances. We  shall  now  advert  to  an 
opposite  source  of  confusion  and  ob- 
scurity, as  well,  we  apprehend,  as  of 
error.  If  the  question,  What  is  the  rent 
of  land  ?  were  put  to  a  person  who  had 
not  studied  Political  £conomy,  but 
had  been  accustomed  to  sift  and  class 

-  his  own  thoughts,  he  probably,  at 
>  first,  might  be  apt  to  include  in  his 

definition  of  the  term  the  interest  of 
capital  which  the  land-owner  might 
have  laid  out  in  the  improvement  of 
'  his  land ;  but  he  would  soon  see  that 
this  was  to  be  distinguished  from  rent, 

-  and  come  near  to  a  clear,  accurate,  and 
definite  notion  of  what  really  consti- 
tutes rent.  Indeed,  though  many  words 
which  are  used  in  common  language 
and  in  Political  Economy,  differ  much 
in  their  meaning ;  rent  might  be  sup- 
posed to  bear  nearly  the  same  mean- 
ing in  each,  as  it  relates  not  to  a  com- 
plex, but  to  a  simple,  occurrence,  and 
IS  not  involved  in  vagueness  and  ob- 
scurity like  value,  price,  &c. 

Let  us  inquire  wliat  is  taught  us  on 
the  subject  of  rent  by  Political  Econo- 
mists. The  French  Economisis  derive 
rent  from  the  original  advances  of  the 
land-owner,  in  clearing  the  land,  and 
putting  it  into  a  state  of  cultivation. 

Smith  controverts  this  opinion ;  he 
says  it  cannot  be  correct  anid  true,  be- 
cause land-owners  demand  a  rent  even 
fijr  unimproved  land ;  that  these  im- 
provements are  sometimes  made  by 
the  stock  of  the  tenant ;  and  that  land- 
owners sometimes  demand  rent  for 
what  is  altogether  incapable  of  human 
improvement.  He  therefore  regards 
the  rent  of  land,  considered  as  the 
price  paid  for  the  use  of  the  laud,  as 
a  monopoly  price,  which  is  always  de- 
termini  by  what  is  left  to  the  farmer, 
after  he  has  paid  the  wages  of  labour, 
and  deductea  the  customary  profit  of 
stock. 


EctmomUt. 


063 


Say,  after  stating  and  refVitiog  the 
opinion,  that  the  value  of  produce  is 
never  more  than  the  recom  pence  of  the 
human  agency  engaged  m  its  pro- 
duction ;  consequently,  that  there  is  no 
residue  or  surplus  that  can  be  set 
apart  as  the  peculiar  profit  of  land,  and 
constitute  the  rent  paid  for  its  nae  to 
tlie  propdetor ; — undertakes  to  give  a 
complete  view  of  the  subject  of  rent. 

According  to  him,  there  can  be  no 
rent  till  the  demand  for  agricultural 
produce  is  such  as  to  raise  its  value 
above  the  ordinary  rate  of  interest  on 
capital;  this  excess,  he  maintains, 
constitutes  the  profit  of  land,  and 
enables  the  actual  cultivator^  when 
not  himself  the  proprietor,  to  pay  a 
rent  to  the  proprietor,  after  having 
first  retained  the  full  interest  upon 
his  own  advances,  and  the  full  recom- 
pence  of  his  own  industry.  According 
to  this  doctrine,  therefore,  land,  though 
a  monopoly, — and  that  of  an  article, 
witliout  the  use  of  which  no  labour 
can  be  exerted,  no  produce  either  of 
comfort,  or  even  of  necessity,  bfe  ob- 
tained,— is  of  no  pecuniary  advantage 
to  the  proprietor,  till  the  value  of 
agricultural  productions  rises  above 
the  ordinary  rate  of  interest  upon  ca- 
pital. To  this  doctrine,  jVIr  Prinsep, 
the  translator  of  Say's  work,  is  oppo- 
sed. He  maintains,  that  **  rent  or 
profit  of  land,  or  of  any  other  natural 
bourcc,  is  therecompeuceofnohuman 
exertion  whatever,  but  what  is  neces- 
sary to  supi>ort  the  exclusive  appropri- 
ation." 

The  moat  moilcni  doctrine  on  the 
subject  of  rent,  is  that  advanced  and 
supporteil  by  Mai  thus  and  Ricardo. 
Accurding  to  this  doctrine,  the  ratio 
of  rent  is  determined  by  the  differ- 
ence in  the  product  of  hmd  of  differ- 
ent qualities — the  worst  land  in  cul- 
tivation yielding  no  rent  at  all.  A  co- 
rollary from  this  doctrine  is,  that  the 
price  of  grain  is  fixed  and  r^ulated 
by  the  expense  of  raising  it  on  land 
which  jMiys  no  rent — t/uit  the  interest 
of  landlord*  is  aluHiys  opposed  to  thai 
ofeveri/  other  class  of  the  community  ; 
and  that,  as  rent  does  not  enter  into 
the  price  of  grain,  no  reduction  would 
take  place  in  it,  although  landlords 
should  forego  the  whole  of  their  rents. 

These  doctrines  are  at  least  oppo- 
sed to  those  commonly  received,  as 
well  as  revolting  to  the  best  feelings 
of  our  nature ;  and  it  seems  stranee, 
that  those  Political  Econoroista  wnQ 


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654 

are  anxious  to  wean  manldnd  from  the 
belief  that  the  real  interest  and  wealth 
of  one  nation  can  be  promoted^  or  even 
-will  not  be  impaired^  by  the  depression 
and  poverty  of  the  rest,  or  that  there 
can  be  really  such  things  as  rival  and 
mutually  destructive  interests  among 
nations^  should  maintain  that  the  in- 
terest of  the  landlords  is  always  oppo- 
sed to  that  of  everv  other  class  of  the 
community.  If  tnis  inference  can  be 
fairly  drawn  from  the  doctrine^  we 
should  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  that 
doctrine  as  false  as  it  is  mournful  and 
mischievous.* 

But  with  respect  to  the  doctrine  it- 
selfy  that  the  worst  land  in  cultivation 
yields  no  rent«  and  that  the  price  of 
grain  is  regulated  by  the  expense  of 
cultivating  it  on  such  land,  and  that 
rent  does  not  enter  into  this  price  ;— 
there  is  much  confusion  of  thought, 
and  ambiguous  and  vague  use  of  kn- 
guage,  in  all  that  is  stated  by  Malthus 
and  llicardo  in  support  of  it.  It  has 
been  well  observed,  that  the  chapter 
of  fticardo  on  the  subject  of  rent,  is 
perhaps  the  least  sati^actory  and  in- 
telligible of  his  whole  work.  The  par- 
ticular examination  of  rent,  and  con- 
sequently of  his  ideas  regarding  it, 
will  be  afterwards  entered  upon ;  we 
have  sufficiently  exhibited,  we  trust, 
the  confusion  and  conflicting  opinions 
on  this  sulrject,  to  authorize  us  to  add 
it  to  those  previously  brought  forward 
as  proofs  that  he  who  wishes  to  study 
Political  Economy,  will  be  perplexed 
and  distracted,  if  ne  consults  and  com- 
pares several  authors,  and  will  be  not 
much  enlightened,  or  conducted  in  a 
steady  path,  even  if  he  confines  him- 
self to  a  single  one. 

There  is  only  one  other  speculative 
question,  the  various  and  oiscordant 
opinions  respecting  which  we  shall 
state;  keeping  distinct,  and  reser- 
ving for  the  second  part  of  this  Essay, 
those  questions  which  are  of  a  practi- 
cal nature.  The  question  to  which 
we  at  present  refer,  regards  consump- 
tion and  production.  The  proportion 
that  consumption  ought  to  bear  to  in- 
come, has  not  been«lxed  by  Political 
Economists.  According  to  Quesnay  and 
his  disciples,  consumption  ought  to  be 
equal  to  income ;  and  they  allow  no 
economy  but  in  that  part  of  the  an- 


The  PoHticai  Economiit.  C^une, 

nual  income  reserred  for  tHe  land- 
owners as  the  net  produce  of  the  land. 
Smith,  on  the  other  hand,  maintain^ 
that  consumption  ought  to  be  inferior 
to  income :  and  on  the  surplus  of  in- 
come he  chiefly  founds  the  progress  of 
nations  in  wealth ;  others  again  co^ 
demn  economy,  regard  consumptioii 
as  the  measure  of  re-production, 
maintain  that  income  proportions  it- 
self to  expenditure,  and  that  people 
are  the  ricner  the  more  tfaev  spend. 

Lately,  this  question  hss  oec^  mudi 
agitated;  according  to  Say  and  Ri- 
cardo,  the  encouragement  of  mere 
consumption  is  no  benefit  to  com- 
merce, for  the  difficulty  lies  in  sup- 
plying the  means,  not  in  stimulating 
the  desire  of  consumption,  and  pro- 
duction alone  furnishes  these  means  ; 
a  good  government,  therefore,  will  sti- 
mulate production ;  a  bad  government 
will  encourage  consumption.  Accord** 
ing  to  this  view  of  the  sulgect,  .om- 
sumption  is  not  a  cause,  but  an  ef- 
fect ;  in  order  to  consume,  it  is  neoea- 
sary  to  purchase,  and  people  can  pur- 
chase only  with  what  th^  have  pro- 
duced. 

Sismondi  and  Malthus,  on  the  omi- 
trary,  maintain,  that  production  may, 
and  in  fkct  has,  in  some  cases,  outrun 
consumption ;  wherefore  it  is  con- 
sumption that  needs  a  stimulus,  not 
proouction ;  for  of  what  use  is  it,  they 
ask,  to  produce,  unless  the  product  be 
consumed  ?  Must  not  production  toon 
exceed  the  utmost  powers  of  consnmp- 
tion? 

In  support  of  this  last  doctrine, 
Sismondi  instances  the  immense  quan- 
tities of  manufactured  products  with 
which  England  has  of  late  years  inun- 
dated the  markets  of  other  nations,  as 
a  proof  that  it  Lb  possible  for  indus- 
try to  be  too  productive.  To  this  the 
supporters  of  the  opposite  (pinion  re- 
ply, that  the  glut  thua  occasioned, 
proves  nothing  more  than  the  feeUo- 
ness  of  production  in  other  countries, 
that  have  been  thus  glutted  with  Eng- 
lish manufiictures. 

This  dispute  and  di£ference  of  opi- 
nion, among  four  of  the  most  cd^ra- 
ted  mod^n  writers  on  Political  Eco- 
nomy, affi)rds  a  striking  proof  of  the 
looseness  with  which  3us  important 
subject  is  generally  treated,  and  that 


*  Mr  Ricardo  in  some  degree  quslifies  his  conclusions  on  theaa^eot  of  rent,  in 
bis  pamphlet,  •*  On  Protection  to  Agriculture." 


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18943  The  PMiM  Economiit 

emnni  and  dtftrenoet  (^  opinion  in  it, 
dften  proceed  from  either  yagnenesB 
oflangnige»or  from  not  looking  dos^ 
ly  and  deeply  enough  into  the  subject. 
Encourage  production,  says  one  par- 


ty, and  you  benefit  a  nation :  No,  saya 
the  other  party,  encourage  consump- 
tion; and  both  appeal  to  facts  and 
experience.  Can  facts  and  experience 
teach  and  support  such  directly  oppo- 
site doctrines?  Must  there  not  be 
either  some  ambiguity  lurking  unper- 
ceived  in  the  words  camumpiion  and 
production  ?  Or,  if  this  is  not  the 
case,  are  not  the  facts  viewed  imper- 
fectly, and  not  in  all  their  bearings, 
extent,  and  consequences?  But  so  it 
is,  a  science  which  must  rest  on  facts. 


is  BO  Uughi  thai  it  cannot  teadrwhat 
thoee  fadts  are ;  of  two  directly  q;^>o- 
site  lines  of  conduct,  it  cannot  teach 
which  is  prgudicial  and  which  is  use* 
ful  to  social  wealth.* 

Having  thus  gone  over  some  of  the 
most  important  speculative  opinions 
in  Folitiod  Economy,  and  proved  how 
differently  they  are  represented  by  the 
most  celebrat^  writers  on  that  sub- 
ject, we  shall,  in  the  second  part  of 
this  Essay,  turn  our  attention  to  those 
doctrines  which  are  of  a  practical  na- 
ture, in  order  to  ascertain  whether,  aa 
respects  them,  there  is  any  mare  cer- 
tainty and  consistency  than  in  those 
which  we  have  now  been  considering. 

N. 


*  The  truth  is,  when  Malthus,  Sismondi,  &&,  say  there  is  too  much  production, 
they  mean  of  certun  articles  in  certain  places ; — when  Ricardo,  Say,  and  Mill,  main- 
tain  there  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  too  much  production,  they  mean  of  all  artides  in  all 
places ;— the  remedy  the  former  writers  would  apply,  viz.  oonsomption,  or,  in  other 
words,  production  of  other  articles  in  other  places,  proves  that,  in  fad,  they  ooinckle 
with  their  opponents,  and  the  latter  allow  all  tlie  former  contend  for,  when  they  admit, 
as  Mr  Mill  expressly  does,  ^*  that  a  nation  may  easily  have  more  than  enough  of 
any  one  commodity,  though  she  can  never  have  nK)re  than  enough  of  commodities  in  g». 
'  "    -^  r  defended. 


BKaATA  Ilf  mSSAV  I. 


p.  Sn,  CoL  f,^d!ftinctiaii«  rtad  dtttmctioii.  fix  lines  firom  bottom. 

—  M8,  —   l,Jbr  directed,  read  deduced,  twenty-eiglit  ttaet  ftom  bottom. 

—  S>/or  redoublei,  rModrcMinbtet,  eighteen  lines  ftom  bottom. 

—  524,  —   Itjbr  out.  read  only,  fifteen  lines  ttom  bottom. 

—  Sf5,  —   hfar  vapidly,  read  yaguelr,  twenty-four  lines  ttaax  top. 

—  5ir7«  —  If^dincted,  reotf  directly,  twcoty-oot  lines  liram  top. 


TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF  ^'  THX  aHEPHCRD's  CALINDAE." 


I  AM  80  deliffhted  to  meet  you  again, 
Mr  Hogg,  and  in  your  own  element, 
on  your  own  native  mountains,  among 
your  flocks,  and,  above  all,  with  your 
faithful  sheep-dogs,  that  I  cannot  re« 
frain  from  expressing  my  satisfaction 
in  a  few  words,  addressed  to  yourself, 
which  I  shall  request  Mr  North  to 
slip  into  a  comer  of  Miiga. 

I  first  became  acquainted  with  you 
in  "  The  Shepherd's  Calendar,"^  (I 
had  not  then  even  heard  of  "  The 
Queen's  Wake,"  my  ignorance  that 
such  a  work  was  extant,  ''  arguing 
myself  unknown,")  and  as  first  im- 
pressions are  oftenest  most  indelible, 
so  I  have  remained  constant  to  my 
first  love,  spite  of  all  the  powerful 
claims  since  made  upon  my  admiration 
by  your  other  works.  Uo  not  be  of- 
fended at  this,  Mr  Hogg.  I  admure, 
I  delight  in  •*  The  Queen's  Wake" 


March  90,  1824. 
I  read  it  over  and  over  again  with  even 
unabated  enjoyment  I  have  received 
infinite  gratification  and  entertainment 
from  many  of  your  later  publications, 
but  in  "  The  Shepherd's  Calendar"  I 
see  vou!  I  know  you!  I  am  with 
you !  I  go  along  with  you  step  by  step, 
over  hill  and  vale,  by  tarn  and  by  tor« 
rent,  at  Yule  and  at  Beltane,  through 
snow-storms  and  sunshine.  Not  a  paw 
in  your  flock,  but  is  as  familiar  to  me 
as  those  of  many  of  my  acquaintances. 
And  for  your  dog  Sirrah !  next  to  my 
own  camne  paragon,  I  love  and  ho- 
nour him  ;  and  but  for  the  establidi- 
cd  riffht  of  mine,  to  whom  I  long  ago 
awarded  the  regal  title,  I  would  cul 
Sirrah  the  king  of  dogs.  But,  Mr 
Hogg,  I  have  an  old  score  to  redcon 
up  with  you  on  his  account — an  old 
grudge  to  oui  with.  That  faithfiil^ 
that  true  frigid !  that  loving  compa« 


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To  the  Author  tf"  the  Shepfkcrttt  Calendar" 


65« 

nion  !  that  incomparable  Sirrah  ! — 
How  could  ycu  find  in  your  heart  to 
part  with  liim  as  you  did  ?  To  trans- 
fer him  to  another  master — ^to  drive 
him  from  you  again  and  again,  when 
the  creature's  ])ertinacious  attachment 
brought  him  to  your  feet — to  your 
threshold  ? — How  coujd  you  lie  clown 
and  sleep  in  peace,  after  inflicting  on 
your  old  friend  that  cruel  sentence  of 
perpetual  banishment  ?  Did  not  his  re- 
proachful image  mirsue  you  in  dreams 
sleeping  and  waning?  Did  you  not 
long,  in  slumber,  and  on  the  hills,  and 
at  the  sheepfold,  and  by  the  ingle- 
nook,  hear  nis  bark,  his  whine,  his 
pattering  feet,  and,  above  all,  did  not 
Lis  last  look  haunt  you?  I  can  no 
more  comprehend  than  excuse  that 
ungrateful  deed  of  yours,  Mr  Hogg, 
and  so  on  that  point  we  must  remain 
at  issue,  though  Time  blunts  the 
edges  of  all  feelings— even  of  resent- 
ment, and  has  softened  me  down  into 
tolerable  charity  with  you,  except 
when  at  times  a  sudden  flu^  of  in- 
dignation comes  across  me. 

My  faith  in  your  veracity  was  ne- 
ver put  to  the  proof,  by  any  of  your 
accounts  of  the  wonderful  genius  of 
**  Sirrah !"  Neither  am  I  more  Bce^)- 
tical  respecting  the  stories  you  tell  of 
Hector,  or  of  any  other  of  those  four- 
footed  Paladiiis.  The  truth  is,  Mr 
Hogg,  I  have  been  all  my  life  the 
friend,  and  very  much  the  companion, 
of  animals.  Animals,  and  things  ina- 
nimate, were  the  play-mates  and  com- 
panions of  my  solitary  childhood,  and 
from  all  of  them  1  hear  a  language, 
and  gather  meanings  unheard  by,  and 
unintelligible  to,  the  many — 1  spy  out 
shades  of  character,  and  detect  points 
of  interest,  undisccrnible  to  the  com- 
mon eye,  and  with  Nature  in  her  low- 
liest walks,  in  her  minutest  beauties, 
and  in  her  most  despised  creatures,  I 
hold  communion,  such  as  to  people  in 
f^encral  would  be  perfectly  incompre- 
hensible. I  have  had  foiur-footed 
i'riends,  from  the  graceful  antelojie  to 
the  vulgar  turn  spit— Winged  friends 
— from  the  parrot  to  the  owl,  (by  the 
by,  you  can  conceive  nothing  morCs  co- 
mical than  a  pantomimic  rehearsal  be- 
tween those  two  fowls.) — Crawling 
friends— from  the  living  leaf— the 
beautiful  green  lizard,  to  the  brown 
ugly  toad.— Finny  friends — no— I  ne- 
ver coidd  elicit  anything  like  tendtr- 
ncss  from  a  fish,  though  it  hath  been 


CJnne, 


written  *'  an  oyster  may  be  crossed  in 
love."  But  then  I  did  succeed  in  ee- 
tahlishing  a  sort  of  good  intdligence 
with  a  creature  linking  together  the 
ilshy  and  fleshy  natures.  I  patroniied 
a  great  old  tortoise,  who,  by  the  way, 
had,  for  a  tortoise,  most  extraordintry 
rambling  propensities !  I  believe,  for 
my  part,  it  was  the  very  identical  old 
racer  I  used  to  read  about  in  JE,waff*% 
fables ;  we  were  obliged  to  tether  hira 
through  a  hole  drilled  in  bis  pent- 
house. I  have  also  succeeded  to  a  cer- 
tain degree  in  cultivating  a  degree  of 
intimacy  with  that  anomalous  and 
very  facetious  person  the  bat.  Face- 
tious he  certainly  is,  for  I  do  asaure 
you,  there  is  inexpressible  comicality 
in  the  expression  of  his  square  visage, 
perked-up  ears,  little  round  eyes,  and 
nabitual  broad  grin.  Take  my  wwd 
for  it,  he  is  "  a  fellow  of  infinite  hu- 
mour." 

Wonders  1  could  tell  you  of  the  cat 
—that  unjustly  aspersed  animal !  but 
for  some  time  past  I  have  been  fights 
ing  rather  shy  of  my  feline  fHenda. 
There  is  a  place  in  the  world,  called 
Hampton-court,  Mr  Ho^.  In  that 
place  are  many  snug  apartments ;  in 
those  apartments  abide  many  maiden 
gentlewomen  ;  and  it  is  said  (I  vouch 
not  for  the  truth)  that  on  a  certain 
sunny  pavement,  under  a  sheltering 
interior  angle  of  the  palace  waUs,  those 
venerable  virgins  may  be  seen^  during 
the  brightest  hours  of  the  morning, 
congregating  in  great  numbers,  and 
that  their  favourite  parade  is  therefore 
designated  as  "  Pur  Comer."  Do  yoa 
take  it,  Mr  Hogg  ?  Do  you  perceive 
all  the  malicious  import  of  that  name  ? 
Do  you  survey  tlic  thing  in  its  se- 
veral bearings? — the  combinations— 
the  associations — the  insinuations* — / 
heard  it  shuddering,  and  have  ever 
since  gradually  withdrawn  myself  from 
feline  intimacies.  People  draw  such 
strange  inferences — make  such  coarse 
allusions— talk  of  sister  Tabbies- <ct 

one  down  as in  short,  really  I  am 

saying  more  than  I  intended,  but 

in  short,  Mr  Hogg,  we  will  waive  the 

subject  of  cats. 

The  dog !  the  dog!  the  generous, 
faithful  dog  I  of  him  I  meant  to  talk, 
of  him  only.  I  set  out  with  the  de- 
sign of  introducing  mine  to  your  ac- 
quaintance, Mr  Hogg.  What  though 
he  be  a  Southron,  and  a  lady's  servant, 
and  a  woman's  friend ;  he  is  not,  there- 


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7\>  the  Author  (/**  The  ShephertTi  Calendar: 


fare,  unworthy  of  the  notice  of  Hec* 
tor's  mastor  and  panegyrist  What 
though  he  has  gentle  breeding,  and 
has  lain  sofUy»  and  fed  daintily,  and 
been  caresaedf  for  his  beauty,  and  com- 
mended for  his  wit?  His  noble  na« 
ture  isnot  thereby  deteriorated,  though 
one  twentieth  part  of  the  flattery  whidi 
has  assailed  him,  would  have  been 
more  than  sufficient  to  turn  the 
brains  of  half  the  male  bipeds  in  the 
three  kingdoms ;  yea,  to  set  them  spin- 
ning with  vanity,  as  giddily  as  epi- 
leptic turkeys.  Perhaps  my  honest 
Ranger  carries,  even  to  a  blameable 
excess,  his  disr^ard  of  personal  ap- 
pearance, and  his  disdain  of  all  fop- 
pishness and  efleminacy.  I  have  known 
nim,  at  that  very  precise  moment  when 
some  gentle  fond  fair  one  has  been 
showering  upon  him  her  whole  voca- 
bulary of  flattering  plirases,  and  ten- 
der epithets — ''  sweet  lamb !  sweet 
love !  sweet  pet !" — I  have  seen  him, 
at  that  precise  moment,  bounce  from 
her  caressing  hand,  after  a  most  un- 
courteous  and  unceremonious  fasliion, 
and  forthwith  flounce  over  head  and 
ears  in  some  fllthy  horse-pond,  after  a 
luckless  goose,  or  a  trip  of  young 
ducks ;  from  which  aquatic  chase  he 
was  presently  seen  to  emerge,  in  a 
condition  anything  but  sweet,  dripping 
with  black  mud,  like  Curl  ascending 
from  the  ooze  of  Flcct-ditch ;  and  then 
as  surely  would  ho  make  straight  to 
his  horrified  admirer,  and  giving  him- 
self one  tremendous  shake  over  her 
snow-white  robe,  and  probably  a  lo- 
ving rub  against  it,  he  would  wag  his 
tail  triumpliantly,  and  look  up  in  her 
face  with  eyes  that  saiJ,  '^Am  I  not  a 
sweet  creature,  now?"  There  could 
be  but  one  interpretation  of  such  con- 
duct, Air  Hogg.  He  took  that  eccen- 
tric but  dignified  manner  of  rebukin<^ 
the  adulatory  strain,  so  mawkish  and 
distasteful  to  his  unsophisticated  feel- 
ings. I  can't  say  but  tuat  the  plan  ge- 
nerally succeeded. 

For  my  part,  well  as  I  love  him,  I 
have  never  insulted  lus  good  sense  by 
addressing  him  in  such  absurd  lan- 
guage. We  have  always  lived  toge- 
ther as  rational  friends,  and  I  have  al- 
ways accustomed  him  to  hear  truth 
from  me  at  all  times,  and  to  bear  be- 
ing reminded  of  his  faults,  and  rebu- 
ke for  them ;  (alas !  Mr  Hogg,  we 
are  none  of  us  fimlUess,)  and  I  must 
do  him  the  justice  to  say,  I  have  never 


667 

found  him  so  obstinate  In  error  as  to 
withstand  a  little  calm  reasoning  from 
me.  The  weightof  a  blow  he  has  never 
felt  from  m^  hand.  It  would  not  have 
felled  him  if  he  had,  the  said  hand 
being  of  such  dwarfish  dimensions  as 
might  appertain  to  the  Queen  of  Lilli- 
put,  yet  when  it  is  held  up  in  terror 
rem,  will  he  affect  as  much  appre- 
hensive awe,  as  if  it  were  a  huge  mut- 
ton fist,  in  the  common  practice  of 
thumping  his  brains  out.  Yes ;  at  the 
first  espial  of  a  reproachful  glance  from 
me,  down  will  he  cower  to  the  very 
ground;  his  long  ears  trailing  flat 
upon  the  floor,  or  sometimes  upturned 
upon  his  very  back ;  his  tail  curled  up 
into  perfect  invisibility ;  his  four  fine 
large  ruffled  paws  bent  inwards  and 
crumped  up  together,  and  all  tremu- 
lous with  agitation  ;  and  his  great 
brown  eyes  pleading  such  unutterable 
things  I  that  it  would  melt  a  heart  of 
stone  to  look  upon  him.  There  is  a 
httle  trickery  in  all  this ;  a  little  man- 
nerism ;  I  am  aware  of  it ;  but  he  has 
found  it  always  successfid,  and  who 
can  blame  the  innocent  artifice,  any 
more  than  the  sudden  change  of  tone, 
and  electric  abruptness  of  Mr  Kean's 
•'  Off  with's  head !"  in  Richard  the 
Third,  whereby  (though  played  over 
and  over,  night  after  night;  he  is  sure 
to  bring  down  the  thunders  of  the 
house  ? 

This,  by  the  by,  is  not  the  only 
point  of  assimilation  between  my  fa- 
vourite and  our  great  tragic  actor. 
You  must  know,  that  among  many 
characteristic  beauties,  my  dog  has  to 
boast  of  one,  which  gives  to  his  eyes 
more  of  "  human  meaning "  than  I 
have  ever  observed  in  others  of  his 
species.  The  fine  dark  rolling  pupils 
are  set  in  large  clear  whites,  and  (bis 
complexion  being  for  the  most  part 
deep  brown)  the  expression  with 
which  he  eyes  me  while  I  am  dispen- 
sing any  trifling  favour  to  his  hated 
rival,  (that  whiskered  animal,  which 
shall  be  nameless,)  is  such  as  I  have 
never  seen  equalled  but  by  the  "rowl" 
of  Mr  Kean'sejesin  Othello,  or  in  the 
vengeful  Zanga.  Perhaps  I  should  say 
in  Othello  only,  for  the  tender  noble 
nature  of  the  abused  Moor,  shines  out 
even  through  the  thunder-cloud  of  his 
jealous  frenzy. 

All  this  while  I  have  forgotten  to 
speak  of  my  dog's  lineage ;  and  yet  it 
is  such  as  he  has  no  reason  to  be 


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6S%                    thihe  Author  ff  '*  The  ShepKerd^s  Calendar.'^  Uwae, 

Mhamcd  of— no^  being  of  the  Stan*  ^t  be  was  arem  to  me  when  abont 

hope  femily.    I  do  not  mean  actually  a  twelTenaonth  old,  and  that  (alas  ! 

a  scion  of  that  noble  houae^  bat  deri^  alaa !  for  the  ruthlcM  speed  of  time) 

ving  his  descent  fVora  their  breed  of  sixteen  summers^  it  is  almost  needless 

large  wavy-coated,  long-eared,  thick-  to  add,  as  many  springs,  antumns,  and 

Eawed  spaniels.    His  mother,  in  fact,  winters,  have  passed  over  oar  heads 

eld  the  post  of  prime  favoarite  to  the  aince  we  came  together.    What!  so 

eccentric  Lady  Hester,  till  she  thoujght  near  the  bottom  of  a  whole  sheet  of 

proper  to  retire  on  a  small  pension,  fbolseap,  and  I  have  scarce  said  any- 

(after  the  dignified  manner  in  which  thing  that  I  meant  to  say,  and  yet  (so 

most  of  the  late  queen's  ladies  re-  plibly  the  pen  ran)  twice  as  roach  as  I 

signed  office  on  a  somewhat  similar  intended ;  and  I  have  so  much  still  at 

occasion,)  when  her  ladyship,  weary  my  pen's  tip,  and  yet  I  must  not  snf- 

of  the  polished  behaviour  of  civilieed  fer  it  to  ovfo^ow  on  a  second  page,  or 

Europe,  set  sail  for  the  land  of  Pales-  it  will  find  no  room  in  Maga.  But  in 

tine,  and  sought  relief  from  the  tedium  the  next  Number,  perhaps,  I  mayv  if 

ifitce,  by  souatting  cross-legged  on  a  dulv  encouraged,  insert  the  postscript, 

cushion    m>m    morning    to    night,  which  is  always  allowed  to  contain 

smoking,  chevring  betel  and  opium,  the  essence  of  a  lady's  letter. 


and  eating  pillaw  with  her  fingers,  out  Till  then, — if  there  boa  then,- 

of  the  same  dish  with  a  parcel  of  well,  Mr  Hogg ;  go  on  with  your  de- 

greasy  Arabs.    What  then  became  of  lightful  Calendar ;  repent  you  about 

the  ci'devant  fitvourite  I  know  not,  but  the  matter  of  ^'  Sii^h, '  and  so  appease 

I  know  her  son  became  my  propoty  ;  his  ghost  and  my  displeasure.        £. 


letter  f&om  rodophilus. 

Dear  Christopher, 
As  our  firiend  Rose  is  setting  out  on  his  third  voyage,  I  feel  myself  called 
on  (not,  I  fear,  by  the  Muses)  to  address  the  fine  kUow  with  a  few  lines.  I 
hope  this  will  find  you  in  good  humour.  I  had  rather  it  fbll  into  your  hands 
when  your  mouth  was  still  frothing  with  the  first  glass  of  champagne,  than 
when  that  same  receptacle  of  all  that  is  good  was  drawn  into  a  thousand  crink- 
um  crankum  shapes,  aAer  a  misapplication  of  Ho^'s  gentle  foot  to  jour  too 
sensitive  pediment  The  Sonnet,  I  see  plain  enough,  is  bad ;  do  give  it  a  poke 
with  your  crutch ;  Mercury's  wand  is  infinitely  less  mercurial ;  at  any  rate,  for 
you  see  I  am  a  good  fellow,  do  me  the  honour  to  light  your  pipe  with  it,  I 
shidl  then  breathe  my  last  d  f  antique  on  a  ^orious  ftmeral  pile. 

RoDorniLus. 

Rose !  I  would  copy  from  the  olden  time. 

When  acts  of  courtesy  and  love  prevail'd. 

And  none  did  win  the  Muses,  but  was  hail'd 

By  all  iAkeiT  sacred  sons  with  gratefiil  rhvme— 

For  thou  hast  not  misspent  thy  youthful  prime. 

Nor  to  the  Hesperian  regions  vainly  saiTd ; 

Like  him  who  erst  the  fleece's  guard  assail  d. 

Thou,  too,  bring'st  treasures  from  the  sun's  own  dime. 

May  prosperous  gales  still  breathe  upon  thy  way. 

And  cheering  thousands  crowd  the  fading  shore. 

Eager  to  catch  again  thy  jocund  lay — 

Orpheus,  high-seated  on  thy  gallant  prow. 

Shall  echo  from  his  harp  unwonted  lore. 

Whilst  I  fresh  bays  will  gather  for  thy  brow.  '^ 


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•59 


TIfK  INHKRITANCB,  A  KOVBL,  BY  THE  ATJTIIOR  OF  MAaSIAOE.* 


Six  fears  have  elapsed  since  the 
{mbHcation  of ''  Marriage/'  and  with- 
in these  six  years  more  j;ood  noyels 
hare  been  printed  in  this  island^  than 
were  ever  before  pat  ibrth  in  the  whole 
world,  during  any  period  of  fifty  years 
•«-and  yet  '^  Marriage"  is  Aresh  in  the 
pnblic  recollection,  when  **  The  In« 
neritance"  makes  its  appearance.  This 
of  itself  is  no  trifle.  The  fact  is,  that 
the  author  of  that  work  had  done 
things  which,  once  done,  are  not  like- 
ly to  be  forgotten.  She — for  there  can 
be  no  doubt  at  all  of  the  sex  of  the 
writer — she  had  added  new  chnracters 
to  the  stock.  Dr  RedgiU,  Mrs  Videt 
M'Shake,  and  the  three  aunts,  were 
new  beings  summoned  into  effectual 
existence.  Their  various  minds,  bo- 
dies, moods,  foibles,  frailties,  absurd- 
ities, had  been  drawn  with  the  bold- 
ness and  the  ease  of  a  masterly  and 
self-confiding  pencil — and  the  author, 
who  has  really  enlarged  the  territorv 
of  fiction,  by  stores  drawn  from  su^ 
observation,  or  such  imagination  as 
these  characters  displayed,  has  taken* 
possession  of  a  place,  fitmi  which 
dislodgement  is  not  easy.  With  ri- 
fkcciamentos  of  old  material,  how- 
ever brilliantly  executed,  the  eye  of 
this  acute  age  is  soon  satisfied ;  the 
one  of  them  chases  the  other  from  the 
stage  of  a  sometimes  daasling,  but  al- 
ways fleeting  popularity ;  but  if  the 
reception  of  works  in  which  the  true 
origmating  vigour  has  been  displayed, 
be  sometimes  less  damorously  applau- 
sive at  the  moment  than  that  whidi 
the  glare  of  mere  executive  talent  may 
command,  the  infallible  test  isuniver- 
sallv  supj^ed  in  the  pre-auinence  of 
their  calmer  and  deeper  fame.  Such, 
certainly,  has  been  the  fkme  of  "  Mar- 
riage," and  such,  we  are  equally  cer- 
tain, wiU  be  the  fiime  of  its  successor. 

The  author  of  these  works  is  evi- 
dently a  JWitai^— and  as  evidently  one 
that  has  had  abundant  opportunities 
of  observing  society  in  a  ^eat  variety 
of  its  walks.  Add  to  this  a  keen  re- 
lish for  the  ridiculous— a  piofouud  ve- 
neration for  the  virtuous — a  taste  in 
composition  extremely  chaste,  simple, 
and  unaflbcted— and  perhaps  the  lite- 


rary character  of  this  lady  has  been 
sufficiently  outlined.  She  has  much 
in  common  with  the  other  great  au- 
thoresses of  her  time — ^but  she  has 
also  much  to  distinguish  her  ftom 
them.  She  unites  the  perfect  purity 
and  moral  elevation  of  mind  visible  in 
all  Mrs  BaiUie's  delightful  works>  with 
much  of  the  same  caustic  vigour  of  sa- 
tire that  has  made  Miss  Edgeworth's 
pen  almost  as  fearful  as  mcinating. 
Witliout  displaying  anything  like  the 
lofty  poetic  imagination  of  the  former 
of  these  sisters  in  renown,  or  having 
anything  like  that  most  poetical  power 
of  pathos  which  relieves  and  embel- 
lishues  the  keen  piquancy  of  the  other's 
humorous  vein — sne  exnibits  so  much 
quickness  of  perception,  so  much  fa- 
cility of  thought  and  style^  such  an 
admirable  eqmlibrium  of  mind,  such 
a  fine  charity  woven  into  the  very  web 
of  sarcasm, — and  withal,  the  viewsshe 
has  taken  of  life  and  manners  are  so  very 
extensive,  as  well  as  true — that  it  is  im- 
possible for  us  to  deny  her  a  place  consi* 
derably  above  any  other  female  wlio  has 
come  before  the  British  public  in  these 
days,  as  a  writer  of  works  of  imagina- 
tion. She  has  a//  that  Miss  Austin  had 
-—but  she  is  not  merely  a  Scotch  Miss 
Austin.  Her  mind  is  naturally  one  of 
«  more  firm,  vigorous,  and  so  to  speak, 
masculine  tone;  and  besides,  while 
nothing;  can  be  better  than  Miss  Aus- 
tin's sketches  of  that  sober,  order- 
ly, smaJl-town,  parsonage,  sort  of  so- 
ciety in  which  she  herself  had  spent 
her  life,  and  nothing  more  feeble  than 
Miss  Austin's  pen,  whenever  she  steps 
beyond  that  walk,  either  up  the  hill 
or  downwards — this  lady,  on  the  con- 
trary, can  paint  the  inmates  of  the 
cottage,  the  farm-house,  the  manse, 
the  mansion-house,  and  the  eastle; 
aye,  and  most  difficult,  or  at  least  most 
rare  of  all,  my  lady's  saloon  too— all 
with  equal  truth,  ease,  and  effect.  In 
this  particular  respect  she  is  far  above 
not  (mly  Miss  Austin,  but  Miss  Bur- 
ney>  and  con&sses  eqiaality  with  no  fe- 
rode  author  our  couatry  has  as  yet 
produced,  except  only  the  great  no- 
velist of  Ireland. 
Some  peofde  may  wonder  that  we 


*  The  Infaeritsnce.  3  vdb.  9vo, 
London* 
Vol.  XVI. 


William  Blackwood,  Edinborgh  :  and  T.  Caddl, 
iQ 


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should  compare  tbis  accomplbbed  per- 
son witli  tne  writers  of  her  own  sex 
only.  Our  answer  to  this  must  be  a 
very  short  one.  The  books  of  women 
are  as  unlike  the  books  of  men,  as  wo- 
men themselves  are  unlike  the  lords  of 
the  creation.  The^  look  at  everything 
with  eyes  essentially  difibrent  from 
ours — ^tne  things  that  attract  them 
most,  ate  not  what  we  generally  be- 
stow much  attention  upon  at  aU — ^thdr 
minds  are  penetrated  and  imbued  with 
notions  altogether  alien  to  masculine 
breasts — they  have  one  point  of  ho- 
nour— ^we  have  another,  and  that  not 
merely  different,  but  geneticaUy  dif- 
ferent—thev  have,  and  ought  to  have, 
and  must  nave,  thoughts,  opinions, 
feelings,  sentiments,  perceptions,  re- 
flections, prejudices,  aye,  and  princi- 
ples, all  Just  as  different  from  ours,  as 
were  the  silken  tresses  of  Eve  from 
the  strong  curls  that  hung  ''  not  be- 
low the  neck  clustering"  of  Adam. 
What  man  ever  dreamt  tliat  it  was 
possible  for  a  woman  to  paint  the 
thousandth  atom  of  the  burning  ha- 
tred, or  the  burning  love,  of  man? 
What  female  ever  dared  to  conceive 
anything  like  an  Othello,  a  Romeo,  a 
Master  of  Ravenswood,  a  Max  Picco- 
lomini,  or  a  Werther? — nay,  what 
j/ie  ever  dared  to  depict  a  Cmemnes- 
tra,  a  Lady  Macbeth,  a  Julie  D  Etange, 
a  Manon  Lescaut,  a  Rebecca,  ot  a 
Madge  Wildfire  ?  We  have  purpose- 
Iv  named  nothing  but  characters,  in 
the  formation  or  development  of  which 
Love  has  a  primary  influence — ^be- 
cause in  that  [Mission,  at  least,  it  might 
have  been  supposed  that  the  female 
pen  might  rival  the  audacity  of  the 
masculine.  No  such  matter  nas  ever 
taken  plaee.  In  love,  in  jealousy,  in 
repentance,  and  in  every  other  modi- 
fication and  consequence  of  the  passion 
of  love,  innocent  and  guilty,  the  fe- 
male writers  have  shewn  themselves 
just  as  decidedly  and  clearly  feebler 
than  men,  as  in  the  handling  of  any 
other  passion  with  which  one  might 
have,  a  priori,  imagined  them  less 
likely  to  grapple  on  terms  of  equality. 
That  they  do  not  even  in  that  passion 
go  so  deep  as  men  do,  is  possible — 
nav,  this  seems  by  no  means  impro*- 
bable— but  one  thing  is  quite  certain, 
and  that  is,  that  if  they  do  feel  as 
deeply  as  we  do,  there  is  some  inera- 
dicable principle  of  reserve  about  their 
nature,  which  prevents  theui  from 
onfessing  that  they  do  feel  so^aye^ 


The  Inheritance,  [[JuBe> 

from  even  hinting  the  possibility  that 
they  ever  should  feel  so,  aftr  off  and 
dimly,  through  the  glass  of  fiction. 

The  same  Une  may  be  drawn  in  the 
realms  of  the  ludicrous.  No  woman 
ever  conceived  anything  within  a  thou- 
sand miles  of  a  Sancfao  Panxa,  a  Fal- 
staff,  a  Parson  Adams,  or  a  Tom  Pipes* 
Perhaps  in  the  very  same  reserve,  in- 
alterable and  inemiceable,  to  which 
we  have  just  alluded,  a  keen  eye  may 
be  at  no  great  loss  to  detect  the  cause 
of  this  inferiority  also. 

The  worst  part  of  it  is,  that  we 
would  notsuffer  them,  if  they  did  throw 
off  this  reserve,  or  even  shew  by  one 
single  syllable  that  it  was  possible  Uiey 
should  ever  have  dreamt  of  throwing 
it  off.  Would  any  man  marry  a  wo- 
man after  having  read  a  first-rate  love 
story  of  her  writing  ?  And  would  not 
any  woman  like  a  man  all  the  better 
for  having  written  one  ?  See  what 
strange  b^^  we  all  are,  and  how 
vain  for  gemus  to  set  itself  in  array 
against  nature  and  destiny. 

Nature  and  Destiny,  however,  are 
in  general  kind  enough  to  those  who 
deserve  their  kindness ;  and  according- 
ly the  ladies  are  still  left  in  possession 
of  abundance  of  fine  things,  even  in  a 
literary  point  of  view.  The  minute 
tact  of  society  is  their  especial  fvo- 
vince,  in  mimic,  as  in  real  hfe.  Every- 
where the  broad,  the  strong,  the 
Eowerful,  is  ours — the  delicate,  the 
air*pencil  delicate  touch  of  the  reidly 
excellent  female  observer  dT  character, 
as  produced  in  qniei  society,  is  inimi- 
tably and  immeasurably  beyond  the 
reach  of  her  masculine  rival.  Men 
shew  themselves  in  the  shocks  and 
rude  collisions  of  the  w<H:ld,  and  men 
paint  this — Women  tread  upon  the  car^ 
pet,  and  they  understand  our  gentle^ 
and  each  others  gentlest  motions  there, 
to  an  extent  that  would  idmost  seem 
to  argue  something  not  unlike  the  poa- 
session  of  a  separate  sense,  in  which 
people  of  the  oUier  gender  are  not  for- 
tunate enough  to  be  partakers. 

This  species  of  merit  is  oonspicnoos 
in  Marriage,  and  it  is  ako  conspicuous 
in  The  Inheritance ;  but,  excepting  in 
this  matter,  there  is  really  not  much 
resemblance  between  the  two  works. 
The  charm  of  Marriage  consisted  en- 
tirely  in  the  ddineation  of  obtain  hu- 
morous characters,  most  of  which  we 
have  already  alluded  to.  The  story  of 
that  novel  was  the  merest  piece  of 
flimsiness,  and  altogether,  it  was  tof- 


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1894.;]  T%e  luherUanee. 

icienUj  erMent  UmU  the  author  had 
kid  her  ccmpd^estai  before  the  pablic. 
Indeed^  the  poverty  of  the  story  form- 
ed 80  very  remarkable  a  contrast  to  the 
richneM  of  the  characters,  that  we  most 
ftirly  confess  we  never  expected  to  see 
the  author  produce  anoUier  work  of 
the  same  kind,  or,  at  least,  of  anything 
like  the  same  merit  In  a  word,  our 
notion  was,  that  a  clever  woman  had 
sketched  very  cleverly  the  most  pro* 
minent  persons  in  tlie  gallery  of  her 
own  personal  acquaintance,  and,  that 
this  being  done,  and  done  so  admi- 
rably, there  was  like  to  be  an  end  of 
the  matter.  The  reader  may  pobably 
have  formed  some  similar  ideas  for 
himself;  and,  if  so,  he  will  participate 
in  the  same  feeling  of  surprise,  as 
well  as  of  delight,  with  which  we  have 
devoured  the  volumea  now  before  us. 
He  will  find  many  more  characters 
than  Marriage  contained  ;  he  will  find 
among  these  some  copies,  to  be  sure  ;-— 
but  he  will  also  find  not  a  few  wigi- 
nals,  at  least  as  excellent  as  any  of 
those  in  Marrisge ;  and,  what  is  best 
of  all,  he  will  no  longer  be  put  in  mind 
of  a  gallenr  of  portraits.  Thediarac- 
ters  of  The  Inheritance  are  brought 
out  in  a  very  well  conceived,  and  eare« 
fblly  and  skilfully  executed,  ftble,— 
thev  do  not  appear  merely,  but  act ; 
and,  in  short,  the  whole  conception 
and  execution  of  the  work  attest  clears 
lyand  indubitably  the  striking  progress 
which  the  authoress  has  made  in  almost 
every  brandi  of  her  art  since  the  period 
ciYurdtbuL  Nothingcan be  better  than 
some  thinip  in  Marriage ;  but  The  In- 
heritance IS  not  only  rich  in  things  as 
good  as  those  were,  but  has  all  the  ad- 
ditional merits  of  felicitous  design,  and 
judicious  concoction.  In  one  word. 
Marriage  was  a  very  clever  book,  but 
this  is  an  admirable  novel. 

The  story,  though,  in  esteniialihus, 
no  great  ttciy,  is  wonderAilly  well  ma- 
Ba^^so  well,  that  ^  interest  nei- 
ther flags  nor  halts  for  one  moment, 
until  we  are  within  a  score  or  two  of 
nses  of  the  end  of  the  third  volume. 
Indeed,  anybody,  in  reading  the  book 
over,  as  vire  have  just  been  doing,  for 
the  second  time,  will  be  powerfhUy 
struck  with  the  advantages  which  the 
authoress  has  drawn  fhmi— ^contrary, 
we  ace  all  but  certain,  to  the  prevaU- 

moer  desk  till  it  was  all  written,  and 
then  going  carefolly  over  it.  lyings, 
in  the  first  two  or  three  chapters, 
which,  on  the  first  perusal,  appear 


664 

quite  trivial,  are  Ibund  to  have  been 
placed  there  with  a  strict  prospectus  to 
something  far  on  in  the  work ;  and, 
per  contra,  there  is  nothing  and  no- 
body in  the  first  part  of  the  book  that 
is  altogether  dropt  out  and  neglected 
in  the  sequel. 

We  need  not  waste  words  in  shew- 
ing  how  little  of  this  mcarit  bdonas  to 
almost  any  of  the  popular  noveu  of 
this  sge  of  novel- writing ;  and  we  do 
think  that  the  public,  if  they  have  a 
proper  respect  for  themodves,  wiQ 
shew  it  in  tneir  treatment  of  the  almost 
solitary  novd-writer  that  has  of  late 
years  condescended  to  manifest  any- 
thing like  a  premier  measure  of  respect 
for  the  public.  This  lady  could  no 
doubt  write  her  three  volumea— aye,  or 
her  six  volumes  per  annum,  as  easily 
as  her  nekhbours,  but  she  duwses  to 
do  no  mu£  thing ;  and  die  reader  who 
turns  fhmi  The  Inheritance  to  almost 
any  other  handful  of  similar  roodeni 
tomes,  will  be  at  no  great  loss  toperoeive 
in  what  respects  the  woric  of  six  vears' 
concoction  difkn  from  even  the  clever- 
est work,  that  runs  its  whole  career  of 
writing,  printing,  and  pufltog  within 
six  months. 

We  hate  the  notion  of  analysing  a 
good  three-volume  story  in  a  single 
paragraph ;  but  the  evu  is  perfai^  a 
necessary  one  in  onr  vocatioa. 

The  heroine  of  this  book,  then,  ap- 
pears at  its  commencement  in  the  full 
bloom  of  youth  and  beauty,  coming 
from  France,  where  she  has  been  bora 
and  bred,  to  Scotland,  where  she  has 
the  prospect  of  succeeding  to  a  splen- 
did fbrtune,  and  a  peerage  of  grand 
antiquity.  A  younger  scion  of  the 
noble  house  of  Rossville  had  been 
£M)lish  enough  to  wed  a  pretty  ple- 
beian, by  name  Miss  Bhuuc ;  his  fii- 
mily  cut  him  of  course,  and  he  had 
Kved  abroad  upon  an  annuity,  and 
died  there.  Circumstances  had  oy  this 
time  brought  him  very  near  to  the  suc- 
cession ;  and  the  ci-devant  buxom  Miss 
BUck,  now  transformed  into»the  ho- 
nourable Mrs  St  Clair,  a  widow  dame, 
graced  with  all  the  superficial  finery 
and  real  worthlessness  of  outlandish 
parts,  appears  at  the  chateau  of  her 
dead  husoand's  ancestors,  leading  in 
her  hand  the  beautiftil  hehresa-expect- 
ant  thereof.  Miss  Gertrude  St  Chdr, 
heroine  of  Tlie  Inheritance,  one  (of 
course)  of  the  simplest,  most  generous, 
and  moat  diannuig  of  human  crea- 
turea. 

This  position,  as  to  ftmily  oonnec- 


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The  Inheritance. 


CJttn^j 


tions^  is  happily  coneeived.  Theherdne 
is  necessarily  placed  in  immediate  con- 
nection with  two  quite  different  sets 
of  people  and  orders  of  society.  The 
old  Peer  of  Rossville  receives  her  in 
his  proud  castle,  where  she  meets  the 
aged  sister  of  his  lordship,  and  a 
whde  swarm  of  his  patrician  rela* 
tives,  male  and  female.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  family  of  the  ci-derant  IVIiss 
Black  are  living  and  prospering  in  va-* 
nous  ways  in  the  same  county,  and 
three  or  four  separate  households,  of 
difl&rent  shades  of  vulgarity,  are  thus 
thrown  open  ibr  her  occasional  visits. 
It  so  happens,  that  some  of  the  Black 
race  have  votes,  and  so  forth,  in  the 
county ;  so  that  Lord  Rossville  him- 
self is  constrained  in  so  far  to  patronize 
Gertrude's  attention  to  the  humbler 
tide  of  her  pedigree.  In  short,  a  capi- 
tal  field  of  contrast  is,  in  a  very  natural 
manner,  opened  upon  our  novelist,—* 
and  precisdy  of  that  sort  of  contrast, 
too,  on  which  her  peculiar  talents  and 
acquirements  enable  her  to  labour  with 
the  highest  hope  of  advantage. 

The  Earl  or  Rossville's  plan  is  to 
marry  his  heiress  to  one  of  his  nephews, 
the  next  after  her  in  the  succession  to 
his  peerage.  This  nephew,  Mr  Del- 
mour,  is  a  solemn  politician,  and  M.  P. 
His  brother  is  a  fashionable  Colonel  of 
the  Guards,  and  he,  happening  to  ar- 
rive at  Rossville  before  the  Member, 
has  the  baseness  to  wish  to  forestall  his 
brother  in  Miss  St  Clair's  affections — 
and  he  has  the  art  to  do  so.  At  the 
same  time,  there  comes  another  of  her 
cousins^— Mr  Lyndsay.  This  is  an  ex- 
cellent, well-principled  roan,  possessor 
of  a  small  estate  also  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  Rossville  domain.  He 
also  loves  Gertrude : — and  he  never 
tells  his  love;  but  he  sees  that  the 
iaficfinating  airy  address  of  the  Colonel 
has  succeeded;  and  seeing  this,  and 
being  quite  aware  of  the  real  cha- 
racter of  the  man,  his  affection  for 
Gertrude  takes  the  shape  of  most  sin- 
cere and  compassionating  friendship. 
She  returns  this  by  the  warmest  con- 
fida:ice ;  and  while  she  is  thus  cursed 
in  a  lover,  and  blessed  in  a  fViend,  the 
old  lord  dies,  and  behold  she  is  Count- 
eas  of  Rossville. 

She  would  have  married  Colonel 
Delmour  immediately,  but  her  mother 
betrays  the  greatest,  the  most  intense 
and  unconquerable  aversion  to  this 
match.  This  aversion  appears  io  be 
connected  in  some  way  with  the  mys- 


terious appearance  of  a  Btrang«> — a 
rude  vul^  man,  who,  intruding  him-« 
self  on  the  privacy  of  Mrs  St  Ckir  and 
her  daughter,  produces  an  efl^t  on 
Uie  former  whicn  convinces  the  latter 
that  he  is  in  possession  of  some  terri- 
ble secret.  She  at  first  suspects  that  he 
has  been  married  in  secret  to  her  mo- 
ther. Mrs  St  Clair  rejects  this  notion 
with  violence  and  scorn,  but  confesMs 
that  a  secret  there  is.  Gertrude  is  dri- 
ven into  a  promise  that  she  wiU  not 
marry  until  she  is  of  age ;  and,  in  the 
meantime,  she  nominates  her  mo^er 
and  Mr  Lyndsay  her  guardians.  Colo- 
nel Delmour  is  sadly  annoyed  with  the 
delay ;  but  he  prevaik  on  the  young 
Countess  to  go  to  London  with  her 
mother,  that  sne  may  at  least  be  intro- 
duced into  fa^onable  life  under  his 
own  auspices,  and  be  kept  entirely 
within  the  circle  of  his  influence  and 
fascination. 

A  season  of  extravagant  aplendoar 
and  expense,  and  of  heartless  diasatis- 
fkction  in  the  brilliant  wilderness  of 
Piccadilly,  follows. 

Gertrude  returns  to  Rossville.  The 
Mysterious  Man  once  more  appears 
there — a  succession  of  violent  scenes 
betrays  at  last  the  secret,  vis.  that  Ger- 
trude is  not,  after  all,  the  child  of  the 
Honourable  George  St  Clair  and  his 
lady,  but  a  supposititious  child — the 
diild  of  this  straii^er  and  her  own  nurse. 
The  base  man  expetcts  to  bebribed  into 
silence — but  Gertrude's  heart  is  dear 
and  high  ;  and  Colonel  Delmour  arri- 
ving while  the  rude  stranger  is  vet  un- 
masked, is  informed  of  the  truth  at  the 
moment  (Jertrude  herself  Icoms  what 
that  is.  He  flies  from  Rossville— pre- 
tending that  he  cannot  afibrd  to  marry 
the  simple  XJertrude ;  and  the  known 
state  of  his  pecuniary  afiairs  renders 
this  in  so  far  a  plausilue  tale.  But  ere 
long  Gertrude,  living  among  her  sup- 
pose mother's  humble  relations,  is  in- 
formed that  Mr  Delmour,  now  Earl  of 
Rossville,  is  no  more,  and  that  of  course 
her  lover  is  himself  in  possession  of  all 
that  rank  and  wealth  which  she  bad 
formerly  promised  to  share  with  him 
when  they  were  hers. 

The  issue  is  not  obscure.  The  gay 
Lord  Rossville  marries  the  Duchess  of 
St  Ives — Gertrude  weeps  long,  and  at 
last  gives  a  sorely  humbled  neart  to 
the  afiectionate  md  generous  Lynd- 
say. The  DiJ^ess  of  St  Ives  brings 
her  lord  into  a  duel  at  Paris^— he  dks 
by  the  hand  <tf  a  man  who  had  diaho^ 


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}§9*,3  ^^  Inktritamct. 

aoured  \uatu  Lvntej  tueoeedt  to 
the  eitftte  aad  titk  of  RoiBville>  and 
Iho  loTdy  Gertmde  is  once  more  in 
poMetoonof  The  Ikbiritancx. 

We  JmwI  forgot  to  mcBtion  that  the 
haae  Stranger  turns  out,  after  all,  not 
to  be  the  father  of  Gertrude,  but 
merely  a  relation  of  his  perM)aatin|t 
him.  fiat  this  does  not  materially  a£ 
feet  the  fable. 

Such,  then,  is  the  outline  of  the 
story — a  very  hasty  one,  and  imperfect 
of  course,  but  still,  we  hope,  enough  to 
render  our  extracts,  in  some  measure, 
intelligible.  In  quoting,  indeed,  we 
shall,  as  is  our  common  custom,  take 
as  little  as  possible  of  that  which  af- 
fects the  main  narrative.  We  shall 
rather  lav  before  the  reader  some  of 
the  episodic  parts  of  the  performance. 
This  nlan  is  equally  effective  for  shew* 
ing  wnat  the  style  and  manner  of  the 
novel- writer  is — and  by  adhering  to  it 
we  preserve  entire  for  those  who  are 
to  read  the  book  the  main  sequence 
and  interest  of  the  admirably  conduct- 
ed Tal£. 

We  shall  begin  with  a  specimen  or 
two  of  the  author's  manner  of  intro- 
ducing and  sketching  characters ;  and 
then  proceed  to  quote  a  few  passages, 
illustrative  of  the  more  elaborate  art- 
fulness of  her  dramatio  delineations. 
What  can  be  better  in  its  way  than 
the  following  entrit  at  the  castle  of 
Rossville? 

"  Mrs  SC  Clair's  agitation  inereased — 
she  stopped,  and  leant  upon  her  daugh- 
ter, who  feared  she  would  have  fkinted ; 
but  makiog  an  effort,  fbe  followed  the 
servant^  who  led  the  way  to  the  pretence 
oi  hia  lord,  when,  quidily  recovering  her 
8el£>pot9eaiuon,  she  advanced,  and  graee- 
fuUy  presented  her  daughter,  sayhig, 

M  *  To  your  lordship's  generous  pro- 
tection I  commit  my  fiitherless  child.' 

"  Lord  Rossville  was  a  bulky,  porten- 
tous-looking person,  with  nothing  mark- 
ed in  his  physiognomy  except  a  pair  of 
very  black  elevated  eyebrows,  whieh  gave 
an  unvarying  expression  of  solemn  asto- 
nishment to  his  eountenanee.  He  had  a 
huaky  voice,  and  a  very  tedknis  eloeo- 
tion.  He  was  some  little  time  of  pre- 
paring an  answer  to  this  address,  but  at 
kst  he  replied,—. 

<"  I  shaU,  rest  asrared,  madam,  make 
a  point  of  fuUBUng,  to  the  utmost  of  my 
power  and  abilities,  the  highly  important 
duties  of  the  parental  ottee*' 

««  He  tlwQ  nluted  his  sister-m-hiw  and 
niece,  and  taking  a  hand  of  each,  led  them 
»atsii  thin  grey  old  wniiiywithaloog 


«68 


laquisltiveikKiking  nose,  wboDi  ba  I 
as  Lady  Betty  St  Clair.    . 

"  Lady  Betty  rose  from  her  seat  with 
tliat  sort  of  deliberate  bustle  whidi  gene, 
rally  attends  the  rising  up  and  the  sitting 
down  of  old  ladies,  and  may  be  intended 
to  sliew  that  it  is  not  an  every-day  affair 
with  them  to  practise  such  condescen- 
sion. Having  taken  off  her  spectacles, 
Lady  Betty  carefully  deposited  then^ 
within  a  large  work-l»sket,  out  of  wliich 
protruded  a  tlger^s  head  in  worsted  worV, 
and  a  volume  of  a  novel.  She  next  liftw 
ed  a  cambric  handkerchief  from  off  a  fat 
sleepy  lap-dog  which  hiy  upon  her  knees, 
and  deposited  it  on  a  cushion  at  her  feeC 
She  then  put  aside  a  small  fly  table, 
whkUi  stood  before  her  as  a  sort  of  out^ 
work,  and  thiis  freed  from  all  impedi- 
menta, welcomed  her  guests,  and  after 
regarding  them  with  looks  only  expres- 
sive of  stiipkl  curiosity,  she  motioned  to 
them  to  btt  seated,  and  rephured  herself 
with  even  greater  commotion  than  she 
had  risen  up." 

This  is  from  the  introductory  sketdi 
of  the  old  peer's  character. 

^  As  he  was  not  addicted  to  any  par- 
ticular vice,  he  considered  hiouelf  as  a 
man  of  perfect  virtue ;  and  having  beeot 
in  some  respects,  very  prosperous  in  his 
fortune,  he  was  thonmghly  satisfied  that 
he  was  a  person  of  the  most  consummate 
wisdom.  With  these  ideas  of  himself,  It 
is  not  surprising  that  he  should  hare 
deemed  it  his  bounden  du^  to  direct  and 
manage  every  man,  woman,  child,  or  ani- 
mal,  who  came  within  his  sphere,  and 
that  too  in  the  most  tedious  and  torment- 
ing manner.  Perhaps  the  most  teasing 
point  in  his  character  ^'as  his  ambition— 
the  fatal  ambition  of  thousands-.-to  be 
thought  an  eloquent  and  impressive 
speaker ;  for  this  purpose,  he  always  used 
ten  times  as  many  words  as  were  neces- 
sary to  express  his  meaning,  and  those 
too  of  the  longest  and  strongest  descrip- 
tion. Another  of  his  tormenting  pecu- 
liarities was  his  desire  of  explaining  every, 
thing,  by  which  he  always  perplexed  and 
mystified  the  shnplest  subject.  Tet  he 
bad  his  good  points^  for  he  widied  to  see 
those  around  him  happy,  provided  he  was 
the  dispenser  of  their  happiness,  and  that 
they  were  happy  precisely  in  the  manner 
and  degree  he  thought  proper.  In  short. 
Lord  Rossville  was  a  sort  of  petty  bene- 
volent tyrant ;  and  any  attempt  to  enlarge 
bis  soul,  or  open  his  understanding,  would 
have  been  in  vain.  Indeed,  his  mind  was 
alresAy  full,  as  foil  as  it  oould  hold,  of 
little  thooglits,  little  phmsi  little  notions, 
little  prqh^icesb  little  trtiims,  and  nothmg 


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n64t 


The  InheriioHce, 


Ufnxie, 


fihoct  oi  regeneration  coidd  have  made 
him  otherwise.  He  hud  a  code  of  lawa, 
a  4:ode  of  proprieties,  a  code  of  delicacies, 
all  his  own,  and  he  iiad  long  languished 
(or  subjects  to  execute  them  upon.*' 

Bujt  the  flower  of  the  flock  is  a  cer- 
tain old  maiden,  by  name  Miss  Pratt, 
a  distant  relation,  and  intolerable 
hanger-on,  of  the  Rossville  family. 
This  is  a  portrait  of  the  most  exaui&ite 
merit— quite  new— fresh— complete— 
perfect— the  bestold  maid,  without  ex« 
ception,  that  has  been  drawn  since  the 
days  of  our  never-to-be-forgotten 
friend  Mrs  Western,  in  Tom  Jones. 
We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying,  that 
we  look  on  Miss  Pratt,  Uke  her  all  in 
all,  asijuite  as  good  as  that  most  mas- 
terly delineation;  and  having  said 
this,  we  apprehend  we  have  said 
enough.  The  whole  brood  of  modem 
spinsters  are  dwarfed  into  insignifl- 
cance  by  the  appearance  of  this  glori- 
ous specimen.  So  sharp,  ao  selfish,  so 
cunmng,  so  straight-forward  in  the 
midst  of  everything  that  is  crooked  ; 
so  easily  seen  through,  and  yet  so  im- 
possible to  be  put  down — there  never 
was  such  a  gem  and  jewel  in  the  whole 
race  of  the  Surners  and  the  Bores. 

** '  Good  Heavens  !*  exclaimed  one  of 
the  ladies,  who  had  stationed  herself  at  a 
w'mdow,  *  Do  look  at  this,  Colonel  Del- 
mour  !* 

'*  And  at  the  piercing  exclamation,  the 
whole  party  hastened  to  ascertain  the 
cause.  The  phenomena  appeared  to  be 
a  hackney-chaise  of  the  meanest  descrip- 
tion, which  was  displacing  the  splendid 
barouche,  to  the  manifest  mirth  of  the 
insolent  menials  who  stood  lounging  at 
the  door. 

"*  Who  can  that  be,  I  wonder?*  asked 
Lady  Betty. 

'*  Mrs  St  CUir  turned  pale  with  terror 
lest  it  should  be  any  of  her  bour^eoit  rela- 
tions forcing  their  way. 

**  <  I  conclude  it  must  be  our  cousin 
Miss  Pratt,*  said  the  £arl,  in  some  agi- 
tation, to  Lady  Millbank ;  and,  while  be 
spoke*  a  female  head  and  hand  were  to 
he  seen  shaking  and  waving  to  the  driver 
with  eager  gesticulation. 

*<  *  And  Mr  Lyndsay,  I  vow!*  exclaim- 
jDd  Miss  Jemima  Mildmay,  throwing  her- 
self into  a  theatrical  attitude  of  astonish- 
ment 

**  The  hack-chaise,  with  its  stiff  rusty 
horses,  had  now  got  close  to  the  door, 
and  the  broken  jingliags  steps  being  low- 
ered, out  stepped  a  young  mm,  who  was 
^mediately  saluted  with  shputs  of  laughs 


ter  from  the  party  at  the  wtedow.  He 
looked  up  and  smiled,  but  seemed  nowise 
disconcerted,  as  he  stood  patiently  wait- 
ing for  his  companion  to  emeiige> 

**  *  I  hope  they  are  to  perform  quann- 
tine^'  said  Colonel  Delmour. 

"  *  I  vote  for  their  being  sent  to  C»i> 
ventiy,*  said  Miss  Augusta. 

**  *  I  prepare  to  stand  upon  the  defen- 
sive,* said  Miss  Maria,  as  she  seized  a 
smelling-bottle  from  off  the  Uble. 

^ "  At  length.  Miss  Pratt  appeared,  dia- 
king  the  straw  from  her  feet,  and  havmg 
alighted,  it  was  expected  that  her  next 
movement  would  be  to  enter  tlie  house ; 
but  they  knew  little  of  Miss  Pratt,  who 
thought  all  was  done  when  she  had  reach- 
ed  her  destination.     Much  yet  remained 
to  be  done,  which  she  would  not  trust 
either  to  her  companion  or  the  servants. 
She  had,  in  the  first  place,  to  speak  in  a 
very  sharp  manner  to  the  driver,  on  the 
condition  of  his  chaise  and  horses,  and  to 
throw  out  hints  of  having  him  severely 
punished,  inasmuch  as  one  of  his  windows 
would  not  let  down,  and  ahe  had  almost 
sprained  her  wrist  in  attemptmg  it— and 
another  would  not  puU  up,  though  the 
wind  was  going  through  her  head  like  a 
spear;  besides  having  taken  two  boors 
and  a  quarter  to  bring  them  nhie  miles, 
and  her  watch  was  held  up  in  a  triumph- 
ant  manner  in  proof  of  her  assertion. 
She  next  made  it  apohit  to  see  with  her 
own  eyes  every  artiele  pertaining  to  her 
(and  they  were  not  a  few)  taken  out  of 
the  chaise,  and  to  give  with  her  own  voice 
innumerable  directions  as  to  the  carrymg, 
stowing,  and  placing  of  her  bags,  boxes, 
and  bundles.     All  these  matters  bong 
sealed.  Miss  Pratt  then  accepted  the 
arm  of  her  companion,  and  was  now&ir- 
ly  on  her  way  to  the  drawing-room.  But 
people  who  make  use  of  their  eyes  have 
often  much  to  see  even  between  two 
doors,  and  in  her  progress  from  the  hall 
door  to  the  drawing-room  door.  Miss 
Pratt  met  with  much  to  attract  her  at- 
tention.    Triie,  all  the  objects  were  per- 
fectly  familiar  to  her,  but  a  real  loohr, 
like  a  great  genius,  is  never  at  a  loss  for 
subject— things  are  either  better  or  worse 
since  they  saw  them  last— or  if  the  things 
themselves  should  happen  to  be  the  same, 
they  have  seen  other  thnigs  either  better 
or  worse,  and  csn,  therefore,  either  kn- 
prove  or  disprove  them.    Mtss  Pratt's 
head,  then,  tmmed  from  side  to  side  a  thou, 
sand  times  as  she  went  along,  aada  thou- 
sand  observations  and  criticisms  about 
stair  carpets,p8teBt  lanDps,hall  dmirs,  dab 
tables,  &C.  &C.  passed  through  her  crowd- 
ed brain.    At  length.  Miss  Pratt  and  Mr 
Lyndsay  were  amounoed,  and  thereopon 


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1894.3  T%t  luheriiance. 

entered  Mist  PkmU  in  »  fuMk  paddling 
matmer,  at  ifin  all  hatCe  to  greet  her  Iri  endih 
**  *  How  do  yoo  do,  my  lord  ?  no  biliotia 
attaekt,  I  hope,  of  late  ?—Ladjr  Betty,  at 
ttOQt  at  ever,  I  tee^  and  mj  old  friend 
Flora  at  fiit  at  a  collared  eeU— laily 
MUlbank,  I'm  periectlj  athamed  to  tee 
you  in  any  house  but  your  own ;  but 
ever3rthing  mutt  give  way  to  the  first  vi- 
sit, you  know,  especially  amongst  kinv 
folk,'  taking  Mrt  St  Clair  by^the  band, 
without  wa^ng  for  the  ceremony  of  an 
Introduction." 


^  Mits  Pratt  then  appeared  to  her  to 
be  a  person  from  whom  nothing  could  be 
hid.  Her  eyes  were  not  by  any  meant 
fine  eyes— they  were  not  reflecting  eyes 
—they  were  not  soft  eyes— they  were  not 
sparkling  eyes— they  were  not  melting 
eyes— they  were  not  penetrathig  eyes  ;— 
neither  were  they  restless  eyes,  nor  roll- 
ing eyes,  nor  squinting  eyes,  nor  promi- 
nent eyes— but  they  were  active,  brisk, 
Inisy,  vigihmt,  immoveable  eyes,  that 
looked  at  if  they  could  not  be  surprised 
by  anything— not  even  by  sleep.  They 
never  looked  angry,  or  joyous,  or  perturt^ 
ed,  or  melancholy,  or  heavy :  but,  morn- 
ing, noon,  and  night,  they  shpne  the 
same,  and  conveyed  tlie  same  impression 
to  tlie  beholder,  viz.  that  they  were  eyee 
that  had  a  look— not  like  the  look  of 
Sterne's  monk,  beyond  this  world— bat 
a  look  into  all  things  on  the  face  of  this 
world.  Her  other  features  had  nothing 
remarkable  in  them,  but  the  ears  might 
evidently  be  classed  under  the  same  bead 
with  the  eyes— they  were  tomething  re- 
tembling  rabbitt*-4ong,  prominent,  rest- 
less, vibrating  ears,  for  ever  listening,  and 
never  shut  by  the  powers  of  thought.  Her 
voice  had  the  tone  and  Inflexions  of  one 
accustomed  to  make  frequent  sharp  in- 
terrogatories. She  had  rather  a  neat  com- 
pact figure ;  and  the  Uui  ememble  of  her 
person  and  dress  was  that  of  tmartnett. 
Such,  though  not  quite  to  ttrongly  de- 
fined, was  the  sort  of  impression  Mits 
Pratt  genenUly  made  upon  the  beholder. 
Having  darted  two  or  three  of  her  sharp- 
est glances  at  Mist  St  Qair^- 

^  '  Do  you  know  I'm  really  puttied, 
my  dear,  to  make  out  who  it  is  you  are  so 
like— for  you're  neither  a  Rossville  nor 
a  Black— and,  by  the  bye,  have  you  seen 
your  uncle,  Mr  Alexander  Black,  yet? 
What  a  fine  family  he  hat  got  I  I  beard 
you  wat  quite  tmitten  with  Mitt  Lilly 
Black  at  the  Greuit  ball  t'other  night, 
Colonel  Delmour— But  you're  not  to  ill 
to  pleate  at  Anthony  Whvte— That  wat 
really  a  good  tlUfig  Lord  Punmedown 


aes 

tald  to  him  that  nigfit.  Looking  al  the 
two  Miss  Blacks,  says  he  to  Anthony, 
with  a  shake  of  his  head".-^*  A4i,  Anthony,' 
says  he,  *  I'm  afraid  two  Bhicks  will  never 
make  a  White  !*— ha^  lui,  hn  I^Lord 
Rossville,  did  you  bear  that  ?  At  Che  Cir- 
cuit ball  Lord  Punmedown  said  to  An* 
thony  Whyte,  pointing  to  the  two  Mist 
Blackt— « I  fear,'  tayt  he,  '  two  Blacki 
will  never  make  a  White.'—'  No,  my 
lord,'  says  Anthony,  <  for  you  know  there's 
no  turning  a  Blackamoor  white  !'— ha, 
ha,  ha  !  *  A  very  fair  antwer,'  says  my 
lord.  LadyMillhank,  did  you  hear  of  Lord 
Punmedown's  attack  upon  Mr  Whyte  at 
the  ball'-<he  two  Mist  Blacks  ■  ■    " 

•* '  I  black^MdL  a  repetition  of  that  bon 
mot,'  taid  Colonel'  Delmour. 

**  *  You  will  really  be  taken  fbramag- 
pie  if  you  are  to  black  and  white,'  taki 
Miss  MUlbank. 

**  *  'Pon  my  word,  that* a  not  at  all 
aroist.— I  must  let  Anthony  Whyte  hear 
that.— But  bless  me.  Lady  MlUbanl^ 
you're  not  going  away  already  ?— won't 
yoo  stay  and  take  some  luncheon  ?— I  can 
answer  for  the  soups  here— I  really  UunK 
my  lord,  you  rival  the  Whyte  Hall  soups.* 
But  disregarding  Biias  Pratt's  pressing 
invitation.  Lady  MiUbank  and  her  train 
took  leave,  and  scarcely  were  they  gone 
when  luncheon  wat  announeed. 

*' '  Come,  my  dear,'  retumed  the  tor- 
mentor, holding  Gertrudo't  arm  within 
hers,  <  let  you  and  I  keep  together— I 
want  to  get  better  acquainted  with  yoo^ 
but  I  wish  I  cQokl  find  a  likeness  for 
you'.— k>oking  round  upon  the  fiunily  por- 
traits at  they  entered  the  eating-room. 

** '  They  mutt  look  higher  who  would 
find  a  similitude  for  Mitt  St  Qair/  said 
Colonel  Delmour. 

*<  Miss  PraU  glanced  at  the  painted 
ceiling  representing  a  band  a(  very  fat, 
fiiU-blown  rosy  Hours.  '  All  ha !  do  you 
hear  that,  my  lord  ?  Colonel  Delmour 
asys  there's  nothing  on  earth  to  compare 
to  Mist  St  Clair,  and  that  we  mutt  look 
§0T  her  likenett  in  the  regiont  above. 
Well,  goddett  or  not,  let  me  recommend 
a  bit  of  thit  nice  cold  lamb  to  you— very 
tweet  and  tender  it  it— 4uid  I  atture  you 
I'm  one  of  thote  who  think  a  leg  of  lamb 
lookt  at  well  on  a  table  at  in  a  mea- 
dow :'— then  droppbig  her  knife  and  fork 
with  a  ttart  of  joy— '  Blett  me,  what  wat 
I  thinking  of  ?— that  wat  really  very  well 
taid  of  you.  Colonel— but  I've  got  it  now 
—a  most  wonderful  resembianiee  1  See 
wholl  be  the  next  to  find  it  out  ?* 

«« AU  pretefit  looked  at  eaeh  otbcr,  and 
then  at  the  picturtt. 

*«  Lord  Rottvitte^  who  had  been  vainly 
watching  for  an  opening,  now  took  ad« 
vantage  of  it,  and  with  one  of  hit  kwg 


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669 

sappressed  sonorout  hems,  bespoke  him 
M  follows  t— 

*' '  Altboogh  I  have  not  given  mudi  of 
my  time  or  attention  to  the  study  of  phy- 
siognomy, as  I  do  not  conceive  it  is  one 
likely  to  be  productive  of  beneficial  re- 
sults to  society;  yet  I  do  not  hesitate  to 
admit  the  reality  of  tliose  analogies  of  fea- 
ture which  may  be,  and  undoubtedly  are^ 
distinctly*— 


**  But  there  was  no  one  to  whom  Miss 
Pratt  was  so  unequivocal  a  pest  as  to 
Lord  Rossville,  for  his  lordship  was  a 
stranger  to  amui— perhaps  cause  and  ef- 
fect are  rarely  combined  in  one  person, 
and  those  who  can  weary  others,  possess 
a  never-lailing  source  of  amusement  in 
themselves.  Besides,  the  Earl  was  in- 
dependent  of  Miss  Pratt,  as  he  possessed 
a  wide  range  for  his  unwearying  wearying 
powers  in  his  own  family ;  for  he  could 
weary  his  steward— and  his  housekeeper 
—and  his  gamekeeper—and  his  coach- 
man—and his  groom,  and  his  gardener, 
all  the  hours  of  the  day,  by  perpetual 
fault-finding  and  directing.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  the  only  uncloying  pleasure  in  life  is 
that  of  finding  fault  The  gamester  may 
weary  of  his  dice— -the  lover  of  his  ebar- 
mer---the  boiuvivant  of  his  bottle— *tlie 
virtuoso  of  his  vertu— but  while  tbisround 
world  remains  Mrith  all  its  imperfections 
on  its  head,  the  real  &ult-finder  will  never 
weary  of  finding  fault*  Tlie  provoking 
part  of  Miss  Pratt  was,  that  there  was  no 
possibility  of  finding  fault  with  her.  As 
well  might  Lord  Bossville  have  attempt- 
ed to  admonish  the  brook  that  babbled 
past  him,  or  have  read  lectures  to  the  fly 
which  buzzed  round  his  head.  For  forty 
years  Lord  Rossville  had  been  trying  to 
break  her  in,  but  in  vain.  Much  may  be 
done,  as  we  every  day  see,,  to  alter  and 
overcome  nature  :  Ponies  arc  made  to 
waltz— horses  to  hand  tea-kettles— dogs 
to  read— birds  to  cast  accounts — fleas  to 
walk  in  harness ;  but  to  restrain  the  vo- 
lubility of  a  female  tongue,  is  a  task  that 
has  hitheito  defied  the  power  of  man. 
With  so  much  of  what  may  be  styled  dis- 
sonance in  similarity,  it  may  easily  be 
imagined  that  Lord  Rossville  and  Miss 
Pratt,  even  when  most  in  unison,  pro- 
duced anything  but  harmony.  Yet  they 
only  jarred-^they  never  actually  quar- 
relied,  for  they  had  been  accustom^  to 
each  other  all  their  lives— and  while  die 
laid  an  the  rebuffs  and  reproofs  she  re* 
ceived  to  the  score  of  bile,  he  tolerated 
her  iropertuienee  on  account  of  blood.  '* 


Tke  InherUancc.  QJttfief 

We  have  not  done  with  Miss  Pratt 
yet ;  but  in  the  meantime  be  pleased 
to  contemplate  for  one  moment  die 
pendant  wnich  our  authoren  has  lor* 
nished  for  this  rich  portraitmre.  An- 
other old  inaid  K— another  enttrelr  fv- 
tu8  naiuras — another  creature  whom 
we  aU  know^  and  yet  whom  nobody 
ever  dreamt  of  alludmg  to  as  in  rerum 
natvra  until  now. 

"  Miss  ^ecky  Duguid,  as  a  single  wo- 
man, had  vainly  expected  to  escape  the 
cares  and  anjtieties  of  the  married  state. 
She  had  heard  and  seen  mach  of  the  in- 
difference or  the  ill-humour  of  husbands 
—of  tbe  troubles  and  vexations  of  chil- 
dren—and she  thought.  From  these  evils 
I  am  at  least  free ;— 1  can  go  where  I 
like,  do  what  I  like,  and  live  as  I  like. 
But  poor  Miss  Becky  soon  found  her 
mistake.  Brothers  and  sisters  married- 
nephews  and  nieces  sprung  up  on  all 
hands,  each  and  all  expecting  to  be  dis- 
tinguished by  Aunt  Becky's  bounty,  while 
every  parent  levied  the  most  unconscion- 
able taxes  upon  her  time  and  capabilities. 

"  *  Aunt  Becky  will  give  me  this,*  said 
one;  <  you  know  she  has  no  use  for 
money.* 

**  *  Aunt  Becky  will  do  that,'  said  ano- 
ther, *  for  she  has  always  plenty  of  time.' 

"  '  Aunt  Becky  will  go  there,'  cried  a 
third ;  <  she  likes  a  long  walk.' 

*<  But  even  tlie  labours  in^i^osed  upon 
her  by  her  own  relations,  were  nothing 
compared  to  the  constant  demands  made 
upon  her  by  the  world  in  general,  i.  r.  by 
the  whole  circle  of  her  acquaintances  ;— 
all  under  the  klea,  that,  as  a  single  woman, 
she  could  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  oblige 
her  friends.  When  in  town,  her  life  was 
devoted  to  executing  commissions  from 
the  country— inquiring  the  character  of 
servants— hiring  governesses  and  grooms 
—finding  situations  for  wet  nurses— get- 
ting patterns  of  pelisse  cloths  from  every 
shop  in  town— trying  to  get  old  silks 
matehedwith  new— gowns  made— gauzes 
dyed— feathers  cleaned— fans  mended, 
&c  &c.  &c  Tbe  letters  always  begin- 
nings <  As  I  know  you  do  not  grudge  yoar 
trouble^  and  will  be  walking  about  at  any 
rate,  I  must  beg  the  favour,  when  you  ace 
quite  at  leisure,'  and  so  and  so ;  and  end- 
ing with,  *  As  I  find  I  am  really  in  want 
of  the  things,  and  the  carrier  leaves  town 
on  Thursday,  I  trust  you  will  contrive  to 
have  everything  ready  by  that  time.'  But 
one  of  the  iett^s,  dropped  by  Miss  Becky 
in  the  ooutse  of  her  perambulations,  will 
best  iUustmte  tins  part  of  her  penoaal 
nanative. 


10 


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Thf  InkerWince, 


1824.;] 

*< '  My  deaa  Miss  Bbcky, 
«  <  I  take  this  opportunity  of  letting 
yoa  know  we  are  all  tolerably  well  at  pre- 
sent, and  troit  you  continue  to  enjoy  your 
usual  good  health.  I  return  the  tea  yoa. 
sent  lattt  m  we  all  think  it  very  tn/Stnor  to 
that  you  ntntJormeH^ s  ^nd  as  there  has, 
been  rather  a  fiill  upon  the  price  of  teas, 
there  can  be  no  reason  for  such  a  falling 
off  in  the  quality ;  and  unless  Candytuft 
can  give  something  very  superior  at  the 
same  price,  I  would  just  return  it,  and 
try  some  other  shop,  and  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  Candytuft.  Eliza  and 
Jane,  with  their  best  love,  take  this  op- 
portunity of  sending  in  their  old  black 
velvet  pelisses,  which  they  wish  you  to 
consult  Tellowleys  the  dyer  about ;  they 
have  been  told  that  black  velvet  can  be 
4^  either  grass  green,  or  bngki  crimson, 
and  if  Tellowleys  can  warrant  their  stand- 
ing, they  would  prefer  having  them  done 
a  good  fick  crimson ;  but  if  not,  they  must 
just  put  up  with  tLj/uU  green,  as  much  on 
the  grass,  and  ^  the  bottle,  as  possible. 
^  '  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  your  prote' 
gk,  Jenny  Snodgrass,  has  turned  out 
very  ilL  I  find  her  lazy  and  idle,  dirty, 
disobliging,  and  insolent,  and  not  at  all 
the  person  I  was  led  to  expect  from  your 
character  of  her.  I  must,  therefore, 
trouble  you  to  be  on  the  look-out  for 
another.  You  know  it  is  not  much  I 
require  of  my  servants;  but  there  are 
$ome  things  it  is  impossible  to  dispense 
with,  and  which  I  must  make  a  poitU  of. 
Of  course,  she  must  be  perfectly  sober, 
honest,  conscientious,  and  trust^worthy, 
and  in  every  respect  unexceptionable  in 
her  morals.  She  must  be  stout,  active, 
cleanly,  civil,  obliging,  quiet,  orderly, 
good-tempered,  neat-handed,  and  pmti' 
cuiarfy  tidy  in  her  person.  All  that  I 
require  of  her  is  to  fa«  an  excellent  worker 
at  her  needle,  a  thorough  washer  and 
ironer,  and  a  generafy  useful  and  accom- 
modating servant.  Margaret  sends  her 
affectionate  remembrance,  and  when  yon 
are  at  leisure,  requests  you  will  order  a 
pair  of  sUys  for  her  from  Brisbane's  as 
soon  as  possible,  as  she  is  in  great  want 
She  sends  a  pair  of  old  ones  for  a  pattern, 
but  they  don*t  fit;  you  must  tell  him, 
they  are  both  too  tigfu  and  too  shorit  and 
shoulder-straps  too  narrow  by  %fidl  straw- 
breadth.  The  old  busk,  she  thinks,  may 
do»  or  if  it  should  be  too  short,  perhaps 
you  may  be  able  to  get  it  exchanged  for 
one  hnger.  As  Flint  the  gun-smith*s  is 
no  great  distance  from  Brisbane's,  John 
would  be  much  obliged  to  you  when  you 
are  there,  if  you  would  step  to  him,  and 
tell  him  that  he  is  going  to  send  his  gun 
to  have  the  k>ck  mended,  and  to  be  tore 
Vol.  XV. 


661 


to  have  it  done  in  the  most  complete 
manner,  and  as  soon  as  he  possibly  can, 
as  the  shooting  season  is  coming  on. 
When  done,  he  may  send  it  to  you,  with 
a  couple  of  pounds  of  gunpowder,  and  a 
bag  of  small  shot.  No.  5.  As  the  holi- 
day time  is  coming  on,  we  may  look  far 
the  boys  some  of  these  days,  and,  (if  it  is 
not  putting  you  to  any  inconvenience,) 
as  the  coach  stops,  you  know,  at  the  Blue 
Boar,  perhaps  yon  will  have  the  goodness 
to  have  your  Nanny  waiting  at  the  ofilce 
for  them ;  and  if  you  can  manage  to  keep 
them  till  Monday,  it  will  be  adding  to  the 
fivour ;  but  they  will  require  constant 
watching,  as  you  know  what  romps  they 
are.  I  do  not  expect  to  be  confined  be- 
fore the  29th  at  soonest ;  so  if  you  can 
manage  -to  come  to  us  betwitt  and  the 
20th,  it  will  be  very  agreeable  to  us  all, 
1  assure  you.  1  was  in  hopes  I  should 
not  have  had  any  more  to  trouble  yoa 
Mrith  at  present,  but  upon  hearing  that  I 
was  writing  to  you,  Tom  begs  me  to  say, 
that  he  wishes  very  much  to  get  some 
good  fly-hooks  for  trout-fishing,  four  red 
cocks*  hackle -body,  four  blade  green 
plover'S'fUft,  with  a  light  starling*s-wing 
body,  and  four  brown  woodcocks'-wing, 
and  hare*s-foot  body.  I  hope  you  will 
be  able  to  read  this,  as  1  assure  you  it 
has  cost  me  some  labour  to  write  it  from 
Tom*s  diction.  He  desires  me  to  add 
you  will  get  them  best  at  Phia's,  fishing- 
rod-maker,  at  the  east  end  of  the  High 
Street,  JifUi  door  up  the  second  stair  oa 
the  l^  hand ;  you  will  easily  find  it,  as 
there  is  a  large  pasteboard  trout  hanging 
fromtheendofafishing-rodforasign.  Ut 
also  wants  a  pirn  of  fishing-line,  and  a 
few  good  stout  long-shtrnked  6ai<-hooks. 
If  you  happen  to  see  your  friend  Misa 
Aitken,  you  may  tell  her  the  turban  yoa 
ordered  for  me  is  the  very  same  of  one 
she  made  for  me  two  years  %g9i  ^^^  which 
I  never  liked.  I  have  only  worn  it  omv, 
so  perhaps  she  will  have  no  objections 
to  take  it  back,  and  make  me  a  neatf 
Jiakumable  cap  instead.  I  am  afiraid  yoo 
will  think  us  very  troublesome,  but  I 
know  yovL  do  not  grudge  a  little  trouble 
to  oblige  your  friends.  Mr  Goodwilly 
and  the  young  people  unite  with  me  in 
best  wishes ;  and  I  remain,  my  dear  Miss 
Duguid, 

<*  <  Yours  most  sincerely, 
« *  Gaac£  Goodwilly. 

**  *  P.  &— Eliia  and  Jane  beg  you  will 
send  them  some  patterns  of  summer-silk^ 
neither  too  light  nor  too  dark,  both  figt^ 
red  and  plain,  with  the  different  widik^ 
and  prices,  and  also  that  you  would  In- 
quire what  is  the  lowest  price  of  the  hand- 
4R 


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The  InhcrUance. 


CJ« 


tomai  ostrich  feailieiiP  that  ca»  be  had ; 
and  if  yon  happen  to  we  any  very  pretty 
winuht^  you  might  priee  them  at  the  aame 
time,  as  they  are  divided  between  fea- 
thers and  flowers;  those  yoo  sent  from 
Trasbbag*8  were  quite  $(ntedt  and  looked 
as  if  they  had  been  worn,  Mr  Goodwilly 
takes  this  opportunity  of  sending  in  a 
eouple  of  razors,  which  he  begs  yon  will 
send  to  Steele  the  cutler's,  at  the  back 
of  the  Old  Kirk  Stile,  to  be  sharpened 
immediately^  as  that  is  a  thing  be  cannot 
Want.  Biargaret  bids  me  tell  you  to  de- 
sire Brisbane  not  to  put  ma^  laces  to 
her  stays,  and  to  be  sure  that  the  stitch- 
kig  is  stout  and^rm.  Any  day  tiiat  you 
happen  to  be  passing  Seaton  the  saddler's, 
Mr  Goodwilly  begs  you  will  have  the 
goodness  to  inquire  what  would  be  the 
lowest  price  of  new  stuffing  the  side- 
saddles, and  new  lackering  the  carriage- 
harness.  I  think  it  as  well  to  send  in  my 
turban,  that  you  may  try  Miss  Aitken, 
and  I  shall  think  her  extremely  disablir 
ging  if  she  ref^ises  to  take  it  back,  as  it 
will  be  money  thrown  into  thejlre  if  die 
does  not,  for  it  shall  never  go  upon  my 
head. 

***  Yours  with  much  regard, 

**  *  P.  S. — I  find  it  will  be  necessary  to 
send  Jemima  in  to  Bain  the  dentist,  to 
get  some  of  her  teeth  taken  ouif  as  her 
mouth  is  getting  very  crowded.  I  would 
take  her  myself,  but  cannot  stand  these 
things ;  so  must  beg  the  favour  of  you  to 
go  with  her,  and  tee  it  done.  I  fsar  it 
will  be  a  «ad  business,  poor  soul !  as  there 
are  at  least  three  that  must  come  out,  and 
great  tusks  they  are !  of  course,  it  is  not 
every  one  I  would  trust  her  with  for  such 
an  operation ;  but  I  know  I  can  rely  upon 
your  dofaig  everything  that  can  be  done. 
Will  you  ask  that  good-for-nothing  crea- 
ture, Heelpiece,  if  the  children's  shoes 
are  ever  to  be  sent  home? 

•••  Yours,  hi  haste.* 

■Sometimes  Miss  Beckybetook  herself 
to  the  country,  but,thou^  she  often  found 
retirement,  therewas  seldom  rest  When- 
ever a  gay  husband  was  leaving  home. 
Miss  Becky  was  in  reqaintion  to  keep 
his  dull  srckly  wife  company  in  his  ab- 
sence—or, vice  vertOf  when  a  young  wifb 
wished  to  amuse  herself  abroad,  '  that 
good  creature,  Becky  Duguid,*  was  sent 
for,  to  play  backgammon  with  her  old 
fll-natuied  husband ;  and,  when  both  man 
and  wife  were  leaving  home,  then  Becky 
1>nguid  was  called  upon  to  nurse  the 
children  and  manage  the  servants  in  their 
absence.  Itivitations  abounded,  but  mlt  to 
Saagree(Jtltt  scenes  or  duU  parties.  She  was 
•ipectadtoattandaUoccoiidkfmailf^  Chris. 


fenings,  deaths  chesting^  and  burials— 
bat  she  was  seldom  aiiked  to  a  marriage, 
and  never  to  any  party  of  pleasure.  *  O, 
Miss  Becky  doesn't  care  for  these  things ; 
she  would  like  better  to  eome  to  us  wtoi 
we*re  in  a  quiet  way  by  ourselves,*  w» 
always  the  come-off.  '  I  don't  know 
what  the  cares  of  the  married  life  are,' 
Miss  Becky  would  sometimes  say,  and 
oftener  think ;  *  but  I  am  sure  1  know 
what  the  troubles  of  tiie  single  state  are 
to  a  stout,  healthy,  easy-tempered  wo- 
man like  me :— What  is  it  to  be  the  wife 
of  one  crabbed  old  man,  to  having  to  di- 
vert all  the  crabbed  old  men  in  the  coun- 
try ?  And  what  is  it  to  be  the  mother  of 
One  family  of  diildren,  to  having  to  look 
after  the  children  of  all  my  relations  and 
acquaintances  ?' 

^  But  Miss  Becky*s  reflections  (Hkc 
most  people's  reflections)  eame  too  late 
to  benefit  herself.  She  was  completely 
involved  in  the  toils  of  celibacy  beibrt 
Ae  was  at  all  aware  of  her  danger,  and 
vain  now  would  have  been  the  attempt 
to  extricate  herself.  Such  waa  Mka 
Becky  Duguid,  walking  in  the  vain  show 
of  liberty,  but,  in  reality,  fettered  hand 
and  foot  t^  all  the  tender  charities  of  life. 
As  such,  it  may  be  guessed,  she  formed 
BO  very  brilliant  addition  to  the  Bellevue 
party.  Indeed,  such  is  the  force  of  hablt» 
she  now  felt  quite  out  of  her  dement^ 
when  seated  at  her  ease,  without  any 
immediate  call  on  her  time  and  attentioo ; 
for  even  her  little  doings  carried  their 
sense  of  importance  along  with  them  ; 
and,  perhaps,  Mrs  Fry  never  felt  more 
inward  satisfoction  at  the  turning  of  m 
soul  from  darkness  to  light,  than  did 
poor  Miss  Becky  when  she  had  triumph- 
antly dispatdied  a  box  fuU  of  weO-^tecU' 
ted  commissions.** 

One  more  bit  of  the  Psatt— and  the 
last  ^'/  of  the  old  peer  wboon  abe  tor« 
mepted. 

**  It  was  drawing  towards  the  doee  of 
a  day,  when  the  snow  had  fiiUen  witibout 
intermission,  but  was  now  beginning  to 
abate.  Lord  RoKville'stood  at  his  draw- 
ing-roon  window  speculating  on  the  as- 
pect of  the  douds,  and  predicting  a  change 
of  weather,  when  he  suddenly  uttered  an 
exclamation,  which  attracted  the  whole 
of  the  ftimily  to  where  he  stood. 

^  A  huge  black  object  was  dfmly  dis- 
cernible entering  the  avenue,  and  drag- 
|;ing  its  ponderous  length  towards  the 
C^te ;  but  what  was  its  precise  nature^ 
the  still  fklling  snow  prevented  their  as- 
certaining. But  suddenly  the  snow  ceased 
-^the  clouds  rolled  away— and  aredbrassy 
C^are  of  the  setting  sun  fell  idiraptly  on 
tliia  moving  phenomem^  and  diadoaed  to 


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view  ft  stately  AiU-pliiiDedheAfBe.  There 
wu  somethijig  so  terrific^  yet  so  picti^ 
resque»  in  its  appeaniiice»  as  it  ploughed 
its  way  through  waves  of  snow-— its  sable 
plumes,  aiid  gilded  skulls,  nodding  and 
grinning  in  the  now  livid  glimmering  of 
the  £ut^«inking  sun— that  all  stood  trans- 
fixed with  alarm  and  amazement.  A( 
length  the  prodigy  drew  near,  followed  by 
two  attendants  on  horseback ;  it  drew  up 
at  the  grand  entraoce-*the  servants  ga- 
thered round— one  of  the  men  began  to 
remove  the  end-board,  that  threalMld  of 
death—— 

**  <  This  is— is — *  gasped  the  Earl,  as 
he  tried  to  throw  open  the  window  and 
call  to  his  servants ;  but  the  window  was 
frozen,  and  ere  his  Lordship  could  adopt 
another  expedient,  his  fury  was  turned 
from  the  dead  to  the  living,  for  there  was 
lifted  out— not  *  a  slovenly  unhandsome 
corpse,  betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobi- 
lity,' but  the  warm,  sentient^  though 
somewhat  discomfited,  figure  of  Mist 
Pratt.  All  uttered  some  characteristio 
exclamation;  but  Lord  Bossville's  tongue 
clove  to  the  very  roof  of  his  mouth, 
and  \ke  in  vain  IiU>oured  to  find  words 
suited  to  the  occasion. 

**  Whether  the  contents  of  the  hearse 
should  be  permitted  to  enter  his  castle 
walls  from  such  a  conveyance  was  a  doubt 
in  itself  so  weighty,  as  for  the  moment  to 
overpower  every  fiiculty  of  mind  and  body. 
True,  to  refuse  admission  to  one  of  the 
blood  of  Rossville^  cousin  to  himself 
—the  cousin  of  msny  noble  fiunilies— -the 
»untof  Mr  Whyte  of  Whyte-Hall- would 
be  a  strong  measure.  Yet  to  sanctioii 
such  a  violation  of  all  propriety  l-^-to  suf- 
fer such  an  example  of  disrespect  to  the 
living— of  decorum  to  the  dead !— to  re* 
oeive  into  his  presence  a  person  just  is* 
soed  from  a  hearse  !-»Who  could  tett 
what  distempers  she  might  not  bring  in 
her  train  ?  lliat  thought  decided  the  mat- 
ter-^His  lordship  turned  round  to  puU 
the  bell,  and,  in  doing  so,  found  both 
hands  locked  in  those  of  Miss  Pratt!  The 
shock  of  a  man.trap  is  probably  fiiint  com- 
pared to  that  which  he  experienced  at 
finding  himselC/'in  the  grasp  of  the  fiur, 
and  all  powers  of  resistance  failed  under 
tlie  energy  of  her  hearty  shake. 

«  *  Well,  my  lord,  wliat  do  you  think 
of  my  travelling  equipage  ? — My  Jerusa- 
lem dilly,  as  AntJiony  Whyte  calls  it?-«- 
'Pon  my  word,  you  must  make  much  of 
roe— for  a  pretty  business  l*ve  had  to  get 
here.  I  may  well  say  I've  come  through 
.thick  and  thin  to  get  to  you.  At  one 
time,  I  assure  you,  I  thought  you  would 
never  have  seen  rae  but  in  my  cofl&n— 
and  a  gp«it  mercy  it  is  it*s  only  i»  a 


Th€  InheriUmce.  #<J9 

hetfsck  I  Ancy  I*m  the  fleet  Hm*  ever 
thought  themselves  in  luck  to  get  into 
one;  but,  however,  I  think  I'm  still 
luckier  in  having  got  well  out  of  it— te ! 
haihar 

"' Miss  Pratt  1*  heaved  the  Bad  as  with 
a  lever. 

**  *  WeU,  you  shaU  hear  all  about  it  by 
and  by.  In  the  meantime,  I  must  beg 
the  favour  of  you  to  let  the  men  put  up 
their  hearse  and  horses  for  the  night  fat 
it's  perfectly  impossible  for  them  to  go  a 
step  fitfther— and,  indeed,  I  promised, 
that  if  they  would  but  bring  me  safe  here, 
you  would  make  them  all  welcome  to  a 
night's  lodgings,  poor  creatures  i' 

*'  This  was  a  pitch  of  assurance  ao  ftt 
beyond  anything  Lord  Boesville  had  evet 
contemplated,  that  his  words  felt  like 
stones  in  his  throat,  and  he  strove,  but 
strove  in  vain,  to  get  them  up,  and  hurl 
them  at  Pratt's  au^bcMus  jaws.  Indeed, 
all  ordinary  vi*ords  and  known  language 
would  have  been  inadequate  for  his  pur- 
pose. Only  some  mighty  terror^om- 
pelling  compound,  or  some  magical  ana* 
thema— something  which  would  have 
caused  her  to  sink  into  the  grouDd-*or 
to  have  nude  her  quit  the  form  of  a  wo- 
man,  and  take  that  of  an  insect,  would 
have  spoke  the  feeUngs  of  his  breasts 
While  his  lordship  was  thus  strqggling^ 
like  one  under  the  influence  of  the  night- 
mare, for  utterance,  liiss  Pratt  called  tO 
one  of  the  sennnts,  who  jusi  then  en- 
tered— 

**  *  Jackson,  you'll  be  so  good  as  see 
these  men  well  taken  care  off— and  Ihopo 
Bishop  willallowagood  feed  toththoraes^ 
poor  beasts!  and        ' 

**  *  Miss  Pratt!'  at  length  bolted  tko 
Bad— <  Miss  Pratt,  this  oondoct  of  yourt 
is  of  so  extraordinary— so  altogether  on* 
paralleled  a  nature^  that—' 

**  *  You  may  well  say  that,  my  lord- 
unparalleled  indeed,  if  you  knew  all.' 

**  *  There's  ei^t  horses  and  four  men,* 
said  Lady  Betty,  who  had  been  pleasinf 
her  &ncy  by  counting  them*— <  Who's  bo- 
rial  is  it?* 

'<  <  It's  Mr  M<Vitae*8,  the  great  distil- 
ler.—I'm  sure,  I'm  much  obliged  to  him 
—for  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  poor  nsan  1 
I  mi^t  have  been  stiff  and  stark  by  this 
time.'  And  Bliss  Pratt  busied  herself  in 
taking  off  her  snow-shoes,  and  turning 
and  dbafing  herself  before  the  fire. 

** '  Miss  Pratt,'  again  began  the  Earl, 
musteruig  all  his  energies—'  Miss  Pratt^ 
it  is  altogether  inconceivable  and  inex- 
plicable to  me,  how  you,  or  anyone  elee^ 
could  possibly  so  fisr  forget  what  vraadue 
to  themselves  and  to  m^  as  to  come  to 
my  hooie  in  a  maoncr  sd  mMlf  unpre* 


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6ra 

a«dented,  to  altogether  imwumotable^ 
•o«-8o«-so  perfect  unjustifiable— I  say, 
bow  any  person  or  persons  could  thus 
prasttme— — * 

'<  A  burst  of  laughter  from  Miss  Pratt 
here  broke  upon  the  Earl's  barang^ue. 

**  <  My  dear  Lord  Rossville,  I  beg  your 
pardon ;  but  really  the  notion  of  my  lyre- 
suming  to  come  in  a  hearse  is  too  good— 
'Pon  my  word,  it*s  a  piece  of  presumption 
few  people  would  be  guilty  of  if  they 
could  help  it.  I  assure  you  I  felt  hum- 
ble enough  when  I  was  glad  to  creep  in* 
to  it.* 

"  '  I  repewZ  presime,  Miss  Pratt,'  cried 
his  lordship,  now  fairly  kindled  into  elo- 
quence, '  to  presume  to  bring  to  my  hoiise 
an  equipage  and  attendants  of— of— of 
the  most  luctiferous  description— and  far- 
ther, to  presume  to  expect  that  I  am  to 
permit  the  hearse  of  Mr  M*Vitae,  the 
distiller— the— the  democratic  distiller, 
with  eight  horses  and  four  men,  to— to 
.^to— to— to  transform  Rossville  Castle 
into  an  inn— a— a  caravansera  of  the 
very  lowest  description  a-  a  a  char- 
nel-house— a— a— a  receptacle  for  vehi- 
cles emptoyed  for  the  foulest — ^the  vilest 
-the— the  most  unseemly  of  all  pur- 
poses !  Jackson,  desire  those  people,  with 
thehr  carriage  and  horses,  to  quit  my 
grounds  without  one  moment's  delay.' 

**  <  My  dear  Lord  Rossville !— (Stop 
Jackson)— >Bless  my  heart!  you're  not 
gouig  to  turn  away  the  people  at  this 
time  of  night !— Only  look  Jiow  it's  snow- 
ing, and  the  sky  as  black  as  pitch— there's 
neither  man  nor  beast  fit  to  travel  a-foot 
this  night.— Jackson,  I'm  sure  you  must 
be  sensible  that  it's  perfectly  impossible 
for  them  to  find  their  way  now.' 
i-  "  Jaekson,  who  had,  like  his  betters, 
felt  considerable  enntd  during  the  storm, 
and  rather  rejoiced  at  the  thoughts  of  any 
visitors,  however  inferior  to  himself  in 
rank  and  station,  confirmed  the  assertion 
with  all  due  respect— but  to  little  pur- 
pose. 

-  ***  At  all  events,  and  whatever  may  be 
the  consequence,'  said  his  master, '  they 
certainly  can,  and,  indeed,  positively  must, 
return  by  the  road  which  they  have  re- 
cently traversed.'    • 

.  «  •  They  may  just  as  well  attempt  to 
fly  as  to  go  back  the  way  they  came— A 
pretty  fight  they  had  to  get  through  !  I 
only  wish  you  bad  seen  it— the  horses  up 
to  their  shoulders  more  than  once  in  the 
anow,  even  then,  and  it's  now  snowing 
ten  times  worse  than  ever— .so  I  leave 
you  to  judge  how  they  are  to  dn^;  a 
hearse  back  nine  miles  at  this  time  of 
night.' 
.  '*  Here  Jackson  re-entered  with  a  nm- 


The  Inheritance.  [^June, 

nifesto  from  the  hearse-drivers  and  com- 
pany, stating,  that  they  had  been  brought 
two  miles  and  a  half  out  of  their  way,  un- 
der promise  of  being  provided  in  quarters 
for  the  night,  and  that  it  was  now  impos- 
sible for  them  to  proceed. 

•«  *  It  will  be  a  pretty  story  if  I'm  land- 
ed in  a  law-suit,'  cried  Miss  Pratt,  in 
great  alarm,  as  tbe  Earl  was  about  to  re- 
iterate his  orders;  ^  and  it  will  make 
a  fine  noise  in  the  county,  I  can  tell 
you.' 

'*  Mr  Delmour,  vrbo  had  been  out  in- 
vestigating matters,  here  struck  in,  and 
having  remarked  that  it  might  be  an  un- 
popular measure,  recommended' that  Mr 
M'Vitae's  suite  should  be  accommodated 
for  the  night,  with  strict  charges  to  depart 
by  dawn  the  following  morning ;  and  the 
Earl,  though  with  great  reluctance,  was 
prevailed  upon  to  agree  to  this  arrange- 
ment. 

"  Miss  Pratt  having  carried  her  point, 
and  dried,  warmed,  fed,  and  cherished  her 
person  in  all  possible  ways,  now  com- 
menced the  narrative  of  what  she  called 
her  unparalleled  adventures.  But,  as  has 
been  truly  said,  there  are  always  two 
ways  of  telling  a  story,  and  Miss  Pratt's 
biographer  and  herself  are  by  no  means 
at  one  as  to  the  motives  which  led  to  this 
extraordinary  expedition.  Miss  Pratt  set 
forth  that  she  had  been  living  most  com* 
fortably  at  Skinflint  Cottage,  where  she 
had  been  most  kindly  treated,  and  much 
pressed  to  prolong  her  visit ;  but  she  had 
taken  an  anxious  fit  about  her  good  friends 
at  Rossville, — she  had  had  a  great  dream- 
ing about  them  the  night  before  h»t,  and 
she  could  not  rest  till  she  had  seen  theni 
nlU  She  had,  therefore,  borrowed  the 
Skinflint  carriage,  and  set  out  at  the  risk 
of  her  life— but  the  horses  had  stuck  in 
the  snow,  &c.  Sec.  &c 

«  Miss  Pratt's  biographer,  on  the  other 
hand,  asserts  that  Miss  Pratt,  in  the 
course  of  cutnilation,  had  landed  at  Skin- 
•dint  Cottage,  which  she  sometimes  used 
as  a  stepping-stone,  but  never  as  a  rest- 
ing-place; here,  however,  she  had  been  ta- 
ken prisoner  by  the  snow-storm,  and  coo* 
fined  for  a  week  in  a  small  house  fiill  of 
diUdren— some  in  measles— eome  In 
scarlet  fevers— «ome  in  hooping-cougha 
— >the  only  healthy  individuals,  two  strong 
unruly  boys  just  broke  loose  from  school 
for  the  holidays.  The  fere  was  bad— her 
bed  was  hard-^er  blankets  heavy— her 
pillows  few— her  curtains  thin— and  her 
room,  which  was  next  to  the  nursery,  to 
use  her  own  expression,  smoked  like  a 
killogie. 

**  To  sum  up  the  whole,  it  was  a  re- 
treat of  Miss  Becky  Duguid's,  and  at  this 


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1 9U.2  The  Inheritance. 

very  dme  MIm  Becky  was  in  tuch  requi- 
sition, that  it  was  resolved  to  send  the 
earriage  for  ber— in  the  double  hope,  that, 
as  Rossville  Castle  was  in  the  way,  their 
guest  would  avail  herself  of  the  opporto- 
nity  of  taking  her  departure.  According- 
ly, a  pair  of  old,  stiff,  starved,  superannu- 
ated horses  were  yoked  to  a  large,  heavy 
fiunily  coach,  to  which  Miss  PratC  joy- 
fully betook  herself  even  in  the  very  teeth 
of  the  storm.  But  the  case  was  a  des- 
perate one,  for  she  had  received  several 
broad  hints  about  one  of  the  children  in 
the  hooping-cough,  Charles  Fox  by  name 
—having  taken  a  fancy  to  sleep  with  her, 
in  consequence  of  her  having,  in  an  un- 
wary fit  of  generosity,  presented  it  with 
a  peppermint  drop.  But  all  these  mi- 
nute particulars  Miss  Pratt  passed  over, 
which  occasions  some  little  discrepancy 
betwixt  herself  and  her  faithful  biogra^ 
pher,  but  from  this  point  they  can  now 
proceed  hand  in  hand. 

*•  Tlie  old  horses  tugged  their  way 
through  the  snow  most  manfully,  till  they 
oame  to  Cocklestonetop  Muir,  and  there 
it  lay  so  deep  as  to  baffle  then*  utmost 
exertions.  After  every  other  alternative 
had  been  tried  in  vain,  there  remained  no 
other  than  to  leave  the  carriage,  and  for 
Hiss  Pratt,  her  green  beg,  and  the  coach- 
man, to  mount  the  horses,  and  proceed 
to  the  nearest  habitation.  But  the  sno^ 
fell  thick  and  fast— -Miss  Pratt  could  not 
keep  her  seat  on  the  bare  back  of  a  hoge^ 
stiff,  plough-horse,  whose  every  move- 
ment threatened  dislocation,  if  not  disso- 
lution, and  even  her  dauntless  spirit  was 
sinking  beneath  the  horrors  of  her  situa- 
tion, when,  as  she  expressed  it,  by  mere 
dint  of  good  luck,  up  came  Mr  M'Vitae^s 
hearse,  drawn  by  six  stout  horses,  who 
had  been  living,  for  the  last  two  days,  at 
heck  and  manger  in  Mr  M'Vitae*s  well- 
filled  stables.  After  a  little  parley,  and 
many  promises,  they  were  induced,  no- 
thing loath  indeed,  to  turn  out  of  the 
way,  and  deposit  Miss  Pratt  and  her  bag 
at  Rossville  Castle. 

"  But  even  this  account  foiled  to  still 
the  tumult  in  the  EarPs  breast — there 
was  something  in  having  a  hearse,  and 
the  hearse  of  Mr  M'Vitae,  the  radical 
distiller,  thus  forced  within  his  walls,  he 
could  not  away  with.  Death,  even  in 
its  most  dignified  attitude,  with  all  its 
proudest  trophies,  would  still  have  been 
an  appalling  spectacle  to  Lord  Rossville ; 
but,  in  its  present  vulgar  and  almost  bur- 
lesque form,  it  was  altogether  insupport- 
able. Death  is  indeed  an  awful  thing, 
whatever  aspect  it  assumes.  The  King 
of  Terrors  gives  to  other  attributes  their 
power  of  terrifying :  the  thunder's  roar 


671 

lightning's  flash— the  billow's  roar 
•^the  earthquake's  shock— all  derivle 
their  dread  sublimity  from  Death.  All 
are  but  the  instruments  of  his  resistless 
sway. 

**  From  these,  and  even  from  his  more 
ordinary  emissaries,  Lord  Rossville  felt 
secure ;  but  still  a  lurking  fear  had  taken 
possession  of  his  mind,  and  he  could  not 
divest  himself  of  the  train  of  ideas,  which 
had  been  excited  by  beholding;,  in  horrid 
array,  Death's  cavalcade  approach  his 
dwelling.  He  passed  a  restless  night- 
he  thought  of  what  the  county  would 
say,  and  what  he  should  say  to  the  coun- 
ty— he  thought  of*  whether  he  would  not 
be  justified  in  banishing  Miss  Pratt  for 
ever  from  his  presence.  Wlien  the  first 
faint  streak  of  light  appeared,  he  rang  his 
bell  to  inquu-e  whether  the  funeral  pro- 
cession had  departed— but  a  fresh  fall  of 
snow,  during  the  night,  had  placed  the 
castle  and  hearse  in  a  complete  state  of 
blockade.  He  rose  and  opened  the  win* 
dow  to  ascertain  the  fact,  but  nothing 
"was  to  be  seen  but  a  fast-falling,  blind- 
ing snow — he  next  went  to  the  door,  but 
there  the  snow  lay  six  feet  deep-^e  re- 
turned to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep— and 
when  his  servant  entered  in  the  morning, 
he  found  his  master  a  lifeless  corse.** 

There  is  another  character — a  male 
one  too— who,  although  we  did  not 
mention  him  in  our  analysis,  is  of  do 
inconsiderable  use  in  the  conduct  of 
the  history.  Tliis  is  an  old  East  In« 
dian — an  unde  of  Mrs  St  Clair.  We 
would  fain  quote  fifty  pages  of  him, 
but  we  have  room  for  no  more  than 
one.  Take  the  first  introduction  of 
Uncle  Adam* 

*'  It  was  at  this  suburban  villa  that 
the  handsome  equipage  of  the  Earl  of 
Rossville  now  stopped.  It  was  a  small 
vulgar,  staring  red  house,  with  a  plot  of 
long  bottle«green  grass  in  front,  and  a 
narrow  border  of  the  coarsest  of  flowers, 
(or  rather  flowering  weeds,  interspersed 
with  nettles,)  growing  thin  and  strag- 
gling from  a  green  slimy-looking  toil, 
and  covered  with  dust  from  the  road<^ 
from  which  it  was  only  separated  by  a 
railing.  Birs  St  Chiir  reddened  ^th 
shame,  as  she  marked  the  contemptuoos 
air  with  which  the  consequential  foot- 
man rapped  on  the  humble  door — for  bell 
or  knocker  there  was  none.  The  door 
was  speedily  flung  open  to  its  farthest 
extent,  by  a  fat  rosy  stamping  damsel,  in 
a  flaming  gown  and  top-knots,  who  tes- 
tified the  greatest  ahuaity  in  doing  the 
honours  of  the  entrance. 

**  <  What  a  habitation  for  a  man  with 


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672  Tkg  Inheriiaiiee. 

flerenCy  tbotiiod  pounte  !*  eadaiiBed 
Mrs  St  Oair,  it  she  entared}  but  there 
#a8  no  time  for  pursuing  her  obeenra- 
dons,  for  she  was  the  next  minute  in  the 
little  parlour  of  uncle  Adam.  It  was  a 
small  close  room,  with  a  meridian  sun 
streaming  full  into  It,  and  calling  forth  to 
view  myriads  of  <  dancing  motes  that 
people  the  sun-beams,'  while  ihnumefu 
able  hosts  of  huge  flies  buzzed  and  reTeU 
led  in  all  the  luxury  of  its  heat,  and  an 
expiring  fire,  with  its  usual  concomitants 
of  dust  and  ashes,  seemed  fast  sinking 
beneath  the  influence  of  the  Ood  of  Day. 
A  small  dining-table,  and  a  few  bair- 
doCh  chairs  stuck  against  the  walls,  com- 
prised the  whole  fimiiture  of  the  room. 
A  framed  table  of  weights  and  measures^ 
an  old  newspiqier,  and  a  parcel  of  dnsty 
parchments,  tied  with  a  red  tape,  formed 
its  resources  and  decorations.  Altoge- 
ther, it  wore  the  comfortless  aspect  of  a 
bad  inn*s  worst  parlour— a  sort  of  place 
where  one  might  pass  five  minutes  while 
changing  hordes,  but  where  there  was  no 
inducement  even  for  the  weary  trayeller 
to  tarry. 

»  Mr  Ramtay  sat  by  the  side  of  the 
eiqtiring  fire,  seemingly  cotitemplating 
the  gaisti  and  cinders  which  hiy  scattered 
over  the  hearth ;  but  he  had  somewhat 
the  air  of  a  man  prepared  (rathei^  unwill- 
inglyX  to  receive  company.  He  was 
alMve  the  middle  size,  with  high  stoop- 
Ing  shoulders,  sharp  cross-looking  elbows, 
projecting  ba  beyond  his  back,  a  some- 
what stormy  blue  foce,  and  little  pale 
efeSf  surmounted  by  shaggy  white  eye- 
brows. His  ordinary  head-piece,  a  stri- 
ped woollen  night-cap,  had  been  laid 
aside  for  a  capacious  powdered  peruke 
with  side  curls,  and  a  large  queue.  T6 
oomplete  the  whole,  he  was  left-handed* 
which  gave  a  peculiar  awkwardness  to 
his  naturally  Ungainly  deportment  He 
Welcomed  Mrs  St  Clair  with  a  mucture 
of  cordiality  and  awkwardness,  as  if  he 
wished  to  be  kind,  but  did  not  know  very 
well  how  to  set  about  it.  She  had  too 
much  manner,  however,  to  allow  him  to 
remain  under  any  embarrassment  on  that 
score;  and  was  squeezing  uncle  Adam's 
somewhat  reluctant  hand,  and  smiling  on 
his  rugged  visage,  and  uttering  a  tliou- 
sand  soft  and  civil  things  to  hb  rather 
averted  ear,  when  suddenly  she  stopped, 
fbr  she  felt  all  was  thrown  away:  her 
uncle  bad  fixed  his  eyes  on  Gertrude, 
and  regarding  her  with  visible  emotkm, 
ieemed  unconscious  of  every  other  oU 
ject.** 

We  hare  left  otirseWes  no  space  fbr 
Gertrude  St  Clair  herselft  One  little 
diapter,  boweter,  must   be  quoted 


CJtioc, 

from  the  London  pvi  of  the  boolt. 
By  the  way,  that  part  of  the  work  h 
not  only  good,  but  admirable.  The 
whole  of  Ddmour's  behaviour— hie 
prodigious  anxiety  about  Gertrude'e 
coming  out,  not  under  the  anspices  dT 
his  aunt,  the  Dudiess  of  Bui^ngton, 
the  said  Dndiess  not  being  one  of  the 
true  set,  but  only  a  resectable  ]ady» 
of  the  very  hightst  rank,  station,  and 
character — ^is  quite  exquisite.  The 
patroness  whom  he  does  select,  vis.  the 
Lady  Charles  Arabin,  is  drawn  ircm 
the  me,  and  in  imperishable  ooloursy 
laid  on  with  the  lightest  and  moat  de« 
licate  hand.  But,  as  we  said,  we  must 
be  contented  with  one  chapter,  and 
that  shall  be  one  of  those  in  whidi 
our  author  describes  Colonel  Delmonr's 
behaviour  to  the  young  Countess,  while 
living  as  his  aflBanced  bride  in  the  me- 
tn^xms. 

**  Colonel  Delmour  was  at  hoc  break- 
fiist  table  the  following  mommg.  A  saU 
ver  stood  upon  it  covered  with  cardi^ 
notes,  letters,  bills,  petition^  and  memo- 
randa of  every  descriptiod.  She  care*- 
lessly  tossed  over  some,  opened  and  glan- 
ced over  others,  while  she  listened  at  the 
same  time  to  her  lover,  as  he  read  the 
record  of  her  triumphs  in  the  Momh^ 
Post  At  length,  as  she  discovered  some 
post  letters  amid  the  heap,  she  drew 
back  her  hand,  and,  with  a  shudder,  ex- 
claimed— 

«•«  Ah!  these  ugly  letters!* 

<*  *  What  letters?'  inquirtd  Dehnoar, 
as  he,  at  the  same  time,  drew  the  stand 
towards  himself^— ^  O  !  some  ScotA 
parish  busmess,  is  that  all  ?* 

**  *  Lectures  ttom  my  guaidiaas  and 
tiresome  explanations  from  my  stewari 
are  the  best  I  have  to  expect.  I  had  a 
letter  fhnn  him  f  other  day,  telling  me 
the  schookhonse  was  stopped  for  want 
of  money.* 

«*  <  How  very  distressing!*  said  Colo- 
nel Delroour,  with  an  ironical  smile  ;^ 
*  then  you  will  have  no  long,  lean,  grej, 
weeping>looking  building,  with  steep, 
straight  roof^  and  its  little  green  glass 
windows,  and  its  slioals  of  hoddy-doddy, 
white-haired,  blubbered  boys  and  girISi— - 
I  hope  it  was  to  have  formed  a  vista  in 
the  park;  it  Would  Have  been  what  is 
called,  I  believe,  a  most  gratifying  sight* 

«<  •  You  are  very  kind  to  tiy  to  recon- 
cUe  me  to  myself  by  treating  it  so  sligfaf- 
ly;  but  I  f^I  r  have  been  to  Uame ;  I 
have  been  too  expensive.' 

••  •  In  what  respect  ?* 

**  *  In  everytliing^^this  servieei  for  In- 
etancei'polntbig  tothe  magnificent  brcelu 


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1 994.;]  Thg  inherU(MCt, 

fait  ■errke  of  Milf  ohaied  ant^ue  plate 
and  Sevres  china — *  I  am  shocked  to. 
think  how  much  it  cost* 

^  '  Wbj  deift,  to  be  sure,  would  have 
been  cheaper— and,  to  the  philoeophic 
eye,  a  pewter  basin  is  as  becomings  perw 
haps,  as  a  silver  one-^'lis  a  pity  you  did 
not  consult  me  instead  of  Lady  Charles 
about  it!' 

«  <  Lady  Charles  is  certainly  yerj  ei^ 
travagant,*  said  the  Countess  grave^. 

**  *  Not  more  so  than  others  in  her 
rank.  Lord  Charles  has  a  good  fortune, 
and  allows  her  to  spend  it,  which  she 
does  in  supporting  her  station  in  society. 
—Methodists  and  misers,  I  believe,  are 
for  abolishing  all  these  distinctions,  and 
building  oonventidei^  and  endowing  hos* 
pitals  with  their  money.* 

**  <  One  of  these  letters,  I  perceive,  is 
from  Ljmdsay,*  said  Gertrude,  with  an- 
other sigh. 

** '  Which  you  seem  afraid  even  to  look 
upon — Shall  I  open  it  for  you  ?* 

««  Do— but  first  give  Zoe  a  few  of  these 
strawberries.* 

<■  Colonel  Delmour  read  the  letter 
aloud— it  was  short  and  hurried,  and  the 
purport  of  it  was  communicating  the  sud- 
den death  of  the  parisii  minister  of  Ross- 
yUle,  by  which  means  the  Countess  would 
have  it  in  her  power  to  provide  for  young 
Leslie,  who  had  just  been  with  him  U^ 
apealdag  his  good  offices. 

««•  Who  is  this  Leslie  wto  finds  sock 
n  patron  in  Lyadsaf  ?*  inquired  Colond 
JDeUaour. 

**  •  He  isa  veiy  interesting  young  mat, 
who  is  engaged  to  mf  cousin,  Anne 
Black,  and  the  want  of  a  diurch  has  hi- 
therto been  the  only  obstacle  to  the  mar- 
riage—How happy  it  makes  me  to  have 
it  in  my  power  to  remove  it— Fray,  reach 
me  my  writing-stand,  and  I  shall  settle 
that  sur  le  champ.* 

"  But  instead  of  <^ying^  Delmonr 
took  the  hand  she  had  impatiently  ex- 
tended, and  said—. 

'"Is  it  possible,  my  dear  Gertrude, 
you  can  be  serious  in  this  ?  Can  you  real- 
ly think,  for  a  moment,  of  having  your 
relations  placed  so  near  you  in  so  infe- 
rior a  situation  ?  Only  consider,  the  manse 
is  almost  close  by  the  gate — that  is  of 
little  consequence  with  people  who  have 
no  chum  upon  you ;  but  really  the  Count- 
ess of  Rossville  and  her  cousin,  the  ml- 
Ulster's  wife,  thus  brought  in  contact^ 
— 4here  is  confusion  in  the  thought' 

«*  Lady  Rossville  looked  diipleased, 
then  said,—'  My  cousin  ia  a  person  I 
never  can  feel  ashamed  <^' 

•<<  Not  as  she  is;  but  as  she  wiU  be, 
when  she  degenerates  into  the  mioister'a 
wife^  with  her  primed  gown  and  bteck 


073 


mitten^  wtth  a  troop  of  hnlf-lksked  rubs 
of  children  at  her  heels,  and  the  minis. 
ter  himself,  honest  man !  at  thehr  head, 
with  his  kmk  locks,  and  his  customary 
suit  of  rusty  bh^ks,  all  eomhig  to  visit, 
perchance  to  dine  with  their  couMn  the 
Countess  !* 

«  <  If  you  are  ashamed  of  my  relations, 
you  ought  to  have  said  so  sooner,'  said 
Gertrude,  struggling  with  her  emotion  ; 
'  as  it  is,  it  is  not  yet  too  late        * 

"  *  Dearest  Gertrude,  how  seriously 
you  take  my  badinage;  but  you  must  be 
sensible  that,  where  the  difference  of 
rank  and  station  is  so  great  between  near 
relations,  the  local  affinity  had  as  well 
not  be  quite  so  close ;  your  own  good 
sense  and  delicate  perception  must  point 
out  to  you  the  inevitable  dUagi^ments 
that  must  ensue ;  the  slights  that  will  be 
fek ;  the  oflfenoes  that  will  be  taken ;  die 
affronts  that  will  be  imaging.' 

**  *  My  cousin  is  not  a  person  of  that 
sort,*  said  Gertrude;  *  and,  I  am  sure, 
her  near  vicinity  would  be  a  source  of 
great  pleasure  to  me.  I  like  her  society, 
and  should  have  her  often  with  me.* 

** '  Ton  may  at  present ;  but,  be  a»- 
awred,  that  could  not  possilily  conthine ; 
you  must  move  in  each  different  spheres^ 
and  must  asaodate  with  such  different 
peo]He,  that  'tis  imposMUe  you  could  aet 
orthuik  alike:  For  instance,  yon  tokl  me 
that  the  Duchess  of  Ariinghon,  the  Aim- 
bins^  Lady  Peverley,  Mrs  Beechey,  and  I 
know  not  all  who,  had  promised  to  pay 
yon  a  visit  at  Ronville  this  sammer,  and 
to  take  parts  t^  your  theatricals,  if  you 
can  have  the  theatre  ready:  how  do  yoju 
suppose  the  minister  and  his  wile  coukl 
relish,  or  be  relished  by  those  of  yonr 
^ends?* 

"  <  But  I  am  in  a  manner  pledged  to 
my  cousin—* 

" '  Not  for  this  church,  svrely?* 

**  *  No,  not  for  this  one  in  particular ; 
but  I  repeatedly  assured  her  that,  when- 
ever I  had  it  in  my  power,  I  would  be- 
friend her,  and  now  it  is  so——' 

"  <  Dearest  Gertrude,  it  is  not  in  your 
power,  that  is,  if  I  possess  that  influence 
with  you  I  have  hitherto  flattered  my- 
self I  did ;  on  that  &itb,  in  the  transac- 
tion I  had  lately  with  Harry  Monteith 
relating  to  my  exchange  into  the  Guards, 
I  ventured  to  promise  3iat  the  first  church 
that  was  in  your  gift,  as  the  phrase  is,  yon 
would— that  is— I  would  engage  your  in- 
terest in  behalf  of  his  old  tutor— -quite  a 
charity  case,  as  be  represented  it ;  a  mar- 
ried man  with  a  huge  fiunlly,  and  I  fof)set 
all  the  partictthurs ;  bat,  at  the  time.  It 
atrockaeaa  a  thh^f  llial  would  intenst 
you.' 

**  Lady  RoamUe*!  ocrfoor  roae  during 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


674 

this  speoch,  and  for  some  momenU  she 
remained  silent,  as  if  struggling  with  her 
feelings.  At  last  she  said—'  You  have 
taken  a  strange  liberty,  it  seems,  and  one 
which  I  cannot  easily  pardon.* 

<*  At  that  moment  a  servant  entered 
to  say  her  ladyship's  horses  were  at  the 
door. 

«  '  Desire  them  to  be  put  up ;  I  shall 
not  ride  to-day/  said  she ;  and  taking  up 


7%f  Inheritance.  HJunp, 

what  we  must,  in  spite  of  all  manner 
of  fair  speeches^  find  fault  with,  is  the 
attempt  which  a  certain  daas  of  wri- 
ters are  making  to  persuade  us,  that 
nobody  acts  honourably  in  tlie  common 
rektions  of  life,  except  firom  the  influ- 
ence of  religious  feelings,  and  these, 
too,  the  religious  feelings  of  one  par- 
ticular sect — and  vice  versa.  Colonel 
Delmour  breaks  his  word,  in  the  basest 


Lyndsay's  letter,  she  quitted  the  room,    ^,f  ^u  possible  circumstances,  in  this 
\^v\n^  T^lmour  too  much  niaued.  as     ^^^^  .  ^^^  ^^  author's  solution  is. 


leaving  Delmour  too  much  piqued,  as 
well  as  surprised  at  this  display  of  spirit, 
to  make  any  attempt  to  detain  her.  He, 
however,  lounged  a  considerable  time  at 
the  breakfast  table,  expecting  her  return, 
tossed  over  all  the  litter  of  new  publica- 
tions, and  music,  and  expensive  toys  that 
lay  scattered  about;  touched  her  harp, 
to  ascertain  whether  it  was  in  tune,  and 
broke  two  of  the  strings ;  stirred  the  fire, 
although  the  room  was  suffocating;  then 
threw  open  a  window,  exclaiming  at  the 
smell  of  a  tuberose ;  but  still  Gertrude 
did  not  return.  Carriage  after  carriage 
was  sent  from  the  door,  and  even  Lady 
Charles  was  not  admitted.  At  length 
his  patience  was  exhausted,  he  wrote, — 
*  Dearest  Gertrude,  see  me  but  one  mo- 
ment, as  you  love  me  ;*  and  ringing  the 
bell,  be  desired  it  might  be  conveyed  to 
XAdy  Rofisville.  A  verbal  answer  was 
returned ;  her  ladyship  was  sorry  she  was 
particularly  engaged ;  and  Delmour,  too 
proud  to  sue  any  further,  left  the  house 
in  a  transport  of  indignation." 

The  Blacks— the  Waddells— the 
Liarkinses— the  good  old  ladles  in*'the 
market-town — Mrs  St  Clair  herself — 
may  be  said  to  remain  untouched. 
Turn  to  the  book,  gentle  reader,  ami 
you  will  be  delighted  with  them  all. 
But  with  Miss  Pratt,  Mrs  Duguid, 
and  Uncle  Adam,  you  will  not  mere- 
ly be  delighted — they  will  live  in  your 
memory  for  ever.  You  will  no  more 
forget  them  than  you  can  Parson 
Adams,  Commodore  Trunnion,  Bailie 
Jarvie,  Captain  Dalgetty,  Leddy  Walk- 
inshaw.  King  Corny,  or  latest,  and 
perhaps  best  of  all,  Peter  Peebles. 

We  have  only  one  serious  criticism 
to  make  on  this  book,  and  that  refers 
to  the  author's  way  and  manner  of  in- 


tbat  he  is  not  a  man  acting  under  the 
habitual  influence  of  the  Gkwpel.  This 
implies  far  too  narrow  a  lunitation  of 
the  great  genus  scoundrel.  On  the 
other  hand,  Mr  Lyndsay  conducts 
himself  like  a  gentleman  and  a  friend 
to  a  beautiful  young  lady  whom  he 
loves,  and  whom,  in  the  sequel,  he^ 
after  the  manner  of  all  flesh,  marries. 
He  would  have  done  so  whether  he  had 
ever  heard  Mr  Grey  or  Mr  Craig  in  hit 
lifetime  or  not.  Seriously,  we  appre* 
hend  that  this  sort  of  tniiig  may  do 
harm,  and  can  do  no  good ;  and  we 
earnestly  hope  this  author  will  not 
again  give  us  any  occasion  for  hinting 
that  intellectual  talents  and  acquire* 
ments  such  as  hers — and  these,  too, 
coupled  with  such  a  breadth  of  prae« 
tical  knowledge  of  the  world,  as  her 
volumes  have  evinced— ought  to  soar 
above  ministering,  or  even  being  sus- 
pected of  wishing  to  minister,  to  tha 
crazy,  narrow-mmded  nonsense  of  the 
Hannah  Mores,  et  hoc  genus  omne. 

We  could  easily  show  off^  in  petty 
criticisms,  touching  some  little  oron 
in  style — but  this  we  despise.  We 
may  just  mention,  however,  that 
whenever  a  lady  writer  means  to  in- 
troduce a  long-nebbed,  learned-look- 
ing word,  she  should  alioavs  take  the 
trouble  to  ask  herself  if  she  is  quite 
sure  of  its  meaning ;  and  if  not,  turn 
up,  for  want  of  a  better,  the  Diction- 
ary of  the  English  Langnaf^e,  by  Sa- 
muel Johnson,  LL.  D.  What,  for 
example,  is  the  exact  sense  attached  to 
the  word  prototype,  in  vol.  i.  p.  57  ? 
We  are  sure  this  accomplished  person^ 
who  has  so  little  need  of  fine  words. 


troducing  the  most  serious  of  all  sub-  .  since  she  has  so  lai^e  a  command  of 


jects — Religion.  To  the  introduction 
of  religion  in  works  of  this  kind  we  can 
have  no  general  objection,  since  reli- 
gion must  be  admitted  by  all  to  be 
among  the  most  powerful  motives  of 
human  action,  and  far  the  most  power- 
ful in  those  characters  that  really  are 
entitled  to  be  called  religious.    But 


fine  thoughts,  will  forgive  this  hint^- 
and  {profit  by  it. 

Our  authoress  is  quite  right  not  to 
be  in  a  hurry ;  yet  we  hope  it  will 
not  be  quite  1830  ere  we  meet  her 
again  in  the  department  of  literature, 
wnich  she  has  so  largely  and  so  per- 
manently embellisihed. 
18 


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Rematki  on  Mr  Sitlhau's  Dmmatic  Poems, 


6T5 


(ife^Moiln^  JSemoHb  <m  SuBvanU  Po&rm.) 

Ph^kBE  bid  yottr  shves  take  out  a  littk  of  the  bala&m  designed  fbr  next 
Kvniber,  and  insert  in  its  f^aee  the  endbfldl  article :  It  is  a  puff  of  a  neatidi 
IHtle  book,  deafly  written  bv  a  ftttt  kd,  who  sometimea  blows  a  doud  hcret 
He  dedicates,  as  yon  will  observe,  to  the  Writdr  Ttai. 

I  am  yonn, 

M.  ODOBBBTT. 

)  P^ih,  June  la,  S  ]pim. 


ABHAftkS  tik  Ilk  il7tt%A2t'8  &BAMATIC  FOZHS.* 


This  is  t  filUe  Volume  0^  teiT  sWeei 
ftbd  pathetic  poetry,  affi)rding,  we 
thlnk>  tnuch  promise  of  its  anthor^a 
doiUff  the  poedcai  state  some  senricei 
W^  have  not  indination,  or,  if  wo 
had,  we  haire  not  time  jUst  now  to 
^littcnsa  the  metaphydcal  prindpte  of 
poetry,  or  to  wnte  fine  long-nebbed 
ientenoes  about  power,  and  pathos^ 
tttd  otit^-wmrings,  and  fiur-enshings, 
t^  the  other  grand  new^^fattg^ed  words 
fi>r  expressing  approbation  of  the  abi^ 
lity  displayea  hy^a  writer  in  putting 
into  metrical  shape  the  languace  <» 
true  and  natural  feding.  We  leave 
^t,  for  the  ptesent  at  least,  to  critics 
^  a  more  pdy^ikisboian  note,  and 
mtolo|iists  of  a  deeper  insight  into 
the  pnndplea  of  human  nature,  uid 
of  •  more  notorious  hunH 


y,  it  ii  in  tiiii  v^  deny  it,  ii 
bfeodming  a  drug  of  the  mM  opiums 
likeprdpensitiea*  Lotd  Byron-^ght 
lie  tro  stones  upon  his  bone»^fed  uA 
Ibn  of  horrors.  We  hftd  daxle^eTcd 
Mows,  wHh  budiy  eyebrotirs,  whitir 
Ibreheads,  gloomy  <»b0tationt,  deep 
amorodtlefe,  and  a  dedded  pendumi 
fn  cuttilig  throats,  and  eaii^  honest 
way-fliErers  of  the  eontents  of  their 
purses*  HAwae  neat  gentlemett  were 
ierred  up  to  us  in  &U  possible  varies 
ties.  Even  Don  Juan  was  but  a  Childe 
Harold  doing  vaflaries^  like  John  Kem-« 
Ue  acting  Mirabd.  No  constitution 
could  long  stand  doses  of  this  kind  t 
and  accoraingly  the  stomach  of  that 
Worthy  old  gentlewoman,  ^  Public, 
Itject^  them  at  last.    It  was  a  pity  ; 


fb^,  tiiou^  there  was  no  variety,  the 
vei^  worst  of  his  lordship's  esmistei 
displayed  the  hand  of  no  ordinarjf 
man.  \Ve  always  etoept  his  trage«t 
dies,  whidi  were  nd  concerns — facrsM 
mom  poemata,  in  every  sense  but  one. 
However,  he  knocked  up  poetry  mor^ 
tom^etdy  than  any  man  of  our  day« 
Sir  Walter  had  long  retured-^md  took 
to  m»e.  Moan  wrote  lives  of  the  Am 
geto;  Southey,  Visions  of  Judgment  j 
Tom  Campbell,  Hitter  Banns,--all  oni^ 
worse  than  the  other.  Coleridge  wa^ 
dumb,  at  least  on  paper ;  Rogers  tumi 
ed  to  punning,  Crabbe  to  his  parson^i 
age,  Wilson  to  his  professorial  chair  t 
Bowles  set  about  proving  that  Pope 
was  no  poet.    Bryan  Proctor— 

80  call  him,  in  the  fUdact  of  man 

did  the  nme  by  Ban^  Cornwall  Thd 
Parson's  sueceas  against  Pope  is  stiS 
dubious  and  disputed  ;  the  Attorney's 
Flood  of  Thessalv  has  united  all  man- 
kind  in  universal  Mpreement  as  to  the 
thorough  aecomfdidiment  of  his-  ob- 
teet.  Few  write  poetry,  (except  Win* 
Wordii^drth,  "Who  keeps  weaving  away 
with  hie  old  indefatiflable  seraifty,) 
and  nobody  at  all  reads  it.  Onrpoete 
ire  dmoat  reduced  to  the  unfortunsfte 
aHotftion  of  Eumolpus,  in  ^  Saty- 
rfcon.  They  have  over-dosed  us,  and 
we  may  pemms  soon  have  to  addrese 
the  body  witii  the  remonstrance  of 
Eamolpue:  *'  Sspius  poetice  quam 
humane  locutus  es.  Itaque  non  mi* 
Mr  si  te  po^us  hpidSbufs  prosequi* 


*  The  8iknt  Bivcf,  a  Dnttaadc  Peenu    Faithful  and  Fonaktt,  a  Dramatic  Poem. 
By  Aobert  SnUvaii.    I^ondon,  G.  and  0.  W^ittaker,  1824. 

Vol.  XV.  "  4S 


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676 

Things,  to  be  sure,  are  not  quite  at 
this  pass  yet ;  and  our  bards  may  walk 
the  streets  without  broken  heads  from 
the  paving-stones  of  the  Tulgarian  po- 
pulation. But  if  they  wish  to  be  read 
ajzain,  they  must  go  on  a  new  tack. 
The  RnflSan  Amiables  will  not  take 

X'n  for  some  generations.  We  are 
id  that  the  Pedlars,  the  Waggon- 
ers, and  Bone- bangers,  have  cut  the 
Great  Laker  out  of  public  patronage 
—and  woe  are  we  that  such  shoidd  be 
the  case,  for  in  him  is  living  the  true 
flame  of  the  Lemn  (Grod.  Southey's 
diablerie,  and  Moore's  namby-pamby, 
are  equally  under  ban.  Is  there  a 
chance,  that  going  back  to  write  about 
human  affairs,  about  the  actions  and 
passions,  the  feelings  and  affections,  of 
actual  conceivable  people,  not  thieves^ 
or  pirates,  or  Peter  Bells,  or  heaven- 
scaling  and  hell- taming  Qui-his,  would 
succeed  ?  We  hope  there  is,  though^ 
perdy,  we  are  not  over  sanguine. 

Let  the  world  slide — whether  there 
be  or  not,  it  will  not  make  us  lose  an 
hour's  rest.  We  scribbled  thus  discur- 
sively, because  we  think  we  see  the 
omen  of  good  things  in  young  Suli- 
van.  We  say  he  is  young,  never  ha- 
ying seen  him,  but  merdy  judging 
from  the  youthful  vigour  and  youth- 
ful kindness  which  is  observable  in  his 
pages.  If  he  have  as  yet  shaved  at  all 
considerably  under  his  chin,  we  do  not 
augur  much.  He  has  written  a  pret- 
ty thing,  but  he  will  never  do  better. 
But  if  he  be^  as  we  opine  he  is,  a 
vouthfUl  suitor  of  the  Muse,  we  think 
he  has  every  chance  of  doing  much 
better ;  and,  moreover,  of  seeing  a  great 
many  points  in  his  present  perform- 
ance, which  he  will  not  value  so  high- 
ly, as,  in  all  human  probability,  he 
does  at  present.  He  may  also,  in  due 
time,  perceive  that  his  poetry  is  just 
such  as  may  be  quizzed  considerably. 
For  be  it  known  to  him  and  all  con- 
cerned, that  this  is  precisely  the  kind 
of  composition  which  a  snappish,  pert, 
priggish,  little  bit  of  a  critic,  such  aa 
ourdear  friend  Frank  Jeffrey  was  in 
the  days  of  his  early  enormities — and 
as  he  would  be  still,  were  it  not  for 
the  double  snaffle  in  which  we  ride 
him— would  cut  into  minute  morsdls, 
and,  having  so  tattered  it,  hang  it  up 
to  tlie  derision  of  all  passers-by ;  or 
such  as  a  sour,  old,  satirical,  butter- 
fly smasher,  as  our  equally  dear  friend 
Wflliam  Giffbrd,  would  growl  over, 
^Tgittg  himself  on  the  mangled  frag- 


CJuncj 


mentSj  like  the  lean  dogs  beneath  the 
wall  over  the  callipash  and  callipee  of 
the  flesh-peeled  pates  of  the  alaagh* 
tered  Tartars  under  the  bastions  of 
Corinth.  Let  him  not  fear  such  treat- 
ment from  us.  It  would  be  a  petty  and 
paltry  triumph.  The  most  kindly  fed- 
ingB  are  those  which  are  most  eaailj 
ridiculed — the  most  earnest  flow  of 
verse  precisely  that  in  which  your  mi- 
nute critic  can  find  most  flaws.  Of  such 
unfair  criticism,  thank  Jupiter,  we  ne- 
ver were  suspected;  .but  those  who 
wish  to  see  a  specimen  of  what  we 
mean,  will  find  it  in  that  most  black- 
guard pair  of  all  compositions,  the 
Edinburgh  reviews  of  Christabel  and 
the  White  Doe  of  Rylstone. 

We  have  just  received  a  note  from 
that  incomprehensible  and  much  ca- 
lumniated man,  the  Editor  of  this  Ma- 
gazine, which  informs  us  that  he  can- 
not, on  any  account  whatsoever,  allow 
us  more  than  four  pages,  and  we  are 
therefore  prevented  from  going,  at  full 
length  into  aU  the  tomes  connected 
with  this  subject,  and  must  at  last 
fairly  begin  our  review.  Mr  Robert 
Sulivan,  then,  has  written  a  pair  of 
dramatic  sketches,  called  the  Silent  Ri- 
ver, and  Faithful  and  Forsaken.  The 
Slots  are  abundantly  simple.  That  of 
le  former  is  no  more  than  this.  A 
natural  son  of  a  high  familyj  reared 
in  obscurity,  without  the  notice  or  pro- 
tection o{  his  father,  marries  above 
him— isrfgected,  equally  by  the  friends 
of  his  wife  and  his  own  kindred,  and 
is  driven,  in  casual  flight,  to  a  lonely 
river,  where  he  finds  refuge  with  mi^ 
honest  fisherman,  whose  companion  in 
labour  he  becomes.  In  the  course  of 
the  conversation  with  this  man,  which 
opens  the  little  piece,  he  learns  that 
the  Lord  of  Willowmead,  his  unnatu- 
ral fkther,  had  that  night  to  pass  by 
the  solitary  marsh  in  which  he  dwelt, 
and  want  suggests  the  idea  of  robbing 
him,  which  is  put  into  execution.  An 
alarm  ia  instantly  raised,  and  his  coxn- 
panion,  Caleb,  is  examined.  He  details 
to  Luke  the  inquiries  made  cononn^ 
ing  him;  these  so  alarm  his  guilty 
conscience,  that  he  resolve^  after  gi- 
ving his  iU-won  gold  to  hia  wife,  to 
put  an  end  to  his.  existence,  which  in 
an  unhappy  hour  he  accomplishes.  In 
an  unhappy  hour,  for  the  inquiries 
which  had  terrified  him  were  made  by 
his  father,  who  had  relented,  on  disco- 
vering his  circumstances,  and  suspect- 
ed him  of  the  robbery.    Ha  comes 


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just  in  time  to  hear  of  the  self-de- 
struction of  his  unfortunate  son,  and 
the  scene  ends  in  the  sorrow  and  re- 
morse of  the  father^  and  the  fainting 
agony  of  the  wife. 

The  dialogue  between  Luke  and 
Mary,  as  he  is  taking  her  fVom  her  own 
cottage  to  Caleb's,  is  a  pretty  fair  spe- 
cimen of  the  touching  style  of  toia 
little  composition. 

MAHT. 

<<  Be  csQtioas,  Luke ;  I  do  not  lore  this 

dark 
And  Bluggish   rirer,  which   divides    Its 

banu 
With  snch  unequal  treachery  of  depth, 
And  horrid  filenoe.  Often  at  !*▼€  crois'd 
The  (^  wonn«eaten  bridge  of  tottering 

planks, 
Which  we  jost  see  against  the  deep  blue 

distance, 
I*ve  thought  of  thee,  and  thy  adventurous 

toil; 
And  then  how  stiDylt  would  hush  the  cry. 
And  hide  the  secret,  unresisting  corse  I 
Oh,  it  is  fbarful ;  and  (bat  it  b  fancy) 
All  things  seem  fearful  here.    £*€Q  dioa, 

dear  Luke, 
Look*st  gloomily  and  speechless.    Pray 

thee,talk^ 
I  cannot  bear  this  nlence,  only  broken 
By  the  dull  plash,  and  the  dead,  heaiy 

plunge 
Of  water  vermin,  in  the  oonng  dime. 

LUKE. 

Thou*rt  new  to  it— but  I  have  breathed 
too  long 

These  muddy  vapours  for  our  daily  morsd 

To  heed  the  stillness  of  the  sonmier  dawn. 

Or  storm  of  wintry  midnight.  My  poor 
Mary, 

Thon*st  paid  the  penalty  of  thoughtless 
love 

Dearer  than  most.  Well  dost  thou  know 
the  tone 

Of  the  chill  blasts  when  they  howl  round 
the  cabin, 

And  find  the  inmate  lonely  and  despond- 
ing ! 

Well  dost  thou  know  the  tear  of  biUemess, 

When  he,  whose  absence  thou  hast  sat  la- 
menting, 

Retnms  o*erpowered  with  fasting  and  fa- 
tigue, 

PrenchM  with  the  rain,  or  sluvering  with 
the  icicles 

Which  ding  to  him  with  rattling  misery. 

And  well,  O  well  I  my  Mary,  hast  thou 
felt 

The  pang,  when  he,  to  whom  thou*st 
ru&hM  for  comfort. 

With  harsh  despair  repdl*d  thee  fVom  his 
arms. 

To  mutter  sternly  of  successless  toil 

And  present  faxnme ! 


MAHT. 

Why  recal  such  tfanes ! 

Dear  Luke,  I  never  murmured  for  myself, 

Ndther  must  thou ;  for  when  I  see  thet 
smile. 

Our  wanu  seem  trifling  payments  for  such 
bUss; 

And  I  have  thankM  the  Heavens  which 
granted  it. 

And  pray*d,  that  if  a  richer  change  of  for- 
tune 

Would  change  thy  love,  we  still  might  live 
in  want. 

LUXE. 

Yes,  thou  hast  pTay*d — ^"tis  good— thou 

hast  pray *d  mudi. 
I*ve  watch*d  thee  in  thy  sleep,  when  thy 

white  temples 
Pressed  the  coarse  pillow  with  as  patient 

innocence 
As  if  *twere  made  for  them.    I*ve  watc^^d 

thee  then. 
With  thy  smsll  fingers  clasped  upon  thy 

breast. 
And   moving   lips,    which   show*d  thou 

dream*ast  of  prayer. 
And  thought  that  I  too  once  was  used  to 


pray; 
\  fortune 


But  fortune  only  grew  more  merciless, 
And  so  I  ceased. 

HAXT. 

O,  say  not— say  not  so  ! 

My  greatest  comfort  was  to  thmk  that  Hea- 
ven 

Guarded  the  perils  which  were  enfbrced  by 
love. 

For  tlicn  the  storm  about  thy  housdeu 
head 

Lost  half  its  fury. 

LUKE. 
It  will  ra^  no  more ; 
At  least  I  shall  not  hear  it,  Mary. 
xaaT. 

No: 
For  thou  hast  promised  ne*er  to  leave  thy 

rest 
At  such  dire  seasons. 

LUXE. 

I  have  promised  thee, 
My  tender,  gentle,  most  beloved  Mary. 

MABT. 

Come,  thou  art  sad — ^Look,  how  the  first 
faint  ray 

Of  mom  hath  startled  the  old  quemlcms 
owl 

Amidst  his  dull  and  devious  wanderings  I 

He  bath  made  straight  towards  the  viUage 
bam, 

'Plaining  as  if  he  groan'd  at  his  long  jour- 
ney 

Across  the  marsh,  which,  seen  between  the 
twigs 

And  leaning  trunks  of  these  deserted  wil- 
lows, 

6eems  boundless  in  iu  flat  and  basy  em- 
pire. « 

And  see,  the  heron,with  its  broad  blue  saila. 


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Sjifmarki  on  Mr  SuUtHm's  Dromaik  i^M»M« 


CJWk 


Whedi  downwaid,  to  tacoeed  iht  Uxd  of 

wi^donb— 
0»  looe.neck*d  felon !    That  hotfM  iboul 

ofhis 
It  meant  to  tell  thee  thou*rt  no  fishennan. 
Thou*lt  soon  be  back  to  try  thy  skill  with 

him ! 
Thou  8ud*st  to.monow— Thott*lt  not  break 

thy  promise  ? 

iSings,) 
*  He  bade  me  adieu,  and  he  vow*d  to  be 
here 
When  swallows  come  down  the  green ; 
But  the  leaves  of  the  Autumn  are  scattet*d 
and  sere. 
And  home  he  hath  never  been.' . 

Oh,  and  ia  that  the  tale  !  then  hear  what 
fbUoi 


iSifigi.) 

*  ^0  tmder.the  wave,  and  under  thp  wvre^ 
Beneath  the  old  wiUow.tree.' 

Mhid>— mmd  .  ■  dear  Luke,  your  pde  will 
scarcely  touch 

The  bottom  !.you  were  almost  overba- 
lanced. 

iSingi.) 
*>  Tfith  the  weeds  for  my  pdl,  fai  a  de^, 
deepffrave 
6hall  my  fiilse  love  find  me  V 

Why  didst  thou  start? 

LtrxE. 
^^  I  almost  ran  upon 

Tinid  Martha's  wiUow-tree,  e*en  whilst  you 

sang 
Ofit 

HART. 

Was  that  it,  Luke  ?  How  horribly 
Your  words  have  made  it  look  !    I  could 

stay  now, 
And  speculate  on  its  fantastic  shape 
Most  learnedly  :«.That  broad  and  gnarled 

head, 
GrownM  with  its  upright,  spiky  stubs,  and 

frowning 
Betwejm  two  mi^ty  sockets,  where  the 

wrens 
Have  built  their  nests,  hath  weigfa*d  its 

scathed  trunk 
Aslant  the  pool,  o'er  which  two  stunted 

br^ches, 
^^g  to  claws,  complete  a  rampine  lion, 
Prroared  to  plunge  on  all  who  dare  mvade 
Wild  Martha's  secret  cdL—there  is  a  le« 

gend. 
How,  tangled  in  the  roots,  she  still  remains. 
And  tears  the  fishen^  nets  in  the  vain 

struggle 
To  gain  Her  freedom.     Poor  distracted 

Mart^! 
She  mttit  have  been  sore  used  to  do  such 

crime,"  Ac 


The  feoQod  «t<97  it  ooe  of  lilkhled 
love.  Eustache,  an  uistoor^ t,  annng; 
the  etrly  horrors  pf  die  Fxendi  Revcn 
lutapn — the  soenes  BtiU  lon^  for  vith 
the  rabid  ferocity  of  sanguioary  asm- 
ratfoQ  by  the  Wnig  people— is  froth- 
less  to  one  who  loved  him  deeply  and 
devotedly^  and  marries  another.^  Hia 
bri^e,  too,  had  been  fiiit^less  in  her 
turn,  and  her  discarded  lover^  full  o^ 
rengeance,  denounces  Eustacfae,  who  ia 
accordingly  executed  on  his  wedding- 
day,  with  all  the  celerity  of  Jacobtn 
justice.  His  inconstant  spouse  deserts 
mm  for  bis  barbarous  rival — but  his 
forsaken  mistress  flings  to  him  in  his 
fiital  moment,  and^  under  the  disguise 
of  male  attire,  deoouncea  hersett  be* 
fiore  one  of  the  infernal  tribanals-^i 
condemned  with  him,  and  led  off  t^ 
perish  on  the  same  scaflSM:  There  is 
considerable  beauty  in  some  passages 
of  thia  drama,  as  m  that  when  £ns- 
tache,  after  hia  maiviage^  meets  hit 
forsaken  Annabelle,  and  ia  reoeived  bv 
her,  contrary  to^  expectations,  «riw 
CargiTeness. 

^  O,  Annabdle  I   I  came  to  thea  with 

'  trembling. 
But  still  prepared,  and  audous  kf  rs^ 

proach ; 
Not  to  be  cursed  with  pardon., 

AKKABXLLX. 

Mustlnoe 
Remain  your  friend  ?— This  matu,  w^db 

yet  me  sun' 
Dwelt  with  a.crimson  mist  upon  our  v^oa* 

yard, 
And  purple  douds,  like  happy  lovers,  stol^ 
With  smiles  and  tears  into  6adi  other*s  bo- 
som, 
I  threw  my  lattice  wide  to  drink  the  stream 
Of  liquid  odours  rolling  from  the  south  ; . 
And  then  came  miz*d  with  It  a  marriage 

Whose  £stant  melody  did  seem  to  dance 
Upon  a  hundred  lips  of  youthftil  revelry^ 
And  bells  and  fiageolets,  and  all  the  sonnos 
Befitting  happiness  and  summer  sonshia^ 
'Twas  a  strange  thing  to  wjsep  at,  yet  I 

wept— 
I  know  not  why.— Some  weep  for  grie^ 

and  some 
For  joy — but  I  for  neither,  or  for  bodi , 
Mix*d  in  a  feeling  more  (idoyedthan  eimer« 
MHiich  wdgh*d  my  he^rt'  down  likf  a 

drooping  bough 
0*erIoaded  with  its  lusnry  of  rosea- 
And  then — and  then— the  thoughts  of  mflf 

maids 
I^in  wilder  tl^n  these  roring  vines— ^ 

found 
My  hands  were  daspM  tog^tbe^,  a|[id  n^ 

spirit 


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Banarks  on  Mr  Sufmm'M^  Dramatic  Poems. 


Stob  from  my  eyes  with  a  dim 


lichhaclii 


WluchwliiowocdB.    I  b^*A  *.  gcntU 

fortane 
Upon  the  newly  wrfdrf— prmy*d  I  not 
For  thccy  Bnstkche  ? 

I  tbowghi  I  hftdno  mote 
Toteltthee. 

AmrABXLLS. 

Nor  Owu  hist,  Emtiuiiei.  111. 
gneif  it. 
I  know  ZK>&— I— I  Bhall^eak  preicDtly. 
I  pray  yoa  thiok  oot  that  I  gncve  thpu,*tt 

For  e*cD  the  victim  thatoourta  immolation  i 
To  win  the  garden^  blooming  with  bright 

stars. 
Will  writhe  beneath  the  blow  that  sends  it- 

thither. 

EUSTACHB. 

O,  if  thoa  meet*Bt  the  lifo  that^  dne  tp 

thee, 
Howoftthottlt  drop  a  pHyios  tear  fiir  him  ^ 
Who  madly  did  desert  hia  5hwe  of  it ! 

▲JIllABELLE. 

Not  madly-wDO.   Be  cheerful,  dear  ^0$^ 


670 

I  shall  do  wettsnecgb— I  mufl  love  atill^ 
For  that  is  life,  and  that  thy  bride  win  spare 

me} 
But  here  Is  that  which  I  have  worn   oi 

yew. 
Smiled  with,  and  wept  with,  and'ahnoerbe. 

lieved 
It'undflntood  mew    O,  if  itdld'SOj 
And  could btti speak,  I. would  ef^o^i  tteQ 

thee 
Whene'er  a.  truer*  heart  did  beat  agalna^iti 
Take  it^-4t  is  Mathil^s^but  do  nal 

think 
I  yield  it  up  in  anger  or  in.pride— 
Nc^  dear  Eustache— no  more  than  dwells 

within 
The  fond  kiss  given  with  it  thin  and  now.** 

There  is  some  careless  versificatioti 
in  these  little  dramas^  which  should 
be  avoided ;  but  their  nature  and' sim- 
plicity really  are  miite  "  refreshing" 
afWr  the  blood  and  bltister  of  some  €i 
our  bards^  and  the  sky-gods  and  pup« 
pyism  of  our  Cockney  mumpers.  Into 
which  congregation  we  trust  MlrSa- 
Uvan  will  never  fkll. 


aiciT^.T^^  MISSION  Aay. 


Trb  attoondin^  outcrf  which  ha» 
heea  raised  touehug  Smith  the  de« 
owied  miiwimiaTy— tnepetitioai  whicb 
hftve  been  poured  into  Parliimevt  re* 
speeting  him  from  all'  parts  of  the 
oonntry  and  the  long  uid  elabonte 
debate  which  he  has  occasioned  in  tbs 
House  of  Commons,  are  too  curioitsly 
ilhistrative  of  human  natmre  ftrua  to 
pass  them  without  obserratieBb.  We 
wish  that  we  had  no  oA^  motite  fbr 
aotidng  them-*we  wish  that  the  bodv 
to  which  they  have  owed  their  birtfr 
were  as  powerkss  for  muriKMes  of  pub^ 
Be  misohie^  as  its  lifeless  instrument; 
and  that  its  firesent  and  contemplated^ 
at  well  as  pasty  abuse  of  its-  gigantio 
power,  did  notdonuniBd- us— setting 
aside  ether  considerations— to  take  up 
the  subnect  as  an  imperious  dutyv 

It  wi&,  we  are  ewe^  be  admitted  by 
every  reasonable  man,  that-  nothing 
but  the  dMBonstnible  innooenee  of 
8midi|  and  the  proved  guilty  motives 
of  his  judges,  could  have  vrarranted 
Wil^eifony  and  his  party  in  making 
the  triala  matter  of  nationu  UfHroar 
and 'parliamentary  diseussion*  Grant-* 
ing  that  he  was  tried  by  martial  law 
instead  of  the  lawsof  the  colony,  this 
prored  nothipg  towards  his  innocence. 
It  tended  clearly  to  procure  for  him 
more  disinterested  and  unpr^udieed 


judges,  and  thefefineit  goes  fldr  towaidi 
excavating  those  who  caused  him  to 
he  tned  mm  everrthing  but  enoi; 
Granting  that  theumnaof  law  were 
violated  to  bdsii^ury— if  thisTiohtdoii 
did  not  procure  the  eridenoeoB  which 
he  was  ooDdemned,  if  thia  eridenoe 
were  legally  proeored,  were  of  a  legal 
nature,  and  were  sufficient  to  him 
convicted  him  had  he  been  tried  in  an 
onexceptienable  mannef >■  ■■whatevgg 
^is  may  prove  i^gainst  the  authorities 
of  Demerara,  it  stiU  leaves  Smith  a 
criminal  and  a  man  utterly  undeser* 
ving  of  public  commiseration.  Mf 
Wuberlbiice  and  his  party  ^peftat  to 
be  in  the  highest  degree,  rehgieoe— 
they  proftss  themselves  to  have  been 
**  comterkd,"  to  have  been  **  ^ons 
again"  te  have  bad  '*  new  heart^f 

gven  them^;  and  thev  pr^Siss te  regift* 
te  their  lives  strictly  by  the  ^ospelj 
and  to  hold  every  kind^  sin  m  ah* 
horreneer  Now>  it  might  have^been 
expeoted,  that  meft  like  these  would 
have  been  restrained  by^  conscience 
from  stooping  to  quirking^  chicanezr, 
*<  lying  and  evil-«peakin||" — it  mignt 
have  men  expected,  that  if  they  could 
not  have  proved  the  innocence  of 
Smith  bv  other  means  than  these,  they 
would  nave  been  silent  respecting 
him;  and  that  whatever  errors  ana 


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SmM^ 


poHtidAii ;  but  we  skl  bg? erthdeai^ 
fiorly  endded  to  make  uat  of  iIm 
infi)niiatkm.  We  will  Bar  in  addition 
lo  his  8tatement>  that  the  Indepea* 
denta  ba^e  ever  been^  and  stiUare,  the 
neat  hitter  enemies  of  the  diimsh^ 
both  with  fenrd  to  the  doctrinea 
preached  by  &e  dxTgj,  and  to  ita 
existenoe  as  the  national  establialhi 
ment  T^ef  are  atiU,  as  tl^y  have 
erer  been,  xedots  in  picditios^  as  well 
asmielimon;  &ej  are  lealots  on  the 
aide  of  Whi^ism,  and,  exciting  the 
Unitarians^  mej  are  ahnost  the  only 
one  of  &e  dissenting  bodies  that  takes 
an  activeand  decided  part  in  the  broOfl 
of  political  parties.  During  the  trial  of 
the  kte  Queen,  the  mimsters  of  the 
Independents  were  among  the  moat 
Unsnless  of  the  processionists,  ^ 
most  fawning  of  Ate  addressers,  and 
the  most  intrepid  of  the  diampions  t^ 
that  depraved  period. 

The  journal  of  Smith  abundantly 
testifies  that  he  was  well  worthy  of  the 
body  (^  which  he  was  a  memlier ; — it 
nrores  that  he  went  to  Demerara  a  po- 
utieal  refimner,  as  well  as  a  religious 
teacher;  and  that  he  was  not  more 
mnxiouB  to  impart  to  the  alaves  chris- 
tkm  instruction,  than  to  see  society 
broken  up  and  rebuilt  among  them* 
It  proves  that  he  went  to  dwell  among 
slaves,  to  converse  with  slaves,  to  teach 
riaves,  to  acquire  a  very  large  influ* 
ence  over  slaves,  a  perfect  Wilberfbroe 
with  regard  to  davery.  Now,  judgii^ 
from  what  every  one  knows  of  human 
nature,  what  would  be  tiie  conduct  of 
anch  a  man  when  he  waa  prejudiced 
even  to  animosity  against  the  rulers 
and  other  white  inhabitants  of  the  co« 
lony,  when  he  saw  only,  and  waa  con- 
stantly  surrounded  by,  slaves,  and 
when  these  would  be  undoubtedlv  in« 
eeseantly  questioning  him  toudiing 
the  justice  of  slavery  ?  Is  it  probable, 
is  it  possible,  that  a  man  of  his  warm 
temperament  with  a  mind  boiling 
with  resentment  against  the  magis- 
trates and  planters,  and  with  enmity 
towards  slavery,  would  keep  hfs  opi- 
nions to  himself,  would  return  no  an- 
swer to  the  eternal  questions  of  the 
slaves,  and  would  not  relieve  his 
thoughts,  in  the  only  society  in  which 
he  could  mix,  of  that  which  continual- 
ly occupied  them  ?  We  say  no !  and 
we  say  that  be  who  will  contradict  us, 
will  do  it  in  the  teeth  of  all  that  expe- 
rience teadies  with  regard  to  the  mmd 
and  conduct  of  man.  We  maintain  it 


Mmtmary,  £Jmmf 

to  be4DonMToMrtaln»  thafti«di  ajw* 
son  wo«dd  be  iiwairtibiy  baud  bt 
prevloialy  deHvwed  opiMiOBa  freia  g^ 
nog  any  ii^fonnation  to  tfe 
rities  that  he  uiglit  posati 

any  intended  ri^ig  of  the  akvos,  i 

that  he  would  wHUiold  anch  inlbnM^ 
tion,  if  he  eottld  be  aoMved  of  hii  p»» 
aonalsi^ty. 

The  Wiiberfijroe  party  truaapH  Si 
forth  as  atriamphant  proof  ^Smith^a 
mnooence,  <hat  the  slaves,  when  thit 
had  become  tebds,  exhorted  eaah 
other  to  abstain  fiton  bloodilied)  b»* 
cause  Snith  had  ta«&^  them  to  bt» 
lieve  that  it  was  sinmL  This,  ib  our 
poor  judgment,  proves  aemeAii^  elN^ 
which  the  party,  we  are  bold  to  aay^ 
have  no  wish  to  see  proved.  Itpcovaa 
that  he  had  convert  with,or  preadiad 
to,  the  slaves  on  rebellion— k  provoi 
that,  while  they  looked  upon  aim  as 
their  teacher,  they  regarded  dMmarives 
to  be  christians  when  they  woe  re- 
bels—4t  proves  that  he  waa  "^1*^^ 
of  their  intention  to  rebd,  that  he  000* 
vinced  them  that  sku^iiter  was  wich* 
edness ;  but  that  he  kit  them  t»  tfaak 
that  lebdlion  and  the  robbery  of  thdir 
masters  were  justifiable--«nd  it  ptovas 
that  he  redier  chalked  out  the  path 
that  rebellion  should  pursa^  than  fbr^ 
bade  it.  Such  has  been  but  too  ofto 
the  conduct  of  the  ministers  of  tfaa 
Independents. 

Our  moral  etidenoe  of  Smith's  goik 
ia  not  yet  exhausted.  Oar  readers  afO 
no  doubt  aware,  that  the  disdplhie  of 
the  chapel  is  difl^rentfhmi  thatof  tha 
diurch.  A  deigyman  haa  a  congr^g^ 
tion,  but  not  a  sod^  ;  he  can  naka 
no  distinction  between  his  hearers,  ha 
has  no  contrd  over  them;  and,  let 
their  conduct  be  what  it  may,  he  can 
visit  it  with  no  punishment.  But  die 
minister  of  the  chapel  hM  a  sode^ 
independently  of  his  ''  unawakmagr 
hearers.  It  is  perfectly  organised ;  the 
members  are  duly  enrolled ;  no  one  ii 
admitted  into  it  before  he  has  given 
satisfketory  evidence  to  the  minblcr 
that  he  has  been  "  converted,"  ^'bom 
again,"  "  deansed  from  sin,"— that  he 
is  duly  acquainted  vrith  thft  doctrines 
of  religion,  and  that  he  is  detennined 
to  lead  a  righteous  life.  The  society 
has  weddy  meetings,  to  which  none 
but  the  members  are  admitted,  and  at 
which  each  member  ia  interrogated  by 
the  minister  toudiing  his  spiritmu 
condition.  If  he  have  been  ffuilty  of 
any  trifling  irr^gularitieo  of  hie,  he  iff 


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^BB^J  JBmiihihe 

•dmonklied  ;  if  hft  b«re  btsn  guiltv  of 
fprvnr  atm,  he  it  fiMmaftUy  expelled, 
«ad  oeneigiied  to  peidkibB.  Now  the 
leader*  of  the  Oemenaa  ^msmrectioii 
were  not  ''  nneoaterted"  hegrers  of 
Smithy  but  they  were  tnembert  of  hit 
•ociety ;  they  were  the  lemiers  of  ihis 
•odety;  th^  were  mea  who  would  he 
Baceaiirily  in  constant  eonfidential 
eommnnication  with  him ;  and  they 
weKe  men  who  would  be  eipecially 
ttoder  his  guidance  and  control — who 
would  be  finr  better  acquainted  with 
his  sentiments  than  the  rest  of  the 
akves,  and  would  be  rated  by  him  as 
the  most  knowing  and  the  most  rdi« 
gious  of  all  the  members  of  his  society. 
They  were,  moreorer,  well  treated  by 
their  masters,  mnd  had  no  persotud 
moTOta/don  whatever  for  becoming  re* 
bels.  If  we  beMcve  that  these  men 
•onld  carry  forward  their  preparations 
4o  the  last  without  ttsooming  to  Smith's 
lmowled^|e— that  thsy  imild  hare 
plunged  mto  rebellion  if  he  had  nade 
them  duly  sensible  of  the  enormity  of 
dfswing  the  sword  against  their  mas* 
ters— If  he  had  not  led  them  to  bdieve 
that  slavery  ought  to  be  abolished,  and 
that  it  would  he  even  venial  for  tiiem 
40  abolish  it  themsdvea — if  we  believe 
Uds,  then  we  must  in  future  believe 
things  only  because  they  are  cntnge* 
ously  improbable. 

'  We  have  other  means  of  establish* 
img  this  point.  The  Methodists*  have 
aUonariet  in  Demerara,  and  societies 
t»mpiehendi|ig,  if  our  memory  do  not 
err,  seven  thousand  slaves.  While 
Smith's  society  was  made  the  hating 
plice,  nurse,  and  head  of  rebellion, 
the  Methodist  societies  striotly  adhered 
to  their  dutV'— while  Smith's  deacons 
became  veba  leaden,  not  one  convert 
of  the  MetiiodiBts  would  join  in  the 
insurrection.  This  slone  renders  it  im- 
possible ibr  US  to  behere  that  Smith 
was  innocent. 

A  defence  has  beenaet  up  far  Shiith, 
that,  if  he  erred,  he  erred  with  the  beat 
intentions.  If  this  irert  plausibly  we 
would  let  it  pass  at  Its  value,  but  it  is 
Mi.  He  was  not,  as  some  fos^tth  peo- 


Mmkmarif.  A63 

I^  have  «dd,  a  mim  of  tal^ts^  but  he 
was^  nevertheless,  a  man  of  commoq 
lUiderstanding,  and  such  a  man  could 
not  possibly  have  been  ignorant,  that 
to  say  one  word  against  davery  to  the 
slaves,  was  a  violation  of  his  instruo* 
lions,  and,  in  bis  peculiar  situation,  a 
iprievoua  sin.  He  coul^  not  have  b^n 
iffnorant,  that  to  tell  the  slaves  thai 
tney  ought  not  to  be  slaves,  that  sla- 
very ought  to  be  abolished,  even  though 
he  forbade  them  to  attempt  to  set  them- 
selves free,  was  to  array  them  against 
their  masters,  and,  in  effect,  to  incite 
them  to  rebellion.  And  he  could  not 
possibly  have  been  ignorant  that,  if 
they  did  rise,  they  would  commit  the 
most  heinous  crimes — they  could  not 
be  sucoessful — it  would  terminate  in 
their  own  slaughter ;  and  that,  there« 
fore,  it  was  his  sacred  duty  to  give  no« 
tice  of  their  intention  to  tl\e  authori- 
ties, that  they  might  be  preserved 
from  the  wickedness  and  the  destnio 
tion. 

We  say  here  once  for  all,  that  we 
aeparato  the  question  of  Smith's  g^ilt 
or  innocence  entirely  from  the  conduct 
of  the  authorities  of  Demerara.  These 
may  have  been  ^;uilty  of  error  and  in- 
justice towards  him,  or  they  may  not ; 
with  this  we  have  nothing  to  do.  Tb^ 
Wilberforce  party  maintam  that,  fair- 
ly or  foully  tried,  he  was  a  roost  inno* 
cent  and  meritorious  man ;  we  main- 
tain that,  fairly  or  foully  tried,  he  was 
neither  innocent  nor  meritorious.  It 
may  be  proved  that  the  authorities 
acted  towards  him  with  the  most  gross 
injustice  Chroughout,  and  still  we  will 
assert  that  this  will  not  render  his  pre- 
vious conduct  one  jot  the  more  inuo- 
isent.  Tburtell  might  have  met  with 
the  most  scandalous  denial  of  justice 
jOU  his  trial,  but  this  would  not  have 
proved  him  innocent  of  the  murd^  of 
weare,  or  have  deprived  his  ^uilt  of 
one  particle  of  its  atrocity.  We  have 
shewn  that  Smith  was  convicted  on 
jegal  and  satisfactory  evidence,  which 
could  have  been  ^ven  against  him  if 
he  had  been  tried  in  the  fairest  man- 
ner, of  that  which  the  laws  of  Deme- 


*  Hiis  mo«t  rss{>eoteb1e  body  has  been,  no  doubt  from  ibt  want  of  infomuttion,  no- 
jostly  dislt  Willi  to  tha  diteanian  of  this  busNMtss.  The  Hethodists,  while  they  sre  ever 
among  the  Qm  to  lally  touod  the  coottitatiou  ia  tines  of  dsager,  idwm  scrupulously 
atand  sloefftan  party  politiGi  and  party  stri^  Their  conduct  as  a  bo^  has  ever  been 
in  the  highest  degree  praiseworthy.  We  belicvs  they  have  latdy  called  themselves  Wes- 
iqftan  Melhodisti^  $o  disciDguish  tbcoMelves  from  the  Ranters,  who,  we  thbk,  have 
jiamed  thensdvcs  the  Primitive  Methodists.  The  latter  are  contemptible  in  rank  and 
numbers,  and  have  no  mis^onaries. 

Vol.  XV.  4  T 


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SmHhtke 


ran  regard  m  a  oraltal  ofibnoe;  we 
have  shewn  that  what  he  was  con- 
victed  of  is  a  grave  moral  crime,  and 
fiaught  with  Uie  most  danserous  con- 
sequences to  society;  and  we  have 
shewn  that  the  whole  extra-judiciid 
evidence  that  can  be  discovered  sup- 
ports the  legal  evidence  on  which  he 
was  convicted  in  the  strongest  manner 
possible.  If  we  have  not  convicted 
the  Wilberfbrce  part^  of  that  which 
men  never  can  commit  so  long  as  they 
are  religious,  and  honest,  andhonoar- 
able,  then  conviction  can  no  longer  be 
produced  by  fact  and  argument 

We  must  now  say  something  of  the 
Church  Missionary  Society  which  sent 
Smith  to  Demerara.  This  society  com- 
prehends among  its  members  a  large 
number  of  the  clergy,  and  other  mem- 
bers of  the  Church,  and  how  they  hap- 
pened to  select  a  missionary  from  among 
the  Independents  is  a  matter  to  us  in- 
comprehensible. Grave  as  the  question 
is — ^how  far  it  comports  with  the  duty 
of  a  clergyman  for  him  to  contribute 
his  aid  towards  converting  the  slaves 
into  Calvinistic  dissenters  and  pditical 
reformers  ? — ^it  concerns  the  heads  of 
the  Church  more  nearly  than  our- 
selves, and,  therefore,  we  proceed  to 
another  topic.  The  Church  Missionary 
Society  solemnly  declares  that  Smith 
was  innocent — ^that  he  was  innocent 
of  error  as  well  as  crime — that  he  was 
not  only  perfectly  innocent,  but  he 
was  in  the  highest  degree  meritorious. 
Now  we  will  put  out  of  sight  Ins  legal 
guilt,  and  look  only  at  his  conduct  as 
a  religious  teacher.  The  society  asserta 
that  his  instructions  strictly  prohibited 
him  fh>m  intermeddling  with  the 
question  of  slavery  in  any  way  what- 
ever. His  journal  proves  that  his  mind 
was  continually  delving  at  this  ques- 
tion ;  and  the  conduct  of  his  hearers 
shews  but  too  convincingly,  that,  m 
conver^ng  with,  if  not  m  preadiing 
to,  them^  he  had  not  been  sparinff  in 
his  animadversions  on  slavery.  This, 
we  presume,  constitutes  one  portion  of 
Smith's  resplendent  merit  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Society.  His  society  did  not 
follow  rebels  that  had  been  generated 
in  another  place,  but  it  generated  the 
rebd  leaders.  His  flock  afiected  to 
worship  (xod  in  the  chapel,  and,  out 
of  it;  they  committed,  and  prepa- 
red to  commit,  all  manner  oi  widced- 
ness — His  deacons,  those  whom  he 
made  his  associates  in  instructing  the 
rest  of  the  society,  were  at  the  same 


MUtkmary.  f Ji 

moment  aitfdooilak  otginlrtug  as 
JBormy  of  rdiels  wfaidS  they  inteoded  ta 
hea<wHe  either  so  gmsly  mum- 
Btructed  the  members  of  his  ■oeieiy» 
or  left  them  so  destitute  of  inftractios, 
that  they  did  not  seem  to  know,  that 
to  arm  themselves  against,  and  rmn, 
their  masters,  to  violate  X\it  laws,  sad 
to  wrap  the  colony  in  flames  and  blood, 
was  stnfUl.— The  mend>en,  the  vego- 
krly  enrolled  members  of  his  society. 

Save  him  to  tmderstand  that  tbey  me- 
itated  a  rising,  and  he  forbore  to  point 
out  to  them  the  dreadful  guilt  of  their 
intentions,  and  even  suffisred  mes 
whom  he  knew  to  be  r^ids  at  hesr!, 
and  to  be  on  the  point  of  beeomiiig 
rebels  in  action,  to  continue  to  be  mem- 
bers of  his  society — ^He  knew  folly,  or 
imperfectly,  that  the  slaves  were  on 
the  eve  of  [bunging  into  rriidlion ;  fas 
knew  what  horrible  consequenoes  sock 
a  rebellion  would  produce,  not  only  to 
the  whites,  but  to  the  daves  tbent- 
selves,  and  still  he  oonld  reoondJe  it 
with  his  duty  as  a  minister  of  Giod  to 
conceal  his  knowledge,  and  to  remain 
passive,  when  it  was  in  his  power  to 
preserve  the  slaves  fVom  the  widced- 
ness,  and  the  colony  genersOy  ftoa 
the  calamity.  Sudi  was  the 
whom  the  Church  MisaisDarr  8o( 
solemnly  proclaim,  before  God 
their  country,  to  have  been,  not  oni^ 
a  most  innocent  man,  bat  a  most  mb- 
niToaious  missionary  !  If  the  So- 
ciety be  conrect,  why  do  we  not  ereaC 
churches  for  the  worahip  of  the  De- 
yil? 

So  lonff  as  die  Church  Missionary 
Society  wall  refhse  to  acknowledge 
that  Smith  vidated  his  instruction*-* 
that  he  acted  indiscreedy— that  he 
was  a  most  improper  person  to  be  s 
missionary;  and  that  it  deeply  regrets 
its  sending  him  to  Demersra — we  fer* 
vendy  hope  that  it  will  so  long  be  left 
without  subscriptions.  When  it  shall 
convince  the  nadon  that  it  exists  fbr 
die  propagation  of  rdigion  only — that 
its  SOLS  olgectistfae  converaon  of  the 
heathen  to  Christianity — that  it  will 
have  notliing  whatever  to  do  with  the 
slavery  question — that  it  will  not  sanc- 
tion its  missionaries  in  intermeddfihg 
with  this  quesdon,  or  with  p<^dsB  ■ 
and  that  it  will  sanction  them  in  no- 
thing but  the  preadiing  of  the  ffospol 
— tlKu  let  it  be  again  snpponeo^  but 
not  before;. 

The  WOberforce  party  asserts  thnt 
the  planters  generally  manifest  the  nt* 


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lOli.] 


Smah  the  Miuionary, 


mott  rdiicCanoe  to  tiifihr  the  mlislon- 
aries  to  come  in  contact  with  their 
alayct ;  and  it  abnaes  them  for  it  in 
the  moat  mcrcileaa  manner.  Grant- 
ing the  existence  of  this  reluctance,  it 
finds  a  triumphant  justification  in 
Smith's  conduct.  We  never  knew  men 
who  sported  so  openly  and  scandalous- 
ly witn  the  property  and  rights  of 
others,  aa  the  men  do  who  compose 
this  party.  They  seem  to  fancy,  that 
because  the  slates  praise  them,  they 
are  the  lawful  kings  of  the  slaves ;  and 
that  the  planters  are  guilty  of  an  un« 
pardonable  offence  in  exercising  au- 
thority over,  and  interfering  wiUi  the 
conduct  of,  their  black  sutgects.  They 
tend,  without  permission,  a  host  of 
missionaries,  exclusively  of  their  own 
selecting,  to  the  estates  and  slaves  of 
the  planters ;  and  if  the  planters  re- 
ceive the  host  with  a  wrv  face,  it  is 
charged  upon  them  as  a  hemous  crime. 
The  planters  are  to  have  no  choice, 
and  the^  are  to  be  suffered  to  make  no 
distincuon.  Whether  the  missionary 
belongs  to  the  Church  of  England,  or 
to  the  Independents— whether  he  be  a 
Wilberfbrce  with  r^ard  to  davery,  or 
the  contrary—- whether  he  be  a  reli- 
gious teacher,  or  a  political  zealot-— 
whether  he  be  likely  to  give  the  slaves 
proper  instruction,  or  to  convert  them 
mto  rebels,  the  planters  must,  at  their 
peril,  receive  him  joyfully,  and  ask  no 
questions.  The  j^anters  did  not  ap» 
prove  of  Smith — they  thought  him  a 
dangerous  man  to  obtain  influence 
over  the  slaves^-they  shewed  unwil* 
lingness  to  permit  the  daves  to  attend 
his  preaching :  and  for  this  they  have 
been,  and  still  are.  held  up  to  the 
world  as  fiends.  The  feelings  which 
the  slaves  have  long  dierished  with 
rc^;ard  to  their  freedom*— their  over- 
whelming superiority  in  point  of  num- 
bers—and the  hostihty  of  the  Mission- 
ary Sodeties  to  slavery,  are  universal- 
ly notorious  ;  and  stilf  the  pknters  are 
not  to  be  suffered  to  scrutinize  the 
principles  and  conduct  of  the  mission- 
aries, car  to  prohibit  the  slaves  from 
following  such  as  Smith.  If  it  be  just 
and  right  to  punish  men  for  taking 
proper  precautions  for  their  own  safe- 
ty, and  to  force  them  into  destruction, 
the  conduct  of  the  Wilberforce  party 
towards  the  planters  is  just  and  right. 
If  not,  this  conduct  displays  the  ex- 
treme of  injustice,  wrong,  intolerance 
igid  oppression. 
Severely  as  we  have  already  spoken 


685 

of  the  Saints,  aa  they  are  called^  we 
have  not  yet  done  witn  them.  We  are 
the  warm  friends  of  religion — we  love 
religious  men — we  love  to  hear  them 
boldly  avow  that  they  are  religious— 
we  love  to  see  them  in  Parliament-— 
and  we  rejoice  when  we  observe  them 
fighting  like  men  for  rdigiou ;  but  in 
proportion  as  we  venerate  the  truly  re- 
ligious man,  in  the  same  proportion 
we  detest  the  pbarisuicid  nvpocrite. 
We  know  that  the  latter  is  the  worst 
enemy  that  religion  has,  and  we  will 
ever  treat  him  as  such  an  enemy. 
What  is  the  general  conduct  of  the 
Wilberforce  party? — Hume  rises  in 
the  House  of  Commons — ^presents  ^ 
petition  from  Carlile— declares  that 
the  petitioner  is  a  most  spotless  person 
— and  makes  a  speech  boldly  levelled 
against  the  very  existence  of  Chris- 
tianity. What  then? — Wilberforce 
riaes,  not  to  strike  the  audacious  sim- 
|4eton  dumb,  but  to  say,  that  he 
"  agrees  in  the  general  reasoning  of 
his  honourable  friend," — Wilberfcnrce 
and  the  enemy  of  Christianity,  honour- 
able friends ! !— but  that  he  still  thinks 
writers  should  not  be  suffei^  to  strike 
at  the  existence  of  religion.  He,  how- 
ever, picks  no  quarrel  with  his  ^^  ho- 
nourable friend"  for  striking  at  it. 
Buxton  and  the  rest  of  the  Samts  sit 
in  unbroken  silence.  Again  and  again 
does  Hume  repeat  this  conduct,  but 
never  more  will  the  Saints  say  one 
W(Nrd  ajpiinst  it.  He  repeated  it  but  a 
week  since  ;  and  while  Mr  M.  A.  Taj- 
lor  spoke  as  became  a  christian  legis- 
lator, the  Saints  were  perfectly  speech- 
less. 

Religion  has  been,  time  after  time 
in  late  years,  attacked  in  Parliament 
as  it  never  wss  before ;  and  yet  Wil- 
barforoe  has  rarely  opened  his  lips  to 
defend  it,  and  Buxton  never.  While 
these  persons  have  thus  skulked  away 
from  the  battle  when  the  very  life  of 
xe^gion  was  assailed — wliile  they  have 
thus  canted  of  their  friendship  for  men 
who  hold  the  Holy  Scriptures  to  be  a 
fable— they  now  pretend  that  their  zeal 
for  religion  leads  them  to  labour  at  the 
slave  question,  although  it  is  as  little 
religious  in  its  nature,  as  a  great  atate 

Question  can  well  be;  and  although 
tiey  follow  a  course  which  vblates 
every  precept  of  rdigion.  What  are 
their  oilumnies  against  the  authorities 
of  Demerara — their  eternal  railingi 
against  the  planters— their  base  misre- 
presentMions  with  regard  to  the  cass 


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6f  Smitti— and  tbdr  fklae  and  inflam- 
fnatory  appeals  against  the  whole  white 
population  of  the  West  Indies,  when 
they  know  the  dangerous  state  of  tne 
fieelings  of  the  slaves  ? — What  are  the 
wretched  arts  by  which  they  have  just 
thrown  the  nation  into  uproar  ?— 
What  are  the  deceptions,  the  jugglery, 
the  vile  falsehoods,  the  rank  imposi- 
tions, by  which  they  have  extracted 
from  the  ignorant  religious  people  iii 
the  country  their  petitions  against 
slavcrr,  and  in  behalf  of  Smith  ? — • 
Are  all  these  taught  by  religion  ? — 
Are  they  sanctionol  by  religion  ? — Is 
the  gospel  silent  respecting  them  ? — 
Does  not  the  gospel  denounce  them  as 
Ihe  worst  of  wickedness  ? — And  shall 
those  who  resort  to  them  still  be  called 
Religious  men  ? — We  are  commanded 
by  th^  honour  and  interest  of  religion 
— ^by  our  Bible— to  tear  the  mask  from 
the  faces  of  these  men ;  and  we  have 
6ther  motives  for  doing  it,  which  are 
bat  little  less  powerftil. 

In  late  years,  religious  societies  have 
been  established  throughout  the  na- 
tion. Every  county  is  at  this  moment 
accurately  divided  into  districts,  and 
placed  under  the  operation  of  Bible 
Societies,  Foreign  Missionary  Societies, 
Hoihe  Missionary  Societies,  Bethel 
Societies,  Societies  for  the  Conversion 
of  the  Jews,  and  we  know  not  how 
many  others  beside.  These  societies 
are  divided  into  branch  and  parent 
ones;  and  then  again  into  lady  and 
children  ones,  as  wdl  as  those  which 
comprehend  the  men  ;  and  they  are 
thus  most  admirably  fitted  for  opera- 
ting upon  every  place  and  every  por- 
tion of  the  community.  Every  society 
has  its  committee,  its  treasurer,  collec- 
tors, &c. ;  the  members  are  duly  en- 
rolled, and  are  regularly  called  uoon 
for  their  weekly,  montnly,  or  otner 
kubscriptions ;  the  provincial  leader^ 
of  one  are  generally,  in  difftnrent  shapes 
and  combinations,  the  provincial  lead- 
ers of  the  whole ;  and  the  grand  na- 
tional leaders  of  all  these  innumera- 
ble societies  are  the  body  of  which  we 
are  speaking — the  Wilbcrforce  party. 

Here,  then,  are  some  milhons  of 
people  kept  constantly  in  a  state  of  the 
most  perfect  organization  to  act  as  a 
vhole.  Htre  is  a  stupendous  army, 
divided  for  its  more  easy  management 
into  an  infinity  of  regiments,  profhse^ 
ly  ofiioered,  in  the  very  highest  state 
^  discipline  and  appointment,  and  at 
'imes  ready  to  take  the  field  at  k 


CJune; 


moment^  notice.  Ifte  genemki  nbe 
their  fingers,  and  a  deafening  abofiif 
bursts iVom tb^pwdtgiottsmaw  ■tttey 
give  the  wdrd,  atid  it  instantly  f&afchet 
to  the  battle,  whoeter  may  be  ^be 
enemy.  The  generals,  as  we  hare  al- 
ready said,  are  the  Wilberforce  partj. 
Of  these  societies,  so  long  as  diey 
abstain  flrom  matters  not  religions,  we 
have  nothing  to  saT  but  prairib.  Hie 
kiscious  slang  which  their  leaders  otter 
at  their  meetings,  and  whidi  fills  their 
publications,  suits  not  our  palate,  and 
we  search  the  scriptures  in  vain  for 
many  of  thehr  leading  doetrines ;  but 
nevertheless  we  believe  that  they  fyna 
a  powerfiil  bulwark  against  infiddity, 
and  that  they  render  Vie  most  invalo- 
able  service  to  public  morals.  They 
may  do  some  injury — even  intentional 
injury — to  the  church ;  but  they  do 
infinitely  more  injmry  to  the  temjue  of 
deism,  and  the  altar  of  ficentiousness ; 
and  when  the  good  thus  so  krsdy  pre* 
ponderates  over  the  evil,  we  hare  no 
choice  but  to  be  their  fHepds.  Look- 
ing at  them  merely  as  combinadonsy 
lire  can  find  nothing  to  censure.  In 
spite  of  the  ignorant  and  stopid  ontcry 
which  is  raised  by  members  of  Pit^ 
Fox,  and  Whig  Clubs,  i^nst  the 
Orange  Associations,  imd  in  truth 
against  all  Associations  whatever,  we 
shall  ever  advocate  the  assodatii]^  of 
good  men  fbr  good  objects.  Human 
nature  irresistibly  leads  men  to  form 
themselves  into  societies ;  and  whatever 
the  good  may  do,  the  bad  will  aarared* 
It  ever  combine.  Oar  constitution,  we 
tnink,  looks  upon  laudable  assodationa 
with  an  eminently  fiivourafa^  eye-H)ar 
laws,  until  latdy,  have  been  exceed- 
ingly  reluctant  to  intemeddle  with  as- 
sociations of  any  kind ;  and  it  is  im* 
possible  fbr  us  not  to  know  that  our 
country  owes  much  of  its  glory  and 
greatness,  of  its  high  moral  and  reli- 
gious feeling,  of  its  intelligence  and 
public  spirit,  and  of  its  magnificent 
profusion  of  vduidde  institutions,  to 
associations.  We  may  perhaps  wish 
tiiat  these  religious  sodetiea  were  lev 
connected  together;  that  they  were 
under  disuni^  leaders ;  and  that,  with 
regard  to  other  things  than  rd^^on, 
they  counterpoised  rather  dum  com- 
bined with  each  other ;  but  neverthe- 
less, so  long  as  they  cotifine  therosdvea 
to  the  object!  for  which  alone  thcypro- 
ftn  to  be  formed,  and  abstain  from 
politics,  tbey  ^all  receive  fhmi  ttt  no* 
thing  bnt  friendddp. 


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IW*.^" 


SnU^h  thi  Mfisiiondry' 


'  But  if  these  Bodetlefl.lbrgettingihelr 
principles  of  onion  and  the  Scriptures. 
adTsnce  bmt  a  single  step  fntO'the  field 
of  glides,  they  shall  then  find  us  their 
determinal  enemies.  The  Wilberforce 
party  have  artililly  contrived  to  he* 
come  their  grand  leaders^  and  have 
lately  led  them  into  a  path  which  they 
can  only  follow  either  to  their  own 
min  or  to  that  of  the  nation.  The 
aholition  of  slavery^  as  it  kow  ex- 
ists in  our  colonies^  is  as  little  a  reli- 
gions question,  as  the  abolition  of 
seven-year  apprenticeships,  or  yearly' 
servitiKle,  would  be ;  it  i»  as  little  a  re-- 
figious  question  as  almost  any  of  the 
measures  that  occupy  Parliament;  and' 
It  is  much  less  so  than  a  tax  would 
be  for  carrying  on  a  war.  Yet  the 
Wilberforce  party  a£fect  to  call  it  a  re- 
gions question ;  they  have  deluded' 
the  religious  societies  into  a  belief  that 
it  is  so,  and  thc7  have,  by  producing 
this  belief,  converted  these  societies, 
at  least  for  the  moment,  into  a  tre* 
ftiendous  political  faction.  Every  one 
knows  that  this  outcry  respecting 
Smith  is  in  reality  an  outcry  for  the 
abolition  of  tdavery ;  and  that  the 
toarty  would  never  have  raised  a  finger 
for  the  missionary,  if  they  had  not 
been  labouring  to  accomplisn  this  abo- 
lition. If  this  be  tolerated,  we  shall 
next  have  reform  converted  into  a  re- 
ligious question ;  for  all  may  learn 
from  our  history,  how  eisj  it  is  foi* 
the  most  abominable  political  schemes 
to  be  called  questions  of  religion; 
Against  this  system  of  making  religion 
the  watch- word  of  political  raction— 
of  using  its  sacred  name  to  hide  the 
most  flagitious  conduct-'-and  of  nu- 
sing  its  banner  in  the  march  to  power, 
aggrandizement,  innovation,  and  ty- 
ranny, that  the  really  religious  people 
of  the  land  may  be  duped  into  the 
ranks  of  those  who  bear  it—against 
this  svstem  we  protest,  as  fraught 
with  the  extremes  of  danger,  both  to 
religion  itself,  and  to  the  country. 
Has  not  the  late  conduct  of  the  Wil<* 
berfbree  party  and  the  religious  socie- 
ties covered  religion  with  dishonour 
and  insult?  Has  it  not  powerfully 
strengthened  the  prejudices  of  the  ir- 
religious against  religion  ?  Has  it  not 
supplied  infidelity  with  deadly  wea- 

nfor  attacldng  religion  ?  And  has 
>t  largely  contributed  to  resolve 
the  pure^  j^oeable,  and  benevdlent 
rehgum  of  innumerable  pious  people, 
into  unchristian  politicid  rancour? 


Our  country,  we  say  it  wlA  foy  and 
pride,  is  yet  a  religious  one ;  the  reU- 

eous  people  are  yet  invincible  in  it ; 
It  in  proportion  as  they  are  now 
powerful  for  good,  they  may,  by  being 
misled,  become  powerful  for  evil.  We 
therefore  call  upon  every  friend  to  re- 
ligion and  the  state  to  join  us  in  en- 
deavouring to  drive  back  the  societies 
from  the  field  of  politics  into  that  of 
religion,  and  to  withdraw  them  from 
the  guidance  of  that  party  which  has 
led  tnem  into  so  niucn  di^aceful  and 
dangerous  error. 

In  the  Parliamentary  discussions  re- 
specting Smith,  we  have  seen  the  men 
who  are  called  the  Saints-*— the  sub- 
scribers for  Hone — the  champions  of 
Garlile,  Dolby,  &c. — the  revilers  of 
Christianity,  all  blended  into  an  har- 
monious body,  to  fight  for,  as  they 
pretended,  religion — evangelical  reli- 
gion. The  committees  Which  got  uir 
the  petitions  by  the  vile  arts  to  which 
we  have  alluded,  were  composed  of  a 
dioice  admixture  of  all  these  parties. 
The  very  sight  of  this  most  monstrous 
and  hideous  coalition,  might,  we 
think,  have  convinced  any  man,  diat 
the  only  thing  which  it  could  not  com- 
bat tor — which  it  could  not  refrain 
firom  attacking — would  be  religion. 

We  will  address  a  few  words  to  the 
Missionary  Societies.  We  think  high* 
ly  of  their  objects  of  union,  we  thmk 
lughly  of  their  past  exertions ;  and  we 
oould  prove,  if  we  chose,  that  we  have 
been  among  their  firm  supporters.  We 
therefore  trust  that  they  will  believe 
we  speak  as  friends,  when  we  earnest- 
ly bee  of  them  to  withdraw  themselves 
wholly  from  the  guidance  of  the  Wil- 
berforce p^y,  and  from  the  ouestion 
of  slavery,  lliey  must  be  well  aware, 
that  it  is  their  interest  and  duty  to 
gain  the  esteem  and  confidence  of  the 
planters  as  far  as  possible,  not  only  to 
procure  admission  for  their  mission- 
aries into  the  colonies,  but  to  procure 
for  them  the  powerfril  aid  of  the  mas- 
ters in  their  laoours  among  the  slaves  ; 
and  they  must  be  well  aware,  that  if 
Uiey  act  directly  or  indirectly  as  par- 
tSzans  for  the  allolition  of  slavery,  they 
must  make  the  planters  their  impla- 
cable enemies.  They  must  know,  that 
if  slavery  ought  to  oe  abolished,  the 
abolition  oudtit  to  be  mosecuted  and 
efibcted  by  oUiers  than  tnemselvei ;  and 
that  ^eir  principles  of  union  solemn- 
ly Innd  them  to  a  strict  and  bonafide 
aeatndity  on  the  qoestion.     niej 


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ctnnot  be  Ignonnl,  that  If  they  be- 
come portizans  against  slavery^  their 
missionaries  must  inevitably  become 
80  too ;  and  tbat^  in  spite  of  instrao- 
tions,  these  missionaries  will  then  on« 
ly  be  ministers  of  wickedness^  crime, 
blood,  and  horrors,  in  the  colonies.  If 
any  member  sign  a  petition,  or  take 
any  other  step,  against  slavery,  he 
ought  to  be  instantly  expelled  ;  for  a 
more  flagrant  deception  could  not  be 
practised  upon  the  nation,  than  for 
the  societies  to  declare  in  their  collec- 
tive capacity  that  they  were  strictly 
neutral,  and  then  for  the  members  to 
fly  into  the  ranks  of  Wilberforce  and 
Buxton.  If  the  daves  need  poHticd 
instruction,  let  them  have  distinct  and 
responsible  political  instructors;  but 
let  us  have  none  of  Brougham's  Inde- 
pendent champions  of  "  civil  liberty" 
•*of  "  liberal  opinions" — sent  among 
them,  diagmsed  as  teachers  of  reU- 

S'  }n.  A  missionary  must  go  among 
e  slaves  with  a  mind  perfectly  al^ 
stracted  from  the  question  of  slavery 
-^perfectly  abstracted  from  politics — 
ana  exclusively  bent  upon  teaching 
them  the  pure  precq>ts  of  the  Gospe^ 
and  insisting  upon  the  practice,  or  he 
will  lead  them  to  sin  instead  of  reli- 

e'on ;  and  no  such  missionaries  will 
i  found,  if  the  societies  do  not  scru- 
pulously stand  aloof  from  the  slave 
question,  and  from  politics.  The  so- 
cieties may  despise  our  counsel — they 
may  continue  to  act  as  they  have  late- 

S  acted — and  they  may  still  deceive 
e  country,  and  flourish  for  a  year  or 
two  longer ;  but  the  moment  wiU  then 
arrive  which  will  leave  them  without 
subscriptions,  and  blast  them  with 
public  mdignation. 

In  what  we  are  now  saying,  we  are 
acting  as  the  friends  of  the  slaves,  and 
of  the  abolition  of  slavery,  if  it  be  prac- 
ticable. The  question,  vrith  regard  to 
this  abolition,  nas  been  fully  lUscuss- 
ed, — ^it  has  been  decided  to  the  satis- 
fiiction  of  the  nation  at  large,  and  even 
to  the  satisfiiction  of  the  Wilberforce 
party,  in  everything,  save  time  and 
manner.  It  is  notorious,  that  these 
eternal  ded^imations  afi^inst  slavery 
and  the  planters  keep  we  slaves  in  a 
state  of  madness,  and  render  it  almost 
impossible  to  restrain  them  from  in- 
surrection. It  is  known  to  all  who 
have  investigated  the  facts  of  the  case, 
that,  with  regard  to  actual  well-being, 
the  slaves,  even  kow,  are  in  as  goSi 
a  condition  as  a  large  portion  of  our 


ooi^trf-labonreriy  and  iImiI  their  < 
dition  IB  infinitdy  superior  to  thai  of 
the  vast  mass  of  the  Irish  peasantry. 
It  must  be  obvious  to  the  dullesi  re*. 
Boner,  that  the  insubordination  and 
bad  feelings  towards  their  noaaters  of 
the  slaves,  can  have  no  other  efrc:ct 
than  to  prolong  their  slavery,  and  tb&£ 
this  slavery  never  can  be  aboliahed — 
no,  never — ^until  they  look  upon  their 
masters  with  esteem  and  reverence. 
He  must  be  wilfully  blind  who  canoot 
see  that  the  planters  have  the  power 
either  to  render  the  abolition  almost 
immediate,  if  it  ever  will  be  practi- 
cable, or  to  make  the  slavery  eternal ; 
that  it  is  for  them  to  deci<ie  whether 
the  attempts  that  are  now  makii^  to 
prepare  the  slaves  for  freedom  shaU  or 
shall  not  be  useless ;  and  that,  with- 
out their  co-operation,  all  the  exertions 
of  the  missionaries,  the  regular  clergy, 
and  the  government  itself,  will  virtu- 
ally accomplish  nothing  towards  the 
abolition  of  slavery.  Yet,  in  the  free 
of  all  this,  what  are  the  Wilberforce 
party  doing  ? — Instead  of  being  satis- 
fled  with  what  the  government  has 
done,  and  of  bowing  to  the  goieral 
feeling  of  the  country,  they  keep  up 
their  tirades  against  the  planters  and 
slavery,  as  though  goveminent  had 
done  nothing  whatever.  Instead  of 
joining  in  the  endeavours  that  are 
making  to  prepare  the  slaves  for  free- 
dom, they  do  their  utmost  to  incite 
them  to  vnckedness  and  crime,  to 
cause  them  to  detest  their  mastersy 
and  to  keep  them  in  the  very  last  stage 
of  disqualification.  Instead  of  striving 
to  gain  the  co-operation  of  the  plant- 
ers, by  soothing  their  prejudices,  nold- 
ing  as  sacred  tneir  interests,  respect- 
ing their  rights,  and  rendering  them 
liberal  justice,  they  strain  every  nerve 
to  exasperate  them  to  the  highest 
point  against  themselves,  the  mission- 
aries, the  abolition,  the  slaves,  and  Ubis 
whole  that  the^  seek  to  compass.  They 
poison  the  mmds  of  the  missionary 
societies,  and  of  the  missionaries,  un- 
til it  is  almost  a  matter  of  sdf-preser- 
vation  in  the  planters  to  regard  the 
missionaries  with  abhorrence.  If  they 
wished  to  keep  the  slaves  in  eternal 
slavery,  and  that  of  the  most  grinding 
kind,  they  would  do  exactly  what  they 
are  now  doing.  What  their  motives 
are,  is  only  known  to  Heaven  and  them- 
selves ;  we  shall  offer  no  conjecture  on 
the  matter  ;  but  we  will  say,  Uiat  thdr 
conduct  would  well  warrant  Ae  sup* 


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8mhh  the  Mi$iiomify* 


680 


position,  that  they  wonkl  willingly 
plunge  both  planters  and  slayes  into 
ctestrucdon,  for  the  fortherance  of  their 
dirty  interests  as  a  party. 
'  We  owe  no  apology  to  our  readers 
for  having  taken  up  tne  subject  in  this 
manner.  The  uproar  respecting  Smith 
is  not  of  an  insulated  nature ;  it  is  part 
of  a  system,  which,  as  its  authors  tell 
usy  is  still  to  be  hotly  pursued.  Smith 
would  nerer  have  been  mentioned,  if 
his  case  had  not  afforded  a  choice  op- 
portunity for  declaiming  against  da- 
▼erv  and  the  planters.  Petitions  are 
still  poured  into  Parliament  against 
slavery,  as  though  it  had  done  nothing 
in  the  matter.  The  Saints  tell  us,  that 
No  slavery  /  is  to  be  their  motto  at  the 
approaching  election ;  and  their  publi- 
cations intmaate  that  they  will  make 
another  grand  effort  to  involve  the  co- 
lonies in  insurrection  in  the  next  Ses- 
sion of  Parliament  What  we  have 
said  will  scarcely  change  the  inten- 
tions and  conduct  of  these  persons  ; 
but  we  hope  from  our  souls  that  it  will 
in  some  degree  thin  the  ranks  of  their 
supporters,  and  spirit  up  to  withstand 
them  every  man  who  is  the  friend  of 
religion,  plain  dealing,  the  peace  of 
the  colomes,  the  weal  of  the  mother- 
country,  the  richts  of  the  planters,  the 
well-bein^  of  tne  slaves,  and  the  alx^- 
lition  ofdavery. 

If  anything  that  we  have  said  bear 
heavily  upon  Mr  Wilberforce,  we  will 
not  retract  it.  We  were,  a  very  few 
years  since,  his  warm  friends;  and 
if  we  are  no  longer  so,  it  is  he  who  has 
forsaken  us,  and  not  we  who  have  for- 
saken him.  He  espoused  the  cause  of 
the  Queen :  he  sought  to  stain  with 
her  name  tne  liturgy :  he  joined  the 
reformers :  his  name  shone  m  the  pla- 
cards of  the  grand  Spanish  dinner,  as 
one  of  the  patrons  of  the  Spanish 
deists  and  democrats;  he  called  Hume 
his  friend ;  and  at  last  heard  Christi- 
anity attacked  in  Parliament  in  silence. 
We  were  not  disposed  to  desert  the 
constitution  and  the  Bible ;  and  there- 
fore, when  he  left  us,  we  could  not 
follow  him.  We  regard  him  with  com- 
passion rather  than  anger,  and  are 
willing  to  ascribe  his  strange  and  mis- 
diievous  conduct  of  late  years  to  the 
e^ts  of  age  rather  than  to  unworthy 
motives.  If,  as  some  m,  it  have 
been  prompted  by  a  wish  for  popula- 
rity, we  regret  tliat  he  did  not  ascer- 
tain what  ponularity  was,  and  where 
it  was  to  be  jEound,  before  he  b^gan  to 


pursue  it  We  wtll  tell  him  that  the 
cheers  of  fiiction  do  not  constitute  po- 
puUrity ;  that  the  eulogies  of  factious 
newspapers  do  not  constitute  popula- 
rity; and  that  what  he  has  gained 
from  the  Whin  and  Radicals  will  be 
but  a  miserable  compensation  to  his 
fame  for  what  he  has  lost  among  the 
rest  of  the  community.  This  may  re- 
ceive the  fashionable  name — illiberal- 
ity;  it  may  receive  an  infinitely 
harder  one,  and  it  will  give  us  no  con- 
cern whatever.  Mr  Wilberforce  has, 
in  the  last  five  years,  product  more 
public  mischief  than  any  other  public 
man.  He  has  used  his  icflnence  over 
the  religious  part  of  the  nation,  to 
drag  it  into  politics — ^into  vicious  poli- 
tics ;— he  has  used  his  influence  over 
the  independent  part  of  the  nation,  to 
cause  it  to  tolerate  ''  liberals"  and 
**  liberal  opinions,"  the  most  danger- 
ous enemies  that  can  assail  society  ;— 
and  he  has,  to  gain  a  shout  firom  the 
ftlse  philanthropy  of  the  age,  and  to 
rave  specious  edat  to  his  retirement 
from  public  life,  raised  a  storm  whidi 
threatens  to  bury  slaves,  planters,  and 
cobnies,  in  a  common  ruin.  If  he  had 
done  this  from  his  adherence  to  princi- 
ple, we  would  have  pardoned  it,  but  toua 
It  is  abundantly  clear  that  he  has  done 
it  from  the  want  of  principle.  He  who 
**  halts  between  two  opinions ;"  who 
fights  for  all  parties,  and  against  all 
parties ;  who  wanders  about  from  camp 
to  camp,  that  he  may  keep  on  terma 
with  every  leader ;  and  who  is  Whig, 
Tory,  and  Radical,  Legitunate  and 
Liberal,  all  in  the  same  week ;  such 
a  man  cannot  possibly  have  any  other 
creed  than  his  personal  interest  and 
ambition,  or  any  other  objects  than 
their  cratification.  M^at  is  dignified 
with  the  name  of  liberality,  is,  in  plain 
English,  frigid  indifference — ^a  total 
want  of  affection  for  any  principles 
whatever.  Mr  Wilberforce  has  esta- 
blished a  system,  which  some  greater 
men  than  himself  seem  disposed  to  foli 
low.  There  are  others  who  seem  to  be 
vrilling  to  exhibit  on  the  dandng-rope 
between  the  Mliig  and  Tory  nosts, 
with  the  hope  of  carrying  off  tne  hux- 
zas  and  the  pence  of  ooth,  and  it  shall 
be  our  endeavour  to  prevent  them.  He 
who  labours  to  destroy  the  distinctions 
between  right  and  wrong — to  alter  the 
definitions  of  Ruilt  and  innocence— to 
render  £dse  prmciples  and  true  ones 
equally  current — to  confound  the 
branded  and  the  worthless  with  the 


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€00  Smiih  ike  Misiumaryf  C*^^^ 

i^tleiB  and  die  worthj^and  to  place    find  in  them  a  mQcieoey  oT  panegyric 


dangerous  creeds  and  parties  on  a  le- 
vel with  meritorious  ones-^such  a  man 
shall  never  be  spared  by  ta,  WHATKVEa 

MAY  BE  U18  NAMX  OR  CONDITION. 

If  our  words  give  atiy  pain  to  Mr 
Wilber force,  he  maj  turn  to  the  Whig 
and  Radical  publications^  and  he  wiU 


Whatever  effect  this  panegyric  may 
have  upon  hiin^  we  are  very  very  sure 
that  it  will  amply  justify  us  in  thf 
eyes  of  our  country,  for  having  spoken 
of  him  as  we  have  done. 

Y.  Y.  Y. 
June  lOlh,  1824. 


8PECt7LATIOK8  OF  A  TRAVKLLCR,  CONCERNING  THE  rEOPLE  OF  NORTH 
AMERICA  AND  GREAT  BRITAIN. 


Substantial  information  is  what 
the  people  of  this  empire,  and,  in  fact, 
those  of  all  Europe,  now  want,  respect- 
ing the  institutions,  political  and  mo- 
ral, of  N<»rth  America.  We  find,  on 
looking  into  the  journals  and  books  of 
the  day,  that  the  subject  is  one  of 
growing  interest ;  and  we  have  taken 
some  pains  to  arrange  what  informa- 
tion we  happen  to  have  gleaned  from 
personal  knowledge,  or  fVom  those  who 
nave  no  interest  in  deceiving  us  on 
such  points,  as  we  believe  likdy  to  in- 
terest the  general  reader. 

A  thousand  mischievous,  idle,  un- 
happy, and  exasperating  prejudices, 
have  existed  between  the  people  of 
America,  and  those  of  Great  Bntain ; 
but  they  are  rapidly  disappearing; 
and,  we  have  no  doubt,  after  a  little 
time,  will  be  remembered  only  as  we 
now  remember  the  stories  of  witch- 
craft, and  the  prejudices  of  cl)ild- 
hood. 

The  truth  is — and  the  sooner  it  b 
generally  known  the  better-^that  the 
rational  and  good  men  of  both  coun- 
tries have  always  been  friendly  to  a 
heart;y,  unreserved,  kind,  and  free  in- 
tercourse between  the  two  nadons, 
ever  since  the  ind^ndence  of  that 
was  acknowledged  by  this ;  and  that 
Uie  vei^  multitude  of  both  countries, 
in  pro^rtion  as  thev  have  come  to 
know  one  another  truly,  and  to  under- 
stand the  real  opinion  that  each  enter- 
tain of  the  other,  have  always  been, 
and  are,  at  this  moment,  alisolutely 
cordiaL 

It  should  be  remembered,  that  the 
specimens  of  English  character,  which 
Che  Americans  usually  meet  with  in 
their  country,  are  very  \mfavourable. 
I  have  heard  a  sober  American  say, 
that  he  had  never  seen  but  one  or  two 
English  gentlemen  in  America ;  and, 
we  know,  that  our  English  gentlonen 
uppn  the  continent  are  strangely  un- 
8 


like  our  English  gentlemen  at  home. 
Nor  is  it  common  for  Englishmen  to 
meet  with  favourable  specunens  of  the 
American  character. 

Our  men  of  leisure,  education,  sci- 
ence, fortune,  or  fashion,  go  to  the 
continent — through  all  Europe,  Asia, 
Afirica, — anywhere  but  to  America. 
Men  of  desperate  fortunes,  or  despe- 
rate characters ;  the  factious  and  dis- 
contented ;  those  who  have  been  ship- 
wrecked in  some  political  convulsion, 
or  hazardous  commercial  enterprise ; 
the  ignorant  and  abused,  who  dream 
of  America  as  wiser  men  do  of  the  In- 
dies; with  now  and  then,  but  very 
rarely^  a  substantial  tradesman,  hus- 
banciman,  or  mechanic  ;  and,  yet  more 
rarely,  a  man  of  talent  and  etlacatSon, 
who  nurries  through  a  part  only  of  a 
few  States  in  that  confederacy  of  na- 
tions, are  those  whom  the  Americans 
are  accustomed  to  see  among  them  ; 
and  those  to  whom  we  are  chiefiy  in-i 
debted  for  aU  our  information  con- 
cerning the  country  of  the  Ameri- 
cans. 

Nor  is  our  situation  very  different 
fVom  that  of  our  brethren — the  peopU* 
of  the  United  States — in  this  particu- 
lar. Their  representation  to  this  coun- 
try is  quite  as  little  to  be  depended 
upon,  if  we  would  form  a  fair  estimate 
ot  their  national  character.  They  are 
of  three  classes : — 1st,  Young  men  of 
fortune,  who  visit  London,  Paris,  and 
Rome,  because  it  is  the  fashion.  2dly, 
Young  men,  who  come  here  to  com- 
plete their  education  at  our  medical 
Ecliools ;  and,  3dly,  Mere  men  of  bu- 
siness. Besides  these,  we  occasionally 
meet  with  an  artist,  (chieflv  in  the 
department  of  painting,  where  thc^ 
Americans  have  done  more  than  in' 
any  other  dr  the  fine  arts ;)  a  literary 
man ;  an  invalid ;  or  a  political  repre-  ^ 
sentative  of  their  country. 

But  who  would  ground  hii  estimate 


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1884.;] 


SpetiUaiitms  tfa  TravetUr^ 


of  national  cbftneter,  upon  hit  know- 
ledge of  6uch  people  ? — Young  men 
of  jortune  are  pretty  much  the  same 
all  over  the  world.  Students,  for  the 
aake  of  their  own  comfort,  when  they 
are  with  a  strange  peox^e,  soon  learn 
to  throw  off,  or  oonoeal,  their  national 
peculiarities,  and  adopt  those  of  the 
Bultitude  with  whom  they  are  con- 
tinually associated ;  men  ot  business^ 
however  well  they  may  have  been  edu- 
cated, are  very  apt  to  think  lightly  of 
everything  that  has  not  an  immediiate 
relationship  with  pecuniary  matters ; 
the  painter  will  only  be  known  bv  the 
general  manifestation  of  his  talent ; 
seldom  or  never,  though  he  be  an 
American,  by  anything  of  especial  re- 
ference to  his  own  coun^ — ^her  sce- 
nery, history,  or  peculiarities ;  the  li- 
terary man  would  be  likely  to  hasard 
as  little  as  possible— his  opinions  would 
be  loose  and  popular,  calculated  to  do 
neither  harm  nor  good-*aiming  chiefly 
at  amusement,  and  most  carefully 
avoiding,  in  his  whole  deportment, 
whatever  might  offend  the  prejudices 
of  them  who  are  to  sit  in  judgment 
upon  him,  he  would  be  likelv  to  be- 
come, after  a  little  time,  anything  but 
a  sound  specimen  of  natbnal  and  pe- 
culiar character ;  and,  from  the  poli- 
tical representative  of  any  country,  we 
cannot  reasonably  expect  any  other 
than  a  kind  of  diplomatic  deportment, 
which,  like  high  Weding,  is  likely  to 
confound  all  national  distinction. 

Is  it  wonderful,  then,  that  so  many 
erroneous,  mischievous,  and,  in  some 
cases,  very  ridiculous  notions,  conti- 
nue to  be  reciprocally  entertained  bv 
the  British  and  Americans,  of  eacn 
other? 

Most  of  these  are  owing  to  political 
writers,  new^pers,*  and  books  of 
travels,  often  hastily  written,  and  too 
frequently  by  those  who  have  gone 
horn  one  country  to  the  other,  with- 
out a  proper  d^;ree  of  inquiry  and 
preparation. 

There  was  never,  perhaps,  a  more 
favourable  moment  tnan  the  present 
for  cnishing  these  prejudices  ;  and  if 


691 

every  one  would  contribute  his  mite, 
the  business  would  be  speedily  and  ef- 
fectually accomplished.  Whoever  will 
go  to  a  public  meeting  in  London,  it 
matters  little  of  what  land,  or  for 
what  purpose  it  may  have  been  called, 
will  meet  with  continual  and  delight- 
ful evidence  of  this.  At  one  time  he 
will  see  a  whole  audience,  assembled 
for  the  very  purpose  of  laughing  at  the 
genuine  sentiments  of  brother  Jona- 
than, completely  electrified  by  a  time- 
ly allusion  to  their  brethren  over  the 
Atlantic :  and  at  another,  he  will  hear 
of  a  nobleman  of  high  rank  and  com- 
manding influence,  bursting  into  ge- 
nerous and  indignant  rebuke  of  that 
paltry  jealousy,  whidi  aet  two  such 
countriea  aa  Grreat  Britain  and  America 
in  array  against  each  other ;  countri^ 
which  are  better  fitted  than  any  oUier 
two  upon  the  earth  for  perpetual 
friendship  and  alliance.  But  whether 
this  takes  place  at  a  theatrical  enter- 
tainment, abounding  in  the  most  ab- 
surd and  laughable  misrepresentation, 
or  at  a  meeting  of  the  Afiican  Society, 
in  furtherance  of  the  most  magnificent 
undertaking  that  was  ever  attempted 
by  man ;  whether  it  be  the  expedient  • 
of  a  player  or  of  a  politician,  a  come- 
dian or  a  statesman ;  whether  the  Mar- 
quis of  Lansdowne  or  Mr  Matthews 
be  sincere  or  not,  (and  of  their  since- 
rity who  can  entertain  a  doubt  ?) — the 
fact  is  established  beyond  all  dispute, 
that  it  is  good  policy  in  Englana  for 
an  Englishman  to  appear  firiendly  to 
America.  < 

And  this  is  what  the  Americans 
want  to  know.    They  must  know  it,  * 
and  they  shall  know  it. 

There  is  a  party,  to  be  sure,  in  the 
United  States,  whose  hostility  to  an- 
other party  in  this  country  has  long 
been  misunderstood  for  the  hosUlity 
of  the  whole  American  people  to  Uie 
whole  British  people.  That  party  is 
now  in  power ;  they  are  the  migority 
of  the  whole  population,  and  are  call- 
ed RepubUcans  or  Democrats. 

But  their  feeling  of  bitterness  and 
hatred  has  been  ratner  one  of  appear- 


*  Three  or  fimr  very  able,  and  sereral  respectable,  editors  in  America,  are  Irishmen. 
The  writers  are  almost  to  a  man  exceedingly  ranoonms  against  this  country ;  and  of 
ooune  against  the  federal  party  in  America,  who  art  the  fne&ds  of  diis  country.  Thay 
have  done  a  great  deal  of  miachief,  however  honest  may  have  been  their  intentions,  or 
.  however  ranch  they  may  deserve  to  be  excused,  in  consequence  of  what  they  consider 
their  tufferings  at  home,  before  their  escape  to  America. 

Vol.  XV.  •  4U 


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mee  than  of  reality, 
rather  than  morale  and  could  hardly 
be  called  the  feeling  of  the  multitude. 
It  was  in  its  virulence  only  that  of  a 
few  bad^  ignorant  men^  who  knew 
how  to  play  upon  the  passions  or  pre- 
judices of  a  niultitudey  but  it  was 
never  so  virulent  nor  so  universal  as 

r[yple  in  this  country  supposed^  and 
now  dying  away  of  itself,  under 
the  more  dmritable  and  kindly  influ- 
ence of  association. 

A  purt  was  hereditary^  having  been 
trafismitted  to  the  present  race  oy  the 
diief  sufferers  in  the  Revdution;  a 
part  grew  naturally  out  of  a  state  of 
warfare,  when  the  federal  party,  con- 
stituting a  minority  of  sufficient  power 
to  divide  the  confederacy  into  two 
equal  parts,  were  d^iounced  as  Eng- 
lishmen, Tories,  and  enemies  to  their 
own  country,  because  they  assembled 
toother,  stood  up  with  a  tront  as  for- 
midable as  that  of  their  fathers,  in  the 
war  of  independence — ^with  whom  that 
war,  by  the  way,  originated^-andpro- 
tested  against  the  last  war  with  Great 
Britain,  as  unhdv,  unwise,  and  most 
unnatural ;  and  tne  rest  may  be  attri- 
buted to  the  superabundance  of  zeal 
without  knowledge,  which  is  common 
to  those  who  have  gone  firom  one  sort 
of  extreme  to  another,  whether  in  re- 
ligion or  politics. 

Bigots  oecome  atheists  in  the  day 
of  revolution ;  and  the  subjects  of  an 
arbitrary  government,  such  fierce  and 
orthodox  remiblieans,  that  Uiey  cannot 
endure  anytning  which  smacks  of  mo- 
narchv. 

Peniaps  a  word  or  two  on  that  part 
of  the  subject  may  help  to  dlay  a 
good  deal  of  misapprehension  here 
among  %  powerfld  party,  who  certain- 
ly do  not  appear  to  understand  the 
real  difierence  oetween  the  political  in- 
stitutions of  this  country  and  America. 

They  hear,  for  example,  about  uni- 
versal sufiVage  in  America.  They  are 
told  that  there  are  no  ^me  laws,  no 
standing  army,  no  natMhal  debt,  no 
taxes,  no  aristocracy,  no  titles,  no  na- 
tional church. 

They  are  altogether  mistaken.  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  universal  suffice 
in  America.  A  property  qualification, 
residence,  and,  of  course,  citisenship, 
are  all  required  there.  But  what  wul 
surprise  tnem  yet  more  is,  that  the 
Americans  are  ouite  indifferent  about 
the  esLcrdae  of  their  right.  Multitudes 


Spictdations  of  a  TraveOeti  j^Jfifii, 

It  was  political,  continually  ttcgleSH  it,  and  multitudes 
more  would  nev^  go  to  the  poDs, 
were  they  not  ferreted  out  of  their 
retirement,  and  dragged  thither.  In 
the  Southern  and  Middle  States,  this 
indifference  is  most  remarkable. — 
Throughout  New  En^and  it  b  hard- 
ly manifest. 

True,  diere  are  no  game  laws ;  and 
when  an  Engliriiman  first  puts  his 
foot  upon  the  soil,  he  is  wild  with  de« 

Sht,  on  finding  that  he  may  wander 
dther  he  wiD,  over  any  man's  land, 
in  pursuit  of— what  he  can  find,  with- 
out any  sort  of  qualification.  Buthia 
ardour  soon  abates,  when  he  finds  that 
everybody  else  may  ei^oy  the  same 
pivilege ;  that  there  is  no  distinctioB 
m  it ;  and  that  there  ii  really  very  Ut- 
tie  of  what  may  be  csUed  game  in 
America,  unless  he  choose  to  go  into 
the  wilderness.  By  and  by  he  cornea 
to  care  as  little  about  sporting,  as  the 
Americans  do  about  sufiVage,  or  aa 
any  man  would  for  grapes,  who  should 
have  them  continually  before  hira. 
2\mJours  perdrim  is  tlie  complaint  of 
all  manldnd,  after  the  fever  of  excite- 
ment is  over.  Those  things  which  de- 
light us  most  are  apt  to  weary  us  the 
soonest.  Let  people  have  their  own 
way  for  a  little  time  among  rarities, 
and  they  will  soon  become  tired  of 
them.  Tlie  pastry-cooks  and  confec- 
tioners understand  this,  and  put  it  in 
practice  on  every  new  apprentice. 

But  the  Americans  uave  a  small 
standing  army,  (all  that  they  reonire 
for  their  protection ;)  a  national  debt/ 
which,  however  it  may  be  in  the  way 
of  extinguishment,  is  bitterly  com-' 
plained  of  there ;  taxes,  that  are  not 
thought  low  in  America  ;  a  formidable 
aristocracy  of  wealth  ;  a  great  regard 
for  family  and  birth  ;  and  what  is  yet 
harder  to  believe,  when  we  call  to  mind 
the  genius  of  their  government,  and 
the  clause  in  their  constitution  which 
prohibits  the  creation  of  titles,  the  re- 
publican Americans  have  titles  inta- 
bundance,  and  are  quite  as  jealous  of 
them,  too,  as  any  other  people  uniCer 
the  sun. 

There  are  some  doiens  of  "  excel- 
lendes,"  some  hundreds  of  honours," 
and  ''  honourables,"  and  thousands  of 
*'  esquires,"  annually  created  by  the 
American  people,  to  say  nothingof  their 
militory  titles,  which  are  ''  too  nume- 
rous to  mention ;"  or  their  civil  and  re- 
ligious titles,  sudi  aa  the ''  select  mea^ 


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and  deiooM,  loiiie  of  which  ate  •ften 
▼ery  amusinRy  and  hardly  ever  with- 
held from  thete  republican  dignita- 
riei. 

Their  President  and  Vioe-preiident, 
the  Secretariei  of  the  war,  state,  and 
navj,  and  treasury  departments,  and 
their  foreign  ambassadors,  are  afi  ex« 
cellendes ;  their  judges,  who  probably 
exceed  five  hundred,  are  all  honours  ; 
an  their  senators,  whether  of  a  State^ 
or  of  the  United  States,  and  sometimes 
their  representatiTCS,  pardcularly  to 
Congress,  are  honourables ;  all  mem- 
bers of  the  bar,  from  the  attorney  and 
oonijeyancer  upward,  all  magistrates, 
merchants,  public  officers,  gentlemen, 
auikthpse  who  have  no  oUier  particu- 
lar title,  are  esquires.  Such  is  the  con- 
sistency of  republicans  when  left  to 
themselves. 


We  hear  a  good  deal,  too,  of  repub- 
lican economy.  We  are  told,  that  the 
twenty-four  Governors,  and  the  Presi- 
dent, Vice-president,  the  twenty-four 
State-houses  of  Repre8entatives,uid  the 
twenty-four  Senates,  together  with  the 
Senate  and  House  of  RepresentatiTes, 
or  Congress,  (all  of  whom  are  paid,) 
with  all  the  expenses  of  the  twenty- 
.  five  governments,  dvil  and  military, 
indudini;  the  saLuies  of  all  the  ambas- 
sadors, judges,  and  nublic  officers,  do 
not  cost  the  people  of  the  United  States 
so  much  as  the  people  of  this  country 
allow  annually  to  the  King  of  Great 
Britain. 

This  may,  or  may  not,  be  true.  It 
is  hardly  worth  our  while  to  examine 
the  fact  on  this  oocasbn.  We  are  will- 
ing to  admit,  however,  for  a  momcpt, 
that  it  is  true. 

But  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that 
our  populatbn  is  much  greater,  much 
I  richer,  and  faJHer  of  resources ;  that 
our  supreme  executive  is  in  one  indi- 
^vidual ;  that  a  lar^  p(^tion  of  the  sup- 
ply so  voted  to  hun,  is  diverted  into 
'Other  channels;  that  our  legislative 
body  receive  no  pa^ ;  that  our  judi- 
darr,  on  the  whole,  is  not  near  so  eost- 
Iv,  (because  not  near  so  numerous ;) 
tmt  our  situation  is  one  of  continwil 
danger,  requiring  proportional  dis- 
bur^ment ;  that  the  supreme  execu- 
tive of  America  is  not  in  reality  one 
person,  the  President,  but  twenty-six 
persons,  via.  a  President,  Vice-presi- 


dent, and  twenty-flMir  govamorB,(wlth 
some  lieutenant-governors  and  coun- 
cils ;)  that  the  suppUea  voted  to  eadi^ 
are  ^udusivdy  applied  by  each  indivi- 
dual to  his  own  use ;  that  all  the  legia- 
lative  bodies  there  are  paid ;  that  the 
dvil  list  is  a  matter  of  separate  appro- 
priation ;  that  the  iudidary  in  Ameri^ 
ca,  on  account  of  tnetr  numbers,  are  a 
great  expense  to  the  people ;  and  that 
.  America  'ia  remote  from  danger,  ond^, 
of  course,  not  under  the  necessity  €a  ""  . 
bdng  so  continually  prepared  for  ea- 
croacnment.  > 

But  the  vray  in  whidi  the  comna*. 
rison  is  made  is  not  a  fair  one.  We 
should  estimate  the  population  and 
resources  of  each  country ;  we  should 
recollect  that,  by  the  iHstributioQ  .of 
the  governing  power  in  America  in* 
to  twenty-five  parts,  each  paying  its 
own  offices,  the  utmost  vigdance  and 
frugality  are  insured  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  each ;  and  that,  by  the  con* 
centration  of  the  whole  governing 
power  into  one  point,  as  in  Great  Bri^ 
tain,  it  is  gradually  the  interest  of 
sone  one  (or  more)  of  the  parts  to  en* 
courage  expenditure  in  the  whole,  thai 
itself  mav  profit  by  it. 

Unluckily  for  those  who  fed  a  sober 
concern  about  the  American  people,  as 
forming  a  lar^  part  of  the  human  fin- 
mily,  her  institutions  have  become,  ii^ 
stead  of  what  they  should  be,  a  mat- 
ter of  serious  investigation,  rather  a 
theme  for  poetry  and  eloquence. 

Yet,  after  all,  it  will  be  founds  peiw 
iiaps,  under  the  present  constitution  of 
things,  that,  in  one  respect,  all  goven^ 
ments  are  alike — arbitrarr  in  propor- 
tion to  their  power.  We  do  not  mean 
comparative  power,  such  as  that  whicn 
wo  aUew  to  thia  or  thai  BatioBy  when 
compared  with  another,  but  podtive 
power — the  strengUi  and  vigour  of  the 
government.  This  is  always  in  propor* 
tion  to  the  strength  of  the  migonty  ; 
and  thia  minority  may  be  in  the  £mn 
of  wealth,  numbers,  religion^  law^  or 
military  force. 

Men  may  say  what  they  will  aboni 
the  compantive  advantages  of  a  mi>- 
narchicai  and  republican  govemnwot. 
Bodi  have  their  advantages,  both  their 
disadvantages.  The  form  of  govern- 
ment often,  and  the  substantial  free- 
dom of  the  people  almost  always,  de- 
pend upon  the  dtuation  of  the  coun* 
try. 

A  wedthy  population,  ooeopyiiig  a 


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rich  and  fertile  territory,  fbll  of  temp- 
tation to  the  plundering  banditti  of  the 
worlds  surronnded  by  warlike  bar- 
barians^  or  standing  armies,  must  have 
the  power  of  protecting  themselves,  in- 
stantaneously—must have  standing 
armies,  or  an  equivalent— roust  endow 
their  ehief  magistrate,  whatever  he 
may  be  called,  or  their  executive,  in 
whatever  shape  it  may  exist,  with 
more  power,  of  every  land,  tiian  would 
be  necessary  if  they  were  poor,  afar 
off,  remote  from  or  inaccessible  to 
danger,  whether  they  were  entrench- 
ed by  mountains,  or  encompassed  by 
oceans. 

Thus,  before  the  American  Revolu- 
tion came  to  a  close,  the  Congress  of 
the  Confederacy  endowed  Washington 
with  nearly  absolute  power, — in  effect. 
They  allowed  him  to  choose  his  own 
officers  (with  two  or  three  exceptions^  ; 
to  levy  contributions,  and  to  call  for 
men,  at  his  discretion. 

And  if  the  United  States  were,  at 
this  hour,  situated  in  the  middle  of 
Europe,  or  if  a  separation  should  un- 
happily take  place  among  themselves, 
(a  very  nrobtble  event,  notwithstand- 
ing Mr  Munroe's  ingenious  and  plau- 
sible supposition,*)  they  would  soon 
be  obli^  to  keep  up  a  standing  army, 
or  a  militia  continually  under  arms ; 
to  choose  military  men  for  civil  offices ; 
to  reward  the  popidar  favourites,  who, 
in  time  of  war,  would,  of  course,  be 
the  most  fortunate  and  adventurous  &[ 
their  military  men,  by  the  highest  of- 
fices ;  to  ^ve  the  President  the  power 
of  dedarmg  war;  and,  probably,  to 
keep  him  in  office  during  life,  partly 
on  account  of  his  experience,  partly  to 


Spec^aJtioM  of  a  Travdier-  ^Swae, 

avoid  the  danger  of  electioneering  con-> 
troversy,  and  partly,  whatever  he  migfa  t 
be,  under  the  fear  of  changing  for  the 
worse. 

And  so,  too,  if  Great  Britain  were  as 
remote  Arom  the  influence  and  peril  of 
great  political  combinations  as  are  the 
United  Sutes,  there  would  be  less  need 
of  monarchinl  vigour,  roval  prero^ 
tive,  and  power,  or  stanoing  armies. 
In  such  a  case,  the  disturbers  of  pub- 
lic tranquillity,  by  mischievous  writing 
or  speaking,  might  be  generally  left, 
as  they  are  m  America,  to  the  discretion 
of  the  pubHc  themselves. 

A  prosecution  for  seditious  or  blas- 
phemous writing,  or  for  a  libel  upon 
government,  or  any  of  its  officers,  was 
probably  never  heard  of  in  America.. 

The  truth  is,  that  a  republic  is  well 
fitted  for  a  time  of  tranquillity ;  but 
the  moment  that  invasion  presses  upon 
it,  all  its  administration  is  obligea  to 
take  uponlitself  more  and  more  of  a 
monarchical  vigour  and  besring,  not 
only  in  the  military,  but  dvil  apart- 
ments. 

We  would  say,  then,  to  our  coun- 
trymen, and  to  Uie  Americans,  Have 
done  with  all  political  comparisons, 
unless  you  choose  to  go  profoundly  into 
the  subject  Let  us  have  no  prattling 
upon  the  solemn  business  of  govern- 
ment. Do  not  imagine  that  a  monarchi- 
cal or  republican  form  of  government 
is  the  best  for  every  people,  in  every 
possible  situation.  Ii  were  wiser  to  be- 
lieve in  a  panacea — what  is  good  for 
one  will,  for  that  very  reason,  be  bad 
for  another,  of  a  different  constitution, 
temperament,  or  habits. 

Above  all,  do  not  believe  that  a  peo- 


'  *  Mr  Munroe,  in  his  last  message,  speaks  of  the  remarkable  faculty,  inherent^  as  he 
supposes,  in  the  constitution  of  the  American  confederacy,  by  virtue  of  which,  on  the 
admission  of  every  new  State,  the  chance  of  separation  is  diminished,  while  the  strength 
of  the  whole  is  augmented. 

Mr  Mnnroe  is  mistaken.  The  confederacy  is  already  too  large.  The  lonoer  the  scep- 
tre, the  more  unmanaffeable  it  will  always  be.  Sourcesofdiserenee  already  exist,  and 
ue  continually  multmiring.  The  alleged  CDcraaehmaDt  of  the  Supreme  Court,  as  the 
•i^reme  judiciary  of^the  country,  upon  the  legislative  power?  under  pretence  of  coo- 
straction,  which  amounts,  in  reality,  to  Ifgiskdon ;  the  disputes  between  Virginia  and 
Kentucky ;  the  sectional  preyudioet ;  the  real  inequaU^  of  representadon  and  taxation, 
•re  some  of  these.  In  fact,  every  State  has  its  own  particular  grievances ;  andf.of  course, 
if  you  augment  the  number  of  the  States,  you  augment  the  number  of  their  grievances, 
and,  themore,  the  chances  of  separadon.  Because,  if  one  desire  to  separate,  and  is  afraid 
of  being  prevented  hj  force,  she  will  combine  with  others,  until  sufficiently  strong,  each 
belj^ng  to  relieve  the  other.  These  grievances  are  not  felt  now ;  but,  in  a  time  of  war, 
with  an  eneroj  at  the  door,  and  heavy  taxes  pressing  them  down,  as  they  suppose,  un. 
equally,  almost  every  State  will  have  the  diq[>osidon  to  dictate  some  sort  of  terms  to  the 
rest,  and  the  power,  very  often,  to  eofoice  her  daiou,  be  they  just  or  unjust.  The  last 
war  was  fuU  «f  warning  on  this  point. 


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pie  are  much  freer  under  one  Idnd  of 
goTemment  than  under  another.  The 
form,  after  all,  is  only  a  shadow.  Power 
will  be  felt  whenever  it  is  tempted  or 
provoked;  and  every  government, 
whatever  may  be  its  nature — civil, 
military,  or  religious,— or  however 
constituted,  fashioned,  or  named,  will 
be  arbitrary,  in  proportion  to  its 
power. 

A  formidable  minoritv  wiU  always 
be  respected;  an  overwnelming  ma- 
jority will  always  be  tyrannical  and 
unjust 

In  Turkey,  such  a  minority  would 
be  free.  In  the  United  States,  such  a 
minority  would  be — ^for  they  have 
been — ^whoUy  r^ardless  of  decency 
toward  the  minority,  exactly  in  pro* 
portion  to  their  own  ascendancy  over 
them. 

Let  war  be  declared  against  this 
ooimtry  to-morrow  in  America.  Let 
one  man  alone  Hft  up  his  voice  against 
it,  or  presume  to  remonstrate,  and  he 
would  be  treated  with  contempt,  lam* 
pooned,  burnt  in  effigy,  or  perhapa 
tarred  and  feathered.  But  let  a  third 
part  of  the  country  stand  up  with  him, 
and  they  will  be  treated  with  most  re- 
spectful  consideradon,  just  as  they 
would  be  in  Turkey. 

Institute  no  pohtical  comparisons, 
therefore,  we  would  say :  for  it  is  a 
hundred  to  one,  whether  you  be  an 
American  or  an  Englishman,  that  you 
do  not  well  understand  what  you  are 
talking  about. 

If  you  happen  to  be  an  American, 
do  not  believe  that  vou  have  captured, 
sunk,  and  destroyed  the  whole  British 
navy ;  and  if  you  are  an  Englishman, 
do  not  dream  of  re-colonizing  Ameri- 
ca. Avoid  these  two  things,  and  yoa 
will  do  well  enough. 

Leave  it  to  such  men  aa  Mr  Cobbett, 
in  this  country,  and  some  others  of  a 
Hke  temper,  in  America,  to  keep  up  a 
state  of  artificial  hostility  between  the 
two  countries.  We  mention  Mr  Cob- 
bett, because  we  happen  to  have  met 
with  aa  amusing— «nd  yet  we  know 
not  if  it  would  not  be  more  proper  to 
caU  it  a  melancholy  ccrinddence,  be- 
tween the  opinions  of  him  and  an 
American  editor,  of  a  similar  character, 
upon  the  same  point. 

When  the  last  messa^  of  the  Ame- 
rican President  was  pat  into  our  hands, 
it  was  accompanied  with  an  American 
paper.  We  were  ngoidngin  the  app«- 


%9$ 

rently  simultaneous  expression  of  si- 
milar sentiments  by  our  cabinet  and 
tiut  of  America.  Mr  Munroe  and  Mr 
Canning  had  spoken  the  same  lan- 
guage, almost  at  the  same  time.  This 
was  either  preconcerted,  or  it  was  not 
If  it  was — ^what  a  voice  to  the  nations 
of  the  earth  !  How  plainly  did  it  say, 
"  Thus  far  shall  ye  go,  but  no  fUrther." 
If  it  was  not — how  much  more  ter- 
rible !  The  one  would  have  been  the 
voice  of  two  cabinets,  the  other  of  two 
nations ;  die  one  a  communication  by 
the  telegraph,  the  other,  by  electricity. 
It  was  at  this  moment,  while  we  were 
jret  full  of  the  proud,  confident  feel- 
ing, which  a  course  of  reflection  like 
that  would  naturaUy  produce,  that  our 
attention  was  attracted  by  the  name  of 
Mr  Canning,  in  the  American  paper. 
It  was  at  the  head  of  a  speech,  by 
that  gentleman,  at  the  Liverpool  din- 
ner, where  he  and  Mr  Hughes  acci- 
dentally met  The  time  had  gone  by 
for  the  American  editor  to  abuse  the 
British  minister.  It  was  no  longer  po- 

?ular.  He  chose  quite  another  course. 
Ee  affected  to  beheve  that  Mr  Can- 
ning, whose  reputation  for  wit  stands 
high  in  America,  was  only  playing  off 
a  uttle  of  his  cabinet  pleasantry  upon 
the  credulous  American.  Notmng,  of 
course,  had  it  been  believed,  could 
have  been  more  provoking. 

But  not  long  after  this  we  met  with 
a  precisely  parallel  case,  in  the  ma- 
nagement of  an  English  politician,  or 
rather  political  writer,  on  the  very 
same  point.  It  was  for  this  reason 
alone  that  we  have  remembered  it. 

Mr  Cobbett,  in  spiking  of  the  same 
speeches,  on  the  same  occasion,  had  the 
sagacitv  to  adopt  a  course  of  policy 
precisely  similar  to  that  of  the  Ame- 
rican. He  did  not  resort,  as  a  vulgar 
pamphleteer  would,  to  a  downright 
calling  of  names ;  but  he  affected  to 
believe  that  Mr  Canning  had  forgotten 
his  dignity  aa  an  Engliah  minister, 
and  trudded  to  an  agent  fhmi anation 
of  shopkeepers.  Had  many  others  of 
Mr  Canning^s  countrymen  believed 
this,  he  would  have  been  despised, 
and  the  American  hated. 

Thus  much  to  shew  what  misdiief 
may  be  done  by  a  light,  hasty,  or 
thoughtless  piece  of  humour— even  if 
we  are  wiUii^  to  consider  their  re- 
marks in  the  fight  of  humour.  Let  all 
such  things  be  avoided. 

A  Uttle  mutual  fbrbearance,  a  fittle 


Digitized  by 


Goosle 


Sp0CiUai9tmi  of  a  IVttvtUcr. 


CJb 


chaiity,  and  a  litUe  patient  inqoirjr, 
will  »>  more  toward  effecting  a  hearty 
tad  permanent  reconciliation  between 
the  people  of  the  two  countries,  than 
all  the  enthusiasm  of  all  the  rdbrm- 
ers>  poets^  and  philanthropists,  that 
ever  lived.  We  are  all  of  the  same  &- 
mily;  descended  firom  the  same  pa- 
rents ;  having  the  same  religion ;  the 
tame  laws;  the  same  language;  the 
same  habits,  and  the  same  literature. 
What,  then^  should  keep  us  asun- 
der? We  only  want  to  Know  eadi 
other^  intimately  and  truly,  to  become 
one  great  brotherhood.  Will  the  poli« 
ileal  genius  of  the  two  governments 
prevent  this? — No--for  thot^h  one 


be  a  menardiy^  andtha other  ar^ub* 
lie ;  and^  therdbre^  to  all  appearance 
not  likely  to  seek  a  coalition  of  them* 
selves^  unless  they  are  forced  into  it 
by  an  equality  of  pressure  on  erery 
side — ^vet  there  is  now^  and  will  pro- 
bably Dt  for  a  long  time^  such  a  prea* 
sure ;  and  if  the  subject  be  seriously 
inyestigated^  it  will  be  found  that  ^ 
two  governments,  and  the  two  natioDSi 
after  all,  are  more  essentially  the  same, 
in  all  that  constitutes  the  source  of 
attraction,  affinity,  and  attadunent* 
among  nations,  than  are  an^  two  re- 

gnbli^  or  any  two  monarchieft,  under 
eaven. 
London,  June  8.  X.  T.  Z. 


LOED  BYEON. 


Ik  the  early  part  of  last  year,  I 
spent  a  fbw  days  at  Genoa,  and  after 
•since  visiting  almost  every  comer  of 
Italy,  the  recollections  wmch  I  have 
brought  back  with  me,  seem  to  dwell 
more  delightedly  upon  the  "  Superb 
City,"  than  even  upon  Rome  itself, 
with  its  venerable  antiquities,  or  upon 
Naples,  and  its  unrivalled  amenity  of 
situation. 

Perhaps  this  may  arise  from  its  ha- 
ving been  the  place  where  I  first  saw 
manners,  scenery,  buildings,,  and  de- 
corations, which  were  strictly  Italian, 
and  above  all,  where  the  Mediterra- 
nean first  rolled  its  waters  at  my  feet ; 
that  sea  which  has  borne  on  its  classic 
WKves  the  flags  of  nations,  whose 
names  are  associated  with  aU  that  is 
great  and  inspiring.  A  recollection  of 
a  different  nature  has  also  added  to 
the  interest,  which  I  imagine  I  shall 
never  cease  to  take  in  Genoa.  It  was 
here  that  I  had  an  introduction  to  the 
extraordinary  man,  who  at  this  mo- 
ment forms  the  topic  of  conversation 
in  every  circle,  and  whose  recent  death 
will  now  be  sincerely  regretted,  as  ha- 
ying happened  at  the  early  age  of  37, 
when  he  was  exerting  himself  in  the 
glorious  cause  of  Greece,  and  when  he 
was  really  turning  his  great  talents  to 
a  noble  and  useM  purpose.  The  first 
and  only  time  that  I  ever  had  an  op- 
portunity of  conversing  with  Lord 
Byron,  was  at  Genoa ;  and  however 
one  may  differ  in  opinion,  with  such 
restless  spirits  as  himself  who  figure 
in  the  world,  and  occupy  an  unusual 
portion  of  its  regards,  rather  firom  the 


abuse  and  perversion  of  theur  powefa 
of  mind,  tlian  from  a  lifj^t  applica- 
tion of  them ;  yet  it  would  argue  a 
curious  taste,  to  be  indi£&rent  to  the 
accident  which  throws  us  in  their  way. 
For  my  own  part,  I  shall  value  as  one 
of  the  most  interesting  in  my  life,  the 
short  interval  which  I  passed  with  the 
greatest  {Kiet  of  his  age,  and  I  have 
been  turning  to  my  di^,  to  refer  W 
every  particular  of  an  interview,  which 
I  carefully  noted  down  on  the  da^  im 
which  it  took  place>  while  every  im- 
pression was  yet  fresh  upon  my  mind. 

Lord  Byron  is  not  a  man  of  to-day. 
He  belongs  as  much  to  the  future/ as 
to  the  present,  and  it  is  no  common 
event  in  one's  life  to  have  it  to  say,  I 
have  had  an  opportunity  of  jud^ng 
for  myself  of  a  person  whom  some 
bless,  and  hundreds  curse  ;  who  is  the 
subject  of  exaggerated  calunmy  to 
some,  and  of  extrayagant  praise  to 
others. 

The  circumstances  which  led  to  tlus 
interview,  the  place  where  it  was  held, 
the  crisis  at  which  it  occurred,  and 
the  topics  on  which  we  discoursed, 
were  not  a  little  out  of  the  ordinary 
way. 

Lord  Byron  had  been  residing  some 
weeks  at  or  near  Genoa,  when  I  ar- 
rived in  that  dty ;  many  English  ^ 
miUes  were  there  at  the  same  time,  and 
the  eccentric  bard  was  the  sul^ect  of 
general  conversation.  From  some  of 
my  countrymen  I  learnt  that  his  lord- 
ship was  to  be  seen  every  night  at  the 
opera ;  from  others,  that  he  fireouent- 
ly  rode  through  the  streets  on  norse^ 


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LordBjfroih 


bttck,  with  a  ptftY  of  hfi  tdenda. 
•nned  with  swords  by  dieir  sMes^  and 
piatola  at  their  holsters ;  and  irom  all^ 
that  he  ayoided  an  Englishman  with 
contempt  and  detestation.  Such  were 
the  reports,  but  it  never  f^U  to  my  lot 
to  conyerse  with  anybody  who  could 
apeak  from  personal  observation^  to 
me  truth  of  ather  of  these  accounts ; 
and  I  afterwards  discovered  that  they 
were  totally  ineorrect. 

One  rooming  that  the  arrival  of  the 
Courier  was  locA^ed  for  with  more  than 
usual  impatience^  for  it  was  at  Uut 
juncture  when  the  decision  of  Endand 
and  the  continental  powers,  with  re- 
gard to  Spain^  waa  oiaily  expected  to 
reach  Genoa,  I  was  sitting  in  the  read- 
ing-room, in  the  Strada  Kovissima, 
waitinff  for  the  delivery  of  the  foreign 
kmmau.  A  person  entered  whoae  fim 
I  immediately  recognised.  It  was  one 
of  Lord  Byron's  most  intimate  fHends, 
who,  it  waa  said,  felt  and  expressed 
the  same  antipathv  ag^unst  every  Bri- 
Ciah  travdler,  witn  his  lordship.  In 
former  days  I  was  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  this  gentleman,  but 
many  years  had  eUpsed  since  we  met ; 
I  therefore  judged  that  he  had  forgot- 
ten me,  or,  if  not,  that  he  would  £ive 
no  inclination  to  renew  an  acquain- 
tance widi  one,  who  was  guilty  of 
being  bom  in  England,  and  unable  to 
estimate  the  wortn  of  Uiose  who  have 
the  reputation  of  wishing  to  subvert 
most  of  her  institutions.  I  was  reluc- 
tant to  accost  him,  fearful  of  a  repulse, 
but,  after  a  moment's  gaie  in  ray  face, 
he  pronounced  my  name,  seized  my 
hand  with  all  the  hearty  feeling  of 
uninterrupted  fHendship,  and  signi- 
Hed,  in  terms  which  I  could  not  mis- 
take, his  delight  at  this  unexpected 
meeting. 

I  soon  found  that  the  strong  bar- 
rier of  opinion  which  lay  between  us. 
acted  as  no  obstacle  to  an  unreserved 
communication,  and  that  my  early 
friend,  who  had  shewn  me  many  a 
kindness  when  a  boy,  had  lost  none  of 
that  warm-heartedness  and  good-hu- 
mour for  which  he  was  so  distinguish- 
ed before  he  became  a  reformer  in  po- 
litics, and  a  visionary  in  religion.  We 
l^mained  together  for  about  an  hour  ; 
a  thousand  questions  about  old  times 
and  old  comnanions  were  asked  and 
answered,  ana  I  flattered  myself,  that 
he  had  derived  more  satisfoction  fVom 
thus  following  the  natural  current  of 
his  feelings,  than  from  floundering  in 


those  tnmUed  watefs,  on  which  he 
had  so  unhappily  embarked,  with  the 
discontented  ana  the  sceptical.  The* 
reply  to  one  question  which  I  ventu- 
red to  put  to  him,  under  the  mistaken 
idea  that  the  reports  to  which  I  before 
alluded,  were  true,  assured  me  that 
Ae  path  he  had  marked  out  for  him-> 
self,  was  attended  by  anything  but 
happiness,  and  was  not  exactiy  volun- 
tanr. 

Are  you  so  mudi  estranged  fVom 
England,  that  you  have  left  no  regreta 
behind  you  ? 

"  Do  you  suppose,'*  was  his  answer, 
''  that  I  can  be  torn  up  by  the  roots 
yritiiout  bleeding  ?"  He  immediately 
added,  that  great  as  mi^t  be  his  er« 
lors,  if  they  were  errors,  his  puni^- 
ment  waa  equal  to  them,  fbr  that  they 
had  caused  a  general  ahenation  of 
friends,  a  necessity  to  exile  himself 
fh>m  his  country,  and  a  sacrifice  of  his 
natural  tastes  and  amusements. 

The  next  day,  my  friend  called  up- 
on me  at  mv  hotel,  and  inquired  if  I 
had  any  wisn  to  be  introduced  to  Lord 
Byron.  I  signified  my  surprise  at  ha- 
ying the  option  offered  to  me,  as  I  had 
been  informed  tiut  Lord  Byron  care- 
fully avoided  his  countrymen.  <'  The 
inquisitive  and  the  impertinent,"  said 
he,  ''but  not  others;  and  I  am  sure 
you  will  have  no  reason  to  r^ret  the 
iBterview." 

A  day  was  appointed,  that  Lord  By- 
ron might  be  apprised  of  the  intend- 
ed introduction,  and  when  it  came, 
Mr  -^and  I  set  out  fh>m  Genoa  to- 
gether, and  walked  to  Albaro,  where 
the  noble  poet  was  then  residing. 

The  waA^  was  such  aa  an  enthusiast 
would  envy.  My  eye  ranged  over  a 
thousand  ocjects  which  were  equally 
new  and  interesting  to  an  English- 
man, and  my  imagination  was  fully 
occupied  in  awelling  either  upon  the 
past  glories  and  catastrophes  of^Genoa, 
or  upon  the  singular  character  of  the 
extraordinary  man  whom  I  was  going 
to  visit.  Our  path  lay  near  the  spot 
where  tiie^Inquisition  stood;  the  whole 
of  the  once  formidable  building  was 
not  quite  removed,  and  we  turned 
aside  to  look  into  some  of  the  cham- 
bers and  dungeons,  into  which  my 
companion  would  have  had  a  ffood 
chance  of  being  consigned,  haa  he 
been  found  in  this  city  some  few 
years  back.  After  walking  over  ruins 
and  rubbisb,  which  have  been  steeped 
in  the  tears  and  blood  of  many  an  un- 


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e98 


Lord 


happy  TictiiDy  ve  passed  the  ducal 
palace^  the  residence  of  the  governor 
or  viceroy  of  Genoa^  to  which^  on  the 
evening  before^  I  had  been  invited,fand 
where  I  witnessed  a  scene^  the  very 
reverse  of  what  the  Inquisition  haa 

? resented  to  my  imagination.  All  the 
'atrician  pride  and  beauty  of  Genoa 
had  been  assembled  there^  to  ei\joy 
the  pleasures  of  dancing  and  musicj 
and  few  are  the  places  in  Italy,  where 
nobility  is  more  noble,  or  beauty  more 
brilliant.  "  I  am  more  proud  of  be- 
ing simply  styled  a  Patrician,  than  a 
marquis,"  said  the  Marchese  di  Negro 
to  me ;  and  well  he  might  be,  for  he 
was  descended  from  a  long  line  of  he« 
roes,  who  held  a  distinguished  rank  in 
the  annals  of  the  Republic,  long  be- 
fore the  monarchs  of  Spain,  or  France, 
or  Sardinia,  had  an  opportunity  of  con- 
ferring titles  upon  Ligurian  subjects. 
We  descended  the  hill  that  leads  down 
to  the  eastern  gate,  crossed  the  ram- 
parts, and  the  torrent  of  Besagno, 
which  had  lately  carried  away  the 
stone  bridge  that  was  built  over  it, 
and  mounted  the  acclivity  upon  which 
Albaro  stainds.  Many  a  time  did  I 
turn  back  to  gaze  upon  the  magnifi- 
cent dty  that  I  had  left  behind,  as  it 
extendra  itself  gloriously  over  rock 
and  glen,  from  the  mountains  to  the 
shore,  and  Hterally  stretched  its  boughs 
to  the  sea,  and  its  branches  to  the  ri- 
ver. It  lay  under  my  eye  with  its 
bright  suburbs,  and  its  decorated  vil- 
las, graceful  and  becoming  even  in 
their  gaudiness,  for  the  very  variety 
of  colouring.  The  fronts  of  the  houses 
are  painted  all  manner  of  colours.  The 
yellow  and  the  red,  and  the  blue,  which 
in  most  places  would  look  whimsical 
and  fantastical,  do  absolutely  harmo- 
nize with  the  brown  mountains,  and 
the  slate  rooft,  and  the  azure  sea,  and 
form  a  picture  which  it  is  delicious  to 
dwell  upon.  How  the  lordly  towers, 
the  stately  edifices,  the  marble  pala- 
ces, and  the  costly  temples  of  the 
princely  merchants,  carried  me  back 
to  the  years  that  are  gone,  and  re- 
minded me  of  the  little  nation  of  tra- 
ders, who  thundered  defiance  against 
the  strong  places  of  some  of  the  migh- 
tiest sovereigns  of  their  times !  How  I 
thought  of  names — of  the  Dorias,^and 
the  Durazzi,  and  the  Brignoli,  which 
used  to  make  the  Mahomets  and  So- 
lymans  of  the  east,  and  the  Charles's 
and  the  Philips  of  the  west,  tremble 
upon  their  thrones !  A  nation  of  shop- 


keepers !  So  Buonaparte  styled  us  in 
derision.  But  when  we  r^ct  upon 
what  the  Venetians  and  the  Genoese 
have  been,  and  what  the  Engli^  are, 
either  in  their  palaces  or  in  their 
wooden  walls,  we  need  not  be  asha- 
med of  the  designation.  Alexander 
himself,  the  proud  Autocrat  of  the 
Russias,  the  ambitious  Czar,  who 
thinks  to  reap  where  the  sickle  fell 
from  Napolean's  hands,  even  he  could 
not  conceal  his  feelings  of  admiration 
struggling  i^nst  envy,  when  he  ex* 
perienced  a  reception  from  the  mer- 
chants of  London,  such  askings  would 
be  proud  to  be  able  to  give  in  their 
banouetting  halls. 

Tne  nearer  we  approached  to  the 
residence  of  Lord  Byron,  the  more 
busy  became  my  anticipations.  How 
shall  I  be  received  by  him  ?  Shall  I  be 
made  to  shrink  under  the  superiority 
of  talent?  Shall  I  smart  under  the 
lash  of  his  sarcasms?  Shall  I  turn 
abashed  from  the  glance  of  his  liaugh- 
ty  eye  ?  Shall  I  oe  annoyed  by  scep- 
tical insinuations,  or  shocked  by  broad 
and  undisguised  attacks  upon  what  I 
have  been  in  the  habit  of  r^arding 
with  respect  and  reverence  ?  In  short, 
my  fancy  was  wound  up  to  the  high- 
est pitch,  in  conjecturing  how  he  would 
converse,  how  he  would  look,  and 
whether  I  should  derive  more  pleasure 
or  pain  from  the  interview. 

The  approach  to  that  part  of  Albaro 
where  the  noble  Poet  dwelt,  is  by  a 
narrow  lane,  and  on  a  steep  ascent. 
The  palace  is  entered  by  lofty  iron 
gates  that  conduct  into  a  court-yard, 
planted  with  venerable  yew  trees,  cut 
into  grotesque  shapes.  After  announ- 
cing our  arrival  at  the  portal,  we  were 
received  by  a  roan  of  almost  gigantic 
stature, .  who  wore  a  beard  hanging 
down  his  breast  to  a  formidable  length. 
This,  as  I  was  given  to  understand, 
was  the  eccentric  Bard's  favourite  va- 
let, and  the  same  who  had  stabbed  the 
soldier  in  the  fray  at  Pisa,  for  whidi 
Lord  Byron  and  the  friends  of  his 
party  were  obliged  to  leave  the  Tus- 
can States — an  exploit,  not  the  first  in 
its  way,  by  which  he  had  distinguish- 
ed his  fidelity  to  his  master.  An  Ita- 
lian Count,  with  whom  he  lived  be- 
fore he  entered  Lord  Byron's  service, 
had  experienced  similar  proofs  of  hia 
devoteoness.  From  what  I  have  since 
heard,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  the 
fellow  has  at  len^  &Uen  a  sacrifice 
to  that  sort  of  violence,  to  which  be 
9 


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t$$ 


had  flo  little  sentple  in  having  reeonne 
hhttsdH  He  was  ahot  by  a  Stdiote 
captain,;  and  it  was  that  curcnmstance 
that  occaaioaed  Ae  qiileptic  fits, 
whidh  are  said  to  have  seised  Lord 
Byron  not  many  weeks  before  his 
death,  and  to  have  weAendd  has  con* 
stitution. 

By  this  Goliath  of  valets  we  were 
tuhered  through  a  spadons  hall,  ac- 
commodated with  abmiard-table,  and 
honff  round  with  portraits,  into  Ms 
Lordship's  receiTin|;-room,  which  was 
fitted  np  in  a  complete  style  of  Eng- 
lish ooatfbrt.  It  was  carpeted  and  cur- 
tained; a  biasing  log  crackled  in  the 
grate,  a  heardt-mg  spread  its  soft  imd 
ample  surface  befbre  it,  a  small  read- 
ing-table, and  loungine-dhair,  stood 
near  the  fire-place ;  and  not  far  from 
them,  an  immense  oval-table  groaned 
under  die  weight  of  newly  published 
quartos  and  octavos,  acmong  odier 
books,  whidi  lay  arranged  in  nice  or- 
der upon  it. 

In  a  few  seconds  after  "we  entered, 
liOrd' Byron  made  his  appearance*  fifom 
a  Toom  which  opened  into  this:  he 
walked  slowly  np '  to  the  fire-ptaceu 
and  received  me  with  that  imreserved 
air,  and  good-humoured  smfle,  Wh|t3& 
made  me  f^l  at  ease  at  once,  notwltfa- 
sttcnding  all  my  prognosticadons  to 
ihe  contrary.  Hie  first  impression 
made  upon  me  Was  ihb-4hat  the  per- 
son who  stood  before  me,  bore  th^ 
least  posrfble  resemblance  to  any  bust, 
portrait,  or  pr^e,  that  I  htcd  ever 
Ken,  professing  to  be  his  likenels ) 
nor  have  I  sinoe  examined  any  which 
I  could  consider  a  perfect  resemblance. 
The  portrait  in  possesrion  of  Mr  Mur- 
ray, finom  whidi  most  of  the  prints 
seem  to  be  taken,  does  not  sme  me 
as  one  in  which  the  features  of  the 
orkinal  are  to  be  recognised  at  first 
dgnt,  whidi  perhaps  may  be  owing 
to  the  afl^cted  pomon,  and  itndied 
air  tod  manner,  -Whidi  Lord  B.  as^ 
sumed  when  he  sat  fbr  it  Keitheris 
Ae  matUe  bust  by  Bartolini  n  per- 
fbrmance,  widi  wtiose  aasistancc  I 
iliotdd  tmmounce  the  lines  tnd  linei^ 
ments  U  the  Baid  coidd  be  distin- 
guished at  a  giance. 

It  atntde  me  that  Lord  Byron's 
toontenanee  was  handsome  and  intd- 
lectual,  but  without  being  so  remark^ 
ably  such  as  to  attract  attention,  if  It 
Were  not  previoudy  known  whom  he 
was.  His  lips  were  fHU  and  df  a  good 
ttfMx;  die  lower  one  indined  to  a 
Vol.  XV. 


tifylsion  in  the  centre ;  and  diia,  with 
what  are  called  gap-teeth,  (in  a  very 
iligfat  degree,)  gave  a  pecidiar  express 
sion  to  his  mouth.  I  never  observed 
the  play  of  features,  or  the  characteris- 
tics of  physiognomy,  more  narrowly 
than  I  aid  Lord  Byron's,  during  the 
Whole  perkxl  of  a  very  animated  con- 
versation, which  lasted  nearly  two 
hours,  and  I  could  not  but  feel  all  my 
Lavaterian  prindples  staggered,  by 
discovering  so  few  indications  of  vio- 
lent temper,  or  of  strong  tastes  and 
distastes.  I  could  scarcely  discern  any 
of  the  traits  for  which  I  searched,  and 
should  dedde  either  that  he  had  a 
powerful  command  over  the  muscles 
of  his  face,  and  the  expression  of  his 
eye,  or  that  there  was  less  of  diat 
fiery  temperament  than  what  has  been 
ascnbed  to  him.  In  short,  I  never  saw 
a  countenance  more  composed  and  still, 
and,  I  might  even  add,  more  sweet  and 
prepossessing/ than  Ldid  Byron's  ap- 
peared upon  this  occasion. 

His  hair  was  b^nnfng  to  lose  the 
glossiness,  of  which,  it  is  sdd,  he  was 
tmce  so  proud,  and  several  grey  straln- 
jers  presented  themselves,  in  spite  of 
nis  knxiety  to  have  them  removed. 
'His  figure  too,  without  bdng  at  all 
corpulent  or  rotund,  wasacquiring  more 
fblness  than  he  liked ;  so  much  so, 
tliat  he  was  abstemiously  refusing  wine 
and  meat,  and  living  ahnost  endrely 
up6n  Vegetables. 

The  reserve  of  a  first  iiftroducdon 
was  banished  in  a  moment^  by  Mr 
*-^^-'s  starting  a  subject,  which  at  once 
rendered  Lord  Byron  as  fluent  of  words 
as  I  could  have  widied  to  find  him : 
•ffe  mentioned  the  maniffesto  of  thb 
'Spanish  Cottes,  in  answer  to  the  de- 
claration of  the  Hol^  Alliance,  and 
an  ai^imated  conversation  followed  be- 
tween the  two,  which,  as  I  was  anxious 
to  hear  Loiti  Byron's  sentiments,  I  was 
in  no  hurry  to  interrupt. 

Among  ddier  things.  Lord  Byron 
observed  upon  die  manifesto,  that  he 
was  particularly  pleased  with  the  dr^ 
C^rvatites  humoibr  that  it  contained. 
•*  It  nemlnds  me,"  said  he, "  of  the  an- 
swer of  Leonidas  to  Xerxes,  when  the 
Persia  demanded  his  arms — *  Co^ 
and  take  them.'"  He  evidend'y  calcu- 
lated more  upon  Spanish  resistance 
and  courage,  tnan  the  event  justified; 
and  he  proceeided  to  describe,  With  i 
great  d^  of  spirit  and  correctness, 
%e  nature  of  toe  CDilntry  which  die 
enemy  wo^dhafe to eneoutlter before 
4X 


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700  ZjqrdByrom. 

ther  could  strike  a  dediive  bbw.— 
"  ^fNdn/  he  added,  "  is  not  a  plain, 
across  which  the  Russisns  snd  Aus- 
\xiasiB  can  march  at  their  pleasure,  as  if 
ihey  had  nothing  to  do  oat  to  draw  a 
mathem^cal  straight  line  from  one 
given  point  to  anotbusr." 

There  were  several  other  pretty  con- 
ceits, as  we  dioald  call  them,  m  the 
noble  poet's  discourse ;  bat  when  he 
attempted  to  enlarge  upon  anj  sub- 
ject, ne  was  evidently  at  a  loss  for  a 
good  train  of  reasoning.  He  did  not 
seem  to  be  able  to  follow  the  thread, 
even  of  an  argument  of  his  own,  when 
he  was  both  opponent  and  respcmdent, 
and  was  putting  a  case  in  his  own 
way. 

From  the  cause  of  the  Spaniards,  the 
conversation  directed  itself  to  that  o£ 
the  Greeks,  and  the  state  paper  of  the 
Holy  Alliance  upon  this  suqject  also 
was  brought  upon  the  carpet.  Lord 
Byron  and  Mr  —  both  ridiculed 
the  idea  that  was  broached  in  that 
notable  specimen  of  imperial  reason- 
ing, of  the  insurrectumary  movements 
in  the  east,  (as  it  was  pleased  to  style 
the  noblest  struggle  for  liberty,  tnat 
an  oppressed  people  ever  made,;  being 
connected  with  the  attempts  at  revo- 
lution iu  Western  Europe,  and  of  a 
correspondence  existing  between  the 
reformers  of  different  countries.  "  If 
such  a  formidable  concert  as  this  ex- 
isted, I  suppose,"  said  Lord  Byron, 

smiling,  and  addressing  Mr , 

*'  that  two  such  notorious  Radicals  as 
ourselves,  ought  to  be  affironted  for 
not  being  permitted  to  take  some  share 
in  it."  Cobbett's  name  was  introdu- 
ced, and  the  aristocratic  poet's  obser* 
vation  was  too  striking  to  be  forgot* 
ten — "  I  should  not  luce  to  see  Cob- 
bett  presiding  at  a  revolutionary  green 
table,  and  to  be  examined  by  him;  for, 
if  he  were  to  put  ten  questions  to  me, 
and  I  should  answer  nine  satisfactor- 
ily, but  were  to  fail  in  the  tenth— for 
that  tenth,  he  would  send  me  to  the 
lantern." 

Lord  Byron  then  turned  to  me,  and 
asked,  '*  Are  you  not  afiraid  of  calling 
upon  such  an  excommunicated  heretic 
as  myself?  If  you  are  an  ambitious 
man,  you  will  never  get  on  in  the 
church  after  this." 

I  replied,  that  he  was  totally  mis- 
taken, if  he  fancied  that  there  was 
auy  such  lealons  or  illiberal  spirit  at 
home,  and  he  instandy  Interrupted 
roe,  by  saying,  "  Yes>  yes,  you  are 


ZJmit, 


right— there  is  a  gnat  deal  of  Hberal 
sentiment  among  dmrchmcn  in  £iw- 
laud,  and  that  is  why  I  prefer  the 
Established  Churdi  of  England  to  any 
other  in  the  world.  I  have  been  in- 
timate, in.  my  jtime,  with  several  der- 
xymen,  and  uQver  considered  that  our 
difference  of  opinion  was  a  bar  to  our 
intimacy.  They  say,  I  am  no  Chiis- 
tian,  but  I  am  a  Christian."  I  after- 
wards, asked  Mr  —  what  his  lord^ 
ship  meant  by  an  assertion  so  much 
in  contradiction  with  his  writings,  and 
was  told  that  he  often  threw  out  ran- 
dom declarations  of  that  kind,  with- 
out any  meaning. 

Lord  Byron  took  an  opportunity  of 
complaining,  that  some  of  his  poems 
had  been  treated  unfairly,  and  assaOed 
with  a  degree  of  virulence  they  did 
not  deserve.  They  are  not  intended, 
he  remarked,  to  be  theolo^cal  works, 
but  merely  works  of  imagination,  and 
as  such,  ou^t  not  to  be  examined  ac- 
cording to  the  severe  rules  of  polemi- 
cal criticism. 

I  mentioned  a  late  production  of  a 
Harrow  man,  in  which  ''  Cain"  had 
been  noticed.  "  I  hope,**  said  Lord 
B.,  '^  he  did  not  abuse  me  personally, 
for  that  would  be  too  bad,  as  we  were 
school-fellows,  and  very  good  friends." 

Upon  my  informii^  nim  that  the 
strictures  were  only  xair  and  candid 
observations,  upon  what  the  author 
consid^ed  his  Lordship's  mis-state- 
ments, he  r^oined,  "  It  is  nothing 
more  than  mi  and  just  to  eTamine 
my  writings  argumentativdy,  but  no- 
body has  any  business  to  enter  the  lists 
with  a  da^er  for  my  throat,  when 
the  rules  ofuie  combat  allow  him  to 
play  with  tilts  only." 

LordByron  and  Mr scrupulous- 
ly avoidra.  touching  upon  any  subject 
in  a  manner  that  was  likdy  to  be  irk- 
some to  me,  but  once  or  twi&,  when 
their  peculiar  opinions  were  betrayed 
in  the  course  of  conversation,  I  did 
not  choose  to  lose  the  opportunity  of 
declaring  my  own  sentiments  upon 
the  same  sul^ects,  as  explidtly  as  the 
nature  of  the  conversation  would  ad- 
mit Among  other  things,  I  suggest- 
ed the  danger  there  must  beof  omnd^ 
ing  Omniscient  Wisdom,  byarraignii^ 
what  we  could  not  always  understand^ 
and  expressed  my  bdie^  that  the  Su- 
preme Being  e^qpects  humility  from 
us,  in  the  same  manner  as  we  exact 
ddrereBce.from  our  inftriors  in  attain- 
ments or  condition.    Lord  Byron  and 


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Mr  -— ^  thought  otherwise,  and  the 
former  expressed  himself  in  the  cele- 
brated lines  of  Milton^ 

"  Will  God  incense  his  ire 
For  such  a  pett  j  tresspass,  and  not  praise 
Rather  your  dauntless  rirtae,  whom  the 

pain 
Of  d«uh  denounced,  whatever  thing  death 

be, 
Dstened  not  6om  aduering  what  might 

lead 
To  happier  life.**— B.  IX.  693—607. 
FaradUe  LotU 
I  ventured  to  reply  that  his  Lord- 
ship's sentiments  were  not  unlike  thoee 
expressed  in  the  Virgilian  line— 
*^  Flectere  si  nequeo  Supcros,  Arheronta 
movebo." 

During  the  whole  interview,  my  eyes 
were  fixed  very  earnestly  upon  the 
countenance  of  the  extraordinary  roan 
before  me.  I  was  desirous  of  exami- 
ning every  line  in  his  face,  and  of 
jttdging,from  the  movem^tsofhil  lips, 
eyes,  and  brow,  what  might  be  pass- 
ing within  his  boBom.  Perhaps  he  was 
not  unaware  of  this,  and  detenmned 
to  keep  a  more  stea^  command  over 
them.  A  slight  colour  occasionally 
crossed  his  cheeks ;  and  once,  in  par- 
ticular, when  I  inadvertently  mention* 
cd  the  name  of  a  lady,  wlio  waa  for- 
roerhr  said  to  take  a  deep  interest  in 
his  Lorddbip,  and  related  an  anecdote 
told  roe  of  her  by  a  mutual  friend— 
"  I  have  often  been  very  fbdish,"  said 
her  ladyship,  "  but  never  wicked." 
At  hearing  this,  abbish  stole  over  the 
noble  iMtrd's  face,  and  he  observed, 
"  I  believe  her." 

Once,  and  once  only,  he  betrayed  a 
slight  degree  of  vanity.  He  waa  speak- 
ing of  a  narrow  escape  that  he  had 
lately  had  in  riding  through  a  torrent. 
His  mare  lost  her  footing,  and  there 
was  some  danger  of  her  being  unable 
to  recover  henelf.  "  Not,  however," 
said  he,  *'  that  I  should  have  been  in 
any  personal  hazard,  for  it  would  not 
be  easjr  to  drown  me."  HeaUudedto 
hisawimml^g,  hi  which  he  certainly 
iurpassed  mosC  men. 

Once  also  he  seemed  to  think  he  had 
spcJcen  incautiously,  and  lock  pains  to 
comet  himselll  HewaaalludiBg  toau 


Lord  Byrofu  f  oi 

invitation  to  dinner  that  bad  been 
given  to  him  by  an  Eng^iah  gentle- 
man in  Genoa.  **  I  did  not  go,  for  I 
did  not  wish  to  roake  any  new— •!  did 
not  fed  that  I  could  depart  from  a 
rule  I  had  made,  not  to  dine  in  Ge« 
noa." 

This  reminds  me  of  an  anecdote  re- 
lated to  me  by  the  Coiuitess  D , 

the  kdy  of  a  late  governor  of  Genoa, 
who  waa  anxious  to  be  introduced  to 
Lord  Byron.  A  note  was  written  to 
that  eflTect,  and  the  answer  explained 
in  as  polite  language  as  the  siid^eet 
would  permit,  that  he  had  never  oom- 
piied  with  such  a  wish  aa  ^lat  which 
the  Countess  did  him  the  honour  to 
entertain,  without  having  occasion  af- 
terwards to  regtet  it.  In  i^te  of  this 
ungallant  reftunl  of  a  personal  intro- 
duction,  notes  firequently  passed  be- 
tween the  psrtieB,  with  prasenta  of 
books,  &c,  but  they  never  met. 

When  I  took  my  leave  of  Lord  By- 
ron, he  surprised  roe  by  sa^hig,  "  I 
hope  we  shall  meet  again,  and  perhaps 
it  will  soon  be  in  J^n^ndd.  For ' 
though  he  seemed  to  have  none  of  that 
prejudice  against  his  native  country 
that  has  heea  laid  to  hia  charge,  yet 
there  was  a  want  of  ingenuousness  in 
throwing  out  an  intinmtion  of  what 
was  not  likely  to  take  place.  Upon 
the  whole,  instend  .of'  avoiding  cnv  - 
mention  of  En^and,  he  evident^  took 
an  interest  in  what  was  going  on  at 
home,  and  was  f^,  when  the  conver- 
sation led  to  the  mention  of  persons 
and  topics  of  the  day,  hj  wmch  he 
could  obtsia  my  information,  without 
directly  asking  for  it. 

Sudn  was  my  interview  wi^  one  of 
the  most  celebirated  characters  of  the 
pvesent  age,  in  whidi,  as  is  generally 
the  case,  most  of  my  antidpationa  were 
disaf^oted.  There  was  nothing  ec- 
centric in  his  manners-nothing  beyodd 
the  level  of  ordinary  clever  men  in  his 
remarks  or  style  of  conversadoo,  and 
certainly  not  anything  to  justifjr  the 
strange  things  that  have  been  said  of 
him  by  roany,  who,  like  the  French 
rhapoodist,  would  describe  him  aa  half 
angel  and  half  deviL 


Tai,  dont  le  monde  encore  ignore  le  vrai  nom, 
Esprit  mysterieux,  mortel,  ange,  ou  demon, 
Qui  que  tu  tois,  Byron,  hon  ou  fatal  genie  ; 
La  nuit  est  ton  i ejour,  1*horreor  est  ton  domain. 

17 


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Letters  of  Timot^  TickUft  Ag.    No.  XVL 


QJmaev 


LITTEBS  ^F  nifOTHT  TICKLSB,  ESQ.  TO  SMIITIMT  LITBSAftT  CBAEACTBBS. 

No.  XVI. 

To  ChrUtoph^  North,  Esq. 

ON  THE  LAST  EDfNBUBOH  BBYUW. 


Deae  Nobth> 
I  ONCE  knew  an  did  ioker>  who^  on 
the  point  o£  detUb,  stjol  ooQftiniifid  to 
ha7ehi8je8t«  Hja  roinphint  waB,incfc» 
thBtltpennitted  him  to  be  plaeedim 
the  bakony  befoie  hia  honae,  to  «nja7 
the  warm  sun.  In  thia  poeitieiiy  bia 
eye  waa  caught  by  the  .figtuot  of  an  .old . 
battered-lookinp  beau,  who  had /been 
a  prime  swell  m  hk  youth,  and  waa 
atul  rigged  out  in  the  finery,  of  the 
day,  and  waa  endeayonring  to  look 
yoong,  "  Who  is  that?"  asked  the 
▼aletudinarian.  He  was  teld.  '^  Take 
me  in,"  said  h&— ^'  take  me  in^  for 
€rod's  sake  !*-I  lay  my  death  at  that 
fellow'a  door/'  My  poor  friend  died 
in  half  an  hour  after. 

Now,  Mr  North,  if  I  die  within  the 
next  half  hour,  I  shall  certainW  lay 
my  death  to  the  account  of  the  Edin- 
bmrgh  ReTiew,  which  you  hare  sent 
me.  It  is  aa  stupid  aa  usual,  bnt,  I 
think,  mora  impernnent  The  old  abo- 
minable lumbei^— the  oenuine,  natu- 
ral, and  indigenoBs  filth  of  the  con- 
ceror-is  buoved  up  by  some  insolence, 
and  leAT«ied  1^  an  extra  portion  of 
apke  and. malignity.  I  confess  it  is 
balm  to  my  very  soul  to  find  that  the 
fdlows  baye  not  pluck  to  face  Mill  and 
his  brother  Radicals  of  the  Westmiik- 
ater  Review.  Jeffirey  and  his  folk,  at 
the  time  that  they  were  windng  under 
us,  and  carefully  scanning  our  erery 
sentence,  in  order  to  pick  from  it  mat- 
ter of  libel^-HDwedto  nave  the  braxeo 
forehead  to  deny  ever  sedng  such  a- 
book  at  all  as  Blackwood's  Msgasinew 
"  It  circulates,"  they  would  say,  "  ex- 
clusively among  the  Tories,"  i.  e.  the 
^t]emen  of  tne  country,  *'  and  we 
pise  it  too  much  to  look  at  it«" 
Aoc<»rdingly,  thev  voted  ua  out  of 
every  l&rary  in  wnidi  they  bore  sway 
— £or  which  the  Ebonian  ought  to  .be 
very  much  obliged^to  them,  fix  it,  of 
course,  increased  his  sale---and  took 
every  other  method  to  convince  the 
pubuc  that  we  were  never  in  their 
way.  Leslie's  action  against  us  was, 
to  DC  sure,  rather  a  beiUe  of  the  party, 
for  it  convicted  them  of  ill-concealed 
soreness,  and  I  understand  it  is  gene- 
rally condemned  by  his  fiiends.  But, 


in  ths  case  of  the  Westonniter,  this 
line  of  action  will  not  do.  The  West- 
minstriaBs  address  the  same  honour- 
able  and  upright  body^— the  Whig- 
Radicals,  or  Radical-WnigB ;  andrttd 
ihejf  must  be  by  the  identical  people 
who  turn  away  fVom  us  in  pMie  with 
well*afibcted  horror.  It  is  m  this  case 
sheer  want  of  plnck,  without  covering 
of  any  kind.  Happy  am  I  to  say,  that 
the  sale  of  the  Eoinbureh  has  been 
alieftdy  materially  injured  by  that  of 
the  Westminster. 

What  have  we  here,  in  this  79th 
Number  of  Blue  and  Yellow  ?— Rise 
and  FaU  of  Profits  ?— Pish ! 

HalTs  Voyages  and  Travels.  An  ar- 
ticle to  puff  a  hock  published  by  Mr 
Constable.  Not  but  thai  Hall  is  a  sen- 
sibkandcleyerman,  and  his  book  wdl^ 
very  well  worth  readhig— but  we  are 
sure  the  Captain  himseu  vrill  be  tho- 
roughly asluuned  of  this  pieoe  <^bsre- 
faora,  base  bibhopolic  influence.  It  is 
just  aa  bad  aa  anything  done  by  our 
fnend,  Joannes  do  Moravia. 

Qnin's  Spain— Another  bode  of  Ar- 
chibald's, vaSM.  and  abused,  abused 
and  puffed,  according  as  publisher  or 
politics  bore  the  ascendant.  The  sheer 
mipudeDce  of  these  Whig  feUows,  in 
talking  magisterially  of  the  Spanish 
war,  IS  trmy  *'  refieshing."  A  year 
has  not  elapsed  since  they  were  gas- 
conading about  the  defeat  which  the 
Due  d'Angonlemewaa  to  receive,  sad 
boastzng  of  the  intense  valour  of  the 
Cartes  and  their  ragamuffins.  Now 
that  dl  that  isdispersed  into  thin  uiJias 
t£re  soirf  t^  fiHMcM  fte^)  they  keep  on  prat- 
ing, pmting^  prating,  with  as  much 
gmnmloqueaceas  ever.  The  animal 
who  is  revkwing  Quin  is  sdmirably 
noMw.  "  Wimot  pretendiBg  (saya 
he,  p.  6S,)  without  pretending  to  any. 
^MSi  poliditel  fores^t>  wa  may  ven- 
tvatopradio^"&c&e.  6^va/politi- 
oalfiuTMidbi,  indeed!  Why,  you  un- 
conscionable ass,  when  coula  you  pre- 
tend to  any  at  all  p  When  was  tnere 
a  single  prediction  of  the  whole  gang 
fulfiflecl  ?  Has  not  every  one  of  you 
been  not  only  a  fiuams  umti^,  but  a 
fdmrrtt  luwac.  You  venture  to  predict ' 
yon  might  as  well  venture  to  swallow 


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1824-3 


Lett(r$qfTimo^2H€kUr,E0q.    No,  XVI. 


fOft 


tbe  Ct^Um*  A  fkilare  in  tbe  om  at- 
tempt U  not  much  more  certain  than 
intbeot^ 

However,  there  ia  sonwetluog  mUjr 
after  aU>  in  thisrevievi^  We  tlunk it 
moat  come  from  Lioadon^  for  ^e  do 
not  know  anybody, here  wnom  we  ean 
anapoct  of  tlua  particular  piece  of  ut^r 
trw.  Mr  Quin^  it  appears,  wa«  em- 
ployed hf  a  newmper  to  send  home, 
reports  of  affalrson  ^iain,forwbich>no 
doiibt,  Mr  Quin  got  the  regular  honest, 
and  wdyUeamed  wagea  of  men  in  his 
atation.  On  which  the  reviewer  lifts 
XL^  his  handa  in  aa  much  amazemenit, 
as  Dt  Southey  would  do  if  he  saw  a 
b^g  Ulustrating  the  ways  of  nature, 
by  Ditin£  a  b^gjgar  man,  and  preachea 
on  the  gbriea  of  the.  ^^  gentlemen  of 
the  press."  No  man,  it  appears,  need- 
now-a-days  be  ash^tmed  of  acribiog  feq 
a  newspaper  atr—  per  week*  A  ciiw. 
cumatance  greatly  to  be  rtgoiced  at« 
^^  Whatever  tends  to  raise  the  charac- 


8  thiBj^. 

barians,  it  apnpears,  who  affect  (''  for  it; 
can  onlybeaSfectation")  to  contemn  the 
public  journals,  and  to  hold  light  die 
reputation  of  their  conductors.  Oh  { 
the  wicked  pe<^ !  O  people  'thrice 
sunk  in  Cimmerian  gloom  1  What, 
think  little  of  the  Times  ?  undervalue 
the  Morning  Chronicle?  read  not  the 
Morning  Herald  ?  lig^t  the  pipe  with 
the  Ex^iiner  ?  Fie,  fie,  bnng  them 
out  at  once,  that  they  mav  peri^  at 
the  point  of  the  pen*  Do  they,  as  our 
eloouent  article-monger  phrases  it, 
wiaa  to  frown  down  pubUc  opinion, 
**  by  refusing  to  venerate  the  collect^ 
ed  mi^rity  of  the  WhatHl'ye-<»ll- 
'ems  de  pluooe  ?"  We  hope  not,  for 
the  sake  of  common  decency. 

I  see  JefiQrey  haa  taken  my  advice, 
and  reviewed  Savage  L<andor.  He  is, 
as  I  told  him  to  be,  justly  indignant 


with  the  oonceift.of  4i^:B<aotiMi.  i^ 
deq^isin^  CharliaFoK^  a^d  indeed  cuta, 
bun  up.  m  tolerably  dJMent  atyle.  Tho, 
article  is  nevertheless,  a  bUckjgpunL 
one.  The  cut  at  the  ki^g.is  about  aa* 
dirty  a  piece  of  cowaidly  nastinesa  4is> 
I  bav^  ever  aeen^^— «Dd  sq,  th^k  hm^ 
vei^  it  will  be.couaid^ed  by  everyw, 
bo<ihr  ^lio  will  read  it*  The^VliigsarQ, 
really  a  Ipw^  mean,  paltry,  ungentle*, 
man-like  set  of  feUowa.  I  Jeave  Jei^ 
frey's  nibble  with  Souib^  and  Co^ 
aloii^,  giving  them  full  lib^y  to.lxn^f 
it  abouLt  among  tbemselvea  aa  maOf*. 
fully  as  thev  can ;  and  take  leave  t<^ 
say,  aa  a  steaay  amcompronusiog  Totj, 
tb«t,  whatever  such  folk  n^iy  havOf 
done>  I  hated  Buonaparte— rl  hated, 
Eobeapiepre— I  hated  theJafobiwa  ■ 
I  demised  the  Whigs — I.  pitied  th«, 
Radical»-^nd  I  apiti  upon  the  present, 
Liberals  of  the  Contiimt.  Nacbap^ 
of  times  can  ever  dwdc  .tl^it  feeling  m, 
me.  Let  others  weathernsook  it  to  and, 
&o  aa  tbey  please. 

There  is  a  oonsiderablei  quantity  of 
very  excellent  and  solid  iffumnoe  in^ 
this^irticle.  They  quote,  for  instwnoiv 
aa  a  mere  apedmen  of  style,  Lander'a 
account  of  Mr  Geoige  Ndly.  whioh  he^ 
mita  into  the  mouth  of  old  Bisbpp 
Burnet,  without  once  aeeii^  that  it  i% 
a  diaracter  of  Lord  Byron  in  disguise 
No  such  man  aa  George  Nelly  ever 
existed.  But  the  redeeming  passaga 
of  all  the  article  is,  *^  We  ouraelves^" 
taking  shelter  in  a  ruiiMd.  shesling  in 
the  Highlands,  when  that  eminent 
pluralist  saw  an  unbreeched  barbarian 
mutton-keeper  in  a  "  steep  of  weet,'' 
as  our  own  shepherd  would  call  it,  read- 
ing the  Edinburgh  Review  I  Shades 
of  Osaian  and  Dugsld  MaoGlaahan, 
ye  mighty  men  c£  Celtland,  look  down' 
.  out  of  your  mists,  and  think  of  thil ! 
If  the  atory  be  true,  it  seriously,  how- 
ever, is  a  m  pcoof  how  £ir  tbfl  demo- 
raliaation.of  lOur  peasantry  k  cnnitd* 


•  I>Mfl  Tiaiothy  aQade  to  the  foUowiiig  sentoce, abont  the  middleof  p..  80e-«<<  ▲ 
remarkable  inataoce  occurs  in  the  dialogue  between  Apa  Bdaya  and  Henry  VIII.,  Jaiia 
which  the  rough,  boistcfons,  vohiptuous,  cruel,  and  yet  gsuMtsowe  fbamrtir  oftJhsl;ro>» 
Darch,  WHOSE  gross  akd  paxfeaea  sEurisiursss  has  avT  ours  pamAJULSV 
m  TUB  BRITISH  AiHTA^s,  IS  traDtfvsed,**  &c  Xs  it  possible  that  oar  fnend  can  h^ 
rifl;fat  in  sapporing  (if  such  be  bit  supposition)  that  any  man  in  EngUod  durst  talk  so  in 
aunsioo  to  tne  hninane,  benefioent,  goierous,  and  kind-hearted  prince  now  on  the  throoe 
of  diese  reslms  ?  If  one  could  believe  that  there  vere  such  a  man,  and  that  BiougbfUn 
wcM  be,  wdl  ind^  might  are  parody  the  poet^s  lines,  and  pray  heaven  to 

^  ■   ■     ■■  pot  a  wUp'in  fiiW  Cktatlays*  hands^ 
Ttolashtbe*.  .-«i.  -  iMiiigli ihs k>bby.'* 


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Letters  of  Timotiy  Tkkkr,  Esq.    No.  XVI. 


70* 

I  mu^  do  Jeftej  the  credit  to  say, 
that  I  do  not  think  he  wrote  diat  pas- 
ttge.  How  would  his  little  angular 
▼isage  have  grinned  twenty  years  ago  at 
llbe  gander  who  should  exclaim,  *^  From 
tiiat  time  Qthe  time  he  saw  the  Celt 
savage  reading  the  Edinburffh]]  the 
blue  and  yellow  covers  seemed  to  take 
a  tinge  from  the  humid  arch  !1!"  that 
spanned  the  sditude  before  us.  Oh^ 
Jupiter !  and  **  our  thoughts  were  co- 
mingled  with  the  elements  IH"  No^ 
no,  Zffftej  did  not  write  that  curst 
nonsense— it  must  have  been  a  Coek- 

I  W88  taken  in  by  the  title  of  the 
next  article,  "  Corrections  of  Mr 
Hume."  I  thought  somebody  had  been 
shewing  up  Joseph,  and  wondered 
how  it  |;ot  into  the  Edinburgh ;  but 
on  lookiiw  more  attentively,  I  find  it 
is  David  Hume  who  is  cut  to  pieces  by 
one  Brodie.  Sir  Jamie  has  given  us  56 
pages  out  of  hid  forthcoming  History 
of  England  on  the  subject.  It  is  ra- 
ther late  in  the  day  now  to  think  that 
any  worthy  young  lad,  such  as  you  see 
lumbering  about  the  Outer  House, 
will  be  able  to  demolish  a  great  his- 
torian on  the  strength  of  petty  facts. 

Hume,  no  doubt,  is  often  very 
wrong,  and  always  very  partial,  but 
when  Brodie  is  in  Erebus,  and  his 
books,  (which  Jamie  absurdly  fancies 
will  come  to  a  second  edition)  are  feed- 
ing moths,  Hume  will  be  one  of  our 
great  EngUsh  classics — 

Ob,  the  bonny  Oeordie  Brodie, 
Is  an  unco  canny  bodie. 
Such  a  chiel  as  Geordie  Brodie, 
Is  na  fra  this  to  Linkumdoddy : 
David  Hume  is  but  a  noddy. 
When  he  meets  wi*  Oeordie  Brodie : 
80  let's  gang  ben  and  tok  our  toddy, 
Drinkiag  gnde  luck  to  Geordie  Brodie. 
Oh,  toe  bonny  Geordie  Brodie,  &c 
You  must  forgive  this  little  sportive 
sally  of  my  muse,  but  I  am  so  en- 
chanted with  the  demolition  of  Jack 
Leslie's  friend  Hume,  that  I  could 
not  hdp  it    There,  however,  is  good 
staff  in  Mackintosh's  article,  if  one 
oooldreadit.  I  understand  that  there 
was  some  of  it,  though,  so  vagabond 
that  Constable's  folk  insisted  on  a  can- 
ceL    I  am  not  quite  sure  of  this  fact ; 
as  ^ou  are  on  tne  spot,  you  may  in- 
quire, if  you  think  it  worth  while, 
which,  however,  it  is  not. 

I  hourtily  thuik  Sir  Jamos  Mackin^ 
toih  for  one  sentence^  of  which  I  shall 
make  a  separate  paragraph ;  bid  Bal- 
lantyne  set  it  up  in  small  caps.    **  At 


QJune, 


die  time  it  (Humc^s   history)  was* 
written, 

"  The  Whigs  week  still  the 
predominant  party  op  the  state 
—and  it  was  not  allowed  di- 
RECTLY TO  QUESTION  ANY  OP  TBBlft 
PRINCIPLES."     (P.  102.) 

God  bless  the  darling  party !  TM^ 
are  and  were,  and  will  ever  be,  the 
true  friends  of  the  liberty  of  the  press. 

Then  comes  some  heavy  Go^  abu- 
sing Croker's  Suffolk  Papers.  I  do  not 
think  the  Secretary  of  tne  Admiralty 
will  lose  a  wink  of  deep  in  consequence 
of  this  ass's  work.  I  shall  treat  yon 
to  a  few  important  blunders  he  disco- 
vers in  C.'s  notes.  ''  The  Duke  of 
Kent,"  Croker  says,  "  died  in  1740" 
— "  No,"  says  his  critic, "  in  1741.'— 
''  Lord  Scarborough  killed  himself  in 
17S9"— *'  No,  in  1740."  "  A  Duke 
of  Dorset  died  in  1765"—"  No,  hi 
1763."  "  Lord  Mansfield  died  in  the 
88th  year  of  his  age"—"  No,  in  the 
89th.'  This  valuame  correction  arises 
fh>m  the  fact,  that  Lord  M.  was  88 
years  and  eigftteen  days  old.  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  such  a  blockhead  ? 

^'  French  Romances"  is  the  next 
article— evidently  by  a  new  hand — and 
that  a  very  poor  one — ^very  poor  in- 
deed. Where  did  Jeff,  pi^  up  this 
creature  ?  He  has  the  nice  to  pOfer 
one  of  our  Noctes,  Vol.  XIII,  p.  372, 
&c.  for  the  only  decent  thing  in  his 
review — that  part  which  ^uixzes  Vi- 
compte  D'Arlingcourt's  mmeralc^cal 
novel,  and  that  he  botches  most  cUun- 
sily.  Jeff,  had  better  turn  off  this 
Grub-Streeter.  • 

*'  Mr  Bentham,"  says  the  next  gen- 
tleman, "cannot  write  anything  which 
a  sensible  man  will  not  be  glad  to 
read."  Having  read  which  sentence, 
I  skipped  the  article  altogether.  In 
looking  through  it,  I  see  he  is  abusing 
the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,  I  sup- 
pose, in  vengeance  for  the  castigatiou 
of  the  Westminster.  And  there  is  a 
delicious  paragraph  p.  201.  to  the 
praise  and  glory  of  the  "  gentlemen 
of  the  press. "  That  eminent  body,  I 
suppose,  is  enlisting  for  the  old  crazy 
concern. 

"^  Italy"  is  the  heading  of  an  article 
dedicated  to  plastering  with  applause 
that  most  contemptible  of  all  numaa 
assodatious — the  Italian  Carbonari^ 
they  are  weak,  cowardly^  wicked,  and 
diak>yal*and  therefore  fit  for  Whig 
panegyric,  and  our  contempt  Oh  1 
that  some  really  Roman  spirit  would 
ones  again  arise  in  the  Garden  of  Eu- 


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1884.;]              LeUeri  tf  TimOufi  2%oU0r»  £19.    Nt.  XVL  T^5 

rope !  Those  sooandrels  are  putting  cuktion  than  his  efflste  jonmal^  are 

baek  that  oonsummation  an  entire  cen-  employed  on  the  contrary  dde  fk  the 

tury.  questien.    Indeed  he  admits  it  in  the 

Mr  Brougham  oonchides  theNurn-  b^:inning  of  the  article. 
ber  with  hit  speech  in  Parliament  on  Just  tmnk  of  this  Number  of  the 
the  question  of  the  Demarara  insur-  Edinburgh  Review  ending  with  a 
rection — and  as  that  has  already  af-  prayer  in  the  honour  <^  Christianity  I 
forded  sufficient  merriment  by  its  I  flatter  myself  it  was  we^  who  bad- 
balloon  denouement^  I  shall  not  say  a  ffored  them  into  that  I  wish  old  Play- 
word  about  his  egregious  special  plead-  rairwas  alive^  to  see  his  coadjutors 


in^.  The  West  India  business  is  sick-  prostrate  before  the  altered  spirit  of 

enms  every  one — the  humbug  is  ex-  the  age* 

poeed — and  Broudliam  and  Co.  may        Good  night.  I  am^  dear  Sir, 

depend  upon  ity  that  abler  men  than  Yours  £uthfully> 

he,  and  works  of  more  power  and  dr-  Tuesday.  T.  T. 

P.  S. — I  shall  perhaps  send  the  article  on  Horace  Walpole,  ^  great  Whig 
authority  so  much  praised  by  Croker's  reviewers  in  this  Number.  But  after 
all,  it  may  be  better  not  to  say  anything  about  the  disgusting  wretch.  Infa- 
mies, says  Tacitus,  should  be  veiled  in  silenoe.  You  are  aware,  of  oourae,  that 
he  ^ 


QTimothy  must  write  plainer.  I  cannot  read  the  last  word.  Indeed,  the 
whole  epistle  bears  evident  marks  of  the  third  bowL  Our  friend  is  quite  riffht, 
indeed,  as  to  most  of  the  points  he  takes  up,  but  we  at  least  must  think  him 
quite  wrong  as  to  the  style  in  which  he  introduces  Quin  and  Basil  HalL  We 
had  a  hearty  and  an  early  review  of  the  former  ourselves,  as  T.  T.  might  have 
recollected,  and  if  we  have  not  yet  had  an  article  on  the  other,  we  wash  our 
cywn  hands  of  that,  having  entrniBted  the  book  the  very  day  we  read  it,  to  a 
particular  friend  of  ours,  who  ought  lonir  ere  now  to  have  done  Justice  to  the 
Captain's  distinguished  merits — merits  of  which  no  Edinburgh  reviewer  that 
ever  chipped  biscuit,  can  be  half  so  well  aware  as  he  is.  We  also  beg  leave  to 
state,  that  in  our  opinion  Mr  T.  T.  has  never  read  one  syllalde  of  Mr  Brodie's 
book,  otherwise  he  would  have  spoken  of  it  more  respectfully.  Mr  B.  says  he 
is  a  Whig— that  is  true — ^but  he  is  a  laborious  inquirer,  and  a  successfxil  in- 
quirer ;  and  we  sincerely  wish  there  were  more  Whigs  like  him,  because  we 
cannot  believe  that  men  of  learning  and  sefise  can  be  Whigs  in  Uie  true  (and 
offensive)  sense  of  the  word. 

We  shiould  have  had  a  Review  of  him  also ;  but  were  bothered  with  the 
size  of  the  four  octavos.    C.  N.]] 


STAKZAS. 

I  NBVE&  cast  a  flower  away. 
The  gift  of  one  who  cared  for  me ; 

A  little  flower— a  faded  flower. 
But  it  was  done  reluctantly. 

I  never  looked  a  last  adieu 
To  things  familiar,  but  my  heart 

Shrank  with  a  feeling,  almost  pain. 
Even  from  their  melessness  to  part. 

I  never  spoke  the  word  *'  Farewdl !" 
But  with  an  utt'rance  faint  and  broken  ; 

An  earth-sick  yearning  ^  the  time. 
When  it  shul  never  more  be  spoken. 


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^Q.  XV. 

X?H  A'£M  SYMnOirO  KYAIKON  nEPINISSOMEKAHK 
HAEA  KariAAONTA  KA6fHM£NON  OINOnOTAZEIN. 

PHOC.  op.  J/A. 

Z,This  is  a  distich  by  wise  old  ThocyUdes, 

An  ancient  wha  wrote  crabbed  Greek  in  no  silly  days  ; 

Meaaing,  "'Tib  uoht  foe  good  wikebibbino  peofle, 

'"  Not  to  let  the  jcto  pace  EOtmD  the  board  like  ▲  carppLB ; 

"  But  gaily  to  chat  while  discussing  tueie  tipple." 

:An  excellent  rule  of  the  hearty  old  cock  'tis — 

And  a  veryJU  motto  to  put  to  our  Noctes>'2 

C.  N.  ap»  Ambr, 

Prcien/— Timothy  Tickles,  Esq.,  Ensign  Odoheety,  the  Etteick 
Shepherd,  and  Me  Jonathan  Spiers. 

odoherty. 
Yes,  Tickler,  you  are,  after  all,  ^uite  m  the  right — I  took  tha  other  aida 
merely  for  the  sake  of  conversatioD. 

tickler. 
Aye,  and  if  my  young  ftiend  here  had  happened  to  be  eaUed  avray  half-an- 
hour  ago— aye,  or  if  I  had  happened  not  to  be  in  the  exact  humour  for  a^ua- 
baahingy  and  particularly  for  squabashing  you — what  would  have  been  the  con- 
sequence, Mr  Morgan  ? — ^what  would  have  been  the  consequence,  you  care- 
me-devil? 

odoheety. 
Why,  I  suppose,  I  should  have  helped  to 

*<  Give  to  the  press  one  preux-ohevalier  more,** 
as  the  old  zigzag  of  Twickenham  says,  or  ought  to  say.    Pope  was  decidedly 
the  Z  of  Queen  Anne's  time— his  dunces  were  the  progenitors  of  the  present 
Cockneys. 

Hoao. 
Wheesht — ^wheesht — ^for  heaven's  sake  dinna  name  thae  creatures  again — ^I'm 
smre  they're  doon  enough  at  ony  rate.  But  reidly,  Mr  Tidder,  are  ye  noowcr 
hasty  ?--0d,  man,  {whispering  Timothy,)  the  lad  might  have  turned  out  a  ge- 
nius. 

TICKLEE. 

No  whispering  at  Ambrose's,  Hogg. — Here,  Jonathan,  boy— here's  the  Great 
Boar  of  the  Forest  grunting  into  my  ear,  that  we  may  be  spoiling  a  genius  in 
your  honourable  person — What  say  you  to  this,  my  hearty  ?— Do  you  really 
now— but  sans  phrase  now— do  you  reidly  take  yourself  to  be  a  genius? 
HOGG,  (asitk  to  OIMefiy,) 

He  takes  his  toddy  brawlies,  at  ony  rate. 

ODOHERTY. 

Hogg  remarks  that  our  youthful  friend  is  a  promising  jmnchifier— But  this, 
even  tms,  I  fear,  may  still  leave  the  matter  a  little  dubious— ^i^tmtii  indoeti 
doetigue. 

HOGG. 

Jeering  at  me,  I  daursay — ^but  what  sigmfies  that  ? — Here,  Mr  Jonathan, 
you're  a  very  fine  douce  lad«-never  ye  heed  what  thae  prpud-noaed  chids  teU 
you— put  out  the  poem  or  die  novell— WbHk  of  them  said  ye  it  was  ? 

ME  spiers. 

A  romantic  tale,  air,  interspersed  with  verses* 

H000« 

Ii  there  a  gay  feck  o*  verses  ? 


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1884.;]  KodetAwdmmma    No  XK  707 

«m  SPIBEt. 

A  oonridenble  nnmber,  tir— Several  of  the  chmeters,  tir^  give  ?ent  to  their 
fedingi  in  a  poetical  form^  air. 

HOOO. 

Aye«  that's  a  Rode  auld  ikahion— A  real  novell  yoangleddy  hasay  her  keeli- 
^loe  in  her  poaeh^  anil  tome  bit  hack  of  a  letter,  or  anld  raantuamaker'a  count, 
or  tomethinff  or  other,  to  put  down  her  bit  sonnet  on,  just  after  she's  been 
stolen,  or  robbed,  or,  what's  waor,  majrbc  ■ 

TIClLSa. 

Hold  your  tongue,  Hogg.  Jonathan  Sjners'  book  is  a  rerr  pretty  book,  I 
aisare  you— «ttd  his  Tcrsea  are  very  wdl  introduced*-Tery  weu  indeed. 

ODORBETY. 

Whr,  Hoig  Uaidf,  in  one  vf  his  reeent  masterpieces,  has  giren  tlie  finest 
example  of  the  easy  and  nnaffiseted  introduction  of  theoraament  of  oeeaaioiial 
vene,  in  a  prose  nunanee. 

TicftLEE,  {aside  to  ODoherifJ) 

I  forget  what  you  are  aUuding  to.  Is  this  in  the  "  Confessions  of  the 
Jostled  Sinner,"  which  I  see  advertised  ^ 

ODOHERTT. 

No,  'tis  in  the  "  Three  Perils  of  Man."  One  of  the  chief  characters  of  that 
work  is  a  hcmmMi  poet,  and  this  personage  never  opens  his  mouth,  but  out 
comes  a  hma  ndB  regular  psahn-measure  stanza  of  four  lines.  In  the  Pirate, 
to  be  sure,  old  Noma  spouts  most  unoonseionably ;  but  even  she  must  knodt 
under  to  the  poet  of  Hogg. 

TicKLEB,  (rii^«— entor  Ambroee.) 
Mr  Ambrsae,  have  you  the  Three  Perils  of  Man  in  the  honae  ?    If  "yea, 
bring  them  forthwith. 

AXBEOSE,  (JikdignanUy.) 
Sir,  Mr  Hogg^s  works  form  part  of  the  standing  furniture  of  the  tap-room. 

ODOHEETv,  {mMe^ 
Standing  fturniture,  I  will  be  sworn. 

▲X8E0SB. 

I  rather  think,  Mr  Macmurdo,  the  great  drover  from  Angus,  has  one  of  the 
volumes  just  now ;  but  he  seemed  getting  very  drowsy,  «nd  I  shall  perfaapa 
be  able  to  extract  it  {Exit.) 

HOOO,  (««M2e.} 

Honest  man !— 4ie's  surely  been  sair  forfougnten  the  day  at  the  market 

ODOHBETT. 

Hogff  has  another  eharaeter  in  the  same  book— a  priest ;  and  what  think 
ye  iabu  dialect?    Why,  pure  Chaldee,  to  be  sure. 

TICKLBE. 

Chaldee  manuscript  you  mean,  I  suppose.    Well,  I  see  no  harm  in  this. 

ROGO. 

It's  a'  perfect  nature.  If  I  liked  I  could  speak  nothing;  but  poetry^deil  a 
bait  of  prose— fine  month's  end  to  month's  end— It  would  come  Hke  butter* 

OnOHBETY. 

In  a  lordly  dish,  to  be  sure.  Come,  Hcigg,  I  take  you  at  your  word.  Stick 
to  your  psalm-tune  then. 

Hoa«. 
Now  sted&sliy  adhere  wiU  I, 

Nor  swerve  from  this  sgaiu. 
But  speak  in  measured  mdody 
For  ever  more.  Amen ! 

TICKLBE. 

Hurra !  Hogg  for  ever  I  that's  a  Uramping  exordinm,  Jamea.  CoiUd  you 
match  kim  there,  Jonathan  ? 

HOGG. 

There  is  no  poet,  no  not  one. 

Nor  yet  no  poetess. 
Whose  ready  rhymes  Uke  Uiose  can  run, 

Which  my  lips  do  express. 
Vol.  XV.  4  V 


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708  Xocies  Ambrotianet.    No.  XF»  [[June, 

YetL  all  the  dty  ooDtumally 

Out  from  my  moath  they  go. 
Like  river  that  not  waxeth  dry. 

But  his  waves  still  do  flow. 
Sith  it  be  so  that  Og,  the  King 

OfBashan— — 

TICKLBR. 

Come,  Hogg— 4n  virtue  of  the  power  which  Christopher  gave  me  when  he 
took  the  gout,  you  are  absolved,  and  hereby  I  do  absolve  yon.*— One  ihjme 
more,  you  great  pig,  and  111  have  you  scalded  on  the  spot 

HOOO. 

The  pitcher's  getting  canld,  at  ony  rate.  Ye  had  better  ring,  anil  bid  Am- 
brose have  on  the  big  boiler  at  ance. — And  as  for  you,  Jonathan  Spiers,  tbey 
were  deaving  us  wi'  sa^ng  there  was  nae  opening  in  the  literary  workL — Me 
away,  that  canna  be  said,  my  braw  lad. 

ODOHEETY. 

Come,  Hogg,  a  joke's  a  joke^we've  had  enough  of  this.  There  sr  no  (gett- 
ing in  the  literary  world. 

HOGG. 

Wed,  Jonathan,  if  Byron  and  me  canna  make  an  opening  between  iia,  I'm 
thinking  ve  maun  just  ca'  canny,  and  wait  till  ye  see  out  ODoherty  and  the 
Author  of  Waverley — I  rcdcon  them  about  the  next  to  Byron  and  me. 
TICKLER,  {oHde.) 

Either  of  their  little  fingers  well  worth  you  both. But,  howevei^-Omie, 

Hogg,  sufmoting  Jonathan  really  to  r^ect  my  poor  adrice,  what  vrould  be  your 
counsel  ?  Come  now,  remember  'tis  a  serious  concern : — so  be  for  onoe  the  sa- 
gacious master  of  the  sagadous  Hector. 

HOGG. 

I  would  be  for  Jonathan  trying  a  good,  rowsing,  indenendent  Tory  paper. 
Deil  a  paper  I  see's  worth  lighting  one's  pipe  wi'.  It  would  surely  do. 

TICKLER. 

I  daresay  Jonathan's  ambition  aimed  at  rather  higher  concerns ;  but  no 
matter,  what  have  you  to  say  against  the  papers.  Jemmy  ? 

ROGG. 

Just  that  they're  a'  dean  trash— the  Scots  anes,  I  mean.  There's  the 
Scotsman — it  was  lang  the  only  ane  that  had  ony  bit  spice  of  the  deevil  in't, 
and  it's  noo  turned  as  douce  and  as  doited  as  the  very  warst  of  them,  since  that 
creature  turned  Ricardo  Professor,  or  what  ca'  ve'L  He  was  a  real  donor, 
ugly,  sulky  beast,  but  still  he  was  a  beast — nqw  tney're  mere  dirt  the  lave  o* 
them— just  the  beast's  leavings — ^perfect  dirt. 

ODOHERTT. 

What  say  ye  to  the  Weekly  Journal,  James  ? 

HOGG. 

Too— too— too— too— too!  By'r Lady, goodMaster Lieutenant— too !— 4oo! 
—too !— too  I — too !— >pheugh ! 

TICKLER. 

The  Couzant,  Hogg? 

HOGG. 

An  edificationing  paper,  111  no  deny.  It  has  a'  the  farms  and  roups.  I 
oouldna  do  without  the  Courant 

TICKLER. 

What  sort  of  paper  did  you  wish  Jonathan  to  set  up— A  Beacon,  perhaps  ? 

HOGG. 

A  Beaoon  I  Gude  pity  us,  Timotheus,— are  jrou  gaun  dementit  a'th^tb^  ? 
I  thought  ye  said  Jonathan  was  a  prudent,  qmet,  respectable  laddie — ^wishing 
to  make  his  way  in  the  warld— and  *'  your  ain  sense  tells  you,"  as  Meg  Dods 
says  about  the  lad  remaining  in  the  room  with  Miss  Mowbray,  that,  thou^^ 
your  Anti-pacobins,  and  John  Bulls,  and  Twopenny  Post-Bags,  and  sae  on,  do 
▼cry  weel  m  the  sreat  Babel  of  Lunnun,  the  like  o'  thae  things  are  quite  he- 
terogeneous in  tms  small  atmosphere  of  the  Edinbro'  meridiai^the  lolk  h^e 
eanna  thole't. 


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1884.3  Nodes  Ambrotiana.    No.  XV.  700 

TICKLSm. 

Jooathan  mkht  try  a  good  daily  paper  in  London— that  is  much  wanted  at 
present.  Indeed,  a  new  one  is  wantal  erery  three  or  four  years ;  for  the  chaps 
that  succeed  soon  get  too  rich  and  fat  for  their  business.  Stoddart  is  quite  a 
Bourbon  man  now.    The  Courier  is  verging  to  conciliation. 

onoHsaTT. 

By  the  bye>  some  dandies  always  pronounce  Courier,  as  if  it  were  a  French 
word,  courts— Did  you  hear  our  mend  Peter's  joke  upon  this  at  Inverness  ? 

TICKLER* 

Not  I— What  was  it? 

ODOHEBTY. 

Why,  a  young  Whig  wit  asked  some  witness  before  the  venerable  Jury 
Court,  '^  Are  you  in  me  habit  of  taking  in  the  CouriS,  sir  ?"  Upon  this,  Pa- 
trick, in  cross-examination,  says,  *'  Are  you  in  &e  habit,  sii;,  of  taking  in  the 
Morning  Fo—  ?" 

TICKLBR. 

Very  well,  Peter !— But  enough  of  the  papers.  I  wonder  you,  Odoh^ty, 
don't  think  of  patching  up  the  Memoirs  of  Byron— you  could  easily  sness 
what  sort  of  stun  they  were ;  and,  at  any  rate,  an  edition  of  10,000  would  sell 
ere  the  trick  could  be  discovered. 

ODORBBTT. 

Why,  I  flatter  myself,  if  it  were  discovered,  the  book  would  still  be  good 
enough  to  sell  on  its  own  bottom.  But  the  booksellers  are  turning  so  deuoedly 
squeamish  now-a-days,  there's  really  no  oi»ening  for  a  little  fair  quizsification. 
Tnere  was  Hooke  went  to  Colbum  about  his  Foote ;  Colbum  remarked,  it  was 
a  pity  there  was  none  of  Foote's  private  correspondence  to  be  got  hold  of. — 
"  Pooh,  pooh  1"  ouoth  Theodore,  **  I'll  make  a  volume  of  it  in  three  weeks." 
Colburn  took  frignt  at  this,  and  Uie  thii^  stopped.  What  a  pity  now !  Would 
not  the  lettera  have  been  idl  the  better  for  bemg  not  Foote  s,  but  the  Grand 
Master's? 

TICKLBB. 

To  be  sune  they  would ;  and,  after  the  Memoirs  of  Byron  that  Colbum  did 
publish— old  naste-and-sdasars  work— he  need  not  have  been  quite  so  sensi- 
tive, I  would  have  thought.  But  there's  no  saying  as  to  these  people.  Col- 
bum's  getting  deuced  rich  upon  the  Literary  Gaaette,  Lady  Morgan,  The 
Writer  Tarn,  and  the  rest  of  these  great  Guna  of  his,  I  have  a  notion. 

ODOHBBTY. 

To  be  sure  he  is.— But,  as  for  Byron's  Memoirs,  why,  I  can  tell  you  I  have 
read  the  book  myself,  twice  over ;  and,  what  is  more,  you  will  reiui  it  your- 
self within  a  month  or  six  weeks'  time  of  this  present. 

TICKLBB. 

Aye  ?— how  ?— indeed  ?— Well,  you  surprise  me  I 

ODOHBBTY. 

Why,  the  &ct  is,  that  the  work  had  been  copied,  for  the  nrivate  readins  of 
a  great  lady  in  Florence ;  and  it  is  well  known  in  London,  tnat  Galignani  has 
b(Hight  the  MS.,  and  that  it  will  be  out  in  Paria  forthwith.— But  is  this  real- 
ly news  for  you  ? 

HOOO. 

It's  news— and  blythe  news  too— to  me,  for  ane.  But,  I  say.  Ensign,  speak 
troth  now— Am  I  mentioned  ? 

OnOHXRTT. 

Frequently. 

HOGG. 

Dear  me !  what  does  he  say  of  me  ?— nae  ill,  111  be  siiora- I  ay  took  his 
part,  I'm  sure. 

ODOHBBTY. 

Why,  he  takes  your  part,  too,  on  the  whole— He  puA  your  Queen's  Wake 
and  Cnaldee  most  stentorioosly ;  and  on  the  whole  does  you  justice— You  are 
in  the  Dictionary. 

HOGG. 

Hie  Dictionary  I— was  be  at  an  English  Diotimiary  too?— Od,  I  would  lik* 


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710  Noetei  Ambr&iitma.    No.  XV.  QJi^Kv 

to  wee  mysdf  auotcd  in  the  EnsUah  DMonary— A  bit  of  Hogg  in  bdow  m  bit 
of  Bacon»niaybe— it  would  Ukm;  very  well. 

01>0HBSTT. 

In  the  next  DictlonarT  that  tppens^  no  quettkm^  yon  wiQ  be  gratified  witfi 
abundance  of  soch  eommimenta— but  the  cBctioDary  of  Byron  ia  ^leanodiew 
aart  of  thing.  One  ▼omme  of  his  Memoira^  in  abort,  eonaiata  of  a  dictioDsry 
of  all  hb  frkttda  and  aequaintanoea^  alpbabetiedly  arranged,  with  proper  deA- 
nitiona  of  their  eharactera— critidaDia  on  their  worka  (when  diey  naa  aiij^— 
mod  genendly  a  few  apedmcna  of  their  correapondence.  To  me  thia  y^uxuc 
aeemed,  on  the  whole,  the  nioat  amnaing  of  the  three. 

HOOO. 

I  dinna  doabt  it—Ob,  the  ne'er-do-weels,  togang  awa  and  burn  aic  a  book 
aathia.    ' 

OnOHEBTY. 

Podi !  I  ten  yoQ  'tSa  not  burnt— you  will  aee  it  in  the  oonne  of  the 
summer. 

TtCKLEl. 

Afler  all,  ft  oonld  Hot  well  have  been  frnMlahed  by  Mumy— Gal^nani,  or 
some  fbieigner  or  other,  was  the  only  phm. 

ODOHERTT. 

Why,  there  may  be  two  opinions  as  to  this.  It  was  at  one  time  under- 
stood that  Murray  waa  to  have  employed  my  excdlent  friend  Tegg  to  bnng 
the  thing  forth — but  perhapa  Tom  would  haye  been  oyemice. 

TICKLER. 

O,  aa  to  that,  yon  know  Dayidson's  name  could  baye  atood  alone,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  first  canto  of  the  Don. 

OnORERTT. 

Hang  it,  you  are  forgetting  that  infernal  narrow-minded  old  quia  of  a  Chan^ 
cellor-^his  abominable  punctilios  about  theii^uncttoning  law,  you  know,  have 
entirely  done  away  with  the  temptation  to  publish  improper  hooka.  There  is  aa 
English  judge  and  cabinet-man  for  yon!  Discountenancing  Don  Juan — 
Strangling  Byron's  Memdrs,  (so  fiir  aa  the  English  MS.  was  in  question)— 
Fine  doing»«*^ne  doings— we  ^lall  be  a  pretty  nation  soon,  I  calculate. 

HOGG,  ijtings.) 
My  blessings  on  your  auld  pow, 
John  Anderson,  my  Joe,  John. 
And  yet,  I'm  doom'd  glad  that  the  lady  in  Florence  had  had  a  copy  of  Byron'a 
MS.    I  have  a  gay  hantle  letters  o'  Byron's  in  my  ain  dask— -I  wonder  what 
the  trade  would  giye  a  body  for  a  sma  ydume  of  his  epistolary  cotre^ond- 
ence  wi'  his  Mends. 

onOHBSTy. 
Not  one  rap — His  lettera  to  John  Murray  will  be  quite  a  suiBeient  doae  of 
themselyea— but,  to  be  sure,  they  mayn't  lie  printed  just  immediately. 

TICKLER. 

Not  in  my  day,  I  calculate— you  young  dews  may  expect  to  outliye  both  me 
and  John  Murray— ^ou  will  see  Uie  whole  of  it.  Ensign— and  yon,  Jonathan. 
— ^But  I,  long  ere  then,  shall  be  eiyoying  the  ocmyersation  of  Byron  lw»- 
self.— 

Hi^  xoi  rif  lAii  atiKO^v/A^iretf  vAi  aror  mnHi 
Hl^lOf  f  oiOtfy  iinJk^iT«*9  oucrin  §ervt9 
Ovi*  owor'  M9  axtiyfiai  w^C  Hom999  drt^i^rm 
Otfff  or«f  «4^  fwi  yam»  dm  if^apo^  <g^p#sraT«*-^ 
Helaa!  heUui!  f mt,  «owoi,  y  !  och!  och! 

HOGG. 

Hedi,  ain  I  what'a  a'  thia  rumUeterow  ?— what'a  ailing  Mr  Ti^Ller  ? 

ODOHERTY. 

You  upon  pale  Cocy  tus'  shore  !— 'you  old  piece  of  whip-oord  ! — 111  back 
you  to  nintty»dye  aa  readily  aa  if  you  wore  a  ainecuriat«-And  bendc%  to  be 


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1894.3  Nodes  Ambrctiimig.    1^  XK  ni 

aenoofy  I  hope  you  don't  meaa  to  keep  company  with  people  down  yonder, 
whom  you've  done  nothing  but  abuie,  while  mti  x^  ^f»9n. 

TICKLBK* 

Come^  ODoherty— I  know  Tery  wril  you  and  I  can  never  agree  aa  to  this. 
But,  now  that  Lord  Byron  is  dead,  you  must  redly  stint  in  your  gab/  Mor- 
gan ODdborty.— -We  hare  lost  a  great  man,  sir — a  truly  p;reat  man— <me  vf 
the  Tery  few  really  great  men  of  might  that  our  age  has  witnesaed* 

OnOHBKTT. 

Not  at  all,  my  dear  youth— by  no  manner  of  means.  Byron  was  a  Teiy  de* 
▼er  man,  and  a  very  clever  poet ;  but,  as  to  his  being  either  a  truly  j^raat  man, 
or  a  truly  great  poet,  I  must  altmther  iiSiBr  fhmi  you.— Why,  air,  he  has 
left  no  truly  great  work  behind  hun  ;  and  his  diaracter  was  not  great. 

TICKLBE. 

I  don't  admit  all  that— But,  taking  the  first  thing  you  say  to  be  so  for  a 
moment,  what  is  the^TM^  work  that  we  have  of  Akaeus,  of  Sappho— even  of 
Pindar,  or  of  Sallust,  or  of  Petronius  ?— «nd  yet  these,  I  take  it,  were  great 
people,  and  are  so  eren  in  your  estimation. 

HOOO. 

I  never  heard  tell  of  one  of  diem  aftro  sfaice  ever  I  waa  boni--'I)id  ye, 
Jonathan? 

ME  SPIBBS. 

0  ft^  Mr  H<igg  !-Hiever  heard  of  Sallust? 

OnORBBTY. 

Yes,  Tickler,  my  »)od  fellow,  but  you  are  not  stating  vonr  oase  fairly.— 
These  people  have  len  glorious  fVagments— enough  to  make  us  believe  what 
other  great  peo;^  say  of  the  works  that  have  peridied :  but,  misery  on  that 
infernal  engme  the  press ! — the  next  worst  thing  after  gunpowder— Byron's 
ihigments  never  can  exist.— -Spite  of  fate,  the  whde  mass  of  lumber  exists,  and 
will  exist,  and  nobody,  in  modem  times,  will  take  the  trouble  to  pick  out  the 
few  fine  Mts  Byron  redly  may  have  produced,  and  place  them  before  t)ie  eyes 
of  the  worid,  to  the  exclusion  of  his  portentous  balaam.  This  is  the  true  oe* 
vilry  of  your  modem  audiordiip. 

TICKLEB. 

Haa  Candide,  then,  no  separate  existence  of  its  own  ?— Does  anybody,  when 
they  read  that  glorious  thing,  or  the  Princess  of  Babylon,  or  Zadig,  trouUe 
dieir  heads  with  thinking  of  the  existence  of  (Edipe,  the  Umversaf  History, 
and  all  the  rest  of  Voltaire's  humbugging  Tragedies  and  Histories  ? — Not  at 
aO,  my  hearty.— Or,  when  people  rcM  Manon  Lescaut,  does  it  diminish  theit 
delight  that  the  Abb^  wrote  and  published  fifty  volumes,  or  more,  of  bad  no* 
vels,  which  no  human  creature  above  the  calibre  of  a  Tumipologist  would  now 
endure  three  pages  of  ?— Or  do  I,  in  reading  Goldsmith's  Essays,  bother  my- 
self with  his  History  of  Animals,  or  his  History  of  Rome  ?— Or  do  any  of  us 
ei^  Tam  o'  Shanter  the  less,  because  Dr  Currie's  edition  eontains  afl  ^at 
atnff  of  Bums's  Epistles  to  Mrs  Dunlop,  George  Thomson,  &e.  ?— Or  who  the 
devil  has  ever  even  heard  the  name  of  the  five-hundredth  part  of  the  tntlbr 
productions  which  flowed  from  the  pens  of  Fielding  and  Smollett,  or  their 
great  masters,  Le  Sage  and  Cervantes  ?  The  critiques  of  the  Doctor,  the  plays  of 
toe  Justice,  die  many  bitter  bad  plays  and  noveiaof  the  Author  of  Don  Qidx* 
ote,  and  the  myriads  of  bad  plays,  and  bad  books  of  all  kinds,  of  the  Author 
of  the  Devil  on  Two  Stick»— these  matters  are  afl  pretty  well  forgotten,  I  sup- 
pose ;  and  what  signifies  this  to  the  Student  m  Sandio  Panxa,  Asmodeus, 
Commodore  Trannion,  or  Parson  TrulHber  ?— Come,  come  own  youndf  beat 
now,  like  a  fehr  man. 

0X>0RBBtT* 

you  spout  noUy  when  your  breath  is  once  up ;  but,  seriously  then,  wha 
sre  the  works  of  Byron  that  you  think  will  be  remembered  in  ooooor  ?  and 
vdiat  b  the  sort  of  name  altogether  that  yoo  think  he  will  bear> 
'^  When  we're  all  cold  and  musty, 
A  hundred  years  hence  ?" 

TICBLBE. 

1  think  iron's  Chikb  Harold,  Corudr,  Lara,  and  Don  Juan,  (in  part,)  will 


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71S  AocUi  Ambroiianm.    Ng.  XF.  [^Jime, 

be  remembered  in  the  year  of  grace  1984 ;  and  I  think  the  name  of  Byron  will 
then  be  ranked  as  the  third  name  of  one  great  era  of  the  imaginative  Etera- 
ture  of  England;  and  this  I  think  is  no  tnfle. 

HOGG. 

After  Sir  Walter  and  me? 

TICKLER. 

No^  Hogg,  to  be  honest,  before  you,  my  dear  creature.  Yes,  before  yon. 
Before  CTerybody  else  in  the  line,  my  dear  James,  except  the  author  of  the 
Bride  of  Limamermoor,  and  the  author  of  Ruth.  I  name  the  two  best  and 
most  pathetic  works  of  the  two  best,  and,  to  my  feeling,  most  pathetic  writers 
of  our  day— the  only  two— I  speak  with  disparagement  to  no  one— that  have 
opened  up  absolutely  new  fields  of  their  own.  For,  after  all,  I  do  not  uphold 
Byron  so  much  on  tne  score  of  original  invention,  as  on  that  of  original  energy. 

HOOO. 

Original  energy !  what  means  that,  being  interpreted  ? 

TICKLER. 

Why,  I  mean  to  say,  that  mere  energy  of  thought  and  language  may  be 
carried  so  far  as  to  make,  I  do  not  say  a  poet  of  the  very  highest  class,  but  a  poet 
of  a  v^  high  one--«nd  I  say  that  B  vron's  energy  was  of  this  kind — and  I  say 
that  his  place  is  immediately  behina  the  all  but  Homeric  magician  of  the 
North,  and  ^  all  but  Miltonic  prof^et  of  the  Lakes.  There's  my  apophthegm 
—for  that,  I  think.  Jemmy,  is  your  name  for  anything  you  don  t  understand. 

HOGG. 

Many  thousand  thanks  to  you,  Mr  Timothy  Tickler  of  Southiide. 

OnOHERTT. 

The  Act  is,  that  Byron  was  a  deuced  good  rattling  fellow  ;  a  chap  that 
could  do  most  things  he  had  seen  anybody  else  do  before  him,  just  as  I  could 
write  five  hundred  first-rate  songs,  a  la  Tom  Moore,  or  a  i^  James  Hpgg,  if  I 
had  a  mind.  The  fax  greater  part  of  his  composition  was  decidedly  m  thia 
class — ^his  short  narrative  octosyllabic  was  as  decidedly  a  copy  en  Walter 
Scott,  as  that  of  the  Queen's  Wake— his  ''  deep  feeling  of  nature,"— ha !  ha ! 
ha !— in  the  third  canto  of  Harold,  and  other  subsequent  concerns,  was  there* 
suit  of  his  having  read  then — and  a  hint  that  he  had  not,  more  ahame  to  him, 
read  before— the  poetry  of  that  old  Pan  of  the  woods,  W.  W.— His  B^»po 
waa  the  visible  by-blow — a  vigcnrous  one,  I  admit — of  Whistlecraft— his  Man- 
fred was  a  copy  of  Goethe,  and  his  Deformed  Transformed  was  at  once  a  half- 
formed  and  a  deformed  transformation  of  the  Devil  and  Doctor  Faustus,  of 
the  same  unintelligible,  cloud-compelling,  old  Meerachaumite. — Shall  I  go 
on? 

HOGG. 

As  lang  as  you  like,  my  dear  fellow — but  you  wunna  make  out  Wordsworth 
to  have  written  Parasina  for  a'  that — ^no,  nor  Frere  to  have  ever  had  one  can- 
to of  Don  Juan  in  his  breeks.  Pooh !  pooh !  ODoherty,  vou  might  as  wed  tell 
me  that  Shakespeare  was  the  copyist  of  the  auld  idiots  that  wrote  the  original 
Henry  Fifths,  King  Johns,  and  so  forth.    Byron  wai  the  great  man,  sir. 

OnOHERTY. 

Ill  give  you  this  much — I  do  believe  he  might  have  been  a  great  man, 
if  he  had  cut  verse  fairly,  and  taken  to  prose.  My  humble  opinion  is,  that 
verse  will  not  thrive  again  in  our  tongue.  Our  tongue  is,  atter  all,  not  an 
over-melodious  one.  I  doubt  if  even  Shakespeare  would  not  have  done  well 
to  cut  it— at  least  it  always  appears  to  me,  that  when  he  writes  what  the  critics 
call  prose,  he  is  most  poetical.  What  say  you  to  Hamlet's  talk  with  Rosencrants 
and  Gildenstem  ? — *'  This  overhanging  vault,  look  ye,  fretted  with  golden 
fires,"  &c.  &c.  &c — Is  not  that  poetry,  sir  ?  At  anv  rate,  the  fact  is,  that 
Byron  never  could  versify,  and  that  his  Memoirs  and  nis  private  letters  are  the 
only  things  of  his,  that  I  have  ever  seen,  that'gave  me,  in  the  leaat  degree,  the 
notion  of  a  fine  creature  enjoying  the  full  and  unconstrained  swing  of  his  fiMul* 
ties.  Hang  it !  if  you  had  ever  seen  that  attack  of  his  on  Blackwood— or, 
better  still,  that  attack  of  his  on  Jeffrey,  for  puffing  Johnny  Keats— or,  best 
of  all  i^haps,  that  letter  on  Hobhouse— or  tlut  glorious,  now  I  think  of  it, 
that  inimitable  letter  to  Tom  Moore,  giving  an  account  of  the  blow-up  with 


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1894.^  Nocte$  AmbrosiatuB.    No.  XK  flS 

Murraj  aboat  the  Don  Juan  concern— Oh  dear !  if  you  had  teen  these,  y<m 
wooM  oerer  hare  thought  of  mentioning  any  rhymed  thing  of  Byron'a— no, 
not  eren  hit  epigrams  on  Sam  Rogers,  which  are  well  worth  five  doien  of  Pa- 
rasinas  and  Prisoners  of  Chillon,  and— — 

TICKLER. 

Stuff!  stuff!  stuff !— But  I  take  it  you're  quisling  within  the  dub—which 
you  know  is  entirely  contra  bonos  fnores.    Drop  this.  Ensign. 

OnOHERTY. 

I  am  dead  serious.  I  tell  you,  Byron's  prose  works,  when  they  are  printed, 
will  decidedly  fling  his  verse  into  total  oblivion.  You,  sir,  that  have  merely 
reid  his  hide-bound,  dnr,  bilking,  absurd,  ungrammatical  cantos  of  Don  Juan, 
and  judge  from  them  of  Bjrron's  powers  as  a  satirist,  are  in  the  most  pitiable 
position  imaginable.  One  thumping  paragraph  of  a  good  honest  thorough- 
going letter  of  his  to  Douglas  Kinnaird,  or  Murrav  in  we  olden  time,  is  wcnth 
nve  ton  of  that  material.    I  tell  you  once  again,  ne  never  wrote  in  verse  with 

Girfect  ease  and  effect— verse  never  was  his  natural  language,  as  it  was  with 
oraoe  or  Boileau,  or  Pope  or  Spenser,  or  any  of  those  lads  that  could  not 
Vrrite  prose  &t  all.  When  he  wrote  verses,  he  was  always  translating^that  is  to 
say,  bcastifying — the  proie  that  already  existed  in  his  pericranium.  There  was 
nothing  of  that  rush  and  flow  that  speaks  the  man  rhyming  in  spite  of  himself, 
as  in  the  Battle  of  Marmion,  or  Hamilton's  Bawn,  or  any  other  first-rate  poem. 
No,  no — he  counted  his  feet,  depend  upon  it — and,  what  is  less  excusable,  he 
did  not  always  count  them  very  accurately.  Of  late,  by  Jupiter,  he  produced 
tooth-breakers  of  the  most  awful  virulence.  I  take  it  the  Odontists  had  bribed 
him. 

TICKLER. 

Why,  whom  do  you  call  a  good  versifier,  then  ? 

ODOHERTY. 

We  have  not  many  of  them.  Frere  and  Coleridge  are,  I  think,  the  most 
perfect,  bein^  at  once  more  scientific  in  their  ideaa  of  the  matter  than  any 
others  now  alive,  and  also  more  easy  and  delightful  in  the  melody  which  they 
themselves  produce.  We  have  no  better  things  in  our  language,  looking  mere* 
ly  to  versification,  than  the  psycological  curiosity — 

**  A  damsel,  with  a  dulcimer. 

In  a  vision  once  I  saw. 
It  was  an  Abyssinian  maid. 
And  on  a  dulcimer  she  play'd. 

Singing  of  Mount  Abora,**  &c 

Or  Frere's  translation  of  the  Frogs,  nrinted  long  ago  in  Ebony.  Do  you  re- 
member the  verses,  in  particular,  whicn  old  North  used  to  read,  with  a  few  li- 
teral alterations,  as  a  fine  cut  at  Joseph  Hume,  Peter  Moore,  and  the  other 
grand  leaders  of  the  Whig  party  now  ? 

"  Foreign  stamp  and  vulgar  mettle  raise  Uiem  to  command  and  pUoe, 
Braxen,  counterfeit  pretenders,  flunkies  of  a  flunky  race ; 
Whom  the  Whigs  of  fbrmer  ages  scarce  would  have  allowed  to  stand. 
At  the  sacrifice  of  outcasts,  as  the  scape-goats  of  their  band." 

Byron  seldom  or  never  made  verses  equal,  merely  aud  verses,  to  the  like  of 
these.  When  he  did,  it  was  by  a  strict  imitation  of  something  his  ear  had 
caught  in  the  versification  of  some  preceding  poet  As  for  the  Spenserian,  you 
well  know  that  whenever  his  sweep  of  stansa  did  not  viridly  recall  Thomson 
or  old  Edmund  himself,  the  stanza  was  execrably  hard,  husky,  and  unswal- 
lowable. 

TICKLER,  (solemnfy.) 
"  Tambourgi,  umbonrgi,  thy  larum  afar 
Gives  hope  to  the  valiant,  and  promise  of  war !' 

ODOHERTT. 

Come,  come,  Timotheus,  don't  throw  your  chair  back  in  that  abominable 
Yankee-doodle  fashion— Stick  to  the  argument,  sir— don't  lounge  and  spout. 

19 


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714  NifcU$  Mfbrofiam.   No.  XK  L^vat, 

TICKLSA. 

**  It  it  the  hour,  when,  from  the  bonghty 

The  nightingale's  hisfa  noteis  heard ; 

It  is  the  hour  when  loTer's  vows 

Seem  sweet  in  every  whi^ier'd  word ; — 

And  gentle  winds  and  waters  near 

Make  music  to  the  lonely  ear  ;— 

Each  flower  the  dews  have  lightly  wet. 

And  in  the  sky  the  stars  are  met ; 

And  on  the  waves  a  deeper  hlne. 

And  on  the  leaf  a  browner  hne^ 

And  in  the  heavens  that  clear  obscnre. 

So  softly  dark,  and  darkly  pore. 

Which  £dUows  the  decline  of  day. 

As  twili^t  melts  beneath  the  mooD>  away." 

HOGG. 

Ay«  ay,  man,  these  are  verses.  {Aside  to  Spiere.)  Do  yon  think  they're  m 
goodasSlmeny? 

TICKLES. 

Listen  to  me  one  moment  more,  ODoherty.  The  ftct,  sir,  stands  simply  thus : 
«-It  is  obvious  to  any  one  who  is  capable  of  casting  a  comprehensive  eye  over 
things,  duit  there  are  three  different  great  veins  of  thought  and  sentima>t 
previlent  in  this  age  of  the  world ;  and  I  hold  it  to  be  equally  dear,  that  Ens- 
land  has  furnished  at  least  one  great  noetical  expositor  and  interpreter  for  eadi 
of  the  three.  This,  sir,  is  the  AJ^  of  Revolution.  It  is  an  age  in  which  earth 
rocks  to  and  fro  upon  its  foundations — in  which  recourse  is  had  to  the  elements 
of  all  things — ^in  which  thrones,  and  dominations,  and  principles,  and  powers, 
snd  opinions,  and  creeds,  are  aU  alike  subjected  to  the  sifting  of  the  winds  9i 
Intellect,  and  the  tossing  and  lashing  ctf  the  waves  of  Fsssion. — ^Now,  there  are 
three  ways  in  which  the  mind  of  poetic  power  may  look  at  all  this — there  are 
three  parts  among  which  it  mav  choofie.  First,  there  is  the  snirit  of  scorn  of 
that  which  is  old— of  universal  distrust  and  derision,  mingled  up  with  a  oer« 
tain  phrenzy  of  indignation  and  innovating  fury— Here  is  Byron — ^Then 
there  is  the  high  heroic  spi|it  of  veneration  for  that  which  has  been — ^that  sdll 
deeper,  that  infinitely  more  philosophical  distrust,  which  has  for  its  object 
this  very  i^  and  storm  of  coxooml»cal  innovation  wluch  I  have  been  de- 
scribing—This is  Scott — the  noble  bard  of  the  noble— the  prop  of  the  vene- 
rable towers  and  temples,  beneath  whidi  our  fathers  worshipped  and  did  ho- 
mage in  the  days  of  a  hi^^er,  a  purer,  a  more  chivalric  race. — ^This  is  the  voice 
that  crie»^/ii  defence — / 

**  Faster  come,  faster  come,  • 

Faster  and  faster,— 
Page,  vassal,  squire,  and  groom. 

Tenant  and  master : 
Come  as  the  winds  come. 

When  forests  are  rending ; 
Come  as  the  waves  come. 

When  navies  are  stranding !" 

And  there  is  yet  a  third  spirit — the  spirit  of  lonely,  meditative,  hij^-souled, 
and  yet  calm-souled  men-^of  him  who  takes  no  part  in  sounding  or  obejriog 
the  war-pipe  of  either  array — the  far-ofi>  philoaopnic  contemplator,  who,  turn- ' 
ing  from  the  turmoil,  out  of  which  be  sees  no  escape,  and  penetrated  with  a 
profound  loathing  of  all  this  mighty  clamour,  about  things,  at  the  best,  but 
fleeting  and  terrestrial,  plunges,  as  it  were,  into  the  quiet,  serene  ocean- 
depths  of  solitary  wisdom,  thm  to  forget  the  waves  that  boil  upon  the  surface 
— there  to  brood  over  the  images  <^  eternal  and  undisturbed  truth  and  beauty. 
— ^This  is  Wordsworth ; — ^hear  how  ke  describes  a  poet's  tomb.-*- 

'^  A  convent— evai  a  hermit's  cell — 
Would  break  the  silence  of  this  dell. 


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lOM.^  N90lei  Amibnmtma.    No.  XK  71A 

It  is  not  quiet— 18  not  eta^ 
But  something  deeper  far  than  these. 
The  separation  that  is  here 
Is  of  the  grave — and  of  austere 
And  hajfipy  feelings  of  the  dead : 
And  therefore  was  it  rishtly  said. 
That  Ossian,  last  of  all  iiis  race* 
Lies  huried  in  this  lonely  place." 

Boao. 
Hech  me ! — I'll  he  hnried  beside  Yarrow  mysell ! 

ODOHEBTY. 

And  dug  up,  no  doubt,  quite  fresh  and  lovely,  like  this  new  hero  of  ^urs, 
one  hundred  summers  hence.  I  hope  you  will  take  care  to  be  buried  m  the 
top-boots,  by  the  by — they  will  gratify  the  speculators  of  the  year  two  thou- 
sand and  two. 

TICKLER. 

So  Byron  is,  after  all,  to  be  buried  in  Greece — Quite  rig^U  His  suspira- 
tion  was  originally  from  whence — his  muse  always  spread  a  broader  pinion 
whenever  she  hovered  over  the  blue  ^gean.'  Proudly  let  him  lie  on  Sunium  ! 
loftily  let  his  spirit  gaze  at  midnight  upon  the  rocks  of  Salamis ! 

ODOHEBTY. 

So  be  it.  But  I  have  still  one  word  to  say  to  you  anent  his  Lordship  of  By- 
ron. Bvron  was  by  no  means,  ACr  Timothy,  the  Jacobin  Bard  that  you  seem 
to  hold  him.  Ill  be  shot  if  hie  ever  penned  one  stanza  without  feeling  the 
coronet. — ^Ay,  ay,  sir,  he  was  indeed  *'  Bjrron  my  Baron,"  and  that  to  the  back- 
bone. 

TICKLE  B. 

You  are  quite  right,  ODoherty,  and  I  would  have  said  the  same  thing  if 
Hogg  had  not  interrupted  me.  The  fact  is,  that  Bvron  took  the  walk  I  men- 
tioned, but  he  did  not  take  it  in  that  singleness  of  heart  and  soul  with  which 
the  two  other  gentlemen  took  to  theirs.  No,  sir,  he  was  too  good  by  nature 
for  what  he  wished  to  her— he  oould  not  drain  the  blood  of  the  cavaliers  out  of 
his  veins— he  could  not  cover  the  coronet  all  over  with  the  red  night-cap — he 
could  not  forget  that  he  was  bom  a  lord,  a  gentleman,  an  English  gentleman, 
and  an  English  lord ; — and  hence  4he  contradictoriness  which  has  done  so  much 
to  weaken  the  effect  of  his  strains— hence  that  self-reproaching  melancholy 
which  was  eternally  crossing  and  unnerving  him — hence  the  impossibility  of 
his  hearing,  without  a  quivering  pulse,  sy,  even  after  all  his  thundering  trum- 
pets about  Washington,  America,  Republics,  and  fiddle-de-dees,  the  least  echo 
of  what  he  in  his  very  last  poem  so  sweetly  alludes  to— 

'*  The  home 

Heart  ballads  of  green  Erin  or  grey  Highlands, 

That  bring  Lochaber  back  to  eyes  that  roam 
O'er  far  Atlantic  Continents  or  Islands — 
The  calentures  of  music  that  o'ercome 

All  mountaineers  with  dreams  that  they  are  nigh  lands 
No  more  to  be  beheld  but  in  such  visions '— > 

Hence  the  dark  heaving  of  soul  with  which  he  must  have  written,  in  his  Ita- 
lian villezgiatura,  that  descpption  of  his  own  lost,  forfeited,  ancestral  seat — I 
can  repeat  the  glorious  verses. 

^'  It  stood  emboiom*d  in  a  happy  valley, 
Crown'd  by  high  woodlands,  where  the  Druid  oak 

Stood  Uke  CaracUcus  in  act  to  rally 

His  host,  with  broad  arms  'gainst  the  thunder-ttroke  ; 

And  from  beneath  his  boughs  were  seen  to  sally 
The  dap]>led  foresters— as  day  awoke. 

The  branching  stag  swept  down  with  all  bis  herd. 

To  quaff  a  brook  which  murmured  like  a  bird. 
Vol.  XVI.  4  Z 


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'^Ifi  Noetei  Ambrosiana.   No.  XIF,  D^unc, 

*<  Before  the  mansion  lay  A  lacU  lake. 

Broad  as  transparent,  deep,  and  freshly  f^ 
By  a  river,  which  iu  softenM  way  did  take 

In  currents  through  Uie  calmer  water  spread 
Around :  the  wild  fowl  nestled  in  the  brake 

And  sedges,  brooding  in  their  liquid  bed ; 
The  woods  sloped  downwards  to  its  brink,  uid  stood 
With  their  green*  faces  fiz*d  upon  the  flood. 
*^  Its  outlet  dash*d  into  a  deep  cascade. 

Sparkling  with  foam,  until,  again  subsiding, 
'  Its  shriller  ffhrntw-likc  an  in&nt  ma4le 

Quiet— sank  into  softer  ripples,  Riding 
Into  a  rivulet ;  and  thus  aUay^d,     - 

Pursued  its  course,  now  gleaming,  and  now  hiding 
Its  windings  throueh  the  woods ;  now  dear,  now  blue^ 
According  as  the  skies  their  shadows  threw. 

*' A  glorious  remnant  of  the  Gothic  pile, 
(While  vet  the  church  was  Rome^)  stood  half  apart 

In  a  grand  arch,  which  once  screened  many  an  aisle. 
These  Ust  had  disappeared-^  loss  to  art : 

The  first  yet  frownM  superbly  o'er  the  soil. 
And  kindled  feelings  m  the  roughest  heart, 

Which  mourn'd  the  power  of  tune^i  or  tempest's  march. 

In  gazing  on  that  venerable  arch. 

**  Within  a  niche,  nigh  to  Its  pinnade. 

Twelve  saints  had  onas  stood  sanctified  m  stone ; 
But  these  had  fatten,  not  when  the  friars  fdl. 

But  in  the  war  which  struck  Charles  fVom  his  throne. 
When  each  house  was  a  fortalice— as  tell 

The  annals  of  full  many  a  line  undone^ 
The  sallant  cavaliers,  who  fought  in  vain 
For  those  who  knew  not  to  resign  or  reign. 

"  5?* ""  *  h\^\iet  niche,  ak>ne,  but  ciownM, 

TJe  Virgin  Mother  of  the  God-bom  child. 
With  her  son  in  her  blessed  arms,  look'd  round. 

Spared  bv  some  chance  when  all  beside  was  spoiled  ; 
She  made  the  earth  bdow  seem  holy  ground. 

This  may  be  superstition,  weak  or  wild, 
But  even  the  faintest  relics  of  a  shrine 
Of  any  worship,  wake  some  thoughts  divine. 
«•  A  mighty  wudow,  hollow  in  the  centre, 
•  Shorn  of  iu  ghiss  of  thousand  colourings, 

Through  whidi  the  deepened  glories  once  could  enter. 

Streaming  from  off  the  sun  Uke  seraph's  wings. 
Now  yawns  all  desobite:  now  loud,  now  famter. 

The  gale  sweeps  through  iu  fretwork,  and  oti  sings 
The  owl  his  anthem,  where  the  sUenced  quire 
Lie  with  their  hallehijahs  qucnch'd  like  fire. 
"  Btt*  in  the  noontide  of  the  moon,  and  w^ 

The  wind  is  winged  from  one  point  of  heaven. 
There  mcMns  a  strange  unearthly  sound,  which  then 

Is  musical— a  dying  accent  driven 
Through  the  huge  ardi,  which  soars  and  sinks  again. 

Some  deem  it  but  the  distant  echo  given 
Back  to  the  night  wind  by  the  waterfdl. 
And  harmonized  by  the  old.choral  walL 

"  2?**^  ?**  ^^^  original  shape,  or  form 

bhaped  by  decay  perchance,  hath  given  tlie  power 
(Though  less  than  that  of  Memnon's  statue,  wwm 

In  Egypt's  rays,  to  harp  at  a  fix'd  hour) 
To  Uiis  grey  rum  with  a  voice  to  charm. 

Sad,  but  serene,  it  sweeps  o'er  tree  or  tower  : 
1  he  Muse  I  know  not,  nor  can  solve ;  but  such 
The  fMKii^Yit  heard  it;— once  pertiaps  too  much. 


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1694.3  NoiiesAmbroiianm.    No.  XF.  717 

<*  AmUtt  the  oourt  a  Gothic  fbontaia  pUiy'd* 

Symmetrical,  but  decfc*d  with  carviiifft  quiiiAt— 
fitnuige  fiMei,  like  to  men  in  maiqaenae, 

And  here  perfaapi  a  monster,  there  a  Saint ; 
The  spring  giish*d  throo^h  grim  months,  of  granite  made. 

And  spanued  into  batms,  where  it  q>ent 
Its  little  torrent  in  a  thousand  bubbles. 
Like  man's  rain  s^ory,  and  hii  vainer  tvoablet.^ 

HOGG. 

It  is  th^e— it  is  nowhere  but  there^  that  Byron's  diost  will  linger.  Ye  uulj 
spetk  about  Greece^  and  Rome,  and  America ;  but  nis  heart  was,  after  all, 
among  the  auld  mouldering  arches  and  oaks  of  his  forefathers.  I  would  not, 
for  something,  stand  ae  hour  of  blade  nisht  below  the  shadow  of  that  awfol 
auld  Abbey.  Ghosts  indeed ! — I  could  nee  the  spectres  of  auld  priests  and 
monks  enow^  I  daursay— 4mt  od,  man,  what  a  ghest  of  ghosts  will  Byron's  be! 

TICKLEB. 

Well  said,  James  Hogg— Go  on. 

HOGG,  {having  drunk  off  a  tvoMer^ 

I  canna  express  what  my  reelings  are  aa  to  some  thing^«-4mt  I  have  them, 
foft  a'  that  I  len  naething  about  your  grand  diTisions  and  sub-divisions,  about 
old  things  and  new  things,  and  ocmtemplatiTe  spirits  and  revdutioaary  spirits, 
and  what  not— but  this!  ken,  sirs,  that  I  canna  bide  to  think  ihat  Bynm's 
dead.  There's  a  wonderfUl  mind  swallowed  up  somewhere— Gone  \  and  gone 
80  young ! — and  maybe  on  the  very  threshold  of  his  truest  dory,  baith  as  a  man 
and  as  a  poet— It  makes  me  wae,  wae,  to  think  o't.  Ye%  laugh  at  me,  Ciqp- 
tain  ODoberty ;  but  it's  as  true  as  I'm  telling  ye,  I  shall  never  see  a  grand 
blue  sky  fu'^or  stars,  nor  look  out  upon  the  Forest,  when  all  the  winds  of  winter 
are  bowling  over  the  wilderness  of  dry  cnshing  brandies,  nor  stand  beside  the 
sea  to  hear  the  waves  roaring  upon  tbie  rocks,  widiout  thinking  that  the  roirit 
of  Byron  is  near  me.  In  the  hour  of  aw&— in  the  hour  of  gloom— in  the  hour 
of  sorrow,  and  in  the  hour  of  death,  I  shall  remeiaber  Byron ! 

TicKLaa. 

Euge!  Let  no  more  evil  be  said  of  him.  M*  rut  w  M^flnflin  Tyf><x«»»ygw»i— 
Peace  be  to  the  illustrious  dead  I 

OnOHEBTT. 

By  all  means,  jgentlemen— by  all  manner  of  means.  Here,  then,  fill  your 
glasses  to  the  brim— and  rise  up— To  the  Memory  of  Byron ! 

0MNE8  (riftny.) 
The  Memory  of  Byeo^  \ 

Jiir^The  IsOti  Rote  of  Summer, 

ODOHEETT,  {Sing9,) 

h  ^ 

Lamxxt  fbr  Lord  Byroo,  Yet,  bard  of  the  Corsair, 

In  inflow  of  grief,  High  spirited  Childe  ; 

AsaseptofMilenans  Thou  who  sang*st  of  Lord  ManIM 

Would  mourn  o'er  their  duef  i  The  dcstinv  wild ; 

With  the  loud  voice  of  weeping.  Thou  star,  whose  biigfit  radiance 

With  8omm*s  deep  tone,  lUumined  our  verse, 

We  shall  keen  o'er  our  poet.  Our  souls  cross  the  blue  seas, 

^*  All  fiided  and  gone/'  To  ii;ioum  o'er  thj  hearK. 

2.  4. 

Though  farm  Missdnnghi  Thy  faults  and  thy  feUSei, 

His  body  is  laid ;  Whatever  they  were, 

Though  the  hands  of  the  stranger  Be  their  memory  dispened 

His  lone  giaTe  haye  made ;  As  the  winds  of  t&  air ; 

Thott^no%otftom  Old  England  Norqwoacfaesfaomme 

Its  sarface  wiU  trud.  On  thy  oocse  shaD  be  dirown^ 

Korthe  son  of  Old  i2"gi«"^  La  the  nyun  who  is  smlesa 

Shine  ov«  iu  head ;  Uplift  the  first  stone. 

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718  NocUi  An^ro$ianiB.    Nb^XF.  L^i^"^ 

5.  «. 

In  thy  yigour  of  manhood  But  I  hoped  iq  my  bosom 

Small  praise  from  my  tofigoe  That  momeot^oiild  oome. 

Had  thy  fimie,  or  thy  taknta.  When  thy  feeUngi  would  wander 

Or  merruneot  wrbog ;  Again  to  theu  home. 

For  that  church,  and  that  ilaCe,  and  For  that  soul,  O  iMt  Byron ! 

That  monarch  I  loved.  In  hriUianter  hoax8« 

Which  too  oft  thy  hoe  ceniuie  Must  have  tum*d  to  iu  eountry — 

Or  rash  laughter  moved.  Must  still  have  been  ours. 

7. 

Now  slumber,  bri^t  spirit ! 

Thy  body,  in  peace, 
dleepa  with  heroes  and  sages. 

And  poets  of  Oxcece  ; 
While  thy  soul  in  the  tongue  of 
•    Even  greater  than  they, 
Is  embalmed  till  the  mountains 

And  seas  pass  away. 

.    TICELER. 

Very  well^  indeed,  ODoherty ;  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  reaDy  have  y 
feeling  abmit  yoa  atiU.    Oh  yes,  man,  wat  is  what  everybody  most  feeL 

OnOHERTY. 

Feel  what  ?-^wby,  what  a  proper  old  humbug  you  are,  after  aU ! — (Smg^-) 

1. 
Oh !  when  I  am  departed  and  passed  away. 
Let's  have  no  lamentations  nor  sounds  of  dismay — ' 
Meet  together,  kind  lads,  o'er  a  three-gallon  bowl. 
Add  80  toast  ^e  iTepose  of  ODoherty's  souL 

Down,  derry  down. 

2. 
If  my  darling  girl  pass,  gently  bid  her  come  in. 
To  join  the  hbation  shell  think  it  no  sin ; 
Though  she  choose  a  new  sweetheart,  and  dofiPthe  black  gown. 
Shell  remember  me  kindly  when  down— down— down — 

Down,  derry  down. 

Were  you  deep  in  for  it  about  the  battle.  Tickler  ?-^I  won  five  ponies  on 
Spring — ^that  was  all  I  had  done. 

TICKLER. 

I  have  cut  the  pugilistic  mania  ever  since  the  Thurtell  business — ^it  quite 
disgusted  me  with  the  ring. 

ODOHERTY. 

^  Pooh !  stuflT  of  stuffs ; — ^you're  getting  craz^,  I  believe.  I  suppose  you  shut 
Redgauntlety  whenever  you  came  to  that  capital  murder  of  Nanty  Ewart  and 
Master  Nixon — ^the  best  thing  in  the  book,  in  my  humble  opinion. 

HOGG. 

An  awfu'  gruesome  business,  in  truth.  Weel,  I  think  it's  a  very  gude  book, 
now,  Aedgauntlet  I  consider  it  as  a  very  decent  novd.  I  read  nim  through 
without  stopping ;  and  it  was  after  supper,  too,  ere  I  got  haud  o'  the  chid. 

TICKLER. 

Why,  that's  not  the  worst  way  of  judging  of  such  affidrs,  James.  My  case 
was  pretty  much  the  same.  'Tis  a  very  excellent  book,  a  spirit-stirring  one, 
and  a  spinet-sustaining  one.    It  never  flags. 

ODOHERTY. 

I  wish  to  God  it  had  been  written  on  in  one  even  jptrain,  no  matter  whetfaar 
in  the  first  m*  in  the  third  person ;  but  I  hate  all  that  botheration  of  Mr  La- 
timer's narrative,  Mr  Fairford's  narrative,  and  the  Author  of  Waverl^'s  nar* 
rative.  Indeed  it  is  obvious  he  had  got  sick  of  that  stuff  hiHisdf  ere  he  reach- 
ed the  belly  of  the  second  volume,  and  had  the  siitets  Dot  goae  to  pmt,  do 
doubt  he  would  have  altered  it. 


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BOOOt 

I  really  MTer  notified  tfut  there  w»8  onvthing  out  of  tbe  ordinirj  in  thii 
partiCTilay*    I  read  it  <4eaii  on^  till  I  got  baitn  sair  een  uid  a  sair  heart 

TICKLBR. 

Y«8y  yetT-these  are  mere  trifles.  Give  me  siieh  «  stream  of  ^amtiTej  aiyl 
give  me  one  such  glorious  fellow  as  Auld  Willie,  and  I'm  pretty  well  o%  I  cal- 
Cttlate,  What  a  most  terrific  piece  of  diahlerie  that  is^  the  story  of  the  cJd  Ba- 
ron and  his  Baboon.  By  Jupiter^  th^  may  talk  of  their  Sintrams  and  their 
pevil's  Elixin  as  long  as  they  pleise.  That  s  the  best  ghost  story  ever  I  read. 
I  qieak  for  myself— and  how  gloriously  the  Fiddler  tells  it,  which,  by  the  way^ 
%  all  things  considered^  not  the  smallest  part  of  the  feat.  To  make  a  cat- 
witted,  ol^  blind  creature  like  that  tell  such  a  tale^  without  for  a  moment 
using  an  expression  out  of  his  own  charaeter^  apd  yet  tell  it  with  sudi  porte^- 
toos^  thrilling  energy,  and  even  sublimity  of  efiPect^— this,  sirs,  is  the  perfec- 
tion^ not  of  genius  merely,  but  of  taste  ana  tonsumm|te  art. 

onoHsaTY. 

Naniy  Ewart  for  m  monsy !  Why,  Byrop  nain^t  have  written  for  0fty 
yean  without  digging  the  fiftieth  part  so  deep  into  ue  human  heart— ay,  even 
the  blackguard  human  heart  he  is  so  fond  of.  The  attempt  to  laugh— 4md  the 
stammered  ''  Poor  Jt99  /" — and  then  that  fearful  sarcasm, ''  he  is  killing  me 
•r-«nd  I  am  only  sorry  he  is  so  long  about  it."-*The8e,  sir,  are  the  undying 
ftf'ti  mouruU  that  will  keep  this  lad  afloat,  although  he  ahould  write  books 
eoongh  to  fill  the  James  Watt  steam-boat. 

HOGO. 

I  kent  Peter  Peebles  brawlies-T-I've  seen  the  doited  body  gauu  gaping  abont 
the  Parliament-House  five  hundred  times — I  forget  his  real  'name  tbou^. 
Peter's  really  a  wcel-drawn  character — ^he's  a  very  natural  delineatibn,  to  n|y 
fiiocy. 

TICKLBB. 

Natural  delineation !  WeU-drewn  character,  indeed ! — Come,  come,  Jamie, 
lie's  a  nrince,  a  king,  an  emperor  of  characters.  Give  us  one  such  a  d^racter, 
sir,  ana  we  will  hoist  you  up  till  old  Stodhard's  ridiculous  caricature  be  realise^, 
and  the  top-boots  of  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  are  seen  plaited  in  the  most  inti- 
mate and  endearing  familiarity  with  the  point-hose  ot  Will  Shakespeare.  He's 
quite  OS  good,  sir,  as  an^r  Malvolio,  or  Slender,  that  was  ever  painted  by  the 
hand  of  man.    I  build,  in  the  true  Catholic  phrase,  ttfper  hunc  Petrum' 

OnOHEBTY. 

Nothing  is  so  disgusting  to  me  as  the  chat  of  these  Cockneyfied  critics  abo^t 
those  books.  Prating,  prating  about  fallings  ofi^,  want  of  respect  for  tfie'pub- 
lic,  absurd  haste,  repetitiona  of  Meg  Merrilees,  &c  &c  &c. — I  trouble  them 
to  shew^me  the  man  that  can  give  us  a  Meg  Dods,  or  a  Clara  Mowbray,  or  one 
of  these  characters  we  have  just  been  diso^sing.  Till  then,  I  spurn  their  ba- 
laam  with  my  heels. — ^The  only  person  I  really  was  sorry  to  see  joining  in  the 
.  beastly  stufi*  was  Tom  Campbell— but,  to  be  sure,  his  dotage  is  sumdently 
evident,  from  many  things  besides  that. 

TICKLEB. 

Ay,  ay,  poor  Bitter  Bann !  He  has  gone  down  hill  with  a  vengeance,  to  be 
sure. 

ODOHEBTT. 

Spurn  we  with  our  heels  the  Balaam  and  the  Balaamites  I — North.  I  si^ 
pose,  will  be  squabaahing  them  in  die  shape  of  a  Bevi^  of  Redgauntlet 

TICKLEB. 

Not  he,  i'  faith.  He  was  in  a  deuced  rage  with  Ebony,  for  wanting  him  to 
have  a  review  of  it.  He  said  he  juppoaed  the  next  thii^  would  be  to  review 
.  Homer's  Iliad,  and  die  Psalma  of  David.  And  after  all.  Kit  is  so  far  right*— 
everybody  haa  read  a  book  of  Uiat  sort  as  soon  as  yoursdf,  and  there  being 
notlung  new  in  the  kind  of  talent  it  displays,  most  people  are  just  as  able  as 
any  of  us  to  make  a  decent  judgment.  When  another  ivanhoe,  or  anything 
raakku;  as  the  commenoeQient  of  another  flight  altogether,  makes  its  iWfar- 
anoe,  then,  no  doubt,  the  old  lad  will  touch  t)ie  trumpet  again-*HH>t  I  think* 
till  then. 


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7fa  NbeUi  Aninrt^tiana.    No.  XT.  [[Jvb^ 

ODOBCBTT. 

He  is  getting  crustier  and  cmstier  every  day.— One  can  scarcely  get  him  to 
put  in  the  least  puff  no w^  merely  to  oblige  a  friend.  Ebony  does  not  like  to 
sp^  to  him  on  the  subject^  particularly  when  his  ^t  is  flying  abou^t  in 
this  horrid  way ;  but  tnin  nous,  he  is  by  no  means  satisfied  with  <ud  Christo- 
pher. He  Kldom  or  never  mentbns  any  of  Blackwood's  books^  which  to  me^ 
I  must  own^  seems  deuced  unfair.  But  he's  so  capricious^  the  old  code- 
There  is  Gilbert  £arle^  now^  a  really  dever  thing  too— but  diat  ought  to 
have  been  notldng,  dther  here  or  diere^  when  I  asked  him  so  small  a  laTomr. 
I  sent  him  one  of  the  handiest  little  artides  on  Master  Gilbert  you  ever  saw, 
and^  by  Jupiter^  back  it  came  by  return  of  the  caddie,  with  just  this  scrawled 
on  the  top  in  red  ink,  or  beet-root  sauce,  I  rather  think.  '*  Out  upon  No* 
vds"— these  were  the  words  of  the  Carmudgeon. 

H060. 

Out  upoH  Novda !  keep  us  a'  ? 

TICKLEJL 

Gad !  I  almost  sympathize  with  Chrlstopherus — ^there  podtivdy  is  too  mat 
a  crop— but  iom  phrase,  now,  what  sort  of  a  concern  is  this  same  Gubert 
Earle? 

ODOHERTT. 

Why,  it  is  a  work  of  real  talent — I  assure  you— >'pon  honour  it  is— «  very 
dever  work  indeed— and  besides,  it  is  publishea  by  Knight,  a  lad  for 
whom  I  have  a  narticular  regard— 'Tis  a  most  meluidioly  taleH--bodi  die  sub- 
ject and  the  style  are  after  Adam  Blair,  but  that  does  not  prevent  the  au- 
thor's exhibiting  gr^t  and  original  talent  in  many  of  the  ^^criptions.- By 
the  by,  he  would  suit  you  exactly  in  one  thing,  Hogg.  Such  a  hand  for  de- 
scribing a  pretty  woman,  has  not  often  fallen  in  your  way,  I  calculate.  Upon 
my  soul,  I  m  not  very  inflammable  you  know,  and  yet  some  of  his  pieees  of 
this  kind  almost  took  away  my  breath — But  read  the  book,  lads,  &r  your- 
selves—ask for  ''  Some  account  of  the  late  Gilbert  Earle,  Esq.,"  written  by 
himself,  and  published  by  Mr  Knight.  You  will  find  the  author  to  be  one 
of  these  true  fellows  wno  blend  true  pathos  with  true  luxury.  Some  of 
his  bits,  by  the  by,  may  have  caught  your  eye  already,  for  he  published 
one  or  two  specimens  of  the  affiiir  in  the  Album. 

TICKLXR. 

A  dever  and  gentlemanlike  periodical,  \duch  I  am  truly  sorry  to  find  stop- 
ped— at  least  I  suppose  it  is  so,  for  I  have  not  lately  heard  the  name.  There 
were  some  capital  contributors  to  that  concern. 

OnOHERTY. 

I  believe  North  has  now  enlisted  some  of  the  best  of  them ;  but  not  die  au« 
thor  of  the  said  Gilbert  Earle,  he  bdng  a  Whig.  He  is  a  devilish  nice  lad, 
however,  for  all  that. 

TICKLER. 

I  percdve,  ODoherty,  that  you  have  no  notion  of  impartial  criddsm.  You 
always  sit  down  with  a  fixed  resolution  to  abuse  a  fellow  up  hill  and  down 
dale,  or  else  to  laud  him  to  the  Empyrean.  I  suspect  you  are  capricious  as  to 
these  matters. 

ODOHERTY. 

Not  at  all.  I  always  abuse  mv  enemies,  and  puff  my  fHends.  So  do  all  the 
rest  of  the  lads  **  of  the  we,"  if  they  had  the  candour  to  confess  things— but 
that  they  have  not,  wherefore  let  perdidon  be  their  portion.  I,  fbr  my  part, 
have  no  hesitadon  in  avowing  that  I  consider  Bums  s  bttt,  truest,  and  most 
torching  line  to  be, 

"  They  had  been  fu'  for^eeks  together." 
How  could  one  hesitate  about  pufiing  him  whose  dgar-case  has  never  been 
closed  upon  his  fingers  ?    Do  you  know  why  Jeffi:ey  has  been  so  severe  of  late 
upon  Doctor  Southey  ? 

TICKLER. 

Impertinence,  that's  all— though  I  admit  diere  is  a  pretty  considerable  d«-d 
deal  of  humbug  about  him  {tU  ^nkice  loguar.) 

ODORXETY. 

^e  reason  of  JefifVey's  spleen  is  obvious.    The  laureate  invited  him  to  teal 
^te  a  literary  character  of  rank  to  a  dish  of  catlap,  and  a  thin,  scraggy* 


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10ti.n  NocUm  AfnhfOiiwMB.   No.  XV,  T21 

dry,  MUr4frodi,  td  the  Germans  call  it,  in  their  saperb  and  now  pepulariib 
dialect  Why,  there's  no  saying  what  might  have  hi^pened,  had  he  set  down 
the  little  man  to  a  plate  of  hot  kipper^  or  some  nice  fried  trouts^  and  then  a^ 
bowl  of  cold  punch,  or  a  bottle  of  saateme  or  markebronner.  That  is  the  way 
to  treat  *n  editor  of  that  magnitude,  when  he  calls  on  you  in  your  country 
house  in  the  evening  of  a  fine  summer's  day — more  particularly  when,  as  I  be- 
lieve Jeffirey's  case  really  was,  the  said  editor  has  dined  at  an  earlier  hour  than 
he  is  accu^omed  to,  and  when,  as  I  also  understand  to  have  been  the  fact  on 
this  occssion,  the  lad  is  evidently  quite  sober.  In  such  circumstances  the  no- 
tion of  the  tea  was  a  real  beiise.  bouthey  was  always  a  spoon ;  but  I  wonder 
Coleridge  could  sit  by  without  reo^ecting  what  sort  of  an  aj^;»earance  it  would 
have,  and  tipping  Betty  a  hint  to  bring  in  the  broth. 

HOGG. 

The  broth!    Het  kail  to  the  four  hours.  Captain ? 

OnOHERTY. 

Was  Broih  the  word  I  used.  I  have  been  in  Glasgow  lately,  you  know.  It 
has  the  same  meaning  there  with  punch— cold  lime  and  rum  punch,  I  mean-* 
the  best  liquifier,  perhaps,  that  has  yet  been  invented  for  tnis  season  of  the 
year.  I  prefer  it,  I  confess,  both  to  Sangaree  and  Brandy  Ponny.  These  are 
morning  tipples  decidedly. 

TICKLER. 

Come,  you're  getting  into^your  Maxim  vein,  I  think.  You  are  becoming  a 
perftct  Solomon  of  Soakers,  Ensign.  You  should  have  called  it  the  Code  ODo« 
oertv,  sir,  and  produced  it  at  once  in  a  handy,  little,  juridical-looking,  punchy 
double  duodecimo.  The  work  would  be  much  referred  to. 

ODOHERTT. 

I  am  great  in  my  legislatorial  capacity,  I  admit.  Nothing  equal  to  me  in  my 
own  department  As  Byron  has  expressed  it,  I  am  at  present 

The  Grand  Napoleon  of  the  realm  of  poncb, 

or,  raUier,  it  should  be  ofpauneh,  for  of  late  I've  been  patronising  both  sides 
of  the  victualling  <^ce. 

TICKLER. 

Yes,  you've  been  poaching  in  every  comer  of  Kitchener'a  preserve.  By  the 
way,  bow  does  die  Doctor  take  up  with  your  interference  ? 

OnOHERTT. 

Oh!  admirably— We  understand  each  other  thorou^y.  Kitchener— bis 
name,  by  the  by,  settles  all  disputes  about  the  doctrine  of  predestination — 
Kitchener  is  a  prime  little  fellow— an  excellent,  creature  as  earth  contains. 
Why,  here's  a  man  that  has  written  three  or  four  of  the  very  best  books  our 
age  hath  witnessed,  as  the  puflf^maker  says;  and  what's  fiff  better,  my 
hMearties,  he  gives  one  of  the  very  best  feeds  going— quite  the  dandy— 6U(» 
sauces !  Byijingo,  I  admire  a  man  of  this  stamp. 

ROGO. 

Deil  doubts  vou — ^Wha  doesna  admire  them  that  can  give  ye  baith  a  gude 
book  and  a  guae  dinner  ?  For  my  part,  I  admire  a  man  tlutt  gives  me  the  bare 
bit  dinner,  just  itsell,  without  ony  books. 

ODOHERTY. 

The  bare  bit  dinner !  Oh,  you  savage !  You  have  no  more  riflht,  sir,  to  open 
that  cod's-moutb  of  yours,  for  the  purpose  of  uttering  one  syllid>le  on  any  sub- 
ject connected  with  eating  or  drinking,  dian  Macvey  Napier  has  to  mention 
Bacon,  or  Professor  Leslie  to  stand  for  the  Hebrew  chair,  or  a  Negro  or  a  Phie- 
nolqgist  to  be  dassed  among  the  genus  rtOwnale, — ^The  bare  dinner !  Oh,  ye 
beast! 

HOGG. 

Some  folk  have  a  braw  notion  of  diemsells.  Captain. 

ODOHERTY. 

If  I  could  choose  now— if  I  had  Fortunatus's  cap  in  good  earnest— 111  tell 
vou  how  I  would  do— By  Jericho,  1  would  breakfast  with  Lord  Fi&  at  Man 
Lodge— Such  pasties !  such  cakes !  what  a  glorious  set  out,  to  be  sure ! — ^I 
should  Uien  keep  stming  southwards— take  my  basin  of  mulligatawny  and 
(^  of  dierry-brandy  at  Mrs  Montgomery's  here  en  poMoii^— get  on  to  Bd< 
voir,  or  Burleigh,  or  some  oi  these  grimd  places  on  the  road,  in  time  for  dinner. 


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and  tip  jatt  about  tw^e  at  the  doer  of  the  Blue  Poets^Prine  whkAcej*|NtBdi 
there,  s&s.  If  you  were  here,  I  might  probably  tnwe  back  a  bit  ao  as  todiop 
in  upon  your  third  bowl. 

HOOO. 

Hear  to  the  craring  ne'er«do-wed !— Youll  not  be  a  lang  Uw,  I  «aii  taD 
you.  Captain,  if  you  go  on  at  this  rate.  Ton  ou^t  to  marry  a  wile,  lir,  aiad 
sit  down  for  a  decent,  respectable  head  of  a  fanuly—- you've  had  your  biaw 
spell  of  derilry  now.  Marry  some  bit  bcmny  body  of  an  heireaa,  man,  and 
turn  ower  a  new  leaf. 

ODOBEITT. 

With  a  gilt  edge,  you  purpose.  Well,  I  have  some  thoughts  of  the  thm^ 
the  worst  of  it  is,  that  I  am  getting  oldish  now;  and  deuoedly  nice—aw  I 
really  distrust  myself  too.  I  have  serious  apprehensions  that  I  misht  turn  out 
rather  a  quisquis  sort  of  a  Benedict  Hang  it !  I'te  been  too  long  on  idle 
hill — ^they  could  nerer  break  me  now— But  I'll  try  some  day — that's  obviona. 

uooo. 
You'll  easily  get  an  heiress,  man,  wi'  that  grand  lang  nbse  o'  yova,  aod 
thae  bonny,  bonny  legs,  and  Hiat  fine  yellow  curly  head  of  hair. 
onoHERTT,  (juide.) 
Bond  Street  growth— but  no  matter. 

iiooo. 
And,  aboon  a',  your  keterary  name — Od,  man,*l  ken  twa  leddies  in  tbe 
Cowgate  that  wad  fain,  fain  have  me  to  bring  ye  some  night  to  your  te*^ 
Bonny  birds^  Captain — ^WiU  ye  gang  ? 

ODOHBBTY. 

You  be  aldnned ! 

TICELRR. 

I'll  tell  you  what  my  real  views  are,  ODoherty.— 4iang  it,  I  don't  see  wky 
you  should  not  take  up  a  Scots  Baronetcy  as  well  as  the  Bi^iop  of  Winches- 
ter, or,  as  Johnny  Murray  called  hiro,  Mr  Winton.  I  suppose  this  sort  of 
concern  don't  stand  one  much  higher  than  an  Aberdeen  oegree.  I  really 
would  have  you  think  of  it    Sir  Morgan  and  LadyODoherty  request  tiie 

honour Lady  ODoherty's  carriage  stops  the  way  !--Sir  Morgan  ODoherty's 

cabriolet  I !— By  Jove,  the  thing  is  arranged ! — Yon  must  be  a  baronet^  my 
dear  Signifer. 

OSORERTT. 

Hum  l^Well,  to  oblige  you,  I  shan't  much  olject  to  audi  a  trifle-  How 
shall  I  aet  about  it,  then,  Timothy? 

TICKLER. 

Poo  1— Find  out  that  there  was  some  ODoherty,  of  course  there  were  many, 
-•4mt  no  matter  for  that— in  the  army  of  M'Fadyen,  the  lad  that  flung  his 
osm  head  after  Lieuteaant-Genend  Sir  William  Wallace,  Baronet,  K.T.  and 
C.G.B.— or  in  the  armies  pf  Montrose — ^which,  by  the  by,  were  dmost  all  of 
them  Irish  armies ;  secundo.  Find  out  that  this  glorious  feUow— -beins,  of 
oohrae,  (as  all  gentlemen  in  those  days  were,)  a  Kni^t-Badielor— 4iad  hsen 
omet'  no  matter  from  what  beastly  ignorance,  or  from  what  low,  Owning  vul- 
garity,  addressed  as  a  Baronet  Then,  tertio,  have  a  &w  of  us  assembiai  at 
Ambrose's  some  day  at  five  o'clock,  and  the  job  is  done.— I  myself  have  fre- 
qnently  acted  as  Cnancellar.— I  am  quite  aufait. 

ODOHERTY. 

Why,  as  to  the  first  of  these  points,  I  have  no  doubt  there  must  have  been 
some  ODoherties  here  in  Montrose's'time.— As  to  the  second,  itobvioualysHMf 
be  so ;  and,  as  to  the  thkd,  by  Jupiter,  name  your  day  1 

TICELER. 

This  day  three  weeks— six  o'clock  sharp.  I  stipulate  for  a  green  gooee,  and 
a  glass  of  your  own  genuine  usquebaugh. 

ODOHBRTr. 

Thou  hast  aaid  it  I— stingineas  would  ill  beseem  a  man  of  my  rank.  I  trust 
hia  Mijesty  Ihe  Khig  of  the  Sandwich  laUmda  will  be  fa^R  in  time  to  join  na. 
I  am  told  be  ia  a  hearty  cock. 

10 


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16t4.3  Noctei  Ambrotiana.    Xo.  XK  TSS 

TICKLBB* 

To  be  lerioai— I  was  reaDjr  ftoaased  to  see  John  Bull,  honest  Ud,  stxfng  hito 
Ae  Prettyman  Humbug.  It  is  very  likely,  indeed,  mat  the  wortny  fishop 
himself  is  by  no  means  aware  at  the  absurdity  of  the  system  under  which  he 
supposes  himself  to  have  acquired  the  orange  ribbon  of  Nova  Scotia.  He  has 
probably  been  led— but  no  matter,  as  to  one  particular  esse.  Hie  fkct  is,  that, 
if  they  wished  to  give  us  a  real  boon,  they  ought  to  look  to  this  subject^-the 
people  above  stairs,  I  mean. — They  ought  to  Drinjg  in  a  bill,  reouuing  diat 
the  man  who  wishes  to  assume  any  title  of  honour  in  Scotland  ougnt  to  do  the* 
.same  thing  which  the  House  of  Lords  demands  when  a  man  wishes  to  take  up 
a  peera^  of  Scotland.  If  that  were  done,  the  public  would  be  satisfied,  and 
the  individual  would  be  safe  from  that  annoyance,  to  which  he  must  be  sub- 

Iected  so  long  as  matters  are  managed  in  the  present  ridiculous  and  most  un- 
awyer-Hke  method.  Why,  only  consider  what  it  is  that  the  jury  (Heaven 
UesB  die  name !)  does  in  such  a  case.  The  claimant  appears,  and  demands  to 
be  recognised  as  the  heir  of  such  a  man,  who  died  two,  tnree,  or  fimr  centuries 
aga  Well,  he  proves  himself  to  have  same  blood  rekttUm  to  the  defunct. 
The  f actio  Juris  is,  that  when  a  man  makes  such  a  daim,  those,  if  diere  be  any, 
that  nave  a  better  dUe — a  nearer  propinquity— rwill,  of  course,  anpear  and  shew 
fight :  and,  in  the  absence  of  any  such  appearance,  the  work  or  the  said  noble 
jury  is  at  once  finished.  Now,  in  the  case  of  a  man  making  a  daim.  which,  if 
allowed,  will  give  him  a  certain  number  of  acres,  no  doubt  the  cnances  ore 
infinitesimallv  small,  that  any  pnerson.  concerned  firom  his  own  interests  in  the 
redarguing  or  the  said  daim,  will  fail  to  come  forth  to  give  battle.  Nay,  even 
in  the  case  of  a  Scotchman,  of  a  Scotch  famHy  well-known  in  the  historv,  or  at^ 
least  in  the  records  of  the  country,  coming  fbrward  with  a  daim,  the  oDject  of 
which  is  a  mere  honorary  matter,  such  as  a  title  of  baronet,  the  chances  are 
not  very  great,  that,  in  a  small  nation,  where  everybody  knows  everybo^,'and 
where  all  are  very  much  taken  up  about  titular  trifles, — the  chances  are  not 
great,  that  even  a  daimant  of  this  order  will  be  allowed  to  walk  the  course: 
But  in  the  case  of  an  Englishman,  of  whose  fiunily  nobody  in  Scotland  ever 
heard  a  word,  coining  down,  and  wanting  a  title,  to  which  nobody  in  Scotland 
can  of  course  have  any  daim — in  this  case,  no  dioubt,  the  most  perfect  apathy 
must  prevaiL  The  Bishop  mmf  be  in  the  right;  but  I,  and  all  the  world  be- 
sides, must  continue  to  regard  with  snspidon  the  assumption  of  a  tide,  the  pa* 
tent  for  which  is  not  produced,  unless  tae  clearest  evidence  as  to  die  tenor  of 
the  patentbe  produced. 

ODOtfEftTY. 

Then  what  is  the  Bishop's  way  to  get  out  of  the  scrape? 

TICKLER. 

Why,  in  the  present  state  of  matters,  I  see  but  one.  He  ought  to  bring  an 
acdon  Wore  the  Court  of  Session  against  some  friend  of  his,  no  matter  about 
what,  assuming  the  style  of  baronet  in  his  "  summons,"  as  we  call  it — that  is, 
in  his  original  writ.  The  friend  may  put  in  his  objecdon  to  the  style  under 
whidi  die  Bishop  sues,  and  then  the  Court  will  be  open  to  hear  him  defend  bis 
right  to  use  the  said  style.  In  this  way  the  whole  matter  may  be  deared  up. 

HOGG. 

There's  naebody  cares  ae  boddle  about  sic  matters — ^they're  a'  just  dean  ha- 
vers. I  own  I  do  like  to  hear  of  a  real  grand  auld  name  like  the  house  of  Mi^aa 
being  restored  to  their  ain.  Tliat  is  a  thing  to  please  a  Scottish  heart.  The 
Earl  of  Marr !   There's  not  a  lu^ler  sound  in  Britain. 

TICKLER. 

Quite  so,  Hogg.  But  was  ever  such  beastliness  as  Brougham's  ?  Why,  in 
seconding  Ped's  modon  for  dispcoising  with  the  personal  appearance  of  an  dd 
gendeman  of  near  ninety  in  London,  what  topic,  think  ye,  does  this  glo- 
rious fellow  dare  to  make  the  ground  on  which  hie  (Brougham)  solidts  the  in« 
dukence  of  Parliament  ?  Why,  this— that  Mr  Erskine  of  Marr  is  distinguish- 
ed for  his  liberal  opiniojis  !  !  !  Egregious  puppy !  what  had  old  Marr's  politics 
to  do  with  the  matter  ?  They  are  'VHiip,  ana  so  much  the  worse  for  him ;  but 
concdve  onlv  the  bad  taste— the  abmmnable  taste^^of  this  fellow's  lugging  in 
the  old  man  s  whiggery  as  a  reoommendadon  of  him  to  the  House  or  Com- 
mons, at  the  very  moment  when  the  House  was  about  to  pass  a  bill  conferring 

Vol.  XVI.  5  A 


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724  Nocta  Ambnmima.    No.  XV.  [[June, 

high  honours  on  the  old  man — a  hill  originating  no  douht,  in  the  high  per- 
sonal feelings  of  ^e  Kii^  hut  still  owing  its  existence  there  to  the  support  of 
the  King's  Tory  ministers.  Such  insolence  is  really  below  all  contempt.  I 
wonder  Feel  ^d  not  give  him  a  wipe  or  two  in  return. 

OnOUERTY. 

The  sulky  insolent ! 

HOOG. 

The  born  gowk ! 

TICKLES. 

For  cool,  rancorous,  deliberate  impudence,  give  me,  among  all  Whigs, 
Brougham  !  Only  think  of  his  daring,  after  all  that  has  happened,  to  say  one 
word  in  the  House  of  Commons,  when  the  topic  before  them  referred,  in  any 
degree,  however  remote,  to  an  act  of  generous  and  magnanimous  condescen- 
sion of  that  monarch,  whom,  on  the  Queen's  trial,  he  and  his  friend  Denman 
dared  to  speak  of  as,  we  can  never  forget,  they  did ! 

ODOUERTY. 

I  confess  Brougham  is  a  fine  specimen. — By  the  way,  what  is  all  this  piece 
of  work  about  changes  in  your  Scots  Courts  of  Law  ? 

TICKLER. 

It  is  a  piece  of  work  originating  in  the  by  no  manner  of  means  unnatural 
aversion  of  the  Chancellor,  to  a  law  of  which  he  is  ignorant,  and  carried  on  by 
the  base  and  fawning  flattery  fwhich  he  should  have  seen  Uirough)  of  certain 
low  Scotch  Whigs,  wno,  nourbning  the  vile  hope  that,  change  once  introduced, 
changes  may  be  multiplied,  are  too  happy  to  find,  in  the  best  Tory  of  England, 
their  ally  in  a  plan,  which  has  for  its  real  object  the  destruction  of  all  uat  is 
roost  dear  and  valuable  to  Scotland,  and  of  course  held  and  prized  as  such  by 
the  Tories  of  Scotland.  But  the  low  arts  by  which  the  whole  affair  has  been 
got  up  and  got  on — the  absurdity  of  the  proposed  innovations,  and,  in  par- 
ticular^ the  pitiable  imbecility  with  which  the  whole  real  concerns  of  the  Jury 
Court — that  job—aie  blinkea--all  these  things  shall  ere  long  be  exposed  in  a 
full,  and,  I  hope,  a  satisfactory  manner.  I  shall  demolish  them  in  ten  pages — 
down — down— down  shall  they  lie — never  to  rise  again--or  my  name  is  not 
Timothy. 

OOOHERTY. 

A  letter  to  Jeffrey,  I  suppose.^ 

TICKLER. 

Even  so  let  it  be.    My  word,  I'll  give  him  a  dose. 

HOOG. 

It's  ay  a  pleasure  to  you  to  be  paiking  at  him — I  wonder  you're  not  wea- 
ried o't. 

TICKLER. 

I  am  wearied  of  it— but  duty,  Hogg,  duty  ! 

HOGG. 

It's  my  duty  to  tell  you,  that  the  bottom  of  the  bowl  has  been  visible  this 
quarter  of  an  hour.  {Rings.) 


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A  work,  entitled  Vievi  ia  Auttialimy 
ooataining  Plates  with  lUnitnUtonB  of  New 
8oath  Wales,  and  Van  Dieman**  Land,  ia 
•boat  to  be  pablisbed  in  nnmben,  to  oom- 
menee  next  nuuitli. 

A  Voyage  to  Cochin  China.  By  John 
White,  lieutenant  in  the  United  Statea 
Navy. 

Ezcaitiom  thnogb  Cornwall,  embek 
lished  with  Fifty  Engravings.  By  W.  F. 
L.  Stockdale,  £^.,  £ite  of  the  East  India 
Company  *8  servioe. 

W.  Bochaaan,  £aq.  has  in  the  preii 
Memoiisof  Painting,  containing  achro- 
— logical  hislory  of  the  diierent  collectiona 
of  Pictoies  of  tmportaiiee  which  have  been 
brought  to  Great  Britain  stnoe  the  French 
Rtvolutioiu 

A  Short  History  of  the  Christian  Church, 
from  iu  fint  enetiott  at  Jerusalem,  to  the 
present  tarns  i  designed  chiefly  for  the  use 
of  Schools,  and  for  those  persons  with 
whom  the  siae  of  Mihier's  Church  His- 
tory  would  be  an  objection.  By  the  Rev. 
John  Fry,  B.  A. 

A  Diamm,  Illustrative  of  the  Founda- 
ckm  of  the  Human  Cliaracter,  suggested 
by  Mr  Owen*s  Devdopment  of  a  new  View 
of  Society. 

In  the  mss.  Facts,  verified  upon  Oath, 
in  oeatrattctlon  of  the  Report  of  the  Rev. 
Thomaa  Cooper,  concerning  the  general 
condition  of  the  Slaves  in  Jamaica,  and 
more  especially  relative  to  the  manage* 
ment  and  treatment  of  the  Slaves  upon 
Georgia  estate,  in  the  parish  of  Hanover» 
in  that  island. 

A  work  is  announced  for  publication, 
entitled.  The  Oratory,  or  Devotional  An. 
thology. 

Five  Years*  Residence  in  the  Canadas, 
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Talbot,  Es4^.  is  in  the  press. 

No.  I.  is  m  the  press,  of  Civil  and  Mi- 
litary Costume  of  the  City  of  London,  to 
be  published  in  Monthly  Parts,  in  impe- 
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Tlie  Relapse,  or  True  and  False  Mo- 
rality. 

Memoirs  of  Eminently  Pious  Men  ; 
containing  lives  of  the  confessors,  reform  • 
ers,  and  martyrs,  of  the  English  Churdi, 
eminent  clergymen,  and  laymen.  Intend- 
ed  OS  a  companion  to  the  Memoirs  of  emi- 
nently Pious  Women  of  the  British  em- 
pire. 

Speciinens,  selected  and  translated,  of 
the  L^ric  Poetry  of  ihe  Minessingera,  of 
the  reign  of  Frederick  Barbanma  and  the 
succeeding  emperors  of  the  Suabian  Dy- 


nasty :  illustrated  by  similar  specimens  of 
the  Troubadours,  and  other  contemporary 
lyric  schools  of  Europe ;  with  historical* 
critical*  and  biographical  remarks,  is  now 
in  the  press. 

A  Statement  of  the  Principal  Facts,  in 
the  PuUic  Lite  of  Aogustiu  de  Iturbide. 
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Translator,  and  an  Appendix  of  Doou* 
ments. 

A  new  edition  is  in  the  press  of  a  Trea- 
tise on  Ruptures.  By  William  LawteocOt 
F.R.S. 

A  Coarse  of  Sermons  for  the  .Year  t 
containing  two  for  each  Sunday,  and  one 
for  each  holiday  t  abridged  from  eminent 
divines  of  the  Establisned  Church*  and 
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ed for  the  use  of  families  and  schools,  by 
the  Rev.  J.  R.  Pitman,  are  announced  for 
early  publication. 

Musoologia  Britannica  ;  containing  the 
Mosses  of  Great  Britain  and  Irdand,  sys- 
tematically arranged  and  described ;  with , 
Plates  illustrative  of  the  character  of  the 
Genera  and  Species*  By  William  Jack- 
son Hooker,  F.  R.  8.  A.  S.  L.*  &c  and 
Thomas  Taylor,  M*  D.  M*  R.  I.  A.,  and 
F.  L.  S.*  &c 

A  Treatise  on  the  Steam  Engine,  histo- 
rical, practical,  and  descriptive.  By  John 
Farey,  jun.,  engineer.  1  voL  4to.  With 
illustrmtive  plates  and  cuts. 

A  Second  Edition  of  Illustrations  of  the 
Hdy  Scriptures.  In  Three  Parts.  1.  From 
the  Geography  of  the  East.  S.  From  the 
Natural  History  of  the  East.  3.  From 
the  Customs  of  Ancient  and  Modem  Na» 
tions.  By  the  Rev.  George  Paxton.  Is  in 
course  of  publication. 

The  Sisters  of  Narsfield.  A  Tale  for 
Young  Women.  By  the  Author  of  the 
Stories  of  Old  Daniell,  &c. 

The  £migrant*s  Noto  Book,  with  Recol- 
lections ofl^pper  and  Lower  Canada  du- 
ring the  late  War.  By  Lieut.  Morgan, 
H.  P.  hue  2d  Battalion  R.  M.  With  a 
map.    Will  soon  appear. 

Testimonies  to  the  Genius  and  Memory 
of  Richard  M'ilson,  R.A.  With  some  Ac- 
count of  his  Lite,  and  Remarks  on  his 
Landscapes.    By  T.  Wright,  Esq. 

Physiological  Fragmenu ;  to  wnich  are 
added  Supplemenurv  Observations,  to 
shew  yiat  Vital  and  Chemical  Energies  arc 
of  the  same  Nature,  and  both  derivoA  from 
Solar  Litfhu    By  John  By  water. 

The  Etymologic  Interpreter ;  or  an  Ex- 
planatorv  und  I^nounang  Dictionary  of 
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An  Essay  on  the  Bcaefldal  Dirpotion  of 
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ney»£«q* 

Typogn^hia ;  or  the  Printer's  Instme- 
tor.  By  J.  Johnston,  printer.  Dedicated, 
by  permission,  to  the  Roxburaihe  Club. 

The  Rev.  R.  Roe  has  in  me  press  the 
Principles  of  Rhythm,  both  in  Speech  and 
Musie,  especially  as  exhibited  in  the  Me- 
chanism of  English  Verse. 

Mr  Thomson  is  about  to  publisha  Trea- 
tise <m  the  Distribution  of  Wealth,  shew- 
ing  vhat  are  the  Natural  Laws  of  Distri- 
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A  Fourth  Volume  of  the  Memoirs  of 
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Washington  Irving  has  in  the  press  a 
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Memoirs,  Anecdotes,  Facts,  and  Opi- 
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A  Short  History  of  the  Horse.  By 
BraccT  Ckrke. 

A  Volume  of  Sermons,  by  the  Rev.  J.  H. 
Vernon,  is  in  the  press. 

A  Poem,  entitled  the  Slave,  is  about  to 

Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  J.  P.  Kemble, 
Esq.,  including  a  History  of  the  Stage, 
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Mr  Conrad  Cooke  has  in  the  press  a 
New  and  Complete  System  of  Cookery. 

In  the  Press,  liCtters  from  North  Ameri- 
ca,  written  during  a  Tour  of  nearly  8000 
Miles  in  the  United  States  and  Canada. 
By  Adam  Hodsson. 

Mr  Woktenholme,  York,  has  in  the 
press  an  Account  of  the  Yorkshire  Musi- 
cal Festival,  held  in  September  last ;  by  a 
Member  of  the  Committee  of  Manage- 
ment. It  will  be  preceded  by  a  brief  no- 
tice of  the  Abbey  Festivals,  and  of  the  His- 
tory of  Music  subsequent  to  the  publica- 
tion  of  Dr  Bumey*s  Work  ;  the  materials 
fbr  which  are  so  widely  scattered  that  any 


[[June, 


attempt  to  concentrate  them  nroal  be  hi^ 
ly  useful.  The  work  will  be  printed  in 
royal  4to.,  amd  omamfnttd  with  two  de- 
gant  eoffrarings  of  the  interior  of  the  Min- 
ster, and  other  plates. 

The  History  of  Waterford,  iriiidi  we 
announced  scHne  time  ago  aa  proiaring  fiv 
the  prcn,  by  the  Rev.  Riduud  Rykod, 
will  be  puUiriied  by  Mr  Murray  in  tho 
course  of  a  finr  days. 

In  a  few  days  will- be  published,  in  m 
pocket  volume,  with  an  elegant  frootia* 
piece.  Letters  between  Amelia  in  London, 
and  her  Mother  in  the  Country,  Iran  die 
pen  of  the  late  WiUiam  Combe,  Esq.,  the 
popular  author  of  the  Three  Tours  of  Doc- 
tor Syntax. 

The  AAMUe€$.  We  understand  diat 
Mr  Dupuis,  late  his  Britannic  Maiesty's 
Envoy  and  Consul  at  Adiantee,  b  about 
to  publidi  a  Journal  of  his  Residence  in 
that  Kingdom,  whidi  is  expected  to  duww 
considerable  light  on  the  origin  and  causes 
of  the  present  war.  It  will  comprise  also 
his  Notes  and  Researdies  rdadve  to  die 
Gold  Coast,  and  the  interior  of  Western 
Africa,  eiatBj  collected  from  Arabic  Ma- 
nuscripts, and  infbrmation  oomn 
by  the  Moslems  of  Guinea. 

Bunyan  explained  to  a  Child,  t 
of  fifty-one  scenes  i^om  the  Pilgiim*s  Pro^ 
gress,  and  a  Map  of  the  Journey,  with  an 
original  Poem,  and  explsnarion  to  each. 
By  the  Rev.  Isaac  Taylor,  of  Ongac,  A»> 
thor  of  Scenes  in  Europe,  Ac  One  vo» 
lume  12mo,  neatly  half-bonnd. 

The  Christian  Father's  Present  to  his 
Children.  By  the  Rev.  J.  A.  Jamea.  t 
vols.  12mo. 

In  the  press,  and  speedily  will  be  pub- 
lished.  Letters  in  Rhyme,  from  a  Mother 
at  Home  to'  her  Daog^iten  at  School ;  a 
neat  pocket  volume;  Also,  Tales  fion 
Afar,  by  a  Country  Clergyman.  One  vol. 
13mo,  embellished  with  a  superior  cop- 
per-plate. 

Theodore,  or  the  Gamester^s  Progress ; 
a  Poetic  Tale,  embdBshed  with  a  superior 
copperplate  engraving. 

Rural  Rambles,  cmbellishrd  withasa- 
perior  copper-jdate  engraving^  18nio« 


EDINBURGH. 


Proposals  have  been  issued  for  publish- 
ins  by  subscription  the  Historical  Works 
ofSir  James  Balfour  of  Kinnaird,  Lord 
Lyon  King  at  Arms  under  King  Charles 
I.,  from  the  original  and  hitherto  unpub- 
lished Manuscripts  preserved  in  the  Li- 
brary of  the  Honourable  the  Faculty  of 
Advocates.  This  publication  (which  we 
understand  is  nearly  ready)  will  form  four 
large  volumes  in  octavo ;  will  be  embel- 
lisned  with  a  Portrut  of  the  Author,  from 
an  Original  Picture,  and  illustrated  with  a 
Pre£itory  Memoir.    The  impression  will 


be  limited  to  600  copies,  printed  wiih  a 
new  set  of  types,  on  wove  paper  of  the  fi- 
nest quality.  The  price  to  Subscribers  wiU 
not  exceed  L.2,  16s.  Fifty  copies  wiU  be 
struck  off  on  an  extra  fine  paper. 

A  Treatise  on  Mineralogy.  By  Frede- 
rick Mohs.  Translated  from  the  German, 
by  William  Haidinger.  Two  vols,  small 
Svo,  with  numerous  figures. 

Modem  Horticulture  ;  or  an  Account 
of  the  most  approved  Mediod  of  managing 
Gardens,  for  the  production  of  Fruits,  Cu- 
linary Vegetables,  and  Flowers.    By  P^- 


Digitized  by 


Google 


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Works  pr$pantig  fir  PtMgatum* 


7n 


trick  Neffl,  F.R^E.  FJJ3.«nd  Secr^arj 
to  the  Caledonian  Horticultuial  Sodety. 
One  volume  8vo,  with  en^Tingi. 

Memeriali  of  the  Public  liife  and  Cha- 
imcter  of  the  Rigbt  Honourable  James  Os- 
wald of  Dunnikier,  M.  P.  &c  &c  con- 
tained  in  the  Correspondence  with  some  of 
the  most  eminent  men  of  the  last  centuij. 
Handsomely  punted  in  8vo,  with  Portrait 
This  Correspondence,  commeocinjE  irom 
the  year  1740«  embraces  a  period  of  nearly 
forty  years  of  the  most  interesting  portion 
of  our  National  History,  upon  some  ^aits 
of  which  it  will  be  founid  to  throw  consider- 
able  light.  Among  the  many  distinguish- 
ed persons  who  corresponded  with  Mr  Os- 


wald, were  the  Dujta  of  Aigyllt  the  Duke 
of  Newcastle,  the  Earl  of  Chatham,  the 
Earl  of  Hali&x,  the  Earl  of  But&  Bubb 
Doddington,  (afterwards  Lord  Melcombe 
Regis,)  the  Right  Honourable  W.  G.  Ha- 
milton,  the  Right  Honourable  H.  B. 
JLegge,  tiord  Karnes,  Adam  Smith,  David 
Hume,  &C.  &c.  &c 

Historical  Notes  respecting  the  Indians 
of  North  America ;  with  the  Remarks  on 
the  Attempu  made  to  Convert  and  Civilize 
them*    1  voL  8vo. 

Memoirs  of  Antonio  Canova ;  with  an 
Historical  Sketch  of  Modem  ikulpture. 
By  J.  S.  M ernes,  A.M.  8vo.  With  a  For- 
trait  and  other  Engravings. 


MONTHLY  LIST  OF  NEW  PUBLICATIONa 
LONDON. 


aVTXQUITUES. 

The  History  and  Antiquities  of  Lewes, 
by  J.  W.  Horaefield,  ito.  2L  2s.*..Anti. 
quidet  of  Shropshire,  21.  2u 

Supplement  to  Callow  and  Wilson's  gr- 
neral  Catalogue  of  Old  Medical  Books,  in 
various  Languagea,  containing  many  scarce 
Works.  2.  Catalogue  of  Old  Medical 
Books,  in  various  Languages,  price  2s>  6d. 
or,  if  taken  with  the  Sup^ement,  3s.  8. 
Catalogue  of  Modem  Medical  Bocdu,  wi^ 
«  Supj^cBient  containing  every  new  work 
to  the  premt  time,  Is.  8d. 

UOGJUYHY. 

Life  aid  GcBioa  of  Lord  Byion.  By 
Sir  Cosmo  Gordon.    2s.  6d. 

A  Memoir  of  the  life  of  the  Right  Ho- 
noorable  Bdmuad  Biake  t  with  Specmi«ss 
of  his  PoettrandLetleTf;  and  an  estimate 
of  his  Gcaiua  and  Talents,  compared  with 
thoae  of  his  greal  Contcniporazies.  By 
James  Prior,  Bsq.    1  vol.  18s. 

Memoirs  of  C^itain  Rock,  the  cdebta- 
ted  Irish  Chieftain,  with  sonae  Account  of 
his  Anocttovs.    Written  by  Uiooself.    98. 

The  Biography  of  the  British  Stage ; 
being  correct  Narratives  of  the  lives  of  all 
the  princM  Actors  and  Actresses  at  Dru- 
ry-lancff  Uovttit-gardsn,  the  Haymarket, 
Lvoeom,  Suirey,  Coburg,  and  Adelphi 
Theatres  |  interspcned  with  original  An- 
eedocasyand  choioo  and  iUustradve  Pdetry. 
«s. 

CHBMISTBT. 

A  Dictionary  of  Chemistry,  in  which 
the  Principles  of  the  Science  are  investiga- 
ted anew,  and  itt  application  to  the  Phe- 
nomena of  Nature,  Medicine,  Mineralogy, 
Agriculture,  and  Manufactures  detailed. 
By  Andrew  XJrt^  M.D.  F.R.S. 
riMS  AmTs. 

Sketches  of  the  prindpd  Picture  Galle- 
ries in  England,  cootaimng  ibe  Angei»tein 
Collection  now  exhibiting  in  Pall-Mall^- 
a  Critidsm  on  Marriage  4  la  Mode,  in  the 


same  Collection--the  Marquess  of  Staf- 
lbrd*s.  Earl  Grosvenor*s,  the  Dulwich  Gal- 
lery,  Windsor,  Hampton  Court,  Oxford, 
-Blenheim,  &c. 

Numbm  I.  II.  III.  of  a  Pictures^ 
Tour  of  th^  Island  of  Jamaica,  containing 
the  following  Views,  coloured  aher  Nature, 
with  descriptive  liCttcr-press.  By  James 
Hakewill,  Author  of  the  Picturesque  Tour 
of  Italy,  &c— King's  Square,  Spanish 
Town ;  Harbour- street,  Kingston ;  Moni- 
pther  Old  Works,  St  James's ;  Montego 
Bay,  St  James's ;  Bryan  CasUe,  Trelavu 
nv;  Golden  Vale,  Portland;  Monument 
of  the  Ute  J.  Hibbert,  Esq.,  AgualU  Vale, 
^»ing  Garden,  St  George's  $  Rose  UaU, 
St  James's. 

Hhistrations  of  «<  Stnrm*s  Reflections,*' 
by  Wcatall,  8vo.    XL  4s. 

HISTOBT. 

Gibbon's  History  of  the  Decline  and 
Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  adapted  for 
Families  and  Young  Persons,  by  tne  omis- 
sion of  objectionable  Passages*  By  Tbomas 
Bowdler,  Esq. 

A  Compendium  of  the  History  of  Ire- 
land, firom  the  earliest  period  to  the  Reign 
of  George  I.   By  John^Lawless,  Esq.  Itts. 

JLAW. 

A  Letter  addressed  to  Lord  Viscount 
Althorp,  M.P.  on  his  Bill  now  before  Par- 
liament, for  preventing  delays  and  expenses 
in  the  proceedings  of  County  Courts,  and 
ibr  the  more  easy  and  speedy  recovery  of 
small  Debts  in  England  and  Wales.  By 
R.  Nicol,  Attorney  at  Law  and  Solicitor 
in  Chancery. 

A  Discourse  on  the  Study  of  the  Laws 
of  Enjdand,  by  the  Hon.  Roger  North. 
Now  first  printed  from  the  Original  MS* 
in  the  Hargrave  Collection.  With  Notes 
and  Illustrations,  by  a  Member  of  the  In- 
ner  Temple,  and  a  Biographical  Sketch 
and  Portrait  of  the  Author,  crown  8vo.  6b. 

MISCELLANIES. 

The  Complete  Angler  of  Izaak  Walton, 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Mimtkfy  lAH  qfNew  PubUeaUons. 


7«8 

and  Charles  Cottofu  Extensively  embel- 
lished with  engravings  on  copper  and  wood. 
With  Introductory  Essay,  &c  by  J.  Ma- 
jor. Second  Edition,  containing  Verses  on 
Rlver-Fi^  and  Fishing,  12mo.     11.  Is. 

Physiological  Fragments ;  to  which  are 
added,  Supplementary  Observations,  to 
show  that  Vital  and  Chemical  Energies  are 
of  the  same  nature,  and  both  derivM  from 
Sohir  Light  By  John  Bywater.  8vo. 
58.  6d.  boards. 

The  Etjmiologic  Interpreter ;  or,  an  Ex- 
planatory and  ftonouncing  Dictionary  of 
the  English  .Language.  Part  the  First, 
containing  a*  full  Developement  of  the 
Principles  of  Etymology  and  Grammar, 
&c.  &c.   By  James  Gilchrist   8s.  boards* 

Clarke's  Myriorama,  Second  Series,  con- 
sisting entirely  of  Italian  Scenery,  and  ca- 
pable of  a  greater  Number  of  Changes  than 
the  former  Series.  Price  U*  4s.  in  an  ele- 
gant box. 

The  Two  Hectors ;  in  Ten  Papers ;  il- 
lustrative  of  the  Sentiments  of  the  two  Par- 
ties in  the  Church  of  England.— Contents : 
The  Mail  Coach_The  Bookseller's  Shop 
•—Social  Intercourse^-The  Missionary — 
Patriotism — Amusements — The  Keeper's 
Lodge — The  Repentant  Criminal — The 
Church  Service — The  Departure. 

Anti-Negro  Emancipation ;  an  Appeal 
to  Mr  Wilberforce.     Is. 

A  Second  Letter  to  the  Right  Hon.  Ro- 
bert Peel,  one  of  His  Majesty's  Principal 
Secretaries  of  State,  &c.,  on  Prison  La- 
bour; containing  a  Vindication  of  the 
Principles  and  Practice  of  the  Magistrates 
of  the  North  Ridinp  of  the  County  of  York, 
with  respect  to  their  treatment  of  Prisoners 
before  Trial ;  with  a  Postscript,  in  Reply 
to  the  second  Article  of  the  7Bth  Number 
of  the  Edinburgh  Review.  By  John  Head- 
lam,  M.A.    2s. 

Suggestions  addressed  to  the  Legisla- 
ture and  the  Landed  Interest ;  occasioned 
by  the  Bills  submitted  to  Parliament  by 
the  Government  of  Ireland,  for  a  Compo- 
sition and  Commutation  of  Tithes.  By 
J.  J.  Park,  Esq.  Barrister  at  Law.  Is.  6A. 

Immediate,  not  Gradual  Abolition  ;  or, 
an  Inouiry  into  the  shortest,  safest,  and 
most  effectual  Means  of  getting  rid  of  West 
Indian  Slavery. 

A  Reply  to  the  Letters  of  the  Abbe  Du- 
bois, on  the  State  of  Christianity  in  India. 
By  the  Rev.  James  Hough. 

The  Collective  Wisdom ;  or.  Lights  and 
Sketches  of  the  Chapel  of  St  Stephen's. 
The  Cuts  by  Cruikxhank,  the  Descriptions 
by  a  Member  of  the  Upper  Baches.  Is. 
6d. 

Practical  Financial  Operations,  as  sug- 
gested to  his  Majesty's  Government,  ha- 
ving in  view,  amongst  other  objects,  the 
Repeal  of  Seven  Millions  of  Annual  Taxes, 
Loans  on  Mortgage  at  4  per  cent  interest 
to  the  resident  Land  Proprietors  of  Ireland, 


QJone, 


and  both  the  education  and  emplojrment  of 
the  Irish  Poor,  as  the  most  salutary  memns 
of  meliorating  their  condition.  By  John 
Brickwood.     Is.  6d. 

An  Essay  upon  the  Relation  of  Cause 
and  Effect,  controverting  the  Doctrine  of 
Mr  Hume  concerning  the  Nature  of  that 
Relation ;  with  Obs^vations  upon  the  opi- 
nions of  Dr  Brown  and  Mr  Lawrence  con- 
nected with  the  same.    8s. 

A  short  Statement  relative  to  the  Bi- 
shop's Court  in  Ireland,  and  the  Conduct  of 
Tithe  Proctors  in  that  Country.     Is. 

Notes  of  the  War  in  Spain,  detailing 
Occurrences  Military  and  Pditical,  in  Oa- 
licia,  and  at  Gibraltar  and  Cadiz,  from  the 
fall  of  Coniona  to  the  occupation  of  Cadis 
by  tlie  French.  By  Thomas  Steele,  Eaq. 
M.A.  of  Magdalen  Col]^;e,  Cambridge,  a 
Member  of  the  Spanish  Committee. 

The  Private  Journal  of  Captain  G.  F. 
Lyon,  of  His  Majesty's  Ship  Heda,  du- 
ring  the  recent  Voyage  of  Discovery  under 
'Captain  Parry.    8vo.     I6s. 

An  Inquiry  into  the  Cause  of  the  Pro- 
crastination and  Delay  attributed  to  the 
Judicial  Proceedings  of  the  House  of  Lords 
and  the  Court  of  Chancery.  By  Sir  James 
Bland  Lamb,  Bart.    4s. 

Momuigs  at  Bow-Street  By  Mr  Wight, 
Bow-street  Reporter  to  the  Morning  He- 
rald. With  21  illustrative  Designs,  by 
George  Cruikshank. 

Facts  plainly  Stated ;  in  Answer  to  a 
Pampldet,  entitled,  *«  Plain  Statement  of 
Facts,  connected  with  the  proposed  St  Ka- 
tharine's Dock,"  by  a  London  VoA.  Pro- 
prietor. 

Introduction  to  a  Treatise  on  the  State 
of  the  Currency  at  the  present  Time,  1824. 
Showing  the  gfoss  iniquity,  bUndness,  and 
folly,  of  what  is  called  *«  preserving"  Pub- 
lic Faith.    By  Richard  Crattwell,  Ckrk.  < 

A  Letter  ftom  Robert  Haldane,  Esq.  to 
M.  J.  J.  Cheneviere,  Pastor  and  Professor 
of  Divinity  at  Geneva.  Occasioned  by  hip 
Summary  of  the  Theological  Controvcrsits 
which  of  late  years  agits^  the  Gty  of  Ge- 
neva.   3s.  6d. 

Speech  of  the  Earl  of  Damlcy  in  die 
House  of  Lords,  on  Thursday  the  8th  of 
April,  1824,  on  Moving  for  an  Inquiry 
into  the  State  of  Irdand.     Is.  6d. 

The  Cymney-Swesper^  Friend,  and 
Climbing  Boy's  Album,  containing  Con- 
tributions ftom  some  of  the  most  eminent 
Writers  of  the  Day,  in  prose  and  verse. 
Arranged  by  James  Montgomery,  and  il- 
lustrated with  Designs  by  Mr  Cmikshank. 
9s* 

The  Speech  of  Sir  Henry  Pamdl,  Bart 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  on  Lord  Al- 
thorp's  Motion,  Friday,  11th  of  May, 
1824. 

The  First  Volume  of  the  Mechanics' 
Magszine. 

A  Treatise  on  SUy-Snls,  for  the  Pur- 


Digitized  by 


Google 


1824.3 


MorUhfy  Lift  of  New  Publicatimt. 


pose  of  Intorccpdng  the  Wind  between  the 
Square-saib  of  Ships  and  other  Square- 
rigged  Vessels;  nuOhematicaUj  demon- 
strating the  I>efects  of  those  now  in  use, 
and  the  eminent  superiority  of  the  Impro- 
ved Patent  Stay-sails  recently  invented. 
By  Captain  Sir  Henry  Ueathcote,  JEL  N. 
Illustrated  by  suitable  diagrams  and  two 
plates  of  shipSf  one  representing  a  frigate 
dose  hauled,  carrying  all  the  old  stay- 
sails ;  the  other  a  rojru  jacht,  carrying  all 
the  patent  stay-saila,  ana  to  which  are  add- 
ed. Remarks  on  Proportioning  the  JibSy 
&C 

KOVELS  AVD  TALES. 

Some  Account  ef  the  Life  of  the  late 
Gilbert  Earle,  £8q.  Written  by  Hunsel^ 
8s. 

Ourika.  A  Tale.  From  the  Frendi  of 
the  Duchea  de  Duras.    3s. 

Rosaline  de  Vere.     16s. 

Past  Events.  By  the  Author  of  *'  The 
Wife  and  the  Mistress,**  •*  the  Pirate  of 
Naples,"  "  RoseUa,'*  "  Andronica,"  &c 
&c.    L.1,  Is. 

Torrenwald,  a  Romance.  By  Scrible- 
rus  Secundus. 

Best  Intentions ;  or.  Thoughts  and  Re- 
flections for  Youth,  Maturity,  and  Age. 
6s. 

POETRY. 

The  Village  Grammar  School,  and 
other  Poems.  By  Thomas  Maude,  Esq. 
A-B.  Oxon.    Ss. 

The  Brides  of  Florence ;  a  Play,  hi  Five 
Acts ;  illustrative  of  the  Planners  of  the 
Middle  Ages ;  with  Historical  Notes>  and 
Mhmr  Poems.  By  Rand<^ph  Fitz-Eas- 
tace.     10s.  6d: 

Tours  to  the  British  Mountains,  with 
the  I>escriptive  Poems  of  Lowther  and 
fitaont  Vale;  By  Thomas  Wilkinson. 
8a. 

Poems  and  Odier  Writings.  By  the  late 
Edward  Rushton,  of  Liverpool.  To  which 
ia  added,  a  Sketch  of  the  Life  of  the  Au- 
thor.    By  the  Rev.  W.  Shepherd. 

The  Silent  River;  and.  Faithful  and 
Forsaken.  Dramatic  Poems.  By  Robert 
Sulivan.    As. 

Our  Village ;  Sketches  of  Rural  Cha- 
racter  and  Scraery.  By  Mary  Russell 
Mitford,  author  of  «« JuUan,'*  a  Tragedy. 

Conrad,  and  other  Poems.    By  a  Gra- 


799 

duate  of  Trinity  GoBcga,  Oambiidgt.    In 
foolscap  8vo.    6s.  bouids. 

POLITICS. 

An  Inquiry  into  the  Origin,  Character, 
and  Consequences  of  the  System  of  Out- 
rage, Plunder,  Proscription,  and  Murder, 
established  at  present  by  Goieral  Rock,  in 
the  South  and  West  of  IreUnd.  By  a 
Munstcr  Parmer. 

THEOLOGY. 

The  London  Missionary  Society*8  Report 
of  the  Proceedings  against  the  late  Rev.  J. 
Smith,  of  Demerora.    4s. 

Eighteen  additional  Sermons,  intended 
to  establish  the  Inseparable  Connection  be- 
tween the  Doctrines  and  the  Practice  of 
Christianity.  By  the  Author  of  the  fbimeK 
Volume.    6s. 

Sermons;  by  Edward  Maltby,  D.D. 
F.ItS.  and  F.S.A.  Preacher  to  the  Hon. 
Society  of  Linooln*s  Inn.    2d  edit.  Js. 

A  Third  Course  of  Practical  Sermons. 
By  the  Rev.  Harvey  Marriot.  8vo.  10s.  6d. 

A  Familiar  and  Explanatory  Address 
on  the  Nature  and  Design  of  the  Lord*s 
Supper.  12mo. 

Alount*s  licetures  on  the  Parables.  1  too. 
4s.  Gd. 

Part  II.  of  Sermons,  and  Plans  of  Ser- 
mons, on  many  of  die  most  important 
Texts  of  Holy  Scripture.  By  the  late  Rev. 
Joseph  Benson.    8vo.    6s.  boards. 

VOTAOES  AND  TRAVELS. 

Letters  from  an  Absent  Broker,  contain- 
ing some  Account  of  a  Tour  on  the  Conti- 
nent, in  the  Summer  of  1823. 

Some  Account  of  the  Present  State  of 
the  English  Settlers  in  Albany,  Soudi 
Africa.    By  Thomas  Pringle.    4s. 

Narrative  of  the  Operations  and  Reeent 
Discoveries  within  the  PjrramSda,  Temples, 
Tombs,  and  Excavations  in  Egypt  and 
Nubia.    By  O.  BdxonL    3d  edit 

Narrative  of  a  Pedestrian  Journey 
through  Russia  and  Siberian  Tartary,  from 
the  Territories  of  China  to  the  Froten.Sea 
and  Kamsdiatka,  performed  during  the 
yean  1890,  21,  22,  and  23.  By  Captam 
John  Dundas  Cochrane,  of  the  Royal 
Navy. 

Journal  of  a  Tour  in  Asia  Minor,  with 
Comparative  Remarks  on  the  Ancient  and 
Modem  Geography  of  that  Country.  By 
William  Martin  Leakr,  P.R.S.  &c 


EDINBURGH. 


The  Edinbur^  Journal  of  Sdenoe,  No. 
I.,  with  8  Pbtes ;  exhibiting  a  View  of 
the  Progress  of  Diseovery  in  Natural  Phi- 
losophy.  Chemistry,  Natural  Historr,  &c 
Conducted  by  David  Brewster,  LL.D. 
F.R.S.  Lond.  89c  R.S.  Edin.  &c.  ftc. 
With  the  assistance  of  several  other  gen- 
tlemen, eminent  in  science  and  literature. 
7s.  6d. 

The  Devil*s  Elixhr.  From  the  German 
of  A.T.  A.  HoflTman.  2  rols.  l9mo.    14s. 


The  Edinburgh  Review.  No.  LXXIX. 

Report  of  Speeches  at  the  Bar  of  the  Ge. 
neral  Assembly,  in  the  case  of  Principal 
MacfarUne.  8vo.  Ss.  6d. 

The  Forester*s  Guide,  and  ProBtable 
Planter.  By  Robert  Monteath.  Second 
Edition.  8vo.  14s. 

Wilhehn  Meister*s  Apprentioeship.  A 
novel,  from  the  Gcnnan  of  Goethe.  3  vols. 
L.1.  lis.  6d. 

The  Post  Office  Annual  Diieolory  fot 
2 


Digitized  by 


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7B0 

1024-1(M.  (kfnUb^  m  most  complete 
and  accurate  alphi^Mtieid  list  of  Noblenieii, 
Gentlemen,  Merchants,  andoUiers.  resident 
in  Bdinbursh  and  Leith,  and  tbeir  Sub* 
nrbs;  besides  every  infonnaHoB  regard- 
ing the  Post  Oftoe  arrangements,  acoes* 
dble  only  to  the  Proprietors  of  this  Direc- 
lonr,  in<^iding  a  great  variety  of  new  mat- 
ter'not  hitherto  published.    4a, 

Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  1823. 
•vo.  L.1,  Is. 

Redgamdet.  A  Tale  of  the  Eighteenth 
Century.  By  the  Author  of  Waveriey.  S 
Toh.  L.1,  lis.  Od. 

An  Account  of  the  Bell  Rock  Lights 
House;  with  a  Circumstantial  Detail  of 
tfie  Operations  caitied  on  during  the  Pro- 
gress of  its  Erection,  &c  By  ^bert  Stew 
vetkson,  F.lt$.E.,  Civil  Engineer.  In  royal 
quarto.   Embellished  wkh  Numettras  En« 

Savings,  and  a  Frontispiece  horn  a  drair- 
g  by  Turner. 
^•*  This  Work  will  be  found  of  mueh 


Monikfy  List  tfNew  PiAikaHonf. 


praeties]  otiBty.  not  olily  ki 
a  similar  kind,  Irat  in  Marine 
in  general ;  aflbrdfaig,  at  tfie  same  time,  a 
view  of  the  difficulties  to  be  eneoimterefl 
and  overcome  hi  eoDdnd^  a  great  Na- 
tional undertaldng. 

As  only  240  C&pies  of  ibia  istcrestiDg 
work  are  printed  tor  sale,  eaily  appfieadstt 
Ibr  Copies  win  be  necessary. 

A  Tour  In  Germany,  and  in  some  of  die 
Provinces  of  the  Austrian  Empiie,  ia  die 
years  1821  and  1812.  2  vols.  smaH  oc 
tavo. 

Supplement  to  Playfiur^s  Geometry,  aai 
Wooa's  Algebra ;  completing  A  eoorae  otf 
Mathematics  in  Theory  and  Practice.  By 
Thomas  Duncan,  A.M.  Proftssor  of  Ma- 
thematics in  the  University  of  St  Andrewn 
2  vols.  8vo.     L.l,  Is. 

A  Glance  at  the  Salmon  Fishcriea  of 
Scotland,  with  regard  to  the  Stake  Net 
Question.    By  a  Saknon  Fisber. 


MONTHLY  REGISTER. 


Wheal. 
1st,..  38s.  Od. 
2d,  ...348.  Od. 
3d,  ...27s.  Od. 


EDINBURGH.— JiM«  10. 

Barley.         |  Oats. 

lst,...27B.  Od;    I    1st, 278*  Od. 

2d, s.  Od.    I   2d, 24s.  Od. 

3d,  ..._s.  Od.   I    3d, 20s.  6d. 

Average  £1,  14#.  6d.  8.12ths. 
Tuetda^  June  15. 


Pease  &  Beans. 
lst,......26s.  Od. 

2d, 248.  Od. 

3d,  20s.  Od. 


Bee£(17lM.pevlK)0s.  4ld.to0a.  Od: 

Multon    .    .    .    *    Oe.  6d.   toOs.  6d. 

^Veal Os.  M.   toOs,  8d. 

Pork Oa.  Od.  toOs.  Od. 

Lamb,  per  quarter,    as.  Od.   to4s.  Od. 

Tattow,  pet  slMie  .    6s.  Od.   to6s.  6d. 


QuartemLoaf  •  .  Oa. 
PiHatoes  (28  lb.)  .  ls« 
Fresh  Butter,  per  lb.  Is. 
Salt  ditto,  per  sftme  17s. 
Ditto,  per  lb.  •  •  Is. 
%gs«  per  dosea     .    0» 


9d.  toOe.  lOd. 

Od.  tffOs.  Od. 

3d.  ta  Is.  64. 

Od.  loOs.  Od. 

2d.  toOa.  04 

8d.  toOa.  Od. 


HAD0INGTON.— Jtffif  11. 
Wheat.         t       Barley.  Oats.  Peasew 

1st,  ....38s.  Od.     1st,  ...  31s.  Od.     Isti  ...27s,  Od.     Ist^  ..^t7s.  Od.     1st,  ....S7s.  Od. 

9d,  ....34s.  Od.     2d,  ...  t7s.0d.     2d,.....24s.  Od.     2d 24s.  Od.     ftl,  ....Ma.  Od. 

M,  ....30s.  Od.     3d,  ...  24s.  Od.    3d 2l8.  Od.     3d,  ....2ls.  Od.     3d,  ...Sis.  Oi. 

Average  £1,  14i.  4d,  d-lSths. 
Average  Prieet  of  Com  in  England  and  Waletyfrom  the  Returnt  received  in  Me  9Feek 

ended  June  *S^ 
Wheat,  $S$.  8d.— Barley,  SSe,  td.— Oats,  36i.  id.— Rye,  iSi.  6d.-J3eana,  S8i.  Sd.— Pease,  STc  M. 


Weekip  Price  of  Stocks,  fi-om^  ^du^th  Jlfoy  1824. 
3d.       \      10th.  ITA. 


Bank  stock, 

3  per  cent,  reduced. 

3  per  cent*  cotuois,. 
34  per  cent.  cobsoI 

4  per  cent,  consols,. 
New  4  per  cenS.  consols,. 
India  stock, 
—  boni 
Exchequer 
Bsehequerbills,sm< 
Consols  for  ace 
Lmg  Anmiitffs,.. ...... 

French  9  per  cents. 


2434 
954 
96| 

1011 

loel 

108j 


81  7a  pr. 
50  49  51 
40  50pr 

23  1-16 


242{  1} 


108#i 

2fle| 

76  80  pr. 
34  40  34 
30  32  pr. 
ggj  H 

I04f.  15c 


96i 


75  76  p» 
28  46  pr 

39  47  pr. 


24d>. 


235    4    5 
901  4|  6 


wsnsk 

77  75  pit 
37  84  38 

82   19-10 
104f.50c 


Digitized  by 


Google 


182^2  M^thfy  Btgitkr^  7tl 

Counc  of  ExiMngty  Jim  li— AmtteRlam,  IS:  9.  C.  F.  Ditto  at  tigbt,  11  x  IM- 
Bottodam,  12  :  Si*  Antwopf  IS  t  Sf.  Hambnx^  37 1 84.  Altooa,  0  :  0.  Paria,  8 
d.  light,  26  :  40.  Ditto  26  t  66.  Bouideauz,  0  x  0.  Fmifabrt  oo  tha  Maina,  166|. 
Petenburgh,  per  rble.  0 :  0.  C7#.  Berlin,  0 1  0.  Vienna,  10: 6.  ^f.JUt.  Trieate,  10 : 6. 
^.JU>.  Madnd,  37}.  Cadia,  SOf.  Bilboa,  36i.  Seville,  361.  Malaga,  36}.  Oibral. 
tar,  0.  Leghorn,  47|.  Ocnoa,  44^.  Venice,  0  x  0.  Naplea,  38^  Palermo,  116j.* 
Lisbon,  51.  Oporto,  61.  Rio  Janeiro,  0.  Bahia,  0.  Dublin,  0.  per  cent.  Cork,  0. 
percent. 

Pricet  of  GoU  and  SUver^  per  ox^^Votngn  gold,  in  ban,  iC3  t  17  :  Cd. 
New  Dollars,  4s.  OJd.    8tlTer  in  ban,  stand.  4a.  ll}d. 


PRICES  CURRENT,  Jam  12. 

SUGAR,  Muie. 

LBITH. 

GLASGOW.        LIVERPOOL.  . 

LONDON. 

B.  P.  Dry  Brown.  .  ewt. 

67     to     00 

54 

56    i    51              58 

58              54 

MkL  good,  and  flue  mid. 

«7 

78 

•mm 

—m                              mm 

86              .61 

FlMaiMlvwyfln*,    .    . 

74 

80 

m^ 

70             71 

68              70 

Refined  Doubw  Loftvw,    . 

lOS 

115 

-. 

107            lit 

Powder  ditto,      .      . 

m>m 

mm 

»                             mmm 

80              90 

Single  ditto.       .       . 

90 

104 

87            1 

•^                             -» 

SnullLumpe,  .    .    . 

8S 

88 

8f 

.->                             •* 

«.              -. 

Urge  ditto.  .   .    .       . 

8t 

78 

—                              -» 

■«              _ 

MoLXsSES.^m&h,'  ewt. 

58 

88 

—                              _ 

-■>              «. 

ts 

C56 

18    9 

9           15               16. 

16             17 

COFFEE.  Jemaicm.  ewt. 

60 

70 

40               60 

50              56 

Ord.  good,  and  flne  ord. 

88 

98 

59 

57              71 

57              67 

Mid.  good,  and  flne  mid. 

Dutch  Triage  and  very  ord. 

Ord.  good,  and  flne  ord. 

108 

110 

80 

1            73              96 

76            104 

.^ 

59 

50              66 
67              78 

Mid.^ood.  andflnemid. 

•^ 

_• 

.» 

80             97 

-»               .» 

Plm^tojm'Boiidi)  '»    *    > 
SPIRIT^.    ^^' 

Iff 
9 

1S6 
10 

"71 

60              61 

T               71 

61               64 

Jam.  Rum.  16  0.  P.  gall. 

fi  0 

mmm 

la  lid    ll 

lalld  liOd 

la9d   li    0 

Brandy. 

5    0 

8    6 

.* 

M.                                     .» 

19        8    0 

Ocoera. 

Grain  Whiaky,       .      . 

S    0 
i    6 

S    8 

4    9 

- 

z      z 

19        10 

WINES. 

* 

40 

55 

^. 

-»                w- 

<48           £50 

Portugal  Red.          pipe^ 
Spanidi  White.        butt, 
Tencriflk^                 Tpipe, 

3S 

81 
«7 

44 
65 

f9 

^ 

mmm                            *. 

»              » 

Madeira.  ....    .    . 

40 

0 

.. 

m^                            ^m 

LOGWOOD,  Jam.       ton. 

£10 

0 

8    0     8 

]           £8    5     8  15 

£8    0    — Z 

Hooduraa,      .... 

^ 

MB 

MM 

8  10     9 

■B  ^      ^m  mm 

FUSTJ^malcii,  !       . 

8 
7 

1 

^, 

9    5     9  10 
8  10     8  15 

"o"©  "i'o 

Cuba, 

9 

11 

•M 

10  0   10  10 

9         10    0 

lOi 

1U6 

Ate 

«l  0   lOe  6 

11  0     15   0 

.  TIMBER.  Amer.  PfaM^  foot. 

t    4 

*  s 

M. 

-»                    -mm 

Ditto  Oak. 

t    9 

8    8 

^ 

«*                     «■ 

i^                                   MB 

Christianaaad  (dut-paid.) 

t    S 

f    7 

*^ 

mm                            w. 

•B                                       ^ 

Honduras  MaltoganyT    . 

I    0 

1    6 

1    8      1 

0  11     I    t 

0  11      10 

1    6 

19 

8    6 

fO 

16      8 

1    7     t  10 
i5    0     16  0 

19      10 
11    0    14    0 

PITClTforeigil,'    '  cwtl 

13  • 

V 

— 

16    0      18  0 
11    0         •- 

TALLOW.  Rus.  YcL  Gand. 

55    6 

7i 

86    6        Z 

84    0          — 

Home  melted,  .... 

86 

«> 

T                  •■ 

19    0         — 

HEMP.  Poliah  RMne.  ton. 

» 

41  10 

4ta 

1SS»S 

^Peterrtmrgh,  Clean,  .    . 
FLAX. 
RigaThiefc4kDnii.Rak. 

88 

88 

89              40 

45 

^ 

,^ 

,.              .— 

£46             58 

Dutch, 

Iriah.       .       . 

50 
89 

H 

jr 

—              — 

46             56 

MATS.  Ardiangel,       .     . 
BRISTLES. 

98 

105 

^ 

_              •• 

i^             -» 

_ 

-              - 

jf<     z 

ASHES.  Petera.  Pevl,  .    . 

40 

? 

.^ 

— .                        mm 

Montreal,  ditto,     . 

41 

4S 

40 

8816           89 

41              41 

Pol,       .       . 

38 

w. 

86 

846           — 

41          416 

OIL,  Whaler               ton. 

fO 

.. 

tl 

19              - 

Cod.       .... 

^ 

^ 

^m 

mm                         ^ 

10  10         — 

TOBACCO,  VIrgia.  fia^  lb. 
Middling,       .       ,. 

I» 

m 

It 

(     5|   0    8 
<     8)  0    5 

0  n    • 

Inferior,       .       .       . 

7 

7 

7 

1     r   0   » 

0  i»    n 

0    7}    d 

8  0  r 

8               9 

Seakland,ftncb       .    ^ 

.M 

^ 

1    4'    1 

115 

10     19 

Good,      . 
^_      MkiSfaiK.      .     , 

- 

'Z 

1    t     1 

111 

1    Oi  1    t 
I    Oi   1    1 

-         ;; 

^sssr*^^' . 

— 

^ 

0  10      I 
0    9      0 

0  lOi    I    0^ 
0    7       10 
Oil      1    0 
OIQI    OIU 

^lOi  1^ 

a. 

^ 

0  10|    0 
0  101    0 

*ou      — 

MwsnhMn, 

— 

— 

Digitized  by 


Google 


7S9 


MoHtkkf  Rfgitler. 


L^tme, 


LondoHy  Corn  Exdiangt^  Jutu  7* 
Wr%t^ rtd, cUL  ei to  TO  mmB»it, maw        -Ito 


fine  ditto 
Saperfine  ditto 
Ditto,  new  •  . 
White,  old  . 
Fine  ditto  .  . 
Soperflne  ditto 
Ditto,  new  . 
Rye  .... 
Barley,  new  . 
Fine  ditto  .  . 
Superflne  ditto 
Mdt  .... 
Fine  .... 


50to  MWhltepcue  .  37  to 
6!e  to  64  Ditto,  boilen  .  41  to 
4f  to  48  Small  Beui«,new  4f  to 
68  to  76  Ditto,  old  .  •  44  to 
64  to  63  Tick  ditto,  new   55  U> 

-       40  to 

SI  to 
t6to 
SSto 

seta 

f5to 
S4tc 
3S  tc 


Muft.  Whiter 

—  Brown,  new  10  to  16  0 
Tarca.perbah.  3  to  5  0 
Sanfiiin,per<|r.  42  to  47  0 
Tumipe,  bah.     6  to  10  0 

—  Red  ^  green  —  to  —  0 

—  Yellow,  0  to  0  0 
Caraway,  ewt.  48  to  56  0 
C^anary,  berqr.58  to  65  0 


68  to  70  Ditto,  old 

48  to  59  Feed  oata    . 

38  to  44  Fine  ditto  . 

30  to  3?|Poland  ditto 

33  to  35  Pfaie  ditto  . 

36  to  3xH  Potato  ditto 

53  to  56  Fine  ditto  . 

58  to  6SSootch    .    . 

35  to  37  Flour,  per  laek   55  U 

38  to  40|DitU>,  Moondi     50  tc 

i.     9.  d.  9,      t 

7  to  IS  0  Hcrapteed    .    —  to  • 
LinneedfCruth.  t8  to  ' 

-  Ditto,  Feed  47  to ; 
RyeOraii,  .SSto: 
Ribgiaai,  .  .  40  to  i 
Clover,  led  c«-t.44  to  i 

—  While  ...  57  to  ! 
Coriander  .  .  8  to 
Trefoil  ....    3  to 


Rape  Seed,  per  laat,  £S1  to  £S4,  Oi. 


150 
-  O 

-O 

l€  O 
H  O 
17  0 

1  t 


—  0 

—  o 

94  0 

95  0 

—  9 

780 
500 

780 
75  0 

5S0 
50  0 
S6  O 
4S  O 
480 


AlCTKuuor.ouiCAL  Table,  alracted  from  Vie  RegUter  kept  at  Ediuhurgh^  in  Iht 
Ohtervatory^  Calion^UL 

if  .B.— The  Obaenrattow  aiw  made  twloe  every  day,  at  nine  o'etoek,  forenoo*!,  and  four  oTdodc,  aftec- 
noon.— The  aeoood  Obiervatioa  in  the  afternoon,  in  the  fir«t  column,  it  taken  by  the  R^ter 


Average  of  Rain,  .534  Inches. 


Digitized  by 


Google 


18840 


Mantkiy  Regkter. 


TJS 


Keast,  J.  East  Looe,  Cdnnrall,  taiTcner. 

Kennedy,  H.  BrUbtoo,  carpenter. 

Kerbey,  O.  T.  nncb-lane,  stock-brokar. 

Laniley,  W.  Andover,  carpenter. 

Maniftdd,  J.  Kendal,  ikinner. 

Morgan,  J.  Bedford-ctreet,  Conunercial>raid»  vie* 


Alphabetical  List  of  £iroLi8n  BAWxiiuPTcncs,  aimoimced  between  the  20th 
of  April,  and  20th  of  May,  1824 ;  extracted  from  the  London  Gazette. 

Barker,  J.  Bugei*»alky,  Uttle  Mooifiekla,  iUk-     Joboioo,  W.  WotkKjp,  NottiogbamaUTe,  ooal- 

manufkctiiTer*  '* 

Bamct,  C  Barknr-mawa,  Bratoo-itreet,  bora»- 

dealer. 
Batb,  W.  CopenbagcD-houae,  UUngton,  Tictual- 

ler. 
Bentley,  J.  Leeds,  ttulPmerdianL 
Betts,   J.   T.    Temple-plaee,   BbiekiHar'a-road, 

wine-merchant.  

Bocbaa,  N.  C.  Bryanatooe^treeC,  teadier  of  mu-     Mortimer,  R.  Scholefield,  Yorkshire,  dyer. 

lie;  Narraway.  J.  Bristol,  feUmoncer. 

Bowes,  J.  Da  Its  ma.  carpenter.  Neilson,  J.  Cheltenham,  tea-deala; 

Broady,  W.  Old  Jewry,  wooDen-warehooaMnaii.         PalUng ,  W.  Old  South  Sca-houa^  i 
Brown,  T.  Chelmanh,  Shropshire,  fanner.  PeUy,  R.  Mandiester,  joiner. 

Bntt.  W.  P.  Wimbome  Minster,   Dorsetshire,      Plaw,  j.  New  Kent-road,  grocer. 

Procter,  J.  Oxford-street,  wine-merchant. 
Ramsden,  R.  Wandsworth,  coach  proprietor. 
Ree,  J.and  P.  Sanders,  Cobb's-yard,  Middlesex- 

street.  Whiteduqiel,  rag-merchants. 
Rees.  B.  HaTcrfordwest,  linen-draper. 
Rhodes,  J.  Heywood,  Lancashire,  house-eaipenter. 
Roberts,    T.   A.   Montford-place,    Kennuigtoo- 

green,  coal-merdunt. 
Roscow,  H.  Pendleton,  Lancashire,  brewer. 
Rutt,  N.  Coleman-street,  painter. 
Sandison,  W.  Cork-street,   BurUngton-cardeBa, 

tailor. 
Sargent,  O.  F.  Marlboroagb-place,  Great  Peter- 

street,  patent  leatlter  dreaser. 
Sawtdl,  T.  Somerton,  SomerseCriiir«,  innkeeper. 
Shackles,  W.  HuU,  linen-draper. 
Sintenis,  W.  F.  Langboume-aiainbers, 
Slogsett,  J.  Jun.  BaUi.  hosier. 
Smrai,  A.  Beedi-streeC  ttanber^nerchant 
Smith,  P.  Petticoat-lane,  qiirlt-merdianL 
Smith,  T.  Kentish-town,  bookseller. 
Sudbury,  W.  Reading,  ooadi-maker. 
TomkinsoB,  S.  Bursiem,  mannfapturer  dt  earth- 

en-ware. 
Towmend,  R.  and  S.  Nottingham,  cutlers. 
Twaddle,  W.  C.  Hertford,  draper. 
Tweed,  J.  Darby-stxeet,  Rosemary-lane,  cabinet- 
maker. 
Wall,  J.  Brentford-butts,  broker. 
Welsby,  W.Manchester, innkeeper. 
Whitehouse,  J.  and  W.  N.  WolTerhamptoo,  Ac- 
tors. 
Whiting,  T.  Oxford,  mercer. 
Wild,  jTBurslem,  TictuaUer. 
Wi1son,T.Little  Queen-street,  Lincobt's-inn-flelds, 

undertaker. 
Wise,  S.  and  C.  Brinchley,  Maidstone,  papcr4Mi- 

kers. 
Wood,  H.  J.  and  J.  Chandos-street,  habcfdMharf. 
Wreaks,  J.  Sheffield,  saw  manuftcturer. 
Yates,  J.  C  Rosemary-lane,  chinaman  i 
Yorit,  A.  Birmingham,  baker. 


Clark,  W.  H.  and  R.  Clement,  High  Holbom, 
Kneo-draners. 

Cooke,  T.  Banbury,  mealman. 

Corbet.  B.  O.  Friday-street.  Unen-draper. 

Corileld,  a  W.  Norwich,  carrier. 

Critchley,  M.  Crooklands,  Westmoreland,  coal- 
dealer. 

Crole,  D.  Old  Broad-«treet,  stock-broker. 

Crooke,  H.  Burnley,  Lancashire,  cottoo-spinner. 

Dacre,  O.  H.  Jerusalem  Coflte  house,  merchant. 

Dale,  T.  Oki  Bell  Inn,  Holbom,  coach-master. 

DaTis,  S.  Derenport,  grocer. 

Davis,  W.  Lewisbam,  cora-dcaler. 

Dawe,  J.  HeWiwtown-mills,  Devonshire,  miller. 

Douthwalte,  C  PancrM-lane,  wine-merchanL 

Dnrtiam,  J.  New  Cut,  Lambeth-marsh,  oilman. 

Baton,  G.  Upper-Thames-straet,  statkmer. 

Bdey,  E.  L.  Charing-cross,  coOMiouae-keeper. 

EUa,  S.  Noble-street,  shoemaker. 

Emeus,  W.  Bamsbury-row,  Islington,  stationer. 

Feathentonbaugh,  M.  G.  Bishopwearmouth,  mer- 


tr,  P.  Avwtin-fHars,  merdumL 
Flashbom,  E.  WakefieM,  vktuaUet. 
Foster,  J.  Tring,  Herts,  vtotualler. 
Gilbert,  J.  A.  George-lane,  Botolph-lane,  mer- 


Graham,  M.  Unkm-screet,  glass-dealer. 

Groves,  L.  Shefflekl,  saw-maker. 

Gruncisen,  C  Lower  Cumming-street,  Penton- 

ville,  merchant. 
Harris,  T.  Egg.  Budtland,  and  F.  Hanif,  of  De- 

vooport*  butchers. 
Haselden,  J.  Grub-etreet.  borae^ealer. 
Heyden,  W.  Livarpo<ri,  coach-maker. 
Hodson,  J.  Uvenool,  timber-merchant. 
Hojaate,  G.  and  T.  Burnley,  Lancashire,  banken. 
Holbrooke  J.  Derby,  grocer. 
Jackman,  W.  Hoisforth,  Yorkshire,  miDer. 
Jackson,  W.  High  Holbom,  victualler. 
Jepaon*  J.  Congletoo,  spirit^merchanL 


Fleming,  John,  and  Son,  ) 

a  flist  and  final  dividend  after  Ifth  Julv. 
Levach,  George,  merchant  in  Thurso;  a  dividend 

after  5th  June. 


Alphabetical  List  of  Scotch  Bakkauptcibs,  announced  between  the  lit 
and  Sltt  o(  May,  1824,  extracted  from  the  Edinburgh  Oasette. 

Christie,  PMsr,  grocer  and  splrit-daaler  fai  Perth. 
Coriiill,  Alexander,  merchant  and  flsh-cvrer  tai 

Haygarth,  Thomas,  ftimiture-dealer  and  eoounis-         

slon  agent  in  Edinburgh.  Mathie,  William,  and  Companr,  late  i     

Uddel,  Robert,  grocer,  brewer,  and  baker,  at  in  Greenock;  a  final  dividend  after  t5th  Junew 

Blantyre-tofl.  M*Morran,  Robert,   jun.  and  Company,  wool- 

,^...„   .....  'tin  GlaiffOfw,  and  one         spinners  at  Garschew-mUl ;   a  dividend  after 

18tb  June. 
Miller,  Geme  and  Peter,  cnttl^dralers  in  Maus; 

a  dividendafter  S6th  June. 
Pollock,  John,  oottou'Cpinner,  Calton,  Glasgow; 

a  final  dividend  on  fd  July. 
Robertson,  James,  and  Company,  bookseUera  in 

Edinburgh;  a divklend after  10th  June. 
Singer,  Adam,  merchant  and  grocer  in  Aberdeen: 

a  first  divklend  after  6th  July. 
Smith,  WiUtam.  innkeeper  in  Hamiltont  a  divi- 
dend after  liitti  June. 
Wilson,  John,  and  Son,  merchants  and  man^M- 
torers  in  Dunliennline;  a  dividend  after  S8tb 
June. 


of  the  partners  of  the  company  of  Andrew  and 
MkhadNeilson,  wholesale  tea-dealers  there. 
Robertaon,  James,  jun.  merchant,  Dysart 

DIVIDENDS. 
Andrew,  Thomas,  late  brewer  in  Linlithgow;  a 

divklend  alter  17th  Jane. 
Btornn,  Wmiam,  lateof  Longhedhnim,  Dmnftries- 

shire,  cattl»4leakr;  a  third  and  last  divtdcnd 

after  30th  Jona. 
Douglas,  Alexander^aheep and eattle-dealar, some 

ttme  at  Haqgh  of  Tammet,  thereafter  at  North 

B^  in  the  parish  of  FowUs  BMtcr,  Perthshire ; 

a  divkknd  on  the  nth  June. 
Dove,  Ja]Bai,meRfaanL  and  ship-owner  in  Leith; 

adividaMlafler9Sr7uaa. 


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7U 


Appomimenis,  Promotions,  ^c. 


U^iOt, 


APPOINTMENTS,  PROMOTIONS,  &c 


Caaat  Edwardf ,  75  F.  Major  in  the 
Anny  13  May,  18S4. 

—  Aveline,  E.  I.  Corop.  Service, 
Adjt  at  R.  MiliUury  Seminary  at 
Addiscombe,  Local  Rank  of  Capt. 
vrhile  wo  employed,  vice  Lester,  re- 
signed do. 

Lieut  Ritherdon,  of  do.  Acting  Adi. 
at  do.  Local  Rank  of  Lieut,  while 
so  employed  do. 

7  Dr.  Cds.    Comet  Brett,  Lieut*  by  purdu  viee 

NicoUs.  prom.  24  Apr. 

E.  R.  BuUer,  Com.  do. 

3  Dr.  T.  Richardson,  Corn,  by  piirch.  vice 

M*LachIan,  reL  :29  do. 

4  Major  Brown,  from  8  Dr.  Maj.  vice 

Onslow,  h.  p.  4f  F.  rec.  diff.  13  May 

8  Bt.  Mai.  Brown,  Maj.  by  purch.  vice 

Sir  H.  Floyd,  prom.  6  do. 

Lieut.  Paterson,  Capt.  do. 

Com.  Parlby,  Lieut.  do. 

J.  T.  Lord  Brudenell.  Com.  do. 

Bt  Lieut  Col.  Lord  G.  W.  RusseD, 

from  h.  p.  42  F.  Mi^*  vice  Brown, 

4  Dr.  13  do. 

15  Com.  Rcss,  Lieut  by  purch.  vice 

JoUifTc,  ^.9  F.  t^AoT, 

E.  A.  Perceval,  Com.  do. 

ItJ  Corn.  Penn,  from  17  Dr.  Com.  vice 

Brett,  h.  p.  24  Dr.  do. 

17  Lieut  Bond,  Capt  by  purch.  vice 

M'Nealc,  ret  6  May 

Cora.  Lewis,  Lieut      ,  do. 

Hofu  G.  W.  Edwardes,  Com.        da 

Cora.  Barron,  from  h.  p.  'SI  Dr.  Cor. 

▼ice  Penn,  16  Dr.  22  Apr. 

Gren.  Gds.    Assist  Surg.  Harriscm,  Surgeon,  vice 

Curtis,  dead  29  do. 

II.  S.  Elraslie,  Assist  Surg.  do. 

4  F.  Quart  Mast   Scrjt    Bayne.  Quart 

Mast  vice  Kelly,  dead  5  Mar. 

12  As.  Surg.  O'HaUoran,  fh)m  61  F. 

Surg,  vice  Price,  dead         29  Apr. 

\i  Capt  Gowdie,  from  h.  p.  1 9  Dr.  Cap. 

vice  Fox,  95  F.  6  May 

20  Lieut  Day,  from  h.  p.  W.  I.  Rang. 

Lieut  vice  Warren,  cane    22  Apr. 

28  Ens.  Campbell,  Lieut  vice  Scrapie, 

38  F.  28  do. 

Browne,  from  44  F.  Ens.      do. 

tt  Capt  Stannus,  Mi^*  hy  purch.  vice 

Tod,  ret  22  do. 

Lieut  Sir  W.  G.  H.  JoUiffe,  Bt.  from 

15  Dr.  Capt  do. 

31  Birtwhistle,  Capt.  by  purch.  vice 

Belcher,  ret  13  May 

Ens.  Ives,  Lieut  do. 

J.  Markham,  Ens.  do. 

36  Ens.  Roberts,  A^jt  vice  M*PhenoD, 

ret  Adj.  only  do. 

38  Lieut  Matthews,  Cant  vice  Read, 

dead  23  Oct  1823. 

— ^—  Semple,  from  28  F.  Capt  rice 

Willshire,  prom.  24  do. 

Bna.  Grimes,  Lieut  23  do. 

E.  Baoot,  Ens.  do. 

44  Bt  MaJ.  Brugh,  U»i,  vice  Nixon, 

<J«Kl  7  Nov. 

Lieut  Connor,  Capt  do. 

Ens.  OgUvy,  Ueut  do. 

2d  Lieut  M*Crea,  from  Ceylon  Regt 

Ens.  V.  Browne,  28  F.  28  Apr.  Ib24. 

Gent  Cadet  J.  D.  De  Wend,  from 

MiL  Coll.  Ens.  vice  Ogilvy    29  do. 

Ens.  Langmead,  from  76  F.  Lieut 

vice  Wood,  lemoved  from  the  Ser- 

Tice  25do, 

46  — —  HtttchinsoQ,  Lieut  Tice  Law, 

dead  25  Oct  1823. 

G.  Woodbura,  Ens.       S9  Apr.  1824. 

n  V.  Joham*  Eni.  by  puxcb.  vkse  Rice, 

cane  6  May 

69  Ueot  Chadwick,  Capt  by  parduse^ 

▼ke  Clntterboek,  nt  29  Apr. 

Ens.  Coote,  Lieut  do. 

_  J.  A.  Banon,  Ena.  do. 

6a  As.  Suig.  MmMb,  Saig.  Tice  Faries, 

<ieMl  10  Deo.  1823. 


64  Hosp.  Aiiist  Chsmben,  Aa.  Sag. 

vice  0'HaUoran»  12  F.  29  Aps.  lUHL 
78  T.  M.  Wilson,  Ens.  by  purch.  viet 

Hamilton  prom.  15  da 

91  Gent  Cadet  J.  Hughes,  fhim  Royal 

Mil.  CoU.  Ena.  vice  CampbeO,  dcsd 
29  do. 

92  Capt  Spinks,  flrom  4  F.  M^  by  mar. 

vice  Lieut  CoL  Fulton,  ret  13  May 

95  Fox.  from  15  F.  CapL  viee  Bt 

Ma}.  Mitchell,  h.  p.  6  do. 

96  Lt  Furlong,  from  b.  p.  43  F.  Paym. 

2SApr. 

2  W.  L  Reg.  Ca^t  Smith,  from  h.  p.  00  F.  Cut 

vice  Welman,  cane  oa 

Ceyl.  Regt  G.  Fickard,  2d  Lieut  vice  M'Czea, 

41  F.  29<kfc 

Afr.  Col.  C.  As.  Surg.  Stewart,  from  11  F.  Sug. 

13MaT 
Hosp.  As.  Fergusaon,  At.  Surg.    do» 

.      .    Picton,  do.  do. 

1  R.  V.  B.    Capt  Welman,  from  h.  p.  3  Gar.  Bn. 
Capt  vice  Leach,  ret  list   29  Anr. 

Le  Guay,  from  h.  p.  95  F.  do. 

vice  M 'Arthur,  ret  list       13  May. 

Lieut  QuUl,  from  h.  p.  15  F.  Lieut 

vice  Blood,  set  list  29  Ape. 

Unattached. 

M^  Sir  H.  Floyd,  fi^  tram  8  Dr. 
Lieut  Cot  of  Inf.  by  pareb.  vke 
Gen.  DowdesweQ,  ret  6  May  1824. 

Lieut  Douglas,  from  Gren.  Gas.  Cap. 
by  puroh.  vice  MaclaudUaa,  RL 
liU«.ret  13da 

Garrison. 
Lie«t  Clarke,  77  F.  Town  Ad)t  in 
the  Island  of  Malta     29  ApK.  1824 

Ordnance  Department. 

R.  Art       2d  Capt  Patten,  from  h.  p.  96  Cmt. 

vice  CkMe,  h.  p.         23  Apr.  l^ 

1st  Lieut  Miller,  from  h.  p.  1st  Ueut 

vice  Richardes,  h.  p.  12  May 

R.  Eng.        Col.  Mukaster,  fhxn  iu  p.  CoL  rif 

ITArcy,  ret  15  A|»r. 

Capt  Henryson,  firom  h.  p.  Cap.  vice 

MadaueMaa,  h.  p.  »  May 

ILSap.  AMin.  2d  Capt  H.  D.  Joan,  A^it  vice 

Reid,  ret  »  Apt, 

Hospital  Staff: 

Dep.  Insp.  Baxter,  Inn>.  by  Brevet 

ft  Dec  1823. 

Phys.  Calvert,  Dep,  Ins».  by  Brevet 

'  25  Nov.  1818. 

. M'Mullen,  do.  do. 

As.  Surg.  Barry,  from  b.  ^As.  Sgg. 

Exchangts. 
Ueat  CoL  Gordon,  from  5  I>r.  Gdt.  rte.  diC  with 
Ueut  Col.  Wallace,  h.  p.  Unatt 

-  Cross,  from  36  F.  rec.  diff.  with  Ueut. 


CoL  Hewett,  h.  p.  Unatt 
Mai.    Gardhier,  from  14  F.  with  Bt  lient  CoL 

CanMbeU,  h.  n.  W.  India  Ra. 
Capt  Marq.  ({/^Tichfield,  from  2d  Ufii  Gds.  with 

Capt  Lord  O.  Bentinck,  h.  p.  W.  Ind.  Rang. 
North,  from  6  Dr.  Oda.  rec  daiC  with  i^pt 

— -Bomet,  from  7  Dr.  Gds.  with  Capt  Gowdie, 

15  F. 
M'Neill,  from  17  Dr.  with  Capt  Locke,  Sd 

W.  Ind.R. 

Swinton,  from  17  F.with  Capt  Rotton,  20  F. 

Halfhida,  from  17  F.  with  Cape  CatUidrt, 

44  F. 
Lieut  Jervia,  ftom  6  Dr.  Gda.  Ite.  diff  witli  Lt 

Ramus,  h.  n.  24  F. 
— —  Leatiiea,  from  1  Db  lec  diff  with  Licnt 

Watben«  h.  p.  8  Dk. 

NicholaoQ,  from  17  Dr.  ree.  diff  with  Lt 

iBBt  diff  with 


Oraenkiwdj  h>p.  8Di* 

Lord  WBllsco»rt»  from  96  F. 
Lieut  Banett.  h.  p.  62  ¥, 


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Appointments,  PwnnotioM,  6;c. 


Capt  BklMb  ftom  Afr.  CoL  Oorpt,  wkh  Ueat. 
rOTtCT,^r'%  with  UeuL  StMDky,  h.  p. 

Lt  •odA$*  Flood,  from  74  F.  rec  dilt  with  U. 

lUmMlai,  h.  p.  4  F.      .  .  ^    „      „  „  , 
Cora.  Utt,  fhxn  IS  Dr.  with  Em.  Hon.  R.  Petre, 

58  F. 

Resiffnatiofts  and  RciirevirnU* 
Gen.  Dowdeswell.  late  of  60  F. 
limt  Col.  Tod,  t9  F. 

Fulton.  92  F. 

m).  M'NMle,  17  Dr. 
Cftpt.  Belcher.  33  F. 

Chitterbuck,  59  F. 

— — >  MacUttchUn,  R.  Eng. 
CoTMt  M'LachUn,  3  Dr. 

Appotntmentt  Cancelled. 
Gapt  Welhnaa,  Sd  W.  Ind.  R«. 
LieuL  Warren,  SO  F. 
Bat.  Rioe»  51  F. 

Removed  from  the  Service. 
Ueut  Wood,  44  F. 

DUmUsed, 
Staff  Af.  Slug.  MIxMighlin. 

Deaths. 
limt  Gen.  T.  Manhall,  East  India  COmp.  Ser- 
vice,    S8May,S4. 


CoL  Mara,  of  Lothian,  K.  T.  Edinburgh  MiL  _^ 

LkuLCoLHaU,  h.  p.65F.aifloa,  15May,t4.  ■'^^ 

Malor  Waldron,  S7  F. 

—  Tomkins,  Limerick  MiL  Camairoo,  Now 
Walei»  s  13  Apr.  S4. 

—  Barberie,  late  of  Barrack  Dep. 


CaptR7kDC*,i3P.«BppONdk»tattM, 

■  Goddard,  Dtp.  Bar.  Mast  Geo.  Nora  Seo- 
tia,  »  Feb.  Si. 

Parker,  h.  p.  94  P. 

— -  Nosworthy,  h.  p.  S  West  I.  R.  kat  on  pas- 
sage from  Sierra  Leone,  Aug.  S8. 
■Connor,  h.  p.  New  Brunsw.  Fen. 
Lieut.  Lorimer,  1  F.  Umerick,           13  May,  S4. 

—  Taggart, Ute5  Yet.  Bn.  Jersey,  18  Apr. 
Madam.  Ute  IS  do.  Cork  1  do. 

M'Donald,  h.  p.  7  Dr.  Edinburgh,  S3  Mar. 

Matthews,  h.  p.  S3  F. 

Keoogh,  h.  p.  S5  E.  Ireland. 

Yelverlon,  h.  p.  3S  F.  Kirk  Midiael.  L  of 

Man,  S4  Apr. 
Howard,  h.  p.  33  F.  ChaUbnt,  St  Gilo^s 

Bucks,  1  Jan. 

—  Wlshart,  h.  p.  4S  F.  Upper  Canada. 
-^-  Stewart,  h.  p.  82  F.  Hampton,       S8  Feb. 
*— —  Armstrong,  K  p.  Irish  Artik  Liverpool, 

3  Apr.  S4. 

Strong,  Light  Hone  Vol.  London,  S  May. 

Bns.Oatas,h.p.38F.  14  Jan.  S4. 

Sutherland,  h.  p.  13S  F.  S6  Apr. 

Paymaster  Nosworthy,  h.  p.  S  W.  I  Regt.  Aber- 
gele, Denbighshire,  18May,S4. 

-^ Burley,  Brecon  Mllit.  15  Apr. 

Quarter-  Blaster  Bns.  KeUy,  4  F.  Antigua, 

Surg.  Murphy,  Louth  MiUt  -  Apr!s4. 
Ambrose,  h.  p.  R.  Art.  So.  Mayo  BfiliL 

IreUnd,  17  do. 

Aaiktaat  Surg.  Coehrsae,  h.  p.  York  Ra.  Lam- 

•--•-  S9  Feb.  S4. 

Erratum. 

For  1st  Ueut  Henry  Sandham,  R.  Art  dtad, 
read,  1st  Ueut  Chrirtopher  Knl^  Sanders,  R. 
Art.cfeod. 


BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


Dee.  I,  18S3.  At  Madras,  the  Lady  of  Major 
Cadell,  assistsnt-a4Jutant  general,  of  a  son. 

S9.  At  Madeirs,  the  Lady  ot  Robert  Wallaa, 
Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

4prtf  SS,  18S4.  At  Westwood,  near  Southamp- 
ton, the  Lady  of  Rear- Admiral  Otway,  of  a  son. 

S9.  At  the  British  hotel,  70,  Queen's  Street,  the 
Lady  at  George  Fullerton  Carnegie.  Esq.  of  Pit- 
arrow,  of  a  daughter. 

May  S.  At  No.  9,  Abercromby  Place,  the  Lady 
of  James  Greig,  Esq.  of  Ecdes,  of  a  son. 

4.  At  No.  45,  Queen's  Street,  Edinburgh,  the 
Lady  of  William  Shand,  Esq.  of  Balmakewan»  of 
ason. 

6.  At  his  Lordship's  house,  in  Berkeley  Square, 
London,  the  Countess  of  Jersey,  at  a  daughter. 

7.  At  Dovecot*  Musselburgh,  Mrs  Home,  of  a 
son. 

9.  At  Inverness,  the  Right  Hon.  Lady  Anne 
Fraser,  of  Torbeck,  of  a  daughter. 

—  At  Milton  House,  Edinbvgh,  Mrs  Lee.  ofa 
daufljiter. 

11.  Mrs  Alexander  Douglas,  Albany  Street,  of 
ason. 

IS.  At  York  Place,  the  Ladjr  at  Dr  John  Camp- 
beO,  of  a  daughter. 

15.  At  EUe,  Fifeshire,  the  Lady  of  Captain 
rort«ms,R.N.ofason.  — r-— 

16.  At  London.  Mrs  Duff  of  Cainousieb  of  a 
daughter; 

«  Mrs  Smith,  3,  Albany  Street,  ofa  son. 
~  At  BosmiMton  Bank,  Mrs  Wyld,  of  ason. 

—  At  York  Place,  Mrs  Dr.  Gillsispie,  of  a  son 

17.  At  Dumbarton  Castle^  tha  Lady  of  T.  Y. 
Lester,  Esq.  of  a  son. 

18.  At  Na  10,  St  John  Stzeet,  Mrs  Dr  Pooler  of 
a  daughter. 

19.  At  Albany  Street,  Mrs  Orr,  of  a  soa. 

_  SS.  In  Coates  Creseeot,  Mn  AbwcKMnby,  of 
Birkenbof.  ofason. 

54.  In  Coates  Cresant,  Mra  Oeoigt  Forbes,  of  a 
danghter. 

55.  Mrs  George  Robertson,  S8,  Albany  Stnat* 
of  a  daughter. 

57.  In  Meadow  Place.  Mrs  Irving,  of  a  son. 

58.  At  North  Berwick,  the  Lady  of  Maior-Oe. 
naral  DafaTnple.  of  a  son. 

—  At  StewartMd,  Mrs  Veilch.  of  a  son. 


S9.  At  Woolwich,  the  Lady  of  Lieutenant  WU« 
Ham  Cochrane  AndersoA,  lloyal  Horse  Artillery, 
of  a  daughter. 

S9.  At  Coates  Crescent,  the  Lady  of  Captain 
Ayton,  Royal  Artillery,  of  a  son. 

30.  At  Pienchrlse,  Mrs  Pott,  of  a  son. 

»  At  Forge  Lodge,  Dumfries-shire,  the  Lady 
of  Pulteney  Mein,  Esq.  of  a  daughter. 

MARRIAGES. 
May  4.  At  London,  Captahi  Francis  J.  Davtai, 
of  ttte  grenadier  guards,  to  Anna,  eldest  daughter 
of  Lieut-GenoalDunkip,  M.  P.  of  Dunlop,  coun- 
ty of  Ayr. 

—  At  London,  James  John  Fraser,  Esq.  mi^or 
in  the  7th  hussars,  to  Charlotte  Ann,  only  duld 
of  the  late  Daniel  Craufitrd.  Em. 

5.  At  George's  Place,  Leilh  Walk,  Mr  W.  B. 
Mackensie,  merchant,  to  Agnes  Grieg,  daughter 
of  Robert  Anderson,  Esq.  merdiant,  Leith. 

6.  The  Rev.  John  Peel,  son  of  Sir  Robert  PeeL 
Bart  to  Augusta,  daughter  of  John  Swinfen,  Esq. 
of  Swinfen  House,  in  the  county  of  Staflbrd. 

—  At  BlrstaU,  Mr  Benjamin  HewiU,  of  Leeds, 
in  Ws  77th  year,  to  Miss  Jenny  Hewit.  (Alt  niece) 
in  her  1 6th  year,  eldest  daughter  of  Mr  Tbomaa 
Hewit,  of  Middleton. 

7.  At  Mrs  Keith's,  Cor«torphlne  Hill,  Jamas 
Wilson,  Esq.  to  Miss  IsabeUa  Keith,  youngest 
daughter  of  the  late  William  Keith,  £s<^  of  Cor- 
storphmeHllL 

8.  At  Pcnn^md,  near  Thurso,  Robert  Roi^ 
Esq.  writer,  Thurso,  to  Elisabeth,  daughter  of 
the  late  Alexander  Paterson.  Eety  of  Pennyland. 

11.  At  Blackburn,  James  Hosier,  Esa.  advocate, 
younger  of  Newlands  and  Barrowfleki,  to  Cathe- 
rine Margaret,  second  daughter  of  WQliara  FeOd- 
en,  Esq.  of  Fennisccries,  Lancashire. 

IS.  At  London,  the  Marquis  of  Exeter,  to  Miss 
Isabella  Poyntx,  daughter  of  W.  S  Poynts,  Esq. 
of  Orosvenor  Place. 


18.  At  Edinburgh,  S.  Callender,  Eso.  m 
to  Amelia,  youngest  daughter  of  tae  late    Mr 
Ardiibald,  wine-merchant,  Ldth. 

SI.  At  London,  the  Rev.  William  Robiasoii,  sosi 
of  Sir  John  Robinson,  Bart  to  the  Hon.  Susanna 
SObUa  Fkmtr,  eMaet  daughter  of  Lord  Yiseoimt 


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IUgi$lcr.-^Mttrriag99  and  Deaths. 


736 

14.  AtSt  AadnwB,  lb  Dftvid  Balfliar,  wittwr 
tiMre,  to  Wm  Mugaxet  Tod,  daughter  of  DsTid 
Tod,  Eki.  St  Andnm. 

DEATHS. 

Ote*  15>  18S3.  At  Calcutta,  John  CalmaD,  Eiq. 
laltof  Pittenwoam,  flftdiire. 

iiprU19,lia4.  At  Minoloiighi  in  OrMM,  after 
an  Uma  of  ten  dayi,  Oeofse  Gordon,  Lord  Byron. 
intheSTthyaarof  hl«ag«;  whohaaao  long  and 
w  amply  filled  the  higfaot  plaea  in  the  public  eye. 
On  thedth  of  April,  be  had  ezpowd  himaalf  in  a 
violentrain;  the  coniequence  of  which  waa  a  ee* 
vere  cold,  and  he  was  Inunediately  confined  to 
bed.  The  low  ttate  to  which  he  had  been  reduced 
by  prerious  illneM  made  him  unwilUnff  to  be  bled, 
and  the  inflammatory  action,  unchecked,  tennl- 
natad  fatally  on  the  19th  ApriL  The  following  is 

a  tramTr!*^  «/  tK>Pm«»Uin>rinn  whiA  wm  i—ued 

by  the  Greek  Authorities  at  MisM>Ioaghi,  to  the 
grief  of  its  inhabitants,  who  were  thus  arrested  in 
«be  celefaiation  of  their  Easter  festivities  :— 

*•  ProtMonal  Govenment  ^Gf««f.— The  pre- 
sent  days  of  flsstiYity  are  oonTerted  into  days  c€ 
bitter  lamentation  fbr  all :  Lord  Byron  departed 
this  life  U>4ay»  about  eleren  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing, in  consequence  of  a  rheumatic  Inflammatory 
fever,  which  lasted  for  ten  days.  During  the 
time  of  his  illness,  your  general  anxiety  evin- 
eed  the  profound  sorrow  that  pervaded  your 
hearts.  All  classes,  without  distinction  of  ses  or 
age,  oppcessed  by  grief,  entirely  ftngot  the  days  of 
Easter.  The  death  of  thb  illustrious  personage  is 
eartainly  a  moat  calamitous  event  for  all  Greece^ 
anl  still  more  lamcnuble  for  this  dty,  to  whidi  he 
was  eminently  partial,  of  which  he  became  a  dtl- 
aen.  and  of  tne  dangers  of  which  he  was  determi* 
nad  personally  to  partake,  whn  circumstances 
should  require  it  His  munificent  donations  to 
this  community  are  before  the  eyes  of  every  one  t 
and  no  one  amongst  us  ever  ceased,  or  ever  will 
cease,  to  consider  nim,  with  the  purest  and  most 
gratdfiil  sentiments,  our  beneikctor.  Until  the 
Ssposition  of  the  National  Government  regardins 
this  most  calamitous  event  be  known,  by  vlrtueoC 
the  Decree  of  the  Legislature  No.  31I,  of  date  the 
15th  October, 

«<  It  if  onMnedfl.  To-morrow,  bv  sun-rise, 
Odrty-seven  minute-guns  shall  be  fired  ftom  the 
batteries  of  this  town,  equal  to  the  number  of 

an  of  the  deceased  personage— 2.  All  public 
ces,  including  all  courts  of  justice,  shall  be  shut 
fbr  the  three  foUowLog  days«— 3.  All  shops,  except 
those  for  provisions  and  medidoes,  shall  aho  be 
kept  shut ;  and  all  sorts  of  musical  instrtunenta, 
an  dances  customary  in  these  days,  all  sorts  of 
festivities  and  merriment  in  the  public  taverns, 
and  every  other  sort  of  pubUc  amusement,  khaJl 
oease  during  the  above-named  period.—!.  A  gene- 
ral mourning  shall  take  place  for  twenty-one  day*. 
—3.  Funerafccremonies  shall  be  performed  in  all 
the  dmrdMs.** 

The  Greeks  have  requested  and  obtained  the 
heart  of  Lord  Byron,  which  will  be  pUced  In  a 
mauscdeum  in  the  country,  the  UlMratmn  of  which 
WIM  his  last  wish.  Hb  body  will  brought  to  £ng> 
kmd.    His  lordship  leaves  erne  daughter,  a  minor. 

Jpri/ 21, 18Si.  At  Assapole,  Island  of  MiUL  the 
Rev.  Dugald  Campbell,  minister  of  Kilfinichen, 
in  the  TBth  year  of  his  age,  and  53d  of  his  mtnl- 

ifaw  1.  At  his  residence  in  Argyllshire,  John 
Macanster,  Esq.  of  Cour,  in  the  82d  year  of  his 
'     i^ta. 

f.  In  Russell  Place,  London,  Archibald  Cullen, 
Esq.  of  the  Middle  Temple,  one  of  his  Majesty's 
Council,  and  youngest  son  of  the  celebnued  Dr 
CuHen. 

—  At  Stewaitfield,  Mrs  ElUot.  of  Woollie. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Miss  Mary  Buchanan,  dauj^ 
ler  of  the  late  John  Buchanan  of  Amprior,  Esq. 

5.  At  Oldhamstocks  Manse,  Miss  Mary  Moore, 
. — w.^  ^  11^  1^^^  Robert  Moore,  nunistfr  of 


CJi 


S.  At  Brighton.  Jamas  Patrick,  tha  fifth  warn  o€ 
Jamea  Lodi.  Esq.  Great  RuaoU  Street,  Bknaaa- 


&  At  Edinburgh,  Miss  Jane  Markimiig,  aanoBd 
daughter  of  the  late  Kenneth  Mnekaniifh  Bsq. 

1- in  Charlaa  Street.  Mrs  A.  a  Uttl^Mui.  wifle 
of  David  Littlcjohn,  Esq. 

7.  At  Cranston  Manse,  Mrs  Helena  Brodle. 
wife  of  the  Rev.  Walter  Fisher,  miniataror  Cian- 


8.  In  Duke  Street,  Leith.  EHsa  Giles, 
daughter  of  Mr  James  Blsck,  merchant  them. 

10.  At  Edinburgh,  Mr  John  Guthrie,  hookaati 
lir  aaed  77. 

11.  At  Ki'lchrinan  Manse,  Henry,  fifth  aoa  of 
Mr  Thomas  Dallas,  merchant.  Edinburgh. 

—  In  Charlotte  Square,  in  her  10th  year,  JaM» 
fourth  daughter  of  the  Right  Hon.  David  Boyle. 
Lord  Juatloe  Qerk. 

IS.  At  North  Charkitte  Street,  WiUiam,  osily 
•on  of  Mr  William  Tennant.  jun. 

—  At  Inveresk,  Louia  David  Ramaay,  Hm  im- 
fent  son  of  J.  H.  Home,  Esq.  of  Loq^raMte. 

15.  At  Deanbank  House,  near  Edinbuigfa*  WH- 
Uam  Bruce,  Esq.  upholsterer  in  KrtinhMrgh. 

—  At  Limerick,  Lieutenant  Lorimer. 
14.  At  '  '     •    *      ^ 

Robertson, 

16.  At  Edinburgh, 
W.  ~ 


[.imerick.  Lieutenant  ixmmer. 

Cdttartown  of  Logiealmond,   Kl^fCb 
n,  in  the  100th  year  of  her  am. 
Edinburgh,  Archibald  Craundrd.  £§«. 


17.  At  BoukifM-snr.Mar,  the  Countaa  rf  Gtai- 
cairn.  Her  ladyship  was  sister  to  the  Earl  of 
Buchan. 

—  At  Edinburgh,  Andrew  KOgpur,  aged  19 
years,  youngest  son  of  Laurenee  KilgaiT.  King^ 

—  At  Logic,  Lieutonant-Cokmel  Thonaa  Kha- 
toch,  ofKiWe.  _     ^     „ „ 

—  At  SprlngkeM.  Charles  Douglas  Mamfi, 
fourth  son  of  Lieut-General  Sir  John  Heron 

IdTAtVwter  Duddfaifscaoc  Mr  John  Hendv- 
son.  late  of  the  New  aub,  St  Andrew^  Sauare. 

—  At  Ely.  Mr  Robert  Maltman,  aged  7<  fBM 

—  At  Moat  of  Annan,  DavW  StoMj^  too.  for- 
merly merahant  fa.  and  Lord  Provost  of  Edia- 
bursn,  a^  7S  years. 

j8.  At  Edtabuigh,  Mr  Hugh  Gray,  soBcilar  at 
law,  Bank  Street  ...       ^  .  -_-__ 

11.  At  Belvidere.  Kent,  the  Hon.  S.  E.  Eardfcy. 

only  son  of  Lord  Eardlcy.  .  ^    .^ 

—  At  Lcdie,  aftwalSgeringinnesa.  Mr  David 
Laina,  in  his  nd  year.  ^  ^ 

ttTAt  Dumbarton  Castle,  the  inftot  sou  of  T. 

^'J^^UheMwuse,  in  North  Nelson  Street,  Mi» 
Katheriue  GiUiland,  daughter  of  the  laU  James 
OHhUnd,  Jeweller,  Edhibnigh. 

fg.  At   Edinburgh.    Mr    Hemy   C 
prompter  of  the  Theatre-Royal,  Edtoburg) 

—  At  Edinburgh.  Miss  Jana  Button, 
daughter  of  the  late  John  Hutton,  Esq.  — 

—  Atoiasgow.  WUhehnina  Johnston,  relict  of 
the  lato  MrTames  Mackintwe^th. 

—  At  Dr  Wylies.  9neen  Street,  LgMjGffles- 
pie,  daughter  of  the  late  John  Gilleq»ie,  £a|. 
meroh^Sin  Glasgow.  .     _. 

ftTIt  7,  St  ASthony  Place,  William  Laotle, 
•tttdcBt  in  medkina.  ,  ,..  .^ 

—  AtPortobeUo,  James,  eldest  survlvtng  aoo 
of  JasBM  Roughead,  Haddington. 

-At  hShouse,  in  Forth  Street.  David  Kta- 
n^ir.  Eso.  banker.  .   . 

Sa  At  Coates  House,  Msjoi^yral JftAofc; 
Carnegie,  of  the  Hon.  East  India  Company^  0en> 
cal  estatdishanent  „  ._. 

•51.  At  Star  Bank,  Fife,  Mr  "Tbomas  Bitoia 
PattuUo,  aged  19,  CUrd  son  of  Robert  Pattnoo, 

^%M»,  AtNo.1.  i^~p^„«^  *!fi)S!!t 

tat  RacSi,  wtfe  of  Mr  H«^  lUoch,  late  of  F»th 


—  At  London,  after  a  very  short  illness,  the  .  Suddailr,  atOtflon,  Uautsnaat-Coloc 
wklow  of  the  Ri^  Hon.  Wittiam  Windham,  at  muel  Hall.  C.  k  lata  ofhis  Mi^Jesty^  6M1 
an  advaneed  age.  mmL 


Primttdln/ 


B^Oanipne  and  Co.  Edinburgh, 


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INDEX  TO  VOLUME  XV. 


Atken,  Henry,  Lecture  on  his  Paintingt, 

219 
AU-feols-day,  yerses  on,  368 
AiDt>ioikii«,Nbete8,  No.  XIII,  358.  No. 

XrV,  360,  No,  XV.  706 
Aneriea,  South,  on  tiie  meent  condition 

of  the  Stataft  of,  133— FaraUel  between 

and  North  America,  138 — Policy  of  the 

Allied  Sovereigns  in  rdation  to,  138— 

What  ought  to  be  the  polii^  of  Britain, 

148— State  Papers  concemhig,  361 
Ameriean  Pretidoits,  dtetdies  of  the,  from 

memoranda  of  a  timyeller,<4b6— Effect 

of  their  diaraetcr  on  the  gOTemment  of 

the  country,  ib. 
Anecdotes  of  Curling,  174— Of  Shepherds* 

I>o«s,177 
AppomtmcDts,  MiHtary,  127,  245,  487, 

614,734 
Ariosto,  reyieir  of  Rose's  ttansUrtioii  of, 

418 
Army,  remarks  on  punishments  in  the, 

809 
Baba,  Hajji,  of  Ispahan,  vcriew  of,  61 
Ballads,  modem  E&idish  ones,  by  ODo- 

herty,99 
Btfhntyne*8  Noirdist^  library,  remarks 

on,  406 
Bandana  on  Representatkm,  45— On  Emi- 

gratioa,  433 
Bankrupts,  Brituh,  lisU  of,  246,  486, 613 

733 
Births,  130,  248,  491,  616,  736 
Bradley,  Amos,  and  Ann  Stavert,  226 
British  Novelists,  Sir  Walter  Scott**  Es- 

says  on  the  Lives  and  Writings  of,  407 

—Richardson,  408— FieUBng,  410,  and 

Smollet,  411. 
Byron,  Lord,  account  of  an  intenriew  with 

him  at  Genoa,  696 
Ciflendar,  the  8hq^lMrd*s— Dogs,  177— 

The  Lasses,  296 
Canada,  Upper,  plan  of  emigration  to,  435 
Caotabri^sb,  Hore,  No.  VIII,  42 
Character  of  the  American  President  ma. 

terially  ioflaeooea  the  policy  of  the  go. 

vemment,  508 
Christopher  North,  a  happy  new-yaar  from, 

Churchyards,  observations  on,  chap.    I, 

467— chap.  IL  469 
Commentary,  a  running  one,  on  Camp- 

bdl*8  Ritter  Bann,  440 
Condha^,  remarks  on,  183— Bad  eflbcts 

of  conciliating  the  Catholic  Church  in 

Ireland,  287 
Cflotroverty,  the  West  Indian,  No.  Ill, 

68 
ConveiBatioQs,  Imagimffy,of  Li|nary  Men 

and  Statesmen,  remarks  on,  457 


Com  Markets,  126, 243, 463,  611,  730 
Country,  the  Love  of,  579 

Choker's  South  of  Irdand,  review  of,  551 

Croly,  Rer.  Mr,  review  of  his  comedy  of 
Pride  shaU  have  a  Fall,  343 

Curliana,  remarks  on  the  game  of  catling, 
172 

Current  Prices,  244,  284,  612,  731 

Dahon,  Reginald,  a  novd,  review  of,  1 02 

Deaths,  131,  249, 493,  617,  736 

DeUvigne*s  new  comedy,  fte.  remarks  on, 
262 

Dogs,  Shqiherds*,  anecdotes  of,  177 

Domingo,  St,  letter  on,  229 

Economist,  the  PditicaU^Essay  I,  522— 
Essay  II,  643 

Edinburgh  Review,  the,  remarks  on  oome 
articles  in,  317— On  an  article  respecting 
die  office  of  Lord  Advocate,  514— Let- 
ter to  Mr  Jelfrey  on  the  last  number  of 
the,  538— Letter  to  Mr  North  on  the 
same  subject,  702 

Education  Comodttee  for  Ireland,  remarks 
on  Ae,  495 

Edwards,  Charles,  Esq.  Posthumous  let- 
ters of.  No.  1, 154— No.  II,  391 

£migratk»,  letters  on,  433— Plan  of  Emi* 
gration  to  Uj^per  Canada,  435 

E«ays  on  Political  Economy,  522— Esmy 
11,643 

Europe,  remarks  on  the  state  of,  317 

Exhibitions  of  the  Fine  Arts,  notice  of, 
566 

Fine  Arts,  second  lecture  on,  219— Notice 
of  the  exhibitions  of,  S66 

First-floor  Lodger,  letter  from  a,  251 

First  of  April,  TerMS  on,  368 

France,  negotiations  widi,  respecting  the 
South  Ameriean  prorincea,  352 

Goethe,  review  of  Ins  new  novd,  and  Me- 
moirs, 619 

Good  Omen,  the,  168 

Hajji  Baba  of  Ispahan,  review  of  adven-* 
tores  of,  51 

Hall,  John,  and  his  wife,  a  sketdi,  265 

Harem,  Meena  Ahmed  Tabeeb*s  visits  to 
the,  199 

His  Landlady,  (from  an  unpublished  poem%) 
152 

Hoe^,  Mr,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  letter  to, 
655 

Holy  Alliance,  remarks  on  the,  317 

Hook,  Mr  Theodore,  letter  on,  by  Timo- 
thy  Tidder,  90 

Hors  Cantebrigiensis,  No.  VIII,  42 

Hunt,  Leigh,  review  of  his  poem.  Ultra 
Cr^idarius,  86 

Hurst  Castle,  a  day  at,  35 

Imaginary  Conversations  of  Literanr  Men 
and  Statesmen,  remarks  on,457-*ilishop 


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738 


Index, 


'  Burnet  and  Humphrey  Hardcaitlc,  459 

— Middleton  and  Magliabechi,  461 
Imitation  of  the  balkd  of  « Ibe  ^cU  \>f 

Andalla,'  99 
Inheritance,  the,  review  of  the  novel  of, 

659 
Instruction  of  the  Irish  Peasantry,  remarks 
OD.  the  appcribtmcot  ef  a  pairttiinentay 
committee  for  te,  49$^No  beoefil  to  Ijie 
expected  firem  thfr  erection  of  Bcliods, 
497 

Ireland,  on  the  preaenl  Mte  of,  869 — 
High  renta,  the  cause  t>(  th^  poverty  of 
the  peasantry,  270— Title  of  the  church 
to  titbe^  edfiar  one,  975-^^i'deraiionaf 
4i^  «Ier|^i  ib«-^Me«nft  of  hnpioving  the 
moral  ha^it^  ^  the  people,  !l89-^atho- 
UanSAf^ni  hy  ptafeating  edocation,  tlip 
cause  of  the  crimes  of  the  Irish,  281 — 
Ba4  .tffSBta  of  poneiliMteg  th«  Caiholtc 
church,  287-^he  remedy  for  411  its 
«rfls  ki  the  power  of  tfa«  laiidbolden«  2&St 
*-The  erection  of  schools  can  be  of  no 
wae^  wbilfi.tiie  teac^aog  of  reUgiod  thene 
j0  piohibHed*  497^ThQl»iidu«t  of  the 
dogymost  be  strkOy  watcj^i  499— 
«MNecessky  of  amending  the  ibnn  of 
ruitioMoUtyt  irhiehmustbethe  wotk  of 
a  lord.lieutenant,  d81--Grand  object  to 
teach  ^  di^tinotion  between  ritgbt  Hod 
wrong,  and  the  kind  of  book  necessary 
ftv  Ihta  pBxposef  003--Pankuhir  atten- 
tion BEinst  be  paid  to  thoeducatioo^.the 
girls,  5Q4^Defenee  of  Orange  MUtooU- 
tions,  505 — Good  efieets  of  the  Kjng*s 
viait^His  manner  of  conciliation  coat- 
trasted  with  that  of  his  ministers,  506. 

Ireland,  review  of  Works  o&,  544 

Iririmian,  the.  No.  II,  1 

Jeffrey,  Francis,  Esq.  letters  of  Timothy 
Tickler  to,  144,  558 

John  Hall  and  his  wiie,  a  sketch,  265 

Kiddywinkle  History,  No.  1, 445— No.  II, 
532 

Lcdye*s  Brydalki  the,  19 

Lament  for  Thuitell,  the,  101 

Lament  for  Inet,  475 

Landlady,  his,  an  extract  from  an  unpub- 
lished novel,  152 

Xtddorf  remarks  on  his  Imaginary  Conver- 
sations  of  Literary  Men  and  Statesmen, 
4«7 

LeolKiics  on  the  Fine  Arts.  Lecture  se- 
cond, 219 

Lee*  Mia»  Sophia,  notice  of  the  late,  476 

Letter  on  Representation,  45 
I.    I  ■   on  the  seanOA  of  ParliaiiMnt,  58 

from  a  friend  of  the  author  of  Anas- 

taaiaa,  151 

— —  (Poathumouft)  of  Charles  Edwards, 
Esq.  144,  391 
■  I  of  Timoo,  on  '  Conciliation,'  183 
.  <m  St  DominflO,  229 

from  a  First-floor  Lodger,  861 

''  to  the  anthor  of  the  Shepherd's  Ca- 

lendar, 655 

' ftm  Rodnphilus,  658 


Letters  of  Thnothy  Tidder,  No.  XIII. 
Mr  Theodore  Hook,  90,  No.  XTV^ 
Ta  Franeis  /^^r,  Qsq.  144_Na  XV. 
55d— No.XVl.  OntheUtttEdnibunh 
Review,  702 
*'^       on  emigration — Letter  first,  433 
Life  of  Wesley,  review  of  Southey'a,  268 
UiOeorN^aiingfSM 
Lombard's  Memoirs,  review  o^  65 
London,  once  more  in,  94 
Lon^  Odi^aes  and  OvtHnes*  No»  V,^ 
Covent-Oarden    Theatte,    191-«M*tit. 
rin's  novel,  192^Reasini'B  new  open, 
19a-.Irviog  the  preacher*  and  ThtnteD 
the  mniderer,  194 — Mia  Hmamit^  new 
tnuedy,  19&wThe  new  Bzittah  Miaimm 
—New  opera  ««  Dmry  Lan^  196— 
New  paotondoae  at  C^vent  Garden^  197 
.-^West  Jndia  kiteresti  in  Ptf&iiicnl, 
U].^Westmiaatflr  Review*  198 
Lord  Advocate  of  Sootlandy  aitide  in  ihe 
Edinburgh  Review,  on  the  oflioe  of  lite« 
514 
Love  of  Country,  the,  579 
Luther'vBTidia,.489 
Lyriosl  ballad,  a,  168 
Mallory,  Pevey^ravlew  of  like  nov^  oi,  35 
Man-of.war's-man,  Uie,  Chapter  X^  860 ; 
A  jlqualU  308^Chapter  Xl»  311-^ 
starting,  314 
Martina,  Alphonao  de  La,  rtfvitfW  d  bk 

Poetic»4  Aleditalions,  257 
Marriages,  131,  248,  492,  616,  736 
Matthew  Wald*  a  notel,  rebvrin  ««  668 
Matthews  in  America,  424 
Jdoxims  of  Odohdrtj,  697<  832 
Meerza  Ahmed  Tubeeb's  Vtaiie  to  the 

Harvn,  199 
Meiram,  the  story  of,  205 
Meister,  Wilhehn^  ii  novd,Te^lew  of;  619 
MemoorSf  Lombaid'si  review  of,  66 
Memoira  of  Ot»ethe,  remarks  on,  619 
Metaphysics  of  Music,  on  the,  587 
Meteorological  Tahlei,   W*  245, 

613,»732 
Military  Appemtmenla^  &&  127« 

487,  614,  734 
Misfortunei  of  a  Brt6<Fleor  Lodger,  951 
Missionary  Smithy  rematka  en  the  trial  of, 

679 
Modem  Enj^lish  Balkdi,  No.  99 
Meonlight*  Vertea  on,  295 
Mus&Cf  on  the  Meiaphyaiea  af,  N«.  IL— 

The  Musical  TempMnent^  687 
Naval  Promotiena,  «bc  ISO 
New- Year,  a  happy  one,  to  the  true  men 

of  the  land,  124 
Noctes  Ambroaianai*  No.  XIII,  358— 

No.  XIV,  367^No»  XV,  706 
Note  on  the  Quarterly  Reviewen,  83 
Note  from  Mr  ODoberty  on  Sayinga  and 

Doings,  842 
Nothing,  Little  or,  224 
Novelist's  IdbAry^  temaftks  en  Baflai^ 

tyne's,  406 
Otiectvaiimft  od<  mA  AiiecdoMt  of  onl- 
ing,  178 


485, 
248, 


Digitized  by 


Google 


T69 


ObMrrMkmtottftliefitHteof  IicknA,  M 

ODohcrty^  Moraii*«  AMeni  BaHiidB  ediu 
ed  by,  99^— N«tfe  (komi  «d  Sqringt  lind 
Domgt,  34^*^WiTinw4fi  097»  692 

Oddities  and  OaUinee  of  London,  Now  V, 

191  If  :■ 

Office  of  the  Lord  Adfocate  of  Sodtlttid, 
nxcmlm  ita  in  tfnkle  in  Ad  Edinttttrgh 
Review  r«gttdiDg  tli^  614 

(Hd  Mea,  SckMioi;  •  eomedy,  teniarl[ft 
on,  262 

Omen,  the  Godt,  illyrical  baHad,  168 

Once  More  in  London,  94 

Oian^e  AiiddatieM  in  Ireland  dciended, 
606 

Perqr  M«UoKy»  a  flbv^  retieir  of,  SR^ 

Pike  Prose,,  and  Poetry,  remarln  of  Ti- 
mothy Tickler  DO,  093 

Pbtti  of  KiBiMiit^n.to  Up|wr  Canad^t  486 

Poedcal  Me£tationt,  by  La  Manilla  re- 
view  of,  267 

Poetry._The  Ladye*s  BrvdaUe,  19— Son- 
net,  42 — Translation  muu  JSoi»ce»  43 
—To  Lady  Holland,  ib. — Duty  and 
Pleasure,  44— Modem  Ballads,  by  Mor- 
gan OlPohtttJr,  99wA  .Happy  New- 
Year  to  tlie  True  Men  o(  the  Land, 
124— The  Good  Omem  leO-^-Sooiety 
and  Solitude,  188— ^n  Moonlight,  295 
Verses  on .  All.t'oolVl>ay,  368— Lu- 
tbvi*»  Bridal,  4^— Lament  for  Inea^ 
476— The  Love  of  Country,  679— Ten 
Years  ago,  586— Stanzas,  706— Lines 
by  Lord  Byron,  716— Song  by  ODo- 
harty,  717 

iPolitic^  Eoonomiit,  the.  Essay  I,  62^ 
Object  and  outlihe  of  the  plan  of  these 
essays,  ib.^EssAy  II,  643— Labour  the 
chief  soertM  of  health,  644— Of  value, 
646^Mliatftteb  thejlrice  of  articles, 
646 — DiffiRMnt  opinions  of  economists 
On  tMssttbjeett  647— Of  wagesand  wo- 
fit,  661— OT  Apital,  ib.— Of  rent,  668 
Pompeii,  telnaikrt  on  the  Panorama  aiy 

472 
Presidents  of  the  United  States,  their  cfaa- 
raster  must  malarially  inflcunoe  the  sob 
vemment  o(  the  country,  608— Sketches 
of  the  five  individuals  who  have  held 
that  office,  ib.— And  of  the  five  who  are 
at  present  candidates  for  it^  610 
Pride  shall  have  a  Fall,  a  comedy,  review 

of,  343  ^ 

Promotions,  military,  127,  246,'  487,  614 

734 
Publications,  monthly  list  of  new  ones. 

236,  479,  608,  727 
Punishments  hi  the  army,  remarks  on. 

Quarterly  Reviewers,  note  on  the,  83 
Ranald  Dalion,  teview  of  die  novel  of, 

Rents,  hkh  ones,  the  cause  of  poverty  fai 

the  Iriii  peasantry,  270 
Remarks  on  the  game  of  corHng,  172— 

On  coociliatm,  183— On  D£vigii6*b 


new  cAmaw  of  I/Beala  det  yieflhvda, 

262— On  the  present  Mate  of  Irdadd, 

Saa^-ite  the  Sdiobo^  Review,  the 
state  of  Envope,  and  the  Holy  Alliance, 
317—Oh  puhishm^nts  in  the  army^  308 
On   Ballantyne*j   Kovdiat^s    Library^ 

.  406i-^n  Landor'a  Imaginary  ConvetMu 
tionsof  Literary  Men  and  8lftte8men4467 
.  *^OilihspBlMfcam«or  Pompdi,  472-*' 
On  an  article  in  the  ijSdinburgh  Review 
itttardlng  die  onne  of  Lord  Advocate, 
614—00  the  novel  of  Alatthew  Wald^ 
668— On  the  metaphysies  of  muoe.  687 
j~^On  Mr  SuUvao's  Dramatic  Poems^ 
676— On  the  case  of  Mr  Smith  the  Mis- 

.  slaoary^  679-i-On  the  political  ooodnct 

nf  Mr  Wilberfaroe,  689 
Representitian,  lettet  firohi  Bandana  ott^ 

46 
Review  of  Percy  MoUory,  24— Of  the  Ad^ 
teotaies  ef  Hajji  Baba  of  Ispahant61 
—Of  Lombard's  Memoirs,  66— Of  Ul- 
tra-Crepidarius,  a  satire  on  William 
Giffi)rd,  86-.«Of  the  novel  of  Reginald 
Dalton,  102— Of  Southey's  Life  of  Wes- 
ley,  208— Of  La  Martinets  l^oetrv.  267 
.^Of  Swings  and  Doings,  334l-UJf 
Croly*s  comedy.  Pride  shaU  have  a  Fall, 
843-^Of  Rose*8  Ariosto,  418— Of  Me- 
moirs  of  Ci^yt^  Rock,  644— Of  Cro- 
ker*s  South  of  Ireland,  661— Of  Goethe*s 
new  Mvel  of  Wilhelm  Meister,  629-*- 
Of  the  Inheritance,  a  novel,  659 

Review,  the  Edinburgh,  remarks  on,  317 
— Letter  to  Mr  Jeffrey  on  the  last  num- 
ber of,  658 — To  Mr  North  on  the  same 
subject,  702 
Ritter-Bann,  the,  a  running  commentary 
on,  440 

Rock,  Captain,  review  of  Memoirs  of,  644 

Rose*s  translation  of  Ariosto,  review  of, 
418 

Sayings  and  Doings,  review  of,  33^— Note 
(torn  ODohertv  on,  342 

SchodI  of  Old  Men,  remarks  on  Delavig- 
n^s  comedy  at^  f  6t 

Scott,  Sir  Waker,  on  his  EBaya  on  the 
Lives  And  WotiDgs  of  British  Novelists, 
407 

Scotluid,  office  of  the  Lord  Advocate  of,  on 
an  article  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  re* 
garding  the,  614 

S^ide  sketches.  No.  III. — ^A  day  at 
Hurst  Castle,  35 

Shepherd's  Calendar,  the— Clasa  IV, 
Dogs,  177 — Class  V,  The  Lasses,  296. 
Letter  to  the  author  o^  665 

Smith,  Mr,  the  Missionary,  remarks  on 
his  trial,  &c  679 

Sonneu,  42,  268 

Society  and  Solitude,  a  poem,  188 

Southey*8  Life  of  Wesley,  review  of,  208 

Speculations  of  a  traveUer,  on  the  people 
of  N.  America  and  Britam,  690 

Spring's  return,  99 

Standftst,  Sampson,  Esq.  letter  ftom  on 
the  session  of  Parliament,  68 
4 


Digitized  by 


Google 


T40 


Ifkdex. 


Slate  piqpen  ooneerauig  Son&  Atamne^ 
361  ^ 

States  of  Sooth  America,  reflectioiis  on  die 
present  rituation  <^  the,  133 

Stavert,  Ann,  and  Amos  Bradlej,  226 

Story  of  Meiram,  the,  205 

Suliran,  Mr,  remarks  on  his  Diamatic 
Poems,  6iJ5 

Tale  of  Ann  Stovert  and  Amos  Bndiej, 
226 

Temperament,  the  mostcal,  remarks  00,687 

Ten  years  ago,  686 

Thurtdl,  the  hmient  for,  101 

Tickler,  Timothy,  letters  of.  No.  XIII, 
OO-No.  XIV,  144-.No.  XV,  568— re- 
marks of,  on  pike  prose,  and  poetry,  603 

Timon,  letter  from,  on  conciliation,  183 

Tiavdldr,  speculations  of  a,  600 

Ultra-Crepidarius,  a  satire,  review  of,  86 

United  States,  sketches  of  the  five  presl. 
dents  of,  and  the  five  candidates  for  that 
office,  608 


\^lla^  idio^lf ,  00  the  otmt  of  cinctti^ 

received  in,  405— -Ave  of  oo-vaein  tcacfa- 

ing  morality  aod  religion,  but  as  ainc- 

iliaries  of  paienta  and  the  cktgy,  496 
Visits  to  the  harem,  190— Visit  second 

203   . 
Wald,  Matthew,  remarks  oo  the  oovd  of, 

568 -> 
Wesl^,  review  of  Soudiey'i  Life  of,  208 
West  Indian  oonttoversy.  No.  Ill,  68 
Westminacer  Review,  letters  on  the,  to  Mr 

J^IVey,  144,  668 
Wflberforoe,  Mr,  on  his  late  politkal  eon- 

duct,  689 
HUhdm  Meister,  review  of  Ooedie*s  no- 

vel  of,  619 
Works  on  Irdaad. — ^Review  of  Mcmobe 

of  Captain  Bock,  544— Of  Cioker'b 

South  of  Ireland,  651. 
Woiks  preparing  for  publication,  232, 

477,  606,726  . 


INDEX  TO  BIRTHS,  MARRIAGES,  AND  DEATHS. 


BUTTHS. 

Abercromby,  735 
Aberdeen,  4.92, 735 
Anderson,  492 
Andrew,  616 
Arkley,  130 
Ayton,  735 
Baillie,  131 
Balfour,  492 
Berresford,  248 
Biggar,  130 
Blantyre,  492 
Boyd,  492 
Brown,  49^ 
Briggs,  616 
Bruce,  130, 616 
Bryce,  616 
Buchanan,  248^  492 
Buckle,  616 
Codell,  736 
advert,  130 
Campbell,  492;  ib. 

ib,  616,  ib.ib.  735 
Carnegie,  735, 
Chancellor,  616 
Cheyne,  492 
Cleghom,  492 
Cockbum,  492 
Coigny,  de,  492 
Cooper,  130 
Currie,  492 
Dalrymple,248,735 
Dempster,  248 
Dinwiddle,  492 
Donald,  248 
Douglas,  49i,  492, 

616,  735 


Dmmmond,     248, 

616 
Duff,  735 
Dundas,  492 
Dunlop,  130,  491 
Eaton,  492 
Edwards,  248 
Elibank,  130 
EUiot,  616 
Ely,  492 
Ewing,  616 
Fleming,  616 
Forbes,  492,  735 
Eraser,  248,  735 
Fullarton,  248 
Gillespie,  616,  735 
Gordon,  491,  616 
Govan,  130 
Grant,  491 
Gregorson,  248 
Grclg,  616.  735 
Haldane,  492 
Halkett,  616 
Hamilton,  130, 492 
Harrington,  130 
Harvey,  130 
Hay,  248,  492 
Hewat,  492 
Hill,  492 
Home,  616,  735 
Hood,  130 
Home,  492 
Hunter,  248 
Irvine,  491 
Irving,  735 
Ivory,  248 
Jersey,  735 


Johnstone,  492,  ib^ 
Kennedy,  130,  248 
Kerr,  ISO,  848, 401 
Lee,  735 
Leslie,  248 
Lester,  735 
Lindsay,  491,  492 
Linning,  492 
Lodi,  130 
Lockhart,248 
Long^  130 
Lumsdaine,  131 
Macdonald,      492, 

616 
M'Dowall,  402 
Made,  492 
Mackenzie,      248, 

492 
M'Laine,  131 
Macleod,  130 
Maconocbie,  616 
Macwhirter,  492 
Macrobart,  130 
Manners,  492 
Maxwell,  491 
Mein,  735 
Melville,  492 
Menzies,  248 
Mitchell,  492 
Morehead,  248 
Murdoch,  616 
Murray,  130 
Napier,  248 
Nasmyth,  130 
Nesbit,  491 
Nicholl,  130 
Nicol,  248 


OHver,  492 
Orange,  616 
Orr,  046,  735 
Oswald,  248 
Otway,  735 
Parker,  248 
Paul,  616 
Feddie,  492  « 

PlayCsir,  616 
Poole,  735 
Porteoas,735 
Pott,  491, 735 
Puryii,616 
Ramsay,  130,  492, 

616 
R«id,  130 
Renton,  616 
Robertson,  735 
Robbiflon,  492 
Ross,  130 
Scott,  616 
Shand,  735 
Short,  491 
Sibbald,  492 
Sinclair,  492 
Smith,  248,  735 
Smyth,  130 
Spence,  492 
Steed,  248 
Stevenson,  492 
Stewart,  492 
Stirling,  130 
Stuart,  130,492 
Tawae,  616 
Terrott,  130 
Turner,  492 
Veitch,735 


Digitized  by 


Google 


In^x. 


Walker,  408 
Wallas,  785 
Wardlaw,  492 
WaldropfidO    • 
Watson,  die,  616 
WaudMipe,  4i92 
Weir,  die 
Wliytt,:616 
Wilson,  laO 
Wjld,  785 
Yoang,  401 


Alettndcr,  246 
Anderson,  616^^17 
Balfour,  736 
Bflsnerman,  249 
Bastard,  249 
Berkley,  131 
Bluett,  616 
Blytb,  131,  IK 
Bontluone,  131 
Brown,  131 
CaUender,  735 
CampbeU,  131^617 
Cannon,  616 
Carfira«,248 
Chalmers,  131 
Combe,  249 
Cox,  131 

CunningtMtme,  \3l 
DaTies,  131>  735 
Davis,  249 
Dickson,  493 
Dow,  616 
ifnneombe,  131 
Eddington,  617 
Eden,  492 
Elphinstone,  492 
Exeter,  735 
Eraser,  735 
Fdlton,  249 
Fyshe,  246 
Gardnor,  402 
Gil(Son,616 
Grant,  617 
Graham.  131 
Grieve,  249 
Halkett,493 
Hall,  617 
Hathom,  492 
Hewitt,  735 
Hibbert,  131 
Hood,  492 
Hosier,  735 
Hughes,  493 
Innes,616 
Johnston,  131,248, 

617 
Irvine^  249 
KeUettfi,  131 
Kerr,  249 
Laing,492 
Learmontb,  492 


Und,  617 
Lang,  617 
Biaedonald,  181 
Macgregor,  493 
Mackay,  131,  246 
Mackenzie,  616, 

735 
M<Leod,  249 
Macginn,249 
MaiaBnd,492 
Mason,  131 
Msiklejohn,  492 
Mitchell,  249 
Montgomefy*  249 
Morgan,  246       / 
Murray,  131,  616 
Myddleton,  131 
Naime,  616 
Peel,  492, 785 
Phelps,  249 
PoUen,  492 

Rattray,  492 

Roberts,  492 

Robertson,131,617 

Robinsoii»24e^785 

Rose,  785 

Raan>492 

Rus8el,616 

Scott,  131 

Siey«ri^t«493 

Simson,  131 

Small,  616 

Smith,  131, 242 

Stewart,  616 

Storey,  246 

Street,  492 

Tait,  617 

Thomson,  131, 249, 
400 

Thynne^402 

Turner,  616 

Usher,  249 

Walker,  492 

Wi«kce^492 

Welsh,  492 

Wemyss,  131 

WhMMB>4^ 
White,  492 
Wi^t,  ftl6 
WUson,  131,   -^9, 

735 
Winckworth,  493 
Yates,  131 

DEATHi; 

Affleck,  616 
Ainsiie,  494 
Air]ey,494 
Aicken,  250,  617 
Albany,  493 
Allan,  493,  ib. 
Alleyne,  131 
A]exander,132,6l8 
Alves,  132 
Anderson  493, 494 


AnnetonQB,249 

Archer,  181 

Armstrong^  493 

Auld,249 

Balfour,  617 

Bainbddge,  132 

Barlas,  181 

Bafirymore,  132 

Bathurst,  616 

BeU,  494 

Belzoni,  617 

Bennet,  403 

Berry,  494 

Bertie,  494 

Bisset,250 

Black,  131 

Bhur,  132,  617 

Bonnar,  493 

Boothby,  250 

Borthwick,  249 

Boswell,  617 

Bowditch,  493 

Bowie,  493 

Boyd,  181 

Boyle,  736 

BrewBter,.494 

Brodie,24^ibw736 

Brothcrton,  249 

Brown,  94%  617 
Brunton,  132 
Bruce,  250,  736 
Budian,  132 
Buchanan,  736  ' 
Bujal8ki,(agedll4) 

132 
Byron,  736 
Callander,  493 
Caiman,  736 
Cambaceres,  404 
Campbell,  131,24% 
493,  ib.  494^  ib. 
617,  616,  786 
Carlile,  616 
Carlisle,  250 
Carwgie,249,786 
CallKirt^404 
Chalmemy493 
Christit,  132 
Clarke,  132 
aerk,  617 
CoUyer,  240 
Colraine,  617 
CoWille,  493 
Conde,  404 
Coote,  132 
Corbett,  617 
Comwallis,  250 
Cottar,  (aged  100,) 

132 
Courcy,    de,    249, 

494 
Cnuk,249 
Crauliiird,  736 
Crawford,  132,  617 


741 

Oranstoon,  494 
Cross,  494 
Cruikshank,  132 
Culbertsoo,  132 
Cullen,  181,  786 
Cmmne,  617 
Gumming,  617 
Cummings,  736 
Cunningham,  617 
Currie,  617 
Dallas,  736 
Davidson,  25%494, 

617 
Davy,  494 
Dennistocn,     132, 

250  . 
Devonshire,  617 
Dick,  132,  ib. 
Dickie,  493 
Dickson,  250,  494, 

617 
Donaldson,    494^ 

617 
Dow,  494 
Duddingstone,  249 
Dudley,  494 
Dunbar,  494 
Duncan,  131,  249 
Dundas,250 
Durie^250 
Eardley,  736 
Eddmgton,  404 
Edgar,  132 
Elder,  494 
Elphiastone,    494^ 

617 
Fairbaim,  249 
Fertard,250 
Ferrier,  617,  ib. 
Fitzjames,  13& 
Fleming,  249 
Forbes,  494^  616 
Forman,  493^  404 
Ford,  494 
Fortune,  493 
Fotheringfaam,404 
Foy,250 
Franklin,  404 
Fkaser,   131,    949, 

ib. 
Fyfe,  617 
Gascoine,  250 
Gerrard,  616 
Gibson,  403 
Giles,  736 
GiUespie,  617,  736 
GiUiland,  736 
Gleed,494 
Glen,  493 
Glencaim,  736 
Goodlet,249 
Gordon,  132,  249, 

304^404 
Graham,  617 


Digitized  by 


Gooi 


l4Xt 

Oraht,   i40,    3S0, 

493 
GMig,  617 
Graj,  7M 
Grey,  018 
Guthrie,  Q4»,  796 
Haig,  41^  ib. 
HalkerstOBt  131 
Hall,  786 

HamUtoR,e4d,61V 
Harris,  138 
fiairington,  403 
Hartley,  493 
Hay,  493,  tb. 

HcNlgllfldl 

Heyman,  132 
Henderson,    131, 

250,404,786 
Hibbert,  494 
Ho4g«,250 
Hog&131 
Rolditcb,  618     ' 
Home,  250    i 
Hope,  404 
Howden,  404      ' 
Howey,  493 
HuttoD,  736      ' 
Honter,  132|  849 
Inglid,  404 
Ireland,  132 
Irvine,  249 
Jackson,  240 
Jameson,  131 
Johnstone,  463,449 

.ib.,617,73e 
Jones,  249,  616 
Keith,  618 
Kennedy,  494^  017 
K^rr,  249 
Kklsloo,  617 
Kilodursie,  249 
KUgour,  736 
King,  617 
Kinnear,  736 
King^ra,  131 
Kinloeb,  736 
Kirkpatriok,  617 
Kn^ht,6t8 
Krini  Ghery,  493 
Laing,736  . 
Lamb,  250        i 


htdix. 


Laiite,138 

Laurie,i  010^786 
Lee^494 
Lester,  'M6 
LesUe,  249 
LiAdesay,  61V 
Littldohn,  786 
Livingston,  404 
Loch,  249,  736 
Lockhart,  131,250, 

617 
Lorimer,  736 
Lothian,  618 
Low,  ISI 
Lucca,  404 
Ly8,132 
Macalister,  132,404 

736 
Macrae,  249 
Macdonald,    182, 

494,  617,  618 
Maadougall,  617 
Macdouall,  240 
Mac&rquhkr,  131 
Mac^egor,  4^ 
MafiSer,.240 
Mackintosh,  617 
Mackie,  132     - 
Mack6nacie,      494 

736 
Maekonodiie^  131 
Maclea>'617        I 
Maclean,  240 
Maoleo4,132,403, 

494 
Macnair,  131 
Macnee,  403 
Macvicar,  403 
Maltman,  736 
Hansfiield,  132 
Maijoribanks,  617 
MariboFougfa,  249 
Marryatt,  249 
Maurice,  617 
Maxwell,  980 
Maifnard;  4^ 
Meek,  ©W'*' 
MenaHd6,.019    '  > 
Mercers  493<' 
Methven,  617  :  > 
Miller;  131^  132> 


Minto»  249 
Mitchell,  240, 250^ 

409 
Moii^  132^  617 
BMIe,'403 
Moniagvn,  240 
Moore,  736 
Morsori,  131 
Mudie,  132 
Murph^  256 
Murray,  250 
NeitioB,  132,  498 
Nesbitt,  618 
ITfcOlflon,  4^  617 
Niven,  249 
0'Brien,617 
Orde,4M 
Orr,  182 

OsiMd$488 

Fanton;  491 

Parker,  249 

Paterebn,  419 

Pattii^e,  181,  403 
7^ 

Pati8on,.440 

Pearson,  181    ' 

Peebles  132 

PhiUip*;i31 

Plumer,'494 

Prtoker^M^  404  - 

Primros^  132  • 

Proudfoot,  618  ' 

PMrnm,  161 

Purdie^  498 

Ramsak  494,  7*6 

Rankin,  494 

Rattray,  048  ' 

Reddia,  131    > 

Reid,249,404 

Rentoii;618 

Reoch,786 

Richardson,    181, 
132 

Robertson,     131, 
250,  4l9%ib.  404 
736 

RoMMson;«lV    ' 

Rodger,  493 

Rog^rsbn,  132 

ltollo,404 


Ross,  254*4^  616 
Roughaail,  736 
RozbuTi^b,  138 
Sanson,  240 
Scott,  48^  404 
Sblel8,4M 
Sbiir«tf,4N0 
Stmson,  618 
Sinclair,  181 
Smith,  408 
Starret,  118 
Steele,  182 
StenboBsa,  408 
Steven,  403,  404 
Stevenson,  403 
Steaart,736 
Stewart,  181,  618 
Stothert,  132 
Stuart,  404 
Swan,  618 
TcUM^  250 
Tenmint,  13^736, 
Thomson,  131, 182 

\\k  250,  fk. 
'ritehfie]<^  404 
Tod,  248^  818 
Turing,  91^ 
Turn^l,  8M^  817 
UrquhaM,  619 
Usher,  7^1 
Vair,  404 
Ventre  249 
ViUiers,  494 
Vyner,  131 
Waddell,  132     . 
WaHiice,  132^  210, 

619 
Warner,  182 
WeUb,  138 
Wemyae,404 
White,  404 
WiUiameon,  409^ 

617 
WUson,  138,  840 
Wmdbara,736 
Wiflhart,  617 
Wood,  494 
Woollier  736 
Wrede,404 
Young,  I3fl^8l8 


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