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BOUGLAS  JEEROLD'S 

SHILLING    MAGAZINE. 


Uig,l:«l  by  Google 


by  Google 


DOUGLAS    JERROLD'S 


SHILLING    MAGAZINE. 


VOL.   III. 

JANUARY    TO   JUNE. 


LONDON; 
PUBLISHED  AT  THE  PUNCH  OFFICE,  92,  FLEET  STREET. 

AND  SULD  UY  ALL  DOOKHELLFJtS. 


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by  Google 


CONTENTS  OF  VOL.  III. 


Alt  and  Himrj S24 

Baltimore  Smith.     A  Sk«Ul>  from  the  Fleet 35S 

Benjamin's  Men.     By  Paul  Bell 607 

Bread  tram  Bniin 431 

Guild  Hearth-slane,  the BH 

CkapterofChurdiMice,  a 400 

ConfeMionaofan  Old  Picture,  the 97 

Confetnans  af  Bichaid  Grainger,  llie 147 

Cmwner'B  Quest  Law  in  Utopia 344 

Cricket  an  the  Hearth,  the 16 

Death  and  the  Hangman 115 

DevU'i  Walk  in  1846,  the ■.        .    .  213 

Eden'B,  Mrs.,  Sixpence.     A  short  Stcr;  for  Samaiilans         ■        .        .     ■  £30 

English  Sceues  and  Character 38,  117,  42;i 

Englishman  id  Prussia,  the 46 

Pew  Good  Actors  Wanted,  a 25S 


Hedgehog  LetlcrB,  the 69,  176,  369,  4S2,  556 

His  Majesty  the  Public 143 

History  for  Young  England,  a 70,  266,  467 

History  of  Greece,  a 624 

History  of  St.  Giles  and  St.  James,  the  (hy  the  Editor)         .       1,  289,  286,  431 
How  the  Henbant'B  Clerk  turned^  Cabdriver,  and  foaud  KimacV  on   the 

Road  to  Fortuua 225 

Iron  Heart,  the 26 

June 623 

Labourers'  Galliering,  the 145 

Laugh  of  Bhaaamanthus,  the '.     .  362 

Man  and  Be«s{.    »  Question 116 

May-day  for  the  People 412 

Man  of  Good  Sound  Sense,  a 44!) 

Man  was  not  made  to  Mourn 642 

Mariana  Restored 368 

Masquerade  of  Society,  the     .........  338 

Memoranda  of  Matarin 125 

Mission  of  the  Press,  the 156 

Henof  Letters  and  Iheir  Abettors 17 

Old  Soldier,  the 66 

Old  Misery,  the  Miser 


29' 


/■ji. 


Ou  the  DisldTBDtageB  ofnol  being  t  nwirf 326 

Oligind  Good  Womsn,  the ,     .  330 

Our  Village  a*  it  Ought  to  Be 346 

Our  Village  u  il  I. 170 

OutnaM  and  the  laoer  Uk,  the 606 

Plea  for  out  Climate,  b 241 

Plea  for  the  World  Below  Stairs 216 

Poor  Man's  Coat,  the 397 

Freaent  and  the  Future,  the 643 

Prewand  the  People,  the 263 

Eailwaj  and  Rojaltj 236 

Religion  and  InduaU?            366 

Itighta  of  the  Pocket,  the 537 

Bomewaid  Bound,  the -         .         .         .     .  134 

Besearehei  in  Belgiairia,  or  the  Works  and  Wonders  of  the  West       .       433,  516 
Reviews  of  New  Books  :— 

America;  ita  Realities  and  Beaourees.     By  Fmnpit  Wvse.Eaq.  563 

Antonio  Perei  and  Philip  the  Second 377 

Ballad  Romances.     BjB.  H.  Home 181 

Baron's  Yule  Fcaat,  the 189 

Bella  and  Pomegranates.— No.  VIII.  and  Ust ;  Luria;  and  a  Soul's 

Tragedy.     By  Robert  Browning,  Author  of  "pMSceUue"      ,         .  673 

Black  Gown  Papers,  the.     By  L.  Mariolte 671 

Citizen  of  Prague,  the 186 

Complete  Conconlance  to  Shakspeare 87 

ConftssionBofa  Pretty  Woman 477 

Confessions  of  an  Homwopathist 186 

Discaveries  in  Australia.     By  T.  Lort  Stokes.  Commander,  R.N.         .  569 

Dunster  Castle 93 

Earl  of  Qowrie,  the,  a  Tngedy .  lt» 

Embassy,  the,  or  the  Key  of  a  Mystery 498 

Emilia  Wyndham.     By  the    Author  of  "Two   Old   Men's  Tales," 

"  Mount  Sorel,"  &c 565 

Enchanted  Roek,  the 191 

Essays  on  Subjects  connected  with  Literature 472 

Essay  on  the  Character  of  Macbeth 474 

Eventful  Epoch,  the,  or  the  Fortunes  of  Archer  Cli^e  .         .188 

Mystery,  the        .         .                   184 

Female's  Friend,  the 184 

Forest  and  Game  Law  Tales .43,192,285 

Harding's  Fables  for  Young  Folks 86 

Hinta  on  the  Study  of  the  Law.     For  practical  Guidance  nf  Articled 

end  Unartided  Clerks.     By  Prancii  Edward  Slock         .         .         .575 

History  of  Civilisation.     By  William  Alex.  Mackinnon,  F.RS.,  M.P.  567 

Life  of  Carl  Theodore  Kiimer 85 

Life  and  Correspondence  of  David  Hume 363 

Ufe  of  the  lUght  Honourable  Geortpi  Canning.    By   Robert  Bell, 

Author  of  "  The  History  of  Rusua,"  "  Uvea  of  English  Poets,"  &e.  671 
Lives  of  the  Kings  of  England,  from  the  Norman  Conquest.     By 

Thomas  Ra«-oe,  Esq 664 

livonian  Tales.     By  the  Author  of"  Letters  fifom  the  Baltic"  .         .  572 


Rcsiewi  of  New  B««k>  (cmtitmed)  : — 

LordofBiushlej,the,»PUrmPiv.Act. 191 

LmSouhratlfl 86 

hegeaii  at  the  Idea 87 

Margaret ;  or,  the  Oalden  Mine 193 

N&rrative  of  a  Four  Hontha'  Regidenco  amongst  the  Nttivei  of  a  Valley 

of  the  Marqneiag  TiUnda 380 

Nuns  of  MiDBk,  the 3S3 

OlWer  Cromweirs  Letter,  and  Speeches 182 

0"er  Populition  and  iti  Remedj 378 

PauU  Monti ;  or,  the  Hotel  Lambort 93 

Peers  and  Parreniu,  a  Novel.     (By  Mn.  Core) 374 

Poems.     ByThoDwiHood              273 

Poems.     By  ThomM  Powell        ....                   .         .     .  95 

Pomfret;  or.  Public  OpiaioD  and  Private  Judgment      .         .         .     .  283 

Prying  of  a  Postman,  the 285 

Purgatory  of  Suicides .95 

Report  ofan  Educational  Tour  in  Germany       .         .         .         .    '     .  376 

Roscoe's  Life  and  PontiBcalB  of  Leo  the  Tenth 379 

Schlegel's  Lectures  on  the  Philosophy  of  History        .         .         .         .379 
Self-Teaching  French  Grammar,  the.     By  J.  Tourrier,  French  Master 

et  Weatminstcr  School,  &c., 675 

Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  >  TsJe  of  Che  Court  of  Charles  the  Second        .  237 

Skelchea  from  Flemish  Life 186 

Superstition  and  History  of  the  Middlo  Ages 472 

Spirit  of  German  Poetry 84 

Tatas  from  the  German 235 

Tales  from  Boi^eacdo 236 

Wcatem  Clearings 236 

Wigwam  and  the  Cabin 94,  285 

Queen's  Lieges,  a  Romance 479 

Queen  of  Denmark,  the 186 

SUortSlory  of  the  Allotment  Sptem 164 

Slajidardof  Progress Ill 

"  Song  of  the  Shirt,  the " 565 

Spirit  Voic«,  the 67 

Star  in  the  Dark,  a             649 

Theodore  Hook's  Gruve 109 

Things  of  Importance 349 

Time  reimM  SlalthuB,  the  List  Verdict 441 

To-day 223 

Under  the  Greenwood  Tree 3B4 

Use  of  Fools,  the      .        .        .                193 

Victory,  ■ .432 

Vision,  a 68 

Winter  Scone 4B2 

Winter  Robin 29 

Wiv-csof  GretlMon 335 

Worlii  of  Statesmanship,  the 147 

Y*  Threo  Vojces 365 


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Uist  of  Sllusltations. 


BY  JOHN  L 


FUTK  XIU.  "  Tbs  dWT  ylildliiE  (o  Iha  InBtnimiJDts,  opena  i 
dull  eDddan  Bound  "  .... 


XIV. "  LoR  uiythlng  r  "eiclktmed  Tugle,  "ODiy  a  box  of  gold ! " 


XV.  "  All  right,"  oried  BIsit,  tram  b 

he  Ujffened  Chs  cordi  of  bl*  vl 


XVI.  "Hr.Cn>«bone,'-i:riedSt.jBmH,"you 
world' 


.    XVII.  Sntpelonl 


DOUGLAS  JEJtROLD'S 

SHILLING    MAGAZINE. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  ST.  GILES  AND  ST.  JAMES  * 

ET   THE  EDITOR. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

JiNoo  vaa  bom  for  greatoesa.  He  had  in  his  character  the  great 
dement  of  a  great  general — a  great  atatesman  ;  marrellous  aelf- 
poBsession.  Meaner  boja  would  have  been  in  a  flutter  of  impa- 
tience ;  not  BO  with  the  pupil  of  Tom  Blaat.  Hence,  he  aat  mider 
the  bed,  with  critical  ear,  liatening  to  the  hard  breathing  of  the 
drunken  man,  who  soon  began  to  snore  with  such  discordant 
vehemence  that  Jingo  feared  the  deeper  might  awaken  his  bottle 
friend,  Mr.  Folder.  Jingo  knew  it  not ;  but  his  teatimony  would 
have  been  verj  valuable  to  Mrs.  Tangle  ;  for  the  anoring  of  her 
husband  was  one  of  the  diaquietudea  of  that  all-auflering  woman  ; 
the  rather,  too,  that  the  mauconatautly  denied  his  tendency  to  the 
habit.  He  never  snored.  Of  course  not ;  nobody  ever  does.  Now 
Jingo  might  have  been  a  valuable  witness  on  the  side  of  Mra. 
Tangle,  who  could  never  succeed,  talk  aa  she  would,  in  im- 
pressing her  husband  with  &  sense  of  his  infirmity.  On  the  con-. 
trary,  her  accusation  was  wont  to  be  repelled  as  a  gross  slander  ; 
an  imputation  unworthy  of  a  wife  and  a  woman.  It  ia  had  enough 
to  endure  an  evil,  but  to  have  the  nuisance  treated  aa  a  malicious 
fiction,  makea  it  intolerable.  And  Mra.  Tangle  felt  it  bo.  Of 
this,  however,  by  the  way.     Return  we  to  Jingo. 

With  knowing  delicate  ear,  the  child  continued  to  listen  to  the 
Bt«rtoroua  agent.  At  length,  the  boy  crept  from  beneath  the  bed, 
and  treading  lightly  as  a  faiiy  at  a  bridal  couch,  he  made  his  way 
to  the  window.     Now,  had  anybody  attempted  to  open  it  for  any 

*  CoDtinoed  from  p.  SOO,  Vd.  II. 
HO.  ira. — VOL.  III.  B 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


2  THE    H18T0BT    OP 

honeet  pnrpoBe — hod  Molly,  the  maid,  for  instance,  sought  to 
raise  it  loerelj  to  give  her  opinion  Of  the  moon  and  the  night 
to  any  niatic  astronomer  below — it  is  very  certain,  that  the  window 
would  have  stuck,  and  jarred,  and  rattled ;  it  was  too  old  and 
crazy  to  be  made  a  comfwtable  confidant  in  any  such  foolish 
hasineas.  .  Ten  to  one,  but  it  had  waked  the  mistress  of  the  Olive 
Branch,  who  'would  ineritsiUy  have  nadged  the  master.  And  now 
a  robbery  was  to  be  done — a  most  tremendous  robbery — perhaps, 
to  he  further  solemnised  by  homicide — for  who  ehould  say  that  the 
Farcte  who  wove  the  red  tape  of  the  life  of  Tangle,  attorney-at- 
law,  were  not  about  to  snip  it  ? — who  shall  say  that  so  awful  a 
crisis  did  not  at  that  moment  impend — and  yet  silently  went 
the  window  up  ;  easily,  Hmoothly,  as  though  greased  by  Bome 
witch;  smeared  with  fat  "from  miirderer'H  gibbet."  It  Is  a 
pity  that  the  devil  makes  evil  so  very  easy  to  the  meanest  under- 
fllanding. 

Two  or  ibree  tninutes  passed,  not  more,  and  Tom  ELact  liaatt 
his  head  and  one  of  his  legs  into  the  (Camber.     There  was  n  ^rim 

'  emile  upon  his  face — a  mmvlerons  simper  at  his  moutli — a  faraay 
brightness  in  his  eyes,  that iihowedhim  to  be  upmi  a  labDur  of  Ime. 
No  soldier  ever  scaled  a  wall,  to  receive,  it  may  ho,  a  bnUe*  ot  & 
bayonet,  widi  the  after-leaf  of  lam'cl  that  the  Gazette  fimctMafly 
lets  fall  upon  his  grave^no  hero,  we  say,  his  nerves  strung  wifli 
shouts,  his  heart  heating  to  the  beating  drums,  his  blood  boiliBg 
at  Blanghter  heat,  his  whole  sool  breathing  fire  and  gunpowder, 
and  all  to  gloriously  slay  and  Back,  and  bum,- — no  Bu<di  adveotM- 
rous  plumed  biped  ever  looked  more  grimly  bcfiutiM  than  did  that 
low-thoughted  burglar,  that  leprone-minded  thief.     Strange  B»d 

'  mournful  this  to  thwk  of !  For  what  was  there  good  or  ooble  to 
make  Mb  muscles  iron  ?  What  holy  ilame  of  patriotism  raged  ki 
his  heart,  refining  its  grosEness — what  lanrel  could  he  hope  far, 
wet  with  a  nation's  tears,  nations  always  weeping  when  Ae 
private  soldier  falls  ?  He  had  none  of  these  exalting  elem«sts  to 
sublimate  him,  tta  a  time,  into  an  iaunortal  imp  of  glory.  Sie 
motive  was  gold  ;  brutiJising  gold !  His  enemy,  if  he  came  to 
close  quartew,  a  weak,  wine-soddened  M  man.  His  fate,  if  he 
should  fall,  no  laurel  wreath,  but  suffi>catiDg  rope.  And  yet,  we 
say,  the  eonceit  of  poor  humanity!  We  feel  hmnbled  for  oar 
nature,  but  we  toast  declare  the  truth.  Wdl,  then,  Thomas  Blast, 
prepared  for  robbery,  and  it  might  be,  bloodshed,  looked  as  hor- 
ribly animated — sa  ferocionsly  happy — as  tbough  he  had  mounted 


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SI,    GILES  AITD  ST.  JAMES.  S 

Bome  In£ui  rampirt,  graoionBly  «enimisBumed  to  bI^  hhui, 
woman,  and  child,  to  piEage  and  to  .bum,  koA  all  for  glory — all 
for  tiie  OTOrlasting  fame— of  who  shall  count  how  ajany  years,  or 
months,  or  daye  !  Howwry  different  the  potore — tlie^t«Boftbe 
two  men  !  And  then,  again,  there  is  bo  Old  Buley  (at  teaat'jii 
iids  world)  for  the  m^bty  iD«n  of  ihe  buQy  bnrglar.  Hare  1 

Whilst  ivriting  this  pteee  of  villany  as,  riiould  H  strangely 
enough  find  its  way  into  any  bartaelc,  it  will  be  called,  we  hare 
ikot  k^t  Tom  Blast  astride  upon  the  wiiidow-«ill.  Oh  no  !  be  has 
busineas  to  perform — hard,  worldly  bnsmess,  ae  he  deems  it — tnd 
he  has  entered  the  chamber ;  and  with  much  oompomre^a 
placidity  which  it  has  been  seen  he  has  transmitted  to  his  son — 
he  gazes  -at  tie  sleeping,  hard-breathing  Tan^.  Vt.  Blast  was  , 
net  a  man,  in  anyw^ay,  above  his  profession.  He  nerer neg^ect«d, 
howerer  p^ty  they  might  be,  any  of  the  details  of  his  art.  This 
feeling  of  precision  was,  wehavenodouht,  bom  with  him  ;  and  long 
custom  had  brought  the  principle,  or  whatever  it  was,  as  near  to 
perfection  as  may  be  allowed  to  any  aehievement  of  fallible  homa- 
nity.  Had  destiny  pnt  Blast  in  the  ref^etahte  position  of  the 
attorney  in  the  bed,  sure  we  are,  it  wonW  have  been  the  same 
with  him.  Certain  we  are  he  would  have  been  as  particular  with 
his  inkhnrn,  his  pen,  bis  parchment,  his  feiret, — as  he  new  was 
with  his  equipments  of  dark  lantern,  crowbar,  and  ri^e. 

For  some  moments,  Blast,  by  the  aid  of  his  lantern,  looked 
meditatin^y  upon  Tangle,  Possibly  he  felt  Buch  a  d€^  sense  of 
secnrity  that  he  Uked  to  dally  with  his  snhject — 1»  coquet  with 
robbery — to  gently  sport  with  sin,  to  give  rt  a  sweeter  flavour. 
For  this  is  a  trick  of  humanity :  in  evidence  of  which,  we  could 
and  we  would  quote  rosy  e:iamples  :  bat  do  ;  we  will  not  treat 
the  reader — in  this  history  we  have  never  yet  done  so — as  though 
his  bosom  was  stuffed,  doll-Uke,  with  bran  :  we  believe  that  he  has 
a  heart  boating  in  it,  and  to  that  interpreter,  we  write,  as  we 
should  say,  many  things  in  short-hand  :  sometimes  we  may  lose  by 
it ;  neverthdess,  we  disdain  to  spell  eveiy  passion  wilb  its  every 
ietler. 

"  He'd  never  be  stole  For  his  beauty,  would  he.  Jingo?"  asked 
Blast,  in  a  loud  whisper,  blandly  smiling. 

'*  And  whatever  beanty  he  has,  he  shuts  it  up  when  he  goes  to 
sleep,"  replied  the  child.  "  Oh,  isn't  he  drunk  !"  the  hoy  added, 
with  considerable  zest. 

"He  is,"  sdd  Blast,  who  still  looked  contemplatiTe.     Then 


4  THE  mSTORT  Of 

fading  tlie  lantern,  to  catch  the  hest  vieir  of  Tangle's  face,  ho 
continued — "  Wbat  a  horrible  pictur  !  He  looks  as  if  he'd  come 
Irom  Indy  in  a  cask  of  spirits,  and  was  just  laid  out,  afore  he  was 
to  be  buried.  Jingo,  my  boy" — and  the  paternal  hand  WM 
gently  laid  upon  the  hoy's  head — "  Jingo,  your  poor  father  may 
haye  his  faults,  like  other  men — I  can't  say  he  mayn't ;  no  ;  but 
he  isn't  a  drunkard.  Jingo,  else  he  hadn't  got  on  the  little  he  has 
in  the  world — he  hadn't,  indeed.  And  so,  take  wanung  by  what 
yon  see — hy  what  you  see,"  and  Blast  stretching  his  ann  towards 
the  sleeper,  said  this  in  a  low  voice — touchingly,  that  is,  paternally. 
"  And  now,  Jbgo,  where's  the  shiners  ?  '  asked  the  man  of 
business. 

The  thoughtless  reader  may  deem  it  strange,  ntinatural,  that  a 
man  about  to  perpetrate  gibbet-work  should  thus  coolly  delay,  and 
after  his  own  fashion,  moralise.  But  then  the  reader  must  ponder 
on  the  effect  of  long  habit.  In  his  first  battle — though  common 
history  says  nothing  of  it — Julius  Cteaar,  not  from  cowardice,  but 
&om  a  strange  Inward  perturbation,  bled  at  the  nose :  similar 
accidents  may  have  happened  to  other  heroes  nhen  they  have 
drawn  what  with  an  odd  gallantry  is  called  their  maiden  sword.  . 
Still  the  reader  may  not  yet  comprehend  the  composure  of  Tom 
Blast.  The  more  his  loss.  But  then,  probably,  the  reader  has 
never  been  a  househreakcr. 

Return  we  to  our  colloquy.     "  Jingo,  where's  the  shiners  ?" 

"  There  !■"  said  the  boy,  pointing  to  the  closet :  "  and  see,"  he 
whispered,  with  a  proud  look,  at  the  time  producing  Tangle's 
pistols — "  see,    I've  got  his  pope  !" 

This  touch  of  early  prudence  and  sagacity  waa  too  much  for  a 
father's  beart.  Tom  felt  himself  melted,  as  with  undisguised 
tenderness  he  said,  taking  an  oath  to  the  fact — "  Well,  you  are  a 
bloomer!  you  are — " 

At  this  moment,  Tangle  rolled  upon  his  side,  gabbling  some- 
thing in  his  sleep.  On  the  instant.  Jingo  was  at  the  bed-side, 
with  both  hia  pistols  presented  at  the  sleeper's  heod.  The  eyes 
of  the  little  wretch  glittered  like  a  snake  s — his  lips  were  eom- 

Eressed — his  eyebrows  knit — his  nostrils  swelling.  At  a  thought, 
e  looked  an  imp  of  murder. 
"  There 's  a  beauty,"  said  the  encouraging  Blast,  "don't  let 
him  wag — if  he  should  " — it  was  needless  for  Blast  to  finish  the 
injunction  ;  a  terrible  grin,  and  a  nod  from  Jingo,  showed  that  he 
clearly  unc'erstood  the  paternal  wish. 


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BT.  GILES  AND  BT.  JAJ1E8,  fi 

"  ThU  ie  the  closet,  et  V  eud  Blast,  'with  a  veir  contemptuoua 
look  at  the  frail  partition  between  him  and  El  Dorado.  Then 
Blast  took  a  email  crowbar  from  hia  pocket ;  a.  remarkably  neat, 
portable  instrument.  For  some  eecondfl  he  stood  twirling  it  in 
his  hand  with  the  composed  ur  of  a  professor.  Had  he  been  a 
fashionable  fiddler,  he  could  not  have  fondled  his  alchemic  Cre- 
mona more  tenderlj,  more  lovingly. 

One  moment  he  looks  at  the  door.  Ha !  that  was  the  touch  of 
a  master  !  How  it  was  done,  ve  know  not.  By  what  sleight — 
what  dexterity  of  hand,  we  cannot  guess,  but  in  a  few  Beconde, 
the  door  yielding  to  the  instrument,  opens  with  a  dull,  sudden 
sound  ;  and  Tom  Blast  surreys  Tangle's  chest  of  gold.  Blast's 
(SOU  and  heir  still  presenting  two  pistols  at  Tangle's  drunken  head. 

At  the  opening  of  the  door.  Jingo  looked  round  and  laughed. 
Before,  his  eves  were  bent  upon  the  sleeping  man ;  and  it  wa« 
plun,  from  the  working  of  the  boy's  face,  that  he  was  fighting 
with  some  horrid  thought — some  danmahle  temptation.  There 
was  he  with  death  in  lus  two  little  hands — there  was  he  with  it 
terrible  curiosity  growing  in  his  features  :  hie  lips  trembled,  and 
he  shifted  uneasily  on  hu  feet ;  he  breathed  huti ;  he  ponced, 
for  an  instant,  down  the  muzzle  of  each  pistol.  There  was  the  man 
— sleeping — still  ahre,  though  seethed  in  drink,  and  looking  like 
death.  There  he  was — the  dreaming  man  with  his  dreaming  mur- 
derer.  For  should  the  deyil — and  the  boy  felt  him  at  his  sid^— 
should  the  demon  only  jog  his  elbow,  crook  his  finger — and  how 
odd,  how  strange,  how  very  curious  it  would  be,  to  see  that  sleep- 
^g  face,  with  a  flash,  asleep  in  death  ;  to  catch  the  look — the 
brief  one  look,  as  the  soul  shot  into  darkness  ! 

But  Tom  Blast  suddenly  burst  the  door,  and  the  boy  laughed 
and  trembled.  He  thought  it  very  strange — very  odd — he  could 
have  wept. 

"  All  right,"  said  Tom,  "we're  lords  for  life!"  He  then 
laid  hands  upon  the  bos — paused — and  looked  suddenly  blank. 
Wayward,  obstinate  Plutus  !  He  would  not  be  lifted — no,  in  hia 
heavy  majesty,  he  would  not  be  made  to  budge.  Ag^n  and 
again  Tom  Blast  essayed  to  stir  the  god— to  take  him  in  his  loving 
arms,  and,  hugging  him  to  his  breast,  to  bear  the  divinity  to  some- 
sweet  sohtude,  and  make  him  all  his  own.  Provoking,  was  it  not, 
that  that  which  added  to  the  treasure,  added  to  the  difficulty? 
Tom  could  have  cursed  the  patriotism  of  the  voters  of  Liquorish, 
tlmt— the  immovable  box  declared  it — ^bore  so  high  a  price.    Ho- 


had  no  bebe£  that  theur  virtue  could  hare  bee*  »>  rary  Talmlile— 
to  thems^TOK  Ttan,  kew«ver,  wovid  not  he  baffled.  No  ;  a  voiee 
inoed  from  the  hex,  litat,  like  the  voice  of  jeenng  beaaty,  at 
<»ce  piqued  and  auimaled  him.  And  atsw  he  waa  resolved.  Hia 
amenB  might  mack — Ua  Adam'a  clay  might  he  flawed  baneath. 
the  load — neTertheleu,  He  woidd  Uft  it. 

"  Jingo,"  whispered  T<»n,  "  doa't  mere  4  toot.  The  damoed 
bcs  " — m  thia  wa^  ioea  DBgratefnl  man  too  dlen  treat  lua  Mt^er- 
flnx  fit  wealth  i — "  can't  be  lowered  oul  of  window ;  'tweidd  go 
nnMMiTf.  1 11  creep  down  and  unbtdt  the  doer,  aad  then" — Blait 
bad  said  enough  ;  Jingo  nodded  his  perfect  cotnpr^eeEnoB  ei  hia 
fa&er's  {dan  ;  and  the  robber,  silently  as  a  ahadow  creeps  along 
the  floor,  paaaed  from  the  nxno.  Jiogo  was  alone — alene,  with 
his  ranrderoua  toys — fi»-to  him  they  vere  verj  playthings — and  the 
deeping  sot.  A^in,did  strange  thoughts  tia^e  in  that  mistaught 
little  braia — again  did  a  doTilieh  ^Htit  c^  miechief  begin  to  poaaesa 
him,  when  b»  paterud  monitor  returned,  wdth  a  hght^d,  a 
[deaeed  look. 

It  was,  doubtless,  a  changing  sight — a  apectade  hugely  e^yed 
by  die  few  select  i!^>ectators  —  to  bebold  Hercules  mt^e  his  final 
maMular  pveparation  forthe  a(dtievement  of  any  one  of  Ids  laboota. 
The  majesty  at  wifl — that  mor^  regality  of  man — muet  have  so- 
beamed  and  flaalwd  amond  Us  brows,  that  eveo  the  gods  may 
have  lei^ed  from  tha  windows  of  heaven,  pleased  with  s  royalty 
dutt  seemed  a  shadow  of  their  own.  And  so  be  of  good  heart  ye 
many  sobs  <^  Hercules,  fighting,  wrestling  with  the  monsters  di 
adverse  fate — be  of  good  £e^.  thouj^  you  cmabat  in  the  solitude 
of  a  desert ;  Dovcrthedess,  believe  it,  if  ye  fi^t  courageously,  there 
we  kind  looks  &em.  heaven  always  beaming  on  you  ! 

We  iiuline  to  die  belief  that  Tom  Blast  bad  never  heard  of 
Hercules  ;  or  if  indeed  he  bad,  the  name  waa  so  associated  with 
tte  Pillars,  that  if  he  ei>«  ctmsidcred  die  matter  at  all,  he  may 
perehuice  hsre  thoo^it  Herculee  stuiie  very  famotn  tapetcav  aiM 
A>t  tertain  London  liostekies  known  aa  HetcaleB'  FSlars  merely 
etaniizad  his  reparation.  We  feeg^,  too,  the  name  ef  the  anti- 
qwry  who  wrote  a  vsy  thick  book,  proving  that  the  pillais  aet  up 
C^  Bereules — vulgarly  supposed  te  eommemorate  lua  l&heurs — 
woe  no  otkM  than  a  vety  classic  pttblic-hoaae,  wherein,  aAer  lua 
last  day'a  work^  he  drained  his  cool  tankard.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
Blaat  WM  in  no  way-  strengthened  by  the  tWughi  of  the  r^oHning 
HfscuIeB,  when  he  ptepaced  himsrif  to  lift  npoo  Ua  ^didar  tint 


ST.  filLBS  UID-  8X.   HMES.  1 

biUar  sweet — that  "h^tvj  UghbUB*,  serious  raiiitj'" — thai  biu- 
tunwg,  cEoahmg  weigkt  of  gold.  NerertlieleBs^  Ote  prepvatioa 
ot  Blaet  w&a  wotihj  of  &e  best  Bcoondrel  hero  of  the  world's  M 
age  and  wedatau.  He  looked  at  the  box  wkh  flashing  reBolutim 
— set  hU  teeth — fixed  bis  feet — and  put  fotth  bis  arms,  as  LbaaglL 
he  wettld  roet  up  an  oak. 

Aad  saw  ahout,  ye  iiaps  !  Scream,,  ye  deiiUuna, — for  it  ia  done  E 
The  gotd  ia  on  the  tluef'a  dioulder  !  His  kaees  quiver  beneadt 
the  sudden  wealtb. — hia  cheat  labours — his  face  gjwws  purple  aa 
gr^KS — and  the  reina  in  hii  gibbet  brow  start  thick  and  blaek 
wiUi  bloed, — yet  a  proud  sraile  plaja  about  his  borae-sboa  mouth, 
and  he  le<^  a  Nei^ate  hero ! 

Breatbing  hard,  in  hoarse  whispera,  tbe  robber  gives  directionB 
to  the  boj — "Jingo — good  fellow — don't  stir — only  a  minute — 
onlj  a  minute — wbeu  I'm  clear  off — then — jou  knoir."  Aad 
witb  thU  broken  cownsd.  Blast — hia  Btren^  straiaed  to  the 
utBMst,  tumedto  thedoOT — and  staggered  from  the  room.  Youog 
Jingo's  iaca  darkened,  and  now  be  glaneed  towards  the  window, 
to  HCnre  himaelf  a  retreat,  new  he  fistened  to  catcb  tbe  progrsaa 
of  his  father's  footsteps.  To  trip — te  atunhle  but  am  int^ — and 
what  a  erasing  sunnnona  to  t^  whole  household  would  reault 
from  that  fallen  beap  of  gold  !  Still  be  liatened,  and  etjll  be  felt 
rerftssDred  !  Tbe  robber  made  siieut  and  successful  progreaa.  It 
was  a  difficult  pa«e^;e— that  nacrow,  crooked  Btaircoee ;  and  as 
the  thief  accommodated  hie  burthen  to  its  wiuding  wftj,  thoughts 
of  mortality  would  come  into  tbe  diid'a  brain  ;  for  be  marvelled 
how  when  anybody  died — and  it  waa  an  <^  old  house — tbey 
owned  tbe  coffin  do»a  tbu  confined,  sinuous  path.  But  gold — 
heart-streagthening  gold— i»OB  bis  ^uld^'a,  and  he  bean  up  witli 
Atlutteon  will,  the  whilst  he  moves  aloag  noiseleseljr  aa  tbe  bare 
limps  en  iha  greenswacd.  Hehas  eroaaad  the  threshold — closed 
tbe  door  behind  bim — he  is  in  the  wide  world,  witb  bis  fortune  on 
his  sboutders.     Wbither  shall  he  go  ? 

Direct,  asust  ^d,  ye  good  getvi  that,  all  unseeuy  favour  and 
sboigthea  the  m&v  m^iey-Biakei ;  tbe- man,  wbo  only  eata,  and 
drinks,  and  ti^aa  Ma  tem^rate  rest,  that  be  may  bo  keener  at  a 
bargsia,  sharper  for  prefit.  How  many, — save  Aat  their  goldea 
burdeoa  are  law^  g&iBB,  Ui^  i^  obtained  by  no  greas  violatioa 
of  tiie  statute — arc,  like  T(m  Blast,  puzaled,  asnfbuaded,  by  tb» 
vety  tieaauie  they  ha>ve  toiled  for  ?  What  a  hard,  uagrate&d 
w«jgUi,-T^ea  moBstreofl  WMJib  !    Sawbaw,  with  all  t^  Ueasii^ 


nungled  with  it,  they  cannot  extract  heart'*  ease  from  it.  They 
sweat  and  toil  under  the  load,  when — though  they  know  not  how 
to  Becnre  the  happiness — they  would  fain  sit  tiiemselTeB  down  on 
Bome  green,  pleasant  spot,  and  enjoy  their  long-toiled-for  delight. 
No,  it  may  not  be.  The  spirit — the  sole  possessing  spirit  Aat, 
day  and  night,  made  them  subdue  all  gentler,  softer  inflaences,  to 
the  one  exhausting  purpose,  wealth — the  spirit  is  still  their  despot, 
and  rules  them  as  tyrannonsly  when  in  cloth  of  gold,  as  when  in 
frieze.  They  hare  worked,  sweated  for  the  precious  load ;  and, 
when  obtained,  it  is  hung  about  with  fears.  How  many  have 
crawled,  bmte-Uke,  on  all-foars  tbroogh  dirty,  winding  ways  to 
wealth,  with  the  sweet  unction  at  their  souls  that,  arrived  at  the 
glorious  bourne,  they  would  then  walk  very  erect ;  would  cleanse 
themseWes  of  the  inevitable  defilements  of  the  road ;  would,  in 
sooth,  become  very  sweet  men  indeed.  Well,  they  have  reached 
the  shrine ;  they  have  learned  the  true  "Open  Sesame !" — they  are 
rich,  past  all  their  morning  dreams  of  wealth — but  somehow,  there 
is  thetrick  of  old  habit, — dtey  cannot  well  stand  upright ;  and  their 
hands  have  been  so  dirtied,  ,^e{tny  their  way  to  Plutua,  it  seems  to 
them  a  foolish  task  to  try  to  whiten  and  purify  them.  This, 
however,  they  can  do.  They  can,  somehow,  blind  the  world :  yes, 
they  can  put  on  very  white  gloves. 

Take  from  Tom  Blast  the  spot  of  felony, — and  as  he  staggers 

onward  in   darkness  and  uncertainty,  almost  crushed  with  his 

weight  of  wealth — knowing  not  where  to  6nd  repose — he  is  no 

other  than  your  monstrously  rich  man,  who  has  exchanged  his 

.  heart  at  the  Mint  for  coined  pieces. 

Fatigued,  perplexed  with  rising  fears,  the  robber  goes  on  his 
nnknown  way.  He  strikes  wide  from  the  village — goes  down 
lanes — croasea  fields.  And  then  he  pauses  ;  and  casting  his  load 
iqwn  the  earth,  he  sits  upon  it,  takes  off  his  hat,  and  wipes  the 
streaming  sweat  from  his  brow,  a  myriad  of  unthought  of  stars 
looking  down  upon  his  felon  head. 

Yes  ;  he  has  taken  the  good  resolution.  He  will  henceforth  be 
an  honest,  respectable  man.  Let  fate  be  only  so  kind  as  to  assure 
him  his  present  spoil,  and  he  will  wash  his  hands  of  all  such  woi^ 
for  the  rest  of  his  days.  He  vrill— he  thinks — leave  London. 
Tes^  hQ  will  discipline  his  soul  to  forego  the  sweet  allurements, 
the  magic  wiles  of  that  city  of  Comus.  He  wiH  go  into  th* 
comitry,  and  be  very  good  to  the  poor.  He  will  change  his  name. 
With  such  change,  he  cannot  but  slough  much  of  the  bad  reputa- 


BT,  QILSB  Ann   SI.  JAICES.  9 

tion  that  the  prejudice  of  society  has  fixed  Dpon  lum.  He  will 
become  a  country  gentleman.  He  will  give  away  a  bullock  and 
blauketa  at  Christmae.  He  will  go  regdarly  to  church.  Yes  ; 
he  will  eihow  that  be  can  be  truly  religious  t  for  he  will  have  a  pew 
as  fine,  if  not  finer,  than  any  pew  be  had  peeped  into  yesterday. 
If  fate,  for  this  once— this  last  time — would  only  be  kind  to  him  ! 
This  virtuouB  determination  eo  befooled  the  feloa,  that  ho  felt  his 
heart  opened  ;  felt  all  hia  nature  softened  to  receive  the  best  and 
kindlieet  impreBsions.  Though,  in  hia  various  crooked  ways,  Tom 
Blast  had  gulled  many,  many  men,  yet  bad  he  never  ao  oom- 

Siletely  duped  any  man,  as,  at  that  moment,  Tom  dnped  Tom.  He 
sit  himself  mightjly  contorted.  He  looked  arouna  him — at  the 
hedges — the  trees  ;  as  though  carefully  noting  their  particular 
whereabout.  He  roae  blithely,  with  s<xne  new  resolution.  With 
renewed  etreugUi,  he  swung  the  box  upon  his  shoulder,  and  in  a  few 
miuutea  he  had  hidden  it.  He  would  come  bock  at  a  proper  season 
— and  with  proper  means — to  moke  the  surer  of  it. 

Return  we  to  Tangle's  chamber.  Oh,  innocent  sleep  !  There 
was  the  parliamentary  agent — the  man  with  the  golden  key  to 
open  the  door  of  St.  Stephen's  to  young  St.  James — there  was 
he,  still  in  port-wine  slumbers — still  sunk  in  the  claret  sea  ! 
Beautifid  was  the  morning !  The  tumble  air  frolicked  in  at  the 
open  window — for  the  mercurial  Jingo  had  not  closed  it  when  he 
departed  with  Tangle's  treaBures.  The  glorious  sun  rose  blushing 
at  the  ways  of  slothful  man.  The  sparrows,  tenants  of  the 
eaves,  flew  from  distant  fields,  many  a  one  proving,  by  the  early 
worm  that  writhed  about  its  bill,  the  truthfulness  of  proverb  lore. 
And  still  the  attorney  slept !  Sleep  on,  poor  innocence  I  Thou 
kaoffcst  not  tho  gashes  cut  in  thy  pocket ;  thou  knowest  not  how 
that  is  bleeding  mortal  drops  of  coined  blood  ;  for  bow  much 
seeming  gold  is  there,  that,  looked  upon  aright,  is  aught  other 
metal?    Sleep  on. 

And  Tangle  sleeps  and  dreams.  A  delicious  vision  creases 
and  wrinkles  his  yellow  face  like  folds  in  parchment.  Yes ; 
Tangle  dreams.  AnA  we  know  the  particular  dream,  and — sweet 
is  the  privilege! — we  may  and  will  toll  it.  Somnus,  father  of 
dreams — what  a  progeny  has  he  to  answer  for  !— did  not  kindly 
send  to  the  lawyer  a  visionary  courier  to  apprise  him  of  bis  loss  ; 
and  so  to  break  the  affliction  to  bis  sleep  that,  waking,  he  might 
perhaps  the  better  endure  it.  Ob,  no  !  tliere  would  have  been 
no  sport  iu  that.  Contrast  is  the  soul  of  whim  ;  and  Somnus  waa 
inclined  to  a  joke  with  the  razor-sharp  attorney. 


WbereupM,  Ttu>^  ^vamt  that  ha  was  i»  Ua  dattlv-lMd — ud 
■Mnrtheleu,  bed.  bt  him  had  nsrer  been  to  delieiow.  He  kxmw 
hi&  hour  waa  cemc  :  a  usiling  angd — all  eUgenee — wi  eitk«r 
nijn  biiil  told  lum  ao.  And  Tangle,  «alliDg  up  a  deeent  lodt  itf 
regret  at  his  wife  «nd  children,  Bttinditig  about  them,  told  them  to 
be  oonfoTted,  aa  he  was  going-  Inmiediateljr  to  heaven.  This  he 
know ;  and  it  showed  their  ignoTanoe  to  look  anj  doubt  of  the 
mMer.  That  afaeat  d  gtAd — the  gold  once  taken  to  pay  iba 
eketota  of  LiqiKii^ — was,  after  the  manner  of  dreams,  Btwehow 
his  awn  pn^iertj.  And  therefore,  he  ord«red  the  cheet  to  be 
ph<ed  on-  the  foot  of  his  bed,  and  opened,  The  lid  was  raised  ; 
aad  eh,  what  a  glm-j  !  It  was  £11^  to  the  edge  with  bright, 
bti^t  guineas,  all  bearing  tha  benevolent  faee — a  wonderful 
IftmeBS,  in  fact,  as  every  face  on  gold  is,  a  speaking  likeneea, 
for  H  talks  evwy  t«igae — of  George  the  Third  !  When  Taagle 
saw  them,  ha  umled  a  smile— ay,  could  we  have  fidlowed  it — to 
the  very  roots  of  hie  heart.  "  I  am  going  to  heaven,"  said  he  ; 
"  I  have  toiled  all  my  life  for  thttt  goodly  end  ;  I  have  sersfted 
and  seraped  those  blmsed  things  together,  knowing  tihat  if  I  had 
enough  of  them  to  bear  my  weight,  they  would  coiry  me  straight 
to  Farsdise.  Ko,  my  deu-  wife,  my  dsding  duldren,  think  not 
mj  brain  is  wandering  ;  think  me  not  light-headed ;  for  at  this 
sdemn  time,  Hue  avfid  moment,  I  only  hope  to  cowsnimnate  the 
g^TMl  Inject  itf  my  life.  I  have  made  money  in  this  world,  th^t, 
by  its  meaast.  I  might  make  Evre  of  heavea  in  the  next.  And 
they" — and  Tai^le  again  pointed  to  the  giuneas—"  tboee  bri^ 
celestials  will  earry  me  there  !"  And  now  comes  the  woBdocfiil 
part  of  the  dream.  When  Tangle  had  ceaaed  speaking,  every 
gtdnea  rose,  as  iqton  tiny  wings,  front  the  box ;  and,  Hke  a 
swarm  of  bees,  filled  the  doatli-chainber  with  a  hummij^  sound. 
Aai  then  gradually  every  Bung  George  the  Third  face  upon  the 
guinea  grew  and  rounded  into  a  cherub  head  of  glittering  gold, 
the  winga  extending  and  expanding.  And  who  ah^  count  the 
nnmber  of  the  cherubim  glorifying  the  chamber  with  their 
edhi^ence,  and  making  it  resound  with  their  tremendaus  music  I 
A  e£i»-t  time,  and.  thai  Tangle  dreamt  that  the  cherubim  were 
hfiuing  him  from  hk  bed— aU  lifting,  all  snpftorting  him,  all 
tending  Urn  in  bis  opwud  £ight.  And  then  again  be  smiled  at 
his  worldly  wisdom,  for  he  felt  that  every  guinea  he  had  laade — 
oe  BKtter  how,  upon  earth — was  become  aa  anged,  hel[nng^  hiia 
to  iMftven.  And  s&i  in  his  dream — TO»fi™g  and  anuIiBg,  ho 
wentiq>^-up — up!  (  '  i  u^l  ■ 


8T.    OILES  AKB   BT.   UHES.  11 

Koip,  if  MMj  MTJlltBg  leadtr  disputM  the  Bodtetitiatj-  •£  t&is 
(koHi — if,  ptuJungr  it  vide,  ha  taHi  it  estnwftgant  aad  ndkidoiis, 
K«  are,  vitiuMt  fUdBer  pcepArstioii,  rewly  to  prore  it  a  twj 
reuiBaUe  and  Hie^  dream ;  a  diesm  tii&t  ia  no  otker  than  a 
vusnaij  end>odimant  af  tfae  wnking  tiwugl^a  of  vanj  a  Jm*^ 
>i4«  koudB  uid  hokrdB,  as  thonglt  enry  bit  of  gtid.  vm,  ■•  tiu- 
lowjflD  hfkTQ  it,  H^ia  of  PamliBe.  When  (and  it  does  smn»- 
tMH  happea)  a  lugli  dignttazj  of  the  Church  diea  with  a  oobr  of 
tone  hofidcBd  and  fbrtj  thousand  pounds,  who  iknU  ■aj-  diat  tha 
good  man  has  not  hoarded  them,  in  the  belief  that  ererj  ponnd 
viB  MCTH  him  as  lui  angel  to  hdp  him  to  heaven  ?  He  kncHn  he 
Oisnot  teke  l^flB  to  bins  ;  bat,  with  a  wisdora  onhnown  to  modi. 
o£  the  ignorant  laitj,  he  eridently  belieTee  tiiat  they  can  ch^ 
Am  there.  Hence  even  Chuich  avarioe,'  properly  cwiudered,.  tavj 
be  eoceUeat  rdigion. — hraice  &  orairiing,  caterpillar  nuMT  nuj 
only  crawl  to  soar  the  higher — a  triumphant  Prrche  I 

And  still  Tangle,  in  his  dream,  was  ascending  to  the  atara, 
Wasercff  man  brought  back  to  this  earth  with  so  terrible  aahock? 
C<»Qpared  with  it,  a  drop  from  a  balloon  uptn  Ston^enge  wovld 
ha  a  few  feet  ftH  upon  a  feather-bed. 

"HaBoI  Bleu  me  I  liy  good  friend!  Welt,  yoahare  a  cott- 
aftstion !     Sleep  with  the  window  open '. " 

Such  were  the  ezeUMaatioos  of  Mr.  Fidder,  uf  and  arr^ed  tor 
an  early  walk.  Though  by  no  meana  unwell  fr«»n  the  last  ni^^— 
OBtainly  not,  for  he  was  Mvec  soberer  in  his  life — he  thought  he 
would  take  a  ramble  in  the  fields  just  to  dissipate  a  little  dulnfiss, 
a  digbt  hesTineaa  he  felt ;  and  being  of  a  cowpeniooahie  nabire, 
liB  thought  he  wmU  hold  ont  to  l£r.  Tmgle  the  advantage  of 
Meenpanying  him.  Wherenpon,  he  tried  the  atteiney's  do^, 
and,  finding  it  unlocked,  with  the  pleasant  freedom  of  a  friend,  he 
catered  the  chamber.  The-  opened  wiodew  straek  him  with  vsat 
astonishment.  The  election  was  not  over,  and  Mr.  Tan|^  might 
catch  his  death.  Again  ha  gave  veic»  to  his  ^uuetj.  '  *-  Uj  dear 
sir, — Mr.  Tangle — die  window — " 

"  Ten  thousand  cherubs,"  said  Tangle,  still  in  the  clouded— 
"  ten  thousand,  and  not  one  less.  I  knew  I  had  ten  t^floaaiid  ; 
and  oU  good  '.  not  a  pocket-pieee  among  'en^     Chuubs ! ' ' 

"  BUh  my  80^ ! '  said  Eddezi  ".  he 's  in  acme  sweet  dream  ; 
tad  with,  the  windnw  opea.  Weli,  if  I  eo4dd  dream  at  all  under 
BtA  rirniTTTintinrnn.  I  shoold  CErtainlj  dream  I  was  in  a  saw^mill 
vridi  a  saw  geing  Acovgh  eray  joint  o£  sy  body.  Asd,  wbat  'a 
more,  I  edi0^  vaka  ai^  Sai.  it  aJl  trott     Hr.  Taagte  1" 


12  THE  HI8T0BT  OF 

Witt  other  ezckmatioDB — with  bIUI  more  BtrenoouB  pulling — 
Hr.  Folder  saw  that  ho  was  about  to  achieve  Bncceas.  There  were 
nndeoiable  symptomB  of  Mr.  Tangle's  gradual  return  to  a  con- 
BcioasnesB  of  the  £  a.  d.  of  thie  world.  Gradually,  cherub  by 
cherub  was  letting  him  down  easily  to  tins  muddy  earth.  The 
attorney  Btretched  out  his  legs  like  a  spider— flung  up  hia  arms — 
and  with  a  tremendous  yawn  opened  hta  mouth  ao  wide,  that  Mr. 
Folder — biit  he  was  not  a  man  of  high  courage— might  have  eeea 
that  attorney's  very  bowels;  Tangle  oaclosed  his  stiffly-opening 
eyelids.  It  was  plain  there  was  a  mist — ^possibly  a  cloud,  as  from 
burnt  claret — passing  before  bis  orbs  :  for  it  was  some  moments 
before  the  face  of  Ur.  Folder  loomed  through  the  vapour.  At 
length,  Tangle — with  every  vein  in  Via  head  beating  away  as 
though  it  would  not  beat  in  such  fashion  much  longer ;  no,  it  would 
rather  burst — at  length  Tangle,  resolving  to  be  most  courageously 
jolly,  laughed  and  cried  out — "  Well,  what  'e  the  matter  ?" 

"Why,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Folder,  "as  to-day  is  a  busy 
day,  I  thought  we  could  not  be  too  fresh  for  work  :  and  so,  as  we 
were  a  little  late,  I  may  say,  too,  a  little  wild  last  night—" 

"  Pooh,  pooh  ;  not  a  bit.  I  never  felt  better :  never,  in  all  my 
life.  I  always  krow  wheu  I  'm  aafe,  and  drink  accordingly. 
Never  was  yet  deceived,  sir  ;  never.  There  'b  no  pott  in  the  world 
I  'd  trust,  Uke  the  port  you  get  from  the  gentlemen  of  the  cloth  : 
they're  meu  above  deceit,  sir  ;  above  deceit." 

"Nevertheless,  I  do  think  a  walk  in  the  fields — just  a  turn 
before  breakfast—-" 

"  No,"  said  Tangle,  "  turning  upon  his  side,  evidently  set  upon 
another  nap:  "no;  I  like  buttercups  and  daisies,  and  all  Uiat 
sort  of  thing — breath  of  cows,  and  so  forth — but  not  upon  an  empty 
stomach." 

"Well  to  bo  sure,"  said  Folder,  "you  economize.  You  get 
your  air  and  sleep  together." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  grunted  Tangle, 

"Why  you  sleep  with  your  window  open,  don't  you?"  asked 
Folder. 

"  Never,"  replied  Tangle. 

"  No  :  then  who  has  opened  it  for  you  ?" 

Hr.  Tangle  rtused  himself  in  his  bed.  Wo  will  not  put  down 
the  oath  which,  to  the  astonishment  of  Folder,  he  thundered  forth, 
when  he  saw  his  casement  open  to  the  winda.  Suddenly  he  leapt 
from  the  bed  ;  and  as  suddenly  Mr.  Folder  quitted  the  chamber. 

"  Bobbery !  Murder  l"  cried  Tangle,  with  amazing  lungs. 


ST.    eUXB  AND  ST.  JUtKS.  13 

Kov,  we  KftTe  never  Icnown  this  confdaion  of  terms  in  uiy  wsj 
accounted  for.  Tnie  it  is,  Mr.  Tangle  saw,  ob  he  believctd,  the 
clearest  evidence  of  robbeiy  {  but  there  vas  no  drop,  no  speck  of 
blood,  to  afford  the  slightest  hint  of  homicide.  Wherefore,  tben, 
should  he,  fslling  into  a  common  error  of  humaiutf ,  couple  murder 
with  tbeft  ?  Why  is  it,  we  ask,  that  infirm  man,  suddenly 
awakened  to  a  loss  of  pelf,  almost  always  connects  with  the  mis- 
fortune, the  loss  of  life  ?  Are  pnne-strings  and  heart-striogs  so 
ineritably  interwoven  ?  We  merely  let  fall  this  subject  for  the 
elncida^on  of  ^e  metaphysician ;  and  so  pursue  our  stoiy. 

"Robbery!  Murder!"  yelled  Tangle,  dancing  in  his  shirt 
about  the  room  like  a  &antic  Indian.  Mr.  Folder,  at  the  door, 
took  up  the  cry,  and  in  a  few  minutes  landlord  and  landlady, 
chambermaid,  waiter,  and  boots,  with  half-a-dozen  tenants  of  tne 
Olive  Branch,  were  at  Tangle's  door.  "  A  minute — only  a  minute," 
cried  Tangle,  as  they  were  about  to  enter — "  Not  dressed  yet — the 
murderous  thieves — nearly  naked — the  scoundrel  malefactors 
— guineas,  gnineas — gone  —  gone  —  where  'a  my  stockings  ?" 
Very  distressing  to  &  soul  of  sympathy  was  the  condition  of 
Hr.  Tangle.  As  he  hunted  about  the  floor  for  his  scattered 
articles  of  dress,  his  face — he  could  not  help  it — was  turned 
towards  the  empty  closet,  as  though  in  his  despair  be  thought  some 
good  faiiT  might  replace  the  treasure  there,  even  while  he  looked. 
— Thus,  looking  one  way,  and  seeking  his  raiment  in  divers  others, 
he  brought  his  head  two  or  three  times  in  roughest  companionship 
with  the  bed-post.  At  length,  very  sternly  rebuked  by  one  of 
these  monitors,  he  made  a  desperate  effort  at  tranquillity.  He 
ceased  to  look  towards  the  closet.  Setting  his  teeth,  and  breath- 
ing like  a  walrus,  he  drew  on  bia  stockings.  He  then  encased 
his  lower  members  in  their  customary  covering ;  and  tben  the 
turned-out  pockets  once  more  emit  his  bruised  soul.  He  dropt 
npon  the  bed,  and  sent  forth  one  long,  deep,  piteons  groan. 
"Themnrderousvillains  !  Evenmyljacco-Btopper  !  'hecried:and 
then  his  eyelids  quivered  ;  but  he  repressed  the  weakness,  and  (lid 
not  weep.  "  Somebody  shall  swing  for  this — somebody  !  "  he 
Bud ;  and  this  sweet,  sustaining  tbonght  seemed  for  a  time 
mightily  to  comfort  him.  And  thus,  the  attorney  continued  to 
dress  himself,  his  hand  trembling  about  every  bntton-hole  ;  whilst 
the  crowd  at  his  chamber-door  exchanged  sundry  speculations  as 
to  the  mode  and  extent  of  the  robbery,  the  landlord  loudly  exclaim- 
ing that  nothing  of  the  sort  had  ever  been  known  in  his  house  :  a 
statement  emphatically  confirmed  by  his  dutiful  wife. 


14  THE  HmORT  SF 

"  And  Tsaw,"  ciied  Tui^e,  tjiag  t^  while  Iris  Bedk^tli  Vk.e  a 
faay-wisp;  "  and  sow,  ladies  And  gentlemen,  jDa  may  ODme  in." 
InstAD%  the  (diamber -was thronged.  "Look  here— -look  h«e," 
he  said,  waTing  his  hand  towards  d>e  emptycltMetatfatrerauidoas 
shov — "tads  is  k  pretty  Eiigiit,  I  tbmk,  for  a  re^tectaltle house!" 

"  What 'b  the  matter,  sir  ?  "  eud  tbe  landJ<wd.  *' Ha?e  yon 
-tost  anything  ?'" 

"  LoBt  anything  !  "  eiclaimed  Tangle  ;  "  only  a  "box  of  gaU  * 
Yes — I — I  won't  say  how  many  gmneas." 

There  was  smnething  touching,  awfid,  in  this  inteUigenee  ;  fir 
every  one  «f  the  bearerB,  in  same  way  or  tiie  other,  cidled  npon 
Heaven  to  hless  him  or  her,  as  the  case  tni^t  be ;  everybniy 
also  declaring  that,  he  or  she  had  never  iieard  of  each  a  thing. 

"But,  sir,"  said  (3ie  landlord,  very  provoking^,  "are  tou 
sore  tltere  's  no  mistake — was  it  there  when  yon  wint  to  bed  V 

To  this  tmpertiaent,  iiunlting,  unfeehng  question.  Tangle  ma^ 
no  veriwl  answer.  He  eaerdy  lotted  dsggerwise  in  tiio  faoe  of 
the  querist,  and  laughed  Bcornfully,  h^t^^aHy.  He  might  as 
well  have  langbed  in  the  dead  fitce  of  a  dead-w&H,  for  Hie  landlord 
continued: 

"  Because  you  know,  sir,  and  this  gentlemau  " — he  meant  Fee- 
der— "  and  Molly  Chambermaid,  and  boots,  simI  my  wife,  bQ  know 
diat  you  was  a  little  the  worse  or  tlie  better  for  hquor,  ae  you  may 
diink  it,  wiien  yon  came  home  froai  Lazarns  Hall.  You  must 
feel  that,  sir  ;  I  'm  sure  you  do  feel  it. " 

"  I  t«ll  yon  what,  landlord,"  eaid  Tangle.  "  I  tdl  yon  what, 
sir  ;  this  insolence  shall  not  serve  your  turn — not  at  all.  Yon  riiall 
not  rob  me  <^  my  repntalion  to  cover  tdie  robbery  of  my  moaey." 

"  /rob  yon!  /i«byouI"  cried  the  landlord,  adrascingtown^ 
Tangle,  and  followed  by  his  wife,  the  maid,  and  boots,  all  takii^ 
|nrt  in  the  mnsic "  He  rob  you !  "     "  Master  rob  you  !  " 

"Look  there!  1  take  you  all  to  witness,"  cried  Tamgle, 
running  to  the  bed,  jdncking  away  &b  pillows,  and  showing  a  key — 
"  the  key  of  the  cloHet ;  of  that  very  closet.  Now,  had  I  forgottwi 
myself  for  a  moment  as  a  gentleman  or  a  man  of  business,  is  it 
likely  that  I  should  have  been  so  particular  with  that  key  ?  " 

"  They  must  have  come  in  at  the  winder,"  said  tiie  boots,  gaping 
at  the  open  casement. 

"  Hallo  1  my  fine  fellow,"  cried  the  t<Hi  subtle  Taifle;  "yonseCTi 
to  know  something  ^out  h  ?  " 

"Acaose,"  answered  the  unshaken  hoots,  "neaon  tUe  gm- 
tieman  sud  he  fomd  the  winder  oftm." 


8T.   OBJte   AND  ST.   JAXBS.  15 

The  lawficvd  i^proached  the  eloaet,  lotted  about  it  as  though 
pOBsibI;  the  box  might  itiU  be  in  eome  corner  ;  then  Bcnlded  Ub 
head;  then  with  his  thumb  and  finger  felt  the  bolt  of  the  lodi,  and 
then  BBgaciously  obserred;  "  he  was  an  old  band  as  did-tfaia.  All 
^ce  joaAs  on  it,  sir  ;  aU  the  mariis  on  it. " 

"A  great  ooDBolation,"  answered  Tangle,  with  a  gbufljlpin. 
"  Well,  ilr.  Landlord,  se^ng  jonrself  in  this  oondttion — i^at  do 
you  propose  !  "     And  the  looke  of  &e  landlord  answered — ^Nothing. 

"  You  see,  nr,"  at  length  the  Olive  Branch  mode  answer, 
"  yon  see,  sir,  this  k  election  time.  Now  there  nnH  a  honester 
l^e  in  the  world — though  I  was  bom  in  it,  I  most  Bay  it, — than 
Liquorish.     But  at  electi<m  time,  all  sorts  of  Tillains  eome  abont 

OB,  as  yon  must  know.  I  don 't  see  what  you  cui  do Tee  ;  you 

can  send  the  bcJlman  round  with  a  rewtu^  for  the  thief— and  — 

"  Pooh,  po<^,  focJish  man  !  "  cried  Folder,  who  then  drew 
Tangle  aside.  "  Don't  you  see,  my  dear  sir,  how  nteh  a  st^ 
would  damage  ns  ?  Drni't  you  see  bow  it  would  eerre  the  other 
luirty  ?  Imagine  !  '  Lost,  a  bos  of  guineas  fram  the  Olire 
Branch  ! '  Consider ;  what  squibs  they  d  fire  at  us.  They  'd 
swear, — that  is,  they  would  insinuate, — that  we  had  brought  doini 
the  gold  to  bribe  the  electors." 

"  That  never  struck  mc,"  answered  Tangle  j  "  'tia  more  than 
likely.  Heaven  help  us  !  What 's  to  be  done  ?  Five-and-thirty 
years  have  I  been  in  practice  ;  and  never— never  before  such  a 
blow.  Stript,  sir — stript,"  he  said,  in  atone  of  maudlin  sorrow — 
"atript  even  of  my  'bacco-stopper. " 

At  this  moment.  Doctor  Gilcad's  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door, 
and  the  footman  entered  the  Olive  Branch,  bearing  a  letter  for 
Mr.  Folder.  This  anival,  coupled  with  the  silenoe  of  Tangle, 
caused  the  landlord,  landlady,  hoots,  and  chambenntud  to  quit  the 
room  ;  and  they  vrere  speedily  followed  by  others,  some  of  whom 
said,  "  What  a  pity  !  "  Some,  "  How  very  odd !  "  and  some,  "  It 
was  very  mysterious ;  but  doubtless  lime  would  show." 

"  Hy  dear  friend,"  aaid  Folder,  having  read  the  missive,  "  it 
is  a  summons  from  bis  Lordship,  who  observes  that  we  may  as 
well  blend  breakfast  with  busineas.  '  We  've  no  time  to  lose." 

Tangle  looked  blankly  at  the  floor — blankly  at  the  ceiling.  He 
then  wailingly  observed,  *'  That  snch  a  calamity  should  happen  to 
me  1  To  me,  above  all  men  in  the  worid !  How  can  I  ever  face 
his  lordship  !" 

"  My  good  frjend,  it'a  not  so  bad.  The  loss,  heavy  as  it  is," 
said  folder,  with  a  vmile,  "  caa't  he  niin."  ^ 

vCoo*^lc 


16  THE   CRICXXT   ON   THE  EEABTH. 

"  You're  a  kind  comforter,  Hi.  Folder  ;  indeed  fon  &re,"  Bud 
Tangle,  trying  hard  at  a  emile  on  his  own  account. 

"  For  you  're  a  rich  man,  Ur.  Tangle  ;  a  very  rich  man,  and 
can  make  up  the  loss  without — " 

"  /  make  up  the  loss,  Mr.  Folder  I  /make — pardon  me,  my 
dear  sir,  yon  really  speak  in  total  ignorance  of  such  matters.  No, 
the  gold  being  his  lordship's — for  his  lordship's  special  nse — if  an 
accident  has  unfortunately  happened  to  it — why,  of  course — " 

"Well,"  replied  Folder,  catching  the  drift  of  Tangle,  "that 
yon  can  settle  with  his  lordship  himself.  In  the  mean  time,  we 
had  better  prepare  for  our  Tisit.  I  shan't  be  fire  minutes — but  you 
— you  need  a  little  preparation.     Don't  you  shave  this  morning  t" 

"  Not  for  millions  would  I  attempt  it,  Mr.  Folder.  In  my  state 
of  mind,  not  for  millions,  I  couldn't  do  it,  sir — I  couldn't  so 
provoke  fate.  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do — 111  walk  on:  in  my 
present  condition,  I'd  rather  walk.  I  shall  find  a  barber  in  the 
TiUage,  and — I  shall  be  at  the  hall  as  soon  as  you — tell  his 
lordship  quite  as  soon  as  you." 

And  Tangle  with  a  wandering  eye,  and  unsteady  hand,  sought 
and  took  his  hat.  He  then  ran  from  the  chamber,  and  Mr,  Folder 
retired  lo  his  own  apartment. 


'THE    CRICKET    ON   THE   HEARTH. 


It  is  the  time  of  gentle  thonghts  and  words, 

When  voices  that  make  masic  in  the  ear, 
(As  dd  the  tove-not«s  of  sweet-throated  birds,) 

Are  speaking  the  old  welcomes,  trite,  yet  dear ; 
And  folk,  made  happy  by  their  Christmas  cheer, 

Tell  o'er  the  names  of  friends  in  by-gone  times. 
And  sing  old  songs  such  as  their  sires  did  hear, 

Until  their  carols  mingle  with  the  chimes. 

At  snch  a  time  tbon  comest,  little  book  I 

And  flnd'st  a  welcome  waiting  everywhere ; 
The  gorgeous  chamber  and  the  chimney  nook. 

The  SpiEiT  of  thy  leaves  is  asked  to  share, 
As  tho'  he  were  a  gueat  expected  there, 

And  coming  with  an  hononred  kinsman's  claim — 
Such  a  "  familiar  face"  be  seems  to  wear — 

And  sach  a  houaehold  word  doth  sound  his  ni 


v.Goo'^lc 


MEN  OP  LETTERS  AND  THEIR  ABETTORS. 


I  WAS  prevented,  Sir,  as  perhaps  you  may  have  heard  say,  from 
delivering  a  short  address  at  the  Manchester  Athenteum  meeting 
of  the  24th  ult.  Not  that  I  ever  should  have  dreamed  of  putting 
myself  forward  on  the  occasion,  had  not  some  of  my  neighbours 
requested  it :  there  being  also  members  of  my  own  family  who  ore 
good  enough  to  thini  that  what  I  had  to  say  was  worth  listening 
to.  Most  persons,  even  the  humblest,  have  some  who  encourage 
and  thmk  well  of  them.  When  wo  camo  home  that  night  from 
the  party  (with  my  speech  unspoken)  there  were  tragical  faces  in 
my  house,  I  promise  yon.  It  was  of  little  use  to  remind  the 
discontented  ones,  that  to  bear  me  would  have  been  no  novelty  to 
them — that  some  of  us,  even,  knew  parts  of  the  oration  by  heart : 
one  having  copied  it  out  thrice,  with  annotations  and  corrections. 
Wait  they  would,  and  I  must  needs  hsten.  Therefore  It  is  for  the 
Bake  of  family  peace,  not  my  own  vanity,  that  I  have  acceded  to 
their  entreaties  ;  and  as  you.  Sir,  they  insist,  were  one  of  the 
causes  which  postponed  indefinitely  the  arrival  of  the  "  opportune 
moment  "  (as  a  female  relation  of  mine  phrases  it),  it  ia  to  you, 
they  continue,  1  ought  to  communicate  the  fact ;  together  with  some 
particulars  of  the  topics  intended  to  be  embraced  on  that  very 
interesting  occasion.  In  so  doing,  I  beg  you  again  to  beheve,  that 
I  ara  considering  the  feelings  of  others — not  my  own, 

For  will  you  credit  it.  Sir  ? — the  very  subject  on  which  I  was 
desirous  of  speaking  was  the  neglect  of  Qenins — a  fertile  theme, 
though  rarely,  I  must  add,  treated  agreeably ;  though  now,  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  of  greater  and  more  general  interest  than  ever.  For 
see  how  The  People  are  writing  The  People's  library  !  Here  we 
have  a  man  from  ^e  ranks,  laid  snugly  up  for  his  old  age  in  Chelsea 
Hospital,  who  gets  some  one  to  put  down  what  he  remembers  life 
in  the  ranks  at  war-time  to  have  been — what  he  thought  of  Penin- 
sular quarters — how  he  got  on  among  the  common  people  ia 

so.  ini. — VOL.  ni.  c 


18  MBS    OF   LKTTBB8   AMD   THEIR  ABETTORS. 

foreign  parts — and  when,  and  where,  and  how  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Napoleon  for  himself ;  and,  like  every  one  else.  Mend  or  foe,  felt  a 
strange  thrill  at  sight  of  the  grey  coat  and  the  husiness-like-looking 
cocked  hat.  There,  again,  a  lot  of  Leeds,  and  Nottingham,  and 
Sherwood  people,  rallying  about  auch  true  men  as  James  Mont- 
gomery, or  Ebenezer  EUiot,  or  William  llowitt,  are  setting  them- 
selves to  describe  the  old  walla,  the  dales,  and  the  wood-openings  of 
their  own  neighbourhoods, — till  locaUties  wfcdch  I  donbt  not  would 
be  thought  in  reality  very  so-so,  by  people  who  cannot  admire 
anything  lower,  than  an  Alp,  or  nearer  home  than  Italy,  get  hold 
of  one  on  paper  with  a  strong  fBseination — the  sorcety  ef  tr«th. 
Senthward  n  shall  find  a  Dorsetshire  sebvcbtaster,  good  WilUuii 
Barme,  not  wily  putting  down  true  village  thoogfats  in  sweet  • 
Tilli^  poems — I  vnxid  say  nearly  as  good  as  Bums',  only  I  am 
rather  afraid  of  some  Scotch  retationa  of  mine,  who  hare  Bun«  than 
a  touch  of  the  thistle  ia  their  compoeition — but  also  contribntisg 
an  essay  on  an  obsolete  local  dialect  or  language,  eomplete  &..  .. 
tderer  enough,  I  am  told,  to  attract  the  attantion  of  philologists 
and  antiqiariaDS.  Abroad,  ereo,  where  the  people  are  iK>t  so  &ee 
to  speak  as  with  us,  unleia  I  am  miaiaformed, — there  i^  ^e  same 
sort  of  wofk  going  oa.  It  was  aaly  last  year  we  were  readii^  the 
ezp«riffltces  <rf  the  travdlii^  Tailor  of  WOTdohl,  ia  WeatpbiUia, 
who  Milahed  his  way  through  Europe  aad  a  good  part  of  Aua. 
Th«m  ha*  not  Hias  CartaUe  {though  she  ia  ^tna^  abont  ^ 
Welsh)  told  the  English  ladies  how,  if  they  go  to  Agen  OD  the 
Oai«nae,  Honeienr  Jasmin  the  Barber-Troubadour  or  Tnmbatlowk 
Bivbsr,  instead  of  ourling  their  hair,  will  make  theai  weep  wit^ 
reciting  his  own  PreveB^al  ballads — to  aay  nothing  of  M.  Rebeol 
the  baker  ef  NistDO^  ud  Sarini^  Lepointe,  and  soorea  of  iMtet 
lowly  working  ram  in  Franoe,  iriio  h»ve  fwitd  that  tfey  an  worth 
floagt  as  welt  aa  mils  of  &eir  own  !  Can  I,  who  aaabulahnmUe 
old  travelling  dM'k("a  bagman  "  Theodore  Hook  would  hare  oon- 
temptBOBsly  called  me),  and  Amn  to  write  like  ^ta  rest  of  dem,  see 
t&  ^is  and  be  mmowd  ?  No,  truly.  Sir.  I  am  psud  to  live  ni 
anch  a  time. 

y«7'pnmd,  bat  a  little  jealous  ^o.  "Ay,  there  it  is  I"  will 
ery  aeme  aetira  memiier  <d  the  Society  for  the  Obstntetion  of 
Knswledge.  "  l^e  eld  faon  is  hwwat  aftar  all !  Of  murse,  all 
Aat  spe«dl^r*'>S  i^**^'  ^"i  <»eafly,  waata^,  as  he  owns,  t*  ba  oo 
his  legs  hiauielf.  Thk  eomas  of  all  yaw  whokaala  eaJUaratiea  of 
the  Baseet!"    And  forthwMi  ia  retosned  «  boaAida  ef  Ae 

.Coo'jic 


MB«  osr  tBTTEan  ixD  Tacn  abbttoim.  19 

dMigers  of  escitm^  ambidon,  bad  paauram,  and  the  like ;  being 
Kierel;  a  repetttiMi  with  Tariations  of  the  Laureate's  Ument  for  his 
pririlegeB,  and  his  "  Shut  Setame"  of  the  Lake  country  againat  the 
eoiomoBalt;  !  Not  bo  festwilh  joai  interpretation,  charitaUe  Sir  ! 
What  my  wife  thought  (or  the  partial  female  friend  who  coped  mj 
mstion),  I  will  not  profess  to  assert ;  but  I,  at  least,  was  not 
jealous  ef  aaj  of  tlio  Loodoa  gentlemen,  who  entertuaed  ua  so 
pleasantlj.  I  am  jeidmu,  not  vf,  but  far,  those  of  jkj  own  order. 
I  want  them  to  enjoj  the  full  benefit  of  the  period  they  are  living 
in.  If  the  swords  of  feudi^  times  are  to  ttil  to  them  for  [dough- 
idiares — if,  of  the  epearfi  of  a  decre|»d  aristocracy  of  intellect,  it  is 
Aeir  privilege  to  make  prmung'Jiooksr  I  want  tbam  to  }aen  the 
fidl  aae,  and  enjoyment,  aad  pr(^  of  the  weapon  tnnied  into  aa 
infriemeBt. 

Aod,  to  lioB  end,  I  woald  bar*  a  somewhat  different  language 
k^  te  ^em  than  hae  hkherte  been  em|^ed : — in  some  eaaea  out 
0f  incapacity,  in  othei«  out  of  iwBtake  ;  in  moat,  with  the  speakers' 
idea  of  enhanciag  their  own  conacqvenee.  The  fnsnds  aad  well- 
wisbera  of  awn  cf  gMtios  haTe  been  ht  too  htvish  of  pity  ;  for  too 
narrow  in  their  ambitioDs,  and  gross  in  their  eficonragwoenta. 
Let  us  take  an  instanee.  The  worid  does  not  reUsk  Ur.  Am&. 
nmtli's  yerses,  or  fathom  the  depths  of  Ur.  Dive's  philraopby  in  a 
twmhiing ;  and  yon  akall  see  ^  peet  and  the  thinker,  encom!- 
passed  by  a  chtnr  of  sympathetic  or  tragic^  persons,  railing  at  Her 
■ajeaty  because  she  does  sot  tliere  and  then,  make  Mr.  Amaranth 

her  prime  minister ;  or  at  his  Graee  irf ,  because  h«ia  alack  in 

DBBsiDtiiBg  wise  PrMfeesot-  Diva,  while  he  wotks  out  the  Good  and 
Bfil  ^aestioa.  Now,  I  doubt  net  but  the  peet,  if  promoted,  would 
at  least  ^y  kis  part  as  w^  aa  naie-tenths  (d  lito  official  mackinee 
who  tun)  and  creak  their  hour,  as  hmg  as  th^  were  wovnd  up  for, 
■ed  then  stt^  ta  be  re^Jaced  by  cleverer  iBventions.  And  I  will 
hope  (this  ie  muefa)  that  the  adminble  philoBepher  might,  if  gliKi- 
fied  With  f^rpte  and  fine  Hwaa,  coatinue  te  rack  his  bcwne  for  die 
beae^  of  mankind,  as  diligmUy  as  he  doSE  now  in.hia  hen»e4pan 
attire.  Bat  do  the  sarrowfiil  and  initsble  people,  who  snirMuid 
these  gifted  anes  widi  an  atmo^iave  ef  oen^lunt  uid  seem,  ever 
take  mtoaenwnthowibeirfrieQdsi'eaU^ataad?  Wl^  they  exist  ? 
Wlkat  Aey  peseeM  i  Are  tho  AaaraBths  aod  Dives  already  so 
TBry  tar  b&aeiA  king*  and  prisean^  as  to  make  the  dewal  of  moia 
^ac—  ttBJ  ttLMuims  sa  veiy  emel  aa  i^ustice  }  Hae  the  poatna 
vmrprnx  wide  bsjend  ttn  swoop  irf  Bnam's  anibUioiLt — tW  0uh>- 

"2  ,       c;«.,;ic 


20  ues  or  lsttbrb  and  tbbib  abgttorij. 

Bopber  no  mineB  of  thought,  Huch  as  the  "  North  Countrie  "  cannot 
match  for  profundity  ?  And  ia  it  enough  the  luugo  to  dwell  on 
these  heritagee,  as,  in  themselves,  honours  and  poBsessions ;  in  the 
warding  of  wliich  there  is  gloir  ;  in  the  stewardship  of  which,  a 
noble  duty  ?  Far  too  little.  On  the  contrary,  because  the  poet 
commanda  fair  domains,  and  the  thinker  works  veins  of  the  purest 
ore,  he  is  therefore  also  to  have  the  honours  of  the  world  I  He  is 
encouraged  to  accuse  Fortune,  because  he  does  not  share  in  the 
splendours  of  an  emptier  greatness,  in  the  money  bags  of  the 
trader,  whose  ideas  reach  the  mysteries  of  the  role  of  tnree,  and 
little  beyond.  Is  this  not  worldly  ?  Is  it  not  the  counsel  of 
weakness  ? — the  expectation  of  irrational  assumption  ?  Qod 
wot,  I  am  none  of  those  hard  and  cruel  preachers,  who  talk  glibly 
of  "ranks"  and  "  diversity  of  fortunes  and  of  pleasures  "  and  so 
forth : — and,  thewselTes  rubicund  in  the  fatness  of  the  earth  and  the 
Ailness  of  good  cheer,  proclaim  to  the  poor  that  a  mouldy  crust  is 
the  epicure's  best  eating  ;  and  that  rags,  somehow  or  other,  keep 
out  the  cold  better  (especially  if  the  wearer  be  lean)  thaji  furred 
mantles  and  treble-piled  velrets.  But  to  insult  the  miserable,  and 
to  encourage  the  high-hearted,  are  widely  different  offices.  To 
those  who  make  verses,  or  who  ponder  grave  questions,  as  a  mere 
means  of  enriching  themselves,  my  observations  don't  aj^ly  :  nor 
my  consolations.  They  are  traders;  and  so  that  they  have  to 
sell  what  the  world  wants  to  buy,  and  so  that  they  neither  waste 
their  substance,  nor  cheat  their  competitors,  they  are  to  be  pitied, 
if  opportunity  is  denied  them,  and  had  debts  faJl  in.  But  which 
among  "thefollowing"of  either  Poet  Amaranth  or  Philosopher  Dive 
will  admit  that  hia  idol  stands  in  his  category  ?  Why  then,  by  the 
style  of  their  Jeremiodea,  abase  two  sincere  and  admirable  men,  to 
the  level  of  the  tricking,  the  common-place,  and  the  rapacious  ? 

Once  again,  I  am  not  addressing  the  world  at  large,  but  the 
world  of  genius.  Is  not  the  mechanic  who  sees  beautiful  forms 
and  colours  in  every  tuft  of  moss  and  patch  of  heather,  as  he 
crosses  the  comer  of  the  moor  behind  the  foundry — who  can  call 
up  the  fairies  in  the  blue  mist  of  the  hollow,  or  ima^ne  Cleopatra's 
pomps  in  the  red  light  careering  from  the  furnace'  chimney  upward 
into  the  dark  night — a  richer  and  a  happier  man  than  the  clod 
who  trudges  homeward  thinking  of  nothing  save  his  coarse  appe- 
tites ?  Cherish,  then,  you  who  have  te  do  with  the  gifted,  thankful- 
ness for  this  privilege,  as  not  the  least  valuable  aHsistance  you  can 
give  him  ;  who  have  possibly  neither  money,  nor  places,  nor  renown 


MBK   OP  tETTEBS  ASD  THEIR   ABBTTOBS.  21 

at  c<»ainand.  Bo  not  lie  to  bim  by  profeuing  diat  be  vould  be 
as  great  aa  Sbakspeare  if  be  bad  the  opportimitj,  nor  encourage 
bim  to  BtriTe  to  rise  bj  pointing  out  tbe  folly  and  madueBs  of  tboae 
in  bigb  places.  Tell  him  of  bis  own  greatocM : — of  die  bigh 
thoygbta  God  has  gi^en  him,  if  not  to  create,  to  appreciate  withal ; 
and  should  these  fail  to  produce  him  eartbly  reward,  remind  bim 
diat  he  hat  enjoyed  pleasures  neither  to  be  bought  nor  stolen  away. 
Bid  bim  prove  lumsdf  worthy  of  these  and  better  by  patience  and 
self-deni^,  and  avoidance  of  all  that  shall  tarnish  their  beauty. 
He  baa  a  brotherhood  with  the  chosen  spirits  of  the  earth ;  let 
bim  look  to  it.  You  will  help  him,  if  you  can,  to  comfort  and  to 
fame,  and  to  bind  com paniaii ship ;  you  will  rejoice  to  see  bim 
wear  them  well ;  but,  if  tbese  are  long  in  coming,  or  come  not  at 
all,  you  will  also  help  him  to  retire  into  tbe  sanctuary  of  bis 
own  lovely  imaginings  or  lofty  contemplations,  tiiere  to  find  tbe 
unequal  lot  made  equal — the  incompleteness  of  time  and  change 
completed ! 

This  is  what  I  want  said  to  tbe  People  as  an  humble  brother, 
and  not  as  a  callous  orerseer.  For,  if  it  applies  to  some  among 
tbe  nncomprehended  great  whose  pilgrimage  through  life  must  be 
seriously  embittered  by  tbe  ceaseless  wailing  of  tbe  one  or  two 
who  bear  them  company,  how  much  the  more  ia  it  a  necessary 
wiadcm  for  that  far  larger  company  of  aapirants  who  bave  geniua 
enough  to  eioite  them,  hut  not  to  raise  them,  still  less  to  sustain 
tboKi,  and  whoso  part  on  earth  is  to  partake  by  enjoying  ?  I  havs 
seen  much  of  this  class,  sir,  from  one  or  two  eireumatances.  In 
eome  aort,  I  belong  to  it  myself,  aince,  whatever  my  Mra.  Bell 
may  say  when  she  is  in  a  fond  humour,  I  assure  you  that  I  am 
neither  a  Scott  nor  a  Byron.  Well,  I  am  convinced  by  some 
experience,  that  tbe  notorious  amount  of  suffering  which  falls  to 
ita  lot  is  in  no  small  degree  ascrihable  to  a  short-coming  view  of 
tbe  functions  of  Genius  on  the  part  of  the  looker-on ;  which,  con- 
jointly with  what  is  celled  affectionate  sympathy,  may  and  does 
drive  the  poor  dreamer,  many  a  time  and  oft,  to  vent  himself  in 
tbo   manner  recommended   by  Job's  wife.     B.  vrritcs  pleasant 

poems  on  the  aspects  of  Nature B.  has  kind  friends^    He  reads 

them  his  veraes.  They  are  honestly  enchanted — "  As  good  aa 
Wordsworth's  !  "  is  the  oborua.  B.  is  modest ; — "  cannot  form  a 
judgment  on  bis  own  poor  productions  ;"  but  bis  friends  would 
not  deceive  bim,  surely  !  For  a  week  or  more,  then,  he  walks  about 
bis  counting-house,  or  homeward  down  the  same  daily  insipid 

Upl:«II.V  Google 


22  MES   OF  I^BTTEBS  AMD  TSEfK  ABETIQU. 

Une,  vith  a  glory  roosd  hb  head.  Tke  world,  howerrw,  alwBjn 
■low  in  tajing  "  Ameii,"doeBfiot  contiBOB  thepiwoe  ;  acoordiugly, 
B.'s  iriends  mnBt  laegin  again ;  and,  to  proTS  UKunaelvo*  siBGere, 
mnet  rail  at  tbe  world  as  stupid,  or  malicJaoBly  negleetfol.  B.,  who 
liBB  been  pondering  "  the  Kydalian  laurels, "  in  more  shapes  thui 
one,  is  with  little  difficulty  tcratehed  «^  by  hia  warm-heaited 
bepraiaerB  into  the  half-delicious  half-tMmenting  glow  of  feeling 
himself  an  ill-used  man.  Good  bye,  then,  to  the  court  of  Obenm 
»nd  Titania  seen  in  the  dingle; — to  "  Egypt  "  floating  down  tlie 
CydDus,  as  she  once  showed  herself  in  the  amber  and  orimaan 
glow  of  the  flame-light !  His  path  is  filled  with  mocking  shapes 
instead ;  brandishing  chains  and  bolts  and  barrieis,  making  fast 
erety  door,  blocking  up  every  avenue  ;  and  in  iJie  fiwe-gnmnd  he 
sees  a  weary  fignre  mnking  forlorn  to  tlie  earth,  under  the  con- 
tempt of  Uan, — ^where  so  Utdy  walked  the  lliankful  and  enohanted 
lover  of  Nature  and  of  Fantasy. 

I  am  not  supposing,  Sir — I  am  telling  what  I  have  seui.  It 
is  now  many  years  since  (so  long  ago  that  to  mention  the  matter 
will  harm  or  pain  no  one)  some  of  my  family  were  shown  the  versea  of 
the  wife  of  a  fellow-elerk  :  husband  and  wife,  as  neat  and  hapi^ 
a  little  pur  as  often  start  in  the  woi^d,  without  mndk  of  "  tl^ 
deeeitfulness  of  riches  "  to  perplex  them.  She,  it  is  true,  was 
raliher  pale  and  thoughtful,  with  very  large  bright  eyes  ;  but  the 
■erionsness  was  w^  understood  when  once  we  were  told  that  Hrs. 
Eden  had  a  turn  for  verse-making— " mewing  "  as  an  oldnureeof 
mine  uaed  to  call  it ;  —and  the  ladies  {waised  her  all  the  more 
because  she  was  no  slattern  with  ink  on  h^"  fingers  Mid  ahoea 
down  at  heel :  but  a  thrifty,  if  not  a  willing  hous&-wife.  Kden, 
the  more  fotdish  of  the  two,  was  very  vain  of  his  mate, — who  can 
wonder  ? — and  wonld  sit  long  winter  evenings  copying  her  veraes  in 
ooj^rplate-hand,  in  a  rul^  book  not  unlike  a  ledger.  Uoi«- 
wer,  he  was  perpetually  reciting  them  to  every  listener  he  ootild 
find  ;  and  this  "  poem,"  so  ran  his  commentary  by  way  of  depn- 
cating  censure,  "  wonld  have  been  better  finished  if  the  bahy  had 
not  been  iU,"  and  "  the  other  Italian  legaid  must  not  be  harsUy 
blamed  if  tbe  scenery  was  not  qoite  right,  since  Urs.  Ed«i  bad 
not  been  in  Italy,  yet."  EesolutiiHi  will  always  get  its  ewoer  a 
hearing,  sooner  or  later,  nay,  nine  times  ont  of  ten,  a  cfrngreM- 
tion,  if  two  or  tliree  will  eontoit  him.  Meek  little  Mrs.  £&n 
became  talked  rf  np  and  d<nm  her  str«et.  Albtuns  were  sent  bar, 
aO  redolent  of  mnak  and  otto  of  mea.    Presently,  aomedung  «f 

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HSM  or  LETTKBS    AKD   TBNR   ABBTTOM.  28 

y«t  sweeter Bavffor  "  smoled  apon  her  board" — iDaeiue  to  hereelf. 
tad ,  beat  tMtured  of  poets  and  ciiticB,  had  each  acknow- 
ledged MBte  Bpecimen  of  her  powers, — which,  bolder  grown,  she 
had  Heat  forth, — with  pbrasesof  delicioos  enoQuisgement :  to  them, 
merely  irords  of  oom'se  ;  to  her,  alas  !  gospel  truth.  She  was 
heard  to  say  that  "her  fame  ahonld  make  no  difiEarence  in  her  feel- 
ings towards  her  old  friends."  In  ehott,  the  clerk's  wife  waa  lost, 
and  the  Poetess,  as  she  would  have  utid  herself,  "  stood  confessed.'' 

Did  I  wiA,  even  for  a  wholesome  purpose,  to  pain  you  'need- 
lesdj,  I  woidd  write,  day  b  J  day,  the  history  of"  Sioannah  Eden's 
FoemB,"  ami  their  publication  ;  bow  titey  ware  bom  in  "  a  fever 
of  vun-longing  ;  "  how  they  only  saw  the  light  through  a  series  of 
struggles  and  economies,  amounting  to  privations,  not  merely  for 
herself  and  husband  (they  were  proud,  and  preferred  to  spare  and 
pinch  and  wait),  but  also  for  their  poor  infant.  Publishers  look  on 
such  effusions,  Sir,  with  different  eyes  from  those  tA  friends 
"havii^  albums,"  or  indulgent  celebrities.  Sixty  poimds  was  to 
be  made  up  for  the  publication  ;  but  what  matter,  when  every  one 
who  had  looked  at  "  Hary  Queen  <jf  Scots,  a  Drama,"  declared, 
load  and  long,  that  it  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  eff<vts  of 
female  genius,  sure  to  produce  an  £1  Dorado  of  six  hundred 
golden  guneas  at  the  least  I  Eden,  who  was  a  clerk,  ought  le 
have  tested  this  praise  by  the  amount  of  money  any  one  was  will- 
hig  to  risk  thereupon  ;  bat  he  had  lost  his  calculating  head,  and 
was  become  a  dreamer  for  a  dreamer.  "  More  vigorous  than  Miss 
Baillie  ;  "  "  More  munoal  than  Mrs.  Hemans  ;  "  "  Fu&r  of  fancy 
thftn  L.  E.  L." — with  such  fine  phrases  did  be  keep  off  hunger 
and  cold,  and  stave  off,  for  a  momwt,  the  importunity  of  debt. 
And  alas  !  he  was  cheered  on  in  his  folly,  not  merely  by  honest, 
fotdish  friends,  who  thought  sni^  encouragement  precisely 
what  w&B  best  fitted  to  saj^)ort  the  Genitu  ;  but  by  base  persoiu 
who  found  an  interest  in  trading  on  his  delusion.  The  Editor  of 
the  Uattouvnll  Oaxette  has  too  many  kindred  np  and  down  the 
eonntry  ;  and  so  l<mg  as  the  Edens  had  a  roof  over  their  heads, 
rtiey  might  connt  upon  what  their  friend  of  "  The  Catefpillw- " 
ealled  "  the  poweriul  influence  (f  the  press  ;  " — meaning  his  pro- 
mises of  prtuse  in  that  verarious  and  widely-spread  joumaL 

I  met  the  httle  woman  two  eveninga  before  her  book  came  out, 
walking  with  her  husband.  One  could  see  in  her  face,  sallow  as 
death,  traces  of  ^e  severe  emotions  she  had  passed  throng  (for  her 
pwig*  ever  emaposkien  were  to  her,  be  use,  as  MT«re  as  thott  of 

Llg.:«lbyG<")0'^lc 


24  HEH  OF   LETTBBS  AKD  THBIB  ABETTOKS. 

a when  in  the  agonies  of  poem-birth] ;  but  one  could  read, 

too,  in  her  large,  wild  pair  of  eyes,  now  very  brilliant,  that 
fanatic  eelf-occnpation  and  enthuBiaam,  which,  while  it  lasts,  leaves 
no  room  for  fear  to  grow,  nor  feelings  which  pun  can  hurt.  She 
did  not  heed  her  shabby  shawl,  nor  her  bonnet  put  on  awry,  that 
hot  Bummer  evening,  aa  her  husband  handed  her  along,  with  a 
sort  of  secondhand  simpering  copy  of  her  raptures  ;  and  the  look 
of  one  who  should  soj,  "  Behold  my  Corinna !  " 

I  dfd  not  Bee  the  Edens  again  for  some  time,  a  hnsiness  journey 

calling  me  Irom  home.  During  the  interval,  the  poor  poetess  of- 

Sti-eet,  had  proved  one  or  two  changes  more  important  than  agree- 
able :  she  had  exchanged  the  pleaaurea  of  admiration  for  the  com- 
forts of  condolence.  Who  need  be  told  the  fate  of  her  venture, 
so  extravagant  to  herself,  so  less  than  insignificant  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world  ?  But  the  injustice  of  the  public  to  "  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scote,"  declared  the  condolers,  was  neither  new,  nor,  unhappily, 
unaccountable.  There  had  been  intrigues,  underhand  influence 
employed — there  must  have  been — to  stand  between  a  work  of  such 
merit  and  its  due.  In  particular  He  of  "  The  Caterpillar  "  knew 
how  one  poetess  of  renown  could  pTOvent  half  a  dozen  reviews  from 
lending  a  helping  hand  to  any  new  comer  ; — how  another  tragedy- 
writer  held  aU  the  daily  and  weekly  press  in  fee.  The  ear  of  the 
poor  woman  was  filled  with  lies  like  these  ;  and  her  heart  with 
bitter,  bitter  thoughts.  There  was  no  one  about  her  to  whisper 
how  that  Ehe  stood  in  a  false  position;  and  besides,  she  was  long  past 
believing  such  a  truth.  It  was  easier  to  fancy  every  human  being 
that  wrote  verses,  false,  envious,  mahgnaut,  and  leagued  against 
her,  than  to  come  down  from  her  delusions,  and  own  herself  mis- 
taken. So,  there  were  to  be  new  gripings — new  fevers — new 
saerifices — (this  time  the  meagrely  furnished  but  neat  house 
([uitted  for  a  sluttish  lodging,  under  pretext  of  change  of  air  being 
necessary  for  Mrs.  Eden  when  she  was  writing) — and,  in  process 
of  time,  there  was  forced  out — another  volume. 

Am  I  growing  proltz  over  my  tragedy  ?  The  rest  may  be  told 
in  a  very  few  lines.  On  my  return  home  from  another  protracted 
absence,  I  inquired,  among  other  friends,  for  the  Edens.  Stephen 
had  disappeared — none  knew  whither— in  terror,  it  was  concluded, 
of  a  printer's  bill.  Where  Susannah  was  gone,  was  better  known 
— to  the  Lunatic  Asylum  !  "  And  so  ended,"  commented  some 
-of  the  very  friends  who  had  been  foremost  in  fooling  the  poor 
-Buecejitihle  creature,  "  her  attempts  at  poetry :  as  if  she  could 

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UEK  OF  LETTZBa   AITD   THEIB  ABETTO&a.  20 

hftve  made  anything  of  it ! "  And  Hie  literaiy  man  of  "  The  Cater- 
pillar "  annouDceil  the  dismal  &ct,  in  a  lugubrious  paragraph, 
giving,  with  an  admirable  show  of  delicate  humanity,  the  last 
ianciea  of  her  Bhattered  brain, — the  last  Tersea  she  had  penned — 
"  On  the  death  of  her  infant." 

Believe  me  to  be  serious,  kind  sir,  when  I  repeat  that  I  could 
tell  you  half  a  dosen  tme  stories  aa  dark  as  this.  And  with  such 
experiences,  do  you  wonder  that  I  am  jealous  for  all  of  tu  minor 
prophets  who  write,  without  any  eitraordinary  originality  or  depth 
of  talent  ? — Knowing  ouraelTeB,  we  can  neither  be  mode  ridiculous 
nor  become  unhappy ;  but  let  not  our  friends  destroy  or  darken 
this  self-knowledge  by  misplaced  flatteries.  If  God  has  given  ua 
fancies  and  feelings  rf  finer  tissue,  and  rarer  sparkle  than  belong 
to  others ;  let  us  take  them  for  what  they  are — blessings  and 
enjoyments  ;  comforta  for  our  own  hearts  when  lonely ;  food  for 
our  own  thoughts  when  sad  ;  even  though  they  will  not  win  for  us 
"  the  purple  robe,  the  golden  chain."  These  last  are  good  ;  and 
the  admiration  of  our  fellow-men  a  good  thing  also  ;  but,  better 
than  either,  is  the  resolved  and  healthful  spirit  of  him  who  con  be 
glad  in  the  riches  of  his  own  spirit,  be  they  less  or  more,  if  tem- 
poral rewards  are  denied  to  him  ! 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  you!  Panl  Bell!"  cries  the  keen 

voice  of  one  who  is  looking  over  my  shoulder  ;  "  one  would  fancy 
you  wanted  to  show  the  world  how  to  make  little  of  you  !  As  if 
there  was  not  enough  of  that  going  on  already  ! — and  as  if  jou  were 
no  bettor  than  poor,  silty,  Susannah  Eden  !" 

"  Nay,  who  has  a  right  to  speak,  if  I  have  not?"  was  my 

"  Well,  take  your  own  way,"  was  the  answer.  "  Tor  my  part, 
I  say  that  those  who  go  half-way  to  show  others  how  to  neglect 
them,  deserve  to  be  neglected,  Paul  Bell ;  and  I  hope  yon  will  be, 
that 'sail." 

"  As  you  please,  dear  j  so  jou  will  only  leOK  me  in  peace  !  " 
But  I  will  not,  after  this,  trouble  you  with  the  remainder  of  my 
speech.  It  is  of  the  less  consequence,  ebce  nothing  will  pacify 
my  wife  and  my  wife's  sister  but  having  it  printed  separate. 

Ardwkk,  Nov.  184G. 


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THE  IRON  HBABT. 


Tbb  isj  ii  gatkering  op  th«  miat 
M  though  it  were  a  turtle  gr^, 
Some  maid  (that  kept  a  monung  IiTst) 
Would  not  haTe  dew-stain'd  bj  the  way. 

Tbe  cheerful  biidi  are  all  a-win^ 
The  wak'ning  flow««  scarce  smml  of  «artk, 
WbUst  Dove  in  song  is  mnrnuiriiu — 
Too  aoft  for  grie^  too  low  for  mim. 

Come  I  let  qb  wander  throDj^  the  dale 
Where  billowy  Dove  deUghts  to  flow, 
And  1 11  reeal  a  gaaiaia'a  tale 
Waa  told  me  long,  long  years  ago. 

Once  on  a  time — (0  happy  words  J 
What  pleasant  memories  are  thine  !) 
A  serf  that  kept  Lord  Robot's  herds 
At  morning  mias'd  a  brindled  kine. 

In  Tain  his  rustic  horn  he  blew. 
No  welcome  lowing  met  hii  ear. 
Alack !  poor  villain,  well  he  knew 
Lord  Robert's  loss  would  cost  him  deal. 

And  o'er  the  wold  and  tiiroi^  the  dale 
Tbe  livelong  day  he  vainly  songbt, 
Until  bis  heart  with  fear  did  quail, 
And  he  became  like  one  distraught. 

Then  saw  he,  or  'twas  grarnmarye. 
Lord  Robert  riding  all  alone, 
The  knight  stoppcKl  'neath  a  blaated  troe, 
And  sat  down  on  a  mgged  stone. 

He  took  a  little  cross  of  gold 
And  broke  the  holy  sign  in  tw^, 
Then  blew  a  blast  both  clear  and  bold, 
And  lo .'  a  voice  replied  again. 


Upl:«l  by  Google 


ita  moH  m&RT. 

ere  oanVtx  niriit'tftsni  to  Vtdtu." 
The  knight  rmjied,  "  An  :iiom  huki  !" 
A  voice  like  tfcmder  uid,  "  'CW  !*(«  P' 

And  at  the  soond  Lord  Robert's  Bte«d 

Did  bristle  ap  Mb  flowing  mane  : 

He  waa  A  horse  of  noble  breed, 

And  yet  he  dripp'd  with  Bweat  Uke  nin. 

The  knight  sprvmg  to  the  B»ddle-bow,  . 
And  though  uncased  in  mail  or  plate, 
HiB  callaat  war-horse  reel'd  I  ti^w, 
Ab  though  o'ermaster'd  b;  the  wei^t. 

Day  carae  and  when  Lord  Robert  heard. 
The  brindled  kine  had  gone  astraj. 
He  Bwors  that  by  his  knightlj  word 
The  idle  Berf  should  die  uiat  daj ; 
And  as  he  Bwore  so  did  he  do — 
The  man  did  for  the  heaxt  atone ! 
The  IRON  nEABT  God's  ima^  slew. 
As  though  it  were  hut  flesh  and  bone> 

Young  Marian  Maj  was  veij  fair, 
And  gentle  as  the  turtle-dove. 
Her  eyes,  as  blue  as  violets  are, 
Seem'd  almost  tearful  with  their  love. 

Her  old  blind  dre  wonld  never  stir 
Unless  hia  Marian  held  his  hand : 
"  Though  I  am  dark,"  he  said,  "  with  ktr," 
"  The  power  of  light  I  iiiHlarBtand, 

"  I  seem  to  feel  the  rosea  blnsh 

"  When  Marian's  cheek  on  mine  is  lain, 

"  The  lily's  silver  glory — hadi ! 

"  Thou  It  hear  it  when  she  ^eaka  again." 

Lord  Robert  saw  the  gentle  maid, 
And  lustful  doom'd  bar  for  bii  pi«y. 
His  will  was  whi^er'd  and  ob^'d. 
For  who  SQch  master  dare  gainsay ! 

A  shriek  rang  throni^  Lord  Robert's  hall ; 
0  no  1  'twas  not  tke  scraedi-aiwl^  07 ; 
Thongh  harrii,  it  conld  not  so  sppil 
As  did  that  burst  of  agony. 


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And  Maiion  May  wu  nrslf  seen  ; 
None  spoke  of  her  above  their  breath : 
Lord  Bobert's  iron  bbabt,  I  veen, 
Had  cliiU'd  the  gentle  one  to  dsath. 

She  died — her  father  conid  not  slay, 
And  BO  ther  laid  them  side  by  aide. 
Aod  thongn  men  spoke  of  Marian  May, 
None  dared  to  tell  why  .Marian  died. 

Lord  Robert  and  a  clninp  of  roearH 
Went  forth  to  battle  for  the  Rood ; 
And  in  that  Holy  strife,  for  yearn 
None  rode  ho  deep  in  Pajnim  blood ; 
Where'er  the  iron  heart  had  led 
His  ruthle&s  vassaU  on,  alack ! 
Were  crimeou  heaps  of  ghastly  dead  ! 
— Hb  never  bronglit  a  captive  back. 
And  deep  and  loud  his  revela  were, 
But  wine  could  never  heat  his  brain, 
And  much  men  mai'vell'd  lady  fair 
Did  ever  Emile  on  him  in  viun. 

Nought  could  delight  him — nought  distress 
In  hnman  feelings  he  'd  no  part ; 
He  cared  not  who  might  ban  or  bless — 
God  keep  ns  from  the  iron  seabt'! 

Lord  Robert  was  an  aged  man  ; 
His  sinews  weaken'd  day  by  day, 
His  bleared  eyes  with  ibenm  ran, 
His  raven  hair  was  thin  and  grey ; 
And  ever  and  anon  he'd  start 
And  gnash  his  teetli  and  cry  alond, 
"  Hell's  cnrse  npon  this  moH  hbart 
"  By  which  my  weaiy  limbs  are  bow'd." 

Then  would  he  pace  his  chamber  round 
And  mntter  fearful  words  of  sin. 
And  beat  his  aide  and  lo !  a  sonnd 
Like  death-bells  answer'd  from  within. 

Still  would  he  beat  and  sweat  with  dread, 
Until  ontwom  he  swoon'd  away ; 
And  those  who  heard  those  sounds  have  said 
They  seem'd  the  knell  of  Marian  May. 


vCoo*^lc 


THE   WISTEB    ROBIN. 

His  awe-afrock  knaTes  would  raise  him  np, 
And  seek  with  wine  him  to  restore, 
But  he  would  dash  away  the  cup 
And  swear  the  blood-red  wino  was  gote. 

At  night  his  was  a  fitfnl  sleep, 
Although  so  weary  and  so  old  ; 
With  evVf  breath  his  flesh  did  creep. 
His  [HON  HEART  made  him  a-cold. 

At  length  he  di«d — nnshriven  died, 
Thongh  three  great  abbots  proffer'd  aid. 
Hie  corse  they  holv  rites  denied, 
And  in  uDhaUowea  ground  'twas  laid : 

The  delvers  sung  that  dug  the  hole ; 
And  as  they  bore  him  from  the  cart 
None  pray'd  for  mercy  on  his  soul, 
Bat  cura'd  alond  the  laoN  hbakt. 


THE  WINTER  ROBIN. 


I  UEAN  to  say  that  the  man  or  woman  who  can  deny  that  the 
robin  which  conducted  Jane  Foster  over  the  moor,  and  saved  her 
from  perishing  in  the  snow  last  winter,  was  commissioned  by 
Heaven,  is  not  a  whit  better  than  a  Pagan.  .  I  bold  fast  to  that ; 
if  I  didn't,  I  should  be  a  Pagan  myself.  I  don't — and  I  would 
wish  this  to  be  distinctly  ultderstood — I  don't  believe  all  that  is 
told  about  it.  For  instance,  when  the  neighbours  assert  that  tlie 
robin  changed  its  shape  after  leading  her  to  the  cottage  door,  and 
that  she  saw  an  angel  spread  his  wings  and  rise  from  the  ground, 
and  that  she  watched  ham  in  dumb  awe  till  he  disappeared  in  the 
thick,  vapoury  atmosphere,  or  was  hidden  by  the  blinding  snow 
that  came  feathering  dovm — I  don't  believe  that.  Neither  do  I 
much  credit  the  tale  which,  her  old  grandmother  repeats  with  an 
lur,  it  is  true,  of  great  veracity,  how  that  sitting  by  her  fireside  at 
the  time  when  Jane  must  have  been  crossing  the  moor,  and 
fretting  herself  lest  the  child  should  lose  her  way  in  the  snow- 
storm, she  heard  songs  floating  in  the  air  which  no  earthly  voice 
could  have  sung — sweet  holy  songs  about  the  love  which  the 
Divine  Friend  bore  towards  little  children  while  he  was  on  earth, 

Coofjic 


30  TBI  WDiIBB  BOBOr. 

and  how  he  lores  and  t^eridtes  them  bow,  looking  down  npoo 
them  from  hie  far,  htg^  h<Hne. 

It  waa  a  very  cold  morning,  and  they  had  eat«n  Kttle  on  the 
previous  day  ;  and  for  many  days  part  the  cloth  had  teon  apread 
upon  the  cottage  table  for  potatoes  alone.  Faal  they  poseeBsed,  &e 
windfalls  of  the  woode,  gleaned  before  the  severe  weather  set  in  ; 
but  only  one  crust  of  bread  on  ^lat  cold  morning,  and  no  money  to 
purchaseany,while, alack, alack!  thebakorrefuBed^irthercredi^— 
having  three  ahillings  and  fburpence  already  scored  against  them. 
So  Jane  pretending  that  the  cmat  was  larger  than  h  really  was, 
and  that  shehadsatisfiedher  appetite,  Boakedit  in  some  warm  milk 
for  her  grandmother,  and  carried  it  to  the  cJd  woman's  bed^de. 

"  Grandmam,"  said  the  child,  "I  want  to  go  to  Bookfield 
tOHlay." 

"To  Bookfieldl"  exdaimed  the  old  womui.  "Is  the  giri 
mad.-^to  think  of  going  to  Rook£eM  thia  weather  V 

"  But  grandmam,  what  are  we  to  do  1  We  have  no  bread,  and 
no  potatoes." 

"  la  it  lo  get  bread  and  potatoes  you  would  trudge  sUteen  miles 
afoot  on  a  lone  common  with  snow-diifte  higher  than  the  hedges  ? 
No,  no,  Jane,  stay  at  home,  and — " 

"  And  starve,  grandmam  V 

"  Why  should  we  starve — isn't  there  ■  Goi  above  us  all!" 

"  Tea,  gnmdmun. 

"And  does  he  not  feed  Uie  yomg  ravens  that  callnpoa  Him.?" 

"Yea,  grandmam." 

"  And  do  not  we  say  onr  pray^  mom  aad  n^ht  ? — Why  then, 
riioald  yon  go  to  Roekfidd  ?  ' 

"  Becarae,  des"  grandmam,  God  only  hel^  those  who  h/iif 
thoBs^veB.  If  we  wait  both  at  home,  bread  w<»'t  &U  tBto  our 
Imps.     I  must  go  out  and  seek  it." 

"  And  how  will  yon  seek  bread  V 

"  I  win  beg,  grandmam." 

'•  Beg  ?" 

"  Tes ;  I  w31 1^  the  gentlc^Uks,  m  they  jpaas  I7,  tiiat  I  hsm 
a  grandmoAer  at  hmne  who  is  very  old  and  wJ^,  and  that  we 
have  no  ibod  to  eat.  Ok,  they  are  very  gennoua — are  the  rkth 
peo^e,  tot  they  are  ChrntiaBs,  yen  know,  gnndmam ;  and  does 
not  Sciiptnre  say,  '  He  tlurt  giveih  to  tha  poor,  Wdeth  t«  tKe 
lord?"' 

"  My  poOT,  po«r  child !  nsy  po«r  Jaae ! " 

v.Goo'^lc 


TIte  girl  wu  very  eimfJe — so  Bimple  utdeed  as  to  inagtae  that 
Ae  had  but  to  att^,  ia  tincete  aad  Appealing  toiMS,  a  trae  and 
moTiBg  tale  to  gain  compasHOn,  and,  what  waa  of  more  cooas- 
qnenee  to  her,  relief.  The  M  noman,  thoiif^  simple  enongfa  in 
her  way,  was  wiser  on  that  pcunt  tbwi  her  graodiuighter.  She 
had  seen  a  little  of  the  world,  and  knew  that  the  Chriatiaiut;  of 
the  114^  is  too  oftei),  like  the  working-man's  best  ganaeot,  worn 
ooij  on  Sundays. 

"  iij  poor  Jane,  do  jou  suppose  that  the  gentlefolks  will  listen 

"  Tet,  grandmam  ;  why  oat  ?  I  shall  tell  them  that  you  are 
old  and  hungry." 

"  Does  it  snow  now^  Jenny  bird  f " 

"  No,  grandmam  :  it  ia  qsite  fine,  aad  I  shan't  feel  the  cold,  I 
walk  M  flat,  you  kmw. " 

"  Yen  ^lalL  go  to  Raekfiald.  God  will  protect  my  datfiag. 
Fetch  ne  that  box,  and  grre  me  the  key  trota  my  pockeL" 

"  Yea,  gnadnaan^     Oh,  hew  good  yon  are  to  let  me  go." 

" Not  to iMg,  n^  child  ;  yon  shan't  beg  y^  I've  BtHnetldBg 
left  in  Aisb<H.  that  will  keep  the  wolf  firotn  the  do<ir  a  little  lon^, 

sndiris)  knows  bat  wbat but  litiwe,"  added  the  oU.  woman, 

dndiiBg  hoself,  and  q»«aking  below  her  breath,  "  heat  ti>  say 
nothii^  of  Asm.  Fear  I&cbard,  we  shall  see  yo«  bo  mwe  tilt  w<e 
meet  in  hMTen." 

She  drew  forth  a  chain  from  the  box — a  gtdd  wedding  ring, 
whieh,  if  we  nay  judge  from  the  nterest  with  which  she  surreyed 
U,  Afl  prized  li^Uy.  The  girl  had  hastily  atttredhenelf  in  shawl 
and  boBDct, — bath  greatly  the  worse  for  wear,  as  the  saying  ia,  and 
ofiering  hot  liif^t  jantMlma  from  tlie  severity  of  the  season. 

"  Take  that  to  tfa«  pawiMhop  at  R«(^Lfi^  and  ask  them  to 
land  ycai  tern  lUUinge  upaa  it.  Utnd  you  dnn't  loae  it,  and  see 
tint  yvm  Bring  Ab  ti^et  and  moMy  safe  home,"  sud  the  old 
woman,  placing  the  chun,  carefully  wrapped  in  paper,  into  the 
gid'ahaMd. 

CkenSy,  dhnrily,  Jaao  dt^aited  <n  hv  bumiob.  SliUie  as 
tha  iF™i"*^  lark — U^t  and.  agile  as  dre  sk^ipii^  bwa — ihaldng 
her  ^atay  m^  aa^raa^ — ber  ^c€^  glowing  witkthvexerctie. 
aha  m^  &fi  a.  ielof^ttai  bird  penriag  forllt  rich  notea,  aU  du 
richff  fv  tkat  tfey  ware  wdid  and  lacked  Ae  vdbira  that  wnnld 
bava  Uted  tfaam  tit  tim  ear  tt  rsbiensBt.  Onsrard  and  onward. 
Kgkt  t^  w«ra  ■eanaplished.    81m  wm  at  UwUcU, 

v.Goo'^lc 


SB  .  THE  WINTEB  ROBDH. 

She  entered  the  pawnbroker's  shop  biddlf,  for  she  was  not 
ashamed  of  honest  porerty,  and  felt,  perhaps,  hke  many  others 
who  have  sought,  tiuder  temporary  need,  the  same  accommodation, 
that  it  is  better  to  borrow  money  of  a  tradesman  (not  an  usurer)  in 
the  way  of  business,  than  to  ask  a  loan  from  a  inend.  The  shop- 
man, after  many  questions,  and  much  imperUnence,  for  he  saw 
the  girl  was  poor,'and,  in  bis  own  opinion,  he  was  an  indindual  of 
great  importance  himself,  consented  to  take  the  ring,  but  would 
only  lend  half  the  sum  demanded. 

"  Five  shillings,  and  if  you  don't  redeem  it  I  shall  lose  by  it," 
sud  the  man,  with  as  ranch  apparent  sinceri^  as  if  he  spoke 
the  truth. 

"  Well  then,  five  shillings,"  sighed  Jane. 

The  ticket  was  made  out.  The  money  was  pud,  and  Jane  left 
the  shop.  It  was  a  great  disappointment  to  hare  got  only  fire 
shillings  for  the  ring.  It  would  not  last  long,  husband  it  as  best 
they  might.  She  was  strongly  tempted  to  beg.  Would  her 
grandmother  be  angiy  f  It  was  market-day  at  Rook£eld,  and 
there  were  many  well-dressed  people  walking  in  the  streets — -ladies 
with  smiling,  happy  faces — some  of  them  leading  by  the  hand 
little  girls,  younger  than  herself,  who  were  snugly  wrapped  up  in 
furs  and  pdisses.  Then  these  ladies  were  buying  at  the  shops — 
not  mere  necesstuies,  but  luxories  and  dunties — toys  for  their 
.  children,  ornaments  for  their  houses,  fruits  and  preserves  for 
family  enjoyment. 

"  Ah, "  bought  Jane,  "  those  ladies  who  have  so  much  money 
to  spend  will  not  refuse  to  help  me.     I  won't  show  them  the  five 

shillings but  no — no,"  and  she  hastily  corrected  herself,  "I 

have  five  shiUiogB,  and  that,  as  grandmam  says,  will  keep  the  wolf 
from  the  door.  There  are  poor  folks  here  who,  perhaps,  have  not 
a  penny, — let  them  get  alms  from  those  who  are  disposed  to  give. 
If  I  were  to  beg,  I  should  only  wrong  such  as  have  neither  money 

Thoughts  akin  to  these  passed  rapidly  through  tbe  ^rl's  mind, 
and  she  determined  to  return  home  without  delay,  lest  her  grand- 
mother should  grow  uneasy  at  her  long  absence.  And,  in  the  act 
of  increasing  her  pace,  she  felt  for  her  money,  which,  folded  in 
paper,  she  had  thrust  into  her  bosom,  to  assure  herself  that  it  was 
safe.     Alas,  alas  !  it  was  gone  !     The  ticket  was  also  gone. 

They  were  gone.  With  ashy  face  and  palpitating  heart,  she 
felt  and  felt  again.     They  were  gone.     Overpowered  by  her  mis- 

Coiwlc 


THE    TTIHTBR  ROBIS.  S3 

fortune,  ebe  sat  down  upon  a  doorstep  and  wept  in  agony.  The 
house  to  which  the  doorstep  belonged  was  eridentlj  the  habitation 
of  a  wealthy  individuaL  It  was  situated  in  the  ariBtocratio  quarter 
of  Rookfield.  Moreover  it  was  exactly  fronting  the  Church,  whose 
taper  spire  pointed,  tilce  the  cleigymon's  Sabbath  finger,  upward ; 
end  wMch,  being  thus  set,  even  on  week' days,  before  the  eyes  of 
those  who  dwelt  in  this  and  the  adjoining  houses,  could  not  but 
rerive  in  their  minds  each  morning,  and  eveiy  hour  of  the  days  of 
labour,  those  lessons  which  bad  sunk  so  deep  into  their  beutl 
therein,  on  the  preceding  day  of  rest  and  wor^p.  Not  that  tba 
owner  of  the  house  in  question  ceold  be  supposed  to  need  ench 
admonition, — for  he — the  proprietor  of  the  doorstep  upon  which 
poor  Jenny  sat  and  wept — was  the  clergyman.  Opportunely,  or 
otherwise,  it  happened  dtat  at  this  critical  time  tiie  rererend 
gentleman,  who  had  been  summoned  half  an  hour  before  to  attend 
the  bedside  of  a  dying  man,  returned  home,  accompanied  by  a 
friend  who  had  joined  him  on  the  way. 

"  What — what — what  is  this  ? "  eiclaimed  the  clergyman, 
pointing  with  bis  gold-lieaded  cane  to  the  weeping  girl.  "  A 
child  crying  on  my  doorstep.  Really,  bow  inattentive  the  servants 
are  !  The  old  cry,  I  dare  say.  Eh,  Fisher  ?  '  Want,  hunger — 
that's  it,  eh?" 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  replied  the  reverend  gentleman's  com- 
panion, with  a  shrug. 

i'  Come — come — speak  out,  child,"  cried  the  pastor.  "  Didn't 
you  hear  me  ask  you  what  was  the  matter  ?  Do  you  know  who  I 
am — eb  ?  I  am  a  clergyman  and  a  magistrate !  Do  you  hear 
that  ?  I  allow  no  beggar  in  Rookfield.  I  send  tliem  all  to  prison. 
What,  you  an't  frightened — an't  you  ?  " 

Certainly  Jane  Foster,  altiiongn  she  had  risen  hastily  and  was 
wiping  her  eyes,  was  not  in  the  least  alarmed.  She  curtseyed  to 
the  gentlemen,  and  was  in  the  act  of  moving  away. 

"  Stop — stop — not  so  fast.  I  asked  you  what  was  the  matter  ? 
She  does  look  fiunt, — does  she  not,  Fisber?  "  said  the  clergyman. 

"  Y-e-s,  I  think  she  does,  a  lit — tie,"  replied  Fisber. 

And  if  she  did,  tliere  was  nothing  extraordinary  in  the  circum- 
stance, for  she  had  walked  a  long  distance,  and  had  not  broken 
her  fast  wnce  the  previous  day,  and  then  she  had  dined  off 
potatoes. 

"  I  feel  confident  that  this  is  a  case  of  impoution,"  whispei^ 
the  clergyman  to  his  companion,  with  a  singular  inattention  to  liis 

KO.  XIU. — ^VOL,  UI.  D  I 

MC 


Tbe  gid  ttf^ui-to  waA  of  iImb qamw- 

"  iteid  irlutt--^  aak  jita  bv  tha  tiwct  twM—'wfeat  fc  jw>.ai. 

-"  As  if  Bte  ware  S^xmimg  Oe  SindM  nnaod  c^  uMng  ^ 

"  I — I  fdtt't  wean  anj  luim,  bv,"  re^lM  ^ne,  banitiicr 
aboA  into  teaM.  "  I  bore  lart  fin  sUAm^:;  m^  fp'Biiamithor 
smt  ffis  tojpKnn  &raig,  a^  I  hare  kvt  tlieaaa^.^' 

Sbe  ^engjqtieai  Ioc^mI  his  friond  B^n^jia  ttia  ba.  "  T» 
pmm,  ta  fViim !"  be  csclaJDM^,  ^fb^  to  ett^  i^lUUeileJBk 
utfEeeBfe  iMBeiatUK.    " TkeTice  vl  ths  IvMst  cbwM» m «b»- 

The  Bhw&TMtroiigaweftg-difciwwigwrtlMLMt  *>«■*- 
t«n4  againt.  Bfr  na»«d  Im  hand,  a^in^  "  There,  ^et  anra|r 
child,  get  away ; "  and  walWd  iato  the  Iwim,  fe^BiKed  ky  IMS' 

Jane  boitia^laft  timt  rm^^kmibooi.  He  good,  As  thwa^d, 
cmdd  eoB«  frsm  ewb  a  Tieomity.  But  nduitinH  eke  t*  d«  ?  9ika  , 
snut  be>|r  nsw,  and  bspfy  ehe  snght  ne^  iritb  dH»ff-Mb»tiBipi««d- 
to  die  lower  orders  Bomething  whicli  was  not  "vict,"  It  uma 
vitli  a  hsvry  hsnt  Aat,  tnnang  o«t  of  tbe  ■tnot  is,  f^neh  the 
dergjmao  lived,  she  stood  where  the  ladies  pawed  linva  itom  tkar 
mwket,  and  le^ad  n  &m  fasea  with  eager,  bn^iy  tiym.  It 
begmtOBBQiirjaHtiiittlastiMK.  Tinud  aad  aebmed,  Ae  WKtdMA 
as  q)portuiit^  to  kmIk  he?  first  ^ipeai.  B&t  eTuy  one  wwi  ia. 
nnh  haste  t9  g«t  bom%,  now  that  Bne>w  -wae  fdfiiq^  tkftt  her  sup- 
plicating attitude,  and  pale,  aUeEUatad  face  wen  scarmly  notiMd, 
or  gtun^  t/^  a  mU,  iBuyBpathnaaif  Marv.  Ah,  it  vae  aad  ibr 
the  poor  gn^  to  see  v»  nw^  ieUew^htistiaBS,  not  oh  t£  whem 
was  disposed  to  lend  to  tbeir  Aakec  an  iMwtateaUe  fnettoa  of  th« 
wealth  He  had  hsBtowsd  wftmAam.  It  is  true  thai  i^  bad  aot 
yet  petitMBed  wilih  her  tongue,— kut  har  eyes,  hei  A^d*,  her 
^ched  limbs  aai  hue  attire,  what  eleepKnt  toogiaes  they  had  ! 
Hcnr  impressiTe  then'  raatmy!  ^t  it  wbb  a  weok^ay,  sad 
Chnrity  WM  a  tliene  for  Simdaji.  Onoe  ia  sokq  da^s,  tho  rkh 
f(As  of  Roohfield  oondeMeoded  to  call  t^e  poor  Hkbii  brethren. 

Faster  fell  the  snow.  The  girl's  bonnet  and  shawl  were  wUte 
as  the  roofs  of  the  hwraea.  She  shirered  sAd  bar  teetb  chattered. 
The  marrow  of  her  benea  was  ch^lad.     Shs  had  atowaaad  ira  ar 


BIX  isdirkhwls,  sena  tl  nhiui ■ilwijjjiii.a.a  i*^^)  'ffi'RsipiiBed  ber 
eiMteBoe  l^  sansck  m  »  sMn  (EFti)«  baai,  <v  «ltbnr  xanto  i^eo- 
tim  (f  bersBk.  "iMj a,^mrf, — ^'ferMj'gnMtecldier;  I 
have  l«Bt  five  ^ill&n^,  aaiim  Imn'  mtlii^  M>  evt  afehbim." 
Faster  fell  ibo  mmTj,  nut  thnw  n%o-ma«  llnu  eattrMtnl  iRdked 
faaMr  on  lAisir  vvf . 

^e  t/tatffwelk  to  the  poor,  ^ndWA  ID  fte  Xonf .  /MMtKaiof^ 
did  iCiMU  fate  ofihelmm^Aemiwiifb*'tAtvri,^'dii.itiwtio  me. 
Boly  wMde,  Moivdited  by  tluMe  i«lt*  taMMd  a,  Ani  eex  1w  the 
petition  efihe  ahmrii^^  beggar  gU. 

Upward  of  ttwo'lKmn^did'JBnft  atudr  w^Ketii  iv<titt  VtaSAj- 
tfSUng  Baoir,  and  suffeii^  dim  HMont  ptiwMJaa  hmm  Ae  een- 
bine^  efe0t»-sf  eoM  MJ  buq^;  ,&iid  dafing  A  tint  fiBM'  sbe 
got  angry  and  efen  abusive  words,  depreonfimi'laolr^  mA  tfvsRil 
of  Bridewell,  but  not  one  fadl^wuiiyi  not  oact 

And  now  the  day  was  ao  fav  adnmsA  tlut  Um  sig^  would 
Bom  oIoBein.  It  atiS  n<nr«<Avt — &M.  The  coUirMratKne. 
Ae  she  homed  along  the  pownont,  she  en^bi  freqMBtMgbte  of 
rousing  fires  in  grates,  and  bippy  peofie'  wfuming'  tbesMdvei 
thereby.  The  cold  was  in  ber  limbs,  and  in  bar  beu^  She 
muflt  hasten  bOBte,  btat  hec  poor  gnndBiotiiBr  ihoidd  dio  with 
fright  beoaiee  of  ber  loi^  ateetio*.  Yet  mae-  nan  dn' would 
bc^— yet  enoe  mote,  for  her  aged  nlatien'i  site,  fte  wmM  beg. 

A  udler,  iMber  an  ■wkubww  paiwutrgs  ia  Beekfiekt,  ap- 
ptMched.  She  ndted  bsr  li<iiid»  in'  ai^jdroatiM,'  bar  pt^e  faee, 
sttecnmng  wWi  tean,  and  ber  swpUcalii^  at6ta^,  ottnetad  tlie 
wtRthy  im'n  «NeDtie*.  EHu  mU  tier  «t«^,  aad  the'  baBtee  Be»- 
mu  dftnr  fren  bis  pocbct  »  leatlimi  por^  and  phnd  five 
fiMbngs  in  be*  band,  w^giJhwtbe  gam  it  to  ber  fortW  cake  of 
hii  moAer,  w4h>  Vbs  alto  m  «ld  womait,  aBd  wbom  he-  w«b Jtvry- 
lAg  t»neee,  aAer  a  leng-^cng  aliaeaa& — if  lAe  woe  (tift  dire — 
if  she  were  etnll  alire.  5e  ^otdd  bore  a  ehiU  tOOr  ^^  Mi^  l>»t 
he  thengbt  ^s'-was  dead, — 'be  didi'nt  knov. 

Ob  joy^-^h,  ligbt-baarted  joy !  HeapiBg  VMoimttf  bleanngs 
upon  the  bead  of  tbe  generous  eon  of  lieptDiie,  ecr  Inrppy  Jaae 
set  ber  &ee  bomcward  is  M»d  eamBSt^  3be  iraa  «it  the  moor 
ne>w  ;  h«(  emked  to  tbe  sbm  by  the  peoettatrng  mm,  aoA  cbflled 
atmOBt  b^eud  tbe  power  of  ber  ^6^ti,  enfolded  firase  te  bear. 
At  every  step  she  to^  ber  Btma^'  gsew  len  and  less.  The 
snew  M  new  so  faet  and  tbaA,  tlwt  riijeeW  at  ft  trifling  iUatance 
were  obscured,  and  her  little  f«t  uak  iaefeie  ewry  JUtMrt. 

■*2  Coo<5lc 


CO  THE   WINTEE  BODIK. 

Oh — to  die  upon  that  lonely  moor — how  horrible !  To  sit  fran- 
tically down,  and — as  she  remembered  to  hare  heai-d  it  told  that 
people  so  had  perished — to  heap  the  enow  wildly  around  her,  and 
build  herself  a  frightful  tomb  therewith !  Were  such  to  be  her 
end,  through  Hie  long  hours  of  that  bitter  winter's  night,  bow 
would  her  old  grandmother  rave  in  mad  despair,  and  call  vainly 
upon  heaven  to  aid  her  darling  child ! 

Thicker  and  iaster — thicker  and  faster  yet.  No  sky,  no  horizon, 
no  object  on  which  to  rest  the  eye,  bat  all  one  waste  of  snow,  that 
made  the  eyeballe  ache  to  look  upon.  "Faster  and  faster  yet,  and 
feebler  and  feebler  grew  her  steps.  A  dizziaess  came  over  her — 
a  strange  sensation  spread  around  her  heart.     She  could  not  hold 

out  much  longer.      She  felt  herself  sinHng Yet  one  more 

struggle  for  her  young  life. 

A  chirp,  as  of  a  little  bird,  sounded  in  her  ear.  It  was  close 
beside  her — a  robin — a  winter  robin. 

The  moor  was,  in  summer,  particularly  barren,  even  for  a  moor. 
There  was  not  a  tree  for  a  bird  to  perch  upon.  Only  a  few  shrubs, 
and  they  were  now  hidden  by  the  snow. 

Chiip, — chirp. 

It  was  only  a  simple  robin,— but  God  alone  knows  how  greatly 
its  presence  cheered  our  little  maiden,  battling  against  the  storm 
on  that  shelterless  and  dreary  moor.  What  trifling  circumstances 
infuse  new  life  into  the  desponding  breast  I  The  Scotch  warrior 
gleaned  new  vigour  from  watching  the  efforts  of  a  spider.  Mungo 
Park,  when  resigned  to  die  in  the  African  desert,  beheld  a  tiny- 
weed  lifting  its  obscure  head  to  the  heaven  that  encloseth  all  the 
world,  and  felt  that  Giod,  who  planted  that  humble  vegetation 
there,  and  did  not  withdraw  from  it  Hie  sustaining  hand,  but  sent 
the  breeze  to  faa  it,  and  the  rain  to  water  it, — would  succour  the 
child  of  his  own  likeness  also  ; — and  from  that  consoling  thought, 
there  grew  such  energy,  that  his  limbs  received  new  strength 
thereby,  and  he  prosecut«d  his  path  anew,  and  arrived  safely  at  the 
village  he  had  despaired  t»  reach.  And  this  little  robin, — this 
humble  robin,  dearly  beloved  by  tale  and  fable,  and  homely  rhyme 
— of  the  music  of  its  speech,  of  its  chirp,  chirp,  chirp — were  begot- 
ten such  resolution  and  courage  in  the  heart  of  the  sinking  child, 
that  there  was  no  longer  any  question  of  her  drooping  and  dying; 
but  a.  certainty  that  she  should  behold  her  grandmother  again,  and 
hve,  please  God,  to  bless  Him  in  after  years  for  preserving  her 
amidet  the  dangers  of  that  afternoon, 

Upl:«l  by  Google  • 


THE   WISIEB  KOBIN.  3? 

The  robm,  too,  became  her  guide.  Not  that  she  coiild  have 
missed  her  way,  but  the  trodden  path  being  hidden  b;  the  snow, 
one  direction,  so  that  ahe  did  not  wander  far  from  the  conjec- 
tured track,  was  as  good  as  another.  And  the  robin  went  right 
onward,  hopping  now — now  flying,  and  ever  strengthening  her  re- 
solution. And  so  she  found  herself,  ere  long,  at  the  door  of  her 
grandmother's  cottage,  and  then  she  saw  the  robin  no  more. 

She  related  her  story  to  her  grandmother  while  warming  her- 
self at  the  fire  which  blazed  on  the  hearth.  And  oh,  what  fervent 
thanksgivings  ascended  that  night  from  that  lowly  roof  to  the 
Throne  of  Glory ! 

The  next  morning  there  came  a  knock  at  the  cottage  door,  and 
when  Jane  opened  it,  who  should  present  himself  but  the  sailor 
who  had  given  her  five  shillings  on  the  previous  afternoon.  He 
started  with  surprise  at  seeing  Jane,  and  enquired  whether  Damo 
Foster  lived  there.  When  Jane  repUed  that  she  did,  the  seaman 
gave  a  cry  of  joy, 

"That's  Richard's  voice,"  exclaimed  the  old  woman  from 
within.  "  I  know  it  is.  God  be  praised.  He  has  sent  me  back 
my  son." 

"  My  mother,  my  dear  mother,"  cried  the  sailor  rushing  into 
the  cottage. 

We  pass  the  scene  which  followed, 

"  And  BO  this  is  my  Jane. — my  own  child,"  said  the  seaman, 
presently,  taking  her  in  his  lap,  and  kissing  her  for  full  five 
minutes  without  drawing  breath. 

"  Yes,  that  is  poor  dead  Mary's  child,"  said  the  grandmother. 
"  It  was  her  mother's  wedding-ring  that  she  pawned  yesterday." 

The  old  woman,  the  neighbours,  Jane  herself,  all  assert  that 
it  was  no  robin  ;  but  an  angel  &om  the  skies,  that  led  her  over 
the  moor  that  afternoon.  Who  shall  dare  langh  at  their  belief? 
For  are  not  the  resolves,  which,  nobly  taken,  enable  us  to  battle 
successfully  with  the  storms  of  life,  and  conduct  us  safely  Hohe— 
angels,  and  guacdian  angels,  too?  So,  here's  God  speed  the 
Wnter  Kobin  on  repeated  missions  ! 

A.  W. 


,11  by  Google 


BiraUSH  SCENES  AIO)  CHAHACTEHS. 
Bi  woAUM 'Bomaa. 
The  nme  aim  seea  of  otlier  eonntoieH,  t^  9mm  om  a 
of  tke  tntth  <^  the  eonamm  aeaertioD,  Ant  H>ere  ie  bo  ce«ntry 
irtiere  each  T&iiety  of  cnROOs  and  mdep«Hiteiit  indiTi^id  ehataeber 
abounds  as  m  our  trwn.  ^e  faeedom-of  our  ctostrbatioB,  b«A  in 
politics  and  religion,  is  imdoabtedly  the  cause  of  it.  We  fatrre  bo 
raanr  Bccta,  and  so  vikdj  ^niioaB  of  ntr  own  -on  ali  matten,  that 
we  stand  np  for  them  with-  a.pertJiiaeitj  wlach  ^wrs  on  ub  both 
with  the  growth  of  centeuivB,  and  «f  our  «wb  jeaw.  We  faaTO  no 
gorernment  pt^oe  entering  hrto  our  faeuaes,  howwer  ^e^  nsy 
now  parade  beibre  them,  and  compel&ng  ns  to  ^  this  wid  tfart, 
even  to  the  Eweeplng  of  our  chimneys,  and  the  nnrkiag  <f  «ar 
coffins,  contrary  to  wir  own  pleasure  and  notimtB  rf  wtirt  is  right. 
Govermnent  fleeces  na  sweepnigfj  enongh  of  «ur  «aeh,  hut  in  other 
respects,  and  especially  in  provincial  towns  and  country  plaees,  we 
do  just  as  ^fe  Vke,  and  some  of  ns  grow  into  haAtta  and  ideaa 
most  amusing.  I  hare  formerly  shown  some  specimens  of  this  tn 
my  "Nooks  of  the  World  ;  "  and  how  (nany  more  SoofcaBiight  we 
Tisit  in  this  land  of  good,  hard-headed  Joan  Ball,  abonnding  with 
oddest  scenes  ai^  eharaeteffs.  There  mi^t  he  a  doien  more 
volumes  of  "  The  Eccentric  Mirror"  wiitten  o»t  of  one's  «wn 
knowledge.     Let  as  from  tnne  to  time  pen  a  fetr  dovm. 


MS.  I. TBB  COOHIilT  M4HTT-MEKXEB. 

A  &ieBd.of  nioe.iMal  nnud^d  far  some  tdiasiA  KattiagfauD, 
n^ave  he  &rad,  «  eiagnlu'-loaking  woman  going  to  uid  ft»  in  tk.6 
■trasts  p^  his  bouse.  Bhs  was  tall  and  stssog  ;  had  the  iigciro 
frad  godt  af  a  laan  ;  had  aistroBg  -raqtveBeivo  aeantraABoci,  61U  of  a 
strai^  but  an^aai  character ;  ia  sfaort,  'vae  ens  «tit  of  tiie 
ordinary  class  of  mortals.  "  That  wonutn,"  sud  he  to  hiuadf, 
"is  no  townswoman.  She  has  grown  up  in  some  country-place  ; 
she  has  not  only  a  character,  hut  a  history,  and  I  should  like  to 
know  it."  As  he  passed  her  once  in  the  street,  she  seemed  to 
look  hard  and  searchingly  at  him,  as  if  to  say,  "  Who  are  you 
now  ?  You  don't  seem  to  me  just  like  the  rest  of  these  towns- 
folks,  who  don't  care  a  halfpenny  for  anybody  that  isn't  dressed 


'«p  M mai a» myieid  or  tajUtAj."    Feshi^  it  nigi^  lieliikt 
be'kM£ed,haBi  uLha:    Hii  deiimloF'lune  »  littl&talk  mdi  her 

One  dsf  be  wif  ha  vata-  a  iJMp,.«nd  ateppwl  in  tM;  The 
till,  KteMige  wvtoaa  was  a&ing  Iw  »  pnmjwwth  of  r«d  oohee. 
^Iw  AepawL  ^  it  dMRi  bebsB  lar  madj  wrapped  id  pxpcr. 
SIm  riaol^JCfeMdiVu^lhui  p"^"^  it  baoktwrnnrfB  Um,  sajing 
—>' Wdl,  now,  oBt  that  isto  tmt."  TWoiiKTeiypiditcdf  did  so. 
She  weighed  the  two  ipaeees-ia  har  hasd,  and  ginag  him  one  bwik, 
ttmi,  ."  Wd«p  sie  th«l)  wp  .agun;;  111  tdu  tkia  ajMU— it 'a 
nif^Ma-  ihe  heuieBfr— 'tB(h«'i  fat «  ae^iOE." 

As  ebe  ssw  my  £iimd.  Bmib,  she  tsoierf  tsvardb  Ubi,  a«d 
without  aay  fK^ise,  added — 

"  What  a  thiog  this  seV  ia  I  Itls.dia:  laitthaag-&BtIeayCB  us 
i' thifl-ansrld!  " 

"IhAt'a«LhnMtcoDfiHun,  «tl<^"  a^  nj- fism^  "I 
4Unk,  Kf  g«Ml  woBB,  <A^  joL  w«BB  Bat  brovj^  19  in  this 
taM." 

"  Soy  I  BtAam  I  vwasi  sudMr.  'Stn're  roght  thna,  jne«t«r. 
I  'm  none  o'  jewrfiBiJdB  towmwonnn.  Ytn  xa^  sec  iJiat  at  & 
Wb  I  mcImd  I  AmH  mah  tiro  ■£  tbe  vngiax  t«ini-gTowa 
WBW.  S*,.  I  ami  hum  jod  bian^t  ip  i'  Ih'  etmntTj,  whtta 
ifaat«'sli&aBdLstBwglh.i'  tfa'  vary  uc  I  wwnnd  faHa.aLlittie 
wcMh  to  smiL  ■hoBLi'  th'  oheoeg  ;  btch  ap  &'  com ;  IwA  after 
Ih'laBte  and-paga;  lya,  and  drive  Ih'  pWn^  ^a  ainch.  itj 
fayther  war  a  little  ftnuw,  .aod  a  hardMrnaiiiHig  man  he  w-ar,  and 
iMtido  «a  all  tntrh  niau.  Wim  I  mc  gvonn  ap,  mf  £ajther 
^aj, -wtd  JefcrneMPo' th'&gm,.aad-IwM:f<ial<BBBBgfa  tamanj." 

'^BaalMODghr' 

"A^  fiwl  aaong^!  It's  toutii,  bud  ;  I  janaa  pnotiwt  to  dev^ 
it  I'jaaoBe'^yatrfine,  fattia  tlaBge aa ii niAaaied  to  wy  A' 
irolh.  What's  dsoe  'b  done,  aad  aaonot  ha  laidaae,!— moee  'a 
4h'  pi^I  B«d  whene'a  tk'  use  t»  dtm^it?  Ayo,  fedwarl  ! 
Bnt  I  war  only  like  mony  0'  one  besides.  That  'a  A.'  aaiafaatui 
ma\  ytang  nuo — mind  what  I  s^,  that 'a  th'  misfoiiiB  on 't. 
We  ham  to  t^  tbe  maat  iiiniiiiliiM)  abof  in  oar  iisea,  th'  ati^  as 
nqtwea  mo>t  aenec,  jaat  vtiten  wa  've  g^ten  th'  leaat  aenae  ;  and 
aa  MB  haoie  to  BsauitfEcr't.  By  I«ddy,  I  've  emacted  enough  fiir 
my  folly.  Th'  yonag  feUow  as  X  marnad,  war  a  liki^  eoai^ 
^a^^  dtap  to  look  at,  bnt  he  war  good  for  nowt.  He  war'  too 
fond  of  sitting  i'  th'  ^-booae  «o^  and  I  aoon  fun  out  4h^  ha'd 


«0  ENGUSK  BC£N£a   AND  OBABACIEBS. 

only  married  me  for  what  he  could  get.  I  went  on  workiDgl  Any 
after  da;.  I  went  to  th'  plough,  to  th'  team,  fetched  up  th'  cowb, 
and  milked  'em.  I  war  up  o'  summer  momings  hj  four  o'clock, 
.  and  came  home  from  milluDg  daggled  up  to  th'  kneee  wi'  dew, 
.  and  there  was  he  hulking  i'  bed.  By  Leddj,  I  war  fit  sometimes 
to  go  and  fling  a  good.  Bousing  bucket  o'  watter  on  him  ab  he 
lay.  Bat  that  wama  the  worst.  Ereiy  night  he  war  sore  to  be 
.  i'  th'  ale-house  ;  and  mony  and  mony  a  time  have  I  had  to  fetch 
him  away,  and  pay  his  akot  into  th'  bargain. 

"  Thinks  I  to  myscn,  my  lad,  this  wusna  do  for  me,  I  dunna 
mean  thee  to  slurt  th'  bit  o'  money  my  fayther  got  with  such  sweat 
and  trouble ;  no,  by  Guy  !  that  I  dunna !  So,  1  threw  up  th' 
&rm  ;  sold  th'  stock,  and  come  reght  away  to  Nottingham." 

"  And  what  became  of  your  husband  ? 

"  VHiat  became  of  him  ?  He  followed  me,  to  be  sure — what 
was  he  likely  to  do,  a  poor  dirty  rogue  ?  Trust  him  for  running 
after  the  money.  Aye,  he  set  lus  nose  after  it  like  a  ferrit.  He 
made  hissen  eure  now  of  laying  hands  on 't  in  some  hole  or  coomer 
o'  th'  house  or  other.    Sut  I  took  pratty  good  care  he  shonldna. 

"  '  Where 's  th'  money  wench  ?    be  often  said. 

'"Where  should  it  be?'  satd  I,  'but  gone  to  pay  debts  off  that 
a  drunken  sot  like  thee  sets  on.'  But  it  signified  nowt — he  knew 
better,  and  he  war  always  gropin'  about,  high  and  low,  after  it. 
<  Get  to  work  !'  said  I ;  '  thou  s  limbs  big  enough,  and  a  carcase 
strong  Enough — get  a  spade,  or  a  pick,  and  do  summut  for  thy 
bread,  as  I  ^.     I  shall  turn  Manty-mekker.' 

"Aye,  mester,  you  may  smile.  You  dunna  think  I  look  much 
like  a  manty-mekker  ;  and  1 11  allow,"  said  she,  showing  her  great 
hard  bony  hands,  ■'  but  these  hands  as  ha'  handled  th'  pitchfork, 
and  th'  dung-fork,  and  held  th' plough,  dunna  look  th'  Ukeliest  i' 
th'  world  to  handle  a  needle  and  thrid.  But  where  there  'b  a  will 
tJiere  's  a  way  ;  and  I  can  assure  you,  I  can  mak  a  tightish  sort  of 
a  gown — aye,  I  can  please  these  fine  town  wenches  better  than 
you  'd  think  for. 

"  But  1  'm  OTemuming  my  story,  I  took  a  house,  and  began 
manty-inekking.  That  dirty  rogue  of  a  husband  o'  mine  was  always 
preg^ng  about  th' house  to  And  out  where  I'd  put  the  money, 
but  I  took  care.  One  day,  in  walks  a  man  with  a  hook  in  Bb 
hand,  and  siud,  '  MesBiB,  I  want  th'  poor-rates.' 

"  '  Poor-rates  ! '  said  I.  '  By  Leddy  I  thou  art  come  to  a  wrong 
house  then.     I'm  a  poor  woman  mysen,  man.' 


v.Goo'^lc 


ENOLISU   BCZKEB  ASB  CBUUCTEB8.  41 

"  '  That  may  be,'  said  he,  'hut  you've  ta'en  a  hotue  of  five 
pounds  a  year,  and  either  you  or  Ih'  landlord  mim  pay  the  poor- 
■■  rates.' 

'"Then  let  the  landlord  pay 'em,'  said  I,  'he 'a  able  enough.' 
"  'That's  true  aa  th'  goapel,  missiB,*  saja  th'  man,  'but  he 

"  '  And  I  caima ! '  aaid  I. 

"  *  But  yon  mun,'  said  he. 

'■  ■  But  if  a  body  canns,'  says  I,  *  what  then  { ' 

"  '  Then,'  says  he,  '  you  mun  go  to  Hi'  workhouse,  and  other 
people  mun  pay  to  you.  That 's  ^e  way  now  o'daye  ;  all  pay  as 
long  aa  they  can,  even  when  the  children  are  crying  upon  the 
door-aill  for  a  roasted  potato  ;  and  when  they  con  pay  no  longer, 
they  turn  en  out,  and  so  to  th'  workhouse.' 
-  "  '  Uon,'  said  I,  for  I  hod  bin  conning  him  o'er  as  he  war  talk- 
ing at  hissens, — and  I  seed  as  plain  as  a  pike-ataff,  that  th'  fellow, 
epite  of  his  trade,  war  an  honeat  sort  o'  chap — '  Uon,'  aidd  I, 
*  canat  tell  me  where  to  put  a  bit  o'  money  out  safe  ? ' 

"  '  Well,'  said  he,  giving  me  a  queer  sort  of  look,  aa  much  as  to 
say,  '  I  thought  you  said  yon  'd  got  none,' — '  maybe  I  could  do 
that  too.' 

"  '  Then  do  ! '  s^d  I,  getting  a  chair,  and  retching  up  to  th' 
'  top  of  an  old  cupboard — '  do  ;  for  here  I  've  gotten  the  plague  of 
my  life, — a  bit  of  money  in  an  old  stacking,  and  it  keeps  me  in  a 
continual  fever  ;  for  that  dirty  rogue  of  a  husband  o'  mine  la 
always  progging  after  it,  and  one  of  these  days  he  '11  get  hold  on 't, 
and  then  I  'm  mined  for  ever.' 

"  So  down  I  brings  th'  owd  stocking,  and  holding  it  open  afore 
th'  man — 'There,*  says  I,  'there's  just  four  hundred  gowden 
guineas  there !'  and  wi'  that  I  held  it  up  to  hin,  and  my  eyes! 
hut  th'  mon  did  stare  ! 

"  '  Missis,'  said  he,  '  that 's  a  sight  good  for  sore  eyea,  how- 
ever.' " 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  my  friend,  "you  were  not  very  prudent 
though,  to  ahow  such  a  sum  thus  to  a  stranger." 

"  Prudent,  wam't  I  ?  Doat  ta  thiuk  then,  mon,  that  I  've  got 
no  white  in  my  eye  ?  Yay,  I  know  an  honeat  man  from  a  rogue 
when  I  see  him.  The  man  was  aa  good  as  hia  word.  He  took 
me  to  a  gentleman  that  gave  me  good  security  for  my  money,  and 
I  get  my  interest  to  this  day.  Many  'a  the  time  tiiaX  dirty  rogue 
of  a  husband  o'  mine  lias  hunted  the  house  over  for  th'  money. 


BkIwl!  hair  }mwKiimi  what's  «abta  it!     I  ohi  ttmijn-  tell 

■ffheo  Jw '«  Um  after  k.    I  ted  ivc^liuag  tnnisd  tafiftwvy  i'  ^' 

drawers  and  iverywhere.     But  I  '11  take  care  that  he  never  ■BMHtc 

abit,*dktf  DMBK,  turn." 

'    "  WeU,"  ^niaagliimi,  "jaaimartaiiilyliBn  liUJoiamfort  in 

liim." 

"  Comfort !  no  !  xay  comfort  lies  in  o^difieEeBt  i^oortoE.  I  iaok. 
for  very  little  comfort  1'  this  world  ;  ^lot,  tkaak  Gad,  Hive  is  a 
comfort,  even  heraiMuLtfaat  'auxmdtgiui ! 

"  Wb  'ne  ail  fax  'Wf«^<"wip  1  I  fiMiid  mi^  hMimw  looriBh  ; 
inHMy  attam  b>,;  Mid  j^  I  i  iiim  Bom^mv  rieht..  in^/Aiag 
nirMwH  M  «»wd  md  ballmF.  I'liar  almTs  si^^iu^  id  mrim- 
ohafyi'  th.'  KiU.  o'  ^atcf.  Jfj  kuahud'a  gtaaga  ok  nuii*  Be 
half-mad.  Night  afterafg^  I  had  te  ftMi  lun'bMKW&MuAc 
IHt-hoHaa^  Oneda?;,  h«wew,jO«»esa<uae;ouB^woaaKt)D-have 
A  gonnwda,  smL^k  fiaya  te  wiB—'}iiaaB,  io  you  avar  ^'toia 
plaoe  o'  wadbI^  ?  ' 

"  'Ko,'  said  I,  'I'm  atdiamed  is  sag  I  dnviuk  "lb  aajf'th' 
tniUi,  I  diuma  td^lgr  Imoi*  wheie  to  ^  tot  ^bou  sees,  I'm  a 
fltiiai^er  fat^,  aad  -I  iatuta.  Ukoto  go  aiBOagM  Mks  jb  I  'dasBa 

"  '  Ah. !"  uid  &'  josDg  womKi,  '  I  wish  you  wwjld  ^with  me 
on,  Bssdsf  to.die  i^thodiata'  Chsfiel  ;  I  fbiBk  yen  'd  hefilnaead  ; 
aodpei^i^^u'dfijtdaoM^ect  yaulittledeeanof.  OD.Ast>da>r> 
«h !  dieiie  u  a  iHce  mm  nrMaiiij,  ft»m  IdUdun,  tiuf  o>bb  Uto, 
BiAaEt  Hwrtan.' 

"  'Well,'  says  I,  '  as  thou  says  aa  laiidi.aBdaiKasKinkin^, 
I  doBBanBodif  Ido  ge.  I  'm  atneif  in  wxnt.of  <BVHMBb;  and  I 
^drak  it  'a  hsBanse^  I  donaa  amk  rdigian.' 

"  Well,  I  inoit.  li  was  a  big  du^d,  an'  ligbl»d  wf  iaba  a 
blaze  brighter  than  any  sunehine  wally  ;  aad  ae  I  went  in  ai  lb' 
d«er,  sa^s  I  to  myMu — 'How,  ve^  this  wendt  be  aahamed  on 
mo  ?  I  shouldna  wonder,  for  I  'm  not  just  th'  sort  to  be  poad  on 
ior  a  eom^anitm  ;  and  it 's  ooe  Uiiag  to  ax  a  posr  cdd  woman  Hke 
me  to  go  to  chapel,  asd  vtotb^  to  like  to  be  aeen  iti'  her.  Bnt 
in  we  go«a.  It  war  ae.brig^  u  day,  and  a  pratty  ^Jmaiig  o''fine 
-draasy  Mks  theoe  war  ;  but  up  walks  th' bmireJaBS'i^lAi' laidiUe 
of  aw,  and  tuiming  rannd  to  me — '  Came  aitag,  neebor,'  saye  tdie, 
■  my  seat  'e  -up  hare  ; '  tmd  in  she  tiikoi  me.  By  le^y  i  I  num 
f^tsOiqueer  in  aum^life!  Aw  ^«8  seemed  te  bejstoDma; 
and  weU  i&sy  m^ht,  Isr  I  seed  that  I  must  look  like  u  crow  in  a 


EHGLim  HffilBS  Man   CBISACTERS.  43 

AkI  «'  pgMBB.  ^d  -njut  a  mbu  -nt  tkal  Eohrt  BIwAmi.! 
.Bhi!  irtnt  n  tjifflir  ^nlinii '  bwy  wwd  idwC  ha  saidiiraBlUke-a 
nimi  ii'jBiy  heuL  He  teJd  ks  kjiM  ao&l  «raatuiH  we  ur  «»r: ; 
latiivwj  lime  that  be  Jifted  lus  liand,  it  vu  Hte  M««tta,«wti«[g 
A'M^i'  tb'mlderaew.  Tli'w«tbcrBlartedeHt.«')nf  hexrtr->i>d 
A'  tMBi  ran  ioiwB  my  deeka  ;  lad  he  soou  eeed  thid.,  and  wJnt 
dfloho,  hid  £aes  his  efas^amc^d  pointing  tOAK,  duMteonb — 
'  There  t  that  woman  ia  touched  \  She  k  cMcfaad  !  If-^e  tiaaAa 
toiwiuttbioiMsgut,  oBlwtiflB  t&aataetefaer!  '  iutd  4^aii.iM]«aud 
Minlihrr  rrinri  imt     '  "hrint  Trmrr  punt  if  '    * ^  .^nsi ! ' 

"  WeU,  I  vaft  nniR  in  wirfi-  ■  tahVin);  is.  my  life.  IiMAAll-Df 
A  teteqUaand  a  quake,  -and  it'  Ugbte  ^aod  i^eiTtUog «pHH  laraid 
wi'  me.  As  )Pe  vent  bone,  tJi'  youag  wwitwi  flAnd  v«  kov  I 
liked  it  ?  '  Oh,'  Boid  I,  '  I  niver  waa  so  bad  and  niver  so  well  in 
all  my  days.  Oh !  wh«t  a  sitmer  1  Ve  bin  !  Oh !  what  must  I 
do  to  be  saved  1 ' 

"  '  Thank  God  1  thank  God ! '  said  th'  yonng  woman.  '  Ton 
are  in  llie  rigtit  way  amr,  and  ff  ycm  only  go  on  it  wffl  be  a  Ue»eed 
day  for  you,  and  for  me  too,  you  came  to  the  chapel.'  And 
now,  aw  my  comfort 'a. i'  religion.  I  go  regularly  to  cbapel.  I  'm 
in  a  class,  and  aH  the  society  is  very  kmd  to  me.  Bat  dunna 
think  that  I  'ye  had  nothing  tut  swinmiing  work  of  it.  No,  the 
direl  came  after  me  l&a  a  raaruig  litua, — and  oh !  what  a  naaty 
divel  it  ia  ! 

"  One  day  a  y«Mg  w<(aBBn  latm^t  a  gown-piMe  fer  me  to 
make  up.  It  was  o-'mty  fine,  rich,  Tenable  go<H).^Me  indeed  ; 
and  when  I  come  to  meaerare  it,  ^len  I  found  that  there  was  a  yard 
and  a  half  of  the  stuff  too  much  ;  and  such  good  stuff  too  ! 

"  •  Tak  it !  tnk  it ! '  says  the  divel ;  '  they  '11  niver  know  ! ' 

"  But  the  Lord  said  in  my  heart,  '  Dumm  tak  it,  woman,  It 's 
none  o'  thine  ! ' 

"  ■  Tak  it  ]'  again  says  the  diwl. 

"  '  Let  it  aloae  !  '  sms  the  Land. 

"  Oh  !  what  a  Aa^  I  Ltd  on't ;  tUl  at  htit  I  im  avd  rolls  the 
piece  together,  and  off  to  th'  ytnmg  woman,  and  flinging  it  down, 
eaya — 'There!  there's  that  too  mnch  ! '  Away  I  goes  back, 
thinking  then  what  gladness  I  should  have.  But  I  was  mistaken. 
The  divel  seemed  like  a  raging  going-fire.  He  war  at  me  aw  the 
way  home.  He  seemed  to  drive  mo  up  th'  street  like  a  great 
wind.  '  Well,'  said  ha,  '  and  what  better  act  thou  now  ?  Art  ta 
nny  fiJIcr,  or  any  fatt^  ;  any  richer  «r  any  brtter  ?  '     Ofc  I  what 


4i  THE  FATE   OF   CITIES. 

a  nasty  direl  it  is !  Well,  well,  I  mnn  bear  my  trials  and  my 
temptationB,  I  reckon,  like  other  folks  ;  and  leam  not  to  set  my 
heart  too  much  on  the  things  of  thia  world.  And  that 's  what  that 
dirty  rogue  of  a  husband  o'  mine  is  always  telling  me  ;  and  it  *s 
true,  but  I  know  why  he  tella  me  that, — it  'b  because  he  wants  to 
find  th'  owd  Btocking-full  o'  guineas.  But  I  'U  tat  precious  good 
care  tliat  he  doesna.  Oh  !  what  a  dirty  rogue  he  's  bin  to  me, — 
he  has  driren  me  to  God  t  " 

With  this  the  old  dame  tnmed  to  march  out,  nodding  signifi- 
cantly to  my  friend,  hut  stopping  suddenly,  she  looked  at  the  two 
balipenny-worths  of  red  ochre  which  she  h^d  in  her  hands,  and 
said,  as  to  herself, — "  Let  me  see,  which  is  which  !  Aye,  this  ia 
for  mysen,  it 's  the  biggest — tother  'a  for  a  neebor  !  " 


THE   FATE   OP  CITIES. 


Trb  throbbings  of  the  City's  plethoric  heart 
Streugthen  and  quicken,  and  export  its  blood 
In  human  streams  more  wide  and  for  apart 
From  its  dense  centre  :  man  in  social  brood 
Subjects  the  fields  to  citiea :  where  the  wood] 
Harboured  tie  wild  bird  thro'  Time's  silent  years. 
And  cattle  on  the  still  lea  had  their  food, 
Usurping  man's  warm  home  of  joy  and  teats, 
Filled  with  his  life  and  death,  its  awful  walls  uprears. 

So  on  the  Indian  wild  the  Banian  tree 

Spreads  vast  its  bowery  branches  ;  which  bend  down 

And  root  in  primal  earfb  far  o'er  her  free 

Domain ; — a  forest  from  one  trunk  alone. 

And  from  Convention's  law  which  is  outfrown 

From  Nature's,  into  Nature's  man  should  seek 

Duly  tor  Truth  b  pure  nurture  when  the  tone 

Of  civil  life  is  jarred  ;  its  laws  too  weak 

To  balance  wills,  and  unity  'moug  units  make. 

Man  shall  be  social  ever:  civil  slates, 
Shall  they  for  ever  rise  and  fall  {  can  Time 
Perfect  a  social  mould  for  human  bXet 
Infrangible  1 — must  nalional  suns  climb 


v.GoO'^lc 


THE  XKeuaHiux  IS  PBirSSIA.  4S 

ToDOon-tids  greatneea  bat  to  slope  thro'  crime 
To  sun-aet  1— it  is  matter's  law  of  change  : 
fiat  of  man's  moral  will  'tis  tlie  sublime 
The  laws  of  Truth  to  poise,  deca^  estrange ; 
As  ABkalon'a  orb  stood  in  its  meridian  range. 

Creation's  scheme  is  progreeB  ;  cilied  states 
Are  agents  in  their  rise  ; — what  iu  their  Eall  ? 
"  We  rose  for  ruin" — read  npon  their  gates : 
"  Ye  fell  to  make  os  safe  from  Rain's  call  " 
Wise  modem  states  should  answer :  "  in  your  fall 
Wisdom  we  learn  yoorgrandear  never  taught." 
Rome's,  Athens',  genius  survives  o'er  all ; — 
Truth's  phtenix  soaring  trom  their  ashes  caught, 
Poised  on  her  moveless  wings, — oh,  England  1  fear  for  nought, 
Francis  Worslev. 


THE  ENGLISHMAN  IN  PRUSSIA.— No.  VI. 


Geruah  Looses  are  generally  built  upon  the  principle  of  a 
thorough  draught — that  is,  of  obtaining,  not  avoiding,  a  tiiorough 
draught.  Opposite  a  door,  window,  passage,  or  gate-way,  there  is 
iistially  oaotjier  door,  window,  passage,  or  gate-way ;  and  by  these 
means  you  continually  find  yourself  in  the  centre  of  a  strong  current 
of  air.  It  does  not  matter  in  the  worm  seasons  of  the  year  ;  but 
in  the  winter  or  other  cold  windy  months,  and  more  particularly 
in  Rhenish  Prussia,  it  is  dreadful.  In  addition  to  this,  the  doors 
and  windows  do  not  fit  close,  so  that  you  may  sit  and  roast  your  body 
cImo  to  jODT  stove,  with  a  draught  cutting  your  ankles  off,  from  a 
long  gap  underneath  the  door,  and  another  draught  cutting  your 
throat  from  the  sides  and  chinks  of  the  window-fr&rae.  We  have 
sat  at  dinner  on  a  cold  windy  day  in  winter,  in  a  room  like  on  oven, 
but  with  our  feet  as  cold  as  ice,  from  the  wind  of  a  great  stone  hall 
below,  that  had  a  wide  staircase  opposite  the  front  door  (continually 
opening),  the  bead  of  which  staircase  was  directly  facing  the  dimng- 
room  door,  the  s^d  door  not  touching  the  floor  by  at  least  half  an 
inch  all  along.  As  there  are  no  carpets  or  other  impediments 
to  the  wind,  we  had  it  "  fresh  and  fresh  '  as  any  of  the  doors  below 


leading  to  street  sr  pnian  wert  opnted,  t»  bb^  tu&mg  at  open 
windowB.  Then,  -the-Bwtfad  of  ymraiag  tke  room  m  miter  bj 
the  German  atove,  is  deteBtaU«.  Y«a  we  tHiter  waAt  ^ot  to 
BuffocalioQ,  the  horrM -tiling  Ymxatnag  ted-hot,  or  it  doM  not  give 
out  half  enough  heeA,  and'  is  often  the  only  warm  dung  ia  tha 
room.  If  the  stove  was  alight  and  wann,  we  were  never  able  to 
convince  any  host  or  boateas  of  any  house,  pi£Iic  or  prinite,  th&t 
tins  factwafi  not  the  ptinnpal  conuderatjoo,  and  that  it  iras  the 
person  occnpyiug  the  room  ir}io  ought  chiefly  to  bo«MMidared — 
it  wafi  whether  he  iras  warn  a:  eoU«— that  was  A»  pent ;  the 
stove  being  warm  ww,  in  itself,  ^Ma  or  nvtUag  W  the  porpose— 
tte  stove  was  not  lit  to  wann  itself  oriy.  It  wis  of  no'  «e  i — they 
amiled,  or  took  it  nndsE,  and  went  Brway,  iMtjiag,  "  EoglandsRi  were 
an  original  people  !"  Sometimes  the  stoves  are Et  by  an  apertore 
jrom  the  outside  of  the  room,  so  that  the  regulation  of  the  tem- 
perature being  thus  totally  out  of  your  hands,  they  either  freeze 
you,  or  regularly  bake  you,  just  as  the  case  may  happen;  and  you 
have  no  remedy  but  to  run  out  of  the  room.  In  the-  -eamforts 
and  luxuries  of  social  life,  Germany  is  a  hundred  years  behind 
tiDgland. 

We  Shodd  here  tAserre  that  Germsny  is  a  Tnttmn  of  philoso- 
phers who  do  not  undenrtand  ven^stHm.  S«  tmch  has  habit  the 
pewer  t*  dead«n  perce^on,  nMntal  aa  well  aa  bodily,  thet  vna 
men  of.aeienoa  BiK-cen&Bed,  er  ia  not  disdngnish  the  facts  of  tiM 
CMd;  W&  bwM  eomplwMil  t«  QeciMB  fd^ymciaafl  «f  1^  d«»d£di 
ovut  wUch  SUE  apAstBtetA  had  become  by  mwn-  -of  tke  9tMM» 
ffManS  mi^at,  Knd  Tcmai^d  &aA  we  o«&bi  net  Mt  spas.  .» 
dME  cr  viadsw,  m  the  wind  wwild  rash  ooUly  in,  and  Itenee  thwii 
ou|^  te  be  sw»«  method  t£  ventihuion  adopted  in  thes  Kvm  i 
bnt  tke  gentltmen  a&reiaid.hwTO  delibendely  pointed  toitbe  mi  Ja« 
of  tbe  riave,  eboening  that.ti«reVaB  the  ve^iklioB  !  Ab  Ammti 
cnt^it  to  gp  to  Qertma.y,  aad  deliver  a  leetwe  oa  hii  MawO'  at  aU 
the  priae^ai  tons. 

While  upoB.  the  ailbjeet  of  domeatK  eMwoiKy,  we  ham  a  iinr 
m<a«  useomfortaUe  (Nervations  to  maHbt.  The  bad»  arC'VU  te» 
ehui.  A  ^ort  mm  oaa  scarc^y  lie  cfuite  str^ght  withcwt  U* 
feet  pfcSHBg  ag^nat  the  foot-bowd.  A  taJil  muL  Kwrt  ^Aee 
lie  waaohed  uf  neae  and-Jiaeea,  m  hia  ndted  feet  aad  mU«b 
lOBBt  ^dc  out  over  the  wooden  barrier  at  the  bed'«  fsot,  or 
else  (aa  the  piflews  are  gwoctraUy  h^hac  than  the  hoad^beaid) 
his  hend   mast   hang    over  the   piUowa,    aad    dba^e'  lavMada 


47 

tbcANB,— -Ml  sttitairiKH  -wiatAi,  to<Mif^aoit>i»fawrlidgt,.wwMal 
English  tntTellerB  have  awoke  in  the  momio^  ti  iHwii  ■iiwrniTiiij 
cotiMdmk.a^  BtaM&tA  mbamUmKwt.  In  viatet — wdi^aM  hAe 
tr^^  pvM — (fcr  »f  Mr  ttmoBto  kuMV  n7-AB^.Bhntde-«nDtw> 
— tfcwB  cwMa  fcifraA  Jfeptwrfwt.  Iuthe£i>t.^BB^ltolihitetB^ 
nntnitt  Tiw4r  tft  "t^mt'  ii :"  dtc^aMimxih^tMmnmr;  Ui»|Nwt 
tiMked  n  mwld  he  e<an^«Hd  m  intoted.  For  gfiiQwt  BaeiB^dw 
pwttuekedin?  th^DmnU  aak.  TUiwiO^d.Wfi^^.cxtrBm- 
gant ;  tbe  UraketB  tbtsafoAr  ue  |ai^>arY  aaid  "wigebf  ef  th»  same 
vMth  as  tbe  1»«d.  The  BwiiMiaeneB  in  bhat  lolf  &  dwBa  tones  is 
th^mght  yon  KT«  amobe  b^  dw  oidd  eoDsdng  ia :at  sue  aide  ar^ba 
other ;  in  yonr  oSbttoto  rapHc  <^  Mpeno^  yooanbe  as  opening 
at  lite  othernde^  baA  t^^tbe  nmoiiig;  yvur  bed-dotheft  ma  boiddled 
round  you  in  ne  eba^.at  all,  anA  vi£tL  ae-  go«d  moceSB..  So  mnob 
for  bknlcets  ;  but  very  often  your  only  bed-clothes  is  a  abnrt  vdth 
a  rtnSed  htf;,  Ik  fact  a  hmiU  fsather'had  laid  over  it,  Ntrw  this 
puSed  hag,  whadi  aoMra  yiw,  is  jost  the  wwitk  of  dM  bedr  or 
Bomethiag  ieoB,  asd.  littte  nore  thu  two-tfaiida  of  He  ISBgdi ;  sad 
here  is  a  scuie  «f  maety  !  Yob  iDwt  inisvitablif  li»i»:tfai  ahape 
of  a>  frog,  01  y«ac  iwek  nad  alMuUenr  vmdd  bs  ^nte  ^Hraovared, 
except  1^  the  mere  fibeet.  A  ^Mrtcs'  ti  aa^bsae-of  das,  oncl  ym. 
aee  enre  te  be  is  a  TspMu-  tathr  therftathoe-b^  ■  »  ex«««gR*flly 
hot  ;  but  everr  tane  yoa  Ctum  fm^  en*  nJe  to  ti»  oAer,  thv 
naotowfwk  cwerukg  jwiifigi^  woMfiieet,  aad  kteiBthefrevBiaif 
air  of  yow  wiaAry  chfuAer.  If  yom  turn  at  all  hut^y,  you  ebbo 
the  thu^  <a  both  Bides,  aad  a  thwrnigh  draaght  insbnfiy  poaws 
throHf^  your  hot  Tipoiw  bed,  and  aatmaehes  ywar  pmr  iega  aad 
ba^  SonetiiBefl  in  the  n^t,  and  in  die  darkuem,  yoa  lanre 
"a  scene  "  irith  yow  feather  bag,  which  can  Beaiec^bodeMridMd. 
Ym  avake  'witb  a  freztm  limb^  or  aide,  m  ahovider — SBdanww  to 
adjust  die  bag  and  ema  yewK^  pn^ieriy — Sad  yon  have  got  the 
tlKDg  broad-vayi  over  yovJaetead.of  loi^way»— try  t«-patiKT^;ht 
— it  geta  comer'WKyB — iken  ao-h*w— changes  ila  sbapa  sa  as 
utt^ly  to  biAa  and  eeufaae  you  in  the  danh,  ttB.  yon  da  net 
know,  and  £md  it  impoaaibla  te  ^aeor^,  Dihether  yon  ar»  in  a 
moog  peekion  jn  your  bed  or  hsre  get  the  bag  -wnmg  ;— yen  are 
in  a  ferer — it  now  gets  hottcrthaii  ewer,  and  less  in  tnze— becomes 
elastic,  perrwse,  ahve — has  a  will  of  ha  ^'w» — and  finally  ehps 
off  vfCfa  the  flooc,  eiAcr  relfing  ladcinoath  the  bedetwd,  or 
getting  itself  invc^ed  with  legs  c^  c}ia0i,  so  that  ym  are  cwB' 
p<dled  t» gat  out  ta.ibe  fti^tfuUycridaiv  MdgiopenboatiKtdu 

.CoO'jIc 


48  las  GireuBKiLui  ik  fudmu, 

(larknesB,  upon  the  ic;  caipetteBS  floor,  to  reeoTcr  your  det«Btable 
aod  accursed  companion. 

The  furniture  of  the  house  is  for  the  most  part  ill-made  and 
hadlj  put  together,  like  the  slop-work  articles  of  our  cheap  uphol- 
sterers or  furniture-brokers.  Heads  and  pwnts  of  nails  and  screws 
often  project  from  chairs,  tables,  and  so&s  ;  as  also  Hplinters  and 
sharp  edges  of  badly-finished  articles,  to  the  frequent  injury  of  the 
clothes,  and  the  hands  or  other  parts  of  the  person.  The  so&b  ia 
the  great  majority  of  houses,  and  in  all  lodging-houses,  are  mani< 
festly  not  made  to  lie  or  1611  upon,  because  if  yon  do  so,  you  are 
sure  to  "start  a  plank,"  or  knock  out  the  back  or  sides.  Twice 
hare  I  had  the  upper  half  of  me  deposited  upon  the  floor  behind, 
in  consequence  of  sinking  hack  nith  misplaced  confidence  upon 
my  sofa,  on  returning  home  fatigued.  The  sofa-back  f^ll  out  in 
an  instant. 

The  Germans  piide  themselves  very  much  on  their  tailors,  and 
of  late  years  they  have  claimed  the  honour  of  making  boots  equal 
to  the  Parisian  eordotmiert.  Their  clothes  are  certainly  well  made, 
and  the  fit  excellent.  You  purchase  your  own  materials,  cloth  and 
silk,  and  the  expense  altogether,  at  the  highest,  is  yet  one-third 
cheaper  than  the  same  article  in  "  quality  and  out  "  can  be  obtained 
in  Bngland  ;  in  some  cases  (such  as  siJk,  satin,  velvet,  and  other 
fancy  naiatcoats)  the  price  is  less  than  half.  .  The  boots  made  by 
the  best  bootmakers'  are  also  about  a  third  cheaper,  well  made  and 
durable.  The  objection  to  the  shape  which  an  Englishman  would 
always  make  is  that  adopted  in  the  toes  of  the  boots,  which  extend 
two  inches  and  more  beyond  the  actual  toes,  and  speedUy  acquire 
an  upward  direction,  as  if  intended  to  cover  some  withered  eicre- 
,  sconce  at  the  end  of  the  foot.  German  gentlemen  drees  well,  with 
great  care  and  neatneas,  and  with  good  taste,  even  on  "the  bright 
side  of  things  ;"  a  style  which  is  always  dangerous,  and  requires 
many  additions  to  justify  and  carry  bS  becomingly.  Clean  hands  are 
sn  important  addition,  and  certtunlj  a  very  uncommon  one.  The 
ladies  dress  well ;  but,  considering  their  station;  no  young  women 
dress  so  well  as  the  bonnet-makers,  sempstresses,  shop-^rls,  and 
that  class.  The  prevailing  characteristic  of  good  dressing  among 
the  younger  women  of  all  ranks  ia  the  arrangement  of  the  hair. 
This  is  generally  dark  and  pro^e,  and  the  great  beauty  of  it  is 
di^layed  ina  variety  of  graeefid^aits,  bands,  rolls,  or  shell-shaped 
designs  at  the  back  of  the  head ;  and  as  they  commonly  have 
bandsome  necks  and  shoulders,  the  effect  is  quite  beauti&l,  and 


THE  ENOLISHIUK  IK  PRUSSIA.  t9 

ID  ja&aj  cases,  no  doubt,  irresistible.  The  objectionable  portion 
of  women's  dress  of  all  ranks  is  tlie  shape  of  their  shoes.  Nothing 
can  exceed  the  nncoathncss  and  ugliness.  Tho  shoo  presents  just 
such  an  appearance  as  would  be  obtained  if  a  lady  dipped  her  foot 
slowly  into  a  bason  of  blacking  as  .high  as  the  ankle, — took  it  out 
csreftdlj,  and  allowed  it  to  dry  and  cake. 

It  ia  impossible  to  pass  over  German  cookery.  Many  of  their 
dishes  are  excellent ;  and  i  of ,  their  three  hundred  methods  of 
dressing  potatoes,  a,  rery  desirable  selection  might  be  made.  A 
great  many  of  iJieir  soups  also,  for  flaTour,  wholesomeness,  and 
economy,  are  not  to  be  surpassed.' -.But  for  originaUty,  for  in- 
ventiveness, for  the  bringing  t^^ther  Tof.  the  most  apparently 
nneongeniial  and  incongruous  materials,  they  certainly  .expeed  any- 
thing that  an  Engltihman  could  imagine.  The  table  ■iTHSte  of  a 
good  hotel  always  presents  an  agreeable  variety,  Pea^s'^p,  with 
slices  of  raw  beef  in  It,  or  followed  by  raw  herrings  {"  cured  "  in 
some  way,  but  not  cooked);  baked  beef  with  preserved  plums, 
and  hot  yellow  gooso-fat  laid  upon  slices  of  brown  bread,  or,  toast, 
may  seem  rather  startling  to  delicate  stomachs.  Baked''ducka 
stuffed  with  chestnuts- and' onions,"- and  garnished  with  a  sauce  of 
pickled  cherries  or.very.sbnr-brandy-cherries  ;  potatoes  fried  with 
vinegar  and  sugar ;  tutnips  'iS)vered  with  cinnamon  ;  and  black 
pudding  "  assisted",  byihaked  pears  preserved  in  syrup  ;  potatoes 
srewed  with  onions  and  .  sugar  ;  French  beans  fried  in  brown 
sugar  ;  and  boiled  sahnon  smothered  in  custard,  or  a  light  batter 
pudding  ; — all  these  may  appear  ingenidnB,;i(fni()tr.^uerally  seduc- 
tive. After  a  great  many  dishes  of  this  kind.'the  last  that  comes 
before  the  desert,  is  almost  always  hot  baked  fnuttou  with  a  rich 
brown  sauce,  made  "  thick  and  slab,"  The  following  specimens 
of  Koch-Kunst  will  also  he  found  interesting:— a  dock  stuffed  with 
almonds  and  apples ;  raw  bam  with  pancakes  and  salad;  potatoes 
and  caraway  comfits ;  a  turnip  sliced,  and  made  delicious  with 
rock-salt,  pepper,  and  caraways  to  bo  eaten  widi  coffee  ;  a  hare 
stuffed withehestnuts.ifec.  In  thomatterof  poultry, theGennancooks 
have  need  of  all  thar  art,  as  there  is  really  very  little  flesh  upon 
the  bones  of  their  fowls  ;  and  a  goose  is  eommonly  a  mere  skeleton, 
with  a  gristle  and  a  thick  yellow  fatty  tough  skin  over  it ;  in  fact,  an 
English  friend  has  truly  designated  it  when  he  said  a  German 
goose  was  just  Ifte  "  a  little  fiddle  in  a  leathern  bag."  The  use 
of  blood  in  many  of  their  dishes  is  alarming  to  our  notions  oi 
refinement,  especially  as  it  is  made  no  secret  of  "  the  art,    but  is 

HO.  Xni. — ^VOL,  !!r.  E  ,  -  T 


60  THE  EXGuaHUAH  IS  nnsiA. 

«pen^  carried  in  jags  and  cups  from  iIuigbteiJioaMt.  The  Ic^ 
of  muttKKL  are  alao  apt  to  be  rerj  mnBcal^  and  |Mpy.  The  King 
of  Pnmia  lends  to  WindaM'  for  hit  vaMoa.  Hov  ^iadij  wcnld 
erery  Englidunan  in  Pnuuft  do  the  ume. 

The  witKB  of  the  cootttiy  ore  light,  clear,  wbolasane,  mad 
very  agreeable,  when  jon  get  need  to  the  peoaliar  flavaar  irhieli 
most  of  the  best  poMeaa.  The  red  wines  of  Gemumj  arc  eoBunonly 
half  the  price  of  tiie  white  wines.  Some  of  the  former  are  really 
little  better  than  a  nrogh  s<»t  of  red  ink ;  others,  bow«v«r, 
are  very  good,  and  not  witltout  atren^h.  The  pa««at  of  tic 
white  winea  BJmplj  resemble  bad  Tiae^or,  and  a  qnanti^  of 
sugar  is  eotnelimes  used  in  drinking  it — not  generally,  thonj^ ; — 
the  eternal  pipe  qualifies  everything.  The  beat  of  the  white  wines, 
whether  the  Idgh-flavoured  hook  or  Ho»^le  wines,  are  by  no  in«ans 
cheap,  in  foot  the  same  price  aa  Champagne.  The  fineot  of  all 
theBe  white  winee  costs  the  merolunt  bimaelf  six  shillings  a  bottle 
on  the  Tery  Tineyard  of  its  birth.  The  price  of  these  winee  Taries, 
not  merely  with  die  district  and  aiipoct  of  its  growth,  but  erren 
wtA  the  part  of  the  mountain.  Thus,  the  grapee  txtasA  ef  ao 
rich  a  quality  in  the  vineyards  at  the  top  of  the  mountain  oa  at  its 
foot,  nor  at  its  foot  so  rich  as  in  the  centre.  The  sonromuDE 
longer  there,  and  consequently  those  grapes  contain  the  most 
sugar.  They  draw  ^ttinctions  in  this  matter  between  ijna^vds 
that  ore  within  a  few  yards  of  each  other,  and  appareotlywkh 
reason.  TheiS'cAarte^vf^r^haBbyDOmeaiiB  the  same  fine  fiBVOor 
as  the  Sehvrtzhofbergtr,  though  both  grow  upon  the  same  momi' 
tain.  We  have  seen  the  whole  course  of  the  Tintage  seaaon — 
wine-mahing  and  all — and  feel  conTineed  that  the  diatineti)on  Is 
always  well  founded.  Coffee  in  Germany  is  very  good,  and  jvet^^ell 
made  ;  but  the  tea  is  always  poor,  if  not  detestable.  The  greatest 
portion  of  what  is  sold  ibr  tea,  is  not  tea  at  all ;  we  have  ofien 
dried  the  leaves,  and  found  them  to  be  demonstrable  hqdg^'ow 
impostors.  Beudes,  the  water  with  which  it  is  made  does  not 
properly  boil ;  nor  can  you  get  really  boiling  water  in  Garaany, 
unless  you  take  ont  a  tea-kettle  (aa  ^ey  have  none)  and  see  to  it 
yonrself.     The  urn  they  bring  yon  at  the  hot^  never  really  baila. 

Those  hotels  only  which  have  been  aceustcnned  to  the  'riaita 
and  reaidenec  of  Knglish  people,  ore  comfortably  habitable  to 
English  people.  This  is  die  case  now  vritholl  the  prineipal 
hotels,  and  even  ^ose  of  the  seoond  class  are  nowswsre  wlaen 
thsy  iiave  got  a  troublesome  customer.     "  We  would  rnther  Invc 


THE  tWT-.UaHinw   is   PRUSSIA.  51 

ten  Germuia  ^naa.  <»te  Eng^iBhuHUi  in  tiie  home,"  iB  a  eommoa 
■Eiying,  tiith  re&rence  to  tke  tnAible  grroD.  No  wonder  70  give 
trouUe  iriiere  nothing  is  ctnofortahle  or  "  fit,"  aeeording  to  onr 
habita.  Thej  saj  ve  ought  to  "coti«mi,"  as  GermanB  do  when 
diey  go  to  Englnnd.  Yes — well  tfaey  may  emifonn — it  is  cssj  to 
«onfoR>i  iiO  a  neat  of  clover,  as  tfaej  must  eurely  find  aai  hoases 
after  th«r  windy  abodes.  Bttt  let  ns  imagine  an  Engli^man  of 
Ibe  middk  class,  and  aeenstoHied — we  will  not  eay  to  the  first- 
tate  hotels,  bnt  to  dte  best  ecwunercial  liatc^  of  his  own  eountrj^ : 
let  us  merely  imagine  him  entering  his  bed-TOom  in  n  Geraian 
inn,  and  discovering  b«pe  boards  in  the  oddest  weather,  no  sort  of 
cnrtMns  or  liangiags  to  his  bed,  drai^IrtB  from  windows  and 
creriees  all  round,  aatriog  emell  of  stale  tobacco-anoke,  a  towel 
the  rise  (^  a  during-elodi,  aad  a  jt^  lud  bastm  no  biggar  ibaii  a 
milk-jug  ^td  slop-bason — or  else  the  water  is  contained  in  a  wine- 
bottle,  and  to  obtain  raws  is  of  coarse  one  of  the  "  troables  " 
given  by  aa  EnglishiBaD.  Then  the  landlard  and  waiters  plaee 
themselves  at  onoe  ea  the  moat  oa^,  familiar,  and  indi^reat 
tero^  with  yao.  We  onee  called  at  an  inn  where  a  certain 
learaed  phTBciaa  lodgad.     We  lavt  tjie  landlord  on  the  staira. 

"  Is  lilr.  Doctn  L widiin  V  The  landlord  passed  on,  saying, 

as  he  disappeared  dirougfa  a  door,  "  I  haven't  the  least  idea  ; 
y«a  em  go  and  look."  Boog  very  Imuly  engi^^  one  day  in 
writing,  we  paid  mo  attsBtion  to  the  entrance  (^  die  waiter,  who 
came  in  to  kok  aftw  the  stove,  as  it  was  a  cold  day  at  the  latter 
^d  of  aatomn.  He  passed  rennd  bdnnd  our  chair  to  do  some- 
diiog  or  other,  and  we  eanrinned  writing.  Presently  wc  began  to 
fed  horridly  coH,  and  with  a  wind  cutting  into  the  hack  of  oar 
nvA  ;  when,  looking  romul,  tiiere  was  my  lord  the  waiter  leasing 
oat  of  the  window,  w^ch  he  had  opened  for  the  pmipose,  laughing 
and  chatting  vi'aii  a  giil,  who  was  leaning  out  of  a  window  from 
the  naxt  hoose  !  These  sorts  of  things  are  of  dmly  ocenrrenoe. 
1  aUnde  to  the  r^nlar  German  inns  and  ordinary  hotels,  ^ritich 
are  the  trne  versioas  of  nationality  in  &ese  reelects.  I  do  not 
allnde  to  the  hotels  stnBtantly  freqaented  by  Englidi  families  and 
travellcra,  for  these  are  "  sophisticated."  Yet  these  are  all  that 
are  described  by  most  of  our  tourists. 

The  manners  of  the  Germans  are  polite,  pleasant,  cordial,  and 
very  eeiwatnuona  ;  not  in  all  rejects  refined  {the  contrary  in 
respect  of  "smoking  and  spitting,"  and  in  some  habits  at  tabled.), 
bnt  for  the  most  part  obliging,  and  without  any  of  those  airs  of 

.2  1^, 


£2  THE  ENGUSBUAH   IX  PBUSSIA. 

pride  and  superciliousness  with  which  EngliBbmen  are  so  con- 
Btandj  and  so  justly  taxed.  A  Genuan,  of  whatever  rank,  is 
pretty  sure ,  to  return  a  civil  answer  to  any  decent  person  who 
addresses  him.  They  converse  freely  with  strangers,  and  are 
never  averse  to  begin  the  conversation,  except  with  an  English- 
man,  because  they  say,  and  very  truly,  that  whenever  aBlraDger,(hi8 
own  countrymen  included)  speaksfirst  to  an  Englishman,  the  "great 
man"  immediately  thinks  the  speaker  wants  to  be  acquainted  with 
him,  and  therefore  he  will  not  enconrage  such  familiarity  !  The 
Gennan  manners  may  be  regarded  on  the  whole  as  frank,  un- 
reserved, and  pleasing  ;  but  we  must  except  the  ladies  of  the 
middle  class,  who  are  all  rather  reserved,  and  "  out  of  doors  " 
abominably  so.  The  Style  in  which  a  lady  of  this  class  receives  a 
salutation  &om  any  gentleman  in  the  streets,  of  whatever  country, 
is  like  the  most  chiliing  and  repelling  "cut."  This  ia  not  in- 
tended ;  it  is  merely  thought  good  style,  especially  in  all  small, 
and  therefore  scandal-talking  towns.  As  for  tho  younger  girls, 
they  pass  you  in  the  streets  with  faces  as  hard  as  if  carved  in 
wood,  and  even  in  cases  where  the  wearers  of  these  faces  are  well 
known  in  the  town  to  belong  to  no  such  unimpreasible  and  im- 
pregnable fortresses  as  they  would  have  you  believe. 

Tho  question  of  a  nation's  "  morals  "  is  rather  a  nice  subject — 
in  fact,  it  is  always  rendered  a  ticklish  matter  to  discuss  "  morals" 
in  our  own  country,  by  reason  of  the  vulgar  limitation  of  the  sense 
of  the  term — which  vulgarity  has  now  become  imiverBal  among  us. 
It  refers  to  just  one  thing.  Justice,  honour,  truthfulness,  fair' 
dealing,  charitableness,  Bincerity  of  feeling — none  of  these  qualities 
are  Included.  The^one  thing  always  meant  by  "morals  '  is  tho 
legal  or  illegal  commerce  of  the  two  sexes.  How,  with  respect  to 
justice  and  even-handedness  among  the  Gormans,  we  should  say 
that,  as  a  national  characteristic,  they  are  more  prevalent  than  in 
most  nations  ;  and  tho  same  may  be  said'  of  honour  and  truthful- 
ness ;  but  it  will  be  understood  by  all  who  have  read  the  previous 
papers  of  this  series,  that  we  by  no  moans  include  the  Prussian 
government  or  its  bureaueratical  officers  in  this  compliment*    Of 

*  A  gentlenum  named  Brooks  (iu  all  probability  an  Englishmui),  had 
written  sotoe  account  of  the  Prussian  Boldieiy.  He  was  accused  of  ii-eacAtry  ; 
seized,  tried,  snd  acquitted  nt  Aix.  The  miuister  Kamptz  (this  was  dariog 
the  reign  of  the  present  king's  father)  said  he  was  nstonished  at  sneh  a 
verdict ;  had  him  agwn  seized  and  brought  l>efore  tJie  court  at  Magdeburg, 
whicli  found  him  guilty,  and  he  was  imprisoned  for  more  than  a  twelve- 
month !  But  worse  than  all  (as  na  insult  to  Justice  and  a  free  court),  tho 
nuniater  ordered  the  court  at  Aix  to  reverse  ita  decision, — which  it  was 
obliged  to  do  1 


TUB  ESeUSHUAK   IN   PRUSSIA.  63 

thdr  ^r-dealing  in  matters  of  trade  we  confess  we  have  had  very 
few  and  slight  opportunitieB  of  judging.  The  Gennana  have  tiie 
r^ntation  ^  malutig  clever  bargains,  and  are  often  said  to  take 
mdur  adrantoge  when  thej  con  safely  do  so.  In  the  majority  of 
instanoes,  howerer,  we  think  this  accasation  irill  be  found  to  hold 
good  only  with  the  Jews,  of  whom  there  are  an  abundance  in 
Oemm&y.  As  for  maUng  the  EngUsh  "  pay  double  "  fbr  many 
things  in  the  shops,  that  is  not  mnch  to  be  wondered  at ;  and, 
though  it  is  not  right  in  any  casej  yet  the  temptation  u  hardly  to 
be  resisted,  because  John'  Bull  has  such  a  swa^^ring  vray  with 
him — is  BO  determined  to  have  the  thing  he  wants,  at  any  price — 
is  so  saspidoua  of  being  cheated,  which  commonly  provokes 
cheating — iand  Is,  inoreover,  known  to  bring  over  money  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  spending  it.  The  QermaDS  are  in  gieneral  very 
charitable,  sincere,  and  extremely  hospitable.  If  you  hare  « 
sufBcient  introduction  to  a  German  family,  they  are  pretty  sure  to 
welcome  yon  at  once,  and  if  they  do  so  afterwards,  yon  may  be 
satisfied  that  they  sincerely  mean  it.  Inthe  matter  of  "morals,"  as 
the  term  is'  exclusively  understood  in  England,  the  greatest  hyiio- 
crisy  prerails  in  many  parts  of  Germany,  and  undoubtedly  in  all 
small  towns,  especially  small  university  towns.  It  is  true  that  the 
young  men,  and  men  in  general,  are  far  less  Ucentious  than  in 
France,  Spain,  Italy,  and  England — for  has  not  the  German  his 
pipe  ?  But,  notwithstanding  this  national  "  sedative  and  sooth- 
ing abstraction,"  there  are  instances  and  occasions  enough,  in 
which  his  peccadiUoea  might  be  brought  to  light,  to  the  utter 
oonfuaioQ  of  the  grave  and  denying  countenance  which  is  habitu- 
ally assumed,  with  reference  to  all  such  lawless  doings.  Neverthe- 
less, there  are  in  the  larger  cities  houses  of  ill  fame  regularly 
licensed — and  therefore  the  "  lawless "  in  morality  becomes 
"  lawful "  in  civic  regulations.  But  the  grave  o^nder  regards  it 
all  OS  beneath  his  high  character,  and  has  no  toleration  for  it  in 
others  who  are  discovered  so  to  forget  their  philosophic  dignity. 
We  overheard  a  German  gentleman  lecture  a  friend  in  these 
words  : — "  Ton  have  lost  your  character.  I  don't  care  how  the 
fact  stands  ;  but  why  did  you  suffer  your  folly  to  be  known  ?" 
This  is  a  bad  condition  of  morab.  It  must  be  admitted  ;  but  what 
nation  shall  cast  "  the  first  stone?"  Verily,  the  world  needs  a 
vast  deal  of  rational  purification,  and  the  first  step  to  it  must  be — 
not  a  stone — but  Truth. 

The  amusements  in  Germany  are  not  numerous,  nor  of  an  ez- 


■tit»a  wilt  «8.  rTbey-  e«uUt  sf  -cliibe,  *tj>iA*efai'<ifMyw)iMBg'  &e 
nwaabeBaiweefctO'fUrat  tttUJMda.'JwnMww,  JiaigtJB,  <— jo.iwifl 
jttDepins.  -TJwi  QJrmag  miiftnJ  gatw  » dw«xi*»riwtic.  iltiw  mm 
afaneted  an  the  ■  fnaeiflaaf-  iKJ^Hiag  aBwr^rtteig  >  timt  ia  idanl% 
May  «f  nniwniirltiiitiOTti  awH  Thith  nnden  tbef  (UMe>awwinef4o 
thagreftt  m^^^:  of  ylaywa  ;  jMtdiit  t»ly  t<ileEi<€*-*nd.ii«yiHii 
t^Mii  EN  ■ncgwiftliOTloBla^niMid^eweiitBoni.of  aU  -Mrtsof 'Caai|^ 
dated idau^aB-MidwfiHBMBta.  1kn&is'nafiii].w-it.  H"))  «tMVt 
to  a.«cwiti£c  hwdt<t^&>Qt«leraUyalMpid>Mjd  «^iii^rQiM*e.  ^he 
ganeiataiDe^s^sr  large  juidWl.«kiHlei>  is  tfi«ll-MtpMtB<^t«si- 
lent  KmuBemeHt.  Conoerie  mw  ;«lao  ,|wniraHa,  '•ud  'far  -the 
moat  port,  vwy  indifferaxt.  ^TcA  of  a  aiwucal  awrttsw'.'  '«hj, 
any  one  j^  mt  firstm^  Xcudon  o^oiierts  iriU  coMtMii  'men 
aspMaw  »rtiata,  and  .Al*uya  a  ntwellibeMl  and  voided ^adeetMO 
tiian  diaJl  be  fewkd  in  aoj  kalfidoMii  finb-vato  ooaeerts  in  G«r- 
mmy,  with  the  .  ese^iwi  «f  thiue  nUdi  «re  given  «ti  -tfae 
greatest  eeoaBioMsin-suchpIaceB  ab  Vieona,  Draaden,  4Bld  Beriin. 
It  is  tnte  that  Buet.^  wr  best  w>lo  perfooaecs  ia  this  ««mt«y 
are  Gemuis ;  bit  ithat  eaiy  proKa  that  oat'tiatiaa,  «ai  wit 
the  WfjKtaed  ''muBieal  Dation/'  has^iet  the  best  gaM.  TIm 
faet  is,  the  lomoerta  in  Gemuuty  aae  genetaUy  oeofaadTto-tfa 
heavieat  GermMi  .«oni^utioBS,  yeiy  iDcliffeF«at^  ^aad  banUy 
ezeeHt«d.  Aa-fer  their  theatres,  there  is  wit  aHMh  to^be^said 
ahoQt'tbeia.  fSo  be  bdn,  thayare  far  better  than  ««s^  tJK 
prestoti  tuoe,  wUch  is  saying  little  eiuH^.  1^«r«ihibitio*s-4f 
gyMMStic  p«r&waanoes  aad  «f  bertamaiuhtp  'are.^dmirabte.  fSka 
most  Qxoiting  and  ieaet  tee^rate  of  all  the  t 
Getmrns-  ooour.  duiing  &e  eamivala. 

TbciCUrQiwlibegias  with  long  proceatiiMs.thmigh'-ti 
streets  f  f  all  gc«at  eities  ; .  aad  ef  small  tasrus  dao,  a 
their  moans  ;  'CMMJitiiig  of  ^iuu^hal  -and .  eoihkMatic  >• 
and  <9»rB  and  «hariiats,  aud  aeowtrk  edifiewi  en  nheels,  all  U^^ 
oniameated,  utd  filed  nith  in«a*adwoB*m~-eft«n  SMoe  «f  Ae 
most  re^ieebible, among  (he  lobabitantB,  in  faBeycoatumee.  fShaee 
are  haasemeD  aad  fMtcaen,  «iid  ■  adecg.  oa  tUi^ys,  and  goats,  ond 
pigs,  and  aalvaa,  and  st^Eed  knitatiens.af  coloasal  birds,  all  «f 
whom  are  Also  attired  in  a  fanciful  manner,  and  distributo  pitatod 
ballads  and  witticiuus  to  the  admiring  crowds  areuad,  and  to  these 
also  who  throng  the  windows,  and  to  whom  tbeip^>erB'3re  presented 
at  the  end  of  long  pc^  aa  the  proceision  and  all  its  wotlay-trun 


THE  BXGLISnUAK   EN   PRCasIA.  (5 

mores  idong.  The  period  for  all  this  ism'the  motitdi'of  ViAitiOt^; 
Mid '66  the  w«*yier"lBCither  snowy,  rriny,  CftfereisA'h&rdfrOTt 
Upon  the  gttmnd,  Mevyhodj  looks  pm^le  ftrid  wb^e'^WMhithetiDld, 
and  probaWyhftB  hia  feefwet  thfough'brffthe  day  if  he' i«BUe 
iAto  the  streeta.  At  M&yenee,  iMt  7«ftr,'t}w  peifattQ«-s  of  (be 
cardvaliBtroduced  the  pleuoat  ^earaace  of  a  iRattbei''oF  dmnken 
houses  r^tfaig  about  in  the  squares  M*d:  public 'jilaiSes,t5beMd  by 
the  houBM  fat^g  DMcde  bf -stme  V»y  U^t'DMrtfltial  cK[MMe  of 
bemg  ctttriedaitd  dttimd  about 'byiitenm!<9de,'Bnd  ons^^,  who 
supported  dio  inebriated  edifices  onpol«8.  Bet  asililliiiore'ftfHiie- 
i-ons  and  raried  series  of  tSspIays  and  proceiAiOiis  takes  |face  at 
the  Candral  of  Oologne.  After  tiie  sploodoora  of  the  streetaaFe 
oonbluded,  all  the  parties  retreat  to  different  hotels  to  dinner. 
The  close  of  one  of  these  dinners/Of  whidi  We -were  partaker  and 
witneaa,  presented  an  extraordmary  sceiie.  An  elabwate  defibr^ 
tioti  of  it  appeared  in  a  Loudoti  periedioaJ  aorae  half-year  ago, 
from  which  w^  crare  ■  permisgKsi  to  make  the  followmg  eltract. 
We  might  have  been  more  acnrpnlons  in  quoting  0*r  own  iTorde, 
hnt  that  'an  ingemous  rogne  has  deliberately  ^ated  the  whole 
acccnmt'for  att  onxttnental  book,  which  appeared  after  the  Queen's 
visit  to  Prussia,  and  without  a  syllable  of  acknOwledgmeat  of  the 
obligation.  The  -ifter-dinner- scene  in  (piestion  we  rdated  nearly 
as-  fo^ws. 

The  band  now  began  to  plj^  a  wdl-known  air,  which  had  been 
90me'yesra 'shicc  composed  for  the  'camiTal,  and  the  whole  happy 
company  at  each  taUe  took  part  in  it  in  the  follttwing' manner. 
Gtee  of  (he  heroca  took  the  poat  Of  loader  of  the  chofus,'  and  sung 
the  aifwith  the  band,  accompaniedby  the  whole  room.  With  the 
begniBing  of  the  next  verse,  or  recommencement  flf  Hie  air,' the 
leader  set  the-  example  of  dappingiris  hftWda  "  to  the  tone  ; "  and 
this  han'd^appiog  accompaniment  was  accordbgty  made  by  t^ 
presAit.  The  leader  next  began  to  whistle  with  the  baijd, -hBd 
we  bH  wbistled.  The  BeJt  thing  was  to  tap  the  -wine-gkBaeB 
wJththo  back  of  tile  deBeTt-kniTes,wbich  produced  aiftultittldHlons 
ringing  and  jingling  sound,  and  of  course  many  glasseS'Were  broken 
by  anibitfaras  performers.  Marking  time,  or  beat^g  the  "mehxly" 
wiUi  the  fcfet  upon  the  'floor,  follow^  this  with  a  aoanding, 
nnarmnous,  aatiafflctory  effect.  -The  next  variation  upon  this  very 
original  mtiody  was  that  of  rattling  the  plates  upon'  the  tabte  ;  and 
because  at  the  conclusion,  enon^  plates  had  not  been  broken,  a 
number  of  gcuUemen  broke  their  plates  upon  their  own  heads,  the 


6S  TBE  EHGLISEMAK   IS 

vUte  fr&gments  falling  upon  and  down  their  backs  ia  all  direc- 
tions. Then  we  liad  an  imitation  of  the  braced  drum,  everybody 
dirumming  txpou  the  table  with  the  handles  of  bia  knife  and  fork  ; 
a  hanh  noise,  in  which  the  band  could  scarcelj  be  heard.  A 
laughing  accompaniment  followed,  and  was  very  well  executed  by 
us  all.  The  leader  now  took  a  cork, — cut  one  end  of  it, — dipped 
it  in  wine,  and  rubbed  it  up  and  down  the  outside  of  a  wine-bottie, 
producing'  a  squeaking  sound  as  if  a  mouse  should  sing,  only 
sharper  ;  the  band  thus  had  an  accompanimeiit  of  three  hundred 
Bqueat'Dg  inBtruments,  the  effect  of  which  was  indeacribablj 
ridiculous.  The  last  Tariation  was  to  sing  with  the  band,  and 
drum  upon  the  table  with  both  fists  ;  which  was  accordingly  per- 
formed to  admiration,  every  glass,  plate,  knife  and  fork,  tumbler, 
and  even  decanter  and  botUe,  leaping  up  in  the  air,  or  contributing 
its  share  of  sound  and  merriment  to  the  accompaniment,  and  thus 
terminated  the  amusement. 

The  grand  conclusion  of  the  day's  entertainmentB—ranking 
above  the  theatres,  the  horsemanship,  the  puppet-plays,  &c. — is 
the  great  masked  ball,  which  takes  place  at  the  Giirzenich— our 
account  of  which  was  also  "  adopted  verbatim,  without  acknow- 
ledgment by  our  friend  of  the  black  flag. 

Literal  description  of  the  Giirzenich  Ball  is  out  of  the  question. 
The  reader  will  understand  a  rough  cartoon  of  it  much  better. 
Imagine  a  dancing  saloon,  so  long  that  it  requires  two  bands  of 
music,  one  at  each  end,  and  when  you  are  at  one  end  (the  saloon 
being  full  of  talking  and  laughing  masqueraders),  you  cannot  hear 
the  band  at  the  other.  Imagine  three  or  four  thousand  people 
there.  You  arc  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  ugly-painted  monsters. 
Cheeks  of  chalk  and  scarlet,  goggle  eyes,  carbuncle  noses,  long 
ears  and  horns,  dogs'  faces,  ghosts'  faces,  fools'  faces,  devils'  faces, 
jolly  faces,  and  women  half  face  and  half  mask  ;  bulls'  heads, 
let^ards'  heads,  asses'  heads,  Turks'  heads,  and  girls  with  giddy 
heads  and  gold  ornaments ;  princes,  princesses,  merry- andrews, 
Swiss  and  Tyrolese  peasantiy  and  brigands,  white-robed  figures 
and  dominoes  ;  all  these  there  are,  and  many  gentlemen  m  plain 
clothes,  all  of  whom,  by  the  violent  contrast,  look  like  undertakers. 
We  are  ^assured  that  sometimes  there  have  been  five  thousand 
and  upwards  crammed  in.  To  dance  is  impossible  ;  nobody  thinks 
of  it,  but  to  walk  b  also  impossible  ;  you  cannot  stand  or  move 
except  as  the  grotesque  mass  around  you  stand  or  move.  If  an 
apple  were  to  fall  from  the  roof  into  the  saloon,  it  would  not  reach 

U.g,l:«l  by  Google 


FKDSSIA.  S7 

tho  grouad,  one  would  think  for  hours,  but  bob  about  from  eliouldei' 
to  Bhoulder.  A  walking-stick  would  find  itself  unable  to  Btand 
without  great  prcasurd  ou  all  sides.  At  about  Four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  the  denaitj  of  the  crowd  lias  dimimshed,  space  is  obtained, 
and  dancing  commences. 

Next  to  the  carnivals,  the  Christmas  festivitjes  take  rank  among 
tte  enliTening  scenes,  and  not  very  uimierous  pubhc  demonetra- 
tions  of  hilaritj,  in  Prussia.  We  will  just  say  a  word  or  two  or 
Christmas-time  in  Berlin. 

Christmas  is  ^e  period  when  everybody  makes  presents  to  his 
friends,  male  and  female  ;  it  will,  therefore,  be  readily  understood, 
that  all  the  shops  are  fitted  out.to  th»  utmost  of  their  owners'  ' 
means,  and  make  their  moat  striking  displays.  There  is  a  great 
detd  of  cake-eating  performed  in  all  tbe  northern  parts  of  Ger- 
many, and  particularly  in  Berlin,  where  the  confectioners'  shops 
are  on  the  first  scale  of  magnifioence.  Some  of  them  endeavour 
to  attract  attention  by  a-variety  of  eihibitions, — such  as  beautiful 
views  from  Italy,  the  Rhine,  China,  Sk.  In  the  Couditorei  of 
Fuchs  tiiere  is  also  a  sort  of  magic-lantem,  exhibiting  about. fifty 
caricatures  relating  to  the  "  chronique  scandaleuse,"  and  the 
bureaucratic  administration  of  tbe  city.  Few,  however,  possess  a 
universal  interest,  and  are  solely  adapted  to  the  time  and  place. 
The  wit  and  humour  are,  in  fact,  in  almost  all  cases,  of  a  local 
character,  and  would  be  uninteresting,  if  not  unintelli^ble,  to  all 
who  were  not  familiar  with  Berlin.  KroU's  "  Wintergarten  "  is 
the  most  magnificent  and  extensive  of  all  these  palaces  of  sweets. 
There  is  on  immense  saloon  in  the  centre  ;  a  band  playing  con- 
tinually ;  and  round  the  walls  are  two-and-twenty  elegant  shops, 
under  tents  and  fancy  arbours,  where  a  provision  of  glittering 
things,  eatable  inclusive,  are  waiting  to  be  purchased  as  presents. 
Both  the  wings  adjoining  the  saloon  are  decorated  like  hot-houses; 
the  walls  are  covered  with  climbing  plants  ;  and  Chinese  lamps 
hang  from  the  roof.  The  large  curtains  of  the  windows  are 
transparencies,  chiefly  displaying  painted  caricatures.  There  is 
also  in  Berlin  at  this  time  a  popiDar  Lotterie,  in  which,  by  paying 
5  groschen  (about  6d.)  for  a  chance,  a  variety  of  "  invaluable  " 
things  are  possible  to-be  obtained.  The  exhibition  of  Faust's 
"  Blmnengarten,"  is  also  a  sort  of  lottery,  in  which  the  prizes 
are  all  living  flowers.  The  saloons  are  glass-houses,  very  pro- 
Aiaely  decorated  with  flowers.  Last  Christmas,  the  Boyal  Aca- 
demy had,  for  the  first  time,  the  following  ingenious  and  beautiful 
exhibition.     Six  paintings  of  Albert  Durer  were  copied  upon  a 


trftupareBt-gTOimd,  md  diBpli^ed  In**  iMi  tBitorinM{t)n,'ll4&  Hi 
accampuiimeat  of  ohmuaeseeleoted  nOKi-tte'worte'Bf  old  BHttriera, 
Bncli>aa  FsIeBtriiia,OlH«b,  Haydn, ^Rs./foaBta'gifa^n-tnimanions 
eip«aiti(»of  the  subjects  of  tb«Me  great  |iH!tiBr«a. 

In  concludisg;  this  series  <^  papers, '^""liaglidttBaQ '%! 
Pnuna  ""raqosBtepHiiBHianto'OfiiepoBeor  tvo^Hpha^reMKAft. 
Mnoh  ban  been  laid  of  a^diapan^Dg  k^d  ia'^e  «i«ra  In  haa 
token  of  the  poHtiee,  n&ffiei,  morals,  atfd  cuHOBU-trf 'Frwuift'; 
norhareyarioua  objectionable  characteriBtiw*iidd«ueiHitrttie»t<BH 
allorred  to  pus  without  eoDuaeot  All  he  em  ii9ft"nrj"is'1ids; — 
he  h»s  sp^en  ^10  trutb  ezootiy-as  It  ptmwutiod  -itmi  to  He 
mild.  -Bat  no  fKR^KfAgemeata  that  he  has  dwaght  IntnMlf 
boimd  to  stteri— -no  senae  of  abBorditieB,  iawsgna^es,  HUd  «)Hnt- 
caaanga,  have  in  may  respect  altered  Ua  estimate  wid  epishni'Vf 
t^e  Msenti^y  ^h  qualities  exiBtiDg  in  the  iimer  apirft  of  "tte 
QeiBttn  nation.  H«  rsgordK  Crenaany^asi  the  gt«at-3tore^^iMB'4ff 
ne*r  ideas;  as  (^  awtion  hy  wbfofa 'Ao  kingrferaa,  «<|Sb%  of 
iioaginaitiwtiBiid  6f  seienee,  have  beoa'ndEJdVfer  in' 'modem  4vfB 
by^teotates.ofia.geniuipattkgag  with' the  Ugttest  ;  ns'^te'iiatim, 
jM-odiu^  tiio  gmteit  m»ber  of  indefatigible  und  UffrJdertttag 
BpiolamtlK  canae  uf  Truth,  both  a1)Stn,Dt  iu)d'pRiMieH],'tlMni|!h 
chiefly  abatmet;  as  the  aation  to  -whom,  of  All  o^iere,'  the^iiHfderB 
age  is  moat  indebted  for  new  food  for  it6.aoBl;«fkl 'SB  ^THMIoD'fa 
whicb  (tlitn^  t^  pfBctioal  derah^neHt 'and  mgaftiBatfen -ni^ 
devolreoponfiB^andMid'France)  4ie  redemptMH  of  the  ttdden 
world  «dll  be  originated. 


A  VISION. 


Beatiog  a  mighty  holwuk  'gainst  the  asa. 

Whose  wild  wavea  round  it  roarad  tumuUtwusly, 

I  lay  in  alnmber,  and  a  form  of  glory 

Came  in  adrwmi,  and-toM-«ie"thB^  story, 

Of  dark  crime  IwoOdiTig  ■over  misery ; 

Of  kunsn  laws  that  warred  petfetnaliy 

Witii.tha  Boul's  lioliart  inalincte,  and  the  dowry 

Bequaathed  to  man  by-  natafe  ef  free  thought. 

Free  bread,  free  labour,  filched  from  human  luud, 

Who  in  their  struggles  as  their  fury  blind, 

Uke'  the  wild  ocean  tkaSng  'gainst  the  rock 

That  stands  unshaken,  inedom  Tainiy  sought 

^ron  tynmie  ^rho  their  prayers  and  threats  did  tttly  moek. 


.THE  HEDGEHOG  JjETTEKS. 


Uy  Iiobiv— HtniBg^pnt  die  luMe-iwg  (mUie  laaxe,  luainiawa 
ta  ny  pwtor  iwdpi^er.  .1  was-sMtn-burdjAiid  fast  iirtke  "!£iMr*l 
IstcUigeiioe."  I  ita't  kaowiurvitw,'bat  I've  & famkeriDg-.ifter 
thenaiy.  I'btdian.vicle  iVho'iraB  liiadiargad.  a-iiBdahiinaan  at 
fcvty,  and  died  a  light'  porter.  Thatiwas,  hvirerer,  in  tlie  goad  old 
timea  ;A«y  h^,  -we  don't  aee  gMjoJieaded^^eofttsiMBr.  Well, 
havH%  a  sort  «f  regai<d  for  the  "wooden' viffie,  l-mta  lMting:fer 
th&flhip*ewa,  w^en  I  rum  my.  kw»d  against  ■tkescwotdai—'^'jlhe 
AdnniiUty,  «o  amrk  their  eewe  of  the  neUe  scs^mmbi  of tlie  J«te 
■Dr-'-SMgayBewiard  an  boardthe  fcbtr,  hsre'praB«rtKl-'«ma«r 
relatm  ef  bis,  Mr.  RobertBemud,  aKiBtaBb«Drgeffadftfae£ifHe 
frigate,  to  the  rank  of  surgeon  in  the  naTj."  All  well  41x1  good, 
and  «ll  eaeeesB  to  ilx.  B«beTt  Bernard!  Still,  I  aaor't  help 
tiuakingit,  that  tlte  Lords  ef  the  Adviralty might, as  Lmay  uy, 
pay  a  atill  prettier  csmplnieBtto  the  iBenaory.  of  the  dead  Imto — 
for  la '  iMr»  hewaa,  dying  the  death  of  a  hero,  asxraoh-asBiy'Lord 
Ndaon,  tiuugfa  no  boUet  went  throng  bis  BlMniUer-~-thtHi  by 
pnnuotnigihis  reUlaon.  P«rdon  a  cabman's bdidneBs,  -while  I  tdl 
yeo  what  I  mean, 

Socter  Sidney  Berajud  boarded  the -£^fiuV  to  atta^  a  fever 
that  was  layng  -all  huidalanr.  The  nobte,  ^g-rheartedf^ow 
Tolimteered  to  lead 'the  foriomhopc  agaiBst  death,  and  fell  the 
foremmt.  That '.a  graiUed.  WeU,  bow  doyou  tliiok,.if-I<'autB  a 
Lord  of  the  Adiwrottf,  I'd  rcnard  the  deid  ?     I  '11  tell  ywu. 

You  Ve'tvpenot  >«w  frigates  at -the  praseab  BMBMBt  <m  tiieBtodu. 
Th«y  TD«st  ail,  'vrbtn  they  're  laimehed,  be  christened.  Well,  why 
Qot  eail  one  of  the'  best  and  trimtnest  of  the  Itit,  the  Sidney  Ber- 
nard^ You  can't  thkik  that  she  'd  lail  tte  ^wer,  or  misirer  her 
hdn  leiB  readily, 'for  be^iriug  such  a.  aonac  ?  You  can't  think 
that  the  jock  tars  aboard  of  her,  say  that  the  sailoTEi  of  the  -nbole 
fleet,  would  think  the  worse  of  the  craft,  beoMtie  called  «f(er  the 


aulor's  friend — the  noUe  cour&geouB  mKn  nho  died  in  tiie  uilar'a 
awvice.  Well,  my  lord,  what  do  ycni  say  ?  Do  yon  think  the 
propositi  a  hold  one — do  you  fear  that  the  nobs  of  the  navy  would 
look  glum  at  it  ?     Let  ub  talk  the  matter  over. 

In  the  first  place,  my  lord,  nm  jrour  eye  down  the  Admiralty 
List.  Well,  saving  your  preBence,  wouldn't  you  think  that  some- 
times Satan,  in  a  waggish  hnmoor,  named  her  Uajeaty'a  ships, 
and  not  Christian  men  ?  Here  we  have  Qriffins,  and  B^atletnakes, 
and  Vipen,  and  Furiee,  and  Harpies,  and  all  sorts  of  terrible 
and  filthy  things,  all  complimented  and  honoured  by  the  Lords  of 
the  Adnuralty,  as  if  they  were  their  own  dearest  pets,  and  they 
wanted  to  show  the  world  how  much  they  thought  of  'em.  Now, 
for  once,  let  their  lordships  show  they  can  have  another  sort  of 
&roDrite.  At  the  present  moment  they  may  intend  to  call  one 
of  their  now  frigates  the  Flea,  or  the  Spider,  or  the  Cochroach, 
or  the  FoUcat,  or  the  Water-rat.  Let  them  pause  awhile  ;  let 
them  think  again,  and,  renouncing  the  fooUsh  notion,  determino 
to  name  her  the  Sidney  Bernard.  It  is  a  name  that  must 
glori^  her  timbers  ;  and  who  knows — even  her  gracious  Majesty,, 
delighted  with  their  lordships'  choice — might,  herself,  condescend 
to  christen  her. — 'Twould  oe  a  pretty  compliment  from  a  British 
Queen  to  firitamtia! 

Consider,  my  lord,  what  a  very  nice  thing  it  would  be  to 
have  a  Sidney  Bernard  afloat !  How  pleaaaDtly  the  fleet  would 
look  upon  her  I  How,  at  certain  times,  in  every  sea  of  the  world, 
she  would  carry  with  her  the  recollection  of  the  gallant  surgeon 
— how  she  would  help  to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  the  young  and 
struggling,  who,  wherever  her  pennant  was  seen,  would  see  the 
gratitude  of  England  to  humble,  but  heroic  men !  It  is  worth 
while,  depend  upon  it,  my  lord,  to  keep  up  this  spirit ;  so  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  Flea — cast  aside  the  CocJcroach — renounce 
the  Polecat,  and  stiok  to  nothing  but  tiie  Sidney  Bernard. 

Who  knows,  if  the  good  esample  be  once  set,  how,  among  all 
future.  Lords  of  the  Admiralty,  it  might  spread!  There  is  a 
Hxm  in  the  List — ^why  then,  on  the  other  hand,  should  we  not, 
some  day,  launch  a  Grace  Darling  ?  I  don't  think  that  even  the 
Trafalgar  or  the  Bbwe  would  be  ashamed  to  sail  in  her  company; 
do  you  my  lord  ?  At  all  events,  you  can  but  try  a  little  bit  of 
this  kind  of  reform ;  and,  therefore,  my  advice  to  you  is,  begin 
'  with  the  Sidney  Bernard.  For  my  part,  I  don't  see  why 
you  shouldn't  have  all  the  great  names  of   England  afloat :    I 


THE   HEDGEHOG   LETIEHS.  CJ 

can't  tuiderstond  nby  Shakespeare  shoulda't  sail  as  well  as  iko 
Sevattation,  or  that  MilUm  shoulda't  go  as  close  to  the  wiiid 
as  the  Canopus. 

And  so  I  am. 

Your  obedient  servant,  my  lord. 
Jumper  IlEnoBHOQ. 


Letter  XXV. — To  Mas,  Hedgehog,  of  New  York. 

Dear  Gkancmother, — Knowing  your  lore  for  all  titled  fulks, 
I  write  to  tell  you  that  at  this  moment  I  do  think  all  dukes 
double  hazardoas.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  my  next  letter  should 
tell  you  that  tbej  're  entirely  repealed — smudged  out  of  the 
Peerage.  We '  to  been  in  a  pretty  pucker  for  tida  last  month, 
and  a  few  dnkes  hare  done  it  all.  Good  souls  I  They  all  mean 
well,  and  yet  people  wiU  .misunderstand  'em :  nay,  I  heard  one 
low  fellow  declare  that  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  only  wanted  bells  to 
his  coronet  to  be  quite  in  character  with  hia  talk.  Excellent 
man  1     How  mueh  baa  he  been  mistaken ! 

You  must  know  that  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  can't  abide  the  Com 
LawB.  With  all  bia  heart  and  soul  he  wanta  'em  repealed.  But 
he  doesn't  banland  sbout  against  'em  ;  no,  he  goes  quite  another 
way  to  work  ;  he  tries  to  joke  'em  down  ;  but  somehow,  either 
dukes  are  commonly  bad  hands  at  a  joke,  or  vnlgar  people  won't 
give  'em  credit  for  it ;  for  which  reason  the  Dnke  s  joke  has  been 
taken  quite  the  wrong  way.  Nevertheless,  it  was  so  good — so 
original — that  it  was  impossible  to  be  altogether  spoiled. 

However,  the  Duke's  wag^ry  is  this.  The  people  will  want 
wbeaten  Sour,  whereupon  Norfolk  (without  a  smile  on  his  face) 
has  advised  them  to  take,  in  nice  warm  water,  "  a  pinch  of  curry 
powder  "  going  to  bed.  What  a  friend  at  a  pinch!  He  said 
"  he  meant  to  try  it  himself  with  his  labourers  ;"  that  is,  I  sup- 
pose, "  on  his  labourers  ;"  a  very  different  thing.  Should  his 
Grace  succeed,  1  do  hope  that  there  will  be  a  labourer's  diow  ; 
when  I  have  no  doubt  that  Norfolk  will  carry  away  the  prize — say 
ajar  of  mixed  pickles— -for  a  curried  ploughman.  Norfolk  further 
explained  to  the  ignorant  mob  that  curry  powder  was  made  "  of 
apices  and  that  sort  of  thing,"  and  was  very  good  "  with  a  little 
bacon  or  any  little  thing  of  that  kind  " — (I  believe  pickled  pork  is 
the  nearest  cousin  to  bacon) — "they  might  have:  It  was  a 
PICKLE  !  "     But  why  did  not  his  Grace  finther  recommend  with 


02  ™li  HXDOSBOO  LXTIBBS. 

euTTj  powdsr  fowls  u>d  nibUto !  They  ue,  I  believe,  eqwJly 
gved  with  "  k  little  baoon,"  mndqiiite  u  bckb  to  be  had,  foj  pei^le 
who  can't  bny  Com  Law  bread.  ' 

It  is  said — bnt  I  don't  believe  it — tltat  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  ia 
BO  certMB  that  ctHry  powder  is  as  good  or  better  than  wheateu 
bread,  tbftt  be  has  given  orders  to  plant,  I  don't  know  how  manj 
acres  of  bis  land,  with  pepper  and  nutmeg  trees.  To  be  sure, 
be  '11  not  be  able  to  grow  spicea  so  cheap  as  he  can  bring  'em  from 
the  ludiea — no  more  than  we  can  grow  i^eat  at  the  [wice  we  can 
get  it  from  otker  coimtriea — bnt  it  will  onlj  be  a  part  of  Gom-I<aw 
wisdom  if  the  Duke  slKMild  try  iL 

Howerer,  I  doo't  bdiere  &  word  of  thia  story.  Aa  I  say,  I  'm 
oertain  the  Dnke  of  Norfolk  hates  &»  Com-lMB ;  for  he  'egnu  a 
new  way  to  work,  and  made  monopoly  qMte  ndiculouB.  He  kas 
flnng  a  sqmb  at  h  made  of  curry  powder — and  never  aqnib  did 
more  mischief  or  made  a  grarter  noise.  It  is  not  the  Dnke's  fault 
if  his  joke  has  not  been  taken  the  right  way ;  nevertheleflB  it  has 
dime  beMer  serviee  than  his  beet  Herionsness.  Never  wu  Jock- 
pudding  more  successful !  Fermy  part,  I  can  qinte believe  thathia 
Grace  foresaw  that  he  Bbsoid  be  misnnderstood  ;  bat  nereititdess, 
knowing  iritat  injury  his  mistaken  joke  would  do  the  Corn-Laws, 
hedidnoteare  tobe  thotight,  fora  time.  Tety  ridiculmis,  so  that  in 
the  end  he  might  continne  to  be  useful. 

Onoe,  grandmother,  I  read  in  Roman  history  that  <me  Curtins 
jumped  on  horseback  into  a  tremendous  deep  ditch,  to  save  his 
country  from  nan  of  some  sort.  CurtiiiB  was  smashed,  buried,  of 
course  ;  but  Rome  was  saved.  Well,  the  D.nke  of  Norfolk  has 
done  the  Bsme  generous  thing.  Once  a  man  advertised  that  he 
would  jump  into  a  quart-bottle — bnt  didn't  so  much  as  try  it.  Now 
the  Dnke,  in  his  ducal  robes,  and  with  his  coronet  upon  his  head, 
to  save  his  conntiy  has  jnmped  rif^t  into  a  cvny-bottle.  Thue 
he  is,  corked  for  all  posterity  \     Tfaoie  he  ia,  as  I  once  read — 

lake  bottled-up  babea  that  grace  the  room 
Of  that  worthy  knight,  Sir  Everard  Home  ! 

Who  woold  thiitk  that  a  great  di^  c<Hdd  make  so  little  of 
hhnself? 

Bnt  I  tell  yon,  tbne  'a  sunething  broken  out  among  the  dukee, 
ju«t  as  aometbing  hu  happened  to  all  the  potatoes.  There's  five 
or  six  of  'em,  joat  now,  vecy  had  indeed.  The  Duke  of  WelUng- 
'-0B,  for  one,  is,  th^  say,  in  a  high  state  of  infiammation  ;  he  is 


«o  pMtered  with  the  Cora-LawB  and  fak  proziu.  Bat,  perhaps, 
jta  don't  know  what  aobls  proxies  are.  I  '11  tiy  to  tcU  jon.  You 
aee,  «^cn  an  EngUdi  peer  has  bo  conceit  whatever  in  hie  own 
br^ts — when  he  deem't  knoir  when  to  say  "  Content,"  and  when 
"  Nen-eontent, " — hegirea,  I  toa;  say,  hie  whole  Bonl  into  another 
.mau'B  keejraig.  Ee  it  satined  to  be  a  sort  of  breatbuig  canmEG 
in  the  world,  hanng  made  orer  his  opiuioDs  to  another.  Well, 
th^  do  say  that  the  Deke  has  serenty  of  these  very  small  sends 
in  hie  pocket !  Con^der  it,  graadnothet !  Properly  looked  at, 
ivhat  a  sight  is  the  Duke  of  Wdlinglon.  People  who  don't  think, 
only  see  in  him  on  old,  thin,  pale-faced  gentleman,  with  not  a 
Tery  gentle  Uok — hut  I,  who  often  see  him  from  my  stuid 
o^oeite  Apsley  Honse,— I  always  look  on  him  as  sometiung  tre- 
mendons .'  I  always  see  those  seventy  poxies,  as  I  mi^  say, 
juized  up  wiUi  him  ;  aerenty-ono  hoacU  nnder  that  oae  small- 
limmed  hat ;  aeventy-one  hearta  beating  nnder  that  ^ort  Uttie 
iraiatooat !  Why,  ^  Siamese  twins  were  nothing  to  it.  It 's 
.wonderful,  isn't  it,  grandmother,  when  peers,  hj  their  |ffoxiefi, 
can  put  their  toola  into  another  man's  mootli,  and  be  made  to 
preach  what  he  likea, — inst  an  the  showman  talks  for  Pmieh  ! 

The  OBxi  of  the  dukea,  a  little  indi^osed,  is  the  Ihike  of 
Cambridge.  He  says  he  doesnlt  beliero  in  bad  pokrteea  ;  and  no 
doubt  he  'a  ri^t, — Cor  he  haa  never  se^ithem,  either  at  Windsor 
«r  Buckingham  Palace,  «*  Cambridge  Honse,  or  at  any  of  the 
Boblo  tables  he  has  so  often  viBited.  Eu  potatoes  luve  alw^s 
been  capital ! 

The  Duke  of  Ba^and,  too,  spcab  up  far  potatoes.  There  has 
been  a  wieked  eon^iraoy  this  aeason,  to  take  away  tfaor  chuac- 
t«rs  ;  for,  like  a  certain  naughty  being,  they  are  by  no  meaas  ao 
bad  as  they  are  painted.  But,  then,  saye  the  Dnke,  "  there  mnat 
be  aranetiiiDg  resjlyaffooting  the  British  character,  to  make  one  per- 
son in  every  three  what  are  termed  croojtent."  Bat  Uio  Dnke  la 
not  one  of  these  three  1  Therefore,  let  aU  ^the  poor  take  pattern 
by  him  ;  he  never  complains  !     He  is  no  croaker  ! 

The  Duke  of  Richmond  is  also,  just  now,  a  person  of  great 
interest.  He  loves  the  Corn-Laws  and  prize  oien  ;  that  ia,  he  will 
make  com  dear  to  the  poor  man,  and  eram  cattle  with  oil-cake 
until  the  poor  beasta  can't  atand  upon  their  lege — can't  breathe— 
.ean't  look  out  of  their  eyes  for  .greaee  1  IJean  labourera  Mid  &t 
<Kifln!  WaU.lBan'thelpsa^git.  I  <£)  weoderthat  some  of  these 
noblemen  can  take  such  a  pleasure  in  breeding  such  monntaina  of 


64 

tallow,  for  thej  make  oDthing  better.  It's  plain  that  all  they  think 
of  with  their  beasts  is  to  show  what  g^reat  beasts  they  may  beoomet 
All  I  know  is,  if  I  was  a  monstrous  rich  nobleman  I  couldn't  do 
it.  I  should  think  that  I  was  somehow  mocking  myself,  knowing 
that  I  had  »o  much  and  others  bo  little,  when  I  crammed  ana 
stuffed  an  ox  aa  notiiro  nerer  intended  him  to  he  stuffed,  and  all  to 
make  him  a  monster  of  fat, — a  devouring  wonder.  I  do  believe  it, 
grandmother  ;  when  I  saw  such  an  over-fat,  useless  crcatm^,  I 
do  think  my  conscience  would  smite  me,  and  I  should  say  to 
myself — "  Juniper  Hedgehog,  think  you  have  four  legs,  and  that's 
you."  However,  I  thank  my  stars  that  I'm  not  a  duke.  If  I 
was,  I  should  certainly  go  into  quarantine  for  a  time  ;  for  tl^cre's 
something  abroad— a  ducal  fever — that 's  catching ;  I  'm  sure  of  it. 
You  ask  me,  grandmotlier,  to  send  you  news  about  new  books. 
With  all  love  and  affection,  I  think  this  only  a  bit  of  conceit  in 
you  ;  because  you  must  know  that  whatever  we  do  that  'a  good, 
the  Americans  always  st«al  from  us.  And  I  must  give  'em  this 
credit,  they  know  what  they  're  about ;  they  're  not  ignorant 
thieves,  for  they  always  steal  with  a  taste.  Then,  as  of  course 
you  11  have  The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth  printed  on  brown  sugar 
paper,  and  sold  for  three  cents,  (a  very  high  compliment  this  to 
Mr.  Dickens),  I  shall  say  nothing  more  about  it.  I  shall  only  call 
your  attention  to  a  great  escape  that  that  gentleman  has  had  fr'om 
the  murderous  3fomtn^  Post.  It's  well  known  that  no  authoE 
ever  survives  a  cut-up  in  the  Post.  No  :  then  he 's  as  done  fw, 
.as  if  one  of  their  own  miaii-miUiner's  needles  had  gone  right 
through  his  heart.  After  such  a  cut-up,  a  man  is  generally  fonnd 
dead  in  his  bed  the  next  morning.  Hardened  offenders  have  been 
known  to  live  two  nights,  hut  this  is  rare.  Well,  knowing  this, 
you  will  judge  my  feelings, — loving  the  man  as  I  di)  for  a  noble 
work  of  God,  doing  noble  work — you  will  judge  my  feelings  when 
I  read  what  follows  in  the  blessed  Morning  Post  of  Bee.  22.  It 
was  in  the  very  third  page,  in  the  very  fifth  column  ;  and  was 
.  part  of  a  review  of  The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth.  Well :  the  Post, 
in  the  fifth  column,  page  3,  says  : — 

To  notice  stich  rubbish  at  all,  as  literary  woiks,  is  perhaps  not  over 
consistent ;  but,  recollecting  that  they  are  the  offspring  of  one  who  is 
paraded  at  public  places  as  a  "great  gun,"  yea,  a  tremendous  cannon, 
of  literature,  we  are  bound,  in  justice  to  <mr  readers,  to  express  our 
opinion  upon  them.  .  .  '.  The  man  who  oonid  write,  and  (Ee  people 
who  con  read,  snch  nnmitigated  twaddle,  are*  fit  only  to  resume  their 


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THE  HEDQEHOG   LETTERS.  6S 

piottfores  and  betake  themselTes  iDcontinenily  to  topa-and-bottoins  asd 
sago  padding  ...  A  siliy,  slovenlj  nnrae-girl,  who  realises  the  juve- 
nile idea  of 

"  See-SHiW,  Mai^ry  Daw, 

Who  sold  her  bed  and  lay  upon  straw, 
;.  Was  not  liie  a,  dirty  slut 

To  sell  her  bed  and  lie  in  the  dirt  i" 
and  an  enthnsiastic  manu^tnrer  of  cock-horsea,  and  other  similair  |lro- 
digies  of  the  animal  creation,  with  hia  blind  daughter  and  grinding 
employer,  together  with  a  pair  of  "  loreyers,"  make  up  the  dramatic 
persimas.  They  are  all  eminently  stupid  in  thought  and  foolish  in 
action. 

Well,  when  I  read  this,  you  might  have  knocked  me  down  even 
with  the  goose-feather  of  tike  Post.  At  a,  glance,  I  saw  that 
Dickens  was  lost  to  us.  Knowing  the  Post's  tremendous  power — 
for  at  least  three  French  milliners  take  it  in — 1  felt  that  the  author 
eoiJd  not  surviTe  it.  It  must  kill  him.  In  a  minute  I  saw 
Mr.  Wakley,  the  coroner,  and  all  that,  and  read  the  verdict — 
"  Died  by  die  Post."  Well,  hardly  knowing  what  I  did,  I  turned 
over  the  leaves  of  the  Post,  and  came  to  another  notice  of  TAe 
Cricket  on  the  Hearth,  in  page  6,  column  4  ;  a  notice  of  the  drama 
of  2^  Cricket,  in  which  the  book  was  spoken  of  after  this  fashion. 
Yes,— in  the  same  paper  ;  at  page  6,  column  4  : — 

The  characters  are  flesh  and  blood  characters,  with  live  hearta  in 
their  bosoms,  bounding  and  palpitating,  and  fluttering  with  human 
aspirations,  and  human  joys  and  sorrows.  It  is  a  simple  story,  wiiole- 
Eome  and  natural  ;  and  breathing  as  freshly  of  the  rur^  homes  and  the 
yeoman  life  of  England,  as  a  canvass  of  Oainsborough  or  Morland.  Its 
great  and  abounding  charm  lies  in  its  line  spirit  of  goodlinesa — its 
inspirations  spring  up  gracefully  and  lightsomely  from  Uie  well  of  the 
home  affections,  and  are  evoked  by  the  tricksey  beings  that  haunt  the 
chimney-nook.  The  cricket's  chirp  is  (he  fahy  music  that  charms 
within  its  circle  all  the  gentler  virtues  and  tbe  abiding  amenities  that 
shed  a  sacred  halo  around  the  domestic  hearth. 

You  may  he  sure  I  was  astonished  at  this.  But  it  has  all 
been  cleared  up  since.  I  now  understand,  that  in  future  upoa  all 
great  quesliona  of  letters  or  politics,  the  Post  intends  to  have  two 
separate  bands  to  do  'em — that  is,  one  way  for  the  fools  and 
knaves,  and  the  other  for  the  decent  people.  Yes,  in  future,  the 
Post  is  to  be  like  a  chess-board,  entirely  made  up  of  black  and 
white.  The  above  I  think  a  very  pretty  sample  of  the  way  in 
which  the  thing  will  be  done.     - 

»0.  XIU.— VOL.  III.  F 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


gB  .    TBE  HEDOBHOfl  LZTTEBB. 

And  now,  good  bje,  grandmother.  Who  knows  iriien  I  aha]] 
be  able  to  writ«  to  70U  again!  For  folks  do  saythat  we 're  going 
to  cut  one  anotber's  throats  about  a  place  they  call  the  Oregon. 
Well,  if  it  does  h^pen,  I  know  what  will  he  the  end  of  it.  We  ahall 
kill  a  few  hundreds — perhaps  a  few  thonaands — we  may  knock  a 
few  towns  to  pieces,  and  play  other  dent's  tricks.  We  may  hare 
oar  sea-figtis,  with — for  the  gbsy  of  war — brigs  gmng  down  wilii 
tlieir  ctdouTB  nailed  to  tiie  maat :  and  after  wo  're  done  all  this,  we 
riull  then  see  whether  we  can't  call  in  somebody  to  settle  thn 
matter,  gunpowder  haring  failed  to  do  it.  Now,  let  us  try  this 
plan  first. 

There  'a  been  a  Tet7-good  notion  afloat,  that  the  merchants  of 
botJi  countries  should  meet  and  eddreaa  one  another,  and  m 
smooth  away  the  difBculty,  t^t  the  matter  might  be  put  to  what 
is  caHed  arbitration.  Well,  I  think  the  plan  a  good  one.  Squares 
of  infantry,  and  squadrons  of  horse,  are  very  pretty  at  a  reriew,— 
but  let  ^e  war  be  fought  by  quiet  gentlemen  in  a  fight  of  words  ; 
let  the  worst  weapon  mod,  be  a  goose  quill — die  worst  amronni- 
tioQ,  ink. 

Wiih  this  wish — not  forgetting  deo  to  wish  you,  and,  by  the  bye, 
ereiyhody  elw,  a  happy  new  year,  I  am, 

Yoar  affectionate  grandson, 

JCHIPEK  HEDQEHOU. 


THE  OLD  SOLDrER. 

Clothed  in  rags,  and  blind  and  lame, 
Hungar-nnittcn,  bent  and  old, 
To  my  door  a  be^ar  came, 
Bhivering  in  the  winter's  cold. 
Pity  for  the  poor  old  man 
Touched  my  heart,  I  gave  bJTri  food, 
And  queBtioning  him,  he  thus  began 
His  life'a  sad  tale  in  pensive  mood. 

"  Pour  score  years  the  earth  I  Ve  trode, 
Forty  years  I  've  begged  my  bread  ; 
My  manhood's  prime  I  ^wnt  abroad. 
Hired  the  blood  of  men  to  ^ed. 
I  temtmber,  when  a  youth, 
How  I  loved  each  blood-stained  story, 
All  to  me  was  sacred  truth 
That  pertnined  to  war  nnd  glory. 


v.Goo'^lc 


THE  spnxn-vaicB. 

Twenty  aaDimen  o'er  my  ksad 
Scarm  had  £own,  when  frcon  &  home 
Of  peace  and  lave  I  madly  fied. 
Afar  in  foreign  lands  to  roam. 


is  fired  with  drink. 
Mind  anci  body  both  I  aold — 
For  a  Holdiei  dare  not  think ! 
I  never  felt  a  soldiefs  pride ; 
1  feh  I  was  A  slave  and  wept ; 
While  with  war's  muaBgnined  tide, 
O'er  the  groaning  earth  we  swept. 
Horrid  sights  1  oft  have  seen. 
Dreadful  soands  I  oft  have  heard  ; 
In  a  hnndred  iieldB  I  've  been, 
Where  my  blood  hath  atamed  the  Bwaid. 
I  left  a  limb  in  Hiodostan, 
On  Egypt's  plains  I  lost  my  sight, 
And  home  returned,  a  homeless  man, 
My  eyes — my  heart — bereft  of  Kght. " 


THE  SPIRIT-VOICE. 


In  onr  natuve  there  ore  circles  of  bting  :  inward,  de^  is  the 
princljdc  of  odonUion  ;  feelings  profound,  wanderings  of  melodious 
joy,  outbome  from  tte  consciousness — the  growing  conscionanesa 
of  OUT  connection  with  the  eternal ;  generated  by  w&ves  of 
spiritual  life,  outflowing  from  divinity  and  diffusing  themselves 
over  01U-  being  :  out  from  these,  powers  connecting  us  with  huma- 
nity, social,  brotherly  ;  whence  love,  compaBsion,  and  tendemesB 
flow  :  out  liirther  still,  powers  taldng  connisanee  of  beauty,  light 
and  shade,  colours  variegated,  and  all  the  forms  of  material  things : 
and  out  from  all  these,  and  stirrousding  all  these,  are  powers  of 
sensation,  the  hist  link  of  oar  connection  with  the  universe.  Our 
nature  is  one,  oUhough  the  circles  of  life  are  many.  Travelling 
up  end  down  in  it  is  a  voice,  unceasingly  uttering  itself,  sounding 
through  the  whole  of  our  bf^ng,  from  the  interior  of  our  epiritud 
constitution  to  the  outskirts  of  ow  physical  organisation  :  coming 
forth  from  a  power — a  living  power,  hidden  in  the  depths  of  ihe 
sout,  beneath  its  foundations.  In  this  power  we  rest ;  from  it  we 
draw  life.     It  meets  us  at  every  step,  in  every  feeling,  in  every 

,Coo*^lc 


GS  TEE   SFUtll-TOICE. 

thought,  ID  every  act :  we  are  wholly  encompassed  by  it.   Beyond 

it  we  neTer  can  go  ;  retire  Irom  it  we  fiad  impossible  :  it  is  within 
and  without,  beneath  and  above,  near  and  afar.  It  desires  to 
diffuse  itself  throughout  our  nature,  to  fill  every  circle  of  our  being ; 
beginning  in  our  deepest  and  inmost  parts,  and  spreading  up 
through  and  out  through  our  frame,  leaving  not  the  least  fibre  of 
physical  orgaliisfttion  unanimated  by  ita  life.  It  is  an  eihauatleaa 
fountain-— «n  inextinguishable  light — an  indestructible  power.  It 
is  love  and  joy — purity  and  peace — harmony  and  melody^ — beauty 
and  grace  ; — it  is  courage  and  fortitude — manliness  and  strength ; 
all  perfecting,  creative. 

The  voice  ever  uttered  by  this  living  power,  has  been  heard  in 
all  nations,  by  every  rational  sou!  ;  hiUierto  faintly,  sometimes 
more,  sometimes  less  distinct.  The  moment  a  soul  hears  its 
utterance,  it  acknowledges  its  authority.  When  it  speaks  through 
a  man,  the  thrill  passes  over  humanity.  Eighteen  hundred  years 
ago,  it  spoke  through  one  with  an  awful  sublimity,  its  tones  richly 
laden  with  a  musical  joy  ;  humanity  beard  the  voice  and  was 
refreshed ;  felt  itself  more  divine  than  its  consciousness  had 
hitherto  attested  :  that  voice  spoken  from  a  great  depth,  with  a 
germ  of  the  otcmal  in  it,  continues  still  to  be  heard,  waxing  louder 
and  more  subhme,  inspiring  the  benevolent  with  courage — the 
upright  with  a  love  of  purity  ;  whispering  hope  into  the  ear  of  the 
despondent  and  down-cast — giving  strength  to  the  feeble  and . 
oppressed — and  a  balm  to  the  wounded  ;  making  the  heart  of  the 
.oppressor  quail  with  fear — arresting  the  criminal  in  hia  career, 
and  annihilating  the  life  of  corruption  ;  opening  up  a  bright  future 
in  this  world,  and  bearing  humanity  on  towards  the  land  of  life, 
purity  and  peace. 

And  humanity,  subject  to  illusions  and  delusions  and  vain  wan- 
derings, becomes  more  eager  to  hear  the  voice.  It  has  listened, 
and  listens  still  ;  it  has  heard,  and  hears  more ;  it  obeys  as  it 
hears.  Following  its  every  act  of  obedience,  it  becomes  finer 
toned  J— and  by  the  action  and  reaction  of  obedience  and  its  results, 
its  progression  proceeds  ■ — -the  channels  of  ita  being  become 
sounder,  purer  and  more  properly  positioned,  and  truth  flows  in  as 
if  in  streams : — the  change  in  its  being  has  caused  a  change  to 
come  over  nature  ;  and  So  finely  touched  is  its  inward  parts,  it 
"  hears  the  beating  of  nature's  heart,"  and  God  in  the  soul  holds 
communion  with  God  in  nature. 

This  change  stealing  in  upon  a  soul  brings  along  with  it  high 


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THE   SPIRIT-VOICE.  69 

appreciations  of  the  capabilities  of  biuuanity.  Hitherto  it  seemed 
"  a  thing  of  no  value  ;"  but  noir  its  dignity,  its  greataeBs,  and 
the  deaign  of  God  in  reference  to  it  are  all-abBorbing.  This  con- 
■viction  constitutes  its  dedication  to  God  and  humanity  ;  and  the 
"  unbounded  prospect  "  of  a  ceaaelesB  ongoing,  is  to  it  a  source 
of  unfailing  inspiration  ;  it  feels  the  hand  of  God  actively  at  work 
inweaving  divinity  into  the  texture  of  its  being  ;  and  seeing  its  own 
divinity  in  every  other  one,  its  salutation  is,  "Brother,  we  are  one 
ia  nature,  let  us  how  before  the  Highest,  that  God  may  become 
one  in  uh."  Such  an  one  has  tasted  of  the  water  of  life  and  can 
never  die. 

It  is  souls  such  as  this,  with  their  heads  in  the  heavens,  that 
mediate  between  God  and  man :  they  are  prophets  to  the  race. 
They  stand  as  chanaels  through  which  the  divino  Spirit-Voice 
uttereth  its  inspirations  in  the  ears  of  mankind  ;  and,  when 
through  these  the  senses  of  the  aoul  are  awakened  to  it,  the  foun- 
tains of  tlie  deep  break  up  ;  the  Spirit- Voice  finds  an  echo  in  its 
constitution  ;  and  in  its  turn  it  becomes  an  oracle  for  God. 

Throughout  all  being  the  Spirit- Voice  is  one — its  aim  one  ;  jet 
bo  it  remembered  that  in  its  thousand-fold  mauifestation,  the  con- 
ditton  of  the  soul  determines  the  form  of  its  expression.  It  may 
be  seen  far  through,  somehow  or  other,  at  the  bottom  of  hate — it 
is  full  expressed  in  love ;  it  also  lives  covered  and  enshrouded 
beneath  selfish  accumulation — it  appears  in  broad  noon  in  acts  of 
benevolence  :  in  despondency  and  hope — in  repose  and  activity — 
in  punishment  and  reward  this  voice  is  ;  humanity  in  its  lowest 
condition  is  not  without  it ;  it  may  be  heard  by  it  as  but  the 
faintest  echo,  but  the  time  comes  when  it  shall  speak,  and  the 
broad  heavens  reverberate  the  sound. 

There  is  no  up-going  with  despair,  so  let  us  ever  hope.  Expres- 
sioQs  of  discontent  are  heard  ;  seen,  are  commotions,  dread  up- 
heavings  on  the  earth  :  'tis  humanity — humanity  labouring  to  be 
delivered.  That  hollow,  grumbling  sound  which  passes  heavily 
behind  the  mountains  is  the  echo  of  its  complaint — it  reaches  the 
ear  of  God — and  from  his  throne  streams  down  light  on  the  path 
of  life — the  angel  of  love  in  the  distance  beckons  humanity  on — 
the  invitation  embraced,  it  plants  one  foot  in  the  Future  and  shall 
shortly  bid  adieu  to  the  old  world  for  ever. 

B.  H. 


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A  HISTORY  FOR  YOFHtt  ESQLASD.' 

Wliat  B  ptie  ii  it  to  sea  h  proper  geotlemaA  to  ksre  ladi  a  dick  i&  hu 
aock  that  La  lAimot  look  backward.  Yat  no  better  U  hfl  vho  cannot  seo 
b«liiDd  tiim  tba  actiom  which  long  lince  were  performed.  Eutarj'  makcth  a 
fonug  man  to  be  old,  withont  either  wiinklei  or  gnj  haira ;  pnvUe|^g  Mm 
with  the  eiperienco  of  ago,  withoat  either  the  infinnitJee  or  inoonvemencM 
tbenoC  Yea,  it  not  onelj  makelh  Ihinga  put,  present ;  but  ioablelh  one  to 
make  a  rationall  conjecture  of  things  to  come.  For  tliia  world  aSotdeth  aa 
new  acddentB,  but  in  the  aame  senae  wherein  we  call  it  a  new  TOOtm ;  which  iB 
the  old  one  in  another  ihape,  and  jet  no  other  than  what  had  been  formerly. 
a  agun,  forbiihed  orer  with  >ome  new  and  diObRnt  drcum- 


CHAPTEB  THE  TENTH. 
BIOHABD  THE  FIRST,    BUBNAMES  THE  LIOH-HEABT. 

H89 — 1199.  EiCHABT,  the  eldest  Bmriving  son  of  Hemj 
Plantagcnet,  held  the  duehj  of  Acqmtaine  and  ruled  it  with  an 
iron  sceptre,  at  the  time  of  his  father's  death.  Fourteen  days 
after  that  event,  on  the  20th  July,  1189,  he  received  the  title  of 
Duke  of  Normandy  ;  but  it  was  not  until  the  day  of  his  coro- 
nation in  the  palace  of  Westminster,  on  the  3rd  of  the  following 
September,  tlutt  the  title  of  English  King  was  conceded  to  '  Ihiko 
Biehard.'  There  had  however  been  no  disposition  to  qooBtion 
hia  Bucceesion  ;  and  in  the  interim,  hy  his  appointment,  his  mother 
Eleanor  had  been  released  from  her  captrrity  and  invested  witlt 
the  powers  of  Regent,  which  she  seems  to  have  exercised  pra- 
sently.  We  are  told  hy  contemporary  writers  that  she  made  n 
denes  of  state  progresses  ;  released  prisoners  nidawtully  confined  ; 
pardoned  offences  against  the  crown  ;  restrained  forest  severities  ; 
reversed  outlawries  on  common  fame  ;  hy  proclamation  ordered 
all  freemen  to  swear  allegiance  to  Duke  Richard  and  obedience  to 
his  laws  i  and  everywhere  distributed  alms,  in  her  own  name  and 
tiiat  of  her  son,  for  the  soul  of  the  husband  and  &ther  whose 
heart  they  had  broken. 

As  the  body  of  the  old  king  was  home  from  the  pleasant  toffn 
of  Chinon  on  the  Loire,  the  Windsor  of  our  Norman  princes,  to 
the  sad  oid  abbey  of  Fontevraud,  their  favourite  place  of  burial, 

•  ContiDued  from  p.  fi65.  Vol  II. 

I  v.Goo'^lc 


A  HISTORY  pen  SODSa  BNQLAKS.  ?! 

Gorl  Bichard  met  the  procesaieu  and  aceompaiued  it  to  the  great 
ckurcli.  As  tlie  funeral  rite  went  on,  and.  the  knightly  mourner 
stood  by  Ilia  father's  body,  the  deftd  face  was  uncoyereil  and  blood 
bnrst  frwn  the  Dostrils.  This  miracle,  which  the  chroniclers  care- 
fully i'dat«,  Tery  atrtmgly  marks  the  feeling  of  the  tiaje.  It  waa 
the  body  of  the  dead  bleeding  in  the  presence  oi  its  murderer. 
lUchard  shuddered  ;  fell  in  prayer  before  the  altar  ;  and  after  the 
space  of  a  paternoster  left  tie  church,  never  to  return  to  it  till 
borne  there  in  the  pride  of  manhood  to  a  grave  at  his  father's  feet. , 

It  was  he  who  had  thrice  refused  to  sheathe  the  aword  he  had 
drawn  against  bis  parent ;  it  was  he  at  whose  bidding,  when  hie 
brothers  Henry  uid  Geofireyhad  made  ample  suhmission,  the  unna- 
tural strife  arose  again.  For  on  noBe  of  tiic  princes  had  the  old 
king's  discountenance  of  tbe  martial  tendencies  of  his  age  fallen 
so  heavily  as  on  Richard.  While  yet  ia  boyhood,  his  personal  prow- 
ess was  the  favonritc  theme  of  the  poetry  of  his  time  ;  and  as  years 
passed  on,  high  above  the. moat  noted  warriors  of  NtHmandy  and 
England  towered  the  haughty  crest  of  the  youthfiil  Count  of  Poitou. 
With  a  body  ino^tabte  of  fatigue,  and  a  heart  inaccessible  to 
fear,  he  lived  but  in  tike  toumameM  or  battle  ;  and  there  was  not 
a  tilting  ground  in  K^rope  he  had.  not  vidted  aa  a  private  adven- 
turer, and  home  off  ita  prize  of  valouK.  The  ohronielors  err  who 
ascribe  his  departbre  tar  tbe  Crusades  to  remorsa  for  hia  father's 
death.  With  tiie  pasmosate  ^irit  of  enteipriae  that  distinguished 
him,  he  had  publicly  tabm  the  Cross  seme  months  before  that 
event;  which  only  served  to  confirm  his  resolve.  The  succession  to 
the  throne  had  brought  with  it  no  sense  of  duties  or  responsibilities. 
The  confidential  couuseUiM^  wlm  bora  tidings  of  his-  approach  to 
claim  his  English  crown^  were  oharged  wi&  projitcta  to  drtun  the 
resources  of  England  for  no  purpose  imre  closely  oonnecbed 
with  its  government,  than  the  tecorery  of  JarusaJran  and  the 
punishment  of  Soldan  Saladin. 

It  has  been  seen  th^  he  did  not  reeeii^  the  kingly  title  till  he 
had  passed  through  the  Fona  of  his  coronation.  The  thoughtful 
reader  will  discover  in  that  ciecuixHtancB ;.  in  the  popular  measures 
with  which  Eleanto'  thjou^t  it  prudent  te  grace  bis  accession ; 
and  in  the  description  i  shall  now  iMiafly  give  of  tlie  coronation 
ceremonial  itself  (of  which  his  is  the  most  aiwient  preserved  la 
fiHiaai  records) ;  ample  coi^rmation.  of  what  has  before  beea 
urged  against  the  false  impression  of  too  many  tuBtoriea.  These 
Nonnao.  princea  did  not,  1^  the  mere  physical  right  of  conquastr 
govern  d  conquered  petq^.     They  were  not  serfs  or  slaves  who 


72  A.  mSTORT  FOB  TOUHQ  EHQLANI). 

croirded  the  passages  from' the  palace  to  the  abbey  of  Westmui- 
ater  on  the  coronation  day  of  BJchard  the  First,  and  whose  voices, 
'though  but  as  a  matter  of  form,  were  solicited  to  confirm  him 
King.  They  were  a.  part  of  the  day's  dignity  and  power,  as 
essential  aa  the  clergy,  the  abbota,  and  the  bisbopa,  who  advanced 
first  in  the  procesaioa  ;  as  tbe  two  barons  who  followed  with  the 
cap  of  state  and  the  golden  spars  ;  as  the  earls  who  carried  the 
rod  and  sceptre ;  as  the  three  swords  borne  by  John  the  king's 
brother,  by  David  brother  to  the  king  of  Sootland,  ■  and  by 
William  Earl  of  Salisbuiy  ;  as  the  six  earls  and  six  barons,  who 
carried  on  their  ehoolders  the  gorgeoas  accoutrements  of  royalty  ; 
nay,  as  the  ponderous  crown  Itself,  which  was  on  this  day  borne ' 
in  the  stout  hands  of  the  Earl  of  Albemarle.  Richard  came  last  ; 
supported  by  the  Bishc^  of  Bath  and  Durham,  under  a  canopy  of 
silk  stretched  on  four  speara  and  held  by  four  barons  ;  and  was 
received  at  the  altar  by  Baldwin  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  who 
administered  to  him  the  oath  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  kings.  He 
then  threw  off  his  upper  garment,  put  on  golden  sandals,  was 
anoiuted  in  various  pa^  of  his  person,  and  received  successively 
from  the  proper  officers  the  cap,  tbe  timic,  tbe  dalmatic,  the 
swords,  tbe  spurs,  and  the  mantle.  The  Archbishop  conducted 
him,  thus  robed,  to  the  altar,  and  solemnly  adjured  him  not  to 
assume,  even  then,  the  royal  dignity,  unless  prepared  and  resolved 
to  observe  tbe  royal  oath.  On  this  he  renewed  his  promise  ; 
vehement  shouts  from  the  crowded  aisles  of  the  abbey  answered 
the  Archbishop's  formal  appeal  to  tbe  People  for  confirmation  of 
tbii  election  of  their  Governor ;  and  Duke  Bichard,  taking  the 
crown  from  the  altar  and  presenting  it  to  the  primate,  Baldwin 
placed  it  on  the  bead  of  Kmg  Richard  the  First. 

While  this  passed  within  the  abbey,  a  horrible  and  disgraceful 
scene  was  in  course  of  action  outside,  which,  even  so  late  as  when 
industrious  simple-hearted  Speed  wrote  his  useful  Chronicle,  and 
beyond  that  time,  seemed  quite  an  auspicious  event,  and  comfort- 
ing to  Christianity.  The  coronation  of  Richard,  he  says,  *waa 
'  accidentally  hanselled  and  auspicated  by  the  blood  of  many  Jews 
'  {though  utterly  against  tbe  king's  wiil}  who,  in  a  tumult  raised 
'  by  tbe  multitude,  were  furiously  murdered  ;  which,  though  it  was 
'  afterwards  punished  by  the  laws,  might  seem  a  presage  that 
'  this  lion-hearted  king  should  be  a  special  destroyer  of  the  ene- 
•  mies  of  our  Saviour.'  That  the  murder  of  a  Jew  should  have 
been  utterly  against  the  king's  will,  only  proves  what  the  power 
of  money  already  was.     Even  a  Jew  might  on  that  ground  claim 


A  BISTORT  FOK  YOUHO  ENQLAND.  73 

protection.  On  the  other  hand,  vh&t  recommended  them  to  the 
king,  apart  from  the  curse  of  their  unbelief,  mode  them  hateful  to 
the  people.  They  were  the  hankers,  the  capitalists  of  Europe. 
They  held  exclusive  traffic  in  the  markets ;  with  absolute,  and, 
unless  by  ruffian  violence,  unrestricted  control  over  the  element 
which  with  labour  governs  the  world.  The  impulse  given  to  com- 
merce bj  every  fresh  crusade,  I  have  before  pointed  out ;  at  such 
a  time,  their  demands  rising  with  the  number  and  wants  of  bor- 
rowers, their  profits  became  enormous  ;  at  such  a  time,  supersti- 
tious excitement  raging  high,  tbeir  religion  became  especially 
odious  ;  and  this  therefore  was  always  the  aptest  time  for  some 
shocking  scene  of  persecution.  Hatred  of  their  faith,  and  envy  of 
tbetr  gains,  were  indulged  together.  The  present  outrage  began 
in  a  dispute  at  the  abbey  door,  where  some  Jews  had  mingled  with 
the  crowd  and  pressed  for  admittance  ;  it  spread  throughout  the 
city  ;  it  was  inflamed  by  a  report  oil  the  following  day,  that  the 
king  had  made  glorious  commencement  of  his  reign  by  a  general 
permission  to  kill  the  Jews  and  plunder  their  property ;  and  it 
was  not  quelled  until,  not  alone  in  London,  but  in  York  and  seve- 
ral of  the  larger  cities  of  the  kingdom,  it  had  been  signalised  by  the 
most  frightful  robberies,  conflagrations,  and  massacres.  Richard 
seems  to  have  been  the  least  to  blame.  It  was  suspected  that 
not  a  few  of  the  more  powerful  barons  had  most  assisted  to 
inflame  the  popular  passion,  for  a  cloak  to  the  design  they  had 
more  deliberately  formed  of  sharing  among  themselves  the  spoils 
of' their  victims,  and  of  efiectually  extingiushing  their  debts  by 
destroying  at  once  the  securities  and  the  persons  of  their  creditors. 
When  tlie  king  deputed  his  justiciary,  the  famous  warrior  and 
lawyer  Glanvil,  to  disperse  and  judge  the  rioters,  the  result  of  his 
task  showed  what  a  feeling  he  had  had  to  contend  with,  and  what 
power  must  liave  backed  it  up.  Three  men  only  were  executed  ; 
and  of  these,  one  because  he  had  stolen  the  goods  of  a  Christian, 
and  the  other  two  because  the  flames  they  had  lighted  in  the 
houses  of  the  Jews  bad  spread  to  the  dwellings  of  Christians. 
Beside  this  indeed,  Hichard  offered  his  royal  protection  to  the 
Jews,  and  forbade  any  further  interference  with  their  persons  or 
property  ;  but  it  availed  them  little. 

Meanwhile  he  had  been  busily  occupied  In  raising  money  for  his 
Cmsade.  His  father's  treasury  gave  him  a  hundred  thousand 
marks  ;  but  he  required  a  sum  gigantic  as  his  warlike  projects,  and 
there  was  but  one  mode  of  getting  it  together.  He  turned  his 
presence  chamber  into  a  market  overt,  and  oflered  everything  for 


74  A  mSTOAX  FOK  VOUSG   BXALAJCD. 

Bale.  He  sold  the  dememe  lande,  be  solU  honoura  and  o&e^  he 
wdd  biaht^cB  and  abbacies.  He  coKpromised  a  quarrel  witlt  bis 
natural  brother  Geoittey,  lately  elected  Archbishop  of  York,  for  a 
bribe  of  three  tbousand  pouuda ;  for  one  tbousuid  he  wld  the 
earldom  of  Korthumberlaiid  and  lordabip  of  Sadburgb  to  Hugh 
Fudsey  the  Bishop  of  Durham,  who  also  purchased  of  him  the 
office  of  Juaticiaiy  ;  for  ten  tboueand  he  restored  to  the  King  of 
Scots  what  hie  father  had  nreeted  from  bim  ;  and  when  a  remsn- 
Btraooe  was  addressed  to  him  oa  the  impolicy',  of  all  this,  yridt 
tippeai  to  tha  example  of  Stephen,  be  sirore  that  be  wotdd  sell 
Loudon  itself  if  he  cuild  but  find  a  purobaaer.  His  arrangements 
completed  by  expedleats  of  this  kind,  which  cost  bim  four  montba' 
incessant  labour,  he  held  a  great  council  in  Fipwell  monaalerj, 
and  provided  for  the  regency  of  tbe  kiogdoni.  He  dinded  its 
powers  betweM)  bis  chancellor,  William  Longchamp  Bishop  of 
Ely, ,  aed  his  jasti<nary,  Hugh  Fudsey  Bi^op  of  Durham. 
Neither  to  Eleanor  nor  to  John  was  any  share  of  authority 
eommitted  ;  but  he  increased  bis  mother's  dower ;  and,  with  the 
Tun  hope  of  engaging  that  mean  and  jealous  nature  to  lus 
interests,  endowed  bis  brother  with  the  earldoms  of  near  one  third 
of  the  kingdom.  He  left  Engkud  on  tbe  11th  of  December, 
1189,  never  to  return  to  it,  or  to  take  further  share  in  its  admi- 
Bistratios,  until  ibe  13th  of  March,  1194. 

Hia  departure  was  ibe  signal  for  attack  on  the  Bishop  of  Dor- 
nam  by  his  brother  regent  the  Bishop  of  Ely.  The  wetter  vessel 
broke;,  and  in  a  few  montba  Loi^cbamp  was  not  only  sole  regent, 
but  bad  received  from  abroad,  on  his  royal  master's  interce^iion 
with  the  Vatican,  the  office  of  papal  legate,  and  reigned  supreme 
in  church  as  wdl  as  in  state.  Ha  was  in  soma  respects  a  remark- 
able man,  aud  undoubtedly  very  able.  He  was  of  the  lowest 
birth  (bis  grandfather  had  been  a  serf  in  the  diocese  of  Beauvais), 
and  had  j^assed  to  the  sttrricc  orRiebard  from  that  of  his  natural 
brother  tieoilrey.  A  proficient  in  the  dexterous  arts  which  win 
their  way  to  power,  his  ambition  had  grown  with  every  new  suc- 
cess till  it  overtopped  all  means  of  restraint  and  of  repression. 
The  descendant  of  tbe  serf  of  Beauvais  was  the  only  man  whom 
Richard  did  not  dismiss,  when,  on  bis  tather'a  death,  either  with 
aiscere  remorse  or  to  invite  popularity  by  the  show  of  it,  he  sent 
bis  own  old  counsellors  from  his  service,  and  called  to  his  side 
thoae  who  had  remained  faithiiil  to  his  father.  When  tidings  o£ 
Longchamp 's  conduet  to  hia  fellow  regent  were  h4«ne  to  Richard, 
on  the  Gontiuent,  ha  did  indeed  send  formal  instrBotioos  for  the- 


A  BISIOBT  FOB  TOCXO  BMLASS,  ?tf 

mnatotement  of  the  Bishop  of  Durham :  but  they  were  tuncooto- 
pKiied  by  da;  Uintlst^oa  of  die  power  already  tioiwd  to  such  bold 
uses  by  Longchamp,  and  the  latterr  declMuig  himself  acquainted 
better  with  the  kiug'e  secret  intentiona,  openly  refused  to  com- 
^y.  The  trust  he  had  received  at  the  king's  departure, 
he  added,  was  m«ant  Ut  comftiBO  whatsoever  powers  he  deemed 
needAil  to  il«  discharge.  And  he  ahoidd  govern  the  kingdom 
abno. 

In  what  way  he  governed  it,  is  unhappily  ta  be  read  only  in  the 
BtatementB  of  men  manifestly  his  foes.  They  say  that  he  was  not 
only  haughty  and  insolent,  but  graapiiig  and  prodigal ;  that  to  the 
laity  he  was  more  than  a  king,  oppregeing  tbran  with  fines  ;  that 
to  the  clergy  he  waa  more  than  a  pope,  nuDing  them  with  exao- 
tious  ;  that  he  never  enforced  submiaeion  by  his  justice,  but  by 
the  promptitude  and  severity  at  his  vengeance  ;  that  had  he 
remained  in  power  '  not  a  knight  could  have  kept  bia  silver  belt, 
'  nor  a  noble  hie  gold  ring,  nor  a  woman  her  bracket  or  necklace, 
'  nor  a  Jew  his  merchandise  ot  gem ;'  and  that,  in  the  line  of 
Konnan  kings,  no  such  pomp  or  parade  had  ever  been  exhibited, 
H  was  indulged  by  this  son  of  ^e  serfs  ol  Beauvais.  Wiierever 
he  rest«d,  a  formidable  gnard  was  in  waiting  ;  wheo  he  rode 
forth,  a  body  of  fifteen  hundred  horsemen  attended  him  ;  he  sealed 

Cblic  acta  with  his  own  seal,  not  wi^  the  great  seal  of  England ; 
imported  from  France  large  bands  of  minstrds,  tronbadourB, 
jongleurs,  and  jesters,  who  did  nothing  but  wander  about  the 
public  streets,  singing  of  the  riiancellor  and  regent,  and  declaring 
that  the  world  had  yet  produced  no  equal  to  William  do  Lohgchamp ; 
and  these  aonga  and  shoutingB  quite  drowned  the  cnrsea  of  the 
native  population. 

It  is  doubtful  if  tliese  curses  wre  heard,  certainly.  On  the 
contrary,  there  is  a  suspicion  that  Limg^amp  was  pt^ular  with 
every  class  beneath  that  of  the  haughtier  barone  and  the  imme- 
diate adherents  of  John.  Worthy  Feter  of  Blois  praises  him  for 
his  wisdom  and  unbounded  generosity,  sad  talks  even  of  hia 
amiable,  benevolent,  and  gentle  temper ;  and,  making  all  allowanee 
for  the  quarrels  his  mere  Bvpertonty  must  have  created,  and  to 
the  many  persons  in  every  class  like^  to  he  moat  mortified  by 
what  was  most  praiseworthy  in  hist,  it  will  bo  s^e  to  conclude 
that  good  predomiaat«d  errer  evil  in  his  t^araoter,  as  it  rarely 
fails  to  do  widi  men  of  real  alnlity  and  genius.  I  take  the  secret 
«f  his  position  te  have  been  ttiat,  vay  shortly  after  Biehaid'a 
departure,  he  discoKired  John's  designs  on  &e  succession  ;  and 


7B  A  HiaiOBI  FOB  TOCNG  EKOLAND. 

felt  that  they  could  only  be  effeetivdy  resisted  by  tie  seizore  of 
extraordinary  powers.  This  seems  to  derive  coDfirmation  from 
tbe  fact  that,  while  yet  in  Sicily  on  his  way  to  Holy  Land, 
Richard  not  only. took  occasion  in  a  treaty  with  King  Tancred,  and 
in  letters  to  the  pope,  formally  to  declare  the  succession  in  Arthur, 
son  of  his  dead  broker  Geoffrey,  but  secretly  commissioned  bia 
chancellor  to  engage  the  help  of  the  Scottish  king  should  it 
hecome  necessary,  in  support  of  Arthur's  pretensions.  John  had 
at  the  same  time  spies  ta  UcBsina  ;  and,  on  this  being  conyeyed 
to  him,  redoubled  his  exertions  against  Longchanip.  As  for  the 
possibility  of  a  safe  return  to  bis  adventurous  brother,  it  never 
Beems  to  bav«  entered  into  the  dream  of  his  mean  ambition.  He 
had  but  to  triumph  over  Longchamp  and  seize  the  throne.  A 
crusade  was  hitherto  bnt  another  word  for  the  grave  of  whom- 
soever joined  it.  Prince  or  plebeian,  the  chances  were  against 
his  safe  return. 

While  Richard  yet  lingered  in  Europe,  little  can  be  said  to 
have  passed  beyond  an  active  preparation  for  the  struggle  be- 
tween Longchamp  and  John.  When  he  set  sail  for  Asia,  the 
struggle  desperately  began.  Through  a  space  of  more  than  two 
years,  it  continued  with  very  various  fortune  ;  but  the  combi- 
nation of  interests  attracted  to  the  side  of  the  usurper,  proved  at 
last  too  strong  for  Longcbomp,  Geoffrey,  the  previous  chancellor, 
now  Archbishop  of  York,  left  France  in  defiance  of  a  royal 
interdict,  and  joined  the  confederacy  against  him  ;  it  best  served 
the  independent  designs  of  many  of  the  Norman  barons  to  take 
similar  part  in  tbe  contest ;  and  it  ended  in  the  precipitate  flight 
of  the  so  powerful  cbancellor  and  regent.  This  last  incident  is 
the  only  one  deserving  of  special  note  in  this  somewhat  tedious 
and  vulgar  strife.  The  tall  figure  of  what  seemed  to  be  a  female 
pedlar,  with  a  pack  of  cloth  under  the  arm  and  an  ell  measure  io 
hand,  was  observed  by  some  fishermen's  wives  on  the  sea-shore 
near  Dover  ;  and  on  nearer  inspection  revealed,  from  under  a 
'  green  hood,'  the  black  face  and  new-shorn  beard  of  a  man.  It 
was  the  chancellor  waiting  to  embark  for  France.  He  would  have 
escaped,  it  is  added,  but  for  his  ignorance  of  English.  The 
fishermen's  wives  could  get  no  answer  to  their  inquiries  for  her 
wares,  but  a  loud  laugh  ;  which  raised  suspicion  of  his  sanity, 
and  induced  the  inspection  that  discovered  hiqi. 

This  incident  may.  remind  me  that  it  will  not  be  unimportant  or 
uointeresting  to  make  mention  of  the  state  of  the  language  at  this 
time.     The  Saxon  was  now  assuming  that  form  in  which  its  rela- 


A  BISTORT   FOR  TOUNO  EKOLAHD,.  77 

tion  to  ourpresent  speech  becomes  distinctlj  apparent.  That  there 
had  ever  been  any  deliberate  design  in  the  Normans  to  aboliah  tho 
natire  language,  I  have  before  characterised  as  an  ossertion  wholly 
without  warrant ;  but  the  same  causes  which  ioduced  a  gradual 
amalgamation  of  the  races,  brought  about  also  important  modifica- 
tions of  the  language  ;  and  a  general  and  free  communication  of 
foragn  clergy  with  every  grade  of  the  Saxon  people,  had  of  course 
an  important  influence  in  these  changes.  Such  instances  as  that 
of  Longchamp  were  now  becoming  exceptions,  in  the  higher  places 
of  government ;  and  even  of  him  it  is  said  that  in  his  last  chan- 
cellorship he  liaew  more  of  Saion  than  in  his  first.  But  one  of  the 
striking  homilies  preserved  and  translated  by  the  learned  and  in- 
genious Mr.  Couybeare,  is  in  itself  the  most  vivid  illustration  I  could 
ofi^er  of  this  transitory  state  of  the  language  of  our  forefathers.  'Its 
date  IS  of  the  age  I  am  now  treating ;  and  probably  there  is  no 
better  specimen  on  record  of  what  may  be  called  the  latest  period  of 
Saxon.  Few  grander  things,  it  may  be  added,  have  been  written 
in  any  speech,  in  any  time  of  the  world  ;  and  it  would  be  noble 
employment  for  the  noblest  writer,  to  give  back  on  answer  to  its 
gloomy  and  dark  sublimity  which  should  become  the  brighter 
prospects  and  the  sincerer  faith  of  a  more  hopeful  and  happy  world. 


The  wes  Iwld  gebyld 

For  thee  is  a  house  built 

Er  thn  iboren  were, 

Ere  thou  wert  bom, 

The  weB  mold  imjnt 

For  thee  mould  was  ashapra 

Er  thn  of  moder  cocoo 

Ere  thou  of  moflicr  earnest.  ■; 

The  hit  nea  na  idiht 

Itfl  height  is  not  datermined. 

Ne  thes  deopnes  imeten 

NcB  til  Uoced, 

Nor  is  it  closed  up 

Hu  loQg  hit  the  were. 

(However  long  it  maj  be) 
Until  I  thee  bring 

Nu  me  the  bring«th 

Wer  thu  been  seealt. 

Where  thou  shalt  remun 

Nu  me  soeal  the  meten 

Until  r  shaU  meagure  thee 

And  tha  mold  aeoththa : 

And  the  Bod  of  earth. 

Se  tith  no  thine  lius 

Thy  house  U  not 

Healiee  itimbred. 

Itf9.iiChand'lowi 

Hit  bith  nneh  and  lah  ; 

Thoone  Ihu  bist  theonne 

When  Ihou  art  in  it 

The  helewagea  beoth  l»ge. 

The  heelways  are  low. 

SidwageH  unhege. 

The  side-wayH  unhigh. 

The  Krf  bith  ybild 

The  roof  is  built 

Theie  brost  full  neh. 

Thy  breast  full  nigh ; 

Swa  tliu  sceolt  in  mold 

So  thou  Shalt  in  earth 

Winnen  ful  cali. 

DweU  fnU  cold. 

Dimme  and  deoreie. 

Dim,  and  dark. 

Thet  clen  futtet  on  hod. 

That  clean  putrefies. 

i:hm>leaE  is  thcet  hus. 

Doorless  is  that  honsa 

Coogk: 

18  A  HIBTOTT  FOB  TOUHO  MTSLAKD. 

And  deorc  hit  ia  widunnen  And  duk  it  U  vilbm : 

Dter  Ihu  bist  feat  bidj'te  There  Uwu  art  bst  dat&iue^ 

And  Dielh  heflh  tha  eetge.  And  Death  holdB  the  key. 

Lathlic  is  thiEt  eorth  hua.  Loathly  is  that  earth  house. 

And  grim  inne  to  wnnim  And  ^m  io  dwell  ia ; 

nier  Uu  ace*lt  wunieii.  Thara  lliuo  dialt  dweU 

And  wurmeB  the  to  deleth.  And  worma  aJull  abase  tliee. 

Thus  Ihu  bist  ileyd.  Thus  thou  &rt  laid 

And  kdffiBt  thine  fronden.  And  leavest  thy  Enende ; 

Nefst  tha  nenne  Awind  Than  hut  no  &iend 

The  the  wylle  faten  lo.  Hut  wtU  cone  to  ttiea, 

Tluet  nfre  wule  lokien  Who  will  ewer  ioquire 

Hu  the  that  hus  the  like.  How  thai  baUEB  liketh  tbae  I 

Theet  lefre  undon  Who  shall  ever  open 

The  wvle  tlu  dnre,  For  thee  the  door 

And  the  lefter  hMen  And  acak  tlwel 

For  soDB  tha  biat  Isdhe  For  eaaa  thou  beoomest  Imthly 

And  lad  to  iseonne.  AM  baleful  lo  bok  upon. 

At  the  time  when  J«bii  Beetned  mMt  seeure  in  his  triunqthant 
uBiirpation  of  the  regencj,  mtelligence  reached  Europe  of  Richard's 
deportuite  fram  Faleatine.  The  eager  antieipationa  of  the  penile 
then  becanie  evidence  of  the  deteataticn  in  irhioh  John  was  held, 
and  of  the  freih  popularity  Richard  had  acquired  by  the  repoi-ted 
prodigies  of  hia  valour.  I  have  not  dwelt  upon  his  career  in  the 
East,  siDCc  it  did  not  come  within  the  province  of  mj  History,  and, 
for  the  present,  the  origin  and  practical  isflnenoe  of  the  Crusades 
have  been  <nicgh  adverted  to.  But,  apart  even  from  the 
poetical  exaggerations  which  pervade  every  available  record  of 
Richard's  life,  and  which  have  made  him  the  theme  of  romance  in 
every  age,  there  can  be  as  little  question  of  the  extraordinary  cha- 
racter of  his  martial  expioits,  as  of  their  ludiorouB  inutility.  His 
greatness  as  a  soldier  contrasts  throughout  with  his  incapacity  as  a 
leader.  He  was  too  fickle  and  paasionateto  pursue  Bteadily  or  rightly 
any  victory  ho  had  gained ;  he  waa  too  hcadstrOBg  and  ohstinate 
to  keep  together  the  jarring  forcoa  with  which  he  had  to  deal ;  he 
waa  pre-eminent  in  personal  strength  and  bravery,  and  in  these 
alone.  The  name  of  Cfflua  de  Lion,  which  had  preceded  him,  h© 
well  maintained  ;  but  the  repute  of  hia  father's  wisdom,  which  had 
also  travelled  to  Holy  Luid,  he  did  not  support  so  well.  Every  cham- 
pion that  dared  to  oppose  him,  he  vanijuished  ;  wherever  he  charged, 
though  into  a  boat  of  Saracens,  the  enemy  retired  frwn  before 
him  ;  he  worked  like  a  commou  soldier  at  the  heavy  battering 
engines  under  the  walk  of  Acre,  and  even  in  sickness  was  home 
on  a  mattress  to  the  trenches  ;    hia  cry  of   '  St.  George !    St. 


A  mSTORr   FOK  YOUSQ   GHGLANS.  79 

George  ! '  became  a  word  of  fear  throughout  the  East ;  and  for  a 
century  after  his  death,  the  Saracen  mother  terrified  her  child, 
and  the  Saracea  soidier  rebuked  his  horse,  with  dte  name  of 
Richard  of  England.  But  he  left  the  land  which  be  had  only 
helped  to  deluge  with  blood  (for  hi^  cmeltj  was  net  lew  remark- 
able than  his  valour),  without  the  achieTement  of  one  enduring 
advBAt^e ';  and  there  was  a  better  than  hie  reaeon  for  the  gri^ 
and  (^me  with  which,  as  he  left,  he  is  said  to  have  raised  hia 
dhi^d  before  hie  eyea  when  passing  within  siglrt  of  Jerusalem, 
and  to  have  declared  himself  unworthy  to  look  upon  the  holy  city 
which  he  had  not  been  able  to  redeem. 

"What  indirect  advantages  ef  commerce  this  as  well  as  subse- 
qnent  crusades  promoted,  will  better  appear  hereafter  ;  hut  it 
^oold  not  be  omitted,  as  a  fact  very  eigQiScant  of  the  general 
progress  of  the  kingdom  under  his  father's  reign,  that  Richard 
had  eaited  for  the  East  in  a  fleet  of  fifty-three  galleys,  and  a 
hundred  and  fifty  other  shi^.  So  strong  a  naval  armament, 
manned  with  eeMnen  so  capable  of  their  duties,  hod  probably  not 
be&re  been  seen  ;  and  some  few  of  the  ships  carried  he  nmiiy  as 
four  hnndred  persons.  It  ia  interesting  to  couple  with  this  the  fact 
that  the  laws  of  Oleron,  the  origin  of  modem  maritune  jnris- 
prudenee,  and  an  antherity  to  this  day,  have  their  date  in  Kicnard'a 
reign.  They  are  even  said  to  have  been  written  by  the  king  ;  but 
bis  troubadour  swigs,  and  his  rimming  libel  on  his  friend  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy,  are  better  authentjeated.  I  may  add  inoonnection 
with  n  aritiiiie  afiaira,  thdt  one  of  the  only  two  le^slative  charters 
dated  in  his  reign  had  a  tendency  to  favour  and  protect,  the  ad- 
venture and  enterprise  of  seamen.  It  mitigated  the  severity  of 
the  old  law  of  wrecks  ;  by  which,  in  cases  of  shipwreck,  unless 
the'ship  could  be  again  set  afloat  within  a  given  time  hy  her  sur- 
viving crew,  it  became,  with  the  cargo,  the  property  of  the  crown 
or  of  the  lord  of  the  manor.  Richard's  charter  declared  that  the 
owner  in  no  case  forfeited  bis  claim ;  and  that  if  the  owner 
perished,  his  sons  and  daughters,  and  in  their  default,  bis  brothers 
and  sister's,  should  have  the  property  in  preference  to  the  -crown. 

Romantic  as  his  Eastern  adventnres,  hut  not  more  relevant  to 
sober  history,  were  the  king's  mishaps  on  bis  way  back  to  Eng- 
land. Impatient  of  hie  long-delayed  arrival,  a*id  wholly  ignorant 
of  its  cause,  public  eipectation  could  but  rise  and  fall  with  every 
scrap  of  party  tidings  brought  by  returning  pilgrims  ;  till  at  length 
an  intercepted  letter  to  the  French  king  from  the  German  emperor, 
revealoa   the  truth   that  Richard   had  been   taken  prisonw  on 


80  AHISIOBI  FOR   TOtTNO  ENOXAKD. 

his    passage    through    GermaQj.       The    emperor    had  bought 

the  rojoi  priaoner  from  Leopold  of  Austria  for  sixty  thousand 
pounds  ;  and  had  lodged  him  in  chains  in  one  of  the  castlea 
of  the  Tyrol ;  where,  by  day  and  by  night,  naked  awords 
guarded  and  watched  '  this  enemy  of  the  empire  and  disturber  of 
'  France.'  What  followed, — from  the  hearty  sympathy  of  his 
English  subjects,  from  the  gallant  efforts  of  LoDgchamp  (who  had 
escaped  t«  France  and  been  again  in  treaty  with  John)  to  negotiate 
his  release,  from  the  royal  prisoner's  gallant  self-defence  before 
his  judges,  from  the  enormous  ransom  claimed  and  the  horrible 
exactions  resorted  to  in  raising  it — to  the  flight  of  John  when  the 
French  king's  famons  mission  told  him  to  Look  to  Himself  for  the 
DotU  was  broken  Loose,  and  to  the  arrival  of  Richard  on  the  shore 
of  Sandwich  amid  the  acclamations  of  multitudes  assembled  there^ 
needs  but  this  cursory  mention.  Chanceller  Geofireywas  dismissed 
to  bia  arohbishopric.  and  Longchamp  was  reinstated  in  his  office  ; 
a  new  coronation  purged  the  monaroh  from  the  humiliations  of  his 
late  captivity  ;  John  was  with  a  somewhat  abused  generosity  let 
loose  for  new  treasons  ;  and,  after  a  few  brief  months  residence  in 
his  kingdom,  Richard  passed  over  to  France  to  revenge  himself  on 
his  enemy  King  Philip. 

Yet  signs  and  portents  had  become- rife  in  England  sufficient  to 
have  claimed  the  attention  of  a  more  sagacious  prince.  The 
country,  already  drained  by  frequent  exactions,  had,  by  the  last 
contributions  to  the  royal  raasonj,  from  which  no  exception  was 
made  in  any  class,  been  reduced  '  to  poverty  from  '  one  sea  to 
the  other.'  Out  of  this  condition,  and  the  neglect  of  the  most 
ordinary  duties  of  government  and  police,- sprang  a  quasi-servile 
war,  maintained  for  some  time  by  the  poorer  and  less  substantial 
against  the  richer  and  higher  closes  ;  headed  by  an  '  advocate 
of  the  people,'  William  Fitz  Osbert ;  and  comprising  a  secret 
association  of  more  than  fifty-two  thousand  malcontents.  Of  this 
apparently  formidable  organisation  little  can  now  with  certainty 
he  traced  ;  but  its  existence  ;  the  formal  judicial  charge  it  caused 
to  .be  brought  against  Fitz  Osbert  (he  cherished  his  beard  aa 
fanatics  commonly  do,  and  is  called  Longhewrd  in  even  the  formal 
records  of  the  time)  of  circulating  preposterous  doctrines  on  the 
'love  of  liberty  and  happiness  ;'  its  forcible  Buppression  by  the 
violent  death  of  Fitz  Osbert,  and  the  seeds  of  discontent  it  left,  to 
.  take  other  and  more  dangerous  shape  in  later  reigns  ;  are  facts 
which  may  not  be  disputed,  and  which  will  receive  illustratioQ  here- 
after.   There  had  also  arisen  out  of  the  long  prevalence  of  factious 


A  BiaTOBr  FOB  TOUMS  ZHaUNll.  8l 

Btragl^ee  between  John  and  the  bftrons  doHug  Rictiard's  sbsence,  a 
new  cOTtdition,  so  to  speak,  of  relations  between  the  baronage  and  the 
throne,  which  from  any  monarch  less  wilful  and  unreflecting  than 
Biubard,  might  hare  claimed  some  Berioua  attention.  The  inapti- 
tude and  imbecility  of  John  had  thrown  all  tbe  real  duties  of  his 
govemment  into  the  hands  of  a  council  of  barons ;  these  agun 
were  opposed  bj  men  of  their  own  class,  as  well  for  self- 
interest  as  on  general  and  independent  grounds  ;  and  the 
result  of  a  series  of  quarrels  thus  conducted,  between  equals 
as  it  were  in  station,  between  independent  forces — the  crown 
represented  on  the  one  hand,  but  no  longer  with  the  prestige  of 
power  it  had  received  from  the  stronger  kings ;  the  aristocracy 
advancing  claims  on  tbe  otjier,  no  longer  oTerbonie  or  overawed 
by  tbe  present  prcBsure  of  tbe  throne — led  to  what  may  be  called 
a  system  of  unscrupulous  party  struggle,  in  which  royalty  lost  the 
eiclusivepoaitionithadheenthe  great  aim  of  the  Conqueror's  family 
to  secure  to  it,  and  became  an  unguarded  object  of  attack  to  what- 
ever <  hostile  confederacy  might  be  fonn^  against  it.  What 
elements  of  good  there  were  in  this,  to  countervail  the  evil  inci- 
dents of  the  reign,  will  appear  after  the  death  of  Richard. 

Meanwhile,  to  good  ana  to  evil  he  was  alike  indifferent.  He 
had  sot,  during  &e  whole  of  bis  reign,  resided  for  a  year's  space 
in  England,  and  it  was  ordered  that  he  should  never  return  to 
He  seemed  to  care  for  it  simply  as  the  source  of  so  much  revenue  for 
his  private  adventures  and  personal  brcnls.  Hubert  Archbiabop  of 
Canterbury  was  now,  wi^  tbe  aid  of  Longcbamp's  counsel, 
grand  justiciaiy  and  guardian  of  tbe  kingdom  ;  and  it  is  stated 
tiiat  he  transmitted  to  Richard  during  hia  four  years'  paltry 
squabble  with  Philip,  the  prodigious  sum  of  eleven  hundred 
thousand  pounds.  But  it  must  be  doubted  if  such  a  sum 
could  possibly  have  been  raised  at  a  time  when  a  hyde  of  land, 
or  a  hundred  and  twenty  acres,  was  commonly  let  for  twenty 
sbillingH  a  year ;  when  an  ox  or  a  labouring  horse  cost  but  four 
shillings;  when  a  sow  cost  a  shiUing  ;  and  when  a  abeep  with  fine 
wool  was  sold  for  tenpence,  a\,l  with  coarse  wool  for  dxpence. 
To  the  statement  of  the  enormous  exactions  named  it  is  at  the 
same  time  added,  that  though  every  kind  of  expedient  was  neces. 
sarUy  used  to  plunder  erery  class,  and  even  the  tournaments, 
revived  and  allowed  by  Richard's  removal  of  his  father's  prohibi- 
tion, were  made  the  means  of  avaricious  taxation, — lees  actual 
violence  and  injustice  were  on  tbe  whole  committed  by  Hubert, 

HO.  xin. — VOL.  m,  a  (  '         I  ■ 


>  aiaxoKZ  toa,  tofho  uffiLASB. 


and  more  ^uaaiM  of  good  tai  wiadont  aUMded  hii  gopAsiaei^ 
ihta  at  anj  fomer  poiod  of  Ute  reien.  He  was  th«  pupil  of  the 
great  QlaBvil ;  to  the  nafeet  he  kad  thus  iohmted  for  the  laws, 
IB  powbly  to  be  attiib^ed  the  Becood  l^iulatire  ohaitar  of 
Richard,  wtaUishiug  the  wiie  proTuioii  of  aa  uMifoHtiitf  of 
ireighta  and  measuree  throoghout  the  kiggdtm  ;  and  it  ia  certua 
that  under  bis  direetion  aod  adaiifiigtration,  the  insUtutioii  of 
itinerant  justioeiwsa  not  onljreaumed  and  eentiaued,  but  in  swne 
req)ecta  received  improTeioeat.  Hored^i  enablee  us  to  state 
that  the  Junes  to  try  pleas  for  the  crown  seem  bow  to  have  cMk- 
sUtad  regularly  d  twelve  pwsons.  Id  each  connty  two  koights 
were  asmed  by  the  jadge«,  with  power  to  select  two  others  from 
each  hunt^cd  in  Uie  county.  To  the  latter  two  was  then  intnuted 
the  pririle^  of  adding  to  their  number  ten  &ee  and  lawful  men, 
resident  in  the  neighbourhood ;  and  by  theee  means  a  jury  of 
twdve  was  formed  in  erery  partioular  hundred. 

The  detiuls  of  Richard's  war  with  Philip  are  in  no  reqtect 
interesting.  It  lasted  fsur  years ;  and  was  diatjiigiushed,  as 
in  the  instance  of  all  Richttrd's  wan  and  rietories,  by  wondorful 
feats  of  valour,  and  results  the  most  contemptible.  Its  dettuls 
read  rather  1^  the  chance  encounters  of  ferocious  brigands, 
than  the  deliberate  strife  of  the  two  most  powerful  of  Buitv- 
pean  sovereigns.  Its  most  notable  incident  was  the  arrest 
of  an  old  enemy  of  Richard,  who  had  exerted  hinudf  suc- 
cessfully to  prolong  his  ImpristrameDt  and  to  enforoe  the  most 
galling  of  its  indignities  :  the  valorous  fighting  Bishop  of  Beau- 
vius.  He  was  thrown  into  a  dungeon  at  Rou«i  and  loaded 
with  iriHU.  Influential  ehurchmen  remonstrated.  '  You  i^all 
-determine  for  yourselves,'  said  Richard,  '  whether  or  not  I  am 
justified  in  what  I  have  done.  This  man  has  done  me  many 
wrongs.  Unch  I  could  forget,  but  not  this.  When  in  the  bands 
of  the  emperor,  and  when,  in  consideration  of  my  royal  character, 
Ihey  were  heginnbg  to  treat  mo  more  gently  tuid  with  some  marks 
of  Inspect,  your  master  arrived,  and  I  soon  experienced  tii6  effect 
of  his  visit :  over-night  he  spcl:  with  the  emperor,  and  the  next 
moniing  a  chun  was  put  upon  me  such  as  a  horse  could  hardly 
bear.  What  he  now  merits  at  my  hands  declare  yourselves,  and  be 
just.'  They  retired  in  silence.  Appeal  was  then  made  to  Rouen  : 
but  P(^  Celestioe  replied  with  a  Boverereproof  of  the  Bishop's  mar- 
tial  prt^tensitias,  and  particularly  of  bis  having  selected  a  champion 
of  tho  Cross  to  exardse  ibaa  im.     He  veuU  aoKeit  cwly  for  him 


A  HI3T0BT  FOB  YOVSO  ENQLOD.  te 

Asafriend,  he-ftdded  ;  as  poatiffbe  coulduotinterfore.  He  vrote 
to  Ricbanl  accordingly,  and  implored  him  to  pitj  '  hiB  d«ar  wn, 
the  Bishop  of  Beauvaia.'  Richard  Beat  back  for  answer  the 
blood-smeared  coat  of  mail  in  which  the  hishop  had  beeo  taken 
prisoner,  and  to  which  he  had  fixed  a  scroll  bearing  this  happy 
sentence  from  the  Scripturea  :  '  Thu  hate  we  Jbwtd  ;  know 
thou  wSefier  it  he  (Ay  sons  coat  or  no.'  The  pope  answered 
withaBmile  that  it  waa  net;  that  it  was  the  coat  of  a  bob  of 
Mars  ;  and  that  Mars  must  deliver  him,  if  he  could.  The 
bishop  did  not  recover  his  liberty  till  the  king  himself  had  suffoed 
fell  arrest. 

Richard's  death  was  chamcteristic  of  hia  life.  Soon  after  a 
ecomfut  and  triumphant  letter  which  he  caused  to  he  circulated 
through  England,  and  in  which  (alluding  to  a  rout  of  the  Firmcb 
wherein  a  bridge  bad  sunk  beneath  the  fugilivea)  he  boasted  that 
he  had  made  the  king  of  France  drink  deep  of  the  waters  of  the 
Epte,  he  engaged  in  a  ridiculous  And  ignoble  quarrel  with  one  of 
hia  Poictevin  barons,  and  received  his  death-wound  from  an  araher 
OD  the  waUs  of  the  eastle  of  OhaWi,  whose  arrow  pierced  a  jmnt 
in  his  armour.  The  castle  was  taken  ;  the  garrison,  excepting 
the  archer  Goardon,  were  butchered  ;  and  Gourdon  was  taken  to 
the  couch  of  the  dying  king.  '  Wretch  t  what  have  I  done  to 
'  thee,'  asked  Richard,  '  that  thou  shouldst  seek  my  life  ?'  '  My 
father  and  my  two  hrotbere,'  the  young  man  calmly  replied, 
thou  didst  slay  with  thine  own  band.  So  that  Thou  now  diest, 
and  the  world  ia  freed  from  an  oppressor,  I  am  content  to  die.' 
I  forgive  thee,  youth  ! '  miBwered  Ridiard,  with  the  last  better 
impulse  of  his  nido  and  wayward  nature.  '  Loose  hia  chains  and 
'  give  him  a.  hundred  shiUings.'  The  order  was  not  heeded  in  the 
eKcitcaiont  that  followed  the  king's  death,  and  Gourdon  was  flayed 
alive.  Richard  died  in  mueh  anguish  on  Monday  the  6th  of 
April,  1199.  He  left  his  lion-heart  (he  was  proud  of  the  epithet] 
to  hia  faithful  city  of  Rouen  ;  hia  '  ignoble  parts,'  hia  bowels,  he 
bequeathed  to  his  rebellious  Foictevina  ;  and  be  desired  his  body 
to  be  buried  in  Fontevraud,  at  his  father's  feet.  He  made  no 
mention  of  Bnglnnd  ;  which  seems  to  have  been  little  in  bis 
h)Te  or  his  romombrance,  at  any  time.  He  was  forty-two  when  he 
died,  and,  in  his  rcigii  of  ten  yeara  had  probably  passed  mz  months 
in  the  country  he  was  called  to  govern.  He  had  married  Beren- 
garia,  the  handsome  daughtOT  of  Sanoho,  king  of  Navarre ;  but 
he  was  notoriuiialy  wtfaitbful  to  her,  and  be  had  ne  iatiM. 

Coo'^lc 


In  the  course  of  his  impetaous  qnurels  with  the  lett<iiiig 
crusaders,  a  zealous  preacher  ia  aaid  to  have  had  the  boldaess 
to  adtUe  him  not  to  rebuke  other  people's  vices  tUt  he  had 
purged  himself  of  his  own  ;  and  he  counselled  him  first  to  rid  him- 
self of  hia  three  fsTourite  daughtera,  hispride,  his  avarice,  and  hts 
ToluptuousneeB,  '  You  adrise  well,'  replied  Richard,  '  and  I 
hereby  dispose  of  the  first  to  the  Templars,  of  the  second  to  the 
Benedictines,  and  of  the  third  to  mj  prelftteB.'  The  anecdote  is 
characleriBtic  of  the  wit,  the  bonliomie,  and  frankness,  which  have 
saved  this  monarch  from  the  severer  jadginents  of  history.  Un- 
doubtedly the  Teinplara  and  Benedictines  deserved  hia  compliment, 
and  of  his  prelates,  Peter  of  Blois  tells  ns,  that  whether  they  de- 
voted more  tJme  to  packs  of  women  or  packs  of  hounds  was  a 
matter  of  extreme  doubt.  But  Richard  himself,  with  an  inheritance 
that  should  have  moved  him  to  exertions  worthier  of  his  duties  and 
his  name,  was  a  slave  to  all  these  vices.  He  never  won  a  victory 
which  his  pride  did  not  change  to  a  defeat  j  and  every  victory, 
and  every  defeat,  every  pleasure,  every  glory,  every  humiliation  of 
his  life,  were  purchased  by  the  plunder  and  the  impoverishment  of 
his  subjects.  Yet  his  wonderful  strength  and  valour,  in  that  age 
of  martial  adventure  and  bold  exploit,  endeared  him  even  to  the 
people  he  ho  slighted  and  misgoverned  ;  made  him  the  general 
theme  of  the  poets  and  romancers  of  the  succeeding  century  ;  and 
to  this  hour  associates  thoughts  t^  high-hearted  generosity  and  the 
purest  chivalry  with  the  name  of  Richard  Ciedb  DB  Lios. 


London  :  W.  Smith. 

A  VBBT  nsefal,  very  agreeable,  and  very  cheap  publication.  The 
necessitj'  for  every  educated  and  accomplished  person,  to  say  nothingof 
,  inclination,  to  be  acquainted  with  German  poetry,  renders  a  manual  and 
selection  of  this  kind  valuable.  Mr.  Giostick  hax,  it  appears  to  us, 
performed  his  labour  very  judiciously,  and  in  a  manner  that  proves  him 
to  be  well-informed  on  the  subject,  and  with  a  critical  appreciation  and 
analysation  extremely  serviceable  to  the  reader. 

The  literature  of  our  own  conntry,  in  all  departments,  is  becaming  so 
insormonntable,  that  it  is  found  absolutely  necessary  to  condense  it  into 


XEW  BOOKS.  Sf 

extracts  and  beanties,  and  a  very  diliffent  reader  now  finds  it  difficult  to 
make  himself  acqounted  vriLh  mora  than  the  masterpieces  of  the  most 
celebrated  authors.  To  foreign  literature,  therafore,  but  little  time  can 
be  given,  and  to  he  thus  presented  with  a  fair  specimen  of  the  chief 
Oennan  poets,  ia  a  greal  boon. 

There  is  no  necessity  for  na  to  enter  nptm  anj  criticism  of  the  poeti; 
itself ;  but  wa  have  been  struck  by  two  things  :  firet,  that  after  all  the 
immense  sensation  created  by  the  German  writing,  that  there  are  so 
comparatively  few  poets  could  claim  a  place  in  Qiis  collection  ;  and, 
secondly,  that  the  tendency  of  the  whole  runs  so  much  towards  words 
and  sentiments.  A  great  deal  more  condensation,  and  a  little  more 
reality,  would,  apparently,  vastly  improve  the  whole  national  poetry, 
which,  from  first  to  last,  seems  to  spring  more  from  enthusiasm  than 
observation.  Compared  (at  all  events,  by  these  specimens)  with  oar 
grand  outbreak  of  poetry  in  the  IGth  century,  it  is  comparatively  weak 
and  purposeless.  It  is  not  fair  to  make  comparisons  through  the  medium 
of  translation  ;  and,  therefore,  we  shall  leave  the  siAject,  merely 
reminding  the  reader,  that  in  Mr.  Gostick's  book,  will  be  fonnd  an 
agreeable  collection  and  a  valuable  guide. 


The  Lifk  of  Cxbs,  Tbboook  Korkbb,  written  by  his  Father,  with  selee- 
tions  &om  Poems,  Tales,  and  Dnmas.  Translated  by  G.  F.  Ricsibdson, 
'  F.6.S.  2  vols,  post  6va.  Second  Edition.  London :  D.  Natt. 
Theodob  K9^rhbr  is  principallv  known  in  this  country  as  the  author 
■of  a  lyric,  entitled  "  the  Sword,  which  has  frequently  appeared  as  a 
translation  in  our  periodicals.  This  spirited  song,  most  persona  believed, 
was  an  isolated  poem,  which,  like  the  ballad  of  The  Burial  of  Sir  John 
Moore, "  Not  a  dmmwas  heard,"  had  given  itaauthor  an  almost  universal 
popularity.  Komer  had,  however,  much  stronger  claims  to  fame.  If  he 
has  left  nothing  behind  him  that  entitles  him  to  be  ranked  amongst  the 
great  creative  poets,  still,  it  most  be  confessed,  he  had  coikaiderabte  lyric 

Kwera,  and  was,  altogether,  very  happilv  constituted.  Nature  had 
en  bountiful  to  him  in  physical  gifts,  and  he  had  made  the  most  of 
them  by  acqairing  all  the  Bccomplishments  that  could  folly  help  to 
develop  them.  His  temperament  was  highly  enthusiastic,  and  being 
carefully  tended  by  his  parents,  and  aoundly  educated  under  the  care  of 
his  father,  he  mantfested  a  generous  and  chivalrous  nature.  In  addition 
to  these  qualifications  for  gaining  the  admiration  of  the  world,  he  pos- 
sessed a  great  talent  for  versification ;  and,  if  high  sentiments  couched 
in  spirited  language,  be  poetry,  he  was  a  poet.  As  he  stood  ob  the 
verge  of  manhood,  Germany  had  been  armed  to  a  national  resistance  of 
the  French  domination  ;  and,  as  a  distinguished  student,  he  took  a 
conspicuous  part  in  the  outburst,  of  what  would  now  be  termed,  Young 
Germany.  His  enthusiastic  songs  were  well-timed  ;  he  was  himself  a 
realisation  of  the  beau  ideal  of  a  modem  military  hero,  and  being 
extremely  popular,  a  lieutenant's  commission  in  the  volunteer  regiment 


8B  Kkir  sooKtt. 

of  students  yn»  bestowed  on  him.  Here,  lie  fen^t,  tang  and  entyiuei, 
in  s  way  tliat  poet*  like  te  feign,  ani  ladies  love  to  know  of.  In  bis 
twenty-iecond  jeai  he  was,  however,  killed  in  a  ikirmish,  uid  (lying  in 
the  prime  and  find  of  his  popalarity,  left  the  charact^  of  s  pemct 
jnvenile  hero. 

That  some  abatement  most  be  made  for  the  (Hreomstaneeii  by  which 
he  was  snrronnded,  there  is  no  doubt ;  but  etill  enough  remains  to  prove 
that  K5nier  was  mtitled  to  be  incorporated  with  the  poet^  of  Gernuuiy. 
Hit  precocity  was  remarkable,  though  by  no  meant  without  main- 
par^ela.  Althongh  dying  thas  early,  he  left  behind  him  a  lai^  col- 
lection of  popular  lyric  poems,  comediei,  tragedies,  and  prose  pieces. 
His  tnifedies  are  Mid  to  have  g^ned  him  most  deserved  andpermanmt 
fame  ;  bnt  as  fw  as  we  can  judge  throngh  the  medium  of  tmnsktion, 
his  lyric  poems  seem  to  be  most  possessed  of  the  "bcnlty  divine." 
Enthusiasm  seems  to  b«  the  sonrce  of  his  inspiration,  and  the  feeling 
thns  engendered,  decorated  by  a  high  conceit,  toms  the  staple  quality 

He  life  by  hie  fatber,  the  collection  of  matMlala  and  remarks  made 
by  Mr.  Richardson,  the  translator,  and  the  nnmerons  incidental  noticea 
of  celebrated  poets  and  conlemporarien,  all  combine  with  the  poems  to 
render  the  two  Tolnmes  light  and  interesting  reading  :  and,  oaubtless, 
it  is  a  work  that  will  find  ils  wty  to  ladies'  bondoin  and  the  tables  of 
military  cavaliers.  _^^^^_____^_^ 

*  Hi&niNQ's  FiBUBS  FOB  YoDRG  FoLKs.  Grant  and  Giifflfh. 
TeiB  is  a  very  charmiiu,  and  withal,  a  veiy  seasonable  little  bookfof 
little  people.  The  Fables  treat  of  "  Flowers,  Trees,  Animals,  Birds, 
Insects,  &c.,"  and  with  grace  and  tenderness  recommuid  such  objects  to 
the  intelligence  and  sympathies  of  eariy  leamem.  Mr.  Harding  is  an 
earnest  and  affectionate  teacher.  The  volume  it  very  nicely  illustiated 
vnth  woodrengravings,  happily  illustrative  of  the  texL 


La  Bodhbxtte;  oiv  The  Advcoitaras  and  ReD^leeliaBs  of  TfaorMa  Domey: 

a  h'arralive  fannded  en  Faet    S  toU.  pgat  8vo.    Loodoa  :  Madden  aod 

Makolm. 

This  novel  leminds  one  of  the  fictions  of  the  last  centnry,  when 
adventures  of  all  kinds  were  narrated  witk  a  simple  intention  and  in  a 
simple  style.  While  perusing  "La  Soabrette,"  we  conld  not  help  being 
remmded  of  the  once  popular  but  now  utterly  forgotten  "Belqr 
Thoughtless."  In  both,  there  is  the  same  sensible  observation  of 
manners  and  character,  with  that  violent  dash  of  the  romantic,  that 
ever  will  have  a  charm  for  the  young  novel  reader. 

There  is,  however,  in  "  La  Sonbrette,"  a  very  praiseworthy  wm  to 
espoie  the  painful  and  vrrong  position  assigned  to  the  domestic  teacher 
in  society.    There  is  rather  an  injadicions  straining  to  prove  the  case. 


NEW  BOOKS.  HT 

■ad  ■  lenwDtie,  stag*  kind  irf  irillaKy  a&d  bhe  marna^  intrndoMd, 
ntlier  too  hackneyed  to  deaerve  reriral : — perhaps  this  ib  the  fact  «o 
partieulu'lf  set  forth  in  the  tille^Mge,  bat  each  occntmteei  are  now  bo 
highly  improbable,  that  it  ia  not  Beoeeaary  to  wan  handsome  ladies' 
maids  against  BDch  impocitinis. 

The  AnthoreBB  ia  appueiitly  vnaeeoBtomed  to  writing,  hat  whateTer 
jtay  be  her  deiiciencies,  nhe  (for  it  is  oertainly  a  womaa's  writing)  has 
the  one  great  reqnisit«  for  popnlarity,  and  that  is  the  power  of  im- 
parting a  strong  intereet  to  her  narratiTe  ; — there  ia  not  a  page  of  it 
which,  if  glanced  at,  does  not,  to  a,  certain  extent,  fascinate  the  reader,' 
apd  in  spite  of  the  severest  critical  eonBd«ation  afford  nmnBement. 
Thia  ia  ao  esaeDtiallj  the  qualitj  lequired  to  produce  BQCcessfnl  fictions, 
that  there  can  be  little  doubt  the  writer,  gifted  as  ahe  oiao  is  with  con* 
oderable  powers  of  obsMratiw,  will  become  celebrated  in  this  class  of 
liteiatnie. 


LaaBias  of  tbb  Isus,  jttin  mbeb  Poemb.  Bt  ' 

[Edinbu^i  and  London :  Blacswood  and  Sons. 
It  is  a  hopdess  task  for  the  critic  to  bring  all  vereificatioB  willun 
one  category :  what  ia  poetry  to  one  mind  is  not  so  to  anothei,  and 
there  may  be  a  donbt  raised  whether  the  essence  of  poetry  is  not  some- 
thing engendered  between  the  wrttei  and  the  reader.  Irving,  there- 
fore, this  vexed  question  to  fatnre  con^deratLoa  or  n^lect,  we  can 
only  say  that  Mr.  MackaT  has  already  acquired  a  large  number  of 
leaders,  who  acknowledge  his  veiseB  to  pofieess  the  influence  of  poeliy. 
The  present  volume  will  probablv  enlarge  that  nninber.  His  versin- 
catdon  is  for  the  moat  part  amootb  and  fluent,  and  Ae  subject  of  his 
poems  interesting.    If  we  are  obliged  to  class  him  as  a  poet,  we  must 

She  belongs  to  that  section  that  derive  their  inspiration  from  as 
eat  temperunent,  and  that  his  verses  are  the  reEoIt  of  enthusiasm. 
This,  singly,  certainly  does  not  prodnce  thehigheatktnd  of  poetry,  there 
being  wanting  to  it  the  intelleclual  fecundity  tiiat  arises  from  a  ftrongly 
creative  imagination.  As  a  poet  of  the  fe^inga,  however,  Mr.  Hacbay 
has  won  himself  an  auditory  and  a  place  that  Ge  will  doubtless  keep. 


A  CoKPLKn  CoHcoKDAMB  TO  Sbikbpebh  :  being  a  Vczfaal  Index  to  all 
the  pasB^as  in  the  Dnmatic  Worita  of  the  PoeL  By  Mra.  CowitBH 
CiutiiB.  In  18  [larta.  Imperial  Bro.  Umdon  ;  Chas.  Knight  &  Co. 
.  Tbis  is  ftfobably  the  most  stopendona  honour  ercs  paid  to  genius  by 
one  admirer.  The  Iliad  has  been  written  to  be  put  into  a  nutshell,  a 
childish  piece  of  homage  :  but  here  we  have  the  works  of  the  poet, 
repeated  many  timea  over.  EndleBs  toiJ,  incessant  attention,  a  love 
untiring  for  the  author,  could  alone  Have  produced  sqch  a  work,  Mra, 
Clarke  has  performed  what  a  very  long  list  of  nobles  aai  gMitles  once 
proposed  and  failed  in,  namely,  to  erect  a  monument  to  Shakspeie. 

Coiwlc 


8||l,  HMV.  BOOKS. 

Hare  we  hare  one  nora  lasting  than  brass  or  Btone.  A  Concordance  t» 
Shafcspere !  A  conoordonce  to  the  only  author,  which'woold  not  seem  to 
be  a  presamptnooa  rivalliog  with  that  coocorduice  which  belongs  to  tile 

book  most  important  to  the  haman  race. 

There  have  beenft  verbal  index,  and  an  index  to  the  most  remark^le 
passages  in  Shak^Mre's  works.  Both  works  of  labour,  hy  perseveiing, 
pains-taking  men  ;  but  here  we  have  the  patient  adoration  of  a  woman 
producing  a  work  more  laborious  than  both  combined,  and  infinitely 
more  useful.  Twiaa'a  verbal  index  had  no  connecting  sentences,  so  it 
was  hap-hazard  work  turning  fat  the  paragraph  desired.  Ayscongh'B 
index  was  thought  a  miracle  of  labour,  but  its  imperrection  is  proved  by 
the  present  being  inaiiy  (we  should  say  five)  times  ita  bulk. 

To  those  who  nave  not  seen  the  book  it  maj  be  necessary  to  explain 
Mrs.  Clarke's  plan,  which  is  to  give  every  word,  with  a  reference  to 
eveiT  place  it  is  naed  in,  and  a  sufficient  quotation  to  mark  the  sense  it  is 
nsed  in.  It  will  be  seen  (hat  as  there  most  be  five  or  six  words  in  every 
line,  exclusive  of  connecting  words  and  expletives,  consequently  the 
text  of  the  playa  must  be  given  five  or  six  times  over.  We  can  easily 
understand  that  this  must  have  been  the  labour  of  many  years.  A 
degree  of  skill  was  required  in  making  the  exact  quotation  required  to 
give  the  exact  sense  of  the  word,  and  in  this  Mrs.  Clarke  has  been  very 
fortunate. 

The  immense  utility  for  matters  of  reference  is  obvious  at  a  glance, 
but  it  seems  to  ns  that  many  other  advantages  may  be  derived  from  an 
examination  of  this  storehouse  of  words.  Classical  students  of  the  dead 
languageshavelongknown  the  advantage  of  studying  an  author  through 
the  means  of  a  good  verbal  index,  and  thus  comparing  an  author's 
various  naes  of  a  word.  Inthepresent  bookhe  has  the  double  advantage 
of  seeing  the  various  sentences  in  which  it  is  used  at  one  view,  lliis 
itself  will  greatly  aid  the  elncidation  of  Shakspere's  text,  and  also  of 
contemporary  authors.  It  becomes  in  this  way  a  great  lexicographical 
aid  to  the  language.  It  also  presents  many  curious  facts  to  the  inquir- 
ing as  to  the  comparative  use  of  words,  and  presents  in  a  most  striking 
point  of  view  the  illimitable  powers  and  inexhaustible  wonders  of 
Shakspere's  genius. 

It  would  not  be  right  to  take  leave  of  this  noble  labour  without 
noticing  the  excellent  manner  in  which  it  is  printed.  To  at  all  bring 
it  within  the  pecuniary  means  of  purchasers,  and  get  it  in  a  moderate 
bulk,  a  small  type  is  absolutely  necessary ;  but  it  is  beautifully  clear 
and  admirably  printed.  Altogether  it  is  a  work  that  all  concerned  with 
may  very  justly  be  proud  of,  and  for  which  the  public  should  be  grateful. 

FonKST  iND  Gahe-Law  Til 
8v 

As  the  first  of  these  volames  has  only  reached  ns,  we  presume  the 
-other  two  are  not  yet  issaed.    Miss  Martineau  avows  hw  object  to  be 


Upl:«l  by  Google 


political  in  her  Pietace  ;  and  her  previons  works  having  been,  many  of 
them,  produced  on  the  same  plan,  we  cannot  be  surprised  at  the  mode 
die  haa  thns  adopted  to  disseminate  particular  opinions  and  principles. 
With  every  deference  for  Miss  Martineau's  acknowledged  abilities,  w6 
cannot  think  her  plan  a  good  one  :  writing  tales  up  to  abstract  principles 
haa  a.  one-sided  appearance,  and  gives  a  tamenees  to  the  narrative  that 
no  power  of  invention  sEems  to  be  able  to  overroaater.  When  the 
object  ia  thns  openly  displayed  we  lose  all  confidence  in  the  facts 
related,  and  the  deductions  forced  from  them;  every  turn  of  the  stoiy 
is  already  apparent,  and  a  disagreeable  conSict  ia  created  in  the  mind, 
'    '  '  'is  and  importance  of  the  aubjecte,  and  the  com- 


part of  the  century,  to  make  a  rojal  road  to  everything.  We  had  hoped 
that  with  Mrs.  Hannah  More  and  Miss  Edgeworth  the  attempt  would 
have  ceased.  Certainly  the  present  age  and  its  profbundeat  thinkers 
are  convinced  that  abstract  questions  must  be  grappled  with  by  patient 
and  profound  thought,  and  the  battle  fought  out  with  the  weapons 
appointed  for  such  contests — passionate  and  earnest  inquiry  and  argu- 
ment— and  not  with  toys  and  tales.  Fiction  nndonbtedly  can  greatly 
aid  in  the  dissemination  of  information,  and  may  be  and  ia  used  as  an 
eloquent  advocate ;  but  then  the  advantage  novels  give  to  a  cause  is  the 
lively  and  forcible  way  they  convey  to  large  masses  of  readers  the  actual 
stat«  of  persons  and  things — a  very  different  kind  of  writing  to  the 
adapting  facta  and  circnmstances  to  produce  a  particular  moral.  The 
latter  mode  is  superficial  and  offensive ;  and  haa  long  been  abolished  in 
the  highest  class  of  literature ;  and  the  apprentice  who  laughs  at  Qeorge 
liamwell  it  is  found  can  still  be  affected  by  the  catastrophe  of  Othello, 
althouch  the  hangman  ia  not  there  to  "execute  justice  and  muntain 
truth.  We  hope  Miss  Martineau  will  relieve  her  fine  talents  from 
shackles  so  encumbering,  and  give  us  either  political  economy  or  a  free 
portrayal  of  life  and  manners. 

No  one  can  desire  more  than  we  do  the  entire  abolition  of  all  the 
remnants  of  the  tyrannona  and  barbaroas  feudal  system,  and  of  coarse 
amongst  its  remains  the  pemicions  game  laws ;  and  we  therefore  regret 
we  cannot  say  we  think  these  tales  forcible  or  calculated  to  aid  in  so 
doing  They  seem  to  ua  (and  we  have  read  every  one  attentively) 
never  to  touch  any  of  the  principles  of  those  laws  as  at  present  existing ; 
and  are  rather  illustrations  of  the  History  of  England,  adapted  for 
intelligent  young  kdiea.  The  upholders  of  the  game  laws  wiU  reply 
(and  justly),  that  the  few  hints  there  are  in  these  tales  belong  to  ages 
and  customs  long  since  past,  and  tend  rather  to  abow  how  much  better 
the  tillers  of  the  soil  are  now  treated.  We  confess  we  have  not  been 
able  to  find  a  aingle  argument  against  them,  either  more  pointedly  put 
or  Buggeated  by  the  narratives. 

As  tales  they  have  not  much  interest,  as  the  reader  is  engaged  in 
seeking  for  the  application  of  the  events  rather  than  interested  by  them. 


nW  BOOKS. 

imariM  no  wadiTcouaia  in  Aem,  bot  then  is  a  total  want  ofAe 
of  ths  Bgea  the;  treat  of;  and  whoarer  ia  acqojuated  with  theidd 
caoonrt  antbon  will  b»  gaMy  annoyed  by  uto  modem  colonriBg 
new  of  the  atjle  and  timtnumt.    The  An^oren  ia 


a  admiiMil 


pMtkle  of  mnpathr  with  aotiqne  thooghta  and  aentimaita. 

du^tar  entitied  "  llie  Primate'B  Call,"  giving,  or  nther  Teij  bintly 
attempting  to  deluMate,  one  of  the  moat  powerful  and  paaaiMiats  iMicim 
bltwea  that  ever  met — ibe  barons  and  the  ^imate  debating  the  prineiplea 
of  M'g"*  ChaHa — ia  ao  totsllj  out  of  keeping  that  it  is  rather  an  injmy 
than  a  benefit  so  to  atimalate  yomig  mi^s  to  read  Ustorj.  Into  the 
moathi  of  theae  peraonagea  are  put  a  statement  of  caoset  and  coom- 
qnenees  which,  if  known  at  all,  conld  be  onlj  known  to  a  few  gifted 
w^thprofonndlegialativegemnt.  Ofit8Btoimypanion,proadBelfiH^eH, 
,  and  mingled  motives  and  proceedingB,  nothing  is  intimated.     And  one 


from  an  aceompli«hed  gof^ite«  to  her  pnpila. 

We  dioald  not  have  bean  m  dafaorate  in  onr  notice  of  this  work  had 
not  the  celebrity  of  the  Autiioress  led  na  to  iear  others  woold  be  ft^w- 
ingin  the  same  track,  and  thna,  by  half  diaeudon  and  feeble  compiomiae, 
dwrade  to  a  logical  wran^  qneatimiB  that  mmt  be  settled  by  the 
boldeat  ditmaaion  on  the  broadeat  prindples  of  juatioe. 


Pavu  Hokti  ;  or.  The  Hotel  I^nhm.  By  U.'  Enoam  Sua.  From  the 
fVenoh.  With  twentj  Engratinga  frma  deiagns  by  Jolea  Darid.  Med. 
8n>.    LmidoD :  Chat^ao  and  Hall 

Hons.  Sn  has  a  right  to  be  tested  by  the  hij^est  standard :  he  ia 
and  has  been  received  aa  an  artist  of  the  firat  c1m8  ;  he  is  net  a  hack 
teribbler  for  the  cirenlatiDg  libraries,  who  escapes  from  and  defisa 
criticism,  by  declaring  that  he  writes  merely  to  amose,  and  that  the  aie 
of  his  books  is  a  sufficient  guarantee  of  his  talents.  He  is  removed 
from  this  sordid  and  injurioos  elaas  by  his  genios,  and  by  those  higher 
aroiralions  which  ever  accompany  the  possession  of  the  fecnltv  divine. 
Tho  writer  of  fiction  in  ita  finest  form  mast  be  a  philoaopber,  and 
thonld  be  a  philanthropist ;  bis  aim  is  to  develop  hnmao  nature,  and 
add  to  the  stores  of  experience  genins  has  already  garnered  on  this 
inexhanstible  subject.  The  modem  ^sop  has  also  undertaken  the 
office  of  legislator,  and  by  his  vivid  pictores  of  aocaal  and  political  evil* 
baa  sought  to  relieve  large  masses  ol  his  fellow  men  from  the  evils  and 
errors  of  misgovemnient.  This  new  application  of  an  old  power  cannot 
be  too  frequently  presented  to  the  consideration  of  the  reflective ;  in 
onr  preaent  phase  of  society,  it  is  undonbtedly  one  of  the  most  importtmt 
iutellectnal  engines  existing ;  more  potent,  because  more  endaring  than 
the  daily  press,  of  whi<^,  indeed^  it  may  be  considered  an  extended 


L)«:«l  by  Google 


*'Pa«b  HMrti"  ia,  bovmer,  net  ob«  irf  Uiii  chw  af  bowIi,  »mA  £Sm 
ewmtidly  from  th«  "  Mjitenea  of  Puii"  ud  the  other  noreli  of  Sve 
that  we  luLve  leoked  into.  There  is  no  donbt  in  it  mi  um  bejond  the 
d«TelopmeBt  of  mere  artittic  skill :  uid,  nnacqsunted  u  we  are  with 
tke  rataian  life  it  professes  t»  portray,  we  still  think  that  its  aim  and 
tendency  is  to  show  the  hollowness  and  evil  srimig  from  the  cod- 
Tentions  goTeming  it.  Whether  it  be  onlv  an  a^istiMl  portrayal  of  a 
certain  cIms,  or  iraether  it  be,  as  we  think,  a  phileaophieal  exposition 
of  the  evils  of  a  system,  certainly  no  one  can  pemse  it  withoat 
aUiorring  and  oonderaning  the  false  and  fectitioBS  sentuient  that  seems 
to  be  the  niling  principle  of  French  ehaiBcter.  To  sebititate  for  this 
exotic  and  nnh^thy  temperament  a  more  irtideeeme  and  reasonable 
state  of  feeliDg  is  a  <Fery  hiuh  aim,  and  a  very  nobte  effort.  It  wonld 
be  curious  to  see  in  wbirt  li^t  t^  Poriaian  pnblic  receive  this  work ; 
whether  as  an  exciting  story  of  criminal  indnlgenee  and  hi^-wroog^t 
sentiment,  or  aa  a  well-tempered  castigation  of  a  feverish  and  Tioiooa 
oonstitntion.  We  cannot  bat  consider  it  aa  the  last ;  and  very  skilfally 
and  efen  elegantly,  it  appears  to  as,  has  the  antbor  administered  the 
drastic  dose.  On  so  polite  a  elan,  vehemence  and  Tiolence  wonld  be 
thrown  awjiy,  and  he  has,  therefore,  very  deliberately  and  very  skil- 
fully dissected  and  laid  hue  tke  horrors  of  the  mbject  :  he  has  given 
to  sectiment  all  its  charm,  and  to  high  manner  all  its  blandishment : 
he  has  sablimaled  sensnality  nntil  all  its  groswr  particles  are  com- 
pletely precipitated ;  and,  by  so  doing,  he  has  given  the  ven'  essence  of 
French  feeling-~sentiment.  This  powerfnl  element,  whien  forms  the 
substrata  of  so  many  characters,  has  never  been  sofficientlT  snalyaed :  it 
penetrates  into  all  phases  and  conditions  of  character,  cretUing  frequently 
apparent  contradictions  that  have  punled  many  plodding  theologians 
and  mmaliatt:  it  is  a  mirage  that  has  misled  many  critical  philosophers 
(Barke  pdrticnlarly),  and  a  power  that  has  given  oniveraal  popnlanty  to 
many  poets.  It  is  difficnlt  to  define  this  false-true  uid  bad-good  myeteiy 
It  is  a  reality  though  it  elndee  a  definition  ;  it  produces  noble  actions 
occaidonally,  though  it  is  in  itself  false.  Sentiment  it  was  undoubtedly 
made  Nero  weep  at  a  tragedy,  though  he  could  order  hie  most  intimate 
associate  to  the  torture ;  and  it  is  the  same  oper&tion  that  made  the 
French  mob  rerel  in  the  eiecutione  of  the  guillotine,  and  in  the  pathos 
of  RonssesQ.  If  s  definition  may  be  ventured  of  this  powerful  emotion, 
it  may  be  lud  to  he  that  intellectual  acknowledgment  of  virtne  and 
beauty,  or  what  is  considered  euch,  which  engenders  an  almost  uncoU' 
sdonB  imitation  of,  and  passion  for,  the  qualities  or  things  thns  admired. 
It  is  thus  totally  different  from  those  emotions  and  passions  and  affections 
ttat  spring  up  spontaneously  in  persons  of  kindly  natore ;  these  latter 
Iiave  no  intellectual  reflection  in  them :  they  are  not  the  resnlt  of  the 
imagination  he^  ignited  by  a  train  of  eloquent  reasoning : — a  good 
English  eottsger's  wife  loves  her  child  instinctively,  and  not  because 
motherly  love  is  a  besntifnl  thing.  Bat  it  has  been  said  by  competent 
anthoriliesj  that  the  French  lady  will  be  mote  often  found  to  be  in  love 


with  love,  than  really  to  be  posaessed  with  the  pftsnon.  And  this 
bringa  ns  round  again  to  the  novel  in  question,  from  which  we  nay 
appear  to  have  needleBslj  wandered.  It  ia,  however,  thie  factitioas 
sentiment— tb is  imitative  pasaion— that  lays  at  the  root  of  French 
character,  and,  perhaps,  of  all  character  bred  in  highly  convential 
societies  :^education  of  every  kind  fosters  it,  by  emulation,  by  the 
eloqnence  of  teachers  and  authore,  and  human  beings  are  not  made  to 
develop  their  natural  characteristics,  but  their  sensibilities  are  excited 
to  an  admiration  and  imitation  of  good  feelings  by  any  and  every  means. 
We  are  beginniiig  to  discover  how  feeble  a  guard  for  principle  and  how 
weak  a  subatitute  for  spontaneous  feeling  this  ia.  Every  capital  of 
Europe  abounds  with  innumerable  females  thas  edacated,  reduced  to  a 
state  of  proatitution.  At  the  first  assault  of  genuine  feeling  or  appetite 
the  imaginative  virtue  gives  way.  And  so  with  men,  although  the 
unjust  clemency  of  society  towards  their  vices  may  make  it  less 
apparent. 

It  ia  then,  we  conceive,  at  this  monstrosity  of  (he  intellect  and  the 
feelings  that  Mona.  Sue  aims  this  novel.  It  is  to  show  how  rank  the 
soil  is  that  produces  such  beautiful  but  poisonous  weeds.  It  is  but 
another  portion  of  the  same  society,  eaten  into  by  the  same  evil,  that 
Mons.' Michel et  has  exposed  in  his  "  Priests,  Women,  and  Families." 
It  ia  not  to  uphold  it,  as  has  been  unjustly,  though  perhaps  ignorantly 
charged  upon  nim,  by  much  of  our  presa,  and  more  particularly  the  reli' 
gious  portion  of  it.  And  these  writers  themselves  are  as  anxious  to 
create  sentiments,  to  arouse  the  sensibilities,  and  tarn  the  intellect  to 
the  admiration  of  what  tbey  think  virtuous  and  beautiful,  as  they 
accuse  the  French  writers  of  being. 

The  religious  papers  have  dealt  mercilessly,  not  only  with  the  novel, 
but  with  the  author,  branding  him  as  a  pander  to  the  worst  appetites, 
and  a  defender  of  the  greatest  infamies.  But  theae  writers,  zealous  for 
tbeir  own  sentimentalities,  have  no  measure  in  their  hatred  to  those  of 
others.  As  regards  "  Paula  Monti"  there  is  nothing  alluring  in  the  crimes 
she  contemplates ;  and  an  unprejudiced  mind — a  mind  not  alarmed  at 
the  heavy  blows  dealt  to  conventional  society  by  the  exposition  of  its 
falseness  and  errors  by  such  writers  as  Sne  and  Micbelet — could  see 
nothing  bat  a  very  true,  careful,  and  well-depicted  exposure  of  the 
feebleness  of  conventions  which  sanction  and  promote  marriage  witbont 
lore,  polished  mannera  without  benevolence  of  heart,  and  outward 
deference  to  position  without  any  inward  reverence  for  genuine  goodness 
and  greatness. 

The  subject  deserves  a  much  more  profound  and  lengthened  consider- 
ation than  our  circumscribed  pages  will  afford  ;  but  circumscribed  as 
they  are,  we  cannot  refrain  from  intimating  the  profundities  which  a 
work  of  true  genius  must  always  more  or  less  trench  upon.  Mons.  Sue 
and  such  writers  are  as  important  in  their  sphere  (and  their  sphere  is 
fast  extending)  as  men  who  seem  more  directly  to  govern  the  affairs  of 
nations,    lliey  frequently  generate  the  opinion,  which,  in  its  countless 


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HEW  BOOKS,  93 

waveB,  IB  at  last  to  float  the  legislator  to  aome  greftt  Dstional  enact- 
ment.  The  time  is  post  when  fiction  ia  oaij  to  De  consideTed  as  aa 
inatroinent  of  amosemect. 

Considered  artiHticoUy,  some  feulta  might  be  pointed  ont  in  (he  con- 
dact  of  the  Btorr  and  in  the  deTelopment  of  cWacter,  but  these  we 
cannot  now  sn&lyie.  Like  onr  old  i&nmatists  of  the  second  class,  Saa 
delights  in  the  eccentricities  of  human  character,  and  fajihions  beings  who 
seem  rather  mad  than  criminal :  not  without  great  apparent  tmth, 
tfaongh,  being  exceptions  to  human  natnre,  more  canons  than  inatmctive. 
And  in  this  novel  at  least  it  most  be  said,  that  viewed  merely  artiatically, 
he  belongs  rather  to  that  inferior  doss  that  Be>>!cH  more  to  idealise  realitj, 
than  to  that  creative  clsas  which  has  the  highest  of  all  literary  poweia, 
Uie  power  to  realise  an  ideality. 


Dcrim^B  CiffiLR.  An  Historical  RomaaceoTthe  GreatBebelUon.  By  The 
Ber.  J.  T.  Uewlbtt,  M.A.  8  vols,  post  8vo.  London  :  H.  Colbnm. 
Tbb  remarks  made  an  Mr.  James's  new  novel  apply  in  a  remarkable 
manner  to  the  present  work,  and  prove  in  what  a  merely  mechanical 
mode  this  kind  of  literacy  ware  is  produced.  The  time  and  scene  of 
Dnnater  Castle  are  that  of  Arrah- Neil— England  in  1642.  The  Dra- 
matis Persoun  are  also  curioualy  similar ;  the  chief  difference  being 
that  in  the  former  the  hero's  birth  and  fortunes  are  a  mystery,  and  in 
the  latter  the  heroine's.  The  little  approach  to  humonr  that  either 
makes,  consists  in  the  eating  and  drinking  propensities  of  a  roysteiing 
cavalier.  There  are  much  the  same  descriptions  of  interiors  and  scenery  ; 
quarrels  and  interviews  ;  skirmishes  and  escapes ;  and  other  moving 
accidents  by  flood  and  field,  all  recited  in  the  usual  stereotyped  phia- 
aeology.  In  Danster  Castle,  however,  it  mnst  he  said  there  is  a  little 
more  vigonr  of  delinsatiou  both  as  regards  character  and  circnmstances. 
The  king  of  coarse  ia  introduced,  and  in  much  the  same  style  of  por- 
traiture ;  a  very  faint  sketch  in  a  washy  style.  Mr.  Hewlett  admits 
however  into  his  pages  one  most  important  personage — Pym,  a  giant 
of  the  age,  of  whose  real  proportions  and  characteristics  the  author 
has  DO  idea  whatever,  although  had  he  peraaed  Mr.  Foister's  Life  of 
that  true  man,  he  must  have  been  elevated  to  a  more  just  estimate 
of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  that  remarkable  age.  That  he 
and  the  generality  of  such  novelists  take  no  genuine  interest  in  the  era 
that  they  pretend  to  delineate  is  proved  by  their  utter  disr^ard  of  its 
style,  tone  of  feeling,  manners  and  customs.  A  sufficiency  of  flavour 
is,  they  think,  given  if  they  now  and  theR  decorate  their  pages  with  a 
few  cavalier's  oaths  and  put  some  canting  scriptnral  quotaUons  into  the 
month  of  a  Presbyterian  tradesman.  In  fact  these  prodnctiona  have 
become  to  the  circulating  library  what  melodrama  has  to  the  theatre  ; 
neither  have  any  noveityofinvention  or  force  of  conception,  but  abound 
with  reiterated  movements,  situations  and  dialogues,  ex^M-essed  eath 


time  in  b  more  exaggerated  lona,  leekitig  by  iBcre««ed  vehemence  to 
aapply  the  place  of  ongLoalitf .  Tbef  are  ii)&DDfitd.nrBd  to'  snit  a 
marEet,  one  b^  the  way  veiy  nearly  exhausted ;  and  their  aothon 
caniutt  be  conudered  as  artiilt,  but  artizaua.  Ther  have  their  pattern 
before  them,  and  a  veiy  short  appraiUdcelbip  eoables  them  to  turn  oat 
&  tolerably  ahowy  article. 

We  regret  to  aee  by  a  postscriiit  that  Mr.  Hewlett  ia  nffeiins  from 
domestic  affiicliona,  and  that  hia  heal(h  and  aituation  are  not  laim  aa  to 
condace  to  that  ease  of  mind  necessary  to  the  pcoducti«i  of  a  great 
literary  work.  VVe  trust  that  he  will  soon  recover  hia  waat«d  health 
'  and  raiidt^  and  a|gaiii  delight  na  with  Noveii  taken  from  actual  life, 
eqnallinx  in  spirit  and  cleverness  his  "Pater  Priggins."  With  the 
tone  and  spirit  of  the  piesect  work,  putting  aside  its  mode  of  eieciition, 
we  cannot  aympatbise.  It  surely  is  a  matter  of  bad  taste,  to  say  the 
least,  to  make  his  hero'a  chief  meiit  the  haviog  killed  Hampden  on 
Chalgrove  field,  and  eoaally  false  to  place  all  his  distress  npon  whether 
he  was  legitimate  or  illegitimate  by  birth  ;  an  accident  which  haa  only 
ennobled  the  character  of  many  heroes,  from  William  the  Norman 
downwards.  The  same  gentleuian  also,  the  pattern  man,  is  iBcltned 
and  studies  to  become  a  ChnsUsn  minister,  with  a  promise  that  be  dkall 
go  ODt  Hlanghteiing,  if  there  is  an  opportunity.  The  whole  tone  towards 
Um  Parliamentary  party  (as  in  almost  all  the  novels  of  the  aama  class), 
is  nojust  in  the  extreme  and  shows  an  utter  ignorance  or  gross  perver- 
sion of  history.  It  is  to  b^  regretted  that  the  original  authorities  are 
not  atodied  by  the  aapportera  of  the  circulating  library  ;  for  we  can 
assure  them  tliat  much  more  picturesque  descriptions,  and  a  mndi 
more  powarfnl  interest  mi^t  be  foimd  in  the  pages  of  Clarendon, 
Wbitelock,  and  other  contemporary  anthoritiea,  though  perhaps  some 
madein  Walpole  might  say  theae  writers  are  themselves,  m  every  sense 
of  the  word,  equally  romantic. 


TBI   WrawiH  ini>  thb  Cibth.      By  the  Author  of   flie  •  _   , 

"  €iay  Rivers,"  &t.     first  Series.    Bqoare  13mo.    New  York :  Wiley 
and  Pntnam. 

A  COLLECTION  of  American  Tales,  formerly  published  in  Annuals. 
The  author  tetls  us  in  his  Preface  that  they  illustrate  the  Border  history 
of  the  south,  and  vouches  for  their  general  truthfulness,  having  drawn 
them  from  living  portraits  and  from  actual  scenes  and  circumstances. 
As  far  as  we  have  been  able  to  look  iato  them,  we  can  corroborate  this 
assertion,  and  there  is  a  freshness  in  the  subjects  and  a  vigour  of  deli- 
neation and  observation  in  tho^e  we  have  perused  that  place  tbe  author 
far  above  the  usual  writers  of  this  class  of  literature.  Aa  graphic  spe- 
cimens of  Americas  mannem  and  feelings,  they  are  valuable  to  the 
European  reader. 


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1.   Ponn.      Br    Thohu  Powbli.    3.   DkuuiH:  P««u.     Bi   Tmohis 

PowBU.    2  vol*.  Mmo.    C  UilcbeU. 

Tut  poeinB  we  hkve  ntt  in  UMtho'  dupe,  and  beliere  tbey  ware 
paWi^ed  wMne  time  Binee ;  this  appliei  alio  to  ths  dramM,  altlioiigh  it 
^ipean  tbej  bnTe  undergone  Home  modificatioD.  Mr.  Powell  hu  coa- 
n<&rab)e  pow«r  of  -TBi8i£cstic«,  if  not  aJmoet  "  a  fatal  facility."  AH 
hi*  prodnctioiu  «how  too  much  carelegutets  and  a  total  disregard  of 
"  Old  Ben's  "  apboiism,  that  "  A  great  poet's  nuule  aa  well  as  bora." 
Natare  hae  done  mncb  for  Mr.  Powell,  bnt  he  will  do  little  or  nothing 
for  himself.  Some  of  his  Aoiter  piecei  are  rtsy  prettj,  and  entitle 
him  to  the  nre  and  neble  title  of  poet.  He  ■aema  bowerer,  in  common 
■with  many  other  writers,  to  think  that  all  that  a  poet  pans  mast  be 
poetry  ;  and  theref(»«  writes,  and  not  00)7  wWtes,  but  prints,  an<r  vtfae 
idea  that  entera  his  head.  If  this  want  of  consideration  is  formidable  in 
lyric  poetry,  it  is  fatal  in  dramatic  ;  and,  con&eqaently.  these  dramas 
ue  not  really  plays,  bat  Teinfied  diaJognes.  Mr.  Powell  has,  howerer, 
a  quality  in  him,  which  with  severe  training  might  prodnce  something 
lasting.  As  it  is,  we  can  only  say,  hasty  writers  can  only  expect  to  have 
idle  readers,  and  regret  that  many  pretty  tho^hta  and  sweet  sentiments 
aro  thns  likely  t«  "  waste  their  «i 


Ibb  PoMiioftT  OF  Suicims  ;  a  Prison  Rhyme.  In  Ten  Books.  By 
Thohis  CoopSK,  the  CbuiiHt.     Fcp.  Sto.     J.  How. 

Tois  work  and  its  recq)tion  are  remarkable  signs  of  the  times.  Bat  a 
few  ywtis  since,  and  the  very  name  of  chartist,  or  even  radical  (which 
by  We  way  has  become  rather  genteel,  since  there  has  sprung  up  an 
vltra  party),  would  have  been  snfGcient  for  any  paper  or  set  profesmng 
req>eetal>ility,  to  have  shunned  it  as  something  of  a  caste  which  it  was 
defilement  to  think  of.  Thanks,  however,  to  the  means  of  disseminatiug 
opiniiHiB,  and  to  s«ne  hearty  wfffkers  in  the  canse  of  true  liberality, 
every  one  has  now  a  chance  of  being  listened  to  and  even  &irly  appre- 
ciated. The  chartist  poet  has  perhaps  even  a  better  chance  tluui  the 
conservative,  inasmncn  as  there  is  to  be  expected  from  him  newer 
developments  than  can  be  hoped  for  from  one  of  an  expiring  creed.  Mr. 
Cooper,  therefore,  can  fiiirly  be  left  to  stand  or  fall  by  bis  merits  as  a 
poet ;  and  if  be  thereby  loses  the  opposition  or  the  encouragement  o 
party,  still  be  bas  the  better  oppratnoity  of  diffiising  the  glorious  light  of 
gecins  over  all  classes. 

The  birth  of  a  new  poet  is  an  epoch  in  the  world,  and  chronology 
would  employ  beiself  mnch  better  by  emblazoning  in  her  records  the 
advent  of  genius,  and  the  publication  of  a  great  poem  or  work,  than  W 
recording  Uie  births  and  deaths  of  hundreds  of  warriors  and  kings.  It 
is  no  matter  whether  poets  shine  as  momiDg  or  evening  stars  ;  wheihei 
they  precede  their  age  or  express  it  at  its  meridian  ;  wiiether  lliey 
embody  the  past  or  foreshadow  the  futnre.  In  whatever  way  they 
come,  they  come  to  remould  mankind    to  msrshg]  men  tc  new  modes 

Coofjic 


of  condact ;  to  extend  the  dominion  of  intellect ;  and  to  aid  in  the 
removal  of  error  and  evil.  Whatever  may  be  their  conBciougnesa  or 
intenlioD,  snch  must  be  the  effects  they  prodace.  A  man,  however, 
may  have  many  talents,  great  enthusiasm,  a  glittering  taacy,  facility  of 
expression,  noble  aentiments,  and  even  fervid  eloquence,  and  yet  not  be 
a  poet  in  that  aense  of  the  term  in  which  it  is  applied  to  the  few  great 
ones,  whose  remarkable  ideas,  stamped  in  all-enaarini;  langaage,  lave 
become  the  current  coin  of  mental  intercouiBe.  Men  who  have  moulded 
the  phrosea,  bnilt  ap  the  lanenage,  and  embodied  the  great  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  a  nation.  vVe  have  read  Mr.  Cooper's  book  wi^ 
great  sympathy  for  the  sufferings  so  refined  a  mind  mast  have 
endured  in  nis  imprisonment,  and  with  great  admiration  of  his  undaunted 
nature,  proved  by  his  abstracting  bis  mind  amid  sach  scenes  to  the 
highest  learning  and  literature,  and  resisting  tempting  offers  to  withdraw 
from  the  advocacy  of  the  cause  in  whicb  he  has  already  suffered  a  mar- 
tyrdom. Differences  of  tast«  may  exist  as  to  his  poetical  abilities ;  but 
none  as  to  his  heroic  condact  in  adhering  to  his  philanthropic  prin- 

The  poem  consists  of  a  succession  of  dialogues  of  suicides,  from  8ar- 
danapafus  to  Lord  Castlereagh,  and  the  poet  thus  takes  occasion  to  dis- 
coss  opinions,  reli^ous,  social,  and  political.  In  so  doin^  he  manifests 
a  wide  extent  of  literary  gleaning,  and  places  in  canons  opposition 
the  characteristics  of  human  nature.  His  powers  of  description  are 
considerable,  and  thon^  he  has  not  the  firm  distinctness  of  Dante, 
he  has  the  same  sense  of  the  gloomy  and  the  vast.  Milton,  how- 
ever,  is  his  prototype  for  style  of  expression  ;  and  he  indulges  in 
the  same  remoteness  of  allasion,  and  the  same  gorgeousness  of 
imagery,  nntil,  with  his  original,  he  occasionally  verges  into  the  vague 
and  tui^d ;  substituting  physical  vastness  and  bulk,  for  genuine  power 
of  thought  and  simple  lablimity.  He  has  many  stanzas,  however,  of 
noble  verse  and  great  felicity  of  expression  ;  and  many  curious  and 
interesting  traits  and  eccentricities  of  the  hnman  creatnre  are  de- 
veloped. 

When  it  is  considered  under  what  circumafances  it  was  written,  and 
with  how  little  aid  Mr.  Cooper  has  acquired  the  mastery  of  literary  and 
poetic  expression,  it  is  a  remarkable  performance.  As  a  political  poem  we 
cannot  'but  think  it  ill-judged,  for  it  appeals  by  its  perpetual  display  of 
learning  and  allusions  to  subjects  that  can  only  be  &iniliar  to  persons 
more  than  commonly  well  read,  and  not  to  the  class  with  which  the 
author  so  necially  delights  to  connect  himself.  Such  a  man  cannot  but 
produce  other,  and  we  think,  superior  works ;  and  it  woold  be  a  benefit 
to  all  classes  if  he  would  give  a  chartist  epic,  prose  or  verse,  depicting 
the  genuine  hnes  and  characteiistics  of  the  people,  enabled  as  he  is  bv 
his  powers  and  his  position  to  reflect  the  reality  nnencumbered  with 
the  prejudices  of  rank  or  party. 

As  it  is,  we  recommend  its  perusal,  both  for  its  own  sake  and  ar  ~ 
specimen  of  tl 
01  tiie  people. 


DOUGLAS  JEBBOLD-S 

SHILLING    MAGAZINE. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OP  RICHARD  GRAINGER. 

As  you  have  requested  me  to  put  upon  paper  the  account  which 
I  gave  jou  of  the  most  romorkaLile  passage  in  my  life,  I  shall  do 
it  aa  briefly  as  possible,  and  leave  you  to  correct  any  errors  into 
which  my  pen  may  slip  ;   for  I  am  not  a  practised  writer. 

Some  one  has  said  that  we  remember  best  that  nhich  has 
caused  us  pleasure.  Is  this  true  ?  I  cannot  say  it.  I  have  two 
Tolumesiamymind, — the"Plea8ureaof  Momory,"andthe  "Paius 
of  Memory  ;"  and  I  almost  think  the  latter  has  the  bolder  type. 

If  there  is  a  place  in  the  world  of  which  I  could  draw  a  picture 
from  memory  (if  I  had  the  handicraft),  it  is  Robert's  Told  ;  but 
few  were  the  hours  of  comfort  I  had  there.     Some  poet  saya — 
"  iSj  eyes  make  [octures  when  lliej  're  shut ;" 

and  though  I  am  no  poet  (though  I  like  poetry,  and  wish  I  bad 
read  more  of  it  when  I  waa  young),  I  am  aore  I  can  often  aee 
Robert's  Fold,  and  every  particular  thing  about  it,  very  well  in  the 
dark  ;  better,  indeed,  than  in  the  light.  Talking  of  poetry — I 
would  say  that  there  ia  plenty  of  it  in  some  of  the  plainest  and 
commonest  facts  in  the  world,  if  only  men  who  write  knew  how  to 
handle  them.  For  inatance,  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  like 
poetry  about  those  old  grey  stone  cottages  in  Robert's  Fold — their 
broken  windows,  miserable  fire-places,  and  rough  atone  floora  :  but 
let  these  facts  be  looked  at  in  connexion  with  the  hopes,  feelinga, 
and  desiKB  of  the  poor  creaturea  that  lived  there  ;  or  let  them  be 
contrasted  with  the  freedom  and  beauty  of  aurrounding  nature, 
and  I  think  something  like  poetry  will  then  make  ita  appearance. 
RobeH's  Fold  was  the  name  of  a  homostead,  conaisting  of  a  form- 

X.,.„v.- ,.„„.,„.  ,  ^^^ 


93  TEE   COIIFEaSIONS  OF   RICHAAS   GKAIHGEB. 

house,  buma,  stables,  and  a  few  cottages,  etanding  la  the  form  of 
a  square  and  connected  by  a  wall  of  loose  stones,  such  as  is  gene- 
rally used  for  a  fence  in- that  part  of  the  country — the  west 
of  Yorkshire. 

To  see  this  Robert'-s  Fold,  you  muat  tmagine  a.  large,  old- 
feahioned,  and  gloomy  farm-house  [but  it  might  have  beeo-mado 
pleasant  enough  with  pleaaaat  people  in  it),  suhstantially  built 
of  old  grey  stones,  with  a  porch  in  the  front,  aed  windows  of  small 
panes  with  stone  partitions,  but  some  of  them  blocked  up  with 
slabs.  In  the  front  of  the  house  wm  a  garden, — not  an  ornamental 
one,  but  a  plain  kitchen-garden, — where  kale  and  potatoes  were 
grown.  On  one  side  of  the  house  was  a  gate,  which  led  into  the 
Fold,  and  on  the  other  were  a  few  poor  cottages.  The  Fold,  as  I 
have  told  you,  was  a  square,  of  very  uneven  ground,  and,  when 
inmde  of  it,  you  could  see  nothing  beyond  it.  It  lo«<ked  dismal 
enough  on  a  rainy  day.  And  here,  in  dw  f»na-h»uae,  lived  lay 
uncle  Robert,  to  whom  the  whole  {voperty  bc^nged.  Now  I 
must  say  something  of  my  uncle's  charaoter,  aod  tliis  is  no 
pleasure  to  'mo.  But  I  shall  cndmvoar  to  look  away  from  my 
own  pleasure  or  pain,  and  writ«  down  exactly  what  is  iair  and 
tme,  without  any  wish  to  injure  his  mvmory,  but  with  an  intcntioD 
to  ilhtstrate  t«cts  which  should  be  weQ  understood,  for  the  wel&re 
of  Bootety. 

My  uncle  was  a  miser.  He  was,  I  bolieve,  the  richest  man  in 
the  pariah  of  Fordenton,  iritwe  bis  fium  w«s  utnated.  Adjmui^ 
the  Fold,  and  at  some  distance  from  it,  he  had,  altogether,  about 
five  hundred  acres  of  land,  some  of  it  capital  pasture  land.  I  sup- 
pete  he  had  the  common  feehnge  of  our  nature  in  him  ;  but  his 
love  of  money  had  overcome  Avm,  so  that  ttey  were  aeldom 
visible.  He  had  been  brought  up  in  a  hard  way,  ^ough  he  c«me 
to  all  tluB  property  ;  and  bia  living  so  msch  alra«,  suirooBded  hy 
none  but  his  poor,  hardMrerking  dependeitts,  hod  ^traigtbeBed  h& 
uah^py  and  avarioiaiis  diqtosition.  Stvai^  as  it  may  teem, 
(I  have  not  to  account  for  it,  but  oniyto-Mata  th«  fact,)  he  seemed 
to  delight  in  unh^piness.  I  could  undentaad  lus  love  <^  meney 
in  some  roeasnre,  hot  I  never  could  understand  his  hatred  fw  evMy- 
tlung  ocmfortable  aad  cheerful : — nothing  o^mdod  him  moeethan 
a  merry  ^eecb,  and  he  did  not  like  te  ■eeDoa  at  eaae-stid  happy, 
even  <n  a  Simday.  "  I  ihonld  think  tiaeu  might  find  aometla^ 
to  do  better  than  standing  against  that  wall,"  he  wmild  say,  when 
hn  caught  me  indulging  in  a  lounge  outnde  of  tha  Fohl,  on  a  Sua- 

L)«:«l  by  Google 


THB  COHFSSSIO^IS  OP  BICHAKD  GRAISGEB.  09 

day  afternoeo.  " 'Tia  as  good  as  anythnig  you  do,"  I  would 
grumble,  h  I  stole  Rwaj  out  of  his  presence.  As  to  Iiis  drees,  mj 
uncle  Robert  might  have  posaed  veil  'as  an  object  of  charity 
among  respectable  perSMia.  He  delighted  in  still  wearing  a  worn- 
out  ftiBtian  coat,  which  he  ncTor  changed  from  Monday  to  Saturday, 
though -it  was  often  drenched  with  rain.  The  pockets  were  the 
only  parts  wbich  he  cared  to  keep  in  repair.  On  Sunday  he  w&s 
tid«nbly  well  dressed,  but  never  seemed  to  know  what  to  do  wiih 
hionetf.  To  church  he  went,  and,  etrange  to  say !  he  sometimes 
read  fte  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  in  the  evening.  What  he  made 
out  of  that  book  I  cannot  tell  ;  fbr  lie  never  stud  a  word  about  it ; 
but  I  have  since  thought  he  must  have  had  some  good  thoughts 
and  feelings,  new  and  then,  under  the  ruj^ed  rind  of  hiB  external 
b^m'noar,  or  he  never  could  have  wasted  an  hour's  candlelight 
over  that  story,  which  every  one  may  Interpret  so  as  to  suit  his 
own  case.  Yet  I  have  thought,  at  other  times,  when  feeling  legs 
charitably  towards  him,  he  most  have  construed  Christian's  adven- 
tures into  an  allegory  on  money-getting,  or  he  never  would  have 
taken  up  the  book  twice.  But  this  is  all  speculation,  I  must  Blale 
the  facta  of  his  character  fairiy  on  both  sides — if  I  can  find  two 
sides  to  it.  Neither  going  to  church,  nor  reading  the  "  Pilgrifn's 
Pr(^;ress, "  taught  liim  to  be  merciful;  to  give  one  penny  more 
wages  ;  (x  to  lower  his  rents  one  farthing.  If  he  believed  in  a 
heaven,  he  expected  it  to  come  by  magic,  with  "  bocua-pocus  !" 
and  **  b«y  pttesto ! "  He  bad  no  notion  of  getting  into  it  by  improv- 
ing ftew<wW  as  he  passed  alang,  Perhaps  he  thought  that  its 
enjoynent  would  depend,  like  earthly  enjoyments,  upon  contrast ; 
and  t^refin«  he  made,  for  all  tho^  around  him  and  depending 
upon  him,  the  night  of  life  as  black,  daik,  and  cold  as  he  coidd, 
that,  at  Int,  the  breaking  morning  might  be  all  the  more  welcome 
to  the  poor  ereatures.  But  just  as  1  have  written  this,  which 
se^nB  rather  severe,  &e  thought  occurs  to  me — No  one  ever  taught 
him^ttei^— he  was  brought  up  so — he  had  nothing  better  within 
him— how  could  be  m^e  the  world  better  ? 

This  hstds  me  to  another  bought — Who  made  that  sad 
Eobert's  Fold  Buch  a  ndsemUe  place?  Ay,  or  seek  out  forme — 
commen^Kce  moralist !  dm£ng  ^e  worid  into  Pharisees  and 
Publicans,' — tiie  very  good  and  the  very  bad, — the  sources  of  the 
vice  and  woe  in  the  most  wretched  lanea  of  London.  Tell  me 
how  nraeh  of  it  may  be  ascribed  to  sins  of  omission  on  the  part  of 
the  virtnona,  the  respectable  ?.^— tell  me  how  much  of  it  may  he 


100  THE   COSFESBIOKB  OF  BICHARD  aaAIKOSB. 

owing  to  the  Bpeculatists,  and  dogmatists,  vrho  hftTO  divided  luaa- 
kiud  into  contcDding  partlea,  inste&d  of  unitiog  them  for  the  im- 
provement of  their  own  nature  ?  But  all  m;  thoughts  on  this 
Buhject  will  be  implied  in  mj  story  ;  to  I  proceed  with  it. 

Ill  one  of  the  houses  in  the  Fold  lived  a  poor  widow  with  a 
large  famllj  of  bods,  from  seven  to  seventeen  years  of  age.  The 
hut  in  wkioh  they  were  huddled  together  was  in  a  wretched  con- 
dition, and  my  uncle  would  do  nothing  to  improve  it ;  but  he  took 
the  utmost  possible  rent,  while  he  paid  the  poor  woman  (for  she 
laboured  in  the  fields)  and  her  sons  the  lowest  wages.  Never  did 
I  feel  so  disposed,  with  all  my  heart,  to  hate  a  fellow-creature,  as 
when  I  saw  him,  on  a  Saturday  nigbt,  in  winter,  screwing  the 
last  halfpenny  out  of  this  poor  widow,  and  overcharging  her  for 
millc,  potatoes,  and  everything  she  had  of  him,  while  he  knew 
that  he  was  not  leaving  her  enough  for  firing  and  subsistence. 
One  of  her  sons  he  put  in  the  stocks  for  stetUing  three  turnips, 
and  two  of  them  have  since  been  transported.  For  whose  fault  ? 
I  must  tell  the  truth.  My  uncle  knew  that  what  ho  gave  them 
was  not  sufGcient  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  hunger  :  when  the 
eldest  complained,  he  told  lum  to  seek  employment  elsewhere,  but 
ho  knew  that  none  could  be  found.  After  a  while  the  eldest  of 
the  poor  woman's  sons  ran  away  from  Fordenton,  and  was  never 
heard  of  until  he  was  lodged  in  a  jail.  I  have  never  lost  the  im- 
pression made  upon  my  mind  by  the  poor  distressed  mother.  Caro 
a^d  liard  labour  had  effaced  all  marks  of  female  character  from 
her  person,  but  had  left  her  feelings  alive.  When  she  heard  of 
her  son's  arrest,  she  sat  upon  a  low  stool  in  her  hut,  swinging  her 
body  to  and  fro,  clenching  her  bands  and  eiclaiming  : — "  On,  ho 
wotild  have  been  an  honest  man  if  he  could — oh  he  wouid  I — ^if  he 
could  have  got  work  and  wages — if  he  only  could .'- — he  never 
would  have  been  there  !  "  This  was  her  cry  all  day  long.  But 
- 1  must  come  to  my  own  case.  My  misery,  while  I  lived  (if  I  may 
call  it  life)  in  Robert's  Fold,  was  such  as  no  tongue  can  express, 
and  I  shall  not  torment  you  with  its  particulars.  It  is  enough  to 
say,  literally  and  stiictly,  I  had  not  so  good  a  life  as  the  bouse-dog. 
Every  good  faculty  ihat  I  bad  was  repressed  and  blinded.  Every 
good  feeling  was  poisoned,  and  I  was  filled  with  loathing  and 
hatred.  "  Home!"  I  had  none.  I  had  no  place  to  wuch  I 
loved  to  go.  I  entered  my  uncle's  house  every  night,  when  my 
toil  was  done,  ate  my  food  in  sorrow,  anf  crept,  heavily,  up  the 
old  dork  staircase  to  a  room  without  a  window,  where  acarci?!/ 


THE   C0SPES3I0NS  OF  RICHABD  GRAINGER.  101 

eVet-  a  r&y  of  light  penetrated,  to  throw  myself  into  forgetfiibesB. 
In  the  morning  I  sometimee  felt  instinctivelj  cheerful  for  a  few 
moments,  hefore  I  remembered  exactly  where  I  was.  Then, 
throughout  the  day,  it  was  not  the  hard  work  that  oppremed  me, 
though  it  whb  continued  from  early  in  the  morning  till  late  in  the 
evening  ; — no,  it  waa  not  the  bodily  work — men  hara  done  more 
and  happily — but  it  was  the  absence  of  every  encouraging  motive, 
of  every  cheering  thought  ;  it  was  the  thanklessneas*  of  all  I  did  ; 
it  was  the  slavery  of  the  soul  which  oppressed  me.  You  may  say, 
why  did  I  not  run  away  ?  I  waa  a  youug  man,  and  strong — why 
did  I  not  seek  another  situation  J  Ah,  sir,  there  it  such  a  differ- 
ence between  theory  nnd  reality.  The  worst  of  my  slavery  was, 
that  it  had  deprived  me  of  hope.  I  saw  the  world  all  in  the 
Colours  which  this  Robert's  Fold  had  impressed  on  my  mind. 
Where  should  I  go  ?  I  knew  not  a  better  place.  I  had  some 
recollections  of  having  lived  more  comfortably  with  my  mother  ; 
but  she  was  dead,  and  1  wished  I  had  died  with  her. 

I  could  not  bear  to  look  back  upon  this  period  of  my  life,  if  I  did 
not  consider  that  it  has  taught  me,  far  better  than  any  book  could 
teach  me,  some  lessons  for  the  good  of  others.  It  has  taught  me, 
sir,  that  men  are  not  to  be  paid  for  their  labour  in  money  or  bread 
only  !  The  labourer  requires,  as  wo  all  require,  brotherly  feelings, 
sentiments  of  mutual  respect,  to  make  bim  feel  himself  a  man  and 
live  as  a  man.  Who  wacts  an  equality  of  earthly  riches  among 
men  ?  They  must  be  poor  earthly  souls  who  would  strive  for 
such  a  low  object.  But  an  equality  of  honour  and  hind  feeling  for 
.  all  who  labour  in  the  system  of  human  existence — this  is  what  we 
want, — something  to  raise  the  head  and  encourage  the  heart  of 
the  poor  workman,  to  make  him  feel  that  his  fellow-men  reckon 
him  worth  something.  I  have  felt  this  want  a  thousand  times, 
heavily,  and  I  know  I  am  not  wrong  in  believing  that  it  is  the 
most  pressing  and  degrading  deprivation  which  the  poor  and  the 
hard-toiling  have  to  endure.  Where  is  the  religious  law  of 
"  Honour  all  men?" 

Another  truth  I  have  learned  is,  that  to  mend  the  thoughts  and 
dispositions  of  men,  you  must  mend  their  circumstances  too.  We 
are  not  angels.  We  are  net  sunbeams,  equally  pure  in  all  places. 
You  who  look  forth  upon  pleasant  parks,  from  the  windows  of 
dro wing-rooms,  oh,  it  is  so  easy  for  any  little  book  of  poetry,  or 
religious  prose,  to  convince  you  that  the  world  is  a  very  pleasant 
place,— that  the  Maker  of  it  clearly  designed  all  men  to  be  happy; 


102  THE   CONFESSIONS  OF  BICBARD  aailXOBR. 

but  thinea  liave  a  different  Appearaacfi  when  (lewad  qb  »  <^ 
innter'B  Jaj,  through  th«  paper  aquares  <f  die  cottage  Tindoiira  in 
Bobert'e  Fold,  and  manj  pUces  like  it.  You  who  diatrU>ute 
tracts  through  the  mUerahle  lanee  and  aJleje  of  our  towtu*— your 
parpwM  ia  a  good  one  ;  but  remember  that  air  sjid  light,  dMnli- 
n^sfi  and  beauty,  are  God'e  good  mesaengere  ;  and  contribute  yeur 
eade&Tours  to  remote  the  gtooiii;^-  wretched  plaoee  left  upon  the 
face  of  the  ear&  bj  centuries  of  thought  and  aetiou  beitowed  vfoa 
vrong  purposes.  If  you  would  haTe  the  pet^le  believe  inahwTen; 
show  them  a  little  of  it. 

But  I  must  return  to  my  sborj.  though  I  wish  to  B.vai  it.  The 
cmxent  of  evil  and  miserable  feehngs  between  myself  and,  my 
imcle  waa  brought  to  a  crisis  by.  circumstances  whiclk  I  miteit  now 
relate.  During  the  winter  ereninga  I  was  glad  to  hide  myseilf  in 
any  of  the  cottages  where  etiU  some  human  feeling  waa  to  be 
found.  Several  times  my  uncle  expressed  his  displeasure  at  this 
conduct,  by  locking  me  out  of  doors.  To  one  of  the  cottages  I 
was  olten  attracted  by  the  presence  of  a  good-natured  girl,  who 
threw  Bomething  of  a  cheering  light  even  over  the  jxiswable  pkce 
in  whbb  she  lived.  There  was  no' serious  attenshment  hetvratu 
us ;  but  I  frequently  vi^ted  the  cottage  to  indulge  ia  a  littliB 
harmless  talk,  and  to  screen  myself  frooi  the  cn^nual  cootem^ 
and  ill-will  with  which  my  uncle  ti^ated  me.  lie  ezpreaaad  has 
resentment  at  my  visits  in  every  possible  annojing  way,  threatened 
to  turn  the  family  out  of  the  cottage,  and  te  disnues  the  brathoEs 
of  the  girl  &oa  his  service,  which  he  did.  At  last,  on  o«e  oecar 
aion,  be  used  an  expression  concenung  my  visits,  which  raised  Btj 
anger  to  the  highest  degree.  I  gavehima  violent  ai^thraateiung 
reply,  and,  from  that  time,  he  treated  me  with  still  greater  ill-will 
and  severity.  One  night  I  came  home  much  later  thwL  usual. 
He  was  sitting  by  the  kitchen  fire.  I  sat  down  and  endeavoured 
to  eat  the  crust  of  bread  left  upon  the  table  for  me.  HeproAeeded 
with  a  str;un  of  virulent  abuse,  until  I  dashed  the  bread  i^eii  the 
floor  and  vowed,  vehemently,  that  I  would  never  taste  another 
Bioi'sel  in  hU  house.  He  repeated  the  exceedingly  obouupus 
expression.  "  Now  dim't  say  that  again,"  I  esclaimod,  stairting 
on  my  feet — "  don't  say  that  again,  if--if  you  would  go  to  bed 
alive  !  "  He  r^eoted  it,  just  as  I  laid  hold  of  the  bariet  of  aa 
old  gun  whieh  atood  in  a  corner ;  and  hardly  had  the  wftrds  eseaped 
his  Ups,  when,  with  one  bkw  upon  the  back  of  his  head,  or  his 
neck,  I  proatiated  him.     The  blow  seemed  to  hav»  lut  me  also. 

Coaqk 


I  -wia  stuiue4 — a  dreadfti)  aa^A  kom  risgbg  i«  mf  mm— a  ibidk 
tOMl  wa»  beftBPe  .b^  OfM — I  knew  Bvt  whera  I  was  tiS  I  found 
n^nlf  oat  in  the  fieU.  Tbwe  I  Btood  iu  th*  middle  of  the  wide 
pasliv*  UDd«-'A«  fev^ng  Aj  ;  a-Sev  momeBta  eince,  and  I  ms 
"  WMiwifiililii,  bat  -Irte  fmti  erim« ;  now  I  i*aa  a  rillaiii— ^  murderH-, 
net  fit  tQ  l«v»  in  the  wolU ! 

"  I  b«T«  sbm  tbe  old  umb  I  I  am  b  murderer !  h«  foroed 
metoh  !  "  swd  1,  twl  Mught  theoorcart  of  a.w«od  ;  "and  now  let 
AdBt^CBia  twdeDdMjKiaseraUeda;a.aaM(tta»tbeyple»se!  " 
I  add«d,  iw  I  threw  layt^  dam  nuder  the  tr«ea.  I  lay  tbero  fbr 
aome  tke»  in  all  die  ageaytS  romoM*  aad  drnpair  ;  bnt  tLe  first 
^mpwof  m«nriEi^lightiafHg4it«diB».  .  "  T»Lond«aI  "  flaehed 
thwBgh  1^  Bsijtd,  mmI  I  bant  layM^s  3Mt1iward»  with  tmj  utaiost 
i^kead,  taJnng  tbe  kneliMt  t^<!ia  orw  ^m  mooiB,  aad  never 
»t«yfiilgfla»e-to^uattchay  tharat  at  a  ^risg-,  and  tolara  my  face, 
autil,  M  tbe«loa6  ftf  tbe  a»xt  iay,  I  was  rnvte  tkaa  forty  miles 
fnii  Rabcoi'a  F»ld.  WIhd  rti  wm  (faak»  Aark,  1  approadwd  a 
bWBlel,  mMo^  a  Utile -Aap,  and  bought  a  lesf;  tlien,  won  doim 
wiA  lUiffu,  foiiad  a-  few  koum'  sleep  beaide  a  lay~staek.  Before 
dajfi^l  I  Btaried  off  again  soathward*.  I  had  no  obar  idea  of 
tbe  ol;^  of  my  j«ximef  ;  bat  somat^g'  drone  me  onwards, 
—wmA— there  was  oo  spot  «f  the  earth  npoa  which  I  tovid  rest. 
Bat  'haw  ean  I  toll  ymi  Ae  hoinrs  of  that  journoy  to  Looden  ! 
How  can  I  make  you  understand  the  feelings  with  which  I  passed 
tiiNagh  rtU^^B  and  hamlets,  and  awr  men  ai>d  woobcd,  and  heard 
EMle  i^iHdren  laa^^g !  ^ey  aecaned  te  b«  ia  another  n«rid,  far 
tan^  'fhom  tbe  world  of  despair  in  wUch  my  imnd  was  imprismaed. 
Hew  could  th^  talk  and  laD^  ?  it  s«em«d  tame  so  very  atrai^. 
They  were  in  hewT»--I  wb«  in  belt.  Sometimca  I  theugbt,  "  Ob. 
if  this  ooBld  be  all  a  dream-— if  it  could  pass  away— if  I  etuid 
(mQ»ied  I  had  aevw  dcnoe  the  deed~then  tlie  most  wretched  spct 
npoB  Ae  lace  of  the  eai^h  ww^  be  a  paradise  fer  me.  Hard 
.in^<!  tw^e,  fotirteeii,  sisteen  hwra  a  day  ;  hard  fare  !  Atj 
ebipe  -of  bread,  t^e  pefnee  of  a  beggar's  taUe — these  would  be 
hinriee  to  me  ;  I  sbotdd  be  in  heaven  with  them,  eowning  from 
dM  eoM  wind  and  the  rain  in  the  most  nueerable  hmei ;  I  shotdd 
be  rick  and  ba;^  as  a  kii^  if  tUa  ametbering  load  eouM  be  lifwd 
from  my  beaem — it  thia  b«rnU»  tbtmgfat  weald  eease  its  pressuK 
«■  my  brain."  Tet,  in  tbe  mght,  strange  ta  say  (b^rtitis  tiie 
fcet),  my  dreamt  were«f  in^ffweut  thinge,  and  my  uade  eame  to 
■M  ia  hia  nnai  drees.  Hid  set  me  nfy  jobs  of  work  fqr  tbe  next 


da;.  The  moment  the  thought  occured,  "  This  is  all  a  dre«m ; 
I  have  murdered  the  old  man  !  "  I  was  awake,  ao  lliat  I  camtot 
be  sure  that  I  thought  of  it  till  1  was  awake.  Onoe  he  come  to 
me  in  my  sleep,  and  looked  more  cheerful  and  friendly  than  I  had 
erer  Been  him.  "  Come,"  aaid  he,  "  we  will  let  this  matter  drop>f 
'tb  a  folly  to  make  our  lives  so  wretched.  I  will  be  a  good  man, 
and  you  shall  be  a  good  boy."  This  was  rery  etruige,  and  unlike 
what  is  usually  aaid  of  dreams  ;  but  I  remember  it  was  the  case. 
I  got  through  the  country,  and  planged  into  London  to  lose  mysdf 
amid  its  mLUiona  of  caring,  fearing,  toiling,  buatling  mortals  ;  but 
it  did  not  seem  so  busy  and  crowded  as  I  had  expected.  The 
people  aeemcd  to  have  leisure  to  stare  eren  on  the  arrival  of  one 
poor  countryman.  They  looked  out  of  shops  and  out  of  chamber- 
windows.  The  coachmen  and  cabmen  stared  at  me.  Several 
persons  turned  to  look  back  after  passing  me.  A  little  boy  looked 
i^  in  my  face  and  whispered  something  to  his  companion.  All 
kindaof^oughta— ^secret  associations  for  detection  (^criminals — 
of  speedy  intelligence  conveyed  to  London  to  arrest  me— of  all  the 
persons  to  whom  1  had  spoken,  (a*  of  whom  I  had  bought  anything 
oo  my  way,  being  in  a  plot  for  my  conviction — passed  through  my 
mind.  I  did  not  feel  the  ground  firm  under  my  feet.  I  could  not 
find  air  enough  to  breathe.  1  walked  on,  on,  on  ;  but  no  street 
seemed  obscure  enough  ;  the  people  seemed  on  the  watch  for  me 
everywhere. 

I  cannot  deaeribe  to  you  the  life  I  passed  for  some  weeks  in 
London  ;  how  I  wandered  irom  the  obscurest  lanes  into  the  fashion- 
able streets  and  squares,  and  gazed  vacmitiy  upon  a  thousand 
objects  of  curiosity,  yet  seeing  everywhere  and  at  all  times  only 
one  object — my  crime.  At  last,  when  half-famished,  1  found 
employment  at  a  wharf.  Here  I  laboured  bard,  but  could  not 
rest ;  for  my  fellow-labourers  seemed  to  suspect  me.  I  left  London 
and  went  to  work  at  an  excavation  on  a  railway.  I  fell  and  broke 
a  limb,  which  confined  me  to  my  lodgings  for  some  weeks,  and  my 
health  was  now  reduced  to  such  a  weak  state  that  I  could  not 
endure  severe  toil.  I  next  found  employment  under  a  gardener, 
who  treated  me  with  considerable  kindness..  This  kindness  gave 
me  a  new  view  of  life.  I  saw  that  it  might  be  made  a  happy  life, 
and  this  tiiought  only  increased  my  anguish  on  account  of  the 
crime  which  had  excluded  me  from  all  communication  with  good 
and  happy  men.  Oh,  many  of  the  things  that  men  have  been  so 
long  complaining  about — bad  climate,  the  necessity,  of  toil,  sick- 


TBE  CONPSSSIOSS  OF  RICBAKD  GRlIliGER.  105 

nCBs,  pOTertj,  death,  are  not  worth  a  moment's  diKoiitent.  If 
men  would  conault  t<^ethor  how  to  deal  fairly  and  kindly  with 
each  other-^how  to  live  free  from  crime  and  e*il  paasions — the 
world  might  be  a  happy  place  without  making  all  men  rich,  or 
healthy,  or  iinmortal — wi&out  mending  the  climate,  or  making 
the  eartli  teem  with  fruits,  uDassisted  by  the  hand  of  cultivation. 
Have  not  men  been  thinking  and  complaining,  for  the  greater  part 
of  their  existence,  of  things  which  do  not  concern  them,  and, 
meanwhile,  neglecting  the  plain,  umple  things,  which  they  might 
do  and  ought  to  do  for  tbdr  own  good  and  the  good  of  others  ? 
The  rich  farmer  goes  to  church,  hears  how  the  ground  was  enraad 
for  Adam's  sake,  and  concludes  that  Adam  was  a  very  wicked 
man  ;  then  comes  home,  and  will  not  let  the  poor  have  a  fair  share 
<^  the  fruits  which  the  earth  is  still  willmg  to  yield.  Then  his 
stacks  are  burned  ;  he  imprisons  the  men,  whom  he  would  not 
feed,  and  goes  to  church  again  to  lay  all  the  blame  upon  Adam! 
This  is  making  the  worst  <$  tho  world !  Must  contrast  always  be 
necessary  to  show  us  the  valne  of  things  ?  Can  none  but  men 
who  have  been  sick  feel  the  pleasure  of  healtii  ?  Must  it  ever  be 
necessary  to  go  through  a  purgatory  to  know  what  a  paradise 
means  ?  Must  the  world  be  thus  ever  blended  of  light  and  dark- 
ness, joy  and  woe,  heaven  aaA  hell !  I  know  not ;  but  never  did 
I  see  the  heavenly  happiness  that  may  he  upon  earth,  amid  all  its 
common  cares  and  troubles,  until  1  viewed  it  in  contrast  wit6  my 
own  remorse  and  despair.  "  Oh  men,  women,  and  children,  who 
are  free  froln  crime,"  I  often  felt  disposed  to  eiclfum,  "  you  are 
in  heaven — yes,  in  heaven  itself,  did  you  but  know  it.  Labourer ! 
coming  from  the  field  of  toil,  reposing  in  your  cottage  amid  your 
children,  sitting  down  at  your  lowly  board,  while  your  wife  pre- 
pares your  comforts  with  a  busy  hand,  complain  not  that  your 
dwelling  is  humble  ;  divine  joys  inhabit  it ;  tell  me  not  that  your 
windows  are  low  and  narrow  ;  the  divine  light  shines  through 
them;  it  is  godlike;  it  visits  aU ;  the  breath  of  heaven  blows 
through  them,  and  you  are/ree  to  enjoy  these  visitations  ;  and  you 
who  dwell  in  pleasant  houses,  with  peace  of  mind  and  with  plenty 
around  you,  not  only  happy  yourselves,  but  able  to  moke  others 
hi^y,  what  have  the  angels,  which  you  have  not  ?  One  kind 
action  may  prevent  a  multitude  of  crimes.  Oh  !  to  live  surrounded 
with  the  smiles,  the  good  wishes,  the  thankfulness  of  tho  poor  ! 
To  feel  that  the  good,  the  riches  you  enjoy,  are  not  stolen  from 
the  general  good — not  bought  by  the  sufferings  of  others — but 


106  tm  COOTFaBSIOKS  07  BK»AH>  »ItAIN^. 

that  Hmj  an  a.  ciqt  cf  happiuMs  fiSed  from  liesTm,  and  roonmg 
over  pkateotudf  tor  the  r«^^  of  ^  Honad  yo«  !  " 

D«Bp  BORDw  is  tiw  BOiuM  of  deep  thonghtB,  Haw  I  Btnwe  to 
AKgatiQj  own  crsBe  lad.  mj  mm  rMaorM  in  plans  of  beDerrisBce 
£H*aU  DHokmd  !  That  da^.jaetiM,  right  ietite  ^beulote  bana«f 
•11  hnuHt  eziBlence  ;  thst  et^  in  living  and  aotang  in  aecordaitoe 
ndLAnilmrsof  geitM>al««t£ue,&etti«<wdhappine«  of  theisf- 
vUnaL  emu  be  «ftU-<foBBde«[ — kew  de^j  I  felt  tbie  !  What  unoe- 
iaMHrj"lntnMe  did  all  argvaiMits  in  bixdia,  to  ^M>re  tbe  reaKtj-of 
waajanee  avd  religicm,  appear  to  me  !  I  felt  tbem  ia  my^  own 
euAanae  ;  I  migbt  bare  donlrted  of  them  couU  I  bare  doubted 
(£,iaj  mta  bein^,  but  not  b^<iM«.  It  is  when  a  man  haeofeoded 
aguusi  the  lawc  (^  aocietj  (the  tme  neceesary  laws,  I  -Kteaa)  that 
be  £aela  hov  deeply  h>»  own  life  aod  happiness  are  osftivitk  '^em 
■■—bey  it  is  impossible  to  U>c  in  i^natitm  from  tfaem.  As  tiie 
v^Kile  tmsk,  aQ  the  Iwaocdies  and  Uie  boughs,  every  tvng  and 
emy  leaf  of  Ae- expanded  oak-tree  are  eentained  in  the  olosely- 
eompaeted  aeom.  so  aU  the  lawa  of  smial  exiatence,  imi^  aad 
order  axe  ka|died  in  the  cwBeieaee  of  a  man.  They  vaaj  be  shut 
Bp,  ii«ii-boand  -for  ftwJule  ;  bat  iiwe  they  art.  I  felt  tHa.  Bew- 
erw  the  tran^resBor  may  hide  Umself  irom  the  outward  opnrstim 
of  the  law,  he  cannot  hide  himself  frem  its  inward  reali^.  How 
can  he  flee  froai  his  own  true  self-enHteuee  ¥  I  feh  that  a  nfane 
agusM  Mciety  demaods  retributien.  I  understood  the  motive, 
the  heait-impidBe,  wUdi  has  -driven  the  offender  to  oSb"  up  his 
life  to  appeaio  offended  justice.  This  power  of  conscjeooe,  when 
nndireoted  to  ite  true  object,  tbonght  I,  has  prodaced  gloomy 
BtqwratiltMiB  aftd  demanded  cruel  Baorifices  for  atonement. ;  b«t  I 
eune^es  hoped  to  satisfy  its  demands  in  a  milder  way.  I  wWd 
eadeavour  to  do  good.  I  Vmild  nwte  my  whide  life  »  sttcrifiee  fer 
tbe  gaod  of  <Ahers.  I  would  work  hard,  early  and  late,  dc^ffive 
ntysctf  of  all  thii^  hot  the  barest  neecssities,  and  spend  i^  ray 
eantii^  upon  objeots  of  charity.  But  how  eould  I  put  this  reoo- 
Intion  into  praetioe  i  Whore  eoidd  I  find  an  entrance  into  tbe 
world  ?  It  seemed  dosed  against  me,  as  with  gates  of  brass. 
Or  ere*  if  I  eould  do  all  Has,  I  thought  again,  it  would  only  bo 
myda^  for  the  pmeo  t — it  co^  not  be  more  than  right.  How  cenld 
it  han  snperabandant  DMvit  to  ateae  fnr  the  past  ?  how  could  it 
caU  the  de«d  to  life  agun  f  Bad  aa  he  was,  he  was  et^  a  man. 
Heaven  waa  inei«ifal  to  him,  and  vcoukl  have  given  \am  tme  for 
What  Tight-  had  I  to  take  the  ewwd  out  of  tbe 


THE   COSFBSaiOKS   OP   BIOKJJU)  OBiOfalK.  107 

judge's  lumd,  Mul  vtr&etke  poor  aulprit  dowa  ?  En  Toioe  aseued 
crying  in  mj  ears — "  You  would  not  givaxoe  time  !  " 

SoaiBtiiaea  I  tried  tofisd  can^Ht  ut  a  £alw  r^igitw!— u  atgu- 
vag  that  mj  owd  d»ed  v&b  aa  iBevitable  oeeeacitj ;  but  it  woohl 
tut  do,  I  could  run  oh  witb  vouuca,  «mI  e^  "  Wbo  proroked 
me  to  the  deed  ?  Mj  un«Ji£.  And  wWt  mncLs  hba  m  imiA  and 
fff^reemre  ?  Want  of  Wtor  teacluDg  ;  "  aad  m  as  and  on  up  to 
ibe  fi»t  man ;  Imt  1  oohM  not  feel  it  to  be  tm*.  I  eeidd  sat 
rentose  tbe  load  frotn'  B^  owm  eanainaice  to  tliab  of  way  (Am 
xaux.  I  feH  that  if  atl  tlw  world  were  «ruel  tyraota  asd  oppreBstwa, 
stiU.  &»  oooimand  for  me  waa  an  elear  -and  aathont^ve  as  erw — 
"  Thou  shalt  do  no  murder  !  " 

At  other  times  lay  tium^iU  ondeafoived  to  escoae  the  deed  ; 
but  oh,  tine^  aeamai  b)U  Uke  weak,  B^hiatioal,  epeeial  jdeadere 
hofiKe  an  ineKorahle,  penetrating  judg«.  They  aaid,  "  The  mas 
deawted  to  die — ^he  waacrual,  oppresane,  injurioiu  to  awoiety  j  " 
but  coBficisftcc  replied,  "  H»wa,»  stillaBiaii ;  God  gare  htm  life; 
iwhohada  ri^t  to  take  it  away:?  "  Then  I  said  to  myself,  "Bat 
I  was  brought  of  in  darkoeas  and  ignorance  ;  ^at  did  I  knew  of 
the  Tohie  of  ba&un  life — bow  divine  and  ha^y  it.  may  be  ? 
Would  I  saw  injiue  odq  humaii  being?  No,  ndher  wauld  I  die 
myaelt  Thoa  lot  n»  jiu^e  mjstiS  aceor^g  to  wbat  I  now 
an.  and  try  to  fw^t  the  pCML"  But  cooMieoifie  auews^, 
"  YoH  are  a  nutrdei^er !— aothu^  <m»  excuse  the  «ine — yos  are 
sot  .fit  to  Iwel  " 

&iai«times  my  feeUage  were  putMwed  with  hatred  to  mankind. 
"  If  I  am  to  be  pimiahed  for  my  crime,"  said  I,  "  let  the  ri<^, 
the  ael&h,  and  tbe  H^-n|^eous  "ho  leave  die  poor  is  igBoranoe 
and  auaery— let  lAem  be  peniehed  too.  Are  thoie  «wly  who  yield 
to  tME^tation,  when  it  is  oTerpow^ii^,  and  not  also  those  who 
fead  oj)  into  tai^)tati<Hi,  to  be  puMfihed  ?  Who  pmuBhes  theee 
vho  ecHomit  «f»ec  murder  ? — who,  ^adually  but  rarely,  starve  aad 
overwork  and  d^rade  tbe  poor  mojx  uttU  his  esiatenee  becomes  a 
bordea  to  him.  Shall  one  hasty  act  of  pasaioB  he  puaished,  and 
Melr  aeUeh,  calculating  villany  be  bononrod  and  reapected  ? 
If  jofttiee  is  to  be  done,  let  it  be  do«e  vifoik  &  bread  acale,  and 
&m  how  nuny  »f  tiiie  re^eotaUe  and  the  ni^  will  be  found 
t«  be  aoeonplieaft  ia  the   criines  oonvouttod  bj  tJie  poor  aad 


Btrt  alt  i^  eonplejots  aminst  the  defects  cf  ImiBaii  lam  wetld 
not  ^ifle  the  wvfi»  of  God  a  law  in  my  Dciwnfi«cft~"  Thou  abdt 


106  THE   COIIFeaBIOirS  of  BICBABD  OBAtKOEU. 

not  IciU  I "  I  dared  not  enter  a  church  for  fear  of  seeing  those 
irords  embUioncil  before  me. 

I  had  alnajs  had  a  taste  for  reading,  which  I  had  now  flomp 

(^portunity  of  indulging.  I  borrowed  some  books  of  history,  sod 
spent  my  leiBure  eveningB  in  reading  of  wars  and  cruelties,  until 
I  sometimes  almost  felt  a  moment's  consolation  in  reflecting  that 
there  had  been  wor»e  men  than  myself  in  the  world.  Said  T,  "  If 
our  kings,  and  judges,  and  warriors,  and  priests,  had  employed 
themseWes,  instead  of  making  wars  and  fomenting  hatred,  in 
making,  the  world  better,  in  teaching  men  how  to  deal  fairly  and 
kindly  with  each  other,  we  might  he  HAred  from  crime  and  nuseiT' ; 
but  what  have  they  taught  poor  people  ?  "    , 

I  continued  some  time  in  my  eituaUon,  until  my  master  recom* 
mended  me  to  a  gentleman  in  the  country,  under  whom  he  had 
served  ;  and  I  again  sought  relief  in  a  change  of  place.  When 
I  arrived  at  my  destined  place  of  labour,  what  a  paradise  it 
appeared  to  be  for  a  man  with  a  mind  at  ease  I  I  had  the  care 
of  a  beautiful  garden,  and  the  family  whom  I  served  was  one  of 
the  most  amiable  in  existence.  What  a  heaven  this  wodd  may 
be  made  by  kindness  and  goodness !  What  a  hell  it  may  be  made 
by  oppression  and  evil  passions !  This  seems  to  some  only  A 
common-place  thought ;  but  I  felt  it  deeply.  I  had  once  believed 
that  the  earth  was  almost  solely  inhabited  by  cruel,  unfeeling, 
selfish  creatures — now  I  found  that  there  were  angels  on  the  earth  ; 
bat  I  knew  it  not  until  it  was  too  lat«for  me  to  enjoy  their  society-; 
imtil,  by  crime,  I  had  excommunicated  myself  from  the  company 
of  the  good  and  the  happy.  My  master's  eldest  daughter  fre- 
quently came  into  the  garden  to  converse  with  me  ;  she  observed 
my  gloom,  and  would  sometimes  say  kind  words  to  mitigate  my 
despondency  ;  at  other  times,  she  gently  reproved  me  for  not 
appearing  at  church.  How  little  could  her  gende  spirit  compre- 
hend of  tho  depths  of  despair  into  which  I  had  fallen !  I  bent 
over  my  spade  as  she  spoke,  and  never  dared  to  look  her  in  the 
face.  The  little  children  kindly  noticed  me.  I  could  look  upoii 
their  innocent  faces,  and  it  sometimes  did  me  good.  Sometimes 
I  thought,  (or  rather  endeavoured  to  think,)  "I  shall  he  judged  by 
merciful  Heaven  according  to  my  present  will  and  disposition,  and 
not  according  to  what  I  have  done  in  my  madness.  I  cannot  be 
yet  an  utter  reprobate,  or  these  children  would  not  trust  them- 
selves in  my  presence."  I  tried  to  see  smiles  from  heaven  in  the 
Nulling  face's  of  these  children.     £ut  these  thoughts  would  hot 


TB£   C0HFESS1088  OF  BICHABD  OBAIKGEB.  109 

atay  with,  ue — they  faded  away,  and  left  me  in  all  my  dark 
irretchednesB  agiun.  I  cannot  describe,  all  mj  inward  torture — if 
I  could,  my  reader  (happily  for  bim !)  vould  not  undeiBtond  it. 
There  ia  a  point  beyond  which  thoughts  and  feelings  of  agony 
cannot  be  conimuuicated  and  explained  to  others.  Uj  BufieringB 
exhausted  my  health,  and  I  sunk  under  a  slow  fever,  The  kind- 
ness of  the  woman  in  whose  cottage  I  lodged  seemed  wonderM  to 
me.  Then  I  thought  how  I  had  only  to  say  one  word,  and  all 
this  kindness  would  be  suddenly  turned  into  abhorrence.  But 
during  my  illness  I  wept  under  a  sense  of  the  kindness  of  my 
attendant,  and  my  tears  relicTcd  me, 

I  recovered  ;  but  I  could  not  rest  in  my  situation.  A  blind 
impulse  drove  ne  away  ;  with  a  few  hoarded  shiliiugs  in  my 
pocket,  I  wandered  through  the  country,  and  (why  I  knew,  not), 
directed  my  steps  towards  the  north.  I  could  not  bear  my  sus- 
penoe.  I  felt  as  if  something  was  dragging  me  on  to  Fordenton, 
and  to  that  terrible  Robert's  Fold,  where  I  always  saw  the  dead  old 
man  stretched  out  upon  the  floor  I  The  reader  may  beliere  it  or 
not,  according  to  his  knowledge  of  human  nature  ;  but  allhamau 
actions  are  not  to  he  accounted  for.  I  went  on,  day  after  day, — on, 
on,  on,  until  I  arrived  at  a  village  within  fifty  miles  of  Fordenton. 
I.  sought  out  the  obscurest  pubhc-houae — I  cast  my  usual  glance  of 
suspicion  about  the  place,  then  entered,,  and  sat  down  in  a  comer 
to  take  refreshment.  I  had  not  sat  half-an-hour  when  the  door 
opened.  I  started,  as  usual ;  but  Heavens  !  whal;  did  I  feel  as  I 
reco^ised  the  face  of  Harry,  Fanny's  brother,  who  had  lived  in 
the  Fold.  He  stepped  up  to  me,  with  a  heartylook  of  recognition. 
".  Ha,  ha  !  "  said  he,  "  a  pretty  midnight  flitting  you  made  of  it, 
and  rare  and  dull  the  old  man  has  been  ever  since  you  went,  for 
some  one  to  abuse.  He  goes  very  lame  of  the  rheumatism  now, 
and  I  dare  say  if  you  'd  come  back  he  'd  forgive  you  all,  (though 
'twas  a  rough  parting  you  had,)  and  leave  you  the  cash,  my 
man  I "  This,  I  believe,  was  what  he  said  ;  but  I  hardly 
heard  it.  "  I  am  very  ill,"  said  I  (and  it  was  true),  hastening  out 
of  the  house.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  faint ;  but  the  fresh  air  restored 
my  consciousness.  "  The  old  man  alive!  "  thought  I ;  and  that 
thought  mode  the  earth  seem  too  happy  a  place  for  me  to  live  in. 
Then,  again,  I  thought,  this  must  be  all  a  dream,  or  the  young 
man  was  an  agent  in  a  plot  for  my  apprehension.  Not  until  the 
next  morning  was  I  restoretT  to  a  clear  consciousness  of  my  altered 
situation  ;  and  then  what  n  morning  !  what  a  ncw-crcalcd-wotlil  \ 


110  THE   CONPESSIOITB   OF 

New  heaFens  ftnd  a  new  earth  shone  Dpon  me  !  I  will  attempt  no 
description  of  mj  fe^i^.  A  eoarerution  with  Harry  assorad 
me  of  mj  hapfoneBs.  "  I  am  a  man  ^ain !  "  iJiought  I,  "  and 
now  let  poverty,  eiokness,  hard  labour,  death  ittelf  come,  I  fear 
not !  "  But  it  waa  months  before  I  conM  drag  myself  to  Sobert'B 
Fold,  and  dare  to  look  upon  the  supposed  dead  man  aliye.  Sot 
ontU  I  h«ard  of  his  serioos  illness  did  I  rentore  to  go.  He  had 
Buak  into  half-imbeoility,  but  conscience  was  awake  within  him. 

"  Riefaaid's  come  again  !  is  he  ?  "  said  he,  as  die  honBekeepW 
mentioned  my  name  to  him.  "Well,  well,  Richard,  take  care  of 
the  money  ;  don't  stay  out  late  at  nights  ;  dm 't  i^e  about ;  goto 
churdi,  fiichard ;  take  care  of  the  money,  Richard ;  hot  stop  ! 
thwe  are  iome  we've  paid  short,  Richard  ;  Sally  Dmin — boA  her 
lads  nm  away,  they  say  ;  sad  job  !  pay  Sally  Dmin  her  w^;«s  ; 
make  all  strai^t,  Richard."  He  chattered  on  in  this  way  day 
hHer  day,  whenever  aroased  from  the  stupor  into  which  he  was 
diEpooad  to  Hnk.  The  clergyman  'nsited  him  and  tried'  tn  make 
the  preoepti  of  truth,  justice,  and  mercy,  intelli^le  to  his  benumbed 
faonlties ;  b«t  he  <«dy  kept  muttering  about  "  Sally  Dtmn,  and 
both  her  lade  run  away  frmn  her  1  "  "  (Mi,"  thought  I,  "  if  tftey 
had  bat  taught  tlus  poor  ra»n  better  when  he  was  young  and  well ! " 

I  mnat  end  my  story  here.  The  old  man  died.  His  money 
fell  int«  my  htm&s ;  bnt  I  hare  never  f^t  Hiat  it  vas  n^  awn.  It 
bel<Hig8  to  tfae  poor.  I  have  worked  hard  for  my  own  livdSfaood 
ever  since,  and  so  I  mean  to  do  as  long  as  I  can  handle  a  spade. 
I  hare  built  a  pcbofd  in  Fordenton,  and  hare  endeavoured  to  expend 
iU-get  traasurea  in  relieving  those  circumstances  of  ignorance, 
pover^,  neglect,  and  misery,  which  impel  men  to  evil  passiooa,  to 
crime,  and  to  suoh  misery  as  I  hare  fblt,  and  which  I  would  hare 
no  other  human  being  feel  again  !  And  if  I  had  the  ability,  as  I 
have  the  will,  to  iniirance  others  ;  if  I  had  the  tongno  of  an  eratcr, 
or  eouid  wield  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer,  I  would  spend  all  my 
strangdi,  and  sum  np  all  my  argnments,  in  saying  to  the  rich 
men,  the  l^riatore,  the  judges,  the  clergy,  to  allwbo  deplore  \hs 
inorease  of  crime  and  mreery  among  the  people, — "  Oh,  good  sirs, 
do  not  be  satisfied  with  punishments ;  do  not  be  satisfied  with 
death-bed  penitence ;  but  unite  all  your  wisdom  and  all  yonr 
boktmdence,  and  ^tfrent!  prersat!  prevent  1 " 


,11  :«l  by  Google 


THE  STANDARD  OP  PKOGRESS. 

A  LEAF  FBOU  THE  KECORS   OF   A  SISCODBSlHa  SOCIETt. 

All  oilier  cmtum  ue  InpeUed  b^  the  men  ipliit  of  uitnn,  (ad  by  It  mabt- 
Xain  their  iDdividualil}-;  m  man  atone,  as  in  tba  ceatni,  iwu  tbe  MuJ,  widraot 
whieli  tbe  world  would  be  as  nature  without  the  eun.— Schillimo. 

AtutUa.  This,  I  think,  we  may  fwauoM  as  aa  incoDtrov«t^le 
fact,  that  we  are  all  agreed  aa  to  tbe  ezisteiiee  of  a  pogTMSTTe 
power  ia  humanity, — that  we  all  believe  we  should  coatribote,  to 
the  best  of  our  ability,  towards  the  development  of  Aii  power. 
Nevertheleaa,  we  differ  on  an  important  point— namely,  aa  t«  what 
pn^resa  actually  ia  ;  wanting,  ab  it  were  a  certain  nwasure, 
whereby  we  can  ascertain  the  degree  of  advancement  tirnt  may 
bore  tUisn  place. 

Loremo.  Uost  true,  0  Auelm,  and  we  wa&t  even  more  tbao 
thou  aayest.  For  not  only  do  we  want  a  standard  to  distingnish 
the  ^%ater  from  tbe  lew  degree  of  adnuicement,  bat  we  have 
need  of  one  to  diatingaub  an  advancement  or  pn^ireMHon  fi«m  « 
bai^aliding* 

Antonio.  An  important  mattw.  For  it  were  nselesi  for  tbe 
traveller  to  know  simply  that  he  was  to  proceed,  witkHd  kn«wing 
wbedier  he  were  to  go  to  the  nortb,  Boutb,  aast,  or  west. 

Lor«n«o.  Yet  sudi  ia  exactly  our  predicament.  Some  ^  us 
are  for  promoting  a  mor<U  oulMre,  conBid«iBg  jm>fioteney  in  art 
or  science,  as  a  defect  rather  than  an  addition.  Otlien  would  go 
lera  £m;,  and  sp-ead  tiie  biowledge  of  scieMie  and  ti  fttets, 
esteeming  die  o&pring  of  (be  im^p^nation  to  be  miwoithy  of  aerten 
regard.  Otb^s  again  weald  promote  on^  enkmv  in  the  site  aad 
sciences,  and  tJunk  tiiat  virtue  would  flow  &■  a  cenBeqnence.  Saib 
being  tbe  case,  it  is  clear  that  although  the  hope  of  tu  all  for  ibe 
ppograsBof  humanity  beBpeafceth  a  kindly,  and,  I  may  say,  a'Doble 
fe^uq;,  tbe  notions  as  to  what  is  {Ht)periy  to  be  called  progroas, 
vary  so  much,  that  what  seemedi  to  one  a  oaue  of  r^ioing,  ia  to 
another  food  for  lamiMtatMn.  Nor  do  I  see,  altboagh  we-^Mve 
muohdiaooursed,  ^t  any  approaek  ia  made  to  a  certain  ataBdnd, 
whereby  one  may  indicate  one's  own  poaition,  or  correet  one's 
opponent  of  a  fallacy. 


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112  THE   STANUARII   OF  PROOBEaS. 

Antelm.  Then  aa  we  are  all  equnUv  iatereeted,  and  all  labour 
not  BO  mncli  for  victory  aa  for  truth,  let  ub  endeaTour  to  release 
onnelTee  From  onr  present  difficiiltj  ;  and  in  tbe  first  place  let  us 
endcaTour  to  set  down  a  sort  of  nullity  in  progress.  By  regarding 
thia  we  may  be  able  to  judge  of  tbe  departures  from  it. 

Sut)poae  then  a  man  placed  in  a  aroall  island,  eurrounded  by  a 
narrow  water,  with  beautiful  fruits  growing  on  the  opposite  side, 
that  are  pleasant  to  his  sight,  but  beyond  bis  ability  to  attain, 
Sappctse  &at  he  has  no  means  of  shelter  against  tbe  inclemencies 
of  the  weather, — not  from  priiration,  hut  from  ignorance  ;  that  as 
■urrounding  inanimate  nature  grows  pleasant  be  grows  happier, 
and  that  when  tbe  aame  inanimate  nature  ceases  to  be  pleasant,  he 
feels  misery.  Of  a  truth  I  cannot  consider  this  other  than  a  very 
low  state  of  hnmanity. 

Ernest.  And  yet  the  man  in  this  atate  ia  free  from  much 
unbappineas,  which  belongeth  to  what  ia  ciilted  a  more  civiliaed 
condition. 

Amelm.  Very  true,  and  the  dog  that  is  placed  in  aimilar  eircum- 
atances.  is  still  more  free,  for  he  hath  a  thick  coat  to  potect  him 
from  much  misery  to  which  the  man  is  subject.  It  seemetb  to  me, 
that  in  our  whole  discuasion  we  have  aaaumed  a  distinctire  nature 
in  man  ;  and  that  if  we  remain  satisfied  with  tbe  state  which  he 
may  enjoy  in  common,  and  even  in  a  less  degree  than  other 
animals,  the  queation  should  have  been,  whether  it  is  better  to  be 
a  man  or  a  hone,  or  somothing  of  the  kind. 

Lorenzo.-  -Ay,  truly,  we  are  not  endeavouring  to  anawer  a 
'f  Voypge  of  Gijliver,"  but  we  will  assume  that  the  progress  of 
man  meaneth  that  of  man  in  his  particular  nature,  and  not  towards 
mere  hapfuneas  as  an  animal. 

Angeha.  Let  ua  agun'snppose  the  little  island  inhabited  by 
divers  persona,  whereof  one  ordereth  the  rest  to  build  huts  and  to 
lay  down  a  rude  bridge  that- they  may  cross  the  narrow  water  and 
reach  the  fruit.  Would  this  be  a  progress  from  the  other  state  ? 
and  if 'SO,  wherefore  ?       ' 

'  Ernest.  I  see,  by  our  assumption,  I  must  not  anawer  that  it  ia 
ft-progreaa  because  th^y  can  taste  the  fruita  formerly  denied  them, 
etnce  the  bird  can  attain  the  aame  end  ;  and  thou  wilt  not  admit  a 
comparison  between  creatures  of  various  kinds. 

Anietm.  Look  you  ;  tbe  answer,  methinks,  will  he  something 
in  thia  wiae.  Aasuming,  as  we  all  have  done,  that  man  is  a  pro- 
greasive  being,  and  that  he  is  not  fixed  to  the  immoveable  natural 


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THE   STATTDAHD  OF  PROOBBBB.  113 

UvB  that  detennine  the  brnte  or  the  regetable,  we  oiuBt  conclude 
that  a  mere  eubmiesioii  to  these  laws  is  leoB  coiuonant  to  his  own 
particular  essence,  than  an  aaBeition  of  his  diBtinctiveness.'  The 
man  in,  the  first  caae,  was  but  a  plaything  of  nature — no  jojs  or 
Borrows  sprang  from  hiin  self,  but  were  the  gift  of  things  themselres 
UDConeciouB  of  what  they  bestowed — of  the  tree,  the  stream,  the 
hurricane.  .  You  could  almost  have  calculated  his  condition  bj  the 
state  of  the  thermometer. 

Now  look  at  the  chief  in  the  second  caee  ;  he  does  not  fellow  in 
the  track  of  inanimate  nature.  He  has  made  a  path  of  his  own  ; 
he  stands  as  an  instance  of  the  peculiar  essence  of  man  triumph- 
ing over  external  ohetacles.  Therefore  do  we  pronounce  the 
second  state  to  be  one  of  progression  from  the  first,  because  t&fl 
peculiar  essence  of  man  is  more  manifest.  .   . 

liorenzo.  Would  it  not  be  better  if  for  this  somewhat  clumsy 
periphrasis,  "  the  peculiar  essence  "  of  man,  we  substituted  the 
current  word  "freedom  ?"forit  seemethto  me,  that  all  predicated 
of  the  one,  may  as  well  be  predicated  of  the  other. 

AnKhn.  Right,  good  Lorenzo  !  If  you  would  express  the 
peculiar  nature  of  man — of  mind,  jou  cannot  find  a  better  word 
than  "  freedom  ; ''  for  that  alone  is  tree,  which  can  shape  its  own 
course,  and  only  that  which  shapes  its  own  course,  can  overcome 
the  influence  of  surrounding  nature.  If  we  talk  of  progress  we 
necessarily  imply  freedom  ;  and  we  may  therefore  say  that  the 
more  there  is  of  freedom  the  more  there  b  of  pn^ress. 

Lorenzo.  And  now  I  see,  that  even  by  ^y  second  case,  thou 
dcsignest  to  figure  forth  but  a  small  degree  of  progress.  The 
.chief  indeed  triumphed  over  external  nature,  and  used  the  rest  as 
his  instruments.  But  they  in  their  turn  originated  nothing.  The 
chief  was  to  them,  what  nature  had  been  to  the  man  in  the 
first  case. 

Antonio.  Not  quite,  Lorenzo.  Nature  treated  the  man  as  a 
mere  senntive  being,  capable  of  physical  paiu  or  pleasure.  The 
chief,  on  the  other  hand,  must  have  made  the  people  understand 
his  orders, — the  whole  capacity  of  communication  between  man 
and  meoi  must,  it  seems  to  me,  have  been  created,  before  a  transi- 
tion from  the  first  to  the  second  state  was  possible.  In  the  very 
act  of  obedience,  methinke,  there  must  have  been  somewhat 
<f  freedom. 

Amelm.  True,  Lorenso;  and  therefore,  judging  by  the  staudard 
of  more  or  less  freedom,  the  condition  of  slavery  to  man,  however 

HO.   XIV, — TOt.   m.  I 


v.Goo'^lc 


U4  tBK  STAHDABL   OF  PROORBSS. 

abject,  is  higher  than  tliat  of  slaTerj  to  inanimBte  nsttire.  I  am 
aware  that  I  shall  displeaee  many  of  mj  rhyming  frieode,  and  be 
thought  to  mar  many  a  pleasant  sonnet ;  but  1  must  nevertheless 
aeeert  my  conTietion,  that  Burrounding  nature  often  appeareth  as 
an  enemy,  when  we  reflect  on  progress. 

Entett.  Nay,  this  is  most  nnpleasant  doctriDO.  Nature,  with 
all  her  bonnties  and  beauties,  to  be  regarded  as  a  foe  ! 

Antehn.  Be  not  alarmed.  I  mean  a  foe  only  in  that  sense  m 
which  the  marble  may  be  called  a  foe  to  the  sculptor,  when  it  resists 
to  his  fwce  and  blunts  the  edge  of  his  chisel.  Between  the  cases 
which  we  have  stated  is  another  m  which  the  miserable  mait— not 
yet  in  communication  with  others — f&ge  himself  a  rude  cave  to 
avert  the  inclemencies  of  the  weather.  Nature,  by  her  very  resist- 
ance,  hath  roused  the  freedom  of  the  man.  The  condition  of  his 
progress  was  one  of  war,  and  he  caniiot  fulfil  it  without  an  enemy. 
The  sculptor  cannot  earre  on  image  put  of  water ;  the  very  powtir 
which  reeiateth  him  is  accessary  for  the  existence  of  his  statue. 

.Antonio.  The  Platomsts  placed  their  evil  principle  in  Tnatt^, 
which  resisted,  as  it  were,  the  forming  energy.  It  seemeth  thou 
art  speaking  somewhat  after  the  some  fashion. 

Ernest.  Nay,  thou  must  not  confound  nature,  on  which  tite 
Bivine  form  is  so  plainly  imjn'essed,  with  that  inert  or  even  resist- 
isg  matter  which  defies,  or  at  any  rate  yields  not  readitf  to,  a 
forming  power. 

Anselnt,  Thou  art  right,  0  Ernest,  speaking  from  the  jiomt  of 
view  to  which  we  ourselves  have  attained  ;  for,  to  the  man  eden- 
tifically  cultivated,  the  essential  Un«  of  nature  are  revealed,  and 
he  can  appreciate  the  unity  which  is  manifested  through  the  variety. 
But  in  these  rude  stages  of  mankind,  which  we  have  been  ood- 
.udering,  no  such  revdation  hath  been  mode,  and  nature  will 
appear  either  as  a  foe  or  as  a  capricious  friend,  on  whom  reliance 
may  not  be  placed.  To  observe  nfftore  as  the  artist,  or  as  the 
scientific  man,  helongeth  to  another  portion ;  freedom  frmn  nature 
is  to  be  gained  by  the  first  contest. 

X/ormzo.  And  now  let  me  retnm  to  the  position  I  took  ere  this 
d^iresBion  on  the  relation  between  man  and  nature  arose.  I  am 
willing  to  admit  l^t  the  guidance  of  the  chief  is  a  higher  state 
than  mere  obedience  to  nature.  But  stjll,  methinks,  it  is  a  low 
state ;  for  the  other  men  have  exhibited,  as  it  were,  only  a  faculty 
of  bemg  guided,  and  have  not  de*eli^)ed  that  peculiar  essence 
of  man,  which  is  displayed  in  the  chief — I  mean  the  power  of 
b^ing  an  originating  cause. 

Coo'jlc 


DEATH  AND  THE  H&TiaiiJiS.  IIS 

Amelm.  Right,  0  most  excelleiit  Lorenzo ;  and  now  do  I  beliere 
we  have  gamed  a  point  upon  which  we  can  be  of  accord.  The 
Gsseatial  of  mankind  ia  freedom ;  and  accordinglj,  as  that  is 
developed  in  the  greater  number  of  individual  men,  the  greater  is 
the  progress.  First  cometb  fi-eedom  from  Burrounding  oature, 
then  Cometh  freedom  from  other  men  ;  but  bo  long  as  there  u  one 
man  in  whom  the  originating  power  is  not,  so  long  is  perfection 
not  attained.  It  is  to  extend  this  power,  to  multiply  its  posaeeaors, 
that  we  feel  to  be  onr  mission,  endeavonring  gradnally  to  abolish  the 
Bubaervience  of  any  human  being  to  an  jauthoritj,  lie  lawfulness  of 
which  he  doth  not  perceive  from  hia  own  coaTictioa.  There  ara 
times  in  which  passive,  irrational  obedience  is  necesaaiy  to  disci* 
pline  mankind ;  but  such  are  not  the  times  which,  according  to 
our  standard,  we  con  admit  tg  be  those  of  a  h^h  state  of  progress. 
On  some  future  occasion  we  may  apply  thia  atandard  to  particular 
questions,  and  perhaps  we  may  £nd  we  have  a  key  to  their  adu- 
tioD.  Our  great  doctrine,  I  repeat  it  again,  is  this — that  freedom 
is  the  essential  of  humanity.  As  Opidust. 


DEATH  AND  THE  HANGMAN. 


Up  at  a  cra^  old  hDuae-top, 
In  a  dreary  room,  whose  walls  wen  hung 
With  pictures  nim  of  the  gallowa  drop. 
And  the  doggiel  rhymes  by  felons  snug ; 

There  at  the  close  of  a  Sabbath  n^ht. 
The  hangman  sat  as  mute  aa  stone  ; 
There  he  sat  ia  the  mnri?  lisbt. 
He  and  his  shadow  alone — alone  I 

The  hum  of  the  streets  had  died  svsf, 
And  the  loighty  city  held  its  biskth, 
As  thoagh  it  ksew  tiutt  the  eomog  day 
Had  been. set  apart  by  maa,  for  D^th. 

The  hangman  rose,  and  paced  the  room 
(The  curse  of  <^in  is  a  weary  curse  !) 
He  paoaed  to  look  at  the  felon's  doom, 
And  he  tried  tohmn  the  felon's  Tene; 
l2 


Upl:«l  by  Google 


S  UAN   AND  BEABT — A  QTrBSTIOIT. 

At  length  to  hia  shadowy  aelf  he  spoke : 
"  Two  living  crdtturea  of  flesh  ana  bone, 
I  on  the  morrow  must  help  to  choke, 
Doing  to  them  what  to  othere  thej  Ve  done  1 
"  When  fiiBt  I  took  to  the  bangniAii's  trade, 
I  'd  man^  qualms  at  the  gallows  tree ; 
But  I  aaid, '  'TIh  i>aw,  and  those  who  made 
The  law  most  answer  for  anch  as  me.' 

"  The  makers  of  law  have  honour  and  wealth, 
But  I,  who  finish  what  they  begin, 
Can  only  creep  among  men  by  stealUi ; 
'  For  somdiow,  they  think  my  craft  a  sin. 

"  Two  on  the  morrow  must  hang  till  they  're  dead, 

And  I  mnat  hang  them,  nor  pause  nor  quail  ; 

For  where  shontd  I  loot  for  my  daily  bread. 

If  the  gallows'  guns,  alas  I  should  ^1 1 

"  We  have  nothing  to  fear  I"  sud  a  voice — (and  the  n 

Was  fill'd  with  a  £imp  and  fetid  air. 

And  the  walls  all  reek'd  like  a  long-closed  tomb, 

For  la  1  the  pbesbhce  of  Death  was  there.) 

"  We  have  nothing  to  fear !    Good  men  may  preach 

That  life  is  sacred  !— that  none  must  slay  !— 

But  we  have  the  rope  and  the  beam,  to  teach 

That  the  lu^w  CAN  kill  its  two  a-day. 

And  the  gdlows-lesson  soke  will  leash  ; 
6o  hangman  mine,  there  ii  always  hope 
That  we  must  thrive  until  all  men  spam 
Those  grisly  teachers^- the  beam  and  lope." 


UAH  ANIJ  BEAST— A  QUESTION. 

"  How  is't  good  Hodge,  that  whilst  you  feast 

Your  cattle  fat  as  marrow. 
Your  fellow-man,  hi  woree  than  beast. 

You  grind,  and  starve,  and  harrow  V 
Hod|;e  wink'd  his  eye — then  made  reply-^ 
B  treat  onf 

'Cos— 'co*-HW  ptunna  eattmp' 


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ENGLISH  aCENSS  AND  CHABACTERS. 

BT  WllXUH  HOWm. 

No.  II. — Dick  Rbdfebit,  the  Couhtbi  Wag.' 

If  every  man  who  wm  brought  up  in  a  thoroughly  eJd-F&Bfai(Hied 
country  village,  would  turn  ^ock  to  the  memory  of  his  bojiah  dajB, 
and  call  to  mind  the  peopl^  and  their  habiti  tiiat  he  finds  there, 
what  a  curious  assemblage  would  thej  be  !  Never  was  there  a 
part  of  the  nation  where  a  more  odd  set  of  fellows  lived  and 
flourished  than  in  the  very  neighbourhood  where  1  was  bom.  I 
have  ^ven  some  good  specimens  of  this  &ee  and  humorsome 
race,  both  in  the  "Bi^'s  Country  Book,"  and  the  nooks 
included  in  my  "  Rural  Life  of  England."  These  were  so 
uncommon,  that  there  were  sagacions  readers  who  winked  know- 
ingly, and  set  them  down,  in  llteir  snpenor  sagacity,  for  inven- 
tions of  my  own  ;  while  so  true  were  they,  and  so  immediately 
recognised  in  the  place  itself,  that  more  than  one  burly  sou  o£ 
queer  independence  threatened  hard  with  actions  of  libel,  bnt  felt 
die  sketches  of  himself  or  lus  fathers  so  true  that  he  grumbled, 
'  bit  bis  lips,  and  died  like  the  wolf  in  silence.  Like  many  another 
oeighbonrhood,  the  flood  of  population  and  taste  has  now  rushed 
in  there,  washed  away  many  a  gathering  heap  of  eccentricities, 
which  time  would  otherwise  have  matured  into  racy  richness,  and 
left  a  bustling,  and  yet  poor  generation,  where  all,  fifly  years  ago,  was 
still  as  Sleepy  Hollow,  except  when  the  little  knot  of  its  roystering 
eccentrics  made  the  public-house  ring  with  their  fits  of  laughter, 
and  gave  birth  to  anecdotes  which  still  live  and  circulate  amongst 
ft  less  old-fashioned  tribe.  It  is  time  to  snatch  a  few  mcei- 
shadows  from  the  retreating  past,  and  let  tiiem  live  a  little  longer 
«s  they  lived  in  t^e  days  of  our  fathers. 

Oh,  for  a  few  years  of  leisure  to  wander  about  in  the  rural 
districts  of  Old  England  ;  to  sit  on  the  bench  of  the  village  ale- 
faonse,  or  by  the  fana  or  cottogc-fire,  and  hear  the  stories  of  the 
'  'Countiy  round  circulate,  as  I  used  to  hear  them  in  my  boyhood  ! 
'  There  would  be  more  knowledge  of  English  countiy  life  and 
character  thus  brought  to  light  than  has  ever  yet  been  by  die 


118  EKSLISH  SCEKEq  AUD   CHABADIERS. 

keenest  or  most  honest  observer.  What  tales,  what  jokes,  what 
scenes  and  characters,  has  every  old  village,  that  live  only  there, 
and  die  for  ever  to  the  world  at  large !  Sunlit  side  of  the  odorous 
haycock  ;  russet  and  shady  eide  of  the  com-Bbock ;  sweet 
Bhodoir  of  the  summer  tree  where  the  labouring  rustics  and  the 
roBtic  dames  and  damaels  re&eik  themselves  from  their  field- 
labours  ;  sunny  ingle  of  farm  and  hamlet-inn  t  what  wealth  of 
wit  and  humour,  story  and  eihibition  of  life,  do  you  daily  enjoy 
and  then  let  perish,  that  would  enrich  the  written  page,  beyond 
the  jHvudest  stretch  of  imagluatifm  !  Where  was  it  but  here  that 
.  Shakspeare  picked  up  his  exhaustless  affluence  oi  sly  humour, 
qnuut  adage,  flash  of  rustic  wit,  snateh  of  meny  or  melancholy 
song,  and  rare  treasury  of  homo  knowledge  of  human  nature  ^ 
What  a  £eld  for  him  would  have  been  my  native  hamlet !  What 
a  strange  old  scene  it  must  have  been  in  my  father's  time  !  There 
was  old  Squire  Fletcher  that  lived  at  the  Hall,  and  old  Kester 
Colcloiigh  that  lived  at  Godkin  House  up  in  the  fields  ;  they  were 
the  old  gentlemen  of  the  place,  and  the  centre  of  the  village  knot 
of  merry  fellows  that  ina<^  the  King  of  Prussia,  the  chief  ale- 
house, ring  with  their  mirth.  And  how  often  was  the  mixth  at 
t^eir  expense  I  For  there  was  Dick  Redfern  the  wit,  to  turn  it 
against  them,  and  Sammy  Hand,  a  new  purchaser  in  the  pariah, 
t^  Adam  Woodward  the  baker,  and  Tom  Marshall  the  shop- 
keeper, and  Bill  Newton,  and  Jack  Shelton,  the  greatest  scape- 
grace of  the  place,  to  join  in  the  laugh. 

Old  Squire  Fleteher  was  the  very  eoul  of  good-nature,  and  old 
R^rt«r  Colclough  "  as  soft  as  a  boiled  turnip,"  to  use  the  phrase 
that  Dick  Kedfem  used  in  describing  huu.  These  two  dd 
wordiies  were  like  many  others  who  have  lived  on  their  here- 
ditary property,  without  exertion,  labour  or  care,  till  their  very 
intollect  seemed  to  have  turned  into  fat  aJid  good  fellowship,  fUl 
te  last  btrtJi  &iu)ly  and  estate  expired  of  inamtisn.  So  simple 
wM  old  Kester,  or,  as  the  village  in  its  dialect  called  him,  "  Old 
Urater  Colclongh,"  that  he  was  the  perpetual  butt  of  the  wage, 
and  when  he  heard  of  any  pranks  or  nusdiie^  he  declared  pou- 
tiwij  that  it  must  be  done  by  "  Bill  Newton,  Jack  Sheltos,  or 
Mmebody  dse !  " 

Dick  Eedfem  was  the  only  one  of  those  jdly  companions  who 
wMl«ft  in  my  time.  I  remember  him  a  thin  old  fellow,  as  crasy 
M  <Hte  modi  more  renowned  for  wit.  Dean  Swift,  was  in  his  latter 
days.    He  waa  the  hai  melancholy  rdtc  of  his  generation  ;  all  his 


EirsiISB  SCENES  AND  CHASftCTERS.  139 

eantemponries  vers  dead,  and  all  his  "  quips  aud  cranks  "  were 
dead  intlt  them.  He  would  come  light  and  thui,  sad  grej  aa  a 
ahadew,  down  to  the  Fall,  my  grandfather's  honee,  a  mile  below 
the  Tilla^,  ail  hira  down  a  moment,  talk  of  Bill  Newton,  Jack 
Shelton,  or  eomehody  else,  and  then  aay  restlejuly  be  mast  away 
to  "  the  Fail,"  where  be  actuidly  was,  and  when  he  got  to  the 
village,  say  he  must  away  "to  the  Tillage,  for  old  Squire  Fletcher 
Mtd  old  Kester  Colelon^  were  waiting  for  him  at  the  King  of 
Proflgia." 

A  more  melancholy  min  of  a  right-merry  fellow  cannot  be 
inugined.  Old  Squire  Fletcher  had  long  lain  in  his  rault  under 
the  yew-tree ;  and  BiQ  Newton  and  Ja«k  Shelton  had  vanished 
onder  tiieir  grassy  mounds  ;  and  in  the  HoU  now  lived  one  Sampson 
Hooks — for  the  people  woidd  never  honour  him  with  the  tide  of 
squire;  and  the  sons  ol  Bill  Newtwi  were  become  his  prey  and  the 
prey  of  hie  bailiff,  Joe  Ling.  But  of  these  men  anon,  when  Ve 
have  wandered  back  a  little  over  the  earlier  days  of  poor  Dick 
Bed^era. 

Diek  bad  been  a  wag  from  his  ladhood,  and  could  not  help  it. 
It  was  bred  in  him  ;  and,  as  he  nsed  to  say  himself, ' '  what  is^^bred  in 
fhebone  will  never  be  out  of  tlie  fiesh."  He  had  a  bead,  and  it  had 
its  bumps,  that  were  sure  to  bring  him  as  many  knocks — though 
there  were  no  phrenologists  bom  th^i  to  tell  him  the  reason  of  it. 
He  could  no  more  help  being  a  wag,  than  Sam  Foote  could.  He 
once  theught  he  would  be  a  farm^ ;  but  while  he  was  learning  the 
rudiments  of  that  profession,  his  humour  put  his  mistress  out  of 
hnmem-  witJi  him,  and  he  waa  ordered  to  carry  his  "  frumps  and 
his  impudence  away  with  him." 

His  offence  was  merely  what  the  German  wag,  Eulenspegel, 
used  to  affront  so  many  people  with,  showing  them  the  truth,  not 
in  a  symbol,  but  in  a  matter  of  fact.  His  mistress  kept  cows  and 
sdd  milk  ;  and  one  day  she  said  to  Dick,  "Dick,  give  the  cowa 
eaae  tnmips,  and  give  the  best  cow  twice  as  many  aa  the  rest," 

Bick  very  soberly  served  all  the  cows  with  about  a  peek  a  poeca, 
Mtd  then  reved  ^nt  two  peeks  roand  the  pump  in  the  yatd. 
-There  needed  so  explanation  of  this  odd  act.  The  conscience  o£ 
Hie  good  woman  flariied  in  her  face  ;  she  cuneout  like  aheroi&B,; 
flnng  a  broom  at  the  head  that  started  such  a  mbcluevoua  ideas 
idii^  would  have  made  it  nng  inwardly  if  it  had  not  had  a  moat 
admirable  capacity  of  docking,  and  bode  him  come  for  his  wages 
vlten  he-  wanted  them.    Dick  flew  out  of  tiw  yard  faater  than.'  the 


ISO  XltaLtSH  SOXNBa   AVD   OHABAOTKBS.' 

dame  hod  floirn  ont  of  the  house,  and  nerer  cune  ^Mm  fer  hia 
wages  ;  but  whenever  the  good  woman  appoared  in  the  village,  he 
was  Hure  to  appear  on  the  wall  of  the  churchyard,  it«elf  lying 
level  with  the  inBide  of  the  wall  and  high  above  the  street,  and  as 
she  went  poat,  call  out,  amid  the  laughter  of  his  fellow-boys  and 
of  the  village,  "  Good  Mother  Watery,  how  goes  it  with  the  ires' 
tailed  cow^  " 

It  was  not  many  weeks  before  Dick's  wages  were  paid  to  bi» 
mother,  with  an  offer  to  apprentice  him  to  a  plumber  and  glazier 
twenty  miles  off.  The  offer  was  accepted,  and  Dick  disappeared 
for  a  season.  The  biography  of  his  apprenticeship  is  unknown. 
He  came  from  time  to  time  for  a  few  days'  holiday  to  his  native 
village,  and  every  time  turned  the  old  place  upside  down  with  his 
toicks,  his  jokes,  his  fun  and  his  cleverness.  He  could  play  on  the 
fiddle  to  a  miracle  ;  and  as  soon  as  his  time  was  out,  he  sekup  as 
plumber  and  glazier,  fiddler  and  wag  of  the  whole  neighbourhood. 
So  long  as  the  village  church  stands,  so  long  will  Dick  Redfernbe 
talked  of :  how  hi  was  the  soul  of  all  parties  where  he  came ; 
how  he  made  the  parlour  at  the  King  of  Prussia  the  merriest 
pUoe  in  England  ;  how  old  Squire  Fletcher  used  to  laugh  till  he 
cried,  and  fall  off  hia  chair  at  Dick's  nonsense ;  and  how  old 
Eeater  Colclough  declared  that  neither  Bill  Newton,  Jack  Shelton, 
nor  anybody  else  could  come  up  to  him  ;  how  he  used  to  propagate 
the  most  extraordinary  stories  by  appearing  to  read  them  out  of  the 
newspaper,  of  which  he  Was  always  die  reader  in  the  parlour  at  the 
Kingof  Prussia ;  how  these  stories  were  told  the  whole  country  round, 
and  declared  to  be  in  the  newspapers  ;  but  when  people  looked  for 
them  they  were  not  to  be  found  ;  on  which,  Dick,  when  appealed 
to,  would  say,  "  Did  I  read  that  ?  If  I  did,  I  have  forgotten  it- 
Nay,  lad,  I  rayther  think  thou  must  ha'  dreamed  it !"  How  Dick 
went  round  the  country  with  Bill  Newton  and  Jack  Shelton  as 
itinerant  showmen,  as  Dick  said,  to  show  his  comrades  what  fools 
there  were  in  the  country  ;  how  they  gave  out  that  they  had  a 
most  outlandish  animal  to  exhibit,  and  always  hired  a  bam  for  the 
purpose  ;  how  they  hung  up  a  sheet  across,  and  Dick  entertained 
the  people  with  a  long  and  wonderful  story  of  the  wonderful  pro- 
perties of  this  animal,  while  Bill  Newton  took  the  sixpences  at 
the  door,  and  Jack  Shelton  made  uncouth  noises  behind  the  sheet, 
which  filled  the  people  with  the  strongest  expectation,  till,  the 
house  being  filled,  Dick  and  Jack  withdrew  behind  the  sheet, 
and  all  three  stole  silently  out  of  the  odier  door  and  ovot  the  hills 


KNOUBH  BO£KES   AHD    DHABAOTEEB.  121 

aa  fast  u  they  could,  Ungliiiig  kU  the  time  at  the  concourse  of 
aimpletoDB  in  Uie  bam,  who  sate  sad  sate  until  some  one  al  length', 
lifting  a  corner  of  the  sheet,  aatonished  the  whole  assembly  bjr  the 
disoorery  of  nothing ! 

This  campugn  made  the  King  of  Prosua  uproarious  with 
Unghter  and  applause  for  a  whole  winter  ;  but  old  Squire  Fletcher 
aaserUng  that  this  might  pass  with  the  country  hawbucks,  but 
would  not  do  witli  the  sharp  chaps  of  the  towns,  and  old  Meater 
Colclough  saying,  "  No,  no,  neither  Bill  Newton  nor  Jack  Shelton, 
nor  nobody  else,  could  pass  off  their  jokes  on  the  townsmen,"  the 
three  set  off  again.  There  was  soon  seen  at  fairs  and  statutes  far 
and  wide,  a  booth  with  a  large  placard  on  the  front : — "  Here  all 
good  people  are  taught,  in  two  minutes,  and  at  the  small  charge 
of  one  shilling,  how  to  carre  without  cutting  themselTea." 

There  was  soon  seen  an  eager  crowd  assembled  before  tiiis 
booth.  Everybody  was  asking  those  who  came  out  whether  it 
were  wortS  seeing,  and  everybody,  with  a  knowing  shake  of  tiie 
head,  said,  "  Ob,  very,  very  !     See  it  by  all  means  !  " 

So  in  went  everybody,  and  there  they  saw  a  mau— -it  was  Dick 
— standing  with  a  huge  round  of  beef  before  him,  cutting  with  the 
edge  of  the  knife  turned  from  bim,  the  most  delicate  slices,  and 
exclaiming  the  while,  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  alivays  cut  in  this 
direction,  and  you  will  never  cut  yourselves  !  " 

"Is  that  all?"  ezcltumed  everybody;  and  Dick,  grave  as  a 
judge,  always  replied,  "Yes,  all,  and  sufScient ;  always  cut  iu 
this  direction,  and  it  is  impossible  you  can  cut  yourselves." 

The  people  vexed  at  their  folly,  but  ashamed  to  confess  it,  with- 
-drew,  and  as  they  passed  oat,  crowds  of  eager  waiters  demanded 
"  Is  it  worth  seeing  ?  "  To  which  many  replied,  "  Oh,  certainly  ! 
See  it  by  all  means  I  " 

Thus  went  Dick  and  his  comrades  safe  and  sound  all  round  the 
country,  and  returned  to  their  village  in  some  months,  with  thdr 
bags  loaded  with  the  money  of  the  ninny-bammers  of  the  towns, 
uid  to  the  no  small  amasement  of  old  Squire  Fletcher  and  old 
JHestoF  Colclough. 

From  that  day  they  reigned  &e  oracles  of  the  King  of  Prussia, 
aai  not  a  trick  could  be  ^yed  but  old  Ecster  declared  it  to  be 
the  work  either  of  "  Bill  Newton,  Jack  Shelton,  or  somebody  else." 

If  Dick  made  tliem  merry  at  the  King  of  Prussia,  he  made  tbem 
just  as  menj  in  every  other  house.  He  was  a  free  guest  in  every 
<cottage  and  farm  all  round.     Wherever  he  came,  there  came  with 


122  XKBLOa  SSIXER  ASB   CBUCiXntaO, 

him  frolte  aad.  wonder.  The  childran  shouted  and  clapped-  thar 
hssdg,  for  he  plAjed  them  aii  sorts  of  gwd-htimoured  tricks,  tuiel 
TOiDp«}  with  tbem  like  a  ^-eat  lad.  The  gtrb  all  uniled  ad 
bluahed  as  he  came  near,  for  he  was  sure'  to  have  some  faaaf 
Quag  to  say  to  them  of  their  sw«etfaearts  ;  and  ail  the  eoimtry 
fellows  stood  with  their  mDutha  wide  opea  when  he  spoke,  for  they 
ra^eoted  that  something  wonderful  would  drop  eat  of  his. 

But  he  SA  not  draw  more  funilea  out  of  their  faces  than  he  did 
capers  out  of  their  legs  ;  for  he  was  the  only  fiddler  at  wake  or 
WhitBHitide  that  diey  would  have.  Nay,  lus  fiddle,  they  said^ 
spoke  and  made  them-  leap  about  like  peaa  in  a  fiying-'pan. 

■  My  father,  once  coming  out  of  Derby  on  a  market-day,  saw  a 
great  crowd  assembled  on  Cheeter-grecn,  and  heard  from  it  at  the 
same  time  the  merry  muac  of  a  fiddle,  and  the  most  boisterous 
laughter.  As  he  came  nearer,  lie  thought,  why,  that  can  be  no 
other  fiddle  than  Dick  Redfern's  ;  and  so  he  rode  quietly  up,  and 
peeped  orer  the  heads  of  the  crowd  into  the  interior  o^the  circle. 
Sure  enough,  there  stood  Dick  Bedfem  fiddling  away  with  all  his 
might,  and  with  a  grsTity  solid  as  that  of  the  stone-post  against 
whiehhe  loaned,  whilst  who  should  there  be  leaping  and  skippisg 
about  to  the  sound  of  the  fiddle,  but  a  lanky  old  gardener  of  the 
Tillage,  Jonathan  Moore.  Dick's  fiddle  did  indeed  seem  te  speak, 
and  Jonathan  obeyed  ^1  its  injunctions  to  the  letter,  amid  the 
continuous  laughter  of  the  bystanders.  The  fiddle  said,  as  plainly 
as  could  be,  "  Lie  thee  down,  Jonathan  !  roll  over,  Jonalhaa ! 
up  again,  JonatiianJ  wlurl  thee  round,  Jonathan!  spin  away, 
B^n  away,  spin  away,  Jonathan  !  " 

Every  note  of  the  fiddle  told  on  Jonathan  just  as  the  string- 
twitches  on  the  paper  harlequin.  Now  he  WUS  prostrate  on  the 
green  ;  now  rolling  over ;  now  springing  up,  ud  now  wUiliug 
rOBnd  and  round  like  a  mad  Derrise  at  his  devotions.  My  bther 
rode  quietly  off  again  without  being  perceiTed  by  Jonathan,  thmgh 
the  twinkle  of  Dick  Redfern's  eyes  gave  ^go  that  he  was  w«ll 
enough  perceived  by  him. 

A  few  days  after  this  Jonathan  was  naiUng  np  some  trees  fbr 
my  father,  for  whom  he  almoat  daily  worked,  when,  after  standing 
and  looking  at  him  some  time,  he  sud,  "  Well  done,  Jonathan ! 
B^a  away,  Jena^haa  J" 

Jonathan  started  ;  stood  a  memsit,  first  turning  red,  uid  then 
white,  and  than  esdaimed,  "  By  Quy,  Uester,  and  so  yn  seed 
me  t(rth«r  day  with  Dick,  on  Chester  Qreen  ?    By4ediy,  but  tfast 


BHaUSH  BOBNBa  AHO  OSilUCTllBS.  1£3 

feUow's  fiddle  has  witchcraft  in  !t.  liiftd  had  a,  Bup  of  ala 
at  th'  Fox  aad  Owl,  and  just  as  I  came  otbt  the  @i;een,  up  comes 
Diek  bebisd  me,  stnuk  up  with  hie  fiddle  ;  1  gftve  a  le«|i  hi^  aa 
hi^  83  myself,  and  began  oapn^g  aw^  spite  of  aiyBelf.  If  I 
must  h&ve  died  for  it  the  next  mom^it,  I  could  not  have  helped 
mysdf.  The  fiddle  acreeched,  my  limbs  went — and  'od  rot  it, 
theugh  ! — bat  I  'd  myther  ha'  gen  onytJiing  th«o  yo  should  hft' 
seen  me  sich  on  old  fool !" 

Dick  had  oftes  buBiness  at  Eastwoftd,  about  two  miles  from  Ida 
own  village,  and  aB  often  made  the  gneata  merry  by  his  fan  at  the 
Sun  there.  In  Eastwood  lired  ut  old  herbalist,  one  Amos  Wire  ; 
one  of  tbose  aimi^,  credulous  old  men  of  the  last,  and  eren  of  the 
present  generation,  in  oonntry  places,  who  still  believe  all  that 
Culpepper  says.  He  accordingly  gathered  hia  plants  in  particular 
pha^  of  the  moon,  and  under  the  particular  planets  that  Cul- 
pepper directs,  and  doctored  a  host  of  people  as,  simple  as  himself. 
Dick  fiedfem  was  very  fond  of  sitting  an  hour  with  old  Amos,  to 
hear  him  talk  of  "  yarba  and  trinea,  tangenta  and  culminationa," 
or  to  wander  ,wi^  him  into  woods  and  meadows  aa  he  gathered  his 
medicinal  planta,  and  converse  with  a  well-assuraed  gravity  on  all 
Ilia  subjects  of  faith  aud  fancy.  It  was  rich  food  for  the  parlour 
of  the  King  of  Prusua ;  and  so  weU  did  he  play  his  part,  that 
Amos  took  the  strangest  fancy  to  him,  and  Dick  declared  that  he 
believed  that  if  he  were,  in  ^e  name  of  the  Lord,  to  command  old 
Amos  to  do  the  rashest  deed,  he  would  verily  do  it,  such  was  hia 
child-like  credulity. 

This  gave  a  hint  to  Kll  Newton  and  Jade  Shelton,  who  thought 
that  they  conld  strike  ont  of  it  a  benefit  fijr. their  friend.  AccOTd- 
ingly,  they  appeared  under  the  window  <^  Amos's  porlonr,  where 
hft  aLoft  in  his  low  cottage  of  one  story,  before  it  grew  light  one 
nmning,  and  one  of  them,  said,  in  a  aolemn  tone,  "Ames! 
Amos !  '  On  which  poor  Amos,  who  was  ^^tbably  lying  awake 
thinking  of  his  plants  aod  plaaata,  immediaJiely  made  answer,  in 
a  voice  of  the  deepest  revereace,  "  Speak,  Lord,  for  thy  aarrant 
hoareth!"  To  which  the  rogues  without  rejoined,  "Amos! 
Amos  I  I  commuid  thaa-  ta  arise  and  break  all  the  church 
windowa  1" 

To  which  Amoa  at  onee  relied,  ' '  Lord !  thy  BarT«nt  will  obej 
thee!" 

On  this,  the  twO'  rogaea  haatened  away  to  watdi  in  the  churshr 
y«ed  foi  the  approach  ef  the  old.  bmo.      As  he-  did  not  anive, 

Coiwlc 


124  BSSUBH   BCEHIS  AIQ   OHABACTSOS. 

bowerer,  so  soon  aa  they  expected,  and  aa  the  dawu  rapiiU;  ad- 
Tknced,  they  fell  t«  and  demolisfaed  the  windows  themselves,  &nd 
hastened  awaj,  knowing  that  Dick  Redfem  would  have  to  glaze 
them,  and  thinldng  that  it  would  be  a  capital  job  for  him.  Ajuob, 
who,  though  old  and  sloir>  was  as  zealous  as  he  was  credulous,  Hoon 
after  appeared  on  the  Bcene,  armed  with  a  long  leaping-pole  which 
he  had  used  in  nimbler  dayp,  to  enable  him  to  spring  across  stream! 
and  bogs,  on  his  herbalist  rambles.  No  sooner,  howerer,  did  he 
tee  that  the  windows  were  all  broken,  than,  with  a  look  of  asto- 
nlshmebt  and  self-reproach,  he  made  his  retreat. 

Scarcely  was  daylight  established,  when  the  strange  discovery 
of  the  demolition  of  the  windows  was  made,  and  flew  all  over  the 
parish.  Many  were  the  conjectures  who  the  sacrilegious  depre- 
dators could  be,  and  some  one  soon  said  that  he  had  seen  old  Amoa 
Wire  coming  in  haste,  at  daybreak,  out  of  the  churchyard,  armed 
with  his  rantipole.  This  was  enough  :  Amos  was  speedily  sum- 
moned' to  the  presence  of  the  Squire,  who  was  the  magistrate. 
Accused  of  the  fact,  Amos  did  not  attempt  to  deny  it ;  on  the 
contrary,  he  frankly  declared  that  he  had  been  called  npon  by  the 
voice  of  the  Lord  to  go  and  do  that  deed,  and  went  on  purpose  ; 
but,  to  his  astonishment,  had  found  that  he  had  not  heeii  actire 
enough  in  his  zeal,  and  that,  to  his  tmapieakable  mortification, 
some  more  faithful  servant  had  been  employed  to  execute  it. 

Soch  was  the  well-known  truth  and  simplicity  of  Amos,  that 
both  magistrate  and  clergyman  saw  at  once  that  the  thing  was  the 
work  of  some  designing  scoundrels  who  meant  to  have  made  a  tool 
of  him,  but  had,  probably,  as  was  the  fact,  found  him  too  tardy  in 
his  motions.  Ho  was  therefore  dismissed,  and  a  messenger  was 
sent  off  for  the  glazier,  our  Dick,  But  the  two  perpetrators  were 
before  him,  had  related  what  they  bad  done,  and  what  a  famous  job 
it  wonld'he  for  him.  To  their  great  amazement,  however,  instead 
of  signs  of  correspondent  joy  in  Dick's  face,  they  saw  him  stand  as 
if  he  were  shot,  and  with  a  face  white  as  a  ghost,  be  ezolaimed, 

"  'Od  rot  it,  lads  S  Tou  've  done  for  me  1  /  gkue  ti«  whole 
church  hy  the  year .'" 

This  was  a  blow  too  much.  It  spoiled  for  awhile  all  his  mirth. 
It  cost  him  the  whole  of  his  spare  capital  to  repair  the  disastroas 
labour  of  hia  friends,  who,  thunderstruck  at  the  announcement  of 
a  fact  of  which  they  had  never  dreamed,  slunk  away  and  dared  not 
for  many  a  day  to  show  th^  faces  at  the  King  of  Prussia. 

Dick  faithftilly  repaired  all  the  windows  with  glass  of  the  best 

U.g,l:«lbvGOOglc 


UEllOKAHDA   OP  KATCIim.  126 

quality,  never  asking  a  consideratioa  of  tLe  puiBh  fof  so  nnl(xiked 
for  an  accident ;  and  as  for  Bill  Nen'tou  and  Jack  Shelton,  thej 
vere  as  poor  as  ehurcli-miee  themselrea,  and  could  not  help  him 
to  repair  their  fault  by  helping  him  to  r^ir  the  winders.  From 
tiiat  time  the  glory  of  the  King  of  Prussia  departed.  Old  Eester 
CtJclongh,  when  he  heard  of  the  transaction,  was  nearer  the  mark 
than  he  perhaps  had  ever  been  before,  for  he  protested  that  it 
"was  cert^nly  Bill  Newton,  Jack  Shelton,  or  somebody  else." 

Old  Sqnire  Fletcher  died  soon  after.  Meater  Colclough  became 
too  infirm  to  get  to  the  Tillage,  and  in  a  few  years  died  also.  Bill 
Newton  was  overtaken  by  troubles  which  curbed  his  spirit,  and 
Jack  Shelton  went  off  nobody  knew  whither.  Yet  for  mtny  s 
jear  afterwards  did  poor  Dick  Redfem  wander  about  the  old 
neighbowhood,  a  thin,  grey,  and  crazy  fellow,  such  m  I  iftTe 
described  him,  everybody  eaying,  "  See  what  the  sharpest  vita 
may  come  to!" 

When  he  was  dead,  little  property  was  found,  or  debts  in  his 
books  due  to  htm  ;  there  were,  however,  these  ungular  entries  : — 

Joe  CUj,  Dr.  £  t.    d. 

To  pntdng  out  my  eye  with  a  stick,  it  the  King'of  Pnuaia  •  .    0  10    6 

San  Argill,  Dr. 

To  breaking  me  two  flddlesticks .110 

Thus  he  valued  his  eyes  at  exactly  two  fiddlesticks. 


MEMORANDA  OF  MATUBIN. 

Stefhek's  Ghben,  Dublin,  is  perhaps  the  finest  square  in 
Eurttpe  ;  theveryirregularity  of  its  edifices,  adding  to  the  beauty  of 
its  appearance.  At  its  north  side,  and  flanked  by  that  very  hand- 
some structure,  the  Surgeon's-hall,  is  York-Btreet ;  whero  the 
subject  of  diis  brief  sketch  resided  for  the  greater  part  of  his  life  ; 
and  where  "Bertram,"  "Woman, "and  "  Melmoth  the  Wanderer," 
were  written  :  it  is  a  dull  gloomy  street,  of  spacious  and  respectable 
buildings,  occupied  altogether,  at  the  present  time,  by  professional 
men,  sni^^ns  and  attorneys,  and  situate  in  the  parish  of 
St.  Peter,  of  which  Maturin  for  many  years,  and  to  the  close  of 
his  ezistoice,  was  the  popular  and  respected  minister. 

v.Goo'^lc 


m  MSHOilAHDA   OT  MATIJKai. 

It  IB  BOW  long  WO,  rinee  a  gib  in  edSege,  fvnier  of  rambling  on 
tlie  monntains  of  WieldoT  than  of  confined  rooma  and  aoademic 
halls — fonder  of  poetiy  dwn  of  Bnetid — 1  aacideatallj  bcomn 
ocqnunted  Trith  Mr.  Hatarin,  an  aeqawntanee  that  eventaa% 
ripened  into  intimacy.  He  was  fend  vf  the  iocietj  of  joaag 
peraona:  of  a  elwn^  £apo«tion  himself,  he  delighted  to  reci- 
procate it  with  olhen  ;  and  I  have  seen  him  [dajing  on  a  gTMS-plat 
with .  a  troo^  of  AiMren,  hims^  as  gaj  as  any  of  tb^,  when, 
being  bald,  they  were  ^ways  euro  to  make  an  attack  vpaa  hia 
wig,  while  he  cbaKed  the  RuceosBful  dcfvedators  through  the  alieya 
of  the  garden,  laughing  heortitj  at  the  kidtcrous  i^igfat  to  which 
their  roguery  had  redoeed  him.  I  was  a  member  at  that  time  at 
an  amateur  company  of  «ctor8,  who  gloried  in  the  high-acnnding 
appellation,  "Roaoane."  We  bad  engaged  a  very  pretty  httie 
theatre,  fitted  np  by  a  Bian  named  Luiin,  an  anottoneer,  at 
the  rear  of  bis  sale-rooms  In  Qrafton-street.  Larkin  had,  I  briiere, 
been  himeetf  a  member  in  his  early  days  of  a  pronticial  coDqwny, 
and  hence  the  nuunfestation  of  a  paedon,  tliat  even  wraidly 
pmdence  coold  not  altogether  restrain.  The  memory,  and  the 
feeling  of  the  memory  of  tbeeo  days,  w^  nerer  leare  me,  when, 
proud  of  my  red  ribbon  of  membership,  and  my  wand  of  office  as 
steward — for  I  was  too  bashful  for  tiie  bowrde — I  paraded  the  room 
(we  had  no  envious  distinctions  of  our  company)  or  stood  to  talk 
guly  with  my  friends,  especiaHy  with  one,  and  thought  myself  the 
happiest  and  the  highest  of  human  kind. 

1  believe  there  are  few  young  men  ftwd  of  nature  and  poetry, 
who  have  not  at  some  time  eipresBed  their  feeling  in  verse  ;  and,  it 
being  known  that  I  was  addicted  to  rhyming,  I  was  requested  by  my 
amateur  companions  to  furnish  them  with  an  epilogue,  to  be  spoken 
on  a  partici^ar  occasion.  One  of  the  members  of  our  society 
bad  Bomo  knowledge  of  Hr.  Matnrin,  and  had  presented  him  with 
tickets,  thinking  very  justly  that  the  presence  of  the  only  antiiMr 
in  our  dty  {Shiel  and  Lady  Morgan  no  longer  dwelt  there) ,  and  that 
individual  the  author  of  "  Bertram,"  would  confer  on  honour  on  m, 
and  odd  a  stimulus  to  our  juvenile  ezertioDs.  The  verses  of  my 
epilogue,  at  that  early  p«iod  c^  my  lifie,  were,  I  have  no  donbt,  suffi- 
dently  pretensional  andpnerile  ; — they  have  altogether  evspei&t«d 
from  my  remembrance,  but  th^  had  the  good  fortuse  at  the  time 
to  please,  and  procure  me  an  introduction  to  Mr.  Matmin,  tad 
from  that  period  till  his  dea&  I  enjoyed  a  good  deal  of  hia  ««Brer^ 
sation  and  society. 

U.g,l:«l  by  Google 


tanonuio^  OF  lUTiitnr.  lil 

At  the  «ti4  <4  &6  |4i^,  u  I  lingered  beside  lion  attrMted  bj 
his  name  and  his  remaibB  on  our  periDrmanee,  be  isTited  me  to 
aeecmpaay  himhMiie;  and  having  dona  m,  to  partake  of  kiaatrnpla 
Mipper,  whi(^  I  remember  well  conaiated  of  poached  eggs  ukd 
spinach :  h  I  &!»o  remember  the  nenotuneaa  that  teized  hm 
at  being  eaUed  on  to  suatain  ft  conTenation  with  bb  author  of  bia 
pORtion  and  eelebritj  in  the  litenuy  world  ;  the  author  of  one  of  onr 
few  BuoeeHftd  tragedies ;  the  friend  of  Scott  and  Byron ;  and  from 
whom  better  things  migbt  have  been  expected  if  be  had  not  beeD 
IHieniatmvl;  carried  off  at  an  early  age. 

The  imnde  of  the  boose  was  gloomy  aad  melnncbdj'  in  tbo 
extovme :  jnstthehonBefartberomaiiciatii^opeiined  "Melmoth." 
The  dull  kitchen  candle  of  the  aemnt  tlnvw  but  a  faint  light ; 
and  mj  feet  »track  with  a  lonely  Homd  oa  the  aaked  flags  of  the 
hail,  which  wa«  barely  fnmiahed  with  two  citaira  saimoanted  by 
his  crest,  a  gallojnng  horse  ;  the  stairs  were  without  carpets.  On 
entering  ■&e  drawing^oom,  it  almost  appeared  to  be  vafdniahed. 
A  simple  drugget  partly  covered  the  floor,  and  a  small  table  atood 
in  Ihe  centre  :  bnt  the  entire  «nd  neareat  the  door  was  oeenpied 
by  a  diran  covered  with  scarlet,  wbidi  appeared  strangely  out  of 
diaracter  with  the  general  meagreneH  rf  the  ^artment ;  beside 
the  fidding-doors  was  a  sipiare  piano  ;  at  the  fire  wsb  jAoced  an 
old  aim  chair,  in  which  1  aftertrards  saw  him  eit  it^  mmy  a 
wearyhoor,  till^bree  or  four-o'clock  in  the  morning,  while  writing 
the"  Albigensee;"  and  on  a  small  work-table  bMween  the  windows 
lay  a  rery  ancient  writing-desk.  Sntdi  was  my  first  gSmpee  of 
the  aathor's  domicile,  which  had  once  been  a  witoess  of  very 


When  Sir  Waher  Scott  had  fwwBrded  Matnrin's  tragedy  of 
"Bertram  "to  Lord  Byroo,  at  that  time  amemher  of  the  committee 
oi  Dmry-lane,  bta  lordship,  stniek  with  its  merits,  hod  it  imme- 
diately prepared  for  repvasentotlon :  its  soecess  wm  sodden  Mid 
immense.  At  tkat  pwtod,  ohhongh  known  as  an  author,  from 
the  time  ofpabliehinghis  "  Montorio,"  while  yet  almost  a  yoi^,  he 
WBB  but  a  poor  and  struggling  curate,  wilii  a  yoiing  and  increasing 
&mily,  possessed  of  estreaaely  potished  tastes,  and  el^ant  habits, 
wlsch  caanot  be  indidged  in  without  ezpense ;  and  semng  thoa 
Tmexpeetcdly  and  lately  an  opening  both  for  fame  and  profit,  be 
had  for  a  time  fo^otten  the  dictates  of  prudence,  and  almost  the 
neoesaary  restrictions  of  his  profession,  in  the  gratifieaitiMi  of  his 
passion  for  the  refined  and  splendid,  and  abandoned  himsEU  to  a 
dream  «f  nooeM,  diat  vma  never  entirely  reoliied. 


v.Goo'^lc 


Xta  HEIOBANBA   OF   UATUBHT. 

On  his  arriral  in  London,  he  was  toij  moch  flattoied  uid 
careased  hj  some  peraouB  of  rank  on  ihe  committee  of  the  theatre  ; 
and  being  invited  to  their  houaes,  Ke  was  captivated  b;  the  agr£- 
m^m  of  their  society — the  aplendour  and  elegance  that  surrounded 
t^emj  and  his  corresponding  taste  made  him  imagine  that  he 
could  transfer  something  of  this  on  hie  return  to  his  own  residence, 
and  that  he  could  be  the  cause  and  centre  of  pursuits  and  pleasures 
similar  to  those  that  had  attracted  him.  With  the  literary  m^i  of 
the  metropolis  at  that  time  he  does  not  seem  to  have  been  eo  well 
iJeased  ;  he  met  sereral  of.  them  at  the  table  of  Mr.  Colbum,  who 
D&d  previously  published  for  him,  and  expecting  naturally  enoi^, 
as  a  stranger,  a  rich  treat  from  th^r  conversation,  he  confessed 
himself  considerably  disapptunted. 

'  Having  derived  considerable  emolument  from  the  Author's  Ni^^t 
and  copyright  of  "Bertram,  "and  deeming  now  that  a  source  of  ud- 
biling  independence  was  opened  to  him,  he  proceeded  to  fumisb 
the  house  that  I  then  saw  so  despoiled,  in  a  s^le  of  extravagant 
elegance  and  expense,  and  to  give  entertunments  to  all  that  Bor- 
Gounded  his  fame  with  their  flatteries.  The  walls  of  the  purlours 
vere.donein  panels,  with  scenes  from  his  novels,  painted  by  an  artMt 
of  some  eminence  ;  the  richest  carpets,  ottomans,  lustres,  and  marUe 
tables  ornamented  the  withdrawing  rooms ;  tlie  mostbeautifiil  papers 
covered  the  walls,  and  the  ceilings  were  painted  to  represent  clouds, 
with  eagles  in  the  centre,  from  whose  daws  depended  brilliant 
lustres.  When  I  knew  him  first  all  this  had  disappeared  :  hia  sub- 
sequent tragedies  had  been  unsuccessfid  ;  he  became  embarsMed  ; 
and  he  was  obliged  to  write  laboriously  for  bread.  Perhaps  ^e 
peculiar  nature  of  his  literary  productions  prevented  his  adnnee- 
ment  in  his  profession,  though  certainly  no  curate  in  the  diocese 
performed  its  duties  more  zealously  and  Irreproachably  ;  but  tra> 
gedies  and  romances  are  not  esteemed  by  the  public  the  beat 
preparation  for  a  bishopric,  although  it  is  to  a  bishop  that  we 
owe  the  first  romance.  Home  was  excluded  the  communion  <f 
the  Scotch  churoh  for  his  "  Doiiglas,"  and  Mr.  Maturin  himself  feh 
it  to  be  a  matter  of  apology  and  explanation  in  a  preface  to  'one 
of  his  later  publications.  There  was  an  idle  story  afloat,  that  an 
official  from  the  Castle  had  been  directed  to  call  one  evening  with 
an  offer  of  its  patronage,  but  that  finding  him  emptt^ed  with  some 
adult  college  pupils  in  acting  that  very  tragedy  of  "Dougfes,"  he  had 
returned,  told  the  circumstance,  and  the  idea  was  abandoned. 
^  The  family  of  Mr.  Maturin  was  respectable  and  of  French  origin. 
The  family  tale  was,  that  a  lady  of  the  French  court  having  been 


HBUOBANDA  Of  HATtTBIN.  '     ISO 

-Bta]^ed  in  h«r  orriage  b j  a  basket  hud  in  the  sireff;  Then  it 
was  taken  up,  a  male  child  was  diBcoTered  in  it,  richly  dressed  in 
the  most  expenaive  lace  ;  this  child  she  adopted  and  Aducated, 
having  named  him  Mathurine  or  Matiiriu,  from  the  street,  Rnede 
Uathurioe,  in  which  be  was  found  ;  he  eventually  became  a  Hu- 
gonot,  and  emigrated.  Of  the  early  days  of  Maturin  I  can  eay 
but  little  !  but  on  knowing  subsequently  some  other  members  of  his 
fomily,  I  have  been  told  that  from  his  childhood  he  was  always 
remarkable  for  his  love  of  poetry  and  the  stage  (  that  he  used  to 
sketch  short  dramas,  and  get  bis  brothers  and  sisters  to  repreient 
them,  and  that  he  was  particularly  skilled  and  attentive  in  their 
costume  and  accessories  ;  no  similar  abiUties,  however,  were  shown 
by  his  brothers,  whose  lots  in  life  were  very  different ;  but  his  sis- 
ters in  general,  who  idolised  him,  possessed  a  good  deal  of  his 
peculiar  tastes,  and  shared  with  him  sometbtng  of  his  talent.  It 
is  certain  that  he  himself  was  a  most  excellent  actor  ; — his  vtnce, 
his  declamation,  his  figure,  were  all  superior,  and  the  represen- 
tation of  the  chief  scenes  of  some  standard  play  was  the  constant 
and  rational  amusement  that  be  provided  for  tiie  young  men  of  rank 
Mid  ^tnne  that  were,  during  their  collegiate  course,  while  he  yet 
kept  pupils,  committed  to  his  care. 

He  was  very  early  in  life  entered  of  the  University,  and  was  a 
member  of  the  famous  Historical  Society,  the  chief  school  for  old 
Irish  oratory  and  public  men,  put  down  by  the  jealousy  of  govern- 
ment in  troubled  times,  and  thbugh  many  eiertions  have  been 
mode  for  the  purpose,  never  since  restored.  He  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  a  successful  candidate  for  scientific  distinction,  but  he  was 
a  very  elegant  classical  scholar,  and  he  was  elected  one  of  the  scholars 
of  the  University,  which  is  generally  considered  a  strict  test  of  classi- 
cal ability  ;  but  he  was  not  the  deep  student  of  derivations  and 
editions,  nor  the  pedant  of  Qreek  metres, — he  felt  the  moro  refined 
beauties  of  the  old  authors,  as  standards  of  universal  thought  and 
'.eipres^on  ;  skimmed  the  surface  of  their  brightness,  and  made 
tiiem  subservient  oftentimes  in  conversation  to  extremely  apt  and 
Micitous  quotation  ;  he  was  also  extensively  read  in  old  French 
history  and  literature,  and  bad  amassed  a  fund  of  strange  and 
heterogeneous  information.  His  Universitjacquaintance  was  chiefly 
of  a  literary  cast  similar  to  his  own,  and  his  special  fiiend  and  chum 
was  Croly.  He  was  subsoquently  ordained,  and  entered  upon 
the  curacy  of  Loughrea.  The  confined  and  almost  isolated 
position  of  a  country  curate  could  scarcely  have  been  agreetUrfe 

MO.   XIV. — VOL.   III.  K 


,11  :«l  by  Google 


130  ME«OBAM>A  Ct  lUICUlL 

to  a  jonng  man  of  his  taetea  and  pvrsuiU ;  for,  ctoh  about 
thia  time,  no  h&d  published  Lis  fi»t  rom&uce  of  "  Montorio," 
its  eecood  title,  that  of  the  "Fatal  Eevange,"  havii^.  been 
added  by  the  bookaellor,  as  mere  attractive.  This  waa  of  the 
SadcUffe  school,  but  certainly  not  mere  iiiiit»tioD  i  and  though 
now  lying,  perohanee  neglected,  on  die  ehekeB  of  some  Teiy  old 
circulating  library,  it  has  been  reputed  one  of  the  best  of  laa 
productiooB,  and  proeurad  him  the  intimacy  and  friendship  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott.  At  Loughrea  he  was  on  inmate  for  some,  time  of 
the  castle  of  the  O'Hores,  the  lineal  deseendanls  of  the  old  Irigix 
kings  of  that  district.  I  hare  often  heu:d  him  apeak  with,  delight 
of  ^t  ancient  stmcture,  and  the  lyish  hospitality  he  there  £i^pyed 
and  mtnessed.  He  was  an  enthusiastic  lover  of  antiquity,  and 
had  a  strange  passion  for  exploring  old  and  desolate  houses  ;  iq 
st>  much  BO,  that  when  I  have  bean  walkmg  with  bim  through  some 
decayed  parts  of  the  city,  if  any  house  particularly  attraoted  him, 
about  which  be  imagined  some  history  to  attach,  or  fanoied.it  had 
au  air  of  mystery,  be  would  knock  at  the  door,  and  find  some 
ezcuae  for  examining  tbo  interior. 

Mr.  Maturin's  father  holding,  a  high  situation  in  the  Irish  post- 
office,  and  taking  a  prominent  position  in  some  of  the  public  insti- 
tutions of  the  city,  his  son  was  soon  appointed  to  the  curacy  of 
St.  Peter,  thetpariBb; in. which  he.  was  resident, — a  parish,  the 
first  in  the  city,  of  ^eai. extent,  andcontainmg  mpat  of  the  wealth, 
rank,  imd  talent  of  the  metropolis.  At  this  time  be  married  a  very 
Amiable  and  acoomplished  perstMi,  and  increased  bis  income  by 
taking  college  pnpib.  Though  panotoal  and>  irreproachable  in  the 
performance  of  his  ministerial  duties,  yet,  partly  from  his  peculiar 
j^enius  and  pursuits,  and  partly  hecauae  at  that  period,  perhaps, 
there  was  not  such  a  stirring  of  life  among  the  <Jergy,  it  does  not 
aj^pear  that  he  teak  any  prominent  part  among  his  brethren,  Ot 
flought  for  promotion  by  such  conduct ; — he  did  his  duty,  but  neyer 
overstepped  it.  He .  was  iviiversaiiy  beloved  by  the  parishioners, 
who  were  proud  of  baring  a  man  of  such  ttdenCa  in  their  pulpit,  and 
.attracted  by  the  amenity  of  bis  manners  :  and,  though  the  m(re 
religious  lamented  what  they  conMdered  the  false  direction  of 
those  talents,  and  others  reprehended  or  ridiculed  hia  attach- 
ment to  puldio  amusementa,  his  eccentric  dress,  and  his  pasuon 
for  dancing,  yet  his  gaiety  of  manner,  fascinatiug  conversation, 
and  bis  gentle,  good-natured  disposition,  disarmed  even  prudent 
censure  of  its  bitterness,  and  often  converted  blame  to  admiration. 


,iibvGocSglc 


IBHOB&NBA  OP' lUTUBHI.  131 

His-  sirmoiiBr  thongb  pleMkig  and  profitable,  were  lu^  remark- 
aUe' fv  tuijr' devfr.  eopoaitions  of  thedogy  ;  nor  could.itbe  said, 
JB  gmKoi,  tbat  he  displayed  anything  of  pulpit  oratwj:;  but 
<me  Mt  cS  sennoDB,  ^ich  be  afterwards  published  with,  great 
ssQcesfi,  deacTTB  in  this  instance  to  be  made  an- exception. 

Hii  method  of  coiDpMiiton  was  peculiar,  and  calculated  to  hare 
t^  pregudMudeffODt-itreventualty  had  upon  hia  health.  He  never 
wrote  durmg:  the  day,  the  moraing  being-  occupied  by  domertic 
&rrangeii»nt«  or  tbe  datiea  of  hia  cure  ;  the  aftwnoonB  ha  devoted 
to  long,  romontioirsniblM,  in  n4ich  I  had  oonatontly  the  gratifioa- 
tioa  of  being  his  companion.  Fond  of  nature  at  sH  times  and  undw  ^ 
fdl  aipeeta,  hia  dating  aeaaon  was  autumn,  aa  I  believe  it  ia  to 
moit  tltooghtinl  minds.  There  was  in- him  a  Btrange  vacillatjoo 
of  temperament  between'  gaiety  and  gloom,  and  in  our  rambke 
along  the  beauti&l'aoeoary,  ao  well  known  to  the  tourist,  of  Lucan 
and  Leizlip,  to  the  etadl  mountain- hid  den  fountain-head  that 
gires  birth  to  the  waters. of  the  Liffej,  I  hav«  known  him  ke^ 
contnued  silence,  and  seem"peTfeetly  abUraoted  fromevcrirthing 
iwnind  him,  and' then:  Boddenly  break  out  into  esme  expreasianof 
boyith-  Am,  repaatr  wit^  his  fi^  sonorous  voioe,  some  favDnrite 
pWiaa,or8Bk  myopimon,  suoh  as  it  was,  upoB-some  point  of  critidem. 
Bttod  he  looked  up  at  aa  yon  gaae  upon  an  eagle  ;  but  he  loved 
Siott  in  his  heart,  and  stodied  Crabhe  as  a  pointer  whose  graphic 
BbitobeB-funiiBbed  Tiim  with  many  sn  extract  to  entert^n  ns  widi 
on  our'  eicnrsions.  Another  favourite  of  his  was  Roggt  ^ose 
ballad  of  "Bonny  Kihnony"  he  had  by  heart.  A  most  agreeable 
compaiih>n,  hewaa  not^  however,  possessed  of  first-^ate  conversa- 
tioaal  powers  ;  he  picked  for  yon  t^  sparkles  on  the  surface  witJi 
rapid  and'choice  seWtiimi  but  he  never  led  yeu  down  from  deplh 
to  depth,  and'  thr<ragh>ctH<eni  on«averD)  ^  giant  of  the  mine  of 
thou^t,  like-  Coleridge  (whom,  en  parenihese,  he  disliked  for  a 
men^esB  aUaek  on  Ue  tn^edy,  which  the  ill  success  of  the 
"^ Remorse"  had  Incited ;  asd  he  had  prepared  a  retaliation  in  th« 
pages  of  "  Colbum's  Magazine,"  which  I  read  in  manuscript — a 
reTiewof"Chrintah^"—£ut-wbich  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen 
pni^^ed) :  he  waa-tbe  jdeasing  improvisatore,  hut  not  the  divine 
sybiL  On  this  acMnat  itis  impossible  to  relate  nny  of  his  particular 
MntimentaorconrenntionB.  The  only  one  that  was  fixed  in  my  mind, 
was'hu  onoe  arguing  that  suicide  was  not  positively  and  expressly  con- 
deonted  m  auypassage  of  Scripture,  and  declaring,  that  heoonceivod 
to  pass  away  from  the  sorrows  of  earth  to  the  xiBaee  of  eternity, 
K  2 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


132  UEUORANDA  OF  lUTURIH. 

by  repoung  on  a  bed  of  eutern  poppy  flowers,  where  sleep  is 
death,  would  be  the  moet  enviable  mode  of  earthly  exit ;  hut  this 
he  uttered  altogether  as  a  doctrine  of  opinion,  and  not  of  purpose. 
Ketuniing  late  iu  the  evening,  it  was  then  after  a  slight  refresh- 
ment that  hia  literary  task  commenced,  and  I  have  remained  wiA 
him  repeatedly,  looking  over  Home  of  his  loose  manuscripts,  till  three 
in  the  morning,  while  he  was  composing  hia  wild  romance  of  "Mel- 
moth."  Moderate,  and  indeed  abstemious  in  his  appetites,  human 
nature,  and  the  over-husy  and  worked  intellect,  required  support  and 
stimulus,  and  brandy-and- water  supplied  to  him  the  excitement  that 
opium  yields  to  others  ;  but  it  had  no  intoxicating  effect  on  him  :  it< 
action  was,  if  posuble,  more  strange,  and  indeed  terrible  to  nitness. 
His  mind  travelling  in  the  dark  regions  of  romance,  seemed  alto- 
gether to  have  deserted  the  body,  and  left  behind  a  mere  physical 
organism  ;  hia  long  pale  face  acquired  the  appearance  of  a  cast  taken 
from  the  face  of  a  dead  body  ;  and  his  largo  prominent  eyea  took  a 
glassy  look ;  so  that  when,  at  that  witching  hour,  he  suddenly,  with- 
out speaking,  raised  himself,  and  extended  a  thin  and  bony  hand, 
to  grasp  the  silver  branch  with  which  he  lighted  me  down  sttuTB, 
I  have  often  started,  and  gazed  on  him  as  a  spectral  illusion  of  hts 
own  creation.  Thia  severe  labour,  continued  at  night  without  inter- 
mission during  the  composition  of  a,  work,  waa  occasionally  relieved 
by  the  enjoyment  of  music,  of  which  he  was  devotedly  foud  ;  his 
wife  was  one  of  the  first,  if  not  the  first  private  anger  in  the  me- 
tropolis, and  he  took  care  that  her  natural  abihties  should  be 
improved  under  the  best  teachers  ;  he  was  a  good  theorist  in  music, 
accompanied  well,  hut  had  no  voice  himself.  I  remember  these 
hours  especially  with  regret ;  he  was  indeed  a  lover  of  muaic,  and 
not  the  mere  affected /anatico  of  an  art ;  and  the  silvery  strain  of 
the  simple  ballad,  or  the  bold  and  intervolved  harmony  of  the  con- 
certed piece  or  bravura,  alike  served  to  gratify  his  taste  or  open 
the  depths  of  his  feelings.  Another  tielassement  waa  attending  the 
weekly  re-unions  at  Lady  Morgan's,  while  she  yet  ret^ned  her  resi- 
dence in  Kildave -street. 

I  have  already  hinted  at  hia  personal  eccentricity,  and  I  shall 
now  describe  him  a  httle  more  particularly,— not  for  the  sake  of 
ridicule,  which  did  not  attach  to  him,  but  that  I  may  present  B 
graphic  picture  of  his  appearance ! — tall,  thin,  pale,  with  a  pen- 
sive expression  ;  large,  full,  but  lightless  eye ;  a  graceful  figure  j 
his  drcsa,  not  merely  on  thoae  country  rambles,  hut  walking  the 
Ktreeta,  attracted  general  atiention,  but  the  peop'e  knew  it  waa 

Upl:«lWGOOglc 


UBUORANDA   OF   HATUHIH.  133 

Uftturin,  nnd  he  passed  iritbout  molestation  ;  a  large  brown  roc|ue- 
laure,  with  a  long  capo,  which  nearly  hung  to  his  feet,  and  wmch 
be  held  closelj  round  bis  person— its  colour  bad  once  been  dark 
-browD,  but  it  had  changed  oy  time  to  that  of  high  toaat  anuff^  his 
nether  limbs  were  cased  in  old  black  weh  pantaloons,  a  style  that 
had  once  been  fashionable  ;  his  long  feet,  thus  looking  longer,  were 
cased  in  well-worn  shoes  ;  his  email  hat  was  twisted  into  all  possible 
ahapes,  brown  and  napless,  and  coYered  with  ragged  crape ;  his 
small  wig  scarce  gave  a  stray  lock  to  cover  bis  high  and  intel- 
lectual temples  ; — such  was  the  strange  figure  that  presented  itself 
to  citizens  and  strangers  ;  hut  still,  the  one  could  perceive  that  be 
was  a  perfect  gentleman,  neither  decayed  nor  mad,  while  others 
only  looked,  smiled,  and  said,  "  There  goes  Maturin."  The  con- 
trast tliat  be  presented  somelimes  to  this  was  equally  strange. 
I  have  seen  him  dressed  in  cAnary-colonred  shapes,  and  black 
frock  of  most  fashionable  cut,  scarcely  reaching  to  his  knees  ; — 
these  trivial  variations  from  custom  or  propriety,  were  very  leniently 
r^srded  in  general ;  some  might  laugh  at  him,  hut  he  waa  loved 
by  all. 

For  many  years  he  had  enjoyed  epistolary  intimacy  with  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  and  had  received  soTera!  invitations  to  Abhottsford. 
It  is  to  be  regretted  he  could  not  accept  them ;  in  many  ways  they 
would  have  proved  beneficial  to  him.  1  have  seen  many  of  Sir 
Walter's  letters,  which  were  models  in  their  way,  and,  like  him- 
self, kind,  simple,  Bennble,  and  homely.  Maturin  from  the  first 
knew  him  to  be  the  author  of  "  The  Waverley  Novels,"  from 
a  letter  which  he  received  shortly  after  the  publication  of  one 
of  them,  containing  a  peculiar  Scotch  proverb  which  Sir  Walter 
hod  put  into  the  moudi  of  one  of  his  characters — "  We  keep 
our  own  fiah-guts  for  our  own  sea-maws."  On  Sir  Walter's 
visit  to  Dublin,  he  had  anticipated  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
Maturin.  Alas  I  he  had  only  the  sad  consolation  of  paying 
a  visit  of  condolence  to  his  widow,  and  gasing  on  his  porb'iut 
in  crayons,  copied  after  his  death   from  a  portrait  which  ap- 

Kared  in  one  of  the  numbers  of  "  Colbum's  Magazine."  A  cast 
d  been  taken,  but  post-mortem  hkenesscs  are  never  true ;  it 
appeared  for  a  time  in  the  shop  of  a  Dublin  bookseller,  but  was 
never  executed  in.  morhle.  The  affectionate  interest  that  Sir 
Walter  took  in  him  may  he  judged  fr^m  the  fact,  that  bis  rude 
desk,  at  Marsh's  Ubrary,  which  had  been  constructed  by  himself, 
attracted  his  attention  as  an  interesting  relic. 


v.Goo'^lc 


134  SHE  KftHB'VABD  Bonn). 

It  WAS  the  intontion  of  Sir  W^ter  SoMt  to  bave  edited  his 
woi%8,  and  irritten  hja  life,  and  he  ^tplied  to  his  fsmilj  to  collect 
materia  for  the  purpose.  His  own  unfortniiate  fiulnfe,  utd  the 
{atal  neceBEstj'  entailed  on  him  of  undartakiDg  the  noblest,  greatest 
teak  thnt  ever  devolved  on  intelleotuat  man,  of  paying,  st  the  ciwe 
of  a  distinguished  life  of  artexampled  euc«A»,  Ae  debt  that  had 
felten  on  him,  like  dark  clouds  obacoriag  tbe  mnsbiDe,  bj  the 
labours  of  declining  age,  alone  pre<rwit«d  bim.  3uch  an  act  'On 
the  part  of  Sir  Walter  irould  at  once  have  put  a  stamp  upon  tbe 
fiune  of  Maturin ;  he  irould  not  thee  baro  been  recolleot«d  merdj 
in  the  green-room  as  an  author  who  had  brought  money  into  the 
treasury,  or  in  the  circulating  libraries  as  having  fumi^ed  a  Ant 
runances,  noir  searcel;  read,  to  their  dielres  ;  but  he  would  faa*« 
been  elerated  to  the  position  he  really  deeemd  to  hold,  that  of  one 
of  Irelimd's  distinguished  authors ;  and  ibis  brief  memory  tf  an 
tyniable  and  accomplished  man  would  bava  been  bappily  useless. 


THE  KOME-WARD  BOUND. 

BY   PAUL  BELL. 

The  Dog  that  is  idleianercr  tired  of  rumiag. — 
The  Ufa  of  tlie'  St«rk  ymma  in  crfiD^*''fofc,  lot." 

ZuBxiiH  FaoTaaas. 
A  NEiaHBOVBHOOi)  iuto  which  I  was  drtnrn  by  bunncEs,  not 
many  weeks  unee,  bad,  just  before  my  aniral,  been  tfarowniuto 
fits  by  an  occurrence,  now-a-days  so  oddly  oonunou,  that  I  should 
not  lancy  it  worth  narrating,  lare  for  certain  Cftusiderations  presott- 
ing  thenselires,  which  can  hardly  be  repeated,  too  iieqaendy. 

Xhe  Padgetts  of  Fash  Gate  bad,  for  tlu«e;parta  of  a  centmy, 
been  a  couaideraUe  family  in  its  genatntion ;  peraena  of  sope- 
riurity-aud  taste  ;  and  who  spent  their  lires  in  giving  inog^ant 
trouble  to*  all  in  anywise  dependent  upon  tham — 4iwv  by  inatrus- 
tion,  now  by  interference.  If  you  want  to  benefit  the  poor,  it  is 
not' by  the  sedatire  of  bnttoa^i^dii^,  ^anymoro  than  by  the  fti- 
mulant  of  curry  pomier  !  I  am. apt  (perhapB 'tie -a  fault  ofn^ 
impalieat  temper)  tomiBtmct  the  beneridtnee.of  bores.  I  have 
seen  tbe  heart- aokness  of  t^e  «orrowM  axaapenited  into  positiTC 
loatbiDg  by  the  sympathy  «f  wliat  the  quaint  tdd  divine  caSed 
"teiei-ful  talkers."     Now,  ^eBadgetta  bdi^FediB.amoBoptdyof 


HD.  135 

patent  hAppineu,  aa  siuiiifiKtuT«d  by  thHosclTea  ;  of  4ereral  quali- 
ties : — coorae  comfort  for  the  Crockery  of  the  «arth,  and  beauti- 
fiJiy  fine  pleasurea  for  the  use  of  the  Porcelain — which  with  tham 
meant  the  intellectoal  (for,  to  do  them  justice,  they  were  not 
lorers  of  Ifammon).  They  were  impulsive  pe<^Ie — charmingly 
enthunastic  ;  and  talked.  .  .  .  Verily,  to  hear  a  Fadgett  talk 
was,  indeed,  "  a  Practical  Treatise  on  the  Use  of  the  Tongue." 
One — it  was  a  favourite  family  anecdote— had  abeolutely,  during  a 
chance  encounter  with  King  George  the  Third  in  Wintlsor  Park, 
by  a  display  of  his  volubility,  puzzled  to  silence  that  "Hydra,  the 
curioeity  of  Miss  Bumey's"'  Good  King!"  Another  (this  tale  was 
somewhat  more  apociyphal),  had  convinced  a  Methodist  preacher 
out  of  his  pulpit  in  the  Tabernacle  at  the  end  of  Faih  Lane  ;  and 
shut  up  that  nursery  of  deleterious  doctrine.  The  eloquence  of 
Mrs.  Fadgett  the  first  had  been  largely  expended  at  auctions  (in 
tboBC  days  a  lady's  favourite  haunt),  in  depreciating  the  toys  and 
trifies  she  subsequently  meant  to  buy.  Her  boss  had  travelled  : 
and  told  their  travels  in  a  stream  of  narration  "  like  Kedron  in 
flood,"  till  the  neighbourhood  flod  before  them.  Still  this  family 
of  oppressors  passed  for  pleasant,  accomplished,  and  "  a  real 
blessing  to  the  county."  The  ladies  kept  schools — and  taught 
them,  one  Cestor  on  the  Pestalozzian  principle  :  then  after  the 
pattern  of  Mr.  Harmony  Rapp's,- — lastly,  changed  their  syetemB 
at  once  into  a  sort  of  mosuc,  "  comhiniog,"  as  they  averred,  "  the 
best  features  of  the  colonies  at  !Fredericksoord  and  Mr.  Combe's 
luckless  experiment  at  Orbiston."  The  mole  Fadgelts  superin- 
tended buildings,  sacred  and  secular  ;  and  were  glib  and  confident 
about  Gothic  windows,  Palladian  attics,  Byzantine  arches,  roeoco 
facades,  and  Tudor  chimneys  ;  till,  bewildered  by  so  many  fine 
words  and  unsettled  principles,  one  country  architect,  on  whom 
these  disseminators  of  new  ideas  had  no  mercy,  broke  down — 
absolutely  lost  his  wits, — took  to  the  draw-well,— and  deceased. 
The  Padgetts  led  the  talk,  as  they  led  the  taste  of  their  neigh- 
hours  ;  and  briefly,  in  my  poor  judgment,  were  as  heavy  a  scourge 
to  a  parish,  as  the  worst  enemy  to  country  sociability  and  country 
simplicity  could  have  bespoken.  Defend  us  all  from  originators 
without  originality  ! 

I  could  never  dnter  Tash  Gate — the  family  are  for^tiff  connexions 
of  my  Mrs.  Bell's — without  being  reminded  of  one  of  those 
honses-in  a  harlequinade,  which  begin  with  a  row  of  trim  flower-pots 
in  a  neatly-curtiuned  window  ;  continue  into  a  blacksmitVa  shop» 


19S  TBS  BOUE-WABD  BOtrVD. 

with  ft  roaring  fire,  a  riogiag  anvil,  and  a  kicking  hone  ;  and  end 
in  a  iraterfaU,  with  "  the  Genii  of  the  Amethyst  Torrent  itporting 
in  the  Waters  of  Delight,"  (aa  the  gentleman  who  makca  out  the 
bills  for  the  pantomimea  iauaed  to  describe  such  a  aeene).  When 
I  first  knew  the  mansion,  it  was  sufi'ering  under  an  eruption  of 
China-monsterism.  There  were  bowls  in  the  hall,  enough  for 
half  a  hundred  Punches  to  play  with — sly  little  teapots  huddled 
together  by  tens  on  shelves  above  the  back  stairs — a  plague  of 
pUtters  and  dishes  in  the  spare-rooms, — and  Bonzes  and  pagodas, 
blue  dragons,  green  parrots,  and  devils  of  every  "  fancy  mixture" 
in  "my  lady's  chamber."  The  temple  of  Hum  himself  coald 
not  have  been  fuller  of  curiosities  !  Ten  years  later  found  the 
first  Mrs.  Fadgett  with  FalstafT,  in  "  Arthur's  bosom."  The 
hurricane  of  innovation  passed  over  her  borders  of  Nankin  and 
clean  swept  her  provinces  of  the  Willow  Pattern.  The  new  people 
were  fired  with  classical  enthusiasm  :  and  so  they  crammed  eagles 
and  pateras,  tripods  and  triglyphs,  and  fasces  and  bulls'  heads, 
and  hjisk-garlands,  and  shields,  and  naked  Pagan  images,  into 
every  hole  and  comer  they  possessed  :  raved  about  the  Greek 
idetu  and  the  Ionic  volute  and  the  Parthenon.  Flun  Nancy  was 
poetised  into  Anna  Comnena,  and  Abel  was  turned  into  Hadrian. 
It  was  all  "  taste"  with  them;  and  the  poor,  plain,  country  neigh- 
bours were  stuffed  with  Stuart  and  Eustace,  asd  Forsyth,  and  Hope, 
and  Winckelmann,  till  ono  or  two  openly,  and  more  in  secret, 
longed  for  old  Madam  Fadgett,  with  her  tea  and  muffins  and  her 
long  whist — "  cracked  "  though  they  hod  considered  her,  while 
she  was  a  living  woman,  by  the  intensity  of  her  passion  of  amass- 
ing old  china. 

But  the  Grecian  fashion  went  by  ;  pure  dilettantism  came  to  a 
discount ;  as  a  useless  thing  which  did  not  feed  the  souls  of  those 
who  embroced  it  as  a  pursuit ;  and  the  world  not  having  as  yet 
generally  began  to  recognise  the  necessity  of  the  privileged  classes 
occupying  themselves  with  the  temporal  wants  and  sorrows  of  the 
poor,  Miss  Anno  Fadgett  dechned  succeeding  to  the  style  and  title 
of  Anna  Comnena,  and  betook  herselfto"  low  Church  "  excitcmc&t, 
as  her  speciahty.  She  would  be  a  beacon  to  her  generation  ;  and 
accordingly  began  by  making  the  house  so  intolerable  to  her  sisters, 
that  one  solaced  herself  with  a  French  dancing-master  (and  is  now 
living,  his  widow,  on  a  competence  at  Perpignan),  while  the  other, 
after  a  few  years'  recourse  to  those  comforts  yclept  "  drops,"  by 
the  gentlewomen  partaking  thereof, — herself  dro[^)ed  rather  tot- 

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THE  EOHE-WAIU)  BOCHD.  137 

lerini^;  iuto  the  familf  ranlt,  on  the  door  of  wiaeh  her  name  is 
ei^jaTen,  and  a  rhyme  to  her  memorj',  as  "a  cropped  lily  !  " 
These  vicissitudes,  however,  were  of  small  conseqnence  to  tho 
sealoos  lady  ;  seeing  that  Miss  Fadgett's  brother,  the  head  of  the 
house,  was  rtgenerated  (I  am  not  oaswerable  for  the  irreverence 
of  the  verb]  hy  her  means.  So  down  went  the  clasucal  tmmpery ; 
away  were  sent  the  Pagan  gods  and  goddeases  ;  the  pantries  were 
cleared  of  the  pateras  ;  there  was  never  a  tripod  left  in  "  hall  or 
bower  "  for  Pythoness  to  preach  from.  The  fine  classical  library 
was  carted  up  to  London,  to  iJie  care  of  Messrs.  Payne  and  Foss, 
and  withont  "  stop,  let,  or  hindrance,"  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
belonging  to  Fash  Gate  and  its  dependencies,  was  to  be  Simeonized 
into  a  patent  righteousness,  whether  he  would  or  not — nay,  nor  of 
Fash  Oate  only,  but  of  the  whole  wicked  county :  for  Zeal  was 
afoot;  and  who.  Bare  the  e/celera,eiMtera,  (you'll  excuse  the  favourite 
texts,  I  hope,  sir  ;  but  I  cannot  bear  quoting  Bible  words  like  so 
much  jargon,)  would  slumber  or  steep  in  such  a  cause,  save  he 
wished  to  keep  on  terms  with  Perdition  ? 

0  weary,  weary  people  !  thus  to  perplex  and  "  harry,"  as  the 
Scotch  Bay,  and  sit  in  judgment  upon  the  boey  inhabitants  of  one 
of  the  sweetest  neighbourhoods  in  England.  Fash  Gate  lies  on  tho 

edge  of  the shire  hills  ;  and  within  sight  of  the  Hall,  where 

Baadera  were  practiuog  their  lungs,  and  fancy-fair-moogers  cbris- 
ttanising  all  manner  of  pen-wipers  and  pincushions  for  the  good  of 
Hindoo  Yogees,  and  the  starvation  of  wt^il  widows  and  scanty  old 
maids  at  home, — there  stood  on  the  riung  ground,  behind  the  score 
of  neat  white  cottages  that  made  up  the  village,  as  beautifiil  a  me- 
morial of  the  ancient  times  as  I  recollect.  An  arch,  a  buttress— a 
fragment  of  a  cruci6z,  and  a  tomb  with  a  recumbent  effigy  belong- 
ing to  an  old  priory,  stood — happily  shall  I  say  ? — just  beyond  tho 
verge  of  the  domain  of  the  Incessant  family.  Had  it  been  on  their 
property,  Padgett  zeat  must  have  been  stronger  than  Padgett 
pride.  Down  must  have  come  that  neat  of  Evil ;  and  one  <^  the 
Patent  Cast-iron  Chapel  Company's  erections  have  perked  up  its 
head  on  the  identical  spot,  ere  Uie  world  was  three  weeks  ddcr. 
And  there  would  have  been  a  cast-iron  Preacher  too,  capitally 
loaded  to  the  muzsle  with  orthodox  thunder  ;  a  batch  of  saeh  steam 
engines  being  always  kept  hot  and  ready  for  use,  at  Fash  Gate. 
-But,  alas  for  man's  indifference,  and  the  impenetrability  of  woman  ! 
these  offensive  scraps  of  Papistrie  belonged  to  a  si<^y  old  lady, 
who  lived  somewhere  in  the  South,  and  though  she  never  vaw  them. 


IBS  THE  ROSB-TfAID)  ^Oms. 

wmdd  nerer  Bel!fhem ;  "least  of  all,  "said  the  cliarital>legi>-be*freon, 
Tflfwlved  to  lose  do  opportunity  of  bringing  aboot  good  undentanding 
among  neighbonra  by  telling  the  whole  troth  "to  a  parcel  of  ranting 
Vethodiate ! "  I  nnut  add,  that  in  retnra  forthase  opprobnons  namea, 
■&e  lodj  1TKS  Tiaited  by  four  letters  at  the  least  erery  month,  ac- 
quainting her  with  the  preciae  hot-hearth  which  was  reaerved  for 
her  in  a  place  I  wonld  rather  not  mention; — and  which  she  would 
ocenj^  at  no  very  distant  period.  Mrs.  Bell  ia  at  my  shotilder, 
telling  me  I  have  already  jeered  too  much  at  good  things.  I  don't 
mean  it:  and  she  knows,  ns  I  tell  her,  what  came  of  all  this 
tmmiltuouswort,  TheTadgett  fancy  spread  :  and  the  people  of  the 
neighbouriioed  began  to  wateh  each  other  poUoe-wise,  One-pretty 
woiminwas  tabooed  as  "  unsafe,"  because  she-  would  not  c(»ifioe 
herself,  while  sin^g  Moore,*  to  Moore's  "  SacrddMelodies." — 
One  Aenmatio  old  gentleman — a  steady  cbarch-goer — was  de- 
nounced as  "  a  aabbath-breaker,"  because  he  continoed  to  put 
Dapple  into  his  one-horae-ehaise  ;  whereas  the  Fadgetts,  a  wiiy 
tough  pair,  who  had  never  known  a  day's  illness,  walked  to 
church.  They  -wonied  tiie  pacifie  old  Rector  into  taking  a 
curate,  who  was  pramised  to  be  a  second  edition  of  Mr,  "  Satan" 
Montgomery,  handramer,  more  'flowery — more  in  earnest  1 — Yn&t 
additions  and  adaptations  suitable  to  ihe  country.  And  -then 
they  worried  the  curate,  beoanse  his  Mm  prored  to  be  not  pre- 
cisely their  hm,  and  because  he  had  jnst  senae  enough  to 
object  to'  Miss  ¥'adgett  singing  -the  Parables-  aet  by  hMself  to  airs 
from  "  La  Qazza  Ladra"  in  &e  Infant  Schools.  And  the  bro- 
ther wrote  high  and  mighty  letters,  and  the  Eeverend  toIu- 
minons  replies  ;  and  it  fell  out  that  at  laat,  the  -whole  creditable 
correspondence  was  printed  in  "  The  Meddler "  for  the  comfort 
of  those  who  were  thirsting  after  truth,  and  burning  to  teach 

"  "Fact,"  (aa  Miss '  EtoworUi  xaei  to  say  in  the  notes  to  her  noTds). 
By  the  way,  a  daased  catalBgae  of  things  admknUe  and  inacbiiiBdble,witfa 
their  AoMati  (as  bottniMBkHfB^it),  ia  mnted  for  the  use  of  the  Junid  and 
thoee  dosinHu  of  "  gettiog  od.-' — One- would  IUlo  to  kasw,  for  iastaa«.  how 
Mademoiselle  Ddjazct  met  the  request  of  the  very  Great,  l^y ;  who,  d 


of  seeing  the  Pearl  Of  thePiiijit  Boycrfaet,  whilo  in  London,  sent  an  embassy 
to  her,  beggiitg'lo  be  inftmned  on  what  emning  ilie  would  play'lier''iant 
imfir^ia'iAaraeteri/" — One  wvald  be  ^nl  to  iatWi  tbe  jduksopby  of  the 
ie  at  tea  with  oae  of  hi 
-  jjiEant  discipline,  a4ke< 
if  the  D when  tbay'^ 

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impr^tenAaraeleril" — One  wvald  be  ^nl  to  iatlunn  Ike  jduksopby  ol 
buning  of  the  Sunday  achool'iaistnsa,  who,  while  at  tea  with  oae  of  her 
own  profeflsion,  after  discuBsiog  divers  matters  of  inEant  diseipline,  asked, 

"  Do  you  make  your  children  curtsey  at  the  name  of  the  D when  thayVe 

reading  T— I  always  do  mme.    IT'B  aiFERI" 


TB£  Bei»'iriK>  SOIMS.  189 

jmoft  and  gsodwQI  by  dimb  foree!  The  VadgeMs  had  grabbed 
op  the  May-pole  on  Pash  GateGreen,  n^Mi'had  kept  its  ataadinf; 
thuDiigh  the  reigD  of  Ohina-monflterinn  and  danrical  deganee : — 
to  set  ap  in  its  etead  the  Pfllory  and  the  Stake. 

Well,  it  18  not  always  the  wiry  and  tough  -who  hold  ottt  the 
longest ;  BtiUleBB  those  "who  bare  never  hod  a  day's  iUnees/'^at 
liye  to  tell  what  Iteeomes  of  rheumatic  old  gentlemen  whw  drive  -gigs 
oa  Sundays,  when  "they  drive  no  more  on  this  side  of  the  grare." 
The  Fa^etts  were  people  pretty  sore  to  wear  themaelvea  out 
(though  I  have  known  some  gifted  with  pn^nBitiea  like  theirg, 
live  to  a  spectral  age,  breeding  confusion  to  ti»e  very  last).  A  fit 
of  righteous  indignation  into  which  Mr.  F.  waa  thrown,  "  on  the 
breaking  ont,"  aa  he  c^ed  it,  of  the  Mathew  Temperance 
fiuiattcism,  hastened  his  end.  He  died,  and  his  warnings  were 
printed  in  a  book,  and  himself  canonized.  The  sister  died,  too, — 
Bony,  it  would  seem,  for  having  been  ao  violent  during  her  life, 
OBCe  the  Hererend  of  her  nomination  was'wontto  avoid  the  snb- 
jnt  of  her  last  moments,  with  as  awful  a  brow  uid  as  heavy  a 
sigh,  as  if  hers  had  been  a  ease  of  rank  'ism.  Por  some  years 
my  rombdidnet  leadnenear  Faah  Gate  ;  indeed,  while  in  the 
ocatip«li«n  of  its  last^Hnned  inhabitinitB,  thne  was  amall  conifert 
in  entering  its  walls,  vnless  one  had  an  appetite  for  "-Mt>rmng 
FortioH,'  at  bpeakfast ;  "  Wgrda-inBiMua,"  at  hiach  ;  Drrini^ 
sauced  not  with  love-apples,  but  wHh  peppery  puhiaiea,fordiiiM]i  ; 
tracts  at  tea  ;  and  so  forth ;  and  was  ahje  to  say  "Tes,"  and 
Bpeak  amies  of  the  Pope  in  the  Tight  |daces.  So  tar  from  this  ; 
with  me,  such  pei^ile  palsy  every  good  thought  and  good  wmd  I 
ean  eomaiMid  at  the  best  of  times.  Theirwaysare  immode8t,'to 
B^  the  least.  Bat  not  hwg  since,  being  c^led  uponto  extend 
'  a  journey,  'methonght  I  would  make'a  eirenit  of  a  few  miles,  jnst 
ta  see  how  the  eld  place  -was  looking  ;  and  the  woods  where  I  had 
so  often  gone  bird-nesting,  when  Mrs.  China  Padgett  was  Lady 
of  the'.MiuiDr. 

No  railways  con  go  neartho'eGtate,  it. lies  so  high amoi^  the 
hSls,  BO  I  had  no  idea  of  finding  the  outward  aspect  of  matters  in 
anywise  changed.  The  trees  seemed  grown  toUer,  and  theroads 
noFTUwer  ;  timbwaaall ;  and  the  Hall  made  a  poorer  figure  t^an  I 
had  fancied  ;  even  though  Progress  had  laid  bis  strange  faaads  on 
the  old  pot-hottse,  wliicb  med  to  stand  near  tbo  avenue  gates,  had 
fiwad  itsfrmt  with  stone,  had  broken  out  at  its  side  two  Tudor 
oriels,  arid  oonrerted  the  dingy  old  BlaetcKanrwHchnsedtO' creak 
as  hBrriity'«n  a  windy-night  asthongbthe  sign  had  been  the  Old 


IM  THE  BOUE-WABD   BOttND. 

BlMk  Raven,  into  Cflt  jFa^gate  atms.  There  woa  some  motto 
over  the  door,  which  I  could  not  read  ;  but  I  had  heard  that  now- 
a-days  an  inscription  is  thought  nothing  of,  if  the  passer-hj  (en 
make  it  out.  So  I  ireot  in  at  once,  and  called  for  a  glass  of  Fash 
Gate  ale,  hoping — since  the  day  was  cold — that,  among  the  other 
"  choppinga  and  changings"  which  that  unlucky  place  had  seen, 
the  Brewery  had  at  least  been  spared.  For  though  the  world  goes 
round,  and  John  Bull  must  go  with  it,  I  am  not  so  sure  ahout 
John  Barleycorn— I  mean  as  to  the  making  of  ale  ;  for  I  would 
not  be  thought  to  hold  with  the  "  stand-still  slarralionert,"  as  a 
friend  of  mine  designates  that  very  select  society,  more  generally 
called  by  the  Post  "  The  Country  Party." 

While  mine  host  and  a  young,  civil  man,  with  a  face  strange  to 
me,  was  away  fetching  the  liquor,  I  went  to  a  window,  which 
looked  across  the  park,  for  I  was  in  a  humour — the  liveliest  of  na 
has  such  fits — to  catch  a  sight  of  the  rums  among  the  leafless 
winter  treoB.  Kuins,  bless  you  !  I  stood  fixed  by  what  I  beheld  ; 
and  it  waa  a  good  moment  ere  I  could  exclaim,  "Why  thoae 
Fadgetts  have  been  at  it  again  !     What 's  all  this  ?  " 

The  ruins  were  gone.  Gone  the  old  arch  and  its  waving  ivy  ; 
and  even  the  crucifix,  which  any  one  who  did  not  know  it  might  have 
mistaken,  from  a  distance,  for  the  stump  of  a  tree  ;  and  in  their 
place,  something  so  newly  old  and  so  anciently  new  [  For  a  moment 
the  thing  puzzled  me.-  It  could  not  be  an  alms-house  ;  for 
fewer  pinnacles  would  have  served,  and  there  would  have  been  no 
need  of  that  large  window  on  which  the  sun  was  playing  bo  plea- 
santly ; — nor  a  eliurch,  for  churches  are  not  grown  round  with  low 
buildings,  like  bams,  inasmuch  as  they  have  few  windows,  yet  not 
like  barns,  because  of  a  row  of  gilt  crosses  on  the  roof.  Everyone 
will  have  guessed  already  what  it  was  ; — ^new  as  the  idea  was  to  me 
who  was  thinking  no, harm.  Shade  of  the  Low-Frotestant  Miss 
Fadgett,  with  her  tracts  and  her  Readers,  her  Tabemacle-tunes  and 
her  account-books  posted  up  of  other  people's  merits  and  pecca- 
dilloes !     A  spick-and-span-new  Monastery  I 

"  Here  *b  your  ale,  sir,"  said  the  Boniface,  with  a  rueful  smile, 
OS  he  jogged  my  elbow  to  attract  my  attention  ;  "  we  're  all  qiuet- 
like,  down  here,  to-day.  Uy  folk  and  the  rest  ore  up  at  Fash  Gate 
town  End  to  look  at  de  show." 

"  The  show !     Is  there  a  wedding,  then — or  a  funeral  ?" 

"  Bless  you,  sir  !  There  's  no  one  to  be  married  worth  seeing 
Bin'  our  Sqnire  brought  home  his  lady  five  years  ago.  It 's  the 
new  bnildmg  they  are  for  handselling  j    and  the;  *re  fvt  their 


THE  BOUE-WARD  BODHD.  141 

Bialiop,  as  they  call  it,  down  trtua  Tork,  and  a  prooeBsion,  and 
flags,  like  oora  od  club-days  used  to  be  before  Uiss  Padgett  made 
such  a  rout  over  'em.  Well,  to  be  sure,  and  she  was  as  hard  as 
ever  a  Pope  or  Pagan  of  the  lot !  But  what  would  she  say  if  she 
were  alive  now,  I  wonder?  I  tell  my  Missis,  she  11  get  up  and 
walk  ;  fetched  oat  of  her  grave  by  these  Roman  doings  !" 

"  But  the  Priory  yonder  is  not  on  tfie  Fash  Gate  property  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  it  be,  sir,  begging  pardon  j  the  Squire  boaght  it,  Mr, 
the  year  he  was  married;  and  they're  been  as  busy  as  bees 
among  'em  ever  since.  Never  was  a  Padgett  but  he  was  fantas- 
tical ;  and  I  have  a  right  to  speak.  Mayhap,  sir,  you  did  not 
know  they  had  all  turned,  root  and  branch  V 

"Turned?"  said  I,  bewildered. 

With  that  the  landlord  took  down  from  the  wall  "a  picture,"  as 
he  called  it,  being  a  framed  inscription,  in  black  letter  with  embla- 
loned  borders,  and  a  gentleman  and  lady  with  wings  and  gold  plates 
round  their  heads,  and  no  shadows  on  their  faces,  like  Queen  Bess, 
keeping  ward  at  each  comer. 

"Can  ye  read  that?"  s«ud  mine  host;  "it's  not  every  one 
as  can." 

The  "  picture  "  told  that,  on  the  ere  of  a  certtun  Saint  (name 
omitted  here,  ss  too  personal),  "  George  Gregory  Fadgett,  his 
\rife,  their  two  children,  Augustin  and  Barbara,  and  their  entire 
household,  had  entered  the  Holy  Roman  Catholic  community." 

"  And  their  entire  household  I "  mused  I,  half  aloud. 

"  Ay,  belike,"  was  the  comment,  "  That 's  the  Fadgett 
way  !  No  pleasing  the  Squire  else  ;  and  the  people  at  the  Hidl 
had  had  enough  of  Mr.  and  Miss  Padgett  and  their  psalm-singers. 
But,  for  aught  I  can  see, — I  don't  say  so  much  to  my  Missis, 
though,— Tone  was  as  peremptory  as  the  other ;  six  and  half-a-dozen, 
tai :  I  dare  say  you  know  the  family.  They  were  always  a  'cute 
Bet,  and  very  rhaptodictd !  Another  glass,  sir  ?  The  gig  'a  at 
the  door." 

"  Well,"  thought  I,  as  I  drove  away,  catching  as  I  crept  up 
the  hill  something  like  a  nasal  chaunt,  and  too  much  put  out  with 
this  new  Padgett  foppery  to  have  the  heart  to  stay  and  see  "  the 
show,"  or  to  attack  Uie  Hall,  hod  that  been  suitable  on  a  day  of 
Bueh  high  solemnity — "  that  fellow  is  no  fool.  It  Joea  run  in 
the  blood.  First  China,  then  Greece,  now  Rome.  The  F.adgetts 
must  hare  their  toys.  And  the  last,  who  would  have  fainted  at 
the  very  name  of  a  Catholic,  kim  as  peremptory  in  following  her 
own  Pope,  as  any  of  them.     What  next,  I  wonder  ?" 


HIS  .MajEsrr  iihe-  public. 

The  Britiali  OoDBdtutiou  .re«io|piis«.t«i>  Eiagsat  AnnSi;  The 
railwajrii  have  their  king.  The  regal.tttle,  tiieiefwe,  msj'be 
ascribed  to  uiother  than  the  aetual-  prince,  without  io&higgmettb  of 
tlie  royal  ptero^^dKe ;  and  we.  pretaat  that  in  epeiJuafj;  ot  the 
FdUic  as  hiH-MsjeE^,  we  meditate  and  compasa  no  aState  wbat 
erer  against  our  Sorareign:  Ladj  the  Queen,  hoc-  caomi;  ajul 
dignity.  Need  we  be  more  explicit'?  Well  then.  Hia-jfajeaty 
the  Publlo  laya  no  claim.,  to  the  royal  anne.  The  lioK  and  the 
unlcoroaienoneiofhiB'Cattls  ;  aad  tJiough  big  toaxiBi  oectoiuly  ia 
•'Dieuet  man  Z}roii,"ha  does  uat  uaurpit  for  his  heraIdia-mott4L 
Neither  doea  he  pretend  to.  the  crown,  ball,  and  soeptee  -,  but 
acknowledges  the  property  of  those  goods  and  dudtek  to  belav- 
fiillj  Tested  in  tbe  hands  of  thw~preBent  possaBSor  ;  and-.to'tho 
wish  that  she  may  long  wear  and  hold  tbeni,  he  is  ready  to  re^sd 
"Amen  !  "  Fjirtlier,  he  reDOtnices  all  and.  every  piBtmaien  to 
&st  fhiitat  deodooda,  waifsr  estiajs,  eacheata,  treaawre-bnTC, 
flotsam  and  jetsam.  Hsris.a.kiug,  throneleas,  crownieaB,  eeeptra- 
lesB,  without. a  cooit,.  yet  Jtot  without  courtiera.  Howevar,  he  is 
untended  by  any  lords  and  ladtee.in  wai^g,  gc^d  sticks,  s3ver 
BtickB,-grooBis  <^  dw  stole,  chamberluns,  gentlemfin  pensioners, 
and.bed'-eatfire  ;  and  Us.  only  maids  of  honour  are  those  he  buys 
at  Richmond.  Last,,  and.not  I^at,  so  fv  frma  levying  tax«s,  all 
be  bu  to  do  wi^them.ia  to  p^  them. 

Yet  His  Majesty, the  .Fuhlie-ia,  doubtlesSi  one  of  the  mightieet 
moQarcbs  in^  the  wodd.,  Hia  dominion  and.  authoii^  have,  beeo 
acquired,  compaaitiTely,  quit«.of  late.  Poraa.many  as  a  thaasaad 
years,  they  were  extremely  limited  :  indeed  for  many  ceotunea  it 
was  hardly  ^ipaient  that  Utete  was  eiicb  a.  persen,  nMch  less 
hing,  in .  eiistence.  Hia  personal  and  naboral  rights,  to  say 
nothing  o£  his  will  and.  pleaasre,  'nera  oevei  consulted ;  aitd  it 
may  be  said  thatlie  passed  the  oarlier  ages  of  bis  life  in. slavery. 
It  wiE  be  aeea  that  His-UECjestyis  a  rery  ancient  monaiK^;  .^d 
it  isprobablatiiat  bdirillcontiiuia  tareigntiUdoiHaBday  ;  of  him, 
thenraoFe,  it  may  be  literiUly  auarted,  that  the  kmg  n»T«  dies. 

So  neariy  aMotiitaukpotantota  is  BisMajsrty  ti»  Fxd)&t,  that 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


Hia  lUJXaTI   TIDl   PUBUC.  143 

his  will  maynow  almost  be  dsdared  to  be  lav.  It  ia  true  that  Ids 
mmdatn  cosnot  be.  alirayaoarried  into  efiect  immediately,  but 
sooDer  or  later  they  are  eaia  to  be  obeyed.  Foe  euumla,  whan 
he:  cbct^ed  the  refWRl  of  the  Coi^oratiim  and  Test  Acts,  the 
Abolition  of  SlaTery,  Catholic  Emancipation,  the  Reform  £ill,.and 
the  .mitigation  of  thecaminal.  coda,  he-iencountored  Tioleat  oppo- 
sition, and  tluB  continued  a  long  time ;  but  at  length  his  ordi- 
nauces  were  complied  with..  He  commasded,  some-time  ^p,  that 
the  Cem-Lawe  should. be. done  aw&y  with,  and  the.FabelUon  nbioh 
wat  rused  agmnst  this  daeree  is-subaiding.;  sod  tibe  measure,  as 
we.aee,  is  on  the  paint  of  being,  carried.  5a  bas.also  decided  that 
the  Oave-Linrs  shall  be  abolidied.  that  the  Poot^Law  shall  be 
amended,,  that  Iii^riaonment  for  Debt  shail  be  put  as  end  to,  that 
the  laW'Sball  be  refonned,  that  the  houis  of  labour  in. faotories 
shall  be'  sbortenadr  that  perfect  liberty  of  conscience  sh^  be 
established,  and  that  many  other  improvements  shall  be  made  in 
legislation  ;  and^soonar  or  later  all  these  things  will  be  done. 

The  means  by  which  His  Majesty  the  Public  enfor«e8  snbmisBioii 
to  his  authority  are  not  those  adopted  by  the  genettt&y  of  auto- 
crats. Ha  has  no  recourse  to  muskets,  swords,  bayenete,  axes, 
.  tukd  gibbets.  He  does  not  «all  out  the  militia,  or  the  yeomwuiy 
aa¥alrj,  or  even  the  poue  eomitatus,  for  the  purpose  of  co^vion. 
He.C0Btenta  himself  w^  deuring  bis  subjects  to  do  his  bidding, 
or  tti.take  the  consequences  ;  wbicb  are  sure  to  follow  in  the  event 
of  ncn-oompliance.  It  always  proves  dangerous  to  sl^hb  Hii 
Ui^ss^'s  opinion. 

His  Majesty  the  Fnblic  has  of  late  discovered  a  new  and  very 
pleasant  method  of  controlling  afiairs.  Jupiter,  it  was  said  of 
oldr  gwened  aU  things  with  his  nod..  His  Majesty  has  found 
that  he  can.  exert  a  like  influence  by  his  laugh.  When  the 
Thunderer  sboidi-  bis  curia,  Olympus  trembled  ;  nor  witb.  leas 
eSect  does  His  M^eety  the  Fi^lic  shake  his  udes.  There  is  a 
laige.clasa  of  gentry  who  are  beginning  to  find  this  out  to  their 
cost  Keverend  and  Right  Reverend  preachers  of  evangelical 
povet^,  themselves  overpaid  ;  shuffling,  statesmen,  foolish  juttjees, 
and  that  not  inoontideraUe  the  dishoneet  and  knavish  portion  of 
the  bar,  feel  duly,  to  their  increasing  discomfiture,  that  he  u 
lou^liug  at  them.  Inthesame  predicamaitace.aU  ^e  varieties 
f^  the  quack,,  from  the  political  .-tieuntebauk.  V>  the  nostrum- 
vender.  RetoUere  of  dap-trap  enthesiasm,  who,  on  behalf  of 
ssme  downed  abuse,  axe  pMpetually  innokiug.the  "  British  Lion," 
and  caUing  .on.their  partisans  to  "  noil  their  cokmrs  to  the  nuMt," 

Coofjic 


144  HIS  MAJEBTI   THB  PDBLIC. 

"rally  round  the  altar  and  tbe  throne,"  and  so  forth,  are  in 
course  of  annihilation  beneath  his  high  derision.  And  what  Trill 
become  of  state  ceremony — of  pomp  and  parade,  of  stars,  garters, 
and  liTeries? — for  on  all  these  things  His  Majesty  has  fixed  his 
broad  grin. 

His  Uajesty  the  Public  has  yet  another  instrument  of  authority 
— ^he  is  the  great  paymaster  ;  and  has  only  to  loose  or  draw  his 
purse-stringa  to  have  his  way.  Once  upon  a  time,  croivned  heads 
could  conclude  peace  or  make  war  as  it  pleaded  them,  without  any 
reference  to  his  wishes  or. convenience.  It  is  now,  however, 
necessary,  on  such  matters,  to  consult  him.  A  government  could 
scarcely  undertake  an  enterprise  in  these  days,  without  his  cod- 
eurrence.  He  needs  only  resolutely  to  button  his  pockets  to  put 
an  effectual  veto  on  any  auch  project.  Truth  to  say,  in  his 
capacity  of  paymaster,  his  power  is  almost  despotic.  The  state- 
coach  could  scarcely  move  unless  he  found  oil  Kir  its  wheels  ; — t^ 
state  ball  could  hardly  take  phice  if  he  did  not  pay  the  piper. 
And  it  is  in  this  character  that  his  excellent  Majesty  performs  one 
of  the  noblest  duties  of  a  sovereign. 

His  Majesty  the  Public  is  the  chief  promoter  of  all  useful  inven- 
tions, of  literature,  and  the  fine  arts.  In  ancient  times,  a  Virgil 
required  a  Miecenas.  Less  than  a  century  ago,  scarcely  a  book 
was  published  without  a  fulsome  dedication,  to  a  nobleman  ;  and 
almost  within  the  memory  of  roan  Johnson  wtuted  in  the  lobby  of 
Chesterfield.  This  state  of  thiogs  is  no  more.  His  Majesty  the 
Public  is  now  the  great  patron.  Other  princes  may  bestow  their 
small  pension  upon  the  poot ;  he  enriches  him  with  a  handsome 
maintenance.  They  may  dispense  their  hundreds  ;  he  grants  his 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands.  In  the  main,  too.  His  Uajesty 
possesses  a  decent  taste.  He  allows  the  writer  a  free  scope  ;  he 
encourages  the  artist  worthily  to  employ  his  pencil.  He  does  not 
condemn  the  painter  of  genius  to  depict  puppies  and  mackaws.  He 
is  the  best,  if  not  the  only,  friend  of  the  dramatist  and  musician. 
He  exacts  no  adulation  ;  requires  no  dancing  attendance.  There 
is  no  backstairs  way  to  his  favour.  No  intrigues  are  necessary  ; 
no  pages,  equerries,  confidantes,  ladies  in  waiting,  need  be  propi- 
tiated by  his  suitor !  One  must,  indeed,  now  and  then,  defer 
somewhat  to  the  prejudices  of  His  Majesty  ;  bat  nobody  is  obliged 
to  be  a  slave  to  them  ;  and  i'  will  be  found,  generally,  that  tho  best 
way  to  please  him,  is  to  p'ease  one's  self  Nor  is  the  successful 
author,  punter,  compos:  r,  a  mere  humble  dependant  on  His 
Majesty  the  PvbHc.      Hi  is  one  whom   that  worthy   monarch 


THE   LABOIIRERS'   OXTHEBIHO.  145 

delighteth  to  honour,  &nd  that  even  more  th&n  as  his  equal.  Hei 
therefore,  is  the  wisest  of  courtiers  who  devotes  himself  to  iJie  ser- 
Tice  of  His  Majeetj  the  Publio.  His  Uajesty  b  the  true  disoemer 
and  reirorder  of  merit ;  he  ia  a  sovereign  who  has  both  the  will 
and  the  power  to  render  such  service  worth  the  while.  See  what 
be  baa  done  for  those  who  have  toiled  either  for  his  adfoutage  or 
amusement,  &om  the  constructor  of  hit  railways  to  his  ballet- 
dancer  or  clown.  Let  all  who  would  thrive  and  prosper  strive  to 
-deserve  his  good  graces.  Who  does  not  venerate,  who  woold  not 
■cultivate  this  great  and  munificent  monarch  ?  All  honour,  credit, 
and  renown  toJiim,  Long  life  and  happiness  to  His  Majesty  die 
Public !  P.  L. 


THE  LABOURERS'  GATHERING. 

A   DOUIBMOBATIOK  OF  THAT  KI&B  THE  TILLAOB   Of   QOATACRB, 
WOOTTOB   BAB8ETT,    WILT8,   ON   THE   5tH  JANUABr,    1846. 
.  Tns  moon  is  fitful ;  now  in  Hhroads, 

Now  earth  gleams  dimly  'neatb  her  eye  ; 
Palely  she  sails  o'er  billowy  clouds 

On  the  blue  ocean  of  the  eky. 
Are  they  Night's  Ghosts  now  gathering 
By  yon  road-side  beneath  the  moon  7 
Some  bony  hands  to  tapers  cling, 

By  which  theii  bag^rd  looks  are  shown. 

Their  features  tbo'  we  human  style, 

Spectral  with  famine  have  bei»»me. — 
>  Shipwrecked  are  they  on  desert  Isle  1 

Or  spendthrifts  bare  of  food  and  home  1 — 
They  stand  upon  their  native  soil, 

Whose  horn  of  plenty  wide  is  strown  ; 
Whose  ships  load  ocean  with  the  spoil 

Of  realms  the  sun  ne'er  sets  upon. 
Th^  starving  stand  upon  the  land 

Wroudit  &utfnl  by  their  hands  alone  ; 
Around  uiem,  halls  made  rich  and  grand 

Bv  them — who  have  for  bread,  a  stone. 
Shall  the  producers  have  lAu  share 

Of  the  nch  produce  of  tbeir  toil  ? 
Shall  the  cousnmers  never  bear 

The  labouTj  yet  devour  the  spoil  ? 
iro.  IIT. — ^VOL.  m.  L  r-  I 


THE   LASODB£HS    O&TBEItlNO. 

Behold  tbe  plight  of  men  by  whom 

The  Tights  of  property  have  birth  ! 
What  do  their  prior  righu  become, 

Whose  tjtrfie*  give  the  toil  its  worth  I 
They  uk  enough  to  house  and  feed, 

From  hood  to  mouth,  their  babes  &ad.  wives  ; 
No  hoard  of  all  the  wealth  they  breed, 

For  the  weak  age  of  toil- worn  liTes. 

This  winter's  Tught,  by  their  lean  forms 

Their  tattered  wives  and  children  throng  ; 
They  come  from  hnts  which  no  fire  warms, 

To  commniie  over  want  and  wrong. 
One  feared,  he  cried,  to  eat  the  food 

He  'd  earned,  lest  he  should  starve  for  more : 
One  'Inong  his  children  long  had  stood, 

To  pick  one  for  the  workhouse  door. 

Dark  savages  in  circle  dance 

Around  War's  captives  to  their  band. 
This  honr  that  thro   the  ball  ye  glance, 

Fair  "  curled  darlii^s  "  of  the  land. 
Turn  ye,  light  listening  to  Love's  voice. 

To  theirs  without,  now  crying — Bread  ! 
Who  gave  the  viands  of  your  choice, 

The  robes  ye  wear,  the  halls  ye  tread ! 

Yet  work  with  want  'mid  sloth's  supply, 

Bids  them  no  crime  conspire  ;  endQad 
With  eloquence  is  suffering's  c^, 

'Mid  patient  peace  of  fortitude. 
Dehumanised  humanity 

Is  in  their  looks,  not  o'er  their  sonls:-^ 
But  what  must  in  their  natures  lie. 

Whose  will  the  &te  of  these  coatiols  t 

Inheritors,  from  ages  dark. 

Of  England's  tillage  and  the  sigh 
Of  her  ancestral  peasautiy  ! 

In  yoQ  ia  kipdled  tiratthe  spark 
Of  conscious  right,  of  moral  will. 

And  means  true  freedom  to  attain  ; 
The  rank  of  manhood  among  men  ; 

A  human  life  for  toil  and  skill : 
To  be  no  more  the  aerfe  of  others, 

To  whom  by  birthright  yon  are  brcthers. — 
This  cry  the  senate  and  the  land  shall  fill. 

Frakcm  Wob£Lbv. 


THE  WORTH  OF  STATESMANSHIP. 

In  free  couatrieB  statenneii  ace  the  pttj^ieia  of  the  people,  tui 
the  BttiiigB  th&t  more  them  grow  from  the  grvrea  of  detd 
thinkera.  Pq)iikr  leaders, — Btanding  forth  for  the  milUoni, 
work  the  action,  and  bo  goee  on  the  mechanical  shvtr  of 
government. 

The  progression  of  mankind  is  thus,  in  an  especial  maaiier,  the 
oue  of  two  great  dinsions  of  the  race— original  thinkers  and 
popular  leaders.  The  members  of  these  classes  are  coDsequently 
entitled  to  ourmost  earnest  gratitude  and  highest  respect ;  norimut 
these  feelings  be  denied  to  itateimm,  though  they  a^ipear  in  no  mate 
intellectual  aspect  tlian  as  mei«  exeentors  of  the  national  will. 
But  let  them  not  calculate  on  being  rated  high  in  the  minda  of  a 
really  free  and  edacated  people.  The  lore  and  admiration  of  such 
minds  will  be  offered  in  th^  utmoet  iotensitj  to  the  great  think- 
ers of  humanity — to  the  few  glorious  exponents  of  the  Dtrine 
Energy,  who  in  the  dim  past  appear  in  bright  and  nerer-fading 
lineaments,  set  up,  each  on  his  altar.  To  the  leaders  of  the  people— 
the  manj  instruments  of  these  few  instruments  of  God — they  will 
offer  the  hearty  good-will  due  to  their  indispensable  and  honour- 
able exertions.  £ut  to  statesmen — to  the  inttrumtnU  of  in- 
»trwatent»  of  inatrumenU — what  can  they  offer  but  the  poor 
remains  of  thankfulness,  already  poured  forth,  nearly  to  exhana- 
tion,  on  those  more  worthy  of  it  ? 

Indeed  the  urgent  necessity  which  is  now  experienced  for  popular 
leaders  themeelTes — -men  who  act  only  as  di&sers  of  the  thoughts 
of  great  intellects,  and  as  the  media  of  communication  between  the 
people  and  the  goTcnunent — is  but  a  proof  of  the  present  low 
state  of  general^  intelligenoe,  and  of  the  very  imperfect  nature  of 
the  existing  social  system.  In  a  rationally-constructed  sorae^, 
made  iq>  of  wise  and  good  human  beings,  goTomment  would  be  the 
business  of  erery  man  and  of  every  woman,  and  would  proceed 
from  them  not  indirectly,  through  repretentativts,  but  directly,  .by 
oounoil  held  amongst  themselves.  In  such  a  phase  of  socie^  the 
divided  action  of  which  we  have  spoken  would,  in  most  cases, 
cease.     The  original  thinker,  the  popular  leader,  and  the  states- 

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148  ™e  WORTft  Of   SIAIEBIUHSHIF. 

msn  iroQld  be  combined  in  one  indtridoaL  InteQigence  and  con- 
dition would  be  BO  equal,  and  all  suggOBted  improTementB,  if 
Tftloable,  would  ba  lo  rapidly  adopted,  that  the  great  thinker 
Tould  not  only  conceive  the  thought,  but  diffiise  it,  and  carrj  it 
out  in  practice. 

Yea  :  we  rejoice  to  hope  that  such  will  one  daj  be  the  social 
state.  Not  fir  ener  will  the  illastrious  benefactors  of  the  race, 
who  stimulate  it  by  new  ideas,  be  treated  when  living  as  public 
enemies !  A  time  kUI  come  when,  addressing  a  refined  and  intel- 
lectual people,  they  shall  he  estimated  at  their  real  worth,  even 
though  unburied — and  shall  not  find  their  funeral  a  necessary 
preliminary  to  their  fame.  Whilst  still  young,  and  whilst  the 
warm  blood  of  vigoroua  enterprise  circulates  tlirough  them,  they 
shall  witness  the  acceptance  of  th^  views  and  the  reenlts  of 
their  practical  application,  and  feel  nerved  by  the  contemplsUon 
to  fresh  exertions.  Aristocrats — by  the  natural  law  of  aristo- 
cracy— they  shall  no  longer  depend  upon  the  breath  of  a  man  of 
wealth,  who  depends  upon  the  oreath  of  a  man  of  birth  ! 
'  For  are  we  yet,  though,  from  Utopia !  In  this  nineteenth 
century,  man,  though  advanced  beyond  the  ape,  has  not  quite  pro- 
gressed  to  the  angel.  Humbug  in  cIoth-oF-gold  despises  truth 
in  tatters.  Tact  commands  more  than  geniut  in  the  market  of 
the  world.  'CtUenew  is  judged  wiser  than  wisdom— inatmiveYi  m 
reaping  is  better  than  sowing.  Adam  Smith  merited  praise- 
but  Sir  Robert  has  power. 

How  many  have  died  in  poverty  and  despair  who,  in  death, 
have  been  the  cause  of  stars,  of  ribbons,  of  titles,  of  salaries,  to 
-men  incapable  of  comprehending  the  principles  to  which  they 
were  destined  to  owe  these  eagerly-coreted  distinctions,  until  they 
had  become  the  current  convictions  of  the  ago !  The  earnest 
devotion,  inflicting  upon  an  unfortunate  author  Interviews  with  hia 
enraged  landlady,  has  fiinushed  matter,  years  afterwards,  to 
Cabinet  Ministers  for  interviews  with  the  Queen.  A  plain,  much- 
ridiculed,  mach-hated  name,  has  given  warrant  to  that  which, 
uttered  subsequently  by  another,  has  led  to  a  patent  of  nobility. 
A  scholar's  garret  has  been  the  birth-place  of  thoughts  which,  in 
after-periods,  have  been  the  staple  of  business  in  a  Downing-street 
office.  The  strange  alchemy  of  time  has  transmuted  into  on- 
doubted  gold  for  the  small  man,  that  which  was  looked  upon  as 
mere  lead  when  laboriously  dug  forth  by  the  great. 

A.  W. 

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THE  CONFESSIONS  OP  AN  OLD  PICTURE. 

BY  A  SPEAKHtO  LIKESSSS. 

I  WAS  born  in  BernerVstreet.  I  recollect  the  day  well  when  I 
came  into  the  world.  My  master,  a  fine  yonng  fellow,  with  a  long 
beard  and  dressing-gown,  had  been  annoyed  that  Tory  morning 
for  lus  week's  rent.  Hs  was  one  of  those  deTil-care-a-bit-for- 
the-morrow  geniuses,  who  lire  one  day  on  Champagne,  and  the 
Other  six  days  of  the  week,  have  to  come  down  to  half-and-half, 
and  not  always  that. 

Unfortunately,  the  landlady  demanded  her  claim  on  one  of  the 
Bmall-beer  days.  My  poor  master,  whose  last  half-crown  had 
been  spent  the  same  morning  on  a  cab  home,  "regretted  that  he 
could  not  discharge  the  debt,"  mentioned  something  about  a  bill 
he  had  just  taken  up,  and  s^d  he  really  had  nothing  in  the  world 
but  a  trifle  he  waa  ashamed  to  offer  for  the  sum  he  owed.  The 
colour  flew  to  my  cheekB  as  he  pointed  to  me.  The  landlady 
reviewed  mo  from  my  brutus  to  my  waist — for  I  was  only  a  half- 
length — *nd  turning  up  her  Jerusalem  nose,  talked  about  "  that 
•Ort  of  thing  being  terribly  overdone  ;"  but  at  last  she  looked  at 
me  in  a  new  li^t,  for,  casting  her  calculating  eyes  round  the 
naked  walls  of  the  room,  she  discovered,  from  a  rapid  iuTentory 
.■  she  took  of  the  furniture,  that  there  was  nothing  half  so  valuable 
as  myself ;  for  the  whole  of  my  master's  property  consisted  of  a 
boot-jack,  a  palette,  a  pot  of  bear's  grease,  and  a  Bailey's  Eve, 
with  the  head  knocked  off.  So  I  was  basely  sold  for  a  matter  of 
seven  shillings  rent,  and  sixpence  boot-cleaning.  I  was  earned 
down  stairs  under  the  landlady's  dirty  apron,  and  waa  finely 
knocked  about  when  I  was  introduced  to  my  new  master.  He 
was  in  such  a  rage  that  he  instantiy  gave  me  a  pair  of  black  eyes, 
mud  so  belaboured  me  with  his  painting-brush,  that  he  took  every 
bit  of  colour  out  of  my  face.  He  then  put  a  large  horse-pistol  into 
my  hand,  and,  throwing  a  rough  jacket  over  my  shoulders,  chris- 
tened me  "  A  Bold  Smuggler  on  the  Look-out  ;  "  though  I  must 
say  my  look-out  at  that  time  was  a  v«»t  poor  one,  as  my  face  was 
turned  to  the  wall,  and  I  had  some  eighl^-and-twenty  Italian  boySr 


150  THE   COSFESSIOXS  OP  AS  OLD  PICTDBE. 

&nd  ten  more  smugglers  (eTeiy  one  of  them  on  the  looV-out),  all 
leaDing  fiolentlj  against  my  back.  I  afterwarda  ascertained  tliat 
thej  had  all  been  bom  in  the  same  garret  as  mjself ;  so,  belonging 
to  the  same  family,  it  was  onlj  right  that  as  brothers  we  should 
rub  tog^ier  a  little  in  the  world. 

Mj  poor  master,  it  aeems,  used  always  to  pay  hia  rent  with  an 
"ItaiianBoy,"  or  a  "Bandit,"  or  a  "Virgin;"  and  thewholegangof 
smugglers  which  infest  half  the  drawing-rooms  of  England,  was 
originally  drawn  and  quartered  in  his  back  attic.  His  landlord,  & 
regtilar  old  picture-dealer,  was  aware  of  his  failing  ;  and,  no  doubt, 
wu  wont  to  encourage  it,  aa  the  only  coin  that  had  passed  between 
them  for  years,  had  been  pictures.  If  he  had  a.  preference  it 
mm  for  portraits,  as  it  was  so  ea^,  he  said,  to  find  likenesses 
for  them  afterwards. 

To retum,however,tomyown history.  Ifound myself onemoming 
mnffled  up  in  a  ulk  pocket-handkerchief,  and  conducted  stestthily 
tO'sn  auction-room  in  Bond-street,  where,  to  my  astonishment,  I 
beard  myself  ccdled  a  Salvator  B:6sa ;  and.certatnly  there  was  the 
name  marked  plainly  enough  in  my  robber's  jacket.  I  assure  you 
I  began  to  have  a  very  high  opinion  of  mjself,  as  all  of  a  sudden 
iny  value  had  risen  from  seven  shillings  to  a  sum  I  will  not 
Tmturetfl  name,  lest  I  should  not  be  believed.  How  the  auctioneer, 
too,  prused  me  !  Not  a  feature  about  me  escaped  cnlogy.  He 
ti^ed  about  the  fire  that  beamed  in  my  eyes,  the  rigour  with 
iriuch  my  month  had  been  thrown  in,  and  directed  pnblio  attention 
to  the  fine  woolly  touch  there  was  about  my  jacket,  and,  par- 
ticularly, about  my  hair.  I  almostblushedto  hear  myself  pictured 
in  each  glowing  colours  ;  but  unce  then  I  have  bees  used  to  it, 
and  receive  it  ^  now  with  an  unmoved  countenance. 

Well,  I  WBB  knocked  down  for  some  hundreds  to  a  retired  tripe- 
merafaant.  I  was  conducted  home  in  a  handsome  carriage,  and 
was  provided  with  the  place  of  h<»iour  in  my  new  master's  man- 
sibn.  Visitore  came  far  and  near  to  look  at  me.  Bnt  I  did  not 
long  enjoy  my  elevated  poaition.  A  bald-headed  old  gentleman, 
who  took  a  sight  at  me  for  three  long  hours  one  day,  through  an 
iastmment  something  Uke  an  ear-trumpet,  declared  I '  was  a 
"tiopj ! "  and,  considering  I  was  taken  from  a  Greenwich  pen- 
sioner, who  used  to  sit  to  my  mastw  for  ninepence  an  hour  and 
his  beer,  he  was  certainly  very  right.  This  opinion,  however, 
bnnight  me  down  in  the  world,  for  I  was  sold  soon  afCerwards 
to    a   Hr.    Solomons  for  two    Spanish  Masters    and   an   Barij 


THE  CONPESSIOHB  OF   AIT   OLD  FtCmilE,  Iffl 

Father.  After  this  I  WM  carried  to  the  hospitBl  for  decayed 
picttiT^  in  Wardour-Btreet,  where  my  frame  tindenrent  a  complete 
renora^oD,  I  ynx  next  sent  to  the  Weatmbuter  oven,  idier« 
artuttc  bakings  are  earefiiUy  attended  to  ;  and  I  can  asatire  you 
when  I  was  drawn  out,  I  was  what  the  French  call  a  regular 
*'  cro&e."  I  was  done  to  a  turn,  I  looked  at  least  tlrfee  hun- 
dred years  older.  My  head  was  deliciously  cracked  all  over,  the 
bridge  of  my  nose  had  nearly  given  way,  and  the  fire  of  my  ey« 
was  all  but  burnt  down  to  the  sockets.  Pictures  are  like  siHne  sort 
of  cheeses,  the  more  they  are  decayed  the  more  they  are  liked;  and 
I  was  so  far  advanced  in  decay  that  there  certainly  was  no  decep- 
tion in  oalling  me  one  of  the  old  masters  :  there  were  so  many 
lines  in  my  fece,  that  I  might  safely  have  passed  a>  the  oldest  of 
them.  '  I  had  had  bo  many  baths  of  meguelp  and  turpentine,  that 
all  the  freahness  had  been  taken  out  of  mc,  and  my  countenance  had 
become  so  very  black  and  dirty,  that  1  was  Kterally  a  fine  speeimen 
of  the  dark  ages.  In  fact,  I  aearcelj  knew  mja^.  I  had  thrown 
my  pistol  away,  and  had  got  a  skuU,  in  my  hand  instead.  Hy 
hair,  too,  had  grown  considerably  longer,  and  had  become  grey  from 
old  age.  An  erpreswon  of  sentimental  hunger  grinned  from  the 
bonra  of  my  hollow  face.  I  saw  myself  accidentally  in  the  glass, 
and  thought  on  reflection  I  looked  like  a  canonised  Karanagh,  or 
the  living  skeleton  tnmed  into,  a  Catholic  saint.  I  certunly 
appeared  very  miserable ;  but  people  seemed  to  Uke  me  all  the 
better  for  it, 

I  must  eay  I  laughed  considerably  in  my  sleeve  ^which  waa 
made  of  the  dirtiest ,  sackcloth,  by  the  bye)  when  I  was  sold  aa  a 
picture  which  had  been  discovered  in  a  vault  in  an  old  cathedral 
demoUshed  by  the  Moors  in  the  south  of  Spain.  I  was  christened 
afresh,  though  what  my  name  waa  it  is  impossible  for  me,  ont  of 
my  number  of  aliasei,  to  recollect.  Of  counw  I  waa  sold  for  nothing 
less  than  a  little  fortune  ;  but  then  my  ugliness  was  considered  a 
positive  beauty.  I  was  praised  for  my  tints  ;  for  my  flCHb,  though  it 
was  aa"dirty  as  a  chimney-sweep's  ;  for  my  lights,  though  there 
was  not  a  single  bit  of  Ught  in  alt  my  face ;  for  my  warmth  Of 
colouring,  tliough  that  warmth  had  been  brought  on  by  the  intem- 
perate use  of  sprits  of  wine.  In  short,  I  was  looked  upon  by  all 
eyes  as  a  picture  of  perfection.  Such  was  myrepute — ^fiJr  the 
guide-books  had  circulated  my  portrait  and  sang  my  praises  all 
over  Europe — that  I  was  at  last  bought  for  the  National  Gallery. 
I  was  placed  next  to  a  picture  of  Holbein's  ;  and  really,  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life  I  felt  myself  at  home. 


1S2  ;  THE   OOKnSSIOVS   OP  AX  OLD  PIOXDRS. 

My  muter  first  paid,  me  a  vieit  one  day.  He  recogused  m«  st 
once,  and  laughed.  Uy  heart  beat  gratefully  towards  hita^  ' 
for  he  looked  so  pleased  at  seeing  an  oid  friend  so  high  up 
JD.  the  world  ;  but  a  shadow  alt  of  a  sudden  came  orer  his 
face,  and  he  looked  as  black  as  the  Banished  Lord,  who 
was  hung  opposite  to  me.  ,  He  left  the  room  in  a  double  quick  . 
hurry,  that  evidently  portended  the  brewing  of  mischief.  I  was 
soon  afterwards  called  into  a  private  room,  where  I  miderwent  the 
most  severe  towellmg  I  have  ever  had  in  my  life  ;  they  mbbed 
me  so  hard  during  my  examination,  that  my  diaguises  fell  off  me 
one  after  another,  tUl  at  last  as  many  coats  were  taken  from 
my  back  as  the  Graredigger  moults  in  Hamlet,  and  I  appeared 
again  in  my  original  costume  of  a  Greenwich  Pensioner.  "  There  I 
I  told  you  BO,"  said  my  unnatural  parent :  "  Carotti  has  dec^ved 
you  again;"  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  with  such  fiendish  glee,  that 
I  blushed  through  my  paint  for  the  parent  who  could  expose  his 
own  offspring,  strip  it  of  everything  it  had  in  the  world,  and 
actually  smile  ti\  the  while  he  was  doing  it.  To  excuse  my  poor 
master,  however,  I  roust  say  it  was  not  done  bo  much  to  ruin  me 
OS  a  rival  picture-dealer,  who  had  got  the  ears  of  the  cojumissionerB,. 
and  shot  into  them  any  quantity  of  rubbish  he  liked  about  fine  art, 
and  so  forth.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  professional  envy, — my 
master  thinking  he  might  make  the  same  amount  of  thoukaDdii  bv 
palming  copies  instead  of  originals  upon  amateur  judges,  as  wol 
as  an  Italian  who  had  only  taken  his  diploma  of  copying  in  ft 
school  of  picture-doctoring,  so  veiy  inferior  to  that  of  the  English 
practitioners. 

He  certainly  succeeded,  uid  I  was  rewarded  with  a  new  dress 
in  honour  of  the  occasion  ;  for  he  took  me  to  hia  home,  and  pro- 
moted me  to  the  rank  of  admiral.  I  was  then  ordered  to  take  the 
command  of  a  line  of  pictures  in  a  large  room  in  which  there  was 
nothing  bat  portruts.  It  was  called  by  my  proprietor,  "  The 
Hall  op  AsCESTORa."  Whoever  wanted  a  noble  father,  or  «n 
Uustrious  mother,  came  here  and  chose  one  for  himself.  There 
was  variety  enough  for  the  proudest !  Even  a  Welchman  might 
have  satisfied  himself  out  of  the  collection.  There  were  ancestors 
of  all  centuries, — in  wigs,  cocked  hats,  crowns,  tiaras,  little  hoops 
of  glory, — in  short,  every  species  of  bead-dress  that  expressed  old 
age,  sanctity,  or  nobility.  Antiquated  ladies,  too,  were  not  want- 
ing. Poets  even  were  amongst  the  ilite,  and  the  greatest  beauties 
of  even'  court  were  there  represented  in  all  ihmr  original  punt. 
Men  of  genius  were  not  excluded :  bat  they  formed  a  miserable 


THE  COHFEBBIONS  OF  AN   OLD  FICTUSZ.  1S3 

minority  oompftred  to  the  number  of  miBtreasea  and  martjn.  The 
few  that  were  present  £i  not  look  comfortable. 

I  could  not  make  out  ■whai  my  buainesa  could  be  amongst  such 
a  display  of  loveliness  and  ancient  blood,  for  there  was  not  on 
caquirc,  or  a  pug-nose,  amongst  the  whole  lot.  At  last  an  old 
gentleman  paid  us  a  visit  one  daj.  He  asked  the  price  of  a  lineal 
descendant  of  Fair  Rosamond.  It  was  1201.  This  was  too  much. 
for  him.  He  then  bargained  for  a  Qerman  Baron,  with  a  coat  of 
arms  with  aiiteen  quarters  in  it,  and  thirteen  syllables  in  his  name, 
who  was  described  in  the  catalogue  as  one  of  the  pillars  of  the 
House  of  Eapahnrg.  This  was  above  his  reach  agaio  ;  so  he  let 
go  the  pillar,  and  aimed  next  at  a  branch  of  Rufus ;  httt  the  branch 
was  too  high  for  him ;  and,  after  endeavouring  to  embrace  a  great- 
grandmother  of  Charlemagne,  and  regretting  he  could  not  afford 
to  take  Cardinal  Wolsey  into  hie  family,  he  bid  for  me,  and  I  was 
ultimately  knocked  down  to  him  as  Admiral  Drake,  for  632,  I7f.  6<{, , 
with  the  solemn  assurance  that  I  was  a  capital  likeness,  and  the 
only  one  that  had  ever  been  taken.  From  this  conversation 
I  learnt  that  this  hall  was  kept  up  expressly  for  the  convenience  of 
those  monied,  persons  who,  having  no  notable  ancestors  of  th«r 
own,  came  to  this  collection  to  purchase  the  best  they  £ouId  for 
their  money.  The  prices  averaged  in  proportion  to  the  rank;  but 
a  very  remote  ancestor  always  fetched  more  than  one  of  recent 
growth ;  for  instance,  Richard  III.  took  more  money  than 
Charles  X.,  and  Queen  Boadicea  was  much  higher  in  her  price 
than  Josephine. 

The  old  gentleman  took  me  home  with  great  pride,  and  I  found,  to 
my  infinite  amusement,  that  I  was  introduced  to  all  his  acquaintance 
OS  the  great-grandfather  of  his  maternal  uncle  on  his  great-grand' 
mother's  side.  His  future  father-in-law,  who  had  previously  no 
notion  of  his  son's  illustrious  connexions,  was  especially  in  rapturesi 
with  mo.  This  father-in-law  was  very  proud,  but  his  estates 
being  half  mortgaged,  and  half  in  Ireland,  had  yielded  him  lately 
a  revenue  best  expressed  amongst  arithmeticians  by  the  figure  of 
"next  to  nothing;"  so  he  was  anxious  to  marry  his  daughter. 
Lady  Rachel,  to  a  wealthy  commoner  whose  alliance  might  keep 
his  coronet  in  the  very  best  double  gilt.  Ralph  Smith  had  long 
sought  his  lovely  daughter's  hand.  The  earl  liked  him  very 
well, — fbr  he  had  mode  two  or  three  plums,  it  was  said,  by- 
dabbling  in  guano, — but  then  his  ancestral  pride  would  not 
allow  him  to  have  his  ancient  house  entered  by  a  common  Snuth. 

;lc 


IM  TRB   CORTESSIOKS  OP   AN  OLD  PICTFIIB. 

Bat  this  diBCovery  of  Admirsil  Drake  being  ao  cloeelj  allied  with 
bis  future  Bon-in-law,  effectually  removed  all  the  earl's  seniles, 
and  the  marriage  was  at  once  annoonced  in  the  Myming  Poit. 

The  tivasseau  was  already  ordered,  and  the  wedding-cake  ac- 
tually, made,  when  an  accident  occmred  that  put  a  drag  upon  the 
progreBS  of  proceedings.  The  lover  of  Lady  Rachel,  a  young  bar- 
lister,  who  wrote  beautiful  poetry,  and  polkaed,  as  Lady  Rachel 
eipressed  it,  "like  an  angel,"  was  in  Christie's  Sale  Rooms  when 
a' portrait'of  Admiral  Drake  was  put  up  for  auction.  It  waa  so 
unlike  the  one  of  the  friend  who  was  shortly  to  rob  him  of  the 
treasure  of  hie  heart,  that  little  as  he  could  afibrd  it,  he  bought 
the  picture,  and  laid  it  before  the  earl.  The  two  were  compared, 
and  certainly  we  were  no  more  alike  than  Mrs.  Gamp  and  Hebe. 
But  Mr.  Smith  declared  I  had  been  in  the  posBeEsion  of  his  family 
for'hundreda  of  years  ;  and  it  wao  aa  much  as  I  could  do  to  keep 
mycomilBnance,  when  he  gravely  asserted  that  it  was  a  common 
ohserration  amongst  his  Meuds,  how  like  he  was  to  the  admiral, 
especially  about  the  cheek,  and  that  any  one  could  see  he  was  a 
genuine  Drake.  The  earl  was  only  too  willing  to  believe  this, 
and  the  young  barriater  waa  sent  out  of  the  mansion,  as  a 
base  impostor  and  a  false  accnaer.  Grief  settled  like  a  mil- 
dew'iqion  his  heart,  and  in  lus  desptur  he  accepted  a  judgeship  at 
Sydney.  Before  leaving  England,  however,  he  determined  to 
have  his  portrait  taken  in  his  new  wig,  and  present  it  as  a  token 
of  affection  to  his  dearest  Rachel.  Chancctook  him  to  the  very 
house  in  which  I  was  bom  in  Bemer's-Btreet,^my  father  waa  atiU 
living  there,  but  in  a  very  different  style  to  the  period  when  he 
threw  me  like  a  straw  on  the  world  to  rise  bymyself  His  landlord 
bad  died  suddenly,  his  wife  had  followed  him  a  year  afterwards, 
and  my  master  found  himself,  one  fine  morning,  left  the  sole  legatee 
of  a  capital  house,  besides  the  revei^onary  interest  in  aU  the  Italian 
boys  and  smugglers  he  had  peopled  it  with  for  the  last  eight  years. 
Since  then  he  had  made  old  pictures  "  better  than  new"  on  his  own 
account,  and  had  found  making  use  of  other  people's  names  such  a 
profitable  bnainesa,  that  he  had  his  French  cook,  waa  a  director  of 
almost  every  railway,  and  poasessed  a  gallery  of  pictures  which, 
concddering  It  contejned  a  genuine  specimen  of  every  painter  in 
the  world,  he  was  proud  of  stating  was  "richer  than  anything 
«lse  (^  the  kind  in  Europe." 

My  master  received  the  barrister  (Julius  0 'Flaherty  waa  his 
name)  with  all  the  a&bility  of  a  geniua,  and  at  once  conducted 


THE  COHTraSIOKS  OP   AK  OLD  PICTURE.  15S 

hinrto  fais  studio.  Here  he  was  etrnck  with  tbe  vonderM  like- 
ness-of  M  many  Greenwich  peniionen  to  the  Admiral  Drake  of 
luB-hstedriTftl.  No  wonder  at  it,  for  they  were  all  twin  brothers 
of-Ji^elf;  being  copies  of  the  very  eame  model  who  used  to  come 
for-Dinepence  an  hour  and  his  beer.  Julius  allnded  to  the  Bvaga- 
Ifcrity-of  thia  prolific  reduplication  of  the  same  likeneBS,  and  my 
master,  bemg  is  a  contBtion  of  life  to  aEFord  to  tell  a  joto  agdnat 
himself,  explained  that  these  portraits  were  always  kept  on  hand 
t6  supply  people  with  a  ready-made  ancestor,  the  difficulty  of'  the 
same  likeness  being  got  over  by  putting  on  a  cocked  hat  and' 
featherfor  a  field-mandial,  a  wig  and  gown  for  a  Lord  Chancellor, 
a  telescope  in  the  right  hand  for  an  admiral,  a  goose-qnill  A>r  an 
author,  and  a  skull  for  a  saint  or  a  doctor.  How  Julius  jumped 
and  shrieked  when  he  heard  this  stoiy  !  But  he  lost  no  time  ; 
he'tiianked  my  master  briefly,  and  then  ran  out,  leaving  hia  com- 
ranion  to  suppose  be  was  nothing  better  than  a  niadinan,  or  a 
Erenehman,  just  escaped  from  Paris,  Ho  had  scareely  had  time 
to  come  to  any  conclusion,  however,  before  the  agitated  O'FIaherty 
waaback  again.  He  hnrried  my  master  into  a  hackn^-coach, 
and  at  least  five-and-twen^  of  the  pensioners  were  bundled  in 
witii  him.  They  arrived  at  the  earl's  mansion  just  as  a  procession 
of  Broughams  was  driving  off  to  St.  Qeorge's,  Hanover-8C|nare. 
Julius  charged  them  to  stop  as  they  valued  their  lives,  and  my 
master,  escorted  hy  his  foithful  band  of  pensioners,  was  shown  up 
to  the  drawing-room.  Here  the  earl  joined  them.  Julius,  with  a 
fluency  of  words,  a  safe  guarantee  that  he  must  ultimately 
arrive  to  great  distinction  at  the  bar,  opened  his  case.  He  painted 
in  wM^ls  that  burnt — and  blistered  as  they  humt — his  angiush  of 
mind,  his  desptur,  his  discoTery,  his  hope,  his  ecstasy,  his  more 
than  bliss,  all  witiun  the  last  ten  minutes.  "  There,  proud  earl," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  of  lightning  and  thunder,  "there  He  your 
atmestors!"  and  he  Iwd  a  stunning  emphasis  on  the  wwd  "he." 
Uy  nmster,  at  this  point,  stepped  forward  and  emhuned  these 
fusions,  for  the  barrister  had  so  overtudhis  speech  widi  Irish 
images,  that  the  sense  of  it  had  been  crushed  under  its  extreme 
beanty.  He  adapted  his  powers  of  arguing  to  the  plainest  under- 
standing ;  for,  with  the  m^;ic  aid  of  a  sponge  anda  little  turpentine, 
he  made  me  throw  off  my  admiral's  uniform,  and  to  and  bbhold! 
.  I  appeared  once  more  in  my  original  character  of  a  Greenwich 
pensioner.  The  gnano-merchant,  guessing  the  issue  of  this 
metamorphosis,  ^ckly  left  the  house :  the  young  barrister -then 

Coiwlc 


Ifie  THE  UISSIOH   OP  THE   PREBB. 

stated  thftt  bin  visit  Lad  another  motive  beside  unmaBking  the 
unprincipled  and  rescuing  the  helpless.  It  was  to  beg  die  eari'a 
acceptance  of  3000  shares  in  a  railway  of  which  he  was  chainnaa, 
director,  and  standing  counsel.  The  old  earl  hurst  into  tears  at 
this  affecting  incident  (for  the  shares  were  at  21  premium),  and 
Bimply  said,  "This  is  too  much."  He  gave  his  children  Ids 
blessing  ;  it  was  kU,  b;  the  bye,  he  had  to  give — and  that  same 
day  Julius  and  Rachel  were  married. 

I  have  remuned  ever  since  in  the  O'Flaherty  family.  I  hare  a 
very  comfortable  place  near  the  fire,  and  am  a  great  favourite  with 
everybody.  JuUus  often  talks  about  me ;  and  whenever  he  alludes 
to  my  early  career  the  whole  room  laughs.  I  am  sure  I  eujoy  the 
fun  as  much  as  anyhody  ;  and  my  relatmg  the  unvarnished  tale  of 
my  own  life  is  a  proof  that  my  position  hae  not  turned  my  head.  I 
am  very  glad,  however,  that  I  am  permanently  fixed.  I  never  was 
fond  of  moving  about.  I  always  had  a  dread  test  I  might  tumble 
down  in  my  old  ^;e  to  be  the  Marquu  of  Granhy  to  some  low 
pubUc-house.  Thank  heaven,  I  am  msured  against  any  drop  of 
that  sort,  and  now  I  hare  only  hope,  one  master  ambition,  and  that 
is  that  some  day  I  may  pass  through  the  world  as  a  genuine 
Raphael.  More  improbable  things  than  this  have  come  to  pass, 
if  you  will  only  believe  the  word  of  an  "  Old  Picture." 

HoBACE  Maihew. 


THE  MISSION  OF  THE  PRESS. 

To  arrive  at  the  true  source  of  the  hostility  between  the  bar  and 
the  press,  we  must  follow,  through  some  of  its  ramifications,  the 
mission  of  the  latter.  Every  man  is  now  aware  that  there  is  both 
anatural  and  a  political  system  of  society.  The  former  grows 
from  the  laws  of  man's  being,  the  latter  is  the  offspring  of  conquest ; 
and  such  as  we  now  know  it  to  be  to  our  coat,  it  is  the  conse- 
quence of  a  great  original  wrong.  Of  the  political  system  the  bar 
is  an  essential  part ;  of  the  natural  system  the  press  is  a  portion. 

It  is  possible  to  trace  the  bar  with  tJl  its  privileges ;  its  excIoNve 
right  to  plead  before  the  judges ;  its  establishment  as  a  sq)arate 
profession ;  its  monopoly,  and  even  its  wigs  and  gowns,  up  to 
some  statute  or  some  regi^tion,  whichthe  jodgesand  the  benchers, 
by  the  authority  of  law,  were  empowered  to  make.    So  it  is  possi- 


THB  XlSaiOir  OT  THE  FBXBS.  197 

ble  to  trace  the  rise  of  the  ro^  naTj  uid  the  profesuon  of  &  naral 
officer— from  the  first  general  requimtion  of  Ethelred  on  all  the  lands 
of  the  kingdom  to  form  a  fleet,  through  BucceasiTe  statutes  and 
regulations  levying  taxes  for  its  support,  or  empowering  its  officers 
to  seize  men  for  its  service — to  the  last  and  yet  wifiilfiUed  regula- 
tion for  wee'''";^  its  muster-roll  of  those  pensioners  the  aristocracy 
has  encum\)ered  it  with.  But  the  newspaper  press  was  not 
established  by  taw.  Like  cultivating  the  ground,  it  springs  from 
the  wants  of  man,  and  is  essential  to  the  development  of  society. 
The  authors'Of  the  political  system  have  continually  endeavoured, 
by  sharp  Ubet  laws  and  by  various  restrictions,  to  impede  the  eiten- 
sioD  of  the  press,  and  limit  its  usefiilness ;  but  no  enactment  of 
theirs,  neither  the  common  nor  the  statute  lair,  called  it  into  being. 
Accordingly,  under  one  form  or  another,  large,  liberal,  and 
world-ranging,  like  the  metropolitan  journals,  or  narrow,  cramped, 
and  strictly  local  or  technical,  like  me  little  bits  of  coarse  dingy 
paper  that  are  tolerated  by  the  despots  of  Qennany,  newspapers 
now  exist  in  all  the  countries,  however  different  their  pohtical 
institutions,  of  the  civilised  world.  The  Sepoys  have  newspapers ; 
tiie  Rassians  cannot  do  without  them ;  they  are  published  in 
Turkey  and  China  ;  and  tliey  have  already  taken  their  station  as 
part  of  society  at  New  Zealand  and  thg  Sandwich  Islands.  They 
are  most  useful,  most  comprehensive,  most  numerous,  and  most 
sought  after,  as  in  the  United  States,  England  and  France,  where 
natural  society  is  most,  and  political  society  least,  developed. 
They  are  valued  most  where  man  is  most  free,     A  newspaper  is  a 

Gwer  at  New  York  ;  it  is  next  to  a  nullity  at  Berlin.  Thus,  the 
r  and  the  press  in  their  origin  are  ports  of  hostile  and  contend- 
ing systems  ;  the  latter  is  essential  to  civilisation,  and  increases  in 
strength,  as  society  throws  off  the  trammels  of  that  system  to 
which  the  bar  belongs. 

The  mission  or  duty  of  the  farmer  in  the  natural  order  of  society 
is  to  produce  ss  much  food  as  he  can  at  the  least  cost.  So  the 
mission  of  the  monubcturer  is  to  make  clothing  or  cutlery 
abundant  and  cheap.  What  in  the  same  tntler  of  society  is  the 
mission  of  the  newspaper  writer  ?  While  the  bar  has  for  Its  object 
to  perplex,  confound,  and  mystify,  in  order  to  keep  other  men  in 
political  thraldom,  the  press  seeks  to  make  all  things  straight  and 
clear,  and  free  man  fitim  all  shackles,  but  those  of  reason.  Even 
'  the  journals  which  support  an  erroneous  system,  do  it  solely  by  an 
appeal  to  ^t  power.     The  press  collects  facts ;  it  winnows  the 


IM  IBE ,  imsION   OP   Tqn   FOBBS* 

meatal  prodndnaa.  of  caoli  .day  ftod  ereiy  people,  Jtnd 
the  naetul  reanlts.  It  w&tcbes  for  erenta,.  it  g^iheia  i 
from  every  quatter.-and  Bpraade  it  to  Uta  suaeexteat. 
the  world  againat  threatening  dasgere  as  th^j  atiae.  ] 
the  fii'st  light  of  every  downing  improvemoit,  aiad  \iaag»  it  before 
.  every  inquisitive  and  adouriag  eye.  Tha  true  ndasion  eG.tlie.^pnap, 
itB  very  aoul,  is  to  gather  and  diffiue  tnitii.  That  ia  its  aokunt 
duty  ;  and  remembeEing  how  email  a  portion  of  a  daily  joamal  is 
composed  of  queationable  matter,  we  have  no  heaitation  in  aaying 
that  to  a  great  extent  it  actually  performs  that  dutj. 

We  are  well  aware  that  a  contradictory  opinion  is  afioat,  in 
.society.  People  habitually  toaat  the  freedom  of  the  pme,  and 
declare  ^t  it  is  like  the  air  they  lu^athe — if  they  have  it  not^wy 
die  :  uevertheless,  there  exists  amongst  them  a  slight  dread  and 
a  practical  contempt  for  the  object  of  diair  Uisoretic  love  ;  aad 
seizing  hold  of  little  diacropaaicies — the  ten' thouauidth  part  of  its 
daily  contents — they  also  haUtuaUy  speak  of  the  lying  press. 
Gathering  information  from  all  quarters,  being  open  to  the  oom- 
piainta  of  the  lowest  man  in  the  oommunity,  and  the  h^^iest 
employing  it  ^  communicate  his  viewa  to  mankind,  represenlN^ 
all  claases,. their  pasaionaand  prejudices,  as  well  as  their  reasfoi,  It 
is,  in  common  with  everything  human — liable  to  error,  and  ocoa- 
sionally  circulatea  fBlseboods  and  oalumnies.  That,  however,  is 
the  exception,  not  the  rule.  Every  new^wper  writer  aoknow- 
ledges  his  reaponaibility  to  scratinise  every  paragrafdi,  to  aeparate 
the  truth  &om  the  falsehood,  the  good  from  the  evil,  to  premote 
good  only,  .and  circulate  tmly.  truth.  He  is  nrarally  and  atdemAly 
pledged  to  Booiety  to  perform. that  duty,  and  the  ocmidenoe  which 
is  now  universally  placed  in  the  bu&  of  all  the  statemeata  of 
newspapers  fiOYes  ihat  it  ia  in  genen^  duly  aaA  honourably 
perfortned. 

'When  unreflecUng  peraons  apeak  inconsiderately  of  "  the  lying 
press,"  they  must  have  some  sttmdard  of  comparison  whiui  is 
infinitely  more  Inith-telUng.  The  bar,  which  ooteriously  hires  out 
its  tongue,  like  church-bells,  to  sound  any  tune,  suppUes  no  such 
standard.  Nor  does  any  class  of  men  in  their  private  interooBiae. 
Traders  in  their  dealings,  men  and  women  of  fashion  in  thar 
polite  eommunic^ion  a ,  surgeons  and  physicians,  and .  notoiioas 
teeth-drawera,  to  aoothe  or  beguile  their  piUiente,  with  almoat  every 
other  clasa,  indulge  in  a  hoense  of  asseriitui  which,  finds  no  counter- 
part m  the.iiewBpai>er  press.     Throi^jhout  .socoety,  anecdotes  are 


Upl:«l  by  Google 


XHE  ins^eN  OF  -mB  pbiu.  UI9 

pBtinto  ciroulsdttt&nd.  rAa(lJl3rpa»&fT0intmcni&  to.Molidii  vUch  no 
ii«rB|>q>enwould  publish.  We  vSi-  uy  no&ing  -of  pdpit  ^isoonneB 
but  tJbisr  tli^t  tiie.  authors  of  tiiem,  netvlyone  &nd  all,  ve  jjedgad, 
Aprwri,  to  Thirt j-nine  ArtioloB,  to  ConfMeions  of  EoUh,  to  bodwrof 
doctrinea,  which  th«j  hara  norer,  seruptilouBlj  and  unbiMAed,  aub- 
j«oted  to  examination  ;  and  the  pfobablUty  thwefore  is,  that  they 
far  leu  abound  ia  tnith  than  the  daily  Btat^nenta  of  newapaperB, 
which  are  within  erery  man's  oomprehoBsion,  and  open  to  daily 
refutation.  We  maat,  however,  Bay  of  Uterature  in  general,  in- 
cluding scientific  treatises,  as  wdl  as  works  of  acknowledged 
fiction,  with  elaborate  theories  of  hearen  and  earth,  and  man 
and  animal  B,  that  the  writing  in  newsp^ers  contrasts  favourably 
with  that  as  to  its  truth  or  falsehood.  The  newspaper  writer  c<ei- 
tinuallj  looks  out  for  facta,  and  he  is  continually  checked  and  kept 
obedient  to  them  by  a  great  multitude  of  critics,  Se  caonot  and 
dare  not  indulge,  for  long  periods,  in  the  dreams  of  imaginalioD. 
A  writer  in  his  closet,  who  does  not  bring  his  lueubrationa  to  the 
test  of  day  till  his  volaine  is  oomjJeted,  utd  who  has  gone  <n, 
nninflnenoed  perhaps  by  facts,  in  the  ruts  he  and  odiera  hare  worn, 
it  more  likely  to  be  in  error,  and  perust  in  error,  than  the  author 
of  leading  articles  in  a  daily  new^iaper.  His  party  bias,  his 
prejndiooB  and  paeaiona,  are  generally  avowed  and  guarded  against, 
partly  by  himself  and  partly  by  others.  Even  when  ho  is  pledged 
to  an  erroneous  syBtem,  or  bound  u^  witha  faotion,  ho  de^  in.  a 
great  meaauro  with  facta,  and  preteikdH  todiffose  truth.  Thus  we 
hare  seen  the  mimopolist  Standard,  and  Berald,  by  qualifying  a 
hasty  and  unguarded  stat^nent  of  the  aqpostle  of  teae  tmde,  be- 
come tlie  expounder  of  a  partial  tn^,  in  defcooe  ef  an  erro&eoua 
•ystem  against  the  ohan^ion  of  one  of  the  h<^e8t  oaoBes  dutt  erer 
e  gaged  the  attention  of  mankind.  Looking  through  society  it 
muBt  be  affirmed  that  nowhere,  in  the  practices  of  manlund,  oan 
a  atandard  be  found,  in  comparison  to  whieh  the']Heas  demrroa 
the  epithet  of  lying. 

On  the  contrary,  because  the  preaa  is  on  the  whole  trath-telling 
wherever  it  predominates  in  aociety,  aober  truth-telling  will  be  the 
habit  of  the  people.  All  barbarous  tribes  at  all  times  have  indulged 
imagination  witiiout  restraint,  or  been  addicted  to  lyiog.  The 
very  act  of  putting  pen  to  pajter  induces  thought  and  conud^^li<». 
The  slow  progress  of  written  oomposition  gives  m<ve  time  for 
deliberation  than  spoken  language,  and  a  nation  of  vrriters-will 
neoeasarilybe  more  guarded  and  more  correct  in  ita  osswtieilB 

Coo'jlc 


'  160  THE  HIBBtON  OP  THE  PKBBS. 

than  a  nalaon  of  speakers.  An  orator  sponta  Mb  fint  erode  reflec- 
tionB ;  a  writer  can  purge  and  mend  biii  words  to  be  a  correet 
fiipression  of  hia  thoughts.  He  may  hare  something  t«  conceal, 
but  tt  is  in  general  to  the  satisfaction  of  bis  enemj'  that  a  cunning 
man  writes  a  book,  and  preserres  a  record  of  himself  fbicb  ma; 
be  a  witness  against  him.  That  be  puts  bis  words  into  a  perma- 
nent form  is,  therefore,  a  check  to  deceit  when  a  writer  wishes  to 
deceive.  All  necessary  communications  between  man  and  man 
are  cleansed  from  grossness  and  inaccuracy  by  the  filtration  of  the 
'  press.  To  speak  like  a  book  is  to  speak  we]!,  correctly,  willigood 
manners,  and  with  truth.  To  write  in  that  manner  is  the  duly 
habit  of  writers  for  the  press ;  and  where  they  are  numerous,  where 
the  readers  of  daily  papers  are  the  bulk  of  society,  to  speak  like 
a  book  will  be  the  habit  of  the  people.  Falsehood  is  more  com- 
mon in  Ireland,  where  the  influence  of  the  press  is  of  modem 
origin,  and  as  yet  comparatirelj  feebler  than  in  England,  where 
it  is  far  more  extensive,  and  has  been  longer  established.  News- 
papers in  fact  practically  create  that  high  criterion  of  truthfuIneM 
by  which  their  contents  are  tested  and  sometimes  condemned. 

The  press  is  freer  than  any  otber  profession  to  express  opinion  ; 
it  is  unfettered  by  any  theory ;  it  is  not  bound  by  bribes  nor 
emolument  to  uphold  any  system  ;  it  is  pledged  to  no  creed  ;  it 
can  follow  tmtb  wherever  it  leads.  Being  dependent  on  society, 
it  respects  tfae  opinions,  feelings,  and  creeds  of  every  class,  and 
would  be  ashamed  of  the  anathemas  which  sometimes  resound 
from  pulpits ;  it  incolcates  toleration  by  its  precepts  and  by  its 
example,  and  is  not  unirequently  condemned  by  rabid  tbeologiana 
tmd  heated  enthusiasts,  because  it  will  not  depart  from  its  respect 
for  existing  opinions.  It  will  not  sustain  the  exaggerated  preten-  ' 
dons  of  any  party,'  and  by  the  ultras  of  every  party  its  very  virtues 
are  thns  made  a  reproach  to  it.  The  press  has  more  time  to 
scrutinise,  and  is  more  cool  to  judge  of  affairs  than  those  who  are 
plunf^ed  into  the  vortex  of  politics.  At  the  same  time  It  has  no 
means  of  enforcing  its  views  ;  it  is  not  backed  by  bayonets  ;  it 
can  neither  dragoon  men  into  submission,  nor  subdue  them  by 
spiritual  terrors.  Thus,  there  is  enforced  on  it  a  respect  for 
reason  and  a  love  of  justice,  aa  well  as  a  regard  for  truth  ;  that 
forbearance,  that  toleration,  that  respect  for  others,  which  are 
proper  in  all,  are  imperatively  and  especially  required  from  the 
press.  Ita  members  unite  most  of  the  functions  of  the  Lcvites, 
except  beuing  the  sword;  they  teach  and  theyheid,  but  they  are 


THE   UISSIOX   OF   THZ  PBESS,  161 

guiltless  c^  lulng  an^  kind  of  phjwcal  Ti<denee.  To  Ae  miniitwa 
of  the  lair — to  the  members  of  the  har — thej  leare  the  odiooa 
task  of  inflicting  penalties,  even  to  death,  and  of  pUntiBg  evil  in 
the  vain  hope  that  good  will  groir  from  its  root. 

The  mission  of  the  press,  and  its  ori^  in  the  natnntl  i  jatem  of 
society,  white  the  bar  originatea  in  the  political  8jst«m,  sopplieB  « 
clear  explanation  of  the  cause  of  their  mutual  hostility.  Th« 
present  temporary  quarrel  iB  a  mere  symptom  of  the  permanen 
opposition.  No  class  is  more  imbned  with  feelings  of  animositj 
towards  the  press  than  the  legal  profession.  The  judges,  gene- 
rally speaking,  as  well  as  the  barristers,  seldom  lose  «n  oppw- 
tuutty  to  hare  a  fling  at  the  newspapers  :  seldom,  too,  do  tliey 
neglect  to  trounce  them,  and  inflict  on  them  fines  and  imprison' 
ment,  when  they  hare  the  power.  They  fear  tito  press,  and  are 
always  anxious  to  curb  its  tongue.  Swollen  into  mock  dignity  by 
a  corporate  monopoly  and  a  share  of  the  pririleges  of  the  aris- 
tocracy, they  submit  only  to  professional  rules,  and  practically  aat 
at  nought  responsibility  to  society.  At  the  same  time  they  perust 
in  treating  all  the  business  of  life  and  all  the  rights  of  men  accord- 
ing to  their  own  antique  and  uncouth  fashion.  They  know  that 
addresses  to  the  crown  to  remore  a  judge  and  impeadunents  are 
out  of  date  ;  Hiey  know  Qiat  the  bulk  of  mankind,  submissire  to 
their  spells,  humbly  acquiesce  in  their  usui^ations.  Only  now  and 
then  some  spirited  individual  impugns  a  judgment  or  attacks  a 
legal  argument  in  a  newspaper.  Only  the  newspapers,  acknow- 
ledging in  reason  a  higher  power  than  law,  criUcise  and  condemn 
the  proceedings  of  both  barristers  and  judges.  The  legal  profes- 
sion is  placed  on  the  confines  of  respon^bility,  and  the  press 
grapples  wiUi  it  and  holds  it  within  the  limits.  It  is  daily  made 
to  feel  its  dependency,  and  vainly  tries  to  escape  from  subjection 
to  society  and  the  press.  The  whole  legal  profession  has  an 
initinctire  abhorrence  of  the  press,  and  tries  to  degrade  tlie  power 
it  cannot  resist.  The  two  bodies  ore  the  antipodes  of  each  other. 
The  one  is  the  champion  of  reason,  the  other  lives  on  political 
BOperstition.  Between  them  there  is  permaaeat  diseord,  and  tba 
preMnt  quarrel  is  of  that  only  a  symptom. 

In  the  end,  the  bar  will  be  defeated,  and  we  waru  it  against  the 
inequality  of  the  contest.  The  power  of  the  press  is  as  bouiidleM 
.3  that  of  society.     It  reaches  the  throne — it  is  wdoomed  ir  ''^^ 


cottage.     It  can  poll  down  injustice,  however  lofty,  and  nu»  up 
lowliness,  however  deep.      It  castigates  crimes  wluch  the  Uw 

vCoo*^lc 


tiv. — voT..  ni. 


fM  TBS   UIB8WII  OF  T^  FRESft, 

■msMt  Maeh,  mid  prerMrta  tbote  wfaklt  lbs  bw  eas  <»df  pwi^ 
ItMmm  Te^FCMng  iliem.  Wb«r«Ter  aa  eye  ottn  ftee  and  a  hukl 
OMi  vrita  Am  is  die  ^en.  Peraou  in  trilH^tioB  r^  on  it  iat 
redress,  and  they  feel  eta»  tiuX  wrong  vili  not  go  impuiiisfaad  if 
it  t«  ICMVk  «e  tke  j*iini«k.  Like  %h(,  it  peaetratai  into  every 
noA  uid-ci«HBy  vf  locwt;.  and  eutiM  help  4iul  bealiiig  on  its 
beaaia.  It  aips  rii^  alMwa  ia  tb«  bud.  It  ati^  tke  tide  ^ 
tyrany  -wiioi  eettia^  in  Ml  fl»t>«l.  It  dariv«a  iu  T«at  ^«w  iroiQ 
the  ^fftooipk  of  its  teiag.  S«dusg  out  tmtb,  twd  reprMOtitiog 
reaMb,  it  omoeob'ates  Mi  Mm  point  tint  whoie  loora]  power  c£ 
aocie^,  «tid  f4m«itea  a»d  gevemsi,  witbout  violesco,  bj  tha  men 
knowladge  tkat  tb*  ^^fne*l  power  sf  soeiet;  is  alwAja  ready  to 
viiulieKtc  tiM  rigfct.  Aa  it  eomea  into  full  ^eradaa,  the  oonrae  of 
society  baoanes  uniform  and  eqtial,  a&d  iia  enda  u«  abtaiiied 
without  ^K  ocRtralnoM  and  rehellMOfi,  iij  which  a  rude  unlet- 
tered p«eple  BHk«  tbnr  irllt  knemi. 

ThU  is  tJie  rB«l  SBfltwo,  aod  tfaeae  ttra  the  l^gk  buhctuma  of 
the  presB.  We  do  not  •ffirtn  that  tbej  are  tktw^s  fulfilled.  It  k 
of  OompMROitely  swdeni  origin  ;  and  those  who  ue  devoted  to  it 
are  scaKwlr  Mlisible  of  its  vMt  power,  and  do  not  amoom  all  its 
dignity.  Th«  avtoal  prese  does  not  reaeh  ideal  exeeUeoce.  Those 
who  owdoM  it  Moog  to  the  indiuMdotta  claosea,  «iid  must  live  by 
tiieir  liAouF.  Tbey  shara  in  all  the  arile  whi<^  tUiO.  ditig  to  na 
from  c^t^OMt  fairing  made  a  daVe  of  tbe  l^oorar.  The  degra- 
dation hea|Md  <n  mEefd.  industry  in  the  olden  tines  leavea  its 
brand  on  k  vtill.  The  do-nothings,  deriving  their  titles  and  their 
wealth  fhmt  a  plundering  lutcestry,  on  whom,  worthleae  bm  they 
are,  they  are  a  great  iu^ovemeut,  are,  in  die  politioal  system) 
the  ennobled  and  the  honoured  classes.  Whoevor  Irves  hy  his 
labour  must,  to  some  extent,  he  subserrtent  to  tikose  who  possess 
the  property  of  eociety,  and  have  inhwited  usiu^ied  political 
power.  The  members  ef  the  press,  being  in  that  predicament, 
too  frequently  give  ap  to  party  what  is  meant  for  mankind.  They 
forget  that  catholic  uni^  which  is  the  characteristic  of  society, 
and  make  tjaemsalves  ^e  servants  of  class  intorests  instead  of  the 
general  welfare. 

Like  ereryduDg  hnmim,  the  press  hu  its  imperfections  and 
abuses.  B«tigioa  has  its  popes,  and  the  preM  has  its  proprietors  ; 
men  who  uw  it  for  personal  aggrandizement,  and  to  attain  political 
dignities  byporchaBing  and  betraying  the  guardianship  of  society. 
Both  religion  and  the  press  haro  been  perverted  into  in^rumcnts 

Coo'jlc 


TBE  imUOX  07  THE  ZBSIB,  283 

ti'toMficm ;  md  aa  that  ma  nndv  ths  means  et  ili  limine  uir 
itMid  if  cBDoUiiig  Buikind,  m  line  h  «DnwtBm  vaad  by  ita 
aartj,  MMkn,  asd  pnpiiatBn,  to  .(KmeoM  faui  and  JiBaatnnate 
illaehaod.  It  ia  tbm  ai  bad  j*  •  hnd  «oUi«,  -wko  flgiOi,  not 
for  light,  bat  ferfaf.  Inke  Itanisten,  itlvbea  fees  t«  .maanlaiB 
the  WTOBg:  b«t  adnla  that  is  Aeir  rriawitiii!  fiiaiirli  lialir.  Ihi 
n)«  of  ^eir  eDndaei :  in  iha  picro  k  is  a  dapattin  frm  tin 
pmcnple  «f  ite  sBateoun.  It  is  »  poUntiaM  ia  be'doiflDnd  isd-faj 
lA  Msanagotrid  oC  Whnt  die  peBBteksaAea  l^AthabftrnaboBi, 
visa  doninoerad  «w  by  pw^  leadara,  or  parroted  hf  paipiiB' 
ton,  it  18  than  indeed  dsgr^ded  ta  the  leml  of  BflDaaisgtpieat- 
hood  or  the  insincere  bar. 

Bnt  with  all  ita  present  imperfectlona  and  faults,  the  presa  is 
acceptable  to  Hocietj  at  large.  No  mao  except  an  <^preB8or  Ukes 
to  hare  anything  to  do  wiUa  a  h-trjer,  and  lie  usea  him  onlj  as  a 
tool  which  it  is  unpleasant  to  handle.  No  man  is  willingly  with- 
out a  Jiewspapar.  Etiey  thought  the  xou^  diaordar  of  flng^ish 
freedom,  the  want  of  conrteaj  which  is  the  national  characteristic, 
and  all  the  evils  of  warm  political  discussion,  cheaply  purchased 
by  tha  aravMQMat  «ad  itvrtroetioB  ai  a  newapaper.  Gmrper 
deictibea  it  ae  :— 


liMpdrit>n«ttatfNi  «Ule  I  nad 

Vtai  baMd  in  chana  of  oltnea,  wUeh  Aa  ba, 

Hoqfh  «lDqiieBt  tbeiiuelTe%  jet  fear  t«  bitak  J 

Wbat  isicbnt  a  map  of  boaji  liCe^-- 

Its  floctaation  and  its  jaat  ameeraa  T" 

.  Bat  the  folio  of  f«ir  pajtaa  has  now  awellad  to  a  folio  of  eifl^ 
pt^flB,  Bi2te«i  pagea,  and  evui  twenty  pagas.  LocooiotiaB  has 
scarcely  improved  mive  ibaa  nem^)^ers  sioco  Cowp«r  wrote,  aod 
is  not  more  sidworrieid  than  thaQr  are  to  t^  geaMal  welfore. 
Brery  mim  lot^  duly  for  hia  newspa^a.  W«e  Ibe  judges  to 
abdicate,  uid  the  eourla  to  Bu^end  th«r  ftmctieas,  no  man  wotUd 
at  (woe  misa  and  r«gT«t  them,  except  for  the  low  of  a  eohima  «i 
unusement  ia  tJut  new^iaper  ;  hul  &e  day  and  tite  boar  when  t^ 
poitman  "with  hie  twan^uigh'HB,"  "the  herald  of  anoisy  world," 
or  the  moil  ti'aiu  loaving  its  great  bags  of  almost  a  ton  weight  at 
letters,  should  go  to  its  deslinatitm  without  nowapapers,  would  he 
&U  of  ooosteniation.  We  camot  picture  ike  geaotal  aUfio.  the 
fidgett;.  uneaeioess  «f  ^  uw^iMit  lookmg  foraacoanta  of  Hu 


,11  :«l  by  Google 


IM  A  SEOBT  8T0RT  OF  THE  AILOTHENT  ETSTEH. 

AiriTal  of  bis  ships,  or  of  the  etste  of  the  markets,  on  which  his 
whole  daily  bmness  is  dependent ;  and  the  fright  of  the  timid 
owner  of  public  securities,  or  of  the  well-paid_f unction  aries  of  the 
government,'^wluch  would  spread  itself  into  isnumerable  con- 
jectnres  as  to  what  cominotioa  could  have  laid  an  embargo  on  the 
newepaper.  Por  the  mail  to  aniTo  without  the  joiimsb,  would 
be  like  die  approach  of  day  followed  bj  no  rising  sun.  Whenever 
t&e  fact  ia  alluded  to,  everf  man  becomes  instautlj  eensiblc  that 
society  could  not  exist  in  its  present  wonderful  ramificatious  with- 
out Qeirspapers.  They  are  not  merely  the  ofispring  of  the  natural 
system  a[  society,  they  are  essential  parts  of  it,  which  will  outlive 
the  throne  and  the  peerage. 


A  SHOKT  STORY  OF  THE  ALLOTMENT  SYSTEM. 

Thirtbbn  years  ago,  when  allotments  for  the  poor  were  first 
talked  of,  I  well  remember  that  many  dissentient  voices  were 
raised  against  the  measure ;  and  in  our  small  village  of  West- 
brook,  more  tban  one  farmer  was  found  who  predicted  all  sorts  of 
evil  from  its  accomplishment.  At  this  time  West-brook  was  a 
nest  of _  half-ruinous  cottages,  chiefly  inhabited  by  agricultural 
labourers,  who  took  no  p^ns  to  keep  up  the  appearance  of  the 
tenements  in  which  they  lived,  and  which  from  their  great  age 
were  constantly  in  want  of  repur.  Tiles  were  blown  off,  ond 
unless  the  inconvenience  was  immediate,  seldom  replaced ;  the 
pluster  fell  in  large  patches  from  the  bulging  gables  and  over- 
hon^g  fronts,  and  remained  so  till  masked  by  the  summer  coat 
of  whitewash  which  most  of  the  housewives  found  time  to  apply  ; 
few  whole  casements  existed,  but  when  the  old  leaden  frames  let 
fall  a  loEenge,  a  bit  of  brown  paper,  or  in  some  cases  a  piece  of 
felt,  or  a  handful  of  rage,  filled  up  the  aperture,  and  conridei'ably 
added  to  the  neglected  and  ill-to-do  aspect  of  one  of  the  most 
^easontly-situated  hamlets  in  Essex.  Sir  Gilbert  Woodford,  the 
lord  of  the  manor,  had  been  for  some  years  an  absentee,  and  so 
long  as  tho  rents  were  for^coming,  his  agent  cared  little  for  the 
comforts  of  the  tenants.  The  hall  itself,  with  its  closed  windows 
and  pleasure  garden  nm  wild,  was  the  picture  of  desolation  ;  and, 

Upl:«lbvGOOglc 


A  BHORt  STORT  OF  THE  ULOTUKIT  STSTIK,  W 

in  fut,  nothing  seemed  to  tluire  save  beer-shops,  which  ererj 
tenth  house  in  West-brook  professed  to  be.  About  diis  period, 
the  distress  generally  felt  in  the  agricultural  districts,  llie  low- 
ness  of  wag«s,  and  consequent  dissatisfaction,  occanoned  the 
landed  proprietors  to  legislate  among  thenuelres,  how  thej  mi^t 
best  quench  the  incendiarj  fires  oightlj  bloEiag  from  county  to 
county,  sjK^ading  terror  and  ruin  among  their  wealthier  tenants. 
Then  it  was,  that,  while  some  contented  themselves  with  hunting 
out  the  offenders,  and  subjecting  the  county  to  fresh  expense  iu 
prosecutions,  and  an  increase  ^  prisoners,  others,  more  wisely 
obserring  that  neither  the  gibbet  nor  the  couTict-ship  affected 
the  cause,  or  idlayed  the  imbecile  vengeance  it  occasioned,  at 
length  tnmed  their  eyes  to  the  condition  of  the  farm-servant,  and 
felt  the  necessity  of  conceding  something  to  his  wants.  It  was  at 
this  juncture  that  Sir  Gilbert  returned  to  West-brook  ;  and  one  of 
hisfirst  acts  was  to  grant  some  sixtyallotments,  varying  from  fifteen 
to  twenty  rods  of  land,  to  the  neediest  labourers  on  his  estate  ; 
those  who  had  the  largest  families  had  the  largest  piece  of  ground, 
and  a  rent  of  five  shillings  in  the  one  case,  and  seven  in  the  other,  was 
fixed  for  their  annual  rental.  The  delight  of  the  poor  labourers 
at  this  arrangement  was  only  equalled  by  the  chagrin  of  one  oe 
two  of  their  employers,  whose  fears  and  jealousy  furnished  a  host 
of  arguments  against  the  well-working  of  the  system,  *' You  know, 
neighbour  Noakes,"  said  Fanner  Woodfine,  letting  the  bridle  fall 
on  the  neck  of  his  sturdy  cob,  while  he  paused  to  talk  to  his  friend, 
who  was  plodding  up  the  field  path  from  the  marehes,  where  he 
had  been  to  look  at  some  fat  stock  for  the  Christanaa  marttet, — 
■'  You  know  as  well  as  I,  that  it  is  in  the  nature  of  a  man  to  be 
more  careful  of  himself  than  of  another.  Very  well,  ur.  If  he 
has  ground  of  his  own,  his  master's  will  be  neglected;  for  it  stands 
to  reason  that  after  rising  at  fonr  o'clock,  and  working  two  good 
hours  for  himself,  he  will  not  be  as  fresh  and  strong  aa  if  he  come 
direct  to  his  day's  labour  at  six  ;  and  what  other  way  is  there  for 
hiTQ  to  cultivate  his  allotment  ?  "  "  Very  true,  neighbour  Wood- 
fine,"  responded  Ur.  Noakes  ;  "  but  we  should  do  unto  others  as 
we  would  be  done  by  ;  and  between  ourselves,  the  condition  of  the 
agricultural  labourer  wants  bettering.  Here  they  are,  compara- 
tively speaking,  well  off ;  but  in  the  lower  porta  of  ^e  county,  and 
in  Suffolk  and  Norfolk,  the  average  wages  is  not  more  than  seven 
or  eight  shilhngs  a  week  ;  and  what  is  that-  for  a  man  with  a 
wife  and  family?"      "Ay,  ay,  that  is  another  thing,"  replied 


lb.  Wood&ne,  alMfply,  evidentljaot  a  bit  plMsnl  I7  Ua  Migk- 
bonr'a  view  of  the  matter  ;  "  bm  Into  tke  mm  is  rerj  ^eatat. 
There  n  Jc^  Hvr,  for  iartnc*,  on*  ol  1117  IwM  vnrloBaa  (when 
hBhun'thadftdraptwmu^);  1  a«iwtMiiitlw.ha«yit  opBof  the 
locgvat  ihue*  allettoA  to  hin ,  and  I  ^vf  UdLMiutaat  wttgiu^-tvdra 
duJlh^^aa  ws^;  behAa.aIi^e  fnuhr  to  b«  mr^  bat  on*  of  hia 
bars  can  ean  2(.  $A  *  imk  m  tb«  leaaoB  at  crOTr-keapiBg." 
"  That,  bmrerer,  doe»  Bat  iMt  aS  the  jeur  M«d,"  Bwd  Mr. 
Ifoakea,  smiling  ;  "  and  May's  wif*  aaA  ux  «&ttd«a^  sad  dme 
diilH^s  »  week  tor  lua  eottagje,  eo^Mt  laar*  mash  ol  ^  twelne 
duUbtgs  aaapent  when  Setwrda^  mi^t  mmss."  "  Ah,  I  m«i  &ey 
have  MUen  70U  with  the  philasthropj  of  the  rndtti,"  intenrapled 
Kt.WoedfiBe;  "batmark  nywerds:  iriiettthea{iria§>«OBes,  jeu 
wiU  see  the  ewU-  of  it.  A  vret^  thing  ndeed,  fer  a  wsiitcr  to  be 
Mbjeet  to  theooimBieoceof  hissanaiits!  And  I  shoirfd  motat  aQ 
vnmUr,  if  Uaj  eones  to  me,  a&d  s^s  be  wavts  a  daj  for  h^Kl^ 
and^eks  the  finest  in  the  we^  flsr  that  pntqMse.  He  haft  worked 
vet;  w^  hidierto,"  he  eentiuaed  ;  "  but  it  stoo^  t»  resMW  that 
sAer  twdre  honn'  toil,  a  man  mast  be  too  eriMusted  to^be  ef  obj 
IMS  to  tilBctt,  It  ean  cul<f  be  done  Vf  getting  op  of  mwntitge, 
and  Aen,  aalbefbre  said.beeMuiotbehatf  bis  wMlh  to  ma.  Sir 
OilbeTt  AoeaiCwi&a  geediBtentioo,Ib«Te  no  doubt ;  bat  eokn^ 
as  these  foUts  get  their  rent,  it  smtters  litt^  to  then  hsw  macE 
yoo  or  I  na;  bbAt  for  the  sake  t^  t^Mv  seeing  themseli^ea  pnCed 
in  Aa  new^apMs  as  pattern  koAonb."  Aad  m  Mr.  WooAoe 
gathevcd  up  the  rans  and  prepared  to  amble  hosw,  alt  tke  while 
exelain»ig,  "  Yoa  will  see ;  spiii^  time  is  net  far  eff ;  hare  » 
care  of  joor  seed  petateee  ;  look  ^srp  after  the  Bsoura  ;  *  wkQe 
f  amer  Noakes  smiliBgly  hdd  back  tba  Cre-harTed  gate  for  hki  M 
pass  t^roi^,  goo4hanKiaredlir  obaernag,  "  I  an  ^waja  iotfned 
to  think  weU  of  CTarjthing  that  promiats  to  better  the  esafition 
«f  poor  huBMsit^,  ssid  wnearely  hope  fc  woikin^  of  tAe  tytlaa 
May  ^apny«  yoex  sv^aeians,  aad  ivaivn  jmsr  pMJadieee.." 
"  We  shall  sea,  we  ahaU  see,"  repeated  Mr.  Wwx^e.  "  I  hare 
set  mj  keert  foirlj  against  it,  and  bo  I  teH  yea. "  thm  sajmg, 
he  bade  the  atber  good  waning,  and  rode  off. 

In  a  nook  of  the  lane,  leading  to  the  la^r  fan»,  stead  a  siagle 
cottage,  apparently  ee-«qad  in  age  with  those  that  e«anpoeed  the 
villtto.  Befcee  beer-riieps  had  been  ho  rife  in  the  nncbbewhood, 
thiafitde  ;^  bad  baenrenMrkable  for  ^MtrimMaBaf  the  As<w»- 
knet  before  it,  oMi  the  luxtuisMCS  of  a  vine  by  wfasefa  it  wan  tfrvr- 


A  SHOBT  8T0BT  OP   THB  ALLOTMENT   SYSTEtt.  1117 

ain-eftd  ;  but  now  H  difered  Taiy  Kttk  from  the  aspect  of  those  in 
^  hftmlet.  Tlos  was  tW  haUtetioK  of  Ur.  Wood&ie's  ibkb, 
Jrim  May,  1^0,  gooeTaSj  sp«akiDg;,  wu  a  goo^  speciiOMt  of  Ihh 
dasB — hcmest  and  bat^irofking,  nerer  negleotiBg  nis  emfhyjer's 
intereBt  or  bis  own,  but  whent  em  the  fanner  phr^ed  it,  "  h»  bad 
hod  a  dr<^  toO'  mDctt."  On  tbeee  oacaaiona  (wUdi,  to  do  Mtt joa- 
tic«,  raroly  hanpened,  mr«  at  ChriBtmai  kkJ  Eaatcr^au:  tinae,  or 
in  the  ererrt  of  a  eri^ot  match,)  it  would  ta^*  Jobi  eome  days  to 
wmm  biintelf  sober ;  nrnd  a  -fit  of  inelwiation  gua^mXtj  eost  him 
the  h>ss  of  bt^  a  inA'a  work,  the  iCei^eaeure-  of  bis  muter, 
hwd-ache,  moroeeBeee,  and  feeooteDt  ob.  H»  own  side,  and  short 
idlairanee  ob  thai  of  bis  wife  and  ehitdreti ;  bwt  though,  as  I  bare 
said,  tiiese  oatbre^s  were  1^  no  meane  ord^Barr  ooeurrenceB,  he 
ran  the  hmard  of  tfeem  daily ;  for  the  want  of  ether  rewurcea 
seat  the  poor-  fanp-serrant,  by  way  of  refaiatjoa,  to  the  piiblio- 
ihottae.  The  eoBseqtienee  of  ^vs  was, — the  pint  ef  ale  to  which 
he  bad  been  aeeustotsed  t»  hmit  himsetf,  soon  wew  nfo  a  pot^ 
Aai,  m  ^e  memitiae,  the  -rine,  wbiek  had  immi  ta  trtmlj 
k^t  an^  weM  trakted,  a&d  tba  fniit^e  of  i^tji  hait  proved 
an  in^ptanl  sewve  of  profit,  began  to  show  the  extended 
ftbaences  of  1^  prepriet«r  ;  and  the  little  garden  (too  smaU 
for  the  prodaee  m  vegetablea),  but  rich  in  Bweetherbe  uid  early 
flowers — another  source  of  weal^  to  the  bnmbls  h»use«i{e— 
m  spite  of  Susan  May's  ondeaToiB^  and  th»  atteatim  oi  the 
two  eldeet  boys  m  weeding  and  watering  it,  deduked  in  tite 
beauty  and  abundaoce  of  its  bleeseoaa,  and  missed  1^  ietip 
^ging,  msHure,  aod  ft^sh  nkowtd,  which  John  had  bean  id  the 
habit  <^  beet«viiHg  w  it.  The  effect  of  these  appwent  trifle*  sooa 
became  fett  by  his  wife  and  family,  and,  in  eonjuVtioB  widi  hk 
Ae^Ued  potations,  eoneiderably  ftbrsak  bis  limited  GoeMS,  and 
caused  a  eorrespwtdeBt  diminisbmeHt  ia  the  «wiifi»ts  of  bis  humble 
hmaestead.  It  was  at  this  period,  and  just  as  John  Mv  ^*^ 
progressing  tr^m  a  ttpler  te  a  e<Hifiived  sot,  l^t  Sir  fiiSiert 
Weodferd  comneneed  his  trio)  ef  the-  aUotnent  system,  ^kI  gave 
a  new  in^ulse  to  the  poor  man's  «mt»^a,  by  granting  Um,  in 
eoBMdwstion  ef  Us  nameroua  fanulr,  one  of  the  largest 
^ares.  AH  th»lab««rt>g  nenin  the  village  BMie  or  leu  b«i*- 
filed  by  th«  arvangsBieat,  asd  in  a  vh^  sbrnt  time  isa  •Sects 
h»gn  to  tefl  on  the  Aaractem  of  this  Mtberto  ne^eeUd  dass. 
The  ground  was  giv^t  to  dkem  at  Aa  beginning  of  the  yiw,  and 
W>  ReoB«  did  the  e|mig  airrive.  tbaa  emi^ive  infaetiT  ^rwg  vf 


IliS  A  SIIOKT  BTOBY  OF  TOE  AIJ.OTUE>'T  STSTEK. 

uDODg  »t  them,  and  gra.^tude,  no  less  thiui  self-interest,  actuated 
them  in  the  desire  to  render  thw'  little  holdings  productive  and 
well-kept ;  the  early  day-break  found  few  of  the  proprietor  un- 
employed, aud  such  of  the  hoys  aa  were  able  to  assist  felt  almost 
OB  proud  of  the  poMtesBion  as  their  parents  ;  the  woods. and  roods 
were  put  under  contribution,  for  the  purpose  of  enriching  the  soil ; 
the  accumulations  of  dead  leaves  and  heaps  of  rotted  weeds  and 
Toad-dust  served  admirablj  for  this  purpose,  and  the  task  of  col- 
lecting it  gave  the  ^oung  assistants  health,  babita  of  early  lising, 
peneveranco,  and  industiy.  By  Uarch  the  ground  was  dug,  ttic 
manure  worked  in,  and,  in  his  anxiety  to  compete  with  his  neigh- 
bonrs,  John  Uay  not  only  rose  early,  but,  as  the  evenings  length- 
ened, became  loo  much  absorbed  in  the  business  of  his  garden,  to 
stay  out  the  reading  of  the  cheap  paper  at  the  Plough.  Sy  this 
means  he  saved  a  pint  of  ale  nightly,  and  by  putting  the  price  of 
it  aside,  was  astonished  in  a  short  time  to  find  it  amount  to  a 
sufficient  sum  to  purchaeo  all  the  seeds  and  plants  he  required  to 
crop  his  ground.  This  was  the  crisis  that  would  cither  prove  or 
refute  Ur.  WoodBoe's  predictions  on  the  subject ;  and  such  of  hia 
neighbours  as  he  had  inoculated  with  his  prejudices,  or  who  pos- 
sessed them  on  their  own  account,  began  to  watch  their  beds  of 
plants,  seed  potatoes,  and  heaps  of  manure,  with  jealous  vi^once, 
lorgetfiil  that  nothing  serves  so  much  to  keep  a  man  honest  as 
having  a  character  to  sustaiu.  Without  this  their  servants  would 
have  forfeited  their  possesions  ;  so  that  it  beeame  a  guarantee  of 
good  conduct,  instead  of,  as  these  gentlemen  believed,  a  provoca- 
tive to  peculation.  Seed-time  passed  awaj  ;  their  employers  lost 
nothing,  not  even  the  day  which  it  was  supposed  they  would  be 
exacting  enough  to  ask  for  themselves,  and  the  poor  men's  gardens 
were  stocked.  Neither  was  it  observable  that  any  diminution 
took  place  in  the  manner  or  amount  of  their  daily  labour ;  on  the 
contrary,  the  very  circumstance  which  it  was  supposed  would 
take  from  it  imparted  a  moral  strength  that  no  longer  made  them 
feel  mere  beasts  of  burden  ;  they  hod  an  interest  in  the  emi 
themselves  ;  and  the  consciousness  of  owning  ever  so  small  a 
tract — anything  beyond  the  task-work  of  labour,  the  bore  price  of 
daily  bread — awoke  a  feeling  of  self-respect  and  independence 
that  made  them  work  with  a  good  will,  more  liberal  of  its  labour 
than  the  compelled  hireling  who  deals  out  so  much  of  his  corporeal 
strength  as  will  win  him  his  scanty  livelihood.  And  now,  as  the 
spring  advanced,  the  allotments  began  to  wear  quite  a  flourishing 


A  SnORT   BTOItr  OF  THE   ALLOTUEKT   STBTEU.  1(W 

a^jpAftrmee  ;  the  delicate  green  of  tiie  jonng  Keds,  and  the  bud- 
ding leaTSB  on  the  little  hedge-rows  that  divided  them  ;  the  Iwg, 
□eat  rows  of  peas  and  beans  ;  the  beds  of  radisfaes  and  onions  ; 
the  borders  of  lettuces,  leeks,  celeiy,  and  ridges  of  potatoes  ;  all 
lookiug  healthr,  and  promisiag  sneb  accessions  of  comfort,  naj, 
lamrj,  to  the  poor  man's  lot,  that  hope  and  contentment  grew  op 
with  them.  What  a  qaiotlj'  busy  scene  those  gardens  became  I 
By  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  naj,  sometimes  earlier, 
you  might  see  tiie  hnmble  proprietors  at  work  in  them, 
earthing  np  the  potatoes,  transplanting  cabbages,  and  remov- 
ing the  destroying  insects  ;  and  when  evening  came — the 
soft,  sweet  evenings  of  April  and  May — ^the  reeking  parlour  of 
the  public-house,  with  its  stifiing  fames,  loud  oaths,  and  angry 
altercations,  became  abandoned  for  the  fresh,  blossom-breathing 
ur,  in  which  the  lark  still  carolled,  and  which  no  mder  sounds 
than  the  gleeful  laughter  of  playing  children,  and  each  pleasant 
and  gentle  talk  as  springs  up  amongst  herbs  and  flowers,  amidst 
those  that  cultivated  them,  disturbed  :  then  the  hands  that  all  day 
long  had  spent  their  strength  in  their  master's  service,  felt  renewed 
at  the  sight  of  their  own  inclosures,  and  worked  nutiringly  till  the 
stars  shone  ;  the  children  too  contributed  their  share  of  help, 
thinning  the  beds  of  their  too  abundant  crop,  clearing  ^em  of 
weeds,  and  bringing  water  from  tho  neighbouring  well.  Can  it 
be  supposed  that  this  snpwnnmerary  employment,  and  the  habits 
of  neatness  and  order  so  essential  to  a  garden,  were  without  their 
effect  on  the  home  habits  of  those  individuals  ?  The  eye  sought 
there  the  same  neatness  and  regularity  it  had  elsewhere  effected  ; 
and  the  thorough  repair  which  Sir  Gilbert  ordered  for  the  cottages 
was  seconded  by  the  efforts  of  their  tenants  to  maintain  them  in  it ; 
and  in  the  short  space  of  twelvemonths  the  effect  of  the  allotment 
system,  and  the  presence  of  a  reudent  landlord,  had  worked 
wonders  in  the  village  of  West-brook.  One  who  had  prerioualy 
pascied  through  its  apparently  tottering  street,  would  scucely  have 
recognised  the  picturesque  hamlet  in  its  state  of  renewal.  Ctou- 
fort  and  clbanlinees  have  continued  to  grow  with  the  age  and 
increase  of  the  allotments  ;  for  after  ten  years'  trial  Sir  Gilbert  gave 
a  larger  grant,  and  I  have  heard  that  this  year  he  has  again  added 
to  it.  As  for  our  fWend  John  May,  no  one  has  more  largely 
profited,  both  in  character  and  acquisition,  tban  he  has.  The 
cottage  in  the  lane  is  now  a  picture  of  thrift  and  prosperity  ;  the 
vine  that  for  so  many  seasons  had  trailed  at  will,  allowed  to  accQ- 


1]$  OBB  TtUUOa  ^   IT  IB. 

iiflfctn  iTinlinti  vmnI  And  uafrtotfttl  brtmJMi,  hu  l>aaR  McdMlf 
pnued  Bnd  tended,  »mA  jirida  buwiBBd;' ;  a.  hire  er  top  af  btmm 
an  ettaUii^ied  in  a  mnnj  ooraer  of  Hm  UtUe  gHden,  awl  if  we 
Maid  g«t  «  pa^  ftt  tbe  back,  m  ilunld  fivd  »  toKpi»  ol  lAoct* 
legged  pigs,  thrivix^  «d  the  Mfiue  ^  the  M^le  uid  wute  vege- 
mSm  ud  Mft^  potatoM.  Of  UtB  ymn  ^  <^ildrM.  have  baoo 
seat  ta  m^ioqI,  and  tbe  ioCTMae  ^  luafid  Uterataie  at  &  km  priec^ 
SDaUae  Jatn  ta  beer  mssh  oun  haftlthir  and  aintiaiai|*  papm  naA 
by  hJB Qirn haarih  than  tlnnnhgrforwaaiy  pajj bo <harfagliateiMg 
to  in  til*  tap-DMw  of  tbe  ilM^ 

Ur:  Weod&M  hca  laat  his  ^judiaaa  » tlm  tids  of  tuna,  ami 
■oir  wAj  ntiptiatrv  that  tha  aUelmests  bs  Itmtied  to  tventy  tads, 
al  bmbI,  to  QMb  mHB,  3%ay  m^  manage  ddC  q«witi^  (a»  thej 
■iponr  tfr  hwra  done)  vithowt  injacy  to  thfdr  eaiplafen,  and  irttk 
b^efit  to  tiKwaeWea  ;  but  a  rod  bejvod  it — M>d  aU  his  oU  daubts 
and  KiBtnMt  naold  retim. 

Hia.  CuuxjiTR  Wnrs. 


OUR  YIUAGE  AS  IT  IS. 
»  MWHi  oMinia. 

taK  Aovgbt  baa  faecfaMtlj  rararreii  t»  mj  miaif  wbaa  i  beve 
bcfla  fMuiog  Ami^  ■&  ^insutdinl  Ti£^&— M»e  of  a  btmdrad  c^ 
dktt  plans  vlA  dmtdbad  eottagea  of  oU  gia^  ataiM.  I  bare 
glawiid  tbitM^  d»e  gaMi  at  t^  yars«Bag«.  w  haire  laalced  up  to 
tbfr  dd  cbar^-i^in,  sod  tbk  boa  be^  tbe  ctran  of  laj  iBcdi~ 

tatMDU 

"  Tkre  siij^t  be  a  b««k,  and  a  jtrj  nuAd  baok,  a.  geauise 
*tnet  for  tbe  timea,'  wnt«n  apan  thaieid  Cfiiv.  Vanoae  aatfi 
wa«U  laafc  m^h  it  fraH  varimu  pouit*  of  v'ww.  It  wonid  atggtat 
to-  tt«  PtotastaBt  a  buitor?  of  tb«  BlefatmadiiaB.  ar  would  eatl  failb 
fiMQ  the  Ctttiaalie  a  a%lt  for  tfaa  daaaj  of  aMtiaat  ^etj ;  bnt  I 
sbftll  iatk  at  it  tnm  naither  <^  theae  pMots  of  «t«ir.  Ona  &ct  is 
<«rtoi9  :  tbst  spira  doriasee,  that  for  more  tiuw  five  hundred  je»i& 
Cbniattan  doetritke  ha«  been  pn^aaed  here  ;  tbait  a  aiweeeaii^  of 
mm*  adMated  a«d  aet  a^>art  to  teach  tbe  pei^e  bow  to  lire  and 
haw  tQ  dia,  have  ratided  near  that  cdd  ebor^.  And  row  I  kek 
wuttd  aaad  atdt— vheae  are  the  reeuks  1  What  baa  b«e«  done 
to  Tvae  tibe  pec^le  higbiM  and  make  them  ba^tpier  ?  "     In  reply-ta 


IT  ■■■  m 

tUs  iflMrtiM,  I  mH  (feaoik  faidifUlf  tk  aauii&m  of  oae  of 
Aa  hu-gwi  of  tbcee  TiUagnr  wliiek  I  kaow  verj  veil. 

L«t  nft  ranler  try  to  guan  tlia  nune  of  Qar  ViU^ft.  T*  c«n- 
Msl  its  loeality,  I  itid  be  fpmrhg  of  topogn^hinl  deseriptioo. 
B^wU,  tbM,  gMd  M4der,  k  hag  tmi  wida  *«al  af  in«ti^ 
Imoim  ;  MnwfUoDd  gn^,  witkoumw  vindawB  mwim  hag  b«&m 
the  good  effect  of  li^^t  ^oo  miorf  ami  ba^  i*m  ijifiiMiiriiJ. 
odtera  new,  ebttai,  nd  ijaewd.  Abart  is  tlie  wd^  tf  tha 
^UafB  MtKoia  th*  g»7  rihwA  tiirT,  ■cd.jiitit  iffwiti  the  dhnelL 
jm  BH  ui  oU  1m«w,  itf"  giovnf  jkfmtffim^r  ^htre  dwells  that 
fwy  greai  mt^  {I  iMat  b^  dawn  rj  ]p<M  attd  mice  »  b(nr)~tbfl 

Hot  aiMtber  Tmid  ■mUlta.ywt  the  aapeet  of  Our  TUtg;  laM 
I  ibmU  1M  eaaght  mad  ttken  before— 4he  ■qaire  ! 

W«ll,  I  torn,  tboK,  to  sketch  the  moal  aapcet  ef  Am  pbc*  ;  ia 
&i»  it  will,  KMt  likdy,  nwtiad  the  leader  of  sMeral  atiwr  ^aM«, 
>o  I  «hatt  be  oat  of  daager.  It  is  Mnmootj  oetMMed  »  quick  and 
ordeiij  lill^e.  People  gescvaljj  retire  to  rect  at  a  good  hour  aad 
Amf  secur*  &am  diaturbance  in  Our  VKage.  We  h*Te  no  Sun- 
ivy  amiawmeBta  «myti^  beU-nnging.  A  trarUrir  who  skmld 
OccaBioDa%  pau  tfareiigh  Our  YiSag«,  wnuli  ocrtaial;  give  na  a 
g«od  alMumcter,  at  leaat  ke  irould  aaj,  "  I  aarer  mar  attjdiag 
wveng  in  the  place"  B^pf  »e  thaj  w^  only  kxifc  ob  Ac  avt- 
nde  !  bat  the  preaoBt  sketch  is  iBton^ftd  te  giipe  a.  gkme  iai«  the 
iogida  of  Oiw  VSkg*. 

7o  be^»  at  the  beginniDg — vrimit  i»  Ae  mt»t  daiu^  ?  Let  ns 
ga>  ioiwm  the  taaa,  babind  the  eld  efaupah,  and  h*Td  »  peep  at  the 
raetory.  It  m  hatf-past  nz  a'dook  rjt.,  and  the  Keetor  ie  takiog 
hsa  dtiner.  We  aan  tcU,  nithoi^  «»*efwiropptBg,  wbai  be  m  taJJk- 
iag  abost.  We  know  bis  tc^M*  fvr  tbe  table,  as  well  a»  bis  topics 
ftr  the  polpit.  Bat  our  purpaao  dees  oat  ta^iin  a^  tddbag 
mA  the  SeatorV  psinde  dMBOtar.  I*  ift  eiAcknt  to  dascrifaa 
iim  aegatiF^.  Be  k,  as  the  vh(^,  a  Toy  ^M*  >*■•  He  does 
not  interfere  with  the  concema  of  the  |sifii  ;  bniaanftBca  ^u- 
nlf  to  tbe  dvtiaa  af  ^  pulpit.  TbMB  ia  an  idea  ^t  is  awaken- 
iag  wiutb  altoati—  in  ov  lraea~~tbM  the  jmofi*  an  naialUi^ 
DNre  than  nsarbiaiM,  that  tbey  csonot  be  mtadad  hj  men  dwich' 
gtang,  tbattbcrmust  b»sl*aaiialed  touulMaiatedbLtbe-eseicisa 
•f  tfaeii  narol  and  intellMtnd  faeultiea,  ■■  short,  that  ibs;  «MBt 
ba  edMKtod  ;  Ikat  the  tne  Atago.  eC  reUgtea  aod,  esmMfawitly. 
tba  pnper  bwnie«t  ef  a  dargjaMa*  nbaaW.  be  to  denlc^  m  miij 


teas 


172  OUR  Tni^QB  AS   IT  IB. 

and  order,  the  beat  facilities  of  maDklnd  ;  to  teach  &e  young  to 
lore  and  follow  the  pure  and  refined  pleasures  of  the  intellectual 
life,  instead  of  the  gross  and  hurtful  indulgences  of  the  lower 
passions.  Now,  of  iJl  this,  our  Rector  has  never  heard ;  or,  at 
least,  has  nerer  understood  a  syllable.  He  would  call,  it  hetero- 
doxy or  nonsense.  He  is  a  man  of  routine.  "  That  which  hath 
been  is  the  thing  diat  shall  be,"  saith  our  Kector. 

Well ;  as  our  Rector  has  been  described  negatively,  so  may  Our 
Village  be  described.  If  you  know  what  it  is  not,  you  may  guess 
what  it  M.  1  St.  It  is  not  a  place  of  social  intercourse.  No  fanuly 
in  the  place  is  respectable  enough  to  visit  with  the  Squire.  There 
are  two  doctors  and  two  lawyers  in  the  place  (for  Our  Village  is 
nearly  a  mile  long)  ;  hut  thc"birds  of  a  feather  "  do  wrf  "flock 
together "  in  this  case  j  for  Lawyer  A,  has  a  quarrel  of  seven 
years'  standing  with  Surgeon  B.  ;  while  Lawyer  C.  has  discovered 
that  Apothecary  D.  is  a  low  fellow — sprung  from  nothing.  Sur- 
geon B.  was  once  very  frequent  in  his  visits  to  the  rectory,  and 
drank  many  bottles  of  wine  there  :  the  consequence  is,  that  now 
he  never  goes  to  the  rectory.  So  much  for  our  social  or  rather 
non-social  condition,  2nd.  There  is  no  intellectual  life  in  the 
place.  If  you  require  proof  of  this  statement,  you  have  only  to 
w^k  over  to  the  bookseller's  shop  in  the  neighbouriug  town  of  B. 
Ask  Mr.  Page  what  hooks  and  periodicals  he  sends  to  Our  Village. 
He  can  easily  tell  you — "  Sir,  I  send  one  Sel!*  Life  to  the  Queen's 
Head ;  one  Churchman'e  Magazine  to  Mrs.  Church  (a  retired 
widow),  and  one  BeU'i  Messenger  to  the  Squire.  I  send  novels, 
now  and  then,  to  Miss  B.,  the  surgeon's  daughter,  and  some 
magazines  to  Mr.  A.',  the  attorney's  son.  Besides  these  1  sell 
several  copies  of  Moore'g  Almanack. "  No  lecturer  ever  comes  to 
Our  Village  ;  hut  a  conjurer  can  generally  contrive  to  pick  a  few 
pence  out  of  our  pockets.  Wo  wore  once  honoured  by  a  visit  of 
some  portion  of  Mr.  Wombwell's  carnivorous  family,  and  for  two 
days  Our  Village  seemed  alive.  The  roars  of  real,  Uve  lions,  broke 
pleasantly  npou  our  stillness. 

Thirdly.  There  are  no  intellectual  amusemmtts  in  the  place. 
A  few  old  card-players  meet  every  week  at  the  Queen's  Head ; 
hut  they  hardly  form  an  exception  to  our  assertion.  A  tailor, 
of  a  melancholy  visage,  perforins  occasionally,  **  Oh  Nannie,  wilt 
thou  gang  wi'  me  J  "  upon  the  violin  (but  "  Nannie  "  never  will  ge 
in  proper  time) ;  and  our  shoemaker  has  been  attempting,  for  some 
months,  a  tnnei  (it  remains  to  he  proved  wAat  tune)  upon  the 


ODB  TIUAOB   AS  Tt  IS.  lIS 

dftrionet.  This  is  all  the  social  music  we  hare,  with  the  ezce^ 
lion  of  the  piftnoB  at  the  houses  of  A.,  B.,  and  C,  before  mentioned. 
With  regard  to  our  music  at  church,  it  Is  currently  reported  in 
the  neighbonring  town,  we  make  our  psalm-tunes  as  we  sing ; 
for  nohody  can  recognise  them.  I  may  safely  say  this — I  heliere 
such  sin^ng  is  not  to  be  heard  in  all  London. 

So  much  for  the  negative  symptoms  of  our  place^and  do 
they  not  imply  all  that  must  be  said  of  the  poaitiye  facts  ?  Ton 
may  guess  what  the  people  are  doing  if  you  know  what  they  are 
not  doing.  There  is  no  rule  more  certain  than  that,  throughout 
nature,  one  order  of  life  can  only  be  displaced  by  another.  You 
refuse  to  cultivate  flowers  in  your  garden,  it  is  soon  overgrown 
with  rank  weeds.  Where  intellectual  life  declines,  sensnal  life 
rises.  Wo  need  not  illustrate  the  truth — it  is  a  common-place, 
admitted  and  neglected — as  Coleridge  said,  "  a  bed-ridden  truth." 

Let  us  only  take  a  walk  down  Our  Village,  and  we  shall  find  some 
illustration  of  this  truth,  of  which  our  Rector  will  know  nothing* 
It  is  seven  o'clock— the  shades  of  evening  are  closing  around  us, 
and  the  old  church-tower  is  fading  into  the  grey  sky.  How  quiet 
seems  Our  Village!  The  music  of  tongues  is  chiefly  confined  to  the 
tap-rooms.  The  tailor  is  again  popping  the  question,  "  OA  Nannie," 
&,c.,  in  ad  libitum  style,  and  the  shoemaker  has  just  commenced 
that  mysterious  tune  on  the  clarionet.  But  where  are  our  villagers  } 
You  cannot  see  a  figure  in  the  street — look  a  little  better — in  the 
shade  of  the  tree  by  the  Squire's  gateway — see  you  nothing  ? 
"  Yes  ;  two  young  men  are  standing  there."  Ay ;  and  if  you 
were  an  inhabitant  of  Our  Village  aud  knew  the  gentlemen,  you 
might  guess  their  occupation.  They  are  indul^ng  in  some  coarse 
jokes  on  the  poor  ^rl  who  is  coming  down  the  street,  so  carefoUy 
folding  a  shawl  around  a  tattered  dress.  That  poor  girl's  history 
will  be  a  good  comment  on  the  text  which  our  Rector  will  not 
understand.  She  belongs  to  the  most  degraded  family  in  Our 
Village;  and  what,  think  you,  led  to  the  degradationof  that  family? 
You  will  smile  when  I  tell  you  my  opinion  (which  is  more  than  an 
opinion — a  fact} — "  That  girl  is  degraded  and  miserable  because 
oar  Rector  wo^d  not  let  her  father  lead  the  singing  and  play  the 
bass-viol  at  chwch."  A  strange  cause,  you  say,  for  such  an 
effect !  Well — I  vrill  explain  the  case,  and  in  so  doing,  I  shaU 
illustrate  a  great  moral  doctrine  already  stated.  Here  is  the 
story  then : — "  Billy  Hodgson,  the  father  of  that  girl,  is  a  shoe- 
maker, or  ratber  a  mere  cobbler — for  he  of  the  clarieDct  is  our 

Coo'jlc 


TM^sntiU*  mtm  ia  St.  Crii^'s  Ibw.  BUj  o 
good  pur  irf-^Mea  ;  bat  he  could  put  tba  I»h  t«  a  pi 
fitirif.  Dsiing  the  tinte  of  «yr  fenoer  Mtior,  HodgMB  wu  Ac 
grata  mMMl  Miikoritj'  of  Our  ViUae^  He  felt  that  be  kul  ■ 
^Me  in  tbe  pMuh— «  gift  to  ezereiae— «  mmhou  to  &lfil— ^ 
young  authors  say.  He  eonld  say,  oa  Satmiaj  tirmaBg,  wbea  Im 
had  ;gatheMd  his  ehotr  in  tht  gidlerj,  for  pcas^oe, — "  To  pimtow 
we  Bh^  sii«  E)m«7,  I>«Tnei.  and  the  old  40^  PtatM."  Beiai 
ft«OB3f»rtAUe  and  ^(iiewoTtfay  fiteUog  of  Wf-fl  JmrtkiK  ia  aayiBg 
titM.  ThBn  Suday  wM  iade«d  for  Billy  *  iUy  ^  pleaMue.  fia 
believed  that  it  wns  creAted  and  aet  a^Mvt  from  •!!  other  dkyi  iar 
piwlm  flinging  The  cieik  jnight  suy,  "  Let  lu  MBg,"  ise. ;  hot 
^ylMKL&BtdetenautediAet^naldbeaof.  Tba,  inpreptn- 
tioo  for  ihia  greatday,  tl^ra  was  ahnwlent  oMnpatieo  daring  tbe 
week.  Xhere  ware  the  wjenwti,  the  giria  (iwriading  fiod^ea'a 
two  dw^hteiB),  te  be  aduoaJAied  and  ke^  inreadmeaa.  "Now, 
^ally,"  Ho^on  wo^  ny,  when  he  met  «w  of  lus  oli«r,  "  mind 
you  dw't  have  a  cold  nat(  Saa^^." 

Th«s  ibere  wor«  the  (aoan — two  yowtba  'a^  mqniaed  nneh 
eoBiJag — to  be  b^  in  order,  and  tiiie  o&anter-vaget  iiad  t«  be 
k^  to  hk  post  J  6ir  he  laid  a  pr^peaaity  te  ge  CDuitiag  at  a 
B^^bonriag  haralat  ea  Saadays.  Hodgsoa  even  coBpoaad  several 
paelm-toaea,  And  aot  bad  onse,  whioh  were  aavg  in  oar  -^lav^. 
Thus  it  was  ia  1^  days  of  hia  ^ry.  And  kt  ua  not  treat  with 
an  air  of  burlesqMo  that  w^h  wa^  lite  bait  part  of  paar  Hodgaon's 
li£B.  It  WAS  in  his  p^mody  tia»i  he  rose  »boT«  eaetk  and  all  its 
Bordid  CAKE  about  upper-lsAthers,  soleB,  welta,  and  boboails  :  this 
BBalm-aing^g  was  the  mun  connecting  lii^  between  tbe  aool  of 
Biily  Ho(Q[Bon  And  bearer. 

AloB  I  it  was  eevered — and  poor  Hodgflw  has,  indeed,  fjidlen 
like  Lucifer.  I  cannot  tdl  all  llio  cirenmatABcea  of  petty  dia- 
piitea  which  led  to  tite  diasijution  of  tits  old  «[Qire  <tf  siBgtni ; 
but  o«  £ector  (who  kaowa  and  cares  aiding  aboat  music)  gave 
many  A&oote  to  our  leader,  and  eaded  the  diapute  by  ejecting 
Hodgaon,  his  dai%ht«rs,  his  baas-Ttol,  and  all  big  other  adherents 
from  the  gallery.  Hodgson  hAB  never  been  in  the  Church  eieee 
tbat  iataX  day.  When  he  is  very  tipsy,  and  allaaioDfi  at«  made 
to  his  old  psalm-sngiog  habits,  he  will  My — "  Yoo  may  oall  me 
what  you  like  now  ;  but  them  wae  the  best  days  of  my  li£e  ;  and 
I  was  .as  decent  a  man  ae  any  in  the  pariah  ;  bat  I  wab  turned 
out  by  a  ntnn  ibat  knowa  no  nnwe  of  muaic  ibtm  thie  jug  !  "-— 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


CDS  TILLMS  jM  XT  U.  ITS 

Well ;  tititx  the  ejection  iiiete  was  a  blafib  in  our  niamhvernae, 
for  ne  had  no  un^ng  for  seretal  SondAya ;  bnt  t^ra  wm  « 
wane  Uuik  in  poor  Ho4gs(ala  mind.  For  »  liuls  tma  he 
«mua«d  himeetf  1^  gcuag  (Jwnt  utd  tellii^  wImI  lie  eallad  '■  the 
ri|^  code  of  die  Storf  ;  '  Iwt  ea  Sktardi^  ereaisgA  ad  -Simdi^ 
Im  felt  a  want  ef  avBKthing;  on  es^j  plwe  witkm,  -trhiadi  he 
endewroored  te  £11  by  fi«quent  potetJoDi  at  tbe  i^Reea's  Bead. 
To  mate  tlie  atory  cbort — his  evcming  drwig^  inetaMed  mitii  it 
roachad  tfae  gallon  Bteasuie ;  he  first  a^ected,  Oma  Ulrjraated 
and  lut)f-Btan«d  his  wi&  and  children,  aod  be  bns  boMnw  the 
most  degraded  character — the  greatest  droi^uKl  in  Um  bbtMi. 
The  Rector  tbak«  he  did  vey  Well  in  fbretesng  that  aw^  «  man 
would  disgrace  tbe  Olwi^  ;  h«t  forgets  te  aetice  Hui,  prerioHi 
to  the  ejection,  Hedgean  WMn-fleb«T,  ordedj,  and  laatulpmit- 
iuei.  Ihe  et^id  Suture aajw—" tiie  Hedgwmirera  tiyntya  a 
bad  lot."  If  I  WBre  to  give  iam  u;  wtplaaation  of  ifae  com,  ha 
weaU  Bcont  it  and  sa; — "  0  tbat  haa  notiuiig  to  do  widi  it: 
Hodgam  wodd  hare  drunk  juai  as  baid  if  he  had  k^  on 
pMlnt-aitqimg  te  ^a  day."  Thefieetar,  weaawhae,  e(»^ac8 
to  ptwteh,  1b  a  very  orthadex  atyle,  ««  ihe  evil  ceu«ei|aencee  oS 
ae^ectii^  ta  attend  Church.  Both  oar  Squire  «ud  «ar  Rector 
belong  to  a  large  hut  usetees  class  of  mnralista,  KhD  find  it  easier 
to  lUto*  worda  of  r^robation  than  to  inquire  by  what  means  the 
onteasts  of  society  have  been  led  astray,  or  by  what  tneaas  similar 
cases  may  be  prevented.  Such  moraUste  look  upon  evwythmg  as 
a  miracle ;  for  they  will  never  give  thomaelvea  the  trouble  to 
trace  an  effect  to  its  cause.  To  say  that  ainaers  are  ainners  ia 
very  easy  ;  but  a  more  useful  thing  woiUd  be  to  inquire  into  the 
exact  circumstancB  of  their  fall.  If  this  were  done,  there  would 
he  found  many  casea  snbAanitiBUiir  like  that  I  have  related.  The 
connection  that  haa  been  traced  between  the  emulsion  of  the  old 
basa-viol  from  our  orcbeatra,  and  the  circumBtanoea  of  Hodgson's 
daughters,  degraded  to  aomethiug  wenee  iian  btg^anf,  ie  not 
imaginary.  If  the  unhaj^y  girie  eould  tell  their  inner  history — 
how,  when  thtnr  fMhw  tod  degmded  hinsrif  (and  wb«n  every 
body  looked  upon  ^em  as  degraded  also),  they  felt  that  they  bad 
ne  station  to  maintain,  no  eharaetra'  to  lose,  and  how  they  were 
led,  step  by  step,  down  the  wrong  way,  until  they  really  Irecame 
wIhU  jKuple  Memed  fo  erpffif  Jftem  to  4e — if  they  could  tell  Uietr 
true  talej  it  woidd  confirm  my  esplaaation  of  it.  Yes  ;  vice  is  a 
very  bad  thing — and  bo  is  a  great  deal  Of  cold,  selfish  respect- 
ability, and  moral  orthodoxy ! 

Llg.i^lbyGoO'^lc 


170  THE  HEDGEHOG  LETTEKS. 

Before  I  close  this  little  atory  (too  true),  I  must  notice  what  tt 
suggests  repectiog  Our  Village  generally. 

I  haye  presented  a  glaring  instance  of  vice  resulting  from  a  want 
of  good  occupation  ;  but  &e  rule  laid  down  would  bo  too  well 
confirmed  by  a  close  inspection  of  social  life  in  Our  ViUage.  What 
are  our  young  people  tninking  about  t  What  are  they  doing  ? 
I  have  told  what  they  are  not  doing.  They  are  hardly  recognised 
by  their  superiors  as  creatures  having  souls  ;  but  they  hare  Bonis, 
at  least,  feelings  and  pasaions.  What  are  they  doing  ?  I  leave 
the  reader  to  guess.  If  there  is  not  light  in  a  place,  of  coarse 
there  must  be  darkness. 

To  conclude — have  we  not  persisted  too  long  in  the  old  mis- 
take of  treating  vice  only  as  a  matter  for  reprobation  and  punish- 
ment, instead  of  studying  the  means  of  prevention  ? 

Are  not  many  of  the  vices  of  l^e  poor  and  the  ignorant  just  the 
natural  effects  of  that  state  of  moral  and  intellectual  deprivation 
to  which  they  are  condemned  by  the  apathy  of  their  superiors  ? — 
Is  that  to  be  called  a  moral  education,  or  a  religion  which  cnlti- 
vales  none. of  the  best  faculties  of  the  mind,  which  encourages  no 
activity  in  pure  and  elevated  pursuits,  which  treats  the  people  as 
if  they  were  only  machines,  and  thinks  to  atone  for  a  week  of 
moral  lethargy  by  a  sermoa  on  Sunday  ? 

Such  questions  are  suggested  by  Our  Village  as  it  la :  wc 
shall  consider  them  more  fully  when  we  attempt  a  sketch  of  Ouii 
Village  as  it  odoht  to  be.  • 


THE  HEDGEHOG  LETTERS. 

COMTinilND  IBE  OPINIONS  INO  IDVENTnKBS  OF  Jtrt)] 

MHDOH  ;     AND     WBITTEN     TO    HIS    IMLATIVES    kSD    AdtClllTAIICB,     1 
'  VABIOCB  FABtS  OF  tHB  WOBLD. 


Dkab  Ebehezer, — Your  letter  came  to  hand.  There  was  no 
fear  of  that.  No  letter  that  showed  a  man  to  be  a  fool,  ever  yet 
miscarried.  Asd  a  pretty  noodle  your  bit  of  foolscap  paints  you. 
What !  you  're  glad  we  're  going  to  have  out  the  mihtia  ?  Ton  're 
delighted  to  find. we  've  so  much  blood  in  ns  !  .  Blood,  indeed  I 


,11  :«l  by  Google 


THB  HBDOGHOd  UBTTEB*.  If? 

What  bnnnesB  has  any  decent  Cluistiiui  man  iritlk  blood,  miless  ia 
the  war  of  black  pudiiings  ? 

Well,  at  jour  tim«  of  life,  I  didn't  think  you  could  hare  had 
the  pipe-claj  fever  bo  atroDfi;  upon  jon  1  And  jet  it  only  makeB 
out  a  notion  of  min«.  You  ma;  begin  witli  boys  and  lads,  and 
teach  them  what 's  right  and  straigbt, — but  it's  plaguy  hard  to 
take  the  twist  and  crank  out  of  you  respectable  middle'aged 
Solomons  that  Kill  be  fools,  and  still  think  you're  so  very  wise, 
only  because  you  're  fools  with  a  grave  face.  You  say,  the  whole 
town  of  Numskull  ia  ripe  fw  war.  li  it  ?  'Twould  serve  it  right 
just  to  have  one  morning's  lelish  of  it.  The  mayor,  you  say,  ia 
very  hot  for  glory,  and  the  mayoresB  and  her  daughters  dying  to 
see  tiie  whole  town  in  regimentals.  If  the  thing  could  be  done, 
I  should  like  to  have  Numskull  besieged,  and  the  mayor's  house 
piirticulwly  well  peppered.  'Twould  be  a  nice  holiday,  a  capital 
sight  for  the  rest  Of  all  England.  I  think  I  could  arrange  a  very 
pretty  day's  amusement. 

Let  me  see  :  we  will  be^n  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
The  mayor  is  yet  in  bis  bed,  lying  on  his  back,  twiddling  his 
thumbs,  and  counting  over  his  virtues.  Whiz — bang — crash! 
A  shell — fired  by  the  Yankee  Wholehog  artillery — (they  landed 
laat  night  irom  the  Caxidoion,  Pennsylvaniau  frigate) — falls 
tiirough  the  roof — throu^  floor  and  floor— carriea  away,  never 
minding  the  mayoress's  screams,  half  the  state  tester,  leaving  the 
mayor  and  his  wife  unhurt, — but  still  falling  through  dining-room 
and  parlour, — and  intent  upon  doing  its  worst,  descending  into  tbe 
cellar,  and  finally  dropping  into  a  pipe  of  the  very  best  beeswing 
port,  just  going  to  be  bottled.  Now,  this  bomb  we  'II  suppose  to 
be  the  first  sugar-plum  of  war ! 

The  Mayor  jumps  out  of  bed,  thinking  of  his  money-box,  his 

5 late,  his  bonds,  his  pipe  of  port,  and  his  wife  and  daughters, 
'he  lady  mayoress  screama  Uke — no,  I  can 't  think  of  nothing 
stronger — ^like  a  woman  I  And  then  her  five  daughters,  all  in 
their. bed-gowns  and  curl-papers,  rushing  in,  scream,  too,  to  show 
the  tenderness  and  the  weakness  of  their  womanhood.  Now, 
Ebcnezer,  am 't  all  tJiese  creatures  pretty  hypocrites  ?  I  mean 
what  I  say — and  I  '11  prove  it. 

Bless  their  little  satisfied  souls  !  how  they  do  love  the  military, 

to  be  sure  1    Wbat  a  beautifid  thing  is  a  review  to  'em — isn't  it  ? 

And  how  they'll  smile  upon  cannon-balls  as  if  they  were  things 

to  eat — and  how  they  Tl  wink  their  precious  eyes  in  the  breast- 

KO.  XIV. — TOL.  m.  s 


■178  ; 

jdatM  of  tbe4eM'  ofioem,  U»re  than  tf  tkey  stand Midtair -Mm 
looking-glneses  !  And  tLen,  in  their  1Mb  prfoa  f  Wwia,  tbcj 
think  no  more  af  a  nun  Ihuii  «f  a  b>r>'dMr  fmri,  if  be  in 't  a 
soldier.  B«t  «slj  pat  a  fMtW  in  Ui  <[np  -  jei  clath  m^  ^d 
jJAca  «■>  Ms  body— 1^  Inn  tight  ntwid  wm  m,  Msk  (Ibe  baW  i>f 
glwy !)  — aad  let  »  long  Mraf<d  dangle  bj  U«  nde  — Mid  to 
wgnoan's  heut,  w^ot  a  dear  peaoeek  tbe  svact  fcUotr  is  1  She 
OMiId  foUoT  bin  ail  over  the  warid  ;  hU  £e«tben  arc  w  tia«,  asd 
he  deea  etixtt  m>  hea^ntiSui^ '.  Aad  ia  this  yiay,  fibuMoer,  do 
WMien  4^^i.  and  ngaia  nake  tbenHlvee  paitiaa  ia  waa  aad 
wiekedAWB !  Jia  Oar  htarta,  to  be  aBTD,  they  don 't  meaii  it. 
Tb«f  'U  Eaintt  mom  «f  'ea,  i»  mo  a  cut  finger  ;  l»tt  tiboi  a  le- 
i^w  wi)j  abawB  tbe  friypeij  ef  war — wilh<mt  the  Uaod.  tke 
autaic  's  bea«tiial,  mwI  Hiiie  '»  aa  ixJl  ibsa  far  list. 

Sometuawa,  £bas«EW,  w&  bear  vf  plaaa  to  ndse  woveo  ia  wiiat 
tbej  eaU  tbe  aoeiol  leala.  I  'm  mi  abjectMn,  I  '»  sure ;  awl 
Bhould  Tery  well  like  to  see  tbe  plan  triad,  2[eT«rkb«le«B,  I  <fe 
thioki  vitm  I  r^&entv^oa  the  sMScbw^  af  waE, — I  da  tkiak  that 
voman  au^t  give  man  a  lift.  Bat  tbaa  she  ia  »uieti  an  odd,  eao- 
'  tradictory  thing  !  Elae,  at  «&»,  ibe  'd  aat  feer  prscian*  iaee 
agauBt  cutting  thioata,  and  wauUa't  think  (JaughtM-  a  bit  tlie 
better,  baoavse  doae  \iy  aiae  jomg  mea  in  red  coaM,  vilib  colsars 
flying,  and  tnuafMa  birajring, 

{Bj  Uie  bye,  Sb»esei:,  when  I  tiaiak  ef  wliat  the  trumpet  re^y 
dooB — hoT  it  eels  man  iqioa  taaji— and  awbee  bload  'hmn  a^aioBt 
blood — bcayiag  seeme  a  «^ital  word  for  it,  len't  it  add,  too — 
aod  Uiere  'b  ecuae  meauiiig  m  it,  defend  <w  't — tfaat  a  traxipet  twd 
.  a  jackaas,  are  tbe  oaiy  thinga  that  brsy  ?] 

Now,  here  'a  &  chance  for  womea,  Ebeoeaer  I  If  tfaef  'd  onlj  fol- 
low the  exauplo  of  ny  eo«uiin  Jobuuia  !  (Wbat  a  loeaiber  «f  Far- 
Uament  that  girl  would  have  made  !}  She  was  gaiiig  to  be  mar- 
ried to  Samsoti  C^reaai,  a  ymiag  maa  in  &e  pmluatery  line. 
They  were  m  asax  it,  that  if  the  ring  vaw't  bought,  they'd  often 
(through  the  wiadows)  laoked  at  it.  W«U,  b«'i  very  bad  with 
this  militia  dJaeaie — this  scailet  fever :  and  ia  tbe  prida  «f  his 
powder-puff  heart,  told  J«hanBA  A»i  he  'd  no  doubt  he  abanU  be  a 
corporal.  Wherefore,  the  girl  at  once  told  him,  that  be  naat  either 
give  us  all  thougbte  of  pipatday  er  of  her— t^t  ahe'd  Mvcr  take  a 
cartri4ge-boz  to  h«r  »ixm — aad  when  dte  ntarried  would,  by  no 
nMaoB,  have  a  buebaad  with  fratlMra.  So  if  Sameon  won't  con- 
iei\i  bo  moult,  be  bees  Jehaosa.     Tbe  girl  '■  only  a  mHd<of-aU- 


179 

vtsk'—lMt  :mKf  Tay  »ue  fct«»k  hw  kseea  ftgam,  if  she  isn't  a  pnt- 
ima  for  coHltwaM.  C  ^  «ure  »f  it :  if  tM  women  -frere  reeo- 
hitelf  t»  ta^e  tiie  matter  in  hmA,  &ey  raigfat  put  an  end  to  var 
dvrerlb  wcrtd.  And  tke;  o«^  to  do  it :  tnrmdd  be  die  pret- 
CiHtfwAer  iMtke  pKttieat  e^  t^^TiTMld  wear — Aaf  Te&tlier  dtey 
Migbt  ifimtta  their  ^■Mn-«^  gloT^.  Bit  I  contend  tint  it 'a 
itoimb's  tnrn  wwt — lAat  Ihiy  cwB  hw  -"TmiBimi  "  if  pnjperly 
laalwtliooi.    "hat  vm  atifitm. 

Bore  'a  «  Wby  ham.  A  little,  Mplew,  «i7ing  ifaing  that 's 
MMAti  a  1oi*«  cf  ft'OK  ^  ftvt  nmite— Mid  ^nnging,  ^hm  shall 
ai^,  Kpfait  a  baaf  cf  bpw  w^  it  f  Wdl,  llm  p«(ty  fit6«  VDimal 
■8  cncfaij  wnmUM,  «mI  pswd«Kd,  and  dl  norte  of  cbtb  ta^en 
of  it— 4b«  tUag  hee— rfBg  «  a  very  little  turn  mn^i  a^easure, 
tkaC  tiie  Battk  of  BagbBd  ««uMn't  Ve  taken  fer  it.  And  -diia 
thing — that  there's  been  auob  fear  and  aoA  bope  abant,  -and 
nch  a  lot  of  lo«e — with  ita  first  toOtfi,  and  ita  meMlefl,  and  its 
running  Kloae— awd  ita  -teariiiBg  it  to  kseet  upon  mafher'B  lap  ond 
Mjf  iLhe  B«licf  and  tke  Lord's  Prayer, — tfaabkBied'AiBghiLB  only 
been  kegotten,  and  bom,  and  ntirscd,  *sd  tanglit,  to  h«  cut  in 
tare  with  a  bMMdmrcrd,  «r  b)*wn -topieeefi  with  etnmoti  shot.  la 
it  Ofaristian-Jftifr— ia  it  vwa  aeiiBiUe — 4«  beget  efafldren  to  do  nnd 
suffer  mch  denla' voA  ?  Dependvpon  it,  if  iroraen  kneir  thdr 
trve  diguty,  aa  it'a  caUed — 4iiey  wnldn^  sirifer  it.  No:  fliey'd 
tldiik  better  of  what  tfasy  were  meant  for,  and  vonldn't  bear 
eholdren  for  bftyeneta  asd  Wlets.  Some  of  theae  days,  Ebenezer, 
they  nay  think  of  Aeu  thin^  ;  bat  at  preaenti  a  WJ>iBan  inll 
ivn  «iW  ganpo-witt,  joat  w  poae  will  ms  after  "valerian. 

Bnt  let  ne  «oine  back — for  1  're  wandered  a  long  way — to  tbe 
aiege  of  "H-rfMiinitl,  jietto  let  yen  eee  the  beanties  of  war.  Well, 
lite  laayar,  and  ia«  'wife  -aaid  'dau^bva,  are  all  embracing  one 
«M)tber  in  tte  bed-i>»om,  when  buig  comes  another  shell,  and 
blows  «w«;  Jbnia  and  I^onisa  (yoDog  pretty  things,  tbat  never 
did  harm  to  anybody)  mto  the  next  world.  Sang — bang — fall 
^e  sbdla  !  CrMh  goes  the  honee,  and  the  mayor  and  his  wife, 
and  three  dangfatera,  scramble  dewn  stairs,  and  hide  in  the  cellar ! 

Now,  Mr.  Mayor  was  a  great  man  fijr  war,  and  aQ  its  glory. 
Yea !  when  Ml  of  his  best  port,  he  would  give  his  favourito 
toast — "A  speedy  war  and  soon!"  And  wherefore?  The 
purple-faced  dd  aaa  knew  nothing  of  war  but  its  ontaide  finery. 
The  regimental  band,  tbe  fifes  and  drums,  made  him  feel  as 
strong  as  Samson — but  then  he'd  never  had  bomb-shella  drop 
n2 


ISO  THB  BBIXlEHOa  LBTTERS, 

througli  his  houfle,  and  his  helpless  children  alanghtered  under  his 
eyes.  How  very  differently  does  he  now— squatted  low,  like  a 
toadstool  in  his  cellai^Uiink  of  war !  How  does  he  groan,  and 
shake,  and  in  his  misery  tear  his  grey  hair, — as  he  hears  the  hell 
of  war  roaring  about  him — and  listens  to  the  yells  and  shoute  of 
men,  like  derila  escaped  from  the  homing  pit,  to  work  destruction ! 
And  now — bang — ^bang— hla  house  is  hurst  ofea — half  the 
regiment  of  the  Pennsjlvanian  rifles  flock  in— Pilh^fe,  Pillage  is 
the  cry — ^they  tear  from  room  to  room — ^they  desoeud  into  the 
cellar — they  stave  in  pipes  and  hogsheads — they  seize  the  mayor's 
three  daughters— And  (could  he  ever  have  thought  it  ?)  now  is  he 
grateful  that  Maria  and  Louisa,  in  sudden  death,  met  a  better  fate. 
Well,  the  poor  mayor  makes  a  rush  at  one  of  the  heroes,  when  lus 
brains  are  knocked  out  by  the  butt-end  of  a  musket,  and  the 
"  glory  "  continues. 

But  I  know  your  answer  to  this.  You  say,  "we  never  suf- 
fered aU  this.  The  rascally  enemy  can  't  come  to  Numskull  to  do 
this  wickedness — we  are  s^e  !"  Why,  you  stony-hearted  ruffian 
— forgive  me,  for  a  minute,  Ehenezer — Is  the  atrocity  any  the 
less  l«cauBe  you  don't  suffer  it — is  it  a  bit  better  because  you  send 
out  men  to  do  all  this  and  endure  none  of  the  horror  yourself  ? 
But  so  it  is,  Ehenezer  ;  you,  and  such  noodles  as  you,  roar  about 
the  glory  of  war,  because  you've  only  seen  a  review — ^have  only 
looked  upon  the  fine  glossy  skin  of  the  tiger,  and  have  never 
felt  its  teeth  and  claws.  True  it  is,  you've  paid  taxes  :  and 
certainly,  it  is  thought  bad  enough  to  bleed  at  the  pocket  ; 
but,  after  all,  'tia  not  quite  so  bad  as  to  bleed  yourself,  or  see 
your  wife  or  children  bleeding  on  the  bayonet.  Purse-strings  are 
delicate  ;  but,  somehow  or  the  other,  heart-strings  carry  It. 

And  therefore,  Ehenezer,  let  me  hear  no  more  of  your  cock-a- 
doodle-do-ing  about  the  splendour  of  war,  and  the  grandeur  of  the 
militia.  If  you  want  to  punish  your  fellow-creatures,  am't  you  a 
grocer  and  a  general  dealer,  and  can't  you  be  satisfied  ? 

There's  short-weight,  adulteration,  passing-off  bad  money. — 
fifty  ways  for  you  to  delight  the  devil  with  ;  hut  don't  treat  him 
to  the  morsel  of  all  that  ho  best  loves — war — wicked,  stupid  war  ! 

And  with  this,  I  am.  Your  best  friend, 

JcinPEii  Hedgehoo. 


,11  by  Google 


Ballid  It«iiuicE8.  By^  R.  H.  Hobne,  Author  of  "  Orion,"  "  Coamo  do 
Medid,"  &.C.  Fcp.  Sra.  London  :  Charles  Oilier.  ,^ 
The  title  of  this  collection  is  more  cloaelj  appropriate  tban  at  first 
glance  might  appear.  "  Ballad  Romances  I  " — eo  they  axe  exactly, 
having  all  the  intense  interest  of  prose,  with  all  the  ext^nisite  grace  and 
brilliancy  of  poetiy.  If  Ihey  become  not  popular,  then  is  onr&ith'gone 
in.  the  human  he^  and  the  human  imagination.  It  is  tike  ofGce  of 
genins  to  disarm  criticism,  and  to  excite  rapture  ;  and  so  it  is  impouible 
for  any  set  measure  to  be  taken  of  true  poetiy.  It  pleases,  it  enchants, 
as  the  operations  of  nature,  as  the  sou  worms  and  the  flowers  blow. 
We  may  certainly,  after  the  pleasurable  emotion  has  subsided,  examine 
more  minutely,  and  gather  more  exactly  the  causes  of  our  delight.  Bat 
to  predetermine  what  genins  should  do,  or  after  its  creation  to  test  it  by 
another  creation,  is  a  wrong  as  well  as  an  absnriiity.  We  indulge  in  this 
PolonioB-like  dissertation,  because  we  so  frequently  find  one  thing  tested 
by  another ;  and  have  no  doubt  we  shall  see  and  hear  the  same  method 
applied  to  these  poems.  They  are  not  like  Bycon,  nor  Tennyson,  nor 
Soathey,  nor  Browning :  they  are  themselves,  and  in  themselves  are 
beautiful  and  true — true  in  passion,  true  in  relation,  and  true  in  sonnd. 
The  Poet's  heart  has  felt  the  haman  emotion  here  portrayed,  the  Poet's 
eye  has  gathered  all  the  true  images  here  so  felicitously  described ;  and 
the  Poet's  ear  has  caught  the  musical  utterance  manifested  in  the 
rhythm.  It  is  in  the  latter  quality  or  power  we  place  the  most  reliance 
for  testing  the  true  poet,  mecnanical  though  it  has  always  been  esteemed, 
and  often  decried  as  something  contrary  to  sense.  If  the  rhjrthm  is 
fine  and  sonorous,  gentle  and  melodious,  according  to  the  sense  and 
passion,  then  may  we  be  sure  it  is  the  genuine  offspring  of  a  poet. 
Rhythm  (we  mean  not  a  set  measured  line  nor  ready  rhyme)  is  never 
but  with  the  tme  poet,  fluent,  and  in  its  fluency  most  potent,  rising  and 
falling  with  its  labject ;  now  warming  itself  mto  a  torrent  of  pawion, 
and  then  spreading  itself  into  a  lake,  reflecting  every  image,.  There 
may  be  certain  established  formula  of  verse  that  can  be  spun  off  by  the 
thousand  by  those  who  have  caught  the  knack ;  bat  every  genuine  poet 
has  a  rhythm  of  his  owuj  horn  othis  own  spirit,  breathing  his  own  words, 
measuring  his  own  music.  The  thoughts,  the  images,  the  passion,  hs 
may  be  conscious  of,  bnt  scarcely  of  his  rhythm ;  that  is  the  vehicle  pro- 
vided by  nature  for  the  embodiment  of  these  celestial  things.  I  f  this  there> 
fore  betokan  no  coniciougneu,  so  art,  nor  leasomnj;,  ao  maunfitctniiiv. 


162  VSV  BOOKS. 

then  we  may  be  certain  that  the  ntterer  baa  the  fccnlty  divine — has 
tbat  QDiversal  nature,  that  fine  translucent  spirit  that  appreciates,  and 
can  develop  all  forms  and  processes  with  which  it  is  connected.  We  do 
not  say  that  a  poet  is  always  poetical :  we  do  not  say  that  in  Mr.  Home's 
vetses  this  power  or  quality  ia  always  to  be  found  ;  (in  what  poem  is 
it^)  but  he  has  it  to  great  perfection  and  in  great  abundance.  Ihs  heart 
and  mind  are  full  of  nis  subject ;  hk  an^entanding  is  irmdiated  by  his 
imagination,  and  he  pours  forth  hia  vaixe  full  measured  and  spiritedly, 
as  a  bird,  warbles  oat  its  nnconscious  song.  He  is  a  poet — ona  of  the 
few  sent  to  delight  and  relieve  thi^  labonoas  age,  and  as  soch  shonld  be 
peruiBed  with  fove  and  reverence. 

There  are  other  elements  of  popularity  n  these  efcarmiog;  poems- 
buddes  their  poetical  powei- ;  they  all  shadow  out  or  even  more  tmm- 
tivrfy  nUtte  a  stefy  ^pftmion  a»d  intereat,  arf  aa  "Suiamjk»,v^ 
btitaded  WDidd  hitelwb  »d  excit«,  Ttie  NsUe  Heart,  MS  arae  -pime 
s(«ry,  vionli  dsEght,  as  vnrald.  tt»t  wwiderfel  owAoMt  of  pMntm  (mk- 
laiaed  witH  a  iaree  a»  fei  m  wa  leecAeet  HneqnaBed  in  oax  titeratare)  of 
Delorft.  The  naMre  of  our  ftotioea  prechider  any  Justification  by  a  more 
miirate  expontioa,  or  by  qnetation,  of  out  high  estimate  of  this  vshmw  ; 
but  we  aK  »eady  to  rtm  the  riA  oi  reproach  flpMn  any  who  pwpchase  it 
at  ost  euvMBt  reacnnibeciitettoi). 


OuvKO:  CaaHnrfev'a    JuKums  HHb  Sfbkohm:    with   £ur«tM«MB.     ^ 
Tboius  CiuaaB^    la  Twa  Tiliimn     Demr  8v«.    LtHtdon  ;  ChMnm 

£vaM  in  t&&  se^eiliiial,  "  d(y--«»-dagb"  (t»  nse  a  G^^itm,)  b«<^ 
of 'SigHsh  BiAcrry  of  tbe-  Otsat  BcdbaUion,  there  at*  do  details  at  Hsx 
via  WM  tb»  graaC  ams  cif  evenU.  Every  -raadar  of  Hume,  hiaguif 
A&ciatMfa,  and  bH  tbs  ^dll  mvre  ploddinf  matUr-of-tect  coUsoMrs, 
mdrt  haVB  bMH  diuppointsd  or  mrrpriwd  t»  find  how,  itainedMriy 
afMr  the  tieontiiAi  of  eaarWs  Stmrt,  (Am  kMwiM  dwiwSe  to  tl& 
shimest  $fm:  On  tbe  nndodraaia  of  ttatt  onnt  the  hiatsriaavscMk  txr 
baT»  ttbaMtri  their  pawns  of  mrmtiiiii ;  nd  tl>#  hlat^  atri  nounlai 
pagHBt  kanag  Wen  paiuhd  wOi  ptetorial  dket.  Hit  mitahr  faUa  os 
tha  njaii  rtory,  Mn  apfaesatif  tnflibg  «iA«-Mt  tiwB  ilte  up  twAvs 
ycAtiF  of  tnwt  importKst  tdsWfy,  iriwndK  lit  shinoAed  many  bslfrre' 
Botnd  proidam  of  btMuoi !)«{««  atfilooaisdpriiloi^eA  the  hmotabls 
vrMri  of'  a  aarrativB  of  thvw-  fanportmit  tanu  wu  pensived  by  a  tfiaa 
wl«  had  tnany  qaaliAcMlianft  to  Mipply  Ibrr  WMt,  and  Godwin^  Sisiery 
of  Sie  GMaBMWmeHltfe  was  pnd)liukB<l.  lu  nany  re«p««t»  it  it  a  nt^le' 
work,  wrilteb  with  en&t^  Hid  hnowMge,  thou^  dlMlgnred  with  tiw 
paftialitiiM,  not  to  sof  prsjuiliott,  of  the  an^r.  S%Be!l.y  disuiXtwl 
wUh  tW  ignoraiwi  as  the  DUnj  floency  e(  tbsir  style,  he  appmisd  him' 
self  tb  MWfy  m^  to  tAvngrrtar  histetriua;    H^  phnswli^  sMofad  ta> 


„  'G  vutmrtft  oar  mode  of  e^itssioii.    Stilt  wc  had 

b«t  «  dte  akad»^ng  of  the  nrat  «piiit  of  fhe  time ;  dt  abase  md 
enlogT-,  sf  hets  and  «v«il^  mKeimt,  and'  mim  tJum  sdBcfent,  bat  d 
the  imI  pRteace  (tf  the  tge  t&ere  wu  m  portraj^.  Ehiddittions  of 
tbia  mat  om,  tbenfore,  hy  so  osmest  tzA  ao  capbfcle  an  mteliect  as 
Hr.  Carlyta's,  is  a  gnat  MmaiDo.  If«  alwa^  deaU  with  the  eaaential. 
His  gUMRN  and  rtgonm  spint  kn  no  nyarptiOiy  ivith  the  8n{ieT£ciaI 
afid-'tha  iid«-«ts««tiBi.  He  ragards  er^t^ming  in  Ha  sequence.  Things 
widMat  impertBnt  ««!*eqtience  have  no  attracliona  for  mm.  HepBi- 
c«i*BiilJwirin«gnificairee  fiw  eltciting  kncnriedg*,  and  he  wH&ers  tfiem 
i*ttit  iia  mom.  A  great  histsTkn  wast  oceasioiianv  be  a  great  sBtiriaf, 
aad  tiiia  Mr.  Cariyle  proves  himself.  His  scorn  of  falsifiers  and  trifleis 
seems  equal ;  whether  it  is  judicious  to  be  always  eierciahlg  tbia  power 
of  tsMaii^ and  degrading  "the  dry-as-dnat"  sehool  msjr  be  doubted. 
We  Mvs  an  etxmpU  ia  Mfchelet  and  thitrry,  and  perhaps  in  other 
foteiga  ■waten,  SuK  a  tttiatian  of  historic^  events  may  be  given  with 
tke  ttMMt  fwce  and  ftrrfh  wiUiDnt  t^fferring  everlastingly  to  flte  diort- 
coniogs  of  atlist  writers.  Tt  h,  however,  to  he  reeiembered  that  Mr. 
Cwbfds  hM  to  remerc  sa  ivamaae  quantity  of  mbbiafa,  that  has  been 
aeooiimlklad  b  ordet  to  miertpreaent  and  m^gn  the  great  man  whose 
cMne  of  tbeogfats  aad  deed*  he  bokls  td  portray,  so  a»  to  convey  some ' 
jMl  lotisn  of  then. 

Bfr.  Cirijrk  M  to  09  a  dcfiglrtftil  wrhet,— one  vt»m  «6  pernK  with- 
ont  concionnesB  that  we  am  studying,  ao  coinpletefy  doas  he  occupy 
and  fill  the  attention.  TheH  who  have  at  allnade  history  or  bio- 
gmptar  tteir  stady  mnt  soon  hxn  fclt  low  fagraentxrj  thei 
noBSSMiify  are.  Wliat  mere  oecammal  glhnpses — what  mere  waifli 
and  straifs-'-what  men  ^toppiagt  of  time,  escaped  from  die  great  wallet 
of  obMvion,— Mdi  nsmtions  consist  of.  Yet  Ae  regular  historiatia  make 
np  a  narrative  that  presents  an  unbroken  aequence,  and  we  roll  from 
OM  end  of  Ihc  RflBHUi  period  to  the  ot%«T,  and  from  the  knding  of  the 
Saateta»te'y«rttrdity,  as  if  it  were  all  as  coherent  as  a  police  re^rt.  It 
is  too  much  fke  ewe  dm  with  imfiridaal  biogr»ph_y.  Ceitam  events 
axd  otoutveRoss,  estMm«d  fran  beiM  fbcts,  are  lant  hold  of,  and  the 
intttaticfs,  the  very  psttfaag  praktMy  containing  the  processes  of 
ckwaeter  and  condact  moat  iiAerestiirg  aird  rmpottant,  are  bridged 
ow*  wit*  a  phraee,  a«  if  the  gulf  thus  passed  was  of  no  importance, 
Snch  writing  has  beeome-  n  drug.  It  aftinh  but  little  nutriment,  and 
meB  tktK  sTaffed  with  words,  asfter  conauming-  libraries,  have  passed 
away  as  ignorant  as  at  starting,  and  far  more  so  fban,  if  Uiey  had  eser- 
cised  their  own  observation  on  the  living  world  aroand  them. 

There  have  happily  sprung  up  in  France,  and  amongst  ourselves, 
writers  who  have  felt  the  ineffiinevcy  ef  this  made,  and  Mr.  Garlyle, 
in  England,  has  kid  the  foundation  for  a  new  school  of  historical  com- 
psntion.  The  originator  of  a  new  style  seldom  is  enabled  to  perfect  it. 
a^  tlien'  an  aouiy-  exci««cen«es  and  Irmperfections  in  this  new  school' 


IB4  HBW  BOOKS. 

which  mccesBive  attempta  mxy  modify  and  remove.  Bat  the  apiiit  is 
there ;  the  eomeet  palpable  recognition  of  the  things  treated  of  aa 
lealitiea  —  a  coiitempt  of  words  for  words'  sake  —  a  determisation  to 
produce  carreBpondiog  ideas  in  the  reader's  mind,  and  a  comprehenaion 
of  the  events  murated  in  all  their  due  relations.  Such  composition  ia 
neither  easy  writing  nor  easy  reading  ;  that  is,  it  is  not  lazy  reading  ; 
it  recalls  with  all  Uie  force  of  reality  to  the  senses,  and  with  all  its 
tremendous  consequences  to  the  reflection,  the  deeds  and  events  it  re- 
lates. We  are  transplanted  into  the  very  presence  of  the  time,  and  pat 
face  to  face  with  the  circumstances.  We  feel  onr  own  relation  U>  them, 
and  are  obliged  to  regard  them  with  a  personal  interest  that  arouses  the 
faculties  of  our  natare  to  their  most  forcible  existence.  They  beget 
suggestions  and  reflections  that  have  a  healthful  and  permanent  effect 
on  the  tinderstandtng. 

In  no  work  of  Mr.  Carlyle's  have  we  so  much  felt  the  force  of  his 
geniusasin  this  of  "Cromwell."  His  varied  knowledge,  his  wonderfid 
appreciation  of  the  value  of  &ctB,  his  pungent  style,  his  pervading  sub- 
tlety of  intellect,  his  quick  sensibility  to  all  ttiat  is  truly  great  and 
■valuable,  were,  to  our  mind,  never  more  strongly  and  delightfully  por- 
trayed. He  knows,  and  we  all  know,  that  all  that  is  recorded  of  sacb 
a  spirit  as  Cromwell  must  be  fragmentary,  had  we  even  folio  volumes 
of  facts  to  repiece  his  life  out  of.  With  the  shreds  and  patches  that 
remain,  what  sort  of  image  can  we  expect  ?  Mr.  Carlyle  does  not  seek 
with  "the  dry-as-dnst"  school  to  palm  off  a  Tnssaud's  composition 
npon  US.  He  tells  us  he  has  only  a  Tvrio :  but  he  shows  us  now  we 
may  make  np  a  glimpse  of  the  wanting  parts.  And  nobly  does  he  do 
this  :  bringing  to  bear  in  tbe  operation  the  minutest  fragments  from 
the  remotest  places.  The  only  things  that  remain  to  us  of  tbe  colossus, 
who  knit  up  the  ravelled  skein  of  the  great  contention  between  rights 
and  privileges,  are  what  was  once  a  portion  of  himself ;  what  he  wrote 
and  what  he  said,  and,  as  far  as  we  can  get  at  it,  what  he  did.  Of  all 
these  only  fragments  remain :  and  hitherto  have  been  strangely  mis- 
nsed,  and  misunderstood,  and  misrepresented.  Mr.  Carlyle  here  col- 
lects these  membra  disjecta,  and,  by  arrangement  and  lights  gathered 
from  a  profonnd  knowledge  of  men,  and  "  a  learned  spirit  of  human 
dealing,"  breathes  into  them  snch  coherence,  as  at  least  to  enable  the 
Teader,  or  rather  the  student,  to  obtain  some  idea  of  the  individual 
and  the  circumstances.  Neither  analysis  nor  quotation  can  give  any 
idea  of  the  valne  of  the  work,  and  therefore  with  this  imperfect  intro- 
duction to  it,  we  most  earnestly  commend  it  to  the  reader^ 
respectful  and  earnest  attention. 


The  Femilx's  Fki&nd.    London :  Houlston  Etnd  Stoneman. 

This  is  the  first  namber  of  a  periodical,  tbe  object  of  which  is  the 

improving  and  enforcing  the  laws  for  the  protection  of  women ;  and 


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bears  every  eTidenca  of  proceeding  from  a  body  deeply  impressed  with 
the  social  BOcredness  of  the  caose.  It  cOBtaina  t}ie  draoght  of  a  petition 
to  be  preeented  to  the  Qaeen,  by  a  depalatiou  of  ladies,  on  the  subject. 
We  have  felt  it  our  duty  to  cwl  the  attention  of  onr  fair  readers  to  a 
purpose  apparently  so  well  advocated — a  purpose,  involving  in  it  the 
moral  dignity  and  happiness  of  so  vast  a  multitude  of  their  sex. 


CoNFBSSiOHS  OF  AS  HoHCM>PjiiBi9T.     Fcp.  8vo.    Dublin :  S.  B.  Oldham. 

We  have  always  objected  to  the  principle  of  constructing  a  story 
to  produce  a  particular  opinion,  or  attack  any  scientific  system, 
and  certainly  the  mode  of  execution  in  the  present  instance  is  not  such 
aa  to  induce  us  to  recant  oar  objection.  The  best  part  of  the  book  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Homceopathy,  but  we  cannot  say  that  even  this  best 
part  is  such  as  to  lead  ns  to  hope  the  author  will  persist  in  his  literary 
attempts. 


Sketches  fooh  thb  Flehisb  Life  :  in  ihiibi  Talbs.  Translated  from  the 
Flemish  of  Hemdrik  Conscirnce,  and  illustrated  by  one  hundred  and 
thirty  EngraviDgg  on  wood,  from  dedgns  by  Flemish  Arttats.  Sq.  fcp. 
London  :  Longman  &.  Co. 

Hehdrie  Conscience  deserves  the  popularity  he  unquestionably 
enjoys  in  his  own  conntiy ;  he  writes  graphically,  heartily,  and 
fumply:  sketching  the  scenes  and  manners  amon^t  which  he  lives, 
BO  as  to  convey  a  lively  impression,  even  to  us  foreigners.  He  may  be 
a  trifie  too  national,  bnt  that  is  a  ^nlt  on  the  right  side,  more  espe- 
cially as  it  is  also  on  the  weak  side.  His  detestation  of  fVench  man- 
ners is  unbounded,  and  doubtless  the  adventurers  who  seek  refuge  on 
the  French  frontier  must  be  a  lamentable  curse  t<i  the  honest  Fleming, 
who  seem  to  have  retained  a  ^eat  deal  of  their  primitive  simplicity 
and  goodheartedness.  It  might,  however,  be  wiser  to  seek  an  amalga- 
niation  with  their  great  neighbours  in  matters  of  innocent  tastes,  as  it 
seems  scarcely  possible  that  the  Flemings  can  continue  for  ever  to  pre- 
serve their  individuality  as  a  nation,  or  even  as  a  race.  If  however  the 
present  "  Sketches"  are  just  portraits  (and  they  have  every  appearance 
of  being  bo),  it  ia  highly  desirable  that  they  shonld  preserve  their  inde- 
pendence. 

The  illostrations  are  numerous  and  very  characteristic,  and  Ihe 
book  altogether  is  prettily  cot  up,  and  is  exceedingly  well  translated 
and  interesting.  We  are  olsliHed  to  the  tranilat«r  for  an  introduction 
to  ao  agreeable  an  author,  and  ^onld  be  glad  to  know  more  of  him. 


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The  Qmm  op  IhsnriBX,  ta  H!«totleaI  Nor^     Edited  V  ^''^  Gobe. 

S  rolCL  pMt  8to.    t-ondra  :  R.  Ctltaaa. 

TH«  CtnzKH  OF  PBAauE.     TraiuiUt^byHABT  HowiTT.    S  vda.  poit  8vo. 

London :  H.  Colbum. 

We  bave  placed  these  novels  together,  because  they  posaeBS  m&ay 
pointa  in  common.  Thejf  both  profess  to  be  historic^ ;  they  treat  of 
the  same  period,  though  m  different  countries,  and  they  both  have  in 
their  original  form  apparently  a  political  object.  They  are  also  to  a 
very  eooaideiiible  extent  alike  in  (mtiBwnt  a«d  CMitrnction.  la  boOi 
■we  find  innnmecable  princei  and  counts,  chamberlains  aMd  statemMl, 
witli  all  the  wtificial  "  dolltry  "  of  a  costt  Tte(«  leems  to  b«  alM  in 
eaeh  author  the  same  foreign  kind  of  lentimwUal  waniaf  of  nai^ 
croeied  on  a  vehement  dence-tn  be  liberal. 

"theQueenof  Denmaik"isto  ua  tbem(atagresaUe«f  thotno.  Itii 
]eaa  crewded  with  peraenages,  and  lesa  perplexed  with  intriguai.  TIlb 
characters  are  drawn  more  distinctly,  and  the  descriptions  of  thiaga  ani 
events  are  leas  encumbered  with  details.  The  domestic  interest  prcvaila 
over  the  historic,  and  the  real,  that  is  the  interesting  heroine  is  Lisette, 
a  goldsmith'a  daughter,  whose  modest  pore  passion  tor  a  heartless  male 
coquette  ia  well  portrayed.  The  author,  or  authoress,  for  we  aitenaie 
ottr  notiam  m  to  which  an  the  writer  befciwi,  baa  well  deUneated  t&e 
lighter  eraotmos  of  tlie  heart,  and  undeTBtairifi  all  tieTariations  offte 
tesder  passion,"  especially  as  relates  ta  the  female  patient  of  this£v- 
order.  The  vivacity  of  the  writer  is  akin  to  that  of  Mrs.  Gore,  and  as 
the  tiiM*  ia  tkat  of  me  most  grotesque  and  artiftcial  pemd,  perhaps  e**r 
lecnrded,  mmsly,  i&o  middle  ef  tba  eij^tMntll  e«Dtai7,  t&ere  ia  mfitf 
a  jnstifi^atioB  for  it.  The  sftrae  Stppont  aapetttnuuee  for  wit,  and  beatt* 
lew  want  af  high  pmneiple  for  pfailomphf ,  it  pot  iKte  ths  menthi  <rf  (Ae 
chaiactti^  tho^  it  must  bs  contaaMd,  mw«  taw  uH,  ^Mt  the  ftuAiiM 
ottUawtiAedperiMlmaotianaitaintiwtaeUdB.    Hie  third  vottone  i» 

rticnlady  oconpMd  wilii  tlis  dtate  a&us,  tiie  folV  «f  StMeowe, 
candeRmatHn  ef  bis  mhnipy,  H  not  goHty  nutnaa,  Qawn 
CandiM  HatiMs  ef  Danutk.  Tlie  ■nem  and  Crimea  vf  ceortt  mam 
straagriy  anongb  t»  favn  becDme  the  unmMal  subject  of  thew  yAum 
taMe»aBd  CMlmge  lead  them  intvadmiialioii  of  mwmOitatX  Mpmo^Hf. 
Demooai?  auMOt  httMbetterattvoesteatlMa  t^estratoiriDK  MiMalM» 


of  tbe  ooBtantibU  ehaa  of  iadinriduals,  wlio  fcttaa  en  ttue  eorroptias 
of  maatrdiieal  scraetBrnent.  ISeUindnem  of  fWr»me,  aadtbeinji  " 
of  DMiiiMi,  ewird  aat  be  laore  fetciUy  ei^MBad  by  a  Ten  Paias. 


The  description  of  places  and  manners  evidently  prose  it  t»betl»' 
worit  of  a  rwAiM  of  may  yaars,  if  not  a  bMIt*,  aM  so  for  it » ibsCrae- 

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tiTC,  as  wall  a*  dsvaiag  ^  and  altogether  it  am  Iw  j^uU^  MetmaiMifcd 
aa  worOiy,  Mt  mam  aeconatar  of  peanal. 
"TkmCHaamn.tt'Pmgm"  ia  of  s  Bodi  Mtm  aabit^M  riw^  and- 


aiMoa  at  oombiwiMf  maay  nEcellaiiaiM.  It  seeks  to  derdap  tbrinitiatnt 
intikacies.af  punou  aod  cf»iacter,  to  deal  prafoundly  with  polilifd 
pkilaiophy,  lo  descQb»  loeDery  okd,  coafts  pictiiiesqiialy  u^  p^Ai- 
uU]r,  utd  to- gac^^  all  with  tAei;giaccs  of  style  and  «t.  HoUngevaty 
allavaaca  Car  tbe  rsdodtioB  vf  »  tnmslatioD^  it  CNisatb*  eoid  to  fUfil 
its  aiau.  The  rU>i»«tnTi  ace  eUoratel  j  &«wm,  but  want  tba  fnva  moA 
TigDoi  at  reality  ;  tbvf  bm  toe  waek  eulted  l^  draniptaaii,  whiob  is 
tdo  Ettle  joatified  by  then  csodaat  aad  langnage.  A  teiy  witty,  bril- 
liut  e«aiiit«M,  ia  iiBoJly,  if  ja^ed  hj  ber  pi:«ceediags,  an  liqwrtineBt 
spoiled  ^1 ;  and  tbe  cjiief  dttaaetsi,  TbooiM  Thyntou^  tba  oitiEeit  of 
Plague,  W  a  more  oammMi-flaca  personage  tbontba  tvlogat  tvttyvham 
b«riaw«A  npsB  kim  wenld  kad  aae  U>  espect.  Tbs  En^Mss  Madi. 
^n«raM  is  wdaa'a  piwca  ol  nawe  neloibawatic  ntaokineTy,  «rba  ktvotvu 

idsa.  (tf  eStet.  AitistioDjr  Boiuidsre^  tba  novel  ia  lar  too  onwded 
witti  cbaracten,  deacnpttan^  and  inbrigoes.  Of  ovinae-  lev-brad 
cbildcsa  do  not  torn  oat  to  be  low-bom  :  aad  tkoogb  tbe  vaA  a 
peimejtted  with  deinocratie  sestiment)^  yet  the  UHial  boiaag*  t£  the 
coTcIiat  i*  paid  to  aristociaMy,  by:  ifindicg'  ont  at  last  tint  tbey  ase  sat 
plebeiaB.  It  ia  not,  bowever^  with  oat  constdendile  mtrrita  ;  rail  it  w 
oetaffiooaliy  interaatmg  frsm  tbe  eanett  dciineatiuos  of  tile  fottooe*  af 
it£  peracauwBt,  and  Baaietiinea  ebi>qBelnt  in  its  diasertattoBS.  'Ehede- 
scrirttion  of  Karlstoin,  an  ancient  Jinstrian  fortres*,  formerly  investad 
with  eslRHirdiaary  pmilegei  ia  oi^r  te  meinUdD  \i»  pun  militMy 
ferraar  of  the  middle  ages,  is  estretDriy  well  grrta,  and  is  an  exerilaat 
satire  on  the  melodratnatic  fei-vonr  manifested  by  the  modsis.  yoaai; 
nobUity  who  wish  to  realize  the  idea  of  chivalry.  The  captain  of  this 
tcoop  of  fanatics  and  eccentrics,  the  Count  Podiebrad,  is  a  fair  embodi- 
ment of  the  notiona  of  Young  England,  and  in  this  character  the 
author  baa  shown  some  capacity  for  humour.  The  bomtjardment  of 
Prague  is  also  powerfully  and  graphically  described,  without  exagge- 
ratlonj  yet  with  a  fall  delineation  of  the  terrible  horrors  of  war.  To 
raany  also,  tbe  bock  will  be  acceptable  from  its  bigh-wrooght  aenU- 
ment,  but  to  us  who  think  this  lactitious  feeling  d^gerons  and  dis- 
agreMkble,  it  is  a  serious  blemi^. 

Tfa«  great  defeat  of  aach  sovelt  la-  tbe  mai*  in  wbidi  tlcty  Confcan^ 
right  tud  wrong,  by  eettti*  i&etwlTamatic  graoea  t&ey  ^Te>-to  taim 
poaitiims  and  peiaenagiea.  They  se^  to  create  a  csmproniafl  (WWe 
hnl  lately  aim  t»  obaerve  i»  a  lady's  writings)  between  twn  st«n^ 
haslllB  feelings,  both  of  wbicii  cannot  be  right.  They  seek  waakly, 
tbosdi  peth^  aaaiaibly,  to  er^^  s  eeriitien  between  two  eon-- 
t^ndtng  piinc^tes.  They  stty  to  AriMeeraey,  Demooracy  ta  s  eaxeae, 
TBlgar  M(<vw,  but  he-  metatf  "mil ;  tei  Jit/atecniry  Sbev  toy,  Aristo- 
cracy ia  a  mrrem  oH  feilsw,  6«t  thm  hov  graocfal  be  ia  ami  ]tD«r 
Ceroua  be  can  bs.  Tbay  ^tsnnkte  bstwaen  \iin  twe,  now  kt^ 
J  in  tbv  deltHMtioB  of  the  flnest  te«4ingaj  and  Hien  inpMtring:  tbet 


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igS  NEW  BOOKS. 

teader  witb  Um  descriptiom  of  gorgeons  Bpleadonn.  In  otM  matenai, 
it  is  ^1  grace  and  magnanimity  of  mind ;  the  next,  we  ue  to  be  awed 
by  costly  dressea  and  Bumptnoiie  furnitQTe.  From  the  ipirit  they  tura 
to  the  BenseB,  paying  to  both  an  equal  homage.  This  confusion  of  ths 
essential  and  the  non-essential ;  thii  pretended  homage  to  rank  and  to 

{'  istice  cannot  be  correct,  and  the  creation  of  a  sentimental  enthnnasio, 
lending  both  into  one  admiring  feeling,  is  an^hing  bnt  benefidal  to 
the  canw  of  eenie  and  right.      The  young  will  read  these  books,  and 


eittent,  hare  their  enthusiasm  turned  in  a  false  direction.  To  t 
whose  reflective  powers  are  paramonnt,  snch  works,  as  we  have  said 
before,  can  only  expose  the  &ke  state  of  things,  where  compensation  for 
wrongs  can  only  be  gained  by  some  fortnitons  interrention  of  sentiment, 
and  by  the  combination  of  romantic  incidents  that  seldom  occur.  Maria 
Theresa  and  Caroline  Matilda  may  have  been  always  ready  to  rush  in 
and, "  throwing  by  a  cartain  hitherto  nnohserved,''  renonnce  or  revoke 
an  UDjnst  jadgment— they  may  have  been  able  to  legislate  far  varions 
races  and  for  all  time, — they  may  have  always  the  gublimeet  justice 
and  philanthropy  oppermost  in  their  hearts  ;  bnt  still  we  must  think  it 
nnreasonable  to  argue,  or  b^  indirect  modes,  assert  that,  therefore,  it  is 
desirable  so  to  arrange  society  that  a  very  small  class  of  Tinman  crea.- 
tnres  should  have  the  control  of  millions.  But,  above  all,  we  protest 
against  this  momentous  and  imminently  approaching  qnestioD  being 
forestalled  or  compromised  by  writers  who  deal  in  factitions  sentiments 
and  nnreasoning  enthnsiasm. 


Thk  Eventful  Epoch  ;  ob,The  Foriunes  of  Arcbek  Cute.  ByNicnous 
MicaBLL,  author  of  "  The  Traduced."  Id  three  vols,  post  Bvo.  London : 
Simpkin,  Mamhall  &  Co. 

The  time  of  this  novel  is  1791,  and  the  plot^  language,  and  manners 
seem  to  be  of  the  same  period.  Indeed,  during  its  penisa!  we  have 
turned  to. its  title-page  to  be  quite  assured  that  we  were  not  reading  one 
of  the  original  Minerva  Press  prodnctions,  all  of  which  we  thought  had 
been  put  to  flight  by  the  new  style  introduced  by  the  publication  of 
Waverl^.  The  vehement  abuse  of  the  French  Revolation  seems  to  be 
a  re-ntlurance  of  the  old  volnnteer  enthusiasm  when  Frenchmen  were 
represented  as  frogs,  whom  it  was  meritorious  to  spit  and  broil.    The 

C'.,  such  as  it  is,  may  be  fonnd  in  numerous  plays  and  romances  of  the 
centniy,  where  a  virtuoiis  and  ideal  hero  rescues,  to  his  own  detri- 
ment, a  chaste  and  persecuted  wife  from  the  machmaUons  of  an  unscrn- 
polons  seducer.    Besides  this  main  business  of  the  fiction,  we  have  tt 


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mw  BOOKS.  180 

t^Tolaliraiary  eDtboBiut  ftuthor,  ■  benvrolent  old  nobltnun,  a  Tisegar 
maiden  aunt,  and  a  very  woithv  yoong  aristocratic  lady,  Minda  Clive — 
tlie  neareat  approach  to  wmetniiig  like  a  reTelation  of  character.  The 
charaeten,  maonere,  and  incidenta  are  all  of  that  elaaa  that  maj  be  com- 
preheorivnj  styled  the  Bham-raal.  There  is  no  donbt  human  beinaa 
nav«  had  each  of  the  cbsracteriBticE  described,  and  the  events  may  all 
have  occnired  ;  bnt  in  this  class  of  writine  tbej  are  so  nnartistically 
and  unnatnrally  apportioned  and  mingled,  tbat  they  "  look  not  like  die 
iidkabitanta  o'  the  earth,"  thoagh  they  are  placed  npon  it.  The  follow- 
ing qnokUion  of  one  of  the  first  sentences  will,  we  think,  jnatify  our 
assertion  as  to  the  style  and  sentimenta  : — 

Tkt  Eye  o/'  England,  the  fean  of  Europe,  the  coriority  of  the  world  were     ' 
directed  to  one  comitiy— that  comitry  was  France.    Abeady  had  aitarch]/, 
with  the  emblems  of  liberty  blaang  on  her  lying  front,  trampled  on  Stt  hearik 
and  (Ac  aUar.    Tbe  Eur  flag  of  the  Bourbon  bad  stooped  to  the  iUodf  (rv 

This  ia  a  pretty  fair  specimen  of  the  langnage  ;  and  we  £nd,  throngh- 
^^  ont  the  three  volumes,  phrases  and  catchwords  we  hoped  onr  modem 
satirists  and  parodists  had  weeded  for  ever  from  onr  literature.  We 
had  flattered  oarselves  "withering  Ecora,"*  "gloriona  constitution," 
"polIat«  not  my  ears,"  had  been  banished  for  ever,  at  least  as  far  a* 
the  Rnbnrb  theatres :  hut  it  is  not  so.  Men  and  women  made  to  talk 
and  act  in  the  fashion  of  thia  sort  of  literature,  hear  almost  as  much 
resemblance  to  reality  as  the  wax-work  fibres  of  barbers'  diopa.  There 
is  a  coarse  outline  and  travestie  of  hninani^,  bnt  no  new  revelations  of 
hamsn  nature,  or  even  just  delineation  of  those  chaiscteristics  which 
have  been  already  mapped  and  recorded  by  its  great  obeerven.  There 
is  nothing  gained  by  tneir  perasal,  all  being  cUstorted  or  burlesqued, 
and  they  can  only  please  a  class  of  readers  excited  by  any  representa- 
tion of  distress  or  violence  that  is  placed  before  them,  without  con- 
sideration of  its  probability  or  even  possibility  ;  as,  however,  there  are 
many  such  left,  who  patronise  the  circnlatinK  library,  "  The  Eventfnl 
Epoch"  may  att^n  its  share  of  readers.  The  teat  we  apply  to  all 
works,  is  the  amount  of  instmction  or  new  experiences  they  iSaiA,  and 
not  the  mere  temporary  interest  they  may  create. 


The  BAnoM's  Yvlb  Fbisi  ;   a  Chrisbnsa  Bhyme. 
tbe  Char&t.    Fcp.  Svo.     London  :  J. 
As  this  is  termed  "  a  Bhyme,"  we  shall  not  be  very  severe  in  apply- 
ing the  t«st  aa  to  whether  it  be  poetry.    That  divine  essence  is  so 
Eflldom  fi>nnd  even  in  volumes  of  mnch  greater  pretension,  that  it  may 


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w^  helakm  thia  ioidun  for  ttw  mader  U  Aantt  Im  bisntlf.    9oi 


SB  pi«i*r  slaia  pnM  ;  -tmewlfy  aa,  if  tiHa  thsn  ^ammtmiiif  crve  a 
pitivaai  Ifaow^t  Borttwlly  wprawod,  ituaonndkaMM  Ikn  iaioti- 
dpatcidibt  itHMuUfwelaaaM;  batvhcHtiiaiKmof  poBbyiigTTCii, 
ktt  A«  HMiM  is  muting,  tbca  d  i*  Jlitifyiintiiiig.  Mi^  r«rf«r8 
r  Bwin  pnae  no  apta  caaton,  and  we  aatuiei  witb  tiie  'fenn 
¥p  a^  th(t  ilfiw  prnawat  callmtiMi  of  i^Wm  is  «qnal,  if  »et 

r "to  maoj  Ifat  hare  gsified  ^yi^^aritf ,  n'MtdMUal  af  pniee 

&at*idli  salufy a  jndicwiis  autliori  dmtbtkH,  many  ariataciBiicvHUiala 
might  be  improved  by  the  iDtrodactwn  ef  Mr.  Ceoficr'fl  p««M*.  Bat 
baUer  thio#  are  te  be  eipaeUid  from  him.  His  taiai^  and  kk  fod- 
lion  botb  «a«ble  him  to  do  greater  twice  to  hw  cbai  jumI  the  wodd 
thaa  E«lW  <d  im  poBna  haY«  ^  auaifeatad.  The  tnw  offiee  of  maA 
jBMt  ia  t«  mcora  utw  «xperieiicee,  and  icvsal  nor  conditiaiH  «f 
hiimaiutf  ;  and  this  we  eameetJy  entreat  him  to  devote  hinurrff  te. 
We  waolil  have  him  cast  aside  the  mere  oaachiseiy  of  liteiatiiie,  the 
set  pbraies,  the  Eteieo^ipad  dutacterielica,  ^e  moa.  out  J«rmBla  Isr 
eonatrncting  tiiles.  Let  aim  show  us  ihat  mclioa  of  aociaty  lie  has 
had  mdi  oppoittuutiM  cf  obaemsg,  and  has  aimurenUj  -oMaeity  to 
dmaibe.  Let  ua  lee  tham  as  they  are,  with  tJI  tbair  goodasd  bad 
qnalitiea  ;  umnuEiied,  mdisgnised,  but  develo|wd  futUoJlj  imd 
fuUjj  t^yt  Um  reflecting;  ^udent  of  hnwmin  ^atme  mav  have  wiKa^ 
witkal  to  alndy.  Uieie  vill  be  plenty  of  mattriei  to  raeate  Ute  most 
intense  intoMWt  and  accofiy  the  pntftHuuleat  couiduatian.  U  is 
ift^^ntfli^if  thfl-*  ^ieratune*  or  r^her  th^  litenry  art,  is  used  as  a 
Lon^ne  gba^lo  ^pve  AWtitioTia  udow  t*  iacts  and  ciicnuat^ues, 
rather  dun  as  a  muirMKopa  to  enlai^  tiie  knowledge  'of  the  atodent : 
to  creala  »  aaDlimenUl  intaiert,  and  ntd.  te  record  the  leaolts  of 
exfiecienM  and  dHanaticn.  Writjiu;  neiely  to  excite  the  leadw  » 
aa  ah«rt-ughlad  as  it  ia  isjurioos.  The  famfOKi  reader  growa  more 
fiitidieoa  aa  each  hij^  naawonad  diah  ia  ^eaented ;  wbeisw^  when 
the  pabulum  is  of  a  ^n^olesomie  nature,  the  aji^tite  does  bnt  i&crsaae 
with  wkat  it  fleeda  oh.  Whaa  wr>f«c*,  wirth  the  taknta  and  expe- 
riences of  Mr.  Cooper,  neglect  to  apply  themaelvnB  to  "  The  EeveU- 
tiona "  of  truth  and  nature,  which  they  must  be  enabled  to  make,  it 
is  deeply  to  be  regrettedj  and  we  eainestly  hope  he  and  all  such  will 
aid  the  goad  and  great  cause  by  opening  up  b-esh  storea  of  infonnation. 
The  poor  (that  is  nine  tenths  of  the  population)  have  never  jet  been 
trtily  represented  »B  regards  their  characfieristics,  opinions,  or  condition. 
We  know  as  little  of  ttieii;  real  slate  as  of  the  tribes  of  Africa,  perhaps 
leaa.  Tet  here  is  one  of  the«Melv««,  who  baa  the  power  of  ntterance 
'  and  ape^a  not  of  them,  but  ct  matters  ah«ady  exhausted  by  the 
stilus  of  a  claaa  who  have  bees  delineated  safficiently,  and  perhaps 
more  than  sufficiently.  Mr,  Cooper  might  give  the  poor  a  titerstnrv, 
and  than  we  shoald  boob  find  them  rising  JntSeBociatscsle.  We  do  not 

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.  aeiF  BOMB.  IBI 

]Kt  Jawr  vf  xaaibc  Uob  dine  fwAMnl^MBungmtiM  and  rineere 
iwltjual  laibeoixBi,  lat  ^tair  faaetiBg  »n  ^w  Wikalnrc  Dmnm,  faas  itot 
dittant 'day. 


Tb^  E4SL  or  Qvmas:  a  l^Msdy,  in  Trre  Acta.    ^  Ae  Iter.  J.  Whttb. 

9vo.     Loudon.     C.  Nmvltj. 
TsE  LoKiv  iw  BuRQHLEY.  A  PUy,  in  Fire  Acta.  Std.  London.  E.  Churton. 

The  "  Lord  of  Bnrghley  "  haa  some  veiy  pleasing  and  beantiful 
writing,  bat  ae  a  dianm  it  w  dofiwent  in  all  the  Twpiierte*  of  paaBTon, 
diarscter,  action,  contrast,  and  plot.  As  a  Barrative  poem  it  would 
juv0  been  less  op«D  to  d»jeeti«s;  tad  tiie  antltw^  ^sitw  aeeBBinore 
akia  to  tb(B  Epecieflo^  litenlimi,  ddigtohig  m  it  omb  in  amplifjnBg, 
v«7  much  ia  the  mamMr,  if  niit  to  i^  in  dinci  imtalLMi  of  ^widan 
Kwivlee,  A  cDBuawi-plBce  iiaa^t  a.ad  mttif-Aiiy  aetsaieaBe  a  various 
pleaaiBg  faBues.  The  adetutm  »«4  tins  of  Tivrse  are  bonuiwed  ioo 
trom  thia  p^ular  writec  It  is  iMit  ntitice  to  add,  it  ii  one  e!  the  nwst 
evenly  sustained  works  we  ever  read — as  level  as  a  railroad,  though  not 
so  monotonons  to  travel  over. 

The  "  Earl  of  Gowrie"  is  a  far  bettfer  dnami]  though  inferior  aa  a 
jMcra.  The  charactera  are -well  defined,  and  there  is  power  and  paasioD 
in  some  of  the  scenes.  Still  it  is  too  much  elaborated,  and  there  is  a 
jsyateautie  6iB^»y  ef  dramialic  leaoarces  and  bb  appanst  coDBcioosness 
in  the  peieonagei  vi  the  p^  ^at  preveat  its  bmag  esteemed  as  the 
product  ^  a  tntly  dnmatic  genias. 


Thi  Smcmjjit»o  Bock  :  a  &ina»Ae  LegmS.  B7  Pbrci  B.  8t.  9omi. 
llmo.  LnutaD:  Ii«7«>i4ud  Adaa. 
This  is  the  second  Series  of  Mr.  P.  B.  St.  John's  "  Indian  Tales, 
illustrative  of  American  Life,"  and  it  is  written  in  as  fluent  and  pictu- 
resque a  style  aa  the  former.  It  appears  that  the  author  has  visited  the 
scenes  and  savage  people  he  describes,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
spirit  and  interest  in  his  descriptions.  With  regard  to  the  characters 
and  stoty,  there  seems  to  be  more  of  literaiy  skill  than  personal  observ- 
ation and  originality  of  invention.  It  would  have  been  more  pleasant 
to  UB  to  have  met  with  a  closer  imitation  of  the  manners  of  these 
Indian  tiibes,  not  that  we  are  prepared  to  dispute  the  general  correct- 
ness of  the  outline  given  ;  but  they  appear  to  be  drawn  too  mnch  after 
the  pattern  of  the  long-received  poi^raits  of  such  savages,  which  we 
suspect,  on  a  more  intimate  acquaintance,  will  be  founii  to  be  as 
mach  like  as  the  manners  of  Eastern  life  portrayed  in  "  Almonu  and 


m  HEW  BOOKS. 

Hamet,"  and  otber  atories  of  thesune  kiiid,wrilteii  before  the  Mat  became 

better  known  to  ua,  are  to  thoae  of  Hindoatan  or  Persia.  From  Mr. 
Percy  St  John's  ready  liteiarf  talents,  and  means  of  Dbservation,  and 
energy  of  nature,  we  may  expect  far  more  valuable  resnlts.  To  diaae- 
minate  new  experiences  of  factB  or  feelinga  ia  the  great  end  of  all 
literature,  and  to  this  highest  poaition  there  is  every  probahility  of  thia 
young  writer's  laiaing  himself,  if  he  will  only  make  it  his  aim.  As  it 
IS,  we  do  not  think  be  has  yet  done  jaatice  to  the  powers  he  poasessea. 
The  little  tale,  however,  is  well  worthy  of  pemsal,  and  is  wnt(eii  in  a 
very  right  and  good  apirit. 


We  might  very  well  have  excnaed  onraelvea  horn  noticing  this  woric, 
seeing  that  it  has  been  published  nearly  a  ^ear ;  we  have,  however, 
looked  into  it  anfficiently  to  aay  that  it  ia  written  in  a  harmless  spirit, 
and  contains  enough  description  of  French  manners  and  character  tc 
reward  a  perusal.  The  stoiy  flows  more  gently,  not  to  aay  languidly, 
than  most  modem  French  novels,  but  is  not  without  interest. 


In  3  vols.    Vd.  II- 

We  have  already  recorded  onr  opinion  of  the  principle  on  whi<^ 
these  tales  are  composed.  In  the  present  volume,  ^a  the  aubjects 
approach  ooi  own  timea,  we  are  happy  to  see  the  author's  geniua 
shining  forth  more  potently.  The  story  entitled  "  Heathendom  in 
Christendom  "  ia  powerfully  narrated,  and  we  are  aasored  it  is  little 
more  than  a  narrative  of  a  murder  which  took  place  thirty  years  ago, 
with  scarcely  any  alteration  bat  the  namea,  1^  however,  there  be  no 
alteration,  there  mnst  be  additions  to  make  the  events  cohere  as  a  tale. 


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DOUGLAS    JERROLD'S 

SHILLING    MAGAZINE. 

THE    USES    OF   FOOLS. 


Kaa  SoLOUON  himself  was  probably  not  so  wise  but  that  lie 
might  have  been  nmcb  wiser ;  and  wo  hope  that  the  collectire 
wisdom  of  the  world  in  general,  and  of  our  own  great  and  mighty 
nation  in  partjcnlar,  will  pardon  us  for  doubting  ita  omniscience. 
We  bclieye  that  it  has  yet  to  loam  many  things — perhaps  ;  cer- 
tainly, one  thing, — the  magnitude  of  the  uses,  political  and  social, 
of  the  class  of  people  ccdled  Fools.  Be  it  our  task,  then,  to 
advocate  the  claims  of  folly,  to  show  forth  its  dignity,  and  demon- 
strate the  services  which  it  renders  to  the  community  at  large. 
And  if  we  happily  succeed  in  our  endeavour,  we  shall  have 
pumped  up  a  no  small  bucketful  from  the  yet  uaexbauE^ted  well 
of  truth. 

The  word  Fool  is  a  term  of  contempt.  What  a  difference 
there  is  between  names  and  things  1  The  individual  fool  is  often 
a  person  of  honour.  How  many,  by  their  lives  and  ejiploits,  who, 
had  the  motives  of  their  actions  been  examined,  would  have  been 
proved  arrant  blockheads,  have,  on  the  contrary,  gained  renown  in 
their  day,  and  rendered  themselves  everlastingly  famous  !  We 
mean  no  offence  to  any  worthy  hero,  present  or  defunct ;  but 
we  must  say,  that  the  foob  of  society  are  some  of  its  finest 
fellows. 

We  would  not  harm  a  fly,  much  less  hurt  the  feelings  of  the 
British,  or  any  other  lion.  We  trust,  therefore,  that  no  great 
fool  will  consider  the  comparison  we  are  about  to  draw  as  inten- 
rionally  an  odious  one.      But  we  are  desirous,  for  our  argu- 

vo.  XT.— Toi.  in.  0 

.Coo'jic 


104  THE   USES  07  FOOLS. 

ment's  s&ke,  of  pointing  out  an  analogy  wMch  esiats  between  the 
race  of  fools  and  the  lower  animals. 

They  are  both  remarkable  for  a  certiuii  want  of  sense — for  a 
greater  or  less  deficiency  of  reason.  Now  it  is  to  the  lack  of 
Bense  and  reason  in  the  brutes,  that  their  utility  is  in  a  great 
measure  owing.  Were  the  elephant  a  ivbolly  rational,  instead  of 
a  half-reaaoning  quadruped,  would  ho  be  such  a  booby  as  to 
become  a  beast  of  burden— such  a  zany  as  to  exhibit  himself  at  a 
fwr  ?  Woold  the  dog,  with  a  little  more  sagacity,  be  such  a 
dmpleton  as  to  submit  to  be  kennelled,  and  to  be  persuaded  to 
hunt  on  our  account,  when  he  might  remiuu  at  large  and  hnut  on 
his  own  ?  Would  he  toil  and  slave  as  a  turnspit,  a  scout,  or  a 
go-fetcb?  If  the  equine  skull  were  not  a  num-skuU,  where 
would  bo  the  dray-horse,  or  the  hack  ?  If  the  intellect  of  the  barb 
were  equal  to  bis  mettle,  where  .the  bigh-mettled  racer?  It  is 
mighty  fine,  forsooth,  to  call  the  donkey  a  stupid  ass  ;  but  for  his 
stupidity  would  he  carry  panniers  ?  Not  he  ;  nor  would  any  of 
the  tribe  of  asses  put  up  with  the  impositions  that  are  laid 
upon  them.  The  monkey,  according  to  the  Negroes,  has  the  wit 
to  hold  his  tongue  ;  not,  as  an  old  philosopher  suggested,  because 
he  has  nothing  to  say,  which  still  would  have  been  sensible  enough, 
hut  lest  he  should  be  set  to  ^ork.  Thus  Jacfeo— if  we  must  credit 
Sambo — by  the  wisdom  through  which  he  is  allied  to  man,  esempts 
himself  from  man's  doloinion. 

Nature  has  wisely  implanted  certain  instincts  in  brutes,  and  we 
make  use  of  them  by  directing  their  instincts.  As  wisely  has 
Nature  implanted  certain  propensities  iu  fools,  and  they  make 
themselves  useful,  by  obeying  their  natural  propenwties. 
.  And  here,  not  impertinently, it  maybe  aaked — "Whom  doyoucall 
fools,  we  should  like  to  know  ?"  Fools,  beloved  reader,  are  (he 
unreasoning  portion  of  mankind.  It  is  a  peculiarity  of  all  fools 
that  they  act  from  their  mere  impulses.  The  uncommon  fool,  the 
madman  who  jumps  out  of  window,  is  but  an  exaggeration  of  the 
common  fool.  He  obeys  his  impulse  without  looking  to  conse- 
quences. So  does  every  fool,  more  or  less,  in  his  degree.  Needs 
must,  with  him,  when  a  certidn  personage  drives,  and  bis  driver  is 
his  uppermost  passion  for  the  time  being :  away  he  goes,  no 
matter  what  vriB  happen  during  his  course  ;  still  less  where  it  wili 
lead  to  in  the  long  run.  Perhaps  as  good  a  picture  of  a  fool  as 
any  portrait  of  a  gentleman  that  ever  appeared  at  the  Royal 
Academy's  Exhibition,  ie  a  gallant  young  sportsman  riding  n 

Coofjic 


THE  C8BS  OP  *001B.  195 

Steefde-ohase, — ^yoickB-^yrfro !  {we  speak  in  character,}  orer  hedge, 
ditch,  striked  railing,  cheraux-de-friae,  and  glass  bottles  ;  through 
river,  streamlet,  pond,  pool,  brook,  pnJdta,  gutter,  thicket,  h<aSt, 
brake,  bramble ;  heltef-skelter,  pell-mell,  neck  or  nothing  !  Does 
he  set  no  store  by  his  Kfe,  and  limba,  and  precious  eyesight  ? 
Quite  the  roveree  ;  pertiaps  he  values  his  brains  at  a  higher  rat6 
than  other  people  do  ;  but  this  fine  yomig  English  gentlemai^ 
with  his  high  animal  spirits,  is  not  highly  gifted  with  reflection  ; 
and  in  the  noble  ardom-  of  sport  he  has  bhnked  personal  consi- 
deratio^B.  He  is  bnt  a  slight  caricature  of  fools  in  genera).  They 
agree  with  him  in  the  peculiarity  of  not  thinking  ;  and  they  there- 
fore pursue  their  pleasure  irrespectively  of  nnpleasant  results.  NoT> 
there  are  many  parts  in  the  great  drama  of  life,  whose  perform- 
ance is  attended  with  mncb  that  is  disagreeable.  MdEt  people  are 
actuated  by  their  worldly  self-interest :  were  they  wise  enough  to 
knoir  it,  they  would  never  undertake  these  charoeters.  But  fools, 
happily,  adopt  them  from  inclination  ;  and  herein  lies  their  utility. 
Theyare  just  as  fond  of  themselves,  and  of  the  good  things  of  this  life, 
as  wiser  people  are.  Being,  however,  fortunately  deficient  in  the 
powers  of  comparison,  judgment,  forethought,  imagination,  as  well 
as  in  perceptivefaoultieswid  knowledge,  they  are  unable  to  sec  and 
indisposed  to  consider  the  damage,  hazard,  trouble  and  annoyance, 
whicifi  are  likely  to  beset  the  vocations  they  have  chosen.  What 
a  fine  thing  is  this  for  the  worldly-wise  !  They  have  thus  all  their 
dirty  and  disagreeable  work  done  for  them.  Were  it  odierwiae, 
it  would  be  as  though  there  were  no  scavengers  or  chimney-sweeps. 
Who  would  become  a  coal-heaver,  or  even  &  footman,  from  a  mere 
conviction  of  his  fitness  for  the  dfice  ?  England  may  expect 
every  man  to  do  his  duty ;  bnt  if  England  relied  solely  on  his 
sense  of  duty,  we  fear  she  wonld  be  wofidly  disappointed.  Some 
men  may  act  well  their  parts  from  a  principle  of  right ;  but  the 
monsters  of  morality  who  wonld  choose  them  from  such  a  motive, 
are  much  too  scarce  for  practical  purposes.  Glory,  then,  to  the 
fools  who  supply  the  place  of  patriots  and  pbiiantbropists  ! 

To  a  commercial  country  like  England,  one  very  great  advan- 
tage of  fools  is,  the  immense  benefit  which  various  descriptions  of 
them  confer  on  trade.  Trade  is  promoted  by  ^e  spending  of 
money.  There  are  many  fools  who  are  as  loath  as  the  wisest  peo- 
ple to  part  with  their  cash,  except  for  value  received.  Thanks, 
however,  to  their  foolish  ideas  of  value,  they  distribute  thousands, 
which  otherwise  would  rust  in  their  coffers.  Jemmy  Woods  at 
o2  .\^ 


186  THE  USES   OF  FOOLS. 

heart,  tfaej  are  QEORas-THB-FocitTHS  in  deed.  Thejr  are  splendidly 
T^in  and  royallj  fond  of  diEplaj.  Reason  would  catechise  them 
to  the  effect  following : — 

What  solid  advantage  did  they  derire  from  outward  show  ? 
Were  they  such  geese  as  to  admire  it  in  other  people  ?  Coidd 
other  people  be  such  asses  as  to  admire  it  in  them  ?  What  ple»- 
sore  could  they  take  in  the  approbation  of  asses  i  What  good 
coald  thej  get  from  approbation  at  all,  except  in  as  far  as  it  served 
their  interests  ?  But  were  they  not  rich  ?  Need  they  care  for 
anybodj  ?  Why  spend  money  upon  anything  but  solid  pmlding  ? 
Why  not  save  it  for  a  rainy  day  ?  Such  would  be  their  refleetions, 
provided  they  could  reflect.  And  what  then  ?  Why,  they  would 
jingle  their  puiHcs,  put  them  up,  slap  their  pockets,  chuckle,  and 
hug  themselves  in  their  self-comptacency,  and  laugh  at  the  eitra- 
Tagance  of  their  neighbours.  Bnt,  their  folly  be  praised,  they  can- 
not abstract  or  generaUae,  or  perform  any  <ff  those  dangerous  pro- 
cesses  which  reduce  humbug  to  its  nakedness.  They  love  osten- 
tation ;  they  dote,  in  theirfolly,  upon  praise  ;  and  to  this  idol  they 
eacrifice  their  hoards.  Ye  jewellers,  milliners,  tailors,  haber- 
dashers, perinmers,  coachmakers,  and  all  ye  purveyors  to  the  court 
of  &shion,  bear  witness  to  the  utility  of  these  magnificent  fools. 

The  medical  faculty,  which,  in  its  present  state,  may  well  be 
ranked  amongst  trades,  is  also  largely  indebted  to  those  who  are 
deficient  In  the  faculty  of  reason.  What  a  blessed  thing  it  Is  for 
the  body-tinkers,  that  men's  bodies  re^re  so  much  tinkering, 
which  they  would  not  want  if  men  knew  how  to  manage  them  ! 
How  fortunate  it  is  for  them  that  there  are  so  many  fools  in  the 
world  who  know  not,  or  do  not  refiect,  that  diseases  arise  from 
breaking  the  natural  laws  !  How  much,  especially,  docs  it  profit 
them,  that  such  fools,  whom  we  may  call  Fools  of  the  Stomach, 
will  eat,  and  stuff,  and  gormandise,  and  swill,  and  guzzle,  till  they 
get  gout,  the  bile,  indigestion,  and  nine-tenths  of  all  other  dis- 
eases !  Suppose  Wisdom  would  only  whisper  to  the  aldermanic, 
and  kindred  fools,  "  Why,  you  stupid  pig,  do  you  go  on  cramming 
yourself  with  turtle  and  vemson,  and  dmiking  ale,  and  wine,  and 

Stmch,  in  quantities  sufficient  for  a  dozen  people  ?  Don't  you  see, 
olt  that  you  are,  that  you  are  overloading  your  stomach,  con- 
taminating your  blood,  and  will  have  to  pay,  both  in  purse  and 
person,  for  your  folly  ?  "  Suppose  Wisdom,  thus  crying,  though 
with  the  voice  of  a  down,  "  Stop  !  What  are  ye  about  1  "  were 
listened  to.      Sons  of  .^scnlapius,  what  would  become  of  the 


THE   UBBS   OF  FOOLS.  187 

"[HwfeRnim?  "  And  what  would  ye  do,  gentlemen,  but  for  aer- 
TOoB  old  women,  and  whimsical  yoimg  ones,  and  melancholy  and 
hypochondriacal  foola  in  general  i  Could  ^  your  patiente  diatin- 
gnish  between  a  remedy  and  a  placebo  ;  were  they  aware  of  the 
real  limits  of  your  art ;  did  Uiey  know  how  many  of  their  com- 
plaints could  be  cored  by  temperance  and  exercise  alone,  how 
oonld  you  keep  yom'  carriages  ?  Had  they  the  prudence  to  eat 
and  drink  a  litt^  less,  do  you  think  you  would  get  your  bread  and 
cheese? 

From  medicine,  fcy  a  not  unnatural  transition,  we  pass  to  another 
trade,  which  is  largely  supported  bj  fools.  The  undertaker  suc- 
ceeds the  physician  in  our  thoughts,  almost  !n  the  relation  of  cause 
and  effect.  It  is  he  who  has  the  last  to  do  with  that  on  which 
the  doctor  has  done  his  best — or  worst.  Ashes,  any  one  but  A 
fool  would  think,  might  be  consigned  to  ashes,  and  dust  to  dust, 
with  small  ado  and  little  cost.  Fools,  howoTer,  to  the  undertaker's 
emolument,  think  otherwise.  Hence  the  pomp  and  the  parapher- 
nalia attendant  on  funerals.  Now,  what  would  be  the  consequence 
to  the  poor  undertaker,  if  all  his  customers  were  able  to  reason  t 
Kost  of  them  believe  that  man  is  an  immortal  spirit,  and  that  a 
disembodied  soul  is  in  a  higher  state  of  existence.  They  do  not 
suppose  such  a  b^g  is  capable  of  feeling  honoured  by  outward 
show :  still  less  can  they  imagine  that  it  has  any  regard  for  an 
ostentation  of  fripperies  from  a  shop  in  Regent-street  or  Oxford  - 
street.  They  cannot  but  conceive  it  as  looking  with  supreme 
contempt  on  the  trumpery  of  crape,  and  scarfs,  and  hat-bands,  and 
plumes  of  feathers,  and  mutes, — ei&er  fiill,  or  thinking,  of  Barclay 
and  Perkins's  Entire, — and  hearses  and  mourning  coaches  from 
Long  Acre,  and  horses  with  topknots  of  feathers  ;  the  animaU 
bwig  stained  black  for  the  occasion  with  lunar  caustic.  Still  less 
can  they  fancy  that  it  could  be  pleased  that  these  ceremoniea 
i^onld  Intend  Uie  consignment  of  its  former  clothing,  its  mere  left- 
off  tatters,  to  the  ear^.  They  cannot  think  that  it  regards  it» 
deserted  hull  otherwise  than  as  any  iatelligent  chicken  would  value 
its  shell,  any  wise  serpent  its  cast  skin,  any  clear-headed  butterfly 
its  chrysalis-case.  They  know  that  the  "mortal  coll"  once 
shuffled  off,  has  no  feeling  in  itself,  and  can  therefore  denTe  no 
benefit  from  a  demonstration  in  its  honour.  They  might  know, 
with  the  least  research,  that  by  the  laws  of  Nature  it  is  destined 
to  be  resolved  into  its  elements,  and  will  not  even  remain  in  the 
place  where  it  is  deposited,  but  must,  sooner  or  later,  mingle  with 


tlie  niftt«rul  muTene.  A  Terj  Iktle  icudito  would'  tell  them  Hut 
it  u  a  compound  of  oxygen,  hjdrogen,  nkrogen,  carbon,  »ilphur. 
phofphonu,  lime,  pota^,  soda,  aud  other  salts,  denired  from 
various  eatablea  and  drinkables  ;  from  transmuted  beef,  puddiilgi 
mutt<m,  veal  and  ham,  potatoes,  bottled  stout  and  other  liquors. 
They  would  esteem  it  highl;  absurd  to  pay  ante-sepulthral  honoHS 
to  a  mutton  chop.  And  yet,  with  very  expensive  rites,  they  worshqt 
the  result  of  eating.  Wherefore?  Because  instinct  prompts  tiliem  to 
show  a  respect  for  the  deceased,  and  common  sense  does  not  prewribe 
the  made  of  showing  it ;  because  their  heads,  q^n  contemplat«  but 
one  idea,  or  are  ineapable  of  putting  a  few  ideas  together.  It«aB(Hi 
with  these  worthy  folka,  and  they  will  tell  you,  truly,  that  it  is  of 
ao  use  to  reason  with  them.  If  rstlooahty  were  general,  the 
obsequies,  both  of  liob  and  poor,  would  be  simply  plain  and  decent. 
Grief  would  aeem  mocked  bv  association  with  drapwy  ;  solenmity 
outraged  by  aonneilon  witii  upbolstery.  The  now  phupp  ana 
jdly  undertaker  would  be  reduced  to  a  mere  atatwjoligg.  No  more 
would  funerals  be  ^mished  at  Ike  outlay  of  a  little  fortune,  «id 
jevil  would  be  the  plight  of  those  who  by  this  craft  get  their  Uving. 
Let  those  sleek,  well-fed-  citizHis,  then,  among  others,  bethiiA: 
them,  as  Ihey  sip  their  port  and  crack  their  w^uts,  of  the  ra^t 
'Obligations  which  they  ate  under  towards  fools. 

We  may  almoet  seem  to  assert  what  every  fool  knows,  in  jnerely 
allndiog  to  the  employment  which  fools  afford  the  lawyers.  Herein, 
however,  'they  do  the  state  a  aerrice  which  has  never  lu  yet  been 
estimated.  Of  course  the  law  would  be  of  no  use  if  nobody  could 
be  found  to  take  it.  Rogues  and  swindlers  might  thffli  prey  with 
impunity.  Now,  when  a  man  is  injnred  or  cheated,  the  pn^aluU- 
ties  and  chances  are,  that  if  he  seek  legal  redress,  he  will,  eTsn 
should  he  gain  his  cause,  find  himself  oat  of  pocket  on  the  whole. 
This  consideration  would  deter  nearly  all  reflecting  persons,  except 
the  very  few  vho  are  actuated  by  pubhc  spirit,  &om  ever  having 
recourse  to  law.  They  would  rather  put  up  wi^  wrong,  and  allow 
themselves  to  be  defrauded,  tium  go  to  the  eipease  of  justice. 
OSendnv  of  all  kinds  would  go  unpumahej.  Moral  and  reli^OHS 
obligation  wo;dd  be  the  only  inducement  to  prosecute.  A  pretty 
state,  indeed,  society  would  be  in  !  But  foUy  supplies  prosecutors 
jind  plaintiffs.  The  vindictive,  irascible,  and  Utifpous  fods,  ua  grati- 
'^ing  their  own  humours,  ^ect,  thus,  the  ends  of  justice  ;  and 
shiUt  they  feed  and  fatt«n  the  attoro^ey  and  barrister,  pr(«u^ 
jA»  »el£are  of  the  nation. 

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isa  una  oF-roou).  U» 

.  Wft  irilt  not  a7'  bov  far  tihat  fonn  c^  Mt  called  aupentitioB 
iiisj,  in  respect  of  temporalities,  have  benefited  another  profession; 
nor  inquire  on  what  aocoimt  there  iras  need  of  a  stAtute  of  Uort- 
inain.  But  ve  beg  respectfuUj  to  remind  your  reverencea  that 
6ne  characteristic  of  foola  is  their  inability  to  perceiTe  incongruity. 
pQ  you  knoir  any  rich  pluralists  1  Are  you  aoquainted  with  any 
dignitaries  who  are  called — no,  not  Babbi,  but — Uy  Lord  ?  How 
would  these  things  be  if  so  mAuy  among  ua  trere  not  hUnd  to 
inconaistency } 

People  are  aometimea  apt  to  complain  of  the  Hmited  extent  of 
tike  wisdom  o(  parliament  and  of  minieters.  They  should  consider, 
however,  how  necesaary  are  fools  to  the  constitution  of  a  senate  or  a 
cabinet.  Those  who  have  business  of  their  own  to  attend  to  can 
Imrdly  oonduct  that  of  the  nation  ;  we  are  therefore  mainly  depen- 
dent, for  our  legialatora,  on  the  wealthy  classes.  Now,  if  every 
rich  nobleman  jjr  gentleman  were  to  ponder  upon  the  troubles, 
turmoils,  and  perplexities  of  office  ;  to  imagioo  himself  caricatured 
in  the  piint  Bh(ma,  and  ridiculed,  abused,  ind  traduced  in  the 
.newspapers  ;  whdat,  on  the  other  hand,  be  reflected  how  quietly 
he  might  enjoy  himaelf  on  his  own  estate  or  in  tniTelling ;  in  how 
many  pleasant  pursuits  he  might  ocoupyhis  time:  he  would  require 
some  very  strong  motive  to  induce  him  to  enter  public  life.  If  he 
had  not  such  a  motive  in  his  ambitiou,  if  he  were  philosopher 
enough  to  divest  himself  of  that  paasion,  what  would  the  queen 
.  and  the  country  do  for  servants  ?  How  many  would  be  found  who 
would  eerre  the  public  irom  pure  love  ?  But  where  those  few 
•ngela  only  could  be  induced  to  tread,  the  fools  of  ambition  rush 
in,  and  so  we  have  the  business  of  the  nation  done— after  a 
.ftishion.  This  consideration  will  eiplun  many  legislative  anoma- 
lies, which  have  never,  ob  yet,  been  accounted  for. 

But  whether  or  no  the  civil  govemmant  could  be  conducted  if 
there  were  no  fools,  asanredly  the  military  and  naval  services 
.  could  never  be  si^plied  witliout  them.  As  we  do  not  make  this 
assertion  without  some  fear  of  being  called  to  account  for  it,  we 
hereby  advertise  every  gallant  fellow  whom  it  may  concern,  that 
we  believe  that  he,  individually,  entered  the  army  or  navy,  Mther 
because  he  had  no  other  means  of  getting  hia  living,  or  from 
compulsion  ;  or  else  from  a  religious  motive,  be  feeling  in  himself 
a  f^teciol  calling  to  the  profession  of  arms,  solely  in  order  to  defend 
Lis  native  land.  We  are  persuaded,  therefore,  that  he  became  a 
.  flddier  or  a  tailor  for  very  good  reaaooa  i  and  we,  accordingly. 

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200  THE  rSEB   OP  FOOLS. 

beg  he  will  nnderitand  that  we  impute  no  folly  to  him.  But  we 
fear  that  were  all  those  who,  independentlj  of  any  of  the  abore- 
mentioaed  motires,  and  without  any  thought  or  rejection  at  &U,  - 
have  pat  on  the  red  coat,  or  the  blue  jacket,  deducted  from  the 
brOTO  defenders  of  our  country,  that  country  would  be  very  poorly 
off  for  defence.  We  aospect  that  there  would  be  but  a  sorry  re- 
mainder, were  our  forces  deprived  of  all  those  who  have  enterrfS 
tbem  from  mere  love  of  glory  and  escitement,  and  a  desittf  to 
shine  in  a  gay  uniform  ;  and  we  tremble  to  tbink  of  the  con- 
sequences that  would  ensue  if  heroes,  generally,  had  reason  and 
imagination  enough  to  ask  themselves  a  few  such  qneations  as  the 
following,  which,  presuming  to  speak  as  with  thevoioe  of  Wisdom, 
we  will  suggest. 

Wherefore  are  you  about  to  gird  on  the  sword  ?  For  Fame  and 
GI017  ?  For  show,  and  the  admiration  of  the  Fur, — -ek  ?  And 
a  fig  for  danger,  of  course  !  Fray,  simpleton !  have  you  considered 
what  danger  means  ?  Have  you  imagined,  booby  I  the  seosations 
oecasioned  by  a  mnsket-ball  in  the  knee-joint  ?  Have  you  cal- 
culated, loggerhead !  the  results  of  a  cannon-shot's  impinging  on 
your  shin-bone  !  Dolt !  has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  to  fancy  your- 
self undergoing  amputatiou  ?  Have  you,  noodle  !  ever  pictured 
yourself  to  yourself,  with  a  shell  biirsting  at  your  ear  ;  a  rocket 
exploding  in  your  stomach  ;  or  your  eye  poked  out  witbabayonet? 
Can  you  conceive  your  mangled  body,  you  dulkrd !  lying  on  the 
field  of  battle,  with  a  horse  tramphng  on  your  crushed  limbs,  or 
stamping  its  hoof  in  your  mouth  ?  Have  die  delights  of  a  forced 
march,  or  a  bivouac  in  the  open  air,  in  wet,  and  cold,  and  hunger^ 
ever  presented  themselves  to  your  stupid  mind  ?  What  amount 
of  glory,  worth  speaking  of,  mooncalf!  are  yon,  one  among 
thousands,  likely  to  gain  ?  And  as  to  the  admiration  of  the  ladies, 
soft  man  !  what  would  they  think  of  you  with  a  wooden  leg,  or  a 
.  nose  flattened  with  the  butt-end  of  a  carbine  !  What,  ninny- 
hammer  !  is  most  likely  to  be  the  reward  of  your  prowess,  after 
all,  but  a  beggarly  half-pay  ?  And  do  you  really  mean  to  say, 
blockhead!  that  you  have  no  regard  for  your  precious  carcase  ;  no 
desire  for  comfort  and  enjoyment ;  and  that  you  positively  cannot 
find  any  more  pleasant  and  profitable  occupation  than  the  trade 
of  warfare  ?  And  you  confess,  do  you,  you  dog  !  that  any  idea 
that  Pravidence  had  called  yOu  to  this,  never  entered  your  thick 
wid  unbeheving  head  ?  Why,  then,  you  ass,  you  goose,  you  guH, 
you  silly,  empty  coxcomb,  go  ^ong  with  you,  and  torn  doctor,  dr 

vCoo*^lc 


THB   ITSEa   OF  JOOVS.  201 

lawyer,  or  panon,  or  b31-diBCoanter,  or  broker,  or  banker ;  sad 
e&t,  and  drink,  aad  sleep  jollilj,  in  peace  and  plenty  all  tbe  days 
of  your  life. 

"  Why  ehonld  a  std^er  think,  boys?"  says  the  song.  Wa 
apprehend,  indeed,  that  ve  have  given  very  Buffioient  reasooB  why 
he  sbould  not  think  ;  and  have  ehown  that  it  ia  to  hie  incapainty  of 
thinking  that  we  are  indebted  for  our  valiant  champions.  Where, 
but  for  our  iDeBtimable  fools  vrould  be  our  wooden  waUs,  onr  mighty 
pOBscBsions,  our  freedom,  our  very  existence  as  a  nation  ?  Wlere  - 
wouldbeourboastof  Cregy  and  AgincoQrt,  of  Blenheim,  Ramillies, 
Talavera,  Vittoria,  Saragossa,  Waterloo  }  All  glory,  then,  unto 
Glory's  fools,  who  brave  that  danger  in  the  cannon's  mouth  which 
it  ia  to  be  feared  they  would  not  brave  if  they  were  only  able  to 
think  about  it. 

We  have  yet  one  more  proof — our  strongest — to  instance,  of  the 
mighty  value  of  fools.  It  will  be  agreed,  on  all  hands,  that,  but 
for  matrimony,  the  world  would  very  soon  be  at  an  end.  Far  be 
it  from  ns  to  ioainoate  that  none  but  the  subjects  of  the  present 
observations  wed.  But  we  do  mtuntain,  that  if  all  "persons  about 
to  marry"  were  capable  of  analysing  their  own  and  their  intended 
partners' minds,  and  of  judging  how  far  their  dispositions  accorded, 
and  thence  to  deduce  the  probability  of  thur  future  happiness,  tho 
number  of  unions  would  suffer  an  alarming  reduction.  Fanoy 
that  every  lover  could  discern  faults  in  the  object  of  his  affections: 
imagine  that  from  a  transient  pout  or  frown,  or  a  temporary  fit  of 
sulking,  he- could  infer  ill  temper  :  suppose  he  could  thus  foresee 
hymeneal  storms — look  out  for  matrimonial  squalls:  or  say 
that  from  a  needless  purahase  he  could  predict  extravagance  ; 
perrcrseness  and  obs^acy  from  a  small  whim ;  or  irra-tionality 
from  an  inconsecudve  romark :  how  many  hapless  maidena 
would  be  doomed  to  involuntary  celibacy  I  It  may  bo  appre- 
hended, too,  that  the  number  of  matches  would  be  further  not  a 
little  lessened,  if  all  fond  lovers  were  capable  of  imagining  the 
troubles  and  responsibilities  attendant  upon  manned  Iif^,  and  alsl> 
of  calculating  its  probable  expenses,  and  the  likelihood  of  finding 
the  means  to  meet  them.  But  what  with  those  who  are  bom 
fools,  and  those  whom  passion  places,  for  the  time  being,  in  that 
category,  those  perceptions  and  reflective  processes  which  would 
so  feariully  discourage  matrimonial  views  in  general,  are  prevented. 
What  sufferers  would  womankind  and  the  clergy  be  through  the- 
universality  of  wisdom  I     Heavy  would  he  tho  Joes  of  the  coo- 


302  Obl)  laSKKTi  ISE  lOBSB. 

ketitmer',  Bmall  the  cotiBumption  of  bride-cftke.  Thus  we  see, 
tiiab  to  the  tribe  of  fools,  aot  only  is  eecietj  iodebted  for  some  of 
its  most  uaefiil  servants,  but  eren  for  its  very  perpetuatioB.  And 
fools  it  vill  Btill  require.  It  would  be  penlous  if  all  were  wi^e, 
unless  all  were  also  good.  TTiuversal  wisdom  niU  be  desirable  in 
ike  MiUeanium,  bat  not  till  then.  We  believe  we  have  shown 
what  evils  would  ensue  if  eyeiybodj  were  endowed  with  that  dan- 
gerous posseBBiou,  knowledge,  and  with  the  mischieyous  faculty  of 
reasoDing.  And  surely  we  deserve  some  thanks  from  their  holi- 
neases,  and  reverences,  and  high-and-mightineBseB,  who  have 
endeavoured  to  arrest  the  march  of  mind,  and  impede  the  develop- 
pieut  of  reaaoo.  In  the  meantime,  commend  us  to  jour  fo<Ja. 
Let  the  fool's  cap  be  &  badge  of  honour,  and  the  first  of  April  a 
day  famous  in  the  calendar. 

Percival  Lsisa. 


OLD  MISERY,  THE  MI9EB. 


Af  the  beginiung  of  January  183 — ,  and  at  aa  early  hour  in 
the  ereniog,  a  fire  broke  out  on  the  premises  of  a  fioor-cloth  manu- 
faotory  situated  in  the  immediate  environs  of  London.  A  quantity 
of  oil  contained  in  the  building  had  ignited,  and  the  whole  pile 
became  one  glowing  mass.  Higher  and  higher  the  fiames  mounted, 
roaring  and  leaping  till  the  sky  grew  red,  blaod-red,  aa  it  over- 
Lnng  the  scene.  Dense  volumes  of  smoke  rolled  off,  filling  the 
i^por  air.  Crowds  of  people,  making  the  engine-drivera  furious, 
blocked  up  every  street  and  avenue.  The  fireinen,  hemnied  in  ou 
all  sides,  were  busily  endcftvouring  to  force  their  way.  Females 
shrieked,  men  sworeloudly, — the  firemen  swearing  loudest  of  all. 
And  still  the  throng  increased,  thousands  hurrying  ,jip  from  tdl 
sides  and  filling  every  thoroughfare  conducting  to  the  spot.  But 
a  few  paces  from  the  flaming  pile  was  a  store  whore  saltpetre  was 
k^t,  and  this  intelligence  was  speedily  circulated  amongst  the 
lookersroo.  The  wind  having  commenced  blowing  slightly,  the  fire 
soon  communicated  with  tbe  store,  and  the  utmost  alarm  was  now 
manifested.  A  terrace  of  large  houses  adjoined  the  latter  building, 
and  the  flames  were  widening  rapidly.     Water  too  was  difiicnlt  to 


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OLD  tpSEBT)   IBB   ItlSZn.  |03 

be  obtuned,  for  the  wefiiiei  was  so  severe  as  to  hare  firozm  aU 
tbepipefl,  and  scarcel;''aa  Higina  could  be  worked.  la  the  raera 
time  the  flames  held  on  their  course  imchecked,  and  two  of  tha 
boyaes  sdjoiniiig  the  saltpetce  store  were  alr^j  kindled, 
Three  now,  for  the  curling  fire  ran  along  the  roofs  eiultiqgly. 
Ladders  were  reared  againeit  the  windows,  even  those  at  the  furthest 
end  of  the  terrace,  and  therefore  remotest  from  the  danger.  Piles 
of  bouaehold  furuitiu-e  grew  up  suddenly  in  the  street.  Fatheni, 
with,  insane  Looks,  poured  forth  a  provision  of  orders,  that  were 
drowned  in  the  tunuilt.  Servants  ran  hither  and  thither.  Bi^ 
howled.  Children  screamed.  Women  fainted.  Confusion  became 
Cjttofounded. 

As  the  fire  spread  along  the  terrace,  there  was  one  house  that 
attracted  universal  notice.  The  flames  ascending  from  the  salt- 
petre warehouse,  brilliant  as  they  were,  and  their  hues  were  gor- 
geous, did  not  serre  tQ.([iHtract  the  uniform  Attention  rivetted  o« 
Sub  building.  It  seemed  from  the  street  a  glowing,  gutted  pile, 
and  yet  Individuala  cwild  be  descried  in  the  various  apartments 
numinz  to  and  fro.  They  disappeared  presently,  and  the  roof  fell 
in,  sending  np  one  vast  eloud  of  dust  and  smoke,  that  for  some 
moments  obscured  the  whole  scene. 

Suddenly  on  the  top — yes,  on  the  very  top — on  the  outermost 
wall  of  the  roofless  carcase,  appeu^d  a  female  figure.  Beueatb, 
the  fl  !»■">! Ti£f  abyss  glowed  like  a  crater.  In  the  injaginadon  of  tbe 
.Bpectat<H'B,  the  crumbling  sides  had  b^;ua  to  rock.  £very  biieath 
seemed  hushed,  and  to  the  stunning  noise,  an  awful  calm  had 
Su«M;eeded. 

Immediately  a  voice  was  beard  to  exclaim  that  a  wedding  had 
taken  place  in  that  fated  house,  on  that  day,  and  it  was  ^leedily 
jsported  that  this  was  none  other  than  (ihe  biide  herself,  who  thui 
^^aled  with  frantic  gestures  for  their  aid. 

"  Stand  aude  thme  !  will  no  one  help  her  ?  "  cried  Ihe  musical 
Toice  of  »  youth  from  a  quarter  where  the  pressure  was  less  dense. 
. "  Cowandsj  cowards,  out  of  Uie  way  I  say. "  And  he  darted  for- 
wards, elbowing  big  way  towards  the  building. 

As  this  incident  did  not  take  place  unnoticed,  some  movement 
WM  oecasioned  in  the  crowd,  which  was  becoming  worked  up  to  a 
feverish  pitch  of  eicitement.  The  fire  had  spread  to  the  adjoiniifg 
.houses,  and  was  raging  with  unabated  furj  ;  the  smoke,  however, 
was  earned  by  the  wind  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  towards 


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s 


wKIcIi  sQ  eyes,  widi  an  iireiiBtible  unpnlu,  were  direeted.  Amy 
of  joj  broke  from  the  assemliled  miUtitiide,  when  tliej  beheld  s 
iottj  ladder  bIowIj  reared  agunst  the  tottering  wall.  But  tt  readied 
tody  to  the  windows  of  the  tiiird  floor,  And  there  was  the  h^gfat  of 
another  beyond  it. 

Suspense  grew  feorfol  now.  Some  of  the  boldest  Among  them, 
having  the  hint  thus  given,  began  to  devise  plans  of  asaistaDce, 
and  a  few  grew  desperate  at  the  idea  of  leaving  a  fellow-creature, 
'Onug  and  newly  manied,  to  periab  in  a  manner  so  truly  terrible. 
"  e  ladder  was  lowered,  and  another  of  smaller  dimensions  laahed 
__jarely  to  its  top.  Again  it  was  reared,  and  this  time  with  greater 
cantion.  But  a  shout  of  horror  burst  from  the  multitude.  The 
female  bad  disappeared. 

She  had  fallen,  in  fact,  into  the  flames  ro^ng  wItMn  the  build- 
ing, and  where  humanity  shrinks  fixim  following  her,  in  ber  awfiil 
fate.  When  all  farther  aid  was  thus  rendered  nnavaiUng,  and 
nothing  remained  to  be  done,  the  voices  of  the  spectators  grew 
imperious,  and  njony  were  heard  to  wonder  why  the  ladder  had 
not  been  reared  before,  Btnne  even  muttering  that  a  slJr  ought  to 
be  made  about  it,  and  that  it  should  be  by  no  means  hushed  np  ; 
others  there  were,  who  loudly  announced  tbeir  firm  desire  to  have 
hazarded  their  lives,  as  if  they  were  wortbless,  in  the  poor  lody'a 
behalf — only  tbe  pressure  of  the  crowd  withheld  them.  Bat  one 
Trace  near  the  centre  of  the  throng  was-loud  above  tbe  rest. 

"  I  say,"  it  exclaimed,  "  and  111  hold  to  it,  that  this  yonng 
man  was  the  flrst  that  offered  help." 

"  Who  was  1  who  ?  "  cried  another  voice,  equally  loud,  but  in 
accents  that  mode  the  hearers  tremble.  "  Let  me  see  him — I'm 
her  father-~let  me  see  bim." 

The  multitude  gave  w&y,  with  suspended  breath,  leaving  room 
for  tbe  speaker  to  pass.  Eager  faces  peered  inqiusitively  into  his, 
as  he  pushed  hie  way  along,  but  tbey  instantly  drew  back  in  fear, 
so  terrible  was  the  agony  depicted  on  bis  countenance.  Tbe  crowd 
was  so  dense  that  it  was  no  easy  thing,  with  all  good  will  on  th^ 
part,  to  elbow  through  them, — for  the  passage  that  had  been  mo- 
mentarily opened,  closed  again  from  tbe  effects  of  the  distant 
pressure.  But  tbe  speaker  persisted  in  his  efforts,  and  raised  his 
voice  inore  loudly  as  ihe  delay  increased. 

"  Why — look  you  all  ?  "  he  cried,  "  she  was  my  child — my 
child — a  bride  this  morning,  and  now  swallowed  by  the  flames. 

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OLD  KISgBY,   THE   HIBER, 


There  was  not  one  amougst  you,  but  that  youth,  vould  s&  a  step 
to  sare  her,  though  eyerr  hiur  od  her  head  should  have  brought 
gold  to  her  preserrer." 

Just  at  this  juncture,  and  as  a  seaeonable  iaterroptioQ  to  the  old 
inan'B  irailinga,  the  roof  of  the  adjoining  building  fell  in,  and  at 
the  same  time  the  en^eB,  having  at  length  been  fully  supplied 
irith  water,  began  to  plaj  vigorously.  Another  incident  for  a  time 
diverted  &e  attention  of  the  crowd.  When  the  dust  and  smoke 
had  in  some  measure  cleared  off,  a  little  dog  was  discovered  on  the 
window-sill  of  the  third  story.  The  terrified  animal^  howled 
piteonaly,  for  its  feet  were  scorched  by  the  beat  of  the  bricks  and 
the  burning  wood. 

*'  Ten  pounds,"  cried  a  voice  from  amongst  the  throng,  "  Ten 
pounds  to  him  who  will  save  that  dog." 

There  was  a  ntovoment  in  the  crowd.  Numbers  were  eager  to 
obtain  the  proffered  reward.  What  compassion  in  the  former 
instance  had  failed  to  accomplish,  cupidity  was  now  in  a  fair  way 
to  achieve. 

"  I'll  double  it  rather  than  lose  him,"  exclaimed  the  owner  of 
the  animal,  "  Twenty  pounds — twenty  pounds  if  my  dog  is  saved," 

"  D'ye  hear  that  ?'  shouted  the  old  man  whose  daughter  bad 
fallen  a  victim  to  the  flames.  "  D'ye  hear  that  ?  "  be  cried,  furf- 
onsly, — "  Twenty  pounds  for  a  dog  !  Where's  my  child  ?  " 

"  This  is  he  yon  wanted,"  observed  a  bystander,  pushing  for- 
ward the  youth  whose  l«nder  of  assistance  had  bdiire  attracted 
attention.  The  crowd  fell  back  in  a  circle  round  the  old  man  and 
the  young  stranger.  Conferring  amongst  themselves  respecting 
the  age  of  tbe  latter,  the  beholders  were  unanimous  in  ofnnion 
that  he  was  scarcely  turned  eighteen,  which  indeed  was  the  fact. 
The  wretched  father  seized  his  hand  with  a  frenzied  gesture,  and 
exclaimed — 

"  God  bless  you,  lad — God  bless  you  !  I  don't  distinguish  you 
clearly,  for  my  sight  is  dim.  I  can't  weep — I  wish  I  could.  I'm 
an  old  man,  as  you  see.  She  was  my  only  child,  and  her  husband 
is  dead  too — crushed  in  attempting  to  save  her." 

In  the  meantime  the  dog  had  been  rescued  by  some  adventurous 
individual,  though  not  without  contention  on  the  part  of  others. 
The  owner,  whose  whole  concern  seemed  engrossed  by  the  animal, 
edged  bis  nay  from  amongst  the  multitude,  and  took  up  a  portion 
by  bis  wretched  neighbour,  whose  child,  less  fortunate  than  the 

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tOA  OLD  lUsGBT,   THX  IQSIK. 

^rate,  had  perished.  The  youth  contimied  to  sapport  the  bereaved, 
p&rent.     ConBolation  was  neeleas,  aad  ho  did  not  atteotpf  it. 

"  Take  him  hencci"  said  one  of  the  bystanders,  addi^ssing  the 
yoang  num,  and  pointjag  to  his  wretohed  companion.  "  Take  lum 
eat  0  sight  of  this  and  out  o'  hearing  of  it" 

"  'Tis  good  advice  at  all  events,"  replied  the  youth,  and  hepT%- 
railed  upon  the  old  man  to  suffer  himself  to  be  led  away. 

"  Oh,  my  child — my  child — you  are  taking  me  from  my  child  ! " 
In  occenU  snch  as  these,  he  poured  forth  his  anguinh  as  they 
Talked  along.  Several  of  the  crowd,  impelled  hj  curiosity,  hod 
detached  themselves  &om  the  main  throng  and  followed  them.  To 
escape  these,  the  youth  entered  the  first  inn  they  reached,  and  led 
his  companion  to  a  quiet  room,  from  which  the  multitude  of  spec- 
tators was,  of  course,  excluded.  There  he  seated  him,  well  nigh 
sinking,  in  a  chair,  and  bathed  his  temples  and  his  hands  with 
rinegar. 

Suddenly, — after  the  lapse,  perhaps,  of  half  an  hour,  during 
vhich  interval  the  sufferer  had  betrayed  no  consciousness  of  the 
loss  he  had  sustained,  or  of  the  events  that  had  taken  place,  he 
sprang  from  his  seat  and  darted  towards  the  door.  It  was  locked 
to  prevent  intrusion,  and  offered  resistance  to  his  efforts  to  tbrov 
it  open. 

"  Why  do  you  keep  me  here  ?  "  he  cried  wildly.'  "  They  are 
murdering  mj  child  for  the  sake  of  the  gold  I  have  g^ven  her.  Let 
me  go.     The  sight  of  her  father  will  daunt  them." 

The  youth  endeavoured  to  lead  him  back.  The  landlord's 
daughter,  who  had  accompanied  them  into  the  apartment,  clung  to 
his  arm. 

"  Speak  to  my  father  to  prepore  him  a  bed,"  she  said,  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears.  "  He  must  sleep — sleep  is  the  only  thing 
for  liim." 

"  That's  her  voice,"  cried  the  wretched  man,  looking  helplessly 
at  Uie  speaker.  "  She  would  speak  so  always — always  kind — 
always  gentle." 

They  led  him  to  a  chair.     He  no  longer  resisted  them. 

"  Yes,"  he  murmured,     "  She  would  speak  so  always." 

And  this  he  continued  to  repeat  in  a  whisper  barely  audible,  till 
his  assistants  thought  ho  had  dropped  asleep.  The  girl,  drawing 
near  to  dispose  hie  head,  which  had  fallen  on  his  breast,  more  com- 
fortably, gazed  steadily  in  bis  face.     Her  features  changed  eud- 

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OLD  mSXBT,   TfiE  BlSett;  Sff 

ietAj,  and  shb  signed  M  {be  ycntth  to  approach.  Immedikte^ 
afterwards  thej.  opened  the  door,  and  tpread  the  thliiigB  of  the  old 
man's  death. 

Anudst  the  cottfosion  that  ensaed, — the  room  bemg  on  the 
instant  veil  nigh  filled  irith  awe-Btriclen  peofde, — ^the  ;F^outh  vidi- 
drew,  and  reg^ed  the  street.  -  He  was  instantly  beset  by  the 
crowd,  and  overwhelmed  with  queries  as  to  what  hod  taken  place; 
And  when  the  sad  event  was  made  known  te  thom,  they  vere  not,' 
as  those  within  the  room,  where  the  dead  man  sat  in  his  chEur  Uke 
sleeping  life,  hushed  bj  awe  and  terror.  Comments  were  loudlj 
and  coarsely  made.  Rnde  men  broke  into  noisy  speech,  and,  to 
the  youth's  astonishment,  declared  that  the  deceased  ought  to  have 
died  years  before,  and  so  have  spared  the  world  much  wrong  and 
misery. 

TTnprompted  fay  cariosity,  a  qaestioa  rose'to  his  lips,  bnt  he  did 
not  utter  it,  for  he  wished  to  escape  all  further  contact  with  the 
roDgh  people  that  surrounded  him.  Seeing  the  fire  still  ra^ng 
among  the  honses  on  the  terrace,  he  rushed  forward,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  was  mingling  in  the  commotion  that  prevailed  on  the  spot 
of  the  conflagration.  But  here  also — for  the'news  had  preceded 
him, — he  heard  the  same  comment  delivered  with  much  emphasis. 
If  he  shifted  his  position — and  that,  in  the  working  to  and  iro  of  the 
crowd,  was  unavoidable — the  same  words  rang  in  his  ears,  reaching 
him  from  eveir  side.  And  at  last,  the  youd),  without  being  able 
to  obtain  a  plausible  reason  for  this  opinion,  so  seemingly  imiversal, 
caught  himself  subscribing  to  the  nncbaritahle  sentiment,  and 
echoing  the  remark  of  the  crowd,  that  the  deceased  should'  have 
died  years  before. 

The  wherefore  remained  a  mystery.  When  he  found  himself 
alone  in  his  chamber  he  sat  down,  and  Strove  to  rid  his  recollection 
of  all  discordant  images  connected  with  the  scene  he  had  so  re- 
cently witnessed,  that  he  might  reflect  on  that  nlone.  The  de- 
ceased ought  to  have  died  years  ago  !  A  vindictiTC  feeling,  roused 
by  some  real  or  suspected  injury,  might  hare  given  rise  to  such  a 
comment,  if  it  had  been  uttered  hy  two  or  three  persons  only  ;  but 
published  thus  openly  by  a  multitude — what  was  he  to  think  of  it  J 
What  harm  had  the  dead  man  in  his  life-time  wrought  ?  What 
deep  wrong  had  he  committed  ?  He  had  asked  that  question  of 
the  speakers  who  were  loudest  in  the  proclamation  of  the  verdict, 
but  he  had  obtained  no  answer — nothing  but  a  repetition  of  the 
words.      He  had  sought  fi>r  any  possible  solution  to  the  enigma. 


SOB  OLD   IDBSBT,   TBS  lUSIB. 

bnt  could  gather  none.  .  He  remembered  that  no  shoir  of  dislike 
vae  mciDifested  towards  tlie  deceased  wlule  he  went  among  the 
crowd,  wailing  for  his  daughter  ;  bnt  whether  that  forbearance 
was  due  to  ignorance  of  his  name  and  person  at  that  time,  or 
arose  from  comniingled  feelings  of  awe  and  invduntai;  respect — 
awe  at  the  terrible  late  of  the  yoong  bride,  and  respect  for  the 
father's  agony  of  soul — agony  so  great,  that  it  might  well  stifle 
all  censorious  speech,  however  deserved,  he  could  not  determine. 

He  visited  the  still  smoking  ruins  at  an  early  hour  the  next 
morning.  Though  all  danger  was  over,  two  or  three  of  the  amaller 
engines  yet  kept  thwr  station — a  corresponding  number  of  firemen 
lounging  guard  iqion  them.  A  freah  concourse  of  spectators  had 
assembled,  to  whom  the  erection  of  a  barricade  of  ^anks  around 
the  site  of  the  destroyed  property,  under  the  auperintendence  of 
the  police,  was  a  Bourse  of  vast  interest.  The  ravages  of  the  fire 
had  been  very  great.  Beudes  the  floor-cloth  manufactory,  and 
aaltpetre  store,  five  honses  on  the  terrace  had  been  wholly  or  par- 
tially destroyed.  Here  also,  while  mingling  with  the  crowd,  and 
surveying  the  scene  of  destruction,  the  cry  of  the  preceding  night 
fell  dismay,  yet,  in  spite  of  himself,  convincingly,  upon  his  ears — 
Be  ought  to  hM€  died  yean  he/ore ! 

He  was  resolved  to  fathom  the  mystery,  and  for  tiiat  purpose 
accosted  a  man  having  all  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman  in  his 
bearing,  though  shabbily  dressed — one  who  had  seen  better  days, 
OS  the  phrase  goes.  What  did  it  mean,  he  asked  ?  The  sudden 
excitement  betrayed  by  this  individual  was  ungular  to  witness. 
He  did  not  reply,  however,  but  moved  impatiently  away. 

A  romance  certfunly,  but  an  uneasy  one.  The  youth,  forcing 
through  the  crowd,  made  the  beat  of  his  way  to  the  inn  where  he 
had  left  the  dead  man  on  the  previous  night.  The  landlord's 
daughter  was  in  the  bar.  She  no  sooner  saw  him  than  ahe  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  joy, 

"  1  was  afraid  that  we  should  not  see  you  again,  sir,"  ahe  said  ; 
"yon  are  so  much  wanted  up  stairs," 

"  / — wanted  ?     Who  wants  me  ?" 

*'  The  old  gentleman,  that  we  thou^t  was  dead  last  night ; 
but  you  took  yonr  leave  in  such  a  hurry  that  you  did  not  learn  it 
was  but  a  swoon!" 

The  youth  gave  a  bound  forward.  The  delight  that  he  experi- 
enced— the  old  man  being  a  stranger  to  him— was  unaccountable. 
Smprise  was  quite  a  secoudai;  feeling. 

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OLD   UI8ZRT,   THE  lUSER.  209 

"  Ib  he  Btimng  yet,"  lie  inquired. 

"  No^but  he  will  see  you  directly,"  was  the  reply.  ''  He  did 
notfaiDg  but  ask  after  yon.  If  they  tell  the  truth  about  lum,  he 
has  led  a  iriohed  life." 

"  Ha !  I  have  heard  aomething  of  that !  What  has  he  done  1 
Who  is  he  ?" 

"  Don't  t6u  know,  airt     He  'a  Old  Misebt,  the  miser,'' 

"  Old  Miaery !     I  nerer  heard  of  such  a  pereon  I " 

"  Why  I  thought  all  Loodoa  had  beard  of  Old  Misery." 

"  I  never  have,  I  asaure  yoa.  But  I  will  not  he  inqul^re  about 
him.     He  wiahea  to  see  me,  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes," 

The  youth  presently  found  himself  in  the  deeping  apartmmt 
occupied  by  the  object  of  his  bterest — not  yet  awake.  Placing  a 
chair  by  the  bedaide,  he  seated  himself,  and  contemplated  'th& 
pinched  features  of  the  alumbering  man. 

The  sleeper  was  turned  siity-five,  or  a  year  or  two  nearer  seventy 
perhaps.  Hia  thin,  straggling  grey  hair  should  have  won  respect 
the  youth  thought ;  and  would  have  won  it,  ho  doubted  not,  if  the 
life  of  him  for  whom  it  pleaded  had  Bot  been  of  a  complexion  to 
make  age,  in  aa  individual  case,  diahonourable.  The  lines  that 
were  deepened  in  the  forehead — the  brow,  corrugated  even  in  slum- 
ber— the  weazen  cheeks — the  thin,  bloodless  lips — the  angularity 
of  the  countenance,  at  a  genend  view,  were  far  from  pleasing,  and 
showed  to  more  disadvantage  on  the  sleeper's  pillow,  than  when 
diatorted  by  terrible  grief  on  the  preceding  night.  The  old  man 
Started — not  thoroughly  awake — but  catching  at  the  skirta  of  the 
dream  that  was  leaving  him.  Rising  himself  in  the  bed,  and 
staring  about  him,  as  if  dimly  comprehending  the  presence  of  some 
great  calamity,  but  uncertain  of  its  nature,  his  eyes  encountered 
the  youth.  Then  memory  concentred  all  her  strength  upon  the 
late  event,  and  he  fell  back  sobbing,  with  hia  face  buried  in  the 
pillow. 

But  this  first  burst  of  feeling  once  controlled,  he  was  enabled  to 
talk  calmly  of  what  hod  taken  place,  and  to  view  it  oa  a  deserved 
retribution  for  a  life,  and  a  long  life  too,  of  huge  misdeed. 
"  Confidence,"  he  said  to  his  young  companion,  "  that  I  have  not 
deserved  from  any  living  being — not  even  from  her  who  should 
hare  risen  from  her  bridal  bed  this  morning,  I  place  in  you."  He 
continued  to  speak,  and  the  youth  listened  in  sorrow — in  amase- 
ment — in  affright  I    The  history  so  narrated  was,  alas  I  a  too  com* 

SO.  XV, — TOL.  UI.  P 


,  no  OLD  HUEBT,  THB  USBB. 

mon  one — a  mieer'a — an  usurer's — sggraTBted  perfi^s,  in  sone  of 
its  details,  but  onlj  the  hittory  of  a  grinding  ubutot  at  the  worst ; 
of  a  man  wbo  had  beat  his  knae  at  the  ehrine  of  the  golden  idol, 
and  eaten  the  bread  of  orphans  to  that  end.  Nothing  more. 
■  Sat,  if  there  wae  little  that  was  strange  io  the  hiatwy,  there  was 
much  that  was  Btrange  in  the  feeling  that  dictated  its  disclosuj'es. 
Ay,  there  was  that  which  was  verjf  atraoge.  There  was — ^be  it 
not  lightly  spoltea  of,  nor  treated  with  incredulity — repentance  ; 
and  thne  woa^e^  orerwhelBune  remonie  aIbo.  Many  timeB  as 
4he  speaker  proceeded,  he  bowed  his  head,  and  wept  in  Terya^ny. 
Who  can  despair  of  the  greatest  criminal,  when  a  miser,  and  » 
devourer  of  widows'  houses,  has  repented  ? 

"  Let  us  be  stirring,"  he  said.  '*  I  swear  1  will  net  break  my 
/iuit,  till  I  have  undone  what  mischief  X  con  reash  to  undo." 

"  But  your  health,  sir,"  pleaded  the  yeuth.  "  requires  dmt  TOU 
should  not  go  abroad  on  this  raw  rnoraing,  without  having  takeii 
-some  nouiishment — a  inup  of  tea— -a  r<dL     Let  me  order  them." 

He  attempted  to  hold  out,  but  yielded  presently  to  the  youth's 
persuasion  ;  saying,  as  he  did  so,  ibat  be  was  well-tutored,  and 
needed  to  be  schooled  in  all  thirds  now.  A  cab  being  provided 
ior  them  at  the  door,  the  old  man  having  partaken  of  a  very  slight 
.breakfast,  and  giren  the  driver  his  dtrectioos,  tkey  set  forward, 
voiding  the  street  in  which  the  scenes  of  the  fast  night  had 
<0£curr^,  and  so  they  came  at  laet  to  MjUbank,  where  they  lighted. 

There  are  many  obscure  localities  :&DWned  upon  by  the  coovi«t 

'  prison  in  this  neigbbouihood  ;    but  the  least  enviable  as  a  place  «f 

reudence  is  ^— —  street.     The  old  man  aod  his  voung  companiofi 

*  having  hade  the  driver  await  tbrai,  went  in  search  of  it.      It  was 

found  with  little  difGcuky.    But  let  us  ^ffe^ede  them  hj  a  few 

minutes. 

.  In  the  lower  room  of  «nefif  the  dwelling  in  the  street,  a  woman^ 
eoarce^  turned  thirty— she  should  have  Men  young  at  that  age, 
hut  she  was  not — held  a  sickly  infant  in  her  arms,  and  drew  nearer 
^e  window,  that  «he  mi^t  the  better  note  what  change  had  taken 
place  in  its  ieatures  smce  she  placed  it  asleep  in  ibe  bed  at  aji 
earlier  hour  of  the  morning. 

"  It  will  die,  George,"  she  said,  spieaking;  softly  and  mourafijly 
i*  her  husband,  who  was  trying  to  veao.  hioHelf  at  the  scanty  &« 
in  the  grate.  "It  has  Stored  greatly,  I  can't  weep  ft^- it,  Geor^, 
Ood  is  very  good  to  take  it  to  hinismf,  It  vjU  know  lao  wont—no 
vufieriog  nit£  Eim." 


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fOa  VISBBT,  THE  lEISEB,  Sl| 

:'  S#t  she  did  weep — ^bitterl; — aa 4>nly  a  mother  vbo  b<^ds  bor 
ijiag  iuhnt  in  her  anas  out  ire/ep.  The  man  ^proaohed  h«',  and 
t^nt  orer  the  hahy  also.     But  he  nether  spoke  nor  wept.  , 

"  Did  jou  aay  that  »he  was  really  burnt  to  deatii,  George  ?  "  anid 
hiswlfepreaonOyt  "aud  her  fattier  dead — soawfuUjBuddenf  Well, 
voll.     God  aenda  his  jud^enti. " 

.  "  Kot  judgments,  Mary,"  relied  the  man  mildly ;  '•  we  haire  OffOr 
Hired  hard,  pTesuinptuouB  people — rehgious  folks,  as  they  BtyU 
tbemaelves,  fi>r  using  that  ezprMsion.  Dead  they  both  are !  [ 
beurA  of  the  fire  last  nif^t,  and  went  to  see  the  rvins  before  yo« 
•  !W€re  up  this  monung.  4b  for  the  poor  girl,  he  had  married  1^ 
y«stei^7  to  a  man  d  his  own  choosing — not  of  hers  ;  and  from 
tii  I  g^ered  about  tl^  match,  I  b^ve  she  would  rather  h»r9 
■  i^one  to  her  grave  than  to  dke  altar  with  him  yest«n)9y. " 

"And  he  is  dead  too?" 

"  Yea, — the  roof  fell  in  upon  him,  as  he  was  tryieg  to  save  the 
wife  he  had  purchased.  Well — I  wieh  it  hadn't  happened,  and  that 
-tite  <dd  man  had  lived  to  reptnt ;  hut  God  knows  beat,  and  wiU 
4eal  more  merciiidly  with  Mm  than  he  dealt  with  ouraelvee  and 
-Otters,     Hist ! — there's  a  knocking." 

The  man  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  He  reeled  back  witk 
Avpriae,  stunned  with  surprise,  hut  adranced  in  an  instant,  and 
raised  his  arms  to  drive  away  his  Tisitors. 

"  Spencer,  hov  me,"  pleaded  the  old  man,  "  don't  be  videat— 
disn't— y<»  haFO  »  right  to  be,  I  know — but  bear  me  -   — " 

The  man  within  the  room — the  fathw  of  the  dying  baby — uttrae^ 
a  frightful  oath,  and  seized  the  door  to  shut  it  in  the  speaker's  face. 

'*  You  had  best  hear  him,"  said  our  friend,  the  youth;  "youhaa 
wdeed ;"  and,  looking  sairowty  at  the  man's  threatening  couate- 
Hanee,  he  recognised  with  emotion  the  individual  he  had 
acooried  on  th<f  scene  of  the  conflagration  in  the  iiKnning. 

The  w^e,  still  htdding  the  uck  infant,  approached  hw  hasbani, 
aed  fflitreated  him  to  g^va  way.  Her  words  prevailed,  and  he  Eell 
back,  sullenly  enough  thou^,  from  the  thre^dd.  The  cJd  man 
«IkI  ^e  youtti  entered. 

"  lam  a  changed  man,  Spenew — lamiodeod,"  said tlie usurer. 
,"  1  never  should  bare  ohai^^ed  though,  hut  for  last  nigbt.  Despe- 
drMtJ  diseases  require  domrate  r«nedies,  they  say,  and  mine  has 
iieen  desperate  euragh-.-God  knows.'' 

He  paused  awhile,  stniggUng  with  his  feedings,  and  continned: 
.    "  I  MDcome  to  «skyonri^e^Tei>»<f<'*U  that  has  passed  hetween 


i&  <>U>  HISBBT,  THE  UISBR: 

Us,  and  to  make  reparation  for  tlie  rub  I  have  wrouglit.  Don't 
be  barsh  With  me.  Don't  repulse  me,  aB  I  have  repulsed  jon;' 
many's  the  wicked  time.  I  hare  money,  as  jou  know  ;  you  sh^ 
yet  be  a  rich  man,  Spencer,  though  only  in  your  just  position, 
were  you  to  hold  up  your  head  with  the  wealthiest  and  proudest." 

"  Honey  ?"  sneered  the  man  he  addressed  j  "  yes,  that  is  yotH- 
panacea  for  all  evils — I  know  it.  But  will  money  bring  hack"  the 
child  that  lies  rotting  in  his  grave,  and  who  died  of  no  disease, 
but  that  of  want  and  cold?  You  know  that  I  came  to  you  and 
begged  for  a  trifle  of  money  to  get  him  what  was  necessary  to  save 
bis  life,  and  you  refused  me,  and  drove  me  from  your  door,  WSi  • 
money,"  continued  the  man,  savagely,  taking  the  infant  from  its 
mother's  anns,  "  spare  me  this  child  either  ?  No  ;  not  if  you 
emptied  the  Beuik  of  Bngland  at  my  feet.  Your  reparation  comes 
twlate." 

The  usurer  vrrung  bis  hands. 

"DWtbe  bard  with  me,  Spencer,"  he  cried;  " for  the  love  (^ 
God  show  that  mercy  to  me,  wUch  I  denied  to  you.  We  may  save 
that  child  yet.  If  money  can  command  science  enough  to  save 
him,  he  sbaJt'live  to  comfort  ye  both  for  many  a  long  year.  For 
the  child  that's  gone — and  for.tny  child  that 's  gone " 

He  sank  back  into  the  youth's  arms,  murmuring  through  his. 
tears — "Forgave  me,  Spencer,  forgive  me." 

"  As  I  hope  to  be  forgiven,  I  do,"  replied  the  man. 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  after  this  scene,  the  usurer  and  his 
young  companion  were,  again  seated  in  tie  cab  ;  and  the  driver  was 
urging  bis  horses  towards  the  Fleet  Prison. 

"  The  man  I  am  going  to  release  has  been  confined  seventeen 
years,"  said  the  usurer.  "  Don't  look  ^t  me  so.  I  am  human  noir, 
whatever  I  might  have  been.  He  borrowed  money  of  raa,  Z 
thought  his  security  good,  but  !t  turned  out  otherwise.  The  mail 
was  honest,  I  bdieve,  and  would  have  paid  me  if  be  could  ;  hut 
there  was  never  a  chance  of  that.  I  put  him  m  the  Fleet,  seven- 
teen years  ago  this  winter.'* 

"  And  he  has  never  been  at  large  m  all  that  time  V  cried  tia 
youth,  amazed  and  horror-stricken. 

"  Never  I      He  had  no  friends  to  do  anything  for  him.      Hb  . 
lived  on  the  poor  side  of  the  prison,  as  it  is  colled,  and  must  hare 
been  more  tlian  half  starved,  during  the  whole  time  be  has  been 
tliere  ;  but,  please  God,  be  sliall  be  a  rich  man  yet." 

"  Here  we  are,"  shouted  the  driver.  "  Shall  I  ring  the  bell, 
iHii  " 


tHi  DxmV  TALK  nt  1S46^  ^ 

They  got  oat,  and  when  tha  gftt«  wu  <q»eiied,  Ae  uanrer  deared 
to  he  Bhoira^into  the  wuting-ioom,  and  that  Henry  Abbot  might 
be  brought  to  speak  to  him, 

"  Heniy  Abbot ! "  ezcWmed  tho  man  addresied ;  "  yon  're  too 
late  to  apeak  to  him.     He  died  jeslerday." 

With  much  difficidty  they  got  the  old  man  into  the  cab,  and 
while  the  jonth  supported  his  senseleas  burden,  the  driver  whim«d 
hia  horaea  the  whde  way  hack  to  the  inn  they  had  first  quittM. 

The  usurer  died  about  a  year  afterwards,  but  he  hred  \oag 

enough  to  accomptish  a  great  deal  irf  the  good  he  int«nded,  and 

.  increased  the  funds  of  the  principal  charitable  institutions  in. the 

metropolis  at  his  death.       The  youth ^but  we  will  be  ulent 

about  him.     Our  tale  is  told. 

Abnhzldi  Weateb. 


THE  DEVIL'S  "WALK  IN  1846. 


The  Devil  nneasy  sat  in  his  state, 
Sevolving  the  news  from  earth  of  late. 

Cries  he,  "  I  most  have  later ; 
I  shall  visit. the  earth;"  and  as  he  spoke 
Around  him  he  threw  his  tiavelling  closk. 
And  with  nimble  and  groan, 
On  a  red  hat  stone, 
Rode  up  from  Monnt  Etna's  enter. 

He  spread  his  wings,  and  away  he  flew 

O'er  Sicily,  to  Malta  ; 
Bat  sliDhted  not,  as  a  fre^  wind  blew, 
Till  a  »vaarite  haunt  came  into  view, 
A  stepping-stone,  where  to  rest  his  shoe— 

The  rock  of  bm'd  Gibraitar. 

Cloudless  and  starlight,  the  brilliant  sky, 
As  o'er  sea  and  land  he  roll'd  his  eye. 
And  his  quick  glance  scour'd  the  coast  abi, 
From  Cape  St.  Vincent  to  Trafalgar ; 
*'  There ! "  cries  the  Devil,  "  my  temples  are." 
On  Africa  now  he  tnm'd  his  gaze, 
**  Yonder,"  said  he,  "  my  altars  blsie. 
And  hecatombs,  as  in  ancient  days, 


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in  'iatit.'a  inui'  or  ISM." 

Am  «Mnfl  M  my  Ariafc 
Ta  prieita  I  of  Dahm  ■  nvrdenm*  tnm, 

Heed  Dot  Tcmr  victimi'  whine, 

But  pils  tna  fuKots  higher : 
TTntil  bj  nnndreds  tEe  wretched  slaTei 

RoBBt,  and  expire, 

And  from  the  uyre, 
SpreHding  o'er  oil  the  world  ita  himuii  floiH. 
la  deathfet*  chandera  aholl  spread  Priiaaier't  luune." 
Once  more,  the  D«v!I  ia  on  hia  way, 
F^ng  o'er  B(b«j'b  foaming  bay, 
DiWaog  a  Klaace  from  hit  onward  aou, 
A*  ne  peswd  the  banka  of  Uie  fatal  Loin  f 
Whence  there  rose  to  hia  ear,  aa  h«  tbondkt,  tba  wild 
And  drowning  ahriek  of  mother  aad  cfaila. 


And  blithe  as  a  bridagroom  before  hia  mamage, 
Takes  his  seat  for  town  in  a  first-class  carriage. 
'Twas  night  (  and  the  Devil  oontriTod  t«  steal 
Into  the  Home,  as  Sir  Hobert  Peel 

Mode  hia  free-trade  oration  : 
Oh  <  conld  70a  have  seen  him  writhe  and  muut, 
Ah  each  dnty  digcarded  pierced  hia  heart, 

And  he  groaned  out  with  veialiou, 
"  Cnise  their  freo-trade— for  wars  will  MHt : 
Bnjer  and  seller  mnat  dwell  in  pesoe : 
I  likd  hoped  to  have  set  America  on 
To  fight  with  England  for  Or^on, 
Bat  my  blood- red  standard  ma;  nOW  be  hxVi, 
Goodwill  mutt  rei^  throughont  the  world." 
And  the  Devil  wiui  anger  storm'd  and  shook, 
Ah  from  tba  hoose  his  way  he  toOk.— »» 

He  saw  a  huge  crowd  by  a  ptiaen  wall, 
Waiting  the  ^bbetl  (ettiTal  ; 
They  had  waited  there  from  set  of  iut, 
And  as  yet  the  day  had  not  began. 

Hark  !  the  death-beU  tolla— 

Back  the  vast  crowd  toIIh-.^ 
A  moment's  pause,  like  the  silence  of  dMrth ; 
Even  the  Deril  hdd  hia  breath : 
Then  a  mnrmaring  shout,  it  rent  the  iUr^ 
A  woman  hong  strangled  and  qoiveiing  there ; 
And  the  Devil  ^aretf  on  the  crowd  below, 
And  he  joy'd  at  the  fniit  of  the  mnrderoDS  si 


,Coo*^lc 


TOE  d£Til'9  WaIie  ht  1846. 

Thierea,  by  dozens,  were  plying  their  trade. 
Women  were  fighting,  or  dniiiken  laid. 
"  These  are  the  scenes  that  1  love  right  well," 
Thought  the  Devil ;  "they  wrrt  to  pet^le  H^." 

Now  he  takes  'mong  the  sity  gtreets  his  range 

And  marlu  a,  crowd,  anxioas  and  dense. 
Thronging  around  the  Stock  Exchange, 

With  eagcmes*  moit  intense ; 
As  if  bon^  the  life  of  aach  needy  wretch 
On  the  pnce  his  scrip  that  day  would  fetch. 

"  Hnrra!"  cried  the  Devil,  "  aian's  never  coDteat 

With  the  sober  rata  of  five  pat  cent. ; 

To  get  rich  witbeut  labour,  m  bow  the  desire 

Of  noble  and  heftgar,  parson  and  sqoire ; 

Sinner  and  saint,  i^l  join  the  dance; 

But  to-morrow  I'll  play  to  them,  'Off  to  Prance.'" 

And  now  for  a  moment  qniet  and  still. 

The  Devil  be  hiTk'A  in  tne  tmoke  of  a  mill : 

Where  spindles  were  turning, 

And  gaslighta  wow  bnming, 

And  children  thrir  day's  bread  were  bosily  earning. 
Thought  be,  "  What  a  conscience  these  Englishmen  have  ] 
They  give  millions  of  money  to  free  tbe  poor  slave. 
And  then  to  bis  master  they  turn  round  and  cry^ 
Though  yon  whip  your  slave  till  he's  ready  to  die. 
In  raising  your  cotton,  that  cotton  we'd  buy." 

The  mill  is  stopp'd,  Ibe  work  is  done : 

Away  the  weary  children  run, 

Quoth  the  Devil  vrith  a  belliBh  grin, 

Aa  be  stroked  his  (inger  upon  hia  chin — 

"  That  child  ia  gone  to  purchase  gin." 

But  pale  he  tnra'd,  when  he  saw  the  libel, 

Tbe  child  has  not  purchased  gin  bni~a  Kbla. 

Still  paler  be  tnrn'd,  and  soaroe  could  spetJt, 

When  he  found  ten  thousand  were  sold  that  week.* 

Confounded,  he  tprt&d  bis  wings  oo  hi{^, 

And  shot  like  a  meteor  through  the  skyi 

Till  over  Mount  Etna  he  stopp'd, 

When  with  ramble  and  groan, 

Like  a  red-bot  itone. 

He  once  more  down  the  crater  dropp'd. 


*  ABuding  to  the  present  extnvrdinaiy  demand  (M  Bibles  at  Hanchestor.  - 

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A  PLEA  FOR  THE  WORLD  BELOW  STAIRS. 

BT  PAUL   BELL. 

Ween  I  was  a  little  tiny  boy,  sir,  I  used  to  Btoud  at  the  door  of 
die  Blue  Bell,  opposite  my  father's  house,  that  I  might  w&tch  the 
mutsgoingout,  with  a  bittemesa  of  yearning  you  gentlemen  who  live 
perpetually  in  &e  metropolis  can't  understand  ; — we  country  folks 
used  to  be  for  ever  hearing  of  your  London  Cries  !  Now — it  may 
1>e  that  the  increase  of  reciprocal  intercourse  has  taken  off  the  edge 
of  the  strangeness ;  or  else  you  have  fewer  "  Water  Cresses,"  and 
*'Babea  in  the  Wood,"  "Bird  Cages,"  "DoUs'  Bedsteads," 
"  Hot  Muffins,"  and  other  such  "  easements  of  life,"  (as  Jeannie 
Deans  called  them)  than  your  fathers.  Here  and  there,  it  is  true, 
one  may  hear,  in  a  long  lonely  street,  some  pernicious  Italian 
temping  you  to  buy  a  "  tombola,"  (under  which  inTitation  the  Le 
Grands  have  assured  me  there  lurks  a  Jesuitical  meaning  and  inten* 
tion  calling  for  close  watchfulness  on  the  part  of  The  Record ) ;  hut 
-diere  's  no  more  possibility  of  encoontering  a  sweep  than  a  Unicom  : 
while  the  ice  carts  are  too  grand,  and  Monsieur  Jullien's  vans  too 
genteel  and  Englitik  (for  Monsieur  JuUien  boasts,  I  hear,  that  he 
is  now  a  thorough  Englishman)  .to  make  any  noise  as  they  go  ! 
In  short,— whatever  Mr.  Hullah  may  choose  to  say,  sir, — Londtm 
is  a  less  musical  place  by  daytime  than  it  was  thirty  years  ago. 

For  all  this — and  though,  to  boot,  tiie  race  of  town  criers  wha 
lued  to  bawl  in  village  streets  for  lost  children,  and  to  announce 
«ales  by  auction,  is  well  nigh  extinct, — there  is  no  lock  of  criet 
Abroad.  I  can  never,  for  instance,  set  foot  in  certain  houses, 
-without  being  knocked  down  by  "  Who  wants  an  old  ahtte  f"  or 
"  Churches  to  mend  !"  Aud  what  housekeeper  will  deny  the  fact, 
that,  so  soon  as  ever  two  or  three  get  together  and  begin  to  praise 
their  own  and  to  pity  their  neighbours'  mismanagements, — a  sort 
of  "  Ullalu"  or  lament,  over  the  "  degeneracy  of  servants,"  is  as 
certain  to  be  raised,  as  a  most  comprehensively  christian  "  grace" 
after  my  Lord  Bishop  of  Exeter's  dinner,  or  the  peal  of  applause 
which  follows  Macready's  "  There's  no  such  thing  ! "  in  his  dagger 
■•eene  from  Macbeth.  Young  England  or  Old  England, — Eneter 
Halt-goer  or  Bomeward-bound — aristocrat  or  miU-owner,    it  is 


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i,  PICA  von  IBI   WOKLD  BBLOW  STAIRS.  SI?' 

jn^ty  much  the  same  song — the  Bune  words  to  the  ume  tone  ! 
— •  beggarly  Bccouot  of  "  per^wsites"  and  keys  turned — of  Licen* 
tionanesa  in  a  shoulder-knot,  and  Cheatery  in  a  bedgown  and  apron ; 
a  tale  of  tnimpery  warfare,  without  a  aingle  new  feature  or  ez- 
^temeat  to  distinguish  it.  And  when  the  chroniclers  hftve  talked 
themselves  out  of  breath,  ninety-nine  times  out  of  the  hundred 
Oomea  this  ineritaWe  wini^ng-up  :  "  Well,  w*  shall  never  see  such 
.  B  thing  as  a  good  old  servant  again.  It's  a  great  pity!" 
-  How,  wj,  without  any  unfair  wish  to  take  their  br(»d  (a  grievance) 
out  of  the  Criers'  mouths,  I  must  beg  leave  to  say  a  few  words  on 
a  matter  which  comes  home  to  all  of  us  ;  whether  we  have  "chariots 
and  hoi-ses,  and  fifty  men  to  nm  before  ns,"  like  Adonijah  the 
BOB  of  Haggith, — or  but  one  poor  gawky  Tilly  Slowboy,  to  branduii 
om-  baby  in  the  faces  of  all  our  friends  who  threaten  to  enter  our 
houses.  What  right  have  I  to  speak  ?  is  a  question  which  will 
be  asked,  perhaps,— This,  sir — Owning  as  I  do  some  fifty  cousins, 
in  every  condition  of  life,  from  my  cousin,  Lord — -~'s  steward,  up 
to  my  cousin  the  cotton  Lord,  who  has  a  steward  of  his  own,  [and 
who,  Hrs.  Bell  desires  me  to  add,  might  naturally  be  expected  to 
■how  more  kindness  to  his  relations,]  I  have  had  much  oppor* 
tiinity  of  observing  what  goes  on  in  families  :  and  as  I  only  make 
mischief  in  print,  can  warrant  my  fairness  as  a  private  witness. 
What  I  say,  I  know  ;  and  I  hope  this  assertion  will  content  any 
irho  may  be  disposed  to  fancy  me  presuming. 

First,  sir, — nay,  it  is  last  too,  as  well  as  first, — I  am  disposed  to 
deny  that  those  who  treat  their  servants  in  "  the  good  old  fashion," 
are  worse  served  than  their  grandfathers  and  great  aunts.  How  was 
it  with  them  ?  If  1  was  not  fearful  of  prolixity  ;  or,  if  the  matter 
oould  he  proved  by  instance  against  instance,  I  could  bring  up  some 
&mouB  examples  of  knavery  and  ingratitude  which  were  produced  in 
tiiosehomeljdayB,  when  the  persons  under  the  same  roof  lived  toge- 
ther like  one  tribe ;  and  father  and  son  waited  upon  father  and  son. 
Was  there  any  charm  in  frugality  of  manners  and  familiarity  of  speech 
which  could  keep  out  cupidity  and  ignorance  ?— destroy  the  desire 
to  rise,  or  put  to  rest  iht  gross  sensnal  passions  t  Look  at  an  old 
ITewgate  calendar  ; — not  that  I  wi^  to  be  understood  to  encourage 
such  reading,  save  for  good  purposes — false  wills,  murders, 
persouai  outrages,  connivance  in  mad-house  oppres^ons  ! — are  no 
such  "  accidents  and  ofiences"  chargeable  on  the  domestic  servant 
of  the  blessed  old  times  ?  What  tales,  again,  would  our  provincial 
annals  unfold,  of  misers  in  lonely  houses— of  credulous  ladies  held 


Slff  A  rUA  AMI  «B  WflRj)  llLOir  DTAaui, 

Ifl  k  tknldom,  mask  M  In  tJiMe  dkjB  cDdd  hordlf  burt  a  week— 4rf  - 
Ijitijp  (Utd  cHicMierieft~^«f  <]*tla  crimes,  the  reiy  mention  of 
irhleh  it  were  M  well  "  to  hiuh  up,"  for  the  Mke  of  the  old 
eaetitcheoti  t  I  woold  shoek  no  perxnt't  aodeBtjr,  Init  I  etn 
Bolemaly  usore  the  reMler,  that,  dsring  a  winter  which  maa^- 
yMn  ^o  I  Spent  In  one  of  the  most  patrianthal  dlBtrtd«  of  itdf 
idaad,  I  commonly  heard  ladies  promtdgKte  one  elaas  of  scniidaht' 
affainat  ladies,  with  a  hwdlhood  which  ptwed  at  aB  et«ata  thfl- 
i^  to  be  familiai'--th«t  hereditarj  serriee  ml^t  not  tmfiMqnenti;' 
laenb  somewhat  more  intimato  I  One  «f  y«ar  London  anthon, ' 
oh*,  woold  be  liharged  with  gross  txaagentxan,  did  he  "  book" 
half  the  "  facts"  which  would  there  have  been  narrated  t»  hlttt 
Whh  regard  to  one  hoaso  oat  of  ttene :  and  this  in  an  Arcadim 
which  our  lanreate  would  describe  as  a  world  of  innocence,  not  tO' 
be  desecnted  by  "Manchester  tradesmen."     Let  us  hope  that 

the  gentlemen  and  ladies  In  shire  were  given  to  telling  lies 

(rfeach  other  ; — ^bnt  the  disposition  and  the  direction  of  their  talk 
says  much,  and  if  only  a  fiftieth  part  of  the  gossip  was  troe,  it  is 
important  testimony. 

-  Yes  :  while  I  devontly  believe  that  We  have  lived  to  see  the 
end  of  ^e  fidelity  of  Ignorance,  I  atn  no  lesa  cordially  assured' 
that  we  are  Buffering  little  by  the  loss.  As  we  sowi  we  reap. 
Don't  let  the  notorious  discomfort  of  American  households  be 
throwit  in  my  teeth  ;  and  simple  natnrol  Mistress  Clarissa  {'aokard'» 
"  Housekeeper  "  be  quoted  against  me,  as  a  pt<i>of,  that,  whMi- 
erer  liberty  and  cultivation  extend,  that  desire  to  "girt  on"' 
breaks  ont  which  renders  man  insUbOTdinate  to  man.  What  if 
Jonathan  be  whipped  la  "  parlour,  kitchen,  and  all,"  by  his  own 
rOd } — the  instruction  of  his  own  eagerness  to  tbrire,  beinr 
bettered  by  those  whom  he  would  part  with  at  a  wfnk,  could  haK 
a  dollar,  more  or  less,  be  turned  in  the  operation  ?  What,  secondly, 
if  onr  dearly  beloved  kinsman  suffers  in  his  home  from  the  spectacltf 
in  his  land  of  black  work,  in  such  large  proportions,  that  all  service 
ia  somehow  confounded  with  slavery  ;-Htnd  bean  a  bad  name  f 
I'hen,  again,  the  strong  ambition  to  be  aristocratic  and  foshion- 
abl«  displayed  in  the  new  coontry,  (sadly  will  these  yonthful  fotK 
peries  one  day  fall  away,  and  the  vanity  thereof  come  to  ba- 
nnderstood !}  can  hardly  fail  to  react  upon  the  worid  b^ow  Stairs. 
When  Mrs.  Judge  Peabody,  or  Governor  Comberlege's  lady  girinjf 
way  to  an  agony  for  soma  new  Preach  coitume,  would  try  to  per* 
sn^e  her  lord  and  master  to  adopt  some  ridiei^nsly  inapplloablo- 


A  RSA  fW  KB  VWBIT  l»«*r  WtilS.  KM- 

■irho  steams  MrMs  to  AmerlM  to  stiMt  Daana-biMC  ds^s,— 
itiM^j  beoBDM  he  bad  been  smu  "  &t  Mrs.  V^ntine  Mou'i  I '  — > 
ioee  Bhe  cob^idOT,  AAt  tb«  Miw  Fhi^  or  Uba  BeuiftHtaMe,  frfiO' 
baa  the  confidence  of  her  toUette,  U  litre  to  Ve  ijiog  to  die  for  HkA' 
imftttainable  gnniamt  ?  Doe»  she  ftrget  tiiat  tfas  imitftHon  is  often 
flkrnore^qnaattliatididSrigfBtiT  1,  foroM,«er6  Iaj'OHtig,fi«« 
iBftn,  in  New  Yoi4c,  uid  hmkin;  mri  for  b  hehnnate,  would  far  rather 
ttf  the  Hiss  PhUUa  or  th«  MiM  Remarkabls  afoKwaid — as  lest' 
unlikely  to  bffdisRatislied^  ftplainUfe  And  nodsBtfortuaea,— than 
tiiosa  hlgh-flyMV  Atit  fflittTOMs  ?  So  who  oan  wonder  that  all 
Uie  muds  marrf  off,  And  leave  dejeetsd  Qvuideur  ta  Bomb  it*' 
OWB  floors  and  cook  Iti  own  dianem  1 

Auetfda,  then,  I  take  iti  Is  dispMed  of,  at  leaM*  till  '■  tba  aN 
Ani  of  further  adTioes," — Mid  the  disiatiBfactory  ocndltion  of  !*•■ 
"kelp"  is  not  to  be  laid  to  the  enlightenment  of  ha  people  ;  apoint 
to  prore  which  manj*  rigfat^Tibere  labour  wltii  as  inaatie  peronft- 
mtj,  Easif#  far  is  it  to  acetue  the  SchoolmMto'  u  baTiag  weak- 
fined  Ae  uoews  of  service  as  ^stjogoisbed  from  servitude,  than 
oar  own  wajs  and  habits  of  life.  CoHsider,  ye  who  are  dealing  by 
iriiolesale  in  inveettve,  what  pOsMs  in  nine  out  of  the  ten  bouses  ill 
which  yon  have  been  trtbr  domesticated  :-^how  many  examples  of 
self-indulgence  above  and  machinery  below  stain  you  have  knows  I 
-^^ow  mnch  «d«r  you  reeolleet,  enfant  by  nothing  better  ibaxi- 
Hie  turn-key  system— ^0  restraint  of  peculation  being  an  aSait 
<tf  as  many  wardt,  dS  though  the  bunch  of  keys  were  a  Bride- 
irell ! — ^how  mBch  licence  lanetloned  by  example !  Who  shall  woV' 
der  if  the  confidential  servant,  permitted  by  eraMons  to  stavft 
the  payments  of  inconvenient  bills«  himself  ends  in  debt?  if 
flie  Waiting  fwwi^elOBpriciourfy  settled,  drive  him  to  kitohea 
wrury,  to  the  pawabrcdcer.  Mid  **  the  snapper  up  of  unconsidered 
trifles."  Of  snppoM  your  bouse  a  pleasantly  ccmvivial  ene,  and 
that  among  the  deu  JHends  you  draw  round  yon,  some  ttrei 
devoted  mm  time  to  time  (nM  le  mm  the  sharper  phrase  of  die- 
Caudle  vocabuloir)  Into  eoun^^us  doqnence  and  devoted  professimi 
of  Ai^idBbip.  Ymi,  of  comve,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  are  no  warning 
Uathew,  ready  with  an  antidote,  whereby  a  virtue  is  mannfactured 
tX  ftn  instant's  warning ;— no  Uistress  Ellis,  my  good  tadyl  to 
deduce  all  the  poirible  sibs  and  grief  of  life,  &om  my  Lord  Oar- 
digan's  bugbear,  thfe  black  bottie.  Yet  if  Jeremy  your  man— 
a  being  with  comparatively  bo  few  jdeasnres  Mid  means  of  self' 


SSO-  A  n>8A  rOB  TBI   WQBU).  SfLOW  8TAIBS. 

roBtraint — presenbi  hinuelf  "  in  hia  cnu,"  how  bre>ks  out  joatr 
ijghteous  indlgiuttioD :  "  Dmnkennesa, '  aajs  everf  wise  head  of. 
a  fuoilj,  "IB  what  I  oan  merer  lookorer!"  ITor  should  you;' 
but  are  joa  always  true  enough  to  your  kind,  to  advert  to  the 
example  whence  the  habit  grew  ? 

Then,  there's  gamUiog  : — these  outrageoua  examples  reproduc- 
ing the  MisBissippi  mania  of  Lauriston  Law  in  the  soberer  times  of 
at  Joseph  Hume  and  a  Sir  Peter  Lantie  ;  and  which  furnish  us  with : 
"  fiallails  of  Berkeley- Square,"  and  "  Diaries  of  the  Etmuyi,"  who 
BO  late  was  Shoulder-knot  in  ordinary  to  the  MarchioneBs  of  Salis- 
bury, and  is  now  pretending  to  the  band  of  one  of  the  Mbt- 
diioness  her,  cousins  !  It  is  wicked,  doubtless,  in  our  gentry  of 
the  second  table  to  exchange  their  /  0  Vi  as  if  Crockford's  was. 
made  for  them :  It's  frightful  to  hear  of  cook-maids  inTesting 
their  saTingB  in  The  Rottenhorough  Line,  and  hanging  themselvea 
in  their  garters,  hke  unfortunate  Miss  Bailey,  because  the  Grand 
Uulligatawny  Junction  can't  get  its  bill — (such  tragedies  have 
been.)  But  in  this  are  you  wholly  guiltless,  my  Lords,  my  Gen-, 
tlemeu,  and  my  Brethren  in  business  ;  who  are  h&ppily,  neitber> 
lords  nor  genUemen  ?  When  your  winking  and  blinking  "  fel-. 
lows"  have  sate  up  four  nig^  to  minister  &esh  packs  of  cards^ 
to  you — when  they  have  seen  your  tailors  rated  aa  monstrosities  if- 
they  ask  for  their  money,  whUe  they  bayo  been  sent  to  those  very, 
flfune  tailors  to  borrow  for  you  the  cash  which  is  to  discharge  your. 
debts  of  honour, — ^is  it  wonderful  if  they  also  beguile  their  vigils 
by  "  touching  a  card,"  or  if,  hke  you,  losing  more  than  they  are 
worth,  they  "  roh  the  till  ?  "  Nor  must  poor  Betty  (at  the  instance 
(rf  any  anti-self-destructioniBt)  be  buried  at  a  cross-road  junctiouT— 
"  her  maiden  strewments"  denied  her ; — till  it  can  be  proved,  that 
Betty's  mistress  has  not  shown  ber  the  way  to  pat  "  her  finger 
into  the  pie"  of  risquesanddividends,  of  par  and  premiums, — till 
a  otoud  of  witnesses  can  be  brought  to  prove  that  Betty  has  never 

paid  an  area-visit  in  the  house  of sharebroker — ten  years 

ago,  a  hroken-dowu  merchant,  no  matter  in  what  lane,  of  what, 
town,  but  to-day  a  magnate  of  Belgrovia,  with  his  wife  in  her 
opera-box,  and  his  daughters  heralded  in  "  The  Weekly  Cratcler,". 
«S  among  the  loveliest  debutantes  of  the  season. 

Ay,  you  may  take  it  as  you  please ;  yourselves  proclaim  the< 
severance  of  your  interests  from  those  of  your  attendants,  byeveiy 
inconsiderate  selfishness  which  appetite  can  plan,  and  every  idle 
«zample  which  luxury  can  furnish  ;  hut,  la  spite  of  all,.tho  &ot; 


A   PLEA  FOR  THE  WOULD   BELOW   STAIRS.  '22t 

renuins  unaltered,  that  tlie  bmil^  is  stiU^^the  fsmiljr : — a  machineof 
which  you  are  the  mainspriDg  I  AndthouKhinyHrs.  Bell  may  anti 
does  nn&iHy  pay  for  the  rapacity  of  Lady  Salisbuiy  in  the  disturb- 
ance of  our  "  establishment ;" — and  though  the  chariot  wheels  of 
our  good,  weary,  red-faced  maid-of-all-work  "drive  more  heaTily," 
from  time  to  time,  bo  often  as  some  sanguine  Betty  shall  flash  her 
possible  gains  in  her  friend's  eyes  (sinking,  of  course]  the  distant, 
but  no  lees  possible,  garters, — I  will  never  believe  but  that  in  the 
long  run  and  in  the  mass,  masters  are  served  as  well  as  they  deserve 
fo  be  ;  that  is,  order  hj  order,  decency  by  decency,  intelligence  by 
intelligence,  trust  by  trust,  kmdliness  by  kindliness.  I  shall  be 
answered,  I  know,  by  certain  well-worn  assertions  :  such  as  that 
'"  taking  people  out  of  their  proper  sphere,"  means  "  taking  libera  - 
ties," — that  indulgent  master^ip  means  impudent  and  careless 
service.  Now,  to  have  bad  liberties  taken  with  one  is  doubtless 
s  heavy  burden  on  the  conscience  of  "the  genteel."  An  over 
iismihor  phrase  is  a  deadly  sin,  so  exquisitely  do  we  measure  the 
proprieties  of  onr  own  language  !  a  too  hot  self-assertion  not  to  be 
forgiven  by  personages  so  impeccably  meek  as  we,  when  our  owd 
performances  are  ctAed  in  question  !  But  I  would  of  the  two  hear 
this  load, — heavy  and  humiliating  and  full  of  alarm  as  it  is, — ra- 
ther than  the  tUght  self-reproach  of  feeling  that  I  had  neglected  my 
responnbilities  in  the  exaction  of  my  entire  claims, — that  I  had 
expected  one  less  advantageously  placed  for  the  cultivation  of  self- 
restraint  tkhan  myself,  to  exceed  me  in  perfection  of  duty, — that  I 
had  set  an  example  of  hardness  of  heart  and  self-indulgence,  c^ 
treason  to  tnith,  and  want  of  faithin  the  future  as  better  than  the 
present,  to  those  over  whom  circumstances  had  set  me.  .  . 

"  Here's  cant  and  common-place  with  a  rengeance  !  "  cries  some 
loT^  of  household  discipUne  and  human  freedom.  Qood  sir,  I 
chum  my  Cry  ;  as  you  claim  yours.  And  common-place  niay  some- 
times be  the  wisdom  of  ages — if  one  only  dared  say  as  luuch. 
Bat,  however,  one  instance  is  sometimes  worth  pages  of  flat  asser- 
tion and  flat  denial ;  and,  since  we  have  been  taking  so  much  iS 
late,  of  lursin  areas  andpantry  pretension,--  f  ladies' maids  with 
"  speculation  in  their  eyes"— and  loids'  gentlemen,  as  flowing  iii 
their  language  as  though  they  had  nothing  else  to  do  but  make 
-np  bouqwU  in  The  Morning  ■  ,  for  Uie 

"  wisest,  virtuoiuesti  disdeetest,  best " 
of  opera  management  and  mttnagers, '  let  me  beg  to  put  fiffward 


pm  4  nut-  van  •sB]t■w9B^^  v^ww  kaibs, 

in  eridence  (and  })j  mj  of  dDnag  »  duli  4inKiiH-»e)  a  true  atwy 
pf  a  BnutU  idock. 

Ererj  one  bta  toma  pat  pmwbuqd  ;  juid  tbii  cloct  (a  two  dollar 
43onaaii  cloek,  roadfi  in  aom«  little  qaaiat  town  of  the  Black  Forest) 
Ih^ipeiied  to  hi  IHe  tt'«asiira  belonging  to  tbe  attondaqt  uii 
friand  of  one  of  ;oBr  turambliug  Jjonioa  writars  (a  relation  of  mj 
Uri.  BeU'»i  air),  who  in  Uinung  out  rerj  unn,  I  fear.  The  owner  i« 
^  Ctenoan,  and  the  cloak  talked  to  him  Af  heme.  He  ia  Bomething 
sf  «  neobaDiat,  and  g(hi14  takA  to  pietfM  and  ehiai  it  bijaself  i-r" 
'twaa  the  tqtple  of  Ma  eye,  u  abort-  JJ'qw  ohaoce  threw  witfai* 
die  range  of  ihia  kind  creature's  miniati^  another  poor,  acrambling 
Vlthor  ;— ^411  Iriab  youth  i  who,  homel4«a,  Wplaaa.  and  without  f 
jielatJon  in  the  world  (his  only  brother  Iwring  bean  loat  in  «hip> 
)rr«ck  many  y«an  before),  had  u»ae  to  liondou  tO  tij  the  beggarly 
jrade  of  l^teri — 4iad  bean  striekui  by  BopNWption,  when  Bcarceiy 
(wenty-two,  and  had  1^  down  to  ^0,  alewly,  in  the  Sanatoriun^ 
I  have  never  heard  of  a  lonelier  case,  Timo  ie  time,  air,  is  hour 
jdon,  aa  I  dare  say  you  know — not  readily  te  bo  parted  with.  Lwg 
Itod  dreary  ware  the  hours  of  ev^y  day  and  of  every  night  vrhit^ 
floor  ■■■  "  ■■  muat  needs  pass  without  avy  im*,  pave  his  atteodanti 
to  upei^  to.  But  "  th«  familiar"  ftforowd,  who  went  to  and  tro, 
(oftea  of  his  own  accord)  bit  on  a  rare  conpanioa  for  the  bed^dden 
^Mth,  "  his  little  clock,"  So  he  to^  it,  e«d  he  nailed  it  up  by 
jthe  bed-side,  tbtit  its  tiny  voic«  pjight  t^k  to  the  poor  fruteid 
isreature  the  long  night  through— --wtd  great,  great,  they  assure 
ipe,  was  the  comfort  thereof. 

I  am  telling  the  tale  shortly  ;  not  t9  wake  it  op  for  effect  (aa 
London  mugasine  writcn  I  have  haanl  oov^Juned  gf,  ^e  too  apt 
to  do).'^Well,  after  hogeiii^  through  the  mid-wiiit«r,  the  londy 
tu&cec  died.  The  bwial  waf  to  be  arntagad,  his  scanty  haodfid 
pf  papers  to  be  seated  up  «id  sent  here ;  Sie  few  ragged  wrecka  «f 
l^B  mrdrobe  {they  had  but  just  held  out)  tp  be  diati^ted  theret 
-~-ftnd  "  the  EuniUsi',"  of  connw,  to  real«jm  his  wpron^ted  l*an. 
".But,"  sold  he,  with  a  very  d^^£»l  fgca,  to  the  peFsm  I  he«rd 
mention  the  sad  otory,  ■■  I  shall  w^er  twkt  any  pleosva  in  jny 
clock  more  ;  1  sh^  always  tlonk  of  lh»  poor,  dying  man  !  " 
.  If  a  piece  <^  true  faelmg  like  thjfr— one  anwngst  tiiousutda  w« 
could  all  tell — does  not  amount  to  A  ^W  for  &ir  wmideration  of  f, 
eloas  it  is  somew^t  too  much  the  fashion  to  mistrust  and  ridicule  ; 
does  not  encourage  a  hope  that  the  fttidts  of  domestic  servants  may 
W  Mdter  Qiuis  tEw  «lie«r< ;  aad,  m  *uJ^  ama  auUy  ceaahfd^ 


mbf  tlun,  ur,  I  MD  «&ud  ve  had  bettvr,  with  tlie  IfiAst  pMubl? 
odti,  aet  our  Whe&tstoaea  and  our  BabbagoB  to  contrive  tbose  antiv 
watoD  "  bewAre  of  wood  and  dnven  of  water,"  irliicb  tha  bnUiant 
^E>dUor  of  ths  Exammer  dewribod  so  wbimueallj,  norne  y«us 
f^.  And  tJw  sooner  wo  boar  "eaieier,"  "  stop  her  t"  "  aet 
tm  ahead  I "  and  like  aev  Criea,  w  our  kiwadmg  troughs  and 
inivata  ch«nber« — the  b«tt«r  will  it  b9  for  ottT  peace,  ei^er^^ajid 
jHutual  good  uiider*twi}ins ' 


TO-DAY. 

The  most  etriking  feature  in  the  present  day  (far  more  than 
that  of 'railways  even)  is  the  utter  chaos  into  which  all  previously 
received  principleB  and  opiniona  are  reduced.  There  is  no  recog- 
nised "  rule  of  failh."  AU  that  for  eighteen  hundred  years  served 
^hc  vorld  for  moral  principles  are,  as  it  were,  withdrawn  from 
circulation,  to  be  resolved  afresh  into  theSr  elements,  and  prove 
jheir  authoritj  ;- — tnej  must  speak  intelligibly  in  the  dialect  of 
fo-datf,  or  th?  spirit  that  is  in  them  will  not  appeal  to  the  hearts 
and  wants  of  men— will  not  serve  them  to  shape  their  conduct  hj 
In  the  claqhhig  of  interests  and  the  turmoil  of  active  life.  Every 
.day,  every  hour,  la  for  sa(^  one  of  us  filled  with  passionate  details 
.which  hurry  ug  along  without  our  seeing  too  clearly  whither  they 
lead,  and  it  ^ceds  something  stroi^er,  larger  than  they,  all  sym- 
pathising, all  pervading,  to  fonn  a  rule  of  Ijfe  to  whjdi  we  may 
each,  one  of  os  continually  resort  in  all  seasons  of  perplexity  and 
difficulty ;  nothing  one-^ed,  nothing  of  limited  sympatnv,  nothing 
}a  short  that  is  sectarian  wiD  answer  the  reguSremepts  of  a  rule  to 
guide  and  counsel  aij<  men  in  the  varied  phases  of  iiFS  as  it  Is 
developed  io  each, 

Fot  the  lest  three  hundred  jears  men  haie  been  hreakiig  loose 
jfroni  the  rock  tg  which  aforetime  they  were  anchored,  and  have 
fesijved  thtanaelves.iBto  sects  and  religipns,  and  shades  of  religion 
and  ho  relij^on,  each  one  ^ying  to  construct  an  ark  for  the'  saving 
of  his  own  soul  out  of  the  wrecK  and  fragments  <£  other  systems. 

To  bring  matters  to  this  pass,  principles  have  been  at  work 
whWhi  though  not  defioitelj  bearing   pit  mor^  »nd   r^glp^u^ 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


211  TO-SAT. 

questions,  have  had  a  grand  influence  in  bringing  the  minds  of  men 
to  their  actual  etate  of  discontent  and  expectation.  The  practical 
republicanism  of  commerce,  the  collision,  the  increased  activity  of 
men's  mode  of  life,  haa  broken  down  die  barriers  between  all 
classes,  bringing  every  manuer  of  men  into  contact  with  each  other, 
BO  that  they  have  gradually  learned  to  regard  all  things  in  a  more 
general  lighL  Dogmas,  which  have  long  been  preserved,  cut  and 
dried  in  the  hortus-siccns  of  sennona  and  mor^  essays,  have  no 
longer  any  efiect,  however  ingeniously  applied  ;  right  and  wrong 
have  not  changed  their  nature,  but  they  are  found  to  be  more 
relatiee  than  potttive,  and  are  not  to  be  dealt  with  by  the  sharp 
sweeping  denunciations  and  vague  assertions  hitherto  lavished 
upon  them.  Uen  have  begun  to  perceive  that  there  is  a  truth,  a 
nde  on  which  it  asserts  its  claim  to  humanity,  in  what  is  wrong  as 
well  as  in  that  which  calls  itself  right.  Points  that  were  once  of 
^tal  interest  and  objects  of  the  most  bigoted  partizanship,  are 
heoome  matters  of  indifference,  and  though  the  attainrocnt  of 
"unitt"  and  " the' universal  brotherhood  of  humauity"  is  still 
&e  philosopher's  stone  of  morality  ;  yet  the  centre  of  indifference, 
the  common  ground  on  which  all  men  meet,  is  widening  every 
day.  Men  are  d^y  more  ready  to  sacrifice  their  httle  pet  par^ 
ten^  of  private  speculation,  wd  allow  them  to  merge  into  the 
general  life  of  the  whole  ;  men  do  not  as  yet,  perhaps,  quite  lovo 
meir  neighbours  as  themselves,  but  neither  do  they  quite  hate 
them  w  much  for  not  bebg  after  their  own  Ukeness.  Controversy 
on  isolated  pmnts  of  doctrine  does  not  flourish.  Men  have  too' 
much  at  stake  in  these  days  to  have  the  heart  to  play  at  logic,  or 

Soibblein  ayllogiams..  They  have  no  guide,  overseer,  nor  ruler; 
10  old  faith  in  which  their  fathers  dweft  has  vanished  from  them, 
titey  may  no  longer  lead  their  lives  by  it ;  they  are  encamped  in 
the  wilderness, — "gone  forth,  not  knowing  whither  they  went," 
and  their  numbers  are  duly  increasing.  All  recognised  sects  aro 
gradually  loung  theb  hold ;  "  Grown  old  and  ready  to  vanish 
away,"  is  tiie  device  inscribed  on  each  ;  unto  none  of  them  is  it 
given  to  have  "the  large  utterance  of  the  eariygods."  There 
ia  no  room  in  them  for  the  mighty  heart  of  humanity  to  take 
refuge.  *'  This  place  is  too  strut  for  us,"  said  the  sons  of  the 
prophets  in  the  days  of  Elisha  ;  w«  are  the  children  of  the  pro- 
phets,  and  it  is  the  cry  of  men  noio. 

Oidy  a  very  little  while  since  Mr.  Newman  and  his  company 
mtered  the  Catholic  church ;  be  has  examined  long  and  wdl,-^ 


HOW  TOE  USRCHAHt's   CLERK  TUBSED   CAB-DBITEE.  225 

lie  has  looked  to  the  right  hand  and  to  the  left,  «nd  Qnallj  hu 
made  Ait  "Teoture  of  faith."  It' is  the  grown  man  Ujing  to 
return  to  the .  fast  and  talis  shelter  there,  instead  of  prcanng 
cntoar^  ;  he  has  endeavoured  to  "  become  as  a  little  cfiUd,"  if 
so  be  be  may  thereby  attain  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  ;  but  <Md- 
hood  is  a  blessing  only  once  in  a  lifetime.  "How  can  »  man 
enter  a  second  time  into  his  mother's  womb  and  be  bom  ?"  The 
nnlmowing,  losing,  all-believing  heart  of  a  little  child  can  never 
return  agab. 

A  hundred  and  thirty  Jews  were  baptized  into  Christianism  the 
other. day ;  they  came  out  of  their  old  faitb,  hoping  to  find  a 
Itfger  room.amongst  us. 

All  men  .  are  waiting  and  expecting  ^they  know  not  what ; 
they  i^re  waiting  as  "  those  that  watch  for  the  day." 

Eighteen  hundred  years  ago  the  world  was  waiting.as  we  are 
waiting  now  ;  the  old  forms,  the  old  beliefs  had  lost  ueir  power  ; 
men  were  without  God  in  the  world,  and  the  sense  oftheur  deao- 
lateness  pressed  heavily  nppn  them.-  One  came  and  tuud,  "  Foi>- 
LOW  ME.  It  is  written  of  Him  that  he  knew  their  hearts,  and 
for  more  than  a  thousand  years  men  have  felt  Him  to  be  their 
guide. 

If  in  these  days  one  would  ariue  who  could  gather  together  in 
one  the  hearts  and  aspiratioDs  of  all  men,  who  should  be  able  ia 
«peak  peace  to  him  that  is  far  off  and  to  him  that  is  near,  who  could 
know  our  hearts,  and  make  articulate  all  that  is  now  strugding  in 
human  soub,  who  is  there  who  would  nof  "  arise  and  follow  Him?" 
G.  B.  J. 


HOW  THE  MERCHANT'S  CLERK  TURNED  CAB-DRIVER, 

AMD  FOCHD  HIKBELF   ON  THE   ROAP  TO  FORinTE, 

It  is  only  neccEsary  to  step  from  the  squares  in  the  vicinity  of 
(he  Edge  ware-road,  to  the  streets  adjacent  to  them,  to  be  con- 
'  vinced  that  no  painting  of  imagination  is  necessary  to  depict  such 
a  home  as  that  to  which  I  am  about  to  introduce  the  reader.  Half- 
way down  Bsrlow-street  is Court :  an  archway  not  much 

higher,  and  not  at  all  wider  than  an  ordinary  hall-door,   leads 
through  a  passage,  apparently  over  cellars  (it  is  hoarded  and  hollow. 


Llg.i^lbyGoO'^lc 


296         HOW  IBE  HETtOBAST  B   CLBBK  TUBHEU   CIX-BRTVXB. 

tiaiMtAm  HsreatcKttglj'M  yon-paaa  doi^'it),>to'v  immQ  oomt, 
not^VBuch  eqoarer 'tkan  &  London  Iwok  yud,  BsiTonnded '  by^  tall, 
timft-blaokeited'lHraseB,  mndowleea  and  nnt^atnd,'  yiiHi  mnArj^n- 
jecttOBfl 'and  irrq^cnities  in  tiieir  -Btroetare,  'like  tbe  ezteri«r 
cliiiBUB/g  of  ^dd-fesliioned  ikrav-ltonseB.  The  dscm  of  theee  bmmB 
stand  9pen  throagh  the  dreEuieet  rngbt — thera  iaiiotbing  iirdism  to 
steal— ^tkestMTs  "without  baloBten,  (uid'l»«kai  away^  pUeea, 
have  been  taken' pieoe-meal  bj  the  wretched  iahalntialfi  lor  few- 
wood,  and  tho  remainder  w  so  rotted  with  age  and  filth,  -sb  otiy^ 
afford  a  precariotis  footing.  In  many  «BfaiieeB  yon  niay  me  Armi^ 
chinks  and  loeae  boards,  from  Ibe  garrets  to  the  celloni,  wUIe 
eyery  attic  is  an  obserratory,  admitting  not  «dy  a  Tiew  of-tbe 
heavens,  but  tiie  &ee  aocess  of  ita  -^emental  rigoars ;  rain,  and 
wind,  and  snow,'  beat  throngh  these  apertnres,  ■and  render  it  bnt'ft 
Toookery  for  the^wretch  within  its  waUe  to  congratnlate  himself  on 
faaviag  a  roof 'orer' bis  head.  These  hoBses-ue^et  in  tofiementa ; 
no  lodger  has  Bwre  than  one  roam,'aiid  in  this'me-nxmi'it  frequently 
happens  that  a  fomily  of  five  or  six,  eometimes^mcffe,  of  indis- 
criminate ages  and  sex,  father,  mother,  and  cUIdren,  are  living. 
Here  crime  herds  with  honesty  penury,  and  profiigaey  vrith  virtoe 
yet  untainted ;  want  bids  the  one  seek  such  a  shelter,  debauchery  the 
"Other,  ^iby-and-bye,' thevirns  of  moral  contagion  spreads  tiirough 

■  the  community,  and  the  Apposed  elements  that  have  jostled  against 

■  each  other  «n  the  door-steps,  or  stiurs-head,  -  shake  hands  at  last 
in  fellowship.  In  a  large  dilapidated  room  in  ene  of  these  bouaes 
there  was-  sitting,  one  dismal  night  in  the  December  of  1840,  a 
sad-looking  woman,  surrounded  by  four  pale,  half-fanushed  children, 
the  eldest  of  whom  could  not  be  more  than  seven  years  of  age  ;  a 
gaunt,  hunger-wasted  man,  paced  to  and  fro  the  floor,  which  creaked 
and  sunk  beneath  his  rapid  footeteps  ;  only  a  few  minutes  before 
he  had  brought  in  the  bundle  of  straw  on  -wjiich  his  wife  And 
children  were  sitting,  and  to  procure  wbichhe  had  parted  at  the 
pawnbroker's  with  hia  last  waistcoat.  It  was  freezing  fast,  the 
snow  lay  in  indurated,  dirty  heaps  in  the  close  court,  into  which 
light  scarcely  paietHited  during  the  winter  months,  and  the  wind 
'fiearehed  thirough  every  aperture  of  the  crazy  tenement,  4111  Ae 
<  starred  and  iU-olothed  inmates  shivered  again.  Except  .the  Imp 
'  of  etrav,.,a  deal,  box,  low  stool,  and  cr^pled  table,  there  was  jao 

fumitore  in  the  place  ;  the  burnt-out  aehes  of  a  fire  remuned  in 
the  grate,  but  neither  wood  or  coal  appeared  to  renew  it, .  and  the 
inch, of  yellow  fetid  candle  that  was  flaring  in  tho  many  draughts, 

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HOW  T9E  >fE£CHAST'g  CLERK  mB^^  .CJiBrI9Xlf;fgt.        Sit 

wjkich  nnitlier.tbe  u^UcfttJon  of  ^iwini ,  paper,  nor  the  protiwiqa 
of 'qldci^  thqpjagh  tte  broken  iwindoffs  co^  prereat,  jraa  a 
luzHiytbAtiseejueaa  waste  jrheD  no  eioployment  was  goiiig  on, 
AftOT  a  while  the  duldren,  though  H^pperlees,  fell-«ff  to  Seep^^^d 
the  mother,  lajiog  1;hem  side  bj  aide,  ooyeredtheinwithh$qQi):e^- 
bare  cloak,  and  the  remnant  of  an  old  blanket,  carefoUy,  aud.with  as 
toQder  ai.graceaB  if  it  had  been  a  siikea  coverlet;  then- she  kissed 
thoin,.her  wan  hps  trembling  with  more  than  abl(issJDg,.widj»ciTS, 
which,  f^e  drank  in  ailenoe  (lest  her  husband  should  perpelye  tj^pni), 
rolled  down  her  cheeks  as  she  did  so.  Fresentlj  she  rose,,,ai^ 
st(^$i^.forwKd,.put  her  arms  about.ihe  una,  and. whispered,  to 
him.wprdB.of  .(inconragsment  and  hope;,  but  the  sight  of  hpr  worn 
aii,d -altered  >aoqAtenattce,  the  craraigs.«f  &ep)e  hunger  wil^ 
himBeifriBOtd  the  sight  ot  his  unfed  chiltliK?,  jn^  him  deaf  to  ^ 
other  eonaiderations,  and  putting  her  gently  iroin  him,  ge^y,  even 
in  that  moment  of  keen  misery,  he.bAde  her  sit  down,  wUle^be 
endearenffed  to  firqjeet  sotne  «ch^e  ;^y..^^h  they.,;tiu^t  ea^pe 
^tarration. 

"  T^-pituation  X.told  you  of  yoaterday,"  Jlje  rejoined, „aB[ his 
wife  placed  herself  once  more  beside  her  little  ones,  "  thep^s- 
p^ua.pf  ivhich  seemed  absolutely  written  to  suit  me,  and  placed 
ifttbaagwit's  window  for  the  very  purpose  of  my  seeing  it,  is  not 
yet  filled  ap ;  but  the  man  is  a  haxA  barguner,  and  will  not  afford 
me  a'  word  of  information  respecting  it,  nnlese  I  first  put  down  his 
fee  of  five  EdkiUitufs." 

"AJas!"  Baidthe  woman,  casting  her  hopdess  glaoee  round 
the  roov, '  the  cold  emptiness  of  which  made  her  shud^r  "  we 
hav^no^ng  left  that  would  bring  that  aimi." 

"lAndfor  want,  of  it,"resmned  the  man, -"  yonf..^;)4^>.  ^d 
our  children  may  perish." 

'' Iiet.BS  ia^e  patieape  a  little,  Ipnger,"  .said  .therWf^an.iofUy ; 
"  thej  say  at  the  worst  things  mend,  and  surely  they  .cannot  be 
mnch  worse  with  .us  than  now." 

■■"  Ffttienoe ! "  intejxuptsd  her  hnshand, ''  what  has  it  done  for 
UJ3 — what.will  it-do  for  us  ?  I,  was  a  fool  not  to  take  that  villain 
M'Gill's  advice,  for  then  at  least  our  home  WQnld  not  baye  been 
broken, ftp,,. and  you  .and  the .  children  would  hare  ,had^.,bed  to  lie 
down  on-" 

"  Oh!  thank  Oodrather,"  exelaimed the ;wi»uan,  'V4iat  you 

ore.^tiUrich'in integrity.    Whataiesuch  comforts  in. comparison 

with  the  loss  of  an  honest  heart  ? ' '  And  she  once  mor^  i^proaohed 

ft  2 

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228  HOW  THE  MESOHASt  S  CLZBK  TtTBKED   CAB-DRITEB. 

uid  pot  her  arm  tenderly  about  him.  "  Ah  !  you  are  cold,"  eho 
said,  as  in  apite  of  his  continued  exercise  she  found  he  trembleil. 

"■No  wonder,"  he  relied,  ahnost  harshly  ;  "  we  have  had  no 
fire  to-day,  and  my  feet  got  wet  through  when  I  went  ont  for — 
for  oiir  bed  just  now — and  then  yon  forget  1  have  lees  on  me  by  a 
waistcoat  than  I  wore  yeaterday." 

"Ttne,  dearest !"  said  the  woman,  without  seeing  or  appearing 
to  see,  the  selfishness  that  coloured  his  compltunts,  or  wounding 
the  egtnsm  of  his  grieraucos  by  sotting  her  own  in  oppoeition  to 
them. 

"  Here  have  I  been,"  continued  the  man,  "  eighteen  months 
out  of  employment,  and  ever  more  to  find  it  in  my  own  claj^or 
calling  is  imposBible.  What  respectable  person  would  treat  with  a 
man  in  garments  thread-bare  as  these,  and  who  wears  his  coat 
buttoned  up  to  hide  his  worn  shirt  (clean  to  the  last,  though,  my 
poor  Kate)  and  want  of  WMstcoat?" 

Oh !  do  not  give  way  to  this  despondency,"  murmured  the 
woman  ;  "  some  casual  employment  may  help  ns  to  as  much  as 
will  replace  these ;  do  not  by  useless  mnrmnrings  make  our 
misery  worse  ;  recollect  that,  this  hitter  night,  there  are  creatures 
worse  off  than  we  are— beings  wanting  even  a  bed  of  atraw,  and 
the  shelter  of  such  a  roof  as  this.  Oh !  my  husband,  let  us 
endure  a  little  longer — God  will  doubtless  have  mercy  on  us,  and 
with  the  evil  make  a  way  to  escape.     Be  brave,  be  patient." 

The  man  gaaed  at  her,  with  all  the  Tietter  feelings  of  his 
nature  in  hi^  eyes,  and  clasped  her  to  his  heart  affectionately. 
Once  more  she  had  recalled  him  from  the  brink  of  evil ;  for  the 
temptjngs  of  hunger  and  want  were  rapidly  undermining  his 
faith  in  good,  and  but  a  moment  before,  he  had  meditated,  almost 
calmly,  the  commiBsion  of  a  crime  that,  if  even  undiscovered,  would 
have  lost  him  his  own  esteem,'  and  rendered  him  the  slave  of  con- 
science ever  after. 

While  they  stood  thus,  a  noise  of  heavy  footsteps  shook  the 
stairs  ;  and,  snatching  up  the  candle,  the  woman  hastened  to  the 
landing,  closing  the  door  of  her  apartment  behind  her,  as  if  to 
prevent  her  husband  following. 

Archer  stood  still,  wondering  what  occasion  took  h^  from  the 
room,  when  the  sounds  of  mingled  beseechings  and  high  words 
reached  him,  and  a  moment  after  Kate  threw  open  the  door,  and 
a  mau  in  the  dress  of  a  coal  porter  appeared  at  it;  he  gaied 
round  with  a  sort  of  vacant  astonishment,  looking  from  the  tall 


nOVr  THE  UEBCHAHT  S   CLERK   TUSSED   CAB-SBiniB.         £S0 

lean  man  irho  confronted  liiin,  to  the  meagre  sfeepera  on  {heir 
bed  of  Btraw,  and  drawing  the  back  of  hia  great  dirty  hand  acrtna 
bis  eyes,  he  left  the  room  for  a  moment  and  returned  biingitig  in 
about  a  peck  of  coals  in  a  bag,  and  a  bmkdle  or  two  of  wood. 

"  Here,  take  them,  misaus,  '  eaid  the  man,  "  and  Qod  forgire 
me  for  being  so  hard  to  yon ;  I  will  bring  ye  in  half  a  hundred  in 
the  morning,  and  if  you  never  pay  me,  why  I  shall  be  none  the 
worae  oS  in  the  end." 

"Kind,  generons  man ! "  ezclumed  Eate,  lifting  her  tearfol 
eyes  to  bis  rugged  coimtenanee,  that,  even  tbrougb  its  mask  of 
coal  duet,  showed  full  of  benevolence  and  pity. 

"  You  see  our  condition,  mj  good  friend,"  said  Archer,  who 
fabtly  comprehended  the  affair;  "we  are  poor,  but  not  unprin- 
ciplcd  ;  the  very  first  money  I  am  enabled  to  earn  you  shall  be 
paid  the  price  of  the  coal.  Your  disinterested  compasuon  we  can 
never  repay;"  and  he  laid  his  thin  hand  in  that  <rf  the  poor  coal 
merchant,  and  wrung  it  with  a  sensation  of  deeper  gratitude 
than  he  had  ever  felt  to  man. 

"  Forgave  me,  William,  for  not  telling  yon  what  I  had  done," 
said  Mrs.  Archer  ;  "  I  knew,  when  I  requested  the  coals  to  be 
sent  to  jne,  that  I  had  no  means  of  paying  for  them  ;  but  I  have 
been  promised  by  one  of  our  poor  neignboura  some  work  to-morrow, 
which  it  would  be  impossible  to  do  without  fire,  and  so  I  thought 
I  would  ask  trust  UU  I  had  been  paid  for  it." 

"Feed  your  children  first,  ma'am,"  interrupted  the  kind-hearted 
coal-man  ;  "  I  can  better  do  without  the  money  than  they  can 
food  ;  when  I  want  it  I'll  come  for  it ;"  and,  so  Baying,  be  caught 
up  his  sack  and  shuffled  out  of  the  room.  Scarcely  had  he  been 
gone  ten  minutes — not  more  than  long  enough  for  Kate  to  light 
the  fire,  all  the  while  making  his  generous  conduct  the  subject  of 
grateful  panegjrio-^when  some  one  rapped  at  the  door,  and  a 
clean  ruddy-faced  woman,  whom  Mrs.  Archer  Immediately  recog- 
nised as  the  person  to  whom  sbo  had  ^ven  her  order  at  the  c<»l 
store,  appeared  at  it,  with  a  basket  of  no  very  small  dimensions  in 
her  hand. 

"  Lord  love  you,  ma'am,"  exclaimed  the  woman,  "why  did'nt 
you  tell  me  bow  badly  off  you  were  this  afternoon  ?  I  hope  you 
wont  take  it  amiss — (for  there  was  something  that  spoke  out 
through  the  squahd  looks  and  poor  garb  of  Kate  Archer,  indicative 
of  a  different  sphere  of  life  from  what  her  bumble  benefactress  was 
accustomed  to), — I  hope  you  won't  take  amiss  my  bringing  a  few 


230  HOW  THE  HEttCBAin  8   CLEBE  TDBKEK   CAB-DRlTEn. 

tMngs^of'tli'e'cliilctren;"  ^d  abe  deposited  the  basket  before  tht 
glad  Iwt'bevildered-tilrtdieir,  ftHa  ernli  orHy  tbsnk  berWith  her 
teare';  bat  the  poot  irrAmui  vauted' no  tbftbln';  dite  basteiied  to 
fin  tbd  k<Atle  ^m  vater,  onA  B[treild  tnif  upon  the  coarse  but  ctean 
table  the  atofbadie-h&d  brmigbtirith  her^breadand  tea  and  cold 
lAeat';  and' tben  at  Uat- tunung  to'hev  hiubond,  Mrs.  Archer 
exclmindd— ^ 

"Did  I  not  Bay  God  would  be  merciful  to  ub?  HOff  can  we 
thank  tlds  kind  voman  and  her  htubamli  who  bare'MTEd  tis  from 
another  nlgHt  of  cold  and  hunger  ?" 

"  Ob,  ma'am,  if  yon  eonW  bnt  kncNi'  how  warm  my  heftffBas, 
and  how  Hgbt'  afad  happy  T  tOa,  you  would  know  I  didn't  want 
t&askB,— ^bless  yon,  die  {Measure's  worth  double  the  enpenae-;  but 
what  I'wtif  a  giHDg  to  say  to  you,  if  sd  be  your  good  genrienmn 
won't'  be  offmded,  ib  this, — my  boy  Jett  has  come  home  VB17 
poMly,  afad'  he'wautB  aomebody  to  tale  his-plac9  fbr  two  or  tbree 
days,  tin  he  cdfbeB  round  agbin.  Wellj  it'ian't  that'  the  pbn^  is 
much,  but  then  three  and  sixpence  d  day  is  bnter  ^btex  nothing, 
and  my  bOy  and  the  old  man  tboagfat  if  your  good  gentleman 
could  driVri,  it  'ed  be  bettbr'than  aittiiig  in  doors  doing' nothing'." 

"ButVlmtiBitIamtod»?"  ezclaiilied  Archer.  "If  I  can' be 
usefol  tb  ydbr  aon,  for  tite  sitke'of  Us  folbet'^'kiildneBirdUd  joUR, 
I  Bhtill'be  most  wiUingl" 

"  I  am  half  afraid,  no#,  I  haVa  be*  too  bold,''  aaBVrefCa'tbe 
oldwoniaD,  "aiid'  diatfwben  I  tdl  yOtl,  yooTl  qnarrtl-with  your 
bread  attd  bdttef .     Ite  long  and  shivt  of  it  is,  J«m'driTCB  a  cub;" 

"Aild'h«'i3  ill,  ^nd'ifanto'Bome  one  to  driVoitfor  himj"'  sug- 
gested Archer. 

"NWf  efturtly  so;  ait';  dlete  are  plenty  of  people  whoworfd  , 
drnfeif  for  him;  atfd'  b&  glad  of  tlie  chance,"  rejoined' Jem's 
moaier!  "but  we  thou^t  that  the  Mr  and  the  eMB«fse,>  and  yt>dr 
Btd^  cKiaiten,  and  the  Haei  and  sitpencff  a  diy-^" 

"'  I  aeei  I  SeS;"  itaterruptod  Archer,  Whose  ohe^B  a  ilMBiftnt 
befiJHr  bild  Curbed  With  a  rebellious  sense  of  degradstion  dtthe 
proposal,  "  and  will  accept  of  the  ofier  ;  tell  your  son  I  hare  been 
fcclWtdBked  to  driTC  in'  town,  find  will  be  vet^  cstteM  bOtJi  of  his 
tiniigH  and  hoite-flesh."  The  cbihlren  ^idly  rose  up  to  their' 
ilileZf^t^  aupptf,  Aid  ftte  good  tfoiiian  departed  delighted  widi 
t£e(<oiHftiril'dheli&tfcoAfbi^d,-aDd  the  thanks  and' blesHings  of  t^ 
dlstrtSsfed'  ctmple;  It  wis  no*  ArcherV  tuvn  to  inspirit  and 
.I'^ffiBltM'  Ms  wif^;  ifho  kneW  ttiat  noAiiig  bnt  ber  wants,   and 


WW  THB  UfBiafi&llI  S-  OIiBEE  TUHSBfi:  DAB-DBITBS.        201, 

ibosa  ai  Ms.  childreD,  could  liave  deteriiiiasd.}itm  ta  tnu^e  vtftMk, 
ereiy.  [wsju^e,.  and,  pluck,  up  tkus  bodily,  tho  latent  prids^  siilL 
rooted  in  liift  heart  j  but  the  fire  kindled,  by  the  hands  of  humblo' 
cdurity,,  the  o)Jy  food  h»  txr  his  hod  tasted  throtigli  the  doiy, 
providad  frotnthetsuoe  eourcft,  haid  read  a,  homily  to  hia  galled 
Bfuit,  that  had Boddenly  reduced  it  to  astmaeofhut-tmadaty,  and 
deteimincd  hin,  al.whAlerer.ainouiit  (^iiuauLiatiea,  tejclose  with 
Hie  presaat  oSar. 

"  You.hftre.  indeed.  proTed  a.  true  preset,  HAtcv."  he  added, 
ctmaolinglyk.  "  I.ahall  soea  obtain  the  aoaaa-o£  applying  to  aa 
ageDt,,or.of'ftd^»tisu)g  for  wsnething  else  i.aodin  die .laean  tin^ 
there  ifrno  fear. of  my, being'  reco^ueed  by  aay.oae  wha^fonoarlj 
knewm^  in.saoh  a  garb,,  and  awk  a  eaJbi^ ;  bul^b^garB  nwui 
net  be  choosGdra  i  sebear  up,  myvpoor  girl,  Mid.BtnTe'ta'tliinkr.MT 
you  reminded  me  just  now,  Ihat  it  is.alLftv  tbe:baBt.." 

^te.roae.eerly  theiQieixtmemi&g,.  and  preKaiadhW'.  bnabtod'a 
breakfast.,  befere:  hsf  started  to  his.  novel  acW{>ati»B,  aoi  IlW% 
indeed,  did  t^  houra.  aeem  till  hiar  return,  se:  unused  hadi  she 
lately,  been  to  pMs-a^  day  without  seeing  him.  U  was  late  ia 
the  evening  iriven. he. eamft.home ;  the cMLdceailud  geaatabed,. 
not,  hewers,.  Bi^pwleBa;  and*  thanks  to.'tlie.  paw.  coalman,  a 
.fire  wekomed  hun,  and  made  (Km^Hmtui^  idiaBiM  ft  Utile 
spaoe.  about  the  hearth. 

After  his-  first.  greetingB  with  hie  nil*,,  Accher.  produced  from. 
his  pocket,,  not. hia promised  daf,'s  earning^,  thiea  luid  aixpenoe, 
but  a  bandsoBW  tuid  apparei^y  well-filled  pwsei.  the.  omtanta  o£ 
which  beproeaeded.to  spreodon  thetabbi  req^uesting  her  to.take 
a.peueil'uid  make  an  iaTeutoi^i  of  them:,  th^  were:  «^ht  sere- 
re«gBs,  and  2701.  InBank.  of  England  notes.  "And^oow  let  me 
tell  you  how  die^cBiBViuitom}^  hands,.  Kate,"  stud  Acaher.  "for 
you  are  boking  rerj,  white  aud.  uizi<Hi».  I  took:  i^a.lady  tmd 
gentlemaU'  in.  ^  Strand,  who  desired  to  be  diiren.  to,  Camden. 
Town,  aod.'  youmay.  guesft  my  Station  whan  LfoKod  that  the 
hauae-I.w:^OTd«nd,to  set-thma  d«wn  at,.  wsaal«H.by  thatmau,, 
U'Gill'B.  I  did  nok.  wait  a  momaut  after  L  had  received  my  fare,. 
except  to  put!  (^  tbfiMeps,.  atid.^ut.  the  dow„  but-^ve  off  ae 
rapidly  as  possible.  Fresently,  another  geotlemaQ  hailed  me,  and 
in  letting  dawtk  the  steps,  uid  rera^juetting  tlia  wuhioUi  I  per- 
eeived  betwe«a  it.  wd  the  batds,  of  the  earrtag?  the  tuning  taaael 
<d  tiiia  pursei.  I  put  it  in  my  peoket,  and  haviiig  driven  this 
passenger  to/thfi  otfaer  eiJreme  of  tows,  Uu^oiind  q£  a  polieeauw 


292  BOW  TUS  UXBOHAHT  S   OVBBX.  TDRNED  OAB-DBITEB. 

irhat  I  ought  to  do  in  Huch  a  case,  but  without  telling  him  what  ' 
had  happened.  The  man,  who  perceived  I  w»fl  not  much  an 
tidept  at  my  buBineBS,  informed  me  the  place  for  aach  deposits 
was  Somerset  House,  where  I  immediately  drOTe,  but  the 
office  was  shut  up,  ao  that  nothing  remains  bat  to  keep  possession 
of  it  till  to-morrow  morning,  when  I  shall  take  it  there  the  6nt 
thing."  And  this  man,  who  but  the  previouB  evening  had  been 
tempted  by  his  poverty  to  canvass  within  himself  the  propriety  of 
robbing  in  defence  of  his  starring  wife  and  children,  now  that  hs 
had  to  all  appearance  this  money  at  his  metcy,  felt  no  other 
feeling  with  regard  to  it,  but  anxiety  for  its  restoration  to  the 
owner ;  hut  then  he  had  the  present  means  of  honetHy  providing 
bread  for  them.  Having  carefully  taken  the  numbers  of  the 
notes,  and  the  amount  of  the  whole,  the  poor  cab-driver  and  his 
wife  lay  down  on  their  wretched  pallet. 

The  effect  of  air  and  labour  was  soon  evident  in  the  sound  sleep 
of  the  man,  nor  was  Eate,  who  bad  also  been  hard  at  work  during 
the  day,  long  in  following  his  example.  ~  Considerably  a^er  mid- 
night, or  rather,  in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning,  the  crei^ng 
of  the  old  stairs,  the  noise  of  heavyfootstepsin  the  room,  and  the 
flashing  of  sudden  lights  awakened  Kate,  who  cowered  closer  ta 
her  husband  on  perceiving  three  or  four  men  standing  by  them  i 
Archer,  however,  instantly  sprang  up,  and,  after  a  moment  or  two, 
recognised  the  person  of  the  coal-dealer,  who  regarded  him  with  a 
Teiy  rueful  expression  of  face  ;  and  beside  him  a  police-officer,  and 
the  gentleman  whom  he  had  driven  the  day  before  to  Camden 
Town.  The  latter,  who  did  not  discover  his  loss  till  some  hours 
after  it  had  occurred,  immediately  applied  to  a  magistrate,  and 
obtained  the  assistance  of  a  very  intelligent  poUce-o£Gcer,  who, 
having  found  out  the  number  of  the  cah  &om  the  keeper  of  the 
Camden  Town  toll-gate,  proceeded  to  the  various  coach-stands,  and, 
after  some  difficulty,  succeeded  in  hunting  out  the  owner  of  the 
one  in  question.  Poor  Archer  immediately  comprehended  the 
meaning  of  their  visit,  and  after  his  first  involuntary  feehng  of 
annoyance  and  humiliation  at  the  outrage  offered  to  his  poverty, 
by  their  unceremonious  entrance  to  his  wretched  home,  he  ex* 
chimed —   ■ 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir,  that  you  have  suffered  so  many  hours '  anxiety 
about  your  purse ;  I  assure  yon  I  have  been  as  anxious  to  restore  it 
to  you  as  you  could  be  to  recover  it,  and  went  for  that  purpose  to 
Somerset-house  yesterday  afternoon  ;  9ut,  nnfijrtnnately,  it  wa& 


now  THE  UEBCHASt's  CLBRK   TmtHED   CAB-DRlVEtt.         £33 

after  office  hours,  so  that  there  was  nothing  left  but  to  retun  it  till 
the  morning,  when  I  intended  taking  it  there  the  first  thing." 

He  then  handed  the  inventory,  of  its  contents  to  the  gentleman, 
and  produced  the  purse.  The  latter  looked  from  the  man  round 
his  miserable  abode,  with  nndisgoised  interest  and  commiseration ; 
.  and,  after  thanking  him  sincerely  for  the  manner  in  which  he  hod 
acted,  and  apolog^ing  for  entering  his  place  and  disturbing  his 
iamUy,  he  Itud  his  card  oa  the  table,  reqnestjng  Ari;her  would  call 
at  the  address  on  the  following  morning,  and  pressed  into  the  poor 
man's  hand  a  note  for  fivQ-and-twenty  pounds,  delicately  saying 
that  it  was  not  offered  by  way  of  rewa^ng  his  honesty,  for  he 
felt  that  would  be  to  instdt  him,  but  as  a  trifling  aasistaiico  in  his 
unhappy  circumstances,  which  he  could  not  think  were  self-induced. 
Overwhelmed  with  gratitude  and  astoDishment,  Archer  could  only 
clasp  the  hand  of  the  generous  man,  and  stammer  forth  broken 
thanks  on  behalf  of  himself  and  children,  while. the  poor  coal-maa 
delightedly  exclaimed — 

"  Didn  1 1  say,  wr,  it  was  all  right,  and  that  if  he  had  got  the 
money  yon  were  sure  of  it !"  -^. 

"  You  did,  indeed,  m^  good  fellow,"  answered^ho  gentleman, 
who  had  heard  from  hun  as  they  came  along  the  histoty  of  his 
acquaintance  with  Archer; "  and  to  prove  that  such  conduct  as  yours 
rarely  goes  unrewarded,  eren  temporally,  you  must  let  me  be  the 
means  of  repaying  yon  your  kindness  to  this  distressed  family, — I 
mean  so  fai  as  money  can  repay  it ;"  and  the  stranger  absolutely 
forced  upon  the  honest  coal-dealer  a  five-pound  note.  The  serricea 
of  the  officer  were  rewarded  afiierwards,  and  the  party  left  ■  -■■— 
Court. 

The  feelings  of  Archer  and  hia  wife  maybe  imagined ;  palpably, 
indeed,  the  finger  of  a  merciful  Providence  appeared  throughout 
the  transaction,  and  their  gratitude  and  happiness  were  in  propor- 
tion to  the  exigence  and  hopelessness  of  their  past  situation.  For- 
tunately the  next  morning  Jem  the  cabman  was  well  enough  to 
resume  his  box,  and  his  first  job,  by  order  of  Ur.  Worthington  (the 
owner  of  the  lost  purse),  was  to  drive  Archer  to  his  hotel  in  the 
Adelphi,  but  not  before  the  latter  had  spent  some  of  the  251.  in 
redeeming  his  own,  hia  wife's,  and  his  children's  apparel;  so 
that,  though  wan  and  meagre,  he  now  looked  respectable  in 
appearance,  and  his  features,  freed  from  the  hard,  care-drawn 
expression  misery  hod  impressed  them  with,  even  prepoasessing. 
Not  contented  with  lurnng  relieved  the  present  necessities  of 


Archer's  itaalji  lik  Wortinngtan  had  ianpiwd  that'  nmewgnthia 
conaeoticns  he  rai^  posobly-  servv^faiin  more  eifiectuB%;  and 
though thu thought  wM  aimereiiiipHlu^:fint,it  haducnr  beeone 
a  detenttaUitimi,  E^onldthepwv^raaD's'preTiMwhistoiy  bearlnmxtnt 
in  belieTi)^  )am  dwerring  of  it;  11dBiTBSBooatDld;hehadbeeiiai 
cl^'k  fbriBMiy  yean  is a-^onuneraal  htnua^iii  the.ctty,  the  prin^ 
eapat  of'  ffhieh,  wlien  dying,  had  Bbajagiy-  rmtmraetdtA  him  ta  the 
autice'Of  hiancpheTTaiadsiwceHW.;  bvCthia  pananj  "ritothwigfat 
more  x>f'- befrieodB^  some  ^j  of  hig-iOiro,  tbwt  in-attaiwUiig'  to  a 
dead  nuo^inshes,  y^ey  aberAj-a&auiiaulB  infonned  likirtbat<hcL 
had  DD  fiadieE  oBoagioai iar- ias: Heraieeaj  Aa  BDou-avhe  bad,a 
little  sfaookioK  the  ef&obac^  this  snddeaaDdaiideBBn«d«TOnt,.hB 
MideanNBed:tve%taiii:BiHtfwrwtt»tioK;  bat"  iihuHwn  (ia  wAr. ta 
<K>rer  Ma  owiciiijuatie^  hi*' late- enfl^er  had.  aeontl^  ^nad 
mmonra  to  hia  diaadTantage,.  oc  tbattbe  mere  &ct;aE<  liia  beii^ 
euddmly  dismiMad  flram  an -ixitflng movL  in  vhidiihahad  been  aa 
long  established,  was  in  iteolf  euffident--  to  oceate  mupaaot 
to  hia  diixxedit,  all  hi»  ^orta  vere  uiuTaiEiig;. 

Put  off  with  promises  from  month  ta  monlb,  his  eitiurtioiL  at 
length  beeame  so  de^)M:at«,  that  wont  stared  hiin.  in  tbe  face. 
At  this  juKCtnt^  he-'WM  peraaaded  by  the  landlord  of.liie  hMue  he 
rented  to  a^y  to  a  lora.BOoetT'fbr  snck  o-amn  of  mtney  as  would 
enable  bhirto  ke«|)'cB  a  few ihwAIu  Ifl^w.  bavivgr  stlU:  faith  in 
the  assnzaiwes  of  (so  called)  Mendat  wfaoisther  than- own  tiiein 
inability  to 'fflffve  him,  or  the  diaagEwaUfrfiKt'that  theynpoald  not*, 
oontimied  hia  su^nae  indefiintely.Aadaddad  to  tfaeinowtveniniea 
and  wretohednBae  of  Ma  aituatiiab  Thia  man,  irtuse'  otone  waft 
M'Gill,  was  manager  of  tbe  society  to  which  be  recommended -his 
tenant;. iBulfiEEthBBbafriendedhiiB^aaAreber  belierad)  byrrender- 

iiij.  inij  rififiiiiNi  bill  ^I'li  i  luii  ihhimij.  infwnii^  himi  that  hia 

name  was  oJtau^SiuMtfr  at  tha  ottee,  and  Archer.  baoMBtt  a.  deJ)lor 
for  ten:  poimda,  Aftra  a  few  md»  the  anba^^mu  finnd  ib 
wasimpaosible  ta-ke«9iip  his'wcddjn  pn^nenta,  fmreiocpt;  a«a- 
sional  en^^meiitiB.a^tying  for  a  lawyer  wbflm  bo/haeor,  bojlutd 
no  meanB-of!eKniiuga.£ialling;  andnowtbeafiparentdiantweatedi- 
nesa  of  hia  landloid  more  atroa^y  evinced  itaelf,.  and  hej  kiiidl; 
informed  him  that  henaad  nat  fear  bmng  troaMed  by  the  aeciety 
for  ikv.  money,  a»i«  weuld  preiaat  a^thtf.  Ahovt  this  time, 
however,  the  alteration  in  tfas  nuoagci'a  atyle  of  UfxBg-  and 
i^maraaee,  hiagigi  naililln  liiiiin,  milligii  iial  iirinaii.  iiart  nnitniii 
buildii^  vpeenli^tniB  im  whidi  he,  w(K  ogagod,  dximvfmi  hint 

i0k' 


BOW  THE  llEaCH4NI  S   CLBBK   TURNED  CAS-]»tIT£B.         &ii 

tbe  Buapidons  of  his  partners,  and  a  rigjd  scnttinj"of  his  aecon&tB 
tiiok  place;  and  it  then  turned  oat  that  through  the  CDncnirence 
of  the  secretary,  who  w&s  acretctareirf  Ut'oim,  be^lutd  rohhed 
tiieta  while  in  office  of  Bometfaiitg  vrit  a  thousand  pounds:  No 
redreas  was  left'  to  them  but  to  get  iM  of  hinr,  wUeh  ibej  dM  as 
qoick^  aspomible  ;  but  even  br  H  doing  they  hod  not  destM>7ed 
his -power  to  injnre  and  swlndte  them,  an  instance  of  wUcb  we 
may  glfe'iil  his  condnctto  Archer.  His  debt,  in  reality,  had  iiev«r 
a^pera«d  on  the  societ^s  books;  and  perhaps  tf'GiS  ffanM'  Uave 
aDowed'it'to  have  gone  beyond  the  tw^e  months  agreed  on  fbrita 
repa;;inent,  but  ftr  tiie  circumstance  of  a  smsll  sum  of  money 
bftring  betai'Btmt  to  Mrs.  Arcdier  by  s' relstiyei  wUefa  circom' 
KtftMffB' oomiiy  to  U'Gill's  ears,  hetWoo^t  it  irooldb©  agood 
opportni^  to  get'  some  of  it  j  accortfnglj  he  called  on' Archer, 
ora  inducing  the  account  sftid,  in  a  sort  of  off-hand  wny<^ 

"'AnAei*,  ym  owe  the  Iiosn  Society  in  ^ftiker  street*  ten 
pCnmdsj  nxt«6ll<and  fbur-pence,  4ith  fliies,  do-yon  not?"' 

"  Yon  WeH  knftw  I  do,     amnrered  Archer: 

"WetH"  he'daidi  "pay  me  down  eight  ponnds  and  I  «fll'give 
you  a  receipt  for  the  whole  amount," 

But  the  poor  clerk,  who  had  heard  of  his  impiincipled  conduct, 
saw  at  once  the  dishonesty  of  the  offer,  and  rejected  it. 

"  No,"  he  said,-  "  I  wiU  neHhw  be  dishonest  myself  nor  abet  it 
in  others  ;  I  owe  the  ten  pouais  to  the  society,  and  will  pay  it  as 
sMBM-ertacit  b»  in' my  power;:  hut  I  will  noty.  erai  to  sore 
myself 'ff'priseni  defravd ! " 

fbd  rage  of  the  other'  was  on]/  lesa  omel  t&an  his  rovenge; 

"  iUawuber,"  he  sud,.  "  you  are  in  my  debt  some  six  months' 
rent:  either  you  pay  me  witbioLl^ds^,,  oc  Ii^eebyoU'aBd  take 
your  goods  in  ezeeation'.'' 

And  lie  was  as  good  tM  hi*  wwd ;:  Ub  a^a|^y  tenants  were 
thrust  out  homeless  and  robbed  of  their  goodb,  which  wore  sold 
for  A  fourth  of  Aeirvdne.learlDg  little  or  notfiing  to  the  wretched 
owners  when  the  clahns  of  their  base  creditop  had  been  paid. 
After  this  they  had  mored  from  lodging  to  lodging,  each  better 
adapted  to  their  daily  sinkuig  oiHSHnstaneeB ;  the  parlour  had 
been  changed  for  the  seeend  floor,,  tbstfsr  the  attic,  till  at  last, 
every  arti(Je  gone  &at  co^d  obtain'  thwi  a^  meal  or  shelter,  thoy 
had  been  driven  to  hide  themselves  in  the  dismal  place  where  the 
poor  coal-man  had  disoovered  tbem.  'The  Mst  of  the  story  is  soon 
told.  Ur.  Worthingtow  lost  soithne-  in  inqiMiog  at  the  firm  to  . 
which  Archer  had  belonged'  tte-  tmt*  of  his  story,  and  flndbg 


230  HAILWATS  ANS 

that  he  had  really  been  discharged  without  a  fault,  ho  convosacct 
amongst  his  commercial  friends  (he  wb3  himself  a  IWest  Indian 
merchant),  and  obtained  for  him  a  more  lucrative  post  than  ho  had 
before  held.  Things  hare  prospered  too  with  the  honest  coal< 
dealer,  who  has  lately  increased  his  premises,  and  besides  green- 
grocery, eiMbits  a  splendid  board  with  a  Tiew  of  Hampatead 
Heath  in  the  distance,  and.  a  notice  that  vans  for  the  removal  of 
furniture  and  the  conreyance  of  pleasure  parties  are  always  oa 
hire  within.  If  you  talk  to  him  of  the  improvement  in  his  business, 
you  hear  all  about  the  gloomy  court  in.  Barlow-street  (saving  the 
names),  and  he  tells  you  with  twinkling  eyes  that  he  owes  it  all  to 
that  five-pound  note,  which  has  done  him  more  good  than  all  the 
money  he  ever  had  before  in  his  hfe  ;  and  well  it  might :  it  was  the 
first  he  had  had  that  put  blm  a  pound  in  advance  of  the  coming 
necessities  of  the  morrow.  .  The  last  we  heard  of  the  scheming 
M'Gill  was  in  a  etogging  transaction,  which  led  to  his  being 
brought  b^ore  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  fined  for  stopping  up  the  way 
in  front  of  the  Mansion  House  ;  but  we  do  not  yet  despiur  of  his 
meeting  with  his  desert.  Mita,  Cabolike  WniTB. 


RAILWAYS  AND   ROYALTY.   . 

[Ih  du  peregriiuitioDg,  the  other  dsj-,  we  bxpfeittd  ta  visit  the  old  town  of  Pon- 
teftact  (Pomfret),  and  found  it  all  iaaJ^rment  aboat  a  new  lailirajr  which  is  beint 
Gompleled  between  WakeSeld  and  Ooole,  and  which  passes  bj  the  oatskiits  of  Iha 
town.  A  visH  to  Ibo  ancient  caille,  and  its  many  associations  connected  with  his- 
tory, led  us  imperceptibly  to  imiulge  in  a  reverie,  wherein  the  opening  of  the 
ioeoagcaous  PonteCmct  ndlway  ii  anticipated.] 

I  s*w,  methought,  old  Pomtret's  town, 

Whose  dacal  castle  crumbling, 
In  page  historic  hath  renown — 

rtJood  gracious !  what  'a  that  rumbling  1) 
Full  many  a  noble  lost  his  head, 

Within  yon  spacious  court, 
And  Richard's  self  lies  wrapped  in  lead 

Beneath  that  bloody  port. 
These  grassy  monnds  are  rife  with  graves :— • 
O'er  Lancaster's  yon  elm-tree  waves  1 
Now  railways  are  disturbing  things 

To  mortal  mAi  when  living — 
But,  who  knows  what  a  railway  brings    . 

To  dead  men  of  misgivine  1  ^~.  , 

vXiOoglc 


EAU.W4Y8  AKD  BOTAtTY. 

Witnesi  old  Pomfret's  castle  wall — 

(I  feel  my  hair  now  briatUng  !) 
Heard'st  thou  not  the  dead  men  call 

Id  answer  to  the  wbiatling 
Of  the  firet  train  that  woke  their  Bleep, 
And  shook  thj  toppling  time-worn  Keep  1 
Fint,  Lancaster  felt  ill  at  ease, 

The  rumbling  was  so  great ; 
He  foand  his  head  betwixt  his  knees. 

Nor  set  it  on  quite  stiaight ; 
And  when  the  second  whistle  rang, 

He  broke  bia  ston;  bed, 
And  upricht  ejiTacg,  with  hollow  clang, 

Amid  tne-griily  dead — 
Who  thou^t  that  Doomsday  must  have  come, 
Bat,  disappointed,  looked  quite  glum  ! 
King  Bichard  woke  up  ghastly  pale. 

And  clutched  a  rusted  spear. 
Bat  when  he  saw  the  open  vale 

He  laid  aside  all  fear. 
The  dungeon's  walk  were  crumbled  down- 
He  felt  the  cool  fresh  air, 
And  looked  about  to  find  hu  crown, 

Among  the  crowd  to  wear. 


And  hark  !  the  train  moves  oS,  and  lo  ! 

The  wheels  whirl  deftly  round ; 
Impell'd  by  mystic  power  they  go, 

Shaking  the  solid  ground  ;  , 
And  swifter  now,  and  swifter  still. 

Their  speed  but  quickens  ever, 
The  fiery  car  descends  the  bill 

Until  the  woodlands  sever 
From  wandering  eyes  the  meteor  star, 
Whose  smoking  track  is  heard  a&r  1 
Quoth  lUchard,  "  Earl,  what  meaneth  this. 

To  waken  as  from  sleep. 
With  roaring  voice  and  fearful  bias, 

Thna  o'ei 


A  pandemonlnm  go-cart,  sure. 

Hath  broken  loose  from  h^  ! " 
Qnoth  Lancaster,  "  1  would  it  were. 

If  Nick  be  there  as  well ! 
I  feel  a  chillnesa  o'er  me  creep — 
King,  lay  thee  down  again  to  sleep."  Alira. 

vCoo*^lc 


THE  UASQUBRADE  OF  SOCIETY. 

Shaesfebe  BajBtlat  "  all  tlie  wofld 'a  a  stage,"  and  that  "one 
man  in.  his  time  plays  m»iiy  parts;"  but  howerer  this  maybe 
TeceWed  as  an  etenial  tnitlp,  I  am  disposed  to,  consider  that  in  the 
present  day  the  arrangement  of  pecibnniuice  is  somewliat  different 
from  that  which  preiuuled  in  the  tii^e  of  Shakgpere,  and  has  pre- 
vailed generally  in  all  times  aot'|o  diorougUy  sophisticated  as 
thoseinvbicli  we"  Britishers  ".•«'ti«t.  Thejntofthe  Theatre  is 
now  boarded  over,  so  as  to.be  lertS  with'the  stage,  and  greatly  to 
enlarge  it ;  and,  on  this,extend6i«rea,"we,-do.»0t|rfoyi>art«  in  a 
regularly  concerted  drama,  bnt"-^  the  In^dveds  of  thousands  of 
us — we  mingle  in  an  heteragenesne  Maeepte^ode.  A  flood  of  arti- 
ficial light  pours  down  upon  us'^om  gorgeous  chandeliers  above 
our  beads,  and,  stimulated  by  tbe  crash  of  a  -mighty  orchestra,  we 
engage  with  ardour  in  tbOc^ursiBts  of  the  hcqir. 

See  how  earnestly  and  ijurefitJIy  tbe  ebatacter  which  each  has 
assumed  is  attempted  to  be-suataned  !  TbeJCjawyer  looks  like  a 
livingroll  of  paKhM;ent|<a)id'Sr^y%ind  BeeiiiB  inajHred  by  thoughts 
otfees.  How  scornfully  he  glautees  at  the  Poet,  who  posses  him 
vrith  eyes  bent  on  the  ground. add- folded  anns,  wrapped  in  medi- 
tation and  apparently  oblivions  ef  the  basy  crowd  around  him! 
Here  comes  the  Soldier^  with  anerect  gut  and  an  imperious  eye, 
sick  of  these  stupid  peaceful  days,  and  longing  for  the  old  game 
of  war.  After  him  comes  the  Legislator,  who  professes  to  under- 
stand everything,  and  will  talk  three,  mortal  boprs  on  any  subject 
in  creation.  Do  not  his  self-satisfi^  emirk  and  bustUng  air  of 
importance  show  bim  every  inch  a  maker  of  Aeta  of  Parliament  ? 
But  here  is  s<»nebody  indeed  !  Iloom.  for  the  Sight  Honourable 
the  Earl  of  Hawksnest !  Is  ho^ot  an  unmistakeablo  aristocrat  ? 
Bom  to  be  served  and  obeyed  by  .bwn  inferiors ! 

Now  all  these  people,  wttb  innumerable  other  people  appearing 
in  the  same  Masquerade,  s^vewith  all  their  hearts  to  support 
effectively  their  individual  characters  ;  but  firequ^itly  indeed  their 
true  vocation  peeps  out  in  spite  of  their  supeificial  sAsumptioQ  of 
some  different  order  of  human  being.     Thus  a.mui  affectmg  the 

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eabtmxi  gmee '^<fiA -Sage  daUpIablylMinrr,  his  real  caUngof 
Jack  Pudding.  Tlie  Fhilanthropiit  in  speech  msj.too  tmupa- 
TCD^j'shsarlmnMif  Bi.fact  hnt^Miunfi.ftttaDMy.  The  Legiiktor  is 
not  mUobi. Been,  bf  the  lOBakAaU  of  %jfptA»tmaa,  tob«AXMi« 
-Btt^obber,  at  :gnMkeeper,.'«r  -^^edng^K,  ttr  tiaker.  The  Ijord 
u  taooAariivtv'pklpahlefeetaiimR— 4tiieJ(cnb«at  a  <wiadlgr— Ihe 
Ciagjittttiin  hookater.  '£iiigB  have,  be&ne  mm,  Btmtted  grandly 
"-■iMatiibtAndently-MrtKa'iiothK.batbirtckWBi-aBd  Popw  have 
.piitQn'aBtaBiahing:BitBvho<Mtnnjr'weeftaaoliha^lIianoUm>iB«n. 
■^  ia-the  f Mfrintj  vS-.Utt  mxtn:txmttKiii}y  T3eU>Bd,.«nd  the  <jrw^ 
iJEaa^MBida  Tendered  aKnaceontoqitWe  than  nedd.  be. 

tBat-.Miai^af  thectg^Myi-Aoaie  to  ra^jki  mietlf  mth  the 
ft,  riwrt  vgnjqy  lArt  anMS,-iitthoitimd«;g(nag:tbe.fMti8Be  and 
■■MiTOBwribffity  jf'^yaJMafctJtany-nipyertaDgrftpwMKiff  chwarter; 
and-^asrHne  of  the  *mMi[Mn:pr(£Br:eaBiittMr>Hid  anry-iiaj.  da- 
aactora  to th— a<rf  gm*er-^nyu&,:ia  emMqncMie  of  ihe'«we  tif 
tWr  iMMHf*iu>i,i.ap  i^me  yKij^MMj-f^aog  ioAniiaiaT^nSet  no 
aBamnption  at  all,  and  just  shoir  their  confbnnaiicfi  to  thenleB  of 
theplMe>b7>«QKdiigA^VB&mdidennBa,  ^Shn thor time .poMes 
amootUj',  wiliHint  i''Tfiif  aiiil  iiiHimli  iliiini|lliirtirtiiil  F«ir^ow, 
ornte,  >^HLUMj-<ai«e,-^aAer.tt^i6'PMBeBt,  w^i^inirthey 
go;  biit^'^ho'thiidc:-attall:abDiit.'thcBi  eanud«r  dtemTery 
rnepieotoMti'jort  «f  pe^Ie,:who  faare-^nciTer  said  jior  done  ^anj- 
.tluog  aotUKe'^rigtetJaoA  mho  i<mhtiMB^id  acmevtj  of  amuing 

iB.Ais  mvimr<aauU  ipenon  alba  saAa-toiHiutrato  samefrsg- 
~msatalA(iBrelopnieM'of:haBanitj,-er  ^ntaine  fr«n-n]ch'deTel«^ 
■sent,  and  lAelteCT  Jamietf  jn-ritemmty .  Bnt  thftBOBMroBB-powevs 
andiliiitingMldtit^ApeciBiarttaa  of 'oa^nan  or  woman  centiBaaHj 
taid'tolmalB.thvoi^lhnyKiialAciiaQ.'oratatoof  inactian,  and 
.oxlHlnt'Ae'wJi;de  ' being  .«B  «xintiiig:at  ;d)e~lime.  ^ence  the 
aeownty  for^eautBDD,  iorbf^oeuKj,  fw.  fee  ■eaPTentioaal  atifling  of 
atLthaD^ts-aDd.-tniJu»«0ntHH7  to.the-  oaenihvtMter.awaiiMd. 

ThfiB  in  the  LMaaqncrade  of  Society  .u«  lboa»  vho  make  it  up 
veonateainad,  aad  itis^i^to  aome  eriect  feir  that  any  indiridual 
twitldiacorerhimadfaa  he  teally  is.  Lore  and  friendi^p  may 
eBOBO  the  mask  lo  ibe  renored  far  a  vhile,  or  the  donuBO  to  be 
thrown  back,  but  thme  Imnrious  momenta  of  iincerity  are  seldom, 
.wid.Bie.imkaewj)  toall bnt  the faTonred  objects  of  eonfiddnee. 

^t  lookatihase  spectators  in  the  boies^  who  ait  elevated  above 
the  nuning  throng  of  masquers,  jud  who  crtticiie  Ihcoi*  aj^narance 

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240  IBS  HASQUEAADE  OF  80CIEIY. 

and  doings — noir  Unghiag — now  reproving — and  nov  soliloquising. 
Who  are  they  ? 

They  «ro  pbllosophera,  mondiatB,  and  refonners ;  and  though 
you  aee  them  now  sitting  in  judgment  on  the  social  ma5querade> 
yet  their  present  position  ia  but  occoaionolly  assumed.  They  taka 
their  share  in  the  occupations  of  the  area  below — and  many  of 
them  with  right  good-will  too.  You  obserre  also  that,  with  very 
Few  exceptions  Indeed,  they  appear  either  in  some  especial  cha- 
racter, or  at  least  in  mask  and  domino.  Nor  could  they,  without 
great  difficulty,  manage  to  keep  in  the  theatre  at  all  unless  they 
eo  far  conformed  with  its  cuatoms.  The  two  or  three  enthnuasts 
\rh6  obstinately  refuse  to  compromise  their  true  nature  so  far  are 
soon  turned  out  of  the  glace  ahogether,  or  if,  by  their  innate 
energy,  they  remun  in  spite  of  all  they  encoonter,  they  ue 
shunned  by  the  great  majority  of  their  fellow  sojoumera  in  the 
building — both  mere  masquers  and  philosophic  reformers — and  are 
in  every  way  made  to  feel  the  oonventional  indecorum  which  they 
have  committed. 

Yet,  however  the  most  prudent  of  these  critical  spectators  may 
attempt  to  conciliate  the  crowd  below,  still  the  very  fact  of  th^ 
presuming  at  all  to  ^t  elevated  above  the  turmoil,  and  speculate 
upon  its  merits  and  defects,  is  an  offence  which  brings  its  own 
punishment  with  it.  They  are  looked  upon  with  suspicion  and 
dislike  by  the  mass  of  masquerB.-  "  What  do  they  here,"  say  they, 
"  unless  they  mean  to  do  as  w«  do  t  Their  remarks  on  particidar 
characters  are  impertinent ;  and  their  entire  opinions,  carried  out, 
would  be  subversive  of  the  masquerade  itself.  So  it  was  before 
wo  came,  and  so  it  will  be  after  we  have  gone.  The  great  and 
wondrous  masquerade  never  stops,  and  cluu^es  but  little.  As  one 
representative  of  a  character  drops  off,  another  supplies  his  ^dace ; 
and,  without  ceasing,  the  glorious  and  inspiring  music  sounds 
from  on  high,  and  the  brilliant  light  descends  in  golden  streams  I 
Though  each  of  us  may  change  his  oliaraoter  at  will — and,  with 
his  character,  his  deportment,  and  his  very  thoughts  themselves — 
yet  must  he,  in  every  case,  but  act  over  again  what  others  havo 
acted  before  him,  and  what  the  well-understood  usages  of  the 
company  require.    Ever  seemingly  different,  but  ever  really  the 

Thus,  hypocritical,  clever,  lively,  wearisome,  companionable, 
heartless — severely  commented  upon  and  pertinaciously  preserved 
— goes  on  the  Masquerade  of  Society.  A.  W, 

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A  PLEA  FOR  OUR  CLIMATB. 

I  iKi  not  exactly  know  who  is  the  beat  abused  man  in  ^e  iroiU 
—but  I  am  sure  I  know  what  is  the  beat  abused  thing.  It  is 
oar  unfortunate — much-belied — much-suSering — long-eoduiing 
climate.  Ererybodj  baa  a  bard  word  and  a  bard  blow  for  it.  It 
is  nerer  brou^t  up  for  trial  but  to  be  condemned — and  condemned 
generally,  withont  recommendation  to  mercy,  or  benefit  of  clergy. 
First,  we  abuse  it  ourselves,  and  then  foreigners  take  up  the  tale 
and  abuse  it  for  ua.  We  hare  bemoaned  ourselres  so  pitifully  on 
OQT  atmospherical  woes — we  have  scolded  East  Wind  soimpitiably, 
and  taken  Fogs  to  task  so  severely,  that  not  a  Frenchman  or  & 
Spaniard,  or  an  Italian,  but  riseii  from  bis  cradle  and  goei  down 
to  lua  coffin  with  the  comfortable  assurance  that  England  is  a 
little— wretched — drizzling — dribbling  hole.—thc  condemned  cell 
of  the  world — a  mist  dungeon — an  atmospherical  cbaoa  of  clouds 
and  snow,  and  all  sorts  of  akiey  abominations— -where  the  winter 
is  all  fog  and  Ice— the  apring  all  fog  and  hail — the  aummer  all 
fog  and  rain — the  autumn  all  fog  and  sleet, — where  all  is  cheerless 
and  tempeatuona — a  sort  of  Nora  Zembla  with  the  chill  off — a 
apirit-petriiying  Limbo — where  the  tempests  which  continually 
rage  and  howl  bare  fairly  Mghtencd  the  poor  sun  oat  of  the  sky ! 

Now,  I  propoaa  to  act  lance  in  rest— that  ia  to  say — pen  in 
motion — agunst  these  fallacioua  notions,  propagated  here  and 
fostered  abroad, — to  declare  in  the  outset  that  I  beueve  our  climate 
to  he  one  of  the  best — if  not  the  best — in  the  world, — and  that 
I  mean  to  attempt,  at  all  events,  to  prove  the  aaaertion.  I  know 
the  torrent  of  objurgation  with  which  this  atatement  of  opinion 
will  be  recaved. 

"  What !  "  excliums  one  gentleman,  puffing  a  freeung  Uaat  of 
cast  wind  in  my  teeth,  "  are  you  in  love  with  rheumatism — smitten 
ivitb  the  charms  of  sciatica  ?  ' 

"  Do  yon  take,"  inqnires  another,  "our  pea-SOi^  ujata  for 
clouds  (f  gloiy  V 

"  What  can  you  say,"  mildly  queries  a  third,  "  for  a  climate 
under  whose  influence  the  thermometer  jumps  up  and  down  like  a 
Jack-in-the-box,  and  the  mercury  in  the  barometer  has  generally 

so.  IT. — ^TCt.  III.  R 

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ZiZ  A  FtEA  POK  OUR   CLItUTE. 

a  far  etroDger  penchant  for  low  life  at  the  bottom  of  the  glasB 
column,  than  high  life  at  the  top  ?" 

"  And  where  there  is  tardlj  ever  a  fine  day  for  pio-nics?"  addB 
a  young  lady.    ■ 

"  And  where  the  Bommer  always  seta  m  wiiH  i\a  usual  severity  V 
superadds  an  old  jpker..  ... 

"And'^ere  tradeemeii  $ui  adVertisementB  oTTrarm  cteAlDg 
into  the 'newspapers:— beginning  the  announcement  for  everyday 
in  the  tlir«e hundred' Mid  sirty-five,  Tfith — 'at  this  rijoronff  seaaoB 
of  thfe  year?''"  interrog^es  Hnother. 

In  spite,, Bowever;  of  aUthis, — of  enst  wiiidsi— Jijgs-— raria*>ini 
Ih  tfeliigeratlire— backward  seasons — and  dl  die  jokBB  which  we 
liaYe.  ifiad6  upon  our  own  fancied'  atmospherical  suff&ritigl,  T  am 
prMtAfed'  to  mdntaiii  the'  tratH  of  my  proposition^ 
;  miig'  Charles  n.  was  nota  Sobmon  (in  all  raspecti);  Ihit  he 
isbiA  some  very  sHrewd  things^  and  amongst  oAien  he  one  day 
tbld'hia  cnutlers'that  be  considered' the  clmiate  of  Eiigland  to  he 
the  bestin-tlie  world,  because  there  was  no  other  iii  wfaidl  a  mm 
Gianld'  litonr  out  of  doors,  exposed' to  the  weather,  with  lessrisk 
to  his  he^lU  and'  inconvenience  to  himBelf,'  for  bo  many  hoars  in 
tlie  dayi  and  bo  many,  days'  in  the  fCEcr,  as*  he  conld  inEngland: 
And'thi,  after  all,  is  the  tme  test  t»  try  climate  by.  I  a£rit'at 
once,  that  our  sky  is  not  a  diow  on&  We'  cannot  erijihit  such 
transparent'  depths — silch  unclffuded  ekpanses  of"  aznr©  as  Italy 
can.  Wo.  have  no  such  moon  as  shines  on' Keditfirranean:  wares 
or  on  tropical  Savannahs.  Our  sun-risings  and^  enn-set^gs  may 
— as  Byron- has  dfeserilied  tliem— be  merely  "  obscurely  bright." 
But,  after  all,  wbeie  is  the  grand  advantage- of  iiidigo-coloured 
skies,r  and'  moons  as  shiny  as  that"  m  the  Colfiseum,  and  brilHant 
sun-dses  which  nobody  gets  out  of  iris  bed  to-  look  at— and' gor- 
geous audsets,  which  nobody  will  leave  his'  dinner  t»-  admire  ? 
Cannet  all  the  ordinary  occupations  of  life — those  occupations 
which,  employ  mb  and  make  ua  happy  and  great — he;  arwdlper-,  - 
fbrmed' under  a  mild  and' cloud- tempered  finnament,  as  under  the 
blaze  of  a  scorching  buh  which,  as  in  the  West  Indies,  fevours  a 
.man  with  a  brain  fever  if  he  sleep  in  it  by  day, — or  as  under — 
thftt'TJe-sonnetted  moon  whict^vesa  man  the  mumps  if  he  repiDSO 
in  its  mild,  raya  by  night  ?  Here  in  happy  contrast  wilb  the 
fervid  east-^"  the  sun  does  not  smite  by  day,  nor  yet  the  moon  by 
night.*'  I  give  up  therefore  to  more'  fevoured-  land*  bright  snns 
and  coups  de  soletl — lustrous  moons  and  the  swelleJftlces  of  their 


.A.  £LBfc  BOR;  QDR:  ObUfATE.  ^ 

WOtBhippeni,  and  cooient  mywlf  witboHr  sky  uiukBr'n'liieli.^W  om 
work,  or  tnrdj  or  rajoy  ouraekoB,  not  pei^pg  ofUn  attmukted 
1i]rth«Mkutlp«in»of  theneatiier — bulBd4oBi  onueTBrprsreiited 
froniLdeiiigrwhatin*  wiah  tluw^h  ite  influemoo.  la  J&ct,  tfao  pr0> 
wlii^  <dtmtotanBtio  of  our  (dimate  U  itA  aogi^tive  featoTQa.  Itft 
tonat  are  rtrtliw-iifintnd  than  eitbw  very  wtim  on  v«ty  ooU. 
Spring,  Buumw,.  autUiDU.  mater,,  we  oan.goabosbew.  buwuM 
without  \bt  or  UndrftBce.  A  iUgfat  t^ai^  of  dfiea*  aaablei  wt, 
withoHti  muoh  moro  iocanveaunce,  torineat  ibeabongieg  tompa- 
Eaturea'of  tte  aeasona.  W«  arehardly  oroi  IwfibwJAua  doora  bj 
ttther  beat.QrookL.  We  h&raraot  to  Buooza  awqy  tbe.  fieiy  fuiy 
of  ^  MBnoMr'a' nowr.  ut' li*Um  aiukB.  ortc  wbUa-awtw  tba 
wiBter'a  oraiuiigrctBiit^ied.  OTar,'a  ftifllog. stove.,  ftgiuii,  wo^ltuna 
BttdreaisywietJMMOiHit.ae  ia.tllatHC^iim.wWe^t^  ORbueiatqaud 
into  &  b^:  iIuBrfV'  bglh  Ibr.  naaHf -  h<d£  tbe  jmxs  We  baive  no 
long  Ung«n]tg-iRuteni,.Mia  dMkUaitad  Statefron  tbaiotfQ  wtiwm 
enmtriea:  a£  tsfiUwd  Buttpe,  w]ie»  use  cbmai  tiiQt  asmt-  and 
enow  bides  ^e  green  pleasantness  of  earth  for  montba.  tagpllwri 
We  am  fro*  ttnn.-tbe  tocriUdt  variatisns  of,  t«m||en(qiB  -i^ch 
tbeoe  maa  a]r«afllcfeed.m^.wd  feam.  all'  tlJe,  ftbowiaatiwa:  whwh 
^e^involrai  Wa-awnot  froBtrbiUofLia  wurten^,  non  moBqaito 
UMisi  in  wBomsn-  We  barn  no  dite  pariiUuMK  riidiig.axia 
Biiwbdeiome  w^Mtaticn.  filmed,  into  tank  lusunanue  faj^  oiwonnr 
bneding  sim.  Tntfir— «ur  oUmata  has  ita-  isowmiMaoea  ou  tbe 
Mtve  of  haidtb,  bnt  diey  oaft  genarall;  be  guacded  agfuiurt  br  owe 
■md  attvnljon.  Ab-ftU  wttite^  a  oojd  ia  tbe  bead.is-not  so  deadlj 
aa-ague  fcun  iMliait  malaria,  aad^I  vouldgQ.tbs.Itti||i)i;of.  pi«- 
femng;  mea  a  ^arp  twinge  of  rbettmatum  to.  ai  dsoiibdlf  wild 
bout  of  jdknr  fswr.  W«  bare,  then, .  I  oontondt  alnuet,  aU  tba 
snbataotial  goodtt  of  climatei  We  aw  tb^B  afibrd  to  fpve  up 
soma  of  ita  more  ftoeiM  bsautieB.  li  Hie-  shj  Ista  u»go  about 
ear  bnsineaa  ib  oomfort.  It  is  too  bad  to  ^uamal  mtb,  it  for  not 
b^ng  blue  enoagbi— attd.if  lh»  sun  dtinea  well  enouj^to  enable 
.  uBt«aee>oHr-£url«ad;tb«^eatiof  itaDifiadew«raod,the  wrdnDB 
ef  ite:  tnaasi  ^:  nub  laug^  af  tbe  buninar;  becaaie  tlia.  lli^nu>< 
meter  isiBot- 95°  ib  1i»  ebaie.    But  I  by  no.  mauw.  aotu^f  giva 

Xblue.idues  and laowoUt nights.  We baTetjjeia  oeeiMwi^ly— 
!ti.  13m  firmament  erery  now  and  again.  do«ft  pnt  on  it*  very 
belt  dreei, — bnt— &  oomM  and  tbe  duace'a  oi^  to  tbe  urobin  who 
blubbeEsferhia  Sundi^  cbthea  every,  day  in.  the  week  I 

Letna-oaQtraBta&w-of  thfi  more  diaagreoable,  fMtwafrof  die 


SU  A  PLEA  POB  orR  cluiaix. 

&tmos[^ere  wluch  we  liave  to  bear  np  agMost  widi  thoK  wUch 
tfflict  the  Bfttirea  of  other,  and  nominollj  more  faTOured  lands. 

East  wind  is  a  great  bugbear  amongst  ub,  and  it  certainlr  nips 
EbrQwdlr.  Koreover  it  is  cbilly,  and  baa  a  bleak,  inhoepitable, 
nngeiiiu  feeL  We  admit  it.  But  take  eome  of  tbe  more  unplea- 
sast  breezed  of  other  climes.  Take  tbe  scorcliing  land  winds 
vbich  blow  in  low  latitudes,  with  breath  withering  as  though  it 
mshed  from  tm  oven's  mouth.  Take  thesirocco,  if  you  like  it,  and 
fry  bow  your  lungs  feel  under  its  influence.  Think  yon  are 
gasping  in  tbe  furnace  of  the  simoom,  and  what  jov.  would  gire  for 
a  good.mouthiul  of  wholesome  home-brewed  east  wind.  Talk  of 
6nr  sou-westers,  no  doubt  tbey  are  twrible,  but  not  SO  bad  as 
tbe  whirlwinds  which  wrench  up  dwellings,  and  uproot  trees,  and 
t*ist  the  masts  out  of  sinking  ships.  Our  squalls  are  fierce, 
but  white' squaUs  are  fiercer :  tbe  home  bmricane  ii  not  generallj 
BO  fdrtouB  as  tbe  foreign  tornado,  and  no  wind  sweeps  our  stormy 
channel  yn^l  tiie  iron  rush  of  the  IiBvanter  over  the  sunny  Medi- 
terranean. 

Fog  is  fiuotlier^gbear.  In  the  first  place,  its  prevalence  is 
grossly  exaggerated.  It  comes  neither  so  thick  nor  so  often  as 
people  say,  FartJcnlaF  localities  are  certaioly  infested  with  it. 
London  is — ^but  as  the  nardies  between  it  and  the  sea  are  more 
and  more  drained,  our  old  drab-coloured  friewls  (fogs,  not 
Quakers)  &re  becoming  every  seasoa  thinner  and  more  like 
angelic  morning  calls.  But,  even  when  fog  does  come — what 
then  ?  It  is  only  a  carriage  panel  or  two  smashed  in  bad  instances, 
and  an  inability  to  Bee  down— -say  Baker-street — in  slighter  cases. 
Now,  after  all  the  number  of  people  who  build  their  happiness  on 
escaping  being  run  over,  or  running  over  somebody  else — or  on 
the  abuity  to  look  down  all  Baker-street,  is  really  comparatively 
small.  Besides,  there  is  nothing  unhealthy  in  onr  fogs.  After 
all  they  are  composed  of  good — thick — homely — wholesome — un- 
pretending air.  ■'  Are  they  like  the  miasma  of  your  lauded  Italian 
climat«,  ^e  fever-laden  mists  of  your  adored  tropical  skies —  - 
do  tbey  waft  agne  from  nndnuned  swamps  as  on  the  Misussippi — 
do  they  bewilder  and  lead  wayfarers  to  destmotion,  as  in 
Alpine  solitudes— do  they  brood  for  months  of  leaden  darkness, 
as  over  northern  forests — are  they,  in  short,  pesdlential  or 
dangerous,  or  constant  ?  Neither  one  nor  the  other.  They  come 
and  go,  leaving  ndther  raving  fever  nor  shakmg  ague  to  mark 
their  progress,  or  anything  in  fact  to  prate  of  their  irhereabouts 


A  PLEA,  FOB  OUR  CLDUTE.  248 

except  a  penny-a-line  aoknowledgident'in  the  neirqiBpere  to 'the 
e^t  that  "The  Metropolia  iraa  yeeterday  Tiait«d  by  a  denae 
fog."  Thank  heaT«ii,  it  does  not  leare  its  cards  in  the  shape  of 
doctors'  bills !  ' 

And  now,  for  the  changes  in  the  temperature  and  the  weather. 
This  is  perhaps  my  weakest  point,  but  it  is  for  from  heing  a 
breach  in  the  wall  of  the  argument ;  our  climate  is  certainly  fickle. 
What  then  ?  If  it  be  foul,  yon  have  the  more  hope  that  it  will 
soon  be  fair ;  and  if  it  be  fair,  yon  have  every  reason  to  hope  that 
it  will  Dot  get  foul.  You  inay  sometimes  be  disappointed.  But 
in  what  are  we  not  J  Life  is  not  had  because  alt  our  hopes  da 
not  always  become  certainties — all  our  eajtectations  are  n(^ 
inrariably  realised.  Can  anytiiiug  be  conceived  more  dismal 
than  the  opening  of  the  rainy  season  in  a  climate  cursed  with  one. 
To  look  up  at  the  sky  as  you  hear  the  first  drops,  and  to  know 
tbat  for  month — and  m(»tth — and  month — there  is  no  hope — can 
be  no  intermission — ^rain — rain — rain,  I  remember  how  I  used 
to  pity  Robinson  Crusoe  when  I  came  to  the  oft-repeated  jihrase, 
"  It  being  now  the  commencement  of  the  rainy  season."  It 
quite  counterbalanced  the  joyous  anticipations  of  the  dry.  For 
my  own  part,  I  should  like  best  to  have'thD  weather  as  it  is, 
mingled  good  and  bad,  sunny  and  showery.  There  is  alwaya 
hope  in  this,  and  novelty,  and  the  prospect  of  continued  change. 
If  runy  days  come  altogether  in  a  lump,  like  misfortunes,  they 
are  bard  to  bear.  But  as  to  our  junlps  from  heat  to  cold,  I  fetu: 
Ve  are  no  worse  than  those  many  other  places  with  a  moch 
better  name.  In  eastern  deserts,  travellers  tell  na  that  the  nights 
are  often  as  cold  as  the  days  are  hot ;  that  they  gasp  through  the 
one,  and  shiver  out  the  ol^er.  There  is  hot  work  in  Uadrid,  yet 
some  sentinels  there  were  lately  found  froaen  in  their  boxes, 
I  never  knew  of  such  a  catastrophe  befalling  the  conquering  beroea 
who  guard  the  avenues  of  the  Horse  Guards.  All  English 
invaUds  rush  to  Pan,  yet  I  have  heard  of  the  ground  there 
being  baked  b^  the  morning's  aun,  while  hoar-frost  ^et  lay  in 
the  shade, 

In  fact,  to  prove  that  our  atmo^erical  rariations  are  not  so 
great,  or  If  they  are,  that  they  are  not  so  injurious  as  people 
4hink,  I  appeal  to  ihe  bills  of  mortality  of  this  and  other 
countries — I  appeal  to  the  well-known  fact,  that  the  value  of  life 
is  greater  in  London  than  in  any  other  great  city  in  the  world  i 
taxi  I  believe  that  the  statistics  of  health  of  Britain,  in  genera]. 


att  M  .nSA  FOB  >0)tK  01BIAI3, 

wID  not  ifanr 'it> l)fblnd  itaoi^taL  Now,  this  k .a -my  ibwg 
aqpmiwit  .AgnM^  &Toi7^tjiui>dk>dowii'bloir't<)all^  d«ala-  ' 
BatjoDB  iBdulged  in  toithe  detriment  d  our  fttnolii^erical  oha- 
ruter.  It  is  a  fact  which  there  is  no  diaputing— talk  as  .  you 
jiiaase  of  ■Jngli«h  olimate — ^yoa  .ltr«  ibe  ItmgMt  in  it.  Talk  as 
foa  pleaae  df  our  fogs  ae  pobaa,  Uiey  are  at  l«afit  wondeHblly 
Afw  ones.  Talk  oe.you^ase  of '<rar<ee8t  winds. as  life-eitermi- 
sati^ ;  aomeAhing  else  must  'hois^^nn  us  WDnderfiil<tatigluteM 
t»  kdd  oat  «agaUantly  againit  tli«m. 

And  Wanot  only  do  hM  out  t^inat  all  thtse  advewe  inflH- 
•ioes,  bat  it  -strikes  im,  ithat  ab  the  whole.'aw^mMii^^  UBd«r 
9ar  dvridnl  finnaiaontito  ibbt  up  as.iespeataUe  a  raceof  qum 
tad  womsn,  in  «ptte  both  of  fagB  aad  wBt  winds,  ae  w«  meet  in 
Mntitriea  tmblotted  b^  the  oaa,  and  .imNOii^ed  by  the  other. 
lUntaUy  'nod  .phTsioally,  ^England  h«s  «t  Imat  hsld  'her  mm 
•giunst  all  «hajlenf|«s.  C^  sea  uid  akice,  in  nwd  and  muMle  ba^ 
tlM,  «ur<«olan>  mk  generally  been  &ymg  whta  wecaue-otf. 
■ImiHNiUe  aimadae  wid  gnuid  anDwa  hare  alike  liad  reaMMi* 
Jionbt-their  inTiaolbilitj  and  their  ^landenr  after  fuU-experienee 
of ^onr  weodea  men  of  war  on  wat«r,  and-our  fle^  and  Uoed  men 
«f  W«r  njKHi  land.  So  far  as  [Aiysical  beauty  and .  symmetry  go 
too,  I  bdiere  we  keep  up  the  ohAnteter  ef  ,the  "  huaian  £noe 
<ltTi)ie,"aBd  tlvshatoan  figure,  v^ueh  loefaa  sometimes  quite  as 
divine  aslh&'faca:  of  ceune  Idonot  ttand  vp  for  monopoly  in 
{muJo  beauty,  or  in  aoythii^  elra.  I. grant  to  3p<in< and  Italy 
Aair  hiBtMuB  «yeB,  and  jetty  iinglets---albeit  the  former  are 
•Hnewhat  too  apt  to  light  up  upon.  owtMn  jealous  coosideralAonB. 
I  gire  to-SroBce  all'the  ooquettidt^M^ilejM  x)f  her  daitgfatera — 
tterely  remarking  in  pasmng  ^t  as  in^theoaae  of  eertaiu  books, 
Aeir  attvactiMiB  tie  in  .^e  muiser  more  than  the  mattei^ 
IinlUqgiy  'nnendar  to  Ame^  all  &a  lovtiinoM,  all  thefewn- 
l&e.-gBaoes  whi^  her  authors  are  so  fond  of:  clawuiig  for  their 
DMUtiTwomen,  Aldrough  'tis  a  pity  that  such  ehsRSB  shMld  be 
m  ^anrient.  No  one  (hniea  that  Qvrmwj.  amd  HoUand-.^an 
muster  a  fair  array  of  plump  white-ekinned  ttowh,  thoughr  alter  aII, 
tfae;p«rava  aooiEnrhab  torpid  nee, — noi  that  thaitilknare  Bortherly 
Bati«n».of  .Burope  hare  not,  by^  aeoaunte.ia''my  comfortaMe 
fetsale  popalation  soattered  amid  their  pine  £treU»,  wid  on  the 
hads»«f  their. iabod^/tancb;  lmt,!8Aer>idJ],-I  t^ik  we  may  very 
&irly;ehaBeageJltaly,  Fiooce,  Amerioa,  Oemaay,  and  Norway, 
.to  bting  together  Btuh  a  dis^y  u  may  be  sometunes  seen  ia 


A.CI.EA   FOa.ODfi  CLUUIX.  317. 

Iioodani  ffhen  the  glo^  of  ^yde  Fuk  Eules  tlie  dar,.«id.ttut  of 
the  Qptaa  tli£  :aigl^.  We  .bare  ^naaettj  of  [Uutue  iirbkii 
need  :aat  jifild  tHe  palm  -to  .tbat  of  Ae  la^ds  of  Uie  oUls-Aad 
^:iQjtll»--^ve  lwTe.a,^w<;i«ur(af  «owpleji«i,  a  clear  raub^- 
traaa^reucj  of  akin,  -which. are  the ^ envy  of  Uie  bloodleaBjMied 
dames  of  .Fcance,  aiid  'the  somewhat  MiUowj-cheeked  lUdies-.of 
^ix  Statao-  I  dcnot  baj  that- there  maj  notihe  a  fioar  ewaiaM- 
tion  of  aotd  and  body  than  we  find  in  the  hi^hied,  -V<A1- 
educated,  &ank  Engluh  girl,  with. eyes  all  liqnid  bhie,ia.TXUce.all 
ailrer  ri^,  and  a  heart  as  naim  >as.it  is  pore.  J  r^a^  iHwie 
nM^'be.afiner  marriage,  of  sfnrit  and  flwh,  buLl'iiowr  SMr.raia. 

And  has  cliiaate  nothing  to  do  mth  the  falociai^  ch«olc«.  IhO- 
well-develt^e^proportionaof  tbe  wotaen  of  Si^laad?  Undoulilodlf. 
Itesercitfla  itaiObieBee  for  good  w  oviL  ■  BjinHtte.  hUdw  .W 
ISegm — clioute  atants  the  E^^uiuaox — the  act^deotB  of^cOmate 
produce,  tbe-^oitee.jof  die  AJpe,  aad  the,pUgae^of  .^^pt-  Jfjom 
duea  tjiui .  rain  down  mch  beauti^iig.jjiJueii£e»-*if.ltmlth:£>Ua 
fromthem  as  t^e  "  gfait^  dew  from  hoayeo."  ab^  jtb  fpiomi 
with.the  firmament  for  being  a  tJkiu^t.tao  cknui; — ^for  nofccon- 
tvtuially  affiicting  na  with  l£at  uuraned  U»e,  whieh  I  .su^ect 
would  aoon  producoao  abondastcr^of  Sfuouymouae: 
to  the  famed"  totyours  perdri»?" 

Having  then,  for  the  present,  di^fosed  of.  our  men  and  m_ 
the  animal  fruits  of  our  i'l'""'fr' — let  us  cone  tOiits  actual  v»w^ 
table  produetiona  ;  cliwate  has  certaJAly.a.gooddLeol  bo.do  with. 
than.  'Letju  .aaetlien  howwe.h«ve  hem  t<«ated  .in  .Uua  re- 
ject. ".Qod,".HaidJ'aUer  in  hia.^oaiat  way,  "aojghtluwe.'nude 
a  better  .fruit  than  the  Btrawbeny— fbut  oertainly.bo  never  did." 
Weqniteiagroe^tht^  olddiriBe,iaud  add^moreoreTirtbat  it.ia  ia 
our  latitndea- only,  that  the  delicious  liUle  aaoisel  can  be.^acl(ed;in 
hJ£heet;perlettion.iiiotD  'Us  b*d.  The:  rasp— -the  stcawterry'a  fiiet 
Qouain,  ie  by  nameang  uawoctl^  of  .the  rel^ionahki.  Thai  oome 
(wrriGhrcb<Mkad.^pl«8,~^Jittle-and:l^--MU*6et  aad grate£B%.ac)d 
— f^Baatfbr  Qati^gainderthe.tree-— latdinaerio  yoor-piwifUvg — 
afiior  dinner  wi^  ynur  wine.  Tbe.af^  is  a.;^t  of. .staling 
exoelleiice>'>«d  withithe  aza^ion„perhi^,  of  .the  wohw^-iof :  N«w 
Jenej, '*fe,o■D~ne,^ntk^1lte.nn^hLiaJLl.j)fdialBtieD.  .iF«ofleet«lk 
«moEMaBiirrnnTwti,jtjKy.M«  tvty.jfoai—ioi  e^fder.  iJitbeJsap 
l)e,tb«>aoiiain.«f  the  it£a;wbM^,,tJ9ef«>r.iB.|;he.hntiier^<^-tbe 
iffU.  Aj)dheaawe,leel'»iKeiaiia-BtMi)g.  . .-Hwer^ were .. JJbwvmch 
JHJey  maaees  of  sweaty  ripcMU,  as  haag  iawoli-aii— d^oliMtoi*- 


24a  A  PUIJk  rtffi  OUB  CUtfATE. 

from  our  sprrading  jugonellflH.  l%e  gooseberry  ia  a  hnmble  glo- 
bnle  of  T^;etab!e  deliciotnnesB,  but  Uke  otber  tbiogs,  hmnUe,  it 
deserrm  to  he  exalted.  We  bare  g«t  into  a  habit  of  comparbg  it 
with  Ijie  grape,  alwaja  to  the  disodrantage  of  onr  own  prodaction. 
And  f  et  I  doubt  much  whether  the  grape  be,  after  all,  the  finest 
friiit.  Of  course,  as  it  is  the  rarer,  and  conseqaently  the  most 
tiipenBiTe,  it  gets  all  the  credit.  People  go  into  extasies  at  the 
romaatio  glory  of  a  vine,  and  almost  into  fits  at  the  vulgar  horror 
of  a  gooeeberrf  hush.  But  so  far  as  beauty  goes,  the  northern 
plant  haa  just  as  much  to  boast  of  as  the  souuieru — while,  as  to 
taste,  although  the  subject  be  one  on  which  there  is  proverbially 
no  disputing,  it  has  always  struck  me  that  our  own  respectable 
berry  has  more  pleasant  palate-tickling  qualities  than  the  clusters 
of  the  sunny  souUi,  Of  course,  its  fermented  life-blood — wine,  is  the 
strone  point  of  the  grape.  The  making  better  champagne  than  the 
gooseberry,  however,  is  no  proof  that  it  affords  better  eating,  and  I 
may  be  allowed  just  to  bint  that  were  as  much  care  bestowed  upon 
thegoosebeny  as  the  grape,  were  it  as  scientifically  cultivated  and 
its  juice  as  skilfully  prepared,  there  is  no  saying  what  the  vinous 
results  might  be.  This  I  know  is  quite  an  heretical  hint,  never- 
theless truth  has  on  one  or  two  occasions  been  costumed  ia  attto- 
da-fi  &shion,  and  sent,  labelled  "  heresy,"  out  of  the  world.  I 
need  not  now  run  over  the  catalogue  of  the  kitchen  garden,  but  I 
put  it  to  anybody,  whether  with  our  strawberries,  rasps,  apples, 
pears,  'gooseberries,  cherries,  and  nuts,  (as  plums  and  peaches 
are  somehow  associated  with  British  cholera,  I  have  less  hesitation 
in  giving  up  to  other  countries  the  palm  in  tiieir  production),  but  I 
repeat,  with  the  productions  I  have  just  named,  may  we  not  afford 
to  give  up  the  generally  coarsely-flavoured  fruit  of  the  tropics — 
their  squashy  melons  and  oily  cocoa-nuts— -the  turpentine-flavoured 
mango— and  harsh  shaddock  of  the  West  Indies — the  dates  and 
olives  (and  the  locusts  which  oat  them)  of  Africa  and  Asia? 
But  after  all,  the  best  fruits  of  low  latitudes  we  have,  either  grown 
in  our  hot-houses  or  imported  by  our  fast-going  steamers.  Fine- 
apples  ore  as  common  as  turnips  now-a-days.  Even  before  the  late 
inundation  which  has  poured  upon  us  across  the  Atlantic,  a  diatin- 
gwshed  authority  said  there  was  a  better  chance  of  getting  a  pine- 
apple any  day  of  the  year  in  Cerent  Garden  than  in  Calcutta.  No 
doubt  they  do  not  grow  wild  in  our  hedges  ;  our  climate  has  cer- 
tainly baired  that ;  hut  has  it  barred  the  development  of  those  enter* 
prising  qualities  in  ourselves,  which  have  rendered  the  purchase  of 


A  riBA.  FOK  OOB  CUHAIE.  24ft 

tiie  fruit  in  an  EngBih  nurket  more  certun  thui  in  the  marts  of  the 
land  vhere  it  is  grown,  thooMnds  of  miles  away  ?  And  then,  us  to 
our  treeB  and  oar  flowen,  with  the  oak  and  the  birch,  the  beech 
and  the  pine,  we  need  not  sing  so  very  small  before  tlie  t«ak  or 
the  palm,  tiie  cork  tree,  and  the  cedar.  Our  flowers  hare  not 
petiiAps  the  vanegated  brilliancy  of  those  of  tropic  lands,  but  the 
latter  are  scenllesa.  As  the  birds  of  southern  lands,  with  all  their 
gaiety  of  ploniage,  and  glancing  hues,  are  still  mute, — noiseless — 
beautiful  only  to  the  eye,  so  the  flowen  round  which  they  flit 
have  none  of  the  etoqnence,  the  true  langoage  of  flowers,  which 
rises  up  in  grateful  exhaladons  from  the  wall-flower  or  the  nwe ; 
the;  have  no  "  sweetness  to  waste  upon  the  desert  ur." 

It  will  be  reanembered  moreover  that,  while  our  land  grows  so 

Cfiisely  the  vegetable  luxuries  of  the  table,  we  are  not  behind- 
id  with  the  more  substantial  productions  of  the  fields.  We  have 
wheat  as  good  as  that  of  the  Baltic,  while  we  hare  fruit  much 
better.  We  can  give  the  world  both  saccharine  and  mealy  vege- 
tables, Annish  dinner  and  desert  with  the  same  excellence  and  in 
almost  equal  profusion. 

There  is  yet  another  test  by  which  we  may  try  our  climate. 
The  country  which  produces  the  smallest  number  of  Hving  animals 
no^ciouB  to  man  must,  cteterit  parihui,  be  the  one  most  agreeable 
to  live  in,  and  as  the  chmate  has  a  direct  efiect  in  the  production 
of  these  animals,  the  climate  which  sins  least  in  this  respect  must 
'  so  for  be  tlie  best.  Now  how  are  we  off  in  this  respect  ?  We  seem 
just  in  the  bappy  medium,  where  nrather  heat  nor  cold  exercise 
their  worst  powers.  Go  North,  and  amid  dreaiy  pine-fwests  and 
thick-falling  mows — the  wolf  begins  to  appear ;  not  much  further 
on,  you  come  into  the  land  of  the  bear,  brown  and  white — ^lanky- 
haired  and  shaggy — growling  now  in  woody  defiles,  now  on  floating 
icebergs,  the  ugliest  customer  of  an  ugly  clunate.  But  if  yon  wi^ 
to  shun  the  cold,  turn  southwards  ;  the  first  intimation,  so  far  as 
animal  life  goes,  you  receive  of  the  increasing  solar  power,  is  the 
appearance  of  those  swarms  of  flying  and  creeping  abominations 
wmch  our  maligned  climate  permits  not  the  presence  of.  Gnats, 
mosquitoes,  locusta,  in  the  air  ;  centipedes  and  tarantdlas  (m  the 
earth,  somewhat  detract  from  the  glory  of  olive  groves  and  the 
romance  of  the  cypress  and  myrtle.  Pursue  your  way  still  fiirther, 
cross  the  boundaries  of  Asia  and  Africa,  and  the  increasing  bright- 
ness of  the  sun  increases  the  unpleasantness  and  dtuigers  of  the 
earth;  the  serpentccnledin therotten stump, the ■oerpionvt 


310  A  EI.EA  S<m  .ova   CbUUTE. 

in  Ms  daik  hiding-plane, -beuts  of  prey  lurbiqciii  every  jtmgle, 
t^e  harmless  bat  exaggented  into  the  blood-sucking  Tampire. 
oreeodilaB  in  the  riiere,  eharks  in  the  seas, — behold  some  of  the 
pleoaant  inhabitants  of  brighter  skies  anil  leas  changeable  atmo- 
spberes  than  our  own.  Talk  as  jou  like  of  the.lomiiant  vegeta- 
tion of  the  tro[scs,  expatiate  on  the  palm  or  the  bread-&uit,  on 
thepatriorcbal  treeac^  primavalfoneita ;  but  rem^nberthe  com- 
pany they  harbour,;  rememher  the  things  crawling  and  ueeping, 
crouching  andhauiuliag,  with  wUch  .they  swamt, .  and  baluue  aur 
lack  of  pomegnuistee  and  auiooda  pears,  by' our.  exemption  from 
the  spring  of  the  tagtr  and.  the.ewl  of  the  baa. 

Iverilytliink  that  a  glance  at  the  array  of  insMt  and  reptile 
abominations  which  eatomologists  are  so  fond  of  ctic^iBg  pins 
throng  and  artangiag  in. a  species  of  msnater  meeting  in 
cahinetft  of.natoral  histoiy,. is 'quite  £[nough  to  make  .any  sane  roan 
coDgratakte  himself  w^  a.p^^t.flu^  of  inw&rd  dehght,  that 
his  lot  is .  east  in  a  load  vhere  the  nost.  formidable  .inseet  plagues 
consist  of  an  ocoasional'wmp  in  the  annuner  air,  uid  an  occa- 
sional black  beetle  crawling  over  the  winteta  ■  hearth— rjiot  that  I 
have  wiy  affection  for  either  cace— on  the  contracy,  I  icordially 
wish  that  a  war  of  eztemuBation  could. Aomehow  be  .got  up  be- 
tween the  fat  gentlenuLn  in  black  and  the.thingentlemanin  yellow. 
Bat  after  all,  what  are  they,  to  those  horrible  beings  with  no  end  of 
legs— with  eyes  whene  nobody  weald  look-Eor  eyes— ntad,  as  Sid- 
ney Smith  -«aid,  with  heads  whwe,  with  all  sabmisaion,  thair  tails 
ought  to  be  J  What  are.4ur  poor  hopping  fleas,  .isdu^noos  or 
idle — our  harmless  "  crickets  on  the  hearth  "— rour  buxiiqg  bbia- 
bottles,  to  the  entomological .  ahorU«as  one  sees  in  .the  Sritid 
MuBaam — ^uders,  like  crabs  rubbed  ov«i'  with  burs'  grease  and 
turned  hoicy — scoipians  .with  their  homy  eyes.and  rfavsr-^visg 
stings,  the  ody  saJieCacttiry, trait  in  .their  ohaEooter,  by  the  way, 
being  their  r^pocted  .^titade  to  stiag  UiemaelwsB  -oat  of  the 
world — oeatjpedea,  thioe  ohsoure  ilhiags,  thoae  oust  aeherontic 
individnals,  from  a  swann  of  which  I  am  .«ure  I  would  run 
foaterthan  fram.apoFkof  artillery.? 

'Con»derCaranxunent  the  jeUlnessof  a  Ufe  in  .these  clinutes, 
where  when  you^e  yau^may  find  a  eoerman«aeoQiiood.in  the  toe 
of  «aeh  hoot,  a. legion  of  white  ants  in  the  act  ofdevouriog 
yic«r  Sunday  nlotheo,  iaosc|uitoeG  innnmerahle,  who  nvrer  leave 
off  devouriugyoaFself—^animals,  to  ^ote  Sidney  .Smith  ^tgim, 
Vith  their  mouUis  in  their  belhes,  wallcing  with  a  Juuiired  fec^ 

C  0(1*5  Ic 


jl.  flea  fob  QCR  GLIUATE.  2fil 

over  the  breakfast  bread  and  bntter — where,  vhea  70a  go  out  to 
vreik,  jour  vife'  may  get  a  real  boa  round  her  neck — where 
TOjal  tigers  look  in  upon  pic-nic  parties — wbwe  jour  cachinnations 
at  jour  own  joke  may  be  eohoed  hj  iham  «f  the  laughing  bjena — 
where,  literally,  and  actuaDj,  yoa  cannot  keep  the  wolf  from  the 
door,  and  where  £nallj,  ^e  metaphorical  lion  of  a  party  may 
suddenly  disappear  down  tlw^&raatof  a  hand  Jfife  ^animal  of 
the  name  so  unthinkiog^aanmwd.    Teiily 

"Engbi^,  wIHi-iU'^4Mata  T  hyre-Ow  tUB^ 

1^0 lions,  no  boas,  aaTtig«m,-vo«e«puiiis,  no wtdwwnhwt— purely 
a  couple  of  dozen  extra  nui^  dnys'in  tiie  jear,  and  "a  akj  of  not 
quite  so  indigo  a  hue,  may  be  extrused '  in  couMdemUva  of  their 
nejtber  watering  nor  warming  mehgentij. 

I  hare  thus  run  through  a  iew  of  the  consiHeiations  which, 
as  I  tiiink,  ought  to  induee  us  to  Toegnaider  .the  terdiet  so  ge- 
ner^j,  jet  on  so  light.gBann<k  reaoDdcd  xgunst.Bor.eUKiate.  Bj 
our  abilitj  to  remain  ovt  of  4oore  -mthout  mk  ui  .looonTenicnce 
more  hours  per  day  and'  more  daje  pCT  year  in  Englesd  than  in 
almost  anj  other  eoimtty — ^)y  onr  exeioptnm  from  whirlwinds, 
tornadoes,  earthquakes,  siioccoes,  aimooma — by  oareacafte  from 
eeaaons  of  ceaseless  rain,  ceaseless. heat,  ceasdeas  cold— ^bj  our 
longer  and  more  healtby  lino — by- the' heroes aadhennnas  whom 
our  skies  have  hent.ore^ — bj  the  lmmless.gkrieB  of  oar  majestic 
woods,  the  rich  greenery  of  «ar'&jds — by  the  -ftnitsrwe  «at,  the 
flowers  we  smell,  the  birds  w«  hear,  the  beaslH  we  hare  and  the 
beasts  we  have  not,  the  inofiensiye  rep^es  we  -pmsess,  ^and  the 
offensive  reptiles  we  do  not^by  all  these  conaiderations,  on  all 
these  grounda,  I  call  upra  the  reaider,  oTcn  though  an  reasterly 
draught  be  chiljii^  him,' of  a.  London  fog  he  blindi^  ban,  or  a 
sudden  rattling  shower  he  deetzoyir^  .bis  hiq»es  of  a  feasant 
walk  before  dinner,  to  besr'those' tittle- inflietionfi  in' good' humour, 
to  look  upon  them  fflily  in  the  tight  of  nligbt  dra^HMehe  to  the 
general  ezcelleoce,  the  general  healthfulnesa  of  the  climate  of 
Great  Bribun. 

A.B.3. 


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WINTER    SCENE. 

'Tis  sQch  a  nigU  when  herdsmen  first  begin 

To  house  and  fodder  vp  their  cattle  ;  when  white  frost 

Hangs  thick  nptm  the  brookeide-hedge,  and  meads, 

Close  cropp'd,  rustle  beneath  the  tread,  and  to  the  (pttes 

"nia  kine,  with  argent  froat  come  silvet'd  o'er, 

Pnffing  their  cloudy  breath  i'  the  moon's  face. 

With  wicker  maund  the  merry  maiden  trips, 

To  gather  linen  from  the  orchard  pale : — 

Anon  she  spreads  it  steaming  at  the  hearth ; — 

Anon  heg^  logs  upon  the  btaziDg  pile  ; 

Her  pretty  rounded  arm  shows  dappled  o'er, 

And  on  her  modest  cheek  the  frohc  kiss 

Of  snowy-headed  Winter  sits  in  blnshes. 

All  night  Old  Frost  works  wond'roos  alchemy. 


And  every  noteless  bush  and  mossy  stone 

Of  wTongbt,  enchased  idlTer,  shows  at  morn ; 

Ronnd  glittering  sloes,  that  peep'd  through  leafy  shades, 

Like  elnn-eyes  in  the  dusk  twlTisht  houi, 

A  misty  bloom,  as  on  Damascoa  blade, 

At  dawn  enwraps.    The  brook  its  wonted  song 

Sines  in  another  key  ;  the  lichly-jewell'd  fern, 

And  pendant  branches  hung  wiui  crystal  bells, 

Their  icy  cymbals  clash  in  harmony, 

A  low,  clear,  ringing  music  often  heard, 

In  quiet  places  on  so  sweet  a  night. 

From  penloua  rocks  the  venerable  goat, 

With  hoary-hermit  beard  looks  sagely  down, 

And  laminates  on  change. — The  mountain  tops 

Hyema  usurps— ^already  there  encamp'd 

WiQi  beamy  lance,  and  mail  crystalGne-proof, 

He  opes  the  drear  campugn— «!  vict'iy  sare,* 

J.  ScHOLES. 
'  •  In  "A  Sermon  on  Winter,"  a  hope-breatMng,  touching  disooniBe,  by 
Qie  Bev.  Robert  MacleUan,  oC  Biidport,  the  nciaaitudea.  of  the  season 
are  eloquently  set  forth.  "  A  good  preacher,"  he  Hays,  "  is  white-headed 
Winter  :  he  not  only,  aa  regards  the  Spring,  goes  Forth  '  to  prepare  the  way 
of  the  Lord  ; '  but  clad  in  fau  snowy  eurplice,  wiUiout  controyersy,  this  doc- 
trine he  ever  crieth  in  the  wilderness,  '  Distnut  not  the  providence  of  the 
Moat  High  God,  even  when  all  in  the  natural  or  moral  world  ia  most  dark 
and  Eold,  and  sombre,  for  out  of  such  things  He  ever  bringetb  light,  and 
beat,  and  gladness.' " 


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THE  PEESS  AND  THE  PEOPLE. 

The  pn^;rMS  of  literature,  and  the  improvement  of  the  people, 
have  nm  like  parallel  etreama  ;  when  the  current  of  the  one  has 
been  impeded,  the  course  of  the  other  has  flagged.  The  people 
maj  regard  the  presa  as  having  giveathem  a  eecond  birth  :  it  has 
infuaed  Boul  Into  their  civil  life.  The  first  newspaper,  looking  hack 
upon  it  as  I  do  now,  aa  &e  first  seed  of  the  g^ant  tree  which  is 
spreading  its  wide  arms  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  Uie  land, — 
the  appearance  of  t/iat  newspaper  is  an  epoch  in,  history.  It 
belongs,  I  need  scarcely  say,  to  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  that  star- 
ch&niber  dame,  who  little  thought  what  woric  such  prints  would 
one  day  make  among  tbe  descendants  of  her  loyal  lieges.  At  the 
eventM  period  of  the  Spanish  Armada,  when  the  transmission  and 
difFiision  of  intelligence  regarding  the  Important  movements  of  the 
time  was  matter  (J  great  interest,  "  The  Englidi  Mercnrie  "  was 
issued.  Many  of  these  papers,  bearing  the  date  of  158S,  and 
printed  while  the  Spanish  fleet  was  in  the  channel,  may  be  seen  at 
the  British  Ifuseum.  The  CommonweaUh,  was  prolific  of  periodi- 
cals, but  they  were  devoted  to  mere  party  purposes,  and  were  full 
of  tiie  scinrility  and  malignity  of  minds  antagonised  at  all  pomts 
on  matters  of  politics  and  religion.  The  same  remark  may  apply 
to  the  first  daily  paper  after  the  Revolution, "  The  Orange  Intelli- 
gencer." The  dark  background  of  that  period  may  serre  to 
throw  out  in  high  relief  the  freedom  of  the  present  day.  At  that 
time,  none  of  tho  proceedings  of  parliament  were  pennitted  pub- 
licity except  upon  authority.  The  progress  of  journalizing  was 
not,  however,  rapid ;  for  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  London  had 
bnt  one  diuly  paper — ^if  such  was  the  feast  in  the  metropdis,  what 
must  have  be^  the  famine  in  the  provinces  I  How  dormant  lay 
the  popular  cner^es— crude  diamonds,  encmsted  and  embedded 
in  the  unopened,  unsuspected  mine  !  How  barren  the  soil  over 
which  the  plough  had  never  passed  to,  turn  its  virgin  bosom  to  the 
fertilizing  sunsbine — ^how  worse  ^than  barren  was  it,  yielding  rank 
crops  of  weeds — ^prejudices,  superstitions,  bmtalisma, — the  sad 
remains  of  which  are  fast  flying  before  tho  steam-press  and  the 


EteatD-en^ae.  The  days  of  Steele  and  Addison  stirred  the  waters 
with  the  magician's  wand  ;  but  though  it  thus  spread,  circle  after 
circle,  it  was  far  from  reachJog  those  claasea  wMch  are  now  daily 
giving  evidence  of  high  intellect,  notwithstanding  all  that  weary 
toil  and  various  injuries  from  fil-dirided  wtedtli  ii&ats  upon  them. 
By  1724,  London  had  three  daH^jopers,  besides  several  that  were 
published  weekly.  Gradually  the  power  of  the  press  advanced,  and 
I73ri>rongbt' in  the  "Gentleman  s  Uagazine,  '  thatparent  of  tui, 
endless  progeny  of  periodicals,  which  havesinee  fbnnd'ooneumers 
and  con'bibutors  frmn  dasses  which  at  t}te  -  time  in  question'  ranst 
have:  been  tie  very  pariahs  of  knowledge  ;  for  Johnson  says, 
speriuhgoTthat-peiibdi  "that  men  not  professing  learning  wwo 
not' ashamed' of  ignoimce,  and  in  t^  female  world,  any  acquaint- 
ance with  BocKks  was  distinguiiilted  only  to  be  censured." 

The  mass  of  tiie  people  were  not  only  ignonmt,  but  they  had 
nof  the  least  idea  that  they  might  be,  that  they  oughtto  bei  other- 
wise—tlie  divine  light  lay  nnhindled  in  unconsctbus  breasts  ;  tmd 
"if  ^  lig^twidiin  tJiee  be  darkness,  how  great  isl^at  darkness." 
Aftfiat  tinm,  too,  and  long  after,  the  privileged' classes  were  full 
of  alarms  st  the  mere  idea  of  educating  the  poor.  Plato's  repub- 
lic-and' SBire'fr  TTtf^ia  were  not  hdd  to  ha  half' so  fallhcions. 
Books;  pictures,  statues,  whicU  a  Rstering  patrwagB  might  have 
called  from  national  geniiis,  like  coins  ftom  the  mint,  were  pro- 
Mtnte^i  aa  calculated  to  mislead  the  multitude,  withdisw  t£em 
from  their  preecrihed' provinaa,  and  was,  in  efibcti  deemed' to  be 
" casting pwrffeBefbre  the  swine." 

ESiall  wenot  rej  dee  that  these  days  are  pasf?'  Staill  we  not 
loolchai^  more  in  pity  than  in  resentment  on  that  shOTtsigfcted 
selSshnSBs,  tfiat  conld  thus  attempt  to  say  to  ^e-  tide  of  hwnni 
prom^ssionr  "  Thus^  far  Aaii  thou  go,  and  no  fartiieF^" — which 
corSi  attempt  to  set  im  barriers  aguhst  that  approaching  tide 
which  have  proved'  as  feeUe  aa  the  premises  on  which:  they  wore 
hoilt  wcire  fabe  ?  liia  nowfaiUyarace  between  tbeclasses;  and 
I  fahoydiat  the  energetic  song  (rf' the  people,  audi  as  can  write 
"  The  Sincide'a  Purgatory,"  and'  "The  Baron's  Tiilo,"  with  the 
few  hours'  that  they  wring  from  toil;  or  snatdj  from  rest,  irill  out- 
run the  coUeg«-tai^t  and  caati^^eTteredBons  of  fortune.  When 
we  talt  of  the  friends  of  fee  peoplej  Ifeb  us  remember  Joseph 
Lancaster,  the  Festaloszi  of  En^and,  ^e  mnch-tried  and  untiring 
friend'  of  the  education  of  the  pmple.  I  shall  peiiiaps  revort  to 
him  some  fhtui'o  time  ;  I  will  now-  onl^  prase  to  recall  a  ciroum- 


A-  FEW  GOOD   AOTOK*  WAKTED.  £M 

Bttmce  equally' lioiNtir^ble  to  him  and  the  daes  to  whose  eerriee  he 
devot«d  himself.  Like  all  who  engage  in  great  achemes  of  improve- 
meat,  he  became  embarraseed' ;  but  on  examination  into  the  cir- 
Cumstaneesi  it  mis  found  that  hisembairasBment  had  arisen  from 
no  s^fish^or  impn^ier  e^wnditnre  of  fonda  ;  that,  in  fact,  himtelf 
and  familj  TCryrarely  tasted  aoiinal  food,  but  BubEiBted  prinoipallj 
upon  bread  and  milk.  Among '  the  d^te  ^ere  was  a  very  oon^- 
derable  one  to  a  bakers  (HonoartD  his  name  !  I  nnuld'I  were  able 
to  proclaim  it.)  When  some-one  expreBsed  surprise  tiiat  he  should 
havegiren  mch  Itu^  credit,  he  answered,  "Thegoed  Mr,  Lan- 
caster had  done  to  the  poor  of  his  neigfcbeurhood  i*  soch,  that,  as 
long  as  I  ham  a  loaf,  he  eh^  bare  half  of  it."  I  will  not  add 
ano&er  word.  I'  have  presented  a  point  of  view- which  «b11s  for 
mlent'  CTmtemplMion . 

Mbs.  LBUAJf>  Gillies. 


A  FEW  GOOD  AGTOEa  WANTED. 

W^KE 'wM^it  tiiAt  r  saw  the  flaj  xiiStMUl  so  finely  acted? 

The^jd^r^  of  Bmnht  find;  acted  ! 

TeB.r  '  ■       - 

Iroponitjle-!  toro  or  three  parts  perhaps. 

The  play.. 

TeUu»aU<aboin}it^ 

The-IJieslmr  was  not  a  large  one,  and  as  far  fronr  being  small. 
"Son  cooM .  hear  eveiy  word  that  was  rooken  in  it  easily,  but  a 
terrible  excdamatiioa,  or  a  clear,  bold,,  wdl-rounded  climax  of  voice 
did' not  s^ipear.  noisy  or  exaggerated. 
.    There  muidihavs  been  judgment  in  building  that  dteatre. 

Yes.  As  it  is  a  buildmg  in  which  the  finest  poetry  is  ^oken, 
the  architect  had  felt  it  advisable  to  make  himself  master  of  the 
scieiicd  of'aeoiisticsi.  Moreordr^  he  had  not  thought  so  entirely 
of  paddng  a  certain  tnupber  of  paying  bodies  in  a  given  spacei 
but  that  he  had  detertnined  that  evet^  living  creature  in  the  house 
should  see,. hear,  and  be  at  ease,  three  matters  mainly  conducive 
to  silence.  Whereveit  this  could  not  he  done,  the  space  was  fairly 
blocked  out,  so  that  no  restless  adventurer,  olinging  round  a  column. 


SM  A  FEW   GOOD   ACT0B8  VAUTED. 

could  be  tempted  to  disturb  the  ten  others  widun  the  reach  of  his 
own  discomfort. 

Ay,  they  maruige  that  in  France. 

Fretty  well  where  you  pay  well,  but  moBt  insolently  amies  where 
you  do  not.'  For  a  nation  tiiat  talks  of  equality,  its  places  of 
public  amusement  are  most  aristocratically  disponed.  The  two 
upper  circles  of  many  of  their  theatres  hare  t^e  principal  chandelier 
in  a  direct  lino  between  them  and  the  etagft 

Well, — But  to  this  particular  theatre. 

The  prosceniom  appeared  to  he  unusually  narrow,  the  opening  o£ 
the  stage  itself  much  smaller  than  ordinary,  and  rather  low.  But 
the  whole  theatre  was  low  in  Its  proportions,  which  prevented  any 
of  the  Bfectatora  &om  obtaining  a  foreshortened  riew  of  the  actor, 
such  as  you  may  have  seen  when  the  object  presented  to  you  i»  the 
<-rown  of  his  hat  with  the  floor  of  the  stage  for  a  background. 
The  architect  had  recollected  that  he  was  building  a  theatre,  not 
a  tower,  or  a  Nelson's  pillar. 

Why  to  be  sure,  we  baTe  curious  pdnts  of  dght  in  most  of  the 
theatres. 

And  every  part  of  thi^  tmening  was  visible  from  every  port  of  the 
house.  The  fundamental  principle  appeared  to  be  to  take  the 
human  figure  aa  the  standard  for  the  picture  presented,  and 
the  natural  human  voice  as  the  measure  for  the  space  to  he  filled 
by  it.  So  the  canvas,  as  I  may  call  the  opening  of  the  stage,  was 
wniewhat  above  the  proportion  of  a  large  historical  picture,  the 
figures  painted  in  it.  I  do  not  mean  the  historical  landscape  ; 
that  bears  a  somewhat  similar  proportion  to  the  usual  stages,  but 
the  larger  works  of  Michael  Angelo,  Eafiaelle,  Paul  Veronese,  and 
Correggio.  I  imagine  that  something  beyond  this  proportion  was 
adopted  for  the  sake  of  motion  and  change  of  disposition  ;  but  as 
a  play  is,  or  should  be,  tLe  representation  of  human  actions,  and 
the  capacity  of  the  human  face,  figure,  or  lungs  cannot  be  enlarged, 
unless  to  ho  made  ludicrous,  it  is  clear  that  all  dimensions  ought 
to  he  calculated  upon  them. 

But  the  scenery — 

That  is  to  anticipate,  perhaps ;  bnt  no  matter.  The  object  of  the 
painters  was  evidently  not  to  realise,  hut  te  suggest.  I  never  in 
my  life  saw  a  stage  into  which  you  could  cram  a  cathedral  or  a 
fortress  ;  there  the  human  figure  again  interposes  a  measure  fatal 
to  the  attempt,  and  the  spectator  is  only  amused  hy  the  ingenuity 
or  the  clumsinees  of  contrivances.     But  hy  giving  a  part  in  ita  true 


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A  FEW  aOOD  ACTORS  WANTED^  267 

proportions,  you  belp  the  imagination  to  the  whole.  FenpectiTe 
And  arruigement  will  always  accomplish  this,  provided  yoD  cim 
only  dispense  with  those  unsightly  rags  which  dangle  from  the  top 
of  ^e  stage,  and  those  clumsy  machines  which  border  the  sides. 
Placing  all  the  audience  well  in  front  of- the  picture,  by  meana  of 
ihe  cMuparative  smaUness  of  the  opening,  a  scene  apparently 
illimitable  is  obtained,  aimply  because  no  one  sees  the  end  of  it ; 
which  is  surely  a  quality  for  sufficient  space,  inasmuch  as  it  repre^ 
■ents  infinity  if  you  choose.  Thus  by  attempting  less,  more  is 
done.  The  eye  takes  in  as  much  as  it  wotdd  of  any  subject, 
however  gigantic,  through  such  an  aperture,  as  you  might  see 
Westminster  Abbey  from  one  of  Hie  chapels,  where  the  arch  of 
the  chapel  itself  would  be  all  the  disc  presented  to  theeye  ;  but 
the  whole  idea  of  the  building  would  be  conveyed  as  perfectly  as 
if  you  stood  at  the  end  of  the  nare.  The  stage  is  never  so  absurd 
as  when  it  attempts  to  realise  all.  It  is  subject  in  that  to  the 
universal  rule  of  art.  I  loiter  on  the  threshold,  and  yet  I  must 
say  a  few  words  more  before  I  come  to  the  actors.  The  curtain 
drew  np,  and,  aa  the  very  sentiment  of  the  first  scene  in  BHaUet 
is  the  feeling  of  dead  midbight,  the  stage  wan  much  darkened,  and 
the  audience  part  more. 

Would  the  audience  bear —  ? 

Oh  !  the  audience  was  come  to  the  play,  not  for  the  playhouse  ; 
that  was  elegant  but  simple  in  its  decoratloos,  even  to  severity  ; 
marble  and  brasswork  were  used  for  the  fitUngs,  so  that  it  looked 
even  grand  in  the  gloom.  Spectators  bear  the  darkness  at  the 
Diorama,  why  not  in  the  theatre  ?  Indeed  the  object  should  be 
to  spare  the  audience  nausea  and  headache,  by  keeping  any  over- 
portion  of  light  from  oppressing  the  eyes,  and  making  the  objects 
presented,  easily  and  clearly  visible.  Therefore,  as  I  siud,  the 
stage  was  much  darkened,  and  the  audience  part  more  ;  so  that 
the  eye,  surrounded  by  the  greater  darkness,  could  discern  very 
well  the  features  of  the  actors,  and  the  work  of  the  scene,  yet  with 
a  full  notion  of  the  midnight  gloom  in  which  it  should  be  acted.  I 
imiBt  pause  yet  to  tell  you  how  the  theatre  was  lit.  The  smatlness 
Btm  of  the  picture,  as  I  shall  coll  the  stage  part  of  the  house,  per- 
mitted even  the  low  roof  to  bend  ConHiderahly  downwards  towards 
fbrming  a  false  ceiling  ;  above  this,  and  open  to  the  stage,  the 
priiicipal  lights  were  placed,  so  as  to  throw  by  much  the  greater 
part  of  the  illumination  from  above.  No  doubt  youhave  often 
seen  the  candlelight  paintings  of  Schalken.     If  you  look  carefully 

so.  XT. — TOL.  m.  a  i  -         I 


2S8  A  jraw  eoofi  acioks  wAimik 

•t  IJmbi  jtn  will  iT(Htd«r  to  bm  wluitT^^pKUy  facM  heliMidlw 
ptinted.  At  first  aiglit  tJiey  do  not  Appear  so,  for  the  light  hea»g 
generally  thrown  upon  the  featurea  from  a  etudle  below  &am,  a^ 
tiie  nobleaeaa  andmucfa  of  th«  beaaty  t^  the  lines  diaoppeoc.  You 
faftTO  not  a  Scbalken  or  a  print  fr<Mn  him  at  hand,  pvhi^  ;  then 
Btaod  before  die  j^aas  and  look  at  janrsolf  with  a  caadle  h^ 
below  yo«r  &ce,  w,  what  is  mooh  better,  get  swae  very  pretty 
WOnvHi  to  do  as  mudi,  then  place  the  caodle  at  a  modwEube  an^ 
above,  aod  see  whether  Nature,  that  gave  iu  li^t  front  the  sky 
iDstead  of  tke  earth,  did  not  threw  below  what  is  becoming  to  tlM 
features ;  she  formed,  then,  the  usual  etage  laa^lli^ter8.  The 
&ct  <nc«  ascertained  io  this  way,  weitld  be  enoi^  to  drire  ^  tite 
lumdaome  actrestes  of  our  nsual  tbeatres  ioto  open  rebellion. 
Alas  for  thera !  kind  deuUj,  treUy  alas  i  for  the  defrauded 
public  1 !  how  many  dsJight^y-e^SaBim.  tkovgb  ddicat«- 
featured  facai  are  made  utterly  blank  by  the  waid  «f  aatairal 
riiadow,  oc  ue  soandaloBsly  distorted  by  falae  oMs.  How  oftes, 
when  oae  meets  with  a  baauti^  actreu  in  society,  one  is  amaaed 
that*ahe  appears  eo  much  more  heautiful,  beauta£ul  i&  feature  and 
outline,  off  tfae  eta^  than  up(Mi  it.  Yet  ao  it  ia,  and  dun  is  the 
public  robbed  of  its  legitimate  delight,  and  the  actt«aaea  aw  robb^ 
of  the  delight  of  being  delightful ;  ao  that  twdiitect,  pn^^cAora, 
lessee,  and  lamplightera,  ought  to  be  fovod  goUty  by  a  coroner's 
jury  if  beanty-^e,  and  the  theatre  sfaoold  be  sold  as  a  deodaod. 

1 1^  the  public  that  Miss well,  never  muid  t^e  name,  and 

Ifrs. but  no  matter  who,  wofdd  drive  them  mad  if  they  eonid 

only  aae  th^  faces  as  t^ey  ou^t  to  be  aaen. 

And  even  the  men,  ior  the  purposes  of  their  art,  have,  or  ouj^t 
to  have,  boes  worth,  looking  at.  EdmimdKeanwidJalmKemble, 
at  all  oveata,  to  say  nothing  of  less  favoured  actors,  made  some- 
thing of  theirs  ;  aad  the  very  draperies,  the  stage  dresaas,  often 
apeeimena  of  voty  picturesque  costume,  lose  half  their  richneae 
«nd  Iheir  effect  from  the  want  «f  shadow.  If  you  doubt  this,  g^ 
permiBBioa  to  visit  the  green-room  of  a  principal  thsatre,  where 
the  light,  though  enffieiant,  ia  differently  dispersed,  and  cimrinfle 
yourad£. 

I  take  all  for  granted — go  on. 

The  soldier  pacing  impatiently  on  Us  guard,  and«tin-:og  to  ke^ 
himself  warm  in  tfae  bitter  night,  gluiciag  from  time  to  time  fbr 
his  relief,  c^^s  the  play.  This  was  done  ae  it  should  be,  that  ia, 
with  sense  and  oare ;    uid  then  came  the  ether  soldien  with 

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A  FRW  aOOD   AiQTOBS  WANTED.  Sfi9 

Honlio,  «od  here  hegua  a  diSerenite  from  ike  usual  style  of  pr«- 
Ee&ti^  a  i^iaraetM'.  Horatio,  as  I  aaw  Um,  was  a  gowoed  adiolar. 
ail  »dept  br»t^t  t»  tlie  place  by  the  unlearaed  BoHiefs,  to  question, 
eKamiue,  &nd  laj  the  g^st  Ihej  ezpeeted.  All  were  ehoraeters  : 
he  staid,  grave,  and  geatie,  they  b^  and  martial,  but  oonsiderate 
uid  respectful  to  their  lettered  Tisitor.  Sordj  this  is  a  part  of 
the  very  story  of  tlw  play,  and  the  tiaaeUed,  courtier-like  non- 
descript, whiuh  Hwatio  is  genendly  made,  is  a  most  tasteless  and 
ignoraot  perversion,  prqvdictal  to  the  very  wtderetaading  of  t^e 
^t,  and  infinitely  m  t«  the  diara«t<er  at  Hamtet,  upon  wbich  th^ 
<tf  Horatio  BO  eeeealially  bea». 

The  E^pearanoe  and  beu-uig  of  the  uao  we  Aong^tful  and 
sedate.  EvtM  bis  fear  <»  tbe  first  bebriding  of  ^te  ghost  was 
silent  asd  seJf-poaBessed.  He  "  trenUed  and  looked  pale,"  a* 
if  he  had  found  a  wonder  beyond  the  wonders  tst  his  usn^  eon- 
templatioB  ;  but  bis  terror  was  ooutrasted  with  that  «f  &e  soldiers ; 
*  it  was  concentrated  in  bimself,  and  domiaatod  by  his  reflection  ; 
theirs  was  rongh  and  open,  and  they  appealed  to  him  as  £»  the 
faelp  be  had  promised  them.  So  in  his  whde  conduct  there  were 
the  independenoe  and  self-posaessiou  of  the  ^iloai^ber.  He  was 
respectful  to  the  Prince,  yet  as  a  friend,  and  Mi  thrwighout  the 
^ay  tha  office  of  the  htstotian  and  e<HBmeBtator,  which  be  after- 
wards openly  a«eumes,  in  peaking  his  friend's  story  upon  the 
"raised  stage"  to  &e  people.  Then  the  Crhost;  Shakespeare  was 
wise  to  act  this  pant  himself :  it  is  the  most  difficult  in  tbe  whole 
drama.  The  ghostof  Hamlet's  father  is  a  paaatonate  sprit;  full  of 
grief,  revenge,  remtwse,  and  pity  ;  a  safiering  ^id  wnliug  thing, 
that  from  the  very  first  cooieB  to  seek  for  a  hnman  listene*',  flt  to 
receive  (he  story  of  his  sorrows,  and  to  avei^  iJtem.  He  is  a 
human  soul  widiont  a  body  to  act  its  desires.  The  "  martial 
«talk  "  with  which  he  goes  by  the  watch,  eur  acton  have  tra- 
ditionally adhered  to  ;  but  here  I  beheld  frum  the  first  the  painful 
efibrt  at  disdatn,-  t^e  craring  for  ■ml  adjniation  fit  to  unlock  tbe 
TCHce  of  death.  With  "  a  eountenanoe  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger,"  be  "fixed  his  eyes  on  them,  most  «onstaaitly."  Once 
"  he  addreesed  himself  to  motion  like  ae  be  would  speak,"  and 
vas  conpelled  to  depsrt  Toiceleas  and  tKroi^stridcen.  His  nnap- 
peased'thirst  of  human  andienoe  wae  the  first  interest  created  in 
the  play.  A  subdued  ligfat  was  made  eonetuitly  to  rest  upon  his 
path,  BO  that,  in  tbe  surronnding  gloom,  every  change  of  feature 
was  clearly  observable.  His  stage  af^iaaee  fixed  tbe  attehtiw 
e2 


SCO  A  FEW  GOOD   ACTOnS  WANTED. 

ea  everj  gesture,  however  alight,  and  his  presence  was  the  bardea 
of  the  scene.  But  with  what  delicacj  were  the  Tarious  and  etiU 
earthly  passions  of  bis  recital  to  Hamlet,  idealised  bo  as  to  become 
tpectral,  yet  lept  free  from  that  monotony  of  a  dull  bard  bass 
voice,  speaking  on  one  note,  by  which  tbeir  expression  has  so  often 
been  desecrated.  The  elocution  had  tbe  effect  of  an  exquisite 
piano  in  music,  commanding  attention  by  tbe  refusal  to  seek  it, 
more  thrilling  than  tbe  loudest  and  stormiest  outburst.  Notbing 
could  be  more  opposed  to  tbe  uauol  stilted  dignity  of  its  repre* 
sentatires,  than  the  whde  simple  manner  of  this  player  of  the 
Ohost.  He  was,  as  Shakespeare  has  described  tbe  effects  of  his 
eloquence,  very  pathetic,  and  his  bearing  in  tbe  closet  scene,  with 
regard  to  his  guilty  wife,  was  the  tenderest  renewal  of  a  deep 
passion,  which  in  his  earthly  days  he  had  believed  immortal. 

And  now  pass  on  to  the  court.  Let  it  be  ushered  in  as  it  should 
be,  by  tbe  lord  chamberltun,  Polonius.  What  a  grave,  important, 
•elf-satiafied,  unconscious  humour  reigned  in  the  old  arbiter  of  • 
etiquette  t  An  elder  Liston,  in  his  beat  and  quietest  style  ;  a 
reality,  such  as  may  he  seen  in  every  court  of  the  present  day,  as 
well  as  in  that  olden  time  or  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare;  a  mind 
grown  old  upon  trifles,  and  mingUng  the  experiences  of  the  merest 
fiincy  with  the  shrewd  lessona  of  practical  eiperience  in  really 
important  iesaons.  The  humour  ia  the  perversion  of  sense  to  the 
pnrpoaea  of  folly,  the  miiture  of  the  statesman  with  the  valet  de 
chambre,  bo  that  the  set  of  the  king's  whisker  is  a  thing  of  equal 
Importance  with  tbe  dispensingof  the  kind's  justice.  The  creature 
is  extant  and  visible.  The  mummery  is  hourly  enacted  with  as 
serious  a  belief  in  its  vital  consequence  as  ever  Folonius  felt;  and 
thus  did  the  actor  top  tbe  part.  He  would  as  soon  have  thought 
(4  introducing  an  air  on  the  jew's-barp,  as  of  face-making  :  the 
fun,  and  there  was  plenty  of  it,  was  in  the  devoted  energy  of  his 
trivialities.  In  the  same  spirit  were  enacted  Bosencrants  and 
Gnilderstem  i  obsequious  to  the  Ki^ig  and  Queen,  aupple  at  first 
-to  tbe  Prince,  afterwards  almost  insolent  in  tbe  belief  of  his 
assured  ruin.  And  then  tiie  King  himself,  pale,  suspicious, 
cunning,  watchful,  raising  tbe  tremulous  hopes  of  those  around 
bim,  aa  tbe-flattery  of  royal  condescension  matchleasly  does  it ; 
kingly  by  the  deference  of  all  about  him  ;  mean  and  unquiet  in 
himself ;  reading  the  looks  of  Hamlet  a^a  fate,  and  eyeing  hia  sad 
and  unconscious  partner,  lest  she  should  change  and  conspire 
against  him.    For  one  moment  alone  the  great  struggle  of  passion 

Coiwlc 


razed  him  to  the  ground ;  when  in  the  height  of  terror,  and 
detected  guilt,  he  stood  for  an  instant,  and  but  an  inetant,  gaq>iDg 
ere  he  could  call  for  lights,  to  leave  the  hall  in  which  the  pUy  had 
been  acted  before  him.  The  Queen,  bow  subdued,  moumf ul^  and 
pathetic  &om  the  very  first  I  How  tender  the  appeal,  "  Let  not 
thy  mother  lose  her  prayers,  Hamlet ;  "  as  though  she  had 
ali-eady  discovered  the  hollowness  of  her  new  passion,  and  strove 
hard  to  keep  the  emblem  of  her  purer  thoughts  near  her.  How 
regally  sad  tbroughout,  catching  at  the  hope  of  Hamlet's  reviving 
on  being  united  to  Ophelia,  and  broken-hearted  with  the  loss  of 
that  hope.  In  the  scene  in  her  closet,  where  Hamlet  reproaohea 
her,  amid  all  her  terrors,  or  in  the  lapses  of  them,  bow  fond  yet 
of  him, — how  wretched  beyond  measnre,  that  he  must  be  her 
sccaser  and  her  judge  ! 

Hamlet  himfldf !  Above  all,  what  a  reality  !  How  thoroughly 
tiuhke  any  creature  of  the  stage  I  How  unconventional  I  What 
an  impulsive  talker  !  A  prince  In  bis  own  room,  and  as  entirely 
at  his  ease.  Talma,  the  companion  of  great  monorchs ;  a  prince 
himself  in  a  nation  which  avowed  no  aristocracy  but  that  of  genius ; 
n  gentleman  by  heart ;  a  man  infinitely  above  all  affections  ; 
umple,  true,  energetic  from  fulness  of  feeling,  with  an  eye  rich  in 
colour,  round  and  full,  with  a  voice  sweet  in  the  tones  of  conver- 
sation, distinct  to  perfection,  without  any  approach  to  the  syllalMC, 
and  revelling  into  the  organ  tones  of  passion  as  they  seined  to 
grow  out  of  the  subject.  Yes,  Talma  who  was  all  this  and  much 
more,  might  have  been  the  prototype  of  the  Hamlet.  But  my 
actor  was  younger,  better  realised  "  the  glass  of  fashion  md  the 
mould  of  form,"  which  Talma  could  make  you  forget  if  be  could 
not  fulfil. 
.  Talma  never  played  Shakespeare's  Hamlet. 

He  put  so  much  of  Shakespeare's  Hamlet  into  Duels*  words  and 
situations,  that  for  the  moment  it  was  our  poet's  spirit  in  a  new 
body  ;  and  where  he  had  something  of  the  original  to  deal  with, 
as  "  C'eat  un  reveil  peutAtre!  "  Shakespeare's  hair  could  scarcely 
hare  stood  more  on  end  vrith  the  thrill  of  intensity  as  he  wrote  the 
words,  than  did  that  of  Talma's  audience  when  he  spoke  them. 
But  to  the  Hamlet  of  i^  stage,  who  hod  Sbakeqieare  to  deal 
with  throughout,  and  not  Duels. 

. .  His  sarcasms  to  the  king's  foce  were  most  courtly  bitterness  ; 
the  edge  of  his  tongue  was  most  smoothly  keen  ;  and  you  felt  from 
the  first  his  pity  for  bis  mother,  the  struggle  of  habitual  honour 


262  A  ^nr  goob  actobb  waktbd. 

widi  yroBeiA  ebmnt  for  ber.  And  when  left  to  himself  and  ta  the 
ezpresaioD  of  his  mnld  irearinesB,  it  was  indeed  manlj  Buffering. 
Tears  eeened  to  come  agaiiiBt  fais  will,  and  be  dmrniHsed  them 
silently.  Imbued  from  first  to  last  with  the  poet's  own  caution 
agtuDBt  "  periwig  patedness,"  the  colouring  of  the  whole  repre- 
Beotaticra  was  wrft  and  hormooioas,  Cone^o  aa  opposed  to  Rubens ; 
rich,  deep,  clear  bb  daj,  full  of  grand  ehiare-senro,  but  witboat  one 
raw  tint.  The  dispoMtion,  the  generosity,  the  fine  temper  of  the 
being  was  the  palpable  design  fnao  first  to  last.  Hamlet  was  a 
creature  to  b?  admired  and  loved.  Kind  with  Horatio,  eourteoos 
witb  all,  indignant  with  cause,  and  as  an  exception  from  his  disposi- 
tian.  The  player  restored,  in  the  scene  after  the  diEsppearance  of 
the  Ghost,  these  wonderful  and  terrible  touches  of  pleasantry, 
thought  necessary  by  the  poet  to  mark  the  excess  of  terror  in  snob 
a  risitation,  by  the  effect  ef  the  rebonnd,  when  Hamlet  is  enabled 
to  summon  his  powers  to  contend  with  the  oppreseioD.  And  this 
was  due  as  a  part  of  the  tragic  suffering,  whrcb  is  the  human  lot 
of  the  hero,  and  the  intensity  of  wbicb  eTolvea  his  thooghts  and 
ttctioos.  In  his  scene  witb  Ophelia,  how  little  noise  and  how  muefa 
feeling  !  How  little  action  and  how  deep  an  interest !  The  eye, 
the  broken  tone,  told  the  love  which  the  words  hid  from  the  king  ; 
and  as  what  be  spake  only  "laek'd  form  a  little, "  and  "seem'd 
not  bke  madness,"  n^ber  did  he  act  the  outrageous  madman; 
wbicfa,  had  Shakespeare  intended  him  to  do,  nndoubtedly  the  king 
would  have  noticed  it  aa  much  as  the  matter  of  his  speeches.  The 
Midience  bad  ttie  full  volume  of  the  previous  story  whereby  to  read 
Hamlet's  words,  a  commentary  which  the  king  had  not,  and,  as 
I^;o  need  never  wink,  or  scowl,  or  sneer  his  villany  at  Othello,  to 
let  the  spectators  see  what  a  villain  he  is,  so  Hamlet,  summoning 
to  his  imagination  the  feelings  of  the  lover,  who  has  taken  forced 
but  solemn  leave  of  bis  mistress,  who  fears  lest  she  conid  anwor- 
thily  betray  him,  who  doubts  the  sei  be  has  honoured  by  the 
moral  convictirai  (J  hia  own  mother,  whom  he  honoured  the  most, 
and  who  wishes  to  coneeal  all  under  the  mask  of  mournful  miaan- 
thropy,  need  only  ntter  the  teit  as  anch  a  man  must  talk  it,  to 
make  his  auditory  feet  almost  as  mm:^  aa  himself.  But  perhaps  tbe 
effective  triumph  was  in  the  closet  scene.  The  player  never  forgot 
that  Hamlet  was  speaking  to  hia  mother,  and  sometimes  in  the  veiy 
presence  of  another  life.  His  reproaches  were  feverish  with  horror 
at  the  being  ol^ged  to  use  them,  Tfa^  were  anything  but  the 
gratification  of  wifr  or  tbe  relief  of  a  desire.    They  evidently  arose 


A  rxv  vftoD  Acnara  hasted.  S93 

sa  K^nwelieB,  or  even  aa  tbe  unrationB  of  hct  do  in  men's  minds, 
'  Bie  more  terribis  and  emphatie  in  words  the  more  the  speaker  may 
by  to  qoalify  t)i«m.  The  welctRne  indulgence  of  passion  vas  in 
the  killing  of  the  tvppoeed  king,  and  in  the  comparison  of  the  two 
brothen.  Nothing  coidd  be  more  tender  or  pathetic  than  tiie  pro- 
mise to  "  bog  blesmngs  "  when  the  queen  should  be  "  desirons  to 
be  blesaed."  There  was  reconciliation  for  two  worlds  in  it.  In  a 
word,  the  actor's  taste  brought  out  all  that  is  noble,  eloTated, 
tender,  and  kindly,  as  the  habits  of  the  character,  and  pnt  uptm 
these  alt  that  conld  contrast  with  them,  as  the  uncongenial  accidents 
of  hia  fate. 

I  always  welcome  the  grarediggers  with  their  weU-assorted 
argument ;  their  trade-talk  of  death,  which  is  the  best  sermon 
npon  it ;  their  "  houses  which  last  till  doomsday."  They  enfwce 
the  terror  in  the  lesser  sense  and  disarm  it  in  the  greater. 
Suffice  it  that  my  clowns  were  natural  and  uneonseioua  ones, 
which  is  the  task  the  poet  has  set  them.  And  Oarie,  the  comic 
quintesseiice  of  the  courtier  class  of  the  characters,  played  his 
part  only  with  superior  earnestness  and  amusing  dotage  on 
nothings.  Lords  in  waiting  and  g^itleman  ushers  are  really 
very  droll  in  their  inanity,  but  if  they  were  pretentious  buffoons  they 
would  be  kicked  out.  Their  merit  is  an  exceeding  solemmty,  an 
incapability  of  the  ludicrous,  which  makes  them  as  ridiculous  aa 
the  gravest  of  all  four-footed  animals.  Where  a  smUe  or  a  frown 
is  promotion  or  disgrace,  luxury  or  beggary,  the  obserratitm  of 
the  royal  countenance  is  a  most  serions  occupation.  A  viTanous 
absurdity  from  such  a  person  !  Make  him  guilty  of  high  treason 
at  once !  High  treason  it  would  be  agtunst  the  mystery  of  king- 
craft. How  finely  did  this  cringing  oTer-serrile  tiling  contrast 
with  the  placid,  oqusl  Horatio  ! 

You  have  said  nothing  of  Ophelia  and  Laertes. 

No  !  They  are  a  family  portrait  and  should  always  be  considered 
together.  The  characteristic  of  each  is  exceeding  seoBitiveness, 
Opheha,  as  I  saw  her  represented,  bid  hers  as  a  girl  does  to 
make  it  the  stronger  by  the  suppression  when  she  might  indulge 
it ;  shew  ns  timid,  conscious  at  first,  recklessly  woe-bcgone  after- 
wards, and  in  her  madness  telling  the  whole  truth  of  her  sense. 
Then  she  was  passionate  to  the  full,  and  the  music  in  which  she 
spoke,  and  the  flowers  which  were  her  types  ware  treated  as  the 
niatur^  occupations  of  her  purer  lip,  the  eerrices  as  wdl  as  the 
emI>odlments  of  her  thoughts.  This  was  expressed  by  the  actress 
in  her  perfect  spontaneity. 


i(H  PUT  JUSTHTA. 

The  brother,  Laertes,  has  always  been  one  of  the  most  iU-used 
of  all  the  great  dramatist's  creations.  He  has  always  been  made 
ferocious  instead  of  quick  in  feeling.  It  wonld  be  difBcult  t« 
contrive  more  pungent  wrongs  than  he  has  to  suffer,  and  such 
as  would  make  a  man,  fall  of  the  worldly  falsehood  of  punctilious 
courage,  less  nice  about  the  means.  Laertes  invested  hmself  with 
interest  in  the  beginning  by  his  anxious  love,  bis  fear  for  his 
Bister,  not  words  spoken  merely,  but  earnest  feelings  eipreesed. 
He  was  tender,  anxious,  doting  on  ber,  her  honour,  her  youth, 
her  beauty,  her  fate.  In  the  latter  part  his  rage  beeame  concen- 
trated and  terrible  from  the  suppression  of  his  tears ;  tbe  anger 
itself  was  as  grave  as  Maeduff's,  the  deadly  revenge  was  the 
prompting  of  the  demon  king  ready  to  use  it  for  his  own  fell 
puni(Hie. 

I  could  tell  you  more,  &r  who  could  see  Samiet  played  and 
not  have  more  to  say  about  it  ?  Sut  even  what  I  have  oud, 
suppose  you  to  know  the  play  throughout,  and  to  care  more  about 
it  than  the  average  of  readers  or  auditors,  perchance. 

But,  this  theatre  of  yours,  may  I  aak  you,  where — 

"  In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio,"  as  you  knew  before  yon  aakod. 
But  that  mind's  eye  baa  been  informed  by  what  every  one  may 
consult  for  himself.  Shakespeare  expected  to  be  misunderstood  in 
this  play.  He  has  commented  himself  on  almost  every  scene, 
by  repeating  all  the  loss  obvious  ones  in  a  short  description.  Look 
through  the  text. 

Aye. 

I  do  not  say  that  some  performers  have  not  done  tbis  diligently, 
but  to  "  play  out  the  play,"  as  it  should  be. 

Why  you  will  end  as  you  begun  ;  you  will  say  there  are  "  a 
few  good  actors  wanted  I  " 


PUT  JUSTITIA! 


'TwAB  when  the  moon  was  darkened  o'er  with  clouds  of  lurid  hne— 
Twas  when  in  all  the  blackened  sky  jou'd  see  no  speck  of  bine — 
'Twas  when  the  blast  swept  searching  past,  across  the  lonesome  moor. 
Bearing  its  weight  of  snow  and  sleet  to  sixty  houseless  poor; 


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FUT  JDBT1TU.  2(U 

Tiea  rose  the  wail,  upon  the  gsle,  of  numy  s  ihiTering  mollieT, 
And  qnick  the  wail,  the  Hhup  white  hail,  in  stifling  aoba  wodM  smothei. 
B^l,  fierce  and  load,  the  cnrses  prond  of  savage  maul;  wrath 
Uight  make  the  brave  Chiist's  hen'aon  crave  upon  that  grisly  path. 

F<B-  then  w«r«  deeds  of  iiwtjce  done  upon  a  wintry  day, 

And  twenty  borels,  black  and  bare,  withoot  the  thatch-roof  laj. 

It  was  the  law,  and  bayonets  saw — the  bayonets  of  the  free  ! — 

The  light  asserted  of  the  good  who  sought  his  Ming  fee. 

Knaves,  famished,  lean,  with  ikin  not  clean,  lank  hair  and  homy  hand, 

From  sire  to  son  scant  life  had  won  upon  a  sterile  land. 

For  twice  a  hnndred  yeais  they  toiled,  in  sqnslor  and  in  grief, 

And  only  paid  full  twice  the  meed  of  many  a  fertile  fief. 

But  blight  had  fallen  upon  the  field  ;  this  year  their  lent-staff  died  ; 
Potato,  pig,  the  osier  twig,  drooped,  plagne-struck — (woe  betide  I) 
The  Isiidlord  (jnst  and  stem  was  he,  and  fitly  proud  of  blood) 
Bethought  him  wall,  time  Dow  to  qaell  a  sordid,  nseloss  brood. 

Twaa  thus  that  night  the  deed  of  light  saw  finished  full  and  fur. 
And  not  a  wretch  a  limb  might  stretch  upon  a  covered  lair. 
And  as  the  curse  grew  wild  and  worse  for  savage  kindred  dead, 
The  good  man  calTs  his  honse  to  prayers,  and,  thankful,  goes  to  bed. 

rant  feces,  glistening  eyes, 
then  they  coant  who  sinks  and 

Next  day  the  son  shines  cheerfal  down,  as  e'er  shined  wintry  son  ; 
Bnt  nnder  that  fair,  happy  sun,  a  marther  dark  is  donel 

With  cheerful  face  of  health  and  grace  (true  symbols  of  the  good), 
The  righteous  master  hies  him  forth  to  earn  bis  zest  for  food  ; 
And  here  and  there,  with  bonnteoiiB  air,  he  bails  a  Deighbour''s  bow  ; 
But  one  sad  spot  he  vittta  not  (his  heart  too  soft  I  trow),  - 

While  ambUng  now,  with  musing  brow,  a  briary  bank  before, 

One  yell— like  as  the  fiend  of  hell  I— lent  force  to  that  fell  roar  I 

The  good  maa  foils — two  death-winged  balls  his  "  fiur  round  "  body 

And  o'er  the  bank,  lean,  eager,  lank,  just  peer  two  faces  fierce. 

A  month  hath  waned, — the  turf,  blood-stained,  has  claimed  the  price  of 

Two  ghastly  corpses,  on  a  tree,  in  sickening  silence  swing. 

The  good  man's  rest  is  in  oaken  chest,  where  all  his  Withers  slept — 

In  many  a  page,  by  the  county  sage  who  rules  the  news-sheet  wept. 


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A  HISTORY  FOE  YOUNG  ENSLANI).* 

What  a  pitie  if  it  to  jwe  >  prapet  gentlemui  to  have  nicli  >  aidi  in  bii 
neck  that  he  cuiiKit  look  bickmid.  Yet  do  better  ia  he  who  ceonot  ■•• 
behind  him  the  sctioDi  which  long  eloce  were  perfoimed.  Histoid  maketh  & 
young  man  to  he  ohl,  without  either  viijiklei  or  gKj  hun ;  privile^Bf  hiM 
■with  the  eiperieiKB  of  nge,  wiihout  eitlier  tlie  inBrmltiai  or  iiicon«ni«nce« 
thereof.  Yet,  it  not  onely  mateth  things  past,  preBent;  but  iBiblath  una  to 
nuke  a  imtjonsll  conjectute  of  things  to  come.  For  this  wotid  aSordetb  no 
Dew  acddenls,  bat  in  the  tame  sense  wherein  we  rail  it  a  nev)  mom  /  which  is 
the  old  one  in  anothel  sh^,  and  yet  no  other  than  wlut  kad  been  Svmnij. 
Old  actions  ntnm  again,  furhiilied  over  with  («ne  new  and  different  circuift' 
fltu.ce>.— FoLiw,  

CHAPTER  THE  ELEVENTH. 
JOHN,   SimiTAMED   LACKLAKD, 

1199 — 1316.  John  was  present  at  the  death-b«d  of  Cceur  de 
JAoa. ;  and  the  ijiag  king  was  said  to  have  declared  htm  aiiceeoKff 
to  the  throne,  and  heir  to  one-third  of  his  treasures.  The  latter 
he  seized  at  Chin(Hi ;  and  passing  into  Touraine,  Maine,  and 
Anjou,  was  met  in  that  ancient  territory  of  the  Plantagenets  by 
the  claim  of  his  nephew  Arthur.  Thb  adverse  confederacy,  headed 
by  the  Breton  people,  had  a  formidable  aspect ;  and  John,  coBtent 
with  sacking  the  city  of  Mans,  and  burning  down  that  of  Angers, 
hastened  into  Vormandy  and  Acquitsino,  where,  by  the  influence 
of  friends  whom  he  had  long  secretly  cherished  in  those  pro- 
vinces, and  backed  by  the  hereditary  rights  of  his  mother,  his 
sovereignty  was  admitted.  He  received  the  ducal  coronet  and 
sword  at  R«nen  from  the  hands  of  the  an^bishop.  He  had  been 
Earl  ;  he  was  now  Duke  ;  and  by  God's  teetli  (hta  &Tourite 
oath]  he  swore  he  would  be  King. 

I  have  shown  the  growth  of  a  power  in  England,  duting  Ute 
last  reign,  claiming  to  overawe  the  crown  and  compel  the  respon- 
sihility  of  its  mtBisters.  But  this  power  was  never  distinctly  put 
in  motion  against  the  succesaion  of  John,  When,  indeed,  on 
Archbishop  Hubert's  arrival  with  the  letters  firom  Normandy, 
justiciary  Pitz-Peter  commanded  all  freemen  to  swear  alio- 
jpance  to  the  duke,  there  was  enough  hesitation  among  the 
*  Continued  from  p.  31,  VoU  III. 


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A'  mnraT  ?0B  tobii*  maLun.  SSf 

]prri«taB  and  barooe  least  ■ffeete^  to  John's  interost  to  rvoAer  neoee- 
eary  tke  eiimmMui^  of  ft  gt'o^t  cevncil  at  Nort^mmpten  ;  but  th^^ 
does  Bot  wem  to  have  been  toaeh  difficohj  in  pTvcuring  from  tiua 
eouDcil,  an  onanimoos  reselation  to  Bwear  fealty  to  Jobn,  Dnko  of 
Nonnaiidy,  on  the  condition  that  tb«  jtresent  rights  of  each  indi- 
vidual should  he  req»ected.  In  truth,  though  the  anhaequeot 
mixfortiuiea  and  sorrowful  death  of  Arthur  largrfy  mewed  sym- 
pathy in  England,  there  Tras  never  any  formidable  stand  attempted 
on  the  ground  of  hie  right  to  the  throne.  The  battle  was 
fon^t  in  the  foreign  jffovinees.  Here,  while  some  BHj;ht  haTa 
tbottghthis  claim  soperior  to  hie  ancle's  ;  and  many  were  eertai^ 
eonvineed  of  the  supmor  weight  of  the  frequent  written  testi- 
tnofties  of  C«ur  de  Lion  for  his  Buccession,  as  compared  wtA  the 
equirocal  dying  dedsratioB  alleged  by  John  ;  them  was  hardly  lue 
man  of  influence  that  would  bore  drawn  the  sword  for  bin,  on  any 
Snch  principle  as  tbat  the  crown  <>f  England  was  heritable  prc|ierty. 
The  genius  of  the  conntrj  was  repsgnant  to  tbat  notion.  It  has 
been  shown  in  this  history,  with  what  care,  at  each  snccesaive 
coronation  since  the  Conquest,  the  form  of  the  choice  of  the 
people  was  preserved';  it  will  have  been  seen  that  of  the  five 
kings  on  whom  the  English  crown  has  descended  since  the  Con- 
qaest,  four  have  been  constrained  to  rest  their  most  ayaillng  title 
«fl  that  popular  choice  or  recognition  ;  but  the  ntost  emphatic 
declaration  of  the  principle  -  was  reserved  fw  the  coroaation  <tf 
John, 

He  landed  at  Shon^am  on  the  25tb  of  May,  and  two  days 
afterward  was  crowned  at  Westmioater.  As  1  have  before  re- 
marked, his  right  was  in  no  particular  admitted  till  after  this 
ceremony.  He  was  earl,  until  he  assumed  the  ducal  coronet ;  he 
was  duke,  until  the  national  couocil  of  England,  speaking  throug& 
Hubert  of  Canterbury,  invested  him  at  Westminster  with  the 
English  crown.  'This  crown,'  swd  that  distinguished  prelate, 
b^ore  he  [daced  it  on  the  head  of  John,  '  is  not  the  property  trf 
'  any  particular  person.  It  b  the  gift  of  the  nation,  which  elects, 
"*  generally  fimn  the  memb^^  of  the  reigning  family,  the  prince 
'  who  spears  in  the  existing  circumstances  the  most  deservmg  of 
'  royalty.  No  preceding  events  can  entitle  any  one  to  succeed  to 
'  this  crown  if  he  be  not  chosen  king  by  the  body  o£  the  nation 
''  (ab  tmivertitaf€  regni  eteclut),  according  te  the  exam|4e  of  Sanl 
'  and  David,  who  were  not  even  of  royal  race.  We  ha»«  ttiis  d^ 
'  assembled  to  exerdse  that  great  duty,  and  hare  etaotad  for  cm 


208  A  mSTORT  FOB  YOPSe  XROUND. 

*  Bovereign  John,  Duke  of  Normandj,  brother  of  the  deeeawd 
'kiug.'  It  is  added  bj  Hoveden  aud  Mathew  of  Paris,  from 
whom  this  statement  is  derived,  that  tbe  duke,  without  starliag 
the  queation  of  hia  birth  .or  that  of  his  brother's  alleged  will,  dis- 
tiuctlj  .signified  his  assent  to  these  principles;  and  that  then, 
liaTiag  taken  the  customary  oaths  to  protect  the  church  and 
gorem  juatlj,  a  shout  of  '  Long  live  the  king  ! '  rang  through 
the  crowded  abbey,,  and  was  echoed  bj  the  throng  outside. 

.  It  w&B  characteristic  of  the  already  most  notorious  meanness 
and  daplicity  of  John,  that  in  the  preamble  to  a  law  which  he 
pablished  on  the  seTenth  of  the  following  month  at  Northamptoo,- 
he  was  careful  to  unite,  with  his  popular  title,  the  titles  he  had 
thus  renounced.  God  had  raised  him  to  the  throne,  he  smA,  which 
b0longed  to  him  as  well  by  hereditary  right,  aa  through  the  unani- 
mous consent  and  favour  of  the  clergy  and  the  people.  But  the 
Bolemn  act  of  the  27th  of  May  coidd  not  thus  be  revoked  or 
evaded.  Speed,  with  his  patient  industry  and  narrow  vision, 
ealls  that  act '  a  second  seed-plot  of  treasons  ;'  but  it  so  happens, 
throughout  our  English  history,  that  Treasons  have  been  the  second 
seed-plot  of  Liberty.  Other  critics  have  imagined  John's  corona- 
tion  a  mere  arrangement  of  conditional  fealty  specially  restricted  to 
him  ;  the  sole  temptation  to  elect  him  in  preference  to  his  nephew 
being  the.  consideration  that  less  was  to  he  looked  for  from 
a  legitimate  monarch,  in  the  way  of  civil  restitution,  than  from 
(me  who  held  by  elective  tenure.  But  these  reasonera  overlook,  not 
^j  the  fact  that  the  law  of  succession  as  between  a  living 
brother  and  a  dead  brother's  child  was  by  no  means  settled  at 
this  time,  but  that  the  choice  of  a  monarch  on  exclusively  here- 
ditary grpimds  would  have  been  the  exception,  aJid  not  the  rule. 
If  anything,  beyond  the  objection  to  entrusting  sovereignty  to  a 
child  and  a  woman  (especially  such  a  woman  as  Constance  of 
Brittany),  induced  the  preference  of  John,  it  seems  most  likely 
to  have  been  the  anticipation  of  a  pos»ble  and  not  distant  struggle 
between  the  throne  and  its  feudal  dependencies  ;  and  the  sense  of 
how  much  the  latter  would  be  strengthened  by  an  incompetent 
and  feeble  occupant  of  the  former.  For  how  stood  the  govern' 
"^ent  of  England,  when  placed  in  the  hands  of  John  ? 

At  the  commencement  of  this  reign,  the  balance  of  power 
between  the  various  grades  of  feudal  society,  as  in  a  great  degree 
established  by  the  discreet  and  powerful  administration  of  Henry 
the  Second,. had  been. wholly  relaxed  and  unsettled  by  John's 

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A  BISTORT  rOB  YOUKO  ENQLAND.  269 

lawless  dealinga  in  Cteur  de  Lion's  absence.  The  powers  wliioli 
Henry  centred  in  the  throne  for  good  purposes,  were  prosti- 
tuted to  evil  by  his  son.  The  weakness  which  an  able  king, 
for  sagacious  ends,  had  struck  into  the  aristocratic  element  of  the 
Ifingdom,  had  unce  been  nsed  for  the  suppression  of  all  restraint 
upon  monarohal  tyranny,  Conid  such  a  sovereign  as  Henry  haVO 
continued  te  rdgn,  until  a  forced  repression  of  the  baronial 
feuds  might  have  permitted  the  gradual  and  free  reaction  of  the 
popular  on  the  kingly  power,  all  would  have  been  well,  and  the 
estaUishment  of  rational  liberty  hastened  by  at  least  two  cen- 
turies. '  Even  as  it  was,  thero  stood  the  People  between  the  two 
<^iposing  forces  :  alternately  recognised  in  the  necessities  of  both, 
and  by  both  made  conscious  of  their  power.  In  the  church  quesUous, 
and  that  of  resistance  to  invasion,  which  arose  in  the  earlier  portiim 
of  the  reign,  they  took  part  with  John  ;  in  the  questiona  of  civil 
freedom  which  immortaUsed  its  close,  they  joined  the  grand  con- 
federacy of  hia  enemies.  And  most  comforting  is  it  to  discern,  that 
in  the  end,  the  very  vice  and  falsehood  of  this  despicable  king  were 
made  the  tributary  slaves  to  truth  and  virtue.  A  man  more  able, 
though  wi^  an  equal  love  of  tyranny,  would  have  husbanded  and 
kept  his  power  ;  this  man  could  only  feel  that  he  existed  when  he 
felt  that  he  was  trampling  on  his  fellow-men,  and,  making  hia 
power  intolerable,  he  risked  and  lost  it.  We  are  told,  notwith- 
standing, that  with  the  B^ons  and  not  with  &e  People  the  enduring 
triumph  remained.  A  conclusion  ill-considered.  They  who  have 
followed  the  course  of  this  history,  and  have  seen  what  silently 
expanding  influences  have  been  in  action  ever  since  the  Conquest, 
will  not  need  to  be  told  now  what  Power  it  was,  secret  but  irre- 
sistible, that  ultimately  shaped  the  mere  exclusive  claims  of  a 
powei-ful  faction  as  against  their  feudal  lord,  into  a  record  of 
general  rights,  perhaps  at  the  time  unconscious,  but  certainly 
eternal,  inalienable,  nor  ever  afterward  to  be  wholly  denied  to 
even  the  meanest  Englishman.  ' 

John  was  in  bis  thirty-second  year  when  he  began  his  reign  ; 
and  his  character  was  formed  and  known.  It  belongs  to  the  few- 
in  history  or  in  human  nature,  of  which  the  infamy  is  altogether 
black  and  unredeemed.  'Who  mourns,'  cries  Mathew  of  Paris 
cm  his  death,  'who  shall  ever  mourn  fot  the  death  of  King  John  ? 
Hell,  with  all  its  pollution,  is  polluted  by  the  soul  of  John.' 
While  yet  in  youth  and  under  care  of  Giroldus  Cambrensis,  thM 
clerical  and  courtly  tutor,  though  he  professes  to  have  discovered 


I  UBrOBS   ■eO&  TODKG  EHaUXD, 


Sm  geaa  of  f  nbire  enMU«Doe  in  his  prinody  p^il,  wenU  seem  te 
have  disoonred  it  tbroagh  &  morrelloiuly  dense  aiat,  in^netrttUe 
tx)  most  i^n.  He  desciiW  Um  a  prey  to  t^e  fbUieB  of  youth, 
impressible  u  wftx  to  vice,  rude  to  hie  better  adnsen,  more 
■ddioted  to  liiz«ry  tiuw  war  and  to  effenanaey  th&n  h&rdBhip, 
and  a  gnms  ivsaeuMw.  Tkeee  qnalities  grew  with  .his  yean. 
Ctmbined  witli  them,  he  had  just  enoigh  of  the  ambition  of  his 
nwe  to  bi^fbr^awreslnHigly  the  pnsiUaniuity^rfhia  spirit ;  wid 
thns  be  wns  iii»olait  and  mean,  at  wee  the  most  ahjeet  and  the  most 
arrogant  of  men.  'Hie  pitiless  cmdiMs  raeatled  of  him  su^ass 
bcJi^.  The  ivcUeat  madness  wiik  which  be  rodted  into  hi* 
qtHUT^,  was  esoeeded  by  his  inqwtent  «o<MMKae  vhen  resistanoa 
l&owed  ite  front.  He  deaartad  the  people  «^en  the  pei^^  joined 
Um  agamst  the  chwoh,  he  deeerted  tbe  ^oKb  wbra  the  dimtib 
JMned  him  against  the  peo^e.  Tbe  Bonks  hare  ceproaehed  him 
with  infidelity,  but  be  hod  net  &ulh  enough  to  be  an  infid^  To 
be  ejeia  that,  reqairtti  soGoa  moral  aouteaesa,  seme  intellectual 
discrimina^on,  hewever  blaely  sp^adT  The  story  tM  of  his 
having  e«:lw»ed,  in  hooting,  over  tbe  body  of  a  fat  stag,  '  How 
h^jttly  has  this  feUov  liv«d,  yet  be  never  heard  maaa  1 '  tells  bnt 
the  feUAwship  of  his  ovm  natiure  with  that  of  the  besets  of  tbe 
fidd.  Ha  differed  from  them  only  that  he  was  a  perjorer  and 
a  mnrderer.  He  had  tbose  appetites  debsMohed  and  gross,  and 
those  sensual  habits  obstiaate  wad  f  tuieos,  whi^  we  enly  so  largely 
found  where  intellectual  and  meral  sense  are  entirely  absent.  And 
in  efiact  these  did  mere  to  pretapitats  his  ruin  than  bis  mnrdua 
or  bis  perjories. 

The  first  eSeMive  demenBtration  against  his  reign  arose  from 
an  aot  of  Inst.  Inflamed  with  paswm  for  the  yonng  wife  of  the 
CoBut  da  la  Uarcbe,  a  powerful  noble  of  Aaquitaine,  be  divorced 
Ids  own  wi&  ;  tempted  the  ocimtoss  and  ber  father,  the  Count  of 
Angcmkme,  wi^  the  daziling  proqtect  of  a  ia^^wn  ;  and  ia  defianea 
of  opposition  married  ber.  It  would  be  to  weary  tbe  reader's 
patience  to  describe  tbe  strife  that  row  in  Acqnitune  ;  the  espoiiBal 
of  the  canse  of  the  insurgents  by  PhUip  of  Franoe  ;  the  junction 
of  these  forces  with  tbe  Breton  party  for  poor  young  Arthur  ;  and 
tbe  straggle  into  which  the  -war  resolved  itself,  whether  the  race 
of  Plantt^enet  or  of  Capet  should  be  lords  of  FraoDe.  It  will  suffice 
to  state  the  result,  without  detail  of  tbe  awAil  eruelties  and  hor- 
rors that  aocompanied  its  prt^p'ess.  When  it  b^^an,  John  was 
master  of  the  whole  French  coast,  fnnn  the  borders  of  Flandeca 


A  HIBTOKY  FOR  TOUK&  ENaUNS.  Bit 

to  the  foot  of  lite  Pyrenees  ;  wlien  three  years  had  puaed,  tlu 
beet  portion  of  that  vkluable  territory  wm  kroTocKhlj  lost  to  him, 
and  after  a  aeparaUon  c^  three  hundred  years,  Noimandf ,  Aajou, 
Uune,  luid  Tounuae,  were  reamiexed  to  the  Frendi  orown. 
Something  ominous,  men  said,  was  in  hia  jesting  name  of 
Lackland.  There  is  not  a  doubt  that  he  bad  also  meanwhile 
caused  bia  nephew  to  be  murdened,  vitfa  att^idnnt  cironmstanoeB 
of  cowardice  and  guilt,  of  sad  suffering  «nd  of  exqaisibe  pathos,  not 
materiallj  differing  from  that  wbicb  the  geniiu  «f  the  greatest  of 
writers  has  thrown  around  the  tra^  histo^. 

WhUo  these  erents  were  in  progpass,  the  ooutraa^tible  chief 
actor  was  loud  in  hia  compl^nts  that  his  ^nghEli  noUee  bod  fei» 
saken  him,  Thej  certainly  saw  pass  into  subjaciura  to  Fraoee, 
thoae  large  and  <^ulent  provinces  ao  long  won  and  gujuded  by  the 
swords  of  their  fathers  ;  and  mode  no  ogn  of  resistance,  fiat  this 
bad  a  deeper  significance  than  mere  disgust  with  J^^.  They 
bad  elected  their  country.  They  were  no  longer  for^n  pro- 
prietors on  a  soil  nhich  was  ::*ttheiroHai.  They  ware  JGi^ishmen, 
resolTed  to  cast  their  fortunes  and  tboir  fate  witli  England.  Soea 
after  this,  iadeed,  they  raised  a  counter.cry  loader  than  that  of 
dieir  recreant  king,  acouaing  him  of  "  foresgn "  faFouritdsm. 
WiUi  ^  nsine,  t^robrious  now,  of  Fore^oer,  they  branded  the 
AngeTin,  the  Norman,  and  the  Foiterin  nobles,  whom  he  had 
brought  into  England  e.t  the  close  of  hia  foreign  wars,  and  wh<na 
be  now  del^^ted  to  parade  about  hia  person,  to  load  wi& 
dignities  and  wealth,  aai  to  encourage  in  vigorous  efforts  to 
plunder  and  c^^ress  the  Dative  population.  Even  the  fend  historiui 
of  '  Korman  Conquest '  here  admita  that  the  conquMing  noble  and 
the  conquered  peasant  had  found  a  point  of  contact  and  a  eommen 
syn^athy.  He  can  no  loiter  resist  the  concluMon,  that  in  the 
iioil  of  Enj^and  there  was  at  length  genninating  a  national  spirit, 
conunon  to  all  who  traversed  it.  Without  doubt  it  was  so.  And 
not  a  new  fine  was  levied  cai  one  of  the  old  liiwnainaj  not  a  new 
toll  on  one  of  the  old  bridges  or  highways,  that  did  not  now 
bring  tbe  English  baron  and  lord  of  the  mwior  jiearer  io  bis  in' 
terestn  and  rights  to  the  English  &mier  and  citizen. 

The  seoond  great  struggle  of  John's  reign  wa*  in  resnll  no( 
less  disastrous  tbsn  the  first.  Innocent  .the  Third  waa  iqion  tbe 
ibronc  of  the  Vatican,  and  John  provoked  him  to  a  desperate 
quarrel.  But  even  in  wickedness  (if  Uathew  of  Paris  is  to  be 
believed)  Innocent  was  a  match  for  Jtdm ;  and  iu  int^ect  be  was 

U.g,l:«l  by  Google 


Sya  A  HISTORY  FOB  TODWG  ENGLAND. 

incomparably  lus  superior.  Twelve  hundred  of  his  letters  are 
extant,  attesting  bis  ability  and  energy.  The  dispnte  originated 
in  the  old  conflicting  question  of  tbe  appointment  of  bishops.  Tho 
king  refused,  on  the  death  of  the  primate  Hubert,  to  recognise,  . 
for  the  new  arcbbishop,  a  choice  of  the  monkish  t^spter  ;  in 
opposition  to  which  he  named  a  primate  of  his  own.  The  dispute 
Iras  referred  to  Some.  Innocent  prononnced  for  the  monks'~(of 
course)  ;  but  affecting  to  discover  a  flaw  in  the  appointment  they 
had  made,  he  annulled  their  archbishop  as  well  as  the  king's/and 
nominated  one  of  his  own.  There  Waa  a  lettered  Englishman  of 
great  distinction  living  at  the  time  in  Home,  who  had  taught  with 
eingular  applause  in  the  Fans  schools,  had  been  invested  wi&  tbe 
ohancellorship  of  the  Paris  university,  stood  high  in  tbe  English 
church,  and  had  lately  received  the  purple.  Innocent  named  him, 
and  die  monks  accepted  him,  as  tiie  English  primate  ;  bis  virtues 
less  availing  for  that  choice,  than  the  impression  that  be  was  best 
adapted,  by  his  inflexible  constancy  and  courage,  to  confront  and 
disarm  the  opposition  of  the  English  king.  But  Innocent  lived 
to  repent,  more  bitterly  than  John,  the  appointment  to  the  arch- 
bishopric  of  Canterbury,  of  Cardinal  Stephen  de  Langton. 

By  the  teeth  of  God,  John  swore,  Langton  should  not  set  his 
foot  in  England  ;  and  he  challenged  the  pope  to  do  his  worst. 
Innocent  was  prepared.  He  hod  secretly  intrusted  to  the  Bishops 
of  London,  Ely,  and  Worcester,  that  tremendous  power  of 
the  Interdict,  by  which  the  Romish  church  asswled  rebellidna 
kings  through  the  sides  of  their  unoffending  subjects.  These 
bishops  waited  on  the  king  ;  and  warning  him  of  the  day  appointed 
for  the  desoent  of  the  church's  wrath,'enjoinedhimon  their  knees 
to  avert  her  vengeance  by  submisrion.  He  drove  them  from  his 
presence  with  laughter  and  contempt ;  and  they  launched  th^ 
holt  and  fled.  Instantly  the  churches  closed  ;  the  bells  ceased  to 
toll  or  chime ;  no  solemn  service  was  performed  ;  the  relics  of 
the  saints  were  laid  upon  a^es  in  the  silent  church,  and  thrar 
statues  and  pictures  v^ed  with  black  ;  the  administration  of  the 
sacraments,  'except  to  in&nts  and  tbe  dying,  vras  suspended  ;  mar- 
riages could  only  be  mdely  performed,  to  the  danger  of  tlicir 
sacredneas  and  efficacy,  in  a  porch  or  churchyard  ;  and  the  bodies 
of  the  dead  were  buried  silently,  and  in  unconsecrated  ground. 

England  remained  under  this  Interdict  fonr  years.  At  the  end 
of  the  first  year  Innocent  fulminated  agunst  the  still  recusant 
monarch  a  buH  of  Excommunication  ;  hut  so  rigorous  a  watch  was 


A   HIBTOBT   FOR  YOUXQ  ESeLAHD.  273 

kept  at  the  ports  that  it  could  not  be  officially  published  in 
Eagland,  and  till  then  it  was  inoperative.  A  change  was  meon- 
while  noted  in  the  king.  At  first  be  had  affected  the  utmost 
gaiety,  while  his  people  were  struck  with  horror.  But  as  habit 
.reconciled  the  latter  to  the  suspenuon  of  church  usages  ;  as  they 
saw,  despite  the  Interdict,  the  course  of  life  more  on;  as  the 
papal  frown  had  not  withered  the  harvest,  nor  dried  up  the  raia, 
nor  blotted  out  the  sun  ;  they  recovered  heart,  and  resumed  their 
wonted  cheerfulness.  Not  bo  die  king.  His  moody  fits  returned,  asd 
his  abuse  of  the  clergy  became  every  day  less  loud.  What  he  had 
taught  his  subjects  in  this  particular  he  seemed  suddenly,  anxious 
to  unteach ;  and  by  proclamation  he  declared,  that  whosoevor, 
by  word  or  deed,  diould  now  maltreat  the  clergy,  '  should  be 
hanged  forthwith  on  the  nearest 'oak,'  He  had,  in  short,  been 
struck  with  profound  alarm.  Excommunication,  he  knew,  was 
but  the  forerunner  of  Deposition  ;  and  it  was  already  current  in 
the  mouths  of  his  enemies  that  the  pope  had  blessed  the  banner 
round  which  Philip  was  raUyiug  his  forces  for  invauon.  To  meet 
so  dread  an  extremity,  on  what  could  be  rely  ?  For  his  answer,  he 
had  but  to  think  of  the  forest  laws  he  had  made  more  cruel ;  of 
the  odious  and  oppressive  taxation  by  which  he  had  plundered 
every  class  ;  and  of  the  lawless  imprisonments,  the  forced  hostages, 
the  groundless  seizures  of  lands  and  castles,  and  the  violent  and 
wanton  indulgences  of  lust,  that  hod  converted  the  most  powerful 
of  the  barons  into  the  most  inveterate  of  his  foes. 

What  course  his  terrors  took  might  seem  a  figment  of  romance, 
but  that  Mathew  of  Paris  vouches  so  gravely  for  it,  and  gives  such 
grave  authority.  From  the  land  he  had  governed  so  un-christianly, 
he  turned  to  the  Mohammedan  Emir  who  had  just  then  conquered 
Spain,  and  whose  genius  and  prowess  threatened  to  extirpate  the 
religion  of  Christ  from  the  whole  of  the  south  of  Europe.  He 
entrusted  to  two  of  hia  creatures,  Thomas  Hardington  and  Ralf 
Fitz -Nicholas,  and  to  a  priest  named  Robert  of  London,  a  mission 
to  this  eastern  warrior  ;  and  Hohert  of  London  afterwards 
described  its  result  to  the  old  historian.  He  sud  that  the  palace 
of  the  Moor  was  a  strauge  and  wondrous  place ;  and  that  the 
splendid  yet  uncouth  shapes  they  saw  on  passing  through  ita 
endless  halls  and  galleries,  moved  tiieir  extreme  amazement.  At 
last  they  stood  before  the  Emir,  Kohammed-al-Nassir,  a  man 
of  grave  look  and  middle  stature,  who,  throughout  the  interview, 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  book  which  lay  open  before  him.  After 
KO-  IT.— VOL.  in.  T  ^ 


274  A  BIBTOBT  FOB   TOUKO  EirOIiUTB. 

all  due  rererence,  the  letter  of  John  was-  presented,  tranalhted  by 
an  interpreter,  and  found  to  contain,  on  oertaia  con^iom  of 
general  support  and  help  for  private  vesgeance,  an  offer  to  hold 
the  English  crown  as  the  Bmir's  vassal,  and  a  promise  to  embnute 
the  Mtwammedan  faith.  The  Bmir  shoved  no  emotion  in  Kstening 
to  it ;  but  at  its  close  i^uietly  put  a  nmnber  of  what  seem  to  have 
been  very  practical  questions  to  the  envoys,  concerning  the  strength 
and  population  of  England,  and  the  character  and  prospects  <^ 
John ;  and  then,  with  unmeaning  expressions  of  Mendslnp,  dis- 
miased  the  embassy.  But  as  they  retired,  he  called  back  R4A)ertof 
London,  and,  as  that  sober  clergyman  assured  his  friend  Hathew 
of  Paris,  adjured  him,  'by  his  respect  ft>r  the  Christian  faith,' 
to  say  what  kind  of  man  his  master  was.  Bobert  could  not  resist 
the  appeal :  he  said  he  was  a  tyrant,  and  would  soon  be  tieposed 
by  his  subjects.     Nothing  more  was  hoard  of  the  Hroir. 

The  next  that  is  heard  of  John,  shows  him,  so  difficnlt  his  strut, 
and  himself  so  impotent  and  helpless,  stretching  out  his  hands  to 
those  very  subjects,  and  imploring  succour  jron  the  general  body 
of  the  people.  He  aj^realed  to  them  on  the  gnnmd  of  the  inTasioit 
mustering  on  the  shores  of  France.  And  s  man  of  more  decent 
courage,  though  with  the  consciousness  of  equal  mipopularity  and 
guilt,  would  have  dared  to  make  the  appe^  more  confidently. 
The  national  spirit  had  not  failed  him  yit,  Stated  and  distrusted 
as  he  was.  It  had  lately  helped  him  to  chastise  the  Scots  ; 
it  would  have  supported  him,  had  be  not  crarenly  slunk  away  from 
his  challenge  to  the  Church  ;  it  tad  subdued  the  saTage  inroads 
of  the  Welsh  ;  and,  by  the  promptitude  of  its  snppression  of  the 
quarrels  of  the  native  chiefs  and  revohed  BngTmh  nc*les  in  Ireland, 
it  bad  shed  the  one  solitary  gleam  of  light  that  borers  round 
his  miserable  government.  Tweo^  of  the  natne  princes  were  con- 
ciliated ;  therefroetoiybaronswere  silenced,  and  the  most  powerfol 
driven  from  the  country ;  the  province  witfiin  the  Bngiiah  pale 
was  divided  into  counties  ;  the  laws  of  England  were  introduced 
among  the  settiers  ;  sherifie  and  other  officers  were  appointed  ; 
and  the  same  monies  were  ordered  to  pass  with  equal  value  in  both 
countries. 

Nor  did  this  national  spirit  now  tnnoronaly  amwer  to  die 
timorous  appeal  of  John.  As  the  news  arrived  from  France,— (hat 
the  pope  had  promised  Philip  not  only  the  English  crown,  but  the 
entire  remisaon  of  his  Mns.if  he  inm  John  from'titetfarone;  and 
that  the  French  king,  bent  upon  the  enteipriee,  bad  already  col- 


A  HWraiT  WUR  YOONO  aff«UJ4II.  ,-27S 

lected  a  large  urmy  in  ^otmatAy,  amd  ms  VMt^  widi  B-fcet  of 
Bereilt««n  hvndi'ed  vmaela, — tbere  iros  not  a  msD  ciipi^e  of 
beariog  anus  in  Et^land  who  did  not,  in  obedience  to  tba  rojal 
BOttOKinH,  march  to  tii»«OMtfl  of  Kent  and  Stusex  ;  and  tb^ewBa 
not  a  ship  capaUe  of  oKtiying  sis  borsoB  tbat  was  not  bnn^ht  into 
FortBinoatli  haH)OHr.  It  was  eakula(«d  at  this-thne  that  upwards 
of  Biitj  t^iia«nd  men  bad  ra&ied  ander  the  standard  tyt  Jt^n. 
'  Sufficient, '  eidaiioB  iba  old  ehroBMler,  '  to  have  de#ed  alt  the 
powers  of  Europe,  had  tfcey  been  animated  wilii  low  fer  their 
BoTereign.'  It  mattered  le»  that  they  should  be  aunaated  with 
loTe  for  thdr  Borcreign,  than  with  love  for  their  eotmtry.  This 
they  had.  This,  J(rfia  did  tiot  dam  to  trust.  He  had  hi»  last 
remainiDg  <^(Utoe  wntfain  hie  'groap,  and  let  it  meanly  go. 

Sy  this  tisie,  Innoce^  knew  bia  whde  dastmid^  cbeariKteir. 
With  a  »ere  eetded  ti^ret  reliimee  en-  that,  than  on  the  p«pMa- 
tions  of  FhiKp,  henowBent  bis  emtfidential  minister,' t4ie  Sab^dmcon 
Pandttlph,  to  terrify  him  to  a  compromise  before  the  War  idtouid 
begin.  Pandslph  j<nned  John  at  Dover.  It  wae  tiiree  days 
Vitbin  the  Feast  of  Ascenwon  ;  and  one  Feter  the  Hermit  had 
predicted  that  on  the  F«aBt  of  AaeesBion,  John  diotiM  ba«e  leased 
to  reign.  WorUng  with  this  and  other  agesciea  ou  tkedeqrietttde 
feoTB  M^  siupieionB  ui  the  oowardly  praice,  the  w^  Faodulph 
proeared  his  Hignature  to  an  inBtrument  whi^  he  hsd  bafore 
«oatampttKiHily  rejeoted,  and  which  was  made  knewn  the  fDUowing 
day.  It  admitted  Langton  to  the  archbiihoprie  of  Canterbury  ;  it 
reatored  to  tbeir  lands  and  offices  aiU  exilM,  lay  and  deried  ;  it 
liberated  whoeret  hod  been  imprisoned  in  the  eo»se  af  the  fire 
years'  qnarrel  t  it  rerwsed  all  outlawriee  ^;ainst  ehnri^uaten,  and 
(pve  bends  that  the  dergy  should  be  no  longer  snbject  to  snch 
judgments  ;  it  engaged  to  make  foil  rastitution  for  momeB  anlaw- 
fntly  seized  and  injariea  wantwily  iufficted,  in  the  course  oS  the 
Btraggt«witbiwc)eBiaBttcal«athority  ;  and,  these  conditiota  faitit- 
fuHy  eoraptied  with,  it  provided  tot  the  revokement  of  th«  aentencea 
Xf  Interdict  and  ExeomBHinleation,  Bffld  for  the  return  of  tlM  exiled 
hiBhops  to  their  allegiance. 

Onthe  day  titia  iaBtntnrent  wafl  made  public,  with  the  lung's  signa- 
ture, and  with  those  ef  SatisbBry,  Boulogne,  Warrenne,  anTFaRWB, 
the  English  fleet  was  on  its  way  back  to  harbour,  after  h**ing 
captured  a  squadron  at  the  mouth  of  the  Smhb,  destroyed  the 
slnps  in  the  hubeur  of  Fecamp,  swept  the  whde  ceaBt  of  Normandy, 
and  burnt  IKeppe  to  the  groond.  Hons  thaa  ^s,  Tbe  Bn^^ii^ 
t2 


276  A  mSTOBT  FOB  TOUKQ  BKQLAHD. 

Btandard  dow  floated  over  Bcirhitm  Downs,  with  more  than  sixt/ 
thousand  men  in  arms  to  defend  it.  Yet  two  days  after,  the  15Ui 
of  Maj  1213  (the  inteirening  daj  having  been  passed  by  Jiriin 
and  Fandulph  in  solitary  conference),  witnessed  an  act  of  igao- 
miny  and  infamy  that  would  have  remuned  almost  incredible,  eren 
thou^  the  English  fleet  had  been  blown  into  Bhreds  out  of  the 
channel,  and  every  man  that  bore  arms  beneath  the  Eaglisk 
standard  had  gone  over  to  the  standard  of  Philip. 

Early  on  that  morning,  in  the  church  of  the  Templara  at 
Dover,  John,  surrounded  by  several  prelates,  foreign  mercenaries  and 
knighta,  and  the  few  barons  that  adhered  to  him,  placed  in  the 
hands  of  Pandulph  a  charter,  formally  auhscribed  and  exefinted. 
It  was  read  then  and  there.  It  declared  that  John,  king  of 
England,  having  resolved,  in  atonement  for  his  sins  against  God 
and  the  Church,  to  humble  himself  even  as  lie  who  for  all  onr 
Bakes  humbled  himself  unto  death,  then  and  there  did,  not 
through  fear  or  force,  but  of  his  own  free  will,  and  with  the 
unanimous  consent  of  his  harons  (sanctified  pretences  must 
be  propped  by  deUberate  falsehoods),  grant  to  God,  to  the  holy 
apostles  Peter  and  Paul,  to  pope  Innocent,  and  to  Innocent's  rightful 
successws,  the  king4om  of  England  and  the  kingdom  of  Ireland, 
to  be  held  of  him  and  of  the  Roman  church  in  fee,  bj  the  annual 
rent  of  one  thousand  marks,  and  the  annual  payment  of  Peter's 
pence,  with  reservation  to  himself  and  his  heirs  of  the  administra- 
tion of  justice  and  the  rights  of  the  crown.  The  instrument  being 
read,  John  knelt  before  Pandulph  as  the  pope's  representaliTe, 
and  took  the  oath  of  fealtj  to  Innocent.  He  took  it  in  the  words 
of  a  vassal  swearing  HubmisHioD  to  his  lord  ;  and  doubtless  rose 
with  a  comfortable  sense  of  gladness  that  so  he  had  laid  England  at 
the  feet  of  a  foreign  priest,  and  done  his  best  to  make  every  one 
of  her  children  as  much  a  slave  and  vassal  as  himself.  He  had 
even  taken  exquisite  care  to  bind  posterity  to  the  imitation  of 
his  own  baseness,  by  agreeing  to  the  instant  forfeiture  of  all  die 
rights  of  his  successors,  should  thoy  attempt  to  contravene  the 
doings  of  that  infamous  day. 

There  is,  nevertheless,  not  an  English  freeman  living  in  this  nino- 
teentb  century  who  may  not  trace  in  some  degroe  to  that  day  a 
portion  of  the  liberty  he  enjoys.  The  first  great  advance  to  a 
general  an3  equitable  legal  government  must  be  said  to  date  from 
it.  Memorable  were  the  three  remaining  years  of  the  life  of  John, 
and  filled  with  events  of  importance  to  all  succeeding  ages. 
They  will  be  treated  in  another  chapter. 

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HOBB  OF  A  JonKNBT  PROM  COBM BILL,  TO  Gbind  ClIBO,  by  Way  of  LisboD, 
AdKos,  Giiwtaii^ople,  and  Jerusalem  :  performed  in  the  Sleamera  of 
flw  PeniDtnlar  and  Oriental  Companj.  By  Mr.  M.  A.  TiTU&sa,  Author 
of  the  Iri^  Sketch  Book,  &c.  P.  Gvo.  liondon :  CbapioBn  and  HalL 
Ml.  MiaHiELAnQiLoTiTiiAnaH'satyIe,a£  exemplified  in  the  "Yellow 
Plush  Correspondence,"  the  "Irish  Sketch  Book,"  and  certain  weekly 
coutribntiouB,  is  Eufficieutly  well  known  to  lead  all  who  opened 
the  present  work  to  expn^t  something  highly  entertidning  and  amusing. 
The  same  sort  of  joj'ful  expectation  that  we  need  to  feel  at  the  ridng  of 
the  cnrtain  to  a  jovial  pantomime,  occupied  hb  on  taking  np  this  book ; 
and  we  have  not  been  disappointed ;  we  have,  indeed,  oeen  more  than 
satisfied,  for  it  contains  not  only  vivid  pictniea  of  foreign  places  and 
pet^le,  bnt  that  qniet,  agreeable,  good-hnmonred  satire  on  men  and 
follies,  which  is  all  the  more  agreeable  for  being  the  result  of  good 
taste  and  good  feeling.  Satire,  at  least  in  onr  language,  had,  nntil  vei^ 
lately,  been  a  coarse  commodity,  hut  we  have  lived  to  see  that  it 
tnay  be  keen  and  pungent  when  united  with  the  utmost  delicacy  of 
expression  and  the  greatest  kindness  of  feeling.  Mr.  Titmarsh  is  a 
satirist,  but  then  his  book  is  far  from  being  bitter,  or,  if  it  is  so,  the 
draught  is  so  well  commingled,  that  what  he  says  of  certain  sherbet, 
"  the  bitterest  and  most  delicious  of  dranghts  1 '  may  well  he  applied 
to  it 

The  nnmber  of  j>ages  does  not  exceed  three  hondred  ;  it  is  a  small 
book  as  to  actual  size,  yet  it  is  wonderful  what  a  description  of  people 
and  things,  what  hnmotons  pictures,  what  innnmerable  remarks  and 
allosions  it  contains.  It  is  the  veiy  essence  of  travels,  and  like  the 
mbtlest  distillation,  is  very  potent  in  its  effects.  It  is  difficult  to 
define  wherein  its  charm  consists — perhaps  in  the  onion  of  many  cha- 
racteristics, certainly  in  its  being  not  only  a  book  of  travels,  but  of 
reflections.  An  excellent  account  of  Gibraltar  is  given,  quite  equal  in 
detail  to  a  goide-book  devoted  to  the  subject ;  but  we  have  Uiereto 
many  sly  glancings  at  the  absurdities  of  human  nature  on  which  war 
is  based.  At  Athens  again,  we  have  a  very  excellent  view  of  the  place 
M  it  is ;  with  a  sufficient  perception  of  what  remains  of  the  beautifiil, 
bnt  with  a  very  wholesome  castigation  of  the  affectation  and  cant  of 
elasaic  enthiuiaem.  At  Smyrna,  all  the  time  we  are  receiving  vivid 
notices  of  the  place,  we  have  the  double  advantage  of  having  one  of  the 
most  acnle  and  Incid  illnstrations  of  "  the  Arab«in  Nights"  Entertain- 
ments," and  so  generally  on  the  art  of  literature.    What  can  be  better 


278  NEW  BOOKS. 

te  an  erposiUoD  of  the  charm  of  that  prodaction,  and  better  express 
the  graces  of  style  than  the  following  1  "  The  beanty  of  that  poetry  ia, 
to  me,  that  it  was  ntver  too  handsome;  Uiere  ia  no  fatigue  ofmiblimi^ 
about  it."  In  all  parts  of  the  book  the  soundest  taste  ia  roanifeatea, 
and  the  tme  position  of  Byron  and  bis  school  well  posited  as  to  Shak- 
epeare  and  the  greater  poets.  Our  ^>ace  does  not  permit  of  giving 
extracts  and  eiamplea  ;  bat  the  following  happy  expressions  will  give 
some  idea  how  the  book  glows  with  £ne  perceptiona  and  observant 
satire.  "  Our  guida,  an  oecompluhed  amnditr,"  as  a  matter  of  coarse. 
The  gentleDimi  at  Athens  he  dssjHibra  as  "  fierce  bub  not  dAngerons ;" 
and  Tejoioes  at  Smyrna,  "  that  a  LoB^uar  i»  bo  longer  a  spiUooo  for 
true  believOTB." 

Mr.  Titmarsh  ia  not,  too,  without  bisenUuuiann,  tJunigh  ii  aeenii  to 
glow  more  towards  the  living  than  the  dead,  as  witnesfihis  description 
of  the  beauliea  of  Smyrna,  more  aapecially  the  Fig-nymph-  We  appre- 
hend bnt  one  annoyance  ^m  this  book,  and  that  ia  the  setting  in  of  a 
race  of  cemic  tourisU.  Now,  as  incapacity  is  mere  bearable  in  the  old 
stereotyped  phraseology,  and  learning  may  be  aeaful  when  it  does  not 
endeavour  to  become  frolicsome,  we  hope  that  Mr.  Titmarsh,  tber^ore, 
will  register  his  style,  as  the  tailors  do  the  fashien '  of  a  paletct,  and 
that  thus  we  ehall  be  saved  from  an  epidemic  of  fotly,  !oi  which,  unfor- 
tunately, no  quarantine  is  provided.  Let  him  go  over  the  whole  globe 
after  th«  same  mpde,  and  we  ^vill  go  with  him  joyfully ;  but  as  is  said 
to  the  swvants,  we  cannot  allow  any  foUowais.  We  diead  Uie  next 
anmmer,  or  rather  the  following  publishing  season.  Bui,  however,  we 
tcvst  weihall  th^  see  him  again  and  aloae. 


PoENS.  Bt  Thoius  Hooii.  Id  Two  YolmDee.  Fq>.  Svo.  lk>B^  : 
Edward  Moxon. 
AoAiN  have  we  in  the  greatbusyblnndering  world ;  stupid,  stolid,  dozing, 
prosing,  hustling,  bustling  with  the  petty  object  of  the  day,  let  one  of 
the  greatest  of  our  poets  gn  down  to  the  gra,ve  unappreciated,  or  if 
partially  deified,  wrongfully  so,  And  thia  in  an  age  ringing  with 
indignation  against  other  blind,  wilful,  itupid  old  ages  that  are  gone  ; 
especially  fulminating  against  the  seventeenth  as  not  appreciating  the 
great  one,  in.  spite  of  contemporary  landationa  that  he  was — 

— 1 , "  thondering  iBwhylu* 

"  Endpides  and  Sophocles  to  us, 

*  PacDvius,  AoMiia,  him  of  Cordova  " "■ 

or  uain,  though^  it  wa«  boldly,  but  yet  wie^y  pro^uod  ^iti  he 
gboold  be 

"  Frerii  to  all  asee  t  wbes  poatan^ 

"ShdU  lralA««Aal'(n«u,  think  bU  hi*  paodjgy, 

"  ThatiiinolSbakeapeue's,  evevy  line  each  vevM 


v.Goo'^lc 


KBW:  BOOKS.  2^S 

Sorely  put-  a^'  do  not  .deBejrv«  this  stolid  charaeter,  and  if  thej 
Aould,  IB  oora  m  a  condition  to  bring  llie  chai^  T  Who  ff'as  brave  or 
wise  enongh  to  aesBFt  whilst  he  was  alive,  that  Thomaa  Hood  was  a 

Ct  poet  t  or,  like  Jonson  or  Diggea,  would  dare  to  name  him  with 
ice  or  Theocritna,  with  JuvenS,  or  even  with  our  own  Pope  or 
Dryden,  much  less  with  Sbaluspeare  or  Jonson,  two  names  that  at 
length  demand  a  aarvile  homage  evea  with  the  nnimpressionable  many. 
And  yet  we  defy  any  who  tan  truly  appreciate  these  poetE,  after 
perasmg  the  two  volumes  now  published,  not  to  say  Hood  deservedly 
ranka  with  them,  uniting  in  a  wonderful  degree  the  opposite  qualities 
of  many.  Why  wait  for  confirmation  of  many  generations  to  assert 
this,  when  a  comparisou  of  the  works  will  justify  the  assertion.  Were 
this  collection  for  the  first  time  put  into  the  hands  of  a  man  of  taste 
and  eiperience,  it  would  be  difficult  to  convince  hira  it  was  the  product 
of  one  spirit.  Or  be  must  declare  that  it  was  a  kindred  production  to 
that  of  the  very  few  that  embrace  the  whole  circle  of  human  sympathies, 
and  possess  the  opposite  Unities  of  wit  and  pathoa  in  their  utmost 
perfection.  To  our  own  shame  wa  say  it,  we  knew  not  Thomas  Hood 
until  his  real  wojke  were  thus  presented  to  us.      We  had  seen  him 

Siecemeal,  had  admired,  as  they  crossed  us,  many  of  his  individnal  pro- 
actions.  We  regarded  him  of  course  as  a  great  humorist,  as  a  most 
amusing  word-conjurer,  aa  an  earnest,  powerful  enunoiator ;  but  we  had 
never  reSected  on  the  curious  or  the  tiirprising  contrariety  and  univer- 
sality of  hia  powers.  He  bad  been  contrasted  (and  that  too  in  a  work 
of  great  pretension)  with  Theodore  Hook.  The  porest  critics  coald 
not  consider  him  but  as  a  great  joker — a  hving  and  enlarged  Joe  Miller 
of  the  age.  His  grave  poems  were  received  with  more  suijirise  than 
Wrpreciation,  and  slowly  won  their  way  to  public  attention.  The- 
*'Song  of  the  Shirt"  ran  with  electric  powerthrongh  the  whole  mind 
of  the  land ;  and  even  that  perhaps  owed  something  to  its  medinm, 
BO  slow  are  we  all  to  give  credence  to  an  unejpected  development  of 
power.  Its  stem  nncomproniiaing  reality  too,  was  as  much  a  passport 
to  its  ready  popularity  as  its  own  felicitous  truth  and  poaticalpower : 
"  Eugene  Aram's  Dream,"  nor  the  "  Midsummer  Fairies,  both 
inlrinsicaliy  greater  than  this  admirable  but  painfal  lyric,  made  no- 
(nch  sensation  ;  and  the  latter,  and  his  "Hero  and  Leander  "  never 
reached  beyond  a  very  limited  first  edition.  In  oar  opinion  they  must 
both  take  a  permanent  place  in  the  langnage,  more  especially  the  last, 
which  is  worthy  to  stand  beside  the  old  Qreek  poem,  or  its  admirable 

C phrase  by  Marlowe.     It  is  highly  probable  that  whatever  posterity 
V  of  IHr.  Hood,  will  be  through  the  beautiful  lyric  and  narrative 
poems  in  these  volumes - 

His  power  over  words  is  wonderful,  surely  no  writer  at  all  eqnals 
him  in  his  abundance  and  aptitude  in  the  use  of  epithets  so  perfect  yet 
so  inexhaustible,  equalled  only  by  his  power  of  verse  which  is  nume- 
rous, ciyatal  and  sparkling  as  if  scooped  directfrom  Uie  Pieriui  spring 
This  certain  proof  of  tras  poetry  he  pwMwos  in  great  force.    Hu- 


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power  of  words  is  magical,  making  them  perfonu  seTeral  dntiea  at  the 
same  moment,  and  playing  sleight-of-pen  with  them  in  a  manner  that 
no  one  else  c^  at  all  approach.  For  instance,  in  that  wonderful  poem, 
"  An  Ode  addressed  to  Hae  Wilson,  Esquire,"  we  have — 


"  Ab  if  b«  dee-dash-dee'd 


Of  this  indomitable  tendency  to  indicate  the  landfal  and  the  frolic- 
some Out  floats  as  it  were  o<rer  the  snrbce  even  of  the  deepest  truths 
and  most  powerful  emotions,  the  instances  are  innnmerable,  but  as 
that  earnest  little  poem  "  The  Workhouse  Clock  "  fumishea  a  atrikine 
example,not  only  Dlthis  strong  characteristic  hut  of  manyothers,  we  shall, 
contrary  to  our  uscal  custom,  indulge  in  a  quotation  or  two.  How 
abundant  in  expression,  feeling,  and  observation,  is  this  account  of  the 
panpei  throng  I — 


The 

'"'th      . 

Tba  veaver,  her  sallow  neighbour. 
The  grim  and  sooty  ardsan  : 
ETory  soul — child,  woman,  or  man 
Who  Uvee — or  dUl — by  labour. 
Stirred  by  an  orarwhelming  zeal, 
And  Booal  impulse,  a  terrible  thing  I 
Leaving  shuttle,  and  needle,  and  wheel. 
Furnace,  and  grindstone,  spindle,  and  reel. 
Thread,  and  yam,  and  iron,  and  steel — 
Yea,  rest  and  tht  get  unfautecj  meat — 
Gashing,  ruehing,  crushing  along, 
A  very  torrent  of  man  I 
Urged  by  the  sighs  of  sorrow  and  wraog. 
Grown  at  lost  to  a  hurricane  strong. 
Stop  its  course  who  can  ! 
Stop  who  can  its  onward  course 
And  irresistible  moral  force  ; 
O  t  vain  and  idle  dream  1 
For  surely  as  men  are  all  aklo. 
Whether  of  feir  or  sable  skin, 
.   According  to  natare's  schem^ 


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HEW  BOOKS.  2Sl 

Omrard,  anw*fd,  with  hast;  feet, 

Th^  swanD — and  westward  still — 

Manes  bom  to  drink  and  eat, 

Bnt  starrine  amidat  Whitechapel'a  meat. 

And  funisluiig  down  Corrihill  I  * 

Throngh  the  Poultry— but  still  unfed— 

ChratiBn  charit}',  bang  your  bead  I 

Hnngiy  pasBUig  the  street  of  Bread  ; 

TMraty— Uie  street  of  Milk  ; 

Ragged — beside  the  Ludsate  Mart, 

So  goTgeouB  tliTough  mechaaic-art, 

WiUi  cotton,  and  wool,  and  ulk  I  " 

Here  ia  a  trne  Shakeiipe&ma  poem,  both  in  abandance  of  language 
and  eicactness  of  eTpresaion,  and  it  will  stand  adyantageoaa  comparison 
foT  imagery  and  nice  touches  of  observation  with  Hubert's  account  of 
the  reception  hy  the  popalace  of  Arthur's  death. 

We  should  very  much  have  liked  to  enter  on  an  elaborate  exempli^ 
fication  of  the  vaat  variety  of  powers  these  poems  comprehend,  bat 
space  forbids:  wecanonly,therefore,  earnestly  recommend  to  the  reader 
"  The  Ode  to  Rae  Wilson,  Esq.,"  which  we  believe  has  hitherto  only 
appeared  in  a  periodical  publication  ;  for  strength  of  satire,  grace  and 
wit,  true  feelins,  and  that  peculiar  mixture  of  frolic  and  pathos  ttiat 
must  hereafter  cie  called  Hood-ism.  Never  have  cant  ana  hypocrisy 
beea  more  admirably  exposed,  and  the  gennine  feeling  broncht  so 
powerfully  out  in  contrast  to  it.  The  poetry  and  wit  are  here  blended 
miraculously.  We  had  marked  many  passages  to  qubte,  but  finding 
them  so  many,  leave  it  to  the  reader's  perusal.  The  lyric  poems  in  the 
second  volume  are  worthy  to  be  bound  up  with  Jouson's  and  Fletcher's.' 
The  sonnets  are  not  altogether  quite  so  exquisite  in  tone,  following 
too  much  the  concetti  of  tae  old  poets.  The  one  on  Lear  is  too  full  of 
them,  and  altogetlier  beneath  the  mighty  subject  Bnt  the  following  is 
BO  appropriate,  that  we  cannot  refrain  from  closing  with  it  onr  too  brief 
notice  of  two  volumes  that  are  full  to  oversowing  with  the  divine  and 
refining  essence  of  genuine  poetry ; — 

"  His  voice  is  Beard,  but  body  there  is  none 
To  fix  the  vain  excurwons  of  the  eye  ; 
So  poeta'  ^songa  are  with  us  when  ^ey  die, 
Obscnr'd,  and  bid  by  death's  oblivious  sbmnd, 
And  earth  inherits  me  rich  melody." 


Velisco  ;  OB,  Mehoibs  di 

The  key  to  this  novel  may  be  fonnd  in  its  first  and  last  sentences. 
Its  motto  says,  quoting  from  old  Barton,  "  Amidst  the  ^lantiy  and 
misery  of  the  world,  jollities,  perplexities  and  cares,  simplicity  and 


Tillany,  sabtlsU,  knaveir,  csnduir  and  mt^miTt  witiiaUy  mixed,  and 
gfferiog  tbemselTes,  I  rao  on ;"  and  its  fiaia  feaienee'  is,  "  It  jaaj  be 
expected  to  afford  evidence  bowmncbl  feell^etntliof  the  aphorism, 
that  '  Experience  is  the  mothw  at  knowJedge.'  "  It  is  evidently  the 
work  of  one  who  has  Bean  mncb  of  men  and  the  world :  who  is 
acquainted  with  various  coontriss,  and  who  has  lired  his  whole  term 
with  hia  observation  keenly  alive.  Nor  in  so  living  does  he  seem  to  have 
dolled  his  sensibilities  to  the  good  or  the  beantifal  ;  the  whole  tone  of 
the  book  is  as  freah  and  as  buoyant,  as  trastfal  of  genuine  feeling  and 
virtne,  as  if  penned  by  an  eathusiast  ignorant  of  the  world.  It  is  nn- 
doobtedly  a  satirical  npvel,  and  tbon^  abounding  in  Spanish  names 
and  characters,  more  than  one  individual  holding  a  conspicuous  position 
in  QUI  own  land  may  he  diacemed.  It  is  doubtful  indeed  if  it  should 
not  be  clasHed  witi  tie  political  novel*,  and  placed  on  the. shelf  witi 
" Coningsby" aod  "The  Sybil,"  and  the  other  numerous  works  liiat 
have  for  the  last  twenty  years  porported  to  shadow  forth  the  bi^itory  of 


it  is  usually  buried  by  the  professed  historian.  It  bas,  in  fact,  a  double 
object,  atriuing  at  home  follies  ibroueh  fareiga  ones:  And,  certainly, 
if  Ibe  author  is  to  be  relied  upon  for  tiis  evidence,  and  there- is  eveiy 
reason  to  believe  that  he  speaks  from  personal  knowledge  and  long 
exp«rienae,  the  hereditary  anstocracy  of  every  oonntry  bears  within 
itself  the  seeds  of  mortal  disease,  their  dece^  and  estinotion  being 
distiuDtly  marked  in  their  mental  imbecilil^ ,  ignonnt  oaaamption,  dis- 
gosting  egotism,  and  sensual  heartlemness.  We  have  seen  the  decay  of 
uie  French,  Spaniidi,  and  indeed  almost  all  the  southern  continental 
hereditary  aristocracy,  by  the  appointment  of  noble  imbeciles  to  the 
governance  of  the  masy.  And  in  our  aountry  they  have  only  been 
saved  as  a  class  by  the  continuous  transfusion  of  new  vigour  from 
the  classes  they  so  sillily  afiect  to  look  down  upon.  We  have  seen 
what  Dukeism  has  come  to,  and  may  live  to  see  Barouism-  equallr 
demented.  Aferit  in  the  individual,  and  not  in  hie  dead  great-grand- 
father, is  bat  becoming  the  test  of  competency.  All  this  is  well  set 
forth  in  the  present  novel,  not  obtruaivdy  declared,  but  unfolded  in. 
nice  traits  of  character,  and  a  development  from  the  life.  We  know 
not  what  has  been  the  author's  career,  but  be  evidently  has  been  in  a 
situation,  if  not  to  share  in  the  working,  to  well  view  the  machinery  of 
public  governance. 

It  is  quite  impossible,  having  once  viewed  it  in  this  liabt,  not  to 
discern  uiat  not  only  are  several  public  characters,  but  that  several 
public  events  are  delineated,  and  dilineat«d  with  a  shrewd  knowledge 
of  their  internal  processes.  A  fiery  biehop  ;  s  tergiversating,  high  legal 
functionsjy  ;  a  facile,  tima-ssrving,  subtJe  minister,  with  very  little 
alteration  of  circumstances,  might  ali  be  found  in  oni  own  senate.  The 
Post  Office  eBpionaga,  the  cant  of  religious  promulpition,  and  other 
*— tcE  of  the  time,  are  as  applicable  to  England  as  to  Spun. 

t  is,  however,  not  only  in  political  maUen  that  the  aathor  has 


It  ii 


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KKW  SOOKS.  388 

bFODght  the  vhole  of  hia  Imowladge  b)  bwr,  Ths  nlativB  poMtton  of 
tjie  eexes,  the  follua  of  the  imagiaaUre,  and  the  fraudi  of  the  cnnning, 
are  smartlj  portrayed.  The  stolidity  and  DnprogTewiTeiMM  of  the 
provincial  portion  of  society,  and  the  folly  of  nseleu  kunisg,  lure 
shown  in  two  almost  Dovel  cWacteis — Fattier  Uanoet  sad  the  barber 
Capello.  The  style  is  esaeatially  that  of  the  Spaoieh  novel  ag  perfected 
by  Le  Sage.  Innumerable  chaiactere,  endless  iocideala,  and  perpetual 
rapidity  of  uarratiTe,  angptfi*  and  fixes  the  attention.  Aninial  epitits 
exclude  al!  unwholesome  sentimeutaiity  ;  at  the  same  time  it  most  be 
said  that  the  English  author  emits  occaGionvJlv'  a  tendemeu  and  full 
aenseof  thegoodaad  the  hieh,.  which,  is  nut  to  De  found  in  the  Picaroon 
school.  The  hsro'is  certainly  not  free  from  the  eirore  of  hie  class,  bnt 
there  is  no  confusion  of  the  author's  setitiments  of  right  and  wrong  with 
this  personuja'a  conduct.  There  are  seme  episodes  and  descriptions 
which  partake  more  of  (he  elevated  style  of  Cervanlea  than  that  of 
LeSage. 

Of  course  it  has  ita  defects,  and  these  we  Uix  to  be  mieparabla 
from  its  oonslmction.  The  imitation  of  a  well-known  'style  is  apt  to 
detract  from  the  real  merits  of  the  imitator,  and  the  detenuination  to 
satirically  expose  political  abuses  makes  the  narrative  occasionallv 
darken  into  a  more  sombre  and  prosaic  style  than  is  oonipatiUe  wiui 
llie  lighter  and  gayer  portions.  Aliegether,  however,  it  has  great 
merila,  uniting  as  it  does  in  conunoD  with  the  highest  class  of  this 
8i>ecies  of  literatnre,  a  poorlTayBl  and  development. of  huraao  natue 
with  an  interesting  lively  story.  Its  varied  chwaetaia,  incessant  advui- 
tore,  and  animated  portraitures  of  Spanish  men,  womffli,  and  mannen, 
must  make  it  as  acceptable  to  those  who  seek  such  mental  pabnlnm 
only  for  excitement,  as  its  deeper  chaiacteristics  will  tn  those  who 
never  tire  in  viewing  the  endless  kaleidoscope  of  bnaianity.  The  vivid- 
ness of  the  delineation  of  Spanish  manners  and  feelinga,  and  the 
admirable  descriptions,  can  only  be  derived  from  a  perwmal  knowledge  of 
the  land  and  its  pet^le.  It  is  evidently  the  result  of  a  life  of  great 
incident  and  colture,  and  as  aoch  deserves  to  be  pbced  on  the.porma- 
nent  list  of  our  fictions. 


This  is  a  novel  written  with  a-  purport  beyond  the  intention  of  gra- 
tifying the  ciwuntiD  patrons,  of  the  circulating  libmr^.  Mr.  Cborley  hat 
peculiar  notiona  and,  theories- relatitu  to  various  sscial  matters,  and  like 
the  otGer  philosophers  or  satirists  of  the.  time,  he  adopts .  this  mode-  of 
promalgating  them.  To  expose  the  mercenary  tradinij  spirit  that  per- 
vaiks  one  section  of  charchinenf  and.  the  illiberal  ^lim  that  the  truly 

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284  SSV  BOOKS, 

coDscienttous  poriion  of  them  are  sabject  to  from  a  misiadgiDg  pnblic, 
seems  f«  form  the  staple  commodilj  of  the  work,  Pablic  opinion  and 
private'  judgment  are,  however,  bronght  into  farther  contrast  by  the 
indirect  advocacy  of  talent  against  mere  social  podtion, — the  hero, 
Walter  Carew,  a  man  of  statioa  and  fortune,  manring  a  Mademoiselle 
Pirzheim,  a  mosical  genius,  but  placed  in  several  situations  that  are 
hiehly  shocking  to  coaventionaJ  persons. 

The  novel  is  well  worthy  of  perusal  for  several  qualities,  and  there 
are  in  it  many  gleams  of  characleiiBtics  that  are  valuable,  as  sounding 
in  a  new  though  slight  and  narrow  track,  the  dept^  of  human  nature. 
The  author  haa  considerable  capacity  for  oiigiikal  observation,  and  an 
impressive  style  of  commanicatiug  his  experiences.  As  a  story,  it  is  not 
felicitously  designed.  One  half  of  it  concerns  the  domestic  ai^irs  of  a 
quiet,  not  to  say  "  hnm-dronr"  family  of  English  middle  life,  ali 
respectability  and  propriety :  and  the  other  h^  the  adventures  of 
foreign  adventureiB,  amidst  the  most  romantic  localities,  all  excitement 
and  desperation.  The  framework  also  adds  to  the  complexity  and 
wearisomenesg  of  its  too  elaborate  det^ls,  the  work  purporting  to  be  a 
hiatoiy,  written  by  a  vety  prosy  old  bachelor,  whose  interpolating 
remarks  very  often  mar  the  vraisemblance  and  interrupt  the  narrative. 
Nor  is  there  any  of  that  interest  excited  towards  the  characters  which 
it  is  peculiarij  the  province  of  this  kind  of  literature  to  create.     The 

Ewd  people,  it  cannot  but  be  acknowledged,  are  very  good  ;  and  the 
ad  one  ought  to  detest ;  but  somehow  or  other,  one  Beems  to  care  for 
none  of  them,  thongh  it  would  be  difficult  to  state  how  it  is,  one  is  so 
indifferent  towards  them.  We  take  it,  that  it  must  arise  from  the  pro- 
trusion of  the  author's  idiosyncrasy,  llirouf^  the  thin  drapery  of  cha- 
racter he  throws  over  his  lay  figures. 

'  The  ability,  and  there  is  great  ability  in  the  work,  consists  in 
its  occasional  sketches  and  scenes,  and  it  has  altogether  more  of  dra- 
matic than  descriptive  power  ;  and  several  of  its  passages  are  bithfsl 
iranscriptsoflifeand its  customs  andprocesses,  and  prove  uieanthor  to  be 
well  acquainted  with  many  modes  of  existence  and  clutracter.  This,  in- 
deed,sometJmes  degenerates  into  personalitIes,and  there  isone  scene,  and 
probably  more,  though  we  have  not  been  able  to  detect  them,  in  which 
a  notorious  dealer  in  works  of  art  is  portrayed  to  his  Tery  words.  Mr. 
Chorley  is  to  a  certain  degree  a  champion  of  talent,  particnlarly  of  the 
professors  of  the  fine  arts,  and  has  an  irrepressible  indignation  towards 
those  cont«mptible  pseudo-patrons  who  manifest  themselves  in  two 
shapes  ;  beiux  either  sordid  and  impudent  traders,  who,  while  robbing 
tfie  artist  of  his  fair  remuneration,  affect  an  encouragement  of  art ;  or 
else,  belonging  to  that  equally  or  even  more  contemptible  class,  who, 
assuming  on  their  rank  and  position,  patronise  rising  ability  in  order  to 
mimster  to  their  own  consequence  and  vanity,  with  a  chilling  and 
supercilious  insolence  and  meanness,  that  is  even  more  distFessing  to 
genius  than  the  coarse  assumption  of  Uieimpodsnttrader.  Wediouldbe 


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glad,  however,  if  there  was  greater  breadth  and  firmDera  in  the  author^ 
satire,  and  tliat  it  was  more  free  from  a  self-snffideiit  and  petulant 
lone.  It  is,  however,  a  work  worthy  of  attentive  pemsal,  and  of  a 
pennauent  place  in  our  literatnie,  as  containing  the  evidence  of  a  keen 
and  observant  witness  of  social  affairs. 


FORBST  *BD   GAHE   LlW   Tiim.      By   HaBEIBT  HlKTIHUU.      Vol.  III.'  ■ 

Fc«p.  Bvo,  LondOD  ;  E.  Moxon. 
We  see  no  reason  to  alter  our  sentiments  as  expressed  towards  the 
first  volume  of  this  series.  As  the  tales  come  down  to  oar  own  period 
thej  have  somewhat  more  of  visisemblance,  and  the  authoress  ia  always 
on  the  side  of  humanity ;  however,  it  is,  after  all,  but  special  pleading, 
and  too  much  is  ofton  proved.  The  wants  and  the  rights  of  the  poor 
can  no  longer  be  tampered  with,  and  they  have  now  more  to  fear  fi-om 
too  much  than  from  too  little  interference.  It  is  dangerous  to  confound 
charities  with  rights.  Loss  of  independence  as  a  class  is  more  injurious 
than  neglect  from  the  rich ;  the  best  coonsel  is  to  teach  them  to  work 
out  their  own  claims  in  the  social  scheme. 


The  Fbtikqs  op  i  Posthan.  Poet  Sro.  Lond<Hi :  Smith,  Elder,  &  Co. 
The  idea  of  this  volume  is  good  as  a  vehicle  for  the  exemplificatioD 
of  character,  bnt  it  cannot  be  said  to  be  well  carried  oat.  It  is  not 
entire!;  deficient  in  this  particnlar,  nor  without  occasional  gleams  of 
interest ;  but  the  world  and  its  cnriodty  wonld  not  have  lost  much  if 
the  Postman  of  Stockgate  had  proved  ^thful  to  his  trust  and  delivered 
his  letters  as  directed  instead  of  to  the  pablic. 


WEstEBH  Cleiuhos.    By  Hrs.  C.  M.  Ktbelahd,  itaUior  of  A  Nov  Home," 

&e.    Sq.  ISma.    London:  Wiley  and  Patniun. 

The  WtdwiH  AND  TBB  CutN.    By  W.  GiLVOBE  SIKHS.    Second  Series. 

Sq.  12nu>.    Londm  -.  Wiley  and  Fotnam. 

TlLBS    FltOH    THE    GeKIUH    OF    HsiNBICH    ZsCHaKEE.       Bv  PaRSB  GODWIN. 

Second  Series.    Sq.  12mo,     London:  Wiky  and  Poloam. 

Tbreb  publications  forming  a  portion  of  "Wiley  and   Putnam's 

libraty  of  Choice  Reading,"  printed  and  published  in  America,  and 

reissued  here  with  new  title  pages.     As  they  possess  the  interest  of 

foreign  literatare,  and  conseqaenuy  a  degree  of  freshness  that  is  advan- 


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20B  «tW  BOOKS. 

tagBom,  we  doubt  the  policy  of  «iidetrmriDg  io  mnke  Aem  xppma  to 
be  Bnropeui  piodnctiaDs. 

The  lady's  bot*— "W«ternCleariiigf"— contHinsfoaiteenrtorieH,  to 
that  if  anr  one  is  tediona,  it  «tuinot  be  said  to  be  long.  Nor  to  aur  one 
interested  in  new  mannen  and  pntisewortliy  efforts  can  they  be  teoioos. 
The  weet,  "  the  far  west,"  is  a  land  of  hope  and  adveulare,  and  anjr 
iUnstiation  of  it  mnst  hare  tome  degree  of  interest,  and  as  sach  is 
worth  reading.  Novelty  of  matter,  however,  nnfortonately  does  not 
necessarily  produce  omMj  of  style,  and  we  are  diaappoiitted  at  findhtg 
in  American  litetature  a  vearisome  edio  of  osr  mode,  Mra.  Kirkland 
is  very  good  and  very  obaervant,  and  so  is  Mr.  Qilmore  Simms,  but 
somehow  there  is  the  old  flavour  in  their  style,  and  thoogh  we  know 
much  of  the  material  is  new,  still  the  cookery  makes  it  appear  stale. 
This  comes  of  that  aniverBaljetonpleasant  human  tendency,  imitation. 
Formula  ia  bo  easily  ftdlowed,  and  ao  difficult  to  create.  We  must 
therefore  take  ibe  dishee  aa  we  find  them,  and  there  is  excellent  food 
in  all  of  them.  - 

The  "  Transla^ona  from  Zschokke  "  seem  faithful  and  spirited,  and 
he  has  a  vi^ur  of  nairstien  and  composition  that  make  the  reading  hia 
talea  not  a  duty  but  a  pleasnre. 


Tu.ESi'Boii  Bocciccio/'witli Modem IlkistTBtionsi  aod o&er Feeau.  Fcp. 
8ro.  Loudon  :  R.  Bentley. 
Wr  have  debated  whether  we  shonld  notice  this  strange  book,  bnt 
as  we  BDppose  it  was  sent  to  as  witl>  a  dtoeire  on  the  part  of  its  pro- 
ducers th&t  it  aheold  be  commented  npon,  we  shall  not  refuse  to  do  so. 
It  might  be  superciliously  dismissed  as  the  work  of  scone  crack-brained 
and  impertinent  individual,  who,  either  not  knowing,  or  foolishly  despis- 
ing all  the  uBoally  received  and  understood  decencies  of  society,  recklessly 
abandons  them.  Boccaccio  very  properly  has  long  been  a  book  which 
decent  individuals  only  read  in  a  selected  edition ;  the  selection,  therefore, 
of  one  of  his  most  irreverent  stories  would  aloce  be  a  signal  instance  of 
bad  ta£t«,  bat  when  diis  is  made  a  medium  for  introdacing  pertmsl 
attacks  on  men  already  (knawn  to  lite  world  in  various  ways  it  is  grossly 
indeooroas.  The  style  is  so  eia^rated  that  it  precludes  the  idea  of 
there  being  any  intended  maJioe,  but  it  is  aot  therefore  the  less  imper- 
tinent both  to  the  public  and  the  individuals  concerned.  Such  intem- 
perance of  conduct  can  only  be  attributed  to  ill-regulated  animal  spiritfi, 
which  breaking  into  untimely  boisteronsnesa  imagines  itself  witty.  These 
remarks  apply  more  partiealatiy  to  the  first  tate,  bnt  the  whole  book  ia 
an  unpleasant  mixture  of  attefflpted  wit,  and  »  bewildering  mysticism. 
It  is  certainly  the  product  of  mor«  than  one  writer,  and  they  seem  to 
belong  to  a  daw  that  has  no  fttcnlty  of  meaAving  Qiings  by  a  reamnable 


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to  gaide  them :  tbtij  have  no  sense  of  litneag,  and  no  peteeptioa  5  pto~ 
inieties.  Thej  leem  m  iF,  Ehoiild  thej  be  mclmed  to  b«  gaUaDt,  tbey 
would  inault  BomB  meek  old  womau,  or  if  witty  commence  a  gnffaw 
in  a  sick  chamber.  I'hey  have  no  real  notion  in  what  wit  consists, 
md  seem  to  tbink  audacity  and  coai^eness  its  principal  characteristics. 
The  book  woald  not  be  worth  aTen  snch  notice,  aid  it  not  eontain 
■ome  passageB  bespeaking  fine  perceptions  and  *poetica]  exjiEession. 
ITiongii  coaise,  not  to  say  indecent,  and  irreTerent,  not  only  as  regards 
religions  feeling,  bnt  human  nature  itaelf,  it  is  not  positively  yicioas, 
and  seems  ratber  the  lesntt  of  a  disordered  imagination  than  the  invo- 
luntary violence  of  a  roboit  consdtntion.  We  should  net  be  snrpnsed 
to  find  it  the  product  of  tbe  grave  fathers  of  large  families,  who  have 
indulged  in  wttat  they  deem  a  little  worldly  fi-olic.  It  is,  however,  too 
much  like  tlie  froKcsomeness  of  middle-aged  gentlemen,  ^oee  forced 
animal  spirits  are  apt  to  lead  them  into  nnfeemly  and  disreputable 
dilemmas.  We  regret  that  what  is  good  in  it,  and  there  is  mncb  that 
is  fine,  mast  be  sunk  by  the  overwhelming  trash,  and  hope  never  again 
to  have  (o  peruse  sncb  revolting  and  abortive  attempts  to  attract  noto- 
riety. There  is  sufBcieut  evidence  of  power  to  command  attention  in  a 
legitimate  career,  without  aiming  at  a  style  totally  muoitad  to  the 
gniiiB  of  tbe  wiiteiB. 


Sia  Ko«Btt  SB  COVKILBT,  ft  Tsle  of  the  Cenrt  of  Qiartos  thv  SMNiod.     Bf 

ttia  Aathor  of  "  Maids  of  Hohout."    In  3  volmooe,  post  Svo.    L<»don  : 

H.  Colbnni. 

It  is  Bonewbere  related  tliat  Steele  usad  to  amioy  Addison  by  threat- 
ening to  carry  the  worthy  and  most  respectable  knight  into  a  few  torn 
bolics,  md  oa  his  proceeding  la  carty  the  threat  into  eiecntion,  and 
datonnining  to  plaoe  the  woilby  Sir  Jtoger  in  a  disrsputaUe  dtnatioB, 
tliat  Add^n  pnt  aa  end  to  Hie  respectable  old  geutleman's  career  It 
noght  be  a  mattec  for  speonlUien  whether  the  crtatOT  of  the  character 
would  have  objected  to  the  preceeding  of  tbe  present  siitbsr,  wlie  has 
nvoned  the  proceeding,  and  given  as  the  early  cu««i  oi  this  eariiest 
•f  a  mce  of  gannina  Eoglisb  cbaracieis  which  have  been  eontinned  by 
kindred  gemiMS  liireugh  Mr.  AUworthy,  Sqnire  W^atem,  Parson 
Adams,  down  to  Mr.  Pickwick  in  oar  own  time. 

The  object  of  Mr.  Frank  Banelagh,  as  the  anknown  anther  designates 
himself,  has  not,  however,  sought  so  mnch  to  elaborate  a  character  up 
to  its  development  in  declining  life  by  Addison,  as  to  make  an  oppor- 
tunity for  displaying  a  considerable  acquaintanceship  with  the  manners 
and  characters  of  the  court  and  town  at  the  time  of  the  Beatoration, 
The  superstition  of  tbe  age,  and  the  public  events,  are  also  occauonally 
dealt  with ;  but,  in  tbe  general  acceptation  of  the  title,  it  cannot  tie 


Coo'jlc 


288  new  BOOKS. 

termed  &d  bistorical  norel,  althongh  it  treats  of  hiatoiica]  penonagea. 
All  the  well-known  characters  of  this  too  well-known  p«nod  appear 
in  its  pages,  from  Uie  King  to  Tom  Chiffinch,  and  from  Cathenne  of 
Braganza  to  Nell  Gwynne,  and  from  Nell  Gwjnne  to  Mistress  Knight. 
To  attempt  to  give  the  conversation  of  snch  beaux  and  bekef  e^Htt  is 
always  dangerons,  for  thaagh  tile  brightepit  mnst  occssionallj  spealt  as 

Slainly  as  uieir  less  gifted  neighbonis,  yet  when  tboB  formally  inlro- 
aced.  tber  are  expected  to  manifest  tbeir  Euperioritj  to  ordinary 
mortals.  If,  however,  they  make  in  these  pases  no  ve^  superior 
manifestations,  tbej  baye  a  vivacity  of  tone  and  fivelineM  of  utterance 
whicb  pass  them  off  very  satisfactorily  with  the  reader.  We  do  not 
object  to  the  practical  jokes  and  vicious  propensities  attributed  to  Lord 
Eochesterj  but  we  must  take  a  little  eiception  to  charming  Nelly's 
portrait,  in  which  the  natural  aristocracy  of  her  bearii^  is  not  suf- 
ficiently iiifimated.  The  charming  creature  who  could  divide  the 
attentioil  of  the  best-bred  men  with  the  elegant  Miss  Stuart  and  the 
other  high-born  ladies,  must  have  had  grace  of  manner  as  well  as  intel- 
lectual vivacity  and  personal  charms.  She  is  to  be  regarded  «■  the 
'  sjmibol  of  the  snpenority  of  natural  powers  over  conventional,  and  aa 
a  jiroof  that  wit,  talent,  and  beauty  know  no  distinctions  of  rank.  We 
hfmlly  think  she  would  have  condescended  to  think  the  removing  a 
chair  when  her  rival  in  wit  was  about  to  sit  down,  was  a  hs^py 
repartee.  Her  conduct  to  Mistress  Knight,  which  is  alluded  to  here, 
was  certuuly  gross  for  those  days,  bnt  it  was  not  without  a  laughable 
iinmonr  in  its  results. 

The  author  has  been  very  diligent  in  collecting  eveiy  anecdote  tbat 
is  characteristic  of  the  men  and  period,  and  his  book  is  pleasing  and 
entertaining,  being  written  in  a  very  lively  style.  It  would  be  ont  of 
place  to  examine  it  by  the  rules  which  should  govern  the  highest  kind 
of  this  species  of  composition.  It  is  written  to  amuse  and  entertain, 
and  it  will  be  found  to  have  completed  its  aim,  and,  on  the  whol^  to 
give  a  very  foir  notion  of  the  time  and  manners.  It  has  of  couise  its 
aarker  passages,  and  a  mysteiy,  which  is  duly  involved  in  tlie  first  and 
evolyea  in  the  third  volume.  The  rigid  historian  and  antiquarian  wxf 
find  anachronisms ;  but  no  one  can  accuse  it  of  being  dull,  and  it  will 
pass  a  few  hours  much  more  satisfactorily,  and  even  instructively, 
than  many  works  of  graver  pretensions.  No  circulating  librtur  will  ba 
able  safely  to  dispense  with  Sir  Roger  de  Covetley,  and  it  will  not  be 
the  least  of  its  merits,  if  it  ahonld  indnce  a  few  r^en  to  turn  to  the 
papers  of  Addison  to  renew  or  gain  acquaintance  with  the  adroiraUe 
original. 


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DOUGLAS    JERBOLiyS 

SHILLING    MAGAZINE. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  ST.  GILES  AND  ST.  JAMES.' 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  borongh  of  Liquoriah  poaaeHHed  two  barbers — only  two. 
Happily,  however,  the  Duniber  was  Hufficient  to  admit  of  deadly 
rivalry  ;  for  let  this  truth  never  he  forgotten — two  can  hate  as 
well  as  twenty.  Now,  the  hatred  of  Rasp  and  Flay  welled  up 
&om  their  love  of  the  same  thing,  the  British  ConstitutioD. 
Mr.  Rasp  loved  that  daatic  object  with  a  tender  and  a  reverential 
love  ;  he  always  approached  its  consideration  with  a  fluttering; 
soul — a  Bweet  concern.  The  British  Constitution  was  the  apple  of 
his  eye — the  core  of  his  heart.  He  loved  it  beyond  any  other 
thing  appertaining  to  this  loveablo  earth.  His  wife — meek,  in- 
jured woman  !— has  often  considered  herself  slighted  and  despised 
by  the  libertine  preference,  "A  married  man  with  a  family," 
Mrs,  Rasp  would  sometimes  patiently  observe,  and  sometimes  not, 
"  shouldn't  trouble  his  head  with  such  nonsense."  Occasionally, 
too,  she  would  very  much  like  to  know  what  the  Constitudon,  as 
they  called  it,  had  ever  done  for  the  poor  ?  And  when  Rasp — 
in  moments  of  ale — has  expressed  himself  perfectly  willing,  nay, 
rather  anxious,  to  lose  hia  head  for  the  Constitution,  his  wife  has 
only  placidly  remarked,  "  that  it  waa  more  than  he'd  ever  think 
of  doing  for  her." 

Now,  Flay  loved  the  Constitution  after  a  difTerent  fashion.  It 
was  a  pretty  object — very  pretty,  indeed  ;  very  desirable,  very 


vCoo*^lc 


»0 

essential  for  the  hftppineM,  or  at  least  for  the  enjoyment  of  ntan. 
Fl&y  loved  the  Cons^tation  with  a  sort  of  oriental  love  ;  it  was  the 
passion  of  the  Qreat  Tur^  for  some  fair  stag-ejed  slave  ;  the 
affection  of  one  who  is  the  master,  the  owner,  of  the  creature  of 
his  delights — the  trading  possessor  of  the  lovely  goods ;  and  there- 
fore, when  it  shall,  ao  please  him,  at  p«fect  fiieedom  to  sell  or 
tni<^,  or  bow-string,  or  pnt  in  a  sack,  or  in  any  other  way  to- 
turn  the  penny  with,  or  dispose  of  th.e  idol  of  his  adoratjon.  Yes  : 
Flay  thought  the  Constitution,  like  the  fleih-and-blood  pearl  of  a 
harem,  might  now  be  devouringly  loved,  and  now  be  advantage- 
onaly  bartered.  Where  the  man,  living  in  the  twili^t  obseori^ 
of  liquorish,  learned  such  principles,  we  know  not.  Certain  it  is, 
they  were  very  far  beyond  his  social  conditbn. 

We  have  now  to  task  the  indulgence  of  the  reader  to  endeavour 
to  remember  that  Mr.  Tangle,  diisy  and  tremuloae,  quitted  the 
Olive  Branch,  summoned  to  Lasarus  Hall  by  his  lordship.  The 
wine  still  sang  in  his  eara,  uid  the  evil  spirits  that  men  swallow 
as  angals  in  their  cups  over-night,  beat  in  Tangle's  beating  heart, 
and  twitched  his  nerves,  and  seemed  to  turn  his  eyes  into  burning- 
glasses,  as  he  found  himself  in  the  street.  And  then  came  the 
loss  of  the  gold  upon  his  hrain^-came  with  a  crash,  stupi^ring, 
stunning,  as  though  &e  metal  itself  had  fallen  upon  that  tUvine 
web-work  of  nerves — wherein  Tangle's  soul,  spider-like,  lurked 
for  human  flies — and  smitten  bim  out  of  life.  And  then  his. 
stomach  seemed  to  hold  within  it  one  lai^e  nausea  ;  and  he  looked 
at  the  rosy  children  about  him — the  red-faced,  laughing  neigh- 
honrs,  and  wondered  what  they  were  made  of. 

Nevertheless  one  thought  like  a  star  shone  brightly  through 
^s  fog  of  soul,  for  the  said  soul  was  much  obscured  by  the  wine- 
mists  from  the  stomach — the  thought  of  the  barber.  Tangle  must 
be  shaved.  It  had  been  one  of  the  principles  of  his  existence — one 
of  the  bundle  of  determinations  with  which  he  had  set  out  on  the 
pilgrimage  of  life — or  raflier,  this  principle  he  had  taken  up  at  the 
twenty-mile  stage — to  suffer  no  man  to  take  him  by  the  nose 
save  himself.  In  the  vanity  of  his  philosophy,  he  had  believed 
that  no  blow  of  fortune  could  have  rendered  his  hand  unsteady  at 
the  morning  razor  ;  and  now,  with  the  loss  of  the  gold  upon  him, 
he  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  sacrificial  steel.  In  the 
disorder  of  his  soul  and  the  sickness  of  his  stomach,  he  saw  him- 
self shaving  ;  and  saw  a  very  numerous  family  of  imps  laughing- 
and  winking  in  the  g^ass — and  planting  their  fingers  at  his  throat 


8T.   SILES  aa>  ST,  JAUX8.  2fil. 

— infi  then  grimuDg  hard  ^ain— fud  nodding,  and  madking 
their  forked  tongues,  ai  raTeUing-  in  the  hope  ot  a  delici«Hi 
tngedj.  And' Tanglo—fin' we  obooM  togivethe  whiLe  truth— 
TifD^  did  foi  a  momentt  i^palhuw  with  those  aurder'hiating 
demona.  It  vaa  weak— it  waa  irieked  ;  but  ia  another  mommt,  thfl 
ideetwas  Htemlj  banished.  For  Tangle  moembwad  that  his  life.woa 
intvrod ;  and  h»w  verj  draadfiil  it  woold  he,  should  ho  leave  the 
irorid  in  a  way  to  forfeit  the  policy  !  With  these  thouj^Ui  Urt 
Tangle  entered  thcshop  of  Rasp.  He  entered  and  i^ntnk  baek. 
"  Come,  in,  ht,"  cried  the  hoqatable  barber.  "  Her?,  Tim. 
finish  this  gendemao."  Saytng  this,  Hasp  instant^  quitted  the 
beard  he  was  about  to  re^.for  the  ohtnof  thBnew*«onier>  Tan^t 
look«d  about  lum,  and  fait  himself  a  little  woanded,  aemewhat 
disgraced  by  the  meamiesa,  the  rustic  pornliy  of  t^e  rixof.  He 
looked  too  at  the  man  lathered  to  the  eyes— the  mm  eoneigned 
to  Tim,  Rasp's  little  hoy,  who  quickly  mounted  a  stool,  that  he 
might  the  better  possess  himseLT  of  the  noee  of  &0  oustomer. 
Zfow,  albeit  the  features  of  the  man  were  very  thickly  masked  :by 
sof^h^nds,  it  was  the  inatant  conviction  of  Tangle  Aat  he  saw 
coarse,  dirty  lineaments  beneath ;  and  thereupon  his  pride  started 
at  the  thought  of  losing  his  beard  in  such  company.  Ha4 
Tangle  felt  himself  the  prosperous  man  of  yesterday,  <i«rtainly  he 
would  as  won  have  offered  his  neok  to  the  aze,.a8  his  chin  to  the 
self-same  brush  that  had  lathered  the  beard  of  that  Tery  vulgar 
man  ;  bvt  adTeraity  had  ahastised  pride,  and  after  a.natural  twinge 
or  two.  Tangle  sank  resignedly  on  the  wooden  chair,  ondwith.an  all 
but  smothered  sigh,  gave  himself  up  to  the  barber.  Certainly,  he 
had  never  been  shared  in  such  company  ;  but  then — the  thought 
was  a  great  support  to  bis  independent  spirit— noboly  would 
know  it. 

(Nobody  would  know  it  1  How  mnoh  msult,  injury — how  many 
hard  words,  fierce  threats — nay,  how  many  tweakinga  of  the  note 
might  be  borne  by  some  forgiving  souls,  if — .nobody  would  know  it ! 
What  a  balm,  a  salre,  a  plaster  to  the  private  hurt  of  a  sort  of 
hero  may  the  hero  find  in  the  delicious  truth  that— nobody  knows 
it  I  The  note  does  not  bum,  for  nobody  aaw  it  pulled  I  It  is  the 
^e  of  the  world  looking  on,  that,  hke  liiie  oonoentrated  rays  of  the 
Bun,  scorches  it ;  blisters  it ;  lights  up  aoch  a  fire  within  it,  that 
nothing  poorer  than  human  blood  ou)  quench  it!  And  al) 
heoanse  everybody  knows  it !) 

Tangle  was  reconciled  to  bis  humiliatien— ^r  it  was  nvthing  Usa 
c2  C^oimIc 


fSS  THE   HISTORY  OF 

to  be  handled  in  snob  a  shop  and  by  such  a  barber — bj  tbe  1)elief 
that  tbe  world  would  remain  in  ignorance  of  the  uncomfortable 
tttct.  And  much,  indeed,  at  the  moment,  did  Tangle  owe  to 
ignorance.  He  know  that  be  was  a  crushed,  despoiled,  degraded 
being  :  be  knew  that  with  the  box  of  gold  be  bad  lost  his  sense 
of  self-respect.  Compared  to  the  Tangle  of  yesterday,  be  was  no 
better  than  a  Hottentot ;  for  be  bad  lost  bis  better  part.  This  be 
knew :  but,  ignorant  Bufferer,  he  did  not  know  that  the  maa 
seated  in  lathered  companionship  be^de  him  was  tbe  midnight 
burglar,  the  robber  of  bis  more  than  peace,  the  felonious  Tom  Blast. 
Now,  Hr.  Blast  himself  immediately  recognised  tbe  parliamentary 
agent ;  but  feeling  that  he  had  the  advantage  of  having  looked 
upon  him  when  Tangle  could  not  return  the  attention,  the  robber 
gazed  very  composedly  through  bis  lather  :  nay  more,  he  was  so 
tickled  by  the  sudden  advent  of  Tangle  that,  in  tbe  gaiety  of  bis 
soul,  he  chuckled. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  if  you  laugh,"  stud  little  Tim,  "  I  moat 
cut  you." 

"  The  child  has  a  hand  as  light  as  a  butterfly  " — swd  tbe 
barber  father  to  Blast — "  but  tbe  boy  'a  right ;  he  must  cut  you 
if  you  laugh.     Steady,  Tim." 

"All  right,"  cried  Blast,  from  his  sonorous  chest;  and  he 
stiffened  the  cords  of  bis  visage. 

"Very  odd,  sir,"  said  Rasp,  vigorously  lathering  Tangle,  as 
though  he  was  white-washing  a  dead  wall — "  very  odd,  sir  j  when 
a  man  's  being  shaved,  what  a  little  will  make  him  laugh. — Never 
heard  it  properly  accounted  for,  sir,  did  you  ?" 

Tangle  spoke  not ;  but  shivered  out  a  Jong  sigh,  evidently 
provocative  to  the  mirthful  Blast,  for  little  Tim  again  cried, — 
"  If  you  please,  air,  I  must  cut  you." 

"DoDt  blame  the  child,  sir;  thaf's  all.  Steady,  Tim" — 
said  the  barber,  who  again  addressed  himself  to  Tangle.  "  Glad 
to  find  there's  no  laugh  in  you,  sir."  Tangle  made  no  answer  ; 
but  again  sighed  as  with  the  ague. 

"There!  I  knowd  I  should  cut  yon!  "cried  Tim  as  Blast  winced 
and  the  blood  came  from  bis  cheek.     "  I  knowd  I  should  do  it." 

Tbe  barber  turned  from  Tangle  to  take  a  view  of  the  mischief 
^one  upon  Blast,  gravely  observing,  as  he  eyed  the  blood — "  Not 
Uie  child's  fault,  sir.  ,  Never  cut  before  in  his  life  ;  never. " 

*'  Well,  it 's  no  use  a  stifling  it,"  cried  Blast ;  and  gently  putting 
Tim  aside,  he  flung  himself  back  in  the  chair,  and  roared  a  laugh. 


SI.  aiLES  AM)  err.  jaios.  293 

all  the  louder  and  the  deeper  for  its  long  reprewion.  Tangle 
looked  round.  Uost  etrange,  n&y,  moat  imultiiigiras^t  to  Iiim-— 
to  him  with  tiie  load  of  affliction  neighing  on  hia  brain — that  anj 
man  should  laugh  io  vehemeotlj,  bo  veij  bnitallj.  On  hia  waj 
to  die  harber'a  Tangle  hod  felt  a  little  hurt  that  even  tiie  birda 
should  chirp  and  twitt«r  ;  that  the  flowers  in  the  gardens  shonld 
look  bo  happy  in  their  brightneBs  ;  the  very  finenesa  of  the  day 
Beemed  unkind  to  him :  oevertheleag  be  tried  to  bear  it  like  a  man. 
But  to  have  hia  solemn  thoughts,  deep  as  they  were  in  a  lost 
money-cheat,  outraged  by  the  Tulgar  merriment  of  a  very  vulgar 
man, — it  was  cruel,  barbarous  ;  surely  he  had  done  nothing  to 
deserve  it. 

"It's  very  odd,"  said  Tangle,  spenMngboth  angrily  and  aorrow- 
foUy,  "  very  odd  that  a  gentleman  can't  be  quietly  ahaved  without 
people" — 

"  Az  your  pardon,"  said  BlaaL  "Hope  the  barber'a  not 
nicked  you  ;  but  I  couldn't  help  it.  Ton  know  what  a  little  will 
make  a  man  laugh  sometimes.  All  right  now  I  Ve  got  rid  of  it. 
Go  on,  little  shaver.  I  'II  keep  a  che^  as  stiff  as  a  mile-atone." 
And  Ur.  Blast  resolved  to  control  his  merriment,  aorely  tempted 
as  it  was  by  the  proximity  of  the  melancholy  man  he  had  plun- 
dered. It  was  a  most  capital  joke,  a  most  provoking  piece  of  fun, 
yet  would  the  thief  be  serious.  For  some  seconds  not  a  sound 
was  heard,  save  the  mowing  of  beards. 

"  Well,  Ueaster  Rasp,  here  be  a  rumpus  I  here  be  a  blow  for 
the  Blues !  here  be  liick  for  the  Yellows  !  Ho  !  bo  !  ho  !  There 
never  was  aich  a  meas.  I  ha'  nt  laughed  so  much  since  they  put 
the  tinker  in  the  stocks!  Sich  a  glory!"  This  announcement, 
brokenly  uttered  through  roars  of  laughter,  was  delivered  by 
Skittle,  the  cobbler  of  Liquorish,  who,  exploding  with  the  intelli- 
gence; burst  into  the  shop. 

"  What 's  the  matter  V  asked  the  barber,  eo  alive  to  the  luck 
of  the  Yellows,  of ■  which  party  he  felt  himself  a  very  shining 
particle,  that  he  paused  in  bis  shaving  ;  holding  twixt  finger  and 
thumb  the  nose  of  Tangle.  "  Luck  for  our  aide,  Bob  !  What 
is  it  ?  " 

"  Why  you  must  know  that  the  Bluea — ^jeatlike'ero — ^brought 
down  a  box  of  golden  giuneae.  You  know,  in  course,  what  for  !" 
observed  the  cobbler,  severely  winking  one  eye. 

"  I  should  think  I  did,"  answered  Rasp,  and  he  stroj^d  his 
razor    on  his  band  very  impatiently.     "  That 's  the  way  they 


asm  the  CboBtittttion.  That'i  how  they'd  uU  wad  hi^tte 
British  Lioit,  for  »1I  the worid like  vesL  Well,  %  box  of  gniDMsI 
I  should  like  to  CBtdi  'em  offeriog  me  any,  that's  tdl,"  orieil 
Kaap !  and  with  a  grin  of  indignation,  he  agsin  stropped  his  blMlck 

"  My  good  man,"  add  Tangle,  very  meekly,  for  he  w»  owf- 
oome,  brokenhaartedhythemirtlLof  th«cobblor,— '"mygDodmuir 
will  you  proo«ed  and  finish  me  V 

"  Wouldn't  tniat  rn^^df,  air,  till  I  Ve  heard  all  abont  ibe  BIbbb. 
Ton  don't  know  my  feelings,"  said  R^i.  "  I  should  slice  you. 
sure  as  pork.  Oo  on,  Bob.  Ha  !  ha  !  Down  with  &e  Blaes  !" 
And  still  Tangle  sat  half-shaTen  and  whoHy  miserable,  Ustenii^ 
to  the  blilLe  story  of  the  cobbler,  whose  notes  of  exultation  struok 
dagger-wise  into  tlie  flesh  of  the  outeaged  agent.  Was  erer  man  bo 
tmi  'i  He  could  not  bounce  from  his  chJsir,  and  with  half  his 
beard  upon  him  sally  forth  Into  the  street.  No  ;  he  wasdoomed 
by  decency  to  ait  and  hear  the  history  of  his  wret«hedDeae  and  the 
l^tal  mirth  it  occasioned.  The  cobbler  and  barber  roared  wifii 
laughter ;  little  Tim  smirked  and  giggled,  and  Tom  Blast,  wit^ 
his  eyes  leering  towards  the  agonised  Tangle,  showed  that  the 
sweetest  and  deepest  satisfaction  filled  the  bosom  of  the  thief. 
His  felon  aoitl  hugged  itself  in  vast  enjoyment  of  the  fun  I 

"  Well,  you  most  know  that  the  Olive  Branch  was  broke  open 
last  night,"  said  Ae  cobbler,  "  and  the  box  of  guineas  broughtrto 
the  borough— we  know  what  for"— and  Skittle  pot  his  forefinger 
to  his  nose. 

"  I  should  ratheo'  think  we  did,"  responded  Rasp,  Fetnndi^  the 
digital  signal.     "  RaUier." 

"The  box  of  guiueas  carried  off;  all  took  wing  Uke  yeang 
goldfinches.  The  landlwd  says,  and  his  wife  says,  she  'a  sure  d! 
it,  too,  that  it's  the  devil  has  done  it." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha  1"  shouted  Tom  Blast,  mi^itily  enjoying  the 
fabe  accusation.     "  Foot  devil !" 

"I  don't  wonder  at  your  laughing,"  said  the  bari>er,  grwvely. 
"  It  wasn't  no  devil ;  the  devil's  a  better  judge  than  to  cBiry 
away  gold  of  that  sort ;  it  would  do  his  work  all  the  better  leS 
behind.  And  is  there  no  suspicion  of  who's  stole  it?"  Hete 
Blast  and  Tangle  listened  attentively,  but  assuredly  with  a  differ- 
ent  cnrioeity. 

"  Why,  that  'sthe  worst  of  it,"  answMed  the  cobbler  ;  "they  've 
tried  hsi'd  to  snspeot  everybody,  but  somehow  Aey  oan  :intAe  no 
haod  on  it,"  ■  - 

U.g,l:«lbvGOO'glc 


n.   «UI  AMD  BT.  XUOi.  MB 

Horonpos  tite  baiW  wriiiUed  bii  bivw,  and  tbraghtUlj  and 
tenderly  with  his  fingere  twiddled  at  tke  snd  of  hla  noae,  as 
Ibaigli  he  bad  Ae  leeret  there,  if  it  cenld  aaij  be  coaied  ont. 
"  I  tell  TOD.  iibat  !t  ie  ;  'tian't  seldom  I  'm  wnuw — I  hunr  Hib 
#aef." 

"Ton!"  axolaHied  Tangie ;  and  "  Yenl"  waa  at  the  lip  ef 
Blast ;  but  that  cautions  man  Bmetherad  the  impatient  word  wiA 
«  Bort  of  grunt  that  paased  for  nothing. 

"  He  'U  nerer  be  fiMud  out ;  di  no,  he  'b  too  conning  fmr  that," 
eaid  the  barber  ;  "  bnt  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  ieHow  that  had 
the  keeping  of  the  money  isn't  him  that  stole  it." 

"  Was  there  erer  such  on  infamona!" — exclaimed  Tangle,  when 
Im  wm  suddenly  stopped  bj  the  peremptoty  ooolneH  of  the 
Ixuber  ;  who,  tapfong  hunai  the  sboolder, obnrved — "Bless yon! 
it  'a  a  thing  done  eveij  day.     Nothing  more  likely," 

"Nothing,"  Kud  Blast  in  his  deepest  bass,  and  his  t^ 
twinkled  eojc^ngly. 

"  Am  I  to  ^sy  here  half-i^Ted  all  day  i  "  cried  the  goaded 
Tangle.     "  Fatlow,&ii(hmel" 

"  Tell  yon,  oonldn't  trust  myself  till  "we  hear  the  rights  of  the 
jiuineaa,"  laid  the  patriotio  barber.  "  They  was  brought  here  to 
violate  the  Constitution,  and  nbomsoever  'a  got  'em,  I  'm  glad 
titey  're  gone.  Thoo^  mind,  I  'd  ta^e  a,  bet  that  him  that  'b  loat 
'«m,  knows  beet  iriiwe  they  're  to  be  found." 

"  Ha  !  Master  Barber,"  cried  Blast  in  a  loud  tone  of  comf^- 
mait,  "it 's  plain  you  know  life!" 

"Why,  I  've  seen  a  few  lections  at  liquorish,  "raid  Hasp,  "and 
thia  I  W01  say — &t  Knes,  if  they  knowd  him,  would  rob  iiiar 
vwa  father.  I  might,  in  my  time,  have  had  my  hat  full  «f 
gnineas" — 

"  I  ehonliln't  brag  of  that,  if  I  was  yon,  Mr.  Baap" —  said  the 
barber's  wife,  suddenly  descending  to  a  cupboard  in  the  shop,  for 
some  domestic  pm'pose — "  I  shoiildn't  brag  of  that,  and  yon  to 
keep  me  and  your  children  as  you  do." 

"  Women  hare  no  lore  of  counby,"  said  the  barber  in  a  soft 
'mae  as  his  wife  departed. 

"  Don't  nndenUmd  a  bit  on  it,"  said  the  cobbler.  "  There  'a 
, my  old  Margery  Daw  at  home — she  e»yB  tb«t  women  hare  enovf^ 
to  do  to  love  thmr  husbands." 

"  And  that's'  hard  work  aometinwB,"  said  the  barber.  "  I  'm 
^Eeard  it  is." 

.      *  U.g,l:«lbvGOOglc 


290  "mx  BISTORT  0? 

"Am  I  to  be  shaved  to-day?"  roared  Taaglo,  the  lather 
dried  to  a  plaster  on  his  face. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  ia,  sir,"  said  the  harber.  "  You  're  half 
shaved  aa  clean  as  any  baby  :  now  shaving's  a  penny :  veil,  if  yon 
can't  w^t,  you're  welcome  to  the  ha'porUi  you  've  had  Cor 
nothing.  A  ha'penny,  Bir,"and  the  barber  looked  loftily  about 
him,  "  a  ha'penny  won't  ruin  me." 

"  I  'm  in  no  'urry,"  observed  the  accowunodating  Blast.  "  Your 
little  boy  can  finish  the  gentleman — I  11  wut." 

"  Thank  you — very  kind— come  along,  boy,"  cried  Tangle,  and 
Tim  moved  his  stool  beside  the  lawyer.  "  Now  you  '11  be  very 
particular  ;  and  mind,  don't  cut." 

"  Then  don't  shake,  sir,  if  you  please,"  said  Tim  ;  for  Tangle, 
agitated  by  what  he  had  heard,  by  the  delay  he  had  been  com- 
pelled to  suffer,  as  the  boy  touched  him,  trembled  hke  a  jelly.  And 
as  he  trembled,  the  barber  leered  euspicioaely,  directbg  the  cob- 
bler's looks  to  the  shaking  gentleman  i  and  Tom  Blast  very  aooa 
made  one  of  the  party  of  inspection,  communicating  by  most  elo- 
quent glances,  the  strongest  doubts  and  suspicions  of  the  individual 
then  impatiently  undergoing  the  discipline  of  the  razor. 

"  If  the  thief 's. caught,  I  suppose  he'll  be  hanged,"  said  the 
cobbler,  staring  at  Tangle. 

"  Heaven  is  mercifiJ  !  I  hope  so — heartily  hope  so,"  eiclaimed 
Tangle  vivaciously,  eamestlj  ;  at  the  same  time  jumping  up,  his 
shaving  completed.  '*  I  hope  so  :  I  'd  go  fifty  miles  to  see  it — 
fifty  miles.  Give  me  change."  Saying  this,  and  tying  his  neck- 
cloth, Tangle  laid  down  uzpence.     "  Make  haste." 

Very  leisurely,  and  aa  with  a  soul  by  no  means  to  be  dazzled 
by  uipences,  the  barber  took  up  the  tester.  He  then  approached 
the  bottom  of  the  staircase  ascended  by  his  helpmate,  and  with 
measured  syllables  inquired,  "  Eliza  Jane,  love,  have  you  change 
for  sixpence  ?  " 

And  this  gentle  query  was  answered  by  another,  running  thus. 
"  Have  I  change  for  the  Bank  of  England  ?  " 

"  It  never  happened  so  before,  sir,"  said  Rasp,  feeling  the  six- 
pence, "hut  we  hav'n't  a  copper  halfpenny  in  the  house.  The- 
child,  sir,  shall  run  out  for  change.  Won't  be  ten  minutes; 
nothing  beats  him  at  an  errand." 

Tangle  looked  savagely  about  him.  He  could  not  wait :  he- 
would  not  be  thought  to  give  the  sixpence.  He  therefore  observed, 
very  emphatically,  "  Very  wdl,  barber ;  I  'II  call  again,"  and 
hurried  away. 


,11  :«l  by  Google 


I  '<^oo<5lc 


,11  by  Google 


81.   4ILES  AnD  ST.   JAMEB.  297 

"  Don't  jOQ  know  lum  ?  "  cried  ihe  cobbler,  "  he 's  one  of  tbe 
Bluee." 

"  Well,  if  I  didn't  tbink  he  was  one  of  them  thick-skinned'  lot 
while  I  was  shaving  him,"  sud  Rasp  ;  who  then  tmned  to  Blast. 
"  He  knows  something  of  them  guineas,  eh,  sir,  I  'm  hound 
for  it?" 

"  'Xaetly,"  answered  Blast,  "  They  're  a  prettj  set — them 
Blues.     I  'm  a  Yellow." 

"  I  'd  know  that,  ar  " — observed  the  barher  as  he  finished 
the  undone  work  of  Tim — "  I  'd  know  that,  sir,  bj  the  tenderness 
of  your  &ce.  Now  for  that  old  Blue,  a  man  might  as  well  shave 
a  hrass  knocker.    I  can  tell  a  man's  principles  by  his  skin,  I  can." 

"Net  a  doubt  on  it,"  averred  Mr.  Blast  very  sonorously ;  who 
then  rose  irom  his  chair,  and  proceeded  into  a  comer  to  consult  a 
fragment  of  glass,  nailed  to  the  wall.  Whilst  thus  courageously 
BUrveyiug  his  face,  his  back  turned  to  the  door,  another  cus- 
tomer entered  the  shop,  and  without  a  syllable,  seating  him- 
self, awaited  the  weapon  of  Rasp. 

"Heard  of  the  robbery,  sir  ?"  asked  tbe  harher,  "Ha!  ha  T - 
ha!    Bare  work,  sir.     What  I  call  fun.  " 

"  What  robbery  ?  "  cried  the  stranger,  and  immediately  Blast 
turned  at  the  sound,  and  knew  that  it  was  St.  Sites  who  spoke. 
Silently,  the  burglar  grinned  huge  satisfaction. 

"  Thousands  of  guineas  stole  last  night,  nothing  leas.  I  wish 
yon  and  I  had  'em,  sir,  that 's  ail,  for  they  came  here  to  do  Beelze- 
bub's work,  sir  ;  to  be  laid  out  in  perjury,  and  all  that ;  to  hmy 
tbe  honest  souls  of  honest  men  like  mackerel.  Therefore,"  con- 
cluded the  harher,  "I  say  I  wish  you  and  I  had  'em.    Don't  you?" 

Hereupon  Blast  quitted  the  mirror,  and  the  while  serenely  tying 
his  neckcloth,  stood  face  to  face  with  St.  Giles,  chuckling  and 
echoing  the  barber — "  Don't  you  wish  you  had  'em  ?'" 

"  If  you  jump  in  that  way,"  cried  Kasp  to  St.  Giles,  "  I  won't 
answer  for  your  nose." 

"  And  you  havn't  heard  nothin' OD  it,  eh,  sir!"  sud  Blast,  in 
his  light,  vag^eh  manner.  "  Well,  I  should  ha'  thought  you'd  ha' 
known  all  about  it." 

"  Why  ?"  stammered  St.  Giles,  for  he  felt  that  he  must  make 
some  answer. 

"  Oh,  I  don  't  know,"  said  Blast  ;  "  some  people  hare  sieh  a 
knowin'  look,  that 's  all.  They  're  bom  with  it.  An  'praps  you 
WCaldn't  like  to  have  (he  guineas  stole  from  the  Blues, — if  they 

;lc 


■re  ■tole.    But  ae  yon  ray,  Mr.  BubOT,  I  don  't  bdieve  it.     S3an 
your  heart,  it '»  my  pinion  a  Blue  would  Bweu  anything." 

"  Yon  won 't  have  a  drop  fd  aid  thin  ntorung  ?"  aaked  ihe  «ob- 
Uer — that  sympatheitii]  Yellow  batng  iiiig;htily  towdied  bj  die  hirgt- 
tuartedoeai  of  Bla^     "  Jest  a  drop  f " 

"  'Tis  a  Uttle  early,"  eaid  the  vary  temperate  Blast,  "  knt  I 
oaa't  refuse  a  Yellow  nothin'."  And  to  &a  aatoniwhinMit  ■  aad 
relief  of  St.  Qilea,  his  tormentor  followed  the  imiting  eobhier  iatai 
the  ahop.  Uneasily  sat  St.  Giles  whilst  B«ep  performed  his  fime- 
tioo  ;  brief  and  wandering  wwe  the  rqiUea  matle  by  his  enatoBME 
to  the  barber,  very  eloquant  on  the  robb«y,  and  especiaBj.gmto- 
All  to  Proridenoe  for  die  oalaniity.  "  Whemsomever  haa-t^es 
the  guineas — always  suppomng  they  are  tak^— has  done  a  ser-  > 
noe  to  the  country,"  uid  Eac^  "  For  my  part,  and  I  don't  «an 
who  knows  it,  I  hope  they'll  Uve  long  and  die  happy  witli  'en. 
Fretty  fellows  they  most  be  !  Come  to  seU  the  Constitntion;  tt 
rob  OB  of  our  rights  ;  and  Aeu  sing  out  about  thieves  1  Wliot  i» 
you  say,  sir?"  cried  the  barber,  liberating  his  cnatianer  fromhii 
uneasy  chair. 

"Just  so,"  said  St.  Giles,  "  I  sheoldn't  wonder:  to  beaure."    I 

"  Why  you  look,"  stud  Rasp,  marking  the  absent  air  of  St. 
Giles,  "  you  look  as  if  you  was  looking  a  hunted  miles  awy. 
Yon  can't  tell  us  what  you  see,  can  yen  V 

ITow,  St.  Giles,  had  he  herai  in  eammnniealsTe  mood,  mi^t 
have  interested  the  barber,  miJung  hmt  a  partaker  of  the  Tiuon 
that  would  rcTeal  itself  to  his  customer.  St.  Gilea  plainly  beh^ 
Tom  Blast  with  the  stolen  guineas.  Had  he  watched  him  staggejing 
beneath  the  pillage,  he  had  not  been  better  assured  of  the  erildcnng. 
Agun,  he  had  marked  the  thief  s  face  ;  it  wore  tbe  smug,  lackered 
look  of  a  fortunate  sconndrel :  the  light  as  of  the  stolen  guhiaas 
dickered  in  his  eyes,  and  his  lips  were  puckered  with  inaudii^ 
whistling.  St.  Giles  took  httie  heed  of  the  talkative  barber,  hut 
laying  down  the  price  of  his  yesterday's  beard,  quilted  the  ahep. 
AJixioualy,  fearfuUy,  he  looked  about  him  trma  the  door.  He 
stood,  like  a  lost  traveller  fearful  of  ^e  sudden  leap  of  some  wild 
heast.  Blast  waa  not  in  the  street :  be  now  avoided  St.  Giles; 
new  evidence  that  the  old  ruffian  was  the  robber.  St.  Giles 
hastily  struck  into  the  fields,  that  with  less  chance  of  iotarruptioiv 
he  might  ponder  on  the  present  difGouIty.  He  waa  only  knoinr  to 
young  St.  J.ames  as  die  vagabond  of  a  prison ;  and,  therrim, 
open  to  the  heaviac  suepcuxi.    If  aneatad,— ^ow  to  ucouDt  &r 


ST.  anxB  Am  &t.  iaiieb.  esa 

hiiiiB^  ?  Sbmild  he  atanos  boldlj  seek  the  yctong  lord  9 — fdr  aa 
jet  he  had  Dot  seenhioi.  Or  ohould  he  at  once  turn  hia  ttepi 
iowarda  London  ? 

Hie  heart  sank,  and  the  siekntsa  of  death  fell  upon  him,  as 
Sgam  he  saw  himself  bmet  b;  inevitable  peril.  Was  it  :iKit  fony , 
dieer,  brute~like  atiq)iclitj,  in  a<d«omed  wretch  like  him,  to  yearn 
forinnooEait  daya,  for  honest  bread  3  Woe  it  not  groas  itnpudeno* 
in  him  to  hope  it — in  him,  so  fwHied  and  cast  upon  the  irald  to 
be  its  wrong,  ita  misery,  and  disgrace?  Why  not  go  hack  to 
London,  dash  into  guilt,  aad  when  the  time  «uae,  die  gallantly  oa 
the  tree?  Why  not  dap  hands  with  Blast,  and  become  with  him, 
&  human  aninnJ  of  prey  ?  finch  wtre  theeonfuHd,  the  wretched 
thoughts  ^at  poaaaMed  St.  Gilei,  aa  with  feet  of  lead  he  crraaed 
'die  fields.  Divinely  beantifiil  was  the  day !  The  heavens  Bmiled 
peacx  andht^  upon  the  earth,  brimming  with  things  of  tcndemees 
and  beosty.  The  outosat  paused  at  the  winding  river.  Did  hia 
eye  feed  delightedly  upon  ita  hrightDeae — was  "hie  ear  solaced  by 
ibi  sound  ?  No :  he  looked  with  a  wild  ourioaity,  as  though  he 
would  look  below — and  he  heard  tonguea  talking  &om  the  etream 
— 'tanguea  caUing  him  to  reat. 

"Ain't  lost  nothing?"  cried  a  voioe,  and  St.  Qiles  arouaed, 
to  hia  delight  bdwld  Bright  Jem. 

"  No  ;  noting,"  sud  St.  Giles.  "  I  was  thinking  though  that 
I  might  lose  aometiiing,  and  he  all  the  richer  for  tiie  loss.  But 
the  thought  'a  gone,  now  you  're  come." 

Jem  looked  like  a  man  who  catches  half  a  meaning,  and  carea 
not  to  pursue  the  other  half.  So  he  said — ■'  I  thought,  mayhap, 
when  you  left  us  in  the  churchyard,  you  'd  bavo  come  over  to  the 
Tub.  Master  Capstick  aud  he  knew  you  wouldn't,  but  I  know  he 
was  Borry  you  didn't." 

"  I  tdl  you  what  it  is,"  said  St.  Giles,  "  I  hadn't  the  heart." 

"  That  'b  the  very  reason  you  ought  to  ha'  come  to  us.  Master 
C^tkk  'e  got  heart  enongh  for  balf-a-dozen." 

"  God  btesa  him!  "  cried  St;  GUes. 

"  I  11  jine  yon  in  that,  wheuever  you  say  it.  But  I  can  aee 
by  Ae  look  of  yon— why,  your  face  is  full  on  it — I  can  see,  you  've 
flomething  to  say.  I  'm  afeard  the  world  ham't  been  as  careful 
of  you  as  if  yon  'd  been  an  image  of  gold,  eh  f  Come,  lad  " — 
and  Jem  lud  his  hand  gently  upon  3t.  Giles's  shoulder,  and  spoke 
tanikrly  as  a  woman — "  Come  lad,  let  'a  know  all  about  it." 

"  Yon  ahall  know  all— you  ^lUl,"  and  fit  Giles  wiied  Jem's 

C  0(1*5  Ic 


800  THE   HISTORT  OF 

hand,  and  with  moistening  ejea  and  choking  ihroat — it  was  aucb' 
a  happiness  to  see  sach  looks  and  hear  such  words — shook  it 
eagerly,  tremblingly. 

"  There,  now,  good  lad,  take  your  time,"  cried  Jem.  "  I  'm 
going  to  Master  Kingcup,  the  Bchoohnaater ;  not  above  two 
mile  away.  And  so  we  '11  gossip  as  we  trudge.  Jest  orer  that 
style,  and  " — and  Jem  paused,  with  his  looks  directed  towards  a 
stunted  oak  some  bow-shot  &om  him.  ,"  I  say"— he  cried,  pcant- 
ing  to  a  boy  sleeping  in  the  arms  of  the  tree — "  I  say,  that 's  a 
London  bird,  perched  there — I  'm  sure  on  it." 

Instantly  St.  Giles  recognised  his  half-hrodier,  the  precooioua 
Jingo.  "You  're  going  to  the  good  gentleman,  rou  say,  Uie  school- 
master," cried  St.  Giles,  animated  as  by  a  sudden  flash  of  thought. 
"  I  've  a  notion — I  'U  tell  you  all  about  it — we  11  take  that  boy 
with  us.     Hallo !  come  down  here  ! ''  cried  St.  Giles  to  the  sleeper. 

"What  fori"  said  Jingo,  stretching  himself  and  yawning. 
"  You  're  no  constable,  and  I  shan't." 

'  "He  knows  what  a  constable  is,  depend  on't,"  said  Jem^ 
shaking  his  head.  ' 

"  Well,  I  'm  a  coming,"  said  the  philosophic  Jingo,  obserring 
that  St.  Oiles  was  about  to  ascend — "  I  'm  a  coming."  And  in 
a  moment,  the  urchin  dropt  like  an  ape  from  branch  to  branch  aad 
fell  to  the  earth.     As  he  fell,  a  gumea  rolled  from  hie  pocket. 

"  Where  did  you  get  this  ?"  excliumed  St.  Giles,  picking  tip 
the  coiQ. 

Whereupon  little  Jingo  bowed  his  arms,  and  in  his  sbrilleBt 
treble,  answered — "  Found  it." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Thk  candidate  for  Liquorish  has,  it  may  be  thought,  been  too  long 
neglected  in  our  attention  to  his  agents,  and  their  meaner  crea- 
tures. Seemingly  we  have  been  umnindfiil  of  his  lordship,  but  in 
reality  not  so.  We  felt  more  than  satisfied  that  we  had  placed 
him,  like  a  treasure  in  a  temple,  at  Lazarus  Hall.  For  there 
was  Doctor  Gilead,  the  good  genius  of  larder  and  cellar,  big, 
perspiring  with  anxiety  to  assuage,  by  the  most  recondite  and 
costly  means,  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  his  esalted  guest.  Had  it 
been  possible  to  purchase  a  hve  unicorn,  its  haunch  would  have 


BT,  GILES  AND   ST.  JAMES.  301 

smoked  before  young  St.  James  ;  tLe  sole  {thcBnix  would  hove 
been  roasted  in  its  spicerj,  and  dished  id  ita  plumes  ;  and 
Ganjmedo  might  have  had  anj  price  of  Doctor  Oikad  for  pecu- 
lated nectar.  In  die  fulneas  of  the  Doct«r'a  hospitality  there 
lurked  a  grief  that  no  new  animal — no  yet  unheard-of  tipple  could 
be  compassed.  He  must  therefore — at  last  he  was  resigned  to  it — 
make  the  best  of  the  good  things  of  the  earth  such  as  they  were ; 
he,  by  the  way,  possessing  the  very  beat  for  the  eiperiment. 
Mrs.  Gilead,  too,  had  her  anxiety  ;  though,  it  paina  us  to  confess 
it,  her  husband — it  is  too  common  a  fault,  crime  we  should  rather 
say — did  not  respond  with  all  his  heortatrings  to  the  vibrating 
chorda  of  Ua  partner.  But  how  rare  is  it  to  find  a  wedded  man 
with  a  proper  sympathy  for  the  distresses  of  his  wife  !  The 
elements  tnay  hare  suddenly  conspired  to  spoil  her  boanet^-^e 
may  hare  broken  her  dearest  bit  of  china — the  cat  may  have 
run  off  with  her  gold-fish — and  at  that  very  moment,  above  all 
others,  her  husband  will  insult  her  with  his  philosophy.  And  so 
it  was  pith  the  aniietiea  of  Mrs.  Gilead.  She  felt  that,  whilst 
young  St.  James  lay  pillowed  under  her  roof,  she  was  answerable 
for  the  aweetneas,  the  soundness  of  his  alumhera ;  nay,  almost 
for  the  pleasantness  of  his  dreams.  She  was  wakeful  herself 
in  her  tenderness  for  the  repose  of  her  gueat.  "  I  do  hope  bis 
lordship  will  sleep,"  she  stud,  twice  and  thrice  to  ber  wedded 
master. 

"  Bleas  the  woman  !  "  cried  the  Doctor,  at  tbe  time  perplexed 
with  the  thought  of  some  poauble  novelty  for  the  next  day's 
dinner,  "  of  course  be  '11  sleep.  Why  not  ?  We  hare  no  fleas, 
hare  we  ? " 

"Reas,  Doctor  Gilead  I  Don't  insult  me!  Fleas  in  my 
beds!"  and  Mrs.  Gilead  spoke  tremnloualy,  as  though  hurt, 
wounded  in  her  huawifery— the  weakeat  place  of  the  weakest 
sex.  And  Doctor  Gilead  knew  there  was  not  a  flea  in  the 
house  ;  but  it  was  like  the  man — it  was  like  tbe  brotherhood 
at  large — to  suggest  to  a  wife  the  probability  of  the  most  impoau- 
hie  annoyance.     Of  courae,  it  was  only  said  to  hurt  her. 

Nor  let  us  forget  the  Mias  Gileads.  For  each,  saying  no  syllable 
to  the  other,  waa  sleepless  with  the  thoughts  of  providing  life-long 
bliss  for  tbe  noble,  the  beautiful  guest.  How  delightful  to  make 
him  happy  for  the  rest  of  his  daya,  and  how  very  advantageous  to 
be  a  legal  partner  in  the  fehcity.  If  eyea  ever  did  dazzle — if  lips 
erer  did  take  man's  heart  from  hia  bosom,  like  a  Btone  from  a  . 


9M 

black  eheny  (we  tiibJc  Ast  unaU  p«rf«ot),  syw  ind  lip»  dwoM 
do  the  double  deed  to-moRw. 

And  joiBg  St.  James,  m  a  de^  bm  of  eidetkdewn,  took  big 
rert  ;  none  ^  wone,  it  mtj  be,  A*t  be  koew  not  of  thO'iMB* 
Rnney  vorking  against  his  freedom.  Thrm  lete  of'  hymooieti 
chainB'  were  almoet  all  nigbt  long  hammered  at  by  three  jaa^ 
ladies,  and  jei  &e  meoDieiouB  rictiB  deptt— «ren  sa  the  colprit 
takes  nnbrotmi  rest,  wbilM  haBmeia  &1I  Vfoa  tiie  soafitdd  for 
to-moiTow. 

If  the  reader  will  pais  ihe  intentiona  of  the  jovng  ladies  M  at 
bast  bmevoleutly  pnrpowd,  he  must  conf««s  ^t  we  hav«  for  Hm 
last  tbree  ofaaptwa  left  jonng  St.  Janet  most  tendeil;  eared  fins 
Sleeping  and  waking  he  has  had  the  prettiest  cares,  tiie  ewevtoat 
attentionH,  like  a  shower  of  roie-leavei,  oast  upon  him.  And  mur 
Monday  morning  was  eome.  TIte  morning  of  the  Aa^y  of  namnM* 
tion  was  arrired.  A  law-maker  was  to  be  made  by  the  voioe  of « 
free  people  ;  a  senator,  without  crack  or  flaw  ;  a  perfect  arjotttl 
Teasel  of  the  state  was  to  be  blown  by  the  braaA  of  nnhoi^lit 
man.  Katare  seemed  to  sympathise  inth  the  wwk  ;  at  leaa^ 
such  was  the  belirf  of  Doctor  C^ilead,  his  imagination  Viniiling 
somewhat  with  the  oceasion.  He  rose  on]y  a  little  later  than  tbe 
sparrows  ;  and  from  the  beauty,  the  enjoyment  of  ont-door  objeoti, 
took  the  hap[Hest  omoDS.  A  member  was  to  be  Teturacd  to  Pw- 
liament.  Certainly  the  lark  never  fluttered  nearer  heaven— oarer 
Bang  so  hopefully.  Such  waa  Doctor  Gilead's  aweet  belief  ;  and 
rapt  in  it,  be  did  not  the  next  moment  hear  the  voice  of  an  an  in 
a  distant  meadow — gave  no  ear  to  his  ovrn  geese  gagging  nair 
bis  bam.  Happy  the  superstition  that  on  snch  occasions  wiU  on^ 
listen  to  the  lark  ! 

Everybody  appeared  at  breakfast  widi  a  face  dnst  for  trium|di. 
"  Had  bis  lordship  slept  well  V  ai^ed  Urs.  OHead  ;  and  witfa 
voices  that  would  mdt  the  heart  of  a  man,  were  the  Uiing  reaHj 
soluble,  each  Hiss  Qilead  put  the  same  question,  but  with  a 
manner  that  plainly  said  ber  peace  of  mind  dmendod  on  an 
affirmative  reply.  His  lordship  had  slept  well.  Eacb  and  all  of 
the  Miss  Gil^ds  were  blest  for  their  esstence  ! 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Folder  ?"  asked  his  lordship,  as  tint 
worthy  man,  wi^  his  old  equable  look,  entered  the  bre^fastpai- 
lour.  Now,  Mr.  Folder  had  never  looked  better — never  felt  better. 
His  calmness,  lua  philosophy  was  astonishing,  admirable  ;  the 
more  so,  as  it  was  hia  friend  and  not  himsalf  who  had  lost  a 


BT.   mCSB  iSB  VFi  MHEB.  303 

fnanre  of  gold.     In  ttw  words,  aai  in  his  own  smiling  Yny, 
iSr.  I'slder  lud  he  ms  ehannin^. 

"  But  where  'b  Tangle  ?  th  ?— not  1^  Tangle  behind  ?"  cried 
fais.lor^iip. 

"No.no,"  and  Folder,  nth  a  bi^rfflmile.  "  He  preferred 
a'indk  botobb  the  fields." 

"  Poor  fellow  I  he  doesn't  ottea  gat  a  Ut  of  graBS  in  Lcmdon, 
}  daie  aaj,"  laid  the  Doctor ;  who  then  turned  to  his  lordship,  and 
grubhing  hii  hands,  and  laughingas  at  theenjoyment  of  a  sweet  secret, 
Bud,  "  it  waiildn'tdo,inylMd,te  lose  Tangle;  no,  no,  we  must  take 
Mre  of  Tangle."  Iimeoent  Doctor  Q-llead !  At  that  moment  he 
daraght  the  agent  the  haj^  keeper  of  l^otuands  of  the  birds  of 
Paradise  hatched  at  the  Mint :  and  alack  !  they  had  made  wings 
&r  tiiemselTes,  and  flown  awaj.  Had  die  Doetor  known  the  con- 
dition of  Tangle,  what  an  a^ect,  fgrlwn  Tarlet  woidd  he  have 
seemed  in  the  offended  eyes  of  his  admirer. 

Hr.  Tangle  waa  announoed.  He  entered  die  room ;  hia  face 
galranued  into  a  smile.  It  was  plMn,  at  least  to  Folder,  who 
knew  all,  that  the  agent  had  Ubonred  ho  hard  to  get  that  smile 
into  his  countenance  that  it  woald  be  very  difficult  to  dismiss  it — 
it  was  so  fixed,  so  very  ri^d.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  hardest  smile 
oat  in.  the  hardest  oak. 

"'  Qnite  well,  I  trost,  Hr.  Tangle  ?  None  the  worse,  I  hope,  for 
last  n^t  V  said  yoong  St,  James,  gaily. 

Tangle's  knees  strock  each  other  at  his  lordship'e  vince.  Last 
night  ?  Did  his  lordship,  then,  know  of  die  robbery  ?  Such  was 
the  first  confusion  of  Tangle's  thoughta  ;  and  he  then  remembered 
that  his  lordship  doubtless  hinted  at  the  wine  swallowed,  and  not 
at  the  gold  carried  away.  Whereupon,  Tangle  declared  that  he 
was  quite  well — never  better.  And  then  he  resolutely  put  down 
a  rising  groan. 

"  Noting  the  worse  for  anything  last  night,  1  '11  be  bound,  eh, 
Hr.  Tangle?"  cried  Doctor  Qileaid,  alive,  as  every  man  ought 
to  be,  to  Hie  reputation  of  his  wine,  when  the  wine,  like  the 
Koman's  wife,  is  not  to  be  suspected.  "  I  should  think  not.  And, 
Mr.  Tangle,  I've  not  forgott^i  the  carp  that  pleased  you  so  much. 
There 's  plenty  in  the  pond  ;  and  we'll  have  some  of  the  finest,  I 
can  tell  you."'  At  this  moment  the  Doctor  was  snmmonod  from 
the  room  ;  whilst  new  risit<H«  continued  to  arrive,  assembling  to 
escort  the  noble  candidate  to  a  very  modest  fabric,  largely  chris- 
tened as  the  Town-Hail.     Young  St.  James  knew  everybody — 

L)«:«l  by  Google 


QCNL  TEE  EIBTOBT  OF 

welcomed  everybody.  There  w«a  not  a  man  present  mih  wtom 
he  would  not  and  could  not  have  shared  his  heart, — it  was  so  unoz- 
jiectcdly  large  upon  the  happy  occaaion. 

"  Don't  youwieh,  my  lord,  that  your  noble  fatLerthe  ezcellait 
MarqneEawt^heretoseeyourlriiunph?"  exclaimed  one  oftheart- 
leaa  Misa  Gileoda.  Rosy  ignorance  !  She  kaew  not  that,  how- 
ever the  paternal  heart  might  have  yearned  to  he  present,  it  was 
sternly  checked  by  a  atroDg  sense  of  conatitutionol  duty.  For  the 
Marquess,  &b  a  peer  of  England,  could  not,  must  not,  directly  or 
indirectly  seein  to  interfere  in  the  election  of  a  member  of  Parliii- 
ment— in  the  free  assertion  of  the  people's  choice.  Therefore  it 
was  only  permitted  to  the  father,  the  peer,  and  the  patriot  to  send 
his  banker. 

And  still  the  visitors  poured  in  ;  and  aa  tbe  crowd  grew,  every 
man  looked  more  important,  as  though  catching  zeal  and  con- 
stancy of  purpose  from  new-eomers.  ' '  The  borough 's  been  in  the 
family  these  thousand  years,"  cried  a  spare,  fibrous,  thin-faced 
man,  with  a  high  piercing  voice,  "  and  the  Constitootion  had  better 
go  to  sleep  at  once  if  any  nobody  'a  to  come  to  represent  us." 
.  "  Tell  'ee  what.  Muster  Flay,  we  own't  stand  it,"  said  a  free- 
holder  in  a  smock  frock,  that  in  its  unspecked  whiteneaa  might 
have  typified  the  purity  of  election.  "  We  own't  stand  it.  My 
father  and  his  father — and'  hisn  after  hisn — all  of  'em  did  vote  for 
the  family, — and  when  folks  come  to  ax  me  for  my  vote  ag^n  'em, 
— why  as  I  says  to  my  wife,  it  'a  like  a  flyin'  in  the  face  of  Provi- 
dence." 

"  To  be  sure  it  is" — answered  Flay — "  it 's  ungratefid  ;  and 
more, — it's  uncoustitootional." 

"  No,  no,  Muster  Flay  ;  the  Blueshave  always  pud  me  and  mine 
very  well." 

*'  Hush !  Kot  so  loud,"  said  Flay,  with  his  finger  at  his  el». 
qxtant  lip. 

"  Bless  'ee,  everybody  knows  as  everybody's  paid,"  answered 
the  clean-breasted  voter. 

"  To  be  sui-e  they  do  ;  nevertheless,"  observed  Flay,  "it  isn't 
conatitootional  to  know  it.  It 's  what  we  call  a  fiction  in  the  law ;  but 
you  know  nothing  o'  theae  things.  Master  Stump,"  stud  the  barber, 
who  then  drew  himself  back  a  little  to  take  a  better  look  of  the 
fine  specimen  of  ignorance  before  him. 

"  What  'a  a  fickshun  ?  "   asked  Stamp.     "  Sometlun  o'  use, 

U.g,l:«l  by  Google 


&-r.    GILES  AND    BT.   JAKES.  300 

"  I  believe  you — ^the  coiutitoolion  couldn't  go  on  without  it. 
Fiction  in  the  constitootion  ia  like  the  flour  in  t,  {dum-pudduig 
—it  holds  all  the  prime  things  in  it  together." 

"  1  see,"  answered  Stump,  with  a  grin,  "  if  they  hadn't  n» 
fiokshun,  they  'd  moke  a  very  pretty  hiling  of  it ! " 

And  after  this  irreverent  fajuon,  comparing  the  lofty  uses  ud 
the  various  wisdom  of  the  Constitution  to  the  ingredients  of  a 
Christmas  pudding,  did  Flay,  the  Blue  barber,  and  his  pupil  in  the 
art  of  government,  discourse  amid  the  mob  assemhled  in  the 
grounds  of  Lazarus  Hail ;  when  a  faint-cheer,  an  ineffectual  shout, 
rose  from  some  of  the  mob  gathered  about  a  horseman  arrived 
in  haste,  with  special  news.  This  intelligence  was  speedily  con- 
veyed to  Doctor  Gilead,  whose  face  suddenly  glowed  like  stained 
glass,  he  was  so  delighted  with  the  tidings.  Uaking  his  way  back 
to  his  lordship,  the  Doctor  cried — "  Joy,  my  lord  !  Joy  !  Joy  ! 
The  enemy  won't  stand !  The  Yellow 's  mounted  the  white- 
feather  I  No  contest,  my  lord — no  contest !  Three  cheersr 
gentlemen,  for  our  member!"  And  Doctor  Gilead,  for  awhile 
forgetful  of  the  meekness  of  the  pastor  in  the  zeal  of  the  patriot, 
sprang  upon  a  chair,  and  loudly  huzzaed.  His  note  of  rejoicing 
was  responded  to,  but  somehow  not  heartily.  The  assembly 
tried  to  look  very  delighted,  very  triumphant  ;  yet,  it  was 
plain,  they  felt  a  latent  annoyance.  Was  it  that  they  were  dis- 
appointed of  the  pleasing  excitement  of  a  hard-contested,  consti- 
tutional fight  ?  Waa  it,  too,  that  every  man  felt  himself 
considerably  lowered,  not  only  in  his  self-estimation,  but  in  the 
value  that  would  otherwise  have  heeu  set  upon  him  by  oppo»te 
buyers  ?  It  is  a  painful  feeling  to  be  at  the  tyranuons,  the  ignorant  - 
valuation  of  any  one  man  ;  and  doubtless,  many  of  the  electors  of 
Liquorish  shared  in  this  annoyance,  for  now  they  might  be  bought  at 
young  St.  James's  own  price.  When  a  ma"  does  drive  his  princi- 
ple, like  his  pig,  to  market,  it  must  try  the  Christian  spirit  of 
the  seller  to  find  only  a  solitary  buyer.  The  principle,  like 
the  pig,  may  be  a  very  fine  principle  ;  a  fine,  healdiy,  thorough- 
going principle ;  and  yet  the  one  buyer,  because  the  only  one, 
may  chaffer  for  it  as  though  the  goods  were  a  very  measly  prin- 
ciple indeed.  The  man  must  sell ;  so  there  goes  a  principle  for 
next  to  nothing :  a  principle  that,  with  a  full  market,  would  have 
fetched  any  money.  To  sell  a  principle  may  be  the  pleasautest 
&ing  in  the  world,  hut  to  give  it  away  is  another  matter. 

In  Mr.  Tangle,  the  news  excited  mixed  emotions.     He  rejtnced  - 

BO.  ITI. — VOL.  in.  X  I 


SOS  THE  mSTOBT  OF 

tkftt  ths  nonej  would  be'  lea*  needod.  than. had  then  baeii  sd 
opposing,  buyer  .in  the  markeb:  an^  then  he  felt  doubly  sad  at 
the  loss:  For  with  the,  grid  in  his  poiwaaioat  and  thene  btaaf;  ths 
leas  necetuty  for  its  wide  expendituro,  he  might — he  felt  bw*  he 
could  have  done  it  sctnehow — j«t,  he  might  have  levied  a  bea.'rj' 
per  ceatageupOD  what  remained.  Thai«  would  have  been  a  lugex 
lM>dy'of  metal  for  tlie  experiment ;  and  l«t  tJiis  be  Bud  of  hu*,- 
Tangle  always  prcfarad  BOoh  experimests  on  a  grand  scale.  This. 
Tangle,  (xhiIuimI  in  aool,  and^downoast  in  deBuanour^  snfihred' 
hittaaJf  to  bo'Ied  t«  one  of  the  half-daaen  caniages  prepared  for:' 
tk&  firoceiMon  ta  th«  Town  Hall. 

Shall  we  att«aipti-a.4eMripti<mof  tbemob  im  t^cIw— -the-  moh 
•on  itorwbaok— 4Bd  the  mobnon  foot,  departing  from  the  rectviTt- 
bouod  on  the  solemn  daty  of  making  a  firb-aew  senator?  N»: 
we  will  merely .  chraDiole ,  the  touohing  trudi  that.,  as  tba  meb 
laoved  on,  they  seat  forth  a  cheer,  that  waa  shrilly  answered  frett 
the  topmost  windows  of  the<rect«ry,  whereat  all  sorts  of  maidsi . 
-covwed  all  over  wiA  bloe  ribands,  screamed,  and  fiuttered  hand* 
kiBrchie&  andva^na  in.  glad  .augwy  of  trnunph.  This  ordcrof 
therector  for  the  profiiSMt  diapl^  «f  St.  James's  coloora-had 
been  carried'  out  witlt.  responding  zeal  by  his  retainers.  BlnO" 
fluttered  everywhere.  The  dairyimaid  Iwd  deoked  Crumpla's 
bome  with  blue,  aad  Xh&-  animaL  m  the  maid  ayerrad,  seemed  ncj 
proud  indeed  of  the  badge  ;  had  she  wom  tt  in  hoBOur  of  haS'Dwn 
son,  then . onlyr'K  fortnight  oM,  she-  could  nob  have,  looked  moM' 
'COffiplaceotj  happy.  There  was  not  a  single  as*  belonging  to  • 
thai  rectory  that  didinot  somewhere  carry  the  colour  ;  andwedo 
aaaaiS'  tk»:readaiv  rery-graFe  and  very  wise  the  asset  lookadr' 
iritbit..'  They  seemad,' as  Jock  the  hind  ohaarred,  to  underatand 
"^the'  thing  like  any  Cbrisdaa.!'  A  blna  flag  fluttered  £rom  the 
fop  of  the  reetory— and:  blue  streamers  fiW  every  out'houaft.' 
Brea  the  >  gilt  weathercock.— the  fact  somehow  escaped  th»- 
■eye  of  the  rectoFr— bore-  at  its  .foar  points:  a  long,  long  strip  *£■■ 
blue  Hbaod.in  homearof  the  political  pnnmples  of  the  Blue.' 
'Candidate. 

The  mob,  wesayvcheeredias.theyael'fiinraKd  from  the  ractoi;^' 
and'  IJie  men'«esTaBta  and  the  nuud-^etvants  (Peered  agaia.  The! 
homehold  gods  of  LasarusrHaU  drew*  a  long. breath  as  retered.' 
fnimiithe' crowd  and  tumult  of  the  mob  that  had  hnetled  and«<ni- 
fused  them- ; .  and  the  solemn  row  of  Ecideflaotical  Fathers,  ataodr- 
ingv in  Choedh-nalitast  file  i^on.  thetlibiaijr'shelrei,  onoo.mare 


ST.   eOSB  ANDBT^'JAIIES.  80? 

geemed'io  f^el  themselFes-the  nndisLurbed  pOSKfMors'of  thdironke> 
hdme.  Poor  old-  feDow*! — aanyof  them,  too,  snch  wonderfnl  faMdc 
st  chopping  one  liEtir'iHto  little  bundles  of  hoiiei  tile  better  tomabe 
springes  with — ee  manj  too.  the '  Eloquent  Dumb'-theOrtat  IV)!^ 
gotten — die  IlluBtaious  Dim-^tbe  Folio  FlinutOFe  in  calf  or  tndy 
pastoral  vellum,— 'for  fiTC-and-tventj.  years  bad '  stood  upon  the 
^elf;  and  no  mde  hand  had  ever  touohed  -them.  They  bad  been 
bought  by  Doetor  Gilead,  and  made-to  stand  befoi%  all  men  yisitiQg 
fliefibrary,  asTouehers  for  the  learning  of  thereelor.  But  whrai  Smpio 
— of  coarse,  air,  you  remember  the  Btory — wbenScipio,bytbefoftim» 
of  war;  was  made  the  some  time  guardian  of  a  beautiful  princess^ 
Scipio  himself  was  not  more  respectfnl  of  her  charms,  than  was 
Doctor  Qilead  of  the  fascinations  of  the  Fathers  :  he  never  knbw 
them — never.  We  are  aware  that  there  may  be  vulgar  souls  who, 
judging  from  their  simial  selves,  may  ddnbt  the  continenc«  oif 
Soipio:  wB  think  this  very  likely ;  for  sure  we  are-  that' many 
fAlks,  seeing  the  scholastic  beauties  possessed  by  Doetor  Gileal, 
believed  he  must  enjoy  them  :  for  the  Doctor,  like  Scipio,  never 
bragged  of  his  abslinencei  He,  good  soul,  suffered  men  to  think 
jiurt  wbat  they  pleased  :  but  this  we  know;  altiivngh  the  Fathers 
werefor  five-and-twenty  years  in  tile  power  of 'Doctor  Gilead,  yet^ 
a"  Sdpio  in'  his  way,  he  never — to  speak  scntpuloady  like  * 
nttitrOn — he  never  somuch  as  laid  his  little  finger  on  them.' 

Therefore,  shoiily  before  the  arrival  of  his  lordship,  was  it  a' 
gnat  surprise  to  the  Fathera  to  find  themaelveg  one  morning  taken 
from- the  shelves  and  opened.'  Hew  stiff,' poor  fellowst  were  they 
idlin  the  back  I  And  no  donbt,  very  much  astounded  was  Origen; 
and-  Basil,  and  Theophylactus,  and  JerOm,  and  Twtuliian,  and- 
o^ibr  respeetsble' Fathers,' to' find  themselves  duttttd  and  thwaoked 
as  they;  when  in  the'fleA,  were  wOnt  todusbbud  th««ok  thdr  dis- 
putants ;  the  man-serrsnt  and  the  msid^bervaut,  otherwise  intent,- 
t^ng  no  more  account  of  them  than , if  they  vrere  old  day-booka 
ahd' ledgers:  In  the  vanity  of  their  hearts — at'  least,  in  as-mutdi 
vanity  as  can  b^Ug  to  churchmen— they  thought  tk#y  were  to  be 
odnsutted  and  reverenced  ;  in  a  word,  made  much  of.  And  thek" 
owner.  Doctor'  Gilead,'  did  make  much  of  thetnt  -  He  paid  them- 
the'deepeHt'devolitoii  of- which  the  good  man  was  searible  ;  for  ho" 
bad 'them'  all' 'packed-  off  to  be  newly  forhlsbed  and  newly  gilt ; 
and  thbre  the  dead  F^hers  of  the  Church  BtDed  gHetening  widt^ 
gaU  ;  and  douhtlessliS  uneasy  in  the  Mdendoup forced  upon  diem- 
ae- any  bishop  in  a  coaohiand^faan  There'ttiey  w«re;  like  the 
1 2  I. 


jiet'OBfli^-tte  maVwho^didnot  feel  A'lisgeJiitwMt  in  &«.me^ 
iuatiaaiBB -jaoDg  lord -who  was  guog  up  torparliwn^t  loitajie 
eapeoiol  cara  trf  all  of  them. — In  the ^ like  vay,  Ui&t  wbeartbe 
knighb  o(  old  w&a  anned,  aod  About  to  go  iottik  to  ala;  the  dragan 
^atoMried  off mra,  Tirgins,  RudoBltle,  juidiCinitinaalljbretitliad 
^'brimstone  blight  upon. the  CEopa  axid  herbage, 'luftking  dumpiib 
th&  heart  of  the  farmer — m  the-  like  nayi  that  be  was  attended  hj 
sage,  grey-headed  reverenoe,  by  youdis.and.mwd^iB,  beating 
jjwlands  and  green  boBgha,  and  .aoccau^aqying  him  with  idtqnta, 
-kndivayers,  and  Wing  looks,  so  did  the  young  lord  St.  Jamts 
take  hia  way  to  the  hustinga,  that  ho.  might  therefrom,  depart  for 
FarUament,  there  to  oombat  with  and  aoundly  drub  the  twenty 
^dragons  alwaya  ready  to  eat  vp  everybody  and  ererythiag,  if  not 
pterented  by  the-ione  particular  -  mttnbei''  Young  St.  JamsB 
'Would  be  the  ohampion  gainst  the  dragon  taxation;  he. would 
'ke^  the  monster  -  from  the  farmer's  baooa — from  the  iaraia^A 
■wife's  eggs — hoia  the  fanner'a  daughter's  butter.:  he  would 
^nt«ct  their  ri^ita  ;  and  the  farmer,  and  'farmer's  wife,  aqd 
fumer's  daughter,  .iJl  Ml  that  they  had  a  moBt  dear  and  tender 
interest  in.  that.  a[dendid  young  gentleman,  who  would  do  nothinj; 
but  bow  to  tbem,  and  amile  i^on  Ih^iii,  just  for  rail  the-  world  'fts  If 
he'Waa  no  bit  better  tihan  they. 

"  He  '11  let  'em.  kaoW' what  's,whi)t>wiieD  he  gets  .amoqg  'esa," 
aaiA  an  old  eeuubTnanto  Flay,  who,  thtf)  he.ii^it.be  aansa£«» 
^oBwble  to  the  lord  about  to  ibe  made  , a  laflr>BUikeri  walked, wit^ 
his.hand  upon  tha  carriage.  "  They  've  had  it  all  their,.awji  waj 
long  enough  ;  he  '11  date  '«m  look  about  'em" 

"Themanfor  the  otoMitootion.  That's  plMn,,witJi  haU'..a^ 
eye;  he 's  born  with  it  all  iniia  bead,. Jikea  cook. with-,ft0oinb," 
aaid  Flay.  "It 'a  iik:the:family,"  coabiBaed  thebarber;  "initbe 
fomily." 

The  proeeuion  halts  &%  the  Hall.  We  pass .  the  ebeering,  It^ 
gEMoing  of  the  oppoaite  parties.  We  paaa  ijl  the  hidtbnb  of  Ibe 
Section,  aa  familiar  to  the  Siitiah!ear  as'tbe  mar  of  the  Britieh 
Lion.  It  was  ^(uu,- that  it  was  already  known  there- would  ba  »o 
eoatoet ;  whereupon  dask  and  Uanki.were-tJu  kM^. of  the  YdlaVB. 
lipid  very  loud  aod  fierce  their .  denunciations.  The  Bluea,  fto^, 
thev^b  they  put  abold^  happyrfaoe  aatheaBatt«r,<weieillat  ease. 
A-^iM^  opposition  would  have  ^given  them  great  delight, iaaa- 
much  as  their  tried  patwUam  wemld -haTe  shwe-aU  thebi^gktci* 
Iwtfaetest. 

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':'ibidTiiow'tba  adeaw  bntiuMS  is  opMtediibyUr.^bjrar,  too 
oi^WMsed^by  the  gMataesBof  iheioeoantm,  to  tn^T  oaewft^M 
lim  verj  eleqnent  addrsis  to  be  haaod  by  tksiiBultitDde;  ndio, 
.^ao'idcwbi,  in  gratitude,  c^Mfed  npnonrieiulj. 

llbei  Rerereiid  SoctOF  Silead  tLen  Btept  ferwsrd  ;  and  loddenly 
.&e«rowd  seemed  te  feel  tbemadvea  at  ^oroh,  tbey-were  so  hiubed. 
i7he  Doctor  said  that  notbing- but  his  kwg  knowledge,  his  affectioa 
.for  bis  lordship,  could  baK  induced,  him  to  hieak  from  that  prioaay 
vhich  they  all  knevwasJtis  greateit  ba^Kpiaeu.  But  he  had  a^ 
"duty  ta  p^orm  ;  a  daty  to  bis  oeuitry,  to.  them,  and  to  himself. 
.l%at  dnty  was  to  prc^ose  the  distinguished,  nobleman  before  them,, 
ae  1^^  legal  and  mwal  representative  in  parUament. 

Aikd  young  St.  James  was  duly  proposed  and  seconded.  "  Is. 
itbere  no  other  candidate  ?"  asked  the  Uayor,  with  a  conBcious&ee 
that  tbem  wte  not. 

"  Yes,"  cried  a  mice  t  and .  immadiatdy  a  man  etept  forwasd. 
wbikt  tbe  Yellows  Beared  with  trininph.  "Ibave  to  propose," 
'Said  the  man, — and  reader,  that  man  was  no  other  tban  Ebenezer 
TSiipeton,  basbsjid  of  Clarisut, — *'  I  have  to  propose,  aatbe  repie- 
.'smtative  of  the  borougb  of  Liqaorish,  Matthew  Capstiek,  Esq." 

A.  shout  of  dorisimi  burst  front  the  Bluss.  For  a  noment,  the 
.Yellows,  taken  by  surprise,  ivere  silent :  tbey  tben  paid  back  dte 
'.^tOQt  with  shoutings  vehement; 

"  Does  anybody  eecoad  Hattbew  Oapstiek  ?  "  asked  the  Mayor 
i^lfaast. 

"  I  does,"  cried  Rasp  ;  and  aguathe  T^wa.ahouted. 

The  Reverend  Doctor  Gilead .  leaked  ban^tily,  eontemptuously, 
at  the  faree  acted  about  him.  Nevertheless,  be  thought  it 
.  jieesssary  to  demand  a  poU '  for  young  6t>  James ;  the  show  of 
hands— as  theastounded  Mayor  was cOBipelled  to  own — baiag"de-- 
.^dedkj  in  favour  of  Mr.  O^stiok." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  Wht  yon  never  soeaa  to  do  it  ? "  «aked  Bright  jMaanxiensly,  - 
'Boirowfidly. 

"  A  man  is '  wedded  to  his  ceantry,  Jem  ;  utd  being  wedded, 
'ttuit  listen  to  her  voice,"  was  tlia  answer  of  Gapstiok. 

It  was  neariy  midnight,' and  the  late  mnffin-maker  and  hianBQ 
■  sat  abme  in  the  Tub.      fbe  news. of  his  probable  eleclwit . for 


CoiMic 


^K  '  THE  BIBTORT  OP   . 

liqnoridi  bad  blluinpon  Ckpetick  ezplosiTelj.  He  Bad,  in  trntb, 
been  much. startled,  agitated  by  tbe  tidings;  but,  the  mufSn- 
. maker  was  a  pbiloet^her,  and  after  a  brief  hour  or  two,  he  had 
anbdaed  the  fleah-quakes  of  the  merelj  tnodest  man,  trembling  at 
his  own  under-vslnation,  and  sat  re-assured  and-  cobn,  c<mtem- 

Elating  his  possible  appeuance  amidst  the  SBges  of  the  land, 
imself  a  sage,  with  the  quiet  resignation  of.  a  patriot.  Capstick 
Jndustriousl;  essayed  a  look,  a  manner  of  monumental  tranquilli^. 
Be  smoked  apparently,  for  all  the  world,  like  a  cnnmon  man  ;  and 
yet — it  did  not  escape  the  affectionate  glance  of  Jem — ^yet  did 
Capstick's  eye  now  and  then  bum  and  glow  with  a  new  light, 
even  as  ibe  tobacco  at  the  breath  of  the  smoker,  glowed  through 
'  the  embers.  Ra[ndly  was  his  heart  enlar^ng  with  the  good  i^ 
the  nation.  Orations,  to  be  uttered  to  the  world  at  the  pni^ter 
season,  were  concdred  in  the  muffin-maker's  br^n ;  and  as  he 
sat,  like  a  pagan  god,  in  a  cloud  of  bis  own  making,  they  already 
grew  and  grew,  and  he  already  felt  for  them  the  myrteriona  love 
of  the  parent  towards  the  unborn.  Already  his  ears  rang  witli 
the  shoutings  of  an  instmcted,  a  delighted  senate.  His  heartbeat 
thick  with  the  thought  of  Magna  Charta,  and  the  tremendous 
uses  he  would  yet  make  of  that  snblime  test.  With  no  hope,  no 
thought  of  parliament,  it  had  been  the  pride  of  the  mnffin-maker 
to  despise  die  world  and  its  Aomge  ;  a  hopeless  world,  overstocked 
-with  fools  anil  knaves,  altogether  unworthy  of  the  consideration  of 
a  philosophic  mind.  And  now  with  the  chance  of  becoming  va 
senator,  Capstick  felt  a  sudden  charity  for  the  universe.  After 
all,  it  was  a  universe  not  to  be  neglected.  And  for  the  men  and 
women  inhabiting  it — poor  two-legged  emmets ! — they  must  not 
be  suffered  to  go  to  ruin  tbeir  own  perverse  way.  He  wonld, 
therefore,  go  to  parliament^  and  save  them.  Now,  when  a  moa 
has  once  for  all  determined  upon  a  magnanimous  line  of  conduct, 
he  cannot  but  for  the  time  look  the  better,  the  bigger,  for  the  re- 
Bolution.  n  is  thus  in  all  cases.  For  instance,  when  a  virgin,  with 
lowered  lids  and  lips  trembling,  at  tbeir  own  courage,  drops  the 
"  yes  "  that  is  to  mt^e  a  man  beatific  for  the  term  of  bis  natural 
existence — a  "yes"  at  which  all  the  wedding-rings  in  all  the 
goldsmiths'  shops  sympathetically  vibrate,— she,  the  virgin,  looks 
as  she  never  before  looked  in  her  life  ;  sublimated,  glorified,  with 
a  halo  of  beauty  about  her  ;  a  halo  catching  light  from  her  liquid 
eyes  and  rosy,  burning  face.  And  when,  too,  the  widow  wiUi  a 
Aweet  audacity,  facing  the  mischief,  man,  as  an  old  soldier  faces  a 


BT.  «ILE3  ABD   BT.    JAICEB.  013 

•  cannon,  says  "yet,"  tolling  the  monosylltibleBhortly,  boldly  a'sabejl 
tolls  one — she,  too,  expands  a  little — juit  a  little,  with  the  thougkt, 
the  good  determined  upon, — she,  too,  has  her. halo,  though  cer- 
tainly of  a  dimmer  kind  i  juat  a  little  dulled,  like  a  second-hand 

-ring.  .  So  true  it  b,.tb&t  magnanimity  hasau'expansire,  a  deco- 
rative quality.  An<l  so  when  Capetick,  for  a  moment,  felt  himself 
A  member  of  Pariianient,  he  felt  for  the  .time  bis  w^atcoat  ntubh. 

'  too  small  for  him.  In  the  like  way  that  when,  stirred  by  great 
emotions,  tbe  female  heart  takes  a  sudden  shoot,  it  is  sometimeB 
newftsary  to  cut  the  stay-lace  to  allow  for  the  growth. 

And  Capstick  sat  enlarged  by  hie  own  thoughts  ;  with  the  ears 
oChia  soul  up-pricked — for  souls  have  ears,  and  rat  times  pretty 
long  ones — as  though  listening  for  the  tniinpeta  that  should  sound 
a  blast  for  his  triumph.  .But  Bright  Jem  had  a  heavy,  a  ddorons 
expression  of  the  divine  coantenanco  of  man.  His  master  was  in 
danger  of  being  made  a  Uember  of  Parliament.  He  was,  at  that 
moment,  in  the  imminent  peril  of  being  taken  from  rustic  delights, 

.from  the  sweet,  tiie  flowery  leisure  of  the  country,  to  he  tamed 
into  a  maker  of  laws.     His  condition  weighed  heavily  upon  the 

:  sense  of  his  faitbiiil,  his  affectionate  servant ;  who  gazed  upon 
him  as  Pylades  would  have  regarded  Oreatea,  had  dear  Orestes 
been  sentenced  to  the  pillory.  Capatick  already  felt  himself 
in  the  House  of  Gammons,  and  amiled  through  his  own  smoke,  8S 
he  thought  of  one  of  the  hundred  apeeches  he  would  make,  aM 
the  cheers  that  would  celebrate  its  deUvery  ;  and  Bright  Jem  only 
thought  of  the  nnsaroory  miaailes  to  be  burled  at  his  jHend  in  the 

.hour  of  his  trial. 

"  A  man  is  wedded  to  his  country,  Jem," .  repeated  Capstick, 
with  a  growing  love  for  the  assertion. 

"  Hia  country !  Why,  you  don't  call  Liquorish  your  coimtiy, 
do  you  ?  Beaides,  what  does  the  country  know  about  you  'xcept 
your  muffins  :  if  tbe  country  hasn't  quite  forgot  tbem  by  this 
time  ?  If  you  are  made  a  member  of  Parliament — heaven  Jire- 
serve  you,  says  1 — ^you  '11  only  be  made  ont  of  spite  and  malice," 
cried  James. 

Mr.  Capatick  took  Ma  pipe  vride  away  from  hia  month,  and 
began  what  would  doubtless  have  been  a  very  eloquent  speech. 
Bright  Jem,  however,  suffered  him  to  get  no  further  than — "  The 
choice  of  the  people,  Jem." 

"  The  people  !  The  choice  of  tiie  guineas,  that 's  it,  Mr.  Cap- 
atick.    A  member  for  Liquorish  I     Well,  they  might  as  well  make 

Coaqk 


8U  THE :  HmCKF  Iff 

.a  litde  TMiag&  of  the  goUoi  >«alf  Drer'sgin,  vad'  Mod  'l&Mfcjits 
pulisment :  &r  tLftt  'e  thepee|^'a  cbaoe  henkbonls.  Why,.3«B 
must  know,  thftt'  it  -e  fiffimo  lov«  ^  joutiUitrSBipatoi^— oa  t^yeall 
liim — pst  JOS  up.  To.eaiTj  liu  pint  ^m  In*  jomg  bEdiliip-~'ibr 
dtere  's  some  sore  'atwvan  'en—^aii  Bead'RichimUiy-aweeperte 
porliamaat  without 'wubing." 

"  Inpoauble  !"  orutl  Copatitk,  with  Tery-'ocuiderftble  dignitjE. 

*'  Certain  of  it,"  insiiied  Jem,  "else  whj,  may  I  he  bo  bold  to 
ttak,  shoidd'he  pitch  uiioii  yon  ?  " 

■' I  am  not  eiaetlj  acIiimii^-Bireeper,  Ur.  J«m«B  7  not  exaetlj,'' 
4ib»erved  Cspatick,  majsatioallj. 

"A  course  not:  agoodmy&vn  it:  butyou  know  wbkt  I 
mean,  don't  you  ?  "  said  Jem. 

"It  iano  matter.  Hr.  Snipeton  has' very  bmiSy  aatitfied  ne  «f 
the  purity,  the  patnotiem  of  his  intonticmB,  mid — good  na^A, 
Mr.  James,"  sad  Capatick  rose.     "  I  must  riBe>eaiiy  to-munaw'" 

"  Bon't  ray,  Ur.  JaoMB,  then ;  it 'b  a  putting  astonein<m^ 
luHow  that  I  co«Idn't '  sleep  en,  se^g  I  'm  not  used  to  it.  -  Clad 
'btesB  you,  sir — good  night,"  aad  J«m  held  forth  his  hand. 

'■  Qrttad  night,  Jem,"  said  Capstick,  taking  Jam's  hand.  ".Aad 
imnd,  to-m«rrow,  early  Jem— totj  early,  J«n," 

Almost  at  dawn  Jem  was  in  the  garden,  dtg^aig,  digging  •&» 
though  he  wioold  get  rid  of  thoagtit.  At  tines,  very  aaragely 
would  he  plunge  the  spade  into  the  earth,  as  though,  it  relte*^ 
him.  And  then  he  groaned — humcned-— ^ond  tigfaed.  And'did 
morning  broke  gkrionsly  ;  and  the  birds  mng  ud  whistled  ;  and 
the  flowers  came  laughing  out  in  the  sunshine.  The  summer 
earth,  one  wide  altu,  steamed -witii  sweetest-ineanse  tolieaven. 

Jem  bad  laboured  for  a  couple  of  hours  beftire  Oapetick  joiiwl 
Mm  in  the  garden.  "  Why,  J«m,  you  Ve'dons  a  full  half-day's. 
work  already,"  said  the  candidate  for  Li^ioriBh. 

"  Somehow  I  couldn't  feat ;  and  when  I  didslcep,  I  had  notltir^ 
but  nasty  dreams.  If  I  didn't  dre^  yonnras  taken  to  the  Tenter 
for  puUiug  the  jqraaker's  nose — «nd  I.kitoM''your  tender,  ■ir-'^Be- 
thing  more  likely — I  wish  I  may  die.  Never  had  Mwh  a  clear, 
dean  dream  in  all  my  life.    It  was  all  made  out  ibo!" 

"  And  what  did  they  do  with  me  at  the  Towwr  ?  "  akked  Oap- 
stick,  a  little  tickled  by  the  importance  of  theimfmsoiiMent. 

"  Why  they  chopped  your  head  off  as  olean  asa  sheep's,"  sud 
Jem  eantestly.  "  I  saw  'em  do  it ;  beard  the  cho^^r  go  right 
throogh  bone,  gristle,  aod  all."     Capstick  «hpt  Ida  Mndto>tai» 


ST.  4IU8  ilXD:  ST.  3AUES,  3tS 

.«nk,  IbflnWddottlTitaok  it'  awaj  ^oin,  aad'akK^c  Iw'kefcd-ancl 
.SBfiled.  Jem  eon^ued.  "  Thaj  ohtpped  it  off,  aod  I  ilmrd.it 
'fyH  from  the  block  Tith  abimip.  And  after-  that  tbc^  cut  jon 
uto'tDur  quarters  to  be  hmg  up  £Ditan  «zample." 

"Ha!  ha!  and  that's  the  worst  they  did,"  cried  O^aUok; 
"  thwe  was  an  end,  ^en?" 

"Nothere  wasn't,"  Bud  Jem  ;  "for  I  dreamt' Uiatthe^'iniNla 
mb  pack  iip-one  of  the  itaarters,  like  Bpring-lainb,  aad  carry  it  to 
your  old  mufSn  shop,  and  hang  it  jest  erer  the  door  atween  tbe 
twotwindows,  as  a  warning  to  alltraitors.  .  And  I  himgitap.  And 
Uien  I  dreamt  I  sat  down  on  the  door- step,  and  it  was  as  mnoh  aa 
'erer  I  could  do  to  keep  thebiiidB  from  pecking  at  yon,  for  all  I  did 
■nothing  but  pelt  i' em  with  doUars." 

"  Very  extraTagant,"  said  Capstick,  who  addod  grardyr^lay- 
ing  kiB  hand  rery  tenderly  upon  J«n'B  shoulder,  "  when  the  time 
reaJly  ciHnee,  don't  throw  away  silrer ;  first  try  penny  pieeea." 
Jem  shook  his  he»d:  he  could  not  reli^  the  hnmoor  of  the 
.•conomy. 

"  If,  noiT,  they  really  ^old  make  a  monber  of  pai^amcKt  of 
you" — Jem  shuddeicd  at  the  notion  as  at  the.tkoHght  of  scone 
naiue^us  drug — "yiou  don't  mean  to  aay  yiu'lHevre  the'Tub, 
the  garden  and  all  ?  " 

-"The  voice  of  the  country,  Jem,  moat  be  abeyed.  We'll  come 
dawn  here,  and  reonut  ourselvvB  wb^i  the  House  is  prorogued. 
■WflBhall  enjoy  it  all  tlie.  more  for  the  work  of  tie  SMsion."  Cap- 
■tiok  already  B[Mk£<  like  a  member. 

"  Wdl,  I .  know  BiHuethin'  of  parliament,  for  X  knew  poor 
.Sam  ChiUems,  the  Unkman,  as  was  killed  by  the  late  honts. 
He  need  to  t^  me  a  good  deal .  about  it;  wh^ver  pleasure  ^m 
ioam  have,  to  go. and  at  steaming  among  a  mob  «f  falks--r«iid 
hearing  speecbes  and  smns  of  figorea  that  you  don't  know 
fUOtbing  about — and  aever  (^leningyjoar  own  month" — 

"Never  think  it,  Jem,"  cried  CapsUck,  "1  shall  apeak  and 
twry  .<rften-.-very  ofUn." 

'".The  .Lord  help  yon!  "  exclaimed  Jem,  amaied  at  such 
iiktniniBatJon.     "  Atjwurtltie  of  life,  too  !  " 

"That's  it,  Jem,  Twenty,  ten,  yaara  ago,  I  shouldn't  have 
^ota  ripe  for  it.  Beally  great  men  are  of  alow  growth  ;  I  feel 
.that  I  have  just  now  reached  my  prime,  aad  my  country  shall 
bare  it.  You  den't  ki>ow~kow  should  yon  ?— what  I  may  meet 
Titlt  in  parliament." 

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:3I«  THE  HISTORI'O? 

"  A  little  on  it,"  aiud  Jem.  "You'll  meet  wi&  bald  lioitfs 
.  and  noiny  companj  ;  and  jou  11  turn  night  into  day  and  day  into 
night,  and  so  do  no  good  with  neither  one  nor  the  other.  Meet ! 
Will  yon  meet  with  any  Buch  company  as  you  leave  !  I  should  like 
to  know  that?" 

"  Why,  what  company  do  I  leave  ?  "asked  Capatick  coldly, 
and  with  dignity. 

"  Why,  the  company  ahout  you,"  cried  Jem,  and  Capstick 
shortly  coughed.  "Look  at  'em:  will  you  meet  with  anything 
like  them  roses,  jest  caning  their  precious  mouths,  and  talk- 
ing to  you  in  deir  own  way — for  how  often  you  've  said 
-they  do  talk,  if  peo^e  will  only  have  the  sense  to  understand 
'em!  You*n  go  to  court,  perhaps  ;  and  if  yon  do,  will  you  meet 
with  finer  velvet  than  'e  in  them  heartsease  ?  will  you  see  any 
■diam<mds  " — and  here  Jem  struck  a  bush  with  his  spade,  ana 
the  dew-drops  in  a  silver  shower  trembled  and  fell  from  it — 
"  any  diamonds  brighter  and  wholesomer  than  them  ?  Will  you 
hear  anything  like  that  in  parliament  ?  " — cried  Jem  emphatic^j, 
and  he  pointed  upwards  to  a  fluttering  speck,  a  lark  in  the  high 
heavens,  gushing  with  song. 

"  These  things  are  to  be  eojoyed  in  their  due  season ;  when,  as 
I  say,  the  House  is  prorogued,'  said  Capstick. 

"  And  what 's  to  become  of  all  the  animals  that  1  thought  yoa 
80  fond  on  ?  They  'U  none  on  'em  come  to  good  when  you're  away. 
There 's  them  beautiful  hees — sensihle  things  !  — you  don't  thiiJE 
they'll  have  the  heart  to  go  on  working,  working,  when  you 're 
wasting  your  time  in  the  House  of  Commons  ?  And  you  11  go 
and  mi^e  laws  !  Ha  !  We  shan't  have  no  luck  after  that.  If 
the  bantam  hen  that  *b  sitting  doesn't  addle  all  her  eggs,  I  know 
nothing  of  bantams.  Why,  how," — and  Jem  spoke  in  a  saddened 
tone — "how  in  iax  weeks  do  you  think  you  'II  look?" 

"Look!  how  should  I  look?"  cried  Capstick,  bending  his 
.trowB. 

"  Why,  you  'II  look  like  a  act  of  parliament ;  and  a  preciooa 
-old  act,  too  ;  all  parchment  like,  with  black  marks.  And  yon  II 
go  to  bed  when  the  sun  gets  up  ;  and  instead  of  meeting  him  aa 
you  do  now  with  a  head  as  clear  as  spring  water — and  looking  at 
him,  all  health  and  cranfort — and  walking  about  hearing  the  birds 
and  smelling  the  cows,  the  flowers,  and  the  fresh  earth — why, 
you  '11  be  slinking  home  to  your  bed  with  no  heart  to  stare  in  the 
Bun's  face — and  your  precious  head  will  seem  biling  with  a  lot  of 


BT.   OtLBS  AND   ST.   JAJIES.  317' 


ttXk  ;  all  wobbling  nitb  speechea  you  can  maVe  nothin'  < 

you  'li  Boon  wish  yourself  a  mushroom,  a  toadstool,  uiythiiig  to 

bo  welt  Id  tho  country  Bigiu. ' ' 

"  Jem,"  said  Capstick,  "  you  mean  well ;  but  you  're  aa  enthu-  - 

"  You  may  call  me  what  namea  you  like,"  said  Jem,  Tory 
resignedly,  "  but  you  11  never  be  happy  away  from  the  Tub." 

"You'll  lay  the  breakfast,"  observed  Capstick,  peremptorily 
ending  the  conversation  as  he  turned  from  the  gvden  to  the 
house,  whilst  Jem^ — «s  if  he  had  a  new  quarrel  with  the  soil — dog  ' 
his  spade  into  the  earth  with  increased  energy. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  hen  broke  out  into  the  customaty  proclama- 
tion of  a  new  egg, — "  Well,  I  know,"  cried  Jem.  pettishly,  "  I 
know  :  you  're  like  a  good  many  people,  yon  are  ;  can't  even  ^ve 
poor  folks  an  egg  without  telling  all  the  world  about  it.  Humph  1 
he  may  as  well  have  'em  fresh  while  he  can  ;  "  and  Jem  bent  his 
way  to  the  hen-roost — "  poor  soul !  he  '11  get  nothin'  o'  the  sort 
when  he's  a  member  of  parliament." 

In  very  dumpish  spirits  did  Jem  prepare  the  breakfast.  But  - 
when  he  saw  Capstick,  habited  in  his  very  beat,  issoe  from  his 
chamber,  Jem  groaned  as  though  he  looked  upon  a  victim  arrayed 
for  the  sacrifice.  Capstick  would  not  bear  the  note  of  tribulation, 
but  observed — "  You'll  go  with  me,  Jem." 

"  I  'd  rather  not,"  said  Jem  ;  "  but  I  'apoae  I  must  go  in  the 
mob,  to  see  as  nobody  pelts  you.  Humph  !  I  wonder  what  any  Jew 
will  give  for  that  coat  when  you  come  home.  But  I  'spose  it 's  all 
right.  People  put  their  best  on  when  they  're  hanged,  and  why, 
shouldn't  you  ?  '  All  right,  o'  coarse." 

Capstick  managed  to  laugh,  and  tried  to  eat  his  breakfast  with 
even  more  than  customary 'rehsh — but  it  wonld  not  do:  he  had 
no  appetite.  He  felt  himself  on  the  verge  of  greatness.  And  bis 
heart  was  so  big  it  left  him  no  stomach.  Suddenly  was  heard  the 
aoundof  distant  music.  "  Heaven  save  you !"  cried  Jem,  "they're 
coming  after  you. " ' 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  Bud  the  philosophic  Capstick,  and  the  music 
and  the  shouting  seemed  to  enter  hia  calm  bosom  like  flame,  for 
he  suddenly  observed,    "It's  very  warm  to-day,  Jem." 

"  Nothin'  to  what  It  will  be.''  said  Jem.  "  Here  they  come.' 
Afore  it's  too  late,  will  you  hide  under  the  bed,  and  111  say 
you're  out  ?  "  Jem  rapidly  put  the  proposal  as  a  last  deqierate  - 
resource. 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


SIS  •atermfaovi'-or 

"  Don't  be  ft  fool,"  again  cried  Ospatici,  and  witlt  inWefcseat' 
■nbottMoce.     "  Opentha  door." 

"  It 's  all  ovef — too  late,"  groaned  Jem,  and  tdmost  iimmdiBMlf 
tke  miuie  came  clanipng  to  the  window,  and  tbe  mob  buEca^ 
and  Rasp,  and  others  of  Capatick'H  committee,  filled  the  cottag«> 

"Huirah!"  cried  Ra^,  "tirte  cheers  for  Caprtiokl  CAj»- 
stick  and  tlie  Constitution  ! "  and  the  mob- roared  in  obediMiw. 
"Newi  Mr.  Capatiok ;  all  right  I  can' tdl  jaa.  Hia  lordship 
hasn't  a  toe  to  stimd  upon — not  a  singls'toe.  Thie  blessed  HigH 
ypn  Tl  slee^  Member  for  Liqnoriak !  Down  with  the  Bluest  The- 
Constitution  and  Capattck!  H(UTah(  Whj,  Jem" — cried, the" 
harber,  suddenly  astounded — "yonlwTB''t  got  no  oolonr.  Here's 
one:" 

"  Well,  if  I  must  m^e  myielf  a  CMMry,"  cried  Jem,'  aitd  ha 
took  the  proffered  riband,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Now,  then,  strike  op,  and  three  more  cheers  for  Gaprtick  aod 
the  ConatitDtioii,"  roared  Ratp.  The  tfompets  sounded"- die 
dramH  beat — the  mob  roared,-^HUid  amidst  the  hubbub,  Capetiek 
sufiered  himself  to  be  carried  off  by  the  committee  to  one'  of  tlie 
three  carrit^es  drawn  up  at  the  end '  of  the  lane,  whilst  Bright 
Jern^  as  though  he  walked  at  a  funeral,  peouvely  followed.^ — In  a 
few-  moments  the  lioe  was  formed  t  and  musicians  and  meh, 
taking  new  breath,  gave  loudest  utterance  to  their  several  instm- 
menta,-  And  Oapstick,  the  philosopher,  smiled  and  bowed  aboat 
him  witb  all  the  easj  grace  of  an'  ohl  candidate;  Bright  Jem 
gaaed  at  him  with  astoaishment.  Could  it  be  possible  thU  tbkt 
smiling,  cotirteoos,  bending,  man  was  the  rigid  muffin-maker  f 
After  that,  there  was  nothing  true,  noting  real  in  humanity;  At- 
onee,  Jem  gave  the  world  up. 

The  procession  reached  the  Town-  Halk'  Hnrrdie  aod'liootiKgs 
met  Capstick  ;  who  felt  warm-  and  odd  at  the  salutations.  It  vas- 
plain,  however,  that  Capstick  and  the  Constitntion — as  Rasp 
weald  coupla  them-^must  triniDjdi.  Th6  great  confidence'' ia' 
young  St.  James  had,  somehow,  been  severely  shaken.  It  w<b0' 
known  even  to  the  litde  childr«i  of  tiie  l)erougfa'  that  the  m^ste- 
rions  chest  of  gcdd  had  beencorried  off;  and  as  the  cnstomwy 
donation  to  the  electors  was  not  forthcoming,  it  was  beliered  tiiat ' 
young  St  James  would  rashly  trust  to  pnrily  of  eleo^On. 
Tangle,  soeore  in  his  belief  that  there  would  be  no  'oppositio&  t«= 
his.  lord^ipj  had  said  no  word  of  the  robbery ;  hence,  he<hdd'> 
suffered  very  valuable  time  to  he  lost — time  ^lat  had  been  impnveA' 


ST.   GIEEB  AMD  ST.  liXES.  3t9' 

tddie.utiiMBtbjIhS'Sgento  of  Smpeton,  wbo,  ibougkhe  Booved;-' 
appeared  himadff  JalioDred  by  meaos  of  his  merceaarieB,  with  aU' 
the'ttrdouV'that  hatred  and  ^d  could  supjdj  in  tbe  cause.  Wlien, 
however,  it  beoain».  certain  thathia  lard^up  wo(^  be  oppoasd, 
TaOgle  felt  the  dire-  neceautji — dice,  indeed — of  telling  tbe  trath'. 
And'then  befell  b»bad  not  .the  courage  tocan^  him  through  bo 
uBiiBnal  a  task.  TTherenpon,  he  sneaked  to  his  inn,  ordwed  »' 
poet-nhaiae;  phtcQjd  hiniBelf  and  poctmsnteau.  thweis,  and  late  at, 
night  Becrettj  dio^etowu'ds  London.  Ere,  bovever,  bed^arted, . 
Leleft  a  letter  foF'tlieaoblA  candidate.     We  give  a  cerreM  copj. 

"My  Loed,— Deeply,  indeed,  doi  I  regret  that  a  circnrastance — - 
a.tender  circumBtaDce^ — to  which  it  is  needless  more  particularly 
to  allude  (for  what — what  right  have  I,  M  Buch  a  time,  to  force 
n^, domestic  sorrows  on  your  lotdsbip's  attention?) — a  tender  cir- 
cyuutance,  .1  say,  compels  my  immediate  attendance  in  London, 
Yoa  may  jifdge  of  the  importance  of  the  event  from  the  very  fact 
that,  at  sucb  a  time,  it  can  eerer  me  ^m  youv  lordship.  I  leave 
you,  however,  in  tlK  full  aasuranoe  of  your  triumph — in  the  full 
belief  that  parliament,  which  has  received  so  many  omamMita  irom. 
jour  noble  house,  has  yet  to  obtain'an.viqtaraUeled  lustre  in  the' 
genius  of  your  .lordship,  With  the  profbundest  respect,  I  am.  your 
lordship's  most  devoted  serrant, 

"LtKE  Takqlb.'" 

"  P.  8. — W«  are'  all,'  in  this  mortal  world,'  liable  to  accidents. 
My  good'Mend,  Mr.  Polden  will  inform  your  lordabip  of  a  cir- 
CBmBtAncQ'tbat  bas  given  me  miioh  pain ;  a  eireumstaneei  boweTa>j ' 
that  when  I  sbaH  bav«  the  honom-  of  neit  meeting  your  lordship, 
I  doubtnot  I  Bhail  be  able  most  filUy  to  explain  to  your  lordBlups 
moat  perfect  Batisfaction." 

.  "ThereiBgreat  viUaByin  this,  great  villaay,  mj  lord," — said 
Doetor  QHead,  poiaeaaed- of  the  contentB  of  the  lett«r — "but' 
it  isn't  BO  much  the  moneythat  'a-  lost  i  that  may  be  remedied-— 
it  'b  .the  time^  Ibe  precious  time;  There'  is  do  doubt-tiMt  the  other 
aide  hare  UJtea  tlwr  meat  unprincipled  advantage  of  the  ealamilry, 
aadihaTe  bribed  rigbt  and  left.  Neveatheleu,  we  muat  not  despair. 
Ne^,  certainly,  noti  We  must  look  the: difficult  in  the  brce  like 
tnanv  my< l(»d— like  men. "  Tbe  Doctor,  t«o,  spoke  lik«  onede- 
tesmined'to^^ktt.te  thalast  minute,  and  the  last  guinea.  Aad 
tlW'DotterwM  inotL  mere^  a  man  of  worda^:  No.  With  a- fine 
dtnininn  fifnkirnrtiijihginmartirliljfdi^Tr  ■■  rhmjm-ffT  a-maahi 


320'  '  THE  HIBTORY   OF 

larger  amount  than  was  ever  dreamt  of  by  all  the  apoBtles,  eixA 
cording  it  to  a  trusty  servant,  he  shortly  but  emphatically  said 
to  him — "  Gold."  The  man'  smilingly  acknowledged  the  magic 
of  that  tromendoua  monosyllable,  and  departed  blitiely  on  hia 
errand.  Nevertheless,  there  was  a  s^iig  sense  of  honour'  in  tbe 
hearts  of  the  majority  of  the  patriots  of  Liquorish  ;  for  althbi^b* 
some  took  double  bribes— ^though  some  su^red  themBelveB  to.  be 
gilt  like  weatter-yanes,  on  both  sides, — the  greater  humher 
remained  true  to  the  first  purchaser,  It  was  the  boast — the  con- 
solation tbat  made  bo  many  of  the  Yellows  walk  upright  througb 
the  world — that  they,  stuck  to  their  first  bargun.  The  double 
fee  would  have  been  welcome,  to  be  sure^  but  as  some  of  thnn 
touchingly  observed,  they  bad  characters  to  take  care  of.  Be- 
mdes,  the  same  candidate  might  come  again, 

"  Can  jo\L  have  any  notion  of  the  cause  of  the  motives  of  this 
man,  Snipeton  ?"  asked  Doctor' Gilead  of  young  St.  James,  who 
slightly  coloured  at  the  homo  question.  "  Why  should  be  have 
started  a  candidate  ?" 

"  Possibly — I  can't  tell — but  I  say  possibly  be  has  strong 
political  fedings.  But,  'tis  no  niatter,  'twill  only  add  ]  to  the 
escitement :  at  the  most,  'twill  only  be  a  Joke.  A  muffin-maker 
sitting  for  Liquorish  !  For  our  borough  !  'Tis  too  ridiculous  t» 
ima^e,"  and  young.  St.  James  laughed. 

"  A  very  contemptible  person,  certainly,"  stud  Doctor  Qilead  ; 
"nevertheless,  be  's  twenty  a-head  of  your  lordship,  and  as  there 
is  not  above  another  hour  for  polling,  and  we  know  the  number  of 
votes,  matters  do  look  a  lJUl,e  desperate."  Such  was  tbe  opinioa 
of  Doctor  Gilead,  very  dolorously  pronounced  at  an  advanced 
period  of  the  day  ;  ,and  young  St.  James — although  he  had  corn- 
bated  the  notion  like  a  inan  and  a  lord— began  to  give  ground :  >t 
no  longer  seemed  to  him  among  the  impossibilities  of  the  world 
that  the  family  borough  of  Liquorish ' might  be  usurped  by'a 
muffin-maker.  And  then  St.  James — thinking  of  Clarisaa — ■ 
meditated  a  terrible  revenge  upon  her  husband. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  contest  raged  with  every  variety  of  noise 
and  violence  consequent  upon  the  making  of  a  member  of 
parliament.  Songs  were  sung  ; — how  the  poet  was  so  suddenly  " 
found,  we  know  not ;  biit  discovered,  be  was  potently  inspired  I7 
ready  gold  and  ale,  and  in  no  time  enshrined  the  robbery  of  tbe 
money-box  in  verse.  Every  line,  like  a  wasp,  had  a  sting  at  the  ' 
end  of  it,  aimed  at  the  corruption  of  tbe  Blues.'  The  concludii^ 
etania  too,  breatiied  an  ardent  wish  for  tbe  future  prosperity  and 


ST.   OILIS  AKD   ST.  JAUE3.  32} 

iMpinn^  of  Uie  tluef— and  an  expreBsion  of  kindness  that  Tom 
Blast,  KB  he  mingled  among  the  mob,  received  with  the  ailance  of 
ZQodeaty.  Tom  8  only  regret  was  that  Jingo,  his  own  child^ 
had  not  been  entrusted  with  the  ballad,  as  the  melody  and  the 
sentiment  of  the  song  were  beautifully  adapted  to  the  voice 
and  intelligence  of  the  yonng  minstrel.  Besides,  there  would  have 
iMen  something  droll — very  droll,  a  matter  to  be  chuckled  over 
with  private  frienda — had  Jingo  chaunted  the  satirical  lament 
for  the  stolen  gold ;  he  being,  above  all  others,  peculiarly 
fitted  for  the  melodious  task.  And  where  could  he  he— -onoe  or 
twice  thought  the  father,  and  then  the  paternal  anxiety  was 
merged  in  the  deep  interest  of  the  hour;  for  Tom  Blast  with  all 
}iia  nught  roared  and  cheered  and  hooted  in  the  cause  ts 
the  Y^ows.  Much,  we  think,  would  it  have  abated  the  pa^ 
triotic  zeal  of  Capstick.  had  he  known  how  vociferously  he  wa3 
lauded  by  the  ttuej  of  Hog  Lane.  But  at  such  a  time,  ^plause 
must  not  be  too  curiously  analysed. 

And  now  both  parties  began  to  nmnber  minutes.  A  quarter  of 
an  hour,  and  the  poll  would  close.  The  Blues  had  for  the  post 
twenty  minutes  rallied  ;  and  Doctor  Gilead  rubbed  his  hands  and 
declared  that,  in  spite  of  the  corrupt  practices  of  the  Yellows,  in 
«pite  of  the  soul-buying  bribery  that  had  been  resorted  to  by  un- 
christian men,  the  rightful  seat  of  St.  James  would  not  be  nmirped 
"by  a  muffin-maker.  Poor  Jem  hung  about  the  Committee'roomB 
laiA  secretly  exulted  when  Capstick  receded  ;  as  secretly  monrQed 
-when  he  advanced.  At  lengtii  the  final  mimbers  were  exhibited; 
And  to  the  joy  of  the  Yellows,  the  despcur  of  the  Blues,  and  to  the 
particular  misery  of  Jem  himself,  Matthew  Capstick,  Esq.,  was 
declared  twenty  votes  ahead  of  his  opponent '. 

"  Three  cheers  ft)r  Capstick,  our  member,"  cried  Basp from  the 
window  of  the  Yellow  Committee-room.  "  Three  cheers  for  Cap- 
stick  and  the  Constitution  !  " 

"  Give  it  him,"  cried  Flay  from  an  opposite  house,  and  the 
obedient  loyal  mob  of  Blues  discharged  a  volley  of  mud  and  stones 
And  other  constitutional  missiles  in  use  on  such  glorious  occa- 
sions. Crash  went  the  irindows ;  and,  on  the  instant,  the  two 
factions  in  the  street  engaged  in  a  general  fight ;  all  moving, 
as  they  combatted,  towards  the  Town  Hall,  already  beset  by  a 
roaring  mob. 

A  few  minuteai  aiid  Mr.  Capstick  appeared.  Whereupon,  the 
high  bailiff  declared  him  duly  elected  a  knight  hurgeas,  and^ 

HO.  XTL— VOL.  ni.  t  ^  ,' 


^2  TEE  BISTOBT  OF 

'bucUed  the  sword  about  liiin-— tbe  sword  wiA  wlucli,  bj  a  P''*^ 
fi«&in,  tbe  kn^ht  wu  to  defend  the  borough  of  Liqnori^  from  aB 
sorts  of  wrong.  Capetick,  with  the  weapon  at  his  thigh,  adTsaced 
with  great  dignity  ;  and  was  for  a  time  regardless  of  the  showet« 
t^  eggs  and  potatoH  that,  from  ths  liberu  bonds  d  1^  Bluei^ 
imomuatel;  greeted  him.  The  young  Lord  St.  James — haw 
Snipeton  leered  at  him  ! — also  appeared  oo  the  hiKtings,  and  aea- 
deidaOy  reeeiTsd  fuO  in  bis  face  an  e^,  certainly  intended  fat  tlk» 
insage  aS  the  auoceisFul  candidate.  U  was  plun,  too,  that  Cajpr 
aiicl  thenght  as  mnch,  tor  he  tunied,  and  ta^ng  out  his  pock^ 
Landkercbiaf,  advanced  to  his  lordsbm,  and  in  &e  piditest  maiosnei 
«bseiTed, — "  My  lord,  I  have  no  doubt  that  egg  was  intended  .to 
be  mv  property :  will  you  therefore  pennit me  toreclumnjawn?^ 
— «nd  saying  this,  Capstick  with  bis  white  kerchief  ranored  th^ 
offensive  matter  from  bis  Iixdship's  £ftce,  whilst  Ae  crowd — toadied 
by  tbe  courtesy  of  the  new  member — laughed  and  cheered  np- 
Toariously. 

Hr.  Capstick  then  adTanced  to  &«  front  <^  the  bnadngs.  At 
ttie  same  monent  a  potato  lell  ehort  of  Idm,  netr  hu  foot. 
'Whereupmi  the  member  drew  bis  sword,  and  nmidng  it  into  ibe 
potato,  hdd  it  up  to  the  mob.  AiwQier  langh — another  cheer 
greeted  the  action.  "Sikncel  he's  a  nm  on — ^hear  him!  " 
was  the  ciy,  and  in  less  than  tan  minotet  tfae  new  mender  wbb 
permitted  to  proceed.     Whereupon  he  said  ^ 

**  Gentlemen — for  gentlemen  in  a  mob  are  ahrays  Imown  bj 
^i'  8gg8  and  potatos— I  ehoold,  indeed,  be  nnwortby  of  the 
honour  you  bare  placed  and  showered  upon  me,  did  I  in  any  waj 
complain  of  the  manner  in  wbioh  you  have  exercised  the  privilegqa 
I  see  lying  about  me.  I  am  aware,  gentlemen,  that  it  is  the  &e6 
birthright  of  Engliabmen — and  may  they  never  forget  it ! — to  ^E 
any  man  who  may  offer  bimaelf  for  tbe  bononr  of  representing 
them  in  Parliament.  It  is  right  that  it  shotdd  be  bo.  For  bow 
unfit  must  the  man  be  for  the  duties  of  his  ofGce— for  &e  trials 
that  in  the  House  of  Commons  he  must  undergo — if  lie  cannot, 
properly  and  respectfully  receive  at  the  hands  of  an  eqUgbtenod 
constituency  any  quantity  of  mud,  any  nnmher  of  egge  or 
potatos  that  in  their  wisdom  they  may  feel  disposed  to  vimt 
upon  him.  I  should  bold  myself  a  tnutor  to  the  trast  re- 
posed in  me,  did  I. at  this  moment  of  triomph  object  to  ^tjier 
your  eggs  or  your  potatos."  {Veir  loid  cheering  ;  with  a  c^ 
of  " TouVe  the  sort  for  uB.")     "  No,  gentl^nen,  I  look  upoli 


8T.   aiLES   ARD   ST.  JAMEB,  J3d 

eggs  and  potatos  as,  I  majr  saj,  the  comer-BtoneB  of  tbe  Conatitu- 
tion."  ("  Three  cheen  for  the  Conatitution,"  roared  Rftsp,  and  tbe 
YeUowB  obediently  hellow«d.)  "  KeterAi^eBB,  pennit  me  to  saj 
this  much.  Feeling  the  neeessity  -that  joa  ^ould  always  ezeroiBe 
for  yooTBelTeB  the  ri^t  »f  peltiiig  joar  niadifctiB  widi  egga  and 
potatoB — permit  ne  t«  d^Bcne  ibat  I  4»  not  dink  the  aacred 
cause  of  liberty  v31  be  endangered,  that  I  4ti  not  believe  the 
baaia  of  the  Constitution  wiO  be  in.  die  'smallest  degree  ahaken,  if 
upon  all  fotore  flections,  trfcoi  yen  tdtall  be  caBed  if«n  to  eiercieo 
the  lugh  prerogatire  of  peUng  yoer  can£date«,  yaa  select  eggB 
that  are  sweet,  and  first  maeh  yonr  potatoa." 

Laughter  and  loud  cheers  attested  &e  reasonableness  cf  the 
proposition.  When  alence  iras  reaHmd,  TWiqg  Lord  St.  James 
Btood  forward.  His  mal,  be  sud.  was  &r  a  &b»  nc^aally  their 
candidate.  A  petition  to  the  Hoom  of  OoBBOBa  wmU,  liowerer, 
speedily  send  bun  back  to  his  prOT«r  obacniity.  His  terdship  was 
prepared  to  prore  tbe  grossest  hrn»etT ' 

"  The  box  of  gwoMW  t  "— "  Who  atala  the  gold  ? "  was 
shouted  from  the  mob,  and  Tm  £kst  luMsalf  hd£y  halloed — 
*'  Who  stole  the  gaJBoaiJ  " 

doctor  Gilead  stc^fenrard.  "Uy  friesMh,"  1m  Mtid,  "it  is 
true  that  a  baz  of  moMy  waa  stole*—- ^nt,  vy  fiaendi,  you  will 
rejoice  with  me  to  leam  that  the  box  is  reotnvrvd." 

"  Gammon !  "  cried  Blast  wiidly. 

"  The  thief  <a  thieTei  had  cast  the  box  into  my  fish-pond ; 
but  I  have  juM  been  informed  liui  on  dragging  the  pond  for 
carp— I  bad  given  the  order  before  I  fitted  bome— the  box 
has  been  found  !  '  Throe  cieers,  my  friends !  " 

Blast  groaned  and  the  Blues  hnzised. 

The  ceremony  of  churing  was  duly  performed,  Bright  Jem 
witnesung  the  triumph  with  a  heavy  heart :  bat  Uatthew  Cap- 
stick,  Esq.,  M.P.,  (he  had  been  dTi(y  qualified  by  Snipeton,)  as  he 
was  paraded  along  the  streets  of  liquorish  had  no  vri^  ungratified 
— yes,  there  was  one,  &  Tittle  one.  It  was  meraly  tiwt'  the  late 
Mrs.  CapHtick  could,  for  a  veiy  brief  time,  look  vf  from  her  graye 
and  see  her  elected  husband  as  be  rode  ! 


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ART  AND. MISERY. 


Ahid  the  treuores  of  the  Scnlptor'a  art 

Entranced  I  stuod ; — each  form  mj  sisbt 
Drank  wondering  in,  till  overflow'd  my  ntart 

With  Beantj'a  strange  delight  1 
The  brighleet  thoughts  of  Qreece  were  gathered  there. 

Her  foith's  divinest  mysteriea ; — 
What  later  ages  dimly  strove  to  share, 

And  what  the  present  tries. 
There  the  Apollo  held  his  lordly  head, 

Watching  the  deed  he  'd  done  : 
A  Qod-iike  act— yet,  more  the  Ood  display'd. 

The  look  that  he  pot  on. 
Faint  with  excess  of  beanty  linger'd  there 

The  Indian  Bacchus  ivy-crown'd ; 
As  fii>m  his  locks  the  balmy  Eastern  air 

Seemed  floating  all  around. 
The  Satyr's  face  glow'd  with  the  jocond  time 

When  laoghter  leapt  flxim  tree  to  tree, 
And  echoed  throoch  the  groves  beneath  Ihe  cUdm 

Of  golden  Arcaay. 
And  there  the  ThnndeTer  heaved  his  awful  brows 

O'erfranght  with  sullen  majesty, 
Like  to  some  frowning  cliff  beneath  the  snows 

In  cold  solemnity. 
And  gentler  Woman  found  her  every  grace 

The  cold  white  substance  sweetlv  warm ; — 
Hei  love,  and  power,  and  beauty  fill'd  the  place 

Sluinea  in  some  faiiy  form — 
As  Psyche  daim'd  the  rightful  clasp  of  Love, — 

Athenfe  beam'd  with  wisdom  bright, — 
Affection's  power  in  Niobe  conld  prove — 

Goddess  as  Aphn>dite ! 
The  swift  Bacchante  showed  her  lighter  mood — 

Hebe,  the  gentle  ministrant ; — 
In  each  and  all  man's  holiest,  highest  good. 

His  first,  his  last  sweet  want. 
From  these  1  poss'd,  and  in  the  City's  baants 

Of  direst  cnme  and  misery. 
Exchanged  Sonl^  empire  for  its  saddest  wants ; 

Love  for  depravity.  ^  -  t 


ABT   AND  HIBEET.  323 

I  uw  the  Btt»ght«ii'd  forehead  branded  deep 

With  the  hot  tonch  of  bnnung  am — 
The  blooded  eye  that  knew  not  now  to  weep, 

And  spoke  uie  fire  within. 
And  gentle  woman  had  a  Harpy's  form, 

A  Toice  all  strange  to  mirth  or  song : 
Her  lore,  a  Bcorching  passion,  could  not  warm — 

A  cnrse  usurped  her  tongue. 
And  rudely  now  contended  in  my  heart 

The  World's  Ead  truth,  the  Greek's  ideal ; 
And  sore  I  strove  to  reconcile  the  art 

With  the  nnsightlj  real. 
By  that  1  saw  Humanity  a  Qod, 

This  show'd  my  fellows  less  than  men  : — 
There  seemed  it  o'er  ambrosial  clouds  I  trod, 

Here  breathed  a  Stygian  fen. 
How  vain,  methonght,  for  man  to  give  by  art      ' 

A  mind  to  stones  sp  dull  and  mnte ; 
And  let  a  brother  from  his  rank  depart. 

To  sink  below  the  brute ! 
Bnt  Art  forbade  me  in  her  power  despair, 

And  whiaper'd, — Man  h^  yet  to  learn, — 
My  visions  are  not  vainly  bright  and  fair, 

Hy  fires  not  falsely  bum : 
For  Beauty  never  looks  with  scornful  eyes 

On  sin  and  woe's  deformity ; 
And  where  her  love  is,  ne'er  can  vainly  rise 

Pity's  ingenuous  plea. 
A  Power  there  is  shed  o'er  the  hearts  of  men 

These  wide  extremes  ma^  reconcile, — 
Qive  Misery  a  ^mess  in  his  ken 

Who  basks  in  Beauty's  smile. 
Such  Power  hath  warm'd  the  coldness  out  of  Art,  ', 

Lit  Classic  forms  with  genial  life ; 
Dethroned  the  ancient  Gods, — but  to  impart 

Souls  with  aftectioDS  rife. 
The  universal  brotherhood  of  man 

In  one  all  loving  God  united. 
Brings  Ihete  fsr-sundered  poles  within  the  span 

of  souls  this  tnith  hath  lighted. 
From  both  alike  doth  bluest  Wisdom  flow- 
By  art  we  soar  on  winn  of  beauty 
Unto  his  throne— while  Sin  and  Sorrow  show 

The  blessed  path  of  dnty  [  H.  N. 


THE  DISADVANTAGES  DF  KOT  BEWG  A  DWAKF. 

I  All  one  of  that  unfortunate  class  who  have  to  work  for  their 
bread.  I  make  no  bones  of  confesaing — and  I  would  all  tlie  world 
were  bo  honest — that  I  should  be  rery  happ;  to  •fispeBse  with  the 
work, — if  the  bread  did  not  go  with  it.  However,  I  have  to  sup- 
port myself ;  the  public  will  not  support  me.  I  am  uo  lion  ;  mj 
name  Is  not  in  everybody's  month.  Idy  fixm  baa  sever  beea 
puffed  in  the  newspapers  aa  "perfectly  ^pometrieaL"  I  can 
atate  fearlessly,  that  I  have  never  be^  reported  tft  possess  a 
"beautiful  and  intellectual  coontenaacov"  Soi;  baa- it  been  asserted 
of  me  in  print,  that  I  ata  "  a  perfect  nun  ot  mmi,  intellect,  and 
beauty."  To  continne  my  list  of  negaliBwi  my  eqn^age  has 
never  been  paraded  round  the  stivets  ;  ia  knitii,  1  have  not  even  a 
wheelbarrow  to  parade  ;  utd  I  never  ga/ta  uiy  "  levaea,"  because 
I  don't  beliero  anybody  wei^  cuna  to  them.  Fiadier,  I  defy  any 
one  to  assert  with  tmih,  that  I  hare  been  three  times  invited  to 
Buckinghtun  Palace  by  the  special  command  of  the  Queen  herself, 
or  that  I  have  reeoved  from  her  Mwjesty  erai  tbs  very  slightest 
present.  The  Queen  Dowager  has  been  eqaallyijiatteMiTe.  I  pledge 
the  public  my  word  of  honour,  diat  that  iUustrious  ladynever  gave  me 
a  magnificent  watch,  set  with  brilliantB.  The  Duke  of  Weffington, 
I  regret  to  say,  has  been  not  a  cubit  more  geaerons  and  discern- 
ing.  I  was  at  Paris  lost  seoaou  without  having  been,  invited  to 
the  Tuileries.  Louis  Philippe,  in  &ct,  only  permitted  me  to  waste 
my  sweetness  on  the  des^  air  of  a  decidedly  uncwifbrtable  bed- 
room au  cmquihne.  To  finid  the  catalogue  {£  my  griefs,  I 
cannot  state  with  strict  truth,  that  I  have  been  "  p^onised  by 
.all  the  principal  crowned  heads  of  Eur^a  ;"  nor  dnt  the  news- 
jtapers  have  made  me  a  peramagc  oi  so  great  in^rtance,  as  to 
.cause  the  insertion  of  fabricated  aecooats  of  my  capture  by 
bandite  ;  while,  to  crown  all,  neitbM  the  matda  of  honour  at  court 
ynor  the  ladies  of  the  West-end  aver  purchased  of  net  at  the  cheap 
irate  of  a  shilliitg  apiece  a  narrative  of  n^Ii&  and  a  kiss  into 
.  .-Abe  bargun. 

That  I  have  bean  thus  neglected,  tints  Idlto-Uinliiand  bloom 


I»(  TBS  niSADTAKIAGES  OP  KOI  BSlSa  A  DWABF.  327 

WiMen  ttT  uwapapera,  U^es,  and  mouardis,  I  attributa  entiielj 
to  my  ODMirtiiaatelj  not  hakvlng  been  bom  a,  dv&r£ 

I  amueacefujcfeet thui tw«;  iine ilia laerymm,  lamnota 
fluted  abortion — ergo,  I  havo  aerw  beou  proBOunced  "  perfectly 
Bymmetrical."  I  am  not  a  "  delicate  m<ABter  ;"  tbere&re,  I  have 
never  been  tbe  oon^tauion  of  uouarcbs.  Woen  I  tbink  wbM  a 
fate  irould  have  been  mine  had  I  onlj  bad  tbe  good  luck  of  being 
hom  a  repulsive  exception  to  tbe  general  niles  of  nature,  I  looE 
perit^B  "more  in  sorronr  than  in  anger"  upon  limbs  of  tbe 
avenge  proportionB  and  cbiaelled  after  tbe  ordinary  ordec  of 
btunaa  arcbitectnre.  Had  I  only  nwsfumd  aometbing  imd«  a 
cbtb-yard  abaft,  I  sdiould  bare  a  cairiaee  to  ride  in,  instead  gf 
tiaaiiaiig  it  on  foot.  I  abould  hare  ikdmuing  crowds  of  fine  Udie*. 
flocking  to  Bee  me  orery  moming.  Tbe  Duke  of  WeElington  and 
I  nugbt  havo  bad  a  cbat  on  Waterloo.  I  migbt  have  spc^jen  vith 
tbe  Queen,  and  goaai^ied  witb  Louis  Fbili^ie.  I  migbt  bare 
laada  aoiaetbing  wbicb  IciuiMoall  a  "  progress  "  through Euc(^« 
€ottrta  TouU  have  been  my  stagesw-oewapapeis  my  oaant- 
<i)ur<u*-fc  A  baronet  title  would  have  laised  me  to  rank,  ajid 
my  same  wotdd  b&ie  been  a  houaehold  word  in  half  tbe  c^itala, 
<£  Europe.  Alas  ',  the  last  tbiee&et  of  my  growtb  spoiled  every- 
tbing.  Stunted,  I  should  have  been  adored  :  well-developed,  I 
am  neglected.  I  bate  no  "  magnificent  presents  "  madetomeby 
tbe  greal£st  uvwned  heads  of  the  worid  to  «xlubit  to  my  morning 
Tiutors.  Mylutlgbtbaabeenmynun— soith«Abeeadecreedbydiat 
eolig^eaed  pubbc  opinion  whereof  I  am  a  bumble  admirer.  I  do 
not  mum  to  say,  that,  vera  I  tw^Tefeetbigh,!  should  not  be^fet^ 
and  eaiBBsed.  Exb^nes  meet — ^but  nohiqtpily  I  am  betweot 
them,  and  tberefore,  not  beii%  a  mtmatei:  either  one  vay  de  the 
-other,  a  giant  or  &dwaj^  I  an  left  unsmHed  on  by  Bncking^ni 
Palaae~wuHked  to  Veraailles. 

There  ate  a  fooli^  lot  of  p«^  ambitious  of  boii^  noticed  by 
monareba  and  received  at  courts.  They  may  not,  it  is  true, 
abstractedly  think  much  of  tbe  bonoui  of  kissing  tbe  band  of  tbo 
^uie,  or  bong  told  to  make  tbomselTes  at  bomo  la  tbe  other  \ 
but  society,  that  sessJblQ-profbundly-wise  oidertr  of  things,  ba^ 
ordained  that  tba  mass  of  "B"'r''"'i  should  look  up  witb  reve[«ic« 
to  a  conTeatlonal  and  cbance-bestowed  rank  }  and  this  being  so^ 
the  ambitions,  of  wbom  I  speak.  legard  the  noliee,  the  friendship, 
not  the  pabvoage  <f  kings  and  oueena  as  one  of  tbe  conveulMWU 
'  foeaas  soeiety    hat   decreed  ct  botowing    its    homage   upoa 

Cootjic 


328  ON   THE  DISASTASUQES   OF  501  SOMQ  A  BWABVd 

tbow  who  demre  it.  These  tmfortmutei,  then,  ttitertanung  tida 
rieir  of  tliingB  regftl,  eoncluded'— Absurd  people  1 — that  it  iras  b^ 
great  meatal  g^fts,  and  the  productioii  of  ^eat  literary,  Bci«Dlific, 
and  artistic  works,  that  rof al  favour  indicatiuj;  natjonal  gratitnde 
was  to  be  procured. 

They  looked  to  Tarioos  p^es  of  the  histoiy  of  Vanous  oationa, 
and  foond  that  this  princi^e  had  been  acted  upon — that  science, 
aai  literature  and  art  had  been  honoured,  while  they  rcDetvacI 
royal  favour  ;  that  queens  had  suggested  subjects  to  a  dranatiat. 
and  that  emperors  had  picked  up  an  artist's  brushes  when  they 
fell  from  his  palette.  But  we  being  a  bighly-ciTiiized  people  hare 
changed  all  this.  It  is  not  mental  greatness,  but  bo^y  littleness, 
that  kings  and  queens  delight  to  honour  now-a-days.  Write  like 
Sbokspeare  ;  but  you  must  go  to  the  Italian  Opera  if  you  wish  to 
see  the  monarch — paint  like  Raffaelle,  but  you  must  be  content  to- 
take  a  dauber's  price  if  you  wish  your  pictures  to  decorate  a  royal 
palace.  You  may  have  some  chance  of  seeing  the  inside  of 
Windsor,  indeed,  LFyou  take  to  delineating  the  royal  wardrobe  and 
the  royal  kennel.  There  is  a  glimpse  of  hope  if  you  fly  your 
genius  at  such  themes  as  lap-dogs,  ^oves,  macaws,  and  hats ;  but 
^ere  is  nothing  like  a  good  degree  of  physical  deformity — some 
monstrous  malconstruction  to  excite  the  notice  and  display  the- 
taste  of  the  fountun  of  honoor.  Write  another  "  Hamlet,"  or 
ptuutanotiier  "Transfiguration."  All  very  welL  You  may  go  and 
see  Windsor  Castle  with  the  rest  of  the  public.  But  be  lucky- 
enough  to  be  only  twenty-nine  inches  high,  or  to  have  three  legs, 
or  to  present  some  other  agreeable  novelty  of  appearance  of  the- 
kind,  and  jou  are  a  made  man,  loaded  with  regal  gifts,  weighed 
down  by  the  gold  of  a  discerning  public.  You  can  pass  the  ^nter- 
— should  you  like  it — in  your  hotel  in  the  Chauaafe  d'Aotin  at 
Paris,  and  the  summer  in  your  rose-hid  villa  on  the  Lake  of  Como  ^ 

Times  are  hard.  So  say  everybody.  Prudent  Others  of  families 
think  what  they  shall  do  with  their  children.  Let  me  wlusper  & 
bit  of  advice.  "  Madam,  you  are  giving  that  child  wholMt^lie 
food — cruel  parenti  You  are  not  squeeiiog  or  distorting  its  Urilbs 
— unnatural  mother  !  It  may  one  day  want  the  meal  y0u  are  Kow 
so  barbarously  assuaging  its  hunger  with.  Don't  you  see  that  the 
innocent,  if  so  treated,  has  not  the  remotest  chance — ^barring  a 
miracle  of  good  luck — of  being  stunted  in  its  growth,  of  never 
attuning  nuinly  dignity  or  wonunly  beauty.  Stint  it,  and  It  may 
peradventure  be  stunted.     Give  it  ^n  :  they  say  that  excellent 


ON  THE  SISADTANTAGE8  07  HOT  BBINfi  A   SWASF,  ^0 

tMireragB  oramps  an  inftint's  growth.  Never  tnmd  its  mbanings, 
its  pukingB,  will  its  pinings.  It  may  die — then  it  does  so  in  a 
glorious  cause  :  but  it  may  live — dwarfed — a  wonder-iMung  mon- 
Bter.  Be  wise  then — be  the  Prospero  to  rear  a  Caliban.  Heed 
not  its  cries  or  conrulsiona.  Some  future  daj  will  well  repay 
them — jea,  some  glorious  epoch;  seen  afaroffdown  the  dim  vista  of 
time,  when,  deck^  with  kingly  gifts,  the  centre  of  a  nrcle  of  war- 
riors and  statesmen,  monarchs  shall  delight  in,  and  nations  ring 
iRfh  the  ^y-bome  fame  of  your  dwarfish  offspring  !" 

A  word  in  serious,  sad  earnest.  Fathers  and  mothers  of  Eng- 
land, yon  have  read  the  paragraph  I  have  just  penned  with  hcnror. 
Has  it  never  struck  you  that  by  rushing  in  crowds,  as  yon  have 
done,  to  see — and  to  pay  for  the  show — a  miserable  object,  a 
stunted  infant,  you  have  been  in  fact  ofiering  a  premium  to 
cupidity  to  unite  with  nature  when  she  shows  herself  unkind,  in 
order  to  produce  again  a  something  which  shall  be  a  world's  won- 
der and  an  owner's  profit?  There  have  been  many  "infant 
phenomena"  on  the  stage  and  in  the  booth.  The  public  has 
patronised  ^ese  disgraceful,  these — one  would  think,  to  a  pure 
and  natural  mind — disgusting  ezhilntions.  "Who  shall  say  how 
many  poor  infantine  limbs  have  been  clogged,  how  many  poor 
infantine  frames  have  been  dosed  and  drugged  to  produce  like 
moDStrosiUes.  If  people  will  pay  largely  for  the  ught  of  what  is 
unnatural,  rest  assuredthat  the  unnatnral,  so  far  as  man  can  make 
it,  will  be  manufactured  for  the  market.  Demand  begets  supply. 
If  the  public  want  dwarfs,  every  means  will  be  employed  to  pro- 
duce dwar&. 

Ladies,  who  have  visited,  who  have  kissed  a  dwarf,  do  yon 
know  what  you  have  been  about  ?  Do  you  know  that  partial  or 
faulty  development  is  nothing  but  disease  ?  You  would  not  be 
amateurs  in  pathology.  You  woidd  not  flock  admiringly  round 
fuagut  htematodes,  or  expatiate  in  raptures  on  the  wondej^  merits 
of  a  case  of  rickctts.  Cancer  and  crooked  limbs  are  horrible, 
and  you  shrink  from  them.  Dwarfishness,  ladies,  is  not  less 
disease,  that  there  is  nothing  absolutely  repuldve  in  its  features. 
There  must  be  some  lack  of  natural  power,  of  natural  health  when 
the  body  does  not  become  developed.  This  want  might  be  shown 
in  a  thousand  hideous  ways,  in  a  thousand  diseases.  Sometimes 
it  manifests  itself  in  dwattishnesa~>the  disease  of  littleness.  Such 
cases  will  occur.  And  let  me  here  add,  that  I  do  not  in  the  least 
charge  the  eihibitors  of  these  instances,  now  or  lately  before  the 


puUi^  with  having  MtaipteA  or  baling  »id«d  upModuMB^  Afl 
«&et&1)j  tke  exbiUtioK  of  wUA  tb^  Buda  moncj.  Aii  th«iK 
aaaacaa  Hky  ioduea  otiien  to  be  ku  ■uvpuloaoi  Lit  a  sti^  Ito 
pot  to  th«  antire  Bjatttn.  Let  pullk  «piuoa  eoafeis  its  error ; 
aai  in  ftilun,  whiw  k  dwarf  k  bora,  iM  ita  pataaM  tend  wilfa 
bo6e»t  Ute  tb«  utthai^f  being  tttsc  srriTug,  a  »eoitrai 
4»e»twe,  iato  the  wvrld.  Let  its  tHsfcfftme  nad  their  Aatoess  Iw 
Tailed  from  the  norid.  Let  reUremteat  be  tbei  lot  of  the  baiag 
vhom  nature' hae  prev«itod  fren  auagliiig  Sndj  witb  ka  f«lIoiP< 
craatuna.  Lat  ths  brand  be  coiered.  ^  atigKa  hid.  I^t  the 
see««e7  «f  private  dwdlivg  or  puUic  aAjlom  e«wr^  it.  Let  ui 
haie  HO  uafortasAteH — the  Yietima  at  ence  ai  MUare'a  B>7«tBiiHH 
ditiptnaiiirn — aad  tke  woHd'a  inadeet  aad  heedleaa  cunoeit^. 

A.B.B. 


THE  0BI615AL  GOOD  WOMATT. 

All  tba  worU  knows  that  the  title  of  the  Orij^iiul  Good  Woman 
ia  aoggeitive  of  a  ceitiUM  ugn-board,  exhibiting  a  delineation  of 
the  female  fiarm  augelie,  mvuit  that  itoij  of  the  corponal  edifice 
which  corneHponds  te  the  attic  of  a  dwelling-house.  The  pictorial 
archetjpa  of  female  ezoelleuce  is  a  ladj  widuut  a  hea&  Now 
the  heuL  is  considered  to  be  the  kaowledge-boz ;  th«i  csabeA  of 
undcrstaafng  and  wiadom  ;  wherefore  it  is  invested^  netqdwd- 
eallj  as  well  as  physoally,  with  a  yre-wnineiiiee  OTer  tlui  mere 
ttuol^  which  eootajas  leu  valuable  pn^ierty.  The  emblem,  tluata- 
fbro,  of  the  Original  Good  Woman  repreients  hec  as  defcaeat  ia  the 
national  and  koowiog  &adtiesk  Its  linmer,  anctwdiiiglj,  ae^na  t4 
have  meant  either  to  insinuate  that  a  woman  ought  not  to  ha.t9 
mental  powers,  or  to  assert  that  she  has  them  not ;  that  shs 
«ught  not,  as  a  good  woman,  to  have  them,  or  that  the  has.  then 
not  as  a  woman,  and  therefore  an  irrational  ctGAture  ;  cenaa- 
<jueatl7  thai  yon,  fair  reader,  are  either  good-for-nothiug  or  stupid ; 
both  of  which  epthets  we  agree  with  you  in  retordng  en  hin^elf^ 
The  wretch — the  aavage—the  bruie  I  Bhie-Beard,  who  deea. 
ptaied  his  iaipuitiTe  wives,  was  a  geptleiaan  to  the  £Blkiv  wh» 
executed  the  Original  Oeod  Woumh. 

Kow  the  tru&  ia,  that  if  there  was  aDjthltig  &t  which  thii 


THE  ORIOQTAI.  Qt>C»  VtmiX.  331 

c^brftted  ]ady  was  distingaieted,  it  was  for  &6  potsesMMi  of 
tfaow  vetj  ([odtitiea  wbwh  (Ihh  petoml  SMter  itae  dmied  ber. 
As  a  good  wonan,  dte  was  a  good  hoaeeirifeh  As  a  good  bsise- 
wi&,  riw  wsB  skiUed  in  cookery.  There  is  re«aan  n  roaetmg  a» 
egg.  Moeh.  more  is  the  mtiooftl  fseuhj  involrod  ia  trammg  a 
fowl,  in  euring  a  rooDd  of  beef,  m  diesBing-  a  shoulder  of  naatton 
And  enian  saaee,-  and  especially'  in  jogging  a  hare  ;  operatitns 
'■^cb  eTerifr  good  woman  is  renowned  for  pesformiDg-  to  adimfatimi. 
What  can,  be  more  thougfat&l  than  the.  ]o6kixg  vp  at  linen,  th« 
damii^  of  hose,  &&  sewmg  on.  of  bettons  ?  things  whiek  a  wotaim 
«f  attj  pretensions  to  goodness  is  dwag  almost  eontktaaUy. 
Thought  Deoesiotates  a  bead[Hece.  Your  good  woraon,  then,  has 
«  head,  Mr.  Smith :  so  has  janrs,  Mr.  Jones.  Bat  we  seed  not 
remind  job  of  that.  Yon  know  what  ewea  the  best  of  wemeB  staod 
jon  per  annom  in  caps  Kid  bonnets. 

No : — the  man  was  a  poor  philosopher  as  weB  se  pvnste*,  who 
said  tJiat  the  mtna  wa&  the  men's  akme.  All  wetnea  have,  at 
least,  a  sort  of  int^actoal  fticahi«9  ;  just  as  the3r  have  a  pecnbar 
style  of  limbs.  The  Original  Good  Woman  was  not  an  aee^uk* 
loos  nevatec.  In  c^ositiaa  to  &b  danb  tliat  rcfceaejots  her  a» 
such,  wa  will  tet  np  a  sket^  of  her  in  pem-on^ink. 
.  Net  ontf  can  we  a£nn  that  her  tiiMildeni  were  really  and  truly 
snrmountod  with  a  head  ;  bit  we  might  alsos  if  we  ebese,  state 
what  the  colanr  of  her  hair  was.  But  we  forbeu'.  We  have  ita 
desire  to  excite  »  malrj  between  sweet  anbtmi,  raren  black, 
jaseo,  chesnut,  gi^den,  or  e^en  rufous :  for  we  will  not  suppose 
•Ten  Aat  tint  to  be  out  of  the  <(uee(JOB.  Not  wishing  to  ad]»£- 
eate,  Faris-fikfl,  on  an  apple  of  Record,  we  will  give  ao  iniiicalioa 
«f  the  ^oitienlar  indiridii^  who  is  the  tact's  living  repreae>tatiT<ek 
!For,  that  there  exists  hec  exact  counterpart  at  this  presrat  moaent, 
though  who  she  is  aerther  hero  nor  Aere,  will  readilj  ha 
admitted  b^  numj  bachdars,  and,  we  would  fain  hapg,  by  some 


We  must  be  alltwed  to  dw^  a  li£de  longer  «a  tlus  head.  It 
waa  one,  which,  if  there  b  any  truUi  in  ecauiology,  would  have 
turned  that  of  Dr.  Gall  with  adiniratioB.  All  tb«t  we  know  about 
it  is,  that  it  was  »  very  luui^w»e  one.  But  if  bumpa  we  cc^ 
patible  wi&  beonly,  and  cOBfigoratioit  is  indicative  of  cbaraeteri 
it  must  have  been  quite  mountainous  in  the.  nobler  and  mwa 
WKHdile  ragioDB, — whilst  is  die  more  questioiiaUe  districts  it 
jateeented  a  quiet  leid.     We  eonoeire,'— always  suppoHog  tha 


332  X0E  ORiaiSAL  good  womak. 

oorreetneM  of  Gall's  doctrine, — ^that  the  top  of  the  forehead  must 
have  been  lUwHually  full,  and  the  proportioiu  of  the  upper  port  of 
the  occiput  comparatiTely  moderate.  For  the  fonner  locality  is. 
Buppoeed  to  be  connected  with  the  reflective  intellect.;  and.  the 
Utter  witli  a  sentiment  termed  the  "  Lore  of  Approbation."  Nov 
tlte  Ori^nol  Good  Woman,  though  not  given  to  much  speakingr 
was  remarkable  for  always  speaking  to  the  purpose,  and  never 
betrajiug  any  inconsistency  or  inconsecutiveness  in  conversation. 
In  reply  to  the  question.  Why  ?  or  Wherefore  ?  she  was  ac- 
customed either  to  give  a  reason,  or  to  confess  that  she  had  none 
to  give.  Her  conduct,  moreover,  was  singularly  rationalj  and  .not 
dictated  by  whim,  caprice,  or  the  blind  impulse  of  the  moment. 
On  the  other  hand,  albeit  she  was  not,  by  any  means,  insensible 
to  praise  or  admiration  ;  yet  the  desire  of  attracting  it  was  not 
always  uppermost  in  her  mind,  and  did  not  consUtuto  her  chief 
and  main  conaideratjon. 

In  brief,  reasonablonees  and  freedom  from  vanity  were  the 
distinctive  features  of  her  character  :  for  the  rest  she  was  endowed 
with  the  good' qualities  which  are  peculiarly  feminine.  Be  it 
observed  that  her  understanding  was  of  a  practical  nature  ;  she 
was  no  metaphysician  or  mathemaliciaa :  she  gave  her  mind  to 
the  study  i^  her  part  in  life,  and  consequently  she '  acted  it  well ; 
and  engrossed,  in  its  performance,  with  the  bu^ess  of  the  scene, 
she  was  notalway  curtseying  and  smirking  at  the  spectators. 

Her  expenditure  on  dress,  whilst  she  was  single,  was  propor- 
tionate to  the  means  of  her  family  ;  when  she  became  a  wife,  to 
those  of  her  husband.  She  was  never  known  to  be  discontented 
or  unhappy  for  the  want  of  some  piece  of  finery  which  she  could 
not  afford.  Her  attire  was  regulated  by  her  own  taste,  without 
further  reference  to  fashion  than  was  necessary  to  avoid  being 
eonspictiouB.  Wlien,  at  one  lime,  she  was  getting  rather  plump, 
instead  of  pinching  her  waist,  she  reduced  her  diet ;  and  one  of 
tiie  few  persons  that  she  ever  treated  with  contempt  was  a'modish 
acquaintance  who  reconunended  her  to  "  lace  a  little."  Another 
was  a  relation  who  counselled  her  to  wear  ear-rings.  Her  infancy 
was  remarkable  for  an  eariy  abandonment  of  her  doll,  and.  for  the 
moderation  of  her. delight  in  new  frocks.  All  her  instructors  were 
proud  of  their  pupil ;  but  the  least  loud  in  her  commendation  was 
her  dancing-master.' 

.  She.was  much  more  sdiciteus  about  her  heidth.thaniher  com- 
pleiien  :  and  for  the  soke  of  exercise  would  walk  bravely  forth  in 

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THB  ORIGINAL  GOOD  WOUUf. '  333 

sU  weathers,  dietsed  teiAer  with  reference'  to  tlie  d&j  and  the 
eeaeon,  than  with  respect  to  the  eyes  of  belioldeni.  Thiu  she 
spoiled  verj  few  bonnets  and  other  apparel,  by  being  caught  in 
showerg,  and  sucb  like  accidents.  Hence  too,  perhaps,  it  was 
that  she  enjoyed  such  an  immunity  from  illness  ;  for  the  Original 
Good  Woman  was  nucommouly  fortunate  in  this  particular.  She 
was  never  known  to  faiut  or  be  troubled  with  hysterics  ;  and  was 
wonderfully  free  from  all  sinkings,  swimmings,  dartings,  shootings, 
drawings,  spasms,  and  all-over-i^ness.  Uerailments,  when  she  hod 
any,  were  plain,  downright,  uneqwTocal  maladies  ;  as  ferers,  in> 
flunmations, '  qiunsies,  colds  in  the  head — strange  to  say,  they 
were  all  such  as  .are  recognised  by  the  medical  facul^.  Other- 
wise a  most  elegant  creature,  she  was  never  elegantly  indis* 
posed  ;  nor  did  sbe  ever  encourage  herself  in  tbe  persuasion  that 
she  was  unwell,  still  less,  affect  to  be  so.  And  on  no  occasion 
did  she  ever  declare  that  she  was  dying  except  once,  when  it  was 
almost  the  last  word  she  ever  spoke. 

Her  conversation  was  distinguished  by  a  freedom  from  needless 
inteijections  ;  from  appeals  to  her  (roMAie»  /  trndher  graciout !  and 
from  declarations  that  she  never  !  It  seldom  related  to  clothes, 
unless  she  was  about  to  purchase  them  ;  it  never  tended  to  the 
prejudice  of  her  acquaintuices,  nor  turned  on  their  petty  doings 
and  affairs.  They  might  add  to  their  wardrobes  without  her 
noticing  the  circumstance;  they  might  display. bad  taste  in  so 
doing  witbout  exciting  any  other  comment  on  her  part  but  a  smile. 
She  was  more  interested  in  the  discourse  than  in  the  costume  of 
her  fnends ;  and  when  she  came  away  from  church,  she  better 
remembered  what  was  said  than  what  was  worn  there. 

The  parents  of  the  Original  Good  Woman  were  anxious  that 
she  should  marry  nothing  under  a  title.  She  disappointed  them, 
though  her  hnsband  possessed  the  highest,  that  of  a  wise  and 
honest  man  ;  and  he  ultimately  became  a  great  one,  even  in  the 
world's  eye.  Circumstances  compeUed  him  to  take  a  part  In  public 
affairs.  Through  the  successful  advocacy  of  right,  he  became 
famous  in  his  day.  A  peerage  was  within  his  grasp  ;  bat  its 
acceptance  would  have  compromised  his  principles.  Wavering,  as 
the  best  will  for  a  moment  waver,  he  asked  counsel  of  his  wife,  as 
to  wbat  course,  in  tiiis  conjuncture,  he  should  pursue.  She  ex- 
bi»^ed  him  to  resist  the  temptation  ;  to  trample  the  bribe  under 
foot ;  and  told  him  that  she  f^t  prouder  of  him  for  his  moral  pou- 


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SU  m  iiiiiinni  aooo  mata.- 

tfoK  Aan  ihB  Aaaii  be  «nra  fce  m  eaqunr.    "  fbe  t&kig,"  eud 

H»  MWMt,  koweTtr,  to  «naw<»  mu  »  Bb«ggl«.     Id  dn  she 
iid  nat  whiaiLiJij,  bnt  eanfortol  fam  ;  afas  v»  ft  wife,  bat  set 


lueij ;  ^s  wu  centeot  iridi  Us  ■oiimg  «t  a  csmfBitabk  mdxiit- 
«ace  aid  pravnua  for  UianMbce  ud  familf .  ^e  «w  mart  to 
Msnlt  Arith  bin  m  tbcir  eeams  Afiiurs,ftBdt«  ghttuil  tab 
xMm  ibcnos  n  gMd  put. 

Ab  •  ■■Ibuf,  ibe  was  cavaFd  and  tcadsr  of  bur  gftftuig ;  bat 
rin  £d  Mt  8p<nl  M-  pot  tb«im  ;  nw  m*  A»  pontned  milk  » 
■stMB  Ad  tlm«  i?Bro  «•  Mcb  aAer  cbfldna  B  exiflnce.  Xa 
tbeir  mamftgcment,  during  iu&acy,  ibe  wm  gsidad  by  ber  ^^ 
■eiaa,  md  not  by  bar  mo^hly  sarm  ;  baii^,  ia  fcct,  a  ^nfoand 
vjBteiafi  for  4lw  u^fiags  mtd  te  practieei  t(  dl  |iwiap»  «ail 
go«£eK.  EteMO,  oa  no  pretext  ma  she  aflietad  kr^  a  ctsrisg  far 
iwueeestibk  ron&a,  aad  {■staes  «f  tbM  datoiqtiiQ.  Sbo  had  bar 
iretJoemn  ;  bat  ^  demised  tbent  and  atoorc  to  be  lid  ^  &taa. 
But  &r  atmog  eaasB,  tbe  Origin^  Gaod  W«wui  aietrer  wpt. 

la  jvatb  abe  wsa  beaatiAl ;  and  bar  daatwa,  a«  sbe  »draaeed 
in  age,  were  not  dcetniyed,  bat  tady  obsngnl.  She  wwa  her  ««■ 
bur  after  it  bad  beeome  grey,  and  was  at  sa  pains  to  tidt«r  ap 
ber  foce.  Tbna  ^a  grev  oU  wi&oat  giwmig  ridieahos ;  aM 
when  she  coidd  no  koger  be  buMboaae,  iIm  wai  'naeraUe. 

Of  ber  person,  in  ha  best  da^,  we  viB  iay  no  more  tban  ^diat 
it  waa  a  conuteipart  of.  the  Venus  de  Ue£«s,  as  to  bH  bat  tbe  '' 
stone's  head,  whose  inHgnSeant  prc^iR^DB  are  an  approadt  to 
ber  £Jse  ideal.  Bat  no  t»m  of  that  motHtroiu  aad  injurious  eoa- 
eeption.  We  trnat  wo  haie  eaid  eaw^h  to  prore  that  not  even 
Lady  Jane  Gr^  hersdf  waa  more  nnjnBtly  bebeaded  than  Ae 
Original  Good  Woman. 

Pekcital  Isioh. 


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THE  WIT8S  OP  GREAT  HEN. 

BTfAlILBEU. 

That  deligbtful  ciilict  Ul*4eQar,  tonriit,  {i^  as  « tcMrat  McniB 
to  me  t*  hsT«  only  one  faah.  BaBelj,  iimi  he  ■wetiawt  fhn 
ftt  Wws  uhuaed  of  Ub  feefinga)  Midml-Aiigdtt  Tit—iili. 
bw  deaH  witli  "  Uen'«  Wtm  "  in  dte  BUB— «nd,  u  all  th»  «wU 
nottreMfleot,  inliiaowBiiKwtctoeeUediuUoiL*  WckHvlweB 
■onewfaKt  ianndmted,  too^  in  our  Bmall  paHiMr,  l^fewniM  books 
bwii^  OB  "  Tho  Wma  of  Eo^ud,"  wiA  JUta  td  'rirtaoa  dmra 
iq)  ia  batth  array,  and  aelf-aaaertian  B«et«%  incidoated  wUla 
meekneas  and  domea^c  peace  are  preachod.  y/ha  Ink  not  knrd 
of  the  Wins  ^  Wdniber^  <«  noM  twcka  (atoat  wobmb  Aey 
Xinat  hava  beas  I)  tha  ohaipioM  of  ikal  hnva  4»ty  aawd  life, 

Hub,  aod  liberty  ?     ^  iiar  ^  naeny  ones  at  Winisar bo. 

I  am  not  gwag  to  taXk  about  Sbak^earoa  ff  alo  cfaanctaffi 
derelGpad  or  aadcTF^aped ;  taapuagbaAtboariearf^owaaboat 
QaMM  Laar  and  Deadamona'a  mo^er,  aa  too  pration  nd  leSned 
for  tbe  aje  we  an  living  m  1  Sacred  abali  be  tbe  swiden  nana 
of  lflatrei»Page,anlallIkMwabmitb0rwoouigaiidiraddi4g; — 
imlaai  tbe  SJuikap«ar$  Sod^  make  it  worth  my  while  to  nokk. 

I  haro  but  to  do  iritb  tiie  Wma  of  Great  Men :  with  thooMcnn 
— tbe  oppressed — tbe  mi^uided — the  nnpitied— the  iU-mkou  of; 
tbedogatotbibeelBofGaDius.tbebardeaBaromidbianetici  whom 
Ibe  world  of  writers  has  agread  to  discouutaaaMO  aad  pratait  agamak 
In  Franoa,  I  obseiTe,  tbe  Poet  ajid  the  Artist  is,  by  oommon  oe&- 
Bent,  recammended  to  bo  a  Prieat  also, — tfaat  is,  to  cmbmoa  the 
TOW  of  oeliba^,  and  (not  to  be  icuidaloiia}  to  uanpeosate  himself 
for  tbe  same  by  tbe  exercise  of  peutoral  afections.  And  tbas, 
tiie£neatuitollig;noes(f  tbe  earth,  penmttedtoroveaadtocbaTiga, 
may  escape  tbe  worst  cooaeqneaces  of  satiety,— ^re  meroifiilly 
rescued  &oai  being  degraded  by  the  Uezentian  imioa  of  Life  with 
Death — of  that  which  is  dirine  wiUi  that  wbiob  is  mortal  Tb^y 
are  not  to  be  expoBad  to  the  drop  of  wator  which  wears  away 
the  stone  (-—-to  the  miwaaried  praetiaiags  on  their  nema  ot  tbe 
stupid  and  those  who  cannot  undeTstaod  them !    We  bavo  bardly 

we  wiUheri^a^  "afasR 


330  THE  WmS  OF  QBIAT  UtK. 

nnired  at  this  ptnnt  of  philftnthropio  enlightenmffiat.  Our  Greftt 
Men  are  not  absolved  from  the  neceasitj  of  taking  wires,  on  Tom 
Sheridan's  famoua  principle.  Far  from  it,  thej  are  supported  in 
BO  doing  ij  ererj  privilege  which  indulgence  atad  respect  can 
bring  toge^er.  So  wondrous,  in  this  point,  do  we  esteem  the 
amount  of  their  self-sacrifice,  that  our  admimtion  thereof  forms 
no  inconsiderable  it«ni  in  the  amount  of  our  hero-worship. 

In  brief,  since  the  whole  world  has  agreed  to  blow  the  trumpet 
in  the  train  of  the  Great  Men  of  the  earth, — why  may  not  I,  an  old 
family  man  ("  under  the  slipper  " — who  knows  ?)  beat  my  (hum) 
drum  before  the  weak,  undervalued  squadron  of  their  wives  ?  'Tie 
a  perilous  piece  of  musieal  audacity,  I  am  aware,  which  brings 
the  pltkyer  under  the  broadett  broad-aide  of  ridicule.  But  the 
peace  and  quietness  of  the  deficient,  and  the  threadbare,  and  the 
shabby,  are  not  worth  much— so  I  may  as  well  risk  mine,  in 
relief  of  my  conscience. 

Why  statesmen,  scientific  teachers,  and  lions  of  all  sorts  and 
sizes,  take  unto  themselves  wives,  has  been  frequently  owned, 
Talleyraad's  "  JetiurepoM!  "  is  thehigh  tragic  eipression  of  what 

P also  meant,  when,  being,  remonstrated  with  on  the  apparent 

homeliness  of  his  "choice,"  he  explained,  that  what  he  had  wanted 
was  "  a  little  woman  to  sit  on  a  stool  and  love  him  all  the  day 
long."  To  seek  for  compomonship  in  high  thoughts  and  generous 
purposes — for  support  in  self-sacrifice  and  encouragement  in 
aspiration,  sounds  charming — in  a  novel.  There  are,  moreover,  a 
few  stock  examples  in  History,  by  appealing  to  which  many  seem 
to  think  that  the  reproach  may  be  escaped  from— of  the  general 
indifierence  of  Great  Men  to  corresponding  qualities  in  those 
with  whom  they  are  to  pass  their  Uvea.  There  is  no  such  conve- 
nience to  people  desiring  to  make  excuses,  as  the  example  of  a 
Fhmnix  I  "  Because  I  cannot  find  another  Lady  Rachel  Russell, 
another  Lucy  Hutchinson,  another  Madame  Roland,  at  evety  street 
comer,"  says  the  Great  Man,  "  I  mi^it  pnt  up  with  triiat  I  can 
get," — «dding  the  logical  sequence,  "and  one  fool  is  as  good  aa 
another."  Ton  don't  say  this  ?  No,  truly;  for  it  is  only  on'the 
stage,  or  in  one  of  dear  Mrs.  TroUope's  novels,  that  people  so 
broadly  state  their  own  purposes,  and  do  homage  to  their  own 
perfections — even  unto  themselves.  But  what  is  it  yon  do  ? 
Look  to  biographies — look  to  criminal  courts — look  to  the  expo- 
rimce  of  real  life  ! 
-^o  begin  with  &e  "  primrose -time"  ofmatters, — whocanmea- 
rare  or  gange  the  irresistible  fascination  of  Greatness  as  a  lover? 


'Tib  all  mighty  fine  to  talk  of  Prldea  of  Villages  subdued  bj  wit&ed 
red-coata,— to  hang  garlands  on  the  tombs  ^  ill-statred  OalanthaB 
{oide  the  very  old  Timon  who  caUeth  hunself  New, — as  if  aught 
eonld  be  more  antique  than  stale '  apite,  stale  irit,  and  stale  sen- 
timent !)  that  hare  been  won  bj  die  noble  air  of  such  Bevilles 
and  Ardens,  as  the  Miss  Porters  described,  with  pale  cheeks,  and 
lamp-like  eyes,  and  beards  past  reeisting.  FoUy — fallacy — and 
finery;  all  this  !  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten, — in  ninety-nine  out  of 
a  hundred—your  girl  will  rate  Distinction  as  higber  than  roses  and 
lilies  ;  and  lay  herself  at  the  feet  of  Renown,  though  sweet  smiles 
and  sweet  words  may  be  hers  to  command  in  the  largest  possible 
measure.  Ambition  is  nowhere  more  singular  in  its  workings 
than  among  the  unsophisticated,  and  the  half-informed :  and  when 
to  this  universal  passion  is  added  all  that  is  comprehended  in  the 
■words,  "pride  of  sei," — the  notion  of  being  of  consequence  to 
those  whom  Fame  and  Fortune  delight  to  honour — ^the  eif  ninte 
flattery  of  being  selected  as  "the  identical  Sht"  who  is. essential 
to  the  well-being  and  well-doing  of  Greatness, — few,  I  insist,  who 
take  all  these  matters  into  account,  will  be  inclined  to  question 
what  I  have  advanced ; — that  your  Hero(not  precisely  Mr.  Carlyle's, 
since  he,  sometimes,  comes  oddly  near  a  brute-force  gentlemain) 
shall  outbid  and  outbny  your  Beauty,  or  your  Man  of  WealtUl 
If,  unluckily,  the  Great  Man  happens  to-  hare  a  Byron  head  into 
the  bargain  :  if,  as  not  unfrequently  happens,  his  mind  speaks  in 
his  face, — or  is  heard  in  the  tones  of  his  voice, — well-o^ay,  for 
poor  simple  Ann,  Eliza,  or  Mary  I  It  is  "  ask  and  hare"  with  a 
Tengeonce! 

Or  there  is  another  condition  in  which  Great  Men  ccHnmit 
wedlock,  leading  to  consequences  gravely  worthy  of  eiaminatitqi'. 
\He.aud  She  (as  the  old  music-books  primitively  state  the  person- 
ages of  an  eclogue)  shall  be  both  insignificant  at  the  time  of  their 
"  billing  and  cooing," — shall  make  what  is  called  a  love-match  ; 
with  no  disturbing  thoughts  of  the  future'  before  them,  save  a 
vague  prospect  of  getting  along  some'  how  or  other.  And, 
argumeiiti  gratid,  tiie  briefiess  barrister  shall  shoot  up  into' a 
Lord  Chancellor — the  clerk  in  the  hack  shop  blaze  out  as  a 
Railway  King,  the  spoiler  of  paper  (most  rare  miracle  of  all), 
become  an  R.A.,  called  to  sit  at  the  feasts  (^grandees  and 
welcomed  (even  as  all  Greatness  is,  moral,  imaginative,  or  intel- 
lectual) by  the  Sovereign  of  our  country  as  an  honoured  guest,'  or 
a  worshipful  adviser.     Again  and  again  have  such  metamorphoses 

BO,  XTI. — YOL.  III.  z  I 


338  IBM  wirsa  w  wuux  itsx. 

Vien  seen';  tha  man  becoaaiag  fHooiu,  tha  wamui  reinaiiu^ 
obscure.  Ag&iu  and  again  shall  jouhare  ^tjvented—futy,  but  foe 
irhom  ?  Trulj^,  far  tb«  one  on  the  sunn;  Bide  of  the  vail ; — ior  £h« 
stronger,  the  mare  courted,  the  more  gifted  meinbet  of  the  houses 
))xidi  while  his  mate,  according  to  the  deliciouE  justice  of  the  woibl's 
mitiistrations  of  sjntpathj,  shall  be  critteised,  sbunned,  blaioed, — 
tfareateued  vith  the  pilloiy  of  public  censure,  with  the  stocks  of 
iaeluttiiaUe  restraint,  with  traasportation  to  the  OoTeotry  of  civil 
select ;— not  for  any  wrong  she  has  dimu,  aot  for  any  change 


B^aientlr  her  ot^nal  in  fortune,  her  equal  in  age,  her  equal  iqi 
poeition,  tier  snperior  in  erery  andawment  which  qualifies  one 
htUBM  being  to  eoaoede,  to  condasceiul,  and  to  sympathise  witk 
VW^cn  Poor,  maltreated,  fortuRe-s{)ited  Greatness !  Bat  whar^ 
ffrea  in  diese  our  d^s  of  philanthropy  and  toleration,  ^lall  we 
udJii^  tad  sorrow,  and  bro^erly  love  fcr  the  Small  ? 

Vi^ii:  tfae  meAock  is  committed,  and  the  pur  start  in  life — (W 
me  oa  his  itpward  way—the  other  to  remain  on  the  same  level 
of  miod  as  tliat  on  which  "her  star"  had  placed  her: — aay, 
pVBfaapsi  to  decline  from  thence,  aa  the  spirits  ^  youth  fade. 
ttod  W  pleasing  coasciooBnese  of  beauty  departs,  and  the  care  ojF 
''podovr,  kitchen  and  hall,"  or,  as  I  Have  neardit  oalled,  "  the 
SMpHUid-«>ndla  fever,"  begins  to  enter  the  aoul.  Poor  Woman  t 
EOBiember,  too,  t^t  her  wsni^  time  sets  in  when  Man  is  stiU  in 
Us  prime,  that  the  fine  gold  of  her  eD^iantments  is  tarnished  lo^ 
)>dB^  the  splendour  of  his  iuccess  comes  to  it»  brigbtost !  Evatj' 
new  accident  moves  the  ptur  furth^  and  futher  asunder.  ASa^ 
tioa  becomes  sapped  by  flatteries  en  every  side  :  preyed  upon  by 
a  spirit  of  inevitable  ccoiqtarison.  The  World  moves  the  Qreal 
Uan  to .  take  consolation.  The  small  Woman,  with  lost  youA, 
lest  beauty,  lost  daali^y :  bewildered  by  flights  for  wtucb, 
neither  nature  nor  education  had  pr^ared  k^,  becomes  pen«rae, 
dodged,  re^achful  ; — attempts,  poor  blinded  ereatnre !  sntall 
a^'aesertiens  of  her  own,  crooked  little  maaagemeats  to  gain, 
her  seccet  ends,^'MU'  provocations  to  pro^  that  "  ske  is  not 
merely  the  tame  drodge  which  some  folks  think  her."  Woe  to 
hur,  II  she  once  begins  sack  an  unequal  contest !  Id.  any  ease 
hw  lot  is  sure  to  be  a  sad  oae — at  best  die  &1II  estate  of  an  aff«e 
somot :  in  which  the  flerman  woduui  ddi^iteth,  the  Baglish  not. 
Sot  let  ker  taks  an  attitode  of  waif  are  ;  let  hor,  the  vealtar 
Tassel,  show,— be  it  m  erar  so  meuL  a.  deg^M, — tLa  haa»^  ^ 

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Tfifi  WITKS  OK   OKBIZ  HBI.  Stt 

lulBiuiity,  «iid  J^  ihall  kne  tl^  irfaole  vorU  ag&iut  her,  in  Aa 
twiakling  «f  U  (iy« ; — most  of  ill  tlie  woiU  of  Wontea !  No 
hii  of  CJariwu  Nid  CteBenUoBa  djiog  to  BjupAlhue  *ilh  t^ 
pi|N)lu  preaclier,  or  tb«  deep  polhieiaii,  or  the  hi jh-Msring  foet, 
«r  tlie  utist  who brinca tbe  i^y-hoaw  down!  Nowantofitcftdj 
fcies^  to  tfae  Great  lun !  ^ownttttmetiauinaaeas—btMa  tk» 
il^per-wofkii^  race,  (olio  in  lOBie  lort  r^raduce  the  to»'kisuDg« 
wonh^ofhiaArch-lBfaUiUJitf),  to  the  loftier  andHorelilMrdMulit 
nb*^  ^apieiBg  "  oaareatiaia,  '  an  madj  ta  be  beguiled  cr  gtud^ 

■ill!  II '«r  ihe  Qeaiiu  will  t     No  want  of  tuffj  femaiaa,  I  mj^ 

\j  aiknt  «eatei^  t*  aatiiiae  the  raiaU  Wooan ;  bj  id^tiwn 
bwng»  t»  jtrSFs  how  tlw  Great  Mao  aboirid  be  «|ipTcciated  I 
BntkiuMMn  ia  ft  BoUa  thiqg,  (ne  of  life's-  noit  «am£artable 
•wHaaantB :  Iwt  it  JMij  be  «1m  «  verjr  cniel  ««.  Sball  tbf 
iTHld  go  M  for  erar.  withoot  o«ir  fisdiag  meaat  to  Mpacate  th* 
cnllMkia  ti  HMM  Imol  tbe  d^ndatin  of  Mkera !  C«iiio( 
gnat  lad  imwH.  ttm^aDd  weak.  Has  and  Woaum  fall  into  tlidr 
pheea ;  witWd  tba  lMt«  being  tvtmcd  or  jnand  to  death  1^ 
«ka  Wnw }  ShaQ  "wt  net »»«  daf  t«it  Genim  by  tiie  aannar 
In  wUek  it  Hppoite,  wt  eaata  aiida,  raiyOBwMitiea  ?  Or  ii  the 
MBoe  aod  low-thowghted  «rat  of  "  iupired  idiocy"  to  he  allow<t£ 
liU  Ae  end  te  eiCMe  the  had  hnaband,  bthar,  and  eitizeD  !-• 
h Hiring  hard  widt  p^ertiaBote  uafaimeia  on  tluae  wiio  aarroowl 
fain,  and  wh*  Meed  beneath  the  dtahot-wheds  af  hia  triatnpli  ? 

And  this  leada  ne  to  the  laA  and  darkest  phase  of  the  atuui 
betwixt  the  great  and  the  coBunoD-plaoe : — I  nean,  when  the 
iufaior  being  ia  demoraliwd  «ith«r  to  lerve  the  purpose  of  the 
O^erior  tne,  or  bf  the  nBctmsaioBi  infloenoe  af  his  conipanionah^ 
I  hafo  alw^s  eoiuideped  aa  amoog  the  moit  really  tragical  dsrice^ 
ti  ■aodera  ietwa,  the  inodebt  imagiaed  (may  we  not  saj  tran- 
«cribedJ)byMkaMartin«aaiBoaeof  hertales;  of  the  ftwger's  iniio- 
centwifo  ooaafatted  byhwhnsbaad  togooutereryday  to  circulate 
*  ^pen  qnaeti^  of  baee  ocon  ;  and  thaikful,  wlien  ahe  felt  th^ 
liatHe— new  ef  fever  creeping  over  h«,  as  liuugk  bar  one  chance  of 
aespta  and  happiness  na»  in  co^aemeat  to  a  sick-bed !  There  k 
naay  a  «auewdtt(di  the  tuegnt^hiet  of  Great  Hen  conceal,  lees 
aatfreme  in  iis  ndswy,  bat  newrtboloao  of  the  same  family.  Hiere 
IB  ihe  wonan,  ptrmieted,  winch  means  enconrnged,  ta  go  roond 
a«Bg4efiMndi) sftba Great Uao  "ia^Scnlties,"  to raiaeauiney 
«Uc^  in  tter  «wn  ^^^airiag  heart,  she  hnaws  ^tera  ejuatt  no 
neaas  t£  faq^g,    Ti^  is  the  womaA  drinai,ibr  thaaaka  of 

"2  CfKwIc 


SiO  THE  WITEB   OF   QREAT  HEK. 

"  keeping  up  appearances,"  to  reckless  expenditure  at  ibet 
Hioment  when  she  feels  the  future  to  be  hopelessly  encumbered 
with  difficulties.  In  what  respect  are  their  ponies  lees  than  those 
of  &9  terrified  child  compelled  by  its  task-master  to  attitudinise 
on  tight-rope  or  slack-wire,  with  a  smile  of  grimace  on  its  coun- 
tenance ?  There,  again,  is  the  woman,  compelled  to  support  the  man 
in  some  flagrant  apostacy  from  his  avowed  principles  ;  to  give  out 
the  lies  he  baa  fabricated  la  excuse  for  some  wretched  recourse 
to  expediency  : — knowing  die  while, — albeit  by  InBtinet,  posably, 
rather  than  by  reflection, — that  she  is  art  and  part  in  a  profligate 
tninsactJoD.  And  all  this,  without  the  excitement  of  responsibility' 
(don't  store  at  my  phrase)  to  support  her !  Tet  analyse  the  story 
^s  given  by  the  world,  of  the  Man  of  Letters  in  extremities  ;  or  of 
the  Man  in  Office  anxious  to  conceal  possihle  downfall ;  or  of  the 
Man  in  Power  bent  on  jostifying  some  marvellously  sndden  bar* 
lequinade  ;  and  if  the  wife  figures  ia  it : — how  perpetually  will  you 
find  a  part  of  the  misadventure  traced  to  her  influence,  or  want 
of  influence.  How  strongly  will  Reproof  lift  its  voice  against  her 
thoughtlessness — how  keenly  society  criticise'  the  advocacy  of  one 
assumed,  because  of  her  recognised  inferiority,  to  be  unprincipled  f 
Tbe  one  word  of  indulgent  notice  or  kind  construction  bestowed  on  . 
the  secondary  figure  wHl  be  listened  for  in  vain  ;  the  idea  of  such  a 
non-entity  having  proved  struggles  or  trials  wordi  counting  be 
"ignored;"  while  the  severe  verdict  is,  as  the  mathematicians 
would  put  it,  "  a  constant  quantity  !  "  Think,  once  again,  how 
the  companion  of  Qreatness,  without  any  tyranny  prepense,  or  want 
of  love,  or  withering  neglect,  may  be  stretched  and  struned,  as  it 
were,  to  the  desti-uction  past  cure  of  all  health,  strength,  and 
equilibrium !  It  ia  not  hajd  for  tiie  companion  of  an  ambitious 
man, — himself  balanced  by  that  proud  humility  which  always  accom- 
panies the  highest  ambitions — to  caricature  hu  desire  to  rise,  seeing 
that  no  such  equipoise  as  his  exists  to  keep  even  moderate  hopes  and 
pm^oses  in  check  ;— orfor  the  flimsier  thinker,  who  fluttersin  the 
train  of  the  profound  philosophical  inquirer,  to  find  herself  stripped, 
bewildered,  lost  in  a  chaos  from  which  she  has  no  power  to 
emerge; — or  for  the  Poet'snifetoimaginetbat  in  bis  outward  eccen- 
tricities lies  his  poetry,  and  therefore  to  out-do  the  oome.  From 
all  this  what  rueful  consequences  proceed!  Who  bos  forgotten 
the  clever  simile,  comparing  the  most  celebrated  of  modem  authors 
toaburning-glaas  through  which  the  rays  of  the  sun  passed  without 
destroying  it,  and  his  wife  to  the  "bit  of  paper  bcsido,  wbick. 


THE   WIVES  OF   QREAT  MBK.  34t 

would  be  presentlf  in  a  blaze  i  " — but  who  has  added,  with  the 
conunoneat  and  cheapest  of  charity,  that  the  hit  of  paper  thus  placed 
fould  not,  according  to  Nature's  laws,  help  burning  i 

It  is  a  safe  and  conTcnient  manner,  moreover, .  of  wreaking 
«nvj,  which  cannot  have  escaped  the  cognisance  of  any  one  skilled 
in  the  subject,  for  those  who  feel  Greatness  itself  to  bo  beyond 
their  detracdon,  to  fasten  on  some  one  of  its  accessories.  Venna 
fiould  not  be  called  imperfect ;  but  tiien  her  noisy  slippers!  A—— 
is  past  the   power  of  depreciation   to    injure ;   but  really    Urs. 

-Candour  "(ff^  expect  something  more  from  A "s  wife!  "  B 

has  written  the  book  of  the  season :  young  damsels  blush,  and 
elder  ones  rise  on  tip-too  to  see  him  come.  "  Such  a  countenance! 
suohamaunerl  such  a  gentleman  of  Nature's  making  !"     Torun 

Jown  B 's  book  is  to  write  yourself  an  asa.      But,  of  the  little 

woman  "  like  d^ected  Pity"  at  his  ude.  .  .  "  Who  was  saying  that 
lie  had  married  her  out  of  a  milliner's  shop  ? — and  she  loolu  like 

it."     C is  damaged  yet  worse  by  his  domestic  circumstances, 

'"  ffe  wonid  come  among  us,  poor  fellow  :  but  that  horrid  woman 
teepa  him  at  home.  And  no  one  can  put  up  with  her  !"    Let  these 

charming,  charitable  rerdicts  come  round  to  the  ears  of  A or 

B or  0 ;  and  who  knows,  but  that  in  the  friendly  report 

ofthesam^maylie  the  germ  of  one  of  those  long  domestic  tragedies 
of  dull  mitery,  the  end  whereof  is  a  desperato  man  breaking  loose 
from  a  do^ed  woman :  theoneforerery  sympathetic  soul  to  soothe; 
-the  other,  an  obstacle  in  erery  one's  way  ;  indefensible,  unsightly, 
to  be  jostled  out  of  sight,  broken,  and  forgotten  I 

*'  Whither,"  says  some  impatient  Hero-worshipper,  "  would  you 
lead  us,  by  this  defence  of  the  mean,  the  limited,  the  stupid  ?  " — 
To  the  strengthening  of  the  Great  Man  ;  to  the  supporting  of  him 
in  "  all  due  and  becoming  domestic  amiabilities,"  (as  a  clerical 
fiiend  of  mine,  who  preached  the  most  mellifluous  of  sermons  and 
Lad  not  spoken  a  word  to  his  wife  for  ten  years,  used  to  phrase  it) 
to  the  encouragement  of  him — here  all  the  ladies  will  bridle,  and 
Jook  applause, — in  aless  rondomchoicethanhiswont.  Further,  if 
any  one  fears  that  the  Small  Woman  will  give  herself  undue  airs, 
and  grow  imperious  open  the  improved  scale  of  mercy  and  notice 
awarded  to  her,  let  me  gently  remind  him  ; — that  the  days  of  im- 
proving intelligence  by  proscription,  of  raising  the  mon^  tone  by 
Tengeful  punishment  are  p^t ;  and  that — without  meaning  to 
announce  a  Uillennium  in  which  Fnulty  and  Polly  shall  reign, — still 
less  the  commencement  of  an  Amazonian  epoch  when  she-Bishopa 


3J3  THQ  L4D6H  OF  KBOUUHaBSR, 

■Ml  nii&e  Ae-PoM^itM  Bhalie  in  their  wye*  sod  itelM,  ttitl^Ae* 
fareigii  onnuten  settle  bosBdary  ^aMrela  with  Miff.  J«B*Aui'a 
(aot  Rebecca's)  dangfaten — ««  But  atill  nakt  ^ob  •  Teaeaa* 
4intiM  of  tbat  cede  of  pcipalar  praiM  aad  eciuve,  lAicbgireB  all 
tiM  credit  to  tke  ridi,  ud  all  the  Aartiiwirot  t*  tiw  peof.  Let 
fluNse  irt»  are  leea  ahcill  tlian  Xantippe,  las  pnetutaalmally  nib' 
■iuHTe  than  QriaeUa.  bava  their  diaace  and  tbeiv  adrceate ;  aa 
wdl  m  tU  DeaM  Bwifta  who  break  tbe  hearta  ol  &b  SteUaM  hr 
whcKa  tliejr  jawraeiltM  tbeir  thoagiita,  md  the  BoniaM  and  tlia 
^rau  who  lave  dedicated  letne  ^  tbe  moat  maiMaimeA  at  tbeir 


!■  m;  next,  perubreatnre.  The  HtMbMwb  </ Orcflt  Wnun. 


T^  lAUGH,  OF  BHASAHANTHCS. 

KHUAKAirms  sat  on  bis  iron  tbrone, 

Boamaag  owli  ifcaMeriDf  ^^, 
Tv  erimaa  in  oaitUj  tiancN  iam. 

In  bia  fiety  «a>Ua  to  reaat. 

A  gbott  came  up  to  the  jndf^cnt  bai. 

And  stood  for  sentence  there. 
And  the  judge  of  heD  glared  etendf  down, 

Ai  a  great  vnptnd  Bhonld  glan. 

"I  kaow  thee,  feOMT,"  Ihs  j*dDB«sc!^Bed, 

"  A  Wipei  ghest  art  thou  ; 
In  the  brighteat  isle  tdd  ocean  girds, 

Thon  wert  bom  to  speed  tbe  plough. 

"  Haet  ploughed — and  died  T  or,  rA«l  soul ! 

Hast  slanghtered  rich  men'i  game, 
Or  triqa«ed  oa  thnr  T^nt  lawas, 

Or  gives  thairiieka  to  flwae  1 

.  "  Host  left  behind  nnlawfnl  hrate. 
The  parish  rate*  ta  swell  1 
Speah.  paiiper,.that  1  roar  auAgn 
Thy  fittmg  place  in  bell."  • 

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TH2  L&CGH   OF  BHADAUAHTHtTS. 

"  Not  so,  my  lord,"  the  ghost  replied, 

"  Felon  nor  vagrant  I, 
And  three  tall  sons  in  wedlock  bom, 

Might  answer  slander's  lie ; 

"  But  that  the  first  at  Waterloo, 
On  twogaabed  Frenchmen  died —    .  . 

Their  colonre  on  his  corjiBe  were  foDitd, 
£tandung  hie  weltrng  ude. 

"  His  brrihsr,  hy  v.  Bujiaaii  shot. 

Fell,  OK  the  folded  atoclcade  ; 
The  joansest,  with  his  sUnghtered  troop. 
In  Aff^baa  land  is  hii, 

"■nwfcing- ^"Wai  answer  for  ttyseHI" 

Qioth  Bhadmauiithna  stem, 
"  Whcnfot*  I  Aa»td  not  Band  thM  hesee. 

In  PUi^etheB  to  bun  } 

"  Where  was  (^  death  t" — "  Till  xueaiy-Skn. 

I  wheeled  a  loadstone  banrow; 
The  Union  gave  taj  last  poor  tneal, 

And  that  was  patrid  morrow." 

"  Then  thu  dost  monnw,  bUv«^  «t  lata , 

TieinUa,  and  heu  thy  doMU  [" 
A  sudden,  calm,  nim  smile  lit  np 

Tlat  spectre's  tate  of  gloom. 


T»ftarJvamtlk«l»r4«/litU? 

Thffii  came  a  laagh — hut  such  alaofpi, 

A  shriek  had  been  more  gay — 
It  was  the'fiist  that  erer  iwe 

HelTs  edtoes,  M  th^  sity. 

Coald  it  hkw  ratohed  boms  Umw  mill, 

Or  soma  ffm  feudal  tow«»— • 
Bnt  theaa  are  uoi^ihla  for  wiaei  liead^  :  '   - '. 

They  're  no  a&irs  of  our*. 


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CROWNER-S  QUEST  LAW  IN  TTTOPIA. 

Whilst  the  kingdom  of  Utopia  was  in  its  infancy,  dariDg  the 
transition  state  of  its  constitution  to  the  point  of  absolute  perfec- 
tion, its  inhabitants  were  subject  to  certain  legiBlatire  h&rdahips. 
In  particular,  poverty  was  treated  as  a  crime,  even  ib  cases  where 
it  arose  from  inability  to  get  a  living.  The  destitute,  whether 
imptovideat  or  merely  unfortunate,  were  shut  up  in  workhouses,— 
where  they  were  placed,  indiscriminately,  under  the  same  rule  of 
disoipUne ;  all  being  alike  systematically  made  nncomfortable. 
They  were  put  to  the  dirtiest  drudgery  ;  they  were  coarsely  and 
scantily  fed  ;  .their,  heads  were  cropped  and  shorn  ;  And  they  were 
forced  to  wear  a  garb  of  ignominy.  Han  and  wife  were  separated  ; 
no  recreation  was  allowed  ;  nor.  was  any  kind  of  solfice  permitted 
to  these  unfortunates.  To  fortify  philosophy  by  a  pinch  of  snnff, 
or  to  stifle  hunger  with  a  morsel  of  tobacco,  was  a  high  crime  and 
misdemeanour. 

The  management  of  each  of  these  penitentiaries  Air  the  poor 
was  conducted,  by  a  local  board  of  goremors,  called  Guardians, 
who  were  controlled  and  superintended  by  certain  bashaws  termed 
Commissioners,  whose  head-quarters  lay  in  a  largo  houst  or  palace 
situated  in  the  Utopian  metropolis.  The  chief  office  of  these 
bashaws  was  to  dictate  the  arrangements  for  the  inoonventence  of 
workhouse  prisoners  ;  and  they  were  pud  handsmidy  for  taking 
this  trouble. 

Now,  the  UtOTiiana,  who  were  always  a  good-natured  kind  of 
people,  did  not  fail,  from  the  first  institution  of  this  system,  to 
enuaint  tondly  agunst  it  as  inconsistent  with  justice  and  humanity. 
They  being,  howerer,  indisposed  to  riot  and  sedition,  and  their 
([ovemment  never  conceding  anything  to  popular  opinion,  except 
imder  the  fear  of  an  absolute  insurrection,  their  ezdamations  and 
outcries  against  the  law  relative  to  the  poor  were  tbr  a  long  time 
unavailing.  At  length,  however,  the  overthrow  of  this  barbarous  ' 
eode  was  effected  in  consequence  of  the  event  following  :  — 

A  wretched  woman,  with  an  infant  at  the  breast,  driven  by 
disbwB,  Bonght  and  obtained  admission  into  one  of  the  work- 
houses.    She  ms  here  placed  upon  the  neual  dietary,  the  skilly 


crowser's  qcest  lat  in  utopla.  343 

ud  water  of  aSiction,  and  atrajed  by  tlie  iaquiaitora  for  the  mp- 
pression  of  iodigence  in  the  nrntent'to  of  parochial  charitj.  She 
waa  also,  for  the  correction  'of  her  penury,  handed  over  to  the 
kind  attentions  of  their  familiars,  the  natron  and  beadle.  By  their 
tender  mercies  she  was  soon  taught  to  know  what  it  was  to  be  des- 
titute and  friendless.  This  discipline,  however,  wholesome  as  it  may 
have  been,  proved  also  to  be  bo  unpalatable,  the  rather  as  she  had 
aeen  better  days,  that  she  found  it  altogether  intolerable. '  She 
accordingly  determined  to  withdraw  herself  from  under  it,  and  to 
seek  aid  and  succour  elsewhere  in  the  wide  world  of  Utopia. 

It  had  been  enacted  by  the  bashaws  or  commisBioners  above- 
mentioned,  in  order  to  compel  all  persons  guilty  of  poverty  to  submit 
themselves  to  the  workhouse  course  of  penance,  that  the  extreme 
of  misery  should  be  allowed  to  press  upon  them,  so  long  as  they 
remained  without  the  walls  of  the  institution.  Cold,  as  well  as 
hanger,  being  well  calculated  to  promote  this  end,  they  bad 
ordained  that  not  a  rag  of  clothing  should  be  afforded  to  any  one 
who  should  have  the  audacity  to  leave  it.  The  mother,  therefore, 
and  child  left  the  workhouse  as  they  had  entered  it ;  the  former  in 
tatters,  the  latt«r  naked,  having  been,  previously  to  its  removal, 
stripped  of  eveiy  shred  of  its  eleemosynary  long-clothes.  And  so 
parent  and  offspring  went  forth  into  the  frost  and  snow.' ' 

Onward  tottered  the  poor  woman  with  her  burden,  vainly  im- 
ploring relief  from  all  she  met.  At  each  step  she  became  more 
faint  and  footsore  ;  mCre  and  more  deeply  the  fangs  of  winter  bit 
into  her  shivering  flesh,  whilst  her  child,  in  its  agonies,  screamed 
louder  and  louder  every  moment. 

At  last  she  was  seen  to  cross  a  ford,  when  suddenly,  with  a. 
gesture  of  frantic  desperation,  she  dashed  her  child  wto  the 
middle  of  the  stream  ;  and  instantly  fell,  or  plunged,  after  it. 
Assistance  was  procured,  and  both  were  taken  out  senseless.  Tha 
infant  never  revived. 

A  coroner's  inquest  was  held  on  the  body.  Now  the  Utopians 
hod  been  for  some  time  accustonung  tii  em  selves,  to  \be  horror,  and 
notwithstanding  the  aensure,  of  grave  judges  and  judicial  per- 
sonages, to  take  the  law  into  their  own  hands  ;  so  that  their  juries 
returned  the  most  extraordinary  verdicts — as  singular  as  the  cele- 
brated one,  "  Served  her  right." 

.  Evidence  was  given  at  the  inquest  of  the  mother's  state  of  mind 
on  leaving  the  workhouse,  namely,  that  it  amounted  to  frenzy.. 
Depo«u^onB  were  also  made  as  to  ^e  treatment  she  reieiTed  whilst 


348  ftVB  VlLLiee  AS   IT  OCGST  TO  BK. 

SD  iniiMte  of  H.  Tbt  atnppmg  of  ihe  ebfld  upon  its  renrar^  waa^ 
HkewiH  dulj  authenticated,  i^nallf,  it  was  proved  that  ^  tbese 
ItroceediDgs,  the  last  inelnnve,  were  enforeed  bj  the  board  of 
gorwDcm  or  gnardians,  at  the  ordinanee  of  the  metropolitan  conf 
ntiBsioners  or  bashaws. 

The  coroner,  in  imnniDg  up,  defined  the  crime  of  imirder  aa 
homicide  wilfuUj  committed  by  a  sane  indiridnal,  and  as  charg;e- 
itble,  in  addition,  on  all  who  were  instigators  or  aecesBories  to  th« 
fact. 

The  jury,  after  a  few  raomests'  deliberation,  aeqnitted  Ae  pri- 
soner on  the  ground  of  iuBsmtj  ;  and  retm-ned  a  renlict  of  wiuuL 
itiniiHEH  against  the  metropolitan  bashaws. 

In  tlte  next  sesNon  of  me  Utopian  senate,  the  statute  against 
dte  poor  was  npoaled. 

pBBCiTii  Lekb. 


OUa  TILLAGE  AS  IT  OUSHT  TO  BE. 

It  wotdd'be  tasj  to  draw  ont  a  sketdi  of  a  TiUagv  in  Uttqm, 
Sefimnation  is  a  jdeasant  work  in  the  world  of  inaj^nation ;  but 
is  soon  as  we  touch  this  material  world  we  feel  the  preeanee  of 
difficulties.  We  mast  not  amuBe  onreelres  merely  with  painting 
jaetnres  of  all  that  we  should  lore  to  b^old  ;  we  Btnat  find  out  tto 
causes  which  fveTent  the  realisation  of  ovt  views.  If  these 
ohstractions  are  founded  in  reason  and  nature,  then  we  DHiBt  resign 
Our  Bckemee  as  risionarj ;  hnt  if  we  find  no  t^mnd^m  to  our 
Tiews  Bare  in  the  errors  of  men,  against  these  we  must  reaolvtely 
^utend.  Now  let  us  inquire  what  are  the  eaases  which  prermit 
."  Our  Village  as  it  is  "  Stota  becimiing  "  Our  Vill^e  as  it  ought 
to  be."  It  b  erident  that  ihej  can  be  foond  neither  in  reason  nor 
in  nature.  There  is  bo  necesnty  that  any  of  our  riUagers  should 
rende  in  that  filthy  and  unwholesmne  "  back-laoo  "  whwe  the 
Hodgsons  dwell,  and  which  has  always  been  the  laboratory  «£ 
ftirere.  ^««  is  no  law  of  nature  opposed  to  the  law  of  reasim, 
^lat  ereiy  family  should  .have  a  decent  and  wh<deeome  dwdliag. 
Light,  air,  and  water  are  cheap.  Light  for  the  mind,  too,  ia 
eheap.  ThneisnoTeasonagainBttheeducstioBofeveiymiBd, — tht^ 
^vimng  of  erei^  good,  hannomous  facnhr^  in  Our  Wli^.     Our 


OUB  TILL4S!!   AB  IT  OmBt  TO  BBJ  &*7 

jroBttg  lftA«B  mighi  leach  tliech^r«B  of  tke  poor  to  rettd,  tosew^ 
^□d  to  eing  some  che«M  BMlodies.  Our  yoiOig  Bien  vko  lum 
rceeired  eomeAtng  l&e  bd  edncatioii  might  fa^  ^elr  hre^res  wli» 
bvre  reeetred  ncne.  E*en  ooT  taiter  nii^t  be  toi^t  to  ^Jf 
^  OA  ^(HttttV  H)  praper  time  ;  utd  the  BhoemakflrBught,  atlADtj 
bring  hit  restive  danoDef  to  somethifig  like  a  time.  Oat  tquire 
might  EniperiBtend  the  heaHhfi.t  ^torts  c^  oar  yoong  men ;  o^ 
rector  m^ht  find  heneTident  ooenpation  to  dispd  the  riz  dajs' 
MTEui  of  ererj  week,  and,  in  a  word.  Our  Village  might  be  nade^ 
WTtfeout  a  miracle,  soMethiag  moro  like  &at  "  AalwrTi'*  of  w^th 
good-hearted  GolilMiith  snag.  Wbj'  not?  Ew«  is  a  qoeetkn 
Ibat  mnBt  be  anawered.  For  eveiy  faet  there  is  a  reason  bodm- 
where.  Onr  Village  b,  wkhont  a  doubt,  a  aad  dull  place  ;  anil 
though  aerer&l  eawes  ei»tribiite  to  make  He  cmifitioB  w)mt  it  is, 
•m  befiere  there  is  o«e  prmcqial  eatue,  yiitkoat  wU^  the  o&er& 
would  not  b«  dfeetntJ.  Where  shall  we  find  this  eaose  i  We 
h&Te  BSJd  it  H  not  in  Batttre ;  ihes  it  most  be  in  the  miRds  of  ^e 
people  :  ftey  are  not  prepared  tor  a  seeial  rcArmatioa.  Bit  Ika^ 
Is  too  T^oe  an  answer:  we  must  seek  further,  Tbers  is  one 
common  prmrii^  of  agreemevi  in  the  mimds  of  sH  liie  lowding  »eB 
of  "  Dm-  Vaia^" — Ae  reotoc,  tlie  squire,  and  the  lawyer.  It  is 
ttie  notion  whit^  they  fjDtertain  of  r«2t^Mm  as  a  mere  afbk'  of 
tUBent  to  smne  doctnoee  and  going  to  crhmtA.  Here  is  the  orw 
whid  paralyses  aH  hepee  of  soeial  Tt^rorewciit.  All  great  smd 
good  Borements  i^iriDg  IVobi  rdigion  ;  but  a  ftite,  narrew  notioD 
M  religimi  is  the  most  serioas  obstiMtiwa  is  ^e  w^  of  anj  heaere- 
lent  design.  Bear  witaess  to  Ibis  foot — tons  c^  thomaads  of  young- 
shres  in  mines  and  manti&etories  kept  in  the  fiml  glocm  of  th» 
most  hopeless  ignorance,  beoaoee  our  ^«sent  Tiewe  ^  t«%mm  (!^ 
wiD.  not  allow  bs  to  gtre  job  the  pririleges  ef  htusaB  beiagfl  !  It 
fs  not  our  boMness  here  to  meddle  wiA  rdiginn  dtx^rindlj;  bat 
a'plain  view  of  ite  practical  nature  is  wanted.  IVaetically,  as  tin 
New  Testament  teaches  us.  It  consists  in  the  derriapment  <^  thfr 
good,  the  harmimious  faculties  of  human  nature.  We  can  only 
judge  by  fruits  ;  where  this  development  does  not  take  place,  the 
root  of  religion  is  not  to  he  found.  Now  we  must  apply  this  rule- 
to  our  rector.  We  have  no  wish  to  interfere  with  liitn  personally, 
nor  to  call  in  question  any  of  his  doctrines  ;  we  hare  only  to  CMI- 
uder  him  as  a  social  agent,  and  to  suggest  to  him  a  part  of  hia 
duty,  of  which  he  has,  perhaps,  never  thought.  A  religioua 
teacher  must  be  a  helping,  g^dmg  power  among  the  people  over 


348  OnR  TILUGE   AS  IT  OUOBT  TO  BE. 

whom  he  ia  placed.  All  thjngs  that  ftre  good,  beautiful,  and  happy 
in  their  influenoes,  ehould  find  in  him  their  promoter.  As  the 
florist  unong  flowers,  so  should  he  he  as  the  cultiTBtor  of  national 
natures  :  not  striviug  to  tie  down  all  to  one  exact  pattern,  but  help- 
ing aU  in  the  derelopment  of  their  best  instincts :  not  merdy 
mling  against  weeds,  but  encouraging  and  helping  the  growth  of 
aU.  that  is  good  and  beautiful.  Now  this  is  a  Tiew  of  religious 
duty  which,  unhappily,  our  rector  never  learned  at  Oxford,  and, 
consequently,  he  has  never  taught  our  squire  that  there  is  any 
inconsiatency  between  the  religion  of  a  "  sound  churchman"  and 
a  total  neglect  of  all  rational  cultivation  of  the  people  who  dwell 
round  "  the  Hall ;"  nor  has  he  erer  hinted  to  onr  lawyer  that  the 
gospel  would  require  him,  instead  of  gathering  in  rests  from  the 
wretched  hovels  in  our  "  bach-lane,"  to  pull  down  these  dens  of 
discomfort  and  disease,  and  build  up  dwellings  suitable  for  humsD 
beings.  All  truths  of  this  nature  are  fast  asleep  in  "  Our  Vil- 
lage ;"  and  if  we  wait  for  our  rector  to  wahen  them  and  put  them 
into  motion,  we  shall  never  see  a  glimpse  of  "  Our  Village  as  it 
ought  to  be."  .The  plun  fact  must  be  spoken  (without  any  per- 
sonal ill-wiU) :  our  rector,  with  his  present  views  and  habits,  is  an 
ineuhu  upon  t^  hopes  of  social  or  intellectual  improvement. 

Here  we  may  just  put  in  a  word  in  reply  to  a  charge  which  we 
have  heard  preferred  against  our  modem  philanthropic  literature— 
that  it  would  make  social  improvements  a  substitute  for  religion. 
This  is  not  true  ;  but  we  woidd  measure  the  depth  of  religion  by 
the  extent  of  its  benevolent  operation  ;  we  would  conceive  of  it  as 
not  merely  a  shut-up  doctrine,  but  as  a  spirit,  with  life  and  love, 
nusing  and  refining  all  life  and  practice.  We  propose  social 
improvements  as  instruments  to  be  swayed  by  such  a  spirit,  and, 
with  regard  to  that  form  of  religion  which  refuses  to  employ  tbem, 
we  say  it  may  be  very  comfortable  for  an  individual  who  is  satisfied 
with  it ;  hut  it  Is  not  the  reli^on  required  in  order  to  realise  even 
"  Oor  Village  ex  it  ought  to  be." 

Joseph  Gostick. 


Upl:«l  by  Google 


THINGS  OP  IMPORTANCE. 

This  Is  a  comprehensive  category,  and  the  items  are  as  rariotu 
as  the  contents  of  an  oid  clothes  shop.  ETorybod;  in  the  world 
has  his  "  things  of  importance  ;'.'  but  be  finds  it  hard  to  peranade 
his  neighbours  that  they  are  not  trifles,  about  which  do  wise  man 
would  ever  trouble  himself.  And  yet,  from  the  ererlastiag  bostle 
that  goes  on,  one  might  fancy  that  nothing  was  ever  transacted 
on  the  surface  of  the  earth  but  things  of  importance  I 

Geographers  tell  us  that  the  heights  of  the  highest  mountains  in 
the  world  are  in  proportion  to  their  size,  not  more  than  the  inequa- 
li^es  on  the  rind  of  an  orange  ;  and  the  aSairs  of  life  keep  th« 
mountwis  in  countenance  :  the  important  things  that  fill  the  whole 
field  of  vision  (i>-<2ay' with  their  imposing  bulk,  dwindle  down  trom 
the  colossal  to  the  merely  mortsl,  when  to-day  becomes  yesterday, 
and  on.  the  morrow  they  become  absolutely  invisible  to  ^e  atriotest 
investigations  of  history  or  scandal. 

In  the  experience  of  every  man,  the  important  things  of  to-day 
are  degraded  into  the  trifles  of  to-morrow  ;  nearly  every  occurrence 
of  life  is  more  indebted  to  the  momentom  of  falling  inun  the  pass- 
ing moment  than  for  any  specific  gravity  of  its  own.  If  it  did 
not  make  one  smile  it  might  well  make  onp  laugh,  to  look  back  on 
all  the  things  of  importance  that  have  agitated  us  in  their  time. 
Where  are  they  now  ?  Their  joy  and  sorrow  have  perished  with 
them,  they  have  vanished  even  from  our  memory,  and  are  now  no 
more  to  us  than  the  scenes  of  a  well-written  novel  or  play  ;  indeed, 
we  come  to  regard^em  with  precisely  the  same  sort  of  feeling. 

It  is  the  same  with  our  wicAies.  A  man  jnay  possibly  desire  no 
more  refined  vengeance  on  his  enemy,  than  to  grant  him  the  wish 
that  lay  nearest  his  heart  five  years  previously.  So  long  as  life 
remains,  men  will  put  forth  fresh  desires  every  day,  as  trees 
put  forth  fresh  leaves  every  spring  ;  but  the  same  destiny  is  laid 
on  each,  that  the  old  in  both  cases  must  fall  off  and  die  ;  men  must 
jnoult  their  feelings  and  desires  in  the  course  of  nature,  and  very 
miserable  and  good  for  nothing  they  feel  at  such  seasons ;  hut 
vitality  is  strong,  and  so  long  as  life  remains  men  must  go  on 


SfiO  THINGS  OF  ptPOBTANCE. 

wialung  and  hoping,  and  transacting  their  "things  of  importance" 
till  death  comes  to  place  fhem  under  other  conditionB  of  being  of 
which  we  know  nothing. — Perhaps  whilst  it  is  going  on,  the  most 
important  thing  in  the  eyes  of  all  concerned,  man,  woman,  or 
^onfidarUe,  is  a  lore  affair — a  real  fit  of  desperation,  be  it  under- 
Blood  ;  not  the  t^id  sentiment  of  preference,  such  as  weil-brought- 
np  j'oung  ladies  are  instructed  ia  all  thej  ought  to  indulge  in  if 
ikvf  wish  to  «0BtiD»e  resectable.  Deradedlj  there  i»  netfaing  in 
life  wordiy  to  he  cvnipared  to  a  stroi^  pania«  that  calls  into 
aetmtj  ejtxy  ^cnltj  of  bodj'  and  soul :  it  is  like  the  bmtiBg 
fiKth  <if  a  T^cww,  showing  a&  the  alxvig&  aad  fiie  that  lay 
Itiddtn  bdew  tbe  surface.  It  ie  not  a  thing  thM  can  last  long,  {Utt 
wtK^  woild  most  isfailiUj  go  to  die  deace  if  it  did);  itdiea  aw^, 
leaving  at  Snt  the  afpeannoe  at  desolate  han«TioeM,  b«t  aft^  • 
1rti3e dMrai|WB^ iqr * richMM  and  fertili^ of  Mvl  that  waa  B«t so 
beAn.  Bj-  Avae  tw;  iadinduBlB  die  puaioB  «f  lore  eanaea  to  b« 
r^aKled  aB  a  men  A«aai,  or  M  a  tnilUnM' ODce  ^macd  a  dreis  cap^ 
»  ■  dniii^  Mwiai,  with  bewsttfid  Une.  "--Tbc7  reua  of  t^Ht 
termet  firea  vniy  a  »iiMlbrt«Me  waratfa  fit  for  JNMSlte  pvpvsaa. 

If  it  wen  pniriMe  to  plaea  in  array  aR  the  men  awl  wmmd  M 
iiAoDt  «  gnmie  paaim  bad  been  landted — all  tba  objcets  vf  «■ 
unfortunate  attachment  —  the  anasemevt  irf  oretTbodj  wohU  be 
extieme,  vliea  Ike;  bdteld  the  Atm  of  very  ordisaty  mortals 
whieh  wvald  a^icu-  to  dun-  diaendtanted  riew  1  !■  lora,  it  is  aa 
<m|j)atie  tmth,  "  Aat  oothing  it,  bat  all  thingi  Moa. "  \^eii  the 
beat  of  passioa  haa  passed  awkj,  the  objects,  when  befacM  in  the 
eeol  fight  ot  reflection,  generallj  seem  greater  boras  than  tte 
average  ran  of  ^e  bobs  and  daBght«:H  of  Adaot.  Few  whe  hare 
been  die  object  ef  passioBs:te  Ion  ever  fum  iato  sterling  fn«>da. 
The  thmgB  we  most  eagedj  gra^  at,  are  like  the  pebUea  in  a 
spai^Hng  brook ;  so  long  as  the  8ii>  ibises  on  t^en,  and  tiiey 
glitter  with  mnstme,  thej  look  to  be  rery  preciooa  tlnngs:  hat  in 
a  Utde  while  th^  become  dry  and  dim ;  eoe  fiuds  ^em  good 
tor  nettling  bat  to  make  roads  withal  to  trawd  under  oar  feet 


iTejT  day. 
BUstory  i 


t  notinBg  hat  a  tnnsean  for  the  fcsiH  renaias  erf 
tilings  that  were  of  importanee  in  Aeir  ^y  a»d  gmuittwa;  hot 
'we  OBB  teldom  leaSee  the  traaqv^  asavraaca  it  gi*tw,  tiwt  tfae 
mast  importaat  «f  tmportuit  things  wiB  petrify  iato  wttaie  of  (Mt, 
ody  iMereetuig  aa  they  in  their  tm  are  typea  of  aknilar  giWb 
or  iBtorasta  ^»A  wffl  teoeh  Aoae  wfae  cone  after  a  ta  the  ^  «f 


time:  for  no  eoMtioK  of  either  joj- or  aotrow  Is  a  print*  pfqiertj; 
there  ia  b»  moDOpoly  in  nature  ;  we  are  all  one  family,  thongli,  to 
be  sure,  ve  occa»onallj  meet  with  those  whou  we  do  net  feel  aay 
pride  ia  claiming  for  relations.  Hence  it  is  that  men  are  libelloUBlj 
said,  "  to  hate  their  own  likenesa  in  &  brother's  face"- — hut  it 
ia  ao  such  thing ;  it  is  not  the  likeness  thej  object  to  but  the 
very  little  justice  that  is  done  to  It.  Who  is  there  who  does  not 
from  his  soul  protest  against  a  caiieatore,  or  even  a  photographic 
portrait ! — Nurses  tell  tittle  childrea  Uiat  "  heaut;  is  but  skin- 
deep  ;"  and  we  may  rest  assured  that  the  importance  of  the  mo^ 
imp(»iant  pet^a  in  the  wnld  is  of  even  greater  tenuity — a  very 
little  goes-  a  great  way,  and  a  square  inch  of  th«  realky  may  be 
beaten  out  to  an  oiteiU  eicaedoig  diat  of  gold-leaf.  Tha  pe<^  and 
things  of  the  taoBt  Augustan  ages  are  net  gold, — only  gilded  with 
in^ortanee ;  the  st^le  material  of  which  they  are  made  up  ia 
<he  same  in  all  timea,  Pe^le  have  such  a  mania  for  {»acjiag 
damselvea  and  dieir  ooooenu  taeaoduu  to  the  genertd  rule, 
whereas  ever;  man  is  an  average  specwiui  back,  of  ihe  uu£>iilaal 
amouotofiealiinpertBiicelnTest^uiUMsensofmea.  Tohesura, 
the  inheritaBce  of  each  ia  infinitesimal — bat  what  of  tiutt  ^  £ach 
man  has  '^e  gift  to  see  himaelf  with  microscopic  eyea  which  tu^itj 
a  tbousandfoLd.  This  is  a  viae  pronsion  of  natura ;  for  nobody 
would  have  the  heart  to  traaiact  his  own  afiairs  If  he  only  saw 
them  aa  they  ^paar  to  other  people.  No  woader,  tlnn,  our  aSucs 
are  miiiiitanag«d  when  we  i/ara  them  or«e  to  Bomebedy  ebe  to  do 
forue! 

"  When  we  take  our  w^k  abroad,"  and  see  all  the  labour  thfit 
ia  done  under  the  sun,  what  is  the  impression  that  it  makes  1900 
us  ?  We  wander  that  peo^e  can  be  found  to  take  ist^reat  in  mch 
thinga,  and  we  criticiae  uomercifidly  the  smallest  discrepancy  bn- 
tween  the  pragramme  and  the  performance  of  our  neighbours. 

When  one  reflects  on  the  unount  of  labour  and  pains  that  have 
haen  expended  on  what  have  eventually  peoved  bilures,  it  alaufit 
makes  one  tremble.  A  very  tragical  histery  might  be  written  on 
tmMCceuJvi  mm,  if  the  world  eould  be  made  to  feel  aay  iatcrsst 
in  these  who  &ii ;  aad  yvt  it  le^ures  an  amount  <^  aetoal  tal^t 
«v^  to  achiove  a  fsilura. 

How  many  people  are  there  who  troi^tle  their  heads  about  the 
iw(  o/jMfsnl(  diat  are  regularly  daclaied  3  Not  eneinathousaad. 
And  yet  if  w«  oould  reafiae  dw  amount  of  patiesee  and  labaWt 
«nd  time  aad  mAney.  and  hope  and  ftar,  aad  MkoMa  of  haait, 

.Coo'jic 


SOS  1HIK08  OP  IMPOBTANOB. 

that  hare  had  lo  be  endured  before  a  single  item  in  tliat  lirt  isodd 
he  produced,  one  would  be  apt  to  wonder  that  the  madhouBeB  are 
not  as  wide  as  Topbet ;  and  yet  Dine-tenths  of  all  this  costly  laboor 
has  been  tn  vain,  and  comes  under  the  compendious  categorj  of 
■"  inventiona  that  did  not  answer." 

Bnt  still  these  things  are  hidden  from  our  eyes ;  for  if  there  wera 
no  man  to  undertake,  in  hope,  labour  that  appears  profitless  in  the 
ejes  of  others,  the  world  would  soon  come  to  a  dead  stand-still. 

King;  Solomon  was  wearied  for  want  of  some  business  of  bis  own 
to  transact.  He  was  a  bystander  in  the  game  of  life,  for  he  had 
soon  played  himself  ont;  and  that  accounts  for  the  terrible  sagacity 
with  which  he  discerns  the  worthlessness  of  all  that  is  done  under 
the  sun.  Sucb  a  keen  conviction  of  the  intrinsic  usclessness  of  all 
things  is  not  healthy  :  it  is  a  wisdom  not  intended  for  us. 

We  look  out  of  our  wind6w  at  the  people  passing  along  the  streets, 
and  sit  idly  in  judgment  on  their  personal  appearance  and  general 
aspect,  wiUiout  in  the  least  realising  that  they  are,  each  and  all, 
'  cherished  and  respectable  totalities  to  their  individual  selves — that 
there  is  a  personality  in  their  very  defects  infinitely  touching  to 
the  owners  thereof.  If  the  law  of  self  preservation  were  not  im~ 
planted  in  the  heart  of  each,  it  is  to  be  feared  very  fen  of  us  would 
stand  much  chance  of  salvation  if  we  got  into  danger. 

Every  man  feels  as  if  he  were  the  sole  person  in  the  universe; 
the  rest  of  the  inhabitants  have  only  a  real  existence  in  his  eyes 
ao  far  as  they  help  or  hinder  him  in  his  own  path ;  and  he  has 
merely  an  bistoricd  belief  in  thepersonalityof  themen  and  women 
who  do  not  come  near  him  :  himself  and  his  own  sensations  are  the 
only  points  he  realitei. 

Take  the  moat  insignifieant  traveller  who  ever  aet  foot  on  the 
deck  of  a  steamer,  and  aethimdownin  the  heart  of  all  the  Rusaias ; 
iriil  ho  feel  of  less  importance  in  bis  own  eyes  amongst  the  hundreds 
and  thousands  of  strange  beings  who  are  gabbling  their  uncouth 
dialects,  and  leading  their  lives  as  best  they  maj,  than  he  did 
when  in  hie  own  parlour,  his  feet  cased  in  their  worsted-work 
slippers,  his  coffee-pot  steaming  up  its  fragrance,  his  mufBu  over- 
flowing with  butter,  and  hia  well -trained  wife  down  stairs  to  the 
moment  to  preside  over  the  breakfast,  and  anxiously  inquiviog  what 
be  would  like  for  dinner  ?  Ko  : ,  never  a  bit  of  it.  He  is  always 
•ibe  same  man,  and  the  impression  people  and  things  make  upon 
him  is  the  only  idea  he  has  of  their  intrinsic  importance.  If  he 
write  a  book  about  what  he  has  seen,  he  will  appear  therein  as  the 


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centre,  whilst  the  rest  of  the  world  passes  like  a  panorama  before 
him. 

A  man's  sentiment  for  himself  never  foils. 
-  One  sometimes  wonders  that  the  world  does  not  get  out  of  patience 
with  the  foil;  and  stupidity  daily  transacted  upon  it ;  and  so,  no 
doubt,  it  would  (for  the  world  is  not  altogether  peopled  by  fools), 
but  every  man  is  patient  and  long-Buffering  towards  bis  own  share 
of  folly.  The  virtue  of  mankind  in  that  respect  is  certainly 
exemplary. 

Krerybody  is,  however,  of  importance  for  at  least  one  period  of 
their  lives  ;  and  that  is  whilst  they  are  Babies.  It  makes  one 
half  sorry  that  people  should  grow  up  into  hardened  men  and 
women. 

The  man  who  was  hanged  the  other  day  was  once  "  the  finest 
baby  that  ever  was  bom  ;"  and  it  would  be  possible  to  trace  back 
his  career,  step  by  step,  and  as  the  weight  of  every  day,  "  that 
brought  its  own  evil  with  it,"  was  cleared  away,  we  should  come 
at  last  to  the  human  nature  that  lay  beneath  the  human  heart  that  - 
called  our  own  brother. 

The  most  insignificant  people — peo|de  for  whom  their  neigh- 
bours feel  profound  contempt — have  a  soothing  beUef  in  a  special 
providence,  retained  expressly  to  attend  to  their  peculiar  egotisms  ; 
it  Is  lucky  this  source  of  comfort  cannot  fail,  for  if  it  were  given 
to  a  man  to  see  how  very  little  his  best  friend  identifies  himself 
with  his  interests,  he  would  never  have  the  heart  to  live  out  half 
his  days — it  would  be  an  unadulterated  truth  too  much  "  above 
proof"  for  mortal  senses  to  bear. 

Nature  is  very  good  to  all  her  children,  for  as  half  thehardships 
of  the  world  are  imaginary,  she  fences  men  round  with  an  armour 
of  hopes  and  delusions  to  keep  them  from  being  hurt,  or,  at  least, 
to  soften  the  pain.  It  behoves,  then,  every  man  to  deal  gently  by 
the  harmless  vanities  of  his  neighbour,  seeing  that  be  also  is 
encompassed  about  with  the  same.  There  is  nothing,  so  far  as  we 
can  pereeive,  amongst  the  afiairs  of  men,  of  sufficient  importance 
to  be  of  any  intrinsic  moment  to  the  well-being  of  the  universe  ; 
nothing  that  will  materially  influence  its  course.  Let  the  world  lay 
that  to  heart  and  grow  modest !  On  the  other  hand,  nothing  can 
he  considered  a  trijle  that  brings  either  joy  or  sorrow  to  the 
meanest  individual ;  therefore,  it  would  be  weil  if  each  one  of  us, 
instead  of  thinking  great  things  of  ourselves,  would  be  more 
tolerant  and  kindly-affectioned  to  each  other.      We  are  all  more 

NO.  XVI. — VOL.  III.  A  A  _ 


nearly  equal  tlum  we  may  b«  inclined  to  think.  If  we  were  to  do 
BH  the  apoBtle  recommended  dghteen  hundred  years  ago,  the  wo^ 
would  not  be  the  least  hit  nearer  the  pit  of  destroction  than  it  is 
noKi  that  the  people  in  it  u«  each  heroes  in  their  own  esteem  ; 
naj,  it  it  possible  that  things  might  work  more  smoothly,  and  thkt 
th»e  would  occur  fewer  of  "  Uioee  cataracts  and  breaks  "  which, 
as  it  is,  sometimea  threaten  to  throw  die  "  Umes  out  of  joint." 
6.  £.  J. 


"UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE." 


Our  fretted  palace-roof ; 
Well-spent,  say  I,  in  forestry, 

Were  all  Bummer  days  like  this  ; 
Till  wood-lamps  shine  and  owl-watchiaen  cry 

Through  oar  green  metropolis  1 
Like  thoBe  that  made  in  Arden  shade, 

Their  happy  court,  of  old. 
Let  Bs  "  fl^t  our  time  "  as  in  the  piime 

Of  the  innocent  age  of  gold : 
Each  made  wild  mayor  in  turn  as  'twere. 

O'er  "  the  forest  burghers  "  here ; 
That  will  obey  our  gentle  sway, 

Prom  love  and  not  from  fear. 
For  we  will  not  take,  for  our  pleasure's  sake. 

The  life  of  bird  or  beast  ; 
On  herb  and  fmit,  and  wholesome  root. 

In  guiltless  state  we  '11  feast. 
All  wearing  crowns,  that  bring  no  frowns, — 

Leaf-woven  diadems ; 
And  the  jewels  earth  nnmined  gives  forth, — 

Her  fragrant  surface-gems, 
0  wood  and  stream !  how  fair  a  dream — 

How  vain  a  dream  is  thin ! 
We  owe  our  life  to  Ihougblful  strife. 

With  woe  and  wickedness  : 
Man  must  not  spare  to  spell  with  care, 

And  work  out  God's  intent, — 
And  know  !     Thou  wilt  be  chaiged  with  guilt, 

Who  art  but  innocent. 

W.A. 


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BALTIMORE    SMITH. 

A  BKEICH  paOU  IHZ  FLEET. 

*'  The  fact  is,"  said  No.  5,  folding  hia  dingj-looking  dressing 
gown  over  his  kneei,  Bsd  raeeating  himself  in  the  eone-boUomed 
elbow  chair,  oppo^te  the  attorney, — "  the  fact  is,  that  without 
letting  you  into  mj  earlr  histiMT',  I  cannot  so  well  accounb  for 
my  being  here.  I  shall  however  be  as  brief  as  possible,  and  as 
jou  say  you  hare  no  other  partUt  to  meet  this  evening  it  will 
while  away  the  time  'till  nine  o'clock,"  and  Mr.  Baltimore  Bmitb, 
known  in  the  ptuiance  of  the  prison  iunctionaries  as  No.  5,  from 
the  situation  c^  the  Kpartment  he  occupied,  unburdened  himHlf  as 
follows : — 

"  I  first  saw  daylight  in  a  small  uid  dirty  court  in  Little 
Barlow  Street,  where  my  fadier  rented  a  cellar,  and  my  modier 
took  in  washing  and  lodgers. — I  have  no  recollection  of  the  stats 
(mental  or  physical)  which  we  distinguish  as  childhood.  As 
soon  as  I  could  speak,  I  ran  on  errands  to  the  chandler's  shop, 
and  finding  discotmt  exacted  of  my  miserable  little  body  for  every 
mistake  of  quantity  or  qaality  in  the  ha'p'orths  and  pennywortm 
for  which  I  was  sent,  I  fonnd  my  mind  charged  with  as  much 
care  and  cunning  at  five  years  old,  as  a  woridly  man  brought 
up  under  different  circumstances  is  consciona  of  at  fifty.  If 
arrested  by  a  game  at  chuck-farthing,  or  led  to  feast  on  the 
fresh  pea-shells  swept  from  the  greengrocer's  stall  into  the  street — 
while  I  watched  the  one,  cr  munched  the  other,  I  was  busied  in 
concocting  some  plausible  story  to  account  for  or  excuse  my 
delay.  1  was  always,  in  fact,  what  my  father  (who  followed  tiie 
profession  of  a  costermonger)  called  a  long-headed  fellow ;  and 
soon  discovered  the  necessity  of  assisting  him  in  his  efforts  to 
keep  that  and  the  rest  of  my  person  covered — a  work  of  some 
difficulty,  owing  to  the  increase  of  members,  and  competition  in 
his  trade.  Accwdingly,  when  my  arms  found  sufficient  strength 
to  lift  a  measure  of  onions  or  a  bunch  of  greens,  I  ran  along  by 
the  side  of  my  father's  hand-truck,  and  between  the  pauses  of  his 
stentorian  announcement  of  '  lilly  white  tumipt !  echoed  the 
.      Aa2 

Llg.i^lbyGoO'^lc 


356  BALTIKOBE  SMITH, 

cry  in  dio  shrillest  tones  of  my  little  wliistle  voice.  All  would  not 
do  howerer.  I  was  shoeless,  hatleas,  and  an  old  body-coat  ia 
which  I  was  equipped, — the  alirts  of  which  descended  to  my  heels, 
and  prevented  the  secessity  for  every  other  garment,  and  in 
which  I  trod  the  earth  looking  like  an  overgrown  crow  in  a 
pantomime — was  moulting  piecemeal,  and  threatened  very  Hbortly 
to  make  a  full  disclosure  of  my  circumstances.  In  this  dilemma 
'  the  child '  evinced  itself  the  '  father  of  the  man, '  and  my  wits 
being  sharpened  by  short  commons  and  a  north-oast  wind,  (it  tras 
midwinter  and  the  sale  of  vegetables  very  alow.)  I  resorted  to 
the  expedient  of  going  to  a  school  which  an  eccentric  old  lady 
had  started  b  opposition  to  the  clergyman  of  the  parish,  on 
condition  that  the  children  should  wear  an  uniform,  and  he  called 
tiie  brown-coat-boys.  Her  plans  had  been  so  combatt«d,  that 
even  the  limited  number  of  coats  she  had  provided  were  not 
all  filled  ;  and  hanng  washed  my  face  for  the  occasion,  and 
borrowed  a  suit  of  a  neighbour's  son,  that  no  suspicions  might 
be  awakened  as  to  my  real  object  in  desiring  to  be  enrolled, 
I  presented  myself  to  her,  unsupported  by  parents  or  friei^, 
boldly  relying  on  my  native  ingenuity  for  prevailing  on  her  gene* 
rous  nature.  I  had  not  miscalculated  my  powers  of  address,  and, 
penetrated  by  my  desire  to  pluck  the  tree  of  knowledge,  (in  the 
hope  of  its  leading  to  its  antediluvian  result,]  the  good  old  woman 
forthwith  placed  my  name  ou  her  list  of  protigit,  and  I  found 
myself  master  of  a  muffin-cap,  corduroy  trousers,  a  brown-coat, 
with  a  paucity  of  skirt,  and  two  shirts  with  an  amplitude  of 
collar ;  besides  warm  stockings,  and  a  substantial  pair  of  high- 
lows.  What  a  fit-out  for  a  boy  who,  as  I  before  said,  had  never 
known  the  comfort  of  a  whole  suit  1  But  in  this  transaction  I  had 
reckoned  without  mine  host,  and  having  attended  school  during 
the  slack  season  in  my  father's  tine,  I  bolted  as  soon  as  business 
grew  better,  hoping,  by  giving  a  confirmed  character  to  my  upper 
garment — which  now  vacillated  between  a  Prussian  jacket  and  a 
coatee,  in  fact,  by  cutting  off  the  suspicion  of  a  skirt — the  bud- 
ding tail  attached  to  it,  to  deceive  the  familiar  eye  of  beadles 
and  policemen  ;  but,  alas  .'  though  I  kept  out  of  the  way  for 
some  time,  taking  up  my  residence  at  an  old  chum's  in  Somers- 
town,  and  meeting  my  father  half-way  from  home,  I  was  at  last 
laid  hold  of  by  that  extremity  of  my  outward  habiliment,  where 
the  amputation  had  taken  place,  and  compelled  to  accompany  No> 
6  C  division  '  unwillingly  to  school. '    But  once  more  my  powers  of 


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A  BKSTCB  FBOH  THE  FLEET.  3S7 

Invention  Itefriended  me  with  Urs.  U&17  Baxter  Brown,  and  I 
drew  BO  pathetic  a  description  of  the  hard  usage  that  bad  obliged 
me  to  abandon  school  to  take  up  again  mj'  ancestral  borroir,  that 
the  poor  old  lady  pardoned,  with  moist  eyes,  mj  ahduotion  of  the 
brown  coat  and  cord  bracce  ;  which,  partlj  from  sympathy,  partly 
because  their  state  of  filth  and  mutilation  rendered  them  useless  to 
any  future  pupil,  I  was,  to  my  great  bodily  delight,  allowed  to 
retain.  The  chagrin  of  the  schoolmaster  and  policeman  wer«  per- 
fect— the  one  meditating  personal  reprisals  for  the  wholesome 
example  of  his  scholars,  the  other  anticipating  nothing  less  than  that 
a  charge  of  robbery  would  be  preferred  against  me.  My  patroness, 
however,  who  appeared  to  think  it  something  very  terrible,  desired 
me  to  consider  myself  dismissed  the  school  with  ignominy,  which 
was  about  as  good  as  telling  one  to  consider  himself  horse-whipped 
who  doesn't  even  feel  the  lasb.  I  was  about  to  boast  that  1  bad 
previously  dismissed  myself ;  but  not  feeling  the  remainder  of  my 
coat  and  other  vestments  secured  till  I  was  out  of  hearing  of  die 
precious  junto,  I  made  off,  leaving  the  brown-coats  and  their  col- 
leagues tion-sitiled.  After  this  I  feit  the  necessity  of  being  cau- 
tious,— for  the  police  never  forgive  you  if  you  are  fortunate 
enough  to  disappoint  them  ;  and  having  icamed  sufficient  at  school 
to  teach  me  that  a  long  head  is  just  as  useful  as  a  long  arm  for 
all  the  purposes  of  acquisition,  and  much  safer,  I  resolved  not  to 
lose  anything  that  I  had  learned  ;  for  this  purpose,  I  daily  sub- 
tracted a  few  pence  from  the  proceeds  of  the  vegetables  I  was 
entrusted  to  sell,  and  kept  up  my  writing  and  arithmetic.  I  know 
not  whether  this  system  materially  interfered  with  my  father's 
profit :  but  his  stock  degenerated  each  week,  till  at  last  his  cus- 
tomers deserted  him.  About  this  time,  too,  my  mother,  who  fM"  a 
long  period  had  lived  on  little  else  but  'cream  chF  the  valley, 'died  of 
imhihition  ;  leaving  us,  in  what  Walker  pronounces  a  familiar 
phrase  for  being  in  difficulty — hterally,  the  suds.  In  these  troubles 
we  resorted  to  a  mode  of  raising  subsidies,  now,  not  only  popular 
but  prevalent  amongst  the  lower  classes — we  raffled  away,  piece- 
nieal,  whatever  remained  of  any  perceivable  value,  from  the  old 
Dutch  clock  that  through  my  moUier's  time  (when  not  enjoying  a 
recess  at  the  pawnbroker's)  hod  ticked  on  as  ceaseless  as  the  good 
woman's  tongue,  and  to  about  as  much  purpose^ striking  every 
hour  but  the  right  one,  to  the  lop-eared  rabbits  my  father  so 
prided  himself  on,  and  bad  bred  and  fed  with  a  view  to  prizes. 
The  method  is,  to  procure  as  many  members  at  a  Bhilluig  o' 


sn 

sixpence  each,  u  vill  coTer  tlie  smonnt  at  vhioh  jaa  TtAas  die 
article  in  qneBtion.  In  this  lait  instance  eighteen  members  sub- 
scribed sixpence  eaeh  (tbe  winner  to  pay  s  shilling),  tmd  all  being 
assembled  in  my  father's  cellar,  the  throwing  began — on  old  black- 
ing-bottle  serving  the  purpose  of  a  dice-box.  In  Uiis  way  he 
obtained  nine  ehiUiogs  for  his  last  rabbit,  a  very  different  price 
from  what  a  dealer  would  have  given  him  ;  but  as  it  proved  bat 
dry  amusement  to  tbe  losers,  it  became  imperative  on  him  to 
quench  their  thirst,  so  that  ia  the  end  the  ooosumption  of  beer 
caused  so  twioiia  an  aberration  (^  the  sixpokoes,  that  a  headache 
horn  the  over-night's  repletion,  and  an  empty  hutch,  was  all  that 
Temained  in  evidence  of  the  raffle.  Having  by  these  means  qnita 
cleared  out  our  imderground  abode,  it  became  necessary  to  diveat 
it  of  ourselves  also ;  and  a  little  affair  of  back-rent  making  it 
inconvenient  for  my  father  to  iaforin  the  landlord  of  his  intentio&i 
we  dipped  away  to  free  quarters  ia  Qoodman's-fieids,  which  an 
acquaintance  of  my  father's,  about  to  moke  s(Hne  involuntary 
researches  in  Australia,  had  just  vacated. 

"  I  shall  pass  over  the  many  shifts  to  which  we  were  reduced 
to  support,  existence — our  life  in  Borlow-street  hod  been  magni- 
ficent compared  with  that  which  followed  ;  for,  as  I  remember 
hearing  a  lad  inform  a  magistrate  who  asked  him  how  he  got  his 
living, — '  we  chanced  it,'  and  a  very  unsatisfactory  speculodon  it 
proved.  Whenever  a  fortunate  errand  made  me  tnaater  of  a  few 
pence,  I  tamed  fruit  merchant ;  and  stocking  a  basket  with  a  few 
oranges  or  apples,  disguised  the  poverty  of  my  venture  by  crying, 
'  Now,  who'll  buy  the  lajit  twopenny  worth'  of  whatever  it  might 
contain — a  rute  that  rarely  f^ed  in  finding  me  a  purchaser 
amongst  those  believers  in  bargains  who  put  their  ftuth  in  fag- 
ends  and  remnauta.  I  soon  found  that  cushsows  never  think  they 
can  have  too  much  for  their  money  ;  and  that  in  proportion  to  the 
T^idor's  distress,  they  calculate  their  choncei  of  }Hv£t ;  and  tlie 
hint  was  not  lost  upon  me.  Hy  oranges  grew  more  after  they 
hod  left  St.  Botolph's-lone  than  they  had  ever  done  in  FM-tngal 
or  St.  Michael's  ;  and  the  most  indifferent- looking  fruit,  once  it 
had  entered  my  premises,  by  the  simple  process  ol  pricking  the 
tind,  and  immersing  it  in  warm  water,  came  forth  in  the  most  pro- 
mising condition,  large,  juicy,  and  thin  skinned,  patting  to  shame 
the  proportions  of  those  offered  by  other  itinerants  at  the  same 
price.  I  may  remark,  en  pattant,  that  it  was  not  prudent  to 
appear  frequently  on  the  some  beat.     SomeUmes  in  the  spring 


A   SEKTCR  PaOM  THE  FLEET.  3S9 

mornings  we  trudged  as  many  as  ten  or  fifteen  miles  to  fill  our 
buketi  with  early  primroaeB  from  tbe  aheltered  woods  and  lanes 
in  Essex,  and  vended  them  in  the  darksome  alleys  of  Shoreditch 
and  Spitalfietda,  a  penny  a  root,  to  poor  wearing  girls  with  faces 
pallid  aa  the  flowers  ;  at  otners,  we  hired  ourselves  to  Messrs. 
Abraham  and  Son,  and  perambnlated  the  streets — rolumes  of 
humanity  bound  in  boards  ;  at  others,  took  part  in  a  procession  of 
hand-bills,  or  masqueraded  for  an  '  old-established  ironmongery 
warehouse,'  as  tea-canisters  and  coffee-pots.  At  length  I  was 
fortmiate  enough  to  gain  the  notice  of  an  old  gentleman,  whose 
horse  I  oocaBionally  held  when  visiting  his  factory  in  our  neigh- 
bourhood ;  and  Uiough,  Qod  knows,  little  description  was  neces- 
sary to  illustrate  my  condition  at  this  time,  I  did  not  prove  unjust 
to  my  talent  of  oolonnng  when  the  old  man's  inquiries  gave  me 
Ihe  opportunity  of  exhibiting  it.  My  recital  ended  in  my  being 
instidled  to  an  hmnble  post  in  the  factor's  house,  from  which  I 
rose  to  fill  no  legitimate  situation,  but  to  monopolise  the  duties  of 
h^-a-doien — valet,  clerk,  butler ;  in  a  word,  factotum  of  fhe 
establishment,  and  made  myself  so  useful  to  the  old  man  that 
nothing  was  done  in  which  I  had  not  a  voice ;  but,  instead  of  find- 
ing myself  loaded  with  benefits,  in  return,  for  voluntarily  loading 
myself  with  the  business  of  others — would  you  believe  it — the  old 
hunks,  at  his  death,  though  without  child  or  connexion,  cut  me  off 
irith  mourning  and  a  fifty  pound  note,  leaving  the  balk  of  his 
property  to  hospitals,  and  a  few  hundreds  to  his  housekeeper.  I 
must  lay,  his  ingratitude  greatly  shocked  me,  though  I  had  hap- 
pily  taken  care  of  myself ;  and  being  possessed  (as  I  need  not  tell 
you)  of  a  radier  agreeable  person,  I  readily  conceived  a  plan  to 
make  the  housekeeper's  legacy  mine  also.  She  was  old  enough 
to  be  my  grandmother,  it  is  true,  and  the  victim  of  a  heart  disease 
which  the  doctor  who  attended  my  master  informed  me  would  take 
her  off  upon  the  least  excitement ;  but  Qua  proved  no  disconragement 
to  my  design  ;  and  having  always  been  courteous  to  her,  (knowing 
she  possessed  some  interest  with  the  old  gentleman,)  my  attention 
to  her  now  did  not  rabe  any  disagreeable  suspicions  of  my  motives ; 
in  fact,  she  proved  as  winable  as  a  girl  of  fifteen,  and  we  were 
married.  She  had  not,  however,  acted  aa  disinterestedly  as  I 
fancied  she  would  have  done,  in  consideration  of  the  sacrifice  I 
made,  but  had  settled  more  than  half  of  a  very  pretty  little  pro- 
perty on  herself,  with  even  the  right  of  willing  it  as  she  pleased  ; 
so  that  I  felt  an  unpleasant  check  upon  my  conduct  to  her,     A 


duun,  tliough  it  be  made  of  g)Ai,  ia  gaHing  when  it  fetters  os  ; 
sod  the  many  opportunitiea  of  domestic  excitement  which  I  had 
proposed  to  mjsdf,  seemed,  however  natura!,  uosafe  under  these 
Gircumstsnces ;  so  I  became  a  pattern  of  conjugalism,  and  the. 
result  was  that  my  revered  wife,  in  the  ardour  of  gratitude, 
made  a  will  in  my  fovour,  and  within  a  week  afterwards  de- 
mised of  palpitation,  produced  by  running  down  Greenwich- 
hill  in  a  fit  of  fair-time  enthuBiasm.  '  Peace  to  her  ashes  1' 
I  contracted  for  an  economical  hearse,  and  a  spot  in  Spa- 
fields;  for,  poor  thing,  she  had  alnays  held  with  principles 
of  Bavingness  through  life,  and  I  had  respect  to  her  prejudices 
afterwards.  Meantime,  my  ambitioo.  grew  with  my  fortune,  and, 
X  began  turning  over  how  I  might  best  increase  it  with  the- 
least  fear  of  loss,  and  most  profit  to  myself.  I  had  not  sufBcient 
capital  to  go  into  a  large  way  of  business  ;  with  peddUng 
I  had  become  disgusted  ;  and  my  inTtate  knowledge  of  human 
nature  made  me  mistrustful  of  the  prudence  of  partnership. 
Besides,  I  had  other  notions.  I  had  grown  out  of  the  recollection 
of  all  the  Little  Barlow-street  people,  and  my  improved  dress,  and 
address,  had  made  so  radical  an  alteration  in  me,  that  1  might 
hare  bought  oranges  of  my  old  compeers  in  Goodman 's-fields, 
without  any  fear  of  recognition.  How  easy,  theu,  to  cast  the- 
sloagh  of  my  humble  origin,  and  come  forth  as  distinct  a  being  as 
the  bright-winged  insect  from  the  filthy  grub !  To  he  brief,  I  n» 
sooner  planned  than  I  executed  ;  threw  myself  with  my  personal 
effects  into  a  cab  ;  drove  to  a  west-end  tailor's  ;  equipped  a  dress- 
ing case  at  Hendrie's  ;  took  a  quiet  lodging  in  Salisbury-street, 
and  had  a  name-plate  engraved  *  Baltimore  Smith,  Esq.,'  though 
hitherto  I  had  known  myself  and  been  known  simply  as  Hooky 
Snooks.  In  changing  my  cognomen,  or  in  any  other  part  of  my 
proceedings,  I  had  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  make  the  old  man 
a  party  concerned  :  indeed,  I  had  not  seen  him  for  some  months ; 
for  in  consequence  of  hard  times,  and  a  severe  accident,  he  had 
become  a  member  of  the  '  house  ;'  and,  as  early  associations  are 
the  pleasantest  to  old  people,  and  almost  all  his  Esrlow-court' 
acquaintances  (with  the  exception  of  certain  patriots)  who,  like  the- 
renowned  Barrington,  '  hod  left  their  country  for  their  country'^ 
good, '  were  there  also,  I  did  not  disturb  him. 

"  I  did  not  yet,  however,  clearly  see  my  way  to  the  sort  of  specu- 
lation X  desired.  I  looked  about,  but  none  of  the  advertised 
humbugs  of  the  day,   that  promised  with  a  '  small  outlay  and. 


A  SKETCH  FKOU  THE  FLEET,  301 

Jiroper  attention '  to  reaUse  a  fortane  in  a  eliort  time,  were  to  mj 
mind,  I  preferred  obtainiog,  as  a  much  easier  and  eipedi^ous 
method,  the' fortnnea,  or  eVen  a  moietj  of  them,  that  other  men 
had  made ;  and,  becomiog  acquainted  with  two  or  three  aimiUrly 
situated  and  congenial  apirita  with  mjBelf,  we  aoon  after  con- 
certed a  scheme  that  seemed  admirably  adapted  to  work  out  our 
viewB.  We  started  a  '  Loan  Society.'  You  stare,  aa  if  there  was 
nothing  verj  ingenious  In  this  deyice  ;  and  in  truth  these  concema 
have  become  as  common  in  low  neighbourhoods,  of  late,  as  gin- 

Ealacea,  pawnbrokers,  or  the  public-houses  where  thej  are  ordinarily 
eld.  But  then,  sir,  it  is  in  the  working  of  them  that  the  art  con- 
asta.  Our  prMpectna  (though  my  own  production)  was,  I  must 
confess,  one  of  die  most  perfect  things  I  have  trrer  mat  wik  in 
the  shape  of  pofiery ;  the  philanthroi^  of  our  intentions  was 
beautiful  I  A  company  of  Howards  could  not  have  eipaliated  more 
feelingly  on  the  necessity  of  reHcning  the  stmggUng  tradesman 
from  impending  ruin,  or  have  drawn  a  m<n«  delightful  picture  of  the 
benefit  we  meditated  to  the  needy  widow  or  the  distressed  artban, 
by  the  advance  of  small  sums  to  be  returned  by  nnfelt  instalments. 
But  pending  the  adrertisement  of  this  address,  I  and  my  colle^ues, 
whose  united  capital  did  not  in  reality  amount  to  mere  than  400/., 
(we  hadmadeit  appear  twice  that  sum  in  figures)  were  busily  on  the 
look-out  for  suitable  parties  to  furnish  the  means  of  commencing  our 
scheme  ;— sanguine  young ^ente.  and  avaricious  old  ones,  posses^g 
a  little  ready  money,  and  an  inordinate  desire  to  increase  it ;  men 
who  looked  at  no  other  consideration  than  the  amount  of  profit, 
and  felt  no  scruples  of  the  good  faith  or  fair  dealings  of  a  concern 
that  promised  to  return  30  per  cent,  interest.  These  we  were  not 
long  in  finding,  and  began  business  by  discounting  bills  at  the 
above  premium.  Ten  per  cent,  we  were  to  share  half-yearly,  and, 
deducting  5  for  necessary  expenses,  a  bonus  of  15  would  remain  ; 
but  this,  in  our  anticipative  wisdom,  it  waa  determined  should 
only  be  divided  every  four  years. 

"  Here,  then,  waa  our  money-making  machine  fairly  in  action, 
and  we  minted  aomethbg  considerable,  I  can  tell  you ;  for  beudes 
bill-disconnting,  we  had  more  applications  for  loans  than  we  had 
the  means  of  answering,  charging  at  the  rate  of  10  per  cent,  for 
sums  under  10^.,  and  aa  much  more  as  we  pleased  for  la^^r  ones 
— the  '  Albert  and  Victoria  Equitable  I/oan  Society,'  a  fine  name 
sir,  oud  a  take-in  one  as  it  proved.  We  had  soon  no  end  of 
applications  &om  gentlemen's  servants,  persons  holding  inferior 


SIB  BALTIKOKB  IIQTH, 

gOTemment  utuatifme,  or  appoimtments  in  the  UrwBt  oonrta  of 
law,  anxioaB  to  inTast  their  eaviogi  in  bo  InorfttiTe  and  fioiuiah- 
ing  a  coDcera  ;  and  with  a  laudable  deBire  to  benefit  our  tpeeiea 
we  admitted  them.  In  the  meanwhile,  I  had  managed  to  havw 
mjself  appointed  manager,  while  mf  three  confidant*  figured, 
one  as  treaaurer,  the  others  as  tnutees  ;  so  that  we  had  the  whole 
affikir  in  our  own  hands,  beaidea  being  handsomely  pud  for  hidd- 
ing  office.  Po8iti»ely,  when  I  think  of  the  nnbnsiDesB-like  con- 
duct of  these  men — thor  facile  gullibility  and  blind  confidence, 
1  take  Kone  credit  to  mjself  for  having  assisted  in  teaching  them 
a  great  moral  lesson,  which,  in  spite  of  their  natural  obtDseneiia, 
the  emptiness  of  their  pockets  will  for  some  lame  remind  them  ofL 
So  wdl-conducted  and  profitable  an  eatablishment,  managed 
by  such  honest  and  respcctabte  men,  caused  quite  a  plethory  ckC 
trustingness  amongst  them,  and  these  sapient  riutreholders  made 
nothing  of  agreeing  to  rules  which  they  had  ne*er  read,  and  aigning 
accounts  which  they  had  never  seen — reljring  on  the  authority 
of  the  auditor  as  a  sufScient  guarantee  for  their  oMreetoew. 
Ueanwhile  we,  the  manager,  treasurer,  and  trustees,  wiUidrew 
our  original  investments,  Bhariog  the  poetical  portion  of  thera 
with  great  exactitude,  and  taking  owe  to  put  fresh  stock  in  tlie 
book  ;  which,  1  need  hardly  say,  never  found  its  way  to  the  bank. 
This  ruie,  however,  was  perfectly  successful :  it  encouraged  the  old 
speculators,  and  decoyed  new  :  while  from  oar  imaginary  captal 
we  continued  to  draw  solid  dividends,  adding  each  time  to  our 
traditional  stock.  In  this  way  things  flooiishcd  for  nearly  three 
years  ;  when ,  aa  if  to  show  that  even  the  '  Equitable  Society  '  was 
not  exempt  from  the  mutations  that  cliaractcrise  all  hnman 
undertakings,  one  or  other  of  the  shareholders,  roused  by  some 
horrid  newspaper  report  or  other  alarmist,  began  to  make  some 
pertinent,  or  rather  impertinent  inqniries  as  to  the  amount  of 
stock  in  the  bank — the  sum  paid  in  from  borrowers  every  week; 
— hinting,  that  though  he  had  seen  the  monthly  report  he  had  not 
paid  parttcutar  attention  to  it.  Of  course  he  was  furnished  with  a 
satisfactory  account  ;  but  the  man  hod,  it  seemed,  suddenly  cut 
his  vrisdom-teeth,  for  he  absolutely  made  the  discovery  that 
the  weekly  receipts  did  not  cwreapond  with  the  omoout  i^ 
capital.  How  I  wished  that  I  was  possessed  of  the  eye- 
pressure  power  the  heroes  of  modern  novels  exhibit,  for  then 
I  would  have  'annihilated  him  with  a  look.'  As  it  was,  I  had 
nothing    for    it   but  to    put  on   the    my  blandest   expresHon, 


A  SKETCH  FIWH  TBS  FLBBT.  SQ8 

and  expliua  awaj  hb  little  nusooDO^tioiiB.  '  He  liad  been 
nnforUuiBte  in  tuoking  bin  eiamiofttioii  at  a  very  dull  time 
— if  he  vuted  till  the  next  numtfa,  a  number  i^  bills  were 
.due,  and  he  would  £nd  the  money  eotne  in  again  ; '  and  la 
for  a  time  hie  qualms  were  quieted.  When,  however,  a  few 
months  bad  el^aed,  the  mistroet  of  the  man's  character 
broke  out  again,  and  what  was  worse,  he  inoculated  the  rest  with 
his  BospiciouB.  In  ran  the  advent  of  the  promised  bonus  pre- 
sented itself  (perspectivel;) ;  the  HhareholderB  grew  clamorous  for 
tangible  poBBessioQ,  and  intiated  on  withdrawing  their  monc^ — 
a  scheme  quite  at  variance  with  our  rules,  under  a  certain  length 
of  notice,  and  peculiarly  awkwu^  at  any  time,  as  half  the  stock 
extant  on  the  Society's  books  had  no  <rther  existence  than  a 
figurative  one.  In  this  dilemma  it  was  h<^les«  to  fisBHse ;  th^«- 
f^,  during  tiie  month  tiiat  elapsed  between  the  form  of  giving 
notice,  and  its  fruition  in  the  shape  of  returned  shares,  we,  tiie 
maDager,  treasurer,  and  b-ust^es,  declared  the  '  Equitable  Loan 
Society '  to  be  defunct ;  and,  divesting  ourselves  *rf  all  official 
BCCOuntaUeness  ooonected  therewith,  retired  into  the  quietude  of 
private  life,  oonsiderably  enriched  by  the  spoliation  of  these  nn- 
oonscionable  speculators,  whose  rapaelty  had  hitherto  prevented 
them  from  discovering  that  throughout  the  affair  they  had  been 
participating  in  illegal  lucre,  and  tiiat  the  percentage  charged  hy 
tiie  '  Eqoitable  Society '  was  considerably  over  that  which  is  r»< 
eognised  by  the  Act  of  Parliament.  Finding  no  legal  redress  left 
to  them,  they  had  tiie  modesty  to  propose  a  compromiBe  ;  an  in- 
vitation that  of  course  I  and  my  colleagues  decUued  on  ptvtcipls, 
as  involving  the  compromise  of  ourselves  both  in  cash  and  charac- 
ter, neither  of  which  we  could  afford.  After  this,  I  tried  various 
projects,  but  with  littio  suecesi.  Those  horrid  '  Equitahles ! '  every- 
where they  had  spread  the  name  of  Baltimore  Smith;  and,  because 
I  happened  to  have  managed  the  concern  for  Ibem,  tiirew  the 
whole  responmbility  upon  my  shoulders,  and  in  every  public-house 
they  entered,  and  throughout  their  clubs,  morbidly  attributed  its 
fiuluro  to  me.  For  some  time,  therefore,  I  remained  in  unprofit- 
able seclusion,  vainly  racking  my  ingenuity  for  a  scheme  ol  com- 
fortable maintenance  at  the  smallest  possible  outiay  of  personal 
trouble  and  eipense.  At  length  I  conceived  the  notion  of  an 
agency  office,  and  had  even  prepared  a  number  of  the  most  eligible 
advertisements  to  be  fairly  copied  on  showy  cards,  and  relieved  by 
a  erimson  show-board,  when  the  fellow  with  whom  I  was  in  treaty 


361  BALTIUORE   BUITH,   A   SKETCH  FROM  TH£  FLEET. 

for  a  front  window  insolently  demanded  if  I  was  the  man  who  hat( 
Ifitclj  managed  the  Equitnhle  Loan  Society  ?  becanee,  if  BO — but 
I  did  not  wait  to  hear  the  remainder  of  his  ill-bred  jargon,  but 
iiicontineatlj  broke  ofF  my  nogotiatiou,  determined  to  have  nothing* 
more  to  do  with  him.  Foiled  in  my  (by  no  means  unprecedented) 
device  of  supporting  myself  on  three-and-sizpennj  and  fire-shilling 
subsidies  extracted  from  cooks,  clerks,  ladies'  maids,  companions, 
governesses,  &c.,  I  remembered  with  gratitude  a  means  that  had 
not  before  struck,  me,  and  to  which  I  immediately  applied.  Pre-^ 
vious  to  the  closing  of  the  '  Equitable '  I  had,  by  an  oversight 
conseqaent  to  the  confiision  of  the  establishment  at  the  time,  put 
paid  to  divers  of  the  bills  standing  in  the  Society's  books,  at  the 
same  time  transcribing  them  into  one  of  my  own,  without  this 
little  memorandum  attached  ;  and  in  my  present  eiigenciea  (for  I 
had  got  thjough  a  great  part  of  my  property  in  building  and  other 
speculations  which  I  could  no  longer  go  on  with)  I  determined  to 
test  the  efficacy  of  this  fortuitous  arrangement.  So,  copying  out 
two  or  three  of  the  accounts,  I  dropped  in  upon  the  debtors,  and 
where  ten  pounds  were  due  I  desired  them  to  pay  me  eight ; 
where  eight,  six,  and  so  on,  giving  them  a  receipt  in  full,  beadeB 
relieving  them  from  the  espense  of  fines,  i;e.,  consequent  on  not  hav- 
ing kept  their  instalments  regularly  paid.  In  this  way  I  contrived 
to  live  for  some  time  ;  but  the  '  Equitables '  having  got  hold  of  it, 
drove  me  from  this  resonrce  also,  and  hurried,  I  have  no  doubt,  the 
crisis  of  my  disastera.  With  the  power  of  drawing  realities  from 
idealism,  had  departed  the  means  of  paying  workmen,  or  of 
purchasing  materials  for  finishing  the  houses  I  had  in  hand  ;  be- 
sides being  heavily  in  arrears  with  the  architect,  who,  having  found 
out  how  matters  stood  with  me,  seized  upon  the  buildings  die  very 
day  I  had  succeeded  in  mortgaging  them,  with  the  intention  >of 
taking  a  passage  by  the  Great  Weetem,  and  trying  my  fortune  in 
the Neir World.  Instead  ofwhich,"addedMr.  Baltimore  Smith,  with 
a  dolorous  sinking-down  of  voice,  and  lengthy  expresuon  of  counten- 
ance, "  I  find  myself  an  inmate  of  this  objectionable  place, — n 
German  professor  of  the  cornopean  for  my  chum,  and  but  small 
hopes  of  speedily  obtaining  my  certificate-— time,  opportunity,  and 
health,  all  wasting — for  to  a  man  of  my  active  habits,  this  seden- 
tary life  is  dreadful ;  and  though,  to  be  sure,  I  have  the  option  of 
taking  exercise  in  the  yard,  there  is  no  knowing  who  one  might  meet 
there  ;  and  to  be  recognised  hereafter  as  aFleet  prisoner— faugh!'' 
And  the  gentleman's  disgust  shivered  every  fold  of  his  well-worn 


TE   THBSE  TOTCSB.  36JI 

dresdng-gown.  "  I  cannot  recoucUe  it  to  m;  prejudices.  What  is 
it  to  me,  KT,  that  the  nephew  of  mj  Lord  Littlegood  is  mj 
neighbour  on  the  one  hand,  and  an  honourable  lord  himseu 
on  the  other.  That  irill  not  soften,  in  the  estimation  of  honest 
in«n,  the  ill  repute— the  felonious  sound — the  name  of  prison 
carries  with  it  I  But  I  beg  pardon,"  he  continued,  insert- 
ing a  few  slender  sticks  into  the  dirtiest  of  grates,  beneath  the 
foulest  of  tin  coffee-pots,  "  you  will  share  mj  simple  beverage  ;  I 
find  the  lightest  diet  the  best  adapted  to  mj  inactive  habits."  And, 
on  '  hospitable  cares  intent,'  Ur.  Baltimore  Smith  set  forth  two 
odd  cups,  and  a  pink  packet,  marked  '  soluble  cocoa, '  from  a 
comer  cupboard,  and  was  about  to  ring  for  two  rolls  from  the 
kitchen,  when  all  tmexpectediy  to  him,  the  sentence,  *  All  out  I 
All  out  I '  sounded  through  the  gloomy  length  of  the  coffee  gallery ; 
and  the  attorney,  who  had  offered  not  a  single  comment  on  the 
history  he  had  heard,  laid  his  hand  (as  in  duty  bound)  on  that  of 
his  client,  and  departed. 

C.  W. 


V  THREE  VOYCES. 

T;  glasse  was  at  my  lippe, 

ClesT  spjrit  sparkliuge  was  ; 
I  was  abont  to  sippe, 

When  a  voyce  came  from  y*  glasse — 
"  And  wonld'st  then  have  a  rosie  nose  I 
A  blotched  &ce  and  vacant  eye  1 
A  shaky  frame  that  feebly  goes  ! 
A  form  and  feature  alls  awiy  1 
A  body  lack'd  with  rheumy  paine  ) 
A  burnt  op  stomach,  fever'd  braine ! 
A  maddie  mind  that  cannot  thinke ! 
Then  drinke— drinke— drinke  !  " 
Thus  spoke  y"  voyce  and  iledde, 

Nor  any  more  did  say ; 
But  I  IboQght  on  what  it  saide,  ' 

And  threw  y'  glasse  awaye. 
T'  pipe  was  in  my  mouthe, 

Y'  first  clonde  o'er  me  broke ; 
1  was  to  blow  another. 

When  a  voyce  came  from  y'  smoke  I 


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Coow,  thii  nniBt  be»  fao&s«  ; — 

Tbeo  1  'U  inaSe  if  I  nuv  not  smoke  ; 
But  a  vovce  came  from  y *  boxe, 
And  tfius  these  voyoe*  •poke  : — 
"  And  w»tild'«t  tboa  have  a  twimmie  hedde, 
A  imokie  breoih  and  bkcken'd  toothe  t 
And  wonld'at  thoa  have  thy  freshneaa  &de, 

And  wrinkle  up  thy  leafe  of  youtbe  I 
Wonld'st  thou  h>Te  toy  vo^ce  to  lose  its  tone. 
Thy  hesTeoly  note,  a  bagpipe's  drone  1 

If  than  wantd'st  th;  heklth'e  chwineb  choke, 
Then  smoke — imoke— smoke  ! 
The  pipe*  of  thy  tweet  mnsick  itaSa, 
Then  sDoffa — mnffe — HmfTe  ] " 
Thai  ^Kike,  and  fledde  they  both. 

Glaaae,  pipe,  boie.  in  a  daye. 
To  loae  tiiem  waa  1  lostb, 
Yet  I  threw  them  olie  atraye. 
O,  wonid  we  be  alle  health,  alle  lightnesse, 
Alle  youth,  alle  eweetnesse,  freshnesse,  brightnesse 
Seeing  thmngh  eTerything, 
With  mindea  like  y*  crystal  springe  ! 
0,  would  we  be  just  right  enough  ! 
Not  drinke — not  smoke — not  snufie  ; 
Then  would  our  forward  coniM 

To  y*  right  be  u  natuiall 
As  it  19  withontea  force, 
For  Btoues  downwarde  to  falle. 


THE  RELIGION  OF  INDUSTEY. 

Thbkb  is  a  religion  in  industry  that  if  more  recognised  would 
sanctify  and  ennoble  the  working  daaa.  Mid  exalt  labour,  as 
attractive,  honourable,  and  sacred.  An  old  proae  poet  writes 
truly  :  "  God  ia  well  pleased  with  honest  works  ;  he  suffers  the 
labouring  man  who  ploughs  the  eaiih  to  call  hia  life  most  noble  : 
if  he  is  good  and  true  he  offers  continual  sacrifice  to  Qod,  and  is 
not  30  lustrous  in  his  dress  as  in  his  heart." 

To  labour  is  to  pray.  Industry  is  cultus,  culture,  worship. 
Works  material  as  well  as  spiritual  ore  acceptable  to  the  common 
Father  and  Mother— God  and  Natare.     The  legislation  of  God 

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THE  MOMKOI   OF  Iin>(IBTRY.  367 

tmd  the  kws  of  Natwe  ue  one.  Bj  them  are  the  indvstrioiu 
benefited.  Bj  them  mre  the  idle  condemned.  The  laws  of 
Nature  ever  reward  obedienoe  to  God'g  tegislation,  ^ver  poni^ 
disobedience  to  the  Divine  Lavgifer.  Do  aotbing  and  thoa  shalt 
rpt.  Lie  s^  and  the  rultureB  shall  hover  orer  thee  aB  over  a 
corpse.  But,  up  and  be  doing !  and  thy  shadow  shall  groir 
long.  That  road  which  thou  treadest  shall  remember  thy  full 
stature.  That  silvern-leaved  larch  may  darken  thy  shadowy  shape 
for  a  while  ;  but  while  that  stayest  thou  sLalt  go  on.  Each  step 
that  thou  takest  into  the  purple  evening  fiom  that  golden  noon 
shall  make  thy  shadow  grow  more  vast  iiBtil  black  nigbt  comes. 

Prayer  is  not  confined  to  words.  The  tme  liturgy  is  daily 
effort.  That  rubric  of  every-day  virtuoos  endeavours  is  the 
brightest  page  of  thy  miwal.  Prme  and  trsia  that  buddy  vine 
aright  upon  the  sunning  wall,  aad-  thou  acteat  a  prayer  for  grapes 
in  purple  clusters.  Thy  wine-vats  fnll  and  richly  flavoured,  and 
thy  goblets  for  thee  and  for  thy  friends,  bubbling  up  bright  red 
beads  to  the  brim,  shall  be  God's  answer  to  tliy  rightly  prayed 
prayer.  Go  also  into  that  garden  and  dig.  Every  spadefull  that 
thou  diggest  shall  thus  pray  : — 

"  Oh,  Divine  Seedsman  I  Grant  by  this  effort  that  the  seed 
which  may  he  here  may  flourish  ;  that  it  may  swell  and  pulp  ; 
that  it  may  sprout  and  grow  ;  that  its  plumula  may  rise  upward, 
and  its  radicle  tend  downward  ;  that  its  leaves  may  open  to  day- 
light ;  that  it  may  bnd  and  blossom,  and  that  it  may  seed  again, 
and  supply  all  thy  children,  with  bread,  oh.  Common  Parent  ! '' 

Such  is  the  true  and  beautiful  prayerfiilness  of  industry.  They 
who  can  receive  this  can  understand  the  grand  affirmation  of 
those  old  monks  who  established  agricultiu'c  throughout  Europe — 
Laborare  eit  orare.    "  To  labour  is  to  pray." 

While  musing  on  the  religion  of  industry,  I  saw  a  vision  as  in 
the  sky.  There  seemed  first  one  reading  a  Bible,  and  one  came 
to  him  begging,  yet  he  raised  not  his  eyes  from  the  book  to  give 
to  him  that  begged.  And  I  heard  a  roiee  eiclaim,  "  The  letter 
killeth,  but  the  spirit  maketh  alive." — "  Faith  without  works  is 
dead."  And  a  dull  leaden  cloud  passed  over.  There  appeared 
again  in  the  sky  like  one  in  a  market-place  giving  to  a  beggar, 
while  many  looked  on.  And  I  heard  a  voice  e;tclaim,  "  Thou 
thief,  thou  art  giving  that  which  is  not  thine,  but  which  thou  hast 
stolen  from  that  beggar.  Justice  before  charity  !  "  And  a  light 
vaporous  cloud  flitted  past.  And  once  more  I  saw  in  the  sky  a 
company  as  of  one  family,  brothers  and  sisters,  working  together 


in  a  garden  without  hedge  or  pale,  and  eating  togetiier  of  tb» 
fruits  of  the  garden.  And  there  was  no  beggar,  nor  thief,  nor 
selfiah  one.  And  I  heard  a  voice  eiclaitaiag,  "  This  is  the 
Pamdlae  of  works ;  these  are  my  beloved  in  whom  I  am  well 
pleased."  And  the  sun  arose  and  shone  in  splendour  over  all 
theeartb. 

QooDwm  Bakhbbt. 


UABIANA  RESTOBED. 

AoiiHST  the  marble  balnstrade, 

The  peacock  dipped  his  pornle  train  ; 
The  foDDtoin  o'er  its  haain  mads 

A  gentle  shower  of  cooling  rain ; 
Through  pleasant  bowers,  with  jasmine  staiied, 

Bine  spaces  oped,  to  glance  and  wink  ; 

And  here  and  there,  with  meny  chink. 
The  blithe  grasshopper  thrilled  the  sward. 
Each  day  the  chambers  of  the  hall, 

With  light  and  frequent  step  she  trod ; 
The  portraits  on  the  puielled  wsll 

Seemed  greeting  her  with  friendly  nod ; 
To  lick  her  hand,  as  she  pass'd  bj. 

The  greyhounds  left  their  snnnj  nook, 

And  not  a  thing  she  touched  but  took 
A  beauty  from  her  company. 
The  window,  where  at  eve  she  leaned. 


The  broad  sun  as  he  snnk  to  rest ; 
The  turrets  of  a  busy  town — 

The  tall  tops  of  a  forest  nigh — 

And  a  bounding  river  met  her  eye. 
When  from  her  window  she  lock'd  down. 
Yet  sometimes  she  wonld  live,  in  sleep, 

The  whole  life  of  her  sorrows  o'er — 
Would  see  the  poplar's  shadow  creep 

Athwart  the  grange's  moonlit  floor ; 
And  natch  the  mom,  with  sickening  light, 

Weigh'd  with  her  long  day's  store  of  grief ; 

And  wake — to  find  that  day  too  brief 
For  the  notation  of  delight  I 


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THE  HEDGEHOG  LETTERS. 


Fkiend  BcjiRiTT,  —  Whether  it  was  one  of  your  Manchester 
^ends,  or  whether,  indeed,  it  wtis  notbiDg  leaB  than  a  dove  from 
jour  own  American  woods  that  dropt  one  of  your  Olive  Leaves  io 
my  cab, — 1  won't  atop  to  consider.  It 's  enough  that  I  've  read 
Ijie  Leaf  again  and'  again,  and  can't  help  thanking  you  for  it. 
Can  't  help  admiring  how  that  you,  "a  poor  man  not  worth  a 
dollar  in  the  world,"  ae  yon  say  of  yourself,  should  be  scattering 
thousands  and  thousands  of  these  healing  Leaves  about  America — 
Leave»  in  their  meaning  and  intention  worth  all  the  laurels  that 
ever  grew  out  of  dead  men's  graves,  made  ao  foul  and  rank  with 
dead  men'a  blood. 

Your  Leaf  fell  into  my  hands  just  after  I  'd  read  Mr.  Adama'a 
speech  in  Congress,  where  he  stands  upon  the  Bible  for  his  right 
to  Oregon,  and  would  cut  throats  according  to  lus  notion  of 
Genesis !  Foolish  old  gentleman !  he  can't  have  many  years' 
mortal  breath  in  him,  and  therefore  it  is  sad  to  see  him  pufBng 
and  puffing  to  blow  the  embers  of  war  into  a  blaze  —  to  see  him, 
as  I  may  say,  ramniing  down  murderous  bullets,  and  wadding 
muskets  with  leaves  from  the  Bible  !  But  there 's  a  Bort  of 
religion  that  would  sharpen  the  sword  itself  on  the  stone  tables 
of  Moses. 

However,  this  is  an  old  trick.  There  'a  a  good  many  of  these 
pious  lovers  of  gunpowder  who,  somehow  or  the  other,  will  insist 
upon  turning  up  the  regimental  uniform  with  pages  of  the  Bible 
and  Testament.  To  make  a  man  particularly  the  care  of  Heaven, 
they  think  it  only  necessary  to  dress  him  in  red  clothes,  put  a 
feather  in  his  cap,  ball-cartridge  in  bis  cartouche-bos,  and  a 
musket  in  his  hand.     And  these  folks — they've  been  doing  it  in 

BO.  IVI.— TOt.  m.  B  B  r-  \ 


370  THE   BEDaESM  IXTTSBS. 

Hie  HouBe  of  CommonB  only  a  week  or  tiro  ago — alwajB  ^ve  the 
gioiy  of  eUaghter  to  "  His  Arm  that  giTCB  ail  battles !  "  And 
BO,  according  to  these  people,  the  Army  of  M&rtjra  should  be  an 
annj  with  forty-two  pouoders  and  a  rocket  brigade.  Their 
ChriBtianitj  is  Christianity  humbly  firing  upon  one  knee.  Their 
incense  for  thje  altar  ia  not  myrrh  and  frankincense,  hut  char- 
coal and  Baltpetro.  Our  Sir  Robert  Harry  Inglie,  for  instance — • 
who  in  the  House  of  CommouB  speakB  for  pious  Oxford — ho  was 
quitd  delighted  that  the  GoTemw-Geaeral  of  India  had  put  bo 
much  religion  into  the  bulletin  that  published  the  slaughter  of 
nine  thousand  Sikhs,  as  they  call  'em.  They  were  all  killed — 
aecording  to  Sir  Robert — not  by  the  eold  iron  of  the  English, 
infantry,  but  by  a  heavenly  host ;  the  bayonet,  in  truth,  did  not; 
do  the  work  ;  no,  It  was  the  fiery  twords  of  the  angels,  oiid 
praises  were  to  be  sung  to  them  accordiogly.  And  &is  iB  tha 
Christianity  of  the  QazeUe  ;  though  I  can  't  find  it  in  the  Neir 


And,  poor  Mr,  Adams  makes  a  veiy  lame  CMe  out  of  GeneBis  ; 
aomehow  or  the  other  he  reads  his  Bible  i^wide  down ;  for  he 

declares — 

"  If  our  controversy  rempectdn^  OiegaD  had  been  with  any  other  than 
a  Christian  natJon,  /  ei>uM  not  quote  firoa  tbai  book;  if  we  were  in, 
dispnte  with  the  Chinese  about  the  territory  it  would  be  a  different 
question.  So  it  is  a  different  qnestion  between  qs  and  the  eavagea, 
who,  (/  angbodf,  have  now  the  riiAtfnl  occupation  of  the  coontiy  ; 
Ueatut  th^  do  ntK  bOimt  tit  BOOK." 

And  because  Mr.  Adams  believes  "  The  Book  "  and  the  Red 
Man  does  not,  he  Mr.  A.  has  not  scrupled  to  countenance  the 
wholesale  robbeiy  of  the  Bed  Man's  lands.  Thus,  either  way^ 
it  is  the  custom  with  some  very  devout  people — Mr.  Adams  makes 
profit  of  his  Bible !  And  thus  a  war  for  Oregon  would  be  do 
other  than  a  Holy  War> — a  war  declared  upon  the  streDgth  of 
sacred  texts.  Christians  would  blaze  away  at  one  another  on  the 
authority  of  the  Scriptures ;  with  perhaps,  to  tickle  Mr.  Adams, 
"  Peace  on  earth,  and  good-will  to  men  "  painted  on  American 
cannon. 

And  Mr.  Adams,  &iend  Elihu,  will  go  to  his  Bible  to  settle 
this  matter  of  disputed  land.  Now  the  first  dispute  of  the  sort 
mentioned  in  "  The  Book"  was  arranged,  certunly  not  after  the 
fashion  of  31r,  Adama;  for  here 's  the  original  "Oregon  queatioa" 

C.ooq\c 


di^OKd  of  in  Qeneus  in  a  maiinsr  quite  forgotten  hj  tbe  Adsmi 
of  Aia«rica ; — 

"  And  there  was  a  strife  between  the  herdsmen  of  Abrom's  cattle 
-  and  the  herdsmen  of  iLot's  cattle,  and  the  Canaanite  and  Perezdte 
dwelled  then  in  the  land. 

"  And  Abram  said  onto  Lot,  Let  there  be  no  Ori/e,  T  pray  ihte, 
between  me  and  Aee,  and  between  mj  herdsmen  and  thy  herclsmen,yi>r 
we  be  brethren : 

"  Is  not  the  whole  land  before  thee  1  separate  thyself  I  praj  thee 
from  me :  if  thon  wilt  take  the  left  band  then  I  will  go  to  the  right ; 
or  if  thoQ  depart  to  the  right  band  then  I  will  go  to  the  left." 

And  ao,  Elihu,  Gunpowder  Adams  is  answered  out  of  his  own 

But  we  shall  have  no  fighting  for  Oregon,  Mr.  Adams'a  speech 
is  like  one  of  the  wooden  cannon  mounted  for  cheapness  bj  the 
Dutch  ;  it  looks  wai'like  and  dangerous,  hut  sound  it,  and  there  'a 
no  true  ring  of  metal  in  it — it 's  only  wood  thickly  ptunted, 
Be«des,  your  Olive  Leaoet — copied  as  thej  are  in  the  Americaa 
papers,  which  as  you  Bay  "  enahlea  you  to  bring  the  principles  of 
peace  before  a  million  of  minds  every  week," — your  Olvoe  Leaeet 
must  go  to  cool  the  glory  fever,  smacking  its  lips  for  blood. 

Ton  've  been  some  time  known  among  ns  Britishers,  Elihu,  as 
the  "  learned  blacksmith  ;"  but  your  (Hite  i-eows  are  getting  for 
you  ft"  etjll  better  name.  It 's  a  fine  thing,  a  glorious  thing,  no 
doubt,  to  get  at  the  heart  of  a  dozen  langu^es  and  more — as 
they  say  you  have  done — and  so  be  able  to  make,  I  may  say,  a 
speaking  acquaintance  with  tlie  Qreeks  and  the  Romans,  and  so 
on  ;  but  it 's  nobler  work  to  hare  made  yourself  "  the  head  of  the 
periodical  peace  publications"  of  America,  and  so  to  preach  qniet 
and  goodness  to  t«Ds  of  thousands  of  men,  that  otherwise,  like 
bull-dogs,  might  be  patted  on  to  tear  one  another  to  pieces. 

It 's  a  tine  thing  to  think  of  you,  Elihu  Burritt,  Blacksmith. 
To  see  you,  working  all  day — making  your  anvil  ring  again  with 
g^coious  labour  (bow  I  shoidd  like  just  a  set  of  shoes  for  mj  mare 
«F  your  own  making),  to  see  you  forging  anything  but  swords  vai 
bayonets,— and  then,  when  (A<ri  work  is  over,  to  think  of  yon 
sitting  down,  with  your  iron  pen  in  your  hand,  working  away,  to 
weld  men's  hearts  together — to  make  the  chain  of  peace,  as  yonr 
own  Bed  Men  say,  between  America  and  England, — and  to  keep 
it  bright  for  ever.  When  I  think  of  this  work  of  yours  I  'm  pretty 
Bb2 

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THE  HESGEHOO  LETIXBS. 


Bure  t^t  your  tnie-lieart«d  countryman  Longfellow  must  hare  li&3 
;oa  in  his  brain,  when  he  painted  the  picture  of  his  bUckamitK 


Eftch  morning  sees  some  tnak  bi^n, 

Each  evening  seea  it  clwe  ; 
Something  attempted,  Bometliing  done. 
Has  earned  a.  night's  repoae. 


Thus  at  the  fluning  forge  of  lin 

Oar  fortaoes  mnat  be  wrought ; 
Thns  on  its  sonnding  anvil  shaped 

Each  burning  deed  and  thought ! 

I  especially  like  your  fancy  that  English  Plymouth  should  write 
to  American  Plymouth — Eochester  to  Rochester — Norwich  to 
Norwich,  and  so  on.  As  you  prettily  say,  "  it  would  be  more 
like  mothers  writing  to  their  daughters."  You  are  right  too,  that 
"  every  letter  thus  interchanged,  like  a  weaver's  shuttle,  will 
carry  across  the  ocean  a  silken  ligature  to  hind  two  kindred 
hearts,  and  through  them,  two  kindred  nations."  Depend  upon 
it,  the  thinking  masses — for  odd  as  it  might  seem  to  some 
Solomons  now  in  their  grave,  and  I  may  add,  odd  as  it  does  seem 
to  some  Solomons  fast  going  there, — the  masses  do  begin  tO' 
think — they  are  all  against  the  cruelty,  the  wicked  tom-foolerj 
of  war.  I  've  just  been  reading  one  of  their  addresses  ;  I  think 
the  last.  Fine,  rousing  words  are  in  it,  I  can  tell  you  ;  words 
that  strike  upon  the  heart  better  than  fife  and  beaten  sheep's-skin. 
Just  to  show  you  that  we,  too,  have  our  pacific  blocksmiuis — onr 
iron-workers  who,  like  Elibn  Burritt,  think  it  far  better  to  make 
hoes  and  spades  than  pikes  and  bayonets,  I  copj  out  this  little 
paragraph,  addressed  as  it  is  to  Americans  : 

"  Working  men  of  America,  you  are,  or  sbonld  be,  the  pioneers  of 
freedom  ;  snch  was  the  mission  bequeathed  to  yoa  by  Washington  and 
his  great  brother  patriots.  That  mission  you  will  best  fulfil  by  per.. 
fecting  your  inatitutions — bji  abolithing  the  slavery  of  while  and  blait — 
[Ding  this  into  the  ears  of  your  countrymen,  Master  Burritt]  wages  and 
the  whip — by  driving  from  your  legislatures  the  landlonls,  usurers, 
lawyers,  soldiers,  and  other  idlera  and  swindlers  ;  by  making  the  veri- 
table people,  the  wealth-producers,  really  '  sovereign,'  and  thus  est»- 


..lb;COO*^IC 


THS  aEDOBHOB  UBTTBItS.  373 

bliahiog  a  real,  instead  of  a  nominal,  Repnblic.    Wu  will  not  tud,  but 

will  prevent  yon  accomplishing  these  refonnB." 

And  to  crown  all,  you  '11  have  to  sow  wheat  for  ub,  inBtead  of 
making  gunpowder.  Already  you  have  sent  maize  into  the 
stomachs  of  the  Irish, — and  this  ia  better,  isn't  it,  more  profitable 
too,  than  riddling  them  with  bullets  ? 

And  this  morning  I  read  in  one  of  the  papers  a  long  accotint  of 
the  pleaaant  dishea  mode  out  of  Indian  com,  and  how  they  were 
mightily  relished  in  Scotland  ;  a  professor — whose  name  I  forget 
— hsTing  written  and  lectured  on  the  best  nay  of  dressing  the 
grain.  More  pleasant  reading  this,  of  Btomachg  comforted  and 
bellies  filled  by  American  greia — than  throats  cut  and  bodies 
slashed  by  American  steel.  Such  a  gazette  of  the  kitchen  is 
better  than  twenty  gazettes  of  the  War-office.  If  we  must  have  ft 
war,  let  it  be  the  new  war  of  prices* — the  buying  cheap  and  selling 
dear  ;  and  so  no  more  at  present  from  your  friend  and  admirer, 
JiraiFEB  Hedgehog. 

•  The  great  pcinciple  of  "the  movement"  of  Free-tnde, "  tc  buy  in  the 
cheapest  and  seU  in  ue  dearest  market,"  is  of  somewbat  older  oriran  than 
Juniper  Hedgehog  inuigineB.  Adam  Clarke  in  a  note  to  the  proverb  "  it  is 
nang^t,  it  is  naught,  euth  the  buyer,"  says  "  hov  apt  ore  men  to  decry  the 
goods  they  wish  to  purchase,  in  order  that  they  may  get  them  at  a  cheaper 
late,"  ana  l«1la  na  of  "  a  plessont  story "  St  Augustine  has  on  this  subject 
A  certain  laountebonk  published  in  the  full  theatre  that  at  the  next  enter- 
it  he  would  show  to  every  man  present  what  woe  in  his  heart.  The 
ime,  and  the  concourse  was  immense.  All  waited,  with  death-hke 
to  hear  what  he  woold  ssy  to  each.  He  stood  op,  and  in  a  angle 
«  redeemed  his  pledge. 

ViLT  vnltiB  emere,  et  ciBO  TEmsBE. 
"  You  all  wish  to  Hur  cheap  and  aKLL  DB*a." 
He  was  applauded  ;  for  every  one  felt  it  to  l>e  b  deecripdon  of  his  own 
keart,  and  was  aatiafied  that  all  others  were  similar.    "  In  quo  dicto  levissimi 
«cenici  tamen  conseienlioa  inyeneruut  suos." — Dk  Tbihitiib,  lib.  xiii.  c.  3. 
Oper,  yoL  vii.  col.  S30, 

We  are  not  quite  sure  whether  we  are  not  funushing  the  FrolectiODistB 
with  a  text,  but  as  we  happen  to  have  so  many  to  spore  the  other  way,  they 
are  exceedingly  welcome  to  it 


Uign'^l  by  Google 


7bhh  Am  FiKTHUS.  A  KoveL  B7  Mm.  GioBx.  3  voh.  Post  8t«. 
London:  H.  Colbum. 
It  may  be  thoaght  by  etriet  utilitarians  that  in  a  nuguiiie  like  oars, 
intendea,  as  ^  as  it  is  possible,  to  aid  in  tbe  development  of  all  thow 
principles,  tbe  application  of  which  can  benefit  the  naoy,  that  too 
Inacb  of  oar  limited  literary  space  is  given  to  the  notice  of  novels.  It 
is,  however,  not  without  a  motive,  coherent  with  the  design  of  the  ntaga- 
line  that  this  is  done.  Novels  have  many  recommendations.  As  » 
medinm  for  conveying  a  knowledge  of  haman  nature  as  modified  by 
particular  mannen  and  ci(«umitauc«B,  they  are  of  real  service.  And 
whetlier  treating  of  remote  periods,  as  in  the  historical  class,  or  of 
distant  manners  and  onstoms,  in  what  may  be  termed  (for  want  of  a 
simpler  term),  the  ethnologic^,  or  gei^raphical  kind,  or  as  a  means  of 
eonvndng  a  ksawle^  of  the  morals,  sentiments,  and  principles  of 
one  class  to  another,  they  are  eqnally  valuable  as  mediunu  of  in- 
formation. It  is  as  one  of  the  last  class  that  we  deem  Mis,  Gore's  wiit- 
inra  of  peculiar  interest  to  our  readers. 

This  aathoresB  has,  at  all  evanta,  one  quality  which  compensates  to 
a  certain  extent  for  tlie  want  of  many  otheiH.  She  has  a  style.  AU 
that  she  writes  is  clear  and  readable,  and  has  dut  indescribable,  und^ 
finable  power  which  induces  the  reader  to  proceed  :  arising,  do  donb^ 
from  tbe  disUnctnesa  of  her  own  perceptioiis,  and  a  great  readineaa  01 
intellect,  enabling  her  rapidly  to  fumisb  the  moani  of  expressing  thraa. 
There  is  no  complexity  in  her  statements  ;  her  descriptrons  are  never 
encumbered  with  tedious  details  ;  nor  confused  by  llie  introduction  of 
their  remote  relations.  This,  therefore,  gives  to  her  narrative  lightness, 
and  the  reader  proceeds  unconacioaBly  from  idea  to  idea,  and  from  image 
to  image.  Of  the  intellectual  qaality  of  the  matterthus  offered  to  the  mind 
we  have  no  great  opinion.  Character  in  its  concrete  state  she  has  no 
power  of  delineating.  She  paints  a  quality  and  not  a  character;  hot 
herein  she  is  but  tittle  infenor  to  many  wnteis  of  a  standard  celebrity, 
Congreve  and  Pope  did  no  more,  though  they  might  do  it  in  a  more 
potent  manner.  The  portrayal  of  real  character  beloccs  to  much 
fewer  authors  than  is  supposed.  After  Shakespeare,  Addison  {in  a 
BmaU  degree),  Fielding  (largely),  and  perhaps  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
we  shall  find  but  few  of  our  celebrated  dramatists  and  novelists 
who  do  more  than  pointedly  portray  a  characteristic,  either  embody- 
ing an  idea,  as  in  "  Pelham ;"  or  working  out  a  monomania,  as  m 


HZT  BOOKS.  3?C 

Godwm'e  "Mandernie."  Mrs.  Aasten'a  admirers,  and  Mis  Edge- 
■worfh'e,  will  probably  indigntintl  j  demand  tor  them  an  eioeption.  Bnt, 
if  carefally  analysed,  they  will  at  the  best  be  found  to  peisonify  by  the 
Telding  in  a  logical  mode  a  few  qualities  and  characteristics.  An  in- 
tellectual Francatelli  might  realty  produce  a,  serviceable  manual  that 
would  develope  the  whole  art  of  character-cooking  in  as  methodical  a 
manner  as  any  cnlinaiy  process.  Mrs,  Gore  is  then  not  to  he  singled  ont 
U  deficient  in  this  power ;  bnt  it  must  be  said  she  avails  herself  of  the 
mmal  formnla  less  loeicallj  than  Home  of  het  contemporaries,  less 
^IfuUy  according  to  Uie  received  theory  of  human  natnre,  as  derived 
from  obaerration  or  mental  science.  In  "Peers  and  Parvenus"  this  is 
particularly  perceptible.  Resolving,  after  her  bshion,  to  avail  herself 
ef  the  prevailing  notion  of  the  time,  she  has  thought  fit  to  put  herself 
<m  the  side  of  the  low-bom  against  the  high.  We  are  sorry  to  see  this 
contagious  cant  spreading,  bKause  it  is  always  the  effect  of  cant  to 
destroy  the  principle  on  which  it  fixes.  The  cant  of  religion  brought 
•n  infidelity ;  the  cant  of  patriotism  produces  reaction  in  fevour  of 
arbitrary  rule ;  and  the  cant  of  sympathy  undoubtedly  will  prodrice 
lesction  on  the  side  of  bmtality.  Cant  is  a  moral  vims,  destloying 
for  the  time  of  it«  course  all  the  reticulation  of  principles. 

That  WB  must  class  Mrs.  Gore's  works  amongst  one  of  ila  resnlls  is 
proved  by  the  ignorance  displayed  of  the  tnie  principles  that  regalat« 
the  rights  of  ment&l  superiority.  Her  hero,  the  child  of  the  poorest 
peasants,  is  placed  in  contrast  with  tiie  child  of  the  most  powerful  , 
aristocrats.  The  one  is  intended  to  embody  the  might  of  intellect,  and 
tiie  highest  nobility  of  the  heart — the  other  is  bmtat  in  his  tastes,  and 
namw  in  hia  mind.  But  that  this  contrast  is  made,  not  because  the 
tmth  of  the  principles  is  appreciated,  but  because  it  is  effective,  is 
proved  by  its  treatment.  The  peasaM  has  no  benefit  from  Mrs.  Gore^ 
aigtiment,becaDBe  he  is  taken  out  of  his  class  by  the  asBnmed  superiority 
of  his  intellect ;  and  there  is  not  even  any  just  advocacy  of  the  aris- 
tocracy of  mind.  Jervis  Clere  (the  peasant  hero)  achieves  nothing 
that  marks  his  superiority  to  the  eonrentional  aristocracy  amongst 
whom  he  is  placed ;  on  the  contrary,  he  only  ministers  to  the  gratifica- 
tion of  a  more  cultivated  portion  of  those  socially  superior  to  him :  he 
in  no  way  vindicates  his  mental  position  by  ever  being  placed  in  a 
|>08itian  really  to  show  the  inferiority  of  the  casual  to  the  essential.  It 
IB  only  by  the  poorest  and  most  in^dent  means  that  his  pretended 
superiority  is  portrayed ;  and  very  ignorant  must  the  authoress  be  of 
the  portrayal  of  genius,  when  she  makes  it  consist  in  the  publishing  a 
learned  antiquarian  treatise  iu  a  philosophical  society's  papers.  This 
aloue  would  prove  the  inadequacy  of  the  writer  to  the  great  impending 
question  between  the  artificial  aristocracy  of  custom  and  the  real  one 
of  natural  superiority. 

The  book  has  been  considered  in  some  quarters  as  having  a  demo- 
cratic tendency,  and  it  is  evident  the  authoress  had  some  soda  intention 


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Tenrding  it.-  It  it  doubtful,  however,  whether  it  has  not  &  tendency 
ntber  the  Tevene.  Maiotaining  the  privileges  of  hereditary  aoodtedoiU' 
to  patiDniee  the  remAikable  hnnun  prodnctions,  whether  monstroiitie?: 
of  intell^  or  body ;  and  llius  afforame  the  innnmerabla  nuder-ciop  of- 
amtbcrac7  an  opportnnitj  of  awerting  that  "  genius  is  always  patronued- 
by  its  Boperiore  when  properly  demonstrated." 

Taken  in  its  broadest  view,  it  mast  have,  however,  an  nainteational 
detnociatic  effect.  And  in  common  with  all  the  rest  of  "  the  fashiiHi-; 
able  novels,"  it  bears  the  most  concloeive,  becaose  involuntary,  testi- 
mony to  the  ntt«r  inefficiency  of  forma  to  fis  essentials,  and  proves  that. 
no  creation  of  orders  and  aistinctions,  can  make  virtue,  or  genius,  or 
even  hnmane  nuumBrs  hereditary.  It  is  from  these  admirerv  of  here- 
ditary ariatoeracy  that  we  should  call  testimony  to  their  itmate. 
meanness,  self-sufficiency,  and  intense  egotism  and  selfishness,  that, 
characterise  those  callinK  themselves  "  lite  bigber  classes.!'  A  more. 
brutal,  ill-mannered,  and  truly  vulgar  person  than  the  altimate  Lord. 
Hillingdon  is  made,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive,  and  indeed  than  most, 
of  the  characters  that  are  here  pafaded  as  representatiTes  of  the  highest; 
nobility.  The  best  are  imbecife  in  mind,  the  dupes  of  the  most  obvious 
empiricism,  and  the  worst  on  a  level  with  the  most  debased  chnrls.. 
Surely  these  novels,  if  intending  to  befriend  a  depreciated  aristocracy, 
must  call  forth  frequently  from  them  the  trite  proverb — "Save. me 
from  my  friends." 

Though  deficient  in  the  best  qualities  of  this  kind  of  literature,  therft 
*  are  delineations  and  observations  that  prove  the  authoress's  capacity ;. 
Bud  in  Lucy  Hecksworth,  a  woman  of  high  conventional  station,  but  of 
A  fim  and  delicate  spirit,  v/e  have  suggestions  of  one  of  those  truly 
feminine  and  noble  creatures  which  a  woman  perhaps  can  alone  give  an, 
idea  of,  in  the  depth  of  its  deep  passion  and  Die  uiueUsh  purity  of  its- 
affection.  It  is  but  a  suggestion  of  a  character,  but  still  it  vindicates, 
the  authoress's  knowledge  of  her  sex,  and  her  sympathy  with  its  pro- 
foundest  and  purest  feelings.  It  is  one  genuine  ton.ch  of  goodness  like 
this  that  redeems  a  mass  of  meanness,  frivolity,  and  imbecility,  which 
too  often  characterise  the  modem  Pandora. 


Refobi  of  iV  Educational  Toub  in  Gekminy,  and  Fasts  of  Gbsat 
Britain  add  Ibelanii,  being  part  of  the  Seventh  Annual  Keport  ot 
HoKACB  Mann,  Esq.,  Secretary  of  (he  Board  of  Education,  Mass.  U.S., 
1844.  With  Preface  and  Notes  by  W.  B.  HorwsoN,  Principal  of  the 
Mechanics'  Inatitu&in,  iJverpooL  Pep.  Svo.  London  :  Simpkiu,  Mar- 
shaU,  &  Co.  ; 

HowEVEB  we  may  differ  with  the  Americans  on  some  political  points, 
there  is  an  eamest  sympathy  between  the  people  of  each  country  as  to 
the  progression  and  improvement  of  the  grand  body  of  the  people.     In.  . 


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»EW  BOOKS.  377 

B  nation,  tboogh  divided  into  two 
)  an  admirable  proof  of  this  feeling, 
^  ,  LtioD   of  the   most   essential   kind. 

It  is  well  deserving  of  attention  from  all  persons  interested  in.  pablic 
i^^rs,  and  indispensable  to  those  engaged  in  edncation.  Some  idea  of 
Um  method  in  wnich  the  sabject  is  treated  maj  be  formed  bj  the  fol- 

"  In  the  conrae  of  this  tonr  I  haTe  seen  numy  tWngs  to  deplore,  and  many 
to  admire  ;  I  have  Tinted  conntries  where  there  is  no  natioiial  ByBtem  of 
•dneatioa  at  aft,  and  countries  where  die  minutest  details  of  the  KbooU  are 
Mgnlated  by  law.  I  hare  seen  schools  in  which  each  word  and  process,  in 
many  leesma,  wka  almoat  overloaded  with  explanation  and  commentuy  ; 
and  many  schoolg  in  whieb  400  or  500  children  were  obliged  lo  commit  to 
memory,  in  the  Latin  language,  the  entire  book  of  Psalms  and  other  parts  of 
the  Bible, — neither  teachers  nor  children  underalanding  a  word  of  the  lan- 
guage which  they  were  prating.  I  have  eoen  countries,  m  whose  schools  all 
Hirms  of  corporal  punishment  were  used  without  stint  or  measure  ;  and  I 
hare  visited  one  na^on,  in  whoee  eicellent  and  well-ordered  schools,  scarcely 
a  blow  has  been  struck  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century.  On  reflectionj 
it  seema  to  me  that  it  would  be  moat  strange,  if,  firom  all  this  variety  of 

Stem,  and  of  no-system,  of  soond  instructioQ  and  of  babbling,  of  the  duiei- 
,  ie  of  violence  and  of  moral  means,  many  beneficial  hints,  for  our  warning  or 
ear  imitation,  coold  not  be  derived ;  and  as  the  subject  comes  cleariy  within 
fte  range  of  my  duty,  '  to  collect  and  diffuse  informaUon  reelecting  schools,* 
I  Tenlure  to  summit  to  the  Board  some  of  the  results  of  my  observa^as."  . 


Aktonio  Perez  inn  Phiup  the  Second.    By  M.  Mionet,  Member  «f  the' 

InstitDte  of  Prance,  &c.    Translated  vith  the  approbation  of  the  Author, 

by  C.  Cocks,  B.L.,  &e.  ■  Post  Svo.     London  :  limigman  &  Co. 

The  French  sathors  leaving  the  rhetorical  diffusMiess  that  so  long 

characterised  them,  havelatteiiy  produced  works  uniting  so  admirably 

the  historical  and  the  dramatical  that  they  have  become  the  models,  of 

modem  historians.     M.  Thierry  tells  us  that  this  style  owes  its  origin 

to  Scott's  Historical  Romance,  and  that  the  perusal  of  Ivanhoe,  in  which 

there  was  bo  much  truth  of  matter,  but  so  much  falsification  of  events, 

le.d  him  to  endeavour  to  impart  to  facts  the  same  force  that  the  novehst 

gave  to  fiction,.  Monsieur  Mignet  ia  a  sobererwriter  of  the  same  school: 

we  miss  the  energetic  painting  of  Thierry  or  Michelet,  but  we  have 

,   stjll  a  vivid  narrative  of  startling  events.     The  half-barbaric  time  is 

well  portrayed,  and  we  feel  that  we  are  in  the  midst  of  a  throng  of 

high-spirited  barharians,  and  in  an  atmosphere  of  morals  and  manners 

far  removed  from  our  own. 

Don  Antonio  Perez  had  a  life  of  extraordinaty  adventure  even  in  his 
extraordinaiy  age,  when  life  was  held  by  the  gravest  civilians  at  about 

Coo'jlc 


tike  sini«  T&Iue  as  a  modem  military  hero  would  estimate  it  H«  UtM 
in  AH  age  of  Ereat  action  and  little  reflection,  that  ia  for  the  maltitade  ; 
and  on*  of  which  it  would  be  errcoieouB  to  judge  hy  our  own  staBdaid 
Mther  as  regards  morals  or  maDDors.  Politics  were  condacted  by  the 
Ittoat  subtle  intrigues  ;  deception  bad  been  reduced  to  a  science,  and 
was  saBCtioued  as  a  proof  of  intellectual  power.  The  foims  and  modaa 
of  the  middle  ages  still  survived  The  struggle  between  the  saperiiap 
and  the  inferior  chieftain  had  not  been  decid^.  Force  wm  often  called 
into  the  aid  of  craft ;  and  the  life  that  the  execationer  could  not  leaefa^ 
although  it  was  esteemed  bis  due,  was  takra  bj  the  aasassin.  This 
last  eptthet,  so  hateful  to  modem  ears,  was  bj  no  means  so  in  the  du& 
ef  Antonio ;  and  therefore  the  murder,  as  we  name  it  jostly,  that  b* 
procured  for  his  master  on  Eaeovedo  was  by  no  means  the  atrocioaa 
crime  that  we  abonld  now  regard  .it.  His  elevation  to  power,  hie 
■trufcgle  with  his  absolnte  master,  his  Sight  and  adventures,  and 
intrigues  with  the  Princess  of  Eboli,  are  all  veiy  graphically  and  twthfidly 
told,  and  as  an  illuHtration  of  the  time,  it  is  as  instructiTe  Aud  interesting 
ai  the  "Chronicles  of  Jocelyn  de  Brakelwid ; "  we  gather  from  fro^mentB, 
or  rather  specimens  like  these  tmer  notions  of  vaa  actual  condition  ol 
the  period,  than  is  possible  from  any  merely  ^litical  or  philosophic 
bistories.  The  one  presents  &cta  in  a  trae  view  to  the  obsarraiiiia 
and  the  feelings,  and  tiie  other  an  intellectaid  deduction  from  the 
aeqnence  of  cwue  and  effect.  One  such  narrstive  as  either  of  th«k 
will  do  more  to  dispel  the  infatuated  nonsense  of  those  who  wmU 
levive  the  forms  of  the  middle  ages  than  any  argumentative  refutation. 
Such  contributions  to  history  as  "  Antonio  Perez  and  Philip  (he 
Second  "  are  especially  valuable  to  those  who  wish  to  form  their  own 
notions  as  to  former  tiinei  and  former  social  proceedings. 


Otbr  PoFtruTiftN  inn  na  BaiCBDr ;  or,  ta  Zoqairy  into  Uie  Extoit  md 
Canses  of  the  Distreas  preTsiling  amoog  the  l^baaiiag  OasMa  of  tho 
,    British  Islands  and  into  tbe  Meana  of  remedying  it.  By  Wiluah  Thmus 
Thokkmn.    Demy  8to.    London  ;  Longman  and  Co. 
Tbb  title  of  this  book  it  not  fortunate,  for  it  seems  at  <mee  to  assuM 
the  matter  in  dispute,  and  to  declare  that  there  is  over-popalatiou  in 
the  British  iBlauds.    The  term  "  over-population  "  is,  however,  mnA 
more  logically  apphed  in  the  body  of  the  work,  a  very  searching  in- 
vestigation being  made  as  t«  the  distribution,  occupation,  and  ctrndUtiMt 
of  the  labouring  class,  not  only  as  regards  our  own  country,  but  als» 
as  relates  to  the  chief  European  kingdoms.     Mr.  Thornton  then  g^vw 
a  rapid  outline  of  the  condition  of  the  labourers  in  Ei^land  sinee 
the  Anglo-Saxon  period,  awarding  to   the  Norman-feudal  period  the 
merit  of  best  protecting  and  maintmning  the  agricnltural  peasant.    The 


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bmiiiM  of  this  period,  the  terrific  ravageB  ot  pestilence,  ood  the  MTage 
insurrections,  seem  all  powerfullj  to  oontradjct  this  notion.  That 
■Hie  Young  England  gentlemen,  vo  rife  since  the  production  of  the 
Waverley  novels,  and  so  elevated  with  falM  notions  of  pageantry  and 
piety,  should  mate  this  assertion  is  not  surprising,  but  we  regret  to  see 
a  liberal  and  sensible  writer  like  Mr.  Thornton  foiling  into  a  belief  of 
tills  mirage.  The  narratiTes  of  contemporary  writers  give  us  glimpses  of 
heida  of  debased  and  ferocious  churls,  that  show  human  nators  in  its 
most  abhoirent  form.  ' 

The  remedies  for  better  trimming  the  balance  regulating  the  de- 
mand and  supply  of  labour  are  finally  considered ;  and  this  portion  of 
the  book  contains  some  yaluable  sn^estions,  more  especially  that  one 
recommending  that,  as  an  inducement  to  the  recovery  of  the  waste 
lands  in  Irel^d,  a  right  in  them  should  be  given  to  the  peasants  who 
Mdeemed  them.  Irish  energy  only  requires  to  be  put  in  a  ri^t 
direction;  and  it  will,  doubtJess,  ultimately  redeem  the  nation  from  its 
Wretched  condition :  and  it  appears  tbat  laboar  thus  stimulated  and 
appKed  would  redeem  land  wnich  the  mere  capitalist  cannot  make 
profitable. 

Mr.  Tlomton  is  a  strong,  perbaps  it  may  be  said  a  vehement 
advocate  for  free  trade,  belieriog  in  its  power  to  prodaceefl'ectB  possibly 
beyond  its  reai^.  He  also  advocates  the  small  farm  and  allotment 
■rstems  ;  but  tike  all  theorists,  is  more  eloquent  as  to  tbeii  benefits 
taan  snj^^estive  aa  to  the  means  of  their  being  brought  into  opera- 
tion. He  is  also  very  decisive  as  to  many  speculative  pointe  of 
political  economy,  but  we  cannot  say  equally  convincing.  The  book; 
however,  is  one  well  worth  studying,  and  should  be  thankfully  re- 
ceived as  a  oaeful  addition  to  the  literature  of  a  subject  of  all  others 
most  engrossing  and  important. 


Bobcoe's  Liva  *hj>  Fohiiiicite  of  Lbo  ibb  Tentb,  Edited  by  his  Son, 
Onduding  the  copvright  portions.)  With  fine  Fortnita.  Post  8vo. 
London  :  H.  G.  Bdm. 

Schltcbl's  Lectuus  on  the  Pqiliwopbi  t»  Hisioitr,  tnuiaLiled  &om  the 
GenDsa,  witJi  a  Memoir  of  the  Author,  by  J.  B.  Kobebtson,  Esq.  Second 
Edition, revised ;  fine Portnut :^ the AutfwF.  PostSvo.  London:  H.G. 
Bohn. 

Chi4pnbw  has  readied  its  zero  point  in  these  two  volumes  ;  for  ths 
matter,  print,  and  binding  are  equal  to  that  of  the  usual  full  price.  It 
is  a  bold  speculation  on  the  part  of  the  publisher,  and  the  salejif  thoU' 
sands  can  alone  rBmunerate  him.  Still,  doubtless,  the  thousands  will  be 
found,  e^>ecia)ly  as  regards  Leo  the  Tenth— a  masterly  work  that  hat 
already  Uood  the  test  of  time.    Mr.  Roscoe's  style  was  not  so  lurid  and 


v.Goo'^lc 


SBD  K£W  B0OE3. 

tAkiog  u  might  be  desired ;  bat  his  diligence,  his  knowled^,  and  his 
•ODDdjadgment  have  established  bim  as  an  acknowledged  b)c«raphical 
historian.  A  standard  work  is  now  within  the  reach  of  the  humbleBt 
atadent. 

With  respect  to  Schlegel's  Philosophy  of  Hiatorj,  we  cannot  think 
the  selection  equally  jndicioas.  It  was  certainly  written  in  the  decline 
of  Schlegel's  powers,  oad  is  tinged  with  the  religions  enthouasm  and 
mysticism  of  a  new  convert.  It  is  an  effort  to  reconcile  theolo^  and 
history  in  a  manner  in  which  the  preconceived  theological  idea  is 
allowed  to  predominate.  It  was  impassible  for  a  man  so  profoundly 
learned  as  Schlege),  to  write  any  work  that  wonld  not  contain  mnca 
that  was  important,  and  some  of  the  earlier  chapters  comprise  extensire 
and  just  views  of  the  subject,  and  the  work  is  one  which  mnst  demand 
the  attention  of  the  historical  student. 

Mr.  Bohn  has  a  series  of  these  kind  of  works,  and  the  manner  in 
which  they  are  issued  is  extremely  advantageous  to  those  whose  peca- 
niaiT  means  are  not  commensurate  with  their  intellectual  riches.  It 
would  take  us  too  far  to  examine  by  what  process  it  is  that  improved 
editions  of  works  are  published  at  so  much  less  than  their  original 
price  ;  and  how  it  is  two-guinea  books  come  to  be  sold  for  three  and 
sixpence.  It  is  a  question  embmcing  the  interest  of  authors,  publisher^ 
and  the  public,  more  than  may  at  a  glance  appear.  The  rights  «t 
authors  form  the  foundation  of  the  theme,  and  it  may  be  worth  our 
while  some  day  to  endeaTour  to  show  that  a  mean  between  the  first 
exorbitant  and  the  last  equally  extravagantly  low  price  would  be 
better  for  all  parties. 


NiRRtTlvE  of  ■  Four  Montlu'  Reudence  smongst  the  Natives  of  a  Valley 
of  the  MiiRiiDEsis  IsWHDS  ;  or,  a  Peep  at  PolyneBsn  Life.  By  Hermah 
HSLVILLE.     Loadoa:  Murray. 

Is  there  any  one  whose  eye  may  fall  on  this  page,  weary  of  the  con- 
ventionalities of  ciTilised  life — some  toil-worn  Sisyphus  bowed  to  the 
earth  with  his  never-ending  task  of  rolling  up  the  hill  of  Ufe  the  stone 
that  ever  threatens  to  fall  back  on  himself— dispirited  with  the  energies 
he  has  wasted  on  unrewarded  or  uncongenial  pursuits — cheated  with 
Hope  until  he  regard  her  as  a  baffled  impostor  who  shall  cheat  him  no 
more ;  whose  heart  beats  no  longer  high  for  the  future ;  but  whose  best 
afiections  are  chilled,  and  loftiest  aspirations  thrown  back  on  them- 
selves. Is  there  any  one  sick  of  the  petty  animosities,  the  paltiy  heart- 
burnings and  jealousies,  and  low-thoughted  cares  of  what  is  called,  in 
bitter  mockery,  society }— Oh  !  "  if  such  man  there  be,"  let  him  take 
the  "  wings  of  a  dove,"  or  what  perhaps  will  bear  safer  the  weight  of 
himself  and  his  woes— a  berth  in  a  South-setf  whaler,  and  try  the  effects 


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of  a  "  Besidence  in  the  Marquesas,"  and  like  a  "  Peep  at  PolyneBiaa 
life,"  and  if  he  likes  the  peep  make  that  life  his  own. 
■  Here,  and  we  call  Mr.  Herman  Melville  into  court,  he  need  not  fear 
the  single  rap  at  the  door  which  dieeipates  his  day-dreams  as  surely  aa 
the  kite  in  the  air  scares  away  the  feafhered  minstrelsy  of  the  grove ; 
nor  the  poetman's  knock  that  peradveuture  hrings  the  letter  of  tho 
impatient  dun  or  threatening  attorney  ;  nor  butchers'  nor  bakers'  bills ; 
nor  quarter-days  with  griping  landlord  and  brutal  brokers ;  nor  tax-^ 
gatherer ;  nor  income-tax  collectors  guagiug  with  greedy  exactness  the 
drops  that  have  fallen  from  his  brow.  Here,  strange  to  say,  he  will  find 
Uo  money,  no  bargaining,  no  bankers  with  ffverdrawu  accounts  or  dis- 
honoured acceptances ;  no  coin,  and  therefore  no  care ;  no  miseiy,  and 
therefore  no  crime.  No  com'laws,  no  tariff,  no  union -workhonse,  no 
bone-crti«hing,  no  spirit-crashing,  no  sponging-honses,  no  prisons.  Bai 
he  may  live  as  the  songster  wt^'d,  btit  dtu'd  not  even  to  hope  he  conld 
lijc 


bnt  not  "alone."  For  here  are  Honrig  even  more  graceful  and  lovely 
than  the  flowers  they  are  perpetually  weaving  to  adorn  themselveB 
with  chaplets  and  necklaces,  their  only  ornaments,  but  worthy  of  the 
court  of  Flora  herself;  inviting  him  to  repose  his  weary  limbs  beneath 
the  shadows  of  groves,  on  couches  strewn  with  buds  and  fragrant 
blossoms. 

Here  the  bosom  of  Nature  unscarified  by  the  ploogh,  offers  up 
spontaneously  her  goodliest  ^fts  ;  food  the  most  nutritious,  and  fruits 
the  most  refreshing.  The  original  curse  on  man's  destiny,  appears  here 
not  to  have  fallen, "  the  ground  is  not  cursed  for  his  sake  f  nor  "in  sorrow 
does  he  eat  of  it  all  the  days  of  his  life." 

In  this  garden  of  Eden,  from  which  man  is  not  yet  an  exile,  there 
are  no  laws,  and  what  is  mors  agreeable  still,  no  want  of  them ;  nnlesB 
it  be  an  Agrarian  law,  which  works  to  every  one's  satisfaction.  In  this 
paradise  of  islands,  you  have  only  to  fix  the  site  of  yoar  house,  and  yon 
will  not  be  called  upon  to  produce  your  title  deeds ;  and  you  may  call 
upon  your  neighbours  to  help  you  to  build  it,  without  any  surveyor 
being  called  in  to  tax  their  bilis.  Here  you  may,  instead  of  going  to 
your  office  or  warehouse,  loiter  awa^  yoar  morning  beneath  the  loveliest 
and  bloest  of  skies,  on  the  margin  of  some  fair  lake,  reflecting  their 
hues  yet  more  tenderly ;  or  ^oin  tiie  yonng  men  in  their  fishing-parties 
or  more  athletic  sports ;  or  if  more  quietly  disposed,  join  the  old  men 
seated  on  their  mats  in  the  shade,  in  their  "  talk "  deprived  of  only 
one  topic,  yonr  everlasting  one,  the  weather ;  for  where  the  climate  is 
one  tropical  June  day,  "  melting  into  Joly,"  it  leaves  yon  nothing  ia 
wish  for,  positively  nothing  to  grumble  at. 

Such  ia  life  in  the  valley  of  the  Typees ;  and  sorely  Rasselas,  if  he 


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3U  SEW  BOOXi. 

hod  Iiad  tlie  good  lack  to  atamble  oa  it,  would  not  have  gone  foitber  !■ 
his  search  after  happinesc. 

There  is,  however,  one  trifling  drawback — torn*  ehadowe  to  tenpn 
the  light  of  this  glowing  pictare— the  Typees  are  cannibals  I  Tfat 
antbM  nukes  an  elaborate,  bat  to  onr  notion,  a  vwj  nnnecestaij  apotagjr 
for  this  propentity  of  tbeira.  The  Polynenona  have  the  advantage  (t 
'  the  catmib^  of  civilised  life,  for  we  have  long  since  made  liie  pleaaaat 
diaooveiy,  that  man-eating  is  not  confined  to  the  Anthropophagi  of  th« 
Sooth  Seas.  The  latter  have  undoubtedly  one  redeeming  distincticot— 
they  only  devour  their  enemiea  slain  in  battle :  there  is  nothing  whidl 
man  in  a  civilised  state  has  a  keener  a[^til«  for  than  his  particoki 
friend.  Oo  to  any  race-conise,  and  you  will  find  some  scented  Damei 
picking  his  teeth  with  a  silver  tooth-pick  after  devouring  his  Pythia^ 
as  if  he  bad  relished  the  repast.  Oo  to  Tattersal's  or  Crockfard's,  ana 
yon  will  find  that  in  a  single  night  a  man  has  devoored  his  own  wifa 
and  children — having  been  disappointed  in  supping  off  his  '""'■■"-'" 
friends.  We  know  instances  of  highly  respected  conntry  genUemea 
swallowing  at  a  single  election  the  whole  of  their  posterity  ;  and  conld 
quote  one  huge  Ogre  who  can  gorge  in  his  migh^  roan  a  few  millions 
(u"the  finest  peasantry" — nothing,  indeed,  eivuised  Men  are  mon 
expert  in  than  picking  their  neighbonia'  bones ! 

Possibly,  we  may  have  poshed  the  parallel  to  the  furthest ;  bnt  it  ia 
I  iraposnble  to  read  this  pleasant  volume  withont  being  startkd  at  the 
/  oft-recnmng  donbt,  has  civitiiation  made  man  better,  and  therefore 
happier  1  If  she  has  bronght  much  to  him,  she  has  taken  mnch  away  j 
and  wherever  ehe  has  trod,  diaeaae,  misery  and  crime  have  trailed 
her  footsteps.  She  finds  man  a  rude  bnt  happy  savi^,  and  leaves  him 
a  repulsive  outcast,  whose  only  relation  to  humanity  consists  in  the 
vices  which  stain  it ! 

We  have  dwelt  more  on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Melville^  "  Narrative," 
and  the  reflections  it  excites,  than  on  the  book  itself,  which  is  one  of  the 
i  most  captivating  we  have  ever  read.  What  will  our  juvenile  readers 
say  to  a  r«a^ Robinson  Crosoe,  with  a  real  man  Friday? — one  Koiy- 
Kory,  with  whom  we  will  venture  to  say  they  will  be  delighted  in  five 
minutes  ircmi  his  introduction.  The  eariy  part  of  the  volume,  narrating 
the  anthor^  escape  from  the  prison  ship — with  his  strange  comrade 
Toby,  whose  mysterious  fate,  after  baffling  our  curiosity  and  specnlB' 
tion,  is  yet  to  be  developed — for  the  best  of  all  possiblereasons,  uiat  die 
author  himself  has  not  found  it  out  1 — is  full  of  vivid  excitement  The 
hair-breadth  escapes  of  the  adventurous  seamen,  their  climbing  ap 
precipices  and  perpendicular  rocks,  thmr  perilous  leaps  into  cavemons 
retreats  and  gloomy  ravines,  are  painted  in  vivid  contrast  to  the  volup- 
tnona  ease  and  tranquil  enjoyments  of  the  happy  valley  which  they 
eventually  reach.  Although  with  little  pretension  to  author-craft, 
there  is  a  life  and  truth  in  the  descriptions,  and  a  freshness  in  the  style 
of  the  narrative,  which  is  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  scenea  and 


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KEW  BOOKS, 


adnstnrcs  it  delineates.  The  volume  foniie  a  part  of  "  Moiw'a 
Hone  and  Colonial  Library,"  and  ia  worth*  to  follow  "  Sorrow's  BiU* 
in  Spain,"  and  "  HeWa  Indian  Jonniua."    Wliat  IraTeller  'woald 

vnati  for  a  higher  distinction  1 


Taa  NtTHS  op  Minsk  ;  NurUiTe  of  QtB  Abbew  Hakrena  Mieczydswrica, 

Abbess  of  the  Baaliau  Nona  of  lliosk ;  or,  Hiilory  of  a  Seren  Yaara'  Fer< 

■DCation,  suffered  for  the  FaJdi.    Fcp.  Sro.     Bogoe. 

ToB  {Hsrsecution  of  the  Nona  of  Minsk  has  been  so  tmdly  affirmed 

and  denied,  and  has  excited  so  much  interest,  that  this  little  volumef 

which  contains  a  translation  of  the  authentic  narratiTS  of  the  Abbess, 

will  be  acceptable  to  the  public  as  affording  the  beat  nieans  of  judging 

fniBi  internal  evidence  whether  one  of  the  most  cruel  persecutions  or 

Tileat  ivpostares  has  been  perpetrated.    It  is  meatly  printed  in  a  cheap 

fwm,  and  appean  to  be  caiefullj  and  graphically  tianalated. 


LifB  kND  CoaBESPONDKltCE  OF  D«Tiii  HoMC  From  the  Papers  bequeathed 
by  his  Nephew  to  the  Rojial  Society  of  Edinburgh ;  and  other  original 
■ources.  By  John  Hill  Buftion,  Esq.,  Advocale.  2  vols,  demy  Sto. 
Edinburgh  :    W.  Tut. 

Thrse  volumes  are  a  valuable  contribution  to  out  literature.  What- 
ever may  be  the  variety  of  opinions  relative  to  the  value  of  Hnme'a 
philosophical  worka,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  shortest  letter  that 
throws  a  light  on  the  working  and  progress  of  snch  a  mind,  is  a  useful 
contribution  to  mental  investigation.  Hnme^  mind,  in  whatever 
category  it  may  be  placed  by  Uie  historian  of  philoaophy,  exercised 
directly  in  his  life,  and  continues  to  exercise  indirectly  in  njs  imitators 
and  followers,  so  powerful  an  influence  in  the  reciona  of  thought,  that 
it  becomes  a  necessity  to  all  interested  in  mental  philosophy  to  avail 
themselves  of  the  vast  amount  of  illustration  thus  for  the  £rst  lime 
affinded  them.  It  is  strange  that  documents  so  interesting  in  (hem- 
selves,  and  so  important  as  additions  to  mental  science,  should  have 
bean  ao  long  in  reaching  the  public.  They  have  now,  however,  fallen  into 
the  care  of  one  fully  cap^le  of  making  them  available,  and  for  the 
first  time  we  may  boast  of  possessing  a  bii^raphy  worthy  of  the  great 
Scotch  philosopher.  Hume's  own  brief  but  admirable  autobiography 
may  perhaps  have  rendered  other  writers  less  willing  to  enter  the 
field  against  his  terse  and  pregnant  memoir  ;  and  thus  have  caused 
what  must  hitherto  have  appeared,  especially  to  foreignera,  a  disgrace- 
ful deficiency  in  our  literature. 

It  is  not  only  as  a  contribution  to  mental  philosophy  that  the 
present  volumes  are  interesting.    The  biographical  narrative,  developing 


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^fi  REW  BOOKS. 

■a  it  does,  by  nnmerons  admirabk  letleisfrotn  and  to  Home,  s  gndnAl 
Listoiy  of  tbe  progrera  and  flnctnatioD  of  hit  mind,  and  his  conneetiob 
Tlth  public  eveata  and  the  most  eminent  men  of  his  time,  is  extremely 
interratiiig :  and  "  ihe  sfmy  ot  hia  life,"  Ukoo^  that  of  a  acholar,  hu 
iD  it«  intellectnal  adrentniea  &  diarm  aa  great  as  that  of  manj 
l^OM  foitiines  have  been  moie  variomi  and  violent.  Home's  clear, 
close,  and  pointed  style  of  analyHition  are  brooght  to  bear  as  rigidly  oa 
himself  aa  on  any  otner  anhject  nf  investigation  ;  and  we  therefore  have 
that  Tare  kind  of  biography  which  ve  feel  to  be  a  tiiie  reflectioD  of  the 
man.  The  eiperiencea  thaa'eained  are  of  the  ntmoat  value,  and  the 
leader  most  riae  from  the  book  invigorated  and  infoimed.  The  earlier 
portion  is  also  uecessoiily  a  history  of  the  progress  of  thon^t  in  the 
Ust  centDiy,  and  Ur.  Bnrton  haa  given  a  ver^  able  exposition  of 
Home's  philosophy  and  his  varions  great  treabsea.      This  may  be 


who  vjil  h^ve  but  very  vagne  notions  of  a.  philosophy,  which  it  has 
for  a  long  time  been  the  feahion  to  decry,  and  which  consequently  is, 
though  much  tallied  of,  bstiniperfectly-knowii/eapedally  to  theyoiuiger< 
students  of  the  day.  .  . 

The  glimpsea  of  social  life,  both  in  our  own  and  foreign  conntiies  daring 
the  past  century,  and  the  graphic  account  of  his  travels,  interspersed 
with  characleristic  remarks  and  anecdotes,  bring  a  great  portion  of  the 
work  actually  within  the  class  of  light  reading.  In  its  most  profonnd 
portion  it  is  never  dull,  and  the  perspicuity  of  Hume's  style,  as  well 
as  that  of  the  biographer,  render  all  parts  of  it  the  easiest  and  most 
agreeable  reading,  Mr.  Bnrton  appears  also  to  be  extremely  impartial 
in  his  critical  examination,  and  with  a  perfect  appreciation  ot  the  great 
subject  of  his  work,  never  to  he  deluded  into  any  unbecoming  enthO' 
siasTH.    It  is  a  book  worthy  of  a  philosopher. 

It  is  such  kind  of  works  we  would  specially  recommend  to  onr 
readers.  They  cannot  but  elevate  all  who  peruse  Uiem,  and  thus 
have  an  immediate  and  powerful  tendency  to  produce  that  equality  of 
mind,  which  will  prove  the  means  of  reaemption  both  mentally  and 
physically  to  the  hitherto  neglected  and  injured  masses  of  mankind. 
Book  societies,  formed  so  as  to  circulate  such  works  amongst  those 
nnable  to  purchase  them  singly,  would  be  one  of  the  readiest  means 
of  elevating  the  people.  Our  hope  and  reliance  is  in  the  dissemi- 
nation of  works  engendering  reflection  and  fortifying  the  rational 
feculties. 


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IJOUGLAS  JERROLIVS 

SHILLING   MAGAZINE. 


THE  HISTORY  OP  ST.  GILES  AND  ST.  JAMES.  • 

BT  THE  EDITOR. 

CHAPTER  XXVL 

HATiNG.traTelled half ourstorjr — (courage,  reader ;  QuLy half !)— 
we  have  to  ezplun  a  few  matters  of  the  past  for  the  better  appre- 
hensioa  of  the  future.  Let  ns  therefore  goaaip  five  niiQBt«a,  Let 
UB  pause  awhile  in  this  green  lane — it  is  scarcely  half-a-mile  from 
the  Town. Hall  of  Liquorish, — ere  mouating  Pen,  our  familiar 
hippogriff,  with  you,  sir,  on  the  crupper,  we  lake  a  flight  aod  in  » 
thou^t  descend  upon  the  mud  of  London. ,  The  sweet  breath  of 
the  season  should  open  hearts,  as  it  uncloses  myriads  of  buds  lutd 
blossoms.  So,  let  us  sit  upon  this  tree-trunk — tbts  elm,  felled  and 
lopped  in  December.  Stripped,  maimed,  and  overthrown,  a  few 
of  its  twigs  are  dotted  wiUi  green  leaves  ;  spring  still  working 
within  it,  like  hope  in  the  conquered  brave. 

I«  not  this  an  escape  from  tbe  scuffling  and  braying  of  immortal 
man,  moved  by  the  feelings  and  the  gmneas  of  an  election  ?  What 
A  very  decent,  quiet  feUow  is  Brown !  And  Jones  Ja  a  ciri^ 
peaceable  creature  !  And  Robinson,  too,  a  man  of  gentle  beariDgl 
Yet  multiply  the  three  by  one,  two,  three  hundred.  Let  there  he  a 
mob  of  Browna,  Joneses,  and  Robinsons,  and  then  how  often — 
made  up  of  individual  decency,  and  quietude,  and  gentleness — is 
there  a  raving,  roaring,  bulljing  crowd !  The  iodiridaal  Adam 
eets  aside  his  dignity,  as  a  boxer  strips  for  the  fight ;  and  wfaedier 

Coofjic ' 


388  TH£  HISIOBT  OF 

gie  thing  to  be  seen  !b  a  lord  major's  coooh,  fireworiu,  or  a  zkdj 
on  A  iiTer,  goose^>addled  in  a  washiiig-tub,  the  sons  of  Adam  will 
tJirong  to  the  sight,  and  fight  and  scream  for  Tantago-ground,  witli 
a  Tiolence  that  would  dume  anj  colonj  of  monkeys,  clawing  and 
jabbering  for  etol^  angar-cane.  Sweet,  then,  is  it  to  the  philo- 
sopher to  moraliie  upon  the-hubboh  and  the  jostling  crowd.  He 
pities  the  madneas  of  the  nndtitnde,  and  respfMa  die  serenity  of 
Us  own  Bool :  the  more  bo,  if  looking  from  a  window,  his  own  toes 
ate  untrodden,  uid  his  own  ceat-tails'mtoin. 

And  so,  reader,  let  us  breathe  awhile  in  'Sub  green  Bolitode — if, 
Indeed,  it  be  a  solitude.  For  who  shall  coont  the  little  eje-like 
flowere  peeping  at  us  from  the  hedgea— looking  up  frx)m  the  sward 
in  our  face,  openly  as  loving  innocence  ?  A  solitude  !  What  a 
world  of  gruMsdo  we  tread  upon,  a  wra-ld  so  crawdtd  a»d  knaming 
with  insect  citizens  !  If  wily  one  tmi  of  the  peg  we  would  let 
down  our  pride — of  all  the  heart-strings  the  bass  and  grumbling 
one — we  might  oompare  many  of  these  children,  fathers,  and 
grandfathers  of  a  day  with  the  two-legged  kings  of  creation,  the 
biped  majesties  <Df  threescore  years  and  ten.  We  m^t  wat«h 
thdr  little  runnings  to  and  fram  tfaeir  hoards  ;  their  painfdl  climb- 
ings  to  the  very  needle  point  of  some  tall  blade  of  grass  ;  watch 
them  and  smile,  eTen  as  the  angels,  at  their  pleasant  teisnrewatdi 
and  smile  at  you,  Gmbbings,  when  you  go  to  the  Bank  and  add  to 
jonr  sweet  salvation  there,  the  balance:  smile,  aa  atpoorSiqierbnB 
when,  climbing  and  cUmhing,  be  rose  to  great  Odd  Stick,  and 
kept  it  twenty  years, — lo  angelic  computation  jnat  twenty  throb- 
bings  of  a  fevered  heart,  Snrelj,  there  is  -not  an  iraect  tiiat  Tve 
might  not  couple  with  an  acquaintance.  Here,  in  ^s  little,  trim 
«obriety,  is  oar  qnft"ker  friend,  Placena  ;  and  here,  in  this  bntt«rfiy, 
tipsy  with  its  first-dnj  's  wings,  is  Polly,  foolish  PoUy,  who 
cannot  consent  to  see  the  world,  nnless  she  sees  it  in  her  finest 
clothes.  And  BO,  looking  at  a  piece  of  turf,  no  bigger  tlutn  a 
lurk's  foot-stool,  we  may  people  it  with  friends  and  "woiid 
acqoaintance. 

Is  this  solitude  ?  And  the  blacklnrd,  vritb  his  notes  of  melted 
honey,  winds  and  whistlee — no.  BtJitade  ?  Tbejay,  whose  vtnee  is 
a  continual  dissent, -grates — no.  Sditude  ?  And  the  household 
rook  swims  upward  in  the  air,  and  with  biini«ward  eaw,  awakens 
busy  ttou^ta  of  life,  of  the  day'soaresandtheday'sneeesHtties, 
The  earth  has  no  place  of  solitude.  Kot  a  rood  of  the  wilderness 
:  that  is  not  thronged  and  eloquent  Tith  crowds  and  Ttuces,  com- 


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ST.    GILES   AKD  ST,   JAIIES.  387 

tinnuiTg"witli  the  spirit  of  man  ;  «irihwed  bysucfa  eamnnmion  fifth 
»  kntnrfedge  whofle  douHe  fnrit  is 'cKrin^t'liope -audiitedkrat 

So  once  more  to  onr  Btory :  once-more  to  eonHider  the  dotugg  ■«£ 
nrcn.  They  are  -not  to  be  thought  of  with  less  diarity^for  tiia 
gOBBJp  m  a  green  lane.  -Nay,  try  it,  reader,  on  yunr  own  acoonnt. 
Say  that  yon  hare  -a  small  wrong  at  yonr  heart ;  say,  that  in 
yonrboeom  you  noMe  a-pet  injoiy  like  a  pet  make.  WeD,  bring 
it  here,  away  from  the  hri<i-and-mort8r  world  ;  seethe  innocent 
beauty  spread  around  you  ;  (he  snuny  hoaTcns  smiling  protecting 
lore  upon  jou  ;  listen  to  the  harmonieB' breathing  about  yon  ;  and 
then  soy,  is  not  this  immortal  injury  of  yonrs  a  wretched  thing,  a 
moral  ^mgns,  of  no  more  account  tiion  a  mildewed  toadBtooIt 
Of  cnuree.  Ton  ore  abashed  by  omnipotent  benevolence  into 
charity  ;  arid  jou  forgiTe  the  wrong  jou  hare  received  from  man, 
in  yoHr' deep -gratitude  to  God. 

'J^ererth^eBB,  there  are  natares  hard]y  suscepiible  of  snefa  influ- 
ence. There  are  frfkg  who  would  take  their  smaltest  wronga-wiSi 
them  into  Paradise,  Go  where  they  wfll,  they  carry  with  them  a 
traveUit^^ase  of  injuries,  Dowe  not  know  Tromperly  ?  A  Tery 
regularman,  and  a  mast  respectable  shopkeeper.  He  taketh  his 
sabbath  walk.  He  looketh  round  upon  a  wide  expanse.  The 
heath  ib  Blnminated  with  flowering  An-ze.  He  stands  npon  a 
Teritable  'field  of  cloth  of  g(dd.  He  is  about  to  smile  upon  the 
natural  splendour,  when  again  fae'recoUects  the  bad  half-sovereign 
taken  ten  days  ago,  and  at  the  extremest  comers  of  his  moufh  the 
'smite  :dieB,  a  death  of  suddcnoess.  And  Grizzleton  ?  Did  he  not 
travel  for  enjoyment,  aad  did  not  some  past,  particular  'wrong 
always  blot  out,  destroy  the  present  beauty  ?  He  made  a  pil- 
grimage to  Kiegara.  He  was  aboot  to  be  very  much  rapt, 
astounded  by  its  terrible  grandcar,  when  the  spray  fell  npon  his 
new  hat,  and  he  could  not  but  groan  for  the  cotton  nmbrella,  price 
one  dollar,  diat  he  had  lost  at  New  York.  And  in  this  way  do 
■we  often  shndow  present  pleasures  with  the  thought  of  some  sort 
of  counterfeit  money — -some  sort  of  departed  umbrella. 

And  wrongs,  naturally  enough,  bring  'us  back  to  Ebeneier 
-Snipeton.  It  was  his  trctde  to  lend  money  :  nevertheless,  bo  was 
not  a- man  who  snSered  business  to  entirely  absorb  his  pleasure. 
Hence, 'when  he  discovered  that  the  patriot  who,  purely  for  the 
sake  of  his  country,  was  to  snatch  Liquorish  from  yonng  St.  James, 
thought  better  of  the  rashness,  refosing  at  the  last  moment  to'save 


aW'  THE  BIBTOBT  (HP ' 

&»  nation, — ^he,  Ebeneser,  treated  himself  to  »  co«tlf  but  deUeioos 
enjojment.  And  he — ^it  «u  dnu  hepondered — he  could  afford  it. 
He  wM  s  tluiflT',  saving  man.  He  dallied  not  with  common- 
temptationSi  He  wasted  no  monej  upon  lumrioHs  hoosekeeping  ; 
and  for  his  wife,  no  nun  erer  spent  less  with  the  nulliner.  He 
tool  care  of  that.  Well,  as  the  hometj  proverb  goes,  it  is  a  pooE 
heart  that  never  rejoices  ;  and  therefore  Ebeneser  Snipeton,  tem- 
perate, self-denying  in  all  other  expensive  enjoyments,  was  resolved, 
for  once  in  his  da}^,  to  purchase  for  himself  a  handsome  piece  of 
revenge.  Determined  upon  a  treat,  he  cared  not  for  its  cost.  He 
woold  carry  Capstick  into  Parliament,  though  in  a  chariot  of  solid 
gold.  The  young  lord  had  dared  to  look  upon  Clarissa.  .  The 
creature,  a  part  of  himself ;  whose  youth  and  beauty,  hdonging 
to  him,  seemed  to  him  a  hetter  assurance  against  decay  and  death. 
He  had  bought  her  for  his  tawfid  wife,  and  Holy  Church  had 
written  the  receipt.  Nevertheless,  that  smooth-faced  smiling  lord 
— he,  too,  to  whom  the  good  old  husband  in  the  embracing  phil- 
anthropy of  a  hundred  per  cent,  had  lent  ready  gold,  to  be  paid 
back,  post-obit  fashion,  on  a  father's  coffin-lid — lie,  the  young, 
handsome,  profligate  St.  James,  with  no  more  reverence  for  the 
sanctity  ot  marriage  than  has  a  school-boy  for  an  orchard  fence, 
he^t  was  plun — would  carry  off  that  mated  bird !  This  one 
thought  parched  the  old  man  as  with  a  fever :  waking,  it  consumed 
him  ;  and  be  would  start  from  his  sleep,  as  though — ^such  was  bis 
worded  fancy — an  addw  stirred  in  his  night-cap.  Therefore  he 
would  not  stint  himself  in  bis  feast  of  vengeance.  And  therefore 
.the  freeholders  were  bought  at  their  own  price, — and  they  proved 
bow  dearly  they  vdued  a  vote, — and  Capstjck,  the  muffin-maker, 
.  conquered  the  son  of  a  marquis.  People  averred  that  the  new 
member  owed  his  elevation  to  the  fiercest  malice  ;  but  he,  ous- 
anthrope  as  he  was,  had  now  and  then  hb  holiday  notions  of 
humanity,  and  did  not  to  the  full  believe  the  scandal.  No : 
though  he  did  not  confess  it  to  himself,  it  was  plain  that  his  neigh- 
bours— at  least  the  more  though  tfid  of  them — believed  in  his  powers 
of  statesmanship  ;  it  was  their  wish,  their  one  hope  that  he  should 
represent  them  ;  and  though  he  himself  cared  not  a  straw  for  the 
honour,  it  would  have  seemed  ungracious  to  refuse.  And  so  he 
quitted  the  Tab,  and  Bright  Jem  went  heavily  along  with  hirn  to 
London.  '■  I  shall  be  quite  the  simple  Boman  in  this  business," 
said  Capstiok.  "  I  feel  myself  very  like  Cincinnatus  taken  from 
turnips. "     "  Without  goin"  to  that  Parliament,  I  only  wish  yoo 

Coofjic 


SI.    GILES  AHD  ST.  JAMES,  309 

WM  well  amoDg  'em  agin,"  interrupted  Jem,  *^  And  therefore," 
continued  the  eenator,  "I  ataH  lodge  humbly."  And  Capstick 
iept  his  word  ;  for  he  hired  a  three-pair  floor  and  an  attic  iu 
Long  Acre  ;  and  having  purchased  a  framed  and  glazed  copy  of 
Magna  Charta  to  hang  over  the  chimney-piece,  he  began  very 
deeply  to  consider  his  manifold  duties  as  Member  of  Parliament. 

With  varyidg  feelings  St.  Giles  had  watched  the  progi'ees  of 
the  election.  He  had — it  was  his  duty — shouted  and  bellowed  for 
St.  James.  Nevertheless,  the  final  prosperity  of  the  muffin-man, 
his  early  benefactor,  scarcely  displeased  him.  Agiua,  too,  he 
thought  that,  should  the  young  lord  refuse  to  employ  him — for  he 
had  still  been  baulked  in  his  endeavour  to  see  St.  James—the  new 
member  for  Liquorish  would  need  new  attendants  to  illustrate  his 
dignity.  And  Bright  Jem  had,  of  course,  revealed  to  Capstick 
all  the  transport's  story  ;  for  the  felon  hod  made  a  clean  breast  of 
his  mystpry  to  Jem,  on  their  way  to  Kingcup,  the  schoolmaster. 
And  BO,  the  election  revel  over,  with  a  lightened  heart  St.  Giles 
set  out  for  London,  Should  St.  James  ful  him,  he  was  sure  of 
Capstick. 

if  human  misery  demand  human  sympathy,  the  condition  of  Tom 
Blast  is  not  to  be  despised.  It  is  our  trust  that  the  reader  {<A- 
lowed  him  when,  oppressed  by  the  weight  of  gold,  he  pipped  and 
staggered  from  the  Olive  Branch,  and  gasped  and  sweated  as  he 
reached  the  field,  wherein  he  solaced  bis  fatigue  with  the  secret 
thought  of  future  fortune  bringing  future  reformation.  It  was 
with  this  strengthening  impulse  that  he  fiimg  the  iron  box,  gold- 
crammed,  into  the  middle  of  a  pond.  There  it  lay,  like  one  of 
Solomon's  brazen  kettles  in  the  sea,  contwning  a  tremendous  genins 
— an  all-potent  magician,  when  once  released  to  work  among  men. 
And  Tom  would  go  to  London,  and  in  a  few  days,  when  Liquorish 
had  subsided  from  its  patriotic  intoxication  to  its  old  sobriety,  he 
would  return  with  some  trusty  fellow-labourer  in  the  world's  hard 
ways,  and  angle  for  the  box.  Unhappy,  fated  Blast !  He  had 
flung  his  gold-fish  into  Doctor  Gilead's  pond.  He  bad  enriched 
the  rector's  waters  with  uncounted  guineas.  Next,  of  course,  to 
"  the  fiahpools  in  Hoshbon,"  the  Doctor  loved  that  pond,  for  it 
contained  carp  of  astonishing  size  and  intelligence.  Often  would 
the  Doctor  seek  the  waters,  and  whilst  feeding  their  tenants — 
tenant B-at- will — delight  himself  with  their  docility  yid  dimenuons. 
It  was  pretty,  now  to  contemplate  them  in  the  pood,  and  now  to 
fancy  them  m  the  dish.     The  Doctor  knew  the  value,  the  pleasure 

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S90  THE  mSIOBT  OS 

of  ezciciBing  tha  imagi^atioa ;  and.  Uiua  made  his  carp  eqnaUj 
nuniatmit  ta  his  unmortal  and  hia  abdominal  povers.  Well,  the 
pNtd  was  to  be  dragged  for  the  election  dinnox,  and  the  net  }m- 
comiag  entangled  with  the  bos — but  the  Decttn"  has  already 
rarealed  the  happy  aecident,  Tom  Blast  felt  himself  a  blighted 
mm.  It  wa*  alwaje  his  way.  An  j  other  thief  would  have  hiddea 
the  goods  in  any  other  pond  :  but  somehow  or  the  other,  the 
clergy  had  always  been,  hia  nuafortnne.  It  was  no  use  to  stmggle. 
ir'-th  fale  :  he  was  doomed  to  bad  luck.  And  whe^  too,  he  had 
made  vp  hia  n^ud  to  ench  a  quiet,  ccunfortable  life ;  when  Jie  had 
resolred  upon  respectability  and  an  honest  course  ;  he  felt  hia 
beart  softened — it  was  too  had.  Ifothing  was  left  for  him  but  to 
Tctun  to  the  thief's  wide  home,  London.  He,  poor  fellow ! 
could  have  subdued  hia  desires  to  live  even  at  liqoMiah ;  for  tobacca 
aod  gin  were  there ;  but,  he  luiew  it,  in  auch  a  place  he  most 
starve.  With  the  loss  of  the  box  came  a  quickened  recollecticMi 
of  the  loss  of  Jingp.  Where  could  the  child  have  wandered  t 
Blast  had  learned  that  Tangle  had  been  despoiled  of  his  purse  on 
the  night  of  the  greater  robbery.  Now,  though  the  paternal  heavt 
w»s  pleased  to  believe  that  auch  theft  was  the  work  of  the  boy,  the 
father  was  nevertheleaa  saddened  at  the  child's  disobedience.  If 
it  waa  the  boy's  duty  to  rob,  it  was  no  less  his  duty  to  bring  the 
stolen  goods  to  his  affectionate  parent.  In  prosperity  the  human 
heart  is  less  sensihleof  alight.  Blast,  whilst  the  believed  poBseasw 
of  co'jntless  guineas,  actw^y  thought  of  his  son  ;  but,  atnpt  of 
hia  wjalth,  hia  thoughts — it. was  very  .natural — did. turn  to  lus 
tiuaut  chilli  and  the  pursa  he  had  stolen. 

And  now,  reader,  leave  we  the  borough  of  liquorish.  Its  street 
u  ailent,  and  save  that  certain  of  its  dwellers  have  bought  new 
Sunday  coats  and  Sunday  gowns — save  that  here  and  there  in 
good  man's  house  a  new  clock,  with  moralizing  ti<^  to  human 
Me,  gives  voice  to  silent  time — save  that  on  certain  shelves  new 
painted  crockery  illnstratea  at  once  -the  vanity  and  fragility  o£ 
human  hepea,  no  man  would  dream  that  a  m«nbeT  of  Pariia^ 
ment  had  within  a  few  hours  been  manafactured  in  that  dull 
•liidieg^lafie. 

And  n«w,  reader,  with  one  drop  of  ink,  we  ar^Agun  in  London. 
Ha!  We  have  descended  in  St.  James's  Square.  The  mcvnlog 
is  very  beautiful. ;  and  there,  at  the  Marquis's  door,  smiling,  in 
the  sun,  ia  an  old  acquaintance,  Peter  Crossbone,  apothecary ; 
the  learned,  disappointed  man ;  fer  CroBsIxne  had  looked  upon 


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ST.  0IL2S  AND  ST.,  JAKES.  361 

tbo  escape  of  St.  Jomea  from  Dovesoest  as  an  especial  miBfwtune, 
All  hia  professional  dajB  he  had  ye&rned  for  what  he  called 
distin^tiished  [»aetice.  We  doubt  whether  he  would, not  hare 
thought  the  Tower  liona,  being  crown  prop^ty,  most  important 
patients.  For  some  time,  he  had  pondered  on  the  policy  of 
Tisiting  young  St.  James,  the  wounded  phceniz  that  had  flown 
from  his  hands.  His  will  was  good  ;  all  he  wanted  was  a  decent 
excuse  for  the  iotmaion  ;  and  at  length  fortune  blessed  him. 
He  felt  eertwn  of  the  young  lord's  condescending  notice,  if  he, 
the  village  apothecary,  could  show  himself  of  service  to  him. 
The  marquis  s  father  was  much  persecuted  by  that  luxurions 
scorpion,  the  gout,,  that  epicurean.feeder  on  the  best  fed..  Now 
Crossbone  had,  in  his  own  opinion,  a  specific  euro  for  the  tor- 
ment ;  but  he  much  doubted  whether  science  would  bo  hia  best 
reciMnmendatioa  to  the  yoong.  heir.  No :  he  wanted  faith  in  such 
an  intercessor.  And  thus,  with  his  brain  in  a  pitch-black  fo^, 
he  meditated,  and  saw  no  way.  And  now  is  he  surromded  by  mist, 
and  now  is  he  in  a  blaze  of  light..  And  what  has  broken  through 
the  gloom,  and  dawned  a  sudden  day  ?  That  luminous  cmcen- 
tration,  that  world  of  eloquent  light — for  how  it  talks! — a 
woman's  eye. 

Suddenly  Crossbone  remembered  a  certain  look  of  Clarissa. 
And  that  look,  was  instantly  a  light  to  him  that  made  all  clear. 
That  look  showed,  the  jealousy  of  the  husband;  the  passion  of 
the  wife.  9nipoton  was  a  tyrant,  and  Clarissa  a  Tictmi.  And 
then  compassion  entered  the  heart  of  Crossbone,  and  did  a  little 
soften  it.  Yes  ;  it  would  be  a  humane  deed  to  assist  the  pxa 
wife,  and  at  the  same  time  so  delicious  to  delight  his  lordship. 
And  then  he — Crossbone  knew  it, — he  Mms^  was  so  flt  for  the 
gay  world.  He  was  bom,  he  would. say,  for  the  stones  of  London, 
and  therefore  hated  the  clay  of  the  country. 

Beader,  as  yon  tamed  the  present  leaf,  Crossbone  knocked 
at  tho  door,  and  stood  with  an  uneasy  .  smile  upon  his  face, 
awaiting  the  porter,  who,  with  a  fine,  critical  ear  for  knocko, 
knew  it  could  be  nobody,  and  treated  the  nobody  accordmgly ; 
that  is,  made  the  nobody  wait.  In  due  season,  Crossbone  and 
the  porter- sttfod  face  to  face.  "Is  Lord  St.  James  within ? " 
And  Crossbone  tiied  to  look  the  easy,  town  man.  It  would  not 
do.  Had  he  been  a  haystack,  the  porter,  would,  as  readily  hare 
known  the  country  growth. 

"  Lordship  within  ?  "  Grunted  the  porter,  f  Don't  know." 

v.Googlc^ 


AlS  THK  HUIORT   OF 

Bat  Mr.  CroaeboDe  knew  better.  It  w&b  his  bo^fit ;  he  koeir 
Efe  ;  and  therefore  aJwaja  paved  its  little  shabby  paaaages  with 
silver :  other  pasaageH  require  gold,  and  only  for  that  reaaita 
are  not  thought  so  shabby.  True,  therefore,  to  his  principles, 
Mr.  Crossbone  sneaked  a  card  and  a  dolkir  into  the  porter's  hand. 

"  Ralph,  take  this  card  to  his  lordship.  Qood  deal  bothered, 
all  (rf  OB,  just  now,"  added  the  porter. 

"  Good  deal,"  corroborated  Ralph,  the  son  of  Gum,  and  look- 
ing up  and  down  at  the  apothecary,  ho  went  hia  way.  Quick  was 
his  return  ;  and  with  reHpectfn)  voice  he  begged  the  gentleman  to 
fcJlow  him. 

"  Wo  have  met  before,  Mr.  Crossbone,"  said  St.  James,  and  a 
shadow  crossed  his  faee.     "  I  wcU  remember." 

"  No  doubt,  my  lord.  It  was  my  happiness  to  employ  my  poor 
skill  in  a  case  of  great  danger.  Ifeed  I  say,  how  much  I  am 
rewarded  by  your  lordship's  present  health  J  " 

"Hmnph  !  I  hare  been  worse  beaten  since  then,"  said  the- 
young  low,  and  he  bit  his  lip.  He  then  with  a  gay  air  continued: 
"  Mr.  Snipeton  is,  I  believe,  your  patient  ?  " 

"Elesa  jour  heart,  mj  lord, — that  is,  I  beg  youc  pardon," — 
for  Crossbone  felt  the  familiarity  of  the  benison — "  Mr.  Snipeton 
is  no  man's  patient.  King  Charles  of  Charing  Cross — saving  lus 
majesty's  presence— has  just  as  muclrneed  of  the  faculty..  When 
people,  my  lord,  have  no  feelings  Uiey  have  little  sickness :  that  'a 
a  discovery  I  *ve  made-,  my  lord,  and  old  Snipeton  bears  it  out. 
'  Sow  his  wife — ha  !  that 's  a  flower. " 

"Tender  and  beautiful,"  cried  St.  James,  with  animation. 
"  And  her  health,  Mr.  Crossbone  ?  " 

,  "  Delicate,  my  lord  i  delicate  as  a  bird  of  paradise.  I '»e  often 
'said  it,  she  wasn't  made  for  this  world  ;  it's  too  coarse  and  dirty. 
However,  she. 11  not  be  long  out  of  her  proper  place.  No :  she's 
dying  fast." 

"  Dying  1  "  excltumed  St.  James,  "  Dying  !  Impossible  I 
Dying — with  what  ?  " 

"  A  more  common  malady  than 's  thought  of,  my  lord, ' '  answered 
Crossbone.  He  then  advanced  a  step,  and  projecting  the  third 
finger  of  the  left  hand,  with  knowing  look  observed — "Ring- 
worm, my  lord." 

"  Ha !  "  ciied  St.  Giles,  airily,  "  Ring-worm !  Is  that  indeeil 
ao  fatal  ?  "  , 

,^Wlien,  my  lord,  it  fixes  on  the  marriage  finger  of  the  young 


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ST.   GILES  AM>   ST.  J&UBS.  ftSS 

and  beautiful  wife  of  an  old  And  ugly  miser,  it  'b  mortal,  my  lord — 
mAi-tol,  it  does  so  affect,  bo  oasufy  the  heart.  I  Ve  seen  many 
f  oses,"  added  Crosabone  emphatically,  resolved  to  make  the  most 
of  certainly  a  very  peculiar  practice. 

"And  there  is  no  remedy  ?"  asked  St.  Jamea,  as  he  placed 
his  palms  together  and  looked  keenly  in  the  apothecary's  face. 

"Why,  I've  known  the  worm  removed  with  great  succeae : 
that  is,''aaid  the apotbecaiy, retuming the  look,  "when the  patient 
has  had  every  confidence  in  the  practitioner." 

"Mr.  Croaabone,"  cried  St.  Jamea,    "you  are  a  man  of  the 

"  My  lord,"  answered  the  apothecary,  with  a  thanksgiving  how, 
"  I  am." 

Now,  when  a  man  pays  a  man  this  praiae,  it  happens,  say  six 
times  out  of  nine,  that  the  compliment  really  means  this  much: 
"  Tou  are  a  man  of  the  world  ;  that  ia,  you  are  a  shrewd  fellow 
who  know  alt  the  hy-ways  and  turnings  of  life  :  who  know  that 
what  is  called  a  wrong,  a  shabbiness,  in  the  pulpit  or  in  &e  duung- 
room  (before  company),  ia  aevertheless  not  a  wrong,  aot  a  ahahbi- 
Deas  when  to  he  undertaken  for  a  man's  especial  interest.  They 
are  matters  to  be  much  abused,  until  required  :  to  shake  the  bead 
and  make  mouths  at,  until  deemed  indispensable  to  our  health  to 
swallow."  To  praise  a  man  for  knowing  the  world,  is  often  to 
commend  him  oiily  for  his  knowledge  of  its  dirty  lanes  and  crooked 
alleys.     Any  fool  knows  the  broad  paths — the  squares  of  life. 

And  Mr.  Crossbone — sagacious  person  ! — took  the  lord's  com- 
pUment'in  its  intended  sense.  He  already  felt  that  he  was  about 
to  he  entrusted  with  a  secret,  a  misBion,  that  might  test  the  lofty 
knowledge  for  which  he  was  extolled.  Therefore,  to  clench  his 
lordship's  confidence,  the  apothecary  added,  "I  am,  my  lord,  a 
man  of  tbe  world.  There  are  two  golden  rules  of  life  ;  I  have 
ever  studied  them." 

"  And  these  are?" — asked  St.  James,  drawing  him  oq. 

"These  are,  to  keep  your  eyes  open  and  your  mouth  shut. 
Your  lordship  may  command  me," 

"  Mr.  Crossbone" — and  St.  James,  motioning  the  apothecary  to 
a  chair,  aeated  himself  for  serious  consultation — "  Mr.  Croasbone, 
this  Snipeton  has  deeply  injured  me." 

"  1  believe  him  capable  of  anything,  my  lord,  Sony  am  I  to 
say  it,"  aaid  CroBsb<Hie,  hUtbely. 

"  He  has  wounded  Uie  dignity  of  my  family.     He  has  wrested 


391  THE  mSTOBI   OF 

firotauB  tbe  borongh  of  laquorish" — Crossbone  looked  wondrons 
diagnst  at  the  enormitj; — "  &  borough  that  has  beea  oora,  aye, 
since  the  Conquest." 

"  No  doubt,"  cried  Crossbone.  "  He  might  as  well  have  Btdea 
the  family  plate." 

"  Just  BO.  Now,  Mr.  Crosshono,  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  a  whit 
better  than  the  ordintny  nm  of  my  fellow-creaturea.  I  must  there- 
fore confess  'tvonld  give  me  some  pleasure  to  be  rerenged  of  this 
money-seller." 

"  Situated  as  you  are,  my  lord  ;  womided  as  yon  must  be  in  a 
moBt  patriotic  part,  I  do  not  perceire  hoir  your  lordship  can,  as  a 
nobleman  and  a  gentleman,  do  less  than  take  revenge.  It  is  a 
duty  you  owe  your  station — a  duty  due  to  society,  for  whose  better 
example  noblemen  were  made.  Revenge,  my  Itnrd  !  "  died  Crwa- 
bone,  wiAa  look  of  devotion. 

"The  sweeter  stiH  the  better,"  s^d  St.  James. 

"  Right,  my  lord ;  very  right.  Rereage  is  a  magnificent  pae- 
fiioD,  and  Dot  to  be  meddled  with  in  the  spirit  of  a.  chandler.  No 
tnnnpery  ha'portha  of  it, — 'twould  bo  unworthy  of  a  nobleman." 

"Mr.  CiT»si»one,  you  are  aman  of  great  inteUigence.  A  man  who 
ought  not  to  vegetate  in  the  country  with  dandelion  and  pimpernel. 
No,  sir  :  you  mast  be  fixed  in  London.  A  genius  like  yours,  ^■ 
Crossbone,  is  cast  away  upon  bumpkins.  We  shall  yet.  see  yon 
with  a  gold  cane,  in  yonr  own  carriage,  Mc.  Crossbone." 

And  with  these  words,  Lord  St.  James  gently  pressed  the  tips 
(tf  Crmsbone's  fingers.  THe  apothecary  was  wholly  subdued  by 
the  condescension  of  his  lordship.  He  sat,  in  a  golden  cloud, 
smiling,  and  looking  bashfully  grateM.  And  then  his  eyes 
trembled  with  emotion,  and  he  felt  that  he  should  very  much 
lito  to  acknowledge  upon  his  knees  the  honour  unworth&y  eonr 
ferred  upon  him.  It  would  hare  much  comforted  him  to  kneel ; 
nevertheless,  with  heroic  self-deniat  he  kepi  his  seat.;  and  at 
Jength  in  a  faint  voice  said — "  It.  isn't  for  me,  your  lordslup,  to 
speak  of  my  poor  merits  ;  your  lordship  knows  best.  But  this 
I  must  say,  my  lord  ;  I  do  think  I  have  looked  after  the,weedB 
of  the  world  quite  long  enough.  Ijown,  iLianawmy  amhition 
to  cultivate  the  lilies." 

"  I  understand,  Mr.  CrosationeJ  Well,  Idon't  know  that  even 
the  court  may  not  be  open  to  yon." 

The  vision  was  too  much  for  the  apothecai^.  He.nghed,  aa 
though  suddenly  oppressed  by  a  burthen  of  delight.     In  &mj, 


ST.   OILES  AND   ST.   JAKES. 


be  already  had  his  fingers  on  a  royal  pulae,  whose  harmonions 
throbbiogs  commniiicatiiig  with  his  own  ennobled  anatomy,  sweetly 
troubled  bis  beatiog  heart.  However,  with  the  will  of  a  strong 
man  he  put    down  the  emotion,  and  retained  to  his  lordship's 


"You  spoke  of  revenge,  my  lord?  Upon  that  wealthy 
wretch,  Snipeton  ?  May  I  ask  what  sort  of  revenge  yonr 
lordslup  desireB  to  take  ?  " 

"  Faith  !  Mr.  Crosabone,  ray  revenge  is  like  Sbylock's.  I  'd 
take  it,"  said  the  young  geademan,  with  a  smile  of  significant 
bitterness — "  I  'd  take  it  '  nearest  his  heart:'  " 

'"  Tes,  I  understand  ;  perfectly,  my  lord,"  said  CrossboDO  with 
new  gMoty.     "  The  flesh  of  his  flesh,  eh  ?     His  wife  T" 

"  His  wife,"  cried  St  James  passionately. 

"  Excellent,  my  lord  I  Excelleot !  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !"  And  the 
Apothecary  could  not  resist  the  spirit  of  laughter  that  tickled  him ; 
it  was  so  droll  to  imagine  a  num— especially  an  old  man— despoiled 
of  his  wife.  "  She  would  be  sweet  revenge,"  cried  Crossbone, 
rubbing  hia  hands  with  an  implied  relish. 

"  And  practicable,  eh  ?"  cried  St.  James.  Crossbone  smiled 
again,  and  nibbed  his  hands  with  renewed  pleasure,  nodding  tb« 
while.  "  He  has  carried  her  from  Dovesnest ;  buried  her  some* 
where ;  for  this  much  I  know — she  is  not  at  his  house  in  the  city." 

"  I  know'all,  my  lord  ;  all.  I  have  received  a  letter — here  it 
is" — and  Crossbone  gave  the  missive  to  St.  James  :  "  you  see,  he 
writes  me  that  she  is  ill — very  ill — and  as  he  has  great  fMth  in 
myknowledge — for  there  is  no  man  without  some  good  point,  let's 
hope  that — in  my  knowledge  of  her  constitution,  he  desires  me  to 
cfMie  and  see  her.  I  've  arrived  this  very  morning  in  London.  I 
was  goiag  direct  to  him  ;  but — surely  there's  providence  in  it,  mj 
lord--J}at  something  told  mate  come  and  see  you  first." 

"  And  I  am  delighted,"  aud  St.  James,  "  that  you  gave  ear 
to  the  good  genius.     Tou  1]  assist  me  ?  " 

"  My  lord,"  said  Crossbone  Bolemnly,  "  I  have,  I  hope,  a  proper 
respect  for  the  rights  of  birth  and  the  institutioDfi  of  my  country. 
And  I  have  always,  my  lord,  considered  politics  as  nothing  more 
than  enlarged  morals." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  apophthegm""— swd  the  flattering  St.  James. 
"  May  I  use  it  in  parliajnoot  when — I  get  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  lord  ! "  simpered  Crossbone,  and  coBtmned.  "  En- 
larged morals.    Ifow,  this  man  Snipeton,  in  oppoairig  your  lordship 


3&S  THE  HIBT^ar  OF  ST.   OIlEB  AND   ST.   JAMBB. 

for  Liquorish,  in  bringing  in  a  muffin-maker  over  your  noble  head 
— all  tiie  town  ib  ringing  with  it — haa,  I  conceive,  violated  whole- 
sale morality,  and  should  be  punished  accordingly.  But  how 
pnaiHlied  ?  You  can't  touch  him  through  his  money.  No  :  'ti» 
his  coat  of  mail.  He  'b  what  I  call  a  golden  crocodile,  my  lord, 
with  hut  one  tender  place — and  that  'b  bis  wife.  Then  strike  him 
there,  and  jou  puni^  him  for  hia  presumption,  and  revenge  the 
disgrace  he  has  put  upon  your  family." 

"  Exactly,"  said  St.  James,  a  little  impatient  of  the  apothecary's 
morals.      "  But,  my  good  air,  do  you  Imoif  where  the  lady  is  ? 

"  No.  But  I  shall  order  her  wherever  may  be  most  convenient. 
Would  the  air  of  Bath  suit  you?"  asked  the  apothecary  with  a 
leer. 

"  Eicellentiy— notlung  could  he  better,"  aaid  St.  James. 

"  Bath  he  It,  then,  And  ahe  must  go  alone  ;  that  ia,  without 
ihat  Mrs.  Wilton.  I  don't  like  that  woman.  There's  a  cold 
watchfulness  about  her  thaf  we  can  do  without,  my. lord." 

"  But  how  aeparate  them  ?"  asked  St.  James. 

"  Leave  that  to  me.  Well  handled,  nothing  cuts  like  a  sharp 
lie  ')  it  goes  at  once  through  heartstrings'."  St,  James  passed  hia 
hand  across  his  face :  he  felt  bis  blood  had  mounted  tbere.  "It 
has  often  separated  flesb  of  flesh  and  bone  of  bone,  and  may  ea^lj 
part  mistress  and  servant.  Talking  of  servants,  have  you  no 
trusty  fellow  to  go  between  us,  my  lord  V 

Even  as  the  apothecary  spoke  Ralph  brought  in  a  card ;  the 
card  given  by  St.  James  to  St.  Giles.  The  returned  transport 
awwted  in  the  hall  the  command  of  his  patron. 

"Nothing  could  be  more  fortunate,"  cried  St.  James.  "  RaljJi, 
tell  the  man  who  brings  this,  to  attend  this  gentleman  and  take 
bis  orders.      To-morrow  I  will  see  him  myself," 

"  And  tomorrow,  my  lord,"  aaid  the  apothecary,  with  new 
courage  holding  forth  his  hand,  "  to-morrow  you  shall  hear  &om 
me." 

"  To-morrow,"  sud  St.  James. 

"  To-morrow  ;  heaven  be  with  your  lordship  ;"  and  with  this 
hope,  the  apothecary  departed. 

St.  James  hastily  paced  the  room.  The  waUs  were  hung  with 
mirrors. 

The  young  gentleman— was  it  a  habit  ? — still  walked  with  hia 
band  to  iaa  face. 

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THE  POOE  MAN'S  COAT. 


Tbi  min  ihone  out  eo  gaj,  of  late, 

I  hastened  to  St.  James'  Park  gate, 

And  eiitered  in  to  breathe  the  breeie, — 

To  glad  me  with  the  hndding  trees, 

The  verdant  Bward,  the  graceful  swans, 

Ths  divtDg  foirls,  and  little  ones 

Who  laagh,  while  throwing  crambs  of  bread. 

To  see  how  eager  to  be  fed. 

The  qnick-eyed  ducka  throDg  o'er  the  lake, 

And  scarce  have  leisure  to  cry  "  quake  !  " 

'Twas  lightsome  for  the  heart,  to  view 

Nature  put  on  her  Tobe«  anew ; — 

To  see  those  feathered  things  of  life 

Skim  to  the  verge,  in  giddy  strife  ^— 

To  hear  the  laugh  of  children,  there. 

And  see  how  glad  their  faces  wme ; — 

To  mark  the  pairs  of  decent  people, 

Although  'twas  Sunday,  shuR  the  steeple. 

And  hold  their  church  withonten  thrall, 

'Neath  "  the  blue  sky  that  bends  o'er  all ;  "— 

'Twaa  very  pleasant,  altogether, 

To  see  these  eights  in  such  fine  weather, 

And  feel  how  freely  one  could  walk, 

And,  to  one's  self,  so  calmly  talk. 

And  talk  anto  myself  I  did. 
Saying,  "  These  waters  pellucid. 
These  plumaged  things,  this  goodly  grass, 
These  spreading  elms,— each  lad  and  lass. 
Linked  arm-in-arm,  can  freely  view ; 
And,  after  all,  ti»  scarcely  true 
That  only  lords  and  ladies  grand 
Are  privileged,  in  British  land. 


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THB  POOK  MIS  a   OOAT. 

To  hare  theii  holidafi  of  mirth ; 
Pot  none  seem  here  of  lordly  birth : 
'Tie  trne,  they  all  are  fairly  dreat ; 
Bat  then,  of  coane,  folk  wear  their  best 
On  Sundayi," 

Thu  I«4;elytalkri, 
And  to  the  other  gate  I  walked : 
The  gate,  I  mein,  that  'a  ufiar  the  m 
So  vasty  ii 
Within  which, » 
Sits  to  hear  Peel's  lagacisnan 
For  makiiig  oath  she.  goTMiu  well  >— 
Doth  she  di»pate  it  1    I  can't  t^ ; 
But  think,  by  ro^  oithodo^, 
She  mnst  believe  in — Role  by  Proxy  i 
At  least,  yon  know,  the  House  ef  I^iids, 
Some  colour  to  ay  thonght  affords — 
Since  he  who  learned  midst  deathly  strife 
To  govein  men  in  peaee&il  lif&— 
Oar  war-enlightMied  Wellii^)ton— 
Holds  seTeoty  peers'ssge  bnios-in  oae 
Pocket, — aad  uMth  tbem  for  asy 
Service  that  enibs  th'  naroly  Many  ! 

Just  as  I  reached  the  gate  in  question, 

I  saw  a  sight  tis  sad  to  mention. 

One  whose  worn  features  showed  he  tcaled, 

With  coat  his  work  had  somewhat  soiled, — 

The  coat  in  which  he  earned  his  bread,— 

Ventured  into  the  park  to  tread  ; 

Whereat,  a  thing  with  gilt-band  hat, 

Thmst  him  with  mdoness  to  the  gate, 

And  turned  him  ont  1     1  stared :  but,  quick, 

The  porter  hid  his  splenetic 

And  roby  face,  that  did  betokm 

He  feared  some  harsh  words  would  be  jqrakeQ 

By  me  and  olheis,  who  did  look 

Little  inclined  that  deed  to  brook. 

Then  forth  to  him  that  ont  was  thrust 
I  sped,  mai  thus  lus  case  diMoaeed : 
"  I  guess,  my  honest  Mend,  you  bon|^. 
With  your  own  hard-earned  brass,  that  coat*)" 


THE   POOa  MAH  B   COAT. 

"  I  did,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  work 
Daily  as  hard  as  any  Tnrl^ 
To  win  a  cmat,  and  think  it  hard 
To-fce  a-walk  i' Ih'.pKrk^dBbsrred. 
My  Sunday  coat,  to  help  my  mother, 
I  pawned  ;  and  I  have  not  another, 
Bave  this  upon  my  back,  to  wear. 
IW  tnage,  -mr,  is  haid  to  bear !" 

"  It-aa,"iraid  I ;  "  a  tax-^ns^bid 

Upon  tiaat  «oat :  that  tu  y«Q  paid ; 

And,  though  jsor  ooat  is  ataaed.  audi  soiled, 

.  In  it  fer  tases  yau  have  toiied  : 
TwHs,  to  ka«p  in  aoraraign  pride 

.  HcT'wbese  giand  palaoe  ■  doth 'fanrtrida 
Thia  loUieFedapace :  taxes,  to  fted 
That  menial  who  hath  done  lbi»d«e<l : 
Taxes,  to  kaep  thia  goodly  pai^ 
In  plaaaing  trim  :^bnt  iww,  ^attid,  harlc  I 
Think  of  these  things,  until  yon  feel 
This  show  of  red-coat  men  with  ateel. 
That  serves  to  awe  the  toiling  erowd, 
And  keep  in  oBeless  pMi^  the  proad. 
Will  vanish, — if  poor  men  will  leant 
Their  rights  and  duties  to  discern, 
And  league,  a  peaceful,  moral  band. 
To  end  injustice  through  the  land. 
Think  of  these  things,  and  tell  alond, 
Where'er  you  go,  what  wrongs  the  Proud 
Inflict  on  Toil.     Man,  speak  it  out ! 
And  it  will  soon  be  brought  aboat. 
No  high-tfiied  coat  you  11  take  to  pawn, 
Bnt  Sunday  clothes  become  yonr  own ; — 
And  working-men  will  cease  to  he 
Taxed  for  a  park  that 's  not  -more  free 
For  them  than  for  a  mangy  dog  !'" 


Poor,  honest,  toiling,  woik-coat  brother 
Tr«^sd  as  vilely,  wordaM  atnag  , 
m  ntter.     Can  ffoa  proee  me  wrongf" 


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A  CHAPTER  OF  CHUECH  MICE. 

The  clergy  of  «  roral  district  in  the  aouth-west  were  oBsembled 
at  a  visitation  dianer.  At  the  head  of  the  board  presided  the  lord 
bisluf),  in  the  person  of  hia  chancellor.  At  a  aide-table  sat  a 
•ompan;  of  the  laity,  coOBiating  of  agricultural  and  bucolic  gen- 
tlemen, under  the  superintendence  of  the  deputj-registrar.  The 
after-grace  had  been  duly  B^d,  and  the  cloth — except  in  as  ^  aa 
it  formed  part  of  the  meeting — remored.  Leaving  the  reverend 
and  more  dignified  guests  to  the  diBcu»ai<Hi  of  grave  matters  and 
port,  descend  we,  as  romances  eay,  to  the  lower  end  of  the  hall, 
and  to  the  conversation  that  took  place  between  the  stoat  yeomen 
ihere,  over  a  bowl  of  punch. 

"  Well,  naaighbour  Cowdry,"  said  Ur.  Goddard,  addresung  a 
brother  farmer,  "  what  didst  think  o'  the  chancellor's  charge  this 
mamun'  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  'twur  a  wonderful  fine  discoorse,  wam't  it  ?  "  answered 
Mr.  Cowdry.  "  'A  talk'd  like  a  book,  didn't  'a  ?  There  waa 
moor  nor  haaf  'a  Bed  as  I  couldn't  undersdand — not  I." 

"I wonders  what  'a  meant,  now,"  observed  Mr.  Buckle,  the 
collar^naker,  "  when  'a  talk'd  o'  the  '  unhappy  dirisiona  now 
prevalent  in  our  church  ? '" 

"  What,  doBtn't  thee  know,"  replied  Goddard,  "  that  there  be 
a  split  among  the  poasons  ?  What  is  't  they  calls  the  new 
lights  ?  " 

"  Loosafers  !  "  suggested  a  member  of  the  company, 

"  LooBltfers  1  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Goddard.  "  No,  no.  Looaafera 
be  matches.  I'm  a  talk'n'  o'  paarsons.  Pshoo  !  I  should  know 
the  neam  on  'em  if  I  heerd  un." 

"  Avunjellyculla  t "  surmised  another. 

"  Naw,"  said  Farmer  Goddard.  "  Not  they.  There  be  newer 
lights  yit  than  they.  I  manes  the  last  np.  What  d'ye  call  'mn, 
young  Meaater  Lovelock  ?     Tbee'st  bin  to  boordunschool." 

"  C^  'em  ?  Fuseyitea,  don't  they  ? "  replied  the  swain 
appealed  to. 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure !  "  cried  the  other.  "  Pussyitee.  That 's  the 
word.    Poasyites." 


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A  CHAPTXft  OP  OHDSCH   lUCB.  401 

"  Well ;  who  be  the  Faenyites  ?  "  demanded  Hr.  Cowdry  i 

"  Who  he  thej  ?  "  repeated  a  rather  ddciiy  perBonaga,  in  a 
rural  and  Bomewhat  ruety  fiill  dnsB  of  hiack  and  drab,  with  griG- 
sled  locks,  a  copper  nose,  and  eolemn  Tisage,  bat  a  queer  twiokla 
in  the  eye.  "  Who  be  they  ?  Why,  they  be  a  sart  o  rattle-mice, 
nutber  bird  nor  beeoat,  a  Qicker'n  in  the  twilight  atween  one 
church  and  t'other." 

'/  Husb,  naaighboiir  Frost ;  spake  lower,  man  ;  the  chancellor 
'II  bear  tbee  else,  and  tell  the  biuiop  on  thee,"  Said  Mr.  Gowdiy. 
"  What  dost  mane  by  call'n  on  'em  rattle-mice  ?  How,"  he  OOD- 
tinued,  not  understanding  Mr.  Frost's  metaphor,  "d'ye  make  a 
Christian  out  a  rattle-mouse  ?  " 

"Why,  spake 'n  by  comparazim,"  replied  Fanner  Prosi.  "How- 
sumdever,  there  bo  Christians, — ah !  and  paaspos  too,  as  changes 
into  mice,  and  rale  mice." 

"How!  When?  Who  told  thee  ?"  exclaimed  several  (J  the 
hearers,  some  in  astonishment,  others  derisirely. 

"How?  That's  nuthef  here  nor  there.  When?  Arterthe 
death  on  'em.  Who  told  me  ?  Thay  as  spoke  for  th^rsdres," 
asserted  Mr.  Frost  with  the  utm<^t  gravity. 

" Ueaater  Frost,"  said  a  neighbouring acqaaintance,  "it  Btrikea 
me  thy  liquoi*  has  got  into  thy  head." 

"  No,  Meaater  Andress,  it  ha'nt." 

"  Then  thee  bbt  a  comin'  the  old  sojer  over  us." 

"No,  I  bunt — " 

"  Then,  what  in  the  neam  o'  Fort'n*  bist  thee  A  talk'n  about  ?" 
'  "  What- 1  heer'd  and  zee ;  and  if  you  've  a  mmd  to  know  as 
much  as  I  knows,  I  tell  you  what  you  do,  mate, — you  goo  one  o* 
these  here  nights  and  git  lock'd  up  iu  Winchester  Cathedral." 

"  Thankee.     I  'd  rather  you  than  me,"  returned  Mr.  Andrews. 

"Why,  what  should  you  be  afraid  of,  Mr.  Andrews  ?  "  asked 
young  Lovelock. 

"  What  odds  ia  that  to  you?  "  was  ihe  evasive,  and  not  very 
gradoas  answer. 

"  Master  Andrews  believes  In  ghosts,"  cried  the  youth,  laughing. 

"Well;  and  why  not?"  demanded  Mr.  Andrews.  "Han't 
things  been  sin  at  night  about  Danebury  Hill?  Don't  Will 
Smithera,  as  hung  his  self  along  o'  Cicely  Weatbrook,  walk 
reg'larly  arteC  dark  up  Whitesboot  Lane  ?  Didn't  'a  frighten 
Sarah  Qrunsell  Into  fits!  " 

1    no.  XYU.— TOL.  HI.  D  D 

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402  ■  A   CUAPTEB  OF  CHDRCD  UIOE. 

"Sbe-e!  "  exckimed  tlitaceptie.  "SlwnsTer  mv  aiiylliiiig 
worn  Uulu  her  omsbadoK." 

"  Hdv  aboKt  that  diiug,  thea,  timt  used  to  'pear  in  SandpUa  in 
the  ab^  of  an  old  'oomou  best  double,  as.was  irsll.knaw'o  to  be 
aU  Nanny  Ttuk^r  ;  she  aa  veotfor  a  witch  ! " 

".Hew  ahont  it  ?  Whji,  it  turned  out  tn  be  a  giddy  Aeef,  that 
had  get  the  Btagsers." 

"  Thee  thiok  Bt  thjeelf  a  vine  fellsr,  matter  Wilhun,  I  4are 
say.  Tell  tiiae  irtiat — thee  but  a  unbaliev'a  jackanye^  ;  and  eo 
here 's  to  tb*e.  As  to  Winchester  CathedisI,  oint.it  a-sart'n  vact 
that  old  (Hiver  Cromwell  driroa  up  and  down  difiK.evei;  i%ht  in. 
a  coaoh  wi'  twelve  bosses  withoot  e'er  a  bead  ?  " 

"UTaw,  naw,"  dflaumed  some  of  the  other  interlocntarSi  for 
whose  futh  this  Ic^nd  was  rather  too  improbaUe.  "  Kaw,  naw — 
Come, — that  'b  rather  too  big  a  mossel  to  swall^." 

"  Well,"  interposed  Fanner  Frost,  "  that  loed  be,  and  it 
medd'n't — I  can't  saj  noth'n  about  that  matter;  but  there' 'e 
ziunmnt  I  could  say  if  I'd  a  mind  to 't." 

"  What 'a  diat,  nuughbovr  ?  "  was  the  general  exclamation. 

"Uoor  nor  any  o'  youcanjsay.  It  lo  ht^>penatbat  Ihave.ben 
shut  up. in  that  are  Tery  pleace  a  whole  night." 

"  What  didst  zee  then  ?  "  .cried.all  again,  with  faosa  of  j^s^g 


"  Why  not  tell  it,  then?"  pertinently  obaerred  young  Lorelock. 

"  Oh!  you'll  only  laaf  at  me  if  I  do,"  returned  Mr.  Frost,  with 
.'Seeming  indifiercnce. 

"  No,  we  wun't — -Ton  my  seaso,  we  won't.  We  won't  rasly," 
'declared  the  bearers. 

"  Wall,  then,  thwe  ;  I  zee  they  mice  as  I  was  a  spake'n  on  just 
now  ;  paasons #B  had  a  bin,  changed  into  tbem  there  varmint." 

"£ut  how  com'dst  to  know  they'd  ha'  heft.paasona  ?  "  inquired 
.an  auditor.  , 

"  How  "i    They  brid  me  zo  theirselfea,  to  be  sure." 

"'What!  mice  spake?" 

*' Wlw  shouldn't  they?  Didst  never  hear  o'  the  ung'n 
mouse  ?  '  argued  the  Sooratic  Frost.  "  'Sides,  these  here  wara't 
or'narymioe;  bnt  aperrute  in  mice!s  shya^.  BiU  there,  Jf  yon 
dwooant  choose  to  b'lave  me,  'tis  o'  no  usemy  goo'non." 


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A   CHAPTEB   OF   CBtTRCH  KIOE.  406 

"Ees,  eOB,  goo  on.  Do 'ee.  Ko*fence  in  ax'u  the  question," 
pleaded  the  objector. 

"  You  mu8t  know,  then,"  continned  Farmer  Frost,  "ttat  beim' 
at  Winchester  one  Zunday  arternoon,  thinks  I,  well  now,  as  I  be 
rather  vond  o'  music,  suppose  I  gooes  to  the  Cathedral  to  hear  the 
anthen,  Zo  I  'ool  then,  I  sez  to  myself.  'Cord'nly  off  I  walks, 
and  in  I  gooes,  along  neaav',  and  up  into  quire.  'Stead  o'  Btand'n 
to  be  stared  at,  in  the  middle  o'  church,  I  thought  I  'd  zee  and 
git  a  Euug  sate,  zo  I  just  shows  one  o'  the  clerks  a«hill'n  ;  and 
he  pops  me  into  what  the;  calls  a  stall,  wi'  a  zoft  cushion  to  sit 
-  upon,  and  aootiier  to  knale  down  upon,  where,  have'n  my  gmt 
quoat  on,  I  voond  it  as  comfortable  as  a  rahhit-hutoh,  thof  'twaa 
but  a  httle  arter  Christmas." 

"  Well,  but  what  'a  that  are  got  to  do  wl"^  thy  story  ?  "  inquired 
Mr.  Cowdry. 

"  I  'U  tell'ee.  Beun'  winter  time,  o'  conrae  they  was  forced  to 
ha'  lights  ;  20  as  'twas  purty  dimmish  in  that  are  mirt  huild'n, 
and  a  feller  could  goo  off  into  a  nap  in  a  nook  or  kamer  on  't, 
and  there  bide  when  servus  was  over,  without  nobody  mmd'n  on 
'un,  no  moor  nor  a  pig  in  a  poke  ;  if  'a.didn't  happ'n  to  anore." 

"  What,  theu  you  mean  to  say  that  yon  fell  asleep  ?  "  said 
Lorelook, 

"  Ees,  I  did,  long  0'  llsten'n  to  the  sannimt.  The  discooi'lie 
Tas  too  strong  tot  me  ;  zummnt  like  a  dr^  too  much  0'  pany- 

~"  Hadn't  yon," 'queried  the  young  farmer,  "been  taking  a 
drop  too  mnch-'of  something  else  ?  Where  had  yon  been  to,  Mr. 
Frost  ?  " 

'<Senti>^  Only  to  the  Black  Zwan,  I  hadn't  had  noth'n  bat 
a  pot  o'  aughtp'ny,  and  a  glass  or  zo  0'  twandy-aud-watcr ; 
and  what 's  &a.t  ?  Well,  howeomdever,  off  I  went ;  but  ■fast, 
Tind'n  I  couldn't  keep  my  eyes  open,  I  draa'd  a  curtain  athirt  me, 
and  vhin^  lay  ankedier  over  my  Teac«,  'cause  I  shouldn't  be  zin, 
and  hy.iMay  o'  ksep'n  off  the  draaft." 
-  -  "  Theed'st  best  ha' kep' out  the  draaft  afore  thee  irentest  in, 
ua^gfahour,"  remarked  Mr.  Cowdry. 

"Arter  that,  p'raps  you  11  Till  my  glass,"  replied  Fanner 
Frost.  "  Well,  how  long  I  'd  slep',  dam  me  if  I  could  teH ; 
whea  at  laast  I  woke  .up,  and  round  mjsetf  alt  iu  the  dark,  'cept 
a  glimmer  0'  moonlight,  as  come  droo  winder,  and  showl  one  o' 
they  tombs  up  aloft,  where  At  dead  kings'  bwoosus  is." 
VSS 

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4<M  A   CHAPTER  OF   CHUKCH  MICE. 

"  Loramwsy !  "  cried  the  audience  BUDuItoneouBly,  shuddenng. 
"  WaaWt  wit  ?  "  said  one  of  them. 

"  Ah  I  I  b'liere  ye,  I  was,"  answered  the  narrator. 

•'  Didstn't  holler  out  !  " 

"  Why,  there,"  answered  Mr.  Frost,  "  's  the  puzzle  on  't.  I 
couldn't.  I  tried.  Bat  vor  all  I  could  do,  Tor  the  life  o'  me  I 
couldn't  spake  aboTC  a  whisper." 

"  Well  now,  that  are  'b  straange — ^^eant  it  ?"  remarked  the 
hearers  one  to  another. 

"  No,"  contioned  Ur.  Frost,  "  I  couldn't  spake  out ;  and  moor, 
I  couldn't  wag.  But  what  's  queer  now,  I  could  hear  the  laste 
sound.  Rum  noises  I  heer'd  too,  mind  Te.  ZumtJmes  come  » 
sort  o'  rumble  Uke  thunder  a  good  wa;  off,  slmmunlj  runn'n  long 
the  galleries.  Then,  at  timM,  I  Tancied  I  heer'd  a  faaint  sound 
come  vrom  the  organ ;  and  every  moment  I  expected  to  hear  'un 
growl  out,  and  zee  the  lida  o'  the  tombs  lift  np,  and  the  dead  a 
rise'n  out  on  'em.  Once  I  thought  I  raly  did  zee  the  zeppulchrea 
begin 'n  to  heaTC.  Lor !  how  the  p^spration  run  off  me  to  he 
sure !  When  sudd'ntly  there  was  a  whirr'n  all  round  me,  like  the 
runn'n  down  of  a  zmoke-jack,  and  then  bang  went  the  clock  !" 

"  Strik'n  twelve  V  interposed  the  ccmpany. 

"  Ko,"  said  the  farmeri  "  I  counted  'un  ;  and  'a  struck  Thir- 
lEEH  !  'A  did,  as  I  'm  a  liv'n  zinner.  No  sooner  had  'a  done, 
titan  np  struck  sich  a  sqneak'n,  as  thof  for  all  the  woiide  a  dozea 
whate-reeks  was  a-fire,  and  all  the  mice  in  'em  a  heun'  singed. 
And  then  all  th?  Cathedral  seeni'd  alive  wi'  sparks,  dart'n  and 
ontt'n  here  and  there,  like  jon  zee  in  a  hit  o'  burnt  p'haaper  » 
goo'n  out,  'Uassj !  Jamany  t  Crimany  ho !  thinks  1,  what  'm 
all  this  ?  'Massy  on  me  !  and  I  tried  to  zay  the  Belafe  ;  when  a 
couple  o'  Hie  sparkles  come  a  runn'n  towards  me,  and  stopp'd 
overright  me  on  the  pleace  for  the  PraayerBook.  Lo  and  behold 
ye  !  the  sparks  was  a  pair  of  eyes  beloug'n  to  a  gurt  moose.  I 
could  meak  'un  out  by  a  sort  of  bluish  light  as  glimmer'd  all  roond 
'un.  '  Fearnot,  man,'  says  the  creetur,  speak'n  quite  plaun,  onlj 
wi'  a  kind  o'  sqnake.  '  Zatan,'  I  says,  '  I  defies  thee.'  *  I  hiunt 
Zatan,'  says  the  mouse,  *  and  I  wun't  do  you  no  harm  j  so  don't 
be  afear'd.'  '  Who  hist,  then  }'  sez  I,  as  well  as  I  could,  in  a 
whisper,  '  I  conjures  thee,  spake.'  '  My  neam,'  a'  sez,  *  is  Hitre- 
mouse.  I  wur  once  one  o'  the  heads  o'  the  church  ;  but  I  thought 
moor  o'  the  looaves  and  Tishes  than  I  did  o'  my  vlock,  and  I  nsed 
to  zell  Email  beer  out  o'  my  palace  to  the  poor  people  ;  and  nov 


A   CHAPTER  OP    CHnnCH  WCB.  406 

jou  zees  wliat  I  be  come  to.  Z&me  wi'  &U  they  other  mice  as  you 
beholds. '  And  by  this  time  I  did  zee  that  the  lights  was  zo  maay 
mouses'  eyes.  '  They  was  all  clargy  once,'  a'  sez,  '  and  now  tiey 
be  mice,  and  zo  they  '11  bide  till  zuch  time  as  they  've  ben 
aarved  out  TOr  their  misdoo'ns.  Till  then  we  be  forced  to  hauut 
this  here  Cathedral.  All  day  long  we  has  tobidepenn'dup  in  the 
holes  and  Qrannies  and  cryptisua,  and  at  night  we.  be  let  out, 
and  'low'd  to  bold  a  Chapter,  and  talk  orer  what  's  goo'n  on  in 
the  church.  You've  beard,'  a'  eez,  '  o'  churcbmice.  Now  you 
knows  whattbey  be.'  '  Ees,'  I  sez,  '  I  've  heer'd  the  aay'n,  poor 
as  a  church  mouse.'  '  Ah!'  a'  squeaks,  '  I  wish  we  hadn't  ben 
so  rich  oDce  ;  wo  shouldn't  be  zo  poor  now.  But  you  hold  your 
tongue  ;  only  look,  and  listen,  and  book  what  you  hears  and  sees, 
for  the  good  o'  them  {and  tiiere'a  plenty  on  'em)  that  it  may 
consarn,  " 

"  Looramaesy,  Uast.  Vrost,  this  here  's  a  strange  story  !"  ex- 
claimed the  auditors. 

"  Strainge,  but  true  :"  said  the  relater.  "  Well,  mates,  irhilst 
oldltntremousewaa  speak'n  ollt'olliers  took  and  raiung'd  tbems^Tes 
up  in  rows,  zum  on  vorms,  znm  on  the  edges  of  pews,  zum  on 
book  ledges  on  vront  o'  stalls,  and  one  on  'em  got  np  top  o'  pulpit. 
'  Now,  mark,'  says  Mitremouse,  *  he  's  a  goo'n  to  spake.'  '  Who 
be  'a  ?'  I  axes.    '  Shorelbat,' answers  Mitremouse,  'Listen  to  'un.' 

"  My  once  rever'nt  and  now  myomorphous  brether'n',  'a  begun 
— what  'a  meant  by  myamarpus  I  dwooant  know  :  'twas  haythen 
Giik  to  me.  '  'Tis  a  comfort,'  says  Shovelhat,  '  under  out  present 
onbappy  sarc'matances  ;  'tis  a  leviaaition  o'  the  suffer'ns  as  we'm 
a  justly  undergoo'n  of,  to  con-tem-plate  the  prawsperraty  o'  the 
order  as  we  b'long'd  to  in  the  world,  In  like  manner,  'tis  a  aggri- 
Toaition  of  our  c'lamaties  to  behold  the  misfort'ns  and  disgreaaces 
on  't.  We  zympathizes  wi'  that  body  still ;  we  be  still  jealous  o' 
the  honour  o'  the  ridg'ment  we  was  sogers  in.  Now,  brether'n, 
I'm  sure  you  must,  all  on  you,  feel,  wi'  mo,  the  gurtest  sheam'  and 
regret  when  yo'  considers  what  doo'ns,  and  what  goon's  on  there 
hare  ben  for  some  time  paast  in  the  'stablished  ^urch.'  Here 
Shovelhat  puU'd  up  to  teak  brath  ;  and  I  whispers  to  Mitremouse, 
Why,  bow  come  he  to  know  about  that  are  1  •  Thei«  be  they  that 
tells  us,'  sez  Mitremouse;  'you  hide  ^uiet.'  Then  on  gooes 
Shovethat  agin. 

"  '  Terrible  doo'ns',  a'  sez,  '  my  brether'n  !  Shock'n  doo'ns  ! 
>y'uB  than  ever  oum  was  ;  and  see  what 's  come  to  we !     Soeece  « 

Coiwlc 


406  A   CHAIT£K  OF  CUUllCH  MICE. 

veek  goocB  by  without  some  scanlous  ahow-up  'peas^n'  in  the 
nemp  baapers.  Dcsavo'u  joung  womcD,  and  they  their  oim  ear- 
t'dIs  ;  zitt  n  and  sing'n  vi  'em  in  kitchen ;  brcaak'n  the  zeventh 
C'mandment ;  gett'n  'bitually  ti[«y  in  public-house  ;  brawl'n  and 
Tigbt'n  ;  cutt'n  and  maaim'n  dumb  animals  ;  and  wue, — the  ship 
o'  their  own  Tlock  !  Zell'n  and  chaiFer'n  Ut'iib  and  curacies  over 
a  bottle  o'  wine!  Alnt  it  sheam'ful,  my  brethet'a?"  Oughtn't 
we  to  be  a'most  glad  that  we  be  out  o'  the  cloth,  wid  in  this  here 
iur,  wi'  smellers  on  'stead  o'  bands  ?  What  can  be  Uie  rason  and 
the  mane'n  o'  this  tcrreable  state  o'  'fairs  in  ihe  chm'ch  ?  How 
tq  remady  't  ?  Mayhap,  my  brether'n,  mm  on  you,  as  knows 
better  nor  I  do,  will  aaaswer  these  here  questsh'na  ? '  Wi'  that, 
Shorelhat  came  dotTti  from  pulput ;  and  up  etuok  another  in  his 
pleace.  '  Who  'a  he,  if  you  phwe,  m'  lard  ?  says  I  to  Mitremonse. 
'  Don't  m'  lard  me  now,'  a  sez.  '  That  'a  Plttralcore  ;  mind  you 
'tends  to  what  a'  zays.' 

"  '  Mice  o'  the  church,'  squeaks  Pluralcure,  'till  we  poor  Tar- 
mint  shall  be  enlighten 'd ;  so  long  as  we  shall  conttnny  imder 
these  shadders  o'  darkness  ;  we  can  only  gie  a  guess  at  the  causes 
o'  things.  Tet  we,  even  we,  feller  mice,  haye  aight  enough  to  zee 
h^w  the  cat  jumps.'  At  this  all  the  mice  sets  up  squeak'n  like 
mad.  '  Pard'n  me,'  sez  Pluralcure,  '  I  meant  no  light  lusion  to 
our  condition.  What  I  manes  is,  we  he  able  to  conjecter,  my 
brether'n,  judg'n  from  what  we  knows.  Now  we  knows  well 
enough  what 's  right  and  wrong  ;  and  you  wishes,  and  I  wishes, 
that  we  'd  made  better  use  o'  our  knowledge.  And  we  knows 
that  they  as  acts  wrong,  draas  confusion  and  disgreaace  en  all.them 
as  belongs  to  'em.  Well,  pride  and  domlneer'n  's  wrong  ;  tade'tt 
Tolks  by  the  nwooas  is  wrong  ;  deception  's  wrong  ;  and  they  aa 
praches  wrong  up  is  wus  than  they  as  does  it.  Now  there 's  a  set 
o'  clargy  sprung  up  at  Oxford  as  wants  to  set  up  a  authority  for 
the  church  o'  England  aqual  to  what 's  claaim'd  by  the  church  o' 
Rhooam.  They  must  know,  my  brether'n,  that  they  han't  got  no 
light  to  't,  no  moor  nor  Independents  and  Methodishes.  They  must 
zee  that  nobody  can  purteud  to  't  if  Rhwooam  caant ;  and  that  if 
Khwooam  can^theo  they  ought  to  gie  in  to  Hbwooam.  That  's 
what  zome  on  'em,  as  seems  honest,  whether  they  ho  mistaken  or 
not,  ha'  done ;  but  many  bides  where  they  be,  and  ates  the 
churoh's  bread  whilst  they  prachos  agin  the  church's  docti-'nes." 
Here  there  was  a  gin'ral  squeak'n  as  scem'd  to  zound  Uke  '  Name,, 
name  !  '     '  Why  need  I  t^  'ee,  my  brether'n  ? '  says  Pluralcure  ; 


A  CHiPTEB  OF   CHVBCH  UOE.  407 

<  I  m&neB  the  Pae^eff  ?  Bat  the  irast  of  all  their  teonnts  is  what 
they  holds  respect*!!  si^ater  to  th'  articlea  ;  Buhscribe'n  to  'em  in 
a  non-nate'ral  Bense.'  Hear'n  this,  the  mice  gav'  another  squake 
as  nigh  as  poss'ble  to  a  gnrooan.  '  Beg  your  pard'n,'  sez  I  to 
Mitremotue, '  bnt  what 's  a  non-nate'ral  sense  ? '  '  Why,  a  falte  onff,* 
Bays  Mitremonse  ;  '  as  if  you  was  to  awear  to  a  white  pig  at  'siEea, 
when  yon  know'd  the  only  one  you  lost  waa  a  black  'un.' 

"  '  Now,'  says  Piittalcure,  '  my  b'lafe  and  opinion  h,  that  all 
this  here  trouble  have  come  upon  the  Church  all  along  o'  its 
allow'n  itself  to  be  infested  wi'  this  here  Pussyism  ;  and  my  raann 
for  thinking  so  is  this — The  backslide'ns  o'  paas'ns  showvthey  he 
men  arter  all,  and  bunt  to  be  stuck  up,  and  worshipp'd,  and 
knuckled  down  te,  moor  than  nch  wake  creeturs  ought  to  be  : '  and 
zo  Pluralcure  made  an  end  o'  hia  spacbe  ;  and  his  room  was  toc^ 
by  another,  Ibat  Uitemonae  told  me  was  call'd  Clotchglebe. 

'"Brother  nibblers,"  ciiea  Clutchglebe,  'could  our  aqnake  be 
heard  outzide  those  walls,  the  Church  would  eoon  be  Treed  vrom 
her  reprwoaches.  The  cloth  wants  dnst'ii,  my  brether'n  ;  the 
surplus  blache'n.  But  first  the  bnild'n  itself  ought  to  be  awep 
out.  'Tell  'ee  how  I  'd  do  't — Brother  Shorelhat  was  talk'n  o' 
the  ridg'ment  we  naed  to  be  sojers  of.  Why  dwooant  they  do  in 
the  churdi  as  they  does  in  th  army  ?  Tbey  makea  abort  wnA 
of  a  feller  there  if  'a  praches  insubordinaaition  ;  much  moor  for 
plott'n  wi'  th'  enemy.  They'd  tacho  a  man  to  understand  th' 
articles  o'  war  in  a  non-nate'ral  sense  !  Let  a  officer  play  the  zot 
or  the  blackyard,  and  they  dismisses  'un  double  quick  from  the 
aerrusfer  conduct  unbecom'n  an  officer  and  a  gen'iman.  Whereas, 
here 's  a  feller  conricted  o'  conduct  unbecom'n  a  Chiisdan  and  a 
elargyman,  and  'a  gits — what  ?  Why  thej  only  anapends  'un  for 
dree  mon^s — not  by  the  neck,  mind.  My  brether'n,  I  zay  that 
as  there  be  coert  martiala,  zo  there  ort  to  be  a  coort  clerical.  I 
'oodn't  shoot  or  hang  offenders,  'zactly,  nor  yit  vlog  'em  ;  though 
that  'ood  sarre  some  on  'em  right.  And  I  dwooant  zay  as  I  'd  goo 
BO  Tur  as  to  chant  'cm  out  o'  diocese,  as  rogues  be  dnunm'd  out  o' 
ridg'ment.  But  I  'd  break  'em,  my  brether'n.  I  'd  cashier 
'em,  that  I  *ood  ;  and  render  'em  incyaapable  o'  sarr'n  thence- 
forrad  in  any  cleric '1  capassaty.  That 's  my  remady  for  the 
enls  o'  the  church.'  Zo  spoke  Clutchglebe,  and  the  church 
mice  all  squeal'd  out  together,  zay'n  they  entirely  'greed  wi 
'un.  When  all  at  once  there  was  heer'd  a  yell  like  the  Bcrame 
o'   a    'nonnas  tom-cat,  make'n    the  old   Cathedral  ring   again.. 


408  A  CHAFTXR  OF   CBURCH  MICE. 

Anay  leuttl'd  mice,  Uhramooie  and  all,  to  their  holes  and 
kamers.  At  the  zame  time  the  clock  toll'd  one  ;  a  lot  o'  lights 
danced  afore  my  eyes,  and  I  felt  a  zart  o'  shock  as  simm'd  to  run 
droo  me  like  Itghtn'n.  And  then  I  round  I  'd  got  ike  use  o'  my 
1imhB,.and  apache.  But  I  was  afeard  to  heller,  and  heun'  lock'd 
in,  there  I  woa  forced  to  bide  till  mamun',  when  one  o'  the  clerks 
come  and  open'd  the  pleace,  and  let  me  ont,  moor  dead  sor  alive. 
Bnt  there, — now  you've  heer'd  what  I  lam't  from  the  ehurch 
mice,  OB  hov  tbia  here  disgreeace  that  have  come  upoa  the  ctargy 
o'  late,  have  been  all  along  o'  that  are  Pussyisro." 

Here  there  was  a  dead  pause  ;  during  which  the  auditors  of 
Mr.  Frost  continued  to  stare  at  him  open-mouthed,  and  in  silence, 
broken  only  by  a  few  ejaculations,  partaking  of  the  nature  of  a 

At  length,  said  Ur.  Cowdry, — having  recovned  from  his 
bewilderment, — veiy  alowly,  "  Bist  thee  sore,  now,  naaighbour, 
thee  hastn't  bin  draa'n  the  long-how  ?  " 

Mr.  ProBt  in  the  most  solemn  manner  devoted  himself,  if  guilty 
of  a  &hrication,  to  Jack  Ketch, 

"  Then,"  aud  young  Lovelock,  "  the  fact  most  likely  Is,  that 
the  ouly  spirits  you  saw  were  in  your  own  head,  and  had  got 
there,  idong  with  the  heer  you  drank,  at  the  Black  Swan.  You 
fell  asleep,  man,  and  had  Bomething  between  a  dream  and  a  Qigbt- 

"Ees,"  said  Goddard  ;  "that's  what  'twas,  mate.  Thee 
mnst  have  ben  a  little  the  wus  for  drink." 

"  Ah !  "  cried  Farmer  Frost,  "  you  med  zay  what  you  like  j 
but  jou  won't  argy  me  out  o'  belave'n  mj  own  zensea." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Cowdrj,  "  anyhow,  thee  must  he  dry  wter 
that  long  fltory.  Come,  poke  over  tby  glass,  mun.  But  aee,  the 
chaacellor  'a  gitfn  up  from  teeable  ;  zo  now  I  s'pose  we  may  ha' 
in  the  pipes. 

Fergital  Leihh, 


,11  by  Google 


THEODORE  HOOK'S  GRAVE. 

A    LETTBB    TO    A    JOHN    OUT    OF    OFFICE. 

BY  PAUL  BELL. 
Ma.  CaoiKEB. — "HeaTen  send  we  b«  all  the  better  for- it  this  inj 

twelvemonth  1 " — Tfie  Oood  JVntumi  Ifan. 

Sib, — You  are  looked  up  to  (and  it  may  be  presumed  with  your 
owu  ftcquieBcence)  aa  a  Pillar  of  Propriety  !  You  have  withdrawn 
from  public  life,  outraged — and  who  can  wonder  ? — by  the  desperate 
aad  corrupting  changes  which  have  penetrated  the  whote  world  of 
affitire  since  your  * 

— hot  jonth  when  George  the  Third  w»a  King  ! 
In  your  time,  however  ;  nay,  and  since  your  retreat,  too,  yon  h*y» 
done  much.  You  have  attested  your  chamjnonahip  of  "  th© 
Veaber  aez"  hy  administering  the  most  lacerating  chaBtisenient  to 
all  whose  pens  have  dared  to  trip  aside  from  the  paths  pointed  out  by 
your  immaculate  nuraing-grandmother — Old  Toryism.  You  hare 
been  the  truest  Lucullus  to  the  noblest  Timoa  who  ever  taught  our 
English  aristocracy  how  to  "  fleet  the  world  as  they  did  in  the  old 
time,"  by  aid  of  the  blandishments  of  bought  Loathing,  the 
dainties  of  epicurean  Luinry,  the  obsequiousness  of  abject  Serf- 
dom. Your  fight.  Sir,  has  not  been  bidden  under  a  bushel.  The 
Press  has  mado  much  of  your  charity  public,  and  recorded  not  a 
Paw  of  your  dignified  associations.  You  are  now  Retired  Leisure, 
Sir  ;  steeped  in  the  odour  of  orthodoxy— driven  to  fall  back  among 
your  recollections  by  way  of  a  defence  against  the  Anarchy  press- 
ing you  Bo  coarsely.  For  Time  grows  noisy,  and  Change  rapid  as 
steam.  Why,  Sir,  you  have  lived  to  see  the  evil-doer  brought  to 
sbame  without  fear  or  favour — the  Man  of  Pleasure,  sitting,  a 
living  X>eath,  at  the  board,  to  which  his  Aspasias  found  beauty, 
and  yon  tbo  Attic  s^t ! — the  Political  Trader  replaced  by  the 
Political  Free  Trader — the  sluggard  sentenced  to  the  Tread-mill 
— the  slanderer  compelled  to  sting  himself  to  Death  !  After  so 
brilliant  a  Past,  what  a  degenerate  Present !— It  is  to  you,  then, 
Sir,  that,  in  this  iron  age,  I  would  point  out  an  instance  of  high- 
mindedneas  and  delioooy,  too  precious  and  unique  for  our  tliaiikB 


410  THEODOBB  HOOK's  OBATB. 

due  to  be  entrosted  to  any  one  poorer  in  experiences  and  regrets 
than  youTHelf. 

Within  a  bow-shot  of  the  Biahop  of  London's  Palace  at  FuUiam, 
I  wae,  the  other  day,  hidden  to  admire  the  grave  of  a  devoted 
champion  of  Chorch  and  State,  vho  so  valiantly  administered  the 
knoat  to  the  wicked  Whiga,  and,  yet  more  cluTabously,  to  their 
womenkind ;  under  the  ensign  of  the  Bible  and  Sceptre — the  device 
of  the  John  Bull.  Poor  Theodore  Hook  1  that  gayest  of  table- 
c<nnpanioni !  and  best-natnred  of  human  creatures  : — diat  "  life 
and  soul"  (bo  runs  the  rhyme)  of  great  tables,  the  plate  on  which 
you,  too,  have  helped  to  clean : — that  profound  moralist  who  shotred 
the  blaok-hoartednesB  of  Bloomsbury,  the  low  life  of  Leeds,  the 
mechanical  melancholy  of  "Manchester  Tradesmen,"  to  tender- 
conscienced  Lord  Johns,  and  innocent  Lady  Janes ;  idis  opened 
their  pretty  eyes,  and — 

Marvelled  mnch  to  see  the  creattme  dhie  ! 
' — that  Imprornsatore  who  could  set  a  riiyme  against  every  name, 
and  a  eibe  against  every  grave  thing : — that  man,  in  short  (to  nse 
one  of  his  own  farourite  verbs)  who  "  worried  himself  "  to  Death 
to  please  his  patrons! — here  lies  that  delight  of  so  many  reverend 
Divines,  and  inane  Peers,  and  delicate  Duchesses,  who  laughed 
till  thdr  laces  were  like  to  burst  at  his  double-refined  dovble~ 
entendree, — without  aught  to  mark  his  fame  I  *Tia  right.  K» 
vulgar-looking  lamp  with  its  fat  flame  toppling  tipsily  over  hia 
ashes ! — no  countiy-bumpkin  handful  of  com  in  the  ear  heavy  for 
harvest! — no  methodistical  text  with  its  regulation  "-assurance 
and  certainty" — nor  rubbishy  Bellman's  rhyme,  to  vaunt 
^  DjaiJy  virtues  and  Ua  brllliMtt  parti, 

should  deck  the  stone.  Most  refined,  sir,  is  it  not  ?  ^soldfnendf* 
haunt  the  spot,  in  tearlul  gratitude  for  his  past  services,  in  teu^ 
memot7  of  past  carouses  ;  but  they  feel  too  poignantly  to  praise  him 
by  effigy,  or  device,  or  tribute ! 

Kot  titat  the  world  of  survivors  was  to  want  its  teaching  be<nusei 
poor  Hook  wanted  his  monument. — The  above  signal  manifeetn-- 
tion  of  self-denial  is  little  less  touclung  than  the  plain  severity  oF 
the  oration,  published  shortly  after  his  decease.  Strangers  to  the 
anthor  of  "  Gilbert  Oumey  "  had,  during  his  life,  thought  of  him 
only  as  the  caustic  and  lively  moralist,  a  little  unscrupulDua,  and' 
too  mnch  given  to  class-warfare,  but  blithe  and  animated ;  or  they 


THFODORE  HOOe'B  S&KYt.  411 

heard  of  him  from  afar  aB  "capital  compaoj" — tbe  man  vho 
could  "  bring  in  "  to  hia  verses  names  as  uumaBageable  as  Long- 
dhanks,  or  Shufflebottom,  or  Scratchby — who  comd  malce  a  won- 
derM  imitation  of  the  cathedral  service  on  the  piano-forte  without 
pla^ng  a  note,  and  act  a  vhole  Uecklcnburg- square  family — fadier, 
mother,  swelling  sons  and  smart  daughters  (the  whito^yed 
lame  governess  not  forgotten],  between  the  courses  ! — a  mocking 
Bird  of  Paradise,  in  short,  whom  kings  and  queens  and  dukes 
and  ambassadors,  alone,  were  worthy  t«  cage  and  to  feed !  When 
they  read  of  his  decease,  they  grieved  that  a  life  so  merry  should 
come  to  an  end.  Some  of  them — grateful  innocents  ! — were  sure 
tiiat  he  must  have  a  nook  or  a  niche  in  the  Abbey ;  the  humblest 
went  the  length  of  Kensal  Green,  and  there,  in  fond  £ancy,  set  up 
a  cenotaph  as  showy  as  Mr.  St.  John  Long's  or  that  of  the 
deceased  Paintress,  inaugurated  by  no  meaner  a  personage  than 
Uademoiselle  Cerito  !  How  little  did  they  guess  tbe  truthi  How 
indispensable  was  it  that  they  should  be  disenchanted  by  those  who 

had  the  Jester's  secret!     This,  in  its  mercy,  the Beview 

told  them.  For  the  information  of  all  who  knew  not  Hook's  his- 
tory, by  way  of  aid  and  solace  to  his  bereaved  familyi  a  friendly 
hand  took  up  the  pen  of  the  Accusing  Angel.  "  Qo  to," 
Biud'  the  writer,  "  we  will  prevent  those  who  inquire  not — 
"  we  will  show  forth  the  deeds  of  our  friend  and  brother.  We 
"  will  wash  the  paint  &om  his  cheeks,  that  Men  may  count  the 
"  wrinkles  and  the  pun-spots  !  We  will  strip  him  naked,  that  all 
"maybeholdthergrievouaness  of  his  sores."  Alas!  sir,  more  is  the 
pity  that  this  truth-telling  spirit  is  not  one  in  which  the  lives  of 
men  of  letters  have  been  written  .'  The  world  has  had  too  much 
of  degrading  cicuse  calling  itself  admiring  sympathy  ;  too  much 
(^  facts  twisted,  and  blame  bestowed  amiss  ;  of  false  and  IHvolouA 
cbufusions  between  virtue  and  vice  ;  of  attempts  to  identify  Geniue 
by  every  morbid  passion  and  base  desire,  and  to  prove  the  two  not 
merely  co-eiistent  but  concomitant.  Sorely  and  shamefully  has 
testimony  been  perverted  by  those  called  upon  to  speak.  But  here 
was  silence  which  none  were  bidden  to  break.  The  tale  waa  ten- 
dered unasked.  There  was  no  thought  of  ct^nung  a  saintship  for 
your  friend  and  fellow-labourer — no  danger  lest  hia  intimates  (as 
few  knew  better  than  yourself)  should  open  too  ready  a  hand,  or 
too  merciM  a  heart  to  comfort  and  succour  those  he  had  left  be-' 
Mnd.  How  strone,  then,  must  have  been  the  principle  of  duty 
which  led  some  old  fello*-actor  of  the  deceased  mimic  to  step  for- 


f^^,  and  tell  hb  that  he  whom  you  had  consorted  with,  and  fiat- 
tered  and  wged  on,  whose  follies  jou  had  used,  whose  time  jon 
hftd  usurped,  was  a  wretched  heing  harassed  by  perpetual  terrors 
test  his  daily  bread  should  fail— baokrupt  in  health — bruised  in 
spirit — dragging  abroad  with  him  the  chain  of  debt,  aod  all  ita 
eDginrj  of  torment  from  one  scene  of  mirth  to  another ;  aod  when 
at  home  (the  home  your  presence  ao  often  brightened)  derived  the 
most  healthy  support  and  the  wholesome  solace  which  Husband  and 
Father  can  enjoy. 

Verily,  Theodore  Hook  had  his  reward!  Wits — party-writers 
— facetious  novelists — hoon  companions,  think  of  these  things ; 
be  grateful  for  the  modesty  of  the  grave  in  Fulham  church-ytmi. 
To  me  that  unhonoured  stone  Eipeaketh  with  a  roice  louder  than  a 
trumpet's.  And  for  you,  sir, — as  Hook's  old  familiar  friend — the 
share  you  hare  had,  be  it  more  or  less,  in  reading  a  lesson  so  im- 
portant to  all  possessing  what  are  called  "  social  qualities,"  entitles 
yon  to  the  world's  warmest  gratitude.  But  we  do  not  promise  to 
emulate  your  example.  Your  virtues  may  be  written  on  your 
tombstone. 

I  have  the  honour  to  remain. 

Your  admuing  aud  grateful  servant, 

Pabl  Bell. 


MAY-DAY  FOR  THE  PEOPLE. 

Thx  month  of  May  is  upon  na — these  pages  will  see  the  light 
upon  the  birth-day  of  the  summer  time.  The  season  of  Ibe  leaf 
and  the  flower — of  the  greenness  of  the  wood,  and  the  richness 
of  the  sward,  and  the  soothing  murmurs  of  the  brooklet  has  come. 
This  is  not  the  age  for  pastorals.  We  know  it,  and  do  not  intend 
to  "babble  o' green  fields,"  to  conjure  np  mossy  grots — to  make 
diem  resound  to  the  lay  of  merriest  birds— to  people  floweir 
meads  with  fickle  Chloes,  and  shady  groves  with  love-sick 
Strephons.  Nevertheless  there  is  something  in  the  season  to 
moke  ns  think  of  smokeless  air,  and  budding  trees,  and  turf  in 
which  you  shall  sink  to  the  ancle — the  richest  carpet  of  Nature's 
weaving.  It  is  the  joyous  period  when  Time  for  a  space  renews 
its  youth.  It  is  a  period  of  renewed  energy — a  blithe  awakening 
in  green  freshness  of  the  earth.     The  world's  blood  which  stag- 


JCAY-DiT  FOR  THE   PEOPLE.  413 

nated  during  winter's  aleepj  frosts — which  moved  but  with  an 
inconstant  and  halting  circulation  under  Spring's  fickle  influences, 
is  now  rushing,  hot  and  mantling  through  Nature's  veins,  and  the 
denizens  of  earth  and  air  participate  in  tbe  flushed  Tigour  of  the 
Universal  Mother. 

Hay-day  b  a  high  festjral  of  Nature.  It  is  the  real  New- 
Year's  day.  The  earth  is  rejoicing  around  uB.  The  birds  alng  from 
their  nests,  and  risbg — incense- like  frtnn  the  earth — floats  towards 
the  dumb  music  of  the  flower^.  And  we  all  partake,  although 
perchance  we  know  it  not,  in  this  general  jubilee.  The  town- 
pent  man  burrjring  along  the  crowded  street,  hears  with  a 
Hpeciee  of  semi-conscious  thrill,  the  voice  of  the  caged  blackbird, 
hung  out  where  a  patch  of  sunsbine  comes  cheeringly  on  the 
brown  brick  wall ;  or  be  looks  with  a  momentarily-awakened 
interest  upon  the  budding  greenness  of  a  solitary  tree,  impounded 
as  it  were  in  some  black  city-garden  ;  and  donning,  with  all  the 
haste  it  may,  every  shred  of  summer-livery  which  smoke  and 
confined  air  will  permit  it  to  assume. 

It  was  then,  yielding  to  these  impulses — preparing  a  channel  for 
tliese  feelings  to  run  riot  in — that  our  forefathers  instituted  the 
games  of  May.  And  they  were  in  the  right.  Gladness  is  naturid 
to  the  season.  Man  is  not  so  far  removed  from  inanimate  things 
that  he  too  should  not  feel  some  impulse  from  the  influence 
which  quickens  them,  and  causes  them  to  burst  into  the  fuQ 
flush  of  tbeir  beauty.  Not  that  every  season  is  not  cheerful  in 
its  turn.  Do  we  disparage  the  bracing  days  of  frost  and  driving 
snow — when  the  fire  is  ruddy  on  the  hearth,  and  the  genial 
solemnities  of  Christmas  tide  are  celebrated  under  the  wreathed 
mistletoe  and  holly  bough?  Then  come — smiling  and  crying — 
coaxing  and  scolding — the  flckle  days  of  Spring.  Perhaps  Winter, 
which  always  seems  loath  to  depart,  and  will  keep  drag|^ng  oa 
an  unhonoured  existence,  gives  poor  Spring  a  worse  name  than 
she  deserves.  But  for  all  that,  she  ripeusinto  Summer — the  bud 
becomes  a  leaf,  the  snowdrop,  which  seemed  afraid  of  showing; 
Winter  that  she  could  don  Spring's  livery,  and  therefore  peeped 
fearfully  out,  as  white  as  Uie  snow  around  her — has  drooped 
and  died — and  the  whole  tribe  of  gaudy  fiowrets — a  gorgeous 
host,  bedight  in  every  hue — come  forth,  eiultingly  brigbted  on  the 
earth,  and  open  their  bos<fflas  to  Summer's  sun  and  Summer's 
breese. 

And  our  forefathers  went  forth  with  tbem.    May-day  sounded 


414  HAT-DAT   FOR  THE  PEOPLE. 

A  Toiice  of  joy  throughout  the  land.  Tho  maidenB  batlied  their 
rooT  cheeks  iaMRf-dew,  luid  if  die  fluid  did  them  no  good,  the 
ea^j  rieing  aud  &e  fresh  air  of  the  Bummet  dawn  were  mote 
ofiectoal. 

And  here  let  ua  not  he  met  by  sneering  remukB  upon  the 
qoalit;  of  our  ordinary  JAay  weather ;  about  East^iiinda  and 
rheumatiEm  ;  dreuching  rtuna  and  colda  in  the  head.  JS  as  you 
Bay,  the  seasoni  hare  changed  since  Chaucer's  time,  make  tbe 
1e^  of  June  May-day,  Here  is  no  bull :  postpone  the  festival — 
do  not  emit  it.  What  ire  want  is  a  joyful  welcome  to  the  plea- 
Bant  summer  time ;  a  welcome  to  the  leaf  and  to  the  flower ; 
a  recognition  of  that  awakening  influence,  which  stirs  within  as 
and  prompts  to  gaiety  and  cheering  thoughts.  This  comes  with  ' 
the  summer ;  receive  it,  acknowledge  it  when  the  summer 
arrivea.  May-day  is  but  a  word,  which  signifies  the  opening  of 
the  balmiest,  the  pleasontest  season  of  the  year.  Take  it  in  its 
largest  meuiiug,  and  hail  Queen  Summer  when  her  hnzom 
Majesty  first  smiles  upon  ber  throne  ! 

We  want  May-day  to  be  agun  celebrated.  Not,  mind,  as  of 
^re ;  but  one  wDiud  fain  see  the  same  spirit  run  in  a  more 
sagely-planned  channel.  Think  for  a  moment  of  May-day  in  the 
reiga  of  Queen  Bess.  Leslie's  gorgeous  picture  rises  before  o«r 
eyra  as  we  pen  the  words.  First,  «  gallant  May-pole  floats  on  die 
vision.  See  the  green  wreaths  which  garland  it — ^ia  spiral  veins 
.of  dawy  greenery — crowned  with  a  diadem  of  flowers.  Mait  tlie 
meiTj  orowd  which  gambol  round  this,  the  standard  of  the  summer. 
The  sward  is  green  and  soft  and  springy  beneath  them.  The 
summer  sky  is  blue  over  head,  and  the  summer  sun  shines  down, 
flinging  its  light  in  dancing  patohes  throngfa  the  waving  richness 
of  the  trees.  Truly  it  is  a  most  c^naint  reveL  It  is  the  bal 
maiqu6  of  the  middle  ages.  Hark  to  Ae  clash — rode  but 
sprightly — of  the  pipe  and  tabor  ;  and  see  the  antics  which 
dancers  play.  Merry  on  us !  what  a  group— what  monsters— 
what  hobby  horses — what  quaint  jestera— -what  marvellous 
-masques — what  a  merry  pageant !  Truly,  Master  Srasmos, 
Holiday  must  have  been  the  marshal  of  the  host.  JoDy  old 
Pedant  1  reply  in  thy  quaint  vernacular.  Thou  hast  ordered  the 
folds  of  tiiat  drsfon's  tail :  thou  hast  traced  the  quaint  mnmminga 
of  the  morris-dance  :  the  attirings  of  Maid  Marian,  are  they  not 
thy  right  merrie  conceit  ?  and  the  Pope  of  fools — hast  thou  not 
Hthie  Holinesaup  in  his  greenwood  Vatican?    Round  the  Kay- 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


lUr-DAT  FOE  THE   PEOPLE.  416 

p(de !  RQimd  to  the  quaint  cadsnce  of  that  primevAl  music — buid 
in  lund  with  uncouth  caper  and  bUcL-lettcr  joke.  Jiunp  hobby 
home  ! — ^nJI  dragon !  Jester — Tarlet  as  thonarfc— joke  thy  jokw ; 
h  ia  Summer's  Stttunmli^r—tbe  feast  of  the  greenwood  tree. 

"  Now  creatnres  all  are  narrie  minded:" 
Chant  as  ye  dance  some  quaint  old  tnadri^l :  make  th^  bright  air 
ring  with  the  traditional  tra-Ia-la  of.  the  roaring  burden.     Nature 
is  amging  around  you.     Join  your  voices  in.  one  flood  of  joyous 
reyel^  to  those  of — 

•>  ShaUov  rivera  to  whose  ^1h 
Melodious  birds  dng  madrigala." 

It  is  the  time  for  jest  and  qirip  taxd  Grank.  'Ehe  cottage  and  the 
castle  confess  its  influence.  Hark  !  mingling  in  the  rustic  revelry, 
the  uncouth,  babble  of  the  village  Hwoiu,  with  the  courtly  words' — 
the  we-drawn  phraseolo^^  of  a  mimic  Arcadia,  which  (he 
Cavalier — all  fonos  and  pedantic  state — addressea  in  maaeured 
accents  to  Ute  high-bom  dame,  moving  floattngly  akag  ths. dance 
"with  InalL-hBeled  shoe  uul  nulling  fardttigale ! 

Such  .VAB  Mid^^  in  Hid  timu  gone  bf .  U  gMdnallr  fell 
away  £:om.its  quunt  glory.  We  got. mora  boaineM  Jike  mid  I«bs 
pleoauEe^eaking.  Wb  became,  Bomfihow,  o^iamad  of  dancmg^in 
the  open  air.  To  the  radiance  of  Gk  sun  we  prefecred  theig^m- 
mer.of  melting  tallow.  The  booading  freshness  of  tbe  ]Uua. 
Itethan  limes — when.  Huropeau'mind,  taking  oS  a  nugbty  inaabas, 
sent  out  its  .Shakspeares  and  its  Speocers  to  Aaw  bow  mueh  of 
Sod  there  was  in  man — drooped  aod  died  for  a  time  mider  the 
sadrColourad  veatmeuts  of  die  Furitao.  Aoother  change  eaneon. 
Fnuse-Qod-Barebonea  vanished.  The  snuffling  twang  of  his 
tabemade  was  -silent ;  hut  great  stem  minds  vaoiehed  wi^  the 
men,  who.nmg  psalms  to  celebrate  the  downfal  of  the  Cwmliera, 
Xhen  our  country  was  ruled  in  the  ^rit  throned  amid  the 
^Ided  talons  and  marble  terraces  of  Versailles.  Beveliy  beeame 
dehaoch — love-making,  intrigue.  The  rule  of  conduct  was  tiie 
law  of  ceremony.  Eeart-fredL  impulse  was  goae.  The  ctrart 
shone  like  the  moon~-^thout  heat.  Its  withodBg  Influenoe  £eU 
upon  the  people.  The  blithe  Welch  milkmaid  beoune  the  jaded 
mistreBB  of  the  king.  Another  change.  In  primstdirieity  ef  aonl, 
a  Dutchman  biutt  bis  bticken  palaee.  Tbe  land  -was  grars  and 
plodding.  Then  Queen  Anne's  reign  caiae — a  time  of  tntekss 
f^iaatig'-^  pemwigH,  hoops-ond  elwdad  cuao— And  tluaa'days 

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4l<t  MAT-SAT  70S  THE  PBOFLE. 

gndnallj  mergwl  throogh  a  HhiftiDg,  changing  centmj  into  those 
in  the  memory  of  onr  own  generation,  men  becoming  lesa  fornuJ 
bnt  more  indnstriooB — citiee  B]»inging  np  from  villages  ;  huge 
trading  porta  from  fishing  hamleta  ;  the  whole  land  beiximitig  one 
hire  erf'  bnaj,  swatming  induatrj. 

And  from  all  those  reTolaUonii  our  holiday  costomB  eaffered. 
The  Puritana  held  them  to  be  aborainatiooB  before  the  Lwd.  The 
Second  CharleB'a  reign  paaaed  amid  the  mmmneiy  of  the  court  and 
the  roormuriDgs  of  the  people.  May-day  waa  not  more  faToored  by 
the  House  ctf  Onnge.     Pope  tells  as  what  happened — 

"  Wbere  Ibe  tall  Hafpcde  once  o'erlooked  the  Stnnd, 
Bat  now-^-ao  Ami  ud  jMtj  ordain — 
A  church  eoDeeta  the  aunts  of  Diuiy-luie.'* 

And  after  the  "  httle  crooked  thing  which  asks  a  qaestioD  "  had 
passed  away  from  time  and  Twickenham,  we  became  so  bosy — so 
monstroaBly  acUye  in  spnning,  hammering,  weaviDg,  uid  ^  hist 
fighting,  that  we  proclaimed  &e  nndirided  ragn  of  Industry,  itid 
iHuushed  holidays  as  a  species  of  ragrantB — intetlopers  who  could 
giro  no  good  account  of  themselyes — fellows  qiiite  onanited  to  come 
between  the  wind  and  omr  respectability.  True,  we  kept  one ''or 
two  as  samples  of  the  banished  race ;  but  even  they  were  not 
suffered  to  exist,  until  by  decking  them  with  the  outward  badges 
rather  than  inspiring  them  with  the  subtle  spirit  of  religion,  we  had 
taken  bond — so  far  as  we  could — that  tbey  ahonld  not,-  in  the 
ordinaiy  sense  of  the  term,  be  days  of  amusement ;  that  is  to  say, 
that  people  should  not  dance,  or  hear  ohecrfid  mnuc,  or  witness 
lively  plays  then — although,  of  course,  they  might  get  drunk  ad 

Such  is  nearly  our  condition  at  present.  We  have  nomioal 
Easter  and  Whiteun  hoUdays,  but  they  are  very  partial— -Toiy  im- 
perfect. We  would  have  something  like  Nation^  Jubilees.  The 
French  hare — not,  it  is  true,  a  very  rational  one — in  CamiTal  time, 
when  the  whole  population  get  frantic  with  pleasurable  excitement 
in  that  creimndo  ^  rejoiclngsj  which  has  its  final  crash  on  Mardi 
grot.  The  advent  of  summer  time,  we  contend,  naturally  in- 
spires men  with  pleasurable  sensations.  Why  not,  then,  devote 
something  like  a  week  to  universal  relaxation — ^to  rational  holi- 
day keeping  ?  No  use  in  re-erecting  the  bllen  Hay-p<de» — no  use 
in  summoning  bock  the  departed  race  of  morris-dancers— no  use  in 
extending  Hk  sooty  revel^  of  Jack-in-tbe- Green,  and  ottofflpling 


XAT-rAT  ton  THE    PEOPLE.  417 

to  persuade  honert  citizens  to  officiate  as  "My  Lords;"  or  pray- 
ing boarding-school  mieaes  to  carry  round  the  copper  begging  ladles. 
No — all  those  mesna  of  enjoyment  have  faded  with  another  a^, 
A  widely  different  class  of  amiuements  would  we  wish  to  sea  pro- 
vide afitting  "  May-day  for  the  people." 

Holiday-keeping  and  locomotion  ore  beginning  to  be  abuost 
inseparable  ideas.  Durine  Easter-tide  we  hare  a  partial  immi- 
gration of  the  Insty  men  of  the  fields  into  the  town,  and  a  partial 
emigration  of  the  pale  faces  of  the  towns  into  the  countij.  The 
change  does  good  to  either^  Rest  indeed,  properly  understood, 
ineami  change  of  occupation.  When  we  talk  of  a  "day  of  rest  " 
we  should  not  attempt  to  realise  it  in  a  day  of  inaction.  Doing 
nothing  is  more  wearisome  than  doing  anything,  and  assuredly  we 
would  ^ther  pass  a  day  at  stone-breaking  than  one  stretched 
supine  upon  a  sofa,  forbidden  even  to  twiddle  our  thumbs.  Rest, 
we  repeat,  means  change.  A  tailor  rests  himself  by  standing. 
The  upright  is  not  a  natural  posture  of  repose,  but  it  becomes  so 
because  it  is  the  opposite  of  that  required  by  a  particular  labour. 
By  the  same  rule  the  day  of  rest  to  a  population  cramped  in  work- 
tdiops  and  crowded  chambers  ought  to  he  a  day  of  heallhftil  exer- 
cise m  the  open  air.  Why  should  the  rest-day  of  the  week  be  the 
most  dism^  day  of  the  week?  Assuredly  it  was  iot»ided  to  bo 
the  most  lively.  The  Holy  Days  of  our  ancestors  were  amusement 
days. 

The  word  has  come  down  to  us,  hut  little  of  the  thing — or  per- 
haps we  separate  the  one  from  the  other.  Our  fathers,  guided  by 
the  consummate  policy. of  the  old  faith,  blended  religion  widi 
nmnsement.  The  same  word  conveyed  both  ideas.  The  day 
devoted  to  innocent  pleasure  they  accounted  holy,  for  they  believed 
—and  we  think  they  were  right — that  whatever  tends  to  invigo- 
rate man's  spirit — refresh  his  soul — infuse  new  strength  Into  his 
limbs,  and  new  healthfulness  into  his  body,  bad  a  necessary  effect 
in  elevating  and  making  more  pure  his  whole  being,  in  advanc- 
ing it  a  step  higher—a  step  nearer  to  the  great  perfection  from 
whence  it  came.  We  should  like  to  see  this  doctrine  more 
received  and  more  octed  upon  than  it  is  at  present.  We 
should  like — aU  reverently  be  it  eaid — to  see  hmuless  amuse- 
ment become  part  and  parcel  of  religious  duty.  We  would 
shock  no  man  s  conscientious  feelings.  We  have  even  a  sort 
of  respect  for  honest  prejudice  when  it  is  not  too  lighily  token 
tip  or  too  blindly  and   obstinately  adhered  to  j    but  we  cannot 

HO.  XTU. — TOl.  in.  B  B  C^OIO'k' 


US  HAT-DAT  FOR  THE   PEOFLK. 

help  Sftvtng  that  we  beUere  it  would  be  for  the  Uadi^  .and  aa- 
mense  benoSt  of  Ilngland  were  ererj  fftoilitj  afiorded  for  m^iiig 
Sunday ■  more  of  holidaja  in  the  old  aenae,  bat  not  in  the  new  appliw- 
tion  of  that  senae,  than  they  are.  We  should  lore  to  see  our  nol^ 
river  and  the  green  haunta  ronnd  Londm  cxowded  every  sevenl^ 
-day  hy  the  dingy  denixeos  of  nramung  city  lanea.  Leave  "the 
amohe  for  a  few  hwrs  a  week.  Leave  the  stifliiig  air  -of  fostj, 
darkened  cbuichea  for  a  gammer's  Sunday  in  the  fielda  ;  let  your 
children  aee  the  sun  without  gating  at  it  through  the  soot-fog.; 
let  them  hear  other  birds  sing  than  ^e  ^ngy  c^tives  of  the  "ngp, 
Do  tbia— look  on  nature — learn  to  lore  her— leant  to  appreciate 
her,  and  the  leason  she  may  convey.  The  thouf^ts  she  may  insjute 
will  be  those  which  ought  to  be  taught  and  leanied  upon — in  the 
liberal  sense  of  the  word — a  holiday. 

But  we  are  losing  Mght  of  Uay-time— of  that  period  when, 
obeying  the  secret  unpuIfleH  of  our  nature,  we  would  estabUsh^ 
geuerd  National  Jubilee— a  great  and  re&ash!ag  Sonda;  for  enei<- 
vating  labour.  We  have  said  that  locomotion  is  become  iDBepa^abl^ 
from  our  ideas  of  holiday  keeping.  This  we  note  as  a  good  and  pro- 
mising sign.  Interseoted  as  our  land  is  with  railways — covered  as 
our  Mas  are  with  steamerB-— we  should  wish  to  .see  our  iS&j  festJvAl 
heccoae  A  grand  and  instructive  pilgrimage  tine.  It  is  good,  for 
man  to  run  amoi^  his  fellows — to  see  distant  apota — to  becoiae 
acquainted  with  new  and  untrodden  localities.  Travel  is  a  glorione 
pill  for  purging  nonsense.  The  lion  of  the  country  coterie  has 
the  conceit  taken  out  of  him  by  London's  cold  shoulder.  The 
prejudia».staffed  John  Bnll,  who  hates  the  French  for  eating  fro^ 
and  wearing  wooden  shoes,  very  soon  heoomes  ashamed  of  his 
cheriidied  i^inions,  if  he  airs  them  on  the  other  ttde  of  the  water. 
The  townunan  has  much  to  learn  from  the  couatryman — the  cooii- 
tryman  from  die  townsman.  Let  them  mingle  as  often  iu 
may  be.  Whisk  your  agrioultoral  population  amid  the  chim- 
neys <^  the  regions  of  iron  and  cotton.  Bring  the  sooty  men 
of  the  forge,  and  the  pale  men  of  the  loom,  amid  {Joughs  and 
harrows.  The  change  will  do  both  good — will  inspire  both 
with  new  ideas — will  kill  old  prejudices — will  make  people  diink 
less  of  thttnselves  ^d  more  of  dieir  neighbonrs.  We  hairs  bad 
:ioo  much  class  warfare  lately.  The  country  has  been  too  long 
uid  too  fiercely  set  agamst  the  town.  Now  that  a  peace  seems 
like^  to  be  at  huid,  we  would  cement  the  allianoe  with  pezBOnal 
'intereonrse.     We  idiould  like  to  see  the.man  of  Lanoashire  abafce 


HAT-SAY  FOR  T^  P£OPL£.  tl9 

huids  witli  &e  voMi  of  3<ffii0rsetyure.  We  would  bare  tbe  ruddy 
tenant  of  500  a»Ue  Mraa  «oiiduetiitg  the  waiver — freed  for  » 
ap&ce  from  tite  raor  of  th^  e&giHo  and  the  clAtter  of  the  poweiv 
loom — anuBtd  tbe  luBlic  bomeatead ;  and  agun,  it  would  as  much 
deligkt  ua  to  aee  a  ftiaidlj  hx  talionU  practised  b;  the  operatifo 
of  ibe  nortli  in  conducting,  in  hie  tuni,  hU  eount^  aoquaiotanoe 
from  engine  to  fumnce — ^frcon  mill  to  Ueohasioa'  Institute.  New^ 
tbia  is  SMidt  more  than  mere  dreanung.  It  would  bare  been  bat 
idle  imibgiDings  were  it  not  for  steam  ;  bvt,  thank  HoaTon,  wc  new 
wield  a  power  wbidi  twen^  years  ago  we  wot  not  of — a  poww 
which  tB  working  a  greater  rev<dution  them  ever  was  rung  in  by 
clang  of  tocsin,  or  b^tised  in  the  hkwd  of  kings. 

Let  Uay  tine  be  celebmted  then,  not  by  dte  monster  derioeff 
of  yere,  but  hs  the  monster  trains  of  the  present  day.  Our 
wcestorfi  dajioed  round  a  pole— let  our  ht^ay  movements  run  in 
a  move  extended  oirole.  Eailway  companies  can  do  much  in  this 
way  J  and  if  empk^vcs  of  labear  unite  wiUi  the  rolers  of  tiie  rails, 
cheap,  very  cheap  trips  mi^t  every  aueoiBi^  be  instituted  which 
would  rev^  to  millions  new  beauties  of  creation— t^n  to  then 
freah  founltuBS  of  thought — ^freah  means  of  enjoyment.  We  would 
in  partioulor  wish  to  Snk,  by  these  hdiday  bauds,  great  towoR 
widi  rural  and  mauufaeturing  districts,  and  inland  counties  witb 
the  sea.  We  would  go  farlher — we  would  not  stop  at  the  coatL 
We  have  just  been  reading  in  the  morning  journals,  of  a  sew  line 
of  eleunors  to  trip  it  orer  the  Channel  wav«s  ia  an  hour  and 
tweaty  idhikIm  from  Dover  to  Calais,  and  in  a  Kttle  more  than 
fottr  hours  inm  Bovtt*  to  Oatokd.  Why  then  jihoahl  we  stop  our 
dieap  trips  at  the  white  eiSSe  ?  'Tis  but  a  hop,  skip,  and  a  joi^ 
to  the  Falaises  of  France,  and  the  long  sea  dykea  and  level  com-, 
fifild?  of  FUodcm  hi  a  year  or  two  the  foraier  oowniry  will  he 
interaeeted  by  ndlroiuls — tke  glorious  okl  towss  of  Ute  latter  are 
already  kak  by  thur  iron  bands.  Wdl,  then,  gentlemen  Direc- 
tors of  the  Groat  Kortbem  Line  of  France  and  its  many  hranchea 
— Direetars  of  the  Flenish  wtd  the  BngUah  railways,  why  not 
come  to  aonte  nniaable  jurtaagomant  and  oosoert  cheap  trips  in 
communication  with  each  otiker  ?  Baater  is  a  festival  in  all  throe 
countries.: — irityrMt  taMh  the  people  of  dthw  the  sweets. imd 
advantagea  of  foratg^  tuvel?  Why  not  dispat«h  the  Londoner; 
uid  for  that  matter  the-  men  of  Laacatfiire  and  TwJE,  across  the 
water  to  orchards  of  La  bells  Normandie,  and  tboiee  away  by 
Amiena  and  Lisle,  or  Valmiclennes,  down  into  the  bistonc  "  Low 
be2 


4S0  lUT-ItAT  rOH  TBI  PEOPLE. 

Countries  ;"  while  we  in  oar  towns  should  receive  equal  crowds  of 
our  friends  the  Brtnet  Belget  and  the  blonse-clsd  men  of  Nor- 
muid;  and  FieArdy.  There  is  nothing  impracticable  in  the 
acheme.  Onlj  let  sach  trips  he  performed — and  thej  could  be 
ao  performed — at  the  expense  of  a  few,  a  Teij  few  pounds,  and 
hnnareds  of  thousands  who  now  no  more  tbink  of  visiting  Dieppe 
and  Bonen,  or  Ghent  and  Bruges,  than  of  starting  for  the  anti- 
podes, woold  he  all  agog  for  a  week  to  he  passed  in  some  strange 
und— hitherto  dimly  known  hj  the  vague  phrase  "abroad." 
We  are  certain  tbat  the  hap^est  results  would  flow  from  such 
an  intermingling  of  F|unce,  Belf^um,  and  England.  It  would 
form  fiiendsbips — dissipate  prejudices — convey  inBtructioD — bind 
together  by  tbe  tics  of  acquaintanceship  and  pleasant  recol- 
lections tbonsands  who,  ignorant  of  each  other,  and  each  other's 
lands,  would  be  the  first  to  cbeer  on  quarrelling  statesmen,  and 
throw  up  their  caps  for  war.  Let  nations  know  each  otber,  and 
acquire  the  babit  of  inter-communication,  and  you  will  check  hos- 
tile feelings  in  their  hud.  Acquaintances  are  not  so  likely  to 
quarrel  as  strangers.  Time  was  when  the  inhabitants  of  England 
were  as  much  divided  for  all  practical  purposes  as  the  inhabitants 
of  Europe  are  now.  What  was  tbe  consequence  ?  Civil  war — 
county  against  county— the  strife  of  the  Roses.  When  Scotland 
and  England  fought  Uie  battle  of  Bannockbum,  London  was  nearly 
aa  distant  from  Edinburgh  as  it  is  now  from  Constantinople.  Paris 
will  soon  be  as  near  us,  or  nearer,  than  the  Scotch  capital,  and  aa 
surely  as  that  time  will  come  so  will  an  age  which  wiU  regard  the 
idea  of  the  recurrence  of  a  Waterloo  just  as  wild  as  we  should 
now  look  upon  tbe  notions  of  a  man  who  waited  iu  expectation  of 
another  Flodden, 

We  would  then  foster  these  peaceful  tendencies  by  encouraging 
people  to  avail  themselvea  of  the  cheap  and  ready  means  of  com~ 
munication  opened  up  by  steam.  We  warrant,  the  railway  and 
steam-boat  people  would  in  the  end  find  it  to  their  advantage  to 
inoculate  with  a  love  of  somewhat  extended  travel  classes  who  now 
seldom  think  of  stirring  beyond  Gravesend  on  the  one  hand  and 
Richmond  on  the  other.  Several  lines  have  already,  to  some 
extent,  carried  out  the  practice  here  recommended.  We  would 
mention,  especially,  the  Brighton  Railway  Company,  who  deserve 
popular  gratitude  for  the  liberality  of  their  conduct  and  the  cheap- 
ness of  meir  fares. 

We  have  abeady  urid  that,  as  a  general  principle,  we  should 

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MAT-DAT  FOR.THB  FEOFLE..  421 

like  to~  Bee  Eaeter  converted  into  Uaj  time  for  &e  people — by 
Bending  the  denizens  of  the  towns  to  the  country  —  those  of  the 
countiy  to  the  towns.  We  would  also  wish  to  see  every  possiblg 
means  of  inatraotiTo  ftmusement  prorided  by  city  ftathorities  tot 
their  rural  viBitonts.  Why  not  hare  theatres  opened  at  reduced 
prices  ? — Railways  run  at  reduced  fares — or  might  not  the  former  be 
thrown  open  gratuitously,  or  nearly  so  ?  Precedents  are  not  want< 
ing.  The  same  rule  ought  to  apply  to  all  manner  of  exhibitions — 
galleries  of  works  of  art — museums,  and  so  forth.  We  shoald  not 
object  to  faira  either.  We  have  enough  of  police  to  keep  down 
objectionable  practices.  We  would  discourage  dancing  booths — > 
'  discourage  drinking  booths,  and  put  down  gaming  booths.  Furs, 
after  all,  generate  a  genial  Hoctal  spirit — they  promote  good  humour 
and  relax  the  tighter  bonds  of  coUTentional  decorum.  Why  not  ^ 
add  facilities  for  manly  exercises — why  not  give  prizes  for  rowing 
— leaping,  wrestling,  and  so  forth  ?  Of  course,  these  would  ba 
kept  very  subordinate  to  higher  and  more  elevating  amusements, 
hut  lusty  arms  and  nimble  legs  ore,  after  all,  not  things  to  be 
sneezed  at. 

Wo  have  thus  sketched  out  our  idea  of  what  might  be  an  ex- 
tended "  May-day  for  the  People."  We  would  preserve  as  man; 
of  the  old  customs  as  appear  conducive  to  the  promotion  of  health 
and  rigour.  Cheap  travelling  would  be  one  of  our  principal  holi- 
day means  of  atb'action  and  improvement.  To  every  class  we 
would  open  up  a  neiv  sphere  of  observation.  Every  class  we 
would  knit  in  closer  bonds  by  promoting  frequent  and  kindly 
intercourse.  Every  elnsa  we  would  seek  to  improve  by  intro- 
ducing them  to  works  of  art  and  science,  or  whatever  was  to  them 
an  unknown  field  of  mental  pleasure  and  profit.  We  have  recorded 
our  opinion  that  the  Kay-day  festival  of  yore  was  wisely  instituted. 
Wo  have  now  grown  b«yond  its  childish  gambols.  Let  us  then 
improve  without  destroying.  Dancing  roond  a  garlanded  pole  was 
better  than  continued  toil :  but  the  townsman  gaining  health  ia 
the  country,  the  countryman  gaining  knowledge  in  the  town — th© 
English  operative  wandering  tiirough  the  gorgeous  towns  of  Flan- 
ders and  the  picturesque  sites  of  Normandy — all  these  are  surely 
more  ennobling  pastimes  still  than  jumping  in  socks  or  chaung; 
pigs  with  greased  tails. 

Asoiis  B.  Reach. 


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Tffi  joy-bells  peal  &  meny  tune 

Along  the  eTening-air ; 
TLe  crackHog  bonfires  turn  the  sky 

All  critBHOD  with  their  glare  ; 
Bold  iWiBic  fills  the  Btsrtled  streets 

With  iHirtb-inspiring  sound  ; 
TlwgapiBg  caotiDQ'g  raddeniiig  breath 

Wskesthmiiter-iionts  around ; 
And  tbaataiid  j^ful  voices  cry, 
"  HiU2a  I   Huoa !  k  tictoky  I " 

A  little  girl  stood  at  the  door, 

And  with  her  kitten  play'd  ; 
LeaawM  nnd  frolicsome  than  she, 

Tliat  rosy  prattling  maid. 
SnddMi.  her  dieek  tume  ghosUj  white ; 

Hei  eye  with  fear  is  filled. 
And,  mshing  in-of-doors,  she  screams — ' 
"  My  brother  Willie 's  kill'd  t  " 
And  thoQaand  joyful  voices  cry, 
"  Hnaa  I  H^ia^ !  a  viotoby  !  " 

A  nMther  sat  in  thoughtful  ease, 

A-knitting  by  the  fire, 
Plyisg  (he  needle's  thrifty  task 

With  hands  that  never  tire. 
She  tore  her  few  gray  hairs,  and  shriek'd, 

"  My  joy  on  earth  is  done  ! 
Oft' !  wiio  vill  lay  mv  in  tny  grave  t 

Oh,OMll  mywn!  myBon!"— 
And  thowutd  J07A1I  vmcea  cry, 
"Houal  Hnmj  a  victoky  !  " 

A  youthful  wife  the-threshold  cross'd, 
With  matron^  treasure  bless'd  j 

A'  smiling  infant  nestling  lay 
In  slnmbei  at  her  breast. 


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She  Bp<i^  no  word,  she  heaved  no  sigh. 

The  -nidow'stala  to  tell ; 
fivt  like  a  cwpse,  oU  wUte  and  stiffs 

Upon  llie  earth-floor  fell. — 
And  thousand  joyful  voices  mj, 
"  Hoiza  !  Huzza  !  i.  ricioRT  !  " 

An  atd-  we^  man,  with  haid  of  sbow, 

And  jeaTB  t]i^£8c<K«  and  tan, 
liOok'd  m  u^on  his  oaUD-home, 

And  BUguiab  seized  him  theit. 
He  help'd.not  wife,  nor  helpless  bahe, 

MatroD,  aot  little  maid. 
One  scalding  tear,  one  choking  sob^ 

He  knelt  him  down,  and  pray'd. 
And  tbotuand  joyfol  Toicea  cry, 
"  Hnua .'  Hmia  1  a  vktobt  !  " 

The  Rhv.  R:  E.  B.  Maoi.egiuM'. 


ENGLISH  SCENB&  AND  CHARACTEES. 

mr  wiujAM  Howrrt. 

JOCEXY   I>UF£S. 

1  ThehE  was  not  s  mxa  in  all  that  put  t£  tite  country  wbo  was 
aUa  to  compete  ia  wit  witb  our  M  iriend,  Dick  Bedfem,  ia  his 
best  days,  bat  Joekey  Daweii — and  the  joekej  has  a  ftime  a» 
eatensive  and  endnring  as  Dick  hiotself.  By  a  jockey  the  people 
of  the  midlaad  conaties  in  commOTt  parlance,  do  not  mean,  as  the 
tana  mere  inmlly  sonifies,  a  rider  at  rues,  but  a  horee-4le*l«r,  a 
bwu-jockey. 

Jockey  Bawes  waa  a  priBCO'Biid  a  leader  in  bds  profession,  and 
tltat,  as  all  the  world  knows,  reqnireB  a  k«eit  wit  and  a  cunning. 
There  is  n«  trade  is  wfadoh  onrreacbii^  is  more  highly  estimated 
as  a  eeienoe.  Whh  this  dass  of  m^i  it  is  a  orautant  battle  of 
intelleets.  It  is  always  diamond  cut  dtamond.  To  be  a  good 
horse'jockiey  a  man  most,  to  aaa  their  own  term,  be  as  deep  as  the 
□mlh  star.  T«  bargain,  to  banter,  to  pose  by  a  species  of  sharp 
sarcasm  aiai  TaHDting  e^qnenee,  to  set  stratagem  against  stra- 
tagflm,  trick  agwiwt  trick,  ^aagMSStiie,  that  is  tbe  diuly  bnunefit 


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4IU  tsauas  soenh  aitd  OHUucrsBa. 

of  the  jocVey.  A  fur  etatomeiit  of  the  Kctnal  qoalit;  of  tke 
article,  k  fur  demand  for  it,  thoae  are  the  very  lut  things  irhieh 
are  tiionght  of.  The  grand  trinmph  and  gloiy  of  jocke^ship  Is* 
b;  well-laid  schemes,  good  selection  of  customers,— for  a  jockey 
sees  at  a  glance  whether  he  has,  to  use  bis  own  phrase,  got  the 
ri^t  BOW  bj  the  ear, — hy  the  practice  of  the  most  singular  arts 
and-artifiees,  to  palm  on  a  worthless  beast  for  a  good  price,  or  a 
good  beast  fw  fire  times  ita  value.  Hence  all  the  practices  of 
patching,  painting,  oUpiRng,  trimming,  gingering,  to  corer  defects 
and  impose  a  temporary  show  of  spirit  till  the  bargain  is  oror. 
It  is  only  a  practical  eye  that  knows  where  to  look  for  what  i» 
real,  and  what  is  deception  ;  but  that  eye  will  in  a  moment  detect 
the  cleverest  deception.  The  good  jockey  will  coolly  lay  hi» 
finger  on  the  weak  point,  on  the  concealed  defect,  with  a  quiet 
smile,  as  if  it  was  a  thing  of  no  great  importance, — show  up  the 
cheat,  and  tell  to  a  peapy  the  real  worth  or  w<»^essneBS  of  the 
animal.  It  is  the  Johnny  Raw  and  the  pretender  who  pay  the 
penalty  for  dealing  in  horse-flesh.  It  is  Moses  who  sells  hit  horse, 
and  gets  a  gross  of  speotcicles  in  shagreen  coses.  I  have  known 
many  who  prided  themselves  on  their  judgment  in  such  matters, 
but  I  scarcely  ever  knew  one  man  who  was  not  a  regular  jockey 
himself,  who  did  not  severely  suffer  for  such  transactions. 

The  Jockey  has  a  pride  and  glory  in  hie  profession  proportimed 
to  its  difficulties  and  scope  of  imposition.  See  him  riding  into  a 
town  to  a  fair,  with  his  long  string  of  steeds  all  tied  head  to  tail — - 
what  a  confident,  self-satisfied  air  there  is  about  him,  as  he  jogs 
on,  generally  mounted  on  the  most  sorry  jade  in  his  possessioDp 
which  you  would  not  thiok  worth  a  sovereign,  but  which,  if  yoo 
ventured  such  a  sentiment,  ho  would  immediately  orack  off  as  a 
most  extraordinuy  creature.  Hay,  he  will  point  out  points  in  the 
scarecrow  as  actual  points  of  breed  and  beauty  ;  and  telling  you, 
if  you  he  a  judge,  you  must  see  that  at  once,  will  make  you  quite 
ashamed  of  your  iguOTance.  And  then,  as  to  virtues,  and  special 
qualities— why,  there  never  was  such  a  horse  !  How  many  miles 
has  he  actually  ridden  ^at  tU  in  one  day  without  drawing  bit  ? 
How  many  miles  an  hour  does  he  trot  ?  What  weight  has  it 
carried  or  drawn  1  ood  what  have  said  such  and  such  great  men 
of  it  f  Bless  OS  I  why  it  is  a  fact,  Bellerophon  was  a  dog-lit  t» 
that  horse  T  Aad  iritb  that  he  gives  the  jade  a  coaxing  uap  on 
the  chbst,  with  a — ■'  What,  they'd  run  thee  down,  old  Bob,  eh  i 
They  'd  make  us  believe  that  thon  'rt  fit  for  nothing  but  the  dog- 

Coofjlc 


EROUSH   8CB08  jUIII   CHABACTZRS,      ■  425 

kennel,  eh  ?  Bnt  let  'em  show  tis  a  tit  that  can  clear  the  enxmcl 
like  thee  yet.  No,  no,  thy  beat  days  are  to  come  yet.  Thou  'rt 
iic«e  «f  their  flip-flap,  ra^y-waahy  bits  of  ArahiaoB,  that  can  b» 
idipped  out  of  their  dandy  wrappers  and.  run  over  the  conrae  for 
ten  miontes,  and  then  into  thdr  jackets  again,  and  all  covered 
and  cordiallod  and  coddled  np  like  a  sick  child,  or  an  old  n<»naD 
with  the  ague.  No,  Eob  ;  no,  lad,  thou  *rt  all  fur  and  above  hoard» 
rough  and  ready,  all  steel  and  pin-wire,  and  wilt  be  jogging  on 
thy  ten  miles  an  hour  when  many  a  showier  thing  is  not  fit  to  draw 
a  babies'  cart."  And  then  ho  gives  him  a  cot  with  hia  kng  whip, 
and  makes  him  start  and  prance,  erying----".See !  what,  he's  no 
spirit  left,  has  he  ?     lan'tttiat  action?     What  d'ye  call  that  ?" 

See  the  jockey  thus  on  the  pavement  of  the  fiur,  in  hia  lon^ 
coat,  his  old  boots,  his  great  jockey  whip,  his.  hat  ihtA  has  no 
shape  that  mortal  terms  can  desoribe — thrown,  slouching,  without 
either  roundness  or  squareneu,  coniera  or  edges  about  it  ;  and  his 
stout  waistcoat  with  its  doable  rows  of  great  buttons;  see  his  ruddy.. 
sunburnt  face,  and  how  he  plants  hb  leg,  and  puts  out  his  hand 
OS  he  is  in  the  midst  of  his  bargain — why,  he  would  not  thank  the 
Queen  to  be  hia  mother — he  is  a  clever  jockey — a  rare  hand  at  ft 
raffle,  and  that  is,  in  his  eyes,  the  summit  of  existence. 

And  what  a  thing  is  a  jockey's  bargain !  He  would  scorn  to  set 
a  fair  price  on  a  horse,  and  sell  it  at  once  and  qiuetly.  There  is 
no  fiin  in  that.  No,  even  when  he  knows  that  his  customer  is  np 
to  the  thing ;  knows  the  worth  of  it  aa  well  as  he  does,  he  '11  aak 
at  least  a  fourth  mora  than  he  means  to  take,  that  he  may  have  a 
chance  by  the  force  of  hia  palaver  to  take  in  the  knowing  one  a 
bit.  It  is  at  least  the  way  to  show  hia  wit,  his  knowledge  ;  to 
enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  good  hard  fight.  He  is  all  tongue,  all  eyes, 
all  ears.  He  has  half-o-doxen  bargfuns  cm  the  tapis  at  once. 
though  he  seems  to  be  absorbed  body  and  soul  in  an  eager  endea- 
vour to  convince  some  one  person  of  the  superlatire  qualities  of 
some  particular  steeds ;  though  all  the  while  he  is  perhaps  well  satia- 
flcd  that  he  shall  not  sell  those  very  horses  to  this  parUcular  man  ; 
that  the  bidding  is  only  to  show  off  on  the  other  ude.  And  truly, 
a  pretty  contradiction  of  terms  do  you  have  about  the  same  hone. 
The  owner  has  not  words  to  express  all  his  virtues  and  beautie* — 
the  bidder  to  express  his  astonishment  at  the  strange  defecta  of 
the  creature.  What  a  chest  I  what  shapely  buttocks !  what  an 
eye !  what  a  beautiful  head !  what  a  set  of  handsome  legs  and  neat 
feet  t  what  fire  and  action  ho  has !  according  bj  o[ie,-HUU  accor^j^ 

i;,,,   -xlbyGoO'^lc 


totliBOtlKr.irtKt-ftjoilterfaaad:!  wfart&pi^bMkmndlwnylBpB! 
wk&t  incipient  ^•ran,  Uttmn,  aadgUurior*!  He  is,  aocoiding^to 
tha  bidder,  liabU^teaU  mtU  of  diiwiM,  ooliei,  oooglui,  staggen, 
fltid  faeMvu  knoMrs  idiHt.-  You  wauietwiait  be  can  want  muih 
alMnefw.  Bf  bis  McooBt  it  is^  totx  bad  «*0n  for  tbe  degB.  Bst 
wbili  111*  beat  of  omtHt  goM  o»  aboat  tbis  siweiy  praiaed  and 
abamA  steed,  tW  eje  of  Hk  jtwk^  is  seeFetlj  awaie  of  time  or 
fbor  other  patties,  Aat  he  knewa  are  more  lik«ly  to  purchaae,  and 
flu-  Eaore  eaay  to  he  taken  in.  Suddenly,  h»  turns  to  a  qoiet  olergy- 
tnan-like  sort  of  a  peraen^  and  saTi — "  Tfa»t's  a  c^itAl  bone  now, 
if  jou  valued  one  far  a  gig — nue-footed  a»  the  mm  bkneelf — goes 
like  the  wind,  and  is  miIj  rising  four  years  old.  He's  been  mn 
fW  &  year  by  Sir  Toby  Blaoa,  who  would  net  h&TB  taken  two  hun- 
divd  peimds  foe  bim,  bnt  Sir  Toby  wsa  a  Ultle  mn  out  at  the 
elhowB,  I  reckon,  and  is  off  to  France.  I  ean  let  yon  baTO  that  a 
baig&in ;— all  ri|^  and  ti^it, — ^yon  'U  nwer  hs*s  the  chance 

KgKB." 

"  What's  th«  price?" 

"  Ptioft!— deg  ^eqi — »  men  old  se^.    Seventy  povnda." 

Hie  etergTmut-mBe,  iwld  gontleman  ah^es  his  head,  and  is 
waking  aw^. 

"  What  lOfU  yon  give  then,  master  ?  Name  your  price.  I 
itigfatpoesib^eMBe  down  a  trifie  or  so,  to  do  bnsinese." 

"  I  dtm't  wnot  a  Iwraa  at  more  than  fifty  pounds,"  says  the 
OBld  gentlenaB,  s^Uy. 

'"Fifty  I  oh,  I  ennlet  yon  Iwre  a  doKMi  at  (iat  price,  at  forty, 
thirty,  ay,  twenty-fiTS,  if  you  will.  Sea  here  !  and  here !  Bnt 
take  my  adviec  bbw,  that- it  a  bargain!  that  u  a  borae!  I 
t^  yoB  it  it  oa  wcfl  worth  twn  handled  pounds  to  a  geotleraan  as 
a  penny  loaf  ia  worth  a  pomy.  Bat  to  make  abort  on  it,  I  'II  say 
aiity-ave  t     Them  !  irtiat  do  yon  say  titen  ?  " 

"  Say  fertjr,  Jmb  I  "  aays  an  eqnl^  Bh>ip>-looking  feUew-  of 
the  Basse  genus,  "  and  let  the  gentleman  go  ; .  yon  see  he  wants 
to  be  gWBg  to  ha  dianra-.  Say  forty ;  that's  the  real  valae  of 
the  tit.     1 11  Ud  it  fer  him,  come,  (tone  I  " 

•*  Forty  ?  forty  denla  !  Do  yen  tiiink,  Hocndell,  that  I  stekL 
my  horeea  ?  or  t^e  -the  dog-fieeh  of  the  caT^ry  ?  No,  dm  very 
Teast  penny  I  'It  take  ia  Mxty-three  !  Ah,  neighhoor  I  "  says  be, 
so^denly  buatln^  wray  to  a  brmerly-looking  mui,  who  is>ey«iB;g 
a  pair  wf  Uaek  cotti — "  Ah  I  yon  'tb  scHne  nhite  is  your  eye,  I 
sae.    Yon  kiww  a  Int  of  good  stuff  when  yna  aee  it,  a»  well  as 


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EXnraH  BGINES  AND   VtUMHOaOB.  VS. 

KOf  of  yonr  fkthen  dU  when  th*j  'd  a  nriod  to. go  »  oooitiBg. 
Como,  these  wHI  tnm  up  jcur  leM  in  atjde,  urf  tbey  're  yoon 
fw  a  fig's  en(^— jm*  flTe-airf4hirty  poioida-  apieee  !  Whst ! 
don't  that  please  jou  ?  "  as  the  <dd  fumer  1(n^  at  bim  vith  a 
^  n^ish  noile.  "  Wbat's  the  matter  now  ?  Are  hones  of 
that  stamp  bo  thick  on  the  ground  here  ?  Just  look  about  joa 
while  I  settle  with  thn  ctergymaB  ;  and  mmd  nobody  whips  tiie 
colts  off  before  you  can  open  your  mouth." 

"  Forty  poaads'I  "  says  tlie  man  who  bvda  as  if  BStf-appointed, 
for  the  clergymao-l^  gGBtlemaii.  "  Forty  pomuk,  and  no  moror 
'niere  is  tbe  braaa — "  Ix^i^  out  » lot  of  bajik  notea.      ' 

"  Forty  crtABticks !  " 

"  Forty  !  and  not  a  bodle  more  !  " 
-  "  Well  then  it'a  of  no  use  talldBg.  Alt !  sqmre,  that  hooter 
will  carry  like  a  whirlwind  this  next  aeaaon.  There's  bone  aaA 
euew !  Tfaer&'s  ^ore  and  a«tioc  1  Put  that  bone  out,  Tom, 
Bb»w  his  paeeSf"  and  Ute  horae'gets  a  out  behind,  and  is  rattled 
over  the  stones  at  a  rate  that  makes  tlie  fire  fly  frtsn  his  Efaoea- 
and  the  peofde  out  of  hie  way  in  a  jiffey. 

But  not  to  foUow  lUI  die  bargaining  with  th«  sqnire:  the  joc^y 
is  now  alt  vociferation  with  the  fanaer  for  the  black  colts,  and  aa 
he  hufh  away  from  faim  and  his  offer-"— 

"  Forty  pounds,  Jem  !  "  says  again  the  knowing  fellow  whe  it 
waiting  beside  tba  cler^gnnan-like  gentleman.  "  For^  !  that's 
the  very  last  werA" 

"  Sirty,  Hoandell !  Mxty,  man  I  I  won't  take  a  peni^  lew  i£ 
I  must  keep  die  bone  tiU  domasday." 

And  away  go  tlie  knowing  iwe  and  die  mild  gentleoMn,  locdc- 
ing  tbroii^  tte  rest  of  the  horse-fair.  But  h^  an  hour  after- 
watda,  yon  seer  them  there  again  ;  and,  s^te  of  having  vowed 
twenty  times  that  he  won't  shy  another  w(»d,  and  the  odier 
|m>teethig  thst  this  and  that  is  the  very  last  penay  that  he  '11  take 
-~-th^  are  mnv  got  to  fevty-four  and  forty-uz  !  But  bere  if  InagB 
just  as  stifi^,  and  the  fight  is  as  hard,  and  t^  bargain  seema 
as  hopdess.  In  fact,  away  go  die  knowing  one-  and  the  mild. 
gendeman,  as  if  for  the  last  time,  and  in  amaze  at  the  jeekey's 
obstinacy  ;  but  after  some  quarter  of  an  hour,  as  they  occt- 
dentally  pass  again,  the  knowing  one  shouts — "  What !  that 
famous  horse  is  still  hanging  on  hand !  Well,  Jem,  I  'm  still 
your  man.  Ill  stand  fi^-four,  now  then— sow  <w  nerecl" 
-—He  is  goings— 

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428  ZNOLISH  SOEKES  AKS  0HAKACTEB8.. 

"FoTtj-five!  Come,  thiogs  are  denced  slack  to-day — ^diere-f- 
take  faim — I  lose  tweatj  pounds  hj  him,  if  I  lose  a  penny. " 

"Forty-four!  "  says  the  knowing  one — "that's  the  price — 
here  it  ie,  see — Bank  of  England — forty-four  1  " 

"Well,  forty-four  then,  and  ten  shillings  for  luck.  There!, 
there! " 

"Well,  I  won't  be  hard, — forty-four,  and  Jme  ahillings  for 
luck." 

Here  moat  people  would  think  the  natter  pretty  wellt  a  an 
end.  But  no  such  thing  !  If  he  were  to  pass  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  afterwards,  he  would  probably  find  them  still  hard  at  it  • 
for  a  split  of  the  five  shillings,  or  finally,  whether  the  halter  aball 
go  with  the  horse. 

The  bargain  made,  the  Inild  clergyman-like  man  pays  down  the 
money,  and  gives  the  knowing  one  a  sovereign  for  his  friendly, 
but  unsolicited  assistance  ;  at  which  he  looks  with  a  smile,  turning 
it  over  in  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  adding,  "  A  Irifie  more,  bit, 
should  it  not  be  ?  Why,  bless  me,  it  'a  four  hours  that  we've  been 
higgling  with  that  whitleather  chap  ;  a  fire  pound  noto  wouldn't^ 
I  think,  be  too  heavy.  Think  what  I  've  saved  you.  Bere  *s  a 
horse  worth  two  hundred  ;  nay,  I  won't  say  with  Jem,  worth  quite 
two  hundred  pounds,  but  honestly  worth  one,  and  that  for  forty- 
four  pound  five!  " 

The  mild  man  ^ves  the  knowing  one  a  couple  of  sovereignsr 
and  his  groom  rides  the  horse  home,  where,  in  a  month's  time,  they 
find  that  the  creature  is  regularly  made  up ;  has  a  confirmed 
spavin,  a  touch  in  the  wind,  ia  subject  to  run  away  with  the  bit 
between  his  teeth,  and,  in  short,  is  not  worth  a  bunch  of  matches; — 
^e  good-natured  knowing  one  having  been  the  jockey's  accomplice. 

Such  ia  the  strange  trade  of  a  jockey,  amongst  whom  Jockey 
Dawea  stood  pre-eminent.  In  aH  the  mysteries  of  making  up, 
setting  ofi',  baigoining  and  buying,  he  stood  unrivalled.  He  waa 
known  at  aU  the  fairs  far  round,  but  in  his  own  neighbourhood  he 
was  a  very  byword  for  cunning  and  invincible  fence  of  wit. 
I?ay,hiBfame  seems  to  have  reached  the  poet  Tennyaon,  fortnhia 
poem — "  Walking  to  the  Uail,"  we  find  his  name  : — 


In  hia  youth  he  acquired  great  fame  all  amongst  his  class,  and  all 
over  hia  own  part  of  the  country  for  a  trial  about  the  sale  of  a 


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EIraLISR   SCENES  AND  CHAAACTBRS.  429' 

Iiorse,  irhicb  he  won.  He  had  sold  a  capital-lboUng  grev  hors^ 
at  a  great  price  as  a  right  sound,  healthj,  and  useful  dark  grey 
horse.  The  purchaser  founds  as  soon  as  he  got  home,  that  the 
horse  was  stone  blind,  though:  it  was  difScult  to  discoTer  this  hj 
the  look  of  his  ejes.  He  sent  it  back,  hut  Jockey  Dawes  refused 
to  take  it,  saying  he  bad  sold  it  for  a  blind  one.  The  purchaser 
denied  this  :  the  thing  came  to  trial,  where  Dawes  stoutly  declared 
that  he  had  sold  it  for  a  blind  one  ;  that  his  very  warrautry  was 
that  he  was  "  a  right  sound,  healthy,  and  dark  grey  horse  ; "  at 
which  die  court  being  very  much  enlightened,  and  the  jury  con- 
vulsed with  laughter,  a  verdict  was  ^ven  at  once  for  Jockey 
Dawes  ;  and  his  "dari  grey  horse"  became  proverbial.  W^ 
might  Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  Dictionary,  define  a  jocbey  to  be  "  a 
man  that  deals  in  horses  ;  a  cheat,  a  trickisb  fellow." 

This  worthy,  as  is  the  ease  with  this  genua,  kept  a  public- 
house  near  Langley  Mill,  on  the  edge  of  Derbyslure,  and,  of 
course,  great  was  the  resort  to  his  tap  when  he  was  at  home,  and 
many  the  merry  contests  between  the  jockey  and  Dick  Redfern. 
Dick  was  all  lightness,  thinness,  and  volatile,  flashing  merriment! 
The  jockey,  short,  stqut,  and  somewhat  pursy,  with  a  cool,  sly 
manner,  a  quiet  meiming  smile,  and  pleasant  inward  chuckle. 
The  stories  of  his  feats  are  endless  in  the  traditions  of  his  neigh* 
bonrhood  ;  but  we  can  only  give  a  specimen. 

Two  raw  fellows  of  the  Peak  of  Derbyshire  plagued  the  jockey 
for  %  couple  of  very  cheap  horses  for  the  work  of  a  very  poor  Utile 
faiin.  It  was  at  a  (air  at  Che8ter6eld.  Jockey  Dawes  told  them 
be  had  no  such  cattle  ;  but,  as  if  he  could  make  them  at  will,  they 
fitilt  continued  to  bore  him  for  them.  At  length,  as  be  saw  that 
they  were,  according  to  the  rhyme  of  the  country, — 


he  said — "  Well,  well,  come  to  my  house.  I've  two  tita  there  thnt 
will  suit  you  to  a  hair.  Two  capital  horses  they  are,  though  a 
trifle  worse  for  wear ;  hut  all  sound  as  timber  and  paint ;  sound 
wind,  limh,  and  e;e-sight.  Hard  as  hrioks  they  are  ;  they'll  just 
suit  your  cold  country.  I  call  them  Wisk  and  Bob,  Come  then, 
and  I  '11  sell  you  them  both  for  a  guinea." 

The  fellows  caught  eagerly  at  the  idea — two  horses,  all 
sound  as  timber  and  paint  for  a  guinea  !  Th^y  set  off  the  next 
day,  and  ivalked  there.     It  was  at  least  twenty  miles.    Jockey 


,Coo*^lc 


DftWM,  wbo  wu  Ntting  m  grekt  |;1m7  in  Bis  BMig  fireiUe  aook  on 
A  cold  April  day,  sur  tke  follows  ceniiag  ap  hii  ;ud,  And  put  the 
DeighbouTB,  who  were  diinktn^  in  the  houae,  vp  to  the  mattw* 
He  bkde  the  Feakerile  cune  m,  take  a'Mftt,  and  a  sup  of  «le,  tuai 
tbcm  he  wotdd  duw  them  the  hones,  and  iouBted  tiiiey  should  be 
the  ea^tal  pair  he  had  pnomiBed  then^— Wisk  Htd  Bob) — and 
Bootiber. 

"  Wiak  and  Bob !"  exclaimed  the  men  who  wese  ddnkisg,— 
"  why,  Uetter,  wHl  jou  sell  them  ?  Thej  go  likethe  wind,  and 
oan  live  on  the  wiod, — they  are  iuunons  hoisw,  and  are  t^eap  .at 
an  J  money." 

The  Fedcenls  oonld  hardly  nt  for  impatieDoe  ;  tfa«f  inaiated  (« 
■eeing  the  horses  diraetiy  ;  when  the  jockey,  going  out  to  tlw 
door,  pointed  to  the  -sigii  which  hoMg  in  front  UF  the  house,  aai 
said—"  There  they  are  ;— there  go  Wiak  and  Bob  ;  one  black, 
the  other  bay,  one  on  eadi  ude.  They  axe  dog  obetp,  but  I  aljolt 
to  my  word— th^  are  yours  fer  a  guinea." 

At  this  discovery  the  fellows  grew  oub«geiiDHxOcd  tfacoateiuid' 
Jaw  and  T^kgeanee ;  but  the  jookey  Moid  the  laughter  of  lua 
neifflibeurs,  told  them  to  go  hmne  like  bwo  feeds  a»  they  were,  to 
hotSer  a  van  to  sdl  ^st  he  had  not,  and  tben  to  w^  timt^ 
miles  to  buy  two  horses  fu*  a  guinea. 

Another  country  follow  presaed  him  as  importonately  to.bnf 
his  horse,  wboi  he  told  him  that  he  had  ^lent  all  his  mitaiey.  And 
could  buy  no  more  that  day  ;  but  the  msn  idill  wratt  oa.sakij|gr 
him  to  buy.  "  Wdl  then,"  aud  the  jooksy,  ''if  I  buy  it,  1  ahaU 
giye  thee  my  note  to  pay  thee  in  a  fortnight."  The  bai^jain  -wm 
made,  and  the  note  given,  and  in  a  fortnight  the  fellow  walked 
into  the  jockey's  hoHie,  and  presented  his  nAt«. 

"Allright,"  Bwd  the  jockey,  "  all  quite  right — I11p»yttiee 
in  a  fortnight." 

"  In  a  fortnight  I"  uudtheman;  "  it 's  due  now  ;  it 's  a  fort- 
night rince  you  gave  me  this  note." 

"  To  be  snre,"  Bud  the  jockey,  "  quite  tnie  ;  ooma  agaifi  in  « 
fortnight ;  I'll  pay  thee  in  a  fortnight. 

The  man  departed  in  high  dudgeon,  and  punctually  at  the 
fortnight's  end  appeared  again. 

"  Well,  now  then,  you  'II  please  to  pay  your  note." 

"Let  tne  see  it ;"  said  the  jockey.  "  Oh  yes,  in  a  fbrtui^tt ; — 
111  certainly  pay  it  then, — 'diat's  what  it  says." 

"Says!  yes,— but  I '11  tell  you  now  it's  two  foituights  unce  job 


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BBEAB  FBOH  B&UK.  431 

ought  to  have  paid  it ;  and  ilyoa  dMi't  pKy  it  ntnr,'!'!!  take  mea* 
Burea  to  make  you." 

"  OH!  "  said  the  jockey,  "there's  no  need  Of  ^at ;  come  again 
in  a  fortniglit,  and  it  ahall  be  paid. " 

The  fellow  who  Traa  now  part  idlpatwnoe.lmmed  off,  breathing 
fire  and  fury,  and  in  Gtat  hmnour,  to  bin  lawyer,  telling  bim  what 
had  pasaed  ;  but  to  his  turprJHe,  no  aooner  did  the  lawyer  set  eyea 
on  the  note  than  he  barat  into  a  violent  fit  of  laughter.  "  Why," 
aaid  he,  "yon  may  go  for  erer  ;  tliere  ia  no  date  to  the  note,  and 
it  will  be  a  promise  to  pay  in  a  fartnigbt  till  the  end  of  time. ' ' 

The  man,  who  had  ao  little  achc^nhip  .h  never  to  have  per- 
ceived thia,  was  atro^  ^  of  a  beap,  bvt  the  lawyer  aoon  helped 
him  out  of  his  dilema.  "  Go,"  i^  be,  "to  the  jockey ;  but 
take  a  friend  with  you.  -Let  yvur  frioad  go  in  atme  time  first, 
and  be  taking  his  gtaea  when  jtnt  arrm .;  -  and  when  you  enter 
take  care  not  to  recc^ise  him.  Present  your-nete,  and  when  tbe 
jockey  aaya  he  will  pay  in  a  fbrtni^t,  call  your  fiiend  to  witness 
the  promise." 

The  man  followed  his  advice,  osd  as  soon  aa  he  called  on  his 
friend  to  mark  the  jockey's  words — JetJu^Dawas  gave  a  knowing  ■ 
look,  chuckled  to  hiniMlf,  and  Bftid-tcytto  fcfflmr, — "Oho  !  so  thon 
haat  been  to  thy  motiwr,  hut  tben'?  Hane,  here  is  thy  money, 
and  another  IJme,  don't  bore  p«^de  who-  don't  wsat  to  buy  ;  and 
get  cut  for  the  simplea  iMfore  tbuiitakeaprsmBBery  notea  without 
dates  again." 

Dead  thongh  Jockey  Danves  has  been  this  half-century,  yet  his 
fame  is  atrong  in  its  locality  as  ever,,  and  before  tlie  door  of  hia 
old  house  atill  swing  on  each  side  of  the  ^gn  the  two  renowned 
horaea  that  live  on  the  wind— the  immortal  Wiek-and  Bob--BOund 
as  timber  and  paint. 


BREAD  FROM  BRAIN. 

Whbbb  the  iron  o£  our,  lives 

la  vrroaght  out  in  6k  KBd>an«i», 

There  the  mighty  V^nlcan  atrives — 
Hot  the  furnace !  hard  tJw  atrolte  I 

There  the  windy  bellowa  blow, 

There  the  sparks  in  miUiona  glow ; 


v.Goo'^lc 


BBEA9  TBOU   BRAIN. 

There  on  uivil  of  the  world, 
Ii  the  claitginK  huumer  harl'd. 

H&rd  the  laDonr  1  vmsll  the  ^mh  ! 

la  ID  nukiDg  Bread  from  Biam  ! 
Whara  that  DftmeloM  stone  is  raised, 

Where  the  patriots'  boneH  were  plac'd. 
Lived  he — little  loved  and  praised, 

Died  he — little  moamed  and  graced — 
There  he  sleeps  who  knew  no  rest, 
There  nnblest  by  those  he  blest. 
Here  he  starved  while  sowing  seed  ; 
Where  be  starved  the  wonns  now  feed  [ 

Hard  the  laboat  !  small  the  gain ! 

Is  in  making  Bread  fr^m  Brain  1 
Id  that  chamber,  lone  and  drear, 

Sits  a  poet  writing  flowers, 
Brin^g  Heaven  to  earth  more  near, 

Raining  thoughts  in  dewy  showers : 
While  be  sings  of  nectar  rare, 
Onlv  is  the  inkbowl  there. 
Of  feasts  of  Gods  he  cbaunts — high  tmst  ! 
JiM  he  eats  the  mouldy  crust. 

Hard  the  labour !  small  the  gain  ! 

Is  in  making  Bread  from  Brain  1 
When  the  prophet's  monming  voice 

Shoots  the  burthen  of  the  world, 
Sackcloth  robes  most  be  bis  choice, 

Ashes  on  his  head  be  hurl'd. 
Where  the  tyrants  live  at  ease, 
Where  false  priests  do  as  they  please, 
He  is  acont'd  and  pierced  in  side, 
He  is  stoned  and  cmcilied.    ' 

Hard  the  labour !  small  the  gain ! 

Is  in  making  Bread  from  Brain  1 
Patriot !  poet  J  prophet !  feed 

Only  on  the  mouldy  crust. 
Tyrant  i  fool !  and  false  priest !  need 

All  the  crumb,  and  scorn  the  just. 
Lord  !  how  long  1— how  long  ?  oh  Lord  ! 
Bless,  oh  Qod,  mind's  unsheathed  sword  ; 
Let  the  pen  become  a  sabre  ; 
Let  thy  children  eat  who  labour : 

Bless  the  labour  I  bless  the  gain  I 

In  the  making  Bread  from  Br^n. 

GoonwTN  Barubt. 


RESEARCHES  JS  BEL6RAVIA  ; 
THE  WORKS  AMD  WONDERS  OF  THE  WEST. 

BY  A  SERIOUS  PAKTT. 
•  Letteb  I. — To  Mas.  Eubtler, 

TlnglAitry,  Mar^  Oc  20lh,  1846. 

Odr  vinter  plans,  dearest  friend,  so  long  and  anxiouBlj  re- 
volved by  the  serious  fire-side  of  a  certain  boudoir,  seem  at  length 
destined  to  undergo  the  fulfilment  too  rarely  awarded  to  mortal 
undertakings,  however  opulent  in  promise.  The  die  is  cast — and 
you  know  it  is  the  privilege  of  Tiuglebuiy  rarely  to  change  its 
purposes,  onee  they  are  affinnated.  We  explore  Bdgravia !  I  am 
too  certain  of  the  anxiety  of  the  kindred-minded  circle  of  Wailford- 
cum-Stakeworth  not  without  needless  delay  to  commit  our  resolu- 
tion to  the  exertions  of  the  modem  Mercury. 

The  choice  of  a  party  is,  on  all  umilar  occasions,  a  matter  to 
be  entered  upon  with  weight.  You  might  have  been  sure  that 
on  such  an  excuruon  we  should  not  leave  our  sweet,  enthusiastic 

F behind  (her  inquiring  mind  and  impul^ve  and  pUlanthro- 

pical  simplicity  bow  rare!)  but  I  think  I  hear  your  surprise, 
when  I  acqutunt  you  that  the  Peckers  oast  in  their  lot  with  ub  ! 
To  decide  our  dear  and  honoured  relative  to  leave  the  solid  hearth, 
where  he  substantiates  the  English  oharacter  so  worthily,  some- 
thing more  than  ordinaiy  motives  were  necessaiy.  But  the  idea  of 

'  myaelf  and  P entering  upon  our  researches  without  a  male 

protector  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  emulate 
those  Amazonian  heroines  whose  proceedings  hare  struck  a  damp 
upon  the  shrinktngvirtuesof  BO  many  women  "  bom  but  to  gladden 
home's  Arcadian  sphere,"  (as  the  Poet  sings).  Wo  are  not  poli- 
tical economists.  We  boast  no  preternatural  tension  of  nervous 
energy :  our  desires  are  as  retinng  as  our  acqiurem^its. ,  You 
must  look  for  none  of  the  Bubversiona  of  modem  philMoph^  in 
onr  artless  details  ;  fer  no  culpable  compliances  with  the  fuhions 
of  those  among  whom  the  whirligig  of  Timo  may  predpitate  os  t 

NO.  XVII.— VOL,  m  F  F  (  ■    1   Hil  - 


431  BB8EARCHS3  Dt  BELOBATU. 

We  shall  keep  our  own  hours,  our  own  thoughts,  our  own  pur- 
poses. Mrs.  Pecker's  treasure,  Bridget,  accompanies  her  mistress — 
the  noctomal  terrors  of  our  sister,  though  under  control  of  her  sober 
mind,  demanding  the  hahitual  presence  at  all  hoars  of  an  easily- 
wakened  attendant.  We  shall  artud  public  oouveyances,  still 
more  those  accumulations  of  wqildliness  —  the  Hotels  ;  where  the 
purest  prjnci^s  maj  he  vitiated  by  the  contact  of  idle  and  unpro- 
Atable  conversation,  and  the  fare  is  such  as  it  may  be  hoped  all 
rightly-educated  English  palates  would  distruBt,  The  larger  part 
of  a  small  furnished  house  engaged  in  Chapel  Street  (there  was 
a  soothing  invitatioji  in  the  name  which  decided  the  choice)  wffl 
receive  us.  Relieve  mo  that  distance  or  new  scenes  can  make  no 
difference  in  composed  affections  like  ouiis.  You  shall. bear  &om 
time  to  time  of  onr  wanderings  in  these  remote  regions. 

Eicnse  lucidity.  Par  the  moment,  I  am  summoned  to  Ae  need- 
ful preparations.     The  nimble  fingers  of  P ,  whose  taste  yon 

have  so  often  paid  the  jnal  meed  to,  have  been  for  some  days 
bnaly  occu|rie<l  in  our  equipment.  No  French  gew-gaws  for  your, 
old  friend !  who  mtuntains — and  will  matntMn  hers^ — 

Unalterably  and  affectionately  yonrs, 
DuxaRiu. 


tft.  — ,  Oftaprf  atrwf,  Sdffram  Spatn, 
April  Oe  IM,  1846. 
Dbarest  Mrs.  Rustles, 

Hebs  we  are,  safe  Mid  sound  ••••**  mth  tlifl 
mingled  fedioga  of  exultation  and  sadness,  which  conduce  to 
the  peculiarity  of  new  scenes.      Ur.  Pe<^er  hsa  gone  to   The 

*  The  EdiMr  of  these  "Bcsearokee"  dunks  it  just  to  all  urliee,  to  call 
attenlion  to  certain  omiudone  m&de  by  tiim  in  publicatjon.  The  excellent 
writer'B  inAilgenoB  in  ecriptnral  quotations  hardly  Buits  the  humour  of  a 
paiiodiatl  devoted  to  nuBcelhuieotis  dituamoBa.  Entliunastie  tmvellen^ 
like  Miss  BiU,  are  somentiU  loo  i^  to  forget  what  ^  Chirin  GtwnAaoD 
oiled  "  times  and  occasioDS,"  aa  any  one  limiiliar  with  the  literature  ot 
Travellertf  Boolcs  must  admit.  As  one  instance  among  &  thousand,  andamons 
die  least  doctrinal  In  tstxr  collection,  we  may  cite  ttie  followii^  from  the 
AUxun  of  an  im>  on  the  Lkke  of  cimui — 

"  Skeold  it  not  be  wid  to  Tmr^en,  <  Drinl  wMar  otit  ot  lUne  own 
dstem  and  runiung  water  ont  of  thine  own  well  1 ' " — Frovtrit,  v.  16. 

To  which  it  may  be  replied,  tliat  csuatry  belaags  to  a  person  where  iatx 
and  censcimce  bid  him  find  himBcK.— -3fi«  Sharpe,  Qlst  Sept.  1844." 


IEBSSASCHES  IK   BELGHATIA.  &S 

l^iming  -  ■■  Office,  to  seek  an  intervlQw  with  its  Editor 

— dnce  "who,"  sajB  he,  "would  delay  one  single  hour  when  the 
country  is  to  be  saved  ?  " — and  the  resolutions  of  the  Anti-Maize 
Ueeting  held  at  'Clnglebury  on  Saturday  last  have  been  com- 
tnittod  to  his  care.  His  amiable  wife,  who  was  nmch  aggravated 
dironghout  the  night  by  the  attacks  of  a  host  of  nimble  adver- 
Buies,  rendering  the  plagoea  of  the  East  no  fabte — and  who  never 
setlJes,  she  says,  for  many  days  in  any  new  bed  save  her  own,  is 
Indulging ;  P  — —  (who  has  already  traced  out  for  herself  and  her 
tardier  companion  a  sphere  of  UBefuluess)  is  making  a  selecdon 
•fiwa  among  our  tracts  and  presents  for  the  younger  branches  of 
femilies.  Faithful  to  my  promise,  then,  I  resume  my  pen  ;  feeble, 
ferohanee,  but  still  affectionate.  May,  etc.,  etc*  •  •  • 
We  availed  ourselves  of  the  South  Western  Railway,  after 
many  discussions  and  scruples. — Let  ns  beware,  dearest  Mend, 
of  materiaUsm  in  our  comforts  : — and  the  rapid  motion  of  which 
tends  to  a  dissipation  of  the  ideas  under  which  alone  a  tonr  can 
be  profitably  undertaken.  Much  is  it  to  be  regretted  that  Mr. 
Pecker's  plan  of  a  quiet  conveyance  along  &a  canals,  in  classed 
boats  (more  English  by  fiu-  and  valuable  as  a  protest  against 
these  violent  hurrying  times)  is  still  dormant.  By  shutting  my 
eyes  and  repeating  doud  passages  from  "  The  New  Dew  M 
Hermon,"  I  succeed  in  secluding  myself  from  exterior  objects, 
nntil  a  long  shriek  followed  by  a  stoppage,  the  glare  of  hghts, 

and  the  alert  eiclamations  of  our  cheerful  P ,  aroused  me  to 

A  sense  of  my  poidtion.  She,  too,  had  not  wasted  the  oppor- 
tunity. The  entrance  of  a  passenger,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Pecker's 
protests,— unused  to  miscellaneous  associations — had  afforded  her 
en  opportunity  of  gathering  information.  He  was  a  tall  youth, 
with  an  open  and  cheerM  countenance  bespeaking  a  worthy 
origin ;  handsomely  dressed,  and  apparently  about  five-and- 
twenty.  Perceiving  that  Mrs.  Pecker  manifested  symptoms  of 
diatresi  at  the   odour  of  tobacco  which  he    had  extingnished 

previous  to  entrance,  ho  apologised  politely — upon  which  P 

ralUed  him  in  her  artless  way,  and  they  entered  at  once  into  con- 
versation. His  manner  was  ardent  and  his  choice  of  language 
engaging.     Ur.  Pecker  joined    in,    won  by  his  affable  ease — 

and  politics  were  introduced.     It  was  gratifying,  P aaaures 

me,  to  observe  the  deference  of  her  new  friend  to  our  relative's 

ragacions  wisdom.     Their  views   seemed    entirely  to    coincide. 

What  rendered,  the  rmc<Mtre  more  interesting  wu  that   tho 

7p2 


ISC  BESBJSCHia  IK  BZLQBATU. 

g«ntUm«n  profeswd  Umwlf  to  b«  ui  iohabiUnt  <tf  Belgnna  ; 
and  entered  vithont  reeerve  into  the  habits  and  mumers  of 
tbe  district.  As  onr  agreeable  acqnisititm  (his  name  still  oil* 
known)  was  proeeeding  in  the  same  direction  aa  onrselTes,  Hr. 
Pecker  pressed  him  to  take  a  seat  in  oar  vehide;  which  ha 
•cceptod :  gail;  remarking  on  the  compactness  of  tlie  presanre^ 
He  accompanied  us  till  within  the  immediate  sphere  of  his  own 
TicinitT  :  when  he  shook  hands  with  ns,  and  we  parted  with  a 
mntnaJ  desire  to  cement  an  intimacy,  F  having  presented  him 

with  a  copy  of  "  The  SlothfiJ  Smoker."  Till  Mr.  Niblett  presenta 
himself  (even  then,  if  indeed  his  newly-aaaamed  Anglo-papistical 
opinions  render  it  advisable  for  his  old  and  less  fickle  friends  to 
coalesce  with  him  on  any  subject)  our  new  acquaintance  may  he 
useful  aa  a  guide  and  comisellor.  Such  incidents  at  all  evenlfl 
are  soothing,  p.  — —  says  she  has  rarely  seen  a  more  playful 
comitenance. 

It  was  late^I  should  have  said — when  we  reached  the  station* 
which,  we  were  informed,  was  on  the  site  of  the  infamous  Vauzhall 
of  our  forefathers. — When  I  thought  of  tfie  scenes  of  disorderly 
mirth  which  those  mute  walla  had  witnessed,  I  was  only  too  glad  to 
shake  the  duat  of  the  place  from  my  feet,  and  entor  the  vehicle  in 
wwting  : — I  was  depressed  to  feel  myself  in  the  centre  of  iniquity. 
Thus  burned,  of  old,  the  hearts  of  tiie  Martyrs,  when  compelled 
to  join  in  the  Pagan  dancea  before  the  altara  of  Jupiter  at  Thebes. 
0,  my  beloved  friend,  let  us  be  strenuous  in  onr  convictions  ! — 

On  thia  aide  the  entrance  to  Belgravia  is  not  inviting.  Archi- 
tectural luxury  has  coyly  reserved  her  displays  for  the  centre  of 
her  citadel,  and  yielded  the  margins  of  the  approach  to  the  dis- 
located fragments  of  Engineering  Industry.  To  how  many  poor 
families  could  not  the  boilers  dispersed  on  either  side  of  the  road. 
have  furnished  a  comfortable  meal !  Two  ofthe  largest  (magnificent 
specimens  of  iron-work)  were  pointed  out  hy  our  instmctive  travel- 
ing companion  to  Mr.  Pecker,  as  in  preparation  for  Her  Majesty's 
kitohens,  to  be  conveyed  to  the  place  of  their  destination,  this 
morning,  hy  horses  of  the  Royal  Mews.  The  weight  of  one,  to 
speak  accurately,  could  not  have  been  leas  than  one  thonsand. 
tons.  The  sight  recalled  to  me  the  brazen  machine  of  the 
monarch  of  Smyrna,  the  interior  of  which  was  deluged  by  the 
immolation  of  the  eleven  thousand  Christian  virgins.  You  will 
remember  Claude's  engraving  from  the  original  picture  in  ih& 
National  Galleiy. 

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REWAttCBBB   ID   BEJiGBAVU.  437 

Our  Landlady,  who  has  imbib«d  fhe  tiue  tone  of  the  worldly 
Atmosphere  m  which  her  life  hoe  been  Bpent,  received  us  with 

Jtoliteneas  radier  than  cordialitj.     Our  impuluve  P ,  vho  is 

preptwed  to  embrace  all  mankind,  was  chilled  at  this,  end  Bays 
alr^dy,  that  she  feels  the  stifling  influences  of  a  Court  entering 
her  very  soul  I  She  waa  taslefiilly  dressed  in  black  TcWet,  of  the 
Manchester,  not  the  Qenoa  loom ; — and  wore  a  red  gauze  handker- 
chief on  her  head.  Mrs.  Pecker's  Bridget,  distanced  by  these 
modish  trappings,  endeavonrs  to  account  for  her  humbled  and 
uneasy  feelings  by  insinuating  inebriation  as  the  canse  of  an 
elegant  and  wavy  demeanour,  to  which  Tinglebury  eyes  are 
unaccustomed.  Simple  woman  I — she  forgets  she  is  in  Belgraria, 
Oar  Landlady  is  not  unused  to  the  Aristocracy.  Traces  of  the 
inmates  who  had  preceded  us  were  obrious.      A  basket  filled  with 

cards,  bearing  noble  names,  vaa  eeixed  upon  eagerly  by  P , 

who  has  already  copied  several  into  her  journal ;  hei  rapid  and 
inventive  mind  having  already  conceived  a  plan  of  tunung  her 
nen-ly-derived  knowledge  to  account.  She  is  on  the  stturs,  dear 
girl !  inriting  me  to  sally  forth  with  hia  I  I  come  I  I  come !  In 
the  meantime,  I  am  always, 

TouTfl  nnfeignedly, 

DiASA  Rill. 


LeTTBB  IIL — To  IHB  SkUB, 

April  3rd,  IM6. 
The  singular  treatment  which  Mr.  Pecker  has  received,  though 
Dot  strictly  speaking  in  concatenation  with  Belgravian  subjects, 
since  it  occasioned  the  necessity  of  my  waiving  yesterday's  jonmal, 
may  therefore  be  mentioned  withoat  divarication  by  your  recording 
Friend.  I  will  ever  beli,eTe  that  bod  he  made  application -to  one 
•f  the  journals  of  this  politer  district,— that,  for  instance,  edited 
by  Mr.  Boyle, — he  would  have  received  a  reception  in  better 
accordance  with  his  merits  and  those  of  his  cause.  How  will  your 
Protectionist  heart  smk  within  you,  when  I  acquaint  you  that  The 

Homing  can  make  NO  ROOM  for  the  resolutions  of  the 

Tinglebury  Anti-Maize  Meeting  ?  Mr.  Scoldinghom'a  convincing 
arguments  euj^ressed  1  Our  brother-in-law  compendiously  received 
by  a  subordinate  functionary  with  on  air  of  preconcerted  dismissal ! 
Will  you  now  doubt — dearest  but  too  charitable  friend — of  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Jesuits  ?    We  were  unable  to  speak  or  think  of  any 


488  BSSEIBCHIH  IH   BELSBAVU. 

Aung  but  the  unworthy  aabject  Testerdaj.  Calmed  unrl^'tbe 
mellowiiiK  consolationB  of  b^ercdenw,  and  h  rasoliitioa  to  bring 
the  false  Drethreu  to  condigD  indigtiitj,  (m;  huuble  pen  hetng  the 
implement  emplo;«d),  I  can  proceed  to  acqiuint  ^u  utethodioaUj 
wiUi  the  more  imme^ate  subject  of  m;  letterB.  Two  walks  in 
Selgravia  have  furnished  much.  The  district  seeme  rich  in  aaBQai&> 
tiona.  But  first  a  Uttle  wholesome  Imowledge.  "  Facta  in  pre- 
ference" is  dear  Ur.  Fecker'g  principle— a  staff  for  those  di&. 
posed  to  walk  humbly. 

To  designate  the  boundaries  of  Belgravia  with  precision  is  not 
easy* — GrosTeoor  Place  is  one  recogniaed  limit — the  apex  of 
Lowndea  Square  another.  Close  beyond  it  to  the  west  lies  the 
suburb  of  Chelsea,  with  the  Uilitaij  Hospital  founded  by  that 

freat  commander.  Sir  Hans  Sloane.  But  this  is  distinct  from 
elgraria.  The  inhabitants,  even,  are  a  separate  race,  and  refosa 
to  communicate.  In  Btmrell,  mj  dear,  yon  wUl  find  Cadogan 
Place  stjgmadsed  as  ungenteel,  through  the  fanciful  medium  of 
Ujs.  'Wttitterly.  I  am  told  that  if  a  Belgravlan  lady  of  pore 
quarterings  addresses  another  across  the  border  by  inquiring  the 
character  of  a  culinary  domestic,  a  correspondence  instantly  ensues 
between  the  irritated  families,  which  is  printed  in  the  Court  News, 
and  the  delinquent  reproved  by  cold  looks  from  her  friends,  and 
temporary  abstinence  from  participation  in  their  social  pleasures. 
What  edifying  consistency  !  Should  it  not  he  so  hetwiit  us  and 
all  without  our  barriers  1 — with  the  blinded  Papists,  and  the 
infuriate  Dissenters  of  all  denominations  ?  P says,  in  her  ear- 
seat  way,  that  never  before  did  she  imbibe  the  beautifying  atmo- 
sphere of  aristocratical  charity.  But  this  is  only  equalled  by  the 
motherly  love  of  the  Belgravians  to  one  another.  Here  are  nonet 
of  the  futhless  husbands  invented  by  pernicious  noveUats  to  serve 

*  The  Edikv  fe^  it  neceesary,  once  a^un,  to  oonunent  on  Uin  lUU** 
text,  Buice  the  poaitire  and  mintLte  mformatjon  she  funush6s  may  excite  ear- 
prise  in  those  whose  acquaintance  with  moda^  tomiBtB  is  hnuted.  The 
oorrectoees  of  the  aatbor  of  "The  Great  Mebvpolia"  (not  ftnsettiiig  Us 
wondrous  Picture  of  Paris)  is  co&ree  painting  to  the  exqoiaite  Droidei7  of 
tome  of  the  ladv  travellers  «bo  have  Teceatl;  bononred  the  wtwld  witti 
their  facta.  The  Editor  canaot  but  ioat&nce  with  pride  pvevious  printed  tmm' 
bjr  senoDS  paHle%  in  the  East ;  with  tbe  aoriptural  qnot&tioDa  not  (as  alwve) 
omitted.  Mise  Rill  is  an  homblsr  sister  of  the  titled  Lady,  in  whose  jounMl 
mch  an  entry  as  thii  might  be  seen — the  place,  poanl^y,  Jerusalem : — 
"W^ed  this  monung  on  the  top  of  the  bmue.— 3%m  it  vat  Aal  Savid- 
Ululd  £aAaei<U  /"  - 

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KBSEABCBB8    I^^ELQXATU,; 

tJteir  own  perfidies — no  aoandalous  WBjtteni  of  ']n«oi<mi  i 
ip  friTolity  I  We  are  oasored  of  e,a  uaiveraalitj  of  Bffeala<»i  unong 
the  members  of  lliU  district,  and  a  ^gnified  appropriatitHt  of  the 
stiuds  of  Time,  which  eqtitlea  it  to  the  epthet  trf  Beautiful  and 
Serious,  (Bel  et  Crrove,)  vhence.ils  name!  Oae  or  two  por- 
tions, howeyer,  are  debateable  land,  analogous  to  that  on  which' 
Mary  Queea  of  Scots  confronted  the  Amasonina  Sororeiga  of 
Britain.  Cheater  Square,  for  inatanee,  we  learn,  is  ncrt  strictly 
Belgravia.  On  the  other  hand,  a  maniion  or  two  beyond  the  line- 
are  affiliated  to  the  mother  proTinoe.  Two  palaces,  on  one  of  the 
great  arteries  of  London,  close  by  an  entrance  to  the  Park,  have 
been  pointed  out  to  us,  ezpTesely  annexed  to  Belgravia  hy  iti 
magnates,  out  of  oompUment  to  the  brilliant  financier  who  has 
purchased  one— the  meed  of  Ida  sncceasful  speculations.  Prince 
Albert  has  requested  him  to  place  his  anna — a  pair  of  stags — 
on  the  gate  founded  by  Royalty  close  to  his  residence. 

The  architectuTe  of  the  district  is  rery  imposing.     A  tall  roan-   . 

sionnow  occupied  by  the  Earl  of  • in  an  angle  of  Belgrave  (the. 

central)  Square,  is  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  perpendicular  Pal- 
ladian.  Others,  in  Lowndes  Square,  are  in  that  Saracenic  style 
whicbSir  Inigo.and,  subsequently,  his  descendant,  Mr.  Owen  Jones, 
translated  from  the  buildings  of  Hafiz  in  the  East,  and  which  the 
late  ingenious  Mr.  Beckford  was  the  first  to  introduce  at  the  re- 
sidence of  Mr.  Bogers  the  Poet,  To  me  such  heathenish  vagaries 
bespeak  a  low  scale  of  moral  responsibility.  Let  ns  have  oneness. 
Time  was  when  the  fathers  and  mothers  of  England  were  con- 
tented to  live  in  English  houses  ;  and  the  windon-toz  was  the 
watchword  for  simplicity  in  decoration.  We  are  grown  fantastio 
unce  we  have  thrown  off  our  duties.  In  three  years,  Ur.  Pecher 
assures  me,  if  the  present  Jacobin  ministry  continues  in  powex 
(which  may,  tie.,  &c.),  not  one  solitary  check  will  be  left !  Do 
not  mention  this  at  Watlford.  Let  us  not  disseminate  destruction, 
even  afar  off  t 

There  are  sereral  public  gardens  in'Belgravia — used  for  the- 
/^tes  champitre  of  the  inhabitants — principally  in  the  squares. 
We  hope  to  witness  one.  Of  the  churcbeH  I  enn  furnish  you  with, 
minute  information,  tiiere  being  no  less  than  twelve;  varying  from, 
every  shade  of  security.  *.  *  •  *  *  to  every  permeious 
tint  of  false  doctrine.  We,  who  cannot  err,  shall  know  which  to 
select.    Several  of  the  clergymen  have  married  ladies  high  in. 

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410.  BHIABOHM  Dl  BHrOBAVU. 

nnk;  aome  of  tlte  Utter,  I  he&r,  are  orguuBin^  an  eBtabKalimeiit  of 
Sisters  of  Charity,  and  intend  going  round  among  the  poor  of  the 
mewa,  to  minigtor  to  the  eick  and  the  afflicted  eqae«triana.  The 
mansion  where  the  Buke  of  Bordeaux  received  his  e^atiutted 
Bubjecta,  and  atnick  terror  into  impenitent  France,  has  been  gene- 
rously  giren  by  its  owner  for  the  purposes  of  the  Society ;  ehe 
herself  having  retired  to  a  suburban  villa,  where  she  sacrifices  faer 
energies  to  doing  good  to  the  lame,  the  halt,  and  the  blind  among 
that  abandoned  class  composed  of  foreign  actors,  and  mucdcians. 
Another  order  of  Sisters  of  Charity  (emancipated  from  papistical 
thi-aldom')  con^ts  of  ladies  who  go  from  bouse  to  house  among 
tJiose  of  a  higher  sphere  than  the  poor  and  ignorant.  To  mwn- 
tiun  the  affectionate  confidence  of  the  (Ustrict,  they  enconrage 

watchfulness,  and  discriminate  truth  by  anecdotes.    Lady  A 's 

right  band  knows  what  ring  is  that  on  the  finger  of  Lady  B— — 's 
left.  Messages  of  love  are  by  their  agency  ra^dly  diffused, — 
timid  minds  strengthened — enervated  faculties  snarpened  by  the 
«xercise  of  tho  ingennity.  1  will  exemplify  to  you  some  day  the 
Banner  in  which  this  admirable  system  of  Christian  emulation  and 
rivalry  works  (how  different  from  the  gossip  of  a  certain  parish  not  a 
hundred  miles  from  Tinglebury,  which  will  not  subside  into  peace  till 
the  Kev.  Hr.  Fodd  is  gathered!) — by  instances.  The  members  of 
this  order  have  no  separate  or  settled  habitation,  nor  uniform  cos- 
tumo.  Some  penetrate  the  mazes  of  the  Opera,  there  to  cull  warning 
truths  ; — a  few  have  dared  to  lift  up  the  voice  of  counsel  in  tho 
presence  of  our  Sovereign — who  sends  for  them  secretly,  whenever 
some  new  beneficence  or  amelioration  of  the  public  good  ia  to  bo 
accomplished.  N.B.  You  will  find  these  and  other  establishments 
yery  inewioctly  adverted  to  in  Lady  Morgan's  work  on  Rnilico — 
who  embraces  but  does  not  exhaust  this  district. 

These  facts,  wherevrith  indeed  we  had  portly  furnished  ourselves 
ere  reaching  the  metropolis,  quickened  our  impatience  to  lundle 

our  minor  lamps,  too,  among  such  sympathetic  circles.    F ^"s 

"  Card-book,"  as  we  aheady  call  it,  proved  a  valuable  auxiliary  ; 

the  name  of  Lady having  been  mentioned  to  ns  by  our 

liostess,  as  foremost  among  these  eminent  persona.  Her  address 
;aSarding  itself — we  resolved  to  lose  no  time  in  making  her  ac- 
•quaintea  with  us  ;  and  hare  just  returned  from  our  first  visat.  But 
for  the  romantic  and  curious  incidents  which  characterised  this 
you  must  wait.    My  sheet  is  already  crammed, — and  the  aonihilatioa 


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raa  v.  uiLtava. — tsb  last  tebdict.  441 

<^  franks,  Kr.  Pecker  Hya — a  cunningl;  deriBod  meaeiiTe  for  tlie 
subTeniiHi  of  the  Hoaees  of  Parliament, — has  put  an  end  to  exten- 
sive correspMidence.  Meanwhile,  hoping  against  hope,  let  me 
eign  mjBelf,  Deeply  youn, 

DiAHA  Rill. 

Mrs.  Peeker's  lore.  True  to  her  conjugal  Tirtaes,  she  remains 
principally  at  home :  for  what  indeed,  says  she,  con  make  up  for 
her  own  tnlip-beds  at  Tingtebury  ?  .  Mr.  Pecker  has  gone  to 
Tattersall's,  where,  he  is  told,  the  Protectionist  meBd>era  hold  their 
meetings  (by  way  of  a  protest  against  tiie  criminal  flexibility  of 
the  Duke  of  WelUi^lon,  who  lives  in  the  neighbourhood,)  in  hop^s 
of  finding  some  one  who  will  take  up  the  matter  whidi  intcreata  ua 
all  so  deeply. 


TIME  TEB8C8  MALTHUS. 

THE   LAST  TEBDICT. 

"  Stop  !  "  and  the  cod  of  the  ooinibaa,  looking  to  his  left, 
beheld  a  my  solemn  gentleman — for  he  was  a  moral  philosopher 
— Bud  a  very  sharp  little  lady — for  she  was  learned,  waiting  on 
the  pavement.  In  and  off,  the  moralist,  bef(H«  he  retied  the 
broken  thread  of  his  logical  aynthesis,  looked  round  npoa  his 
neighbonra.  He  sighed  when  he  hod  done  so,  as  well  he  might ; 
for  here  at  least  waa  cvidenco  of  Nature's  philosophy,  instead  of 
his  own  learned  theory,  which  was  to  fill  nations  with  gladnesa, 
by  making  months  few  and  bread  much: — two  babies,  four 
children,  a  matron,  and  a  young  lady  with  a  very  bright  wedding- 
ring  seen  through  her  transparent  glove,  which  very  wickedly  and 
designedly  she  made  the  most  of.  But  doom  I  doom  !  woe !  woe  ! 
babies'  smiles,  children's  laughter,  a  young  heart's  joy,  God's 
sunshine  bright  on  Ilolboni  pavement !  sorrow  !  sorrow  !  mere 
wilea  towards  the  great  pitfall  of  Pauperism  and  Despair.  The 
philvaopher  could  have  put  ashes  on  his  head  :  he  taught,  and 
where  were  his  disciples  ?  Was  there  one  1  Yes,  do  not  despair, 
teaching  moralist  of  a  gloomy  creed,  for  your  platenic  friend,  the 
sharp  little  lady,  has  just  taken  her  glance  off  the  bride's  orange 
flowers,  and  now,  as  you  look,  is  abstracted  in  the  sentimental 
woea  of  the  Lady  Belindas  of  her  new  novel.    Do  not  fbor  I  the 


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U$  TUB   V.   UALTHUS. — THE   UBI  TStSHSTt- 

very  adjurfttioa  of  cheerfdauw  has  made  yon  friends.  Tau  pot 
jaur  icy  hand  upon  the  very  human  heart  of  FBUperism,  and  crj 
your  curse  upon  its  poor  narrovr  tenure  qf  enjoyment,  whilst  sh« 
tickles  the  fcehle  appetite  of  all  enjoying  convention,  by  mawkisb 
episodes  regardmg  cold  and  hunger  ;  very  pleasant  to  read"  over  d 
glowing  fire  ;  very  digestive,  possibly,  after  a  luxurious  meal. 
"  Yet,  my  moralities  teach  not,'  thioJu  the  moralist :  "  it  must  be 
owing  to  the  spirit  of  the  time  ;"  "  and  my  odt^  coma  forth  to-^ 
day,  and  die  to-morrov  in  a  fashionable  gazette,"  meditates  the 
little  lady.  Yes,  moialiat ;  yea,  novelist ;  it  is  "  the  spirit  c^  the 
time,"  vhiidi,  disregarding  the  false,  ia  teaching  the  universal  and 
the  true  ;  which,  disregarding  tbe  moralities  of  man,  ia  teaobing 
the  moratiti«B  of  nature,  benignant  now  as  from  the  be^nning  > 
which  is  looking  onward,  not  retrospectively  ;  which  sees  visiona 
nearer  to  God,  than  dull  dreams  of  Time's  senility  ;  which  is  teach- 
ing its  generation  not  to  be  lookers-on,  but  actors  ;  and  which  is 
teaching  it  the  wisdom  of  faith  in  goodness,  cheerfulness,  hope. 
Till  your  moralities  teach  with  this  progressive  sign,  fruitless  and 
barren  will  they  be  ;  till  in  your  novela  you  put  the  comoaon 
human  heart,  they  will  not  sell.  Moralist  and  noveiiat,  I  tell  you 
BO  1     But  my  verdict  waits ! 

Set  down  at  the  Bank,  Ae  phtloaophic  friends  wqlk  oeward  side 
by  ude,  through  narrow  atreete,  didl  courts,  reeking  allvys,  till 
they  stand  within  an  ancient  city  grave-yard,  where  the  dost  ot 
oountleea  generations  mokes  the  eailh-covering  for  the  festering 
pauperism  of  yeaterday.  Yet  even  here  the  cheerful  ^inciple  of 
life  atanda  out  as  God's  best  angel,  triomphant  above  the  fear- 
inveated  change  which  Prieatcraft  calls  Death,  wbieii  Naiare 
teaches  ia  but  a  new  step  onward  in  tiie  great  spiritual  march  cJ 
Time.  A  daisy  here,  a  tuft  of  sod  there  ;  bread  pathways  of  sun' 
light  above  the  workhouse  grave,  as  above  the  costly  marble  of 
the  plethon-killed  alderman ;  kneeling  angels  in  the  ann-glwied 
windows,  typifying  faith  on  earth  and  glory  in  heaven,  still  kneel- 
ing at  their  inaudible  centuriea  of  prayer  ;  a  caged  yet  joyous  lark 
bewde  the  cobbler's  window  serosa  the  cborchyard  w^,  are  yiai- 
hle  not,  for  the  moralist  has  already  commenced  his  cakulationa, 
and  so  makes  his  way  towards  the  sexton,  who  is  shovdling  Hn 
earth  just  bcMde  tiie  church  porch. 

Now  it  happens  that  Tapps,  the  ahove-menlioned  lark-possessing 
cobbler,  has  been  lured  by  the  bright  sun  from  awl  and  lapatone) 
and  is  standing,  there  too,  just  ae  the  moraUat  inquires  of  Mopetli« 

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TIME  V,   tULTHCS. — THE  LABT  TEBDIOT*  HA 

SBXtnu  the  number  and  amount  of  buriali  made  yearly,  m<mthly,' 
vedd^,  and  duly.  When  tbia  information  is  noted  down,  then, 
ia  a  fnett  qneation  as  to  age,  sex,  diaeaBOB. 

"  Why,'  repliea  Hope,  aher  a  mwiHit'a  conaideration,  "  tbej. 
go  off  for  irant  o'  wittlea,  and  I  take  it  that  thouaanda  lie  here,  a^ 
wouMn't  a  bin  coffined,  if  there 'd  bin  an  eaay  way  to  the  baker  s 
shop.  For  when  the  quartern  loaf  ^ts  up  a  &rtliing,  aaya  I 
there  11  be  work  in  't  this  neek  ;  ho  it's  true,  'apeciaUy  in  babies.'' 

"  And  what  makes  the  loaf  dear,  and  the  way  to  the  baker'S' 
ahop  difficult?"  aakathe  mor^iat,  certun  of  a  prime  shot  presently 
both  into  the  ears  of  the  twinkle-eyed  cobbler,  and  the  dull  eexten, 

"Why,  why,"  conatderB  the  seitoa,  and  appealing  by  bjnk  to 
Tappa,  "  why  a  very  UUle  corn  the  one,  and  a  rery  little  money 
t'other," 

"  No  !  my  man,"  replies  the  wise  moralist,  "  knowledge  haan't 
reached  jrou,  I  see.  It 's  a  want  of  moral  restraint  that  fills 
ehuicbytuds,  and  orama  woi'khouaea,  makea  bread  dear,  and  brings 
a  curse  upon  the  world,  A  man  that  haa  leaa  than  a  hundred  a 
year  sboddn't  marry  ;  if  he  doea,  he  acts  againat  the  lawa  of  Qod 
and  man.  Too  many  creatures  are  bom  to  atarve,  and  rot,  and 
die  ;  and  it  isn't  till  nations  pass  laws  against  marriage,  excepting 
only  the  case  of  the  rich,  that  bread  will  be-  plentlAil,  and  die 
oomiug  ruin  of  the  world  prevented.     You  see  /  do  not  preach 


"  So  far  you  beat  Malthua,  air,  I  think,"  says  Tapps,  "  for  ha 
first  put  Btch  a  thing  a-g<nng,  though  he  knew  very  well  he  was 
pincking  a  feather  oni  of  a  Scotclmian'a  cap.  But  now,  air,  jiat 
allow  me  to  aak  you  one  natural  question : — Are  you,  with  Uiat 
cloTor-looking  little  lady  by  yom*  aid^— are  you  the  happier  for  not 
bNBg  married  to  her?  " 

The  little  lady  bloshes,  her  heart  beatai  she  turns  away :  the, 
cobbler  baa  propounded  the  first  and  foremost  secret  of  her  aoul. 
But  the  moralist  looks  grave. 

"  The  law  of  moral  duty  and  that  of  nature  ore  two  differ«nt 
things  ;  knowing  thia,  am  /  to  odd  another  fraction  to  the  ^e^ 
doomed  woe  of  human  miaery  1"    ' 

"  Begging  your  pardon,"  says  the  casuiat  cobbler,  "  the  laiirs 
of  duty  and  nature  are  one  ;  and  I  take  it,  that  there  's  a  deal  of 
wise  beada  now,  as  look  upon  Parson  Malthus's  population  affair 
as  a  great  bubble,  that  wasted  s  deal  o'  ipk  and  p^wTi  and  that  i^ 


LI  g.:«l  by  000*^10 


444  miE  V.   lULTHDS. THE  UBT  TSUDICT. 

not  aD  the  pain  besides ;  for  ye  see,  bit,  it  un't  ereiy  pta^an 
crotcheta  aa  are  quite  bo  harmless  as  was  that  dear  old  ParsoB 
Adams's  about  his  bits  o'  sennons.  And  now,  sir,  if  there  is 
aninfen  o'  the  truth  in  this  here  early  marriage  matter,  what's 
the  cause  on't  ?  " 

"  Uan's  natural  bad  passions,  or  perheips,  rather  some  Inherent 
principle  of  nature  to  over-populate  beyond  its  means  of  subaietence ; 
that  tiius  only  within  a  mark  and  bound,  civilisation  shall  make 
progreBs;  tiiat  men  shall  dream  fiitilely  of  a  perpetual  summer-time, 
forgetting  the  strarm  of  locusts  that  hover  over  to  destroy." 

*'  Well,  sir,  I  differ,"  goes  on  the  cobbler,  digging  his  right  hand 
stoutly  into  his  left.  "It 's  ignorance.  Uake  a  poor  man  less  a 
brute ;  teach  him,  and  there  '11  be  the  solve,  I  take  it.  Now,  if 
Parson  Malthus  had  written  a  good  spelling-book,  or  a  good  story- 
book for  instance,  or  a  sumfen  that  would  a  really  taught  what  a 
beautiful  place  this  earth  is,  bow  fiiU  of  blessings  for  every  human 
creature  as  has  breath,  he'd  a  done  more  to  cure  wickedness  o' 
the  flesh,  than  he  did  with  that  sharp  book  o'  bis,  which  the  bishops 
thumbed  and  thought  slch  a  might  about.  Now,  give  a  man 
sumfen  to  think  about  beside  the  public-house  and  the  skittle- 
ground  ;  give  him  cheap  meat  and  bread,  so  as  he  may  fill  his 
belly,  and  then  I  take  it  ye '11  find  him  a  being  as  can  reason,  as 
won't  slip  into  poverty  on  purpose,  but  keep  smgle  till  there  's  a 
Bumfen  for  a  wife  and  bits  o'  children  ;  and  then  if  he  doesn't  have 
'em,  the  Lord  bless  his  heart,  it  ain't  in  the  right  place,  and  I 
wouldn't  g^vo  tuppence  for  't.  Fot,  what 's  made  my  life  a  bit  of 
a  sunny  Uiing,  so  that  I've  often  had  a  heart  as  light  as  that  lark 
as  is  a  singing  there?  why,  my  missis;  for  if  I  have  a  trouble  she 
helps  to  take  it ;  and  as  for  children,  taking  the  good  and  evil 
together,  they're  tho  flowers  which  God  has  himself  set  in  the 
path  of  a  poor  man's  life  ;  it 's  only  want  o'  bread  as  makes  chil- 
dren a  sort  o'  thorns  in  the  way  o'  poor  struggling  human  creetura," 

"All  very  well,  Mr.  Tapps,'  says  the  moralist,  somewhat 
pettishly  ;  "  human  happiness,  and  more  mouths  than  bread,  are 
arguments  that  destroy  one  another.      If  you  over-populate  tho 

"If,"  interrupts  Tapps,  "the  doubt's  very  strong  here. 
Why,  in  this  here  nation,  what  makes  hre&d  dear,  and  fills  up 
with  pari^  c<dBns  sich  a  place  as  this  as  Mope  nutates  ?  Why,  bad 
Uxtog.  Now  put  thtte  down,  instead  o'  bilding  workhouses,  and 
separating  a  man  from  his  iwtter  self,  and  tfiere  'U  come  com 


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TDCB  V.   lULTHDS. — TBE  lABT  VBBDIOr.  445 

enongli.  For  the  e&rth  is  bnwd  and  froitfu],  and  nator's  storehouEe 
not  iialf  laid  op«n.  Then,  when  the  vrorld'a  ships  mat/  go  free, 
when  maa  may  freely  reap  and  sow,  when  ye  'n  made  him  a 
feelin'  senBible  creetur,  knowing  good  from  enl,  he  11  marry  and 
he  g^ven  in  marriage,  withoat  more  fear  o'  over-populating  the 
earth  than  filling  the  sea  with  too  many  fishes.  And  to  this  tima 
I  take  it  the  world  ia  a-going  forard  too,  in  spite  o'  Parson  Mal- 
thus  andbia  scholars.  7n  Godt  vx>rks  there  it  w»flaw,  though 
man's  great  solemn  books  may  say  there  is.  And  so,  sir,  git  mar- 
ried :  there  'a  figlosofi  in  it ;  and  as  I  take  it  ye  write  boobs,'let 
them  be  sich  as  11  help  poor  creeturs  into  the  light  o'  wisdoin. 
And  BO,  sir,  git  married,  and  g^vo  a  verdict  for  Time  against  the 
Surrey  Parson.  For  ye  '11  take  the  words  o*  Solomon,  Ireckoit, 
better  than  sich  as  come  from  a  cobbler ;  and  what  Bays  he  on 
these  two  pints  o*  a  wife  and  population  ^  why,  snmfen  wiser  than 
the  pareon.  Thus: — "Whoso  findeth  a  wife  findeth  a  good  thing, 
and  obtainethfavourof  the  Lord  "('specially  if  she's  a  quiet  tongue); 
and  the  t'other :  "  In  the  multitude  of  people  is  the  king's  honour, 
and  in  the  want  of  people  is  the  destruction  of  the  prince."  Only 
I'd  suggist  in  this  latter  case,  that  one  should  haye  God's  honour, 
instid  o'  kings',  and  the  destruction  of  glorious  human  natur, 
instid  o'  tbcm  bits  o'  things  in  purple  that  men  call  princes.  And 
BO,  sir,  git  married." 

Just  as  Mr.  Tapps  has  thus  advised  the  moralist,  what  should 
step  forth  from  the  cool  porch  into  the  wann  sunlight,  but  a 
strapping  young  fellow  in  a  bran-new  blue  coat,  and  on  his  arm 
such  a  little  tiny,  happy,  trembling  human  flower,  though  not  over 
brave  in  money-bought  gaudinesa,  that  Uecblin  lace  never 
shrouded  in  purer  or  prouder  blushes.  Well,  they  have  just 
been  married :  the  parson's  blessing  is  yet  an  echo  !  Why,  here 
is  enough  in  strapping  Tom  Kittletink's  looks,  to  confute  the 
world's  trumpet-blast  against  happiness  unlesa  in  purple.  Tapps 
wickedly  winks,  and  chirps  a  merry  ha  !  ha  I  aa  hearty  as 
his  lark  hard  by  ;  the  sexton  rests  on  bis  epade  ;  the  moralist 
places  his  foot  on  a  newly  upturned  skull,  it  may  be  accidentally, 
though  I  am  afraid  be  had  not  auch  wisdom  aa  Yorick  had  to 
raise  a  glorious  truth  from  inaentient  dust.  Tapps,  like  his  lark, 
has  the  firat  note,  and  it  it  a  cheerful  one,  for  he  stops  Tom 
Kittletink  right  ^ort,  and  thoa  adds  a  deeper  glow  to  the  little 
bride's  dovmcast  face. 

"AndsoTom,"  aajs  Tapps,  "this  gentleman  as  isanoting 

;lc 


•4*6  thie  e.  iulthiib. — tsb  last  tebdict. 

down  the  'rithawtld  o'  dead  hunun  creeturs,  u  sharp  aa  «  pArbfa 
ho;  at  an  apids-sball — and  all  I  take  it  for  thdm  here  parliomeitt 
men — says  as  how  to  git  married  ia  to  fidi  inM  Hie  pit  o' 
deBtruotion,  and  so  you  'd  better  go  home  and  make  a,  day  o* 
Weeping  on 't." 

"Of  merry-inaking,"  Bays  Tom,  all  joyouB,  "aa  is  proptt 
-with  Mvy  h^re,  and  a  stuffed  loin  of  pork  and  a  precious  pixaa- 
pudding.  What!  cryi  Why,  Lord  hlesB  the  gentleman,  a  wedding 
asf  doas  hnt  come  once  in  a  life  ;  and  it's  wwlli  a  world  o'  ears 
to  eome  that  onoe,  as  I  diink." 

"  The  happiness  of  a  day,  the  misery  rf  years,  my  ftiand," 

raks  the  now  somowhal  abstracted  mOTalist,  "  the  woAhotoe, 
parish  cofGn,  the  slow-paced  eleemosynary  doctor,  the  scream- 
ing ohM,  the  destitution,  the  want  of  mere  bread,  and  last  of  all, 
the  earth,  this  earth, — ^you  understand  ?  " 

"  I  do,  master,"  spn^s  out  Tom  Kittletink  still  more  Btontl;^, 
"  and  I  Ve  looked  as  far  into  the  matter  as  a  hard-woiking  man, 
flB  a  Barbican  brazier  with  no  bettfir  learning  than  uch  ax  pariA 
ochools  strap  and  badge  upon  the  poor  can  do,  and  I  don't  see 
that  God  made  sich  blessed  little  creatures  as  my  Mary  here,  as 
^wers  only  to  be  worn  in  proud  rich  men's  bosoms.  Why,  hope  'a 
for  all  on  ns,  the  aun  'b  for  all  on  us,  and  a  man  migbt  as  weB 
persistingly  sit  under  a  big  down-turned  bUer,  when  the  Bun '% 
shining,  as  to  always  be  looking  for'ardB  to  evil.  Not  thitt  we 
are  a-going  to  rush  into  the  pari^  anns  as  I  say  :  it's  oidy  when 
a  man  can't  be  worser  off  that  he  does  that.  But  here  1  waa, 
with  fifteen  ^illinga  a-week  a-ooming  in,  a  decent  second  iotx 
back,  a  few  bite  o'  things  towards  housekeeping,  and  Huj 
a-pioSng  and  moping  bv  herself,  and  both  as  tu  loving  di^dm^ 
Bnd  wuhing  to  bare  em  to  teach  and  make  '(of  9ttVet  Am 
ourselves  ;  and  so  I  thengfat,  as  God  didat^  ny  no,  tbom  as  go 
about  with  tracts  and  sich  like  shouldn't,  and  bo  we  've  seen  tfae 
pmBB,  aad  now  we're  jist  off  to  tie  roast  pork  and  podding,  n<it 
Mvying  a  mortal  human  creature,  but  thankful  &a  what  I  am, 
And  for  Mary  here,  sir." 

**  And  I  prophecy——-"  began  the  moralist. 
■  "I  Bay,  sir,"  interrupts  Tom  Kittletink,  "you  must  think 
better  o'  Bich  as  us,  and  gire  us  a  lift  by  yer  learning,  instead  of 
heljring  to  put  ua  down  into  the  cburehyBrd  dust,  aa  too  many  do. 
And  I  say,  if  ye  will  look  thus  in  God's  manner,  ye  '11  be  married 
by  this  day  next  year,    For,  Lord  air,  there  'a  a  little  flower  tbra« 


Hn  *.  HAlfHte. — VBX  LASt  TtBDlCT.  447 

by  ysr  side  ;  do^t  orariook  her,  -for  nutnmonj's  in  her  eyefl, 
air,  as  I  've  had  erperienoe  by  my  Uaiy's.  Come,  my  dear !  and 
youi  TKpps,  mind  yDn  ^re  lu  a  leok  in  to-night :  there  '11  be  backy^ 
I  iBokon,  and  ft  simg>" 

The  mondiBt  is  about  to  aay  something,  hot  the  Kttle  lady  whia* 
pered  a  little  "  uay"  so  tiear  the  tnith,  and  lo  permaaire,  that  it 
ia  finer  than  Rpeech  lisped  from  the  lips  of  a  Lady  Belinda ;  and 
Tapps  drawine  Sear  t<Hi,  adds  somstliing  about>  "  hiunait  natnr  ;" 
and^s,  t(M),nas8i»nellungsotalismanicinit,thathe  tnmshiaeyes 
in  the  direction  the  mut«  sexton,  the  little  lady,  and  the  cobbler's 
teolcB  haTe  takon,  and  beholdB  Tom  Kittletink  just  by  the  church- 
yard gate,  actually  kieuag  Uarj's  finger,  on  irhich  is  the  bridal 
ring.  And  so  Ood  bless  him  !  It  ia  a  genuflection  of  nature  in 
its  adoration  of  the  True  !  "  Git  married  "  Is  Tappa'  last  counsel 
M  he  goes  back  to  his  an),  Hope  digs  on,  and,  strange  for  him, 
whiatles  instead  of  reckoning  on  his  nest  dram  of  pa  ;  and  ^e 
philosopher  and  the  little  lady  walk  silently  home  arm  in  arm  ;  his 
synthetic  vein  now  analytical,  and  the  creator  of  Belinda  and  Fop- 
piugton  woes  t«udiing  a  atring  whose  melody  b  in  the  human 
heart  I 

A  year  gone  by.  The  same  sun,  the  same  June  day,  (he  same 
hmnan  hearts  ;  yet  what  a  change  I-  Is  it  a  different  church,  or  a 
different  bridal  p»ty,  that  does  it  all  ?  No  !  it  ii  opinion — be- 
fore conventional,  now  garmented  in  truth.  Malthns  la  dead-beat. 
It  is  the  philosopher  gone  in  to  be  married,  and  to  the  tittle  sharp 
lady !  Qod  bless  them  botli !  Something  better  than  Malthus  doc- 
trinaire, something' better  than  litde  aqueezed  tears  of  couTen- 
tionl  fnith'from  Tappa  the  cobbler.  OU  !  oh!  blessingB  on 
St.  Crispin  and  St.  Crispianus,  both  of  them,  after  tiiis  ! 

Well,  it  ia  beantiAil  to  hear  what  a  stout  "  yes "  the  moralist 
makes  of  it  when  the  parson  aaka  the  queation  ;  and  the  little  trem- 
bling lady  doean't  mince  the  matter,  trust  me.  Nor  is  any  man  sour 
enough  to  allege  an  impediment ;  and,  bless  us  !  it  is  the  best  and 
now  found  morality  of  the  moralist  to  look  into  that  happy  face 
and  love  !  What  is  a  Lady  Belinda  after  this,  though  charming 
as  Miss  ByroD  herself? 

Of  course  there  is  to  algn  and  seal,  and  into  the  vestry  they  go. 
When,  lo  !  there  is  that  same  little  Mary,  pale  to  be  sure,  but  with 
snch  a  stout,  living,  blue-eyed  little  miniature  of  Tom  Kittletink 
himself,  that  a  mint-master  might  swear  to  the  die.  Uary  is  look- 
up! :«i  by  GoOgIc 


448  TIWE  «.   UALTHUB. — THB  LAST  TBttStCT. 

ing  a  litde  pye,  to  be  sure,  u  most  young  moUien  do  ;  but  ike 
moralist  and  bis  brido  know  ber  at  once. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Kittletiok,"  ujg  the  bidegroom,  ttoppng  right 
Bhort  in  front. of  die  parson,  "  a  year  to-daj.  Have  you  regretted 
taking  Tom  for  good  and  tMV 

"BleMbim,  no  air,"  saysMaryinsing  todropa  curtsey;  "the 
minntes  hare  all  been  too  short,  and  they  11  be  shorter  now,  sir  ; 
for  ye  see  the  baby.    The  image  of  him,  isn't  it,  air  V 

"  Exactly.  Well,  here  's  a  pound  to  buy  sometlung  to  make 
punch  of  to-night,  and  mind  Tapps  tastes  it.  Recollect,  good 
Strong  punch,  {Jenty  of  rum  in  it,  and  that  old  Jamaica,  and  Tapps 
'11  know  what  toast  to  drialc" 

"  That  he  will,  air.  A  dear  creetnr,  tai  I  with  a  lioart  like  hi» 
lark." 

"  Well !  tell  him  he  tattght  a  man  to  be  wise.  Good  day,  Mrs. 
Kittle^k;  and  now  my  dear  !" 

"  We  11  put  MalthuB  on  our  ehelreswith  our  graver  books,  and 
read " 

"  The  mniAK  heart,  my  love,  and  improve  upon  Tapps'  logic." 

"  And  whilst  you  write  the  second  volume  of  '  Truths  for  the 
Time,'  I'll  make  novels  that  shall  be  for  everybody." 

"  To  be  read  by  everybody.  You  Btep  here,  my  love  !  Mind,. 
I  think  we  're  as  happy  as  Tom  Kittletink  and  little  Maiy." 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it." 

"  Well  [  then  we  're  with  Time  against  Malthus.  Tapps  wdw 
right :  ours  is  the  '  last  new  verdict.'  " 

"  There  '11  bo  many  more  such  when " 

"  Every  day  more  and  more.  Cheap  bread;  the  havens  of  the 
earth  free  ;  science,  unbaring  the  fruitful  bosom  of  the  soil,  will 
show  men  the  profound  wisdom  of  the  moral  the  Greek  sage 
taught,  that  Nature's  true  latcg  co-exitt  not  wiih  Evil,  for  NcUure 
is  God." 

E.  U. 


,11  by  Google 


A  "MAN  OP  GOOD  SOUND  SENSE." 

Did  yon  ever  nee  &  self-B&tisfied,  dull-witted,  poutivdy  speak- 
ing, mam-chanee-puTBuiDg,  very  sceptical,  and  altogether  uneii' 
thasiastic  apecimen  of  the  animal,  man  t  Bid  you  ever  see  euch 
a  specimen,  and  not  hear  him  generally  called  a  "man  of  good 
Gound  sense?  " 

Why  is  he  so  called  I  Because  to  the  stolid,  want  of  tmue  is 
good  sense  ;  and  the  greater  number  of  manlund  being  rendered 
stolid  by  the  training  of  society,  one  who  embodies  their  own 
peculiarities  is  sure  to  have  their  good  word.  People  name  by 
a  fine  name  whateTer  keeps  themBelveB  in  countenance. 

If  assea  could  speak,  be  sure  they  would  discooree  on  tlie 
wholesomenesB  of  thistles,  and  the  beauty  of  long  ears  ;  and  any 
donkey  who  seemed  to  munch  his  thistles  with  a  peculiar  relish, 
or  to  flourish  his  ears  with  more  satisfaction  than  ordinary,  would 
to  a  certainty  receive  great  praise  from  his  speoies.  He  qiight 
even,  Hverj/  asinine  in  his  tendencies,  be  styled  by  a  distinctive 
title,  and  five  grandly  amongst  donkeys,  a  donkey  aristocrat. 
The  prerogative  of  speech  has  been  used,  time  out  of  mind,  in 
giving  to  baseness  die  attributes  of  nobility ;  and  men,  if  not 
donkeys,  have  found  out  how,  by  worshipping  their  own  mean 

aualities  in  the  person  of  another,  they  raise  dieir  estimate  ot 
leir  own  nature. 
The  "  man  of  good  sound  sense  "  is,  of  course,  wdl  to  do  in 
the  world,  or  the  world  would  not  compliment  him  with  such  a 
cognomen.  Indeed  it  is  veiy  probable  that  formerly  he  may  have 
been  differently  considered.  If  he  have  had  his  way  to  make, 
he  will  perhaps — or  when  poor  and  but  just  commencing  tho 
fitruggle — ^have  been  called  an  "  honest  well-meaning  man;"  by 
and  by — as  bis  success  becomes  more  evident — he  wiU  be  pro- 
moted to  the  rank  of  a  "  deserving  man,  and  no  fool ;  "  nniO  at 
last — when  in  possession  of  social  influence,  money  to  spend,  and 
money  to  leave — he  will  gain  his  eminent,  fully-^ereloped  title* 
and  wear  it  as  gracefully  as  Sancho  Panza  wore  that  of  governor 
of  the  Island  of  Barataria. 

The  "man  of  good  sonnd  sense"  is  sternly  and  sneetlngl; 

so.  IVII, — VOL.  HI,  o  G  _, 


4JS0  A   "MAN   OF  GOOD   SODKD   SENSE. 

oppoaed  to  all  ioiiovative  propOBitiona.  It  is  pleasant  to  hear 
turn  talk  on  such  matters.  He  smiiBhes  them  in  the  most  wipit^- 
ing  manner,  either  bj  ponderous  argHment,  or  hj  ridicule  which 
is  BtiU  more  pondorous  than  the  argumeoL  Usuallj,  too,  he  is 
not  confused  b;  anj  knowledge  of  the  subject  which  he  condemns, 
and  as  most  of  the  auditors  are  gener^j  as  ignorant,  and  as 
auBiical  an  bims^,  he  makoB  out  the  ease  meat  triumphantly 
to  his  own  and  their  «atisfaotion.  SomettmM,  howcrer,  he  o«b- 
mhe  the  mielake  of  impairing  into  -the  Babject  before  he  op^Ksos 
'H  *;  but  aa  he  alwB^  Joes  so  with  a  prudent  detemuDition  hefeiv- 
hand  not  to  he  convinced,  the  study  seldom  does  hkn  any  -hai^. 
A 'pompvoB  Wirt  of  mock  candour  b,  indeed,  Teiytrften  apart  of 
kaa  character.  &e  ia  "  open  to  conriction,"  he  deidsne,  and  ia 
"unwilling  to  condemn  mrfaeard  "  any  new  dtctme,  hcnrevar 
Vtarying.  But  he  labours  un^er  the  tmdeuhtiug  pemuasioo  (fa«t 
all  believers  in  sneh  doctrines  should  consider  his  lietetimg  to 
their  ai^nmonts  as  a  great  faTonr ;  and  so  peihaps  it  is — for 
-after  alt  tli^  can  si^,  he  never  has  "  heavd  in) jttni^  ■io  «ker 
his  opinion,  sheadyexprcMed."  It  is  -a  settled  ^Unj^with  hiia, 
tiiat  nheevM'  proteods  to  teach  him  intonds  to  ineuh  Imn  ;  AMd 
he  resents  the  attempt  aocor^ngly.  The  idea  of  ^ra^tude  -to 
these  who  enlighten  i^e  world  by  lie  t^ssemination  of  new  ideas 
would  certainly  be  to  him  one  uf  the  newest  and  most  clhwss 
ideas  eonceivnUe.  Tfaeelerk  of  Oiferd,  is  the  "'Oaaterbiiry  Tako," 
"Was  evidently  «  gentleman  -and  a  phikHophCT,  4br-(Uiaiicer  t^e 
■s  AtA  "  gladly  would  he  le«m,  aad  gladly  teach  ; "  btrt  the 
"  man  of  good  sound  sense  "  -can  understand,  mly  Ihe  tMtiaag 
side  of  such  a  character,  and  that  but  dimly. 

He  can  cant  the  usual  prtuse,  however,  of  tfiose  lAo  have  long 
ago  firmly  fixed  their  discorenea  in  the  piAlic  mind,  or  Tendered 
their  theories  generally  acceptable,  ootwiAstaadinK  '^o  eppositioB 
and  apatby  of  former  "  men  of  good  aeund  en»e. '  He  will  tdk 
of  Luther,  aad  GaDileo,  and  Lecke,  aad  Watt,  and  Harvey,  as-ff 
be  would  not  hare  done  hia  IHde  utmost,  had  he  been  cfHttcanpo- 
nury  with  them,  -lo  destroy  them  by  sSenee,  or  to  erucdi  them  hf 
abase,  ridicule,  and  bad  argument. 

To  'prove  this,  there  ie  no  ooension  -when  he  Mnea  more  than 
wbm  'he  has  alsir  opportunity  of  edibiting  his  'disdaia  Sor  oH 
who,  miiis  own-  ivj,  make  any  objects  but  wealth  and  votMly 
advancement  the  business  of  their  lives.  For  poets,  in  pBrtienlar« 
he  has  ibe  meet  unmitigated  oontempt,  mingled  with  a  degme  of 

Coiwlc 


A    "  HAN    OF  aOm>  BOUND  SENSE."  461 

secret  hatred  for  presenting  ae  they  do,  in  their  wotIib,  so  strong 
a  contrast  to  his  own  grovelling  BentimentB.  If  one  of  them  die, 
and  leare  a  wife  and  family  deBtitute,  the  event  affords  him  much 
quiet  chuckling  enjoyment,  and  he  eipresBea  his  feelings  in  the 
exclamation,  "  Poor  devil !  "  coupled  with  some  politico-economi- 
cal remarks  abont  the  "  tbIub  "  of  poems  "  in  the  market,"  "  If 
men  must  be  authors,"  bo  aayB,  "why  cea't  they  write  in  the 
new^^>erB  ?  "  Artieta  he  Io^b  upon  as  aillj,  idle  fellows — 
though  he  is  inclined  to  except  portrmt-pMntera,  Who  shew  know- 
ledge of  the  world,  and  a  kudable  vrish  to  butter  their  bread  on 
the  every-day  principles  of  trade.  Musicians  he  usually  speaka 
of  aB  " fidiflerB," iind  their  art  as  "crotchets  and  quavers."  He 
vrould  h&ve  viewed  Be^^en,  and  the  man  w^o  |jayed  tiie  long 
dram  is  wie  of  iam  symphonieB,  as  of  jsBt  about  the  same  daSB, 
joid  weuU  pmbably  have  ^aaked  how  much  each  was  in  tbe  habit 
of  "  niakisg"  a  wee&.  Arc^tecta,  he  thinkB,  lowjAi  Mffioethtogin 
ibete  times,  sBpeeia%  if  tb«y  turn  their  chief  atteation  to  ema- 
umtal  E^K^rontB.  Mere  inveatigstisg  laen  of  Btneaoe  be  con^ 
tnd«B  idiote,  who  saoiiGae  tbeKsdres  for  the  benefit  of  the  eom- 
monity — though*  dwrnist^^io  iwrentB  a  saw  'dye,  "warranted 
&st,"  he  ie  not  hard  apm.  An  >eDgineer  be  riwaya  Bpeidta  «f 
with  reapect. 

But  ^  men  have  Aetr  weakneBB,  and  t^  "  man  of  good  Bound 
scowe  "  ia  DO  exee^on.  However  naeit  money  he  nay  posseBs, 
he  tasAiOoniiaDtlnigiBg  to  get  more.  Hence  pi»jeeted  railroads, 
new  steatn-hoKt  TrTTwpnni^  wondcrfiil  BpeculatiMu  of  all  Borts,  are 
-daogemxts  -tabptatioM  t^ilm,  and,  if  he  lose,  his  "good  somd 
BKiBe  "  is  sordy  taxed  to  aceouxt  for  his  hsvi»g  been  decMved. 
Ufider  Bueb  faiala  be  becomes  meek  and  distaal,  as  he  is  «[aite 
naaaciaM  durt  laa  Auaeka  depends  on  his  w^tlly  suooees.  Should 
he,  howetcc,  lire  safdy  Muidat  these  perils,  and  preaper  in  hie 
gmnbling  invQitiiiiemtB,  he  asswnes,  end  has  grcnted  to  him,  more 
«aQBideratiai  than  ever.  He  is  elerated  aa  an  idd  of  "  respeotft- 
Ue"  wD^dp  ;  pHhlie  dinners  are  gif«n  to  him  ;  bie  ehoiee  raises 
the  pnee  of  sle^ ;  be  bsya  land,  and  AoUers  h^Holly  up  towards 
the  peerage. 

Every  .stage  «f  tdire  nrth's  fnpttM  no  doubt  produoes  crentnreB 

-pnoper  te  that  stage  ;  bnt  ai  rep&es  hare  be«i  nicoeeded  by  men, 

let  UB  befe  that  "  men  «f  good  sMod  sense  "  may  be  Bueceeded 

J>y  uen  withAJlonBgroveTeaoe  tor  tovtii,  goodness,  and  beauty. 

Annnra  WuJLBasDaE.  . 

G  G  2  /  -    ,,,  ,1  , 


THE  HEDGEHOG  LETTERS. 


LETTERXXVIII.— To  JoaMRoBlIWONjPwViTEOPIHBSlBlFoOT.lNDlA. 

Dear  John, — When  this  letter  may  find  jou  it  isn't  for  me  to 
saj  ;  but  wherever  you  axe,  it  wi!l  no  doubt  find  you  upon  a  bed 
of  laureb  ;  though,  for  my  own  part,  I  do  think  a  bed  of  good 
honest  goose  feathers  the  more  comibrtable  lying.  Mind,  I  don't 
for  a  moment  want  to  think  light  of  what  you  've  done  and  what 
you  Ve  suffered.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Terrible  work  it  must  be  ;  and 
a  bold  heart  a  man  must  needs  hare  to  go  through  it :  you  Ve 
earned  your  share  of  glory — (though  what  may  be  your  share  as  « 
full  private  I  can't  say) — and  I  should  think  have  got  your  bellyful 
of  it  for  life.  It 's  my  hope,  however,  that  you  Tl  never  get  any 
tnore.  No,  having  cleaned  the  blood  from  your  bayonet,  and  once 
more  polished  up  your  firelock,  it 's  my  hope  that  they  '11  never 
know  service  again.  I  do  hope,  whatever  you  may  think,  that 
you  Ve  had  enoogh  of  the  sport ;  now^^cking  cold  iron  into  the 
bowels  of  a  screeching  man,  and  no^knocMng  in  his  skull  as 
though  it  was  no  more  than  a  pumpkin.  When  the  guns  are 
firing,  and  the  blood  "s  up,  of  course  you  think  nothing  of  the  work, 
going  at  it  as  though  you  were  an  engine  of  brass  made  to  shoot 
and  stab.  But,  I  should  say,  it  can't  be  pleasant  to  think  of  when 
it's  over.  That  field  of  glory,  as  it's  called,  must  go  nigh  to  make 
a  man  heart-sick  ;  must  make  him  a  little  out  of  sorts  with  him- 
self :  'tis  so  different  a  field  to  a  field  of  cut  com.  For  my  part, 
John,  I  would  much  soon^  cultivate  turnips  than  laurels-  A  turnip's 
a  nice  thing  for  men  and  cattle,  and  so  easily  grown.  Now,  laurel- 
even  a  sprig  of  it,  must  be  raised  in  the  denl's  hothouse,  and  be 
manured  with  human  blood.  Still,  according  to  some  folks,  there  'b 
some  human  blood  that  Providence  thinks  no  more  of  than  ditch- 
water.  Of  course,  there 's  been  a  pretty  hiurah  here  in  England  about 
your  putting  down  the  Sikhs.    One  quiet  gentleman  with  a  goose- 


THE  HEDQEEOfi   UTTEBS.  453 

quUl  ia  yeiy  pioiu  indeed  upon  the  matter  ;  and  tiunks  that  the 
war  was  expresalj  ordered  to  destroy  "  the  Bcum  of  Ama,"  Pro- 
vidence haring  employed  the  Britisli  army  for  no  other  purpoae 
than  to  sweep  from  the  ear^  bo  much  of  it«  own  offal.  It's  droU 
to  think  of  jonr  pious  Christian  in  his  easy  chair,  with  his  foot  on 
a  soft  stool,  his  rent  and  taxes  paid,  and  his  pew  at  the  parish 
QhuTch  newly  cushioned — it 's  something  more  than  droll,  isn't  it,  to 
think  of  Mm  lifting  his  pious  eyea  to  his  ceiling,  and  talking  o£ 
some  twenty  thousand  slaughtered  men  as  the  "  scum,"  the  refuse 
of  creatures  ;  as  animals  just  a  little  above  apea,  of  no  account  at 
all  to  the  God  who  made  'em.  He—- good  John  I — thinks  of  'em 
as  no  more  than  the  vermin  that  once  or  twice  a-year  ia  cleaned 
out  of  his  bedsteads,  that  decent  respectable  people  may  take  tbeir 
rest  all  the  cosier  for  the  cleaning.     Easy  Christianity,  isn't  it  ? 

And  then  the  demand  there 's  been  for  religion  in  this  matter, 
A  score  of  pious  people — all  hot  from  their  Bibles — day  after  day 
write  to  the  papers  to  know  when  they  were  to  be  comforted,  by 
being  authorizedby  Her  Majesty,  to  return  thanks  for  the  slaughter. 
"  Are  we  to  shut  up  in  our  own  breasts" — ^writes  one  Tory  much 
afraid  of  bursting — "the  grateful  emotion!  "  Was  there  to  be  no 
safetj-volre,  as  I  beliere  they  call  it — ordered  by  the  Qoremment  ? 
"  Are  we  even  to  content  ourselves  with  talking  to  one  another,  as 
individuals,  of  this  our  great  deliverance  !  "  This  Christian  writes 
from  Brighton,  and  vrith,  no  doubt,  tears  as  big  as  marbles  in  hia 
eyes,  wants  fo  know  when  he  is — according  to  a  Government 
order,  as  if  he  couldn't  offer  up  a  private  prayer  on  his  own  account 
— when  he  is  to  be  allowed  to  return  thanks  to  "  Hm,  who  is  the 
God  of  Battles."  Perhaps  I  am  very  wicked,  but  for  my  part 
I  never  can  bring  myself  to  think  of  Hiu  as  the  God  of 
Battles.  The  God  of  Love— the  God  of  Mercy — the  God  of 
Goodness — but  I  cannot  say  the  God  of  Fire — the  God  of  Blood 
— the  God  of  every  Horror,  committed  upon  man,  woman,  and 
child,  in  the  madness  of  fight.  Looking  at  a  field  of  clover,  I 
could  thankfully  say  the  field  of  God  ;  but  the  words  stick  tn  my 
throat  when  I  think  of  a  field  of  glory  ;  a  field  soaked  with  blooil, 
a  field  with  thousands  of  dead  and  d^g  creatures  on  it,  sent  into 
the  world  by  God.     But,  then,  I  'm  only  an  ignorant  cabman. 

However,  some  folks  are  as  glad  that  the  Sikhs  are  slaughtered 
as  though  they  'd  been  no  more  than  so  many  locusts.  It's  a  great 
day  for  Christianity,  they  cry ;  never  forgetting  gunpovrder  u) 
their  religion.   One  gentleman — I  think  he 's  aa  India  Director^ 


sees  *  gooi  dml  of  likmMi  toiran  tiw  d)ifMrii«B  of  jwmr 

5«eral  and  the  Bib1«.  Th»  9iklM  are  tiia  mraUppera  of 
c4oeb,  he  Bays, — «ad  like  ttnn  Imva-  boen  Jertrujwi  l:^  tbe  trmer 
bdievers.  lofleed,  1  't«  no  doobt  tbaC  thMB  ««7-i«l^iR»f(A9 
wotdd  go  frora  GeaeuB  to  Httbc^  and  &id  &  iCHiubhacw  hi  tmve^ 
ch&pter  te  ererj  fight  and  moremeBt  in  a  whde  cauipaigB.  And 
I  dare  BBj  then  tb^  'reqsiteaiiMOTeiHLdliOMMtiav^iattlM^Bamui, 
— ^but  then  why  don't  t^wy  go  oa  ta  the  New  Testammt  ?  W^ 
do  they  stop  riiort  at  that  ?  And  if  they  do  stef  rinrt,  asd  take 
aU  their  examplee  of  bloodsbed  from  tbe  Bibte — ani  aooe  of  t^ir 
twwhing  fr(»i  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  why — I  mnat  aA  it, 
Aongh  I  know  I  'm  nothing  bnt>  a  fottiih  cabin»i — why  daa't 
they,  BO  to  ^leak,  undo  tlreir  CbrijrtiaBity  ?  Why  dtm't  they  turn 
Jews  at  oooe  ;  awd  rettm  thada,  not  aceoi^ng  to  the  Testar- 
ment  in  a  ChristiaB  Chnnih,  bat  at  the  Bible  directs,  in  a 
synagogwe  ? 

NerertbetesB,  John  RolMneen,  ire  Acvra  retamad  thuika  HuA 
aB  of  you,  with  yoiv  muskets,  and  yo«r  Bbelts,  and  your 
bayonets  and  eaanoD,  have  killed  thonsonds  tA  the  Sikfaa.  To 
be  sure',  tb^  stnick  tbe  ^Tst  blow — that  I  can't  deay.  For  alt 
Aat,  I  do  think  that  in  tbe  prayer  Aal  was  made  by  the 
Archbishop,  we  did  crow  over  'em  a  little  too  nocfa.  For  my-part, 
I  ahould  hav«  liked  it  better  if  tbe  prayer  bad  said  something, 
legretttDg  like,  tbe  eaoses  of  tbe  dreadful  Rlaugbter.  Whereas, 
it  accounted  no  mwe  of  tbe  Sikhs — poor  tbii^s! — b  h  their 
Snilt  if  they're  not  belierers  in  Seripture?-— tiuni  if  they'd 
been  50  muiy  mad  dogs,  knocked  m  the  head,  for  pea«e  and 
mfety. 

It  was  qnite  a  boliday  in  ourpariab  ;  and  I  do  assure  yow  many 
of  the  people  looked  as  they  went  to  and  from  tbe  cbnrch,  qmte  aa 
prond  as  if  they'd  bandied  sword  and  musket  on  Uiott  own 
accotwt,  and  were  returning  thanks  for  their  own  courage.  There 
was  Snaps,  the  shoemaker  and  churdmapden.  Helmd,  I  kirev, 
all  the  battie  at  bis  fingers'  ends, — and  looked  as  if  he  felt  biiDself 
qnite  a  soldierall  tbe  service.  And  hia  wife  had  a  bras-«ew  g»wn 
for  the  cwemony,  and  his  dangbten  new  bonnets.  Indeed,  I 
could  nm  over  fifty  pec^e  who  went  to  chureh  that  day,  as  if  they 
were  g<»ng  to  parade  ;  and  aFfter  they  'd  beard  the  Ardibisbop's 
prayer,  they  looked  aboot  'em  quite  prowd  tia/t  ssAiified,  as  maoh 
as  to  say — "  See  what  we  ean  do  in  the  defence  rfo«roountty  !" 
For  myself  (but  then  I  'm  <ml  j  a  cobman)  I  mwrt  say  it — I  diS 


IBS  aWQIBDa   SXTTratl.  4iS& 

&el  il  ft  nMlMidid.7  bffiBiMa*  I  eo^dn.'^,  dtv  ali  I  omMi,  get  tka 
hoiEn*  of  die.  bMttle  out  of  at  j  bead^.  When  tin  <ngui;begaB  to 
play,  I  onlj  thought  of  the  nufiag  of  tbe  gvna  aod'tlM.'graaiia  o£ 
tlw  djiog;.  Thera.  ima'  tms  past  Id  -  die  printed  aoconnteaS  tiie 
fight  that  I  eould  Motifhiget.     It  vaa.thiB  : — 

"TioB  battk  hailbepiiiiftt  aix,aiiiiira»over'at  ekTsn  o'dach ;  tha  l)aiid<- 
t«>-haad  conbat  oaiiuneiicBd.atiiHie,  audUsted  Haiealy  two  honn.  7K« 
riotr  aas  /uii  of  eiaJUng  nten.  For  two  hours  voliaj  after  toIW  watt 
poured  in  aysw  tha.  hamaa  mass — the  stream  being  HUraMj/  red  irith. 
ilood,  and  covered  vnth  the  bodies  of  the  slain.  At  last  the  musket 
amtnunition  beooming  eshauated,  the  infantff  fell  to  rear  ;  tbe  bime 
artiHety  plytog-  grape,  IHI  not  a  man  was  Tisible  within  range.    No 


Yea,  John  :  '■  oe  oompauwB  waa  fek,  '>t  mvcvy  ^om !  "  And 
we,  as  Clirietians,  w«fe  colled-  upon  to  give  thtn^  im  it ! 

Well,  ow  elergjsuut — h«  'sAkiad,  good  creature  aa  ever  prajeA 
iau  pulpift — ho  piieaehed  upeu  the  teztr  {I  've  no  doubt. he'd  arane 
maaniBj;  in  it,}  "  Mvi,  I  mtf  UKto  you,  Lstt  yomr  etut»i«a."  A 
beuitifid  djaeourse  he  nutd» ;  thoi^Ido  aaeui^jiou,  ageadmanj 
of  the  people,  all  tucked  out  in  their  best  feathers  (quite  a  church 
review,  I  cau  t^.you)  in.  eompliment  to  jranr  guuB- and  bsytmets, 
.did.  leek,  a  UtUe  glum  as  the  good  gcaitlemftn.weDt  oil  ;  for  all  the 
world  as  if  they  thought  Bush  a  diseourae  waso-'t  for  that  daj — any 
boK.  NeveilheleBs,  hB.{H'eaehed  as  he  ^wajs  doss,  real,  eveirj- 
day  reJiigiaft— ^reli^a  to  be  werD  like  an  svery-^y  coat  in  the 
working-da;  w^d,  aad  not  the  religion  that 's  pot  on.  to  eome  h>. 
cbuFcb  in.  He  worked  the  text  in  all  dmudct  of  beautiful  waj>. 
It  i^d  scaind  cold  to  be>  suia,  after  we  'd  bean  thanking  God  for 
helping  uB.^  Blai^^er  t^ouaanda  of  barbarians— dlaakiiig  GW  in 
the  words  of  an  archbishop — to  hear  the  words  of  Hiu  whaHeJl^sft' 
to  "  love  our  enemieer" — aaui nol  to- kill  'em.  "No  compassion 
was  felt,  or  mercy  shown,"  says  the  account  of  tlie  battle.  "  Love 
your  enemiee,"  says  Christ. 

"Yea,  all  that's  very  well,  "said  Collops,  the  butcher,  to  whom 
I  was  talking  after  this  fashion — Collops  had  mounted  an  entire 
new  suit  for  the  Thanksgiving— "  that 's  all  very  well.  Mister 
Hedgehog  ;  but  it  won  't  do  :  such  thlnga  are  not  tcr  be  taken  in 
a  straightfor'ard  aense.  Chriatianity  is  a  beautiful  thing,  not  a 
doubt  on  it,  but  to  be  a  Christian  every  day  in  tbe  week,  I  muat 
shut  up  my  shop.     It  was  never  intended.     It 's  quite  enough  if  a 

vCoo*^lc 


466  THB  BIMKROO  UTTEBS. 

nun  attends  his  church  and  i>  ui  earnest  Chnstian  (moe  in  serea 
daja."  And  there's  a  good  maiijfoUutikeColl(^iil  onr  paridi  ; 
and  I  'm  afeard  in  erei;  other  parish  too. 

Hoverer,  John,  I  hope  it's  onr  last  thanksgiving  for  gunpowder. 
Let  ns  only  keep  peace  for  an  odd  ten  m  fifteen  years  more,  and 
you  may  bid  good  bye  to  war  for  good.  The  yonng  lads  of  our 
time  will  be  bron^t  up  in  •  better  school  than  Uieir  poor  bthers, 
and  won't  have  the  same  relish  for  blood.  They  won't  cackle 
about  glory  tike  their  parent  g^tnders — it 's  the  young  una  that  I 
put  my  hope  upon  ;  for  it's  no  easy  matter — in  fact  it's  not  to  be 
done — to  send  middle-aged  and  dd  men  to  school  again  to  unlearn 
all  the  stupidity  and  trumpery  of  all  their  lires.  And  so,  John,  I 
do  hope  you  11  never  fire  another  shot.  Not  bat  what  yon  II  be 
pleased  to  hear  that  there  's  quite  a  stir  among  ns  just  now — get 
die  ^lukrterly  Seviete  if  there  's  a  circulating  library  at  Lahore — 
quite  a  stir  about  educating  the  private  soldier.  Thej  're  gtnng 
to  make  him  quite  a  moral,  scientific  gentleman.  They  're  going 
to  have  hbraries  for  him,  though  they  say  nothing  about  taking 
away  the  halberds.  And  whether  the  soldier  is  still  to  have  the 
cat  o'-nine-tails  or  no,  I  can't  tell ;  but  certainly  they  do  say  he  's 
to  have  books. 

We  're  to  have  no  fighting,  John,  about  America.  And  even 
if  a  war  was  to  be  decided,  Uiere  's  heaps  of  New  Eng^auders —  . 
as  I  Ve  heard-^wfao  wonld  not  enlist  for  the  defence  of  the 
southern  States.  And  the  slaveholders  seem  to  have  an  inkling 
of  this,  and  so  wouldn't  hke  to  risk  the  loss  of  their  property — 
their  black  brothers — in  a  skrimmage  ;  for  the  good  men  of  the 
north  swear  they  will  not  pull  a  trigger  in  defence  of  slavery. 
And  so,  if  the  quarrel  was  ever  bo  right  upon  the  side  of  America, 
the  wrong  that  in  in  her  mnat  work  its  vengeance.  And  bo  no 
.more  from 

Yomr  afifectionate  friend, 

JlTHIFBIt  HEDaiHoe. 


,11  by  Google 


A  HISTOKT  FOE  TOUUa  EN8LAHD.* 

What  m  pilje  u  it  to  see  t  proper  geatlemui  to  h*Te  Bucb  ■  criclc  in  bis 
neck  that  he  cannot  look  back^rard.  Yet  no  better  ii  be  vho  cvmot  >ee 
behind  bun  tbe  actions  vbicb  long  unce  were  perfbnnod.  Hiatoiy  maketh  a 
yonne:  man  to  be  old,  ifithout  either  wiinUei  or  grej  bun ;  priTileging  him 
Trilli  the  experience  of  age,  without  either  the  infimulie*  or  ioconveniencea 
thereoC  Yea,  it  not  onelj  inaketh  tliingi  pait,  pretent ;  but  ioibleth  one  to 
make  a  rational!  conjecture  of  things  t«  come.  For  Ihii  world  aBbrdeth  no 
new  aecideDlt,  but  in  the  fame  lenae  wherein  we  call  it  a  nta  moon ;  which  is 
the  old  one  in  anether  shape,  and  ]%t  no  other  than  what  had  been  (brmerljr. 
Old  action!  return  ag^,  furbidied  over  with  some  new  and  different  circuu- 


CHAPTER  THE  TWELFTH. 
MASK  A   OHABTA. 

1213 — 1216.  Ik  tbe  muLtitudinoua  correspondence  of  Hia 
Holiness  Inuocent  the  Third,  there  is  a  letter  from  hia  royal 
vassal,  John  of  England,  to  the  effect  that  the  English  eaijls 
and  barons  had  been  devoted  to  him  before  he  surrendered  his 
kingdom  to  the  pontiff;  but  since  that  time  had  violently  risen 
against  him :  '  and  specially  on  that  account,  sicuf  jm&Iice 
dtcunt. '  The  writer's  mean  soul  is  ia  the  letter,  striving  to  make 
what  worldly  profit  it  can  of  the  slavish  infamy  it  has  undergone. 

Neither  assertion  was  true.  Indignation  after  the  Papal  com- 
pact existed  as  little  as  devotion  before  it.  There  is  indeed  some 
reason  to  believe  that  the  barons  who  now  became  most  active 
agiunat  tbe  king  had  declined  to  take  any  active  part  agiunst  tbe 
surrender  of  the  kingdom.  Beside  the  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  tbe 
Bishop  of  Norwich,  Walter  Fitz-Peter,  William  of  Salisbury, 
Williun  of  Pembroke,  Reginald  of  Boulogne,  William  of  Warrenne, 
Saber  of  Winchester,  William  of  Arundel,  William  of  Ferrers, 
William  Briwere,  Peter  Fitz-Herbert,  and  Warren  FitJi-Gerald, 
who,  though  with  popular  leanings,  never  left  the  banner  of  the 
king,  even  tlie  Bigods,  De  Mowhrajs,  and  De  Veres,  may  be 
pronounced  entitled  to  so  much  of  the  infamy  of  the  act  as  pre- 
sence and  non-interference  can  imply.  But  tbe  letter  which 
is  rehed  upon  by  the  Roman  Catholic  lustoriana  to  show  that  diey 

from  p.  276,  Vol.  III.  .^  , 


468  A  HIBTOBT  FOB  YODKC  EKOLAHD. 

had  eren  compelled  it,  mnet  be  taken  with  large  allowance.  That 
one  of  John's  moBt  servile  agents  in  Kome  ahould  report  to  his 
master  on  alleged  appeal  from  the  barons  to  the  pope's  gratitude, 
on  the  grouad-itbat' it'Wa»aot''U)'  Um  good-wilLof  the.  king,  but 
'  to  them,  and  the  compulsion  which  they  had  employed,  that  he 
'was  indebted  for  his  superiority  over  the  English  crown,'  will 
onTy  be  thought  condusire  by  the  nwrt  hsriyor  the  rowt  preju- 
diced luBtaTiaB.  On  the  other  hand,  it>  censiatB  with  the  beat 
aatltori^fia  t«  ailBil  th«t  theiisifiMm.  pslicy  of  the  cobles,  to  dfigiade 
the  positiiMt  aid  hmnbte  tbe  pnde  e£  th«ir.  tmeteiffiir  m^ht  hanei 
seemed  to  tiiBiti'to  eanetton  the -eold  afiqniescmee,  if  mt  thesavH^ 
satisfaction,  with  which,  they  saw  that  desperate  consammation  of 
tlMiaCTedible^baaeHasaof  Joho.  Faity  spiiit,  as.Ihar&sha«n,hadi 
arisen  in  fio^cHb.  Fromit  hor*  sprung  eoenss»nd.mmpmmiEU 
often  neither  just  nor  honourable  ;  but  with  it  have  been  associated, 
in  Tery  memorable  periods  of  history,  the  liberties  and  political 
advances  of  the  En^reh  peo;de. 

By  the  act  of  the  Ifith  o£  Uaji,  1213,.  tlie  aspect  of  the  existing 
contention  was  changed.  The  pope  declared  himself  on  the.  side 
of  his  vaisal  ;  and  the  French  king,  who  lay  with  a  powerfiil  army 
at  Boulogne,  meditating  invasion,  was- ordered'  by  P&nduff  to 
desist.  But  Philip's  compact  was  loosened  with  the  pope,  to  be 
only  more  firmly  knit  with  the  baroas.  They  had  already  opened 
overtures  witt  his  sou  ;  doubtful  of  the  side  that  would  be  taken  by 
the  burgesses  and  townsmen,  the  most  important  section  of  iM' 
people.  These,  lately  so  eager  to  resist  invasion  that  they  hoi 
rallied. to  the  etandanl  of  J'ohn.can  alone  be  said  to  hare  remaineif 
undecided  at  this  eitraordjuary  crisis. 

£ut  the  event  was  at  hand  which,  determined  them.  By  the 
compact  made  at  Dover,  and  which  in  all  its  provisions  on  the 
»de  of  justice  the  king  even  now  soaght  to  evade,  Langton  and 
the  exilea  relumed..  J«hn  met  tham  with  assumed  deference  at 
Winchester,  as  the  clients  of  hia  feudal  laid  ;  and  embraced  the 
(Cardinal'  archbishc^  at  the  entrance  of  the  cathedraL  But  the 
sentence  of  eicommunJcation  having  been  publicly  revoked,  and 
tlie  oath  of  papal  fealty  repeated,  he  was  unexpectedly  called 
upon  by  Langton  to  make  additional  oath  that  he  would  abcJish 
aU  illegal  customs,  restore  to  every  man  his  ri^f4,.and  revive  the 
l»ws  of  the  CoafessOT.  It.  is  added  by  Mathew  of  Paris,  who 
relates  this,  that  to  the  multitude  assembled  such  proceedings  were 
rague  and  unintelligible,  but  by  the  few  initiated  in  Ae  secret 
sufficiently  understOH.      Erom  that  dwr^  i"-  truth,    the  Grand 


A  BteSOBT  FOB  TOBKO  ZHGUJH>.  4W 

Confedtra^  totdiHfe;  xnAwkatwas  boatinEnglaBd,  gndniJlj.iB. 
part  unconaciouBly,  joined  and  BtrraigUieM«d  it. 

3te[dien^Las^tmim  its- svolaad  head.  Selected  by  &no- 
cent,  M  T  hwFB  astd,  ^  ttwt  inflexible  conrtanef  and  coorage  of 
dwracter  whioh  wm  thought  mo«t  onnlaUe  to  coDfront  the  kii^,  &» 
pcmtiff^hadiMWWBoppartBiftyto  test  tbe  eDdamnee  of  this  qaaUtj, 
with  himself  H  its  ant^onist.  Tor  wot  with  iDnooent's  anthoii^ 
had  LoBgton  exacted  Ji^'a  wrth  fmrtibirty.  When  the  oardinal 
stepped  again  upon  his  nat^  mU,  aft«r  hia  long  and  partly 
voluntary  exile,  he  seened  to  haT«  1^  hclstid  him  every  afle^- 
onee  that  could  impinge  vpen  hie  f^'gations  as  an  Bngljatiman. 
No  msD  worthieri  of  the  highest  boaoars  of  the  name  exiata  in  onr 
rec(»^.  In  an  unlettered  age,  ho  bad  cultivated  with  poi&et 
aneeesc  tha  moat  ^agiztfi  «ecoeipli^uMnt»  of  poetry  ;  and  at  & 
time  apparently  the  moBtunfeTonrable  to  th«  growth  of  freedom, 
he  now  directied  emting*  dTBeonients,  which  might  have  WMtad  in 
camial  conflict  but  for  him,  tathe  establiahment  of  that  deep  and 
broad  dittinctiffD  between  a  &ea  and  a  despotic  monarchy,  of 
which  our  history,  throughout  all  the  varying'  fbrtanea  and  dia- 
aaters  that  awvhed  it,  never  afterwards  bst  the  trace.  Thift  wm 
the  work  of  Lasgton,  and  his  claim  to  eternal  memeiy.  "Fhe 
barms  were  a  rope  of  send  before  his  arrival.  He  concentrated 
dieir  wavering  purposes  and  seattered  ume. 

In  a  monA  after  the  scene  atWinchnter,  the  first  bold  step 
was  taken.  Esettcd  by  the  noble  explnt,  the  first  of  an  nunter- 
rupted  series,  of  the  English  navy  agwnst  the  French  fleet  at 
Damme  (th«  latter  thrice  ontnumhering  the  former,  yet  at  once 
dispersed  or  tak«n).  John  had  sudden^  resolved  to  Msnme  ib& 
offensive  against  Philip  and  carry  war  into  France  ;  and  he  anm- 
ntoned  the  leading  bsrons  by  their  allegiance  to  meet  him  oh  tlw 
French  coast.  Instead  of  obeying  the  summona  they  repaired  to 
St.  Albans,  and  held  a  council,  at  which  Laogton  waa  present ;  over 
which  Fitz-Peter  tJio  justiciary  presided  ;  and  where  was  first  nn- 
rtiUedthatcharterof  the  First  HcnrywUch  was  in  future  made  tie 
basis  of  what  they  now  resolved  to  claim,  '  The  copy  (aeeceding 
to  Roger  of  Wendever)  belonged  to  Langton,  and  was  supposed 
to  be  the  only  one  then  in  existence.  After  council,  the  daring 
restdve'  was  taken  to  send  forth  the  issve  of  its  deliberatiom  in  th» 
fivm  of  a  series  of  royal  proelamatimis.  In  tfaeee^  the  hnn 
granted  by  Henry  the  First  were  mdered  to  be  nnivePNdly 
observe  ;  and  capital  punishmetrts  were  denounced  Bgainat  tlw 


460  A  HIBTOBT  FOB  XOWSB  EKSLAKD. 

aheri^,  forestere,  or  officers  of  tlie  kiDg,  irho  elioold  sxceed  tlie 
strict  line  of  their  duty,  as  limited  by  those  laws. 

John  returned  from  France,  denouncing  vengeance.  Uilitory 
execution,  ho  said,  should  fall  upon  the  traitors ;  and  in  savage 
earnest  of  his  threat  he  let  loose  a  band  of  mercenaricB  on  the 
lands  of  his  reonsaut  nobles.  Langton  confronted  him  at  North- 
ampton, and  adjured  him  to  beware  of  the  violation  of  an  oath  ; 
reminding  him  that  vassals  must  suffer  by  tlie  judgment  of  their 
peers,  and  not  by  lawless  violence.  'Rule  you  tho  church,' 
shouted  the  king,  '  and  leave  me  to  rule  the  state.'  Ho  pushed 
<m  to  Nottingham,  andvas  there  again  confronted  by  the  cardinal; 
who  threatened,  if  tho  justice  of  a  trial  should  continue  to  be 
refused,  to  excommunicate  all,  iritb  exception  of  the  king  himself, 
engaged  iu  a  cause  so  impious.  John  yielded  ;  and  a  summons 
was  sent  to  the  accused  to  appear  before  himself  or  his  justices. 
A  summons  more  .surely  meant  to  be  obeyed,  was  at  the  fiame 
time  sent  to  them  from  Langton,  to  meet  at  St.  Paul's  in  London 
in  a  fortnight  from  that  date,  and  ascertain  the  damages  sustained 
in  the  recent  quarrel. 

Tbey  met ;  ostensibly  with  that  purpose  ;  but  what  really 
passed  is  told  by  Uatbew  of  Paris.  Lsjigton  drew  the  Barons 
aside  as  they  entered,  and  having  privately  appealed  to  each  to 
forego  his  mere  personal  claim,  again  publicly  produced  the  charter 
of  Henry  Beauclerc,  read  it  aloud  (few  of  his  noble  hearers  could 
have  done  that),  and,  amid  loud  acclamations,  commented  on  its 
outraged  provisions,  one  by  one.  It  is  added  by  the  writer  of  the 
contemporary  Annals  of  Wavorly,  in  proof  of  the  enthusiasm  thus 
excited,  that  Langton  availed  himself  of  it  to  administer,  before  the 
meeting  closed,  an  oath  to  every  baron  assembled,  solemnly 
binding  them  to  each  other  to  achieve  the  recovery  of  those 
liberties,  or  to  die  in  the  struggle.  The  sword  was  now  drawn, 
and  the  scabbard  cast  away. 

His  Holiness  became  alarmed  for  his  English  fief.  Cardinal 
Nicholas  of  Tusculum  camo  hastily  to  England  with  tbe  title 
of  legate,  and  with  importunate  letters  to  Langton.  The  king 
caught  at  this  hope  of  help  with  desperate  energy ;  renewed  to 
him  bis  oath  of  fealty  ;  and,  with  a  prostrate  eagerness  of  self- 
debasement,  offered  to  do  him  bomage  as  the  papal  representative, 
though,  byprevious  agreement,  bound  to  do  this  only  to  his  Holiness 
himself.  The  offer  was  accepted,  and  the  second  surrender  of 
England  to  Rome  took  place  in  Westminster  at  the  Cbristmae 


A  HIBTOST  FOR  TOinifi  SKGIiANS.  iiSl 

featiral  of  1213.  But  not  without  intermptioii  did  this  Eecond 
Holemn  degradation  pass.  Langtos  came  forward  with  a  protest, 
and  laid  it  upon  the  altar  at  its  close.  The  legate  returned  to 
Rome  with  his  new  'forma  jnramenti  fidelitatis,'  sealed  with 
gold  ;  and  .with  report  to  Innocent,  that  John  was  the  most  piotu 
of  princes,  and  Langton  the  most  factions  of  archbishopB. 

Before  a  new  step  waa  taken  nearly  a  year  had  passed,  occu- 
pied by  the  disastroua  campaign  in  France  which  ended  at  the 
battle  of  Beauvines,  and  brought  bock  J<Aa  to  a  more  inglorious 
struggle,  for  which,  on  the  side  of  the  Barons,  the  interval  had 
been  well  prepared.  His  iatemperance  gave  them  tbe  occasion 
for  which  ^one  they  waited.  His  gross  indulgences  had  never 
been  so  scandalous  or  violent  as  between  the  October  and  Novem- 
ber of  1214.  The  Justiciary  Fitz  Petor  had  tJways  exerted  some 
control,  and  his  death  was  the  first  welcome  iiews  that  saluted 
John's  return.  '  It  is  well,'  he  cried;  *  in  Hell  he  may  again  shake 
hands  with  primato  Herbert,  for  surely  he  will  find  him  there,  He 
leaves  me  here,  God's  teeth  !  atlastthe  lord  of  England.'  Buteven 
as  he  spoke,  the  Grand  Confederacy  was  in  motion.  The  20th  of 
November  was  the  Festival  of  St.  Edmund's,  and  an  oj^rtu- 
tunity  for  aaseabling  in  numbers  without  awaking  suspicion.  All 
the  Barons  in  the  league  met  accordingly  on  that  day  in  the 
abbey,  on  pretence  of  celebrating  the  s^t'sfestival,  but  in  reality 
to  mature  their  plan  of  future  proceeding  ;  to  define  the  different 
liberties  on  which  they  were  prepared  to  insist ;  and  to  resolve  on 
demanding  them  in  a  body  from  the  king  at  the  approaching 
festival  of  Christmas.  Bdbre  they  separated,  each  baron,  ac- 
cording to  his  station,  advanced  singly  to  the  lugh  altar,  and, 
laying  his  hand  upon  it,  took  solemn  oath  to  withdraw  his  fealty 
from  John  if  he  should  continue  to  refuse  the  rights  demanded ; 
and  further,  until  the  unreserved  concession  of  those  tights,  to  levy 
war  upon  him.  -  - 

The  End  was  now  begun  ;  and,  from  this  memorable  day  until 
tlie  day  of  Runnymede,  Langton  seema  to  have  remained  by  the 
Eude  of  the  king.  The  inference  that  he  was  become  in  any  respect 
^vourable  to  him,  is  monstrous.  It  was  even  at  this  time,  wliile,  with 
Pembroke  and  with  Warreune,  he  was  almost  the  only  iilastrious  or 
powerful  Englishman  who  remained  with  the  banner  of  John,  that 
he  rejected  with  haughty  and  storn  refuBal  that  final  appeal  from 
his  spiritual  chief  at  Rome  which  inveighed  against  his  participa- 
tion  in  the  injustice  of  refusing  to  John  those  rights  wluch  the 


Upl:«l  by  Google 


MS  M  Bnmr  fob  Yoma  weuani. 

a««B  had  ptaaeabij  pawiewiQd  during  tb«  reigna  of  jhis  &tber  aM 
hraHar  ;  which  chMiged  Jnm,  ^e  utdAiBh^  iritli  ha«n|;  fattwHtod 
the  vbalfi  dutuH)uioe ;  and  ifUch  ooaMaaded  hm,  oa  pain  oi 
'flzooiQiBinkalJeti,  to  exert  )ub  Authority  to  nealore  peace  betveen 
dM  king  tod  U*  vwHate.  The  tnatb  u  tlwi  Langton  r»- 
joined  the  kiag  to  coBtml  ha  itaaobtttfiim  yMenee,  ss  he  had 
MHOciaied  with  the  harans  to  canoaBtiBie  deir  wavering  pur- 
poe&  He  woe  wilh  Ji^b  vhea  de  great  Twnnln  and  tenMcta 
doMPted  his  winiaioaB  to  the  laaiKt  at  Wareealer,  aod  left  hko  to 
A^bnbehu  Cinataaae  featiratftlaite.  When  tine  king  left  Wmv 
narter  st^dealj,  cane  le  Laadan,  land  shut  btcMelf  i^i  ia  Ite 
Dearie,  Luigtcn  waa  itill  ia.Htteadaiue  ob  biia.  His  i»ot«ve 
aai^  be  seen  in.  the '  firtt  tiaagartkn  irtiiA  took  pWe  «a  the  ap> 
lieaiaitw  if  the  eonfadceated  huwn  at  Idw  gates  loF  the  Temple. 
Uaihav  of  Pans  dcBDiAes  it  tine :  '  H«re,  than  (to  the  Jiffw 

*  Sm^  Ina),  cai&e  ta  the  r  kag  tite  Bforasaid  great  bseonfl,  in  s 
'Tety  fWDlate  mmDn',  'with  tkir  Toiiitarj  draMea  and  iveapOH, 
'  vkigtf  demaadisg  the  £barties  .awl'  laira  of  kiog  £dffiani,  witH 
'  ol^Ks,  bar  themselFea,  the  kiDgdom,  aad  &e  Chonoh  of  £ag^aiidi 

*  is  he.  granjbed  and  confinned  aceording  to  the  [chavter  of  King 
'  Henry  tlie  Firat.  £ut  the  Icing  Juwcing^  that  tJu  btttotu  werea* 
'  ceadute  in  iheir  detnaMb,  vaa  xeauAi  oaneemed  ab  their  hapeto- 
'  ■aHj.  And  ndten  he  aaw  tb^:  tfa)y  weae  furuM^  for  battle,  he 
^  x^ied  that  k  -naa  a  gieat  and  difSeult  thii^  a^^  the;  adied, 
'hem  vAit^haxenxmed  a,rw|Bte'mtti}«fterEaBGer,  that  be  might 
'iune-^aoe  lar  caastdoatioB ;  and  if  it  were  in  tfe'powBrttfhao- 
'  aelf  la  the  ^goity  Kif  hit  -oroim,  l^Mf  ebould  leanre  eatie&etion. 
'  But  st  kagth,  after  loaiif'^ropoBid*,  thBkmg-vMmUm^lftaMi- 
■MHfcdfimttiieAriifaib^iepof  Osuteifairy,  the  Biahap  of  Ely,  and 

*  'HSlliam.MarflhaJl^ari  <i  FemlK'okA)  abouU  heinade  auretiM  ; 
'«ndtbBth}'PUHiiioftheH-ittte]!caan(Mii,«othedaD'£Ked,he  wmdd 
'  satisfy  all. '  For  offices  of  this  nature,  never  a^cUBg>  te  oaoeeal 
IIm  -part  he  Jtad  t^an  or  4he  eKcrtaaaB  he  wbb  atiU  prepared  to 
naka,  Laogtfiii,  tn-Jns  ebmcter  of une  af  the  great  digmtades  «f 
Mate,  cantuned  .bf  the  aide  of  tte  king. 

On^twohaoonBAikdaMehAahap  oiikeVimSedxgmj^baddaiak 
tram  Ab  ccdeAl.tff  tJu>  ittt  ^wMNal  enMiHier  wifli  John,  lite 
Bsd  >af  Cheatec  Ike  Lead  W^illjsm  B»ffier.  iMtd  «i»e  bu^  sf 
Wiacbeatec'WMt'tKTerto  his  aide.  The  Mat  'ware  iaumnabte-; 
aad  haw  ibrndda^,  &b  kiag  aemaa  far  tha  &et  time  te  haiie 
Sek.    a«  fpm§oaeiim  caadea;  Mut  te  ElnwhM  and  Fvitm 

.Coo'jic 


tar  tbe  ««vic«  of  iforeigB  TMWili  i  pv^itivted  i£e  ^BagKA  oiBrgj 
^-enermoiiBMid.iitieia-il  cosDasakaB  ;«rd£»d'^3beniSB'toteiul8r 
the  OKth  of  aUei^aBceto.tliefreeiacnioftfaediSaiMdaMMtiBB;  Bad, 
■tD  Mcnre  ito  hasn^tbe  pimleges  And  ii:g^utt  a^icli  UvolHiitdli 
gave  tO'^^nHodeTB,  ea^traeed  .the  'Ci^m.  But  ite  vfnii  sfti^er 
»rert  tbe  appntadt  of  that  &tftl  Easter,  nor  «cUset  SFound  hie 
«taDda*d  AH  wiaikrUe  fores  of  Ksktanoe.  ^&be  fcan>Ba:met  ia 
rthe  appoiiited  ireek  »t  Stun&rd,  And  MMmpsimd  i>y  wore  ibm 
tiro  dtbannd  knighti,  ibeir  eBCpMeB  a*d  ^«YieiK,  nivched  4o 
Bni^ej.  The  Jung  was  but  a  fenr  nullea  dlttaiit,  ti  Oxfoid. 
SetmsB  tbe  -two  plaoee,  Langton,  Praabn^e,  jand  WHTCone, 
jmomiBdMBed  to  aaoertain  tiieir  peecise  demands,  met  the  liiiiliiiii 
of  the  banai';  «Bd  «fter  ttritif  cotrfvenee  toc^  baokiarpapcr  tc 
jdie  king. 

'  Tfa^nt^htae  well  hwre  decaxBdetl  mj  vown'I '  he  fanraaiy 
rexolaimed,  on  fawoisg  this  paper  read.  ■  Do  Amy  AiaV  1  yrSi 
'  grant  them  libeotiee  which  will  make  me  a  AvtB  2  '  Tbe  trords 
-neay  strifcii^y  esfreen  for  what  prnpaae  theu  xata  faod  tdken 
■ftnns.  It  was  io  «Bbjeet  the  sovereign  to^  donuition  nrlnch  th^ 
themselrea  and  their  special  claims  TtfprmeaUA  kw  peifecdf 
-Jihaii  dtat  gemrol  pnnciple  of  fieaittaiiee  whicii  tfaej  aJso  grandly 
-embodied.  LaMgioB  anid  ■Ak  J:faataaB%iaaera  'mre  roHaaded  vitii 
-seroral  esMiTe  pn^Bals,  suoecssivelj  r^eeted  b^  the  bartau. 
'  We  stand  to  our  or^nal  demande,'  tkej  seid;  'aad  DottBog 
'  -short  ■iH  tkeae  ean  mwr  content  ns.'  A  stiwBge  diseunioo  as- 
sued  in  <(hft  Idnq^'a  oai^.  Faodulf  and  the  Bishop  of  Esel«r,  tlte 
tnoBt  tnnted  ef  John's  wlvieers,  were  for  tijiflg,  as  in  tite  last 
resort,  the  effect  of  excommunication .;  tait  Langton,  ivhen  re- 
^nundedtbathie-waiibonndtoeMreiie  ttuBaT^fnz)ctiBnbj''Oider  of 
-the  pontiff,  replied  ^Kt  he  wan  better  acquainted  tn^ithe-d-otiee 
of  his  epi  ritual  lord,  amd-t^al  if  heaaadUa  pewee,  it  should  not  be 

X'nst  the'<b«TBn8  at  fisaeklej,  d>ut  against  those  foreign  troops 
no)T  Burraunded  th«m  in  Oxford,  wad  i^iem  it  s«e  tbe  dut^, 
Ml  it  -would  ^  4be  iaimatt  of  Ae  k^g,  ^to  Bend  back  te  wheace 
they  came. 

■In tttter dospatt,  Jdin«fered.BBe wore BBM>peo»i»e^  Tbwmatins 
itt  dispute  he  -propMed  to  refer  to  lune  arbiters  ;  fonr  eiBs«n  ia 
&a  barenB,-fear  >ehoeen  by  haDeelf,  and  the  Fiq>e  aotiug  as  tiM 
ninth  4  b^  wlieae  decision,  or  the  dmrision  of  the  tai^anty,  -be 
would  alnde.  TUa  was  also  -refused  ;  and  as  the  wmtiiimnew 
left;  -the  tcamp,  A»  barons,  to  dose  oB  Atrthw  arcnae  of  ^bopc,  f  n» 

Coo'jic 


401  A  BISTORT  POB  TOtTHfi  EKQLAND, 

cliumed  thetUBelves  '  tiie  army  of  God  and  his  holj  olitircl],'  and 
elected  lUibert  Fitswalter  aa  thrar  head.  Fitzvalter  had  suffered 
pecoliar  and  terrible  wrong  at  the  hands  of  John  ;  and  with 
EuBtace  de  VeBci,  who  had  also  a  personal  quarrel  to  avenge,  had 
been  most  active  and  efficient  in  the  Grand  Confederacy. 

A  month  decided  aU.  Northampton  wae  first  invested  by  Fits- 
waiter :  the  burgesses  of  Bedford  then  forced  their  governor  to 
Open  their  gates ;  while  in  this  latter  city,  an  invitation  woa 
received  fi-om  (he  principal  London  citizens  :  and  on  the  mominff 
of  the  17th  of  May,  1215,  the  army  of  God  and  his  holy  church 
entered  and  occi^ied  the  metropolis.  Proclamations  were  now 
issued  to  the  barons  and  knights  throaghout  England  hitherto 
nentral :  statbg  their  objects,  their  resources,  and  their  resolve  to 
treat  as  enemies  all  who  were  not  friends  :  and  these  appeals  were 
largely  answered.  It  is  idle,  say  the  old  historians,  to  recount  the 
barons  who  composed  and  completed  that  national  army ;  they 
were  the  whole  nobility  of  England.  It  is  supposed  that  when 
John,  soon  after  the  occupation  of  London,  sent  Pembroke  t«  treat 
submisaively,  he  had  not  ten  of  the  more  powerful  barons  as- 
sembled under  his  banner. 

But  it  was  in  circumstances  such  as  these  that  his  profound 
hypocrisy  served  him  as  a  kind  of  resource.  He  had  now  assumed 
an  tur  of  cheerfiilnesii.  Pembroke  was  ordered  to  tell  the  con- 
federates that  their  petitions  should  be  granted.  It  only  remained 
to  name  the  day  and  the  place.  He  was  himself  at  Windsor  at 
this  time  ;  the  barons  were  encamped  at  Staines ;  and  the  place 
was  fixed  at  a  flat  green  meadow  by  the  river  side  between,  and 
the  day  on  the  15th  June. 

On'the  15th  of  June,  1215,  there  accordioglyhegan, upon  the  plain 
of  Runnymede,  the  most  meinorable  transaction  of  the  English 
history.  Two  encampments,  slightly  apart  from  each  other,  were 
formed  upon  it.  John  sate  upon  the  one  side  attended  by  Lang- 
ton  and  eight  bishops  ;  by  the  papal  envoy,  Pandulf  ;  by  Almerio, 
the  Master  of  the  Templars  ;  by  William  of  Pembroke  ;  by  the 
Earls  of  Salisbury,  Warrenne,  Arundel,  and  Hubert  de  Biirgh  j 
and  by  ten  other'  gentlemen  ;  of  which  scemt  attendance  of  advisers 
many  were  known  to  be  hostile.  On  the  other  side  stood  Fitz- 
waiter,  and  a  majority  of  the  whole  English  nobility.  The  firflt 
proceeding  was  to  enact  certain  securities  for  the  due  obserranOe 
of  the  instrument  which  the  king  was  to  be  called  upon  to  sigs> 
It  was  required  that  he  should  disband  and  diunisa  all  ha  farogn 


A  HIBTOBT  FOB  TOnKS  U&UHD.  4W 

mercenaries,  their  famOiea  and  foUowerB;  ihat  Loodon  shsflld 
remain  in  pOBsession  of  tbe  boroas  for  tiro  montlia  more,  and  the 
tower  be  held  by  Langton  for  the  same  additional  time  ;  and  that 
twentj-five  barons,  of  their  own  nmnber,  to  be  then  and  tiure 
chosen,  should  be  named  guardians  or  conservators  of  the  pabfic 
libertieH,  with  power,  in  case  of  an;  breach  of  those  liberties,  aa 
that  d&j  to  be  defined,  to  declare  war  againt  tbe  king,  and  to 
sumiaon  to  arms  the  freemen  of  ereiy  county.  These  securities, 
dulj  recited,  were  unheHitatioglj  given  ;  and  then, — the  Tarious 
heads  of  grievance  and  proposed  means  of  redress  having  been  one 
by  one  discussed,  and  tho  document  in  which  they  were  reduced 
to  legal  shape  having  been  formally  admitted  by  the  king, — there 
was,  on  the  fourth  day  from  the  opening  of  the  conference  (Friday, 
the  I9th  of  June  1215,)  unrolled,  read  out  aloud,  and  subscribed 
by  John,  the  formal  instrument  which  thus  at  last  embodied,  in  fifty- 
seven  chapters,  the  completed  demands  of  the  Great  Confederacy, 
and  which  is  immortalised  in  histoiy  as  the  Ooeat  Charteb. 

The  reader  who  has  accoinpaoiM  me  so  far  will  not  require  to 
be  reminded  that  our  English  liberties  were  not  created  by  Una 
Charter.  Ita  inexpressible  value  was,  that  it  corrected,  confirmed, 
and  re-established  ancient  and  indisputable,  though  continually 
violated,  public  nghts  ;  that  it  abolished  the  most  grievous  of  the 
abuses  that  had  crept  into  existing  laws  ;  that  it  gave  anew  tone, 
bygivjng  a  definite  and  substantial  form,  to  future  popular  hopes  and 
aspirations ;  that,  without  attempting  to  frame  a  new  code,  or 
even  to  inculcate  any  grand  or  general  principles  of  legislation,  it 
did  in  efiect  accomplish  both,  because,  in  insisting  upon  the  just 
discharge  of  special  feudal  relations,  it  affirmed  a  principle  of 
equity  which  was  found  generally  aj^cable  far  beyond  tiiem ; 
that  it  turned  into  a  tangible  possession  what  before  was  fleeting 
and  undetermined ;  and  that  throughout  all  tbe  centuries  that 
succeeded,  it  was  violated  by  every  English  king  and  appealed  to 
by  every  straggling  section  of  the  English  people. 

Many  of  its  provisitats  I  need  not  refer  to,  beyond  the  mention 
that  they  redressed  grievances  of  the  military  tenants,  hardly 
intelligible  now  since  the  downfall  of  the  system  of  foods,  but 
then  very  bitterly  felt.  Rehefs  were  limited  to  a  certain  sum,  as 
settled  by  ancient  precedent ;  the  -wflste  committed,  and  tbe  unrea- 
sonable services  exacted,  by  gUardiftO*  ^  chivalry  were  restrained  ; 


the  disparagement  in  matrimoay  rj'e»jj(8le  wards  was  forbidden ;  and 
willows  were  secured  from  coniv.         -rf  U  '     ' 

»o.  iTi,._Toi.  m.       ^>>a,»" 


a  jnarriage  and  other  wrongs. 


,11  :«l  by  Google 


ItB-  remedMB-  m  theoe  pointa  were  aztanded  sat  al<nte  to  dte  vas- 
sds,  but  tl>»  Bab-TMi<il»  <st  the  erown.  Ad  tiw  Bame  tini»  the 
frMielus«B,  th«  "tuiewDt  libwtiM,  itnd'ft'ee'  etutoms"  of  the  eitj 
of  LendoD,  and  of  all  towns  tmi  bcwongbi,  wercdeet&red  iDTiolable. 
Freedom  of  conmi^e  ma  atso  g««raDt«ed  to  foFeign  merchants, 
Wftli  a  proviso  t»  Hie-  king  to  arrest  them  for  gecority  in  time  of 
irar,  gmd  keep  tkem  till  ike-  treottDeiit  of'  oiv-  own  mercbaata  in 
the  eaemy'e  country  sfaoold  be  known.  The  court  eetabliahed  for 
tl>»  heariog  of  cotunon  pteaft  wi>»  restricted  from'  following  the 
img'a  person,  Nid  find  at  Weetmiiinter.  And  the  tyrannj 
ezNcised  in  and  concraning  t^e  Hojid  Forertg,  was  dedsiv^y 
con^oUed. 

A  remarkable  prsriNOn  bad  relatisB  to  the  lery  of  aids  sad 
s0Otagea>  It  was  not  in  the  articles  originall;  snbmttted  to  the- 
king;  and  nniet  be  Bnpposed  to  hove-  be«u  Buggeeted-  in  tiie  course 
of  Mb*)  faur  da^'  cwferetice  at  Runnjmede.  Them  aids,  in 
conseqa€itee  of  the  frequent  foreign  expeditdooi,  had  become  of 
nearly  annual  reenrrence,  and  were  farmed  out  with  pecnliu'cirenm- 
stance  of  hardship.  The  provision  in  qneetion  now  limited  tfaeir 
esaiction  to  the  throe  acknowledged  legal  cases — the  king's  per- 
sonal efiptiTitj,  the  knightheod  of  his  eldest  son,  and  the  marriage 
of  his  eldest  daughter ;  and  in  case  aid  or  ssutage  should  be 
required  on  snj  other  occasion,  it  rendered  necessary  the  previous 
consent  of  tbe  great  council  of  the_,tenaats  of  the  crown.  It 
proceeded  to  emuiierate  the  members  of  this  ci>nncil,  as  orch- 
biehope,  bisbopa,  abbots,  earls,  and  greater  barons,  who  ahonld 
be  summoned  personally  by  writ ;  and  as  tUl  othw  tenants 
in'  chief  of  the  crown,  who  dioald  be  snamMBed  generally  by 
the  sheriff.  The  summons  was  to  be  isaned  forty  days  before- 
hand, and  was  to  specif  the  time  and  place  and  intended  subjeet 
of  diBcnssion.  Notwithstanding  the  careM  limitation  of  this 
article  to  royal  tenants  and  to  purposes  of  supply,  nothing  in  the 
Charter  was  so  hateful  to  succeeding  princes.  It  was  soon  formally 
expunged;  it  was  never  formaDy  restored.  Yet  other  and  larger 
privileges  silently  arose  in  its  ^aee,  and  no  tme  wa»  found  in 
later  years  who  dared  to  violate  them  openly. 

I  need  not  dwell  upon  many  sm^Ew  hut  most  umful  pvvi- 
sions  for  the  better  administration  of  justioc,  for  tbe  stricter  regu- 
lation of  assize,  for  temporary  claims  and  aMessitiefl  in  Scotland 
and  Wales,  for  mitigation  of  the  rights  of'^f#e  emption  possessed 
by  the  crown,  and  for  the  allowance^  of  lifclHiy  of  travel  to  every 


fremiaii  txaeptiii^  in  time^oE  wAr.  Ipreeead  tO'Sametboseg^iutdep 
pFOTiei  ana  which  proved  ap^icftble  to  all  placeS'  and  timech.  whieli 
held  mthin  them  the  gerra  of  our  greate^  cmat^utiMial  libortia*^ 
and'  which  hiii7«  seenred  laetiog  gralitiidft  and  veaeiatiea  to  iJia 
autkoTB  of  the-  GireAl  Charto'. 

These  were  the  ekuees  which  pr«l«eted.  dm  peraonal  liberty 
and  prop»Lj  of  alL  freemen,  Vj  foimdiog  awessible  Beonritiee' 
against  atbitraEf  uBpEieomaent  and  arhibmn;  Bpa)iation>.  '  Wq 
'  will  atA  eel],  we  will  not  recuse,  «e  will  not  defer,  rigbti  or  juatkB 
'  to'anj  one,'  wae  th«  simple  and  nsUe  pfstesL^ainBt  aiciutoni' 
common  until  than,  but  nevei:  Ihemc^orward  to  h«-  pnaetiaed  withoiUi 
secret  (»ime  or  open  shame.  The  liiir^-Biath  clause  (beginning 
with  thai  rude  lati^y  of  »ullw  Uber  homa  whieh  Liwd  Chathai^ 
thought  worth,  aJl  tko  alaaaicB}  s^pulaled,  in  the  latne  gieat  apirit, 
that  BO  fieemftD  should  be  aireatttd^  w  impriMned,.  or  diMeiaedi 
of  hia  laad,  on  oiill>n«d«  or  destroyed  in  an;  nuwner ;  dot  should 
the  hisg  go  apon^  bdm,  nor-  send  upon  hire,  but  by  tlte  lawfdl  judg- 
meot  of  hia  peen,  or  by  the  law  of  die  land.  And  a  supplementaij 
clause,  not  less  worthy,  provided  that  eai^  and  barona  ahould  b« 
amerced!  by  tbeu  peera  only  and  accOTding;  to  the  nature  of  theitr 
ofienog  ;  IJUt  £re(»nen  should  ntrf  be  amereed  heavily  for  a  aasU 
fault,  but  aAer  the  manner  of  the  default,  nor  above  measure  for 
a  great  tisnegTeastoB ;  saning  always  to  Uie  freeholder  his  ireehold, 
tothemefofaaothismeFcllBBdiee,  sodlto  a  vilhun  (except  he  wastiie 
king's  villun)  his  waiuage,  or  imptsmeats  of  husbwidry  ;  and  that 
aueh  amerciam^tta-shoald  be  imposed  by  the  oath  of  tiie  good 
men  of  the  neighbourhood.  And  the  operation  of  all  this  was 
extended,  as  before  remarked,  to  the  sub-vaseiUs  ae  well  as  vassals. 
It  was  provided  that  every  liberty  and  custom  wiich  the  king  had. 
graated  to  his  tenants,  as  far  as  coacemed  Um,  sho«ld  be  obserred 
by  the  clergy  and  laity  towards  their  tenants,,  as  for  as  concerned. 

Such,  in  its  leading  provisions,  was  the  Qreat  Charter.  Nor 
did  its  manifest  omissions,  or  the  limited  bearing  of  even  its  greatest 
remedial  clauseB,  avtul  against  its  mighty  and  resistless  effect 
through  the  succeeding  centuries.  Could  its  framers  have  foresees 
this,  they  might  have  paused.  Certain  is  it  that  all  the  potent 
secrets  included  in  their  work  were  not  known  to  them.  They  could 
not  have  suspected  that  under  words  which  were  intended  to  limit  tha 
relations  of  feudal  power,  manyof  die  most  extended  truths  of  a  just 
and  equit^Ie  polity  lay  concealed,  as  though  afrud  to  shew  them- 


468  A  HIBTOBI  rOB  YOUira  XHSLABD. 

wires  till  a  milder  And  more  anepicioiu  dttj.  Thej  denied  pro- 
tection to  eerfB,  Bnd  knew  not  tiiat  what  had  given  them  that 
Teiy  power  of  denial  had  rent  asunder  for  ever  the  bonds  of 
Engfish  serfdom.  Thej  protest«d  against  the  power  of  taxa- 
tion in  a  prince  vhile  they  reserved  it  in  limitation  for  them- 
selves, ignorant  that  the  formidable  principle  wonld  bear  down  the 
weak  exception.  They  demanded  the  regular  Bnmmoning  of  a 
great '  conncil  to  control  the  king,  and  dreamt  not  that  within 
fifty  years  the  tenants  of  the  crown  to  whom  they  hmited  that 
council,  would  insensihly  yield  to  the  admissioa  of  bm-gesses  and 
kni^ts  by  the  ferms  of  popular  election.  They  asserted  a  prin- 
ciple and  could  not  stay  its  course.  All-powerful  as  they  were, 
QieBe  iron  barons  of  Mertou,  they  eould  not  cltum  its  operation  in 
one  case,  and  control  it  in  another.  Their  part  was  illuetrions, 
but  was  not  all.  It  was  enough  for  them,  and  enough  for  the 
admiration  with  which  we  regard  them,  to  hare  conceived  the  great 
and  prudent  thought,  that  when  <mce  the  rust  of  the  Norman 
Conquest  had  been  worn  out  of  the  souls  of  men,  the  various  and 
discordant  elements  of  England  could  never  be  moulded  into  any 
safe  poliUcal  form,  without  a  distinct  admiasion,  however  limited, 
of  political  privileges,  and  a  nominally  general  concession,  how- 
ever anfairly  hampered,  of  civil  rights  of  liberty  and  property. 
The  personal  pride,  the  impatience  of  kingly  wrong,  in  which  that 
thought  began,  has  not  availed  to  check  the  reverence  now  foiriy 
due  to  it.  It  vas  for  future  time  to  purge  the  BelfishneBs  and 
leave  the  greatness.  It  was  for  a  posterity  that  has  heaped  upon 
these  men  praise  they  would  have  trampled  on  as  ineolence,  to 
demonstrate  the  inherent  force  and  inexhaustible  power  of  the 
simple  spirit  of  KESiatAiicE  to  irresponsible  tyranny,  whether 
lodged  under  a  peasant's  jerkin,  or  within  a  baron's  mail.  The 
five  centuries  that  followed  the  scene  at  Bnnnytnede  were  filled  with 
the  struggles  of  freedom  ;  and  never,  at  any  new  efi'ort,  were  the 
provisions  of  this  feudal  charter  appealed  to  in  vain.  Evra  when 
silent  in  themselves,  the  spirit  from  which  they  took  life  still  gave 
itself  forth  irresistibly  ;  in  accents  of  warning  and  terror,  or  of 
strength  and  consolation.  Thirty-two  times  were  they  solemnly 
re-affirmed  and  re- established  ;  thirty-two  several  times  had  they 
heen  deliberately  violated  by  profligate  nunisters  and  insolent 
kings. 

The  names  of  the  twenty-Sve  barons  selected  as  its  guardians 
and  conaerrators  nay  now  be  given.     The  reader  will  find  in  a 

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A  BUTOKT  Foa  Tomra  exqlaho.  iSB 

Bnbseqoent  list  the  name  <tf  Heary  de  Londres,  Arohbialiog  of 
Dublin,  a  man  of  great  karning,  spirit,  and  courage ;  wfaoi  for 

.  MTcral  jearB,  administered  hia  arcnbishopric  in  defiance  of  an 
interdict,  and  with  a  sentence  of  ezcommimication  inq»eDding  over 

'  him  ;  and  these  recitala,  with  the  names  alreadj  familiar,  will 
show  the  chief  promoters  of  Maoita  Charta.  They  were, 
Richard  de  Clare,  Earl  of  Clare ;  William  de  Fortibos,  Earl  of 
Anmerle  ;  Geoflre;  de  MandeTille,  Earl  of  Qlouceater  ;  Saber  de 
Quincj,  Earl  of  Winchester  ;  Henry  de  Bohmi,  Earl  of  Hereford ; 
Roger  Bigod,  Earl  of  Norfolk  ;  Robert  de  Vere.  Earl  of  Oxford  ; 
William  Mareschall,  Junior  ;  Robert  Fitz-Walter ;  Qilbert  de 
Clare;  Eustace  de  VeHcy;  William  deHardell,  Mayor  of  London  ; 
\miiam  de  Mowbray ;  Geofrey  de  Say  ;  Roger  de  Mumbezon 
(Mount  Begon) ;  William  de  Huntingfield  ;  Robert  de  Rob  ;  Jolm 
de  Lacy,  the  Constable  of  Chester  ;  William  de  Albeniac  ;  Richard 
de  Percy ;  William  Malet ;  John  Fits-Robert ;  William  de 
Lanvalay  ;  Hugh  Bigod  ;  and  Richard  de  Montfitchet. 

The  barons  recited  in  the  Charter  itself,  as  baring  recom- 
mended it  to  the  king  by  their  council,  are  known,  though  the  most 
part  with  decisive  inclinings  to  the  confederat«d  barons,  to  have 
remained  nominally  under  the  standard  of  the  king.  They  were, 
Stephen,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury ;  Henry,  Archbi^op  of 
Dublin  ;  William  of  Londmi,  Peter  of  Winchester,  Joceline  of  Badi 
and  Glastonbury,  Hugh  of  Lincoln,  Walter  of  Worcester,  William 
of  Coventry,  and  Benedict  of  Rochester,  Bishops  ;  Fandulph, 
the  Pope's  Snbdeacon  and  Familiar ;  Brother  Almeric,  Master  of 
the  Ejiight-Temphu-a  in  England ;  William  Mareschal,  Earl 
of  Pembroke ;  William,  Earl  of  Salisbury ;  >^^lliam.  Earl  of 
Warrene  ;  William,  Earl  of  Arundel ;  Alan  de  Galloway,  Con- 
stable of  Scotland;  Warin  FitE-Gerald ;  Hubert  de  Bnivh, 
Seneschal  of  Poictou  ;  Peter  Fitz-Herbert,  Hngh  de  Kevil,  Mat~ 
thew  Fitz-Herbert,  Thomas  Basset,  Alan  Basset,  Philip  de- 
Albiniac,  Robert  de  Roppel,  John  Mareechal,  and  John  Fita- 
Hugh. 

John  lived  fifteen  months  ^er  the  great 'transactiims  at  Ron- 
nymede,  but  lived  only  with  the  hope  of  reversing  them,  by  force 
or  treachery.  He  had  kept  throughout  the  four  days  the  pretence 
of  cheerfulness  ;  had  spoken  witii  courtesy  and  kmdness  to  even 
hia  leading  opponents  ;  bad  issued  his  writs  to  the  aherifis  of  the 
counties  to  read  ereiywhere  the  ctntents  of  the  Charter  and  sweaE  - 

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■Ik^inrr  to  ite  -tw«i>t;<fiTe  comeFraton  ;  Mid  fia&Ujc.  ntt  Ae 
■tmoBt  show  of  graciaoB&en,  hndi,  ca  ihe  -doBuig  i»y  of  Ae  atm.- 
Jeiwce,  -takm  Uck  igaiD  all  the  mrolted  Immmb  for  his  litccnw, 
«nd  grantal  tkem  dieir  former  esUtee  -uid  kMwnra.  S^  case 
laft  -wid)  hia  ctOKtwea,  die  mask  fdl.  He  onnetl  the  day 
tf  Ua  btrdi,  he  ginwbed  hia  teeth,  he  rolled  his  ey*s,  he  gMnwd 
Btioka  ftnd  Btnws,  and  nnderwent  ib%  ridicaloiu  phrensy  of  a  mad- 
-man.  The  pt^talar  aotjon  of  the  fint  hepdeoa  tnteut  ii  hb 
liiwwiiilitiiii'  inay  be  gveiaed  at  from  the  grave  tussertion  of  UKthevr 
df  Paris,  who  telle  vm  diat  be  epent  the  day  afler  the  aignotaie  of 
^e  charter  at  Windaor,  skulked  sMtcy  tbe  Jtert  DMnnmg  -to  Ae 
Isle  of  'Wight,  took  up  the  prtrfesNon  of -a  pirste,  and  psased  Ihwn 
BKmthfi  in  the  island,  -or  at  sea  in  the  oompany  of  awrinerB. 
Fablic  i«cordB  proye  that  diia  eonld  not  have  bees,  fiis  fint  acta 
duiwei  a  coUeoted  and  practical  treachery,  madi  more  oougeoial 
■with  his  mature.  He  sent  two  deputations  to  the  Continent.  One 
was  charged  to  hire  adventurers  and  meroenariei  for  his  standard  ; 
&B  a&BT  to  inqtlore  the  powerful  interpositJoii  of  Rome,  on  the 
ground  tfiat  aonceenons  ext«rted  A-om  the  Tassal  vere  insnlta 
offered  to  Ae  autfaoritj  of  the  lord.  This  dtme,  he  ordered  all  bis 
eastiee  to  be  provisioned  and  fortified,  and  set  famnelf  to  the  'derice 
of  flcfaemes  for  aurprite  of  the  capital. 

Seoret  intelligeBee  of  some  such  meaenres  would  seem  to  hare 
Teadied  '^e  trimnpbant  karouB  when  in  full  preparation  fer  v, 
aoagnificent  tevraament  at  Stamford,  to  be  fougbt  in  oriebration 
«f  Romiymede.  The  pupoee  vaa  immedutely  forebca-ne ;  and 
■fter  fruitleas  attempts  io  wani  and  rscorer  the  king  (in  whidi 
th^  3oBt  valuable  time),  their  trumpet  eeunded  te  arms  more 
deqtente.  The  first  struggle  took  {dace  under  the  walls  of  Ko<Aiester 
Ga^e,  which  ultimately  smrenderod  to  the  king.  Mn^eBaries 
poured  in  daily  to  his  etandard,  and  iiie  baress  seem  io  have  'befm 
perplexed  at  the  suddenneas  of-tiie  morememt  against  them. 

The  «iege  of  Ilochester  had  scafoe^  been  decided,  whwi  a  boll 
reached  England  from  the  Pope  annulling  the  Qreat  ChKBHSb. 
iBugland  was  beeame  a  fief  of  Ibo  Hc^  See,  this  decvmeut  pro- 
^dauned,  and  'her  kiog-had  no  longer  the  power,  even  if  he  had  the 
vitl,  io  suirender  the  ri^ts  'of  Us  crown  wilbmit  permiflsiDn  frem 
iiis  fssdtfl  lord.  £very  'eoBeeBsion  extorted  frem  John,  >therefore, 
on  thejate  aanlBmacy.at  RMDnymede, 'had  been  lawleady  t^en.in 
f  ikt  Boly  6ee,  to  the  degradatini  «f  reyai^,  to  tbe 


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A  HI3T0BI  90&  IDCKO   ENGLAND.  4Sl 

.disgrace  of  the  nation,  and  to  tbe  in^MUdaeiit  of  tiut  eFmade 
which  John  hftd  bo  religiously  «mbraeed.  The  baroos  weste 
ordered  fiusllj  to  eubnutaad  malce  due  oanoeaeion.  WiMnut  aidk- 
sentient  they  refused.  Langten  was  thea  ordered  to  eceaianMiaioAte 
them  ;  and  that  great-mioded  prolate  paying  bo  attentioa  to  tt^ 
command,  Jie  was  au^endedfrom  .the  exercise  4^  his  acduepieoiqjal 
functions.  This  was  followed  by  a  aeoeod  bull  of  eicoiOBiaDicAtien, 
in  which  the  chiefs  of  the  oonfedented  banuis,  mentioned  hy 
naatB,  w«re  declared  te  be  wiM^e  than  Saraeena,  and  m  which  the 
Git^  of  LondoD  {etaimch  always  to  the  Charter)  was  lud  under  an 
interdict.  But  this  too  was  met  with  calm  oontanqit.  Such 
matters,  aaid  the  baions,  in  a  remarkable  Bmnifesto  .issued  iky 
their  orders,  were  not  within  the  jurisdiction  of  Roene.  Tabi- 
poral  concerns  were  not  subject  to  the  Pope's  iaterferenee :  ChiiBt 
liad  only  entrusted  ecclesiastical  ctmtrol  .to  Peter  and  io  Peter's 
wcoeseors.  (£11:  Aoc  -matdms  quod  ncn  pertinet  ad  pajxim  otidi- 
laatio  rarwn  /atcarum ;  -oum  Pelro  apMl^  .et  6Ju»  miccetew^Ms 
now  aiti  tocleeituticmrum  ditpoeitio  rerum.a  .denww  tit  aoQalm^ 

Several. months  thus  ,paE»ed,  Jmiiig  whi(^  the  mavoenary  bands 
-of  John  had  been  :Beonuted  in  unexom^d  numbers,  obiafly  iiesa 
Fluiders,  Picardy,  Poitou,  and  Guieuuc.  They  now  laid  vaite 
with  wanton  violenoe  the  richeet  counties  of  the  eonth,  and  Jehu 
[in  person  -marclied  te  the  north,  where  the  Scote  had  tak«k  up  the 
oaiiae  of  the  ConfedeEacy.  The  hoirible  -scenes  here  enaotad  by 
the  tyrant  Are  atud  te  hare  had  no  parallel  sinoe  these  of  the 
Conqueror's  devastation.  With  Us  own  hande  he  m»a  mont  to 
set  fire  in  the  morning  to  the  house  which  had  p?en  him  shelter 
on  the  preceding  night.  Castles,  Tillages,  towns,  were  given 
recklessly  to  the  flames  ;  and  countless  human  beings,  without 
respect  of  age  or  sex,  rauk  nr  ealtiag,  were  subjected  to  tortures, 
mutilations,  and  deaths,  too  horrible  to  be  named !  At  length 
wherever  John  speared,  foieats  -and  jnountuns  iiecame  Ae 
only  refuge  to  human  life  i  «he  laboure  of  a^pieultutie  .wece  sus- 
pended ;  and,  with  «  said  signifioaaoe,  in  ehmehyards  alone,  as 
Imving  a  right  of  eaatcimry  lor  ithe  meat  part  le^eoted  by  even 
■the  royal  maraudns,  a  meeting  or  a  maitet  could  be  held. 

Unhappily  for  their  fame,  the  barons  look  a  resolve  in  l3ns 
cen<Ution  of  things — -"their  available  force  jiroving  unequ^  to 
Any  speedy  deternunation  of  the  couteat — to  call  in,  on  thiur 
Mde  ^so,  the  he^  of  'the  fomgaer.  Xhey  offeied  the  Engligh 
•£rown  to  tite  oldut  &os  of  the  king  ^f  Fmnce,  aliea^  .allied  ia 


472  NSW  BOOKB. 

the  famSf  of  FUntagenet  hy  his  matriage  widi  the  niece  of  JohD. 
He  landed  at  Dover  with  a  conuderable  force,  before  which  John's 
mercenarieB  made  precipitate  retreat ;  and,  receiving  the  homage 
of  the  baroms  and  cittzene  in  London  at  Paul's  Cathedral,  took 
solemn  oath  to  govern  them  by  good  laws,  to  protect  them  agtunat 
th«r  enemies,  and  to  reinstate  them  in  all  tbeir  old  rights  and 
posaeBsions.  His  first  morements  were  Buccessfiil ;  and  it  bad 
become  little  doubtful  what  the  issue  of  the  campaign  now  figor- 
OOslj  entered  on,  must  have  been,  when  Providence  interposed  the 
deaUi  of  John.  Entire  Bncceas  must  have  involved  the  Confederacy 
in  a  false  allegiance,  in  all  probability  fatal  to  the  cause  with  which 
their  names  are  so  greatly  connected.  But  the  success  with  which 
they  began,  only  served,  most  happily,  to  involve  John's  latter  days 
in  gloom  ;  and  was  not  needed  farther. 

On  the  14th  of  October  1216,  the  tyrant,  after  a  luckless 
and  heavy  march  in  the  conntir  of  the  fms,  sought  rest  in  the 
Cistercian  convent  of  Swineshead,  where  fatigue,  or  mortification, 
or  poison,  or  a  surfeit  of  peaches,  or  all  combined,  threw  him  into 
a  mortal  fever.  He  was  conveyed  next  day  with  difficulty  and 
anguish  to  the  castle  of  Sleaford ;  and  on  the  day  following  to 
Newark  Castle  ;  wherO)  made  sensible  of  approaching  death,  he 
named  his  eldest  son  Henry  for  his  successor.  He  died  on  the 
19th  of  October,  in  the  forty -ninth  year  of  his  age  and  the  seven- 
teenth of  his  reign  ;  more  thorongbly  hated,  and  more  deservedly 
condemned  to  everlasting  infamy,  than  any  other  man  of  whom 
histoiy  keeps  conlemptuous  record. 


Neb)  SOOitltE. 


EssAts  OH  SoBraom  Cohmkcibd  with  the  LnXKiTCBE,  ForuLAa'  Sdpbb- 
siinoN,  iKD   HiBToai   or   the   Middlb  Aobb.      Bj  Thomas  Wright, 
M.A.  F.S.A,  &c.,  fte.    2  vols,, p.  Bvo.     London:  J.  RoBsell  Smilh. 
The  ablation  of  the  great  questions  afiedJi^  the  principles  that  go- 
vern large  societies  and  denselj-^polated  nations,  ramifies  itself  into 
legions  of  literatnre  and  philosophical  speculation,  that  at  the  first  glance 
seem  far  removed  from  it.    The  study  of  antiquities,  and  particularly  of 
literary  antiquities)  was,  until  very  lately,  confined  to  a  few  erudite  and 
secluded   students,    whose   pursuits   were  considered,  even  by  their 
literary  brethren,  to  be  at  the  best  a  harmless  amoiement :  the  wits 
considered  them  as  lawful  game  for  banter,  aud  the  politician  and  man 


NEW  BOOKS.  US 

of  the  world  m  dreameiB.  The  necessity,  however,  for  a  more  accurate . 
exuniafttion  into  the  BtatemenU  of  hiEtorians,  aod  the  demand  for  a 
more  snbataDtial  knowledge  of  the  progress  of  society,  the  doTelopment 

of  political  doctrines,  and  the  comparison  of  l^e  various  modes  of 
legislation  and  ^Ternment,  all  fennented  and  excited  bj  the  party 
pleadings  of  yarions  sections  of  theological  and  civil  factions,  nave 
forced  the  attention  of  the  reading  pablic  towards  the  learned  re- 
seaichea  of  the  antiquarians.  The  middle  eras  are  no  longer  to  be 
Gtyled  the  dark  agea  ;  and  the  sweeping  denonciations  of  the  arrogant 
but  ignorant  party-historians  of  the  last  century  are  gradually  lein^ 
wholly  set  aside  by  the  light  thrown  apon  this  portion  of  history  by 
the  patient  and  plodding  investigations  of  the  literary  antiqnarians.  In 
France  this  section  of  learning  nas  been  impregnated  with  the  finest 
literary  genius  ;  and  Thierry,  Michelet,  and  others,, have  invested  the 
hitherto  considered  dustiest  of  subjects  with  a  freshness  and  charm  allied 
to  the  noblest  poetry  and  history.  No  sach  union  has  taken  place  with 
as,  for  though  Sir  Walter  Scott  to  a  ^at  degree  united  the  iroaginativo 
power  with  the  accumulated  learning,  yet,  he  never  made  the  former 
the  means  of  revivifying  the  &icU  of  past  ages.  His  namerous  imitators 
in  their  weakness  wandered  still  further  into  the  realms  of  mere 
fency. 

Mr.  Wright  makes  no  pretension  to  be  ranked  in  the  class  of 
Michelet  and  Thierry,  leaving  to  others  the  task  of  speculating  on  the 
materials  he  gathers  ;  nor  does  he  even  seek  himselfto  evolve  the  theorv 
attached  to  the  numerous  facts  his  diligence  and  his  learning  weigh 
up  from  the  deep  profound  of  the  past.  Still  his  labours  are  extremely 
valuable— first,  as  adding  richly  to  the  stores  of  knowled^e^ — and 
secondly,  as  being  by  his  literary  ability  invested  with  an  interest, 
which  they  otherwise  never  could  nave  for  the  general  reader.  What, 
if  given  in  its  raw  state,  would  be  repulsive  and  uninteresting,  becomes 
by  his  treatment  suggestive  and  informiDg.  This  iUelf  is  of  great 
benefit  to  literature,  for  it  is  rendering  the  study  of  antiquities  a 
pleasure  instead  of  a  task.  There  is  scarcely  out  of  the  twenty 
articles  comprised  in  these  two  volumes  one  which  a  lady  or  a  tolerably 
intelligent  youth  of  either  sex  would  not  invoiantarily  peruse  ;  whilst 
to  the  sterner  reader,  anxious  to  be  informed  of  the  actual  state  of  early 
English  society,  and  of  the  progress  of  language,  literature,  and  inven- 
tion, they  are  of  the  utmost  value.  Some  objections  doubtless  may  be 
raised  by  those  equally  versed  with  Mr.  Wright  in  antiquarian  re- 
searches aa  to  the  dates  he  occasionally  fixes  and  to  the  value  of  certain 
documents,  but  this  in  no  way  deteriorates  firomtbe  gener^  value  of  bis 
contributions.  He  will  be  opposed,  too,  by  those  who  draw  different 
conclusions  from  the  evidence  he  has  thus  adduced.  We  are  Tety  glad, 
however,  to  perceive  that  one  so  learned  and  so  diligent  in  his  re- 

1  -g  jg  gjjij  Qj,  yjg  gjijg  jjj  ^jjpgg  ^jjg  j^^g  gmjj  yj  (jjg  beneficial 

s  of  mankind,  and  is  not  one  of  those  who  look  back  to  the 
1  period  as  the  perfection  of  hnman  society,  and  advocate  the 


progress  o 


_,    nbjactioii  of  the  mau^  to  the  tender  mwcirti  ttf  &e  few.    Tbe 

ffilbwiiig  wutence  in  ilie  dedicatioa  wooU  ^Qs  entitle  hin  to  1^ 
fm  mn\  of  every  aaprejndiced  inqoiier,  ^itified  as  it  ie  by  tbe  cont^iis 
of  Us  Tolmnei : — "Ihave  eadearenred  to  pwnt  the  gpirit  and  maaiTima 
of  the  age  ii\&j ;  concealiBg  Dene  of  whit  ^tpeaied  to  me  to  be  its 
beautiet  or  its  exoelksdai  on  th£  ffae  hand,  nor,  on  liie  other,  liiding 
thoae  gnat  vUm  m  the  teititre  of  tadtis/  aad  d^edg  in  the  madieoal 
ayttea,  nUoi  ought  to  make  tis  look  back  i^ion  it  tath  tiaitkfulnees 
■»dK  mge  that  kcu  long  patted  away." 

We  shall  not  enter  inbi  any  particular  spscification  of  these  yolumes, 
AS  it  is  &  work  which  ereij  one  interested  in  liteiatme,  potiticB,  or 
Bodal  progresBj  should  penise  for  himself. 


Ah  E^sii  n>  xhe  Cbuucteb.  of  Micbeih.  Deny'  Sro.  Iiondon : 
C.  Mitchell. 
EvKiv  thine  that  tends  to  fix  the  attention  to  the  eaoiest  examina- 
tion and  elndication  of  the  full  meaning  of  a.  tmlj  great  wiit«r  is 
valoafaie.  This  critical  eKercise  of  the  mind  is  fer  leany  reaaoBS  to 
ha  enoonraged,  and  the  more  especially  that  it  is  only  by  the  most 

Stient  and  intense  devotion  to  a  great  author  that  bis  depth  can  be 
homed,  oc  the  vsatneas  of  his  genina  apprehended  ;  we  cannot  say 
even  after  the  profoundeet  attention  hw  been  awarded  to  him,  that  he 
has  bean  comprehended.  InteUectual  power  of>eUB  to  its  in  the  midst  of 
darkneee  a  burst  of  light  which  radiattng'^o  infinite  relations  Teveals 
inamnBTahle  truths.  The  speculations  upon  these  are  also  umusaerable ; 
being  varied  according  to  vae  faculties,  pereeptioDS,  aad  cympathiae  'Of 
tiiose  upon  whom  these  rays  of  gemns  happen  to  f^.  We  are 
made  up  of  fragments,  and  an  inteOectnal  microscope  might  (Uaoover 
'that  our  minds  are  but  a  colkction  of  spiritual  animalcules.  Thai  it 
is  that  we  have  now  hundreds  of  volumes  on  Shakespeare,  and  that 
these  are -hundreds  more  inevitably  to  be  written.  All  howEveru^of 
service,  and  the  attentive  pemsal  of  the  humblest  is  of  more  benefit  .to 
the  mind,  and  mi^e  likely  to  invigorate  it  by  exciting  thought,  thaa  any 
vohime  containing  mere  facts. 

The  author  of  the  present  treatise  confines  hlmedf  to  the  TsiatetiDn 
of  an  opinion  suatained  with  considerable  ingenuity  by  .a  late  wtiter  in 
tbe  WestminEter  Keview,  that  Madieth  is  not  a  nobk^ainded  nuw — 
o'ercasl  by  sudden  passions,  and  deluding  supernatural  seductioua — but 
as  inhs^dy  a  base  villain,  a  designing  hypocrite,  and  a  Temorseless 
tyrant ;  going  even  the  length  indirectly  of  asserting  that  Lady  Uacbedi 
basnuiK  -remorse  of  character,  and  therefore  a  greater  chum  to  the 
synmathy  of  the  spectator.  This  is  so  pandoxieal  an  aasertjon  t^at 
we  tnink  it  might  very  well  have  been  left  with  other  jeax  d'  s^wtt^'Of 
tdie^BBiBe  kind  toils  own  rrfntation.  hi  the  Monthly  Bepository,  naay 
be  f<Ktnd  an  article,  very  probah^  by  the  same  ingacious  dispntant, 
maintUBing  that  iago  is  the  injiured  par^  in  the  play  of  OtheUii,  .and 


KET  BOOKS.  '     4^9 

that  the  sympathv  of  the  sncB^uie  anght  to  .go  -with  tlie  "  hoDest " 
ancient.  AnjibiBhop  Whateley  has,  ho0'«ver,^lly  exposed  the  tricks 
cmplojed  in  such  soplustical  M^giunents  in  hU  "Froofa  of  thesaa- 
esiateDce  of  NApoleaa  Buanaparte."  Such  duJeclical  exerciaea  luty 
he  diaragacded  aa  haimle&s  flouiiahea  of  a  diqiutattoua  mind. 

The  author  of  the  present  refutaUtm  has  fairly  met  hia  oppoaeoit, 
■without  tranaferring  the  dispute,  as  he  very  well  nEght,  to  any  "  removed 
ground"  of  a  metaphysical  or  usUietical  Jund.  The  assertion  wag 
jitade  in  a  plain  logical  nuutner,  and  it  has  been  .answered  in  the  Mania 
iBode,  and  the  qaestion  is  thus  argued  with  as  much  formality  .(uid  we 
most  tay  as  little  ^snios)  as  aj^  two  advocates  oonld Juve  Aane  before 
the  lord  chief  jnsltce. 

Neither  party  diows  isufficieal  candderatian  lor  the  pecnUar 
(arcninstances  of  the  author ;  .of  the  prevailing  spirit  and  belief  of  his 
time;  nor  of  the  testhetical  ueoeasitiea  in  ithe  constnictirai  of  the 
drama.  Neither  is  theie  any  attention  pud  to  the  biblit^raphical  part 
of  the  subject.  A^umeate^are  drawn  on  both  sides  from  pastaf^  of 
-which  it  may^ery  faidy  be  doabted  if  Shakespaare  was  ue  .auUier. 
Ftn  instance,gr«at  stress  is  laid  and  the  linas.aie  many  tiDusqooted  of, 
K*cMh.    PiyAee  peace  : 

I  dare^oaliihatnayjMoemeaaMn, 
Vha  -dsrea  do  aiore  Je  bbib. 
without  any  allnsion  or  apparent  knowledge  that  this  is  an  amended 
and  disputed  passage,  and  that  the  words,  or  at  least  the  sentiment,  ia 
perhaps  ni<;re  SouUiem's  than  Shakespeare's.  There  is  no  quarto 
edition  of  Ma<teth  ;  and  it  was,  sajs  Collier,  (the  very  beat  authority  ' 
on  such  a  matter),  first  printed  in  the  folio  edition  of  1623  ;  he  also 
adds,  "  It  has  been  handed  down  in  an  unusually  complete  state,  for 
not  only  are  the  divisions  of  the  acts  pointed  out,  bnt  the  subdivisions 
ef  the  scenes  carefully  and  accurately  noted."  Probably,  therefore,  it 
was  printed  from  the  mauoacripL  These  oft-qnoted  lines,  so  much 
relied  on  as  indicative  of  character,  stand  in  the  oldeat  and  most 
AQthoritative  folioa  of  1623, 1632,  and  1G6G  as  follows .: — 


"The  alteration  to  "who  Saras  do  mote "  was  made  by fiooihern  in 
editingthe  edition .<f  I68S.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Hnnter  in  the  second  part 
«f  his  Tery  searohing  and  interesting  work  entitled  "  Illustrations  of 
the  Life,  Studies,  and  Wjitinp  of  Shakespeare,"  prppoBcs  a  leading 
gnite  as  plausible  as  Southern^,  and  as  both  are  coigectorei,  quite  at 
-annch  enttttefi  t«  credit.    He  -would  read — 


v.GoO'^lc 


476  BXW  BOOKS. 

Lniy.        Who  dare* no ronre  u  none. —  '.'■. 

Wlulb«Mt,&e. 
A  reading  entitled  to  eipecisl  regard  inaimach  as  it  removes  ao  im- 
Shakeapeariau  rant,  and  leaveitheactoaltext  in  the  state  it  was  received 
throagH  three  editions  by  the  intimate  admiren  and  contemporariea 
of  the  poet.  Soathem'a  alteration  ia  exactly  accordant  with  the  Drjden 
and  Lee  bombast  of  his  day. 

We  have  adduced  this  example  of  verbal  criticism  to  prove  how  a 
contemptuoas  neglect  of  it  most  overthrow  the  finest-span  sestfaeticid 
specnlation. 

It  is  too  Ear  out  of  qui  way  to  enter  on  the  character  of  Macbeth, 
and  when  it  is  considered  what  has  been  done  from  Richardson  to 
Coleridge,  and  by  the  Oerman  critics,  we  fancy  it  will  not  be  a  matter 
of  regret  to  oar  leadera  that  we  do  not  attempt  to  add  to  the  long  and 
able  list.  We  cannot  however  refrain  ftom  a  few  remarks.  Of  the 
stage  appreciation  of  Shakespeare,  with  Charles  I^mb  we  have  com- 
plete horror :  all  seems  to  us  erroneous.  The  versification  is  dislocated, 
the  speeches  are  cut  into  points,  the  scenes  into  climaxes,  the  whole 
play  mto  ^ndy  shreds  and  patches.  The  stage  and  the  dtama  li«ve 
long  been  irrevocably  divorced.  Any  actorls  opinion  on  the  subject  is 
of  no  value ;  except  indeed  it  might  be  a  low  comedian's  in  his  private 
capacity— in  this  way  one  would  prefer  Oiimaldi's  to  John  Kemble^— 
and  if  any  one  thinks  this  a  preposteroas  assertion  let  him  read  the 
Utter's  alteration  of  Shakespeare  for  the  stage.  The  whole  matter 
therefore  of  the  Westminster  reviewer's  dissertation  is  at  once  obli- 
terated. However,  neither  of  the  antbora  have  considered  the  cha- 
racter in  its  dramatic  point  of  view  :  they  have  con«dered  as  a  reality 
what  is  a  portion  of  art,  and  therein  so  traoscendently  great.  The 
action  of  the  play  comprises  many  years,  vaat  events,  great  change^ 
various  contrasts,  all  which  by  art  are  bronght  into  one  stream  of 
interest  The  principle  that  gives  the  ever-enduring  popnlarity  to  the 
foor  great  tragedies  (for  Bicbard  III.  is  not  acted  as  written)  is  the 
tremendous  interest  derived  from  the  conflict  of  the  passions  and  the 
feelinn.  Of  this  powerful  agent  no  writer  had  a  greater  appreciation 
than  ^akespeare,  and  it  cannot  be  doubted  he  raJade  as  much  of  it 
in  Macbeth  as  in  Othello,  Lear,  or  Hamlet.  It  is  this  const^mt  surge 
and  fluctuation  that  has  moved  succestdve  generations  of  audiences 
with  as  lively  emotion  as  if  the  first  ni«kt  of  production ;  it  is 
this  human  feeling  which  renders  them  imperishable.  It  is  the 
fight  of  good  and  evil,  weakness  and  strength,  constancy  and 
change,  miich  has  been  shadowed  out  in  all  great  religions  and 
poetical  ennnciations. 

The  pamphlet  that  has  led  us  thus  far  is  worthy  of  perusal  on  its 
own  account ;  and  if  it  were  not,  it  would  be — as  leading  ns  back  to  the 
consideration  of  one  who  is  ever  fresh,  ever  great,  and  ever  grandly 
instmctive. 


Upl:«l  by  Google 


NEW  BOOKS. 


To  pourtray  the  TsriooB  characteriBtics,  and  the  infinite  vicigsitnde  of 
feeling  through  which  a  pretty  woman  will  prohably  haTB  paised,  would 
leqnire  a  very  delicate  and  a  very  powerful  pen.  The  subject  ig  highly 
attractive,  not  so  mach  on  acconnt  of  the  natural  attraction  of  beauty 
itself,  as  that  a  beautiful  woman  posseaaes  a  power  which  to  a  certain 
extent  gives  her  a  character.  "  Most  women  have  no  character  at  ^1," 
said  the  jilted  and  disappointed  poet ;  but,  perhaps,  it  might  be  added, 
most  women  have  no  character  fnot  in  the  ignominious  sense)  becanse 
they  have  no  power ;  no  will  but  self-will.  A  beaatiful  woman  is 
placed  in  a  ntuation  of  independence  by  the  natural  aristocracy  of  her 
qnalifioation,  and  she  is  not  compelled  to  aaaume  a  virtne  in  order  to 
please.  This  very  freedom  gives,  when  joined  to  amiability  of  tem- 
perament and  vivacity  of  intellect,  a  power  of  charming  which  b  irre- 
aittible.  She  is  thas  exposed  to  a  thousand  temptations  ;  her  vanity 
is  stimulated  ;  her  faculties  enlarged,  and  her  mind  bewildered  by  all- 
manner  of  false  repreeentations.  The  surly  and  the  proud  are  courte- 
ous and  humble  to  her ;  and  all  passions,  and  even  many  interests,  vail 
themselves  to  her  powerful  spell.  Beanty  is  one  of  the  aristocracies  of 
earth,  and  very  justly  have  the  conventional  distinctions  often  been 
subdued  br  it.  To  pouitray  the  characteriatica  of  a  being  so  sitnated, 
to  mark  with  the  finest  appreciation,  but  with  the  most  distinct  delinea- 
tion, her  alternations  of  feelings,  and  the  operation  of  circtunat^ces 
upon  her  character,  ia  a  difficult  task,  and  it  would  be  a  truly  in- 
teresting revealment.  Miss  Pardoe  has  attempted  nothing  of  the  kind, 
and  she  has  been  so  tar  wise,  as  she  does  not  indicate  in  this  work  any 
cambili^  of  bo  doing. 

The  joster  title  of  the  book  would  have  been  "  Memoirs  of  a  Pretty 
Woman,"fortheBe"ConfesBionB"reveal  no  more  than  an  author  is  always 
supposed  to  know  about  the  creature  of  hia  &brication.  The  common- 
place side  of  the  question  is  taken  up,  and  the  "Pretty  Woman"  is  made 
selfiah  and  nnamiabla,  At  least  she  is  ao  represented,  though  she  really 
aeems  no  worse,  even  if  so  bad,  as  her  neighboara.  All  the  characters 
have  a  criminal  tendency,  the  men  being  unutterably  base  and  sensual, 
and  the  women  weak  and  malignant.  The  beauty  b  very  ill  ased, 
being  duped  by  two  "  monsters  which  (it  is  hoped)  the  world  ne'er 
saw,"  and  whose  conduct  ia  such  as  no  men  of  decent  breeding  could 
be  guilty  of :  not  that  they  might  not  be  as  criminal,  bat  they  could  not 
be  as  vulgar. 

The  style  ia  not  felicitous.  It  has  been  compared  with  that  of  Mrs. 
Gore,  but  it  wants  her  felicitous  ease  and  brilliancy  which  compensate 
for  so  many  defects.  It  is  clogged  with  epithets,  and  garnished  with 
innumerable  French  phrases,  which  give  it  the  same  sort  of  reliah  that 
the  pinch  of  cany  powder  may  be  supposed  to  convey  to  the  potato  sonp. 
It  has  abundance  of  self-strificiency,  but  very  little  true  power ;  and  the 
molality  is  of  that  conventional  kind  taught  in  respectable  boarding- 


,Coo*^lc 


EtAook,  md  mlin^Hl  iir  fMiioaaUe  c1iap«lH.     Thet«  i»,  BltMgetlwr,  t«7- 
little  that  can  be  coiuieientioiishr  pTEiised,  for  there  w  not  mach  deicrip- 
D  which  we  ^onhl  haTe  snpposed,  from  tiie  prcmni  worka 


of  tiiiS'  anthoreg^  she  wonld  ha^e  excelled.  Tbem  is.  no  norelLy  ai 
choiuEtec,  aiad  sckrcalj'  any  interest,  ihov^  in  the  last  voIqbib  soBtvis. 
feit  for  me  beroiiie,  and  the  lunBtive-  there  flows  more  easily'  and 
pleaasatlj. 

Not  is  thwa^  apparealTy,  the  same  acto^  kaswkdgs-  of  tha  dsM- 
of  life  tiHKted  of  as  in  tha  noaels  af  Mn.  Qtao-  and  oUnn,  StfiaA 
"  behioaablfl  aoTeliata;"  and,  therefore,  we  cBimat  cile  it  with  ^rf 
Buretji  oi  tiie  fidelity  of  its  rapresentatioas,  otherwise  wa  mi^  add: 
what  we  Bo  ofban  hftd.  fbreed  apan  oar  notice,  that  the  aiiitiecfa<^  as. 
TeiH'aaeiilfd  by  the  noyelista  appear  i«<be  the  wontrhi«d  and miMli  ilL- 
conducted  clua  of  society.  It  osed-  to  be  the  <^«r  wa|f  at  tile  cooi^' 
menoement  of  novel  writing  and  aristocrMy  was  pttintad  eaulmr  du  rot*. 
The  ondonbted  teatimony  of  theii  own  claae,  biwveTer,  iathe-only  em- 
from  which,  any  prejudicial  argument  can  be  f^lj  drsmi,  ud.o£  this 
there  is  abnudane*. 


tae  Ehbasst  ;   ok,  Tbb  Eet  to  a.  Hisibbt  :  An  Hiatarical  Binaaooe.. 

Bema  the  Second  Series  of  The  Chronicles  of  the  ItatUa.     3  Tola.,  p.  8»o. 

London  :  C.  Newby. 

Tbis  is  an  luetoTJcdi  novel  nuanfoctorad  after  the  improved  modem 
fashion.  The  subject  is  the  intrigue  of  the  hmidaome  Dnlceiof  Buck- 
ingham, with  the  Ua  here  repreeanted)  sentimental  Amte  of  Auetria ; 
the  cesult  dt  which  is  mads  out  to  ba  a  son,  who  afterwokla  hecomea. 
the  mysteriona  creature  of  the  iron  mask.  HiBtoricaljwabsbilify  and 
chronological  accuracy  are  so  openly  avowed  b;  the  aatbor  to  be  tio- 
loted  to  anit  bis  fiotion,  that  it  is  scarcely  neceesaiy  to  mention  the  fact. 
There  are,  however,  vi^^tiona  of  the  probabilttiea  ai  common  occnr- 
rences  and  of  Ehoracter  which  coll  for  moieserijHta.Tenurk.  TheDalLs 
of  Buckingham,  a  character,  which,  in  the  hands  of  a.maHter,  would' 
afford  many  o^ortunities  fat  interesting  deTelopments  and  powerful 
writing,  is  treated  ia  the  most  common-place  manner.  That  he  was 
unscrupulous,  arrogant,  Tain,  licentious,  imd  vindictive-,  we  knew  &om 
histray  ;  but  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  brawling  in  pot-houses,, 
that,  he  paraued  his  disgraceful  intrigoea  in  the  manner  here  narrated^ 
or  that  his  conduct  was  ao  entirdy  without  the  gracea  of  ths  cav^er 
cannot  be  believed. 

We  have  often  had  occasion  to  remArk  that  Qua  kind  of  oovel  has 
long  since  sank  to  the  at^acd  of  the  Suney  Theatre  Melodrvna. 
Ferrymen  with  smart  sona  or  handsome  daughters,  discontented  osd. 
assassinating  military  officers,  whose  dooghiera  ate  aWays  placed  in  a, 
disreputable  situation  by  gome  gentlemHi  in  aiJk  boee,  uid  with.  on. 
amazing  large  plume  of  featheiB,  have  long  be»i  the  propoty  o£  boUl. 
The  novelist,  indeed,  has  the  advantage  of  being  able  to  ^in  otA  his 


vCoo*^lc 


NBir  BeoES.  479 

thne  Tt^DHS  with  a  traascript  or  two  fran  histny,  aoA  the  o^^ 
tnni^  of  brin^iDg  in  the  specnUtion*  of  a  itatenDWh  Rem  ths  mtfeii- 
taiato  RichelieD  is  dropped  fbith,  who,  vAaterer  his  rins  Bun*  hkVft 
be«n,  baa  aarelj  folly  expiated  them  in  the  loug-MiffeTing'  ha  hm 
endured  at  the'  hands-  of  the  moders  historical.  nuTetiBt. 

There  is  geaetaily  to  he  found  in  the  fesblaat  of  theae  kind,  of  pro- 
ductions, some  small  portioa  of  ioformation  respecting  the  maanarftand 
characters  of  the  penod  treated  of,  but  here  there  is  really  nothing  of 
the  Bort,  b«yond  whst  evtty  diligent  student  of  the  circulating  libraiy 
nuut  have  long  been  acqoainted  with.  The  merest  gouip  ef  um  tdma, 
set  afloat  from,  political  or  malicioDH  notiveB,  is  taken,  as  the  gmsBd- 
work  of  the  scenes  and  events,  and  every  great  occurrence  refeirad  ta  a. 
pnvate  motive.  It  is.  one  of  ihe  mysteriea  of  that  most  inf  Bt«riaaftcaflr 
pablishing,  how  such  noika  con  repay  the  cost  of  prodnction,  or,  keisg 
pioducad,  how  they  can  be  charged  the  price  they  are„  whilst  their 
kindred  brolh«iB  of  the  slulf,  ttie  mioor  thastre  dramas,  ma;  be  ttgi  for 
BiipeBce,  or  seen  with  nmsic  and  dunirina  for  a,  ahiiUwa 


The  Qdieii'b  Liiqes.  A  Homance.  !□  i  Tohnnea,  p.  Svo.  London : 
T.  C:  N«»by. 

This  is  aim  an  historical  novel,  but  is  entitled  to  more  unsideisr 
tion.  than  the  one  we  have  just  noticed,  inasmoch  as  it  has  a  pnrpont, 
beyond  th»  mere  spinning  3,  story  b^  iavolvina;  common-place 
penonages  in.  an  improbable  and  uninteresting  glot.  We  cannot  admire 
either  its  style  or  its  principles,  but  inaimnch  as  it  has  somewhat  of 
both  it  is  mora  endoiable  than  the  &int  imitations  of  a  weak  proto- 
type, that  are  now  usually  given  as  historical  romances. 

The  author  is  evidently  an  enthoaiast—not  to  say  a  ^atic — in  his 
opinions  of  the  middle-age  form  of  society  ^  and  bo  perverted  ia  this  view, 
that  whilst  he  isnarratingoneof  the  most  revoltiogitfidbaibaroasinBtanceg 
of  despotic  t3n'aQny  ever  perpetr^ed — the  violation  of  the  profoundeat 
affections,  and  the  open  and  wilful  murder  of  a  lovely  and  amiable 
woman,  the  onhappy  lues  de  Caatro,  he  can  see  nothing  in.  tha  middle 
ages  but  a  form  of  government  and  r^jSjpMf.  which  fostered  the  noblest 
feelings  and  produced  the  perfectioD'.M  humanity.  He  is  in  fitct 
either  of  the  school  of  Lonl  John  lf£tnnera,  or  a  defender  of  the 
Romm  Catholic  doctrioes.  He  has  consequently  all  the  osoal  per- 
version of  argument,  and  ancanBciona  misrepresestatioa  of  facts  that 
characterise  that  school.  The  romantic  ideal  that  they  follow  has 
doabtlesa  amiabilities  and  points,  of  attraction,  but  it  is  so  entirely  the. 
result  of  faith  in  an  idea,  instead  of  a  sound  deduction  from  taots, 
that  it  must  ever  appear  absDtd  when  endeavoured  to  be  wrought  into 
practice  as  a  reasoaatale  theory. 

Tha  style  is  not  so  alevat«d  and  informed  with  gemns  as  that  of 
some  of  the  writers  of  ths  "Voang  England  School,"  and  oonw- 


.Coo'jlc 


4B0.  HEW  BOOKS. 

qnently  it  U  consUutir   falling  into  the    exploded  fom,  tonally 

known  as  that  of  the  Minerva  Pnm.  Epithets  that  have  "an  ancient 
and  fiah-like  odour,"  beitrew  almost  eveij  page.  "  The  bower-maid," 
"  the  veoerable  parent."  • 

"  The  mitred  abbot,  and  warrior  bold  " 
belong  to  a  claw  of  writing  we  ho]*  not  about  to  bo  revived :  con- 
sistiDg  as  it  does  of  vagae  generalities,  heated  fuicies,  and  a  falsely- 
directed  invention. 

The  story  of  "  luss  de  Castro  "  is  of  itself  simple  and  sad  enoagh, 
and  it  has  always  appe^u^d  from  its  very  want  of  complexity  ill 
adapted  to  the  uses  of  either  Ihe  novelist  or  the  dramatist,  though 
both  have  so  frequently  seiied  apon  it.  The  interest  rests  entirely 
in  its  climax,  for  the  loves  of  the  onhappy  pair  until  broken  in 
upon  by  the  ferocions  murderer  seem  lo  nave  been  a"  ''""  "'■'  -° 
',0  all  bnt  themselves  as  those  of  any 
e  square  in  our  own  time.  The  intensity  o 
gapposed  to  be  expressed  in  the  revolting  exhumation  ana  crown- 
ing of  the  corpse  of  the  mnrdered  Inee,  has  always  captivated 
the  imagination  of  those  disregardfnl  of  the  esthetic  rules  that  divide 
the  ternble  and  the  horrible.  These  writers  have  always  snzed  on 
this  portion  of  the  story  with  eipedal  foit,  and  the  best  of  them 
have  been  more  attentive  to  the  revolting  sensations  produced  by 
such  a  scene,  than  even  to  the  pourtrayal  of  the  passion  supposed  to 
be  the  cause  of  its  disgnsting  enactment.  It  has  been  justly  queBtioned, 
however,  and  even  by  the  present  author,  whether  policy  had  not  much 
more  to  do  with  this  proaeeding  than  either  passion  or  affection  ;  the 
object  being  to  enforce  the  iegitimate  claims  of  her  diildren,  and  to 
pronounce  with  ferocious  emphasis  the  will  and  governance  of  the  new 
monarch. 

To  those  not  sated  with  descriptions  of  "proud  cavalcades," 
"  ambling  palfreys,"  "  jewelled  carcanets,"  and  all  the  long  catalogue 
of  middle-aga  paraphernalia ;  who  can  stili  be  excited  with  descriptions 
of  "peals  of  the  solemn  organ"  and  "winding  processions  of  psllid 

Erieats  ;"  whose  blood  can  still  curdle  at  the  fetal  combat  between  the 
ero  and  his  malignant  foe ;  who  has  still  sympathy  for  the  ethereal 
beroine  and  faith  in  the  high-flown  sentiment  and  devoted  heroism  of 
the  fevoarite  characters,— satisfaction  and  entertainment  may  be  found 
in  these  four  volumes.  For  ourselves  we  must  confess  to  being  too 
commoii-place  to  derive  anything  of  the  kind  from  them.  What  is  styled 
heroism  appears  at  tte  best  mistaken  energy,  at  the  worst  ferocious 
malignity :  the  ceremonies  seem  snperstitions  acts  to  deceive  and 
mislead  the  many :  the  sentiments  are  incompatible  with  the  equal 
distribntiou  of  justice,  and  th^  principles  advocated  such  as  to  produce 
an  n&dae  elevation  of  one  portion  of  society  to  the  outrage  and  injury 
of  the  rest.  The  middle  age  doubtless  had  its  virtuoos  characters, 
though  as  an  age  and  "body  corporate"  the  more  it  is  examined  the 
more  it  seems  to  be  a  compound  of  tjrranny,  violence,  and  h 


Llg.i^lbyGoO'^lc 


DOUGLAS    JERROIJyS 

SHILLING    MAGAZINE. 


THB  HISTORY  OP  ST.  GILES  AND  ST.  JAMBS.* 

BT  THE  BfilTOB. 

CHAPTER  XXVIL 
When  Siupeton  turned  hia  horse's  head  from  Doresnest — ^for 
the  which  incident  we  must  send  back  the  reader  some  dozen  chap- 
ters— he  resohed,  ae  he  rode,  upon  closing  his  ftccounta  with  the 
world,  that  freed  from  the  cares  of  money,  he  might  cherish  and 
protect  hia  youthful,  blooming  partner.  Arrived  in  London, 
seated  at  hia  books  in  St.  Maiy  Ajie,  the  resolution  was  streogth- 
encd  by  the  contemplation  of  his  balance  against  men.  He  had 
more  tiian  enough,  and  would  enjoy  life  in  good  earnest.  Why 
should  he  toil  hke  a  slave  for  gold-dust,  and  nerer  know  the 
blessings  of  the  hoou  f  No  :  he  would  close  hia  accounts,  and 
open  mde  his  heart.  And  Snipetoa  was  sincere  in  this  bis  high 
resolve.  Per  a  whole  night,  waking  and  dreaming,  he  was  fixed 
in  it ;  and  the  nest  morning  the  usorions  apostate  fell  back  to 
hia  first  creed  of  money-hags.  Fortune  is  a  woman,  and  there- 
fore where  she  blindly  loves — (and  what  Bottoms  and  Calibans 
she  does  embrace  and  fondle!) — is  not  to  be  pnt  aside  by  slight 
or  ill-uaage.  AU  his  life  had  Portune  doted  upon  Suipeton, 
hugging  him  the  closer  as  she  carried  him  up — no  infant  ape  more 
tenderly  clutched  in  tickliah  places, — and  he  should  not  leave  hra. 
And  to  this  end  did  Portune  bribe  back  her  renegade  with  a  lumf^ 
ing  bargain.     A  young  gentleman — a  very  young  gentleman — 


—Vol.  IIL 


v.Goo'^lc 


482  TBB  HiaTORT  OF 

desired  for  so  mucb  ready  metal,  to  put  his  land  upon  parcbmeot, 
and  that  joung  gentleman  did  Fortune  take  bj  the  hand,  and, 
Bmiling  ruin,  lead  him  to  St.  Uary  Axe.  In  few  minutes  was 
Snipeton  wooed  and  won  agun ;  for  to  say  the  truth  his  weakness 
was  a  mortgage.  The  written  parchment,  like  charmed  cha- 
racters, conjured  him  ;  put  imagination  into  that  dry  husk  of  a 
man.  He  would  look  upon  the  deed  as  upon  a  land  of  promise. 
He  would  see  in  the  smdlest  pen-awrks  giant  oaks,  with  the 
might  of  navies  waiting  in  them  ;  and  from  the  sheepskin  would 
feel  the  nimhle  air  of  Aroady.  There  it  lay,  a  beantifid  bit  of 
God's  earth — a  sweet  morsel  of  -crea^n — eovjmed  and  conveyed 
into  a  few  black  syllables. 

And  so,  Snipeton  made  his  peace  irith  his  first  wife  Fortone, 
and  then  bethought  him  of  his  second  spouse,  Clarissa.  That  be 
might  duly  attend  to  be^,  he  wmdd  remsve  his  secaud  mate  from 
Doresnest.  There  were  deable  reaaons  for  the  motion  ;  for  the 
haven  of  wedded  bliss  was  known  to  the  profligate  St.  James  ; 
who,  unmindfid  of  the  sweatest  oUigation  money  at  large  usance 
ought  to  confer  upon  the  homan  heart,  dared  to  accost  his  cre- 
ditor's wife.  Let  Dovesneat  heneeforlh  be  a  place  for  owls  and 
foxes,  Clarissa  should  bring  happiness  within  an  hour's  ride  of  St. 
Mary  Axe.  The  thought  was  so  good,  seat  sucli  laige  content  to 
old  Snipeton's  heart,  that  with  no  delay  it  was  earned  eut,  and 
ere  she  well  Jiad  time  to  we^  a  farewell  to  her  favourite  roses. 
*  Urs.  Snipeton  left  Bovesnest  to  the  iS^era. 

Was  it  a  wise  change,  tliig  ?  Had  Snipeton  healthy  eyes  ;  or 
did  avarice,  that  jaundice  of  the  soul,  so  blear  his  vision,  that 
be  saw  not  in  the  tluo,  discoloured  featores  of  the  wife  of  his 
bosom,  aught  to  twitch  a  husband's  heart!  She  never  eempkined. 
Be^des,  once  or  twice  be  bad  questioned  her  ;  and  she  was  not 
ill.  No,  wdl,  quite  well ;  and — this  too  he  had  asked— very 
hi^py.  Nevertheless,  it  would  the  better  satisfy  him  if  Crossbone 
could  see  her.  Crossbone  knew  her  cons^tution,  and — and  so 
that  meek  awl  knowing  man  was  sniamoned  to  London. 

In  a  green,  sequestered  no^,  hsclf-wiqr  1>etveen  Hampstead 
and  KUbani,  embowered  in  the  middle  of  &  garden,  was  a  small 
cottage ;  so  hidden,  that  oft  the  traveller  passed,  unheeding  it. 
In  tms  cottage  was  Clarissa.  To  this  retreat  woidd  ber  husbuui 
amble  every  day  from  St.  Mary  Axe,  quitting  his  money  temple 
for  the  treasure  of  his  fireside,  his  pale  «td  ^aoid  wife ;  luid 
resolved  to  think  himself  hlessed  at  both  ^aeaa. 


iv.Goo'^lc 


ST.    GILES  AND   BT.  JAUES.  483 

"  Mr,  Snipetoii  is  late  to-dsj,''  said  Mrs.  TTilton,  the  mother 
housekeeper. 

"  He  will  come,"  replied  Clariasft,  ia  the  tone  of  one  resigned 
to  a  daily  care.     "  He  will  come,  mother," 

MrB.  Wilton  looked  with  appealing  tenderneBs  in  her  dtroghter's 
foee ;  mttA  in  a  low,  enfan  voice,  controlling  her  heart  as  she  spoke, 
she  said — "  TbiB  mnst  not  be :  do  not  repeat  that  word — not  even 
when  we  ore  alone.  Some  day  it  may  betray  me  to  yonr  huB- 
hand,  and  then  " — 

*'  What  then  ?  "  asked  CIbimw. 

"  We  shoidd  he  parted  j  for  vrer — far  orer,"  cried  "fflie  woman, 
and  with  the  thongbt  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Not  so.  Nothing  parts  ns  ;  'nothrng  bttt  tbe  IdndHness  of 
death,"  said  Clarissa.     "And  death.is  kmd,  at  least" — 

"At  least,  my  ofaild,  the  world  with  you  is  too  yonng  to  think 

it  HO." 

*<  Old,  old  and  faded,"  ssdd  Olorissa.  "  The  spirit  of  youth  is 
departed.     I  took  at  all  tbingswidi  dim  and~weary  eyes." 

"  And  yet,  inj  child,  there  is  a  sanctity  in  soaring,  when 
strongly,  meeUf  horae.  Oar  thtty,  though  set  about  by  thorns, 
may  BtiU  be  made  a  st^,  supporting  evw.  while  it  tortares.  Cast 
it  away,  and  like  the  prophet's  wand,  it  changes  to  a  snake.  God 
and  my  own  heart  know,  I  speak  no  idle  thoughts,  I  speak  a. 
bitter  truth,  bittraly  acknowledged," 

"And  dttty  shall  stqyport  me  on  this  weaiy  pilgrimage,"  said 
Clarissa.  Thentaking  her  mother's  hand,  and  feebly  Bmiliug,  she 
added,  "  Surely,  it  can  be  no  sin  to  wish  sooh  trarel  short :  or  if 
it  be,  I  still  must  wish — I  cannot  help  it." 

"  Time,  time,  my  child,  is  the  sure  conciliator,  Tou  will  lire 
to  wonder  at  and  bless  his  goodness," 

"  Yon  B^  so — it  m^  he,"  swd  daiissa,  witlt  a  lightened  look, 
"  at  least,  I'll  hope  it."  And  then  both  smiled  gai^rw-w^nly ;  for 
both  felt  the  deceit  they  stnre  to  act  but  conld  not  carry  timragh. 
Words,  words  of  comforting,  of  hope  were  xMend,  but  they 
feU  coldly,  hollowly  ;  for  the  spirit  of  tmtJt  was  not  in  them. 
They  were  things  of  tbe  tongoe,  passionleBB,  mechanicBl ;  the 
Toice  without  the  soul.  At  this  moment,  oK  S<wothy  Yale 
entered  the  room  ;  and  she  was  welcome  :  evan  though  ihe  an- 
nounced the  coming  of  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  Master  's  coming  up  the  garden,"  said  Doroil^,  each  hand 
rubbing  an  arm  crofBod  before  her.     "  Somebody  'a  with  him<" 


i2 


Codtjic 


dSi  THE  HIBTORZ  OP 

"  A  stranger  here  !  Who  can  it  be  !  "  cried  CliuiBSa. 

"  Don't  say  he's  a  stranger  ;  don't  aaj  he  Isn't  ;  can  only  see  a 
aomebody,"  uiswered  Dorothy,  in  whom  ao  show  whaterer  of  this 
world  of  shows  could  have  awakened  a  momentary  curioaity.  Her 
inheritance,  as  ono  of  Eve's  daughters,  was  this  beautiful  earth, 
sky-roofed  ;  yet  was  it  no  more  to  her  than  a  huge  deal  box, 
pierced  with  air-holea.  A  place  to  eat,  drink,  sleep,  and  hang 
up  her  honnet  in. 

Another  minute,  and  Snipeton  entered  the  room.  The  husband 
had  returned  to  the  haren  of  his  hopes,  and  was  reoolred  that  the 
world — then  comprised  in  the  single  person  of  Feter  Croasbone, 
who  fallowed  close  at  the  heels  of  his  host— should  bear  witness 
to  his  exceeding  happiness  ;  to  the  robust  delight  that,  as  he 
crossed  his  threshold ,  inatantly  posseeaed  him ;  for  with  an  aniiona 
look  of  joy,  he  strode  up  to  his  wife,  and  suddenly  taking  her 
cheeks  between  both  hie  hands,  pursed  out  her  lips,  and  then 
vigorously  kissed  them.  He  was  so  happy,  he  could  not,  would 
not  feel  his  wife  shrink  at  his  touch — could  not,  ^ould  not  see  her 
white  face  flush  as  with  sudden  resentment,  and  then  subside  into 
pale  endurance,  ^o  :  the  husband  was  resolved  upon  displaying 
to  the  world  his  exceeding  happiness,  and  would  not  ha  thwarted 
in  his  show  of  bliss,  by  trifles.  He  merely  said,  still  dallying 
with  his  felicity — "Never  mind  Crosabone ;  he's  nobody;  a 
family  man — has  been  married,  and  that's  all  the  same."  Now 
CroBsbone  in  his  wayward  heart,  felt  tempted  to  dispute  such 
position  ;  it  was  not  all  the  same — to  him.  Nevertheless,  he 
would  not  be  captious.  It  was  a  poor,  an  ignorant  opinion,  and 
therefore  his  host  and  customer  ^ould  have  the  free  enjoyment 
<rf  it. 

"  Hrs.  Snipeton,"  said  the  Apothecary,  "  though  I  do  not  feel 
it  profeasional  to  hope  that  anybody  is  well,  nevertheless  in  your 
case,  I  do  hope  that — well,  welj,  I  see  ;  a  little  pale,  but  never 
few  it — we'll  bring  the  rosea  out  again.  In  a  little  wbi^e,  and 
you'll  bloom  like  a  hough-pot." 

"  To  bo  sure  she  will,"  said  Snipeton.  "  I  thought  of  buying 
her  a  pretty  little  horse  ;  just  a  quiet  thing  "— 

"  Nothing  could  be  better — perhaps.  As  I  often  say,  horse- 
flesh is  the  thing  for  weak  stomachs.  I  may  say  as  much  to  you 
as  a  friend,  Mr,  Snipeton ;  folks  often  go  to  the  doctor's,  when 
they  should  go  to  the  stable.  Yes,  yea — horse  exercise  and 
change  of  air  " — 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


.>/>^^- 


U.g,l:«l  by  Google 


,11  by  Google 


BT.    0]I£B  AND   ST.   JAMES.  4BS 

"We '11  talk  of  it  after  dinner,"  saidSnipeton  soddenl;  winciag; 
for  his  beart  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  Beparation.  Buu< 
ness  and  love  were  delightful  when  united ;  they  gave  a  zest  to 
Rich  otiier  ;  hut  certainly — at  least  in  the  case  of  Snipeton — were 
not  to  be  tasted  alone.  Granted  that  he  sat  in  a  golden  shower 
in  St.  Mary  Aic ;  bow  should  be  enjoy  the  luck  falling  direct  from 
heaven  upon  bim,  if  bis  wife — that  newer  of  his  existence — was 
transplanted  to  a  distant  soil  ?  Would  not  certain  beea  and  but* 
terflies  hum  and  flutter  round  that  .hmnan  bloBBom  t  Again,  if 
he  himself  tended  the  pretty  patient,  would  not  ruin — taking  cer- 
tain  advantage. of  the  master's  absence — post  itself  at  his  door- 
step ?  Doating  husband— .devoted  man  of  money !  His  heart- 
strings tore  him  one  way-^his  purse-strings  another,  "Well 
talk  of  it  after  3injer,"  he  repeated.  "  And  Master  Croasbone, 
we  '11  have  a  bottle  of  excellent  wine."  In  some  matters  Crossbbna 
was  the  most  compliant  of  men  :  and  wine  was  one  that,  offered 
cost-free,  never  found  bim  implacable.  And,  tbe  truth  is.  Snipe- 
ton  knowing  this,  hoped  that  the  wine  might  contain  arguments 
potent  over  the  doctor's  opinions.  After  one  bottle,  nay  two,  it 
was  not  impossible  that  Crossbone  might  reconcuder  his  judgment. 
The  air  of  Hampstead  might  be  thought  the  best  of  ain  for 
Clarissa.     Wine  does  wonders  ! 

The  dinner  was  served.  Croasbone  was  eloquent.  "After  your 
labours  in  town,  Mr.  Snipeton,  you  must  find  it  particularly  de- 
lightful,"—bo  said, — "particularly  so,  to  come  home  to  Mrs. 
Snipeton,"— the  husband  smiled  at  his  wife— *' and  dine  off 
your  own  greens.  One's  own  vegetables  is  what  I  consider  tlie 
purest  and  highest  enjoyment  of  the  country.  Of  course,  too, 
you  keep  pigs  ? " 

Snipeton  had  prepared  himself  for  a  compliment  on  hia  con- 
nubial happiness  ;  and  therefore  suffered  a  wrencluag  of  the 
spirit  when  called  upon  to  speak  to  his  cabbages.  With  a  strong 
will  he  waived  the  subject ;  and  merely  answered,  "  We  do  not 
keep  pigs." 

"That's  a  pity:  but  all  ingood  tima  For  it's  hardly  possible 
to  imagine  a  prettier  place  for  jriga.  Nothing  like  growing  one's 
own  bacon.  But  then  I  always  like  dumb  things  about  me. 
And,  Mr.  Snipeton,  after  your  work  in  town,  you  ean't  think  how 
'twould  unbend  your  mind — how  you  might  rest  yourself,  as  I 
may  say,  on  a  few  pigs.  It's  beautiful  to  watch  'em  day  by  day  ; 
to  see  'em  growing  and  unfolding  their  fat  like  lilies  ;    to  make 


486  THE  maioBT  of 

'em  yo<ar  acquointuice  as  it  were,  from  the  time  they  eoma  into 
Ilia  world  to  the  time  fhoy  're  hong  up  in  jonr  Ut^ao;  In  this 
w&j  yon  fteem  to  eat  'em  a  hundred  times  over.  HowoTer,  pgs 
are  matt«s  that  I  must  not  tmat  myself  to  talk  about."  * 

"Whynot?"  aaked  SnipetoD  wi^  a  porlcw^ike  grant.  "Why 
not?" 

"  Dew  itx%.  CroaaboDel  Well,  she  wtu  a  woman  !  "  (It  vas, 
in  truth,  CrOBabcme'e  primest  conaolation  to  know  that  she  was  s 
womtui.)  "  Out  taate  in  evary  thing  w»  just  alike^     In  every- 

"  Figa  included  f "  ask«d  Snipetou,  widi  seraething  Hke  a  Hieer. 

But  Croaabona  was  too  mn<^  atirred  by  dearest  memories  to 
mark  it.  He  merely  a^wered,  "  Figs  included."  After  a  pause. 
"  Howerer,  I  must  renounce  the  aweetar  pleasuree  of  ^  conntiy. 
Fate  oaUb  me  to  London." 

"  It  deli^ta  me  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Crossbona  ;  for  w«  ahaJl  then 
ba  80  near  to  one  another,"  cried  Snipeton.  "  Charming  uewa 
iJiis,  isn't  it.  Clary  V  And  the  old  huaband  chucked  his  wife's 
chin,  and  would  amtle  in  her  pale,  ununiling  face. 

"  Well,  aa  an  old  friend,  MJ*.  Snipeton,  I  may  p^apa  make 
BO  diifereace  with  you.  Otherwise,  my  praetice  promiaea  to  he 
confined  to  royalty.  To  royalty,  Mr.  Snipeton.  Tea  ;  I  waa 
sure  of  it,  iboi^  I  never  condescended  tonune  my  hopes — ^but 
I  knew  that  I  should  not  be  lost  all  my  life  among  die  weeds  of 
the  world.  Beputation,  Mr.' Snipeton,  may  be  buried,  like  a 
potato ;  but,  sir,  like  a  potato"-— 4nd  Croaabone,  tickled  by  the 
felicity  of  the  simile,  was  ratber  loud  in  its  uttecance — "  like  a 
potato,  it  will  ahoot  and  show  itaelf." 

"  And  youra  has  come  up,  eb  ?  Well,  I'm  very  gjad  to  bear 
it,"  said  Snipeton,  honestly,  "  because  you'll  he  in  Londan.  Your 
koewledge  of  Clarissa's  constitution  is  a  great  comfort  te  me." 

"  I  bare  studied  it,  Mr.  Snipeton  ;  studied  it  as  a  botanist 
would  study  «wne  strange  and  beautiful  flower.  It  is  a  yery 
peculiar  constitution — very  peculiar."  The  dinner  being  over, 
Clarissa  roee. 

"You'll  not  leave  xm  yet,  love?"  cried  Snipeton,  taking  his 
irife's  hand,  and  trying  to  look  into  her  eyes  that — wayward  eyes! 
— would  not  meet  the  old  man's  devouring  stare, 

"  Fray  ezcuse  me,"  said  Clarissa,  with  a  politeness  keen  enough 
to  cut  a  huaband's  heart-strings.  "  I  have  some  orders — direc- 
tiouB^for  Mra.  Wilton.     You  must  excuse  me," 


.,Goo'^lc 


ST.    QILE3  ASD   BT,   JAMES  487 

"(That 'b  a  treoEure,  Crossbone!"  exclaimed  Soipeton  with  a 
laborious  burst  of  affection,  as  Clarissa  left  the  room.  "  A 
diamond  of  a  v<»naii !     A  treasure  for  an  emperor  !" 

"Don't — d«i't" — cried  Crossbone,  liiirriodlj'  emptjing  his 
glass.  . 

"  I  said  a  treasure  !"  repeated  the  impassioned  husband,  strik- 
ing the  table.  Crossbiwe  shook  bis  bead.  **  What,"  cri«d  Snipe- 
ton,  knitting  his  brow,  "  yon  question  it  ?     Before  me— hw  hns- 

"  Prsj  understand  dh,  dear  sir,"  said  Crossbone,  truiquiUy 
fllling  his  glass.  "  Mrs.  Snipeton  is  a  treasure.  She  'd  hare  been 
a  jeirel — a  pearl  of  a  voman,  wt,  in  the  crowa  of  Ki^  Solomon  : 
and  that's  the  worst  of  it." 

"  The  worst  of  it !  "  echoed  Snipeton. 

"  In  thia  world,  mj  good  friend,  if  a  man  knew  what  he  was 
abont,  he  'd  set  his  heart  upon  nothing."  The  apothecarj  drained 
his  glass.  "  Looking,  sir,  as  a  moralist  and  a  pbitos^her,  at 
what  the  worth  of  this  world  at  the  best  is  madeof, — what  is  it,  but 
a  large  soap  and  watw  bubble  blown  by  fate  ?  It  Bhisee  a  mmute  " 
— here  the  moralist  and  philosopher  rwaed  ^s  wine  to  his  eye,  con- 
templating its  ruby  brightness — "and  where  is  it?"  Saying  this, 
Crossbone  swallowed  the  wine  :  a  fine  practical  comment  <»i  his 
Tery  fine  philosophy.     "  1  ask  where  is  it  "i  " 

' '  Very  true, ' '  observed  S  nipeton,  taking  truth  as  coolly  as  thoogb 
he  waa  used  to  it,     "  Very  true  ;  nevertheless  " — 

"Mr.  Snipeton,  my  good  friend,"  eried  CroesIxHie — his  hand 
lovingly  round  the  neck  of  the  decanter — "  Mr.  Snipetwi,  be  is  the 
wisest  m&B  who  in  this  wcn-ld  lovee  nothii^.  It  'B,much  the  safest. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  river  Stya  ?  " 

"  Hum|di !  I  ean't  say,"  growled  Snipeton.  "Is  it  aalt  or 
fresh  ?  ■' 

"  One  dip  in  it  mokes  a  man  invulnerable  to  all  things  ;  stones, 
arrows,  bindgeons,  swordn,  bullets,  cannon-balls." 

"  'Twonld  save  a  good  deal  in  regimentals  if  the  S(JdierB  might 
bathe  there,"  said  Snipeton,  grinning  grimly. 

"  So  much  for  Styi  npon  the  outward  man,"  eried  Crossbone  : 
"  but  I  have  often  thought  'twould  be  a  capital  thing,  if  people 
could  take  it  inwardly  ;  if  they  could  dritik  Styx. " 

"  Like  the  Bath  waters,"  suggested  Snipeton. 

"  Exactly  so.  A  course  or  two,  and  the  interiw  of  a  man  would 
then  be  insendble  of  foolish  weakness,''  s^d  Croasbone, 


488  THE  HIBIOBT   Of 

"  You  *d  never  get  tbe  women  to  drink  it,"  remarked  Smpeton, 
very  gravely. 

*'  'TiToold  not  be  neoeBBary,  if  man,  the. nobler  animal— for  as 
Urs.  Snipeton  isnothere,  we  con  talk  like  pbilosophera  " — Snipeton 
grunted — "  if  man,  the  nobler  animal,  fqi:  we  know  lie  is,  though 
it  would  not  be  right  periiaps  to  aay  as  much  before  the  petticoats, 
— if  man  could  make  his  own  heart  invulnerable,  why,  as  for 
woman,  she  might  be  as  weak  and  as  foolish  aa  she  pleased  ; 
which,  you  must  allow,  is  granting  her  much,  Ur..  Snipeton," 
And  here  the  apothecary  would  have  laughed  very  joviaily,  but 
lus  host  looked  grave,  Bod. 

"  It  seems,  Mr.  Cnwsbone,  you  are  no  great  friend  to  the 
women,"  said  Snipeton.     "Yet  you  must  allow,  we  owe  them 

"  Hmnph !  "  eried  Crossbone  in  a  prolonged  note.  He  then 
hastily  filled  his  glass  :  aa  hasdly  emptied  it. 

"  You  seem  to  dispute  the  debt?"  said  Snipeton,  gallantly 
returning  to  the  charge. 

"  Look  here,  Hr.  Snipeton,"  cried  Crosshone  with  the  air  of  a 
man  determined  for  (ace  to  clear  his  heart  of  something  that  has 
long  lain  wriggling  there^"look  here.  The  great  charm  of  a 
bottle  of  wine  after  dinner  between  two  friends  is  this:  it  enables 
them  to  talk  like  philosophers  ;  and  so  that  the  servants  don't  hear, 
philosophy  with  a  glass  of  good  fruity  port — and  yours  is  ciipitat, 
one  tastes  blood  and  fibre  in  it ; — philosophy  ia  a  very  pleasant  sort 
of  thing  ;  but  like  that  china  shepherdess  on  the  mantel-piece,  it 
is  much  too  fine  and  delicate  for  the  outside  world.  No,  no  ;.  it  is 
only  to  be  properly  enjoyed  in  a  parlour  ;  snug  and  with  the  door 

"  Very  well.  Perhaps  it  is. .  We  were  talking  of  our  debts  to 
woman.     Go  on,"  swd  Snipeton. 

"  Our  debts  to  woman.  Well,  to  begin  ;  in  the  first  place  wo 
call  her  an  angel ;  have  called  her  an  angel  for  thousands  of 
years  ;  and  1  take  it — but  mind,  I  speak  as  a  philosopher — I  take 
it,  that 's  a  flam  that  should  count  as  a  good  set-off  on  our  side. 
Or  1  nsk  it,  are  men,  the  lords  of  the  creation,  to  go  on  lying  for 
nothing  ?  "  It  was  plain  that  this  wicked  mibelief  of  Crosshone 
a  little  shocked  his  host,  and  therefore,  as  the  bottle  was  nearly 
out,  the  apothecary  felt  that  he  must  regain  some  of  hia  ground. 
Whereupon  he  sought  to  give  a  jocular  guise  to  his  philosophy  ;  to 
make  it,  for  the  nonce,  assume  (he  comic  mask.      "  ^ !  ha ! 

■   U.g,l:«lbvGOOglc 


BT„  QILES   AMD   ST.  JAUE3,,  480 

Look  Iiere  :  yon  must  allow  tbat  woman  ougbt,  as  much  as  !n  her 
lies,  to  make  this  world  quite  a  paradieo  for  us,  seeing  that  she  lost  ns 
'&e  ori^nal  garden."  Snipeton  just  smiled.  "  Come,  come,"  cried 
the  hilarious  apothecary,  ' '  we  talk  as  philosophers,  and  when  all 's 
Bwd  and  done  about  what  we  oire  to  woman,  you  must  allow  that 
wa  "ve  a  swingicg  balance  against  her.  Yea,  yes  ;  you  can't  deny 
this :  there  'b  that  little  matter  of  the  apple  still  to  be  settled  for. ' 

"'Tis  a  debt  of  long  standing,"  said  Saipeton  with  a  short 
Uugh. 

"  And  therefore,  as  you  know — nobody  better  " — urged  Cross- 
bone — "  therefore  it  hears  a  hea^y  interest.  So  heavy,  Mr. 
Snipeton — by-the-bye,  the  bottle  's  out — so  heavy  they  can  never 
pay  it,  And  so  we  mustn't  be  hard  upon  *em,  poor  souls — no,  we 
mustn't  be  hard  upon  'eta ;  but  get  what  we  can  in  small  but 
sweet  instalments.  I — for  all  I  talk  in  this  philosophic  way — I 
was  never  hard  upon  'em— dear  little  things — in  all  my  life." 

For  a  few  minutes  philosophy  took  breath,  whilst  wine,  the 
frequent  nutriment  of  that  divine  plant,  as  cultivated  by  Cross- 
bone,  was  renewed.  At  length,  the  apothecary  observed — "  To 
serious  business,  Ur.  Snipeton.  Having  had  our  littlo  harmless 
laugh  at  the  sex,  let  us  speak  of  one  who  is  its  sweetest  flower, 
and  its  brightest  ornament.     Need  I  name  Mrs.  Snipeton  ?  " 

-The  old  man  sighed  ;  moved  uneasily  in  his'  chair  ;  and  then 
with  an  effort  begauk  "  Mr.  Crossbone,  my  friend — I  cannot  tell 
you — no  words  can  tell  you,  how  I  love  that  woman." 

"I  can  imagine  the  case — very  virulent  indeed,"  anid  the 
apothecary.  "  Late  in  life  it's  always  bo.  Love  with  young  men, . 
I  mean  with  very  young  men,  is  nothing  ;  a  slight  fever.  Now, 
at  mature  time  of  life,  it's  little  short  of  deadly  typhus.  Of  course, 
I  speak  of  love  before  marriage  ;  that  is,  love  with  all  its  fears 
and  anxieties  ;  for  wedlock  's  a  good  febrifuge." 

"  I  have  struggled,  fought  with  myself,  to  think — but  you 
shall  tell  me — yes,  I  will  strengthen  myself  to  hear  the  woi'St. 
Now,  man," — and  Snipeton  grasped  the  arms  of  his  chair  with 
an  iron  hold,  and  his  breast  heaved  as  he  loudly  uttered — "  now, 
speak  it." 

"Look  yon  here,  Mr.  Snipeton.  Bo  you  think  me  a  stock; 
or  a  stone,  that  I  oould  sit  here  quietly  and  comfortably 
drinking  your  wine,  if  I  couldn't  give  you  hope — a  little  hope  in 
return  t  " 

"  A  little  hope  !  "  groaned  the  old  man. 


Llg.i^lbyGoO'^lc 


4M  IHE  HISTOBT  OF     . 

"Amsa  »  mypoutioQ,  ilr.  Snipetoo — nith- gjorions  cIre«Bi- 
riuoes,  as  I  luTe  obaerred,  tuning  upon  him — cannot  be  too 
eantioiu.  I  should  be  sony  to  ctHnpromiee  mjielf  bj  destriag 
yoa  to  bo  too  confident.  Nerertheleas,  dio  is  yovng,  Mr. 
Siiipstaa  ;  and  the  ^rit  o£  y^ntb  does  eomatimw  puxzle  usi 
In  Bueb  spirit  than — strong  as  it  is  in  hor— I  hkre  tha  greateat 
faith." 

"  You  bftre  !"  exclumod  Snipeton,  BtirtiDg  frwc  bis  nat  and 
seizing  Crosabone'a  hand.  "Save  her  and — and  you  shalt  1» 
rich  ;  that  is,  you  shall  b«  irell  reoora^osed — T«y  well.  My 
good  friend,  yon  know  not  th«  nusary  it  costs  ia«  to-  aeeni  happy 
in  her  sight.  I  langb  and  jest" — Cjrcsaho&a  looked  doubti^^-— 
"to  cheat  her  of  her  nielan^oly ;  yet"^ 

"  Yet  she  does  not  la^h  sod  jt^e  in-  retaomf"'  observed  Cttmr 
bmie.     "  fiuA  she  wiU — no  dooht  she  will." 

"  And  then,  thoogk  I  know  her  ta  b«  sick  aad  mfierisg.  die 
never  complaina ;  hut  sdll  assures  me  aht  ia  irelL«veiy  welL" 

"  Dear  aonl !  You  ought  to  be  a  hapi^  man: — you  ought  bat 
yon  won't.  Can't  you  see  that  she  won't  confesa  to  eicknew  be- 
eanae — kind  creature  t — she  can't  tkiok  of  paini^  you  ?  She-'d 
Miile  and  say  'twos  Birthing — I  knov  dae  nouidr  if  she  w^e 
dying." 

"  For  God's  sake,  speak  not  ssch  a  yioiA"  cried  the  old  man, 
turning  pala. 

'•  She  must  Sa  some  daj,"  said  Creesbone.  "  Thongh,  to  be 
sure,  according  to  the  eouise  of  nature,  that  is,  if  I  save  her — of 
which,  indeed,  to  tell  you  truly,  1  have  now  no  doubt — I  wiU 
stake  my  reputation  present  and  to  come  upim  the  mattM'" — 

"  Yon  give  me  li&,  jrouth,"  exclaimed  Snipeton,  with  sudden 
happinesa. 

' '  But  I  was  about  to  saj  that,  if  aaved,  the  chances  are  you  nay 
leave  her  yet  young  awl  blooming,  behind  yon."  The  old  man's 
face  darkened  It  was  a  bitter  thouglit  that.  Was  ther&  not 
some  place  in  the  East,  where,  when  a  hnsbatid  died,  his  wife  even 
through  the  torture  of  fire,  followed  hijai,?  This  horrid  thought — 
how,  poor  man  !  could  he  help  it  ?  for  reader,  how  know  you  what 
thought  you  shall  nest  think  ?  — this  thought,  we  say,  passed  through 
SnipetMi'e  brun.  But  Clarissa  was  no  Hindoo  wife.  She  might 
— as  the  prating  doctor  swd— she  imgbt  be  left,  yes,  to  smile  and 
be  happy,  and  more,  to  award  happiness  to  another  on  this  eartb, 
when  her  doating,  paBSon*tely  doating  hosband  should  have  his 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


ST.    OILES   AND   ST.   JAUES.  41k 

limbs  eomposed  in  the  gnTS'.  Again ;  be  m^^  live  tbeae  tven^ 
^eacs.  Aad  ia  twenty  jmrs  that  beMttifiil  fkee  woold  lose  its  look 
of  yonth — those  eyes  would  turn  with  sobered  light — tiutt  faH 
scarlet  tip  be  shrunk  and  faded.  And  than — yea,  then  he  thought, 
he  could  resign  her.  In  twenty  years — periiaps  in  twenty  yesrs^ 
With  thia  cold  cwnfort,  he  rcntnrad  to  reply  to  the  apothecary. 

"  Nerer  mind  my  life,  that  'a  i»4)ung, "  he  aoid.  "All  I  think 
of  is  Ckriaaa ;  and  tbera  ia  yet  tiota— ^^  ia  aafe,  yon  aay  ?  " 

"It 'a  very  oddv  very  droll,  that  joat  now  you  sho<^d  hare 
named  Bath — the  Bath  waters,  yon  know,"  smirked  CnMsbone. 

"  Wherefore  odd — ^how  droll  ?  I  do  not  understand  you."  And 
yet  he  had  caB^t  the  meaning. 

"  She  iwffit  go  to  B*th ;  she  most  driak the  wbIofb.  No&iDg's 
left  but  that,."  aiored  th&  apothecairy. 

"I  tell  you,  man,  for  these  three  months  I  cumot  quit  London. 
A  world  of  money  dependa  npon  my  stay." 

"And  wl^  ahimld  yea  budge  ?  You  don't  want  yoor  wife,  do 
yon,  at  St.  Uaiy  Axe  ?  She  dsesn't  keep  yono  books,  eh  ?  " 
Snipeton  frowned,  and  hit  his  hpi  and  made-  no  answer.  Then 
Crc«sbone,  hia  dignity  strawtlieDed  hy  his  hort's  wine,  roaci 
"Mr.  Snipeton,"  he  said,  "  I  hare  studied  this  caae,  stndied  it, 
sir,  not  only  bb  a  doctor  bnt  as  a  friend.  I  have  bow,  sir,  done 
my  duty ;  I  leave  you  as  a  hosbaBd  and' — I  was  abent  to  aay  as  a 
father,  but  that  would  he  premature  ;  aa  a  hnaband  and  a  man  to 
do  yours.  -  All  I  say  is  this  :  if  your  wife  does  net  immediately 
remove  to  Bath," — CroBsbone  paused. 

"Well,"  snarled  Snipeton,  defyinglj,  "  and  if  she  does  not  ?  " 

"  In  two  months,  sip — I  gWe  iter  twa  months — ^e  11  go  to  the 
church-yard." 

"And  so  she  may — so  she  ahall,"  exclaimed  Snipeton,  violently 
striking  the  table — his  f^e  blackoiing  wifh  rage,  his  eyes  lurid 
with  passion.  "  So  she  shall.  An  honest  grave  and  my  name 
clear — I  say,  an  honest  grave,  and  a  fair  ttMnbatone,  with  a  fair 
reputation  for  the  deed.  Anything  but  tiiat  aecursed  Bath.  Why, 
sir," — and  Snipeti»t,  dilating  with  emotion,  stalked  towards  the 
apothecary — "  what  do  you  think  me  ?  " 

Now  thia  qnestion,  in  a  somewhat  dangerouB  manner  tested 
Orossbone's  sincerity.  In  sooth,  it  is  at  best  a  perilous  interrogor 
tive,  trying  to  the  ingenuonsnesa  of  a  friend.  Crossbone  paused  ; 
not  that  he  had  not  an  answer  at  the  very  tip  of  hi&  tongue  ;  an 
answer  bubbling  hot  from  that  well  of  tnth,  his  heart — and  for 


4U  IBS  HISTORT   OP 

thftt  reason,  it  wae  not  the  nnswer  to  be  rendered.  He  therefore 
looked  duly  astonished,  and  only  asked — "  Mr.  Snipeton,  what  do 
jou  mean  ?  " 

"  I  tell  yoa,  man,  I  'd  rather  see  her  dead ;  a  fair  and  benest 
corpse  than  send  her  to  that  peat-place,"  cried  the  huaband. 

'-'  Fest-place  I  Really,  Mr,  Snipeton  ;  this  is  a  little  too  mueli 
to  wipe  off  the  reputation  of  a  jity — the  reputation  of  hundreds  of 
years  too — in  this  manner.  Reputation,  sir, — that  is,  if  it's  good 
for  anything — doesn't  come  up  like  a  toadstool ;  no,  sir,  the  I'eal 
thing  B  of  dow  growth,  Bath  a.  pest-placo  !  Why,  the  very  foun- 
tain, of  health." 

"  The  pool  of  vice — the  yery  slough  of  what  you  call  fashion. 
And  you  think  I  'd  send  my  wife  there  for  health !  And  for  what 
health  ?  Why,  I'll  say  she  returned  with  glowing  face  and  spark- 
ling eyes.     What  then  ?     I  should  loathe  her." 

"  Lord  bless  tne  !  "  ezclMmed  Crosshone. 

"  Now,  we  are  happy,  very  happy ;  few  wedded  couples  more 
so  :  very  happy  " — and  Snipeton  ground  the  words  beneath  all 
the  tec^  he  nad,  and  looked  furiously  content.  Crosshone  stared 
at  the  wnthing  image  of  connubial  love. 

"You  certainly  look  happy — extraordinarily  happy,"  drawled 
the  apothecary. 

"  And  whilst  we  live,  will  keep  so.  Therefore  no  Bath  insects 
—no  Uay-flies,  no  Jhue-bugs." 

"'Tisn't  the  Bath  season  for  'em,"  put  in  the  apothecary. 
"  They  're  all  in  London  at  this  time." 

"  All 's  one  for  that,  I  tell  you  what — here,  Dorothy,  another 
bottle  of  wine~I  tell  you  what.  Master  Crosshone,  as  you  Say, 
we'll  talk  the  matter  over  philosophically,  I  think  that's  it ;  and 
therefore,  no  more  words  about  Bath.  Come,  come,  can  there  be 
a  finer  air  than  this  ?  "  cried  the  husband,  rubbing  his  hands,  and 
trying  to  taugb. 

"  My  dear  sir,  the  quality  of  the  air  !s  not  the  thing — it's  tlic 
change  that's  the  medicine.     And  then  there's  the  waters  " — 

"  We  have  an  excellent  spring  at  Hampatead.  Years  ago  I'm 
told  the  nobility  need  to  come  and  drink  it." 

"  Then,  sir,  the  waters  hadn't  been  analysed.  Sbee  then 
they've  been  found  out :  onlyfit  for  cattle,  sir,  and  the  lower  ordere. 
Never  known  now  to  agree  with  a  person  of  gentility  of  stomach- 
that  is,  of  true  delicacy.  And  for  the  air,  it's  very  good,  certainly, 
jugt  for  the  common  purposes  of  life ;  hut  as  I  say,  it's  not  the 


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ST.  oius  ASD  ST.  liiaa.  493 

qnalitf,  it's  the  change  that's,  the  thiog.  There's  cases,  sir,  in 
nhich  I  'd  send  patients,  ay,  from  Uontpelier  to  the  neighbourhood 
of  Fleet-ditch.  The  foot  is,  sir,  there  can't  Ve  at  times  a  better 
change  than  from  the  best  to  the  worst.  The  lungs,  sir,  get  tired — 
heartily  sick  of  good  lur  if  it's  alwaja  the  same ;  just  as  the  stomach 
would  get  tired  of  the  very  best  mutton,  had  it  nothing  but  mutton 
every  day." 

Snipeton  was  silent ;  pondering  a  refutation  of- this  false  philo- 
sophy. Still  be  tugged  at  his  brain  for  a  happy  rejoinder,  lie  felt 
— he  was  certain  of  it — that  it  would  come  when  the  apothecary  had 
gone  away,  but  unhappily  he  wanted  it  for  present  use.  He  folt 
binuelf  like  a  rich  man  with  all  his  cash  locked  up.  Now  wit,  tike 
money,  bears  an  extra  raluo  when  rung  down  immediately  it  is 
wanted  ;  men  pay  severely  who  want  credit.  Thus,  though  Snipe-' 
Um  knew  be  bad  somewhere  in  that  very  strong  box  his  skull,  a 
whole  bank  of  arguments,  yet  because  he  could  not  at  the  moment 
draw  one,  Crossbone — the  way  of  the  worid — believed  there  were 
absolutely  no  effects.  Snipeton,  however,  got  over  a  difficulty  as 
thousands  before  him  —  and  thousands  yet. unborn  will  jump  an 
obstacle  ; — be  asked  bis  opponent  to  take  another  glass  of  wine.  -  If 
Bacchus  often  lead  men  into  quagmires  deep  as  his  vats,  let  us  yet 
do  him  this  justice,  he  sometimes  leads  them  out. 

"  I  believe  you  said  something  about  horse  exercise,  Crossbone? 
Now  with  a  horse — you  don't  drink" — a  hospitable  slander  this  on 
the  apothecary — "  with  a  horae  there's  change  of  air  at  will,  eh  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  there  is.  And  then  there's  Higbgate  "and  Finohley, 
and — well,  that  might  do,  perhaps,"  said  Crossbone. 

"And  in  the  evenings" — and  Snipeton  brightened  at  the 
prospect — "  we  could  ride  together." 

"Death,  sir, — certain  death" — and  Crossbone  gave  one  of  hie 
happiest  shudders.  "The  night  air  is  poison— absolute  poison- 
No,  the  time  would  be  from — let  me  see — from  eleven  to  three." 

"  Impossible  ;  quite  impossible.  Can't  leave  business — certain 
ruin,"  cried  Srapoton. 

"  Certain  death,  then,"  said  Crossbone,  and  he  slowly,  solemnly 
drained  his  glass,     "  Certain  death,"  he  repeated. 

"Don't  say  that,  Crossbone,"  cried  Snipeton,  softened.  "Mrs, 
Wilton — perhaps  she  rides,  and  then" — 

"  As  for  Mrs.  Wilton,  I  trust  you  are  under  no  particular  obliga- 
.    tion  to  that  person  ?  " 


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"  OMigation,"  etied  Snpeton  ;  bb  tboDgk  Hx  than^^  kn^fied 
an  inBidt.     "  Why  do  jaa  uk  ?  " 

"  Notbni;  but  for  Tonr  wife's  heakh.  Tbe  &ot  ia,  Mtb.  Wilton 
ttlwafs  seems  melmiicliolj,  heavy ;  *rith  goi>wi>h»ug  on  iar  vhm^ 
Nftw,  my  dear  nr,  it  is  a  trolli  in  moral  phileBaphy  not  anfEoStiaQj 
well  known  and  aUended  to,  Aat  dunxpe  are  catching."  Arid 
CroBeboue  looked  the  proud  discoverer  of  the  subtlety. 

"  ludeisd— are  they  ?  Pcriiafs  they  may  be.  Well,  tbere  *8 
a  wench  coming  up  from  Kent — somevhere  new  Doresnest.  I  '-ve 
been  imaxed  to  oenaent  to  it.  Bbe  may  make  a  sort  oT  merrier 
iKMnpwuon." 

"^em«y,"  sMd  Orosrixme;  ""bat  whvtycnmntt  is  an  bonest, 
sharp  ^kw^ — fi»rlu>inBty«rith0Dt  sharpness  in  dtis 'world  b  like  a 
Bwonl  widMiat  edge  or  point ;  very  mil  for  Avw,  bnt  ofnore»l 
use  to  tlie  0wiier.' 

"Go  on,"  cried  SnipetoB,  bwring  to  the  ^Krtheeory's  spo- 
taiegm. 

"  Kow,  I  have  the  very  man  who  "11  sirit  yon.  The  nuracle  of 
a  groom.     Hooeat  as  a  dog,  and  lAnirp  as  a  porcupme." 

"  Humph  I  "  cried  Snipeton,  marrdlnig  at  the  fanman  wonder. 

"  Your  serrant,  Mr.  Croeebene  " — sud  Dorothy  Vale,  opening 
the  door—"  has  called  as  yon  desired." 

"  Tell  him  to  oome  in,"  cried  CrmHbono  :  who  then  said  to 
SnipetMi— "  At  lent  yon  can  see  the  fellow." 


CHAPTER  JtXVm. 
It  may  be  remembered  that  Smpetoti  and  St.  QSe&  (had  met 
before.  And  oertunly  St.  Gciles  had  oat  forgotten  the  'event.: 
his  somewhat  anxious  look  declared  his  reooUecticai  tof  the  soeoe 
at  Dovesneat,  m  which  he  played  the  part  of  rogue  and  vagabond 
according  to  the  statute  ;  but  as  Snipeton  had  no  oorseqwodii^ 
interest  in  the  circumstance,  he  had  wholly  forgotten  the  jtarson 
of  the  outcast  in  the  candidate  for  serriee.  But  in  troth,  St.  Qaim 
was  not  the  same  man.  At  Doveanest  be  was  in  cags :  fear  and 
want  had  sharpened  his  face,  withering,  debasing  him.  AbJ 
now,  he  breathed  new  ooarage  with  every  hcnir's  freedom. — 
He  was  comfortably,  trimly  cJad ;  and  his  pw^t — too  eft  tin 


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3T.    aaXB  ASS   ST.   JAM£S.  ^6 

bftrotsct«r  ^  the  sool — was  not  qiute  at  zcFe.  H«iice,  in  few 
iiiDtnents,  he  looked  irilii  placid  retpect  at  ^lipetmi,  vbo  Blared 
all  oboot  iiis  fiiM,  as  a  pietK«-d^lN  stares  at  as  aU^ged  eld 
niftsler ;  widi  a  look  that  m  ha  caauDg,  woold  enn  a«an  -to 
hope  a  ocmntvrfeit.  Was  St.  &iea  i«aHy  tiie  honaat  fellow  thai 
hemjqwarod  ;  -iok  thtre  in  timA  Ihe  origmal  msek  ef  the  original 
crdf^  xqioB  iiim  ;  i«r  •was  ha  a£*a*d£al  wiatitioo  e^eciallj  <roade 
to  g«Ii  a  tnndag  ^entieDum  ? — Waa  thete  reall-r  no  sflair  in  that 
htmeet  BtK^mg  £aee  9  And  SDipetea  as  be  looked  balf^wialied 
that  all  men — or  all  Berraats  at  leaM — weoe  iaduieiied  1^ 
esrthoa  viewdB:;  that,  ^i<if)edy  £Utped,  tht^  shaaU  perforce 
reveal  a  damnifying  fracture.  Certainly,  such  sort  of  hiimao 
pottery,  cspnsBbr  made  for  iamtlieB,  iwnld  be  as  eseeeding 
OomfoFt  to  M  Ihoasakeepae.  Snipetoii  thsnght  this ;  4s  lus  owjt 
disKppwntmeait  Aaa^tt  H :  £>r  there  bei^  no  «ach  teet  ef  jsoral 
30tmdneat,  he  'nmld  «b1j  vheMe  tbe  idsme^c, -tnn^-lc^g^d  vesael 
before  bbn  by  at  docb.  lAias!  'wi^iras  AeBeatoiBfltant  moMU) 
■of  trying  the  music  of  its  nng? 

"  That  will  do;  7011  «aii  vrntt,"  eaid  jCrsBabone  to  St,  GMes, 
who  therei^aB  ie£b  A»  eoma. 

**  And  what  can  yaa  sw^  for  this  &fiow !  Do  ^a  .knew  all 
abont  him— :«dw  begot  ihm — PtKheoe  iie  -camea  f«om  ?  "  asked 
Snipeton. 

.  Crossbone'wxt  aooaa  of -qnit^parts:  aoiqnick,  th^  fW^aew 
better  than  be,  tbe  proper  time  for  a  complete  lie.  We  eaja.com- 
^debe  iie  ;  not  a  iCwwleHS,  fra^entary  flam,  with  no  genius  in  it ; 
bat  a  well-bmlt,  aFchkeotnral  he,  buttressed  about  by  circiuBslanoe. 
Tbraafore,  no  so«nerwas  the  qoestion  put  io  iam  tham,  vithont  let 
or  heeitatioD,  he  poured  forth  the  following  narrative,  Wonderiiil 
man  !  falsdiood  flowed  from  him  like  a  fountain. 

"  Xhe  yonng  n'aa  wbo  has  just  c|mtted  us  is  of  humble  but 
honest  wi^.  His  parents  were  villagers,  and  rented  a  little 
garden  ground  -whereon  they  ruaed  nmch  of  their  lowly  but  healthy 
fare.  Far,  far  indeed  was  the  profligacy  of  London  from  that 
sbode  of  nsttic  imiocence.  fiie  pli^mates — I  mean  the  youag 
man's-^^rero  l^e  lambkins  that  he  watched,  for  at  an  early  age  he 
WIS  sent  «nt  to  tend  sheep  :  bis  books  tbe  flowers  at  his  feet,  the 
elouda  abore  his  bead.  Not  bat  what  be  reads  rsnarkably  well 
for  bis  coniUtion,  and  writea  a  good  stout,  serrant'a  hand,  He  was 
seren  years  old-"- no,  I'm  wrong,  ei^,  «tght  years— when  he  lost 


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4M  THE  HISTOKT   OF 

bis  iather,  who,  good  creature,  fell  a  Tictim  to  his  humaoi^.     A 
sftd  matter  that.     He  was  killed  bj  a  wiDdmill." 

"  I  thought  you  said  't^raa  hie  hnmanity,"  observed  Snipeton. 

"And  &  nindmill,"  averred  Crosalune.  "A  neighbour's  child 
was  gatheriog  buttercups  and  daisies,  and  had  strayed  beneath, 
the  mill's  rerdring  sails.  The  young  mitn's  father  obeying  the 
impulse  of  bis  benerolent  heart,  rushed  forward  to  save  the  little 
innocent.  His  humanity,  not  measuring  distance,  carried  him  too 
near  the  suls  ;  he  vas  struck  to  the  eortih  with  a  compound  frac- 
ture of  the  skull,  and  died." 

"  This  you  knowJ "'  muttered  Snipeton,  looking  irith  a  waiy 
eye. 

"  'Twas  when  I  was  an  apprentice.  The  maa  being  poor,  and 
the  case  desperate,  'twas  given  up  to  me  to  do  mj  beat  with  it.  I 
learned  a  great  deal  from  that  case,  and  from  that  moment  felt  a 
natural  interest  in  the  orphan.  And  he  Uaa  been  worthy  of  it. 
You  'd  hardly  believe  the  things  1  could  tell  yon  of  that  young  man. 
You  can't  think  how  he  loves  his  mother." 

"  No  great  credit  in  that, — eh  V  said  Snipeton. 

"  Why,  no  ;  not  exactly  credit ;  but  jou  must  own  it's  graced 
—very  graceM.  He  makes  her  take  nearly  all  his  wages. 
Hardly  saves  enough  for  shirtB  and  pocket-handkercbiefs.  Now, 
this  strikes  me  as  being  very  filitJ,  Mr.  Snipeton  ?  " 
-  ,--'lAjid  you  think  he'd  make  a  good  groom,  eh?"  asked  th^ 
cautious  husband. 

"  Bless  you !  he  knows  more  about  horses  than  they  know 
themselves.  But  all  he  knovrs  is  nothing  to  his  honesty.  I've 
trusted  fiim  with  untold  gold,  and  he  has  never  laid  bis  finger 
nponit." 

"  How  do  you  know,  if  you  never  counted  it  ?"  asked  Snipeton. 

"  That  is" — said  Crossbone,  a  little  pulled  up — "that  is,  yon  . 
know  what  I  mean.  And — the  thought 's  been  working  in  me, 
though  I've  talked  of  other  matters— I  do  think  that  a  horse  with 
the  quick  and  frequent  change  of  ^  a  horse  can  give,  may  da 
everything  for  Mrs.  Snipeton  ;  for,  as  I've  s^d  before — she's 
young,  very  young ;  and  youth  takes  much  killing.  An  J'there- 
fore,  you  '11  make  yourself  easy  ;  eome,  you  '11  promise  me  that  ?'" 
.  "Iwill,"  said  Snipeton,  a  little  softened.  "  You  Vo  given  me 
new  heart.     Come,  another  glass." 

"  Not  another  drop.    Pen  and  ink,  if  you  please.    I  must  write 

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ST.    GILES   AND   ST.   JAUES.  497 

a  littla  prescription  for  a  little  nothing  for  your  good  lacly ;  not 
that  she  wants  medicine,"  said  Croasbone. 

"Then  why  poison  her  with  it?"  asked  Snipeton  with  some 
energy. 

"She  wouldn't  be  satisfied  without  it.  Therefore,  just  a  little 
coloured  negative  ;  nothing  more."  Pen  and  ink  were  ordered, 
brought ;  and  Crossbone  strove  to  write  as  innocently  as  his  art 
allowed  him,  "  There  must  be  an  apothecary  at  Hampstead,  and 
I'll  send  the  man  with  it ;"  and  Crossbone  folded  Qxe  prescription, 
and  rose. 

"  And  when  shall  we  see  you  again  ?"  asked  Snipeton. 

"  Why,  in  two  or  three  days.  But  I  have  done  all  the  good  I 
can  at  present.     You'll  try  the  horse  ?" — 

"  I  wiU."— 

"And  the  man?  " — 

."  I'll  think  of  him. — Tell  me,  does  h«  know  anybody  in  Lon- 
don ? " 

"  Any  calf  you  like,  brought  to  Smithfield,  knows  more  of  the 
wnys — more  of  the  people  of  town.  He  'a  a  regular  bit  of  coun- 
try turf.  Green  and  fresh.  Else  do  you  think  I'd  recommend 
him  ?  "     Asked  Crosebone  very  eamesUy. 

"  I  almost  think — I  mean  I'm  pretty  sure — that  is,  I  will  try 
him,"  said  Snipeton. 

'/  Then  between  ourselves,  I've  recommended  you  a  treasure. 
And — stop  ;  I  was  about  to  go,  forgetting  the  most  important 
thing.  You  heard  me  say  that  dumps  were  catching  ?  I  hope 
you  "ve  thought  of  that.  Now,  that  Mrs.  Wilton — the  house- 
keeper— she  'd  ruin  any  young  woman.  Bless  you  I  She  's  hy- 
pochondria in  petticoats.' 

"Humph!  I  don't  know;  I  prefer  a  serious  woman  for  her 
calling.  Perhaps  a  little  over  melancholy  to  be  sure,  never- 
theless " — 

"  Well,  111  say  no  more.  After  all,  she  may  only  seem  melan- 
choly to  us.  There  may  be  agreat  deal  of  fun  in  her,  for  all  we  know. 
Some  people  remind  us  of  mourning  coaches  at  a  funeral :  the 
outside 's  dull  and  solemn  enough  ;  and  so,  folks  never  think  of  the 
jokes  that 's  flying  inside  of  'em.  As  a  professional  man  I  know 
this,  Mr.  Snipeton  ;  and  therefore  I  hate  your  very  grave-looking 
people.  If  they  really  are  what  they  look,  they  're  bad  j  if  they 
am 't,  they  're  worse.  And  in  a  word — I  might  say  more  if  I 
chose,  hut  I  won't — in  a  word,  I  don't  think  that  Mrs.  SnipeUm 

NO.  XVn. — TOL.  m.  K  K  I 


498  TEG   HISI(»IT   OF 

will  am  gei  «nj  gMd  from  jour  hauHlcaepw.  Good  b'je,  God 
bleBB  jon ; — the  man  shall  brbg  the  utedioiM."  So  ujing,  and 
teoking  dsepest  mjstsrjr,  CroBBbooe  departed. 

The  apothecary  had  achieTod  more  than  he  had  hoped.  It  iraa 
▼erj  true,  thou^t  Snipeton;  the.  voinaa  waa  etdd—^adaiwhol;. 
Again,  ahe  had  neret  looiked  upon  him  mth.pleMawt  loolu.  Her 
FGspeot  MOKod  nung  from  her :  it  vw  not  free— naturaJ.  And 
jet  hiu  ^«  watched  hia  wife  vi^t  uiteeasiBg  regard.  Eveiy 
mtniwit — «h«n  least, wasted,  too— she  was  homuig  near  her. 
How  was  it,  be  had  never  seen  this  before  ?  It  was  plain  due 
woman  had  aMae  fabft  influMtoe  r  exvtdmi  wxa»  power  that 
eatMoged  hia  wife  fren  hmu 

Let  as  leaTe  Suipeton  for  a  brief  tiaie  stmggling.Mtd  weltenBg 
in  this  sea  of  doubt ;  now  trying  to  touch  certtun  groond^aRd.new 
earned  awaj  again.  Let  us  leaTe  him,  and  follow  tbe  apothecary, 
9e  had  had  just  wiiu  enough  t  whwh  eirewDKtanee  was  to  him 
the  most  potent  reason  for  having  more.  He  bad  put  up  at  the 
Flaak  at  Hampatead  i  anA  t«  tbali  boateby  ha  abode.  St  Giles 
silentij  following  him, 

"  M;  man,"  aoid  Crowbonot  "  who  wae  your  father^— where 
were  you  bom — what  hare  you  boMi  ddog— and  w^ne  do  you 
come  &om?    An  anawerif  yen  please  to  each  of  these  i|Ut«ations." 

St.  Giles,  plucking  up  courage,  simply  replied — ''  I  am  hia  Lcvd-. 
ahip'a  serranli  and  hw* hie  orders  to  foUwr  jwn." 

"ThMBB  not  the  ^j^feat  doubt,  hia  LuidBhlp'i  earran^ 
tlwt  you  're  a  eenvmieBt  raseaL  of  all  work,  and  quite  up  to  the 
buainessi  ve  ihall  put  yon  on."  Let  not  the  reader  imagine  that 
these  words  were  uttered  by  GressbOBa :  by  no.  means ;  not  a 
syllable  of  them.  But  the  thought — ^the  ethereal  easence  of  words 
— ^lad  iouhed  the  hraut  of  th»  apotheoary,  and  hia.idtde  frame 
tinged  witii  the  awakened  music.  Hehadfouoda  («Qundrel,.he 
was  sure  of  it,  and  he  was  happy. 

"  Ve^  good,  my  man ;  rery  good ;  I  understasd  you.  As  you 
say,  you  are  hia  lordship's  serrant,  and  have  his  lordship's  orders 
totakoB^directbns.  Very  well.  You  will  therefore  please  to 
take  your  father  and  mother  from  nsy  haadi  :  tmderatand  fi»  once 
that  they  were  honeet,  raapectahle  people  j  and  be  grateful  for 
the  parents  Tre  given  you.  Your  father,  good  man !  was  killed 
by  a  windmill;  and  your  motherstill  tires  in  the  country,  and  regu- 
luly  takes  three-fourths  of  your  wages.  And  you  are  not  to 
fcH-get  that  you  have  a  great  love  for  thaA  i^othw.    And  now, 

.Coo'jic 


8T.    GILES   AND   ST.   JAUES.  490 

take  this  prasc»iption  to  the  apotkecftrj-'a  ;  tell  him  to  tmike  it  up, 
asd  send  to  Mr.  Sn^rton's.  After  whiob,  jonll  come  to  meat 
tli6  Flask.  G«."  St.  6Ses,  witb  perplezed  looks,  obeyed  CrosB- 
bone,  and  vent  upon  his  errond.  "I've  given  the  vagabond  a 
ftOber  wid  mbther  to  bo  proud  of — it's  quite  clear,  much  better 
tiian  wen  raallj  b«atoved  upon  him ;  and  h«  hasn't  a  word  of 
Aanks  to  say  upon  the  matter.  Let  a  gealleman  lie  as  he  will 
for  the  lower  oroera,  they'oe  Bddom  gratdul.  Neyertheless,  let 
ns  have  the  virtue  that  he  mmti.  Were  I^e  a  pieoe  of  pig-headed 
houesty,  he  wonldn't  Bnt  our  wcwk.  No  :  Prondence  has  been 
Toy  good  in  sendiDg  iw  a  rascal. "  Widi  these  mute  thoughts, 
this  final  thankKiving,  did  Ciossbone  step  onward  to  the  Flask. 
He  would  there  ftrther  ponder  on  the  plan  that,  throwing  Snipe- 
ton's  yomig  wife  into  the  anus  of  a  janag  nobleman— and,  in 
oemmon  justice,  so  old  and  vrigar  a  man  bad  no  claim  to  sach 
refinement  and  beAvtj  ;  she  mnet  have  been  originally  intended 
for  high,  life,  and  therefore'  cni^y  misapidied — would  throw  him, 
Croesbone,  the  prime  eons]^rator,  into  the  very  behest  practice. 
He  wedd  keep  a  carriage  t  As  he  looked  at  the  gloriona  clonds, 
coloured  by  the  setting  saa,  he  felt  pnszlei  whether  hia  coach 
panek  should  be  a  Inght  bbe,  a  flame-eoloDred  yellow,  or  a 
riofa  mnlhrary.  St^  the  clonds  changed  and  shifted,  and  still 
.  mth  the  colour  of  his  carriage  at  his  heart,  he  looked  upon  th^ 
as  no  other  than  a  celasttal  pattwn-boefc,  rolled  out  to  help  him  in 
faia  choice.  ~  The  wide  we«t  was  streaked  and  barred  with  gold  ; 
and  Btariag  at  it,  CrosebcHie  was  detramiDed  that  laee — three-ineh 
laoe-^H^ieald  blaie  i^khi  his  Uvenes.  And  rapt  in  this  sweet  dream, 
he  walked  on,  his  heart  throbbing  to  the  rumbling  of  his  coach 
iriieela.  That  nmsc  was  so  sireet,  so  deep,  absorbing,  that  accom- 
pawpng  his  footstep*,  he  was  witfiin  a  few  paeea  of  the  Flask  ere 
he<  eanr  a  crowd  gathned  abcntt  the  deor,  and  heard  the  words 
'*  he 's  k^ed. ' '  His  prefessionsl  zeal  was  immediatoly  quickened, 
and  hurrying  into  the  middle  of  the  crowd,  he  saw  the  body  of 
a  man,  apparoitly  lifeless,  carried  toward*  the  inn.  The  people 
orenrded  around,  and  1^  theii  Tery  annety  impeded  the  progreas 
of  the  bearere  towards  the  doer.  "  Stand  amde,  folk» — stand 
aside,"  died  Crosahone,  "I'm  a  phyncian ;  that  is,  a  medical 
man.     Ke^  his  head  np,  fellow." 

"  Gel  out  o' the  way,     exclaimed  a  stranger,  "yondon'tknow 
how  to  carry  a  fellow-cretur,"    and  the  benevolent  new-comer 
thmt  aside  the  rustic  who  was,  awkwardly  enough,  supportiog 
KX.2  .  , 

Cooglc 


too  THE  mSTORT  OF 

the  alioulders  of  the  wounded  man,  and  with  admirable  zeal,  and 
great  apparent  teuderaess,  relieved  him  of  the  charge.  "  Poor 
Boul — poor  Boul !  "  he  cried,  much  affected,  "  I  do  wonder  if  he's 
a  wife  and  family  ? '' 

"Abed-room;  immediately — a  hed-room,"  exclaimed  Croa»- 
bone,  and  his  sudden  patient  waa  carried  up-stairs,  Crossbone  fol- 
lowing. As  he  ascended,  a  horse  bathMl  in  foam,  and  every 
muscle  qiuvering,  was  led  to  the  door> 

"  It  'b  my  hehef  that  that  Claypole  sends  out  his  boy  to  fly  his 
kite  a  purpose  to  kill  people,  that  he  may  bury  'em.  That 's  the 
third  horse  he's  frit  this  week  ;  the  little  varmint!  And  this 
looks  like  death  any  how."  Thus  delivered  himself,  a  plain- 
spoken  native  of  Hampstead. 

"  You  may  say  death.  Cracked  like  a  egg-shell ;"  end  saying 
this,  the  speaker  significantly  pointed  to  his  own  skull.  "  The 
doctor  'e  a  tijing  to  get  blood :  it 's  my  opinion  he  might  as  well 
try  a  tomb-stone.  Well,  this  is  a  world,  isn't  it  ?  I  often  thanks 
my  luck  I  can 't  afford  a  horse  ;  for  who  's  safe  a-horseback  ?  A 
man  kisses  his  wife  and  his  babbies,  if  be  has  'em,  when  he 
mounts  his  saddle  of  a  momin.' — and  his  wife  gets  him  lamb  and 
sparrow-grass,  or  something  nice  for  supper, — 'xpecting  him  home, 
^e  liet«ns  for  his  horse's  feet,  and  he  's  brought  to  his  door  in  a 
shell."  • 

"  Well,  mate,  you  do  speak  a  truth  ;  nobody  can  deny  that," 
said  one  of  the  mob  ;  who,  it  is  probable,  scarcely  dreamt  that  the 
sometime  moralist  and  truth  were  so  very  rarely  on  speaking  terms. 
,And  this  the  reader  will,  doubtless,  admit,  when  we  inform  him 
that  the  man  who  so  humanely,  so  affectionately  lent  l^is  aid  to  the 
thrown  horseman,  helping  to  bear  him  with  all  tenderness  up  stairs, 
was  Mr:  Thomas  Blast.  It  was  his  business,  or  rather,  as  he 
afterwards  revealed,  his  pleasure  to  be  at  Hampstead — his  solemn 
pleasure.  At  this  moment,  St.  Giles  on  his  return  from  the  apo- 
thecary's, came  to  the  inn-door.  Ere  he  was  well  aware  of  the 
f  reeling,  his  band  was  lisped  by  Blast, — "  Well,  how  do  you 
0  ?  Who  'd  have  thought  to  see  you  here  ?  "  Who,  in  sootb, 
bat  Blast  himself,  —  se^g  that  he  had  dogged  his  prey  from. 
St.  James's-square  ?  "  Ha  !  my  good  friend,'  cried  Blast,  very 
much  moved,  "  you  don't  know  the  trouble  I  Ve  had  since  we  met. 
But  you  must  see  it  in  my  looks.  Tell  me,  aint  I  twenty  years 
older  ?  "  . 

"I  don't  see  it,"  muttered   St.  Giles:   though,   assuredly. 


ST.   GOES  AND   ST.  JAKES.  001 

Buch  a  siglit  would  haye  carried  Ha  pleasure  to  the  runaway 
transport. 

"  Hk  !  yon  won't  Bee  it ;  that  'b  bo  like  a  friend.  But  don't 
let  uB  stand  in  the  street ;  come  in  and  hare  a  pot ;  for  I  've 
Bomethin'  to  Bay  that'll  set  your  art  a  bleeding."  Hoping,  pray- 
ing, that  CroBsbosQ  might  not  observe  him — -and  feeling  dwarfed, 
powerlesB,  under  the  will  of  Blast, — St.  Giles  turned  into  a  eide- 
room  with  his  early  teacher  and  destroyer. 

"  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  do  anything  much  in  the  way  of 
drink,"  Baid  Blast,  to  the  waiter  following,  "  and  so,  a  little  brandy- 
and-water.  Well,  you  wonder  to  see  me  at  Hampstead,  I  dare 
say  ?     Ton  can't  guess  what  brings  me  here  t " 

"  No,"  said  6t.  Giles.     "  How  should  I  ?  " 

"  I  'm  ft  altered  man.  I  come  here  all  this  way  for  nothin'  else 
hut  to'see  the  sun  a  Bottin'.  Toor  health';"  and  Blast,  as  ho  said, 
did  nothing  in  the  way  of  drink  :  for  ho  gulped  his  brandy-and' 
water. 

"  To  see  the  sun  a-setting  !"  cried  St  Giles  ;  we  fear,  too,  a 
little  indredulously. 

"  Ha  !  you  're  young,  and  likes  to  see  him  a  gettia'  up  ;  it 's 
natrul ;  but  when  you  're  my  time  o'  life,  and  have  stood  the 
wear  and  tear  o'  the  world  as  I  have,  you  '11  rather  look  at  the 
sun  when  he  seta,  then.  And,  do  joa  know  why  ?  You  don't  ? 
I  '11  tell  you.  Acause,  when  he  sets,  he  reminds  yOu  of  where 
you're  agoing.  I  never  thought  I  should  ha'  been  pulled  up  in 
the  way  I  have  been.  But  trouble's  done  it.  My  only  comfort's 
now  to  look  at  the  settin'  snn — and  he  sets  nowhere  so  stylishly  as 
here  at  Hampstead." 

"Humph!  Afld  so  you've  had  trouble?"  eaid  St.  Giles, 
coldly. 

"  Don't  talk  in  that  chilly  way,  as  if  your  words  was  hail- 
stones. I  feel  as  if  I  could  fall  on  your  neck,  and  cry  like  a 
'oman.  *  Don't  freeze  me  in  that  manner.  I  said  trouble.  Losb 
o'  property,  and  death." 

"Death!"  cried  St.  Giles, 

"  Little  Jingo.  That  apple  o'  both  my  eyes  ;  that  tulup  of  a 
child.  Well,  he  was  too  clever  to  live  long.  I  always  thought  it. 
Much  too  for'ai-d  for  his  age.  He  's  gone-  And  now  he  's  gone, 
I  do  feel  that  I  was  hia  father."  St.  Giles  stifled  a  rising  groan. 
"  But — it 's  my  only  comfort — he  'b  better  looked  arter  now  than 
with  me."  * 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


SOS  IBB   HiaiOBT  OF 

"No  doubt,"  said  St.  QUm  with  a  quickaoiis  iiu,i  made  Blut 
store.     "  I  mean,  if  he  iB  where  jou  hope  he  is." 

"  I  should  like  to  pay  him  «ome  reject.  I  don't  want  to  'do 
much ;  but — I  know  it 's  a  veakseM  ;  stili  a  man  without  » 
weakness  has  no  right  to  lire  among  men  ;  he's  too  good  for  this 
Binful  world.  As  I  was  saying,  I  know  it'a  »  weakaiMi ;  alii],  I 
should  like  to  w«ar  a  little  bit  o'  black — if  it  waa  only  a  mg,  so  it 
was  block.  You  couldn't  lend  me  nothing,  could  you  ?  Only  a 
ooat  would  be  something  to  begin  with." 

&t.  Qiles  pkadedin  ejunue  la»  ray  limited  wardrobe  ;  and  Blast 
was  suddenly  satisfied. 

"  Well,  he  'a  gone ;  and  if  I  was  to  go  as  biaek  as  a  ni^^er, 
he  wouldn't  rest  the  better  for 't.  Besides,  the  nttin'  sun  t«UB 
me  we  shan't  be  long  apart.  Nothing  like  """"■*"  to  puU  a  man 
up  ;  and  so  you  11  know  when  y<Mi  "ve  had  my  trouble.  Your 
health  agin." 

"And  jou  ha™  had  a  loss  of  property  besides  ?  "  asked  St. 
Giles. 

"  Look  here,"  cried  Blast,  taking  off  his  hat  and  rampling  up 
his  hair  :  "  there's  a  ohange  !  Once  as  black  aa  a  crow  ;  and  bow 
— oh,  my  dear  fnend  " — St.  GHea  shrunk  at  tiieiqipeal  as  at  a  pre- 
sented pistd — "if  you  want  to  put  ulrer on  a  man's  head,  you've 
only  to  take  all  the  gold  out  of  his  pocket.  JSad  a  Ices  !  You 
may  say  a  loss.  I  tell  yon  what  it  is :  it's  no  use  for  a  man  to 
think  of  being  honest  in  this  mcxH  :  it  isn't.   I've  tried,  and  I  ^ve 

"  That's  a  pity,"  stud  St.  Gibs  :  knowing  not  what  to  say- 
knowing  not  how  to  shake  off  his  tormentor. 

"Why,itu;  for  a  man  doesn't  often  make- his  mind  up  to  it. 
Well,  I've  had  my  faults,  I  know  ;  who  hasn't!  Still,  I  did. 
think  to  reform  when  I  got  that  lump  of  iooney  ;  and  more,  I  did 
Uiink  to  make  a  man  of  you.  I'd  chalked  out  the  prettiest,  inno- 
centeat  life  for  both  on  us.  I  '11  make  a  sojer  of  Jingo,  I  thought ; 
yes,  I  '11  buy  him  some  colours  for  the  army,  and  make  him  a 
gen'lman  at  once.  And  then  I  thought  we  would  eo  enjoy  onr- 
selres  !  We'd  ha'  gone  and  been  one  all  among  the  lower  orders. 
In  summer  time  we'd  ha'  placed  at  knock  'em-downs  with  'em, 
jest  to  show  we  was  all  made  o'  the  same  stuff;  and  in  winter 
we  wouldn't  ha'  turned  up  oar  noses  athot^wckles,  or  blind-man's 
buff,  or  nothin'  of  the  sort ;  but  ha'  been  as  free  and  comfortable 
Yrith  the  swinish  multitude  (for  I  did  begin  to  think  'em  that  when 


ST.   SILKS  ASD   ST.  JAUES.  SOS 

I  got  the  mtmej')  u  if  they'd  got  gold  rings  in  their  nosee,  and 
like  the  pig^fnced  lady,  eat  out  of  a  silver  trough.  I  thought  jou  'd 
be  a  stiek  ta  my  old  age.  But  what 's  the  use  o'  thinking  on  it  ? 
As  mj  Bchoalmaster  used  to  say,—'  Him  w  seta  his  heart  on  the 
Uiings  of  this  life,'— I  're  foi^t  the  rest :  but  it  'a  all  of  &  pieee." 

"  And  how  did  you  get  ^  money  ?  "  asked  St.  tiiles,  with 
very  well-acted  umoceace. 

*'  How  did  I  get  the  money  ?  Hftw  should  I  get  it  ?  By  the 
sweat  of  my  brow,"  And  bo  far,  the  reader  who  remembMS  the 
Iftbonr  (^  WMMt  in  ^b  theft  of  the  gold-box,  miiy  acquit  him  of  an 
nntruth.  ' 

And  having  ^t  watb  a  h«ip  of  gold,"  rejoined  St.  Giles,  '*  pray 
tell  me— how  did  you  lose  it  ?  " 

Now  Bloat  had,  wd  never  susfteoted  it,  a  sense  of  humour :  he 
eotdd  really  enjoy  a  joke  when  least  palatable  1o  most  men  ; 
namely,  when'made  agsjnst  themselves.  NeverUieless,  wi^  peo- 
ple who  hare  only  a  proper  pride  of  such  philoe<^hy,  he  had  his 
share  of  sonsitimtees,  to  be  called  up  at  a  reasonable  crisis. 
Hence,  when  St.  Qiles  pressed  hon  to  explain  his  loss,  the  jest 
became  a  hm^.  Good  nature  mov  endure  a  tickling  with  a  feal&er, 
but  ivsents  a  sivBtch  Irom  a  tAp^uiy  nul.  "My  d»ir  young 
friend,"  s«d  Blast,  "  don't  do  that ;  pray  don't.  When  you  're 
as  old  as  me,  and  find  the  world  a  ^ppin'  from  under  you  like  a 
hill  o'  BUid,  you'll  not  laugh  at  the  losses  o'  gray  hairs,"  and 
again  Kaet  drew  his  fiogen  thAugh  his  looks  meekly,  monmfidly. 
"  How  did  I  lose  it  ?  No :  you  want't  at  Liquorish,  you  wam't  ? 
l?o  ;  you  dtw't  JcDOw  ?  Well,  I  hope  I'm  not  much  worse  than  my 
ndghbours ;  aud  I  don't  like  wishmg  bad  wishes,  it  is  sich  old 
woman's  woik  ;  it's  only  barkbg  the  louder  for  wanting  teeth. 
But  this  I  will  widi  ;  if  a  clergyman  o'  the  'Stabhsfaed  Church 
is  ever  to  choke  himself  with  a  fish-bone,  I  do  hope  that  that  cler- 
gyman doesn't  lire  &r  from  liBstanis,  and  that  his  name  begins 
with  a  G.  I'm  not  a  spiteful  man  ;  and  so  I  won't  wish  anything 
more  plun  than  durt.  But  it  i(  hard". — and  again  Blast,  he 
could  not  help  it.  reomred  to  his  loss — "it  it  hard,  when  I'd 
resolved  to  lire  in  peace  with  all  the  world,  to  give  a  little  money 
to  the  poor,  and — as  we  all  nast  die— when  I  did  die,  to  hare 
uch  a  clean,  respectable  moniment  pat  up  to  me  inside  the 
church,  with  a  naked  boy  in  white  stone  faoltMug  one  hand  to  his 
eyes,  and  the  ether  putting  out  his  link — ^you  're  seen  the  sort  o' 
thing  I  dare  say  ? — it  U  hud  to  be  done  out  of  it  after  all.  It 's 
enough  to  make  a  man,  as  I  say,  think  o'  nothin'  but  tlie  setting 


SM  THB  EiaTORT   OF 

aua.  Hoveomever,  it  ser?eB  me  right.  '  I  ought  to  ha'  knoir'd 
that  aich  a  fine  place  must  ha'  belonged  to  the  clergyman.  If  I'd 
hid  the  box  in  a  ditch,  and  not  in  a  parson's  fieh-poDd,  at  thia 
blessed  moment  you  and  I  might  ha'  been  happy  men  ;  lords  for 
life  ;  and,  what  I've  heard,  cdled  useful  members  of  society.  And 
now,  mate,",  asVed  Blast  with  sudden  warmth — -"how  do  you  lilie 
your  place  ?     Is  it  the  thing— is  it  clover  i  " 

.".  What  place  ?"  asked  St>  Qiles.  "  I'm  in  no  place,  certain, 
as  yet." 

'.'  There,  then,  we  won't  say  uothin'  about  tt.  Only  this.  When 
you're  buller — if  I'm  spared  in  this  wicked  world  Bo.long.-rr- 
you  won't  refuse  an  old  friend,  Jingo's  friend.  Jingo's  mother's 
friend" — St.  Giles  tumedsick  at  his  mother's  name,  so  spoken-^' 
"  you  won't  refuse  him  a  bottle  o'  the  heat  in  the  pantry  ?  You 
wont,  will  you?     Eh?" 

"No,"  stammered  St.  Giles.     "Why  should  I?      Certainly' 
uot,  when  I'm  hutler." 

"  And  till  then,  old  fellow,"— and  Blast  bent  forward  iu  his 
cbair,  and  touched  St.  Giles's  knee  with  his  finger — "  lend  us'  a 
guinea." 

St.  Giles  recoiled  from  the  Kquest ;  the  more  so,  as  it  was 
seconded  by  contact  with  the  petitioner.  ,  He  made  no  answer .; 
but  his  face  looked  hlauk  aa  blank  paper  :  not  a  mark  was  in 
it  to  serve  as  hieroglyph  for  a  fartiiing.  Blast  could  read 
faces  better  than  hooks.  "  You  «oti't  then  ?  Not  so  much  as  a 
guinea  to  the  friend  of  Jingo's  mother  ?  "  St>  Giles  writhed 
again  at  the  -words.  "  Well,  as  it  'a  like  the  world,  why  should  I 
■quarrel  ?  Now  jest  see  the  difference.  See  the  money  I  "d  ha' 
given  you,  if  misfortin  hadn't  stopt  in.  'He's  a  fine  fellow,'  I 
kept  continually  saying  to  myself;  '  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  I  like 
him,  and  he  sl^  have  half.  Not  a  mite  less  than  half.'  And 
now,  you  won't  lend  me — for  mind  I  don't  az  it  as  a  gift — you 
won't  lend  me  a  guinea^" 

"  I  can't,"  said  St.  Giles.     "  I  am  poor  myself:  very  poor." 

."  Well,  as  I  said  afore,  we  won't  quarrel.  And  so,  you  shall 
have  a  gwnea  of  me."  Saying  this.  Blast  with  a  cautious  look 
towards  the  door,  drew  a  long  leathern  purse  from  his  pocket. 
St.  Giles  suddenly  felt  as  though  a  party  to  the  robbery  that — be 
knew  it — Blast  must  somewhere  have  perpetrated. 

"  Not  a  farthing,"  said  St.  Giles,  as  Blast  dipped  his  finger  and 
thumb  iji  the  purse.     "  Not  a  farthing." 

"  Don't  say  that ;    don't  be  proud,  for  you  don't  know  in  this 


BT.   OILE3   AKD  ST.   JAMES.  CM 

world  what  jou  may  want.  .  I  dare  say  tbe  poor  cretur  up  stairs 
was  proud  enough  thia  mornin* ;  and  what  is  he  now  ?  " 

"  Not  dead  !  "  cried  St,  Giles.     "  I  hope  not  dead." 

"Why,  hope's  very  well ;  and  then  it's  so  rer^cheap.  But 
there  'a  no  doubt  he's  gone  ;  and  as  he's  gone,  what,  I  should  like 
to  know  " — and  Blast  threw  the  purse  ^rily  up  and  down — "  what 
was  the  use  of  this  to  him  ?  " 

"Good  God!  You  havui't  stole  it?"  exclaimed  St.  Giles, 
le^ing  to  his  feet. 

"  Hush  !  "  cried  Blast,  "  don't  make  sich  a  noise  as  that  with 
a  dead  body  in  the  house.  The  worst  o'  folks  treat  the  dead  with 
respect.  Else  people  who're  never  thought  of  at  all  when  in  the 
world,  wouldn't  he  gone  into  blact  for  when  they  go  out  of  it.  I'd 
no  thought  of  thp  matter,  when  1  run  to  help  the  poor  cretar  : 
hut  somehow,  going  up  stairs,  one  of  his  coat  pockets  did  knock 
at  my  knuckles  so,  that  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  when  I'd  laid  him 
comfortable  on  the  bed,  and  was  coming  down  agin,  I  found  this 
sort  o'  thing  in  my  pocket.  Poor  fellow!  he'll  never  miss  it. 
Well,  you  won't  have  a  guinea  then  ?  " 

"  I'd  starve  first,"  exclaimed  St.  Giles. 

"  My  good  lad,  it  isn't  for  m'e  to  try  to  put  myself  over  your 
head, — but  this  I  must  say  ;  when  you've  seen  the  world  as  I 
have,  you'll  know  better."  At  this  moment,*  the  waiter  entered  the 
room. 

"How  is  the  poor  gentlemaa  up  stairs?"  asked  St.  Gijes. 
"  Is  there  no  hope t"  * 

*  "  Lor  bless  you,  yes  !  They  're  bled  him  and  made  him  q«ite 
comfortable.  He's  ordered  some  nunp-steaks  and  onions,  and 
says  he'll  make  a  night  of  it."     Thus  spoke  the  waiter. 

"  Do  you  hear  that  ?  "  asked  St.  Giles  of  Blast. 

"  Sorry  to  hear  it ;  sorry  to  think  that  any  man  arter  sich  an 
escape,  should  think  o'  nothing  better  than  supper.  My  man, 
what 's  to  pay  ?  "  St.  Giles  unbuttoned  his  pocket.  "  No  ;  not 
a  farden  ;  teU  you,  I  won't  hear  of  it.  Not  a  farden  :  bring  the 
change  out  o' that,"  and  Blast  laid  down  a  dollar :  and  the  waiter 
departed  on  his  errand. 

"  I  tell  you,  I  don't  want  you  to  treat  me  ;  and  I  won't  have 
it,"  said  St.  Giles. 

"My  good  young  man,  a  proper  pride 's  a  proper  diing  ;  and 
I  don't  like  to  see  nobody  without  it.  But  pride  atween  friends  I 
hate.  So  good  bye,  for  the  present.  I II  take.my  change-at  the 
bar. ' '     And  Ur.  Blast  was  about  to  hurry  himself  from  the  room . 


BOB  ntE  OITTWARO   ASD  TEE   imSB  LIFE. 

"Stft7,"  BaidSt.ailes;  "skould  I  wicitL  tosee  j'au,'idi6reu« 

yon  to  be  fonnd  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know, "  said  Blast.  "  Somettmea  in  ono  piftce 
— sometimes iin  another.  But  one  thing,  vaj  dear  lad,  is  quite 
sure."  Here  Slaat  put  botb  hia  hands  on  St.  Giles's  shouldars 
and  looked  in  his  face  with  smiling  malignity — "  ono  thing  is  qnite 
sure :  if  you  don't  know  how  to  find  Bie,  I  dialT  always  know 
whwe  to  come  iqron  you.     Don't  he  afeard  of  tbat,  young  min." 

And  with  this,  Blast  left  the  room,  whilst  St.  Giles  sank  in  his 
chair,  weary  and  sick  at  heart.  He  was  in  ihe  Tillaia's  power. 
Add  seemed  to  exist  only  by  his  Bufiinrtnce.  ' 


THE  OUTWARD  AND   TH£   INHBS  IiIFB. 

Brhdld  h»W  freedi  <aod  feir  the  (menine  flowcn, 

In  early  sprinctime  o'er  the  mBSdows  blewjng,  ■ 
Purple  and  yellow  buds  bestowing 

In  lovely  ahowere ; 
The  glad  eye  wanders  o'er  each  scattered  gem, 
Ben<£ng  in  be^oty  from  its  fragile  stem. 

But  there  are  blooming  lovelier  flowers  Ihan  these, 
Pair  heavenly  butts  in  earthly  heroes  np-Bpringing ; 

With  them  as  joytfUs  minahme  bringing 

As  flowers  or  trees  ; 
Earth,  treasure  thoa  Qiese  bloannne  from  on  high. 
And  lead  them  onward  to  their  native  sky. 

Gaze  on  the  waters  of  the  far-spread  deep, 
How  grand,  how  awful  are  ita  billows  awdling. 
The  beauty  of  its  strength  foi«t«Uing, 

Even  in  its  sleep ; 
We  stand  enntpturedhy  that  aoimding  sea, 
Filled  with  a  sense  of  its  immeiutty.  ' 

But  in  ten  thousand  homes  of  earth,  there  lies 
A  strength  more  beautiful  ;  'tis  the  outpouring 
Of  the  ^ad  heart,  with  praise  adoring 

-   Oh,  'tis  a,  holier,  a  more  solemn  soi^, 
'     Than  ever  shall  to  rolling  waves  belong. 


v.Goo'^lc 


BKNJAiaH  S  XiBSS. 

See  whew  Ow  avxuiy  light  of  heaven  shiiies  down 
Upon  the  mouDUiaa,  azuie  glory  shedding, 
A£d  radiant  tints  out^ieadiiig, 

And  as  the  day's  bright  iQstre&dea  away. 
New  bewties. linger 'raid  the  getthig  ray. 

But  there  are  g*Mter  things  ^tiMD  Ane  ;  fcr,  lo  !* 
Tha  ^ed  Cfamtiaii,  mt  «&Me  hony  hoad 
The  bleMcd  paacs  of  heavenly  hope  is  ahed 

^VTiile  yet  below  j 
How  shall  the  moantains'  fmrest  tints  dispense 
So  sacred  and  so  blest  an  infiaence ! 


BENJAMIN'S  MESS. 

BY   FAUI.  BHX. 

Did  yon  «Ter  try  ooneluaioiu,  enltghtaied  Reader,  with  an 
English  Cook  of  t^e  Old  School  ?-~attempt  to  tronble  her  mind, 
far  instaooQ,  by  deaciibtng  to  her  how  those  poor  idolatrous 
heathens,  the  Hindoos,  boU  their  rioe ;  or  how  those  worthless 
profligates,  the  Italians  (who  ha?e  no  wives  ef  (heir  own,  and 
every  one's  else  in  common,  and  are,  man,  vrovan,  and  child, 
bom  for  opera  singers)  manage  their  .tnaoaroni  ?     Did  you  ever 

>  see  her  dogged  face  of  self-approving  obstinacy,  the  peony  red 
resistance  in  every  line  of  it  de^  in  proportion  as  she  clings  to 
her  own  kitchen  fire,  and  denoiuioes  all  oatnnhs,  hot  hearths,  or 
other  new-fangled  deviees  to  rescue  the  euUoary  animal  from  the 
torture  of  being  roasted  alive  ?  Did  yon  ever  hear  her  voice, 
Bonr  and  aaroaatio  enough  to' turn  many-tided  Hook  and  panthsistio 
Claret,  Chablia,  aud  the  rest  of  'em  into  vinegar — and  to  blight 
republican  miuEe  in  the  ear — as,  deaf  to  the  charming  of  Miss 

.  AcUin's  dulcet  recommendation,  or  Mrs.  Anne  MiUer'a  moat 
seducing  pretaiption  (as  the  Germans  call  it),  she  replies,  "  Well, 
ma'am  (or  sir),  the  family  may  take  what  steps  they  please,  but 
I  'II  have  neither  art  ner  part  in  such  outlandish  heobes  ! " 

Now,  pcradventwe,  I  may  be  pilloried  as  the  oearsest  and  most 
prejudiced  creature  of  this  species — a  discarded  menial  "ontof 
place,"  ever  since  the  late  Mistress  Partington  deeoMed;  if  I 


Coofjic 


COB  BEKJAMl^  B   lf£BS. 

Tcnture,  at  a  table  like  youra,  Uid  out  for  the  eij^ess  purpose  of 
feeding  the  public  witb  savoury  and  wholeBOme  viands  (none  of 
your  "  cheap  soups  for  the  poor ! ")  to  complua  of  a  dish  Bct 
before  ub  too  frequently ;  and,  of  late,  like  the  Peacock  of  chi' 
▼alrouB  banquets,  with  a  triumphant  flourish  of  trumpets  before  it. 
It  ia  denominat«d  "  Bekjauih's  Mess"' — Beojaniio,  on  tbia  occa-  ' 
sion,  being  aetJTe,  not  paBBive  in  the  receipt.  How  it  got  the  above 
name  is  a  matter  about  which  Doctors  differ.  Those  of  divinity 
declare  the  thing  to  be  of  antique  origin,  stating  that  some 
mention  of  it  may  bo  found  among  tbe  Rabbinical  traditions,  and 
that  it  takes  date  from  the  head  of  {he  youngest  of  the  tribes, 
whose  allotted  part  was  to  "ravin  like  a  wolf; — in  the  morning," 
{aomewhere  about  tbc  time  of  a  London  midnight,  say  the  close 
of  a  protracted  May  debate)  "to  devour  the  prey  ; — in  the  evening 
to  divide  the  spoil."  But  I  think  this  foUy.  Yom:  reverend  Doctors 
are  able  to  prove  any  and  everything  they  please,  whether  it  be 
to  fight  the  fight  for  Authority  or  for  Kationalism  !  Another  set, 
the  Natural  PhiloBOphera,  who  investigate  all  matters  save  their 
own  perpetual  quarrels  as  influencing  our  social  atmosphere, 
assert  that  they  detect  in  tee  uess,  the  presence  of  a  well-known 
sticking  subBtaneo  derived  from  a  plant,  "  of  flimsy  stamina,  obtuse 
in  the  point  of  stigma,  silky  rather  than  downy — which,  in  taste, 
-  ia  sharp,  pungent,  and  acidulous ;  when  cold  without  smell,  but 
on  applying  heat,  sending  forth  anHngrateful  odour."  (FtrfeEEEs), 
This,  however,  my  Mrs.  3eU  insists,  is  merely  one  of  the  thousaod- 
and-ono  materialist  conjectures  which  are  brought  forward  to  cast 
discredit  on  things  eccleaiaBtical — Outn  Benjamin  being  a  leading  • 
ingredient  in  incense,  and  as  such,  certain  to  be  treated  with 
sad  disrespect  by  Professor  Pry  and  Professor  Parrot;  the  investi- 
gators in  question.  Why  tie  unwholesome  stuff  should  be  called 
Benjauin'b  Mess,  must,  therefore,  for  the  present,  remiun  a 
myatery : — unless  my  namesake,  Mr.  Bell,  who  answers  all  con- 
ceivable inquiries  with  aa  profound  a  cert^nty  as  if  omniscience 

were  his  foible,  like  Professor 's,  will  favour'  us  with  his 

lights  on  die  subject.  Meanwhile,  come  the  confection  from  the  , 
East  or  the  West — -from  Old  Jewry  or  Park  Lane — it  is  altogether 
deleterious,  if  not  diatasteful ;  and  honest  heads  of  households, 
who  believe  in  Roast  Beef,  and  hearten  themselves  up  to  fight 
iniquities  and  abuses  on  Brown  Stout,  are  bojmd  to  grumble  at  it, 
as  the  most  pretentious  imposition  of  the  kick-ahaw  school  of 
pUilantbropic  cookery. 

L)«:.ti  by  Google 


To  apeak  plMnlj — making  on  end  of  my  table  metaphor,  and 
leaving  othera  to  dish  my  simile — I  doo't  like  the  atyle  of  some 
among  those  who  profess  to  teach,  or  to  sympathise  with,  the  People 
at  present.  I  mistrust  the  Trader '  nho  takes  up  the  pack  of 
Autolycus,  because  he  possesaes  no  longer  a  coin  to  Bnpport  tha 
t,  magnificence  of  Alcibiades.  Crockford's  ia  a  bad  school  for  the 
orator  who  is  to  lecture  "  hia  dear  frieada  th6  Operatives"  on 
the  virtues  and  beauty  of  Savings  Banks — the  "  steaming  board" 
of  this  Apician  Duke,  or  the  other  Bacchanalian  Marquia, — a 
comical  field  over  which  to  rehearae  Temperance  Orations.  Nor, 
to  be  candid,  do  I  much  relish  the  notion  of  the  gentleman  vho 

ran  away  with  Iiady ,  and  would  have  done  as  much  by 

sundry  other  married  women,  they  or  their  lords  permitting— 
talking  to  my  Ura,  Bell  and  our  growing  girls,  about  "  the 
domestic  charmes."  Don't  misunderstand  me.  I  am  not  mean- 
ing "  t0  fling  "  at  the  morals  of  any  class.  Nay,  I  have  often 
thought  the  temptation  a^  vitiation  to  which  the  noble  and  rich  are 
eiposedare  moremelaucooly  than  the  want  and  wretchedness  of  the 
humble  and  poor.  But  I  would  not  have  Libertines,  Adventurers — 
Infidels  in  human  virtue — experienced  men  who  have  come  to 
treat  the  paseioos  like  ao  many  beads  and  aheHa  belon^g  to  a 
Sa»age — curiosities  which  the  well-bom  and  well-bred  have  got 
past  using  or  caring  about — to  be  respected  or  recognised  as 
Leaders ;  simply  because  they  can  sentimentaUse  about  factory 
Children, — because  they  can  talk  to  Country  Labourers,  as  if  the 
latter  were  a'o  many  primroses  of  beauty  and  innocence  ; — because 
they  can  write  showy  poema,  or  showy  novels,  or  shovry  letters  in 
the  newspapers— or  showily  quote  the  Platonists  when  they  have 
to  debate  upon  the  Sewer  Bill,  or  the  Cheap  Food  Question.  I 
cannot  give  my  trust  to  men  who  have  trafficked  with  money- 
changers, until  they  have  Been  compelled  to  part  with  their  prin- 
ciples among  other  marketable  things  ; — I  cannot  act  with  tliose 
who  have  dawdled  among  opera  dancers,  till  they  cease  to  find 
indecorum  in  the  Pas  Seul  of  the  rouged  and  tinaeUed  Liberator 
in  the  "  Dreary  Abodes  of  the  Desolate  and  the  Oppressed,",  or 
disgrace  in  his  carrying  the  bat  round,  with  the  true  ballet  nimble- 
neae  and  seduction,  saying — as  plain  as  pantomime  enti'eaty  can 
apeak  it — "  Do  drop  a  Place  in  !  " 

"  How  now,"  cries  some  angry  Colonel  Cambric,  some  exquisite 
Sir  Hyacinth,  fragrant  as  '  Bucklersbury  in  aimpling  time;' — 
"  How  now  }  would  you  establish  the  Inquisition  among  free-bont 


CIO  BENJAinaTs  uzss. 

BiitonB  ?  eneour^^  Slander  to  pry  into  family  hiatories,  and 
Fftrtf-Bptte  to  blaekan  prirato  chuaoter  ? — deny  refined  Hunam^ 
ita  noblert  privil^ne  of  aiding  ia  t}>e  wort  of  aooial  progwa  f 
— ^maintaiiithebamenvUcbMlongKarelept  Gende  SM  Sinqilv, 
Learned  and Usleanted^IUcliBBdPoor.asiuider?" — I bopenoty  gen- 
tlemen. Coidd  ISE  MK8S  be  proved  noombing;  tending  neither* 
to  prodttoe  fiatuleihse,  heait-buming,  debility,  or  St.  Vitaa'a  Dance, 
I  would  noi  inquire  too  cnrionaly  if  tbe  cook  wore  a  p^t&il,  or 
when  he  lut  beat  hla  wife  ;  or  by  wfai^  of  tlie  pates*  roade  he 
iDt«nded  to  rcMh  the  Celeatiat  Ci^  ! — Tint  it  i»the  muiiiCiutivQ 
whieb  has  led  tne  to  ccouider  tHe  training  of  the  mMudnetarer. 
How  many  are  the  appeale  mode  day  by  day,  to  my  fellow-labonren, 
in  nothieg  mora  anitable  to  tli«r  object  at  befrrasding  the  bodies 
and  balancing  the  laindi  of  tbe  People,  than  the  wardrobe  for 
private  theatricala,  whtdi  was  takea  out  to  Amerie«  by  the  wfH- 
known  Lady  who  sailed  fordi  to  coloaise  in  a  c^K-brake,  all 
"  Wri^,"  RepaUicea;  and  who  eameback  all  "right  divine," — 
ready  to  do,  in  three  vole,  poet  oetaTO,  uiy  grieraan  which  mig^ 
bo  thoogbt  a  good  speenlation.  Hers  'b  one,  for  instMiee,  who  triee 
to  auth^iticate  his  £tneis  as  a  p<^»iilar  Leader,  by  sbowiag  tn  the 
Victory  p^e-faces,  how  th^  L^datora  riot  in  tbe  exquisite 
dainties  of  a  gaming-house  supper :  «hile  be  would  fain  entertein 
his  aristocratic  patrons  into  admittiBg  him  as  one  ot  theii  ^iTonrite 
spotrt-n^ere.  by  exhib^tsg  tp  tham  tbe  Dehating^  Society,  the 
Dancing-Uall,  the  Penny  Concert,  and  the  Farthit^Reading-ro«nBof 
BMne  maDufaebning  town  : — oKe  seesion  hand  and  glove  with  the 
Bpnning  Jocks  and  Jenniea  ;  the  next  mth  his  arm  romid  Hodge  tto 
ploughman's  neck,  brira&l  of  tiie  (M  "-ba<^-bone"  tniians,  which 
one  ought  hav»  t^ug^  wera  worn  to  death  in  the  dnys  of  Hone 
and  Cobbett.  UbmliBB  is  oa  longer  low ;  it  hoe  become  the 
fashion.  Those  who  "  flamed  oiDasement"  at  the  Open  in  wm- 
droos  pantalooas,  and  strK&gling  cataracts  of  satin  romid  their 
threats  soau  fifteen  years  since,  are  now  trying  "  to  t«^  die 
mode"  by  preaching  and  teaching  in  UayFair; — clad  inyiMlMm .' 
not,  however,  resisting  the  dear  delight  of  "  comm^  Opera  or 
May  Fair"  over  tbe  Manchester  tradesmen,  yrhem  down  in  his 
hemisphere,  to  play  the  part  of  the  Lion  or  of  the  Sympathiser. 
And  BO  well  do  I  know  the  deep-rooted  love  of  fineiy  in  which  the 
Englishman  is  steeped,  that  it  is  precisely  because  of  plain  John's 
accessibility  to  the  tawdry  civilities  and  Monmouth-street  grandeurs 
of  soeh  philaDthn^Mats  as  msk«  THE  Mxas,  that  I  raise  my  roice 

Coo'jlc 


b^kjauin's-uess.  £)1 

flgunst  them  and  their  c<»Dpoiiiid — against  all  Lord  Blarneys, 
howeTer  resoiiaat  be  tlieii  tides  of  Sir  Tomkjn — against  all  spe- 
cious OrtUws  of  the  Skeggs  family,  charm  they  ever  bo  wisely,  by 
the  hackneyed  asaertion,  that  "  nrtue  ia  beyond  all  price." 

Enoogh  of  SEirJiJiiM's  Miss  on  Bomaaoier: — thece  is  another- 
prepuatioD  of  the  BaJne  mat«tiak  heaner  to  digest—^u  Fitum' 
cier ;  of  which  we  are  hardly  anspicioas  entui^  Who  knows  not 
the  Leader  whose  Leading  Article  would  come  to  a  dead  halt,  but 
for  "  the  iuBtrnctire  remarkB"  of  the  last  "  distinguished,  foreign 
traveller  ?  "  Who  knows  no*  the  Orator,  relying  for  his  appear- 
ance of  acuteneas  and  universal  wisdom  on  some  feather-headsd 
Frenchman,  or  some  leadeo-seated  German,  who  has  "  come,  seen, 
conquered"  all  the  difficulties  of  all  the  problems  <^  our  social 
life— written  two  thiok  volumes  inslanter,  describing  hie  Gonquest ; 
and,  what  is  more  cruel,  published  them.  Admirable,  valuabte 
to  be  listened  for  by  ersry  true  man  who  loves  truth  better  than 
his  own  insular  vanity,  ana  all  foreign  criticisms  of  our  imma" 
culate  establiehmenta,  ajod  our  sublime  social  ordinwaces  ! — but  let 
us  take  them  as  hints  derived  &om  impresuoas,  nob  cedes,  accord- 
ing to  which  ouc  Legidators  are  to  rule  us,  and  "  one  humble,"  as 
Landor  hath  it,  "  to  hold  up  hands."  The  account  of  long  reu- 
deuce,  nunute  sympathy  (use  of  language  premised),  power  of 
independent  oba«Tatioii— b&  opposed  to  glimpses  through  the 
spectacles  of  Mr.  Milloimer  this,  or  the  great  glasses  of  Lord 
Landed  Friqnietor  t'otiier! — required,  ere  conclueiom  can  have 
aiiy  serious  worth,  seems  to  be  oddly  lost  sight  of  by  all  parties. 
I  hare  been  in  a  pONtion,  sir,  to  watch  how  some  of  these  oracles 
collect  their  wisdom,  liring  as  I  do  in  a  manufacturing  district, 
and  having  (m(H«'s  the  pity,}  rdalioas  among  your  London 
authors ;  and  I  shall  tell  aninslAnoe, — ono  among  muty. 

It  is  not  a  hundeed  sujaraere  ago,  that  a  vary  oUver  and^very 
honest  French  journalist,  and  politico^ecaBomist,  came  to  England 

onatourof  inspeolJOD.— I  meaamy  epithets  seriously.  Mj.  Q 

has  a  sharp  neat  pen,  a  clear  arrangement  of  paragraphs,  and 
conuderftble  reasonmg  power.  I  happen  to  know,  too,  that  he 
has  provQjl  his  integrity  by  heavy  sacrifices  of  fortune,  a  melim- 
choly  rarity  in  the  annals  of  the  French  press.  He  came  to  us 
with  some  knowledge  of  English  affairs:  he  had  mastered  the 
fact,  usually  a  choke-pear  with  our  neighbours,  that  jour  L»d 
Mayor  of  London  is  not  neit  in  greatness  to  our  Sovereign.  He 
spoke  cuttingly  of  the  exquisite  ignorance  of  H.  Alexandre  Domas, 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


812  benjamin's  mesb. 

who  in  his  drama  of  "  Kean,"  makea  the  Prince  Regent  trans- 
port the  tragedian  for  a  jear  to  America  1  He  was  aware  that 
£nglis}i  young  Ladies  had  other  names  than  Miss  Kitty  or  Mies 
Jenny.  He  did  not  expect  to  find  the  "  zions  of  our  nobility,"  as 
Titmarsh  calls  them,  gomg*to  bed  in  their  buckskina  and  top-boots 
after  a  steeple-chace  ;  nor  boxing  in  the  pit  of  the  Opera.  He  had 
even  reached  that  eitreme  of  enlightenment,  of  admitting  that  the 
quiet  English  Sunday  need  not  mean  a  Day  of  Mortification 
exclusively  ;  hut  might  also  mean  a  Bay  of  Rest  t«  a  people  cle- 
verer at  leaning  affoinst  posts  than  in  dancing  !  Gravely  :  he  was 
"  well  up"  in  our  history,  even  the  history  of  our  "  Wigks"  and 
Tories  :  could  name  our  leading  men,  and  "  discuss  the  same"  to 
Lord  Brougham  in  English,  at  least  as  fluent  as  his  blithe  Lord- 
ship's French  !  Well,  Mr.  Q- came  over  to  examine  our  manu- 
facturing districts — the  morals  and  desires  of  their  population.  Ho 
had  promised  to  write  on  these  matters  ;  to  write  serious  facts,  not. 
Sibylline  fictions.  He  applied  in  London  for  letters  to  some  of 
our  leading  people  ;  he  was  to  see  and  to  apprq/hndir,  Birming- 
ham, Derby ;  Manchester  {of  course)— Glasgow,  including  a  Loch  or 
two,  if  possible — in  a  fortnight !  The  party  to  whom  he  addressed 
himselfC  Sir,  respecting  him  sincerely,  ventured  to  point  out  to 
him,  tliat  his  time  was  rather  short,  and  his  field  of  inquiry 
very  wide ;  that  Cotton  has  6ne  life  among  its  myrmidons, 
and  Crockery  another  ;  that  those  who  spin  Flax,  and  those  who 
spin  Iron  (for  really  to  spinning  do  recent  manujfactures  of  iroji 
amount!)  have  difierent  humours  and  habits;  that  the  Lan- 
cashire Collier  in  "his  posey  jacket,"  and  the  Spitalfields  Wearer, 
with  his  aiuiculas,  hardly  even  speak  a  common  language,  have 
a  common  belief,  save  that  money  is  a  good  thing,  and  all  Rich 
people  are  horn  oppressors  !  'Twas  in  vuu  : — these  representations 
ran  down,  without  penetrating  his  self-complacency.  Talk  of 
Mackintosh,  or  the  inventor  of  Pannus  Corium,  as  impervious ! 
mere  sieve,   I  say,  to  a  Frenchman  of  conscience  steeped  in  a 

system  !     Mr.  Q heard  my  relative  with  tolerable  patience  : 

dat  was  all.'  But  it  Is  not  all  which  1  have  to  tell.  The  introduc- 
tions were  taken,  and  the  philosophical  tourist  started  behind  the  Iron 
Courser  for  Birmingham,  there  to  begin  his  wondrous  round.  But 
betwixt  the  noise  and  dust  and  scents  of  his  first  day's  tour  of  the 
manufactories,  and  the  misery  of  his  second  day's  deprivation  of 
the  bottle  of  St.  Julieuand  diahof  spinach  for  breakfast,  the  French 
traveller  fell  sick,  and  took  to  bed.      There  he  lay  UU  it  was  tlmo 


bekjauin's  HESS.  m 

to  return  to  London ;  and  tLence  to  Paris.  Nevertbeleas,  tba 
"Letters  on  the  Manufacturing  Districts"  were  written  all  th« 
same.  And  I  have  since  seen  grave  appeals  made  in  grave  pUcei 
to  bis  lucubrations,  as  to  a  testimonj  w^rth  heeding. 

On  what,  then,  should  the  ignorant  minda  he  fed; — by  whom 
should  the  intellects  bare  of  everything,  save  a  few  rags  of  tawdrj 
ItrejudiccB,  be  clad  ?  Ifot,  assuredly,  on  mouthing!  and  fdeasant 
{leriods,  attudinisings  and  grimaciugs  : — not  by  ^e  Player^Kinga 
and  Flayer-Pbilanthropistsi  who  bring  the  tinsel  of  RichardBon'a 
Show  into  Life's  serious  business.  If  it  he  too  much  to  expect  for 
the  instant  that  state  of  high  morality  which  shall  preclude  the  poli- 
tical Rope-Dancer  from  finding  any  serious  employment,  he  should 
not  be  trusted.  Let  us  hope  that  the  days  when  the  tTXat-»orth-Uu 
shall  look  for  their  audience  in  vain,  are  near.  As  for  cutting  off 
the  People  &om  such  pleasures  as  brilliant  oratory  can  afford  their 
imagination  and  musical  senso  (their  judgment  conrinced  the 
while) — as  for  denying  them  such  advocacy  as  the  Poet,  the 
Novelist,  the  BramatisC  can  tender,  and  reducing  the  statement  of 
iheir  wrongs  and  wishes  to  the  tabulated  form  of  a  Work-House 
Boyd  Report— for  be  that  from  me,  sir.  I  would  have  Poetry 
And  Taste  mingle  with  every  transaction  of  our  lives  ;  seeing  that 
the  one  is  merely  the  loftiest  TruCh,  and  the  other  the  most  refined 
Common  Sense.  Nay,  more,  to  those  who  can  recognise  trumpery 
as  trumpery  :  while  they  love  to  see  the  Puppet  jerk  its  limbs— to 
bear  how  far  a  given  Orator  can  burlesque  paUios  and  sincerity — to 
read  whatever  new  monstrosity  their  pet  writer  may  have  described 
— the  Political  Charlatan  is  innoxious — he  is  entertaining  :  &e 
licensed  successor  of  The  Fool  of  old  feudal  times.  But  the  People 
have  not  leisure  to  he  fantastic  over  their  pleasures  :  they  ore  not, 
thank  Heaven  !  so  hkui  as  to  require  monstrosity  and  exaggera- 
tion to  move  them.  Let  us,  then,  beware  how  we  encourage  them 
to  fancy  the  Puppet  a  real  man — to  mistake  the  Talker's  trashy 
"lengths  of  Eonnd  and  fiiry"  for  an  outpouring  of  real  enthusiasm 
—to  occef^  the  Scrawler's  melodramatic  caricatures  of  tUeir  homes 
And  workshops  as  simple  and  faithful  representatjona.  The 
Romancer  is,  after  all,  smaller  by  a  cubit  than  the  Jfec-romanc^ 
of  elder  times :  like  him,  a  Quack,  but  with  powers  seriously 
impaired,  and  pretensions  far  more  grasping  than  his  ancestors'. 

As  for  solemn  Dulness  parading  his  discoveries  as  infallible  by 
the  aid  of  that  cosmopolitan  jargon,  wluch  accepts  every  stranger 

ICO,  jvni, — TOL.  ta.  l  l 

Upl:«l  by  Google 


tU  THE   CACLD  HEASTH-STANE. 

as  therefore  a  sum  of  Scienoe — Am  reign  witt  the  People  cnnnst 
last  long.  The  Uerry  AxAtkw  mny  be  too  nimble  for  The  Scbool- 
mastei',  bo  koig  as  the  world  endureth  ;  .but  twenty  yeara  mm«  vt 
enlightenment  «■  aiKtters  which  iJie  most  oonoem  their  intereBte 
will  enable  «(r  friends  (witheat  need  of  any  Dr.  Dilworth)  t^m- 
sekes  to  turn  tke  Pl«<ildera  back,  lodding  them  "  work  tjmr 
SHm  «t  hoeae."  Bnt  tlte  dinner  b^  ring^.  Esoogh,  'Aen,  of 
"  BESiiMis'b  Mess,  "  and  alt  that  it  syM^lises.  £a^  to  irinle- 
sQue  Endiali  roaet  and  bailed  I 


THE  CAULD  HEAETH-STANE. 

Tub  blithest  sigbt  a  poor  man  aoes 

Is  his  ain  ingle  s  coolhie  bleeze : 

When  the  kind  hearth  is  glowin'  het, 

And  friends  in  social  circle  met. — 

The  blackest  sight  that  meets  his  e'e, 

When  trampled  down  by  poverty, 

Wi'  frjeads,  aad  gear,  and  credit,  gane, 

la  the  gruesome  look'  o'  the  caotd  heaith-stane. 

When  a'  that  lo'e  as  kave  their  stools. 

And,  ane  by  atx,  mis  wi'  the  »od1s  ; 

When  Mand^p's,  love's,  endeettn'  bafids 

A  re  liven  frae  our  thowlsia  haads  ; 

'\Vhen  blackness  site  in  beauty's  plaoe. 

And  soriow  darkens  heaven's  face, 

How  sad  to  sit,  in  tears,  aJane, 

Demented  wi'  grief,  by  the  caald  h^rtli-stane. 

When  down  the  black  and  cheerless  limi 

The  frozen  winds  o'  winter  come ; 

When  throagh  the  crazy  wa's  tlie  drift 

O'er  a'  the  honse  will  swirl  and  sift. 

Pity  the  wretch  that  "s  doomed  to  jouk 

In  rags  beside  the  ingle-nook  ; 

While  hunger  bites  him  bo  the  bane, 

And  streeks  him  in  death  on  tlio  cauld  hearth-sti 

Wi'  uane  hii  glaxm  een  to  dose, 

Or  his  sair  wiitben  limbs  <jomj>iH>e ; 

Wi'  iiane  to  epeer,  and  jwne  te  cate, 

^^'l;ilt  wroH(j!it  the  deed  o'  murder  there ! 


vCoo*^lc 


KESBAK0HE3  IS 

From  Nafnre's  heart  and  table  tnrned, 
Despised,  degraded,  Eh&ined,  and  spurned — 
Left  like  a  dog  in  duUi,  wi'  naae 
To  lift  up  his  coipse  irae  the  cauld  bearth-etane. 

I  've  had  m7  share  o'  warid's  ill ; 

0'  grief  I  've  Itftea  drsot  my  fill ; 
Misfortune's,  slander's,  venom 'd  dart 
*     Has  broke  my  peace,  has  pierced  my  heart. 
1  Ve  borne  them  all,  and  yet  conld  bear. 
Would  Heaven  but  in  me^y  spare, 
■Wliat  e'en  in  thonght  maist  tnms  my  brain, 
The  lang-dreaded  look  o*  the  canld  hearth-stane. 
Edinburgh.  Wu,  Fehodbbos. 


RESEARCHES  IN  BELQRATIA ; 

OB, 

THE  WOEKS  AND  "WONDERS  OF  THE  WEST- 


LEixEa  IV. — To  Mns.  Rustlsr. 
Deabest  Mrs.  Rustleb, 

■  T*ke  tie  account  of  our  risit  to  Lady ,  fresh  from 

the  tablets  of  reooUection,  Should  I,  iodeei^  postpone  the  narro- 
tiou,  disturbing  exteriorities  might  arise,  which,  by  weakening 
impressions,  might  impair  the  functions  of  Teracity.  Ever  let  ua 
be  actuated  by  tJie  motto. 

Now  13  the  g^sent ;  Virgins,  vineyards  till. 
And  sweet  WlTice  by  eager  ieed»  fulfil. 

Truth  be  our  guide,  and  Charity,  prompt  to  authenUcate  good  by 
^^dicating  evil,  our  companion. 

It  was  with  feelings,  as  you  will  believe,  of  mwo  than  ordinary 

excitntion,  that  P and   myself  presented  ourselves  at  the 

portal  of  Lady  Highborough's  sumptuous  mansion  in Square. 

The  strikinguess  of  her  character  had  made  itself  known  to  us 
through  a  thousand  sources.  In  her  youth,  as  her  portrait,  painted 
by  Sir  RJoliard  Phillips,  must  have  already  acquainted  you,  slie 
was  surpassingly  beautiful— and,  as  we  all  are  (who  knows  better 
than  n)y8elf  ?)  an  object  of  precious  onxicty,  and  unmitigated  temp- 


C.i 


tc^ 


nt  RESSAHCHES  IK   BSLOJUVU* 

tatloDH.  Rojalty  was  at  her  feet ;  but  she  declined  its  elegant 
bait.  Her  father's  board,  high  in  the  councils  of  his  Sovereign, 
was  crowned  by  all  the  dissolute  liberalism  of  England.  Wits, 
men  of  letterii,  foreigners  of  every  shade  of  speciousness,  flung 
tbetr  laurela  at  her  feet ;  but  ebe  stood  firm  as  Niobe.  Her  pcr- 
spicnous  intellect  detected  from  afar  the  storms  which  were  about 
to  submerge  every  social  classification.  She  saw  the  nobility  of 
her  land,  her  altar  and  her  throne,  in  peril ;  and  when  little  mora 
than  a  shrinking  girl,  presented  herself  in  the  breach  I  Bcaf  to 
the  fascinations  of  a.  circle  so  illusive,  she  abode  by  her  principles. 
•'  It  was  her  duty,"  she  said,  "  to  resist  the  materialism  of  the 
middle  classes — she  pitied,  but  could  not  admit  thcni  to  privileges 
for  which  treasure  hod  been  wasted  and  blood  shed."  Dowered 
only  by  this  astouadiog  rectitude  and  a  delicate  prettinesa 
toul-d-fait  mignardise,  (to  quote  de  Sevigne's  Memoirs') — she 
espoused,  "when  little  more  than  a  child,  the  august  Ear!  whoso 
name  she  hears  ;  and  entered  at  once  upon  her  career  of  heroic 
energy.  Aa  patroness  of  Atmack's,  she  at  once  applied  herself  to 
the  fostering  of  high  breeding,  and  the  discouragement  of  the 
unlicensed  intrusions  of  Republican  ambition.  No  tampercr  with 
the  wives  of  Mammon  (in  the  persona  of  BankeraJ — while  she  used 
the  privileges  of  gold,  she  kept  the  aspiring  race  who  deal  therein 
aloof.  Unflinching  in  her  pursuit  of  Primogeniture,  the  younger 
eon  found  no  adherence  at  her  hands  —  the  libertiae  pens  of 
Authors  still  less.  She  drew  around  her  an  august  circle,  which 
Rank  accredited  and  Fashion  adorned.  Her  uncompromising 
boldness — no  less  than  the  vivacity  of  her  parlance,  in  which  the 
repartee  of  the  French  woman  and  the  sense  of  her  own  mother 
tongue  were  blended — exposed  her  to  sahent  attacks  from  the 
vulgar,  the  presuming,  and  the  upstart.  But  she  steered  her  way. 
She  it  was  who  maintained  on  the  Continent  the  august  character 
of  a  Peeress  of  England.  Accustomed  at  home  to  press  the  pro- 
ducts of  the  Caskmerian  loom  in  her  boudoir,  to  respire  but  air 
laden  with  the  odours  of  the  rarest  exotics  conveyed  from  tho  con- 
sorratories  of  Lightington  with  a  regal  disregard  of  expense — 
habituated  to  assemble  on  her  table  the  luxuries  of  the  four  kemi- 
epheres— Lady  Highborough's  firm  mind  did  uot  shrink  from  the 
perils  and  privations  of  foreign  travel.  Courageous  in  tho  Pride 
of  Sex— and  daring  even  to  read  Oriental  despots  a  lesson  on  the 
immured  victims  whom  their  Salic  ordinances  confine  behind  veils, 
— she  it  was  who  claimed  on  audience  of  the  Qrand  Sultan,  and 


KBSEAHCHES  IS   BELGRATU.  £17 

AWcd  his  barbarian  eyes  by  the  splendour  of  England's  liliea  and 
rosea,  ripened  bj  Time,  and  decorated  with  the  lustrous  heir- 
looms which  cannot  make  her  rank  more  sparkling.  Long  will 
her  visit  to  Sultan  Abd-e^-Kader,  In  his  Alhambra  Palace,  at  Con- 
Etantinople,  be  tallied  of  in  the  "  Harem."  It  is  to  her  (and  not 
to  the  authoress  of  the  "  City  of  the  Sultan")  that  the  exquisite 

and  well-known  poem  by  Mr.  Milnes  refers.     This  P has 

from  unquestioned  authority.  But  w«  can  dilate  without  hearsay 
on  Lady  Highborough's  union  of  what  is  moat  aristocratic  with 
what  is  most  fascinating. 

Fortified  by  a  provision  of  tracts,  we  set  forth  a  little  after 

noon ;    our    Landlady   having    advised  P to  pretermit  the 

visit  till  that  hour.  "  Wliat  would  they  say  at  Tinglebury  could 
they  see  us  now  ?  "  was  uppermost  in  the  thoughts  of  one  of  us  at 
least,  as  we  appealed  to  the  bell.  The  door  gave  way  to  the 
summons:  and  a  domestic  resplendent  in  the  Highborough  colours 
(staunch  orange  to  which  my  heart  wamledi — -and  blue)  admitted 
us,  with  a  civil  "  So  you're  the  Ladies  !  "  Judge  of  our  confu- 
sion !  Clothed,  indeed,  in  filthy  rags  did  I  feel  myself.  That  our 
poor  humble  Tinglebury  deeds  should  have  preceded  ns !  That 
our  faltering  endeavours  to  assert  infallible  truth  should  have  re-, 
sounded  ia  tlie  noble  halls  of  England's  Aristocracy  !  What  was 
Mr.  Podd  to  us  now  ?  A  phantom.     Was  not  here  a  rich  reeom- 

Sense  for  ourEpbesian  struggles  with' hia  Hydra  of  false  doctrine? 
*******    I  felt  tears  of  silent  praise  on  my  eheek,  but 

was  aroused  from  them  by  a  rapid  esclamation  on  P 'h  part — 

"Diana!  darling  .  ,  .■  .  our  travelling  companion!"  —  It  was 

so  : — He,  and  none  other,  was  crossing  the  hall,  and  ere  P 

could  spring  forward  to  put  in  her  claim  for  the  welcomo  of  recog- 
nition in  a  strange  laud — he  had  vanished  in  the  interior. — 
Could  this  be  Lord  Highborougb  !  whom  censorious  tongues  had 
described  as  in  a  state  of  alienation  from  his  august  spouse,  and 

rarely  at  home  ?  "Are  not  friends  raised  up  for  us  ?  "  said  P 

pressing  my  arm,  as  we  mounted  the  stairs,  to  the  presence  of 
her  we  came  to  seek. 

Time  was  given  us  to  survey  the  drawing-room  of  a  Eclgravian 
star  of  the  first  water  ;  since  wo  were  told  that  Lady  Highborough 
would  see  us  shortly — and  meanwhile  invited —nay  desired  (such 
are  the  courteous  customs  of  the  house  !)  to  sit  down.  What  was 
more  distinguishing,  we  perceived  through  the  open  door  by  which 
we  had  entered,  that  the  footman  remained  in  attendant  propriety 


fiHt  •  RESEABCBE3  IH   BBLfiKAVlA. 

oa  the  landing  nithoDt — hia  inquirmg  eje  froiu  time  ti>  tinw 
awoitiag  our  commaDcls. 

Tii«  luiury  of  the  sakon  in  wltieh  we  found  oursetvea  iroa 
indeaeribable.  Ti&sueB  of  blue  silli  (onglnaUy  noveo,  we  bare 
^BCe  McerUined,  for  tlie  Moaarch  of  Delni)  were  suspeoded  fconi. 
tranda  of  solid  ailier ;  the  Bam«  hue  perraded  the  waJds,  hung 
with  choice  pictures .  Heve  VeDoe,  "when  uoadoroed,  adorned 
the  most,"  was  bathing  in  Qelieoa's  waters: — there,  Diaoa  ho- 
vered over  burning  Troy  ;  (Edipus  and  Hermione,  fi-om.  the  ram- 
parts, contemplating  the  agonizing  scene.  Nor  was  Junius 
BriAus,  witnessiBg  the  ghost  of  Ceesar,  wanting — these  three 
being  undoubted  originals  of  Michael  Ajigelo.  We  were  sorrf 
that  Ur.  Pecker  (whose  rc])utatioii  as  a  Patron  of  Art  has  re- 
ceived a  roost  gratifying  tribute  since  our  arrival)  was  not  with. 
u»  ;  but  promised  oufselvcs  the  pteuiue  of  making  him  familiar 
with  those  treasures,  on  some  future  daj.  Tables  of  solid  jasper 
were  spread  with  virtu  of  aU  perieds.  Dresden  hicrymAtorieB 
vied  with  the  richest  West  lodinn  carvings  : — rieh  nnniatures  by 
Sir  Jo^ua,  with  costly  volumes  boimd  by  Bmney.  Madame  de 
Maintenen's  fan,  with  her  rival,  Madame  dc  Pompedotif 's  smelling- 
hottle  :  and  between  them  the  imrks  of  the  brilliant  pKUosephi, 
lladame  Dndevant,  whose  blindness  was  so  touchingly  lamented 
by  Sir  Robeit  Walpole,  in  the  "  Strawberry  Annala.'"  Not  a  toy 
nor  a  trinket,  in  short,  woa  here,  whbh  did  not  tell  its  tale  Of  the 
n«thin|>neBa  of  Beauty,  or  iavite  to  the  abnegation  of  selfish  in- 
dulgence. Such  a  ctJlectioD,  how  far  mere  inatructive,  dearest 
Urs.  Kustler,  than  the  farra^ous  sBsemblageB  uf  so-eaUed  sanc- 
tity, which  disfigure,  not  ornament,  mouisions  beniglited  by  theit 
Papistical  sympathies !  The  undraperied  e:fposures  of  Pagan 
Alt  are  leas  alien  to  evei'j  habit  of  our  juvenile  education,  less 
utterly  at  variance  with  every  prerogative  we  have  been  used  to 
hold  dear,  than  the  order  of  decorations  it  is  the  interest  of  Mr. 
KIblett,  and  sncb  as  he.  to  advocate.  Right  glad  wwe  we  to  per- 
ceive thai  Lady  Highborough  has  escaped  the  epid^meal  dalliaoce 
with  Babylon,  with  regard  to  which  it  is  written,  etc.,  etc  *  •  * 

We  were  gazing  delightedly  round,  grateful  to  find  that  the 

idslatwos  element  had  not  set  its  seal  here,  and  F ,  inteitt 

upon  leaving  behind  her  some  of  these  pencilled  tokens  of  admi- 
ration and  sympathy  which  her  ardent  spirit  so  eagerly  bestrews  i 
when  the  ewiuging  back  of  a  copioussheet  of  mirror,  which  we  had 
conceived  led  nowhere,  revealed  a  third  room,  and  voices  in  tuor- 


RESEAacnra  is  belgratia.  ,  619 

mstcd  diBomrsc.  My  tablets  were  out  in  an  instant,  since  I  was 
awue  by  tlic  ftcccnt,  that  tlio  speakers  were  of  no  vtJgar  order. 
It  was  well  thought  of  : — tfa«  diacourse  tuFiiing  on  matters  of  uo 
csKunoa  import. 

"  Must  you  go,  Lmly  Anne  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  I  most ;  I  promised  my  little  girl  to  eome  back  and 
aae  &e  Baib  — CKiWret*  and  her  get  their  dinner  together.  You 
had  hotter  eome  with  me  ; — grtch  hideous  little  monsters !  " 

"Lore,  I  cuo't :  I'm  cxpeeting  Alhcrtinelli  ereiy  numient ; 
and  see  him  I  must  about  this  tiresome  eoQcert  of  mine.  Tou 
canp't  think  nbat  a  nice  pcrsiHi  he  is  ! — manages  ererything  so 
adnnrab^,  and  takes  no  liberties.  I  waDder  aoBietimea,  hw  he 
gets  the  pec^e  to  iing  at  eueb  terme — PoKcetti  for  only  ten 
giBaesB !     Biit  then  he  'a  her  lover,  poor  fellow  : — so  interesting  ! " 

"  Now  do  come,  dear  ;  and  citft't  you  leare  word  with  George 
for  Albertinelli  to  follow  you  to  my  house  ?  " 

"  Would  we  had  socb  neigkbenrs  nt  Tinglebury '.  "■  wUspored  I 

to  P .  With  the  BunJIet^a,  or  any  pereons  who  have  been  in 

tradev  dear  Mrs.  fi.ustter,  sach  soeial  tntercbanjies  are  not  possible. 

"  No,  my  kind  ereotsra,  I  eaa't — I  ha,v&  to  go  through  thii) 
bore- of  engagiug  a  nursery  gore  ra«» 'again  !  " 

"  Qmlmalheur  !  I  thoi^ltt  your  Swiss  girl  was  such  a  treasure." 

"  So  I  tbonght,  too,  dear  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  never  interfered 
witb  ber.  Georgina  hated  her  ;  bat  that  was  of  no  consequence. 
Children  always  do.  I  did ;  and  used  to  cut  holes  with  sciaaors 
in  my  poor  victims  frocks.  No,  love,  abo  turned  out  consamptiTe, 
90  I  seat  her  away  at  onea,  befcFre  she  got  worse  wpon  my  hands, 
lam  Mpecting  two  aew  ones  this  moi-nmg.  Si»t»s  ;  I  may  have 
eithor,  or  the  two  toge^er,  I  dare  say,  a  bargaia." 

"  And  do  you  really  see  these  persons  youTBeif  ?" 

*'  H^v  eao  I  help  it,  my  dear  ?  I  could  not  trust  Lord  High- 
boew^h,  were  he  at  home:— and  yon  recollect  that  wretclied 
buKoesB  of  my  last  but  oae,  twrning  out  the'  groom  of  the  ch&m- 
ben'  wife.  But  I  don't  exact  much— clean,  honest,  sober— ~no 
foUowtrs.  We  have  masters  6tt  eTerythJBg,  dear — It's  ruin«ns. 
What  cou  those  sort  of  girls  want  with,  twenty  poimds  a  year,  I 
often  wondN: — now  that  titey  eon  dress  for  nothing,  and  hare  no 
appearance  to  keep  np-?  "  What  admirable  prmeiples  of  suiiordina- 
titm,  dearest  friend  !  What  simplicity  of  requisitional  demands ; 
and  convoyed  in  what  dazzling  buoyancy  of  parlance  !  Tears  ro» 
to  my  eyes  again  :  "  And  this,"  I  exdaimed,  "  is  a  member  of 


RESEARCHES  IS  BELGRITIA. 


the  depreciated  bodr— one  of  those  whom  the  Utilitarian  Clods  of 
the  Valley  would  flout  to  extioctioD.  Tagtes,  how  magnificent  I 
'Wishes,  how  true !  KindDesa  to  her  dependants,  how  considerate  !* 
Amietj  to  prerent  inquiries  deTolring  open  others,  how  eager  ! — 
And  you  will  hear  this  lostroua  being's  name  Snvocated  witii  every 
expression  of  contemptuous  auimosity  I  I  seemed,  dearest  friend, 
to  listen  to  my  mother  tongue — I  felt  I  was  Ir  Selgraria :  and 

when  P said,  "  I  am  sure  1  shall  emhrace  her," — I  was  to* 

much  agitated  to  do  more  than  reply,  "  We  will,  both." 

"  Well,"  after  all,  "  resumed  Lady  Higbborough,  "  I  think  t 
will  go  with  you — I'm  dying  to  know  the  Bush  chiidrcn,  if  they 
arc  only  half  as  dear  as  Tom  Thumb  !  and  George  shall  hear  these 
gentlewomen  their  catechism.  One  needn't  keep  them,  you  know. 
One  is  committed  to  nothing,  especially  now  when  you  may  get- 
ilie  beat  of  the  class  for  fifty  a  year — and  who  can  teach  the 
harp,  too." 

The  Ladies  came  out — tall,  commanding  creatures,  with  a 
pallor  that  put  your  Tinglebury  friend's  milkmaid  complexion  i 
and  even  P 's  red  rose  blossom  in  her  cheeks  (bo  sweetly  intro- 
duced in  Mrs,  Ellis's  Terses,  written  in  Mrs.  Pecker's  album)  to 
shame.  I  had  intended  to  make  a  minute  note  of  their  dress  ^ 
and  had  turned  a  fresh  leaf  of  my  memorandum  book  on  purpose  ; 
but  can  only  generally  describe  it  as  singularly  spreading  in  ila 
ulterior  portions — my  gaze  being  interrupted  by  P 's  enthu- 
siasm—  who  hurst  forward,  with  "Peerless  Piety,  and  Pious 
Peers,"  ready  to  offer,  and  a  fluttering,  "  Dear  Lady  High- 
borough,  will  you  allow  this  to  cement  the  commencement  of  an 
intercourse  !"  She  spoke  so  low,  that  we  are  sure  she  was  not 
heard  :  nor  did  the  natural  terrors  of  the  moment  enable  us  pre- 
cisely to  ascertain  which  was  our  hostess.  All,  indeed,  was  con- 
fusion. The  stately  pair  turned — surveyed  ua  fixedly — started  : 
and,  some  kind  thought  arising  in  both,  sympathetically,  burst 
into  a  peal  of  laughter,  dulcet  as  pastoral  reed — hurrying  past  us. 
I  was  vexed  at  this  abrupt  termination  of  so  charming  an  inter- 
view, though  I  promised  myself  its  resumption  at  no  distant 
period.  The  silver  chime  died  in  the  dist8nce--not  before  a  gay, 
"  A  perfect  gig,  my  dear  !"  had  acquainted  us  that  the  convey- 
ances our  innovators  at  Tinglebuiy  have  chosen  to  deride  as  obso- 
lete, still  maintain  their  hold  in  the  conservative  districts  of  Bel- 
gravia. 

We  were   not  long'  permitted   to  indulge  dubiety  as  to  tha 

U.g,l:«lbvGOOglC 


IIESEARCBES  IN   BELGRATIi.  621 


etiquette  of  departure,  after  a  reception  ro  full  of  promise.  To  Iho 
unfeigned  ecBtasy  of  P (ah  !  do  jou  not  recognise  your  art- 
less protegS  in  the  trait  ?)  our  travelling  companion  made  hi» 
appearance  in  an  elegant  domeaticity  of  costume,  which  convinced 
ns  that  wc  were  not  wrong  in  ascribing  to  him  no  lees  distin- 
guished an  abode.  And,  making  all  mature  allowances  for  tho 
susceptibility  of  my  animated  companion — he  did  evince  the  ' 
pleasure  of  kindred  sympathies,  at  this  meeting  ;  accosted  ns  with 
animated  cheerfulness,  and  though  decorum  precluded  his  en- 
gaging two  parties  of  our  sex  to  sit — bestowed  upon  us  no  small' 
measure  of  the  graces  of  his  intellect.  Perceiving  our  avidity  for 
Belgravian  intelligence,  ho  kindly  ministered  to  it  (  recommended 
our  pursuing  the  system  of  making  acquaintances  wo  had  already 
so  auspiciously  inaugurated  ;  called  our  admiration  to  the  works- 
of  art  I  have  already  introduced  to  you — and  mentioned  others, 
A  statue  of  our  gracious  Majesty,  in  a  square  devoted  to  herself, 
a  little  beyond  the  boundaries  of  the  Province,  excited  liis  eulo- 
gies.— It  is  by  Hayncs  Baily,  whose  Eve  at  the  Fountwn,  and 
My  own  Blue  Bell,  Mr.  Pecker  cites  as  the  most  chaste  and  sur- 
prising   of    modem    sculptures.       Eluding  gracefully  P 's 

perhaps  too  frank  curiosity  as  to  his  relationship  with  Lndy  High- 
borough,  our  friend  volunteered  the  information  that  ho  was  one 
of  the  Houaehold.^I  curtsied  involuntarily  to  this  reprcsentative- 
of  Majesty. — Ho  dwelt  much  upon  the  wonders  of  his  own  highly 
favoured  district ;  spoke  of  our  hostess  with  terms  of  easy  praise  ; 
of  her  sweetness,  and  persuadability — these  how  charming,  at 
altitudes  where  the  vulgar  would  with  difficulty  respire !  On 
P inquiring  if  further  tracts  would  be  acceptable,  ho  an- 
swered eagerly,  "0,  as  many  as  you  ean  spare  !"  and  even  hinted 
that  Her  gracious  Majesty,  whose  amiable  receipt  of  all  commo- 
dities and  curious  inventions,  finds  its  prototype  in  many  of  the- 
Belgravian  mansions,  would  be  gratified  by,  though  she  might  not 
sohcit,  a  like  attention.  How  cosy,  beloved  friend,  is  it  to  do- 
good  ! — "  So  simple  is  our  Sovereign,"'  ho  added,  and  BO  indiflferent 
to  rank  arc  the  inhabitants  of  this  quarter,  that,  to  use  his  own 
emphatic  phrase,  "  the  Queen  is  a  nobody  amongst  us  I "  At- 
tuned, as  I  was,  to  surprise  before,  this,  I  confess,  astonished  me. 
Rare  grace  and  condeaoension !  blessed  fruits  of  charity  !  The 
Artists,  dear  friend,  give  their  pictures  to  our  Sovereign !  gratified 
by  their  acceptance,  though  too  wisely  aware  of  their  own  dis- 
tance, to  expect  to  behold  them  more.     A  new  book  of  "  Th* 


522  RESEARCHES  i:<  belcratia. 

Triomplia  of  Oriuia  "  is  In  preparation  for  her  birthday — tfee  ■ 
wwrds  bj  the  ariBtocratic  hoatesses  of  Belgravia— the  muaic  by 
Chttlon.  We  gricTe  that  En^ish  talent  was  not  found  worthy  ! — 
But  more,  it  may  be,  of  Royalty,  and  its  pursuits,  od  same'  less 
crowded  page !  Let  as  avoid  all  democratic  adraixtare  of  the 
pomp  of.  sorereignty,  with  t)ie 

Homely  lines  of  every  d&y, 
a«  Mrs.  Abel  Smith  najs  ia  one  of  her  Badly  sweet  eewuta.    Our 
new  friend  apologised  oa  the  score  of  bis  avoeationa — ushered  us 
to  the  portal — aod  wo  parted  with  gay  adieux. — Peals  of  laugbtev 
reBOunded  from  this  edifying  abode,  as  we  quitted  its  prennets. 

I  should  ha\e  finished  here,  but  I  mnat  append  to  thia  (o»  long 
epistolary  commuiuGatiim  what  I  hafe  alrea«ij  mentioned : — &e 
tnbute  to  Mr.  Pecker's  acknowledged  skill  in  judging  of  works  of 
art. — It  is  but  to-day  that  he  received  from  an  accon^lished  cel- 
leottesB,  whose  name  nwdes^  forbida  us  to  utter,  the  distinguished 
invitation  which  my  thrilling  pea  ct^aea  with  proud  pleaaure. 
You  may  diffuse  it  at  Woilford  *  if  you  will : — 

"  Mrs. presents  her  compliments  to  her  prosimate  nejgli- 

hour,  Mr.  Pecker,  and  frrau  having  derived  by  bequest,  among 
o^r  tableaux  a  portrait  of  extraordinary  merit,  deemed  likely 
trom  corresponding  name  originally  marked  at  bock,  either  to 
represent^  or  otherwise  to  have  belonged  to,  at  ne  -very  remste 
period,  a  family  connection  of  his  ;  hut,  to  be  sati^oetory  to  h^- 
Bslf,  needing-  confirmation  ;  trusts,  under  the  circum^aaccs,  not 
to  aeeia  digressing  etiquette  unveaiallj  herein — the  object 
being  &  reciprocal  one — in  requestiog  the  oUiging  courtesy  of  a 
call  at  her  residence  on  earliest  convenient  afternoon,  from  the 
hour  of  three,  vot  beitiff  later  than  tkai  of  six,  for  resolving,,  as  she 
could  hope,  its  identity ;  a  favour,  in  ratio  of  her  disadvantage 
towards  him  as  a  total  stranger,  ^ns  would  not  foil  to  appredftte, 
«tc-  ote." 

■  The  Editor  ia  once  again  obliged  to  interpose  with  an.  explanation. 
Those  who  might  be  misled  by  the  poetiea]  style  of  Miss  Rilt,  into  foooying 
tbMlhe  epistle  of  the  "CoIiectreHa,"  printed  above,  was  retouched  by  tiut 
I^,  fi^  tile  MBszemont  sf  friends  M  hnna,  aft  nbaoonlied  dlat  die^  iMtar 
is  panted  fma  a  btm^  fdt  original :  the  original  puiiatiu^n  dwwved^ — wa 
mav  add,  lllat  it  ia  a  Circular  ;  iiince  we  h&ppcn  to  know  otlier  connoiaBenzs. 
besides  Mr.  Peeker  of  TrDglcburj,  who  base  rcceiTcd  aiiniiar  invitations. 
The  incident  is  too  Betgnviui  to  be   omitted,  bat  too  romanlae  to  pass 


,11  by  Google 


3VSE.  623 

We  all  blush,  of  course,  at  bo  flattoriag  a  testimonial,  to  which 
Mr.  Pecker  accedes.  Averse  to  conspicuity,  lie  will  go.  You 
shall  hear  the  result.  Meanwhile,  it  is  something  new  to  find 
om^lves  among  circles  where  innate  efforts  are  crowned  with 
appreciation. — Adieu  !  Our  dinner,  ordered  at  the  Belgravian 
hour  of  nine,  awaits  ua.  Mrs.  Pecker  protests— hut  I  remind  her  that 
thus  the  Ancients  partook  of  their  attic  repasts.  No,  Mr.  Nibletl : 
but  P.  will  not  wear  the  willow  for  any  Papist,  coDCealed  or  open  : 
leas  so,  now,  than  ever,  when  inapiritihg  opportunities  of  com- 
passioa  are  likely  to  he  afforded  to  her. 

Your  unfeigned  and  affectionate, 

D.  Rill. 

P.  S. — I  open  my  letter  to  announce  a  singular  casualty.  Even 
here,  "  clouds  of  mistake  arise  and  with  fair  eemhlance,  blot 
OBt  the  bloom  »rf  energy,"  (as  Archbishop  Tennieon  fiady  aaya 
iu  his  "  Mirsndola.")  How  are  we  to  understand  the  strafe 
misapprehensivenesB  which  bas  penned  a  hillet  like  tbia  just 
received  ? 

"To  avoid  the  possibiUty  of  mismiderstanding  or  disappoiatment, 
as  the  message  left  with  her  butler  may  not  have  been  correctly 
delivered,  Lady  Highborough  acquaints  D.  and  P.  BiH,  that 
neithor  of  them  appeared  suited  to  fill  the  situation  in  her  nursery 
applied  for." 

'• Sjwm,  AprU  —  18*6." 


JUKE. 
Summer,  and  stillneaa  ;  ev'ry  joyous  bird 

Pours  a  balf-wearied  song ;  the  leafy  glade. 

Panting  with  flowery  fragrance,  to  its  shade 
Invites  the  wayside  waaderer:  there  is  heard 
No  soand  amid  the  forest-depths,  save  when 

The  rushing  streamlet  by  the  breeze  is  stirred ; 

Or  the  bee  mnnnniB  in  the  meadows,  furred 
With  moss  and  starry  flowers ;  or,  from  some  glen 
The  tired  cuckoo  lifts  a  pleasant  voice ; 

Or  the  lone  woodlalk  sings  his  hidden  strain. 
Oh  !  bid  the  poor,  the  lowly  one  rejoice, — 

Upraise  him  from  his  penury  and  pain  ; — 
That  from  the  choking  ooarts  and  al^ys  dim 
He  may  come  forth,  and  join  the  universal  hymn  ! 

E.  U.  CobUHB. 


Kz«lb;C00*^lc 


"  A  HISTORY  OP  GREECE."* 

Upon  the  tlieory  of  Historicil  composition  prevalent  in  the  present 
age,  il  most  necessarily  be  difficult  to  form  a  correct  judgment.  The 
same  influences  which  operate  on  the  minds  of  the  historians  to  elevate 
and  enlai;ge,  or  to  depress  and  circumscribe  their  views,  moat  likewise 
produce  an  analogous  effect  upon  crilice,  and,  as  a  general  rule,  almost 
constrain  them  to  think  favourably  of  works  thoroughly  impregnated 
by  the  spirit  of  the  times.  It  may,  in  some  instances,  however,  be 
advantageous  for  those  who  nndertake  in  matters  of  thiis  kind  to  think 
and  decide  for  olhere,  to  emancipate  themselves  from  the  sway  of 
cnrrent  notions,  and  to  rise,  if  they  possess  the  power,  to  the  level  of 
those  principles  which  ought  to  regulate  the  creations  of  literature  in 
aJl  aps  and  countries. 

History  in  its  primary  and  proper  signification,  really  means,  narrative 
as  contradistinguished  from  dissertation  and  theorising.  When  a  man 
undertakes  to  relate  the  story  of  a  nation,  we  consequently  expect  that 
he  will  abstain  as  much  as  possible  from  standing  still ;  that  he  will 
take  up  the  people  with  whom  he  designs  to  make  us  acquainted  from 
their  cradle,  or  any  other  point  on  which  he  thinks  proper  to  fix,  and 
thenceforward  hurry  us  dang  with  them,  offering  occasionally  short 
explanations  of  events  intricate  or  obscure ;  and  occasionally,  perhaps, 
panaing  for  a  moment  to  expatiate  on  any  new  aspect  presented  by 
circumstances,  it  it  be  merely  to  afford  himself  an  opportunity  of  calling 
forth  admiration  or  administering  delight.  Above  all  things,  therefore, 
it  would  appear  that  movement  is  characteristic  of  historical  composi- 
tion— as  nature  abhors  a  vacuum,  so  history  abhors  stagnation.  As  it 
is  the  counterpart  of  life,  the  picture  of  a  stream  in  everlasting  flow,  b» 
it  is  necessarily  vivacious  and  progressive.  It  admits  of  nothing  like 
disquisition.  The  indulgence  of  scepticism  and  the  ostentation  of 
research  are  equally  fittal  to  it.  There  must  be  animation,  there  must 
be  continuity,  there  must  be  a  perpetuil  exhibition  of  human  character, 
and  above  all  things,  there  must  be  unquestioning  faith. 

I^t  the  historian  investigate  as  he  pleases  before  he  commences  his  task. 
Inquiry  is  his  duty,  and  we  rigidly  insist  upon  the  performance  of  it. 
He  must  do  this  however  in  secret,  alone^  and  not  invite  us  to  be  present 
at  his  examination  of  witnesses,  at  the  propounding  of  his  doubts,  at 
his  questioning  and  cross-questioning  of  the  old  writers.    What  we 

*  "  A  HifltoiT'  of  Greece.  I.  LegeQdBJ?y  Greece  ;  II.  Grecian  History  to 
the  R^gn  of  PeisistratuB  at  Athens.  S  vols.  By  George  Grote,  Ee^. 
London  :  Murray,  lai6." 


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A  HISTORY   OP  OREECE.  42& 

want  is  Uie  result  of  all  tliis.  Let  him  spin  his  narratiTe  how  he 
pleases  ;  that  is  his  hnsiness.  He  undertakes  to  lay  before  as  the  tissua 
complete,  and  has  no  light  to  require  our  presence  in  bis  workshop, 
while  he  cards  the  wool  and  spina  the  thread,  and  eow  through  all  the 
other  preliminary  processes  which  must,  we  are  well  aware,  take  place 
before  the  final  completion  of  his  task. 

Among  our  contempoiaries  a  very  different  creed  appears  to  obtun 
belief.  Instead  of  saffering  us  quietly  to  contemplate  the  grand  and 
CTer-shifting  scenes  which  the  circumstances  of  other  times  unfold 
before  us,  the  historian  thinks  it  incambsnt  on  him  to  be  perpetually 
ftt  our  elbow,  informing  us  what  we  are  to  admire  or  despise,  or  believe 
or  disbelieve.  In  the  midet  of  the  moat  stirring  occurrences,  when 
great  men  are  struggliog  doubtfully  for  their  lives,  when  the  fate  of 
empires  is  trembling  in  the  balance,  when  civilisation  itself  stands  in 
jeopardy,  and  when  by  the  cast,  so  to  speak,  of  a  die,  the  happiness  of 
mankind  may  be  secured  or  marred  for  centuries,  he  puts  a  spoke  in 
the  wheel  of  the  moral  universe,  and  arrests  the  movement  of  the 
whole,  that  he  may  discuss  with  some  sceptic  the  probability  or  impro- 
bability of  what  he  ia  engaged  in  relating.  He  is  not  content  with 
permitting  the  impression  to  oe  insensibly  made  upon  our  minds  that 
nature  and  study  nave  invested  him  uith  superior  capacity,  that  he  is 
quick  to  discern  motives,  that  he  has  an  intuition  of  human  character, 
tl)at  he  draws  moral  pictures  forcibly  and  with  suitable  coIoutb;  Uiat, 
in  one  word,  his  mind  is  sufficiently  large  for  the  whole  pageant  of 
human  evenU  to  be  reflected  from  its  sur^e.  His  ambition  will  not 
permit  him  to  leave  us  for  a  moment  doubtful  on  the  point.  Proud  of 
the  temper  and  poliah  of  his  genius,  he  keeps  the  fiash  and  dassle  of  it 
perpetually  in  our  eyes.  Our  buuness  consequently  is  soon  felt  to  be 
to  admire  the  historian,  not  to  take  an  interest  in  and  be  instructed  by 
what  ho  relates,  and  as  admiration  soon  palls  upon  the  appetite  of  those 
who  attempt  to  feed  on  it,  so  your  fashionable  historian  soon  degenerates 
into  a  bore,  whom  you  admit  t«  be  very  clever,  but  would  rathei:  not 
associate  with  nevertheless. 

Whether  or  not  Mr.  Grote  stands  in  this  cat^ory  we  are  reluctant 
to  determine.  He  has  evidently  applied  himself  with  great  diligence 
and  perseverance  to  the  study  of  Grecian  affairs  ;  and,  whatever  may 
be  the  fale  of  his  work,  has  endeavoured  to  deserve  well  of  the  public. 
It  seems  to  us,  however,  that  he  placed  himself  from  the  outset  under 
the  direction  of  fslse  gaides;  in  other  words,  that  he  has  habitnally 
deferred  too  much  to  German  scholars,  who,  contemplating  Greece  and 
her  concerns  from  the  antiquariaa  point  of  view,  have  by  degreea 
brought  themselves  to  regard  her  Uterature,  her  politics,  and  her  [milo- 
aophy,  as  a  huge  moseum  of  perplexing  topics,  on  which  it  is  lawful  to 
peculate  for  ever  without  arriving  at  any  conclusion.  We  lament  this, 
for  Mr.  Grote  ia  unquestionably  an  able  man,  possessing  much  acnteness 
And  habits  of  application.    He  has  not,  however,  sufficient  force  of  mind 


vCoo*^lc 


SSa  A  mSTOKT   OP  GBBECB. 

!«  render  Hm  independent  of  his  inBtrnments.  Availing  hiiBBelf  of  lie 
learning  of  G«miaD;,  he  has  salfered  it,  horn  beiog  his  handmaid,  to 
become  his  robttreBs.  This  is  painfully  evident  throoghoat  the  whole 
of  the  two  volumes  before  ns.  Do  the  Gennana  doubt  t  So  does 
Hr.  Oiote.  Do  they  convert  traditions  into  m)^eB,  and  exclnde  wdioie 
ues  from  the  domains  of  histoiy !  So  does  onr  leanied  coontiTiraB. 
His  foot  advBDceB  timidly  at  the  hee]^  of  their  scepticism,  uid  he 
appears  delighted  to  persuade  himself  that  the  firm  gronnd  on  whicA 
he  treads  is  a  shifting  and  dangeraus  quicksuid. 

lb  is  no  doDbt  quite  necessary  to  separate  the  domains  of  histBiy 
from  those  of  mythology,  and  to  avoid  giving  vs  a  pHsonified  vice  or 
virtue  for  a  man.  It  may  likewise  be  desiimble  not  to  confound  phy- 
sical phenomena  with  historical  events,  and  to  prssent  us  wilb  wt 
earthquake  instead  of  the  eiemtive  of  a  Grecian  stat«.  Against  stois 
such  as  these  it  is  prudent,  we  eay,  to  guard  ;  but  scholare  have  nnfeE- 
ttmately  convinced  us  that  learning  is  liable  to  intempeiaiioe,  and  ibMt, 
enfeebled  by  the  luiniy  of  scepticism,  the  judgment  may  in  lie  end  be 
made  to  abdicate  its  fanctions,  and  cease  alt<^etfaerto  distinguish  be- 
tween the  characteristics  of  truth  and  &behood.  It  would  not 
accordingly  snrprise  na  to  find  a  speculative  antiqnarian  convuti^ 
Julias  CieBaT  into  a  mythe,  and  assarii^  ns  tiiat  the  Konmn  ComsMn- 
wealth  was  but  a  fragment  of  Fairy  Land.  Fonnerly  the  passion  of 
investigators  led  them  to  carry  back  the  banners  of  tiath  aod  plant 
them  emltingly  on  fabulons  eminences,  into  whose  incompact  sab' 
stances  they  soon  sank  imd  disappeared.  In  our  own  daytbe  mactjee 
is  strikingly  reversed.  The  object  now  is  to  roll  forward  the  cloaks  of 
mythe  not  only  over  the  debateable  fivjntier  of  tradition  but  fer  iato 
the  firm  and  well-defined  temtory  of  faistoiy,  and  in  this  way  to  ob- 
scure events  and  charactei-s,  which  to  out  forefathers  stood  quite  widun 
the  range  of  vision. 

Among  those  who  have  employed  themselves,  in  this  way  is  Mr. 
Grote.  Niebuhr  and  Arnold  conducted  their  readers  towards  Qte 
gigantic  fabric  of  the  Roman  republic,  throngh  tiie  avenues  of  legend 
and  poetry  ;  but  the  approaches  in  tiieir  beanty  and  simplicity  were 
every  way  worthy  tg  open  npon  the  Roman  story ;  they  looked  hke  tht 
obscure  portals,  which,  in  some  eastern  countries,  lead  the  ti&veller  to 
palaces  and  fortresses  which  themselves  are  steeped  in  the  brightest 
sunshine.  Mr.  Orole  has  aimed  at  constructing  before  the  Histon  of 
Greece  similar  entrances,  using  the  mjfthology  as  his  materials,  and  in- 
voking the  epic  Muse  to  adorn  her  more  aober  sister.  It  would  have 
afforded  us  mnch  pleasure  to  say  that  be  had  auceeeded  ;  but  in  la^g 
down  the  plan  of  his  work  he  has  altogether  mistaken  ^e  propoitiotu, 
and  appropriated  to  what  is  strictly  introductory,  space  which  he  will 
hereafter  stand  in  need  of,  should  his  incredulity  leaye  him,  as  he  pro- 
ceeds, any  eventswhich  he  will  regardas  real.  Mr.Grote'sworkalr^dy 
equals  in  length  one  fourth  of  Gibbon's  History,  without  o       '  ' 


,11  by  Google 


A  HISTORT   OP   fiREECE.  687 

angle  page  strictly  hiEtorical.  We  ha^e  hbie,  we  have  diaqQisitioni, 
we  have  criticism ;  but  we  have  no  oarratiye,  no  nnfolding  of  circBiB- 
ttanees,  no  delineation  of  chaiacter. 

To  the  whole  of  what  is  dsDominated  L^endaij  Greece  we  ohfect. 
Toiiclied  by  a  skilfnl  and  delicate  bond  tiie  fables  of  the  mj^bolivf 
rnigjit,  have  been  made  to  constitute  a  vetj  M^eeable  introductiaii  to  tBe 
HeBenic  annali.  Gods  HBd  heroes  might  have  been  made  our  guides 
to  the  labyrinth  of  regal  states  and  commonwealths  which  covered  tile 
face  of  Greece.  But  Mr.  Grote's  familiarity  with  Gtrecian  literatnrB  has 
notinparted  toh''"  viy  great  proficiency  in  Grecian  art.  He  moulds  tbe 
most  exquisite  materi^s  with  bo  uncoath  a  hand,  that  where  we  m%fat 
reasonably  have  looked  for  beauty  we  sometimes  meet  with  awkwardness, 
if  net  deformity.  Assaredty,  therefore,  his  will  not  prove  the  Histoiy 
of  Greece  for  wiiich  we  have  dming  many  ages  been  looking.  Berinal 
of.  the  M>les  are  develi^d  through  the  instrument^ty  of  a  vocabolaty, 
so  objecdiraiable,  that  soDie  puts  -of  t^e  book  could  not  be  read  aload  in  a 
deoent  famiiy.  Not  that  Mr.Oroteia  a  voluptuous  writer;  far  from  it. 
He  is  only  deficient  in  taste,  and  lisMe  sometimes  to  overlook  tbe 
ethical  varae  of  the  phrases  he  employs.  He  is  not,  in  fact,  endowed 
with  tliat  rare  senaSility  which  enables  some  writers  to  enter  instmc- 
tively  into  the  feelings  of  all  classes,  and  to  avoid  shocking  any. 

Certainiy  it  is  pai^ul  to  caaterapBite  Ihe  throwing  awsy  of  so  nrach 
labour  as  has  been  bestowed  on  theae  two  vrinmea  ;  bat  thrown  vway 
it  will  be,  if  Mr.  Grote  pernet  in  regaiding  diem  as  sdj  part  of  tJie 
History  of  Greece.  By  tbeaeelves,  and  as  a  series  of  preparatory 
dissertations,  they  are  by  no  maans  destitBt«  of  interest,  and  may  not  be 
without  value.  The  mytfces  are-widl  arranged,  thongh  often  rrfated  in 
nnsuttable  lango^e ;  and  mae  light  is  thrown  on  the  primitive  institn- 
tioBE,  character,  and  mannere  of  the  Helkoes.  But  can  anythisg  be 
coiweived  niore  out  of  place  than  an  infinitely  prolix,  disquisition  on 
Wolf's  crotchets  about  tiie  Iliad  aod  Odyssey,  in  whit^  the  names  of 
Nitsdi  and  DMoedocos,  of  Mr.  Prioe  and  the  Hsmeridse,  of  Herman  and 
Homer,  of  Payne  Knight  and  Peisistratus,  are  mixed  up  tether  in  the 
mostadmired  confusion  1  Again,  t^epmd^ice  may  well  be  qnestioned 
of  adopting  a  plan  which  compels  the  author  to  touch,  however  saccincfly, 
five  or  six  times  on  the  same  subjects,  and<  to  descend  i^ain  and  aeam 
from  the  period  of  tie  Trojan  War  to  Alexander  of  Macedon.  ft  is 
quite  true  that  Mr.  Grote  often  displays  great  ability  in  the  cour^  ot 
these  rambling  dissertations.  For  exMnple,  hia  view  of  the  merits  of 
Pindar,  and  the  three  great  Attic  tragedians,  displays  much  critical 
acumen  and  power  over  the  reaources  of  rhetoric.  He  discriminates 
witli  j  udgment  hetwe^  the  qnalificatiMis  of  the  several  poets,  though  he 
occasionally  mistakes  the  rention  in  which  they  stood  to  their  andience, 
from  a  natural  or  aoqnired  incapacity  to  enter  heartily  into  the  religions 
feelings  of  the  Greeks. 

Fi-ora  symptoms  wliirfi  appear  in  various  parts  of  these  volumes  we 
perceive,  moreover,  that  we  at  least  shall  not  be  able  to  enter  reiy 


cordially  into  Mr,  Grote'a  yiewa  of  Greet  philosophy.  This  we  con- 
jecture from  his  treatment  of  Sccratea.  The  ciicumatknces  of  his  work 
did  not  regularly  or  naturally  lead.him  to  apeak  of  the  son  of  Sophroii' 
iucus,  but  he  has  volunteered  several  short  alluuons  aud  passages, 
which  show  that  his  ideas  have  been  impregnated  by  the  Qermaa 
spirit,  and  that  we  are  hereafter  to  be  presented  with  a  Socrates,  not 
moulded  by  tke  hands  of  Plato  or  even  of  Xenophon,  bat  distorted  and 
■diwuiaed  by  the  arts  of  critics  and  rhetorician!*. 

The  moBt  Btriking  exemplification,  however,  of  the  evil  eETecta  of 
German  inSuence  on  Mr.  Urote's  mind  is  supplied  by  his  dissertation 
«n  the  Spartan  Commonwealth.  Though  he  arrives  Rometimes  at 
results  different  from  those  obtained  by  Muller,  it  is  obvious  that  hia 
ima^nation  has  been  overmastered  hyjhe  apologetical  history  of  the 
Dorians,  and  that  his  judgment  has  been  betrayed  Into  decisions 
equally  at  Tarianoe  with  logic  and  with  history.  Still  it  ia  in  this 
part  of  his  work  that  Mr.  Grote  displays  the  greatest  talent.  He 
.  sometimes  exhibits  an  inclination  to  escape  altogether  from  his  tram- 
mels, and  think  boldly  for  himself ;  but  the  shadow  of  his  evil  genius 
has  t«a  long  been  over  him,  so  that  after  a  brief  effort  or  two  he  relapses 
into  mental  servitude,  and  sings  the  old  song  as  he  has  been  taught  to 
sing  it. 

Ont  own  temper  of  mind  by  no  means  disposes  ns  to  defer  slavishly 
lo  the  aitthority  of  any  writers,  ancient  or  modem.  We  put  no  blind 
faith  inPlutarcn  or  Isocrates,  or  Plato  or  Aristotle,  still  less  in  snch 
.aathors  as  Myron  of  Piyene.  But,  taking  all  things  into  consideration,  it 


does  appear  to  ns  somewhat  probable  that  men  who  lived  contemporary 
with  the  Spartans — who  had  access  to  many  hundreds  of  works  now 
lost — who  nad  the  advantage  of  conversing  familiarly  with  the  most 


instructed  among  the  disciples  of  L}'curgus2  and  who  were  besides 
inclined  to  inquiry  and  investigation,  occupied  at  least  a  better  posi- 
tion for  acquiring  correct  knowledge  than  any  professor  whatever  of 
Bonn  or  Oottingen.  Yet  Mr.  Grote  thinks  it  more  safe  to  accept  the 
authority  of  Mr.  MilUer  than  that  of  the  most  accurate  among  the 
Ancients.  We  allude  more  especially  to  the  subject  of  the  Ciypieia. 
Greek  writers  of  grave  character  afBrm  that  the^  Spartan  Ephori 
.annnally  proclaimed  war  ag^nst  the  Helots,  that  by  a  sort  of  Jesuitical 
sleight  of  conscience  they  might  appear  to  themselves  justified  in 
.attacking  aud  cutting  them  off  secretly.  Bat  Mr.  Orote,  faithfully 
.  repeating  the  words  of  Ottfried  Muller,  asks  if  it  be  at  all  likely  that 
the  Spartan  serfs,  if  made  war  upon  by  proclamation,  would  submit 
quietly  to  be  so  dealt  with  by  their  masters. 

They  who  desire  to  measure  the  extent  of  their  submissivenesa,  may 
lead  and  consider  the  account  siven  by  Thucydides  of  the  most  wanton 
And  fearful  massacre  recorded  in  Grecian  history,  which  was  per- 
petrated against  these  men.  Sparta,  which  lived  in  perpetual  fear  of 
them,  on  one  occasion,  when  her  apprehensions  were  more  pungent  than 
nsnal,  conceived  a  stratagem  for  getting  the  most  daring  of  the  Helots 

Coiwlc 


A   HISTORT  OF   GREECE.  B%0 

into  her  hands.  Promising  freedom  to  the  boldest  and  bniTest,  who 
would  consent  to  take  up  arms  in  bet  cause,  she  thus  inveigled  two 
thousBDd  to  corns  forward  as  volnnteers.  These  gallant  Peloponaesiane 
having  been  received  into  the  city  with  demonstrations  of  joy,  were 
loaaumitted,  and  applauded  and  crowned,  and  led  triamphantly  round 
the  temples,  in  order  to  place  them  as  it  were  under  the  peculiar 
protection  of  the  gods  of  Sparta.  But  after  the  conclnrion  of  this 
imposing  ceremony  they  immediately  disappeared,  nor  was  the  manner 
of  their  death  or  one  of  their  bodies  ever  discovered.  There  were 
deep  pits  at  the  foot  of  Tavgetaa,  into  which  the  Spartans  cast  their 
surplus  children,  and  these  probably  would  have  been  the  place  to 
search  for  the  bodies  of  the  two  thousand  Helots.  This  was  an  act 
somewhat  more  signiScant  than  the  proclamation  of  war  made  by  the 
Ephori ;  not  publicly,  however,  but  in  the  senate,  with  closed  doors, 
and  out  of  hearing  of  every  Helot,  in  Laconia.  They  proclaimed  as 
ft  Jesuit  swears,  aotto  voce,  not  being  devrons  that  the  world  should 
know  anything  of  the  matter. 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Qrote's  humanity  will  not  permit  him  to  give 
credence  to  the  story  of  the  Crypteia,  which  ia  this : — A  number  of  the 
most  enterprising  and  cruel  young  men  among  the  Spartans  having 
been  fumisned  with  daggers,  were  sent  forth  from  the  city  to  lurk 
about  the  Helotan  villages,  and  subsist  how  they  conld.  They  were 
commanded  to  conceal  themselves,  to  lie  in  ambuscade,  and  to  keep 
watch  over  the  serfs  ;  bat,  as  both  Mr.  Miiller  and  Mr.  Grote  belieTe, 
for  no  special  purpose,  and  with  no  general  result.  They  may,  no 
doubt,  have  occasionally  picked  o£  a  few  Helots ;  bHt  assassination,  it 
is  contended,  was  not  the  object  with  which  tbey  were  sent  out.  Much 
mystery,  we  confess,  hangs  over  this  same  Crypteia.  Plato,  in  his 
Treatise  of  Laws,  touches  upon  it  sli^tly ;  but  as  one  of  the  interlocutors 
of  the  dialogue  is  a  Spartan,  and  another  a  Cretan,  it  might  have  been 
thought  contraiy  to  etiquette  to  develope  all  the  enormity  of  the  system. 

In  most  of  Mr.  Orote's  remarks  on  the  power  of  training  and  diE- 
cipline  we  entirely  concur.  An  ancient  philosopher  observed  :  "  Give 
me  the  education  of  youth,  Bud  any  one  who  pleases  may  make  laws  for 
the  state."  This  was  strikingly  exemplified  at  Sparta.  Laws,  properly 
speaking,  there  were  few,  and  most  of  those  bad.  The  constitution  was 
highly  imperfect,  and  the  administration  frequently  corrupt.  Yet, 
because  the  system  of  education  was  admirably  adapted  to  attain  the 
end  aimed  at  by  the  Legislator,  namely,  conqaest  and  dominion,  the 
Lacedemonian  commonwealth  subsisted  much  longer  and  exercised 
more  influence  in  Greece  than  states  far  more  wisely  constituted,  and 
administered  with  a  greater  regard  to  jastice  and  sound  policy. 

In  a  History  of  Greece,  however,  it  is  not  long  and  laborious  inquiries 
nto  subjects  like  these  that  are  wanted  ;  but  a  display  of  the  several 
constitutions  of  the  country  in  action,  exercising  their  proper  functions, 
and  producing  their  natural  results.  By  this  means  alone,  in  our 
opinion,  can  we  ever  be  brought   to  comprehend   the   very  peculiar 

KO.  XVUE.— VOL.  III.  M  ii 


530  UB9.  EDEN  S 

charaolem  of  the  Hellenic  States,  which  resembted  nothing  in  inodeni 
times,  bat  grew  out  of  a  certain  stage  of  civilization,  and  neceMarily 
peiisbed  with  it.  ]u  the  same  way^and  in  no  other,  can  be  popularly 
explained  the  i^ssoD  whj  philoaophj,  literature,  and  the  arts,-  btossomed 
and  boie  frait  ta  Inxuriantly  in  Greece.  In  the  mental  constittition  of 
the  people  there  were,  no  donbt,  many  qaalities  favourable  to  the  atale 
of  things  to  which  we  allnde.  A  similar  combination  of  external  cir- 
cnmstuicw,  if  it  coald  a^n  exist,  would  not  acffice,  therefore,  to 
reproduce  anali^ooB  effects,  the  intellactnal  idiosyncTaaies  of  the  people 
reqairiog  always  to  be  taken  into  account. 

Un  topics  like  these  Mr.  Qrote  sometimes  writea  very  sensibly;  bnt 
even  when  he  is  most  successful  in  his  drawing,  the  character  of  his 
style  and  diction  suffices  almost  completely  to  neutralise  the  influ- 
ence of  his  learning  and  logic.  As  a  wnter  he  has  almost  everything  to 
learn  ;  disposition,  arrangement,  proportion,  rhetoiical  art,  and  dic^on. 
In  none  of  these  baa  he  any  fixed  principle.  His  language  seema  to 
reSect  the  forme  of  the  author  with  whom  be  has  been  last  conversisg. 
There  is  conaeQuently  nothing  very  characteristic  in  his  manner,  and 
he  has  little  of  tnat  mmda  ms  ani0ii,whiGh,in  what  composition  soever 
it  is  foond,  carries  along  the  reader,  irresistibly  imbuing  him  with  troth 
or  error  according  to  the  object  and  intention  of  the  teacher.  The  cor* 
rectness  of  what  we  here  state  will,  we  feel  assured,  be  proved  ulti- 
mately by  the  decision  of  the  public,  which  will  find  Mr.  Grate's  work 
cold  and  uninteresting  after  the  hrat  gloss  of  novelty  shall  have  been 
worn  away.  The  same  thing  has  already  taken  place  with  some  other 
histories  that  we  could  mention,  though  we  need  not  go  out  of  our  way 
to  speak  evil  of  the  dead. 


MRS.    EDEN'S    SIXPENCE. 

A   BHOBT  STOKY  POR   HAMABITAKS. 

It  was  a  little  child  that  had  come  to  the  door  to  beg.  Bnt  the 
knock — timid  and  hesitating  as  it  was — disturbed  the  babj,  that 
after  much  rocking  and  soothing,  Mrs.  Eden  had  just  succeeded  in 
getting  into  its  first  sleep.  And  very  displeased  with  the  knock  waa 
Mrs,  Eden  in  consequence,  and  her  mind  was  fully  made  up, — not 
only  to  dismiBS  the  beggnr, — if  beggar  it  were,^ — without  alms, 
but  to  speak  a  sharp  word  or  two,  into  the  bargain.  But  this  last 
resolution  waa  dismissed  before  she  reached  the  door, — for  she 
encountered  a  cutting  gust  of  wind  in  the  passage,  which  made 
her  lemcmber  how  severe  the  weather  was  out  in  the  bleak  Btreets, 


MRS.  edbh's  sixfekce.  631 

and  opportunely  reminded  her  that  Christian  charity  would  hot 
tolerate  shflrp  words  under  the  circumstances. 

Severe  enough,  God  knows,  the  weather  had  heen  for  eome 
days.  People  who  had  made  their  calculatioifb,  decided  that  for 
seven  winters,  the  thermometer  had  not  fallen  so  manj  degrees 
below  the  freezing  point.  Only  that  morning,  within  half  a.  mile 
of  Mrs.  Sden's  residence,  a  girl  had  been  found  stone  dead — 
frozen,  poor  thing,  on  the  doorstep  of  a  rich  man's  house.  But 
the  rich  man  knew  not,  of  course,  that  she  was  there, — for  it  is 
not  in  the  human  heart  to  suffer  a  fellow-crenture  to  perish  with 
cold  and  hunger  on  a  doorstep.  The  rich  man  had  dropped  into 
a  sound  sleep— drawing  op  his  limbs  in  his  comfortable  warm 
bed, — unconscious  of  the  tragedy  which,  so  near  to  him,  was 
witnessed  by  the  awfiil  frost. 

When  Mrs.  Eden  had  got  the  door  open, — which  was  not  easy 
of  accomplishment — for  the  wind  for  some  moments  absolutely 
insisted  on  keeping  it  shut,  she  beheld  a  little,  ragged  starveling,  of 
what  sex  she  conld  not  determine — small  enough  to  he  only  six 
years  old — hut  sufficiently  aged  in  features  t«  be  twelve  or 
thirteen — poverty  having  done  the  work  of  time,  and  laboured  at 
it  with  good-will.  Now  Mrs.  Eden,  as  we  have  seen,  had 
determined  to  bestow  no  alms.  '  The  crying  baby  still  (td- 
monished  her  of  the  inteiTuption  to  its  slumbers,  and  as  it  was  a 
very  wakeful  baby  indeed,  she  had  to  calculate  npon  a  second 
course  of  rocking  and  soothing,  before  she  could  lay  it  on  the 
pillow,  and  so  find  an  opportunity  to  prepare  her  husband's 
supper.  But  woman's  heart,  and  a  mother's  heart  especially,  is 
nature's  master-piece  of  sympathy.  And  Mrs,  Eden,  who  had 
little  time  for  reading  hooks,  was  a  great  scholar  in  human  faces. 
God's  Gospel,  she  often  said  in  her  own  quaint  fashion,  was 
written  in  children's  features, — a  speech  for  which  she  was,  oa 
one  occasion,  taken  soundly  to  task,  by  a  local  preacher  and 
distributor  of  tracts.  I  believe  she  was  right  notwithstanding. 
When  she  had  looked  only  an  instant  upon  the  little  ragged 
epicene,  and  heard  the  piteous  wail  which  its  thin  blue  lips 
uttered,  and  which  resolved  itself  into  some  such  words  as  these — 
"  Have  you  anything  to  give  a  poor  child  to-night,  that 's  got  no 
mother,  please  ?"— ^She  felt  a  twinge  at  the  heart,  that  by  some 
process  of  association,  had  reference  to  a  certain  siitpence  Vhich 
was  deposited  in  a  plll-boz  that  stood  upon  the  roantcl-piece 
within,  and  which  she  had  that  morning  picked  up  in  an  adjoining 


us  UHS.    EDBK  8   BIirXKCE. 

street.  It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Eden  that  this  waif  could  not. be 
applM  to  better  use  than  the  relief  of  the  little  mendicftat. 
AccordiDgly  she  bestowed  the  coin  upon  the  child,  whose  facultj' 
of  speech  was  «rerted  b;  tlio  magoitude  of  the  alms,  and  thie 
donot  was  uathaaked.  She  did  not  heed  the  circuoistaacc,  fiir 
she  belonged  not  to  that  class  of  benefactors  who  are  uneasj  if 
the  palate  of  their  benevolence  go  untickled  hj  praise. 

The  child,  grasping  the  coin  in  its  little  hand,  made  quick  way 
to  a  baker's  shop,  before  whose  window,  amongst  other  hungry 
and  frost-pinched  children,  she  {for  it  was  a  girl  that  Mrs.  Eden 
had  relioTed,}  had  stood  but  a  brief  while  before,  eyeing  the 
loaves  that  were  as  hopelesB  of  attainment  .as  the  very  food  of 
angels.  There  was  one  loaf  with  its  crusty  side  turned  to  catcb 
the  eye  of  the  passengers,  upon  which  she  resolved  to  expend  the 
sixpence.  Now  it  chanced  tliat  the  baker  was  not  to  be  numbered 
amongst  the  kindest  member  of  the  human  family.  There  was 
an  acidity  in  his  countenance  which  repelled  liking.  Some  men 
we  favout  at  a  glance.  This  baker  was  of  a  different  class.  Ho 
was  four  with  an  emphasis,  especially  to  children,  and  more  par- 
ticularly to  poor  children.  To  do  him  justice  ho  was  not  servile 
to  the  rich.  He  was  vinegar  still, — a  little  diluted,  perhaps, — 
bat  never  oil  or  butter,  or  any  unctuous  substance,  though  his 
wealdkiesC  customer  were  counting  gold  of  standard  weight  upon 

The  girl  fearlessly  entered  the  shop,  and  pointed  to  the  lo^ 
which  ^e  desired  to  possess.  The  baker  frowned,— to  his 
customary  vinegar,  he  added  a  copious  dash  of  unripe  lemon-juice. 
The  child  threw  down  the  sixpence. 

"  That  loaf — that'uo  there — he  in  the  comer,"  stud  the  child, 
eagerly.  But  tlio  baker,  who  had  taken  up  the  coiu,  did  not 
hasten  to  execute  the  order.  He  narrowly  iaspected  the  money, 
and  dissatisfied  with  the  scrutiny,  notched  it  with  a  file.  And 
then  the  full  villany  of  its  being  was  revealed.  The  Samaritan 
gift — Good  Spirits  had  looked  down  upon  it  and  blessed  it — was 
a  sham.  Adjoining  the  noighbouihood  in  which  the  baker  re- 
sided, a  gang  of  coiuers  had  recently  established  themselves,  and 
base  money  was  frequently  tendered  at  the  shops  of  the  various 
tradesmen.  Twice  that  day  bad  sixpences  tad  been  presented  to 
the  baker  in  exchange  for  bread.  The  call  upon  his  time  which 
the  prosecution  of  the  offenders  would,  have  demanded,  had  alone 
deterred  from  sv.c'i  n  step,  but  ho  Imd  inwardly  resolved,  that  <tn 


UR3.  eden'b  SIlPEyCE.  IS33 


the  next  occasion  the  porty  should  bo  made  an  example  of.  With- 
out more  ado  therefore,  he  walked  to  hia  door,  aod  promised  a 
Senny  roll  to  a  ragged  urehln  for  fetohing  a  policeman.  The  lad 
arted  off,  shrieking  "police"  sa  he  went,  and  followed  by  a 
dozen  boys  and  girls,  ragged  us  himself,  and  TocifcratJng  as 
loudly. 

An  officer  was  soon  found.  He  listened  to  the  baker — examined 
the  coin,  and  professed  to  recognise  the  child  as  an  old  hand  at 
"  that  sort  of  thing, " 

"  You  'U  Kflve  to  attend  to-morrow,  Mr.  Bulrush,"  he  siud  to 
the  baker.  "  Ten  wiU  be  the  hour.  It 's  uncertiun  when  'twill 
come  off, — but  we  '11  have  consideration  for  you,  on  account  of 
your  business.     Bread  is  dear  enough — an't  it  ?" 

"  It  will  be  Tory  inconvenient  for  me  to  appear  myself,"  re- 
marked the  baker.  "  I  suppose  if  I  send  my  wife  it  will  do- 
won 'tit?" 

The  policeman  thought  otherwise,  and  grasped  tbe  little  hand 
compressed  within  hia  own,  tighter  as  he  sud  so.  The  child 
uttered  a  piteous  cry  of  pain,  and  ba^  the  man  release  her, 
that  she  might  take  the  loaf  to  her  father;  At  this  juncture  the 
baker's  wife  entered  the  shop. 

"  You  are  hurting  your  tittle  girl,"  she  said  to  the  policeman. 

"  My  little  girl,"  said  the  piqued  officer,  glancing  dbdiunlHilly 
at  tho  child.  "  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Bulrush, — my  little  ffA  makes 
ol  better  appearance  than  a  beggar's  child— my  little  girl  has 
warm,  respectable  clothing,  and  never  utters  bad  money." 

"  Oh,  it 's  another  case  of  bad  money — is  it  ?  Why,  that 
makes  the  third  to-day." 

"  Bad  money,"  cried  the  child,  beginning  to  cry  as  she  now 
{rst  understood  her  position.  "  A  woman  gave  it  to  me — Father 
«ent  me  out  to  beg,  and  told  nie  to  buy  bread  with  what  I  got;  I 
won't  go  to  gaol.     Please  let  me  go  home.'' 

"  tt  may  be  true  what  she  says,"  remarked  the  baker's  spouse. 

"  'Tis  so  young  a  child,  I  don't  see  what's  the  use  of  sending 
her  to  prison  ;  except  for  charity's  sake,  for  I  suppose  they'll  feed 
her  there.     I  would  let  her  go — /would,  Bulrush." 

"  Why,  you  see,  ma'am,  it  wouldn't  do  to  let  her  go,''  replied 
ihe  policeman  ;  "  if  it's  only  on  the  principle  of  getting  her  fed. 
Why,  as  a  Christian  and  a  mother,  Mrs.  Bulrush,  you  must  say 

friaon -feeding  is  better  than  chance  bread.     Bless  you,  she  won't 
now  herself  rrhen  sho  comes  out ;  she  'U  be  so  plump  and  fat" 


tiU  KflS.   EDEN  S  8IXF£KCE. 

A  CQBtomer  h&d  entered  the  shop  during  the  officer's  speech. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Eden,"  eaid  the  haker'e  lady,  "  you  are  o  stranger, 
How'h  your  reBpectahle  wife  and  the  nice  baby  ?  Here  'a  b,  case 
of  a  bad  aiipence — a  shame,  an't  it,  to  see  so  yoimg  a  hand  at  it 
— the  third  case  to-day — tradesmen  need  be  careful," 

"Bad  money — bo  young,  too — not  the  first  attempt,  Isuppose," 
■add  Mr.  Eden. 

"  Oh,  no— an  old  hand  at  it,  sir.  I  've  had  my  eye  upon  her 
this  loug  time,"  said  the  policeman. 

"  I  want  a  half-quartern  loaf,  Ur,  Bulrush — a  crusty  one,  if 
yon  have  it — that  in  the  nindow  will  just  suit  me ;"  and  Mr.  Eden 
minted  to  the  loaf  which  the  child  had  intended  to  purchase. 
When  she  saw  the  baker  delirer  it  to  his  customer,  she  renewed 
her  crying  and  wept  more  bitterly  than  eyer, 

"  Well,  good  night,  Bulrush — goodnight,  Mrs.  B.,"  said  Mr. 
Eden,  turning  to  depart.  "  She  is  young — too  young  for  oakum 
lacking — cold  night,  isn't  it  ?"  and  he  left  the  shop.  The  police- 
man also  quitted  it,  dragging  the  child  along — while  Mr.  Buhiish 
put  on  his  great-coat — wiped  the  flour  from  his  face,  and  prepared 
to  follow  him  to  make  tffi  charge  at  the  station-house.  * 

The  baby  was  asleep  before  the  knocker  responded  to  the 
application  of  Mr.  Eden's  finger.  The  supper  was  in  course  of 
preparation >~but  not  ready,  and  Mr.  Eden  was  a  h^ty  man.  But 
for  the  little  mendicant,  hahy  would  have  been  dispos^  of  half  aD 
hour  before,  and  the  sausage  would  he  "  keeping  warm"  upon  the 
bob.     Rat-tat-tat. 

As  it  happened,  Mr.  Eden  was  in  the  best  possible  humour. 
His  employers — he  was  junior  clerk  to  a  merchant  firm  in  the  City 
— had  that  day  taken  him  confideolially  aside,  and  annonnced 
their  determination  to  elevate  him  to  a  higher  post  and  increaee 
his  salary  70J.  annually.  He  could,  therefore,  bear  to  wiut  com- 
placently for  bis  supper  He  would  ruti  to  the  nearest  tavern  for 
half  a  pint  of  the  best  Scotch  whisky,  in  which  to  drink  his 
employer's  health.  Mrs.  Eden  had  no  objection  to  whisky — and. 
the  sansages  wokdd  be  ready  by  the  time  he  was  returned,  and 
had  got  his  house  cost  and  slippers  on.  Meanwhile,  the  little 
hungry  girl  was  dismaUy  sobbing  in  her  cell  at  the  station-house. 
"  By  the  bye,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Eden  to  his  wife  after  supper, 
"  when  I  stepped  into  Bulrush's  for  that  loaf,  he  was  just  giving 
a  DUBcrable  child  into  custody  for  attempting  to  pass  a  bad  six- 
pence— plenty  of  base  money  about — the  third  bad  sixpence  oSvni 


Hits.   EDEN  S   SISPEKCe.  £35 

at  Bulrush's  to-day.  You  must  be  careful  of  the  ailver  you  get 
in  change  at  the  shop." 

"  Tbrce  had  sixpences  in  one  day  !  What  sort  of  a  child  wab 
it!" 

"  Oh,  a  little  old-fashioned  beggarly  looking  little  thing  with  a 
careworn  old-looting  face.  The  policeman  knew  her  well — an  old 
hand  at  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  It  was  a  girl  then — what  sort  of  bonnet  had  she  on  ?" 

"  Bonnet — I  don't  know  whe^er  it  was  bonnet  or  hat — it  was 
squabbed  out  of  all  shape.  To  me  she  looked  more  like  a  boy 
than  a  girl." 

"  How  old  do  you  think  this  girl  was  V  sai*  Mrs.  E.,  foUoning 
up  the  thread  of  her  own  reflections. 

"  Any  age  between  six  and  fourteen.  You  seem  concerned 
for  her,  my  dear." 

"Concerned — how  absurd!  Your  pipe  is  on  the  sideboard. 
I  'm  going  out  a  shopping — 1  've  got  a  few  little  things  to  get  in 
for  to-morrow.     If  baby  wakes" 

"  You  an't  going  out  to-night,  my  Ioto  ?"  said  Mr.  Eden. 

"  Yes.  I  mu3t  go — we  shan't  have  a  eandle  in  the  house  when 
that  is  burnt  out." 

"  You  may  bring  me  in  some  tobacco.  Stay — you  may  buy 
me  two  cigars,  Mrs.  E.^-old  Cubas — they  are  three  halfpence 
each,  my  bve." 

"  Two  old  Cubas — I  won't  forget." 

She  had  hastily  equipped  herself  in  shawl  and  bonnet  while  she 
was  talking,  and  only  lingered  to  bid  her  husband  listen  for  baby's- 
wakbg, — ere  she  set  her  nimble  feet  upon  tho  pavement,  and 
turned  her  face  towards  the  baker's  dwelling.  Within  doors  she 
had  only  half-guessed  how  cold  it  was 'without.  The  freezing 
wind  came  hard  against  her  like  a  substance.  The  few  p^wins 
abroad  were  wrapped  to  the  teeth, — except  the  very  poor, — and. 
Ood  help  them  in  all  weathers  !  From  the  baker  and  his  wife, 
she  could  extract  nothing  concerning  the  child,  save  that  she  had 
tendered  a  bad  sixpence,  for  which  Bulrush  was  determined  to 
punish  her.  Their  description  of  her  person  strengthened  Mrs. 
Eden's  conjectures,  and  she  repmred  to  the  station-house  to  see- 
the child. 

She  had  never  been  in  a  atation-houae  before — nor  had  she 
«ver  set  foot  within  a  Police  Court  or  Criminal  Court.     With. 


,iibvGo.oglc 


OCG  UBS.   tDEH'S  SIXPESCG. 

liumanitj,.  as  it  appears  under  t1io  awful  .guises  there  set  forthi 
alie  woB  unac^uaiflted.  Tlio  biittcred,  brutal  visages,  she  saw 
there,  confronted  with  the  myrmidons  of  law, — eapecially  tha 
befaced  womanhood  of  those  of  her  own  ecx  who  were  under 
arrest,  filled  her  witii  dismay  and  terror.  She  could  tell  her 
erraiid  to  the  inspector  only  with  great  difficulty.  The  nian  was 
geutle  for  his  office,  and  willingly  acceded  to  her  request  to  have 
the  child  brought  from  the  cells.  Mrs,  Eden  recognised  her  im- 
mediately, and  the  little  girl  knew  her  also. 

"  Tou  gave  me  the  aiipence — indeed — I  didn't  know  it  was  a 
bad  'un.     Let  me  go  home  to  my  father,"  sohbed  the  child, 

"  I  did  indeed  give  her  a  siipence  only  a  few  mijiutes  before 
she  was  given  into  custody,"  said  Mrs.  Eden. 

"  If  the  tradesman  choosea  not  to  appear  against  her,  she  will 
bo  discharged  to-morrow  by  the  magistrate,"  remarked  the  in- 
spector.     "  You  had  better  talk  to  £ulrush,  ma'am." 

"  Can  the  child  go  with  me  to  the  shop  ?"  -inquired  Mrs.  Eden. 

"  No— but  if,  after  examining  the  sixpence,  you  are  satisfied 
that  it  is  the  coin  you  gave  her,  and  the  baker  consents  to  with- 
draw the  charge,  I  will  act  upon  my  own  responsibility,  and  let 
her  go,"  replied  the  man. 

Mi's.  Eden  had  already  seen  the  coin,  but  was  unable  to  swear 
that  it  was  the  gift  abe  hod  bestowed  upon  the  little  beggar.  She 
was  a  lover  of  truth.  But  the  appealing  face  of  the  meagre  child 
sorely  tempted  her.  And,  moreover,  she  felt  almost  confident  that 
it  was  the  sixpence  she  had  picked  up  and  deposited  in  the  pill- 
box. Should  she  stretch  a  point,  and  say  she  was  quite  confident 
about  the  identity  of  the  coin  ?  Certain  moral  scruples  beset  her 
mind,  but  another  glance  at  the  child's  face  quieted  them.  God's 
gospel  of  truth  was  written  in  those  lineaments — as  far  as  the 
mxpence  was  concerned, — as  certainly  as  the  bright  sun  was  itself 
a  true  thing,  created  by  the  Author  of  Truth.  She  said  she  was 
confident,  and  would  swear  if  they  required  her.  So  the  inapectdc 
Bent  a  policeman  to  fetch  the  baker. 

The  end  of  it  was— that  the  aour  baker,  who,  as  Twelfth  Night 
was  drawing  nigh,  was  deep  in  cakes,  and  had  his  time  fully  occu- 
pied, was  glad  of  an  excuse  for  escaping  attendance  on  the  police- 
court  on  the  morrow,  and  freely  consented  to  take  Mrs.  Eden's 
explanation  of  the  matter.  The  child  wos  therefore  set  at  liberty, 
and  went  to  her  wretched  homc^carrying  a  quartern  loaf,  and 


,11  by  Google 


TUG   niQHTa   OF  TIIB   TOCKET.  637 

tome  rcady-cootod  meat,  and  n  few  little  "  proceiy  things" — Mrs. 
Eden's  gifts — for,  as  she  said  to  the  baker's  wife,  "  I  can't  help 
being  kind  to  very  little  children,  when  they  come  to  heg — 'tis  a 
teeaknets,  hut  I  can't  help  it." 

Mrs.  Eden  slept  soundly  that  night,  and  her  repose — she  told 
me  this  herself — hud  no  reference  whatever  to  Eden's  elevation, 
and  the  annual  addition  of  seventy  pounds  to  his  solary. 

AuNOEUiT  Weaver. 


THE  EIGHTS  OF  THE  POCKET. 

"  HABitY,"  said  Frank  Slangton, — ward  of  the  Reverend 
Dr.  Plunnvorth,  and  in  training  under  the  auspices  of  that  divine 
for  Cambtidge  ; — the  young  gentleman  addressed  the  Doctor's 
BOn  :   "  I  think  I  owe  you  some  tin." 

"  What  did  yoB  say,  Mr.  Slangton?"  asked  Dr.  Plumwortb, 
pausing  in  the  composition  of  a  sermon,  at  his  desk. 

"  I  was  telling  Henry  that  I  believed  I  owed  him  some  money, 

"  Money,  I  think,  was  not  the  word  you  used,"  said  the 
clergyman. 

"  No,  sir  ;  my  expression,  I  admit,  was  tin."       • 

"Let  me  beg,  then,"  returned  the  Doctor,  "that  you  will 
not  repeat  it,  Mr.  Slangton.  As  a  flash  term,  or  vulgarism,  it  is 
highly  objectionable ;  besides  which,  it  implies  a  disrespectful 
allusion  to  property.  Money,  properly  regarded,  is  a  very 
serious  thing,  and  ought  never  to  be  spoken  of  in  terms  of  ■ 
levity.  You  areJ«  recollect  that  it  is  a  most  important  bless- 
ing, and  although,  like  any  other  of  a  temporal  nature,  it 
should  not  engross  our  estimation,  it  is  neither  to  he  thought  of 
DOr  mentioned,  slightingly.  To  talk  with  lightness  and  flippancy 
on  pecuniary  subjects  argues  a  ludicrous  frame  of  mind  ;  a  disposi- 
tion to  tri£o  with  grave  topics  ;  almost,  I  may  say,  a  constitutional 
irreverence.     For  the  future,  I  entreat  yon  to  bear  this  in  mind."  ' 

"  Yes,  sir,"  responded  the  pupil ;  and  screening  his  face  with 
his  Herodotus,  he  made  a  grimace  behind  it. 

Now,  really,  though  it  may  he  a  bold  thing  to  say,  there  was 
«ome  sense  in  this  little  homily  of  Dr.  Plumworth's.     There  ia, 

Coiwlc 


608  TEE  alQHTS  OF  THE   POCKET. 

undoubtedly,  a  certain  veneration  for  mone;  which  is  grovelling 
aod  base  in  the  extreme — a  horrible  idolatry.  Granted.  Let  it  be 
anathema.  At  the  same  time,  we  do  contend  that  there  is  on 
amount  of  proper  reapect  to  be  entertained  for  it  by  every  rea- 
sonable person  ;  and  with  this  we  must  insist  that  the  desig' 
nation  of  it  by  such  mean  and  unceremonious  terms  as  "  tin," 
and  "  dust,"  or  even  "cash,"  is  incompatible.  Phraseology 
of  this  kind,  like  nicknames  applied  to  individuals,  betokens  a 
famiharity  which  doth  breed,  if  not  express,  contempt.  But 
wealth,  although  a  bad  master,  is  an  excellent  servant,  and  there- 
fore not  to  be  despised  by  anybody.  And  he  who  disesteems 
money,  contemns  all  that  money  will  procure  ;  that  is  to  say, 
nearly  ererything  In  the  world  but  health  and  peace  of  mind  ; 
though  even  these  advantages  are  not  to  be  had  without  some 
of  it. 

One  would  think,  from  the  various  synonyms  uaed  to  signify 
money,  whereby  the  direct  mention  of  it  is  in  a  manner  shirked, 
that  it  was  something  of  which  people  are  ashamed.  Men  shrink 
in  conversation  from  naming  it  outright,  and  hint  at  it,  covertly, 
as  the  "needful,"  the  "stumpy,"  the  "ready;"  as  if  the 
thing  alluded  to  were  of  an  indelicate  nature,  They  describe  it 
by  initials,  as  £  s.  d.  ;  and  perhaps,  in  time,  they  will  come 
to  express  it  by  asterisks.  Kay,  they  defame  it  by  vile  and  dis- 
paraging phrases,  such  as  "dross"  and  "filthy  lucre."  Poets 
and  novelists,  y  particular,  are  always  aspersing  and  decrying  it, 
in  a  mauuer  which  is  at  least  unfair  ;  for  they  speak  ill  of  it, 
mostly,  on  very  slight  acquaintance.  Th^y  call  it  "  sordid  pelf,'" 
and  say  that  "  riches,  the  incentives  to  evil,  are  dug  out  of  the  ' 
earth.  Well ;  so  are  potatoes  dug  out  of  the  earth,  and  they 
are  just  as  mtich,  and  no  more,  the  incentives  to  gluttony,  at 
riches  are  to  evil,  to  those  wIki  are  over-fond,  of  them  ;  aai 
the  only  aordidness  of  pelf  is  derived  fn»n  the  hand  that  clutches 
it.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  defend  the  We  of  money,  considered 
as  a  blind  passion,  which  we  frankly  admit  to  be  the  root  of  all 
evil,  but  we  must  put  in  a  gentle  plea  for  a  sensible,  wdl-regu- 
lated  regard  for  it.  "  Wine  ie  a  good  bmiliar  creature  if  it  be 
well  used  ;  "  an  'equal  claim  on  our  afiocticn  have  the  means  by 
which  wine  is  procured. 

We  shall  not  dilate  on  the  inconsistency  of  those  authors  who 
write  for  money  whilst  they  write  against    it.      We  will  only 
i  them  to  write  more  justly  and  sensibly  ;  and  wiA 


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TIIS  BIQHIS  OF   IHE  rOCEEI.  $39 

tbem  the  better  pay  for  bo  doiag-  Let  them  pocket  it,  and  be  thukk- 
fnL  The  labourer 'b  hire  is  not  to  be  grumbled  at  unless  it  is 
inodequ&to.  As  to  the  maa  who  would  abuse  his  salary,  he  would 
also  «[uarrel  with  his  bread-and-butt^.  If,  making  allowance  for 
high  animal  spirita,  we  con  excuse  a  little  jocularity  in  speaking 
of  money,  we  cannot  put  up  with  its  deliberate  slander.  This  ia 
an  injustice  too  gross  for  our  sensibilities.  But  we  are  dogmaUs- 
ing  whilst  we  should  reason ;  let  us  then  argue, — though  not 
e^ctly  as  barristers — for  money. 

Be  it,  then,  considered,  that  money  represents  what  it  can  pur- 
chase. A  penny  is  equivalent  to  a  penny's  worth.  Thus  we  say 
that  a  roll  is  a  penny,  or  a  ham-eandwicb  fouipeuce.  So  much 
money,  therefore,  is  tantamount  to  so  much  bread,  beef,  and  beer  ; 
naj,  to  BO  much  water,  wherever  there  exists  a  water-rate.  Accord- 
ingly, he  who  despises  money,  despises  the  neceasaries  of  life.  A 
given,  or  gotten,  sum  is  requisite  to  the  acquisidon  even  of  a 
smock  frock  and  a  pair  of  onkle-jacka  ;  therefore,  even  they 
whose  wants  are  limited  to  the  commonest  fore,  and  to  the  meaneet 
clothing,  must  admit  a  certain  care  for  money.  But  most  people's 
souls  are  superior  to  beef,  and  ascend,  when  they  can,  irom  plain 
hutehor's  meat  to  made  dishes  ;  or  to  Welsh  mutton,  partridge, 
woodcock,  and  Tenison.  They  soar  above  punqt-water  to  the 
treble  X  and  the  entire,  and  tifience,  through  port  and  sherry,  to 
the  pinnacles  of  claret  and  champagne.  EquaUy  do  they  mount 
from  the  smook  frock  and  the  highlow  to  the  suit  of  Moses  or  of 
StultE.  In  proportion  to  the  rising  scale  of  demre  and  sfipe^te 
must  be  the  increaung  estimation  of  money. 

None,  then,  but  those  saints  who  repudiate  the  good  tilings  of 
tlua  life  have  any  business  to  disparage  coin.  And  we  must  deny 
this  right  to  such  even  of  them  whose  self-denial  admits  of  otiy 
gratification  whatever,  and  who  draw  the  line  of  abstinence  any- 
where above  berries  and  sackcloth.  But  your  anchorite  and  your 
hermit  are  out  of  the  question  in  this  country.  Their  existence 
here  would  be  impossible,  morally  and  pfaysic^y.  A  saint  of  tlus 
class  could  literally  find  no  bole  to  put  bis  head  in.  If  he  esta- 
blished his  cave  on  waste  land,  he  would  infringe  the  right  of 
common  ;  if  elsewhere,  ho  would  be  liable  to  an  action  for  tres- 
pass ;  and  in  eithm'  case,  probably,  would  be  apprehended  as  a 
Togne  and  vagabond,  and  sent  to  gaol  like  a  tromper  or  a  gipsy- 
Brides,  he  would  be  starved.  Crab-apples  are  the  only  hedge- 
fruits  that  will  keep  all  the  year  round  ;  and  he  would  have  no 


tM  THE   RIQUT9  OF   THE  POCKET. 

right  to  gather  walnuts.  Uoreorer,  society  would  not  tolerate 
anjhody  who  should  wear  hair-shirts  and  never  change  them  ;  the 
odour  of  this  species  of  sanctitjr  would  be  too  much  for  it ;  and 
recourse  to  hatha  and  washhouses  for  the  ascetic  classes  would  be 
compelled  by  Act  of  Parliament.  And  tben  a  ragged  and  nn- 
cleanjy  saint  would  not  now  bo  li&tened  to  ;  be  would  be  forced  to 
prcacb  in  a  decent  surplice,  or  at  oil  erenta  in  a  respectable  suit 
of  black  ;  the  which  canonicals  cannot  be  bad  for  nothing.  No  ; 
we  address. not  saints,  but  ordinary  honest  men,  wbo  own  to  a 
certain  liking  for  creature  comforts,  and  are  also  desirous  to  pay 
for  tbem.  Because  it  is  certainly  possible  to  eat  ond  drink  of  the 
beat,  and  to  be  clad  with  the  finest,  at  the  expense  of  tradesmen. 
But  to  indulge  in  a  fonduess  for  good  liviDg,  and  a  taste  for  dress, 
and  Bt  tbe  same  time  not  to  have,  and  to  profess  not  to  want, 
money,  is  virtually  to  proclaim  one's  self  a  rogue.  It  is  to  acknow< 
ledge  an  nncoucem  about  paying  one's  houaebold-bills,  and  an 
unacrupulousness  as  to  doing  one's  t^lor. 

Does  any  gentleman  think  a  carriage  worth  poaacssing  ?  Nay, 
is  .it  an  occasional  cooTenience  to  bim  to  take  a  cab,  or  an 
omnibua  ?  Does  be  wish  for  a  good  horac  ;  is  he  fond  of  hunting 
and  field-aports  ?  Would  be  he  content  to  live  in  a  tub,  like 
Diogenes  ;  or  would  he  prefer  a  snug  cottage,  not  to  say  a  man- 
aion  ?  Requires  be  servants  to  wait  upon  bim,  or  would  he  really 
not  object  to  clean  hia  own  boots  !  Unless  be  can  dispenaa 
with  theae  superfluities,  let  bim  not  pretend  to  decry  money. 
If  he  does,  he  is  a  humbug,  to  say  the  very  least.  Money,  be  must 
spend,  either  his  own  or  other  people's,  and  such  a  gentleman, 
we  observe,  generally  chooses  the  latter  alternative. 

Js  anybody  of  opinion  that  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  travel,  to  cnricb 
his  mind  by  tbe  knowledge  of  men,  to  elevate  it  by  intercourse 
with  Nature  ?  Then  must  be  tbink  the  means  of  locomotion,  to 
say  Dotbing  of  defraying  the  charges  of  mine  host,  a  somewhat 
'fine  thing  too.  Does  be  delight  in  study  ?  Will  borrowed  books 
suffice  him— or  will  he  confess  that  he  is  capable  of  stealing  tbem  ? — 
dao  must  be  place  a  value  on  wealth  as  a  help  to  literary  treo- 
sure.  Has  .be  pleasure  in  tbe  prosecution  of  science  or  tbe  fino 
arts,  and  sets  he  no  store  by  the  instruments  to  these  ends  ? 

Would  any  man  fain  gratify  bis  social  affections  ?  or  would  he 
rather  live  as  a  monk  ?  Say  that  he  wishes  for  a  wife  and  family : 
— would  enjoy  his  borne  and  domestic  hearth.  Surely  be  cannot 
"orn  that  which  affords  a  maintenance  to  hia  helpmate  and 


THE   RleHTS   OF  THE  KICEET.  Mf 

oSspring.  Nay,  further  ;  suppose  liim  to  be  a  general  pbHon- 
thropist,  with  a  thirst  for  the  promotion  of  uuiverdkl  faa^nesa. 
UnleBs  his  kindnesses  to  his  fellow-creatures  are  limited  (as  in 
the  instance  imagined  is  not  uncommonly  the  case)  to  good  advice 

and  wishes,  that  thirst  will  most  certainly  be  unslaked  without 
some  draught  of  Pactolua  ;  or,  at  least,  a  cheque  on  its  hank. 

Filthy  meat,  then ;  filthy  clothes,  filthy  fire  !  Filthy  heef,  filthy 
venison,  filthy  wine  !  Dirty  carriages,  dirty  horses,  dirty  mansion, 
dirty  menials  !  Sordid  travel,  sordid  Study,  sordid  science,  sordid 
fine  arts,  sordid  wifo  and  children  j  sordid  love  and  domestic 
hlisa ;  sordid  benevolence  and  universal  philanthropy !  Such  must 
be  the  language  of  all  those  who,  as  "  filthy  lucre,  '  "  dirty  dross," 
and  '*  sordid  pelf,"  are  accustomed  to  sUgmatise  money. 

The  miser,  doubtless,  is  an  odious  and  contemptible  wretch  ; 
odious  because  selfish,  and  contemptible  because  foolish.  Let  him 
be  dealt  with  according  to  poetry.  At  the  same  time  let  poetical 
justice  bo  done  impartially.  Let  not  those  offenders  escape  cen- 
sure who  regard  not  money,  since  they  can  live  without  it, — on  their 
neighbours.  The  fashionable  spendthrift  is  just  as  sordid  as  the 
usurer.  The  stage  Irishman  is  as  despicable  as  the  stage  Scotch- 
man ;  and  the  latter,  intellectually  considered,  has,  as  the  more- 
prudent,  rather  the  advantage  of  the  two.  Base  as  it  may  he  tO' 
gloat  over  hoarded  gold,  there  is  something  in  the  contemplation 
of  the  power  which  gold  expresses  that  is  even  grand.  There  lie, 
in  posse,  the  mighty  armaments,  the  countless  hosts,  the  vast  re- 
sources of  an  empire  ;  there  all  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  life  f 
there  the  happiness  of  millions.  Thus  may  an  emotion  approach- 
ing the  sublime  be  excited  even  in  the  soul  of  a  miser  ;  and  many 
of  the  tribes  of  Lazarus  and  Levi  may  have  had  loftier  thoughts 
than  we  imagine.  It  is  the  bad  use,  or  the  disuse,  of  possessions 
that  is  ignoble.  No  disparagement  to  the  coin.  No  dishonour  to 
the  pounds,  shiHings,  and  pence.  They  are  types  and  symbols 
of  things  useful  and  beautiful.  To  spuru  the  representatives  of 
so  much  excellence  is  a  downright  outrage  upon  sentiment.  It  ia 
as  bad  as  insulting  a  hero  iu  his  statue,  or  trampling  on  the  por- 
ti'ait  of  one's  lady-love, 

Fercital  Leigh. 


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MAN  WAS  NOT  MADE  TO  MOURN. 

Thbdb  U  a  voice  which  haante  me  stiil, 

Where'er  on  earth  1  be ; 
In  lonely  vale,  on  loft;  hill, 

And  on  the  distant  sea — 
I  hear  it  in  the  flilent  night, 

And  at  the  break  of  morn  : 
And  aye  it  orieth — dark  or  light — 

Man  was  not  made  to  monm ! 


In  ev'ry  Btream  that  seaward  flows, 

That  voice  Balntee  mine  ear ; 
In  eve^  wind  that  round  me  blows, 

Its  thrilling  notes  I  hear  ; 
In  ev'iy  Bound  of  Nature's  heart, 

The  cheerful  or  forlorn, 
This  ever  bears  the  better  part — 

Man  was  not  made  to  mourn  ! 
The  snn  that  glads  the  summer  noon, 

The  U^ht  that  bleeseth  all, 
The  mjnod  stars,  the  qniet  moon, 

The  showers  from  heaven  thit  fall, 
The  flowers  which^in  our  meadows  grow. 

Our  moantain  paths  adorn — 
All,  all,  in  their  own  tishion  show 

Man  was  not  made  to  mourn  ! 
All  Nature  ciles  aloud — but  mas 

Regards  not  Nature's  voice  ; 
Perverteth  her  benignant  plan, 

Her  workmanship  destroys — 
From  her  fair  book  the  brightest  page 

With  impious  hand  has  torn, 
Yet  still  she  cries,  from  age  tD  age, 

Man  was  not  made  to  moui-n  ! 
0,  gentlest  mother  !  may  thy  child 

Ere  long  thy  lesson  read ; 
Embrace  thy  precepts,  loving,  mild, 

Thy  fraternizing  creed  :— 
Then  shall  the  blessed  end  be  known 

For  which  he  has  been  born  ; 
And  all  shall  feel,  from  zone  to  zone, 

Man  was  not  made  to  mourn  ! 
EditAurgh.  Wm.  Ffhodssob. 


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THE  PRESENT  AND  THE  FUTURE. 

When  one  kxAs  at  the  EtmouDt  of  theorelic  lav  and  morality 
extant  in  the  vorM,  it  Beems  a  wonder  that  it  should  not  he  a 
deal  better  than  it  is. 

The  precepts  and  injunctions  recommended  and  enforced  are 
cnovgh  to  make  one  believe  not  only  in  the  perfoctibility,  hut  the 
actual  perfection  of  human  nature.  There  aeema  no  need  of  any 
new  doctrine  when  we  are  bo  far  from  living  up  to  what  we  have 
already.  But  there  is  the  mischief ;  we  are  become  now  deaf  and 
iDSenaible  to  the  good  thtDgs  rung  in  our  ears  ;  they  have  become 
a  sort  of  refrains  to  which  it  never  strikes  us  to  attach  a  practical 
meaning ;  they  have  ceased  to  lay  hold  upon  our  eonaciencea. 
We  do  not  disbelieee^iactlj,  but  we  have  got  to — Neyer  mind.  It 
would  be  BOcia!  excommunication  to  express  a  doubt  of  any  of  the 
points  of  accredited  morality,  hut  the  amount  of  fH^ctical  belief 
we  show  in  our  life  and  actions  ia  wonderful  for  its  infinitesimal 
BmalluesB, — it  shows  the  immense  surface  oTcr  which  a  grain  of 
reality  may  be  attenuated. 

There  is  hardly  a  man  to  bo  found  who  has  fiutb  enough  to 
stake  the  most  trifling  practical  result  on  the  abstract  principle  he 
would  argue  the  most  loudly  to  support ;  it  must  come  recom- 
mended by  some  more  tangible  advantage  than  being  merely  a 
point  of  law  or  gospel,  before  he  will  give  it  the  preference.  The 
fact  is,  points  of  morality  are  no  longer  obligatory  ;  there  is  uni- 
versally/eft  to  be  an  appeal  from  them  to  the  private  judgment  of 
common  sense  and  immediate  policy ;  and  yet  there  would  be 
much  virtuous  clamour  raised  against  any  one  who  should  venture 
to  impugn  any  received  maiim  of  morality  in  WOEDS. 

In  the  pi'escnt  day,  all  the  practical  faith  going  seems  to  have 
been  invested  in  the  business  by  which  men  gain  their  daily  bread ; 
they  believe,  that,  if  well  followed  out,  it  will  work  their  salvation 
in  this  world  in  the  shape  of  money,  influence,  and  what  not.  Oh, 
yes  1  if  "  Faitii  be  the  substance  of  things  hoped  for,  the  evidence 
of  things  not  seen,"  those  who  are  able  show  this  forth  by  the 
trust  they  have  in  the  floating  property  they  may  possess  in  esse, 
though  as  yet  it  he  not  realised ;  and  for  this  hope  they  are  con- 

Coiwlc 


1   PKE3EST  ASD  THE  FDTOBe. 


t«nt  to  endure  actual  privation  and  inconvenience.  This  hope  tbey 
truBt  to  make  manifcBt,  and  thev  have  long  patience  for  it ;  but 
for  any  doctrine  or  principle,  wtich  of  them  dares  to — live  ?  for 
that  requires  more  courage  than  to  die.  Those  men  who  hare  a 
belief  in  some  abstract  principle,  and  shape  their  actions  by  it, 
BCem  enthusiasts  to  practical  people,  who  are  made  of  the  Bluff  the 
world  is  made  of, — who  are  adepts  in  the  mechanical  dexterity  by 
whicb  the  routine  of  life  is  carried  on,  but  who  never  trouble 
themselves  ahoutthe  principles  on  which,  in  the/rriinslonoe,  those 
rules  were  founded. 

It  is  a  startling  fact,  that  the  men  who  have  the  most  practical 
faith  are  uadiibs,  and  they  are  shut  up  in  lunatic  asylums  to  keep 
them  from  acting  on  their  delusions.  They  would  have  been 
heroes,  from  their  intense  and  steady  reliance  on  their  own  inward 
eoniictions,  had  they  not  chanced  on  points  which  are  capable  of 
demonstration  as  practical  fallacies, — things  that  are  not;  but  the 
distance  bctncen  theoretic  wisdom  and  practical  madness  is  not 
great,  there  is  scarce  a  madman  shut  up  for  his  wild  projects 
,  and  inconvenient  attempts  to  realise  them,  whose  theory  has  not 
one  time  or  other  been  supported  by  some  philosopher, — some  theo- 
retic man  who  gained  namo  and  fame  by  giving  utterance  to  the 
speculation,  but  who  proved  hia  sanity  by  not  allowing  it  to  io- 
flucncc  his  practice. 

"  The  inspired  and  desperate  alchemists"  of  old,  engaged  over 
the  "Gkand  PaojECTios "  on  which  their  life  was  staked,  were 
not  engaged  in  a  crisis  half  so  fearful  as  that  in  which  a  sincere 
and  noble  nature  endeavours  to  reduce  to  practice  an  exalted 
speculative  conception,  staking  not  life  and  gold  alone,  but 
throwing  reason  itself  into  the  crucible.  All  the  wisdom,  all  the 
instruction,  a!!  the  religious  teaching,  which  has  been  given  to  the 
■world,  ond  which  the  world  has  ceased  to  regard,  has  been 
conquered  for  men,  made  articulate,  lendercd  safe  and  practical 
guides  for  them,  out  of  the  dread  and  shadowy  realms  of  madness 
nnd  confusion. 

A  man  who  dares  to  hold  by  the  invisible,  is  like  the  apostle 
waking  on  the  water, — if  the  hand  from  above  bo  not  stretched 
out  to  save  him,  he  roust  sink  down  into  the  whirlpool  of  madness 
that  lies  beneath.  There  is  a  most  touching  meaning  in  that 
Eastern  superstition  of  madmen  being  made  the  special  protection 
of  Heaven. 

But  whilst  men  with  oio  accard  secni  to  l;aT3  retired  their 

Coo'jlc 


THE  rBESBNT  AND  THE  FUIUBB.  S46 

Mth  from  the  forma  and  maxima  of  belief  which  giiided  their 
fathers,  there  is  everywhere  an  extraordinary  speculative  ac- 
tivity !  they  eeem  all  waiting  to  hear  some  new  thing  ;  or  else 
are'  engaged  in  altering  and  remodelling  ivhat  they  believed 
before  ;  but  none  are  resting  tranquilly  in  that  inheritanco  of 
belief  to  which  they  were  bom  ; — with  all  this,  there  is  perhaps 
Ic'ss  practical  faith  in  the  teaching  and'ilootrinea  extant,  than  there 
ever  was  since  Christendom  began.  It  is  always  thus  on  the  eve  of 
great  evsats.  At  such  periode  the  foundations  of  the  world  are 
out  of  course,  and  the  fountains  of  the  great  deep  broken  up.  All 
autJtority  is  superseded  [universal  authority,  we  mean).  Every 
man  who  can  get  a  hearing  has  the  privilege  of  speaking  ;  and  the 
world  is  well  disposed  to  give  ear,  if  eo  he  it  may  catch  the 
accents  of  that  "large  utterance"  which  can  give  unity  and 
intelligibleness  to  the  etanunering  and  discordant  tonea  in  which 
individuals  etrive  to  embody  the  vast  unknown  thought  of  God 
which  lies  heavy  on  their  souk.  In  this  state  of  things,  where  there 
is  no  longer  a  Church,  nor  a  Supreme  Teacher,  the  "  powEH  op 
THE  KEYS,"  as  it  is  called,  that  mysterious  authority  derived  from 
no  human  source,  is  removed,  and  every  individual  is  invested  with 
an  importance  he  could  not  have  iu  old  and  more  settled  times. 
These  ore  days  of  general  disorganisation,  when  no  one  mode  of 
religion  or  bdief  "  holds  solely  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom." 
Any  man  who  will  sincerely  and  simply  utter  his  own  eiperienee, 
his  own  earnest  idea  of  what  it  is  right  or  desirable  to  do,  and 
to  believe,  becomes  a  hope,  and  an  oracle,  to  his  fellows ;  and  a  man 
who  can  utter  in  sincerity  what  he  finds  in  his  own  heart,  is  "  a 
light  shining  in  a  dark  place."  In  every  man  is  lodged  an 
oracle  of  the  Deity,  which  has  been  opened  to  no  other  ;  for 
though  he  may  stand  close  beside  us,  touching  us,  yet  is  he 
separated  from  us  by  an  impenetrable  veil  of  flesh,  as  much  as  if 
he  belonged  to  an  unknown  world  :  we  know  not  for  a  certainty 
whether  the  visible  objects  on  which  we  gaze  at  the  same 
moment,  present  the  same  aspect  to  him,— the  things  that  please 
us,  are  indifferent  to  him, — the  same  things  do  not  affright  him, — 
the  words  that  move  us  to  joy  or  sorrow,  do  not  touch  him  j  whilst, 
again,  he  is  Moved  by  things  which  take  no  effect  on  us.  He  baa  his 
own  soul,  and  his  own  organisation,  through  which  it  is  made 
manifest  ;  but,  though  he  may  stand  beside  us,  though  we  may 
call  him  brother,  and  the  same  mother  may  have  brought  us  forth, 
yet  is  he  a  mystery  to  us, — we  can  know  nothing  of  what  appears 

NO.  XTIII. TOt.  in.  N  N 


£46  THE   PKES^NT  ASD   THE   FUTDRE. 

to  hhu,  except  as  he  reveals  it  to  ub  ;  and  therefoi'e  it  is  tliat  in 
timea  like  these,  the  indiTidual  becomea  of  importanee,  and  we 
are  willing  to  listen  to  all,  because  we  cannot  know  of  a  surety 
whether  they  maj  not  see  points  hidden  from  our  eyes. — We 
know  how  badlj  we  ourGclves  decide,  we  know  our  own  weakness, 
but  we  inow  only  the  apparent  strength  of  anotbw, 

A  t/mth  to  take  bold  of  men,  must  have  an  affinity  to  their 
mode  of  thought, — to  their  bias  of  feeling, — otherwise  it  is  not  a 
truth  to  tbem  ;  it  is  nothing.  When  a  faet,  however  true,  has 
ceased  to  he  in  sympathy  with  those  who  benr  it,  it  dies  out  of 
their  heart,  unlesB  it  be  connected  with  them  by  the  links  of  their 
deaires  or  their  interests.  They  cease  tobelieyo  it ;  flieir  heart  is 
hard«ied  against  it,  and  it  cannot  influence  them  ;  it  must  appear 
to  them  in  a  new  shape.  Tqex,  if  <me  will  arise  and  uttor  the 
thought  of  his  own  heart,  it  is  like  a  new  revelation,  and  it  works 
like  leaven  in  the  whide  mass. 

The  innate,  indeBtructible  reverenoe  we  have  for  onr  brethren  at 
the  bottom  of  our  souls,  makes  ns  believe  oar  own  thoughts  more 
readily,  if  uttered  by  another,  than  when  presented  in  our  own 
mind  :  we  may  think  by  the  mere  force  of  our  own  intellect,  but 
vo  only  truly  believe  when  we  find  another  in  the  same  mind  as 
ourselves. 

Men  are  ever  yearning  after  reposeand  nnity  of  belief ;  they 
cannot  bear  to  be  out  of  sympathy  with  their  fellows  ;  they  would 
constram  all  to  swim  in  their  own  element ;  hence,  tliey  who 
are  in  advance  of  their  age,  who  are  the  first  to  feel  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  the  existing  order  of  things,  excite  anger,  uneaaneas — 
"  seem  despisers  of  that  which  is  good."  They  are  railed  against ; 
put  down  aa  far  as  may  be  with  a  strong  arm.  They  are  thrown 
down  to  make  a  bridge  and  a  high-way  for  those  who  come  after 
to  pass  over.     They  ate  the  martyrs  who  Heeds  must  perish, 

"  Like  wilher'd  leaves  to  quicken  a  new  birtfi ; " 
but  the  word  they  have  spoken  has  struck  an  answering  chord  in 
tie  hearts  of  a  few ;  the  spectacle  of  seeing  men  so  fully  per- 
suaded of  the  reality  of  that  which  is  iuvisible,  has  a  metaphysical 
influence,  which  no  truth,  however  logically  detached  from  the 
great  rock  of  that  which  is  unknown,  can  ever  haveVithout  this 
quickening  impulse,  this  sympathetic  faith. 

They  who  can  so  far  believe  the  thing  they  profess,  who  have 
faith  enough  in  it  to  "eudure  as  seeing  that  which  is  invisible," 
may  lay  hold  of  this  assurance,  that  in  proportion  as  that  is  a 


THE   PRESENT   ASD   THE  FnTCREE.  647 

trvth  which  has  led  them, that  has  its  root  io  the  everlasting  life  of 
mao,  and  does  not  deal  with  fleeting  appearance,  but  goea  down 
deep  into  the  real  wants  and  aspirations  which  lio  dormant  in 
men'a  hearts,  awakening  them,  and  giring  them  utterance,  their 
words  will  go  forth  to  the  whole  earth ;  there  will  be  nei^er 
speech  nor  langnage  where  theirawords  will  not  find  an  echo.  It 
is  a  mission,  for  which  it  is  a  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  suffer,  that 
of  rousing  men  to  "  press  onwards  towards  the  marls  of  their  high 
oalling, — to  forget  those  things  which  arc  behind,  and  to  reai^  for- 
ward to  those  which  are  before." 

But  in  no  one  form  or  mode  of  belief  can  truth  he  long  im- 
prisoned ;  no  scheme  nor  theory  for  human  g^dance  can  last  for 
erer.  They  who  have  been  the  first  in  the  career  of  progress, 
become  in  time  the  last, — are  over-passed  by  their  followers  ;  the 
peculiar  form  in  which  they  shaped  their  doctrines, — the  burning 
words  hy  which  once 

"  The  world  was  wrouriit 
To  eympnthy  witli  bopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not," 
will  in  time  become  cold  and  obsolete,  the  meaning  wIU  fade  out 
of  them.     Then  is  their  mission  ended ;  well  and  bravely  have 
they  done  ;  "  they  rest  irom  their  labours,  and  their  works  do 
follow  them." 

Men  are  always  frightened  and  displeased  at  being  turned  ont  of 
the  spell  which  has  given  shape  to  their  life,  and  in  ^e  defence  of 
which  they  would  have  "  dared  to  die."  They  endeavour  to  Ungerin 
it  long  a^er  it  has  become  too  strait  for  them,  endeavouring  to 
compress  the  life  withb  them  rather  than  go  forth  with  their 
souls  naked  and  unfenced  into  he  "  wildemesfl  where  no  man 
dwellcth. "  They  require  one  to  arise  able  to  he  their  leader  and 
guide, — to  say,  "  Arise,  let  us  depart  hence." 

In  times  of  need,  such  a  leader  has  always' been  sent:  the 
"  transparent  prison  of  the  Fast  "  enlarges  not  its  bonds  with  the 
growth  and  progress  of  men  ;  they  re<juire  one  to  set  them  free 
from  it.  There  is  an  indestructible  veracity  in  human  nature, 
which  prevents  its  continuing  long  in  a  Bystem  of  belief  which  has 
fallen  into  a  ruin  of  words  which  convey  no  meaning.  A  state  of 
general  disbelief  and  deadness  to  the  vital  significance  of  pro- 
fessed principle  cannot  continue  long ;  for  this  is  not  the  world  of 
tho  dead,  but  of  the  living. 

Why  should  we  of  the  present  day  fancy  that  there  is  no  spiritual 
fixture  for  us  ?     Why  suppose  that  we  alone  of  sllj^ges  from  the 
beginning  of  time  are  to  be  stereotyped  into  the  i=rm  to  rapve 
N  N  2 


Jt48  TIIi:    ntESEXT  AND   TIIE  FUTUBE. 

the  impress  of  that  which  ia  past  9  The  men  of  to-day  are  as  truly 
livine  bouIb  as  the  men  who  eiisted  two  thousand  jears  ago  ; 
and  hare  as  much  need  to  be  guided, — chat  which  the;  haTc 
'  does  not  guide  them.  When  men  hecome  ahle  to  use  their  private 
jadgmeat  about  their  religion  and  the  belief  by  irhich  they  ought 
to  Uve,  it  has  ceased  to  &e  a  uligion  ;  it  bos  lost  its  hold,  its 
grasp  on  the  hearts  and  minds  of  men  ;'— the  need  of  a  dominant 
power  is  making  iteelf  felt.  That  which  ought  to  be  a  grand 
unity  is  breaking  up  into  fragments,  and  every  man  has  to  build 
himself  bis  own  shelter  from  the  ruins  as  he  can ;  but,  because 
we  are  deprived  of  the  beautiful  temple  in  which  our  fathers  wor- 
shipped, are  we  to  dvrell  amid  the  wrecks  for  ever  ?  £ut  certain 
periods,  ever  since  the  beginning  of  things,  times  not  unlike  those 
in  which  we  now  live,  have  occurred, — when  nations  have  been 
sitting  amid  the  ruins  of  their  gods  in  desolate  expectation  of  that 
which  shah  he, — and  in  the  time  of  deepest  need  a  messenger,  a 
teacher,  has  always  arisen  amongst  ^em.  Teachers  of  the 
highest  nature  hare  been  of  very  rare  advent  in  the  cycle  of 
eternity,  who  have  had  a  grasp  strong  and  firm  on  humanity, — 
their  own  nature  deep  and  wide  enough  to  comprehend  and 
articulate  the  world-wide  wants  and  aspirations  of  all  men,  to 
whom  the  people  have  willingly  submitted  themselves.  Leaders  ■ 
and  teachers,  so  far  exalted  in  their  nature  above  their  fellows  as 
to  seem  like  gods  on  earth,  have  not  often  appeared  ;  nevertheless, 
when  the  world  required  a  mighty  impulse  to  carry  it  forward, 
they  have  appeared,  and  gone  before,  making  a  path  towards  the 
future,  into  the  Pnltiowft,  in  which  the  ages  that  followed  have 
walked.  It  is  written,  "  The  people  that  sat  in  darkness  have  seen 
a  great  light,  and  to  them  that  sat  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death,  upon  them  bath  the  light  shined."  And  why  should  not  that 
light  shine  into  o.iu'  hearts  also?  Why  should  we,  of  all  the  ages 
which  have  preceded  us,  eipect  to  be  left  desolate?  Why  are. 
we  to  be  condemned  to  juggle  with  our  own  souls,  striving  to 
persuade  ourselves  that  we  believe— wAat  toe  do  not  ?  Instead  of 
trembling  and  crouching  to  the  past,  let  us  have  faith  in  the 
Future  ;  for  it  is  to  the  fotdrb  that  our  faces  are  set.  Forwards 
mankind  must  of  necessity  go,  so  long  as  the  generations  of  men 
continue  on  the  earth.  There  is  no  return  possible  into  the  Past. 
The  Arabs  have  a  proverb  which  signifies  that  the  most  distant 
event  in  futurity  lies  nearer  to  ua  than  the  transaction  that  hap- 
pened an  hour  ago.  It  is  in  the  Future  we  must  hope— the  Past  is 
barred  against  us. 


A  STAR  IN  THE  DARK. 


e  to  repent,  and  the  energjr 

"  Tou  may  call  it  foolish  and  romantic,  if  jou  like,  but  I  repeat, 
that  I  could  more  easily  forgive  one  great  fault,  committed  under 
Btrong  temptation,  and.  foreign  to  the  natural  disposition,  than  a 
series  of  petty  meanneBsea  springing  from  and  belonging  to  the 
character." 

Thus  apoke  Helen  Traveratoher  sister,  Mrs.  Cunningham,  and 
the  thread  of  their  discourse  is  taken  up  where  first  it  was  over- 
heard. It  was  a  strange  spot  for  anything  hke  a  '.'  confidential  " 
or  "  sentimental "  conversation  to  have  taken  place  ;  but  every 
one  must  bave  observed,  that  sii1>jects  of  interest  often  arise  in 
the  most  unexpected  manner.  The  two  ladies  had  miataken  the 
hour  at  which  a  morning  concert  was  to  commence,  had  arrived 
somewhat  too  early,  and  had  consequently  taken  their  seats  before 
any  others  were  occupied.  Perhaps,  warming  with  the  subject 
under  discussion,  they  had  not  observed  the  few  stragglers  who 
from  time  to  time  dropped  iu,  and  certainly  had  not  heard  the 
footfall  of  a  gentleman  who  entered,  and  seated  himself  imme- 
diately bell  ind  them,  just  at  the  moment  when  some  of  the  attend- 
ants were  making  a  prodigious  din  in  their  re-arrangement  of  the 
benchea  near  the  orchestra. 

"  7  could  not  have  married  a  man  in  whom  I  did  not 
take  pride,"  replied  Mrs.  Cunningham;  "I  am  very  sorry  for 
people  who  have  ever  been  led  away  to  do  anything  wrong,  but 
they  must  take  the  consequences  of  their  own  conduct ;  certainly 
anything  like  disgrace,  or  tie  world's  censure,  falling  upon  mj 
husband  would  crush  mo  to  the  earth." 

"  Not  if  his  fault  were  the  ono  Tault  of  a  life,"  resumed  Helen  j 
"  not  if  you  loved  him  very  dearly.  Nay,  I  think  his  very  suffer- 
ing would  draw  you  more  together.  I  have  a  theory,  that  the 
Very  happy  do  not  love  half  so  deeply  as  those  who  have  known 
sorrow.  ' 

"  I  call  such  ideas  perfect  nonsense." 

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660  A    STAR  IN   THE  DARK. 

"  I  know  you  do,"  replied  tier  slater  with  a  f^nt  smite,  and 
playing  BB  Ehe  epoke  with  the  frioge  of  her  shawl. 

"  An;  ono  would  thiDk,  to  hear  you  talk,  that  jou  had  fallen  in 
lovo  with  some  scapegrace  or  another,  and  were  seeking  to  eicuse 
your  folly." 

"  Susan  !  you  know  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  know 
I  have  never  felt  anything  more  lasting  than  a  passing  fancy, 
which  one  shakes  off,  juBi  as  waking  breaks  up  a  dream." 

"  How  should  I  fowtc  ?  " 

"  Then  believe, — I  would  not  deceive  you.  Though  tliree-and- 
twcnty,  indeed  I  dread  old-maidism  far  less  tlian  an  ill-assorted 

Helen  Travers  turned  her  head  as  she  spoke,  and  though  she 
did  not  perceive  the  stranger,  he  caught  the  profile  of  her  animated 
countenance.  But  the  audience  were  by  this  time  arriving,  and 
the  sisters  drew  nearer  together  to  make  room  for  new  comers. 
There  was  on  end  to  their  conversation  of  course. 

Notwithstanding  a  certain  family  likeness,  a  look  that  vas 
caught  now  and  then,  the  sisters  were  very  different.  The  elder, 
Mrs.  Cunningham,  was  far  the  more  beautiful,  if  exquisitely 
chiselled  features  and  a  brilliant  complexion  could  make  her  so. 
But  though  quick  and  clever,  even  witty  and  accomplished,  she 
was  deficient  in  sentiment  ond  the  powers  of  imagination  ;  was 
a  lover  of  detail ;  and  therefore  despised,  because  it  was  to  her 
incomprehensible,  the  higher  and  generalising  mind.  A  thoroughly 
worldly  education  had  completed  her  character,  and  rendered  her 
acold-heorted,  selfish  woman  of  the  world  ;  without  enough  of  heart 
to  feel  the  necessity  of  affection,  and  yet  possessing  an  insatiable 
Tanity  that  fed  on  universal  admiration !  Her  sister  formed  a 
perfect  contrast.  With  features  less  regular,  her  countenance 
was  as  changeful  as  the  sea  ;  for  it  min'ored  eveir  thought  and 
feeling,  as  they  welled  up  from  her  woman's  heart.  Early  removed 
from  the  infiuence  of  worldly-minded  parents,  she  had  been  reared 
by  a  widowed  aunt,  a  high-mindi?d  being,  who  had  sought  and 
found  the  sweetest  solace  for  her  own  early  bereavement,  in  the 
artless  nature  of  her  young  relative.  Although  by  no  means  a 
stranger  to  the  Metropolis,  or  to  society,  the  country  had  been 
Helen's  home.  Her  young  heart  bad  eiponded  beneath  the  influ- 
ences of  nature  ;  her  taste  had  been  refined,  her  fancy  quickened 
hy  it";  and  though  she  had  read  much,  she  had  had  time  and 
leburo  to  think  more. 


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A   STAR  ].V  THE   DARE.  fifil 

In  short,  she  was  a  £ne  natural  character,  as  little  warped  aa 
poBsible,  by  the  prejudices  of  theeelfiehand  thecQurentiooalitJeaof 
society.  Death  had,  a  year  before,  deprived  her  of  her  more  thaa 
mother,  and  tbe  independence  which  this  beloved  relative  had 
bequeathed  to  her,  while  it  rendered  her  an  object  of  envy  to  her 
uomamed  sisters,  seemed  to  her  own  heart  no  consolation  for  her 
irreparable  loss. 

But  the  stranger  who  had  overheard  those  few  aeutencea  which, 
to  a  thoughtful  mind,  revealed  a  world  of  knowledge,  what  of  himi? 
He  had  come  to  that  morning  concert  simply  to  enjoy  music  in 
which  he  delighted  ;  yet  so  absorbed  did  he  become  in  some  all 
engrossing  thoughts,  that  the  sweet  sounds  which  he  bad  sought 
to  heU',  fell  upon  his  soul  only,  from  time  to  time,  as  chimes  that 
harmonised  with  his  reflections,  whatever  tliey  mighthe,  and  were 
only  remembered  oftenvards  by  the  power  of  association  which, 
linked  some  peculiar  cadence  with  a.  thought,  a  dream,  a  memory : 
or  vrith  a  moment  where  his  attention  had  been  roused  by  some 
e^cpression  of  pleamre  or  admiration  in  the  swceteet  Toice  he  had 
ever  heard — the  vmee  of  Helen  Travers.  He  was  not  what  boatd- 
jng-school  girk  and  youths  in  their  teens  call  yonng,  for  he  must 
have  reached  five  w  six  and  thirty  ;  and,  according  to  such  high 
authority,  he  had  passed  the  age  of  romance  aad  the  capability 
of  a  sudden  love,  and  yet,  in  those  two  hours  he  drank  as  deeply 
of  the  draiight  as  ever  did  mortal  man.  A  strange  and  awfiil 
Youth  ha.d  checked  and  driven  back  the  tide  of  emotions  which 
belonged  to  its  epoch  ;  ouly  that  it  might  swell  now  with  the  con- 
centcated  might  of  a  loftier  sentiment,  a  chastened  tenderness, 
and  restrained  passion.  He  would — ere  half  that  time  had 
expired— have  perilled  life  to  have  touched  her  ungloved  hand, 
or  to  have  caressed  the  light  ringlet  which  floated  A:om  time  to 
time  beyond  lier  bonnot ! 

It  seemed,  too,  that  fortune  was  to  favour  him,  for  &iends 
came  up,  and  addressed  Mrs.  Cunningham  by  name  ;  mutual  in- 
troductions elicited  that  of  Helen.  He  had  but  to  follow  them  to 
their  door  ;  and  now  he  knew  who  she  was,  and  where  she  lived. 
This  he  did  with  wonderful  calmness.  People  always  are  calm  on 
really  great  occasions  ;  except,  indeed,  people  who  are  themeelTes 
too  ^rnall  ever  to  make  or  understand  them. 

Well — the  pigmy  of  soul  escape  tbroogh  the  entangli)%  meshes 
which  Fate  weaves  for  monkind,  into  the  outer  void  (rf  mere  animal 
existence  ;  they  are  the  strong  of  heart  and  quick  of  sense  who  are 

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AS2  A   BTAB  IS  THE   DAKK. 

retained  to  play  great  parts  in  the  struggle  of  life  and  the  war  of 
the  passions.  And  yet,  and  yet  oh  mystery  of  humanity !  who 
that  has  suffered  deeply,  has  not  felt  that  in  the  deepest  deptlis  of 
anguish  there  is  a  pulse  which  vibrates  not  with  pain  !  Feebly,  and 
rather  as  the  first  faint  promise  of  a  future  joy,  than  the  flicker  of 
an  expiring  power,  but  still  to  console,  still  to  whisper,  "  Peace, 
peace  ;  better  thus,  than  not  to  feel !  " 

So  felt  William  Johnson — for  by  that  common  name  must  tlic 
stranger  be  known — so  felt  he  in  the  hour  of  endurance,  when 
that  strong  man  writhed  in  silent  lonely  agony  on  the  floor  of  the 
gorgeous  apartment  of  which  be  was  master. 

Life  is  either  one  long  chapter  of  accidents,  or  there  is  no  sneh 
thing  as  an  accident  in  the  world !  Three  days  afterwards  the 
stranger  of  the  concert-room  was  formally  introduced  to  Helen 
Travers  at  the  bouse  of  a  mutual  friend.  Three  months  from  that 
day  let  us  listen  to  their  words  ;  they  hnd  been  betrothed  for 
weeks.  The  scene  was  a  drawing-room  in  Hn  antique  country 
house.     Both  were  the  guests  of  Mr,  and  Mrs,  Cunningham. 

"  I  have  but  one  care,  William,  one  sorrow  in  the  world,"  ex- 
claimed Helen,  pressing  the  hand  which  hod  fondly  clasped  hers 
between  both  her  own  ;  "  oh,  why  this  mystery,  why  this  conceal- 
ment .'  You  are  free  to  do  as  you  will,  and  so  am  I  ;  though 
good,  and  generous,  and  true  ;  and  rich,"  she  added  with  a  amile  ; 
"  as  you  are,  my  family,  you  well  know,  would  receive  you  with 

"The  time  is  come  ;  be  seated,"  he  replied  in  a  tremulous  voice, 
and  releasing  his  hand  with  a  gesture  that  might  have  been,  but 
was  not,  mistaken  for  coldness.  And  while  Helen  Hank  on  a 
neighbouring  couch,  he  leaned  his  arm  for  support  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  mantel-piece.  His  countenance  was  pale  as  ashes,  but 
his  voice  grew  more  steady  as  he4>roceeded. 

"  The  first  time  I  saw  you,"  he  continued,  "  I  heard  you  say 
you  could  more  readily  forgive  the  one  great  fault  of  a  life,  than 
habitual  meanness  of  character.  I  have  two  sins  to  confess  ere  I 
would  wed  you — as  I  might  do,  and  you  never,  never  know  them  j 
you  see  if  I  am  my  own  accuser,  1  also  make  the  most  of  my 
virtues  ;  therefore  do  1  take  some  credit  for  enforcing  secresy  till 
I  had  summoned  strength  for  the  confession.  For  if  you  reject 
me,  and^sorrow  in  the  act,  I  believe  you  would  rather  not  take 
the  cold  world  into  your  confidence.  And  yet,  Helen,  if  there  be 
solace  in  revealing  what  1  tell  you,  be  free  as  air  to  do  so  if  you 


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A   SIAH  IN   THE   DARK.  6S3 

will.  Life  would  be  so  worthless,  the  betmjol  of  my  secret  would 
be  but  as  a  feather,  weighed  against  the  sweet  thtnight  of  nBSUag- 
ing  your  sorrow." 

"  Yoafrightenme,"  murmured  Helen,  struggling  with  emotion. 

"  In  mercy,"  he  exclaimed,  "  not  tears, — yet.  I  will  be  brief. 
One  of  my  uns  has  been  wooing  you,  Tritb,ttie  dark  knowledge  in  my 
breast  that  a  crime  of  my  early  life  and  its  consequences  might  well 
he  considered  an  insuperable  obstacle  to  our  union.  Oh  !  forgive 
me  this — this  at  least.''  And  he  flung  himself  on  his  knees  befwe 
her,  and  buried  his  face  in  her  garments. 

"  What  terror  is  to  come  ?     Quick — quick  ;  in  pity  tdl  me." 

"  No  ;  forgive  me  this  last  fault  first." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  murmured,  and  her  hand  leaned  heavily  on  his 
shoulder.  The  act  unuervod  him,  and  a  shower  of  tetu^  rained 
from  his  eyes,     "  Tell  me,"  again  she  whispered. 

"  I  cannot  yet.     Bear  with  me." 

"  Then  I  will  guesB." 

"Ay,  do." 

With  a  shudder  as  she  pnt  each  fearful  question,  she  began — 
"  Hare  you  shed  human  blood,  protected  by  the  laws  of  honour, 
and  feel  that  now  you  are  a  murderer  ?  " 

"  I  never  raised  my  arm  in  anger  against  aught  that  has  breath ; 
I  never  so  much  as  kicked  a  snarling  cur  from  my  path." 

"Have  you  been  a  falae  friend,  deceiving  where  you  were 
trusted  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  reeal  to  mind  a  lie  I  ever  told," 

Once  more  Helen's  hand  sought  that  of  her  lover  ;  but  she 
withdrew  it  as  a  terrible  thought  rushed  to  her  mind.  She  paused 
ere  she  could  give  it  words.  At  last  she  said,  "  Have  yon  been 
guided  by  the  code  of  man's  moralities,  and  won  a  heart  only  to 
fling  it  from  you  ?  or — or  been  guilty  of  the  deeper,  darker  wrong 

stiu  ? " 

"  My  conscience  is  singularly  free  from  all  such  stains.  They 
who  do  these  things  speak  not  of  them  as  crimes."  And  he  looked 
up  and  met  the  tearful  gaze  of  Helen  Travers,  without  his  own  lids 
drooping. 

"Then  I  will  wed  you,"  she  exclaimed,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  and  only  as  your  wife  will  learn  this  dreadful  secret." 

"  You  will  ?  "  and  William  Johnson  started  to  his  feet  as  one 
who  had  received  an  electric  shock. 

"  I  wiU." 


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AU  A.  STAR  IN   THE   DARK. 

For  a  moment  she  5lelded  to  lila  embrace,  but  be  relensed  her 
qnickly.  "  You  would  bo  wed  me,"  he  exclaimed,  "  but  you  shall 
not.  The  dear  memory  of  your  words  is  a  happiness  Fate  cannot 
take  from  me  ;  it  givee  me  strength  to  complete  the  tragedy. 
Listen.  These  liml«  have  borne  the  manacles  the  lav  furnishes 
to  the  coniicted  thief;  this  form  has  qiuuled  in  the  felon's  dock 
beneath  the  callous  stare  of  the  stranger  multitude  ;  but  eren  then 
I  did  not  lie.  I  owned  that  I  had  stolen  the  means  to  purchase 
ibod  for  a  famishing  mother.  The  name  which  I  have  dared  to  asit 
you  to  bear,  is  for  ever  enrolled  in  the  chronicles  of  crime.  The 
conviet  crossed  the  seas,  and  was  a  slave  for  the  seven  brightest 
years  of  liis  youth.  Helen — Miss  Travers,  you  do  not  scream,  or 
faint,  or  wither  me  with  a  look.  Only  tears,  quiet,  common  tears  ! 
Are  you  woman  or  aagcl  1 " 

"  Be  calm,  and  tell  me  alL" 

"  You  will  believe  I  meant  to  replace  the  note  I — I — stole, 
though  the  judge  would  not  credit  my  story.  This  is  all  I  have  to 
tell ;  for  why  should  I  picture  the  haunting  presence  of  i^  memory, 
andtbeworljilessnessof^at  wealth  which  descended  tome  irom  the 
relative  who  exposed  mj  youth  to  temptation,  and  left  my  mother 
to  perish?  " 

■'  The  future  ;  the  happy  future.  May  it  make  you  forgot  the 
past ! — William  !  " 

"  Helm !  " 

At  her  feet  once  more  ;  but  now  with  ehildJile  sobs,  and 
breathing  passionate  exclamations,  and  fervent  blessings. 

It  was  tiie  next  day  ;  and  that  burst  of  wild  tumultuous  joy  had 
^ven  place  to  a  sercner  happiness  on  the  part  of  William  Johnson, 
while  a  softer  and  more  thoughtful  expression  reigned  on  the  face 
of  Helen. 

"  I  have  a  compact  to  propose,"  said  she,  laying  her  hand  upon 
his  arm,  nndiooking  up  calmly,  yet  affectionately  in  his  face;  "let 
us  for  the  future  speak  not  of  this  dark  thing,  except  indeed  there 
be  just  necessity  and  occasion  for  renewing  the  subject.  Let  it  he 
a  sacred  deport,  of  which  each  has  the  key,  but  do  not  suffer  it  to 
belong  to  our  lives  by  frequent  discourse  or  thought  of  it.  Thus 
may  time  heap  bright  realities  to  hide  and  sti9e  these  smouldering 
ashes.  You  tell  me  that  your  common  name  has  been  to  you  a 
shelter  from  suspicion  ;  that  your  secret  rests  with  one  tried  and 
trusted  friend ;  and  that  the  world  among  its  common  blmiders 
deems  your  love  ofretirement  the  spirit  of  pride  and  exclusireness. 

U.g,l:«l  by  Google 


"THE  eOSG   OF  THE   SHIRT,  '  6fi5 

/  mil  but  look  at  the  reault  of  tlie  leisure  that  retirement  ^as 
afforded,  the  cultivated  intellect,  and  the  hahita  of  simple  enjoy- 
ment. Yet  whence  came  your  enlarged  sjnipatliies  with  humanity? 
These  are  not  foBtered  by  hermit-like  retirement. 

"  Can  you  ask  ?  Ton  are  silent.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  much 
is  known  intuitively  hy  one  who  has  erred  ftnd  Buffered." 

"And  e.ipiated  !  " 

Ah,  deep  the  meaning  of  that  word  which  burst  spontaneously 
from  the  heart  which  felt  aright !  Deeper  and  higher,  more 
world-embracing  such  Wisdom  than  aught  that  was  ever  extracted 
by  the  casuistry  of  the  schools.  The  Merciful  God  by  His  instru- 
ments, the  mysteries  of  ine^ihaustible  nature,  heals  the  wounds 
and  lesser  ills  of  the  body  until  it  b«comes  whde  again.  And 
muat  the  wounds  of  the  Soul  fester  for  ever  ?  What  is  Man  that 
he  dares  pluck  Hope  from  the  breast  of  his  fellow  ?  And  is  not 
the  punishment  he  inflicts  for  crime  but  Satan's  work  on  earth, 
escept  so  far  as  it  prevents,  amends — and  through  the  suffering 
a,nd  amendment  expiates  ?  The  poet  paints  what  should  be,  rather 
than  what  is,  when  he  declares  "there  is  a  Future  for  all  who 
have  the  virtue  to  repent  and  the  energy  to  atone."  May  he  prove 
the  Poet  Prophet ! 

Of  the  myriad  real  tragedies  which  are  hidden  behind  the  veil 
of  conventional  life,  not  a  few  are  there  in  which  woman  plays  & 
ministering  angel  ;  and  builds,  amid  tlie  wreck  of  happiness,  a 
saving  ark  hy  the  spell  of  her  trusting  faith,  and  a  Wisdom  that  is 
of  the  Heart!  C.  T. 


"  THE  SONG  OF  THE   SHIRT." 

WjiiT !  naked  Truth )  Ay,  let  Truth  stand  confess'd, 
Bright  lovely  Truth  ftliy  nakedness  thy  boait, 
"  Beauty  when  unadom'd  adom'd  the  most  1 " 
Who  blesseth  thee  ia  in  himself  most  bless'd : 
View  Falsehood  in  her  garb  of  tinsel  dress'd. 
Like  some  vain  conjurer  on  the  mimic  stage 
Misleading  man  in  eveiy  clime  and  nee. 
Making  poor  Virtue  virtaonsly  dislress'd  : 
Sin  boasts  a  cloak  to  hide  her  form  uncouth, 

Flattery  a  veil,  Deceit  a  mask  can  find, 
"  Whv  should  not  I,"  half  jeitingly  said  Truth, 
"  ifave  for  myself  a  somethinE  of  the  kind  1" 
And  then  Tralh  glorions  in  her  beauty  stood 
And  said,  "  Behold  !  I  've  my  immortal  Hood."  R, 


.Coo'jic 


THE  HEDGEHOG  LETTERS. 

HE  OPIMIods 


LONDON  ;     IDD     WKITTEN    lO     BIS    BBUtlVES     IND    ICQUAINUNCB,    r 
TABIOUa  PIBTS  OF  THE  WOULD. 


LETTER  XXIX.— To  Lord  Ndokbt. 

Mt  Lohd, — I  hope  you'll  excuac  this  freedom  in  jne  who  am 
only  a  cabman.  But  tlie  trutliis,  as  I've  somewhere  said  before, 
I  caa't  belp  looking  on  any  of  my  fare  but  as  in  the  light  of  aa 
acquaintance.  And  in  this  way  I  reckon,  I  know,  a  lot  of  peers, 
and  lords,  aod  judges,  and  bishops.  In  fact,  who  is  there  so  great 
that  some  time  iti  his  life  be  doesn't  ride  in  a  cab — that  is,  when  he 
rides  by  himself  ? — for  Ihave  known  parties  who've  been  so  ashamed 
of  the  thing,  that  they've  made  me  set  'cm  down  half  a  street 
off.  Very  poor,  twopenny-halfpenny  pride  this  !  But  if  in 
this  jolly  England  we  were  to  build  hospitals  for  all  the  bold 
Britons  that  were  sick  with  it, — wouldn't  there  bo  rare  work  for 
the  bricklayers ! 

As  I  had  the  pleasure  of  taking  up  your  lordship  at  Exeter 
Hall  from  the  great  meeting  for  doing  away  with  public  killing  by 
the  hangman,  I  can't  help  writing  you  these  few  lines  on  what 
has  been  said  and  hinted  upon  that  matter.  There  *s  no  doubt 
that  a  good  many  folks  stickle  for  hanging  as  they'd  stickle  for 
good,  strong,  thick,  stupifying  port, — something  fine  and  fruity  ; 
to  show  the  hardness  of  their  heads  and  the  strength  of  their 
stomachs.  And  so  they  call  o  dislike  to  Jack  Ketcb  nothing  less 
than  "  sickly  Beutiraentolity,"  Once  it  was  "  morbid  sympathy  ;" 
but  that 's  gone  out.  Now,  not  to  like  the  halter  is  to  be  sickly 
and  sentimental ;  whilst  to  enjoy  the  Old  Bailey  use  of  hemp  is 
to  show  our  manhood.  The  Britisli  Lion,  these  folks  think,  would 
he  no  more  than  a  milk-lapping  puppy-dog,  if  now  and  then, 
there  wasn't  given  to  him  a  live  murderer.  Then  he  wags  hia 
tail ;  then  he  roars,  and  shows  what  is  called  the  majesty  of  the 
law  (tho'  sometimes,  I  must  say  it,  its  majesty  is  of  a  very 
Bortiemy-fair  sort,  indeed) ;   then  he  proves  that  law   must  be 


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,1'ilE   IIEDUISIIUU   LETTERS.  fiAi 

carnivoi'OUB,  T  think  Ihey  cull  it,  h>  live  at  all.  And  we've  only 
to  think  a  while  of  the  old  times  to  remember  the  judges  and 
grave  folks  who  declared  that  if  the  majesty  of  the  law  l|that  is, 
the  British  Lion  from  the  Royal  Arms)  didn't  feed  upon  men  for 
doing  fifty  other  things  besides  blood-shedding, — he'd  mope,  fall 
sick,  take  the  mange,  and  die.  Nevertheless,  one  hy  one  the 
British  Lion  lost  bis  meals  of  bmnan  flesh — and  though  certain 
folks  swore  he  must  sink  under  it,  be 's  as  strong  as  ever  on  a 
less  bloody  diot. 

The  fact  is,  everybody  bad  hia  own  hobby  about  hanging  ;  every- 
body thought  his  own  particular  bit  of  property  the  bit  of  all  bits 
to  be  protected  by  Jack  Ketch  ;  otherwise  what  sheep  would  he 
stole — what  horses  run  away  with  !  Could  women — the  dear  little 
doves  ! — think  themselves  safe,  if  bigamy  didn't  lead  to  Tyburn  ? 
Wouldn't  every  other  man  buy  two  wedding  rings,  just  as  men 
went  sporting  witli  double-barrelled  guns  to  hit  two  birds  one  after 
the  other  ?  Well,  they  didn't  hang  any  longerfor  sheep  and  horaea, 
and  still  their  owners  sleep  in  their  beds,  while  the  bcaats  are  oot  in 
the  fields.  Thej  didn't  hang  for  bigamy — and  thongh  for  some 
'  time  DO  woman  would  accept  a  man  afore  all  the  parish  registers  bad 
been  searched  to  know  if  he  ivas  really  single  or  not,  npw  we  find 
that  they  are  cajoled  to  go  to  chureh,  quite  content  to  take  the 
man' s  word  upon  the  matter.  Yet  there  was  a  time  when  no  woman 
thought  herself  aafe  if  she  wasn't  protected  by  a  halter. 

It 's  the  some  thing,  mind,  with  a  good  many  people  who  'd  hang 
for  murder.  They  think — I  know  it — that  there  's  a  crowd  of 
folka  who  're  only  waiting  for  the  putting  down  of  the  hangman, 
to  run  out  like  mad  Malays,  and  cut  and  thrust  at  their  neighbours. 
"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  my  friend  Jack  Blackgang  to  me  the  other 
day — "  I  tell  you  what ;  if  they  wasn't  to  hang  a  man  for  murder, 
I  shouldn't  sleep  peaceably  in  my  bed."  Now,  at  the  very  time 
Jack  said  this,  I  'm  sure  he  quite  forgot  that  burglary  was  no 
longer  capital ;  and  that  therefore  he  'd  been  quietly  sleeping,  safe 
in  the  thought  that  his  door-post  was  guarded  by  the  hangman. 

'Twouldbe  looked  upon  as  a  shocking  matter 'now — in  fact,  New- 
gate stones  would  he  torn  up  against  it — to  hang  a  little  boy  of 
fifteen  for  passing  a  forged  twenty-shilling  hank  rag, — and  yet 
Buch  child  murder  bos  been  done  ;  otherwise  would  the  gentlemen 
of  the  Bank  parlour  have  thought  their  gold  safe  even  in  tfaeir 
very  cellars  ?  The  Lion  Majesty  of  the  Law  was  to  be  satisfied  ; 
and  therefore  be  made  hia  Newgate  breakfaats  off  men  and  chil- 


iISS  THE   HEDQEHOQ  LETTEBS.* 

dren.  And  then  wasn't  the  Lion  full  fed,  and  isasn't  his  coat 
sleek  vefi  gloHsj  with  hie  good  living  ?  Foor  beast !  he  has  since 
been  deprived  of  bte  breakfasts  of  babies, — and  yet,  my  lord,  wb^i 
I  saw  bim  last  be  looked  as  fresb  as  a  four-year  old,  and  roared 
as  loud  as  any  average  clap  of  thunder.  But  I  repeat  it ;  almost 
every  man  wbo  would  hang  for  murder,  thinks  without  that  hanpng 
there  'd  be  somebody  ready  to  uiurder  him  :  and  therefore  he 
respects  and  prMses  Jack  Ketch  as  the  scarecrow  that  keeps  the 
asaas^  from  his  own  particular  throat.  Ilis  sheep  are  safe  enough, 
although  Jack  Ketch  is  no  longer  their  shepherd  ;  but  he  himself 
deprived  of  such  a  fiiiend  to  take  a  proper  vengeance,  would  be  the 
mark  for  every  other  kriife^the  target  for  every  bullet.  "  No," 
says  Bill  Diion,  that  drives  942 — "  No,"  says  he,  "  don't  hang 
for  nothing  but  taking  life  ;  for  life,"  says  ho,  "  is  a  holy  thing  !  " 
"  'Xactly  so,"  says  I ;  "  and  being  so  holy,  are  we  taught  to  think 
it  BO,  when  we  see  one  man  in  cold  blood— paid  for  tie  work,  too 
— strangle  another  ?  Life,  that  Jack  Ketch  takes  for  so  much 
money — for  mind,  man-killing  is  a  matter  of  trade  to  him  ;  every- 
thing he  cats  is  seasoned  with  the  halter — can 't  be  preached  up  as 
a  very  holy  thing — (no,  not  though  there's  a  parson  of  the  'Sta- 
hlished  Ctarch  on  the  gallows  to  preach  it).  What  one  man  does 
for  a  s(Jary,  it  may  be  thought  by  some  can 't  be  so  very  horrible 
to  do  when  the  blood 's  up  to  have  revenge ! "  And  after  this  fashion, 
my  lord,  do  they  preach  the  holiness  of  Ufe;  and  folks  are  found 
to  cry  "  Amen  "  to  the  preaching. 

"  But  I  Tl  teD  you  what,"  said  Bill  Wigram  to  me  ;  BiU  drives 
chariot  7'2 — "  I'll  tell  you  what.  If  you  didn't  hang  for  murder, 
you  'd  have  people  take  the  law  themselves.  '  I  hope  I  'm  a  peace- 
able man,"  said  Bill — and  he  is,  I  must  own  that — "  but  if  any- 
body was  to  kill  anybody  as  belonged  to  me,  and  the  law  wouldn't 
kill  him,  I  would  !  "  "  But  William,"  says  I,  "  the  law  wouldn't 
let  you  have  that  pleasure.  The  law,  if  it  was  worth  anything, 
would  itself  lay  fast  hold  of  the  murderer,  and  keep  him  from  doing 
further  mischief.  And  when  you  talk  about  following  a  man 
through  the  world  " — for  he  did—"  that  wouldn't  be  called  for  at 
all,  since  he'd  be  found  on  Norfolk  Island  or  some  such  pleasant 
resting-place.  But  the  fact  is,  you  're  one  of  the  folk*  that  think 
murder  not  much  unlike  French  brandy  ;  take  away  the  halter  from 
one,  and  all  the  duty  from  the  other,  and  all  the  world  would  sud- 
denly be  wanting  their  bellyful  of  both." 

And  when  we  think  of  the  murders  Jack  Ketch  has  coraniittod. 


rns  BBOOEHOQ   LETTERS.  569 

— hanging  innoceut  folks  !  And  I  should  like  to  know  if  a  man 
mayn't  still  be  hung  innocent  of  murder,  aa  men  hare  been  killed 
ionoeeut  of  houHe-breaking  and  sheep-stealing.  I  read  a  pretty 
cose  in  the  papers  a  day  or  two  ago.  Perhaps,  mj  lord,  yoa  sair 
it.  It  was  about  one  Joseph  Mason,  "  late  of  Clifton,  Yorkshire, 
who  was  at  the  York  Lent  Assises,  1843,  unjustly  sentenced  to 
twenty  years'  tranapertation."  Well,  the  man  was  found  out  to 
be  innocent ;  and  Mr.  H.  E.  Yorke,  M.P.,  doing  his  best  for  hJm — 
he  wad  brought  back  from  chains  and  slavery  to  his  poor  wife  and 
children.  "  lie  arrived  in  London  on  the  29th  of  April,"  and 
would  yon  thinlc  it  ?  The  man  went  to  the  Home  Office,  where 
they  gave  him  money — at  least  eonje  forty  sbiUings — to  take  him 
home.  And  the  innocent  man  went  down  to  York,  and  his  friends 
made  a  little  feast  for  him — though  I  haven't  heard  that  the  Mayor 
was  at  the  party,  or  that  the  jury  that  tried  him,  or  the  judge  that 
sentenced  him,  sent  to  wish  lum  joy  of  his  happy  return.  He  was 
robbed  of  only  three  years'  time  and  labour — he  was  chained  and 
made  a  slave  of  for  three  years,  and  the  head  (and  heart)  of  the 
Home  Office  making  capital  reparation,  ptud  Joseph  Mason's  fare 
(first  class,  of  course)  down  to  York !  Well,  all  this  is  bad  enough 
— but  suppose  Joseph  Mason  had  been  hanged  ;  and  a  twenty 
years'  sentence  of  our  day  would  certainly  have  been  hanging  a 
few  years  back  ;  the  kind  "unwearied  exertions  "  of  all  the  House 
of  Commons  could  not  have  brought  back  to  the  world  Joseph 
Mason,  murdered  by  Jack  Ketch  !  The  Home  Office  might  have 
offered  even  more  than  fifty  or  sixty  shilhngs, — and  poor  Joseph 
must  have  BtiU  slept  in  his  grave — his  wife  robbed  of  her  husbaiid 
— ^his  children  of  then;  father.  And  yet,  my  lord,  b  it  not  hor- 
rible to  think  and  to  know  that  many  a  Joseph  Mason  has  been 
tilled — innocendy  killed — in  cold  blood  by  the  hangman,  for  "  the 
protection  of  property"  and  the  cannibal  "  majesty  of  the  law  ?" 

I  know,  mv  lord,  I  am  but  a  cabman,  and  not  at  all  fit  to  dot 
the  Vs  or  stroke  the  t's  of  the  writers  in  7%e  Times;  etiU  I  must 
have  a  little  say  upon  this  hanging  matter.  The  Timet,  for  the 
most  part,  had  a  nuld,  good-tempered  piece  of  writing  enough  on 
the  meeting  at  Exeter  Hall  ;  nevertheless,  here's  a  litde  bit  that 
I  don't  think  quite  fair. 

"  The  other  altei-uative  is  imprisonment.  The  sentence,  we  presume, 
must  be  for  life.  The  confinement,  tne  also  prestime,  will  be,  in  part 
at  leasl,  solitary.  The  substitute,  then,  for  death  is  to  be  solitary  con- 
finement, For  a  quick  and  painless  execntion  we  are  to  have  a  tedious 
life-long  tortnre.    The  effects  of  this  kind  of  punishment  are  now  well 


AOO  TUB  HXDQEH06  u:tters. 

known — idiocy,  madness,  incoisble  weaknega  of  mind  and  bodj.  To 
tave  a  man's  lift  you  conttri  him  into  a  btoit.  To  give  hie  soul  time 
for  repentance,  you  debase  it  until  it  ceaiet  to  be  a  human  goul,  and  be- 
comes a  mere  animating  spirit  of  so  mach  worthless  clay.  And  this  is 
J'onr  notable  scheme  of  criminal  refonnation,  yonr  notable  snbstitute 
or  capital  punishment!,  ye  speech-making  philanthropists,  ye  trans- 
cendental moralists  !  You  say  that  the  image  of  man  is  sacred,  that  it 
ihall  not  be  defaced  on  a  icaffuld,  and  hung  up  on  a  gibbet.  But  is  ■ne€ 
hii  mind  mwe  sacred  still,  and  shall  that  be  destroyed /or  the  benefit  of 
Attmanity?  You  call  an  execution  judicial  murder,  but  we  call  solitary 
confinement  a  life-long  torture.  You  stigmatise  the  law  of  the  land  aa 
sanguinaiy  and  opposed  to  the  genius  of  Chriatianity  ;  we  say  that  your 
law  is  iBorse  than  sanfftanary,  and  oppoted  to  that  spirit  of  mercy  for 
which  you  so  ostentatiously  contend." 

Now,  my  lord,  if  I've  properly  attended  to  jour  speeches  and 
writings,  and  the  speeches  and  writings  of  others  on  this  matter 
of  nion-killing,  I  have  never  understood  that  it  was  proposed  to 
convert  the  mnrderer  "into  a  lieast," — to  debase  his  ho«1 
"  until  it  ceases  to  be  a  human  soul," — to  destroy  his  "  sacred  " 
mind  "  for  the  benefit  of  humanity."  I  may  he  wrong  ;  but  I  have 
always  thought  that  the  murderer,  whilst  he  was  prevented  from, 
doing  farther  mischief — whilst,  indeed,  he  was  kept  apart  like  a 
human  rattle-snake — should  not  be  debased  into  a  beast ;  it  was 
never  thought  of,  if  his  life  was  saved  from  the  hangman,  that  his 
spirit  should  be  murdered  by  his  gaoler. — Certainly,  ho  was  to  be 
made  a  alave  for  life  j  but  the  slavery  was  not  to  be  made  so  dark, 
so  lonely,  that  the  wretch  was  not  to  catch  glimpses  of  heaven 
through  it.      What  say  you,  my  lord  ? 

But  the  great  point  ia  this ;  the  great  bungling  is  to  teach 
gentleness  and  mercy  and  kindness  towards  man  and  man  by 
public  killing  !  To  make  the  hangman  the  schoolmaster  !  What 
should  we  say  of  a  father  who,  to  teach  his  children  the  sin  of 
picking  pockets,  did  nothing  but  what  is  called,  I  think, — for  as 
I  once  heard  one  great  author  say  of  another,  my  "  knowledge  of 
j?asA  is  very  superficial," — what  is  called  "draw  the  salt-box?" — 
that  is,  pull  a  handkerchief  out,  without  letting  the  lid  be  heard. 
1  think  this  would  he  about  as  wise  a  plan  to  teach  &  respect  for 
other  people's  pockets,  as  it  is  wise  in  the  employers  of  Jack 
Ketch  to  teach  a  respect  for  other  people's  throats.  I  think  bo. 
But  then,  as  I  often  say,  I'm  only  an  ignorant  cabman. 

But  to  go  back  a  little  to  their  "  sickly  sentimentality." 
Depend  upon  it,  somo  folks,  if  they  'd  have  bad  the  words  would 
have  used  'em  to  any  chicken  heart  who  'd  turned  pale  when  the 


THE  HESGEHOG  LEITEKa.  Ml 

rock,  cracked  the  bones  of  the  criminal — or  the  thumb-aerew  made 
the  blood  spirt  from  under  the  nails.  He'd  have  been  "aicLl/ 
Bentimental "  then,  as  the  enemies  of  hanging  are  now.  The 
Morning  Post  leaves  its  flounces  and  its  frills,  and  opena  its  book' 
muslin  mouth  against  "sickly  seatimeutahtj ; "  and  even  the 
Gardener  turns  from  his  carnations  and  his  roses,  to  squirt  at  the 
vrhite-faced  weahacss.     Ho  says, 

"We  have  not  vet  heard  of  any  jihilouthropic  persona  having  taken 
these  marauders  ^iceapt]  under  Uieir  protection.  That  is  a  stage  of 
civilisation  at  which  we  have  not  at  present  arrived  :  though,  consider' 
ing  how  far  tieify  tentintentalily  is  going  just  now,  there  is  no  kuowmg 
'what  may  happen.  In  the  meanwhile,  antil  wasp'Catcbing  becomes 
penal,  either  legally  or  socially,  we  would  advise  those  who  aie  likely 
to  have  anything  eatable  next  antumn,  to  look  sharp  now." — Gardtatr's 
Chronicle. 

Mr.  Gardener,  without  ever  dreaming  it,  has  ranged  himself 
along  with  the  rope  party  of  all  times.  For  they  have  always 
pmiished  criminals  as  if  they  were  mere  waapa  ;  as  if  they  were 
altogether  different  things  from  the  working  bees  of  the  hive  ;  as  if 
they  were  sent  here,  with  their  stinga  ready  made,  to  seise  upon 
the  honey,  to  kill  the  honey-makers, — and  for  such  reason  were  to 
bo  got  rid  of  by  steel  or  rope. 

At  this  very  moment,  my  lord,  writing  here  at  the  Goat  and 
Compasses — for  I'm  obliged,  hke  other  writers  I've  heard  of,  to 
scribble  in  all  sorts  of  pot-houses  wherever  my  stand  may  he — at 
this  moment,  Jem  Davis  haa  read  an  aceount  of  the  Old  Ba'.'-e^. 
Here  it  ia  ; — 

"  The  grand  jnry,  among  many  similar  instances,  have  had  before 
them  the  case  of  Thomas  Miller  ^No.  34,  Middlesex)  a  'itild  of  eight 
years  of  age,  for  stealing  lead  to  tne  value  of ,  with  a  former  con- 
viction, and  the  case  of  two  boys,  of  the  age  of  sixteen  (No.  119, 
Middlesex),  for  stealing  to  the  value  of  one  shilling,  with  a  former 
conviction  against  one  of  them  for  stealing  to  the  value  of  sixpence. 
The  irrationality  of  moving  the  complicated  and  costly  machinery  of 
law  for  th*  leg^  pnniahment  (and  for  such  acts)  of  children,  neglected 
and  tmlaugkt,  forcibly  impressed  itself  on  the  minds  of  the  grand  jury." 

Now  Thomas  UUler,  a  few  years  ago,  would  have  been  looked 
upon  as  a  bora  wasp  ;  and  after  a  few  years'  stealing  about  the  town 
would  have  been  killed,  not  by  Mr.  Gardener's  "  pair  of  entomolo- 
gical forceps,"  but  by  Mr.  Ketch's  rope.  And  what  "wasps"  have 
not  been  killed  !  Wasps  of  courts,  and  alleys  ;  waspa  hatched  to 
pilfer  and  sting  ;  wasps  especially  brought  into  the  world  to  rob 

so.  XVIII, — ^VOL.  ui.  0  0 

.Coo'jic 


Ua  THE   HESSEHOO  LBTIEBS. 

and  murder  the  honest,  Wd-vorklug  creatures  of  the  hire  I 
Bumaninsectii,«a  different  frotD  decent  people  asV«sp  from  honey- 
bee 1  But  now,  my  lord,  we  are  beginning  to  find  oat  our  miatake ; 
to  diacover  the  "  irrationalitj  "  of  punishing  the  growth  of  our  owa 
Delect.  And  therefore,  I  say,  "sickly  sentimentality"  must 
protect  these  wasps  ;  seeing  it  is  not  their  fault  if  they  are  not 
turned  into  working-bees. 

Mr.  Carljle,  however,  is  of  a  different  mind.  I  Ve  been  readbg 
bits  of  his  Oliver  CromweU  in  the  Timet,  and  oh !  how  ha  does 
lay  abont  the  men  of  your  party,  my  lord,  the  abc^tionista !. 

"  But  in  OUrer'a  time,  as  1  say,  there  was  stdtl  beli^  in  the  jndnnenta 
of  Qod  i  in  Olivw's  time,  Ibere  wa« yet  no  distmcted  jargm  ol  '  BDoliih- 
ing  coital  {nurishments,  <tf  lean  Jacques  ptnlanQin^y,  and  nniT««Bl 
roeewater,  in  this  wwld,  S&i  so  full  (tf  an. 

Mr.  Carlyle  is  a  ^eat  writer  for  certain  ;  neTorthelesfi — bat  then, 
I  *m  only  a  cabman — some  of  his  passagee  remind  me  of  a  basket 
of  eels  ;  you  can  see  there 's  wriggling  and  life  in  what 's  before 
yon ;  but  for  all  that,  you  are  sometimeB  plaguily  puzzled  to  make 
out  the  proper  heads  and  the  proper  Hula. 

So,  according  to  Mr.  Carlyle,  these  judgments  of  God  oug^t  to 
continue  to  be  octod  by  Jack  Ketch.     With  Cwlyle  to  hang  is — 

"  Only  in  late  decadent  geunations,  &st  hastening  towards  radical 
change,  or  Jbud  perdition,  can  such  indiscriminate  mashlng-ap  of  good 
and  evil  into  one  Dniversa]  patent-trGScle,  and  most  unmedical  electuary 
of  RoDsseau  soitimentalinn,  uiiversal  Pardon  and  Benevolence,  witb 
dinner  and  drink,  and  one  cheer  more,  take  efFect  in  our  earth.  Elec- 
tnaiy  very  poisonous,  as  sweet  as  it  is,  and  very  nauseous  ;  of  which 
Oliver,  happier  than  tee,  had  not  yet  heard  the  slightest  intimation, 
l^the  author  tnoioii  this}  even  in  dreams." 

When  I  read  thia,  Sam  Biggs  called  it  "  very  startling  ; "  and 
so  ibe  sound  of  it — jnst  the  sound — is  very  starUing ;  in  the  same 
way  that  any  man  would  be  very  startling,  if  he  walked  about 
the  world  with  a  speaking  trampet  to  his  mouth,  making  a  row 
with  "how  d'ye  do?"  "jt'safine  day,"  "what's  o'clock?". — 
things  common-place  enough  when  uttered  like  a  Christian,  but 
to  some  folks  very  startling,  when  turned  inside  out,  and  bellowed 
as  though  every  syllable  hud  been  fished  up  from  the  well  of  truth, 
and  was  as  great  a  discovery  as  North  and  South  America. 
And  so,  my  lord,  I  remain. 

Your  obedient  bumble  Servant, 

JvsaxBi  Hedqehog. 


Amkbiu  :    lis  RcaunK  and  BeMuzcn :  eomptiaiiig  drnpoiiant  Aettna 

coMiected  ^Mi  the  present  soci*l,  political,  agriciiltitnl,  onmnerd&l,  and 

financial  Btata  of  the  ooBBtrj,  its  lairs  and  cnetoma,  tt^e^ier  with  a  rerieir 

of  the  policy  oF  the  United  States,  that  led  to  the  itar  of  1812,  and  peace 

.      of  1814.    The  »  B^t  «f  Search  "—The  T«xaH  and  Oregon  QueMione,  &C., 

&c.    By  Francis  Wtse,  Esq.  3  vols.  8™.    London :  T,  C.  Ncwby. 

If  any  truth  be  allowed  to  phjaiogDoinj  as  regarda  man,  aarelj'  the 

same  shonld  be  aillawed  to  books ;  and  conaideriiig  the  title  page  of  a 

book  as  its  face,  we  msj  be  allowed  to  predicate  of  its  contents  and 

style  therefront.    We  are  not  aboat  to  enter  opon  the  defence  of  what 

has  been  aaid  to  be  a  common  mode  of  criticising  books,  but  merely  on  a 

little   theorismg  of  oar  own.      A  plathtnic  countenance   bespeaks   a 

plethoric  habit  of  body,  and  a  stuSed  title-page  indicates  a  tendency 

to  rednndancy  in  the   book.    And  we  thiiu   this  is  verified  in  Mr. 

Wyee's ;  there  is  a  great  deal  of  Talaable  matter  in  his  book,  but  it  vaay 

be  questioned  if  it  would  not  have  been  more  serviceable  if  it  had  been 

more  cconpressed  i  if  it  bad  been  leQs  abounding  in  dissertation  and 

detoil,  and  more  pregnant  with  obaervaticot  and  iadgment.     We  must 

however  take  it  as  it  is,  and  we  are  very  glad  to  do  so.     It  contains  an 

immense  deal  of  infonnation  collected  during  a  long  residence,  and  must 

be  received  as  one  of  the  fairest,  as  it  is  one  of  the  fullest,  accounts  of 

the  actual  state  of  the  great  western  nation. 

'  We  regret  to  bot  that  it  is  not  on  the  whole  very  favoniable  to  the 
Americana  ;  and  althoogh  there  is  nothing  in  it  that  will  strengthen  the 
aristocratic  theory,  yet  there  is  much  that  wiH  prove  there  may  be  a  very 
close  approach  to  pure  democracy,  without  producing  (hat  perfection  of 
character  which  has  ever  been  the  aim  of  demociatic  philosophy.  Ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Wyse'i  testimony,  there  is  an  amotmt  of  open  and  fiagi- 
tioQS  corruption  in  pnblic  functionaries,  which  we  had  hitherto  been  led 
to  suppose  conld  be  the  result  only  of  the  noxious  influence  of  a  decaying 
monarchy.  And  the  cbargs  thus  made  receives  a  kind  of  indirect  con- 
Armalion,  from  the  threats  lately  used  in  CongresB  as  to  the  eomiptioa 
of  the  President  himself, — a  charge  which,  if  ever  made  here  by  any 
crack-brained  opponent,  would  not  find  the  slightest  echo  in  the  bitterest 
enemy  of  the  minister.  There  appears  also  to  be  a  tricking  and 
chicaneiy,  and  looseness  in  the  morality  of  all  classes,  painAil  to 
contemplate,  and  which  should  be  narrowly  weighed  and  attentively  con* 
sidered  by  those  who  maintain  that  public  morality  is  the  effect  and  not 
the  origin  of  the  law.  Let  as  hope,  however,  that  this  ia  not  more  the 
case  than  in  other  commeroal  countries :  and  that  if  it  is,  that  it  resalla 
oo2 


£6<  KBW   BOOXS. 

mtlieT  fiom  a  Btrngglmg  uid  ill-coDditioned  jouth  tK^m  from  anj  ten- 
dency of  free  institDtioDS  to  cause  it.  The  extraordinary  stimnlus  given 
to  enterpriie  and  ^>eciilation  by  their  particular  territorial  porition  has 
donbtlesa  mnch  to  do  with  it.  We  have  an  example  amongst  ourselves, 
in  the  Jews,  what  a  peculiar  character  will  be  produced  by  circumstances 
driving  the  energies  into  one  channel.  We  place  implicit  confidence  in 
the  generous  tendencies  of  mankind,  and  trust  that  the  enlightenment  of 
genins,  developing  a  true  reli^on,  will  breed  in  this  ^reat  nation  a  sense 
of  right  and  goodness,  for  their  own  sakes,  that  will  ultimately  make 
them  foremost  amount  the  regenerated  races  of  mankind.  They  have 
no  hereditary  prejudices  to  contend  with,  they  Eire  not  encumbered  with 
the  dead  weight  of  ancient  notions,  preventing  their  pursuing  the  right 
way,  when  they  find  it. 

Mr.  Wyse  has  written  his  book  principally  as  *  gnide  to  the  emigrant, 
and  is  exceedingly  full  in  all  information  telatinx  to  the  subject.  His 
style  is  remarkably  plain  and  distinct,  and  at  me  same  tune  is  not 
destitnte  of  a  certain  charm,  arising  from  earnestness  of  purpose,  and 
good  clear  sense.  He  poseesses  also  descriptive  powers  that  will  afford 
entertainment  to  the  mere  literary  reader.  Notwithstanding  tiie  vast 
nnmfaer  of  works  by  residents  and  travellers  in  America,  we  do  not 
know  of  one  so  comprehensive  in  its  view,  so  abundant  in  its  details, 
and  on  the  whole  so  temperate  and  conclusive  in  its  observations.  It  is 
a  book  that  it  will  profit  every  emigrant  and  trader  to  America  to  be 
acquainted  with :  and  mnat  deeply  interest  every  intelligent  reader 
taking  interest  either  in  the  great  political  questions  connected  with  the 
Oregon  or  Texas  territories,  or  in  the  condition  of  a  race  on  whose 
development  the  solution  of  so  many  political  problems  depend. 

Lives  of  the  Kinos  of  Ekblind,  from  tbb  Noeuin  Conquest,  with 
Anecdotes  of  Iheir  Courts,  now  first  published  from  official  records  and 
other  authentic  docomeots.  By  TnoNU  Rycos:,  Esq.  Vol.  I.  Post  6vo. 
London :  H.  Colbunt. 

It  might  very  well  bo  concluded,  on  the  first  sight  of  this  volume, 
that  we  already  knew  enough  of  the  subject,  and  that  the  labours  of  ihe 
illustrious  historians  we  possess,  from  Carte  to  Thierry,  must  have 
exhausted  it.  Of  the  public  life  and  political  effects  it  is  probable  that 
we  have  already  a  sufficiency  of  narratives,  but  of  the  private  it  is 
equally  true  we  possess  none.  Whoever  has  read  attentively  the  great 
historians  must  lie  aware  that  they  have  left  behind  a  vast  mass  of 
details  unsuitable  to  their  views,  and  which  history,  proper,  could  never 
introduce.  Chartularies,  chronicles,  letters,  and  mdirect  evidences  of 
all  kinds,  they  must  and  have  searched,  bnt  only  for  the  details  or  pur- 
poses of  political  events.  It  is  therefore  yeiy  serviceable  as  well  as 
interesting  to  have  such  works  as  the  one,  lately  reviewed,  by  Mr. 
Wright,  and  the  present  as  illustrations  of  chdracter  and  manners  that 
could  never  otherwise  reach  the  general  reader. 


v.GoO'^lc 


The  public  is  more  particularlj  indebted  for  the  piesent  series  to  the 
SDCcess  oF  Mies  Stricldand's  "Lives  of  the  Qaeeus  of  Gnglandj"  & 
work  written  with  great  taste  and  research.  It  camiot,  however,  be 
termed  a  servile  following  out  of  that  lady's  idea,  because  it  is  extremely 
desirable  that  there  shonld  be  Bubatantive  and  separate  biographie*  of 
the  kings,  as  an  aid  and  addition  to  auy  History  of  En^and.  All 
biography  must  be  instructive  if  properly  executed,  and  these  will  be 
particularly  ao,  as  not  only  developing  character,  but  aa  opening  new 
stores  of  information  relative  toancient  manners  and  customs;  affording 
thus  not  only  a  biography  of  the  kings,  but  indirectly,  if  it  may  be  bo 
termed,  a  biography  of  the  nation, 

Mr.  Roscoe's  long  apprenticeship  to  literature,  and  his  devotion  to  liler- 
atnre  of  a  kindred  nature,  admirably  fit  him  for  the  task.  It  would 
appear  that  atthongh  not  aprofessed  antiquary,  he  hati  possessed  himself 
□f  documents  either  not  accessible  to,  or  neglected  by  previoQS  writers  ; 
and  it  is  certainly  evident  that  of  all  the  known  sources  he  has  amply 
availed  himself.  We  could  have  wished  that  his  style  had  been  less 
ornate  and  fluent ;  that  it  had  a  deeper  shade,  even  of  rust,  and  that  it 
had  not  glittered  with  so  modern  a  burnish.  A  staider  and  stifTer  style 
would  better  have  become  this  dim  and  remote  period.  A  too  great 
familiarity  bf  style  produces  a  confusion  of  ideas;  and  although  we 
have  nottung  quite  so  outrageous  as  we  once  met  with  in  a  translation 
of  Plutarch's  Lives,  namely,  that  "  Julius  Csesar  leaving  the  forum, 
took  a  hackney-coach  and  proceeded  to  Pompey'a  house ; "  yet  there  is 
so  completely  a  modem  air  thrown  into  the  narrative,  that  we  feel 
inclined  to  say,"  that  Conqueror  was  a  very  pretty  fellow."  Undoubt- 
edly matters  and  things  were  as  fresh  and  new  in  the  Conqaeror's  days 
as  now,  but  still  it  was  not  jn  the  same  kind  of  fashion ;  and  we  cannot 
conceive  him  in  Wellington  boots  and  strapped  trousers,  with  a  field- 
maishal's  hat  and  epaulettes.  Whatever  may  be  thought  on  this  point, 
the  work  is  never  dull,  and  to  those  not  very  deeply  vensed  in  the 
subject  is  an  indispensable  adjunct  to  a  History  of  England. 


Emilia  Wtndh*)*.  By  the  Author  of  "  Two  Old  Men's  Talcs,"  "  Mount 
Sorel,"  &e.  3  vols.  Post  8vo.  London  ;  H.  Colburn. 
Tbe  authoress  of  this  romance  (for  that  it  is  ,a  lady's  writing  we  are 
quite  convinced,  despite  the  thin  pretences  interspersed  through  its  pages 
to  the  contrary), — this  authoress,  we  say,has  gained  a  considerable  repu- 
tation by  the  publication  of  her  first  novel,  "  Two  Old  Men's  Tales," 
a,  tale  of  adultery,  detailed  so  as  to  poartray  all  the  melodramatic 
horrors  possibly  attendant  on  that  crime.  Having  gained  this  reputation 
in  the  circulating  library,  and  having  also  gwned  a  confirmation  of 
it  from  other  dispenaera  of  "immortality,"  we  think  ourselves  boond 
to  examine  into  me  validity  of  these  judgments.  We  cannot  say  we 
agree  witli  them,  although  it  is  not  to  be  denied  Ibat  the  inthoress  has 


vCoo*^lc 


m  NIW  BOOKS. 

a  kind  of  lalnt  tiut  nue*  hsr  ptidnctioiu  mmewhat  above  th«  general 
ran  of  norel  writ«n.  But  that  aha  is  wise,  paBaianate,  or  natttr&l,  we 
mnst  denr-  She  hu  a  coramoB'^ace  kind  of  good  seow,  ii  extreraelj 
•BDtimentAl,  aad  oocasioealt^  veiy  real.  How  fox  these  qaalifieatioDB 
are  trota  true  genitu  let  any  reader  judge  bf  reading  ane  of  her  senti- 
nental  Boeaea,  and  then  perming  any  tml;'  passionate  one ;  for  instance, 
let  him  open  anywhere  m  Shakespeare,  and  he  will  immediately  detect 
tfieblae  from  the  tnw:  notonlyin  form  of  langaage,  imagination,  orillnB- 
'bvtioB — for  of  cODiae  in  thoae  paiticnlars  there  maid  not  be  a  fair  eottt- 
narison  with  any  wiit«T — batin  Uie  pare  development  of  haman  emotion. 
Let  him  make  the  same  comparison  as  regards  tbe  JTutnen  of  her 
tm«oning,  or  the  strength  of  her  observation,  withlrvingor  Hood,  or  tiie 
unknown  author  of  "  Tales  of  a  Voyage,"  and  he  will  immediately 
perceive  how  deficient  in  (ffigin^ity  op  aciit«ne«8  the  authoress  of 
''Emilia  Wyndham"  is.  Let  the  sameproeesa,  as  regards  what  is 
Somewhat  cnriondy  termed  her  "  natural "  power,  be  tested  by  Fieldins 
orMiss  Austen,  or  even  Mr8.0oTe,  and  it  will  be.  immediately  perceived 
that  her  power  of  desoibing  the  real  is  on  a  par  with  hei  wisdom  aod 

"  Emilia  Wysdham  "  is  a  popular  novel  becanae  it  is  an  exciting  novel : 
hut  it  is  by  no  means,  therefore,  a  work  of  genios,  or  to  be  ranked  with 
works  of  geUDB,  any  more  than  the  "  Castle  Spectre"  ahonld  be  with 
"  Hamlet,"  or  the  "  Man  of  Feeling"  with  "  Don  Quixote."  It  is  hnt 
a  mere  novel,  and  aa  such  rather  injnrione  than  otberwiae :  inasmuch 
as  it  &]se!y  stimulates  the  emotions  by  combinations  and  aitnations 
which  are  improbable  thoneh  perhaps  not  actually  impossible,  anA 
which  are  introdneed  and  heightened  for  tiija  purpose  of  working  on  ths 
leelinga.  All  workB_  that  merely  stimulate  the  appetite  for  sensation  have 
Bneviltendeney,becaaBetheyexcitetbefeeliBgBuniieceesarily,andDatnr« 
always  avenges  this  proceeding  by  a  reaction.  It  is  well  known  thai 
persons  particularly  sensitive  to  fictitious  woea,  are  by  no  means  so  to 
Teal  ones.  The  man  who  conld  rioquently  descant  upon  and  jlelight 
to  picture  in  all  its  horror  the  distresEee  of  Chatterton  with  the  pen  wet 
in  his  hand,  refused  the  amplest  assistance  to  a  brother  author  similarly 
situated.  And  why  so  )  Because  the  picture  raised  by  the  one  object  did 
not  affect  him  as  the  other  did,  and  becanse  sentimentality  has  nothigg 
to  do  vrith  real  feeling.  It  is  a  mere  mirage  arising  from  "  the  heat- 
oppressed  brain,"  and  totally  different  from  the  spontaneous  o^pring 
of  genuine  philanthropy.     To  excite  the  emotions  is  a  very  common- 

Slace  art :  bnt  to  correct  the  feelings  by  the  Tevealment  of  tme  wia- 
om  is  the  office  of  genius.  More  teats  have  been  shed  at  "  Venice 
Preserved"  and  "Isabella"  than  perhaps  at  any  of  Shakspeare's  or 
the  great  dramatists*  plays ;  but  the  latter  do  more  than  fulfil  the  missiim 
of  Holcroft  or  Fitzbail :  they  inform,  enlarge,  and  elevate  the  soul.  We 
learn  to  contemplate  humanity  witii  their  eyea  ;  and  onr  vision  ia  . 
informed  with  an  intensity  of  which  we  had  no  previona  idea. 

"EmiliaWyndham"haanoBachobject,  and  the  authoress  has  no  idea 


HST  BOOKS.  ml 

of  SDj  sacti  unl.  E9ie  cloea  ^  that  clevemesg  eaa.  She  is  aware  of 
her  own  tendency  t«  the  Beatimental  and  the  melodramatic,  and  coh- 
tinually  restrains  with  a  consoiauBnesa  unpleasantly  obyiotts,  and  with 
a  ptosaicnesi  diseorduii  to  her  temperameiLt,  the  vehemence  of  h^ 
deUneatiooa.  Sh«  appears  like  a  fonnalist  of  the  eeverest  kind  Biiper- 
indnced  on  a  charactei  of  great  impulsiveness  :  a  Qnakeress  with  a 
most  volatile  di^ioidtion.  The  conseqaenca  is,  we  have  scenes  of  a 
vehauent  kind  interlarded  with  gravest  proprietiea  :  the  utmost 
deference  to  establi^ed  and  conventional  proprieties,  with  a  continued 
^niKgle  to  escape  from  them.  This  antagonism  of  the  real  and  the 
ideal,  this  making  characters  to  pattern,  and  this  endeavour  to  inform 
them  with  a.  will  and  idiosyncrooy  ef  their  own,  pTodnces  certainly  book- 
creatnres  with  names  and  actions,  but  not  hnman  beings,  and  must  not 
be  taken  for  delineation  of  human  character.  Common-place  readers 
take  a  great  deal  on  tmat ;  thev  have  only  to  have  here  and  there  a  bit 
of  reality,  and  the^  t>k«  all  the  rest  for  granted.  They  easily  are  led 
to  imasine  the  possibility  of  the  scene,  and  the  writer  has  then  nothing 
to  do  bat  to  "pile  the  agony,"-  and  the  enction  is  nused :  the  tears 
&I1,  and  the  writer's  power  being  felt  in  one  particular,  is  pronounced  a, 
gemos.  Of  the  utility  of  SBch  a  process  we  have  already  expressed 
our  opinion.  It  ia  tlw  resnlt  of  a  trick,  and,  like  all  snch  resulls,  in 
the  long  run  hardens  instead  of  softens,  misl^tds  instead  of  instructs. 
Tma  tragic  power  lies  much  deeper  than  this,  and  never  mores  the 
emotions  without  expanding  the  understanding.  Talent  is  abundant, 
genins  ia  rare  ;  to  the  latt^  we  cannot  devote  toe  much  attention,  of 
tba  former  w:e  cannot  be  too  careful.  The  one  has  civilised  mankind ; 
it  may  be  doubtful  if  the  other  works  not  for  as  much  evil  as  good.  M 
all  events,  it  is  the  duty  of  e^eir  one  to  take  care  that  the  authority  of 
genius  is  not  given  Msely  to  products  not  entitled  to  it;  and  it  is  because 
this  has  been  done,  that  we  are  more  careful  to  record  our  opinion  of 
"  Emilia  Wyndham." 

UlSTORF  o 

M.P.    In  5 

mans.     1816. 

Tas  idea  was  a  hajtp^  one  of  selecting  public  opinion  to  serre  as 
the  thermometer  of  civilisation,  and  this  alone  wonld  entitle  Mr. 
Mackinnon's  work  to  an  attentive  perusal.  But  it  is  not  the  original 
idea  alone  that  is  ingenious  :  its  development  exhibits  much  ability, 
and  the  truths  it  teaches  are  conveyed  in  a  terse  and  elegant  style. 
Not  that  we  can  adopt  all  Mr.  Maclunnon's  views  ;  on  several  points 
he  appears  t^  us  to  decide  upon  insufiicient  data,  and  to  reach  his  con- 
elusioni  per  ialCura.  He  d^ls  too  harshly  with  all  the  inferior  forms 
of  civilisation,  and  exaggerates  the  benefit  conferred  on  the  world  by 
the  existing  phasis  of  it.  With  him,  however,  we  acknowledge  that 
great  progress  has  been  made,  and  that  although  we  have  not  at  yet  at 


,11  :«l  by  Google 


068  KEW  B0OK8. 

oat  conunsnd  Etll  the  advantages  wHicli  he  regards  as  the  neoenary 
retmU  of  oni  ^atem,  it  Is  not  to  be  denied  that  ve  are  at  least  in  a 
bir  ynj  of  attaining  them.  This  work  necessarily  leads  him  to  take 
a  comptehenaive  view  of  the  fortunes  of  human  society — to  glance  at 
Eg^t,  and  Greece,  and  Rome,  and  pnrsne  the  thread  of  events,  aa 
knotted  and  tangled  it  finds  its  way  through  tb*  maies  of  the  middle 
ages,  and  conducts  us  up  to  (he  loftv  platfoim  on  which  we  at  present 
■bmd.  In  paiaaing  this  compound  series  of  discnssion  and  nairative, 
the  author  displays  much  reading  and  ability,  and  putsforward many 
sound  remarks  ana  enli^tened  opinions.  But,  thoroughly  to  compre- 
hend modem  civilisation,  it  is  necessary  to  investigate  tai  more 
minutely  the  older  cycles  out  of  whioh  it  has  proceeded.  What  we 
think  and  know,  and  possess  now,  wonld  not  be  what  it  is,  were  it  not 
for  what  was  thought  and  known  and  possessed  formerly.  Fully  to 
comprehend,  therefore,  the  history  of  civilisation,  it  is  necessary  to  lift 
the  veil  from  antiquity,  to  Etady  the  early  workings  of  the  springs  that 
move  US  still ;  not  merely  in  the  roogh  realisations  presented  by  the 
forms  of  ancient  society,  bat  in  the  recondite  and  profound  speculationa 
of  philosophers,  the  first  ideal  shadowings  forth  of  what  was  afterwards 
converted  into  practice.  Hereafter  Mr.  Mackinnon  may  bestow  more 
attention  on  this  part  of  his  work.  In  the  modem  divisions  there  is 
very  considerable  development.  The  author  undertakes  to  interpret 
the  histories  of  England  and  France,  and  of  the  other  great  kingdoms 
on  the  Continent,  and  even  extends  his  euunination  to  the  antique 
despotisms  of  Aaia. .  Over  so  vast  a  field  he  could  only  be  expected  to 
glance.  To  descend  into  taiauli(E,  to  study  particulars,  to  enter  into 
all  the  wild  and  almost  infinitely  varied  opinions  which  have  exercised 
a  forming  influence  on  socie^,  would  ha^ve  heen  a  task  too  Herculean 
perhaps  for  any  one.  Mr.  Mackinnon  has  done  what  he  could,  and 
tie  raintt  ia  an  interesting  and  useful  work,  interajfersed  with  quota- 
tions from  the  ablest  autnors,  and  enlivened  more  especially  by  paa- 
HBges  from  the  poets.  The  writer  has  displayed  much  judgment  in  thus 
having  reconrse  to  the  earliest  and  mo^t  popular  teachers  of  mankind. 
There  is  often,  moreover,  a  philosophy  in  poetry  which  proae  can  seldom 
reach.  The  poet  walks  over  the  summits  of  things,  and  yet  we  may 
discern  from  hia  gait  that  be  has  sometime  or  another  inspected  their 
foundations.  We  highly  approve,  therefore,  of  Mr.  Mackinnon's  plan 
of  calling  in  their  vaticinations  to  his  aid.  The  moat  elaborate  por- 
tions of  his  work  are  those  which  treat  of  the  histories  and  institutions 
of  England  and  France,  in  which,  though  we  might  find  matter  Tor 
controversy,  we  likewise  discover  a  great  deal  to  approve.  It  is  quite 
light  to  call  old  notions  in  question,  and  at  every  step  we  take  in 
civilisation  to  cast  our  eyes,  backwards,  and  see  how  the  old  landma As 
look  fto'm  our  novel  position,  fhe  result  must  always  be  beneficial 
upon  the  whole,  -Here  and  there  proofa  are  given  of  curious  reading, 
as  in  the  chapter  on  witchcraft,  where  the  author  undertakes  to  lay 
open  some  of  the  sad  lapses  of  our  forefathers.     The  remarks  on  the 

Coiwlc' 


HEW   BOOKS.  669 

history  of  Fr&nce  are  particularly  valvable,  as  they  Beem  to  explain 
«  series  of  political  events,  which  have  generally  been  misrepresented 
by  historians.  We  behold  sown  broadcast  over  the  face  of  the  past,  the 
seeds  of  eveata  and  disastei^  which  have  grown  np  and  borne  froit 
beneath  our  eyes,  and  Mr.  Mackinnoii  seems  generally  anxious  to  draw 
liberal  inferences  ham  the  facts  under  his  view. 


DiacovEBiES  IK  Australia  :  with  an  account  of  the  Coast  and  TUveis  explored 
and  surveyed  during  the  voj'age  of  H.M.S.  "  Beagle,"  in  the  years  1837- 

33-39-40-41-42-43.     By  commaBd  of  the  Lords  Coromieaioners  of  the 
Admiral^.    Also  a  narrative  of  Captun  Owen  Stanlei's  visits  to  the 
Islands  in  the  Anifura  Sea.    By  T.  Lost  Stokes,  Commander,  R.N. 
_  London ;  T.  and  W.  Boone.     1846, 

We  generally  entertain  extremely  false  notions  respecting  the  amount 
of  knowledge  possessed  by  the  present  age.  Commerce  aad -navigation 
are  supposed  to  have  rendered  us  familiar  with  the  surface  of  our  own 
planet,  at  least  in  all  its  .broad  And  chuacteristic  features ;  and  yet 
there  are  whole  continents,  onr  acquaintance  with  which  extends  little 
beyond  the  sea-coast.  Au^k^alia,  for  example,  previously  to  the  last 
snrveying  voyage  of  the  "  Beagle,"  was  in  nearly  all  parts  a  Urra 
iniMgjiita  at  the  distance  of  a  very  few  miles  inland,  and  in  many  places 
the  shore  line  was  unknown.  Considering  that  we  have  been  settled  on 
one  point  at  least  of  the  Continent  for  nearly  sixty  years,  that  out  of 
the  great  original  colony  several  smaller  ones  have  sprung  up,  that 
communication  is  perpetually  maintained  between  them  and  the  mother 
country,  that  fact  might  at  first  appear  incredible,  liut  "being  a  trading 
nation,  we  are  chiefly  guided  in  our  undertakings  by  the  principle  oi 
utility,  and  would  not  be  at  the  expense  of  long  and  laborions  surveys 
until  the  safety  of  our  shipping  engaged  in  the  Australian  trade  peremp- 
torilv  required  it.         • 

The  necessity  for  the  surveys  to  which  we  have  alluded  was  folly 
recognised  in  1837,  when,  under  the  command  of  Captain  Wickham,  the 
"  Beagle  "  was  sent  out  to  complete  the  work  commenced  several  years 
before.  When  a  portion  of  the  survey  had  been  accomplished,  Capliun 
Wickham  returned,  through  bad  health,  to  England,  and  was  sncceeded 
by  Captwn  Lort  Stokes^  who,  having  effected  the  purpose  of  the  expedi- 
tion, returned  home  also,  to  present  the  public  with  the  history  ef  it. 
This  he  has  now  very  ably  and  satisfactorily  done  in  the  two  volumes 
before  ns,  in  which  he  throws  much  light  on  the  geological  structure  of  the 
Australian  continent,  on  the  character  and  manners  of  the  aboriginal 
inhabitants  by  whom  it  is  peopled,  and  on  the  progress  and  prospects 
of  our  own  colonies,  which  may  soon  be  expected  to  belt  it  entirely 

Captain  Stokes  has  selected  the  popular  form  of  a  discursive  and  mis- 
cellaneous narrative  in  which  to  embody  his  information,  and  will  thns, 

Coiwlc 


S?e  NBW  BOOKS. 

In  all  likelihood,  be  extenBivelr  read.  By  the  same  piocesg,  howerar, 
he  haB  greatly  increased  the  difficulty  of  the  reviewer,  who  haa  to  enter 
into  many  calcnl&tioiu  and  compariBons,  and  to  institute,  ai  it  were,- 
original  inqniiiea  for  himtelf,  before  lie  liecomea  maiter  of  the  viewa 
which  the  woili  is  calcalated  to  give  birth  to.  Sometimet  onr  attention 
is  solicited  by  the  condition  of  the  natiTes,  whom  we  deeply  cpmmiaerate, 
brought  suddenly  into  contact  with  a  coloniang  and  conqaering  race, 
too  impetnous,  practical,  and  calcnlatjcg,  to_  reSect  maturely  on  their 
moral  reapoiiBibilities,  or  conscientiously  to  perform  their  duties  towards 
the  piimary  poflMssora  of  the  soiL  {^ptain  Stokes  affpeaiH,  however, 
to  be  eoDTineed  that  by  a  jadieione  and  hnmane  system  of  policy  the 
natives  mi^t  be  civilised  and  presened  ;  and  It  would  therefore  afford 
US  much  satisfaction  to  see  him  promoted  to  same  pasitian  it!  Northern 
Australia  which  woald  enable  him  to  redoce  bis  theory  to  practice. 
Others  may  take  the  commercial  view  of  colonies  ;  but  to  as  the  para-- 
monnt  dnty  of  all  who  make  new  settlements  in  lands  already  peopled 
Beems  to  be  not  merely  to  attempt,  bnt  to  achieve,  the  civilisation  of 
the  first  occupants.  The  task,  no  doubt,  is  a  dilficalt  one,  bat  that  it 
may  be  accomplished  we  f«el  permaded  ;  and  that  which  with  any 
degree  of  pains  is  practicaUe  oi^t,  most  assuredly,  to  be  done.  In 
taking  this  view  of  the  matter  we  are  strAg^  supported  by  the  ^ts 
and  reasonings  contwned  in  the  last  voyage  of  the  "Beagle."  AgMn 
and  again  were  our  countrymen  brought  face  to  hce  with  the  sftvages,' 
under  eircnmstances  the  most  likely  to  give  rise  to  hostilities,  and  y«t 
through  the  judgment,  forbearance,  and  humanity  disj^yed  both  by 
officers  and  crew,  the  impression  left  ultimately  on  the  minds  of  the 
Anstralians  mnat  have  been  highly  favourable  to  their  white  visitors. 
And  this  is  the  more  praiseworthy  in  that  some  few  ineidenta  occnrred 
which  mi^t,  under  leas  skilful  management,  have  led  to  the  most 
deadly  feuds.  Escited  and  bewildered  by  the  novel  eircnmstances  in 
which  the  arrival  in  their  country  of  a  strange  race  placed  them,  the 
natives  yielded  to  the  lirst  impulse  of  man,  and  Sought  to  deliver  them- 
selves from  the  intruders  by  the  employment  of  whatever  force  was  at 
theii  command.  This  arged  them,  among  other  things,  to  the  spearing 
of  Captain  Stokes  himself.  Bat  when  it  certainly  appeared  from  expe- 
rience that  the  new  comers  .were  friends  and  not  enemies,  the  natives, 
in  nearly  all  inatsuces,  relinquished  their  hostile  designs,  and  gave  evi- 
dent tokens  of  a  wish  to  enter  into  friendly  relations  with  them. 
Whether  our  future  intercourse  with  the  race  shall  correspond -or  not  to 
this  angpicious  beginning  will  depend  very  much  on  the  character  of 
the  men  who  may  be  selected  to  watch  over  and  develop  the  resources 
of  onr  multiplying  and  growing  settlement.  Hitherto  tiiere  has  been, 
we  believe,  no  instance  of  the  appointment  of  a  statesman  to  be 
governor  of  an  infant  colony,  and  yet  no  jiolitical  operation  is  more 
delicate  or  difficult  than  that  which  ia  mtrusted  to  the  leader  of 
such  a  colony.  The  spread  of  our  external  empire  has  rather  been 
invnght  about  by  a  combination  of  circumstances  and  the  daring  enter- 


HEW  BOOKS.  571 

pRMof  incKridiiab,  tlian  by  any  Bobtle  o_ 

policy.  A  rough,  rnde,  good  sense  baa  no  doubt  Iwen  v 
carry  the  system  to  pertectiou  we  most  have  recoone  to  prmciples 
which  TBDge  higfaer  than  mere  good  sense,  and  bring  into  play  that 
enlarged  and  gMietons  statesmanship  which  is  based  excluiiTeiy  on 
goodwill  towards  men.  We  refer  to  the  Tolmnes  of  Captain  Stokes 
lor  innom^iable  practical  illustrations  of  the  troths  we  have  been 
advancing.  They  are  especially  rich  in  details,  though  the  author  has 
slightly  and  caatiotslj'  shadowed  forth  many  theories  which  he  pro- 
bably did  not  think  rt  pradent  to  develop  rnlly.  On  the  subject  of 
steam  navigation  from  Smgapore  to  Sydney,  by  way  of  Port  Esdnton 
and  Torres  Straits,  he  sopplies  exceedingly  usetnl  information ;  and 
when  that  scheme  is  thoronrfily  carried  out,  his  work  will  probably 
become  the  manual  of  those  Mio  andertake  the  voyage.  It  is  furnished 
with  several  very  correct  charts,  and  iUustratei  by  graceful  engravings 
and  woodcDfs. 


^BB  Life  op  tbe  Risbt  HoKoimAra^  Gbokoe  Cannino.     By  Robkbi 
Bell,  Author  ol "  The  History  of  Russia,"  "  IJves  of  Eu^idi  Poets,"  &c, 
.   post  8td.    London  -.  Chapman  &  Hall, 

A  LiFB  of  Canning  was  a  desideratum  la  our  lil^ntare.  He  is 
every  way  entitled  to  a  distinct  biography.  He  was  the  means,  if  not 
the  cause,  of  many  legislative  enactments,  and  bore  a  prominent  part 
in  the  business  of  the  state  during  an  eventful  period.  3nt  he  had  a 
still  greater  claim  to  a  separate  record  and  development  of  his  character. 
He  may  be  esteemed  the  first  man  of  a  class  that  undoubtedly  is  fast 
advancing  to  its  proper  importance  in  the  social  scale.  He  was  the  first 
pnrely  lilerary.  and  mteilectual  man  that  became,  solely  by  the  -esercise 
of  these  means,  prime  minister  of  the  most  practical  and  bnsiness-iike 
foveniraent  in  the  world.  It  may  be  said  that  WoJsey  and  Wentworth 
wid  others  advanced  to  that  position  by  their  talents ;  but  they  were 
the  tools  of  the  favourites  of  kings.  Lord  Chatham  and  Sheridim  may 
also  be  cited  as  instances  of  the  same  kind.  But  the  elder  Pitt  advanced 
entirely  by  his  oratory  and  his  political  powers,  and  Sheridan  received 
only  an  inferior  appointment  in  the  short  ministry  of  his  party  ;  Can- 
ning alone  by  his  literary  powers,  for  his  oratoty  consisted  more  of 
literary  graces  than  any  profound  political  feeling  or  knowledge.  He 
was  the  first  faint  dawning  of  that  kind  of  rule  which  will  doubtless 
hereafter  have  as  great  effect  in  other  states  as  it  has  in  France.  He 
was  the  representative,  or  rather  the  oatward  symbol,  of  the  literary 
and  inteilMtual  class  ;  and  loomed  forth  a  strange  monstrosity  to  the 
old  nobility  and  landed  and  even  monied  inUrests  of  the  country.  In 
his  advancement  might  be  traced,  and  it  was  felt  with  an  instinctive 
horror  by  the  old  powers,  the  destrnction  of  the  borough  influence,  the 
commencement  of  the  real  power  of  the  many,  and  the  ultimate  obUtOI»- 

Coofjlc 


<72  NSW  BOOKS. 

tion  of  that  remntuit  of  mere  enteni&l  power  which  had  gntdoslly 
dwindled  from  the  possassioii  of  collared  aetfs  to  aubservient  voters. 

In  thia  point  of  view  the  "  Life  of  Canning  "  is  of  real  importance, 
althoQgh  Uie  present  biographer  has  taten  it  ap  with  na  sneh  idea ;  on 
the  contrary,  the  earlier  pMt  of  his  narrative  is  occupied  with  a  very 
needless  dissertation  on  the  legitimacy  of  his  birth  and  his  hereditary 
connexion  with  tho  aristocracy.  With  Mr.  Bell's  liberal  views  it  is 
suipriiing  he  did  not  at  once  cMm  for  him  the  diploma  of  genius,  Mid 
cast  Slide  all  factitious  endeavours  to  elevate  his  heio.  His  conduct  to 
his  mother  was  an  honour  to  him,  not  because  she  was  so  high  in  the 
socid  scale,  but  because  she  was  so  low.  A  country  actress  of  the  lajt 
centory,who  had  failed  in  London,  and,  after  two  or  three  equivocal 
marriages,  became  the  wife  of  a  bankrupt  country  tradesman,  can,  by 
no  force  of  argument,  be  converted  into  a  connexion  of  the  aristocrjicy. 
The  only  weakness  is  the  refusal  to  give  Canning  the  full  benefit  of  his 
own  talents.  And  here,  by  the  way,  we  must  say,  we  can  hardly 
think  Kir.  Bell  has  been  rightlv  informed  when  he  assures  ns  that  s 
grejt  statesman  could  divulge  his  political  plans  to  any  mother,  much 
more  such  a  one.  Gracchus  mivht  to  Cornelia,  but  hardly  Cannius  to 
Mr«.  Beddish  ;  of  whom  Mrs.  Hannah  More  said,  it  is  reported,  "  Shje 
is  married,  but  it  seems  there  are  a  bunch  of  Reddiahes." 

Mr.  Bell's  peculiarly  easy  and  agreeable  style  are  well  known,  and 
are  ably  manifested  in  the  present  volume.  He  has  been  diligent  in 
collecting  illustrative  anecdotes ;  has  himself  moved  in  political  circles ; 
and  mast  have  had  a  personal  glimpse  of  Canning  in  his  later  career : 
or  if  not  petsoually,  at  all  events  is  familiar  with  his  compeers  and 
contemporaries.  He  is  intimately  acquainted  with  the  politics,  litera- 
ture, and  sentiments  of  the  last  lialf  century,  and  indeed  has  a  smack 
and  flavour  of  the  old  and  really  the  past  school,  that  we  should  not 
have  eipected.  Whatever  opinions  there  may  be  of  its  political  parti- 
alities, or  its  philosophical  tendencies,  every  one  will  rejoice  that  it  is 
written  in  the  easiest  and  most  readable  of  styles,  and  that  it  gives  a 
clear  view  of  the  man  as  well  as  the  legislator ;  and  above  all,  that 
it  is  a  compact  volume,  and  not  a  ponderous  quarto  stuffed  with 
slqte  papers  and  political  dissertations.  We  believe  there  ia  not  any 
other  Life  of  Canning  extant,  and  are  quite  snre  there  is  none  other  so 
suitable  as  Mr.  Bell's  to  the  times  and  to  the  modern  reader. 


LivoNiAH  TiLES.     By  the  Author  o(  "  Letters  from  ^e  Bsltic."     Murraj's 

Colonial  Library,  Sqr.  ISmo.  London  :  J.  Murray. 
*  Wk  perfectly  rememiiet  the  sensation  caused  by  the  "  Letters  from 
the  Baltic,"  by  the  authoress  of  this  volume  ;  revealing  as  thev  did 
a  picture  of  middle-age  barbarism  still  to  be  witnessed  in  a  secluded 
nook  of  Northern  Europe.  The  same  observant  touches  of  character, 
the  same  good  sense  and  good  feeling,  are  apparent  in  the  present  Tales. 
Exhausted  as  the  other  parts  of  Europe  are  by  travellers,  tourists,  and 


NBW  books:  fi73 

noveligbr,  we  should  think  readem  of  light  KUratnre  would  ruBh  to 

these  Tales  for  a  little  novelty.  The  places  and  penonagea  are  drawn 
evidently  from  actnal  observation,  and  have  a.  freshness  and  vigoor,  the 
reeult  of  each  direct  commanication. 

The  grand  subject  of  interest  in  this  eountiy  seems  to  be  the  wolf, 
and  the  poor  peasant  appears  to  pass  his  life  in  fulfilling  both  the 
literal  and  metaphorical  truth  of  keeping  the  wolf  from  the  door. 

We  shonld  for  ounelves  have  preferred  some  more  "  Letters  from 
Livonia,"  that  we  might  have  felt  certain  where  fccts  ended  and 
imaginatian  began;  and  we  think  the  lady's  talents  are  better  dis- 
played in  the  nan-ation  of  real  occurrences  than  in  imaginative 
scenes.  She  is  not  without  the  artifice  of  profeasional  Btory-tellers, 
but  shines  much  more  in  her  own  clear  and  vivid  narrations.  The 
details,  however,  interwoven  with  the  fictions,  are  exceedingly  interest- 
ing. We  read  the  following  several  times  over,  scarcely  believing  out 
eye-sight,  and  thinking  that  the  date  must  be  a  misprint  for  1610.  We 
give  it,  however,  as  it  stands  in  the  book  at  page  139, 

"  Two  warlocks  were  executed  in  tlie  year  1810,  at  Liege,  for 
having  under  the  form  of  ware  wolves,  killed  several  children.  They 
had  a  hoy  of  twelve  years  of  age  with  them,  who  completed  the 
Satanic  tne,  and  under  the  fonu  of  a  raven,' consumed  those  portions 
of  the  prey  which  the  warlocks  left." — Qrimu's  Deutsche  Sagen. 


Bells  add  Fouboka nates.  No.  VIII.  and  Last.  Lubia  ;  and  a  Soul's 
Thaoedt.  By  Robebt  Bkowhinq,  Author  of  "  Paracelsus."  Medium  8vo. 
Londrai:  E.Moxon. 

Mr.  Browniko  is,  in  onr  opinion,  a  great  poet,  and  it  is  probable  he  is 
also  a  great  man.  We  say  this,  because  there  seems  to  be  in  him  a* 
thorough  hatred  and  scorn  of  the  ad  cat^ndum  school.  He  has  great 
perceptions  and  conceptions,  and  his  delight  is  in  his  own  might,  not  in 
the  vain  plaudits  of  those  who  mistake  skill  for  genius,  and  smartness 
for  originality.  If  the  comparative  neglect  of  the  many  is  displeasing 
to  him,  at  all  events,  Coriolanus-like,  he  will  not  show  bis  scars ;  he 
cannot 

"  Pat  on  the  gown,  aland  lalffd  and  entreat  them." 

He  may  perchance  have  a  touch  too  much,  with  the  piond  Roman,  of 
resting  on  bis  own  powers,  and  if  not  despising,  disregarding  his  reaaer. 
He  nnderstands  character  and  human  emotion  profoundly,  and  delineates 
it  powerfully.  He  never  aids  the  reader  by  narrative  or  obtrusion  of 
himself,  lliere  ore  character,  passion,  and  poetry,  Sung  down  on  the 
paper,  and  it  is  certainly  the  reader's  fault  or  misfortune  if  he  does  not 
perceive  them.  The  great  secret  of  his  strength  and  of  his  hardness  is 
nia  utter  want  of  sentimentality.  He  pourtrays  the  characters  of  men 
in  all  the  nakedness  and  hideousness  of  true  passion.  He  has  chosen 
an  age  andaconntry  where  these  kind  of  developments  have  been  most, 
or  at  all  events,  best  recorded,  and  we  are  present,  by  his  art,  with  the 


£74  NEW   BOOKS. 

real  and  terrific  men  thai  hare  been  the  eUves  of  intenae  liatred,  aiobl- 
tios,  lust,  and  of  all  the  impolMS  of  nnrestrained  human  natoie.  When 
goodneu  dees  sppeu  amongst  such  a  crew,  it  ia  of  the  genuine  and 
angelic  hind,  aa  it  must  be. 

In  hiatotj  one  reada  of  the  actions  of  snch  men,  and  with  but  a  halt 
belief  in  the  truth  of  the  narration ;  but  the  dramatist  prorea  its  existeiice 
with  ^polling  force.  Mr.  Browning  is  deeplj  imbued  and  informed 
with  the  spirit  of  the  middle  age ;  uui  he  has  a  great  idea,  which,  in 
the  play  of  "  Luiia,"  he  uobi;  reuses.  It  is  the  conflict  of  mind  and 
matter,  of  will  and  intellect. 

"  Brute  force  shall  not  rule  Florence  1  Intellect 
Mftj  rale  her,  bad  or  good,  as  chance  supplies  j 
Bat  intellect  it  shall  be,  pure  if  bad." 

The  "  Soul's  Tragedy"  is  one  of  the  most  intensely  drunatic  worki 
ever  penned.    The  deepest  emotions  and  the  nicest  traits  of  character 

are  developed  by  the  mere  external  conduct  and  espression.  The  villain 
of  the  piece  is  a  thorongh  human  villain,  and  the  unfolding  his  villany 
is  a  masteiiy  exposition  of  the  degradations  and  weaknen  of  human 
nature.  The  truly  good  and  the  noble  are  equally  powerfnliy  pourtrayed, 
and  Mr.  Browning  baa  fulfilled  the  mission  of  the  poet  and  the  drama- 
tist by  giving  new  and  valuable  illYutratioua  of  onr  hnman  nature.  The 
theatre  and  Jlr.  Browning's  dramas  are  never  likely  to  come  ia  con- 
tact ;  not  at  all  events  until,  as  in  the  early  days  of  ODr  true  drama,  the 
most  refined  minds,  and  tlin^fwe  the  comparativety  few,  again  visit  the 
playhouse  as  a  place  to  study  nature  and  philosophy.  The  high  drama 
was  always  played  in  its  entirety,  and  always  must  be,  to  the  reflecting 
few.  When  we  have  another  "Globe"  or  "  Blackfriars,"  containing 
a  few  hundred  cultivated  spectators,  Mr.  Browning's  diamas  may  ba 
performed. 


Thbsb  two  volnmea  are  a  strange  mixture  of  Italian  and  American 
life  ;  and  wo  can  only  solve  the  mystery  by  supposing  that  an  Italian 
emigrated  to  America,  and  so  fathered  observations  in  both  coun- 
tries. It  wodM  not  be  hazardingmnch  to  snapect  that  political  reasons 
had  induced  the  author  to  travel,  for  we  find  a  continued  run  of  sly 
sarcasm  on  the  state  of  affairs  in  Italy,  and  an  activity  and  energy  of 
thought  that  seem  exceedingly  likely  to  arise  bora  political  feeling. 
Whatever  may  have  giv^t  rise  to  the  present  tales,  they  seran  to  present 
very  truthful  and  ehj^acteristic  illustrations  of  Italy  aa  it  really  tt  •  and 
a  very  different  Italy  does  it  show  from  that  presented  by  our  antiqua- 
rian tntrellers  or  romantie  young  ladies.  Priest>ridden,  soldier-ridden, 
mid  stateanan-riddeu,  it  seema  irredaemably  sunk  as  a  natioii.  Who- 
ever takes  an  internt  in  it  vnll  not  find  his  time  thrown  swny  in 

Ung  into  these  illustrations  of  iU  pretent  conditioti. 


MEW  BOOKS. 


it  WeBtmlnateF  School,  &c 
CbbtjUblt,  the  Flinch,  of  ftU  languagee,  eitiier  living  <s'  dead,  ii 
either  tiie  moat  embaTrauiiig,  or  the  most  accominod&tuig ;  tnvrj 
teochn  ai  it  haying  a  eniomar  of  his  ovn,  and  declaring  tht  impoMi- 
hHity  of  teaching  it  bom  anr  other.  The  only  novelty  that  Mr. 
Tourrier  aims  at,  is  taachiiig  ttf  inatalmenta, — hie  work  being  teiial, 
each  port  of  speech  claiiBiDg  a  separate  txtrf.  *  Jndging  from  the  un^a 
spectmen  before  ns,  the  work  is  well  coDceived,  and  its  execntion 
betray  a  perfect  mastery  of  Ihe  aabject,  and  will,  we  haTe  no  donbt, 
when  completed,  be  a  Btock-book.  We,  however,  qnestion  the  utility 
of  its  pieoe-meal  publicaliou,  for  in  the  port  before  as,  profeuing  to  treat 
tscclmtive^  of  articles,  one  of  the  exercises  commences,  "J'aieerit," 
&c.  Now,  to  find  these  words  with  a  knowledge  of  theii  import,  it  is 
obvionsly  ueceBaarv  that  the  pupil  ahonld  know  something  of  verb* 
besides  articles ;  therefore  parts  6  and  6,  which  treat  on  "  the  vrab," 
are,  in  contradiction  to  Mr.  Toonier's  own  theory,  neeessaiy  for  the 
onderBtjuBding  of  part  1.  The  same  objection  applies  to  sdjecliTM, 
which  are  introduced  befora  the  pnpil  has  foand  out  tcJiat  an  adjeclive  is. 

Hints  oh  the  Stcdt  of  the 

and  unarticted  Clerks. 

Crookford. 

Tbese  "  Hints  "  are  intended  to  stir  np  the  juvenile  ambition  of 
the  young  attorney's  clerk,  by  stimnlatiug  him  to  methodical  study, 
and  Dnremitting  application  to  his  duties.  The  author  instances  six 
(and  he  might  with  very  little  research  have  trebled  Ids  list)  attorneys' 
clerks,  "  humble  servers  of  writs  and  engrossers  of  deeds,  including 
the  ancestors  of  Lords  Kenyon,  Tenterden,  AEhbnrton,  and  Haidwicke, 
who  have  achieved  the  highest  honours  from  so  low  a  commencement ; 
and  paints  to  the  names  of  Denman  and  Brougham,  who  have  from  a 
comparatively  bumble  origin  "soared  aloft  into  the  brightest  circles  of 
nobflity,"  All  this  is  very  well,  and  the  object  of  the  writer  no  doubt 
praiseworthy,  and  if  it  will  only  persuade  the  ypung  gentlemen 
to  ^ttend  to  their  badness,  we  may  forgive  them  the  delusion  of 
e^Ectianging  some  of  these  days  their  hard  stools,  for  the  comfortable 
woolsack  of  the  Lord  Cbancellar. 

While  on  the  snbiect  of  "  Lawyers'  Clerks,"  we  should  be  sorry  to 
let  an  opportunity  slip  of  speaking  a  word  in  season  for  an  intelligent 
and,  takmg  all  things  mto  account,  adeservingbody  of  men.  Of  all  the 
"  working  "  (and  well  do  they  merit  thai  distinction)  classes,  they  are 
the  worst  paid,  and  hardest  worked.  With  more  confidence  reposed 
in  them  than  other  operatives,  they  have  stronger  inducement  and 
more  frequent  opportunities  to  betray  their  employers'  interests  ;  and 
yet,  as  a  class  they  are  neither  dishonest  nor  unfaithful ;  while  they 
are  expected  to  keep  up  the  appearance  of  gentlemen,  tjieir  meaiu  of 


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