BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE

NO. CCCXXVII. JANUARY, 1843. VOL. LIII. 

CONTENTS

 GREAT BRITAIN AT THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE YEAR 1843 LESURQUES; OR, THE VICTIM OF JUDICIAL ERROR CALEB STUKELY PART X. IMAGINARY CONVERSATION. BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR TASSO AND CORNELIA THE WORLD OF LONDON SECOND SERIES, PART I. THE DREAM OF LORD NITHSDALE TWO HOURS OF MYSTERY THE EAST AND SOUTH OF EUROPE THE CURSE OF GLENCOE. BY B. SIMMONS THE MARTYRS' MONUMENT. A MONOLOGUE TASTE AND MUSIC IN ENGLAND

GREAT BRITAIN AT THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE YEAR 1843. 

Great Britain, at the present moment, occupies a position of dignity, ofgrandeur, and of RESPONSIBILITY, unparalleled in either her own history, or that of any other nation ancient or modern. Let him who is inclinedto doubt this assertion, of whatever country he may be, and whetherfriendly, hostile, or indifferent to England, glance for a moment at amap of the world, and having at length found out our little island, (which, perhaps, he may consider a mere fragment chipped off, as itwere, from the continent of Europe, ) turn to our stupendous possessionsin the east and in the west--in fact, all over the world--and he may beapt to think of the fond speculative boast of the ancient geometrician, "[Greek: Dos pou sto, chai ton chosmon chinaeso], " and to paraphrase andapply it thus--"Give the genius of Great Britain but where she may placeher foot--some mere point peeping above the waves of the sea--and sheshall move the world. " Is not this language warranted by recent facts?While our irritable but glorious neighbour France--_pace tantaegentis!_--is frittering away her warlike energies in Algeria, and Russiais worried by her unsuccessful and unjust attempts upon Circassia, behold the glorious monarch of this little island, Queen Victoria, roused by indignities and injuries offered to her most distant subjectsin the East, strike single-handed a blow there, which shakes a vast andancient empire to its very foundations, and forces its haughty emperorfrom his throne, to assume the attitude of a suppliant for peace, yielding her peremptory but just demands, even at the cannon's mouth, and actually relinquishing to her a large portion of his dominions. Events, these, so astonishing, that their true character andconsequences have not yet been calmly considered and appreciated byeither ourselves or other nations. Look, again, at recent occurrences inBritish India--that vast territory which only our prodigious enterpriseand skill have acquired for us, and nothing but profound sagacity canpreserve to the British crown--and observe, with mixed feelings, twoprincipal matters: a perilous but temporary error of overweeningambition on the part of Great Britain, yet retrieved with power anddignity; and converted into an opportunity of displaying--where, for theinterests of Great Britain, it was imperiously demanded--herirresistible valour, her moderation, her wisdom; exhibiting, undercircumstances the most adverse possible, in its full splendour andmajesty, the force of that OPINION by which alone we can hold India. Passing swiftly over to the Western Continent, gaze at our vastpossessions _there_ also--in British North America--containingconsiderably upwards of four millions of square geographical miles ofland; that is, nearly a ninth part of the whole terrestrial surface ofthe globe![1]--besides nearly a million and a half miles of water--fivehundred thousand of these square miles being capable, and in rapidprogress, of profitable cultivation! at more than three thousand miles'distance from the mother country, and in immediate juxtaposition to theterritory of our distinguished but jealous descendants and rivals--arising nation--the United States! Pausing here in the long catalogue ofour foreign possessions, let our fancied observer turn back his eyetowards the little island that owns them; will he not be filled withwonder, possibly with a conviction that Great Britain is destined byAlmighty God to be the instrument of effecting His sublime but hiddenpurposes with reference to humanity? Assume, however, our observer to beactuated by a hostile and jealous spirit, and to regard our foreignpossessions, and the national greatness derived from them, as onlynominal and apparent--to insinuate that we could not really hold them, or vindicate our vaunted supremacy if powerfully challenged andresented. Let him then meditate upon the authentic intelligence which wehave just received from the East: what must then be his real sentimentson this the 1st day of January 1843? Let us ask him, in all manlycalmness, whether England has not _done_ what he doubted or denied herability to do? whether she has not shown the world that she may, indeed, do what she pleases among the nations, so long as her pleasure isregulated and supported by her accustomed sagacity and spirit? She has, however, recently had to pass through an awful ordeal, principallyoccasioned by the brief ascendency of incompetent councils; and whileexpressing, in terms of transport, our conviction that, "out of thisnettle danger, we have plucked the flower safety"--we cannot repress ourfeelings of indignation against those who precipitated us into thatdanger, and of gratitude towards those who, under Divine Providence, have been instrumental in extricating us from it, not only rapidly, butwith credit; not merely with credit, but with glory. To appreciate ourpresent position, we must refer to that which we occupied some twelve oreighteen months ago; and that will necessarily involve a briefexamination of the policy and proceedings of the late, and of thepresent Government. We shall speak in an unreserved and independentspirit in giving utterance to the reflections which have occurred to usduring a watchful attention paid to the course of public affairs, bothforeign and domestic, in the interval alluded to; though feeling thetask which we have undertaken both a delicate and a difficult one. 

 [1] Malte Brun, xi. 179. Alison, x. 256. 

After a desperate tenacity in retaining office exhibited by the lateGovernment, which was utterly unexampled, and most degrading to thecharacter and position of public men engaged in carrying on the Queen'sGovernment, Sir Robert Peel was called to the head of affairs by herMajesty, in accordance with the declared wishes of a triumphant majorityof her subjects--of a perfectly overwhelming majority of the educated, the thinking, and the monied classes of society. When he first placedhis foot upon the commanding eminence of the premiership, the sightwhich presented itself to his quick and comprehensive glance, must havebeen, indeed, one calculated to make

 --"the boldest hold his breath For a time. "

What appalling evidence in every direction of the ignorance and madnessof his predecessors! An exchequer empty, exactly at the moment when itought to have been fullest, in order to support our tremendousoperations in the East and elsewhere: in fact, a prospect of immediatenational insolvency; all resources, ordinary and extraordinary, exhausted; all income anticipated: an average deficiency of revenue, actual and estimated, in the six years next preceding the 5th of January1843, of L. 10, 072, 000! Symptoms of social disorganization visible on thevery surface of society: ruin bestriding our mercantile interests, palsied every where by the long pressure of financial misrule: creditvanishing rapidly: the working-classes plunged daily deeper and deeperinto misery and starvation, ready to listen to the most desperatesuggestions: and a Government bewildered with a consciousness ofincompetency, and of the swiftly approaching consequences of theirmisrule, at the eleventh hour--on the eve of a general election--suddenly resolving (in the language of their own leader) to stir societyto its foundations, by proposing a wild and ruinous alteration in theCorn-Laws, declaring that it, and it only, would bring cheap bread tothe doors of the very poorest in the land:--after the manner of givingout ardent spirits to an already infuriated mob. In Ireland, crime andsedition fearfully in the ascendant; treasonable efforts made toseparate her from us; threats even held out of her entering into aforeign alliance against us. So much for our domestic--now for ourforeign condition and prospects. He would see Europe exhibiting serioussymptoms of distrust and hostility: France, irritated and trifled with, on the verge of actual war with us: our criminally neglected differenceswith America, fast ripening into the fatal bloom of war: the veryexistence of the Canadas at stake. In India, the tenure by which we holdit in the very act of being loosened; our troops shedding their blood invain, in the prosecution of as mad and wicked an enterprise as ever wasundertaken by a civilized nation; the glory of our hitherto invinciblearms tarnished; the finances of India deranged and wasted away insecuring only fresh accessions of disgraceful defeat. In China, we wereengaged, in spite of the whisper of our guardian angel, Wellington, in a_little war_, and experiencing all its degrading and ruinousconsequences to our commerce, our military and naval reputation, ourstatesmanship, our honour. Did ever this great empire exhibit such aspectacle before as that which it thus presented to the anxious eye ofthe new Premier? Having concluded the disheartening and alarming survey, he must have descended to his cabinet oppressed and desponding, enquiring who is sufficient for these things? With no disposition tobestow an undue encomium on any one, we cannot but say, happy was QueenVictoria in having, at such a moment, such a man to call to the head ofher distracted affairs, as Sir Robert Peel. He was a man preeminentlydistinguished by caution, sobriety, and firmness of character--byremarkable clear-sightedness and strength of intellect--thoroughlypractical in all things--of immense knowledge, entirely at hiscommand--of consummate tact and judgment in the conduct of publicaffairs--of indefatigable patience and perseverance--of imperturbableself-possession. He seemed formed by nature and habit to be the leaderof a great deliberative assembly. Add to all this--a personal characterof unsullied purity, and a fortune so large as to place him beyond thereach of suspicion or temptation. Such was the man called upon by hissovereign and his country, in a most serious crisis of her affairs. Hewas originally fortunate in being surrounded by political friendseminently qualified for office; from among whom he made, with duedeliberation, a selection, which satisfied the country the instant thattheir names were laid before it. We know not when a British sovereignhas been surrounded by a more brilliant and powerful body of ministers, than those who at this moment stand around Queen Victoria. Theyconstitute the first real GOVERNMENT which this country has seen for thelast twelve years; and they instantly addressed themselves to thedischarge of the duties assigned to them with a practised skill, andenergy, and system, which were quickly felt in all departments of theState. In contenting himself with the general superintendance of theaffairs of his government, and devolving on another the harassing officeof Chancellor of the Exchequer, which, till then, had been conjoinedwith that of the First Lord of the Treasury, Sir Robert Peel acted withhis usual judgment, and secured, in particular, one capitalobject--_unity of action. _

As soon as the late Ministry and their adherents perceived that SirRobert Peel's advent to power was inevitable, they clamorously requiredof him a full preliminary statement of the policy he intended to adopton being actually installed in office! By those who had floundered on, session after session, from blunder to blunder, from folly tofolly--each more glaring and destructive than the preceding one--he wasmodestly expected to commit himself _instanter_ to some scheme struckoff, to please them, at a heat! A cut-and-dried exposition of his plansof domestic and foreign policy, before it was even certain that he wouldever be called on to frame or act on them; before he had had a glimpseof the authentic and official _data_, of which none but the actualadviser of the crown could be in possession. This was doubtless _their_notion of statesmanship, and faithfully acted on from first to last; butSir Robert Peel and his friends had been brought up in another school, whose maxim was--_priusquam incipias, consulta--sed ubi consulueris, mature facto, opus est_. The Premier stood unmoved by the entreaties, the coaxings, and the threatenings of those wriggling before him inmiserable discomfiture and restlessness on the abhorred benches ofOpposition; calmly demonstrating to them the folly and injustice ofwhich they were guilty. Yet the circumstances of the country made hisadherence to this first determination exquisitely trying. He relied, however, on the cautious integrity of his purposes, and the necessity ofthe case; and amidst the silent agitation of friends, and the frenziedclamour of opponents, and with a dreadful prospect before the country inthe ensuing winter--maintained the silence he had imposed upon himself, and, with his companions, entered forthwith on a searching and completeinvestigation of the affairs of the nation. Not seduced by theirrepressible eagerness of friends, or dismayed by the dark threats anddismal predictions of enemies, who even appealed direct to the throneagainst them, Ministers pursued their course with calmness anddetermination, till the legitimate moment had arrived for announcing tothe country their thoroughly considered plans for the future. Sir RobertPeel is undoubtedly entitled to the credit of resuscitating andre-organizing the great party all but annihilated by the passing of theReform Bill. It is under vast obligations to him; but so is he to it. What fortitude and fidelity have been theirs! How admirable theirconduct on the occasion we are alluding to! And here let us also pay ajust tribute of respect to the Conservative newspaper press, both in themetropolis and in the country. To select particular instances, would bevain and invidious; but while the whole country has daily opportunitiesof judging of the assistance afforded to the Conservative cause by thepowerful and independent metropolitan press, few are aware, as we are, of the very great ability generally displayed by the provincialConservative press. Their resolute and persevering exposure of thedangerous false doctrines of our unscrupulous adversaries, and eloquentadvocacy of Conservative principles, are above all praise, and areappreciated in the highest quarters. 

The winter was at length nearly passed through when Parliamentassembled. The distress which the people had suffered, and continued tosuffer, no pen can adequately describe, or do justice to the touchingfortitude with which those sufferings were borne. It wrung the hearts ofall who had opportunities of personally observing it. They resisted, poor famishing souls! all the fiendish attempts that were systematicallymade to undermine their loyalty, to seduce them into insubordination andrebellion. Let us, by and by, see how far the result has justified thisimplied confidence of theirs in the power, the wisdom, and the integrityof the new Government. After all the boasting of the Opposition--inspite of their vehement efforts during the recess, to concert and maturewhat were given out as the most formidable system of tactics everexhibited in parliament, for the dislodgement of a Ministry denounced asequally hateful to the Queen and to the country, the very first divisionutterly annihilated the Opposition. So overwhelming was the Ministerialmajority, that it astonished their friends as much as it dismayed theirenemies: and to an accurate observer of what passed in the House ofCommons, it was plain that the legitimate energies of the Oppositionwere paralyzed thenceforth to the end of the session. Forthwith, theresprung up, however, a sort of conspiracy to _annoy_ the triumphantMinisters, to exhaust their energies, to impede all legislation, as faras those ends could be attained by the most wicked and _vulgar_ factionever witnessed within the House of Commons!

The precise seat of Sir Robert Peel's difficulty at home was, that hisimmediate predecessors had (whether wilfully or otherwise signifiesnothing for the present) raised expectations among the people, which _noparty_ could satisfy; while their measures has reduced the people to astate in which the disappointment of those expectations seemed toexcuse, if not justify, even downright rebellion. They arrayed theagricultural and manufacturing interests in deadly hostility againsteach other; they sought to make the one responsible for the consequencesspringing only from the reckless misconduct of the other. The farmersmust be run down and ruined in order to repair the effects of excessivecredit and over-trading among the manufacturers; the corn-grower mustsmart for the sins of the cotton-spinner. Such were some of the fierceelements of discord in full action, when the affairs of the nation werecommitted by her Majesty to her present Ministers, on whom it lay topromote permanent domestic tranquillity, amidst this conflict betweeninterests which had been taught that they were irreconcilable with eachother; to sustain the public credit at once, without endangering ourinternal peace and safety, or compromising the honour of the nation inits critical and embarrassing foreign relations. How were they to effectthese apparently incompatible objects? "See, " said the enemies of theMinistry, "see, by and by, when parliament assembles, a cruel specimenof _class legislation_--the unjust triumph of the landed interest--thelegitimate working of the Chandos clause in the Reform Bill!" But bearwitness, parliamentary records, how stood the fact!

That the present Ministry are mainly indebted for their accession topower, to the prodigious exertions of the agricultural interest duringthe last general election, is, we presume, undeniable. It was talked ofas their mere tool or puppet. Their first act is to lower the duties onthe importation of foreign cattle! "We are ruined!" cried the farmers indismay; and the Duke of Buckingham withdrew from the Cabinet. "This is astep in the right way, " said the opponents of Ministers, "but it willclearly cost Peel his place--then _we_ return, and will go the rest ofthe journey, and quickly arrive at the goal of free-trade in corn, andevery thing else, except those particular articles in which _we_ deal, and which must be protected, for the benefit of the country, againstforeign competition. " Then the Radical journals teemed with joyfulparagraphs, announcing that Sir Robert Peel's ministry was alreadycrumbling to pieces! The farmers, it would seem, were every where up inarms; confusion (and something a vast deal worse!) was drunk at alltheir meetings, to Peel! Nevertheless, these happy things came not topass; Sir Robert Peel's Ministry _would_ not fall to pieces; and thecurses of the farmers came not so fast or loud as their eagerdisinterested friends could have wished! To be serious, the alterationof the Corn-Laws was undoubtedly a very bold one, but the result of mostanxious and profound consideration. A moment's reflection of thecharacter and circumstances of the Ministry who proposed it, servedfirst to arrest the apprehensions entertained by the agriculturalinterest; while the thorough discussions which took place in Parliament, demonstrating the necessity of _some_ change--the moderation and cautionof the one proposed--several undoubted and very great improvements indetails, and, above all, _a formal recognition of the principle ofagricultural protection_, still further allayed the fears of the mosttimorous. To _us_ it appears, that the simple principle of a scale ofduties, adapted to admit foreign corn when we want it, and exclude itwhen we can grow sufficient ourselves, is abundantly vindicated, andwill not be disturbed for many years to come, if even then. Has thisprinciple been surrendered by Sir Robert Peel? It has not; and weventure to express our confident belief, that it never will. He cannot, of course, prevent the subject from being mooted during the ensuingsession, because there are persons, unfortunately, sent to Parliamentfor the very purpose; but while he is listening with a calm smile, andapparently thoughtfully, to the voluble tradesmen who are haranguing himupon the subject, it is not improbable that he will be revolving in hismind matters much more personally interesting and important to them;viz. How he shall put a stop to the monstrous joint-stock banking systemfrauds, as exhibited at this moment at Manchester, in the Northern andCentral Banking Company, and other similar establishments, blessed withthe disinterested patronage of the chief member of the "Anti-Corn-LawLeague. " The mention of that snug little speculation of two or threeingenious and enterprising Manchester manufacturers, forces from us anobservation or two, viz. That the thing _will not do_, after all. Thereis much cry, and little wool; very little corn, and a great deal ofcotton. They have a smart saying at Manchester, to the effect, that itis no use whistling against thunder; which we shall interpret to mean, that all their "great meetings, " speechifyings, subscriptions, and soforth, will fail to kindle a single spark of real enthusiasm in theirfavour, among those who are daily becoming more and more personallysensible, first, of the solid benefits conferred by the wise policy ofthe present Administration; secondly, of the want of personalrespectability among the leaders of the League; and lastly, thenecessity and vast advantage of supporting the agriculture of OldEngland. The recent discussions on the Corn-Laws, in Parliament andelsewhere, the masterly expositions of the true principles on which theyare really based, have thrown a flood of light on the subject, now madevisible and intelligible to the lowest capacity. That some furtheralteration may not erelong be made on the scale of duties, no one canassert, though we have no reason to believe that any such is at presentcontemplated; but that the principle of the "sliding scale, " as it iscalled, will be firmly adhered to, we entertain no doubt whatever. Theconduct of the agricultural interest, with reference to subjects of suchvital importance to them as the Corn-Law Bill and the Tariff, has beencharacterized by signal forbearance and fortitude; nor, let them restassured, will it be lost upon the Ministry or the country. 

The next step in Sir Robert Peel's bold and comprehensive policy, was todevise some method of recruiting _forthwith_ its languishing vitalenergies--to rescue its financial concerns from the desperate conditionin which he found them. With an immediate and perspective increase ofexpenditure that was perfectly frightful--in the meditation and actualprosecution of vast but useless enterprises--of foreign interference andaggrandizement, to secure a little longer continuance of popular favour, they deliberately destroyed a principal source of revenue, by thereduction of the postage duties, in defiance of the repeated protestsand warnings of Sir Robert Peel, when in Opposition. They had, in fact, brought matters to such a pitch, as to render it almost impossible foreven "a heaven-born minister" to conduct the affairs of the nation, withsafety and honour, without inflicting grievous disappointment andsufferings, and incurring thereby a degree of obloquy fatal to anyMinistry. They seemed, in fact, to imagine, as they went on, that theday of reckoning could never arrive, because they had resolved to staveit off from time to time, however near it approached, by a series ofdesperate expedients, really destructive of the national prosperity, butprovocative of what served their purposes, viz. Temporary popularenthusiasm. What cruelty! what profligacy! what madness! And all underthe flag on which were inscribed "_Peace! Retrenchment! Reform!_" Actingon the salutary maxim, that the knowledge of the disease is half thecure, Sir Robert Peel resolved to lay before the nation _the wholetruth_, however appalling. Listen to the following pregnant sentenceswhich he addressed to the House of Commons, within a few moments afterhe had risen to develope his financial policy, we mean on the 11th ofMarch 1842:--"It is sometimes necessary, on the occasion of financialstatements of this kind, to maintain great reserve, and to speak withgreat caution. A due regard for the public interest, may impose on aMinister the duty of only partially disclosing matters of importance. But I am hampered by no fetters of official duty. I mean to lay beforeyou the truth--the unexaggerated truth, but to conceal nothing. I dothis, because in great financial difficulties, the first step towardsimprovement is to look those difficulties boldly in the face. This istrue of individuals--it is true also of nations. There can be no hope ofimprovement or of recovery, _if you consent to conceal from yourselvesthe real difficulties with which you have to contend_. "[2] There was nogainsaying the facts which, amidst an agitated and breathless silence, he proceeded to detail with dreadful clearness and brevity; and out ofwhich the question instantly sprung into the minds of every one--_are wenot on the very verge of national insolvency_? He proceeded todemonstrate that his predecessors had exhausted every device which theirfinancial ingenuity could suggest, down to their last supposedmaster-stroke, the addition of 10 per cent to the assessed taxes--thusadding very nearly the last straw which was to break the camel'sback--the last peculiarly cruel pressure on the lower orders. 

 [2] Hansard, vol. Lxi. Col. 423. 

"Shall we persevere, " he continued, "in the system on which we have beenacting for the last five years? Shall we, in time of peace, haverecourse to the miserable expedient of continued loans? Shall we tryissues of Exchequer bills? Shall we resort to Savings' banks?--in short, to any of those expedients which, _call_ them by what name you please, are neither more nor less than a permanent addition to the public debt?We have a deficiency of nearly L. 5, 000, 000 in the last two years: _isthere a prospect of reduced expenditure?_ Without entering into details, but looking at your extended empire, at the demands which are made forthe protection of your commerce, and the general state of the world, andcalling to mind the intelligence which has lately reached us, " [fromAffghanistan, ] "can you anticipate for the year after the next, thepossibility, consistent with the honour and safety of this country, ofgreatly reducing the public expenses? I am forced to say, I cannotcalculate on that.... Is the deficiency I have mentioned a casualdeficiency? Sir, it is not; it has existed for the last seven or eightyears. At the close of 1838, the deficiency was L. 1, 428, 000; of 1839, L. 430, 000; of 1840, L. 1, 457, 000; of 1841, L. 1, 851, 000. I estimate thatthe deficiency of 1842 will be L. 2, 334, 030; and that of 1843, L. 2, 570, 000; making an aggregate deficiency, in six years, ofL. 10, 072, 000! ... With this proof that it is not with an occasional orcasual deficiency that we have to deal, will you, I ask, have recourseto the miserable expedient of continued _loans_? It is impossible that Icould be a party to a proceeding which, I should think, might perhapshave been justifiable at first, _before you knew exactly the nature ofyour revenue and expenditure_; but with these facts before me, I shouldthink I were degrading the situation which I hold, if I could consent tosuch a paltry expedient as this. I can hardly think that Parliament willadopt a different view. I can hardly think that you, who inherit thedebt contracted by your predecessors--when, having a revenue, theyreduced the charges of the post-office, and inserted in the preamble ofthe bill a declaration that the reduction of the revenue should be madegood by increased taxation--will now refuse to make it good. The efforthaving been made, but the effort having failed, that pledge is stillunredeemed. _I advised you not to give that pledge_; but if you regardthe pledges of your predecessors, it is for you now to redeem them.... Iapprehend that, with almost universal acquiescence, I may abandon theidea of supplying the deficiency by the miserable desire of fresh loans, of an issue of Exchequer bills. Shall I, then, if I must resort totaxation, levy it _upon the articles of consumption_, which constitute, in truth, almost all the necessaries of life? _I cannot consent to anyproposal for increasing taxation on the great articles of consumption bythe labouring classes of society_. " [Is it the friend or the enemy _ofthe people_, that is here speaking?] "I say, moreover, I can give youconclusive proofs that you have arrived at the limits of taxation onarticles of consumption. "[3] Sir Robert Peel then proceeded, withcalmness and dignity, to encounter the possible, if not even _probable_fatal unpopularity of proposing that which he succeeded in convincing_Parliament_ was the only resource left a conscientious Minister--anINCOME TAX. 

 [3] Hansard, vol. Lxi. Col. 429, 430, 431. 

"I will now state what is the measure which I propose, under a sense ofpublic duty, and a deep conviction that it is necessary for the publicinterest; and impressed at the same time with an equal conviction"--[mark, by the way, the exquisite judgment with which this suggestion was_here_ thrown in!]--"that the present sacrifices which I call on you tomake, will be amply compensated, ultimately, in a pecuniary point ofview, and _much more_ than compensated, by the effect which they willhave in maintaining public credit and the ancient character of thiscountry. Instead of looking to taxation on consumption--instead ofreviving the taxes on salt or on sugar--it is my duty _to make anearnest appeal to the possessors of property_, for the purpose ofrepairing this mighty evil. I propose, for a time at least, (and I neverhad occasion to make a proposition with a more thorough conviction ofits being one which the public interest of the country required)--Ipropose _that, for a time to be limited, the income of this countryshould be called on to contribute a certain sum for the purpose ofremedying this mighty and growing evil_, ... Should bear a charge notexceeding 7d. In the pound, which will not amount to 3 per cent, but, speaking accurately, L. 2, 18s. 4d. Per cent--for the purpose of not onlysupplying the deficiency in the revenue, but of enabling us, withconfidence and satisfaction, to propose great commercial reforms, whichwill afford a hope of reviving commerce, and such an improvement in themanufacturing interests as will re-act on every other interest in thecountry; and by diminishing the prices of the articles of consumptionand the cost of living, will, in a pecuniary point of view, compensateyou for your present sacrifices; whilst you will be, at the same time, relieved from the contemplation of a great public evil. "[4]

 [4] Hansard, vol, lxi. Col. 439. 

We have quoted the very words of Sir Robert Peel, because they are everyway memorable and worthy of permanent conspicuousness. In point, forinstance, of mere oratorical skill, observe the matchless tact of thespeaker. Conscious that he was about to propose what would come like aclap of thunder on all present, and on the country, he prepares the wayfor its favourable reception, by pointing out the almost necessarily_direct pecuniary benefit_ ultimately derivable from his unpalatabletax; and the instant that he has disclosed his proposal, in the samebreath carries our attention to a similar topic--an assurance calculatedto arouse the self-interest and excite the approbation first of thecommercial classes, and then of all classes, by the means this tax willgive the Minister of proposing "great commercial reforms, " and "reducingthe cost of living. " No power of description we possess can adequatelyset before the reader the effect produced on the House of Commons by thedelivery of the passage above quoted, and which was shared, as theintelligence was communicated, by the country at large. One thing wasplain, that the Minister, disdaining personal considerations ofunpopularity, had satisfied the nation that a desperate disease had beendetected, which required a desperate remedy. It was--it is, in vain todisguise that an income-tax has many disgusting, and all but absolutelyintolerable, incidents and characteristics, and which were instantlyappreciated by all who heard or read of the proposal for its adoption, and these topics were pounced upon by the late Ministers and theirsupporters, with eager and desperate determination to make the most ofthem. To give effect to their operations, they secured an immediate andample interval for exasperating popular feeling against Ministers andtheir abominable proposition! But it was all in vain. There was a bluffEnglish frankness about the Minister that mightily pleased the country, exciting a sympathy in every right-thinking Englishman. _Here was nohumbug of any sort_, no obtaining of money under false pretences. Atfirst hearing of it, honest John Bull staggered back several paces, witha face rueful and aghast; buttoned up his pockets, and meditatedviolence even; but, in a few moments, albeit with a certain sulkiness, he came back, presently shook hands with the Minister, and gettingmomentarily more satisfied of his honesty, and of the necessity of thecase, only hoped that a little breathing-time might be given him, andthat the thing might be done as quietly and genteelly as possible! To beserious, however. 

By whom, let us ask, had this Minister been brought into power? by whommost furiously and unscrupulously opposed? The former were those on whomhe instantly imposed this very severe and harassing tax; the latter, those whom he entirely exempted from it: the former, those who _could_, with a little inconvenience, make the effort requisite to protectthemselves in the tranquil enjoyment of what they possessed, the latter, those who were already faint, oppressed, and crushed beneath _burdensthey were unable to bear_. Was this justice, or injustice? It then_must_ be very contradistinctive--was the Minister, in this instance, the poor man's friend, or the rich man's friend? Was he exhibitingingratitude and insanity, or a truly wise and honest statesmanship? Weneed _not_ "pause for a reply. " It has been sounding ever since in ourears, in the accents of national concord, and of admiration of theMinister who, in his very zenith of popularity and success, perilledall, to obey the dictates of honour and conscience, fearlessly proposeda measure which seemed levelled directly at those gifted and powerfulclasses by whom he had been so long and enthusiastically supported; ofthe Minister who, in fine, looked, and made the country look, afrightful danger full in the face--till it turned and fled. In spite ofall that could be done by his bitter unscrupulous factious opponents inthe House of Commons, and of the eloquent and conscientious oppositionof Lord Brougham in the House of Lords, backed, all the while, by theimmediate self-interest of those who were to smart under the tax, SirRobert Peel carried his great and salutary measure in triumph throughboth Houses, without one single material alteration, till it became thelaw of the land, amidst the applause of the surrounding nations; foreven those, alas! too frequently bitter and jealous censors of Englishconduct and character, the French, "owned that the English people hadexhibited a signal and glorious instance of virtue, of fortitude, ofself-denial, and sagacity. " We have reason to believe that, on quittingthe House of Commons after hearing the speech of Sir Robert Peel, fromwhich we have been quoting, Lord John Russell asked a gentleman ofbrilliant talent and independent character, but of strong liberalopinions, "what he thought of Peel's financial scheme?" The answer was, "It is so fine a thing, that I only wish it had been prepared by LordJohn Russell instead of Sir Robert Peel!" On which, unless we aremistaken, Lord John shrugged his shoulders in silence. His opposition tothe income-tax, on going into, and while the bill was in, committee, wastemperate, and even languid; and he stood in the dignified attitudeworthy of his ancient name, and of personal character, far aloof fromthose who, throughout the session, pursued a line of conductunprecedented in parliamentary history, degrading to the House ofCommons, but possibly in keeping with all that might have been expectedfrom them. We are vastly mistaken if Lord John does not regard them withsecret scorn, and experience a shudder of disgust from any momentarycontact with them; and shall not be surprised if, during the ensuingsession, he should be at no particular pains to conceal the state ofhis mind. 

One circumstance highly honourable to the national character, inrelation to the income-tax, should not escape observation: thatcomparatively little or no real opposition, certainly no clamorousopposition, has been offered to the _principle_ of the tax, and thepolicy of its imposition, by those on whom its pressure falls heaviest, namely, the great capitalists and landed proprietors of the kingdom. "The grasshopper, " said Mr Burke, "fills the whole field with the noiseof its chirping, while the stately ox browses in silence. " The clamouragainst the income-tax comes mainly from those who are unscathed by it;those who suffer most severely from it, suffer in silence. The inferiormachinery of the income-tax is unquestionably very far from attainingthat degree of perfection, which we had a right to look for from theable and practised hands which framed it. The outcry raised, however, against the income-tax on this score, particularly on the ground of theheedlessness of subordinate functionaries, is subsiding. There isevident, as far as the Government itself is concerned, an anxious desireto enforce the provisions of the act with the greatest possible degreeof delicacy and forbearance, consistent with the discharge of a painfulbut imperative duty. We repeat that the outcry in question, however, was principally occasioned by those who had least real cause, onpersonal grounds, to complain; who (unfortunately, it may be, forthemselves) never yet approached, nor have any prospect of infringingupon, the fatal dividing point of L. 150 a-year, in spite of their longand zealous literary services, under the very best-conducted and _trulyliberal_ Radical newspapers, which they have filled, with perseveringingenuity, day after day, with eloquent descriptions of the awful stateof feeling in the country on this most atrocious subject. Where, patriotic, but most imaginative gentlemen! where have been the greatmeetings summoned to condemn the principle of the tax? The greatlandholders, the great capitalists, the great merchants, are pouringtheir contributions into the exhausted Treasury, with scarce a murmur atthe temporary inconvenience it may occasion them!--thus nobly respondingto the appeal so earnestly and nobly made to them by the Prime Minister. So, moreover, are the vast majority of those persons on whom the taxfalls with peculiar severity--we allude to the occupants of scheduleD--who must pay this tax out of an income, alas! evanescent as themorning mist; which, on the approach of sickness or of death isinstantly annihilated. These also suffer with silent fortitude; and wethink we have heard it upon sufficient authority, that it was on thesepersons that Ministers felt the greatest reluctance in imposing thetax--at least to its present extent, only under an absolute compulsionof state policy. The total, or even partial exemption of this class ofpersons from the operation of the income-tax, would have been attendedwith consequences that were not to be contemplated for a moment, andinto which it is impracticable here satisfactorily to enter. The taxundoubtedly pinches severely men of small and uncertain incomes, who arestriving, on slender means, to maintain a respectable station insociety; the man who, with a large family to be supported _andeducated_, and who moves in a respectable sphere of society, has to payhis L. 9 or L. 12 out of his precarious L. 300 or L. 400 a-year, is anobject of most earnest sympathy. Still, let him not lose sight of theundoubted hardships borne by his wealthier brethren. Is it nothing for aman--say the Duke of Buccleuch, the Marquis of Westminster, the Duke ofSutherland, or Lord Ashburton, or Mr Rothschild--to have to pay downtheir L. 3000, L. 4000, or L. 5000 clear per annum, as the per-centage ontheir magnificent incomes, in sudden and unexpected addition to theinnumerable and imperative calls upon them already existing, such ascompulsory upholding of many great establishments in different parts ofthe country--various members of their families--married and single--tosupport in a style adequate to their rank and position in the country?It is needless, however, to pursue the matter further. The plain truthis, there is no help for it; the burthen is one that must be borne, andit is being borne bravely. 

_But why_ must this dreadful income-tax be borne? What has led to it?The vast majority of honest and thinking men in the nation have but oneanswer to give to the question. That the income-tax is the penalty thenation must pay for its weakness and folly, in permitting a WhigMinistry to get into power, and continue in power, "playing suchfantastic tricks" as theirs, for the last ten years, both at home andabroad, as the nation _ought to have foreseen_ would be inevitablyfollowed by some such grievous results as the present. This income-tax, however, let our opponents know, will serve for many years to come, longafter it may have been removed, as a memento to prevent the country fromtolerating the return to power of men whose reluctant and compulsoryexit from power, after again doing enormous mischief, will be followedby a similar result--will impose on their Conservative successors thebitter necessity of imposing another income-tax. "The evil that theydo, " does indeed "live after them;" and without any "good, interred withtheir bones!" With the frightful deficit exhibited by Sir Robert Peelstill staring us in the face; the war in the East yet to be paid for;faith to be kept with the public creditor both at home and abroad: arevenue of a _million a-year_ recklessly sacrificed in reducing thepostage duties:[5] a deficiency in the last quarter's revenue, thattells its own frightful story as to its cause, and an all but certainheavy deficiency to be looked for, we fear, in the ensuing quarter: withall this before him, will any _member or supporter of the lateGovernment_--of all other persons--be found hardy enough to rise in hisplace next session, and bait Sir Robert Peel about the repeal of theincome-tax? The country will not tolerate such audacity. We shall notreason with _them_; but to those who, like ourselves, are smarting underthe effects of the late Ministry's misconduct, who have a right tocomplain loudly and indignantly, and enquire with eager anxiety whentheir suddenly augmented pressure is to cease, we feel compelled toexpress our opinion, founded on a careful observation of our presentfinancial position and prospects, that we see no chance of beingrelieved from the burden of the income-tax, before the period originallyfixed by Sir Robert Peel. Till then we must submit with what fortitudeand cheerfulness we may. Under, however, a year or two's steady andenlightened administration of public affairs, matters may mend withunexpected rapidity; but it is not in the ordinary course of humanaffairs, that evils, the growth of many years, can be remedied in amoment. A chronic disease of the body requires a patient course ofabstinence and skilful treatment, to afford a chance of the system'sgetting once again into a permanent state of health; even as withindividuals, so is it with nations. That the sudden cessation of thedrain upon our resources from the East, and the partial reimbursement wehave already realized, will sensibly lighten the burthens under whichthe Minister has hitherto laboured, and make him with joy to realize theexpectations which, in proposing the income-tax, he so distinctly, yetcautiously, held out, as to the period of its duration, we may consideras indisputable. Add to this the pacific policy which Sir Robert Peeland his Cabinet are bent upon maintaining, as far as is consistent witha jealous regard to our national honour, (and which our late resplendentsuccesses are calculated to facilitate, ) and the revival, erelong, ofthe revenue, concurrently with that of trade and commerce, which may beconfidently anticipated under our present firm, cautious, andexperienced councils, and we may give to the winds our fears as to thecontinuance of the income-tax one instant after it can be prudentlydispensed with. What, however, as a matter of _mere speculation_, if thenation should by and by, when familiarized with the character andworking of the income-tax, become more reconciled to it, and prefer itsretention as a substitute for _the Assessed Taxes_, which at presentpress so heavily on all, but particularly on the working-classes! Butwhile Sir Robert Peel was remodelling the Corn-Laws, and creating a newsource of direct revenue, he also undertook another task--a herculeantask, one utterly hopeless, and beyond the reach or even conception ofany but a Minister conscious of occupying an impregnable position in theconfidence of the country: we allude to his reconstruction of our entirecommercial system, as represented by his _new Tariff_. What courage wasrequisite to grapple with this giant difficulty! What practical skill;what patience and resolution; what exact yet extensive acquaintance withmercantile affairs; what a comprehensive discernment of consequences;what firm impartiality in deciding between vast conflicting interests, were here evinced! And observe--all these great measures, effecting acomplete revolution in our domestic economy and policy--the fruits ofonly a few months accession to office of a Conservative Ministry! Allthe while that the Radical press was assailing them on the ground oftheir insolent and cruel disregard of their duty, and of the sufferingsof the people, they were engaged upon the united labours of enquiry andreflection, on which alone can have been safely based the great measureswhich we have been briefly reviewing! "But all these, " says somefaithful mourner after the deceased Ministry, "they intended to havedone, and would have done, _if they could_. " Ay, to be sure. Admit it, for the nonce; 'twas easy to _say_ it, but the thing was _to doit_--quoth Mr Blewitt! That same _doing_, is what we are congratulatingthe present Ministry upon. Yes, it has been done--the great experimentis being tried; may it prove as safe and successful, as it is bold andwell meant. It must be regarded, however, as only a part of the entirescheme proposed by Sir Robert Peel, and judged of accordingly, withreference also to the necessity of his position, arising from the lastacts of his predecessors--from the spirit and temper of the age. Thelong-continued languor and prostration of our commerce, undoubtedlyrequired some decisive, but cautious and well-considered movement, inthe _direction_ of free-trade. How far we shall be met, in the samespirit, by France, Germany, Russia, and America, as has been longconfidently predicted by those whose opinions have been perseveringlyand vehemently urged upon the public, now remains to be seen. _Felixfaustumque sit!_ But at present, at all events, our example seems notlikely to be followed by those on whom we most calculated, and timealone can decide between our course and theirs--between the doctrines ofthe old and of the new school of political economy--as to which is theshort-sighted and mischievous--which the sagacious and successfulpolicy. The powerful protection afforded by the new Tariff to ourcolonial produce, is one of its most interesting and satisfactoryfeatures. That, however, which has justly attracted to it incomparablythe greatest share of public attention and discussion, is theintroduction of foreign cattle. This topic is one requiring to be spokenof in a diffident spirit, and most guarded language. Whether it willeffect its praiseworthy object of lowering the price of animal food, without being overbalanced by its injurious effects upon ourall-important agricultural interests, we shall not for some considerabletime be in a condition to determine. At present, it would appear, thatthe alarm of the farmers on this score was premature and excessive, andis subsiding. The combined operation of this part of the new Tariff, andof the reduction in the duties on the importation of foreign corn, mayultimately have the effect of lowering the rent of the farmer, and ofstimulating him into a more energetic and scientific cultivation of theland; and generally, of inducing very important modifications in thepresent arrangements between landlords and tenants. In some of the mostrecent agricultural meetings, speeches have been made, from which manyjournalists have inferred the existence of rapidly-increasingconvictions on the part of the agricultural interest, that a sweepingalteration in the Corn-Law is inevitable and immediate. They are, however, attaching far too much weight to a few sentences uttered, amidst temporary excitement, by a few country gentlemen, in some eightor ten places only in the whole kingdom. Let them _pause_, at allevents, till they shall have more authentic _data_, viz. What theagricultural members of Parliament will say in their places, in theensuing session. Much of the sort of panic experienced by the countrygentlemen alluded to, may be referred to a recent paragraph in the_Globe_ newspaper, confidently announcing the intention of Ministers topropose a fixed duty on corn. The glaring improbability, that even_were_ such a project contemplated by Ministers, they would (forgettingtheir characteristic caution and reserve) agitate the public mind on socritical a question, and derange vast transactions and arrangements inthe corn trade by its premature divulgement; and, above all, constitutethe _Globe_ newspaper their confidential organ upon the occasion, shouldalone have satisfied the most credulous of its unwarrantable andpreposterous character. We acquit the _Globe_ newspaper of intentionalmischief, but charge it with great _thoughtlessness_ of consequences. Toreturn, however, for a moment, to that topic in the new Tariff mostimportant to farmers. We believe that, since the day (9th July 1842) inwhich the new Tariff became the law of the land, the entire importationof cattle from the Continent, has fallen far short of a singlefortnight's sale at Smithfield; but whether this will be the state ofthings two years, or even a twelvemonth hence, is another matter. Atpresent, at all events, the new Tariff has had the beneficial effect ofreally lowering the price of provisions, and of other articles ofconsumption, essentially conducing to the comforts of the labouringclasses. May _this_, in any event, be a _permanent_ result; and whocould have brought it about, except such a Ministry as that of SirRobert Peel, possessing their combined qualifications means, andopportunities, and equally bent upon using them promptly and honestly?

 [5] Year ending 5th January 1840, L. 2, 390, 764!--1841, L. 1, 342, 604!--1842, L. 1, 495, 540!--(_Finance Accounts_, 1842, p. 2. )

No sooner had that Parliament which had passed, in its first session, such a number of great measures, having for their object the immediatebenefit of the lower orders, (and, it may really be said, almost whollyat the expense of the higher orders, ) separated, after its exhaustinglabours, than there occurred those deplorable and alarming outrages inthe principal manufacturing districts, which so ill requited thebenevolent exertions of the Legislature in their behalf. They exhibitedsome features of peculiar malignity--many glaring indications of theexistence of a base and selfish hidden conspiracy against the cause oflaw, of order, and of good government. Who were the real originators andcontrivers of that wicked movement, and what their objects, is aquestion which we shall not here discuss, but leave in the hands of thepresent keen and vigilant Government, and of the Parliament, so soon tobe assembled. If a single chance of bringing the really guilty partiesto justice--of throwing light on the actors and machinery of thatatrocious conspiracy shall be thrown away, the public interests willhave been grievously betrayed. On this subject, however, we have noapprehensions whatever, and pass on heartily to congratulate the countryon possessing a Government which acted, on the trying occasion inquestion, with such signal promptitude, energy, and prudence. Not onemoment was lost in faltering indecision; never was the majesty of thelaw more quickly and completely vindicated, never was there exhibited amore striking and gratifying instance of a temperate and discriminatingexercise of the vast powers of the executive. The incessant attention ofall functionaries, from the very highest to the lowest, by night and byday, on that occasion, at the Home-Office, (including the Attorney andSolicitor-General, ) would hardly be credited; _mercy to the misguided_, but instant vengeance upon the guilty instigators of rebellion, wasthen, from first to last, the rule of action. The enemies of publictranquillity reckoned fearfully without their host, in forgetting whopresided at the Home-Office, and who at the Horse Guards. Nothing couldbe better than the Government examination into the real causes of theoutbreak, instituted upon the spot the very moment it was over, whileevidence was fresh and accessible, and of which the guilty partiesconcerned have a great deal yet to hear. The Special Commission for thetrial of the rioters, was also issued with salutary expedition. Theprosecutions were carried on by the Attorney and Solicitor-General, onthe part of the Crown, in a dignified spirit at once of forbearance anddetermination, and with a just discrimination between the degree ofculpability disclosed. The merciful spirit in which the prosecutionswere conducted by the law-officers of the Crown, was repeatedly pointedout to the misguided criminals by the Judges; who, on many occasions, intimated that the Government had chosen to indict for the minor offenceonly, when the facts would have undoubtedly warranted an indictment forhigh treason, with all its terrible consequences. Before quitting thisincidental topic of legal proceedings, let us add a word upon thesubstantial improvements effected in the administration of justiceduring the late session, and of which the last volume of thestatute-book affords abundant evidence, principally under the heads ofbankruptcy, insolvency, and lunacy. Great and salutary alterations havebeen effected in these departments, as well as various others; theleading statutory changes being most ably carried into effect by theLord Chancellor, who continues to preside over his court, and todischarge his high and multifarious duties with his accustomed dignityand sagacity. His recent bankruptcy appointments have certainly beencanvassed by the Radical press with sufficient freedom, but on veryinsufficient grounds. _No_ appointments could have been made againstwhich unscrupulous faction might not have raised a clamour. Thattemporarily excited in the present instance, has quite died away. Theappointments in question have undoubtedly been made with a due regard tothe public interest; but did the intelligent censors of the Radicalpress expect that those appointments of L. 1500 a-year would be soughtfor or accepted by men at the bar, already making their L. 3000, L. 5000, L. 8000, or L. 10, 000 a-year, and aspiring to the very highest honours oftheir profession? The gentlemen who have accepted these appointments, are many of them personally known to us as very acute and able practicalmen, who will be found to give the utmost satisfaction in the dischargeof their duties to both the profession and the public. The twoVice-Chancellors, Sir James L. Knight Bruce, and Sir James Wigram, areadmirable appointments. Each must have resigned a practice very farexceeding--perhaps doubling, or even trebling--their present salaries ofoffice. The transference to the former, without any additional salary, of the office of Chief Judge in Bankruptcy, (vacant by the recent deathof Sir John Cross, ) was a highly advantageous and economical arrangementfor the public, at the willing expense of Vice-Chancellor Knight Bruce. 

May we here be allowed to allude for an instant to a very delicatetopic--the new Poor-Law--simply to call attention to the resolutesupport of it by the present Government (whether right or wrong), as atleast a pretty decisive evidence of their uprightness and independence. On this sore subject we shall not dwell, nor do we feel bound to offerany opinion of our own as to the alleged merits or demerits of the newPoor-Law; but it certainly looks as though Ministers had resolved to dowhat they _believed_ to be right, _ruat cælum_. What other motive theycan have, is to us, at least, inconceivable. 

Let us again point with undisguised triumph to IRELAND, as a verystriking instance of the results of a sound and firmly-administeredConservative policy. The late Government misgoverned Ireland, in orderthat they might be allowed to continue misgoverning England. Theirmemory will ever be execrated for their surrender of that fair portionof the empire into the hands of a political reprobate and impostor, ofwhom we cannot trust ourselves to speak, and the like of whom has neveryet appeared, and it is to be hoped never will again appear, in Britishhistory. Immediately before and after their expulsion from office, theypointed to this scene of their long misconduct, and, with a sort ofheartless jocularity, asked Sir Robert Peel "What he meant to do withIreland?"--adding, that whatever else he might be able to do, by the aidof intrigue and corruption, "he could _never_ govern Ireland. " How_now_, gentlemen? What will you find to lay to the charge of Ministersin the coming session? What has become of your late patron, Mr O'Connel?Is "his occupation gone?" Is he spending the short remainder of hisrespectable old age at Darrynane, even (begging pardon of the nobleanimal for the comparison)

 --"like a worn-out lion in a cave, That goes not out to prey?"

What can you any longer do, or affect to do, old gentleman, to earn yourhonourable wages? Is there not (as the lawyers would style it) a failureof consideration? If you go on any longer collecting "the rent, " may younot be liable to an indictment for obtaining money under falsepretences? Poor old soul! his cuckoo cry of Repeal grows feebler andfeebler; yet he must keep it up, or starve. _Tempus abire senex! satisclamasti!_ That Ireland is still subject to great evils, recentoccurrences painfully attest. Mr Pitt, in 1799, (23d January, ) pointedout what may still be regarded as their true source:--"I say thatIreland is subject to great and deplorable evils, which have a deeproot: for they lie in the nature of the country itself in the presentcharacter, manners, and habits of its people; in their want ofintelligence, or, in other words, in their ignorance; in the unavoidableseparation of certain classes; in the state of property; in itsreligious distinctions; in the rancour which bigotry engenders, andsuperstition rears and cherishes. "[6] How many of these roots of evilare still in existence!

 [6] Parliamentary History, vol. Xxxiv. P. 271. 

But consider what we have done, even already, for Ireland, by giving herthe blessings of a strong and honest Government; what a blow we haveaimed at absenteeism, in a particular provision of our income-tax! _Nildesperandum_, gentlemen, give us a little time to unravel your longtissue of misgovernment; and, in the mean time, make haste, and go aboutin quest of a _grievance_, if you can find one, against the ensuingsession. Depend upon it, we will redress it!

 * * * * *

The present aspect of foreign affairs is calculated to excite mixedfeelings of pain and exultation in the breast of a thoughtful observer. The national character of Great Britain had unquestionably fallen inEuropean estimation, and lost much of the commanding influence of itsmere name, during the last few years preceding the accession to officeof the present Government. That was an event--viz. The formation of aCabinet at St James's, containing Sir Robert Peel, the Duke ofWellington, Lord Aberdeen, and Lord Stanley--which justly excited aninstant and great sensation in all foreign courts, regard being had tothe critical circumstances of the times. Every one, both at home andabroad, knew well that if WAR was at hand, here was a Government toconduct it on the part of Great Britain, even under the most adversecircumstances imaginable, with all our accustomed splendour and success. But all knew, at the same time, that imminent as was the danger, if aprofound statesmanship could avert it, consistently with thepreservation of the national honour, that danger would promptlydisappear. The new Cabinet instantly proclaimed themselves "lovers ofpeace, but not afraid of war;" and an altered tone of feeling and policywas quickly observable on the Continent. 

The peculiar position and interests of Great Britain impose upon her oneparamount obligation--to interfere as little as possible with theaffairs of other nations, especially in Europe--_never_, except uponcompulsion--when bound by treaty, or when the eye of a profound andwatchful statesmanship has detected in existence unquestionable elementsof danger to the general peace and welfare of the world. To be alwaysscrutinizing the movements of foreign states, with a view to convictingthem of designs to destroy the balance of power (as it is called) inEurope, and thereupon evincing a disposition to assume an offensivelydistrustful and hostile attitude, requiring explanations, anddisclaimers, and negotiations, which every one knows the slightestmiscarriage may convert into inevitable pretexts and provocatives ofwar--is really almost to court the destruction of our very nationalexistence. If there was one principle of action possessed by the lateGovernment to be regarded as of more importance than another, it wasthat of maintaining peace, and non-intervention in the affairs of othernations. This, indeed, was emblazoned upon the banner unfurled by LordGrey, on advancing to the head of affairs. Can it, however, be necessaryto show how systematically--how perilously--this principle was set atnought by the late Government? As represented by Lord Palmerston, GreatBritain had got to be regarded as the most pestilent, intrusive, mischief-making of neighbours. A little longer, and our name would haveactually _stunk in the nostrils_ of Europe. Some began to hate us;others, to despise us!! all, to cease _dreading_ us. In the language ofa powerful journalist, (the _Spectator_, ) opposed on most points to thepresent Government, "the late Ministers commenced a career, perilous inthe extreme to all the best interests of the nation--demoralizing publicopinion, wasting public resources, and entangling the country inquarrels alike endless and aimless; and all this with a labouring aftermelodramatic stage effect, and a regardlessness of consequencesperfectly unprecedented. " We were, in the words of truth and soberness, fast losing our moral ascendency in Europe--by a series of querulous, petty, officious, needless, undignified interpositions; by theexhibition of a vacillating and short-sighted policy; by appearing(novel position for Great Britain) "willing to wound, but yet afraid tostrike;" by conceiving and executing idle and preposterous schemes ofaggrandizement and conquest. To go no further in Europe than ourimmediate neighbour, France, let us ask whether Lord Palmerston did notbring us to the very verge, and keep us at it for many months, of actualwar with that power, which is always unhappily eager to "cry hurra, andlet slip the dogs of war;" and with reference to _us_, to go out oftheir way to create occasions for misunderstanding, and hostilities?Were we not really on the verge of war?--of a war which would haveinstantly kindled all over Europe a war of extermination? Not, however, to descend to the discussion of recent occurrences familiar to everybody, we shall very briefly advert to the state of our relations withAmerica, with China, and of our affairs in British India, when SirRobert Peel assumed the direction of affairs. Lord Palmerston has neverbeen sufficiently called to account for his long, most disgraceful, andperilous neglect of our serious differences with America; and which hadbrought us to within a hair's-breadth of a declaration of war, which, whatever might have been its issue, (possibly not difficult to haveforeseen, ) would have been disastrous to both countries, and to one ofthem utterly destructive. It is notorious that within the last eighteenor twenty months, every arrival from the west was expected to bringintelligence of the actual commencement of hostilities. The state ofpublic feeling towards us in America was being every hour moreexasperated and malignant. The accession of the present Governmentopened, however, a bright and happy prospect of an adjustment of alldifficulties; honourable to both parties. How long had they been inpower, before they had earned universal applause by their prompt andmasterly move, in dispatching Lord Ashburton to America on his delicate, difficult, and most responsible mission? Was ever man selected for agreat public duty so peculiarly and consummately fitted for it? And howadmirably has he discharged it! as our opponents may hear for themselvesearly in the ensuing session. Do Ministers deserve no credit for hittingon this critical device? Was it no just cause of congratulation, to beable to find such a person amongst the ranks of their own immediate andmost distinguished supporters? We are now, happily, at perfect peacewith America; and, notwithstanding some present untoward appearances, trust that both countries will soon reap the advantages of it. Of whatreal _value_ that peace may be, however, with reference to theirextensive commercial relations with us, is another question, dependententirely on the character which they may vindicate to themselves forhonour and fidelity in their pecuniary transactions. That rests withthemselves alone: whether they will go forward in a career ofimprovement and greatness, or sink into irretrievable disgrace and ruin, REPUDIATED and scouted by all mankind. We cannot quit America without avery anxious allusion to late occurrences in Canada. We feel wordsinadequate to express our sense of the transcendent importance ofpreserving in their integrity our Canadian possessions. No declarationof her Majesty since her accession gave greater satisfaction to hersubjects, than that of her inflexible determination to preserveinviolate her possessions in Canada. We are of opinion that Lord Durhamdid incalculable, and perhaps irreparable, mischief there. We have notime, however, to enter into details concerning either his policy andproceedings, or those of Lord Sydenham; and we are exceedingly anxiousalso to offer no observations on the recent movements of Sir CharlesBagot, beyond a frank expression of the profound anxiety with which weawait Ministerial explanations in the ensuing session. Before thesepages shall have met the reader's eyes, Sir Charles Bagot may be nolonger numbered among men. We therefore withhold all comment on his lateproceedings, which we are satisfied have originated in an anxious desireto serve the best interests of his country. We confidently believe thatMinisters will be able abundantly to satisfy the country upon thissubject; and that, in the event of the necessity arising, they willchoose a successor to Sir Charles Bagot every way qualified for his veryresponsible post, thoroughly instructed as to the line of policy he isto adopt, and capable of carrying it out with skill and energy. It isimpossible to turn to India, for the purpose of taking a necessarilyrapid and general view of the course of recent events there, withoutexperiencing great emotion, arising from conflicting causes. We havealready said, that our vast and glorious Indian empire is indeed thewonder of the world. Every one of our countrymen is aware of the meansby which we originally acquired it, and that have subsequently augmentedand retained it by an almost inconceivable amount of expenditure andexertion--by the display of overwhelming civil and military genius. If, moreover, he has entered into Indian history with proper feeling andintelligence, he will be able to appreciate the truth and force of thecelebrated saying of one who contributed immensely to our ancientgreatness in India, viz. --that _we hold India by_ OPINION _only:_ theopinion which is there entertained of our greatness of nationalcharacter, intellectual and moral--of our wisdom, our justice, ourpower. If this fail us, our downfall in India inevitably follows; andmemorable and tremendous indeed will be such an event, amongst allnations, and at all future times, till the name of England is blottedfrom the recollection of mankind. Therefore it is that we all regard theadministration of affairs in India with profound anxiety, justlyrequiring, in those to whom it is entrusted, an intimate practicalacquaintance with Indian character and manners, with Anglo-Indianhistory, and a clear view of the policy to be ever kept in sight, andability and determination to carry it out to the uttermost. When LordAuckland went to India, under the Whig Government, in 1836, he foundboth its foreign and domestic affairs in a satisfactory state--peacefuland prosperous--with, upon the whole, a sufficient military force, notwithstanding the immense reduction of Lord William Bentinck. How didhe leave it to his successor, Lord Ellenborough, in 1841? The prospectwhich awaited that successor was indeed dark, troubled, and bloody. Anarmy, alas! dreadfully defeated in one quarter, and dangerouslydisaffected in another; a war of extermination in Affghanistan; probablehostilities with Burmah and Nepaul; an almost hopelessly involvedforeign policy; and, moreover, under these desperate circumstances, witha treasury _empty!_

We shall confine ourselves to one topic, the war in Affghanistan--whichwe fearlessly, and with deep indignation, pronounce to have inflictedalmost irreparable injury on the British nation--an almost indeliblestain on the British character--and to have shaken the whole of ourEastern possessions. Lord Auckland, in listening, and his superiors athome in instructing him to listen, to the representations of ShahSoojah, and to be persuaded by him to embark in the late disastrous anddisgraceful campaign, were guilty either of an incredible weakness andignorance of the nature of the cause they were espousing, together withan inconceivable degree of short-sightedness as to the most obviousconsequences of it, or of infamous hypocrisy in making the restorationof Shah Soojah only the pretext and stepping-stone to the conquest ofAffghanistan, in the most criminal and reckless spirit of imaginaryaggrandizement and extension of territory that ever has actuated therules of India. Will they pretend that it was really designed, andnecessarily so, solely for the purpose of defeating subtle and dangerousintrigues on the part of Russia and Persia? Listen to the language ofone of the responsible authors of the policy since followed by suchfearful consequences, Sir John Hobhouse--who, on the 11th July 1840, onthe occasion of a dinner given to their richly and prematurely rewardedhero, Lord Keane, thus poured forth his insane, exulting avowal of thereal object they had had in view:--

 "The gallant officer had alluded to the late addition made to the vast territory of the East India Company. _It was just possible_ that that territory had _at that moment_ received a further and important increase. _It is just possible, _ that since he (Sir John Hobhouse) last met the Directors at the festive board--now about six months since--the Government of India _has been enabled to make an addition to its territory, the vast consequences of which could scarcely be imagined in the wildest dream of fancy_, and which for centuries would be of advantage to the empire!!! In the history of the world there was no instance of yearly sovereigns (as the Directors of the Company were) having conquered so vast a territory as that of India. There was no instance of such successive success. To them the happiness belonged of giving to the vast country under their control the blessing of education. It was owing to God's ministering hand, by which successive Directions had sprung up to spread the benefits of light and knowledge in India, and among a people enshrouded in darkness and idolatry. It was scarcely a hundred years ago since the power of the East India Company was felt in India; their banners were now flying from the Indus to the Burrampooter. He would say emphatically, go on in the great work of extending the religion, civilization, and education of India; for the wishes of the good are with you--go on in your great work, for the sake of India, and Great Britain itself. "

What must _now_ be the feelings of Sir John Hobhouse and his brotherex-Ministers on this paragraph catching his eyes; when they reflect onthe frightful sacrifice of life, British and Affghan--the defeat of ourarms while engaged in a shameful and wicked cause--with its perilouseffects upon the stability of our tenure of India--which have directlyresulted from the measures thus vaingloriously vaunted of! A thousandreflections here occur to us upon the subject of the insane (or guilty)conduct of the late Government in India; but the extent to which thisarticle has already reached, compels us to suppress them. We the lessregret this circumstance, however, because there really seems but oneopinion upon this topic among well-informed persons. After the lastintelligence from India, it is idle, it is needless, to attemptreasoning on the subject; to ask how we should have strengthenedourselves by the destruction of a powerful and (according to authenticintelligence) a really friendly chief in Dost Mahommed; how we couldeven have _occupied_ Affghanistan without a ruinous expenditure, continual alarm and danger from a perpetual series of treachery andinsurrection; and to what purpose, after all, of solid advantage! Thewhole policy of Lord Auckland was incontestably one of mad encroachment, conquest, and aggrandizement, in utter ignorance of the character andexigencies of the times; the Duke of Wellington's memorable predictionis now far more than fulfilled! "_It will not be till Lord Auckland'spolicy has reached the zenith of apparent success, that its difficultieswill begin to develope themselves. _" Begin to develope themselves! Whatwould have become of us, had the councils originating that policy stillbeen in the ascendant, we tremble to contemplate. The exulting Frenchpress, on hearing of our recent disasters, thus expressed themselves:[7]"_England is rich and energetic. She may re-establish her dominion inIndia for some time longer; but the term of her Indian empire is marked, it will conclude before the quarter of a century. _" Such has been theanticipated--such would have been the inevitable result of the policywhich Sir Robert Peel's Government, guided by the profound sagacity ofthe Duke of Wellington, made it their first business _totally toreverse_; not, however, till they had completely re-established the oldterror of our arms, convincing the natives of India that what we were ofyore, we still are; that our punishment of treachery is instant andtremendous; that we can act with irresistible vigour and completesuccess, at one and the same moment, both in India and in China. Intheir minds, may the splendour of our recent victories efface therecollection of our previous bloody and disgraceful defeats! And if wecannot make them _forget_ the wickedness--the folly--the madness whichoriginally dictated our invasion of Affghanistan, at least we have shownthem how calmly and magnanimously we can obey the dictates of justiceand of prudence, _in the very moment of, fierce and exciting militarytriumph_. May, indeed, such be the effect of all that has recentlyoccurred, whether adverse or prosperous, in India! For the former, theguilty councils of the late Government are alone answerable; for thelatter, we are exclusively indebted to the vigour and sagacity of ourpresent Government. The proclamation in which Lord Ellenboroughannounces our abandonment of Affghanistan will probably excite greatdiscussion, and possibly (on the part of the late Government) furiousobjurgation, in the ensuing session of Parliament. We are so delightedat the achievement which was the subject of that proclamation, that evenwere there valid grounds of objection to its taste and policy, we shouldentirely overlook them. If even Lord Ellenborough, in the excitement ofthe glorious moment in which he penned the proclamation, departed fromthe style of all previous state documents of that character, was it notvery excusable? But we are disposed to vindicate the propriety of thestep he took. It may be said that it was highly impolitic to make sofrank an avowal to the natives of India, that a mere change of Ministryat home may be attended with a total and instant revolution in ournative policy, to place on record a formal and humiliating confession ofour errors and misconduct. But let it be borne in mind how potent andglaring was already that error, that misconduct, with all its alarmingconsequences; and that one so intimately acquainted as Lord Ellenboroughwith the Indian character, may have seen, _then and there_, reasons torecommend the course he has adopted, which may not occur to us at home. That document will truly purport, in all time to come, to have beenissued in a spirit of remarkable wisdom and justice, at the very momentof our having achieved the proudest triumph we could have desired forour arms. But, above all, what does that striking document tell, but_the truth_, and nothing but _the truth_? Let us, however, nowconfidently rely on the vast advantages which we cannot but derive froma prudent and vigorous administration of the affairs of India. We trustthat Lord Ellenborough will persevere in the admirable line of conductwhich he has hitherto adopted, turning neither to the right hand nor theleft, disturbed by no sinister hopes or fears. Let his grand object be, by every legitimate means at his command, _to Anglicize India_; toencourage the adoption of English habits of thought, the practicalappreciation of English principles of government; in short, thoroughlyto identify the people of India with the people of England, in all theirpartialities, and prejudices, and interests. Every thing he has hithertodone in India, we rejoice to observe, tends this way. Let him butpersevere, and he will acquire imperishable renown, and reflectpermanent splendour on the Government which appointed him. In aconfident and well-founded reliance upon his fitness for his post, uponhis capacity for thoroughly carrying out the policy of a strong andenlightened Conservative government, which has entrusted to him themanagement of such vast and splendid national interests--the nation nowlooks with a bright untroubled eye towards India. 

 [7] The _Siècle_. (See No. Cccxxi. P. 112. )

 --"Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer! And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruisèd arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures!"

Our allotted space is well-nigh exhausted, and we have only now reachedthe confines of CHINA!--a topic on which we had prepared ourselves for avery full expression of our opinions. We are compelled, however, now tocontent ourselves with a mere outline of our intended observations on asubject--our victory over the Emperor of China--which is pregnant withmatter for long and profound reflection. Abstractly, our triumphantassault on these distant and vast dominions, affords matter for nationalpride and exultation, as far as concerns our naval and military renown;and the names of Parker and Gough will never be forgotten in Britishhistory. The submission of the Emperor of China to our arms, is an eventcalculated of itself to distinguish the reign of our glorious sovereign, Queen Victoria, far beyond those of most of her predecessors. It is anevent that concerns and affects the prospects and interests of the wholeworld, and though it is at this moment occupying the thoughts of all thestatesmen of Europe, with reference to its contingent effects upon theirrespective countries, not the most experienced and sagacious of them canpredict with safety what will be its effects within even the next yearor two. As for ourselves, our present prevalent feeling seems to be inaccordance with our daring military character, which would say merely--

 "Why then, _China's_ our oyster Which we with sword have open'd. "

But to those in England who are accustomed to regard occurrences withreference to their probable consequences, the recent events in Chinaafford matter for the most anxious reflection of which thinking men arecapable--whether in the character of philosophers, of statesmen, ofwarriors, or of merchants. Were we justified in our attack upon theEmperor of China? We have no hesitation whatever in expressing ouropinion, after having had our attention for some years directed to thesubject of our relation with China, in the affirmative. From the momentof our first intercourse with that people, we have had to submit to aseries of indignities sufficient to kindle into fury the feelings of anyone who merely reads any authentic account of those indignities. TheChinese have long derived an immense revenue, together with other greatadvantages, from us; encouraging us to embark a vast capital in ourtrade with them, and to form great permanent establishments dependentupon it. Language cannot describe the degrading circumstances underwhich we have been forced to carry on our commercial intercourse withthe Chinese; our long submission to such conduct having, of course, insured its continual aggravation. The Opium trade, perhapsbeneficially, brought matters to a crisis. It was alleged on behalf ofthe Emperor, that we were surreptitiously, and from motives of gain, corrupting and destroying his people, by supplying them with opium; butit is easily demonstrable that this was only a pretence for endeavouringto effect a change in the medium of our dealings with them, vastlybeneficial to the Emperor, and disadvantageous to us. We might have beenpermitted to quadruple our supply of opium to his subjects, if we wouldhave been content to be paid, _not in bullion_, but by taking Chinesegoods in exchange; in a word, to change the basis of our dealings from_sale_ to _barter_; and all this from a totally groundless notion of theEmperor and his advisers, that we were draining his kingdom of silver--in their own words, "causing the Sycee silver to ooze out of thedominions of the Brother of the Sun and the Moon. " Their desperateanxiety to carry this point, led them to take the decisive step ofseizing a vast quantity of our opium, under circumstances perfectlyfamiliar to every body; constituting a crowning indignity and injury, which, without reference to the original legality or illegality of theopium trade, gave us an unquestionable cause for war against theEmperor. He seized the person of her Majesty's representative, and thoseof many of her principal subjects in China; and under the threat ofinflicting death upon them, extorted a delivery of an enormous amount ofproperty belonging to her Majesty's subjects. If this was not a cause ofwar with any nation, whether civilized or uncivilized, there never wasone; and without going into further detail, we have stated sufficient tojustify, beyond all doubt, our commencement of hostilities againstChina. But this occurred so long ago as the month of March 1839; yet, tothe eternal scandal of the then existing Government, no effectualwarlike demonstration was made to redress this flagrant unparalleledoutrage on the British nation, till better councils, those of thepresent Government, were had recourse to by her Majesty; and which ledto the quick triumphant result with which the world is now ringing. Tillthe present vigorous Government took the affair in hand, we were_pottering_ about the extremities of the empire, month after month, evenyear after year, at a ruinous expense, in a way justly calculated toexcite the derision of even the Chinese--of the whole world who hadheard of our mode of procedure. It will be in vain for the lateGovernment to endeavour meanly to make Captain Elliot their scapegoat. Let them, if they can, satisfy the nation that, in all he appears tohave done so ineffectually and disgracefully, he did not act accordingto the strict orders of the late Government; that in all he would havedone, and wished to have done, viz. To carry hostilities at once, withan adequate force, to the right point of attack, he was not eitherpositively overruled, or left without advice and authority. Owing totheir own want of forethought, of energy, and of practical knowledge, and their financial mismanagement, even if they had contemplated theplan of operations which led ultimately to the successful enterprize onwhich we are now justly congratulating ourselves, they _could_ not, they_did not_ act upon them. No, it was left for the present Government, under the auspices of him who told us that "England _could_ not carry ona little war, " amidst all the embarrassments and dangers which they hadjust inherited from their predecessors, to send out the peremptoryinstructions which have been so ably acted upon; and _above all_, anaval and military force fully adequate for the occasion. This done, China succumbed; and we understand that poor Lord Palmerston is pluminghimself on being able to produce, next session, a despatch which heissued to Sir Henry Pottinger, chalking out the very line of operationswhich was adopted with such supreme success. We, of course, cannotofficially know that such is the fact: but even admitting it, why didnot Lord Palmerston do this far earlier? What excuse can be offered forthis vacillation and procrastination in an affair of such vast urgency?"We had not the means to equip a sufficient force, " his lordship mayreply, in his usual strain of bitter flippancy. And why had he not themeans? The extravagance and profligacy of his Government had deprivedhim of them; his exchequer was empty; and had he, or they, the boldnessor the virtue to propose what has been demonstrated to have been theonly mode of meeting the exigency, an income-tax? In vain, therefore, may his lordship and his friends declaim in the ensuing session, andwith our bombardment of China in his ears, say "that is _my_ thunder. "They will be only laughed at and despised. No, no, Lord Palmerston;_palmam qui meruit, ferat. _ Let the nation decide. 

The late military and naval proceedings against China, reflect permanentglory upon the arms of England, naval and military, and we earnestlyhope--we confidently believe--that those concerned in them will soonreceive substantial and enduring marks of national gratitude. But whatis the real value, what will be the consequences, of our victory? We arevery anxious to take the earliest opportunity of placing on record ourviews upon this all-important subject, with a view of moderating theexpectations, and allaying the excitement, which prevails upon thesubject of the commercial advantages anticipated to follow immediatelyon the final ratification of the treaty. Let us take a sober andcommon-sense view of the affair, and reason thus:--

First of all, we must bear in mind the long-cherished hatred borne bythe Emperor and his court to all barbarians, particularly towards us;exasperated now, doubtless, to a pitch of extreme intensity andmalignity, by the signal humiliation and injury we have inflicted uponhim. Can we expect that this will be suddenly and permanently altered?It is not in human nature, which is the same every where. With thethunder of our cannon in his ears, the supplies of his whole empire atour immediate mercy, his armies scattered like dust, and his forts andwalled cities crumbling to pieces under our artillery, the necessity ofhis position forced him to buy peace on almost any terms. We haveexacted from him what is at variance with the fixed Chinese policy ofages. The more he, by and by, reflects upon it, in the absence of ourawe-inspiring military and naval forces, the more galling andintolerable will become the contemplation of what he has been compelledto concede and sacrifice. Who knows what artful falsehoods may not beperseveringly poured into his ear, day after day, month after month, year after year, to our disadvantage and disparagement in hisestimation? He may not dare, perhaps, to resort to open hostility, directly to provoke our tremendous vengeance; but those best acquaintedwith China, know what countless facilities exist for his doingindirectly what he dares not, or may choose not, to do openly. We arenot without fear, from our knowledge of the Chinese character, and oftheir long-established mode of procedure, that every chicane and evasionwill be resorted to, in order to neutralize and nullify, as far aspossible, the commercial advantages which we have, at the cannon'smouth, extorted from them. A great deal, at all events, will depend onthe skill, firmness, and vigilance, of the consuls to be appointed atthe five opened ports of China. We rely, also, greatly on theunquestionable eagerness of the _Chinese_ people to enter into tradingrelations with us. The Emperor, however, and those by whose counsels heis guided, are Tartars, between whom and the Chinese there is along-cherished and bitter hostility, which may eventually operate in ourfavour. Adverting, for a moment, to the proceedings of Sir HenryPottinger, we feel very great doubt, indeed, whether our forces shouldnot, either with or without the consent of the Chinese, have gone on toPekin, and insisted on the negotiations being carried on _there_. What aprodigious effect would not thereby have been produced, not only on themind of the Emperor, but of the whole nation! The painful but salutarytruth of their own weakness, and our power, would have been thus"brought home to their businesses and bosoms, "--there could neverafterwards have been any pretence for his or their saying, that they hadbeen deceived in any part of the proceedings. Doubtless, however, SirHenry Pottinger acted advisedly in abstaining from penetrating to Pekin, and also from stipulating for the residence of a British ambassador atPekin. How such a proposal would have been received--or how, if adoptedand carried into effect, it would have answered our expectations--it isdifficult to say; but we have several letters lying before us, frompeculiarly well-informed persons on the spot, in all of which theabsence of this stipulation from the treaty is very greatly regretted. "I am afraid, " says one, "we shall be again left to the tender merciesof the local mandarins, and that their old habits of arrogance anddeceit and extortion, will be resumed. For what are _consuls?_ They haveno power of communicating even with the provincial officers: or if thisshould now be conceded, they have none with the government at Pekin: andmay we not fear that the Chinese will continue to force away gradually, by effectual but invisible obstacles, the trade from the ports nowostensibly opened to us?" The gentleman, from whose long and very ableletter we have quoted this paragraph, takes a somewhat dishearteningview of the treaty, and its probable observance and consequences. He ison the spot, and has access to the best sources of knowledge; but weconfess, that for our own part, we do not share his apprehensions. Whatever disposition to do so the Emperor or his people may entertain, we believe they will neither dare at all to offend or injure us openly, or persevere long in attempting to do so indirectly. It may be a work oftime but as soon as they perceive the steady benefits derivable from aprudently-conducted course of dealing with them, we think it likely thata sense of self-interest will lead them to encourage our intercourse andaugment our dealings. On one thing we regret to feel certain that wemust calculate--namely, on an enormous overstocking of the Chinesemarket with articles of British merchandize, long before any sensible, or at least important, demand for them shall have been created; whichwill of course lead to serious loss on the part of the adventurers. Wemust also expect Hong-Kong, and the five open ports, to be forthwithflooded with commercial adventurers. To all such we would earnestlysay--"pause. Consider the circumstances of China--how capricious andperfidious its people are by nature--the _possibility_, at all events, of their acting on the hostile policy we have above alluded to, anddiscouraging your trade; or if not so, still do not imagine that thevast empire of China is standing agape for any sort of goods you maysend or take out. " We must, however, pass on to allude briefly to asubject both important and difficult--the opium trade with China. Thisis a subject imperatively demanding the best consideration of theGovernment. A careful examination of the subject, in all its bearings, induces us, with due diffidence, to express an opinion that theGovernment sale of opium in India should cease. We cannot, of course, prevent the poppy's being grown in India--nor, on the other hand, shoulda great source of revenue be easily parted with. Let their opium beproduced and sold as before, and subject to such a tax as may appearexpedient to the Government. With reference to the policy and proprietyof our continuing to supply opium to the Chinese, we have alreadyexpressed our opinion as to the true ground of objection to it by theEmperor of China, namely, simply a financial, not a moral or religiousone. We have reason to believe that Sir Henry Pottinger moststrenuously, and, in our opinion, most judiciously, urged upon theimperial commissioners the expediency of the raising a revenue fromopium, by legalizing its importation. To this they replied, however, "that they did not dare, _at present_, to bring the painful subject tothe Emperor's notice. " We are, notwithstanding, very strongly of opinionthat the opium trade will, at no distant period, be legalized, as soonas the Emperor can be made to understand the great profit he will derivefrom it. In any event, it will be obviously nugatory for the Governmentdirectly to prohibit British subjects from importing opium into China. The only effect of such a measure would be, that they could carry on thetrade through the intervention of foreigners. 

Many other topics, such as the opportunity now afforded for theintroduction of the Christian religion into China, the extent to whichwe shall be permitted to acquire a knowledge of the habits, the economy, the literature, and the science, of China; the exertions which may beexpected from other nations to share in the advantages which we have, byour own unassisted efforts, secured--we must pass over, as inconsistentwith the limits assigned us, or, indeed, the scope of this article. 

Whatever may be the ultimate effects of the blow we have struck inChina, there can be no doubt that it has prodigiously extended thereputation, and augmented the influence of Great Britain, especiallycoupled as it is with our contemporaneous brilliant successes in India, and our satisfactory adjustment of our differences with America. We arenow, thank God, at peace with all the world, to whose counsels soever itis to be attributed. Let us now endeavour to make the most of theblessings which the Divine favour vouchsafes to us. Let us cultivatevirtue--let us cherish religion. Let us, as a nation, give up all idleand dangerous dreams of foreign conquest, satisfied that we alreadypossess as much as it is possible for us to hold, with safety andadvantage. Let us _honour all men_. At home, let us bear withcheerfulness the burthens necessarily imposed to support the state, andeach do all that lies in us to extinguish party animosities; generouslyand cordially co-operating with, and supporting those whom we believehonestly striving to carry on the government of this great country, at avery critical conjuncture of affairs, with dignity and prudence. Let usdiscourage faction, and each, in our several spheres exert ourselves toameliorate the condition of the inferior classes of society. May theensuing session of Parliament commence its labours auspiciously, and indue course bring them to a peaceful and happy close, in a spirit of goodwill towards all men of loyalty to our Queen, and piety towards God!

 * * * * *

LESURQUES; OR, THE VICTIM OF JUDICIAL ERROR. 

 [Many as are the frightful cases of error recorded in the annals of every judiciary court, there are few more striking of the uncertainty of evidence respecting personal identity, and of the serious errors based upon it, than are to be read in the curious trial we are about to relate; and which has, for forty years, been the subject of parliamentary appeals in the country where it took place. The recent death of the widow of the unhappy sufferer excites a fresh interest in her wrongs, so strangely left unredressed by the very government that was the unwitting cause of them. ]

I. --THE FOUR GUESTS. 

On the 4th Floréal of the 4th year of the Republic, one and indivisible, (23d April 1796, ) four young men were seated at a splendid breakfast inthe Rue des Boucheries at Paris. They were all dressed in the costume ofthe _Incroyables_ of the period; their hair _coiffés en cadenettes_ and_en oreilles de chien_, according to the fantastic custom of the day;they had all top-boots, with silver spurs, large eyeglasses, variouswatch-chains, and other articles of _bijouterie_; carrying also thelittle cane, of about a foot and a half in length, without which nodandy was complete. The breakfast was given by a M. Guesno, avan-proprietor of Douai, who was anxious to celebrate the arrival atParis of his compatriot Lesurques, who had recently established himselfwith his family in the busy capital. 

"Yes, _mon cher_ Guesno, " said Lesurques, "I have quitted for ever ourgood old town of Douai; or, if not for ever, at least until I havecompleted in Paris the education of my children. I am now thirty-threeyears of age. I have paid my debt to my country by serving in theregiment of Auvergne, with some distinction. On leaving the ranks I wasfortunate enough to make my services of some slight use, by fulfilling, gratuitously, the functions of _chef de bureau_ of the district. Atpresent, thanks to my patrimony and the dowery of my wife, I have anincome of fifteen thousand francs (L. 600) a-year, am without ambition, have three children, and my only care is to educate them well. The fewdays that I have been at Paris have not been wasted; I have a prettyapartment, Rue Montmartre, where I expect to be furnished, and ready toreceive you in my turn, with as much comfort as heartiness. "

"Wisely conceived, " interrupted one of the guests, who, till thismoment, had maintained a profound silence; "but who can count upon themorrow in such times as these? May your projects of peace andretirement, Monsieur, be realized: if so, you will then be the happiestman in the Republic; for during the last five or six years, there hasbeen no _citoyen_, high or low, who could predict what the next weekwould decide for him. "

The speaker uttered this with a tone of bitterness and discouragementwhich contrasted strangely with the flaunting splendour of his toilet, and the appetite with which he had done honour to the breakfast. He wasyoung, and would have been remarkably handsome, had not his dark eyesand shaggy brows given an expression of fierceness and dissimulation tohis countenance, which he vainly endeavoured to hide, by never lookinghis interlocutor in the face. His name was Couriol. His presence at thisbreakfast was purely accidental. He had come to see M. Richard, (theproprietor of the house where M. Guesno alighted on his journey toParis, and who was also one of the guests, ) just as they were about tosit down to table, and was invited to join them without ceremony. 

The breakfast passed off gaily, in spite of the sombre Couriol; andafter two hours' conviviality, they adjourned to the Palais Royal, where, after taking their café at the _Rotonde du Caveau_, theyseparated. 

II. --THE FOUR HORSEMEN. 

A few days afterwards, on the 8th Floréal, four men mounted on dashinglooking horses, which, however, bore the unequivocal signs of beinghired for the day, rode gaily out of Paris by the barrier of Charenton;talking and laughing loudly, caracoling with great enjoyment, andapparently with nothing but the idea of passing as joyously as possiblea day devoted to pleasure. 

An attentive observer, however, who did not confine his examination totheir careless exteriors, might have remarked that, beneath their long_lévites, _ (a peculiar cloak then in fashion, ) they carried each asabre, suspended at the waist, the presence of which was betrayed fromtime to time by a slight clanking, as the horses stumbled or changedtheir paces. He might have further remarked a sinister pre-occupationand a brooding fierceness in the countenance of one, whose dark eyespeeped out furtively beneath two thick brows. He took but little sharein the boisterous gaiety of the other three, and that little was forced;his laugh was hollow and convulsive. It was Couriol. 

Between twelve and one, the four horsemen arrived at the pretty villageof Mongeron, on the road to Melun. One of them had preceded them at ahand-gallop to order dinner at the _Hôtel de la Poste_, kept by theSieur Evrard. After the dinner, to which they did all honour, theycalled for pipes and tobacco--(cigars were then almost unknown)--and twoof them smoked. Having paid their bill, they proceeded to the Cassino, where they took their café. 

At three o'clock they remounted their horses, and following the road, shaded by stately elms, which leads from Mongeron to the forest ofLénart, they reached Lieursaint; where they again halted. One of theirhorses had cast a shoe, and one of the men had broken the little chainwhich then fastened the spur to the boot. The horseman to whom thisaccident had happened, stopped at the entrance of the village at MadameChâtelain's, a _limonadière_, whom he begged to serve him some café, andat the same time to give him a needleful of strong thread to mend thechain of his spur. She did so, but observing the traveller to be ratherawkward in his use of the needle, she called her servant, _la femme_Grossetète, who fixed the chain for him, and helped him to place it onhis boot. The other three travellers had, during this time, alighted atthe inn kept by the Sieur Champeaux, where they drank some wine; whilethe landlord himself accompanied the traveller and his unshod horse tothe farrier's, the Sieur Motteau. This finished, the four met at MadameChâtelain's, where they played at billiards. At half-past seven, after aparting cup with the Sieur Champeaux, whither they returned to re-saddletheir horses, they set off again in the direction of Melun. 

The landlord stood at his door watching the travellers till out ofsight, and then turning into his house again, he saw on the table asabre, which one of his guests had forgotten to fasten to his belt; hedispatched one of his stable-boys after them, but they were out ofsight. It was not till an hour afterwards, that the traveller who hadhad his spur-chain mended, returned at full gallop to claim his sabre. He drank a glass of brandy, and having fastened his weapon securely, departed at furious speed in the direction taken by his comrades. 

III. --THE ROBBERY AND MURDER. 

At the same time that the horseman left Lieursaint for Paris, the Lyonsmail arrived there from Paris, and changed horses. It was abouthalf-past eight, and the night had been obscure for some time. Thecourier, having charged horses and taken a fresh postilion, set forth totraverse the long forest of Senart. The mail, at this epoch, was verydifferent from what it is at present. It was a simple post-chaise, witha raised box behind, in which were placed the despatches. Only oneplace, by the side of the courier, was reserved for travellers, andthat was obtained with difficulty. On the night in question this seatwas occupied by a man of about thirty, who had that morning taken it forLyons, under the name of Laborde, a silk-merchant; his real name wasDurochat; his object may be guessed. 

At nine o'clock, the carriage having descended a declivity with greatspeed, now slackened its course to mount a steep hill which faced it; atthis moment four horsemen bounded into the road--two of them seizing thehorses' heads, the two other attacked the postilion, who fell lifelessat their feet, his skull split open by a sabre-cut. At the sameinstant--before he had time to utter a word--the wretched courier wasstabbed to the heart by the false Laborde, who sat beside him. Theyransacked the mail of a sum of seventy-five thousand francs (L. 3000) inmoney, _assignats_, and bank-notes. They then took the postilion's horsefrom the chaise, and Durochat mounting it, they galloped to Paris, whichthey entered between four and five in the morning by the Barrier deRambouillet. 

IV. --THE ARREST. 

This double murder, committed with such audacity on the most frequentedroute of France, could not but produce an immense sensation, even atthat epoch so fertile in brigandage of every sort, where the exploits of_la Chouannerie_, and the ferocious expeditions of the _Chauffeurs_, [8]daily filled them with alarm. The police were at once in pursuit. Thepost-horse ridden by Durochat, and abandoned by him on the Boulevard, was found wandering about the Palais Royale. It was known that fourhorses covered with foam had been conducted at about five in the morningto the stables of a certain Muiron, _Rue des Fossé's, Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois_, by two men who had hired them the daybefore: these men were Bernard and Couriol; the former of whom wasimmediately arrested, the second had, with the other accomplices, taken flight. 

 [8] An atrocious gang of thieves, who adopted the unnecessary brutality of burning the unfortunate victims they intended to rob. 

The research was pursued with great activity at Paris, as well as at thescene of the crime, and along the route which the assassins had twicetravelled. The information obtained showed that there were fiveculprits. The description of the four horsemen who rode from Paris, stopping at Mongeron and Lieursaint, was furnished with as muchprecision as concordance by the various witnesses who had seen andspoken to them on the road, and in the inns and cafés. The descriptionof the traveller, who, under the name of Laborde, had taken the seatbeside the courier, was furnished with equal exactitude by the clerks, from whom he had retained the place, and by those who saw him mount. Couriol, recognized as having with Bernard conducted back the horses toMuiron, after the crime, had left Paris for Château-Thierry, where hewas lodged in the house of Citoyen Bruer, where also Guesno had gone onsome business. The police followed Couriol, and arrested him. They foundupon him a sum in money and assignats, nearly equivalent to a fifthshare of what the courier had been robbed. Guesno and Bruer were alsoarrested, and had their papers seized; but they so completelyestablished their _alibi_, that they were at once dismissed on theirarrival at Paris. At the epoch of which we write, the examination ofjudicial affairs followed a very different course from the one nowtraced by the French code. It was to the Citoyen Daubenton, justice ofthe peace of the division of Pont Neuf, and officer of the _policejudiciare_, that the Central Bureau confided the examination of thisaffair. This magistrate having ordered the dismissal of Guesno, told himthat he might present himself at his _cabinet_ on the morrow, for thepapers which had been seized at Château-Thierry; at the same time heordered an officer, Hendon, to start at once for Mangeron andLieursaint, and to bring back the witnesses, whose names he gave him, so that they might all be collected the next day at the Bureau forexamination. 

Guesno, desirous of having his papers as soon as possible, went outearly, and directed his steps towards the Central Bureau, which he hadjust reached when he encountered his compatriot Lesurques; havingexplained to him the motive that called him to the Bureau, he proposedto him that they should go together. Lesurques accepted, and the CitizenDaubenton not having yet arrived, they sat down in the antechamber, inorder to see him as he passed, and thus expedite the matter. 

About ten o'clock the judge, who had entered his cabinet by a back door, was interrupted in his examination of the documents, previous tointerrogating the witnesses, by the officer Hendon, who demanded leaveto make an important communication. "Amongst the witnesses, " said he, "now waiting in the antechamber, are two women--one, _la femme_ Santon, servant to Evrard the innkeeper at Mongeron--the other, _la fille_Grossetète, servant to Madame Châtelain the _limonadière_ at Lieursaint, who assert in the most positive manner, that two of the assassins arethere, waiting like them to be admitted. These women declare that theycannot deceive themselves, for one of them served the four travellers atMongeron, and the other spoke to them at Lieursaint, and stayed an hourin the billiard-room while they were playing. "

The judge could not admit the probability of two of the assassins thusvoluntarily placing themselves within the grasp of the law, yet heordered the women to be shown into his presence. On interrogation, theypersisted in their statements, declaring that it was impossible theycould deceive themselves. Guesno was then introduced to the judge'spresence, the women being continued to examine him strictly beforefinally pronouncing as to his identity. 

"What brings you to the Central Bureau?" demanded the judge. 

"I come to receive my papers, " replied Guesno, "as you promised meyesterday that I should have them on application. "

"Are you alone?"

"I have a compatriot with me, one Joseph Lesurques, whom I met on theway here. "

The judge then ordered the second individual designated by the women tobe introduced. It was Lesurques. He spoke to Lesurques and to Guesno fora few minutes, and then begged them to return into the antechamber, where their papers would be sent to them. An order was given, however, to the officer, Hendon, not to lose sight of them. 

On their leaving the room, M. Daubenton again demanded of the women, ifthey persisted in their declarations as to the identity of these menwith the criminals they were in search of. They replied, withouthesitation, that they were certain of it; that they could not bedeceived. The magistrate was then forced to receive their depositions inwriting, and to order the arrest of Guesno and Lesurques. 

From the moment of their arrest, the examination proceeded with greatrapidity. Guesno and Lesurques were confronted with the witnessesbrought from Mongeron and Lieursaint, and were recognised by allof them!

_La femme_ Santon deposed, that Lesurques was the one who, after thedinner at Mongeron, wanted to pay in _assignats_, but that the big darkman (Couriol) paid in money. She was positive as to Lesurques beingthe man. 

Champeaux and his wife, who kept the inn at Lieursaint, were equallypositive as to Lesurques being the one whose spur wanted mending, andwho came back to fetch the sabre which he had forgotten. Lafolie, groomat Mongeron, and _la femme_ Alfroy, also recognised him; and LaurentCharbaut, labourer, who dined in the same room with the four horsemen, recognised Lesurques as the one who had silver spurs fastened by littlechains to his top-boots. This combination of testimony, respecting onewhom they had seen but a few days before, was sufficient to leave littledoubt in the mind of any one. The trial was therefore fixed on. 

The day of his arrest, Lesurques wrote the following letter to one ofhis friends, which was intercepted, and joined to the documentaryevidence to be examined on the trial:--

 "My dear Friend, --I have met with nothing but unpleasantries since my arrival at Paris, but I did not--I could not anticipate the misfortune which has befallen me to-day. You know me--and you know whether I am capable of sullying myself with a crime--yet the most atrocious crime is imputed to me. The mere thought of it makes me tremble. I find myself implicated in the murder of the Lyons' courier. Three women and two men, whom I know not--whose residence I know not--(for you well know that I have not left Paris)--have had the impudence to swear that they recognise me, and that I was the first of the four who presented himself at their houses on horseback. You know, also, that I have not crossed a horse's back since my arrival in Paris. You may understand the importance of such an accusation, which tends at nothing less than my judicial assassination. Oblige me by lending me the assistance of your memory, and endeavour to recollect where I was and what persons I saw at Paris, on the day when they impudently assert they saw me out of Paris, (I believe it was the 7th or 8th, ) in order that I may confound these infamous calumniators, and make them suffer the penalty of the law. "

In a postscript he enumerates the persons he saw on that day: CitoyenTixier, General Cambrai, 'Demoiselle Eugénie, Citoyen Hilaire Ledru, hiswife's hairdresser, the workmen in his apartments, and the porter ofthe house. 

V. --THE TRIAL, AND THE BLINDNESS OF ZEAL. 

MM. Lesurques, Guesno, Couriol, Bernard, Richard, and Bruer, weresummoned before the tribunal of justice; the three first as authors oraccomplices of the murder and robbery--Bernard as having furnished thehorses--Richard as having concealed at his house Couriol--and hismistress, Madelaine Breban, as having received and concealed part of thestolen goods--and Bruer as having given Couriol refuge atChâteau-Thierry. 

The witnesses persisted in their declarations as to the identity ofGuesno and Lesurques. But Guesno established beyond all doubt the factof his _alibi_; and Bruer easily refuted every charge that concernedhimself. Lesurques had cited fifteen witnesses--all respectable men--andpresented himself at the bar with a calmness and confidence whichproduced a favourable impression. Against the positive testimony of thesix witnesses who asserted him to have been at Mongeron and Lieursainton the 8th Floréal, he had brought a mass of testimony to provean _alibi. _

Citoyen Legrand, a rich jeweller and goldsmith, compatriot of Lesurques, was first examined. He deposed, that on the 8th Floréal--the day onwhich the crime had been committed--Lesurques had passed a portion ofthe morning with him. 

Aldenof, a jeweller, Hilaire Ledru, and Chausfer, deposed, that on thatday they dined with Lesurques in the _Rue Montorgueil;_ that, afterdinner, they went to a café, took some liqueur, and went home with him. 

Beudart, a painter, deposed that he was invited to the dinner, withLesurques and his friends, but that, as one of the national guard, hewas that day on service, and so was prevented attending; but that, hehad gone to Lesurques that very evening in his uniform, and had seen himgo to bed. In support of his deposition he produced his _billet degarde_, dated the 8th. 

Finally, the workmen employed in the apartment that Lesurques was havingfitted up, deposed that they saw him at various times during the 8th and9th Floréal. 

No further doubt of his innocence now remained; the _alibi_ was sodistinctly proved, and on such unquestionable testimony, that the juryshowed in their manner that they were ready to acquit him, when a fatalcircumstance suddenly changed the whole face of the matter. 

The jeweller Legrand, who had manifested such zeal in the establishmentof his friend's innocence, had, with an anxiety to avail himself ofevery trifle, declared, that to prove the sincerity of his declaration, he would cite a fact which prevented his being mistaken. On the 8thFloréal, he had made before dinner an exchange of jewellery with thewitness, Aldenof. He proposed that his ledger should be sent for, as itsentry there would serve to fix all recollections. 

As a matter of form, the ledger was sent for. At the first glance, however, it was evident that the _date_ of the transaction, mentioned byLegrand, had been _altered!_ The exchange had taken place on the 9th, and an alteration, badly dissimulated by an erasure, had substituted thefigure 8 for the original figure 9. 

Murmurs of surprise and indignation followed this discovery, and thePresident, pressing Legrand with questions, and unable to obtain fromhim any satisfactory answer, ordered his arrest. Legrand then, tremblingand terrified, retracted his former deposition, and declared that he wasnot certain he had seen Lesurques on the 8th Floréal, but that he hadaltered his book in order to give more probability to the declaration hehad determined to make in his friend's favour--of whose innocence he wasso assured, that it was only the conviction that he was accusederroneously, which made him perjure himself to save that innocent head. 

From this moment, the jury received the depositions in favour ofLesurques with extreme prejudice--those already heard seemed littlebetter than connivance, and those yet to be heard were listened to withsuch suspicion as to have no effect. The conviction of his guilt wasfixed in every mind. Lesurques, despairing to get over such fatalappearances, ceased his energetic denials, and awaited his sentence ingloomy silence. The jury retired. 

At this moment a woman, agitated with the most violent emotions, demanded to speak to the President. She said that she was moved by thevoice of conscience, and wished to save the criminal tribunal from adreadful error. It was Madelaine Breban, the mistress of Couriol. Brought before the President, she declared that she knew positivelyLesurques was innocent, and that the witnesses, deceived by aninexplicable resemblance, had confounded him with the real culprit, whowas called Dubosq. 

Prejudiced as they were against Lesurques, and suspicious of alltestimony after the perjury they had already detected, the tribunalscarcely listened to Madelaine Breban; and the jury returned with theirverdict, in consequence of which, Couriol, Lesurques, and Bernard werecondemned to death; Richard to four-and-twenty years' imprisonment;Guesno and Bruer were acquitted. 

No sooner was the sentence passed, than Lesurques rose calmly, andaddressing the Judges, said, "I am innocent of the crime of which I amaccused. Ah! citoyens, if it is horrible to murder on the high-road, itis not less so to murder by the law!"

Couriol, condemned to death, rose and said, "Yes, I am guilty--I avowit. But Lesurques is innocent, and Bernard did not participate inthe murder. "

Four times he reiterated this declaration; and, on entering his prison, he wrote to the judge a letter full of sorrow and repentance, in whichhe said, "I have never known Lesurques; my accomplices are Vidal, Rossi, Durochat, and Dubosq. The resemblance of Lesurques to Dubosq hasdeceived the witnesses. "

To this declaration of Couriol was joined that of Madelaine Breban, who, after the judgment, returned to renew her protestation, accompanied bytwo individuals, who swore that, before the trial, she had told themLesurques had never had any relations with the culprits; but that he wasa victim of his fatal likeness to Dubosq. These testimonies threw doubtin the minds of the magistrates, who hastened to demand a reprieve fromthe Directory, which, terrified at the idea of seeing an innocent manperish through a judicial error, had recourse to the _Corps Législatif;_for every other resource was exhausted. The message of the Directory tothe Five Hundred was pressing; its aim was to demand a reprieve, and adecision as to what course to pursue. It ended thus: "Must Lesurquesperish on the scaffold because he resembles a villain?"

The _Corps Législatif_ passed to the order of the day, as everycondition had been legally fulfilled, that a particular case could notjustify an infraction of decreed laws; and that, too, on suchindications, to do away with a condemnation legally pronounced by ajury, would be to overset all ideas of justice and equality beforethe law. 

The right of pardon had been abolished; and Lesurques had neitherresources nor hope. He bore his fate with firmness and resignation, andwrote, on the day of his execution, this note to his wife:--

"_Ma bonne Amie_, --There is no eluding ones destiny, I was fated to bejudicially murdered. I shall at least bear it with proper courage. Isend you my locks of hair; when our children are grown up, you willdivide it among them; it is the only heritage I can leave them. "

He addressed also a letter to Dubosq through the newspapers. "You, inwhose place I am about to perish, content yourself with the sacrifice ofmy life. Should you ever be brought to justice, remember my threechildren covered with opprobrium--remember my wife reduced to despairand do not longer prolong their misfortunes. "

VI. --THE EXECUTION. 

The 10th March 1797, Lesurques was led to the scaffold. He wished to bedressed completely in white, as a symbol of his innocence. He worepantaloons and frock-coat of white cotton, and his shirt-collar turneddown over his shoulders. It was the day before Good Friday, and heexpressed regret that he had not to die on the morrow. In passing fromthe prison _de la Conciergerie_ to the _Place de la Grève_, where theexecution took place, Couriol, placed beside Lesurques in the cart, cried out to the people in a loud voice, "Citoyens, I am guilty! I amguilty! but Lesurques is innocent. "

On arriving at the platform of the guillotine, already stained with theblood of Bernard, Lesurques exclaimed, "I pardon my judges; I pardon thewitnesses through whose error I die; and I pardon Legrand, who has not alittle contributed to my judicial assassination. I die protesting myinnocence. " In another instant he was no more. 

Couriol continued his declarations of Lesurques's innocence to the footof the scaffold; and, after a final appeal, he, too, delivered himselfto the executioner. The drop fell on a guilty neck, having before beenstained with the blood of two innocent men. 

The crowd retired with a general conviction that Lesurques had perishedguiltless; and several of the judges were seriously troubled by thedoubts which this day had raised in their minds. Many of the jury beganto repent having relied so on the affirmations of the witnesses fromMongeron and Lieursaint, precise as they had been. M. Daubenton, themagistrate who had first ordered the arrest, went home a thoughtful man, and determined to lose no opportunity of getting at the truth, which thearrest of the three accomplices mentioned by Couriol could alonebring to light. 

VII. --THE PROOFS

Two years passed on without affording any clue to the conscientiousmagistrate. One day, however, he heard that a certain Durochat wasarrested for a recent robbery, and was confined in the Sainte Pelagie;and remembering that Durochat was the name of the one designated byCouriol as having taken the place beside the courier, under the falsename of Laborde. At the epoch of the trial of Lesurques, it came outthat several persons, amongst them an inspector of the _administrationdes postes_, had seen the false Laborde at the moment that he wasawaiting the mail, and had preserved a distinct recollection ofhis person. 

M. Daubenton, on ascertaining the day of Durochat's approaching trialfor robbery, went to the _administration des postes_, and obtainedthrough the _Chef_ the permission to send for the inspector who had seenthe false Laborde, and who was no longer in Paris. 

The _juges du tribunal_ had also been warned of the suspicions whichrested on Durochat. The day of trial arrived, and he was condemned tofourteen years' imprisonment, and was about being led from the courtwhen the inspector arrived, and declared that Durochat was the man whomhe had seen on the 8th Floréal mount beside the courier under the falsename of Laborde. Durochat only opposed feeble denials to thisdeclaration, and was consequently taken to the _Conciergerie_. 

On the morrow, Durochat was transferred to Versailles, where he was tobe judged. Daubenton and a huissier departed with the prisoner and fourgendarmes. As they reached the village of Grosbois he demanded somebreakfast, for he had eaten nothing since the preceding day. Theystopped at the first _auberge_, and there Durochat manifested a desireto speak to the magistrate in private. 

Daubenton ordered the gendarmes to leave them together, and even thehuissier, though he made him understand by a sign the danger of beingalone with so desperate a villain, was begged to retire. A breakfast wasordered for the two. It was brought--but, by order of the huissier, only_one_ knife was placed on the table. Daubenton took it up, and begancarelessly to break an egg with it. 

Durochat looked at him fixedly for a moment, and said, "Monsieur le juge, you are afraid?"

"Afraid!" replied he calmly, "and of whom?"

"Of me, " said Durochat. 

"Folly!" continued the other, breaking his egg. 

"You are. You arm yourself with a knife, " said he sarcastically. 

"Bah!" replied Daubenton, presenting him the knife, "cut me a piece ofbread, and tell me what you have to communicate to me respecting themurder of the courier of Lyons. "

There is something in the collected courage of a brave man moreimpressive than any menace; and courage is a thing which acts upon allnatures, however vile. Strongly moved by the calm audacity of themagistrate the ruffian, who had seized the knife with menacing vivacity, now set it down upon the table, and with a faltering voice said, "_Vousêtes un brave, citoyen_!" then after a pause, "I am a lost man--it's allup with me; but you shall know all. "

He then detailed the circumstances of the crime, as we have related themabove, and confirmed all Couriol's declarations, naming Couriol, Rossi, Vidal, and Dubosq, as his accomplices. Before the tribunal he repeatedthis account, adding, "that he had heard an individual named Lesurqueshad been condemned for the crime, but that he had neither seen him atthe time of the deed, nor subsequently. He did not know him. "

He added, that it was Dubosq whose spur had been broken, and was mendedwhere they had dined; for he had heard them talk about it, and that hehad lost it in the scuffle. He had seen the other spur in his hand, andheard him say that he intended throwing it in the river. He further gavea description of Dubosq's person, and added, that on that day he wore aflaxen peruke. 

Towards the end of the year 8--four years after the murder of thecourier of Lyons--Dubosq was arrested for robbery; and was transferredto Versailles, there to be judged by the _Tribunal Correctionnel_. Thepresident ordered that he should wear a flaxen peruke, and be confrontedwith the witnesses from Mongeron and Lieursaint, who now unanimouslydeclared that he was the man they had seen. This, coupled with thedeclarations of Couriol, Durochat, and Madelaine Breban, sufficed toprove the identity; and he did not deny his acquaintance with the otherculprits. He was therefore condemned, and perished on the scaffold forthe crime. 

Vidal was also arrested and executed, though persisting in hisinnocence; and, finally, Rossi was shortly after discovered andcondemned. He exhibited profound repentance, and demanded the succoursof religion. To his confessor he left this declaration--"I assert thatLesurques is innocent; but this must only be made public six monthsafter my death. "

Thus ends this strange drama; thus were the proofs of Lesurques'sinnocence furnished beyond a shadow of doubt; and thus, we may add, wereseven men executed for a crime committed by five men; two therefore wereinnocent--were victims of the law. 

VIII. --THE WAY IN WHICH FRANCE RECTIFIES AN ERROR. 

It is now forty years since the innocence of Lesurques has beenestablished, and little has been done towards the rehabilitation of hismemory, the protection of his children, and the restitution of hisconfiscated goods! Forty years, and his wretched widow has only recentlydied, having failed in the object of her life! Forty years has thegovernment been silent. 

M. Daubenton, who took so honourable and active a part in the detectionof the real criminals, consecrated a great part of his life and fortuneto the cause of the unfortunate widow and her children. The declarationhe addressed to the Minister of Justice commenced thus:--

"The error, on which was founded the condemnation of Lesurques, aroseneither with the judges nor the jury. The jury, convinced by thedepositions of the witnesses, manifested that conviction judicially; andthe judges, after the declaration of the jury, pronounced accordingto the law. 

"The error of his condemnation arose from the mistake of thewitnesses--from the fatal resemblance to one of the culprits notapprehended. Nothing gave reason to suspect at that time the cause ofthe error in which the witnesses had fallen. "

We beg to observe that the whole trial was conducted in a slovenly andshameful manner. A man is condemned on the deposition ofwitnesses;--witnesses, be it observed, of such dulness of perception, and such confidence in their notions, that they persisted in declaringGuesno to be one of the culprits as well as Lesurques. Yet the _alibi_of Guesno was proved beyond a doubt. How, then, could the jury, withthis instance of mistake before their eyes, and which they themselveshad condemned as a mistake by acquitting Guesno--how could they placesuch firm reliance on those self-same testimonies when applied toLesurques? If they could convict Lesurques upon such evidence, why notalso convict Guesno on it? Guesno proved an _alibi_--so did Lesurques;but because one foolish friend perjured himself to serve Lesurques, thejury hastily set down all his friends as perjurers; they had no evidenceof this; it was a mere indignant reaction of feeling, and, as such, aviolation of their office. The case ought to have been sifted. It wasshuffled over hastily. A verdict, passed in anger, was executed, thoughat the time a strong doubt existed in the minds of the judges as to itspropriety!

Neither the Directory nor the Consulate, neither the Empire nor theRestoration, paid attention to the widow's supplications for a revisionof the sentence, that her husband's name might be cleared, and hisproperty restored. In vain did M. Salgues devote ten years to thedefence of the injured family; in vain did M. Merilhou, in an important_procès_, warmly espouse the cause; the different governments believedthemselves incapable of answering these solicitations. 

Since 1830 the widow again supplicated the _Tribune des Chambres_. Fewsessions have passed without some members, particularly from the_dèpartment du Nord_, calling attention to the subject. All that hasbeen obtained is a restitution of part of the property seized by the_fisc_ at the period of the execution. 

Madame Lesurques has died unsuccessful, because a judicial error cannotbe acknowledged or rectified, owing to the insufficiency of the Code. AFrench journal announces that the son and daughter of Lesurques, stillliving, pledged themselves on the death-bed of their mother to continuethe endeavour which had occupied her forty long years--an endeavour tomake the law comprehend that nothing is more tyrannous than the strictfulfilment of its letter--an endeavour to make the world at large morekeenly feel the questionable nature of evidence as to personal identityin cases where the witnesses are ignorant, and where the evidenceagainst their testimony is presumptive. 

 * * * * *

CALEB STUKELY. 

PART X. 

THE REVULSION. 

"_The companion of the wise shall be wise_. " A six months' residencewith the religious and self-renouncing minister could not be without itseffect on the character and disposition of the disciple, newly releasedfrom sin and care, and worldly calamity. The bright example of a goodman is much--that of a good and _beloved_ man is more. I was bound to MrClayton by every tie that can endear a man to man, and rivet the readyheart of youth in truthful and confiding love. I regarded my preserverwith a higher feeling than a fond son may bear towards the mere authorand maintainer of his existence. For Mr Clayton, whose smallest praiseit was that he had restored to me my life, in addition to a filial love, I had all the reverence that surpassing virtue claims, and lowly pietyconstrains. Months passed over our head, and I was still withoutoccupation, though still encouraged by my kind friend to look for aspeedy termination to my state of dependence. Painful as the thought ofseparation had become to Mr Clayton, my situation was far fromsatisfactory to myself. I knew not another individual with whom I couldhave established myself under similar circumstances. The sense ofobligation would have been oppressive, the conviction that I was doingwrong intolerable to sustain; but the simplicity, the truth, theaffectionate warmth of my benevolent host, lightened my load day afterday, until I became at last insensible to the burthen. At this period ofmy career, the character of Mr Clayton appeared to me bright and fixedas a spotless star. He seemed the pattern of a man, pure and perfect. The dazzling light of pious fervour consumed within him the littleselfishness that nature, to stamp an angel with humanity, had ofnecessity implanted there. He was swallowed up in holiness--his thoughtswere of heaven--his daily conduct tinged and illumined with a heavenlyhue. Nothing could surpass the intense devotedness of the child of God, except perhaps the self-devotion, the self-renunciation, and theprofound humility which distinguished him in the world, and in hisconversation amongst men. "_The companion of the wise shall be wise_. " Iobserved my benefactor, and listened to his eloquence; I pondered on hishabitual piety, until, roused to enthusiasm by the contemplation of thematchless being, I burned to follow in his glorious course, to revolvein the same celestial orbit, the most distant and the meanest of hissatellites. The hand of Providence was traceable in every act, which, indue course, and step by step, had brought me to the minister. It couldnot be without a lofty purpose that I had been plucked a brand, as itwere, from the burning; it was not an aimless love that snatched me fromdeath to life--from darkness to mid-day light--from the depths ofdespondency to the heights of serenity and joy. It was that I mightglorify the hand that had been outstretched on my behalf, that I mightcarry His name abroad, proclaim His wondrous works, sing aloud Hispraises, and in the face of men, give honour to the everlasting Giver ofall good. It was for this and these that I had been selected frommankind, and made the especial object of a Father's grace. I believed itin all the simplicity and ingenuousness of a mind awakened to a sense ofreligion and human responsibility. I could not do otherwise. From themoment that I was convinced of the obligation under which I had beenbrought, that I could feel the force of the silent compact which hadbeen effected between the unseen Power and my own soul, it would havebeen as easy for me to annihilate thought, to prevent its miraculouspresence in the mind, as to withstand the urgent prickings of myconscience. I believed in my divine summons, and I was at once ready, vehement, and impatient to obey it. Had I followed the dictates of mywill, I would have walked through the land, and preached aloud thewonderful mercies of God, imploring my fellow-creatures to repentance, and directing them to the fount of all their blessings and all theirhappiness. I would have called upon men to turn from error and dangerousapathy, before their very strongholds. Powerful in the possession oftruth, I would have thundered the saving words before their marketplacesand exchanges--at the very fortresses in which the world deems itselfchiefly secure, with Mammon at its head, Satan's chief lieutenant. Iwould have called around me the neglected and the poor, and in thehighways and in the fields disclosed to them the tenderness andloving-kindness that I had found, that they might feel, in all theirfulness, if they would turn from sin, and place their trust in heaven. It was pain and anguish to be silent. Not for my own sake did I yearn tospeak. Oh no! There was nothing less than a love of self in the pantingdesire that I felt to break the selfish silence. It was the love ofsouls that pressed me forward, and the confidence that the good newswhich it was my privilege to impart would find in every bosom a welcomeas warm and ready as it would prove to be effectual. To walk abroad insilence, feeling myself to be the depositary of a celestial revelation, and believing that to communicate it to mankind would be to ensure theirparticipation in its benefits, was hardly to be borne. There was not aman whom I encountered in the street, to whom I did not secretly wish toturn, and to pour into his ear the accents of peace and consolation; notone whom I did not regard as a witness against me on that great day oftrial, when every man shall be judged according to his opportunities. Ispoke to Mr Clayton. He encouraged the feeling by which I was actuated, but he dissuaded me from the manifestation of it in the form whichI proposed. 

"There was no doubt, " he said, "that every place was consecrated wheretruth was spoken, and the Spirit made itself apparent. No one could denyit. Much fruit, he did believe, might follow the sowing of the seed, whose hand soever scattered it. Still there were other and nearer roadsto the point I aimed at. There were the sick and the needy around us--many of his own congregation--with whom I might reciprocate sweetcomfort, and at whose bedside I might administer the balm that shouldserve them in the hardest hour of their extremity. It should be hisoffice to conduct me to their humble habitations: it would beunspeakable joy to him to behold me well and usefully employed. "

And it was with eagerness that I accepted the touching invitation. I wasnot loth or slow to take advantage of it. To serve mankind, to evince mygratitude for mercies great and undeserved, was all I asked. To knowthat I had gratified my wish, was peace itself. Highly as I hadestimated the character of Mr Clayton, I had yet to learn his realvalue. I had yet to behold him the dispenser of comfort and contentmentin the hovels of the wretched and the stricken--to see the leaden eye ofdisease grow bright at his approach, and the scowl of discontent andenvious repining dissolve into equanimity, or mould itself in smiles. Ihad yet to see him the kind and patient companion of the friendless andthe slighted--slighted, because poor; the untired listener to long talesof misery--so miserable, that they who told them could not track theirdim beginnings, or fix the time in distant childhood when wretchednesswas not. I had yet to find him standing at the beggar's pallet, givingencouragement, inciting hope, and adding to the counsel of a guide thesolid evidences of a brother's love. With what a zeal did I attempt tofollow in my patron's steps--with what enthusiasm did I begin the coursewhich his sanction had legalized and rendered holy--and how, without adoubt as to my title, or a reflection on the propriety of the step, impelled by religious fervour, did I assume the tone and authority of ateacher, and arrogate to myself the right of determining the designs ofthe Omnipotent, and of appointing the degree of holy warmth below whichno believer could be sure of forgiveness and salvation!

In no transaction of my life have I ever been more sincere--have I actedwith a more decided assurance of the justice and necessity of the task, than at this critical moment of my career. If Divine goodness had notbeen specially vouchsafed to me, it was not that the conviction of myappointment was not as clear and firm as the liveliest impressions ofthe inmost heart could make it. To labour for the souls of the poor--toteach them their obligations--to point out to them the way of safety--itwas this view of my delegated office that raised me to ecstasy, andcompelled from me the strangest ebullitions of passion. I pronounced thechange in my habits of thought to be "the dawning of the day, and thesudden rising of the day-star in my heart;" and, dwelling with intensityon my future labours, I could exclaim, with trembling emotion, --"Oh theexceeding excellency and glory and sweetness of the work! The smile ofheaven is upon it--the emphatic testimony of my own conscience approvesand hallows it. " I reflect at this moment with wonder upon the almostsupernatural ardour and devotion by which I was elevated and abased whenI first became thoroughly convinced of my mission, and declared aloudthat my only business now upon earth was that of the lowest and readiestof servants, whose joy consists in the pleasure of their Master. Thestrangeness, the excitement that accompanied the adoption of my newcharacter, had nearly overthrown me. Wild with gladness, before Ivisited a human being, I took a journey of some twenty miles from themetropolis. I do not remember now the name of the village at which Istopped, from which I hurried, and whose fields I scoured with thedesign of finding some covert, unfrequented spot, where I mightunmolested and unobserved pour forth the prayers and hymns of praisewith which my surcharged heart was teeming. Until nightfall I remainedthere, nor did I leave the place until calmly and deliberately I beggedpermission to devote myself to the glory and honour of Him, whosefavoured child I was. I walked a few miles on my return homeward. Ipassed a church, that in the stillness of night reared its dark form, and seemed, solemnly and pensively, like a thing of life, to standbefore me. The moon rose at its full over the venerable wall, andscattered its bright cool light across the tall and moss-grown windows. Oh! every thing in life that wondrous night stirred up my soul to piousresolutions, and gave a wing to thought that could not find repose butin the silent and eternal sky. 

The impetuosity with which I entered upon my scheme of usefulness, forbade preparation of any kind, had I not believed that any previousqualification was not essential to my purpose; or if essential, had beenmiraculously implanted in me. I was soon called upon to make my firstvisitation. Never will it be forgotten. It was to the work-house. MrClayton had been called thither by an old communicant, of whom he hadnot heard before for years. "He was ill, and he desired to speak withhis still beloved minister. "

Such was the message which reached my friend at the moment of hisquitting his abode, on an errand of still greater urgency. "Go, Caleb, "said Mr Clayton, "visit and comfort the poor sufferer; and may graceaccompany your first labour of love. " I proceeded to the place, and, arriving there, was ushered into a small close room--to recoil at oncefrom the scene of misery which was there presented. Lying, with his hatand clothes upon the bed, dying, was the man himself; his wife was busyin the room, cleaning it, quietly and indifferently, as though the sleepof healthy life had closed her partner's eye, and nothing worse. On thethreshold was a girl, the daughter of them both, twenty years of age ormore, _an idiot_, for she laughed outright when I approached her. I hadcome to the house with my heart full of precious counsel, and yearningto communicate the message with which I knew myself to be charged. Butin a moment I was brought to earth, shocked by the sight which I beheld, wounded in my nature, and I had not a word to say. The hardened womanlooked at me for a moment, and calling me to myself by the act, Imentioned the name of Mr Clayton, and was again silent. 

"What! can't he come, sir?" asked the beldame. "Well, it don't muchmatter. It's all over with 'un, I fear. Come, Jessie, can't you speak tothe gentleman? What can you make of her, sir?"

The daughter looked at me again, and sickened me with her unmeaninglaughter. I remembered the object of my visit, and struggled forcomposure. Had I become a recreant so quickly? Had I not a word to sayfor my Master? Nothing to offer the needy creatures, perishing, perhaps, of spiritual want? Alarmed at my own apathy, and eager to throw it off, I turned to the poor girl, and spoke to her. I asked her many questionsbefore I could command attention. She could only look at me wildly, blush, laugh, and make strange motions to her mother. At lengthI said--

"Tell me, Jesse, tell your friend, who came into the world to savesinners?"

"Him, him, him, " she answered hastily, and gabbled as before. 

"Ah, " said the mother, "the poor cretur does sometimes talk aboutreligion, but it's very seldom, and uncertain like, and I can't helpher either. "

"Let me read to _you_, " said I. 

"Lor' bless you, sir, " she answered, "it wouldn't do me no good. I amtoo old for that. Now, get out of the way there--do, you simpleton, " sheadded, turning to the idiot; "just let me pass--don't you see I amwanting to fetch up water. "

She left the room immediately, and her daughter ran after her, screaminga wild and piercing note. I moved to the dying man. He was insensible toanything I could say. Fretted and ashamed of myself, I hurried from thehouse, and, returning home, rushed to my room, fell upon my knees, andimplored my Father to inflict at once the punishment due to lukewarmnessand apostasy. How vain had been all my previous desire to distinguishmyself--how arrogant my pretensions--how inefficient my weak attempts! Iwas not worthy of the commission with which I had been invested, and Ibesought heaven to degrade the wretch who could not speak at theseasonable moment, and to bestow it upon one worthier of its love, andabler to perform his duty. I passed a miserable night of remorse, andbitter self-accusation, and in the morning was distracted by thebattling feelings that were marshalled against each other in my soul. Now, a sense of my unworthiness was victorious over every other thought, and I resolved to resign my trust, and think of it no more; then thebelief in my election, the animating thought that I was chosen, and muststill go forward or stand condemned, hated by myself, rejected by myGod;--this gained the mastery next, and I was torn by sore perplexity. Iappealed to my benefactor. As usual, balm was on his lips, and I foundencouragement and support. 

"I was yet young in the faith, " he said, "and the abundance of heavenlygrace was not yet manifested. It would come in due time; and, in themean while, I must persevere, and a blessing would unquestionablyfollow. "

Much more he added, to reconcile me to the previous day's defeat, and toanimate me to new trials. Never did I so much need incentive andupholding, never before had I esteemed the value of a spiritualcounsellor and friend. 

In a small cottage, distant about three miles from the residence of MrClayton, there lodged, at this time, an old man with his sister, a blindwoman about seventy years of age. He had communicated with Mr Clayton'schurch for many years. He was now poor, and had retired from themetropolis, to the hut, for the advantage of purer air, and in the hopeof prolonging the short span within which his earthly life had beenbrought. To this humble habitation I was directed by Mr Clayton. 

"The woman, " said the minister, "is without any comfortable hope; butthe prospects of the brother are satisfactory and most cheering. Go tothe benighted woman. Her's is a melancholy case. Satan has a securefooting in her heart, and defeats every effort and every motive that Ihave brought to bear against it. May you be more fortunate--may herself-deceived and hardened spirit melt before the force and earnestnessof your appeals!"

I ventured for a second time on sacred and interdicted ground, andvisited the cottage. The unhappy woman, to whom I had specially come, was smitten indeed. She was blind and paralyzed, and on the extremeverge of eternity. Yet, afflicted as she was, and as near to death asthe living may be, she enjoyed the tranquillity and the gentleness of achild, ignorant of sin, and, in virtue of her infancy, confident of herinheritance. I could discover no evidence of a creature alarmed with asense of guilt, loathing itself, conscious of its worthlessness. Hernature, in truth, seemed to have usurped a sweetness and placidity, thepossession of which, as Mr Clayton afterwards observed, was justifiableonly in those who could find nothing but vileness and depravity inevery thought and purpose of their hearts. 

It was a beautiful day in summer, and Margaret was sitting before thecottage porch, feeling the sun's benevolent warmth, and tempering, withthe closed lid, the hot rays that were directed to her sightless orbs. She had no power to move, and was happy in the still enjoyment of thelingering and lovely day. She might have been a statue for herquietness--but there were curves and lines in the decrepit frame thatart could never borrow. Little there seemed about her to induce a loveof life, and yet a countenance more bright with cheerfulness and mildcontent I never met. The healthy and the young might read a lesson onher blanched and wrinkled cheek. Full of my errand, I did not hesitateat once to engage her mind on heavenly and holy topics. She did not, orshe would not, understand me. I spoke to her of the degradation ofhumanity, our fallen nature, and the impossibility of thinking any thingbut sin--and a stone could not be more senseless than the aged listener. 

"Was I sure of it?" she asked. "Did my Bible say it? Much she doubtedit, for she had sometimes, especially since her blindness, clear andbeautiful thoughts of heaven that could not be sinful, they rendered herso happy, and took away from her all fear. It was so shocking, too, " shethought, "to think so ill of men--our fellow-creatures, and thecreatures of a perfect Father. She loved her brother--he was sosimple-minded, and so kind to her, too; how _could_ she call him wickedand depraved!"

"Do you feel no load upon your conscience?" I enquired. 

"Bless the good man's heart!" she answered, "why, what cares have I? IfI can hear his friendly voice, and know he is not heavy-burthened, I amhappy. Brother is all to me. Though now and then I'm not well pleased ifthe young children keep away who play about me sometimes, as if they didnot need a playfellow more gay than poor blind Margaret. "

"Have you no fear of death?" said I. 

"Why should I have?" she answered quietly; "I never injured another inmy life. "

"Can that take off the sting?" I asked. 

"And I have tried, " continued she, "as far as I was able, to please theGod who made me. "

"Did you never think yourself the vilest of the vile?"

"Bless you! never, sir. How could I? If I had been, you may be sure MrClayton and the visiting ladies would never have been so kind to me andThomas as they have--and how could we expect it? I was only thinking, sir, before you came up, that if I had been wicked when I was young, Iwould never have been so easy under blindness. Now, it doesn't give meone unquiet hour. "

"Margaret, I would you were more anxious. "

"It wouldn't do, sir, for the blind to be anxious, " she replied. "Theymust do nothing, sir, but wait with patience. Besides, Thomas and I needno anxiety at all. God gives us more than we require, and it would bevery wicked to be restless and unquiet. "

"Margaret, " I said impressively, "there is heaven!"

"Yes, " she answered quickly, "that I'm sure of. I read of it before Ilost my eyes; and since my blindness I have seen it often. God is verygood to the afflicted, and none but the afflicted know how He makes upfor what He takes away. I have seen heaven, sir, though I have not sightenough to know your face. Do you play dominoes, Mr--what did you sayyour name was, sir?"

"You trifle, Margaret. "

"Oh, no indeed, sir. But how wonderful and quick my touch has got, andhow kind is heaven there, sir! I can see the dominoes with myfingers--touch is just as good as sight. Just think how many hours apoor blind creature has, that must be filled up some way or another! Ilike to keep to myself, and think, and think; but not always--andsometimes I want Thomas to read to me; and when that's over, I feel awant of something else. I'll tell you what it is--my eyes they want toopen. When that's the case, I always play at dominoes, and then thefeeling goes away. Thomas can tell you that, for he plays with me. "

I continued the conversation for an hour, and with the same result. Igrew annoyed and irritated--not with the deluded sinner, as I deemedher, but with myself, the feeble and unequal instrument. For a secondtime I had attempted to comply with the instructions of my master, andfor a second time had I been foiled, and driven back in melancholydiscomfiture. The imperturbability and easy replies of the womanharassed and tormented me in the extreme. I had been too recent a pupilto be thoroughly versed in all the subtleties and mysteries of myoffice. Silence was painful to me, and reply only accumulated difficultyand vexation. She seemed so happy, too; in the midst of all her heresyand error there existed an unaffected tranquillity and repose which Iwould have purchased at any cost or sacrifice. I blushed and grewashamed, and for a moment forgot that the bereaved creature was unableto behold the confusion with which defeat and exposure had covered me. At length I spoke imperfectly, loosely, and at random. The womandetected me in an untenable position--checked me--and in her artlessmanner, laid bare the fallacy of an inconsiderate assertion. In aninstant I was aware of my conviction, I retracted my expression, andinvolved myself immediately in fresh dilemma. Again, and as gently asbefore, she made the unsoundness of a principle evident and glaring. HowI closed the argument--the conversation and the interview--and escapedfrom her, I know not. Burning with shame, despising myself, and desirousof burying both my disgrace and self deep in the earth, where both mightbe forgotten, I was sensible of hurrying homeward. I reached it indespair, satisfied that I had become a coward and a renegade, and that Iwas lost, hopelessly and utterly here upon earth, and eternallyin heaven!

I had resolved, upon the day succeeding this adventure, to restore to mybenefactor the credentials with which be had been pleased to entrust me. Satisfied of the truth of my commission, I could only deplore myinability to execute it faithfully. In spite of what had passed at thecottage-door, the doctrines which I had advocated there lost none oftheir character and influence upon my own mind. Falling from the lips ofothers, they dropped with conviction into my _own_ soul. Nothing couldshake my _own_ unbounded reliance on their saving efficacy and heavenlyorigin. It was only when _I_ spoke of them, when _I_ attempted toexpound and teach them, that clouds came over the celestial truths, andthe sun's disk was dimmed and troubled. The moment that I ceased tospeak, light unimpaired, and bright effulgence, were restored. It wasenough that I could feel this. Grace and a miracle had made thestartling fact palpable and evident. This assurance followed easily. Nooral communication could have satisfied me more fully of the importanceand necessity of an immediate resignation of my trust. It was apunishment for my presumption. I should have rested grateful for theinterposition which had rescued me from the jaws of hell, and left toothers, worthy of the transcendent honour, the glorious task of savingsouls. What was I, steeped in sin, as I had been up to the very momentof my conversion--what was I, insolent, pretending worm, that I shouldraise my grovelling head, and presume upon the unmerited favour that hadbeen showered so graciously upon me? It remained for those--purest andbest of men, whose lives from childhood onward had been a lucidexposition of the word of truth--whose deeds had given to the world anassurance of their solemn embassy; it was for them to feel the strengththe countenance, and support of heaven, and to behold with gratitude andjoy their labours crowned with a triumphant issue and success. This wasthe new train of feeling suggested by new circumstances. I resignedmyself to its operation as quickly as I had adopted my previoussentiments; and, a few days before, I was not more anxious to commencemy sacred course than I was now miserable and uneasy until I turned fromit once and for ever. Mr Clayton had placed in my hands a list ofindividuals whom he transferred to my care. It was oppressive to knowthat I possessed it, and my first step was to place it again at hisdisposal. The interview which I obtained for this purpose was animportant one--important in itself--marvellous and astounding in itsconsequences. 

Mr Clayton spent many hours daily in a small room, called _a study_. Itwas a chamber sacred to the occupation followed there. I had not accessto it--nor had any stranger, with the exception of two ill-favoured men, whom I had found, for weeks together, constant attendants upon mybenefactor. For a month at a time, not a single day elapsed during whichthey were not closeted for a considerable period with the divine. Athree weeks' interval of absence would then take place; Mr Claytonprosecuted his studies alone and undisturbed, and no strange foot wouldcross the threshold until the ill-looking men returned, and passed somefive weeks in the small sanctuary as before. Who could they be? I hadnever directly asked the question, curious as I had been to know theirhistory and the purpose of their visits. Had I not learned from MrClayton the impropriety and sinfulness of judging humanity by its looks, I should have formed a most uncharitable opinion of their characters. They were hard-featured men, sallow of complexion, rigid in their looks. I knew that, attached to the church of Mr Clayton, were twomissionaries--men of rare piety, and some of humble origin--smallboot-makers, in fact; sometimes I believed that the visiters and theywere the same individuals. Circumstances, however, unfavourable to thisidea, arose, and I turned from one conjecture to another, until Ireposed, at length, in the belief that they were sinners--sinners of thedeepest dye--such as their ill-omened looks betrayed--and that theysought the kind and ever-ready minister to obtain his counsel, and toshare his prayers. At all events, this was a subject upon which Ireceived no enlightening from their confidant. Once I took occasion tomake mention of it; but, in an instant, I perceived that my enquiry wasnot deemed proper to be answered. It was to this forbidden closet--thescene of so much mystery--that, to my great surprize, I found myselfinvited by my benefactor, when I implored him to release me from theobligation in which I had too hastily involved myself. 

"Be seated, Caleb, " said Mr Clayton, as we entered the room in company. "Be seated, and be tranquil. You are excited now. "

I was, in truth, and not more so than deeply mortified and humbled. 

"You alarm me, dear young friend, " continued the good minister. "Youalarm and grieve me. I tremble for you, when I behold your versatility. Tell me, how is this? Can you not trust yourself? Can I trust you?"

I did not answer. 

"I have been careful in not thwarting your own good purposes. I havebeen most anxious to give your feelings their full bent. Has yourconversion been too sudden to endure? Have you so soon regretted theabandonment of the great world and all its pleasures--such as they wereto you? Has a life of usefulness and peace no charms? Alas! I had hopedotherwise. "

I assured my friend that he had mistaken the motive which had compelledme to forsake, at least for the present, the intention that I hadentertained honestly--though, I felt, erroneously--for the last fewdays. Nothing was further from my thoughts than a desire to mix again ina world of sinfulness and trouble. His precepts and bright example hadwon me from it; and I prayed only to be established in the principles, in the true knowledge of which I knew my happiness to consist. I was notequal to the task which I had proposed to myself, and he had kindlypermitted me to assume. I wished to be his meanest disciple--to acquirewisdom from his tuition--and, by the labour of years, to prepare myselffinally for that reward which he had so often announced to me as thepeculiar inheritance of the faithful and the righteous. I ceased. Myauditor did not answer me immediately. He sat for some minutes insilence, and closed his eyes as if absorbed in thought. At length, hesaid to me--

"You do not surprize me, Caleb. I am prepared for this. I perceivedyour difficulties from afar. It was inevitable. Self-confidence hasplaced you where you are. Be happy, and rejoice in your weakness--butturn now to the strong for strength. The work that has begun in yourheart must be completed. It shall be so--do not doubt it. "

The minister hesitated, looked hard at me, and endeavoured, as Iimagined, to find, in the expression of my countenance, an index to mythoughts. I said nothing, and he proceeded. 

"There are the appointed means. His way is in the sanctuary. He shallfeed his flock like a shepherd. There is but one refuge for the outcast. I have but one alleviation to offer you. It is all and every thing. Areyou prepared to accept it?"

"You are my friend, my guardian, and my father, " I replied. 

"You have wandered long in the wilderness, " continued the minister. "Youhave fed with the swine and the goats. You have found no nourishmentthere. All was bleak, and barren, and desolate there. The living waterswere dried up, and the bread of life was denied to the starvingwayfarer. "

"What must be done, sir?"

"You MUST ENTER THE FOLD--and have communion with the chosen people ofthe Lord. Are you content to do it?"

"Oh, am I worthy, " I exclaimed, "to be reckoned in the number of thoseholy men?"

"I cannot doubt it; but your own spirit shall bear witness to yourstate. To-morrow is our next church-meeting. There, if it be your wish, I will propose you; messengers will be appointed to converse with you. They will come to you, and gather, from your experience, the evidencesof your renewed, regenerated character. "

"What shall I say, sir?" I asked in all simplicity. 

"What says the drowning man to the hand that brings him to the shore?Your beating heart will be too ready to acknowledge the mighty work thathas been already done on your behalf. Have you forgotten the way youhave been led? Point it out to them. Have you been plucked as a brandfrom the burning? Acknowledge it to them in strains of liveliestgratitude. Does not your soul at this moment overflow at the vividrecollection of all the Lord has done for it and you? Will it not yearnto sing aloud His praise when strangers come to listen to the song? Thenspeak aloud to them. Do you not feel, have not a hundred circumstancesall concurred to prove, that you exist a vessel chosen to show forth Hispraise? Show it to them, and let them carry back the certain proofs ofyour redemption--let them convey the sweet intelligence of a brother'ssafety--and let them bid the church prepare to welcome him with hymns ofpraise into her loving bosom. "

Within a week of the above conversation, two respectable individualscalled upon me at Mr Clayton's house--the accredited messengers of thechurch in which my eternal safety was about to be secured. One was athickset man, with large black whiskers and corresponding eyebrows. Hiscountenance had a stern expression--the eye especially, which laycouched like a tiger beneath its rugged overhanging brow. You did notlike to look at it, and you could not meet it without unpleasantness andawe. The gentleman was very tall and sturdy--evidently a hairy person;he was unshaven, and looked muscular. Acting under the feeling which ledhim to despise all earthly grandeur and distinction, and which, no doubtinfluenced his conduct throughout life, he was remarkable for acarelessness and uncleanness of attire, as powerful and striking as theodour which exhaled from his broad person, and which explained theprofession of the gentleman to be--a working blacksmith. His companionwas thin, and neat, and dapper. There was an air about _him_ that couldnot have been acquired, except by frequent intercourse with the polishedand the rich. He was delicacy itself, incapable of a strong expression, and happier far when he could hint, and not express his sentiments. HadI been subject only to his examination, my ordeal would not have beensevere. It was the blacksmith whom I found hard and unimpressible as hisown anvil, dark as his forge, and as unpitying as its flames. The thinexaminer held the high office of deacon of the church. Whether it wasthe particularly dirty face of his friend that set him off to suchadvantage, or whether he had inherent claims to my respect, I cannottell; well I know, throughout the scrutiny that soon took place, manytimes I should have fallen beneath the blacksmith's hammer, but for thesupport and mild encouragement that I found in him. He was mostbecomingly dressed. He wore a white cravat, and no collar. He had lighthair closely cut, and his face was as smooth as a woman's. His shirt waswhiter than any shirt I have ever seen before or since, and it was madeof very fine material. He carried an agreeable smirk upon hiscountenance, and he disinterred, now and then, some very long andextraordinary word from the dictionary, when he was particularlydesirous either to make himself understood or conceal his meaning. I hadalmost omitted to add, that he was a ladies' haberdasher. 

I received the deputation with a trembling and apprehensive heart. Iknew my faith to be sincere, and I believed it to be correct, accordingto the views of the church of which my revered friend was the ministerand organ. Still, I could not be insensible to the importance of thestep which I was about to take, and to the high tone of piety which thetrue believers demanded from all who joined their ranks and partook oftheir exclusive privileges. 

It will not be necessary to repeat in detail the course of myexamination. At the close of two hours it was concluded, and I am atthis moment willing to confess that it was, upon the whole, satisfactory. I mean to myself--for by my questioners, and by thelittle haberdasher more particularly, the conference was pronounced mostgratifying and comforting in every way. I say _upon the whole_, for Icould not, even at that early period of my initiation, and with all myexcitement and enthusiasm, prevent the intrusion of some disturbingthoughts--some painful impressions that were not in harmony with thegeneral tenor of my feelings. I had prepared myself to meet and dealwith the appointed delegates of heaven, and I had encountered _men_, yes, and men not entitled to my reverence and regard, except as thechosen ambassadors of the church. One was low, ignorant, and vulgar. Hetook no pains to conceal the fact; he rather gloried in his native andoffensive coarseness. The other was a smoother man, scarcely lessdestitute of knowledge, or worthier of respect. Looking back, at thisdistance of time, upon this strange interview, I am indeed shocked andgrieved at the part which I then and there permitted myself toundertake. The scene has lost the colours which gave it a false andsuperficial lustre, and I gaze on the melancholy reality chidden, and, let me say, instructed by the sight. I can now better appreciate andunderstand the self-confident tone which pronounced upon my state in theeye of heaven--the canting expressions of brotherly love--the irreverentfamiliarity with which Scripture was quoted, garbled, and tortured tojustify dissent, and render disobedience holy--the daring assumption ofinquisitorial privileges, and the scorn, the illiberality andself-righteousness, with which my angry, bigoted, and vulgar questionersdecided on the merits of every institution that eschewed their fancifulvagaries and most audacious claims. I do not wonder that, overtaken in acareer of misery, the consequence of my own imprudence, I should havebeen arrested by the voice, and smitten by the eloquence, of Mr Clayton. I do not wonder that I listened to his arguments, and observed hisconduct, until I was reduced to passiveness, and my mind was willing tobe moulded to his purposes. But I do wonder and lament that anyobscuration of my judgment, any luxuriance of feeling, should havepermitted my youthful understanding for an instant to believe that tosuch men as my examiners the keys of heaven were entrusted, and that onthem, and on their voice, depended the reception of a broken-heartedpenitent at the mercy-seat of God. 

A few words from the haberdasher-deacon, at the breaking up of theconvocation, or whatever else it might be termed, were satisfactory, inso far as they showed that my temporal prospects were not entirelyneglected by those who had become so deeply interested in my spiritualwelfare. The blacksmith had hardly brought to a close a somewhat lengthyand very ungrammatical exhortation, that wound up the day's proceedings, when the dapper Jehu Tomkins, jumping at once from the carnival to therevel, shook me cordially by the hand, and most kindly suggested to methat, under the patronage of so important and religious a connexion asthat into which I was about to enter, I could not fail to succeed, whatever might be the plan which I had laid down for my future support. 

"I have heard all about you, " added Jehu, "from our respected minister, and you'll soon get into something now. It's a good congregation, sir--wealthy and influential. I should say we have richer people in ourconnexion than in any about London. Mr Clayton is a very popular man, sir--very good, and speaks the truth. "

"He is good indeed, " I answered. 

"Sir, grace is sure to follow you now. It is fifteen years since I firstsat under Mr Clayton! Ah, I remember the night I was converted, as if itwere yesterday. I always felt, up to that very time, the need ofsomething better than I had got. Business had gone wrong ever since Iopened shop, and my mind was quite unsettled. Satan tried very hard atme, but it wouldn't do. Sometimes, when my boy had gone home, and shopwas shut up, the Tempter would whisper in my ears words likethese--'Jehu, you're insured, over and over again, for your stock; let aspark fall on the shavings, and your fortune's made. ' Well, sir, once ortwice--will you believe it?--the Devil had nearly got it all his ownway; but grace prevented, and I was saved. I owe it all to Mr Clayton. Iwas told by one or two of my customers to go and hear him, but somehowor other I never did. Satan kept me back. At last the gentleman as wasthe deacon--him as built the chapel--Mrs Jehu Tomkin's father--comes tomy shop with his daughter, Mrs Jehu as is now, and spoke to me about theminister. Well, I heard the old gentleman was very rich and pious, and Iwent the next Sabbath-day as was, with his family, into his pew. I neverwent any where else after that. He seemed to hit the nail just on thehead, and I was convinced--oh, quite wonderful!--all on a sudden. I wasmarried to Mrs Jehu before that day twelvemonth. So you see gracefollowed me throughout, as it will you, my dear brother, if you onlymind what you are about, and don't be a backslider. "

"Mr Clayton, " said I, "has kindly promised to procure employment forme. "

"Ah! and he'll do it, if he says so, " rejoined Mr Tomkins. "That's yourman. You stick to him, and you won't hurt. He's a chosen vessel, if everthere was one. What do you say, brother Buster?"

Brother Buster simply groaned his assent, and scowled. He had been forsome time anxious to depart, and he now took his leave withoutfurther ceremony. 

"You wouldn't think that man was a saint to look at him, would you?"asked the deacon, as soon as his friend was gone. "He is though. He isriper in spiritual matters than any man I know. Ah! the Establishmentwould give something for a few like him. He'll be taken from us, I fear. We make a idol of him, and that's sure to be punished. It's wonderfulwhat he knows; and how it has come to him we can't tell. "

I received a pressing invitation from Mr Tomkins to visit his "small and'appy family, " as he was pleased to call it, on any evening after eighto'clock, which was his latest business hour. "Mrs Jehu, " I was assured, "was just like her father, and his four small Jehus as exactly liketheir grandfather, and he wished to say no more for them. Afterbusiness his family enjoyed invariably a little spiritual refreshment, and that and a hymn made the time pass very agreeably till supper-timeat nine, when he had a 'ot collation, at which he should be most proudto see me. "

To all the charges that have been at various times, with more or lessvirulence and disinterestedness, brought against the Church of England, that of assuming to itself the divine attribute of searching the secretheart of many has, I believe, never been superadded. It has remained formen very far advanced indeed in spiritual knowledge and perfection, toassert the bold prerogative, and to venture, unappalled, beneath thefrown of heaven. The close scrutiny, on the part of Mr Buster, proper asit was as a step preliminary, was by no means sufficient to procure forme an easy and unquestioned admission into the church which theblacksmith had so ably represented. There was yet another trial toensue, and another jury to pronounce upon the merits of the anxiouscandidate. He had yet to prove to the perfect satisfaction of theself-constituted junto, that styled itself a _church_, how God hadmercifully dealt with him--to detail, with historic accuracy, the methodand procedure of his regeneration, and to find evidence of a spiritualchange, that carried on its front the proof of his conversion and hisaccepted state. All this was to be done before I could be _entitled_ tothe privileges which Messrs Buster, Tomkins, and the rest, had it intheir power to bestow. The manner in which this delicate investigationwas carried on, its indecorum and profaneness, I never can forget; norcan I, in truth, remember it without humiliation and deep sorrow. Against the indiscreet, illegal exhibition, I set off my ignorance, simplicity, and desire of serving heaven; and in these I place my hopeof pardon for the share I had in such proceedings. 

I received, in due form, a requisition to appear before the body of the_church_, at its general meeting. I appeared. The chapel was thronged, the majority of members being women. In the hands of nearly every thirdperson was a printed paper. I was not then aware of its contents; if Ihad been, the ceremony would, in all probability, have concluded with myentrance. Will it be believed, that this paper contained a printedformula of the questions which were to test the quality of my faith, andto pronounce upon the vitality and worth of my spiritual pretensions!Any person present was at liberty to address me, and to form his ownopinion of my case from the manner and the matter which their ingenuityelicited. At the suggestion of Mr Tomkins, who, in his capacity ofdeacon, was remarkably active on this occasion, it was deemed properthat I should enter upon my "experience" at once. My heart fluttered asI rose to comply with the demand, and the chapel was hushed. It will besufficient to say, that I repeated my entire history, and secured theattention of my auditory until I had spoken my last word. There wereparts of the narrative which I could, with a glance, perceive to bepeculiarly _piquant_ and acceptable. As these occurred, a rustling and amurmur expressed the subdued applause. When, for instance, I mentionedthe disgust which I had conceived for the University upon losing thescholarship, and the uneasiness which I afterwards felt as long as Icontinued a member of that community, a few of the most acute looked atone another, and shrugged mysteriously, as who should say, "How wondrousare the ways of Providence!" and when I arrived at the point of mydeliverance by the hand of their own minister, there would have been, Ithought, no end to the gesticulations, expressions of gratitude and joy, that burst from the "church, " in spite of the praiseworthy efforts ofthe minister to control and keep them down. When I had concluded, andwhilst the half-suppressed rejoicing still buzzed in the chapel, thestern Buster rose, and presented to me the unmitigated force of hisunpleasant eye. Silence prevailed immediately. 

"Now, sir, " said my old friend, "what makes you think yourself a childof grace? Speak out, if you please; I'm rather deaf. "

"The loathing that I feel of what I was. "

"Good!" said Jehu Tomkins, with strong emphasis, and loud enough to beheard by every one. 

"When did you feel the fetters fust busting from your spirit?"

"Not till I heard the minister's kind voice, " was the reply. 

"Do you always feel as strong upon the subject? Do you feel your spiritalways willing?"

"Oh, no, " I answered; "there are dreadful fluctuations, and there isnothing so uncertain as self-dependence. I have dark and bitter moments, when I feel, in all its power, the melancholy truth--'When I would dogood, evil is present with me. '"

"Capital sign!--capital sign!" exclaimed Jehu Tomkins again; "quitesufficient!--quite sufficient!"

Yes, it was so. A few questions were put to me by individuals, ratherfor the sake of gratifying an impertinent curiosity, than that ofelucidating further proof of my proficiency, and the ceremony wasfinished by my formal reception into the body of the church. A prayerwas offered, an address delivered, a hymn sung--the eyes of many ladieswere turned with smiling interest upon me--and the meeting separated. Jehu Tomkins was the first to congratulate me upon the happy issue ofmy trial. 

"You are a made man, sir, depend upon it, " said he, with his firstsalutation. "You can't fail. There--do you see that fat man that's justgoing out--him as has got on the Indy 'ankycher?--I sold him that--hecame on purpose to hear you, and if he found you up to the mark, he'sgoing to provide for you. He belongs to all our societies, and just doeswhat he pleases. His word's a law. We've a boiled leg of mutton at nineto-night. Suppose you come to us, and finish the day there? Bless me, what a full meeting we've had! Here's a squeezing!" There was certainlysome difficulty in our egression. The people had gathered into a crowdat the small doorway, and men jostled and made their way without regardto others in their vicinity. Lost as I was in the indiscriminate host, afew observations fell upon my ear that were not, I presume, especiallyintended for it. 

"Well, " said a greasy youth, not many yards distant from me, "I doubthis having had a call. There wasn't life enough in it for me. Ishouldn't be surprised if he's a black sheep after all. I wish I had puta question or two to him. I think I could have shown Satan in his heartpretty quick. "

"Now you say it, " replied the person addressed, "I did think him verybackward and lukewarm. I didn't like his tone altogether. Ah! what athing experimental religion is! You know what it is, and so do I; but Iwerry much fear that delooded young man is as carnal-minded as my motherwas, that went to hell, though I say it, as contented and unconcerned asif she was going to the saints in glory. "

The information conveyed to me by Mr Tomkins as we issued from thechapel was not unfounded. The very day subsequent to my admittance intothe bosom of the church, I was requested to attend the minister in the_sanctum_ already referred to. Upon reaching it, I discovered the fatgentleman of the preceding evening, dressed as he was on the previousoccasion, and still adorned with Jehu's India handkerchief. Both he andMr Clayton were seated at table, and writing materials were before them. The moment I entered the apartment, the fat gentleman held out his hand, and shook mine with much stateliness. My friend, however, addressed me. 

"Caleb, " said he, "we are at length able to fulfil our promise. It is mypleasure to announce to you that a situation is procured for you, suitable to your talents, and agreeable to your feelings. We are both ofus indebted to this good gentleman. In your name I have already thankedhim, and in your name I have accepted the office which he has been atsome pains to obtain for you. "

I looked towards the stout gentleman, and bowed in gratefulacknowledgment. 

"Tell him the duties, Clayton, " requested my new-found influentialfriend. 

"Mr Bombasty, " proceeded the minister, "feels a warm interest in yourwelfare. The happy result of yesterday's trial has secured for you afriendship which it will be your duty and study to deserve. There isestablished, in connexion with our church, a Christian instructionsociety, of which Mr Bombasty is the esteemed and worthy president. Theappointment of a travelling secretary rests with him, and he has thisvery day nominated you to that distinguished office. I have tenderedyour thanks. You can now repeat them. "

"Tell him the salary, " interrupted the president. 

"You will receive one hundred and fifty pounds per annum, " continued MrClayton, "in addition to your travelling charges; apartments likewise, Ibelieve"--He hesitated as if uncertain, and looked towards thepresident. 

"Yes, " replied that gentleman, "go on--coals and candles. You answer forhim, Clayton--eh?"

"As I told you, sir, " said my friend, "I will pledge myself for histrustiness and probity. "

The remembrance of Mr Chaser's cold-hearted cruelty occured to my mindas my benefactor spoke, and tears of gratitude trembled in my eyes. Thefat gentleman remarked the expression of feeling, and brought theinterview to a close. 

"Well, Clayton, " said he, "you can talk to him. I've twenty places to goto yet. Get the paper signed, and he may begin at once. Let a lawyerdraw it up. Just make yourself security for a thousand pounds--I don'tsuppose he'll ever have more than half that at a time in hispossession--and that'll be all the society will require. He can come tome to-morrow. Now I'm off. Good-bye, my friend--'morning, young man. "The last adieu was accompanied with a patronizing nod of the head, which, with the greeting on my first appearance, constituted the wholeof the intercourse that passed between me and my future principal. Themoment that he departed, I turned to Mr Clayton, and thanked him warmlyand sincerely for all that he had accomplished for me. 

"I shall leave you, sir, " I added, "with mingled feelings of regret andsatisfaction--regret in separating from the purest and the best of men, my friend, my counsellor, and father--but joy, because I cease to be aburden upon your charity and good nature. I carry into the world with methe example of your daily life, and my own sense of your dignified andexalted character. Both will afford me encouragement and support in thevicissitudes which yet await me. Tell me how I may better evince mygratitude, and let me gratify the one longing desire of myoverflowing heart. "

"Caleb, " replied the minister, with solemnity, "it is true that I havebeen permitted to protect and serve you. It is true that, but for me, atthis moment you would be beyond the reach of help and man's regard. Ihave brought you from the grave to life. I have led you to the waters oflife, of which you may drink freely, and through which you will be madepartaker with the saints, of glory everlasting. This I have done foryou. Do I speak in pride? Would I rob Heaven and give the praise andhonour to the creature? God forbid. _I_ have accomplished little. _I_have done nothing good and praiseworthy but as the instrument of Himwhose servant and whose minister I am. Not for myself, but for myMaster's sake, I demand your friendship and fidelity. If I have beenaccounted worthy to save your soul, I am not unworthy of your loyaltyand love. "

"They are yours, sir. It is my happiness to offer them. "

"Caleb, " continued my friend, in the same tone, "you have lived with memany months. Mine is a life of privacy and retirement compared with thatof other men. I strive to be useful to my fellow-creatures, and am happyif I succeed. If any one may claim immunity from slander and reproach, it is I, who have avoided diligently all appearance of offence. Yet Ihave not succeeded. You are about to mix again with men. You have joinedthe church, and you will not fail to hear me spoken of harshly andinjuriously. "

"Impossible!" I exclaimed. 

"Yes, it would seem so, and it would _be_, if justice in this worldaccompanied men's acts. I tell you, " continued Mr Clayton, flushing ashe raised his voice, "there are men living now whom I have raised frombeggary and want--men, indebted to me for the air they breathe, whocalumniate and defame me through the world, and who will not cease to doso till I or they are sleeping in the dust. They owed me every thing, like you--their gratitude was unbounded, even as yours. What assurancehave I that you will not deal as hardly by your friend as they havedone, and still do?"

"Mr Clayton, " I answered, eagerly, "I would lay down my life to serveyou. "

"I believe you to be frank and honest, Caleb. I should believe it; for Iam about to pledge a heavy sum upon your integrity--and, indeed, I canbut ill spare it. You ask me how I would have you show your thankfulnessfor what I have accomplished for you. I answer, by giving me your_friendship_. It is a holy word, and comprehends more than is supposed. A friend believes not ill that is spoken of him to whom he is united bymutual communion and interest; he is faithful to the end, through goodreport and evil, and falls, if need be, with the man to whom he hasengaged his troth and given his heart. "

"I am unworthy, sir, " I said, "to stand in this relation with one sogood, so holy as yourself. I have but a word to say--trust and confidein me. I will never deceive you. "

"Let us pray, " said Mr Clayton, after a long pause, sighing as he spoke, and speaking very softly--and immediately he fell upon his knees, and I, according to a practice which I had acquired at the chapel, leaned upona chair, and turned my face to the window. 

It was about a month after my installation into my new office, thatbusiness connected with the society carried me to the village ofHighgate. It was late in the evening when my commission was completed, and I was enabled, after a day of excessive fatigue, to direct my stepsonce more homeward. The stage-coach, which set out from the village forLondon twice during the day, luckily for me, was appointed to make itslast journey about half an hour after my engagements had set me atliberty. A mile, across fields, intervened between me and thecoach-office. Short as the distance was, it was any thing but anagreeable task to get over it, with the rain spitting into my face, theboisterous wind beating me back, and the darkness of a November nightconfounding me at every turn. In good time, however, I reached the inn. Providence favoured me. There were but two seats unoccupied in thecoach; one was already engaged by a gentleman who had requested to betaken up a mile forward; the other had just been given up by a lady whohad been frightened by the storm, and had postponed her return to Londonto the following day. This seat I immediately secured, and in a fewminutes afterwards we were on our way towards Babylon. We made butlittle progress. The breed of coach horses has been much improved sincethe period of which I write, and a journey from Highgate to London was amuch more important event than a railway conductor of the present daywould suppose. My companions were all men. Their conversation turnedupon the topics of the day. A monetary crisis had taken place in themercantile world, and for many days I had heard nothing spoken of butthe vast losses which houses and individuals of high character andstanding had incurred, and the bankruptcy with which the community hadbecome suddenly threatened. The subject had grown stale and wearisome tome. It had little interest, in fact, for one whose humble salary of onehundred and fifty pounds per annum depended so little upon the greatfluctuations of commerce, and I accordingly disposed myself for sleep assoon as the words _bills_, _money_, and _bankruptcy_, became the staplematter of discourse. I had scarcely established a comfortable dozebefore the coach stopped suddenly, and awoke me. It had halted for thelast inside. A gentleman, apparently stout and well wrapped up--it wasimpossible to speak positively on the subject, the night was so verydark--trod his way into the vehicle over the toes of hisfellow-passengers, and took his seat. The coach was once more movingtowards the metropolis, and again I endeavoured to lull myself to sleep. The same expressions proceeded from the lips of the travellers, and theywere growing more and more indistinct and shadowy, when I was startledall on a sudden by one of the most palpable sounds that had everdisturbed and confounded a dreamer. I sat up and listened, coughed toconvince myself that I was certainly awake, and the sounds were repeatedas clear and as audible as before. I would have sworn that Mr Claytonwas the gentleman whom we had last picked up--that he was now in thecoach with me--and was now talking, if the words which fell from thetraveller had not been such as he would never have used, and the subjecton which he spoke had not been one upon which Mr Clayton, I believed, was as ignorant as a child. The resemblance between the voices was sogreat, that I pronounced the phenomenon the most extraordinary that hadever occurred to me; and growing quite wakeful from the incident, Icontinued to listen to the accents of the speaker until once or twice Ihad almost thought it my duty to acquaint him with the remarkable fact, which he was now living to illustrate. But I held my peace, and theconversation proceeded without interruption. 

"You may depend upon it, " said one gentleman, "things must get worsebefore they'll mend. Half the mischief isn't done yet. There's a reportto-day that ---- cannot hold out much longer. It will be a queer thingif they smash. Many petty tradesmen bank with that house, who will beruined if they go. Things are certainly in a very sweet state. "

"You do not mean, " said _the voice_, trembling with emotion or alarm, "that the house of ---- threatens to give way? I have been in the cityto-day, and did not hear a syllable of this. I think you must hemistaken. Good God, how frightful!"

Well, it was really wonderful! I could have sworn that Mr Clayton wasthe speaker. Had he not concluded with the ejaculation, my doubt wouldcertainly have ceased. That exclamation, of course, removed thesupposition entirely. 

"You'll find I'm right, sir, " was the reply of the traveller who spokefirst. "At least, I fear you will. I hope I may be wrong. If you haveany thing in their hands, you would find it worth your while, I think, to pay them an early visit to-morrow morning. If there's a run uponthem, nothing in the world can save them. "

"And is it true, " asked _the voice_, "that ---- stopped paymenton Tuesday? I came to town from Warwickshire only yesterday, and thisis the first news that I heard. "

"Oh, there's no doubt about that, " answered a third person; "but thatsurprized nobody. The only wonder is, how he managed to keep afloat solong. He has been up to the chin for the last twelvemonth and more. Ihope you don't lose there, sir?"

"Mine has been the devil's luck this year, " continued _the voice_, in abitter savage tone, that never belonged to Mr Clayton. "Yes, gentlemen, I lose heavily by them both. But never mind, never mind, _one_ shallwince for it, if he has been playing ducks and drakes with my goodmoney. He shall feel the scourge, depend upon it. I'll never leave himtill he has paid me back in groans. Heaven, what a sum!"

_The voice_ said no more during the journey. The other gentlemen havinglost nothing by the various failures, discussed matters with philosophyand praiseworthy decorum. Sometimes, indeed, "the third person" grewslightly facetious and jocose when he represented to himself what hetermed "the queer cut" that some old friend would display on presentinghis cheque for payment at the rickety counter of Messrs ---- & Co. ; butno deeper expression of feeling escaped one of those who spoke so longand volubly on what concerned themselves so very little. I was puzzledand disturbed. The stranger had returned from Warwickshire the daybefore. Twice during my residence with the minister, business ofimportance had carried him to that county. It was certainly a curiouscoincidence, but coincidences more curious pass by us every dayunheeded. It would have been absurd to conclude from that the identityof the stranger; yet the fact, coupled with _the voice_, staggered andconfounded me. I said nothing, but determined, as soon as we reached thepublic streets, to call to my aid the light--feeble as it was--of thedimly-burning lamps, which, at the time I speak of, were placed at aconsiderable distance from each other along the principal streets ofLondon, scattering no light, and looking like oil lamps in the laststage of a lingering consumption. These afforded me little help. Theweakest effort of illumination imaginable strayed across the coachwindow as we passed a burner, about as serviceable as the long intervalof darkness that ensued, and far more tantalizing. We were drivingthrough the city. I was still brooding over the singular occurrence, when the coach stopped. The stranger alighted. I endeavoured to obtainsight of him, but he was so wrapped and clothed that I did not succeed. The coach was on its way again, and I had just opportunity enough todiscover that we had halted at the corner of the street in which MrClayton resided. I had been so intent upon scanning the figure of thetraveller, that the fact had escaped me. Had I been aware of it, I wouldcertainly have followed the man, and seen him at all events safelybeyond the door of the minister. Now it was too late. 

I could not repress the desire which I felt to visit Mr Clayton on thefollowing morning. I went to him at an early hour. If he and thestranger were one and the same person, I should be made aware of it at aglance. The cause that had affected him so deeply in the stage-coachexisted still, and his manner must betray him. My suspicions were, thankHeaven, instantly removed. I found my friend tranquil as ever, busy athis old occupation, and welcoming me with his usual smile ofbenevolence. He was paler than usual, I thought; but this impressiononly convinced me how difficult it is to be charitable and just, whenbias and prejudice once take possession of us. My friend was, if anything, kinder and more affectionate than ever. He spoke to me about mynew employment, gave me his advice on points of difficulty, and bade meconsult him always, and without hesitation, when doubt might lead meinto danger. He could not tell me how happy he had been made by havingsecured a competency for me; and he hoped sincerely that no act of minewould ever cause him to regret the step that he had taken. 

"Indeed, " said he, "I have great confidence in you, Caleb. I do not knowanother person in the world upon whose character I would have staked solarge a sum. In truth, I should not have been justified. A thousandpounds is a heavy venture for one so straitened as I am. But you areworthy of it all. You are a faithful and good boy, and will never giveme reason to repent my generosity. Will you, child?"

"No, sir, " I replied; "not if I am master of myself. "

"It is strange, " continued the good man, "how we attach ourselves toindividuals! There are some men who repel you at first sight--with whomyour feelings are at variance as oil with water. Others again, who winus with a look--to whom we could confide the secrets of our inmostheart, and feel satisfied of their losing nothing of their sacredness. Have you never experienced this, Caleb?"

"I could speak to you, sir, " said I, in return, "as unreservedly as tomyself. "

"Yes, and I to you. It is a strange and beautiful arrangement. Providence has a hand in this, as in all other sublunary dispensations. We were created to be a comfort and a joy to one another, and toreciprocate confidence and love. Such instances are not confined tomodern times. History tells us of glorious friendships in the ancientworld. The great of old--of Greece and Rome--they who advanced to thevery gate and threshold of TRUTH, and then despairingly turnedback--they have honoured human nature by the intensity and permanency oftheir attachments. But what is a Pagan attachment in comparison withthat which exists amongst believers, and unites in bonds that areindissoluble, the faithful hearts of pious Christians?"

"Ah, what indeed, sir!"

"Come to me to-morrow, Caleb, " continued my friend, changing thesubject. "Let me see you as often as your duties will permit you. Wemust not be strangers. I did not intend to give you up so easily. It issweet and refreshing to pursue our old subjects of discourse. You arenot tired of them?"

"Oh, no, sir. "

"Come, then, to-morrow. "

It was truly delightful to listen to the minister. I had never known himmore sweetly disposed and more calm than on this occasion. He wasunruffled by the presence of one anxious thought. Ah, how differentwould he have been if he had really proved to be my coach acquaintance!How I despised myself for the one unkind half suspicion which I hadentertained so derogatory to the high character of the saint. But it wasa great comfort to me, nevertheless, to be so satisfied of my delusion, and to feel so easy and so happy in my mind at the close of our longinterview. According to my promise, I saw the minister on the followingday. He was as peaceful and heavenly-minded as before. Anotherappointment was made and kept--another succeeded to that--and for onefortnight together, I spent many hours daily in the society of myrespected friend. 

In pursuance of an arrangement which we had made, I called one afternoonat Mr Clayton's house, and was distressed to hear that he was confinedto his bed by a sudden attack of illness. He had directed his servant toacquaint all visiters with his condition, and to admit no one to him, with the exception of the medical attendant and myself. I was eager toprofit by my privilege, and was in a few seconds at the bedside of mybenefactor. He was reading when I approached him, and he looked flushedand agitated. He put his book away from him, and held out his hand tome. I pressed it most affectionately. 

"I have been ill, Caleb, " he began, "but I am better now, and I shall bequite well soon. Do not be alarmed. "

"How did it happen, sir?" I asked. 

"We are in the flesh now, dear boy, and are subject to the evils of theflesh. Hereafter it will be otherwise. Sorrow and distress, we are told, shall be no more. Oh, happy time for sinners! I have grievouslyoffended. This very day I have permitted worldly thoughts to disturb andharrass me, and to shake the fleshly tabernacle. It was wrong, very wrong. "

"What has happened, sir?" I enquired. 

The minister looked hard and tenderly upon me, pressed my hand again, and bade me take a chair. 

"Bring it near to the bed, Caleb, " said Mr Clayton; "I like to have younear me. I am better since you came. To see you is always soothing to mymind. I am reminded, then, that I am not altogether so worthless andinsignificant a worm as I believe myself, since I have been able to doso much for you. Tell me, do you still like the employment that Iprocured for you?"

"I would not resign it for any other that I know of. It is every thingto me. I feel my independence, and I have been told that I am useful tomy fellow-creatures. It would be a bitter hour to me, sir, that shouldfind me deprived of my appointment. "

"And that hour is very distant, Caleb, if you are sensible of your duty, and grateful to the instruments which Heaven has raised for you. Youshall always feel your independence, and always hear that you are usefuland respected. Be but faithful. It is a lesson that I have repeated toyou many times--it cannot be told too often. "

"You are a patient and a kind instructor, sir. "

"Come closer to me, Caleb, and now listen. But first--look well at me, and tell me what you see. "

I looked as he required, but gave no answer. 

"Tell me, do you see the lines and marks that beggary and ruin bringupon the countenance of men? Does poverty glare from any one expression?_I am a lost and ruined man. _"

"You, sir?"

"Yes. The trifling pittance upon which I lived, and barely lived, andyet from which I could still extract enough to do a little good--tofeed, perhaps, one starving throat--is wrested, torn from me, and fromthose who shared in what it might obtain. I am myself a beggar. "

Mr Clayton became agitated as he spoke, and I implored him to composehimself. 

"Yes--it is that I wish to do. I should be above the influence of dross. And for myself I am. Would that I might suffer alone! And this is notall. The man who has effected my ruin owes every thing to me. I foundhim penniless, and raised him to a condition that should have inspiredhim with regard and gratitude. I would have trusted that man withconfidence unbounded. I did entrust him with my all, and he has beggaredand undone me. "

"Take it not to heart, sir, " I said, soothing the afflicted man; "thingsmay not be so bad as you suppose. "

"They cannot be worse, " was the reply; "but I will _not_ take it toheart. The blow is hard to bear--the carnal man must feel it--yet I amnot without my solace. Read to me, Caleb. "

I read a chapter from the work that was lying on the bed. It was called"_The Good Man's Comfort in Affliction_. " It was effectual in restoringmy friend to composure. He spoke afterwards with his usual softnessof manner. 

"This bad man, Caleb, " he resumed, "is a member of our church. I amsorry for it--grievously, bitterly sorry for it. The scandal must beremoved. Personally, I would be as passive and forbearing as a child, but the church suffers whilst one such member is permitted to profaneher ordinances. He must be cut off from her. It must be done. The churchmust disavow the man who has betrayed her minister and disgracedhimself. I have been your friend, Caleb--you must now prove mine. "

"Most willingly, " said I. 

"This business must be brought before a general meeting of the church. From me the accusation will come with ill grace, and yet a public chargemust be preferred. You must be the champion of my cause. Your's shall bethe task of conferring a lasting obligation on your friend--your's shallbe the glory of ridding the sanctuary of defilement. "

"How am I to act, sir?"

"Your course is very easy, child. A meeting shall be convened withoutdelay. You shall attend it. You shall be made master of the case. Youmust propose an examination of his affairs on the part of the church. The man has failed--he is a bankrupt--our church is pure, and demands aninvestigation into the questionable conduct of her children. This youshall do. The church will do the rest. "

I know not how it was--I cannot tell what led to it--but a cold shuddercrept through my body, and a sudden sickness overcame me. I thought ofthe coach scene--_the voice_ seemed more like than ever--the tones werethe very same. I seemed unexpectedly enclosed and entangled in somedreadful mystery. I could not conceive why I should hesitate to acceptthe invitation of my friend with alacrity and pleasure. He was mybenefactor, preserver, best and only friend. 

He had been defrauded, and he called upon me now to perform a simple actof justice. A man under much less obligation to the minister would havemet his wishes joyfully; but I _did_ hesitate and hold back. A naturalsuggestion, one that I could not control or crush, told me as loudly asa voice could speak, not to commit myself by an immediate and rashconsent. It must have been the _coach_; for, previously to thatadventure, had the minister commanded me to accuse a hundred men, a hintwould have sufficed for my obedience. But that unfortunate occurrence, now revived by the manner of my friend--by the expressions which heemployed--by the charge which he adduced against the unhappy member ofhis church--filled me with doubt, uncertainty, and alarm. Mr Clayton wasnot slow to remark what was passing in my mind. 

"How is this, Caleb?" he enquired. "You pause and hesitate. "

"What has he done sir?" I asked, in my confusion, hardly knowing what Isaid. 

"Done!" exclaimed the minister, with an offended air. "Caleb, he hasruined the man who has made you what you are. "

It was too true. Mr Clayton had indeed made me what I was. It was a justreproof. It was ingratitude of the blackest character, to listen socoldly to his wishes. For months I had received daily and hourly themost signal benefits from his hands. He had never till now called uponme to make the shadow of a return for all his disinterestedlove--_disinterested_, ah, was it so? I hated myself for the momentarydoubt--and yet the doubt returned upon me. If I had not heard his voicein the coach, such a suspicion would have been impossible. _Now_, anything seemed possible--nothing was too extraordinary to happen. Well, itwas little that the minister requested me to do. I had but to demand aninvestigation into the man's affairs. It was easily done, and withoutany cost or sacrifice of principle. But why could not the ministerdemand the same himself? "It would be unseemly, " he asserted. Well, itmight be--why had he not selected an elder member of the Church?Because, as he had often told me, there was none so dear to him. Thiswas plain and reasonable, and all this passed through my brain with therapidity of thought in an instant of time. 

"You may command me, sir, " I said at length. 

"No, Caleb, I will not _command_ you. To serve your friend would havebeen, I deemed, a labour of love. I did not _command_ you, and I nowretract the trifling request which I find I was too bold to make. "

"Do not talk so to me, Mr Clayton, I entreat you. I am disturbed andunwell to-day. Your illness has unsettled me. Pray command me. Speak tome as is your wont--with the same kindliness and warmth--you know I ambound to you. Let me serve you in any way you please. "

"We will speak of it some other time. Let us change the subject now. There are twenty men who will be eager to comply with the wishes oftheir minister. An intimation will suffice. "

"But why, sir, " I returned--"why should others be privileged to do yourbidding, and I denied? Forgive my apparent coldness, and give me myinstructions. "

"Not now, " said Mr Clayton, softened by my returning warmth. "Let usread again. Some other time. "

In a few days the subject was again introduced, and I put in possessionof the history of the unfortunate man who was so soon to be broughtunder the anathema of the church. According to the statement of theminister, the guilty person had received at various times from him as aloan, no less a sum than four thousand pounds, the substance of hiswealth, besides an equal amount from other sources, for which Mr Claytonhad made himself accountable. Mr Clayton had implicated himself soseriously, as he said, for the advantage of the man whom he had knownfrom boyhood, and raised from beggary, simply on account of the love hebore him, and in consideration of his Christian character. Of everyfarthing thus advanced, the minister had been defrauded, and within amonth the trader had declared himself a bankrupt. That the ministershould have acted so inconsiderately and prodigally, might seem strangeto any one who did not thoroughly understand the extreme unselfishnessof his disposition. Towards me he had behaved with an equal liberality, and I, at least, had no right to question the truth of every word hespoke. The conduct of the man appeared odious and unpardonable, and Iregretted that I should have doubted, for one moment, the propriety ofassisting so manifest an act of justice. Let me acknowledge that therewas much need of self-persuasion to arrive at this conclusion. I wishedto believe that I felt _urged_ to my determination; but the necessitythat I experienced of working myself up to a conviction of the justiceof the case, militated sadly against so pleasing a delusion. 

The second church meeting in which it fell to my lot to perform adistinguished character, took place soon after the communication which Ireceived from my respected friend. It was convened with the especialobject of inquiring into the circumstances connected with the failure ofMr George Whitefield Bunyan Smith. The chapel was, if possible, fullerthan on the former evening, and the majority of members was, as before, women. A movement throughout the assembly--a whispering, and a ceaselessexpectoration, indicated the raciness and interest which attached to thematter in hand, and every eye and mouth seemed opened in the fulness ofan anxious expectation. I sat quietly and uncomfortably, and my heartbeat palpably against my clothes. I endeavoured to paint the villany ofMr Smith in the darkest colours, and by the contemplation of it, torouse myself to self-esteem--but the effort was a failure. I could seenothing but the man in the coach, and hear nothing but _the voice_, which sounded in my ears louder than ever, _and far more like_; and Ibecame at length perfectly satisfied that I had no business to stand inthe capacity of Mr Smith's accuser. It was too late to recant. The bellhad rung--the curtain was up and the performances were about to begin. 

A hymn, as usual, ushered in the proceedings of the day. Thefifty-second psalm was then read by the minister, in the beautiful tonewhich he knew so well how to assume, and reverence and awe accompaniedhis emphatic delivery. Ah, could I ever forget the hour when thoseaccents first dropped with medicinal virtue on my soul--when everysyllable from his lips brought unction to my bruised nature--and thedark shadows of earth were dissipated and destroyed, beneath the clear, pure light of heaven that he invoked and made apparent! Why passed thesyllables now coldly and ineffectually across the heart they could notpenetrate? Why glittered they before the eye with phosphorescent lustre, void of all heat and might? I could not tell. The charm was gone. It wasmisery to know it. The minister having concluded, "Brother Buster wasrequested to engage in prayer. " That worthy rose _instanter_. First, hecoughed, then he made a face--an awful face--then closed his eyes--thenopened them again, looked up, and stretched forth his arms. At last hespoke. He prayed for the whole world, including the islands recentlydiscovered, "even from the river to the oceans of ages"--then forEurope, and "more especially" for England, and London "in particular, "but "chiefly" for the parish in which the chapel stood, and"principally" for the Chosen People then and there assembled, and, "above all, " for the infatuated man upon whose account they had beenbrought together. "Oh, might the delooded sinner repent _off_ his sin, and, having felt the rod, turn from the error _off_ his ways. Oh mightthe Church have grace to purify itself; and oh might the vessel wot waschosen this night to bring the criminal to justice, be hindood withstrength for the work; and oh, might the criminal be enabled to come outof it with clean hands, (which he very much doubted;) and oh, might theminister be preserved to his Church for many years to come; and oh, might he himself be a door-keeper in heaven, rather than dwell in themidst of wickedness and sinners!" This was the substance of the divinesupplication, offered up by Jabez Buster, in the presence of thecongregation, and listened to with devout respect and seriousness by therefined and intellectual Mr Clayton. Another hymn succeeded immediately. It must have been written for the occasion, for the sentiment of it wasin accordance with the prayer. It was a wail over the backsliding of afallen saint. To the assembly thus prejudiced--an assembly made up ofmen of business and their wives, mechanics, dressmakers, servant-maids, and the like, an address suitable to their capacities was spoken. MrClayton himself delivered it. --He trembled with emotion when he referredto the painful duty which he was now called upon to perform. "Dearbrethren, " said he, "you are all aware of the unhappy condition of thatbrother who has long been bound to us by every tie that may unite thebrethren in cordial and in Christian love. Truly, he has been dear toall of us; and for myself, I can with sincerity aver, that no creatureliving was dearer to me in the flesh, than him upon whose conduct we aremet this night in Christian charity to adjudicate. Yes, he was my equal, my guide, and my acquaintance. We took sweet council together, and wewalked to the house of prayer in company. I hope, I pray--would that Imight add, that I believe!--the sin that has been committed in the faceof the Church, and before the world, may be found not to lie at the doorof him we loved and cherished. We are not here to take cognizance of thetemporal concerns of every member of our congregation. We have no rightto do this, so long as the Church is kept pure, and suffers not by thedelinquencies of her children. If the limb be unworthy and unsound, letit be lopped off. You have heard that the worldly affairs of our brotherare crushed; it is whispered abroad that there is reason to fear thecommission of discreditable acts. Is this so? If it be true, let thewhisper assume a bolder form, and pronounce our brother unworthy of aplace with the elect. If it be false, let every evil tongue be silenced, and let us rejoice exceedingly, yea, with the timbrel and dance, withstringed instruments and loud-sounding cymbals. For my own part, I willnot believe him guilty, until proof positive has made him so. Hisaccuser is here this night. From what I know of our young brother, I amsatisfied he will proceed most cautiously. Should he suggest simply aninvestigation into the recent transactions of the unfortunate man, itwill be our duty to act upon that suggestion. If he comes armed withevidences of guilt, they must be examined with a kind but stillimpartial spirit. I know not to what extent it is proposed to proceed. It is not for me to know it. I am not his prosecutor. I shall notpronounce upon him. It is for you to judge. If he be proved culpable inthis most melancholy business, and, alas! I fear he must be, if reportsare true--though you must be careful to discard reports and look totestimony only--our course is plain and easy. Pardon is not with us; itmust be sought elsewhere. I will not detain you longer. Brother Stukely, the Church will listen to your charge. "

But Brother Stukely had been for some time rendered incapable of speech. He was staggered and overwhelmed. He distrusted his eyes, his ears, andevery sense that he possessed. What?--was _this_ Mr Clayton, the meek, the pious, the good, the benevolent, the just, the truth-telling, theChristian, and the minister? What?--could he assert that he wassatisfied of his victim's innocence, until I should prove him guilty--I, who knew nothing of the man and his affairs, but what I gathered fromhis own false lips? There was some terrible mistake here. I dreamt, orraved. What!--had the history of the last twelvemonth been a cheat--afable?--How was it--where was I? What!--could Mr Clayton talkthus--could HE descend to falsehood and deceit--HE, the immaculate andinfallible? What a moral earthquake was here! What a re-enacting of thefall of man! But every eye was upon me, and the Church was silent asdeath, waiting for my rising. The chapel commenced swimming round me. Igrew sick, and feared that I was becoming blind, for a mist came beforemy eyes, and confounded all things. At length I was awakened tosomething like consciousness, by a rapid and universal expectoration. Irose, and became painfully distressed by a conflict of opposingfeelings. I remembered, in spite of the present obliquity of theminister, his great kindness to me--I remembered it with gratitude--thisurged me to speak aloud, whilst a sense of justice as strongly demandedsilence, and pity for the man whom I had undertaken to accuse, but whohad never offended me, cried shame upon me for the words I was about toutter. For a second, I stood irresolute, and a merciful interference wassent to rescue me. 

"Why, " exclaimed a voice that came pleasing to my ears, --"why are yougoing to accuse this here brother? Harn't twenty men failed afore, andyou never thought of asking questions?"

I looked round, and my friend Thompson of happy memory noddedfamiliarly, and by no means disconcertedly to me. I had never seen himin the chapel before. I did not know that he was a member. Here wasanother mystery! His words were the signal for loud disapprobation. Hehad marred the general curiosity at an intensely interesting moment, andthe anger that was conceived against him was by no means partial. Theminister rose in the midst of it. He looked very pale and much annoyed, but his manner was still mild, and his expressions as full of charityand kind feeling as ever. 

"It was a proper enquiry, " he said; "one that should immediately beanswered. " Heaven forbid that their conduct, in one particular, shouldsavour of injustice. In due time the explanation would have beenoffered. Had their brother waited for that time, he would have foundthat his harsh observation might have been withheld. The unfortunate manneeded not the champion who had stood so irreverently forward. "I canassure our brother, that there is one who will hear of his innocencewith greater joy than any other man may feel for him. " But it was hisduty to state, and publicly, that there were circumstances connectedwith this failure, that unfavourably marked it from every other that hadtaken place amongst them. These must be enquired into. Their brotherStukely had been interrupted in the charge which he was about to make. He repeated that he knew not how far that charge might have been broughthome. He would propose now, that two messengers be appointed to waitupon the bankrupt, and to examine thoroughly his affairs, and that, previous to their report, no further proceedings should take place. Thepurity and disinterestedness of their conduct should be made apparent. Brothers Buster and Tomkins were the gentlemen whom he proposed for thedelicate office, with the full assurance that they would execute theircommission with Christian charity, tempering justice withheavenly mercy. 

The assembly gave a reluctant consent to this arrangement. "Suchthings, " it was argued, "were better settled at once; and it would havebeen far more satisfactory if the bankrupt's matters had been disclosedto the meeting, who had come on purpose to hear them, and had neglectedimportant matters at home, rather than be disappointed. " The meeting, however, dissolved with a hymn, sung without spirit or heart. At theclose of it, the minister retired. He passed me on his way; looked at mecoldly, and I thought a frown had settled on his brow almost in spite ofhim. I was scarcely in the open street again, before Thompson was at myside, shaking my hand with the greatest heartiness. 

"Well, " said he, "I should much sooner have thought of seeing the d----lin that chapel than you, any how. Why, what does it all mean? I thoughtyou were in Brummagem. "

"Ah! Thompson, " I exclaimed sighing, "I wish I were! It is a longhistory. "

"Well, do let's have it. I _am_ astonished. "

I put him in possession of my doings since we parted at the Bull's HeadInn in Holborn. I had not finished when we arrived at my lodgings. Iinvited my old friend to supper, and after that meal, he heard theconclusion of the narrative. 

"Well, " said he at last, "some people don't believe in sperits. Now Ido. I believe that a sperit has brought you and me together again. You've told me a good deal. Now, I'll tell you something. Clayton's anout-and-outer. "

"He's a mysterious and unintelligible being, " I exclaimed. 

"Yes, " answered Thompson, "you were always fond of them fine words. P'raps you mean the same as me after all. What I mean is, that fellowbeats all I ever came near. Talk of the Old Un! He's a babby to him. "

"I can believe any thing now, " I answered. 

"I don't complain; because I think it serves me right. I did very wellat our parish church, and had no business to leave it; and I shouldn'teither, if I hadn't been a easy fool all my life. I went on right wellthere, and understood the clergyman very well, and I should have done tothis day, if it hadn't been for my missus; she's always worritingherself about her state, and she happened to hear this Mr Clayton, andnothing would please her but we must join his congregation, the wholebiling lot of us, and get elected, as they call it. She said all wascold in the church, and nothing to catch hold on there. I'm blessed if Ihavn't catched hold of a good deal more than I like in this here chapel. They call one another brothers--sich brothers I fancy as Cain was toAbel. They are the rummest Christians you ever seed. Just look at thehead of them--that Mr Clayton, rolling in riches"----

"In what?" said I, interrupting him. "You mistake. The little that hehad is lost. "

"Oh, don't you be gammoned, " was the reply. "What he has lost wont hurthim. He's got enough now to buy this street, out and out. He's thegreediest fellow for money this world ever saw. "

"I am puzzled, Thompson, " said I. 

"Yes, perhaps you are, and you'll be more puzzled yet when you know all. Why, what is all this about poor Smith? I knew him before Clayton evergot hold of him, when the chap hadn't a halfpenny to fly with, but was amost ordacious fellow at speculating and inventions, and was always upto something new. One day he had a plan for making moist sugar out ofbricks--then soap out of nothing--and sweet oil out of stones. At lastClayton hears of him, and hooks him up, gets him to the chapel; firstconverts him, and then goes partners with him in the spekylations--let'shim have as much money as he asks for, and because soap doesn't comefrom nothing, and sugar from bricks, and sweet oil from stones, he stopsshort, sews him up, drives him into the Gazette, and now wants to throwhim into the world a beggar, without name and character, and with tenyoung 'uns hanging about his widowed arm for bread"

"Oh, it's dreadful, if it's true, " said I; "but if he has robbed theminister, whatever Mr Clayton may be, he ought to be punished. "

"But it isn't true, and there's the villany of it. Smith's a fool; younever see'd a bigger in your life, and though he thinks himself soclever in his inventions and diskiveries, he's as simple as a child inbusiness. Why, he gave three thousand pounds for the machinery wot wasto make soap out of nothing; and so all the money's gone. How sich adeep 'un as Clayton ever trusted him, I can't tell. He's wexed withhimself now, and wants to have his spite upon his unfortunate tool. "

"I can hardly believe it, " said I. 

"No; and do you think I would have believed it the first day as missusmade me come to listen to that out and outer? and, do you think if I hadknown about it, they would ever have lugged me in to be a brother? Youshall take a walk with me to-morrow, if you please, and if you don'tbelieve it then of your own accord, why I sha'n't ask you. "

"He has been so kind, so generous to me. He has behaved so unlike amercenary man. "

"Yes; that's just his way. That's what he calls, I suppose, _sharpeninghis tools_. He's made up his mind long ago to have out of you all hegave you, and a little more besides. Why, what did you get up for in thechapel? Didn't he say it was to bring a charge against Smith? Why, whatdo you know of Smith? Can't you see, with half an eye, he's been feedingof you to do his dirty work; and if you had turned out well, wouldn't ithave been cheap to him at the price?"

"What is it, " said I, "you propose to do to-morrow?"

"To take a walk; that's all. Don't ask questions. If you go with me, I'll satisfy your doubts. "

"Surely, " said I, "his congregation must have known this; and they wouldnot have permitted him"----

"Ah, my dear sir, you don't know human nature. Wait till you have livedas long as I have. Now, there's my wife; she knows as much as I do aboutthe man, and yet I'm blowed if she doesn't seem to like him all thebetter for it! She calls him a chosen wessel, and only wishes I was halfas sure of salvation. As for the congregation, they are a complete setof chosen wessels together, and the more you blow 'em up, the better thewessels like it. If what they call the world didn't speak agin 'em, they'd be afraid they were going wrong. So you never can offend them. "

Thompson continued in the same strain for the rest of the evening, bringing charge after charge against the minister, with the view ofproving him to be a hypocrite of the deepest dye. As he had fostered andprotected me, Thompson explained that he had previously maintained andtrained up Smith, whom he never would have deserted had all hisspeculations issued favourably. The loss of his money had so enragedhim, that his feelings had suddenly taken a different direction, and hewould now not stop until he had thoroughly effected the poor man's ruin. He (Thompson) knew Smith well; he had seen his books; and the man was asinnocent of fraud as a child unborn. Clayton knew it very well, and thetrick of examining the books was all a fudge. "That precious pair ofbrothers, Bolster and Tomkins, knew very well what they were about, andwould make it turn out right for the minister somehow. As for hisself, he stood up for the fellow, because he hadn't another friend in theplace. He knew he should be kicked out for his pains, but that would bemore agreeable than otherways. " From all I gathered from Thompson, itappeared that the pitiable man--the audacious minister of God--was theslave of one of the most corroding passions that ever made shipwreck ofthe heart of man. _The love of money_ absorbed or made subservient everyother sentiment. To heap up riches, there was no labour too painful, nomeans too vicious, no conduct too unjustifiable. The graces of earth, the virtues of heaven, were made to minister to the lust, and to concealthe demon behind the brightness and the beauty of their forms. There isno limit to the moral baseness of the man of avarice. There was nonewith Mr Clayton. He lived to accumulate. Once let the desire fasten, anchor-like, with heavy iron to the heart, and what becomes of theworld's opinion, and the tremendous menaces of heaven? Mr Clayton was ascholar--a man of refinement, eloquent--an angel not more winning--hewas self-denying in his appetites, humble, patient--powerful andbeautiful in expression, when the vices of men compelled the unwillinginvective. Witness the burst of indignation when he spoke of EmmaHarrington, and the race to which it was her misery to belong. He was, to the eyes of men, studious and holy as an anchorite. But better thanhis own immortal soul, he loved and doated upon _gold!_ That loveacknowledged, fed, and gratified, when are its demands appeased?--whendoes conscience raise a barrier against its further progress? It is astate difficult to believe. Could I have listened with an ear ofcredulity to the tale of Thompson--could I have borne to listen to itwith patience, had I not witnessed an act of turpitude that oculardemonstration could only render credible--had I not been prepared forthat act by the tone, the manner, the expressions of the minister, whenwe passed an hour together, ignorant of each other's presence? It was adreadful conviction that was forced upon me, and as wonderful asterrible. Self-delusion, for such it was, so perfect and complete, whocould conceive--hypocrisy so super-eminent, who could conjecture! Therewas something, however, to be disclosed on the succeeding day. Thompsonwas very mysterious about this. He would give no clue to what hedesigned. I should judge from what I saw of the truth of hiscommunications. Alas! I had seen enough already to mourn over the mostmelancholy overthrow that had ever crushed the confidence, and bruisedthe feelings, of ingenuous youth. 

I passed a restless and unhappy night. Miserable dreams distressed me. Idreamed that I was sentenced to death for perjury--that the gallows waserected--and that Buster and Tomkins were my executioners. The latterwas cruelly polite and attentive in his demeanour. He put the rope roundmy neck with an air of cutting civility, and apologized for the wholeproceeding. I experienced vividly the moment of being turned off. Isuffered the horrors of strangulation. The noose slipped, and I wasdangling in the air in excruciating agony, half-dead and half-alive. Buster rushed to the foot of the scaffold, and with Christian charityfastened himself to my legs, and hung there till I had breathed my last. Whilst he was thus suspended, he sang one of his favourite hymns withhis own rich and effective nasal vigour. Then I dreamed I was murderingBunyan Smith in his sleep. Mr Clayton was pushing me forward, and urginga dagger into my hand. Just as I had killed him, I was knocked down byThompson, and Clayton ran off laughing. Then I woke up, thank Heaven, more frightened than hurt, with every limb in my body sore and aching. Then, instead of going to sleep again, which I could not do, I layawake, and reflected on what had taken place, and I thought all I hadheard against Mr Clayton, and all I had seen in the chapel, was adream, like the execution and the murder. One thing seemed just as realand as likely as the other. Then I became uneasy in my bed, got up, andwalked about the room, and wondered what in the world I should do, ifMr Clayton deprived me of my situation, and I was thrown out of breadagain. Then I recollected his many hints concerning fidelity andfriendship, and what he had said about my being in no danger, so long asI was faithful, and the rest of it; and then I wished I had thrownmyself over Blackfriars' Bridge as I had intended, and so put an end toall the trials that beset my path. But this wish was scarcely feltbefore it was regretted and checked at once. Mr Clayton had taught mewisdom, which his own bad conduct could not sully or affect. It was notbecause under the garb of religion he concealed the tainted soul of thehypocrite, that religion was not still an angel of light, of purity, andloveliness. Her consolations were not less sweet--her promises not lesssure. It would have been an unsound logic that should have argued, fromthe sinfulness of the minister, the falseness of that faith whose simpleprofession, and nothing more, alas! had been enough to hide foulestdeformity. No! the vital spark that Mr Clayton had kindled, burned stillsteadily and clear. I could still see by its holy light the path ofrectitude and duty, and thank God the while, that in the hour oftemptation he gave me strength to resist evil, and the faculty ofdistinguishing aright between _the unshaken testimony_ and _theunfaithful witness_. I did not, upon reflection, regret that I had notrecklessly destroyed myself; but I prayed on my knees for direction andhelp in the season of difficulty and disappointment through which I wasnow passing. 

Thompson came early on the following day, punctual to his appointment. He was accompanied by poor Bunyan Smith, and a voluminous statement ofhis affairs. I looked over them as well as I was able; for theunfortunate man was all excitement, and, faithful to the description ofThompson, sanguine in the extreme. He interrupted me twenty times, and, as every new speculation turned up, had still something to say why ithad not succeeded according to his wishes. Although he had failed inevery grand experiment, there was not one which would not have realizedhis hopes a hundredfold, but for the occurrence of some unfortunateevent which it was impossible to foresee, but which could not possiblytake place again, had he but money to renew his trials. His bankruptcyhad not subdued him, nor in the least diminished his belief in theefficacy of his great discoveries. There was certainly no appearance offraud in the account of his transactions, but it was not Mr Smith'sinnocence I was anxious to establish. It was the known guilt of MrClayton that I would have made any sacrifice to remove. 

It was in the afternoon that Thompson and I were walking along thewell-filled pavement of Cheapside, on our way to what he called "thebest witness he could bring to speak in favour of all that he had saidabout the minister. " He still persisted in keeping up a mystery inrespect of this same witness. "He might be, after all, " he said, "mistaken in the thing, and he didn't wish to be made a fool of. I don'texpect I shall, but we shall see. " We reached Cornhill, and wereopposite the Exchange. 

"That's a rum place, isn't?" asked Thompson, looking at thebuilding--"Have you ever been inside?"

"Never, " I replied. 

"Suppose we just stroll in then? What a row they are kicking up there!And what a crowd! There's hardly room to move. "

The area was, as he said, crowded. There was a loud continued murmur ofhuman voices. Traffic was intense, and had reached what might besupposed its acme. It seemed as if business was undergoing a paroxysm, or fit, rather than pursuing her steady, healthful course. Bodies of menwere standing in groups--some were darting from corner to corner, pen inmouth--a few were walking leisurely with downcast looks--others quickly, uneasy and excited. A stout and well-contented gentleman or two leanedagainst the high pillars of the building, and formed the centre of ahuman circle, that smiled as he smiled, and stopped when he stopped. 

"Nice place to study in, sir, " said Thompson, as we walked along. 

I smiled. 

"I mean it though, " said he. "I see a man now that comes here on purposeto study--as clever a man at his books as ever I saw, and as fine afellow to talk as you know--there, just look across the road--under thatpillar--near the archway. There, just where them two men has left a openspace. Tell me, who do you see there, sir?"

"Why, Mr CLAYTON!" I replied, astonished at the sight. 

"Yes, and if you'll come here every day of your life, there you'll findhim. I've watched him often, since Smith first put me up to his tricks, and I have never missed him. There he is making money, and wearing hissoul out because he can't make half enough to satisfy his greedy maw. His covetousness is awful. There's nothing that he doesn't speckylatein; there's hardly a man of business in his congregation that hedoesn't, either by himself or others, lend money out at usury. I meansuch on 'em as he knows are right; for catch him, if he knows it, trusting the rotten brothers. Smith says he has got something to do withevery one of the stocks. I don't know whether that is any thing to eatand drink or not, but I think they call this here bear-garden the StockExchange, and here the out-and-outer spends more than half his days. "Whilst Thompson spoke, one of the two men, whom I have mentioned asbeing for many hours together closeted with the minister in his privatestudy, and whom I set down as missionaries--came up in great haste to MrClayton, and communicated to him news, apparently, of importance. Thelatter immediately produced a pocket-book, in which he wrote a few wordswith a pencil, and the individual departed. The information, whatever itmay have been, had deeply affected the man to whom it had been brought. He did not stand still, as before, but walked nervously about, lookedpale, care-worn, and miserably anxious. He referred to his book a dozentimes--restored it frequently to his pocket, and had it out againimmediately for surer satisfaction, or for further calculations. Inabout ten minutes, "_the missionary_" returned. This time he was thebearer of a better tale. The minister smiled--his brow expanded, and hiseye had the vivacity and fire that belonged to it in the pulpit. Anothermemorandum was written in the pocket book, and the two gentlemen walkedquickly, and side by side, along the covered avenue. I had seensufficient. 

"Let us go, " I said to Thompson. 

"Why, you don't mean to say you have had enough!" returned he; "oh, waita bit, and see the other boy. They make a precious trio. "

I declined to witness the melancholy spectacle any longer. I wasoppressed, grieved, sickened, at the sad presentation of humanity. Whatan overthrow was this! What a problem in the moral structure of man! Icould not understand it. I had no power to enquire into it. Against allpreconceived notions of possibility, there existed a palpable fact. Whatcould reason do in a case in which the senses almost refused toacknowledge the evidence which they themselves had produced?

Thompson was delighted at the result of our "voyage of discovery, " andcontinued to be facetious at the expense of the unhappy minister. Iimplored him to desist. 

"Say no more, Thompson. This is no subject for laughter. I have sufferedmuch since your brother carried me to Birmingham. This is the hardestblow yet. I believe now that all is a dream. This is not Mr Clayton. Itis a cheat of Satan. We are deluded and made fools in the hands of theWicked One. "

"You'll excuse me, sir, " said Thompson, "but if I didn't know youbetter, I should say, to hear you talk in that uncommonly queer way, that you were as big a wessel as any of 'em. Don't flatter yourself youare dreaming, when you never were wider awake in all your life. "

It is perhaps needless to say, that I had no heart to present myselfagain before my friend and benefactor--the once beloved, and stilldeeply compassionated minister of religion. I pitied him on account ofthe passion which had overmastered him, and trembled for myself when Icontemplated the ruins of such an edifice. But I could visit him nolonger. What could I say to him? How should I address him? How could Ibear to meet his eye--I did not hate him sufficiently to inflict uponhim the shame and ignominy of meeting mine. I avoided the house of MrClayton, and absented myself from his chapel. But I was not content withthe first view that had been afforded me at the Exchange. I wasunwilling to decide for ever upon the character of my former friendwithout a complete self-justification. I went again to the house ofcommerce, and alone. Again I beheld Mr Clayton immersed in the doings ofthe place. For a week I continued my observation. Proofs of hisworldliness and gross hypocrisy came fast and thick upon each other. Ino longer doubted the statement of Thompson and the speculator Smith. Iresolved upon seeing my preserver no more. I could not think of himwithout shuddering, and I endeavoured to forget him. One evening, aboutten days after the chapel scene, sitting alone in my apartment, I wasattracted by a slight movement on the stairs. A moment afterwards therewas a knock at my door. The door opened, and Mr Clayton himself walkedinto the room. I trembled instantly from head to foot. The minister hada serious countenance, and was very placid. He took a chair, and Iwaited till he spoke. 

"You have not visited me of late, Caleb, " he began. "You have surelyforgotten me. You have forgotten your promise--our friendship--yourobligations--gratitude--every thing. How is this?"

Still I did not speak. 

"Tell me, " he continued, "who has taught you to become a spy? Who hastaught you that it is honourable and just to track the movements and tobreak upon the privacy of others. I saw you in the Exchange thismorning--I saw you yesterday--and the day before. Tell me, what tookyou there?"

I gave no answer. 

"Your Bible, Caleb, gives no encouragement to the feeling which hasprompted you to act thus. You have read the word of truth imperfectly. There is a holiness--a peculiar sanctity"----

"For heaven's sake, Mr Clayton, " I cried out, interrupting him, "do nottalk so. Do not deceive yourself. Do not attempt to bewilder me. Do notprovoke the wrath of heaven. You have been kinder to me than I canexpress. The recollection of what you have done is ever present to me. Oh, would that I owed you nothing! Would that I could pay you back tothe last farthing, and that the past could be obliterated from my mind. I would have parted with my life willingly, gladly, to serve you. Hadyou been poor, how delightful would it have been to labour for mybenefactor! I will not deceive you. I lave learnt every thing. Suchmiserable knowledge never came to the ears of man, save in those regionswhere perdition is first made known, and suffered everlastingly. I darenot distrust the evidence of my eyes and ears. The bitterest hour that Ihave known, was that in which you fell, and I beheld your fall. Whom canI trust now? Whom shall I believe? To whom attach myself? Mr Clayton, itseems incredible to me that I can talk thus to you. It is indeed, and Itremble as I do so. But what is to be done? I can respect you no longer, however my poor heart throbs towards you, and pities"----

I burst into tears. 

"Spare your pity, boy, " said Mr Clayton, coldly; "and spare those hollowtears. You acknowledge that there exists a debt between us. Well haveyou attempted to repay it! Listen to me. I have been your friend. I amwilling to remain so. Come to me as before, and you shall find me as Ihave ever been--affectionate and kind. Avoid me--place yourself in thecondition of my opponent, and _beware_. In a moment, by one word, I canthrow you back into the slough from whence I dragged you. To-morrowmorning, if I so will it, you shall wander forth again, an outcast, depending for your bread upon a roadside charity. It is a dreadful thingto walk a marked and branded man through this cold world; yet it is onlyfor me to say the word, and _infamy_ is attached to your name for ever. And what greater crime exists than black ingratitude? It is our duty toexpose and punish it. It is for you to make the choice. If you are wise, you will not hesitate. If Christianity has worked"----

"Sir, what has _Christianity_ to do with this? Satan must witness thecompact that you would have us make. I cannot sell myself?"

"Your new companions have taught you these fine phrases, Caleb. Theywill support you, no doubt, and you will remain faithful to them, untila fresh acquaintance shall poison your ear against them, as they havecorrupted it to win you from the man whom you have sworn to serve. Ihave nothing more to say. You promised to be faithful through goodreport and evil. You have broken your plighted word. I forgive you, ifyou are sorry for the fault, and my arms are ready to receive you. Punishment shall follow--strict justice, and no mercy--if you persist inevil. Within a week present yourself at my abode, and every thing isforgotten and forgiven. I am your friend for ever. Do not come, beobstinate and unyielding, and prepare yourself for misery. "

The minister left me. The week elapsed, and at the end of it, I had notpresented myself at his residence. But, in the mean while, I had beenactive in taking measures for the security of the office which I held, and whose duties I had hitherto performed to the perfect satisfaction ofmy employers. I had been given to understand that it remained with MrBombasty to continue my appointment, or to dismiss me at once; that hewas in the hands of Mr Clayton; and that if the latter desired mydismissal, and could bring against me the shadow of a complaint tojustify Mr Bombasty in the eye of the Society, nothing could save mefrom ejection. It was proposed to me by a fellow-servant of the Society, to place myself as soon as possible beyond the reach and influence of MrClayton. He advised me to secede at once from the Church, and to attachmyself to another, professing the same principles, and like that inconnexion with the Society. By this means, Clayton and I would beseparated, and his power over me effectually removed. Exclusion was tome starvation, and I eagerly adopted the counsel of my companion. To be, however, in a condition to join another church, it was necessary toprocure, either by personal application, or at the instance of theminister of the new church, _a letter of dismission_, which lettershould contain an assurance of the candidate's previous good conduct andpresent qualification. In my case, the minister himself proposed toapply for my testimonials. He did apply, and at the end of a month, noanswer had been returned to his communication. He wrote a second, andthe second application met with no greater respect than the first. Atlength I received a very formal and polite letter from Mr Tomkins, informing me that "a church-meeting had been convened for the purpose ofconsidering the propriety of affording Brother Stukely the opportunityof joining another connexion, by granting him a letter of dismission, "and that my presence was requested on that very important occasion. 

If there was one thing upon earth more than another which at thisparticular time of my life I abominated with unmitigated and ineffabledisgust, it was the frequent recurrence of these eternalchurch-meetings. Nothing, however trifling, could be carried forwardwithout them; no man's affairs, however private and worldly, were toouninteresting for their investigation. My connexion with the church hadhardly commenced, before two had taken place, principally on my account, and now a third was proposed in order to enable the minister to write aletter of civility, and to state the simple fact of my having conductedmyself with propriety and decorum. Still it was proper that I shouldattend it; I did so, accompanied by Thompson, and a crowded assembly, asbefitted the occasion, welcomed us amoungst them, with many shortcoughs, and much suppressed hissing. There was the usual routine. Thehymn, the portion of Scripture, and the prayer of Brother Buster. In thelatter, there were many dark hints that were intended to be appropriateto my case, and were, to all appearance, well understood by thecongregation at large. They did not frighten me. I was guilty of nocrime against their church. They could bring no charge against me. Theprayer concluded, Mr Clayton coldly requested me to retire. I did so. Ipassed into the vestry, which was separated from the main building by avery thin partition, that enabled me to hear every word spoken in thechapel. Mr Clayton began. He introduced his subject by lamenting, in themost feeling terms, the unhappy state of the brother who had justdeparted from the congregation--(the crocodile weeping over the fate ofthe doomed wretch he was about to destroy!) He had hoped great things ofhim. He had believed him to be a child of God. It was not for him tojudge their brother now; but this was a world of disappointment, and thefairest hopes were blasted, even as the rose withereth beneath thecanker. They all knew--it was not for him to disguise or hide thefact--that their brother had not realized the ardent expectations thatone and all had formed of him. Their brother himself carried about withhim this miserable consciousness, and under such circumstances it wasthat he proposed to withdraw from their communion, and to receive adismission that should entitle him to a seat elsewhere. It was for themto consider how far they were justified in complying with his request. As for himself, he was sorely distressed in spirit. His carnal hearturged him to listen to the desire of his brother in the flesh, and thatheart warred with his spiritual conviction. To be charitable was onething, to involve one's self in guilt, to encourage sinfulness, and toreward backsliding--oh, surely, this was another! He had no right in hishigh capacity to indulge a personal affection. It was his glory that hecould sacrifice it at the call of duty. Accordingly, in the answer tothe application that he had received, he had humbly attempted rather toembody the views of the church, than the suggestions of his own weakbosom. That answer he would now submit to them, and their voice mustpronounce upon its justice. He did not fear for them. They were highlyprivileged; they had been wonderfully directed hitherto, and they would, adorned as they were with humility and faith, be directed even untothe end. 

"Ha-men, " responded Buster very audibly, and the minister forthwithproceeded to his letter. 

It was my honour to be represented in it as a person but too likely todisturb the peace of any church; whose conduct, however exemplary on myfirst joining the congregation, had lately been such as to give greatreason to fear that I had been suddenly deprived of all godliness andgrace; who had caused the brethren great pain; and whom recentcircumstances had especially rendered an object of suspicion and alarm. There was much more to the same effect. There was no distinctcharge--nothing tangible, or of which I could defy them to the proof. All was dark doubt and murderous innuendo. There was nothing for which Icould claim relief from the laws of my country--more than enough tocomplete my ruin. I burned with anger and indignation; forgot everything but the cold-blooded designs of the minister; and, stung to actionby the imminent danger in which I stood, I rushed at once from thevestry into the midst of the congregation. Thompson was already on hislegs, and had ventured something on my behalf, which had been drowned inloud and universal clamour. Silence was, in measure, restored by myappearance, and I took the opportunity to demand from the minister areperusal of the letter that had just been read. 

He scowled upon me with a natural hate, and refused to comply with myrequest. 

"What!" I asked aloud, "am I denied the privilege that is extended tothe vilest of his species? Will you condemn me unheard? Accuse me in myabsence--keep me in ignorance of my charge--and stab me in the dark?"

I received no answer, and then I turned to the congregation. I imploredthem--little knowing the men to whom I trusted my appeal--to save mefrom the persecution of a man who had resolved upon my downfall. "Iasked nothing from them, from him, but the liberty of gaining, by dailylabour, an honourable subsistence. Would they deny it me?"--

I was interrupted by groans and hisses, and loud cries of "Yes, yes, "from Brother Buster. 

I addressed the minister again. 

"Mr Clayton, " said I, "beware how you tread me down. Beware how youdrive me to desperation. Cruel, heartless man! What have I done that youshould follow me with this relentless spite? Can you sleep? Can you walkand live without the fear of a punishment adequate to your offence? Letme go. Be satisfied that I possess the power of exposing unheard-ofturpitude and hypocrisy, and that I refrain from using it. Dismiss me;let me leave your sight for ever, and you are safe--for me. "

"Viper!" exclaimed the minister rising in his seat, "whom I have warmedand nourished in my bosom; viper! whom I took to my hearth, and keptthere till the returning sense of life gave vigour to your blood, andfresh venom to your sting! Is it thus you pay me back for food andraiment--thus you heap upon me the expressions of a glowinggratitude!--with threats and deadly accusations? Spit forth your malice!Pile up falsehoods to the skies!--WHO WILL BELIEVE THE TALE OFPROBABILITY? Brethren! behold the man whose cause I pleaded withyou--for whom my feelings had well-nigh mastered my better judgment. Behold him, and learn how hard it is to pierce the stony heart of himwhose youth has passed in dissolute living, and in adultery. Shall Iapproach thy ear with the voice of her who cries from the grave forjustice on her seducer? Look, my beloved, on the man whom I founddiscarded by mankind, friendless and naked whom I clothed and fostered, and whom I brought in confidence amongst you. Look at him, and oh, be warned!"

The hissing and groaning were redoubled. Thompson rose a dozen times tospeak, but a volley assailed him on each occasion, and he was obliged toresume his seat. He grew irritated and violent, and at length, when thepublic disapprobation had reached its height, and for the twenty andfirst time had cut short his address almost before he spoke, unable tocontain himself any longer, he uttered at the top of his stentorianvoice a fearful imprecation, and recommended to the care of a gentlemanwho had more to do with that society than was generally supposed--MrClayton, and every individual brother in the congregation. 

Jabez Buster, after looking to the ceiling, and satisfying himself thatit had not fallen in, rose, dreadfully distressed. 

"He had lived, " he said, "to see sich sights, and hear sich language ashad made his nature groan within him. He could only compare theirbeloved minister to one of them there ancient martyrs who had died forconscience-sake before Smithfield was a cattle market; but he hoped hewould have strength for the conflict, and that the congregation wouldhelp him to fight the good fight. He called upon 'em all now to do theirduty, to exclude and excommunicate for ever the unrighteousbrethren--and to make them over to Satan without further delay. "

The shout with which the proposition was received, decided the fate ofpoor Thompson and myself. It was hardly submitted, before it was carried_nemine contradicente_; and immediately afterwards, Thompson buttonedhis coat in disgust, and was hooted out of the assembly. I followed him. 

 * * * * *

IMAGINARY CONVERSATION. 

BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 

TASSO AND CORNELIA. 

_Tasso_. --She is dead, Cornelia--she is dead!

_Cornelia_. --Torquato! my Torquato! after so many years of separation doI bend once more your beloved head to my embrace?

_Tasso_. --She is dead!

_Cornelia_. --Tenderest of brothers! bravest and best and mostunfortunate of men! What, in the name of heaven! so bewilders you?

_Tasso_. --Sister! sister! sister! I could not save her. 

_Cornelia_. --Certainly it was a sad event; and they who are out ofspirits may be ready to take it for an evil omen. At this season of theyear the vintagers are joyous and negligent. 

_Tasso_. --How! what is this?

_Cornelia_. --The little girl was crushed, they say, by a wheel of thecar laden with grapes, as she held out a handful of vine-leaves to oneof the oxen. And did you happen to be there just at the moment?

_Tasso_. --So then the little too can suffer! the ignorant, the indigent, the unaspiring! Poor child! She was kind-hearted; else never wouldcalamity have befallen her. 

_Cornelia_. --I wish you had not seen the accident. 

_Tasso_. --I see it? I? I saw it not. There is but one crushed where Iam. The little girl died for her kindness!--natural death!

_Cornelia_. --Be calm, be composed, my brother!

_Tasso_. --You would not require me to be composed or calm if youcomprehended a thousandth part of my sufferings. 

_Cornelia_. --Peace! peace! we know them all. 

_Tasso_. --Who has dared to name them? Imprisonment, derision, madness. 

_Cornelia_. --Hush! sweet Torquato! If ever these existed, they are past. 

_Tasso_. --You do think they are sufferings? ay?

_Cornelia_. --Too surely. 

_Tasso_. --No, not too surely: I will not have that answer. They wouldhave been; but Leonora was then living. Unmanly as I am! did I complainof them? and while she was left me?

_Cornelia_. --My own Torquato! is there no comfort in a sister's love? Isthere no happiness but under the passions? Think, O my brother, how manycourts there are in Italy; are the princes more fortunate than you?Which among them all loves truly, deeply, and virtuously? Among them allis there any one, for his genius, for his generosity, for hisgentleness, ay, or for his mere humanity, worthy to be beloved?

_Tasso_. --Princes! talk to me of princes! How much coarse-grained wood alittle gypsum covers! a little carmine quite beautifies! Wet yourforefinger with your spittle; stick a broken gold-leaf on the sinciput;clip off a beggar's beard to make it tresses, kiss it; fall down beforeit; worship it. Are you not irradiated by the light of its countenance?Princes! princes! Italian princes! Estes! What matters that costlycarrion? Who thinks about it? (_After a pause_. ) She is dead! Sheis dead!

_Cornelia_. --We have not heard it here. 

_Tasso_. --At Sorrento you hear nothing but the light surges of the sea, and the sweet sprinkles of the guitar. 

_Cornelia_. --Suppose the worst to be true. 

_Tasso_. --Always, always. 

_Cornelia_. --If she ceases, as then perhaps she must, to love and tolament you, think gratefully, contentedly, devoutly, that her arms hadencircled your neck before they were crossed upon her bosom, in thatlong sleep which you have rendered placid, and from which yourharmonious voice shall once more awaken her. Yes, Torquato! her bosomhad throbbed to yours, often and often, before the organ-peel shook thefringes round the catafalc. Is not this much, from one so high, sobeautiful?

_Tasso_. --Much? yes; for abject me. But I did so love her! so love her!

_Cornelia_. --Ah! let the tears flow: she sends thee that balm fromheaven. 

_Tasso_. --So loved her did poor Tasso! Else, O Cornelia, it had indeedbeen much. I thought in the simplicity of my heart that God was as greatas an emperor, and could bestow, and had bestowed on me as much as theGerman had conferred, or could confer on his vassal. No part of myinsanity was ever held in such ridicule as this. And yet the ideacleaves to me strangely, and is liable to stick to my shroud. 

_Cornelia_. --Woe betide the woman who bids you to forget that woman whohas loved you: she sins against her sex. Leonora was unblameable. Neverthink ill of her for what you have suffered. 

_Tasso_. --Think ill of her? I? I? I? No; those we love, we love forevery thing; even for the pain they have given us. But she gave me none:it was where she was not, that pain was. 

_Cornelia_. --Surely, if love and sorrow are destined for companionship, there is no reason why the last comer of the two should supersedethe first. 

_Tasso_. --Argue with me, and you drive me into darkness. I am easilypersuaded and led on while no reasons are thrown before me. With these, you have made my temples throb again. Just heaven! dost thou grant usfairer fields, and wider, for the whirlwind to lay waste? Dost thoubuild us up habitations above the street, above the palace, above thecitadel, for the Plague to enter and carouse in? Has not my youth paidits dues, paid its penalties? Cannot our griefs come first, while wehave strength to bear them? The fool! the fool! who thinks it amisfortune that his love is unrequited. Happier young man! look at theviolets until thou drop asleep on them. Ah! but thou must wake!

_Cornelia_. --O heavens! what must you have suffered. For a man's heartis sensitive in proportion to its greatness. 

_Tasso_. --And a woman's?

_Cornelia_. --Alas! I know not; but I think it can have no other. Comfortthee--comfort thee, dear Torquato!

_Tasso_. --Then do not rest thy face upon my arm; it so reminds me ofher. And thy tears, too! they melt me into her grave. 

_Cornelia_. --Hear you not her voice as it appeals to you: saying to youas the priests around have been saying to _her_, Blessed soul! restin peace?

_Tasso_. --I heard it not; and yet I am sure she said it. A thousandtimes has she repeated it, laying her hand on my heart to quietit--simple girl! She told it to rest in peace, and she went from me!Insatiable love! ever self-torturer, never self-destroyer! the world, with all its weight of miseries, cannot crush thee, cannot keep theedown. Generally mens' tears, like the droppings of certain springs, onlyharden and petrify what they fall on; but mine sank deep into a tenderheart, and were its very blood. Never will I believe she has left meutterly. Oftentimes, and long before her departure, I fancied we were inheaven together. I fancied it in the fields, in the gardens, in thepalace, in the prison. I fancied it in the broad daylight, when my eyeswere open, when blessed spirits drew around me that golden circle whichone only of earth's inhabitants could enter. Oftentimes in my sleep alsoI fancied it--and sometimes in the intermediate state--in that serenitywhich breathes about the transported soul, enjoying its pure and perfectrest, a span below the feet of the Immortal. 

_Cornelia_. --She has not left you; do not disturb her peace by theserepinings. 

_Tasso_. --She will bear with them. Thou knowest not what she was, Cornelia; for I wrote to thee about her while she seemed but human. Inmy hours of sadness, not only her beautiful form, but her very voicebent over me. How girlish in the gracefulness of her lofty form! howpliable in her majesty! what composure at my petulance and reproaches!what pity in her reproofs! Like the air that angels breathe in themetropolitan temple of the Christian world, her soul at every seasonpreserved one temperature. But it was when she could and did love me!Unchanged must ever be the blessed one who has leaned in fond securityon the unchangeable. The purifying flame shoots upward, and is the glorythat encircles their brows when they meet above. 

_Cornelia_. --Indulge in these delightful thoughts, my Torquato! andbelieve that your love is and ought to be imperishable as your glory. Generations of men move forward in endless procession to consecrate andcommemorate both. Colour-grinders and gilders, year after year, arebargained with to refresh the crumbling monuments and tarnisheddecorations of rude unregarded royalty, and to fasten the nails thatcramp the crown upon the head. Meanwhile, in the laurels of my Torquato, there will always be one leaf, above man's reach, above time's wrath andinjury, inscribed with the name of Leonora. 

_Tasso_. --O Jerusalem! I have not then sung in vain the Holy Sepulchre. 

_Cornelia_. --After such devotion of your genius, you have undergone toomany misfortunes. 

_Tasso_. --Congratulate the man who has had many, and may have more. Ihave had, I have, I can have--one only. 

_Cornelia_. --Life runs not smoothly at all seasons, even with thehappiest; but after a long course, the rocks subside, the views widen, and it flows on more equably at the end. 

_Tasso_. --Have the stars smooth surfaces? No, no; but how they shine!

_Cornelia_. --Capable of thoughts so exalted, so far above the earth wedwell on, why suffer any to depress and anguish you?

_Tasso_. --Cornelia, Cornelia! the mind has within it temples, andporticoes, and palaces, and towers: the mind has under it, ready for thecourse, steeds brighter than the sun, and stronger than the storm; andbeside them stand winged chariots, more in number than the Psalmist hathattributed to the Almighty. The mind, I tell thee again, hath itshundred gates, compared whereto the Theban are but willow wickets; andall those hundred gates can genius throw open. But there are some thatgroan heavily on their hinges, and the hand of God alone can close them. 

_Cornelia_. --Torquato has thrown open those of his holy temple; Torquatohath stood, another angel, at his tomb; and am I the sister of Torquato?Kiss me, my brother, and let my tears run only from my pride and joy!Princes have bestowed knighthood on the worthy and unworthy; thou hastcalled forth those princes from their ranks, pushing back the arrogantand presumptuous of them like intrusive varlets, and conferring on thebettermost crowns and robes, imperishable and unfading. 

_Tasso_. --I seem to live back into those days. I feel the helmet on myhead; I wave the standard over it; brave men smile upon me; beautifulmaidens pull them gently back by the scarf, and will not let them breakmy slumber, nor undraw the curtain. Corneliolina!----

_Cornelia_. --Well, my dear brother! Why do you stop so suddenly in themidst of them? They are the pleasantest and best company, and they makeyou look quite happy and joyous. 

_Tasso_. --Corneliolina, dost thou remember Bergamo? What city was everso celebrated for honest and valiant men, in all classes, or forbeautiful girls? There is but one class of those: Beauty is above allranks; the true Madonna, the patroness and bestower of felicity, thequeen of heaven. 

_Cornelia_. --Hush, Torquato, hush! talk not so. 

_Tasso_. --What rivers, how sunshiny and revelling, are the Brembo andthe Serio! What a country the Valtellina! I went back to our father'shouse, thinking to find thee again, my little sister--thinking to kickaway thy ball of yellow silk as thou went stooping for it, to make theerun after me and beat me. I woke early in the morning; thou wert grownup and gone. Away to Sorrento--I knew the road--a few strides brought meback--here I am. To-morrow, my Cornelia, we will walk together, as weused to do, into the cool and quiet caves on the shore; and we willcatch the little breezes as they come in and go out again on the backsof the jocund waves. 

_Cornelia_. --We will, indeed, to-morrow; but before we set out we musttake a few hours' rest, that we may enjoy our ramble the better. 

_Tasso_. --Our Sorrentines, I see, are grown rich and avaricious. Theyhave uprooted the old pomegranate hedges, and have built high walls toprohibit the wayfarer from their vineyards. 

_Cornelia_. --I have a basket of grapes for you in the bookroom thatoverlooks our garden. 

_Tasso_. --Does the old twisted sage-tree grow still against the window?

_Cornelia_. --It harboured too many insects at last, and there was alwaysa nest of scorpions in the crevice. 

_Tasso_. --O! what a prince of a sage-tree! And the well too, with itsbucket of shining metal, large enough for the largest cocomero[9] tocool in it for dinner!

[9] Water-melon. 

_Cornelia_. --The well, I assure you, is as cool as ever. 

_Tasso_. --Delicious! delicious! And the stone-work round it, bearing noother marks of waste than my pruning-hook and dagger left behind?

_Cornelia_. --None whatever. 

_Tasso_. --White in that place no longer? There has been time enough forit to become all of one colour; grey, mossy, half-decayed. 

_Cornelia_. --No, no; not even the rope has wanted repair. 

_Tasso_. --Who sings yonder?

_Cornelia_. --Enchanter! No sooner did you say the word _cocomero_, thanhere comes a boy carrying one upon his head. 

_Tasso_. --Listen! listen! I have read in some book or other those verseslong ago. They are not unlike my _Aminta_. The very words!

_Cornelia_. --Purifier of love, and humanizer of ferocity! how many, myTorquato, will your gentle thoughts make happy!

_Tasso_. --At this moment I almost think I am one among them. [10]

 [10] The miseries of Tasso arose not only from the imagination and the heart. In the metropolis of the Christian world, with many admirers and many patrons, cardinals and princes of all sizes, he was left destitute, and almost famished. These are his own words. --"_Appena_ in questo stato ho comprato _due meloni_: e benche io sia stato _quasi sempre infermo_, molte volte mi sono contentato del' manzo e la ministra di latte o di zucca, _quando ho potuto averne_, mi e stata in vece di delizie. " In another part he says that he was unable to pay the carriage of a parcel, (1590:) no wonder; if he had not wherewithal to buy enough of zucca for a meal. Even had he been in health and appetite, he might have satisfied his hunger with it for about five farthings, and have left half for supper. And now a word on his insanity. Having been so imprudent not only as to make it too evident in his poetry that he was the lover of Leonora, but also to signify (not very obscurely) that his love was returned, he much perplexed the Duke of Ferrara, who, with great discretion, suggested to him the necessity of feigning madness. The lady's honour required it from a brother; and a true lover, to convince the world, would embrace the project with alacrity. But there was no reason why the seclusion should be in a dungeon, or why exercise and air should be interdicted. This cruelty, and perhaps his uncertainty of Leonora's compassion, may well be imagined to have produced at last the malady he had feigned. But did Leonora love Tasso as a man would be loved? If we wish to do her honour, let us hope it: for what greater glory can there be than to have estimated at the full value so exalted a genius, so affectionate and so generous a heart!

_Cornelia_. --Be quite persuaded of it. Come, brother, come with me. Youshall bathe your heated brow and weary limbs in the chamber of yourboyhood. It is there we are always the most certain of repose. The childshall sing to you those sweet verses; and we will reward him with aslice of his own fruit. 

_Tasso_. --He deserves it; cut it thick. 

_Cornelia_. --Come then, my truant! Come along, my sweet smilingTorquato!

_Tasso_. --The passage is darker than ever. Is this the way to the littlecourt? Surely those are not the steps that lead down toward the bath? Ohyes! we are right; I smell the lemon-blossoms. Beware of the old wildingthat bears them; it may catch your veil; it may scratch your fingers!Pray, take care: it has many thorns about it. And now, Leonora! youshall hear my last verses! Lean your ear a little toward me; for I mustrepeat them softly under this low archway, else others may hear themtoo. Ah! you press my hand once more. Drop it, drop it! or the verseswill sink into my breast again, and lie there silent! Good girl!

 Many, well I know, there are Ready in your joys to share, And (I never blame it) you Are almost as ready too. But when comes the darker day, And those friends have dropt away; Which is there among them all You should, if you could, recall? One who wisely loves, and well, Hears and shares the griefs you tell; Him you ever call apart When the springs o'erflow the heart; For you know that he alone Wishes they were _but_ his own. Give, while these he may divide, Smiles to all the world beside. 

_Cornelia_. --We are now in the full light of the chamber: cannot youremember it, having looked so intently all around?

_Tasso_. --O sister! I could have slept another hour. You thought Iwanted rest: why did you waken me so early? I could have slept anotherhour, or longer. What a dream! But I am calm and happy. 

_Cornelia_. --May you never more be otherwise! Indeed, he cannot be whoselast verses are such as those. 

_Tasso_. --Have you written any since that morning?

_Cornelia_. --What morning?

_Tasso_. --When you caught the swallow in my curtains, and trod upon myknees in catching it, luckily with naked feet. The little girl ofthirteen laughed at the outcry of her brother Torquatino, and sangwithout a blush her earliest lay. 

_Cornelia_. --I do not recollect it. 

_Tasso_. --I do. 

 Rondinello! rondinello! Tu sei nero, ma sei bello. Cosa fà se tu sei nero? Rondinello! sei il premiero De' volanti, palpitanti (E vi sono quanti quanti!) Mai tenuto a questo petto, E percio sei il mio diletto. [11]

 [11] The author wrote the verses first in English, but he found it easy to write them better in Italian. They stood in the text as below:--

 Swallow! swallow! though so jetty Are your pinions, you are pretty: And what matter were it though You were blacker than a crow? Of the many birds that fly (And how many pass me by!) You're the first I ever prest, Of the many, to my breast: Therefore it is very right You should be my own delight. 

_Cornelia_. --Here is the cocomero; it cannot be more insipid. Try it. 

_Tasso_. --Where is the boy who brought it? where is the boy who sang myAminta? Serve him first; give him largely. Cut deeper; the knife is tooshort: deeper, mia brave Corneliolina! quite through all the red, andinto the middle of the seeds. Well done!

 * * * * *

THE WORLD OF LONDON. SECOND SERIES. 

PART I. 

ARISTOCRACIES OF LONDON LIFE. 

OF ARISTOCRACIES IN GENERAL. 

The cumulative or aggregative property of wealth and power, and in aless degree of knowledge also, make up in time a consolidation of theseelements in the hands of particular classes, which, for our presentpurposes, we choose to term an aristocracy of birth, wealth, knowledge, or power, as the case nay be. The word aristocracy, distinctive of theseparticular classes, we use in a conventional sense only, and beg leaveto protest, _in limine_, against any other acceptation of the term. Weuse the word, because it is popularly comprehensive; the [Greek: hoiaristoi], distinguished from the [Greek: hoi polloi]: "good men, " as isthe value of goodness in the city; "the great, " as they are understoodby penners of fashionable novels; "talented, " or "a genius, " as we sayin the _coteries_; but not a word, mark you, of the abstract value ofthese signs--their positive significations; good may be bad, great mean, talented or a genius, ignorant or a puppy. We have nothing to do withthat; these are thy terms, our Public; thou art responsible for the usemade of them. Thou it is who tellest us that the sun rises and sets, (which it does not, ) and talkest of the good and great, without knowingwhether they are great and good, or no. Our business is to borrow yourrecognized improprieties of speech, only so far as they will assist usin making ourselves understood. 

When Archimedes, or some other gentleman, said that he could unfix theearth had he a point of resistance for his lever, he illustrated, by ahypothesis of physics, the law of the generation of aristocracies. Aristocracies begin by having a leg to stand on, or by getting a fingerin the pie. The multitude, on the contrary, never have any thing, because they never _had_ any thing, they want the _point d'oppui_, thespringing-ground whence to jump above their condition, where, transformed by the gilded rays of wealth or power, discarding theirseveral skins or sloughs, they sport and flutter, like lesser insects, in the sunny beams of aristocratic life. 

Indeed, we have often thought that the transformation of the insecttribes was intended, by a wise Omnipotence, as an illustration (for ourown benefit) of the rise and progress of the mere aristocracy offashionable life. 

The first condition of existence of these diminutive creatures, is theegg, or _embryo_ state; this the anxious parent attaches firmly to someleaf or bough, capable of affording sufficient sustenance to the futuregrub, who, in due course, eats his way through the vegetable kingdomupon which he is quartered, for no merit or exertion of his own; andwhere his career is only to be noted by the ravages of his insatiablejaws. After a brief period of lethargy or _pupa_ state, thisgood-for-nothing creature flutters forth, powdered, painted, perfumed, scorning the dirt from which he sprung, and leading a life ofuselessness and vanity, until death, in the shape of an autumnal shower, prostrates himself and his finery in the dust. 

How beautiful and how complete is the analogy between the insect and hisbrother butterfly of fashionable life! While yet an _embryo_, a worm, he_grubs_ his way through a good estate, and not a little ready money. Then, after a long sojourn in the _pupa_ or _puppy_ state--longer farthan that of any other maggot--he emerges a perfect butterfly, vain, empty, fluttering, and conceited, idling, flirting, flaunting, philandering, until the summer of his _ton_ is past, when he dies, or isarrested, and expiates a life of puerile vanity in Purgatory or theQueen's Bench. 

Let the beginning once be made--the point of extreme depression once begot over: the cares of the daily recurring poor necessities oflife--shelter, clothing, food, be of no moment: let a man taste, thoughit were next to nothing, of the delicious luxury of accumulation, lethim, with every hoarded shilling, or half-crown, or pound, carry hishead higher, smiling in secret at the world and his friends, and thearistocrat of wealth is formed: he is removed for ever from thehand-to-mouth family of man, and thenceforth represents hisbreeches pocket. 

It is the same with the aristocrat of birth: some fortunateaccident--some well-aimed and successful stroke of profligacy, or morerarely of virtue, redeems an individual from the common herd: the rays, mayhap, of royal favour fall upon him, and he begins to bloat; hisgrowth is as the growth of the grain of mustard-seed, and in a littlewhile he overshadoweth the land: Noble and Right Honourable are hisposterity to the end of time. 

There is a poor lad sitting biting his nails till he bites them to thequick, wearing out his heart-strings in constrained silence on the backbenches of Westminster Hall: he maketh speeches, eloquent, inwardly, andbriefless, mutely bothereth judges, and seduceth innocent juries to his_No_-side: he findeth out mistakes in his learned brethren, andchuckleth secretly therefor: he scratcheth his wig with a pen, andthinketh by what train of circumstantial evidence he may be able toprove a dinner: he laugheth derisively at the income-tax, and thecollectors thereof: yet, when he may not have even a "little brown" tofly with, haply, some good angel, in mortal shape of a solicitor, maybestow on him a brief: rushing home to his chambers in the Temple, hemastereth the points of the case, cogitating _pros_ and _cons_: heheareth his own voice in court for the first time: the bottledblack-letter of years falleth from his lips, like treacle from a pipkin:he maketh good his points, winneth the verdict and the commendations ofthe judge: solicitors whisper that there is something in him, and clerksexpress their conviction that he is a "trump:" the young man eloquent isrewarded in one hour for the toil, rust, and enforced obscurity ofyears: he is no longer a common soldier of the bar; he steppeth by rightdivine, forth of the ranks, and becometh a man of mark and likelihood:he is now an aristocrat of the bar--perhaps, a Lyndhurst. 

Again, behold the future aristocrat of literary life: to-day regard himin a suit of rusty black, a twice-turned stock, and shirt of Isabellacolour, with an affecting hat: in and out of every bookseller's in theRow is he, like a dog in a fair: a brown paper parcel he putteth intoyour hand, the which, before he openeth, he demands how much cash downyou mean to give for it: then, having unfolded the same, giveth you tounderstand that it is such a work as is not to be seen every day, whichyou may safely swear to. He journeyeth from the east to the west, fromthe rising of the sun to the setting thereof, manuscript in hand: fromLeadenhall Street, where Minerva has her press, to the street hightAlbemarle, which John Murray delighteth to honour, but to no purpose:his name is unknown, and his works are nothing worth. Let him once makea _hit, _ as it is termed, and it is no longer hit or miss with him: hegetteth a reputation, and he lieth in bed all day: he shaketh thealphabet in a bag, calling it his last new work, and it goeth throughthree editions in as many days: he lordeth it over "the trade, " and willlet nobody have any profit but himself: he turneth up his nose at theman who invites him to a plain dinner, and utterly refuseth eveningparties: he holdeth _conversaziones_, where he talks you dead: hedriveth a chay, taketh a whole house, sporteth a wife and a minutetiger: in brief, he is now an aristocrat of letters. 

The materials for the growth and preservation of these severalaristocracies abound in London; and no where on the earth have we thesame facilities for the study and investigation of their familylikenesses and contrasts, their points of contact and repulsion. 

THE ARISTOCRACY OF FASHION. 

Approach, reader, but _awful_, as Pope says--approach "with mincingsteps and bow profound;" we are about to introduce you to personsof quality. 

It is an extraordinary fact, illustrative how far the ignorance of adiscerning public will carry those who make a living by practising upontheir credulity, that notwithstanding there is an immense number ofbooks annually presented to the do-nothing world, under thecuriosity-provoking title of fashionable novels, we have hardly morethan one or two generally recognised true and faithful pictures ofreally fashionable life. The caricatures of caricatures of this Elysianstate are numberless--imagination has been exhausted, sense confounded, grammar put on the rack, the "well of English undefiled" stirred up fromthe very dregs, to give the excluded pictures of the life of theexclusives--yet, what have we? You will excuse us, reader, disturbingthe current of our thoughts, by recollecting any of this fortynovel-power of inanity, vulgarity, and pertness; but if you take up anyof the many volumes in marbled boards, with calf backs, that you willfind in cart-loads at the circulating libraries, and look over a page ofthe fashionable "_lingo_" the Lord Jacob talks to the Lady Suky, or theconversation between Sir Silly Billy and the Honourable Snuffy Duffy; orwhat the Duke of Dabchick thinks of the Princess Molly; and when you aresatisfied, which we take it will be in the course of two pages, if youdo not throw down the book, and swear by the Lord Harry--why then, readon and be jolly!

The indescribable absurdities, vices, and follies of the bulk of thatclass of literature called the fashionable novel, are past the power ofcatalogue-makers to record; but perhaps overwhelming ignorance of thepeculiar class they pretend to describe is not the least conspicuous. Next to lack of knowledge, or sound materials deduced from actualobservation, we may place want of taste. There are writers to write theexclusives up, and writers to write them down; one raises our envy, andmakes us miserable, because we are not permitted to enter their paradiseof social life; another devotes three volumes post octavo, inexemplification of the not altogether forgotten moral fiction of the foxand the sour grapes. 

The writers of fashionable novels may be divided, as to their socialpositions, into the tolerated fashionable novel writers, and theintolerable fashionable novel writers; the first, moving in phases moreor less equivocal round their centre and their deity, the exclusive set;the last, desperate from the fact of their total and permanent exclusionfrom society, but still moving round the outside of the boundary wall, and peeping through chinks in the palings. From the former we have theeulogistic, from the latter the depreciatory fashionable novels; thesemake us familiar with the celestial attributes of countesses-dowager, and the amiability of their pugs. They are slavering, servile, self-degrading productions, and only serve the exclusives asprovocatives to laughter; they are usually written by tutors, ladies whohave married tutors, or superannuated governesses, patronized by somecharitable member of some distinguished family. 

The depreciatory or vilificatory fashionable novel delights in exposingthe peccadilloes, or imagined peccadilloes, (for it is all the same, ) ofyoung or old people of fashion: a _gourmand_ peer, a titled demirep, a"desperate dandy, " a black-leg, and a few such other respectablecharacters, are dialogued through the customary number of chapters, andconducted to the usual catastrophe: virtue is triumphant, vice abashed, towards the latter end of the last volume; and some low-born hero andheroine, introduced to exhibit, by contrast, the vices of thearistocracy, suddenly, and without any effort of their own, acquirelarge fortunes, perhaps titles, which it would have been just as easy tohave given them at first--go to church in an orthodox manner, and set upa virtuous aristocracy of their own. 

We are indebted for this class of fashionable novel to outlaws of bothsexes; persons who might have held, but for their own misconduct, respectable positions in society; persons of this sort have theimpudence, with their no-characters staring them in the face, to set upas public instructors, and to give us ensamples, drawn from their ownperverted imaginations, of a class of which they might have knownsomething, but which it is now past human possibility they canever know. 

These people are not merely not in society--which implies no crime--butthey are, notwithstanding their nominal rank or title, _out_ of society, for reasons well and thoroughly known: they are those not merely whocannot come in, but those who, if they did intrude, would be immediatelyturned out. 

Next, ascending from this equivocal class, we have the fashionable novelwriters of fashionable life. I do not mean exclusive fashionable life, for there are no writers of these works in that class; but I allude tothose who mingle with general fashionable society upon such terms, thatif they possessed the talent, they might have supplied with ease thewant of which the world complains--that of a just and natural picture ofthe lives of those forming the Corinthian capital of society in London. 

Take, for example, a noble and late viceregal lord and his brother, theHonourable Edmund Phipps. These gentlemen have written fashionablenovels, and ought to have written good ones; yet we don't know how itis, but whenever we send to a circulating library to enquire whetherthey have "YES AND NO, " the noes have it; and when we venture to ask forthe "FERGUSONS, " we find that the three post octavo gentlemen of thattitle not only do not lodge here or there, but that they don't lodge_any where_. 

The fact is, opportunity of observation will do little or nothingwithout _faculty_ of observation: though the whole social world, old ornew, lay bare under the eyes of some men, not one idea could theyextract from it; and who, wanting also the descriptive power, still morerare, fail in any attempt to give to the world the results of theirexperience. 

Of this class is the larger number of writers of the better sort, in theline we are talking of: they go into society as they go to galleries, not to copy pictures, but to enjoy them. They enter into the amusementsand dissipation of their class, not to look on merely, but to playthe game. 

In addition to all this, there is a point of honour involved, we thinkan erroneous one, among persons of quality, as to violating thefreemasonry, the signs, ceremonies, and absurdities, of their privacy. Now, this applies only so far as individuals are indicated, and it is sofar right. But fashionable classes are fair game, if not shot atsitting; or poached, or snared, or bagged, in any ungentlemanlike, unsportsmanlike fashion. They belong to human character, and humannature; and the reason they have seldom been painted well is, that theyhave seldom been painted after nature; and any artist will inform you, that whatever is painted to the life, must be painted from the life. 

They have not been painted by themselves, because they would have theirlives, like the walls that encircle their town houses, impervious to thecurious excursive eye; they have not been painted by themselves, because, secondly, the power of depicting graphically what they are inthe daily habit of seeing, is not in them, not having been cultivated bystudy and practice; and thirdly, not being stimulated to literaryactivity by that Muse of the imperative mood, Necessity, they find morepleasure in having these things brought under their eyes, results of themental toil and culture of others. 

There is a vulgar error uppermost in the minds of some men, which isthis: the world of fashion has not hitherto been painted with effect, for the same reason that nobody thinks it worth while to describe aditch; both being, in the estimation of these persons, stagnant perfumedentities, rich in peculiarly useless vegetation, abounding in vermin andanimalculae, and diffusing a contagious effluvia over the surface ofsociety. This error, like many other errors, is an excuse for ignorance, and only shows the innate uncharitableness of some men; they run down, like other sceptics, what they do not know and cannot understand, norwill they believe there can be any good therein; forgetting, knaves andfools as they are, that the aristocratic classes are human beings, withthe same intermingled elements of good and ill as themselves, modifiedby accidental circumstances, which, as the Parliamentary people say, they cannot control, and possessing at least as much of the ordinarygood principles and feelings of our common nature, as any other class ofour graduated social scale. 

Can any thing be more illiberal, more ignorant, more stupid, than for alow man to turn leveller, because he is a low man, and attack, withoutceremony and without mercy, people of whom he can by any possibilityknow no more than the worst side, that is to say, the _outside_: andwhom he considers, like the gilt gingerbread he sees in his biennialvisit to Greenwich Fair, as vastly fine, but exceedingly unwholesome?

The truth is, fashionable life has been exalted above its just andproper level, and depressed below it, by the slaverers and thevituperaters, solely because they cannot get at it; the former areidolatrous from hope, the latter devilish in despair; and the result weare familiar with, in caricatures portraying this sort of lifealternately as a Heaven and a Hell. 

The peculiarities of fashionable life are, it is true, few, but they arecharacteristic, and we now proceed to--

_You_ proceed to--! Now, my good fellow, tell us, will you, how such aperson as you, a garreteer, confessing to dining upon the heel of atwopenny loaf and half an onion; making no secret of running up beerscores at public houses, when they will trust you; retailing your nastyscenes of low life, creatures dying in hospitals, work-house funerals, the adventures of street apple-women, and matters and thingsincomprehensible to genteel families like ourselves living in RussellSquare; an outlaw, living from tavern to tavern, from pot-house topot-house, without name, residence, or station; a mere fellow, subsisting on the misplaced indulgence of an undiscerning public, andone who, if gentlemen and ladies (like ourselves) would only condescendto write, would find his appropriate circle in a work-house, unless heescaped it by dying in an hospital. _You_ proceed to----! What, in thename of gentility, can _you_ know of fashionable life?

Sir, or madam, have mercy, or at least have manners. How astonished youwill be--we say, how astonished you _will_ be--if in the fulness of timeour title shall dignify the title-page; when it might appear, that bythe pen of a peer these papers were made apparent; when, instead of thesort of person you have chosen to imagine your caterer for the goodthings of fashionable life in London, you may discern to your dismaythat a lord--a real lord, alive and kicking, has made a Bude-light ofhimself, illuminating the shadows of your ignorance: you may read apreparatory memoir, informing you how these ideas of ours were collectedin a coach and four, and transmitted to paper in a study overlooking theGreen Park; with paper velvet-like, and golden pen ruby-headed, uponrose-wood desk inlaid with ivory, you may find that these essays havebeen transcribed: you will grovel, you will slaver, you will rub yournose in the pebbles, like a salmon at spawning-time, when this veryimmortal work shall come out, clothed in purple morocco, our armsemblazoned on the covers, and coroneted on the back, after the manner ofpublication of the works of royal and noble authors. Then, what runningto Debrett for our genealogy, our connexions, our _set_, and all thatcustomary inquisition of the affairs of the great which makes thedelight of the little: the "Book of Beauty, " and "Pictures of theNobility, " will be ransacked, of course, for verses by our lordship, orportraits of our lordship's ladyship, or of the ladies Exquisitina orNonsuchina, daughters of our lordship, with slavering verses byintolerable poets; then it will be discovered, and the discovery dulyrecorded, that our lordship's eldest son, Viscount Ne'er-do-weel, andthe Honourable Mr Nogo, are pursuing cricket and pie-crust (commonlycalled their _studies_) at Eton or Harrow, but are expected at ourlordship's seat in Some-Shire for their holidays: then we will beproposed, seconded, and elected, like other noblemen equallyundistinguished in the world of science, a fellow of the Royal Societyand a fellow of the Society of Arts--and for the same good reason, because we may be a lord; and you, and all the world, will say it wasvery proper that I should have been elected, though knowing no more ofscience than that acoustics (if we mistake not) means a pump; or ofarts, than that calico-printing and letterpress printing are, somehow orother, not exactly one and the same thing. 

Then, sir, we shall hear no more of the bread and cheese and onions, pot-house scores, and low company, with which you have sounceremoniously taxed our lordship. You will drive your jumped-up coach, with your awkward wives and dowdy daughters, and your tawdry liveries, all the way from Russell Square to the Green Park, to catch the chanceof a glimpse of our lordship. You find out from our lordship's footmanthat our lordship wears a particular collar to his coat, and you willmove heaven and earth to find out our lordship's tailor. When you applyto him to make a coat in our lordship's style, our tailor, who sees at aglance that you are not fit to be his customer, will tell you with anair, that he "declines to execute. "

You will discover, from the same authority, that our lordship smokes aparticular tobacco, to be had only at a particular shop; and forthwitheven real Havannah stinks in your nostrils, and you apply to Pontet. Pontet gives you a tobacco, (_not_ our tobacco, ) and you go away in theinnocent consciousness of smoking the exclusive weed of a manof fashion. 

Prithee, fool, mind thy own business, and stick to thy shop or thystation, whatever it may be; to which while thou stickest, thou must berespectable, but which when thou wouldst quit, desperately to seize thehem of our lordship's garment, thou becomest the laughing-stock of usand of our class, and we cannot choose but despise thee thoroughly. 

When we look at the shelves of a circulating library, groaning beneaththat generally despicable class of volumes called fashionable novels, when we take up, only to lay down in disgust, "NOTORIETY, ORFASHIONABLES UNVEILED, " "PAVILION, OR A MONTH AT BRIGHTON, " "MEMOIRS OFA PEERESS, " "MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE, " "ALMACK S REVISITED, " or some suchstuff, we cannot but infer, that it is not the vices or absurdities ofwhat is ignorantly called fashionable life that creates thisnever-ceasing demand for trash and nonsense, but rather a morbidappetite for vapidity and small-talk, a lady's-maid's curiosity of thesecrets of her betters, a servile love of imitating what is unworthyimitation, and of following that which is not worth following, simplybecause it is supposed that these ridiculous caricatures represent thereal life of

 "The twice ten thousand for whom earth was made, "

When we recollect, to our shame, that not only these swarms of trashyvolumes, which penetrate even into the back-slums, and may be seenunfolded in the paper-patched windows of eighteen-penny milliners inthe lowest quarters of our metropolis, find a never-failing successionof ravenous readers, but that newspapers--Sunday newspapers, forsooth--devoted to smutty epigrams, low abuse, vile insinuations, andopenly indecent allusion to the connexions, habits of life, and evenpersonal appearance, of fashionable and _pseudo_-fashionable people, receive a disgraceful and dangerous support; we must come to theconclusion, that in this, as in all other merchandize, the demandcreates the supply, and that it is among the lower orders of the middleclasses that these caricaturers by profession of the upper, theirslanderers and their eulogists, find sympathy and encouragement. 

There is a sort of "hero-worship, " as Mr Carlyle would term it, attaching to the most absurd, ridiculous, and even vicious doings ofpeople who _might be_ fashionable; a counter-jumper, barber's clerk, medical student, or tailor's apprentice, adores the memory of that greatman whom we are happy to be able to style the _late_ "markis. " The_pavé_ of the Haymarket he considers classic ground, and the "WaterfordArms" a most select wine-bibbing establishment. If he does not break adozen bells or wrench three or four brace of knockers in the season, this penny-cigar-smoking creature hardly thinks he attains to hisfractional proportion of humanity. 

This may be relied on, that the great inducement of young scapegraces offashion to the committal of their diurnal and nocturnal outrages uponpropriety, is the mischievous gratification they derive from the awkwardimitation of their inferiors; and the most effectual method of bringingthese aristocratic pranks into disrepute, will be, to treat them asmerely vulgar outrages, and punish the perpetrators accordingly. 

If, indeed, the small-fry of society would set themselves to imitate allthat is worthy imitation in the better sort of their betters, followinggood examples instead of bad, it would be something to talk of. Butsince it is not to be expected that they will pursue virtue, piety, goodsense, and good breeding for their own sakes, and as these attributes, when they exist in fashionable life--and they _do_ exist among the mostfashionable of fashionable people--are in their nature retiring andunobtrusive, while all that is bad in good society is pushed intonotoriety, for the example of the mob, we must take pains to point outat some length the difference between really "good society" and what isvulgarly called good society; that is, in fact, the difference betweengood and bad, and to mark the distinguishing characteristics of thetruly fashionable and the vulgarly fashionable man, as wide and deep asis the gulf between a gent and a gentleman. 

If the fashionable world be truly represented, as it is not, in theswarms of so-called fashionable novels, gleaned from the sloppyconversation of footmen's ordinaries, or the retail tittle-tattle oflady's-maids in waiting at the registry-offices, how little is it to thecredit of the mass of the reading public that they peruse such stuff; orwould it be perused at all, but for that vulgar love, so prevalent abouttown, of imitation of the Lady Fannys and Lady Mary Dollymops, their_nonchalance_, their insipidity, their studied ease, and theiraffectation of being unaffected?

We therefore desire, before we begin, that our young lady readers, ourjury of maidens, will do us the favour to dismiss from theirrecollection all that they may have heard and read of the fashionableworld; that they will not believe the exclusives to be as dull as somany bottles of stale small-beer, or as lively as Seltzer water from thespring, with a dash of brandy in it; that they will forget that thereis, in fashionable life, any thing worthy their imitation or adoption, unless it should otherwise appear by the evidence; and that they willnot once take up a professedly fashionable novel till they havecarefully studied and slept upon what we are going to say. 

The word "world" is a comprehensive term, and should be taken in all itsrelations with great latitude, whether with adjectives or without. Forexample, the "fashionable world" is far from being an integral quantity, or capable of being reasoned upon as if it were as definite in itsrelations and proportions as an equilateral triangle. It contains withinitself a complete gradation from fashionable excellence to fashionablevillany; from fashionable virtue to fashionable vice; fashionable ladiesand gentlemen, fashionable pimps, demireps, and profligates. It must beindividualized if we wish to treat it fairly, as judges try prisonersseverally, not in a lump. But our impressions of the fashionable world, as a class, must be taken from the general preponderatingcharacteristics of good or evil of the whole. 

Hast ever been, reader, to Bartlemy fair? If you have, you may haveseen--nay, you _must_ have seen--Richardson's immortal show. You musthave seen a tall platform in front of the migratory edifice, and on thatplatform you must have delighted your visual orb with the clown, thepantaloon, the harlequin, the dancing ladies, the walking dandy, theking with his crown, the queen in her rabbit-skin robes, thesmock-frocked countryman, the top-booted jockey, and all the _dramatispersonæ_ of the performance that every moment of every day, during everyfair, is for ever "going to begin. " You may hardly have observed, sliding quietly through all this tinselled and spangled poverty, a plaincarpenter-like man, in a decent suit, who looks as if he had never seena performance in the whole course of his life, and as if he never caredto see one. This man is, or rather was, the late Mr Richardson, who diedworth thirty thousand pounds, and all the clowns, harlequins, pantaloons, dancing ladies, walking dandies, kings with their crowns, and queens in their rabbit-skins, and the rest, are poor pinch-bellieddevils, caricaturing humanity for some twelve or fourteen shillingsa-week, finding their own paint and frippery. Now, whenever you wish toform a correct idea of the two great classes of fashionable life, callto your remembrance the gentlemen who, like the late lamented MrRichardson, are proprietors of shows, and the berouged, bedraggledcreatures who exhibit on the platform outside for their living. 

To be sure, there may be a little difference in names. The proprietorsof the show may be dukes, and earls, and marquisses, and so forth. Themountebanks outside may be called counts, chevaliers, knights of theorder of the golden fleece, or of the thimble, or of Malta. But therealities are the same. Fashionable life is a show, truly fashionablepeople are the proprietors, who are never prominently or ridiculouslyseen therein; and these several orders of over dressed, under-fed, empty-pocketed mountebanks, are the people put on the platform outside, to astonish the eyes and ears of the groundlings. 

The _physique_ of the true fashionable is peculiar and characteristic. From the toe of his boot to the crown of his hat, there is thatunostentatious, undefinable something about him distinctive of hissocial position. Professional men, every body knows, have an expressioncommon to their profession. A purblind cyclops could never mistake theexpression of an Independent preacher, an universal free-black-niggerBaptist minister, or a Jesuit. Every body knows an infantry officer, with his "eyes right" physiognomy, his odious black-stock, and his habitof treading on his heels, and can distinguish him from the cavalry man, straddling like a gander at a pond side. Your medical doctor has anobsequious, mealy-mouthed, hope-I-see-you-better face, and carries hishands as if he had just taken his fingers from a poultice; while yourlawyer is recognised at once by his perking, conceited, cross-examination phiz, the exact counterpart to the expression of anover-indulged jackdaw. 

The gentleman of fashion has nothing in common with the professionalgentleman, or any other. He stands alone, "like Adam's recollection ofhis fall. " He has an air, it is true, but his air is not a breeze, likethe air of a pretender to fashion. The air of the man of fashion isa zephyr. 

The expression of the man of fashion is the more difficult to reduce towords, in that it is mostly negative. It is easier to say what thisexpression is not, than what it is. We can only say, that there isnothing professionally distinctive about it. It is the expression of aman perfectly at ease in his position, and so well aware that he is so, that he does not _seem_ to be aware of it. An absence of all strainingafter effect; a solicitude rather to avoid than to court observation. Ifthere is any thing positively indicative in his expression, by which Iinclude his manner, it is that of a good-humoured indifference, aninoffensive, unobtrusive stoicism. He would seem to have adopted theexcellent advice given by the Apostle to the Thessalonians--"STUDY TO BEQUIET. " This is his rule of life, and he acts upon it upon great andsmall occasions. He only desires that you will have the goodness to lethim alone. If he is cheated by a man of his own _set_, (for he knowsthat he is cheated, as a matter of course, by tradespeople, ) he _cuts_the fellow coolly. If he is insulted, he coolly calls out his man. Hefalls in love with coolness, marries coolly, and leads a cool connubiallife. Whether he wins or loses, whatever happens to disturb the world orhimself, he takes coolly, and if he has an aspiration on earth, it isthat he may be cool and comfortable. 

His philosophy is the mingled Stoical and Epicurean. With him life is atrifle to be gracefully played with--a "froward child, to be humouredtill it falls asleep, and all is over. " His indifference is imputed tohim as a crime; but it should not be forgotten that, if there be anyfault at all in this indifference, it is the fault of his position. Fortune is to blame, not he, for setting up a man with no other enemythan time, and no other business than amusement. We do not say that thisis the true end of life; we do not enter into the enquiry, which mightcarry us to leeward of our subject, whether men who have the means ofenjoying life, do not show the truest wisdom in pursuing enjoyment. Weonly know that most men similarly circumstanced would act similarly; andwhether there is most vice or greatest misery in the idleness offashionable life, or in the business of the busy world, _as it iscarried on in our time_, I leave to those who have experience andleisure to determine. 

Those who wish to study the subject further, may read at their leisurethe pleasant paper in which an agreeable writer, Fontenelle, describesAristotle and Anacreon contending for the prize of wisdom; and maydecide with the essayist, giving the prize to the generous old toper ofScios, as we should have done, or to the beetlebrowed Reviewer, according to their humour. 

The constitutional and habitual indifference of the man of fashion isgenerally supposed by those who do not know it, to be an effect ofpride; but it is, generally speaking, a symptom of something more akinto humility--of timidity, in short. It is part of his system to avoidcontact, save with his fellows; and with those who are not his fellows, or of his _set_, he is altogether out of his element. Therefore, as heis afraid of giving, and incapable of taking offence, he entrencheshimself in the unstudied reserve which he finds by experience rendershis individuality least assailable, exactly as he surrounds hisornamental woods, his shrubberies, and his parterres with fences, notthe less strong because they are invisible. 

With adventurers, people who are treading upon his kibes, equivocalpretenders who are galling his heel, he is hopelessly exclusive, preserving towards them an armed neutrality. His friendship is extendedto his equals, and to his equals alone: with these his intercourse isfree and unrestrained. These alone see the English man of fashion as hereally exists, denuded of that armour of reserve with which he goesclothed _cap-à-pie_ in public. Towards others he is distantly polite;and with such nice tact does he blend a distant manner with politeness, that you cannot carp at the former, or catch at the latter. He lets yousee that you cannot be _one of them_, but in such a way that you may notquarrel with the manner in which he conveys his intimation. 

With his inferior he will not be intimate, nor towards him will he be"proudly condescending. " He declines to forget himself so far as for amoment to put you on a level with him; but he will not (as _you_ toooften do) degrade you by sinking you below your own level. He holds theeven tenor of his way whether you trot, spaniel-like, at his heels orno; nor will he once turn round to bestow upon you either cuffsor caresses. 

Although by leisure, education, and intelligence, he is qualified toconverse with men of genius, he prefers conversing with them through themedium of their works. He is aware that the days of subscriptions, and"striking for dedications, " are past and gone, and that the public havetaken the place of the patron. He knows that the habits, employments, and in most instances the circumstances, of intellectual men precludetheir mingling familiarly in fashionable circles, on equal terms, andthat upon no other terms will they consent to be met. He neitherpatronizes nor neglects them, but is content to stand in the relationtowards them of one of the reading public. 

His indifference to the fate and fortunes of deserving men has been, among the vulgar, a common imputation upon the man of fashion, of whichclass most frequently is the man of power. He is accused of lavishinghis favours only upon the toady and the tuft-hunter, and leaving men ofindependent mind to the caprice of fortune. 

This complaint comes with a very bad grace from men who would be thoughtindependent. The man who wants the patronage of the great, must go insearch of it, whether he call himself independent or no. Men in powerare accustomed to be met more than half way; and the independent man, whether he have merit or no, who expects people of rank to come insearch of him, and to hunt him out of the obscurity of his garret, willfind himself very much mistaken. 

None are truly independent while in pursuit of objects which areattainable only by the pleasure of another. The truly independent arethose who not only do not solicit favours, but those who do not wantthem: and there is seen too often, among needy and struggling men ofmerit, an irritable pride, a "_fierté_, " arising not from a sense ofindependence, but a consciousness of neglect; and many men boast of thepleasure of an independent life, as many ladies exalt the delights ofsingle blessedness, only because they have never had the offer ofchanging their condition. 

It is quite as unfair, too, to accuse people of condition of bestowingall their favours upon toadies, tuft-hunters, and bear-leaders. Thetruth is, as they are not in the habit of going into the highways tolookout for persons whereupon to confer obligations, they are obliged totake up with such as offer themselves to their notice. While the man ofindependence is dreaming away his existence over books and papers in hiscloset, and cursing the barbarism of the age that does not take him bythe hand, and set him up in high places, the man of the world is pushinghis fortune in a worldly way, and is content not to talk of independenceuntil he has secured it. The hard words, tuft-hunter, toady, and soforth, are applied, it may be, oftener than they are deserved:led-captain is a term of frequent reproach, but it must always beconsidered that that sort of talent will be chiefly noticed and rewardedwhich is in demand in certain circles; fashionable people desire neitherto be deafened with wit, nor bewildered with philosophy, nor oppressedwith learning; their business, to which they have been brought up, is toglide smoothly through life, and their patronage is chiefly extended tothose who offer to relieve them of its petty cares and small annoyances, which men of solid and sterling merit are not able, and, if they wereable, are not willing to do. 

A wealthy cit has as little regard for men of letters as a fashionable, nor has he the same tact of concealing his indifference; the well-bredman of fashion, who is alone truly the man of fashion, studies _tact_above all things, and his tact prevents him ever regarding men of mindwith any thing approaching contempt. 

His friendly offices, which his equals never require, he generallybestows upon men whose position in society is marked and permanent, andwho never can by any possibility compete with him; to these, if they be_safe_--that is, if they keep quiet, and are content to enjoy a sort ofunpretending familiarity, without boasting or pluming themselves upontheir position, he does the kindest and most liberal things, in thekindest and most liberal way; in a way that no other man than one trulyfashionable can accomplish. He confers benefits with an affable anddisinterested air, which, while it increases the burden of obligation, seems to demand no acknowledgement; he bestows without seeming to knowthat he is bestowing, and knowing enough of human nature to be awarethat to the deserving, obligations have something humiliating, he wishesto make the burden as light as possible. 

One of the most amiable qualities about the aristocracy is theirliberality and kindness to their dependents; you seldom or never hearany one who has served them faithfully and long having reason tocomplain. To do something for these people is part of their system, andnot to see them neglected or in want, a point of honour. This kindlyfeeling they extend, as far as their power or influence extends--tohumble friends, electioneering partizans, poor connexions. They arealways kind and considerate, provided only these persons possess thatunpresuming quietude of manner, which makes up a considerable part ofthat character they delight in, and which they call _safe_. If youintroduce to one of these people of fashion, any man who may have anobject in view, the first enquiry is, what are his claims--that is, whatequivalent has he given, or can he give, for the favours he expects? forit is with the high, as with the low world, nothing for nothing; andsecondly, you must be prepared to answer for his _safety_, so that, whatever may be said or done, nothing may, by any possibility, leak outof the _protegé_. This accounts for so many perfumed, be-wigged, purblind, silky fellows being taken in and "done for" by the great; andalthough these fellows dress like fools, and look like fools, dependon't, they are not the fools you take them for: they are aware, thatnothing so effectually throws off their guard and disarms the great, asa well-carried affectation of gentlemanly effeminacy, and "a still smallvoice, like a woman's. " We happen to know that some of these people, forthis very delicacy of air and manner picked out of the dirt, and carriedinto high places, who are _au naturel_, as we may say, when they gohome, and have laid aside the wigs, silk waistcoats, quizzing-glasses, and the rest of their disguise, as honest, friendly, and unaffectedfellows, as are in the world--only they do not desire that any bodyshould say so. 

Of a man with a stiff back, black beard, short hair, loud voice, andbuff waistcoat, people of fashion, on the contrary, stand in continualawe; his tongue is to them a rattlesnake's tail wagging only as a signalfor them to get out of his way; they quiver like an aspen at the soundof his voice, and for their own particular, would rather hear thesharpening of a saw: if such a one courts their acquaintance, they arehopelessly, despairingly polite; if, as is usual, he then waxesinsolent, and, as the fast fellows would call it, _slangs_ them, theyare delighted with the opportunity of displaying that placidindifference upon which they pride themselves as one of their exclusiveaccomplishments. 

Another peculiarity of truly fashionable people is, that they never sayor do spiteful, or vindictive things; revenge and spite they consider_low_, plebeian, and vulgar; besides, vindictiveness of any kinddisturbs their equanimity, puts them out of their way, and levels themwith the people who may have injured or annoyed them; they cannot endurejaundice of body or mind, and equally abhor any thing that sticks eitherin the gall, bladder, or "gizzard. " Their defensive armour, than whichnone can be less penetrable, is equanimity; their weapons, unstudiedindifference and dignified neglect. 

Towards their own "order, " they are invariably consistent in kindnessand consideration; they stand by, and stand to, one another with apaternal amity, which is only _outwardly_ disturbed by politics;embarrassment or necessity effaces conventional distinctions ofpolitics, and Whig or Tory is always ready to provide for "honest Jack, "or "do something" for "poor Fred. " But we are not to consider theirexertions in this way, accompanied with any self-sacrifice orself-denial; holding in their own hands the means of providing for theirfriends or relatives, they usually so contrive matters that they losenothing by it. 

To the peculiar quietude of manner, and characteristic gentleness ofpersons of fashion, in their intercourse with each other, we have manyconcurring testimonies of impartial observers: of these, the most justat once, and eloquent, that we remember to have read, is that containedin an ever-memorable letter from a Mr Tomkins to a Mrs Jenkins, attributed (with what justice, deponent knoweth not) to a noble andlearned lord, supreme in natural theology and excitability, remarkablefor versatile nose and talents, and distinguished for chequeredfortunes, and "inexpressibles" to match. This learned lord, or Tomkinsaforesaid, or whoever may have been the inditer of the epistle _ad_Jenkins, is eloquent exceedingly upon the _narcotine_ of fashionablelife: declares that its soothing influences were unequalled by vapour ofpurest mundungus, or acetate of morphia, or even pill of opium, blendedintimately with glass of _eau-de-vie_. Tomkins is quite right: no man, admitted by whatever door, or ascending by whatever staircase, to the_salons_ of the great, fails to be impressed with the idea that thereexists among what the _Post_ calls the "gay and fastidious _habitués_"of the place, every disposition to place him perfectly at his ease: and, if he cannot be at ease, the fault is in him, not in his entertainers. To a great _nisi prius_ lawyer, accustomed during a long life to thediscrimination of character in the way of his profession, such acontrast as is presented by the repose and unobtrusive _politesse_ ofhigh life, compared with the _brusquerie_ of the world below, must havebeen doubly delightful; and we are glad to have upon record the just andeloquent testimony to its existence and social value from so eloquenta pen. 

The world without is apt to confound reserve and distance among thegreat, with pride and insensibility: even those who, admitted bysufferance to fashionable circles, behold the peculiar charm of highlife through a wintry atmosphere: the free and unrestrained converse ofmen of fashion with their equals, none but themselves can know, and nonebut themselves describe. 

Their habit of living, among themselves, is generally simple, and devoidof extravagance or ostentation: they have the best of every thing it istrue, but then they have all the advantages of unbounded competition. And unlimited credit: they pay when they think proper, but no tradesmanever dares venture to ask them for money: such as have the bad taste to"dun" are "done:" the patient and long-suffering find their money "aftermany days. " Their amusements among themselves are inexpensive, almost tomeanness: the subscription to Almacks, that paradise of exclusives, andenvy of the excluded, amounts to not more than half a-guinea a ball, ifso much: a stall at the opera costs a young man of fashion, for theseason, forty, fifty, or sixty pounds, according to position: for thishe is entitled to an ivory ticket, which, when he does not feel inclinedto go himself, he can transfer for the evening to another. If he havethe misfortune to be a younger brother, many little windfalls come tohis share, the results of his relationship. He has an apartment at hiselder brother's town-house, or he resides with the dowager, or with amaiden aunt; somebody keeps his cab horse, and some other body keeps thesaddle-horse that Lady Mary or Jack Somebody gave him; his "tiger" hasthe run of all his friends' kitchens as a matter of course, and, as amatter of course, himself has two or three invitations a-day during theseason; though, like other poor men, he prefers dining independently athis club. He is on very good terms with the "girls" of his _set_, and isallowed a little innocent flirtation, because he is known to have _tact_enough not to compromise himself or them by falling in love, or paying"ridiculous" addresses: although a little "fast" perhaps, he isperfectly _safe_, and is on good terms with every body except his eldestbrother: he is the idol of countesses-dowager, who hand him a fewhundreds whenever he is short, pay his debts for him--give him goodadvice, and call him "Freddy dear:" in short, although he has nothing, excepting his boot-hooks, that he can possibly call his own, he is amerry, good-natured, honest, harmless fellow, a favourite with everybody, and envied for his light-heartedness even by his more fortunateelder brother. 

In a book published some five-and-thirty years ago, is an account of thethen prevailing method of killing a fashionable day: as the pursuit ofinanity and folly has a tedious sameness about it, this picture willanswer, with a few variations, for the man of fashion of to-day. 

"About twelve, he (the man of fashion) rises, lolls upon a sofa, skimsthe newspaper, and curses its stupidity. He is particularly angry if hedoes not find in it a paragraph which he sent to the agent of afashionable newspaper, generally the _Morning Post_, who lives byprocuring such sort of intelligence, containing an account of his havingdined at some titled man's table the day before, with whom, if he has norank himself, he is particularly anxious to mingle. After swallowingseveral cups of tea and cocoa, and slices of foreign sausages and fowls, he assumes his riding coat, and sallies out to his stables to inspecthis horses, and chat with his coachman and grooms. 

"Having finished this review and audience, he orders his curricle, and, followed by a couple of grooms, he dashes through most of the principalstreets, and calls upon the most celebrated coach and harness makers; atthe latter he is shown several new bits for his approbation. He thenproceeds to his breeches-maker, thence to Tattersall's, where he is sureto meet a great number of friends, with whom he kills another hourdiscussing the merits of the different animals he meets with there. These important duties being done, he strolls to an exhibition, or to aprint-shop, and looks over a portfolio of caricatures; thence he keepson moving to a fashionable hotel, to take white spruce beer(!) andsandwiches; here, after arranging his parties for the evening, bereturns home to dress. After looking over the cards which have been leftfor him, he proceeds to his _toilette_ with his valet, and is dressedabout seven, when his chariot is at the door, and he drives either tosome family to dinner, or to the hotel he visited in the morning, whenhe perhaps formed a party of four. At ten o'clock he enters the Opera, and like a butterfly moves from box to box; thence behind the scenes;after which he proceeds to one or two routs, or some fashionablegaming-house, and about four is in bed, to recruit himself for arepetition of the same course the next day. 

"These loungers have a phraseology peculiar to themselves. A short timesince, if one of them was asked how he was, the answer would have been, 'we are in _force_ to-day;' if his wife was enquired after, 'she is inhigh preservation;' if asked how often he had been at the opera, 'it ismy _second_ opera. ' They also say, perhaps, speaking of some illustrioushero, 'he's a fine brave fellow, but he ties his handkerchief mostshockingly. ' I also remember being one day in Hyde Park, when agentleman rode up to one of these loungers, and after exchangingsalutations, the former said to the latter, I wish much to have thepleasure of seeing you--are you engaged next Wednesday? Upon which theother turned round to a little half starved groom, and said, 'John, am Iengaged next Wednesday?'

"The women of fashion, " observes this writer, "are just as great and asinsipid idlers, in their way, as are the male triflers. They seldom walkin the streets, but are almost always cooped up in their carriages, driving about the streets, and leaving their cards at the houses oftheir friends, whom they never think of seeing, although they may be athome at the time; thence they proceed to the most expensive jewellers, where they order a piece of plate or a trinket; thence to somefashionable milliner. "

This picture is not altogether like, but some of the features maycertainly be easily reorganized; if we substitute sherry, a chop, and aclub in Pall-Mall, for white spruce beer, sandwiches, and a tavern;replacing the curricle and footman by a cab and tiger, the remainder, with trivial alterations, may stand good of the fashionable idler ofto-day, as of him of the last century. 

In childhood, nay, even in infancy, for all I can see to the contrary, the _physique_ of persons of fashion is sufficiently distinctive andcharacteristic of the class. If you walk in the parks and gardens, andnotice these young thoroughbreds exercising under the care of theirnurses, their tutors, and their nursery governesses, you will beperfectly convinced that they are as easily to be distinguished in alltheir points and paces from the children of the _mobility_, as is awell-blooded Arabian from a Suffolk punch. 

The small oval head, clustered with _rippling_ ringlets, as AlfredJennyson calls them; the clear laughing eye, the long fair neck, theporcelain skin, warmed with the tenderest tinge of pink, so transparentwithal that you almost see the animal spirit careering within; the_drooping_ shoulder, the rounded bust, clean limbs, well-turned ankle, fine almost to a fault, the light springy step, the graceful easycarriage, the absence of sheepishness or shyness, an air cheerfulwithout noise, a manner playful without rudeness, and you have the trueson or daughter of the Englishman of fashion. 

Then, how characteristic of the class of which these children are therising hope, is the taste displayed in their dress; they are attiredwith costly simplicity; or, if a fond mamma indulges in any littleextravagance of childish costume, you see that it is the extravagance oftaste; there is no tawdriness, no over-dressing, no little ones inmasquerade, they dress appropriately, and, at the same time, distinctively. 

Pretty souls! Many a time and oft have we wandered forth of theturbulent town, less to brace our unstrung nerves by the elasticair--less to bathe our wearied eyes in the green light of earth's bosom, than to drive away sad thoughts in the contemplation of your innocentgambols; with our stick; delight we to launch your mimic barks from thesandy shores of Serpentine; with you, glad are we to make haste, expecting the fastest sailer on the further shore; with you, we exult, once more a boy, in the speed of our trim-built favourite. 

We love the old Newfoundland dog, ay, and the old footman, as much asyou do, and could hang like you about both their necks; we wish youwould not think us too big a boy to "stop" for you at single-wicket;imaginary hoops we trundle in your gleesome train; like you, we have adecided aversion to "taw, " considering it not young-gentleman-like; we, too, forgetting that the governess is single and two-and-thirty, wonderon earth what _can_ make governess so cross; we love you, when we seeyou hand in hand squiring your little sister, saluting your littlesister's little friends, carrying their little parasols, and helpingthem over little stony places, like little gentlemen. Happy, happy dogs!we envy neither your birth nor the fortune that awaits you, nor repinewe that our fate condemns us to tug the unremitting oar against thattide of fortune upon which, with easy sail, you will float lightly downto death; the whole heart, the buoyant spirit, the conscience yetunstung by mute reproach of sin; these things we envy you--not thethings so mean a world can give, but the things which, though it cannotgive, soon--alas, how soon--it takes away!

Contrast these children with the children of Mr Deputy Stubbs of theward of Farringdon Within, or common Councillor Muggs of Bassishaw; theyreally do not look like animals of the same species. 

The rising Stubbses and Muggses have heads shaped like a China orange, croppy hair, chubby chins, chubby cheeks, and blazing red and chubbynoses--short, pursy, apoplectic necks, like their fathers--squab, four-square figures, mounted upon turned legs, with measly skins; sothat, taken altogether, they are exceedingly offensive and disagreeable. Then they eat, these young, Stubbses and Muggses, how they _do_ eat!then they are dressed, how they _are_ dressed! five different tartans, four colours in velvet, seven sorts of ribbons, and a woolpack of fleecyhosiery, as if there wasn't another Stubbs or Muggs in existence; thenhow they annoy and infest, with bad manners and noise, the deputies andcommon-councilmen who visit at Stubbses and Muggses; how the maids "dratthem" all day long, and how Mrs Stubbs and Mrs Muggs _hate_ MrSucklethumb, the butterman, because he never "notices the child. "

Another extraordinary phenomenon you cannot fail to observe in thechildren of the aristocracy; they seem to skip over the equivocalperiod, the neutral ground of human life, and emerge from the chrysaloidstate of childhood, into the full and perfect _imago_ of little lordsand gentlemen, and little ladies, without any of those intermediateconditions of laddism, hobble-de-hoyism, or bread-and-butterishness, soprominently characteristic of the approaching puberty of the rest of therising generation. Your Eton boy is not a boy, he is a young gentleman;your Lady Louisa is not a girl, she is only not yet "come out;" how toaccount for the peculiarity I know not, except the knowledge of thefact, that attention to the _petites morales_ forms so great a part ofthe education of our rising aristocracy, and is considered so vitallyimportant to their proper carriage, as well in their _set_ as out of it, that their children are as far advanced in this particular at fifteen, as the children of middling people at twenty-five. The petticoat-stringby which the youth of the non-fashionable class is tied to their mother, is a ligature not in use among the fashionable world; from the earliestperiod professional persons are employed in their education, and the_mother_ never shows in the matter. Whether this, or any otherpeculiarity of the class, be an advantage or a disadvantage, natural orunnatural, right or wrong, it is not for the writer to say; he onlypoints out what he has observed; and if he has failed to state itproperly, let him be properly corrected. 

Our aristocratic youth we take the liberty to classify, as they docoaches, of which they are so passionately fond, into

 1. FAST, 2. SLOW. 

The fast youths have several degrees of swiftness, from the railwaypace, down through imperceptible gradations, to ten miles an hour, atwhich rate of going the fast fellows end, and the slow fellows begin. 

Of these last there are also many varieties, from the tandem andtax-cart down to the waggon and dog-truck; and it cannot be denied, thatas regards the former more especially, there is a great similaritybetween the youths themselves and the vehicles they govern; they go veryfast, don't know what they are driving at, are propelled in anydirection by much more sagacious animals than themselves, and areusually empty inside. The fast fellows are divided, moreover, into theoccasional and permanently fast; and first of the occasional fastfellows:--

These form a very considerable proportion of our fashionable youth, andcombine the gentleman with a dash of the _petit-maitre_, overlaying anaturally good disposition with a surface of scampishness, which, however, they lay down when they marry, and thenceforward they belongaltogether to the slow school. 

The permanently fast fellows deserve a more detailed notice, since theyare always before the police magistrates and the public, in one shape oranother; and although often committing themselves, are seldom or nevercommitted. 

The members of this class it is who furnish the democratic Sunday paperswith a never-ending succession of articles, headed "THE ARISTOCRACYAGAIN, " "BRUTALITY OF THE HIGHER CLASSES, " "DEPRAVITY OF THE NOBBYONES, " and the like and it is from these fast fellows, unfortunately, that a great many ignorant people draw their conclusions of fashionablelife and conversation in general, extending the vices of a few shamelessprofligates to the entire of the little world, commonly calledthe great. 

The permanently fast fellows, or, as we think their general demeanourentitles them to be called, "Blackguard Nobs, " are a lot of little, scrubby, bad-blooded, groom-like fellows, who have always, even fromchildhood, been incorrigible, of whom nursery governesses could makenothing, and whose education tutors abandoned in despair; expelled fromEton, rusticated at Cambridge, good for nothing but mischief in boyhood, regularly bred scamps and profligates in youth, and, luckily formankind, generally worn-out before they attain the wrong side of forty. A stable is their delight, almost their home, and their olfactories arerefreshed by nothing so much as by the smell of old litter, to whichattar of roses is assafoetida in comparison. 

Their knowledge of horses, which they get at second-hand from Field, orsome of the other _crack_ veterinaries, is their only pride, and indeedthe only thing they imagine any man ought to be proud of; they reverencea fellow who has a good seat in his saddle, and delight in horsemanship, because horsemanship requires no brains; driving a "buggy" in good styleis respectable, but "shoving along" a four-in-hand the highest exerciseof human intellect, as for Milton and Shakspeare, and such inky-fingeredold prigs, who never had a good horse in their lives, they despise suchlow fellows thoroughly. Their chief companions, or rather, their mostintimate friends, are the fellows who hang about livery stables, betting-rooms, race-courses, and hippodromes; crop-eared grooms, _chaunters_, dog-stealers, starveling jockeys, blacklegs, foreigncounts, breeders, feeders; these are all "d--d honest fellows, " and the"best fellows in the world, " although they get their living by cheatingthe fast fellows, who patronize them. 

Of money, they know no more than that it is a necessary instrument oftheir pleasures, and must be got some how or anyhow; accordingly, theyare on intimate terms with a species of shark called a bill-discounter, who commits upon them every sort of robbery, under the sanction of thelaw; and who also is always a "d--d honest fellow. "

They can be sufficiently liberal of their money, whenever they have any, to all who do not want, or who do not deserve it; if a prize-fighterbecomes embarrassed in his circumstances, or a jockey is "down upon hisluck, " it is quite refreshing to see the madness with which the fastfellows strike for a subscription; an opera-dancer out of an engagement, or an actress in the same interesting condition, provided they are notmodest women, have, they think, a claim upon their generosity--andperhaps they have. 

They think it ungentlemanly to cheat, or, as they call it, "_stick_" anyof their own set, except in matters of horse-flesh; but "sticking" anybody out of their own set, especially tradesmen, is considered anexcellent joke, and the "sticker" rises several degrees in publicestimation. 

We should be doing great injustice to the fast fellows if we omitted abrief notice of their accomplishments. Driving is, of course, the chief;and, by long experience and impunity, wonderfully grand exploits areachieved by the fast fellows in this department. 

One of the most original is to get into a strong cab, with a verypowerful horse, lamps lit, tiger inside, and to go quietly along, keeping a sharp look-out for any night cabman who may be "lobbing, " asthe phrase is, off his stand, the moment the "game, " who is generallyone part asleep and three parts drunk, is espied, put your horse to fullgallop, and, guiding your vehicle with the precision fast fellows aloneattain, whip inside the cabwheel, and take it off. The night cab comesdown by the run, the night cabman tumbles off, breaking his nose orneck, as it may happen, and you drive off as if the devil kicked you. When you have gone a couple of miles, make a circumbendibus back againto the night-house frequented by your set, and relate the adventure, with the same voice and countenance as a broker quotes the price ofstocks; then order a cool bottle of claret with the air of a man who hasdone a meritorious action!

Another accomplishment, at which not a few of the fast fellows excel, isthat of imitating upon a key-bugle various animals, in an especialmanner the braying of an ass: when the fast fellows drive down to theTrafalgar at Greenwich, the Toy at Hampton Court, or the Swan at Henleyupon Thames, the bugle-player mounts aloft, the rest of the fast fellowskeeping a lookout for donkeys; when one is seen, a hideous imitativebray is set up by the man of music, and his quadrupedal brother, attracted by the congenial sound, rushes to the roadside--mutualrecognition, with much merriment, is the result. 

The fast fellow who does this best, is considered one of the immortals;and we are not without expectation, in due time, of seeing his talentrewarded by a pension. 

Breaking bells, twisting knockers, and "knapping" rail-heads, hasdescended so low of late that the fast fellows are ashamed of it, andhave resigned it to the medical students, patriotic young members ofParliament, and others of the imitative classes; but there yet exists, or very lately existed, a collection of these and various othersurreptitiously acquired properties, known among the fast fellow by thetitle of ----'s Museum, every article being ticketed artistically, andthe whole presenting an example of devotion to the cause of science, webelieve, without a parallel. 

These are a few of the comparatively innocent amusements of the fastfellows; others there are of graver character, which we need not referto, especially as the fast school is fast wearing itself out, and manyof the fast fellows already begin to "put on the drag, " and go at a morereasonable pace. 

Their ignorance, with the single exception of horse-flesh, is appalling. Nobody who does not know the fast fellows, would credit that men couldby any possibility grow up in such absolute ignorance of whatever agentleman is expected to know; whatever a gentleman is expected not toknow, they have at their tongues' and fingers' ends. 

Intellectual men, of whatever description, they regard with the mostperfect indifference--an indifference too passive for contempt; theyaffect to wonder, or probably do wonder, what such men are for, or whypeople sometimes talk about them. Books they find convenient for puttingunder the legs of barrack-room tables, to bring them to a level, andthink they are made of different sizes for that purpose; but no fastfellow was ever yet detected in looking into one of them, to see whetherthere was any thing inside. Such as have been taught to spell, employpart of the Sunday in deciphering the smutty jokes of the _Satirist_, and pronounce the jokes "d--d good, " and the paper "a d--d honestpaper. " If they happen, by any chance, to come into contact with one ofthe slow school, or any body who has been taught to read, they have amethod of silencing his battery, which they think "capital. " If a manshould say in their company, that Chaucer was a great poet, one willimmediately enquire, "_how much?_" while another wishes to know ifChaucer is entered for the "Derby?" "How much?" is the invariable slang, whenever a man gets the bit out of his mouth, or, in other words, talksof any thing but horses. 

There is no novelty in this; it is only a second edition of Dean Swift's"new-fashioned way of being witty, " which, in his fashionable day, wascalled "a bite. " "You must ask a bantering question, " he informs Stella, "or tell some damned lie in a serious manner, and then they will answeror speak as if you were in earnest; then cry you, 'there's a _bite_. ' Iwould not have you undervalue this, for it is the constant amusement incourt, and every where else among the great people; and I let you knowit, in order to have it obtain amongst you, and teach you a newrefinement. "

If they accept an invitation from Lord Northampton to go to one of his_soirées_, which they sometimes do for a "lark, " their antics are vastlyamusing; they put on grave, philosophic faces, and mimic the _savans_ tothe life; if the noble president, thinking he is doing the polite thing, points out to them a poet, for example, or a professor, they have aknack of elevating the shoulders, looking at the man with a pitying air, and whispering the words "_poor beast_, " with a tone and manner quiteinimitable. Indeed this is one of the few clever things they do, and onor off the stage we have never seen any thing like it. 

If Dickens were to die--an event that, we hope and trust, may not occurthese fifty years, the fast fellows would have some such conversationupon the event, as follows:--

A. So, Dickens, I hear, is dead. 

B. How much?

C. What's that?

A. Why, Pickwick, to be sure. 

B. Oh! Eh? Pickwick--Moses--Bath coach--_I_ know. 

C. Pickwick--near Chippenham? Paul Methven lives there--_I_ know. 

A. No--no--I tell you, he's a man that writes. 

B. Is he? He may be. How should I know?

C. Well--it's a d----d hard case, that, at the beginning of the season, I should have lost a d----d good tiger. Has any body got a d----dsmall tiger for sale?

As we are in the humour for dialogue, we may as well give a _verbatim_report of our last interview with Lord----, who had been a fast fellowin his youth. We encountered him on the sunny side of St James's Street, the other day, tottering to Brookes's: although we don't expect you tobelieve it, what passed was, as we recollect it, exactly as follows:--

"Well, my Lord, I hope your gout is better?"

"Eh--how are you? Well, I think I _am_ better, d'ye know. "

"Glad to hear it. "

"Thankee--thankee--d'ye know, eh, I've changed my doctor?"

"Well, and how d'ye like your new one?"

"Capitally--eh--d'ye know, he's a clever fellow. Young--eh--butclever--very. D'ye know, eh--he corresponds regularly with--eh--with Sir_Humphrey_ Newton and Sir _Isaac_ Davy!"

 * * * * *

THE DREAM OF LORD NITHSDALE. BY CHARLES MACKAY. 

 [Lord Nithsdale, as is well known, was condemned to death for his participation in the Rebellion of 1715. By the exertions of his true-hearted wife, Winifred, he was enabled to escape from the Tower of London on the night before the morning appointed for his execution. The lady herself--noble soul!--has related, in simple and touching language, in a letter to her sister, the whole circumstances of her lord's escape. The letter is preserved in the Appendix to "Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, " page 313 to 329--London, 1810. ]

 "Farewell to thee, Winifred, dearest and best! Farewell to thee, wife of a courage so high!-- Come hither, and nestle again in my breast, Come hither, and kiss me again ere I die!-- And when I am laid bleeding and low in the dust, And yield my last breath at a tyrant's decree, Look up--be resign'd--and the God of the just Will shelter thy fatherless bairnies and thee!"

 She wept on his breast, but, ashamed of her tears, She dash'd off the drops that ran warm down her cheek; "Be sorrow for those who have leisure for tears-- O pardon thy wife that her soul was so weak! There is hope for us still, and I will not despair, Though cowards and traitors exult at thy fate; I'll show the oppressors what woman can dare, I'll show them that love can be stronger than hate!"

 Lip to lip, heart to heart, and their fond arms entwined, He has kiss'd her again, and again, and again; "Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind, Sole ray in my darkness, sole joy in my pain!" She has gone--he has heard the last sound of her tread; He has caught the last glimpse of her robes at the door;-- She has gone, and the joy that her presence had shed, May cheer the sad heart of Lord Nithsdale no more. 

 And the prisoner pray'd in his dungeon alone, And thought of the morn and its dreadful array, Then rested his head on his pillow of stone, And slumber'd an hour ere the dawning of day. Oh, balm of the Weary! Oh, soother of pain! That still to the sad givest pity and dole; How gently, oh sleep! lay thy wings on his brain, How sweet were thy dreams to his desolate soul!

 Once more on his green native braes of the Nith, He pluck'd the wild bracken, a frolicsome boy; He sported his limbs in the waves of the Frith; He trod the green heather in gladness and joy;-- On his gallant grey steed to the hunting he rode, In his bonnet a plume, on his bosom a star; He chased the red deer to its mountain abode, And track'd the wild roe to its covert afar. 

 The vision was changed. In a midsummer night He roam'd with his Winifred, blooming and young; He gazed on her face by the moon's mellow light, And loving and warm were the words on his tongue. Thro' good and thro' evil, he swore to be true, And love through all fortune his Winnie alone; And he saw the red blush o'er her cheek as it flew, And heard her sweet voice that replied to his own. 

 Once more it has changed. In his martial array, Lo, he rides at the head of his gallant young men! And the pibroch is heard on the hills far away, And the clans are all gather'd from mountain and glen. For exiled King Jamie, their darling and lord, They raise the loud slogan--they rush to the war. The tramp of the battle resounds on the sward-- Unfurl'd is the banner--unsheath'd the claymore!

 The vision has fled like a sparkle of light, And dark is the dream that possesses him now; The morn of his doom has succeeded the night, And the damp dews of death gather fast on his brow. He hears in the distance a faint muffled drum, And the low sullen boom of the death-tolling bell; The block is prepared, and the headsman is come, And the victim, bareheaded, walks forth from his cell. --

 No! No! 'twas a vision! his hour was not yet, And waking, he turn'd on his pallet of straw, And a form by his side he could never forget, By the pale misty light of a taper he saw. "'Tis I! 'tis thy Winifred!"--softly she said, "Arouse thee, and follow--be bold, never fear! There was danger abroad, but my errand has sped, I promised to save thee--and lo I am here!"

 He rose at the summons, and little they spoke, The gear of a lady she placed on his head; She cover'd his limbs with a womanly cloak, And painted his cheeks of a maidenly red. "One kiss, my dear lord, and begone!--and beware! Walk softly--I follow!" Oh guide them, and save, From the open assault, from the intricate snare, Thou, Providence, friend of the good and the brave!

 They have pass'd unsuspected the guard at the cell, And the sentinel band that keep watch at the gate; One peril remains--it is past--all is well! They are free; and her love has proved stronger than hate. They are gone--who shall follow?--their ship's on the brine, And they sail unpursued to a far friendly shore, Where love and content at their hearth may entwine, And the warfare of kingdoms divide them no more. 

 * * * * *

TWO HOURS OF MYSTERY. 

CHAPTER I. 

One bright day, last June, one of the London coaches rattled at anamazing rate down the main street of a garrison town, and, with a suddenjerk which threw the smoking horses on their haunches, pulled up at thedoor of the Waterloo hotel. A beautiful sight it is--a fine, wellappointed coach, of what we must now call the ancient fashion, with itssmart driver, brilliant harness, and thoroughbred team. Then it is aspectacle pleasing to gods and men, the knowing and instantaneous mannerin which the grooms perform their work in leading off the horses, andputting fresh ones to--the rapid diving for carpet-bags and portmanteausinto the various boots and luggage holes--the stepping down or out (asthe case may be) of the passengers--the tip to the coachman--the touchof the hat in return--the remounting of that functionary into his chairof honour--the chick, chick! with which he hints to the pawing greys heis ready for a start--and, finally, the roll off into dim distance ofthe splendid vehicle, watched by the crowd that have gathered round it, till it is lost from their sight. A steam-coach, with its disgusting, hissing, sputtering, shapeless, lifeless engine, ought to be ashamed ofitself, and would probably blush for its appearance, if it were not forthe quantity of brass that goes to its composition. On theabove-mentioned bright day in June, only two passengers go out from theinside of the Celerity. The outsides, who were apparently pushed fortime, urged them to make haste; and the lady, the first who stept on thepavement, took their admonitions in good part. With only a small basketon her arm, and a dark veil drawn close down over her face, she dropthalf-a-crown into the hand of the expectant coachman, and walked rapidlyup the street. The gentleman, however, put off a good deal of time inidentifying his carpet-bag--then his pocket seemed to be indefinitelydeep, as his hand appeared to have immense difficulty in getting to thebottom of it. At last he succeeded in catching hold of some coin, and, while he dropt it into the extended palm of the impatient Jehu, he sad, "Hem! I say, coachie, who is that lady? Eh! fine eyes--hem!"

"Can't say, sir--no name in the way-bill--thank ye, sir. "

"Then you can't tell me any thing about her? Prettiest critter I eversaw in my life. As to Mrs Moss"--

But before the inquisitive gentleman, who stood all this time with thecarpet-bag in his hand, had an opportunity of making any furtherrevelation as to Mrs Moss, or any more enquiries as to his unknowntravelling companion, the coachman had mounted the box, and, afterasserting in a very complacent tone that it was all right, had drivenoff, and left him in the same state of ignorance as before. 

"Sleep here, sir?--Dinner, sir?--This way to the coffee-room, " said asmart young man, with long hair and a blue coat, with a napkin overhis arm. 

"Oh! you're the waiter, I suppose. Now, waiter, I want to find outsomething, and I daresay you can help me"--

"This way, sir. You can have a mutton-chop in twenty minutes. "

"No--listen to me--I'm going to ask you some questions. Did you see thelady that got out of the coach when I did? She's a beautiful critter;such black eyes!--such a sweet voice!--such a small hand! We travelledtogether the whole way from town. She spoke very little, and kept hername a secret. I couldn't find out what she came here for. Do youunderstand?"

"Yes, sir--perfectly, " said the waiter, at the same time evidentlyunderstanding nothing about it. 

"Well, you see, I don't know what you think of it down here; but, for mypart, I think ladies at forty-five are past their prime. Now, my nextneighbour in London--Mrs Moss is her name--she's exactly that age. Youhear what I am saying, waiter?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Now, I don't think this young lady, from her eyes and mouth, can bemore than twenty-three--a charming age, waiter--hem! You never saw herbefore, did you?"

"No, sir--never. "

"Well, its very astonishing what a beautiful girl she is. I am retiredfrom the lace and ribbon business, waiter, but I think she's thesweetest specimen of the fair sex I ever saw. And you don't know who sheis, do you?"

"No, sir. You'll sleep here, sir, I think you said? shammaid!"

"No--I haven't said so yet, " said the stranger, rather sharply. 

"Oh!" said the waiter, who had not attended to a syllable the gentlemanhad spoken--and retired under the archway into the hotel. 

"The only way to get information, " mused the gentleman with thecarpet-bag, still standing on the pavement, "is to have your eyes aboutyou and ask questions. It's what I always do since I have begun totravel for improvement--I got all the waiter knew out of him in amoment--I ought to have been an Old Bailey barrister--there ain't such across-questioner as I am in the whole profession. "

The person who possessed such astonishing powers of investigation, was aman about fifty years of age, little and stout, with a face of perfectgood-nature, and presenting the unmistakeable appearance of a prosperousman. The twinkle about his eye spoke strongly of the three-and-a-halfper cents, and a mortgage or two might be detected in the puckers roundhis mouth. I shouldn't at all care to change banker's books with himon chance. 

"How lucky I haven't proposed to Mrs M. ! Charming woman, butfat--decidedly fat--and a little dictatorial too. Travel, saysshe--enlarge your mind--why, how big would she have it?--expand yourintellect--does she think a man's brains are shaped like a fan? I wishto heaven I could find out who this beautiful"--

But, as if his wish was that moment to be gratified, a small light handwas laid upon his shoulder, and, on turning round, he saw his fairfellow-traveller. 

"Excuse me, sir, " she said, in a very sweet but slightly agitated voice, "excuse me for addressing you, but I am emboldened by yourappearance to"--

"Oh, ma'am--you're very polite--I feel it a great compliment, I assureyou. "

"The benevolent expression of your counternance encourages me to"--

"Oh, ma'am, don't mention it, I beg"--

"To ask your assistance in my present difficulty. "

"Now, then, " thought the gentleman thus appealed to, "I'll find out allabout her--how I'll question her!"

"You will help me, I feel sure, " continued the lady. 

"Oh, certainly--how can you doubt it?--(Hem--what white teeth! Mrs. M. Is a martyr to toothache. ) How can I be useful, ma'am? Don't you thinkit's a curious coincidence we travelled together, ma'am, and both of uscoming to the same town? It strikes me to be very singular; doesn't ityou, ma'am?"

"I shall be glad of it, if"--

"Ah! by-the-bye--another queer thing is your applying to me--a man pastthe bloom of boyhood, to be sure, in fact a little beyond"--

"The prime of life, " added the lady, not regarding the disappointed lookwith which her interpolation was received; "it is for that reason, sir, I throw myself on your kindness; you have perhaps daughters, sir, orgrandchildren, who"--

"Devil a one. Gad, ma'am, I wish you heard Mrs M. , a neighbour ofmine--why, she's always talking of my wildness and juvenile liveliness, and all that sort of thing; an excellent woman Mrs M. , butstout--certainly stout. "

"Are you acquainted with this town, sir?" said the lady. 

"God bless ye! read an immense account of it in the Penny Magazine everso long ago; but whether it is famous for a breakwater, or a harbour, ora cliff, or some dock-yard machinery, I can't recollect; perhaps it'sall of them together; we shall find out soon; for travelling, as Mrs M. Says, enlarges the mind, and expands the intellect. "

The lady looked in the face of the disciple of Mrs M. With an anxiousexpression, as if she repented having addressed him. 

"But are you acquainted with the localities here?" she said at last. "Asto myself, I am utterly ignorant of the place I have to go to; and ifyou knew what reason I have to"--

"Ah! that's the very thing; give me your confidence, and I can refuse younothing. "

"My confidence!--alas, the business I come on can only be interesting tothe parties concerned. I came from London for one sole object; and if Ifail, if any delay occurs, the consequences may be--oh, I dread tothink of them!"

"You don't say so? Lord! what a thing it is to travel!"

"It was of the utmost consequence that my journey here should beunknown. I had no one to trust. Alas, alas! I have no friend in all theworld in whom I could confide!"

"Hem, hem!" said the little man, moved by the earnest sadness of hertone and looks, "you have one friend, ma'am; you may trust _me_ with anything in the world; yes, me, Nicholas Clam, No. 4, Waterloo Place, Wellington Road, Regent's Park, London. I tell you my name, that you mayknow I am somebody. I retired from business some years ago, becauseuncle John died one day, and left me his heir; got into a snug cottage, green verandah, trellice porch, green door, with bell handle in thewall; next door to Mrs Moss--clever woman, but large--very large. Andnow that you know who I am, you will perhaps tell me"--

"I have little to tell, sir; I came here to see an officer who was tohave landed this morning from foreign service; if I don't see himinstantly there will be death--ah!"--

"Soldiers--death--ah!" thought Mr Clam; "wild fellows themofficers--breach of promise--short memories--a lovely critter, butrather silly I'm afraid; I should like to see a soldier coming thesentimental over Mrs M. Well, ma'am?"

The lady perceived something in the expression of Mr Clam's face (whichwas radiant with the wonderful discovery he thought he had made) whichprobably displeased her; for she said, in a very abrupt and almostcommanding manner--

"Do you know the way, sir, to the infantry barracks?"

"Not I, ma'am; never knew a soldier in my life. (Think of Mrs M. Payinga morning visit to the barracks! What a critter this is!")

"Then you can't assist me, sir, as I had hoped, and therefore"--

"Oh, by no means, ma'am; I can find out where the barracks are in amoment. There's a young officer crossing the street; I'll ask him, andbe back in a minute. "

So saying, Mr Clam placed his, carpet-bag in safety inside the archwayof the hotel, and started off in pursuit of information. While herMercury was gone on his voyage of discovery, the lady looked at theofficer he was following. He was a young handsome man of two orthree-and-twenty, lounging slowly along with the air of modestappreciation of his own value to Queen and country--not to mentionprivate dinner parties and county balls--which seems soon to become apart of the military character in a garrison town. As he turned round tospeak to Mr Nicholas Clam, the lady half shrieked, and pulled her veilmore carefully over her face. 

"I'm lost! I'm lost!" she said; "'tis Chatterton himself! Oh, why did Iallow this talkative old man to trouble himself with my affairs? If themeeting takes place before I can explain, my happiness is gonefor ever!"

She turned away, and walked as quickly as she could up one of the sidestreets. Not daring to turn round, she was alarmed by hearing stepsrapidly nearing her in pursuit; and, from the heaviness of the sound, concluded at once that there was more than one person close behind. Itturned out, however, to be nobody but her portly, and now breathlesscompanion, Mr Clan. 

"Stop, for heaven's sake, ma'am! that ain't the way, " he said. "What apace she goes at! Ma'am! ma'am! She's as deaf as a post, and would driveme into consumption in a week; and this in a hot day in June, too! MrsM. Has more sense--stop!"

"Have you discovered the way, sir?" she enquired, hurriedly. 

"Haven't I? I certainly have the knack of picking up information. I toldthe young man I had travelled with you from London; that you had somesecret business at the barracks; that I didn't know what it was; and themoment I asked him all these questions"--

"Questions, sir?" said the lady, spitefully; "it strikes me you weretelling every thing, and asking nothing"--

"The moment he found out, I say, that there was a lady in the case, andthat you wanted to know the way to the barracks, he insisted on comingto show you the way himself--a civil young man. "

"Oh, why did you speak to him?" exclaimed the lady, still hurrying on;"to him of all men? you have ruined me!"

"Me ruined you! That's going it a little too strong. I never ruined anybody in my life. How did I know you knew the man? There's some awfulmystery in this young woman, " muttered Mr Clam, puffing like abroken-winded coach horse, "and if I live I'll find it out. There'snothing improves the mind, as Mrs M. Says, so much as curiosity. "

"Is it far to the barracks, sir?"

"This ain't the way, ma'am; you're making it further every minute; and, besides, you're running away from the young officer. "

"I _mustn't_ meet him, sir--do you hear me?--I _must_ not berecognized. "

"Well, ma'am, " said Mr Clam, "there's no great harm done yet; I didevery thing for the best--following the dictates of an unbiassedjudgment, as Mrs M. Says; and if I've brought you into a scrape, I'llget you out of it. Take my arm, ma'am, turn boldly round, and I'll soonset him about his business. "

The lady did as she was told, and they retraced their steps. The youngofficer now approached, and touching his hat with an air of unspeakableelegance, and then swinging his cane, said, "You asked me, sir, to showthe way to the barracks. "

"Quite a mistake, sir, " replied Mr Clam, drily; "we know the wayperfectly well ourselves. "

"It isn't far, " pursued the officer; "and I shall be delighted toaccompany you. Any thing that you, sir, or your beautiful companion, mayrequire, I shall be happy to procure for you. Is there any one you wishto see at the barracks?"

This question was addressed to the lady, who drew back, and made noreply. 

"If there's any body we want to see, " said Mr Clam, "we'll ask for him;but we're in a hurry, sir. This lady travelled all the way from Londonexpressly on purpose to"--

But here a pinch in the arm prevented any further revelation, and madeMr Clam wince as if he had been stung by an adder. 

"You needn't grip, so hard, " he said to his companion; "for its mysolemn opinion you've taken the bit out. Let us go, sir, " he continued, addressing the officer once more. "We don't need your assistance. "

The young man looked surprised. 

"Well, sir, " he said, "it was entirely to do you a favour that I came. "

"You'll do us a far greater if you'll go, " replied Mr Clam, becomingboisterous and dignified, after the manner of a turkey-cock. 

"Sir, I don't understand such language, " said the officer. 

"Then your education has been neglected, sir. It's English--plain, downright English. We have no desire for your society, sir. --Right aboutwheel--march. "

"_You_ are below my notice, " said the young man, flushing up; "and yourinsolent vulgarity is, therefore, safe. At the same time, if the ladyneeds my assistance"--

"She doesn't need your assistance--far from it--she told me she wishednever to"--

Another pinch, more powerful apparently than the former, from thewrithing of the sufferer, interrupted once more the stream of hiseloquence; and he was worked up into a tremendous passion, partly, perhaps, by the cool contempt of the young officer, and principally bythe pain he suffered in his arm. 

"You're an impudent fellow, sir, " he said. "I don't care twopence forall the puppies that ever wore red coats, sir. My name is Nicholas Clam, Esq. , No. 4, Waterloo Place, Wellington Road, Regent's Park, London; andI can shoot at a popinjay as well as another. "

"You shall hear from me, sir, " said the officer, biting his lips. "Myname is Chatterton--Lieutenant Chatterton. Good day, sir. "

He touched his hat proudly, and walked away. 

"A good riddance, ma'am, " said Mr Clam. "Them young chaps think to haveit all their own way. I wish I had seen a policeman or a serjeant ofsoldiers; I would have charged him, as sure as a gun!"

"Oh, come quick, quick!" exclaimed the lady, pressing more hurriedly onhis arm. "Take me to the barracks! I must see him instantly!"

"Who?" enquired Mr Clam. "I'm all on the teeters to understand what allthis is about. Who is it you must see? Now, for my own part, I don'twant to see any one; only I wish you would tell me what"--

"Oh, spare me the recital at present. I'm so agitated by recent events, that, that--indeed you must excuse me. Oh come--quickly, quickly, come!"

There was no answer possible to such a request, more especially as bysuiting the action to the word, and drawing her companion forward at atremendous rate, she had entirely taken away the quantity of breathrequired to carry on a conversation. Mr Clam's cogitations, however, were deep; and, among them, the most prominent was a doubt as to thegreat advantages to be derived from travel, and a firm persuasion thatit is a very foolish thing to become the champion of any lady whatever, more particularly if she conceals her name, and refuses to satisfy one'scuriosity in the smallest point. 

CHAPTER II. 

The young man who has been introduced to us as Lieutenant Chatterton, pursued his way up the main street in no very equable temper. A little, grey-eyed, snub-nosed civilian, to have insulted an officer and agentleman! the disgrace was past all bearing, especially as it had beeninflicted on him in the presence of a lady. Burning with the indignationbefitting his age and profession, and determined to call out theinsulter, his present object was to meet with a friend whom he mightsend with the message. Luckily for his purpose, he was met byMajor McToddy. 

"Ha! major--never was so happy to see any one in my life, " exclaimedChatterton, seizing the hand of his friend--a tall, raw-boned, red-facedman, with a good-natured expression of face, not unmixed with aconsiderable share of good sense. 

"I really, " replied the major, in an accent that was a great deal moreredolent of Renfrew than Middlesex--"I really jist at this moment dinnahappen to have a single guinea aboot me, so ye needna go on wi' yourcompliments; but at hame in the kist, --the _arca_, as a body may say"--

"Poh! I don't want to borrow just now--except, indeed, your assistancein a matter of the highest importance. You have always been so kind, soobliging, that I am sure you wont refuse. "

"Weel, say awa', speak on; _perge, puer_, as a body may say, "interrupted the major, who seemed resolved to show what command oflanguage he had, for he uniformly began his speeches in his vernacular, and translated them, though with an effort, into English, or any othertongue he chanced to recollect. 

"Did you see a lady near the Waterloo? tall, graceful, timid; byheavens, a shape to dream of, not to see?"

"Then, what for did ye look at it?--answer that if youplease--_responde, s'il vous plait_. "

"A creature so sweet, so beautiful; ah, McToddy!"

"What's a' this aboot. What's the meaning of all this? Is't in some wildplay aboot a woman--_une femme, _--a _fæmina_, as a body may say, youwant my help? Gae wa' wi' ye--be off with you, --_apage, Sathanas_, as abody may say--I'm owre auld in the horn for sic nonsense--_nonmihi tantas_. "

"I tell you, major, she is the loveliest creature in Europe. Such a foot--such shoulders--such a walk--by heavens! I'll shoot him as dead asJulius Cæsar. "

"Who are you going to shoot?--is't a woman in man's claes?" enquired themajor, astonished. 

"I'll shoot him--the cursed, fat, pudgy, beastly rascal, her husband. I've never seen her face, but"--

"Lord seff us!--heaven preserve us, as a body may say. Is that arespectable reason for shooting a man that you have never seen hiswife's face? Come, come, be cool, John Chatterton--be cool; _animumrege_, as a body may"--

"Cool? a pretty thing for a steady old stager like you, to tell me tobe cool. I tell you, I've been insulted, threatened, quizzed, laughed at. "

"Wha laughed at ye?" enquired the major. 

"The woman. I'm certain, she must have laughed. How could she avoid it?I know she laughed at me; for though I couldn't see her face for thehorrid veil she kept over it, I saw from the anxiety she was in to hideit, from the shaking, of her whole figure, that she was in theconvulsions of a suppressed titter. I'll shoot him as I would apartridge. "

"But ye've nae license, sir, nor nae qualification either that I cansee--for what did the honest man do?" said the major, amazed at thewrath of his companion. 

"Do! He didn't actually call me a puppy, but he meant it. I know hedid--I saw it in the twinkle of his light, prying, silly-lookingeyes--the pucking up of his long, red, sneering lip. "

"But ye canna fecht a man--you can't challenge a person, as a body maysay, for having light eyes and long lips--what mair? _quid ultra?_ asa body"--

"He asked me the way to the barracks. "

"Weel, there's no great harm in that--_non nocet_, as a"--

"I told him the way, and offered to escort them there; I offered to beof any use to them in my power, for I knew every officer in garrison, you know, except our own regiment, that only came in to-day; and justwhen I was going to offer my arm to the lovely creature at his side, hesaid that they didn't need my guidance, that they did not desire mysociety--that he could shoot at a popinjay; now, what the devil _is_ apopinjay?"

"I'm thinking jay is the English for some sort of a pyet--a tale-bearer, as a body may say--a blab. "

"A blab!--by heavens, Major M'Toddy, I don't know what to say--if Ithought the fellow really meant to insinuate any thing of that kind, Iwould horsewhip him though I met him in a church. "

"Oho! so your conscience is pricked at last?--_mens sibi non conscia_, as a body may say, " answered the major. "Noo, I want to speak to you ona point of great importance to yourself, my young friend, before you getacquainted with the regiment. Hoo long have you been in the depot here, John Chatterton?"

"Eighteen months. "

"Weel, man, that's a-year-and-a-half, and you must be almost a man noo. "

The youth looked somewhat inclined to be angry at this mode of hintingthat he was still rather juvenile--but the major went on. 

"And you were engaged, six months ago, to the beauty you used to tell meso much about, Miss Hope of Oakside. "

"Yes--yes--well?" replied the youth. 

"And what for have ye broke off in such a sudden manner?--_unde rixa?_as a body may say. "

"I broke off, Major M'Toddy? I tell you _she_ broke off with me. "

"Did she tell you so?" enquired the senior. 

"No--do you think I would condescend to ask her? No; but doesn't everybody know that she is married?"

"Have you seen the announcement in the papers?"

"I never look at the papers--but I tell you I know from the bestauthority, that she is either married, or is going to marry an oldworn-out fellow of the name of Smith. A friend of Smith's told me so, the last time I came down by the coach. "

"A man on the top of the coach told you that she was going to bemarried--that is, _in vulgum pargere voces_, as a body may say--capitalauthority! And what did you do then?"

"Sent her back her letters--with a tickler to herself on her conduct. "

"And was that a'?--did you not write to any of her family?"

"No. Her eldest sister is a very delightful, sensible girl, and I amcertain must have been as angry at Marion's behaviour as I was. "

"And now her brother's come home to-day--you're sure to meet him--it'llbe an awkward meeting. "

"I can meet him or any man in England, " replied the youth. "If there'sany awkwardness about it, it sha'n't be on my side. "

"Noo, John Chatterton, my young friend, I'm going to say some words toyou that ye'll no like. Ye're very vain o' yoursel'--but maybe at yourtime o' life it's not a very great fault to have a decent bump o'self-conceit; you're the best-hearted, most honourable-minded, pleasantest lad I know any where, and very like some nephews of my ownin the Company's service: ye'll be a baronet when your father dies, andas rich as a Jew. But oh, John Chatterton, ye're an ass--a reg'lardonkey, as a body may say, to get into tiffs of passion, and send back abeautiful girl's letters, because some land-louping vagabond on the topof a coach told you some report or other about a Mr Smith"--

"_Captain_ Smith, " said Chatterton, biting his lips; "he's a well knownman; he was an ensign in this very regiment, succeeded to a largefortune, and retired: he's a very old man. "

"He's very fine fellow, and as gallant a soldier as ever lived, "answered the major; "and if you think that a man of six orseven-and-thirty is ow'r auld to marry, by my troth, Mister Chatterton, I tak' the liberty to tell you that you labour under a veryconsiderable mistake. "

Chatterton looked at the irate face of his companion, in which thecrow-feet of forty years were distinctly visible, and perceived that hehad gone on a wrong tack. 

"Well, but then, major, what the deuce right had she to marry withoutgiving me notice of her intentions?"

"Set ye up, and push ye forrit!--marry come up! as a body may say--whomade you the young lassie's guardian? If you were really engaged to her, why didn't you go to Oakside at once and find out the truth, and then goinstantaneously and kick the fellow you met on the top of the coach, round and round the barrack yard, till there was not enough of him leftto plant your boot on?"

The young man looked down as if a little ashamed of himself. 

"Never mind, major, " said he, "it can't be helped now; so do, like agood fellow, go and find out the little rascal who insulted me sohorribly just now. It would be an immense satisfaction to pull his nosewith a regulation glove on. "

"But you must describe him, and tell me his name, for it would be a sadoccurrence if I were to give your message to the wrong man. "

"You can't mistake him; the most impudent-looking vulgarian in England. His name is Nicholas Clam, living in some unheard-of district near theRegent's Park. "

"And the lady is his wife, is she?"

"Of course. Who the devil would walk with such a fellow that wasn'tobliged to do it by law?"

"Well, my young friend, I'll see what's to be done in this matter, andwill bring you, most likely, a solemn declaration that he never shot ata popinjay in his life. And you're really going to end the conversationwithout asking me for a loan? You're not going to be like Virtus, _postnummos_ after the siller, as a body may say?"

"No, not to-day, thank you. The governor keeps me rather short just now, and won't come down handsome till I'm married; but"--

"So you've lost that and the girl too--the lass and the tocher, as abody may say--all by the lies of a blackguard on the top of a coach?Ye're a wild lad, John Chatterton, and so _vale, et memor esto mei--aurevoir_, as a body may say. "

The major turned away on warlike thoughts intent, that is to say, withthe intention of finding out Mr Clam, and enquiring into thecircumstances of the insult to his friend. Mr Chatterton was also on thepoint of hurrying off, when a gentleman, who had overheard the lastsentence of the sonorous-voiced major's parting speech, stoppedsuddenly, as if struck by what was said, and politely addressedthe youth. 

"I believe, sir, I heard the name of Chatterton mentioned by thegentleman who has just left you?"

"Yes, he was speaking of him. "

"Of your regiment, sir?"

"Yes, we have a man of that name, " replied Mr Chatterton. "What thedeuce can this fellow want?"

"I am extremely anxious to meet him, " continued the stranger, "as I havesome business with him of the highest importance. "

"Oh, a dun, by Jupiter!" thought the young soldier. He looked at thestranger, a very well dressed gentlemanly man--too manlike for a tailor--too polished for a horse-dealer; his Wellingtons were brightlypolished--he was perhaps his boot-maker. "Oh, you wish to see MrChatterton?" he said aloud. 

"Very much, " replied the stranger. "I have some business with him thatadmits of no delay. "

"An arrest at least, " thought the youth. "I wish to heaven M'Toddy hadnot left me! Is it fair to ask, " he continued, aloud, "of what natureyour business is with Mr Chatterton? I am his most intimateacquaintance; whatever you say to me is sure to reach him. "

"I must speak to him myself, sir, " replied the stranger, coldly. "Wheream I likely to find him?"

"Oh, most likely at the bankers, " said the young man, by way of puttinghis questioner on the wrong scent. "He has just stept into an immensefortune from a maiden aunt, and is making arrangements to pay off allhis debts. "

"There are some he will find it difficult to settle, " replied thestranger with a sneer, "in spite of his new-found wealth. "

"Indeed, sir! What an exorbitant Jew this fellow is; and yet I neversigned any bond!"

"Yes, sir, " continued the other, with a bitterer sneer than before, "andat the same time such as he can't deny. I have vouchers forevery charge. "

"Well, he will not dispute your charges. I daresay they are much thesame as those of other people in the same situation with yourself. "

"Are there others in that condition?" enquired the stranger; "what anunprincipled scoundrel!"

"Who, sir? How dare you apply such language to a gentleman?"

"I did not, sir, apply it to a gentleman; I applied it to MrChatterton. "

"To _me_, sir! It was to me! _I'm_ Mr Chatterton, sir; and now, out withyour writ--whose suit? What's the amount? Is it Stulz or Dean?"

The stranger steps back on this announcement, and politely but coldlylifted his hat. 

"Oh, curse your politeness!" exclaimed the young man, in the extremityof anger. "Where's the bill?"

"I don't know your meaning, sir, " answered the stranger, "in talkingabout writs and bills; but"--

"Why--are you not a tailor, or a bootmaker, or something of the kind?Don't you say you have claims on me, and don't you talk of charges withvouchers, and heaven knows what? Come, let us hear. I'll give you apromissory note, and I daresay my friend Major M'Toddy will give me hissecurity. "

"I thought you had recently succeeded to a fortune, sir? but that, Isuppose, was only another of your false and unfounded assertions. Do youknow me, sir?"

"No--except that you are the most insulting scoundrel I ever met, andthat I wish you were worth powder and shot. "

"Let that pass, sir, " continued the stranger, with a bitter smile. "Didyou ever hear of Captain Smith, sir?"

"Of twenty, sir. I know fifteen Captain Smiths most intimately. "

"But I happen to be one of the five unhonoured by your acquaintance. Youare acquainted with Mrs Smith; sir?"

"I'm acquainted with three-and-twenty, sir. What then?"

"I was in hopes, that the recollection of Oakside would have induced youto treat her name with more respect. "

Chatterton's brow grew dark with rage. "So, then, " he said, lifting hishat with even more pride and coldness than his adversary--"so, then, you're the Captain Smith I have heard of, and it was no false report? Iam delighted, sir, to see you here, and to know that you are agentleman, that I may, without degradation to her Majesty's commission, put a bullet or two into your body. Your insulting conduct deserveschastisement, sir, and it shall have it. "

"With all my heart, " replied Captain Smith; the pleasure of calling youto account was the object of my visit. I accept your challenge--onlywondering that you have spirit and honour enough left to resent anintentional affront. Can we meet to-night?"

"Certainly. I shall send a friend to you in half an hour. He is gone ona similar message to another person already; and I will let you know atwhat hour I shall be disengaged. "

"Agreed, " said Captain Smith; and the enemies, after a deep and formalbow on either side, pursued their way in different directions. 

CHAPTER III. 

In the meanwhile Mr Nicholas Clam, and the lady leaning on his arm, hadproceeded in silence, for the lady's thoughts were so absorbed that shepaid no attention to the many prefatory coughs with which her companionwas continually clearing his throat. He thought of fifty different waysof commencing a conversation, and putting an end to the rapid pace theywere going at. But onward still hurried the lady, and breathless, tired, disconcerted, and very much perplexed, Mr Clam was obliged to continueat her side. 

"This all comes of Mrs Moss writing a book, " he muttered, "and being aphilosophical character. What business had she to go publishing all thatwonderful big volume above my mantel-piece--'Woman's Dignity; developedin Dialogues?' Without that she never would have found out that I couldnot be a sympathizing companion without the advantages of travel, and Inever should have left number four, to be quarrelled with by everywhipper-snapper of a soldier, and dragged to death by a woman unknown--asynonymous personage, as Mrs M. Would say, that I encountered in acoach. 'Pon my word, ma'am, " he added aloud, driven to desperation byfear of apoplexy from the speed they were hurrying on with, "this iscarrying matters a little too far, or a great deal too fast at least. Will you let me ask you one question, ma'am?"

"Certainly, sir, " replied the lady; "but oh, do not delay!"

"But I must delay though, for who do you think can have breath enoughboth to speak and run? And now, will you tell me, ma'am, what all thisis about--why that young soldier and I were forced to quarrel--what youcame down from London for, and what you are going to do at thebarracks?"

"You will hear it all, sir; you shall know all when we arrive. But donot harrow my feelings at present, I beseech you. It may all end well, if we are in time; but if not"--

The look of the lady, and her tone as she said this, did not by anymeans contribute to Mr Clam's satisfaction. However, he perceived atonce that further attempts to penetrate the mystery would be useless, and he kept musing on the strangeness of the circumstance, as profoundlypuzzled as before. On getting into the barrack-yard, the lady muffledherself in her veil more closely than ever, and asked one of thesoldiers she met in the archway, if Captain Hope "was in his room?"

"He's not come ashore yet, ma'am, " said the soldier, "we expect himevery moment with the last detachment from the transport. "

"Not come yet?" exclaimed the lady; "which way will they march in?"

"Up the Main Street, and across the drawbridge, " said the soldier, goodnaturedly. 

"I wished to see him--to see him alone. Oh, how unfortunate he is notarrived!"

"Now, 'pon my word, " muttered Mr Clam, "this is by no means a favourablespecimen of woman's dignity developed in dialogues. I wish my infernalthirst for knowledge and swelling-out the intellect hadn't led me intoan acquaintance with a critter so desperate fond of the soldiers; andCaptain Hope, too! Oh, I see how it is--this here lady, in spite of allher veils and pretences, is no better than she should be; or rather, agreat deal worse. Think of Mrs M. Falling into hysterics about a CaptainHope! It's a case of a breach of promise. What should we do now, ma'am?"he said, anxious to disengage himself, and a little piqued at the wantof confidence his advances had hitherto been received with. "If you'lltell me the whole story, I shall be able to advise"--

"Oh, you will know it all ere long. Soldier, " she said to the man whohad answered her former questions, "is there any lady in thebarrack--the wife of one of the officers?"

"There's our colonel, ma'am--at least the colonel's wife, ma'am; she'sinspecting the regiments baggage in the inner court"

"Come, come!" said the lady hurriedly, on hearing this, and again MrClam was forced along. In the inner court a stout lady, dressed in aman's hat and a green riding-habit without the skirts, was busilyemployed in taking the numbers of an amazing quantity of trunks andboxes, and seeing that all was right, with the skill and quickness ofthe guard of a heavy coach. She looked up quickly when she saw Mr Clamand his companion approach. 

"I hope you will pardon me, madam, for addressing you, " said thelatter, dropping Mr Clam's arm, and lifting her veil. 

"Be quick about it, " said the colonel's wife; "I've no time to put off. Hand down that box, No. 19, H. G. , " she continued to a sergeant who wasperched on the top of the luggage. 

"I wished to see you on a very interesting subject, madam. "

"Love, I'll bet a guinea--who has deserted you now?--that green chest, Henicky, No. 34. "

"There is an officer in this regiment of the name of Chatterton?"

"Yes, he's one of my young men, though I've not seen him yet. Whatthen?"

"Can I speak to you for a minute alone?"

"If it's on regimental business, I shall listen to you, of course; butif it's some nonsensical love affair, you must go to Colonel Sword. Inever trouble myself about such matters. "

"If I could see Colonel Sword, madam"--

"Why can't you see him? Go into the commandant's room. You'll find himrocking the cradle of Tippoo Wellington, my youngest son! That otherbox, Henicky, L. M. And who is this old man with you?" continued MrsSword. "Your attorney, I suppose? See that you aren't ducked at the pumpbefore you get out, old man; for I allow no lawyers inside these walls. "

"Ma'am?" enquired Mr Clam, bewildered at the sudden address of theofficer in command. 

"It's a fact, as you'll find; so, make haste, young woman, and Swordwill settle your business. "

"Captain Hope is not come on shore yet, I believe?" said the lady. 

"Charlie Hope? No! he's bringing the men and baggage. Has _he_ desertedyou too? Go to Sword, I tell you; and let your legal friend retreatwithout beat of drum. How many chests is this, Henicky?"

The Amazonian Mrs Sword proceeded with her work, and Mr Clam stoodstupified with surprise. His companion, in the mean time, proceeded asdirected to the commandant's house, and in a short time found herself inpresence of Colonel Sword. 

The colonel was a tall thin man, with a very pale face, and a veryhooked nose. He was not exactly rocking the cradle of Tippoo Wellington, as supposed by his wife, but he was reposing in an easy attitude, withhis head thrown back, and his feet thrown forward, and his hands deeplyensconced in his pockets. The apparition of a stranger roused him in amoment. He was as indefatigable in politeness, as his wife had been inher regimental duties. 

"I was in hopes of finding my brother, Captain Hope, in the barracks, sir, " she began; "but as I am disappointed, I throw myself on yourindulgence, in requesting a few minutes' private conversation. "

"A sister of Captain Hope? delighted to see you, my dear--did you seeMrs Sword as you came in?"

"For a minute, but she was busy, and referred me to you. "

"She's very good, I am sure, " said the colonel. --"How can I be of use?"

"I have a sister, Colonel Sword, very thoughtless, and very young. Shebecame acquainted about a year ago with Mr Chatterton of yourregiment--they were engaged--all the friends on both sides approved ofthe match, and all of a sudden Mr Chatterton wrote a very insultingletter, and withdrew from his engagement. "

"The devil he did? Is your sister like you, my dear?"

"We are said to be like, but she is much younger--only eighteen. "

"Then this Chatterton is an ass. Good God! what chances silly fellowsthrow away! And what would you have me do?"

"Prevent a duel, Colonel Sword. My brother is hot and fiery; MrChatterton is rash and headstrong. There will be enquiries, explanations, quarrels, and bloodshed. Oh, Colonel, help me to guardagainst so dreadful a calamity. I was anxious to see Charles, to tellhim that the rupture was on Marion's side--that she had taken a disliketo Chatterton. We have kept it secret from every body yet. I haven'teven told my husband. "

"You're married, then?"

"To Captain Smith, once of this regiment. "

"Ah, an old friend. Give me your hand, my dear--we must keep those wildyoung fellows in order. If I see them look at each other, I'll put themboth in arrest. But what can be the meaning of Chatterton's behaviour? Ihear such good reports of him from all hands! M'Toddy writes me he isthe finest young man in the corps. "

"I can't pretend to guess. He merely returned all my sister's letters, and wished her happy in her new position. "

"What position was that?"

"A very unhappy one. She has been ill and nervous ever since. "

"So she liked the rascal. Strange creatures you girls are! Well, I'll domy best. I'll give my wife a hint of it, and you may depend on it, ifshe takes it in hand, there will be no quarrelling under her--I meanunder my command. If you go towards the harbour, you'll most likelyencounter your brother. In the meantime, I will go to Chatterton, andtake all necessary precautions. And Captain Smith knows nothingof this?"

"Nothing. --He was on a visit at Oakside, my sister's home, and I tookthe opportunity of his absence, to run down and explain matters toCharles. I must return to town immediately; for if I am missed, myhusband will make enquiries, and he will be more difficult to pacifythan my brother. " So saying, they parted after a warm shake of thehand--but great events had occurred in the meantime in the barrack-yard. 

"Who is that young woman?" said the Colonel's wife, to our astonishedfriend Mr Clam. "Have you lost your tongue, sir?--who is she, I say?"

"If you were to draw me with horses, I could'nt tell you, ma'am--'pon mysolemn davit, " said Mr Clam. 

"Oh, you won't tell, won't you?" returned the lady, cocking her hat, andleaving the mountain of baggage to the care of her friend SergeantHenicky. "I tell you, sir, I insist on knowing; and if you don't confessthis moment, I shall perhaps find means to make you. "

"Me, ma'am? How is it possible for me to confess, when I tell you I knownothing about her? I travelled with her from London in the coach--amvery likely to get shot by a young soldier on her account--brought herhere at a rate that has taken away all my breath--and know no more abouther than you do. "

"A likely story!--but it won't do for me, sir; no, sir--I see you are anattorney--ready to prosecute some of my poor young men for breach ofpromise; but we stand no nonsense of that kind in the gallant SuckingPidgeons. So, trot off, old man, and take your decoy-duck with you, or Ithink its extremely likely you'll be tost in a blanket. Do you hear?--gofor your broken-hearted Desdemona, and double-quick out of the yard. I'll teach a set of lawyers to come playing the Jew to my young men. They shall jilt every girl in England if they think proper, and servethem right too--and no pitiful green-bag rascal shall trouble them aboutsuch trifles--right about face--march"--

"Madam, " said Mr Clam, in the extremity of amazement and fear, "did youever happen to read 'Woman's Dignity, developed in Dialogues?' It'swritten by my friend, Mrs Moss, No. 5, Waterloo Place, Wellington Road, Regent's Park--in fact, she's my next door neighbour--a clever woman, but corpulent, very corpulent--you never met with 'Woman's Dignity, developed in Dialogues?'"

"Woman's idiocy, enveloped in petticoats! Who the devil cares aboutwoman, or her dignity either? I never could bear the contemptiblewretches. No--give me a man--a good, stout-hearted, front-rankman--there's some dignity there--with the eye glaring, nostril widening, bayonet fixed, and double-quick the word, against the enemies' line. Butwoman's dignity!--let her sit and sew--work squares for ottomans, orborders for chair-bottoms--psha!--beat a retreat, old man, or you'll beunder the pump in two minutes. I'll teach you to talk nonsense aboutyour women--I will--as sure as my name is Jane Sword and I command theSucking Pigeons!"

"Pigeons don't suck, ma'am. Mrs M. Lent me book of nat'ral history"--

"You'll find they'll bite, tho'--Henicky, take a corporal's guard, and"--

"Oh no, for heaven's sake, ma'am!" exclaimed Mr Clam. "Your servant, ma'am. I'm off this moment. "

The unhappy victim of Mrs Moss's advice to travel for the improvement ofhis mind, thought it best to follow the orders of the military lady inthe riding-habit, and retired as quickly as he could from the barrackyard. But, on arriving at the outer archway, shame, or curiosity, orsome other feeling, made him pause. "Am I to go away, " he thought, "after all, without finding out who the lady is or what business broughther here--what she knows about Chatterton--and what she wants with Hope?There's a mystery in it all. Mrs M. Would never forgive me if I didn'tfind it out. I'll wait for the pretty critter--for she is a prettycritter, in spite of her not telling me her story--I think I never sawsuch eyes in my life. Yes--I'll wait. " Mr Clam accordingly stoppedshort, and looked sharply all round, to watch if his fair companion wascoming. She was still detained in the colonel's room. 

"Will you pardon me for addressing a stranger, sir?" said a gentleman, politely bowing to Mr Clam. 

"Oh, if it's to ask what o'clock it is, or when the coach starts, or anything like that, I shall be happy to answer you, sir, if I can, " repliedMr Clam, whose liking for new acquaintances had not been much increasedby the events of the day. 

"I should certainly not have taken the liberty of applying to you, "continued the stranger, "if it had not been under very peculiarcircumstances. "

"Are they very peculiar, sir?" enquired Mr Clam. 

"Yes--as you shall have explained to you some other time. "

"Oh, you won't tell them now, won't you? Here's another mystery. 'Pon myword, sir, so many queer things happen in this town, that I wish I hadnever come into it. I came down only to-day per coach"--

"That's fortunate, sir; if you are a stranger here, your service to mewill be greater. "

"What is it you want? My neighbour in No. 5--a very talented woman, butbig, uncommonly big--says in her book, never purchase the offspring ofthe sty enveloped in canvass--which means, never meddle with any thingyou don't know. "

"You shall know all--but I must first ask, if you are satisfied, willyou be my friend in a troublesome matter in which I am a party?"

"Oh, you're in a troublesome matter too, are you?--as for me, I camedown from London with such a critter, so pretty, so gentle, such aperfect angel to look at!"

"Oh, I don't wish to have your confidence in such affairs. I am pressedfor time, " replied the stranger, smiling. 

"But I tell you, I am trying to find out what the matter is that youneed my help in. "

"I beg pardon. I thought you were telling me an adventure of your own"--

"Well sir, this beautiful critter asked my help, just as you'redoing--dragged me hither and thither, first asking for one soldier, then another. "

"And finally, smiling very sweetly on yourself. I know their ways--saidthe stranger. 

"Do you, now? Not joking?--Oh lord! the sooner the better, for such lipsto smile with, are not met with every day. Well sir, then there came upa puppy fellow of the name of Chatterton. "

"Oh, Chatterton!" said the stranger; "that is curious. "

"And insulted us, either her or me I forget which; but I blew him up, and he said he would send a friend to me"--here a new thought seemed tostrike Mr Clam--his countenance assumed a very anxious expression--"you're not his friend, sir?" he asked. 

"No sir; far from it. He is the very person with whom I have thequarrel. "

"You've quarrelled with him too? Another breach of promise?--a wild dogthat Chatterton. "

"Another breach! I did not know that that was _your_ cause of quarrel. "

"Nor I; 'pon my solemn davit, I'm as ignorant as a child of what myquarrel is about; all that I know is, that my beautiful companion seemedto hate the sight of him. "

"Then I trust you won't refuse me your assistance, since you haveinsults of your own to chastise. I expect his message every moment. Myname is Captain Smith. "

"And mine, Nicholas Clam, No. 4, Waterloo Place, Welling"--

"Then, gentlemen, " said Major M'Toddy, lifting his hat, "I'm a luckyman--_fortunatus nimium_, as a body may say, to find you both together;for I am charged with an invitation to you from my friend MrChatterton. "

"Oh! he wants to make it up, does he, and asks us to dinner? No. I won'tgo, " said Mr Clam. 

"Then you know the alternative, I suppose!" said the Major. 

"To pay for my own dinner at the inn, " replied Mr Clam; "of course Iknow that. "

The Major threw a glance at Mr Clam, which he would probably have takenthe trouble to translate into two or three languages, although it wassufficiently intelligible without any explanations, but he had no time. He turned to Captain Smith, and said:--

"I'm very sorry, Captain Smith, to make your acquaintance on such adisagreeable occasion. I've heard so much of you from mutual friends, that I feel as if I had known you myself, _quod facit per alium facitper se_--I'm Major M'Toddy of this regiment. "

"I have long wished to know you, Major, and I hope even this matter neednot extend any of its bitterness to us. "

The gentlemen here shook hands very cordially--

"Well, that's a rum way, " said Mr Clam, "of asking a fellow to go outand be shot at. But this whole place is a mystery. I'll listen, however, and find out what this is all about. "

"And noo, Captain Smith, let me say a word in your private ear. "

"Privateer! that's a sort of ship, " said Mr Clam. 

"I hate eaves-droppers, " continued the Major, with another glance at MrClam--"_odi profanum vulgus_, as a body may say--and a minute's talkwill maybe explain matters. "

"I doubt the power of a minute's talk for any such purpose, " saidCaptain Smith, with a smile; "but, " going a few yards further from MrClam at the same time--"I shall listen to you with pleasure. "

"Weel, then, I canna deny--_convenio_, as a body may say--that in thefirst instance, you played rather a severe trick on Mr Chatterton. "

"I play a trick!" exclaimed Captain Smith; "I don't understand you. Butproceed, I beg. I will not interrupt you. "

"But then, on the other hand, it's not to be denied that Mr Chatterton'smethod of showing his anger was highly reprehensible. "

"His anger, Major M'Toddy!"

"'Deed ay, just his anger--_ira furor brevis_--and it's really veryexcusable in a proud-spirited young man to resent his being jilted insuch a sudden and barefaced manner. "

"_He_ jilted! but again I beg pardon--go on. "

"Nae doubt--_sine dubio_, as a body may say--the lassie had a right tochange her mind; and if she thought proper to prefer you to him, I cannasee what law, human or divine"--

"Does the puppy actually try to excuse himself on so base a calumny asthat Marion preferred me? Major M'Toddy, I am here to receive yourmessage; pray deliver it, and let us settle this matter as soon aspossible. "

"Whar's the calumny?" said the major. "You wadna have me to believe, Captain Smith, that the lady does not prefer you to him?"

"Now perhaps she does, for she has sense enough and pride enough, Ihope, to despise him; but never girl was more attached to a man in theworld than she to Chatterton. Her health is gone--she has lost theliveliness of youth. No, no--I am much afraid, in spite of all that haspassed, she is fond of the fellow yet. "

"How long have you suspected this?" enquired the major. 

"For some time; before my marriage, of course, I had not such goodopportunities of judging as I have had since. "

"Of course, of course, " said the major, in a sympathizing tone; "it'sbad business. But if you had these suspicions before, what for didyou marry?"

"Why? Do you think things of that sort should hinder a man from marryingthe girl he likes? Mrs Smith regrets it as much as I do. "

"Then what for did she not tell Chatterton she was going to marry you?"

"What right had he to know, sir?"

"A vera good right, I think; or if he hadna, I wad like to know whahad?"

"There, sir, we differ in opinion. Will you deliver your message, nameyour place and hour, and I shall meet you. I shall easily get a friendin this town, though I thought it better at one time to apply to acivilian; but I fear, " he added, with a smile, "my friend Mr Clam willscarcely do. "

"I really dinna ken--I positively don't know, as a body may say, how toproceed in this matter. In the first place, if your wife is over fond ofChatterton. "

"My wife, sir?"

"'Deed ay--_placens uxor_, as a body may say--I say if your wifecontinues to like Chatterton, you had better send a message to him, andnot he to you. "

"So I would, if she gave me occasion, Major M'Toddy; but if your friendboasts of any thing of that kind, his conduct is still more infamous andintolerable than I thought it. "

"But your ainsel'--your own self told me so this minute. "

"You mistake, sir. I say that Marion Hope, my wife's sister, is stillfoolish enough to like him. "

"Your wife's sister! You didna marry Chatterton's sweetheart?"

"No, sir--her elder sister. "

"Oh, lord, if I had my fingers round the thrapple o' that leein'scoundrel on the tap of the coach! Gie me your hand, Captain Smith--it'sall a mistake. I'll set it right in two minutes. Come with me toChatterton's rooms--ye'll make him the happiest man in England. He's wudwi' love--mad with affection, as a body may say. He thought you had runoff with his sweetheart, and it was only her sister!"

Captain Smith began to have some glimmerings of the real state of thecase; and Mr Clam was on the point of going up to where they stood tomake further enquiries for the improvement of his mind, when histravelling companion, again deeply veiled, laid her hand on his arm. 

"Move not for your life!" she said. 

"I'm not agoing to move, ma'am. "

"Let them go, " she continued; "we can get down by a side street. If theysee me, I'm lost. "

"Lost again! The mystery grows deeper and deeper. "

"One of these is my husband. "

Mr Clam drops her arm. "A married woman, and running after captains andcolonels! Will you explain a little ma'am, for my head is so puzzled, that hang me if I know whether I stand on my head or my heels?"

"Not now--sometime or other you will perhaps know all; but come with meto the beach--all will end well. "

"Will it?--then I hope to heaven it will end soon, for an hour or twomore of this will kill me. "

The two gentlemen, in the meantime, had disappeared, and Mr Clam was onthe eve of being hurried off to the harbour, when a young officer camerapidly towards them. 

"Charles!" cried the lady, and put her arms round his neck. 

"There she goes!" said Mr Clam--"another soldier!--She'll know the wholearmy soon. "

"Mary!" exclaimed the soldier--"so good, so kind of you to come toreceive me. "

"I wished to see you particularly, " she said, "alone, for one minute. "

The brother and sister retired to one side, leaving Mr Clam once moreout of ear-shot. 

"More whispering!" muttered that disappointed gentleman. "This can neverenlarge the intellect or improve the mind. Mrs M. Is a humbug--not adrop of information can I get for love or money. Nothing but whisperingshere, closetings there--all that comes to my share is threats ofshootings and duckings under pumps. I'll go back to Waterloo Place thisblessed night, and burn 'Woman's Dignity' the moment I get home. "

"Then let us go to Chatterton's rooms, " said the young officer, givinghis arm to his sister; "I have no doubt he will explain it all, and Ishall be delighted to see your husband. "

"She's going to see her husband! She's the wickedest woman in England, "said Mr Clam, who caught the last sentence. 

"Still here'" said a voice at his ear--"lurking about the barracks!"

He looked round and saw the irate features of the tremendous Mrs Sword. He made a rapid bolt and disappeared, as if he had a pulk of Cossacks infull chase at his heels. 

The conversation of the good-natured Colonel Sword with Chatterton hadopened that young hero's eye so entirely to the folly of his conduct, that it needed many encouraging speeches from his superior to keep himfrom sinking into despair. --"That I should have been such a fool, " hesaid, "as to think that Marion would prefer any body to me!" Such wasthe style of his soliloquy, from which it will be perceived, that inspite of his discovery of his stupidity, he had not entirely lost hisgood opinion of himself--"to think that she would marry an old fellow ofthirty-six! What will she think of me! How lucky I did not write to myfather that I had broken matters off. Do you think she'll ever forgiveme, colonel?"

"Forgive you, my, dear fellow?" said the colonel; "girls, as Mrs Swordsays, are such fools, they'll forgive any thing. "

"And Captain Smith!--a fine gentlemanly fellow--the husband of Marion'ssister--I have insulted him--I must fight him, of course. "

"No fighting here, young man; you must apologize if you've done wrong;if not, he must apologize to you; Mrs Sword would never look over a duelbetween two Sucking Pigeons. "

"Then _I_ must apologize. "

"Ye canna have a better chance--you can't have a better opportunity, asa body may say, " said the bilingual major, entering the room, "forhere's Captain Smith ready to accept it. "

"With all his heart, I assure you, " said that gentleman, shakingChatterton's hand; "so I beg you'll say no more about it. "

"This is all right--just as it should be, " said the Colonel. "CaptainSmith, you'll plead poor Chatterton's cause with the offended lady. "

"Perhaps the culprit had better be his own advocate--he will find thecourt very favourably disposed; and as the judge is herself at theWaterloo hotel"--

"Marion here!" exclaimed Chatterton; "good heavens, what an atrociousass I have been!"

"She is indeed, " replied the Captain. "I knew she would be anxious toreceive her brother Charles on his landing, and as I had wormed out fromher the circumstances of this lover's quarrel"--

"_Amantium ira amoris redintegratio est_--as a body may say, " interposedMajor M'Toddy. 

"And was determined to enquire into it, I thought that the pretence ofwelcoming Captain Hope would allay any suspicion of my intention; andso, with her good mother's permission, I brought her down, leaving mywife in Henley Street"--

"Where she didn't long remain, " said no other than Captain Charles Hope, himself leading in Mrs Smith, the mysterious travelling acquaintanceof Mr Clam. 

"Do you forgive me, " she said to her husband, "for coming down withoutyour knowledge?"

"I suppose I must, " said Captain Smith, laughing, "on condition that youpardon me for the same offence?"

"And noo, then, " said Major M'Toddy, "I propose that we all, togetherand singly, _conjunctim ac separatim_--as a body may say--go downinstanter to the Waterloo Hotel. We can arrange every thing there betterthan here, for we must hear the other side--_audi alteram partem_, as abody may say. "

"This will be a regular _jour de noce_, as you would say, Major, "remarked Colonel Sword, giving his arm to Mrs Smith. 

"It's a _nos non nobis_, poor auld bachelors--as a body may say, "replied the Major, and the whole party proceeded to the hotel. 

Mr Clan, on making his escape from the fulminations of Mrs Sword, hadbeen rejoiced to see his carpet-bag still resting against the wall underthe archway of the inn, as he had left it when he first arrived. 

"Waiter!" he cried; and the same long-haired individual in the bluecoat, with the napkin over his arm, came to his call. 

"Is there any coach to London this evening?"

"Yes, sir--at half-past six. "

"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Mr Clam, "I shall get out of this infernaltown. Waiter!"

"Yes, sir. "

"I came from London to-day with a lady--close veiled, all muffled up. She is a married woman, too--more shame for her. "

"Yes, sir. Do you dine before you go, sir. " said the waiter, notattending to Mr Clan's observations. 

"No. Her husband doesn't know she's here; but, waiter, Mr Chattertondoes. " Mr Clam accompanied this piece of information with a significantwink, which, however, made no sensible impression on the waiter's mind. 

"Yes, Chatterton does; for you may depend on it, by this time he's foundout who she is. "

"Yes, sir. Have you secured a place, sir?"

"Now, she wouldn't have her husband know she is here for the world. "

"Outside or in, sir? The office is next door"--continued the waiter. 

"Then, there's a tall gentleman, who speaks with a curious accent. Iwonder who the deuce _he_ can be. "

"No luggage but this, sir? Porter will take it to the office, sir. "

"Nor that dreadful he-woman in the hat--who the mischief can _she_ be?What had Chatterton done?--who is the husband?--who is the lady? Waiter, is there a lunatic asylum here?"

"No, sir. We've a penitentiary. "

"Then, 'pon my davit, the young woman"--

But Mr Clam's observation, whatever it was--and it was evidently notvery complimentary to his travelling companion--was interrupted by theentrance of the happy party from Chatterton's rooms. 

Mr Clam looked first at the colonel and Captain Hope, and Mrs Smith--butthey were so busy in their own conversation, that they did not observehim. Then followed Major M'Toddy, Captain Smith, and Mr Chatterton. 

"Here's our civil friend, " said the Major--"_amicas noster_, as a bodymay say. "

"Oh, by Jove!" said Mr Chatterton, "I ought to teach this fellow alesson in natural history. "

"He's the scientific naturalist that called you popinjay, " continued themajor--"_ludit convivia miles_, as a body may say. "

"He's the fellow that refused to be my friend, and told me some foolishstory of his flirtations with a lady he met in the coach, " addedCaptain Smith. 

"Gentlemen, " said Mr Clam, "I'm here in search of information; will youhave the kindness to tell me what we have all been fighting, andquarrelling, and whispering and threatening about for the last twohours? My esteemed and talented neighbour, the author of 'Women'sDignity developed in Dialogues'"--

"May gang to the deevil, " interposed Major M'Toddy--_abeat in malamcrucem_, as a body may say--We've no time for havers, _i prae, sequar_, as a body may say. What's the number of her room?"

"No. 14, " said the Captain, and the three gentlemen passed on. 

"_Her_ room!" said Mr Clam, "another lady! Waiter!"

"Yes sir. "

"I'll send you a post-office order for five shillings, if you'll findout all this, and let me know the particulars--address to me, No. 4, Waterloo Place, Wellington Road, Regent's Park, London. I've done everything in my power to gain information according to the advice of Mrs M. , but it's of no use. Let me know as soon as you discover any thing, andI'll send you the order by return of post. "

"Coach is coming, sir, " said the waiter. 

"And I'm going; and very glad I am to get out of the town alive. And asto the female banditti in the riding habit, with all the trunks andboxes; if you'll let me know"--

"The coach can't wait a moment, sir. "

Mr Clam cast a despairing look as he saw his last hope of finding outthe mystery disappear. He stept into the inside of the coach--

"Coachman, " he said, with his foot on the step--"There's no lady inside, is there?"

"No, sir. "

"Then drive on; if there had been, I wouldn't have travelled a mile withher. " The roll of the coach drowned the remainder of Mr Clam'seloquence; and it is much feared that his enquiries have beenunsuccessful to the present day. 

 * * * * *

THE EAST AND SOUTH OF EUROPE. 

 A Steam-voyage to Constantinople, by the Rhine and Danube, in 1840-41, and to Portugal, Spain, &c. By the Marquis of Londonderry. In 2 vols. 8vo. 

We have a very considerable respect for the writer of the Tour of whichwe are about to give extracts in the following pages. The Marquis ofLondonderry is certainly no common person. We are perfectly aware thathe has been uncommonly abused by the Whigs--which we regard as almost anecessary tribute to his name; that he has received an ultra share oflibel from the Radicals--which we regard as equally to his honour; andthat he is looked on by all the neutrals, of whatever colour, as apersonage too straightforward to be managed by a bow and a smile. Yet, for all these things, we like him the better, and wish, as says theold song--

 "We had within the realm Five hundred good as he. "

He is a straightforward, manly, and high-spirited noble, making up hismind without fee or reward, and speaking it with as little fear as hemade it up; managing a large and turbulent population with thatauthority which derives its force from good intention; constant in hisattendance on his parliamentary duty; plainspoken there, as he is everywhere; and possessing the influence which sincerity gives in every partof the world, however abounding in polish and place-hunting. 

His early career, too, has been manly. He was a soldier, and a gallantone. His mission to the Allied armies, in the greatest campaign evermade in Europe, showed that he had the talents of council as well as ofthe field; and his appointment as ambassador to Vienna, gave a characterof spirit, and even of splendour, to British diplomacy which it hadseldom exhibited before, and which, it is to be hoped, it may recoverwith as little delay as possible. 

We even like his employment of his superfluous time. Instead of givingway to the fooleries of fashionable life, the absurdities of gallopingafter hares and foxes, for months together, at Melton, or the patronageof those scenes of perpetual knavery which belong to the race-course, the Marquis has spent his vacations in making tours to the mostremarkable parts of Europe. It is true that Englishmen are greattravellers, and that our nobility are in the habit of wandering over theContinent. But the world knows no more of their discoveries, if theymake such, or of their views of society and opinions of governments, ifthey ever take the trouble to form any upon the subject, than of theirnotions of the fixed stars. That there are many accomplished among them, many learned, and many even desirous to acquaint themselves with whatBurke called "the mighty modifications of the human race, " beginningwith a land within fifteen miles of our shores, and spreading to theextremities of the earth, we have no doubt. But in the countlessmajority of instances, the nation reaps no more benefit from theirtravels than if they had been limited from Bond Street to BerkeleySquare. This cannot be said of the Marquis of Londonderry. He travelswith his eyes open, looking for objects of interest, and recording them. We are not now about to give him any idle panegyric on the occasion. Weregret that his tours are so rapid, and his journals so brief. He passesby many objects which we should wish to see illustrated, and turns offfrom many topics on which we should desire to hear the opinions of awitness on the spot. But we thank him for what he has given; hope thathe will spend his next autumn and many others as he has spent theformer; and wish him only to write more at large, to give us morecharacters of the rank with which he naturally associates, draw morecontrasts between the growing civilization of the European kingdoms andour own; and, adhering to his own straightforward conceptions, andtelling them in his own sincere style, give us an annual volume as longas he lives. 

Steam-boats and railways have produced one curious effect, which no oneanticipated. Of all _levellers_ they are the greatest. Their superiorityto all other modes of travelling crowds them with the peer as well asthe peasant. Cabinets, and even queens, now abandon their easy, butlazy, equipages for the bird-like flight of iron and fire, and thoughthe "special train" still sounds exclusive, the principle of commixtureis already there, and all ranks will sweep on together. 

The Marquis, wisely adopting the bourgeois mode of travelling, set forthfrom the Tower Stairs, on a lovely morning at the close of August 1840. Fifty years ago, the idea of a general, an ambassador, and a peer, withhis marchioness and suite, embarking on board the common conveyance ofthe common race of mankind, would have been regarded as an absoluteimpossibility; but the common sense of the world has now decidedotherwise. Speed and safety are wisely judged to be valuablecompensations for state and seclusion; and when we see majesty itself, after making the experiment of yachts and frigates, quietly andcomfortably return to its palace on board a steamer, we may be the lesssurprised at finding the Marquis of Londonderry and his family makingtheir way across the Channel in the steamer Giraffe. Yet it is to beremarked, that though nothing can be more miscellaneous than thepassengers, consisting of Englishmen, Frenchmen, Germans, and Yankee; ofJews, Turks, and heretics; of tourists, physicians, smugglers, and allthe other diversities of idling, business, and knavery; yet families whochoose to pay for them, may have separate cabins, and enjoy as muchprivacy as is possible with specimens of all the world withinhalf-an-inch of their abode. 

The voyage was without incident; and after a thirty hours' passage, theGiraffe brought them to the Brill and Rotterdam. It has been an oldobservation that the Dutch clean every thing but themselves; and nothingcan be more matter of fact than that the dirtiest thing in a house inHolland is generally the woman under whose direction all this scrubbinghas been accomplished. The first aspect of Rotterdam is strongly infavour of the people. It exhibits very considerable neatness for aseaport--the Wapping of the kingdom; paint and even gilding is common onthe outsides of the shops. The shipping, which here form a part of thetown furniture, and are to be seen every where in the midst of thestreets, are painted with every colour of the rainbow, and carved andornamented according to such ideas of taste in sculpture as areprevalent among Dutchmen; and the whole exhibits a good specimen of apeople who have as much to struggle with mud as if they had been born somany eels, and whose conceptions of the real colour of the sky are evena shade darker than our own. 

The steam-boats also form a striking feature, which utterly eluded thewisdom of our ancestors. There are here, bearing all colours, from allthe Rhenish towns, smoking and suffocating the Dutch, flying past theirhard-working, slow-moving craft; and bringing down, and carrying away, cargoes of every species of mankind. The increase of Holland in wealthand activity since the separation from Belgium, the Marquis regards asremarkable; and evidently having no _penchant_ for our cousin Leopold, he declares that Rotterdam is at this moment worth more solid money thanAntwerp, Brussels, and, he believes, "all Leopold's kingdom together. "

At Antwerp, he happened to arrive at the celebration of the fête inhonour of Rubens. "To commemorate the painter may be all very well, " heobserves; "but it is not very well to see a large plaster-of-Parisstatue erected on a lofty pedestal, and crowned with laurels, while thewhole population of the town is called out for fourteen days together, to indulge in idleness and dissipation, merely to announce that Rubenswas a famed _Dutch_ painter in times long past. " We think it lucky forthe Marquis that he had left Antwerp before he called Rubens a Dutchpainter. We are afraid that he would have hazarded a summary applicationof the Lynch law of the Flemish avengers of their country. 

"If such celebrations, " says the Marquis, "are proper, why not do equalhonour to a Shakspeare, a Pitt, a Newton, or any of those illustriousmen by whose superior intelligence society has so greatly profited?" Theobvious truth is, that such "celebrations" are not to our taste, thatthere is something burlesque, to our ideas, in this useless honour; andthat we think a bonfire, a discharge of squibs, or even a discharge ofrhetoric, and a display of tinsel banners and buffoonery, does notsupply the most natural way of reviving the memory of departed genius. At the same time, they have their use, where they do not create theirridicule. On the Continent, life is idle; and the idlers are moreharmlessly employed going to those pageants, than in the gin-shop. Thefinery and the foolery together also attract strangers, the idlers ofother towns; it makes money, it makes conversation, it makes amusement, and it kills time. Can it have better recommendations to ninety-ninehundredths of mankind?

In 1840, when this tour was written, all the politicians of the earthwere deciding, in their various coffee-houses, what all the monarchswere to do with the Eastern question. Stopford and Napier were betteremployed, in battering down the fortifications of Acre, and thepoliticians were soon relieved from their care of the general concernsof Europe. England settled this matter as she had often done before, andby the means which she has always found more natural than protocols. Buta curious question is raised by the Marquis, as to the side on whichBelgium might be inclined to stand in case of an European struggle; hisopinion being altogether _for_ the English alliance. 

"France could undoubtedly _at first_ seize possession of a country soclose to her empire as to be in fact a province. But still, with Antwerpand other fortresses, Holland in the rear, and Hanover and Germany athand, and, above all, England, aiding perhaps with a British army, theindependence of King Leopold's throne and kingdom might be morepermanently secured by adhering to the Allies, than if he linked himselfto Louis Philippe, in whose power alone, in case of non-resistance toFrance, he would ever afterwards remain; and far better would it be, inmy opinion, for this founder of a Belgian monarchy, if he would achievefor his dynasty an honourable duration, to throw himself into the armsof the many, and reap advantages from all, than to place his destiny atthe mercy of the future rulers of France. "

No doubt this is sound advice; and if the decision were to depend onhimself, there can be as little doubt that he would be wiser inaccepting the honest aid of England, than throwing his crown at the feetof France. But he reigns over a priest-ridden kingdom, and Popery willsettle the point for him on the first shock. His situation certainly isa singular one; as the uncle of the Queen of England, and the son-in-lawof the King of France, he seems to have two anchors dropped out, eitherof which might secure a throne in ordinary times. But times that are_not_ ordinary may soon arise, and then he must cut both cables andtrust to his own steerage. If coldness is prudence, and neutralitystrength, he may weather the storm; but it would require other qualitiesto preserve Belgium. 

Brussels was full of English. The Marquis naturally talks in the styleof one accustomed to large expenditure. The chief part of the Englishresidents in Brussels, are families "who live there on three or fourthousand a-year--far better as to luxuries and education than they couldin England for half as much more. " He evidently thinks of three or fourthousand a-year, as others might think of as many hundreds. But if anyfamilies, possessed of thousands a-year, are living abroad for the meresake of _cheaper_ luxuries and _cheaper_ education, we say, more shamefor them. We even can conceive nothing more selfish and morecontemptible. Every rational luxury is to be procured in England by suchan income. Every advantage of education is to be procured by the samemeans. We can perfectly comprehend the advantages offered by thecheapness of the Continent to large families with narrow incomes; butthat the opulent should abandon their country, their natural station, and their duties, simply to drink champagne at a lower rate, and havecheaper dancing-masters, we must always regard as a scandalousdereliction of the services which every man of wealth and rank owes tohis tenantry, his neighbours, and his nation. Of course, we except thetraveller for curiosity; the man of science, whose object is to enlargehis knowledge; and even the man of rank, who desires to improve theminds of his children by a view of continental wonders. Our reprobationis, of the habit of living abroad, and living there for the vulgar andunmanly purpose of self-indulgence or paltry avarice. Those absenteeshave their reward in profligate sons, and foreignized daughters, ingiving them manners ridiculous to the people of the Continent, anddisgusting to their countrymen--morals adopting the grossness ofcontinental life, and general habits rendered utterly unfit for a returnto their country, and, of course, for any rational and meritoriousconduct, until they sink into the grave. 

The Marquis, who in every instance submitted to the rough work of theroad, took the common conveyance by railroad to Liege. It has been agood deal the custom of our late tourists to applaud the superiorexcellence of the continental railroads. Our noble traveller gives allthis praise the strongest contradiction. He found their inferiorityquite remarkable. The materials, all of an inadequate nature, commencingwith their uncouth engine, and ending with their ill-contrived doubleseats and carriages for passengers. The attempts made at order andregularity in the arrangements altogether failed. Every body seemed inconfusion. The carriages are of two sorts--the first class, and the_char-à-banc_. The latter are all open; the people sit back to back, andface to face, as they like, and get at their places by scrambling, squeezing, and altercation. Even the Marquis had a hard fight topreserve the seats which he had taken for his family. At Malines, thetrain changes carriages. Here a curious scene occurred. An inundation ofpriests poured into all the carriages. They came so thick that they wereliterally thrown back by their attempt to squeeze themselves in; "andtheir cocked hats and black flowing robes gave them the appearance ofravens with their wide-spreading wings, hovering over their prey in thevehicles. "

Travelling, like poverty, brings one acquainted with strange companions;and, accustomed as the Marquis was to foreign life, one railwaytraveller evidently much amused him. This was a personage who stretchedhimself at full length on a seat opposite the ladies, "his two huge legsand thighs clothed in light blue, with long Spanish boots, and heavysilver spurs, formed the foreground of his extended body. A black satinwaistcoat, overlaid with gold chains, a black velvet Spanish cloak andhat, red beard and whiskers, and a face resembling the Saracen's onSnow-Hill, completed his _ensemble_. " He was probably some travellingmountebank apeing the Spanish grandee. 

Aix-la-Chapelle exhibited a decided improvement on the City of theCongress five-and-twenty years ago. The principal streets were nowpaved, with fine _trottoirs_, the buildings had become large andhandsome, and the hotels had undergone the same advantageous change. From Liege to Cologne the country exhibited one boundless harvest. Thevast cathedral of Cologne at last came in sight, still unfinished, though the process of building has gone on for some hundred years. Theextraordinary attempt which has been made, within the last few months, to unite Protestantism with Popery, in the completion of this giganticbuilding, will give it a new and unfortunate character in history. Theunion is impossible, though the confusion is easy, and the very attemptto reconcile them only shows to what absurdities men may be betrayed bypolitical theories, and to what trivial and temporary objects thehighest interests of our nature may be sacrificed. Cologne, too, israpidly improving. The free navigation of the Rhine has done somethingof this, but the free passage of the English has done a great deal more. A perpetual stream of British travellers, flowing through Germany, benefits it, not merely by their expenditure, but by their habits. Wherethey reside for any length of time, they naturally introduce theimprovements and conveniences of English life. Even where they but passalong, they demand comforts, without which the native would have ploddedon for ever. The hotels are gradually provided with carpets, fire-places, and a multitude of other matters essential to the civilizedlife of England; for if civilization depends on bringing the highestquantity of rational enjoyment within the reach of general society, England is wholly superior in civilization to the shivering splendoursof the Continent. Foreigners are beginning to learn this; and those whoare most disposed to scoff at our taste, are the readiest to followour example. 

The streets of Cologne, formerly dirty and narrow, and the houses, oldand tumbling down, have given way to wide spaces, handsome edifices, andattractive shops. The railway, which we have lent to the Continent, willshortly unite Brussels, Liege, and Cologne, and the three cities will bethereby rapidly augmented in wealth, numbers, and civilization. 

The steam-boats on the Rhine are in general of a good description. Thearrangements are convenient, considering that at times there are twohundred passengers, and that among foreigners the filthy habit ofsmoking, with all its filthy consequences, is universal; but, belowdecks, the party, especially if they take the _pavillion_ to themselves, may escape this abomination. The Rhine has been too often described torequire a record here; but the rapturous nonsense which the Germans pourforth whenever they write about the national river, offends truth asmuch as it does taste. The larger extent of this famous stream isabsolutely as dull as a Dutch pond. The whole run from the sea toCologne is flat and fenny. As it approaches the hill country it becomespicturesque, and its wanderings among the fine declivities of theRheingate exhibit beautiful scenery. The hills, occasionally topped withruins, all of which have some original (or invented) legend of love ormurder attached to them, indulge the romance of which there is afragment or a fibre in every bosom; and the general aspect of thecountry, as the steam-boat breasts the upward stream, is various andluxuriant. But the German architecture is fatal to beauty. Nothing canbe more _barbarian_ (with one or two exceptions) than the whole range ofbuildings, public and private, along the Rhine; gloomy, huge, andheavy--whether palace, convent, or chateau, they have all a prison-look;and if some English philanthropist, in pity to the Teutonic taste, woulderect one or two "English villas" on the banks of the Rhine, to givethe Germans some idea of what architecture ought to be, he would renderthem a national service, scarcely inferior to the introduction ofcarpets and coal-fires. 

Johannisberg naturally attracts the eye of the English traveller, whosecellar has contributed so largely to its cultivation. Thismountain-vineyard had been given by Napoleon to Kellerman; butNapoleon's gifts were as precarious as himself, and the Johannisbergfell into hands that better deserved it. At the peace of 1814 it waspresented by the Emperor Francis to the great statesman who had taughthis sovereign to set his foot on the neck of the conqueror of Vienna. The mountain is terraced, clothed with vineyards, and forms a very gayobject to those who look up to it from the river. The view from thesummit of the hill is commanding and beautiful, but its grape is_unique_. The chief portion of the produce goes amongst theprincipalities and powers of the Continent; yet as the Englishman musthave his share of all the good things of the earth, the Johannisbergwine finds its way across the Channel, and John Bull satisfies himselfthat he shares the luxury of Emperors. 

The next _lion_ is Ehrenbreitstein, lying on the right bank of theRhine, the most famous fortress of Germany, and more frequentlybattered, bruised, and demolished, than any other work of nature or manon the face of the globe. It has been always the first object of attackin the French invasions, and, with all its fortifications, has alwaysbeen taken. The Prussians are now laying out immense sums upon it, andevidently intend to make it an indigestible morsel to the all-swallowingambition of their neighbours; but it is to be hoped that nations aregrowing wiser--a consummation to which they are daily arriving bygrowing poorer. Happily for Europe, there is not a nation on theContinent which would not be bankrupt in a single campaign, providedEngland closed her purse. In the last war she was the general paymaster:but that system is at an end; and if she is wise, she will never sufferanother shilling of hers to drop into the pocket of the foreigner. 

The Prussians have formed an entrenched camp under cover of this greatfortress, capable of containing 120, 000 men. They are obviously right inkeeping the French as far from Berlin as they can; but those enormousfortresses and entrenched camps are out of date. They belonged to thetimes when 30, 000 men were an army, and when campaigns were spent insieges. Napoleon changed all this, yet it was only in imitation ofMarlborough, a hundred years before. The great duke's march to Bavaria, leaving all the fortresses behind him, was the true tactic for conquest. He beat the army in the field, and then let the fortresses drop one byone into his hands. The change of things has helped this bold system. Formerly there was but one road through a province--it led through theprincipal fortress--all the rest was mire and desolation. Thus thefortress must be taken before a gun or a waggon could move. Now, thereare a dozen roads through every province--the fortress may be passed outof gun-shot in all quarters--and the "grand army" of a hundred and fiftythousand men marches direct on the capital. The _têtes-du-pont_ on theNiemen, and the entrenched camp which it had cost Russia two years tofortify, were turned in the first march of the French; and the futilityof the whole costly and rather timorous system was exhibited in thefact, that the crowning battle was fought within hearing of Moscow. 

Beyond Mayence the Rhine reverts to its former flatness, the hillsvanish, the shores are level, but the southern influence is felt, andthe landscape is rich. 

Wisbaden is the next stage of the English--a stage at which too manystop, and from which not a few are glad to escape on any terms. The Dukeof Nassau has done all in his power to make his watering-place handsomeand popular, and he has succeeded in both. The Great Square, containingthe assembly-room, is a very showy specimen of ducal taste. Itscolonnades and shops are striking, and its baths are in the highestorder. Music, dancing, and promenading form the enjoyment of the crowd, and the gardens and surrounding country give ample indulgence for thelovers of air and exercise. _The_ vice of the place, as of allcontinental scenes of amusement, is gambling. Both sexes, and all ages, are busy at all times in the mysteries of the gaming-table. Dollars andflorins are constantly changing hands. The bloated German, the meagreFrenchman, the sallow Russian, and even the placid Dutchman, hurry tothose tables, and continue at them from morning till night, and oftenfrom night till morning. The fair sex are often as eager and miserableas the rest. It is impossible to doubt that this passion is fatal tomore than the purse. Money becomes the price of every thing; and, without meaning to go into discussion on such topics, nothing can beclearer than that the female gambler, in this frenzy of avarice, inevitably forfeits the self-respect which forms at least the outwork offemale virtue. Though the ancient architecture of Germany is altogetherdungeon-like, yet they can make pretty imitations. The summer palace ofthe duke at Biberach might be adopted in lieu of the enormous fabricswhich have cost such inordinate sums in our island. "The circular roomin the centre of the building is ornamented with magnificent marblepillars. The floor is also of marble. The galleries are stuccoed, withgold ornaments encrusted upon them. From the middle compartment of thegreat hall there are varied prospects of the Rhine, which becomesstudded here with small islands: and the multitudinous orange, myrtle, cedar, and cypress trees on all sides render Biberach a mostenchanting abode. "

The Marquis makes some shrewd remarks on the evident attention of theGreat Powers to establish an interest among the little sovereignties ofGermany. Thus, Russia has married "her eldest daughter to an adoptedBavarian. The Cesarowitch is married to a princess of Darmstadt, " &c. Hemight have added Louis Philippe, who is an indefatigable advocate ofmarrying and giving in marriage. Austria is extending her olive branchesas far as she can; and all princes, now having nothing better to do, arefollowing her example. 

Yet, we altogether doubt that family alliances have much weight in timesof trouble. Of course, in times of peace, they may facilitate the commonbusiness of politics. But, when powerful interests appear on the stage, the matrimonial tie is of slender importance; kindred put on theircoats-of-mail, and, like Francis of Austria and his son-in-law Napoleon, they throw shot and shell at each other without any ceremony. It is onlyin poetry that Cupid is more powerful than either Mammon or Mars. 

The next _lion_ is Frankfort--a very old lion, 'tis true, but one of thenoblest cities of Germany, connected with high recollections, and doinghonour, by its fame, to the spirit of commerce. Frankfort has beenalways a striking object to the traveller; but it has shared, or ratherled the way to the general improvement. Its shops, streets, and publicbuildings all exhibit that march, which is so much superior to the"march of mind, " panegyrised by our rabble orators--the march ofindustry, activity, and invention; Frankfort is one of the liveliest andpleasantest of continental residences. 

But the Marquis is discontented with the inns; which, undoubtedly, areplaces of importance to the sojourner--perhaps of much more importancethan the palaces. He reckons them by a "sliding scale;" which, however, is a descending one--Holland bad, Belgium worse, Germany the thirddegree of comparison. Some of the inns in the great towns are stately;but it unluckily happens that the masters and mistresses of those innsare to the full as stately, and that, after a bow or curtsey at the doorto their arriving guests, all their part is at an end. The master andmistress thenceforth transact their affairs by deputy. They aresovereigns, and responsible for nothing. The _garçons_ are the cabinet, and responsible for every thing; but they, like superior personages, shift their responsibility upon any one inclined to take it up; and allis naturally discontent, disturbance, and discomfort. We wonder that theMarquis has not mentioned the German _table-d'hôte_ among hisannoyances; for he dined at it. Nothing, in general, can be more adverseto the quiet, the ease, or the good-sense of English manners. The_table-d'hôte_ is essentially vulgar; and no excellence of _cuisine_, orcompleteness of equipment, can prevent it from exhibiting proof of itsoriginal purpose, namely--to give a cheap dinner to a miscellaneousrabble. 

German posting is on a par with German inns, which is as much as to saythat it is detestable, even if the roads were good. The roughness, mire, and continual ascents and descents of the roads, try the traveller'spatience. The only resource is sleep; but even that is denied by thecontinual groanings of a miserable French horn, with which the postilionannounces his approach to every village. 

 "Silence, ye wolves, while tipsy Mein-Herr howls, Making night hideous; answer him, ye owls. "

The best chance of getting a tolerable meal in the majority of theseroadside houses, is, to take one's own provisions, carry a cook, if wecan, and, if not, turn cooks ourselves; but the grand hotels are too"grand" for this, and they insist on supplying the dinner, for which thegeneral name is _cochonerrie_, and with perfect justice. 

On the 12th of September, the Marquis and his family arrived atNuremberg, where the Bavarian court were assembled, in order to bepresent at a Camp of Exercise. To the eye of an officer who had been inthe habit of seeing the armies of the late war, the military spectaclecould not be a matter of much importance, for the camp consisted of but1800 men. But he had been a comrade of the king, when prince-royal, during the campaigns of 1814 and 1815; and, as such, had helped (and notslightly) to keep the tottering crown on the brow of Bavaria. He nowsent to request the opportunity of paying his respects; but Germany, absurd in many things, is especially so in point of etiquette. Thosemiraculous productions of Providence, the little German sovereigns, liveon etiquette, never abate an atom of their opportunities of convincinginferior mortals that they are of a super-eminent breed; and, in part, seem to have strangely forgotten that salutary lesson which Napoleon andhis captains taught them, in the days when a republican brigadier, or animperial aid-de-camp, though the son of a tailor, treated their "SereneHighnesses" and "High Mightinesses" with as little ceremony as thethoroughly beaten deserved from the conquerors. In the present instance, the little king did _not_ choose to receive the gallant soldier, whom, in days of difficulty, he had been rejoiced to find at his side; and theground assigned was, that the monarch received none but in uniform; theMarquis having mentioned, that he must appear in plain clothes, inconsequence of dispatching his uniform to Munich, doubtless under theidea of attending the court there in his proper rank of ageneral officer. 

The Marquis was angry, and the fragment of his reply which we give, wasprobably as unpalatable a missive as the little king had received sincethe days of Napoleon. 

"My intention was, to express my respect for his majesty, in taking thisopportunity to pay my court to him, in the interesting recollection ofthe kindly feelings which he deigned to exhibit to me and my _brother_at Vienna, when Prince Royal of Bavaria. 

"I had flattered myself, that as the companion-in-arms of the excellentMarshal Wrede in the campaigns of 1814 and 1815, his majesty would havegranted this much of remembrance to an individual, without regard touniform; or, at least, would have done me the honour of a privateaudience. I find, however, that I have been mistaken, and I have nowonly to offer my apologies to his majesty. 

"The flattering reception which I have enjoyed in other courts, and theidea that this was connected with the name and services of theindividual, and not dependent on the uniform, was the cause of myindiscretion. As my profound respect for his majesty was the solefeeling which led me towards Munich, I shall not _delay a moment_ inquitting his majesty's territory. "

If his majesty had been aware that this Parthian arrow would have beenshot at him, he would have been well advised in relaxing his etiquette. 

In the vicinity where this trifling transaction occurred, is the_locale_ of an undertaking which will probably outlast all the littlediadems of all the little kings. This is the canal by which it isproposed to unite the Rhine, the Mayne, and the Danube; in other words, to make the longest water communication in the world, through the heartof Europe; by which the Englishman embarking at London-bridge, mayarrive at Constantinople in a travelling palace, with all thecomforts--nay, all the luxuries of life, round him; his books, pictures, furniture, music, and society; and all this, while sweeping through someof the most magnificent scenery of the earth, safe from surge or storm, sheltered from winter's cold and summer's sun, rushing along at the rateof a couple of hundred miles a-day, until he finds himself in theBosphorus, with all the glories of the City of the Sultans glitteringbefore him. 

This is the finest speculation that was ever born of this generation ofwonders, steam; and if once realized, must be a most prolific source ofgood to mankind. But the Germans are an intolerably tardy race in everything, but the use of the tongue. They harangue, and mystify, andmagnify, but they will not act; and this incomparable design, which, inEngland, would join the whole power of the nation in one unanimouseffort, languishes among the philosophists and prognosticators ofGermany, finds no favour in the eyes of its formal courts, and threatensto be lost in the smoke of a tobacco-saturated and slumber-lovingpeople. 

But the chief monument of Bavaria is the Val Halla, a modern templedesigned to receive memorials of all the great names of Germany. Theidea is kingly, and so is the temple; but it is built on the model ofthe Parthenon--evidently a formidable blunder in a land whose history, habits, and genius, are of the north. A Gothic temple or palace wouldhave been a much more suitable, and therefore a finer conception. Thecombination of the palatial, the cathedral, and the fortress style, would have given scope to superb invention, if invention was to be foundin the land; and in such an edifice, for such a purpose, Germany wouldhave found a truer point of union, than it will ever find in the absurdattempt to mix opposing faiths, or in the nonsense of a rebel Gazette, and clamorous Gazetteers. 

Still the Bavarian monarch deserves the credit of an unrivalled zeal todecorate his country. He is a great builder, he has filled Munich withfine edifices, and called in the aid of talents from every part ofEurope, to stir up the flame, if it is to be found among hisdrowsy nation. 

The Val Halla is on a pinnacle of rising ground, about a hundred yardsfrom the Danube, from whose bank the ascent is by a stupendous marblestaircase, to the grand portico. The columns are of the finest whitestone, and the interior is completely lined with German marbles. Bustsof the distinguished warriors, poets, statesmen, and scholars, are to beplaced in niches round the walls, but _not_ till they are dead. Acurious arrangement is adopted with respect to the living: Persons ofany public note may send their busts, while living, to the Val Halla, where they are deposited in a certain chamber, a kind of marblepurgatory or limbo. When they die, a jury is to sit upon them, and ifthey are fortunate enough to have a verdict in their favour, they taketheir place amongst these marble immortals. As the process does notoccur until the parties are beyond the reach of human disappointment, they cannot feel the worse in case of failure; but the vanity whichtempts a man thus to declare himself deserving of perpetual renown, bythe act of sending his bust as a candidate, is perfectly _foreign_, andmust be continually ridiculous. 

The temple has been inaugurated or consecrated by the king in person, within the last month. He has made a speech, and dedicated it to Germanfame for ever. He certainly has had the merit of doing what ought tohave been long since done in every kingdom of Europe; what a slightretrenchment in every royal expenditure would have enabled everysovereign to set on foot; and what could be done most magnificently, would be most deserved, and ought to be done without delay, in England. 

At Ratisbon, the steam navigation on the Danube begins, takingpassengers and carriages to Linz, where the Austrian steam navigationcommences, completing the course down the mighty river. The formerland-journey from Ratisbon to Vienna generally occupied six days. By thesteam-boat, it is now accomplished in forty-eight hours, a prodigioussaving of space and time. The Bavarian boats are smaller than those onthe Rhine, owing to the shallows on the upper part of the river, butthey are well managed and comfortable. The steamer is, in fact, afloating hotel, where every thing is provided on board, and the generalarrangements are exact and convenient. The scenery in this portion ofthe river is highly exciting. --"The Rhine, with its hanging woods andmultitudinous inhabited castles, affords a more cultivated picture; butin the steep and craggy mountains of the Danube, in its wild outlinesand dilapidated castles, the imagination embraces a bolder range. At onetime the river is confined within its narrowest limits, and proceedsthrough a defile of considerable altitude, with overhanging rocksmenacing destruction. At another it offers an open, wild archipelago ofislands. The mountains have disappeared, and a long plain bounds on eachside of the river its barren banks. "

The steam-boats stop at Neudorf, a German mile from Vienna. On hisarrival, the Marquis found the servants and carriages of PrinceEsterhazy waiting for him, and quarters provided at the Swan Hotel, until one of the prince's palaces could be prepared for his reception. The importance of getting private quarters on arriving at Vienna isgreat, the inns being all indifferent and noisy. They have anotherdisqualification not less important--they seem to be intolerably dear. The Marquis's accommodations, though on a _third_ story of the Swan, cost him eight pounds sterling a-day. This he justly characterizes asextravagant, and says he was glad to remove on the third day, therebeing an additional annoyance, in a club of the young nobles at theSwan, which prevented a moment's quiet. The _cuisine_, however, wasparticularly good, and the house, though a formidable affair for afamily, is represented as desirable for a "bachelor"--we presume, arich one. 

Vienna has had her share in the general improvement of the Continent. She has become commercial, and her streets exhibit shops with gilding, plate-glass, and showy sign-boards, in place of the very old, verybarbarous, and very squalid, displays of the last century. War is arough teacher, but it is evidently the only one for the Continent. Theforeigner is as bigoted to his original dinginess and discomfort, as theTurk to the Koran. Nothing but fear or force ever changes him. TheFrench invasions were desperate things, but they swept away a prodigiousquantity of the cobwebs which grow over the heads of nations who willnot use the broom for themselves. Feudalities and follies a thousandyears old were trampled down by the foot of the conscript; and the onlyglimpses of common-sense which have visited three-fourths of Europe inour day, were let in through chinks made by the French bayonet. TheFrench were the grand improvers of every thing, though only for theirown objects. They made high roads for their own troops, and left them tothe Germans; they cleared the cities of streets loaded with nuisances ofall kinds, and taught the natives to live without the constant dread ofpestilence; they compelled, for example the Portuguese to wash theirclothes, and the Spaniards to wash their hands. They proved to theGerman that his ponderous fortifications only brought bombardments onhis cities, and thus induced him to throw down his crumbling walls, fillup his muddy ditches, turn his barren glacis into a public walk, andopen his wretched streets to the light and air of heaven. Thus Hamburgh, and a hundred other towns, have put on a new face, and almost begun anew existence. Thus Vienna is now thrown open to its suburbs, and itssuburbs are spread into the country. 

The first days were given up to dinner at the British ambassador's, (Lord Beauvale's, ) at the Prussian ambassador's, and at PrinceMetternich's. Lord Beauvale's was "nearly private He lived on a secondfloor, in a fine house, of which, however, the lower part was understoodto be still unfurnished. His lordship sees but few people, and seldomgives any grand receptions, his indifferent health being the reason forliving privately. " However, on this point the Marquis has his ownconceptions, which he gives with a plainness perfectly characteristic, and very well worth being remembered. 

"I think, " says he, "that an ambassador of England, at an imperialcourt, with _eleven thousand pounds_ per annum! should _not_ live as aprivate gentleman, nor consult solely his own ease, unmindful of thesovereign he represents. A habit has stolen in among them of adopting aspare _menage_, to augment _private fortune when recalled_! This iswrong. And when France and Russia, and even Prussia, entertainconstantly and very handsomely; our embassies and legations, generallyspeaking, are niggardly and shut up. "

However the Lord Beauvale and his class may relish this honesty ofopinion, we are satisfied that the British public will perfectly agreewith the Marquis. A man who receives L. 11, 000 a-year to show hospitalityand exhibit state, ought to do both. But there is another and a muchmore important point for the nation to consider. Why should eleventhousand pounds a-year be given to any ambassador at Vienna, or at anyother court of the earth? Cannot his actual diplomatic functions beamply served for a tenth of the money? Or what is the actual result, butto furnish, in nine instances out of ten, a splendid sinecure to someman of powerful interest, without any, or but slight, reference to hisfaculties? Or is there any necessity for endowing an embassy with anenormous income of this order, to provide dinners, and balls, and acentral spot for the crowd of loungers who visit their residences; or todo actual mischief by alluring those idlers to remain absentees fromtheir own country? We see no possible reason why the whole ambassadorialestablishment might not be cut down to salaries of fifteen hundreda-year. Thus, men of business would be employed, instead of therelatives of our cabinets; dinner-giving would not be an essential ofdiplomacy; the ambassador's house would not be a centre for all theramblers and triflers who preferred a silly and lavish life abroad todoing their duty at home; and a sum of much more than a hundred thousandpounds a-year would be saved to the country. Jonathan acts the onlyrational part on the subject. He gives his ambassador a sum on which aprivate gentleman can live, and no more. He has not the slightest senseof giving superb feasts, furnishing huge palaces, supplying all therambling Jonathans with balls and suppers, or astonishing John Bull bythe tinsel of his appointments. Yet he is at least as well served asothers. His man is a man of business; his embassy is no showy sinecure;his ambassador is no showy sinecurist. The office is an understood stepto distinction at home; and the man who exhibits ability here, is sureof eminence on his return. We have not found that the American diplomacyis consigned to mean hands, or inefficient, or despised in any country. 

The relative value of money, too, makes the folly still moreextravagant. In Vienna, L. 11, 000 a-year is equal to twice the sum inEngland. We thus virtually pay L. 22, 000 a-year for Austrian diplomacy. In France about the same proportion exists. But in Spain, the dollargoes as far as the pound in England. There L. 10, 000 sterling would beequivalent to L. 40, 000 here. How long is this waste to go on? Weremember a strong and true _exposé_, made by Sir James Graham, on thesubject, a few years ago; and we are convinced that, if he were to takeup the topic again, he would render the country a service of remarkablevalue; and, moreover, that if he does not, it will be taken up by morestrenuous, but more dangerous hands. The whole system is one of lavishabsurdity. 

The Russian ambassador's dinner "was of a different description. Perfection in _cuisine_, wine, and attendance. Sumptuousness in liveriesand lights; the company, about thirty, the _élite_ of Vienna. "

But the most interesting of those banquets, from the character of thedistinguished giver, was Prince Meternich's. The prince was residing athis "Garten, " (villa) two miles out of town. He had enlarged his houseof late years, and it now consisted of three, one for his children, another for his own residence, and a third for his guests. This last was"really a fairy edifice, so contrived with reflecting mirrors, as togive the idea of being transparent. " It was ornamented with raremalachite, prophyry, jasper, and other vases, presents from thesovereigns of Europe, besides statues, and copies of the most celebratedworks of Italy. 

The Marquis had not seen this eminent person since 1823, and time hadplayed its part with his countenance; the smile was more languid, theeye less illumined, the person more slight than formerly, the hair of amore silvery hue, the features of his expressive face more distinctlymarked; the erect posture was still maintained, but the gait had becomemore solemn; and when he rose from his chair, he had no longer hiswonted elasticity. 

But this inevitable change of the exterior seems to have no effect onthe "inner man. " "In the Prince's conversation I found the same talent, the unrivalled _esprit_. The fluency and elocution, so entirely his own, were as graceful, and the memory was as perfect, as at anyformer period. "

This memorable man is fond of matrimony; his present wife, a daughter ofCount Zichy Ferraris, being his third. A son of the second marriage ishis heir, and he has by his present princess two boys and a girl. ThePrincess seems to have alarmed her guest by her vivacity; for hedescribes her in the awful language with which the world speaks of aconfirmed _blue_:--"Though not so handsome as her predecessor, shecombines a _very spirited_ expression of countenance, with a cleverconversation, a versatility of genius, and a wit rather satirical thanhumorous, which makes her _somewhat formidable_ to her acquaintance. " Wedare say that she is a very showy tigress. 

The Marquis found Vienna less gay than it was on his former visit. It istrue that he then saw it in the height of the Congress, flushed withconquest, glittering with all kinds of festivity; and not an individualin bad spirits in Europe, but Napoleon himself. Yet in later times thecourt has changed; "the Emperor keeps singularly aloof from society; thesplendid court-days are no more; the families are withdrawing intocoteries; the beauties of former years have lost much of theirbrilliancy, and a new generation equal to them has not yet appeared. "

This is certainly not the language of a young marquis; but it isprobably not far from the estimate which every admirer of the sex makes, _after_ a five-and-twenty years' absence. But he gallantly defends themagainst the sneer of the cleverest of her sex, Lady Wortley Montagu, ahundred years ago; her verdict being, "That their costume disfigured thenatural ugliness with which Heaven had been pleased to endow them. " Hecontends, however, that speaking within the last twenty (he probablymeans _five-and-twenty_) years, "Vienna has produced some of thehandsomest women in the world: and in frequenting the public walks, thePrater, and places of amusement, you meet as many bewitchingcountenances, especially as to eyes, hair, and _tournure_, as in anyother capital whatever. "

We think the Marquis fortunate; for we must acknowledge, that in ouroccasional rambles on the Continent, we _never_ saw beauty in a Germanvisage. The rotundity of the countenance, the coarse colours, thestunted nose, and the thick lip, which constitute the general mould ofthe native physiognomy, are to us the very antipodes of beauty. Dress, diamonds, rouge, and lively manners, may go far, and the ball-room mayhelp the deception; but we strongly suspect that where beauty casuallyappears in society, we must look for its existence only among foreignersto Teutchland. The general state of intercourse, even among the highestcircles, is dull. There are few houses of rank where strangers arereceived; the animation of former times is gone. The ambassadors liveretired. The monarch's state of health makes him averse to society. Prince Metternich's house is the only one constantly open; "but while heremains at his Garten, to trudge there for a couple of hours' generalconversation, is not very alluring. " Still, for a family which can go sofar to look for cheap playhouses and cheap living, Vienna is aconvenient capital. 

But Austria has one quality, which shows her common sense in a strikingpoint of view. She abhors change. She has not a radical in her wholedominions, except in jail--the only place fit for him. The agitationsand vexations of other governments stop at the Austrian frontier. Thepeople have not made the grand discovery, that universal suffrage ismeat and drink, and annual parliaments lodging and clothing. Theylabour, and live by their labour; yet they have as much dancing as theFrench, and better music. They are probably the richest and mostcomfortable population of Europe at this hour. Their country has risento be the protector of Southern Europe; and they are making admirablehighways, laying down railroads, and building steam-boats, ten times asfast as the French, with all their regicide plots, and a revolutionthreatened once-a-month by the calendar of patriotism. "Like the greatDanube, which rolls through the centre of her dominions, the course ofher ministry and its tributary branches continue, without any deviationfrom its accustomed channel. " The comparison is a good one, and what canbe more fortunate than such tranquillity?

The two leading ministers, the government in effect, are Metternich andKollowrath; the former the Foreign Minister, the latter the Minister ofthe Interior. They are understood to be of different principles; thelatter leaning to the "Movement, " or, more probably, allowing himself tobe thought to do so, for the sake of popularity. But Metternich is thetrue head. A Conservative from the beginning, sagacious enough to seethrough the dupery of the pretended friends of the human race, and firmenough to crush their hypocrisy--Metternich is one of those statesmen, of whom men of sense never could have had two opinions--a mind whichstamped itself from the beginning as a leader, compelled bycircumstances often to yield, but never suffering even the mostdesperate circumstances to make it despair. He saw where the strength ofEurope lay, from the commencement of the Revolutionary war; and, guidedby the example of Pitt, he laboured for a general European alliance. When he failed there, he husbanded the strength of Austria for the dayof struggle, which he knew would come; and when it came, his geniusraised his country at once from a defeated dependency of France, intothe arbiter of Europe. While this great man lives, he ought to besupreme in the affairs of his country. But in case of his death, GeneralFiquelmont, the late ambassador to Russia, has been regarded as hisprobable successor. He is a man of ability and experience, and hisappointment to the court of St Petersburg was probably intended tocomplete that experience, in the quarter to which Austria, by her newrelations, and especially by her new navigation of the Danube, must lookwith the most vigilant anxiety. 

The Austrian army is kept up in very fine condition; but nearly all theofficers distinguished in the war are dead, and its present leaders haveto acquire a name. It is only to be hoped that they will never have theopportunity. The regimental officers are generally from a higher classthan those of the other German armies. 

After remaining for a fortnight at Vienna, the Marquis paid a visit tohis friend Prince Esterhazy. 

This nobleman, long known and much-esteemed in England, is equally wellknown to be a kind of monarch in Hungary. Whatever novelist shall writethe "Troubles of rank and riches, " should take the prince for his hero. He has eight or nine princely mansions scattered over the empire, and ineach of them it is expected, by his subjects of the soil, that hishighness should reside. 

The Marquis made a round of the principal of those mansions. The firstvisit was to a castle in the neighbourhood of Vienna, which the princehas modernized into a magnificent villa. Here all is constructed to thetaste of a statesman only eager to escape the tumult of the capital, andpining to refresh himself with cooling shades and crystal streams. Allis verdure, trout streams, leafy walks, water blue as the sky above it, and the most profound privacy and seclusion. 

After a "most exquisite entertainment" here, the Marquis and his familyset out early next morning to visit Falkenstein. Every castle in thispart of the world is historical, and derives its honours from a Turkishsiege. Falkenstein, crowning the summit of a mountain of granite, upwhich no carriage can be dragged but by the stout Hungarian horsestrained to the work, has been handsomely bruised by the Turkish balls inits day; but it is now converted into a superb mansion; very grand, andstill more curious than grand; for it is full of relics of the oldentime, portraits of the old warriors of Hungary, armour and arms, and allthe other odd and pompous things which turn an age of barbarism into anage of romance. The prince and princess are hailed and received at thecastle as king and queen. A guard of soldiers of the family, which theEsterhazy have the sovereign right to maintain, form the garrison ofthis palatial fortress, and it has a whole establishment of salariedofficials within. The next expedition was to two more of thosemansions--Esterhazy, built by one of the richest princes of the house, and Eisenstadt. The former resembles the imperial palace at Schonbrun, but smaller. The prince is fitting it up gorgeously in the Louis XIV. Thstyle. Here he has his principal studs for breeding horses; butEisenstadt outshone all the chateaus of this superb possessor. Thesplendours here were regal: Two hundred chambers for guests--a salooncapable of dining a thousand people--a battalion of the "EsterhazyGuard" at the principal entrances; all paid from the estate. To this allthe ornamental part was proportioned--conservatory and greenhouses onthe most unrivalled scale--three or four hundred orange-trees alone, throwing the Duke of Northumberland's gardens into eclipse, andstimulating his Grace of Devonshire even to add new greens and gloriesto Chatsworth. 

On his return to Vienna, the Marquis was honoured with a privateinterview by the emperor--a remarkable distinction, as the ambassadorwas informed "that the emperor was too well acquainted with theMarquis's services to require any presentation, and desired that hemight come alone. " He was received with great politeness andcondescension. Next day he had an interview with Prince Metternich, who, with graceful familiarity, took him over his house in Vienna, to showhim its improvements since the days of Congress. He remarks it as astrange point in the character of this celebrated statesman, howminutely he sometimes interests himself in mere trifles, especiallywhere art and mechanism are concerned. He had seen him one eveningremain for half an hour studiously examining the construction of amusical clock. The Prince then showed his _cabinet de travail_, which hehad retained unchanged. "Here, " said he, "is a spot which is exactly asit was the last day you saw it. " Its identity had been rigidlypreserved, down to the placing of its paper and pencils. All was in thesame order. The Prince evidently, and justly, looked on those days asthe glory of his life. 

We regret that the conversation of so eminent a person could not be morelargely given; for Metternich is less a statesman than statemanshipitself. But one remark was at once singularly philosophical andpractical. In evident allusion to the miserable tergiversations of ourWhig policy a couple of years since, he said, "that throughout life, hehad always acted on the plan of adopting the _best determination on allimportant subjects_. That to this point of view he had steadfastlyadhered; and that, in the indescribable workings of time andcircumstances, it had _always happened to him_ that matters werebrought round to the very spot, from which, owing to the folly ofmisguided notions or inexperienced men, they had for a time taken theirdeparture. " This was in 1840, when the Whigs ruled us; it must be anadmirable maxim for honest men, but it must be perpetually thwarting theoblique. To form a view on principle, and to adhere to it under alldifficulties, is the palpable way to attain great ultimate success; butthe paltry and the selfish, the hollow and the intriguing, have neitherpower nor will to look beyond the moment; they are not steering thevessel to a harbour; they have no other object than to keep possessionof the ship as long as they can, and let her roll wherever the gale maycarry her. 

After all, one grows weary of every thing that is to be had for the mereact of wishing. Difficulty is essential to enjoyment. High life is aslikely to tire on one's hands as any other. The Marquis, giving all thepraise of manners and agreeability to Vienna, sums up all in oneprodigious yawn. "The _same_ evenings at Metternich's, the _same_lounges for making purchases and visits on a morning, the _same_idleness and fatigue at night, the searching and arid climate, and theclouds of execrable fine dust"--all conspiring to tell the great of theearth that they can escape _ennui_ no more than the little. 

On leaving Vienna, he wrote a note of farewell to the Prince, whoreturned an answer, of remarkable elegance--a mixture of the patheticand the playful. His note says that he has no chance of going to see anybody, for he is like a coral fixed to a rock--both must move together. He touches lightly on their share in the great war, "which is nowbecoming a part of those times which history itself names heroic;" andconcludes by recommending him on his journey to the care of an officerof rank, on a mission to Turkey--"Car il sçait le Turc, aussi bien quenous deux ne le sçavons pas. " With this Voltairism he finishes, andgives his "Dieu protège. "

We now come to the Austrian steam passage. This is the boldest effortwhich Austria has ever made, and its effects will be felt through everygeneration of her mighty empire. The honour of originating this greatdesign is due to Count Etienne Zecheny, a Hungarian nobleman, distinguished for every quality which can make a man a benefactor to hiscountry. The plan of this steam-navigation is now about ten years old. The Marquis justly observes, that nothing more patriotic was everprojected; and it is mainly owing to this high-spirited nobleman thatthe great advantage is now enjoyed of performing, in ten or twelve days, the journey to the capital of Turkey, which some years ago could beachieved only by riding the whole way, and occupying, by couriers, twoor three weeks. The chief direction of the company is at Vienna. It had, at the time of the tour, eighteen boats, varying from sixty to onehundred horse-power, and twenty-four more were to be added within theyear. Some of these were to be of iron. 

But the poverty of all foreign countries is a formidable obstacle to theprogress of magnificent speculations like those. The shares havecontinued low, the company has had financial difficulties to encounter, and the popular purse is tardy. However, the prospect is improving, theprofits have increased; and the Austrian archdukes and many of the greatnobles having lately taken shares, the steam-boats will probably becomeas favourite as they are necessary. But all this takes time; and as bydegrees the "disagreeables" of the voyage down the Danube will bechanged into agreeables, we shall allude no more to the nobletraveller's voyage, than to say, that on the 4th of November, a day ofmore than autumnal beauty, his steamer anchored in the Bosphorus. 

Here we were prepared for a burst of description. But the presentdescriber is a matter-of-fact personage; and though he makes no attemptat poetic fame, has the faculty of telling what he saw, with verysufficient distinctness. "I never experienced more disappointment, " ishis phrase, "than in my first view of the Ottoman capital. I was boldenough at once to come to the conclusion, that what I had heard or readwas overcharged. The most eminent of the describers, I think, couldnever have been on the spot. " Such is the plain language of the lastauthority. 

"The entrance of the Tagus, the Bay of Naples, the splendid approach tothe grand quays of St Petersburg, the Kremlin, and view of Moscow, allstruck me as far preferable to the scene at the entrance of theBosphorus. "

He admits, that in the advance to the city up this famous channel, thereare many pretty views, that there is a line of handsome residences insome parts, and that the whole has a good deal the look of a "drop-scenein a theatre;" still he thinks it poor in comparison of itsdescriptions, the outline low, feeble, and rugged, and that the less itis examined, probably the more it may be admired. Even the famouscapital fares not much better. "In point of fine architectural features, monuments of art, and magnificent structures, (excepting only the greatMosques, ) the chisel of the mason, the marble, the granite, Constantinople is more destitute than any other great capital. But then, you are told that these objects are not in the style and taste of thepeople. Be it so; but then do not let the minds of those who cannot seefor themselves be led away by high-wrought and fallacious descriptionsof things which do not exist. " The maxim is a valuable one, and we hopethat the rebuke will save the reading public from a heap of those"picturesque" labours, which really much more resemble the heaviestbrush of the scene-painter, than the truth of nature. 

But if art has done little, nature has done wonders for Constantinople. The site contains some of the noblest elements of beauty and grandeur;mountain, plain, forest, waters; its position is obviously the key ofEurope and Asia Minor--even of more, it is the point at which the northand south meet; by the Bosphorus it commands the communication of theBlack Sea, and with it, of all the boundless region, once Scythia, andnow Russia and Tartary; by the Dardanelles, it has the most immediatecommand over the Mediterranean, the most important sea in the world. Russia, doubtless, may be the paramount power of the Black Sea; theEuropean nations may divide the power of the Mediterranean; butConstantinople, once under the authority of a monarch, or a government, adequate to its natural faculties, would be more directly the sovereignof both seas, than Russia, with its state machinery in St Petersburg, athousand miles off, or France a thousand miles, or England more nearlytwo thousand miles. This dominion will never be exercised by theignorant, profligate, and unprincipled Turk; but if an independentChristian power should be established there, in that spot lie thematerials of empire. In the fullest sense, Constantinople, uniting allthe high-roads between east and west, north and south, is the centre ofthe living world. We are by no means to be reckoned among the theoristswho calculate day by day on the fall of Turkey. In ancient times thefall of guilty empires was sudden, and connected with marked evidencesof guilt. But those events were so nearly connected with the fortunes ofthe Jewish people, that the suddenness of the catastrophe was essentialto the lesson. The same necessity exists no longer, the Chosen Peopleare now beyond the lesson, and nations undergo suffering, and approachdissolution, by laws not unlike those of the decadence of the humanframe; the disease makes progress, but the evidence scarcely strikes theeye, and the seat of the distemper is almost beyond human investigation. The jealousy of the European powers, too, protects the Turk. But he mustgo down--Mahometanism is already decaying. Stamboul, its headquarters, will not survive its fall; and a future generation will inevitably seeConstantinople the seat of a Christian empire, and that empire, notimprobably, only the forerunner of an empire of Palestine. 

The general view of Constantinople is superb. A bridge has been thrownacross the "Golden Horn, " connecting its shores; and from this the city, or rather the four cities, spread out in lengthened stateliness beforethe eye. From this point are seen, to the most striking advantage, thetwo mountainous elevations on which Constantinople and Pera are built, and other heights surrounding. A communication subsists across the"Golden Horn, " not only by water and the bridge, but also by the road, which by the land is a distance of five or six miles. ViewingConstantinople as a whole, it strikes one as larger by far than Paris orLondon, but they are both larger. The reason of the deception being, that here the eye embraces a larger space. 

The Turks never improve anything. The distinction between them and theEuropeans is, that the latter think of conveniences, the former only ofluxuries. The Turks, for example, build handsome pavilions, plant showygardens, and erect marble fountains to cool them in marble halls. Butthey never mend a high-road--they never even make one. Now and then abridge is forced on them by the necessity of having one, or beingdrowned; but they never repair that bridge, nor sweep away theaccumulated abomination of their streets, nor do any thing that it ispossible to leave undone. 

Pera is the quarter in which all the Christians even of the highest ranklive; the intercourse between it and Constantinople is, of course, perpetual, yet perhaps a stone has not been smoothed in the road sincethe siege of the city. From Pera were the most harassing trips downrugged declivities on horseback, besides the awkwardness of thepassage in boats. 

One extraordinary circumstance strikes the stranger, that but one sexseems to exist. The dress of the women gives no idea of the female form, and the whole population seems to be male. 

The masses of people are dense, and among them the utmost silence ingeneral prevails. About seven or eight at night the streets are cleared, and their only tenants are whole hosts of growling, hideous dogs; or afew Turks gliding about with paper lanterns; these, too, being the onlylights in the streets, if streets they are to be called, which are onlynarrow passes, through which the vehicles can scarcely move. 

The dogs are curious animals. It is probable that civilization does asmuch injury to the lower tribes of creation, as it does good to man. Ifit polishes our faculties, it enfeebles their instincts. The Turkishdog, living nearly as he would have done in the wilderness, exhibits thesame sagacity, amounting to something of government. For instance, theTurkish dogs divide the capital into quarters, and each set has its own;if an adventurous or an ambitious dog enters the quarters of hisneighbours, the whole pack in possession set upon him at once, and he isexpelled by hue and cry. They also know how to conduct themselvesaccording to times and seasons. In the daytime, they ramble about, andsuffer themselves to be kicked with impunity; but at night the case isdifferent: they are the majority--they know their strength, and insiston their privileges. They howl and growl then at their own discretion, fly at the accidental stranger with open mouth, attack him singly, charge him _en masse_, and nothing but a stout bludgeon, wielded by astrong arm, can save the passenger from feeling that he is in thekingdom of his four-footed masters. 

The Marquis arrived during the Ramazan, when no Turk eats, drinks, oreven smokes, from sunrise to sunset. Thus the Turk is a harder fasterthan the papist. The moment the sun goes down, the Turk rushes to hismeal and his pipe, "not eating but devouring, not inhaling but wallowingin smoke. " At the Bajazet colonnade, where the principal Turks rush toenjoy the night, the lighted coffee-houses, the varieties of costume, the eager crowd, and the illumination of myriads of paper lanterns, makea scene that revives the memory of Oriental tales. 

Every thing in Turkey is unlike any thing in Europe. In the bazar, instead of the rapid sale and dismissal in our places of traffic, theTurkish dealer, in any case of value, invites his applicant into hisshop, makes him sit down, gives him a pipe, smokes him intofamiliarity--hands him a cup of coffee, and drinks him into confidence;in short, treats him as if they were a pair of ambassadors appointed todine and bribe each other--converses with, and cheats him. 

But the Marquis regards the bazars as contemptible places, says thatthey are not to be compared with similar establishments at Petersburg orMoscow, and recommends whatever purchases are made, to be made at one'sown quarters, "where you escape being jostled, harangued, smoked, andpoisoned with insufferable smells. "

One of the curious features of the sojourn at Constantinople, is thepresentation to the Ministers and the Sultan. Redschid Pasha appointedto see the Marquis at three o'clock, _à la Turque_--which, as thoseOrientals always count from the sunset, means eight o'clock inthe evening. 

He was led in a kind of procession to the Minister, received in thecustomary manner, and had the customary conversation on Constantinople, England, the war, &c. Then, a dozen slaves entered, and universalsmoking began. "When the cabinet was so full of smoke that one couldhardly see, " the attendants returned, and carried away the pipes. Thencame a dropping fire of conversation, then coffee; then sherbet, whichthe guest pronounced good, and "thought the most agreeable part of theceremonial. " The Minister spoke French fluently, and, after an hour'svisit, the ceremony ended--the pasha politely attending his visiterthrough the rooms. The next visit was to Achmet Pasha, who had been inEngland at the time of the Coronation--had been ambassador at Vienna forsome years--spoke French fluently--was a great friend of Prince andPrincess Metternich, and, besides all this, had married one of theSultan's sisters. The last honour was said to be due to his immensewealth. It seems that the "course of true love" does not run moresmoothly in Turkey than elsewhere--for the young lady was stated to bein love with the commander-in-chief, an older man, but possessing morecharacter. Achmet was now Minister of Commerce, and in high favour. Hekept his young wife at his country house, and she had not been seensince her marriage. When asked permission for ladies to visit her, healways deferred it "till next spring, when, " said he, "she will becivilized. " The third nocturnal interview was more picturesque--it waswith the young Sultana's flame, the Seraskier, (commander-in-chief. ) Hisresidence is at the Porte, where he has one of the splendid palaces. 

"You enter an immense court, with his stables on one side and his haremon the other. A regiment of guards was drawn up at the entrance, and twocompanies were stationed at the lower court. The staircase was filledwith soldiers, slaves, and attendants of different nations. I sawGreeks, Armenians, Sclavonians, Georgians, all in their native costume;and dark as were the corridors and entrance, by the flashes of myflambeaux through the mist, the scene struck me as much more grand andimposing than the others. The Seraskier is a robust, soldier-like man, with a fierce look and beard, and an agreeable smile. " The Minister waspeculiarly polite, and showed him through the rooms and the wardepartment, exhibiting, amongst the rest, his military council, composedof twenty-four officers, sitting at that moment. They were of all ranks, and chosen, as it was said, without any reference as to qualification, but simply by favour. The Turks still act as oddly as ever. A friend ofthe Marquis told him, that he had lately applied to the Seraskier topromote a young Turkish officer. A few days after, the officer came tothank him, and said, that though the Seraskier had not given him thecommand of a regiment, he had given him "the command of a ship. " Thetrue wonder is, that the Turks have either ships or regiments. But thereis a fine quantity of patronage in this department--the number of clerksalone being reckoned at between seven and eight hundred. 

The opinions of the Marquis on Mediterranean politics are worthregarding, because he has had much political experience in the highestranks of foreign life--because from that experience he is enabled togive the opinions of many men of high name and living influence, andbecause he is an honest man, speaking sincerely, and speakingintelligibly. He regards the preservation of Turkey as the firstprinciple of all English diplomacy in the east of Europe, and considersour successive attempts to make a Greek kingdom, and our sufferance ofan Egyptian dynasty, as sins against the common peace of the world. Thus, within a few years, Greece has been taken away; Egypt has notmerely been taken away, but rendered dangerous to the Porte; the greatDanubian provinces, Moldavia and Wallachia, have been taken away, andthus Russia has been brought to the banks of the Danube. Servia, a vastand powerful province, has followed, and is now more Russian thanTurkish; and while those limbs have been torn from the great trunk, andthat trunk is still bleeding from the wounds of the late war, it isforced to more exhausting efforts, the less power it retains. But, withrespect to Russia, he does not look upon her force and her ambition withthe alarm generally entertained of that encroaching and immense power. He even thinks that, even if she possessed Constantinople, she could notlong retain it. As all this is future, and of course conjectural, wemay legitimately express our doubts of any authority on the subject. That Russia does not think with the Marquis is evident, for all her realmovements for the last fifty years have been but preliminaries to theseizure of Turkey. Her exhibitions in all other quarters have been meredisguises. She at one time displays a large fleet in the Baltic, or atanother sends an army across Tartary; but she never attempts any thingwith either, except the excitement of alarm. But it is in the directionof Turkey that all the solid advances are made. There she alwaysfinishes her hostility by making some solid acquisition. She is nowcarrying on a wasteful war in the Caucasus; its difficulty has probablysurprised herself, but she still carries it on; and let the loss of lifeand the expenditure of money be what they will, she will think them wellencountered if they end in giving her the full possession of thenorthern road into Asia Minor. Russia, in possession of Constantinople, would have the power of inflicting dreadful injuries on Europe. If shepossessed a responsible government, her ambition might be restrained bypublic opinion; or the necessity of appealing to the nationalrepresentatives for money--of all checks on war the most powerful, andin fact the grand operative check, at this moment, on the most restlessof European governments, France. But with her whole power, her revenues, and her military means completely at the disposal of a single mind, hermovements, for either good or evil, are wholly dependent on the caprice, the ambition, or the absurdity of the individual on the throne. The ideathat Russia would weaken her power by the possession of Constantinople, seems to us utterly incapable of proof. She has been able to maintainher power at once on the Black Sea, seven hundred miles from hercapital; on the Danube, at nearly the same distance, and on the Vistula, pressing on the Prussian frontier. In Constantinople she would have themost magnificent fortress in the world, the command of the head of theMediterranean, Syria, and inevitably Egypt. By the Dardanelles, shewould be wholly inaccessible; for no fleet could pass, if the batterieson shore were well manned. The Black Sea would be simply her wet-dock, in which she might build ships while there was oak or iron in the north, and build them in complete security from all disturbance; for all thefleets of Europe could not reach them through the Bosphorus, even ifthey had forced the Dardanelles--that must be the operation of an armyin the field. On the north, Russia is almost wholly invulnerable. TheCzar might retreat until his pursuers perished of fatigue and hunger. The unquestionable result of the whole is, that Russia is the realterror of Europe. France is dangerous, and madly prone to hostilities;but France is open on every side, and experience shows that she nevercan resist the combined power of England and Germany. It is strongevidence of our position, that she has never _ultimately_ triumphed inany war against England; and the experience of the last war, whichshowed her, with all the advantages of her great military chief, herwhole population thrown into the current of war, and her banner followedby vassal kings, only the more consummately overthrown, should be alesson to her for all ages. But Russia has never been effectuallychecked since the reign of Peter the Great, when she first began tomove. Even disastrous wars have only hastened her advance; keen intriguehas assisted military violence, and when we see even the destruction ofMoscow followed by the final subjugation of Poland, we may estimate thesudden and fearful superiority which she would be enabled to assume, with her foot standing on Constantinople, and her arm stretching at willover Europe and Asia. Against this tremendous result there are but twochecks, the preservation of the Osmanli government by the jealousy ofthe European states, and the establishment of a Greek empire atConstantinople: the former, the only expedient which can be adopted forthe moment, but in its nature temporary, imperfect, and liable tointrigue: the latter, natural, secure, and lasting. It is to this eventthat all the rational hopes of European politicians should be finallydirected. Yet, while the Turk retains possession we must adhere to him;for treaties must be rigidly observed, and no policy is safe that is notstrictly honest. But if the dynasty should fail, or any of thoseunexpected changes occur which leave great questions open, the formationof a Greek empire ought to be contemplated as the true, and the only, mode of effectually rescuing Europe from the most formidable strugglethat she has ever seen. But the first measure, even of temporarydefence, ought to be the fortification of Constantinople. It is computedthat the expense would not exceed a million and a half sterling. 

The Marquis, by a fortunate chance for a looker-on, happened to be inthe Turkish capital at the time when the populace were all exulting atthe capture of Acre. It was admitted that the British squadron had donemore in rapidity of action, and in effect of firing, than it wassupposed possible for ships to accomplish, and all was popularadmiration and ministerial gratitude. In addition to the lighting of themosques for the Ramazan, Pera and Constantinople were lighted up, andthe whole scene was brilliant. Constant salvoes were fired from theships and batteries during the day, and at night, of course, all wassplendour on the seven hills of the great city. 

On the "Seraskier's Square, " two of the Egyptian regiments taken atBeyrout defiled before the commander-in-chief. The Turkish bands ingarrison moved at their head. The prisoners marched in file; and, havingbut just landed from their prison-ships, looked wretchedly. Having a redwoollen bonnet, white jackets, and large white trowsers, they lookedlike an assemblage of "cricketers. " The men were universally young, slight made, and active, with sallow cheeks, many nearly yellow, orange, and even black; still, if well fed and clothed, they would make by nomeans bad light troops. The Turks armed and clothed then forthwith, andscattered them among their regiments; a proceeding which shows that eventhe Turk is sharing the general improvement of mankind. Once he wouldhave thrown them all into the Bosphorus. 

From this professional display, the Marquis adjourned to the "GrandPromenade, " where the sultanas see the world, unseen themselves, intheir carriages. "Though, " as he writes, "I never had an opportunity of_verifying_ any thing like Miss Pardoe's anecdote of the 'sentries beingordered to face about when presenting arms, ' rather than be permitted togaze on the _tempting_ and _forbidden_ fruit; but, on the contrary, witnessed soldiers escorting all the sultanas' carriages: it isnevertheless true, that a gruff attendant attacked and found fault withme for daring to raise my eyes to a beautiful Turkish woman, whom it wasquite impossible I could admire beyond her forehead and two large blackeyes, eyebrows, and lashes, which glanced from under her yashmack. " Butthe Marquis has no mercy on the performances of poor Miss Pardoe. 

The sultana-mother was a personage of high importance at this time, fromher supposed influence over her son. Her equipage was somewhatEuropean--a chariot, with hammer-cloth, (apparently lately received fromLong-Acre. ) The coachman drove four large bay horses, with a pluralityof reins. There were attendants, running Turks, and guards before toclear the way. Two open barouches, ornamented after the manner of thecountry, followed, and the rear of the sultanas' procession was closedby arebas (or covered and gilded vans) full of women and slaves. 

But the most characteristic display of all is the "Cabinet. " "On theside of this drive is a long colonnade of shops; and, at the bottom ofit, a _barber's_, in which all the ministers of the divan and the pashaassemble! They sit on cushions in grand conclave and conference; and, while affecting to discuss the affairs of the state, the direction oftheir eyes, and their signs to the recumbent houris in the carriages, show their thoughts to be directed to other objects. "

What should we think of the chancellor, the premier, and the threesecretaries of state, sitting in council at a fruiterer's in RegentStreet, and nodding to the ladies as they pass? But this is not all. Thesultan, in his kiosk, sits at one end of the drive, inspecting the wholepanorama. Still, it is not yet complete; at the lower end of thecolonnade there is a woman-market, where each slave, attended by aduenna, passes and parades, casting her languishing eyes through thefiles of lounging officers and merchants, who crowd this part of thepromenade. All this is essentially Turkish, and probably without anything like it in the world besides. 

The beauty of the Turkish women is still a matter of dispute. Whenbeauty is an object of unlimited purchase, its frequency will beprobably found a safe admission. But Turkish women occasionally unveil, and it is then generally discovered that the veil is one of theirprincipal charms. They have even been described as merely good-humouredlooking "fatties"--a sufficiently humble panegyric. Lord Londonderrygives it as his opinion, that they are "not generally handsome, but allwell-built and well-grown, strong, and apparently healthy. Their eyesand eyebrows are invariably fine and expressive; and their hair is, beyond measure, superior to that of other nations. The thickness of itsbraidings and plaits, and the masses that are occasionally to be seen, leave no doubt of this. "

Long and luxuriant tresses belong to all the southern nations of Europe, and seem to be the results of heat of climate; and there are few factsin physiology more singular than the sudden check given to thisluxuriance on the confines of Negroland. There, with all predisposingcauses for its growth, it is coarse, curled, and never attains to lengthor fineness of any kind. The Georgians and Circassians were once theboast of the harem; but the war and the predominance of the Russianpower in the Caucasus, have much restricted this detestable nationaltraffic--a circumstance said to be much to the regret of both parentsand daughters; the former losing the price, and the latter losing thepreferment, to which the young beauties looked forward as to a certainfortune. But later experience has told the world, that the charms ofthose Armidas were desperately exaggerated by Turkish romance andEuropean credulity; that the general style of Circassian features, though fair, is Tartarish, and that the Georgian is frequently coarseand of the deepest brown, though with larger eyes than the Circassian, which are small, and like those of the Chinese. The accounts written byladies visiting the harems are to be taken with the allowance due toshowy dress, jewels, cosmetics, and the general effect of a preparedexhibition, scarcely less than theatrical. It is scarcely possible thateither the human face or form can long preserve symmetry of any kind ina life almost wholly destitute of exercise, in the confined air of theirprison, and in the full indulgence of their meals. Activity, animation, and grace--the great constituents of all true beauty--must soon perishin the harem. 

The Marquis (an excellent judge of a horse) did not much admire thesteeds of the pashas. On a visit to the Seraskier's stables, the headgroom brought out fourteen, with light Tartars on them to show theirpoints. Their stables were miserable. The horses were without stalls orlitter, in a dark, ill-paved barn. They were heavily covered with rugs. Three or four were very fine Arabs; but the rest were of Turkish blood, with large heads, lopped ears, and thick necks, of indifferent action, and by no means desirable in any shape. 

The interview with the Sultan was the last, and was interesting andcharacteristic. The Marquis had naturally expected to find him in themidst of pomp. Instead of all this, on entering a common French carpetedroom, he perceived, on an ordinary little French sofa, the sovereigncrosslegged, and alone; two small sofas, half-a-dozen chairs, andseveral wax-lights, were all the ornaments of this very plain saloon. But the Sultan was diamonded all over, and fully made amends for theplainness of his reception-room. As to his person, Abdul-Mehjid is atall sallow youth of nineteen or twenty, with a long visage, butpossessing fine eyes and eyebrows, so that, when his face is lighted up, it is agreeable and spiritual. 

We must now close our sketch of those diversified and pleasant volumes. We regret to hear that their distinguished and active author has latelymet with a severe accident in following the sports of his country; butwe are gratified with the hope of his recovery, and the hope, too, ofseeing him undertake more excursions, and narrate them with equalinterest, truth, and animation. 

 * * * * *

THE CURSE OF GLENCOE. [12]

BY B. SIMMONS. 

 [12] The tale that follows is founded upon an incident that occurred some little time before the American War, to Colonel Campbell of Glenlyon, whose grandfather, the Laird of Glenlyon, was the officer in King William's service who commanded at the slaughter of the Macdonalds of Glencoe. The anecdote is told in Colonel David Stewart's valuable history of the Highland Regiments. Edin 1822. 

 The fair calm eve on wood and wold Shone down with softest ray, Beneath the sycamore's red leaf The mavis trill'd her lay, Murmur'd the Tweed afar, as if Complaining for the day. 

 And evening's light, and wild-bird's song, And Tweed's complaining tune; And far-off hills, whose restless pines Were beckoning up the moon-- Beheld and heard, shed silence through A lofty dim saloon. 

 The fruits of mellow autumn glow'd Upon the ebon board; The blood that grape of Burgundy In other days had pour'd, Gleam'd from its crystal vase--but all Untasted stood the hoard. 

 Two guests alone sat listlessly That lavish board beside; The one a fair-haired stripling, tall, Blithe-brow'd and eager-ey'd, Caressing still two hounds in leash, That by his chair abide. 

 Right opposite, in musing mood, A stalwart man was placed, With veteran aspect, like a tower By war, not time, defaced, Whose shatter'd walls exhibit Power Contending still with Waste. 

 And as the ivy's sudden veil Will round the fortress spring, Some grief unfading o'er that brow Its shadow seemed to fling, And made that stalwart man's whole air A sad and solemn thing. 

 And so they sat, both Youth and Years, An hour without a word-- The pines that beckon'd up the moon Their arms no longer stirr'd, And through the open windows wide The Tweed alone was heard. 

 The elder's mood gave way at last, Perhaps some sudden whine Of the lithe quest-hounds startled him, Or timepiece striking nine; "Fill for thyself, forgotten Boy, " He said, "and pass the wine. "

 "A churlish host I ween am I To thee, who, day by day, Thus comest to cheer my solitude With converse frank and gay, Or tempt me with thy dogs to course The moorlands far away. 

 "But still the fit returns"--he paused, Then with a sigh resumed, "Remember'st thou how once beneath, Yon chestnut, when it bloom'd, Thou ask'd'st me why I wore the air Of spirit disentomb'd;

 "And why, apart from man, I chose This mansion grim and hoary, Nor in my ancient lineage seem'd, Nor ancient name, to glory? I shunn'd thy questions then--now list, And thou shalt hear the story--

 "With a brief preface, and thro' life Believe its warning true-- That they who (save in righteous cause) Their hands with blood imbrue-- Man's sacred blood--avenging heaven Will long in wrath pursue. 

 "A curse has fallen upon my race; The Law once given in fire, While Sinai trembled to its base, That curse inflicted dire, TO VISIT STILL UPON THE SON, THE OFFENCES OF THE SIRE. 

 "My fathers strong, of iron hand, Had hearts as iron hard, That never love nor pity's touch, From ruthless deeds bebarr'd. And well they held their Highland glen, Whatever factions warr'd. 

 "When Stuart's great but godless race Dissolved like thinnest snow Before bright Freedom's face, my clan, The Campbells, served their foe. --Boy--'twas my grandsire" (soft he said) "Commanded at Glencoe. "

 The stripling shrank, nor quite suppress'd His startled bosom's groan; Forward and back the casements huge By sudden gust were blown, And at the sound one dreaming hound Awaken'd with a moan. 

 "_Glencoe_--ay, well the word may stir, The stoutest heart with fear, Or burn with monstrous shame the face Of man from year to year, As long as Scotland's girdling rocks The roar of seas shall hear. 

 "Enough--Glenlyon redly earn'd The curse he won that night, When rising from the social hearth He gave the word to smite, And all was shriek and helplessness, And massacre and flight. 

 "And such a flight!--O, outraged Heaven, How could'st thou, since, have smiled? A fathom deep the frozen snow Lay horrid on the wild, Where fled to perish youth and age, And wife and feeble child. 

 "My couch is soft--yet dreams will still Convert that couch to snow, And in my slumbers shot and shout Are ringing from Glencoe. " That stalwart man arose and paced The chamber to and fro, While to his brow the sweat-drop sprung Like one in mortal throe. 

 * * * * *

 "Glenlyon died, be sure, as die All desperate men of blood, And from my sire (his son) our lands Departed sod by sod, Till the sole wealth bequeathed me was A mother fearing God. 

 "She rear'd me in that holy fear, In stainless honour's love, And from the past she warned me, Whate'er my fate should prove, To shrink from bloodshed as a sin. All human sins above. 

 "I kept the precept;--by the sword Compell'd to win me bread, A soldier's life of storm and strife For forty years I led, Yet ne'er by this reluctant arm Has friend or foeman bled. 

 "But still I felt Glencoe's dark curse My head suspended o'er, --Look, this reluctant hand, for all, Is red with human gore!" Again that white-lipp'd man arose And strode the echoing floor. 

 * * * * *

 "A prosperous course through life was mine On rampart, field, and wave, Though more my warrior skill than deeds, Command and fortune gave. Years roll'd away, and I prepared To drop the weary glaive. 

 "'Twas when beyond th' Atlantic foam, To check encroaching France, Our war spread wide, and, on his tide, In many a martial glance, St Lawrence saw grey Albyn's plumes And Highland pennons dance. 

 "E'en while I waited for the Chief, By whom relieved at last, Heart-young, though time-worn, I was free To hail my country's blast-- That on a sentry, absent found, The doom of death was pass'd. 

 "POOR RONALD BLAIR! a fleeter foot Ne'er track'd through Morvern moss The wind-hoof'd deer; nor swimmer's arm More wide the surge could toss Than his, for whom dishonour's hand Now dug the griesly fosse. 

 "Suspicion of those hunter tribes, Along whose giant screen Of shadowy woods our host encamp'd, The early cause had been Of rule, that none of Indian race Should come our lines within. 

 "The law was kept, yet, far away, Amid the forests' glade, The fair-hair'd warriors of the North Woo'd many a dusky maid, Who charm'd, perhaps, not less because In Nature's garb array'd. 

 "And warm and bright as southern night, When all is stars and dew, Was that dark girl, who, to the banks, Where lay her light canoe, Lured Ronald's footsteps, day by day, What time the sun withdrew. 

 "Far down the stream she dwelt, 'twould seem, Yet stream nor breeze could bar Her little boat, that to a nook, Dark with the pine-tree's spar, Each evening Ronald saw shoot up As constant as a star. 

 "Alone she came--she went alone:-- She came with fondest freight Of maize and milky fruits and furs Her lover's eyes to greet; She went--ah, 'twas her bosom then, Not bark, that bore the weight!

 "How fast flew time to hearts like theirs! The ruddy summer died, And Arctic frosts must soon enchain St. Lawrence' mighty tide; But yet awhile the little boat Came up the river-side. 

 "One night while from their northern lair With intermittent swell, The keen winds grumbled loud and long, To Ronald's turn it fell Close to the shore to keep the lines, A lonely sentinel. 

 "'Twas now the hour was wont to bring His Indian maid; and hark! As constant as a star it comes, That small love-laden bark, It anchors in the cove below-- She calls him through the dark. 

 "He dared not answer, dared not stir, Where Discipline had bound him; Nor was there need--led by her heart The joyous girl has found him; She understands it not, nor cares, Her raptured arms are round him. 

 "He kiss'd her face--he breathed low Those brook-like, murmuring words That, without meaning, speak out all The heart's impassion'd chords, The truest language human lip To human lip affords. 

 "He pointed towards the distant camp, Her clasping arms undid, And show'd that till the morrow's sun Their meeting was forbid; She went--her eyes in tears--he call'd, And kiss'd them from the lid. 

 "She went--he heard her far below Unmoor her little boat; He caught the oars' first dip that sent It from the bank afloat; Next moment, down the tempest swept With an all-deafening throat. 

 "Loud roar'd the storm, but louder still The river roar'd and rose, Tumbling its angry billows, white And huge as Alpine snows; Yet clear through all, one piercing cry His heart with terror froze. 

 "She shrieks, and calls upon the name She learn'd to love him by; The waves have swamp'd her little boat-- She sinks before his eye! And he must keep his dangerous post, And leave her there to die!

 "One moment's dreadful strife--Love wins; He plunges in the water; The moon is out, his strokes are stout, The swimmer's arm has caught her, And back he bears, with gasping heart, The Forest's matchless daughter!

 "'Twas but a chance!--her life is gain'd, And his is gone--for, lo! The picquet round has come, and found, Left open to the foe, The dangerous post that Ronald kept So short a time ago. 

 "They met him bearing her--he scorn'd To palter or to plead: Arrested--bound--ere beat of drum, The Judgment-court decreed That Ronald Blair should with his life Pay forfeit for his deed. 

 "He knew it well--that deed involved Such mischief to the host, While prowling spy and open foe Watch'd every jealous post, That, of a soldier's crimes, it call'd For punishment the most. 

 "On me, as senior in command, The charge I might not shun Devolved, to see the doom of death Upon the culprit done. The place--a league from camp; the hour-- The morrow's evening sun. 

 "Meanwhile some touches of the tale That reach'd the distant tent Of Him who led the war in Chief, Won justice to relent. That night, in private, a REPRIEVE Unto my care was sent, "With secret orders to pursue The sentence to the last, And when the prisoner's prayer was o'er, And the death-fillet past, _But not till then_, to read to him That Pardon for the past. 

 "The morrow came; the evening sun Was sinking red and cold, When Ronald Blair, a league from camp We led, erect and bold, To die the soldier's death, while low The funeral drum was roll'd. 

 "With arms reversed, our plaided ranks The distance due retire, The fatal musqueteers advance The signal to require: '_Till I produce this kerchief blue, Be sure withhold your fire_. '

 "His eyes are bound--the prayer is said-- He kneels upon his bier; So dread a silence sank on all, You might have heard a tear Drop to the earth. My heart beat quick With happiness and fear, "To feel conceal'd within my vest A parting soul's relief! I kept my hand on that REPRIEVE Another moment brief; Then drew it forth, but with it drew, O God! the handkerchief. 

 "He fell!--and whether He or I Had died I hardly knew-- But when the gusty forest breeze Aside the death-smoke blew, I heard those bearing off the dead, Proclaim that there were _two_. 

 "They said that as the volley ceased, A low sob call'd them where They found an Indian maiden dead, Clasping in death's despair One feather from a Highland plume And one bright lock of hair. 

 "I've long forgot what follow'd, save That standing by his bier, I shouted out the words some fiend Was whispering in my ear-- 'My race is run--_the curse of Heaven And of Glencoe is here_!'[13]

 "From that dark hour all hope to me, All _human_ hope was gone; I shrank from life a branded man-- I sought my land alone, And of a stranger's purchased halls I joy'd to make my own. 

 "Thou'st known me long as Campbell--now Thou know'st the Campbell's story, And why, apart from man, I chose This mansion grim and hoary, Nor in my ancient lineage seem'd, Nor ancient name, to glory. 

 "Though drear my lot, yet, noble boy, Not always I repine; Come, wipe those watery drops away That in thine eyelids shine; Fill for thyself, " the old man said, "Once more, and pass the wine. "

 [13] Such was his exclamation, as repeated in the History before referred to. Colonel Campbell always imputed the unfortunate occurrence that clouded the evening of his life to the share his ancestor had in the disastrous affair of Glencoe. 

 * * * * *

THE MARTYRS' MONUMENT. 

A MONOLOGUE. 

 Now glory to our Councillors, that true and trusty band-- And glory to each gallant heart that loathes its fatherland; And glory evermore to those who the battle first began, For the cause of just fraternity, and the equal rights of man. 

 Ye citizens of Mary-le-bone! 'twas yours to point the way How freemen best might mock the laws which none but slaves obey; How classic fanes should rise to mark the honour that we owe To all who hated Church and King, and planned their overthrow. 

 O fresh and bright shone reason's light through superstition's gloom, When one and all ye heard the call of honest Joseph Hume; When listening to his flowing words, than honey-dew more sweet, Ye sate, dissolved in holy tears, at that Gamaliel's feet!

 How touchingly he spoke of those now gather'd to their rest, By knaves and laws upbraided, but by righteous patriots bless'd; How brightly gleamed his eagle eye, as he poured his ancient grudge On that foul throng that wrought them wrong--on Jury and on Judge!

 Well may ye boast among the host of patriots tried and true, That to your bold humanity the foremost place is due; Yet others follow fast behind, though ye have led the van, In the cause of just fraternity, and the equal rights of man!

 Dun-Edin's civic Councillors come closely in your wake, They, too, can feel for injured truth, and blush for Scotland's sake; Well have they wiped the stain away, affix'd in former years Upon the citizens of France, and on their bold compeers. 

 Let women moan and maunder against the glorious time, When France arose in all her might, when loyalty was crime; When prison shambles stream'd with blood, and red the gutters ran, In the cause of just fraternity, and the equal rights of man!

 When piled within the crazy boats, chain'd closely to the beam, By hundreds the aristocrats sank in the sullen stream; When age and sex were no respite, and merrily and keen, From morning until night, rush'd down the clanking guillotine. 

 'Tis ours to render homage, where homage most is due-- Now glory be to DANTON, and to his valiant crew-- And glory to those mighty shades, who never stoop'd to spare, The virtuous regicides of France, and the hero, ROBESPIERRE. 

 But greater glory still to those, who strove within our land, To hoist the cap of liberty, and bare the British brand, To drag our ancient Parliament from its place of honour down, To ride rough-shod upon the Lords, and spit upon the Crown. 

 What though the bigots of the bench declared their treason vile-- What though they languish'd slowly in the felon's distant isle-- Shall we, the children of Reform, withhold our just applause From those who loved the people and, of course, despised the laws?

 We'll rear a stately monument--we'll build it fair and high, And on the porch this graven verse shall greet the passers-by-- "IN HONOUR OF THE MARTYRS WHO THE BATTLE FIRST BEGAN FOR THE CAUSE OF JUST FRATERNITY, AND THE EQUAL RIGHTS OF MAN!"

 'Twill be a proud memorial, when we have pass'd away, Of old Dun-Edin's loyalty, and the Civic Council's sway; And it shall stand while earth is green and skies are summer blue, Eternal as the sleep of those who fell at Peterloo!

 Were I a chosen Councillor--a tetrarch of the town, I'd drag from off their pedestals these Tory statues down; I'd make a universal sweep of all that serves to show How vilely the aristocrats have used us long ago. 

 The column rear'd to victory in that detested war, When the Tricolor went down before our flag at Trafalgar, The column that hath taught our sons to mutter Nelson's name, I'd level straightway with the dust, and with it sink our shame. 

 Yes! in that place a classic fane should stand where Nelson's stood, With new baptismal cognizance from famous THISTLEWOOD; His bust should in the centre shine, and round it, placed on guard, The effigies of HATFIELD, INGS, and of the good DESPARD. 

 There's Pitt, the Lar of Frederick Street--O shame to us and ours! Was it not he whose policy struck back the Gallic powers? Was it not he whose iron hand so ruthlessly kept down The tide of bold democracy, and saved the British crown?

 I'd fetch him from his lofty perch; I'd dash him on the stones; I'd serve the lifeless bronze the same as I'd have served his bones; And on the empty stance I would in radiant metal show, A bolder and a braver man--the patriot PAPINEAU. 

 Down, down, I say, with George the Fourth!--for him there's no delay; Let all askance direct their glance, for virtue's sake, we pray; So says our new Pygmalion, the purist of the town, 'Twere shame that he compelled should be, in passing, to look down. 

 Let's find another statue of the brave old English breed, A worthy of an earlier age--a champion good at need; No cause were then to seem ashamed, though slaves might feel afraid, When emancipated bondsmen bow'd to the image of JACK CADE. 

 There's room enough where Royal Charles sits stiffly in the Square, To rear a double effigy--Why not of BURKE and HARE? Though not in freedom's cause they died, remember'd let it be, That science has its martyrdom, as well as liberty. 

 A monument to Walter Scott!--A monument forsooth! What has that bigot done for us, for freedom, or for truth? He always back'd the Cavalier against the Puritan, And sneer'd at just fraternity, and the equal rights of man. 

 What good to us have ever done his Legends of Montrose, Of Douglas and of dark Dundee, the fellest of our foes? What care we for the Border chiefs, or for the Stuart line, Or the thraldom of the people in "the days of auld langsyne?"

 Men dream'd not of equality in days so darkly wild, Nor was the peasant's bantling _then_ mate for the baron's child; But we've learn'd another lesson since the golden age drew near, And working men may keep the wall, and jostle prince and peer. 

 Ye fools! take down your monument--or rear it, if ye will, But choose another effigy that lofty niche to fill. None better, say ye? Pause awhile, and I will tell you one, Who never bent the servile knee at altar or at throne. 

 No fond illusions dull'd _his_ eye, no tales of wither'd eld; No childish faith was _his_ to trust aught save what he beheld; No sovereignty would he allow save Reason's rightful reign; No laws save those of Nature's code--and such was THOMAS PAINE. 

 Place him within your Gothic arch, the only fit compeer Of those whose martyr monument the Council seek to rear; Since traitors to the laws of man may boldly look abroad, Towards the image of their friend who broke the laws of God. 

 Since anarchy must have its meed, let's leave no statue here, That might from other lips than ours provoke a cynic sneer: If temples must be built to crime, we'll worship there alone, Nor leave a mark of loyalty or honour in the stone. 

 Then glory to our Councillors, that true and trusty band-- And glory to each gallant heart that loathes its fatherland; And glory evermore to those who the battle first began, For the cause of just fraternity, and the equal rights of man!

 * * * * *

TASTE AND MUSIC IN ENGLAND. 

PART I. 

The heart of an Englishman must ever swell with pride as he contemplateshis country's greatness. He looks around him, and his eye every wheremeets with the signs of increasing opulence and prosperity, while hisear is filled with the busy hum of an industrious, and, despite the idlebabblings of the ignorant, and the empty declamation of interested, selfish, and disappointed men, a contented population, happy in theenjoyment of comfort, beyond that of the labouring classes of most othercountries. He visits her marts, her harbours, and her ports--men of allnations are met together there--fleets of rich argosies are everarriving and departing--and myriads of steamers flit to and fro, happilynow engaged in promoting the arts of peace, but ready at a moment'snotice to become the defenders of his country's shores, and, as recentevents have shown the world, able also to carry war and devastationalong the coasts of her enemies, even to the uttermost parts of theearth. He explores the seats of her manufactures; there he beholds vastedifices teeming with crowds of work-people, occupied in supplying thewants of mankind. In short, wherever he bends his steps, all areusefully employed--industry, enterprise, and perseverance, are foundthroughout the land. He also feels it no vain boast to be a denizen ofthat small isle, whose inhabitants, by their own proper energy, haveextended their dominion over a territory on which the sun never sets--peopled by upwards of two hundred million souls--consisting of colonies, nations, and people, differing from each other in form of person, complexion, habits, manners, and in language--elements apparently themost discordant and heterogeneous, yet firmly knit and bound into onevast glorious empire, which, successfully resisting the rudest shocks, often assaulted, ever victorious, and, thanks to the bravery of herwarriors, and the wisdom of those who now guide her councils, havingdefeated alike the open attacks and the secret machinations of herenemies, at this moment constitutes the most powerful state of ancientor modern times--abounding in wealth, and rejoicing in freedom, beyondall other nations of the earth. 

He glories also in the intellectual pre-eminence of his country. Hervictories by sea and land attest the genius of her captains; herinstitutions bear witness to the sagacity of her lawgivers and herstatesmen. Her railroads, docks, canals, and other public works, bearthe marks of superior intelligence acting for the general good. Hiscountrymen were the first to press steam into the active service ofmankind. By the genius of Watt and his successors, a power, beforedestructive and uncontrollable, has been rendered the mighty agent ofman's will, the supplier of his wants, and the minister of hisconvenience. Through their inventions, steam has become, as it were, thebreath, the life, of a noble animal of man's creation, untiring in itsceaseless labours, irresistible in its tremendous strength; and, whenits maker chooses to endow it with powers of motion, fleeter also thanthe wind, but of imposing might and majesty as it pursues its headlongcourse; and yet, withal, checked by a single touch, yielding a perfectobedience to the hand of its ruler, and submissive to the slightestintimation of his will. In the walks of science, literature, andphilosophy, he finds equal reason to be proud of his country. Splendiddiscoveries in every branch of science meet him as he enquires, and buta few years have passed away since the death of one--Sir HumphryDavy--of whom it is scarce too much to say, that he revolutionized agreat science by his discoveries, or that, by the power of his singleintellect, he dived deeper into the hidden mysteries of the materialworld than all preceding generations had been able to penetrate. Inshort, an Englishman finds his country possessed of warriors, statesmen, philosophers, historians, poets, and authors, in every branch ofliterature, who are the admiration of the whole civilized world. In allthese, England stands proudly pre-eminent, the first, the very first, among the nations. It is much to be able to feel this, but an Englishmanwould fain feel even more than this; his noble ambition is to see hiscountry first in every thing; he would have her pre-eminent alike in thefine arts and those pursuits which distinguish the recreations andamusements of a refined and polished people, as in the more usefularts of life. 

But here the pleasing portion of the picture ceases--

 "Ogni medaglia ha il suo rovescio, "

every medal has its obverse, says the Italian proverb; and thecomparatively low rank which his country occupies in this new field ofview, is a melancholy contemplation for an Englishman. He finds that, ingeneral, things are judged of only by the measure of their practicalutility, and that the beautiful and the useful are usually deemed to beincompatible; thereby affording, however reluctantly we may admit it, atleast some justification of Napoleon's celebrated and bitter reproach, that we are a nation of shopkeepers. It would seem, in truth, that we donot possess that quick perception of the beautiful which is enjoyed bythe more excitable and imaginative sons of the south. In painting, webelieve we possess a school second to none of modern art. But, beautifulas their works may be, can we place our Reynolds, Lawrence, Hogarth, andGainsborough in competition with Raphael, Correggio, Rubens, or Claude?In sculpture also, can Westmacott, or even Chantrey--we speak withreverence of the illustrious dead--be compared with Michael Angelo orGiovanni de Bologna? When pressed on these topics, the candid Englishmanmust, with a sigh, confess his country's inferiority. Architecture also, with few exceptions, has long been our reproach. We judge of the degreeof civilization and refinement to which ancient Greece and Romeattained, by the beauty and elegance of their mutilated remains. We findtheir temples, even in ruins, beautiful beyond the day-dream of ourmodern architects; some of them, till bold and sacrilegious handsdespoiled them, adorned with sculptures which, surviving the destructionof the people who raised them, the wanton rage of barbarous enemies, andthe inroads of the elements for near two thousand years, sill remain, intheir decay, the wonder and admiration of the world, the models ofmodern sculptors, and the greatest treasure of art a nation can possess. 

In the lapse of ages, perhaps, England, in her turn, may be deserted, her mines exhausted, her edifies ruined, her existence as a nationterminated. The site of her vast metropolis may once more become anundulating verdant plain, intersected by a tidal river; and, perhaps, nothing may remain outwardly to show the curious traveller where theancient city stood. The pristine abode of man upon the earth, may againbe thickly peopled, and civilization may have rolled back to the south, its ancient source. Then may history or tradition vaguely tell ofpowerful nations who once flourished in the north; their very existencedoubted, perhaps, by all, and by many disbelieved. Some day, perchance, one whom accident or curiosity may have brought to the shores of ancientBritain, may wend his weary way along the bank of the noblest river ofthe land. On a mound a little higher than the rest, something on whichthe hand of man had evidently been employed may attract his attention, and stimulate him to search among the tangled weeds and brushwood whichgrow around. The discovery of a marble fragment may, perhaps, eventuallylead to the uncovering of one of those statues which now grace theinterior of our St Paul's, on the site of which the stranger hadunconsciously been exploring. Or, suppose the traveller to have bent hissteps in a north-easterly direction, towards the foot of that gentleslope which terminates at the base of the heights of Highgate and ofHampstead. Suppose him, by some strange chance, to stumble upon thatincomparable specimen of modern sculpture which stands on high atKing's-Cross, lifted up, in order, we presume, to enable the goodcitizens duly to feast their eyes upon its manifold perfections, as theydaily hie them to and fro between their western or suburban retreats andthe purlieus of King Street or Cheapside. What estimate would thestranger form of the taste or skill of those who placed on its pedestalthe statue we have first supposed him to have found? It avails not todisguise the truth. What that truth may be, we leave to the intelligenceof the reader to divine. But what would be the effect of the otherdiscovery we have imagined? The traveller would turn away, convincedthat history or tradition gave false accounts of the power and genius ofthe ancient inhabitants of the land on which he trod, that their glorywas a dream, their civilization a delusion, their proficiency in thearts a fable. For the honour of our country, let us hope that the figureof which we speak may not be suffered much longer to disgrace a leadingthoroughfare of our metropolis. It has already stood some eight or tenyears, a melancholy monument of English taste and English art in thenineteenth century. 

For the attainment of excellence in the higher branches of art, as hasbeen well observed by an intelligent foreigner, M. Passavant, it isrequisite that a people should possess deep poetic feeling, and that artshould not be considered among them as a thing of separate nature, butthat it should interweave itself with the ties of social life, and beemployed in adding beauty to its nearest, dearest interests. Now, theEnglish, he continues, are more disposed to an active than to acontemplative life. They possess, it must be owned, a character of muchearnestness and energy; yet, from the earliest times, their attentionhas been more directed to the cultivation of the mechanical arts and thesciences appertaining to them than to those nobler branches of art whichflourish spontaneously in a more contemplative nation. Thischaracteristic disposition, and the physical activity necessarilyconnected with it, have been by some ascribed to the influence of ourclimate, to our moist and heavy atmosphere, and clouded skies, tocounteract the influence of which, and to preserve a counterbalancingbuoyancy of mind and body, an active habit of life is requisite. Butthis hypothesis is untenable; for Flanders, with a similar climate, andflourishing likewise by means of its native industry, affords sufficientproof how little these circumstances are prejudicial to the cultivationof the fine arts. Perhaps a better reason may be found in the widedifference which is observable between the national habits of ourcountrymen and those of the people among whom the arts have beencultivated with the greatest success. In those countries where thebeautiful was felt, where the arts were objects of national importance, where a people assembled to award the palm between rival sculptors; andalso, in comparatively modern times, when a reigning monarch did notdisdain to pick up a painter's pencil, and a whole city mourned anartist's death, and paid honours to his remains; all the rank, wealth, genius, talent, taste, and intelligence of the people were concentratedin one grand focus. Among the states of ancient Greece and modern Italy, the city was in fact the nation; and at Athens, Rome, Venice, andFlorence, was collected all of genius, taste, and talent, the people asa body possessed. The mental qualities were thereby rendered more acute, and the tastes and manners of the people more refined and cultivated, byconstant intercourse and communication with each other. This refinenentwas shared by all classes, and the lower taking pattern from the higher, the whole mass was learned. In England, the very reverse of this takesplace. Here, for the most part, those alone frequent our towns, whosedoom it is to labour for their bread, they have no leisure from theengrossing pursuits of wealth; business, like a jealous mistress, leavesthem no time for other objects. In spite of various disadvantages ofsoil and climate, the taste for rural pursuits seems part and parcel ofour nature, and that species of the genus _homo_, the country gentleman, seems peculiar to our island. Till within a few years, the greatmajority of this class, whose abundant wealth and leisure might seem toconstitute them the peculiar patrons of the arts, seldom or neverfrequented even the metropolis, but for generations remained fixed andimmovable in the place of their forefathers, rooted to the soil as oneof their old oaks. "His guns, dogs, and horses, were the things thesquire held most dear. " Hunting, shooting, and other sports, formed notonly the amusements of his leisure hours, but the business of his life. His intercourse with the world confined to a narrow circle ofacquaintance, all of the same tastes and pursuits with himself, he couldlearn or know no others. Generous pursuits, hospitable, liberal, andopen hearted, hating alike poachers and dissenters, possessed of manyvirtues, avoiding many a crime, discharging the duties, as well asexercising the rights of property; exemplary in all the relations oflife, a good father, a tender husband, a kind master, an indulgentlandlord, a blessing to himself and those around him, he lived and diedthe _Squire Western_ of his day, without that refinement and cultivationof the tastes and mental powers which the more polished inhabitants ofthe metropolis insensibly contract. Sure there were many to whom thisdoes not apply, many who combined the "gifts" of both a town and countrylife. But, nevertheless such was the great bulk of that class, amongwhom, had London been England, as even in our own time Paris is or wasFrance, the beautiful would not probably have been so much neglected. 

So occupied have the great mass of our countrymen been in the pursuit ofwealth, that all that did not directly contribute to this end has beenuniformly rejected as useless. A familiar example of the truth of thisobservation may be seen in the numerous factories and other buildingserected for commercial purposes, in the manufacturing districts ofLancashire and Yorkshire. In buildings of this class, all embellishmentand ornament, however simple, which good taste, had it been consulted, might have suggested, to relieve the wearying straightness of outline, or the plain dull flatness of these large ponderous masses of brick andmortar, have been neglected, or rejected, probably as not increasing itsproductive powers, and therefore unworthy of consideration. Such hasbeen the general principle. But this neglect has at length recoiled uponthe heads of its promoters. As long as the world was content to take ourmanufactures as we chose to make them--when, no other nation havingentered the lists with us, we were without competitors, and absolutemasters of the commerce of the world, this make-all save-all principlewas undoubtedly the most effective. But now, when our manufacturers meetwith the keenest competition in every market; when a suicidal export ofmachinery enables the foreigner immediately to benefit by everymechanical discovery, or improvement in machinery, that is made by ourengineers, the case is wholly altered, and the English manufacturerfinds out the grievous mistake that he has made. Beauty of design has atlength become of paramount importance, and the beautiful, so longneglected, is now avenged. The public taste has advanced too fast. Sincethe introduction of foreign goods, such as silks and other ornamentalfabrics, the inferiority of our native designs for these materials hasbecome manifest to all. We are credibly informed, that there now existsa regular organized system, viz. Supply of French designs to ourmanufacturers; that from these designs all their ideas are borrowed andall their patterns taken, and that, in fact, scarcely a single patternof purely home invention is worked in a season. The manufacturers are, however, now roused from their lethargy, and great efforts are made toremedy the evil. Schools of design are established, and copyright ofdesign has just been conferred by act of parliament. In some of ourcommercial towns, large rooms or galleries are opened to the mechanic, where he may study the beautiful and ideal from casts and models of theantique. Pictures also are occasionally exhibited for his instruction. These are indeed great and praiseworthy efforts, in whichutilitarianism has assumed a new character, and found a new field ofaction. These novel institutions, not organized and supported from apure abstract love of the arts ostensibly promoted by them, but fromdire necessity created by successful competition in the more elegantbranches of manufacture, in which the exercise of taste and fancy isrequired, may eventually produce great general results; years, however, must necessarily elapse before their benefits can be felt. 

We have hitherto purposely abstained from any allusion to music andmusical taste, for the purpose of showing, that music is not the onlyfruit of civilization which has not as yet arrived at maturity amongus; and also for the purpose of ascertaining, whether there might not besome general causes in operation, which affect, in an equal degree, every branch of the more intellectual refinements of civilized life. Inthis case, the low standard of musical taste and science which willhereafter become the subject of more particular observation, cannot beattributed solely to causes which relate exclusively to music, but mustbe considered as one amongst other results of general principles. Ifthere be any truth in the foregoing speculations, they apply moreparticularly to music, and musical taste and science, than to the finearts, to which we have hitherto confined our observations. Music ispeculiarly a social pursuit. It can be cultivated only among the hauntsof men. The taste deteriorates, and the mental standard of excellencewhich each possesses, is lowered when really good music is seldom ornever heard. By "the million, " it can be heard only while mixing withthe world at large; the performer can acquire his mastery over theinstrument, at the cost of much time and labour, and he can maintainthis mastery, and the purity of his style, only where he can comparehimself with others of acknowledged excellence. This can be done onlywhere men congregate in large and populous cities, where the want ofamusement is best supplied; the recluse or the solitary man can beno musician. 

It may seem anomalous at first sight, and we can well conceive it to beobjected to our argument, that it is impossible, that whilearchitecture, sculpture, painting, and music, should have beencomparatively neglected, that literature, in all its branches, should beso highly esteemed among us. Milton, and more especially Shakspeare, have never lost one tittle of their value; nay, even at this moment, there are three rival editions of Shakspeare's works in the course ofpublication. Many volumes of poetry put in their claim to immortalityevery year. Novel after novel appears each to elbow its predecessor outof the public mind, and be in its turn forgotten. It is easy to imagine, that to many it may appear a paradox in the history of the human race, that a people should exist, endowed by nature with a high degree ofpoetic feeling, having, as Mr Hallam observes, produced more eminentoriginal poets than any other nation can boast, and attaching a highvalue to literary talent of every description, but, nevertheless, whoseattainments in the fine arts during a thousand years of nationalexistence, should never have passed mediocrity. This apparentinconsistency, however, lies only on the surface. The language of truepoetry is understood by all; it strikes home: however rude the thoughts, however uncultivated the understanding, the heart can feel; and it is tothe heart the poet speaks; and even in the rudest ages of mankind hispower was acknowledged. Voltaire has remarked, that "amusement is one ofthe wants of man". 

Novels are taken up to amuse the vacant hour--in this consists theiruse. They are read without effort--the mind lies fallow as they areperused, and no study is required, no cultivation of any taste isnecessary, to place this amusement within reach. With music and the finearts, this is not so. The taste for these pursuits requires cultivation;and in order to estimate and appreciate them correctly, the judgmentmust be formed by a process of education, far different from that whichenables all who read to value our poets and authors in the variousdepartments of literature. 

On examining the records of mankind, it will be found that this has beenthe ordinary succession of events in the history of civilization; andthat poetry and oratory, the more independent efforts of the human mind, appear in the earlier stages of society, and that by them man is firstdistinguished as an intellectual and rational creature. 

Of Egyptian literature, we know nothing. The destruction of the libraryof the Ptolemies may be the principal cause of our ignorance. Thegigantic remains of this people, and the manner in which they worked ina stone which no modern tool will touch, show that among them the usefularts were considerably advanced. We have, however, abundant evidence ofthe small degree of proficiency in the fine arts. Their sculptors arecharacterized by Flaxman as "mere beginners, " or "laborious mechanics;"their works as "lifeless forms, menial vehicles of an idea. " WhenEgyptian art ended, then Grecian art began. It appears, however, to havemade but little progress down to the time of Homer; and Dædalus and hisdisciple Eudæus are, we believe, the only artists of that early periodwhose fame has survived. These sculptors worked in wood, and by theirproficiency we may form a pretty accurate idea of the state of art inGreece when Homer wrote. The works of Dædalus are described by Pausaniasas rude and uncomely in aspect. In his Grecian tour, Pausanias twicemakes mention of a statue of Hercules by Dædalus, from whichcircumstance it would appear to have been held in high estimation. Onthis statue Flaxman observes--"In the British Museum, as well as inother collections in Europe, are several small bronzes of a nakedHercules, whose right arm, holding a club, is raised to strike; whilstthe left is extended, bearing a lion's skin as a shield. From the styleof extreme antiquity in these statues--from the rude attempt at boldaction, which was the peculiarity of Dædalus--the general adoption ofthis action in the early ages--the traits of savage nature in the faceand figure, expressed with little knowledge, but strong feeling--by thenarrow loins, turgid muscles of the breast, thighs, and calves of thelegs, will all find reason to believe they are copied from theabove-mentioned statue. " Greece, it must be owned, possessed musicianslong anterior to Homer: Chiron the Centaur, regarded by the ancients asone of the inventors of medicine, botany, and chirurgery, who, wheneighty-eight years of age, formed the constellations for the use of theArgonauts; Linus, the preceptor of Hercules, who added a string to thelyre, and is said to be the inventor of rhythm and melody; Orpheus, whoalso extended the scale of the lyre, and was the inventor and propagatorof many arts and doctrines among the Greeks; and Musæus, the priest ofCeres, are all remembered as musicians, as well as poets, historians, and philosophers; characters which, in those days, were all combined inthe same individuals. The ancients, indeed, appear to have used the termmusic in a much more extended sense than has been attached to it inmodern times, and to have applied it to all the arts and sciences. Buteven if the ancient meaning of the term were identical with its modernsignification, there may be good reason to suppose that their fame asmusicians would principally survive. The memory of these firstpreceptors of mankind was long preserved as the general benefactors oftheir species. But while the other arts they taught advanced, it doesnot appear that music made any progress. Thus, they came chiefly to beremembered for that talent in which posterity had produced no equals. Aspoets they were once celebrated; but, eclipsed by the glory andsplendour of the great historian of Troy, their poetical productionswere forgotten; whilst, as musicians, unrivalled through many centuries, their skill was long remembered as the most excellent the world hadever known. The arts of sculpture and painting appear to have remainedeven more stationary than music. For, while about the middle or latterend of the seventh century, B. C. , the names of Archilochus and Terpanderadorn the page of musical history, followed by many others, includingAlcæus, Sappho, and Simonides, down to Pindar and his rival Corinna, theformer of whom, according to the chronology of Dr Blair, died in 435B. C. Aged 86, it is evident, says Flaxman, "that sculpture was 800years, from Dædalus to the time immediately preceding Phidias, inattaining a tolerable resemblance of the human form. " It appears, therefore, that the greatest epic poem ever written had been read, appreciated, and admired, for nearly five centuries before the artsarrived at perfection. Then, indeed, there burst a flood of glory overancient Greece, and names never to be forgotten were borne upon thetide. Contemporary with Pindar and Corinna were Phidias, Alcamenes, andmany other sculptors, together with poets, philosophers, warriors, andstatesmen; men whose names will rise superior to the lapse of time, andwhose fame, like the rocky barriers of the ocean, on which the elementsin vain expend their fury, will be of equal duration with theworld itself. 

Ancient Rome was indebted to others for all of the liberal arts andsciences she possessed. In the earlier periods of her existence, andbefore Greece had become known in Rome, Etruria was the instructress ofher sons. When Greece had been subdued, and rendered a tributaryprovince of the all-conquering city, her polished people, nevertheless, exercised an intellectual sovereignty over their masters. In the streetsof Athens a singular spectacle was exhibited; _there_ might be seen theconqueror learning of the vanquished; Romans, of exalted rank andunbounded power, had become the disciples of Grecian philosophers. Nevertheless, when Rome possessed orators and poets, each of whomhas raised

 "Monumentum ære perennius, "

in that the golden age of her existence, it does not appear, says DrBurney, that "except Vitruvius, the Romans had one architect, sculptor, painter, or musician; those who have been celebrated in the arts of Romehaving been Asiatics or European Greeks, who came to exercise such artsamong the Latins, as the Latins had not among themselves. This customwas continued under the successors of Augustus; and those Romans whowere prevented, by more important concerns, from going into Greece, combined, in a manner, to bring Greece to Rome, by receiving into theirservice the most able professors of Greece and Asia in all the arts. "Vitruvius, in the chapter on music inserted in his treatise onarchitecture, complains that "the science of music, in itself obscure, is particularly so to such as understand not the Greek language. " Thisobservation shows the low state of music at Rome at that time; indeedVitruvius is said to be the first who has treated of music in theLatin tongue. 

Modern Europe also furnishes another illustration and example of thetruth of our proposition. When the mists of ignorance and superstitionwhich had for centuries enveloped the world, had begun to clear away, and when Europe first attempted to throw off the errors of the DarkAges, the arts were dead, and the only music known was that cultivatedby the monks and clergy, as necessary to their profession, and the songsof the Troubadours. "The fame of the Troubadours, " remarks Mr Hallam, "depends less on their positive excellence than on the darkness ofpreceding ages, the temporary sensation they excited, and theirpermanent influence on the state of European poetry. " The intrinsicmerit of the music of this period may be collected from the followingobservation of Dr Burney:--"However barbarous and wretched the melodyand harmony of the secular songs of this period may have been, they werein both respects superior to the music of the church. " The Troubadoursflourished from the middle of the twelfth century till the latter end ofthe fourteenth century, when their dissolute and licentious habitscaused them to be universally banished and proscribed. During thebarbarism of these times, not only had the arts themselves been lost, but even the principles on which they rest had been forgotten. Italy, indeed, possessed many ancient marbles, but they seemed to have losttheir value; and it was not till the thirteenth century that any attemptto imitate these remains of antiquity was made. Nicola Pisano, about theyear 1231, taking for his model an ancient sarcophagus at Pisa, whichcontained the remains of Beatrice, mother of the Countess Matilda, sculptured an urn--a feat in those days so extraordinary, as to haveconferred upon him the title of Nicolas of the Urn. This artist, in thewords of Lanzi, "was the first to see and follow light. " He was, however, more ambitious than successful, and was followed by his sonsand others, in whose hands the art seems to have no very rapid progress. The art of painting, in which there were no models in existence, waslater in manifesting any improvement. It was not till after the year1250 that, according to Vasari, some Greek painters were invited toFlorence by the rulers of the city, for the express purpose of restoringthe art to Florence, where it was rather wholly lost than degenerated. Cimabue, the reviver of painting, received instruction from the Greeks. He died in 1300. Fierce as the age in which he lived, says Lanzi, hisMadonnas were without beauty, and his angels, even in the same picture, were all in the same attitude. To Cimabue succeeded his pupil, thefamous Giotto, who died in 1337. With him the ruggedness of his master'smanner was softened down, and considerable advances made towards abetter style. He was honourably received at many of the principal townsand cities of Italy, and may, perhaps, be considered as the real founderof their several schools; at all events, painters every where were longthe imitators of Giotto. His faults partook also of the character of theage, and among other defects, the dry hardness of his works has givenrise to an opinion, that he partly formed his style upon the works ofthe Pisani. Giotto and his school, indeed, conducted the art throughinfancy, but it still exhibited many signs of childhood, especially inchiara-oscuro, and even more so in perspective. Figures sometimesappeared as if sliding from the canvass--buildings had not the truepoint of view, and foreshortening was only rudely attempted. StefanoFiorentino, a _grandson_ of Giotto, was the first and only one of theschool who endeavoured to grapple with this last difficulty, which hemay be said to have perceived rather than overcome; his contemporaries, for the most part, evaded it, and concealed their deficiency as theycould. Such is the summary of the merits of this school of art given byLanzi, who dates the commencement of the first epoch of modern paintingfrom the death of Giotto. In further illustration of the low state ofart in the early part of the fourteenth century, it may be observed, that Lanzi also describes a great work of Masaccio, who flourished inthe succeeding century, as "beautiful _for those times_;" and that itwas not till the year 1410 that oil-painting was invented or improvedby Van-Eyck. 

From this sketch of the history of the arts of music, sculpture, andpainting during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, will be seentheir state and condition, when the great work of the immortal Dantetook his country by surprise. The _Divina Comedia_ was written about theyear 1300. Its illustrious author, the creator of the national poetry ofhis country, died in 1321, leaving behind him Petrarch, who was crownedin the Capitol in 1341, and Boccaccio, who--though, as Byron said ofScott, he spoiled his poetry by writing better prose--was nevertheless apoet of no mean merit, and the probable inventor of the _ottava rima_. Two centuries after the last of these parents of modern literature hadnearly elapsed, ere he who has been styled the Dante of the arts, Michael Angelo, and his contemporaries, among whom were Leonardo daVinci and Raphael, appeared upon the stage. Thus language, the firstgreat want of man, the necessary instrument of reason, by which itspossessor is distinguished from the rest of creation, the vehicle ofhuman thoughts, the means by which man's wants, desires, griefs, andjoys, are communicated and made known, would seem to form the earliestobject of his attention. He enriches and improves it, till it isrendered capable of expressing all the workings of his reason. Thisdone, genius and invention are applied to other pursuits; and in manyinstances it may be, that the poet and the artist were but the creaturesof the age which produced them. Had he lived at a later period, Homer, the great sire of song, might perhaps have shone the Phidias or theZeuxis of his day; or, had his birth been anticipated two hundred years, the genius of "the Dante of the arts" might possibly have been displayedin works like those which have immortalized Dante Alighieri. It is, therefore, no inconsistency in the character of a people amongst whompoetry is passionately admired, and books of all kinds eagerly devoured, that the arts should be generally uncared-for and unknown. When anothercentury has passed away, their history may tell another tale, and thepowers of mind hitherto employed principally upon the physical sciences, may have achieved like triumphs in the liberal arts. That this may bethe case, the past history of other nations affords every reason tohope. What man has done, man may, and doubtless _will_, do again. 

In the earlier ages of the world, music, in its rudest, simplest form, is said to have stopped the flow of rivers, to have tamed wild beasts, and to have raised the walls of cities; allegories which at least showthe prodigious influence the art possessed over the inhabitants ofinfant Greece. In the course of time, love of the art was a nationalcharacteristic of this people; and music became a specific in the handof the physician, a fundamental principle of public education, and themedium of instruction in religion, morals, and the laws. The lyre may besaid to have ruled Greece, the glorious and the free, with the samedespotic sway with which the iron hand of tyranny has in our own daygoverned her. Discord, and civil commotions arose among theLacedæmonians; Terpander came, and with his lyre at once appeased theangry multitude. Among the Athenians it was forbidden, under pain ofdeath, to propose the conquest of the isle of Salamis; but the songs ofSolon raised a tumult amongst the people; they rose, compelled therepeal of the obnoxious decree, and Salamis straightway fell. Was itfound necessary to civilize a wild and extensive province? Music wasemployed for this desirable object; and Arcadia, before the habitationof a fierce and savage people, became famed as the abode of happinessand peace. Plutarch places the masters of tragedy--to which the modernopera bears a great resemblance--on a level with the greatest captains:nor did the people fail in gratitude to their benefactors; they heldtheir memory in veneration. The lyre of Orpheus was transplanted to theskies, there to shine for countless ages; and divine honours were paidto the name of Sappho. 

The Greeks, although perhaps excelling all other nations in this, as inthe other arts, are not the only people among whom music was cultivatedand esteemed. Both China and Arabia are said to have felt its influenceupon their customs, manners, and institutions. The musical traditions ofChina might seem to be but repetitions of the marvels of the Greeks. King-lun, Kovei, and Pinmonkia, are said to have arrested the flow ofrivers, and to have caused the woods and forests, attracted by themelody of their performance, to crowd around. The Chinese are said tobelieve, that the ancient music of their country has drawn angels downfrom heaven, and conjured up from hell departed souls: they also believethat music can inspire men with the love of virtue, and cause themfaithfully to fulfil their several duties. Confucius says "to know if akingdom be well governed, and if the customs of its inhabitants be bador good, examine the musical taste which there prevails. " There is stillextant a curious document, which shows the importance which a ruler ofthis people attached to music, as a moral and political agent. We alludeto a proclamation of the Emperor Ngaiti, who ascended the throne of theCelestial Empire in the year of the tenth æra 364. After complaining, that tender, artificial, and effeminate strains inspire libertinism, heproceeds, in severe terms, to order a reformation in these matters; thefirst step to which, is a prohibition of every sort of music but thatwhich serves for war, and for the ceremony Tido. The Arabs also appearto have held similar opinions as to the power of music. They boast ofIshac, Kathab Al Moussouly, Alfarabi, and other musicians, whom theyrelate to have worked miracles by their vocal and instrumentalperformances. With the Arabs, music was interwoven with philosophy; andtheir wise men imagined a marvellous relation to exist betweenharmonious sounds and the operations of nature. Harmony was esteemedthe panacea, or universal remedy, in mental and even bodily affections;in the tones of the lute were found medical recipes in almost alldiseases. Upon one occasion, in the presence of the grand vizier, Alfarabi, accompanying his voice with an instrument, is related to haveroused a large assembly to an extreme pitch of joyful excitement, fromwhich he moved them to grief and tears, and then plunged all presentinto a deep sleep, none having the power to resist the enchantment ofhis performance. 

The children of Israel cultivated music in the earliest periods of theirexistence as a people. After the passage of the Red Sea, Moses, and hissister Miriam, the prophetess, assembled two choruses, one of men, andthe other of women, with timbrels, who sang and danced. The facilitywith which the instruments were collected on the spot, and with whichthe choruses and dances were arranged and executed, necessarily impliesa skill in these exercises, which must have been acquired long before, probably from the Egyptians. We have abundant evidence in Holy Writ, ofthe high estimation in which music was held among the Hebrews at a laterperiod of their history. They also appear to have successfully appliedit to the cure of diseases. The whole of David's power over the disorderof Saul may, without any miraculous intervention, be attributed to hisskilful performance upon the harp. In 1st Samuel, c. Xvi. , we read thatSaul's servants said unto him, "Behold now, an evil spirit from Godtroubleth thee: Let our lord now command thy servants, which are beforethee, to seek out a man who is a cunning player on an harp: and it shallcome to pass, when the evil spirit from God is upon thee, that he shallplay with his hand, and thou shalt be well. " Saul having assented tothis proposal, the son of Jesse the Bethlemite was sent for, and stoodbefore him. "And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was uponSaul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand: so Saul wasrefreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him. " Sogreat were the esteem and love for music among this people when Davidascended the throne, that we find that he appointed 4000 Levites topraise the Lord with instruments, (1. Chron. C. Xxiii. ;) and that thenumber of those that were _cunning_ in song, was two hundred four scoreand eight, (c. Xxv. ) Solomon is related by Josephus to have made 200, 000trumpets, and 40, 000 instruments of music, to praise God with. In the 2dchapter of Ecclesiastes, music is mentioned by Solomon among thevanities and follies in which he found no profit, in terms which showhow generally a cultivated taste was diffused among his subjects. "I gatme men-singers and women-singers, and the delights of the sons of men, as musical instruments, and that of all sorts. " Many other passages ofsimilar import might be quoted from the sacred writings, and amongothers, some from which it would appear that musicians marched in thevan of the Jewish armies, and not unfrequently contributed to thevictory by the animation of their strains; and that music was theuniversal language of joy and lamentation. There is, however, oneportion of Holy Writ, which, from the highly interesting testimony itincidentally bears to the love of music which prevailed in Jerusalem, and the skill of her inhabitants, we cannot forbear to notice. We alludeto the 137th Psalm, "By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept, whenwe remembered thee, O Sion. As for our harps, we hanged them up upon thetrees that are therein. For they that led us away captive required of usthere a song and melody in our heaviness: Sing us one of the songs ofSion. " From the facts here narrated, we may judge how great was theattachment of the Jewish people for the musical art; their beloved citysacked, their temple plundered and destroyed, their homes desolate, inthe midst of danger and despair, deserted by their God, surrounded byinfuriated enemies, (Isaiah, xiii. 16. , ) nevertheless their harps werenot forgotten. From this beautiful and pathetic lamentation, it wouldalso appear that the repute of Hebrew musicians was far extended. Nosooner had they arrived in the land of their captivity, than theChaldean conqueror required of them a song and melody in theirheaviness, demanding _one of the songs of Sion_. The fame of thecaptives must have long preceded them, for, according to Dr Burney, theart was then declining in Judea. 

In the physical sciences, we have surpassed the nations who excelled inmusic; in war we have equalled their most glorious feats; in poetry andoratory we are not inferior. Shall not our future history also tell oftriumphs in the tuneful art? We believe that sooner or later, the timewill surely come when our country in her turn will boast of masters inthe art, whose memories will ever be preserved and hallowed. Butwhatever the future may bring forth, the marvellous accounts of thepowers of ancient music will meet with little indulgence from modernscepticism. At present such effects are unknown among us, and thereforeunintelligible. Among the early Greeks, for many centuries, the severalcharacters of poet, musician, lawgiver, and philosopher, were combinedin the same individual; and it is probable that the music of that periodconsisted principally of recitative or musical declamation. This speciesof composition, so utterly neglected and unknown to the English school, possesses great powers of expression, both when in its simple form andwhen accompanied. A modern example of the effects it is capable of isrecorded by Tartini. He relates, in the following terms, as one of manysimilar instances which had come under his observation:--"In the 14thyear of the present century, (the 18th, ) in the opera they wereperforming at Ancona, there was at the beginning of the 3d act a line ofrecitative, unaccompanied by any instruments but the bass, by which, equally among the professors and the audience, was raised such and sogreat a commotion of mind, that all looked in one another's faces, onaccount of the evident change of colour which took place in each. Theeffect was not that of grief, (I very well remember that the wordsexpressed indignation, ) but that of a certain congealing and coldness ofthe blood, which completely disturbed the mind. Thirteen times was thedrama repeated, and the same effect always followed universally; apalpable sign of which was the deep previous silence with which theaudience prepared themselves to enjoy its effects. [14]"

 [14] We may refer to this hereafter, and to show that _we_ at least are not guilty of exaggeration, we subjoin the passage in the original Italian, from which it will be seen that our translation is as literal as possible. 

 "L'anno quatuor-decimo del secolo presente, nel dramma che si rappresentava in Ancona, v'era, su'l principio dell' atto terzo, una riga di recitativo, non accompagnato da altri stromenti che dal basso; per cui, tanto in noi professori quanto negli ascoltanti, si destava una tale e tanta commozione di animo, che tutti si guardavano in faccia l'un l'altro, per la evidente mutazione di colore che si faceva in ciascheduno di noi. L'effetto non era di pianto (mi ricordo benissimo che le parole erano di sdegno) ma di un certo rigore e freddo nel sangue, che di fatto turbava l'animo. Tredici volte si recito il dramma, e sempre segui l'effetto stesso universalmente: di che era segno palpabile il sommo previo silenzio, con cui l'uditorio tutto si apparechiava a goderne l'effetto. "

The line of recitative has unfortunately not been preserved; nor is itknown what the opera, or whose the music, which produced an effect whichmay not be inaptly described in the words of Byron:--

 "An undefined and sudden thrill, Which made the heart a moment still, Then beat with quicker pulse. "

The music of Allessandro Scarlatti was then current and universallypopular in Italy. This composer was particularly famous for theexcellence of his recitative; and his general merit may be judged of bythe fact, that he is placed by Arteaga, in his work on the revolutionsof the musical drama in Italy, among the early authors belonging to theperiod which he terms the golden age of Italian music. On these grounds, we may reasonably conclude, that he was the composer of that terribleline of recitative. 

We have ourselves also witnessed a somewhat similar example of thepowers of Italian recitative. Many of our readers, doubtless, havewitnessed Pasta's wonderful performance in Anna Bolena, who also mayremember Anna's exclamation, "Giudici ad Anna! ad Anna giudici!" whenHenry's intention of bringing her to trial is first made known to her. Such was the fearful tone, of mingled horror, amaze, and wrathfulindignation, with which that greatest queen of tragic song gave outthese words, that, in a foreign land, we have on more than one occasionobserved some of the audience, as these fiery accents burst forth uponthem, to start, change colour, and almost shudder at the intensity ofthe conflicting passions she exhibited. Much, nay most, of this wasundoubtedly owing to the genius of the songstress. We do but mentionthese examples, to show how perfect a medium of musical expression anddramatic effect, good recitative becomes, when adequately performed. Still, the wonders related of ancient music--wonders not confined to oneage, one people, or to one quarter of the globe, but, on the contrary, commencing at a remote period of man's history, including Jews, Chinese, Arabs, and Greeks, amongst whose records their memory is preserved--willmeet with a cold assent from most; and perhaps few among us would befound bold enough to avow a belief in their reality. We have certainlyno warrant for their truth in the powers or effects of our nationalmusic, and thus experience directly contradicts the testimony ofantiquity. 

On the same grounds, however, had no specimens of ancient handiwork beenpreserved, we might also have doubted the excellence and beauty of anyof those works of art which, nevertheless, immortalized those by whosehands they were fashioned. Were not the Dying Gladiator now before us, it might, at this day, be deemed a monstrous supposition, that a statueof a dying man should have existed, in which there might be seen howmuch of life was left. Inferiority is ever sceptical and self-satisfied;it is only given to the really wise to know how much lies hidden fromtheir view. Though the scope and object of all the imitative arts is thesame, to dignify, elevate, and embellish nature--though the beauty ofthe ideal is the aim of the musician, equally as it is the aspiration ofthe poet, painter, and the sculptor, the character of these pursuits isin some respects essentially different. In the latter, material objectsare imitated and embellished, the things themselves are bodily beforethe eyes, and the beauty and excellence of the work will appear bycomparison with nature herself. These arts also possess great landmarksof taste and skill, which speak the same language to all ages. Of thesymmetry of the sculptor's chiselled forms, of the beauty of the poet'sor the painter's pictures, we have a standard in nature's own originals, seldom, probably never, exhibiting the same concentration of refined andelevated beauty in one individual object, but, nevertheless, furnishingan accurate and never varying standard, for the exercise of thejudgement; while the heart, that inner world, ever uniform andunchanging amid the manifold vicissitudes of human life, supplies a testby which the poet's thoughts and sentiments may be correctly tried. Thus, in the lapse of ages, the public taste has known no change; andthough more than 2000 years have passed away, the works of ancientGreece are worshipped still. 

It cannot, however, be imagined, that the music of those times couldhave among us the same influence it possessed of old. It is no newremark, that in no other branch of the imitative arts have the samerapid and successive changes occurred, as are observed to have takenplace in music. From this fact, the following question naturally arises, whether there are any fixed first principles of art, by adhering towhich, music might be produced which would please equally all ages andamongst all people; or, in other words, whether the pleasure which musicbrings, is the result of education, habit, or association, or aninherent and necessary effect of any particular succession orcombination of sounds. We have thrown together the followingobservations of Rousseau, which occur in several different portions ofhis essay on the origin of languages, and which, though not made withreference to this question, nevertheless appear to us conclusive uponit. "As the feelings which a beautiful picture excites are not caused bymere colour, so the empire which music possesses over our souls is notthe work of sound alone. All men love to listen to sweet sounds; but ifthis love be not quickened by such melodious inflexions as are familiarto the hearer, it cannot be converted into pleasure. Melody, such as, toour taste, may be most beautiful, will have little effect upon the earwhich is unaccustomed to it; it is a language of which we must possess adictionary. Sounds in a melody do not operate as mere sounds, but assigns of our affections and our feelings; it is thus they excite theemotions they express, and whose image we there recognize. If thisinfluence of our sensations is not owing to moral causes, how is it thatwe are so sensitive where a barbarian would feel nothing? How is it thatour most touching airs would be but so much empty noise to the ear of aCarribee? All require the kind of melody whose phrases they canunderstand; to an Italian, his country's airs are necessary; to a Turk, a Turkish melody; each is affected only by those accents with which heis familiar. In short, he must understand the language that is spoken tohim. " This reasoning seems to show that there are no principles or rulesof art, by following which music would be produced of that inherentbeauty which would intrinsically command universal admiration. 

This being so, music is at the mercy of many circumstances, theinfluence of which is felt, in some degree, even in those arts whoseprinciples have long been fixed and ascertained, and whose rules are notmerely conventional. The love of novelty, which the weariness caused bya constant repetition of the same musical phrase or idea renders more_exigeant_ in this than in other arts, the want or impossibility ofhaving any classic examples which might fix the taste or guide thestudies of the novice, are doubtless among the causes of these frequentchanges. The style of the leading singer of the day often forms andrules the passing taste, and even characterizes the works ofcontemporary composers. Music is often composed purposely for thesinger; his intonation, his peculiarities, his very mannerisms, areborne in mind. Not merely sounds, but _his_ sounds, are the vehicles ofthe composer's thoughts, the medium through which alone the composer'sideas can be adequately expressed. In the next generation, whenperformer and composer are dead and gone, all that is left of this their_mutual_ work, once the object of universal admiration becomescomparatively unintelligible. The melody, the harmony, indeed, remain, but they are a body without a soul; the fire and genius of him wholighted up the whole, who realized and brought home to the hearer the_whole_ creation of the composer's imagination, are no more. The mannerof the performance, therefore, being, as it were, part and parcel of thevery music, and a necessary ingredient of the excellence of thecomposition, to judge of the merit of the whole from the qualities ofthe portion which is left, would be to judge of the beauty of theGrecian Helen by the aspect or appearance of her lifeless remains. Onlooking at the greater portion of the music by the execution of whichCatalani raised herself to the highest pinnacle of fame, we arecompelled to the conclusion, that in the singer lay the charm. Theeffects said to have been produced by Handel's operas are nowinconceivable and unintelligible, so "mechanical and dull" do theseworks appear, "beyond mere simplicity and traits of melody. " Handel, inone species of composition, wrote _down_ to the singers of his time. Whoever examines the bass songs of that period, will perceive that theywere composed for inflexible and unwieldy voices, possessing a large andheavy volume of tone, but incapable of executing any but simplepassages, constructed according to an ascertained routine of intervals. Lord Mount-Edgcumbe truly conjectured, that Mozart was led to make thebass so prominent a part in the Don Giovanni and Le Nozze di Figaro, bywriting for a particular singer. The part of Figaro was, in fact, composed for Benucci. The sparkling brilliancy of Rossini would perhapsnever have been so fully developed, had not the skill and flexibility ofvoice possessed by the singer David, for whom he wrote, enabled him toindulge it to the uttermost. The characters thus imparted to the musicof the day are necessarily perishable and evanescent, to be againsuperseded by later artists, whose excellences or peculiarities willagain lead to like results. Thus change succeeds change; the judgment ofthe public is led by the composer and the performer, who, mutuallydeferring to each other, often mould at will the taste of theircountrymen. We, of course, speak only of those whose talent, science, and ability, have constituted them the masters of their art. 

In England we have but few of those giants; they appear among us onlyat long intervals; for which reason, perhaps, musical taste hasundergone fewer mutations in England than in most other countries. Handel has now reigned supreme among us for near a century, and his basssongs still influence the style of this branch of our native music. Though bass singing has advanced elsewhere, it has stood comparativelystill with us; the same rude intervals, the same ponderous passages, through which the voice moves heavily, as if a mountain heaved, arestill retained in the few bass songs of our school; in fact, withoutthem, many think a bass song cannot exist. This mannerism received ablow from Weber, whom, as in the case of Handel, we have grown toconsider national property. His early death, however, prevented hisacquiring that permanent influence on the musical mind, which he mighthave acquired had he lived, and continued to be successful. 

From the glance we have taken of the rate at which poetry, literature, and the fine arts, respectively advance as civilization holds her onwardcourse; from the wide diffusion and cultivation of musical taste andmusical science, ere barbarism and ignorance resumed their sway overmankind; we cannot entertain a doubt that, ultimately, we also as apeople may emulate the glory other nations have acquired in each ofthose pursuits. We are, perhaps, less excitable and less easily movedthan they; but the English character contains within it the elements ofgreatness in every thing to which its energies are directed. Circumstances may erelong rouse long-dormant tastes. Riches bring withthem new wants, they create new passions, new desires. Much wealth wasamassed by the preceding generation; their sons, now affluent andeducated, already form a vast addition to that class which we havedesignated as the peculiar patron of the arts, and which, as commercialprosperity continues to advance, will, in each succeeding generation, receive another incalculable accession to its numbers. 

The philosophical observer may even now discover the evidences of thesenew wants of increasing opulence; and should providence, in its mercy, deign still to bless the world with peace, the Augustan age of Englandmay be nearer than we think. However, it is most certain that this age, as yet, has not arrived. An accurate knowledge of our defects willsoonest lead to their cure. By a searching, rigorous, and impartialself-examination can these deficiencies only become known. It may benecessary to apply the cautery; but the hand that wounds would alsoheal; and if, in the course of the preceding observations, or in anysubsequent remarks, as we enquire into the present state of musicaltaste and science in England, we may be deemed severe, let it be bornein mind, that ours is a "tender fierceness, " and that self-knowledge, the first grand step to all improvement, is alone our object andour aim.