SKETCHES

By Benjamin Disraeli

THE CARRIER PIGEON

CHAPTER I. 

 _Charolois and Branchimont_

ALTHOUGH the deepest shades of twilight had descended upon the broadbosom of the valley, and the river might almost be recognised onlyby its rushing sound, the walls and battlements of the castle ofCharolois, situate on one of the loftiest heights, still blazed in thereflected radiance of the setting sun, and cast, as it were, a glance oftriumph at the opposing castle of Branchimont, that rose on the westernside of the valley, with its lofty turrets and its massy keep black andsharply defined against the resplendent heaven. 

Deadly was the hereditary feud between the powerful lords of these highplaces--the Counts of Charolois and the Barons of Branchimont, but thehostility which had been maintained for ages never perhaps raged withmore virulence than at this moment; since the only male heir of thehouse of Charolois had been slain in a tournament by the late Baron ofBranchimont, and the distracted father had avenged his irreparable lossin the life-blood of the involuntary murderer of his son. 

Yet the pilgrim, who at this serene hour might rest upon his staffand gaze on the surrounding scene, would hardly deem that the darkestpassions of our nature had selected this fair and silent spot for thetheatre of their havoc. 

The sun set; the evening star, quivering and bright, rose over the darktowers of Branchimont; from the opposite bank a musical bell summonedthe devout vassals of Charolois to a beautiful shrine, wherein wasdeposited the heart of their late young lord, and which his father hadraised on a small and richly wooded promontory, distant about a milefrom his stern hold. 

At the first chime on this lovely eve came forth a lovelier maiden fromthe postern of Charolois--the Lady Imogene, the only remaining child ofthe bereaved count, attended by her page, bearing her book of prayers. She took her way along the undulating heights until she reachedthe sanctuary. The altar was illumined; several groups were alreadykneeling, --faces of fidelity well known to their adored lady; but as sheentered, a palmer, with his broad hat drawn over his face, and closelymuffled up in his cloak, dipped his hand at the same time with hers inthe fount of holy water placed at the entrance of of the shrine, andpressed the beautiful fingers of the Lady Imogene. A blush, unperceivedby the kneeling votaries, rose to her cheek; but apparently such was herself-control, or such her deep respect for the hallowed spot, that sheexhibited no other symptom of emotion, and, walking to the high altar, was soon buried in her devotions. 

The mass was celebrated--the vassals rose and retired. According to hercustom, the Lady Imogene yet remained, and knelt before the tomb of herbrother. A low whisper, occasionally sounding, -assured her that someonewas at the confessional; and soon the palmer, who was now shrived, kneltat her side. 'Lothair!' muttered the lady, apparently at her prayers, 'beloved Lothair, thou art too bold!'

'Oh, Imogene! for thee what would I not venture?' was the hushed reply. 

'For the sake of all our hopes, wild though they be, I counsel caution. '

'Fear naught. The priest, flattered by my confession, is fairly duped. Let me employ this golden moment to urge what I have before entreated. Your father, Imogene, can never be appeased. Fly, then, my beloved! oh, fly!'

'Oh, my Lothair! it never can be. Alas! whither can we fly?'

'Sweet love! I pray thee listen:--to Italy. At the court of mycousin, the Duke of Milan, we shall be safe and happy. What care Ifor Branchimont, and all its fortunes? And for that, my vassals areno traitors. If ever the bright hour arrive when we may return in joy, trust me, sweet love, my flag will still wave on my father's walls. '

'Oh, Lothair! why did we meet? Why, meeting, did we not hate each otherlike our fated race? My heart is distracted. Can this misery be love?Yet I adore thee------'

'Lady!' said the page, advancing, 'the priest approaches. '

The Lady Imogene rose, and crossed herself before the altar. 

'To-morrow, at this hour, ' whispered Lothair. 

The Lady Imogene nodded assent, and, leaning on her page, quitted theshrine. 

CHAPTER II. 

 _A Pert Page_

'DEAREST Lady, ' said the young page, as they returned to the castle, 'my heart misgives me. As we quitted the shrine, I observed Rufus, thehuntsman, slink into the adjoining wood. ' 'Hah! he is my father's mostdevoted instrument: nor is there any bidding which he would hesitate toexecute--a most ruthless knave!'

'And can see like a cat in the dark, too, ' observed young Theodore. 

'I never loved that man, even in my cradle, ' said the Lady Imogene;'though he can fawn, too. Did he indeed avoid us?'

'Indeed I thought so, madam. '

'Ah! my Theodore, we have no friend but you, and you are but a littlepage. '

'I would I were a stout knight, lady, and I would fight for you. '

'I warrant you, ' said Imogene; 'you have a bold heart, little Theodore, and a kind one. O holy Virgin. I pray thee guard in all perils mybright-eyed Lothair!'

'Lord Branchimont is the finest knight I ever set eyes upon, ' saidTheodore. 'I would I were his squire. '

'Thou shalt be his squire, too, little Theodore, if all goes well. '

'Oh! glorious day, when I shall wear a sword instead of a scarf! Shall Iindeed be his squire, lady sweet?'

'Indeed I think thou wilt make a very proper squire. '

'I would I were a knight like Lord Branchimont; as tall as a lance, andas strong as a lion; and such a fine beard too!'

'It is indeed a beard, Theodore, ' said the Lady Imogene. 'When wilt thouhave one like it?'

'Another summer, perchance, ' said Theodore, passing his small palmmusingly over his smooth chin. 

'Another summer!' said the Lady Imogene, laughing; 'why, I may as soonhope to have a beard myself. '

'I hope you will have Lord Branchimont's, ' said the page. 

'Amen!' responded the lady. 

CHAPTER III. 

 _Love's Messenger_

THE apprehensions of the little Theodore proved to be too well founded. On the morning after the meeting of Lady Imogene with Lord Branchimontat the shrine of Charolois, she was summoned to the presence of herfather, and, after having been loaded with every species of reproach andinvective for her clandestine meeting with their hereditary foe, she wasconfined to a chamber in one of the loftiest towers of the castle, whichshe was never permitted to quit, except to walk in a long gloomy gallerywith an old female servant remarkable for the acerbity of her mind andmanners. Her page escaped punishment by flight; and her only resourceand amusement was her mandolin. 

The tower in which the Lady Imogene was imprisoned sprang out of a steepso precipitous that the position was considered impregnable. She wastherefore permitted to open her lattice, which was not even barred. Thelandscape before her, which was picturesque and richly wooded, consistedof the en-closed chase of Charolois; but her jailers had taken due carethat her chamber should not command a view of the castle of Branchimont. The valley and all its moving life were indeed entirely shut out fromher. Often the day vanished without a human being appearing in sight. Very unhappy was the Lady Imo-gene, gazing on the silent woods, orpouring forth her passion over her lonely lute. 

A miserable week had nearly elapsed. It was noon; the Lady Imogene wasseated alone in her chamber, leaning her head upon her hand in thought, and dreaming of her Lothair, when a fluttering noise suddenly rousedher, and, looking up, she beheld, to her astonishment, perched on thehigh back of a chair, a beautiful bird-a pigeon whiter than snow, withan azure beak, and eyes blazing with a thousand shifting tints. Notalarmed was the beautiful bird when the Lady Imogene gently approachedit; but it looked up to her with eyes of intelligent tenderness, andflapped with some earnestness its pure and sparkling plume. The LadyImogene smiled with marvelling pleasure, for the first time since hercaptivity; and putting forth her hand, which was even whiter thanthe wing, she patted the bright neck of the glad stranger, and gentlystroked its soft plumage. 

'Heaven hath sent me a friend, ' exclaimed the beautiful Imogene; 'Ah!what--what is this?'

'Didst thou call, Lady Imogene?' inquired the harsh voice of acidMartha, whom the exclamation of her mistress had summoned to the door. 

'Nothing--nothing--I want nothing, ' quickly answered Imogene, as sheseized the bird with her hand, and, pressing it to her bosom, answeredMartha over her shoulder. 'Did she see thee, my treasure?' continued theagitated Imogene, 'Oh! did she see thee, my joy? Methinks we werenot discovered. ' So saying, and tripping along on the lightest stepimaginable, the captive secured the door; then bringing forth the birdfrom its sweet shelter, she produced a letter, which she had suddenlydetected to be fastened under its left wing, and which she hadperceived, in an instant, to be written by Lord Branchimont. 

Her sight was dizzy, her cheek pale, her breath seemed to have desertedher. She looked up to heaven, she looked down upon the letter, and thenshe covered it with a thousand kisses; then, making a vigorous effort tocollect herself, she read its strange and sweet contents:--

_'Lothair to Imogene_. 

'Soul of my existence! Mignon, in whom you may place implicit trust, haspromised me to bear you this sign of my love. Oh, I love you, Imogene! Ilove you more even than this bird can the beautiful sky! Kiss the dovea thousand times, that I may steal the kisses again from his neck, andcatch, even at this distance, your fragrant breath. My beloved, I amplanning your freedom and our happiness. Each day Mignon shall come totell you how we speed; each day shall he bring back some testimony ofyour fidelity to your own

Lothair. '

It was read--it was read with gushing and fast-flowing tears--tears ofwild joy. A thousand times, ay, a thousand times, Imogene embraced thefaithful Mignon; nor could she indeed have ever again parted with him, had she not remembered that all this time her Lothair was anxiouslyawaiting the return of his messenger. So she tore a leaf from hertablets and inscribed her devotion; then, fastening it with care underthe wing, she bore Mignon to the window, and, bestowing upon him a lastembrace, permitted him to extend his beautiful wings and launch into theair. 

Bright in the sun glanced the white bird as it darted into the deep-bluesky. Imogene watched it until the sparkling form changed into a duskyshade, and the dusky shade vanished into the blending distance. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 _A Cruel Dart_

IT WAS now a principal object with the fair captive of Charolois, thather unsympathising attendant should enter her chamber as little aspossible, and only at seasons when there was no chance of a visitfrom Mignon. Faithful was the beautiful bird in these daily visits ofconsolation; and by his assistance, the correspondence with Lothairrespecting her escape was actively maintained. A thousand plans wereformed by the sanguine lovers-a thousand plans were canvassed, and thendecided to be impracticable. One day, Martha was to be bribed; another, young Theodore was to re-enter the castle disguised as a girl, andbecome, by some contrivance, her attendant; but reflection ever provedthat these were as wild as lovers' plans are wont to be; and anotherweek stole away without anything being settled. Yet this second week wasnot so desolate as the first. On the contrary, it was full of excitinghope; and each day to hear that Lothair still adored her, and each dayto be enabled to breathe back to him her own adoration, solaced thehours of her captivity. But Fate, that will often frown upon thefortunes of true love, decided that this sweet source of consolationshould flow on no longer. Rufus, the huntsman, who was ever prowlingabout, and who at all times had a terribly quick eye for a bird, one dayobserved the carrier-pigeon sallying forth from the window of the tower. His practised sense instantly assured him that the bird was trained, andhe resolved to watch its course. 

'Hah, hah!' said Rufus, the huntsman, 'is Branchimont thy dovecot?Methinks, my little rover, thou bearest news I long to read. '

Another and another day passed, and again and again Rufus observed thevisits of Mignon; so, taking his cross-bow one fair morning, ere the dewhad left the flowers, he wandered forth in the direction of Branchimont. True to his mission, Mignon soon appears, skimming along the sky. Beautiful, beautiful bird! Fond, faithful messenger of love! Who candoubt that thou well comprehendest the kindly purpose of thy consolingvisits! Thou bringest joy to the unhappy, and hope to the despairing!She shall kiss thee, bright Mignon! Yes! an embrace from lips sweeterthan the scented dawn in which thou revelest, shall repay thee for allthy fidelity! And already the Lady Imogene is at her post, gazing uponthe unclouded sky, and straining her beautiful eyes, as it were, toanticipate the slight and gladsome form, whose first presence ever makesher heart tremble with a host of wild and conflicting emotions. 

Ah! through the air an arrow from a bow that never erred--an arrowswifter than thy swiftest flight, Mignon, whizzes with fell intent. Thesnake that darts upon its unconscious prey less fleet and fatal!

It touches thy form--it transfixes thy beautiful breast! Was there nogood spirit, then, to save thee, thou hope of the hopeless? Alas, alas! the blood gushes from thy breast, and from thine azure beak! Thytranscendent eye grows dim--all is over! The carrier-pigeon falls to theearth!

CHAPTER V. 

 _Another Message_

A DAY without hearing from Lothair was madness; and, indeed, when hourafter heavy hour rolled away without the appearance of Mignon, andthe Lady Imogene found herself gazing upon the vanishing twilight, she became nearly frantic with disappointment and terror. While lightremained, an indefinite hope maintained her; but when it was indeednight, and nothing but the outline of the surrounding hills wasperceptible, she could no longer restrain herself; and, bursting intohysteric tears, she threw herself upon the floor of her chamber. Werethey discovered? Had Lothair forgotten her? Wearied with fruitlessefforts, had he left her to her miserable, her solitary fate? There wasa slight sound--something seemed to have dropped. She looked up. At herside she beheld a letter, which, wrapped round a stone, had been thrownin at the window. She started up in an ecstasy of joy. She cursedherself for doubting for an instant the fidelity of her lover! She toreopen the letter; but so great was her emotion that some minutes elapsedbefore she could decipher its contents. At length she learned that, on the ensuing eve, Lothair and Theodore, disguised as huntsmen ofCharolois, would contrive to meet in safety beneath her window, and forthe rest she must dare to descend. It was a bold, a very perilous plan. It was the project of desperation. But there are moments in life whendesperation becomes success. Nor was the spirit of the Lady Imogene onethat would easily quail. Hers was a true woman's heart; and she couldventure everything for love. She examined the steep; she cast a rapidglance at the means of making the descent: her shawls, her clothes, thehangings of her bed--here were resources--here was hope!

Full of these thoughts, some time elapsed before she was struck at theunusual mode in which the communication reached her. Where was Mignon?But the handwriting was the handwriting of Lothair. That she could notmistake. She might, however, have observed that the characters werefaint--that the paper had the appearance of being stained or washed;but this she did not observe. She was sanguine--she was confident in thewisdom of Lothair. She knelt before an image of the Virgin, and pouredforth her supplications for the success of their enterprise. And then, exhausted by all the agitation of the day, the Lady Imogene sunk into adeep repose. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 _Flight and Discovery_

MORN came at length, but brought no Mignon. 'He has his reasons, 'answered the Lady Imogene: 'Lothair is never wrong. And soon, rightsoon, I hope, we shall need no messenger. ' Oh, what a long, long day wasthis, the last of her captivity! Will the night never come--that nightshe had once so much dreaded? Sun, wilt thou never set? There is nolonger gladness in thy beams. The shadows, indeed, grow longer, and yetthine orb is as high in heaven as if it were an everlasting noon!The unceasing cry of the birds, once so consoling, now only made herrestless. She listened, and she listened, until at length the rosysky called forth their last thrilling chant, and the star of eveningsummoned them to roost. 

It was twilight: pacing her chamber, and praying to the Virgin, thehours at length stole away. The chimes of the sanctuary told her thatit wanted but a quarter of an hour to midnight. Already she had formeda rope of shawls: now she fastened it to the-lattice with all her force. The bell struck twelve, and the Lady Imogene delivered herself to herfate. Slowly and fearfully she descended, long suspended in the air, until her feet at length touched a ledge of rock. Cautiously feeling herfooting, she now rested, and looked around her. She had descended abouttwenty feet. The moon shone bright on the rest of the descent, which wasmore rugged. It seemed not impracticable--she clambered down. 

'Hist! hist!' said a familiar voice, 'all is right, lady--but why didyou not answer us?'

'Ah! Theodore, where is my Lothair?'

'Lord Branchimont is shaded by the trees--give me thy hand, sweet lady. Courage! all is right; but indeed you should have answered us. '

Imogene de Charolois is in the arms of Lothair de Branchimont. 

'We have no time for embraces, ' said Theodore; 'the horses are ready. The Virgin be praised, all is right. I would not go through such aneight-and-forty hours again to be dubbed a knight on the spot. Have youMignon?'

'Mignon, indeed! he has not visited me these two days. '

'But my letter, ' said Lothair-'you received it?'

'It was thrown in at my window, ' said the Lady Imogene. 

'My heart misgives me, ' said little Theodore. 'Away! there is no timeto lose. Hist! I hear footsteps. This way, dear friends. Hist! a shout!Fly! fly! Lord Branchimont, we are betrayed!'

And indeed from all quarters simultaneous sounds now rose, and torchesseemed suddenly to wave in all quarters. Imogene clung to the neck ofLothair. 

'We will die together!' she exclaimed, as she hid her face in hisbreast. 

Lord Branchimont placed himself against a tree, and drew his mightysword. 

'Seize him!' shouted a voice, instantly recognised by Imogene; 'seizethe robber!' shouted her father. 

'At your peril!' answered Lothair to his surrounding foes. 

They stood at bay--an awful group! The father and his murdering minions, alike fearful of encountering Branchimont and slaying their chieftain'sdaughter; the red and streaming torches blending with the silvermoonlight that fell full upon the fixed countenance of their entrappedvictim and the distracted form of his devoted mistress. 

There was a dead, still pause. It was broken by the denouncing tone ofthe father, 'Cowards! do you fear a single arm? Strike him dead! sparenot the traitress!'

But still the vassals would not move; deep as was their feudal devotion, they loved the Lady Imogene, and dared to disobey. 

'Let me, then, teach you your duty!' exclaimed the exasperated father. He advanced, but a wild shriek arrested his extended sword; and as thusthey stood, all alike prepared for combat, yet all motionless, an arrowglanced over the shoulder of the Count and pierced Lord Branchimont tothe heart. His sword fell from his grasp, and he died without a groan. 

Yes! the same bow that had for ever arrested the airy course of Mignon, had now, as fatally and as suddenly, terminated the career of the masterof the carrier-pigeon. Vile Rufus, the huntsman, the murderous aim wasthine!

CHAPTER VII. 

 _The Dove Returns to Imogene_

THE bell of the shrine of Charolois is again sounding; but how differentits tone from the musical and inspiring chime that summoned the wearyvassals to their grateful vespers! The bell of the shrine of Charoloisis again sounding. Alas! it tolls a gloomy knell. Oh! valley of sweetwaters, still are thy skies as pure as when she wandered by thy banksand mused over her beloved! Still sets thy glowing sun; and quiveringand bright, like the ascending soul of a hero, still Hesperus rises fromthy dying glory! But she, the maiden fairer than the fairest eve--nomore shall her light step trip among the fragrance of its flowers; nomore shall her lighter voice emulate the music of thy melodious birds. Oh, yes! she is dead--the beautiful Imogene is dead! Three days ofmisery heralded her decease. But comfort is there in all things; forthe good priest who had often administered consolation to his unhappymistress over her brother's tomb, and who knelt by the side of her dyingcouch, assured many a sorrowful vassal, and many a sympathising pilgrimwho loved to listen to the mournful tale, that her death was indeed abeatitude; for he did not doubt, from the distracted expressions thatoccasionally caught his ear, that the Holy Spirit, in that material formhe most loves to honour, to wit, the semblance of a pure white dove, often solaced by his presence the last hours of Imogene de Charolois!

THE CONSUL'S DAUGHTER

CHAPTER I. 

 _Henrietta_

AT ONE of the most beautiful ports in the Mediterranean Major Ponsonbyheld the office of British Consul. The Parliamentary interest of thenoble family with which he was connected had obtained for him thisoffice, after serving his country, with no slight distinction, duringthe glorious war of the Peninsula. Major Ponsonby was a widower, and hisfamily consisted of an only daughter, Henrietta, who was a child ofvery tender years when he first obtained his appointment, but who hadcompleted her eighteenth year at the period, memorable in her life, which these pages attempt to commemorate. A girl of singular beautywas Henrietta Ponsonby, but not remarkable merely for her beauty. Herfather, a very accomplished gentleman, had himself superintended hereducation with equal care and interest. In their beautiful solitude, for they enjoyed the advantage of very little society save that ofthose passing travellers who occasionally claimed his protection andhospitality, the chief, and certainly the most engaging pursuit of MajorPonsonby, had been to assist the development of the lively talents ofhis daughter, and to watch with delight, not unattended with anxiety, the formation of her ardent and imaginative character: he had himselfimparted to her a skilful practice in those fine arts in which hehimself excelled, and a knowledge of those exquisite languages whichhe himself not only spoke with facility, but with whose rich andinteresting literature he was intimately acquainted. He was careful, also, that, although almost an alien from her native country, she shouldnot be ignorant of the progress of its mind; and no inconsiderableportion of his income had of late years been expended in importing fromEngland the productions of those eminent writers of which we are justlyas proud as of the heroes under whose flag he had himself conquered inPortugal and Spain. 

The progress of the daughter amply repaid the father for his care, andrewarded him for his solicitude: from the fond child of his affectionsshe had become the cherished companion of his society: her lively fancyand agreeable conversation prevented solitude from degenerating intoloneliness: she diffused over their happy home that indefinable charm, that spell of unceasing, yet soothing excitement, with which theconstant presence of an amiable, a lovely and accomplished womancan alone imbue existence; without which life, indeed, under anycircumstances, is very dreary; and with which life, indeed, under anycircumstances, is never desperate. 

There were moments, perhaps, when Major Ponsonby, who was not altogetherinexperienced in the great world, might sigh, that one so eminentlyqualified as his daughter to shine even amid its splendour, should bedestined to a career so obscure as that which necessarily attendedthe daughter of a Consul in a distant country. It sometimes cost thefather's heart a pang that his fair and fragrant flower should blushunseen, and waste its perfume even in their lovely wilderness; and then, with all a father's pride, and under all the influence of that worldlyambition from which men are never free, he would form plans by which shemight visit, and visit with advantage, her native country. All the noblecousins were thought over, under whose distinguished patronage she mightenter that great and distant world she was so capable of adorning; andmore than once he had endeavoured to intimate to Henrietta that it mightbe better for them both that they should for a season part: but theConsul's daughter shrunk from these whispers as some beautiful tree fromthe murmurs of a rising storm. She could not conceive existence withouther father--the father under whose breath and sight she had ever livedand flourished--the father to whom she was indebted, not only forexistence, but all the attributes that made life so pleasant; her sire, her tutor, her constant company, her dear, dear friend. To part fromhim, even though but for a season, and to gain splendour, appeared toher pure, yet lively imagination, the most fatal of fortunes; a terribledestiny--an awful dispensation. They had never parted, scarcely for anhour; once, indeed, he had been absent for three days; he had sailedwith the fleet on public business to a neighbouring port; he hadbeen obliged to leave his daughter, and the daughter remembered thoseterrible three days like a frightful dream, the recollection of whichmade her shudder. 

Major Ponsonby had inherited no patrimony--he possessed only the smallincome derived from his office, and a slender pension, which rewardedmany wounds; but, in the pleasant place in which their lot was cast, these moderate means obtained for them not merely the necessaries, butall the luxuries of life. They inhabited in the town a palace worthyof the high, though extinct nobility, whose portraits and statueslined their lofty saloons, and filled their long corridors and gracefulgalleries; and about three miles from the town, on a gentle ascentfacing the ocean, and embowered in groves of orange and olive trees, thefanciful garden enclosed in a thick wall of Indian fig and bloomingaloes, was a most delicate casino, rented at a rate for which a garretmay not be hired in England; but, indeed, a paradise. Of this pavilionMiss Ponsonby was the mistress; and here she lived amid fruit andflowers, surrounded by her birds: and here she might be often seen atsunset glancing amid its beauties, with an eye as brilliant, and a stepas airy, as the bright gazelle that ever glided or bounded at her side. 

CHAPTER II. 

 _A Fair Presentment_

ONE summer day, when everybody was asleep in the little sultry citywhere Major Ponsonby, even in his siesta, watched over the interestsof British commerce--for it was a city, and was blessed with the holypresence of a bishop--a young Englishman disembarked from an imperialmerchant brig just arrived from Otranto, and, according to custom, tookhis way to the Consul's house. He was a man of an age apparently vergingtowards thirty; and, although the native porter, who bore his luggageand directed his path, proved that, as he was accompanied not even bya single servant, he did not share the general reputation of hiscountrymen for wealth, his appearance to those practised in societywas not undistinguished. Tall, slender, and calm, his air, thoughunaffected, was that of a man not deficient in self-confidence; andwhether it were the art of his tailor, or the result of his own goodframe, his garb, although remarkably plain, had that indefinable stylewhich we associate with the costume of a man of some mark and breeding. 

On arriving at the Consul's house, he was ushered through a large, dark, cool hall, at the end of which was a magnificent staircase leading tothe suite of saloons, into a small apartment on the ground floor fittedup in the English style, which, although it offered the appearance ofthe library of an English gentleman, was, in fact, the consular office. Dwarf bookcases encircled the room, occasionally crowned by a marblebust, or bronze group. The ample table was covered with papers, and avacant easy-chair was evidently the consular throne. A portrait of hisBritannic majesty figured on the walls of one part of the chamber; andover the mantel was another portrait, which immediately engaged theattention of the traveller, and, indeed, monopolised his observation. Hehad a very ample opportunity of studying it, for nearly a quarter of anhour elapsed before he was disturbed. It was the full-length portrait ofa young lady. She stood on a terrace in a garden, and by her side was agazelle. Her form was of wonderful symmetry; but although her dress wasnot English, the expression of her countenance reminded the traveller ofthe beauties of his native land. The dazzling complexion, the large deepblue eye, the high white forehead, the clustering brown hair, were allnorthern, but northern of the highest order. She held in her small handa branch of orange-blossom-the hand was fairer than the flower. 

'Signor Ferrers, I believe, ' said a shrill voice. The traveller started, and turned round. Before him stood a little, parched-up, grinning, bowing Italian, holding in his hand the card that the traveller had sentup to the Consul. 

'My name is Ferrers, ' replied the traveller, slightly bowing, andspeaking in a low, sweet tone. 

'Signor Ponsonby is at the casino, ' said the Italian: 'I have the honourto be the chancellor of the British Consulate. '

It is singular that a mercantile agent should be styled a Consul, andhis chief clerk a chancellor. 

'I have the honour to be the chancellor of the British Consulate, ' saidthe Italian; 'and I will take the earliest opportunity of informing theConsul of your arrival. From Otranto, I believe? All well, I hope, atOtranto?'

'I hope so too, ' replied the traveller; 'and so I believe. '

'You will be pleased to leave your passport, sir, with me--the Consulwill be most happy to see you at the casino: about sunset he will bevery happy to see you at the casino. I am sorry that I detained you fora moment, but I was at my siesta. I will take the earliest opportunityof informing the Consul of your arrival; but at present all the consularmessengers are taking their siesta; the moment one is awake I shall sendhim to the casino. May I take the liberty of inquiring whether you haveany letters for the Consul?'

'None, ' replied the traveller. 

The chancellor shrugged his shoulders a little, as if he regrettedhe had been roused from his siesta for a traveller who had not even aletter of introduction, and then turned on his heel to depart. 

The traveller took up his hat, hesitated a moment, and then said, 'Pray, may I inquire of whom this is a portrait?'

'Certainly, ' replied the chancellor; ''tis the Signora Ponsonby. '

CHAPTER III. 

 _The Mysterious Stranger_

IT WAS even upon as ignoble an animal as a Barbary ass, goaded by adusky little islander almost in a state of nudity, that, an hour beforesunset on the day of his arrival, the English traveller approached thecasino of the Consul's daughter, for there a note from Major Ponsonbyhad invited him to repair, to be introduced to his daughter, and totaste his oranges. The servant who received him led Mr. Ferrers to avery fine plane-tree, under whose spreading branches was arranged abanquet of fruit and flowers, coffee in cups of oriental filigree, andwines of the Levant, cooled in snow. The worthy Consul was smoking hischibouque, and his daughter, as she rose to greet their guest, let herguitar fall upon the turf. The original of the portrait proved that thepainter had no need to flatter; and the dignified, yet cordial manner, the radiant smile, and the sweet and thrilling voice with which shewelcomed her countryman would have completed the spell, had, indeed, thewanderer been one prepared, or capable of being enchanted. As it was, Mr. Ferrers, while he returned his welcome, with becoming complaisance, exhibited the breeding of a man accustomed to sights of strangenessand of beauty; and, while he expressed his sense of the courtesy of hiscompanions, admired their garden, and extolled the loveliness of theprospect, he did not depart for a moment from that subdued, and evensedate manner, which indicates, the individual whom the world has littleleft to astonish, and less to enrapture, although, perhaps, much toplease. Yet he was fluent in conversation, sensible and polished, andvery agreeable. It appeared that he had travelled much, though he wasfar from boasting of his exploits. He had been long absent from England, had visited Egypt and Arabia, and had sojourned at Damascus. While herefused the pipe, he proved, by his observations on its use, that he waslearned in its practice; and he declined his host's offer of a file ofEnglish journals, as he was not interested in their contents. His hostwas too polished to originate any inquiry which might throw light uponthe connections or quality of his guest, and his guest imitated hisexample. Nothing could be more perfectly well-bred than his wholedemeanour--he listened to the major with deference, and he never paidMiss Ponsonby a single compliment: he never even asked her to sing;but the fond father did not omit this attention. Henrietta, in the mostunaffected manner, complied with his request, because, as she was in thehabit of singing every evening to her father, she saw no reason why heshould, on this occasion, be deprived of an amusement to which he wasaccustomed. As the welcome sea-breeze rose and stirred the flowers andbranches, her voice blended with its fresh and fragrant breath. It wasa beautiful voice; and the wild and plaintive air in which she indulged, indigenous to their isle, harmonised alike with the picturesque sceneand the serene hour. Mr. Ferrers listened with attention, and thankedher for her courtesy. Before they withdrew to the casino he evenrequested the favour of her repeating the gratification, but in so quieta manner that most young ladies would have neglected to comply with awish expressed with so little fervour. 

The principal chamber of the casino was adorned with drawings by theConsul's daughter: they depicted the surrounding scenery, and wereexecuted by the hand of a master. Mr. Ferrers examined them withinterest--his observations proved his knowledge, and made them more thansuspect his skill. He admitted that he had some slight practice in thefine arts, and offered to lend his portfolio to Miss Ponsonby, if shethought it would amuse her. Upon the subject of scenery he spoke withmore animation than on any other topic: his conversation, indeed, teemedwith the observations of a fine eye and cultivated taste. 

At length he departed, leaving behind him a very favourable impression. Henrietta and her father agreed that he was a most gentlemanlikepersonage-that he was very clever and very agreeable; and they were gladto know him. The major detailed all the families and all the persons ofthe name of Ferrers Of whom he had ever heard, and with whom he had beenacquainted; and, before he slept, wondered, for the fiftieth time, whatFerrers he was. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 _Mr. Ferrers Dines with the Consul_

THE next morning, Mr. Ferrers sent his portfolio to Miss Ponsonby, to the Consuls house, in the city; and her father called upon himimmediately afterwards, to return his original visit, and to request himto dine with them. Mr. Ferrers declined the invitation; but begged to bepermitted to pay his respects again at the casino, in the evening. Themajor, under the circumstances, ventured to press his new acquaintanceto comply with their desire; but Mr. Ferrers became immediately veryreserved, and the Consul desisted. 

Towards sunset, however, mounted on his Barbary ass, Mr. Ferrers againappeared at the gate of the casino, as mild and agreeable as before. They drank their coffee and ate their fruit, chatted and sang, andagain repaired to the pavilion. Here they examined the contents of theportfolio:--they were very rich, for it contained drawings of allkinds, and almost of every celebrated place in the vicinity of theMediterranean shores; Saracenic palaces, Egyptian temples, mosques ofDamascus, and fountains of Stamboul. Here was a Bedouin encampment, shaded by a grove of palms; and there a Spanish Señorita, shrouded inher mantilla, glided along the Alameda. There was one circumstance, however, about these drawings, which struck Miss Ponsonby as at leastremarkable. It was obvious that some pencil-mark in the corner of eachdrawing, in all probability containing the name and initials of theartist, had been carefully obliterated. 

Among the drawings were several sketches of a yacht, which Mr. Ferrerspassed over quickly, and without notice. The Consul, however, who was anhonorary member of the yacht club, and interested in every vessel of thesquadron that visited the Mediterranean, very naturally inquired of Mr. Ferrers, to whom the schooner in question belonged. Mr. Ferrers seemedrather confused; but at length he said: 'Oh, they are stupid things: Idid not know they were here. The yacht is a yacht of a friend of mine, who was at Cadiz. '

'Oh, I see the name, ' said the major; '"_The Kraken_. " Why, that is LordBohun's yacht!'

'The same, ' said Mr. Ferrers, but perfectly composed. 

'Ah! do you know Lord Bohun?' said Miss Ponsonby. 'We have oftenexpected him here. I wonder he has never paid us a visit, papa. They sayhe is the most eccentric person in the world. Is he so?'

'I never heard much in his favour, ' said Mr. Ferrers. 'I believe he hasmade himself a great fool, as most young nobles do. '

'Well, I have heard very extraordinary things of him, ' said the Consul. 'He is a great traveller, at all events, which I think a circumstance inevery man's favour. '

'And then he has been a guerilla chieftain, ' said Miss Ponsonby; 'and aBedouin robber, and--I hardly know what else; but Colonel Garth, who washere last summer, told us the most miraculous tales of his lordship. '

'Affectations!' said Mr. Ferrers, with a sneer. 'Bohun, however, hassome excuses for his folly: for he was an orphan, I believe, in hiscradle. '

'Is he clever?' inquired Miss Ponsonby. 

'Colonel Garth is a much better judge than I am, ' replied Mr. Ferrers. 'I confess I have no taste for guerilla chieftains, or Bedouin robbers. I am not at all romantic. '

And here he attracted her attention to what he called an attempt at abull-fight; the conversation dropped, and Lord Bohun was forgotten. 

A fortnight passed away, and Mr. Ferrers was still a visitant of ourMediterranean isle. His intimacy with the Consul and his daughterremained on the same footing. Every evening he paid them a visit; andevery evening, when he had retired, the major and his daughter agreedthat he was a most agreeable person, though rather odd; the worthyConsul always adding his regret that he would not dine with him, and hiswonder as to what Ferrers he was. 

Now, it so happened that it was a royal birthday; and the bishop, andseveral of the leading persons of the town, had agreed to partake ofthe hospitality of the British Consul. The major was anxious that Mr. Ferrers should meet them. He discussed this important point with hisdaughter. 

'My darling, I don't like to ask him: he really is such a very odd man. The moment you ask him to dinner, he looks as if you had offered him aninsult. Shall we send him a formal invitation? I wonder what Ferrers heis? I should be gratified if he would dine with us. Besides, he wouldsee something of our native society here, which is amusing. What shallwe do?'

'I will ask him, ' replied Miss Ponsonby. 'I don't think he could refuseme. '

'I am sure I could not, ' replied the major, smiling. 

And so Miss Ponsonby seized an opportunity of telling Mr. Ferrers thatshe had a favour to ask him. He was more fortunate than he imagined, washis courteous reply. 

'Then you must dine with papa, to-morrow. '

Mr. Ferrers' brow immediately clouded. 

'Now, do not look so suspicious, ' said Miss Ponsonby. 'Do you think thatours is an Italian banquet? Is there poison in the dish? Or do you liveonly on fruit and flowers?' continued Miss Ponsonby. 'Do you know, ' sheadded, with an arch smile, 'I think you must be a ghoul. '

A sort of smile struggled with a scowl over the haughty countenance ofthe Englishman. 

'You will come!' said Miss Ponsonby, most winningly. 

'I have already trespassed too much upon Major Ponsonby's hospitality, 'muttered Mr. Ferrers; 'I have no claim to it. '

'You are our countryman. '

'Unknown. '

'The common consequence of being a traveller. '

'Yes--but--in short--I--'

'You must come, ' said Miss Ponsonby, with a glance like sunshine. 

'You do with me what you like, ' exclaimed Mr. Ferrers, with animation. 'Beautiful--weather, ' he concluded. 

Mr. Ferrers was therefore their guest; and strange it is to say, thatfrom this day, from some cause, which it is now useless to ascertain, this gentleman became an habitual guest at the Consul's table; acceptinga general invitation without even a frown; and, what is more remarkable, availing himself of it, scarcely with an exception. 

Could it be the Consul's daughter that effected this revolution? Timemay perhaps solve this interesting problem. Certainly, whether it werethat she was seldom seen to more advantage than when presiding oversociety; or whether, elate with her triumph, she was particularlypleasing because she was particularly pleased; certainly HenriettaPonsonby never appeared to greater advantage than she did upon the dayof this memorable festival. Mr. Ferrers, when he quitted the house, sauntered to the mole, and gazed upon the moonlight sea. -A dangeroussymptom. Yet the eye of Mr. Ferrers had before this been fixed in muteabstraction on many a summer wave, when Dian was in her bower; andthis man, cold and inscrutable as he seemed, was learned in woman, andwoman's ways. Shall a Consul's daughter melt a heart that boasted ofbeing callous, and clear a brow that prided itself upon its clouds?

But if the state of Mr. Ferrers' heart were doubtful, I must perforceconfess that, as time drew on, Henrietta Ponsonby, if she had venturedto inquire, could have little hesitated as to the state of her ownfeelings. Her companion, her constant companion, for such Mr. Ferrershad now insensibly become, exercised over her an influence, of the powerof which she was unconscious, --only because it was unceasing. Had fora moment the excitement of her novel feelings ceased, she would havediscovered, with wonder, perhaps with some degree of fear, how changedshe had become since the first evening he approached their pleasantcasino. And yet Mr. Ferrers was not her lover. No act, --no word ofgallantry, --no indication of affection, to her inexperienced sense, everescaped him. All that he did was, that he sought her society; but, then, there was no other. The only wonder was, that he should remain amongthem; but, then, he had been everywhere. The vague love of lounging andrepose, which ever and anon falls upon men long accustomed to singularactivity and strange adventure, sufficiently accounted for his conduct. But, whatever might be his motives, certain it is, that the Englishstranger dangerously interested the feelings of the Consul's daughter;and when she thought the time must arrive for his departure, she drovethe recollection from her mind with a swiftness which indicated the pangwhich she experienced by its occurrence. And no marvel either, that theheart of this young and lovely maiden softened at the thought, and inthe presence of her companion: no marvel, and no shame, for naturehad invested the Englishman with soul-subduing qualities. His elegantperson; his tender, yet reserved manners; his experienced, yet ornatemind; the flashes of a brilliant, yet mellowed imagination, which everand anon would break forth in his conversation: perhaps, too, the airof melancholy, and even of mystery, which enveloped him, were all spellspotent in the charm that enchants the heart of woman. And the major, what did he think? The good Consul was puzzled. The confirmed intimacybetween his daughter and his guest alike perplexed and pleased him. Hecertainly never had become acquainted with a man whom he would soonerhave preferred for a son-in-law, if he had only known who he was. Buttwo months, and more than two months, had elapsed, and threw no lightupon this most necessary point of knowledge. The Consul hesitated asto his conduct. His anxiety almost mastered his good breeding. Now hethought of speaking to Mr. Ferrers, and then to his daughter. There wereobjections to each line of conduct, and his confidence in Mr. Ferrerswas very great, although he did not exactly know who he was: he wasdecidedly a gentleman; and there was, throughout his conduct andconversation, a tone of such strict propriety; there was so muchdelicacy, and good feeling, and sound principle, in all he said and did, that the Consul at length resolved, that he had no right to suspect, and no authority to question him. He was just on the point, however, ofconferring with his daughter, when the town was suddenly enlivened, andhis attention suddenly engrossed, by the arrival of two other Englishgentlemen. 

CHAPTER V. 

 _A Tender Avowal_

IT MUST be confessed that Captain Ormsby and Major M'Intyre were twovery different sort of men to Mr. Ferrers. Never were two such gay, noisy, pleasant, commonplace persons. They were '_on leave_' from oneof the Mediterranean garrisons, had scampered through Italy, shotred-legged partridges all along the Barbary coast, and even smoked apipe with the Dey of Algiers. They were intoxicated with all the sightsthey had seen, and all the scrapes they had encountered, which theystyled 'regular adventures': and they insisted upon giving everyone adescription of what everybody had heard or seen. In consequence of theirarrival, Mr. Ferrers discontinued dining with his accustomed host; andresumed his old habit of riding up to the casino, every evening, on hisBarbary ass, to eat oranges and talk to the Consul's daughter. 

'I suppose you know Florence, Mr. Ferrers?' said Major M'Intyre. 

Mr. Ferrers bowed. 

'St. Peter's, of course, you have seen?' said Captain Ormsby. 

'But have you seen it during Holy Week?' said the major. 'That's thething. '

'Ah, I see you have been everywhere, ' said the captain: 'Algiers, ofcourse?'

'I never was at Algiers, ' replied Mr. Ferrers, quite rejoiced at thecircumstance; and he walked away, and played with the gazelle. 

'By Jove, ' said the major, with elevated eyes, 'not been at Algiers!why, Mr. Consul, I thought you said Mr. Ferrers was a very greattraveller indeed; and he has not been at Algiers! I consider Algiersmore worth seeing than any place we ever visited. Don't you, Ormsby?'

The Consul inquired whether he had met any compatriots at that famousplace. The military travellers answered that they had not; but that LordBohun's yacht was there; and they understood his lordship was about toproceed to this island. The conversation for some time then dwelt uponLord Bohun, and his adventures, eccentricities, and wealth. But CaptainOrmsby finally pronounced 'Bohun a devilish good fellow. '

'Do you know Lord Bohun?' inquired Mr. Ferrers. 

'Why, no!' confessed Captain Ormsby: 'but he is a devilish intimatefriend of a devilish intimate friend of mine. '

Mr. Ferrers made a sign to Miss Ponsonby; she rose, and followed himinto the garden. 'I cannot endure the jabber of these men, ' said Mr. Ferrers. 

'They are very good-natured, ' said Miss Ponsonby. 

'It may be so; and I have no right to criticise them. I dare say theythink me very dull. However, it appears you will have Lord Bohun here ina short time, and then I shall be forgotten. '

'That is not a very kind speech. You would not be forgotten, even ifabsent; and you have, I hope, no thought of quitting us. '

'I have remained here too long. Besides, I have no wish to play a secondpart to Lord Bohun. '

'Who thinks of Lord Bohun? and why should you play a second part toanyone? You are a little perverse, Mr. Ferrers. '

'I have been in this island ten weeks, ' said Mr. Ferrers, thoughtfully. 

'When we begin to count time, we are generally weary, ' said MissPonsonby. 

'You are in error. I would willingly compound that the rest of myexistence should be as happy as the last ten weeks. They have beenvery happy, ' said Mr. Ferrers, musingly; 'very happy, indeed. The only_happy_ time I ever knew. They have been so serene, and so sweet. '

'And why not remain, then?' said Miss Ponsonby, in a low voice. 

'There are many reasons, ' said Mr. Ferrers; and he offered his armto Miss Ponsonby, and they walked together, far away from the casino. 'These ten weeks have been so serene, and so sweet, ' he continued, butin a calm voice, 'because you have been my companion. My life hastaken its colour from your character. Now, listen to me, dearest MissPonsonby, and be not alarmed. I love you!'

Her arm trembled in his. 

'Yes, I _love_ you; and, believe me, I use that word with no commonfeeling. It describes the entire devotion of my existence to your life;and my complete sympathy with every attribute of your nature. Calm asmay be my speech, I love you with a burning heart. '

She bowed her head, and covered her face with her right hand. 

'Most beauteous lady, ' continued Mr. Ferrers, 'pardon me if I agitateyou; for my respect is equal to my love. I stand before you a stranger, utterly unknown; and I am so circumstanced that it is not in mypower, even at _this_ moment, to offer any explanation of my equivocalposition. Yet, whatever I may be, I offer my existence, and all itsaccidents, good or bad, in homage to your heart. May I indulge thedelicious hope that, if not now accepted, they are at least consideredwith kindliness and without suspicion?'

'Oh, yes! without _suspicion_, ' murmured Miss Ponsonby--'withoutsuspicion. Nothing, nothing in the world shall ever make me believe thatyou are not so good as you are------gifted. '

'Darling Henrietta!' exclaimed Mr. Ferrers, in a voice of meltingtenderness; and he pressed her to his heart, and sealed his love uponher lips. 'This, this is confidence; this, this is the woman's love Ilong have sighed for. Doubt me not, dearest; never doubt me! Say you aremine; once more pledge yourself to me. I leave our isle this night. Nay, start not, sweet one. 'Tis for our happiness; this night. I shall returnto claim my bride. Now, listen, darling! our engagement, our sweet andsolemn engagement, is secret. You will never hear from me until we meetagain; you may hear _of_ me and not to my advantage. What matter? Youlove me; you cannot doubt me. I leave with you my honour: an honour_never sullied_. Mind that. Oh no, you cannot doubt me!'

'I am yours: I care not what they say: if there be no faith and truth inyou, I will despair of them for ever. '

'Beautiful being! you make me mad with joy. Has fate reserved for me, indeed, this treasure? Am I at length loved, and loved only for myself!'

CHAPTER VI. 

 _The Famous Lord Bohun_

He has gone; Mr. Ferrers has departed. What an event! What a marvellousevent! A revolution has occurred in the life of Henrietta Ponsonby: shewas no longer her own mistress; she was no longer her father's child. She belonged to another; and that other a stranger, an unknown, anddeparted being! How strange! And yet how sweet! This beautiful younglady passed her days in pondering over her singular position. In vainshe attempted to struggle with her destiny. In vain she depictedto herself the error, perhaps the madness, of her conduct. She wasfascinated. She could not reason; she could not communicate to herfather all that had happened. A thousand times her lips moved to revealher secret; a thousand times an irresistible power restrained them. Sheremained silent, moody, and restless: she plucked flowers, and threwthem to the wind: she gazed upon the sea, and watched the birds inabstraction wilder than their wing: and yet she would not doubt herbetrothed. That voice so sweet and solemn, and so sincere, stilllingered in her ear: the gaze of that pure and lofty brow was engravenon her memory: never could she forget those delicate adieus!

This change in his daughter was not unmarked by the Consul, who, aftersome reflection, could not hesitate in considering it as the result ofthe departure of Mr. Ferrers. The thought made him mournful. It painedhis noble nature, that the guest whom he so respected might have trifledwith the affections of the child whom he so loved. He spoke to themaiden; but the maiden said she was happy. And, indeed, her conductgave evidence of restlessness rather than misery; for her heart seemedsometimes exuberantly gay; often did she smile, and ever did she sing. The Consul was conscious there was a mystery he could not fathom. It isbitter for a father at all times to feel that his child is unhappy; butdoubly bitter is the pang when he feels that the cause is secret. 

Three months, three heavy months passed away, and the cloud still restedon this once happy home. Suddenly Lord Bohun arrived, the much talked-ofLord Bohun, in his more talked-of yacht. The bustle which the arrival ofthis celebrated personage occasioned in the consular establishment wasa diversion from the reserve, or the gloom, which had so long prevailedthere. Lord Bohun was a young, agreeable, and somewhat affectedindividual. He had a German chasseur and a Greek page. He was veryluxurious, and rather troublesome; but infinitely amusing, both to theConsul and his daughter. He dined with them every day, and recountedhis extraordinary adventures with considerable self-complacency. In thecourse of the week he scampered over every part of the island; and gavea magnificent entertainment on board the _Kraken_, to the bishop and theprincipal islanders, in honour of the Consul's daughter. Indeed it wassoon very evident that his lordship entertained feelings of no ordinaryadmiration for his hostess. He paid her on all occasions the most markedattention; and the Consul, who did not for a moment believe that theseattentions indicated other than the transient feelings that became alord, and so adventurous a lord, began to fear that his inexperiencedHenrietta might again become the victim of the fugitive admiration of atraveller. 

One evening at the casino, his lordship noticed a drawing of his ownyacht, and started. The Consul explained to him, that the drawing hadbeen copied by his daughter from a sketch by an English traveller, whopreceded him. His name was inquired, and given. 

'Ferrers!' exclaimed his lordship. 'What, has Ferrers been here?'

'You know Mr. Ferrers, then?' inquired Henrietta, with suppressedagitation. 

'Oh yes, I know Ferrers. '

'A most agreeable and gentleman-like man, ' said the Consul, anxious, heknew not why, that the conversation would cease. 

'Oh yes, Ferrers is a very agreeable man. He piques himself on beingagreeable, --Mr. Ferrers. '

'From what I have observed of Mr. Ferrers, ' said Henrietta, in a firm, and rather decided tone, 'I should not have given him credit for anysentiment approaching to _conceit_. '

'He is fortunate in having such a defender, ' said his lordship, bowinggallantly. 

'Our friends are scarcely worth possessing, ' said Miss Ponsonby, 'unlessthey defend us when absent. But I am not aware that Mr. Ferrers needsany defence. '

His lordship turned on his heel, and hummed an opera air. 

'Mr. Ferrers paid us a long visit, ' said the Consul, who was nowdesirous that the conversation should proceed. 

'He had evidently a great inducement, ' said Lord Bohun. 'I wonder heever departed. '

'He is a great favourite in this house, ' said Miss Ponsonby. 

'I perceive it, ' said Lord Bohun. 

'What Ferrers is he?' inquired the Consul. 

'Oh, he has gentle blood in his veins, ' said Lord Bohun. 'I never heardhis breeding impeached. '

'And I should think, nothing else, ' said Miss Ponsonby. 

'Oh, I never heard anything particular against Ferrers, ' said hislordship; 'except that he was a _roué_, and a little mad. That is all. '

'Enough, I should think, ' said Major Ponsonby, with a clouded brow. 

'What a _roué_ may be, I can scarcely be supposed to judge, ' saidHenrietta. 'If, however, it be a man remarkable for the delicacy of histhoughts and conduct, Mr. Ferrers has certainly some claim to the title. As for his madness, he was our constant companion for nearly threemonths: if he be mad, it must be a very _little_ indeed. '

'He was a great favourite of Henrietta, ' said her father, with a forcedsmile. 

'Fortunate man!' said the lord. 'Fortunate Ferrers!'

Lord Bohun stepped into the garden with the Consul: Miss Ponsonby wasleft alone. Firm as had been her previous demeanour, now, that shewas alone, her agitated countenance denoted the tumult of her mind. A_roué!_ Could it be so! Could it be possible! Was she, while she hadpledged the freshness of her virgin mind to this unknown man, was she, after all, only a fresh sacrifice to his insatiable vanity! Ferrers a_roué!_ That lofty-minded man, who spoke so eloquently and so wisely, was he a _roué, _ an eccentric _roué_; one whose unprincipled conductcould only be excused at the expense of the soundness of his intellect?She could not credit it; she would not credit it: and yet his conducthad been so strange, so mysterious, so unnecessarily mysterious: andthen she recollected his last dark-muttered words: '_You may hear of me, and not to my advantage. _' Oh, what a prophecy! And _from_ him she hadnever heard. He had, at least, kept this sad promise. Very sorrowful wasthe Consul's daughter. And then she bethought herself of his pledge, and his honour that had been _never sullied_. She buried her face in herhands, --she conjured up to her recollection all that had happened sincehis arrival, perhaps his fatal arrival, in their island; all he had saidand done, and seemed to think. She would not doubt him. It was madnessfor a moment to doubt him. No desolation seemed so complete, no miseryso full of anguish, as such suspicion: she could not doubt him; all herhappiness was hope. A gentle touch roused her. It was her gazelle; thegazelle that he had so loved. She caressed it, she caressed it for hissake: she arose and joined her father and Lord Bohun in the garden, ifnot light-hearted, at least serene. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 _More Mystery_

THERE must have been something peculiarly captivating in the air of ourisland; for Lord Bohun, who, according to his own account, had neverremained in any place a week in the whole course of his life, exhibitedno inclination to quit the city where Major Ponsonby presided over theinterests of our commerce. He had remained there nearly a month, made himself very agreeable, and, on the whole, was a welcome guest, certainly with the Consul, if not with the Consul's daughter. As for thename of Mr. Ferrers, it occasionally occurred in conversation. Henriettapiqued herself upon the unsuspected inquiries which she carried onrespecting her absent friend. She, however, did not succeed in elicitingmuch information. Lord Bohun was so vague, that it was impossible toannex a precise idea to anything he ever uttered. Whether Ferrers wererich or poor, really of good family, or, as she sometimes thought, ofdisgraceful lineage; when and where Lord Bohun and himself had beenfellow-travellers--all was alike obscure and shadowy. Not that her nobleguest was inattentive to her inquiries; on the contrary, he almostannoyed her by his constant devotion: she was almost, indeed, inclinedto resent his singularly marked expressions of admiration as an insult;when, to her utter astonishment, one morning her father astounded her byan announcement that Lord Bohun had done her the honour of offering herhis hand and heart. The beautiful Henrietta was in great perplexity. It was due to Lord Bohun to reject his flattering proposal withoutreservation: it was difficult, almost impossible, to convince her fatherof the expediency of such a proceeding. There was in the proposal ofLord Bohun every circumstance which could gratify Major Ponsonby. Inthe wildest dreams of his paternal ambition, his hopes had never soaredhigher than the possession of such a son-in-law: high born, highrank, splendid fortune, and accomplished youth, were combined in theindividual whom some favouring destiny, it would seem, had wafted tothis distant and obscure isle to offer his vows to its accomplishedmistress. That his daughter might hesitate, on so brief an acquaintance, to unite her eternal lot in life with a comparative stranger, was whathe had in some degree, anticipated; but that she should unhesitatinglyand unreservedly decline the proposal, was conduct for which he wastotally unprepared. He was disappointed and mortified--for the firsttime in his life he was angry with his child. It is strange that LordBohun, who had required a deputy to make, a proposition which, of allothers, the most becomes and most requires a principal, should, whenhis fate was decided, have requested a personal interview with MissPonsonby. It was a favour which she could not refuse, for her fatherrequired her to grant it. She accordingly prepared herself for arepetition of the proposal from lips, doubtless unaccustomed to sue invain. It was otherwise: never had Lord Bohun conducted himself in a morekind and unaffected manner than during this interview: it pained MissPonsonby to think she had pained one who was in reality so amiable: shewas glad, however, to observe that he did not appear very much moved orannoyed. Lord Bohun expressed his gratitude for the agreeable hours hehad spent in her society; and then most delicately ventured to inquirewhether time might, perhaps, influence Miss Ponsonby's determination. And when he had received her most courteous, though hopeless answer, heonly expressed his wishes for her future happiness, which he could notdoubt. 

'I feel, ' said Lord Bohun, as he was about to depart; 'I feel, ' hesaid, in a very hesitating voice, 'I am taking a great, an unwarrantableliberty; but believe me, dear Miss Ponsonby, the inquiry, if I couldventure to make it, is inspired by the sincerest desire for yourwelfare. 

Speak with freedom, Lord Bohun; you will ever, I am sure, speak withkindness. '

'I would not willingly despair then, unless I believed that heart wereengaged to another. '

Miss Ponsonby bent down and plucked a flower, and, her brow covered withblushes, with an agitated hand tore the flower to pieces. 

'Is this a fair inquiry?' she murmured. 'It is for your sake I inquire, 'answered Lord Bohun. 

Now an irresistible conviction came over her mind that Lord Bohun wasthinking of Ferrers, and a desire on her part as strong to learn atlength something of her mysterious lover. 

'What, indeed, if I be not mistress of my heart?' She spoke withoutraising her head. 

'In that case I will believe that it belongs to one worthy of such atreasure. '

'You speak of Edmund Ferrers?' said Miss Ponsonby. 

'The same. '

'You know him?' she inquired, in a choking voice. 

'I know and honour him. I have long believed that the world did notboast a man more gifted; now I know that it does not possess a man moreblessed. '

'Shall you see him?' she inquired in a quick tone. 

'Probably you will see him first; I am sufficiently acquainted with hismovements to know that he will soon be here. This Greek boy whom youhave sometimes noticed is his page; I wish him to join his master again;and methinks the readiest way will be to leave him in this isle. Here, Spiridion, bow to your new mistress, and be dutiful for her sake, aswell as that of your lord's. Adieu! dearest Miss Ponsonby!'

CHAPTER VIII. 

 _A Welcome Message_

THIS strange conversation with Lord Bohun at parting, was not withouta certain wild, but not unpleasing influence over the mind of HenriettaPonsonby. Much as it at first had agitated her, its result, as she oftenmused over it, was far from being without solace. It was consoling, indeed, to know that one person, at least, honoured that being in whomshe had so implicitly relied: Lord Bohun, also, had before spoken ofFerrers in a very different tone; but she felt confidence in the unusualseriousness of his last communication; and with satisfaction contrastedit with the heedlessness, or the levity, of his former intimations. Here, too, was the page of Ferrers, at her side--the beautiful andbright-eyed Spiridion. How strange it was! how very strange! Her simplelife had suddenly become like some shifting fairy-tale; but love, indeed, is a fairy, and full of marvels and magic--it changes allthings; and the quietest domestic hearth, when shadowed by its wing, becomes as rife with wonders and adventure as if it were the passionatetheatre of some old romance. Yes! the bright-eyed Greek page of hermysterious and absent lover was at her side-but then he spoke onlyGreek. In vain she tried to make him comprehend how much she desired tohave tidings of his master. The graceful mute could only indulge in airypantomime, point to the skies and ocean, or press his hand to his heartin token of fidelity. Henrietta amused herself in teaching SpiridionItalian, and repaid herself for all her trouble in occasionallyobtaining some slight information of her friend. In time she learnedthat Ferrers was in Italy, and had seen Lord Bohun before the departureof that nobleman. In answer to her anxious and often-repeated inquirieswhether he would soon return, Spiridion was constant to his consolingaffirmative. Never was such a sedulous mistress of languages asHenrietta Ponsonby. She learned, also, that an Albanian scarf, whichthe page wore round his waist, had been given him by his master whenSpiridion quitted him; and Henrietta instantly obtained the scarf for aBarbary shawl of uncommon splendour. 

Now, it happened one afternoon towards sunset, as the Greek page, rambling, as was his custom, over the neighbouring heights, beheld belowthe spreading fort, the neighbouring straits, and the distant sea, thata vessel appeared in sight, and soon entered the harbour. It was anEnglish vessel--it was the yacht of Lord Bohun. The page started andwatched the vessel with a fixed and earnest gaze; soon he observedthe British Consul in his boat row to the side of the vessel, and alsoimmediately return. At that moment the yacht hoisted a signal--upona white ground a crimson heart--whereupon Spiridion, drawing from hisbreast a letter, kissed it twice, and bounded away. 

He bounded away towards the city, and scarcely slackened his paceuntil he arrived at the Consul's mansion--he rushed in, dashed up thestaircase, and entered the saloons. At the window of one, gazing on thesunset, was Henrietta Ponsonby--her gaze was serious, but herbeautiful countenance was rather tinged by melancholy than touchedby gloom--pensive, not sorrowful. By her side lay her guitar, stillechoing, as it were, with her touch; and near it the Albanian scarf, onwhich she had embroidered the name of her beloved. Of him, then, wereher gentle musings? Who can doubt it? Her gentle musings were ofhim whom she had loved with such unexampled trust. Fond, beautiful, confiding maiden! It was the strength of thy mind as much as thesimplicity of thy heart that rendered thee so faithful and so firm! Whowould not envy thy unknown adorer? Can he be false? Suspicion is forweak minds and cold-blooded spirits. Thou never didst doubt; and thouwast just, for, behold, he is true!

A fluttering sound roused her--she turned her head, and expected to seeher gazelle: it was Spiridion; his face was wreathed with smiles as heheld towards her a letter. She seized it--she recognised in an instantthe handwriting she had so often studied--it was his! Yes! it was his. It was the handwriting of her beloved. Her face was pale, her handtrembled; a cloud moved before her vision; yet at length she read, andshe read these words:--

'If, as I hope, and as I believe, you are faithful to those vows whichsince my departure have been my only consolation, you will meet meto-morrow, two hours before noon, in our garden. I come to claim mybride; but until my lips have expressed to you how much I adore you, letnothing be known to our father. '

CHAPTER IX. 

 _The Mystery Revealed_

MY DEAREST Henrietta, ' said the Consul as he entered, 'who, think you, has returned? Lord Bohun. '

'Indeed!' said Henrietta. 'Have you seen him?' 'No. I paid my respectsto him immediately, but he was unwell. He breakfasts with us to-morrow, at ten. '

The morrow came, but ten o'clock brought no Lord Bohun; and even elevensounded: the Consul sought his daughter to consult her--he was surprisedto learn that Miss Ponsonby had not returned from her early ramble. Atthis moment a messenger arrived from the yacht to say that, from someerror, Lord Bohun had repaired to the casino, where he awaited theConsul. The major mounted his barb, and soon reached the pavilion. Ashe entered the garden, he beheld, in the distance, his daughter and--Mr. Ferrers. He was, indeed, surprised. It appeared that Henrietta wasabout to run forward to him; but her companion checked her, and shedisappeared down a neighbouring walk. Mr. Ferrers advanced, and salutedher father--

'You are surprised to see me, my dear sir?'

'I am surprised, but most happy. You came, of course, with Lord Bohun?'

Mr. Ferrers bowed. 

'I am very desirous of having some conversation with you, my dear MajorPonsonby, ' continued Mr. Ferrers. 

'I am ever at your service, my dearest sir, but at the present moment Imust go and greet his lordship. '

'Oh, never mind Bohun, ' said Mr. Ferrers, carelessly. 'I have noceremony with him--he can wait. '

The major was a little perplexed. 

'You must know, my dearest sir, ' continued Mr. Ferrers, 'that I wish tospeak to you on a subject in which my happiness is entirely concerned. '

'Proceed, sir, ' said the Consul, looking still more puzzled. 

'You can scarcely be astonished, my dearest sir, that I should admireyour daughter. '

The Consul bowed. 

'Indeed, ' said Mr. Ferrers; 'it seems to me impossible to know her andnot admire: I should say, adore her. '

'You flatter a father's feelings, ' said the Consul. 

'I express my own, ' replied Mr. Ferrers. 'I love her--I have long lovedher devotedly. '

'Hem!' said Major Ponsonby. 

'I feel, ' continued Mr. Ferrers, 'that there is a great deal toapologise for in my conduct, towards both you and herself: I feel thatmy conduct may, in some degree, be considered even unpardonable: I willnot say that the end justifies the means, Major Ponsonby, but my endwas, at least, a great, and, I am sure a virtuous one. '

'I do not clearly comprehend you, Mr. Ferrers. '

'It is some consolation to me, ' continued that gentleman, 'that thedaughter has pardoned me; now let me indulge the delightful hope that Imay be as successful with the father. '

'I will, at least, listen with patience, to you, Mr. Ferrers; but I mustown your meaning is not very evident to me: let me, at least, go andshake hands with Lord Bohun. '

'I will answer for Lord Bohun excusing your momentary neglect. Pray, mydear sir, listen to me. I wish to make you acquainted, Major Ponsonby, with the feelings which influenced me when I first landed on thisisland. This knowledge is necessary for my justification. '

'But what is there to justify?' inquired the major. 

'Conceive a man born to a great fortune, ' continued Mr. Ferrers, withoutnoticing the interruption, 'and to some accidents of life, which manyesteem above fortune; a station as eminent as his wealth--conceive thisman master of his destiny from his boyhood, and early experienced inthat great world with which you are not unacquainted--conceive him witha heart, gifted, perhaps, with too dangerous a sensibility; the dupe andthe victim of all whom he encounters--conceive him, in disgust, flyingfrom the world that had deceived him, and divesting himself of thoseaccidents of existence which, however envied by others, appeared to hismorbid imagination the essential causes of his misery--conceive thisman, unknown and obscure, sighing to be valued for those qualities ofwhich fortune could not deprive him, and to be loved only for his ownsake--a miserable man, sir!'

'It would seem so, ' said the Consul. 

'Now, then, for a moment imagine this man apparently in possessionof all for which he had so long panted; he is loved, he is loved forhimself, and loved by a being surpassing the brightest dream of hispurest youth: yet the remembrance of the past poisons, even now, hisjoy. He is haunted by the suspicion that the affection, even of thisbeing, is less the result of his own qualities, than of her inexperienceof life--he has everything at stake--he dares to submit her devotion tothe sharpest trial--he quits her without withdrawing the dark curtainwith which he had enveloped himself--he quits her with the distinctunderstanding that she shall not even hear from him until he thinks fitto return; and entangles her pure mind, for the first time, in a secretfrom the parent whom she adores. He is careful, in the meanwhile, thathis name shall be traduced in her presence--that the proudest fortune, the loftiest rank, shall be offered for her acceptance, if she only willrenounce him, and the dim hope of his return. A terrible trial, MajorPonsonby!'

'Indeed, most terrible. '

'But she is true--truer even than truth--and I have come back to claimmy unrivalled bride. Can you pardon me? Can you sympathise with me?'

'I speak, then-----' murmured the astounded Consul--

'To your son, with your permission-to Lord Bohun!'

WALSTEIN; OR A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY

CHAPTER I. 

 _A Philosophical Conversation between a Physician and His Patient. _

DR. DE SCHULEMBOURG was the most eminent physician in Dresden. He wasnot only a physician; he was a philosopher. He studied the idiosyncrasyof his patients, and was aware of the fine and secret connection betweenmedicine and morals. One morning Dr. De Schulembourg was summoned toWalstein. The physician looked forward to the interview with his patientwith some degree of interest. He had often heard of Walstein, but hadnever yet met that gentleman, who had only recently returned from histravels, and who had been absent from his country for several years. 

When Dr. De Schulembourg arrived at the house of Walstein, he wasadmitted into a circular hall containing the busts of the Caesars, andascending a double staircase of noble proportion, was ushered into amagnificent gallery. Copies in marble of the most celebrated ancientstatues were ranged on each side of this gallery. Above them weresuspended many beautiful Italian and Spanish pictures, and between themwere dwarf bookcases full of tall volumes in sumptuous bindings, andcrowned with Etruscan vases and rare bronzes. Schulembourg, who was aman of taste, looked around him with great satisfaction. And while hewas gazing on a group of diaphanous cherubim, by Murillo, an artist ofwhom he had heard much and knew little, his arm was gently touched, andturning round, Schulembourg beheld his patient, a man past the prime ofyouth, but of very distinguished appearance, and with a very frank andgraceful manner. 'I hope you will pardon me, my dear sir, for permittingyou to be a moment alone, ' said Walstein, with an ingratiating smile. 

'Solitude, in such a scene, is not very wearisome, ' replied thephysician. 'There are great changes in-this mansion since the time ofyour father, Mr. Walstein. '

''Tis an attempt to achieve that which we are all sighing for, ' repliedWalstein, 'the Ideal. But for myself, although I assure you not a_pococurante_, I cannot help thinking there is no slight dash of thecommonplace. '

'Which is a necessary ingredient of all that is excellent, ' repliedSchulembourg. 

Walstein shrugged his shoulders, and then invited the physician to beseated. 'I wish to consult you, Dr. Schulembourg, ' he observed, somewhat abruptly. 'My metaphysical opinions induce me to believe thata physician is the only philosopher. I am perplexed by my own case. Iam in excellent health, my appetite is good, my digestion perfect. Mytemperament I have ever considered to be of a very sanguine character. I have nothing upon my mind. I am in very easy circumstances. HithertoI have only committed blunders in life and never crimes. Nevertheless, I have, of late, become the victim of a deep and inscrutable melancholy, which I can ascribe to no cause, and can divert by no resource. Can youthrow any light upon my dark feelings? Can you remove them?'

'How long have you experienced them?' inquired the physician. 

'More or less ever since my return, ' replied Walstein; 'but mostgrievously during the last three months. '

'Are you in love?' inquired Schulembourg. 

'Certainly not, ' replied Walstein, 'and I fear I never shall be. '

'You have been?' inquired the physician. 

'I have had some fancies, perhaps too many, ' answered the patient; 'butyouth deludes itself. My idea of a heroine has never been realised, and, in all probability, never will be. '

'Besides an idea of a heroine, ' said Schulembourg, 'you have also, if Imistake not, an idea of a hero?'

'Without doubt, ' replied Walstein. 'I have preconceived for myself acharacter which I have never achieved. '

'Yet, if you have never met a heroine nearer your ideal than your hero, why should you complain?' rejoined Schulembourg. 

'There are moments when my vanity completes my own portrait, ' saidWalstein. 

'And there are moments when our imagination completes the portrait ofour mistress, ' rejoined Schulembourg. 

'You reason, ' said Walstein. 'I was myself once fond of reasoning, butthe greater my experience, the more I have become convinced that man isnot a rational animal. He is only truly good or great when he acts frompassion. '

'Passion is the ship, and reason is the rudder, ' observed Schulembourg. 

'And thus we pass the ocean of life, ' said Walstein. 'Would that Icould discover a new continent of sensation!'

'Do you mix much in society?' said the physician. 

'By fits and starts, ' said Walstein. 'A great deal when I firstreturned: of late little. '

'And your distemper has increased in proportion with your solitude?'

'It would superficially appear so, ' observed Walstein; 'but I considermy present distemper as not so much the result of solitude, as thereaction of much converse with society. I am gloomy at present from asense of disappointment of the past. '

'You are disappointed, ' observed Schulembourg. 'What, then, did youexpect?'

'I do not know, ' replied Walstein; 'that is the very thing I wish todiscover. '

'How do you in general pass your time?' inquired the physician. 

'When I reply _in doing nothing_, my dear Doctor, ' said Walstein, 'you will think that you have discovered the cause of my disorder. Butperhaps you will only mistake an effect for a cause. '

'Do you read?'

'I have lost the faculty of reading: early in life I was a student, butbooks become insipid when one is rich with the wisdom of a wanderinglife. '

'Do you write?'

'I have tried, but mediocrity disgusts me. In literature a second-ratereputation is no recompense for the evils that authors are heirs to. '

'Yet, without making your compositions public, you might relieve yourown feelings in expressing them. There is a charm in creation. '

'My sympathies are strong, ' replied Walstein. 'In an evil hour I mightdescend from my pedestal; I should compromise my dignity with the herd;I should sink before the first shaft of ridicule. '

'You did not suffer from this melancholy when travelling?'

'Occasionally: but the fits were never so profound, and were veryevanescent. '

'Travel is action, ' replied Schulembourg. 'Believe me, that in actionyou alone can find a cure. '

'What is action?' inquired Walstein. 'Travel I have exhausted. The worldis quiet. There are no wars now, no revolutions. Where can I find acareer?'

'Action, ' replied Schulembourg, 'is the exercise of our faculties. Donot mistake restlessness for action. Murillo, who passed a long lifealmost within the walls of his native city, was a man of great action. Witness the convents and the churches that are covered with hisexploits. A great student is a great actor, and as great as a marshal ora statesman. You must act, Mr. Walstein, you must act; you must have anobject in life; great or slight, still you must have an object. Believeme, it is better to be a mere man of pleasure than a dreamer. '

'Your advice is profound, ' replied Walstein, 'and you have struck upon asympathetic chord. But what am I to do? I have no object. '

'You are a very ambitious man, ' replied the physician. 

'How know you that?' said Walstein, somewhat hastily, and slightlyblushing. 

'We doctors know many strange things, ' replied Schulembourg, with asmile. 'Come now, would you like to be prime minister of Saxony?'

'Prime minister of Oberon!' said Walstein, laughing; ''tis indeed agreat destiny. '

'Ah! when you have lived longer among us, your views will accommodatethemselves to our limited horizon. In the meantime, I will write you aprescription, provided you promise to comply with my directions. '

'Do not doubt me, my dear Doctor. '

Schulembourg seated himself at the table, and wrote a few lines, whichhe handed to his patient. 

Walstein smiled as he read the prescription. 

'Dr. De Schulembourg requests the honour of the Baron de Walstein'scompany at dinner, to-morrow at two o'clock. '

Walstein smiled and looked a little perplexed, but he remembered hispromise. 'I shall, with pleasure, become your guest, Doctor. '

CHAPTER II. 

 _Containing Some Future Conversation_

WALSTEIN did not forget his engagement with his friendly physician. Thehouse of Schulembourg was the most beautiful mansion in Dresden. It wassituated in a delicious garden in the midst of the park, and had beenpresented to him by a grateful sovereign. It was a Palladian villa, which recalled the Brenda to the recollection of Walstein, with flightsof marble steps, airy colonnades, pediments of harmonious proportion, all painted with classic frescoes. Orange trees clustered in groups uponthe terrace, perfumed the summer air, rising out of magnificent vasessculptured in high relief; and amid the trees, confined by silver chainswere rare birds of radiant plumage, rare birds with prismatic eyes andbold ebon beaks, breasts flooded with crimson, and long tails of violetand green. The declining sun shone brightly in the light blue sky, and threw its lustre upon the fanciful abode, above which, slight andserene, floated the airy crescent of the young white moon. 

'My friend, too, I perceive, is a votary of the Ideal, ' exclaimedWalstein. 

The carriage stopped. Walstein mounted the marble steps and was usheredthrough a hall, wherein was the statue of a single nymph, into anoctagonal apartment. Schulembourg himself had not arrived. Two men movedaway, as he was announced, from a lady whom they attended. The lady wasMadame de Schulembourg, and she came forward, with infinite grace, toapologise for the absence of her husband, and to welcome her guest. 

Her appearance was very remarkable. She was young and strangelybeautiful. Walstein thought that he had never beheld such lustrous locksof ebon hair shading a countenance of such dazzling purity. Herlarge and deep blue eyes gleamed through their long black lashes. Theexpression of her face was singularly joyous. Two wild dimples playedlike meteors on her soft round cheeks. A pink veil worn over her headwas carelessly tied under her chin, and fastened with a white rose ofpearls. Her vest and train of white satin did not conceal her sylphlikeform and delicate feet. She held forth a little white hand to Walstein, adorned only by a single enormous ruby, and welcomed him with inspiringease. 

'I do not know whether you are acquainted with your companions, Mr. Walstein, ' said Madame de Schulembourg. Walstein looked around, and recognised the English minister, and had the pleasure of beingintroduced, for the first time, to a celebrated sculptor. 

'I have heard of your name, not only in Germany, ' said Walstein, addressing the latter gentleman. 'You have left your fame behind youat Rome. If the Italians are excusably envious, their envy is at leastaccompanied with admiration. ' The gratified sculptor bowed and slightlyblushed. Walstein loved art and artists. He was not one of those frigid, petty souls who are ashamed to evince feeling in society. He felt keenlyand expressed himself without reserve. But nature had invested him witha true nobility of manner as well as of mind. He was ever graceful, evenwhen enthusiastic. 

'It is difficult to remember we are in the North, ' said Walstein toMadame Schulembourg, 'amid these colonnades and orange trees. '

'It is thus that I console myself for beautiful Italy, ' replied thelady, 'and, indeed, to-day the sun favours the design. '

'You have resided long in Italy?' inquired Walstein. 

'I was born at Milan, ' replied Madame de Schulembourg, 'my fathercommanded a Hungarian regiment in garrison. '

'I thought that I did not recognise an Italian physiognomy, ' saidWalstein, looking somewhat earnestly at the lady. 

'Yet I have a dash of the Lombard blood in me, I assure you, ' repliedMadame de Schulembourg, smiling; 'is it not so, Mr. Revel?'

The Englishman advanced and praised the beauty of the lady's mother, whom he well knew. Then he asked Walstein when he was at Milan; thenthey exchanged more words respecting Milanese society; and while theywere conversing, the Doctor entered, followed by a servant: 'I mustcompensate for keeping you from dinner, ' said their host, 'by having thepleasure of announcing that it is prepared. '

He welcomed Walstein with warmth. Mr. Revel led Madame to thedining-room. The table was round, and Walstein seated himself at herside. 

The repast was light and elegant, unusual characteristics of a Germandinner. Madame de Schulembourg conversed with infinite gaiety, but withan ease that showed that to charm was with her no effort. The Englishmanwas an excellent specimen of his nation, polished and intelligent, without that haughty and graceless reserve which is so painful toa finished man of the world. The host was himself ever animated andcheerful, but calm and clear--and often addressed himself to the artist, who was silent, and, like students in general, constrained. Walsteinhimself, indeed, was not very talkative, but his manner indicated thathe was interested, and when he made an observation it was uttered withfacility, and arrested attention by its justness or its novelty. It wasan agreeable party. 

They had discussed several light topics. At length they diverged to thesupernatural. Mr. Revel, as is customary with Englishmen, who are verysceptical, affected for the moment a belief in spirits. With the restof the society, however, it was no light theme. Madame de Schulembourgavowed her profound credulity. The artist was a decided votary. Schulembourg philosophically accounted for many appearances, but hewas a magnetiser, and his explanations were more marvellous than theportents. 

'And you, Mr. Walstein, ' said Madame de Schulembourg, 'what is youropinion?'

'I am willing to yield to any faith that distracts my thoughts from theburthen of daily reality, ' replied Walstein. 

'You would just suit Mr. Novalis, then, ' observed Mr. Revel, bowing tothe sculptor. 

'Novalis is an astrologer, ' said Madame Schulembourg; 'I think he wouldjust suit you. '

'Destiny is a grand subject, ' observed Walstein, 'and although I am notprepared to say that I believe in fate, I should nevertheless not besurprised to read my fortunes in the stars. '

'That has been the belief of great spirits, ' observed the sculptor, hiscountenance brightening with more assurance. 

'It is true, ' replied Walstein, 'I would rather err with my greatnamesake and Napoleon than share the orthodoxy of ordinary mortality. '

'That is a dangerous speech, Baron, ' said Schulembourg. 

'With regard to destiny, ' said Mr. Revel, who was in fact a materialistof the old school, 'everything depends upon a man's nature; theambitious will rise, and the grovelling will crawl--those whose volitionis strong will believe in fate, and the weak-minded accounts for theconsequences of his own incongruities by execrating chance. '

Schulembourg shook his head. 'By a man's nature you mean his structure, 'said the physician, 'much, doubtless, depends upon structure, butstructure is again influenced by structure. All is subservient tosympathy. '

'It is true, ' replied the sculptor; 'and what is the influence of thestars on human conduct but sympathy of the highest degree?'

'I am little accustomed to metaphysical discussions, ' remarked Walstein;'this is, indeed, a sorry subject to amuse a fair lady with, Madame deSchulembourg. '

'On the contrary, ' she replied, 'the mystical ever delights me. '

'Yet, ' continued Walstein, 'perceiving that the discontent andinfelicity of man generally increase in an exact ratio with hisintelligence and his knowledge, I am often tempted to envy the ignorantand the simple. '

'A man can only be content, ' replied Schulembourg, 'when his career isin harmony with his organisation. Man is an animal formed for greatphysical activity, and this is the reason why the vast majority, inspite of great physical suffering, are content. The sense of existence, under the influence of the action which is necessary to their living, counterbalances all misery. But when a man has a peculiar structure, when he is born with a predisposition, or is, in vulgar language, a manof genius, his content entirely depends upon the predisposition beingdeveloped and indulged. And this is philosophical education, thatsublime art so ill-comprehended!'

'I agree with you, ' said Revel, who recollected the nonsense-verses ofEton, and the logic of Christ Church; 'all the scrapes and unhappinessof my youth, and I assure you they were not inconsiderable, are to beascribed to the obstinate resolution of my family to make a priest outof a man who wished to be a soldier. '

'And I was disinherited because I would be a physician, ' repliedSchulembourg; 'but instead of a poor, insignificant baron, I am now anoble in four kingdoms and have the orders of all Europe, and that ladywas not ashamed to marry me. '

'I was a swineherd in the wilds of Pomerania, ' said Novalis, his eyesflashing with enthusiasm. 'I ran away to Italy, but I broke my poormother's heart. '

There was a dead, painful pause, in which Walstein interposed. 'As formyself, I suppose I have no predisposition, or I have not found it out. Perhaps nature intended me for a swineherd, instead, of a baron. This, however, I do know, that life is an intolerable burthen--at least itwould be, ' he added, turning with a smile to his fair hostess, 'were itnot for occasionally meeting some one so inspiring as you. '

'Come, ' said Madame, rising, 'the carriages are at the door. Let us takea drive. Mr. Walstein, you shall give me your opinion of my ponies. '

CHAPTER III. 

 _Containing a Drive in the Park with a Very Charming Lady. _

MADAME DE SCHULEMBOURG'S carriage, drawn by two beautiful Hanoverianponies, cream in colour, with long manes and tails like floss silk, wasfollowed by a britzka; but despatches called away Mr. Revel, and Novalisstole off to his studio. The doctor, as usual, was engaged. 'Caroline, 'he said, as he bid his guest adieu, 'I commend Mr. Walstein to yourcare. When I return in the evening, do not let me find that our friendhas escaped. '

'I am sure that though unhappy he is not ungallant, ' replied Caroline, with a smile; and she took his offered arm, and ascended her seat. 

Swiftly the little ponies scudded along the winding roads. The Corso wasas yet but slightly attended. Caroline passed through the wide avenuewithout stopping, but sometimes recognising with bow and smile aflitting friend. They came to a wilder and woodier part of the park, theroad lined on each side with linden trees, and in the distance were vastbeds of tall fern, tinged with the first rich hues of autumn. 

'Here, Mr. Walstein, ' said Caroline, 'with your permission, I shall takemy afternoon walk. ' Thus speaking, she stopped the carriage, whichshe and her companion quitted. Walstein offered her his arm, but shedeclined it, folding herself up in her shawl. 

'Which do you like best, Mr. Walstein, Constantinople or Dresden?' saidMadame de Schulembourg. 

'At this moment, decidedly Dresden, ' replied her companion. 

'Ah! that is a compliment, ' said Madame de Schulembourg, after amoment's musing. 'My dear Mr. Walstein, ' she continued, looking up withan arch expression, 'never pay me compliments. '

'You mistake me: it was not a compliment, ' replied Walstein. 'It was asincere and becoming tribute of gratitude for three hours of endurableexistence. '

'You know that you are my patient, ' rejoined Madame de Schulembourg. 'I have orders to cure your melancholy. I am very successful in suchcomplaints. '

'I have no doubt of it, ' replied Walstein, with a slight bow. 

'If we could but find out the cause!' continued Caroline. 'I venture tobelieve that, after all, it will turn out an affair of the heart. Come, be frank with your physician. Tell me, have you left it captive witha fair Greek of the Isles, or a dark-eyed maiden of the Nile? Is ourheroine a captive behind a Spanish jalousie, or in an Italian convent?'

'Women ever believe that all moods and tempers of man are consequencesof their influence, ' replied Walstein, 'and in general they are right. '

'But in your case?'

'Very wrong. '

'I am determined to find it out, ' said Madame de Schulembourg. 

'I wish to heaven you could, ' said Baron de Walstein. 

'I think a wandering life has spoiled you, ' said Caroline. 'I think itmust be civilisation that you find wearisome. '

'That would be very sublime, ' replied Walstein. 'But I assure you, if there be one thing that disgusts me more than another, it is theanticipation of renewed travel! I have seen all that I wish, and morethan I ever expected. All that I could experience now would be exertionwithout excitement, a dreadful doom. If I am not to experience pleasure, let me at least have the refuge of repose. The magic of change of sceneis with me exhausted. If I am to live, I do not think that I could betempted to quit this city; sometimes I think, scarcely even my house. '

'I see how it is, ' exclaimed Madame de Schulembourg, shaking her headvery knowingly, 'you must marry. '

'The last resource of feminine fancy!' exclaimed Walstein, almostlaughing. 'You would lessen my melancholy, I suppose, on the principleof the division of gloom. I can assure you, my dear Madame deSchulembourg, ' he continued, in a very serious tone, 'that, withmy present sensations, I should consider it highly dishonourable toimplicate any woman in my destiny. '

'Ha! ha! ha!' laughed Madame; 'I can assure you, my dear Mr. Walstein, that I have a great many very pretty friends who will run the risk. 'Tisthe best cure for melancholy, believe me. I was serious myself at timesbefore I married, but you see I have got over my gloom. '

'You have, indeed, ' said Walstein; 'and perhaps, were I Doctor deSchulembourg, I might be as gay. '

'Another compliment! However, I accept it, because it is founded ontruth. The fact is, I think you are too much alone. '

'I have lived in a desert, and now I live in what is called the world, 'replied Walstein. 'Yet in Arabia I was fairly content, and now Iam-----what I shall not describe, because it will only procure me yourridicule. '

'Nay! not ridicule, Mr. Walstein. Do not think that I do not sympathisewith your affliction, because I wish you to be as cheerful as myself. If you were fairly content in Arabia, I shall begin to consider it anaffair of climate. '

'No, ' said Walstein, still very serious, 'not an affair ofclimate--certainly not. The truth is, travel is a preparation, and webear with its yoke as we do with all that is initiatory--with the solaceof expectation. But my preparation can lead to nothing, and there appearto be no mysteries in which I am to be initiated. '

'Then, after all, you want something to do?'

'No doubt. '

'What shall it be?' inquired Madame de Schulembourg, with a thoughtfulair. 

'Ah! what shall it be?' echoed Walstein, in accents of despondence; 'or, rather, what can it be? What can be more tame, more uninteresting, moreunpromising than all around? Where is there a career?'

'A career!' exclaimed Caroline. 'What, you want to set the world ina blaze! I thought you were a poetic dreamer, a listless, superfinespeculator of an exhausted world. And all the time you are veryambitious!'

'I know not what I am, ' replied Walstein; 'but I feel that my presentlot is an intolerable burthen. '

'But what can you desire? You have wealth, youth, and station, all theaccidents of fortune which nature can bestow, and all for which menstruggle. Believe me, you are born to enjoy yourself; nor do I see thatyou require any other career than the duties of your position. Believeme, my dear Mr. Walstein, life is a great business, and quite enough toemploy any man's faculties. '

'My youth is fast fading, which I don't regret, ' replied Walstein, 'forI am not an admirer of youth. As for station, I attribute no magic toit, and wealth I value only because I know from experience its capacityof producing pleasure; were I a beggar tomorrow, I should be haunted byno uneasy sensations. Pardon me, Madame de Schulembourg; your philosophydoes not appear to be that of my friend, the Doctor. We were told thisafternoon that, to produce happiness, the nature of a being and hiscareer must coincide. Now, what can wealth and station produce ofhappiness to me, if I have the mind of a bandit, or, perhaps, even of amechanic?'

'You must settle all this with Augustus, ' replied Madame deSchulembourg; 'I am glad, however, to hear you abuse youth. I alwaystell Sidonia that he makes his heroes too young, which enrages himbeyond description. Do you know him?'

'Only by fame. '

'He would suit you. He is melancholy too, but only by fits. Would youlike to make his acquaintance?'

'Authors are best known by their writings, ' replied Walstein; 'I admirehis, because, amid much wildness, he is a great reader of the humanheart, and I find many echoes in his pages of what I dare only to thinkand to utter in solitude. '

'I shall introduce you to him. He is exceedingly vain, and likes to makethe acquaintance of an admirer. '

'I entreat you not, ' replied Walstein, really alarmed. 'It is preciselybecause I admire him very much that I never wish to see him. Whatcan the conversation of Sidonia be compared with his writings? Hisappearance and his manner will only destroy the ideal, in which it isalways interesting to indulge. '

'Well, be not alarmed! He is not now in Dresden. He has been leading awild life for some time in our Saxon Switzerland, in a state of despair. I am the unhappy nymph who occasions his present desperation, ' continuedMadame de Schulembourg, with a smile. 'Do not think me heartless; allhis passion is imagination. Change of scene ever cures him; he haswritten to me every week--his letters are each time more reasonable. I have no doubt he has by this time relieved his mind in some mad workwhich will amuse us all very much, and will return again to Dresdenquite cool. I delight in Sidonia--he is my especial favourite. '

After some little time the companions re-entered the carriage. Thepublic drive was now full of sparkling equipages. Madame de Schulembourggaily bowed, as she passed along, to many a beautiful friend. 

'Dear girls, come home with us this eve, ' she exclaimed, as she curbedher ponies by the side of an open carriage, and addressed two youngladies who were seated within it with their mother. 'Let me introduceMr. Walstein to you-Madame de Man-heim, the Misses de Manheim, otherwiseAugusta and Amelia. Ask any of our friends whom you pass. There isEmilius--How do you do? Count Voyna, come home with us, and bring yourBavarian friend. '

'How is Sidonia, Madame de Schulembourg?' inquired Augusta. 

'Oh, quite mad. He will not be sane this week. There is his last letter;read it, and return it to me when we meet. Adieu, Madame de Manheim;adieu, dear girls; do not stay long: adieu, adieu. ' So they drove away. 

IBRAHIM PASHA

THE eyes of all Europe have been lately directed with feverish anxietytowards the East. With the early history of the present ruler of Egypt, and with his projects of military reform, our readers are doubtlesswell acquainted. We shall, therefore, only rapidly glance at the presentcondition of Syria, as on the causes that led to the astonishing successof a campaign that at one time threatened to construct, upon a newbasis, the political geography of the East. 

In contemplating the state of degradation and impotency into which havefallen Syria, and that vast Peninsula which extends westward of theEuphrates, after having occupied so proud a place in the page ofhistory, from the earliest traditionary periods down to the time whenthe Turkish Sultans abandoned Broussa for Adrianople, we naturallyinquire what has become of the intellectual inheritance which theancient inhabitants of these countries left behind them? Where are thesuccessors of the skilful workmen of Damascus, of Mossul, and of Angora;the navigators of Phoenicia, the artists of Ionia, and the wise men ofChaldea? Several distinct characters of civilisation have successivelyflourished in this part of Asia. To the primitive ages, to the reign ofthe Pelasgi, correspond the subterraneous excavations of Macri, and thePhrygian monuments of Seïdï Gazi; to the Babylonian power, the ruins ofBagdad, and the artificial mountains of Van; to the Hellenic period, the baths, the amphitheatres, and the ruins which strew the coast of theArchipelago; to the Roman empire, the military roads which traverse inevery direction the whole Peninsula; to the Greeks of the middle ages, the church of Iznik. 

And now that Mussulman civilisation, which at its brightest periodsproduced the beautiful mosque of the Sultan Bayazid at Amasia, is atits last gasp; for we can, with safety, affirm that not a single grandthought, either social, religious, or political, any longer connectstogether the four millions of inhabitants which the Porte numbers inthis part of her dominions. All unity has disappeared, and the Asmoulis, who compose the predominating race, no longer obey but some old habitsand recollections. The downfall of the Janizary system destroyed theirlast connecting link. Forgetting that their destiny was conquest--thatthey were only encamped in the land--that they had received a militaryorganisation for a permanent state of warfare--that their headquarterswas Constantinople--they have become attached to the soil, and shutthemselves up in their harems, have established a feudal system, aredivided among themselves by hereditary enmities, and their contempt forforeigners is no longer founded on their courage and power. 

Near the coasts of the Archipelago European intercourse has, in somedegree, civilised the manners of the Turks, but as the travelleradvances into the interior, civilisation sensibly decreases. Onapproaching the central plateau of Asia Minor, he perceives thatcultivation seldom extends beyond the distance of half a league rounda village; the inhabitants are secreted in the mountains, and carefullyavoid the vicinity of the great roads; it is a well-known statisticalphenomenon, that the most inaccessible districts are the most populousand the richest. This will be easily understood, when it is told thatthe passage of troops through a district is a pest more dreaded thanthe fatal plague itself. The once flourishing and magnificent plains ofEske-Seher have been deserts since the Sultan Amurath traversed them, atthe head of 300, 000 men, to lay siege to Bagdad. His passage was markedby all the devastating effects of the hurricane. When a body of thosehorsemen called Delhis, who are attached to the suite of every Pasha, enters a village, the consternation is general, and followed by a systemof exaction that to the unfortunate villager is equivalent to ruin. Tocomplain to the Pasha would be to court instant destruction. 

From this we can conceive the horror of the peasantry of Anatolia atthe passage of large bodies of troops through their country, andconsequently the obstacles a European army would encounter which shouldever be masters of the Black and Mediterranean Seas. The Turcomans, a Nornase tribe, who sometimes pitch their tents on the shores of theArchipelago, and who pay but a moderate tribute to the Porte, are alsoanother cause of devastation. But it is the Musseleins, the farmersof the Pasha, who are the oppressors _par excellence_; they are alwayspresent to despoil the unfortunate fellah, to leave him, to use a commonexpression in the mouths of this oppressed race, 'but eyes wherewith toweep. ' The welfare of the people, respect for the orders of the Porte, are things to them of the utmost indifference; to govern is to raisemen and taxes; to obey, is to fear. Thus the law of force reigns almostexclusively at forty or fifty leagues from the capital. 

But on a nearer approach to the Euphrates, the dissolution of everysocial tie becomes more striking. We find ourselves amid the independenttribes--the cruel Lendes; among the Tezdis--a people who adore thespirit of Erib. Towards the north we fall in with the Lazzi, andall those fierce natives who are entrenched like vultures amid thefastnesses of the Caucasus. Again, in the South we discover thewandering Arabs, the pirates of the desert, and the mountaineers ofLebanon, who live in a state of perpetual discord. Over this immenseline of countries centuries have passed, and left no trace behind;all that the ancients and the crusaders have related to us of them, istypical of their condition at this day. The bows and arrows, the armour, exhibited as objects of curiosity in our museums, are still in useamong them. It is only by chance, or by profiting by their intestinedivisions, that the authority of the Porte is recognised. The Pashas aremostly hereditary, and live in a state of perpetual insurrection. Thusfrom the shores of the Archipelago to the banks of the Euphrates andthe Tigris, civilisation and vegetation appear to obey the same law ofdecrease. 

It is incontestable that Syria and the Pashalics on the confines ofUpper Asia are of no real importance to the Sultan; and that the prideof this monarch would be the only sufferer by their loss. Desolation hasreached such a point in the Ottoman Empire, that it is almost impossibleto regenerate her, unless the branches of the tree, lopped of allthose parts so eccentric by their position, are detached from it, andorganised into independent states. Towards the North, Russia haspushed on her battalions as far as Erzeroum, but it will be foundmore difficult, to govern Armenia from St. Petersburg than fromConstantinople. In politics, the calculation of distances is animportant element. In the South of Asia, Egypt lays claim to Syria, and that part of Caramania situated between Mount Taurus and the sea--aterritory in which she will find those resources she at present standsso much in need of, such as timber for shipbuilding, etc. , a Christianpopulation, among whom the seeds of European civilisation will be moreeasily implanted. She will thus form an empire that will one day becomepowerful, if not prematurely exhausted by that system of monopoly sorigorously put in force by her present ruler. 

The history of the quarrels of the Pasha of Acre with Mehemet Ali, justifies, in some degree, the pretensions of the latter. Abdallah Pashahad rendered himself famous by his extortions, and in 1822 took itinto his head to seize Damascus. The neighbouring Pasha formed a leagueagainst him, and laid siege to his capital, when Mehemet Ali negotiatedhis pardon for a sum of 60, 000 purses, which of course the people paid. Interest soon prevailed over gratitude; the Pasha of Acre felt therewas more to be gained from Constantinople than from Cairo--that theauthority of the Sultan in the Pashalic would never be more thannominal, and that the Porte, satisfied by some presents, would not bein a condition to prevent his exactions; he therefore sought, on everyoccasion, to get rid of the influence of Mehemet Ali, and to excite thejealousy of the Porte against him. An opportunity soon offered itself. Some Egyptian fellahs had taken refuge under the guns of Abdallah Pasha;Mehemet Ali demanded these men, but the Governor of Acre refused to givethem up, on the plea that they were subjects of the Grand Signor, andreferred the matter to the Porte, who on this occasion was seized witha fit of humanity, and _bewailed_ the oppression of the peasantry of theValley of the Vale--_Inde Bellum_. ' This was at the close of 1831. 

The moment was favourable for the Viceroy's great designs. Europe wassufficiently agitated to leave him no apprehensions of an interventionon the part of Russia. The Albanians and the Borneans were in openrevolt, and insurrections had broken out also in several Pashalicson the side of Upper Asia. The Sultan was considered the slave of theRussians, and his conduct excited the contempt and hatred of the wholeempire. In the meantime, since the revolution the exactions of thegovernment had extended to every object of production and industry, while the conscription decimated the most industrious portion of thepopulation; and if to this organised system of spoliation we fartheradd the ravages of the plague and cholera, we may form some idea of thewretched state of those provinces, and shall be no longer surprised thatthe Egyptians were everywhere hailed as deliverers. 

Ibrahim Pasha, the step-son of Mehemet Ali, was placed at the headof the Egyptian army. Of a short, thick-set figure, he possesses thatgigantic strength which Homer so loved in his heroes, and which inspiressuch respect among barbarous nations. To strike off the head of a bullwith a blow of his scimitar--to execute, like Peter the Great, hisvictims with his own hand--to fall, dead drunk, amid the broken wrecksof champagne bottles, are three diversions of his. But latterly hismanners, from his intercourse with Europeans, have been somewhatpolished, and in deference to them, he has displayed both clemency anddignity--in fact, Ibrahim is excessively anxious to acquire the goodopinion of Europe. He possesses all that strong common-sense that sodistinguishes the Turks, rather than an elevated intelligence of mind. Soliman Bey, a renegade Frenchman, formerly an officer on the staffof Marshal Grouchy, was associated with him, and it is to him that thesuccess of the Egyptian army may be chiefly attributed. 

Syria, with her various productions, was the first country which offereditself to the conquest of the Egyptians. Closed entirely on the side ofAsia by Mount Amanus, which belongs to the chain of Taurus, and extendsfrom the Gulf of Scanderoun to the Euphrates, she is bounded on one sideby the Mediterranean, and on the other by the desert. Her length fromAintab to Gaza is one hundred and fifty leagues, and the mean breadthabout thirty. By a single glance at the map we perceive the mostimportant military points for the defence of Syria are the fortress ofSaint Jean d'Acre; Tyre, which ought to be fortified; Bolbeck, asthe key to several valleys; Antakea, the passage of the Beilan;Alexandretta, situated upon a tongue of land between the marshes and thesea; and lastly, Aentab and Zenyma, which command the two passages onthe right side of Mount Amanus. 

We have entered into details in order to show how destitute of allstrategetical combinations was the whole plan of campaign in Syria. Malte Brun estimates the population of the district of Sham attwo millions, but we are inclined to question the accuracy of thiscalculation, since no two travellers are agreed as to the numbers of theDruses, some estimating them at 120, 000, others at a million. The Turksform two-fifths of the population--they inhabit the large towns with theGreeks; the remainder of the population is composed of Arab fellahs, of Kurds, and of Turcomans, who wander in the valley of the Orontes;of Bedouin Arabs, who pitch their tents on the banks of the Jordan andalong the edge of the desert of Ansarich, worshippers of the sun, thedescendants of the servants of the Old Man of the Mountain of Maronites, who profess the Catholic ritual; of Druses, whose creed is doubtful;of all the inhabitants of Mount Lebanon; of Mebualis, Mussulmans of thesect of Ali; of Naplonsins and other tribes who have preserved a stateof independence. We shall not be astonished to know that amidst thisprodigious diversity of races Syria is more easy to conquer than to keeppossession of. With the exception of the Ansarich, who inhabit the northof Syria, all of them obeyed, at the moment when the war broke out, theEmir Bechir, a Druse, prince of the family of the celebrated Fakr elDin, who revolted against Amurath the Fourth. The Emir Bechir, whenAbdallah raised the standard of revolt in 1822, sought the protection ofMehemet Ali, who re-established him in his government. 

Let us now follow Ibrahim in his march. At the head of 32, 000 regulartroops, and four or five thousand Bedouin Arabs and Hassouras, he tookthe same route as Bonaparte, and rapidly advanced against Saint Jeand'Acre. Without firing a shot, he made himself master of Jaffa, Caipha, Jerusalem, Naplonsia. Tabaneh and all the country between Gaza andAcre submitted at his approach. Master of the sea, by which he expectedreinforcements both in men and material, he made haste to occupy thewhole line of coast as far as Ladikich, and set down on the 27th ofNovember, before Saint Jean d'Acre, with a corps of 15, 000 regularinfantry, two regiments of lancers, 1, 000 Bedouins, two companies ofsappers, one of cannoniers, one of bombardiers, and a train of fieldand siege artillery. The place is situated on a promontory surrounded onthree sides by the sea, and defended on the fourth by a fort, crownedby a tower, which serves as a citadel. This last fort, the bastionsof which, from their retiring flanks being too short, is the only oneaccessible on the land side, but it was enfiladed from a neighbouringheight. Bonaparte, at the siege of Saint Jean d'Acre, was destitute ofsiege artillery, and was not master of the sea. He had, therefore, manymore obstacles to encounter than Ibrahim. 

During the first ten days the cannonade of the besiegers was not veryvigorous, but on the 9th of December, five frigates having cast anchorbefore the place, with some gun-boats under sail, a general attack wasmade, and from eight in the morning until four in the afternoon thefleet and the batteries on shore kept up a well-directed fire. Thebesieged on their side were not inactive. The Egyptians experienced aheavy loss, and several of their ships were much cut up. From the 9thto the 18th the bombardment lasted night and day. On the 10th some heavyguns were placed in battery. The operations of the siege were nowpushed forward with great ardour, but yet nothing denoted the immediatereduction of the place. The defence of Ab-dallah Pasha was marked bythe most determined energy. He had sworn, it was reported, that he wouldblow up the town. It was, however, of the utmost importance to pushforward the operations with the greatest activity. The first dispositionof the population, which had been favourable, might undergo a changeshould not Ibrahim succeed in striking a great blow. The mountaineers ofLebanon and of Naplonsia had sent their chiefs to the Egyptian camp, andwere ready to furnish a contingent of their warriors. 

The news of the invasion of Syria by the army of Mehemet Ali, spreadterror at Constantinople. The Porte, with her usual craft, dissimulated, and feigning to see in this event but a quarrel between two Pashas, shesummoned them to lay before her their respective griefs; but finding herorders were disregarded, she made preparations for war. On the 16th ofDecember, 1831, Mehemet Pasha, already governor of Racca, was appointedgovernor of Aleppo, and Seraskier of Syria and Arabia. Orders were sentto the directors of the Imperial Mines, Osman Pasha, to the Musselimsof Marash, of Sevas, of Adana, and of Payas, to levy troops. Strictinjunctions were also given to the governors of Caramania, and ofCaesarea, to hold themselves in readiness; but this movement of Tartarswas insufficient to produce a numerous army; the lukewarm devotion ofthe subjects of the Porte found ample means of evasion; and everyday the efforts of the Turkish government in Syria to reestablish itsauthority, encountered new obstacles. 

The son of the Emir Bechir assembled troops in the mountains, and heldout for Mehemet Ali. Damascus armed itself through fear, but retained asan hostage the Pasha appointed to conduct the caravan to Mecca. MemiranOsman Pasha had been selected by the Porte for the government ofTripoli, but it was necessary to take possession of it by force of arms. -This port was already occupied, in the name of Mehemet Ali, by MustaphaAgar Barbar, a man of considerable note in the country. The SeraskierMehemet Pasha consented to furnish Osman with some thousand irregularhorsemen, and fourteen small field-pieces. 

The latter arrived before his capital early in April. Believing theEgyptian Commander-in-Chief still occupied with the siege of SaintJean d'Acre, all his dispositions of attack consisted in scattering histroops over the surrounding hills, and in ordering his artillery to playupon the town, which did not displace a single stone; the guns of thecastle were also so badly pointed that the Turkish horsemen gallopedup to the very houses, and were only beaten off by a brisk fire ofmusketry, which, galling them severely, drove them across the heights. Night put an end to the affair. 

A few days after this skirmish, Ibrahim Pasha, having left to one of hislieutenants the direction of the siege of Saint Jean d'Acre and wishingto reconnoitre the country, appeared at the head of 800 men, with sixfield-pieces, before Osman's camp, who, seized with a panic, immediatelyabandoned it to the enemy, and hastened to form a junction with thePasha of Aleppo, who was posted near Hameh. The Egyptian generalimmediately pursued him, and took up a position at Horn. But, threatenedupon this point by three brigades of the Seraskier Mehemet Pasha, heretired, after some skirmishes, to Bolbeck, where he established hiscamp, and was joined by Abaz Pasha, his nephew, at the head of 800 men. But his presence was required in other quarters. Divisions had brokenout at several points, and the slowness with which the operations of thesiege of Saint Jean d'Acre was carried on had damped the ardour of hispartisans. 

At Tripoli a conspiracy was discovered, in which were implicated theCadi, the Mufti, and the principal Turks. After receiving a considerablereinforcement of troops from Candia, and making some defensivedispositions to the south of Bolbeck, Ibrahim encamped before Saint Jeand'Acre, to bring the siege to a conclusion by a decisive attack. On the19th of May the fire was recommenced with great vigour; the Egyptiansmade the most extraordinary efforts to get into the city, andexperienced a heavy loss; but no sooner was a breach effected than itwas again closed up. Nothing was left standing in the town. The palacewas destroyed, and Abdullah Pasha obliged to retire to the caves dug byDjezzar. The garrison was reduced to less than 2, 000 men. At last, on the 27th of May, a general assault was made. Three breaches werepracticable, one on the tower of Kapon Bourdjon, the other two at NebiehZaleh, and at Zavieh. Six battalions had the horrors of the attack, which commenced at daybreak and lasted twelve hours. 

At Kapon Bourdjon the Arabs were on the point of giving ground, butIbrahim having with his own hand struck off the head of a captain, andhaving turned a battery against them, they returned to the assault. Unfortunately for Abdullah, his gunners ran from their pieces, and hewas obliged to capitulate. The Egyptians confessed a loss but of 1, 429wounded, and 512 killed. Thus fell Saint Jean d'Acre, after a memorabledefence of six months. The capture of this place insured to Ibrahimthe possession of Lower Syria, and enabled him to advance in perfectsecurity. 

While the son of Mehemet Ali was thus vigorously pushing forward thewar, the Porte was still occupied with her preparations. In the month ofMarch, Hussein Pasha, celebrated by the destruction of Janizaries, andby the extraordinary bravery he displayed in the Russian Campaign, butin other respects, a soldier _à la Turc_, was appointed chief of theexpedition to Arabia. To this soldier was confided the safety of theempire, with the title of field-marshal of Anatolia. He was solemnlyinvested with the Har-vani (a short cloak) with an embroidered collar. He received a sabre set in brilliants, and two Arabian horses, superblycaparisoned; and, on the 17th of April, he received orders to join thearmy which Horsen Pasha had organised, the headquarters of which was atKonisk. 

By the formation and rapid assembly of the new regular regiments, thearmy had been raised to 60, 000 men, including artillery and engineers. The mass of their forces was composed of Beckir Pasha's brigade ofinfantry, with the 2nd regiment of cavalry and a strong brigade ofirregulars, under the orders of the governor of Silistria; of SkenderPasha's brigade of infantry, and the 6th cavalry; and Delaver Pasha'sbrigade, with the cavalry of the guard. Each of these corps wasaccompanied by its batteries. An European organisation had been givento the different services, such as the paymaster-general's department, commissariat, etc. The Sultan had written out many of the regulationswith his own hand. 

The young general of division, Mehemet Pasha, a manumitted slave ofHussein, was specially charged with the direction of the regular troops, under the orders of Hussein Pasha. He was tolerably well acquainted withall our manoeuvres, and possessed some military talent. The Europeaninstructors were attached to his suite. They were the captain ofartillery, Thernin, whose counsels would have saved the Turkish armyhad they been listened to; the engineer officer, Reully, a brave andexperienced soldier; and the captain of the cavalry, Colosso. The twoformer (Frenchmen) saw almost the whole of the war. Taken prisoners bythe Egyptians, they refused to enter their service, and were sent back. As for Colosso, he sojourned but a short time in the camp; for, on hisendeavouring to put a stop to the frightful abuses that pervaded everybranch of the service, the generals and colonels formed a league againsthim, and he retired in disgust. 

On the 14th of May the field-marshal arrived at Koniah, where hedisplayed the most culpable negligence and carelessness. It was invain that the European inspectors requested him to put in force 'theregulation for troops in the field, ' of the French general Prevan, whichhad been translated into Turkish; they were no more listened to thanwere their complaints on the bad state of the camp, and on the indolenceand negligence of the chiefs. 

The generalissimo never even deemed it once requisite to review hisarmy. The most frightful disorder prevailed in the Turkish militaryadministrations, which subsequently led to all their reverses; in fact, it was evident to every experienced eye that an army so constituted, once overtaken by defeat, would soon be totally disorganised, and thatthe Porte ought to place no reliance upon its army. But there was anarm which, in the flourishing times of Islamism, was worth 100, 000Janizaries. This was excommunication. The Sultan at last resolved tounsheathe this weapon. The fatal fetva was launched against the traitorMehemet Ali, and his son, the indolent Ibrahim. Those who have studiedthe Turkish history must have thought that the Viceroy of Egypt wouldfind at last his master--the executioner; but since the late victoriesof the Russians, all national faith is extinguished among the Osmanlis. Excommunication is an arm as worn out at Constantinople as at Rome. 

Whilst the Porte was fulminating her bull of excommunication, shedirected a note to the corps diplomatique at Constantinople, in whichshe explained the quarrel with her subjects, and in which she demandedthe strictest neutrality on the part of the great powers, and declaredEgypt in a state of blockade. The Emperor Nicholas recalled his consulfrom Alexandria, and even made an offer of a fleet, and an auxiliarycorps d'armee. Austria, an enemy to all revolutions, went so far asto threaten the Viceroy. England appeared to preserve the strictestneutrality, while France strenuously employed all her influence to bringabout an accommodation; but in vain. 

The Divan refusing the demands of Mehemet Ali, the solution of thequestion was referred to Field-Marshal Hussein, who proceeded with thatcalculated exertion which the Ottomans take for dignity; and thus threeweeks were lost before the army advanced on Mount Taurus. It was only onthe 1st of June that Mehemet Pasha arrived with the vanguard and Beker'sbrigade at Adana. A reconnaissance, pushed forward as far as Tarsons, brought back the news of the fall of Saint Jean d'Acre. It became, therefore, an imperative necessity to occupy the passes of Syria, and tomarch upon Antioch, in order to cover Beylau. A Tartar was despatched toHussein, who posted off in great haste to Adana, only to halt there fora fortnight. At last the movement was effected, and the army reachedAntioch, where the cholera broke out in its ranks, and where eight dayswere lost. Instead of profiting by Ibrahim's delay to take up a moreadvanced position, the latter descended into the valley of the Orontes, and entered Damascus on the 15th of June, after a short engagement withthe Turkish irregulars. 

But all Ibrahim's operations were marked by a want of rapidity. Aftersecuring Antioch, the Turkish army should have marched upon Horns, which offered an excellent position, where they might have establisheda communication with the Druses, upon whom some hopes were founded, andwhence they would have commanded the road to Damascus. But it was nottill the 6th of July that Hussein would execute this movement. MehemetPasha commenced his march; but in their haste they forgot to issuerations to the troops, who reached Horns at ten in the morning, almostdead with hunger and fatigue. The Seraskier of Aleppo was encamped, withhis irregular troops, at the gates of the city; but without deigningeven to think of the enemy, whom they thought to be at some distance, orto issue rations to the serving troops, they wasted their time in vainceremonies. 

The young Mehemet Pasha was carried, under a salute of artillery, intoa magnificent tent pitched upon the bank of the river. There thetwo viziers made a long interchange of compliments, and smoked thehargueleh. 

Midst of all this mummery, intelligence was brought in that the Egyptianarmy was within two hours' march of them. The disorder that ensued wasdreadful. The hungry soldiers dragged themselves in masses to meet theArabs. The latter waited for them, with their front masked by lighttroops, presenting twenty-seven battalions deployed in line, the left ofwhich rested on the Orontes, and the right upon a hamlet at the foot ofa hill. The Egyptians, who were ignorant of the presence of the Turkishregular infantry, had adopted this vicious disposition against theirirregular cavalry. But no one really commanded among the Turks, and thusthe opportunity of striking a decisive blow was lost. Every colonel hadan opinion of his own. One Pasha wished to retreat, while the Europeaninstructors insisted on an immediate attack. In short, the artilleryeven refused to advance to the front. However, Ibrahim Pasha did notremain inactive; he pressed the Turks closely, doubled his line fromright to left, and pushed forward some battalions on the side of theOrontes, but they were checked by part of Beker's brigade and two piecesof cannon. Then the whole Egyptian line halted and opened their fire. In the course of twenty minutes the left of the Turks sufferedconsiderably. 

Mehemet Pasha resolved to charge the enemy with the bayonet; but insteadof remaining with the second line in order to direct the movement, he put himself at the head of his soldiers to attack the Arabs, whoimmediately formed in column. Before he reached them, he was abandonedby his artillery, while his cavalry, which should have turned the enemy, fell back in disorder before a battery which they might have carried. The second line of infantry did not support the movement with vigour;and on the Egyptian columns deploying into line, preparatory to adecisive charge, the whole Turkish army went to the right-about inthe most disgraceful manner, pursued by the enemy's cavalry. It was ageneral _sauve qui peut_. The approach of night alone saved the Turkisharmy from total destruction. The loss of the Sultan's forces in thisaffair amounted to 2, 000 killed and 2, 500 prisoners. 

The wrecks of the Turkish corps retired pell-mell upon Antioch. Insteadof rallying them, Ned-geb Pasha's brigade, which was encamped at twohours' march from the field of battle, fled with them. 

The field-marshal, on learning this disaster, took post at the _tête dupont_ on Djezzer, on the Orontes. He received the fugitives at thepoint of the bayonet, and cut off the heads of the first mutineers whoendeavoured to cross. It was in such moments that Hussein showed himselfto be above the ordinary stamp of mankind. His energy was admirablycalculated for quelling a revolt; but, on the other hand, though he wasable to master the confusion of a retreat, he knew not how to avoid it. Such was his military incapacity that he was incapable of foreseeinganything. In a short time he expended all the money in the militarychest, impoverishing all the districts through which he passed, payingnowhere and holding up the name of his master to universal execration. At the action of Horns, the mass of his forces were not engaged, so thatthere yet remained 40, 000 regular troops; but the field-marshalallowed an army to perish, to which Horsen Pasha had given a tolerableorganisation. Instead of taking any measures of defence, he set out forAntioch, with the view of effecting a junction with some troops in theneighbourhood of Aleppo; but finding no provisions in those districts, he returned by forced marches to Alexandretta, after fatiguing histroops by a march of eight hundred leagues. 

However, Ibrahim was advancing, having recalled all his garrisons, andmade new levies in the mountains. As he advanced, the whole countrydeclared in his favour, and the castle of Aleppo was delivered up tohim. His conduct was marked by great skill and generosity. Under hisprotection the numerous Christians began to raise their heads. Therenow only remained, to complete the entire occupation of Syria, to seizeAntioch and Alexandretta; but his operations were pushed forward withextreme slowness, because he always expected from Constantinople adecision favourable to the pretensions of his father-in-law. The Turkishfield-marshal had thus plenty of time to stop his passage into Carmania. 

Antioch offered a position for an entrenched camp; but this hedisregarded, and made his advanced posts fall back upon the defileof Beylau. This defile, formed by a deep valley, is so narrow in someplaces that a camel can scarcely pass. Nevertheless, this is the grandroute of the Mecca caravan. Nothing was more easy than to defend it; yeton the 5th of August the Egyptians made themselves masters of it, afteran action of two hours. The passage of the Beylau delivered to theconqueror Alexandretta, its immense magazines, and one hundred piecesof cannon. The Turks, instead of rallying in the rear, in the favourablepositions which the ground afforded, fled in the direction of Adana. Ibrahim pursued them with his cavalry, which passed the Djihun at aford, Hussein Pasha having blown up the superb bridge of nine archesthat crossed that river at Missis. 

The Ottoman troops continued their retreat across the plain of Adana, but they had scarcely reached that city before they were dislodged bythe enemy, who were on the point of capturing the field-marshal. Thewhole district of Adana declared for Ibrahim, who had at lengthreached the new line of frontiers which Mehemet Ali wished to make theboundaries of his empire. There was now nothing to prevent the march ofthe Egyptians upon Constantinople itself, for the demoralised soldiersof Hussein Pasha deserved not the name of an army. The Kurds and theAnatolian peasantry murdered the Turkish regulars wherever they couldfind them, which was not difficult, for, deserted by platoons, theprovinces of Upper Asia were in such a state of insurrection that asingle officer of Ibrahim's would have been sufficient to make the mostconsiderable town capitulate. 

The Viceroy, at one moment, had the insane idea of himself attacking theTurkish capital by sea, while Ibrahim should threaten it from Scutari. But his prudence doubtless prevented the execution of the enterprise, for however popular the cause of Mehemet Ali may have been, he wouldhave appeared in Constantinople only as a subject, and certainly couldnot have prevented the intervention of Russia. And lastly, had hesucceeded in these projects of unbounded ambition, what would have beenthe result? Instead of a compact state bounded by Mount Taurus, he wouldhave found himself embarrassed with a great empire, tottering to itsbase, which no human power can regenerate. 

Mehemet Ali listened, therefore, to the sagacious counsel of France, and endeavoured to obtain the recognition of his independence. But thePorte, listening to the perfidious suggestions, and governed by theblind obstinacy that led to the battle of Navarino and the victoriesof the Russians, would make no terms, and reduced Ibrahim, after anarmistice of five months, to conquer her again. Hussein Pasha wassucceeded by the Grand Vizier, Redchid Pasha, the same who haddistinguished himself in Greece, and quelled the revolt of ScodroPasha. Brave and accustomed to the camp, a sound politician, Redchid wassuperior to his predecessor, but even he was only a Turkish general. He had been selected principally on account of his great influencein Turkey in Europe. He therefore received orders to repair toConstantinople, with considerable levies of Bosnians and Albanians, ofwhich they knew he could dispose, and with the six regiments of infantryand cavalry that belonged to them. 

In the meantime the indefatigable Hussein Pasha had succeeded inre-organising an army with about 40, 000 regulars of the reserve; itwas echeloned between the capital and Koniah, reinforced by the troopsbrought by the Grand Vizier; it was sufficiently numerous to haveprevented Ibrahim's further advance; but there was neither skill inthe general nor ardour among the troops; the councils of the Europeaninstructors were, as usual, disregarded, while the Egyptian army, onthe contrary, was almost exclusively under the direction of Europeanofficers. A single piece of artillery would have sufficed to defend thepassage of the Taurus, and yet when Ibrahim appeared on its northerndeclivity he had to encounter but a few irregulars, of whom he soon gavea good account. He then fixed his camp on the plain of Erekli, at onehundred and sixty days' march of a camel from Constantinople, and thenadvanced upon Koniah. 

Reuff Pasha, who had provisionally assumed the command of the Turkisharmy until the arrival of Red-chid Pasha, prudently fell back upon Ackenat the approach of the Egyptians. But forgetting the disastrous day ofKoulaktche, the Grand Vizier merely assumed the offensive instead oftaking up a position in the mountains; and, allowing the unusual rigourof the season to thin the ranks of the enemy, he precipitately advanced. The cold was so excessive, the weather so dreadful, and the roadsrendered so impassable by the snow, that only a small portion of theartillery and ammunition could follow the movement, so that they foundthemselves, as at Horns, without provisions in the presence of theenemy. 

Some distance from Koniah, Redchid Pasha sent forward his selector atthe head of a body of irregulars, with orders to advance across themountains up the village of Lilé, which was occupied by a strongdetachment of Arabs, while the Grand Vizier on his side with the grandarmy, was to pursue the route of the plain. The attack was to have beensimultaneous, but unfortunately the selector arrived too soon on thescene of action, and was totally defeated. Undaunted by this check, the Grand Vizier continued his advance, and did not halt till he was inpresence of the enemy, whom he found strongly entrenched, and preparedto give him a warm reception. It was the 29th of the Redgeb (21stof December), and from the advanced hour of the day there was noalternative but to attack, otherwise he must have passed a night uponthe field, without bread, exposed to the action of an intense cold thatwould have paralysed the ardour of the troops. 

Redchid Pasha made therefore no dispositions for attack, but his orderof battle was best: he drew up his army in four lines, thus renderinguseless a great part of his troops, and when he at length resolved toalter his dispositions for a more extended order of battle, he did notreconnoitre the ground to ascertain if it would permit such an extensionof front. His left wing therefore was unable to deploy, and remainedformed in columns of attack, while the enemy's artillery committeddreadful havoc on their profound masses. He committed also anotherfault, that of placing his artillery between the interval of the lines, so that it did not reach the Egyptians, while theirs on the contrary, posted in their front, did great execution. 

Mehemet Redchid's main plan of battle was to attack with the mass of hisforces, composed chiefly of Albanians, the centre of the enemy's army, whilst the cavalry should make a demonstration upon the wings. ButIbrahim, who had foreseen this manoeuvre, leaving only on the pointattacked a sufficient force to make ahead for a short time, turned hisadversary to the gorges of the mountains. On gaining the flanks of theOttoman party, he impetuously attacked and routed their cavalry, andafterwards advanced against the principal Turkish corps, which thusfound itself attacked on both sides. The Albanians, in spite of all theefforts of the Grand Vizier, broke and fled. 

Redchid Pasha then put himself at the head of his guard for a lasteffort, but after performing prodigies of valour, he was again repulsed, and fell, severely wounded, into the hands of the Egyptians. The lossof the Turks was immense; one regiment alone, the first infantry of theline, left 3, 000 men upon the field of battle. 

The battle was decisive. The second army of the Grand Seigneur wasannihilated, and the road to Constantinople again open to Ibrahim; andthe tottering empire of Mahmoud was saved by the intervention of theRussian Autocrat, who felt that it was his own property that was atstake rather than that of the unfortunate Sultan. Mehemet Ali is now onindependent sovereign, and it is to the military genius of Europe thathe owes this glory; while the once formidable empire of Mahomet israpidly sinking under an accumulation of evils, the operation of whichEuropean diplomacy will in vain attempt to arrest. 

THE COURT OF EGYPT

TWO or three miles from Cairo, approached by an avenue of sycamores, isShoubra, a favourite residence of the Pasha of Egypt. The palace, on thebanks of the Nile, is not remarkable for its size or splendour, but thegardens are extensive and beautiful, and adorned by a kiosk, which isone of the most elegant and fanciful creations I can remember. 

Emerging from fragant bowers of orange trees, you suddenly perceivebefore you tall and glittering gates rising from a noble range ofmarble steps. These you ascend, and entering, find yourself in a largequadrangular colonnade of white marble. It surrounds a small lake, studded by three or four gaudy barques, fastened to the land by silkencords. The colonnade terminates towards the water by a very noble marblebalustrade, the top of which is covered with groups of various kinds offish in high relief. At each angle of the colonnade the balustrade givesway to a flight of steps which are guarded by crocodiles of immensesize, admirably sculptured in white marble. On the farther side thecolonnade opens into a great number of very brilliant banqueting-rooms, which you enter by withdrawing curtains of scarlet cloth, a colourvividly contrasting with the white shining marble of which the wholekiosk is formed. It is a frequent diversion of the Pasha himself torow some favourite Circassians in one of the barques and to oversethis precious freight in the midst of the lake. As his Highness piqueshimself upon wearing a caftan of calico, and a juba or exterior robe ofcoarse cloth, a ducking has not for him the same terrors it would offerto a less eccentric Osmanli. The fair Circassians shrieking, with theirstreaming hair and dripping finery, the Nubian eunuchs rushing to theiraid, plunging into the water from the balustrade, or dashing down the tmarble steps, --all this forms an agreeable relaxation after the laboursof the Divan. 

All the splendour of the Arabian Nights is realised in the Courtof Egypt. The guard of Nubian eunuchs with their black, glossycountenances, clothed in scarlet and gold, waving their glitteringDamascus sabres, and gently bounding on their snow-white steeds, is, perhaps, the most picturesque corps in the world. The numerous harem, the crowds of civil functionaries and military and naval officersin their embroidered Nizam uniforms, the vast number of pages andpipe-bearers, and other inferior but richly attired attendants, thesplendid military music, for which Mehemet Ali has an absolute passion, the beautiful Arabian horses and high-bred dromedaries, altogether forma blending of splendour and luxury which easily recall the golden daysof Bagdad and its romantic Caliph. 

Yet this Court is never seen to greater advantage than in the delicioussummer palace in the gardens of Shoubra. During the festival of theBairam the Pasha usually holds his state in this enchanted spot, nor isit easy to forget that strange and brilliant scene. The banqueting-roomswere all open and illuminated, the colonnade was full of guests ingorgeous groups, some standing and conversing, some seated on smallPersian carpets smoking pipes beyond all price, and some young grandeeslounging, in their crimson shawls and scarlet vests, over the whitebalustrade, and flinging their glowing shadows over the moonlit water:from every quarter came bursts of melody, and each moment the riverbreeze brought gusts of perfume on its odorous wings. 

THE VALLEY OF THEBES

UPPER EGYPT is a river flowing through a desert; the banks on each sideaffording a narrow margin of extreme fertility. Rocks of granite andhills of sand form, at slight intervals, through a course of sev-earlhundred miles, a chain of valleys, reaching from the rapids of the Nileto the vicinity of Cairo. In one of these valleys, the broadest and themost picturesque, about half-way between the cataracts and the moderncapital, we find the most ancient, the most considerable, and the mostcelebrated of architectural remains. For indeed no Greek, or Sicilian, or Latin city--Athens, or Agrigentum, or Rome; nor the platforms ofPersepolis, nor the columns of Palmyra, can vie for a moment in extent, variety, and sublime dimensions, with the ruins of ancient Thebes. 

These remains may be classed, generally, in four considerable divisions:two of these great quarters of ruins being situated on each side of theriver Nile--Karnak and Luxor towards the Red Sea; the Memnonion andMedcenet Habu towards the great Libyan Desert. On this side, also, arethe cemeteries of the great city--the mummy-caves of Gornou, two milesin extent; above them, excavated in the mountains, are the tombs of thequeens; and in the adjacent valley of Beban-el-Maluk, the famous tombsof the kings. 

The population of the city of a hundred gates now consists of a fewArab families, who form four villages of mud huts, clustered round thosegigantic columns and those mighty obelisks, a single one of which issought for by the greatest sovereigns of Europe for their palaces andmuseums. Often, indeed, have I seen a whole Arab village rising from theroof of a single Egyptian temple. Dendera is an instance. The populationof Gornou, numbering between three and four hundred, resides solely inthe tombs. 

I think that Luxor, from its situation, usually first attracts thenotice of the traveller. It is close on the river, and is built on alofty platform. Its enormous columns are the first specimens of thatcolossal genius of the Pharaohs, which the Ptolemies never attemptedto rival. The entrance to this temple is through a magnificentpropylon;-that is, a portal flanked by massy pyramidal moles. It is twohundred feet in breadth, and rises nearly sixty feet above the soil. This gate is entirely covered with sculpture, commemorating the triumphof a conquering monarch. 

On each side of the portal are two colossal statues of red granite, buried in the sand up to their shoulders, but measuring thence, to thetop of their crowns, upwards of twenty feet. On each side of them, alittle in advance, at the time of my visit, were the two most perfectobelisks remaining. One of them is now at Paris;--that famous obelisk ofLuxor, of which we have heard so much. From the propylon, you passinto a peristyle court, --about two hundred and thirty feet long, by onehundred and seventy--the roof of which was once supported by double rowsof columns, many of which now remain: and so on through other pyramidalgates, and courts, and porticoes, and chambers, which are, in allprobability, of a more ancient date than those first described. 

From Luxor you proceed to Karnak, the other great division on this sideof the river, through an avenue of sphinxes, considerably above a milein extent, though much broken. All the marvels of the world sinkbefore the first entrance into Karnak. It is the Alps-the Andes--ofarchitecture. The obelisks of Luxor may be unrivalled; the sculpturesof Medoenet Habu more exquisite; the colossus of the Memnonion moregigantic; the paintings of the royal tombs more curious and instructive:but criticism ceases before the multifarious wonders of the halls andcourts of Karnak, and the mind is open only to one general impression ofcolossal variety. 

I well remember the morning when I stood before the propylon, or chiefentrance of Karnak. The silver stars were still shining in the cold blueheaven, that afforded a beautiful relief to the mighty structure, builtof a light yellow stone, and quite unstained by the winds of threethousand years. The front of this colossal entrance is very much broaderthan the front of our cathedral of St. Paul, and its height exceeds thatof the Trajan column. It is entirely without sculpture--a rare omission, and doubtless intended that the unity of effect should not be broken. The great door in the centre is sixty-four feet in height. 

Through this you pass into colonnaded courts, which in any other placewould command undivided attention, until you at length arrive in frontof a second propylon. Ascending a flight of steps, you enter the greathall of Karnak. The area of this hall is nearly fifty-eight thousandsquare feet, and it has recently been calculated that four such churchesas our St. Martin's-in-the-Fields might stand side by side in thisunrivalled chamber without occupying the whole space. The roof, formedof single stones--compared with which the masses at Stonehenge wouldappear almost bricks--has fallen in; but the one hundred and thirty-fourcolossal columns which supported it, and which are considerably abovethirty feet in circumference, still remain, and with the walls andpropyla are completely covered with sculptured forms. 

I shall not attempt to describe any other part of Karnak;-the memoryaches with the effort. There are many buildings attached to it, largerthan most temples; and infinite number of gates and obelisks, andcolossi; but the imagination cannot refrain from calling up some sacredor heroic procession, moving from Luxor to Karnak, in melodious pomp, through the great avenue of sphinxes, and ranging themselves in groupsaround the gigantic columns of this sublime structure. What feudalsplendour, and what Gothic ceremonies; what tilts and tournaments, andwhat ecclesiastical festivals, could rival the vast, the beautiful, andthe solemn magnificence of the old Egyptians?

Crossing the river to Western Thebes, we arrive at two seated colossi, one of which is the famous musical statue of Memnon. It is fine to seehim still seated on his throne, dignified and serene, on the plain ofThebes. This colossus is fifty feet in height; and its base is coveredwith inscriptions of Greek and Roman travellers, vouching that theyhad listened to the wild sunrise melody. This statue and its remainingcompanion, though now isolated in their situation, were once part of anenormous temple, the ruins of which yet remain, and the plan of whichmay yet be traced. 

The Memnonion itself is now near at hand. In the colossal Caryatideswe recognise the vast genius that excavated the rocks of Ipsambul, andsupported a cavern temple upon the heads of giants. From the Memnonioncame the statue that is now in the British Museum. But this figure, though a fine specimen of Egyptian sculpture, sinks, so far as magnitudeis concerned, into insignificance, when compared with the statue of thesupposed Sesostris, which, broken off at the waist, now lies prostratein the precincts of the sanctuary. This is, probably, the most hugecolossus that the Egyptians ever constructed. The fragment is of redgranite, and of admirable workmanship. Unfortunately, the face isentirely obliterated. It lies upon its back, and in its fall hasdestroyed all the temple within reach. It measures more than sixty feetround the shoulders, the breadth of the instep is nearly seven feet, andthe hieroglyphical figures engraven on the arm are large enough for aman to walk in. 

Perhaps the most interesting group of ruins at Thebes is the quarter ofMedoenet Habu, for here, among other vast remains, is that of apalace; and it is curious, among other domestic subjects, that we findrepresented on the walls, in a very admirable style, a Pharaoh playingchess with his queen. It is these domestic details that render also thesepulchres of Thebes so interesting. The arts of the Egyptians must bestudied in their tombs; and to learn how this remarkable people lived, we must frequent their burial-places. A curious instance of this is, that, in a tomb near Beni-hassan, we learn by what process the Egyptiansprocured from the distant quarries of Nubia those masses of granite withwhich they raised the columns of Karnak and the obelisks of Luxor. 

If I were called upon to describe in a word the principal andprimary characteristic of Egyptian architecture, I should at once sayImagination, as Grace is the characteristic of the architecture of theGreeks. Thus, when the Ptolemies assumed the sceptre of the Pharaohs, they blended the delicate taste of Ionia t with the rich inventionof the Nile, and produced Philoe, Dendera, and Edfou. It is from thePharaohs, however, that you must seek for the vast and the gigantic: thepyramid, the propylon, the colossus, the catacomb, the obelisk, and thesphinx. 

It was in the early part of the year of the invasion of Syria by theEgyptians, some eight years gone, that I first visited Thebes. My barquewas stowed against the bank of the river, near the Memnonion; the lastbeam of the sun, before it sunk behind the Libyan hills, quivered on thecolumns of Luxor; the Nubian crew, after their long and laboriousvoyage, were dispersed on shore; and I was myself reposing in the shade, almost unattended, when a Turk, well mounted, and followed by hispipe-bearer, and the retinue that accompanies an Oriental of condition, descended from the hills which contain the tombs of the queens, andapproached the boat. I was surprised, on advancing to welcome him, to behailed in my native tongue; and pleased, at such a moment and in such aplace, to find a countryman. While we smoked the pipe of salutation, hetold me that he had lived at Thebes for nearly ten years, studying theantiquities, the history, and the manners of its ancient inhabitants. Iavailed myself of his invitation to his residence, and, accompanyinghim, I found that I was a visitor in a tomb, and yet by no means agloomy dwelling-place. A platform, carved in the mountain, wassurrounded by a mud wall and tower, to protect it from hostile Arabs. A couple of gazelles played in this front court, while we, reposing on adivan, arranged round the first chamber of the tomb, were favoured witha most commanding view of the valley outspread beneath. There wereseveral inner chambers, separated from each other by hangings of scarletcloth. Many apartments in the Albany have I seen not half as pleasantand convenient. I found a library, and instruments of art and science;a companion full of knowledge, profound in Oriental manners, andthoroughly master of the subject which naturally then most interestedme. Our repast was strictly Eastern, but the unusual convenience offorks was not wanting, and my host told me that they were the very onesthat he had used at Exeter College. I shall never forget that first dayat Thebes, and this my first interview with one then unknown to fame, but whom the world has since recognised--the learned, the ingenious, andamiable Mr. Wilkinson. 

EGYPTIAN THEBES

THE characteristic of Egyptian architecture is Imagination; of Grecianarchitecture, Grace. When the Ptolemies assumed the sceptre of thePharaohs, they blended the delicate taste of Ionia with the richinvention of the Nile; and they produced the most splendid creationsof architectural power that can now be witnessed. Such is the refinedPhiloe--such the magnificent Dendera--such the sumptuous Edfou!

All the architectural remains of the most famous nations and thegreatest empires, --the amphitheatres, and arches, and columns ofthe Romans; the fanes of the Greeks; the temples of the Syrians andSicilians; the Colosseum, the Parthenon, the courts of Baalbec, thepillars of Palmyra and Girgenti, --sink into insignificance when comparedwith the structures that line the banks of an African river. The mindmakes a leap amid their vastness, their variety, and their number. Newcombinations rise upon our limited invention and contract thetaste, --the pyramid, the propylon, the colossus, the catacomb, theobelisk, the sphinx. 

Take the map; trace the windings of the mysterious stream, whose sourcebaffles even this age of enterprise, and which remains unknown even whenthe Niger is discovered. It flows through a wilderness. On one side arethe interminable wastes of Libya; on the other, a rocky desert, leadingto the ocean: yet its banks are fertile as a garden; and within 150miles of the sea it divides into two branches, which wind through animmense plain, once the granary of the world. 

A Nubian passed me in a state of nudity, armed with a poisoned spear, and guarded by the skin of a hippopotamus, formed into a shield. In thiscountry, the animal called man is fine, although his wants arefew, --some rice, a calabash of palm wine, and the fish he himself spears. Are his ancestors the creators of the adjoining temple, covered withbeautiful sculptures, and supported by colossal figures fifty feet inheight? It is well to ponder, by the roar of the cataracts of the Nile, over the perfectibility of man. 

A light has at length broken into the darkness of Egyptian ages; andalthough we cannot discover the source of the Nile, we can at leastdecipher its hieroglyphics. Those who are ignorant of the study areincredulous as to its fruits; they disbelieve in the sun, because theyare dazzled by its beams. A popular miscellany is not the place to enterinto a history, or a vindication, of the phonetic system. I am desiroushere only of conveying to the general reader, in an intelligible manner, some idea of the discoveries that are now unfolding themselves to theEgyptian antiquarian, and of wandering with him for a moment amid themarvellous creations of the Pharaohs and the Ptolemies, with a talismanwhich shall unfold for his instruction and amusement their mystical andromantic history. 

I approach this mighty temple. A goose and globe, encircled in an oval, at once inform me that it was constructed by a 'Son of the Sun, ' ora 'Phrah, ' or 'Pharaoh. ' It is remarkable that the Greeks never oncemention this memorable title, simply because they have always translatedit by their celebrated personification, 'Sol, ' or 'Apollo. ' In theobelisk of Hermapion, given by Ammianus Marcellinus, we should thereforeread, in the third column, instead of 'the powerful Apollo, ' 'thepowerful Phrah, the all-splendid Son of the Sun. ' Proceeding with theinscription, I also discover that the temple was constructed by Ramesesthe Second, a monarch of whom we have more to hear, and who also raisedsome of the most wonderful monuments of Thebes. 

The first step of the Egyptian student should be to eradicate from hismind all recollection of ancient authors. When he has arrived at hisown results, he may open Herodotus with interest, read Diodorus withsuspicion; but, above all, he will then learn to estimate the value ofthe hitherto reviled Manetho, undoubtedly the fragments of the work of agenuine Egyptian writer. The history and theology of ancient Egypt mustbe studied on the sculptured walls of its palaces and temples, breathingwith sacred mysteries and heroic warfare; its manners and customs in itscatacombs and sepulchres, where the painter has celebrated the minutesttraits of the social life and the domestic economy of the most ancientof nations. 

Even in the time of Strabo, Egyptian Thebes was a city of enormousruins, the origin of which no antiquary could penetrate. We now knowby the inscriptions we decipher that these mighty monuments chieflycelebrate the achievements of a great conqueror, --Rameses the Second, orthe Great, whom the most rigid critic would be rash to place later thanfifteen hundred years before Christ. These great creations, therefore, demonstrate the mature civilisation of Egypt far beyond three thousandyears back. Rameses and his illustrious predecessors, the Thothmesand the Amunophs, are described as monarchs of the eighteenth dynasty. Thothmes the Fourth, one of these ancestors, cut the great Sphinx of thePyramids; as for the Pyramids themselves, it is now undeniable that theywere not raised at the comparatively late period ascribed to themby Herodotus and Diodorus. No monuments in Egypt can be compared inantiquity with these buildings; and the names of the predecessors ofRameses the Great are found in their vicinity, evidently sculptured ata much later epoch. 'The Pyramids are at least ten thousand years old, 'said Champollion to a friend of mine in Egypt, rubbing his hands, witheyes sparkling with all the enthusiasm of triumphant research. 

It is highly probable that Rameses the Great was the Sesostris ofHerodotus. This name is entirely a Greek invention, and is found on noEgyptian monuments. The splendid tomb, first opened by Belzoni, in theValley of the Kings, is of the grandfather of this monarch--Rameses theFirst. It is evident from the Theban sculptures and inscriptions, thatRameses and his predecessors were engaged in a long war with a mostpowerful enemy, ' and that that enemy was an Oriental people, a nationwith fair countenances and flowing robes, dwelling in a hilly andwell-wooded country. It is probable that this nation was the Assyrians, who, according to ancient writers, invaded Egypt under Ninus andSemiramis. Thothmes the Third and Fourth, Amunoph, and Rameses theFirst, carried on this war with uncertain success. The successor ofRameses the First, whose phonetic name is doubtful, was not unworthyof the son whom the gods accorded to him as a reward for his valourand magnificence. This anonymous sovereign led the war in person, and probably against degenerate princes. On the walls of Karnak--asculptured scroll, more durable than those of his poets andhistorians--we find him in his triumphal chariot, leading a host ofinfantry and chariots, attacking fortified places, defended by loftywalls and surrounded by water. The enemy is seen clearing their countryin advance, driving away their cattle, and felling forests to impede theprogress of the invader's chariots; but at length the victorious Pharaohreturns to his Nile with crowds of prisoners, bearing every variety ofrich and fantastic tribute. 

The son of this chieftain was Rameses the Second, or the Great. Following the example of his illustrious predecessor, he soon leda numerous and chosen army to extend the Oriental conquests of theEgyptians. He passed along the sea-coast of a country, which is, withoutdoubt, Syria, since the name of Rameses the Second is still found onthat shore, near the ancient Berytus and modern Beirut. He continuedhis march into the interior, where we at length find him opposed by apowerful force on the banks of a great river, probably the Euphrates. On the opposite bank of the river is a vast and strongly-fortified city. The battle is fought and won. The Orientals are defeated, and suefor peace. The city is not represented as taken, yet sieges are oftensculptured on these walls, and the Egyptian army is always supplied withscaling-ladders and the testudo. And what was this city? Was it Babylon?Was it Nineveh? How wonderful is it at this remote period, to read forthe first time, the Gazettes of the Pharaohs! It does not appear to havebeen the object of the Egyptians to make a permanent settlement in theseconquered countries. They laid waste the land, they accumulated plunder, they secured peace by the dread of their arms, and, returning home withthe same rapidity that they advanced, they enjoyed and commemoratedtheir victories in the embellishment of their majestic cities. Theremainder of the long reign of Rameses the Great was passed in thecultivation of the arts. A greater number of monuments, statues, andtemples bear the name of this king than of any other who ruled in Egypt, and there are few remains of any city in that country where it is notmet with. To him we are indebted alike for the rock temples of Nubia, and the inimitable obelisks of Luxor. He raised that splendid structureon the western side of Thebes, supported by colossal statues, which isfoolishly styled the Memnonion; he made great additions to Karnak; hebuilt the temple of Osiris at Abydus; he adorned the great temple ofMemphis with colossal statues, for which he evidently had a passion;and, finally, amid a vast number of other temples, especially in Nubia, which it would be tedious to recount, and other remains, he cut thefamous Monticoelian obelisk now at Rome. Whatever may have been theactions recorded of Sesostris, one thing is certain, that no Egyptianking ever surpassed or equalled the second Rameses. Let us then allowthat history has painted in too glowing colours the actions of theformer-too great for the limited power of Europe--and remain persuaded, that, so far from aiming at the conquest of the world, the utmost extentof his march was confined to the countries bordering on Assyria, Arabia, and part of Æthiopia, from which country he is represented as receivingtribute. The conquests of Rameses the Second secured a long peace toEgypt. The reigns of his two successors, however, are celebrated for thecreation of the great avenue of sphinxes at Thebes, leading from Luxorto Karnak, a mile and a quarter in extent, a sumptuous evidence of theprosperity of Egypt and of the genius of the Pharaohs. War, however, broke out again under Rameses the Third, but certainly against anotherpower, and it would appear a naval power. Returning victorious, thethird Rameses added a temple to Karnak, and raised the temple and thepalace of Medcenet Habu. Here closes the most interesting period ofEgyptian history. A long succession of princes, many of whom bore thename of Rameses, followed, but, so far as we can observe, they weredistinguished neither in architecture nor war. There are reasons whichmay induce us to believe that the Trojan war happened during the reignof the third Rameses. The poetical Memnon is not found in Egyptianrecords. The name is not Egyptian, although it may be a corruption. Itis useless to criticise this invention of the lying Greeks, to whoseblinded conceit and carelessness we are indebted for the almost totaldarkness in which the records of antiquity are enveloped. The famousmusical statue of Memnon is still seated on its throne, dignified andserene, on the plain of Thebes. It is a colossus, fifty feet in height, and the base of the figure is covered with inscriptions of the Greek andRoman travellers, vouching that they had listened to the wild sunrisemelody. The learned and ingenious Mr. Wilkinson, who has resided atThebes upwards of ten years, studying the monuments of Egypt, appears tome to have solved the mystery of this music. He informed me that havingascended the statue, he discovered that some metallic substance had beeninserted in its breast, which, when struck, emitted a very melodioussound. From the attitude of the statue, a priest might easily haveascended in the night, and remained completely concealed behind themighty arms while he struck the breast; or, which is not improbable, there was probably some secret way to ascend, now blocked up; for thisstatue, with its remaining companion, although now isolated in theirsituation, were once part of an enormous temple, the ruins of which yetremain, and the plan of which may yet be traced. Thanks to the phoneticsystem, we now know that this musical statue is one of Amunoph theSecond, who lived many centuries before the Trojan war. The truth is, the Greeks, who have exercised almost as fatal an influence over modernknowledge as they have a beneficial one over modern taste, had noconception of anything more ancient than the Trojan war, except Chaos. Chaos is a poetic legend, and the Trojan war was the squabble of a fewmarauding clans. 

'Where are the records of the great Assyrian monarchy? Where are thebooks of the Medes and Persians? Where the learned annals of Pharaohs?

'Fortunate Jordan! Fortunate Ilissus! I have waded through the sacredwaters; with difficulty I traced the scanty windings of the classicstream. Alas! for the exuberant Tigris; alas! for the mighty Euphrates;alas! for the mysterious Nile!'

It is curious that no allusion whatever to the Jews has yet turned up onany Egyptian monuments. But upon the walls of Medoenet Habu I observed, more than once repeated, the Ark borne in triumph. This is not afanciful resemblance. It responds in every particular. 

I have noticed the history of Ancient Egypt, because some knowledge ofit is necessary to illustrate Thebes. I quit a subject which, howevercurious, is probably of too confined an interest for the general reader, and I enter in his company the City of the Hundred Gates. 

The Nile winds through the valley of Thebes--a valley formed by rangesof mountains, which on one side defend it from the great Lybian desert, and on the other from the rocky wilderness that leads to the Red Sea. Oneach side of the stream are two great quarters of ruins. On the side ofthe Red Sea are Luxor and Karnak, on the opposite bank the great templecalled the Memnonion, and the various piles which, under the generaltitle of Medoenet Habu, in all probability among other structurescomprise the principal palace of the more ancient Pharaohs. On theLybian side, also, are the cemeteries of the great city-the mummy cavesof Gornou, two miles in extent; above them, excavated in the mountains, the tombs of the Queens, and in the adjacent valley of Beban-el-Malukthe famous tombs of the Kings. The population of the City of the HundredGates now consists of a few Arab families, who form four villages ofmud huts clustered round those gigantic columns and mighty obelisks, asingle one of which is sought for by the greatest sovereigns of Europefor their palaces and museums as the rarest of curious treasures. Often, indeed, have I seen a whole Arab village rising from the roof of asingle Egyptian temple. Dendera is an instance. The population ofGornou, in number between three and four hundred, reside solely in thetombs. 

I think that Luxor, from its situation, first attracts the notice of thetraveller. It is close on the river, and is built on a lofty platform. Its enormous columns are the first specimen of that colossal genius ofthe Pharaohs which the Ptolemies never attempted to rival. The entranceto this temple is through a magnificent propylon, that is, a portalflanked by massy pyramidal moles. It is two hundred feet in breadth, andrises nearly sixty feet above the soil. This gate is entirely coveredwith sculpture, commemorating the triumph of Rameses the Great over thesupposed Assyrians. On each side of the portal are two colossal statuesof red granite, buried in the sand up to their shoulders, but measuringthence, to the top of their crowns, upwards of twenty feet. On each sideof them, a little in advance, rise the two most perfect obelisks thatremain, also of red granite, and each about eighty feet high. From thepropylon you pass into a peristyle court, about two hundred and thirtyfeet long by one hundred and seventy, the roof of which was oncesupported by double rows of columns, many of which now remain; and soon through other pyramidal gates and courts and porticoes and chamberswhich are, in all probability, of a more ancient date than the gates andobelisks and colossi first described, which last were perhaps added byRameses, who commemorated his triumph by rendering a celebrated buildingstill more famous. 

From Luxor you proceed to Karnak, the other great division on this sideof the river, through an avenue of sphinxes considerably above a milein extent; and here I should observe that Egyptian sphinxes are either_andro_ or _crio_ sphinxes, the one formed by the union of the lion withthe man, and the other of the lion with the ram. Their mystery is atlength penetrated. They are male and never female. They are male andthey are monarchs. This great avenue, extending from Luxor to Karnak, was raised by the two immediate successors of the great Rameses, andrepresents their long line of ancestry. 

All the marvels of the world sink before the first entrance into Karnak. It may vie with the Alps and the Andes. The obelisks of Luxor may beunrivalled, the sculptures of Medcenet Habu more exquisite, the colossusof Memnonion more gigantic, the paintings of the royal tombs morecurious and instructive, but criticism ceases before the multifariouswonders of the halls and courts of Karnak and the mind is open only toone general impression of colossal variety. 

I well remember the morning I stood before the propylon, or chiefentrance of Karnak. The silver stars were still shining in the cold blueheaven, that afforded a beautiful relief to the mighty structure, builtof a light yellow stone, and quite unstained by the winds of threethousand years. The front of this colossal entrance is very much broaderthan the front of our cathedral of St. Paul's, and its height exceedsthat of the Trajan column. It is entirely without sculptures, a rareomission, and doubtless intended, that the unity of the effect shouldnot be broken. The great door in the centre is sixty-four feet inheight. 

Through this you pass into columned courts, which, in any other place, would command undivided attention, until you at length arrive in frontof a second propylon. Ascending a flight of steps, you enter the greathall of Karnak. The area of this hall is nearly fifty-eight thousandsquare feet, and it has recently been calculated that four such churchesas our St. Martin's-in-the-Fields might stand side by side in thisunrivalled chamber without occupying the whole space. The roof, formedof single stones, compared with which the masses at Stonehenge wouldappear almost bricks, has fallen in; but the one hundred and thirty-fourcolossal columns which supported it, and which are considerably abovethirty feet in circumference, still remain, and, with the walls andpropyla, are completely covered with sculptured forms. I shall notattempt to describe any other part of Karnak. The memory aches withthe effort; there are many buildings attached to it, larger than mosttemples; there are an infinite number of gates, and obelisks, andcolossi; but the imagination cannot refrain from calling up some sacredor heroic procession, moving from Luxor to Karnak, in melodious pomp, through the great avenue of sphinxes, and ranging themselves in gloriousgroups around the gigantic columns of this sublime structure. What feudal splendour, and what Gothic ceremonies, what tilts andtournaments, and what ecclesiastic festivals, could rival the vast, thebeautiful, and solemn magnificence of the old Egyptians?

Crossing the river to Western Thebes, we arrive at the two seatedcolossi, one of which I have already noticed as the musical Memnon. These doubtless once guarded the entrance of some temple more ancientthan any remaining, for they were raised by Amunoph the Second, apredecessor, by some generations, of the great Rameses. They were, doubtless, once seated on each side of a propylon, as at Luxor, andin all probability were flanked by obelisks. Whether the temple weredestroyed for materials, for more recent structures, or whether it hassunk under the accumulations of the slimy soil, may be decided by thefuture excavator. 

We arrive at the Memnonion. This temple was raised by Rameses the Great. In the colossal Caryatides we recognise the same genius that excavatedthe rocks of Ipsambul, and supported a cavern temple upon the heads ofgiants. From the Memnonion came the statue that is now in the BritishMuseum. But this figure, though a fine specimen of Egyptian sculpture, sinks, so far as magnitude is concerned, into insignificance whencompared with the statue of Rameses himself, which, broken off at thewaist, now lies prostrate in the precincts of the sanctuary. This isprobably the most huge colossus that the Egyptians ever constructed. Thefragment is of red granite, and of admirable workmanship. Unfortunatelythe face is entirely obliterated. The statue lies upon its back, andin its fall has destroyed all the temple within reach. It measures morethan sixty feet round the shoulders, the breadth of the instep is nearlyseven feet, and the hieroglyphical figures engraven on the arm are largeenough for a man to walk in. 

Perhaps the most interesting group of ruins at Thebes is the quarterof Medcenet Habu. Most of the buildings are of the time of Rameses theThird. 

The sculptured walls of the great temples, covered with battles, chariots, captives, and slaves, have been worthily described by thevivid pen of Mr. Hamilton. They celebrate the victorious campaigns ofthe monarch. Here also the Third Rameses raised his palace. And it iscurious, among other domestic subjects, that we find represented on thewalls, in a very admirable style, Rameses playing chess with his Queen. Chess is, probably, a most ancient Oriental game. Rameses the Thirdlived before the Trojan war, to which the Greeks, as usual, ascribe theinvention of chess. 

The sepulchres of Thebes still remain to be described, a theme morefertile in interest and instruction than even its palaces and temples. The arts of the Egyptians must be studied in their tombs, and to learnhow this remarkable people lived, we must even go where they wereburied. To cite no other instances in a sketch which is already toolong, it is from a painting in a tomb near Beni-hassan that we learn howthe Egyptians procured from the distant quarries of Nubia those massesof stone and granite with which they raised the columns of Karnak andthe obelisks of Luxor. 

But we must conclude. We have touched a virgin subject rich withdelightful knowledge, and if our readers be not wearied with wanderingon the banks of the Nile, we may perhaps again introduce them to thecompany of the Pharaohs. 

SHOUBRA

ORIENTAL palaces, except perhaps in the great Indian peninsula, do notrealise the dreams and glittering visions of the Arabian Nights, orindeed the authentic histories written in the flush and fullness ofthe success of the children of the desert, the Tartar and the Saracen. Commerce once followed in the train of the conquerors of Asia, andthe vast buildings which they hastily threw up of slight and perishingmaterials, were filled, not only with the plunder of the East, butfurnished with all the productions of art and curious luxury, which theadventurous spirit of man brought from every quarter of the globe toSamarcand and Bagdad. The site of these mighty capitals is almost erasedfrom the map of the modern traveller; but tribute and traffic have alsoceased to sustain even the dilapidated serail of the once omnipotentStamboul, and, until very recently, all that remained of the splendourof the Caliphs of Egypt was the vast Necropolis, which still containstheir palatial sepulchres. 

How the bold Roumelian peasant who in our days has placed himself onthe ancient throne of the Pharaohs and the Ptolemies, as Napoleon onthe seat of the Merovingian kings, usurping political power by militaryprowess, lodged and contented himself in the valley of the Nile, wasnot altogether an uninteresting speculation; and it was with no commoncuriosity that some fifteen years ago, before he had conquered Syria andscared Constantinople, I made one morning a visit to Shoubra, the palaceof Mehemet Ali. 

Nothing can be conceived more animated and picturesque than Cairo duringthe early morning or at night. It seems the most bustling and populouscity in the world. The narrow streets, abounding with bazaars, presentthe appearance of a mob, through which troops of richly dressedcavaliers force with difficulty their prancing way, arrested often intheir course by the procession of a harem returning from the bath, thewomen enveloped in inscrutable black garments, and veils and masks ofwhite linen, and borne along by the prettiest donkeys in the world. Theattendant eunuchs beat back the multitude; even the swaggering horsemen, with their golden and scarlet jackets, rich shawls and scarfs, andshining arms, trampling on those around, succeed in drawing aside; butall efforts are vain, for at the turning of the street appears the firststill solemn visage of a long string of tall camels bearing provisionsto the citadel, a Nubian astride on the neck of the leader, and beatinga wild drum, to apprise the people of his approach. The streets, too, in which these scenes occur are in themselves full of variety andarchitectural beauty. The houses are lofty and latticed, abounding inbalconies; fountains are frequent and vast and as richly adornedas Gothic shrines; sometimes the fortified palace of one of the oldMamlouks, now inhabited by a pasha, still oftener the exquisite shape ofan Arabian mosque. The temples of Stamboul cannot vie with the fanesof Cairo. Their delicate domes and airy cupolas, their lofty minaretscovered with tracery, and the flowing fancy of their arabesques recalledto me the glories of the Alhambra, the fantastic grace of the Alcazarsand the shrines of Seville and Cordova. 

At night the illuminated coffee-houses, the streaming population, eachperson carrying a lantern, in an atmosphere warmer and softer than ourconservatories, and all the innocent amusements of an out-door life--theNubian song, the Arabian tale, the Syrian magic--afford a different, butnot less delightful scene. 

It was many hours before noon, however, that I made my first visit toShoubra, beneath a sky as cloudless as it remained during the whole sixmonths I was in Egypt, during which time I have no recollection that wewere favoured by a single drop of rain; and yet the ever-living breezeon the great river, and the excellent irrigation of the earth, producea freshness in the sky and soil, which are missed in other Levantineregions, where there is more variety of the seasons. 

Shoubra is about four or five miles from the metropolis. It rises on thebanks of the Nile, and the road to it from Cairo is a broad but shadyavenue, formed of sycamores, of noble growth and colour; on one sidedelightful glimpses of the river, with its palmy banks and sparklingvillages, and on the other, after a certain tract of vivid vegetation, the golden sands of the desert, and the shifting hillocks which itforms; or, perhaps, the grey peaks of some chain of pyramids. 

The palace of Shoubra is a pile of long low buildings looking to theriver--moderate in its character, and modest in its appointments; butclean, orderly, and in a state of complete repair; and, if we mayuse such an epithet with reference to oriental life, comfortable. Itpossesses all the refined conveniences of European manners, of which thepasha at the time I am referring to was extremely proud. Most of thesehad been the recent gift of the French government, and his highnessoccasionally amused his guests--some sheikh from Arabia, or some emirfrom the Lebanon--by the exhibition of some scientific means of domesticaccommodation with which use has made us familiar, but which I wasassured had sensibly impressed the magnates of the desert and themountain with the progress of modern civilisation. 

The gardens of Shoubra, however, are vast, fanciful, and kept inadmirable order. They appeared to me in their character also entirelyoriental. You enter them by long, low, winding walks of impenetrableshade; you emerge upon an open ground sparkling with roses, arranged inbeds of artificial forms, and leading to gilded pavilions and paintedkiosks. Arched walks of orange trees, with the fruit and the flowershanging over your head, lead again to fountains, or to some othergarden-court, where myrtles border beds of tulips, and you wander onmosaic walks of polished pebbles. A vase flashes amid a group of darkcypresses, and you are invited to repose under a Syrian walnut tree by acouch or a summer-house. 

The most striking picture, however, of this charming retreat is a lakesurrounded by light cloisters of white marble, and in its centre afountain of crocodiles, carved in the same material. That material aswell as the art, however, are European. It was Carrara that gave thepure and glittering blocks, and the Tuscan chisel called them into life. It is a pity that the honourable board of directors, in their recentoffering of the silver fountain to the pasha, had not been aware ofthe precedent thus afforded by his highness's own creation for theintroduction of living forms into Moslem sculpture and carving. Theymight have varied their huge present with advantage. Indeed, with thecrocodile and the palm-tree, surely something more beautiful and notless characteristic than their metallic mausoleum might easily have beendevised. 

This marble pavilion at Shoubra, indeed, with its graceful, terracedperistyles, its chambers and divans, the bright waters beneath, withtheir painted boats, wherein the ladies of the harem chase the gleamingshoals of gold and silver fish, is a scene worthy of a sultan; but myattendant, a Greek employed in the garden, told me I ought to view iton some high festival, crowded by the court in their rich costumes, toappreciate all its impressive beauty. This was a scene not reservedfor me, yet my first visit to Shoubra closed with an incident notimmemorable. 

I had quitted the marble pavilion and was about to visit the wildernesswhere roam, in apparent liberty, many rare animals, when I came, somewhat suddenly, on a small circular plot into which several walksemptied, cut through a thick hedge of myrtle. By a sun-dial stood alittle man, robust, though aged, rather stout, and of a very cheerfulcountenance; his attire plain and simple, a pelisse of dark silk, and aturban white as his snowy beard; he was in merry conversation with hiscompanion, who turned out to be his jester. In the background, against the myrtle wall, stood three or four courtiers in richdresses--courtiers, for the little old man was their princelymaster--the great Pasha of Egypt. 

EDEN AND LEBANON

I FOUND myself high among the mountains, and yet amid a series of greenslopes. All around me sparkled with cultivation--vineyards, gardens, groves of young mulberry trees, clustering groups of the sycamore andthe walnut. Falling around, the cascades glittered in the sun, until, reaching the bottom of the winding valley, they mingled with the watersof a rivulet that glided through a glade of singular vividness. 

On the broad bosom of a sunny hill, behind which rose a pyramid of barerock, was a most beautiful village--flat cottages with terraced roofs, shaded by spreading trees, and surrounded by fruit and flowers. Acerulean sky above; the breath of an infinite variety of fragrant herbsaround; and a land of silk and wine; everywhere the hum of bees andthe murmur of falling streams; while, on the undulating down, a band ofbeauteous children were frolicking with the kids. 

The name of this village, the fairest spot in the region of Lebanon, is_Eden_, which, rendered from the Arabic into the English tongue, means a'Dwelling of Delight. '

I ascended the peak that overhung this village. I beheld ridges ofmountains succeeding each other in proportionate pre-eminence, until therange of the eternal glaciers, with their lustrous cones, flashed in theSyrian sun. I descended into the deep and solemn valleys, skirted theedges of rocky precipices, and toiled over the savage monotony of thedreary table-land. At length, on the brow of a mountain, I observed thefragments of a gloomy forest--cedar, and pine, and cypress. The windmoaning through its ancient avenues and the hoarse roar of a cataractwere the only sounds that greeted me. 

In the front was a scanty group of gigantic trees, that seemed therelics of some pre-Adamite grove. Their grey and massive trunks, each ofwhich must have been more than twelve yards in girth, were as if quitedead; while, about twenty feet from the ground, they divided into fiveor six huge limbs, each equal to a single tree, but all, as it were, lifeless amid their apparent power. 

Bare of all foliage, save on their ancient crests--black, blasted, riven, and surrounded by deep snows--behold the trees that built thepalaces of Solomon!

When I recall the scene from which I had recently parted, and contrastedit with the spectacle before me, it seemed that I had quitted theinnocence and infancy of Nature to gaze on its old age--of exhaustedpassions and desolate neglect. 

A SYRIAN SKETCH

THE sun was quivering above the horizon, when I strolled forth fromJaffa to enjoy the coming breeze amid the beautiful gardens that environthat agreeable town. Riding along the previous day, my attention hadbeen attracted by a marble gate, the fragment of some old temple, thatnow served as the entrance to one of these enclosures, their secureboundary otherwise formed by a picturesque and impenetrable hedge ofIndian fig. 

It is not a hundred yards from the town; behind it stretches the plainof Ramie--the ancient Arimathea-broad and fertile, and, at this moment, green; for it was just after the latter rains, when Syria is mostcharming. The caravan track winding through it led to Jerusalem. 

The air was exquisitely soft and warm, and sweet with the perfume ofthe orange bowers. I passed through the marble portal, adorned with someflorid yet skilful sculptures, and found myself in a verdant wildernessof fruit-trees, rising in rich confusion from the turf, through whichnot a single path seemed to wander. There were vast groups of orangeand lemon-trees, varied occasionally with the huge offspring of thecitron-tree, and the glowing produce of the pomegranate; while, everand anon, the tall banana raised its head aloft with its green orgolden clusters, and sometimes the graceful and languid crest of thedate-bearing palm. 

While I was in doubt as to the direction I should bend my steps, myear was caught by the wild notes of Turkish music; and, following thesounds, I emerged upon a plot of turf, clear from trees, in the middleof which was a fountain, and, by its margin, seated on a delicatePersian carpet, a venerable Turk. Some slaves were near him, one ofwhom, at a little distance, was playing on a rude lyre; in the master'sleft hand was a volume of Arabian poetry, and he held in his right theserpentine tube of his narghileh, or Syrian pipe. When he beheld me, hesaluted me with all the dignity of the Orient, pressing his hand to hisheart, but not rising. I apologised for my intrusion; but he welcomed mewith serene cordiality, and invited me to share his carpet and touch hispipe. 

Some time elapsed in answering those questions respecting Europeanhorses and European arms, wherein the Easterns delight. At length, thesolemn and sonorous voice of the muezzin, from the minarets of Jaffa, came floating on the air. The sun had set; and, immediately, my host andhis companions performed their ablutions in the fountain; and kneelingtowards Mecca, repeated their accustomed prayers. Then rising, theTurkish aga, for such was his rank, invited me to enjoy the eveningbreeze, and accompany him in a walk round his garden. 

As we proceeded, my companion plucked an orange, and taking a knife fromhis girdle, and cutting the fruit in half, offered me one moiety, andthrew the other away. More than once he repeated this ceremony, whichsomewhat excited my surprise. At length he inquired my opinion of hisfruit. I enlarged, and with sincerity, on its admirable quality, theracy sweetness of its flavour, which I esteemed unequalled; but I couldnot refrain from expressing my surprise, that of fruit so exquisite heshould studiously waste so considerable a portion. 

'Effendi, ' said the Turk, with a grave though gracious smile, 'tofriends we give only the sunny side. '

THE BOSPHORUS

THE stranger whose felicity it has been to float between the shores ofthe Bosphorus will often glance back with mingled feelings of regretand satisfaction to the memory of those magical waters. This splendidstrait, stretching from the harbour of Constantinople to the mouthof the Euxine, may be about twenty miles in length, and its ordinarybreadth seldom exceeds one mile. The old Greek story tells that onemight hear the birds sing on the opposite shore. And thus two greatcontinents are divided by an ocean stream narrower than many riversthat are the mere boundaries of kingdoms. Yet it is strange that thecharacter of these two famous divisions of our earth is nowhere moremarked than on the shores of the Bosphorus. The traveller turns withoutdisappointment from the gay and glittering shores of Europe to thesublimer beauty and the dusky grandeur of Asia. 

The European side, until you advance within four or five miles ofthe Black Sea, is almost uninterruptedly studded with fanciful andornamental buildings: beautiful villages, and brilliant summer palaces, and bright kiosks, painted in arabesque, and often gilt. The greenbackground to the scene is a sparkling screen of terraced gardens, rising up a chain of hills whose graceful undulations are crowned withgroves of cypress and of chestnut, occasionally breaking into fairand delicate valleys, richly wooded, and crossed by a grey and antiqueaqueduct. 

But in Asia the hills rise into mountains, and the groves swell intoforests. Everything denotes a vast, rich and prolific land, but thereis something classical, antique, and even mysterious in its generalappearance. An air of stillness and deep repose pervades its lesscultivated and less frequented shores; and the very eagles, as theylinger over the lofty peak of 'the Giant's grave, ' seem conscious thatthey are haunting some heroic burial-place. 

I remember that one of the most strange, and even sublime, spectaclesthat I ever beheld occurred to me one balmy autumnal eve as I returnedhome in my caique from Terapia, a beautiful village on the Bosphorus, where I had been passing the day, to Pera. I encountered an army ofdolphins, who were making their way from the Ægean and the Sea ofMarmora through the Strait to the Euxine. They stretched right acrossthe water, and I should calculate that they covered, with very littleinterval, a space of three or four miles. It is very difficult to forman estimate of their number, but there must, of course, have beenmany thousands. They advanced in grand style, and produced an immenseagitation: the snorting, spouting, and splashing, and the wild pantingrush, I shall never forget. As it was late, no other caique was insight, and my boatmen, apprehensive of being run down, stopped to defendthemselves with their oars. I had my pistols with me, and found greatsport, as, although the dolphins made every effort to avoid us, therewere really crowds always in shot. Whenever one was hit, generalconfusion ran through the whole line. They all flounced about withincreased energy, ducked their round heads under water, and turnedup their arrowy tails. We remained thus stationary for nearlythree-quarters of an hour, and very diverting I found the delay. Atlength the mighty troop of strangers passed us, and, I suppose, musthave arrived at the Symplegades about the same time that I sought theelegant hospitality of the British Palace at Pera. 

AN INTERVIEW WITH A GREAT TURK

WHEN I was in Egypt the great subject of political speculation was theinvasion of Syria; not that the object of the formation of the camp atAlexandria was generally known; on the contrary, it was a secret, -but asecret shared by many ears. Forty thousand well-disciplined troops wereassembled at Cairo; and it was whispered at Court that Abdallah Pasha ofAcre might look to himself, a young and valiant chief, by-the-bye, whomI well know, but indulging in dissipation, extraordinary even in theLevant. I was exceedingly anxious of becoming in some manner attachedto this expedition; and as I was not without influence in the properquarters, there appeared little probability of my wish not beinggratified. With these views I remained in Egypt longer than I hadintended, but it would seem that the invaders were not quite as ardentas their intended volunteer, for affairs at Alexandria progressed butindifferently. Orders and counter-orders, marches and counter-marches, boats pressed on the Nile for the passage of troops from the capital, which were all liberated the next day, many divans and much smoking; butstill the troops remained within pistol-shot of the citadel, and monthsglided away apparently without any material advancement. 

I had often observed that although there was in most subjects anexcellent understanding between the two Pashas, Mehemet Ali and Ibrahim, a degree of petty jealousy existed between them on the point of theirmutual communications with foreigners; so that if I happened one morningto attend the divan of the Grand Pasha, as the Franks styled the father, I was sure, on some excuse or other, of being summoned the next day tothe levee of the son; I was therefore not surprised when, one day, on myreturn from paying my respects to the divan at the citadel of Cairo, I found a Nubian eunuch in attendance at my quarters, telling me thatIbrahim Pasha was anxious to see me. 

I accordingly repaired without loss of time to the sumptuous palace ofthat chieftain: and being ushered into his presence, I found the futureconqueror of Syria attended only by his dragoman, his secretary; and anaide-de-camp. 

A pipe was immediately brought me, but Ibrahim himself did not smoke. After the usual compliments, 'Effendi, ' said Ibrahim, 'do you think theEnglish horses would live in Egypt?'

I was too practised an observer of the Turkish character to suppose thatEnglish horses were really the occasion of my summons. The Turks arevery diplomatic, and are a long time coming to the point. I answered, however, that, with English grooms, I was of opinion that English horseswould flourish in any climate. A curt, dry, uninteresting conversationabout English horses was succeeded by some queries, which I had answeredfifty times before, about English pistols: and then came a sly joke ortwo about English women. At length the point of the interview began topoke its horns out of this shell of tittle-tattle. 

'If you want to go with the army, ' said his Highness, ''tis I who amthe person to speak to. They know nothing about those things up there'(meaning the citadel). 

I answered his Highness that I had attended the divan merely as a matterof ceremony, and that I had not interchanged a word with the Grand Pashaon the subject of the expedition. 

'I suppose you talked with Boghaz?' said Ibrahim. 

Boghaz was the favourite of Mehemet Ali. 

'Neither with Boghaz nor any one else. Your Highness having oncegraciously promised me that I should attend you, I should have thoughtit both impertinent and unnecessary to apply to any other personwhatever. '

'Tahib!' exclaimed his Highness, which meant that he was satisfied. 'After all, I do not know whether the army will march at all. You havebeen in Syria?'

I answered, in the affirmative, a question which had often beenaddressed to me. 

'Do you think I could march as far as Gaza?' inquired Ibrahim, with asmile. 

This was a question of mockery. It was like asking whether the LifeGuards could take Windsor. I therefore only returned the smile, and saidthat I did not doubt the enemy would agree to settle affairs upon thatcondition. 

'Tahib! Well I think I can march as far as they speak Arabic!' This wasa favourite phrase of his Highness. 

I answered that I hoped, if I had the honour of attending his Highness, the army would march till we could see another ocean. 

'It is all talk up there, ' replied Ibrahim; 'but my life is a life ofdeeds. '

'Words are very good things sometimes, ' I replied; 'that is, if we keepmarching at the same time. '

'God is great!' exclaimed Ibrahim; and looking round to his officers, 'the Effendi speaks truth; and thus it was that Redchid beat the beys. '

Ibrahim alluded to the Albanian campaign of the preceding year, when theenergy of the grand vizier crushed the rebellious beys of the ancientEpirus. 

'What do you think of Redchid?' he inquired. 

'I think he is worthy of being your Highness's rival. '

'He has always been victorious, ' said Ibrahim; 'but I think his sabre ismade of gold. That will not do with me. '

'It's a pity, ' I observed, 'that if your Highness find time to marchinto Syria, you had not acted simultaneously with the Albanians, or withthe Pasha of Scutari. '

'May I kill my mother but it is true; but up there, they will watch, andwatch, and watch, till they fall asleep. '

The truth is, the Orientals have no idea of military diversions; andeven if they combine, each strives to be the latest in the field, inorder that he may take advantage of the other's success or discomfiture. Mehemet Ali, at an immense expenditure, had excited two terrible revoltsin European Turkey, and then waited to invade Syria until the armies ofthe Porte were unemployed. The result with some will justify his policy;but in the conquest of Syria, the truth is, Ibrahim himself used agolden sabre, and the year, before, the contingents of the pashas, whomhe was obliged to bribe, were all busied in Europe. 

The night previous to this conversation the style of the militaryoath of the Egyptian army had been altered; and the troops, instead ofswearing allegiance to the Sultan, had pledged themselves to MehemetAli. The Grand Pasha was so nervous about this change, that the orderfor it was countermanded twice in four hours; however, what withgratuities to the troops, and the discreet distribution of promotionamong the officers, everything went off very quietly. There was alsoa rumour that Mehemet Ali intended immediately to assume the title of_Caliph_. 

This piece of information is necessary to explain the following strikingobservation of Ibrahim Pasha. 

'Effendi, do you think that a man can conquer Syria, who is not called acaliph? Will it make 40, 000 men 80, 000?'

I replied, that I thought the assumption of the title would have abeneficial effect at foreign courts. 

'Bah! before the Yahoos hear of it, I shall be at Damascus. Up there, they are always busying themselves with forms. The eagle in his flightdoes not think of his shadow on the earth!'

MUNICH

THE destiny of nations appears to have decreed that a society shouldperiodically, though rarely, flourish, characterised by its love ofthe Fine Arts, and its capacity of ideal creation. These occasional andbrilliant ebullitions of human invention elevate the race of man; theypurify and chasten the taste of succeeding generations; and posterityaccepts them as the standard of what is choice, and the model of what isexcellent. 

Classic Greece and Christian Italy stand out in our universal annalsas the epochs of the Arts. During the last two centuries, while mannershave undergone a rapid transition, while physical civilisation hasadvanced in an unprecedented degree, and the application of science tosocial life has diverted the minds of men from other pursuits, the FineArts have decayed and vanished. 

I wish to call the attention of my countrymen to another great movementin the creative mind of Europe; one yet young and little recognised, butnot inferior, in my opinion, either to that of Athens or of Florence. 

It was on a cloudless day of the autumn of last year, that I foundmyself in a city that seemed almost visibly rising beneath my eye. Thestreet in which I stood was of noble dimensions, and lined on each sidewith palaces or buildings evidently devoted to public purposes. Fewwere completely finished: the sculptor was working at the statuesthat adorned their fronts; the painter was still touching the externalfrescoes; and the scaffold of the architect was not in every instancewithdrawn. Everywhere was the hum of art and artists. The Byzantinestyle of many of these buildings was novel to me in its modernadaptation, yet very effective. The delicate detail of ornamentcontrasted admirably with the broad fronts and noble façades which theyadorned. A church with two very lofty towers of white marble, with theirfretted cones relieved with cerulean blue, gleamed in the sun; andnear it was a pile not dissimilar to the ducal palace at Venice, but ofnobler and more beautiful proportions, with its portal approached by alofty flight of steps, and guarded by the colossal statues of poets andphilosophers--suitably guarded, for it was the National Library. 

As I advanced, I found myself in squares and circuses, in every instanceadorned by an obelisk of bronze or the equestrian statue of some royalhero: I observed a theatre with a lofty Corinthian portico, and apediment brilliantly painted in fresco with designs appropriate to itspurpose; an Ionic museum of sculpture, worthy to enshrine the works ofa Phidias or a Praxiteles; and a palace for the painter, of which I wastold the first stone had been rightly laid on the birthday of Raffaelle. But what struck me most in this city, more than its galleries, temples, and palaces, its magnificent buildings, splendid paintings, andconsummate statues, was the all-pervading presence and all-inspiringinfluence of living and breathing Art. In every street, a school: theatelier of the sculptor open, the studio of the painter crowded: devotedpupils, aspiring rivals: enthusiasm, emulation, excellence. Herethe long-lost feudal-art of colouring glass re-discovered; therefresco-painting entirely revived, and on the grandest scale; while theardent researches of another man of genius successfully analyses theencaustic tenting of Herculaneum, and secures the secret process for thetriumph of modern Art. I beheld a city such as I had mused over amid thecrumbling fanes of Pericles, or, aided alike by memory and fancy, hadconjured up in the palaces and gardens of the Medici. 

Such is Munich, a city which, half a century ago, was the gross andcorrupt capital of a barbarous and brutal people. Baron Reisbech, whovisited Bavaria in 1780, describes the Court of Munich as one not at allmore advanced than those of Lisbon and Madrid. A good-natured prince, fond only of show and thinking only of the chase; an idle, dissolute, and useless nobility; the nomination to offices depending on womenand priests; the aristocracy devoted to play, and the remainder of theinhabitants immersed in scandalous debauch. 

With these recollections of the past, let us enter the palace of thepresent sovereign. With habits of extreme simplicity, and a personalexpenditure rigidly economical, the residence of the King of Bavaria, when completed, will be the most extensive and the most sumptuous palacein the world. But, then, it is not merely the palace of a king: it isa temple dedicated to the genius of a nation. The apartments of state, painted in fresco on the grandest scale, bold in design, splendid incolour, breathe the very Teutonic soul. The subjects are taken from the'Nibelungenlied, ' the Gothic epic, and commemorate all the achievementsof the heroic Siegfried, and all the adventures of the beautifulChrimhilde. The heart of a German beats as he gazes on the forms andscenes of the Teutonic Iliad; as he beholds Haghen the fierce, andDankwart the swift; Volker, the minstrel knight, and the beautiful andhaughty Brunhilda. But in point of harmonious dimension and augustbeauty, no chamber is perhaps more imposing than the Kaiser Saal, orHall of the Sovereigns. It is, I should think, considerably above onehundred feet in length, broad and lofty in exact proportion. Itsroof is supported on either side by columns of white marble; theinter-columniations are filled by colossal statues, of gilded brass, ofthe electors and kings of the country. Seated on his throne, at the endof this imperial chamber, Louis of Bavaria is surrounded by the solemnmajesty of his ancestors. These statues are by Schwanthaler, a sculptorwho to the severe and classic taste and profound sentiment of hismaster, Thorwaldsen, unites an exuberance of invention which has filledMunich with the greatest works since Phidias. Cornelius, Julius Schnorr, and Hess are the principal painters who have covered the galleries, churches, and palaces of Munich with admirable frescoes. The celebratedKlenze is known throughout Europe as the first of living architects, andthe favourite of his sovereign when that sovereign did not wear a crown;but we must not forget the name of Gartner, the architect who hasrevived the Byzantine style of building with such admirable effect. 

But it was in the private apartments of the king that I was peculiarlyimpressed with the supreme genius of Schwanthaler. These chambers, eightin number, are painted in encaustic, with subjects from the Greekpoets, of which Schwanthaler supplied the designs. The ante-chambers aredevoted to Orpheus and Hesiod, and the ornaments are in the oldestGreek style; severely simple; archaic, but not rude; the figures of thefriezes in outline, and without relief. The saloon of reception, on thecontrary, is Homeric; and in its colouring, design, and decoration, asbrilliant, as free, and as flowing as the genius of the great Mæonian. The chamber of the throne is entirely adorned with white bas-reliefs, raised on a ground of dead gold; the subjects Pindaric; not inferiorin many instances to the Attic remains, and characterised, at the sametime, by a singular combination of vigour and grace. Another saloon isdevoted to Æschylus, and the library to Sophocles. The gay, wild muse ofAristophanes laughs and sings in his Majesty's dressing-room; whilethe king is lulled to slumber by the Sicilian melodies and the soothinglandscapes of Theocritus. 

Of these chambers, I should say that they were a perfect creation ofArt. The rooms themselves are beautifully proportioned; the subjects oftheir decorations are the most interesting in every respect that couldbe selected; and the purity, grace, and invention of the designs, areequalled only by their colouring, at the same time the most brilliantand harmonious that can be conceived; and the rich fancy of thearabesques and other appropriate decorations, which blend with allaround, and heighten the effect of the whole. Yet they find no meanrivals in the private chambers of the queen, decorated in an analogousstyle, but entirely devoted to the poets of her own land. TheMinnesingers occupy her first apartments, but the brilliant saloon isworthy of Wieland, whose Oberon forms it frieze; while the bedchambergleams with the beautiful forms and pensive incidents of Goethe'sesoteric pen. Schiller has filled the study with his stirring charactersand his vigorous incidents. Groups from 'Wallenstein' and 'Wilhelm Tell'form the rich and unrivalled ceiling: while the fight of the dragon andthe founding of the bell, the innocent Fridolin, the inspired maiden ofOrleans, breathe in the compartments of the walls. 

When I beheld these refined creations, and recalled the scenes andsights of beauty that had moved before me in my morning's wanderings, Iasked myself, how Munich, recently so Boeotian, had become the capitalof modern Art; and why a country of limited resources, in a brief space, and with such facility and completeness, should have achieved thoseresults which had so long and utterly eluded the desires of the richestand most powerful community in the world?

It is the fashion of the present age to underrate the influence ofindividual character. For myself, I have ever rejected this consolationof mediocrity. I believe that everything that is great has beenaccomplished by great men. It is not what witnessed at Munich, or knowof its sovereign, that should make me doubt the truth of my conviction. Munich is the creation of its king, and Louis of Bavaria is not only aking but a poet. A poet on a throne has realised his dreams. 

THE SPIRIT OF WHIGGISM

_[In the following pages Lord Beaconsfield expounds that theory of theEnglish Constitution which he had previously set forth in his pamphlet'A Vindication of the English Constitution in a Letter to a Noble andLearned Lord. ' The same theory is expounded in another way in the threegreat novels, 'Coningsby, ' 'Sybil, ' and 'Tancred. ' His contemporariesnever seem to have understood it, while his assailants of a later dateappear to have written and spoken concerning him in absolute ignoranceof his real political creed. The concluding paragraph of the tractought, in the minds of all candid men, to disperse at once and foreverthe innumerable calumnies levelled at Lord Beaconsfield during and sincethe Reform struggle of 1859-1867. ]_

CHAPTER I. 

 _Object of the Whigs_

ENGLAND has become great by her institutions. Her hereditary Crown hasin a great degree insured us from the distracting evils of a contestedsuccession; her Peerage, interested, from the vast property and thenational honours of its members, in the good government of the country, has offered a compact bulwark against the temporary violence of popularpassion; her House of Commons, representing the conflicting sentimentsof an estate of the realm not less privileged than that of the Peers, though far more numerous, has enlisted the great mass of the lesserproprietors of the country in favour of a political system which offersthem a constitutional means of defence and a legitimate method ofredress; her Ecclesiastical Establishment, preserved by its munificentendowment from the fatal necessity of pandering to the erratic fanciesof its communicants, has maintained the sacred cause of learning andreligion, and preserved orthodoxy while it secured toleration; her lawof primogeniture has supplied the country with a band of natural andindependent leaders, trustees of those legal institutions which pervadethe land, and which are the origin of our political constitution. Thatgreat body corporate, styled a nation-a vast assemblage of human beingsknit together by laws and arts and customs, by the necessities of thepresent and the memory of the past--offers in this country, throughthese its vigorous and enduring members, a more substantial and healthyframework than falls to the lot of other nations. Our stout-builtconstitution throws off with more facility and safety those crude anddangerous humours which must at times arise in all human communities. The march of revolution must here at least be orderly. We are preservedfrom those reckless and tempestuous sallies that in other countries, like a whirlwind, topple down in an instant an ancient crown, or sweepaway an illustrious aristocracy. This constitution, which has securedorder, has consequently promoted civilisation; and the almost unbrokentide of progressive amelioration has made us the freest, the wealthiest, and the most refined society of modern ages. Our commerce is unrivalled, our manufacturers supply the world, our agriculture is the most skilfulin Christendom. So national are our institutions, so completely havethey arisen from the temper and adapted themselves to the character ofthe people, that when for a season they were apparently annihilated, the people of England voluntarily returned to them, and established themwith renewed strength and renovated vigour. 

The constitution of England is again threatened, and at a moment whenthe nation is more prosperous, more free, and more famous than at anyperiod of its momentous and memorable career. Why is this? What hasoccasioned these distempered times, which make the loyal tremble andthe traitor smile? Why has this dark cloud suddenly gathered in a sky soserene and so splendid? Is there any analogy between this age and thatof the first Charles? Are the same causes at work, or is the apparentsimilarity produced only by designing men, who make use of the pervertedpast as a passport to present mischief? These are great questions, whichit may be profitable to discuss and wise to study. 

Rapin, a foreigner who wrote our history, in the course of his frigidyet accurate pages, indulged in one philosophical observation. Struckat the same time by our greatness and by the fury of our factions, theHuguenot exclaimed: 'It appears to me that this great society can onlybe dissolved by the violence of its political parties. ' What are theseparties? Why are they violent? Why should they exist? In resolvingthese questions, we may obtain an accurate idea of our present politicalposition, and by pondering over the past we may make that past not aprophecy, as the disaffected intend, but a salutary lesson by which theloyal may profit. 

The two great parties into which England has during the last century anda half been divided originated in the ancient struggle between theCrown and the aristocracy. As long as the Crown possessed or aspired todespotic power, the feeling of the nation supported the aristocracyin their struggles to establish a free government. The aristocracy ofEngland formed the constitution of the Plantagenets; the Wars of theRoses destroyed that aristocracy, and the despotism of the Tudorssucceeded. Renovated by more than a century of peace and the spoils ofthe Papacy, the aristocracy of England attacked the first Stuarts, whosucceeded to a despotism which they did not create. When Charles theFirst, after a series of great concessions which ultimately obtained forhim the support of the most illustrious of his early opponents, raisedthe royal standard, the constitution of the Plantagenets, and more thanthe constitution of the Plantagenets, had been restored and secured. Buta portion of the able party which had succeeded in effecting such a vastand beneficial revolution was not content to part with the extraordinarypowers which they had obtained in this memorable struggle. This sectionof the aristocracy were the origin of the English Whigs, thoughthat title was not invented until the next reign. The primitiveWhigs-'Parliament-men, ' as they liked to call themselves, 'Roundheads, 'as they were in time dubbed--aspired to an oligarchy. For a moment theyobtained one; but unable to maintain themselves in power against thereturning sense and rising spirit of a generous and indignant people, they called to their aid that domestic revolutionary party which existsin all countries, and an anti-national enemy in addition. These were theEnglish Radicals, or Root-and-Branch men, and the Scotch Covenanters. Toconciliate the first they sacrificed the Crown; to secure the secondthey abolished the Church. The constitution of England in Churchand State was destroyed, and the Whig oligarchy, in spite of theirmachinations, were soon merged in the common ruin. 

The ignoble tyranny to which this great nation was consequently subjectproduced that reaction which is in the nature of human affairs. Theancient constitution was in time restored, and the Church and the Crownwere invested with greater powers than they had enjoyed previously totheir overthrow. So hateful had been the consequences of Whig rule, thatthe people were inclined rather to trust the talons of arbitrary powerthan to take refuge under the wing of these pretended advocates ofpopular rights. A worthless monarch and a corrupted court availedthemselves of the offered opportunity; and when James the Secondascended the throne, the nation was again prepared to second thearistocracy in a struggle for their liberties. But the Whigs hadprofited by their previous experiment: they resolved upon a revolution, but they determined that that revolution should be brought about byas slight an appeal to popular sympathies as possible. They studiouslyconfined that appeal to the religious feelings of the nation. They hireda foreign prince and enlisted a foreign army in their service. Theydethroned James, they established themselves in power without the aid ofthe mass; and had William the Third been a man of ordinary capacity, theconstitution of Venice would have been established in England in 1688. William the Third told the Whigs that he would never consent to bea Doge. Resembling Louis Philippe in his character as well as in hisposition, that extraordinary prince baffled the Whigs by his skilfulbalance of parties; and had Providence accorded him an heir, it isprobable that the oligarchical faction would never have revived inEngland. The Whigs have ever been opposed to the national institutionsbecause they are adverse to the establishment of an oligarchy. Localinstitutions, supported by a landed gentry, check them; hence their loveof centralisation and their hatred of unpaid magistrates. 

An independent hierarchy checks them; hence their affected advocacy oftoleration and their patronage of the Dissenters. The power of the Crownchecks them; therefore they always labour to reduce the sovereign to anonentity, and by the establishment of the Cabinet they have virtuallybanished the King from his own councils. But, above all, the Parliamentof England checks them, and therefore it may be observed that the Whigsat all times are quarrelling with some portion of those august estates. They despair of destroying the Parliament; by it, and by it alone, canthey succeed in their objects. Corruption for one part, force forthe other, then, is their motto. In 1640 they attempted to govern thecountry by the House of Commons, because the aristocracy was then morepowerful in the House of Commons than in the House of Lords, where aPeerage, exhausted by civil wars, had been too liberally recruited fromthe courtiers of the Tudors and the Stuarts. At the next revolutionwhich the Whigs occasioned, they attempted to govern the country bythe House of Lords, in which they were predominant; and, in order toguarantee their power for ever, they introduced a Bill to deprive theKing of his prerogative of making further Peers. The revolution of 1640led to the abolition of the House of Lords because the Lords opposed theoligarchy. Having a majority in the House of Lords, the Whigs introducedthe Peerage Bill, by which the House of Lords would have been renderedindependent of the sovereign; unpopular with the country, the Whigsattacked the influence of popular election, and the moment that, bythe aid of the most infamous corruption, they had obtained a temporarymajority in the Lower House, they passed the Septennial Act. 

The Whigs of the eighteenth century 'swamped' the House of Commons; theWhigs of the nineteenth would 'swamp' the House of Lords. The Whigsof the eighteenth century would have rendered the House of Lordsunchangeable; the Whigs of the nineteenth remodel the House of Commons. 

I conclude here the first chapter of the 'Spirit of Whiggism'-a littlebook which I hope may be easily read and easily remembered. The Whigparty have always adopted popular cries. In one age it is Liberty, inanother reform; at one period they sound the tocsin against popery, inanother they ally themselves with papists. They have many cries, and various modes of conduct; but they have only one object--theestablishment of an oligarchy in this free and equal land. I do notwish this country to be governed by a small knot of great families, andtherefore I oppose the Whigs. 

CHAPTER II. 

 _Parliamentary Reform_

WHEN the Whigs and their public organs favour us with their mysterioushints that the constitution has provided the sovereign with a means tore-establish at all times a legislative sympathy between the two Housesof Parliament, it may be as well to remind them that we are not indebtedfor this salutary prerogative to the forbearance of their party. Supposetheir Peerage Bill had passed into an Act, how would they have carriedthe Reform Bill of 1832? The Whigs may reply, that if the Peerage Billhad become a law, the Reform Bill would never have been introduced; andI believe them. In that case, the British House of Lords would have beentransformed into a Venetian Senate, and the old walls of St. James'smight have witnessed scenes of as degrading mortification as the famousducal palace of the Adriatic. 

George III. Routed the Whigs, consolidated by half a century of power;but an ordinary monarch would have sunk beneath the Coalition andthe India Bill. This scheme was the last desperate effort of theoligarchical faction previous to 1830. Not that they were inactiveduring the great interval that elapsed between the advent of Mr. Pittand the resurrection of Lord Grey: but, ever on the watch for a cryto carry them into power, they mistook the yell of Jacobinism for thechorus of an emancipated people, and fancied, in order to take thethrone by storm, that nothing was wanting but to hoist the tricolour andto cover their haughty brows with a red cap. This fatal blunder clippedthe wings of Whiggism; nor is it possible to conceive a party that hadeffected so many revolutions and governed a great country for so longa period, more broken, sunk, and shattered, more desolate anddisheartened, than these same Whigs at the Peace of Paris. From thatperiod till 1830, the tactics of the Whigs consisted in gently andgradually extricating themselves from their false position as thedisciples of Jacobinism, and assuming their ancient post as thehereditary guardians of an hereditary monarchy. To make the transitionless difficult than it threatened, they invented Liberalism, a bridgeby which they were to regain the lost mainland, and daintily recrosson tiptoe the chasm over which they had originally sprung with somuch precipitation. A dozen years of 'liberal principles' broke up thenational party of England, cemented by half a century of prosperityand glory, compared with which all the annals of the realm are dim andlack-lustre. Yet so weak intrinsically was the oligarchical faction, that their chief, despairing to obtain a monopoly of power for hisparty, elaborately announced himself as the champion of his patricianorder, and attempted to coalesce with the liberalised leader of theTories. Had that negotiation led to the result which was originallyintended by those interested, the Riots of Paris would not haveoccasioned the Reform of London. 

It is a great delusion to believe that revolutions are ever effected bya nation. It is a faction, and generally a small one, that overthrows adynasty or remodels a constitution. A small party, stung by a longexile from power, and desperate of success except by desperate means, invariably has recourse to a _coup-d'état_. An oligarchical party isnecessarily not numerous. Its members in general attempt, by noblelineage or vast possessions, to compensate for their poverty of numbers. The Whigs, in 1830, found themselves by accident in place, but undervery peculiar circumstances. They were in place but not in power. Ineach estate of the realm a majority was arrayed against them. An appealto the Commons of England, that constituency which, in its elements, had undergone no alteration since the time of Elizabeth, either by theinfluence of the legislature or the action of time--that constituencywhich had elected Pym, and Selden, and Hampden, as well as Somers, Walpole, and Pulteney--an appeal to this constituency, it was generallyacknowledged, would be fatal to the Whigs, and therefore they determinedto reconstruct it. This is the origin of the recent parliamentaryreform: the Whigs, in place without being in power, resolved as usualupon a coup-d'état, and looked about for a stalking-horse. In generalthe difficult task had devolved upon them of having to accomplish theirconcealed purpose while apparently achieving some public object. Thusthey had carried the Septennial Act on the plea of preserving Englandfrom popery, though their real object was to prolong the existence ofthe first House of Commons in which they could command a majority. 

But in the present instance they became sincerely parliamentaryreformers, for by parliamentary reform they could alone subsist; and alltheir art was dedicated so to contrive, that in this reformation theirown interest should secure an irresistible predominance. 

But how was an oligarchical party to predominate in popular elections?Here was the difficulty. The Whigs had no resources from their ownlimited ranks to feed the muster of the popular levies. They wereobliged to look about for allies wherewith to form their new popularestate. Any estate of the Commons modelled on any equitable principle, either of property or population, must have been fatal to the Whigs;they, therefore, very dexterously adopted a small minority of thenation, consisting of the sectarians, and inaugurating them as thepeople with a vast and bewildering train of hocus-pocus ceremonies, invested the Dissenters with political power. By this _coup-d'état_ theymanaged the House of Commons, and having at length obtained a position, they have from that moment laid siege to the House of Lords, with theintention of reducing that great institution and making it surrender atdiscretion. This is the exact state of English politics during the lastfive years. The Whigs have been at war with the English constitution. First of all they captured the King; then they vanquished the House ofCommons; now they have laid siege to the House of Lords. But here thefallacy of their grand scheme of political mystification begins todevelop itself. Had, indeed, their new constituency, as they have longimpudently pretended, really been 'the people, ' a struggle betweensuch a body and the House of Lords would have been brief but final. The absurdity of supposing that a chamber of two or three hundredindividuals could set up their absolute will and pleasure against thedecrees of a legislative assembly chosen by the whole nation is soglaring that the Whigs and their scribes might reasonably suspect thatin making such allegations they were assuredly proving too much. Butas 'the people' of the Whigs is in fact a number of Englishmen notexceeding in amount the population of a third-rate city, the Englishnation is not of opinion that this arrogant and vaunting moiety of aclass privileged for the common good, swollen though it may be by somejobbing Scots and rebel Irish, shall pass off their petty and selfishschemes of personal aggrandisement as the will of a great people, asmindful of its duty to its posterity as it is grateful for the laboursof its ancestors. The English nation, therefore, rallies for rescuefrom the degrading plots of a profligate oligarchy, a barbarisingsectarianism, and a boroughmongering Papacy round their hereditaryleaders--the Peers. The House of Lords, therefore, at this momentrepresents everything in the realm except the Whig oligarchs, theirtools--the Dissenters, and their masters--the Irish priests. In themeantime the Whigs bawl aloud that there is a 'collision'! It is truethere is a collision; but it is not a collision between the Lords andthe people, but between the Ministers and the Constitution. 

CHAPTER III. 

 _The Menace to England_

IT MAY be as well to remind the English nation that a revolutionaryparty is not necessarily a liberal one, and that a republic is notindispensably a democracy. Such is the disposition of property inEngland that, were a republic to be established here to-morrow, it wouldpartake rather of the oligarchical than of the aristocratic character. We should be surprised to find in how few families the power of theState was concentrated. And although the framers of the new commonwealthwould be too crafty to base it on any avowed and ostensible principle ofexclusion, but on the contrary would in all probability ostentatiouslyinaugurate the novel constitution by virtue of some abstract plea aboutas definite and as prodigal of practical effects as the rights of man orthe sovereignty of the people, nevertheless I should be astonished werewe not to find that the great mass of the nation, as far as any share inthe conduct of public affairs was concerned, was as completely shut outfrom the fruition and exercise of power as under that Venetian politywhich has ever been the secret object of Whig envy and Whig admiration. The Church, under such circumstances, would probably have again beenplundered, and therefore the discharge of ecclesiastical duties mightbe spared to the nation; but the people would assuredly be practicallyexcluded from its services, which would swarm with the relations andconnections of the senatorial class; for, whether this country begoverned only by the House of Commons, or only by the House of Lords, the elements of the single chamber will not materially differ; andalthough in the event of the triumph of the Commons, the ceremony ofperiodical election may be retained (and we should not forget that theLong Parliament soon spared us that unnecessary form), the selectedmembers will form a Senate as irresponsible as any House of Parliamentwhose anomalous constitution may now be the object of Whig sneers orRadical anathemas. 

The rights and liberties of a nation can only be preserved byinstitutions. It is not the spread of knowledge or the march ofintellect that will be found a sufficient surety for the publicwelfare in the crisis of a country's freedom. Our interest taints ourintelligence, our passions paralyse our reason. Knowledge and capacityare too often the willing tools of a powerful faction or a dexterousadventurer. Life, is short, man is imaginative; our means are limited, our passions high. 

In seasons of great popular excitement, gold and glory offer strongtemptations to needy ability. The demagogues throughout a country, theorators of town-councils and vestries, and the lecturers of mechanics'institutes present, doubtless in most cases unconsciously, the ready andfit machinery for the party or the individual that aspires to establisha tyranny. Duly graduating in corruption, the leaders of the mob becomethe oppressors of the people. Cultivation of intellect and diffusion ofknowledge may make the English nation more sensible of the benefits oftheir social system, and better qualified to discharge the duties withwhich their institutions have invested them, but they will never renderthem competent to preserve their liberties without the aid of theseinstitutions. Let us for a moment endeavour to fancy Whiggism in a stateof rampant predominance; let us try to contemplate England enjoying allthose advantages which our present rulers have not yet granted us, andsome of which they have as yet only ventured to promise by innuendo. Let us suppose our ancient monarchy abolished, our independent hierarchyreduced to a stipendiary sect, the gentlemen of England deprived oftheir magisterial functions, and metropolitan prefects and sub-prefectsestablished in the counties and principal towns, commanding a vigorousand vigilant police, and backed by an army under the immediate ordersof a single House of Parliament. Why, these are threatened changes--aye, and not one of them that may not be brought about to-morrow, underthe plea of the 'spirit of the age' or 'county reform' or 'cheapgovernment. ' But where then will be the liberties of England? Who willdare disobey London?--the enlightened and reformed metropolis! And canwe think, if any bold squire, in whom some of the old blood might stillchance to linger, were to dare to murmur against this grinding tyranny, or appeal to the spirit of those neighbours whose predecessors hisancestors had protected, can we flatter ourselves that there would notbe judges in Westminster Hall prepared and prompt to inflict on him allthe pains and penalties, the dungeon, the fine, the sequestration, whichsuch a troublesome Anti-Reformer would clearly deserve? Can we flatterourselves that a Parliamentary Star Chamber and a Parliamentary HighCommission Court would not be in the background to supply all thedeficiencies of the laws of England? When these merry times arrive--thetimes of extraordinary tribunals and extraordinary taxes--and, if weproceed in our present course, they are much nearer than we imagine-thephrase 'Anti-Reformer' will serve as well as that of 'Malignant, ' andbe as valid a plea as the former title for harassing and plundering allthose who venture to wince under the crowning mercies of centralisation. 

Behold the Republic of the Whigs! Behold the only Republic that can beestablished in England except by force! And who can doubt the swiftand stern termination of institutions introduced by so unnatural andirrational a process. I would address myself to the English Radicals. I do not mean those fine gentlemen or those vulgar adventurers who, inthis age of quackery, may sail into Parliament by hoisting for thenonce the false colours of the movement; but I mean that honest andconsiderable party, too considerable, I fear, for their happiness andthe safety of the State-who have a definite object which they distinctlyavow--I mean those thoughtful and enthusiastic men who study theirunstamped press, and ponder over a millennium of operative amelioration. Not merely that which is just, but that which is also practicable, should be the aim of a sagacious politician. Let the Radicals wellconsider whether, in attempting to achieve their avowed object, they arenot, in fact, only assisting the secret views of a party whose schemeis infinitely more adverse to their own than the existing system, whosegenius I believe they entirely misapprehend. The monarchy of the Toriesis more democratic than the Republic of the Whigs. It appeals witha keener sympathy to the passions of the millions; it studies theirinterest with a more comprehensive solicitude. Admitting for a momentthat I have mistaken the genius of the English constitution, whatchance, if our institutions be overthrown, is there of substitutingin their stead a more popular polity? This hazard, both for their ownhappiness and the honour of their country, the English Radicals arebound to calculate nicely. If they do not, they will find themselves, too late, the tools of a selfish faction or the slaves of a sternusurper. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 _The English Constitution_

A CHAPTER on the English constitution is a natural episode on the spiritof Whiggism. There is this connection between the subjects--that thespirit of Whiggism is hostile to the English constitution. No politicalinstitutions ever yet flourished which have been more the topic ofdiscussion among writers of all countries and all parties than ourfamous establishment of 'King, Lords, and Commons;' and no institutionsever yet flourished, of which the character has been more misrepresentedand more misconceived. One fact alone will illustrate the profoundignorance and the perplexed ideas. The present Whig leader of theHouse of Commons, a member of a family who pique themselves on theirconstitutional reputation, an author who has even written an elaboratetreatise on our polity, in one of his speeches, delivered only so lateas the last session of Parliament, declared his desire and determinationto uphold the present settlement of the 'three estates of the realm, viz. --King, Lords, and Commons. ' Now, his Gracious Majesty is no more anestate of the realm than Lord John Russell himself. The three estates ofthe realm are the estate of the Lords Spiritual, the estate of the LordsTemporal, and the estate of the Commons. An estate is a popular classestablished into a political order. It is a section of the nationinvested for the public and common good with certain powersand privileges. Lord John Russell first writes upon the Englishconstitution, and then reforms it, and yet, even at this moment, is absolutely ignorant of what it consists. A political estate is acomplete and independent body. Now, all power that is independent isnecessarily irresponsible. The sovereign is responsible because heis not an estate; he is responsible through his Ministers; he isresponsible to the estates and to them alone. 

When the Whigs obtained power in 1830, they found the three estatesof the realm opposed to them, and the Government, therefore, could notproceed. They resolved, therefore, to remodel them. They declared thatthe House of Commons was the House of the people, and that the peoplewere not properly represented. They consequently enlarged the estateof the Commons; they increased the number of that privileged order whoappear by their representatives in the Lower House of Parliament. Theyrendered the estate of the Commons more powerful by this proceeding, because they rendered them more numerous; but they did not render theirrepresentatives one jot more the representatives of the people. Throwingthe Commons of Ireland out of the question, for we cannot speculate upona political order so unsettled that it has been thrice remodelled duringthe present century, some 300, 000 individuals sent up, at the lastgeneral election, their representatives to Westminster. 

Well, are these 300, 000 persons the people of England? Grant that theyare; grant that these members are divided into two equal portions. Well, then, the people of England consist of 150, 000 persons. I know thatthere are well-disposed persons that tremble at this reasoning, because, although they admit its justice, they allege it leads to universalsuffrage. We must not show, they assert, that the House of the people isnot elected by the people. I admit it; we must not show that the Houseof the people is not elected by the people, but we must show that theHouse of Commons is not the House of the people, that it never wasintended to be the House of the people, and that, if it be admitted tobe so by courtesy, or become so in fact, it is all over with the Englishconstitution. 

It is quite impossible that a whole people can be a branch of alegislature. If a whole people have the power of making laws, itis folly to suppose that they will allow an assembly of 300 or 400individuals, or a solitary being on a throne, to thwart their sovereignwill and pleasure. But I deny that a people can govern itself. Self-government is a contradiction in terms. Whatever form a governmentmay assume, power must be exercised by a minority of numbers. I shall, perhaps, be reminded of the ancient republics. I answer, that theancient republics were as aristocratic communities as any thatflourished in the middle ages. The Demos of Athens was an oligarchyliving upon slaves. There is a great slave population even in the UnitedStates, if a society of yesterday is to illustrate an argument on ourancient civilisation. 

But it is useless to argue the question abstractedly. 

The phrase 'the people' is sheer nonsense. It is not a political term. It is a phrase of natural history. A people is a species; a civilisedcommunity is a nation. Now, a nation is a work of art and a work oftime. A nation is gradually created by a variety of influences--theinfluence of original organisation, of climate, soil, religion, laws, customs, manners, extraordinary accidents and incidents in theirhistory, and the individual character of their illustrious citizens. These influences create the nation--these form the national mind, andproduce in the course of centuries a high degree of civilisation. If youdestroy the political institutions which these influences have calledinto force, and which are the machinery by which they constantlyact, you destroy the nation. The nation, in a state of anarchy anddissolution, then becomes a people; and after experiencing all theconsequent misery, like a company of bees spoiled of their queen andrifled of their hive, they set to again and establish themselves into asociety. 

Although all society is artificial, the most artificial society in theworld is unquestionably the English nation. Our insular situation andour foreign empire, our immense accumulated wealth and our industriouscharacter, our peculiar religious state, which secures alike orthodoxyand toleration, our church and our sects, our agriculture and ourmanufactures, our military services, our statute law, and supplementaryequity, our adventurous commerce, landed tenure, and unprecedentedsystem of credit, form, among many others, such a variety of interests, and apparently so conflicting, that I do not think even the Abbe Sieyèshimself could devise a scheme by which this nation could be absolutelyand definitely represented. 

The framers of the English constitution were fortunately not of theschool of Abbe Sieyès. Their first object was to make us free; theirnext to keep us so. While, therefore, they selected equality as thebasis of their social order, they took care to blend every man'sambition with the perpetuity of the State. Unlike the levelling equalityof modern days, the ancient equality of England elevates and creates. Learned in human nature, the English constitution holds out privilegeto every subject as the inducement to do his duty. As it has securedfreedom, justice, and even property to the humblest of the commonwealth, so, pursuing the same system of privileges, it has confided thelegislature of the realm to two orders of the subjects--orders, however, in which every English citizen may be constitutionally enrolled--theLords and the Commons. The two estates of the Peers are personallysummoned to meet in their chamber: the more extensive and single estateof the Commons meets by its representatives. Both are political orders, complete in their character, independent in their authority, legallyirresponsible for the exercise of their power. But they are the trusteesof the nation, not its masters; and there is a High Court of Chanceryin the public opinion of the nation at large, which exercises a vigilantcontrol over these privileged classes of the community, and to whichthey are equitably and morally amenable. Estimating, therefore, the moral responsibility of our political estates, it may fairly bemaintained that, instead of being irresponsible, the responsibility ofthe Lords exceeds that of the Commons. The House of Commons itself notbeing an estate of the realm, but only the representatives of an estate, owes to the nation a responsibility neither legal nor moral. The Houseof Commons is responsible only to that privileged order who are itsconstituents. Between the Lords and the Commons themselves there is thisprime difference--that the Lords are known, and seen, and marked; theCommons are unknown, invisible, and unobserved. The Lords meet in aparticular spot; the Commons are scattered over the kingdom. The eye ofthe nation rests upon the Lords, few in number, and notable in position;the eye of the nation wanders in vain for the Commons, far morenumerous, but far less remarkable. As a substitute the nation appeals tothe House of Commons, but sometimes appeals in vain; for if the majorityof the Commons choose to support their representatives in a course ofconduct adverse to the opinion of the nation, the House of Commonswill set the nation at defiance. They have done so once; may theynever repeat that destructive career! Such are our two Houses ofParliament--the most illustrious assemblies since the Roman Senate andGrecian Areopagus; neither of them is the 'House of the People, ' butboth alike represent the 'Nation. '

CHAPTER V. 

 _A True Democracy_

THERE are two propositions, which, however at the first glance they mayappear to contradict the popular opinions of the day, are nevertheless, as I believe, just and true. And they are these:--First. That there isno probability of ever establishing a more democratic form of governmentthan the present English constitution. 

Second. That the recent political changes of the Whigs are, in fact, adeparture from the democratic spirit of that constitution. 

Whatever form a government may assume, its spirit must be determinedby the laws which regulate the property of the country. You may have aSenate and Consuls, you may have no hereditary titles, and you may dubeach householder or inhabitant a citizen; but if the spirit of your lawspreserves masses of property in a particular class, the government ofthe country will follow the disposition of the property. So also you mayhave an apparent despotism without any formal popular control, and withno aristocracy, either natural or artificial, and the spirit of thegovernment may nevertheless be republican. Thus the ancient polityof Rome, in its best days, was an aristocracy, and the government ofConstantinople is the nearest approach to a democracy on a greatscale, and maintained during a great period, that history offers. The constitution of France during the last half century has been fastapproaching that of the Turks. The barbarous Jacobins blended modernequality with the refined civilisation of ancient France; the barbarousOttomans blended their equality with the refined civilisation of ancientRome. Paris secured to the Jacobins those luxuries that their systemnever could have produced: Byzantium served the same purpose to theTurks. Both the French and their turbaned prototypes commencedtheir system with popular enthusiasm, and terminated it with generalsubjection. Napoleon and Louis Philippe are playing the same part as theSuleimans and the Mahmouds. The Chambers are but a second-rate Divan, the Prefects but inferior Pachas: a solitary being rules alike in theSeraglio and the Tuileries, and the whole nation bows to his despotismon condition that they have no other master save himself. 

The disposition of property in England throws the government of thecountry into the hands of its natural aristocracy. I do not believe thatany scheme of the suffrage, or any method of election, could divertthat power into other quarters. It is the necessary consequence of ourpresent social state. I believe, the wider the popular suffrage, themore powerful would be the natural aristocracy. This seems to me aninevitable consequence; but I admit this proposition on the clearunderstanding that such an extension should be established on a fair, and not a factious, basis. 

Here, then, arises the question of the ballot, into the merits of which. I shall take another opportunity of entering, recording only now myopinion, that in the present arrangement of the constituencies, even theballot would favour the power of the natural aristocracy, and that, ifthe ballot were simultaneously introduced with a fair and not a factiousextension of the suffrage, it would produce no difference whatever inthe ultimate result. 

Quitting, then, these considerations, let us arrive at the importantpoint. Is there any probability of a different disposition of propertyin England--a disposition of property which, by producing a very generalsimilarity of condition, would throw the government of the country intothe hands of any individuals whom popular esteem or fancy might select?

It appears to me that this question can only be decided by ascertainingthe genius of the English nation. What is the prime characteristicof the English mind? I apprehend I may safely decide upon its beingindustry. Taking a general but not a superficial survey of the Englishcharacter since the Reformation, a thousand circumstances convince methat the salient point in our national psychology is the passion foraccumulating wealth, of which industry is the chief instrument. Wevalue our freedom principally because it leaves us unrestricted in ourpursuits; and that reverence for law and for all that is established, which also eminently distinguishes the English nation, is occasionedby the conviction that, next to liberty, order is the most efficaciousassistant of industry. 

And thus we see that those great revolutions which must occur in thehistory of all nations when they happen here produce no permanenteffects upon our social state. Our revolutions are brought about bythe passions of creative minds taking advantage, for their ownaggrandisement, of peculiar circumstances in our national progress. They are never called for by the great body of the nation. Churches areplundered, long rebellions maintained, dynasties changed, parliamentsabolished; but when the storm is passed, the features of the sociallandscape remain unimpaired; there are no traces of the hurricane, theearthquake, or the volcano; it has been but a tumult of the atmosphere, that has neither toppled down our old spires and palaces nor swallowedup our cities and seats of learning, nor blasted our ancient woods, norswept away our ports and harbours. The English nation ever recurs to itsancient institutions--the institutions that have alike secured freedomand order; and after all their ebullitions, we find them, when thesky is clear, again at work, and toiling on at their eternal task ofaccumulation. 

There is this difference between the revolutions of England and therevolutions of the Continent--the European revolution is a struggleagainst privilege; an English revolution is a struggle for it. If a newclass rises in the State, it becomes uneasy to take its place in thenatural aristocracy of the land: a desperate faction or a wily leadertakes advantage of this desire, and a revolution is the consequence. Thus the Whigs in the present day have risen to power on the shouldersof the manufacturing interest. To secure themselves in their posts, theWhigs have given the new interest an undue preponderance; but the newinterest, having obtained its object, is content. The manufacturer, like every other Englishman, is as aristocratic as the landlord. Themanufacturer begins to lack in movement. Under Walpole the Whigs playedthe same game with the commercial interests; a century has passed, andthe commercial interests are all as devoted to the constitution as themanufacturers soon will be. Having no genuine party, the Whigs seekfor succour from the Irish papists; Lord John Russell, however, is onlyimitating Pym under the same circumstances. In 1640, when the Englishmovement was satisfied, and the constitutional party, headed by such menas Falkland and Hyde, were about to attain power, Pym and his friends, in despair at their declining influence and the close divisions in theironce unanimous Parliament, fled to the Scotch Covenanters, and enteredinto a 'close compact' for the destruction of the Church of England asthe price of their assistance. So events repeat themselves; but if thestudy of history is really to profit us, the nation at the present daywill take care that the same results do not always occur from the sameevents. 

When passions have a little subsided, the industrious ten-pounder, whohas struggled into the privileged order of the Commons, proud of havingobtained the first step of aristocracy, will be the last man toassist in destroying the other gradations of the scale which he orhis posterity may yet ascend; while the new member of a manufacturingdistrict has his eye already upon a neighbouring park, avails himself ofhis political position to become a county magistrate, meditates upon abaronetcy, and dreams of a coroneted descendant. 

The nation that esteems wealth as the great object of existence willsubmit to no laws that do not secure the enjoyment of wealth. Now, wedeprive wealth of its greatest source of enjoyment, as well as of itsbest security, if we deprive it of power. The English nation, therefore, insists that property shall be the qualification for power, and thewhole scope of its laws and customs is to promote and favour theaccumulation of wealth and the perpetuation of property. We cannotalter, therefore, the disposition of property in this country without wechange the national character. Far from the present age being hostile tothe supremacy of property, there has been no period of our history whereproperty has been more esteemed, because there has been no period whenthe nation has been so industrious. 

Believing, therefore, that no change will occur in the disposition ofproperty in this country, I cannot comprehend how our government canbecome more democratic. The consequence of our wealth is an aristocraticconstitution; the consequence of our love of liberty is an aristocraticconstitution founded on an equality of civil rights. And who can denythat an aristocratic constitution resting on such a basis, where thelegislative, and even the executive office may be obtained by everysubject of the realm, is, in fact, a noble democracy? The Englishconstitution, faithful to the national character, secures to all theenjoyment of property and the delights of freedom. Its honours are aperpetual reward of industry; every Englishman is toiling to obtainthem; and this is the constitution to which every Englishman will alwaysbe devoted, except he is a Whig. 

In the next Chapter I shall discuss the second proposition. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 _Results of Whiggism_

THE Tories assert that the whole property of the country is on theirside; and the Whigs, wringing their hands over lost elections andbellowing about 'intimidation, ' seem to confess the soft impeachment. Their prime organ also assures us that every man with 500L. Per annum isopposed to them. Yet the Whig-Radical writers have recently published, by way of consolation to their penniless proselytes, a list of sometwenty Dukes and Marquises, who, they assure us, are devoted to'Liberal' principles, and whose revenues, in a paroxysm of economicalrhodomontade, they assert, could buy up the whole income of the restof the hereditary Peerage. The Whig-Radical writers seem puzzled toreconcile this anomalous circumstance with the indisputably forlornfinances of their faction in general. Now, this little tract on the'Spirit of Whiggism' may perhaps throw some light upon this perplexingstate of affairs. For myself, I see in it only a fresh illustration ofthe principles which I have demonstrated, from the whole current of ourhistory, to form the basis of Whig policy. This union of oligarchicalwealth and mob poverty is the very essence of the 'Spirit of Whiggism. '

The English constitution, which, from the tithing-man to the Peer ofParliament, has thrown the whole government of the country into thehands of those who are qualified by property to perform the duties oftheir respective offices, has secured that diffused and general freedom, without which the national industry would neither have its fair play norits just reward, by a variety of institutions, which, while they preventthose who have no property from invading the social commonwealth, inwhose classes every industrious citizen has a right to register himself, offer also an equally powerful check to the ambitious fancies of thosegreat families, over whose liberal principles and huge incomes theWhig-Radical writers gloat with the self-complacency of lackeys at theequipages of their masters. There is ever an union in a perverted sensebetween those who are beneath power and those who wish to be above it;and oligarchies and despotisms are usually established by the agency ofa deluded multitude. The Crown, with its constitutional influence overthe military services, a Parliament of two houses watching each other'sproceedings with constitutional jealousy, an independent hierarchyand, not least, an independent magistracy, are serious obstacles in theprogressive establishment of that scheme of government which a smallknot of great families--these dukes and marquises, whose revenuesaccording to the Government organ, could buy up the income of the wholepeerage-naturally wish to introduce. We find, therefore, throughout thewhole period of our more modern history, a powerful section of the greatnobles ever at war with the national institutions, checking the Crown, attacking the independence of that House of Parliament in which theyhappen to be in a minority--no matter which, patronising sects toreduce the influence of the Church, and playing town against country toovercome the authority of the gentry. 

It is evident that these aspiring oligarchs, as a party, can have littleessential strength; they can count upon nothing but their retainers. To secure the triumph of their cause, therefore, they are forced tomanoeuvre with a pretext, and while they aim at oligarchical rule, theyapparently advocate popular rights. They hold out, consequently, aninducement to all the uneasy portion of the nation to enlist under theirstandard; they play their discontented minority against the prosperousmajority, and, dubbing their partisans 'the people, ' they flatterthemselves that their projects are irresistible. The attack isunexpected, brisk, and dashing, well matured, dexterously mystified. Before the nation is roused to its danger, the oligarchical object isoften obtained; and then the oligarchy, entrenched in power, count uponthe nation to defend them from their original and revolutionary allies. If they succeed, a dynasty is changed, or a Parliament reformed, and themovement is stopped; if the Tories or the Conservatives cannot arrestthe fatal career which the Whigs have originally impelled, then awaygo the national institutions; the crown falls from the King's brow;the crosier is snapped in twain; one House of Parliament is sure todisappear, and the gentlemen of England, dexterously dubbed Malignants, or Anti-Reformers, or any other phrase in fashion, the dregs of thenation sequester their estates and install themselves in their halls;and 'liberal principles' having thus gloriously triumphed, after a duecourse of plunder, bloodshed, imprisonment, and ignoble tyranny, thepeople of England, sighing once more to be the English nation, secureorder by submitting to a despot, and in time, when they have got rid oftheir despot, combine their ancient freedom with their newly-regainedsecurity by re-establishing the English constitution. 

The Whigs of the present day have made their assault upon the nationwith their usual spirit. They have already succeeded in controlling thesovereign and in remodelling the House of Commons. They have menacedthe House of Lords, violently assailed the Church, and reconstructedthe Corporations. I shall take the two most comprehensive measures whichthey have succeeded in carrying, and which were at the time certainlyvery popular, and apparently of a very democratic character, -theirreform of the House of Commons, and their reconstruction of themunicipal corporations. Let us see whether these great measures have, in fact, increased the democratic character of our constitution ornot--whether they veil an oligarchical project, or are, in fact, popularconcessions inevitably offered by the Whigs in their oligarchicalcareer. 

The result of the Whig remodelling of the order of the Commons has beenthis--that it has placed the nomination of the Government in the handsof the popish priesthood. Is that a great advance of public intelligenceand popular liberty? Are the parliamentary nominees of M'Hale and Kehoemore germane to the feelings of the English nation, more adapted torepresent their interests, than the parliamentary nominees of a Howardor a Percy? This papist majority, again, is the superstructure of abasis formed by some Scotch Presbyterians and some English Dissenters, in general returned by the small constituencies of small towns--classeswhose number and influence, intelligence and wealth, have been grosslyexaggerated for factious purposes, but classes avowedly opposed to themaintenance of the English constitution. I do not see that the cause ofpopular power has much risen, even with the addition of this leaven. If the suffrages of the Commons of England were polled together, thehustings-books of the last general election will prove that a veryconsiderable majority of their numbers is opposed to the presentGovernment, and that therefore, under this new democratic scheme, thisgreat body of the nation are, by some hocus-pocus tactics or other, obliged to submit to the minority. The truth is, that the newconstituency has been so arranged that an unnatural preponderance hasbeen given to a small class, and one hostile to the interests of thegreat body. Is this more democratic? The apparent majority in the Houseof Commons is produced by a minority of the Commons themselves; so thata small and favoured class command a majority in the House of Commons, and the sway of the administration, as far as that House is concerned, is regulated by a smaller number of individuals than those who governedit previous to its reform. 

But this is not the whole evil: this new class, with its unnaturalpreponderance, is a class hostile to the institutions of the country, hostile to the union of Church and State, hostile to the House of Lords, to the constitutional power of the Crown, to the existing system ofprovincial judicature. It is, therefore, a class fit and willing tosupport the Whigs in their favourite scheme of centralisation, withoutwhich the Whigs can never long maintain themselves in power. Now, centralisation is the death-blow of public freedom; it is the citadelof the oligarchs, from which, if once erected, it will be impossible todislodge them. But can that party be aiming at centralised governmentwhich has reformed the municipal corporations? We will see. The reformof the municipal corporations of England is a covert attack on theauthority of the English gentry, -that great body which perhaps forms themost substantial existing obstacle to the perpetuation of Whiggism inpower. By this democratic Act the county magistrate is driven from thetowns where he before exercised a just influence, while an electivemagistrate from the towns jostles him on the bench at quarter sessions, and presents in his peculiar position an anomaly in the constitution ofthe bench, flattering to the passions, however fatal to the interests, of the giddy million. Here is a lever to raise the question of countyreform whenever an obstinate shire may venture to elect a representativein Parliament hostile to the liberal oligarchs. Let us admit, for themoment, that the Whigs ultimately succeed in subverting the ancient andhereditary power of the English gentry. Will the municipal corporationssubstitute themselves as an equivalent check on a centralisingGovernment? Whence springs their influence? From property? Not half adozen have estates. Their influence springs from the factitious powerwith which the reforming Government has invested them, and of which thesame Government will deprive them in a session, the moment they ceaseto be corresponding committees of the reforming majority in the House ofCommons. They will either be swept away altogether, or their functionswill be limited to raising the local taxes which will discharge theirexpenses of the detachment of the metropolitan police, or the localjudge or governor, whom Downing Street may send down to preside overtheir constituents. With one or two exceptions, the English corporationsdo not possess more substantial and durable elements of power thanthe municipalities of France. What check are they on Paris? Thesecorporations have neither prescription in their favour, nor property. Their influence is maintained neither by tradition nor substance. Theyhave no indirect authority over the minds of their townsmen; they haveonly their modish charters to appeal to, and the newly engrossed letterof the law. They have no great endowments of whose public benefits theyare the official distributers; they do not stand on the vantage-groundon which we recognise the trustees of the public interests; they neitheradminister to the soul nor the body; they neither feed the poor noreducate the young; they have no hold on the national mind; they have notsprung from the national character; they were born by faction, and theywill live by faction. Such bodies must speedily become corrupt; theywill ultimately be found dangerous instruments in the hands of afaction. The members of the country corporations will play the game of aLondon party, to secure their factitious local importance and obtain theconsequent results of their opportune services. 

I think I have now established the two propositions with which Icommenced my last chapter: and will close this concluding one of the'Spirit of Whiggism' with their recapitulation, and the inferences whichI draw from them. If there be a slight probability of ever establishingin this country a more democratic government than the Englishconstitution, it will be as well, I conceive, for those who love theirrights, to maintain that constitution; and if the more recent measuresof the Whigs, however plausible their first aspect, have, in fact, beena departure from the democratic character of that constitution, it willbe as well for the English nation to oppose, with all their heart, andall their soul, and all their strength, the machinations of the Whigsand the 'Spirit of Whiggism. '